#dodi: can you at least stop locking the door of your room at night (line added to make sure we know they arent fucking)
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i wouldn't say a favorita is pg 13 but why did they give dodi a whole ass boner on national television just to show flora didn't want to fuck him I'm losing my mind
#dodi: can you at least stop locking the door of your room at night (line added to make sure we know they arent fucking)#losing my mind at how much they dont love each other but in different ways#me when im dumb: my wife who married me expecting me to commit a mistake so she could get rid of me and told me so doesnt like me :(#tbh pretty sure she does like him but not especially and he likes her a little more than he likes most people#her liking him a bit is what made him think she wouldnt murder him for donatela rip my thot king#she was just like :/ oh well#and donatela was like 'YOU FUCKING KILLED DODI?'#and flora was like 'YOU WANTED TO GO BACK TO PRISON??? WHATS WRONG WITH YOU I DO EVERYTHING FOR YOU AND YOU'RE ALWAYS UPSET'#YOU SHOULD BE THANKING ME YOU'RE SO SPOILED#while this is hilarious#'i do everything for you' -> she liked him a little bit#nsfk#novela tag
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Congratulations on 800 yue!! you have no idea how proud i am of you and you’re doing so well! may i have “whatever scars your s/o gets appear on you as well” with tamaki amajiki from the event? love you 👩❤️💋👩
title ↠ butterflies in your stomach
wc ↠ 2810
genre ↠ hurt/comfort; fluff
song ↠ dodie; sick of losing soulmates
a/n ↠ hiii xuxi !!!!!!!! tysm 🥺🥺🥺 i’m sorry this took so long but here you go! a 2.8k fic on tamaki amajiki, love you too 😚💕 also !! in this fic your soulmate kissing your scars is the only way to get rid of them!
tw! self harm
— AMAJIKI TAMAKI —
A racing heart was not foreign to the elven boy. His heart drummed in his chest when he faced a large crowd, and when things twisted wickedly against his hopes. He was sure his soulmate would scowl at his behavior like he thought everyone else did.
Tamaki was not a stranger to anxiety.
But he never thought he’d be feeling worried over the wounds blossoming on his skin. His mind jumped to his hero training before he quickly knew that wasn’t it. Wounds from training weren’t as angry as this. He peeled his hero costume off, wincing at the sight of them littering his arms. A jolt of pain shocked his body, earning a yelp from him.
Tugging his pants down, he saw more of them on his thighs. In a panic, he reached for his phone, calling Mirio. His chest heaved in fear of what could be happening to his soulmate. It took a while for his best friend to calm him down, but eventually, they concluded that his other half could be a hero too, explaining the injuries and the scars he wasn’t sure were his.
The next day he woke up sore, glancing down at the open cuts on his skin slowly forming into scars. He frowned. He was set on the thought that his soulmate would grow to hate him so he chose to try his best to avoid finding them, but as he glanced at all the new scars, he wished they were near to kiss them away. What he didn’t know was that his soulmate was already in his life, so closely knitted in his daily routine.
“Tamaki, are you alright?” Your voice tugged him out of his thoughts, making his heart thump loudly in his ears.
He flashed a shy smile towards you before nodding quietly, “I’m just a little w-worried about my soulmate.”
“Oh? Have you found them?” The grin you show him back is a little teasing, his face flushing at the question.
“N-No. But a few wounds appeared last night and i-it worried me a little..”
“A little, huh?”
The blush on his cheeks flooded ‘til the tips of his ears as he averted his gaze from yours, the conversation coming to an end.
You were an important person in his life, way more important than he knew you would be. Your aura surrounded him in a warmth he couldn’t explain, so calming but it kept him on his toes at the same time. The dynamic he had with you magnetized him to you, and he found himself in your hold whenever his mind wouldn’t shut up.
He didn’t know how it happened, how you grew to understand all his little habits, and how you just knew when he’d come knocking at your door in the dead of the night in hopes of comfort.
That day was one of those nights, as usual, you welcomed him with open arms and a promise of Disney movies. He sat on the opposite end of the couch, not wanting you to see the new injuries he adorned. When you didn’t make an effort to move close like what you do all the time, however, he felt a twist in his gut.
You played the same movie you’ve both seen numerous times, but Tamaki liked that. He didn’t want to worry himself more with an unknown ending. Though his mind was elsewhere, despite his eyes fixating on the screen in front of him.
“You’re still worrying.” Yet again, you snap him out of his trance.
“H-Huh?”
Your eyes locked onto his, and his mouth goes dry. You shuffled towards him. He leaned back as far as he could, the closer you got. Finally, when he had no space left, your hand came up to hover over his heart.
“Close your eyes.”
He squeezed them shut, butterflies fluttering in his stomach. He swallowed nervously, it wasn’t his first time being so close to you but it still made him jittery.
“You can feel it, right? Your heartbeat.”
For a moment he’s convinced you’re poking fun at him, but the tone in your voice said otherwise. He nodded hesitantly.
“That shows you’re alive if you can’t tell by how vibrant it’s being.”
He stifled a whine, feeling overheated by the pink hue painted on his face. He wondered how you weren’t hot and instead, clad in a thick sweater.
“If your heart’s beating like that, then surely your soulmate’s alive, and fine too.”
Ah right, this was about my soulmate.
You giggled, the sweet sound causing his heart to stammer. You moved away back to your spot, air rushing to fill Tamaki’s lungs. He hadn’t even noticed he was holding his breath. Your gaze returned to the film playing, and the shy boy wallowed over your words, face cooling down. You were right, his soulmate was probably just a hero in training and they were okay.
Tamaki soon learned he was wrong. A little later he realized his soulmate wasn’t like others. His soulmate often drew pictures, words, sometimes just lines that were an angry crimson. Not on paper and not with a red pen, but with what he guessed was self-loathing, translated into drawings on their skin.
When he wasn’t worried about his journey to becoming a pro hero, he was worried about the well being of his soulmate. So much so that what used to be an almost daily meeting in your dorm room lessened to simple greetings in class. He hardly noticed how drained you seemed until Nejire had asked about you.
