#i cant keep fucking living like this

[constant-state-of-self-discovery]

Anybody know an equal alternative to anxiety meds for someone who just found out it would change their fucking life but can't afford fuck-all much less a dr appt or prescription????

[snekdood]

"if we make america worse and more of a dictatorship that will be even harder to unravel and make it the way we want the country to be, maybe then everyone will join our Glorious Revolution!" bb girl you cant even be in the same room with someone who thinks you should vote, how in tf do you think you're gonna unite people to fight in The Revolution with you? it's gonna be you and your 5 friends, i hate to break it to you.

[kxmpfflieger]

hear me out

[daftpatience]

one thing I have learned about being poor is that you cannot for a moment stop thinking about it

[hecksupremechips]

Ever think about Date’s view on family and how that relates to his character? When Mizuki asks him to define family, he just awkwardly offers that its like being blood related to someone. It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth and Mizukis, but like, he literally had no idea what a real family looks like. He’s an orphan, a man who grew up with no family and no name, but he doesn’t know that yet. He has no memory of his past, no way of knowing if there’s someone out there waiting for him to come home, if he even had a place to call home. His only frame of reference for a family is Mizuki and her parents. Deep down he knows it’s not right, not loving, but it fits the mold of a nuclear family, man and woman, blood related, so that must be what family is. When he’s asked to take in Mizuki, he’s absolutely clueless because he literally has zero frame of reference for how a child is supposed to be cared for. He puts distance between them because this isn’t his place, he doesn’t have the right to love this child as his own because he isn’t the real dad. There’s no place for someone like him in a family. And it’s baffling to him to hear that Mizuki not only loves him, she needs him because he is her family. Date believes he’s a nobody, just a sad, lonely man with no name who absolutely does not deserve this kind of love. But he has it anyway because he chooses it, he makes something that neither he nor Mizuki have ever had before. HES HOME

[killrspringlock]

i cannot believe that i just got over my obsession with a masked antihero (moon knight) and then miguel o’fuckinhara shows up on my front doorstep.

[rheakira]

I can't do it anymore.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

im about to unpack my candles and yall Know im rubbing my lil fly hands together in delight

[katsukikitten]

Going from having everyone squeezing in at the dinner table and your dinner table always being open to friends or whatever to thinking about skipping dinner because it's just you is probably the most painful thing I've ever dealt with in my adult life.

[droogiesanddiscourse]

"Hellfire."

Pairing: Monsignor John Pruitt x F!Reader

Summary: You are called first to receive everlasting life from the angel's blood during Easter Vigil.

Warnings: Spoilers for Episode 6 of Midnight Mass and all the content that comes with it. Language. Taking some liberties with how the angel's blood works uhhh hehe. Millie who's that AU. Going off of the stream of consciousness / dream-like writing I am trying so hard to stay out of my head and just write what comes.

"Brothers and sisters,” Monsignor Pruitt concludes. “On this most holy night I come to you with good news. Not only the good news of the resurrection of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ who arose to forgive us of our sins after three days in the tomb. But, also the resurrection of ourselves."

He clasps his hands together in makeshift prayer, eyes sparkling an unfamiliar orange glow that you've never seen before. That of a feral black cat's eyes bouncing back light. The ones that hunt on the outpost of the island, all teeth and heat and hunger and sex and wild and and and--

Visions of nocturnal holiness.

"I ask you. Trust in me. And God will reward your loyalty heavily. Know that I would not ask of the ultimate sacrifice of your life if I did not have utmost faith in our God for the miracle he is about to bestow tonight."

The silence within the church is deafening. Not a soul rises for his offer, parishioners stunned to their seats. His eyes scan, searching for a familiar face. Finally focusing on yours.

“Please. [“____”]," his voice like liquid honey calls to you, echoing through the church. "I call upon you to take the plunge first, my sweet child. Show the good people of Crockett Island that there is nothing to fear. That there is paradise waiting for us all tonight."

He leaves his pulpit, descending down the steps towards you. His arm reaches out, using his slender fingers to beckon you to him with a "come hither" motion. White vestments flowing, covering his human visage as he moves, billowing out like an angel's wings.

Devils were once just fallen angels. Symbols of purity be damned.

He notices your trepidation.

"One moment of pain, perhaps. But an eternity of youth and love and worship in His name. We have been given a tremendous gift, sister ["____"]. Be brave.”

Beverly Keene remained tucked in the upper corner of the church, stirring the choice of death for this evening. She's always been a witch in your eyes; now the harsh comparison rings true more than ever as she concocts a deadly potion of sickeningly sweet liquid.

The smell reminds you of too hot summers and running against the shoreline as the waves lap against your ankles and buying popsicles at the general store and sticky raspberry juice running between your fingers. Familiar memories and tastes intermingled with rat poison.

“And so Jesus rose from the tomb, trampling down death. As will we. I am with you, and you are with me. There is nothing to fear."

Don't drink the kool-aid, the old adage goes.

But you wonder how vanilla and raspberry taste mixed together.

Jonestown redux is standing before you, with his hand outstretched for you to take; his body backlit by the illumination of hundreds of candles. You look up at him through your lashes, lips slightly parted. Your eyebrows upturned and eyes reposed.

"Monsignor. Forgive me, but I cannot," you swallow hard. Back yourself from that cliff, you have one leg dangling over the edge now! "For I have not taken communion as my sins have been too weighty, too difficult to ever be forgiven. I believe I did not deserve the body and blood of Christ at that time, which is selfish of me. Forgive me.”

