#hush hush hush here comes the bogey man

[girls-in-bikiniiss]

D o t

Alastor x OC

You hummed along to the easy listening station you had playing on the radio while you wrote in your journal as the evening wound down.

You loved the static sounds that accompanied the music as it swelled through the bell of your gramophone.

You had died fairly young, but you had been raised by your grandparents (may they rest in peace) who had live through the Great Depression. You were certain your grandparents ended in Heaven, the two graciously welcoming you in when your parents abandoned you. You were certain you'd come across your parents here in Hell, but that day hadn't come yet. Nonetheless, you had acquired you grandparent's antique taste.

"And that was Henry Hall and His Orchestra - Hush Hush Hush Here Comes the Bogey Man"

You heard the Radio Demon was back after a seven year disappearance, and bought the gramophone soon after he began his broadcast. You found yourself listening more and more. Something that first became sentimental quickly became an everyday habit. You respected him, especially after his broadcasting battle against Vox. You were never a fan of the Vee's in Pride Ring, but it was hard not to come across them. Their turf had expanded tenfold due to the last extermination. You lived in a border area, but it bordered the Vee's District and has started to be swallowed into the new territory.

"This next song has a similar sound, this is Flanagan & Allen's Run, Rabbit, Run!'"

You let your mind wander as the pen glided across the paper. You began to wonder what he was like, the Radio Demon. He was an Overlord, and yet, you felt like you knew him just by how often you heard his voice on the air.

"And now, a word from the Sponsors, 'Hazbin Hotel, a haven for has-beens like yourselves. Stop here to save a sinner!' 'Looking for something to eat? Stop by Rosie's Emporium, the food is To Die For.' Now, back to our regular schedule."

Who said he didn't have a sense of humor? You mused as you recognized the next song, Jambalaya by Fats Domino.

***

Sitting behind his sound board, the antlered demon checked his ratings, an old sonar looking machine that showed dots on the areas of active listeners. He noticed one dot that's been on the monitor for days now,

'An avid listener!'

His Cheshire smile grew.

He grew a habit, of checking that one spot on the monitor. It beamed, unwavering, even throughout the night.

The radio demon grew fond of this dot. How funny, he mused. You stuck with him through days of happiness, and days of strife. Your dot became his favorite to see. Consistent. Familiar.

Until it was gone.

Alastor felt his smile dull a bit, recognizing a sense of saddness when he first became aware of the absence. At first the thought it was a glitch. After he tapped the monitor, he came to accept his most reliable dot had vanished. He wondered what happened to the listener behind the dot.

'Maybe they got bored listening. Maybe they died. Maybe their radio busted from all of their listening and they're getting it replaced.'

He never stopped looking for the dot.

Until one day he noticed a new dot.

'Could it be?'

The new dot he noticed was just like the last, and unlike the others. While there was nothing visibly different than the other dots, this one stayed on the monitor like his dot. The one located in the Vee's District. But it wasn't in the Vee's district. it was closer.

'Did they move? Is my listener alive out there?' He hoped as he played more lively songs. The more he saw the dot move closer, the more happy he became. So much so it had become visibly noticed by his comrades at the Hotel.

"Hey, You's ever see Red smile like that?"

"What do you mean? he's always smiling."

"Nah, nah, theres sumthin diff'rent 'bout'm. He's genuinely happier."

***

You moved closer and closer to the hotel as you could. This could be your shot at seeing your grandparents again. You couldn't pass it up. Each time you managed to grab a room at a cheap motel, you listened to your radio.

You noticed the Radio Demon's music taste had jumped from easy listening to more bouncy and lively music. Currently, Feeling Happy by Big Joe Turner was playing, next you had heard his song "Hide and seek".

It felt like the closer you got the hotel, the more exciting the music was getting.

'No, that's just you. You're making yourself excited by thinking of seeing your grandparents.'

After a few months trekking to the Hotel, you made it. You were greeted by the Princess herself. The other staff seemed either too bored to introduce themselves, or too excited, like Nifty.

"Well, here's your room! I'll let you get set up!"

"Thanks, Charlie. I really appreciate it. I can't wait to get started."

You happily set up your radio, turning it on while you situated the rest of your belongings.

On the other side of the hotel, high in his tower, The Radio Demon noticed a new dot, coming right from the hotel. He took shadow form to teleport to the lobby.

"Charlie, did we get a new resident?"

The demon didnt even give her a chance to speak, her eyes gleamed as her answer.

Static came from his radioed smile, an electric buzz of excitement.

As he searched the hotel in his shadow form, he neared the room with the radio playing music from the record he left on. He could hear a voice humming along to the music. He fixed himself to look presentable, smile widening (You're never fully dressed without a smile, some may say), and knocked on the door.

With the sound of shuffling, the door swung open and a short figure met his chest. He looked down, finally seeing the face of his avid listener. He felt the satisfaction one does when the hunter finally finds his prey.

"Hello, Dot."

#alastor #alastor the radio demon #radio demon #hazbin #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor hazbin #alastor hazbin hotel #radiodemon #hazbinhotel #hazbin hotel fanfiction #youtube playlist

[the73rdpostscript]

THE RULES: Tag 10 (Ten) people you want to get to know better

I was tagged by @architeuthisducks-blog (hello! <3)

Relationship Status: Single

Favorite Colors: right now it's green but I also spent the summer obsessed with orange and yellow and brown

Three Favorite Foods: i don't know if i have favorite foods so much as things i end up eating a lot during specific times in my life. Right now I'm basically always craving poke, Thai food, and this mushroom dish at my favorite local restaurant. But Ive also eaten a LOT of garlic bread this year. And hummus. And cucumbers.

Song Stuck in My Head: This Woman's Work

Last Song I Listened To: Hush Hush Hush Here Comes the Bogey Man by Henry Hall & His Orchestra

Last Thing I Googled: there there gif

Time: brunch is technically over for the day :(

Dream Trip: Italy

Anything I Really Want Right Now: I would actually really love to have garlic bread magically appear in my home right now without me having to deal with delivery. But I also really want to figure out what my plans for the evening are now that I've had to get a literal rain check for my previous plans.

Tagging: @beepbeepsan @lazaefair @non-un-topo

If I didn't tag you but you wanna do this, go for it!

#tag game #ask meme

[shodwithbootsofether]

#halloween #Henry Hall #1932 #Jazz age #Big band #Spotify

[gouinisme]

♫!!

thx for the ask!!

#damn my playlist's kindof a mess #wtf's the bogey man doing here #i mean #it slaps #but it feels kinda out of place #fada.ask #beetlejuicesgraveyardrevue

[briannabug]

this song makes me feel safe somehow,

even though i remember it best from alice is dead, maybe its the nostalgia?

#music ♡ #henry ball #alice is dead #ooo also halloween vibes!! #Spotify

[xspookyxspaghettix]

#spotify #henry hall #bogeyman #x

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

Scars That Heal || Eddie Kaspbrak x Reader Series

• Ch. 7: Hush, Hush, Hush •

    The children walk single file as they descended from the brush from where they had escaped, Eddie in the lead, Richie taking up the caboose. Y/n had helped Mike up the rocks, and shortly after found herself in the middle behind him. Mike cast a glance in her direction as well as the others.

    "Thanks, guys," He said, redirecting his gaze to the ground. "But you shouldn't have done that, they'll be after you too, now."

    Eddie was the first to chime in. "Oh, no, no, no, Bowers? He's always after us."

    "I guess that's one t-t-thing we all have in common," Bill added.

    "Yeah, homeschool!" Richie chirped. "Welcome to the Losers Club!"

    Y/n smiled at the boy's remark, shaking her head lightly. It was then that Y/n was reminded of the fleeting thoughts from the night before that bounced around her tired, foggy brain. And a familiar feeling bubbled back up to the surface along with it; a sense of belonging. Y/n did not have much luck when it came to getting close to people, aside from Beverly of course. Until that day at the quarry, she had never truly felt at home. And now that they had a new member - the last piece of the puzzle - she knew as long as she had them, she would be whole.

    In fact, they would never say it aloud, but each and every member of the Losers Club shared these same feelings. That day marked the beginning of a beautiful and powerful bond that would last a lifetime. Each and every one was just as important as the next and if you were to pluck any from the line, they would never quite be the same. Each of the eight children felt immediately at home with one another, a comfort so deep and profound it could quiet any lurking anxieties or fears.

    For a short while, no one said anything, just a peaceful ambiance blanketed the atmosphere as they descended the small hill of grass. Each of them could feel the tall green blades brush their legs, and the silence was filled with the low yet loud rumble of the train traveling along the tracks, yards behind them. When they reached the bottom of the small hill, Y/n  scurried up to the front and joined Eddie by his side. Everyone else disperses, scattering amongst one another, Ben silently taking the lead.

    "Hey Kaspbrak" Eddie looked to her, a little taken aback but attentive. "I'm counting on you,"

    Eddie blushed uncomfortably until he realized what she had been implying. She had been holding her left arm, just below the shoulder, and gestured to it with her eyes. She blushed herself and played it off with a weak laugh.

    "My arm?" She wiggled her eyebrows playfully. "If you anyone has a band-aid it's you."

    He laughed nervously as well, as he reached into one of his fanny packs, careful to watch his step as he was still walking. He pulled out a bandaid and handed it to her, she smiled in thanks. She wished she could have said she was surprised when he continued to pull supplies out one by one. And she'd be lying if she said she didn't find that a least a little impressive. It reminded her of clowns packed into a clown car. Ugh, she shivered slightly, bad analogy, nevermind.

