#ah no problem!

[almondpiglet]

Serizawa carrying Reigen!

thirty year old salaryman carries twenty nine year old boss cuz they arent gay!!!

[saintlucretia]

the feeling when your fictional crush is so wild you can't even defend them:

[daydreamerwonderkid]

They're bonding :3c

Meme reference under cut

Draw the squad poses

Pose 1

Pose 2

[egophiliac]

still absolutely losing my mind over Lilia

[rayveneyed]

cw: smut / cisfem!reader / scent kink

something nobody ever considers about satoru gojo is that he’s very particular about scents.

it’s a weird side effect of the six eyes that is rarely ever spoken of, by him or any other; along with his fantastical sight, his ability to distinguish minute details kilometres away, to read the ever-twisting flow of cursed energy, yadda yadda yadda — the extrasensory perception he was granted the second two gametes fused into a zygote had skyrocketed every perceptible sensation above the level of the average human. leagues above the level of not-so-average humans, too, but that’s a story for another time.

beneath the slightly dusty smell of skin cells and flesh, each person is different. diet and exercise play a huge part, of course, but then there’s the more obvious things — perfume, toiletries, surroundings. nanami always smells like paper and sandalwood. nobara, sweet and fruity, with a sneaky undertone of something synthetic — something almost hospital-like. yuji smells like grass and citruses, like he’s just popped open a can of something fizzy and caffeinated on the lawns of jujutsu tech. but if he had to choose a favourite…

“could — could you, um—”

one really must forge their own little bits of happiness in this line of work. the constant death and despair really puts a damper on one's lust for life. for gojo — sweets, cute little figures, themed cafes and expensive cakes, things that pleasantly appeal to and delight each one of his six senses. you, in a similar way, enjoy the finer things in life — cashmere and vicuña wool, luxury furniture for your top-floor apartment, century-old wines with names you cannot pronounce — and, to gojo's delight, perfumes.

oh, you have one for every day of the year, he's sure. white florals bursting with zesty citrus, bergamot and black tea when the weather cools. there's fluffy vanillas and sugar-sweet marshmallows, tempered with the smooth depth of sandalwood. osmanthus seeping with syrupy apricots and and peaches. cloves and nutmeg and cypress for the days when the clouds split open and tokyo turns grey.

with your back pressed against the couch and gojo flush against you, hips slotted between your pillowy thighs, he's able to dig his nose right into the curve of where your jaw meets your neck, exactly where you spritz your perfume every morning. today, it's one of those delicious, good-enough-to-eat type of smells; white chocolate and macadamia nut and — fuck, he almost moans against you. sugar and spice and everything nice — you smell like everything he's ever wanted to gorge himself on. he's reminded of the cheap, strawberry body spray you used to use back in high school — how the scent would catch on his nose when you walked past, how it lingered on his jacket when you brushed against him. he shivers.

he lifts his lips from your skin — lifts his nose from the cradle of your neck to give you a distracted, slightly disgruntled, "huh? what?"

it's only without the smell of you clouding his nose that he suddenly realises that you're squirming against him — the heat of your clothed pussy pressing against his hardened cock, layers of cotton and denim and linen between you both leaving you with only the slightest, most irksome hint of pleasure. even with his blindfold fastened over his eyes, it's all so much.

"just — i need something," you say, exasperated. your forehead's dewy with sweat, glasses slipping down the bridge of your pretty nose. "you've been at this for ages."

"ah, my bad." but he doesn't stop. how can he tear himself from your warmth, the heat of you radiating from your skin, your arms wound around his neck and fingers in his hair? how can he leave even a single inch of space between you, when your chest is heaving with excitement and the musky sweetness of your arousal is reaching his nose? he satisfies both your needs for stimulation with slow, curling rolls of his hips, dull pleasure tingling up his spine and leaving him shuddering. "i thought you were more patient."

"you — you're the one that dragged me in here," you say, even as your breathing gets heavier, even as your head falls back with a whine, baring the column of your neck to his greedy, seeking nose. "i told you i have plans, so unless you—!"

"alright, alright," he concedes, though all of your arguments about the time have been half-hearted at best. "don't you worry, i'll take good care of you — real good care."

"you sound like such a sleaze when you say stuff like that."

"mhm." for a moment, he lifts his head — and he doesn't have to look at his reflection mirrored in your eyes to know that his pupils are blown wide, his cheeks flushed pink. you're not much better off — for all your whining and posturing, your proverbial claws aren't much more dangerous than those of a scrappy little kitten. beneath it all, your breathing is laboured, your blood vessels dilated. you smell sweeter, like your body is a ripening fruit or blooming flower, opening for him. your blood rushing to the surface of your skin, heating up the fragrance oils still dotted along your flesh, turns it all heady and head-dizzying.

you want him — you can deny it all you want, but he can see it clear as day. the reminder sends what little blood remains in his head straight to his cock.

