#but this kinda fucks whatever

[nadjasnandor]

he should have been a tumblrina

[thelesbianthespianposts]

imagine: you get your memories back after years of amnesia to find out your whole species is dead and earth doesn’t exist anymore. that the only thing left of your culture is your weird ex and his busted honda civic that barely even works that he stole from the government when he was 13. And he’s been taking members of an alien species for trips in his honda civic and they’re all like “woah it’s so cool” and you get upset because it’s NOT COOL it’s a honda civic, the turn signals don’t even work “wow it can go up hills” yeah OF COURSE IT CAN GO UP HILLS EVERY CAR COULD DO THAT. but they’ve never seen a car before so everything it does is the coolest thing ever. And your ex’s only tool is a fucking screwdriver which is somehow also cool to this dumbass alien species even though it’s a fucking screwdriver so you just look like an idiot screaming about how none of this is even cool it’s actually really shitty but your whole planet is gone so you can’t even prove it but also you’ve had a constant drumming sounding in your head since you were 10 slowly driving you insane. I would become evil too.

[puppyeared]

horrible truth bomb dropped on my head 20 min ago

[fiendishartist2]

whats going on up there

[moonlitkissing]

I want to ruin a boy with a mean domme friend soo badd

Poor thing being stuck between my praise and her degradation, not knowing who to listen to - maybe my friend gets really pushy, throws him around a bit, fucks him from behind until his head lands in my lap and she drags his face right to my center, telling him that good whores know their place without being shoved there first, and that he better hurry up

Meanwhile, I'm cradling his face and asking him if he wants to be my good boy, and wipe the tears from his cheeks - tell him how pretty he looks all fucked out like this and how good those cute whimpers would sound smothered between my thighs, don't you think, pretty boy?

Just - torturing a sweet boy for a bit

[lurukifennecfox]

Danny slamming open the door(in Phantom form): Jay i think i've just been adopted by your grandparents!

Red Hood having no memories of the GZ and thus no point of reference as to wtf is happening and who is this glowing teenager: ...???

[cherubytes]

spin this wheel for a random ultrakill character and vote in the poll below

[smthnsmthn-whumpblog]

i would like to see more permanent brain damage in whump please and thank you.

and not just traumatic head injuries, though they are fun, but also shit like hypoxia. you know how much fun you can have with that? like, maybe your whumpee drowns and is fully dead for a hot second, and there’s just. no air inside them for a while. they come to after someone saves their life and they’re just hacking and coughing and spluttering and desperately trying to suck down air, you know the drill. or maybe they get shot, in the liver or something, and they just won’t stop bleeding. when they eventually do, they’ve lost so much blood that they’re on death’s door, and there’s a race to get them a blood transfusion before it’s too late. the team manages, but only just, and whumpee’s brain has been deprived of oxygen for so long that when they eventually wake up, they’re so confused, and weak, and scared. fun stuff, right?

and then you have the brain damage. there is so much fucking potential here for whumpy recovery shit. maybe they can’t talk anymore, maybe they can’t understand people anymore, maybe they can’t move properly anymore, maybe they become a different person entirely, a la phineas gage. and they don’t know what to do. their entire life has just been permanently altered, their fucking brain is different now. they lash out more, they wished they didn’t but they can’t help it. or maybe they just become apathetic, and they can’t feel any emotions strongly so they’re just left with this dull, droning sense of guilt for being such a dick. maybe they start crying every now and then, and they don’t really know why, they just feel so fucking sad. maybe they get consumed by this dreadful feeling of isolation, unable to communicate with their friends like they used to.

and then the team has to try and rehabilitate them.

[verflares]

collection of some loz origin au stuff i've been chipping away at for awhile now ^_^ with a healthy amount of dunmeshi insp for good measure LOL (the ooccoo isnt relevant she's just here for size comparison purposes)

feat my beloved good friend @linkvcr's hylia design also. because i am obsessed with her and you should be too 🫵

[archiepelago]

just a couple of guys being dudes

[capquinn]

hear me out…… no kissing sex with bf!quinn right now.

it would be its own kind of torment, the kind of heat and frustration that makes your skin flush before anything even happens. it would start slow, almost awkward, both of you trying to work around the glaring fact that his lip — split, stitched and swollen — has taken away one of your favourite things about being with him.

“This is so stupid,” he’d groan, his head falling back against the headboard as you straddle his hips, your hands resting on his chest.

His fingers grip your thighs like he’s holding himself back, his touch firm but not nearly enough. His hair, all tousled and soft from a restless night, frames his face in that boyish way that makes you ache to kiss him. But you can’t, and it’s killing both of you.

“You don’t think I know that?” you shoot back, your voice soft but laced with the same frustration, your lips so close to his that he can feel your breath against his skin. “So hard for me to sit here and not—”

“Don’t,” he groans, cutting you off with a sharp exhale, his eyes flickering to your mouth and then away just as quickly, like it’s a temptation too great to bear. His hands tighten on your thighs, his grip firm but still trembling with restraint, like he’s barely keeping himself in check. “Do you even know how hard this is for me?” His voice dips, low and rough, frustration simmering beneath every syllable.