    "Here you go. Also, here's some ointment, it's a special disinfectant - who the fuck knows all the germs that were on that rock, you'll need all the help you can get. I also have gauze, normally I don't carry gauze but since your leg is still pretty bad, I figured I should carry some, just in case. Here you take it, I think I have some more, also, I kept a small wrap of ace bandages, you really need to - wait you have been changing them frequently, right? You always, always change bandages, the bigger the wound the more important it is you change it. Seriously, this is really important because-!"

    "BEEP BEEP BEEEP!" Richie shouted suddenly, strolling up and walking between the pair. "Hear that sound, Doctor K? That's the sound of her flat-lining. You took too fucking long, genius, if you were a real doctor she would have bled out on your table already!"

    Y/n snickered under her breath, several of the Losers smiled as well. Eddie felt his face grow hot, and he turned angrily to Richie, his face contorted in an angry pout. He was struggling for words, but before he could form a proper sentence, Richie continued.

    "Quick tip, Doc, don't talk your patients to death!"

    Stan laughed dryly, "Yeah, you're one to talk."

    "Hey there, woah, woah, woah!" He threw his arms up in defense. "I'm just givin' the people what they want!"

    "Great!" Y/n said excitedly, her face lighting up briefly before falling. "How bout some silence? Beep beep, Richie."

    Mike, who had blended into the group so effortlessly and had been silently processing - still adjusting to the group dynamic - laughed suddenly and loudly. Everyone looked to him, taken slightly aback by his sudden, but infectious laugh. And it wasn't long until that laughter spread, everyone had cracked a smile and there was scattered laughter that melted away any previous tension.

    By now, Y/n had applied the ointment and the band-aid easily. She handed the tube of disinfectant back to Eddie as well as the gauze.

    "Thanks, but the band-aid will do just fine. Luckily, this one is only just a little cut."

    Eddie nearly tripped, he had been so lost in thought as he stared anxiously at the gauze outstretched in her hand. He licked his lips nervously, and his eyes flickered to hers. She noted his tentativeness and waited expectantly, but he could hold his tongue no longer, crush or not.

    "...Seriously, have you been changing those bandages, you never answered me and I'm sorry but that's disgusting if you haven't changed them cause the wound really needs to air out and if it doesn't you could end up-"

    "Christ, Eddie! I've changed them!" Y/n blurted, falling into a small fit of chuckles to show she wasn't truly mad.

    He tried to conceal his blush, but he played it off with a vigorous shake of the head and change of topic.

    "Hey, where are we going anyway? I can't be out too long or my mom will kill me. One time, I was like, two minutes late for curfew and she had a panic attack."

    Ben looked over his shoulder, he had taken the lead and while no one had mentioned it yet, everyone had instinctively followed him.

    "Well, I was hoping to show you guys something."

    Everyone gave one another an odd, questioning look but they followed Ben into the trees, nevertheless.

×××

    Night had fallen the day of the rock fight and another day began. The group of misfits had found themselves in town, where the annual parade was taking place. Wracked with guilt and the unpleasant feeling of being pitied, Y/n was trying to talk Eddie out of buying her the delicious frozen treat she had been ogling. Eddie had noticed the longing in her eyes when she spotted a young child with one of their own, and it was then that he really noticed the effects the sun had on her. Her baggy clothes were sticking to her arms and legs, and he could see beads of sweat percolating above her brow.

    Once again, their previous exchange on the fire escape popped into his head and he was reminded once more of how fortunate he was that he could afford such little things he took for granted. The power of suggestion had already gotten to him as well when he saw a frustrated father shoving an ice cream cone at his crying child, and although the sight made him cringe he couldn't quite shake the sudden craving of the sweet treat. Hence their detour to the ice cream cart, he could practically hear Richie ragging on him for getting her something with the audacity to leave him out - What, you skimping out on me now, Eds? - Eddie opted for a vanilla cone for Rich, just to be safe. But none of that stopped Y/n from protesting against it.

    "Eddie, you really don't have to do this,"

    The young L/n girl looked between the hypochondriac kid and the disgruntled teenager behind the cart, slinging ice cream. Ignoring her protests, he dropped the small pile of coins he had retrieved from his fanny pack onto the metal counter of the cart. The overheated employee slid it towards himself to the end of the counter, plucking the quarters from the surface and handed Eddie two vanilla cones. Eddie gladly took them in each napkin-clad hand - he had already grabbed several napkins so as to not spill or drip anything. Y/n watched defeated, albeit a bit excited, as the young man behind the counter opened another compartment and retrieved the y/f/f popsicle and handed it to her.

    She hesitantly took the popsicle, trying her best to mask the ravenous look in her eye.

    "Eddie-"

    "Look, it's best you have that anyway, it's supposed to get like, really hot out today so it's best you keep cool or you could be one step closer to heatstroke. And let me tell you, that is not fun, not fun at all! Did you know that-"

    A loud burst of noise disrupted their conversation and they turned to see the cause. Richie had gotten his hands on one of the marching bands instruments - a tuba by the looks, and sound of it. The owner of the tuba was angrily reaching for it but Richie managed to keep it out of his reach. His cheeks puffed and his face turned pink as a few short bursts of noise came from the instrument.

    Eddie and Y/n shared an amused look and Y/n's eyes fell to the popsicle. She sighed lightly, trying to tame the pit in her stomach that always occurred when she was pitied. Now Y/n appreciated the gesture, she really did. It was awfully sweet of the boy, and she would be lying if she said it didn't make her stomach do a small flip, but all that was easily drowned out by how small she felt. She hated being a charity case, it was bad enough Beverly had basically kept her fed all these years but Y/n reminded herself that their friendship was symbiotic - they each had something to offer the other. But this made her feel like she owed Eddie, and she didn't like that.

    The two left the cart and walked along the sidewalk at a steady pace. Nervously, she looked at the boy.

    "Eddie, I appreciate it, but I don't want to owe you or anything. I-"

    Eddie's face contorted into a confused frown. He chuckled weakly before taking a quick lick of his ice cream. He shook his head.

    "You don't owe me! It's just a popsicle, it's no big deal."

    Words failed her and she looked at the popsicle tentatively. Eddie noticed this and was scrambling to put out the small fire he had caused.

    "Think of it as a favor to me,"

    Y/n showed no efforts to hide her confusion. "A favor?"

    "Yeah, you stay cool, and I don't have to take care of you when you suffer from heatstroke."

    Her frown stayed cemented to her face as she stared at the boy, and Eddie feared his message was lost in translation. For fuck's sake, he didn't mean it like that! Great, now he sounded like a total ass.

    Y/n broke out into chuckles and Eddie felt the enormous weight leave his shoulders. He chuckled with her, though they came out more strained and nervous. She shook her head, eyebrows raised.

    "Man, you must care if you're willing to make up that load of horse shit." Y/n's tempted eye fell to the popsicle in her hand. "Thanks, shrimp, I appreciate it. But just this one time, okay? I always end up feeling like I owe people whenever they do stuff like this. Even if it's small things, cause a lot of stuff that might seem small to you, are kind of a big deal to me, does that make any sense?"

    Eddie nodded.

    "To tell you the truth, I've never tried one before."

    Eddie's eyes widened and he looked frantically between her and her dessert.

    "You gotta try it! They're really good!"

    Y/n smiled weakly.

    "Eddie, I mean it. Do you get what I'm saying?"

    Eddie nodded eagerly, his eyes frequently falling to the popsicle.

    "I get it, won't happen again. I promise. But seriously, you gotta try it! Really though, before it melts."

    Y/n examined the frozen y/f/f pop and noticed the ice was thinning. She shrugged at Eddie and tried the popsicle. Her eyes widened and she gaped at the boy.

    "Holy shit."

    Eddie grinned eagerly, and by now the two were approaching Richie.

    "Right?"

    "Dammit, Eddie! You really shouldn't have done this, I'm gonna want another one!" She whined, though her voice held a twinge of humor.

    She switched the popsicle to the other hand to lick the melted residue that had made it on her fingers. Eddie was quick to supply her with an extra napkin which she thanked him for.

    Eddie laughed at her words and he noticed he had caught Richie's eye. More specifically, the extra ice cream cone did. Richie abandoned the tuba and waltzed over to the boy, gladly accepting the treat and the trio found themselves joining the rest of the group just inside the alley. They were all somber, Y/n couldn't help but notice.

    "What's wrong?" She asked, drawing all eyes to her. "What are guys talking about?"

    "What they always talk about," Richie said simply.

    "I actually think it will end," Ben said, ignoring the interruption. "For a little while, at least."

    "What do you mean?" Mike asked.

    "So I was going over all my Derry research and I charted out all the big events. The Ironworks explosion in 1908, the Bradley Gang in '35, and the Black Spot in '62. And now kids being... I realized this stuff seems to happen-"

    "Every 27 years," Bill and Ben finished.

    Y/n looked up from her frozen pop and licked her lips, for some reason feeling silly for enjoying such a thing during this discussion. She found her stomach was twisted in knots, though at least, she thought, Eddie was right. She was feeling cooled down. But none of that seemed to matter now. Like it was all a matter of time before all of these fleeting feelings, these little moments, were being packed and stored away for a long time. It was a strange feeling that she couldn't quite identify, a feeling each of the Losers Club was experiencing: that while everyone around them was laughing and playing, enjoying the blissful moments of summer, they themselves each felt as if they were enjoying their last day on earth.

