#again no jail for polo just hugs

[ketso]

Episode 1

It has been fifteen years that I have spent behind bars. Today, I am a forty-three-year-old free woman. I did my time, but none of it was good behaviour. My daughter, Wandisa, is a groovy beautiful woman now. She is twenty-five years old now. She's a sassy grown woman that I did my best to raise behind bars.

You see, her father is a married man who came into my life and turned my life upside down for the worst. I lost my jobs. My businesses. My reputation and my child. I needed to beg his wife to raise my child for me. But in the end, I had to remove her from that situation. Nathi had other children with his wife, Thandeka, and she had a way of differentiating between my daughter and her kids with Nkosinathi. So, I asked her to take my child to boarding school and just let her grow up there. They paid her fees. I did the rest from behind these bars.

"Mah!" She's here. My child. She's waiting for me. She's the spitting image of her father. But she's grown into this bright young woman that I'm so proud to call my daughter. Now, she's here to pick me up with her Polo TSI from prison. One day, I'm going to buy her one of the cars that I used to drive when I was hot and relevant.

She hugs me so tightly.

I'm so thankful that I detached her from Thandeka. When she went to university, she made sure that she visited me every weekend in prison, and we would just talk. I told her everything there was to know about me and everything that is true about her father and me. She told me that she still had a relationship with Thandeka and she likes that relationship because as distant as her father is her, she feels close to him because of Thandeka. Thandeka lets her visit the house as often as she likes. She has a relationship with her younger siblings. She's part of their perfect little family and I'm happy for her. All I'd ever want is for her to be happy. Honestly, it's the only thing that I can really offer her at this point.

We drive away from this correctional centre and when I see the sign "Never Again" staring at me, I swear that indeed, never again will I be behind these bars.

"I was watching this show called The Wire. When one of the main gangsters came out of jail neh - his name is Avon Barksdale - his best friend bought him new clothes to wear so he could throw the prison clothes out the window. I thought it was pretty cool. So here, I got you new clothes. Please lady - throw out the jail bird and be this glam mother that I know you really want to be inside", she says.

We both laugh.

She's such a silly little girl.

I'm changing into these high-waste baby blue pants and a white tank top. She even bought me heels.

"Now throw out those prison stuff! Whoooooo!" She says.

This child mara.

But I throw out my clothes and I do the whole "whoooooo" with her. It feels so good! So so good! Oh man! There's no better feeling than this.

I'm out. I'm with my daughter. Oh man. God is faithful. It's okay if I never see Nathi again. But I do need to get out there and make a plan for my daughter and I to move out of this "ama-rooms" situation that she lives in here in Orlando, Soweto.

We arrive at where she stays and there are no cars in the yard. I'm sure people have gone to work. She parks the car then she leads me to her room. She unlocks the security gate then the door. We walk in.

"Welcome home, mom. This is us for now." She says.

It's actually nice. It's a huge open plan space.

She has couches in here that look very expensive. It's one two-seater couch and two single seater couches. The two-seater couch is navy blue and the single couches are yellow.

In front of these couches is a mounted 65inch plasma TV. Then, there is her bed - a king sized bed that is dressed in Egyptian cotton bedding. This room feels like a hotel.

"It's not big kodwa -

"It's bigger than the cell I had to share with fifteen other people."

"Fifteen? Yho mama, I can't even host fifteen people in here. I wouldn't want to. They'd just mess up my stuff." She says.

I just laugh.

She's such a grown woman.

"I bought you some stuff. You can have the cupboard. I've emptied it. We will go shopping together and get you more stuff. I'll take the chest of drawers." She says.

The cupboard is black and just nice. There is space here. A lot of it. And it's nice space. The chest of drawers is wide and long, with ten drawers to it. It's black. It's beautiful. The one empty wall in here is a full mirror wall. This girl has taste. I'm even beginning to forget that we are in a township here.

I walk into the bathroom because I kinda didn't bath this morning. I didn't want to. I didn’t want anyone taking a chance on me because they knew that I was leaving. I didn't want anything ruining the chance of me being with my daughter this very moment.

The bathroom is tiled with grey tiles. Her bathtub is that stand alone bathtub and it's massive. She has a shower as well that is black and dimmed. Her basin is lovely. The toilet is stunning. There are Egyptian cotton white towels in here and they feel AMAZING!

"I bought you that pink salt from the taxi rank, mama. Bath yourself with it and just clean everything that you could have gathered inside. You are not going back in there. Okay?" She says to me.

"Okay, baby." I promise her with a smile.

"Please mama, feel at home. I'm stepping out to make some deliveries then I'm going to meet up with Senzi. I'll see you later." She says.

"Wandisa, kancane nje baby girl." I stop her before she dashes out.

She stops and gives me her undivided attention.

I know she sells clothes and does freelance writing and promo work. She says she makes forty thousand rands from her jobs every month. I know that Senzi is her boyfriend. He is the one who bought her that car she drives. Like I said, we spoke a lot during the visits.

"So, you still doing your piece jobs?" I ask her.

"I'm a businesswoman, mama. Who still wants to be an employee in this messed up economy where unemployment is at its peak and you have to depend on building someone else's dream just to make sure that you can eat at the end of every month? Hai ngeke bo. But I'm saving for a house, mah. With me being self-employed, I can't get credit, so I buy all my things cash and save for the really big things." She says. Ja no, these kids have their own way of thinking. Hai.

"USenzi yena? Is he still flying planes?" I ask. I know he's a pilot. She's very proud of it.

"Yeah. It's his job. An aeroplane is not exactly cheap to buy." She says.

"Is he away often?" I ask her.

"Ja, a lot actually. But it's perfect because it gives me a chance to get my business straight. Phela uyithanda ukufa i-attention lo mlisa. When he's around, Wandi goes MIA in his room. But today, I told him it's your first day back. So, I want to take you out to dinner and spoil you and just watch a movie with you even." She says.

"Ngiyabonga, nana. Be safe out there, okay?" I say.

"I will, mommy. If you need anything, I have left money for you on your side pedestal. It's one-thousand-five-hundred-rands. Here's a cellphone I bought for you. It's an iPhone. It has everything. When you've started up, please call me so I have your number. I've written my number down on paper. Use an Uber to go anywhere and everywhere you wish to go. And -

"Wandisa, ngizoba right. Just go." I tell her.

She smiles at me. She kisses me and says, "Sizoba right, mah. You are home now. I love you."

This means everything to me. ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING.

"I love you too, baby girl." I say.

Then, she's gone.

I start off by running myself a good bubble bath and I chuck the entire white groff salt bottle and pink salt bottle in the bathtub. I light the scented candles that I see around the bathtub. Then I sink myself into the water. I literally slide in and even let the water cover my face and hair. This room is definitely Sandton level, but the kids running and screaming in the streets is reminding me that I'm still in the township. I can't begin to describe how happy I am that I have a relationship with my child. There's nothing else that I want. Nothing.

I see products here that I can use. These are all the products she'd tell me about every time she would visit me. She would tell me that she got a promo job with these big brands and she would get paid in money and a supply of the products. I pick one range that focuses on uneven skin. I use that and start cleaning myself. She's actually doing okay for herself. I'm proud of my baby girl.

When I'm done bathing, I get out of the bathtub and I drain the water from the bathtub. I clean the bathtub then lotion myself. I also use her hair dryer to dry up my hair. Maybe I should take this money that she left for me and do something about this afro situation on my head. I wear the outfit that she brought to prison for me to change into. I like it. She definitely has style and taste.

I open my cupboard send I see some handbags in here. I take a small handbag and sling it across my body. I start up my cellphone and as promised, I phone her - dialling in the number on my side pedestal.

"Hello?" She answers.

"Wandi, it's me."

"Mah, hey. Okay, I'll save this number." She says.

"Okay. I'm going to a salon to do something nice with my hair. Can you recommend anywhere that I can go?"

"Hai bo, doing my hair is one of my businesses. I'll buy hairpiece and we can braid each other tonight." She says.

"Okay." I say.

"Mama, relax. Enjoy the TV, walk around the township. Go have lunch at a nice mall. Just please, enjoy yourself." She says.

"Okay baby. I'll see you later." I say.

"Later."

She hangs up.

Yho. I gave birth to something else.

I briefly Google Dr N N Buthelezi. He pops up and I see where his offices are based now.

I get an Uber to take me there.

The Uber arrives and indeed takes me to his offices. When I arrive at the hospital, I go to the doctor's suites and I find his offices. I walk all the way into his office then I bump into him talking to his receptionists. He looks at me. He stares at me. I stare at him.

"Hi", he says.

"Sawubona." I say.

"You can come through to my office", he says.

I'm glad he's not being hostile and horrible. I just follow him to his office.

"Can I offer you -

"Nathi, I'm not here for all of that. I just wanted to say thank you for raising Wandi. She's one hell of a woman with a beautiful spirit and I'm proud to be her mother. I know that you and Thandeka had your challenges with her, but you did well. She's a strong young woman that's even taking care of me now. I'm proud of her. I'm proud of everything she is. And I want to say thank you ukuthi despite everything else, you've been a father to her. A single father raising her with a stepmother. You know. That couldn't have been easy."

"Thandeka did all the heavy lifting. She even did the parts that I honestly couldn't do. Even now, her relationship with Wandisa is something I wish I had with Wandisa."

"Well, I'll be sure to thank her too. I hope the two of you are doing well."

"We've... we've actually decided to get a divorce. It's been finalized and everything. We went through too much and I suppose we reached a point of no return. We are great with co-parenting the kids and it's better this way. Maybe this will also help me co-parent better with you." He says.

"I'm sorry to hear about your divorce. She's a good woman."

"She is. But I've been destroying her for years. I love her enough to let her go. It's time." He says.

I nod my head.

"You look really well. You look as beautiful as I remember you to be the first time I saw you. Wow, Maphuthi. You haven't changed one bit or aged one year."

I can't help but blush.

"Can I maybe treat you to lunch?" He asks me.

"I was going to grab something quick then head back home. Wandisa has all these plans. And as overwhelmed as I am, I don't want to disappoint her. I mean she's giving up her time with her boyfriend just to spend time with me. So until she gets back home, I just want to be alone. I need to breathe a little bit, you know. I need the reality of being free to finally sink in." I say.

He seems to understand.

"Let me at least drive you home." He says.

That I don't say no to.

The car ride is nice. It's quiet.

"I'm in the process of buying Thandeka a new car. I'm thinking I should maybe get you something as well." He says.

"Why don't you buy your daughter a car first? She has a boyfriend buying her cars when her father is this generous about buying cars?" I say.

"Ngiyazama nje, Maphuthi."

"Angiyena uThandeka, mina. Let's just get that straight. Ungang'phapheli."

"I was just looking after the mother of my child."

"When did you realise that I was the mother of your child? I was inside a cell for fifteen years and you never even bought me a fizzer. Now you've suddenly grown generous enough to buy me a car?"

"Maphuthi -

"Lalela! I know that Thandeka is the love of your life. I don't need there to be equality in how you treat us. Besides, Wandisa is twenty-five years old now. What exactly are we co-parenting?"

He stops the car outside the rooms that Wandisa lives at. She's not back. Good. I'll have a minute to myself before she gets back.

"Uhambe kahle!" I step out the car and say.

"Maphuthi", he says.

I look at him.

"I didn't mean to offend you. I'm sorry." He says.

I nod my head.

"Your number? Can I perhaps have it?"

"For what?"

"Any emergencies. It's good for us to have each other's numbers. We share a child."

"If you have anything to say to Wandisa, you can contact her directly."

"And if I have something to say to you?" Him

I pull out my phone.

"What’s your number? I'll buzz you." I say.

He calls out his number then I punch it in my phone and buzz him. His phone rings then he says, "Got it. Thanks."

I nod my head, close the car door and walk into the yard as he drives away.

I finally see someone who lives here. A man who could be my age if not older.

"I've never seen you around here before", he says to me as I unlock the door.

"I'm Wandi's mother."

"Mother? Not sister? Are you sure?"

I uncomfortably giggle. I know I'm beautiful, but I don't like hearing it from other people.

"Chase", he says to me as he extends his hand for a handshake.

Men can't look like this, call themselves Chase and introduce themselves to me when I'm fresh out of prison and have been having sex with myself for fifteen years. It should be illegal. The palms of my hands are even beginning to sweat.

"Maphuthi", I say and shake his hand.

"What a pleasure", he says as he kisses my hand.

Yoh! Chase cannot do such things to me. He just cannot.

"So, you live in one of these rooms?" I ask him.

"Yeah actually. I just recently got divorced and my ex-wife sued me for everything you can think of. So until I find my feet again, this is the place I call home and that white Audi A4 is the car I call transport." He says.

"Any kids?" I ask him.

"Yep. Four. Three boys and one girl. Their mother has packed them up too and took them back to the UK without me. They won't even talk to me. I know I fucked up, but I don't deserve to not be in my children's lives. I definitely don't deserve for my wife to feed my mistakes to my children and have them view me different. You know?"

I just nod my head.

"Is Wandi your only daughter?" He asks me.

I nod my head and say, "Yeah. My only baby girl."

"You did great with her. She's amazing."

"It was mostly her father and her step-mother that raised her. I was in prison for the past fifteen years. I only came out this morning."

His aura immediately changes.

I just know I've led him to losing all interest in me.

"I'll see you around, Chase." I say.

I get into the room and close the door.

Silence at last.

I actually do nothing fancy with my time. I don't watch TV or listen to music or learn stuff off my cellphone. None of that. I just sit here, lie on my back, shut my eyes and simply breathe. That's it. That's all that life requires of me today. To just breathe.

In and out.

In and out.

In and out.

I think about the novel that I wrote and finished in prison. I told Wandi about it and she was so excited for me to come out so that she can help me promote it, get it in stores and have me make honest money out of it. If I can just get a laptop, then I can just view it on a machine one more time before I start printing and selling it. It's titled "A mother behind bars: materially misbehaving inside so she could be all that she wants to be outside."

I think about the people that I never wish to see again. I laugh at the moments that I had inside. I laugh at how hard I had to fight to get out and be here... like this... with my child. Fifteen years of being a child in a small shack filled with fifteen other children and we all get one plate of food a day. Whoever eats the fastest will sleep the most full. Whoever eats the slowest will be hungry before the others. That's what prison is like. It's a fight for survival every single day. And I survived. I sold drugs inside so I could give my child start-up capital for all these businesses that she has. Every time she made bad decisions and they cost her financially, I had to step in. I sold girls from the inside. You'd be surprised how much money this gives you on the inside. When she got this place and she was required to pay six months rent in advance, she came to me behind bars, and not to her father who is a specialized doctor and a half. I did what I had to do. And my baby is okay. So, my actions have never been in vain.

When I think about my mother and all that she failed to do for me... I could never be her. She let her boyfriend rape me the minute our father left us for another woman. Another family all together. I grew up knowing I was beautiful because all the men who touched me told me so. I grew up knowing that my beauty can get me anything because the teachers at my high school who took me to their houses told me that when they did things to me. Sleeping for something that I want became normal to me. It's like even when I started working... I slept with the right people to get the promotions that I wanted- no matter how brilliant I was at my job. Sad reality, but very true.

I'd lie to anyone that would listen that I was a spoiled daddy's girl whose father left businesses upon businesses for me. It made me feel like I was exactly like all the other kids who had fathers that never left them for other women - that chose them over leaving. And in a weird way, my little lie of my perfect father and all the things he was doing for me kept me going.

I started getting into crime out of greed I suppose. I could always do with an extra rand or two... I could always do with a house that had an extra brick or two... I could always do with a car that had some extra power or two... and in the end, the Buthelezis came into life and I went to jail for everything that I've ever done wrong in my life.

But now, I've done my time. Now, it's time to get my groove back.

I just need one night of passionate sex and I swear I'll even think a little bit better. Nathi is not on my list. Hell no. Chase was a strong contender, but now he's scared of me because I'm suddenly tattooed "convicted criminal" on my forehead to him.

Eish.

For now, let the hand do its job. I normally feel sleepy after helping myself. I guess the nap will be sweet and Wandi will wake me up when she gets back.

...

"Unjani umah wakho, Sthandwa Sami?" Senzi asks me as we both lie in the bathtub full of water, bath foam and relaxing bath oils. We are enjoying some champagne as well as we sit in here and just catch up with each other.

"She's good, baby. I'm just worried about her." I tell him.

"Why?"

"She just comes across as if she doesn't want to enjoy life because she still has to pay for her sins, you know? I don't want her to feel that way. She's my mother and I love her. I want a chance to be in her life and have her be in my life fully."

"Love, she just got out of prison. She's adjusting. It will take some time, but she will be okay eventually."

"I know... it's just..."

"Just what, babe?"

"Senzi, we all have one goal when we wake up everyday. Our goal is to return home untouched by the things of the world even though we live in it. No woman plans to meet her rapist on her way to school or work. No woman plans to meet situations that force her to make difficult decisions that have such consequences. I want my mom to know that I understand that she did what she had to do and it's okay. It's really okay. I want her to move on."

"I hear you, baby." He says. Then he kisses me.

"Maybe you should tell her that. It would mean the world to her." He says.

I nod my head.

"Have you spoken to your dad?" He asks me.

"Not really. Ubaba is not exactly keen about him and I having a father and daughter relationship."

"But, he just concluded his divorce. He needs a hug too. He needs the love and support that you are giving to your mother."

"I spoke to uKhanya. He says dad bought a new place and he is living his best life. Obviously, they visit him - uKhanya noKhosini. But, I don't think ubaba has room for me like that in his life. He never has" I say.

"Well, now that he is divorced -

"No, I don't even want to think like that. UMam'Thandeka has been nothing but nice and loving to me. More than ubaba even. I'm not going to insult her by even insinuating that she is the reason ubaba just never wanted me."

He is silent.

"Anyway, babe... I need to get going. I'm sure umama is wondering where I am." I say.

I stand up and get out of the bathtub.

"Baby! Wandi! Are you upset?" Senzi keeps saying as I make my way into his main bedroom and start lotioning myself.

I'm getting dressed in the blue denim jeans that I arrived in and the see-through shirt that I wore with it. I can get away with shirts like this because I'm the sexy lingerie and underwear kind of girl. I took after my mom with the wide hips, round ass and thin waist. But with my boobs - the Buthelezi family definitely gave me boobs for days. I've even gone for a boob reduction just to have them be a little smaller. They were making me look fat more than anything.

I don't tie my braids, I just let them hang from my head.

"Baby", he starts.

He is naked. He still lives at home and his mother hates me. He must get dressed before his mother just walks in here and shits on us. Thankfully, his bathroom is attached to his bedroom.

I'm still wearing my heel-like push-in sandals that have a transparent wrap over my foot. I don't like flat shoes. If you see me in a flat shoe, it's sneakers. I'm all about heels, so I have them in every sandal, slops, and morning shoes. All my boots have heels. I just don't understand flat shoes. They are uncomfortable and so unattractive. They just don't make sense to me. But a sneaker, I'll forgive for not having heels and that's me trying to be basic.

"Wandi", he says as he wraps himself around me. Okay, now he only has a towel wrapped around his lower body.

I finally look at him.

He is a very tall man. He reminds me so much of my dad. He is a successful career man who is good-looking and very charming. He has these small eyes that I love so much. Sometimes I tease him and tell him that he doesn't see me coming sometimes because his eyes are so small. He is a dark-skinned beauty... he looks Ghanaian. His mother is from Ghana and his father is Zulu. So, you can imagine how sexy his bone structure is and how deliciously tall he is. He couldn't be ugly even he wanted to and that Ghanaian sauce is heat deep on him. I can't help but smile at him. His smile defeats me all the time and he knows it.

He uses his body to push me and corner me against the wall of this bedroom.

"You know that I love you, right?" He says.

"I know", I say.

"There's nothing I wouldn't do for you. Baby, I just want you to be happy." He says.

"I know. Sometimes it just feels like you don't understand where I'm coming from half of the time. You have your parents living under one house and you are an only child who does not have siblings scattered between different parents. I'm the girl whose mother spent the last fifteen years of her life in prison. I spent the last nine years building a relationship with my mother through prison bars and on weekends and public holidays only. My mother was a side chick who turned my dad's world upside down by being pregnant with me. My dad lived my entire life apologizing to his wife about the fact that I even existed. I barely have a relationship with him because his wife tolerated me more than he did. I don't have a perfect life, Senzangakhona. Nothing is normal about my life. I was raped as a six-year-old child and no matter how hard I try to get over it or forget about it, I look at my mother and I realise that raping women is a norm where I come from. I could have easily been her. Mam'Thandeka saved me from that. Sometimes, when you give me advice about my family, I think you romanticise how painful it is to be in my shoes sometimes. I try my best to not blame my parents for it."

He hugs me. We share a deep and long hug.

"One day, I'm going to build you a house on a plot that is far away from the busy streets of townships and cities. We will grow our own vineyard and have the perfect banana tree. We will have a huge yard that we will fill up with trampolines -

"For me to jump on and lose weight", I say and we laugh.

"And we will have a huge swimming pool that is built with rocks and bricks that were used to build Rome and we will have our little Italy in our backyard."

I laugh.

"And I'll give you one baby." I say.

"Only one?"

"Okay, maybe two."

"How about three or four?" He says.

"Okay. Only if you buy yourself your own airline and have other people make money for you so you can spend all your time with your four kids and me", I say.

"Anything for you, baby. Anything." He says.

"We will start our own family. Just you and me and our four bundles of joy."

"And we will protect them. We will love them. We will try very hard to make sure that it's different for them."

"What happens if we fail, Senzi?"

"We can only do our best, my love."

"What if one of us die and someone else must come in and replace one of us in their lives?"

"Ssssshhhhhhhh...." He says as he hugs me tighter, pulling my head towards his chest. He kisses the top of my head.

"God is hearing our prayers, my love. And His answers are yes and amen. Always remember that." He says.

Yes, he is a youth pastor.

I look up at him. We kiss.

...

My mom was fast asleep when I got back from Senzi's house. It wasn't even 7pm yet. I didn't wake her up because I just felt that maybe she needed the rest.

Today, we woke up and we prepared breakfast together. After we ate, I plaited her hair. It took us about three hours and we were just talking as I was braiding her hair. She was telling me about prison and that she went to see my dad yesterday. I don't know why she did that. We don't need him. We really don't. She must just let him be. Some things must stay where they are. Like him.

As we clean up the hairpiece on the floor, I see Khanya's car park at the gate. Khanya and Khosini are my brothers. They are my younger brothers that were birthed by my other mother, Thandeka. I can't even call her my stepmother. She was so much more than that to me.

These two come here so often that they even know how to get in and just be comfortable. Khanya is twenty-two years old and Khosini is nineteen. But they are both taller than me and they think they are hottest things since sliced bread.

We are really close - all three of us. We have another sister - Sinqobile. She's Khosino's twin. She unfortunately passed away when she and Khosini were a couple of months old. So, it's just us three.

"Hello, sis", my brothers greet me.

I wish I could ask them what they are doing here, but this is their world. I just live in it.

"You guys look so good. Nibuyaphi?" I ask them.

"I'm coming from work. This one, I just picked up from campus. We going to dad's place for a braai, so we came to fetch you", Khanya says.

"I wasn't invited to a braai nje. And you know I'm still hanging out with my mom. She just got back from prison." I say.

They both look inside of my room and they notice my mother. She is also looking at us.

"Sawubona, Mam'Phuthi." They both greet her.

"Hello", she says, making her way to the door where we are standing.

"You are so grown. The last time I saw you, you were in diapers". My mom says.

"Now, you are grown and annoying as hell." I say.

They all laugh.

"Ubaba really wanted all of us to come, Wandi." Khosini says.

"He didn't say anything to me and he has my number." I say.

"He didn't say anything to me neither. He told Khanya and Khanya just passed on the message to everyone." Khosini.

"Hamba, baby girl. I'll be okay." My mom says.

"I'll go if you all go to church with me tomorrow. Including you, mama."

"Hai hai hai!" Khanya and Khosini protest.

My mom laughs.

"You are the mam'mfundisi here. Not us." Khanya says and everyone laughs.

"Please guys. Just come. We will just attend the youth service. Senzi is preaching." I say.

"USenzi is a preacher?" My mom asks.

"Youth pastor." I say.

My mom seems surprised.

"Mah, that church is so huge. There are three different services on a Sunday. It accommodates 300 people at a time. Yoh, I'm sure pastor Senzi earns a lot of money from that church. That place is a business. It even has a mall inside, mama." Khosini.

My mom is in stitches.

"Why are you like this? You know it's his parents' church and they started it from nothing. All they had when it started was material to build a shack and land. They had that land and shack then grew it into what it is now." I say.

"Mama, it's a mall. It sells all sorts of religious things. Then it's stunning infrastructure and it's just a vibe. Mama, they have musicians, brand and marketing people. For a church? A church, mama?!" Khanya keeps saying and honestly, my mom is going to faint at this point from all this laughing.

I love how my brothers are even calling my mother, mah. I love these two idiots.

"Well, I'll go to church. Maybe, I can even find a job there for now just to keep busy", my mom says.

"Thank you, mommy."

"Fine. We will also go." Khosini says.

I smile.

"Now, let's go to dad's place." Khanya says.

I quickly shower and get ready as they sit outside on the stoep with my mom. They actually talk. Like really talk and laugh.

When I'm done showering, I look for an outfit to wear.

I pull out a dress that I haven't worn in a while. It's a short dress, but it's cute. I wear it with Jordan sneakers. I grab a bag and we use Khanya’s BMW 1 series to head to my dad's place. I sit in the front seat next to Khanya who is driving and Khosini the baby sits at the back. It's just always been that way.

...

I'm cooking in the kitchen and the guys are braaing outside. It's just the three of us and my dad. I honestly feel uncomfortable. I don't feel like this is home for me.

"Hey", my dad comes into the kitchen with empty trays and braaing utensils covered in sauces that I used to marinate the meat.

I just give him a fake half smile.

"Kunjani ukuhlala nomama wakho?" He asks me.

"It's fine." I say.

"I was thinking that maybe I should get you guys a bigger place." He says.

"There's no need for you to do that." I say.

"I want to. And I want to buy you a car. I don't like this thing of you driving cars bought by other men", be says.

The fucken nerve!

"And when did you decide that? Around about the time when you woke up one day and decided that you are my father?"

"Wandisa -

"Baba, sobabili we know that I'm only here because my brothers have asked me to be here and they fetched me and brought me here. You don't want me here and if it were up to you and me, I wouldn't be one of your children."

"It's not like that, Wandisa. If you could at least give me a chance to explain before you write me off..."

"Don’t do that! Don't create expectations from me that we both know you won't be able to fulfil. You've let me down enough, baba. I can't open that door to you ever again only for you to let me down over and over again."

He seems hurt.

"Wandisa, ngane yami... I'm not a perfect man. But I do love you. I really do. At least tell me that you know that." He says.

I just turn around and focus on the pots again. I really don't want to entertain this any further. I don't.

[hmspogue]

Outer Banks season 2 Official Trailer shot-by-shot rundown

A comprehensive post where I scream about analyze the entire trailer frame by frame for clues, theories, and plot. Just my own opinions and general tin foil-hatting

These are screenshots from Netflix’s trailer for Outer Banks season 2. I do not claim or own any of these.

note: this post is tagged as a long post if you wish to avoid having to scroll until your thumbs break.

“My old man used to tell me, ‘it’s best to never say you’ve hit rock bottom’.”

(Putting all of these shots together since they’re scenes we already know but-) Holy shit, okay let’s just....start off like this I guess, damn.

“'Trust me’, he said...”

Kiara looking back and forth between the boys like this really just feeds the headcanon I have that her form of grief this season is going to be her trying to hold it together for their sakes (and eventually just snapping).

JJ just looks fucking furious someone give these kids a hug? I already know this scene is going to ruin me.

“You can always go...”

JJ back working at the hotel. He looks literally so angry again in this scene I could see him self destructing at work and losing his job? (Please do not be isolating yourself you beautiful son of a bitch even though I know you’re going to).

Pope in the Twinkie (costuming wise they all are in warmer looking clothes for some of the shots, so just confirming it’s a little bit into the school year when this all takes place).

“Lower”

Big John was real big into pep talks, I see. (seriously can you imagine Big John having this conversation with like 8 year old John B after he fucking dropped his ice cream cone or some shit I shouldn’t be laughing).

I’m just-

These poor kids, I wanna know how the police all the way down in the Bahama’s knew about them?

Their calves....

“RUN!”

Are going to be so fucking jacked by the end of this season I stg.

Fuck you.

“The gold from the Royal Merchant....it’s here.”

For a while, I had thought that maybe they didn’t even make it to the Bahama’s at the front of the season and ended there (because everyone had been filming in there). But I guess they’re going to be making two trips.

If I were a bird from this POV I’d shit right on that house no questions asked.

oooooh ho hokay. Just so we’re clear. Ward Cameron not only get away with murder and about two dozen other felonies, but-

“Half a billion.”

HE STILL FINDS THE GOLD IN THE CRAIN HOUSE AND GETS TO KEEP IT?

