#haha just kidding......

[stars-and-the-sky]

guys it's snowing !!! who wants play war and peace in the empty field :)

[kathaynesart]

The @tmntaucompetition is no place for a tiny tot to be left alone, especially with all these rowdy teens running amok. My heart just broke when I saw little Kid Leo crying, @angelpuns and @red-rover-au, and I knew Replica Leo's would too. Problem is they're probably going to be searching for a while cuz Replica Leo is looking for other unsupervised children. Oops.

This is in response to these couple of threads I've seen going around: COMIC 1 - COMIC 2 - COMIC 3 - COMIC 4 - COMIC 5

You kids need to all calm down!

[bunnieswithknives]

As much as I love angst I think it would be funny if he just didnt give af

[inkskinned]

there are a lot of posts out there that are positive and healthy coping mechanisms for handling the holidays. this is not one of them :)

i think there's like. going to be times in your life you will be stuck in a social situation that you cannot escape from gracefully. i do not know why the internet doesn't believe these times exist. it's not always just that your physical safety is at risk - sometimes it's legit like "i just don't currently have the energy or time to put in the effort of responding to this." sometimes it's a coworker you hate so much. sometimes it's just like, fine, you know? like you know you can handle your aunt when she's cheerily horrible, but if you actually set a boundary around her, it's going to be weeks of fallout with your father.

i don't know why people think the answer is always just "cut them out!" or "don't let them get away with that!" because ... the real world is tricky and complicated. i think kind of a lot of us have an internal "radiation poisoning" meter for certain people. like - i'm talking about the ones who are absolutely giving you gradual ick damage. like, you can handle them, but you'll be exhausted.

and yes. you absolutely should listen to your therapist and the good posts about handling others and set good boundaries and take care of yourself. prioritize peace.

HOWEVER :) ...... since im often in a situation with a Gradual Sense of Ick person i cannot just "cut out" of my life (without losing someone else precious to me) - i have sort of developed the most. maladaptive form of mischief possible. because like, if i'm going to have to listen to this shit again, i like to have a little bit of private fun with it.

now! again, i am physically safe, just mentally drained by this man. you should only do this with people you are not in danger with. which leads me to my suggestions for when your Unfortunate Acquaintance shows up and says oh everyone pay attention to me.

my favorite word is "maybe!" said as brightly and happily as possible. whenever the Horrible Person starts in on a topic you do not want to go further with, particularly if they make a claim that you know to be inaccurate, do not respond to it. you and i have both tried to actually argue with this person, and it hasn't gone well, because this person just wants the drama of an argument. however, "maybe!" gives them literally nothing to go on. it is incredibly disarming. they are used to people having some response. they know they can't prove what they're saying, and maybe! treats them like the child they are. it dismisses them in the politest way possible.

i like to say maybe! and then, in their stunned silence, immediately change the subject. this is because i have adhd and i will have something unrelated to talk about, but if you can't think of topics fast enough, i recommend just pointing to something and saying, "isn't that lovely?" because fuck you let's bring in some positivity.

by the way. that second trick - of pointing to something and stating an opinion about it? - that just works on its own, like, 70% of the time. i picked it up from teaching preschoolers. it's an intentional "redirect". it stops children crying and it also stops grown adults from finishing their explanation on why women belong in kitchens. dual wielding!

keep it silly for yourself. i absolutely do not care if people think i'm fucking stupid (it's more fun if they do) and as a result i will purposefully misunderstand things just to see how long it takes them to realize i've completely removed them from the subject at hand. when they say "women aren't funny" i get to be like. "which women." "all women." "all women in america?" "no in the world." "like the mole people? the people in the world?" "what? no. like, alive." "oh are we not counting the mole people?" "what the fuck are you talking about." "you don't believe in the mole people?"

similarly, i play a personal game called "one up me." my Evil Acquaintance literally knows this game exists (my family & friends caught onto it and now also play it) and it always fucking gets him. i don't know why. you have to be willing to be a little free-spirited on this one, though. the trick is that when they make one of those horrible little bigoted or annoying comments they are always making, you need to go one unit weirder. not more intense, mind you - just more weird. "you don't look good in that dress." "yeah, actually, my other dress was covered in squid ink due to a mishap at the soup store." "you shouldn't wear such revealing clothes." "wait, what? oh shit. sorry, your son tears off strips when no one is looking and eats them. i swear it was longer before we left the building."

the point of "one up me" is to completely upend this person's narrative. we both know this person likes setting up situations where you cannot "win" and then they really like telling other people how badly you handled it. in a usual situation, if you respond "please don't say something that rude", you're a bitch. but if you let it happen, you're letting yourself be debased. they are not usually expecting door number three: unflappably odd. because what are they going to say when they're telling everyone how badly you behaved? "she said my son eats her dresses" ".... okay?"

if you can, form an allyship with someone whomst you can tagteam with. where they can pick up on your weird "soup store" story and run with it.

the following phrase is amazing and can be deployed for any situation: "oh, be nice :) it's the holidays!" i do not know why this works as often as it does. i'll say it for the most random shit. i think this is bc most of the time these people know they're being impolite, they just like to fight.

godbless. when in doubt, remember that you could always start stealing their pens.

the whole point of this is - if you can't escape. maybe see how long you can just be. like. a horrible little menace.

