old fists

no single rain drop believes its responsibility for the flood. x indie bill denbrough. x circa 2017/novel x read the rules

[rpmemesource]

a list of don’t sentence starters :

❝ don’t you dare touch him/her. ❞

❝ don’t look at me like that; like i matter to you. ❞

❝ i don’t understand why you’re acting this way. ❞

❝ don’t say that to me, [NAME]. not you, of all people. ❞

❝ what i don’t understand is how you can be so nonchalant in this situation. ❞

❝ please don’t make me go. ❞

❝ i don’t want to leave yet. ❞

❝ why don’t you just stay the night ? ❞

❝ don’t you love me anymore ? ❞

❝ no, you don’t understand. ❞

❝ you could, but you just don’t want to. ❞

❝ no matter what happens, don’t forget about me. ❞

❝ don’t say that you love me. ❞

❝ how can i live with myself if i don’t at least try to save you ? ❞

❝ don’t you know better than that by now ? ❞

❝ i don’t want anything to do with you anymore. ❞

❝ i don’t want to live a life without you in it. ❞

❝ your mind games don’t work on me. ❞

❝ i don’t want anything to happen to you. ❞

❝ please don’t miss me once i’m gone. ❞

❝ don’t go breaking my heart. ❞

❝ i don’t think anyone could love you the way i do. ❞

❝ you really don’t understand how much you mean to me, do you ? ❞

❝ i don’t want to die. ❞

❝ now don’t assume that this suddenly means we’re friends. ❞

❝ i don’t want you to be with anyone else. ❞

❝ don’t touch that, it’s valuable ! ❞

❝ ’ just friends ’ don’t look at each other like that. ❞

❝ please don’t cry. ❞

❝ don’t we deserve a happy ending ? ❞

[ssbill]

ur gay

I mean, only when I look at you.

[ssbill]

oathkept‌:

 a  summer  of  change ,  a  summer  that  she  was  so  sure  she  would  remember  her  entire  life ,  a  summer  that  she’d  spent  so  much  time  feeling  invisible  and  loved  all  at  the  same  time .  a  summer  she  felt  like  she  mattered  to  someone ,  anyone ,  a  feeling  that  she’d  never  had  before  and  wanted  to  hold  onto  as  the  leaves  fell .  and  she  never  wanted  to  be  part  of  the  summer  that  disappeared ,  never  wanted  to  be  a  part  that  fell  away .  she  belonged  her .  she  knew  she  belonged  her .

 the  idea  of  walking  away  from  derry ,  of  walking  away  from  bill  denbrough …  it  was  harder  to  handle  than  that  stupid  clown  had  ever  been .  she  would  go  back  and  face  pennywise  any  day  if  it  meant  she  could  stay .  if  she  could  just  take  back  putting  her  father  in  a  coma ,  she  would .  anything  to  stay  here ,  anything  to  stay  a  loser .  it  was  the  only  thing  she’d  ever  had  that  made  sense .  the  only  thing  she’d  ever  had  that  made  her  happy  and  she  was  going  to  walk  away  from  it .  was  going  to  be  dragged  away  from  it  and  she  knew  she’d  never  be  allowed  to  look  back .

 she  wanted  to  promise  that  she’d  be  back ,  wanted  to  promise  him  that  when  she  left  derry ,  she’d  see him  again  soon .  but  she  couldn’t  lie  to  him .  and  he  could  read  her  like  a  book .  and  it  wasn’t  in  her  heart  to  lie .  she’d  never  been  any  good  at  it  but  god  was  she  good  at  caring  about  him .  she  wants  to  cry ,  wants  to  kick  and  scream  and  bury  her  head  in  the  sand .  she  wants  to  hide  in  a  cave  forever  and  forget  about  ever  hurting  anyone  even  if  it  hadn’t  been  her  fault .  and  she  wanted  to  erase  the  disappointment  written  so  clearly  across  his  face  from  her  mind  because  if  she  leaves  now ,  that’s  the  only  thing  she’s  going  to  remember .  and  she  wants  to  remember  his  smile .