Your eyes were sunken, lips tugged into a permanent frown and the life in your movement dissipated, like some sort of dark cloud hung over you. His mouth opened to ask if you were alright but the question lodged in his throat. He decided against it, fearing the thought of aggravating you further.
His eyes never left your tired figure the entire day. Tamaki’s never felt so helpless, stuck with the anxieties of his soulmates spiraling mental health and your friendship with him corroding into nothing.
He doesn’t know how he went to bed that night, with so many thoughts coming front. His slumber doesn’t last long, however, as yet another wave of pain flooded through his body. He groaned, awake from the feeling of a new injury on his thighs. The frown on his face was deepened in worry at the sight of more cuts caused by his soulmate.
His own heart throbbed in agony for his other half as the physical pain ebbed away. He certainly wasn’t getting any sleep after that. The clock in his room ticked loudly, only stirring his feelings more. He sighed, deciding to head down to the common room for a glass of water.
As he got down, he caught sight of a familiar silhouette, yours. You looked more sluggish than the day.
“[Name]?”
Your head whipped around in his direction. You looked surprised but, a watery smile danced on your lips in a greeting.
You’ve been crying.
He held his arms out, a silent invitation for a hug. Your footsteps sounded heavy as you allowed him to swallow you in his embrace. He ignored his heart picking up its pace and pulled you to his room, aiming to help you like how you helped him all those days before.
He stumbled his way to his bed, holding you gently to lay you down comfortably. Only then does your body start quivering as sob after sob escaped your lips. He could’ve sworn he was having a heart attack from hugging you so close but he prevailed, deciding keeping you in his arms was more important.
He stuttered words of reassurance as he rocked you back and forth, your cries lowering into hiccups. Soon even those stopped and your breathing slowed. Tamaki pulled away only to see that you’ve fallen asleep. He sighed in relief before concern took over him again. His eyes zeroed on the numerous marks lining your arms, eyebrows furrowing.
His fingers daintily brushed against your scars as his hand held your wrist up for him to get a closer look. He doesn’t know what urged him to do it, what tugged on his heartstrings, but he leaned in and kissed the healed wounds anyways, definitely not expecting the tingle he felt on his skin.
He didn’t stop with one, he kissed almost all of them away. His heart fluttering in an epiphany as he saw each one slowly disappear on both of your skin. You stirred in your sleep, causing the boy to halt and move away, letting you go. His breathing quickened as his previous actions and their results registered in his mind. Half of the scars on your arm were gone.
You were his soulmate.
He went to bed that night on the floor, his heart didn’t stop racing at all. All those years of wanting to avoid his soulmate without realizing it was you.
All those years of building up walls, only to find out you were already past them.
When he awoke the next day, you were gone from his bed, with no note left behind. He felt a little disappointed, hoping to at least bring up the topic of him being your other half. He shrugged the thought off and phoned his best friend, wondering which direction he should take on your friendship.
“I found my soulmate, Mirio.”
A wide grin stretched on the said man’s face at the news. “Well? Did you tell them? Do they know?”
Tamaki shook his head, the heaviness of his thoughts pushing down on his body. He fiddled with his thumbs, mumbling in response.
“They d-don’t.. I don’t know if I should even say anything.”
“Why not?”
His breath hitched. Why not?
Was he afraid of letting you down? But that couldn’t happen if you’ve stuck by his side this long. What was he so scared of?
“I don’t think I’m good enough for them..” He wasn’t exactly lying, but it didn’t explain what he felt about you. Mirio smiled reassuringly, patting the anxious boy on the back.
“There’s no way you’re not good enough, I’m sure they’d love you.”
But would you?
“I think I’ll just stay on the sidelines for now.”
And so he did. From the very next time, he saw you. You bashfully thanked him for that night and apologized, and he flushed and assured you that it was okay through stutters. For days on end, he’d stay near you, picking up on little signs when you’d have a bad day. He’d make sure to talk to you before you went back into your room, afraid of more wounds decorating your skin.
He knew you were apprehensive at first, but he pushed away the nagging voices saying you were annoyed and went on. Eventually, you fell back into your daily routine of staying over, except you were the one in his embrace. Countless nights he hugged you close in effort to keep your demons away, countless nights of him kissing your scars away without you realizing.
One day you felt his lips on your skin. His head was in your lap, one of your hands holding your phone up to your face while the other stayed limp beside him. He squirmed around in your lap ‘til he was lying on his side, looking at your scarred skin. You looked at him in confusion, failing to notice the marks disappear. “What are you doing?”
He stiffened, eyes widening in shock.
“S-Sorry, I just—”
You laughed, “It’s okay, Tama, I don’t mind.”
He moved around to look at you, eyes filled with wonder as they met yours.
Did you know?
He considered coming out with it and kissing you but alas, he was too scared. If he said something and you pushed him away, he wouldn’t be able to take your scars away. He wanted to at least leave your skin unblemished.
It’s weeks after when Tamaki felt a slight jab at his now clear arm. His eyes were the size of saucers as he worried about your well-being. He was out patrolling far from you, and that only filled him with regret. However, as quick as it came it vanished. In confusion he pulled his sleeve up only to see nothing but his own scars on his hand from missions.
Did something happen?
He got back to the dorms, constantly glancing all over his body for any signs of a new cut. And just as he was about to start checking his thighs, a knock on his dorm room interrupted him. When he opened it he saw you with a pillow in your arms, your eyes were glazed over in what he knew were tears. He pulled you inside and asked you to sit, forgetting about the wounds he was looking for.
This time, you were the one who hugged him first, arms tugging him closer in a loose hold. He breathed in your scent, his body slacking in relief. He shyly drew shapes on your clothed back, his way of asking if you were alright.
“Tama.” You called, voice muffled from being squished against him.
“Y-Yeah?”
“Have you found your soulmate?”
He tensed, “No, I h-haven’t.”
He heard you laugh a little, before you maneuvered both of your bodies towards the bed. “You’re lying.” You murmured, releasing your hold on him as you hit the bed. He let out a shaky breath, showing an apologetic smile.
“You didn’t tell them, did you? Why not?” Your eyes were avoiding his, locked on the soft carpet underneath your feet.
Did you find out?
