* WE ALL FLOAT !

@clownfought-blog / clownfought-blog.tumblr.com

ind. sel. priv. low activity.   /  multimuse for the losers club from stephen king's IT est. 20 / 09 / 17. adored by erin.
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sorry abt my lack of activity.  i’ve been feeling ?? insecure ?? inadequate ?? about how i write the losers and i don’t feel like i have much for their voices anymore which sucks honestly since i was excited to come back here. my activity rn is mostly on @knifegifted if you want me
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*      YOU  DIDN’T  LISTEN  TO  WHAT  I  TOLD  YOU    ,    DID  YOU    ?      you  should  have  stayed  out  of  derry     .     your  parents  didn’t     .    look  what happened  to  them           //       ind.  priv.  highly  selective  HENRY  BOWERS  from  stephen  king’s  IT.    —   loathed  wholeheartedly  by  erin.
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* PAPER MAN.           you  crumble  so  harshly.          there  is  nothing  kind  about  you.         there  is nothing  gentle  about  the  way  you  fall  apart.          panes  of  glass  destroyed  under  harsh  force.         if  you  are  going  to  be  destroyed  ,  you  will  cut  apart  whatever  is  in  your  path.          boy , you  will  die  as  violently  as  you  lived   !            father  is  a  preacher     /     you  are  the  congregation.          you  hear  his  sermons  ,  slicked  acidic  words  burn  as  they  worm  into  your  brain.          where  is  your  excuse  now  ,  henry bowers   ?          salvation  spins  spider - webs  in  the  aging  creases  of  his  palms.         cruelty  stains  red  ,  raw  knuckles.           but  weakness  ,  and  the  wrists  wring  in  your  brain  of  a  man  choosing  which  side  of  his  hand  to  offer  you  ,  is  not  an  option.         you  are  not  weak        (   this  is  not  a  fact  ,  nor  is  he  convinced  of  this  ,  but  this  is  guilt  of  any  weakness  he  ever  had.   )          camouflaged  behind  his  hands  ,  henry  casts  his  attention  up.          red  flows  from  the  nose  ,  stains  pale  skin .          ONLY  WHEN  IT  IS  YOUR  BLOOD  FLOWING  ARE  YOU  SCARED.           ❛    what the fuck are you looking at    !?    ❜      switchblade  mouth  ,  sharp  and  deadly  ,  barks  scathing.  if  only  you  looked  as  lethal  as  you  truly  were.
STARTER CALL :         //       @wiinstons​
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elena had suffered herself a little to long without blood, forcing herself to drink only a little at a time to stop from killing anyone. it had started to take a toll as her head pounded, she had gone a little pale. mind was hazy, flashes of her life come sporadically. ' you know i hate doing this to you, ' even after years, she still feels like she needs to apologize. ' .. but i can't wait anymore. ' fangs show, eyes change as she takes hold of his arm. bringing it to her lips. fangs bare down

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THE DAY COMES AND YOU EXPECT IT ALL THE SAME.            there  is  no pride  in  deniability.           there  is  no  point.          you  have  only  felt  hurt  when  you  have denied  yourself  of  the  truth.     you  cannot  pretend  like  everything  is  normal.           nothing  will  ever  hurt  you  again  ———    NOT  FOR  27  YEARS.     it  makes  your  heart  pound.          chases  breaths  from  your  lungs  ,  forcing  it  to  hide  in  the  secluded  corners  of  your  insides. 

no  ,  bill  denbrough  ,  life  is  not  meant  to  be  calm  or  normal  anymore  for  you.           perhaps  that  is  the  point.           you  deal  with  this  life  and  its  lack  of  ordinance  like  you were  always  meant  to  do.          that  is  what’s  required  of  you.           you  survived  before.     you  will  survive  again.

he  gives  her  a  wary  look.            pale    /   stricken  and  it  makes  his  heart  lurch  in  place.          no  calm  to  the  storm        made  your  home  in  a  hurricane’s  eye   /    hold  strong  against  raging  winds   )     and  he  feels  nauseous.           ❛   i  kn  -  know  you  do.   ❜             listen  to  the  rhythm  of  his  stutter   ;   you  are  losing  it  slowly  as  your  tongue  presses  out  broken  record  sound.           mouth  a  metronome  ,  tick  -  tick  -  tick  ,  count  the  beats  of  the  words.           bill  reaches  for  his  sweater  sleeve  and  pulls  up  ,  offering  ivory  skin  like  a  sacrifice  to  some  higher  being.         TEETH WILL RUIN THE SACRIFICE WITH RED   ———   oh  ,  dear  boy  ,  you  know  plenty  about  being  ruined     

throat  is  tight  as  he  sucks  in  a  breath  ,  harsh  pierce  of  teeth  against  his  arm.     fingers  curl  hard  ,  half  -  moon  grit  of  his  nails  digging  white  into  his  palm.     blood  spills  ,  blood  runs  ,  blood  stains.             takes  the  breaths  from  your  chest  ,  it  stops  you  from screaming.            she  is  all  angles    /    needle  -  poking  stings            a  row  of  sharpened  monster’s  teeth  sink  your  skin  and  you  can  only  freeze.              so  cold  ,  so  lost.             devoted  to  the  sensation  of  rushing  blood  from  your  veins.              boys  who  fall  so  blindly.              sacrifice  to  the  priestess  that  sways  and  commands  and  enchants.             bathe  in  what  pours  from  your  veins.             one  day  you  will  be  bled  dry.

