#it & i still have to fucking shower

[gothghostiie]

anyway. the image of graves being Catholic burns so good. imagining him kneeling by his bed and praying every night, rosary in hand with his head bowed down, begging someone to forgive whatever sins he commited. always wearing a cross necklace and feeling genuine unease when he doesnt at least have it on his person. sitting in church after the service and staring at the statue of mary while waiting for his turn to get into the confessional booth. this may just be my downfall

[starmocha]

I don't always have to be sad to post caps of Zayne. Sometimes (Always), I just want to look at his hands. 💁‍♀️

[psychotic-nonsense]

|| >

There's not much Steve remembers.

There's a group of people walking through the woods, some older, some teens. He's amongst them. The sky is too dark and the trees are too dead. His hands are tight, holding something close. There's an air of panic, stress, hurry, caution. A mistake was made, and they need to escape.

Then instincts flare and the trees descend on them. Sharp rushes of wind, the shrill shrieking of something otherworldly. There's teeth and sharp whips and screaming and gunshots.

Then the swirling mass parts and the shrieks turn human, and Steve remembers the visceral fear of seeing the mass separate. One half rises, carrying a flailing, manic figure, and no no no Robin please no not Robin please no me take me instead you bastards not Robin please no Robin Robin-

Then the other half descends, whips circle his wrists, and the ground falls beneath him. There's screaming behind and before him as the earth fades away, and it's a cruel parallel, floating when all he wants to do is sink.

Robin's thrashing, Steve's thrashing. Their weapons have no use here, where teeth and whips maul them. Amid the pain, all Steve can do is plead to Robin, to forgive, to hope, to fight.

Robin finds the weak spot first. A quick succession of blind swings, a fierce thrash of flailing limbs. The bats scare, release her. But they're too high. Steve feels his throat go coarse as he watches Robin crash into the dead forest below, unable to differentiate the snapping between bark and bone.

Steve finds it in him to copy the act, do the same. And somehow, it works. Somehow, he's weightless.

There's a fierce pressure and the first snap he remembers feeling both on and within his skin-

And Steve wakes up.

It's not sudden, it's gradual. He feels the pains within him slowly throb to life, rousing him from sleep like an anchor rising from the sea. His left hand feels thick, and there's a burning poker laying across his forehead. His jaw feels wrong, and his eye stings and throbs.

His other senses slowly begin to return as well. He's laying down, his head tilted to his left, a bit cramped in the space as something presses around his shoulders. The material he's on isn't very comfortable either, some parts stabbing into his back, and there's a crinkling sound every time he breathes. He hears the faint rippling of water, and somewhere out there, it rushes fast and hard.

It's hell to even think of doing it, but as Steve returns to reality, his instincts rise to the surface, and he knows he has to get up soon. So he opens his eyes. He fights the involuntary tears, wincing as the stinging worsens, then wincing further when his face crumbles in the looping pain.

Finally, he can see a little. Where he is, it's thankfully pretty dark, with only a faint golden glow illuminating the area around him. His eyes strain to see through the darkness past the range of the light-

And then Steve notices where he is. A boathouse. The boathouse. The same one from a night that feels like a lifetime ago, rather than a few weeks. The start of their worst journey, the beginning of a friendship that would grow just to rot into a sour mess of guilt and loneliness.

He's laying within the same boat too...

His eyes focus on some motion across from him. A table covered in a lump of tarps and ratty cloths, and atop it sleeps a figure. Her face is scrunched up in pain, a patch of bloody fabric covering her cheek. One leg has been removed of all clothes, the ankle wrapped and foot elevated. Steve knows her, and instinct briefly overpowers everything else.

"Robs?-" Steve cracks out, his voice sore and rough. His body tries to rise, moving habitually, and he barely rises onto his elbows before the world pounces on him again. It's so strong and he's so weak that he can't move more than the closing of his eyes and the falling of his chin to his chest, can't make a sound louder than a whimper.

Suddenly there's a noise, there's movement beside him. The light glows just a tough brighter, and there's a base warmth suddenly pulsing through his chest.

It's a person, shushing him. Their hand is resting softly on his back, simultaneously supporting him and urging him down.