“I—” He thought of lying, giving the same excuse as he told Mirio. But he knew you’d see right through it. He cursed under his breath. Sometimes he wished you didn’t know him as much as you did right now, all his antics and when the scowl on his face wasn’t about his regular anxieties.
“I’m d-damaged goods, y’know? If my soulmate’s the same, I don’t know if I’ll be able to take on their demons. What if I’m not enough to keep them happy? What if my troubles annoy them? What if—”
“Close your eyes.”
“What?”
You were glaring at him with such intensity that he had to follow. The scent of your shampoo hit his nose, your body moving closer to his, the sound of his rapid heartbeat ringing in his ears. He shivered as warmth hit his chest, your hand was over his heart again.
“Feel that?”
He nodded, nostalgia hitting him like a train. You took his other hand into yours, bringing it up to your own heart.
“Feel this?”
He nodded again, face flushing at the sync beating.
“We both have our own heartbeats, though I’m aware they’re insanely in sync right now.” You laughed.
“Amajiki Tamaki, we are individuals built with our own complexities. We are separate humans bound by a soul tie.” His heart began to race.
So you knew.
“I have my demons, you have yours. And I will take my demons on. You can help me through it but love, you’re not going to take on everything on your own.”
His eyes fluttered open, meeting your glossy, hopeful ones.
“I don’t love myself.. I’m sure you’re aware of that, but that’s okay. It’s not the easiest thing to do but if I have you with me then I know I’ll get there someday. But we can’t do this if you’re only focused on trying to deal with my problems while ignoring your own.”
“How’d you know I was your..?” He whispered.
You pushed your sleeves up, unmarked skin on display, “My scars are gone, and you kissed them nights before.” You didn’t say anything, but the whisper of a ‘thank you’ made itself clear in your eyes.
He looked away guiltily, ashamed of himself being found out. You sighed before tugging on his shirt, wordlessly asking for him to look at you. When he did his breath caught in his throat as your gaze bore into his very soul. He felt his heart drop to his stomach, joining the butterflies flying around. You were closer than you usually were, so close that he could count all the tiny flaws on your cheeks and the constellations in your eyes. You were breathtaking like this, every unique quirk proving how human you were. You were simply imperfectly perfect, his dear soulmate.
He cupped your face in his hands, pulling you in to press his lips against yours in a shy kiss. Your lips curved up, making the tips of his ears flush red. When he pulled away he felt dazed, carefree almost, like he was at home. The smile on your face was by far the prettiest he’s ever seen.
“Let me kiss your scars away too, Tama.”
#bnha#mha#bnha x reader#bnha tamaki amajiki#bnha amajiki#bnha tamaki#tamaki x you#tamaki x reader#tamaki x y/n#mha tamaki amajiki#mha amajiki#mha tamaki#bnha x you#bnha x y/n#mha x you#mha x reader#mha x y/n#boku no hero academia#boku no hero x reader#boku no hero fanfic#boku no hero imagines#my hero x reader#my hero imagines#my hero academia#my hero academy fanfiction#my hero academia x reader#tamaki amajiki#amajiki tamaki#amajiki x reader#amajiki fluff
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i | THE BIRDWATCHER.
SYNOPSIS: You spend some time brewing over big news, and Ben has a favor to ask.
GENRE: Coming-Of-Age, Drama, Angst, Romance, Slow Burn.
PAIRINGS: Stanley Uris/Reader, confusing Richie/Reader, Unrequited!Beverly/Reader, Bev/Ben, Pining!Eddie/Richie.
WORDCOUNT: 4.5k
WARNINGS: Profanity, semi-nudity, gay pining. Bullying, homophobia, etc in future chapters!
SONG RECS: 'She' by Dodie.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: I made a post about my choice to rewrite this series, so here's the first chapter! The Losers' Club are all fifteen here, but this is still set in 1989. Pennywise doesn't exist. Reader is bisexual, or at least interested in guys and gals (& maybe non-binary pals! Whatever floats your boat!) Also if this all over the place don't come at me pls. Slightly edited and idk if it is even good so— 🤪✌🏻
There's been quite a few changes :)
MAY 1989.
DEAR LOSERS' CLUB,
No, that wasn't personal enough. You wanted each of them to know what they meant to you. Each of them.
DEAREST BEVERLY,
Why must your thoughts always drift to her first? Why can't she be third or fifth?
TO RICHIE,
You huff dramatically and crumple the notebook paper, attempting to toss it into the waste bin a few feet away.
A detached sigh tumbles from the wide desk across from you, and your history teacher slowly retracts his novel from in front of him to reveal an unamused expression.
He rolls his tongue against his cheek, and waits. When he is met with silence, he shifts in his seat. "... Aren't you, uh... Against wasting trees or whatever?"
You blink. "Yeah, obviously."
"Yeah, obviously!" Mr. Ellis laughs bitterly, and rolls his eyes. "Well, can you waste them a bit quieter?"
Before you can respond, he puts up a finger like he's suddenly been enlightened. "Or, better yet— Leave."
You tap your fingertips against your thighs, and kick your feet up onto your desk. "You know, if I didn't know better, Mr. Ellis, I'd think you didn't like me or something."
He stares at you blankly. "And where on Earth did you come up with that idea?"
You shrug, "No clue. Mr. Ellis, can I confide in your honest feedback on something?"
"I imagine you will anyway—"
"—So, listen... I'm going on a personal journey when summer break is over and I'm afraid I won't ever see you again," You explain, curving your brows inward. Your teacher uses his index finger to trace a single tear gliding down his cheek. "And, um, I don't— I don't know how to.. How do I tell the only true friends I've ever had?"
He pretends to think it over long and hard. "Let me see..."
"I don't care," He finishes, picking up his novel where he left off.
You scowl, and drop your forehead against the surface of your desk, the echo reverberating throughout the empty classroom, save for two people.
Mr. Ellis unwraps a cookie and takes a large bite, and glances at you intermediately between pages. He sighs again. "Will you leave if I tell you what to do?"
"Faster than when the lunch bell rings," You chirp, grinning brightly and leaning forward eagerly on your desk.
He rolls his eyes and puts his feet up on his desk, and pressing his back into his chair. "Go have some fun. Get high. Jump off roofs and ding-dong ditch. Just go be a kid, and tell them when the time is right. Okay?"