 she  wants  to  remember  what  it  felt  like  to  kiss  him ,  what  it  felt  like  to  wrap  her  arms  around  him  and  lean  into  his  back  while  he  took  her  away  on  a  silver  horse .  that’s  what  she  needed  to  hold  onto ,  not  the  pain .  she  doesn’t  want  to  go .

 pained  expression  turns  to  face  him  as  the  stutter  falls  like  acid  on  his  lips .  she  can  hear  it  in  his  voice ,  can  hear  the  determination ,  can  hear  the  plea  before  his  tongue  allows  him  to  say  it  and  her  hand  is  already  creeping  through  the  grass  in  an  effort  to  find  his  own  because  she’s  been  praying  that  he  wouldn’t  say  it  because  if  he  did ,  she  would  break .  she  would  lose  the  resolve ,  the  forced  smile ,  the  fake  glimmer  of  hope  in  her  eyes .  and  he  would  see  the  broken  girl  she  was .  maybe  that  would  make  it  easier  for  him .

 but  those  words  hit  and  her  eyes  screw  shut ,  his  hand  finds  hers  and  it’s  instinct  to  tangle  her  fingers  with  his  and  scoot  closer .  it’s  natural  for  her  to  lay  her  head  on  his  shoulder  and  stare  away  from  them .  if  she  looks  at  him  she’ll  cry .  and  all  at  once  she  doesn’t  want  him  to  see  her  as  the  broken  girl .  “ i  don’t  wanna  go  either …  but  i  don’t  have  anywhere  to  to  go  if  i  stay ,  billy . ”  

Herald horns play in his head; he shimmies his body closer until they’re hip to hip, and her head fits more comfortably into his shoulder. It will no longer touch the jut of his shoulder blade and she will instead have a softer, safer space even if he could not give that in the shape of a home. 

So she will go. She will leave and in another summer, Bill will perhaps see her again. It is the new way of things and it has been as such since a rainy, terrible day.

“I know.” His voice breaks into a softness that only slightly surprises him. Bev has always brought an essence out of him that begs for gentile tones. He wants to keep her warm in draftier times. Could he do that with his words? With the warmth of his intonation? He hopes so. His nose touches into the top of her head where the curls are tame before the wild ends. “But that doesn’t stop us from dreaming.”

A dream is a wish your heart makes. When George was young, he would like their mother to sing him that song. Bill could remember his mother’s dulcet tones wandering throughout the upstairs level of the house, soothing his little brother to sleep and him by association. 

His heart clenches.

“I would move out for you.” Bill says because it’s true. But would only because he could not. “Get a place where you can stay.” So your aunt doesn’t cart you away, away, away.

[eddietcziera]

- louis xiv

[ssbill]

Their daemons Settle when the proverbial dust does.

It takes them a little longer to get out of the sewers then it took them to get in. Octavia’s newfound antlers clack along the walls, sending loud clangs to bounce along the way and then echo back to them. From behind, Bill pushes his hands into her hind quarters but not unkindly, nor hurriedly; her support was stronger than ever.

OPEN VERSE (please do not reblog!!)

Based off Phillip Pullman’s series of the same name, in which your soul remains by your side in the manifestation of a living animal that may speak to you. They are your living conscious, given names the same way you would name your own child, and well respected - meant to love you in return as you love them.

Octavia settled as a caribou; one of the only breed of cervid that grow antlers in both sexes. They are cunning survivalists and can endure living in the most brutal of environments. They can represent a sense of journeying and endurance.

Anyone can interact with Bill and Octavia in this universe. Some others might have continuation with the ignorance of other threads. Some might be one-offs. I might also answer some writing meme prompts in this universe if you’ve liked this post. Basic law in this universe, taken from Phillip and some altered:

Keep reading

[avemvigilate-deactivated2019122]

[avemvigilate-deactivated2019122]

avemvigilate‌:

❛ You can live with fear, I think. Maybe not forever, but for a long, long time. ❜

 loved by charlotte | promo by ash

[spinspinspin]

Visit Original Link

Beautiful music from how to train your dragon

[ssbill]

@oathkept

And so another summer beckons for the end.

