#please take it away from me

[basilbubby]

Me too Dal. Me too.

[nonebinary-leftbeef]

DEVASTATING the lyric you've been mishearing is better than the real one

[1nfcteds1llnesz]

HI HI HI HI HI HI HI HI HELLOOOOOOOOOO

Posting here because geez… I get 0 attention on Twitter…. I got faith in tumblr

Anyways appol Grian inspired by a post on twit …

Thank yewww for your attentionnnnnnnn

[jellybracelet]

I am a bad girl bad girl

[lucabyte]

On autonomy, and what it means to be Obliged to Help.

Bonus:

[bookinit02]

it’s out!

wip wednesday: s5 edition🫡

[yamchala]

It's a beautiful new day (hey!)

happy 1 year to the mario movie! :D

[bi-writes]

his phone is ringing. he's startled, because no one calls him. he doesn't think anyone even has his number. when he flips it over, it's just a mess of digits, but the area code is familiar. (18+, kinda dark, mw3 spoilers)

he's curious. too curious. he has to answer it, even if he knows he won't respond. he needs to hear someone's voice because the ones in his head are clawing at the inside of his skull, and he needs to ward them off, even if just for a minute.

he picks it up. and he waits for the greeting.

"h...h-hello?"

it's a soft voice. a woman's voice. he frowns, but he says nothing. there's a gentle sniffle on the other end, and then she talks again, a bit shakier this time.

"h-he...he said you might be like this," she whispers. "said...said you might not talk. but...he said you would answer. said you'd always answer."

his head snaps up. suddenly, he's sitting up straight, at attention, and he squeezes his free hand into a fist and nearly punctures the skin with his blunt fingernails. something sharp hits his chest, and his heart drops into his stomach. he tastes acid.

i guess he was right all along. johnny had a bird. and he left her behind, too.

"i-i...i can't--" you stutter, sucking in a shaking breath, and ghost grunts, biting his tongue, wanting to taste blood. every time he thinks he has found his center, something throws him off. the jingle of his dog tags in the bedside table's drawer. the flash of blue in someone's eyes only to realize it isn't him, he's fucking gone, he's dead and so am i.

the sound of his bonnie lass, soft and sweet as she cries into the phone.

the line cuts. you drop the phone, covering your face with your hands, and you sob into your palms. you haven't moved from this place on your couch. everything reminds you of something that once was, and when you found the number on the back of a worn picture tucked neatly into his bible, you called because he told you if you needed him, he would answer.

it's past midnight when the door opens. you're still in the same place, strewn about the cushions where you've been for days, you think. you turn your head, and he nearly has to duck his head to come into your space. when he steps into the moonlight, you see the skeleton mouth of his mask, and you just blink, watching him come closer.

johnny always told you that if something happened, ghost, simon, whatever the fuck he would be calling himself when he would inevitably show up, that he would support you. but you didn't know how. you didn't think to ask, because johnny was all smiles and warm glows, and ghost is a dark cloud that threatens what grows.

but johnny was right.

he supports you when you climb up over him, settling down with your thighs around his head. he supports you when you bend, dragging your warm cunt over the flat of his tongue and chasing the high that you've missed for so long. and he supports you when you cum, scarred cheeks hollowing as he sucks at the skin of your thighs, following the trails of slick that drip from you, letting it guide him right back to where he belongs, inside of you, around you, making you forget what's missing.

yeah. johnny's always right.

[iizuumi]

Side effects of wearing your sentient Kaiju suit too often ,,,,

[griffithkisser]

call me an apostle because the effect these gorgeous, luscious, kissable, desirable, plump lips have on me is definitely otherworldly.

[leafyisgreennotblue]

Forgot I had tumblr for a quick second there

[carnifex-mallacht]

I started barking internally

Guys I need him.

THAT'S ALL! HAVE A NICE DAY❤

[tommarvoloriddlesdiary]

Hermione: Okay — He’s a 10, but he kills people, calls his sycophants ‘Death Eaters’, and hasn’t gotten over his rather specific fear of babies. Harry: Hmm… and what’s my pet name? Hermione, sighing in dismay: He calls you ‘Darling’- Harry: Smash — we don’t need kids. 

[markscherz]

Just a reminder that in much of the northern hemisphere there is Good and Exciting Stuff to be found right now (early Summer) in your local ponds and waterways.

[steddieas-shegoes]

AU where Eddie’s mom manages to get away from Eddie’s dad when he’s a small child, goes to the only place she knows is truly safe: Wayne.

Wayne takes them in no questions asked, helps her raise Eddie, makes sure his dad never comes around (maybe works with Hopper once he’s named Chief to make sure he gets behind bars as soon as possible).

