@whythinktoomuch on Tumblr

The protocol upon discovering corpses is very simple. Assess the damage from a safe distance, strip the remains of all their belongings, then smash their head in with whatever’s handy lest they go on to awake with a vengeance and a mindless craving for human flesh to boot.

Kara whispers a silent apology and a note of gratitude for the woman the body used to house as she kneels down beside it. After one last cursory once-over, Kara reaches for the backpack, still clutched tightly to the woman’s chest.

At the very first tug, a pale hand shoots up and seizes Kara by the wrist.

a.k.a. the Zombie AU, wherein there's a million reasons why Kara shouldn't save this perfect stranger, but she does anyway.

a/n: This was originally a tumblr fic series, but trust me when I say it has since taken on a life of its very own. And if you’re unfamiliar with the ficlets, well, please enjoy (: !

(ko-fi)

#my words.

whythinktoomuch reblogged

1liv

Kim Go-Eun & Lee Do-Hyun in the newly-released stills for 'EXHUMA'

#the hottest shamans i've ever seen in my entire life #exhuma

whythinktoomuch reblogged

whythinktoomuch

whythinktoomuch reblogged

opendirectories

whythinktoomuch reblogged

sarahseeandersen

whythinktoomuch reblogged

shewhohangsoutincemeteries

nadjasnandor

the vampires got it right. life is about being bisexual and a little bit pathetic. and going through different levels of depressive episodes

whythinktoomuch reblogged

geryone

The Wet Hex, Sun Yung Shin

whythinktoomuch reblogged

bourgwesioie

What they don’t understand about birthdays and what they never tell you is that when you’re eleven, you’re also ten, and nine, and eight, and seven, and six, and five, and four, and three and two and one. And when you wake up on your eleventh birthday you expect to feel eleven, but you don’t. You open your eyes and everything’s just like yesterday, only it’s today. And you don’t feel eleven at all. You feel like you’re still ten. And you are—underneath the year that makes you eleven.

Like some days you might say something stupid, and that’s the part of you that’s still ten. Or maybe some days you might need to sit on your mama’s lap because you’re scared, and that’s the part of you that’s five. And maybe one day when you’re all grown up maybe you will need to cry like you’re three, and that’s okay. That’s what I tell Mama when she’s sad and needs to cry. Maybe she’s feeling three.

Because the way you grow old is kind of like an onion or like the rings inside a tree trunk or like my little wooden dolls that fit one inside the other, each year inside the next one. That’s how being eleven years old is.

I’m eleven today. I’m eleven, ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, and one, but I wish I was one hundred and two. I wish I was anything but eleven, because I want today to be far away already, far away like a runaway balloon, like a tiny o in the sky, so tiny-tiny you have to close your eyes to see.

sandra cisneros; eleven