×××

    "So let me get this straight," Eddie began, fingers drumming nervously on his right knee. "It comes out from wherever to eat kids for, like, a year? And then what? It just goes into hibernation?"

    The Losers found themselves in the park, frozen treats long gone, the pits in their stomachs however still very much present. Bev, Stan, Mike, and Ben were splayed put on the bench, backs to the infamous statue of Paul Bunyan. Richie sat on his parked bike, unfortunate enough to be facing said statue - he never said it but the thing always creeped him out, just something about it. Bill and Eddie each found a seat of their own on the long back of Silver and Y/n laid in the grass before them in between the two bikes. She was propping herself up with her arms and legs splayed out before her. Her leg was healing fast but she didn't want to risk sitting on it and making it worse.

    So here the Losers sat, lost in discussion and despite the hot weather, there was a chill in the air that only these eight misfits could feel. Looming over them, watching them, much like It did their own town.

    "Maybe, it's like-- What do you call it?" Stan paused, searching for the word. "Cicadas. You know, the bug that only comes out once every seventeen years."

    "My grandfather thinks this town is cursed," Mike said. "He says that all the bad things that happen in this town are because of one thing. An evil thing that feeds off the people of Derry."

    An evil thing.

    The three words that lurked in the back of Y/n's mind all her life. She could feel herself falling back into the pit, the black hole that swallowed her up every time she thought of the looming threat. She could feel herself disconnecting from the world again, watching herself being ripped away from this moment in time and tossed back to that awful night, though she could still hear the worried voices of her friends speaking. Completely unaware of her state of mind. The words were fuzzy and distant, background noise as she felt herself being transported to that day.

    "I ain't got much time left, but at least I'm safer than you. I'm old, I've lived my life but you? Well, you're closer to death's door than I am."

    "But it can't be one thing. We all saw something different." Stan said, his voice now began to fade out.

     The voices were now blending together as memories of her past became her present reality.

    "Cause this town, I tell you, this town... There's an evil, evil thing in this world," the man said.

    She could hear her younger self whimper in fear, her own voice was squeaky and very frightened. The old voice continued, it shook with fear and the terror was as ripe as his memory, like only seconds had passed, not decades.

    "monsters are all too real my child, I've seen 'em with my own two eyes."

     Mike's voice found a way through her skull, echoing softly as all the details of the day she worked so hard to forget, came flooding back.

    "Maybe. Or maybe it knows what scares us most and that's what we see."

   "The Devil himself lives here, right here in this very shit hole and I've waited a very long time for this moment; to be free."

    There was a moment of tension-filled silence as the young h/c girl looked up at the slouching figure. The girl clutches her teddy bear tightly to her chest - the sad old thing nearly worn down to threads - tears pooling in her e/c eyes as she stares on in horror at the distant relative. Old and senile he was, why her mother brought her here she didn't know. Y/n would later figure out that it was a final visit of sorts. A last chance to meet some of her family. And while her mother stepped out of the room to retrieve a simple glass of water for the man, he turned unexpectedly to his grandniece and imparted the words she would never forget.

    "He's in your closet, under your bed. He's everywhere, always, watchin' you. Waiting for the right moment to snatch you up. And he will get you. He always gets you... he got her, I told her not to go, but she was adventurous you see, much like you kids are these days, and mother didn't like that and she always told us; 'you mind yourself or I'll tell him. I'll tell him...'"

    The old man's glossy eyes drifted away, his voice trailing as he was lost in the memory; reliving it all over again.

    "Tell who? Who is he?" The young girl asked tearfully?"

    He broke from his trance and he looked at her with cold and fearful eyes.

    "The Boogeyman." Y/n croaked, breaking from her stupor.

    The Losers all looked to their friend in the grass. The color was drained from her [s/c] skin, and her eyes were distant and glassy. Her left leg had inched gradually up and was now clutched tightly against her chest protectively. Seven pairs of eyes were now fixed on her and she gulped.

    "My great uncle Henry, I only met him once when I was about five or six, but he- he told me about how he saw the Boogeyman. Not much else, but the way he described It... I don't know, it always stuck with me. I've been afraid of It ever since and then-" Her eyes met Beverly's and she knew she had connected the dots.

    "Your ankle." She finished.

    Y/n nodded. She shifted in the grass uncomfortably before looking around at her friends. Some of them confused, others connecting dots of their own, but still intrigued and listening.

    "When school got out, Bev slept over." Y/n began, filling in Mike especially. "We both fell asleep with the TV on, it woke me up so I got up to turn it off, and then, just as I started to drift off I felt Bev pull on my leg several times. But, I woke up and realized she was fast asleep."

    She shook her head, trying to rid herself of the nerves that came crawling back even now. She fixed her eyes on the grass below her, and her fingers worked themselves into the ground. Y/n began fiddling with eh blades of grass, twirling them and ripping some from the ground as she continued.

    "Next thing I know, It's pulling me across the carpet and my leg is torn to shreds. It looked like what I always imagined the Boogeyman to be, but... but it also looked like-"

    "A clown."

    She had to turn her body slightly to look at Eddie, but she nodded, confirming everyone's suspicions from the day before.

    "Yeah, I saw a clown too. But It was also a leper." Eddie saw the confused looks scattered across his friends. "He was like a walking infection."

    Eddie felt himself fighting his bodily instincts to vomit, still repulsed by the vivid memory. Stan, who had been squirming in his seat the entire exchange, fought desperately to deny the gory truth that lay before them. Trying to convince everyone, himself especially, that this thing couldn't exist. Cause if It did, it would be all too terrible.

    "But you didn't," his voice trembled. "Because It isn't real. None of this is. Not Eddie's leper. Or Bill seeing Georgie, or-or woman I keep seeing." His voice broke, he looked down at his feet and the others knew.

    He was trying to convince himself.

    "She hot?" Richie asked with a half-smirk.

    Stan gave Richie an incredulous look, and his voice rose.

    "No Richie! She's not hot! Her face is all messed up. None of this makes any sense. They're all like bad dreams."

    Mike spoke up, unable to tiptoe around him any longer.

    "I don't think so. I know the difference between a bad dream, and real life, okay? Besides, look at Y/n's leg! How do you explain that?"

    Y/n gave Mike a thankful nod, and Eddie asked the question she had at the end of her tongue.

    "What'd you see? You saw something, too?"

    "Yes," Mike answered somberly, and he took a deep breath. "Do you guys know that burned-down house on Harris Avenue?"

    Y/n nodded, encouraging Mike to continue.

    "I was inside when it burned down." Mike began fiddling with his hands nervously, and Bill could feel his heartache. "Before I was rescued, my mom and dad were trapped in the next room over from me. They were... pushing and pounding on the door, trying to get to me."

    Mike's voice broke and he fought hard against the tears that threatened to spill. His heart was breaking in two all over again, he rarely spoke of the incident, always much too saddened by it and each time he did he could hear their frightened screams and the scratches against the door.

    "trying to get to me." There was a pause, and Mike swallowed the swollen lump in his throat. "But it was too hot. When the firemen finally found them, the skin on their hands had melted down to the bone."

    "Mike," Y/n felt at a loss for words, but all she could manage was a simple few. "I'm so sorry."

    He shrugged, and everyone could tell he was already beginning to rebury the memory.

    "We're all afraid of something."

    "You got that right." Richie quipped.

    Everyone looked to the boy and Y/n asked gently.

    "What about you, Rich? What are you afraid of?"

    His eyes flickered to Eddie against his will, and he ignored the spike in his heart rate when he did so. Everyone was staring at him now and he gulped, looking over his shoulder to see a clown on the stage across the field, staring at him. He returned his gaze to the group, and swallowed nervously, adjusting his bulky glasses.

    "Clowns."

×××

@seasidecrowbar​​ @milliehatespeople​​ @supernovavisionary​​ @readyforitbitch​​  @geniedocroe​​ @sivords​​  @ravenclawsprincess​​ @pigwidgexn​​ @kricketwritesstories​​ @beep-beep-tozier​​ @plum-duels​​ @edmunds-torch​​ @eddiegaykaspbrak​​ @rosi3e​​ @welcome-to-derry​​ @beepbeep-pennywise​​ @candycorntroll​​  @bibliophilesquared​​ @ongaku-ato-kakikomi​​ @cocastyle​​ @peachysinnermon​​ @mochiuris​​ @captainshazamerica​​ @kaitlynjones12​​ @songbird-writes​​ @traceylader​​ @eggytozier​​ @annimalq​​ @lexylovesfandoms​​ @russian-romanova​​ @paigey-mcfreedomly​​  @whitetrash12345  @witch-of-all-things-soft​​  @thatsjoemazzellosbbg​​ @blogforhoes​​

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!

#it #it 2017 #it rewrite #it 2017 x reader #it 2017 rewrite #eddie kaspbrak x reader #slight reddie #eddie kaspbrak 2017 #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #beverly marsh #mike hanlon #stan uris #stanley uris #ben hanscom #bill denbrough #it y/n l/n #hush hush hush #here comes the bogey man #boogeyman #boogie man #hush hush hush here comes the bogey man #chapter seven #chapter seven hush hush hush

[fitsofgloom]

Hush, Hush, Hush, Here Comes The Bogey Man . . .

