* WINTER FIRE !

Beverly sat between the two boys with a straw, sampling each in turn like a bee at flowers. She felt okay again for the first time since the drain had coughed up its gout of blood the night before --- washed out and emotionally exhausted, but okay, at peace with herself. For the time being anyway. BEVERLY MARSH / NOVEL BASED PENNED BY REED / EST. 9.1.18

[shotmade]

i just love how in this day and age, the lord’s year 2018, people can’t just ,,, enjoy things

[shotmade]

bravegroupie replied to your post: i mean i was all into the sha.ne da.wson video but...

dUDE SAME. dreams coming true right there.

I WAS LAUGHING SO HARD I LOVE IT SO MUCH 

[shotmade]

i mean i was all into the sha.ne da.wson video but david dob,rik reunited miran.da cos.grove and josh pe.ck so that really just ,,, takes the cake for me tbh

[crisisdrawn-a]

                ❛   TOO  LATE  —  YOU  GUYS  ARE  LOSERS.   ❜

                                  ind. private & selective MICHELLE JONES. penned by reed.

[shotmade]

me: i'm just gonna abuse you through voice messages now @voicemade: god bless honestly

[shotmade]

I’m just gonna go back to my Michelle from Spi.derman Homecoming blog bc I have no real self control

[shotmade]

I’m ,,,, making a Cassie Lang/Stature blog so be on the lookout for that girl t b h

[fearpreyed-blog]

       MONSTERS ARE REAL, AND GHOSTS ARE TOO. THEY LIVE INSIDE US, AND SOMETIMES, THEY WIN. / independent & private multimuse featuring sadie dunhill, stanley uris, and trisha mcfarland from stephen king novels. loved by charles.

[shotmade]

oathmade‌.

        oh  good,  she’s  amused.  he  didn’t  intend  the  story  to  bring  anything  but  that,  even  if  it  was  entirely  ridiculous.  he  juts  his  head  to  the  side,  smirk  evident  on  his  face  as  he  just  lets  her  laugh  linger.  the  hustle  and  bustle  of  the  small  bistro  takes  his  focus  for  a  moment.  so  many  stories  wrapped  up  in  these  four  walls.  everyone  seemed  to  be  content  to  remain  in  them; separate,  and  isolated.  but  Bill  could  feel  the  ties  that  bound  them.  oh  some  ex-lovers  here,  former  teammates  there.  sprinklings  and  dashes  of  nearly  everything.  it  reminds  him  of  his  own  bonds,  lying  severed  and  frayed  in  Maine.

or  so  he  thought.  and  he  had  thought  so  until  he  had  seen  her  again.  perhaps  it  wasn’t  so  deliberate  of  a  separation  as  he  figured.  maybe  her  thread  was  integral  to  him.  a  lifeline,  of  sorts.  maybe  there  are  hidden  threads  tying  him  to  others  he  can’t  see.  such  a  waste  of  a  good  young  life,  he  thinks.  the  thread  between  them  is  vibrant  though,  as  if  reignited  by  the  meeting  of  their  eyes,  his  flame-shaded  hair  shining  like  a  beacon,  and  she  the  same.  but  oh,  he  sees  that  too.  her  own  distractions  deep  within  her  mind.  

where  has  it  gone  ??  deep,  back ,  away  ??  he  can  feel  it  as  well,  as  if  his  hand  wants  to  reach  out  to  her  –  she’s  not  alone,  it  wants  to  say.  but  he  holds  it  back. it’s  too  soon,  not  right,  maybe  it’s  the  lingering  shadows  of  the  past.  they’re  not  children  any  more.  “  —Augusta  ?? ”  

         he  clears  his  throat  with  a  small,  cough.  he  wasn’t  sure  how  he  felt  about  moving  away.  both  so  thankful  and  terrified  in  the  same  breath.  he’d  hoped,  like  the  boy  he’d  been  that  it  would  fix  things.  that  all  of  a  sudden  his  parents  would  WAKE  UP  and  be  his  parents  again.  but  then  his  father  died,  and  all  was  lost.  maybe  she  could  see  the  hurt  on  his  own  face  too,  the  way  his  lips  pulled  tight  to  the  side,  his  eyes  averting;  brows  tightly  knitting   causing  shadow  to  shield  him.  but  he  manages  to  pull  of  a  half-smirk,  shrugging  his  shoulders;  still  strong.  “  it  was  fine  for  what  it  was.  I—I’m  just  glad  to  not  be  in  Maine  anymore,  you  know  ??  ”  he  wasn’t  sure  if  he  wanted  her  to  feel  this  way,  not  even  selfishly.