Not the polo with the snap back, I just know this man has a playlist called Sad Boi Hours that is just Juice WRLD’s top 5 songs on Spotify and he tells his friends they wouldn’t know the underground artists he listens to.

Sh, you have lost screaming privileges. Go inside and take a nap maybe.

“John B, we are fugitives in a foreign country.”

So, previously, I was talking about how I was confused how they would still be trying to find him is everyone thought he was dead, but here the wanted poster clearly says “presumed lost at sea”. I think that will be interesting to see how the Pogues all interpret that. 

Especially because they already had a memorial for John B and everything, I wonder if there will be any part of the Pogues holding out hope that they both could still be out there OUCH.

I’m going to circle back to this, but it looks like John B and Sarah are going to get separated for a little while in this man hunt, I could see my idiot himbo son trying to sacrifice himself so Sarah can get away but in reality just....stranding her.

“Promise me you won’t do anything stupid?”

Oh, sweetie....

“Well, Sarah Cameron, I do stupid things all the time without realizing it.”

The volume of his self awareness is astronomical. sir, that is your whole character summed up in your own words.

GOD, IT’S ME AGAIN. PLEASE LET THEM LEAN INTO COMPLETE HIMBO JOHN B THIS SEASON I’LL DO ANYTHING-

nyyooooOOOOOOOOOOOOM-

“Hold on!”

The complete abject terror I would feel having John Booker Routledge driving get-away and then saying the words “Hold on” while reaching fro the gear shift? The english language fails me. 

Sarah, bestie, I’m so sorry.

I just wanna know-

what the plan or objective was in this situation. What was the reason for being this dramatic.

Rest in piss, bozo <3

“Ward’s still out there...”

Okay, same conversation they were having as before. I wonder what makes them decide they need to get back to the OBX for this tho.

“I can clear my name. This can all be over in one shot.”

It looks like Topper watching this but way more concerningly, correct me if I’m wrong but this 100% looks like....John B gets caught. And the DEATH PENALTY?! He did have a mug shot for the fliers in s1 and the one above but he was never brought in? Plus he just looks super dirty and dishevled in this one so I-

Jail break anyone?

I also still want to know if they’re going to go with a Topper redemption arc this season. like, does he know more than he should just from being around Rafe and his big fat mouth? Is he going to help out the Pogues even if it’s just for Sarah?

This shot just suddenly made me really sad. The thought of this all started because Big John left one last thing for his son to find, his literal life’s work. And when it all started, it was just a fun adventure John B and his best friends were going on together and having fun with. Then it all got dragged to absolute shit and turned into what it did, including the remaining 3 Pogues thinking that this treasure hunt took their two best friends away from them. And it’s nothing like Big John intended it to be.

Why my eyes wet?

Now we’re edging into what I was talking about earlier with John B and Sarah getting separated.

“If you think there is anything I wouldn’t do...”

Once again, John B is no where to be found. Also, just in case y’all didn’t already know or forgot Ward is an actual psychopath.

I believe this one of the new character, played by Jontavious Johnson (Stubbs). Based on the voice over it lowkey sounds like they’re implying Ward maybe hired Stubbs and Cleo to find and bring Sarah back. My theory would be I bet they do go to retrieve her, but she somehow convinces them that it would be more beneficial for them in the end to be on the Pogue’s side instead.

Miss Girl you gotta be keeping your head on a SWIVEL. Especially when you’re a FUGITIVE of the LAW-

“...you haven’t been paying attention.”

My guy, who are you clarifying this for?

It’s what you deserve for monologuing.

in all seriousness, the idea of them coming to face to face with Ward in Nassau after thinking they finally escaped him is genuinely terrifying.

“SARAH!”

It kind of looks like they’re either hiding their faces or covering their noses? I don’t know maybe it was from some tactic to get away from Ward.

What did I literally jsut say about yelling privileges, you unhinged mother fucker?

“I’m calling the shots now. I’m driving.”

The following progression of scenes made me actually snort-

“I can’t drive stick.”

PLEASE THE FINGER GUNS LAUNCHED ME INTO ORBIT I LOVE THEM, YOUR HONOR.

Alright, so now it looks like we’re in Charleston. This is the same scene with Heyward’s truck that got leaked from BTS (read: JJ and Kie shoulder touch).

One of the main things that stuck out to me in the following scenes which, you will see, is it lowkey looks like Pope is kind of heading up this part of the operation, or even going in alone? The following clips are just very Pope focused. 

I don’t know what it means, it’s just an observation.

“John B was not the only one that Ward double-crossed.”

LIMBRY-

Bro, we have been hearing about this woman for literal months and I just have....so many questions? 

Who the hell is she? How is she connected to Ward? Why is she in South Carolina instead of the OBX? How do the Pogues even learn about her and how to track her down? How is she meant to “help” them? GAH I JUST WANNA KNOOOW. I already know I don’t trust her though and no I will not be offering up supporting evidence.

Sir, that is my son please unhand him.

“I think you know what I want.”

.......no? But feel....free to explain yourself?

The print on the paper is the same one that’s on the ceiling tiles in the following scene. Obviously, with a key on it that most likely goes to the place a few shots from now.

Hell yeah, son, let’s get SLEUTHING.

“The treasure belongs to the Pogues.”

DAMN STRAIGHT.

Bestie’s I’m not going to lie, I stared at this frame for a solid 10 minuets and I have no idea what it says on there I’m sorry. Someone in the comments is welcome to enlighten us.

“We gotta find it first.”

I can’t tell if that’s just dirt or if he hurt his head? But he look GOOD right now for one thing. For another, same outfit as the one in the Twinkie from the beginning of the trailer.

Look at her. LooK AT HER! LOOK! AT! HER! I MISSED HER SO MUCH even in that damn smiley face top that continues to haunt my waking hours she is in it so much and it stresses me out for literally no good reason I’m sorry-

I could literally cry right now and I think that speaks volumes to how little we actually see him genuinely happy. Have I mentioned how much I love that red hat?

Also, probably not that important, but this is not from the same scene as the shots of Pope and Kiara were. This is from the next one-

“Woogity-woogity?”

“Give me some woogity, baby!”

Yeah, this pushed me over the fucking edge, the way that they’re actually happy and laughing? The fact that they kept woogity-woogity and made it A Thing? Yes.

I am, however, going to be intentionally ignoring what appears to be the very intentional stagingof having such an obvious space between where Kiara and Pope are sitting adn where JJ sits, even including the level they’re sitting on because I don’t have the emotional capacity to face those implications right now. Thank you for your time.

Yes yeeeeEEEEEESSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!

GIVE ME ALL OF THE SCENES OF THEM ACTUALLY GETTING TO BE TEENAGERS AND JUST BREATHE AND LAUGH AND HAVE A GOOD TIME AND NOT BE RUNNING FOR THEIR FUCKING LIVES!!!!!!!!!!!

before Rafe comes in and literally starts shooting because they can’t breathe for more than 7 seconds but we’ll....get to that.

They refer to Sarah as a Pogue this season or I burn Netflix to the ground. Your move, Jonas.

50 bucks says John B is driving the Twinkie again for the first time since being back.

I deadass think the Pogues JUST got Sarah and John B back and they’re just having the time of their life. Kie was in her smiley face outfit when Pope was in this one a few clips ago, and I still hold to the belief that that one still they released of JJ and Kie hopping over a fence is the Pogue reunion so-

Ward? I have no idea what he’s looking at behind the wall paper and I’ll be so honest I don’t care my eyes are only seeing Pogue content right now.

“This is a map of the whole island.”

This fit, when will John B learn how to operate buttons, stay tuned for season 5. Also my previous theory of this being their reunion outfits and stuff because Pope is in the back in the same jacket as before.

The plot thickens and so has JJ’s hair, Rudy drop the shampoo brand.

Please, dear God, tell me they’re back in the sex church. For @jiaaraa sake.

Kiara, your Madison is showing.

Okay, I really did try but all I can make out is Something to the tomb begin something something.

You’re welcome.

I am no expert but I do not believe boats operate on land.

John B looks like he is in the same outfit here that is in his mug shot we saw on the TV screen so I have a sneaking suspicion this is where he gets caught. 

“John B is back-”

Once again with the damn sexual tension that’s always between Barry and Rafe in every scene they do are we about to kiss right now?

“-it’s him or me.”

First of all, no.

Second of all, I’m just....so very confused about this time line this season. It kind of looks like Ward and Rafe follow and find Sarah and John B in Nassau (unless those scenes by the truck were actually back in the OBX). So did they....go to Nassau, then just come right back when they did? I’m just confused.

Put that thing back where it came from or so help me.

Literally when will you stop at this point I am begging you. 

This looks like the same scene the Pogues were, ya know, literally just having a good time at so fuck me, I guess.

Yeah, no, it’s going to be a no from me, I’m just going to pretend like I’m not seeing this and moving on.

I have simply no idea what is going on here or who that is on the bike but maybe JJ? Maybe Luke even? I think that’s JJ’s bike. 

The sewer scene. The SEWER SCENE-

For months sicne that tiktok leaked this damn scene has been genuinely all I could think about. So (obviously) it seems like they’re sending Kie down into the sewer to go do seomthing and things go horribly, horribly wrong. 

If you haven’t seen the tiktok, essentially all it was was JJ and Pope screaming and trying to lift up the man hole cover while Kie is begging for them to hurry from inside. I’m cheating a little bit as this isn’t a shot from the trailer but this picture was posted and it’s from the same scene.

I’ll just....leave this here. Back to the trailer shots.

Nice. Also, same shirt as mugshot.

Hey, um, what? 

Kiara’s car, she’s driving, I can’t tell who’s in the back seat or the front.

Holy God what is going on and how can I as an audience member put a stop to it?

So, same scene as we will see and was in the teaser but, for some reason, they’re all jumping off of a giant ass boat into the little life raft where it looks like JJ gets hurt later but don’t you worry we’re getting to that.

JJ AND KIARA WITH THE POGUE HANDSHAKE JJ AND KIARA WITH THE POGUE HANDSHAKE THEY BOTH LOOK SO DAMN GOOD AND THEIR LITTLE SMILES SPARE ME-

Cleo 🥵

I’m so excited to see her arc and what it brings this season you guys have no idea.

Please for the love of God be about to get Ward Cameron’s ass like he deserves literally punt him into jail right from Tanny Hill.

Sarah at My Druther’s with what looks like a bloody bandage on her side? Same outfit she’s wearing when they’re running from the police on the beach and she has the bandage there too so. Interesting. 

Topper hugging who I’m pretty sure is Sarah, being a general douche because he’s clearly looking at John B like 😏 

Clips like these serve to remind me just how many of my worldly posessions I would gladly give up to be able to punch Topper Thorton in the throat one time. 

I think this is Cleo jumping off the boat with Pope after John B and Sarah. 

Absolutely busting a lung at Pope’s form in this one.

John B and Sarah waiting in the life raft, still Cleo and Pope coming after them. The obvious next question is where are JJ and Kiara. The scene I’m sure you all have been waiting for is coming up and clearly takes place in the life raft as well.

So, I really think JJ and Kie get left for last, something horrible happens as they’re trying to jump (my head instantly goes to JJ maybe like pushing Kie out of the way and getting hit on the head instead or even just some accident). 

And, oh my GOD a scene of him falling off the boat after it happens and Kiara diving in after him immediately, having to desperatly try to stop him from sinkingand get to the life raft holy shit-

Girl CATCH HIM?????

Because why wouldn’t this be Rafe’s fault. Part of me wonders if this isn’t related to JJ being hurt.

I am going to try and unpack this as calmly as possible because behind my computer screen I am vibrating at a frequency that could shatter glass but respectfully.

WHAT IN THE FUCK IS TIAUEWFHLAILA

Okay, so scene wise, JJ’s hit his head somehow (probably while he was jumping with Kiara) it looks like and now they’re back on the raft. 

In my opinion, this is either:

A) JJ is in really, really bad condition after getting hurt in the jump and they’re not sure he’s going to make it. So this is a “Please stay with me, stay awake, please don’t die” hug OR

B) They very narrowly just avoided a deadly situation (my first thought is JJ hits his head while jumping, passes out in the water, maybe almost drowns but Kie and the others get him onto the life raft in time) and this is more of a “Oh my God, you’re okay, you’re safe now, we’re okay” hug. 

I honestly lean more to the second one based on the little bit of Sarah’s face we saw in the background. To me, it almost looked like she was smiling thru tears, which, fits way more with the second option than the first. 

Anyways. Moving on before I burst a lung again.

(also, before anyone comes at me, no, I’m not happy JJ is hurt, obviously.  

(Once again, arrest outfits). You can still see the bandage but it looks like Sarah’s limping now too so...good Lord give the girl a break maybe?

Everything in this trailer just went to shit so fast I think I have whip lash, can we go back to the Pogues hanging out and being happy now pkease I liked those scenes.

“I get it. You guys are scared.”

“No.”

She’s cute but, uh, hello sewer scene outfits. Seems like them planning to do whatever the hell they were going to do in the sewers but the boys are starting to get cold feet as maybe they should but hind sight is 20/20 I suppose.

“It’s kind of cute.”

“I’m not scared.”

“You should’ve just led with that.”

I will never be able to express how much I adore Pogue banter and general dumbassery and I have a feeling this season will not be lacking in either department

I high key don’t think these two are actually going to be there for this scene to go down but I’ll let it slide this time because-

They do be kinda cute.

It both feels like I’ve been waiting for this damn show for 3 years and also like I just watched season 1 last month explain that to me. 

Either way holy shit. I missed this dumb show and these dumb kids so much it physcially hurts and WE GET THEM BACK IN T-MINUS 16 DAYS.

Also. Where The Hell Is Wheezie Cameron And When Will She Have The Rights She Deserves.

#THIS LEGIT TOOK ME ALL DAY #AND I HAD A BLAST #im simply not ready #jiara nation how we feeling #UGH i missed them so much dude #outer banks season 2 #obx #long post #shot by shot rundown #jiara #the pogues #obx2 #john b routledge #pope heyward #sarah cameron #kiara carrera #jj maybank #jarah b #john b x sarah #jj maybank x kiara carrera #cleo #rafe cameron #topper thornton

[essaysbyciara]

Old Habits Die Hard | Part Nine: Stuck In My Ways

SYNOPSIS | PART ONE: DAYS BEFORE | PART TWO: JUST BE GOOD TO ME | PART THREE: RECOGNIZE THE BUTTERFLIES | PART FOUR: DOWN THE STAIRS AND TO YOUR LEFT| PART FIVE: JUST KNOW | PART SIX: JUST & RIGHTEOUS | PART SEVEN: BACKSEAT | PART EIGHT: WEAK IN THE KNEES

Warnings: Language, lightweight mentions of sexual situations, mention of marijuana use

The penultimate chapter of Old Habits Die Hard! Whew, this has been a long one but we’re down to the final two parts of a story that kicked my ass lol. Taglist is STILL OPEN for the finale if you want to get in while it’s hot! Love you all, you beautiful people. 

STUCK IN MY WAYS

“Aye, yo shor- how long you in the city?”

Maleek’s -- or Leek -- introduction last summer was a scary one. Standing outside of papi’s, draped under Dave’s arm,  Dave and his crew stopped their conversations as a midnight blue Caprice classic creeped up to the edge of the corner. Everyone, including Dave, grew on guard, their demeanors ceasing to exist at the drop of a hat because a never-before-seen whip with barely-legal tinted windows came to a complete stop. As the passenger’s side window dropped, Dave whispered to you to go inside of the store to grab him something to eat, his favorite: turkey hoagie, everything on it. You could hear the growl in his undertone as if it was an order. You obliged out of a fright only to hear laughter mere seconds later once Leek’s solid body came bouncing out of the sunroof to one of his latest tracks.

Leek was the neighborhood rapper. He spent thirty minutes or so showing his videos on YouTube the one night you were in the studio with him and his crew. He was dope, you couldn’t lie. Built like a linebacker, Leek’s full ahki beard and super tatted-up upper body was a bad one. You caught yourself fantasizing about how bad Leek could really be but quickly remember that Dave got to you first. Thank God.

“Only for today, Leek. I’m heading back down tonight.”

“Damn. Dope of you to come up for your mans.”

You’d small talk Leek except he’s cutting into your homework of trying to figure out your getaway from this party to wherever Dave wanted to take you. Dave still lingered upstairs as you bobbed and weaved through the party to find Yahya. You were hoping that in the time it would take for you to get through Dave’s extended-extended family, you could come up with an excuse to get away for a few hours.

You could fake a  run to the beauty supply store for some braiding hair but the stores back home were good and hood enough to find the yaki you needed. You promised to take Yahya to papi’s for that hoagie, so no store run could be in order. Your entire family is at Pardi’s house so no “run up to my cousins house right quick” would work. You keep thinking of what to say as Dave rips another message through your DMs. It’s an address and an agreement to meet in thirty minutes.

“Oh, Dave? Yeah. I’m happy he’s home.”

“Who else you think I was talking about? Y’all still down, right?”

Leek’s inquiry throws you off guard. You knew he had a lightweight crush on you -- Dave once joked that he could see Leek’s mouth hit the floor when you walked into the studio that night -- but now the boldness to ask your status in this moment is taking you back to a DM from Leek that you deleted but never told Dave about.

“Dave and I? We’re cool. We ain’t down like we were but we’re cool. My fiance’ helped Dave with his case. That’s why I’m here.”

Leek notices the blinding engagement ring you ignored up until this moment and suddenly, so do you. It’s the first time in hours that you remembered your  man at home and like Chante’ Moore said, “he’s been good…” to you. Your conscience hurries you to dead your quest to find quiet time with Dave. You wouldn’t be on your best behavior; there would be no guarantees that Dave would stand on the right side of history. Upstairs, for that brief moment, your lips touched Dave’s neck and almost caught a bite. Dave used to love that move, digging deeper into you as you almost broke skin so he could commence to breaking your back. You fell into his body by mistake but his hands knew what they were doing. Tracing your stripes down to the seam of your panties was intentional. You pooled at the idea of him taking them off.

You aren’t naive. You wanted Dave and he wanted you. The moment was beyond brief yet beyond impactful. Leek’s unforeseen act as an impromptu guardian angel stops you from making the worst mistake of your life.

“Ahh, congrats ma!” Leek reluctantly goes in for a brotherly-esque hug. You give him a church hug in return, that side hug catching Yahya’s attention as he exits the backyard area to  look for you. He grabs your wrist as you release Leek from your innocent clutches.

“Excuse me, brotha ... [Y/N], you ready to go?” You quickly nod your head up and down in the direction of your forever. Leek didn’t like the way your man cut into his moment but he hastily concedes after you tap your hand on his chest and send your well wishes.

“We still heading over to that hoagie spot, right?” Yahya tapping his stomach as he grabs the car keys from his left pocket.  “I’m dying. And Ms. Gwen’s food looked smackin’. Took me a lot to not go in, baby girl…”

“You could’ve ate. We’ll be up here again.”

“Nah, nah. The way you were talking about this damn sandwich. I want a hit.”  

Dave’s message feels like an afterthought as you jump into the passenger seat. Your meetup was only twenty minutes away but you broke the spell of Dave and tried to forget.  A light tap on the passenger side window wakes you up.

“Y’all leaving already?! Damn.” Uncle Trace daps Yahya through the car window, a mix of weed and Polo Red wafting past your nose.

“Yeah, Unc…” Yahya’s salutation makes your heart smile. “...we gotta get back to homebase.”

“Aight, king. Get my niece home safe. Love you, [Y/N].”

As you direct Yahya to the cornerstone named papi’s, you couldn’t help but  stare at the way he commanded the streets. The potholes that got the best of him the last time he came here are no match for him today. He’s even driving with one hand, something he never did before -- or that you never peeped. His level of comfort on the side of town that you also call home is reminding you right before your eyes that you’re the luckiest girl in the world. All from calling your Uncle Trace by a pet name.

You find a spot close to papi’s and walk in with enough time. Yahya commands for you to order for him and you obey: turkey hoagie, everything on it. You order a chicken cheesesteak, wrapping your arms around Yahya’s waist as you both small talk about the week ahead. You weren’t letting go for anything in this world. Yahya briefly lets go to grab two Tahitian Treats out of the cooler. His big hands grab the drinks, hoagies and you up to the counter.

“Let me get two vanilla dutches, please.”

“Yah- what you doing?  You don’t smoke.”

“I usually don’t. Don’t mean I haven’t. I’m tryna finish this weekend out right. We still celebrating.”

“That’s fine but who the hell you get the weed from?”

“Unc.”

Unbeknownst to you, that dap between included an eighth of silver haze.

“Oh, this is it. You ain’t coming around my family anymore. Nope.”

“I’m Jerri’s favorite. You can’t do that…”

Dave doesn’t know what to do. It’s been some time since your message and you haven’t sent an “OK” or any signal of your arrival. He paces down the steps and out the door, running into Trace talking on the steps to Dave’s uncle, Clifford.  He tries ignoring them both but Trace isn’t having it.

“Yo, you leaving your own party, man?”

“My bad, Trace. I gotta make a run up Olney real quick for something. I’ll be back though…” Dave’s last words trail in the air as he walks down the street toward papi’s. Somehow Trace’s old self catches up to him.

“Bruh, slow down. You just got home…” Somehow Trace’s reminder does indeed slow Dave down. He’s been moving too fast since you agreed to meet up with him. He can’t keep up with his mind.

Dave didn’t know what to do when you sent that message. He felt a semblance of guilt for touching your spot, for letting your body fall into his, for staring at you as if he wasn’t going to see you again. For all the thoughts he had as you both sat in the same room where he’d coax the devil out of your body night after night. He was willing to risk it all only if you wanted it. Your message answered his prayer.

“Yeah, Trace. I know. I just gotta get out the house for a second too…”

“Oh, no doubt. They think that once you out, you wanna see the world. You just want the world to know you good, that’s it.” Trace’s wisdom plummets Dave.

It’s been his truth since he got home from jail. He didn’t want to be surrounded by the people who didn’t check on him or his mother; the people who ignored Pardi’s angered Facebook posts about Dave’s situation. People who donated to the bail fund out of guilt, not out of care. The only people who cared to know his fate  were his mother, Pardi, Trace, Yahya and you, even if you never reached out. He knew you to be the catalyst to his freedom even if you at one time secretly fought it.

You walked up those steps to his old room to see if he was okay. You knew that large crowds made him skittish. Something within you broke the rules to see if he needed a safe space to be. That summer, you were that. Dave unleashed his heart out to you in ways that even his mother would never see. Despite what seemed different about you, you weren’t afraid of his story. He felt close to you, letting you into a world that you didn’t know but could feel.

Dave wanted one more chance to feel you. Yahya be damned.

Watching Yahya yell  salutations to him and Trace from his car window as he drives by gut checks Dave. And makes him wonder if you’re with him. That would deviate from the plan that you created and Dave was on his way to fulfill.

“This is the best shit I’ve ever had, [Y/N]. You weren’t lyin’. Bruh…” Yahya delightfully wipes the last of the mayonnaise from the side of his mouth.

“Told you!”

“They should cater the wedding. I’m not playing.”

The unseasonably warm evening meets you and Yahya as you stare across at Camden’s waterfront. The pier is popping with families enjoying the last bits of early winter before the clocks strike back and school gets into a full swing. It’s a bit of calm before you two hit I-95 back to what sadly isn’t Chocolate City anymore. Yahya caresses your right knee as you stare over the Delaware. You were beyond ready to get home. Your future husband breaks your gaze. “I meant to ask you. Who was bruh all hugged up on you in the house?”

“Heh. Why?”

“You were church huggin’ him to death but he wasn’t getting a clue at all.”

“Oh that was Maleek, a friend of Dave. No big deal.” You play off Yahya’s somewhat jealous disposition even as it humors you. You rather him ask about Leek than Dave.  “Let me find out you jealous? Look at you.”

“Nah. I just know mad dudes are on you. I trust you though.” Up until an hour ago, he didn’t have a reason to do that.

“Dave was too, to be real.” You decide to break down all of the walls. The case was over. You think you’re over Dave. Yahya is minutes into a food coma.

“Well yeah, Jerri told me. Some teenager stuff. I saw those pictures. I’d be chasing you down the hallway too.”

“Boy, please. But no -- remember I told you about that lobbyist dude I dated who damn near ghosted me before we went to the Bahamas? I ended up coming up here for those weeks and Dave and I messed. Nothing serious.”

“You sure? Dude was eyefucking you real crazy at Jerri’s house last Summer.”

“Hold up? You saw that?!” What you thought you hid from Yahya, he saw in plain sight.

“Everybody could, damn.  Heh. It’s all good though. So was I.”

You joust your fingers into Yahya’s side causing him to fall into laughter. Four words suddenly send you into an orgasmic-level of relaxation. Yahya didn’t seem to care. Once you ride off the orgasmic high, you feel insanely stupid. One conversation lessened the guilt of a relationship that lasted two weeks but imprinted onto you for what felt like forever. A moment of repentance overdue coaxes witty banter out of Yahya, not the dissolution of a relationship. It shouldn’t have been this easy.

That’s how u feel?

Your walk back to the car is broken up by a message from Dave. Your lack of a response to his earlier texts told him that you were in the car that Yahya yelled his love from. Your broken promise to break up a happy home slowly breaks Dave’s heart even though he knew better than to break the rules.

You don’t know what to say in response, turning your phone on silent not to alert Yahya’s attention. There’s nothing for you to say. Dave does all the talking for you.

Yo. I’m not some snake ass nigga. I wasnt doin anything with you that you didnt want

You came lookin for me.

I can’t be friends with you?

You wake up to see Dave’s last message sent hours ago. Before you walk into your front door and out of Dave’s life forever, you send your final goodbye.

I don’t think it’s best. I’m sorry.

Taglist: @harleycativy @twistedcharismaaa @dorkskinneded @need-my-fics @ghostfacekill-monger @writerbee-ffs @chaneajoyyy @amyhennessyhouse @blackburnbook​

#dave east x reader #yahya abdul-mateen ii x reader #yahya abdul mateen ii #dave east fic #dave east #Old habits die hard #2017 Dave East was a STUNNER

[justgillespie]

Missing (5/?)

Summary: Your next door neighbor, Luke Patterson (a.k.a. your longtime crush) has gone missing, and you think you could help finding him.

Word count: 2.7k

Warnings: none!

Part 6

•

“I can’t believe you’re here!” You said to Max once he approached to you.

The whole neighborhood and, other kids you assumed were Amy’s friends, were at her party. The place was packed with teenagers.

“Yeah, I’m regretting it.”

“This is a POOL party. You can’t regret coming to a pool party.”

“I just did.”

“Don’t be ridiculous- Hey Josh! Come on.” You grabbed Max’s arm and took him with you to were your neighbor was.

“Hey guys.” He smiled at you two. “It’s nice to see some familiar faces. I lost Victor somewhere around here.”

You chuckled.

“Max, I can’t believe you’re here.” Josh looked at your friend.

“Yeah, Y/N convinced me to.”

“Then I should thank you, dear Y/N. I’m glad that you were able to take Max out of his room. We barely see him anymore.” Josh hit Max in the arm, slightly. “We’re going to meet at Matt’s this week. Wanna come along?”

“I-.”

“He would love that.” You said to Josh, before Max could say no. He looked at you with wide eyes.

“Great! I’ll call you one of these days to coordinate better.” Josh smiled. “Oh, cool necklace, by the way.”

He pointed to the guitar pick hanging around your neck with a piece of thread. You thanked God he didn’t ask if it was yours. Maybe he just related it to Tamra, who did play the guitar.

“Thanks.” You said.

Victor found his way back to the three of you, and he came with a few other kids from the block, and after chatting for a little bit, you all agreed on finally getting into the pool.

You took your dress off, since you had your swimsuit under it, just like the other girls. You saved the dress on your bag, left on a chair near the pool, and then, you noticed how Max was just staring froze at some point of the pool.

You frowned and approached to him. “Hey, you okay?”

You tried to locate what was he looking at, but you couldn’t, so you spoke again. “What? What is it?”

“Max, come on!” Aria called him from the pool.

You then noticed: he was looking at her.

“Coming!” He said, laughing nervously.

“You like Aria?!”

“Shh! Shut up!”

“You like her.” You said lower this time and smiling. “I didn’t know you liked girls.”

“Honesty is something I really appreciate, but there are times where you should just stay quiet, you know?.” Max said, clearly frustrated.

You giggled. “Sorry. I’m just so excited! But, wait, do you guys even talk? Well, I suppose you do, otherwise she wouldn’t have called you.”

“Well, she laughs at my jokes. And I laugh at hers, when we’re talking in a group but... we’ve never shared a conversation just the two of us.”

“That could change today! Go, talk to her!”

“What part of “I’m not exactly sociable” did you not understand?”

“Max, you two grew up together. There’s nothing you should be afraid of. What could go wrong? Go!”

“Oh my gosh! You’re so annoying. I shouldn’t have told you anything... wait, I actually didn’t!”

You laughed. “You could never hide anything from me. Now go!”

With an indecisive look, he carefully got into the pool and approached to Aria.