You don’t, not really. You couldn’t possibly, because if you did, you wouldn’t be sitting there looking like that — lips parted, eyes heavy with want, your body pressed so close but not close enough. His eyes trail over you, lingering for a second too long, and it makes his chest ache. God, you look good like this. So good it’s unfair. And you’re right there, on top of him, inches from his mouth, and he can’t even close the distance.

“I can’t even fucking look at you right now,” he mutters, his voice breaking on the words as his head tilts back against the headboard, exposing the sharp line of his jaw. “Not without wanting to kiss you.”

His fingers dig harder into your thighs, a low, frustrated groan slipping from his lips as he fights every instinct to kiss you the way he wants — needs — to.

Now one of your hands is splayed across his chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat pulsing beneath your fingertips, while the other rakes through his hair. You lean in, your lips brushing the faintest, most tender kiss to his forehead, just enough to make him tense beneath you.

“I’m the one who’s perfectly capable of kissing you on the mouth right now — I’m just not allowed,” you murmur, your voice low and teasing, though the weight of your own frustration bleeds through.

Then, with slow, deliberate precision, you lower your head, your lips hovering over his jaw, just barely brushing against his skin. His hands tighten on your waist instantly, dragging you closer, his restraint slipping. His chest heaves under you, each breath shallow and uneven as his frustration and desire bleed into one another.

“Fuck,” he mutters when his lips twitch toward yours instinctively, the pain pulling him back with a sharp wince. Yet even then, he doesn’t let go, his hands gripping you tighter, as though he’s determined to keep you there, despite the torment of what he can’t have, desperate to hold onto what he can.

It’s almost comical at first, the way you both try to navigate around the glaring absence of your usual kisses, but then the humour fades, replaced by something heavier. You start pressing kisses to his neck, slow and wet, trailing your lips along the warm expanse of his skin. Each touch earns a low, shaky breath from him, his chest rising and falling under your palms. You nip lightly at his shoulder, letting your teeth graze the muscle, and he groans again, his head falling back.

“You’re not helping,” he rasps, his hands sliding up your back, gripping the fabric of your shirt.

And then it's all heat and frustration. There’s no teasing this time, no soft kisses to ease you into it, because the second his lips even try to skim your skin, he winces, the sting of his injury pulling him back with a startle.

Your knees are pressed against his hips, and you can feel the tension rolling off him in waves in the way his hands slide up your thighs, rougher than usual, tugging you closer with a strength that leaves no space between you. It’s desperate, like he’s trying to make up for everything he can’t do with the touch of lips. His chest is heaving under yours, and when your hips shift against him, his head falls back against the headboard with a sharp exhale, his jaw tightening.

“You’re killing me,” he groans, his voice strained, and his hands move to your hips, gripping you tighter as he guides your movements. There’s a rough edge to the way he’s holding you, his need for you consuming every thought. His eyes flick to your mouth, then away again, like even looking at your lips is too much. “I can’t even fucking kiss you,” he mutters for what feels like the hundredth time, his voice breaking with the weight of his frustration.

Your lips find his neck again, dragging slowly across his skin, your teeth grazing his shoulder until he lets out a sound that’s halfway between a groan and a plea, vibrating through your entire body.

“I’m frustrated, too, but,” you trail off against his skin, your voice thick with your own desperation. Your hands slide up his chest, your nails dragging lightly over his skin, and he shudders beneath you, his hips jerking up into yours. “Just gotta make do.”

He doesn’t respond, not right away, but the way his hands drag you closer, harder, says everything. Like he’s trying to make up for every kiss he can’t press to your lips, against your neck and down your chest.

His head tilts forward, and his lips, though injured and off-limits, press lightly to the curve of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. It’s not enough, not for either of you, but it’s all he can manage, and it only makes the ache sharper.

“You don’t get it,” he mumbles softly, his voice rough, almost pleading. “You’re right here, and I can’t even…”

His sentence trails off but the words still hit you like a match to gasoline, and your hands move to his shoulders, gripping him tightly as you rock against him. You can feel his restraint slipping, the sharp edge of his desperation bleeding into every touch, every movement. When you lean down, pressing your lips to the curve of his shoulder, his breath hitches, and when you bite down, just enough to leave a mark, he moans, his fingers digging into your waist so hard you think you might bruise too.

“Fuck, you’re making this worse,” he groans but there’s no mistaking the way his body responds to you.

The way his hips press up into yours with every movement and the way his hands slide up your back, his touch firm and unrelenting. He buries his face in your neck again, his breath ragged against your skin through parted, swollen lips that are stinging with the pressure he's placing.

It’s raw and messy, the desperation between you heightening every touch, every sound. He’s rougher than usual, his movements fueled by frustration and need, and when you finally fall apart, it’s not with the usual gentleness but with an intensity that leaves you both breathless.

