#protected by pennywise

[lavender-vixen]

hey! Could you write one where Patrick is on a date with the reader in his car at night, like a lover’s lane type place in Derry, when they hear Pennywise outside? Maybe It taunts them or it’s just terrifying?? thanks!

"The Woods, the Dark, the Clown." (Patrick Hockstetter x Reader)

Your body moved with him, the slow, filthy rhythm of the car’s backseat giving just enough with every rock of your hips. Patrick was beneath you, hands tight on your waist, guiding you, his mouth trailing hot, open kisses along your bare chest. The car windows were fogged, the air thick with the smell of sweat, sex, and cigarette smoke. His jeans were shoved down just enough, your skirt pushed up too high, your breath ragged and shaky as you tried to keep up with him.

Then—a noise. A rustling. Somewhere outside the car, just beyond the tree line. You froze, mid-movement, your hands on his shoulders, pulse jumping.

Patrick groaned. His fingers dug into your thighs. “What the fuck?”

You were too still. Listening. “I heard something,” you whispered.

Patrick exhaled sharply, his head tipping back against the seat, frustrated. “It’s the woods. There’s always something.”

You glanced at the window. Darkness. The rustling stopped.

Patrick rocked his hips up impatiently, making you gasp. “Seriously?” he muttered against your throat, voice dark and teasing, his dark hair falling into his eyes. “You’re gonna stop right now?”

You still weren't convinced, your breath uneven, eyes flicking toward the window again.

Patrick sighed, tipping his head to the side, grinning lazily. “C'mon, it’s probably a fucking squirrel.”

Then it happened again. Louder this time. Something snapped in the trees. Your entire body tensed.

Patrick paused, exhaled through his nose, irritated. Then, just as quickly—he kept going. Deeper. Rougher. His grip on your hips tightened. “It’s nothing,” he murmured against your collarbone.

You couldn’t stop listening. The sound of your own heartbeat was so loud in your ears that you could barely hear anything else.

Patrick’s hands slid up your thighs, over your hips, up to your waist, slow and distracting, keeping you grounded. Keeping you with him.

Then—BANG. Something hit the back of the car. Hard. You screamed. Patrick froze. His entire body went rigid against you. Then, before you could even process it, he moved. He shoved you off him, reaching for his underwear and jeans, yanking them up, grabbing his boots.

You sat up fast, still dazed, confused, shaking. “What are you doing?!”

Patrick was already throwing his shirt over his shoulder, pulling the car door open. He grabbed the keys.

You scrambled forward, grabbing his arm. “Don’t go out there—Patrick, please!”

He smirked, cocky, dismissive. “What? You think it’s some psycho killer?”

You didn’t answer. Didn’t know how. "Please, don't go out there. Let's just go."

Patrick kissed you hard, shutting you up for a moment. Then he pulled back. “Stay here.”

And then—he was gone.

The night swallowed him whole. Patrick moved carefully, stepping over damp leaves, his breath slow, steady. His hands flexed at his sides, ready for a fight. If this was some asshole kids fucking around, he was gonna scare the shit out of them.

Then—a whisper. Soft. Dripping. "Patrick."

He stopped. His stomach turned. He glanced over his shoulder—nothing. He exhaled. Took another step forward.

"Patrick."

He whipped around. Something moved between the trees. Patrick’s breath hitched. Then, for the first time that night—he felt it. Something deep in his gut. The feeling that he was not alone. That something was watching. Something that wanted him to know.

The rustling came again. Then, out of the shadows, a shape. A figure. Tall. Too tall. Grinning.

Patrick went still. His heartbeat slammed against his ribs.

The thing tilted its head. The grin grew.

Patrick’s breath came shallow. His fingers curled into fists. “What the fuck,” he murmured.

And the thing laughed.

You waited. Too long. The minutes stretched. He wasn’t coming back. The car felt wrong.

Your stomach turned, your skin crawling as you leaned forward, pressing your hands against the dashboard, staring out the windshield.

“Patrick?” you called out the open window.

Nothing. Your chest tightened. You opened the door. The air outside was colder now. Still. Too still.

Your feet were bare, your bra and skirt too thin, as you stepped toward the tree line. The silence was wrong.

“Patrick?”

Still nothing. You took a few more steps. Further. Then—something moved. Rustling. Closer.

You froze. Swallowed hard. “Patrick?” you whispered.

And then, he came out of nowhere. Barreling through the trees. Covered in blood. His forehead dripping. His breathing ragged.

You screamed.

“Fucking run!” Patrick yelled, grabbing your wrist.

Your feet barely kept up. Your legs burned. You couldn’t breathe.

Patrick was too fast, too strong, pulling you harder, rougher, desperate. You stumbled and fell.

Patrick kept running. For half a second, he hesitated. Looked over his shoulder. Like he was going to leave you.

Then, you pleaded. And he saw it. It was running toward you. Patrick’s blood ran cold. He cursed, turned back, yanked you up roughly by the arm. Then he ran again.

The car was just ahead. Patrick went for the keys in his pocket, fumbled, cursing. He threw the driver’s door open, slammed inside.

Your side—jammed. "Patrick, it won't open!"

“Then climb over me, now!” he snapped.

You ran around and climbed over him, knees hitting the wheel, hands bracing against the seat. Patrick threw you into the passenger seat. Locked the doors. Then he turned the key.

The engine stalled. Once. Twice. Then the headlights flared into the woods. And it stepped out.

You screamed. Patrick’s head snapped up. He saw it again. And for the first time in his life, he felt real fucking fear. He turned the key again, the car roared to life.

Threw it into reverse, backed up fast, looking out the back windshield. He kept going until he reached the main road not far from where you'd parked. His arm slammed over your chest, keeping you from lurking forward.

He could still see it. In the mirror. Grinning. Then he turned the wheel—hard. Threw the car into drive.

Slammed his foot on the gas. The tires screeched, the car barreling down the road. He didn’t stop. Not until the woods were gone.

The road stretched out endless in the dark, a black ribbon of pavement, empty and silent except for the roar of Patrick’s engine, the growl of tires eating up miles.

You were panting, twisted halfway in your seat, your hands white-knuckling the seat, your body still trembling.

Patrick drove fast. Too fast. The speedometer hovered at eighty-five, but he didn’t give a shit. He barely felt the road. His hands on the wheel were tight, too tight, knuckles bone-white. His head was fucking spinning. What the fuck had he just seen? That thing…

The way it moved, slow but too deliberate. That goddamn grin, wide, stretched, too many fucking teeth. And it had spoken to him. Like it knew him. Knew his name. Like it had been waiting. Patrick swallowed hard, licking his lips, the coppery tang of his own blood still fresh on his tongue.

You were still gasping, trying to breathe, your legs pulled up tight against your chest. You hadn’t said a word. Not since they left. You were staring ahead, watching the yellow lines blur past, like you were still seeing it.

Patrick flexed his grip on the wheel, flicked his eyes toward you. You were still trembling.

He clicked his tongue. “Hey.”

You didn’t react. Didn’t even blink.

Patrick sighed, reaching over, sliding his palm over your bare thigh, gripping gently. You jumped.

Patrick smirked, but it was shallow, distant. His fingers traced slow circles, slow enough to remind you he was still there, still solid, still real. His voice came out low, steady, almost mocking, but not quite. “You’re shaking.”

You swallowed, forcing out something that might’ve been a laugh, but it was more like a choked breath. “No shit,” you muttered.

Patrick exhaled through his nose, turning his attention back to the road. His thumb kept tracing slow, lazy circles on your thigh, smoothing over goosebumps, half-soothing, half-possessive. “Relax.”

You snapped your head toward him, eyes wild, disbelieving. “Relax?!” you choked.

Patrick grinned, sharp and lazy. “Yeah, y’know, that thing people do when they’re not acting like a scared little bitch.”

You punched his arm hard, right on the bruised muscle, and he winced.

“Fuck’s sake,” he muttered, rubbing it.

“You saw it too,” you hissed.

Patrick’s fingers flexed on your leg, his smirk fading slightly. A muscle jumped in his jaw. “…Yeah,” he admitted.

You exhaled, too sharp, too shaky. You dropped your forehead against your knees, gripping your own hair.

Patrick watched you. It was weird—seeing you like this. He’d gone out with a lot of girls, liked you the best, but it wasn’t because you were special or anything. It was because you could keep up with him. Could handle his shit. Could run your mouth and not be afraid.

But now? Now you were shaking, curled up in his seat, breathing like you were about to pass out.

Patrick’s fingers tightened on your thigh. “Hey.”

You turned your head slightly.

Patrick flicked his eyes toward you, something calculating, something serious in the way he looked at you. “Nothing happened.”

You gaped at him. “Nothing—are you fucking kidding me?!”

Patrick’s smirk came back, slow and easy, but there was something underneath it now. Something measured. “Tell me, baby,” he murmured. “Did it touch you?”

You swallowed. “N-No, but—”

“Did it lay a hand on you?”

You shook your head.

Patrick’s hand slid higher. “Did it touch me?” he asked, voice mocking, teasing.

Your mouth pressed into a thin line.

Patrick leaned in slightly, keeping one hand firm on the wheel, the other still on your skin. “So what the fuck’re you crying about?”

You stared at him, stunned into silence.

Patrick’s grin widened. “See? We’re fine.”

You swallowed. “Patrick—”

“We’re alive.”

You didn’t answer.

Patrick’s fingers slid higher, dipping beneath the hem of your skirt. You caught his wrist.

Patrick’s grin twitched. “Baby...”

Your grip tightened.

His head tilted. “Don’t be goin’ all chicken-shit on me now.”

You didn’t let go.

Patrick exhaled through his nose, tapping his fingers against the wheel. Then—he let up. He didn’t take his hand away, though. Just rested it there, a slow, familiar weight, steady and warm. He frowned again, softer this time. “It is weird though,” he murmured, tilting his head. “Why d’you think it let us go?”

You blinked. “What?”

Patrick’s eyes stayed on the road. His fingers traced absent-minded patterns against your thigh, his brows furrowing slightly, like he was still turning it over in his head. “That thing. The clown.”

Your stomach twisted at the word.

Patrick’s mouth twitched. “Coulda killed us,” he mused. “Didn’t.” His grip tightened. “Maybe it’s still playing with us.”

You froze.

Patrick felt it. Felt the way your muscles locked, the way your breath caught in your throat.

