#Impending Doom

[cuyberpunk]

does anyone else feel like the world's just ending and there's nothing else they can do about it ? does anyone just feel numb?

[zappyron]

Dangerous Fresh Dive

[yellingfellow]

I want to SCREAAAAAMMMM

The world is fucking burning

Palestinians are being starved in their fucking tents that they have to live in because their whole neighborhoods have been bombed

Congolese women are being raped for not meeting their quotas

People are pulling each other out of mines that have collapsed

Babies are laying next to their dead mothers

Trump is on the ballot in Colorado

Indigenous women and teens being kidnapped and murdered and no one wants to help

They won’t search the landfills for the remains of dead natives

We’re being fed stories by the same 6 media coroporations and AI generated fucking prompts are taking over all forms of video and picture we can’t even know what is real

The world is fucking burning and the ice is melting and earthquakes and tsunamis are shaking the fucking earth and people’s homes are being flooded and completely destroyed

But no lets just keep pretending like it matters if I pay my fucking taxes

[sleeplessv0id]

I don't believe in God. anymore

but I hope he loved me. at least once.

[thebibliosphere]

Sorry if this is an obvious question but with the impending doom stuff- how different is that to. Hm how to phrase this. I have a sort of long term foreshortened future thing going on with my illness where I'm Always certain I'm going to die soon, and sometimes I get periods of Oh it's Getting Closer. I don't really feel afraid, but I tend to seek medical help anyway just in case- and in most cases something is wrong. Usually I have a virus.

But I don't really know how to categorise that feeling seperately from depression? And people talking about calm acceptance in Sense of Impending Doom resonates with me. But I'm always worried about mentioning this certainty to doctors because they tend to already think I'm making shit up/overdramatic.

Sorry for rambling. Point is- do you know much about a longer term "sense of Impending doom" ?

Possibly. Hm, let me see if I can put this in words.

So, my near-death experience in 2019 was a slow, drawn-out process largely facilitated by medical neglect. I knew something was Wrong in my body, and no one was listening to me. I knew it was going to kill me soon, but again, no one was listening, so I just kind of... quietly got my shit together. It felt gradual but inevitable. Creeping. With hindsight, that was my organs slowly winding down. Horrible feeling.

But that was very different from what I will now categorize as Immediate Impending Doom, which sort of hits like a tidal wave. It's weird to say it's an urgent-calm feeling, but that's what it is.

It's a very now feeling. Like, death within the next twenty minutes to an hour. It's the difference between "This will happen soon, get your affairs in order," and "This is a medical emergency; pay attention. Now."

Which I also have to differentiate from the "something is wrong" feeling I get as a chronically ill person when something new pops up.

I sometimes get what I think of as "warning flashes." My immune system is overreactive thanks to my mast cells being little malfunctioning bastards, so when I get sick with something else, it kicks off my fight or flight due to adrenaline and a bunch of other hormones being thrown into the mix like a Molotov cocktail.

I've had to learn to distinguish that from anxiety/depression because of the nature of my illness (can it be remedied with my meds, does doing grounding exercises help, what are my vitals etc), and I imagine it's the same for other chronically ill people, even if they don't have my specific immune problems.

A virus or something else will absolutely stress out an already stressed nervous system, and it can send you into a feeling of fight or flight, which can feel a bit doom-y.

But the Impending Doom they talk about with heart attacks, strokes, anaphylaxis etc, etc, is a very immediate and all-consuming feeling. The "soon" you seem to be describing seems to be "it'll happen sooner than later" but the Immediate Impending Doom is "right the fuck now." Is that right? Did I pick up on that, or am I way off?

Gah. I'm still probably doing a very bad job of explaining this.

[whumpsoda]

Oh please write a snippet of Florence being put on the drip, knowing that his mind is being wiped and there's nothing he can do about it

@oliversrarebooks

Masterlist

Man do I hate him <3

cw: pet whump, box boy universe/bbu adjacent, institutionalized slavery, wru facility, drugging, impending doom

——————

This was the end.

He could now say that he had experienced how it felt to contemplate death, not that he could never really tell anyone, now could he? That was basically what it was, the death of his mind. The death of a person, the person he was, brain turned to the mush that was a pet’s.

He swallowed, shaking. He wasn’t supposed to be shaking, never before would he have ever been fucking shaking, yet he couldn’t stop himself.