#weirdsville

[fandominspiredplaylists]

Vintage Halloween Spotify

//tracklist// 1. The House is Haunted - Russ Columbo // 2. Spooks - Louis Armstrong & Gordon Jenkins // 3. Mysterious Mose - Don Neely // 4. White Ghost Shivers - The New Orleans Owls // 5. Bogey Wail - Jack Hylton // 6. The Yodeling Ghost - Bing Crosby & The Andrews Sisters // 7. Headless Horseman - Kay Starr // 8. Dancing With The Devil - Victor Arden & Phil Ohman // 9. Jeepers Creepers - Billie Holiday & Benny Goodman // 10. Witchcraft - Frank Sinatra // 11. The Skeleton In The Closet - Putney Dandridge // 12. Autumn Leaves - Nat King Cole // 13. With Her Head Tucked Underneath Her Arm - Rudy Vallee // 14. Halloween - Betty Grable & David Wayne // 15. Celery Stalks At Midnight - Les Brown // 16. The Boogie Man - Todd Rollins & Chick Bullock // 17. At the Devils Ball - Maurice Burkhart // 18. The Ghost of Smokey Joe - Cab Calloway // 19. The Little Man Who Wasn't There - Glenn Miller // 20. Autumn Serenade - Joanie Summers // 21. Mr. Ghost Goes to Town - The Five Jones Boys // 22. Strange Enchantment - Marion Mann & Bob Crosby // 23. Ghost of the St Louis Blues - Spats Langham // 24. Hush Hush Hush Here Comes the Bogey Man - Henry Hall // 25. satan Takes a Holiday - Tommy Dorsey //

#not fandom inspired #holiday playlist #halloween playlist #vintage #vintage music #vintage playlist #fandominspiredplaylists #halloween #vintage aesthetic #halloween aesthetic #happy halloween

[tfc2211]

(Weird-O-Matic Wax)

Also Can Be Played Here ▶ Halloween Spookshow Vol 11

☠ Introduction to “Alfred Hitchcock’s Ghost Stories for Young People” ☠ The Emersons - Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde ☠ Baron Daemon & The Vampires - Ghost Guitars ☠ Jack Rivers - Haunted House Boogie ☠ “Monsters a Go-Go” spookshow promo ☠ The Deadly Ones - There’s a Creature in the Surfer’s Lagoon ☠ John Harrison, “Creepshow” OST - Prologue/The Creepshow Welcomes You ☠ Benae Carol - The Werewolf ☠ Scotty Macgregor & His Spooks - I’m a Monster ☠ Henry Hall & His Orchestra - Hush, Hush, Hush, Here Comes the Bogey Man ☠ “Don’t Look in the Basement” radio spot ☠ Goblin, “Patrick” OST - Metamorphosi ☠ The Blenders - Graveyard ☠ Carl Stalling - Music from Disney’s “Haunted House” ☠ The Monstrosities - Igor’s Party ☠ Dickie Goodman - Frankenstein Meets the Beatles ☠ The Beach-Niks - It Was a Nightmare ☠ Philippe d’Aram, “La morte vivante” OST - Le Suicide ☠ “The Bird With Crystal Plumage” radio spot ☠ The Three Ds - Graveyard Cha Cha ☠ The Five Jones Boys - Mr. Ghost Goes to Town ☠ Excerpt from “William Castle’s Ghost Story: Thrilling, Chilling Sounds of Fright & the Supernatural” ☠ Ennio Morricone, “La corta notte delle bambole di vetro” OST - Valzer

#Halloween Music #Volume 11 #Halloween Tunes #Halloween

[craneisnthere]

CHARACTER PLAYLIST!

I need to post more original content if I want to be Part Of This Community, I am well aware, so I figured I would share with you the Scarecrow themed playlist @existingghost and I made together!!!

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3cJyZBxT917jsXJFvwGsjD?si=27nMf8zBQTmNNm1cc1AfuA

Anyone who doesn’t have Spotify: the songs are as follows

Playlist is titled “Doctor Crane Isn’t Here.”

-S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W by My Chemical Romance

-Black Licorice by Sharon Needles

-Piano Wire by Sharon Needles

-The Perfect Drug by Nine Inch Nails

-Marilyn Manson’s This Is Halloween

-The Devil Went Down to Georgia by The Charlie Daniels Band

-Sweet Dreams (Are Made Of This) by Marilyn Manson

-Halloween Theme (the original) by John Carpenter

-Paralyzed by Mystery Skulls

-The Scorpion and The Frog/Trust Me from The Devil’s Carnival

-(Don’t Fear) The Reaper by Blue Öyster Cult

-Somebody’s Watching Me by Rockwell

-Thriller by Michael Jackson

-Friends on the Other Side from Princess and the Frog

-Spooky, Scary Skeletons by Andrew Gold

-Mr. Fear by SIAMES

-Seven Devils by Florence + The Machine

-Nightmare by Set It Off

-Counting Bodies Like Sheep To The Rhythm Of The War Drums by Perfect Circle

-End Of Days by Brown Bird

-Crow by Sasha Siem

-Flickers by Son Lux

-When You’re Evil by Aurelio Voltaire

-Reaper Man by Mother Mother

-Hush Hush Hush Here Comes the Bogey Man by Henry Hall And His Orchestra

-Welcome Home by Coheed and Cambria

-Daddy by AJJ

-You Are My Sunshine by alone.

-Fear & Delight by The Correspondents

-Scarecrow by McCafferty

-Hymn for a Scarecrow by Tally Hall

-Fearless by Pink Floyd

-Pale Machine by bo en

That’s it!!! I hope you guys like it and I’d love recommendations for things to add too!!!!

#jonathan crane #scarecrow #batman rogues #music #playlist #headcanon #drcraneposting #Spotify

[marshmellonew]

good morning! 👀😱

#i used to listen to this a lot cuz i was into that game alice is dead for like. two days lol #songs to hear and enjoy #i have a bed now!!!!!! i just wanna sleep all day but i have to work :/ #Spotify

[windhamsrotunda]

SAMMY GUEVARA - HIS FINAL DAYS (A Horror AEW Fanfic)

Summary: Sammy Guevara is stuck in the past, of the 1930s. He lost his Inner Circle friends in an AEW Match. After losing to Lance Archer; He suffers long term memory loss. Shows up he is a lonely, farmer who works for the pilgrims. (Set in 1935)

On a Wednesday night, In AEW Land; Sammy and his Inner Circle friends picked on the wrong person. That, my friends: was Lance Archer

Nobody wanted to fuck with him; but the Inner Circle was in debt. Especially, Sammy Guevara.

"SAMMY! NOOOOO!!" Chris Jericho yelled, watching his friend Sammy get brutally beatened.

*INSERT LANCE ARCHER IN THE GIF*

"Stop!!!!" Screamed Sammy in pain; Lance Archer wouldn't listen, he bashed his skull into the ring post. "CHRIS! WHAT SHOULD WE DO?!" Exclaimed the referee.

Blood. Everywhere. Sammy's Blood drenched the post, you could see his brain by now.

"ENOUGH LANCE!! SAMMY DIDN'T DO HORSE SHIT TO YOU!" Chris screamed, attempting to pull Sammy's weak body out of the now exposed concrete.

"Chris... if I die in front of all these die hard Spanish god fans... tell them I said... I love them." Sammy gasped, looking up at Jericho.

Chris weeped and stroked his best friend's bloody head. "So so sorry..." He repeated in whispers.

*1935*

"W-Where am I?" Said Sammy to himself; scared and confused. "And where is Chris?! Why is everything in black and white?!"

"Well, I reckon' that I be damned bout this boat!" Yelled a sailor.

The fuck. Thought Sammy.

He looked and he was in a boat with a random sailor.

"Well howdy!" Greeted the sailor, tipping his hat.

"I want to go home..." Sammy stated.

"Well where ye be living, son?" The sailor asked Sammy, extremely Confucius.

"I.... can't remember." Sammy sighed.

"Well yee haw this your new home now, you, me and some pilgrims. Teach ye te way of living farmers!" Exclaimed the sailor man in joy, giving his best 1930s laugh.

"No, this isn't happening." Thought Sammy once more.

*hours later*

*at the farm*

"Ain't no man's Land! Yes sir!" Sang the pilgrims.

"I'm not singing that stupid song." Sammy states in a shitty tone.

The pilgrims gasped and looked at one another.

"You sir will be executed..." the pilgrim says harshly, grabbing out his knife.

".... AIN'T NO MAN'S LAND! YES SIR!" Yelled the Spanish god.

"Mhm." The pilgrim hummed and put his knife back.

*skip to dinner time*

"The actual hell is this..." Sammy mumbled under his breath.

"Oh, it's called:

"

The nut farm... great.

"WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?!" Screamed the sailor, in disgust.

"Ooh, delicious".

"Ye going to hell!" The sailor quickly pulled out his hand gun and shot Sammy.

Sammy fell his feet and coughed up blood. "I... want to go home..." He breathed.

"You are home, son." States the pilgrim.

Sammy finally closed his eyes and took one final breath. Those were the last days of Sammy Guevara.

*FAST REWIND TO THE LANCE ARCHER INCIDENT*

"Hush little Sammy don't you cry; all the Inner Circle is gonna watch you die!" Chris and the rest of the Inner Circle sang possessively.

"And when Lance Archers done with you, he's gonna come back and get us too!"

End.

@luna-obscura @xwicker-manx @theworldofotps @kittysilver86

:)

#sammy guevara #aew on tnt

[black-equals-mysoul]

Pitch, have you heard the song 'Hush, Hush, Hush Here Comes The Bogey Man' by Henry Hall? What do you think of it?

