#evilineage

       @evilineage​ said :   with force comparable to an autumn breeze when pit against the large creature’s stature, jamie suddenly collides into and takes hold of his leg.  there is fear in her expression — but not prompted by him.  no, large doe eyes are peering behind her towards the shadows. 

      𝐇𝐄  𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐊𝐒  𝐎𝐅  𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃  𝐀𝐍𝐃  𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐍  𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐖 ,    aging  viscera  painted  across  an  imposing  visage ,    and  yet ,    this  child  has  no  qualms  in  her  approach.    her  touch  warrants  a  far - off  memory  (  𝘢  𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘦𝘥  𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘺 ,    𝘯𝘰𝘵  𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺  𝘩𝘪𝘴  𝘰𝘸𝘯  )  of  tender ,    loving  hands ;  a  quiet  motel  room ,    prescription  bottles  lining  the  nightstand.    anger  swells  in  him  -----  again ,    not  his  own ,    rather  more  of  a  secondhand ,    almost  sympathetic  reaction. 

        her  hands  were  gentle.    his  could  only  harm. 

       𝐡𝐢𝐬  𝐨𝐰𝐧  𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞  𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝  𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐥𝐲  𝐭𝐨  𝐩𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡. 

       with  surprising  speed ,    he  whirls  to  face  the  darkness ,    the  tip  of  his  blade  scraping  harshly  against  the  floor  as  it’s  held  aloft ,    its  metal  long  since  rusted  and  catching  little  light  from  the  flickering  bulbs  above.    he  is  a  destructive  force  above  all else ,    marked  by  unrepentant  and  indiscriminate  violence  --  but  where  he  once  failed  to  protect ,    perhaps  he  could  atone  in  his  wake. 

@evilineage​ sent  👫 !! for four headcanons I have about our muse’s relationship. 

Michael likes reading with Jamie more than watching television. Even though he rarely reads aloud to her, he enjoys her narration even when she’s having trouble sounding out longer / more complicated words she hasn’t come across before. In her room, there’s a growing tower of Goosebumps paperbacks, compiled Peanuts comics and an assortment of children’s novels. The only time he reads aloud to her is after she’s had a nightmare or panic attack, his voice nothing more than a subdued murmur at best -- so she has to sit close to him to follow the story -- and it’s always a familiar story she’s already read to him, any enunciation in his tone a reflection of how she orated the book.

One of the worst revelations she’s been saved from knowing is the origin of a woven blanket he stole for her. It was clearly handmade, so intricate in its stitching -- depicting a chain of rabbits bounding over a sun -- that it couldn’t have been mass-produced but the personal heirloom belonging to a family with a child around Jamie’s age. The entire family were discovered dead a day after Michael gifted Jamie the blanket -- which showed no blood stains. 

At night, he rarely leaves the house as he usually would because he doesn’t want to leave Jamie alone while she’s asleep. This is mostly due to fear of someone breaking in -- an occurence that has only happened once, but the  intruder never reached the stairs before their body was being buried in the garden...

 ✓ Our muses share a hug after being separated for a long time.

       There were no words. It wasn’t because Laurie couldn’t speak. Just a while ago, she had done her best to convince the social workers to have this chance. It wasn’t because she chose to not to speak. She wanted. Oh, she truly wanted. But there just were no words. What should she say? Something to pretend what this girl’s life was possibly became was no big deal? How could she even explain, that her mother wasn’t okay at mind to be able to take care of a child? Should she even try to explain, she must have been as much of a stranger to her daughter, than any woman in the streets. Someone that was only told to be her mother, despite ever existing in her life.

What kind of a child Jamie was - Laurie had only read from papers, what she liked, what her personality was described to be... even a photo she cherished since the day she got it. But to Laurie, her existence was like finding a missing puzzle piece, something she knew to be somewhere there, since the day of being born but soon after taken from her. Without answers, whether or whether not she’d ever be able to unite again. Her life had become a fog without exit.

Fear of rejection only became real to her, as the small figure was escorted towards the waiting room. Her heart beat uncomfortably, and each inhale became heavier and heavier - as the girl in the photo manifested real before her eyes. Those facial features she could call something of her own, still formed in an unique person. That long brown hair and soft round features - Someone who wouldn’t ever deserve a mother like her. Ill, as the nurses described.