A light breeze rushes through the windows propped open with history textbooks, rustling the papers stacked on Mr. Ellis's large desk. Outside, the faint echo of laughter and summer jitters resounds within the four walls surrounding you.
You nod firmly, and skip to an open window.
Tossing him a grin, you give some finger guns. You crawl up onto the large sill, and before you hop out, Mr. Ellis calls your name.
He has the softest expression you've ever seen on him. "Listen— It's been a pleasure having you. Even if you were the loudest, most persistent, and possibly the worst student I've ever had. Just, uh— Be honest with your friends, okay? Don't wait 'til the last minute. They'll never forgive you if you do."
You give him a two-finger salute before hopping out the window.
You found out you were moving away from Derry in early April, due to an accident involving your grandfather's motorcycle obsession, but there was never really a good time to tell the people you've been slumming it with since you were eleven. The first time you tried, Richard Tozier pushed you off a cliff (a story for another time), and the second time, Ben burned himself on Beverly's flat iron (also a long story). The third time, the words fell dead on your lips when Stanley Uris told you you were the closest thing to a best friend he had.
You swear he was on the verge of tears.
So, you postponed. Now, it's late May, and you haven't said a word to them.
You know you have to tell them— You know this, you do, but the timing is never right. At least, that's what you keep telling yourself— Because somehow the words "you're a coward" are far too intimidating to admit.
Especially to yourself.
Heat swells across your cheeks, the massive, and rowdy, kitchen bustling with voices and feet. Your apron hugs your waist and you peer over your shoulder at Beverly, whose red hair is vibrant against the pale walls. Her blue eyes glance up to meet yours, and they are gentle. Bristling, you face Stanley on your right, who is speaking softly with an elderly woman on the other side of the counter.
The soup kitchen is a bit vacant in terms of people to serve, as it's the first few minutes before the dinner crowd pools in at seven. This time is the most peaceful— Pots and pans full of nutritional foods are filling up quick, and you're all anxious to help anybody who walks in the doors.
In Derry, there isn't much funding for volunteer work, so you do what you can— The local church offered up lodging for the soup kitchen, so you're all pretty thankful for the church leaders.
You study Stanley silently, his eyes focused and mild as he speaks with the woman. He's grown quite a bit since last summer, and he let his hair grow out a bit, so now it's a wild mess of curls. You like that he's eased up on the product, so he's all-natural. In order to catch what the woman is saying, he leans forward, in all his 5'8" glory.
He glances at you and places a hand on the woman's shoulder. "Thank you for telling me, Louanne. I'll see what I can do."
She smiles. "Bless you, Stephen."
You snort while she waddles off, and Stanley leans on the counter with his attention locked on you. There's a hint of amusement in his eyes.
"She seems sweet," You say, "How you liking volunteering, Stephen?"
He tries to prevent himself from laughing. "Stop! That's so mean, she's sick."
"What ever do you mean?" You quip, leaning on the counter next to him. Stan rubs your hair into a frizzy mess and stands tall.
"Uris, I need you over here on dishes," Willow, your team leader, shouts from across the kitchen. You can only briefly catch her curvy figure before she disappears behind the doorway.
"Nah, Willow, I got it! Stan's good with the old ladies. Real player, this one," You respond, poking Stan's stomach, "Maybe you'll get lucky."
"That's gross! Go away."
You laugh maniacally.
The dinner rush is heavy once seven hits, but it fades out at about 7:45. People are ecstatic that's it stew night because they are allowed to take a styrofoam bowl on the go. A few stragglers are permitted to camp the night out in the main hall, as the homeless aren't taken to kindly in Derry. Mayor claims it's 'bad' for traffic and tourism, but you know that Derry is the last place anyone would want to tour in. You're pretty sure it's been wiped off the maps, but that's a conspiracy theory for another time, one that Richie had so kindly coined.
Most of the kids who volunteer at the soup kitchen in the church are hoping to capture some hours for the college applications, but you volunteered because you felt like it was the right thing to do; It was simply convenient that it looked good on apps.
There's light shuffling and clanging as volunteers work to clear up the church for Sunday mass. You balance a tray of plates and glasses pressed against your chest with one arm, while you wipe down a table. There's a hand on your shoulder that suddenly startles you, causing you to drop the tray on instinct.
Glass shatters everywhere, then silence.
"Fuck!" You whisper violently, and you drop to your knees, frantically trying to pick up as many shards as possible before Willow comes screaming.
Beverly is beside you, as is Stanley, and all three of your try to clean the mess.
"God, I'm so sorry," Beverly says, "I didn't mean to freak you out."
"Uh, no, no, it's okay," You reply quickly, looking up at her. She smiles softly.
You flush and revert your attention back to the problem at hand. Your cheeks burn a bit, so you try to ignore it— But it leads to carelessness, and you give yourself a clean cut across your forefinger.
Hissing, you retract your hand and examine the damage. The minute you notice red, you become uneasy. Beverly and Stanley both take a sharp inhale.
"Oh, God— Uh, Stan, you got this? I'm gonna go get her cleaned up," Beverly says.
"Yeah, I got it."
"Thanks. C'mon, let's go," Beverly tells you, but you shake your head.
"I'm fine! S'just a cut. I can slap a bandaid on it later," You reassure her, but she's not having it.
"Now," She warns, gripping your arm softly.
Bottom line, Beverly Marsh can make you do anything she wants you to.
You kick your legs out in a steady beat, seated on a counter, while Bev digs around the first aid kit in the storage room. Her back is facing you, so you have a chance to study the freckles up the top of her spine and into her hairline.
You hold your right hand with your wrist, squeezing harder each time your wound throbs.
"Got it," Bev whispers, and she turns quickly. Positioning herself between your knees, she takes a hold of your finger and wipes it briefly with a wet cotton ball. Next, she uses a clean one to wipe disinfectant across the slit. "How bad does it hurt?"
You lie. "Not much."
Her blue eyes look at you with amusement. "Please."
"Okaaay. A bit more than 'not much'."
"Hm," Beverly applies a bit of cream on your cut. "What kind of bandaid do you want?"
