#river ure

[thefollyflaneuse]

The Grotto Temple, Masham, North Yorkshire

Just over the river Ure from the market town of Masham is this unusual rotunda sitting on top of a rustic grotto. It was designed to take advantage of the view over the river to the church and the attractive little town. An engraved stone near the temple tells us that in 1770 ‘Samuel Wrather built this grotto’. Continue reading Untitled

[scatterbrainedbot]

ok but the ghibli vibes of @triona-tribblescore 's wandering guardian au???

like i could live in this world forever tbh

inspo boards/refs below ft trionas SPECTACULAR GORGEOUS AMAZING og works of the au bros

[sweets-gun]

Everyday I come onto tumblr and it’s like Gerard way wore WHAT?

[theloveinc]

Being the princess betrothed to barbarian!Bakugo.

You don't mind so much as you've always known this was to be your destiny, born merely to smooth over tensions between the kingdom and the country.

But your first meeting is hardly from ideal. The man shoves himself into your dressing room in trying to avoid the grooming his own mother is trying to give him, desperate to get away from the egregious, stifling rules the castle enforces regarding presentation, mainly putting on a shirt.

(He was born of his own parent's desire, but volunteered himself to save the country from annihilation via. industrialization, NOT realizing it would involve marriage. He's much less thrilled than anyone.)

And there you are, being (forcibly) sewed up into a corset that you're absolutely spilling over, your face matted from a layer of unnatural-colored powder, your lips stained the color of fruit that doesn't blossom for months as you turn to look at him in surprise (and then fear, and then confusion and question, your maids squealing before running off to get a guard)...

And Bakugo is suddenly made aware of this itching desire to save you, too.

-

(You're standing there, both breathless and bare; him voluntarily, you because of timing. And it's so oddly intimate for separate reasons; Bakugo's never associated nudity with sexuality and you've never been naked in front of a man before.

And despite the betrothal, neither of you know what to say, stuck in the midst of an "is this it?" moment, at least until Bakugo is grabbing your hand to whisk you away and marry you where he was born rather than in between castle walls.)

[figthefruitfaeth]

108 "is that my shirt?" with the pairing of your choice please zoey <3

my dear beloved lou—i love this prompt so much, thank you <3 please know i listened to moon river by frank ocean for the entirety of its creation. I hope you like it

steddie | pre-slash/confession (kinda) | 868 words

Eddie takes a deep breath. 

Blue. That's what it feels like. Spring fresh cornflowers in his lungs, the edges of an inky indigo sky staining his fingertips. Blue is the breath he takes, the old ceramic bowl of cereal he's got clutched to his chest, the veins under his skin. 

It's the color of Steve's shirt.

Eddie shifts—presses his back fully against the window frame, the cold seeping through the thin cotton a welcome relief from the heat of the day. He keeps his head titled out towards the street, but his eyes are focused in.

Steve is on the opposite end of the window, head resting against the glass, his own bowl of cereal balanced carefully on both knees. Eddie watches the last of the day curling into his collarbone, the tips of his bangs. His chest moving in slow and easy breaths, eyes just slivers of hazel in the light. A sleepy cat, perfectly content.

Yet despite the quiet peace of the moment, Eddie feels it. Has felt it all day. Something sticking, unsettled in himself. Sleep in the corner of his eyes, the dry coarse grind of sand in his back molars. He's blamed it on the weed, paranoia lurking in the silence between the hum and ding of the microwaved nachos they'd made earlier—his mind trying to makeup for a body that had, for once, slowed down. 

But that didn't stop himself from feeling it, from knowing something is off—no, Eddie shakes his head—different.

Something is different about Steve.

Steve, very carefully, spoons a mouthful of mushy multi-grain into his mouth. Grimaces, then does it again. A drop of milk lands on his shirt, seeping into fabric quicker than it landed. A spot of midnight in a sea of navy.

His shirt is blue. Which, all things considered, isn't different at all. Though he tends to favor the warmer side of the wheel chart, Steve's wardrobe is a rainbow of colors. From steel blue jackets to violet sweaters, Eddie's seen him in it all.

Mouth closed, his tongue runs along his teeth, twists against the edges of the back. Can't quite reach the end. 

A dark blue t-shirt. A little big, not swallowed in fabric but less form fitting than most of his clothes. Old, maybe  second or even third hand if the edges of the sleeves are anything to go by. Or the image splashed on the chest, which is really only a memory of a design—speckled silver to grey in uneven patches. There's still one letter legible, a sharp 't' dead in the middle. 