“I have to say, I have not heard it. But I shall definitely check it out.....it sounds interesting.” Pitch grinned.

[purkinje-effect]

The Anatomy of Melancholy, 73: Courting Disaster

Table of Contents. Third Instar, Chapter Four. Go to previous. Go to next. TW: Canon-typical body horror, insects, butchery mention, mild robot discrimination, food description.

So many people, so little time.

_________________

Although once a DeMarco-Boyle Housewares, this space no longer prided itself in selling quality furniture, appliances, or other domestic goods. 'Choly, Sticks, and Angel followed a wide corridor. ‘Choly took in the interiors of the place, mentally distanced from the clack of his cane on the wood flooring. With its complex, radiating door frames, and austere, faintly metallic chevron wallpaper, he could nearly believe the building had always been laid out in such a way--if not for its unusual inverted curly light bulbs and the chartreuse-to-vermillion tint they cast. They passed a dozen or so people before the corridor opened into a lobby, whose mode of dress suggested coarser more contemporary fabrics in unrestrictive, breathable cuts. Though something to which he normally wouldn’t have payed attention, it irritated his read of the place that he couldn’t with any confidence definitively say the color of anything.

He shrank smaller, if only internally.

The closer to the interior entrance to the mall, the more distinctly ‘Choly could discern the sounds of socializing. A stout Latin woman with teal-streaked victory rolls and dark heavy makeup sat at the front desk, bored with her literature. Above the desk, a sign from the ceiling read “Anchor Inn Concierge.” He nodded to himself, understanding very little.

As they stepped into the mall proper, 'Choly's jaw slacked. He had underestimated the population of this settlement. Unable to visually count everyone in open walkways or in shops, he instead returned his attention to the building itself. Store fronts of both floors now boasted neoteric neon lettering and icons, all in the same strange glow as the fixtures in the Anchor Inn... and the massive armillary-reminiscent chandeliers. Brilliantly streaked Barre granite comprised all the main interior façade, ornamented with all manner of sleek nautical lines and rounded corners. In intervals, an unassuming yet oppressive angular bronze-patina face repeated along both sides of the second story’s frieze, from intricate, motion-traced niches. He unlikely would have noticed them, if not for the chandeliers; though the skylights let in some amount of natural light, it would otherwise have been all but pitch dark inside without its unusual fluorescent fixtures.

Arriving at the first crossway, to their left lay an anchor location called The Hall, and their right, an anchor which read See’s. Sticks had to stop and think a moment before they continued to their left. ‘Choly’s head tilted, but he followed, suddenly admiring the teal and coral chevron tiling floor.

“I thought you wanted the food court,” ‘Choly mumbled, doing his best to keep close. “Is this place really running like a prewar shopping mall?”

“In a lot of ways, Ant Lane is a holdover from the before times,” Sticks replied. “Some tradition’s held fast, but it’s also adapted so people could legit live here. I told you earlier, let me handle the finances. I’ve got to see a fella about a can of Cram.”

The Grey & Gould Jewelers to the immediate left of entrance to The Hall, once a Fallon’s Department Store, now touted itself as a gold and silver exchange. ‘Choly nearly committed to staying outside with Angel, except the Mister Handy did not hesitate to enter with Sticks. He reclaimed his composure and followed.

Again, that green-red light illuminated the glass-top display counters and their contents. Hurricane fence provided a grate between customer and clerk; behind it, safe deposit boxes lined the two longest walls. He opted to stay out of Sticks’s way and instead browsed the various goods on display. Ancient jewelry, trinkets, and implements amounted to much of what he could lay eyes upon. He supposed it wasn’t so strange that weapons were absent from this pawn shop, but noticing it consciously set him on edge. Angel remained glued to him as he endeavored to identify if any of the jewelry caught his attention.

The broker did instead. It wore a blond hornet’s nest beehive, clearly a wig, a faded silk necktie, and nothing else. Its dark sunken eyes studied both his ghoul companion and the valuables laid out on a velvet tray, as did the two and a half long, thin, sinewy tentacles which seemed to have replaced its tongue. Its trapezius-thick neck and broad shoulders supported a head jutted forward, but its pale, muscular, mangled, venous torso lacked arms until the hip region. ‘Choly both loathed and appreciated that the counter itself censored what the lower half of the creature must have looked like, but he could make out at least two hands supporting its slouch across its side of the counter.

His cane dropped from his arm to the vinyl wood floor, eliciting the attention of the three other customers, the broker, and the blond ghoul. Angel picked it up for him and handed it back.

“Sir, you seem most on edge,” it spoke at a hush.

“I don’t think that’s an Unfolded.”

“Hard to say, though I suspect you’re right. You should go accompany Mister Hawthorne. You emphasized before how much you wanted to be up to speed with things. What better way than to be involved?”

He agreed with it. Once the shop resumed its activity, he sidled up to Sticks with bated breath.

“See anything you like?” the ghoul entrepreneur asked him with a furtive side glance. “And please don’t say Darryl.”

‘Darryl,’ the broker, slapped Sticks’s right hand playfully with a tentacle, and made eye contact with ‘Choly. The chemist let out a tepid chuckle and wiggled the fingers of a hand upheld, and Darryl waved back with a guttural affirmative.

“What you’re up to interests me more.” He squinted in thought watching Darryl resume plucking at a glass abacus while scrutinizing Sticks’s valuables. “...Wait a fuckin’ minute. If I had to cover the cost of your Pip-Boy with all my gold and silver, then where did this come from?”

Sticks stuttered, and crossed his arms to quieten a nervous laugh.

“Well, I couldn’t just leave all this stuff in the golf course safe. You weren’t about to press that robot to fork it up, now, were you?”

“You mean to say you stole all that from Bogey!” Angel exclaimed, furious. “How could you!“

“You’re right to point it out. Wicked big deal that I did separate these liquid assets from Bogey,” he grinned, watching Darryl in encouragement that the creature continued its appraisal. “We’re both broke as fuck. Aside from some clothes for you, we gave everything from the golf course to Sanctuary. This stuff is the only way we’re going to afford anything while we’re here, Mindy.”

Sticks’s angle stymied both chemist and robot. Meanwhile, Darryl had taken up a handheld chalkboard and diligently written on it with chalk in tentacle. It held up for them its declaration, crabbed and rapid, but no less efficacious: It’s impossible to steal from robots. They don’t have belongings. Knowing history on curios influences appraisal. Screwing over a robot’s worth 20% bonus. ‘Choly snorted, wide-eyed and aghast, but decided that saying anything further would just dig him in deeper. Sticks chuckled and applauded. Darryl gestured to the abacus, but neither could discern the value he’d arrived upon, so it erased its board and printed it right in the center of the tablet: 1260.

“Holy shit, man. You’re always too good to me.”

The amount of caps quoted choked ‘Choly up. Darryl went to the back of the room to scoop the payout from a bin, into a large fabric drawstring bag on a scale. The creature returned and slid the tray of the Cram tin’s contents under the counter. It plopped down the sack in front of Sticks, eliciting a pleasant grin.

“You’re a pleasure, my friend. Thank you.”

Darryl’s parting gesture by tentacle could have been genial or hostile, but ‘Choly waved again regardless, sticking even closer to Angel than before.

“You still all right to walk?” Sticks asked, sliding the sack into his apron. “The food court’s all the way at the other end of the mall, and you already look like you’re struggling. These folks might not like that security let Angel in here, but they can’t argue with a guy needing a wheelchair.”

“Do allow me to help you, Sir. It ails me, to feel as though I must divide myself up until there’s nothing. Surely, you could manage the trip atop me?”

“Why the fuck do they hate robots?” he snarled, mounting Angel mostly in spite. He teetered upright with the reins, but held steady, glaring at the green-red internally lit glass shaft in the crossway which once hosted the mall’s central functioning elevator. “The Rust Devils didn’t come through here, did they? And what is Darryl!?”

“Wish I knew.” Sticks shrugged. “ The sentiment goes back a long way. Glad you’re rising above it, though.”

His frustrations distilled into a short-tempered sigh.

“Getting down there is one thing. Getting back to the inn will be another. --We are returning to the inn, right?”

“Only board available to visitors.”

Along the way, pockets of people in the walkway stopped to watch ‘Choly ride his Mister Handy, varying from appalled to impressed to confused. Without the requirement to heed the method of his gait, he more easily took in details around him from his vantage. A few black ants the size of house cats wandered through the mall, and its denizens didn’t so much as bat a lash, with the exception of two or three happily coddled as though pets. Children accounted for an appreciable percent of the population, as did ghouls. No other denizen resembled Darryl. Though he did not pause to browse, several pop-up tent kiosks at the center of the walkway enticed him despite their continued tradition of seeking one’s attention by any means necessary. He halted where the mall took a slight bend, staring at a large store which looked to host nothing but thousands of pieces of lambent glass, hung from the walls and ceiling.

“Burlington glass,” Sticks said. “It’s pretty, I guess. Pretty weird. Don’t want to know what’s in it to make it go.”

“The glow must last a long time, if it’s in the chandeliers.”

“Yeah, those folks handle all that. They’re electricians. Or maybe not, since there’s no electricity involved. I don’t think. All the lights, that’s their doing.”

“The installments are certainly not electrical,” Angel agreed.

