Headcanons for the losers club watching their movie. Reddie and Stenbrough being in it too please if you don't mind.
- they fast forward through the beginning because no one needs to watch georgie die, least of all bill - he hides his face in stan’s shoulder and doesn’t come back up until he feels stan squeeze his hand twice (their signal for ‘it’s okay now’) - they all cringe during most of beverly’s scenes, because she is. not at all like that in real life and they don’t treat her that way at all? no one stares at her while she’s half naked bc she’s their friend and they respect her? and wtf is that scene with seducing the pharmacist? bev literally just went into one of the isles and started crying hysterically to distract him while the boys ran out with the med supplies - all of them hate watching the scenes with henry, because they’re all very protective of each other and are lowkey glad he’s dead as fuck - richie LOVES himself in this movie. he thinks he’s fucking hilarious, he won’t stop laughing at his own jokes - stan is like??? why don’t i speak ever? - mike immediately emails the producer and demands to know why he has exactly negative-5 minutes of screen time - bev barely watches the movie tbh she doesn’t recognize any of ‘her’ actions on screen except for when she kicks her dad’s ass - they all make teasing ‘oooooh’ sounds when richie and eddie have their Moment in the neibolt house when richie holds his face, and they flush but they’re already together so whateVER GUYS - ben is embarrassed when his poem is read out loud to everybody, but they’re all kinda stunned bc wtf that shit was beautiful dude?? - they’re all very confused why ben ended up being the historian when mike’s the biggest history nerd out of all of them? ben’s the poetic soul - and why are mike’s parents dead???? why would they kill his parents?? he calls them right after the movie - they almost turn the movie off halfway through because it’s. problematic to more than just one of their friends but they all want to see them beat the shit out of the clown so they tough it out - bill and stan clutch each other when the lady from the painting bites stan’s face, and during the scene with georgie - eddie won’t stop throwing heart eyes at richie during his ‘now i’m gonna have to kill this fucking clown’ scene because seeing it once was enough but seeing it twice? richie was. he was something else - richie’s like woah… i’m actually the coolest person alive wow - they all actually cheer when bev shoves the pole down her ‘father’s throat and when eddie kicks pennywise, when stan comes to save the day and mike too, all of them just being the team they are and taking It down together - they just love the fight scene they love it so much - and of course they fast forward through the scene with georgie again because no one can handle that again - lowkey everybody cries during the blood oath scene but mike’s like “wait a second guys, we didn’t even hold hands cut to cut” - silence from the group. and then - “so? there was an AIDs epidemic” - “eddie the whOLE POINT OF A BLOOD OATH–”
It seemed odd that when Erik was most upset, he would not seek solace at his piano or pipe organ, which he saved almost entirely for venting his loudest emotions, but would venture to the very top of the Opera Populaire instead. If he wanted to be alone, there was no better place than locked away in his dark room in the dark house on the dark lake beneath the opera, yet it was as far opposite as one could go that his blackest moods always brought him.
Perhaps he couldn’t stand the cloying, damp atmosphere of the fifth cellar at such times. Perhaps the cold, clear air helped calm him. Or maybe he just enjoyed looking down on everyone from a secluded pedestal. She had no idea. All she knew was that it always surprised her to find him there, and that the best thing for them both was probably to just let him be, no matter how lonely his dark silhouette looked against the pale gray sky.
But she had never been very good at doing the best thing.
And so she closed the door behind her and began to slowly walk towards that tall, forbidding form, crossing her arms against the chill wind that whipped across the roof. He couldn’t have known it was her, surely, but he still didn’t move; the door hadn’t even been locked. Something shifting uneasily in her gut told her it was a very bad sign, and that she should tread quite carefully–back the way she came no doubt, added the small, sensible portion of her mind. But her heart disagreed as per the norm, tugging her forward steadily. Intuition and its insistent whisper that something was dreadfully wrong seemed to second the foolhardy notion that brought her to stand close behind him and call out softly, “Erik? Are you all right?”
To her great surprise, he answered. His voice was soft and hoarse, and his hands opened and closed at his sides like claws as he spoke.
“Tell me, my dear, which do you dream of more often: flying or falling?”
There was something unnerving in that gently scraping murmur.
“Well….” She swallowed and took a step closer so that she could see something of his face. His head was tilted down, and his eyes seemed to look far, far away. “Both, I suppose,” she replied quietly, trying to quell the tremor in her voice. “Why do you ask?”