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ADDING ONTO THAT POST !!  my inactivity led to me being busy on my other blogs. if you wanna find me elsewhere when i’m not here, here’s a handy little guide!!

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dr jonathan crane (  the scarecrow  )  /  dc comics ( with a bunch of verses including it && stra.nger thi.ngs )  /  @toxinumbed 
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alex riley  /  cbs’ me myself and i    ( with a bunch of verses including it && stra.nger thi.ngs )  /  @bcygenius
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justin riley  /  cbs’ me myself and i  /   ( with a bunch of verses including it && stra.nger thi.ngs )  /  @legendtiime
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OH MAN OKAY !   so long story short , my muse for over here got totally shot for so long. i logged in with no motivation to do anything. i couldn’t even seem to write correctly for anyone over here which completely sucks because i still love this blog / the characters i write.  i do want to write for the losers but i get totally swamped rn with other muses / things and i’ve completely neglected this blog in that time. 

so i do want to start a little fresh. i came back to a whack of new followers without doing anything for two weeks ( thanks sm but omg ? my inactive ass is not servicing anything ). so i’ve made the choice to do some construction. i’m redoing my theme, icons, etc and i’m going to be DROPPING THREADS* !!  i’ll post a new starter call sometime within the next few days.

this is just for my mental wellbeing and i’m hoping this helps me feel more motivated to write here again. 

*if there’s a thread we have that you wanna keep doing, just hmu and i’ll gladly keep it!  

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                        ❛  EVERYONE has blood on their hands. that DOESN’T mean they are BAD people though.  
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SUCH BLOOD NEVER WASHES AWAY  /  FEEL IT CAKE UNDER YOUR FINGERNAILS.      you try , in your panic , to feel less like you regret your actions.      you did something good  ;  why does it make you feel so bad    CHARCOAL - BURNING VOMIT still feels like it stains your hair with its smell , concave dent in your sneaker from the soccer kick you did not know you could manage , sight and smell and touch of rotted heads and limbs as you dug around in that water.      routine is hard to break , but easy to improve on.     you have taken two showers a day to feel like it does not POLLUTE your skin. 

❛   it’s freaking DISGUSTING is what it is.    i’m not - i’m not a bad person.    i just —   ❜      just what ?     bile builds when he hears bill call them heroes , when richie calls them clown - killers , when stan touches the scars that dot his temples.     there is no shame in his actions.     he does not regret standing by and watching the monstrosity sink into the furthest recesses of the sewers.     but he does not like the UNCLEAN remains that still play on his skin.     he can cure just about anything  ;  his medicine cabinet a cornucopia of different coloured pills that he knows can help him.     THERE ARE WOUNDS THAT NO MEDICINE CAN TREAT.     nothing he has can rid himself of the memories.     ❛    you don’t know how bad this is.    i couldn’t sleep and - and my mom , she took me to the hospital to get checked for insomnia.     she thinks i’m narcoleptic !     do you know what that’s like in my house ?     ❜ 

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“Yes… she’s the best… I don’t remember a time where I’ve felt more comfortable in my house.” She admits, giving a small but happy chuckle. “I am too… we can walk or ride our bikes together to go to school and back,” Beverly suggests. “If you want that is.” Watching him she suggests before he says to give him a minute. Hanging up her phone, she waits for him to step out before waving. “I’ll be right out!” She yells out the window before heading downstairs. Her aunt was already asleep and didn’t mind her leaving the room so long as she didn’t go too far from home. 
“Hey…. it’s good to see you up close.” The girl greets, leaning in to hug him tightly. Once a few seconds passed she stepped back. She didn’t want to overdo it as she was still unsure where he stood on everything. Whether he enjoyed those two kisses as much as she did. Their second kiss could’ve been in the heat of the moment since she’d told him that she was supposed to leave the day after. A friend’s kiss instead of something more. Still holding his hand, she looks up at him. “How’ve you been? I’m sorry for not telling you sooner. I just needed time to get everything together before school starts again.”

IMAGINE HER HAND AGAINST YOUR CHEEK  /  BLOOD STAINS THE LAST MEMORY OF HER. when you arrive home , you wear the stain like a bruise. you relish in it , for it is a sign of your courage and your heart , but you feel it sting when you remember why it is there. beverly marsh is a fading memory by the end of the evening. you remember what she said , about forgetting. YOU FEEL YOURSELF FORGETTING TOO. watercolor smears across your drawing of her , leaking red across her cheek like the red that adorns yours , and you write her name so you may never forget her. you could live to forget ——— forget the cistern , forget the clown , forget every late night spent blaming yourself for georgie’s disappearance death. but you cannot afford to forget the ones you love.

evening breezes rush over him , summer’s death passes with little fanfare as derry grows colder by the minute. EVERYTHING FEELS A LITTLE BIT COLDER NOW. all he can do is accept it  ;  everything dies eventually. should that be something a child should accept as casually as he does a new concept in math class ? he can only look up , find a face that makes him feel warm again. “ i d - di - di - didn’t think you wuh - were coming back. ” can he put his heart into something like that again ? is it possible ? “ good. as good as y - you can get. ” for bill , considering everything he had seen in the course of a year , his judgement on just what consists of being good is SKEWERED , but he’s sure he isn’t the only one. “ duh - do - don’t be sorry. you couldn’t have kn - known. ”

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