So Eddie gets the love of his mom, and the love of his Uncle Wayne, and shit is still hard, money is still tight, he still has trouble fitting in, but it doesn’t distract him from school so much.

He graduates his first try, squeaks by with Cs and Bs because he’s smart, he’s just so easily distracted. Even gets into the community college, but has no idea what he wants to do until his mom is helping him with a pre-req English course. She says he’s naturally good at unpacking a story for anyone to understand it -“even when I ain’t the brightest star in the sky”- and he realizes maybe his talent of telling stories and helping people understand stories could make him a good English teacher.

Now that he has a plan, he’s focused, invested on getting into a university so he can be certified to teach. But he still struggles with math and unfortunately, he has to pass to move on.

That’s where Steve Harrington, freshman at Hawkins Community and Technical College, comes in. This isn’t the Steve that Eddie remembers from high school at all: he’s quiet and shy, doesn’t make eye contact, is really fucking smart.

Steve agrees to tutor him if Eddie agrees to help him with his final paper in his English course, a 10 page fictional exploration of a time in history.

“Use your imagination!” “Just pretend you’re writing a memoir.” “This is the longest sentence I’ve ever read and that includes Tolkien books.”

Steve blushes, makes corrections when Eddie suggests them, makes flash cards with formulas for Eddie to memorize for his exam.

They spend nearly every day working together, studying together, tutoring each other.

When Eddie passes his exam, he’s so excited, he runs right to the library, where he knows Steve is putting the final touches on his paper. He doesn’t even wait to catch his breath from running across campus to kiss him.

And suddenly Eddie isn’t the only one out of breath.

[ficcerspam]

Tim has noticed something odd, about the Demon Brat.

Sometimes, the Demon Brat would look to his left, as if to start a conversation, or as if anticipating someone saying something, only to freeze. Just for a moment, a half second, because nobody was there, before looking away with painful expression. 

Months later, Tim decided to stand there, just to see what would happen. The brat didn’t look at him once, and Tim found that curious, and odd.

Another odd thing about his new, murderous brother, is that he refuses to look into the mirror. That’s not true, exactly: he would look in the mirror for basics, for necessities. 

Tim realized, months of observations later, that the brat didn’t look himself in the eyes. 

Strange. 

Tim had asked him, once, why he didn’t. As expected, all he got was a “It’s none of your business Drake.”

But that didn’t stop Tim from wondering. Tim is, if nothing else, curious to a fault and persistent to an illegal degree. 

And so the strangeness would continue, and Tim would wonder.  

The brat would look to his left, pause, and then look away. He would deftly avoid mirrors, and when asked why he would sneer and avoid those questions, too. 

Until he didn’t. 

Until he came back to the Cave battered and beaten, some dreary autumn day, the Demon Brat unusually sullen and quiet and off his game. He had sat through the lecture Bruce had given him, and sat through the quiet reaching out from Dick, and sat through the cajoling teasing meant to rile him up, to get him to say or do anything per the norm, with an unusual aplomb.

The brat apologized, said he was fine, and ignored the rest. He told Bruce he wouldn’t patrol tomorrow, and would stay home from school, because clearly he wasn’t feeling well. 

 It was like Damian wasn’t there, fully. 

So when Tim saw that the brat’s door was open, the next day, he peeked in. 

Of course he did. 

And there the brat was, sitting in front of the full length mirror he usually had covered with a cloth when it wasn’t in use, reaching up and staring directly into his own reflection’s eyes. 

“Demon Brat?” Tim asked, stepping in and concerned about the look in the other’s face. There was no answer. 

“Damian. What’s wrong.” Tim stood behind the boy, watching as Damian touched the corner of his own reflection’s eye. 

“The color’s wrong, Drake.” Damian finally said, matter of fact and almost broken, absent-minded. 

“What?” Tim asked, trying to see what he was talking about. Nothing was wrong, nothing was changed. Damian met his eyes through the mirror for a long moment, but Tim didn’t understand. 

“The color.” Damian reiterated, looking at his own reflection again. 

“The color? Of what?” Tim and Damian were never close, not really, but he was starting to feel like something was slipping away, in this moment. Damian dropped his hand, and finally looked away. 

Without answering, the boy got up and carefully draped a cloth over the mirror, ushering Tim out of his room silent as the dead. 

“Leave me be for today, Drake.” Tim reached, opened his mouth to try and say something, because something was wrong, but what? 

But Damian simply shut the door softly. 

The sound of the lock engaging felt strangely, and utterly, final in a Manor full of lockpicking detectives.

Tim laid a hand on the door, and mourned.