You clapped, excited, and then got in too. Amy also joined you a while later. Some played and other decided to just relax. It was when you were playing Marco-Polo when you noticed him and your heart skipped a beat.

It was Reggie.

You couldn’t tell for sure, but judging by the picture you’ve analyzed for a long time the night before, it was him. And Bobby was next to him.

“Marco!” You heard Liz say, and you got out of the pool, as fast and carefully as you could.

“Polo!”

“Y/N! Where are you going?” Josh asked you.

“I’ll be back. Just keep playing.” You said, and you looked for Max among all the people in the pool.

You then found him, but he was sitting on the grass, with Aria. They were talking and he seemed so comfortable and himself, that you didn’t have the heart to interrupt.

You put a towel on you, put on your flip flops, and then headed to where you could see the guys were standing and talking to each other.

“Excuse me... Excuse me.” You pushed slightly to the crowd until you got close to where Reggie and Bobby were.

And you froze. It had to be them, but why?

Wasn’t Alex the one who kind of knew Amy?

You didn’t have anything planned and you weren’t even sure if those were Luke’s bandmates.

What should you do?

Impulsively, you walked to them.

“Hey.” You said, ignoring the adrenaline you were feeling along with your racing heart.

“Hey! Are you Amy?” The guy you recognized as Reggie said.

Before you could say anything else, Bobby spoke.

“Alex wasn’t able to come, and we thought that maybe we could come in his place?”

“Except that Alex was just one guy, and you can see two here.”

“Shut up.” Bobby hissed at Reggie and he rose his hands up.

“Um, can I know your names?” You played along.

“I’m Bobby, and this is Reggie.”

Think of something, come on, you thought. You didn’t know how could you take information out of them. But before you could ask them something else, Reggie seemed to notice something on you.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” He said, tilting his head. “I think I’ve seen you before.”

You frowned. You’ve obviously seen him before, and not even in person, but where could he possibly have seen you?

Right when you were about to respond, Bobby seemed to notice something on you, too.

“Where did you get that?” He asked, pointing at the guitar pick.

You tried to act natural, despite the fact that you’re heart started racing faster than before.

“My sister plays the guitar-.”

“No, that’s- That’s Luke’s.” Bobby said to Reggie in a lower voice, who seemed to be confused at the situation. “We need to go.”

“Wait! You know Luke? You know where he is?” You desperately asked, not too loud so people couldn’t hear you.

“Sorry. We have to go.” Reggie said, and he really seemed to be sorry.

“I told you coming here was a bad idea.”

“No you didn’t!”

“No, wait, please!” You followed them outside Amy’s house. “I just-! Is he okay? Where is he?”

“Sorry, um, Amy? We can’t tell you anything and we’d appreciate it if you didn’t say anything about this to anyone either.” Bobby said, opening the door to the driver’s side.

“So you’re admitting you know where Luke is?” You asked.

“I didn’t admit anything. Come on Reggie.”

The so-called seemed extremely nervous, and just obeyed, getting into the car.

You rapidly came up with something.

“How do you know I’ll keep quiet? How do you know I won’t go to the police, who’s looking for Luke now?”

You weren’t actually sure of that, but the words came out of your mouth before you could stop them. Even if it was true, you didn’t have enough information to do so.

But they didn’t look like they thought too much about what you said. Bobby froze right when he was about to get in the car and Reggie rolled his window down.

“I don’t wanna go to jail! Please don’t call the police, we-!”

“Reggie!” Bobby stopped him. “Just-. Luke is fine. He just needs some time, okay?”

“Can I go with you?” You dared to ask.

“No that’s... not an option.” Bobby shook his head.

“Maybe we could send him a message from you.” Reggie suggested, but Bobby looked like he didn’t like the idea. And before he could say anything, you rushed to talk.

“Please tell him that his family is fine. His mom misses him. Everyone here does. And just... please tell him I hope... that if he ever decides to come back... I hope we can get to meet each other better.”

“Aw...” Reggie pouted. “You’re gonna make me cry!”

“We’ll tell him.” Bobby nodded and rolled his eyes at his friend.

“Bye! It was nice meeting you! I still think you look familiar!” Reggie said when Bobby was already driving away.

You waved at him, with a sad smile. Reggie was really nice.

You sat on the sidewalk and hugged your knees. You really thought for a moment that you would see Luke. That you would bring him back home, safe. At least he would get a message from you. Maybe, somehow, you could get a reply.

And that’s when you realized: Reggie and Bobby thought you were Amy. They would tell Luke that Amy sent him the message.

“Come on!” You said out loud.

Why was this so hard?

Every time you thought you got to something, you would then realize you forgot something else, or your ideas weren’t good, or your plans would just not work out...

You found yourself crying out of frustration.

Luke did ran away for a reason. Was he even planning on coming back? He didn’t want to be found, that was obvious. Max said it before.

Why were you even still doing this then?

And what if you find him? What would you do anyways? You didn’t have that planned.

Rule number four, somewhere deep in your mind echoed.

But if Luke doesn’t want to come back, then the rule didn’t have any value. So what was the point?

Then, you remembered Mrs. Patterson’s tired face. The way she expressed her repentance...

You went back in, as fast as you could, to head into a bathroom. And only decided to come out once you didn’t look like a mess anymore.

“Y/N! I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” Max said when you were getting out of the bathroom.

“Well, I’m her now.”

Should you tell him? Should you tell Max what just happened? What if he got mad? You didn’t exactly know what should he get mad about, but still. You didn’t want to ruin what it seemed to be one of the best days of his life in a long time.

Okay, maybe you were exaggerating.

“But is everything okay? Are you okay?”

“Yes, Max, don’t worry. I’m okay. Where’s Aria?”

“She’s in the pool. I told her to wait for me for a second... that was twenty minutes ago.”

“That isn’t a second.” You teased and he rolled his eyes.

“I’m gonna ignore you said that. Come on, let’s go back with the rest. They were saying something about a movie before I left.”

“Actually I think I’m gonna go home? I’m kind of tired.”

Max frowned. “You? You’re never tired.”

You shook your head. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“But it’s super early! How long have you been here? Like, what, one hour and a half?” He noticed you were about to make another excuse so he rapidly spoke again. “You made me come here. You said you were dragging me with you everywhere. If you’re going home, I’m going too.”

“We both know that’s not exactly what I meant. And you don’t wanna leave yet. I do.”

“When did the roles change, huh?” Max teased. “Come on, Y/N. Just stay for a bit more. We live a block away. We’ll be back home super fast after the movie’s over. And you said that if there weren’t any news about Luke, than the party could still be good to distract ourselves.”

You saw how excited and happy he was, which helped you make your final decision: you were definitely not telling him about the incident right now.

You stared at him for a second and then sighed.

Maybe he was right. If you did go to your house, you would only keep thinking and that would make you feel worse. You indeed needed some distraction.

“Okay, let’s go.” You walked past him and he followed you with a big smile.

It wasn’t until most of the people left, that you all seated in front of the tv and watched a movie. You sat next to Amy, who linked your arms together and wouldn’t shut up for a minute. She had something to say for every single scene. But you weren’t listening. Or even paying attention to the movie.

You looked down, discretely. Aria and Max were seated together on the floor, and you noticed how their hands were placed just centimeters away from touching.

You smiled and looked back to the tv. That was their moment. Not something you should be seeing.

Amy’s voice whispering to you something about how the girl’s shorts were awful started to fade in the background, and you slowly let your eyes shut.

“So did you like the movie?”

You rolled your eyes but giggled. “Shut up.”

Josh was the one who woke you up after the movie ended. It was six, or maybe seven forty when he did so, and he told you Max already left with Aria and that he was taking her home.

You couldn’t help to feel disappointed. You were hoping you could get some time alone with Max just so you could tell him what happened before with Bobby and Reggie. Josh said he would take you home, and you accepted his company. His house was just a few houses away from yours, after all.

You shifted your bag from one shoulder to another, since it felt kind of heavy, and Josh noticed.

“Hey, let me take that for you.”

“It’s really not- Okay.”

He took the bag out of your shoulder before you could even protest.

“Thank you.” You added.

“Today was pretty fun.” He said after a pause. “It’s been like a month since the last time we all hung out together.”

“I know. School’s been pretty heavy for everyone. We are entering finals season.”

“Yeah. At least it’s getting over. At least for some months.”

“Yeah...”

“It’s crazy what happened with Luke, right?”

You nodded. “It is.”

“Do you think he is okay?”

“Yes.” You said convinced, and you knew it was true. You confirmed it that afternoon. But you didn’t say that to Josh. You just repeated Mrs. Patterson’s words. “He’s smart. He’s probably somewhere safe. Like a friend’s house.”

“I guess. Did you ever talk to him?”

“Not really. You?”

“Kind of. We grew up together but once we got to high school he wouldn’t hang out with us anymore... I think ever since he started his band, actually.”

“Well, a band takes a lot of responsibility.” You said, without actually knowing that for sure.

“Yeah.” For a moment, he seemed to be debating something with himself, until he finally spoke, when you were already arriving at your house.

“I thought you guys were dating.”

“What?”

“You and Max. I saw you hanging out together a lot lately.”

“Oh.” You shook your head. “No, no. We’re just friends.”

You stopped and faced him on your sidewalk.

“Yeah I noticed today... Him and Aria seem to have something going on.”

“Yeah. I’m really happy for them.” You smiled, sincerely.

“I actually, um... felt kind of relieved? When I realized that you two aren’t dating and now you confirmed it, so... yeah. I’m really glad...” He rambled, and you just stared at him.

“Why?” You asked, and you wished he didn’t ask. And that he didn’t say it.

But he did.

“Because, I’ve been meaning... for a while, to ask you something. Would you, um... like to go out, some time?”

You got ready to give your usual response. I like someone else. But you stopped yourself.

How many times since you moved, since you noticed Luke, did you reject guys asking you out?

Always with the stupid hope that Luke would one day wake up and think that you were the one. That you were the one for him.

But he never did. And now, he had other plans. He was somewhere else, maybe far away from you, and he didn’t want to come back.

And you were tired. Tired of that fantasy. A fantasy that only you were living, that only you created in your head.

If you were mad at someone, it was yourself. For never trying. For never taking any of the opportunities you had to talk to him.

And this was a clearly a new opportunity. An opportunity to move on.

“I would... like that. Yeah.” You nodded, giving him a little smile.

•

Taglist: @ifilwtmfc @sovereignparker @catbcyluke @marvelgirl300 @charlieschickens @kegkingbillyhargrove @imamysticalwitch @viamiasoncrack @sunnyrye

*The ones crossed out are the ones I wasn’t able to tag! (Sorry!)

#luke patterson x reader #luke patterson #julie and the phantoms x reader #julie and the phantoms

[ourplaceinthecosmosphff]

Chapter 22. Compromise

“no' might make them angry but it will make you free.

- if no one has ever told you, your freedom is more important than their anger.”

― Nayyirah Waheed, Salt

[*TW: death/violence/bomb threats, neo nazi/mysoginistic hateful language]

It wasn’t the first time I removed my shoes in the middle of the grand hall, one hand to the wall, eyes to the stairs, legs shaking. I grabbed hold of my sandals and raced up the staircase three long, thin steps at a time.

In my room, I threw the shoes on the bed and rushed to the closet, putting my hair up as I did so I could then reach back and unzip my dress, but it was a futile effort. In anger, I recalled needing Lourdes’ help to zip up before dinner.

I took a deep breath and tried it on my own; but it was useless. I tried again, but on the third time all I could hear was the ressentment in Christopher’s voice when he talked about fucking me after my brother’s funeral in front of both our parents. The anger when he asked who was it that I started seeing after we broke up. More than that, I suddenly recalled every instance where I wanted to protest against something he had said or done, but thought better of it.

“Maggie?” Lourdes’ voice awoke me to the anger I was feeling. “I can’t fucking–” One look at me, and she hurried to my side, removing my hands from the dress so she could unzip me. “I got you.” She said. “There. Nothing we can’t fix, right?”

I felt the fabric loosen and pulled the suffocating halter high neck off. The tears started falling before I even realized they had been there at all, and I felt so frustrated for crying that it only made me want to cry more. I allowed my knees to buckle as I fell to the floor, hands around my neck, breathing heavily.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Lourdes said, calmly. “It’s okay.” She passed an arm around my shoulders and hugged me close, pulling me into her chest. “Nothing we can’t fix.” She repeated.

With her bony, small arms around me as a safe port, I cried the loss of the past nine years, and all the years we almost had.

--- ---- --- I had never in my life felt more alone. And yes, maybe I was being dramatic. Maybe I was amplifying a minor problem into a bigger one as a reflection of my deep anxiety about my new title and role, but the truth is it didn’t feel like that. It felt like – in fact, I was alone in my closet, looking at eight different dresses I had just put on and taken off, thinking about Louis telling me I dressed like our mother. How could I make sure I was being myself? How could I know any of my choices were my own and not just what he described as some subconscious need to be the ‘good daughter’?

There was only one person I knew to call for help with going against family expectations: Constance Parrish Von-Bernstein.

“I’m flattered.” She said when I face timed her, still half dressed on my closet floor. “You never have this type of crisis. I need to bask in it. Maybe I should make a wish.” “This is serious, Constance.” I reminded her, sighing. “I have a chance to be heard by the very people who have been pushing me around not only for the past five months, but essentially my whole life. I need to be heard, to tell them, no. To demand what I want. But I can’t even pick something to wear without feeling like a fraud. How am I supposed to be the Crown Princess when I can’t even dress myself?!” Constance looked put off; weirded out, but definitely like she saw the seriousness of the moment now. “Okay…” She started, slowly. “Well, what’s the issue exactly?” “I feel like I’ve been doing what everyone else wanted me to do my whole life, so how can I stand up for what I want now?” I laughed, humorless. “How did you do it? You wore nothing but black all through our teen years, you started dying your hair pink at eighteen, you ditched University and everything else your parents tried to push you into doing to become a musician! How?! How do I do that?!” She smiled, amused. “Well, Maggie… I guess first and foremost we need to accept there is a big difference between being the first member of my family in nine generations not to go to Sorbonne to live my dream of playing guitar in the subway, and knowing what to wear as the Crown Princess.” “I gather from your tone you think my issue is easier. It certainly doesn’t feel like it.” I scratched my head, pensive. “Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t want to trade positions with you, either. But you were just juggling parental expectations. I am juggling the whole country’s.” “Yes… I can’t argue there.” “So, again… how?!” She sighed, propped her phone up against something and leaned back staring off into a wall as she considered the question. “You need to know what you’re willing to lose.” She said, determined. “What does that mean?” “Well, I wore black as a teenager because it was one of the few things I could control. But I still had to wear whatever my mother told me to at more important occasions. Christmas, family occasions, formal events with your family… there was no way she would risk letting me decide what to wear to those.” As she recounted, I searched my brain to find the memories of a grumpy, teen Constance looking as pretty in pastel as the rest of us in tea parties and polo matches. “At eighteen, I received the first pay out of my trust fund from my paternal grandparents, so I knew even if my mother decided to disown me, I could afford to live on my own. So I dyed my hair pink.” “Wait, I–” I shook my head. “I had no idea that’s what you thought would happen! Your mother would never!” “Well, we both know she would.” She smiled, amused but also slightly sad. “She hasn’t, though. Which is good, I guess. We did have a lot of fights about it, not just the hair, but Sorbonne and everything else, too. The first pay out of the trust was supposed to be for University, and I used it to buy a scooter and a new guitar.” “You live a pretty simple life, though. And it’s your money, you should do what you want.” “Exactly!” She replied, excitedly. “But that’s my point, your family is dependent on taxpayer funding, right?” “Well–” I stuttered. “Not quite. We’re funded by the Royal Trust.” “Which is funded by the government with allocation of tax funds, right?” “Well…” “Chérie, I’m not trying to get evidence for the republican party here. I’m making a point.” “Yes, okay.” I shrugged. “Yes, some of our funds are from the Royal Trust, and a lot of it is private funds from family inheritances, private property, and investments–” “Okay, so.” She continued. “If you get to the meeting and tell them you want something, and they say no. What’s stopping you from insisting? From doing it anyway? It’s not a crime to go against them, right?” “Well–” I reflected. “What I mean is, I waited to dye my hair until I had my trust fund so my mother couldn’t hold my finances against me. Money was freedom. So, if your family threatens to no longer fund you, what will you do? You don’t have a job anymore.” “Well, I…” I sighed. I never had to think about money before. “I do have a trust fund, too, from my great-grandfather. And I’m twenty-five, so the inheritance from my maternal grandfather should be available to me now.” “Well, there you go. So, what can they do if you insist on having it your way?” She asked, with a grin. “Throw you in jail?” She was right. Money was freedom. “I guess there’s only the main question left.” “Which is?” “What do I wear?!” I asked, making us both laugh at the despair evident in my voice. “It’s not just about the clothes.” I justified, more to myself than to her. “I’m afraid I’ll get there, and they’ll be looking at me like I’m a child who should be off playing with something unimportant instead of trying to play pretend with the adults.” “Maggie,” Constance started, laughing, “you’re a Harvard graduated lawyer. You have a solid, successful career you left for this. They need you, you don’t need them. In fact, you’re doing them a favor.” “I’m not sure that’s how they would describe it.” “They can dress it up however they want, facts are facts.” She shrugged. “You know how to stand up for yourself and get shit done, because you’ve done it before. You worked on the corporate world for years. So, stop acting like they’re doing you a favor by allowing you to be there, and start using your experience to shove it in their faces that you’re way overqualified for this.”

She was right; I had a solid, sucessful – if short – career, and at work, I dressed as a lawyer, if anything to remind people I was not just a princess. So I spent the rest of the day repeating the mantra to myself: Constance is right. Constance is right. Constance is right. With that in mind, I dressed pretending I had a big meeting at work: a short sleeved, high neck, satin Jason Wu dress with simple black heels and gold and black earrings.

Then I went to work.

In my mind, this battle would take place around a long, imposing conference room table, where I’d sit in the middle, with all relevant parties around me. The reality was less corporate: my father’s office. High ceilings, chandeliers, antique paintings and vases around the room, and, of course, the victorian furniture. Dad and I sat in armchairs by the fireplace, side by side, his main staff took their seats on the couple of sofas to our sides, and the others, after the three chairs around my father’s desk were taken, brought in extra chairs from other rooms.

One thing I noticed straight away.

“Where’s Cadie?” I asked dad on a low tone, as everyone took their seats. “I thought it would be in poor taste to discuss her with her in the room.” He explained. “You’ll notice Auguste isn’t here, either.”

Present in the room were around a dozen more people, most of whom I had known all of my life, though some more closely than others. That was the case with my parents’ private secretaries, the title we gave to our chief of staff, Clemment Montennon and Madaleign Qadir. I also recognized Abelard Brodeur, my father’s senior aide, Ulysses Caron, the Head of Security, and Edwald Dupont, Head of the Palace Communications Office.

My father made introductions of those I hadn’t had too much contact with before, like Caesar Bisset, head of Outreach Relations, who explained his main role was to coordinate and plan our charitable and humanitarian endeavors, and Alexander Halden, who was liason of relations between the palace and the government.

All of them sat in the sofas, all of them (but Madeleign Qadir) were balding, old, white men with mustaches and resting judgy faces. The people sitting in the chairs in the back, I realized, were their junior aides, with notepads and pens, ready to take notes or provide useful material during the meeting.

I started to feel more at home at once: hierarchy was familiar to me. I had been the lowly intern once, trying to remain as quiet and invisible as possible in the background, writing as fast as I could, desperate to prove myself in the first opportunity to the older men who held my faith in their hands.

I reminded myself that wasn’t the case here. I was the future Queen of Savoy, they worked for me. They needed me. I held my head high and squared my shoulders back.

“Thank you all for making room in your schedules for this meeting.” My father started, in French. “As this meeting was set somewhat suddenly, perhaps we should go over our goals for today before we start. In truth, I believe today is a culmination of what has been…” He paused, and heaved a long, heavy sigh. “Some tremendously difficult last few months. As we’re all aware, after we lost the Crown Prince last year, as my eldest child, Princess Marie-Margueritte became Crown Princess Marie-Margueritte.”

Discreetly, I fidgeted with my hands so the nail in my right thumb was gently scratching my left palm. I gulped, trying to swallow the familiar knot on my throat. ‘I have to be able to talk about this without crying. I need to talk about this to get through this meeting. I can’t cry in front of these people.’

“We took a few months to allow us all to grieve properly, as a family, and also as a country. There was also the need for the Crown Princess to make the necessary arrangements to leave her private career behind and, as we discussed around the time of the funeral, to put distance between her previous image and the new one she must take on in order to fulfill this new role.”

So they had discussed this at the time of the funeral. A need to ‘put distance’ between who I was and who I needed to become. And I wasn’t even included.

“But it is a new year.” Father continued, with renewed energy. “Crown Princess Marie-Margueritte and I have had a private discussion and we have decided the time has come for her to take a more active role in the process of preparation for her future as Monarch.”

He paused, allowing the words to settle. I still stared at my own hands, trying to breathe deeply and slowly. ‘Preparation for her future as Monarch’ sounded so… crucial. Important. Fatal, almost.

“So,” he said, now more upbeat, adjusting himself in his seat, “with that in mind, we arrive at the agenda for this meeting as discussed by the Crown Princess and I. We are to discuss and decide on the plans regarding the Crown Princess’ future work, security, and office in her new role as the heir apparent.”

There was a pause. I waited. My father looked at me, then at the others.

“Perhaps it would be useful to start with providing the Crown Princess with an update on what the current situation is with regards to the public opinion.” The king added. “Edwald?”

Mr. Dupont, Head of the Communications Office, a man reasonably young in comparison to the others, pushed his glasses up his nose with his pinky, opened a folder in his lap, and began to speak.

“Right. Your Majesty, Your Royal Highness. We are still monitoring what the press knows in regards to the Crown Princess’ extended stay in Britain. As of now, seems we were able to get the Crown Princess back in the country without them finding out, but we will continue to stay alert for any rumors in that regard.”

“Do they know about Princess Lourdes-Abigail’s suspension?” My father asked. “As far as we are aware, sir, no.” Mr. Dupont replied. “We do have at the moment, though, requests for comment on a poll the Sunday Gazette ran online where 71% of respondents didn’t agree with the statement: ‘the Royal Family has kept an active working role after the death of Crown Prince Louis-Adolphe’.” My father sighed, gravely. “Did we give them a comment?” “No, sir. An online poll of no impact.” Mr. Dupont returned. “Most people just vote to see the estimated results, or because they’re bored.” “Good.” He nodded. “Go on.” “Regard–” “Wait, of how many?” I interrupted. “Pardon?” “How many people answered the poll?” “71%, ma’am.” “No, 71% of how many people? What’s the total of respondents?” “Oh, uh.” He looked through the papers on his folder again. Behind Mr. Dupont, an aide got up from his chair and handed him a couple more sheets of paper. “Ah, right. The total number of respondents in the poll was 61,359, ma’am.” “Were they given an abstention option?” “No, ma’am, only agree or disagree.” I nodded. Mr. Dupont went on. “As I was saying–” “Sorry,” I interrupted again, “One last thing, promise, do you have the analytics numbers?” “The–?” Mr. Dupont seemed confused. I looked at the aide behind him, a young man with freckles. “Sir? What’s your name?” His eyes grew wide. “M-me?” I smiled. “Yes, sir.” “Matthew.” “’Ma’am’”, his boss corrected. “Matthew, ma’am.” The aide repeated. “Do you happen to have the analytics data on this poll, Matthew?” “Uhm. Well, not a full analytics report, ma’am. But I do have a print out of the webpage, so I have a sharing estimate for social media.” “What are you talking about?” My father asked, confused. “Analytics is a… a tool to interpret patterns of data from basically anything.” I summarized. “On websites that run polls, it could be useful to know how many people viewed it as many might have just viewed it, but not voted, which doesn’t mean they weren’t influenced by it. And any new article online has an option for the reader to share it on their social media platforms, so that’s what Matthew will tell me next.” “Well, the data is rounded up, we don’t have the details.” Matthew explained. “Well, then we can skip it.” My father said. “That’s a point for another meeting, Margueritte. Let’s focus on our agenda today.” I wanted to argue, but before I could gather the courage, Mr. Dupont went on about me next, which was distracting enough to make me let the subject go. “Regarding the press on the Crown Princess specifically,” Mr. Dupont continued, “The months following the funeral saw a record high number of press profiling her biography, and of course there were the, uhm, ‘viral’ issues.” “Viral issues?” I asked, when he used a strange tone on the word ‘viral’. “The…mainstream section of the world, ma’am, meaning those outside of Savoy and who otherwise seemed to be uninterested in the story of The Royal Family of Savoy, were very interested to discover it’s new heir was a former military servicewomen–” “I–” I stuttered, “I only did the minimum service of 6 months.” “They don’t seem to care about the specifics.” He replied. “They did show a lot of interest for the picture of you in uniform during a drill, which was released through the palace at the time.” He added, shrugging slightly. “The Americans, specifically, seemed excited about your time in Harvard and New York, and a lot of articles were written with testimonials from people who, at least, claim to have studied with you at the time.” “Oh.” I said, uncomfortable. “What–what did they say?” “Positive things.” Mr. Dupont replied, short. “Though, at home, despite the King’s vow of faith in Her Royal Highness during the Crown Prince’s funeral, Savoyen press remains… unconvinced of your… capabilities.”

I looked at my father, who was staring at his hands, absentmindedly. So this was why my father had used his eulogy to public declare his confidence in me in the role. Not because it was true.  It was a PR move. No wonder he didn’t want to answer my question afterwards.

“What ar-” I stuttered. “Do you know any specifics of their criticism?” “They seem to worry about your work record the most, ma’am.” He replied. “Not a lot of royal work, some rumors of controversial stances as a lawyer, and uh. Not enough… How to best describe it? Personality, I suppose.” “They think I’m boring.” I helped. Seeming uncomfortable, he nodded. “International press definitely doesn’t, though.” He said. “And they have greatly influenced public opinion at home. It is very likely our national press is… upset they haven’t been given any insight on what your future will look like.”

‘And who’s fault is that?’, I thought, bitterly.

“Speaking of work,” I started, “Shall we talk about that next?” “Before we do,” my father said, before looking at Mr. Dupont, “what about the new development from last night? Where do we stand?” Confused, I looked around the room, but other than Montennon, Qadir, and Mr. Dupont himself, everyone else seemed confused as well. “We are closely monitoring the situation, but not rumors as of yet, sit.” He replied. “But I reiterate it would be best to get ahead of it.” “What happened last night?” I asked.

My father fixed me with such a dry expression I felt almost unbearably embarrassed for having forgotten: the Chris breakup.

“Oh.” I said, awkwardly. “Right.” “We’ll get back to you, Edwald.” My father told him. “Now, what need we discuss regarding your work, Margueritte?” “Well,” I started, pausing quickly to take in a deep breath, before reaching down at the ground for the folder I had left under my chair.

I opened it to find the copies I had made of the proposal I prepared the previous year while using anything I could to distract myself from the grief, and passed it around the room.

“This a summarized version, but I can have a more detailed one made tonight if you wish,” I prefaced, walking back to my seat after handing them each a copy, “I used a business proposal model, so forgive me if I might have missed any important information.”

The proposal detailed causes and organizations I wanted to focus on. I was patron of a handful of charities currently, and if I was to work full time as a royal, priority number one was to get that number up. It was work that I liked: useful, helpful work that made a difference in people’s lives.

But most importantly: it was a way of honoring my brother. I had experience with ‘easy’ causes: elderly care, childcare, things that were easy for anyone to empathize with, things that anyone would agree matters. To put it simply: things that wouldn’t ruffle feathers on the press.

This time I picked causes that mattered to me, and it mattered to me to make the kind of impact that my brother would have.

“This is impressive, ma’am.” Said Caesar Bisset, the Head of Outreach Relations. “Truly inspirational.” The others nodded, appreciatively. No one said anything else. “But?” I prodded. They looked at each other. Mr. Bisset gulped, smiling uncomfortably. “Some of these causes, although greatly important, would not send the right message, ma’am.” “What causes do you see a problem with, exactly?” I asked, as calmly as could be. “Not me, ma’am!” He corrected, quickly. “I mean, to the public, to the press, there could be a lot of misunderstanding around some of these areas.” “Such as?” “Margueritte,” my father started, with a careful smile. “As you know there is still a large amount of people in Savoy who identify as catholics, and as the representatives of the faith in the country, we have a responsibility.” “I understand.” I assured him, lying. “But I would still like to hear the specifics of what the issues would be.”

He looked at Mr. Bisset, who nodded.