Bill ignores it - as he’s done many previous years. He knows it will not stop the summer from receding to wherever it goes when its time has passed, and that fall will come regardless of his wanton feelings, but this is routine.

Once again, Beverly will go away with her aunt with little argument. Bill will watch from the edge of her summer residence and wave with a terrible feeling of loss rising up from the depth of his ankles until it consumes his whole body with overwhelming ache. It will last for a few days, then school will start and Bill won’t have time to sit and be washed over with it.

Take in what you can, his mother says in his head. Bill nods without realizing and finally rolls up onto his elbows in the grass. His blue jeans are dark at the knee with barren fields they’ve come to wallow in, and he knows his father will sort him out a cross look when he sees. Bill writes it off as a worth-it because Beverly’s laugh when they raced and collided still rings through his ears, setting him afloat in a way that could last for days.

“I don’t wuh-..” He fights his tongue; nose coming to a pinch at the bridge. His lip curls in a mockery of a snarl. His tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth one second, two seconds, three until it finally relents and lets him have his word. “Want you to go.” With such vigor, he hopes she will feel it aside from just hearing it. That it will act as a battery to keep her going, too. Honesty sweetens the air around them, and Bill pushes his hand through the small stalks of grass to reach for her own. He suddenly longs to feel the press of her rings between the webs of his fingers, her cold knuckles and for the scent of her cigarettes to seep into his own skin.

[ssbill]

i had the strangest dream.

Outside, the storm rages.

Bill watches the droplets race down the pane in angry jagged lines. Some compete until the end but others come together before the pinnacle of their journies. In his head, he begins to write a book: 

            On an evening when the moon was sheltered away, a young boy began to miss his younger brother with an agony…

“How d’…d-duh…du-d-did it go?” A yawn stutters his words instead of his own tongue. A relief in strange measures. The curse comes in waves similar to water but not as even as a current, or as expected. Some words were quaint and nice, lovely like a next-door neighbor but some were awful, the bad taste left in your mouth after a rude customer. With putting his impediment up in analogy like that, Bill knows strongly that he’ll be a writer and while he might not be a good one - maybe he’ll be an entertaining one. He hopes whoever set their gaze upon his novels and partakes in them with a glance of the eyes will leave his worlds feeling new, and if not refreshed then something.

He wonders what Eddie’s world is like. Not his real one as Bill already dwells within it but the one in his dream. Bill yearns to know and so brings himself closer, shifting along the cushions of his small basement couch to draw nearer. Eddie smells like he usually does, soap and something mild with the reminiscent odor of sunscreen while not quite being so, and he’s radiating a tempting warmth. Nipping frost is upon Maine’s door and Bill has never been fond of it.

“Tell mm…mmme.” He requests, and since the world around him suddenly asks for softness that is how he gives it: quietly. His head begins to beg for Eddie’s lap and how can Bill resist when Eddie is so inviting? He obeys. 

Eddie’s hand find his hairline. Bill closes his eyes as a finger follows the line until there’s multiple and they’re pushing through his locks. The summer sun hasn’t quite finished with him yet; red highlights burst through with determination before the winter comes to claim them into dullness. In the muted light of his basement, they’re lost, but Eddie smiles the same smile that he always has when he looks at Bill.

Bill thinks: I hope this is no such dream as the one you’ve had, Eddie, because if it weren’t real I would weep.

[gobeepmyself]

GET F U C K E D, clown.

iconless. 19+. capable of using the word fuck in any context. no rules here, folks.

[trackshorts]

       eddie looked at his mother, and now a terrible thought came to him: those eyes were almost predatory, like the eyes of the leper that had crawled out of the basement at 29 neibolt street. even through the haze he could see that the nurse was angry and he thought he said, she’s not the leper, please don’t think that, she’s only eating me because she loves me   ———- but perhaps nothing came out,   because the nurse’s angry face didn’t change.

𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐤𝐚𝐬𝐩𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐤    written by celeste ! 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚙𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐'𝚜 𝚒𝚝.

[stillseesghosts]

'why do i need protection from the truth?'

‘the haunting of hill house’ sentence meme

bill feels a lump form in his throat. he feels like there’s a rock in the pit of his stomach. he looks at bill – looks at himself, 27 years ago – and sees wide-eyed innocence that he knows he’ll never have again. it’s an innocence wrecked by loss, ruined by grief, and torn apart by a lie he can’t help but tell.

you lied and i died! georgie screams in his head, and bill swallows thickly, caught between what he doesn’t want to say and what he has to say.

“because something bad’s gonna happen,” he says slowly, soberly, “and it’s gonna change you forever.” he’s never chosen his words more carefully – the ocean between something’s going to happen and you’re going to do something is the divider between inordinate guilt and austere acceptance.

“and i don’t want you to have to go through that,” he continues, and this time his voice breaks. he can’t look away, no matter how badly he wants to. “you’re going to blame yourself, but i need you to know that it’s not your fault, okay?”

 if his younger self needs to believe anything he says, it’s this.

“no matter what, it’s not your fault.” 

[ssbill]

trackshorts‌:

    it’s not fair to this bill. or this richie, or bev, or ben, mike, stan. he doesn’t know why he’s here, what makes him special, what landed him in this place where everything is the same except that it isn’t, and eddie’s the only one that has to feel like it could all come crashing down at any moment. every time he sees georgie, eyes bright, smile brighter, eddie remembers that funeral, the smallest damn coffin he’d ever seen, laid to rest head, body, leg, leg, and arm.

    eddie has not been okay lately.

    that’s not something he can tell bill, though, because they haven’t shared trauma like a bag of jellybeans as the other losers have, eddie’s real losers ( real… real? ). he can’t tell bill that sometimes right before he falls asleep there’s this stink of rotting flesh that fills his nostrils and it makes eddie want to throw up everything that’s ever been in his stomach, and he can’t tell bill that he’s felt so scared before that the feeling turned into a colour ( yellow at first, but it pales into a white, into SILVER when its at its worst ). 

    he shivers as bill kisses his neck. he buries his face in hair.

    “i’m okay.” physically, yes. he hasn’t broken any bones lately. hasn’t been tormented by bowers. hasn’t been solicited for blow jobs by a hobo. the things they did that summer seem so much clearer when eddie’s here, for some reason. so much clearer than they do in the real world, the world where it all actually happened.

    he thinks of his bill’s face. lovely and well-loved. worn. proud.

    he thinks of this bill’s face. winsome and admired. fresh. unscathed.

    in that moment, eddie doesn’t care what this bill hasn’t seen, hasn’t known, hasn’t fought. he decides very quickly that he’d die for him just the same, if he asked him to. sure, big bill. you got a time in mind, yet? i couldn’t protect his georgie, but i’ll try to protect yours. i’ll try to protect you.

    “i guess i just feel kinda lost.” his voice is small, but it’s right in bill’s hair, so that doesn’t matter too much. “y’ever get that way?” 

In the safety of his bedroom, shielded by four walls and warmed by sunlight through his window: Bill idolizes the shape of Eddie’s nose, the charming slope and the scatter of summer freckles that pull across it. He has a lot of them, and Bill doesn’t need to see his face to know it. His skin is smothered with them, and he can remember their birth: a long day spent in the quarry, close enough to be wearing the same shorts. That day, Bill had burned and Eddie had laughed loud enough to echo across the water.

The next day, Eddie had been nervous in a way Bill couldn’t decipher. 

