#I live and breathe for comments

[that-one-weird-cloud0]

Danny: *just chilling on the couch while being very still™️ at the Wayne Manor*

Clark: *comes to visit*

Clark: hey Bruce?

Bruce: yes?

Clark: why is there a dead child in your living room?

Bruce: what 0-0

Danny: oh shit

Danny: *starts up heartbeat* better?

Clark: *even more freaked out*

[tea-and-secrets]

would it be ok to ask that this one is posted soon? i could use reassurance about it if thats alright? things are just... really hard.

im trying to come to terms with the fact that im going to be disabled for the rest of my life. i accept that im disabled *now,* but i have a degenerative disease, its not going to just stop being there. its going to keep getting worse slowly over time.

its especially hard because... even now i cant do my favorite hobby, rockhounding, because i cant bend without risking falling, i cant get on the ground to pick things up and/or dig because i wouldnt be able to get up on my own, and i cant navigate most off-road areas where the rocks im interested in are most often found.

i also desperately want to be a geologist. but i wanted more than anything to be doing fieldwork, like going out and taking samples from various areas, making maps of what could be found where based on my samples... that sort of thing. but ill never be able to do it and i have to come to terms with that.

it will get bad enough that i will need a wheelchair at some point in my life too. like, at some point within the next five to ten years.

ill also never be able to pick people up again. my whole life ive prided myself in picking people i love up during hugs, spinning them around, that sort of thing. i especially loved picking up my best friend.

they understand that i cant do that anymore and theyve never expressed sadness over it, but i cant help but think about how delighted theyve always been about me picking them up and spinning or wiggling them during hugs, and how they used to ask multiple times each hangout to be picked up and hugged.

and even if they arent upset about it, *i* am. i want to be able to do what i used to be able to. but i cant. and i never will again.

its just hard, knowing ill never be able to reach my dream career, continue my favorite outdoor hobby, continue giving love to my friends in the ways i like to... theres so much i can no longer do, and so much ill never be able to do again.

its just really hard. i dont want to be this way. but i am and i always will be, and it will get worse even if i do things like meds and physical therapy. those would just delay the collapse of my disease.

im just sad. i dont want to have to come to terms with it. but i have to or else im setting myself up for even more grief.

and its all because my mom wouldnt get me treated when i was injured in my teenage years. that injury going untreated for so long is what caused my degenerative disease to start so early. my mom has it too but she didnt start developing it until her fourties.

and then for years after my injury when talking about my back pain she just kept saying it was because im fat and that it would stop hurting if i lost weight.

which of course sparked the eating disorder i had previously recovered from.

which ive been struggling with now again for years because of that. but i was getting better again.

until now. because my body hurts too bad to get out of bed often enough to eat a healthy amount so im rapidly losing weight and my brain is saying i have to keep going and going.

and, the wheelchair thing... all my friends live and are going to live places with a lot of stairs. and *i* live somewhere with a lot of stairs too. and the doorframes in all these places arent wide enough for a wheelchair, nor are the bathrooms large enough.

its just all so hard to think about. i hate it. i want to get better and heal like a normal person would, not be in pain constantly and get worse like my body is going to.

thank you for listening. sorry for how long this is.

if i could get reassurance in tags or replies that would be really nice. this is all just so hard and i only have a few people i can confide in about it.

<3

[lilacerull0]

ah. all things considered i have done soooo many great things in my life so far and number one is basically just making it this far. (and cooking. and going to the supermarket.) already more than what my kindergarten teacher thought i would do when she told my parents how they didn't raise me to survive in this world as if you could somehow be incompatible with the world.

[jonesypiercedme]

When is your earliest memory? What does it contain?

Was it scary? Humiliating? Weird? Unimportant? Were you maybe 3, or possibly younger? Does no one believe you actually remember this, because children can't remember anything? Do you havean earliest memory you can recall right now, tied to the intense emotions of a child without

Please, keep reading mine, below, and share another's and donate to them so they won't have to live through the worst pain imaginable, because the pain was unimaginable and no one believed it hurt me because of how young I was. I was supposed to forget, and I didn't, so please don't forget what happened to me and another child. People can only handle feeling and being forgotten for so long.

https://gofund.me/6def755e

I am too scared to look up what happened to me, and my parents were so scared that every time they remember it's like their hearts skip three beats and their mind has to go through a whirlwind of visions to find the right answer. It's always been like that for me, because it happened.

My earliest memory is being held down on a cold table in a bright, derelict, sterile room with ugly wooden cabinets, led lights, a man in a lab coat looking stressed and worried as I screamed and thrashed in agony, and no one did anything to stop it; my dad was to the left with. They held me down on that table and I thought they were the ones hurting me. It was horrible, I had no answers, and I could have never reckoned with those questions at such a young age. My dad's eyes were wide, with giant glasses and longer hair, and I remember the terror and tiny hope in his eyes while I was screaming and thrashing and he did not move to help me, because he couldn't for fear of me choking. I didn't understand, I was barely 3 years old, maybe a bit younger. When I ask my parents, they barely remember, and my dad can only remember being so afraid when I was in pain he nearly blacked out.