His fingers pressed into the tender flesh of your inner thigh, deliberate, possessive. “Maybe,” he murmured, voice low, gravelly, sliding closer, “it’s still watchin’ us.”

Your breath came out sharp.

Patrick sighed. “You’re so fucking easy.”

You shoved his hand off you.

Patrick shrugged, licking his teeth, one hand still on the wheel, the other resting casually in his lap. He took a turn, the headlights cutting through the dark, guiding them back toward Derry. Patrick tapped his fingers against the wheel. His grin faded. His fingers traced the dried blood on his forehead. His breath came out slow.

Something was still unsettled inside him. That thing had spoken to him. Called him by name. Patrick licked his lips. Rolled his shoulders. Shoved it down.

He glanced at you again, watching the way you still sat pressed against the door, still shaking, still lost in your head. He clicked his tongue again.

“Hey.”

You barely looked at him.

Patrick reached over, took your wrist, ran his thumb over your pulse. “You’re still alive.”

You swallowed.

His voice was quieter now. “And we’re gonna go home.”

The road stretched long and empty in front of you, swallowed up by the night. The engine purred low and steady, but Patrick’s pulse wasn’t. Neither was yours.

Your breath still came shaky, fingers gripping the hem of your skirt, wringing the fabric. Patrick could see it from the corner of his eye, the way you couldn’t keep still, your knees tucked against your chest, your gaze flicking to every shadow. His fingers tapped the wheel. A slow, nervous rhythm. His stomach still felt like it was somewhere back in those fucking woods. His head hadn’t stopped spinning. He didn’t know how to process this.

Nothing scared him. Nothing. So why the fuck was his chest still tight? Why the fuck did he still feel like it was watching? The feeling wasn’t going away.

Neither was yours. You swallowed. “Can you… can you stay with me tonight? My parents are out of town for the weekend. I don’t want to be by myself.”

Patrick blinked. He should’ve teased you. Should’ve smirked, leaned in, murmured something filthy about how you needed him to keep you safe. But he didn’t. Instead, he just… nodded.

“Yeah,” he said. He didn’t trust himself to say anything else.

When you arrived, your house felt too quiet. Not the usual quiet—the deep, suffocating quiet of a house that had been empty for too long.

You locked the door behind Patrick, flicking the lights on one by one, chasing the shadows away. Patrick stood in the kitchen, the landline phone pressed to his ear. The dial tone had rung three times before his mother picked up.

“Hello, Hockstetter residence. May I ask who’s calling?”

“Mom, it’s me. Patrick.”

“Oh, thank God. Where are you?” you heard Mrs. Hockstetter ask immediately. “It’s almost midnight.”

Patrick didn’t answer right away. His fingers tightened around the receiver.

She asked again. “Patrick?”

His tongue felt too heavy. He hadn’t realized how much he wanted to hear her voice. His mom had never really been the overly warm type. But she was real. She was something solid.

“…I’m at Henry’s,” he lied. His voice was flat, clipped. He cleared his throat. “I’m staying over.”

Silence on the other end. Then—“You’re lying.”

Patrick swallowed. His jaw tightened.

“You’re at that girl’s house,” she continued, voice firm, like she was already upset.

Patrick shifted on his feet. His grip on the phone tightened. “Yeah. So?”

She sighed. “Just…be home tomorrow morning.”

He didn’t answer. Didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. He didn’t want to hang up. She was still there. She was real. More real than whatever the fuck he saw back there. His free hand curled into a fist.

She sighed again, annoyed now. “Patrick.”

“I know,” he said quickly.

Then—he hung up. The silence swallowed him whole again, and he went off looking for you upstairs.

The light in the bathroom was soft, fogged with steam. You stood at the sink in just a towel, your dry hair loose from it’s updo, cascading down your back. You felt numb, sluggish, the warmth of the room barely touching the cold in your chest.

Patrick was behind you, silent, shirtless, jeans low on his hips. His reflection in the mirror looked wrong. Not because of the blood on his skin—the dried smears across his jaw, his collarbone. But because he was unreadable. His eyes were dark, his brows furrowed just slightly, like he was still playing back what happened. Still trying to make it make sense.

You swallowed. “…It’s not your blood.”

Patrick barely blinked. “No.”

Your stomach twisted. “Then whose?”

He licked his lips. “It was in a balloon,” he said.

You felt ice run down your spine. “A… balloon?”

Patrick’s fingers flexed at his sides. “It popped.” He turned to you then, head tilted slightly.

The movement was too slow. Too controlled. Like he was trying to hold something back. He took a step forward, looking at the shower. “You want me in there with you?”

You hesitated. Then nodded.

Patrick didn’t smirk. Didn’t say anything. Just started unbuttoning his jeans.

The hot water pounded against your skin, too hot, burning the cold away. Patrick stood much taller than you under the stream, letting it run over his face, washing the blood down the drain in thick, pink spirals.

You watched the color swirl around your bare feet. It should’ve been his blood. But it wasn’t.

Patrick’s hands were on the tile walls, his head bowed, breath slow. He hadn’t spoken since he stepped in. You picked up the washcloth, soaked it under the stream, and pressed it to his chest. Patrick didn’t move. Didn’t react. You wiped away the dried streaks of red, slowly, carefully. You weren’t sure why you were being so gentle. Patrick wasn’t fragile. Not like you were.

But this wasn’t the same Patrick you’d been with earlier. This wasn’t the Patrick who teased you for being scared. This wasn’t the Patrick who smirked and ran his hands up your legs and whispered filthy things in your ear. This was a different Patrick. This Patrick was processing. This Patrick was waiting.

You dragged the cloth along his jawline, his throat. His pulse beat heavy beneath your touch.

You swallowed. “What did you see?”

Patrick’s fingers curled against the wall. His breath came shallow. Then, slowly, he exhaled. “I dunno,” he murmured.

You frowned, glancing up.

Patrick’s expression was blank. Then, finally—he smirked. But it wasn’t cocky. It wasn’t teasing. It was something else. “…But it saw me,” he said.

Your stomach twisted. You pulled back.

Patrick caught your wrist. Held it. He leaned in close, voice low, steady. “You’re still scared,” he murmured. “’S’okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

When the two of you got into your bed, the sheets were soft, the air cool, but you were still shaking. Patrick let you curl against him, let you tangle your fingers in his ribs, grip him like you needed something solid. His arm was draped lazily over you, but he wasn’t relaxed. His muscles were tense. His eyes were open and bloodshot. His breathing was slow. Too slow.

You pressed your face into his chest, listening to his heartbeat. “…You’re still awake,” you murmured.

Patrick didn’t answer.

You looked up at him. “Patrick?”

His jaw was tight, his gaze locked on the ceiling. His fingers twitched against your back.

The sheets smelled like you. Patrick hadn’t really noticed before, but now, wrapped up in you, it was impossible to ignore. The faint, sweet scent of your shampoo, your skin, the warmth of you pressed against his side, your fingers still curled into the fabric of his T-shirt like you were afraid to let go.

You were still shaking. Not as bad as before, but Patrick could feel it, the slight tremor in your shoulders, the way your breath came uneven, like you were still trying to convince yourself you were safe.

Patrick hated that. Hated how quiet you’d gone. Hated that you, the cocky, sharp-mouthed girl who kissed and fucked him like you had something to prove was now curled into a shaking ball against his chest.

Hated that something out there had gotten to you. Gotten to him. His arm was draped over your waist, holding you firm, keeping you tucked against him, but his body was tense.

His jaw still felt tight. His fingers kept tapping against your back, slow, steady, like if he kept the rhythm consistent enough, neither of you would slip back into the fucking woods, the fucking dark.

He felt your breath hitch, then you muttered, “Can’t sleep either?”

Patrick smirked, but it wasn’t the usual one. More like a reflex, something automatic. “No,” he said. His voice was low, quieter than usual.

You swallowed. Your fingers, still twisted in his shirt, curled slightly.

Patrick’s long fingers kept tracing those lazy, absent-minded patterns on your back. Soothing. He could feel the hesitation in your body before you spoke.

“What… what if it’s still watching?”

Patrick stilled. His fingers froze mid-trace against your skin. A muscle in his jaw jumped. Then, he exhaled, slowly. His fingers started moving again. Slow, warm, steady. “Nah,” he murmured. “We’re too far now.”

You were quiet for a second. Then, your voice came small. “What if it comes back?”

Patrick’s grip on your waist tightened. “Then I’ll fucking kill it,” he said flatly.

You let out something that was almost a laugh. “Yeah?” you mumbled. “You gonna fight a… a fucking demon clown?”

Patrick smirked against your hair. “Damn right.”

You shifted, adjusting against him, pressing your cheek to his chest. “You were scared,” you whispered.

Patrick’s fingers paused, mid-trace. For a second, he didn’t say anything. His smirk returned, but this time, it was slower. “Was not.”

You huffed, shoving him weakly. Patrick chuckled, fingers tightening on your back, pulling you in closer like you were gonna get away or something.

“You ran so fucking fast,” you muttered, almost teasing.

Patrick licked his lips, amused despite himself. “Yeah? And who pulled your ass off the ground when you ate shit?”

You sighed dramatically, shoving your face deeper into his chest, inhaling him. “Shut up,” you mumbled.

Patrick grinned. “That’s what I thought.”

The silence stretched again.

“…Patrick.”

He tilted his head slightly, feeling your breath warm against his skin. “Hm?”

You hesitated. “What if it tries to find us?”

Patrick stilled. For the first time since getting in your bed, something in his chest tightened. The image flashed in his head too quickly. That thing between the trees. That grin. The way it spoke to him. How it had let him walk away.

His fingers resumed their slow, steady tracing. His voice came out low, smooth, certain. “Then it can keep fucking trying.”

Your breath hitched. Patrick felt it. Felt the way your muscles locked again, the way your breathing grew uneven. His grip on you tightened. The smirk faded.

“…It’s not gonna touch you,” he murmured. Patrick’s fingers dragged up your back, slow, comforting, keeping you tucked into him. His voice was calm now. Steady. “Not while I’m here.”

You exhaled. It came out softer this time.

Patrick felt the tension in your body start to ease. Your fingers unclenched slightly from his shirt. Your breathing slowed. Patrick pressed a slow kiss to your hairline. His fingers never stopped moving. Tracing slow, steady patterns. Keeping you here. Keeping you his. And keeping that fucking thing in the woods away.

[romance-sick]

Anyone else hope that all the mega haters of “The Crow” will be forced to EAT crow once Bill kicks down the door and absolutely KILLS IT as Eric Draven?