“Well, ma’am,” he started, “as an example, take this idea, item two, where you express a wish of becoming a patron of Flag House, an organization devoted to providing support to homosexual youth…” “They provide counseling for those with unaccepting families, housing for LGBT people living in an unsafe and unwelcoming environment, and even classes to get them on a path towards a career or to further their education.” “Yes.” He nodded. “And the issue of homosexualism is still somewhat–” “Homosexuality.” “Pardon?” “You said ‘ism’.” I explained, sighing. “That’s a terminology used for diseases and health issues. The correct word is homosexuality.” He nodded. “Oh. Right. Still–” “And they don’t just work with gay people.” I expanded. “The LGBT community is wide. Trans people’s life expectancy is 35 years-old in Savoy, and they are around 65% of all sex workers and 73% of all unhoused people in the country.” “No one is saying the organisation isn’t good, Margueritte.” My father argued. “But there is a reason we don’t just announce patronages. There’s a lot of research that goes into this, a lot of prep work–” “And that’s what I want to do.” I replied. “We could be halfway done with the prep work if we had set the wheels in motion the first time I did this research, but I sent August this material in November last year and never heard anything.” Mr. Montennon, Auguste’s boss, who would have told him not to get back to me, fidgeted in his chair. “The issue would simply be too polemic, ma’am.” “So would be standing up against slavery before the 19th century, but King Willem III did it anyway.” I replied. “It’s not exactly the same, sweetheart.” “Why not?” I asked. “Look at the research I just gave you. Our job is standing up for the marginalized, today the most marginalized community in our society are the unhoused, specially trans sex workers of color who are kicked out of their homes at a young age due to bigotry.” “Our job is to serve the country.” My father insisted. “But part of that is knowing what the country needs from us. And largely, Savoy is just not ready for this type of work.”

He uncrossed his legs, and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees to look at me.

“Margueritte, you have a difficult job ahead of you. I know that like few people can. So let me assure you, the most important thing to succeed here is knowing how and when to compromise.” He paused, intensely. “And when not to. This is not something we can compromise on.”

I heaved a long, unsatisfied sigh. I wish I could have told him of Louis. I wish I could have told him how much this mattered to him. How much he spoke of his own privilege, of knowing that no matter how big the fear of being rejected was, he knew he would never need to fear for his safety like so many in his community did. I wish I could have told my father this, as I knew it might have changed his mind.

“So, Mr. Bisset, from this proactive document my daughter has given us, what do we think would be a good fit for her to work with?” Mr. Bisset looked away from my father into the paper in his lap again. “Well, sir, we would need to tweak a few of the specifics, but this suggestion for a partnership with some of the Universities in Savoy for a series of discussion panels on important issues for the population has a lot of potential.” “Ah,” my father replied, appreciatively. “Progress!” I gulped, suppressing a roll of my eyes at the condescension. “Won’t that just make me look more boring?” I asked. “I want to do it, but it would be better to balance it with something else, too, wouldn’t it? How about the patronage of the Claire Bauton Foundation?” Mr. Bisset nodded. “Women’s issues is a wonderful topic, ma’am, and would be a good fit as the public is very interested in the prospect of Savoy’s first Queen in her own right in over three centuries. I’ll do some research on it.” “Perfect.” My father said, happily. “Next?”

I sighed, fidgeting with my own hands; mouth dry.

“Perhaps we might go over the Crown Princess’ household, sir.” Montennon said. “Seeing as we are discussing work, her team would have to coordinate with Bisset on any upcoming projects.” He nodded. “Let’s. Please, Clemment, would you explain to us again the reason for appointing Auguste Authier as the Crown Princess’ Private Secretary.” “Of course, sir.” Montennon replied. “Ma’am, the gist of the matter comes down threefold. One, tradition.”

C. C. Montennon had been my father’s Private Secretary for almost two decades. He knew me from when I was still a bony, annoying child, but that wasn’t the reason he spoke ‘down’ at me. In fact, he had a gift of always appearing uppity whenever he said anything at all, even to royalty.

Montennon explained that traditionally, royal Private Secretaries were trained by their predecessor, the senior Secretary working for the Monarch. That way, every Monarch had a secretary that had been trained in the staff of the previous Monarch by the previous Monarch’s Secretary.

“This way every Private Secretary has the most complete knowledge one can have of the royal household and work.” He said. “So that fewer mistakes are made.”

I considered his words for a while. The logic seemed fine, it was the execution that I had an issue with.

“The second point, of course,” he went on, “is the matter of nationality.” “Seriously?” I interrupted. “Because Cadie is American?” “Ms. Mendel’s nationality could send the wrong messaging if she was selected for the highest position in your household, ma’am.” “Will I have to pretend I didn’t go to University in America, either?” “Margueritte, please.” My father said, scratching both eyes with his hand. “I think it’s a reasonable question considering this logic.” I argued. “The role of the Monarch, ma’am, and thus the role of the Crown Prince–uh, Princess is to represent and lead the country to the best of his–sorry, her abilities.” He explained, repeatedly stuttering on the need to correct himself, “and to hire a foreigner to such a high position would indicate you did not find a Savoyen of equal ability or trust.” “Or alternatively,” I argued, “that I hired the best person to the job and promoted her when the opportunity arose.”

Judging by the looks they all exchanged, I could see that was a battle lost.

“In order to do good work I have to be the one to choose my own staff.” I insisted. “It makes no sense otherwise. I assure you I am perfectly capable of hiring the objectively best person for the job.” “I assure you, ma’am,” Montennon insisted, “I have been overlooking Mr. Auguste Authier’s training for the past ten years and he is the most qualified man to prepare you for the difficult role ahead.” “You said it was threefold. What’s the third reason?” I asked Montennon. He sighed. “Well, ma’am, it’s hierarchy. Much of the Royal Family works as any business, and Auguste Authier has seniority. He’s been a member of the Royal staff longer and it would be inappropriate to promote Ms. Mendel to a higher position when she hasn’t earned it.” “As the person who she’s been working for since being hired I’d argue she has.” I contradicted. “Auguste has been training for a decade to assist the next Monarch, Margueritte.” My father told me, softly. “Cadence is too young. What if we compromise by looking into training her as an aide, Clemment? She would be a good assistant to Auguste, don’t you think? I’m sure they would work well together, right?”

I was sure they wouldn’t; Cadie was only a few years older than me, and Auguste was almost old enough to be our father. He had never respected Cadie’s abilities or my choice in hiring her. That was part of why I didn’t want to work with him in the first place.

“It would simply be too disruptive to disregard the plans that have been in motion for years regarding the staff of the next future Monarch.” Montennon finished. “But that hierarchy, those plans, were established when my brother was the heir.” I said, bravely but, also, timidly. “Not me. If we have to adapt to a new heir, and the new heir has to adapt to the work, it makes sense that the hierarchy and plans have to be adapted too, right?”

They seemed in no rush to reply. The silence floated around the room for a few seconds before my father sighed.

“It’s not how this works, I’m afraid.” He said. “Should we move on?”

And that was that. Another compromise. One word from the King and that matter was, apparently, closed.

Mr. Caron, the Head of Security, cleared his throat and sat a little taller as he began to speak. “Sir, if I may?” My father nodded his way, and he went on. Looking at me, an intense expression on his face, he said, “Ma’am, while we are discussing staffing choices… The occurence in Britain with your detail on the train…”

I tried to brace myself for a scolding, dreading everything around me, wishing I could go to my room.

“I wish to assure you no such thing will ever happen again. The officers in question have been severely reprimanded, suspended and will retake training upon returning to work. We take the incident extremely seriously and hope this won’t permanently shake your confidence in your security.” I stuttered, awkwardly. “Oh, that–That’s fine. Really, I’m fine. I didn’t even know they’d been suspended.” “Their only job is to keep you safe, and they lost you for three days.” My father remarked, calmly, not looking at me. “They are lucky to keep their jobs.” “Right.” I nodded, nervously. “Of course… Speaking of which. The… incident, as you called it, was indeed unfortunate, of course, but since the topic has been brought up, I suppose it is as good a time as any to talk about my security detail in general. The truth is I was already uncomfortable with it before.” “Uncomfortable, ma’am?” Mr. Caron asked, “Regarding the officers? Their competence?” “No, not at all.” I shook my head. “I mean, I spent the previous decade and a half with Joyce as my primary officer. She went with me to America, to University, and in every job I ever had.” He nodded. “Of course, ma’am. The bond that many years of service creates is, of course, highly valued in this field. It is essential for the work we do.” “I’m glad you think so.” I smiled. “Because I would like for Joyce to be reinstated as my primary Protection Officer.” Mr. Caron took in a long breath, watching the wall behind me. “Ma’am, though I appreciate how difficult such a structural change is, the fact is that Ms. Espinoza–uhm, Joyce, that is, simply does not have the proper, more advanced, specified training an officer for this position needs.”

“Why is that?”

The room was quiet. One by one, they all exchanged a look with the person closer to them and then looked at me.

Mr. Caron spoke. “Why is what, ma’am?” “As a member of Palace security staff, why doesn’t Joyce Espinoza have the proper training needed to work for a senior royal?” “Oh, well, ma’am, see…” He started, “Our officers receive personalized training for the specific work that they will be assigned to. That way every royal family member can be sure they are in the right hands for the level of security threat they are under.” “But…” I started, “Doesn’t that just create a gap in the abilities of the staff? Don’t you then just have some officers who are qualified for harder jobs and some who aren’t?”

They were quiet. Mr. Caron opened his mouth to reply but closed it again, pensively.

“Margueritte, this meeting is not meant to reevaluate how we do staff training.” My father objected. “Maybe it should.” I argued, causing him to look at me, brows raised. But he ignored my point. “We are here to discuss your staff and the fact is Ms. Espinoza does not have the proper training to keep you safe.” Before I could argue, he added, louder, “That is not something we are compromising on. Not your safety.”

I sighed.

“Ulysses, do you have the security file on the Crown Princess?” Mr. Caron looked at my father with wider eyes. “Y-yes, sir. I have the raw file with me, but it hasn’t been… filtered.” “Good. Show it to her.”

Awkwardly, Mr. Caron received a separate, larger file from the aide sitting near the window. He got to his feet and walked over to me.

I opened the file to an identification page; it contained most of my personal information from my full name, age, hair color and length to weight, height, and identifying marks, like the barely visible, tiny scar I had on my left knee from a bike fall as a child (I noticed the absence of my tattoo). I looked at Caron.

“What am I looking at?” “Well–” He started. “That is what your security needs to have on their minds every second of their working day.” My father answered instead.

When I turned the page, I realized the following pages were separated by date. The first was marked only a couple of days after Louis’ death. It read:

‘Letter received by the Neunant Post. Unmarked. Security camera footage resulted in no suspects of delivery. It reads:

THE THRONE MUST NOT GO TO PRINCESS MARIE MARGUERITE. WOMAN ARE INFERIOR TO MEN AND THE RIGHT ORDER OF CIVIL SOCIETY CANNOT BE UNDERMINED. LET THE GOVERNMENT BE ADVISED: SHOULD THE PRINCESS BE ANNOUNCED AS THE NEXT HEIR THERE WILL BE AN ATTACK ON POINTE CALLOIS BRIDGE. WE ARE AN ORGANIZATION DEDICATED TO RETURNING SAVOY TO ITS FORMER GLORY. PRINT THIS LETTER ON THE FRONT PAGE OR PEOPLE WILL DIE…’

With my heart beating almost painfully in my throat, I looked at my father. He wasn’t looking at me. He wasn’t looking at anyone. His eyes were opened, but he was seeing something I could not see.

I turned the page. The next few threats were prints of hate comments on news sites, but they seemed slightly superficial compared to the first. I noticed they had a yellow sticker to the up corner of the page, whereas the first one had a red one. I turned the pages, finding another red one marked about a week after the first. It read:

‘Letter dropped on the gates of Callois Palace among the messages of condolences for Crown Prince Louis. Security Camera footage could not identify the suspect amongst the crowd. It read:

REST IN PEACE OUR GOOD ARYAN KING LOUIS ADOLPHE!!! THE THRONE WILL NEXT GO TO OUR ALPHA PRINCE ADRIEN WHO WILL LEAD THE COUNTRY INTO PROSPERITY. PASSING THE CROWN INTO PRINCE LOUIS ADOLPHE’S SISTERS WOULD TURN THE COUNTRY INTO A RADICAL LIBERAL HELL IT MUST NOT BE ALLOWED TO HAPPEN. THE KING MUST ANNOUNCE THE PRINCESSES WILL NOT INHERIT LIKE HIS SISTERS DIDNT. DO NOT DISMISS THIS. IN CASE THIS ISNT ANNOUNCED THE PRINCESSES WILL BE A FATALITY OF THE BATTLE FOR THE SURVIVAL OF SAVOY. YOU HAVE FIVE DAYS.

The following page contained a drawing of a symbol in red paint. Analysis confirmed it was pig blood. Symbol under analysis by the Interpol.’

I gulped, painfully, mouth dry. “Did they ever have an answer for what the symbol was?” Though I wasn’t looking at him, Mr. Caron asnwered softly, “With assistance from the NSA, ma’am, they believe it is linked to a jihadist terrorist organization.”

I turned a few more pages, hands shaking. Dated from a few weeks after Louis’ death, to a couple of months after, to just two weeks ago, they were prints of online messages, discord servers, reddit discussion threads, untraceable Twitter accounts, throw-away emails, sent to official royal email addresses, physical Palace address, personal email accounts of staff members, journalists, and any number of random people who dared say anything positive about us online.

‘THE CROWN PRINCESS ATTENDS BODY WORK GYM NEAR HER APARTMENT MOST MORNINGS AT 8AM FROM MONDAY TO FRIDAY. SHE ALWAYS PARKS IN THE SECOND FLOOR GARAGE. SHE LOOKS HOT IN LEGGINGS TOO BAD SHE’LL GET BLOWN UP NEXT TIME SHE IS THERE’

‘THE USURPER MARIE MARGUERITTE WILL DIE KING ADRIEN DOWN WITH THE FEMINAZIS WHO WEAKENED OUR MILITARY BY INCENTIVIZING WOMEN TO SERVE AND NOW WOULD WEAKEN OUR NOBLE ROYAL FAMILY’S BLOODLINE. YOU WILL NEVER FIND ME BUT YOU WILL SOON KNOW MY NAME I WILL CARVE IT IN HER SKIN. I KNOW THE ADDRESS OF HER WORK AND THE RESTAURANT SHE EATS AT WITH COWORKERS. THEIR NAMES ARE SOPHIE THE DAUGHTER OF THE CORRUPT MEDIA MOGUL AND LARISSA THE UGLY IMMIGRANT. SHE WILL NEVER BE QUEEN’

‘I AM A HIGHLY TRAINED FORMER MILITARY CAPTAIN PRINCESS MARIE MUST NOT HAVE A CONFIRMATION CEREMONY. IF YOU HAVE A CEREMONY WE WILL CARRY OUT A MASSIVE ATTACK AGAINST THE ATTENDEES. I HAVE AT MY DISPOSAL A SEMI AUTOMATIC RIFFLE AND A COLLECTION OF PIPE BOMBS.I DO NOT WANT TO SPILL PURE SAVOYEN BLOOD. I AM GIVING YOU A CHANCE. CANCEL THE CONFIRMATION AND ANNOUNCE THE ABDICATION OF PRINCESS MARIE IN FAVOR OF PRINCE ADRIEN OR ONE WAY OR ANTOHER I WILL MAKE SURE THEY DIE. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED’

A few of the pages detailed untraceable phone calls made to official, unlisted numbers inside the palace. There was a collective letter sent by chief editors of the major Savoy newspapers detailing a rise in what they describe as ‘the worst kind of harassing, toxic, hateful comments’ ever before targeted at the royal family in general, but specifically, me.

The next few pages had, chillingly, photographs. It was hard to focus enough to read the text around them, but according to the captions they had all been sent by physical mail or email, some having been discovered by police in ‘intercepted phones’.

“Wha–what are intercepted phones?” I asked, my voice a mere whisper. Ulysses Caron’s reply matched my tone. “Phones intercepted by police during reids, investigations or after criminals are arrested. Some were found internationally and sent to Savoy Police.”

I nodded as though I didn’t have another million follow up questions. The photos were of me, but in cases when I had been photographed with other people, there were pictures of them as well.

They were pictures of me walking my dogs near my apartment, in Tallmound, before Louis died. Pictures of me walking to and from the parking lot at work, both before Louis died and on the day I went to quit. Pictures of me in the gardens of the Palace, in some places we knew people could see from the gates. It didn’t usually bother us as it wasn’t an issue unless they were watching to wait for us.

These weren’t paparazzi pictures, they were worse. Grainy, from farther away, from an upper angle – drones? My head hurt. I felt dizzy. My stomach ached. In one picture, I was walking near the beach with Lourdes in Corsilla.

I looked up at Mr. Caron, realizing the room had fallen into a deep, strained silence as they waited for me to say anything.

“My sister. Is she–is she pictured, too?” Mr. Caron looked at my father before replying. I did, too. He was still quietly looking inwards. “Yes, ma’am.” Mr. Caron said, finally. “Not as frequently. But there has also been a recent rise.” I fought back tears. “And–Did th–Louis?” I stuttered. He nodded, gravely.

I closed the folder with a thud. I looked away, at the windows. The sun was setting outside.

“Don’t you see…?” I asked, weakly. “This is why we can’t train our officers differently.” I looked back at them. “You’re deciding that some of us receive more threats than others and therefore we need different security, but what is stopping anyone who wishes to harm us from harming someone we love to get to us?!” “I assure you, ma’am, all our officers are highly trained to the task they need to perform–”

I got to my feet, breathless. Slowly, I walked around the chair and rested a hand on it, the other now clutching the heavy folder. I thought of my brother reminding me to stand up for myself, and of the reminder Harry had written in the book he sneaked into my bag.

I looked back at them, and sighed.

“You are going to double the number of protection officers in my sister’s detail.” I said, as authoritative as I could. “Double–?” Mr. Caron started. “And Cadence Mendel is going to be my Private Secretary.” I said, as if I hadn’t been interrupted. “Auguste can stay on for support. He can be a… consulting aide. I’m sure his experience will be valuable.” “Margueritte.” My father started. I did not acknowledge him. “Joyce Espinoza will head my security detail.” “Ma’am, she does not have the necessary training–” “Then train her!” I said. “It is not enough for security to be well trained, clearly, as your supposedly highly trained officers were sleeping while I ran off in London. If they had known me, if I had trusted them, like I do with Joyce, I assure you that would not have happened.” He didn’t have an answer. He did look at my father though, helplessly. “Training is not enough, Mr. Caron. Our security is with us wherever we go, we must trust them. Intimacy isn’t a replacer for training, either, so let’s work on both. Okay?” “Margueritte.” My father tried again. “Why don’t we talk about this privately?” “That won’t be necessary.” I replied. “It would have been useful months ago, after Louis passed. Now I don’t need to, anymore.” I looked at him, finally, calmly. “I will do good work, dad. I will. I will do work that I am proud to do, and that Louis would have been proud of, too. And I will be happy to do it. But let it be known that I will do it because I am choosing to do it.” I looked at the rest of them. “I did not want this.” I confessed. “I wish for nothing more than for my brother to be in this meeting instead of me. But I am all you have.”

Still, they were silent.

“Well, I will do it. Not because I have to. What can you do, really, if I refuse to? Throw me in jail?” I echoed Constance’s words, a humorless grin in my lips. “You need me. You have me. So, I am willing to discuss my work. But we will not compromise on my staff, or on my security. Or Lourdes’ security.” “Margueritte.” My father repeated, more forcefully now. “I am a lawyer. A good one.” I stopped him, angrily. “I had my own life before this and I can get it back. Say no and I will just send a resume and get another job next week.” I told them, daringly, shrugging. “I do not need or want the Crown. If you want to take it, this is what I need. If not,” I sighed, heavily, “well, let’s hope Lourdes is ready to be Queen.”

I waited, breathing heavily, anxious, hands shaking. My father said nothing else. Neither did any of the others. I could barely see them through my anger.

“I expect my Private Secretary to get in touch in the next twenty-four hours so we can get to work. If not,” I sighed, “You can expect my abdication letter by the end of the week.”

With that, I turned on my heels, and left the room.

--- ---- ---

Business Bitch Outfit

[A/N: ITS 6 AM AND I HAVE NOT SLEPT. I HAVE WORK IN 5 HOURS. I HAVE A HEADACHE. THIS IS ALL TO SAY PLEASE FORGIVE ANY SPELLING/GRAMMAR/NONSENSE MISTAKES. Seriously, I am so grateful for your patience. I had to move out of my house in 2 weeks into a much more expensive apartment. First time I had to do the whole moving process thing (long story) and it is not great. 0/10 do not recomend. Why do I own stuff? Also my job is not going well. I fully expect to be let go in January. Maybe I am being a paranoid anxious bitch maybe I am being a self aware queen. We’ll see. But it’s definitely the second option. Anyway, I’m all unpacked now and loving living alone for the first time ever. I think that’s all I needed to say. Oh, also, I did some research for the death threat part but -- thankfully -- I am not fully versed on it, so sorry if its a little cringe? Anyway. Let me know your thoughts?! What do you think will happen? Will Maggie’s boss bitch ultimatum work?! Will the dramatic Chris breakup leak to the papers?! Tune in next week to find out! LOVE YOU!]

#Princeharryff #prince harry fanfic #prince harry fanfiction #princeharryfanfiction #Princeharryfanfic #prince harry #brf #modern royalty au #modern royalty fanfic #fanfiction #OPITCphff #chapters #sorry i said bitch like 3 times in this AN #i cannot stress this enough #it is 6am

[diez-minutos]

ಠ for polo x carla x christian

ಠ  - Sad headcanon

Polo obviously is thinking about a lot ever since that night and he definitely withdraws himself from people more

Christian can barely look at him and whenever he tries to talk to Carla about it, she shuts him down because it’s too painful for her to think about the guy she was in love with for so long being capable of that

I think Christian will want to talk about Polo about it but knows that he’ll just get angry or sad so he writes him notes instead:

I care about you and want you to be okay, but I’m hurting so much right now

I can’t stop thinking about you but then I remember what you did and it tears me up inside

Carla accidentally finds one before he was going to give it to Polo and she breaks down because she feels the same way

the next time she sees Christian she hugs him tightly and lets him know that his feelings are valid and that she’s feeling them, too

the same night she calls Polo and tells him that she wants to help him in any way she can because she loves him but this is still a lot for her to process

he feels guilty and tells her that she doesn’t need to be involved any more if she doesn’t want to. she already helped him when he didn’t know what to say to the police

she tells him that she’s committed to this but she doesn’t know if Christian is too

Polo immediately goes to Christian’s house and tells him that if he wants to turn him in, he won’t resent him for it

Christian’s confused and hurt and wants Polo to just hold him but can’t bring himself to step any closer to him

Christian doesn’t like that Polo has given him this option because now it seems like he loses either way

either he doesn’t say anything and his best friend stays in jail for a crime he didn’t commit

or he says something and the guy that he may kind of like goes to jail and he will probably never see him again

Christian tells Polo that he doesn’t know what will happen but promises to tell Polo before he does anything drastic

#ask #headcanon #carla x polo x christian #thank you for the ask lovely 😘

[lolahood]

request/prompt: reddie modern au, some ex-boyfriend treated eddie horrible and now he is insecure about everything he does for richie and insecure on his own looks because that guy was trash. fluff/angst? richie understanding and being nice, trying his best to help?

SORRY THIS TOOK ME SO LONG! this is such a cute idea and I kinda went a little too angsty with it? ah well :) if anyone has any other request, send it in!! i love doing these!! 

word count: 1.8k

Eddie smoothed out the pristine table cloth for the third time in 5 minutes. The short man tapped his foot anxiously on the floor of his one-bedroom apartment. He checked his watch, and stared as the seconds hand ticked painstakingly slow. Eddie groaned and rubbed his eyes. Richie was supposed to arrive in 5 minutes, and Eddie was, for lack of better words, anxious as fuck.

The two guys had been dating for about a month. They had met at Bill and Stan’s wedding, and they had hit it off instantly. A completely sober Richie had run to the stage to karaoke Billy Joel’s Only the Good Die Young, and Eddie knew he had to meet this curly-haired stranger. Since then, they had gone on a couple dates: a coffee shop, the Italian restaurant on the corner of Richie’s block, Skyzone (Eddie really loved trampolines and Richie thought that was damn adorable).

Though Eddie had been in Richie’s apartment, this would be the first time Richie had been over to Eddie’s. The thought of the attractive man in Eddie’s living space made Eddie’s skin tingle. He didn’t know if it was anticipation or nerves, but either way, it drove him to rush to oven to check on his tater tot hotdish.

Eddie wasn’t much of a cook, but he was an expert hotdish chef. Bill had been his best friend forever and whenever he couldn’t stand his mother for another second (which was pretty much every other day when they were younger) he would spend time at the Denbrough residence. Georgie had a very weak immune system, so he was bedridden a lot more than anyone else Eddie knew. Whenever the younger boy was sick, Bill and Eddie would make him tater tot hotdish - his favorite food.

Just as Eddie was pulling the heavy pan out of the oven, he heard a sporadic knock on the door. The brown-haired man nearly dropped his hotdish at the sound, and then frantically set it down and ran to the entrance of his home.

He pulled open the door to find curly locks peeking out from behind a large bouquet of white roses. A blush crept across Eddie’s face as Richie’s big brown eyes rose into view. Richie stuck out the roses childishly, and Eddie reached out for them with a smile. His expression quickly switched as he realized with horror that his Scooby Doo oven mits were still encasing his hands. Cheeks burning furiously, he shook off the gloves and grabbed the roses as Richie’s laugh echoed through Eddie’s empty apartment.

“You’re so cute, have I ever said that to you?” Richie teased as Eddie filled a vase with water. Eddie rolled his eyes and snorted, but his blush grew nonetheless.

“Like, every 0.6 seconds,” Eddie shot back. He led Richie over to the table set for two. There were candles spread across the perfectly straight tablecloth. A bowl of red fruit was between the two plates, and Eddie’s steaming hotdish was next to it.

Richie dipped his head low and dramatically took a deep sniff over the hotdish. He put his hand to his forehead and sighed in faux pleasure.

“That,” he pointed a slender finger at the dish, “smells like your mother’s vajayjay. In the best way possible.” Eddie gave the taller boy a playful shove.

“You’re disgusting,” he shrieked.

“Yeah, but you love it,” Richie shot back.

As he felt all of his previous nerves melt away, Eddie felt something in his gut tell him this statement wasn’t as crazy as it sounded.

//////Three Hours Later//////

Eddie and Richie were sprawled on the loveseat in front of Eddie’s TV. Richie was sat facing forward, with his ginormous feet propped up on the coffee table. Eddie had warned him against doing that, but the scrawny lad had disregarded Eddie’s threats. The shorter boy had his feet in Richie’s lap and a bowl of popcorn in his arms. Step Up was playing on the TV, but Eddie was having a hard time focusing on anything but the feeling of Richie’s legs against his. Richie’s eyes danced across the screen with the movements of Channing Tatum. Eddie recognized the music from the final dance scene, so he knew the movie was almost over.

As the final credits rolled, Richie finally turned his gaze to Eddie, his eyes full of delight.

“Ugh, I seriously love that movie more than I love dick,” Richie sighed contently, pulling Eddie’s legs closer to his chest. Eddie giggled at the wacky statement. When Eddie opened his eyes again, Richie’s gaze caught them instantly, something darker suddenly brewing behind Richie’s eyes. “Well, almost.”

Eddie’s next breath snagged in the back of his throat. The apartment suddenly seemed so much smaller, and the brown-haired boy’s heart started to speed up. Richie moved closer to Eddie. He was moving in slow motion. Eddie suddenly felt sweaty all over his body, like he had run a marathon without leaving the couch.

Eddie’s brain was on red alert as Richie leaned in to press his lips against the smaller man’s. Eddie tried to relax into the kiss. This wasn’t the first time the two of them had kissed, but this kiss was different. It was hungry. It was passionate. It was too much. Eddie grabbed Richie’s arm and squeezed, hoping the older boy would understand what Eddie was trying to communicate, but he just pressed his body harder against Eddie and stuck his tongue in his mouth. Eddie choked out a sob. He planted his hands firmly on Richie’s chest and pushed him off with all his might. Richie flew back, fear in his eyes. Eddie’s head spun, his thoughts racing miles at a time as Richie jumped up from the floor. Whyisthismewhyamilikethiswhyisthisme- Eddie gulped for air as Richie rushed to his side.

“Oh god, Eddie, I’m so sorry, Jesus, what can I do? What happened?” Eddie just shook his head and pulled his knees up to his body. Richie looked frantically around the room, desperately trying to find a way to help Eddie. He snatched a blanket laying on an armchair and wrapped it gently around Eddie’s quivering frame, trying his hardest not to touch the smaller boy. Then he waited.

Eddie’s breath began to slow after a couple minutes. His shoulders dropped. He wasn’t afraid anymore, just sad. Richie felt his heart crack in his chest at the dejected form of his boyfriend. Richie stretched out his hand, and slowly, slowly, touched Eddie’s knee.

“I think we have to talk,” the taller boy whispered. Eddie looked up from his lap, his face streaked with tears and his bottom lip shaking. Richie paused, a patient smile on his face while Eddie gathered himself. Eddie blew out a big breath and then began to speak.