          there  is  much  to  be  shared  between  them.  stories  written  within  the  very  features  upon  their  faces.  she  can  see  them  there  in  his.  within  the  sadness  in  his  eyes,  the  way  he  looks  away  from  her,  the  way  he  furrows  his  eyebrows.  beverly  has  never  been  the  most  observant,  especially  not  among  the  group  of  friends  they  had  shared,  but  she  knows  well  enough.  she  can  read  it  there.  and  she  knows  that  they  will  share  these  stories  someday.  she  suddenly  knows  that  they  will  be  given  the  time  to  do  so. 

          her  eyes  are  kind  as  she  grants  him  her  gaze,  her  lips  upturned  into  the  smallest  of  smiles,  though  she  hopes  it  is  of  comfort.  this  look  is  tender.  just  subtly  so.  just  for  him.   ❛  yeah,  i  know  what  you  mean.  ❜   there’s  a  brief  nod  of  her  head  before  blue  eyes  look  down  at  the  table  in  front  of  her.  derry  was  diseased.  such  a  thought  would  not  cross  her  mind  ---  thoughts  had  not  lingered  toward  the  state  of  derry  much  since  she  had  left,  but  even  now,  she  knows  exactly  the  way  it  felt  to  leave.  as  if  a  veil  had  been  lifted.  (  or  had  another  been  dropped  down  upon  her  in  its  place?  )

          ❛  maine’s  kind  of  a   ---  buzzkill.  ❜   of course  she  has  good  memories  in  maine  ---  childhood  friends,  getting  drunk  with  her  friends  in  portland,  daytrips  down  to  bangor  with  her  mother.  but  still  ---  there  was  always  a  looming  presence  of  darkness.  

          but  she  looks  up  at  him,  and  her  expression  is  all  the  brighter,  her  smile’s  grown  and  her  eyes  are  light.   ❛  i  think  chicago’s  going  to  treat  us  better  though,  you  know.  ❜   there’s  a  shiny  sort  of  optimism  in  her  tone.  some  sort  of  gut  feeling’s  brought  this  on.   ❛  i  just  have  a  feeling  things  are  going  to  be  real  good  here.  i  feel  like  i’ve  really  got  a  shot  to  do  something.  ❜   there’s  that  fiery  passion  with  in  her.  that  strength,  the  resolve.  she’s  burning  bright.   ❛  and  i’m  real  glad  you’re  here  too,  bill.  ❜

[shotmade]

bill and beverly advanced on the Werewolf, and behind them, richie cried out hysterically: “shoot It again, beverly! kill It!”

“kill It!” mike screamed.

“that’s right, kill It!” eddie chimed in.

“kill It!” bill cried, his mouth drawn down in a quivering bow. there was a whitish-yellow streak of plaster dust in his hair. “kill It, beverly, don’t let It get away!”

no ammo left, ben thought incoherently, we’re slugged out. what are you talking about, kill It? but he looked at beverly and understood. if his heart had never been hers before that moment, it would have flown to her then. she had pulled the sling back again. her fingers were closed over the cup, hiding its emptiness. 

“kill It!” ben screamed, and flopped clumsily over the edge of the tub. his jeans and underwear were soaked against his skin with blood. he had no idea if he was hurt badly or not. following the original hot sizzle there hadn’t been much pain, but there sure was an awful lot of blood.

the Werewolf’s greenish eyes flickered among them, now filled with uncertainty as well as pain. blood poured down the front of Its jacket in sheets.

bill denbrough smiled. it was a gentle, rather lovely smile . . . but it did not touch his eyes. “you shouldn’t have started with my brother,” he said. “send the fucker to hell, beverly.” 

the uncertainty left the creature’s eyes—It believed. with lithe smooth grace, It turned and dived into the drain. as It went, It changed. the derry high jacket melted into Its pelt and the color ran out of both. the shape of Its skull elongated, as if It had been made of wax which was now softening and beginning to run. Its shape changed. for one instant ben believed he had nearly seen what shape It really was, and his heart froze inside his chest, leaving him gasping.

[shotmade]

The ritual goes something like this in the book: Pennywise and a member of the Losers’ Club extend their tongues, overlap them, bite down, and then trade jokes until one party laughs. It’s weird, thrilling, and very, very hard to visualize, so kudos to the team for making an effort to manifest it.

SURE JAN SURE THAT’S EXACTLY WHAT THE RITUAL OF CHÜD IS, THEY’RE ALL OVER HERE BITING TONGUES AND TELLING JOKES

[oathmade]

is this how u make??? memes ????

[shotmade]

like this for a starter from my girl !!

