#i’m sane i swear

[lednet-sorrow-au-blog]

Take them to....A lovely place so we can ship them:3

Toxic Yaoi

[ricky-yaps]

TAG GAME— list 10 of your favorite characters from different fandoms and tag 10 people

(Not in any particular order)

1. Sean Macguire - Red Dead 2

2. Ennis Del Mar - Brokeback Mountain

3. Marty McFly - Back to the Future

4. Abel Gideon - NBC Hannibal

5. Basil Hallward - Picture of Dorian Gray

6. Nick Carraway - The Great Gatsby

7. Edward Wong - Cowboy Bebop

8. Stanford Pines - Gravity Falls

9. Miles Morales - Into the Spiderverse

10. Karl Heisenberg - Resident Evil 8

Thanks for the tag @naughtydogg!! :0

Tagging: @space-twelve @myhillsdonthaveeyesbbg @rapidlydecayingcorpse @synthsays @zzz0mmbiee @thereareeyesinsidethetrees @sawzzie @sleepyzcrowz @nyctxnthus @transpotato5 and anyone else who wants to do this!

[iheartjameshetfield]

i tried getting these thoughts out of my mind, i really did…

this james would be into the filthiest fucking things ever and if you say anything else you’re a liar

i’ve had this thought where he’s on the bed, his back against the headboard and you’re on top of him for the sole purpose of making HIM ONLY feel good

there’s just smth so degrading abt the fact that he’s letting you do all the work and not even get rewarded for it.

he would force you to edge yourself on his cock, not even moving a single muscle and just letting you do all the work as he watches your cunt deliciously swallow him

your hands would be planted on his chest for leverage as you bounce over him as fast as you physically could, but you were just so tired from being edged all night, you didn’t even noticed that you’d slowed down until you fully stopped moving

“don’t fucking stop” he seethes “faster, come on” he slaps the side of your thigh for emphasis as you cry out, too tired to move, but continue anyway

“please james, i cant” tears spring the corner of your eyes as the friction against your folds become too much to handle

“shut up and fucking move”

you feel a knot tightening up in your stomach for the third time that night as you clench around james’ cock, causing him to let out a strangled moan

“shit, yeah just like that” a cocky smile appears on his lips as he tries to catch his breath

he hears you attempting to muffle your moans as you grind yourself harder and faster on him, feeling your release coming up

james notices this and yanks your hands off of his chest, using his grasp as leverage to pull you closer to him as your grinds come to a halt

“i thought i fucking told you not to cum?” he grunts

“please james, i’ve earned it, let me cum, i’ll do anything” at this point you weren’t sure if you were crying from embarrassment or from the stimulation

“you’ve earned it when i tell you you’ve earned it” he abruptly lets go of your hands, causing you to fall back against his chest “now come on, make me cum. that’s all you’re good for anyway”

you start moving over him again, your thighs trembling as you bring your hands back to rest on his thighs, making it a little easier for you to move

the room was filled with the slick sounds of your cunt moving over his cock and your plush ass slapping against his thighs

when you feel him twitch inside you, you let out a sigh of relief, using every ounce of energy in you to bounce faster

“ohhh, fuck, i’m gonna cum. gonna pump deep inside of you, okay? shit shit shit” he lets out a low groan as he thrusts upward, bringing his hands to your hips as he holds you still over him, forcing you to drain every ounce of cum

when he let go of you, you got off from on top of him, his cum falling from your cunt. even after you got off of him, you noticed that he wasn’t finished, his cock twitching as more cum falls from the tip.

he uses his cum to stroke himself easier, massaging his balls until he finished unloading every drop of cum.

the sight of his thick thighs covered in your slick and his cum, the way he moans as he rubs his thumb over his tip, it made you whine, clenching your thighs together.

the sound brought james’ attention back to you, his mouth open in an ‘o’ shape as his brows are fused together. “be a good girl and clean up your mess”

your eyes widened in surprise as you let out a dumb little “huh” making james laugh at you

“well it’s not gonna clean itself” he sighs “on your knees, come on. put that pretty mouth to good use”

you shakily move farther down the bed, looking into his eyes while doing so, just waiting for the moment to tell you that he’s just kidding, but it doesn’t happen.

once you’re far enough down, he spreads his legs so that you can access him easier, his cock already hardening again when he sees the intimidated look on your face

you bring your palm up to stroke him, gathering all the cum and wetness covering him up as you hesitantly bring your mouth to his tip.

he lets out a hiss as you suck on him, his thighs clenching and unclenching. you pull off him to lick the sides on his cock, cleaning him up. you move away so you could comfortably put him in your mouth, fitting in as much as you could as you play with his balls.