[yuwuta]

JJK OLYMPICS OHHH YOURE A GENIUS

head spinning w sooooooo many athlete aus rn….. 

satoru honestly isn’t half as cocky as the media makes him out to be but he could be because you bring up world champion men’s freestyle swim times and it’s his name on the scoreboard ten times before someone else shows up. he’s faster than himself by fifteen seconds all around, he’s earned a bit of cockiness. mentioned in the last post that whenever he’s at a competition and he finishes a race, he looks at the camera and signs a little infinity sign and then blows a kiss to you. some bitter old coach always calls him out on it, and gets him fined for unsportsmanlike conduct, and he’s happy to pay the fees if it means getting a message home to you, but eventually you two come up with a new code; and at his next race, he places gold, turns to the camera, crosses his middle finger over his pointer finger and smiles. when he’s in his post-race interview, he makes sure to explain that he does it for you with the widest smile on his face.

megumi nepotism baby but not in the same sport. toji was a multi gold medalist back in his heyday for shooting, so it’s not really a surprise to anybody that megumi has scary good aim, but he takes to archery instead of shooting. actually the idea of megumi being an emo little kid and throwing rocks at a tree when his dad pissed him off his hilarious, and even funnier is toji watching him, slightly amused and a little scared because megumi is maybe six and hitting the exact same spot every single time. he grows to be very blase about it—it’s more of a release/hobby for him that he happens to be really good at, and well, now good enough to earn a few olympic medals. megumi is not a fan of having his dad ruffle his hair on international television after he’s won, but he supposes it can’t be helped.

i don’t know where to put yuuta…. tennis…. tempting….. him in his little white shorts…. little grunts after he serves…. cries….. a complete 180 in his personality when he’s playing vs doing anything else. so charming and sweet and kinda shy when he’s being interviewed, and the second he steps on the court his eyes are so cold it’s scary…. need him… extremely nerdy about his rackets, and shoes, and clothes, and rambles to you about aerodynamics and posture and torque whenever you ask him to teach you, and you always have to shutup him up with a kiss and remind him that yeah you sort of want to learn to play tennis for him, but mostly you came bc he looks hot doing it. once he got asked in an interview if he ever thinks about you while he’s playing and his response was very concise, “no, never. it would be a big distraction,” and did not realize the implications of his heavily televised words. 

also…. not to make this post 40% yuuta but we could pull from canon a bit and make his sport fencing. he doesn’t excel because he’s the strongest, it’s because he’s learned to treat the sword as an extension of himself and a good strategist… also because i like the image of him pulling the helmet/mask off and shaking his hair out………..

don’t even know where to put yuuji…. volleyball? basketball? track and field??? the irony of him easily being the most athletic but canonically does not want to play sports 😭 but i can see him playing a sport because someone scouts him and it turns out to be a way to make steady money to support himself and his grandpa :( by the time he’s qualified and made it to the olympics, wasuke is doing much better (thanks to yuuji having landed some preemptive sponsorships and being able to afford better medical care), but not so well enough that he can travel across the world to watch yuuji play. wasuke tells you that you should travel and be with yuuji, but yuuji is so touched by the idea that you would stay with his grandpa and be by his side when he’s away :(( he wins gold, of course, and he doesn’t even wait until the closing ceremony—which, he’d mentioned in all of his interviews, so nobody can be too upset. he’s on record saying, “i’m excited to play, but i’m even happier to be going home. my girlfriend and my grandpa are watching me and i miss them!” several times— he’s on the first flight home with flowers, and tears in his eyes. puts his gold medal on his grandpa’s neck as a thank you, and spends probably thirty minutes straight hugging you and kissing you and honestly don’t put it past him to propose now that he’s got nike ambassador money 

nanami started judo as a way to relieve the stress of his overbearing job, and someone at the gym/training center notices he seems to be a natural despite being a beginner. he starts to draw a crowd, which annoys him at first because the point of judo was discipline and release from having to deal with too many people at his office job, but nanami supposes he can’t be too mad when you introduce yourself as a talent scout and offer him professional training. there’s irony in him accepting your offer, because it was definitely not based in professionalism at all… quitting his job as a salaryman to become a professional athlete in his mid-twenties was not on his bingo chart, but if it means he will have met you, then so be it. you’re with him all the way, through his training, competitions, world championships, qualifiers, all the way until he’s on the podium. you’re the first to congratulate him, but he interjects by telling you he’s quitting. you ask him why—he just won at the olympics for crying out loud, but nanami just shakes his head, puts down his flowers and his medal so his hands are free to hold your face and tell you, “it would be unethical to kiss my manager, so i am quitting.” (later, when everything is said and done, and you two are cuddling, you mention to him that he could just hire a new manager, and not quit his new career, to which he blushes because yeah… that’s probably more rational, but rational was not in his train of thought at the time)

[pinyatapix]

how i imagine Minecraft Alex's personality to be like vs how i imagine Minecraft Steve's personality. duality of minecraft

[monkesupreme]

Maybe i SHOULD draft out my ‘Clark is a SuperPlant’ propaganda post

[fear-no-mort]

favourite thing: his new habit of saying uhuh/mhm and also this

[sunnydayaoe]

Wahh. thinking about geno and sans, and. error and sans' relationship. specifically the classic ajesent sans in geno's timeline.