💭 + Waiting

well well well. some of the lotr fandom has shown their true colors. i'm both surprised and not surprised at the frankly outlandish amount of complaints that dwarves and elves and hobbits of color seem to have elicited. the rage is more outlandish when you discover the reasons for these complaints are 1) tolkien on occasion neglected to describe skin color which apparently renders everyone pale or 2) nostalgic attachment to the peter jackson films makes it unfathomable to picture the above listed races as anything other than pale/white.

here is all i’ll say about it: A WORLD WITH ONLY WHITE SKIN IS AN INCOMPLETE ONE. yes, even a fantasy world.

𝘿𝙀𝘼𝙍 𝙏𝙄𝙉𝘼 𝙎𝘼𝙉𝘿𝙀𝙍𝙎                        ( @tinasparty​ )

greenscrunchy asked: ❝ you start to believe all the things they say. that this place is cursed. ❞   stranger things 4 : accepting !

        TINA  DOESN’T  EVEN  NEED  THE  RUMORS  to  know  there’s  something  wrong  with  hawkins;  she  can  feel  the  darkness  in  the  air,  SENSING  it.  people  go  missing  or  succumb  to  fates  so  nightmarish  it  can’t  be  natural  and  she  notices.  “trust  me…  i  believe  it.  i  believe  everything.”  and  the  reason  tina  knows  too  much  is  because  of  the  visions  conjured  by  her  mind’s  eye,  the  psychic  trait  no  one  knows  about  her.  “and  i  don’t  have  a  good  feeling  about  this…  it’s  not  over  yet,”  she  speaks  cryptically,  though  she  can  tell  chrissy  understands  exactly  what  she’s  trying  to  say.  there’s  none  of  her  typical  flirtation  in  her  smile,  the  charming  attitude  she  carries  herself  with  absent  this  time  as  she  feels  the  weight  of  what  chrissy  says.  it’s  true,  and  there’s  a  wistful  and  almost  melancholic  look  swimming  in  mocha  eyes.  “i’m  just…  so  worried.  about  everyone,  you  know?”  it  haunts  her  late  at  night,  keeping  her  wired  and  even  casting  shadows  and  chilling,  premonitory  scenes  into  her  dreams:  who’s  next?

                  ❝ yeah.... i do know. ❞  hard not to fret when the wheel of hawkins’ internal disaster compass keeps spinning without offering any useful sense of direction and there’s no magnetic field of realistic explanations to keep it grounded. even with all that proof that proves nothing but the worst, chrissy still feels a lump of stress unravel partway when tina needs no additional detail to keep talking. just a hint at what’s been bothering everyone their age lately set her off enough. it means chrissy isn’t alone. 

midway up the bleachers that used to drive chrissy crazy, the ones parked right next to the pathway leading towards the middle school, she’s realizing how useful they are. the breeze seems to whisk away any words they utter too loudly, leaving them safe in their windy little bubble. good, because chrissy doesn’t want everyone in the yard to hear this next part.   

                 ❝ how come it’s just some of us, though, and not the adults? like, this rally we’re supposed to have in a couple weeks. it wasn’t the squad’s idea, or our coach’s, it was principle higgins’. a rally isn’t going to make us feel better when our friends kept dying all summer. i’m ready for it to stop. but instead of being able to do anything we’re just at school. and that’s it. ❞

send  ❛ ♡ ❜  to suddenly hug my muse  ! 

could be angst  ,   romantic   ,  plationic  ,  etc.

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? ❞

𝘿𝙀𝘼𝙍 𝘾𝙃𝙄𝙀𝙁 𝙃𝙊𝙋𝙋𝙀𝙍                           (fatherscurse​)

❛ i’m tired of dying. ❜ - &. 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬.

he almost has to laugh. he feels like he’s died plenty of times over in the last eight months. the last couple of years, really. it was sad, a pang in his chest letting him know it wasn’t funny. but, of course, jim being jim, he does laugh. “ yeah. jesus. me too, kid. but hey. i got you now, no matter what, yeah? you’re not dyin’ this time. ”

feat. @greenscrunchy​

years ago laura cunningham nipped the act of chrissy allowing her head to loll back lazily in the bud. an indicator of terrible posture, she announced, and chrissy would never appear polite or put together with her neck flopping about like a chicken’s. sit up straight, feet crossed, hands in lap. like an obedient princess. 

right now, chrissy is obeying none of those pointers and looking not the least bit like a princess. her body hurts and every angled limb is an attempt to soften the ache that have come to dwell in all her hollows. both legs are bent slightly to the side and her spine has begun imitating the curvature of her seat back. the greatest offender of all, her neck, has allowed her head to wander, its weight now resting on the back of her chair. as of yet, hopper has yet to call her unladylike or sloppy. just “kid”. the simplicity is balm to her lingering frightened confusion.

                       ❝ thank you. ❞  she wishes she could hear her own voice better but it’s drowned out by heartbeat drumming even in her own ears.  ❝ i guess you have experience with that now. or everyone does and i guess i was the last to know. ❞  she twitches.  ❝ i’m sorry. you’ve had to do this for....how many kids? ❞

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

Uh so in other good news, flattery works with me, so Twenty-five percent discount for the half. Fifteen bucks

“—oh God, it is unutterable! I cannot live without my life! I cannot live without my soul!”

𝑤𝑢𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑠

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!