As Laurie stood off her seat and knelt before her level - it was an instinct to have her hands slowly move forward. To touch... to embrace the child she so yearned, whose picture she’d hold in her hands each night she counted to this day. The day that would possibly change their lives - if she only accepted her back. Feeling light pressure against her back, the embrace tightened, encouraging Laurie to smile against her ear.

@evilineage​ said: Surely, Mister Pennywise had many places to be. It had always seemed the Busy Bee type to the child. Nonetheless, that didn’t stop her from leaving a pumpkin bucket by the infamous sewer grate Janie had known the other to reside in occasionally. Within the pumpkin were a few pieces of her own, hard earned trick-or-treat sweets. Friends share, don’t they?

The night had been filled with occasional frights due to the clown’s mischief, but nothing more. No talk of death or disappearances to be heard of. Pennywise had happened to have been passing through that tunnel of the sewers when it heard the retreating footsteps of a child sounding from a nearby grate and decided to investigate. What greeted it was a small, plastic bucket in the shape of a pumpkin, something that it had seen many children carrying around tonight.

Reaching a gloved hand up, it plucked the bucket from off the street and carefully slipped it into the grate before peering down at the sweets resting inside. Usually it didn’t eat candy, much preferring meat, but on occasion it would treat itself to something different every now and then. Aside from that, it could smell a familiar scent on the bucket itself.... the clown girl, Jamie, was it?

Blinking for a moment, Pennywise peered back up through the grate and looked around to see if it could see any sign of her before looking down at the bucket again, fingertips idly tapping on the side of it. Eventually, it turned and continued on its way down the tunnel, plucking a piece of candy from the pumpkin cradled to its chest and unwrapping it before popping it into its mouth.

//  🎨 Not accepting anymore!

💋 / platonic cheek smooch?

💋 TO KISS JOE OUT OF NOWHERE 

Crass was his handle and he handled her roughly.  Joey neither discriminated nor shielded her like the roof over the front porch that sheltered them from the thick drops cascading over bare October's trees. Still, she sat, huddled, almost completely buried in a garment he once wore and he? Well, he accompanied her. Sat next to her, watching nothing in particular. Not the overly cluttered front lawns with their halloween decorations obstructing the view of the houses across the street nor the people ushering by beneath their umbrellas with tonight's dinner in their arms.

The chaste kiss on his cheek took him a moment though, but he culled away from the reality in his thoughts with purpose to look toward her. He rose a brow after a second.

“What do I owe that, huh, Karate Chops?” A smile flourished then and he reached over to ruffle her hair till it was pulled it from her braid.

Consider her a brave little girl for daring to kiss the cheek of a Big Bad Wolf who could devourer her within seconds, but she sat in brilliant ignorance. Admittedly, should the day come that she’d feel the weight of bricks plummet her shoulders with realization, Joey wouldn't bat her an eye of shame.

“Your hoodie looks comfy,” comments the child from a nearby front porch. Seated, she presses her worn and dirtied tutu down flat whilst tilting her head at the stranger.

Frigid air sunk teeth through the threads of his hood. The bandana lifted up to his nose could do little to secure warmth. It came in wafts with his breath, encompassing but fleeting. In its wake only the fingertips of a phantom's grip lingered and his face buzzed, feverish to attain its fix like a deprived bumping a dirty needle into his skin.   

The voice came, startling in its pitch, and Joey gazed from layers of clothes that couldn't keep the tendrils of cold from creeping in, unto a little girl armored in nothing. “Yeah?” 

His hands were stuffed into his pockets, keeping the merchandise from spilling onto the pavement. “Yeah, it is.”

Staring at her for a while with eyes that seemed to gleam gold for the briefest second, he didn't question why she stood out here looking like she took a tumble in a vat of mud and bunch of other crap. That shit was none of his business and not his problem. 

Still, he silently took the ounce from his pocket and shrugged off his hoodie, finesse sliding the drugs into another pocket on him. To the eyes of an anonymous audience, Joey was the ravenous beast. He was unashamed of the affliction he spread onto youth and seldom seen gracing mercy onto his victims, let alone discarding his hide for a lonesome sheep and draping it over the railing for her to take.