There was a muzzle covering a majority of his face, padded and black to match the mitts tied around his hands, to keep him from biting. Or maybe from screaming. Maybe both.

He was restrained to a table, similar to one in a doctors office, but - and of course - fucking white. He’d never really thought that much about it as a handler, when his life didn’t revolve around it - the white walls, white lights, white shirts, white uniforms - but goddammit everything was white. It made him sick to his stomach, a burning throb that seeped into his head.

This whole room was the same - white tile, white walls, white furniture, white cabinets - save for the metal machinery that provided no solace.

An itch blossomed in his outgrown, frizzy curls, one he couldn’t move to reach, forcing him to rub his head to the surface of the table. Making him look like the animal they would turn him into.

A snap in his face, catching his attention. Like a dog. “You ready? Or are you gonna struggle like you always do, even to your last moments?” Handler - God no, Everett - chuckled, stood right beside him.

His last moments. How laughable was it that he was spending them tied down to a table about to be plugged into the same substance he’d put so many boxies’ through? How fucking funny would he have found that if it was someone else on the table instead of him?

He wanted to sock Everett right in the face. He would’ve, if not for the restraints. Still, he struggled - banging, kicking weakly, snarling wildly - face beating red as Everett began to laugh.

“Isn’t that just a sight?” Everett leaned over his trainee, grinning with that stupid look on his face. A growl rolled out from under the muzzle, muffled and nearly unheard. “Man, I’m so excited, you have no idea. I’m so done with your antics.”

Anger fired up a flame in his chest, binding over his lungs as his cheeks boiled. With a clunk his fists fell to the table, over and over again in the attempt to make as much of a ruckus as he could. Anything to irritate his captors more than he already had. Anything to bring him any semblance of satisfaction.

“Hrgh-!” His eyes practically burst from their sockets as electricity exploded around his kneck, a squeal crackling from his throat as the shock seemed to stretch on and on.

Before, Everett would have thought the sight was the funniest thing he’d ever seen. Now he sat their straight faced, looking as bored as if he was any other trainee. “Don’t make me use the shock collar, ‘065, you know it’s already gotten old.”

The muzzle did it’s very best to constrict his hoarse, shallow breathing, the edge scratching over the skin of his throat. Everett patted his shoulder, comforting if not for the circumstances, calling his attention back.

“Don’t you worry one bit, ‘065. Everything’ll be a-okay once you’re off the drip. You’ll see.” Everett couldn’t even put in the effort to hide his smirk, one he so very much to wipe right off. “You want me to hold your hand?”

Everett was taunting him. Taunting him. Like they did to trainees together, except this time he was the trainee.

What would he even be after this? As a real trainee, head knocked empty?

A boxie. He’d be a braindead, obedient little boxie.

He’d have an owner, someone whose every word he would hang from, drooling to serve them.

His stomach churned, bile bubbling up with heat from his belly. He was going to puke just thinking about it.

What a joke.

The click of the door, steps parading the edge of the room. The doctor had arrived, the same one he’d worked with several times previously on other boxies. This time though, that doctor would be working on him.

“You guys ready to get this party started?” Everett asked - hands on his lap in an anticipatory stance - giddy almost, to no response.

The doctor was on the other side of his table then - he’d never cared to remember her name - audibly flicking switches, turning knobs.

“And we’re on.” Everett sneered, plopping himself into a white, plastic chair across the room. The perfect view, staring straight at him.

This was-

This was it.

He could feel his lungs growing and depleting, breath sucked in and out faster and faster every nearing second. The muzzle wasn’t doing him any good, only furthering his struggle for air.

He gripped to the walls of the table as best he could with mitts around his hands, wriggling weaker and weaker against the restraints with every passing moment. The drip was already getting to him, quicker and quicker.

He shrieked, quieter than expected but still a decent sound. The doctor was unmoved, Everett giggling from his seat.

How dare they.

How fucking dare they.

He was a person, not a boxie. He wasn’t like them. He was someone who had a family, friends, a real fucking future ahead of him, one they swiped away just like that. One that, this time, he couldn’t see any way to get back.

He couldn’t struggle. His limbs were numb, falling limp as something dead, and he couldn’t do anything to stop it. What could he have?