Rather than speculate himself, he progressed the group on. At the second crossway of the mall, the guards processed visitors at the main entrance to Ant Lane to his left. To his right, the still-named Sutter Grove had become something between a library and bookstore. Straight ahead, the anchor store’s entrance façade still retained the staggered framed lettering of a General Atomics, though the title now read Customs House.

The food court lay between the Customs House and Sutter Grove. The Laners had erected a roof-high wall of salvaged car hoods and gull wing doors hoods to separate it from the walkway. Four armored guards screened both the incoming and outgoing traffic of its entrance, an extra measure of their guarantee of thoroughness. ‘Choly’s breathing shallowed as he dismounted in preparation of complying yet again.

He knew better than to question it. He remembered the harrowing checkpoints at Deenwood.

“Anchor Inn security warned us you’d be this way,” one of the guards said. “Can’t say why the Aldermen would okay your robot, but none of us is right to argue. No weapons, right?”

Angel demonstrated yet again, with a flourished weariness quickly becoming routine.

Two guards, both correctly male this time, patted down ‘Choly and Sticks.

“That some kind of bulletproof vest?” one asked ‘Choly.

“It’s a sort of back brace.” He bristled when the guard untucked his shirt and pulled up it and the cardigan to inspect his lower back. The guard could barely tuck a finger between the material and his skin.

“Can you even breathe under that thing?”

“Better than without it, that’s for sure. Are we all right to go in?”

“Ehh...” The first guard clicked the car handle button on one of the lowest gull doors in the wall. Once the pneumatic hinge raised it out of the way, he reached through to pull the handle of a second door, which opened the other direction. “Bone appetite.”

‘Choly sighed once the court-side door shut, relieved they had not bothered to check inside Angel, but the next breath slammed his olfactories. Aromas of roasted meat and fresh baked goods mingled with the tang of raw seafood and sharpness of bulk spices. He prinked at his shirt tails while his senses acclimated. Eight white Egyptian revival columns rounded the octagonal space, but no longer neatly divided the restaurants and grocers’ kiosks from the seating area. Tall standing lamps supported swirled Burlington bulbs similar to the chandeliers. ‘Choly looked at the bulbs a fraction too long, and their wavelength burned a reverse in his vision for some time. He rubbed at his eyes beneath his glasses, hoping to locate some kind of fresh food that might agree with him.

He realized the name ‘SEE’S’ emblazoned all the guards’ armor, even those at the main entrance and the Anchor Inn.

Sticks already seemed to have his stomach made up over dinner, though he still accompanied ‘Choly eyeing everything. Many fresh dishes resembled thick stews or dumplings. He could identify chowder and fruit pies without question, but struggled with all else. Menus’ numbering often contained slashes and several symbols, typically in a variation of P/C/$. A few listed ‘PULLS ONLY.’

“Those are the prices, then? And the exchange rate?”

Of course cash would be worth the least, typically requiring four or five times more.

“Cash, caps, pulls. Hope you like Vim,” he grinned aside.

‘Choly toed disgust and confusion.

“Vim?”

They wandered the grocers and spice merchants in curiosity. A couple of merchants shooed away ants trying to get into their wares, negotiating with them to behave sooner than strike at them in any way. The one restaurant that had existed before the mall’s repurposing which did not offer prepared food, housed the butchers with the largest selection. Much of it lay on ice beds in twin large deli refrigerators. ‘Choly skimmed all the different cuts of meat, seemingly more intent on feeding his brain than his body. Opalescent Mirelurk appendages and their louse-like hatchlings, like deformed crustaceans. Iridescent Fog crawler and Stingwing tails reminded him of overgrown lobsters. Husked Bloatfly and Bloodbug thoraxes, unidentifiably lumpy if not for the meat price tags. Dark Radstag rump and shank, ribs, and loin. Ruddy, well-marbled Brahmin flanks and tenderloin. All kinds of eggs filled one shelf, even some small jars labeled ‘Mirelurk roe.’ Skinned Pelts hung behind the counter, along with chickens strung by the neck, and rabbits strung by their feet.

Two girls ran the counter. The spindly elder, no more than sixteen, had long straight dark hair with a fringe, and wore a frog-knotted tweed bolero shrug over a crepe chemisette with a high lace collar, bedecked in jingling aluminum junk jewelry. While another patron arranged an order with her, she casually cracked into a can of Vim Refresh, ritualistically separating the ring pull tab from the can to pocket it. ‘Choly could hear the discussion involved Radfowl, and eavesdropped to reassure himself. The demure younger girl, likely no older than twelve, had short curly hair and wore a too-big cardigan over a too-many-layered pinafore. From a stool beside her workbench, she diligently tackled butchering the mutated geese the hunters had brought inside. Their Neapolitan mastiff lay calmly beneath the counter.

Several other prewar animal meats appeared amongst the mutants, but the one which stood out to ‘Choly had the label Iguana. Too many textures, colorations, and shapes comprised the hefty pile of over-butchered meat for him to believe it all originated from the same creature. He frowned to Sticks, who’d turned from the ice bed display to scan the court in thought.

“There’s wild iguanas running around?” he mumbled to the ghoul, with worried inflection. “None of that looks like lizard meat.”

“Hm? What, oh.” Sticks looked for the Iguana on display, and ‘Choly pointed to it. Hesitant, he dug for the right phrasing. “It’s slang for meat that you’re not sure where it came from. If you’re hungry enough, it’s hard to stay picky.”

“Can’t waste a thing these days, can we?” the elder ribbed in a viscous Maine accent, having just finished up with her customer. She draped herself over the deli counter to sip at her soda. “Name’s Phin. Little Lucy Grandchester over there’s my sis Wanda. And that down there with a watchful eye, that’s Box. We’ve got just about any cut of meat you could crave.” Her face messed up through a swig. “...Think I’d recognize two geezers with a robot. How the hell did you smuggle in that thing?”

“We didn’t smuggle anything!” ‘Choly defended. “I’m Melancholy.”

“...Yeah, well. You just gonna loiter? You’re blocking the path to paying customers here. Scram!” She finished off the drink and threw it at them. ‘Choly’s reflexes couldn’t get his hands up fast enough, and it beaned him in the mouth. She pumped a fist and stood to get another soda from buried under the ice. “Two points!”

‘Choly rubbed at his mouth and scowled, teetering on wielding his cane in retaliation. Sticks and Angel pulled him along, the former laughing at his pouting.

“...’Two points’... My face is not a basketball hoop...”

A flighty, younger man stopped them. He had slicked hair, plus-fours, an afghan-knit ulster, and a large lace shawl with no shirt.

“--Hey, listen. Word of advice, since you looked so interested there. Best be keen about what you buy from the Clark sisters. They’re turning a pretty pull by making sure they’ve always got Iguana for sale, but nobody could say for sure how come they’ve had so much lately. I’ve had my suspicions for a few months now, but I’ve seen it a few days ago. They’ve been provoking the Royces up the Lane, then scooping up what gets blasted off. And I’m positive similar could be said of the Radfowl hunt earlier.”

“I know full well what Iguana might be,” Sticks insisted, no less repulsed by the implications than before. “Sounds like you’re the girls’ competition.”

“Not that there’s any competition for their knife skills, but I’m no butcher. Look, your robot helped them out something wicked. Lots of small parts no one else bothered with. A PERSON could be next! You’d better turn that thing off the moment the ants say so! Or we’ll--”

“--I’m right before you, mate,” Angel spat. “I believe I’ve had enough of this hostile attitude. I attend my owner--and friend--to assure they’re taken care of. We’ve all complied with your settlement’s regulations. I mean no harm, and I swear by Asimov that I would never chop up any moral, law abiding citizen!”

“Just what a robot would say,” he sneered, fed up with the pair. “I have better things to do than argue with a flaming tin can.”

“Good,” Sticks muttered. “So do we.”

“Among other things, I’m brass,” Angel sniveled on their way to where Sticks had clearly wanted to eat from the start. “Not a tin part in me!”

“We know, chap. We know. Now, my belly’s getting impatient like you. How can we interest Mister Carey in eating tonight? Ant Lane’s food court has a bring-your-own-bowl policy, but this place has killer bread bowl stews. Dinner’s on me.”

The savory, yeasty aroma of the restaurant snared him, and he hemmed.

“...I’ll give it a shot. As long as it isn’t Iguana.”

Sticks eyed the menu.

“Radfowl tonight.”

‘Choly’s mouth skewed.

“Looks like we ended up seeing the fruits of our effort earlier anyway.”

“...Yeah, but now it costs me some pulls.”

Sticks ordered for them. Angel carried their tray in one tendril, and a Vim in each of the others, and took them to sit at a vacant cafe table. After setting down their meal and providing utensils from its storage, it held ‘Choly’s cane for him.

“Spasibo.”

“But of course! What are friends for? Now dig in, gentlemen!”

Beneath the lid sliced from the crusty boule, the center of the bread had been scooped out to house a thick creamy stew of earthy vegetables and tender nuggets of dark meat Radfowl. A few spoonfuls in, and ‘Choly swam in how hearty the whole thing was. He bit into the bread lid with a crunch, then sopped with the remainder of it, eyelids heavy with comfort.

He had his reservations opening his chilled can of Vim, but when he needed a drink, he popped the pull tab on it. He distrusted his ability to drink from the opening without cutting his mouth, if he folded the tab off now, but he promised himself he’d do so before discarding it. A sip yielded herbal flavors more at home to a tonic than a cola. Burdock shone out more strongly than any hint of sarsaparilla, with a bright, somewhat grassy back flavor of orange-vanilla. He hadn’t remembered much liking Vim before, but he liked it well enough now.