"Please, stay. It is better for you to rest."

The voice speaks softer than Steve can remember, but he still knows it. It's monotone, sounds ghostly, faint, quiet in a way that has nothing to do with volume, but it's still familiar. Still brings the memories around Steve right into the present, takes him back to that corpse, makes the presence around him feel more melancholic than scary.

Which is funnily enough, even more terrifying.

Steve can't move, can't pull his sight up to face what can't be reality.

"Apologies for the location. We cannot stray too far from the Gates."

The monotone changes to sound almost apologetic, more real, more like what Steve has been craving. It's what finally makes him cave, to turn his eyes to face the impossible.

Who he sees, what he sees, both crushes and rises his hope. Because past everything before him - the inhuman glow, the calm, plain expression - he finds exactly what he's been fighting for.

"Eddie...?" Steve pleads.

The blank face falls, just slightly. Like it's guilty.

"I'm sorry. No. Not quite."

(cleaner version below)

[introspectivememories]

please put your reasonings in the tags!!!! esp if you pick the last one

[altschmerzes]

seen one too many snide posts about this in the last week or so but did you know that if you don't enjoy scenes in smut establishing consent or checking in then you simply don't have to read them and you don't have to go online and whine about how they're Consent Posturing and Purity Culture and Sanitizing Everything and God Just Kill Me Now. like you can have a preference without making it into a three act morality play, which is ironically what you are accusing other people of doing.

the same goes for like, detailed content warnings on fics. or content warnings at all. you can just skip those. they're not a sign of Purity Culture Gone Too Far or Those Damn Puriteens or whatever. you can dislike things without being an asshole about them or implying they're Taking Away What's Good And Correct About Fic Or Creativity.

[snzluv3r]

i’ve been smart enough to keep my bedroom window closed since my allergies have started becoming more insane than usual, but i forgot that we have to keep the bathroom window in our apartment open, and i realized really quickly into my shower that i was not only having a sneezing fit but a full blown allergy attack. now it’s been an hour and i’m still sneezing, and my entire head is itchy

[shower-phantom-ideas]

Danny saving Villians because he doesn’t want them as ghosts in his realm.

“I aint letting you bring that into my house nuh uh”

[rinnysmuses]

'You're doing great...'

"...."

Oh. Staring at the screen while Ari ignored the show to play with her toys, Rhea felt the tears fill her eyes. Welp... Rubbing them, she sniffled as she silently cried in her seat.

[iwanttobepersephone]

So, my mom was telling me how much free time I have, and I was like, "I have no freetime wth do you mean?????" And I just wanna see if this is like. A normal way to think of things?

Things I need to do:

Finish reading icebound land

Make a whole lotta art that I promised people

Research study abroad programs

At least one Dutch lesson a day

Keep my room clean

Talk to my friends so they know I love them (and so I don't go insane)

My math homework

Keep myself clean (showers, finally brushing my teeth after months, etc etc) so I don't go insane

Eat at 7pm

Various things I enjoy as to not go insane

All from 6pm to 9 pm, every day, after being at school from 8 am to 3:30 pm and then The Public (teen center) from 3:30 to 5:30, and I need to be in bed by 9:30 and asleep by 10:00

So, basically, I'm "on the clock" from 7 am (When I start getting ready for school) until 9 pm, with no breaks

But yeah no I totally have free time. Yeaup

[toytulini]

oh yeah: Tank Rescape!

[mylove-thresher]

Men better step up their game

[barbwalken]

Its time to draw the annual ass beating between cyrus and cynthia

[teddybeartoji]

can't tell whether i'm getting fucked by my non-existent period or i've just fallen into a Ditch face first

[magicalmutants]

Every time my boss calls me “kiddo” my insides twist in this very complicated way. Sometimes with an older man you really gotta ask do I want you or do I want you to hug me and tell me you’re proud of me

[artificiallita]

listen i know to die clean and pretty is the most needlessly tragic thing ive ever foisted upon the fandom and i absolutely should not be looking for ways to make it worse

but

what if same story but erika’s pov

[neonblixtar]

we are so back