“So, before you,” the boy murmured. “There was this other guy - Henry - who I was with for a while.” Richie hated the way Eddie’s voice trembled as he said the other man’s name. “This was a couple years ago. H-h-he-” Eddie’s voice broke as a tear streamed down his face. Richie rubbed his knee, gently urging the boy to continue. “He used to, ah, rough me up.” All of the blood drained from Richie’s face, and his eyes widened in shock.

“Oh my god, Eddie, I’m so, I - holy shit.” Eddie nodded, more heavy tears spilling over his lashes.

“It- it didn’t start that way. He didn’t start that way. W-we were h-happy,” the smaller boy choked out. “But one day, I don’t know, he wanted to have sex. I was 18. I had just graduated from high school a couple weeks before. I had never- I wasn’t-” Eddie’s voice broke again. Richie went to speak, but Eddie held his hand out.

“I wasn’t ready.” Eddie spat out the words. “He was 23. We were in his apartment, and I told him I wouldn’t - I couldn’t do it, but he, he wasn’t gonna,” Eddie gulped down a labored breath. “He wasn’t gonna take no for an answer.”

Shock shot straight down Richie’s spine. How could anyone, sped through his mind.

“E-eddie where is he, I need to- I need to fucking beat the shi-” Richie’s strangled sputtering was interrupted by Eddie laying his hand on Richie’s leg.

“It’s done. He’s in jail. I just don’t- I don’t talk about it that much. Really at all.” Before any more tears could fall from Eddie’s face, Richie pulled him strongly into a tight hug. Eddie pressed his face into the taller boy’s t-shirt as sobs tore through his body. And Richie held him, glad Eddie’s eyes were closed and hidden, so Eddie couldn’t see his tears.

After what felt like an eternity, the two boys pulled apart from each other. Richie waited a moment to see if Eddie was going to say anything.

“Do you want me to leave? I get it if you need to be al-”

“No.” The urgency in the broken boy’s voice surprised Richie. “I need you to stay. Let’s just- let’s just go to bed.” With that, Eddie turned and headed to his bedroom slowly. Richie quickly caught up with him. Eddie pulled off his chinos and fell into bed in his polo and boxer briefs. Richie slowly pulled off his jeans, not wanting to make Eddie feel uncomfortable.

Remembering something Eddie had said earlier, Richie walked back to the kitchen and filled a glass with water and set it on Eddie’s nightstand. He turned all the lights off in the apartment and pulled the closet door shut, knowing it was hard for Eddie to sleep if he didn’t have everything set right in his apartment. Richie had learned all this two weeks ago, when Eddie had first come to Richie’s place and was shocked at the messy organization of the small apartment.

Richie gently pulled himself under the covers on the opposite side of the bed from Eddie, careful not to disturb the smaller boy. Richie closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but the silence was quickly broken.

“Richie?” Richie heard Eddie’s quiet voice from his side. The taller boy turned to see Eddie reaching out with his arms, signaling for Richie to hold him. Richie just smiled and took Eddie in his arms.

The two boys laid together, their chests rising and falling in synchronization. Richie could feel Eddie’s small frame relaxing, and smiled knowing the boy was asleep. Richie pressed his chin lightly to the top of Eddie’s head, and slowly dozed off.

#reddie #reddie au #reddie fanfic #reddie fic #modern reddie #reddie modern #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #it 2017 #it movie #it movie 2017 #no pennywise #love #fanfic #fanfiction #angst #ngl this is shit #mine #pls read #stephen king #losers club #the losers club #it #au #it 2017 fanfic #it 2017 fic #it 2017 au

[closingtheme]

HAUNT 1989

Rating: Mature (For Violence, Blood, Crude Language, ukw kind of like PG-13 but more gore is allowed.

Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death

Categories: F/M, Other

Fandoms: IT - Stephen King, IT (Movies - Muschietti)

Relationships: Stanley Uris/Original Female Character(s), The Losers Club (IT) & Original Female Character(s)

Characters: Original Hanlon Character(s), Original Female Character(s), Original Female Character(s) of Color, Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak, Beverly Marsh, Stanley Uris, Mike Hanlon, Ben Hanscom, Minor Characters, Bill Denbrough, Pennywise (IT), The Losers Club (IT), Henry Bowers, Henry Bowers's Gang (IT)

Additional Tags: Childhood Trauma, Childhood Friends, Childhood, First Love, Murder, Death, Canonical Character Death, Friendship, Siblings, Protective Siblings, 1980s, Adaptation, Wordcount: 10.000-30.000, Complete, Horror, Body Horror

Language:English

Summary: Shanice Hanlon and Her Brother Mike move to Derry after the death of their parents and encounter something that will change their lives forever.

IT.

As she navigates newfound friendship, deals with grief and trauma she tries her damnedest to survive this inhuman cause of the children of Derry disappearing.

William Hanlon was a murderer.

Shanice wanted to not believe it. She hoped it was a nightmare of some kind, a really messed up one. The day he was arrested, it’d been a particularly nice day; she remembered watching fondly at her parents as they danced to Prince. Mike had out in the park playing with neighborhood boys.

She sat to herself, on a brown, suede sofa, reading the newest issue of JET Magazine when she heard a knock--one that only she seemed to hear. Tossing her reading material to the floor, she walked from the living room to the front door, leaning up to look through the peephole.

Two officers, both white, looking very cold. Tilting her head curiously, she opened the door as the warm summer air hit her body. A brisk, balmy breeze blew her beaded hair, a feeling of nausea washed over her.

Shanice’s gaze diverts from their path with a small voice she replies, “What’s up, Officer?”

“Hey, Sweetheart. Do you know William Hanlon?”

“Yeah, that’s my Daddy. What’s this about?”

Something wasn’t right.

She could feel it.

She didn’t answer but her eyes darted to her parents who were laughing and smiling. When she doesn’t say anything, the officers glance over her shoulder at the cheery couple.

“If you stand there and stall you for his protection, you’ll be obstructing justice, young lady.”

“What, you can’t--”

She feels her body shoved out of view as the men rushed into their small two-room apartment. She could feel her mother yelling and her father suddenly burst into a rage. The sound of rushing blood flooded her ears, her wide, dark eyes glued on her father’s figure.

Chaos, pure chaos.

The memory she had of her father was nothing but a mask, a cover-up to who he was outside of their safe apartment.

Everything is a lie, nothing but lies!

“I ain’t goin’ to jail--that, that thing told me to do it. I ain't no murderer!” Tears started to stream down her cheek as--she wanted to holler, but she couldn’t utter a word or a sound.

“William!”

“William stop it, put down that gun!” Her mother runs over trying to wrestle the gun out of her father’s hands, which eventually goes off and causes a stillness to go over the room.

Her mother’s body fell first, her eyes wide and petrified. Her breaths were shallow-- her body twitched as she bled out on the floor. She seemed to mumble something, something Shanice couldn’t make out.

Then, she was gone just like that.

It was surreal, phantasmal to her eyes.

“Sir put down the weapon.” As the officers urged him to stop, her father just stood there with a smile on his face.

“Ain’t no way I’m goin’ down without my Baby Girl." His arms stretched out, he calls out to her.

"Shanice, Baby girl. Come on to Daddy, everything’s gonna be okay. We're gonna be--” With her body trembling, the teenage girl rushes out the door in a sprint, screaming. As she dashes through her neighborhood, she flags down her brother on his way back down the street.

“Hey, Shay, what’s up? Why are there a bunch of cop cars out here? Why--Shay? Shay, what’s wrong?”

“Daddy he...he shot mom, h-he’s coming for us--we gotta run--”

A resonating gunshot fills their ears before Shanice could finish her sentence. She dropped to her knees, not caring about the harsh sting on the sidewalk.

When she saw the officers rush out, she knew one thing--her father was dead. Unknown if by himself or by an officer

He was dead.

When it was discovered that her father murdered twelve children during his twenties--and more that investigators speculate, whose bodies hadn’t been found. Missing children, that will never see their families again.

Shanice and her brother Mike were another set of victims that suffered due to his crimes.

A man died the day her father was arrested, not William Hanlon, the murderer, but the man she thought was her father along with her mother.

Moving to Derry from North Carolina was a lot for a fourteen-year-old who experienced the tragedy of seeing both of her parents and a thirteen-year-old who feels he should’ve been there.

It was a place they'd spent their early years at, it is held with some sort of nostalgia.

After climbing herself into the bed of her grandfather's truck, Shanice peered over at her brother with a small smile.

“It’s gonna be okay Mike--alright?” The young boy nods--Shanice wonders if she said the words only to comfort Mike or herself. After a month of being in state custody, being petrified and scarred was the least of her worries.

She was afraid. She hated that part of her, the part that made her human.

Being afraid is time-consuming; being afraid gives way to cowardice. Being afraid stopped her from being by her mother’s side, being afraid stopped her from confronting her father.

Moreover, she’d be the one to look after Mike when her grandfather eventually dies too.

Shanice was wearing jean shorts and a white, polo shirt, indicative of the springtime, transitioning summertime heat. She hangs her head between her legs, the heaviness of her braids connected with her heart. Feeling emotional exhaustion, she curls up and forces herself to sleep on the bed of the hot truck bed.

For the first time in a long time, she didn’t have a dream or a nightmare. What wakes her up is the sharp jerk of her grandfather’s truck and she finds him grinning a toothy grin at her.

“Alright Baby Girl, we’re here!”

A farmhouse, one she remembered playing in as a kid. Chasing around pigs and playing in the creek--she’d be happier to be there if it wasn’t for the circumstances. She quietly descends from the back of the truck, taking the bulk of their things. Her brother was as her grandfather described as ‘soft’ and the aforementioned man was already in his sixties, worn down from working diligently for years--she felt it was more than necessary.

“You shouldn’t  be carrying all those things, let Granddad take it.” Shanice waves off her grandfather’s helping hand.

“It’s cool, Texas built me well. I’ve got it.”

“Go on now. Pull it.”

“I don’t want to do this.”

“People need to eat.”

“But how would you feel? Raised for food...” Shanice, who was drinking a glass of Kool-Aid watched as her grandfather attempted to teach her brother how--slaughter a sheep. She frowned. Her brother was such a sweet boy, couldn’t harm a fly even if he was forced to--and this was the exact opposite of the Patriarch.

“Like I’d want you to get it over with is how I’d feel... Remember what I told you? You gotta do this quick. If the animal senses what you’re about to do, if it starts to fear you, adrenaline courses through its body and changes the taste and the meat winds up tough.” Drinking the rest of the red liquid, Shanice sets her glass down and makes her way over to the barn.

“Granddaddy, forcing him ain’t gonna do you no good.”

“Babying the boy ain’t gonna do you no good.” He then turns to the machine and without an inkling of hesitation pulling the trigger, killing the sheep it was aiming for.

“You need to start taking more responsibility around here, Mike. Your Dad was younger than you when he took this over--”

“But what if I can’t? What if I don’t want to do this, be here.” His words made Shanice frown--Watching silently as their grandfather spoke on.

“Look at me--you too Baby Girl.” The old man points to the sheep lined up to be slaughtered--quietly, patiently.

Waiting to be consumed.

“Let me y’all about being here. ‘Cuz you two need to understand something. There are two places you can be in this world. You can be out here, like us. Or you can be in there, like those eager bastards right there”

He continues with, “And if you waste too much time hemming and hawing, that choice is gonna be made for you. ‘Cept you won’t know it 'til you feel the bolt blast right between your eyes.” Shanice blankly stares at him, unaffected by the words while her brother trembles in fear.

“Ok, ok. Here." She hands then both sandwiches wrapped in saran wrap.

"A cheese sandwich on wheat bread for Mike and a Ham sandwich on rye for you, Granddaddy.”

....

....

‘ Van Gogh, and Rembrandt, don't be uptight, cause here comes KID DYNOMITE. ’

While the two men in her life sitting in the living room watching the Good Times , Shanice looks outside, at the forest outlining their house.

She didn’t hate Derry but something about Derry left her feeling like there was something outlining--maybe she thought too much.

A few weeks passed, today was Shanice’s last day of class. Mike remained home, homeschooled by their Granddaddy who said, "The boy needs to learn about the land."

Her baby’s face contorted, yet she doesn’t follow up his answer with another question.

Finishing off her bowl of cereal, her brother appears from his room.

“Remember to do that test so we wrap stuff off it mail it off, ok? I'll see you when I get home.” Shanice mutters to her little brother, giving him a tight hug.

“Ride safe--don’t speak to strangers.” Shanice blinks at her grandfather who has her blocked from leaving the driveway. It’s been a minute since they moved to Derry, but he still went over the same Spiel to her every morning.

“Granddaddy I’m already fourteen, you know?" Shanice groans, feeling as if she was practically ancient at that age, "You’ve been saying that since we got here.”

“And? You’re prey to anything out there.” Shanice rolls her eyes, beginning to ride away.

“I’ll keep that in mind!”

Shanice arrived at the school--preteens, teenagers fill the entrance like crowded in herds like those doomed sheep at the farm. She gripped her backpack, it being empty--her knowing it was the last day and that she wouldn't bother trying to stay in class.

Watching students dispersing in to clear out their lockers, walking, she overhears a group of boys talking.

“How’s it work?”

“They slice part of his penis off.”

“That can’t be true. He’d have nothing left...”

She grimaces.

Boys discussing circumcision.

Nice.

Shaking her head, she gets to the girl’s bathroom, where she planned to attempt to wait until the bell rung.

She pauses when she hears a commotion coming from the lockers around the corner.

“...I think I can handle this.”

There’s a bang as if something or someone slammed against it followed by mocking laughter.

“Sure know how to spread ‘em, slut!”

Her face tenses up. She quickly debates whether or not to get herself involved-- resigning to help the girl. She slams open the door she's cooped up, letting her presence known. At her reveal, the girls stiffen--one, in particular, stood with a hockey stick in her hand. Her eyes glance at another girl, a redhead who seemed to be shaking. Her pale knees were bruised, purple, and blue.

She glares at the girls, who quickly leave, like a gaggle of hens.

“Hey, you okay?”

When the girl nods, Shanice lets out a sigh of relief.

The last thing she could make out on the girl was her fiery hair as she ran off in the opposite direction, making her way to her destination.

It’s around four by the time Shanice leaves school. After picking up Mike and dropping off his test materials at the post office--she calls her grandfather at a payphone in advance that they’d be a little late.

Stopping and parking the car on the side of the street, there’s a woman frantically stapling a poster to a  light post. It was a missing child flyer for a kid named Dorsey Corcoran. Right beside it is a sign that says, ‘REMEMBER THE CURFEW, 7 P.M.’

She spots the two siblings running over to hand the older of the two.

"Please tell me if you've seen my son. Please."

Both of the siblings stare at her retreating figure in silent sympathy, heading into the grocery store after a beat.

It was such a sign of fleeting hope.

“What’s up?” He asks her brother as they make their way through the small grocery store. He seemed to be off in his thoughts, so she felt like something was wrong. Ever since the accident, he’d gotten quieter, and quieter.

It was concerning.

The boy looks the other way and mutters, “Nothing.” and she drops it, for now.

Riding home, she glances over at her brother.

“Try to put up with Granddaddy this summer, ok?” ‘We’re the only people he has left.’ She wanted to add but decided against it.

He nods and she adds, “I’ll do the farm work too.”

His face brightens up and it cheers her up as well.

The next day, Shanice decides to look for work and to drop off meat at the Butcher’s with Mike after he insisted on going--probably because he didn’t feel comfortable alone with their grandfather.

After finishing those duties they head out on her bike, Shanice has a feeling she can’t shake.

The feel of being followed.

“I think someone’s following us.” She could feel her brother’s confused expression through his voice.

“Who?” He turns around. She sees some sort of sports car--it starts honking at them, not letting off. It starts to increase in speed, edging on them as if to swallow them whole. Her brother frantically goes faster and faster until they manage to crash into a tree.

Laughter and mischievous hollering emerge from the car, as well as a taunt.

“Stay the fuck out of my town!”

“Hey! What the fuck is wrong with y'all?” Shanice yells at the car as it flies away, helping her brother to his feet. She looks at themselves--he wasn't hurt too bad, neither was she.

The real damage was her bike--it mangled beyond recognition.

“Let’s just carry this thing to the house, Mike.” She says, turning to her brother, who seems to be locked in a trance by something.

“Mike?”

“Huh?”

She frowns.

“Let’s go home.”

....

....

The two get home, both weathered and tired. Leroy spots them and smiles at them like an old, amused tabby.

“Long day, you two?” The two siblings stay quiet, sitting at the dining table in mutual silence.

“Something happened while y’all two were out on collections?”

He pauses as if he knew the answer once the question flew from his mouth and onto the cold, wooden table. Shanice’s and Mike’s eyes dart from each other to the elderly man.

“Saw Baby Girl’s bike. Y’all have a run-in with the Bowers boy?” Mike gazes at his grandfather, then nods.

“Yeah.”

“That’s it? Hmmm, thought it was something else...”

“Something else like what?” His words catch Shanice’s attention.

“Dunno. Y’all tell me.” Shanice holds his gaze, clearly unhappy that he might be hiding something from her, but doesn’t question further--hell, she wouldn’t even know where to start if anything. Instead, she elaborates on the whole Bowers interaction.

“He mangled up my bike and almost killed us with his car--he’s a total psychopath."

“Is that why do we live outside of town? Is it because of the Bowers?” Mike follows up, with questions of his own.

'Stay the fuck of out of my town!’ His words echo through her head, her hand makes fists. Licking her she asks,

"Granddaddy, are we outsiders?"

“No. We live out here because I want the best for my grandchildren." He says to his grandson, patting his shoulder before sighing at his granddaughter. "We're not outsiders. See, it’s not just the Bowers that ain’t right. It’s that whole town that’s wrong...”

Silence once again overtakes the three.

Inching, aching, catching them by the throat.

“Do y’all know what a haunt is?”

An unknown fear.

....

....

Shanice had dreamed later that night. It was seven years ago.

She still had her family together.

She was at a grocery store, with her mother, their hands clasped--her mother was glowing, her toothy smile made her so happy she was speechless.

As she reached out to hold her mother, everything disappeared around her--her mother glanced at her with crimson hands. She wore horror on her round face, her hands trembling, shaking with fright.

Her mother looks at her.

“My baby, why didn’t you save me?”

Then, she smiles. Her grin wide, unsettling--yet, it drew her in.

The false sense of comfort that caressed her, that infantile warmth.

Shanice, grounded, shakes her head.

“Mama I--” Her mother holds her face in her hands--dirty metal and aging rust fill Shanice’s senses, and she closes her eyes.

“Mama, I’m so sorry. I was so scared.” Her mother laughed, bringing Shanice's head to her chest--the smell of Swisher Sweets, the ones her Mama used to smoke, calmed her down--she breathes in, wailing as she stroked her hair.

"There ain't no reason to be scared."

Shanice weeps, now alone with nothing but a bright, red balloon in her mother’s place--yet, her voice is still heard light, her soft giggle giddy.

"Eventually, we all float, baby."

....

....  

There was something strange about Derry that Shanice couldn’t quite put her finger on. As she stood in the kitchen, frying eggs and stirring a pot of grits, she felt complex. She couldn’t sleep, the bags under her eyes were evidence of that. On top of everything, her monthly friend came around to give her terrible cramps. She’d be good for a day or before the red flood starts, but probably be better off She tries to get stuff off her mind by turning on her off-white boombox, with a New Edition song playing.

Mike appears. He looks as weathered as her.

“Hey, Mikey.” She finds herself calling him what she did when they were much younger. When everything had a sense of normality.

Shanice gives him a quick hug, planting a quick kiss on top of his head.

“You look like shit.”

“...you do too, Shay.” She shakes her head, tittering as a distant rooster sounds off.

“Imma go to the pharmacy--wanna come?”

When Mike shakes his head, she makes her way upstairs to change and go out. Her beaded, braided hair clinking and shaking as she looked around. settling on a pair of black shorts and a white t-shirt. After lacing up her red converses, she waves her brother goodbye with a gap-toothed smile.

She takes the long walk into town.

When she makes it to Keene’s Pharmacy, she’s sweating, a bit fatigued. She notices a familiar head of ginger hair and notices the girl she’d seen while working at the school looking at a shelf of tampons and pads like it was a guillotine.

“Hey.” She looks startled, turning her sight at the small yet imposing girl. She's short than her--her dark eyes are big, deep-set--her grin makes her seem approachable, her head cocked to the side with her hands in her pockets.

"Thanks, I'm Bev."

“Shanice. Periods, they suck right? You look a little overwhelmed. Your Mama never told you about them?” At the mention of a mother, the girl shifts in a pretty floral dress.

“My...my mom’s not here anymore.”

She gives her a small, toothy smile.

“Mine isn't either. Good thing she taught me about that stuff. You’re looking at a five-year veteran.” She watches the girl’s face pale.

“Five years...” The girl trails off, before looking and hiding behind Shanice. Shanice looks in the direction that she glances at and recognizes the girl’s voice--the girl from the bathroom. She finds a haughty-looking chewing gum quiet-loud before she explains, “Watch it, losers!” at a group of boys who pass her and her way out.

Glancing around the girl trembling behind her, with her voice dropped down to a whisper she asks, “Was that one of the girls from the bathroom”

She nods, only sighing relief when she realizes she’s gone.

“Are you ok?”

“Uh...I’m fine. So...when did you get it?”

Shanice gives her a confused look.

“Oh, the thing. Nine.”

“Really? I didn’t know people got it that early, that's gotta suck.”

They continue to talk until she notices the girl glance at the boys coming in. They’re all chattering, inspecting each other's monetary means.

An older man stares at them sharply--then, locks eyes with Shanice before grumbling.

Shanice finds some products with good absorption levels, the group of boys staring at her with curiosity.

“Who are you?” Shanice smiles at Richie who seems to size her up.

"The name's Shanice. SHA-Niece. You can call me Shay." she says with emphasis, adding. "My family used to live here, before...”

“I’m Richie, that’s Bill, Stan, Eddie, Ben--and she’s--”

"Bev, I know. We met earlier."

The teenager nods, looking over as the aforementioned girl knocks down a cigarette display--the next thing she knows they’ve run out of the pharmacy, like bandits. Shanice finds herself following them into an alleyway, where Ben is being patched up due to a gnarly injury.

"W-We're going the quarry, wanna come?" She looks over at Bill, who asks the question to Beverly, but sheepishly looks back at her

“Y-you should come too.”

Beverly smiles.

“Sure. See you around.” The two girls walk out of the alleyway, into the main street.

“Want me to walk you home?” Beverly looked at her with a flash of concern before nodding.

“Where do you live?” A breeze past them as they walk--as they stroll deeper, houses become noticeably different. A lot of them are older, abandoned, or hadn't been repairs in years.

It's a run-down area, neglected by the rest of the town.

“The outskirts.” She frowns.

“Why?”

“Dunno. The people in the town think my Granddaddy’s strange--but you know what I think? This weird town is mistaking who and what is really strange.”

....

....

The teenagers make it out to the quarry the next day. Shanice finds Beverly standing off to the side, now sporting a bob.

“New Haircut?” Bev, hearing her voice putting her hand to her hair absentmindedly.

“Yeah.”

“It suits you, I think it’s cool. You look a lot like Molly Ringwald.”

The boys, who have stripped to their underwear, are contemplating who should jump first.

“Who’s first?” Bill inquiries.

“Eddie?” The fourteen-year-old rebuttals, “Screw that.”

Shanice and Bev who stand off the shadow look at each other.

“They’re a gang of wusses.” Shanice stifles her laughter, before doubling over.

“Right? Inviting us over and acting like a bunch of wusses!” For a moment, silence befalls the girls, only the boy’s chatter can be heard--then, Beverly gives the girl a look, a wild one, dripping with adrenaline.

“Hey, wanna jump?”

Shanice grins.

“Why not?”

The two quickly discard their clothing--a pair of denim overalls and plain summer dress--before bolting as fast as their legs could muster, their hands clasped, jumping into the murky waters below.

After a while, everyone is out of the water, resting on rocks while Shanice finds solace in the sort of cool temperature of the water. On Richie’s boombox, a song, one that made her bob her head slightly, she finds herself singing along in a small voice,

“I’m alive, huh, huh, so alive...”

Her body goes deeper, the sound of the music becomes muted. She felt like she was being tugged, something was her pulling away--when she realizes, it's too late. She's seized, water begins filing her mouth, nose, the sight of a balloon rising above her field of underwater vision--Shanice wakes up, coughing up violently.

Her body’s laid flat out on a scalding rock, all around her are the teenagers, still soaking wet in their undergarments. Dread overcomes, her throat burns as if it’s been choked--the Stan looks over at her concerned, his curly hair puffy, tangled like a bird’s nest.

His cheeks are flushed--he looks frazzled if anything.

“What the fuck...” She mutters before coughing up more water.

“Are you ok?”--Stan asks, his face inches away from hers--they lock eyes for a moment before he looks away, even more flustered--the chain event leaves her puzzled as she tries to catch her breath.

“Not bad for almost dying,” She jokes, sitting up. Her head feels heavy as she’s coughing up more water, taking a few breathes before sighing in relief.

“Did you guys drag me out?”

"Nope, Stan the Man dived in when he saw you were gone." Richie quips--Shanice gives Stan a jovial smile.

After she pulls away and walks over to her backpack to pull out her bottled water.

“So? Aren’t we gonna talk about how Stan slobbered all over her li--” Shanice stops and looks over Richie with a raised brow.

“What?”

“Nothing--it’s nothing,” Richie says, drawing his attention to something else--with that something else being Ben’s backpack. Shuffle through it, he pulls out books--lots of them.

“You went to the library? On your own? For fun?”

“Oh, uh, when I moved here I didn’t have anyone to hang out with or anything, so I just started spending time in the library.” Shanice grins while Richie frowns.

“Seriously? You went to the library? On your own? For fun?”

“He's 'cultured' or whatever,” Shanice notes, shaking her drenched hair before continuing, “girls like that kinda stuff sometimes.” She gestures to him inches in for a better look at the copies of newspaper stories Ben had gathered.

“Derry’s not like any town I moved to. And we’ve moved a lot. Did you guys know people die violently here or disappear like six times the national average?” Ben states, gaining the wide eyes of the teens in the process.

“That’s just adults. Kids are worse. Way worse.”

“You know, my granddaddy said that.” The group's eyes glance at their oldest, with morbidly curious stares.

“Said what?” Beverly asks--Shanice reminds her of what they talked about on the way to her house.

“Like I said yesterday ...that this whole town’s wrong. He’s been here for a while. Seen things, probably.”

A unanimous shiver occurs.

“I’ve got more stuff if you wanna see it...at home.”

Shanice could call his room one thing. Messy--indicative of a boy. Covering every inch of his bedroom walls were more newspaper clippings--some dating back a whole century.

“This is pretty impressive,” Shanice croons, amazed, sipping on her bottle of water.

“Cool, huh?” Ben replies.

“No!” Richie yells with immediate denial.

Bill's off in a corner, looking at an ‘ancient’ paper--as Shanice looks closer, she sees it says ‘INCORPORATION OF THE TOWNSHIP OF DERRY’.

“What’s this, Ben?

“The charter for Derry Township--it’s kind of interesting, actually. Derry started as a beaver trapping camp.”

“Still is. Am I right, boys?” Everyone looks at Richie who grins--it’s quiet until Shanice retorts with a snort “That joke is almost as funny drying paint.” Beverly shakes her head, hiding her smile while everyone has a good laugh at his expense.

“So it’s a record of them coming over here--what makes it so special.” Ben raises his eyebrows, almost relieved the conversation managed to get back to its original point.

“Ninety-one people signed the charter that made Derry. But then, later that winter, they all disappeared, without a trace.”

Everyone stops--the only sound that could be heard was the breeze from out the house. Ninety-one people--gone, just like that. In Shanice’s head, possibilities run. Diseases? Famine? Sure, that can happen--but everyone--every last, single person?

Eddie looks particularly spooked by the information, cautiously asking “The entire camp?”

“There were rumors of Indians but no sign of an attack. Others thought it was a plague or something. It was like everyone just woke up one day and left. The only clue was a big hole in the ground where the wellhouse was.”

“Jesus, we could get Derry on unsolved mysteries!” Ignoring Richie’s quip, Bill asks “Wh-where was the wellhouse?”

“Somewhere in town, I guess...”

“What’s the point of all this? What are you gonna do with it?” Stan asks--Shanice herself wondered it too.

Truthfully, he shrugs, saying “Dunno. Just killing time I guess.”

....

....

“Can you do the deliveries by yourself today?” Shanice asks her brother, she stood beside the bathroom, brushing her teeth. The teenager gives her a glance, then nods his head. She smiles, taking her tired body back to the room, quickly slipping on her white summer dress and her sneakers--making her way down the stairs, stops her in her tracks at the sound of her grandfather's weary voice.

“Baby Girl?”

“Yeah, Grandaddy?”

“Be safe.” Shanice looks at him, before pecking his cheeks, hugging him tightly.

“Ok, I love you.”

“Love you too, Shanice.”

Later on that day, Shanice finds herself going about absent-mindedly. She had nightmares again--so many more since she moved to Derry--since everything happened.