She holds up plain, princess, and car bandaids.
"What the fuck are those? Gender-specific bandages?"
She says your name sternly.
You sigh. "Princess, please."
Beverly smiles and opens the package.
The room is quiet for all except the rustling of the paper, and you pop your mouth awkwardly.
"Hey," Bev says slowly, "Um, listen... You do realize that Stan—"
The door is cracked open and the curly head of Stanley peeks through. "Hey... The cut isn't bad, is it?"
You and Bev glance at each other, and Bev shakes her head.
"No, not at all. Just finishing up," She replies, sticking the pink bandaid on your wound. You hop down and wiggle your finger at Stanley with a grin.
"Good as new!"
He smiles softly. "Glad you're okay. I cleaned up all the glass, so don't worry about it."
"Okay! Thanks, Stan," You say, hooking your arm around his neck. He prickles a bit but relaxes immediately.
Beverly unties her apron and lays it on her forearm while she walks on your free side. "M' still upset Ben couldn't make it."
"Me too," You agree, "He was really looking forward to it."
"He can always go without us," Stan adds.
"It's not the same, though!" You say.
Stan shrugs.
It's humid outside the church, but that's to be expected during the summer. The sky is a deep cloudy sapphire, with the buzz of bugs filling the air. The older volunteers disappear into their cars while you, Stanley, and Beverly talk amongst yourselves. Bulbs above the entrance are the only source of light within a few yards.
Beverly puts her weight on her left foot, the gravel beneath her crackling while she recites a story Bill told her about local legends.
Just as she reaches the climax, the church doors creak open and Willow appears. She keeps her back to you while she locks the entrance, and once she turns, she eyes the three of you.
"Y'all need a ride?"
All of you glance at each other, and Stanley checks his watch.
"We'd love one!" You chirp, giving him a light shove.
"If it's alright with you, of course," Bev adds.
"I wouldn't have asked if it wasn't!" Willow says sharply, but without venom. "Hop in."
Somehow, you end up squeezed in the middle, with Stanley and Beverly on each of your sides. You scowl, eyeing the passenger seat with a purse in it.
Stan's clearly uncomfortable, his shoulders curved inward while he anxiously taps his kneecaps. He seems to be looking everywhere but at you and Bev.
"Everything okay?" You whisper.
He shrugs. "Yeah, just, uh— My mom isn't big on me getting home so late from the kitchen; She wants me to quit."
"That's fucked," You say.
"Hey!" Willow barks, glaring at you through the rearview mirror. "I may your super cool team leader, but I still don't appreciate you using a dirty mouth in my car."
You snicker, and she bursts into laughter.
Beverly pokes your shoulder. "Hey, um— Would... Would it be cool if I stayed with you tonight? My dad, he, um... He went out drinking when I woke up, so—"
"Of course," You interrupt. "Stay however long you need."
"Thanks..." Bev says quietly, and she leans against the window of the car.
Willow pulls up into your driveway within five minutes, and Bev steps out. You make an effort to give Stan a brief hug before you go, and he gives you a little wave as Willow leaves.
You and Bev remain quiet when you sneak into the house through the front door, in fear you might wake your mother. When you enter the living room and see the woman's knocked out cold with the television on, you wave Beverly upstairs. She obliges.
You creep up to your mother and crouch next to her head. She's got a bit of drool pooling on the cushion, and you crinkle your nose.
Retrieving a pillow from a loveseat, you tuck it gently beneath her head and pull a blanket over her. Giving her a quick kiss on the forehead, you leave a glass of water and ibuprofen on the coffee table.
"Does she always do that?" Is the first thing Bev says when you reach your bedroom. You're a bit taken aback, but you regroup swiftly.
"Yeah. She gets these really bad migraines," You explain, leaving your bag on the floor and kicking off your sneakers. "And, um, they can sometimes turn into seizures, so we try to let her sleep as comfortably as possible."
"Oh," Bev says, "Can I borrow some pajamas?"
"Yeah!" You reply, "Just grab something from the closet or my drawers."
"'Kay," She snags a blank tank while you pick out a yellow nightgown. You're facing the mirror when Beverly pulls off her t-shirt, and you nearly choke. You can't seem to take your eyes off her back, even when you know you've been staring for too long. "Is your little brother asleep?"
You drop your attention to the floor and quickly pull off your shirt. "Yeah, should be. I'll kill the little shithead if he's not."
Bev smiles. "He's a good kid; If he's awake, he's probably reading. He likes to read, right?"
"Yup," You pop the 'p', "He's into numbers and all that. I'll never understand it."
"He probably thinks the same thing about your art, you know."
You hum and pull the nightgown over your head. "Everybody thinks that way about art, Bev. If you're not dedicated to a nine to five office job, then you're somehow a deadbeat, leaching off the productive middle class."
Bev laughs gently, and it's airy and elegant and perfect. "You're always opinionated, you know that?"
When you toss her a quizzical look, she elaborates and walks over to face you. "Not in a negative way; It's like... It's like you must have all these thoughts swimming around in that pretty head of yours."
Pretty?
Beverly continues. "I mean, you're just so... I don't know? Most people don't care about anything, let alone the world or society. You're bound to make a difference."
You blink at her, your fairy lights hanging loosely from your window and spreading a gold light. Her ocean eyes are iridescent. She's iridescent. Her pink lips curve into a smile, and she glances at the floor.
"What?" She whispers.
You sputter. "N-Nothing. Just, um— Thanks. Thank you, really. I— I just, nobody's taken me that seriously before," You explain, tucking a thick strand of hair behind your ear. "I've always just been Loudmouth."
Bev's face melts into one of sympathy and curiosity, her long eyelashes brushing her cheeks. Gingerly, she places a hand on your shoulder, one that shoots electricity throughout your skin. Her grip tightens. "Listen. Quiet people don't do shit, okay? People who keep their opinions to themselves don't make history."
You shrug a shoulder and give her a lopsided smile. "I can't even make a difference in backwater Derry. How the hell am I supposed to change the world?"
Outside, rain begins to patter restlessly against your windowsill, keeping the stars awake. Inside, Beverly looks at you like she just might think you're a goddess.