“It must be very nice to dream of flying instead of falling–always falling–through an endless, burning darkness. It hurts dreadfully, though there is never a bottom. Do you suppose that it what hell is like?”
Erik paused, and she didn’t know if he was waiting for her to speak; she didn’t know if she could have.
“Often one wishes there was a bottom,” he continued in that oddly detached, hollow way. “Perhaps that would end it.”
He shifted a half step closer to the edge over which his gaze seemed fixed. They were already far too close to the side for her taste; this step brought her heart right into her throat, and his next words froze it there. “It couldn’t be half as painful as falling, could it?”
His name left her as a panicked yelp. She clapped a hand over her mouth, but he didn’t seem to have noticed at all.
“Erik,” she amended in a purposefully soft, coaxing tone. “Can we…can we please go home now?”
His chin pivoted a slight but encouraging inch in her direction, away from the frightening drop so near their feet.
“Home?” he hummed distantly, almost too quiet to hear.
“Yes,” she said over a gulp. “Let’s go home, Erik. Please.” And then slowly, tentatively, with every muscle in her body tensed, she crossed the meter of space between them and gently wound her arm around his. A tense span of breathless, waiting seconds passed, and then she leaned into his side with a shuddering sigh.
She saw his head cock like a bird’s out of the corner of her eye. “Are you cold?” he asked in a voice that loosened her shoulders a little.
Her cheek nuzzled against the softness of his sleeve, and she nodded. Never had she been colder than in the moment he took that step closer to the building’s edge. It was the kind of cold that sat in her bones now and made her feel like she might never be warm again.
That same cold seized up within her when, without warning, his arm slipped from hers. Her hands shot out to grab at his clothes desperately, and it occurred to her that she could not see a thing through all the tears suddenly in her eyes, nor hardly hear the sigh he gave for how loudly she was breathing. He stood there and let her clutch his clothes and cry her tears quite patiently for a minute. After that, a handkerchief was delicately wiping over her face as he tutted at her, and she would have laughed had she not been sniffling still.
“You silly girl,” he chided gently, dabbing at her cheeks. “I was only getting my cloak for you.”
And then it slid around her shoulders like a black, sheltering cloud. He pressed his kerchief into her hands in lieu of his clothes, which he smoothed down with a sniff.
By this time she was feeling a little better, and it only increased when he reached around and pulled her close against him.
“Come. I feel a chill descending; it looks like rain.”
But she didn’t care much about the chill any longer. Tucked into his side like that, she was quite comfortable again. It was as warm as could be under his cape and his arm and his once-more watchful gaze, and warmer still the farther away they got from the edge of the roof.
She decided, as he led them away and talked of hearth fires and suppertime, that she would never let him go up there alone again.
it's Adam's birthday! would you mind writing something kylux as though it's Kylo's birthday? thank you!
Kylo’s dreams of standing beside Hux during his coronation as Emperor slowly fade as he wakes up, rousing into full awareness with the help of soft fingers combing through his hair. He sighs softly, eyes fluttering open to see Hux lying beside him.
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Hux whispers, kissing Kylo’s head, making sure his hair is brushed out of the way, allowing his lips to graze his forehead. “But I’ve made breakfast for you.”
Kylo blinks, frowns. Hux has never made breakfast, for either of them. A droid usually delivers their morning rations to them; boring and tasteless processed food on a tray, slop that’s meant to be eggs and toast, a mug of coffee for Hux and glass of cold fruit juice for Kylo, eaten at their small, square table before parting ways for their respective work on their ship.
But the sweet smell in the air tells Kylo that this morning is different.
Hux is up and gone into the main chamber of their shared quarters before Kylo can ask what’s going on so he sits up in bed, utterly baffled by what he’s woken up to and part of him still wonders whether he’s still dreaming. Only moments later, Hux re-enters their bedroom with a lap tray in his hands, placing it down so its stands are either side of Kylo’s thighs, and Kylo becomes transfixed by the regale in front of him.
It’s a square plate instead of a bland tray, and upon it sits a neatly arranged assortment of food. There’s cooked meat on one side, with gorgeous-looking scrambled eggs nestled next to them, garnished with something green. A glass, droplets running down the side, of red fruit juice sits in the corner next to a smaller plate with two pieces of golden toast, a blue jam spread across it perfectly evenly. Kylo’s mouth waters. But the oddest thing is a small, chocolate cupcake in the corner with a single yellow candle flickering away to itself.