There was a common theme with her nightmares--the inclusion of a red balloon--but what did it mean?

She follows until he finds herself in the neighborhood where Bev lived, when--she notices the whole group gathers on the sidewalk, in front of her place.

“Hey...what’s going on?”

“Bev called. She’s freaked out about something... Sh-sh-she told us to wait out here until--”

A door bursts open--it’s Beverly, out of breath, spooked.

“You made it. I need to show you guys something...Shanice you--”

“Uh, hey. I ran into the guys while I was out. What’s up?”

Ben follows her question with, “Yeah, what is it?”

“Did we just win the Publisher's Clearinghouse ten million dollar sweepstakes? If Ed McMahon is in there I’m going to lose my sh--” Shanice glances before giving him a sharp punch in the arm.

“Read the room, Richie!”

“I just need to know I’m not crazy. But my Dad will kill me if he finds out I had you guys over.”

“We’ll leave a lookout. Richie?” Bill says as he looks at the teen who’s still rubbing his arm.

“Yeah, whatever. Ed McMahon can wait...”

Shanice gives him a look before they head inside her house. The light shines through the desolate feeling house as they follow her--farther into the house--until she stops in front of a door.

“In there,” Beverly says, her voice a fine to a whisper. Stan, who was beside Shanice asks, “What are we about to walk into?”

“You’ll see.” She doesn’t open the door--she seems rooted in her place--instead, it’s Bill who opens the door with her and Eddie following after --and the smell hits Shanice like a slap to the face. Her eyes were wide, visibly shaken. She doubles back until her back is against the wall and she falls on her bottom.

“You see it?” Beverly asks Bill.

“What happened?”

“The sink. It came out from there. My Dad couldn’t see it. I thought I was going crazy...” Shanice looks over at Bill, breathing heavily.

“You’re not going crazy. I saw something too. I-I, I saw Georgie.”

“Like a ghost?” Eddie asks, trying to avoid looking into the room again.

“N-no. He tried to get me to go into the basement with him. It wasn’t just him either. I saw this other... I don’t know."

“What’d you see, Bill?” Stan presses,

“The Clown?”

“And red balloons?” Shanice says immediately after Eddie, loud enough for everyone to hear. Bill doesn’t have a thing to say, only his silence the answer. They both shake, Shanice is trying to keep calm, while Eddie full-on freaks out.

“Are you two okay?” Beverly asks, concerned.

“Go outside. Keep Richie company, okay?” Eddie nods, Shanice shakes her head.

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

“I am. Look, let’s just focus on cleaning this blood up.”

“R-Right, we can’t leave it like this.”

....

....

Cleaning--cleaning, cleaning, covered in blood.

Bill, Ben, Beverly, Stan, and Shanice spent time cleaning the bathroom, full of blood only they could see. Stan crouches next to her and asks, “Are you really, ok?” the sixteen-year-old glances over him, continuing to clean.

“I’m ok, I said before. I’m just...tired. This town makes me tired.”

Soon after they’re finished and exit the building, going down to Kansas Street.

“All that blood at your place and you s-say your folks didn’t see any of it... Last night at my house, with Georgie and the water, my Dad just acted like everything was normal--I think if you’re a grown-up...” Bill trails off, looking off into the distance.

“They can’t see it.” Eddie chimes in, which in turn Richie questions: “Can’t see what?”

“It.” Beverly answers.

“That’s why the cops won’t help, our parents, teachers...”

The group of kids stops, while Shanice continues to walk until she sees it--her brother’s mangled bike in a bush.

“...that’s my brother’s bike.” She looks over at Bill, her face in a deep frown, rage bubbling in her chest.

"It’s..it's that Bowers guy again, that’s why y'all stopped, right?”

“We have to help him,” Beverly says, seeing Shanice runoff, already in hot pursuit of her brother and the gang of high-schoolers.

“We do?” Richie snorts, watching the same, to which Bill replies, “If we don’t, who will? That could be any one of us.”

Shanice runs and runs, only stopping when she’s greeted by the sight of her brother's face being shoved in the same meat they deliver every week.

“Hey, you fuck faces!” Shanice yells, her voice being drowned out by their laughter and tithers, she meets her brother's eyes as he tries to crawl to her--only yanked back by the boys crowding him. He’s the ground, one of their sneakers dig into the boy’s skull, then--

CRACK!

A rather large rock first hits one of the boys, straight in the face, leaving blood gushing from his face. The assailant is Shanice, who's backup came in the form of Beverly, Bill, Richie, Eddie, and Stan.

“Holy shit!” Richie exclaimed, staring at the girl who was still throwing blows.

“Nice throw.” Stan compliments, although the armed girl hadn’t heard him--she was busy trying to save her brother.

Seeing the bullies distracted, she hurriedly yelled, “Mike, run!”

The boy scrambles to his feet, into the arms of his sister, who squeezes him tight.

The two siblings seemed to have reunited, beside them was an all-out rock war.

Rocks fly in the air, everyone ducks, hoping not to get hit by the hail of fire. When they realize they’ve been outmanned, Bill, their unassigned leader, screams for them to run.

“Mike, get on my back.”

“But--”

“I said get on my back, come on!"

They race until they find themselves back on a residential street. Everyone’s catching their breaths, tired from the sudden encounter.

Mike looks at the teenager whilst standing beside his sister relenting, “Thanks but you shouldn’t have done that. He’ll be after you guys now too.”

“Bowers? He’s always after us.” Eddie says and the rest shrugs in reply.

“I-I guess that’s one thing we all have in common,” Bill remarks, almost with a bit of sarcasm, while Richie full-on deadpans.

“Yeah, welcome to the Losers Club.”

....

....

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

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

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

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

“So what, this town is cursed?”

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

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

She glances at the rest of the ‘Losers’, raising the question, “Y’all know what a haunt is?” her voice is soft, childish but it gathers the group’s attention.

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

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

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

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

--Mike and Shanice make it home, black and blue.

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

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

“What in God’s name--”

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

Sighing, her grandfather states, “...at least you two came home in one piece. That’s all I care for at the moment.”

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

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

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

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

He pauses but lets out an uncharacteristically jovial laugh.

“What clown are you talking about, boy?”

Mike glances at his sister, Shanice before nudging her.

“Granddaddy, we wanna know if you know ‘It’?”

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

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

“Sixty-six years ago, I lost my leg to It. I was only a boy, a year younger than Baby Girl.”

The children clutch either, Shanice holds Mike close as they both sat in shock.

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

....

....

The teens sit in the Monument, they glanced at her with startled eyes.

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

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

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

Richie frowns.

“Clowns.”

....

....

Shanice yawns.

It was a Thursday, ten in the morning.

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

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

“The wheelhouse,” Ben notes.

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

“Neibolt Street?”

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

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

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

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

“No...put the map back, Eddie--”

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

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

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

The projector keeps going.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Georgie!” Bill screams.

Almost immediately, Georgie ran out of the frame.

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

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

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

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

“Holy shit...”

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

Its face grows more fluid, closer and closer--

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

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

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

Stan looks at Shanice, both amazed and terrified at the amount of strength shown in her short, stout body. Quickly, he seizes her arms, causing her to stop her movement--she stands, frozen, still holding the means of destruction in her hand. Her eyes have grown wide from shock. Teardrops still fell from her watery, dark eyes as she shook in the boy’s arms. Her throat felt raw, from her fright-filled vocalized pleads.

Her face the color of cool, raw umber--still plump from baby fat, emitting a dark russet-colored rogue flushed with dread.

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

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

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

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

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

“--at least It’s gone now.”

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

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

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

“Guys?”

Silence befell them, only Bev’s voice remains.

“GUYS!”

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

It.

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

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

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

For now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine. Then don’t.”

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

“Wait, Bill--”  

His words don’t reach him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wow...”

“What?”

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

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

“We’re just kids, Stanley. I’m the oldest, and it doesn’t change the fact that I’m still one. Bill is too. We all are. We gotta team up if we don’t wanna die.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tastes like battery acid.”

“Really, Richie? Is this this time to swab spit with the remains of Eddie’s inhaler?”

“What no I wasn’t. That gros--”

Shanice rolls her eyes, snatching the inhaler back and tossing it to Eddie.

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

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

Everyone scatters, looking for anything to use as a weapon

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

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

She blinks before shaking her head.

‘Idiot. ’

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

“I’ll just stand behind you.”

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

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

....

....

A dump.

The Neibolt house was an absolute fucking dump.

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

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

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

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

Shanice punches him in the arm.

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

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

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

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

“Does this place even have a basement?”

“I hope not.” Eddie chimes in.

“L-let’s find out.”

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

“Hello? Is someone here?”

A child’s voice--coming from upstairs.

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

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

“HELLO?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You guys hear that?”

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

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

Squeaking, almost like--a clown horn.

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

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

Bill braces, angry flooding his haunted features.

“WHERE’S G-G-GEORGIE?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They all reek so good.”

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

Nothing.

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

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

She shakes her head.

“Go, Stanley. You too Mike.”

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

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

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

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

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

....

....

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

What happened?

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

Her falling, passing out.

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

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

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

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

Her slurred hollering echos through the old, decaying room

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

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

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

Her fellow ‘Losers’.

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

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

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

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

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

She’d die, just like that.

“Hey! Get away from my sister!”

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

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

....

....

Beep, beep. The squeaking sound of slip-resistant shoes worn by nurses echoes throughout. Beeps, finger-hitting keyboard, the occasional laughter, and conversation.

Shanice lay unconscious in the hospital bed.

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

This girl--she was his first grandchild. Born premature, didn’t come home until much later. Yet, she looked so much smaller laying there than she did inside of an incubator. She was hard-headed--but he didn’t think she would seek It after he warned the two kids.

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

It was troubling.

Mike’s silent as he sits beside the bed and stares at the slow breathing girl. Her skin is black and blue, she looks more than worse for wear.

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

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

“Will you shut the fuck up, Bill--she’s in there not waking up because she tried to save you from your shitty choices!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s a beat.

And another.

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

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

“I didn’t get my brother killed--”

“You sent him out there by himself. And he died. Either way, you’re just a bunch of losers and you’ll get yourselves killed trying to stop this stupid killer when none of it makes any difference.”

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

“I didn’t get my brother killed.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“B-But, we’re all outsiders.”

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

“No, you’re not. None of you are.”

....

....

“--may’ansho sheh’la’zeh.”

Inside of a synagogue, a bat mitzvah is held for Stan--none of his fellow ‘Loser’ club members, including Shanice’s who’s still deemed as comatose. Stan, who had been preparing for the day, couldn’t help but feel driven by his nerves.

Dealing with trauma, barely coping on his own--the day they went to the Neibolt house, the blood he couldn’t forget that on his hand--her blood for that matter.

Scrubbing his skin, throwing the clothes he’d worn that day.

Nothing worked

He glances at his mother, who’s looking quite stone-friendly--his eyes then glance to Richie, seated far in the back--then to the Rabbi, his father who gives a nod to go on with his reciting.

Stan nervously begins, “Um, reflecting on what I just read, I like what it says about indifference. When you’re a kid...” he stalls, the air turns into thick scrutiny.

“Stanley,” His father warns, his tone deep and authoritative.

He can feel the sharp looks his parents are starting to give.

It was suffocating almost.

He takes a deep breath.

Slowly, he recalls the advice Shanice had given to him while devouring an ice cream cone.

“I’m nervous about this whole thing. It’s like my dad’s waiting for me to mess up the whole thing.” Shanice looked up at him, her eyes big and curious. Stanley felt his heart pound--he averts his gaze, his flushed face instead focused on his frozen. They sat inside of an ice cream shop, both eating rocky road and chocolate chip ice cream respectively. He explains his trouble, which mainly stem from his problem regarding his speech and his fears of fucking the whole thing up.

“Well, if you’re scared that you’ll mess up--just wing it.”

“Just wing it?” She nods.

“Just wing it and say how you feel. If all else fails, at least you won’t be up there, saying nothing--you wouldn’t wanna look foolish, would you?”

And so, he does just that--he speaks what he feels, in his heart.

“Well, when you’re a kid you think the universe revolves around you. That you’ll always be protected and cared for. Then one day, something bad happens and you realize that’s not true.”

After her hospitalization, Mike took up his sister’s farming duties. Partially out of obligation, partially out of guilt. He watches a sheep in it’s pen with his grandfather--it was separated from his herd, vulnerable. His grandfather hands him the stun bolt gun again, urging him to take his shot.

Stans takes a breath before speaking once more.

“Suns go out and animals go extinct and whole nations go crazy and kill people they don’t like and none of it seems to matter.”

Mike aims, shoots--and instantly, the sheep falls to the ground.

Bev stands in her bathroom, brushing her hair--from the corner of her eye, she can’t turn her gaze out of the window, in the direction to Neibolt street.

Her heartaches.

A tear falls down her cheek.

“That’s why our friends and faith and family are so important.”

Bill sits at the dining table at his house, alone-- as always, thinking--about a lot of things.

Things he can’t do over, mistakes he’s made trying to be brave. Not actually being courageous, but faking it and hoping somehow that everything would end, and they’d make it out alive.

But, like wanting to see his brother again, those thoughts were wistful feelings of a boy.

“We matter. Even if, to the universe--”

In the library, Ben studies a painting of the First Settlement of Dairy. At first glance, it’d seem the men in it--the fur trapper was in position. However, as he looks closer, he realizes something both morbid and fascinating.

They were dead, only positioned as if they were alive.

A chill ran through him as he stared wide-eyed at it.

“--we’re too small to notice.”

Unknowingly, before they could even scream, they had become the prey instead.

....

....

Lucid, yet anchored.

Shanice was awake--but her body wasn’t.

Her mind ran, she felt so alone in a black space--she felt cold, down to her blood and her bone.

At that moment, she finally managed to open her eyes--to a white, bubbled ceiling. The first thing she notices is the scent of artificial cleanliness, a smell that’s almost sickening.

It’s a constant beep followed by the sounds of a new report.

“Good morning. Today is July 18th, 1985. In today’s news...”

The IV runs with a soft, slow drip.

She breathes slowly and calmly under her oxygen mask.

Shanice feels a dull, aching pain and her body reacts and stirs.

She hears the door open--it’s her Grandfather, with Mike and a familiar face following.

Stanley, looking at her with the worst kind of look on his face. In his neat clothes, his shirt buttons up all the way despite the heat of the summer. His big, brown eyes heavy, gaunt with dark, purplish bags.

“You look like shit.” She mutters, her voice small and raspy--at that moment, she’s overcome with a tight embrace, followed by a wailing cry--by Stan. Her hospital gown had become damp from those tears, his head inside the crook of her neck.

“I thought you were going to die.”

“But I didn’t. This kinda thing ain't gonna kill me.

Her response only has him sobbing harder inside her grasp.

When he looks at her, she gives him a gap-tooth grin, brushing his curly hair off his face. Stan, who seemed to have short-fused at the sight, ducked his head once against her chest. The adolescent, the one-sided moment was broken up from the older, impatient man in the doorway.

“Come on boy, you're getting your snot everywhere. You don't want the girl you like to see you with like some sap, do ya?” Her grandfather says, glaring down at Stan until he moves far away.

Shanice raises her brow at the last bit of the statement but decides she's too tried to investigate at that point.

The patriarch sits down, with Mike opposite of him--his face is grave.

“I thought I warned ya’ll of It--and yet you sought It out.” Shanice, groggy, still flinches at his words.

“Granddaddy, it’s killing people!”

“Which is why you should stay away! You got out this time, but what about the next time? Are you willing to die?” The girl and her Grandfather stared in silence, them being the only two in the room after a weeping Stan was ushered out by Mike. She struggles to keep up with the staredown, her eyes lowered, swollen and throbbing.

She began to cry.

An aching sob, rattling her sore back and chest, rough on her throat.

“Now, why the hell are you crying girl?”

Grandpa Hanlon asks, careful taking her small hand into his larger, calloused one. He, with the gentleness of a grandfather, lends her his shoulder.

“If we don’t do this, who’s gonna save us? Every adult here except you act like ain’t nothing going on. It’s It versus Us.”

William purses his lips, stroking his granddaughter’s coiled hair.

“I know what it feels like to be helpless. Against that thing, against Derry. You're alone, fighting against something much bigger than you. You kids... I don’t know what to say. I ain’t gonna stop you, am I?”

He looks down at his granddaughter’s snot, tear-covered face, and decides he should go ahead and lend her his handkerchief.

He held it up to Shanice's face.

“Gon ‘head and blow.”

After cleaning up her face, her grandfather pats her shoulder.

“Whatever you chose to do, I’ll support you and help you the best I can, Baby Girl.”

....

....

After a week, Shanice was released from the hospital, back home to an unsure reality.

Later that day, missing digits, left still tired and out of it--dressed in a pair of overalls and Adidas, she planned on trying to find something to do to keep her anxiety at bay. She approaches the local arcade, with intentions of seeing if they had a Pac-Man machine in it.

Then, she realizes she’s missing, certain required parts to play a hands-on game.

Nevertheless, she still enters, hoping to kill a bit of time.

She encounters a familiar bespeckled boy, he seems completely focused on the at hand.

“Finally! Anyone wanna watch me--”

Shanice obviously doesn’t care about the fact.

“Yo, Rich!”

Richie’s eyes, a bit annoyed, slowly widens when he recognizes the voice calling for him. He envelopes her into a friendly embrace, almost knocking the breath out of her when he did.

“Dude! You’re alive!”

“Of course I am. A little banged up, that’s all.” She uses her good hand to high-five him.

“So...” He glances at her bandaged hand and forehead.

“How are you...feeling?”

She laughs.

“Richie, I’m as good as a girl can be with her fingers missing.”

Richie snorts.

“Richie!” The two teenagers pause, looking at the other familiar voice--they’re met with Bill, who’s running over to them, huffing.

“It got Bev!”

Shanice frowns, suddenly feeling fidgety.

“What do you mean ‘It got Bev’?” Bill whose face is panicked and flushed finally notices Shanice, now out of the hospital staring at him.

“Shay, I--”

“Bill. We can talk later. We need to get her back, right?”

He nods, the three teenagers look amongst each other, a beat passes, and Richie speaks up.

“I’ll call Eddie and Stanley. You get Ben--and Shanice go get your brother. We’ll meet up at the standpipe.”

The boy and girl nod, with the feeling of dread hanging in the air.

“Th-thanks.”

Richie gives him a shit-eating grin.

“Hey, what are friends for, right?”

The three split ways.

Shanice arrives home, she spots her grandfather in the living room, watching an episode of Sanford and Sons.

“Remember when you said you’d help, Granddaddy?”

The older man, with a Budweiser in his hand, looks a bit off in the distance.

“Alright. Get your brother.”

With them all together, Shanice gives them both a brief rundown of the situation at hand.

He gives Mike the stun bolt gun, and her a hunting knife. It’s larger than her hands, and it’s metal cool to the touch. She glances at its gleaming nature before folding it and putting it in her pocket.

“Now, ya’ll sure you want to do this?” Mike doesn’t say much, only glaring at the ground.

“Why should we help them?”

Shanice knows what he means--of course, she does.

Why should we, when we’re just outsiders.

Did they ever fit into this mess? They were never supposed to be here in the first place.

But things happened, and now they are.

“Friends help friends, Mike.”

The siblings walk in silence as they approach the monument square, as they all did before. The dire situation at hand, bringing them together again--minus Beverly. While her grandfather’s hunting knife was tucked in the pocket of her shorts, Mike clenched onto the stun bolt in his hands.

Richie’s eyes are glued to it.

Mike rolls his eyes.

“Better than a broken bottle.”

Ignoring the boy and her brother’s interactions, Shanice turns to look at Bill as he begins to speak.

“If anyone wants to back out, now’s the time.”

Ben shakes his head.

“No. Remember what Beverly said. We all go or none of us do. That’s the only way we can defeat It.”

“Then...let’s go to Neibolt.”

....

....

The group of teenagers arrives at the still decaying house. It seems much more frightening than their first venture there. Shanice feels trepidation, thinking back to their first time being there. But now, they know what’s there. That thing was there.

She feels something tug at her hand.

Mike grabs her hand, squeezing it tight.

Her brother and Stan give her wan appearance mirroring nervous glances.

“You good?”

Not really.

She felt like puking.

But she couldn’t tell Mike that.

So, she nodded her head.

“No, let’s go ahead.”

After a while, they enter, standing in the living room. Shanice scrunches her nose as the smell of rot and scum hits her again.

“Where do you think she’ll be?” Mike turns and asks Bill.

“B-Basement. The well. That’s where he was going to take Eds, right?”

The teen casts a glance at the aforementioned ‘Loser’ visibly shakes, the only one still standing at the entrance. Letting of her brother’s hand, trying to shake off her own fear, goes over to him.

Shanice pauses, her hand frozen in the stifling air.

Was she reassuring him, or herself?

She didn’t know.

She was confident in her decision at home, but now she felt the situation weigh on thick. Her body is rattled with tremors. She recalls her howls, trying to crawl away, trying to get away from It.

Her, ultimately failing.

Subsequently, while the girl’s heart felt contemplation, Bill’s voice disrupted her thoughts.

Without pause or stutter, addresses Eddie and the rest of the group.

“As long as we don’t let fear overtake us we can do it. But we have to do it together.”

She nods.

“Hey, you got all your fingers, don’t you?”

Taking a quick glance at her bandaged hand, bobbing his head quickly.

“Exactly. He’s not gonna get you--or us, today. You gotta be strong--we have to be strong; together.” Shanice says, trying not to let her voice betray her words.

She pats him on the shoulder, like something her father used to do to comfort her, albeit brashly.

Eddie with resolve as he looks amongst his fellow losers makes his way into the house with her.

The floors creak as they champion on--as if to say they were intruding on it’s space.

Suddenly, there’s a loud commotion coming from the kitchen.

Following it was a similar sound coming from the other side, coming from the basement.

Bills rush over to the direction, much to the dismay of the other ‘Losers’ in the house.

“Wait--” Eddie warns from beside Shanice.

Bill responds stubbornly, “It could be her.”

And immediately after tries to open the door. At first, it doesn’t budge, persisting in its door frame. Looking amongst, themselves, wondering if it could be Beverly, go over to try and help. With a reverberating clang, the door is forced open. Shanice stumbles back with the rest of them, falling back, looking back in horror at what emerges from it.

Bright, red balloons.

And beyond them, lingering darkness.

Almost inaudibly, Shanice mutters “Not her...it’s It trying to scare us...”

Bill takes in a deep, sharp breath, rising to his feet.

“C’mon. Stay close.”

With those words, he takes the plunge into the vantablack nihility. With uncertainty, they follow after him. The stairs wobble with their combined weight--Shanice, thinking back to when the floor stares into the darkness with her heart pounding.

Only, then, does she realize she doesn’t seem to notice where Bill anymore, even squinting.

“I can’t find Bill.”

Meanwhile, Bill is leered from above through the sewer gate, by Pennywise. Blood drips from his sharp, barred teeth, onto Bill’s face. Determined not to seem intimidating, he stares back at him as fiercely as he could with the clown drooling at the sight of him.

“Not yet seasoned. But I know some girl meat, that I’ve sampled--and boy meat that is fresh with fear--that is...”

While he walks away with his own giddy laughter, Bill’s eyes widen in realization.

Shanice, back the stairs, wonders if she’s imagining things when she hears the line.

“Shay!” Her suspicions are furthered when she hears him call out to her.

“...Bill?” She questions, cutting herself off as the floor below her opens up like a trap door.

She drops with a harsh thud--onto the rough carpet, the beige color evoking memories.

It was her parent’s old apartment. The old, brown recliner, which was her favorite place to sit was still there.

She looks down, her bandages were gone, her hand and finger intact.

Was everything just a dream?

A long, sick dream?

“Shanice, baby?”

Standing in the living room, she’s met by her mother.

With her arms crossed standing in her pink, satin robe, her mother calls out to her. Her voice to grown rough by nicotine, her tone concerned and maternal.

“Sweetheart, why aren’t you in bed?” Her mother questions, cupping her face. Shanice leans into it, soaking in the maternal warmth she’s missed during this nightmare. At the sight of her mother, alive and well, Shanice hugs her tight.

“Mama, mama. I was so scared...” She mutters in a silent chant, burying her face into her bosom. The smell of swishers fills her senses, mixed in with her mother’s soft rose-scented perfume.

It assured her that she was home.

“What’s wrong baby? Had a bad dream?”

The teenager nods, replying, “I really bad one. The...the police came to our house, and Daddy was gonna get arrested. I...I thought you died.”

Her mother laughs--no giggles, with fancy.

“But baby, I’m already dead. Don't you remember? You were the one who let me die.”

Suddenly, she starts to smell rust, while blood begins to smear on her childish face. She jerks away, looking at something, that her mother, smiling back at her, bleeding from the chest.

She starts to holler, uncontrollably, scrambling for exit away from the nightmare she was facing.

Meanwhile, her brother, who notices both Eddie and Shanice gone, with his thoughts mimicked by Mike.

“Where’s Eddie and Shay? They were just here.”

Stanley couldn’t help but reply, “It’s separating us. We need to get help for them and Bill...”

The four boys, Richie included, decide to move back the stairs, away from the pit below. Just before they reach upstairs, they see a figure of a person on top.

Mike, squint, clutching then stun bolt gun in his hand.

It was Henry Bowers.

Baaing like a sheep, holding a knife.

Unexpected, with a bit of lunacy.

“ Guys, it’s never good when the person with the knife starts making animal noises, especially--”

Mike glares at him reprimanding him--

“Now isn’t the time to be fucking making a joke, Richie!”’

--a bit like his missing sister.

They all freeze, trying to find a way away from the older teen a knife he planned to use on them.

“Here! Climb up!” Ben, who seemed to have found some sort of escape tunnel among debris and calls them over to it. Mike, being the only person of the group armed, guards the entrance as the others made their way in

“Mike! Let’s go!” Ben yells--with his eyes on Henry, he slowly climbs in--the others not fully out yet.

“Shit, Mike,” Stan says, the second to last of the escapees, looking at him with worry filling his chest.

The others have stopped as well, their movement stalling.

“Just go. Find the others--find my sister. I’ll hold Bowers off.”

Richie shakes his head his words, “Mike--”

Lifting the gun that never left his hand since they arrived at the decrepit house, he remarks with steady, surprisingly cooled confidence, “I came prepared, remember?”

With that, the teenager turns to face the boy who’s been taunting him since he came to town.

....

....

Shanice watches with her hand clenched as the illusion fades and her ‘mother’ transmutes into Pennywise. They’re kitchen, like before. She even sees her blood on the tiled floor, dried--having left a trail to where she tried to save herself.

“You’re not real, none of this real.”

The clown smiles at her, with its bloody buck-teeth.

“Your missing fingers beg to differ, do they not?”

In a soft, flamboyant tone he mockingly continues in reply, “ ‘Mama, Mama, I was so scared!’ The big bad pennywise was gonna eat meeeeee.”

She narrows her black, pit-filled eyes, her pounding heart betrays her defiant expression.

She clenches her teeth, remembering her knife that was thankfully still hidden in her pocket.

She convulses, choking back her trepidation. Her skin was covered in sweat, she felt as if she wanted to throw up.

Her heart is in her throat. Throbbing, pulsing.

This could be the reason for her death.

But she can’t go back now.

Not now, she wasn’t a coward, nor was she someone who would abandon her friends.

Taking a breath, she rushes and lunges at the clown in front of her. She impales the space of the creature’s skull once with the weapon in her hand--piercing it as blood-splattered and flowed--not waiting as she dashed away, using the distraction to escape. down to the uncertainty of the basement.

Shanice races, in pursuit of Bev, her brother, Stan--hell, anyone to make sure they were at least still alive.

She dashes down the stairs, feels her short legs trip and tumble--and despite pain, she continues. She pursues until she’s limping to the sound of voices. Shanice sees her brother--and Henry Bowers standing over him. It’s a scuffle, and her brother was obviously losing.

“I told you to stay the fuck out my town, didn’t I?” His voice drips with disgust, kicking Mike in the chest as he produces a knife with no gleam. She chokes down a sob before a scream rips through her chest.

“Hey Bowers!”

Henry’s head whips over to her, her brother’s eyes glued to her.

It didn’t matter if she was a girl who stood at only 4 ft 10 or if she was even smaller than Eddie, Henry had one thought on his mind.

Again, again, again, she’s knocked around and beat with persistent fists.

Kill her, get her out the way, and then finish off Mike.

Her breaths are shallow, her body feels ravaged.

He takes a boot-clad foot and kicks her in the chest to throw her back.

“You aren’t so tough now, are you?”

His wicked grin spreads as approaches her with her brother’s stun bolt gun in one hand, aiming right between her eyes.

“I’m going to kill you and your wuss brother and then I’m going to kill all your friends.”

“No...No, you won’t!”

There’s not even a whole beat before another voice interrupts the bully's speech. The rest is like a blood-soaked haze--Mike grabs the bully, away from his sister down the darkness of a well behind them.

“Mike!”