It looks a bit like a band t-shirt, reminds Eddie of the shirts Wayne gave him when he first moved in, before they could go the Salvation Army together. Smoke and oil clinging to the threads, a reference to a song he'd only heard once on the radio, but stuck. Settled the buzz in his head, let his body move and mean something more than disappointment. Staring in the mirror, hair barely more than a buzzcut, navy stark against his pale skin—

”Is that my shirt?”

His voice is too loud, accidentally overshot by both the shock and last half hour of silence. Steve doesn't seem to be as affected, turning his head against the glass to face Eddie with a smooth nonchalance.

“Yeah,“ he says. Eddie looks at him, brows raised. Steve looks back, bloodshot eyes blinking slowly, seemingly feeling a one word explanation is all he needs.

Eddie searches for something, anything to say, ends up with a choked cough, and then, “Why?” Which—stupid, stupid, stupid.

Glacial blue, Steve looks down at his (his or his? theirs?) shirt, then back up at Eddie.

“Must've gotten it mixed up.”

Must've gotten it mixed up.

What.

Eddie blinks. Feels a bit like a dog as he shakes his head, mouth opening and then closing up tight in quick succession. There's no way Steve Harrington mixed up his clothes. The man spends 30 minutes a night picking out his outfit for the next day. He missed a group movie cause he couldn't find the right jacket. He almost had a conniption when Dustin tried to wash his colors with his whites. 

Steve always wears the gold and red striped socks when he needs a bit of luck and never just throws something on. Steve doesn't ‘mix up’ clothes, not unless he's dying, not unless it means something—

Oh.

“Oh,” he says out loud, dumbly.

Steve smiles like their afternoon—a hazy, sticky sweet honey in his hands.

“Yeah.”

And then Steve winks, and turns back to the window.

Eddie bites his lip, feels his mouth tearing away into a smile anyway. Turns back to the outside before he does something crazy, shovels in another spoonful of nearly disintegrated cereal, watches night settle in. Lights from other, distant homes click on, warm yellow windows bobbing along in the pitch black darkness. 

In the morning, when the sky lives up to its infamous hue, and the weed has left them their usual jittery, overthinking selves—Eddie will ask him other questions, will need more replies filled with complex, compound sentences.

Eddie takes a deep breath.

Navy.

And for now, that's enough.

writing prompts!

[spadesncrows]

First commission as a contributor for @twst-charity !!

If anyone is interested, here’s the donor form to submit requests to receive twst fanworks in exchange for donations to Palestine as well as the link to the daily clicks ^^

[spicyraeman]

[incorrect-pipravi]

Ravi: I love how you murdered him as self-defense.

Pip: It wasn-

Ravi: I LOVE HOW YOU MURDERED HIM AS SELF-DEFENSE!

[padfootastic]

hey hey hey since we’re popping in just for hot takes, here’s another one:

platonic. prongsfoot. isn’t. a. thing.

how many fucking times does this have to be said.

should i start tagging every remus and sirius interaction as platonic wolfstar??? clog up the whole goddamned tag for u????

honestly what is so hard to understand that a ship name denotes…A FUCKING SHIP

and in case it bears repeating: a ship is inherently non-platonic thank u very much. a ‘platonic ship’ is…wait for it…a friendship. there u have it. shocker i know.

[valfeathers]

trying new brushes <3

[khlur]

anyway if any indians frm minority religious communities and oppressed caste communities want help w college, scholarship and visa applications abroad because you fear for ur lives, DM me. i can personally help w UK apps but i can find people who will help w apps to other countries.

[ahollowgrave]

-- a sweet girl.

[eszera15]

the whoniverse is making my bisexuality worse

[cupcakeinat0r]

Just passed by a Starbucks ad on this app, girl, what’re u doing here???? Who invited you?!?!?

[stuckinapril]

how do you study for such long hours? 12-16 hours? i tend to tire out after 8 hours.

bc if i'm not top of the class then what's the point. duhh

[chaiaurchaandni]

saw someone on twitter, whose family is in gaza, say the same thing: her sister told her that israelis are executing palestinian men and boys aged over 16, abducting them, forcing them to strip. these are displaced civilians and survivors. some people are defending the forceful stripping by saying that the purpose is to ensure there's no bomber vest/weapons which is ridiculous bec if that was the purpose, why are they taking pictures like trophies and circulating them online? why do they even suspect civilian men and boys trying to find safety with their families to be wearing a bomber vest? israelis have been releasing videos of stripping and beating palestinians since oct 7 - many of the palestinians victimized this way have been from the west bank. palestinians held in israeli jails are also stripped and beaten in a way that is hauntingly reminiscent of american crimes in abu ghraib prison in iraq.