“good girl” he praises, watching you suck him off.

you feel him twitch in your mouth so pull away, wanting to clean up a bit more before he makes a mess again. you bury your face in the bed so that you can comfortably lick his balls clean, his cock resting over your face. when you finished, you started stroking him again, taking him in your mouth as you starting lapping up his tip

his whole body shakes as he lets out a shudder, his hand finding it’s way to the roots of your hair to unexpectedly push you down, making you gag. you continue you suck him off, your throat clenching around his tip as you lick the sides of his cock, practically slobbering all over him

he watches as his fat cock slides between your lips, not even making it all the way in your mouth. “look at you, so fucking cock drunk, you’ll do anything i say. fuck, m’ gonna cum down your throat, that what you want? want me to feed you my cum?” you moan around him as an answer, causing him to curse.

he forces your head down all the way, not caring about your gagging as he strokes himself through your throat, his hot seed spilling out of his tip directly down your throat. he keeps you still, your nose against his pubic bone, until he’s sure that every drop of his seed was down you throat “atta girl” he praises in between moans

the second he pulls your mouth off of him, you cough, bringing your hands up to your mouth to wipe the spit and cum around your puffy lips.

he sees your tear stained eyes, your face red and puffy as mascara covers your cheeks and your lipstick smeared across you chin and lips. he feels pity for you, so he motions you to crawl up to him so you can snuggle close to him.

you don’t look him in the eyes as you crawl, immediately laying your head on his chest as he cradles you into him. “im so sorry baby” he whispers to you

“s’ okay. im fine, really” you assure him, sniffling a little

he strokes your hair, scratching your scalp before threading his hands into your locks “you did fucking amazing” he places a kiss atop your head “my sweet girl”

“thank you” you beam, clutching his chest tighter as he brings the blanket to cover the both of you up

i feel like i should crawl into a hole and never show my face on this app ever again.

[bobcatblahs]

I wanna talk about how these two

Have so much in common

Like. Just found them a lil gorgeous lost 19 year old average girl, swung around a bit in some danger, ate and left no crumbs in their cute lil leather jackets…

But also the doctor was hanging around Henrik’s, the store he met Rose at, when the snowman head fell on him.

I think Rose is still on his mind and hearts millennia later, and I think he was missing her.

Or maybe this time he was looking for a blonde because he had a craving.

[thearthermit]

✨Traumatized bean✨

[totaleclipse573]

Sometimes I think about how I’m the only person in the sonic fandom to have ever thought of starline x black doom. And give them a fankid. Technically not the correct context but it makes me giggle. Crackshipping extrodinaire

[im-ok-i-swear]

I never knew ranting to myself would work so well. I occasionally write emails to myself and 12am where I talk about how much I hate certain people and character, I don’t know why but it works. This is presumably the result of me researching my hyperfixations, resulting in me being taunted by characters I hate and becoming pissed off for seemingly no reason. It probably sounds like I’m crazy but think of it as my version of writing everything in my notes app except it gives me something to laugh at the next day when I remember my somewhat irrational anger the previous night. Every once in a blue moon I will also write about my hyperfixations themselves or headcanons I have. *cough cough* Killer Frequency

[im-tired-404]

Yes, I’m completely sane and it’s alright for me to be out in public spaces. You can trust me. I’m nice I swear.

Me because I’m just a silly girl⤴️

[amberpriceenthusiast]

Girls love sending stream of consciousness voice notes to their goth British bff

[ninathekllrr]

How would you feel if I sat a kidney pie in front of you

Like this

[void-buggo]

Should i be concerned about how much i just realized Stick Season fits me. Like.

”Now I am stuck between my anger and the blame that I can't face And memories are somethin' even smoking weed does not replace”

”So I thought that if I piled something good on all my bad That I could cancel out the darkness I inherited from dad No, I am no longer funny, 'cause I miss the way you laugh You once called me forever, now you still can't call me back”

“And I'll dream each night of some version of you That I might not have, but I did not lose Now you're tire tracks and one pair of shoes And I'm split in half, but that'll have to do”

Um.

