#deadlytes

[kaspbraakspeaking]

@deadlytes - for richie

Eddie wasn’t the biggest fan of the cold, and although their place had heating, it was colder weather now, so he was curled up on the couch, wrapped in the duvet from their bed. The cat had made a home somewhere buried with Eddie. Netflix seemed to be failing him, and the look of annoyance for the service was written clear on his face.

[fearwatched]

❝ you’re not supposed to crack your back like that. ❞           @deadlytes​ / stan

      eleanor crosses her arms and leans against the door frame, face contorting in a dramatic display of mock offense. “ah man, are you gonna abandon the flashy, fast-paced world of accounting for a chiropractic degree? because i would run that by the wife first. patty is used to a certain standard of living." she gestures around the spacious kitchen, immaculate and full-stocked. meanwhile, the damn dog chewed the shit out of her only spatula and her sink is currently overflowing with dirty dishes.

[hcarved]

“what’s this about a pizza?” from bev @deadlytes

he wonders if she knows. if she has any idea, just how easily she is able to reduce him to nothing more than a shell of a man. that he can’t help but stare - caught off guard and so entirely in love with her. it floods back harder than he ever expected it to. she looks at him with a smile on her face, and ben can barely hold it together. can barely bring himself to speak and she stares back, expectant, waiting. a grin on her face as though she knows something he doesn’t, as though she’s been told the funniest joke and he hadn’t been privy to the reveal of it.     “oh-- me and rich-- we were gonna--”    it’s simple enough, isn’t it? not fucking rocket science or brain surgery. he knows what to fucking say about ordering pizza. fucking hell.     “did you want anything?” 

[hcarved]

❛❛ What do you mean, Santa isn’t real? ❜❜      ( bev)     @deadlytes xoxo

there’s a moment in which his blood run colds. in which panic consumes him and, for the longest minute of his life, ben thinks that she truly means it. lips parting, he’s vaguely aware that perhaps, he looks like something with a trout. a fish that can’t close its mouth no matter how much it tries to. he feels like a fish. lost in the middle of the ocean. fucking stupid.     “i-- i--”     why the fuck would beverly marsh believe in santa of all things? why the fuck would he be stupid enough to think, even for a second, that she actually did. there’s a twitch at the corner of her mouth which, much to ben’s relief, gives her away. his eyes are still wide, but the thump, thump, thump of his heart lessens after a moment. he feels like he can actually breathe.     “fuck--  i thought you were being serious then, bev!”     he yells, outraged, embarrassed, as she bursts into laughter.

[fearwatched]

plotted starter for @deadlytes​

gracie sits in her shitty rental car, gaze fixed on jade of the orient. her hand is pressed to her chest, a futile attempt to stifle a string of broken sobs. dehydration is a genuine concern at this point. gracie has cried more in the past twenty-four hours than she has in twenty-four fucking years, all thanks to some mystery man from maine. his instructions were vague, infuriatingly so, and he hung up before she could hit him with the avalanche of questions building up in her throat. his voice stuck in her head, playing over and over again. the familiarity broke her heart in a way that she could not quite comprehend. an inexplicable sadness settled in her bones, overwhelming her with what felt like grief. bits and pieces of a forgotten childhood begin flooding back, filling the cracks in her memory, but, as of yet, nothing meaningful or concrete has come forth - nothing that explains the mournful ache in her chest.

after a solid fifteen minutes, her breathing slows and the tears cease falling. gracie dabs at her eyes and re-applies her make-up in the rear-view mirror. once presentable, she exits the car and half-walks, half-jogs to the restaurant's entrance. she runs into a dark-haired man, eyes magnified by a pair of thick lenses. tozier. the suddenness with which her brain registers his existence is a bit shocking. “little grac - “ he starts, eyes lighting up with recognition. "out of my way, sasquatch," she hisses, shoving past him.

the hostess points out where her party is waiting. her party. so ludicrous. although, now that she saw tozier, a few more memories have bubbled to the surface - a group of boys and one very pretty girl marching through stretches of tall grass, sweat-slicked hair sticking to their foreheads. one boy in particular stands out, round face and kind eyes. he looks like --

mike. he stands at the opposite end of the table, talking to two shorter men. god, what are their names? inhaler and stutters. fuck. whatever. gracie doesn’t give a damn, not when the reality that she has a brother just hit her like a bullet train. “crytpic reunion is officially on hold,” she shouts in lieu of a greeting. gracie crosses the room and grips mike by the inner elbow. “you’re coming with me,” she says, tone wavering between homicidal and emotionally wrecked.

she steers him through the restaurant and out into the parking lot, pushing past anyone that dares cross her path. once safely outside, she whips around to face him. “what the fuck!” she shrieks, eyes shining with tears. the floodgates are open, inundating her with a tidal wave of long-repressed memories. her big brother. the fire. the farm. that summer. the morning she packed up her bags and left derry, promising to visit him every chance she got. his eyes were so desperately sad that day, like he knew. he knew. “mike, what the fuck? you’re my -- what the fuck? how the fuck did i forget? how are you -- how could you let me?” she shoves at the center of his chest before devolving into a fit of sobs.

[fearwatched]

wire thread w/ @deadlytes​ just so y’all understand what gracie is about ™

gracie: i’m going to text them now. we can do christmas at my place. i have the room. mike: are you sure? that would be wonderful. gracie: yes, that way i can control the event and we don’t have to risk having it somewhere sad, like richie’s place mke: ohhh that’s... harsh but maybe fair mike: i’ll come over and help with setting everything up and cooking if you’d like gracie: come on, bro. think about what his apartment must look like. i guarantee there are more snickers bar wrappers than pieces of furniture. i love him, but he’s a depressed, middle-aged bachelor with a career in comedy.

also

mike: since when am i bad at following directions? gracie: do i need to bring up the bullshit native american ritual or?

[deadlytes]

okay psa my tag is broken

so if u recently tagged deadlytes in anything please lemme know because my tag is big time broken <3

[deadlytes]

i quit