[solroskajan]

The solver is gone (?) They put Bizcuit in a normal worker body. They really didn’t expect him to grow sharp teeth or a tail. He doesn't need to drink oil to live but that won't stop him from trying. (cw: vomiting)

(I actually drew most of this before episode 7, but I felt like cleaning it up a bit and posting it now)

[hyunpic]

240819 hynjinnnn instagram live [*the mark on his arm is from manual therapy]

[buntanteen]

cockwarming dilf!mingyu thoughts (nsfw)

summary: thoughts on reader cockwarming dilf!kim mingyu :3

contains: 18+ nsfw! mdni!!

✩ svt writing & fic rec masterlist ✩

thinking about cock warming and slow fucking dilf!mingyu

after closing the bedroom door behind him, mingyu turns to meet your gaze. the moment the two of you make eye contact, you both gravitate towards each other. the slow movements of feeling up his chest turn into rapid ones trying to undress each other.

walking backwards to mingyu bed, falling into the white sheets with him hovering about you. grazing open mouthed kisses and licks across each other's necks. nosing against each other’s skin as he slips into you. feeling so so so full as you grind down onto his pretty cock.

slow movements of mingyu's hips hitting every spot making you in absolute bliss. the pace slowing down to barely slow fucking. heavy breaths, quiet moans and slips of whimpers filling the room.

trying to keep quiet so none of his kids hear the two of you. mingyu having his arms wrapped around you and his head laying on top of your chest. you have one hand trailing down the curve of his broad back. the other hand is carding your fingers through his hair to move it away from his sweaty forehead.

the summer evening breeze cooling down your flushed skin. the sunset view illuminating his honey skin. the warmth of your and mingyu's bodies lulling the two of you to sleep.

ames note: my other mingoo writing -> bestie fwb!mingyu headcanons

author note: do not distribute my work on other platforms without my consent. if you see my writing in places other than this tumblr account, please let me know. my writings are purely fictional fantasises for fun. the people i write about are real human beings and should still be treated as such. please do not take my writings seriously or as truth.

[caitmayart]

~ Forbidden Magic ~

Ok genuinely I'm so in love with this show and this story and everything about dunmeshi I LOVE IT AAAAAAAA

[moeblob]

Just two guys on a pier attempting to brood.

[startistdoodles]

I played a new game recently ⌛️✨

[alec-isnt-your-bitch]

never have i ever seen a better description of my sexuality

[naffeclipse]

A sort of mad scientist AU where Y/N is, of course, a mad scientist. You suffer from chronic illness and you are desperate to make your experiments work but you struggle without help. You refuse to take on a human assistant out of a desire to not be treated as lesser--as if you can't conduct great, horrific experiments like the other crazed scientists. You stubbornly set yourself to work without any such succor in your tower and the days pass, wearing heavily on your soot marked hands and aching, waning body.

A solution appears right at your feet one evening while rummaging around for some material in the grimy streets (dead animals, toxic waste--the usual to carry out unethical tests) and discover two abandon animatronics in the back alley, left to rot and turn to rust. There's close to zilch hope for the two but you're not a mad scientist for no reason. You drag the endoskeletons home before prompting collapsing for a day or two after overextending yourself and paying the price.

Once you get your strength back (and cursing your weakness) you turn all your effort to cleaning and preparing the endoskeletons. The celestial model of the animatronics would be helpful in your work, no? One after the solar ball of gas which beams heat and light onto the world and the other after the gray rock which brightens the night and tugs on the tides. Sun and Moon. You solder wires and revamp the servos. You hold and handle the limbs and heads of the animatronics as if they were sleeping. Soon, they will wake.

There's just one problem. They need a spark. Not a bit of ember from fire or the first crack of electricity from a splitting fork of lightning. A spark of life. And you contain such material within yourself. It's dangerous to lord over life and play god, but you need them.

The night storms when you prepare the animatronics with their chassis open, lying down on tables. You are steady despite the buzz in your veins in the face of the most dangerous experiment you have conducted yet. With these two are your side, there will be many to come. You spill your blood, split away two pieces of your pulsing core, and set two tiny sparks of life from your beating heart into the animatronics. Your head spins with pain and hope. The hum of servos whirling to life touches your eardrums. A great rumble of thunder shakes the tower. Your vision is slowly swallowed by darkness as you start to collapse but before you fall, two glowing pairs of eyes open.