I would have died if they did not do this to me.

But if I hadn't seen the desperate hope and fear in their eyes, my body would have never forgotten what happened to me. I have been going through ketoneuria from stress and trauma, and keep getting kidney stones! And my even more actively traumatizing medical issues happened not long after! But that hope and fear gave me just enough hope to keep trying. That love and recognition saves lives. I had a possible heart attack, going into ketoacidosis from trauma and stress and drugs to cope with the physical pain of shame and trauma, and that love and visions I saw of that hope with my cats' hopeful eyes saved my life. Because I wanted to live pain free with them. Even if it didn't work, I didn't deserve the pain.

If this didn't happen to you, I am eternally grateful, there are some medical conditions I experienced that healed themselves but I was never able to heal from. Please, God or Gods or none as I don't usually pray, give them and any other sick child you see a chance.

I just saw this happening to a child with the same tubes I needed as an infant when I was born with a hole in my heart. It's healed now though, so I would like everyone with whole hearts to act like it and show love to them so you can feel it again!!! Or else I am putting Poseidon's curse on you (the experience of vomiting and expelling water in ketoneuria, IDK why it happened, but it felt like a curse Poseidon could do) to care and read and share these two stories and your own.

Please keep reading below, this link, and sharing.

It's okay if you can't help right now, but you know how important it is to be seen. Yousef Alhabeel does not deserve to have his pain forgotten like mine was. I nearly died last month at age 24 because of trauma that happened to me as a CHILD. Because of medical trauma.

Youssef Al-Habeel (@youseffamily) has survived over a year of a hell collective humanity is struggling to reckon with. He is in a makeshift tent as bombs fall and children and people fall to disease and suffering, even as they have hope to escape. He has to beg for the chance to have food, and while we know who is at fault for this, people need to take collective action to prevent the innocent from suffering even further. Apathy only lets this continue, but pain and pain/shame relief make you able to do this.

Majd is doing all of this while suffering through what happened to me above, every second.

Please reckon with that, please recognize the sliver of pain I am able to show you and connect it to your own, and especially to Majd. He is going through that pain right now, and it is the pain that has made me so afraid of sleeping I have had extreme somno and hydrophobia my whole life. I don't know his respiratory illness, I only know the fear of being unable to breathe on your own.

I don't think I have ever had COVID because if I did when I was sick, it didn't compare at all to this. Perhaps if you have suffered due to another respiratory illness like COVID, you can show sympathy and compassion. I don't want you to relive the pain as you already know it, but you know how horrifying the choking and pain is. How scary it is to watch someone gasp for breath, adult child or animal.

[walkingbomb]

just read a facebook comment section on a young woman's video, in which she was asking 'how you're meant to live your life' if you work a 9-5 job

and the ENTIRE comment section was just people saying 'yeah welcome to life' 'whiny snowflake' 'do 70 hours and maybe i'll be sympathetic'

like... these same people have clearly become jaded, tired, angry and lack empathy because ALL they've done all their lives is work and have forgotten that anything else exists

it's like the concept of someone NOT having to live like that and enjoying life just drives them insane because deep down they know that they've wasted their lives following bullshit hustle culture and being miserable

[sadpeopledancing]

x

[soleadita]

me: makes a silly little teen wolf post on my silly little tiny blog

rabid sc*tt stans i literally have never crossed paths with ever in my entire life: derek hale is the devil incarnate, actually, and here’s why

[expressionless-fr]

I wouldn't be here if it wasn't because of him.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

they're so right about the diction of course

they're also soooo right about the breath control from william "holds that 'again' in (acoustic) loser geek whatever for fifteen damn seconds and long enough live that other jeremys just gotta be cutting it down a bit when they perform it" roland like my god the consistency in every moment of these lines. that lowest note being such a crisp & cool spritz & he's sometimes holding it too & it just never falters like my god....the mass effecties are having a great time w/this too, hope it gets around to someone official seeing it, which gets around to will. simply going tf off once again lord....

and the extra mile

[widevibratobitch]

.

[sadboyhrs]

why are there so many haters in the tag

[vulpinesaint]

thoughts on the colour red

RED IS MY SOULMATE MY BEST FRIEND RED IS MY EVERYTHING. red is an intrinsic part of my being. red is everything important to me. red is what lives right under the thin veneer of everything else about me. red is like an animal companion that goes with me everywhere with whom i have an unconditional and all-encompassing trust with. red lays across my shoulders and curls around my neck and has soft fur and ALSO red is the color of every unpleasant thing i love about myself and ALSO a superior eyeliner color and ALSO a superior blush color and ALSO a superior color in general. my wardrobe is all black and white and red. seventeen thousand outfits built to accentuate the red accents. ring with silver roses and red heart-shaped gemstones. red heart-shaped sunglasses. red shirt red backpack red letterman's jacket. red makes valentine's day what it is red makes blood what is red makes violence and anger what it is red makes love what it is too. which is all to say that i have many thoughts on the color red. not that i'll ever be able to express them all coherently

[technicolorxsn]

getting emotional over wowaka again...

