#anyways. sorry.

[dhmis-autism]

collection of ducks in dresses i drew just in ONE DAY bc im the VICTIM OF A CURSE

[the-everqueen]

y'all are cowards for using the verses of "eat your young" for romantic dreamling fics instead of using the chorus for a fic that grapples with hob gadling being a hedonist who has always valued his own survival above anyone else.

[lottieurl]

everyone let's hold hands in a circle and pray that my boss shits herself in public and then right after that dies in some comically unrealistic yet painful final destination sort of way

[forest-hashira]

oooh. wow. ok. just got absolutely devoured by the most insane loneliness. cool.

[annihilatian]

on the roof she says, oh, doesn't he understand? doesn't he know? and he does know, in the ugliness of the dark. but she's dangerous. sick. he's seen it before, this kind of twisted; it infects down the bone marrow, into the spirit. still, he touches her. caressing her cheek, smelling the softness of her hair as the wind picks up. he can hear the quiet smack of her mouth as she swallows. he knows, and softens to her in kind, opening his arms for her to sink into. forgiveness. her hand was misguided, yes, but she'd trussed up her ritual in name of him, and so—he can fix this. she won't be given mercy in an institution, or in prayer. god's silence will sink into her heavy as stone, and she will be turned over to a padded cell and lost forever to herself. and whose fault will it be? hers, for being lost, fumbling in the dark?

it's his responsibility, he tells himself, to stop her. to stop her, to save her, he wants to save her. if he can save her, he can save anyone. her, pleading with her wet-soft mouth, this is why she takes a good heart and eats it down for god, for him, for justice. this isn't justice, he murmurs in kind—not cruel anymore, feeling the weak and the warm of her. a hand on her shoulder, the other at her hip. thumbing at her tender neck. his bare mouth warm on her scalp, her hair tickling his nose. her pulse leaps, breath hitches.

he can block it out, technically; turn his mind to anything else. the ever-present churn of traffic below. but he doesn't. his own chest clenches. she's venom-sweet and he's swallowing her down with every second passed as their heartbeats align, breathing falls into place. speeds. her hands warm through his suit, sliding up to the seam of his mask. he grasp her wrist, shakes his head—but she doesn't try to lift it, to undo the divide of man and devil. she circles his jaw in her blood-ridden hands, and oh god, she kisses him, awful and tender as a needle into skin.

he should stop this. but her mouth is warm, horribly warm, moving against his with a reverential intimacy. he knows hunger for god like a backhand to the mouth, and he knows adoration with bruises on his knees, and this—wrecked desire, has hounded him all his life. she opens to it, invites it, and he—is not strong enough.

god, forgive him the wanting of it. can he still taste the meat in her mouth? can he still smell blood on her skin? she's malleable under his hands as they collide, thigh-pliant as she wraps it around his hip, drawing him closer, closer to the heat of her. i promise i'll never bite. a lie, her heart says, but a sweet one, one he hums against—he can do this for her. give her this. take her in his hands, take her here. she whispers nothings against his mouth, and he in kind—i've got you.

come, come here. he pushes her back, onto the waist-high wall of the roof. one gloved hand sinks into her hair, arching her neck back, rough-sharp. he trails hard, wet bites on her throat—hungry but not piercing. leaving bruises. . she needs — she needs, hips, flushed heat on his spine, grinding against her, each rhythm and shape of it. her hands claw at his shoulders, her mouth seeking him out. he kisses her hard enough to leave a pulsing bruise; ugly, devouring. he wants to, to be the one to eat. the second skin of his body sits tight and red between them, but she doesn't seem to mind. it isn't matt murdock she sought, and he won't take it off. better like that. there's something ascetic to it, untouchability; never quite feeling more than the pressure of her hands. everything and not enough. never enough. his radar pulses in beat to her heart, a promise like religion just out of reach.

catheryn pleads something—anything—fill the void, help, and he lets go only long enough to tear off one of his gloves--the only skin he can bear to her--and drops it to the ground. too much delay, too much space. "poor thing..." he murmurs, unhooking the button of her pants, running his forefinger over her--and isn't she just. like a lamb bent to the altar, he pulls her taut by the base of her throat, teasing, wet and open, light touches. lighter than his hand about her neck. with every following writhe she gives, he pulls back, a low laugh unfurling. still, her hands scramble, distracting. begging. letting go of her, he presses her wrists to the wall behind, says: "keep them there," not a request, and he slides another finger inside her, rhythmic and slow and constant.

every hitch of her lungs is tracked, noted, sensation flooding around him as he keeps pace, pushes another one inside her, tells her how good she's doing; praising her little sounds, letting her dig her heels into his spine. he might be smiling, breathing roughly. heady. his skin is burning inside his suit, craving contact; but it's the good kind of hurt, a hook in his stomach tugged forth.

catching her mouth again, he swallows her groan, sinks his teeth into that bottom lip of hers. as she comes, he fucks her through it, too much, she gasps, she lets her hands slip, back onto him—sinking uselessly against the padding of his skinsuit. maybe, a little, he wants her to hurt too. aberrations of the self, wanting to decreate communion, meat and flesh as an act of god undone; consumption as an act of devotion. and who is he, in this, her undulating illness? figure-framed, idol-bound.