Same thing with “IT”; so many people shit all over it and Bill before it even came out because they thought it somehow tarnished Tim Curry’s legacy. And then, he blew it out of the water, and the franchise exploded and is still expanding with him at the helm (“Welcome to Derry”, I’m so fucking excited).

With Tim and Bill, I don’t think you can rightfully compare those performances, as each one is the actor’s interpretation of the character. People bitched that Bill was too “different”, well…they’d bitch if he was too much like Tim 🙄

I get, to a degree, why so many are up in arms about “The Crow”, since Brandon Lee lost his life while making it. It’s heartbreaking, because I thought Brandon’s performance was amazing and it’s truly a shame that we didn’t get to experience more of his talent.

But I don’t understand how this reboot is “disrespectful” to his memory. It’s been said, multiple times, that this adaptation aligns with the original comics, more so than the 1994 one did. So….I feel like it’s kind of the “IT” thing all over again; separate interpretations, separate performances. Bill isn’t trying to BE Brandon Lee, like he wasn’t trying to BE Tim Curry. He’s making these characters HIS OWN, as he should.

Sorry, I’m off my soapbox now. Just my two cents here, don’t @ me lol

But it makes me sad to see so many people tearing into and slamming Bill, who puts his heart and soul into everything he does and just wants to give the absolute best that he can.

I think he’s going to be amazing. And Brandon Lee will be proud. R.I.P.🌹

[kinsey3furry300]

Just had my HR officer call and ask "Why did you put nearly an hour on you timesheet down to 'it problems'?"

Me: "IT problems, i.t. not it. My computer bricked."

HR: "Oh, okay." *hangs up.*

Did, did he think I had workplace Pennywise related issues? Like they put my stapler in jelly or something?

[urhome4horror]

Get your passport cover inspired by horror legends

[semiweirdshipper]

Slashers as dads. (Extending the addition).

So I've been thinking about other slashers that I could write as fathers. And this is just a little list of ones that I've chose and how I feel about them. Usually for the slasher dad drabbles, I like to include at least four slashers. Freddy, Michael, Bo, and Hannibal have been my primary picks so far- and I write them in canon-divergence so they're portrayed as good guys. Now...

Let's talk about who else is fit to be a dad.

Jason Voorhees

I feel like it goes without saying that Jason would be a remarkable father figure. He's strong, protective, compassionate, loves nature, is nice, ect... If we altered his universe a bit and turned him into a good guy, I think he'd be the best father figure yet! I'm already thinking about scenarios where he teaches a child reader how to swim and stuff.

Bubba Sawyer/Thomas Hewitt

So I struggle a bit with Bubba mainly because he can't talk and, frankly, I'm not even sure if he can write. Children take after their parents, and I'm not gonna write a child reader squealing and huffing like he does. That's why I have such a difficult time with deciding what I could do to make him a good father figure. And it's not just his inability to talk, it's also his intelligence and the condition he lives in. My father figures have to have suitable jobs and living conditions. I'm not sure what I could do to make his situation better, you know?

As for Thomas Hewitt? I've never seen a movie with him, so I don't know anything about him, his speech, intelligence or living conditions. I was hoping maybe someone would explain it to me, please?

Weirdo demon people like Pyramid Head, Pinhead, Pennywise and Chucky.

Now, I don't see any of these characters as fit to be a father figure. However, I do see them as fit to be a 'friend'. Let's say a child reader is feeling lonely, scared, sad or neglected, and one of these guys shows up to make them feel better, take them on an adventure, or so on and so forth. I think that it could be it's own special kind of drabble sequence- not necessarily father figures, but more like 'friendly monsters'.

Evan MacMillan

The one character that I turn into an overworked dad in a lot of my stories, lol. I think Evan would make a great father figure. With a little bit of canon-divergence, it'd be easy to give him a suitable home and job. As a father, he'd be one of the best.

Albert Wesker

With A LOT of canon-divergence (and extreme patience and determination on my end), I think I can turn prince blondy into a father figure. It's going to be rough and I'm going to alter his personality a lot, but I can make it happen. If given the chance, I know that Albert can be a great father figure too.

Karl Heisenberg

I need to ring my memory up on this guy, but from what I remember, he's decent. I've actually read stories where he adopts one of the main characters, so he already has some fatherly traits without even needing any altering. But obviously I'd give him some canon-divergence anyway. Not everything about Karl is perfect, but I can see him being a good father.

Writing Vincent or Lester as the father instead of Bo.

This idea would be easy to do since I already write Bo as the father figure in my primary drabbles, but I've often wondered what it would be like to change it up a bit. Either Vincent or Lester would make good father figures. It kind of just depends on future plot that is used.

I need a little bit more time to think of other Dead by Daylight characters who would make good fathers, because I'm actually struggling a bit with it. But other than that, thank you for taking the time to read my notes! I don't know what the future holds, but I'm hoping that one day, all these characters and ideas will be part of it.

[charliedawn]

Heyyy :) glad your back 🖤🖤🖤 I don’t know if your doing requests or not but if you are could you do, how would the slashers flirt with nurse? (Particularly five since he is like a old man I thought that would be funny) no worries if you can’t, I love your work ❣️❣️❣️

Warning: Highly suggestive.

Bo Sinclair :

"Well…Hello there, sugar pie. Ya lookin’ mighty alone. Mind if I change that fer ya ?"

Captain Smooth and Sailing. Bo knows how to be charming and he’d just waltz in with the biggest grin on his face and lean back before shooting you a smouldering gaze.

He knows what he wants and will go to any means to get it. And I mean any…

Bo *sneaking up on you from behind and wrapping his arms around you before giving you a kiss on the shoulder* "…Good mornin’, sunflower…How ya doin’ ? Good ? That’s great…" *whispers in your ear* "Bet I could make it better fer ya though."

He can be smooth, but also filthy. Depends on the day. One day he’ll be whispering sweet nothings into your ear, the next he’ll be slapping your ass and calling it a day.

Pennywise:

Pennywise doesn’t touch. And doesn’t like being touched. His flirtation will be very limited and subtle. It’ll mostly be grins and cackles and mocking huffs…

Pennywise: "Well…Hello there, beautiful. Do you know that your hair is a mess and you look more like an asylum patient than a nurse today ?"

You *roll your eyes and start walking away* "Good morning to you too, Pennywise."

Him *snickers behind you* "Good morning indeed. If I still had to spook children to get my food, I’d certainly take your morning face…That’d do the trick."

Yeah…That’s Pennywise flirting. He wouldn’t flirt with you face to face…but he’d still do some things from time to time.

For example, you may find breakfast magically appearing on your desk, or a cup of (h/d) next to you when you finally sit and take a break.

Penny :

Penny *hugs you tightly and refuses to let you go*

You : "…Penny. I need to work."

Penny *squeezes you harder*

Yeah…You won’t get any work done. That’s for sure. Penny is stubborn. He will not leave you alone and will keep holding you until he has enough.

That’s his way of flirting.

But…He has another side to him.

He bites. He can use it to show affection. He does it sometimes with his brother and the other slashers, but he’d be extra gentle with you and be careful not to hurt you.

He’d bite your wrist, your neck, your cheek…Just to say that he appreciates you. And even if it’s just to say hello. That’s Penny flirting. He doesn’t use words, but actions.

Vincent :

He takes pictures of you. They were pretty innocent at first. He’d take pictures of you walking around the hospital and taking care of the patients. The staff even used his photographs to advertise the hospital.

But quickly…the photographs became recurrent and more intimate. He’d follow you around and almost beg you to pose for him.

He’d become obsessed and bring you some of his morbid art pieces for you two to simply talk and be close to you.

And you try to deny him attention ?

The man knows how to get what he wants. He’s similar to Bo in that way, but where Bo is demanding ? Vincent is all about begging and whining.

He’d go down on his knees and grab the hem of your shirt to pull you towards him and beg you to let him take photographs of you and keep them. Take some for his…personal use.

Vincent flirting is desperation.

He’d beg you until you give him the time of day.

Michael Myers :

Michael *wordlessly pats his thigh*

The seat is all yours if you want it.

Kidding. Or not.

*cough cough*

Michael likes to cook and he’d fix you meals to cheer you up and listen to you if you need to. He’d be the perfect gentleman and even though he can’t talk, he’d make it obvious that he likes you through other means.

He’d protect you and make sure you are happy.

Unfortunately, because he can’t help bu want to kill you all the time, it’d be very difficult for the both of you to actually go on a date or go more than flirting basis. But, he’d still try to let you know that he likes you sometimes.

Michael *takes your hand and pulls you into a tight hug*

Michael may look or sound unapproachable at first, but it is because he is afraid of giving into hate and just lose control over the little humanity he has left…

Freddy Krueger :

"Yo. Wanna bang ?"

Freddy is NOT subtle. He’s a slimy and sleazy little goblin who loves nothing more than touch, grab, grope and squeeze.

He’d follow you around like your personal horny demon.

"Coooome on ! I know ya wanna see what’s in my pants ! Just say yes, sweetheart ! See how daddy does it !"

Filthy language and sleazy smirks all the way. He’d be whistling after you and tip his fedora at you or lick his lips while looking you up and down.

To make it short: Flirty is his middle name and he’d just make sure to let you know that he is ALWAYS available and ready.

Freddy *smirks and takes your hand before dancing with you* "COME ON ! Move those curves, lovely !" *cackles*

Freddy may look and sound like a scumbag most of the time, but he is capable of being romantic. He only lets special people see it.

Jason :

Jason is shy and will never be confrontational when it comes to flirting.

He maybe waves at you and hugs you sometimes, but not enough for you to understand what he means.

But, he is good with his hands and soon enough, goes to work.

Jason leaves you gifts. On your desk, on your nightstand, or any place he thinks you and only you would find them.

He carves little wooden figurines, mostly of frogs that he leaves around for you to find. And you always do. You then put then on a special shelf in the living room for everyone to see and admire.

It may not have been the initial goal, but he is happy to see you smile. And that is all he needs…

Norman Bates :

"My darling…Would you…Would you do me the honour of going on a special outing with me ? Just the two of us ?"

Norman was an anxious wreck. He had sweaty hands and an nervous smile on his face. He wanted you to say yes. He had been thinking about a way to approach the matter with you for weeks…

You smiled back and when you accepted…he was overjoyed.