[eightmakesonebraincell]

boyfriend!ateez discovering you write smut

genre: ot8 x gn!reader, smut, crack, fake texts

c/w: explicit content - mdni, swearing, dirty jokes, pet names, dark humour

a/n: i had a different fake text queued for today, but in light of choi san the man himself discovering fanfic, this felt fitting to post 🫢 started drafting this five months ago with @sorryimananti-romantic so did we accidentally manifest it 😬

[narugen-moved]

feeling bad again 😧

[suguann]

Being a camgirl comes with its fair share of ups and downs, but you never expected one of the downs to be one of your unboxings from a fan going horribly wrong during a live stream—the proof of it still buzzing between your thighs beyond your finger's reach. 

A rush of embarrassment comes with knocking on your roommate’s bedroom door and asking him for help because you’re nearing the brink of overstimulation and can’t think straight enough to get the words out. It’s worse when he stands there and says nothing—all imposing with two tattooed arms crossed over his chest—while you try to get through a sentence without moaning. 

Simon looks at you with a cocked brow and something akin to amusement as he watches you squirm in his doorway. 

Then he finally says, “Get on the bed,” in a steady and low voice, opening his bedroom door wider.

You fidget under his scrutinizing gaze as you settle back against his pillows, biting back whimpers with a too-hot face and sweat dripping down your back. 

Him settling a knee on the bed makes you jump, “Let’s take a look, love.” 

Simon crawls up the bed, forcing your knees open, and you’re suddenly very aware of how broad and big he looks, towering over you—every part of you laid bare for him to see. A large hand presses right below your belly button, jostling the toy inside you, and this time, you can’t hold back the squeal that rips from your chest. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs, voice imperceptibly deeper, his lips twitching like he’s trying to hold back a smile. “Okay, you’re going to feel a slight stretch.”

You bite your lip. “A-alright—”

Slight doesn’t even come close to the fingers sliding into you, spearing your sensitive walls open and pressing into a spot where you’ve never been able to reach with startling precision. You remind yourself that he has to do this, that he’s just being…friendly, or whatever makes the lines less blurred. 

None of this stops the fact your lower stomach burns with the promise of another orgasm when his fingers brush against the egg vibrator before accidentally pressing it deeper inside.

“Ah, there it is.”

At the sight of your scrunched nose, he asks if it hurts. You shake your head; eyes squeezed shut in an attempt to hold back the stinging pleasure racing up your spine. “N-no,” you whimper.

“Relax, okay?”

Simon doesn’t comment on how you’re implying that it feels good. So good, you think, his thumb just barely touching your clit as he twists his hand to try a different angle. Then he pushes down on your belly again, and his long fingers finally grip the vibrator.

“Oh!” you moan at the feel of it dragging down your front wall, your fingers gripping the sheets. 

He has to tell you to relax again, his voice cracking, but you hardly hear it over your heart beating loudly in your ears. His fingers drag the toy out slowly, almost too slow that you can feel it bumping against every slippery ridge inside you.

“Ah, sorry,” he says when you twitch—unapologetic—using his thumb to rub soothing circles into your stomach. “You’re so wet. I need to make sure I don’t lose it again.”

You nod, cunt clenching down at his words.

And then Simon’s fingers curl up: your thighs start quivering, breath caught in your throat, and your jaw locks up until your orgasm ripples through you. It’s unending, the strongest one yet, and just when you think it’s over, you feel the press of his palm against your clit.

“W-wait! Simon,” you moan, pushing at his hand. “No more, I‘m sensitive!”

He gets you to fall over the edge one more time before finally slipping the vibrator out of you, letting it hum softly on the bed, and your exhausted body sinks into the mattress once again. Simon gathers you into his lap, rocking you back and forth.

You swallow lungfuls of air against his chest, head still spinning and walls spasming from the aftershocks. 

He murmurs in your ear about how good you are, kisses your temple, and rubs your sides, and it’s… enlightening. Moments pass before you finally return to yourself, and when he pulls back, his brows furrow at your pout.

“All good?”

You shake your head and go with honesty. “I didn’t think you’d cuddle me afterward.”

He smiles, thumb flicking your bottom lip. “You wanted me to fuck you?” 

Your mouth falls open. “N-no—”

Then he leans down, lips brushing against your ear: “Don’t worry, love. Good girls get fucked hard.”