Shanice is panting, dragging herself against the structure, hoping to see what was occurring--not suspect she’s fallen herself to a harsh, bone-rattling thud. She watches in a daze as Henry lies still, seemingly rendered unconscious. Her brother, and the newly reunited Losers club attempt to help her up.

“Michael, why don’t you come with your old pops?” The teenage boy stops in his tracks as a hand jerks him away from his sister’s grasp. Roughly handling him is something that looks like his father, but not him.

“Let me go!”

He’s being pulled closer, into a mass of Dead Lights, a stunning death wish. He struggled, thrashing at the man’s grasp, letting out a voice cracking scream. He believes that isn’t his father, he knows that isn’t his father. Determined for it to not get him, he looks away from the illuminating accumulation, every word like a thrown dagger.

“Let! Me! Go!”

Only after that, is he truly free and brought back into the safety of his friends, his fellow losers.

Shanice, with a strained voice, weakly asks, “Bill...where’s Bill?” Beverly, who stood beside Stan holding the injured girl in his arms, looked around alarmed.

“We have to find Bill.” Stan, who opted to piggy-back Shanice, Mike searches for their leader who disappears. The room around them shakes and quakes, their calling becoming louder as the chaotic finally hits its peak until--Shanice sees a body drop from the squint of her drooping eyes.

It’s Bill.

Foolish, stuttering Bill.

“Are you okay?” Beverly asks.

The boy nods.

Shanice lets out a weak laugh.

She watches from over the shoulder of Stan’s shoulder, gripping tighter onto his clothing when he hands his gun to Bill.

Bill begins walking, stopping to turn to the Losers. His eyes are bright and determined.

Slowly, but with a common aim in mind, they hunt for Pennywise.  All along the way they are faced with their fears. The Losers, ignore them, as if they didn’t exist--Bill who stands in front of them with his head held high.

“A truce to be true. A deal to be struck. Ignore this, forget me, and I will let you all grow and thrive, living happy lives until you die happy deaths at age hundred and one.” Pennywise’s voice offers, clear and dark as if it were speaking directly to them--but, the clown was nowhere in sight.

Bill’s stuttering voice follows soon after.

“N-NO! No more...”

Silence follows it.

“Maybe we should have at least discussed the deal first...” Richie murmurs as they leave in the fright of the dark unknown.

The sewer gates, behind it was a child’s crying face.

Georgie, Bill’s brother, wearing a yellow raincoat.

Holding a soaked paper boat.

“Let him go, Bill. He said I could come back if you let him go... please, Bill!”

Bill hesitates. There his brother was, looking like he did before he disappeared. The same, childish smile.

“I want you back more than anything else--”

Georgie smiles, calling out him, “Hug me,”

He turns around. He sees the two Hanlon siblings, he glances at Shanice’s batter form, slowly trying to stand on her own--Mike’s steel gaze watching his every move.

He turns back to face his “brother”, stepping forward--and instead, raises Mike’s gun to him.

“But you’re not Georgie.”

Suddenly, enraged, the boy’s figure quickly turns Pennywise--whose teeth are bared like a rabid animal. As fast the Losers can blink, there’s seven of them instead of eight. They all are faced with a sight that churns their stomachs--the creature grins with bloody teeth as he gnaws once again at the girl’s injured hand--only spitting out non-tasty things like bandages.

Bill panics, looking between the girl and clown before he finally takes a breath and fires a shot. It lands right between its eyes, where Bowers had intended to shoot Shanice.

It lets out a shriek, engulfing itself as it transforms into something akin to a black hole...with the girl and boy she held to,  following it into its abyss.

#IT #stephen king's it #fanfiction #fanfic #slashing in color

[constel-langst-ions]

Hide, Hide, Hide P.1

Guess who decided to join the abused/orphan Lance train?? (Part 2 will be added soon cause tumblr is a bitch)

Yeah, me.

(I AM using other fics I have read as a reference. This story will contain sexual, verbal and physical abuse, HOWEVER, the sexual abuse will NOT be detailed. It will be implied. Please tread lightly while reading!)

@langst-is-fine Here’s your bday fic, my friend. I love you and your writing, and I hope you had an awesome birthday. Thank you!

—

Lance sat in a small closet. He breathed heavily, his breaths coming in short, shaky bursts. He was panicking.

He was only four years old. He already knew the way he felt wasn’t normal.

Yet, he didn’t speak up. Only listened to his dad yell at his mom.

Lance flinched when he heard glass break, followed by a pained scream.

He put his hands over his ears and sobbed. His mom didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve this.

And yet, it still happened.

He rocked himself back in forth, trying to block out the sounds of rage-filled yelling, words slurring because his dad drank too much that day. He could only imagine it.

His dad, in boxers and an unbuttoned button-up, alcohol staining his shirt. A greasy, unshaven face, with shaggy hair.

His mom, wearing her work outfit of a black skirt and black polo shirt, having just come home from her job as a waitress.

Her head, bleeding, from where Lance’s dad had hit her with the empty bottle, it breaking into millions of tiny pieces, cutting both himself and causing his mom to scream out.

For Lance to melt into a panic attack, loudly sobbinf and begging for his dad to stop, pleading although he was across the house.

Lance didn’t know when he had gotten up, or gone to the living room. When he picked up the phone and dialed 9-1-1, the number his mother taught him if his dad was being particularly bad that day.

He didn’t know what the operator said, only that he begged for her to send cops to their house. For them to stop dad from hitting mom. For the yelling to stop.

He shakily hung up, not having the willpower to continue the talk.

He went back to the closet and sat down on the dusty floor, coats brushing the top of his head.

He fell asleep before the police arrested his dad and rushed his mom to the hospital.

—

She died.

Lance was four, and his mom was dead.

Dad had cracked open her skull with the bottle, the force enough to do damage.

They didn’t have the money, Lance’s family, to keep her alive.

So, they didn’t.

His mom was dead and his dad was in jail.

His aunts and uncles didn’t want another kid to care for, another mouth to feed. Didn’t want to waste money on a good-for-nothing, anxiety ridden child.

He was put into the foster care system, instead.

—

Lance’s first foster family was great, in Lance’s opinion.

Thankfully, he was the only child within that household.

His foster mom was an accountant, and she had her own office within the house, where she took clients in sometimes.

His foster dad was a salesman, selling property to others. He was good at debating, and Lance loved sitting with him for hours on end, listening to him talk to potential buyers over the phone.

Lance loved his foster mom’s, Lissandra’s, hugs. They were big, and warm, and safe.

His foster dad, Ron, liked to take Lance out star-gazing on the big field behind their house.

They also had a dog, named Ace. It was a mangly little thing, fur wild and unkempt.

Lance loved that dog.

But as we know it, all good things come to an end.

When Lance was eight, his dad lost his job and his mom lost clients, they had to put him back in the system.

It was hard for them, too. They whispered good luck’s in his ear, and goodbye hugs.

Lance’s next home was his last, and most horrible one. He wished he got out of it sooner than he had.

—

Now, Lance’s second home didn’t start out terrible. It was good, actually.

But, as they say, put a frog in boiling water and it will jump out; put a frog in warm water and turn the heat up to boiling, it will stay until it dies.

The frog was Lance.

Lance’s home was great, actually. He had 3 siblings, two oldee sisters an an older brother.

His brother was named Elias, and he was 14.

His youngest sister was 13, and her name was Valeria.

His oldest sister, and sibling, was Lynn. She was at the ripe old age of 16.

None of them were related, and came from different homes and situations, but all were adopted by their foster mom, Nora, and foster dad, Bryson.

Lance came from an abusive household.

Elias came from a family of drug addicts.

Valeria came from a home with just her mother, who overdosed.

Lynn’s parents died when she was 12. She had been in their current home since then.

The home turned sour when Lance turned 9, just several months after going there.

—

The abuse started out minor. No food for dinner, locked in a closet. At least, Lance considered it minor.

His siblings recieved worse treatment.

Sometimes, Bryson dissapeared into a room with Lynn while Nora was away at work, and she would come out shaken, cheeks tained with tears.

When asked by Lance, Valeria and Elias, she simply told them not to ask again.

So they didn’t.

Valeria and Elias seemed to understand. They rubbed her back and whispered soothing words.

Lance, being young, didn’t know what was going on until it happened to him a few weeks later.

He remembered the first time clear as day; Lynn had screamed and begged Bryson when he had grabbed Lance by the wrist and drag him into a room.

She pleaded that he don’t do it to Lance, to take her instead.

Bryson had slapped her, the sound echoing through the empty house.

She fell.

Valeria and Elias picked her up and ran somewhere else, Bryson pushing Lance into the bedroom.

Lance listened to the sound of the door clicking.

“Now, Lance..” Bryson had slurred, an empty vodka bottle on the nightstand. “You’re gonna be a good boy for Daddy, yes?”

Lance shook. A part of Lance told him to go along so he wouldn’t get hurt.

So he meekly nodded. “Y-yes.”

“Good.” Bryson purred, picking Lance up by his arms and setting him on the bed.

“We’re going to start by you undressing for daddy.”

—

Lance lefted the room briefly after, shaking and scratching his skin. He didn’t like how he felt.

He went and found his siblings in their room, and they engulfed him in a hug, Lynn sobbing and apologizing profusely.

Lynn was left alone after them, no matter how much she yelled and begged Bryson to leave Lance alone.

He liked Lance better.

So, Lance got used to it, and overtime, he hated being touched.

By the time he was 13, he couldn’t be touched at all. Bryson had stopped bringing him into rooms when he was 12, resorting to hitting and slapping hin instead.

He reacted negatively to any touch, even his sibling’s.

They only cooed to him after he nearly had an anxiety attack when Elias had touched his arm.

He learned to do makeup when he was 14, after Bryson started leaving noticable bruises on him and the others.

He learned how to put on primer and concealer, and how much to cover the bruises up.

He and his siblings learned how to easily lie, or change the subject. It was second nature.

When his friends from school pretended to lash out at him, he flinched hard.

He told them it was nothing when he asked.

He lived like that for the next 3 years of his life.

—

His siblings had left the house long before.

Lynn, when she was 19.

Elias and Valeria left as soon as they were old enough to. Now Lance was 17, applying to the Garrison. He had one shot to get it, or he would never succeed.

He cried when he got his acceptance letter, being accepted on a full ride scholarship that covered all his expense, even the plane ride to Arizona.

That night, he packed up his belongings and left for the Garrison. It would be his first calm day in years.

#no homo bro #langst #my writing

[sawthingsiimagined]

#XD30 - SIX | DOUBLE TROUBLE

[Chickens And Waffles - Jace]

I suddenly had stomach pains as I sat against the dusty window pane at the 24 hour diner. How did I get here? Why am I here? A part of me told myself that I should have stayed at the pool party but I let her, and him, convince me to ditch the party and walk down the street to Rita's 24 Hour Diner and Bar. Truth is I was hungry but it also helped that I was able to escape the party. Everyone was being weird. Of course I'm some rising star, now that FLAME is on tour with SISSY, but I would prefer if the attention would gently escalate instead of this rough catapult of flashing lights we are suddenly experiencing.

Beside me was Teecie, the beautiful dancer I randomly met at the pool party, her friend Tracey who also dances, two more of their girl friends, TJ, along with a few guys from FLAME's production team and across from me was the drummer, Demarion. I tried not to look at him. It was so awkward that he came over at the party to not only speak but to have a full conversation. It was weird mostly because of what my sister texted me on the bus. I felt like I knew about a part of this dude that I didn't need to know. I should have told Jada where I was going but she was too busy, on her Snapchat and Instagram Live, trying to capture the party. I could do without that. I texted our best friend, Adrienne, before my phone died and told her that I was going to grab food before I returned to my room.

We all sat in the half full diner and chatted for a while. This was my first time in a long time getting to know people outside of my church. I didn't even talk to people at school and I wasn't a part of any other social group. It was uncomfortable yet interesting all at once.

"What about you Jace?", Tracey asked breaking my thought. "What do you mean?", I asked knowing that I wasn't paying attention to where the conversation had landed. "You're so cute.", she laughed excusing my short attention span. "Have you ever been skinny dipping before?", she asked.

"Um, I can't say that I have. The only time I'm undressed in water is when I take a bath. And sometimes I'm tempted to wear shorts in there.", I said trying to make a joke to divert the attention from my inexperience. They all laughed. Teecie really found it amusing. I glanced up and Demarion had a simple grin on his face as if he was expecting me to go on. Little did he know, I'm not a comedian, neither did I want to be here much longer. I looked back down at the menu. I had already ordered Chicken and Waffles but I pretended to look at the menu as if I was going to order something else.

"See anything else you want to order before our waitress goes back to the kitchen?", Demarion asked. "You've been eyeing that drink menu for 20 min my man.", he said with a light chuckle.

"Nah man. I'm good. It's just interesting how they come up with so many different drink combinations.", I replied. "You should try one.", said Teecie. "Oh no, I don't drink.", I said. "But it's the night before the first show!", exclaimed Tracey. What they are not about to do is gang up on me. I never had the desire to drink; not for leisure nor for celebration. "Nah, I'm good.", I said. "I don't really think it's for me. I might get crazy and I need to stay focused." "Cutie, you are our star. We are only here because of you, your sister and SASSY. We got you. Don't let us peer pressure you though. I just think you should loosen up and prepare for the road. Tomorrow is Night #1 and will set the tone for the rest of the tour.", Teecie said with the most gorgeous grin I've ever witnessed. "So let's kick it off with some fun.", Demarion said. "Hey waitress, can you get us all a round of Fireball shots.", he yelled across the room.

I didn't know what a fireball shot was but I did know that I didn't want to hear, speak or think of any type of balls right now. First the text my sister sent, then they are talking about skinny dipping and now drinking. I may as well pack my luggage for hell because there will be a seat there with my name on it if I let them talk me into this.

"Yo, I'm really good. I probably should be headed back anyways. We have to be at the arena at 8am.", I said attempting to sound serious yet cool.

"I got you my man. I'll make sure you get there. I have to be there at 7.", he said. The musicians have to be there an hour before us to make sure their instruments are setup correctly so by the time we arrive, all we have to do is start the soundcheck.

The waitress came back quicker than she had returned all night. Turns out that Fireball shots are some type of alcoholic beverages in small glasses. I've literally been under a rock for the past 20 years. It was at that moment that I found my escape.

"Guys I'm not 21 so I can't drink.", I whispered to the table as the waitress passed out the drinks. "Chile, I've been drinking since I was 14. You're good. She didn't even I.D. us.", said Tracey as if everything she said was ok.

"If I may do the honors.", TJ said while standing up. Nobody asked him to say anything. He should be in his room sleep or rehearsing the lights. Shoot. I was getting upset. "This toast goes out to all of us. We’ve come together in celebration of the beginning of an amazing tour. Cheers to the man of our camp, Jace. Here's to sold out shows and lots of hoes!", he finished. I was outdone.

Everyone took their small glasses and chugged the alcohol down. I tried to lift mine but the scent of spicy cinnamon almost made me gag. My phone was dead so I couldn't pretend that someone was trying to contact me and step outside. Everyone cheered and then Tracey's nosey self noticed that I hadn't taken my shot.

"Oh no, pretty boy! Throw that thang back!", she said so loud that the other people in the diner turned to watch. Everyone cheered and co-signed. At this point I was out of my body looking at myself, judging myself and ready to go home. I looked up and Demarion was staring straight at me. That's when I noticed he had weird colored eyes. They were a dark, blue-ish, grey type color that almost looked navy. I’ve never seen a person of his complexion with those color eyes. His bushy eyebrows arched inward as if appeared angry. He had this street yet artsy look about him that made him look like one of the cool guys you see on Instagram. He even had tattoos on his neck. He stared at me and I immediately said to myself, "this boy is the devil!", based on the way his eyes were glaring at me. Suddenly I heard nothing. It's like the sound was sucked out of the room. I couldn't hear him but I saw his lips move. He mouthed, "I got you."

I then picked up the small glass and chugged the shot. I immediately wanted to throw up all over the table but I kept my eyes on him as he licked his lips and smiled. 

Everyone cheered. I was ready to go. This guy really just convinced me to drink alcohol. Teecie hugged me. She smelled so good. Like peaches and cream. "Now that wasn't so bad was it?", Tracey asked. I wanted to say, "Trick yea," but that was rude and I don't use words like that towards women. "It wasn't that bad," I said.

"Well good because I ordered you a Long Island.", TJ said. I didn't know what that was either but if this boy wasn't talking about an actual body of land in the Atlantic Ocean he could keep it. The waitress brought the drink over. I immediately decided to just go ahead and try it. Nothing could be worse than that Fireball shot. I took a sip. It actually tasted pretty decent. Anything was better than that shot right about now. One sip turned into three and three sips turned into large gulps. Before I knew it we had talked and laughed and I had finished a drink. The food still hadn't come. I was starving and disappointed in myself as I sat there drinking like I was a pro-liqour-ologist . I didn't feel 'drunk' like the people look on tv. However, I did feel 'loosened up' and comfortable.

I was sipping drink number two when a guy in a black polo ran through the doors toward us followed by a police officer. I just knew I was headed to jail. 20 years old and drinking illegally. The prisoners are going to eat me alive. I pushed the glass over to Teecie. I felt bad for a few milliseconds for pushing my crime onto her. I didn’t even know her age.

The guy in the polo came over and asked me to get up. When I didn't comply, obviously I was little tipsy so my reaction was delayed, he grabbed me. Demarion stood up and demanded, "What the hell is this?" The guy in the black polo, which read ‘Security’ in the upper right corner, pointed to the tv above the bar. "There has been a shooting. I am here to retrieve Jace and to ask you all to get back to your hotel rooms safely. The premises are being checked but this police officer will escort you through the shipping corridor of the hotel.", the security man said. He was a middle aged, heavy set white man that smelled like outside and smoke from a grill. I started feeling nauseas and felt myself about to fall. I remember seeing Demarion race over and I heard him say "He's with me. I'm the drummer in his band. I'll help you get him to his room."

At that moment I immediately thought about my sister and became terrified. I screamed, "Where is Jada?! Where is my sister?!" "Jada is secure.", security assured. Still afraid I attempted to stand on my own again only to buckle over and throw up all over the security man's shoes.

All I wanted was my sister and those waffles. I was the chicken. I covered my face feeling totally embarrassed.

That's the last thing I remember.

#xd30 #writingchallenge Blackwriters Romenwrites JadaAndJace DoubleTrouble writer

[married-world-blog]

Unathi

I am outside the police station, crying in my car, unable to gather myself to go and drop the charges against PayPay. I decide that I will ready my addiction, “My Worth Crowned You”, while I wait. Perhaps some divine intervention will come upon me and help me decide on a way forward.

The chapter that I read is the where a professional side-chick is killed by the rage of the wife. Dear universe, if you are trying to communicate something with me through this book, please make your message louder and not subject it to just my new found addiction in ready My Worth Crowned You. Universe, please put a gun or a knife in my hand… something – anything – and I will kill PayPay in a heartbeat. Except, I do not have a husband who will cover up the murder for me.

My phone rings. It is my mother-in-law. I am telling her everything. I am telling her what her son is doing to me, our marriage, and the elders’ investments in my marriage. The Buthelezi elders must help me deal with PayPay because their son is evidently blinded by the abuse that they feed him. He is no different to an abused woman actually. The signs, the actions, the way that he responds to all of this: he is an abused man. And he actually wants to marry by his abuser.

“Sawubona Mah”, I greet her.

“Makoti. Ukuphi?” she replies. She is cold like that.

“I am outside a holding cell mah”, I say.

There is silence over the phone.

“Angizwanga?” Her.

“I am outside a holding cell”, I continue.

“Doing what?” she coldly asks.

“Nkosinathi asked me to release the woman who put him in hospital from jail”, I say.

She is quiet.

Then she says, “Send me your location. Don’t move, I am on my way”.

…

As I am sitting in the car waiting for my mother-in-law, I see Khensani walking out of the holding cells with bloody Pay-Pay. I think about getting out and causing drama, but then I would be displaying to them how frustrated they are making me. But if I sit here and do nothing, I will be suffering alone. I call Nkosinathi’s mother and tell her to not come anymore because Patience has been bailed out by a friend and has left.

An insecurity overcomes me and I decide to follow them. I hope and pray that they do not see me. I need to know why this girl has the hold that she has on my husband and is threatening the functionality of that marriage. We get to some very stylish apartments in Sunninghill. The gate opens as they approach it. I assume she lives here so she has the remote control to open the gate. While I am sitting here trying to figure out how I will get in, a security guard approaches my car.

“Sisi, can we help you?” the guard with a foreign accent says to me after knocking on my tinted window.

“I am looking for the closest shopping centre. I was hoping that you could perhaps direct me?” I say.

“You don’t live around here?” the security guard enquires.

“No I don’t. I was visiting a friend”, I say.

He directs me but I rather focus on just removing myself from this gate.

I reverse my car without saying thank you or goodbye. I am so rude, gosh. Please forgive me.

I park my car just behind the complex and hope for something to happen. Nkosinathi calls me. I do not pick up the phone. He calls again, I do not pick up the call.

I see Patience and Khensani walk out of the complex. They seem to be going across the road. It is a nursery school there. Khensani stays outside while Patience goes in. She walks out with a child who is the spitting image of her. She has a daughter. Wow. My insecurities grow more than intense. Pay-Pay is actually very beautiful. She is wearing simple black jeans and a simple white t-shirt. She has her afro out. She has no make-up. She is a beautiful dark-skinned woman. Now I see what Nathi sees in her. Why does she not respect herself a whole lot better? She is unbelievably gorgeous. And this mother thing – it makes her shimmer even more. I catch myself smiling yet jealous at the same time.

In no time, a Jeep Wrangler parks in front of them. A hectically old white man steps out of the car. Khensani runs away. Patience tries to push her daughter out of the way but the daughter trips and falls. Khensani keeps on running. Patience is beaten to a pulp by this white man. The daughter runs and hides behind a tree. The white man shoves Patience in the car. The car drives off.

The daughter is frightened beyond belief. I am frightened beyond belief. This quiet suburb identifies no witnesses to what just happened. I get out of the car. The daughter looks at me. She is not sure if she should run to me for comfort or run away from me in order to obey the principle of not talking to strangers.

“Hi”, I say as I get to her.

She looks away. She is crying.

“My name is Thandeka. I’d like to help you”, I say.

She looks at me, hesitant. I don’t think she knows what to do right now. And honestly, neither do I.

“Look, I know your mother. I saw what just happened. I will keep you safe until she comes back. Or I can take you to a relative that you may know of until your mom comes back”, I say.

“Take me too uncle Nathi’s house”, she says. She knows my husband. Lovely. Who knew that whores use their kids in this game?

“I am uncle Nathi’s wife so you would be going to my house”, I say.

“You are?” she seems surprised.

I nod my head.

“Uncle Nathi loves my mom. And he loves me. And I am going to be his daughter soon”, she says.

I look at her.

“Actually, you can stay right here. I will tell uncle Nathi to come and get you instead”, I say as I walk away from her.

“Please don’t leave me here by myself. If those men come back, they will do nasty things to me”, she says in desperation.

I want to say that’s not my problem. Inhlonipho phela ayikho la. How can she say those things to me after I have told her who I am? The next thing I will have this little insolent brat in my house calling shots because she is Nathi’s daughter now?

But she looks scared.

“Please Thandeka”, she begs. You see what I mean? Not even a Sis’Thandeka nyana?

“Get in the car”, I say. She sprints to my car and jumps into the backseat. She buckles herself in. She looks at me. I look at her.

I drive off.

…

I get to my house and find that Nathi has been discharged. Everyone is amazed at the child that I am walking in with and Nathi is the only one who knows who this is.

“Uncle Nathi!” the girl yells as she runs to him. My in-laws are beyond confused.

Nathi looks at me while hugging the girl, seeking an explanation.

“Uncle Nathi, those nasty men came for mom again and took her. Thandeka helped me run away. I told her that you love me, you love my mom, and that I am going to be your princess soon”, she blurts out.

Nathi’s mother looks at me.

“Yini le Nkosinathi?” Nathi’s father barks.

Nathi is silent.

“Manyala mani lawa enzekayo?” his father continues.

“Uncle Nathi say something”, the girl says.

“Hey! Shut up wena man. This is not your mother’s house. You are making a noise”, Nathi’s mother yells at the little girl and she hides behind Nathi.

I am actually hurting. I feel like screaming. I have a hatred towards this child. I am growing a hatred for Nathi too. I cannot live like this. I actually want to go back home. I want to be with my mom. I need her to comfort me and I need my dad to shelter me. I don’t have any friends or siblings. I have never felt so alone in my life. My marriage to Nathi was more bearable when I knew nothing about his life outside of me.

“Can I please speak to my wife?” Nathi says.

I just look at him.

“I need to go for a run”, I say.

I walk past everyone in the room, get into my bedroom, change into fitness tights, a long t-shirt, and my Puma running sneakers. I get a cap and throw it over my braids. I get out of the bedroom, the TV room is still silent. I leave. I get to the gate of our complex. I take a deep breath. I cry a little bit. I wipe my tears and I start running. Silly me did not stretch before my run so 3km into my run, I pull a muscle. The pain is unbearable but it does not come close to the pain in my heart. I start limping, heading into the direction of a mall. I need some air. I cannot go back home right now.

“Hey”, a man stops his car next to me. This just simply reminds me of the boys in KZN who work in Joburg for three months, buy a Polo-nyana and then come back home to promise us village girls a good life… stopping us as walk to the shop as if his Polo-swag speaks for itself. I find the entire image funny, so I giggle.

“Hawu ausi ka nnete o tlo tsamaya fela and just laugh at me?” he says, trying to be smooth.

I didn’t even hear what he said at the beginning of his sentence so he can actually just drive on. I will keep limping on.

He stops the car. Typical KZN-Polo-boy behaviour.

He runs to me.

“I think you have hurt yourself a bit. Let me help you”, he says.

“Thanks but my husband is a doctor. I will be fine”, I say. He is disappointed.

“Let me at least take you home”, he says.

“No thanks”, I say. Still giggling. I guess he is reading this as me playing hard to get.

Another car stops there next to us. Tshepo aka Dr Moagi sprints out of the car.

“Ek se”, he intimidates the Polo guy.

“Sho”, the Polo guy says.

“Everything okay?” Tshepo enquires.

“The lady seems hurt. I was just helping out”, the Polo guy says.

“Thanks but I got it. This is my boy’s wife. I am sure you understand”, Tshepo.

The guys shake hands and Polo dude gets back into his Polo and drives off.

“You okay?” Tshepo asks.

I just roll my eyes at him and limp on.

“I am on my way to your house, I can give you a lift”, he offers.

“No thanks”, I say. And keep on limping.

“Thandeka, I am really sorry about everything”, he says.

I ignore him and painfully limp towards a coffee shop in sight.

I settle there, order myself some coffee and croissants. I pull out my phone and read the pdf of my addiction – My Worth Crowned You.

In the middle of Kea confronting Mohato about Ntombi the maid-mistress, Nathi sits in front of me. I look at him. I am actually annoyed.

“I heard that you injured yourself. Let me have a look”, he says.

“I will be okay”, I say.

“Where’s Patience?” he asks me.

“Nathi, ufunani la?” I ask him. Nathi doesn’t respect me yaz.

“I need to know where Patience is”, he says.

“Why would I know where Patience is? Ngi-gosha naye mina?” I clap back.

He is silent.

“Where did you find Unathi?” He asks me after a brief silence.

“Ubani u-Unathi?” I ask him.

“Patience’s daughter”, he says.

Wow, now I truly have heard it all.

“Nathi, I know ekhaya kuthiwa kumele ngibekezele. Kodwa this is just pure and uncalled-for disrespect. Awusangiboni at all. And awusangihloniphi. Akusena mshado la phakathi kwami nawe. I think it’s time I went back home. Ngizokhuluma nabantu abadala and then you and I can get a divorce. I may be a village girl, but I know my worth. I don’t care how much of a prince you are… I am also a princess. You have me rolling in mud with whores and then you have the audacity to sit here and ask me about your whore and its child? I should have left that child there. But ke, it doesn’t matter. I am driving back home tonight. I am done with you. I am done with this Patience bull-shit. And I am done with trying this marriage thing with you”, I say.

He did not expect that at all. He is beyond shocked.

“Ngicela ungahambi Thandeka. I am sorry. I will treat you better. I will respect you better. Kodwa ngiyakucela nkosikazi, please don’t leave me”, he says.

“Nathi you don’t even want me. You want Patience. You have made that very clear. And I don’t deserve to be where I am not wanted. All of this is difficult for me too. I did not choose to marry you Nathi. But you truly believe that it is an honour for me to be married to you. It is not”, I say.

“Please do not leave me. We will work this out. Please nkosikazi”, he begs. He is on his knees. The entire coffee shop is starring.

I’d be a bitch if I were to tell him to go to hell right now wouldn’t I?

“Nathi”, a voice says.

We both look up at the human hovering over us. It is Khensani…

And Pay-Pay beaten up to a pulp.

Nathi looks at me as if seeking permission to attend to Pay-Pay.