Norman is rather old-fashioned. His way of flirting is asking you out and treating you like a princess (or a prince)

He’d be more than happy to compliment you all day long and simply brush his fingers against yours while you stare deeply into each other’s eyes.

Five Hargreeves :

"Tell me, Y/N. Are you alright ?"

You glanced back at him and blinked twice at the child who just asked you that question.

"…Last time I checked. Yes."

You then focused back on your work and tried to forget about it, but then Five sat down on your desk to look at the papers you were signing.

You didn’t think much of it until he rested his hand on the back of your neck and his thumb traced circles there.

You looked up at him, and he stared right back. You knew he was technically older inside but…You still swapped his hand away.

"Okay. What do you want ?"

"You. Me. Drink."

Your eyes widened and you looked around.

"How about you come back to me when you are…say…15 years older ?"

Yeah. He may be older in his mind. But his body is still very much the one of a child so…Wait and see.

Patrick Bateman :

"Y/N. It has come to my attention that we haven’t had sex yet. Care to explain why ?"

That man has the ego of a mansion. He wouldn’t be flirting, he’d be practical.

Who needs feelings ? Who needs flirting ? He knows you find him attractive. And you know he finds you attractive. Why waste time on things like flirting ?

Patrick Bateman is a business man.

He sees a relationship as unnecessary as long as it doesn’t bring him anything.

So, if he starts showing interest in you ?

…

..

.

Run.

[greenandsorrow]

IF THE MONSTER UNDER YOUR BED NEVER HURT YOU, MAYBE IT WAS THERE TO PROTECT YOU. 🎈

Pennywise bonding with a teen!reader/ platonic

-> For technical reasons (for the plot to continue plotting), this chap focuses mostly on the past! Another thing... I appreciate your feedback and comments more than you realise, so don't hesitate to interact with my fics 🥺❣️

-> It's giving Stockholm Syndrome, I'm aware, but that's why it's called fanFICTION.

-> I think it's funny how each chapter turns longer than the last. I'm getting hooked to my own writing I guess.

-> Pennywise the Dancing Clown: A trans-dimensional entity that shapeshifts and feeds on the fear -and sometimes the flesh- of kids and animals. IT hibernates for 25 to 27 years, then wakes up for 12 to 16 months, manipulating reality and slipping past the notice of adults.

Listen to: Ilomilo by Billie Eilish

~ 3 ~

Pennywise's POV 🎈

For five long years he has stayed awake, stalking the streets of Derry... waiting. Pennywise's usual cycle -hibernating after a killing and terrorizing spree- has been disrupted. This time, something -someone- kept him from descending to the deep slumber he usually craves.

He can't fully understand it, but it's because of you -the spark, the tug of connection he isn't familiar with. He's hunted countless children without a second thought. But with you... When he had expected you to cower and break, instead, you had resisted, you had played his twisted games and stared back at him without losing your soul. You had made him so curious. And that curiosity has gnawed at him enough to eat away at his rest, putting him in a sort of restless trance.

Every time he tries to slip beneath the Earth and to return to the darkness he came from, he feels a pull, a shudder that makes him cling to the surface for just a little more, for just another silly, little, stupid, meek year.

But as the years have been slipping by, something else has shifted in him as well -a subtle thing that feels almost like restraint. He still lurks in the shadows, his instincts are still telling him to frighten and to feed… but each time he sees you, that impulse falters. Instead of scaring you, he finds himself watching, almost guarding you from afar.

It feels a twinge of protectiveness -an urge that should definitely not exist in a creature made to hunt and devour. It doesn't get it, doesn't know why It lingers to ensure no danger befalls you, before It vanishes for the usual twenty-seven years. Almost as though, Pennywise the Clown is bound to you by something unexplainable, something that's kept him from retreating to sleep.

And It hates it.

The longer Pennywise watches, the more he wishes he didn't feel this way. But when he does try to stir up the familiar darkness within his core, it's dulled and quieted. All he knows is that his hunger has been overpowered by something else, something… protective.

And this fact is as unnatural as it is inappropriate, for no other than The Eater of Worlds.

1979 Derry, Maine

"Let's play another game..! I... There is... There's one we haven't played!"

The door creaked open and the clown stepped inside with a look you had never seen before on him. He wasn't smiling, wasn't performing... he was serious, unsettlingly so. A reminder that Pennywise wasn't -and isn't- a real clown, not in the way he pretends to be. Drool slipped from his red lips, glistening in the early morning light filtering through a crooked and badly shut window. He had probably just interrupted his breakfast -maybe to see you- and the hunger in his eyes was unmistakable.

"What kind of game?" his voice rumbled low, sending a chill across your skin. Your stomach tightened and you swallowed down the bile that rose. His piercing, yellow gaze left you feeling exposed.

You struggled to think of something, anything that could buy you more time. You had to say something, or else he would just get pissed and maybe have you for breakfast, instead of the one he was -so rudely- interrupted from.

"The first one to… If I can name one friend before you do, I get to leave. If you win… You get to do whatever you want with me." You knew you were cornered, but the words had come out anyway.

A strange look flickered across his face.

"What's your name?"

You frowned at what sounded like an absurd thing to ask out of the blue. "Y/n."

He giggled.

"Oh really?! And I'm Pennywise the Dancing Clown! Now we've both properly introduced ourselves... We can be friends!!!"

The point of the game was for you to win... but he just had to be a smartass.

"WE CAN'T- CAN'T BE FRIENDS!"

Pennywise pouted, almost like a child who's just been told no. You could see the contradiction in him as he considered your words -a clown who loves games, whose eyes practically gleam with excitement... and yet a predator who's always calculating, always one step ahead, keeping his prey exactly where he wants it. He knew you had just tried to outsmart him, yet he stepped closer, drawn in by the idea of another game. Your captor knew way more about you than you had realized -he had been watching you long before he had decided to 'kidnap' you.

Actually, your desperate answer made him leave his spot by the doorframe and advance toward you, crouching down to your eye level. You were paralyzed in fear he could probably smell. Even while holding your breath, you could feel his own on your face... It smelled like a butcher's shop.

"Don't. Shout. At. Me."

You nodded.

His drool was still glistening.

"You're not leaving either."

Another nod.

Then, he left the room.

Later, you'd realize he had let you have your way with that idiotic game purely out of boredom -a way to break up the ancient routine It'd followed since the beginning of time. But in that moment, you were just trying to survive.

What happened next is clouded in fragments, your memory blurred by fear -or maybe it's nostalgia. Somehow, over time, you became something to him. Indeed... a friend... of sorts.

As more days passed, you dared to start speaking more freely, filling the silence between you. You'd mention that you were cold, or hungry and he would tilt his head in that curious way of his. The next day, a bag of chips might appear on the bed. Once, you coughed, your throat parched. Fortunately, you managed to murmur "water". A few hours later, there it was -water in a bowl.

You found your book -Alice in Wonderland- left in a corner of the room. You read to him, each word trembling from your lips but never letting your voice falter fully. Pennywise would sit at the edge of the bed, sometimes even curling up like a cat -making you question if he had any bones-, his gaze fixed on you with an unnerving intensity. You were scared that when you finished reading the book, your life would end along with Alice's story.

But it didn't.

Still, sometimes you made desperate attempts to escape, bolting to the door. But he'd catch you with a taunting grin.

"Tag, you're it!" he'd chuckle, pinning you effortlessly. "Winner gets a prize!" he'd mock, as if the only reward he needed was to see your defeated face. But despite the mocking, the punishing appearances of the enormous cockroach stopped.

Even his gaze softened over time, slipping from the predator's yellow stare to an electric blue. The games also shifted -grew less cruel- and with them, so did he. He no longer seemed intent on hurting you and instead, observed you with a cautious neutrality.

Each day It brought you random bowls of food and water -most likely stolen from unsuspecting housewives... And sometimes, It would linger just outside the door, listening to your voice as you read to yourself.

One evening, you found yourself in the backyard, gazing up at a lilac sky. He had taken you there -unbeknownst to you- because he had brought a little snack inside and didn't want that to scare you.

You missed your old life with a pang that made your throat burn, a feeling so deep you didn't even notice him approaching. Without thinking, you pressed yourself into the clown's chest, burying your face against his ruffled collar. His strange scent -a mix of damp earth and something much older- washed over you and for the first time, you felt… safe with him.

He didn't hug you back, didn't mimic the gesture, but his voice murmured strange words about humans, their fragile nature and then the usual pet name he would call you: "little one".

It was then that you realized -he wouldn't hurt you. Not now. Not after all this time. But the realization broke something in you, a dam holding back all the emotions that had been bubbling under the surface.

"Y- You won. You won!" you stammered, choking back tears. "I'm your friend! Kill me now!"

You collapsed to your knees and he watched -bewildered- as tears streamed down your face. For a moment, he just stood there and watched you cry. Then, tentatively, he reached out in an almost inquisitive manner, to catch a tear with a long, white finger and taste it. He seemed to pause, reflecting on something only he could understand.

And then on another day, another attempt to escape. You had found a tiny window in the basement and tried to squeeze through it. But he noticed, his monstrous form scraping against the window's frame, shattering the glass in a frenzy to reach you.

When you saw the shards cutting into his skin... You froze, guilt flooding over you. You returned to his side while murmuring apologies, your hands trembling as you pulled the glass from his wounds, piece by piece.

He didn't attack you -just stared at you with a seriousness that sent chills down your spine. You knew in that moment, that you had crossed a line, that there was something between you that shouldn't have been there -because you could've left but didn't and because he could've killed you but didn't either.

When you finished pulling out the glass pieces, he was pouting at you. "Meanie..." he said and stuck his tongue out.

In the days that followed, Pennywise grew quieter. He watched you differently, as if seeing you with new eyes -ones that held a warmth you'd never expected. And in a way, it made you feel… comfortable. Comfortable enough that one day, you dared to reach out, brushing a hand along his white cheek.

He froze under your touch, as if unsure how to react -his usually fierce, yellow eyes softening to that strange blue. A low sound rumbled from him -somewhere between a purr and a growl- and he tilted his head, pressing into your hand like a cat, seeming almost… content.

But that wasn't right. He wasn't human and he definitely wasn't a pet. It was something ancient and boundless... and yet here It was, in its favorite form, accepting your touch and even starting to crave it. You pulled your hand away and his eyes opened, watching you in a way that felt unexpectedly intimate.

Time continued to flow onward.

