Could you write bev/eleven again? It cleared my skin and made my crops grow
here you go lovely, this is a little thing about bev and eleven and makeup and idk why i tried to make it make sense because there’s no way it does but. there you go. ty for asking ;-; implied reddie an stan/mike tooooooo. and the first bev/eleven post is here. @ameliasscanwells for you too ♡
the first time they do their makeup together, bev and eleven are fourteen. it’s a mixture of stuff, old lipsticks and eyeshadows bev’s aunt gave them and the bright plastic kids makeup you can buy cheap at the pharmacy, a set of blushes and eyeshadows set into a pink heart shaped compact and tubes of body glitter in five colours and nail polish that glows in the dark. and being fourteen bev feels too old for it, but it gives her a thrill anyway, everything sweetly candy-scented and fake.
“what goes first?” eleven asks, eyes wide, hands hovering over the products spread out across bev’s dressing table.
“whatever you want, el,” says bev, picking up a tube of brick red lipstick. “i’m gonna use this.”
“let’s match,” says eleven, lips pursed, a decision made.
eleven is far newer to it than bev is, so bev helps. with her hands as gentle as she can make them, she draws electric blue along the edges of eleven’s eyelids, wings it out at the corners, pinky finger resting against her cheek to keep the line steady. mascara then, that eleven blinks through and smudges badly. neither of them really care, maybe it’s a part of it, maybe it’s a smokey eye, a deliberate sort of mess. then bev pats blush into both of their cheeks, smudged rose, and she draws a soft fluffy brush along the high points of eleven’s cheekbones, a moonglow highlight.
when they’re done, they stare at each other in the mirror, pretending like they’re aliens. pretending like they’re as young as they should be. the sort of young that girls are when they don’t grow up in the places they have, with the people they have. bev sticks out her tongue and eleven pouts extravagantly and they take a photo together with bev’s polaroid camera, a blurred portrait of two girls just starting to figure out who they are. eleven takes the photo, sticks it in a book she has of things like that. a postcard from mike and a rose joyce byers gave her, pressed between the pages.
it’s a regular thing after that. eleven comes over when she’s feeling strange, or sick, or when she’s had bad dreams. she climbs the tree outside bev’s window, taps on the glass, and bev lets her in and they sit on her bed and do their makeup, not necessarily to make themselves look any kind of way, but for the routine of it, and for the calm. silence and soft brushes and closeness. bev isn’t sure where eleven lives, and whenever she asks el just shrugs, just smiles, and she stays there the night, and they fall asleep holding hands.
(she lives in a hotel, paid for with money sent to her by a police officer. she keeps his business card in her book, with the postcard, with the rose, and his home phone number is scrawled on the back, but she never calls it.)
they get older and makeup starts to mean something else. bev wears brick red lipstick to school sometimes, and laughs when she’s told to take it off. eleven wears a thousand bright plastic clips in her short hair, and the lace dresses bev makes her, and green tinted lipstick that no one says anything about, because eleven can turn scary sometimes. she likes to look like an alien, to look just as strange on the outside as she feels on the inside. sixteen years old and sweet and earnest and vicious. green lipstick and too many hair clips and glitter on her cheeks. she has friends. she talks to mike on the phone at least once a week and she tells him about the boy she’s met who looks like him but with wilder hair, wilder everything, and she tells him about bev, who looks like starlight, like fire in a forest, like a summer storm. bev who kisses her on the cheek sometimes, to leave a smudged red mark that eleven doesn’t wash off until she absolutely has to. mike tells her it sounds like she has a crush and she scoffs down the line and blushes and twirls the spiral cord around her finger.
at bev’s house, sometimes the boys are there when they do their makeup. they’re better at it now, and eleven doesn’t need bev’s help anymore, but she still asks for it and bev still does it, swiping her fingers under eleven’s eyes to get rid of fallen mascara, poofing her with a powder puff to make her laugh, touching her thumb to her lower lip, spreading out the colour there. she does it for the boys too, if they ask her. sooty eyeliner for richie, who wants to look like a badass but mostly just kind of looks doe-eyed and pretty. matching highlights for stan and mike, in pearl and gold, that they take off immediately after taking a photo, mike licking his fingers and smudging at stan’s cheeks, both of them laughing. a fevered blush for eddie, who is feeling sort of like maybe he needs to look as sick as his mother tells him he is, but the angry slope of his eyebrows kind of mess that up and richie pinches his cheeks and whispers in his ear and kisses his hand and he sighs and shrugs and is fine again anyway.
they collect more polaroids. bev and eleven with vicious contours, fierce eyebrows, or bev and eleven in candy colours, drawn on hearts for beauty spots, neon green lips and pink eyelashes, or bev and eleven in shades of brown and red, soft as autumn leaves. eleven puts them in her book. bev keeps one, eleven with her eyes shut, laughing, her false eyelashes gone astray and a scarlet kiss on her cheek. eleven gets a job at the aladdin with richie, and she wears her face bare, and she likes that just as much.
in bev’s room, seventeen years old, they kiss after a thousand years of waiting. eleven has no makeup on and bev is halfway through taking hers off too, one eye done in sparkles, an eyeliner star on one cheek. eleven is sitting on her bed, humming to herself, staring at the ceiling, and bev gets caught, watching her in the mirror instead of using her makeup wipe. eleven grins, leans back on her elbows, flutters her fingers in a wave, and bev thinks, fuck it, and jumps onto the bed too. kisses her, even though she tastes of makeup remover, even though one of her eyes is still heavy with mascara. kisses her because she’s her best friend, this girl who came out of nowhere, who exists nowhere, who is everything to bev. kisses her and laughs when she kisses back. when she pulls back, eleven looks startled, looks happily scared, and she pokes at bev’s cheek with a finger.
“you have half a face,” she says, quietly. “it’s pretty.”
“you’re pretty,” says bev, who still can’t really take that word as anything other than something her father threw at her, though she knows it’s not the same from el, could never be. “quit it.”
“no,” says eleven, happily, and bev kisses her again, once more, before taking off the rest of her makeup, and turning off the light.
(they fall asleep holding hands and wake up holding hands and kiss again and do their makeup.)
finally got around to making a nail polish phone case myself! :D in here i used:
Emily de Molly - Heart Street
Emily de Molly - Hardware + Alanna Renee - Golden Snitch
Emily de Molly - Monet’s Garden
Femme Fatale - World of Shadows
Emily de Molly - Turbulence
Femme Fatale - Coldwraith
Emily de Molly - Cosmic Forces
Femme Fatale - Edge of the Cosmos
phew! kept getting confused between these two brands! hopefully i got them right :P it’s so shiny and sparkly i love it so much. i am deeefinitely going to make more of these with different colour combinations!