"You've already changed mine."
Your entire life, people have told you how the world has to be: Simple, honest, and conservative. They've told you who to be, who to love, what to do. It's always been "you'll meet someone who makes you feel like the world is glowing", followed by, "don't rush, you'll find him soon". What if you don't want to find him? What if you want to find her?
What if you already have?
Beverly Marsh is incomparably the prettiest girl you've ever seen when she's jumping from the cliff into the lake below.
Scratch that, she's incomparably the prettiest girl you've ever seen, and she makes your universe glow.
She's a flash of red, shimmering, shining, iridescent; A ruby tossed into the sky like a plain penny into a wishing well.
She's radiant, tomboyish, and beautiful.
Beverly, in all her elegance, has learned to tame your chaotic hair, your wild eyes, and the crooked pair of overalls that swallowed your thighs. Her, that gentle smile, rendered you speechless daily. You, notoriously nicknamed Loudmouth or Mouth, were silent for her.
You've already changed mine.
"Hey, Mouth! The hell are you gawking at?"
Richie Tozier waves a hand in front of you and you crank your eyes up to his squinting face. His freckles surround the massive pair of glasses on the bridge of his nose, and his black hair nearly blinds him.
You throw up a palm to block the sun, but his giant head is doing most of the work. "Your mother over there in her Sunday best."
If he swung his body around any quicker, his head might have popped off like a Barbie doll. He gazes off into the woods across the quarry, his lips upturned in an unattractive flytrap.
Beverly slips her cream-colored gown off her pale shoulders, drawing all eyes to her. The sun beats down on her chopped red locks, accenting the constellation of freckles along her nose, and warming your flesh under its rays.
Catching the way they all gaze at her, as starstruck as yourself, it hits you like a freight train— you weren't looking at her like you should have been.
Under the intensity of her icy blue gaze, you feel so small; so homely. Your chest aches, but that girl doesn't give you time to grieve. She is in the air in a split second, high like an angel, falling towards the murky waters below.
The boys crowd around the cliff's edge, mouths gaping, eyes bright. It strikes you from the heavens, like a harsh cacophony: These aren't your boys anymore.
You had slipped out of the world briefly, and before long, you are alone at the edge.
Sandy curls appear in front of your face, tilting to reveal the kind eyes of Stanley Uris. His mouth forms a firm line. He seems to be at war with himself as he stares out into the blue sky, dotted with white clouds.
He stays silent for a moment, searching for the right words. "I want to go last," He finally breathes, seemingly triumphed in his verbiage, "I don't want them to see me cross my fingers behind my back before I go."
The vulnerability he expresses warms your heart, and you grin up at him, having gained your confidence back. You are grateful he didn't pry into your dilemma. You didn't expect otherwise, but it was still nice. Stanley is a boy of few words, but the word 'shy' doesn't fit right, as it implies bashfulness or a sweet innocence.
Rather, he prefers the quality of speech over quantity, believing that the chattiest voices aren't always the loudest. A respectable notion, sure, but you tend to believe it in theory rather than in practice.
Stanley's thin frame makes no unnecessary movements, but rather awaits yours. One of his hands cuffs the other in front of his hips. The cool breeze had only an inch to squeeze between within the crevice of your shoulders.
You pull your yellow scrunchie from your hair, and wrap it around your wrist, as Stanley speaks, "Promise not to tell?"
“Pinky promise,” You insist, holding up the smallest finger on your right hand. When his wraps around yours, you toss him a childlike grin. “I never break them.”
You're gone, cascading down towards the green waters, each wave crystallizing in your descent.
"I know."
Stanley crosses his fingers behind his back and steps off the cliff's rocky edge.
Stan’s dive is a flash of gold: Like a bird, graceful in its dip, his curls like its wings.
You find yourself wanting to ask him what it's like to fly.
The water is cool, luckily fizzling the heat out of your cheeks when Beverly appears beside you, grinning softly at—
Bill.
You swallow thickly and turn your head to Richie and Eddie arguing about something pointless. Richie's skin is set ablaze every time Eddie points a finger at him or moves closer.
Across from you, Ben's eyes are set on your face, and you nearly jump when yours land on them. He sputters silently and glances over to the boulders near the trees.
You tilt your head in question, "Ben, what is it?" It's too late now, but you realize you weren't very subtle. At all.
He facepalms. "Can we, uh...?"
Nodding in understanding, you doggy paddle through the lake and onto the shore. Ben is quickly beside you.
The boy leads you over to the boulders and sits on a large one. His hands are glued to his knees, and you can tell he's anxious.
You lean your elbows on your thighs and wait.
"U-U-Um— Can I..? Would you..?" He shakes his head suddenly and regroups. "I need— I need help with something..."
"...Okay..?" You gesture for him to elaborate.
"Can you help me write love notes to Beverly?" He spits out softly, and you choke on your own spit.
You stand up abruptly, like you sat on a pin, and cross your arms. Your brows curl inward in confusion, embarrassment, and anxiety. "W-What? Sorry, I don't— Why?"
"Because... You are a girl, you know? You know a lot more personal stuff about her, I think, right?" He asks, rubbing his clammy palms together.
"Uh," You run your fingers up your arm, "I guess? I don't think... That would be... She doesn't..."
He gives you an awkward crooked smile. "I mean, it's okay 'cause you're a girl. I wanted to ask Bill or someone else but since they're guys it might be different..."
"H-How so?"
"Well— You know. They might secretly like her or something," Ben says, staring at the dirt by his feet.
You swallow, and glance out to the water; To where she is. Beverly meets your eyes and smiles gently. Your stomach does a flip.
"Can I— Can I think about it?" You inquire softly, and Ben nods swiftly.
"Yes! Yes, of course. That's okay," He sounds a bit sad.
You reach out and rub his shoulder. "You're an amazing person, Ben, you know that? She'd love anything you wrote to her."
You smile crookedly, the corner of your mouth twitching.
Ben nods slowly and shakes his arms a bit to free himself of nerves. "You're right— I should just be more confident..."
He's obviously trying to convince himself more than you.
"Bev—" He shouts suddenly, and she looks over with a grin. One of her hands runs through her hair, and you can feel her eyes burning holes in your face just seconds before she focuses on him. "You look beautiful today!"
