titsay
cherry valley forever
oozey mess
Andulka
@theartofmadeline
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
Love Begins
Three Goblin Art
⁂
d e v o n
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
roma★
Origami Around
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
Kaledo Art
tannertan36
Cosmic Funnies
Product Placement
Claire Keane
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
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@pavidae-blog
@palliativum
“My mom took the whole --- I need to take a year off of school thing better than I thought she would.” Ashley had been expecting yelling, fighting, if you fall behind you’ll never get ahead; but her mother had been gentle. Understanding. She isn’t sure how long it will last, but she’s grateful for it while it’s here.
kairampus:
“ What makes you think I was LOOKING ? ”
He could SENSE that she was on edge from a mile away.
“Because I’m not BLIND.”
And she can sense he’s trouble from FARTHER.
obciscr:
[ Brook quietly walked over to water dispenser she has in her kitchen, before taking an empty glass, and filling it up, and taking the filled glass back to Ashley. ]
❝… So..you okay?❞
The cool water feels good on her dry throat, though she wishes it were WARMER. The question prompts a shallow nod, though there’s no thought to it.
“I’m --- I’m alive, right? What more can I ask for?”
ignatiius:
The Being closed his eyes briefly and drew in another long breath. A foolish part of him ached to show himself and speak to her; he had, after all, never lost that old desperate need for companionship, and two centuries of loneliness had cut deep. He wanted someone near him, someone to speak with, someone to help pass the days – but as much as he wanted that, fear held him back from it on most occasions. He was too aware of mankind’s cruelty to willingly put himself in the path of it.
But she had said she would put away the gun. She could, of course, be lying, but something in her voice made him want to trust her. With a final inhale of breath, therefore, the Being tensed himself, opened his eyes, and crept out from behind the boulder, crouched low to the ground in an attempt to lesson the effect of his height. There was no denying that he was hideous, even more hideous than the wendigos: although he moved like a man, his face was, if possible, even less human than theirs, and he more resembled some mummified corpse than a living creature.
‘ … Do not be afraid. ’
She GASPS --- she would reach for the gun upon her back were she not FROZEN WITH FEAR. A zombie --- that’s her first thought. She has found so much in her hunting; wendigos are not the only MYTHS wandering this fucking earth. Why not zombies? It’s like a horror movie, and Ashley is nothing if not a COWARD. { can’t you see? you are so much stronger than you were. } Her hands shake violently and it is not until he SPEAKS that she is knocked from her terrified stupor enough to move.
The gun is instantly back in her hands --- though pointed at the ground and NOT at him --- as her mind rapidly spins through possibilities, gears WHIRRING. She is smart as she is frightened --- SPEECH, intelligent speech, not like the imitation that the wendigos offered. So this creature is intelligent. Has not attacked --- either waiting for an opening or without intention to at this moment. Had she not given him an opening when she’d FROZEN IN TERROR? So without intention to hurt her { yet }. Too large to be human, to have EVER been human. Something else?
She should kill it to be certain --- to be SAFE. But she is suddenly unsure if a gun will be EFFECTIVE and she has no desire to enrage it, to prompt an attack. Better to be --- safe ---...
{ better to be kind. }
“What a - are you?” she barks, the effect no doubt lessened by her shuddering voice. Gun remains pointed at the ground, though her grip is still tight.
missingdiigits:
His default coping mechanism after the evening up on the mountain is alcohol, a half-baked attempt of drinking his problems away ( though drinking would never bring Jessica back, it would never mend his hand, or erase his mind of the memory of Sam’s limp body being slammed against the wall and clawed through, impaled so fucking EFFORTLESSLY – ).
He can’t let others know of this, though, his methods of coping, or forgetting, or both representing, in his mind, an embarrassing touch of weakness.
“Nah, I’m good.” he turns it down, though offers for her to indulge in whatever she’d like, despite his lack of participation. “ – YOU CAN, though. I won’t mind.”
She nods at his refusal, not surprised --- though she feels she SHOULD be. Today is a bad day; she is too tired and out of it to feel much of anything. Fingers tangle together and then separate, palms pressing together in some useless attempt to do something { anything } with her hands but pick at the scars on her wrists.
“No, I don’t --- really drink anymore.” A misstep now and then --- no one is perfect, no one stays on the wagon forever --- but getting better. That’s what she tells herself, anyway. “It kinda --- fucks with my meds, y - you know?”
{ the real reason is less practical. she is destroying herself more than enough without the use of alcohol. frankly, she doesn’t need the help. }
Affectionate Starters
Send me one of the following: !
"Scoot over and share the blankets!"
"Do you want some cocoa?"