But it was ok. Something changed, and Bill doesn’t know what it is, but he’ll take Eddie in whatever shape or form he gets him. How could he not? How could he look at Eddie, take him in, exist in his space and see how he interacts with the world, the need to help people in his hands, in his blood, and decide that he could not want Eddie? Even as a friend? God knows he’s lucky to have him as he has him now, but...

He unbraces his hand from Eddie’s to relocate to his side to commence a soothing rub; not too hard to avoid a tickle and not too light so it’s not there. Eddie’s not slight but he’s lithe enough that his heart beats faster when he feels his sides, touches his ribs. There’s still a layer of something uncomfortable laying over his own skin, brought on by strangeness, but he can feel it ebbing back form wence-it-came, curling up like a beast in the sewers to be ashamed and forgotten. Bill intends to induce comfort; hopes, always hopes, that he’s doing it right. That Eddie feels every ounce of affection Bill has through him from all points of contact:

his hand on his waist,

his breath on his neck,

his palpitations.

“Yeah.” He offers consideringly, and he does think about it. He feels lost anytime he thinks of school: where will he go to college? He’s got two years still to think it over, but years pass fast as Bill has learned. So: what will he do? Could he leave Eddie? Will he beg Eddie to come with him? Would they stay together? “I do.” He bumps his knees up again - half to by annoying but half to remind Eddie that Bill?

Bill’s there. Incessant. Loving.

“You can always talk to me.” Especially since his stutter is less pronounced: some of his enunciations get stuck and he has to really fight, but he resorts to French less. Feels like the language is slipping away, since he doesn’t practice it often. “It’s not a fun feeling, and I don’t want you to feel alone.” He pulls back, because it’s important that Eddie knows, he thinks, as he draws in his gaze and let’s it lock, settle.

“We can feel lost together?”

[detouch]

   the haunting of hill house    sentence meme.

   episode 4 - 6

they never believe me.

you believe me, don’t you?

when i was a kid, my brother taught me how to spot faces in clouds.

and i mean… that fucked me up pretty bad.

it’s normal for kids to have imaginary friends and nightmares.

we could have a heck of a yard sale.

big boys know the difference between what’s real and what’s imaginary.

that one doesn’t exactly keep me up at night.

i know we’re all going to have a lot of feelings about that.

we’re not in a relationship.

how the fuck do you expect people to get through this without friends?

i just wanted to make sure you were okay.

i’m gonna fix this.there are moments you kind of remind me of her.

the only other person that believed in me like that was you.

nothing left to do except maybe fill this place up with kids.

i mean, you know the definition of insanity. doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.

when we decide to get clean, it’s not because we expect it to be fucking exciting, you know?

you ever seen someone in withdrawal?

just because you care about someone, it doesn’t mean they won’t burn you.

thirty days clean so you can make me feel like shit again.

it’s taken me ten years to get ninety days clean.

i’ve been called a lot of things in my life, but “fearless” is not one of them.

i was always a scared little kid, and i thought i’d get braver as i got older, but i didn’t.

any addict alone is in bad company.

listen, i know i fucked up.

please, please let me come back.

they say she’s a nightmare, but she’s real.

if she comes back, you come find us, okay?

i was planning on waiting until the end of your visit to ask you out for coffee.

i’m gonna have to get used to that, but i like it.

it’s perfectly normal to want to find something to blame.

don’t worry. i don’t expect you to believe me.

i’m not supposed to have things that are fragile.

use your cup of stars. insist on your cup of stars.

can we have a tea party?

i’ve been having a hard time sleeping in that house without him.

i need to get well before i go in.

it’s just you and me. that’s it.

i always believed in you, you know that?

we all just need a little help sometimes, right?

that is not the way you help an addict.

i am feeling serious fucking concern.

i thought we might get drunk and fucking cry.

you look worse than you did four months ago.

he’s not exactly impressing me and i know what the fuck i’m talking about.

i’ve got your back, but i also have my limits.

you never cared about anyone more than yourself, and that’s sad.

my family is just like any other family; we don’t always agree on everything.

you’re supposed to protect me, but you say the meanest things to me when i try to tell you.