I get up and leave the coffee shop before I could even get my order.

I stand outside and wait for an uber. Nathi comes and stands with me. I order my uber ride via my app.

“I don’t know what to do”, he says.

I am quiet.

“Please tell me what to do and I will do it”, he says.

I am silent.

“I am begging you. Anything you say, I will do. Just tell me what to do and I promise you, I will do it”, he keeps begging.

“Be with Patience” I say.

My uber arrives.

“Please don’t leave me Thandeka”, he begs me one more time.

I limp to my uber and leave him on his knees outside the coffee shop.

[littlethoughtsandfeelings]

The Bachelor Australia 2017 Recap – Episode 4

“Hey! Your reviews are too boring!” They say. “Get some screencaps like the other reviews!” They say.

Well, I can’t get copyright free screencaps at this stage, but do you know what I can get you? Stick-figure drawings.

That’s right – I will now be adding my (very bad) stick-figure drawings to the reviews. And you’ll damn well enjoy them.

We open with Matty overlooking a pond, which is apparently at the Sydney Polo Club. It’s raining, and he’s a little too proud of himself for making a pun about dampening the spirits of the day.

Matty says, “Cobie loves animals, and I love horses, so I thought it would be good to join our passions together.” A horse is an animal, though. So it’s not really a joining of two passions, but more like the same passion?

Wait, we’re going straight to the date? No Osher delivering a card or anything? Righto then.

Matty rides in on a horse… with a helmet. I’m all for being safety-conscious, but it definitely takes away a bit of the fairy-tale element. 

He hops down, he greets Cobie, and then… Harry the horse does a massive wee. Wow, horses do really big wees, don’t they?

Back at the mansion, the girls discuss how Cobie is going on the date. They’re all super jelly. The evil squad decide that Matty’s tactic is to “save the best for last”, Villain Number Two Jennifer makes a comment that she’s the greatest, someone compares Matty to a schnitty, which I’m assuming is a chicken schnitzel… a lot is happening.

Right, back to the date. Cobie has never ridden before, so Matty has to instruct her. He says, “I’m well aware that she’s on the back of a horse for the first time”, proving his ability to state the obvious.

Cobie uses the word “beautifulest”, so we’ll deduct points for that, however she does acknowledge that it’s not a word, so I guess the points go back on?

They horse ride for a bit, and then get to wash the horses. Peppy, Cobie’s horse, is loving the bath.

But then things escalate and soon Matty and Cobie are hosing each other down, she’s wearing a white singlet, and he’s already calling her “Cobes”… dude, calm down.

Matty’s talking head says, “I know that Cobie and I get along the best when we’re being silly and having a laugh.” Dude. You’ve met her once. How do you even know how you get along at all?

Back at the mansion, Villain Number Two Jennifer thinks that Cobie will fall in the friend-zone because “she’s too cutesy”. Her talking head says that, “Matty’s a man and he wants a woman… I know I give off sex appeal, and for me it’s quite natural.” So, let me get this straight, he doesn’t want an adult acting like a bitchy teenage girl, then?

Still on their date, Matty and Cobie find a SEXYTIME couch in a room “that Matty’s planned out”. Yes. It was definitely all his idea. Wait, this is the date? Horse riding for five minutes and then washing a horse? So we’re saving the big-budget dates until the fifth episode, right? Then it will start to get more interesting, right?

They discuss their dating history, and Cobie opens her heart. She says that she wants to date her best friend, but wants to have a connection too. Matty agrees, saying he wants to be friends first and then have it progress from there. Ha! Take that friend-zone naysayers!

Oh God. She wrote him a poem. It’s the first poem she’s ever written. She explains that because it’s her first time dating in a while, she’s finding it difficult to express herself. So she should definitely try a medium she has no experience in. (Side note: Remember last year someone wrote a poem? Or was it Sam Frost’s season where there was a rap? Let’s hope it’s not as cringey as that.)

It’s a bit cringey, and a bit sweet, and they’re playing romantic music so I think she’s in the clear.

Matty pulls out the rose. She says she really wants to kiss him. I’m cringing so hard. She wants him to go halfway. He’s being all romantic. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH THEY’RE MUSHING! IT’S ROMANTIC! IT’S GOING A LONG TIME! Hghghghghghghghghghghghghghghghghghghghgnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn

I can’t cope. I’m not coping. I have lost the ability to cope.

We cut to the next day, and the girls interrogate Cobie. Nothing much is said, but now it’s time for the HYUNDAI SPONSORSHIP. There are literally twenty shots of the car from all different angles. I feel like the cameraman was like, “Yeah, work it, work it.” 

Anyway the point of this sponsorship is that Matty is driving to the mansion to surprise them all.

They go to another part of the mansion, which is miraculously sunny, as opposed to the first part of the mansion, where it was pouring with rain.

Osher is holding a giant dice (or die, I guess), and that is not a euphemism. Although it might be, I have no idea.

Osher reveals they’re playing The Bachelor board game and I AM SO ON BOARD. For those who don’t know, there are few things I love more than board games. If you could purchase this game, I would literally be signing over my life savings.

So, the Monopoly knock-off game works like this, they roll a dice, and move a set number of squares. If they land on a square with Matty’s face, he asks you a question, if they land on a square with a rose, Osher asks both of them a question. There’s also a golden cage, for reasons that I’m hoping doesn’t involve BDSM.

Alix goes first, and she and Matty choose different answers for the multiple choice. Thrilling.

Simone is up next, and she lands on “choose a girl to cream pie in the face”. She picks Liz, who she says “never smiles”. It appears that Leah (Villain Number One) and Jennifer (Villain Number Two) also don’t like Liz. What the heck has Liz done? And who is she?

Michelle is next and she lands on a “go to jail” square, which involves the golden cage. But she’s allowed to take her glass of wine, so it’s not that bad really.

Some other girls go and I have no idea who they are. Basically, we learn some facts about Matty: his bike is named Cindy (no you did not read that wrong), his worst trait is that he’s late, and he has no pets.

Matty says that Florence is the biggest surprise, and I agree – the biggest surprise to us is that she’s there.

Cobie lands on “move ahead or free kiss” with Matty. Her talking heads says that she wanted to kiss him, but decided to move forward. Jennifer says that if it was her, she’d totally do it, because she understands and that “everyone’s here for the right reasons”. Yes, Jennifer, I can definitely envisage you being very calm and accepting of it if Cobie chose to kiss Matty in front of you. It seems like your tolerance of the other girls is very selective. 

The rest of the game is heavily edited so I don’t really know what’s going on. Basically some ladies get swapped for others, there’s more cream pies to the face, and Michelle gets out of jail. Jennifer is one of the women with a pie to the face, and makes sure to get Matty’s attention before rubbing the cream all over her cleavage. I’m willing to give her characterisation to the producers of the show, and she is doing very well being so unlikeable.

Michelle wins the game, and won… a hug? No extra time? Nothing? What was the point of this stupid game then?!

Afterwards, Cobie says she’s disappointed for not taking the kiss, because as she says, it could have just been a kiss on the cheek. She flags that she wants to raise it with Matty tonight, which seems perfectly reasonable to me, but I guess I haven’t been plied with alcohol and locked in a mansion with 17 other girls who want to date the guy I’m into.

Cocktail Party Time!

Cobie says that she came into this experience not wanting to have any regrets, and she regrets not kissing him, so she wants to clear it up. See, perfectly reasonable.

Florence (who? Ah, the Dutch one) has something to show Matty. He’s getting a lesson in Dutch (side note: what’s that thing to do with fluffs and blankets? Isn’t that something about Dutch?). She puts Matty in a red, striped tie and circular glasses. She dresses up in a half-open white shirt over her black corset-dress, also dons some glasses, and holds a cane/pointer thing, which just gives the overall feel of some light BDSM. Is this the theme for this episode or something? 

She teaches him how to say, “You have beautiful eyes” in Dutch. She then teaches him to say, “Will you accept this rose?”, and the whole thing is lightly flirtatious and a bit weird and a teensy bit awkward, like the time we played ‘Let’s Get to Know Matty J!’. 

Next girl to chat with Matty is Simone, and it seems like she spends three minutes talking about how nervous she is.

So then the dramahhh: Cobie sees them talking, and approaches. She asks (very politely, I might add) if she can borrow Matty once she’s finished talking with Simone. I’m not really sure why this is an issue, because she gave him an option, but I guess the weirdness was the fact that she just stood off to the side, staring at them. 

Simone leaves Matty, and goes to chat to… the Evil Squad? Wait, I thought she was one of the good ones. Simone, wasn’t it like two episodes ago that you hated these girls? And now you’re confiding in them? She says, “[Cobie]’s had two group dates and a single date”, and she isn’t impressed with the interruption. 

Villain Number Two Jennifer says that Cobie “plays sweet, she plays cute, but she’s a hustler, she’s a bitch.” She also uses the word “hustler” again in a talking head. Jennifer, I’m not sure that word means what you think it means. Isn’t a hustler a gambler? Someone who, in fact, hustles? Looking this up, there is an alternative meaning, which is a prostitute, but I’m not sure she was going for something that aggressive. I can only assume she was going for “hussy”, which Google says, is a “brazen or immoral woman”. And that’s been your vocabulary lesson for today, class. Just, use words correctly, Jennifer.

Anyway, in the actual chat with Matty, Cobie explains why she didn’t choose to kiss him. Matty’s totally cool with it, saying it totally wasn’t an issue, unlike last season when Georgia Love had the issue of Courtney not giving her enough attention in group situations. You can’t win with this show.   

Now for the second dramahhh: Leah walks in on their chat and asks if she can take Cobie back because she upset a lot of people. Cobie says she just needs two more minutes, and Leah says again, that she upset a lot of people. It’s very awkward and Matty seems annoyed. 

Then, histrionic Leah takes her information back to the Evil Squad, saying that Cobie said she doesn’t care that she hurt other people’s feelings (for the record, she did say “I don’t care”, but to me it came across as more of a “ok, cool, leave me alone” than a “I hate everybody!” kind of thing).

Some of the girls try to defend Cobie, including Laura. You know what, Laura? You’re really growing on me. Anyway she says that Cobie wouldn’t have meant it in a malicious way, which is the way Leah is relaying it, and she’s so done with this shit.

Oh man, now she has to bloody deal with Jennifer. FFS this is so bloody frustrating. Laura says that she loves Cobie, and Jennifer says, “WE ALL LOVE COBIE”, and I let out an actual witches’ cackle. Lisa says she’s really happy Laura stood up for Cobie, and I’m on any team with Lisa and Laura on it. (Readers, I know what you’re thinking. Last episode I was on Simone’s side, and now she’s turned out to be one of the bad ones. Look, I guess I’m just on the side against evil, ok? I’m bloody Harry Potter.)

Cobie and Matty walk out into the group of girls, and Jennifer basically pounces on her, saying, “Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii Cobie.”

It’s a bit awkward, but that’s mostly thanks to the editing and sound effects. We don’t get to see any more of the fallout, because this is The Bachelor, and if there’s one thing this show doesn’t know how to do, it’s transitions.

Rose Ceremony time!

Osher introduces Matty, saying the ladies look a bit better than during the “Crème de la crème of board games”. They have literally said that phrase three times this episode, and for once, I’m not exaggerating.

Matty picks a few girls, and he asks Florence to accept her rose in the Dutch he learnt, which is pretty sweet.

For a second, I’m thinking that maybe he’ll get rid of one of the villains tonight, and squash the issues in the house. It would be fitting with his ‘I’m not taking any shit this season’ attitude he’s displayed so far. Like he gets a say in it.

He clearly doesn’t, and Jennifer and Leah both get roses. Jennifer sashays up to him, and I feel like she really treats him like a prize to be won, which in fairness, he kind of is in this context, but you don’t have to treat him like that.

This is the one thing I really dislike about this show. It’s not like Matty is going to pick either of these mean girls in the end. They’re clearly there to further their radio career, or their red carpet reporting career *cough Laurina cough*. They’re easy fodder to just add some manufactured dramahhh to the show, and look, it works: the show is selling a product, and we’re all buying it. But how cool would it be to just see a bunch of nice people and them all behaving respectfully of each other, and Matty just picks who he likes best? Huh? WHAT’S WRONG WITH THAT UTOPIA?! 

The other thing is that it is definitely not his choice to keep all of these girls. There’s clearly a stipulation in his contract that the producers would get a say in some (if not all) of the girls chosen. Which means we’re basically waiting ten weeks for him to get rid of the ones he knew on the first night that he didn’t like. 

Anyway, tangent over – It’s down to Elise (apparently a montage girl) and Belinda (apparently the Love Coach who made Matty stare into her eyes). Elise gets the rose.  

Later, Belinda. Good luck with your love coaching.

 Next Episode: A high building, and some more dramahhh with Cobie. And a face-off date?! Not like the movie, I’m assuming, although that could be cool. (Side note: Remember when Sam the model was on that kind of date and he had to go home? Hahahaha it was great.) And Sian gets grumpy at the cocktail party. Ummm… who is she again?

#tv #tvreview #recaps #thebachelorau #thebachelor #tvrecap

[arcanakrp-blog]

HA SEUNGWOO – STRENGTH. AGENT 08.

                                              [   FILE TYPE: CLASSIFIED   ]

//: LOADING PROFILE: HA SEUNGWOO …

international age: 24 birthplace: busan, south korea arcana: strength team number: six

//: LOADING MUTATION: FERAL MIND  …

application one: hunting intuition — hunting is not easy. it requires attention, focus, skills, practice. but it can be easier when these skills come to you as easily as breathing. hunting intuition gives seungwoo all those talents, enhancing his instincts so he can hunt, be it animals, people, or even objects. also, in the sorry case his target is a person, seungwoo can get a sense of their weakness, their vulnerabilities, making it simpler to catch them. or kill them, his choice. this application makes him the perfect tracker. there is, though, one thing needed for such a power to be better used: patience, a skill seungwoo barely has. being too eager, getting annoyed of waiting, getting ahead of himself can always jeopardize his efforts, putting the mission he’s in in danger.

application two: anger empowerment — anger is an well-known friend of seungwoo, one he’s been nurturing since young, since his life went out of the rails, crashing and burning in its collision course. when he gets angry he’s able to unlock other powers such as getting stronger, being able to lift heavier objects, fight harder, all rage and destruction, giving him a huge edge in fights. one downside to this power is that once it passes and he calms down, whatever wounds he has been inflicted are harder to heal, and depending of much energy he spent he can even have to stay in bed for a day or so.

application three: enhanced instincts — enhanced instincts consists of seungwoo having stronger instincts than what would be considered normal. mainly his predatory and fight instincts talk louder inside of him, shout until logic is forgotten and he can think quickly and efficiently while working on those instincts alone. he thinks and do things quicker, easier, though they might not always be the logical choice. he thinks quickly, instinctively, making him ideal for missions that need them to be fast and precise. however, this application can be dangerous when mixed with anger empowerment, making him reckless and destructive.

overall strengths and weaknesses: — seungwoo’s strength is in how well he matches his power, almost as if he was born with it, made for it. it’s like destruction is a part of what he is, and doing it is easy for him. he detaches himself from reality in a way that makes the job in arc easy - he doesn’t think about, doesn’t get bothered because of it. if he is ordered to steal, he does, if he has to kill, he does. he has heard people joking about how he’s the perfect soldier: soulless and quiet. truth be told, he’s just tired of feeling. when it comes to his weakness, weirdly enough, they’re also attached to his power and how linked it is to the person seungwoo is. his impulsiveness, his hot headed persona makes it easy for him to get out of control, to go berserk. it’s not been once or twice when he has gotten warnings from the higher ups, having part of his pay taken away for making stupid mistakes just because he got too angry, too consumed. in the end his biggest strength is himself, but it’s also his downfall.

//: LOADING HISTORY ..

PRE-MUTATION

november third, 1992 - 4:00AM

it’s raining when he’s born. a thunderstorm, her father will tell him one day as he’s all dressed up jeans and a polo shirt. but for now they’re scared he’ll even make it, all eyes on him and on his mother, prayers going around the room. but he makes it, so does his mother. they’re fighters, after all, born to live, born to win. seungwoo doesn’t cry when he leaves his mother’s womb, eyes wide open, looking around as if inspecting the place, as if being born is just another task he has to do. his father will also tell him one day that once a baby is born not crying is because their spirit is happy to come to the world, because they have a special purpose to fulfill.

seungwoo used to like that idea. now he thinks it’s utter crap.

january fifth, 1998 - 2:35PM

he is lying on the ground, one arm lying on his side, the other hand grabbing a wooden sword tight against his chest. there’s laughter and then applauses, and quickly seungwoo is on his feet, eyeing the crowd with a huge smile. he smiles, proud and happy, finding his family easily. they are in the front row after all, just as usual, mom, dad and his brothers: sungwoon wearing his school uniform, and the youngest on his mother’s lap. his family is not that old tired cliché of the broken rich family - the sad little rich boy, always alone, always waiting for his parents to come. no. his father always makes a place in his busy schedule for him, his mother is always there for all his little school plays, every single event. he comes down the stage still wearing his prince costume, hugging his mother tightly. happiness - he is so sure at the time that he’s found it.

august fifteenth, 2006 - 2:30AM

“are you sure no one knows?”

“honey, please. this doesn’t concern you.”

he is leaning against his father’s office door, attentive to not make any noise. seungwoo holds his breath, closes his eyes. he had seen it: the whispering, the two of them talking around corners. his father has been sullen, quiet, not like his usual self. he doesn’t know what is going on. he’s asked, of course he has, but all his mother does is smile, tell him to not worry, to focus on his studying.

“it does concern me,” his mother replies and it gets harder to listen. he gets closer, focus. “what will we do?”

“i have money to cover it, jiwoo. don’t worry for now. and if they don’t shut up even then, there are other ways. you know it.”

seungwoo hears steps, runs to his room. she wonders what other ways are those.

april first, 2008 - 3:55 PM

he is called to the principal office.

seungwoo walks through the corridors of her all-boys school, white floors as pristine as white shirt and black tie. his back is straight, eyes focused up front. he can hear them whispering, gathering in the classroom like roaches. seungwoo acts as if he doesn’t care, steps determined. he smirks to a friend as he passes by. anyone would think going to the principal is just one more of his school duties.

he sits down when asked, looks ahead, annoyed. the principal stares at him with that expression, the one that says it all: she would wish to be anyone but the one to carry the news she is about to give to seungwoo. the boy breathes in, waits for it.

one hour later he is in a car, going back home. it’s almost as if he can feel the eyes on his back as he leaves the school. they are silent, of course they are, but it’s almost like they’re shouting: the son of a crooked man, a corrupt businessman who was stupid enough to get caught. a fucking murder. it’s a weird feeling, seungwoo thinks as he fights against rage on the backseat of the car, to watch such a beautiful castle crumble. to find out its foundations that he once thought to be so strong were actually sand.

may twenty-third, 2008 - 9:00PM

it’s quite simple what happened: hes father owned a construction company. his father lied, used used cheap materials to make construction costs lower, ignored safety issues, all to make business more profitable. now one of his buildings had crumbled, killing twenty people, hurting at least fifty. he’s in jail as more and more shit is uncovered. there are journalists at the front of his house every day, a sea of interviews, his mother being questioned time after time as they tried to see where she fit in that whole mess. for now they’re playing the innocent family, the ones who didn’t know. which is true for seungwoo, he never knew. he thought his father was the best man he ever knew.

he wakes up from her sleep, the bad dream still ringing on his ears. seungwoo stands up, neck hurting from the uncomfortable position he was. he looks around, sees his younger brother sleeping by his side. he’s only thirteen years old. he deserves better than this. he looks at the time, dinner has yet to be served. they don’t have maids anymore, no one but their trusty driver, who decided to stay with them even if they can’t pay him anymore. they’ve been cutting excessive expenses here and there, all to pay or his father’s lawyer and lawsuits costs. but they still gotta eat.

“mom?” he calls, stands up and goes up the stairs. he looks around, call her again. but when seungwoo finally finds her in her room, he has to look up, eyes wide, heart stop beating for a second. he runs away. when he finally finds her, he wishes he didn’t.

may twenty-fourth, 2008 - 8:25AM

the media doesn’t respect even his mother’s funeral. security tries to keep them away but there they are, taking pictures, making a fuss. seungwoo doesn’t cry.

when they arrive back home seungwoo and his younger brother go to her room, lie on her bed. his older brother arrives an hour later - he smells of alcohol and rain, his shoulders damp. he scoffs when he looks at the ceiling. that chandelier had always been so pretty.

“she was weak,” her brother says, and seungwoo stares at him for a while. it’s the first time he punches him for real, though not the first time he wanted to.

it won’t be the last too.

november third, 2010 - 4:00AM

seungwoo feels his knuckles hurting, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. the place they live now is smaller and this bathroom with its white walls and low ceiling makes him almost claustrophobic. he hates the place ever since they moved in years ago, once sungwoon was old enough to be their legal guardian, once his father had no way out of prison and their money was running out. they lived out of what was left, lived out of what whatever sungwoon did for a living, seungwoo didn’t even want to know, fuck it. it’s not like they get along.

there’s a soft knock in the door and he looks up, watches as the youngest walks in. jiho has always been the best of them and he still is. he does well in school, has the brightest smile he has ever seen. their mother’s smile. seungwoo no, he is all their father, all lies.

“you two shouldn’t fight,” jiho says, touches his hand, “we’re brothers.”

seungwoo only nods, makes another false promise of doing better next time. he won’t, he won’t even try. he’s tired.

POST-MUTATION

unknown date, 2015 - hour unknown

he is drunk, that’s why he doesn’t remember. nothing flashy, really. he is at home, lying in his tiny apartment, the only one he could afford the rent for. he doesn’t even know how long he’s been there - lying, looking at the ceiling, drinking as if he didn’t have his stupid job at the convenience store tomorrow. fuck that job, really. but it paid the bills.

until there’s a flash of a light. seungwoo looks up, goes to the window, watches as it rain stars. 

he didn’t know he was this wasted.

two weeks later, 2015 - all the time

it’s like all he can see is rage, hate, consuming, destroying. when it starts to build up he curls in an u shape, shouts in his pillow. he can barely breathe, he can hardly take it.

july third, 2015 - 2:03AM

they find it after it happened.

he is sitting in an alley far away from the club he was just in. at first whenever it happened he’d lose consciousness, lose who he is. now it’s like he takes a backseat, watches flashes of it, comes back only to the destruction, to the afterthought. but he knows it was him, sees traces of what he is all over the violence. when the men in black look at him he smiles, all sweat and blood.

“so,” he says, trying to stand up, wincing in pain. his wounds always heal hurt more now, after it happens, “where are you taking me?”

january first, 2017 - 7:00PM

his body is sore, aching all over places he didn’t even know he could feel pain. training is hard, tougher than he expected, or at least tougher than he expected it to be after more than a year in this wretched place. he was one of the first ones to get in, his power one of the easiest to trace. how hard it is to find a guy who leaves a trail of destruction and god knows what else wherever he goes? not hard enough.

it gives him a sense of purpose though. a feeling of at least be doing something, living. his brother always used to say seungwoo was a good for nothing, that he wouldn’t amount to anything in this life. well, sucks to be him. as far as he knows he is stuck in some office, he finished law school, going the same path their father went. seungwoo wants very little to do with that. he wants sungwoon to fuck off. all the way off.

the only thing he misses from his old life is his little brother. for him seungwoo spun a history about a job abroad, lie after lie. he sends him money, half of what he gets so he can go to college and live well. he doesn’t care that he gets so little of his paycheck, not really. seungwoo himself is the smallest of his worries. 

to be here, in such a place, sometimes it feels weird still. he’s not used to having a partner, not used to working in a team. he’s not used to having to look out for others, carrying orders. but it’s his job so he carries on, does the least he has to to at least fit in a bit. fit in is enough, he doesn’t expect to go as far as belonging here. a monster like him doesn’t belong to anywhere.

#arc.app #arc.strength #fc.jung jaewon

[verydeepthots]

funny wrath lines

“God don’t do clones or false icons” “let there be light”

“hip hopping in the haus of God get you life” “let there be light”

“no pork on my fork i’m straight through the middle ask your girl” “let there be light”

“your stories get skipped in my revelations” “let there be light”

“eternal life or another 20 looking at them health conditions do the math” “let there be light”

“God owe me a few favours” “let there be light”

“sold your soul for paper in the digital era” “let there be light”

“snake ni99as are my old testaments” “let there be light”

“you can’t call on God on this one” “let there be light”

“God’s rocking the new era” “let there be light”

“God said you too old to be making dumb moves you on borrowed time” “let there be light”

“God said you’re the first crew he gave up on” “let there be light”

“God peeping through your cloud in disappointment” “let there be light”

“God said had to put a little bit of glam on it” “let there be light”

“God said don’t apologise to me... man up to your mother” “let there be light”

“God said not bad on bench press but how bout you lift your family up” “let there be light”

“God said they over project for a lack of content” “let there be light”

“God said they over project coz their two nuts don't validate that stolen polo” “let there be light”

“God said they over project coz them paint fumes got em feeling themselves a little too extra extra read all about it” “let there be light”

“God said they over project coz momma wanted a daughter” “let there be light”

“God said if they over project they better dance to superthug when my son makes a return” “let there be light”

“God said if they over project let the high school girls handle this one” “let there be light”

“God said if they over project just pinky promise the dude you’ll executive produce his daughter’s banjo aspirations” “let there be light”

“God said if they over project remind them of that weak support system of BFFs who seem to forget time and time again that they can’t stash all of fake confidence under that gildan” “let there be light”

“God said if they over project tell em to go back to daddys top bunk and realise thats the highest they’ll ever reach in this miracle of an existence” “let there be light”

“God said if they over project its a lack of maternal care and story time during night night in their wonder years” “let there be light”

“God said if they over project its a free live stream of insecurity for you to nit pick for shits and giggles” “let there be light”

“God said if they over project you should call the suicide watch coz its annoying to watch a cry baby parading around in untapered insecurity” “let there be light”

“God said if they over project whisper in their ear papa loves you repeat after me papa loves you one more time” “let there be light”

“God said if they over project give them directions to the nearest netball court so they can steal some balls to really feel empowered one last time” “let there be light”

“God said if they over project give em tickets to the oprah show” “let there be light”

“God said if they over project remind them they got a lifetime to be a man but that biological clock is ticking” “let there be light”

“God said if they over project remind them that they’re still eligible to try out for the girls netball team its not too late” “let there be light”

“God said if they over project send em north face leggings in a duffle bag” “let there be light”

“God said if they over project gently remind em ladies know about that shrinkage” “let there be light”

“God said if they over project tell them to go wank it off... you idiot” “let there be light”

“God said if they over project politely ask em are you taking this whole persona on the road... you idiot” “let there be light”

“God said if they over project give them a hug and eloquently break down their soul in equal parts coz them past endeavours don’t make up for them 4 inches on a good day and watch that water bill go through the roofske” “let there be light”

“God said if they over project write their mother a warm sincere letter about how the community respects all the effort she puts into minimising his son’s female behaviour and unfortunately he didn't make the girls bball team this winter but there’s always next year chip” “let there be light”

“God said if they over project just deconstruct that fake confidence and sell them as spare parts at the next church fete” “let there be light”

“God said certain moves show a lack of moves” “let there be light”

“God said i got you we all the way up” “let there be light”

“God said its all about good intentions” “let there be light”

“God said if they spike your shit I’ll get the rainbow goons to spike they ass til they shit non-stop til they can’t get enough ahee hee hee” “let there be light”

“God said they can’t fold coz we were never playing poker”  “let there be light”

“God said they trapped without a jail cell and too dumb to get to mars so this one motherfucker gonna have to wipe out his own bloodline on some reverse hitler shit to get out of this one... mother can i get some popcorn pweety please” “let there be light”

“God said their gun talk will restart their Facebook list its the big bang 2.0 chop chop boys errrybody waiting on you its a new time” “let there be light”

“God said if they eating off your plate it say a little somethin somethin about that bloodline” “let there be light”

“God said when another man in your pockets their momma didn't show them the shark biters skit” “let there be light”

“God said when another man in your pockets cut his legs off so he can use his hands all he wants” “let there be light”

“God said when another man in your pockets send him back his mommas karl kanis” “let there be light”

“God said when another man in your pockets superglue his hands together so he can ask for forgiveness” “let there be light”

“God said when they set you up for failure its coz they gave up on themselves and so did their community” “let there be light”

“God said how you make a car crew motion less the wheel been an invention you can’t really fuck up” “let there be light”

“God said pre-game to the world’s biggest party is the live stream of your crew death” “let there be light”

“God said they can build a case but I'm the judge” “let there be light”

“God said never worry about inside job its my haus” “let there be light”

“God said they digging so far down they gonna end up in 3rd world jail cell” “let there be light”

“God said pride is self inflicted cancer its some bitch ni99a cointelpro” “let there be light”

“God said an inside job is insecure boys working on themselves its hard out here even with friends*” “let there be light”

“God said all it takes is a light switch” “let there be light”

“God said you ain’t even good enough to play devil’s advocate” “let there be light”

hahahahahahaha