"Here, you can have my jacket. It's too cold out to be wearing short sleeves."
"I need a hug."
"Your feet are cold!"
"Can I play with your hair?"
"You make a good pillow."
"You know, you have really bad morning breath."
"Are you ticklish?"
"You don't mind sharing a bed, do you?"
"Hold still--! You've got something on your face."
"I really don't get why you're single."
"Can we hold hands? I forgot my gloves."
"Do you want to spend the night?"
"Here, get under my umbrella!"
"I bought this at the store the other day. It reminded me of you."
So, about that Scrubs AU….
like this for a starter, ye?
while i was tracking the makkapitew, it was tracking something else
her clothes spread wide, and mermaid-like a while they bore her up, which time she chanted snatches of old lauds — as one incapable of her own distress, or like a creature native and indued unto that element. but long it could not be till that her garments, heavy with their drink, pulled the poor wretch from her melodious lay to muddy death.
like this for a starter, ye?
like this for a starter, ye?
sometimes your heart feels like glass, like glass, and you are not sure how it remains unbroken. you have been handled too harshly { you have handled yourself too harshly } for mere smudges, for mere shuddering cracks. him and him and you. you share your self - hatred with them, sometimes, but that means taking them into yourself and acknowledging that what they have done has harmed you IRREPARABLY and that is almost worse. mostly you swallow it. your heart feels like glass, like glass, and you do not think it is completely shattered but you are not sure that you know how to tell.
sometimes your heart feels like smoke, untouchable, on the days when you are distant and they call you quarrelsome, they call you TREATMENT RESISTANT, and you do not know how to tell them you feel as though everything is too far away to trust. you cannot feel it beating, cannot feel it pumping blood but they tell you it must be, it must be, and sometimes you cut yourself open just to be sure. and sure enough blood always spills plentifully from broken wrists and you are not sure if you are grateful for living or if you regret it. you heart feels like smoke and you cannot feel it beating and you almost wish it would stop.
sometimes your heart feels like tar, like sludge, thick. it spreads throughout your veins and makes you heavy, makes you tired, makes you count your cutlery like some sort of children’s book. your limbs weigh a ton and your lips weigh more and you do not know how you manage to force a smile. sometimes you cannot. you can feel it spilling out into your lungs, caking hard round your ribs. you find yourself waiting for the day when they will crack under the weight, for the day they will collapse in on you and you will cease to exist. your heart feels like tar and sometimes you vomit it up.
sometimes your heart feels like nothing at all, and this is the worst kind of suffering. sometimes you can be so cruel and so selfish and so hurtful and so GODDAMN COWARDLY that you are certain you must have no heart at all for surely one with kindness in their veins would not be able to — to — to. sometimes you are heartless, you are wicked, and the doctors blame it on your chemistry and you blame it on yourself. you find yourself alone with all these words, all these words in your head that mock, that demean, selfish, sinner, ugly, cruel, how could you, how could you? and they are so loud and so insistent that you believe them.
every time the others forgive you, the words grow louder.
ignatiius:
The Being ground his teeth together and hunkered down a little closer to the boulder, sucking in harsh breaths through the hole where his nose ought to have been. Oh, he had been here too many times before, and he knew just what would happen: the moment he showed his face, panic would take over in the girl’s mind, and she would fire at him without asking questions. That was the way it had always gone. People ran, or they shot.
‘ Will you not leave me in peace? ’ he asked, tilting his head up slightly so that the wind could properly carry his voice to her. ‘ Trust my word when I say that you do not wish to see my face; rest assured, it will repulse you. Let me go on my way, and I will do the same to you. I wish for no quarrel. ’
It’s not that she doesn’t want to leave; to carry on and pretend she hasn’t realized that this could be a danger. She isn’t one for confrontation, nor one prone to lies --- but she’s trying to mild herself into the kind of a hero she’d like to write a story about one day, and that means she can’t just run away and leave a stranger here to die at the hands of the creatures that nearly killed her. nearly? hah.
“I’m putting my gun away,” she says, slowly, voice an attempt at comforting. They must be afraid, right? They’ve got to be. At her best, Ashley is kind --- at her best she is ACHINGLY GOOD. At her worst? Foolish and spiteful and impulsive and and and --- but she is getting better. It’s getting better. “I can’t leave you here. Not without protection. I swear --- I won’t hurt you. But there are things that will. Please.”
obciscr:
❝I was offering you water, not alcohol. I don’t drink either. I never have.❞
“Oh --- sorry. I saw clear liquid and just assumed ---...”
Well, that’s her own fault.
“Sorry. Yeah, I’d --- I’d like some water.”
i loVECHRIS AND ASHL E YSO MUC H