The air was hot in his mouth, sweat dribbling over his top lip and onto his bottom. Already he felt himself drifting, like he was floating almost, unable to grab back on.

Maybe-

If he could just-

If he-

he…

His head filled up with a sensation of suffocatingly air, as if going in for surgery. He caught Everett flash him a small, glittering wave. “See ya soon, ——,”

Only white, hearing fading out to a buzz.

Only white, thoughts washing into the abyss.

Only white, vision clearing to a stinging brightness.

Only white, memories flushed to emptiness in the blink of his eye.

Wiped.

——————

Masterlist

Taglist - @softvampirewhump @ivymyers @taterswhump @octopus-reactivated @tippytappytyping

@distracted-obsessions @starfields08000 @bitchaknso @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @scoundrelwithboba

@whumped-by-glitter @whumpering-heights @arlin-always-writing @bilightningwhumper @sharkyydoesnothing

@whump-till-ya-jump

If anyone wants to be removed or added to the taglist, please let me know! :)

[evilhorse]

Doctor Fate will not live through the night!

(All-Star Comics #62)

[stsg420]

When the chapter first came out finalizing Gojo’s death, I was devastated. Our glorious blue eyed king was gone. But on a deeper level, I was glad. So glad. I wanted Gojo to be free of the jjk world where everything was dark, full of death, where the one thing that always remained constant was an impending state of doom. He fucking deserved to be done with it all, to be done fighting. To rest. He had given fucking everything. Everything he physically had for society when the only thing that truly ever gave him peace in the world was ripped away from him. Died right in front of him. His fucking best friend. His fucking soul mate. Gojo gave his everything and was rewarded with holding his best friend’s dying body as he took his last breaths. Gojo deserved peace after everything he lived through. Peace, comfort, safety. So when the chapter was released where his body came back and began being used like his best friend’s was, I literally broke down. Gege wrote their story just about as tragic as one could make it. Yeah, gojo died. But even in death, his body was used unforgivingly and without respite. Parallel to his lover’s. There seemed to be no end to his tragedy. This is not to blame Yuuta, I know he suffered tremendously having to make the choice to inherit Gojo’s body. This is simply my take on how Gojo Satoru will never catch a break, has never truly found peace body and soul. I only hope that he’s found a bit of respite with Geto in the afterlife. Either way I will be crying🫶

[knackerman]

Nightmare Night G5

[sipthegossip-if]

“two faced little bitch” has me CACKLING 🤣🤣‼️‼️‼️

you won't be cackling like this when you finally realise why i wrote what I wrote (ominous)

Context.

[kply-industries]

[twistedtummies2]

Billy Geant is the sweetest, friendliest, most affectionate man-eating giant you could ever hope to meet. With this statement, however, comes a simple fact. He IS still a man-eating giant. Billy can and will devour, crush, smother, and otherwise obliterate tiny creatures that make him angry enough. He is making a CHOICE to be kind and tolerant. Most giants wouldn't bother. He does not NEED to make that choice.

There are multiple ways to enrage Billy to the point of murderous fury, but the surest and simplest way - the one "kill switch" he is most famous for - is trying to steal from him. These two tiny fools are about to find out there is merit in the old saying: "Beware the fury of a patient man."

------------------------------------------------

More art from Twisted-Brainrot, this time showcasing Billy's scary side. I love how COLD he looks here, this is actually - in some ways - more how I imagine his initial reactions being than anything else. When you see that face, you know ya dun goofed. Maybe these two thieves can talk their way out of ending up as giant food, or getting that giant belly slammed down on top of them, or something worse. Somehow, though, I don't feel compelled to hold my breath for it. XD

[stardustinmyneurons]

google how to not feel like a worthless piece of shit for not being productive? google answer me oh my god google please im on my knees

[jrjeremy]

mordecout rigbier⁉️⁉️‼️‼️‼️

[howifeltabouthim]

. . . like a doom that had changed its mind at the last minute and hadn't quite decided who to destroy instead.

Jenn Lyons, from The Ruin of Kings

[painsandconfusion]

Whumpee watching gangrene slowly creep up their limb, begging whumper to help them at every possible opportunity.

Just imagine them staring at the line. Hypochondria has them convinced it’s further along than it is. Phantom fevers set in too soon and their heart seems to seize up with the stress and they’re convinced that’s their last breath every. single. time.