Sweet Smell Of Summer 🌼

[hoarsely] is everyone ok

reblog this to give the person you reblogged this from a gold star because they’ve been stellar today and they deserve it ⭐️

Susan Sontag, from “Reborn: Journals and Notebooks, 1947-1963″

𝙸'𝙼 𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚈𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚈 𝚂𝙰𝚈.

horror multi-muse directed by vox lux.

it's okay. it's over now. they won't hurt you again.     /     @wolfvirago​​

the deathly silent, yet piercing klaxon ring of panic was still racing through chrissy’s every vein and nerve. once upon a time, she used to think she understood pain. on the inside where secrets festered like ulcers, dirty, hidden things that she never dared give volume to, detectable by even to the kindest of eyes. on the outside, where exhaustion’s strains warred against endurance, her body warping to the airborne twists of cheerleading, the rippling jar through her tendons when a landing skewed wrong. 

this pain.... it touched places inside that chrissy never knew she possessed. 

no clocks chimed in any place but her sanguine-dyed memories. no slithering vines attached to a more sophisticated, crueler will. the hollow in the tree trunk she’d huddled against was not molded to the shape of her form crumpled and tortured by the supernatural. nothing touched her but the warming air of early summer trapped close to the ground by moss and pine needles, and the soft-spoken breath of the older girl. 

through it all, the skies had the audacity to be blue. blue like the day in march that she broke. and chrissy wept quietly. 

                     ❝  you can know that? how can you know that?  ❞  

whispered doubt thought it was, chrissy could not manage to hide the layers of unbelief still left despite witnessing a thousand impossibilities. impossible until the beginning of spring break. ( and years before that according to rumours that could very well be total truths for all the cheerleader knew, now. ) among all the strange she was asked to believe, what remained unacceptable was assurance unasked for, unearned. 

help was an allergy. no acceptance without resistance. years of shying gradually away from hands that might stretch in her direction had not released their hold. the upside down had changed chrissy cunningham to her core, but it had not reversed everything.

what she was hearing......there was no way it could be as true as the jut of dry bark against her side. could it? 

                    ❝  the things that are in my head.... i don’t think they can come out. no one has to do anything to me for it to still hurt.  ❞

𝙒𝙃𝘼𝙏 𝙄𝙎 𝙔𝙊𝙐𝙍 𝘾𝙃𝘼𝙍𝘼𝘾𝙏𝙀𝙍 𝘼𝙍𝘾?

𝓇𝑜𝓂𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒 / 𝒻𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓃𝒹𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓅 𝒶𝓇𝒸. you started this story a little hard, or awkward, or stubborn. that's okay. it's harder than it should be to admit, but what you really want is love. that's what your story is all about - not just the act of loving, but the allowance of it. the confession that you do not want to fight or bleed or save the world, but to simply feel the way two hands fit so easily together. you will have two chairs and a table and you will shut your blinds, and you will say the word love without faltering. this is a happy ending, and you do not need to feel guilty. it hurts our hands to fight - never to hold.

𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙜𝙚𝙙 𝙗𝙮: @manaborn​  ♡ 𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙜𝙞𝙣𝙜:  whoever is curious!

𝘿𝙀𝘼𝙍 𝙈𝙄𝘾𝙃𝘼𝙀𝙇 𝙀𝙈𝙀𝙍𝙎𝙊𝙉                       (comicbookcreature​)

“  I  DUNNO !  i  read  it  in  a  poem  or  off  a  cereal  box  or  something - “

“ KINDA CHEESY, HUH ?? “ 

@greenscrunchy​  ( starter call ! ) ​

                   ❝ not at all! poetry could sound exciting no matter where you found it. ❞   she’d draw the line at bathroom stall graffiti but even the plainest word choice, in the right order, could give a name to a feeling that felt undiscoverable a moment before. chrissy had always envied that ability, to make simple letters into art.   ❝ .....what cereal, though? ❞

"suburban intervention" by ian strange

indie.    𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚  𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨    of  resident  evil  village.  loved  by  aila,  25+.         some  base  graphics  provided  by  blitzkriegers.