John almost considers this for a moment, his thick eyebrows furrowing together as he stares down at you.

"There is no resurrection for me. I will die,” you state bluntly. Your words are finally registering. 

Back away back away, make distance between the cliff.

But he smiles, against your expectations. A tight lipped smile, his eyes kissing at the corners when his cheeks raise. Missed by the miracle of reversed age, not reaching the crows feet that reveal only when he's truly happy.

"My angel. You've taken more than enough of my seed in your womb, and down your throat. The blessing is already inside you."

His hand grazes your cheek, and Hellfire reigns down as the finality of his reveal sets in across the room. Hot and prickling at the back of your neck. High pitched buzzing of bees in your ears. Whore of Babylon comes to Crockett Island. Mary Magdalene weeps. Hundreds of eyes descend upon your form, fragile and ready to break at a moment's notice.

Hell has a special place reserved for you for tasting the most unholy fruits. You wear guilt like a halo.

John positions his index fingers and thumb underneath your chin, tilting it upwards. Your eyes dart away, unable to face him. For sure your very skin would burst into flames if you stared too long.

"Look at me," he demands. "Look at me, angel. Do not be ashamed.”

Oh, you’re more than familiar with this position.

Your eyes tilt back, big and yearning and scared yet wanting more. More of John, more of his smell on your bedsheets, more of his fingers in your mouth more of the salty bitter taste of his skin more breaking the boundaries between heaven and hell more more more more flesh more blood no sin no death no guilt.

Hell has a special place reserved for you in due time.

But real hell is living without him. You slip your hand into his, rising from the pew.

The church is silent, conversations about your unforgivable sin now hushed to murmurs. Somewhere in the distance you hear the gentle song of night crickets that intermingle with your delicate footsteps across decades old wood. A resounding creak and moan of the floorboards that echoes through the small church that makes it become an entity of its own, ready to swallow you whole.

Someone is crying, quietly muffled pathetically behind a cloth. A woman blesses herself using the sign of the cross as you pass.

A dead girl walking, and this is the sound of your funeral march.

Your toes bump into the first step leading up to the chancel. Guiding you by your waist, John spins you to face the congregation. Expressions of the crowd are unreadable.

Are you Joan of Arc or a witch about to be burned at the stake?

Blasphemy, blasphemy stood before your friends, family, acquaintances.

A light. The vision of John blocks you away from their watchful eyes as he stands before you, cupping your face within his hands. Your eyes lock together. Gently, he presses a chaste kiss to the center of your forehead. Lips just barely ghosting over your flesh. You tremble before him.

Bev stands behind you, both arms outstretched forward, bent at the elbow. You’re smart enough to realize she’s ready to catch you for when you involuntarily start seizing, your body putting up its final fight against the poison coursing through its veins.

Life. Death. Rise. 

A sob starts in your larynx, unable to burst fully to the surface The warmth of his hands removed from your face, now reaching for Bev's as he takes the small plastic solo cup of juice from hers into his.

"I am with you," he whispers as he holds the cup up to your lips. "As you walk through the valley of the shadow of death I am with you, and you will come out on the other side anew. Whole. Pure as a reward for your devotion to Him."

Raspberry and vanilla threaten to break the seal of your lips, the cup tapped against it. His other hand snakes his way up your back, weaving his fingers within your hair. The digits tug against your locks slightly, tilting your head back.

"Open."

Saliva gathers at the back of your throat.

You can't, you can't, you can't.

You cannot dare to lose the chance to miss another one of those too hot summer days where the children of Crockett island throw their books haphazardly into their backpacks basking in their first hours of summer vacation and the salty water clinging to your hair making it curly and sticky raspberry juice dripping between your fingers–

But oh the visions of him with and the way he whimpers into your neck when he thrusts into you, his hot mouth on your pulse point, the way his hand pin down your wrists forcing you to stay still. Murmured praises and bedroom hymns whispered as the moonlight coats both of your bodies in a ghostly blue glow. Was it truly ever living without him? No more hiding no more secrets you are his and he is yours. A boundary death cannot even cross–eternity is a beautiful thing to imagine.

A tear slips out of your eye, rolling down your cheek. The pad of John’s thumb gently rubs it away. Sympathy for the condemned.

"Drink."

And you do.

[hella1975]

you ever have a fic get you in such a chokehold you start pacing your room and talking to yourself

[spicyicymeloncat]

Crying about mao mao and how I’m never going to see that incredibly traumatised cat again

[kieshartzishere]

"Average person has glass embedded in their body 2 times in their lifetime" factoid is actually just a statistical error, averag person has glass embedded in their body 0 times in their lifetime. OP, who finds randomly gets glass (or someyimes ceramic) in their skin 4 times a year and has successfully pulled them all out of their body no matter the number or size by themselves, is an outlier and should not have been counted.

Can I NOT be Glass Georg world.

[chibi-scone]

Still can’t wrap my head around how Izzy shooting Ed was supposed to symbolize him “breaking up with Blackbeard” and have them go through that whole thing at the beginning of the season, to have Izzy be the one who tells Ed to follow what makes him happy, and have Izzy’s whole arc be about who he is without Blackbeard just for the finale to turn around and say that Izzy had to die because he was half of Blackbeard and that Ed couldn’t fully let go of Blackbeard otherwise.

[boyplushie]

they should invent a me that can fall asleep at a normal time

[bunnihearted]

i've also realized that there is no therapy that can fix what's broken inside of me