[musingmeme-blog]

beep beep how’s my portrayal ?

[shotmade]

“it’s because i’m a girl, isn’t it? that’s really it, isn’t it?”

          “beh-beh-beh-beh—”

“you don’t have to talk,” she snapped. “just nod your head or shake it. your head doesn’t stutter, does it? is it because i’m a girl?”

          reluctantly, bill nodded his head.

she looked at him for a moment, her lips trembling, and richie thought she would cry. instead, she exploded.

“well, fuck you!” she whirled around to look at the others, and they flinched from her gaze, so hot it was nearly radioactive. “fuck all of you if you think the same thing!” she turned back to bill and began to talk fast, rapping him with words. “this is something more than some diddlyshit kid’s game like tag or guns or hide-and-go-seek, and you know it, bill. we’re supposed to do this. that’s part of it. and you’re not going to cut me out just because i’m a girl. do you understand? you better, or i’m leaving right now. and if i go, i’m gone. for good. you understand?”

she stopped. bill looked at her. he seemed to have regained his calm, but richie felt afraid. he felt that any chance they had of winning, of finding a way to get to the thing that had killed georgie denbrough and the other kids, getting to It and killing It, was now in jeopardy. seven, richie thought. that’s the magic number. there has to be seven of us. that’s the way it’s supposed to be.

[shotmade]

“audra’s d-dead.” bill’s voice was mechanical. “i know it.” 

“you don’t know any such thing!” beverly said with such fury that bill stirred and looked at her. “all you know for sure is that a lot of other people have died, most of them children.” she walked across to him and stood before him with her hands on her hips. her face and hands were streaked with grime, her hair matted with dirt. richie thought she looked absolutely magnificent. “and you know what did it." 

“i nuh-never should have t-t-told her where i was guh-going,” bill said. “why did i do that? why did i—” 

her hands pistoned out and seized him by the shirt. amazed, richie watched as she shook him. “no more! you know what we came for! we swore, and we’re going to do it! do you understand me, bill? if she’s dead, she’s dead . . . but It’s not! now, we need you. do you get it? we need you!” she was crying now. “so you stand up for us! you stand up for us like before or none of us are going to get out of here!” 

he looked at her for a long time without speaking, and richie found himself thinking, come on, big bill. come on, come on—

[rpmemestbh]

50 oddly specific headcanon asks.

Send me a number! (some slightly nsfw) || specify muse if needed

How does your muse feel about seafood?

What is their favorite piece of technology?

When did they lose their virginity?

Was their anything their parents pushed them to do? (e.g. sports, theatre, band)

Describe your muse’s worst nightmare.

What is a deal-breaker when it comes to dating someone?

What was the most embarrassing moment in your muse’s life?

What keeps your muse up at night?

What chronic illnesses does your muse have, if any?

Does your muse get carsick?

Does your muse wear glasses/contacts?

What are some warning signs that your muse is getting depressed? 

What is your muse’s favorite candy?

Does your muse have a “victory song” and if so, what is it?

Who do they tend to bicker with the most?

Has your muse ever been hospitalized or institutionalized? 

Does your muse pray, whether it be to a god or some other force?

Has your muse ever lived in poverty?

Do they have any distinct voice mannerisms? (e.g. saying ‘like’ or ‘um’ a lot, stutters) 

Where are your muse’s ancestors from? Do they keep any of their traditions?

When did your muse learn about sex?

What is your muse most thankful for?

What shoe size is your muse?

Does your muse hate their middle name? \ What is it?

How many hours a day do they spend on the internet/watching TV?

Does your muse have any trophies?

If your muse was given the opportunity to go sky diving, would they?

What is the most common lie your muse tells themselves?

Has your muse ever had a pet? If so, what type?

Who was your muse’s first kiss?

What is your muse’s first memory?

How does your muse feel about crocs?

What are your muse’s biggest pet peeves?

What was your muse’s happiest birthday?

Does your muse cross their legs/ankles when they sit?

What simple task is your muse surprisingly bad at?

Did your muse ever own a Tamagatchi?

What was your muses’s first job?

Does your muse usually go for truth or dare?

Has your muse ever been to a concert?

What is your muse’s favorite holiday?

Does your muse reply to scary chain emails/messages?

Describe the first person your muse remembers losing.

Would your muse ever roleplay?

What is your muse’s Hogwarts house?

What is your muse’s first thought upon waking up?

Name a song your muse can sing every word to. 

Who would your muse sacrifice themselves for, if anybody?

How long is your muse’s penis? || What bra size is your muse?

If your muse could rid the world of one thing, what would it be?