"you smell sweet," satoru says, blank and dumb. "when you're horny."

for a moment, you pause. embarrassment — and arousal, though you probably won't admit it — has you locking up. a hint of bitterness turns your fragrance — like burning chocolate — before you huff suddenly, smacking at him until he begins to back up. "oh, my god — you're so shameless, satoru—"

"no, i'm serious! h—hey, stop!" he argues, wriggling until he's back in your good graces again. he dips his head to your skin again, teasing you with little nips along your neck. you'll see the bruises it leaves tomorrow and demand he make it up to you with sweets that he'll just have to eat with you, earrings that glimmer in garnet. for now, though, he’ll get a little serious.

"you get a little sweeter when you cum too, y'know," satoru coos. he tugs at his blindfold, blinking as unfettered light filters into his retina. it's sensory overload, overstimulating and overwhelming, but it's exactly what he wants: to see you, feel you, taste you, smell you — be engulfed by you in every way he can. as if drawn there, his hand sneaks between the tight fit of your bodies, slipping under the hiked-up hem of your skirt and petting at your underwear — soaked, as he’d expected, coating the tips of his fingers. "like syrup. i wanna smell you like that.”

his tongue peeks out over your pulse point, touch reaching up and up and up to that fantastic little ball of nerves he adores. you let out a moan so loud that even he’s taken aback. giddiness bubbles in the pit of his stomach — giddiness, horniness, it’s all the same to him — and he shoves his nose so hard into your skin he swears it’ll bruise. ah, there it is. he’s barely even touched you, too. it’ll be even better when he does.

“g—god, you’re horrible,” you say, arching into him, like you can’t bear to be apart for even a second.

“me?” satoru laughs. you’re distracting from the task at hand, though he usually doesn’t mind. he can’t help but respond, giving you your own attitude back a thousandfold. it’s just now, when it’s been so long since he’s gotten his fill of you, he’s just… a little impatient... “oi, don’t get all embarrassed — you always get so mean.”

“then stop saying things like that, and i won’t have to be — a—ah!”

satoru suckles at the cold-hardened flesh he’s just taken in his mouth — your mouth falling open in wonder and your chest heaving as he takes your nipple between two dull rows of teeth, humming. between his fingers and his mouth, you’ll soon be rendered almost completely silent, shuddering and twitching in what he knows will be a strong, satisfying orgasm — sweet with sweat, salt and musk gathering between your legs. looking up at him with glassy eyes and calling his name. his mouth waters.

he better get a move on, though: you have plans, after all.

[casart]

..•Perception Distorted•..

[gallifreyanhotfive]

What if I used on online generator to create a Doctor Who Cards Against Humanity deck that includes shit from every form of media. What if I made it a PDF file. What then.

[galacticlamps]

the way Edwin's immediate reaction upon seeing the misery wraith in the Devlin house is to grab Crystal and cover her mouth, even while he's explaining (apparently calmly) that it hunts by sensing negativity and pain - presumably instead of using sight or sound

and the way that he does the exact same thing to Charles when they're reunited in Hell, but here he urges him specifically to be quiet (in what must be the most barely audible line of dialogue in the whole show) because he's found that's the only way he can get a short reprieve between bouts of torture from the spider thing (to the point that when he ran into Simon earlier he - rather nonsensically - believed the sound of tearing paper behind a closed door was also a big risk)

All I'm saying is, it doesn't look like it was actually all that important he stop Crystal from making noise in the Devlin house, and as much as that scene originally read as Edwin kinda having his shit together while Charles & Crystal were both more affected & then literally incapacitated, his head couldn't have been half as clear as it first seemed if his immediate reaction was reverting to Surviving Hell Tactics even when they weren't really helpful or applicable here

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 308

Honestly, Damian is so disappointed in his father right now. And his so-called siblings. The friends allies he had made over the years and he had been swapping multiple times, and still they hadn’t realized. Danyal was as pale as a corpse, closer to Drake for Pit’s sake! Jordan had red eyes! Elena was a girl! Respawn had white hair! Surely someone noticed- thank fuck, hello Todd, no he’s not on patrol, listen, listen, he needs you to know that Father? Blind. An idiot! The others more so! Yes yes, they’ve been doing their single-person trick, but surely someone should have caught on yes? And they haven’t- Oh? What a wonderful idea Akhi, he shall inform the others of this idea, the Lazarus waters do make dna testing quite hard to do. 