[wheelercore]

You know actually I'm going insane because the outfit they used for Karen's promo picture is her in her RED button down shirt you cannot tell me her Virginia parallels aren't the least bit real

[jotasuis]

How I found out about trump getting shot

[james-p-sullivan]

the older i get and the closer i am to reaching 30, the more the people around me try to deny me my age. it’s a constant ‘oh you’re just turning 29 again teehee 🤭’ or ‘dont tell your SO that, he’ll leave you for a younger model 😉’ and i just???? hate it?????????

i spent my entire teenaged years fighting for my life. i crawled through the deepest pits of my depression to cling to the promise of a life beyond that pain. i was so convinced that i was going to die young, that i would never see the grace of my age starting with a 2, let alone 3.

so im going to turn 30, and there’s not a damn thing anyone can do to stop me from loving it.

[emjaydoubleyou]

this post is fearmongering. the results of this study are concerning and should definitely be a matter of public discussion, but this is certainly not the conclusion the researchers came to.

the point of the study was to assess the risks of exposure to toxic metals- something one of the co-authors notes are “ubiquitous” fwiw- via menstrual products. Their research confirmed that these metals are indeed present in tampons, but no further conclusions are drawn. it is possible the metal entered into the cotton from the soil, which is a well-known phenomenon; cotton is so good at lifting heavy metals that it has actually been suggested as a part of the solution for revitalizing polluted ground.

the authors conclude with an acknowledgement that the study should be repeated- their sample size was 60 tampons- and a suggestion that further testing ought to be done to indicate whether or not these metals can even leech out of the tampon in the first place, let alone whether or not such leeching could occur at levels deleterious to human health.

there is, in fact, a body of research- too small, for sure, but much larger than this single study- indicating that long-term proper tampon use has no observable negative impact on health. i am grateful and thrilled that more research is being done and i hope that this study is the first of many on this line of questioning, but i am really frustrated at this post and the response it got.

obviously, if this study alters your approach to menstrual health, more power to you. consumers should be informed-risk-takers, and menstrual health is double-obviously a very personal choice. but it definitely wasn't the researchers concluding that you ought to “avoid using tampons at all cost," only this tumblr user did. the lead author of the paper, in fact, specifically says that she hopes people do NOT panic about the results.

(the notes of the post were disappointing. people affirming that they knew they were right to be suspicious of tampons all along, or even recommending alternatives that actually have very little to no research regarding the safety of long-term use, etc. it’s a different conversation, but categorical distrust of tampons is old-school misogyny. you certainly shouldn't wear them if you don’t want to, but there is nothing inherently scary or wrong about them, and people who prefer them are not being reckless or crass.)

((if you're really worried about exposure to heavy metals, you may want to turn a critical eye to fast fashion, as an aside))

[youthofpandas]

What’s up with how the dunmeshi fandom just lies about this kind of stuff all the time. It is easily confirmable information that it was a monthly series, something incredibly common in the industry.

A not weekly magazine schedule is literally common !! Especially in the seinen shoujo and josei demographics, sometimes monthly, sometimes biweekly, sometimes every two months, sometimes seasonal! Please stop lying about how Dunmeshi was some special unique creation that defies all standards of manga just to hype it up because it is so clear that every single one of these comparisons is centered around Weekly Shonen Jump (and understand that SJ has many magazines under its brand that are monthly or semimonthly). Not everything is WSJ and it needs to stop being the only point of reference in conversations like this 🤧

[kiryuing]

[seagiri]

when did this happen???

[reallybadblackoutpoems]

secrets of farming (1863) - john w. large

"yeowch augh taking damage ough eurgh"

[mag200]

one thing about orpheus and eurydice is you guys are all like “i’m different i wouldnt turn to look at her” because you are all familiar with the story of orpheus and eurydice. but orpheus wasnt familiar with the story because he was in it lol.

[zevrans-remade]

[soranker]

laios985