#the erm

[pop-roxs]

i ordered from the grelle zine i got a bundle im so happy YAYY

[lumalalu]

man fuck it im gonna start doin wip wednesdays here

Summer is sweet and endless and she has nothing to do but look at me. She's looking at me now, through the sun's glare on her mirror. She shadows the shapes of my mouth, but doesn't put her voice to my words.

My parents are worried about Grace. They think something's wrong with her - I know what it is. Grace knows, too, looking at me, looking through the glare in the mirror. Everything about her is wrong. I could fix her, if she would let me.

Solid, measured knocks. "Gracie?"

"Yeah?" She pulls her braids back to look at her shoulders uncovered. The angle of her jaw. She is trying to see how it matches up to mine.

"Your mother and I are going to go to the mall. Do you want to come?"

I've never been a fan of the sweltering heat of a cracked-asphalt parking lot, nor the chill on my skin in a Macy's. Grace says, "Okay." But she only said that so that she can look away from me. She is a fool. I can be found in anything that can reflect. I watch her in the windows, in silver lockets, in the mirrors she models new boots in. She parades about like a wind-up toy, a ballerina in a music box. Her mother hands her new skirts for the new school year, button-up blouses, low-cut but not whorish, and modest stockings.

The dressing rooms are hidden in the corner, neatly separated by two icons of triangles - one upside and one downside. I follow her to the wrong one, the wrong stall. It's cramped and ill-fitting, somewhat like a body. Grace tries her best to avoid me still. It's a valiant effort, I'll give her that much. But at some point, in a few minutes, maybe, she'll have to turn around and face me.

Grace takes off her tanktop like the accused pushing off concrete slabs. She hisses with impatience at the clasp of her bra and its stubborn claws in her skin, throws it on the bench with more violence than is necessary. Branded into her back it remains, aching, smoking. Cramped and ill-fitting. She itches at it like the fabric is stuck in her, like it still remains subcutaneously and she could pull it away finally, permanently, if she also removed the skin. Her nails are well cared for, and so, won't do the job. I smile at the sound of her bent elbows.

Her pants go too, her keys squeezing free of the claustrophobic pockets and diving with raucous applause to the floor. Her phone is in her purse, because the back pockets are only decorative. Grace doesn't curse. Her words are never ugly. Instead, her lips bend into the shape of: "shit", and then she bends and picks up the keyring. It is unadorned. Why should it be anything else? A key only has one purpose.

For a moment we stand there together, Grace's back to me, my back not quite to hers. She is hesitating, stretching out the moment between one set of clothes and the next. The blouse is slippery and coarse in texture, sends spider legs running over her back. The skirt is of good quality, but takes up in the back, so she is afraid to bend. No pockets.

I ask her if I can see it. She stares at the off-white wall in silence, and then she turns.

"Oh, no, Gracie. That won't do at all." I tell her. "That thing isn't even fit to be a tablecloth. It's see-through, it's itchy on my ribs. It's pushing my skin too close to my bones, the points of my ribs poking at my lungs. It's like a coffin leaking air, sighing its way into the ground." 

Her breath hitches. "I don't know what's wrong with me." She's saying to herself, to the mirror, to me. I make a sound - in my mouth it is sympathetic, but in hers it is animal, pained, cornered.

[ouroborosreilig]

dental hygiene fluid

[thelostmoongazer]

i did these sometime back in November of last year and forgot i never ended up posting these we still like Showtime right?

[ironspidersblog]

STOP I LOVE THIS SO MUCH

Flash: black widows here? It’s my lucky day

Ned: erm she’s here for Peter

Flash in absolute shock: since when did we get another Peter on the team????????

The team overhearing, giving death glares:

Peter: guys pls stop you’re embarrassing me pls, omg nat put down the knife

Headcanon is the Avengers showing up to Peter’s decathlon matches, and when Peter gets the winning point, the Avengers howl out like herd of animals and holding up signs for their little spider-baby.

[gravitycoill]

lil comic i’ve had in my head for a bit

[tibby-art]

broke: scar leaves his tie undone for hot guy purposes woke: scar can't tie a tie and only pretends it's undone for hot guy purposes

[vintelly]

just finished the owl house for the first time. can you guess who my favs are

[itsdefinitely]

i've noticed a pattern

[what-is-love-babey-dont-hurt-me]

He would not go there.

[rystiel]

[skmr24]

"Musicology here introducing Trentacool! This is a new side project for the super-talented Marina Ida from Off the Hook. Working with the mysterious DJ Sango, an indie track producer who's gained popularity online, their experimental sounds and techniques are 30x COOLER together!"

[pastelicide]

The girls.. missed them sm

[soosdraws]

obi-wan kenobi

[shotmrmiller]

military issued wife but you didn't know that using the "dating app" your friend brought up once in idle talk would end with you in an office with a (signed) marriage license on the desk, actively not looking at your 'husband', the burly lummox with a skull mask who's dwarfing the chair he can barely fit in.

you'd thought it'd be like tinder. a potential dating site. as in messaging on the app, getting to know each other, exchanging personal numbers before going on a date. not marriage. not opening your front door expecting it to be your door dasher and instead it's him with a rucksack in one hand and duffel in the other.

he'd looked down his thick nose at you, grunted a quiet, "not bad", and pushed past as if you were a swinging door to a saloon. what the fuck had he been doing there? you'd only spoken a couple of times with him and left on read for the some of it. you'd chosen to move on, try to match with someone else but the app had stopped working (you couldn't swipe right or left anymore) so you'd just put it on the back burner. you had better things to worry about than another disappointment of a man then.

except now said disappointment of a overly large man is taking up most of the couch and his legs aren't even all that far apart. and he's at your house. the house you'd never sent him the address to. as a matter of fact, you'd received a text from an unknown number earlier that had said someone would be home in a few. you'd ignored it thinking it was a wrong number situation but now you're sure it was him. how he got your phone number is also a mystery.

you'd tried to argue. to threaten him with the cops. to get him out and away, far fucking away, but he'd only scooped you up and let you pelt his broad back with your fists. chuckled low in his throat while he smacked your arse to keep still. "i'd hate to drop m'wife."

whatever fight you had he ate right out of you with the heels of your feet digging into the large curve of his shoulders and his hands curled around the back of your thighs. maybe it's because it'd been a while but he'd played your body like an instrument and had you bucking your hips against his tongue, slick coating his face in minutes. (your cheeks burn furiously hot when you think back on what he'd said then. "tight little thing 'nd you've only taken my two fingers." it's flattering, sue you.)

he'd lapped at your sodden cunt until you had overstimulation clumping your lashes together, inner thighs tender from the bristles of his shorn hair and unshaven jaw, your palm on the crown of his head having both pulled him to you and pushed him away.

and then he'd wiped your release with the back of his hand, thumbed the swollen flesh of your bottom lip and rumbled that it's time for bed.

which eventually led to you being here. in front of a man he calls Price, a marriage certificate unlike any you've ever glanced upon, a large gloved hand curled snugly around your leg, fingers grazing a little too close to where he'd left aching and swollen just yesterday.

you're reading the terms and conditions of anything from here on forward. even the fine print.

and then soap comes around and plants a seed in his head of him planting a seed in you :/ at least you can tell your nosy ass aunt that at least you've got a man while she's on her 4th divorce on thanksgiving 💅🏼