You were now given strange meals in even stranger containers -a cracked bowl, a chipped mug, even a metal dish that you could have sworn was meant for a dog! He didn't seem to understand the details of human routines, didn't quite grasp what you needed beyond food and water. Yet he tried, even if it were in ways that felt utterly alien.

One evening, just as the sun began to dip, you asked if you could go outside again. You hadn't meant it as a real question, but in the morning, you found the door to the backyard unlocked.

You didn't dare leave the property, but you enjoyed how the air was fresh and the grass was soft and the sky a little cloudy. You stayed out until evening came.

Pennywise watched you from a distance, the colors of the twilight reflecting in his eyes, giving him an almost haunting beauty. He joined you, sitting in the overgrown grass... murmuring things in a language that sounded both ancient and musical, like whispers from an old spell.

In the quiet, you leaned against him, letting the stillness speak for you both. And though he didn't return the gesture, just like last time, he didn't pull away either. You looked up at the stars, feeling that deep ache for home... He patted your head in a comforting manner... and in that moment you could almost believe he was a friend.

You were just a kid, but even with your naivety, deep down you knew the truth -he was a monster that had killed before and would kill again. Yet for now, he seemed content with your presence, more curious than threatening. He tilted his head, watching you with softness in his gaze, as if pondering the mystery of your existence.

Somewhere in your heart, you felt the shift. Pennywise, the monster, had grown attached to you. And you… well, you couldn't deny the attachment had become mutual.

The days blurred together even more after that, filled with silly games, with quiet moments and fragments of a bond you could neither define nor understand.

And yet, even as you tried to push away the thought, you feared that someday he might wake up and no longer see you as friend, or even as a curiosity, but as something he was hungry for once more. Still, in the quiet of the night it felt like a small, tragic eternity -two beings from worlds apart, drawn together and held by something both tender and terrifying.

The last days in the house at Neibolt St were the strangest. Pennywise grew quiet, almost pensive, as if some hidden clock was winding down inside him. You noticed how his smiles and giggles were fading, as if the game he'd once delighted in was losing its thrill. Sometimes, he would simply watch you with an unreadable expression, his eyes that odd, bright blue that almost felt... sad.

You felt a pang of sympathy for him. For all his power and for all his malevolence, he was still somehow... alone. You had felt it in those strange moments when -almost wistfully- he'd listen to you talk and read.

The last night felt different, filled with an air of finality.

As you laid on your creaky bed, you noticed him standing in the corner of the room, like some sort of sleep paralysis demon. He was staring at you with an intensity that used to scare you three months ago. You felt the impulse to speak, but you knew he wouldn't respond. Instead, you held his gaze, feeling a strange sense of sorrow settle over you.

When he finally spoke, his voice was almost too soft to hear.

"Little one, when you leave…will you forget about me?"

The question caught you off guard and you didn't know how to answer. You wanted to tell him that you wouldn't, that everything you'd been through would be impossible to forget. But Pennywise knew that memories could fade, that as you grew older, the edges of this nightmare would blur.

You just stared at him, searching for the right words.

His eyes held a strange depth, a rawness you hadn't seen before. But he didn't wait for your answer. He simply turned, drifting back into the shadows as he whispered...

"The game isn't over."

And as he vanished, you were left in the cold darkness, with the silence pressing down around you like a final embrace. You clutched your knees to your chest, feeling the weight of those words settle heavily in your heart. You knew that even if you did forget him one day, some part of him would linger -an echo in the back of your mind, a memory that would never truly die.

That night, as sleep began to take you, you imagined him in the backyard... looking up at the stars and wondering if you'd remember.

It really felt like something precious had been taken away from you too early.

The next morning, you woke up in your own bed, in your home in Witchham Street.

For a moment you thought you'd died... Εveryone around you acted as though you'd never disappeared, as if those harrowing months at Neibolt hadn't happened at all. But there was one particular detail that hinted otherwise... A red balloon, floating silently at the edge of your bed.

That morning, you also got your period for the first time.

Stepping outside, the daylight was so bright and so warm, a stark contrast to the darkness you'd lived in for weeks. You squinted at the light, feeling almost as though you'd stepped into another world. It was hard to believe that just the night before, you had been in his arms -you had been seeking comfort from the monster who had held you captive.

Part of you seriously considered whether it had all been just a dream. Still, for days, you felt his absence like a missing heartbeat.

The world around you seemed much louder and the colors almost too vivid. Sometimes, you'd catch yourself looking for him in the shadows, half expecting to see his shape looming in the corners of your room.

At night you'd lie awake, thinking of his strange question...

"When you leave… will you forget me?"

You didn't know how to answer, even to yourself.

As much as you wanted to return to your old life and to move on from that nightmare, you felt a small part of you ache with the loss. You had lived through something impossible, something that had left you changed.

There was no going back to who you were before.

Over time though, the memory of him faded into something almost surreal. You didn't speak of it to anyone -the words felt fragile and sacred, as if telling the story might diminish it.

But the craziest thing that happened? You continued living as if everything was perfectly normal.

You only thought of Pennywise again that Christmas, in 1979...

The holidays had come to Derry and your family decorated the house with lights and garlands, the scents of pine and cinnamon clinging to every corner. There were gifts under the tree and snow falling outside the windows. Everything was festive and happy.

But when you woke up in your cozy little bedroom -on the 24th-, near the foot of your bed laid a single, crumpled sunflower. It must've been from the patch in the backyard where you'd sometimes sit with him, where the wildflowers had managed to grow despite the gloom. You held it gently, careful not to disturb its fragile petals. It felt like a memento of your time together -a reminder that what you had shared was real, however bizarre and terrifying.

On some nights, when the world was silent, you'd find yourself reaching for that sunflower, feeling the dried petals crumble beneath your fingertips. You'd lie awake, wondering where he was -if he still remembered, if he still waited. And though you'd never say it out loud, a small part of you hoped he did. Because no matter how much time passed, no matter how much you grew or changed, there was one truth you could never deny... He had left his mark on you, a scar that you'd carry forever.

And somewhere out there, you felt certain, Pennywise was waiting.

In the years that followed, you held onto those fleeting memories. They had a strange, magnetic pull -a mix of terror and fascination. You couldn't help but feel that if you let them slip, if you completely forgot, you'd be leaving behind a piece of yourself.

The Losers helped ground you.

They were your anchors to the present, pulling you back to laughter, to familiar faces and to the warmth of friends who shared their own scars and secrets. They never asked about the nightmares that sometimes made you stir, the shadows you occasionally saw out of the corner of your eye. And you never told them.

But there were also moments -quiet and lonely moments- when the weight of it all crept back, haunting you with unspoken questions. You'd wonder if he thought of you, if he missed you in his own twisted way. Did he ever feel the same hollow ache?

And deep down, you even wondered what might happen if he came back. Would he be nice and protecting? Or would he be just as monstrous and alien as before?

On some other nights, when the wind picked up, you swore you could feel his gaze -a distant yet familiar watchfulness that was both comforting and unnerving. It was as though he was still guarding you.

And so you moved forward, feeling the tug of those memories lessen but never fully vanish.

Would he stay away? Or would there come a day when that half-remembered monster with the childlike heart would find his way back to you?

1984 Derry, Maine

You tell yourself you hate Pennywise.

You tell yourself that, because you have to believe it is true, because that's the only way to move on. But deep inside your mind you can still feel him -his question echoing faintly in you, lesser and lesser each year, like a bond stretching thinner and thinner.

Currently, you're pondering over a glass of Cherry Coke. Yesterday, Bill had asked you about your dreams. He wanted to know if the clown that took away his little brother haunted you as well. You had simply shaken your head 'no', but the truth was the complete opposite.

Until you turned fifteen, Pennywise was still in your dreams. You remember those dreams even more vividly than your days in the house on Neibolt St...

You always had a strong imagination, which came with vivid dreams and equally vivid nightmares. In those dreams, Pennywise would come to you whenever you were scared. He'd pull you close in that tender way he never did in reality, fighting off every dark shape in your mind and then wrapping you in a kind of warmth you can't explain with words.

Sometimes, you'd apologize to him in those dreams -feeling an unnamed guilt- and he'd boop your nose with a soft and soothing "It's okie-dokie, Y/n."

Sometimes there'd be a red balloon waiting by your bed when you woke up, or maybe floating outside your school window. And on one specific evening, when the sadness felt like too much to bear, he appeared at the edge of your bed instead of the balloon. He hugged you and stayed with you until morning came, his glowing eyes softly illuminating the darkness. For once, they didn't scare you.

But as you grew up, you began to dream of him differently. In the nightmares, he'd chase you with a crooked smile and eyes that were dark with hunger, until you couldn't run anymore. Then you'd turn, tears streaming down your face, pleading with him and saying you were sorry over and over. You could never remember why you were sorry, but you knew that somewhere deep inside... you had hurt him. And somehow, you couldn't shake the feeling that it was you who'd let him down.

You tried to explain this to him, even though it was only in dreams -your Penny, who had watched over you. But he still seemed sad. So the dreams began to fade and he stopped showing himself altogether. Even then, you could still feel his presence, as if he was looking over you but choosing to stay hidden.

The few glimpses you have left are rather strange. Once, you had a dream with an uncanny intensity. It was the first different kind of dream -a dream where Pennywise was there as well, but puzzled, as you began to see him through a different lens. It left you feeling unsettled. Not sure what it meant, only that it somehow changed everything.

And still, each time you're scared, you call out for him in your dreams. You search, even while knowing he won't appear like he used to. Maybe it's because you had once blurted out that he was a killer, that he took innocent people like Georgie. It's all so blurry now, all these things you can't quite remember but can't entirely forget either.

You miss him.

You know Georgie's disappearance and so many others are somehow linked to that clown. But if his pattern is to stay on Earth for a year and hibernate for two decades (like Ben figured out), why then, hasn't he gone to sleep in five? It's almost as though he can't bring himself to leave.

Maybe you are asking too many questions. Or maybe you are starting to find the answers...

You're just a girl. And he… he's a boy in a strange, unfathomable way.

There are times when you think he's gone for good. But then there are other times -like when Oscar, the thick orange cat you've taken to caring for, curls up by you in a way that feels just a little too familiar. His stare, intense and watchful, feels more like an any ordinary cat.

You call him Oscar, but maybe -just maybe- you know it's him.

masterpost☁️

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[dpspcehntr]

In the spirit of being premenstrual and irritable, what do you think would be the cause of the LaDS and MCs first serious argument and who would snap first?