you don’t come in here and embarrass me like that.

are you off your meds?

you don’t get to just start smashing up our lives because you’re transitioning into a new treatment.

this was not the time or place.

the problem is that you haven’t confronted your past.

how can a house, just a collection of bricks, wood, and glass, have that much power over people?

i don’t know what i saw.

you should get some sleep. you’ve had a rough night.

it’s just a carcass in the woods.

we were going to have a tea party.

we always knew. we always believed you.

i’m so sorry that we fought.

it’s time to wake up, sweetheart.

in movies, they always say that they look like they’re sleeping. she doesn’t look like she’s sleeping. she looks dead.

you did a really good job as usual.

you might want to slow down. it’s going to be a long night.

please. don’t fuck this up.

she was always trying to get all of us together in one place. someone should’ve told her she didn’t have to try this hard.

still not a hugger?

if it’s all the same to you, maybe we can save this conversation for a little later.

if you were married, you’d know that sometimes people need a little room.

i’m drinking every time i feel like punching something.

it’s not like we were really talking each other’s ears off before that.

this is his coping mechanism. he turns into a waiter.

you weren’t in bed. where’d you go?

i had the strangest dream.

you guys hear a scary noise?

but you know what storms do? they pass.

stay down here and stay away from the windows.

you wearing those gloves to bed now?

they’re not here to hurt us.

it’s okay, we’re totally safe.

this house has been here for a long, long time. it’s seen plenty of storms and worse than this.

i was holding her hand the entire time.

i know you’re scared.

i won’t let anything happen to her. to any of you guys.

all words are made up at first.

i know those stories ‘cause i was there for those stories.

i’m trying to drink her back to life. would you like me to stop?

you know some religions won’t let you be buried in their cemeteries if you kill yourself?

she knew the price the rest of us pay when someone does that, and she did it anyway.

i don’t know why she didn’t feel like she could talk to me.

there’s nothing she was going through that wouldn’t have been okay.

we’re all aware of how you like to hold back information.

we’ve all got questions and i think it’d be swell if you gave us a few answers for a change.

any psychiatrist worth their shit would’ve kept her on a much shorter leash.

she wasn’t worried about herself, she was apparently worried about you.

why do i need protection from the truth?

you’re entitled to your anger.

it’s very generous of you to allow me to feel my anger.

what else am i entitled to while you’re being so fucking generous?

you might want to check yourself before you start talking about the truth.

she’s drunk. i’m just pissed.

you took all that paranoia and craziness and you mass-marketed it.

you were happy enough to exploit all of us for some blood money.

you don’t know what i felt. and you don’t know what i feel. and i am allowed to process that any way i want to.

don’t touch me!

i have enough of my own grief. i don’t need yours too.

you’d have to be a real stubborn bitch not to, so.

you don’t get to lie to me, and live off me at the same time.

if i were you, i’d get off that high horse before i fall off.

if you were me, you wouldn’t be such a fucking asshole.

do you have any idea how much you’ve humiliated me?

i can’t look at either one of you right now.

i need some more vodka.

you think this is cute?

i don’t know why she’d go anywhere else by herself.

i don’t want to upset anyone any more than we’re already upset.

anything i did, i did it for a very good reason.

i was screaming and shouting and none of you could see me!

don’t do that ever again.

i’ll never let you go again. i promise.

[devotedecay]

❥      NON - SEXUAL   ACTS   OF   DOMINANCE . 

feel free to edit or elaborate as you please .   ( add  ‘ reverse ‘  to your message if you’d like to see how my muse would perform the action ) . otherwise , send in one of these for my muse’s reaction to   …

[ lit ]  your muse lighting a cigarette , spliff , etc. for mine . 

[ order ]  your muse ordering for mine at a restaurant or bar .

[ guide ]  your muse putting a hand on mine’s back to lead them .

[ pay ]  your muse paying for mine at a store , bar , restaurant , etc . ( you can specify where or for what . )

[ open ]  your muse opening a door for mine .