He took another bite of his stew. When he looked over to Sticks, the ghoul was already half done, ripping into his bowl to dip with.

“Delicious, though this thing’s so big. I don’t think I can eat it all.”

“I’ll be more than happy to help you finish anything you can’t,” Sticks smirked. “I always look forward to this place every time I visit. I can’t get ‘em but every few years, with how my travel arrangements tend to work out.”

‘Choly noticed then that Sticks had ordered more than the two bread bowl stews and two sodas: a slice of warm latticed pie sat on a square of parchment.

“Can’t not start off our stay at Ant with an apple pie. Some prewar comforts are still around. Split it with me? Surely, you’ll have room for at least a bite.”

‘Choly fell doe eyed.

“Fresh bread, familiar desserts. You’re right. I do think I like it here.”

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#fallout #fallout 4 #fallout 4 fanfic #fallout fanfic #sole survivor #ghoul oc #fan settlement #nashua nh #pheasant lane mall #sticks #melancholy #angel #mister handy

[marblesarelost]

Change Your Mind, Change Your Life

                                         CHAPTER FIVE

Her throat was raw for the next two days from the strength of her scream.

Later, all Darcy would remember was her vision suddenly being covered by green, Doom whirling his cloak over her and turning, placing his body between hers and the blast. Thankfully, he didn’t throw her to the concrete floor and dive on top of her or anything like that; he probably ran about two twenty to two fifty, it would have hurt like hell.  Instead, though, strong arms encased in faintly glowing metal wrapped around her, holding her up as the floor shook.  “No, you are safe, I will not allow any harm to come to you,” he rumbled in her ear, and for just a second, half a second, she allowed herself to be comforted.

“But the others,” she protested, “they were sitting --“

“We will see what has happened to the Avengers in a moment, and you may call for assistance from whoever might be able to help.  For now, we must wait; there are still missiles being fired.”

“Who,” she choked out, “whoever did this, whoever did this, they have opened up such a goddamn can of whoopass…”  

“What an interesting idiom. And yes.  They have.  They have attacked a home where the King of Atlantis and the Lord Protector of Latveria were being treated as honored guests.  They will know the wrath and the fury of the Sub-Mariner, and of Doom.” The noise was dying down.  “I will release you in a moment; find cover. Three, two, one, go.”  His arms uncrossed from around her, the green falling away, and she could see the door to the common room.  

“Be careful,” she said, then ran forward, jerking the door open and heading through the kitchen into the TV room.  “FRIDAY, status report?”

“No known casualties at this time.  Mark 16 and RESCUE were initiated when Sir saw the incoming bogeys. All of the other Avengers dove into the pool as the first missile was fired.”

“Okay,” Darcy breathed. “Okay.  Where’s Steve’s shield, Friday?”

“Captain Rogers’ shield is in his quarters.”

“Emergency override his lock.  SHOCKER-Alpha-3-9-6SW,” she said, running for the elevator.  “Who else needs their weapons?”

“Falcon does not have his wings, and Hawkeye does not have his bow.”

“Damn it,” she sighed. “Do they have other weapons up there that they can use?”

“Currently, both are firing Glocks.”

“They need more than that,” Darcy muttered as the elevator door opened on the residential floor, and she ran down the hall to Steve’s quarters.  Opening the door, she saw the shield beside his couch.  Grabbing it, she headed out again.  “How heavy are Falcon’s wings, FRIDAY?”  Because the shield by itself was heavy enough she was having to use both hands.  “More strength training, Darce,” she muttered to herself.

“Hey Darce,” Sam’s voice sounded over the intercom system.  “Don’t worry about my wings, sugar, we’ve already got enough flyers out here to make things really interesting, especially since I’ve never worked with Doom or Namor.”

“You sure, Sam?”

“Yep.”

“Okay.  Does Clint want his bow and quiver?”

“Negative.”

“Oh.  Okay.  I’m bringing Steve the shield, though.”

“He’ll appreciate that; he’s pissed ‘cause he’s having to hide at the moment.”

“Tell him I’ll be there in a minute.”

She was upstairs again, and now she was pissed.  Oh, she was pissed.   She stopped at the door to peek out from around it, and her breath caught. War Machine and Iron Man were blasting the hell out of what appeared to be a red suit of armor, while Namor and Doom were busy kicking in the faceplate of another.  A third was being kept busy by Clint, Natasha, and Sam, while Steve stood helplessly fretting nearby, She-Hulk holding him back.

“Hey Rogers,” she shouted, stepping into view.  “Catch!” She threw the shield with both hands like a discus in his general direction.

“Lewis, you’re a lifesaver,” Steve called, leaping to catch the wobbling airborne disk.  He rolled as he came down again, jumping up and launching the shield at the armor that Black Widow, Hawkeye, and Falcon were firing at. It hit the chest mounted machine gun, bending it sideways, ricocheted into the side of the building, then back to Steve’s hand.

She-Hulk leapt from the building toward that armored attacker a split second afterward, making the jump, but barely.  She held onto the assailant, however, and started pulling pieces off of the armor, digging her strong green fingers into the suit, its defense systems all but useless against her.  Sure, she could be shocked.  Sure, it hurt.  But nothing like it would do to an unenhanced person.  Darcy watched, her mouth open, as she tore the faceplate away from the helmet, exposing a woman who couldn’t be much older than Darcy.  A single punch from She-Hulk was all it took to knock the pilot out.

What she hadn’t taken into account was that an unconscious pilot meant that the suit was going down, her scream echoing between the buildings as she and her foe plummeted toward the earth.  Namor left Doom to deal with their opponent, diving through the night sky as easily as he cut through water, and Darcy crossed her fingers. “Please,” she murmured.  “Please, please…”

A flurry of laser shots drew her attention back to the battle in the sky.  Doom’s opponent was giving it all he had, obviously, but Doom only hovered there, letting his unseen foe fire at him at point blank range. Until he had had enough, that is. “You have made a grave error,” he proclaimed, reaching out his hand a lot like Darth Vader’s force-choke.  The suit began to crumple, Darcy could hear it, the metal squashing and screeching as it folded in on itself.  “You have angered Doom.”

“Holy shit.”  Darcy glanced to the side to see Clint watching beside her.  “Why the hell didn’t he do that before?”

“I don’t know,” Darcy replied.  “Maybe you can ask him in a minute.”

“Yeah,” Clint agreed. “Think I will.”  He looked down at his Stitch patterned swimming trunks. “Fuckers got a hole in my new trunks, too.”

“Aww.  I’ll patch it for you this weekend,” Darcy offered.

“You’re a treat, Darce.”

“Did Namor catch --“ she began, and Clint nodded.

“Yep.  Looked to me like he was controlling the fall rather than trying to drag them back up, though.  I gotta go downstairs and help collect them.”  His shoulders sagged.  “You did good getting Steve his shield.  That helped.”  He sighed, standing straight again as Black Widow came to stand next to them.

“Barton.  Let’s go.”  

“Wait,” Darcy said, quickly untying her sarong and handing it to Widow.  “Here.”   For a second, ‘Tasha blinked out of Widow’s face, then faded away again as she nodded, wrapping the sarong around herself quickly into a full sleeveless dress before jerking her head to the door where Pepper stood, her gaze fully on the battle still raging between Iron Man, War Machine, and the last armored asshole. Doom was slowly lowering the one he had subued to the now wrecked pool as the last red armored adversary dodged a blast from Iron Man and knocked into him, hard.  The heap of scrap metal, for that’s what it was now, dropped the last twenty feet in free fall as Doom surged forward from the impact, then turned around, purple sparks flying off of him.

“Coward!”  He thundered, and Darcy couldn’t see what he did next, but the enemy armor suddenly thrashed about in the sky, its limbs flailing wildly and likely painfully, as Iron Man and War Machine backed away in the air.

“Holy SHIT!”  

“Fuck my life, son, you shoulda done that earlier,” War Machine said.

“I could not; you and Iron Man were in too close quarters, and this would likely have affected your armors as well.”  The armor stopped moving as quickly as it had begun, holding deathly still for a moment before it moved smoothly toward the building, ending up beside the mangled metal that had been its associate.  “Crimson Dynamos, are they not, Iron Man?”

“Yeah, that’s what it looks like,” Tony agreed, coming to a landing and flicking the suit off a few seconds later.  “Uh. This one…is this one dead, Doom?”

“No.”  He landed beside Tony, a few seconds before War Machine. “The pilot is alive.  Perhaps a bit worse for wear.  But alive.”  He stepped out of the way as Pepper ran to Tony, hugging him tightly, and Darcy could, would swear later that for a fraction of a second, just a fraction, she saw Doom’s perfect posture stiffen before he stalked back to the edge of the terrace, his back to them all.

“Fuck,” Darcy muttered, turning on her heel and running for the bar.  “FRIDAY, where does Tony keep the really, really good stuff?”

“Wine, champagne, or whiskey, Miss Lewis?”

“Any of it.  All of it,” Darcy snapped, her eyes sliding over labels.  “The good shit, FRIDAY, the Thank You For Being A Pal shit.”

“I would suggest the single malt Macallan Single Malt Craigallachie if you are celebrating the triumph.”

“Great.  Where’s that?”

“Third shelf from the top, to the left.”  Darcy stepped up on the stool, grabbed the bottle and two glasses; hopefully he drank his whiskey neat.  “How much is this bottle, FRIDAY?”