Beverly Marsh smiles ever so gently, her cheeks blossoming in a shade of scarlet. The freckles lining the bridge of her nose accent the brightness of her eyes, and you swallow thickly.
She really does.
Tapping a pen against a thick sheet of paper, you push your tongue against your cheek and read over the words again.
PROS:
♡ helping ben!
♡ practicing writing!
♡ practicing stationary!
♡ getting ben and bev together!
♡ making bev feel good!
♡ getting over the butterflies?
You scowl. The hell does that mean? You glance at the clock, which reads 8:37. You consider the pros to writing anonymous love letters to Beverly, which seems to be a lot— And the selfish part of you tells you that it would be beneficial to you— How so? You're not quite sure, as admitting to yourself that it even took nearly an hour.
Within your friend group, you've always been relatively open— Keeping up with honesty, kindness, and always wearing your heart on your sleeve. Stanley said it was naive to do so, but you feel that in a world that is so blatantly harsh and negative, being real with those around you is a heap of good. So why is it suddenly so difficult to be honest with yourself?
You concentrate your thoughts of Beverly, so that you might understand, or in the least identify, what exactly your true intentions with her are. Immediately, your stomach curls, and you feel your insides turn to mush. These sensations are familiar— You've had countless encounters with them.
You picture her in your head, memorize the features of her that always seem to stick when she's around. Her red hair, her freckles, those eyes... And her lips. The curve of them when she grins, or laughs— And briefly, ever so, you imagine what'd they'd be like pressed against yours—
"Hey," Your mom says, your door now swung open, and you scream, tipping out of your desk chair. You land flat against your back and groan.
Your heart beats painfully in your ribcage.
"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. Come do the dishes," She tells you, and you nod profusely.
You inhale through your nostrils and run your fingers through your hair, sighing. Once she's gone, you push your head into the crook of your elbow.
Tears unravel into your arm.
Why did it have to be Beverly Marsh?
[ 🌱 ] taglist (from original write):
@hannarudick @cedricisnotonfire @russian-romanova @pacifythepanda @queen1054 @thebitchiestnerdtowalktheearth @delicrieux (you get to be on here cuz.. i said so).
#beverly marsh x reader#stanley uris x reader#it 2017#it fanfiction#stanley uris imagine#beverly marsh imagine#kassiewrites#chapter one#BW#bw rewrite#the birdwatcher & his lover#the birdwatcher series#kassie writes
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Text
you’re gonna be my wound-chapter twelve
Title: Dancing Through Life
Rating: T
Word Count: 1.8k
A/N: This is possibly my favorite chapter so far, so I hope you enjoy! And thank you to my beta @yourfriendlyblogstalker for helping make it the best it could be
[Read on Ao3]
[Previous Chapter]
[Masterlist]
“How have you been, Dan? Did you make an appointment with the psychiatrist yet?” Dr. Hallowell asked as they took their seats in his office.
“No, I’ve decided to wait until after the show,” Dan replied. The truth was, he’d been looking at all the potential side effects, and was more than terrified of, well… all of them.
“And how’s that going?” Dr.Hallowell asked.
“It’s amazing-I really think it’s all coming together,” Dan told him excitedly. Tech Week was about to start, which was always stressful, but it also meant they were getting closer to opening night.
“That’s great, I’m very happy for you. My partner and I got tickets to see it, we’re pretty excited about it,” Dr.Hallowell replied, smiling encouragingly.
“Thanks. I’m just excited to finally perform it, that’s always the best part.”
“And how’s school?” Dr.Hallowell asked, and Dan knew he couldn’t skirt around the question this time. The truth was, he was barely attending his lectures, and when he did go he usually spent the entire time running his lines in his head, or humming one of the songs from the show to himself. Not exactly a present and hardworking student.
“School’s fine,” he settled on finally, which wasn’t an outright lie. School was fine- he liked being here, and he liked the people he’d met here, and he loved theatre. It was his degree that was the problem.
“I’m not here to judge you, but you have to be honest with me,” Dr.Hallowell replied, and Dan couldn’t tell if he actually genuinely sounded impatient or if he was just projecting.
“Every time I go to lecture, I just sit there and think ‘what am I doing? What’s the point?’ I can’t be a lawyer. Why’d I think I could be a lawyer? I tear up if someone yells at a customer service person,” Dan admitted, burying his head in his hands, and Dr. Hallowell patted his shoulder gently.
“It’s okay not to know what you want to do right now,” Dr.Hallowell tried to reassure him, but the dam had been opened.
“Is it? One more year and I’ll be expected to go out and actually do, you know, lawyer stuff. And I hate that. I hate that that’s the future I’m supposed to have and I can’t even picture it!”
“You have options, Dan,” Dr.Hallowell replied, as patient as ever. It felt like they had this conversation at least twice every term. Dan would have a complete mental breakdown about how much he hated law, Dr.Hallowell would encourage him to look into other viable paths he could take to a different career, and Dan would be right back in the autumn. It was exhausting.
“I would’ve dropped out a long time ago if it weren’t for theatre,” Dan said, lifting his head up.
“There’s no shame in that,” Dr.Hallowell told him, and he laughed a bitter, hollow laugh.
“There’s not? Tell me, are you happy right now, doing this?”
“Very much so, yes,” Dr.Hallowell replied, sounding surprised.
“And did you graduate university?” Dan asked, and Dr.Hallowell sighed.
“Yes. But there are lots of other paths I could’ve taken that would have left me just as fulfilled,” he answered after a minute.
“I don’t think I’m meant to be fulfilled,” Dan admitted after a minute, looking down at the carpet.
“Of course you are. You are meant to live a good and happy life, whatever that means to you,” Dr.Hallowell told him emphatically, and he didn’t want to spend another session crying, so he just nodded.
“Permission to change the subject now?”
“Granted, but you’re going to have to face this one day. I’m not here to tell you what to do, I’m here to help you figure out what’s best for you,” Dr.Hallowell replied. He’d told him some variation of that almost every session, but for some reason his education was the one place he couldn’t force himself to take some of Dr.Hallowell’s (always sound) advice.
