[pinevalley]

on a semi-hiatus here for now! <3

[theafternoontiger]

Visit Original Link

[laralaralara]

i’m gonna make it through this year if it kills me

[redlipstickresurrected]

Jeremy Miranda (American, b. 1980, Newport, RI, USA, based Dover, NH, USA) - 1: The Chateau, 2022  2: The House with the Magenta Lights, 2022  3: Lights in the Murk, 2022  4: Electric Avenue, 2022  5: Tree from Road, 2022  6: Spruce Sketch, 2022, Paintings: Acrylic On Panel

[exitwound]

 the raspberry room by karin gotttshall

[fulsvamp]

Forest of a thousand eyes

[dragonbleps]

I had a thought, but unfortunately I had a second thought. They ricocheted off each other and I can’t find either anymore

[pinevalley]

magickedhat​ :: wren

“no, yeah, like, i get it.  it’s weird, isn’t it?  but what’s weirder is like– what’s the alternative like?  how’s it like to know what– why you’re acting the way you are?”

the night was hot, save for the occasional soft caress of a short-lived breeze.  next to cassie, though, a sort of chill always hang in the air.  wren spread out their legs on the roof and allowed their gaze to travel as far as the ghostly light of the lamp posts reached. 

“thing is,” they said, head tilting left and right, shoes tapping against each other,  “i don’t think anyone takes the time to teach us how to do this.  they all just assume we know.  but it would’ve been really fuckin’ great if i knew what was wrong with me when i nearly ghosted my boyfriend for a whole week, y’know?  some… some guideline book.  a handbook for emotions.  someone should make that a thing if it’s not already, huh?”

cassie hummed in agreement, lying on her back beside them. stars flickered between the dark clouds far above them. her own converse tapped together; as faded and dirty as ever, one shoelace undone.

“yeah, totally. it’s like, they take the time to teach us fucking algebra or whatever and not about the stuff that actually hurts sometimes, so like— so when it does hurt, you don’t know what’s happening or what to do. and the handbook should come with, like— a mood ring that actually works, y’know? so you don’t have to guess what you’re feeling, it just tells you. and then you can look up whatever emotion it shows in the handbook and it tells you how to deal with it.”

she stretched her hand upward and squinted at the band around one finger. “mine’s stuck on grey now. i guess it totally breaks when you die.” a quiet scoff. “kinda shitty design.” she lowered her hand and twisted the ring around her finger, faltering. “did… things turn out okay? with your boyfriend?” her tone had softened; an unspoken sign that they didn’t need to explain if they’d rather avoid the topic.

[m-e-ghan]

Visited the house where Psycho was filmed when I was younger. Found this today in one of our photo albums.

[doe-prince]

ghost

[flowerytale]

Helen Oyeyemi, from “White Is for Witching”  

[marxisforbros]

The Babushkas Of Chernobyl Dir. Anne Bogart, Holly Morris

[pinevalley]

[  downpour  ]  receiver  finds  sender  out  in  the  rain (for beth! <3)

nonverbal meme prompts - accepting

beth hadn’t stolen the treehouse. she was just… borrowing it. until its owner remembered it existed.

in any case, it was a nice shelter, especially during thunderstorms like this. a decently-sized shelter, too; clearly designed for more than one person (siblings, maybe, or perhaps friends). beth had nearly dozed off, burrowed into a blanket she’d found tucked in a chest in one corner, when a faint sound reached her sensitive ears through the rainfall pounding on the roof. the snap of a branch. maybe just the wind, or an animal. still, something tugged at her to check.

blinking the bleariness from her eyes, she crawled to the hatch in the floor, opened it, and looked down into the drenched undergrowth. the ladder on the tree trunk rattled in the wind. clouds shadowed the forest. even so, she spotted… a figure. a person?

the child recoiled on instinct, hiding. but… what if the person was lost? or what if they had nowhere to go? beth knew the feeling. she inhaled, mustering her courage, and peered through the hatch once more. “um!” too hoarse, too quiet against the rainfall. she swallowed and called down to the figure again, a bit louder. “do you… do you need someplace to stay?”

[iguanodont]

The forest falls eerily silent. The air smells of humus, and dead grass, and ozone. You see a hole in the air that is shaped like an animal. The edge of the hole crackles like television static.