[drewbs]

this song but “that girl” is will graham

[ducks-and-stuff]

Respawn headcannons

so I have this very specific mindset for what it’s like when Minecraft players respawn that I’m going to share here because it’s Tumblr so why not. Basically once a player is poofed they enter a void-like space that they then drag their consciousness out of to return to the physical world. This of course, as is the case with many of my head-cannons, is stupidly more elaborate. Yayyyyyyyyy. 

For one they’re all the same pocket dimension except each consciousness winds up extremelyyyyy far from one another. You could drift through that space for an eternity and never see another soul. Some very powerful beings may manipulate this but for the most part, each void space is very private. 

The second thing is that it is the player’s responsibility to get themselves out. They must rely on their own strength and will to return to the typical world. 9 times out of ten this is no problem, however, if they’re extremely sick or something like that they are internally much weaker and it becomes harder for them to come home. Hence why it’s important to make sure someone isn’t suffering the full effects of the flu or something before you go ahead and take them out. 

Third: you have to come back quickly. The void is part of all players, thrumming inside of them, beckoning them home, and when they return to it for that time it’s always going to try and take them back. It’s absorbing and confusing and the longer they just wait floating there the more clear it becomes that they’re essentially one in the same. Eventually it will make them forget who they are entirely, and the fact that they can even return in the first place will be entirely beyond them. The only exception to this is when they’re changing forms. Things such as Lizzie being a giant ocean goddess or Jimmy turning into a toy are plot points that require them to look much different than their usual selves. In order for players to do this massive shift they get themselves poofed and rework their framework in the void. Rather than drifting aimlessly, they are in a state of complete focus for a period of time, and once they feel the transformation is complete they drag themselves out of that instead. How big the shift is determines how long they’re out for, and requires a lot of energy as well. Although every respawn will always leave you physically refreshed, it has the potential to be a bit mentally taxing depending on who you are.

[lavendermin]

cw | wound and blood mention, mdni, brief mention of sex, toxic relationship (probably, that man has issues), alcohol mention

Fresh wounds, a few gashes. Nothing he couldn’t treat. Because you wouldn’t have anyone else though Firefly has always offered.

“Hold still,” Sunday quietly instructs as steady hands work quickly to disinfect and dress unsightly marred skin.

You wince and clutch the sheets until your knuckles turn white. The pain was never easy, but a consequence of your recklessness nonetheless.

Under deft fingers you’re all skin, no shame. Not when it’s him.

Another whimper you can’t help escapes your lips, and maybe it finally breaks something in him because you hear him sigh quietly. With his teeth he swiftly pulls off one of his gloves and holds it to your lips.

“Bite down on this,” he instructs, voice calm and level. “There’s still debris in one of the gashes. I have to take them out one by one.”

You can only nod, not registering much else as the pain has your vision tunneling. It’s another twenty minutes as he tries to work as quick as possible. It takes everything to keep his composure despite your muffled cries of discomfort.

“This should have been done in the medical wing.” Sunday’s reprimand has little to no bite as he clears the medical supplies from the coffee table he had pulled up from across your room.

Your breath is weak and shaky, but still a gentle thing he’s used to. “Too bright in there. Makes me feel like a lab rat within those white walls.”

“Smells too clean?” he chuckles. Something he can’t help around you more recently. There’s an innocent and peculiar way you view things. Much like–

Sunday shuts the cabinet in your bathroom a bit harsher than he intended. He can’t think of her… not right now. It would only bring emotions he didn’t need to process—couldn’t process at the moment.

There’s red on his hands, on his clothes, staining his once pristine gloves. His hands work on their own under the running water of your sink, almost out of body as his mind wanders. The ‘script’ did not mention anything of a necessary death, but of course it would never detail wounds or misfortunes in detail. Some of those just come with the job. And sometimes he would feel a bubbling anger at the twisted fates that often befell you. But he knows it’s a spiral that leaves him down a foggy road, one he shouldn’t tread on.

Still, you’re alive, and he’s here. And for now, that’s enough.

Your strained voice pulls him back to his body.

Right. The painkillers.

Sunday is quickly back by your side, pushing the small pill past your lips and lifting your face gently to give you water.

“You forgot,” you tease despite your hoarse voice.

And those golden eyes you love dearly can’t even bear to look at you as he sits next to you on your bed. There’s no response other than a hum he gives you. You know he didn’t forget, and his lack of correction knowing how he is only further sinks your heart.