“We’re having a party- wait, am I allowed to tell you about parties?”
“As long as you don’t pose a threat to yourself or others, anything you tell me stays between us,” Dr.Hallowell answered, completely unbothered, and it occurred to Dan that Dr.Hallowell existed out of this room, that he had other students that sat with him and told him their deepest thoughts and feelings, and he kept them all bottled up. Something about that seemed a little sad.
“Right, well, we’re having a party. A party I don’t even really want to go to, but we do it for every show. And Phil was so nice about it when I asked him to host, so now I feel like I have to go… what?” Dan asked when he noticed the amused look on Dr.Hallowell’s face.
“You know this is the longest you’ve gone in a session without mentioning him in weeks?” Dr.Hallowell asked, and that smile in his voice could not be professional.
“That can’t be true,” Dan replied immediately. He didn’t talk about Phil that much. Obviously he came up, they were in almost every scene together, but that was it.
“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, I’m glad you made such a good… friend?” Dr.Hallowell asked in the way he did when he was trying to get Dan to admit to something.
“Friend,” Dan repeated nodding quickly. “And thanks. I don’t know, I just… I’m not sad around him. I don’t want to be sad around him,” Dan said, with a shrug.
“I’d say that makes him a pretty good friend,” Dr.Hallowell replied, smiling at him knowingly, and this was officially torture.
“You’re enjoying this way too much. Isn’t there a rule against torturing your clients about their love lives?”
“Oh, so we’re talking about your love life?” Dr.Hallowell asked in reply, raising an eyebrow at him, and honestly? Fuck psychologists.
“I’m not talking about this with you,” Dan decided, shaking his head, and Dr.Hallowell laughed.
“Our time is up for this week anyway. I expect an update though,” he teased, and Dan all but shot up out of his seat.
“No. No absolutely not. This has been great, thank you for your time, I’m just gonna go now and pretend none of this ever happened,” he rambled, heading for the door.
“Remember what I said though- a good and happy life is a more than attainable goal for you, and you deserve it,” Dr.Hallowell told him seriously.
“Thanks. See you next week,” he replied, and Dr.Hallowell nodded.
“See you next week.”
---
“This was a bad idea,” Phil said, looking around at all of the alcohol and decorations Louise was currently filling their flat with.
“It was a brilliant idea,” PJ replied, clapping him on the shoulder excitedly.
“I hate parties,” Phil complained, but PJ and Louise were too busy opening up a bottle of vodka.
“It’s gonna be fun, you’ll see,” Louise promised, handing him a shot.
“We’re doing this now?”
“Predrinks,” Louise explained, just as the doorbell rang.
“I got it,” Phil said,taking his shot and heading to open the door.
“Phil!” Dan exclaimed, hugging him excitedly, “don’t let Louise give me anymore to drink.”
“How much have you had?” Phil asked, laughing and looking up at him.
“A lot. So much,” Dan replied, looking at him seriously, before breaking out into laughter.
“Let’s get you some water,” Phil said, leading him inside.
---
Louise, as it turned out, was a terrible influence. By the time people started arriving, Phil had had more shots than he could count. It felt like every time he turned around, Louise was pouring him another one. And Dan, as it turned out, was a very touchy drunk. He’d hugged pretty much every person that walked in, and was currently clinging to Phil’s side like a koala.
“Don’t you two look cozy!” Dodie screamed over the music when she saw them. Louise had made what she called an “Epic Party” playlist, which was a mix of songs from musicals, and lots of eighties, nineties, and early 2000s music. Dodie was currently screaming over “Wannabe” by the Spice Girls and there was a group of girls doing a choreographed dance routine to it in the middle of the living room.
“I hate parties. Louise always gets me drunk and leaves me alone. Phil’s not gonna leave me alone, though, right Phil?” Dan asked him, and he laughed.
“Right.”
“Well, I’m gonna go try and have enough tequila to catch up with you guys. Later!” Dodie called, heading for the kitchen.
“Did I scare her off?” Dan asked, looking after her.
“No, she just went to get a drink,” Phil explained, and Dan reached up to push his hair out of his face.
“Your eyes are so pretty.”
“Oh… Thank you,” Phil replied, not sure if he was suddenly feeling very warm from the alcohol or from the way Dan was looking at him right now.
“I love this song! Dance with me,” Dan said, dragging him to the center of the living room as the opening notes of “ I Wanna Dance With Somebody” started to play.
A bunch of the other cast members were already dancing, and they cheered when they saw the two of them come over.
“Finally! We thought for sure you were gonna be huddled up in the corner all night,” Louise said, throwing her arms around them.
“Hey, I like our corner,” Phil replied, confused. There was nothing wrong with the corner they’d been standing in. They had a perfect view of the room, and were having fun watching people sneak upstairs (it was a good thing he’d locked his room). So why was Louise talking about it like it was a bad thing?
“I like it too,” Dan added, nodding quickly.
“Aww. It’ll be any day now,” PJ said to Louise, who laughed and nodded.
“Who knows? It could be tonight,” she replied, and Phil was way too drunk to decipher any of that, so he just went back to dancing. Before long the song was over, and everyone dispersed to take a break or to refill their drinks.
“I don’t wanna stop dancing. Where’s everyone going?” Dan asked, pouting and looking around.
“To take a break. We can keep dancing,” Phil told him, just as “Kiss Me” by Ed Sheeran started to play.
“This song is so slow,” Dan said, sounding disappointed.
“We can still dance to it. Like this,” Phil replied, tentatively taking a step forward, and placing his hands on Dan’s waist.
“Oh,” Dan breathed, sounding surprised.
“Is this okay?” Phil asked, searching his face.
“Yeah. Yeah it’s good,” Dan replied as they swayed to the music. They probably looked insane, alone in the living room, swaying to the song meant to give everyone a break to talk and drink. But Phil was drunk and lightheaded, and Dan’s head was on his shoulder, and he didn’t care how anyone thought they looked. He could stay here, in this moment, for the rest of time.
“Phil?” Dan asked, pulling away slightly to look at him.
“Yeah?”
“I-” he started to say, and then he threw up, just barely missing Phil’s shoes.
[Next Chapter]
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