For Zayne, I believe it would be MC getting injured and Zayne being fed up with her "reckless" behaviour fighting wanderers. Even though he knows how capable they are, it's borne out of worry.

Xavier is so chill, I can't imagine him being angry even if MC gives him a Pennywise makeover while he snoozes and says nothing as he walks down the street looking like nightmare material. What would set him off, though? MC eats the last hotpot?

Sylus would snap because MC threatened to set him on fire one too many times lol

And Rafayel... The clouds aren't the right shape? MC cuddled her plushies more than she hugged him? The list of possibilities are endless with this dramatic fish boy, but what would make him really angry and not just pouty?

Hello again friend! Arguments with the boys I feel are rare, mostly because all of them seem to communicate well for the most part. Take all of this with a grain of salt as I am not an expert!

Zayne is kind of a no brainer. The first serious argument would be over MC’s reckless behavior during a mission. It would start as a stern “talking” to as MC’s doctor to which MC just blows him off. It would turn into a major fight because MC does’t take how serious the situation could’ve been. I don’t think it reached screaming match but the folks at the hospital do start to worry about the tone of his and MCs voices. Obviously Zayne is going to continue to be concerned for her health so she instead has to do a bit of work to understand where he’s coming from and be nicer when he does lecture her on her health.

Xavier is a tricky one cause I don’t think the thought of an argument is even possible for him. If anything it’s MC who is upset with something and lashes out. It’s because of his easy going nature that makes MC even angrier. Eventually they talk it out but yea an argument between these two will be because he hardly ever expresses his own emotions and goes for soothing and problem solving first.

Sylus would have an argument with MC about not taking the dangers of the N109 zone seriously. It would be something MC sees as not that deep but he would be quite upset at how little she cares about her well-being. Again not a yelling fit but you both don’t speak to each other for a few days after. Eventual apologies occur and then a discussion on how dangerous the N109 zone really is and reaching an agreement where MC can protect herself but not be smothered by Sylus’ need to be in control.

Rafayel early into his relationship with MC would have some small disagreement that he just harbors on for a while. He just kinda disappears for a few days and when he does resurface the issue has only gotten bigger. It would be a very tense and heated conversation for quite a while before both of them come to an understanding. After that, they both bring anything that bothers them to each other right away and hash it out.

Yea this stuff is not my forte but I tried 😭! I love angst but I’m so bad at it. I hope I did this some justice!

My ask box is open! Send me your NSFW head cannons/thoughts/confessions about the LADS main 4! I might even write some of them up!

[getmeoutofhell]

Clowns in the Slasher House

warnings: clowns, body parts & cussing!

a/n: i’ve been wanting to do this so i hope you enjoy this! leave comments and request.

they all have their own separate rooms and floor in house.

you guessed it, they live in the basement. the basement has to be cleaned every damn friday, because if not, it’s gonna smell like ass and dodo.

now, let’s talk about who’s in the slasher house that’s a clown:

art the clown

penny

pennywise

the little girl

art & the little girl are the messiest out of all of them, and i stand by that. i mean, penny is very, very questionable, but art is more questionable.

sometimes they all play hide and seek, and invite you the play as well. penny is the best at it, since he can literally disappear if he so chooses to. but you had to tell him not to because that’s cheating.

pennywise is usually gone so he doesn’t join often with you guys. but when he does, he’s not the best at the game, but definitely not the worst.

art sometimes uses his hands to cover his face, pretending that he’s hiding. you think it’s funny and adorable, and you sometimes play along with it, pretending you can’t see him.

“oh dangit, i have no idea where art could be. i guess i’ll go look upstairs.” you see him giggle like a school girl before going up stairs.

the little girl likes you, and she’s more comfortable around you & art than anyone else in the house. she likes to tug on your pants leg if she wants something. you still haven’t thought of a name for her yet, but you’re working on it.

another thing about art is that you have to remind him to take his dirty ass clown shoes off when he enters the house. they’re covered with mud and other shit (literally) so it’s a constant thing you have to do to protect the rugs and carpet in the house.

you don’t have to worry about the other adult clowns and their shoes because they can make the dirt disappear in a blink of an eye.

art & the little girl make a lot of weird gifts and passes them to everyone. sometimes it’s a dead persons liver, sometimes it’s someone’s big toe that art collected. you’ll never know what you may get with him.

weekly showers. i don’t care how much art fusses his stanky ass is getting in that damn shower. every time you make art get in the shower, the other clowns laugh at him. arts reaction is to just flip them off, so that’s entertaining to watch.

penny likes to scare the others all the time. you can never get used to it because it’s always something different with him all the time. pennywise sometimes joins in on pennys little pranks but often penny does it to pennywise.

water gun fights!! especially since it’s hot out, it’s the perfect time to have some fun outside in the sun. just don’t forget the sun screen. i don’t know if the clowns would wear swim trunks but maybe you can convince them.

how can i forget the board game nights!! well art…he doesn’t like the board games much. but when he does play, he cheats. well, try’s to at least.

let’s say you’re playing uno and you’re sitting by art. you see out the corner of your eye art peek over next to you at your cards. “art don’t you dare.” he smiles before looking away.

the little girl is smarter than most people realize. she knows a lot, and does a lot. she knows when you’re depressed and sometimes will sit next to you as a type of comfort.

they like to play tag and run around the house every damn where and tear up shit.

*glass shatters* “oh my god what broke now?” you say annoyed.

should i do a part 2?

[witherby]

Hiya

Hiya El!! Just have a few questions if you don't mind. Sorry it seems s long and you'll probably not answer a lot of them but these are mostly just things I was curious about and I didn't want to send them one by one.

For Mouse:

~How were they when they started teething

~How did they come up with the Truce Juice concept in the first place? Like what inspired them?

~Can or will they murder someone if they hurt the batfam badly? Like the opponent was way too op and Mouse had to kill them to protect their family and home? Kinda like this ---> https://youtube.com/shorts/AP9izD4XWXQ?si=lGQ2qfK3VXB2JPXh where they dont regret or feel good about it, they're just...tired..

For Punchline:

~Would she like Sundrop/Moondrop from FNAF? What about Laughing Jack from Creepypasta? Pennywise from IT? Basically all the clowns/jesters from different fandoms, murderous or not, how does she feel about them? I feel like she'll vibe with Sundrop/Moondrop for some reason-

~Punchline meeting Ronald McDonald for the first time. How she feeling about him?

-🍨

Sundae, I love the influx of questions! I'm happy to answer them for you.

Littlest Wayne inquiries:

1. How was Flittermouse when they started teething?

Irritable! As an infant they were pretty quiet. Very little to complain about in their eyes — food, clean diapers, lots of arms to snuggle into, shiny toys to play with, etc. — so the sudden crying and lack of willingness to eat normally was a shock to the entire family. They figured out pretty fast that Mouse was teething, though, and adjusted accordingly.

Everybody except Bruce, who did not super enjoy being their sentient teething ring. He put up with it, though, because seeing you cry was worse than dealing with tiny teeth marks in his ankles.

You can read more about Mouse's mouth shenanigans in Teething, and Air Jail, and First Steps!

2. How did Flittermouse come up with the idea for Truce Juice?

During a hostage situation! They were representing the Wayne family for a charity auction when Penguin and his men crashed the event to rob the wealthy benefactors. Mouse overheard a couple of Penguin's long-time henchmen complaining about having to threaten restaurant owners in order to be served food and lamenting the days when they could just stroll into places like civilians. The wheels started turning then, and they confirmed the need for a "villain-friendly" eatery when getting held up in another hostage situation a month later by the Riddler, who muttered something about how much he missed getting breakfast bagels he didn't have to make himself.

A year, several cooking classes, and a very long and tedious hiring process later, they had a business!

3. Would Flittermouse ever take a life to save their family?

Fantastic question. If they had to, I think so! I can't think of a situation in which they would need to do that, or be put in a position that required taking a life to save someone else at the moment!

I think it would really, deeply, terribly fuck them up if they did, though. They would be forever changed as a person, and I don't think they'd come out of the shadows for a very long time afterwards.

Punchline inquiries:

1. Would she like the Sundrop/Moondrop daycare attendants?

Yeah!! Sunny is a performer, whose entire purpose is to entertain and amuse his charges! Punchline is a performer, whose entire purpose is to entertain and amuse her father! They're both clown/circus-themed, too! I think they'd get along extremely well, with the only clashing points being Punchline's tendency to get a laugh through violent means.

Moondrop, to the best of my knowledge, though he is another circus-themed unit and literally part of Sunny, wouldn't get along so well with her. Punchline only sleeps when her body shuts down and succumbs to exhaustion, and Moony's job as the nighttime/nap-time attendant is to put children to sleep. She would be very resistant to a nap, and he, famously, does not respond well to disobedience!

2. How would Punchline feel interacting with Laughing Jack, Pennywise, or IT?

Not great!

Punchline can respect a jester theme! That's not the issue! She's just not super big on murdering children or secretly being dark Eldritch abominations who instill terror and fear into the hearts of all. Clowns are supposed to be funny! If you're not getting a laugh, why are you dressed like a clown? She doesn't find them entertaining, which is a death sentence to her father.

3. How does Punchline feel about Ronald McDonald?

This clown is everywhere but he just sells happy meals! Not a single joke in the repertoire? What a capitalist loser! Take the clown shoes off if you aren't gonna work for them!! Say something funny!!!!

[slasherstories123]

Hello there! I saw that your starting to write slashers as dads so I got an idea! Jason voorhees, Micheal myrs, pennywise, and art the clown (of u write for him) reacting to kid reader being bullied (also this is when the slasher already took him in) how would the slashers react to this:)? Ty and have a great day

Jason, Michael, Pennywise, and Art the clown’s reaction to kid! Reader being bullied

Tagslist: @dootys @callmemeelah @mehidktbh @slash3rl0v3r @the-anxious-youth @mrs-heelshire @alexxavicry @vexeliers-breakroom @naxxsstuff @beel-mcburger @emychan @charliedawn @sleepypersonblog @slasherscrybaby @anim3l0v3r @kawaistrawberry21 @l0sercat

Jason Voorhees

Jason was looking everywhere for you.

He thought you might’ve gotten lost in the forest, it even cause his mother to freak out in his head thinking you got trapped in one of his traps set up for the trespassers.

Ever since he took you in he set up more traps for trespassers so they won’t hurt you, he didn’t want to think of the sight of you being hurt

Once he heard laughing in the distance, he stopped walking, slowly hiding behind the trees to see what was happening.