When you wake, you're in your bed, in the dark, and your chest is bandaged. You hardly have the strength to touch the blood-stains soaking into the gauze but a silver and blue hand stops you. Red eyes pierce you at your bedside, a dark personage holding your wrist. Standing on the other end of your bed is a tall figure with ghostly pale optics falling over you. Dread fills your marrow at what exactly you brought back from death. A raspy voice raises a question. Who are you?

The animatronics. They're alive. They want answers, and you are more than willing to supply them. You give a very detailed, breathy response about how this all came to be, and when you propose that they become your assistants in your endeavors, they silently share a glance and nod in unison.

Though you fear you got off to a rough start with them putting you into bed after making sure your heart was still beating, they prove to be everything you want—and more. They have no desire to return to whoever tossed them to the street and left them as scrap metal, and you finally have extra hands to hold together metal contraptions and nimble fingers to set the exact scalpel blade size you need in your hand when cutting into a carcass.

They do not infantilize you in your sickness, much to your aching relief. Sun, however, is poignant in reminding you that pushing yourself past your energy capability, such as walking into town and dragging back a metallic frame for a killing contraption, will result in you needing a day of recovery. Moon sharply remarks that willingly subjecting yourself to an overnight of experimenting with beating hearts and lightning strikes will most likely cause a pain flare, but they never stop you. They never decide for you. They see you—not the unending illness clawing at your edges and leaving its marks on your flesh.

Though you learn to manage yourself better—for science, of course. You request Sun's assistance for lifting heavy plates into place before you bolt and screw them down. He's all too cheerful to lend a hand. When it grows late, you allow Moon to lead you to bed before the fire in your muscles becomes a roaring inferno. He tells you softly that he's been recording the number of good and bad days you have, and that your flare-ups don't appear as often when you have a full night's rest. Your assistants are pleased—with the improvement in your experiments, of course.

It's rare, but sometimes you'll catch an odd sentence or two from Sun about where they were before, and how much nicer it is here. You give them much. You don't shout or throw things at them. He lays a hand over his chassis and smiles. Moon will look at you sometimes, and when you ask why he's staring, he says that you have never raised a hand to them. It's strange. He thought all mad scientists were the same. He's glad to be wrong.

You're glad they're with you too. Your science has never been madder and you don't lay through bad days alone anymore. You don't like talking about your chronic illness. The discussions you've had in the past with peers and professors revolved around how you're handling it and what it's doing to you today. Can you still do your work? It's not mad or experimental or new—it's just sad. Other people think you're sad and pitiful, and you would rather die trying to conduct a hazardous experiment than ever stop to tend to yourself.

Sun and Moon learn to take your mutters and curses in stride when another flare-up hits. They ask questions occasionally, wondering how long you've lived with this and if it would ever be cured but they seem to already suspect the answer. Sure, you've tried several times to manufacture an antidote to whatever poison sits in your veins, but such endeavors have only ended with you waking up, lying in your own vomit. They don't give you pity, not like the others have. No, Sun holds your hand between his large digits and asks if you've eaten anything yet. Moon touches your shoulder when you stare out of the circular window in your tower and asks if he can walk you to your bed.

They need you, and they know what great work you're doing here, crafting weapons of mass destruction, simmering glowing liquids, and putting together new creations—not like them, no. Nothing compares to your assistants.

[qwakque]

it shined more brightly than any gem could,,

[nonranghaes]

the pancakes are a little burnt. not enough for them to taste bad, but the color is enough that it makes your stomach twist into knots. maybe this was silly. you're careful as you look through the stack, trying to find the ones that look perfect enough, and each one is hot enough that your fingers threaten to ache if you hold on for too long. but this needs to be perfect. it's the first time you've stayed over at felix's, he's spoiled you so many times, and this... this has to be right.

"good morning..." his voice is laced with sleep as he makes his way into the room, but he brightens up when he sees the stack sitting in front of you. "you made breakfast?"

"they're a little-"

he doesn't wait. he reaches out, grabbing one off the top--one of the ones that's slightly burnt, and you curse internally, and you hate yourself a little for a moment that you didn't react faster--before taking a bite. he chews for a moment, and then nods.

"i'll get the plates. i think i've got a new thing of syrup up in the cabinets..."

and he doesn't say anything. he just wordlessly serves the pancakes that look closer to perfect to you, and savors each bite he takes. you debate apologizing for it all. you could have made something else. instead, he's happily eating the ones you deemed imperfect and ugly without so much of a second thought.

he kisses you when he's done, lips still sweet from the chocolate chips and the syrup. "thank you," he says, gathering up the dirty dishes. "it was delicious."

and your heart aches for him just a little more.

[killerslowpoke]

Ludovica and Luck from @pepurika 's web comic, Tiger, Tiger!

(inspired by the Sophie and Howl kiss from Howl's Moving Castle)

[cozylittleartblog]

is this the tragic clown the sims warned me about