“Happy birthday, Ren,” Hux says, sitting down on the bed beside Kylo, kissing his cheek. “I’ve managed to clear your schedule for today and for tomorrow, so we can do whatever you choose.”
Kylo looks down at his food and then back to Hux, then to his own hands, his chest welling up with emotion.
“Well,” Hux shrugs, moving the fork to sit straight beside the plate. “By the Finalizer’s cycle, yes. You can’t possibly have forgotten when your own birthday is.”
“I don’t celebrate my birthday. Not since–” Kylo stops, remembering how Snoke had declared that Kylo Ren had been created from the ashes of Ben Solo; the boy is no more, the monster is alive. And with that, meant Kylo doesn’t have a birthday; created, not born. But he can’t dismiss Hux’s efforts. “I…I don’t even recall telling you about my birthday. Snoke wouldn’t approve.”
“I may have done my own research,” Hux says, blushing, obviously proud of himself. “I know the Supreme Leader forbids anything personal going on your personnel file so I used my own methods to explore your past.”
Kylo hums curiously, forefinger grazing across the jam on the toast, bringing it up to his lips to taste, recognising it immediately. It’s Corellian; sweet and tart but exactly what his father used to bake—
“This is bluefruit jam.”
Hux nods. “It is indeed. I apologise for the rather thick consistency. It’s my first time making jam and I’m very much an impatient fool when it comes to cooking.”
Kylo takes a bite of the toast, finding it fresh and hot, unlike the burnt and cold pieces he’s used to eating from the ship’s kitchens.
“Hux,” Kylo gasps. “It’s my favourite…How did you know? How could you possibly—”
“Straight from the horse’s mouth,” Hux shrugs. “Well. General Organa’s mouth.”
Kylo coughs, choking on the toast, reaching for the juice to quell his coughs. Hux pats him on the back but Kylo waves him away.
“How in the name of the Seven Hells did you get all of that from her?”
“I sent a man undercover,” Hux says, blasé, as though confused by Kylo’s shock. “There’s no one better to ask about what Kylo Ren’s favourite things are than his own mother. She was very willing to reminisce with a fellow ‘parent’ about her lost son.”
Kylo puts his head in his hands and groans.
“You sent one of your men undercover, into a Resistance base, spent money on the plan, all to get information about me from my mother? He could’ve been caught, our plans divulged to our greatest enemies if they’d managed to crack him. You’re insane,” Kylo laughs, eyebrows raised.
“Maybe so, but you’re happy with your bluefruit jam, aren’t you?”
Kylo hesitates but nods, taking another bite, finishing the first piece, his tummy filling with butterflies at the memories it’s bringing back.
The Solo-Organa’s had enjoyed cooking together, though none were good at it. Leia didn’t have the patience to wait, Han wouldn’t follow the recipes and Ben just wanted to eat as soon as possible, even if that meant licking the spoon of the mixture, but bluefruit jam was something that Ben’s father had apparently took a liking to when he was a young boy, and Ben was all too enthusiastic to try it.
“I love it,” Kylo says, a spot of jam on the end of his nose. “Thank you, Hux. This is…the best birthday I’ve had in a long time.”
Hux smiles, kissing Kylo’s nose, getting the jam off before moving to kiss his cheek.
“You’re welcome, my Ren. Here’s to many more happy birthdays.”
Hux picks up the little cupcake and holds it between them. Kylo smiles, thinking of his wish, feeling like a young boy again, sat at the table with his parent’s homemade and messy birthday cake in front of him. Ben always thought long and hard about his birthday with and Kylo is no different. He hums, hesitates, and thinks. Power? Wealth? Glory? None of that means anything to Kylo without Hux.
He looks at Hux then to the candle, supposing that his childhood wish to have a real friend came true after all. The next best wish is for he and Hux to become rulers of the galaxy; powerful, wealthy and glorious.
“The old you’s not going anywhere with that emo look on your face! If you overcome that gloomy self of yours…let me know. Or else I’ll start spreading rumors about high school debut man.” (coloring lineup insp)
✿ | PINKY HERO | requested by @tinylittlesnowflake
“This will just be a signal fire. We’ll fill those heroes full of holes… and put them in their place. All for a brighter future.”