A group of kids were picking on you, he could tell that you were trying your best not to cry.

“Knock it off! Or I’m telling my Dad!” You yelled. One of the kids laughed at you, “Aw what’s your Dad gonna do? He dosen’t even know you’re here!”

Jason was livid, seeing those kids bully you reminded him of himself. He wasn’t gonna let that happen to you. Jason silently walked up behind you, you didn’t feel the dark presence radiate off Jason, but the kids sure did.

Once they saw him they ran away in fear. You felt him pick you up, it took you by surprise but you still hugged him.

“Thank you dad.”

Michael Myers

If you bully his child it’s over for you. But clearly a few kids didn’t get the message.

When it comes to you Michael will do anything to protect you, that’s why he watches from afar to make sure you’re okay and no one hurts you

He lost track of you since you were running away from a bunch of kids.

Once he caught up to you and the kids, he watched them from afar. Seeing them push you around while you begged them to stop. “Stop it!” They didn’t listen.

Once you fell on the ground you thought you saw him in the distance, but once you got up he was gone. You then heard a few of the kids run away

You turned around, seeing Michael having one of the kids in a death grip by his shirt while looking deep into his eyes. The kid tried to pry himself away. “Dad wait!” You yelled, grabbing onto his arm

Michael let out a huff towards you before dropping the kid, he ran away along with his other friends.

He then looked at you, your hands were still on his arm, you quickly pulled them away. You didn’t hear him, but you could see him let out a big sigh from his chest. Placing his hand out for you to take

You took it, now walking home with him.

Pennywise

You must be god himself if you think you can get away with bullying Pennywise’s child. There’s a lot of bully’s in Derry and besides the losers club they like to pick on you

A group of girls were chasing after you on their bikes while laughing at you. You managed to escape from their attack, trying to pour trash all over you.

“Come back y/n!” One of them screamed.

You kept running until you mad wit to the sewers. Hoping that your father Pennywise was still in there.

One of the girls let out a scoff. “Going in the sewers huh Y/N? No wonder why you smell like shit!” That caused the others to laugh too.

A loud growl made them all stop laughing, one of them even going into the sewers themselves. A balloon floated in front of them, once it popped Pennywise bolted towards them with his razor sharp teeth

The girls screamed before running away. Even though he wanted to chase after then, you came first.

“You can come out now little human.” You slowly poked your head out from behind one of the corners, his yellow eyes then turning back to blue,

“They won’t hurt you as long as I’m here.” He’ll make sure to terrorize them in their dreams once you fall asleep.

Art the Clown

Not many people know your father and that was okay, considering the fact that he does leave a lot, but he comes back rather quickly just to make sure you’re safe

Art has his own way of taking care of you unlike the others, even though his ways are wicked, you still love him as a father

A boy wouldn’t stop following you, calling you names as you tried to walk back home. Art heard him too

Once you passed an alleyway, Art jumped in front of the boy with his trash bag. Waving at him. You turned around and let out a sigh of relief

The boy was confused, even calling Art names too, but names don’t affect him, instead, it fills his ego

Art held up his finger, telling him to wait as he looked in his trash bag. Knowing him, he was probably gonna pick out a weapon of some sort

He pulled out a fire gun up in the air like it was a trophy. Then pointing it at him. The boy put his hands up in defense, once Art pulled the trigger, the fire shot out, nearly hitting the boy if he didn’t back up in time, screaming for help while running away from the two of you

Art nodded his head when the boy left, putting the fire gun back in his bag before excitingly extending his hand out towards you.

You smiled and grabbed it, you both slipped down the street together to go home.

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Supernatural Masterlist:

Dean Winchester & little sister!reader:

Stay With Me

Too Old

Liar

Liar Part 2

Protector

Sweet

Priorities

Face Your Fears

The Best Present

Too Much

Too Much (little sister version)

Too Much (Dean’s POV)

Tortured Headcannons

A Family Lost, a Family Found

Sleep Tight

Ler!Dean Headcannons

Sharing is Caring

Wandering

Sam Winchester & little sister!reader:

Betrayal

Betrayal Part 2

Pride, Prejudice, and Pennywise

Ler!Sam Headcannons, Part 2

Lee!Sam Winchester Headcannons

Safe Distance

Squeeze Once, Squeeze Twice

Winchester brothers & little sister!reader:

Just a Girl

Shotgun

Playing Hooky

Book Dragon

Jolly Holidays

Thunder

Band-aids and Biker Gangs

Not Alone

Accidents and Promises

Safety First

Universal Love

Hey Jude

Big Brother

Shots and Surprises

Workout Buddy

Where to Run

Sleep Tight

Burn Out

Wedding Jitters

Useless

Birthday Pie

Migraine Ministrations

Look Alike

A Real Family

The Safest Place

My Favorite Thing

One Call Away

Another

Board Game Night

Pointless Protection

An Illness of a Different Kind

Uncaged Masterlist

Winchester Brothers & John & Reader

Old Blood, New Family

Castiel & reader

My Angel

Gabriel & teen!reader

(TFW & Gabriel’s daughter!reader): Chances, Chances part 2

(Gabriel & Winchester!reader) Guardian Trickster

Kevin Tran x Winchester!reader

Running with You

Various Characters

Adoption Agency (Dean, Sam, reader, Claire, Charlie, Jody, Ben, Cassie Je (oc)

Hate You (Kidding) (Crowley & daughter)

Picking Sides (TFW + Mary & Winchester!reader)

Team Free Will & Winchester!reader

Concerning Habits

[romance-sick]

The newest addition to my bedroom💖💖

I’ll probably get a better frame for it, but LOOK AT THAT 🥵🫠

I’m dying. And now I’m dead.

[planetcleer]

eddie kaspbrak loves cooking shows. like, he loves them. the food network is his favorite channel, and he watches everything from diners drives ins & dives to good eats to the pioneer woman, not to mention all the different cooking & baking competitions (gbbo is, ofc, his favorite) that crop up every year. eddie kaspbrak loves cooking shows, but eddie kaspbrak doesn’t know how to cook. it’s hilarious! it’s hysterical, even! because sure, for that brief period in college between sonia & myra, he learned some basics, like toast and grilled cheese and scrambled eggs, but for all he watches he’s pretty clueless in the kitchen. ask him to roast potatoes or make a soup from scratch and watch him flounder. he’s never had to do anything like that himself before, you know. he’s never been allowed to.

and it sucks, it does, because food is a form of love. and he knows that because, while he doesn’t have many memories of his dad, almost all of the ones he does have revolve around food. frank kaspbrak loved cooking. he loved best cooking polish recipes from his youth, stuffed cabbage and haluski (eddie’s favorite) and pierogis and chalka bread (eddie’s second favorite) and borscht, and eddie loved to watch. frank would hold eddie on his hip and let him see it all, even let him help sometimes, and when eddie got a little too big to be held, frank would drag a chair in from the dining room to the stove and hoist him onto it so he could stand and watch every step. while he chopped vegetables or showed eddie how to bread pork or worked on dough, frank would tell stories about his childhood, and how he learned to cook from his mother and his grandmother, and how he would cook with eddie until the recipes were all stuck in his head like they were stuck in how own, because they had never been written down before, and it made eddie feel close to him, made him giggle to think about his big strong dad being small and standing on a chair and watching just like him.

frank kaspbrak loved cooking, and then he got sick. very sick. the last memory eddie has of his dad is curling up with him in his hospital bed and listening to him whisper-rasp promises, with what was left of his ravaged lungs, of fresh chalka and pączki and haluski and potato pancakes once he got better. the trouble was that he never did.

lots of things changed after he was gone. eddie learned quickly that his dad hadn’t lied—none of his family’s recipes had ever been written down. he also learned that hospital food was not love, and neither was takeout, but that even though it was different, his mother’s cooking was, and even more so, over time she taught him that not letting him too close to the hot stove or sharp knives was love, too. cooking for him and not with him was love, keeping track of his allergies was love, teaching him to fear food that wasn’t good for him was love, because taking care of him was love.

myra seemed to know those things inherently, and when he married her, she showed him that she loved him in the same ways. she looked after him, she cooked for him, she made sure he stayed away from too much sodium and sugar and butter, she protected him from everything including himself.

and all the while, eddie kaspbrak loved cooking shows. well, he loves cooking shows. in the hospital, after pennywise, he watches a lot, and he learns, but not how to baste a turkey or throw together a corn salad. no, he learns that actually, takeout can be love when your friends sneak it into your hospital room to cheer you up, and yeah, okay, maybe hospital food can be love, too, when you have someone who will make you laugh about it or split your jell-o with.

he divorces myra once he’s out. his friends support him, and richie is quick to offer his home for eddie to stay while he gets back on his feet. eddie is just as quick to accept. they’ve always been best friends, haven’t they? he moves in more than he crashes. it sort of feels like they’re kids again. and, you know, richie tozier loves cooking. for the first time in thirty five years, eddie feels compelled to watch, and so most nights he perches on the other side of the island while richie pretends to be on a cooking show, just for him. it’s a fucking riot! but it’s something else, too. it’s special, because they laugh, and they talk about anything and everything and nothing, and they share their meals together every night, and it makes eddie feel close to him.

eventually, richie starts to involve eddie, calling him his lovely assistant, or his little sous chef. he walks eddie through the best way to cut up potatoes, or how to do a dry rub, or how to make an egg wash. eventually, he has eddie start sautéing the onions, or dredge and bread the pork chops, or throw together a fucking roux all on his own, without having to be shown. eventually, he starts to ask what eddie wants him to do, just as much as the reverse, and renames their imaginary cooking show after them both.

one year to the day after eddie moves in, richie shows him recipes he found online for chalka bread and some cabbage and noodle dish, i think it’s called haluski or something? whatcha think, chef k? eddie knows that richie knows exactly what haluski is. richie’s already gone and bought all the ingredients for both, and so they make them for dinner that night. richie lets eddie take the lead, and later he reaches across the table to hold his hand when eddie starts crying after the first bite. it tastes just like his father’s recipe, you know. it tastes like love and comfort and home. they wash up together after dinner, eddie scrubbing and richie drying as he yaps on in one of his voices, and eddie has to stop right in the middle of it to grab richie’s face with his soapy hands and kiss him. the rest of the dishes are left forgotten until the morning.

so yeah, eddie kaspbrak loves cooking shows, and he loves cooking, and holy shit, he loves richie tozier, too.