“The MSRP is three hundred dollars.”

“Great.  Take it out of my pay for the next couple months, would you?”  She was already in the kitchen before the AI could reply affirmatively, and out the door, picking her way around the rubble that had been the terrace pool five minutes earlier.  She waved at Rhodey and Tony, but never stopped moving until she was a few feet behind Doom.

“Lord Protector?”  She called softly.  He turned, he had to turn his whole torso to do so, she noticed, and saw her.  She held up the bottle and glasses.  “To the Victor goes the spoils?”

“Is that my Laphroaig, Lewis?”  Tony called from across the hole where the pool had been.

“Nope!  It’s something called Macallan…Craigie something, it came recommended,” she shouted back.  “And I already arranged to pay you for it, so hush.”

“Nah.  On the house,” Tony said.  “Doom, take five and have a drink with a pretty girl before SHIELD gets here; you’ll have to give a statement, damn it, I didn’t want --“ Tony was cut off by Pepper’s fingers over his lips.

“What Tony means to say, Lord Doom, is that he deeply appreciates your help tonight,” Pepper said, and Tony sighed.

“Yes.  Yes, that is what I want to say, seriously, I just…this isn’t what I wanted, I wanted to just kick back and have a good time and make new friends, goddamn it.”  Tony kicked at a piece of loose concrete.  “And you BASTARDS had to fucking RUIN it!”

“If it comforts you, Mr. Stark, that is exactly what I had hoped for this evening as well,” Doom said, turning all the way around at last.  “And I add my curse to yours.”

“Yeah,” Tony sighed. “Well.  Unfortunately, this comes from being my friend.”

“God, you have no idea,” Rhodey sighed.  “He’s been a trouble magnet since I’ve known him, building the suit didn’t change anything.” He wrapped one arm around Pepper’s waist, the other around Tony’s.  “Come on, you two.  Let’s go find our own bottle.”

The bottle was plucked from her fingers a moment later, and she wondered briefly, how did he move so fast and so silently?  Oh yeah, hovering, Darcy, he’s a fucking Sith Lord, remember?  “This is a very good Scotch,” he said lowly.  

“Yeah, well, you won. Practically single handed,” she shrugged.  “And hey, saving the plucky sidekick’s life comes with benefits.”

“Do not speak of yourself so.  You are, even on our short acquaintance, much more than the plucky sidekick.”  He opened the bottle, poured two fingers’ worth of liquor into both glasses.  “Prosit.”

“L’chaim,” she replied, touching her glass to his and sipping, the alcohol peaty, burning its way down her throat.  She didn’t cough, but her eyes watered.  “Damn,” she said after she caught her breath.  “I just remembered why I like Irish better.”

“Oh?  Then why did you choose this?”

“One, it’s one of Tony’s best, two, you seem like a Scotch kind of guy; complicated, with added fire.”

“That is…a very apt descriptor.  You used a Hebraic term for your toast; you’re Jewish?”

“Yep,” she nodded. “Not observant or anything, but yeah.” She sipped her drink again, glancing at the two subdued assholes.  “They’re not gonna wake up anytime soon, are they?”  He chuckled, and a shiver ran down her spine at the sound.

“Not likely.”  It wasn’t quite a growl, but it wasn’t far from it, either.  “I overloaded the subdermal receptors in one suit, causing a massive amount of biogenetic feedback.  Nothing that can’t be cured with a few weeks’ care.  As for the other, well.  The Grasping Hand is not known for subtlety.  There may be broken bones.  I’m afraid I have no sympathy for them; they meant to ambush unarmed people at a party, after all.”

“Yeah, I don’t have any sympathy for them myself at the moment,” Darcy agreed.  “So that’s what the Force Choke move is called?  The Grasping Hand?”

“Force Choke?”  He asked her, gesturing, and a pair of chairs and a table, knocked over to the wall by the missiles, rose, righting themselves. “I’m not sure I know the term.”

“Star Wars?  Darth Vader, Princess Leia, Luke Skywalker? Kylo Ren, Rey?  The Millennium Falcon?”  He shook his head as she named off each integral piece of the space opera.

“I am afraid I do not care for much modern media.  I have had other concerns.”

“Oh, um…yeah, okay,” she said, joining him as he walked over to the table and taking a seat.  “Star Wars.  It’s a movie franchise, very…at its core, it’s the Hero’s Journey, I guess, and the actual first three movies are awesome, the prequels are crap except for Rogue One, and we’re now waiting for the last in the current trilogy.”

“I see.  It is a cultural difference, I suppose; movies were never that important to me.”  He refilled her glass, and his own.  “Books were. Do you know Tolkien?”

“Three Rings for the Elven-Kings under the sky, seven for the Dwarf-Lords in their halls of stone, nine for mortal men, doomèd  to die, one for the Dark Lord on his dark throne, in the land of Mordor, where the shadows lie,” she quoted, and he nodded.

“Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatulûk, agh burzum-ishi krimpatul,” he intoned, purposely, she was sure, deepening his voice as he spoke the Black Tongue of Mordor.

“In the land of Mordor, where the shadows lie,” she repeated softly.  “Yeah.  Yeah, me and John Ronald, we go back.”

“Obviously,” he agreed.

“Also, the Black Speech?  Really?”

“It amused me, in my youth.”

“So,” she said after a moment.  “Are you Theoden awakened, then?  Or Boromir, regretful at the Falls?”  He didn’t answer her for several long minutes, taking a drink, considering his words.

“I think…” he began slowly.  “I think I am more Saruman, but a Saruman who has seen his folly.  I have broken the White, and become the Saruman of Many Colors; and now I am trying, perhaps, to regain my humility, and earn back my Staff of Office.”

“Or Bilbo,” she offered. “After giving up the One Ring.”

“No; no.  You are very kind, Miss --“ she glared at him, and he changed.  “Darcy. But I, like Saruman, have committed too many sins, and Bilbo did not.  No. I am Saruman if Saruman had come down at Orthanc, when Theoden and Gandalf and the Ents had cornered him.  I have come down, and I know I have a great deal of work to do to redeem myself.”

“Looks like you’re doing a good job of it, from my point of view,” she offered.

“Thank you.  There is a veritable Aegean stables to clean, however,” he sighed, “and the expedient way tempts me, always.”

“Change is hard,” she agreed.  “Changing as completely as you’ve done, that’s…that’s next to impossible.  May I ask, if it’s not too personal, what…did something happen to drive you to it, or…” she let her words trail off. “Sorry, I’m presuming on short acquaintance.”

“You are,” he agreed. “But at least you’re asking.” Slowly, he ran his finger over the rim of his glass, the metal of his glove causing the glass to ring, just slightly. “Good crystal.  Stark has taste.”

“Yep.”

“The truth of it is…” he began, sitting back, “the truth of it is, I am tired.  I am tired of always being on edge.  I am tired of always fighting.  I am weary, Darcy.  I have seen the future and the past, I have fought battles with gods and monsters, demons and abominations, and while…while I have always…prevailed, at least in survival, I have not always triumphed.  I am tired.  I wish, at this point, only to lead my people into a new age.  An age in which Latveria prospers beside her neighbors, rather than eking out a spare living, hand to mouth.  It is time, it is past time, to give up the childish travails and idiocies of my youth, and see to the welfare of my people, rather than myself and my own wounded pride.”  

“Those are good reasons,” she said softly.  “I can understand those reasons.”

“Oh, there are more.”

“Of course there are; you’re complicated.”  She grinned at him.  

“I’m tired of seeing them quail whenever I walk among them.  Of seeing women hide their children behind them, of seeing even my own people, my mother’s people, quake in fear at the mention of my name.  Fear is not what I wanted, when I took the throne, I did not want their fear, I wanted to help, I wanted to build, to make things better…and all I have done is make it worse.  No more.  No more traipsing about time and space, no more fighting with Reed over sins, his and mine, long past.  No more proclamations of how great I am, and playing Big Brother from Orwell.  I am not great.  I am a man who has made a multitude of mistakes.  And I cannot, even if I went back in time again, I would not be able to rectify them all.  But I can build a better future.  I can.  But it takes allies.  It takes trust.  And I have to earn that trust.”

“Doing a hell of a job so far,” Steve’s voice cut through the night, and Darcy looked over her shoulder to see him standing a few feet away.  “Sorry to interrupt.  Coulson wants to ask a few questions, you know how it is.”

“Of course.  If you will excuse me, Darcy?”  He asked politely, and she nodded.  He rose, taking her hand and bowing over it.  “It has been a delight to spend time with you; I hope to do so again before I leave New York.”

“It’s been my pleasure, Victor,” she assured him.  “And thank you again.  I know you saved my life.”

“I would gladly do so again. Good evening.”

“Good evening.”  She watched him walk away with Steve, sighed to herself.  Well, the assholes hadn’t completely ruined the evening.  Just mostly.  

 STAY TUNED, TRUE BELIEVERS!

EXCELSIOR!

#Darcy Lewis/Victor Von Doom #The Darcy/Doom fic that nobody asked for #Darcyland #Marvel #namor mckenzie #She-Hulk #Avengers #fanfic #fanfiction #I actually have two more chapters pretty well written #how my deadlines scream #not my first rodeo with masked tortured geniuses #I love villains #I love the squishy sound when I tame them #Make Mine Marvel #Mentions of Tolkien #Victor has never seen Star Wars #@fuckyeahdarcylewis