[ dry ]  your muse drying mine off with a towel after a shower , bath , swimming , etc . 

[ instruct ]  your muse giving mine instructions / telling them what to do . 

[ groom ]  your muse adjusting mine’s appearance , such as straightening a tie , fixing their hair , or buttoning their shirt for them , etc . 

[ direct ]  your muse taking mine by the chin and telling them to look yours in the eye .

[ disagree ]  your muse sternly telling mine  ‘ no ‘ .

[ rest ]  your muse resting their arm over mine’s shoulder / s .

[ clean ]  your muse cleaning a smudge of something off mine’s cheek , forehead , etc .   feel free to specify what and how . 

[ answer ]  your muse answering a question meant for mine . 

[ coat ]   your muse holds mine’s coat out for them while they put it on .

[ pilot ]  your muse taking mine by the arm , hand , shoulder , etc . to lead them . 

[ stare ]  your muse staring mine down . 

[ placement ]  your muse telling mine to sit down .

[ teach ]  your muse taking control of mine’s hand , arm , hips , etc . to make sure they do something correctly .  

[ patience ]  your muse telling mine to be patient .

[ tears ]  your muse wiping away mine’s tears .

[ swat ]  your muse swatting mine’s hand away from something they’re not supposed to touch .  

[ jewelry  ]  your muse clasping a piece of jewelry for mine , such as a necklace , or earrings . 

[ enough ]  your muse commanding mine to stop talking . 

[ retrieve ]  your muse requesting or ordering mine to retrieve them something .

[ invite ]  your muse inviting mine to sit on their lap .

[ lean ]  your muse inviting mine to lean into their side while they’re sitting or laying together . 

[ calm ]   your muse telling mine to  ‘ just breathe ‘ .

[ scold ]  your muse scolding mine for something .

[ comfort ]  your muse pulling mine into a reassuring hug .

[ approval ]  your muse complimenting mine on a choice they’ve made .

[ beckon ]  your muse beckoning mine to them without speaking . 

[ laces ]  your muse lacing , tying , or zipping something for mine , such as shoes , a dress , or a jacket , etc .

[ stay ]  your muse telling mine to stay in the car . 

[ defend ]  your muse defending mine’s reputation , dignity , or safety for them . 

[ feed ]  your muse feeding mine something , feel free to specify what .

[ volume ]  your muse demanding mine speak louder .

[ read ]  your muse reading something to mine .

[ refill ]  your muse refilling mine’s glass for them . 

[ possessive ]  your muse resting their hand on mine’s leg or the small of their back while they’re sitting beside each other . 

[ssbill]

i really wanna mess around with some werewolf!bill and hdm!bill. i have a LOT of feelings.

[ssbill]

❛ we can’t remember how to be alive. ❜

The way Mike says it, framed the crook of a window and illuminated by the light through it, finds a home in the curled up corners of Bill’s mind. He says it with a magnitude of things that rush rampant through him: morosity, finality, acceptingly.

It reminds Bill of a young boy with a craving for loyalty but nowhere to go, no one to rely on.

“We can try.” He says finally, exhaling it out like the words were the weight of the world itself. “Harder.” Bill inclines his head and regards the spotless floor (old and weathered, but spotless). For the whole lot of them sans Mike, they had never known what Derry was, or who they had been when they were children. Naivety had the ability to abandon them because Derry had let them go, had let them grow enough to come back but Mike had never left.

Mike had kept something childlike to work all his components. Bill could compare himself to Mike several times a day and still come out on the other end feeling other wordly and robotic. Knowing now that he had lived there, developed there, he could remember the type of boy he’d evolved from. Increasingly, it reminded him that he wasn’t quite confident of who he was now.

How was he meant to romanticize himself when memories he thought were stress-roughened nightmares were real?

Another glance to Mike calms him. If he becomes lost, Mike will call again.

“I don’t think we have a choice, honestly.” Quietly, so quietly, he adds: “For them.”