[sanctum-of-ramshackle]

🤡WE ALL FLOAT DOWN HERE!!!🎈

[TWST AU]: An MC/Yuu who knows how to serve a smile, and sensing everyone’s deepest fears…

[Synopsis]: In this timeline, the MC/Yuu here is more on the deranged life form that can shape-shift into anyone, cause horrific illusions and devours its feared victims.

[Gender Neutral!Pennywise the Dancing Clown!MC/Yuu]

[(A/N)]: Oh my god. This banger of a song was a great inspiration for this AU. If you’re a fan of horror and a metal head, check out Ice Nine Kills. The band creates great music retelling horror classics and novels through the lyrics.

[(A/N #2)]: I know it's not October or near Halloween, but whatever. I don't think the story was taken place during October.

[Ice Nine Kills - IT Is The End ft. Peter Wasilewski & Buddy Schaub]

"On a pouring day, Night Raven College had their classes canceled for the day due to a heavy rain storm. Kalim Al Asim, the Dorm Leader of Scarabia was rushing back to his dorm with only a yellow raincoat on him to protect himself from the fallen drops. He was rushing back because he doesn't want to worry Jamil for staying out late. As he hurries on his trail, a voice catches his attention, leading back to a sewer drain."

"Hello? Anyone? I'm stuck down here."

"Kalim had been warned by Jamil and his family to not trust the noises he encounters when being alone himself and never follow through."

"Though, he followed the eerily calm voice and he peeked down at the drain, something came to view..."

IT!MC/Yuu: *Appears in the storm drain*

Kalim: *Gasps and backs up*

IT!MC/Yuu: Please call the DWP. I’m stuck in here.

♦︎◇🤡🎈♦︎◇🤡🎈♦︎◇🤡🎈♦︎◇🤡🎈♦︎◇🤡🎈♦︎◇ 🤡🎈♦︎◇🤡🎈♦︎◇🤡🎈♦︎◇🤡🎈♦︎◇

[Headmaster Crowley's office]

IT!MC/Yuu: After 27 years of being dormant back in Derry, Maine and being defeated by adults who roasted me, I’m now stuck in a world where kids have magic. Worst of all, I'm a teen myself!

Crowley: Now now, child. There is no need to have such anger.

IT!MC/Yuu: *Shape-shifts into a grotesque spider-like creature* I’m gonna rip your limbs apart and devour your flesh!

Crowley: *Hides behind Crewel* They’re not an ordinary student.

Crewel: *Sighs* No, really? I never recall a monstrous spider clown registering for Night Raven College.

♦︎◇🤡🎈♦︎◇🤡🎈♦︎◇🤡🎈♦︎◇🤡🎈♦︎◇🤡🎈♦︎◇ 🤡🎈♦︎◇🤡🎈♦︎◇🤡🎈♦︎◇🤡🎈♦︎◇

[Cafeteria]

Ace: You can't eat regular food?

IT!MC/Yuu: I can. Just prefer a certain type of food.

Deuce: I don't think they serve that kind.

IT!MC/Yuu: It's fine. I still can drink.

Jack: Aren't you underaged?

IT!MC/Yuu: My boy, I'm way passed the drinking age limit before you were born.

♦︎◇🤡🎈♦︎◇🤡🎈♦︎◇🤡🎈♦︎◇🤡🎈♦︎◇🤡🎈♦︎◇ 🤡🎈♦︎◇🤡🎈♦︎◇🤡🎈♦︎◇🤡🎈♦︎◇

IT!MC/Yuu: Oh my god. This child…I cannot sense any fear. I can’t even taste any to begin with.

Cheka: *Giggles* You’re a funny clown. What’s your name?

IT!MC/Yuu: …MC/Yuu. You can call me Penny. Where are your parents, little child?

Cheka: I’m here to visit Ojima!

IT!MC/Yuu: Where are they?

[After hours of searching]

[Savanaclaw Dorm]

[Leona's room]

Leona: *Sleeping in his room*

IT!MC/Yuu: Leona~

Leona: Huh?

IT!MC/Yuu: *Shows him a face*

Leona: *Jumps out of bed* What was that?!

IT!MC/Yuu: Leona, your nephew was looking for you and... *Covers Cheka's ears* I'm not good with children, if you know what I mean.

Cheka: Ojima! Penny gave me an animal balloon.

♦︎◇🤡🎈♦︎◇🤡🎈♦︎◇🤡🎈♦︎◇🤡🎈♦︎◇🤡🎈♦︎◇ 🤡🎈♦︎◇🤡🎈♦︎◇🤡🎈♦︎◇🤡🎈♦︎◇

[During the Stage in Playful Land ~Dancing Puppets and the Fantastical Theme Park~]

Grim: Why do I need to wear this stupid rain jacket? It smells weird.

IT!MC/Yuu: You’re part of my show. We have to give these folks some entertainment. Just act like an innocent little kid named Georgie.

Grim: Whose Georgie-

[Then the show starts.]

IT!MC/Yuu:

Allow me to introduce myself

They call me the dancing clown

And you must be Georgie

Did you hear my circus was in town?

It seems I have your boat here

The storm blew her off track

Just reach your hands down here and take it

If you really want it back

Oh, Georgie

You can trust me, sweet child

Step right this way

I'm at your service with a smile

Believe me

IT's nothing to fear

When I feast on your flesh

You'll see that we all float down...

Here!

Pick through the past you'll see

I'm living history

Come one come all

'Cause I'm starved for the kill

Prey on the pure at heart

Feed on their body parts

I've got some big fucking shoes to fill

Follow me and I'll show you the truth

Devastation as the dead lights defuse

Follow me and I'll show you the truth

Face down in the fountain of youth

Just like Georgie

IT's all out of hand

So join me

Da-da-da-da-da-da-da

Catch me at the big top

Buried underground

You know I'm not clowning around

Even with a smile

From ear to fucking ear

IT's everything you know

IT's everything you fear

A carnival of carnage

That much you assume

But it's more than just a costume and red balloons

IT's coming back around every 27 years

IT's everything you know

IT's everything you fear

So let go

You know what makes me smile?

Devoured juveniles

Their innards tangled in my twisted grin

Chuckled so hard I choked

Call it an inside joke

They say that laughter's the best medicine

Follow me and I'll show you the truth

Face down in the fountain of youth

Just like Georgie

IT's all out of hand

So join me

Da-da-da-da-da-da-da

Catch me at the big top

Buried underground

You know I'm not clowning around

Even with a smile

From ear to fucking ear

IT's everything you know

IT's everything you fear

A carnival of carnage

That much you assume

But it's more than just a costume and red balloons

IT's coming back around every 27 years

IT's everything you know

IT's everything you fear

So let go

IT is the end

IT's come again

Believe IT or not

You'll all disappear

IT cannot be fought

We all float down here

IT is the end

IT's come again

Believe IT or not

You'll all disappear

IT cannot be fought

We all float down here

IT is the end

IT's come again

Believe IT or not

You'll all disappear

IT cannot be fought

We all float down here

We all float down here

IT's come again

Believe IT or not

You'll all disappear

IT cannot be fought

We all float down here

Fellow Honest & Gidel: *Holding each other, shaking in fear*

IT!MC/Yuu: You scared of a little clown~? *Grins sinisterly*

♦︎◇🤡🎈♦︎◇🤡🎈♦︎◇🤡🎈♦︎◇🤡🎈♦︎◇🤡🎈♦︎◇ 🤡🎈♦︎◇🤡🎈♦︎◇🤡🎈♦︎◇🤡🎈♦︎◇

Malleus: I must say, you're truly are fearful for many.

IT!MC/Yuu: And you don't find me terrifying?

Malleus: I have not.

IT!MC/Yuu: ...You know, I can sense your fear is not having to make any friends outside of your domain because they seem to be frightened by your presence. And it has something to deal with your late mother.

Malleus: *Glares at them* In what sense are you speaking of? What knowledge you have of my family?

IT!MC/Yuu: *Shrugs* All I'm saying you should speak with your guardian. I'm just a clown from another world.

[Shit. IT!MC/Yuu entered the trope of "Enemies-to-Friends".]

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[doodleswithangie]

@reddieweek day 1: mythical creatures

I started this on actual Day 1, and as usual it spiraled into something much bigger than the simple doodle I started with, but I definitely enjoyed thinking it through and finding my take on the concept!

[Image description: A Werewolf/Vampire AU featuring Richie Tozier and Eddie Kaspbrak from the "IT" movies. The AU is detailed with handwritten notes and captioned vignettes. Alt text is provided, and copied and reformatted for easier reading under the cut.]

Copied Alt Text, reformatted for easier reading

Image one:

Young half-shifted werewolf Richie and vampire Eddie pose for the camera. Bulleted notes read:

Derry 1.0

The Losers are all some sort of mythological creature (which isn't that weird in this Derry).

Richie is a werewolf who stays half-shifted around his friends (but hides on the full moon).

Eddie is a vampire who carries blood bags from the pharmacy in his fanny pack (less messy that way).

Richie mimes Eddie's fangs and taunts him with puns as Eddie pulls out a medical blood bag. The dialogue reads:

"Stopping for a quick bite?" "You know I- hey wait-" "Kinda sucks to be you." "You suck! And you already have fangs! Quit that!" "Fangs for noticing!" "HISS!"

Image two:

Portraits of Richie and Eddie as unhappy adults in their human and creature forms. Bulleted notes read:

Derry 2.0

Richie

Intensely guards/hides werewolf side

Very hairy even as a human

High stress situations or the full moon will involuntarily shift him

Eddie

High neck suit collar to hide the bite

Strict diet for basic nutrients

Ironically more vampiric the more he suppresses the urge to feed.

Black ink seeps up the page, with the caption, "Pennywise forces them to reckon with the parts of themselves they've hidden away…"

Image three:

Set against an inky background are scenes of a bloodstained full vampire Eddie, full wolf Richie in the Deadlights, and wolf Richie hunching protectively over Eddie. They are captioned, "Eddie kills and drains the Leper. Richie fully shifts in the deadlights. Eddie saves Richie, and in turn Richie saves Eddie."

Set against a bright background are scenes of after the fight: wolf Richie sleeps as Eddie waits with Richie's folded clothes, and of them recreating their pose from the first image, touching foreheads. They are captioned, "Post-battle nap and swim in the quarry before hightailing it out of Derry."

Image four:

Richie's clawed hand scratches out "R + E." It is captioned, "With one final stop on the way."

End Copied Alt Text.