#ben it

[cl3ms-fruitfandomsalad]

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‘Made-Up IT (2017) Tweets,’

Back to this fandom heh…

Warnings: Suggestive and possibly offensive content!!

⚠︎︎Warning! Suggestive and Possibly Offensive Content Ahead!⚠︎︎

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[the-losers-are-still-losing]

ben hanscom was definitely 100000% one of those kids who would build dens out of everything and anything in their home and then live in it for three days and make a password to get in and everything

[everyonesonthespectrum]

Today’s Autistic character of the day is:

Benjamin “Ben” Hanscom from IT (book)

[olive-garden-hoe]

[jojolarow]

Pt. 2 of “Rich to the Past”.

Richie was merely introducing his newly-dyed hair when he joked that Eddie should go blonde to match him. After all, the idea of the two of them coloring their hair like Link and Zelda was pretty funny, he thought. However, it wasn’t a joke to Eddie; it was a challenge. Thank goodness Ben is so helpful!

[anopoulos]

alright where

THE FUCK

Are the deleted scenes I want to

see

them

right

now

[bowieandqueen11]

Lose This Time / Ben Hanscom Imagine

Request: could you do a 2019!ben hanscom x wife!reader with them saying an emotional fluffy goodbye to their kids before leaving to reunite with the others? maybe the reader breaks down afterwards and he promises her they’ll come back to them and he’ll protect her no matter what? i understand if not i love your work either way😘 

This is so sweet I’m literally melting <3

That was the one thing Ben couldn’t bare. The silence. The absence of everything.

He had been alone too much of his life to allow it to happen, to allow himself to be alone again. But the silence that filled the house as he thumped your suitcases down the stairwell and onto the hazel wood of the hallway filled him with a deep dread he hadn’t felt since he had met you. Dropping the handles, he has to squeeze his hands shut to stop them from shaking.

‘I promise-’, he grimaces as he hears the guttural sub stick in your throat before you continue, ‘I promise we’ll be back soon, okay? We love you so much, but Auntie Pat and Uncle Stan are going to take really good care of you while we’re gone.’

The dining-room, usually, was exquisite. The walls were covered with a shimmering gold paper and in the middle of the ceiling above the carved oak table was a glistening chandelier. At the end of the table were floor to ceiling french doors, left slightly ajar to let in the scented summer air. The polished silver cutlery was heavy to the hand and shone brightly in the early evening light. At each place stood a tall empty wine glass and there were beautifully folded napkins to match the runner. Ben really thought he had managed to win it all.  

And there you were, your knees trembling by the windows as you hold your children desperately in your arms, trying to hide the tears that well in your eyes like moonlight from their innocent faces as they squish their heads closer into your neck. Ben nearly trips as he follows the sound of your voice; it was like he was flying through the sky, gravity pulling his orbit towards this cold, lonely star, anchoring onto his dimming light as he finally fumbled down the step in the doorway and leaned gently against the door frame.

‘Hey, kiddos, come on and give your old dad a hug.’

Your silent for a minute, watching the lights of your life run over to the man you’ve loved since you were fifteen years old and understood what love was, unsure and unable to find the right words to say to the man who, in your heart, was a kindred spirit. You flash him a thankful smile as your children run into his legs, nearly knocking him over as they wrap their arms around his thighs, but he only laughs, collapsing down on top of them to tickle their sides. However, he’s watching you with slight alarm as you only bite your lip, squeezing your eyes shut with a nearly unnoticeable grimace before slowly shaking your head. 

~

Closing the trunk of the car with a soft click, Ben takes one final look back at the house, the warm light illuminating from the wavering cotton curtains of the children’s bedroom as if he was being drawn towards the safety of the light. He turns away quickly, however, squeezing his eyes shut in pain and covering his eyes with his hand as a sudden painful memory sears through his brain.

The deadlights.

‘You’re starting to remember as well, aren’t you?’

You amble over towards him, not caring about the pebbles you kick out from your driveway, two thin fingers coming up to gently swipe the stray curls of his brown locks away from his concerned eyes.

‘I don’t think, I don’t think we’re going to be as lucky this time Ben.’

‘What do you mean, sweetheart?’

‘Last time, we managed to win. Jesus, Ben, we won everything, didn’t we?! Look at us, I don’t think we’re going to be as lucky again.

...We’re going to lose Ben. I remember it now. All those nightmares, all those dreams of blurred faces I couldn’t remember.... all of us, dying...I-. They weren’t dreams, were they?’

Ben comes to settle beside you, his eyes twinkling like stardust as his gaze settles onto your face, his hand coming up to rest gingerly against yours. For a moment, you don’t move, but his breathing hitches when he hears slow, stifled sobs from your direction. With one hand, he entangles his fingers in between yours, tugging on them as he pulls them against the dress shirt he had haphazardly thrown on, landing firmly on his chest.

His thumb begins to rhythmically swirl little figure eights against your palm whilst the other tenderly reaches up to land under your chin, swivelling your head towards him. It breaks his heart to see your eyes so bloodshot, your cheeks so rosy and red from the crying, your hair falling over the side to try and hide the streaks. It only fills him with an uneasy determination, one he remembers from his childhood.

He nods curtly, a sorrowful smile lining his face as he traces your features, his grip tightening.

'They weren’t dreams, y/n, but that doesn’t mean they were real either.’

‘I swear to you, I swear on my life, Y/n, that I’m never going to let anything happen to my beautiful wife, not when I spent so long trying to win her over.’

You lean into him until your foreheads rest against each others, chuckling with soft sobs as his doe eyes crinkle, a familiar warmth swirling in their depths that causes your heart to ache all over again.  He pulls you closer to him, wrapping his arms around your middle. His embrace was warm, and his big, strong arms so protective and familiar that you allowed your body to sag, your muscles to become loose as your breathing began to shallow. 

‘Plus, I promised our daughter I would take her to the library next week, we have the next chapter of our favourite book to finish.’