[scoriarose]

She came up with a new activity

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

This entire scene emotionally destroyed me but there's one part in particular that was like taking a knife to an already open wound.

So, Gon shuts down after the reveal that Kite was dead all along and his stunned and racing mind is disjointed and contradictory. Most of his statements fit into roughly three categories of desperate thoughts:

Vehement inability to process that Kite is dead. From the statement being repeated multiple times to the amount of "no"s everywhere on these pages.

Taking the blame for Kite's death, in a frankly horrifying show of self-hatred (especially given the context of what comes next).

Blaming Pitou and proclaiming that he "didn't do it" in an attempt to absolve the weight of his guilt.

Heartbreaking. But there's one thought here that's a bit different.

Throughout all of this, Gon has been adamant that Kite, and by extension the situation, can be "fixed" - after all, most every issue that's come up before on his adventures could be resolved nicely. But now, suddenly, it can't. Gon can't stand feeling powerless or helpless, and now he finds himself more helpless than he's ever been. And we get this.

"Somebody help me."

Gon is independent. Gon has a burning need to prove his worth through his own strength. Gon has a bad habit of equating "taking responsibility" with fixing things all by himself and rejecting help from others.

Gon has never pleaded for someone to save him before.

And it's just. Holy shit. Holy shit - he's a kid. He's just a kid. And in just a few pages, he's going to make a despair-fueled decision to throw away his life just to regain any semblance of power over a situation that was doomed to be unfixable from the start. He says, "Let it end. I don't care what happens to me now.", because this is the only way he can think of to make his pain and his guilt and Pitou all just stop, by losing himself to all of his power instead of his grief.

[foreverviolets]

[angel-clouve]

.....

... wait, isn't this basically almost all the caretakers/moms from each dorm? *SLAP!*

[i-dont-talk-for-days-on-end]

Ngl I would marry that man and then I would take him with me wherever I go like other women carry their tiny dogs in their handbags. He's so absolutely useless I want to show him off to all my friends. Whenever he says something I would kiss him gently on his zero braincells forehead. I'm a girl who knows how to treat a pretty loser

[saintlucretia]

James Daddy March, ladies and gentlemen

[marclef]

Day 22 of P̸̭͕͔̮̗̄̀̇̔̂̀̈́͒̈́͋͘͘͜͝͝i̴̛͉̯̗̹̟̳̮͍̼̒̃̀̅̍̓̏̑̏̏͆̒͆̇͛̀́̋z̸̨̮̼̣͙͓̹͔̖̟̱̮͉͓̯̰̝̗̾̔̓̉̽͊͜͝z̵̢͍̳͔̩͈̭̖͔̖̟̃̐͒̈́̎̑̊̋̉̕͝ͅa̸̢̢̢̨̛̛͉̺̪̣̱̩͕̱̹̘̱͔͈̟͔̿̀́͐̀̀͛̿͆́̈́͘ạ̶̡̧̩̬̣̯̟̼̼͚̘̹̙̱̲͈̭́̈̓̎̈ͅͅǎ̵̩̥̪̅̈̇͆à̶̛̛̛̪̅̓͒̋͗͗́̏̐̽͐͐͐̀͘͘͝a̷̖̝̰̜͔̩͚̼̤̮͋͛̓̈́͑́͑̔̏͂͑̈́̀̈̚̕̕ȧ̴̢̢̧̬̞̫̲͔̔̑̈́́̐̀̂̊̓̈́̕-

.... Peppino?

here for ř̶̛̼̘̪͔̳̣̹̦̥̲̥̑̀͌̈́̾̅̍̆͋̈́̉̓̀̓͠e̴̪̦̫͖̜̥͎͙̬͚͔̦͈̒̊̍̄̀̏̽̅̈̿̌̕v̴͖͉̺̦̯̣̺̭͔̠͓̭͈̪̰̯̓͂̂͋̉͊̀͘̕ȩ̸̡͍̜̻̻͇̩̙͙̫̥́̽͑̓̓͛͌̚͜͠n̷̡̜̘̙̼̂̈̉͝ͅg̵̢̝̮̺̪͙͍̲̤̖̞̋̏́̈́͆͛͆̌̌́̿́̄̃̊̚͘ͅȩ̵̠̦̥̫̭͕͎̱̺̗̮̋͑̾͗͒̈́̔͒̓̀̇̈́̕̕͝͝ at all costs......... huh? that's strange...

somebody from this universe seems to have already taken care of it.