[nettlewool]

found an abandoned treehouse on my walk in the woods today. the log that used to be a ladder into it has fallen over. couldn't see a way to get up.

[pinevalley]

bothfeetinthegrave​ :: stranger

Judging by the size of this blurry shape, this person was either just as short as he was or a kid, and the voice confirmed it. What was this kid doing out here by himself though? The store that this parking lot belonged to went out of business ages ago. That's why he was here - fewer obstacles and people to see him. Plus it was getting dark. That was something he would have to ask the other when he got back.

Cautiously, he sat up while the kid ran off, baring his teeth in a wince as he listened to the crack-crack-crack his shoulders made when he rolled them. The checklist he usually went through when he fell hard rattled through his head as he got to his feet: head? fine; arms and legs? more or less; board? being dealt with. Nothing too severe in terms of damage, but still a disappointment overall - this was still too hard to do, cane or no cane. More practice necessary, regardless of how many times he fell.

With a huff, he felt around for and picked up the boy's backpack, pausing to squint at the nearby lamppost where'd left his own gear. Once his own backpack and white cane were retrieved, he trotted off in the direction of the boy's footsteps. "Hey!" he tried not to raise his voice too much - just enough to be heard at a distance, " N-not that I don't appreciate the help, but uh... what are you doing out here, anyway?"

The board had rolled beneath a car and bumped to a stop against a tire by the time Jamie reached it. After catching his breath, the boy got on his hands and knees and stretched out his hand to grab it. Board successfully rescued, he straightened and tucked it beneath his arm to brush the gravel from his hands.

At the sound of a voice, Jamie looked up to see the stranger approaching, and worry creased his brow. Was that safe? What if he had a concussion? Weren’t you supposed to, like… not move? Or something? Jamie never paid much attention in health class. Or… maybe they had learned about concussions in P.E.

A question. “Oh, uh.” Trying not to stare at the scars crossing the other’s face, Jamie shifted the board in his grasp and focused on his dirty sneakers instead. “I’m in a club at school. After school, I mean. It finishes late a lot.” One of his usual lies. He spotted his backpack, and guilt twisted in his chest. “I can, um… take my bag back. Sorry. Thanks for carrying it over.” He offered the board, hoping to make a trade, and met the stranger’s gaze at last. “Also, are you okay?” Concern colored his voice and lined his expression. “It… looked like you fell pretty hard.”

[deadstrangeblog]

Examples of a Brocken Spectre, a phenomenon where a person’s giant shadow appears magnified onto clouds miles away. The shadow from the sun behind the person creates a halo, giving it an angelic appearance. This mostly occurs on any misty mountainsides or cloud banks, and can even be seen from aeroplanes.

[pinevalley]

bothfeetinthegrave​ :: stranger

The impact his back made with the pavement knocked the breath from his lungs, leaving him sprawled out in the abandoned car park to look up at the fading sunlight and early evening stars while his skateboard skidded off to elsewhere.

It was pretty, the way the sky looked; it was a slightly silly passing thought from here on the ground, fair hair fanned out around his head like a halo.  Eden coughed weakly, blinking and glancing around a bit before his eye settled on someone standing near him. Normally he wouldn’t be especially keen on someone seeing him so close, but his brain was still a little rattled, trying to catch up to what he was looking at. He pawed at his face a little to feel around for blood… and maybe to hide a little, fingertips catching occasionally on scars as they went.

“Is my board okay?”

“What?” His board? What about him? Jamie shook his head, his thoughts jumbling. “Are you, um— I mean, it’s—” He glanced toward the sound of rattling wheels and saw the skateboard still skidding away, destined to vanish beneath a parked car or roll into the street before long. “Um. Yeah, it’s okay.” For now. “I’ll get it. But do you— I mean, I-I have—”

Words failing him and board close to escaping, Jamie exhaled and dropped his backpack beside the other. “Bandages, in the front pocket. If you need some.” A big box of them. Jamie himself often needed to make use of them before returning from school. This afternoon, in fact, had resulted in several new ones plastered on his legs and hands, which was also why he was avoiding going home for as long as possible.

“I’ll, um— grab your board.” He took a hesitant step back, still uncertain about leaving the other. Then, decisively, “I’ll be right back.” With that, he sprinted away to retrieve the board, hoping to catch it in time.