League of Villains
| sexyDABI | (¬‿¬) ♥ ~
requested by my lovelies @cruvcio and @sesukes
R E A D Y F O R I T: is a more of a warning than a question. a sign of things to come. a simple warning shot before the gunfight. to let you know that something is about to happen. telling you to prepare yourself. it’s just the beginning in the over all story.
E N D G A M E: is for the lovers who, despite the odds, believe they can make it through this crazy game called life. it’s wanting to break your reputation of bad endings and make this be the one that lasts forever. it’s adrenaline rushes and planning your whole life out with someone.
I D I D S O M E T H I N G B A D: isfor all the witches they were unsuccessful at burning. it’s lit fireworks crackling in your rib-cage and fiddling with the laces of your warn out combat boots and already ripped fishnets and applying perfectly winged eyeliner without trying and bright red lipstick to match the blood of your enemies.
D O N T B L A M E M E: is for the passionate, reckless, fearless lovers. the ones who fall in love without hesitation and without permission. they dive in head first without looking back. they don’t care if it makes them seem crazy because they would rather be crazily, passionately in love than live an indifferent and emotionless life. it’s for when you find that one person you would risk everything for.
D E L I C A T E: is for the doubt that takes residence in your head and in your heart when you finally get the courage to dust yourself off and fall for someone new after you got your heart broken. it’s terrifying and temporary and fragile and beautiful because it’s fleeting. it can never last forever, or so you have been led to believe. it’s for the cautious dreamers. the damaged lovers who have been left for dead too many times to count.
L O O K W H A T Y O U M A D E M E D O: is for the defeating moment when you finally take the blame just to ease the heat. it’s for when every one thinks that they finally buried you but like a phoenix, you rise from the ashes reborn. it’s taking a lighter and burning every thing to the ground. it’s finding out just how good revenge can feel.
S O I T G O E S: is nights at bars and restaurants and films and parties and weekends that you know can’t possibly last forever. it’s silk dresses and high heels and smudged lipstick and scratches on your lovers back. it’s cashmere jumpers and messy hair and dark circles beneath your eyes because lately life has been so freeing, sleeping seems like a waste of time.
G O R G E O U S: is for the endless summer nights and repeatedly making eye contact with the stranger across the bar. it’s starry eyes, rosy cheeks, and quiet seduction. it’s drinks in blues and pinks and tiny cocktail umbrellas and having so many you quit counting. it’s finding someone so physically flawless you can’t help but hate them, simply because you can’t have them.
G E T A W A Y C A R: is for all of the lovers on the run from all of their past mistakes and rebounds. it’s for when they find someone with similar baggage and decide to find distraction in each other. it’s for seeking a fresh new start. it’s secretly kissing in diner booths, holding hands under the table, and kissing each other with recklessness on your lips. it’s knowing that this is temporary, but that’s what you love about it.
K I N G O F M Y H E A R T: for the boys and girls who make a key to their heart and give it to each other. it’s the truth and vulnerability one must have to be able to do that. it’s for the five am rooftop conversations. it’s getting dressed up just to dance with each other around the living room.
D A N C I N G W I T H O U R H A N D S T I E D: it’s nights spent dancing with each other around the house. it’s lips that taste like safety, and that’s something you haven’t had in so long you’ve forgotten what it taste like. It’s the drop of your stomach just before you jump. This is for the desperate but hopeful lovers.
D R E S S: is his drink in your hair, on your lips, in your hands. it’s crumpled bed sheets. it’s when the sun rises in the morning and your eyes meet the same sleeping lover beside you. it’s lace bra-lets and knee-high boots.
W H Y W E C A N T H A V E N I C E T H I N G S: is for when the hurt and betrayed turn into the unforgiving and unafraid. it’s when your mouth is filled with unforgiving teeth. it’s reaching a point of anger, you can’t help but burst into laughter. you can’t help but joke about the whole thing. it’s shards of broken glass and anger to the point of apathy.
C A L L I T W H A T Y O U W A N T: is for the lovers who find comfort and validation in one another. they don’t have anything to prove. it’s hand written lovers and blankets under covers. grinning from ear to ear alone in your room. the promise of something bigger than this. a taste of forever. it’s cups of tea in the morning and wine at night. it’s the kind of love that could inspire classic romance novels.
N E W Y E A R S D A Y: is for when every one else has gone home and you are the only two remaining. when the party is over, but the best part of the night has yet to come. it’s time standing still when it’s just you two. it’s air kissed curls and deep two in the morning conversations on kitchen counters. it’s wanting to stay forevermore.