But you don’t get to tell your heart who to love.

The wrinkled glove is placed next to his leg. “Sorry I messed up. I’ll buy you a new pair.”

“Thank you…”

“You’re wel–”

“You should say thank you. For the gesture. But don’t apologize for the inevitable from missions. What’s done is done,” Sunday interrupts, voice firm. A little cold.

“I–” You’re cut off as he grabs your wrist, his eyes unfocused as he looks at the ground.

“If you had done as I said– You could have gone missing. A lot of things could have gone wrong. Don’t use yourself as bait. If anything happened to me, you escape by any means necessary. Understand?”

The grip is a little less than comfortable and you can only nod. Obedient only if it was his words that commanded. It brought a feeling he didn’t want to describe rushing through his chest. The way your eyes looked at him—a mix of fear and blind adoration. It made him nauseous to consider himself worthy of such affection.

The morals of why he kept you by his side—of why he sought you during moments of his own damned weakness… He would dwell on that another time. If his morals were in a slow decline, perhaps he would even turn to burn the words stuck in his throat with the liquid he once detested and swore would never stain his lips. The liquid courage might bring him tumbling into your arms, an eagerness to be held and soothed for the sin he feels tainted with.

That maybe in his drunken stupor with his face buried in your neck and his throbbing frustrations filling you up, he would realize even in nothingness, there is you. Always you.

A rebound. A close second. A replacement.

A heart in his hands with nothing to show for it. Lies to himself that this closeness is his attempt to bring you salvation. To settle your heart.

He knows how your script ends, looming over his conscious. Testing his heart as if he were a weak god stumbling over his first creation meeting its written demise. Some part of him is too scared to ask if you know it, too. Maybe theres still some naïveté in him if he believes for a second that you don’t. A hope that your heart remains innocent and lovely and—

For now Sunday lets you love. It would be a bitter thing to not take the heart you have handed to him.

The painkillers have started to work, your body finally able to sleep for a bit after he changed your soiled sheets from treating your wounds. Before he leaves, Sunday presses his lips to your knuckles and idles for a few moments to watch your steady breathing. Sweat glistens on your brow from the exertion the treatment put on your body. Your endurance was nothing to be laughed at.

Sunday doesn’t need to turn to know who’s outside your door when he leaves.

“Was there something you needed?” The question lacks any warmth.

Kafka chuckles where she leans against the wall, fiddling with a card in her hands. “Here to drop off your compensation for the mission and look after the little lamb,” she replies simply, throwing the card to him. He catches it between two fingers. “She lost her phone this past mission so make sure to give her that card for the time being.”

Sunday’s eyes narrow. “I’m looking after her.”

“Poor thing sent me a message asking that I check in on her so she won’t bother you. Unless that’s a problem?” Her unreadable smile is something Sunday is growing to detest.

“Not necessary. I’ll be handling it.” His voice is firm, a warning woven into his tone with careful consideration. A natural habit from his years as the head of the Oak Family.

“Really now? If you don’t want me looking after her due to trust issues then Bladie can–”

“No.” Sunday can feel his heart pounding in his ears, a frustration deep-set in his veins at the pure thought of someone that isn’t him near you when you’re at your most vulnerable. He wishes he could wipe that smile off Kafka’s face. Victim of her teasing again. Remember your composure, a conditioned mind rings. With a clear of his throat he continues. “No, that won’t be necessary. I’ve already cleared my schedule to ensure her wounds are looked after so there isn’t any scarring. I’ll take care of it.”

Kafka relents and pats his shoulder as she passes him. “Very well, birdie. Sounds like you have our little lamb’s heart in your pocket. Or perhaps it’s your own?”

Before Sunday can ask her what she means, she’s already vanished from his sight. His hand reaches into his jacket pocket when he feels something rigid and pulls out a card he’s sure she placed there.

A tarot card depicting a dove perched on a lamb. The lovers.

Stellaron hunter Sunday subconsciously latching onto you, who are like an injured little dove to him. Some psychological need to keep his same routine from before or have some semblance of familiarity amidst this new path he’s been set on. It was just something platonic, he swears by this. Just an innate need to protect and guide you since you were also a clumsy new recruit.

You couldn’t help it—falling for him. Slowly being consumed by an infatuation that morphed into a hopeful yearning that filled your chest with a syrupy thickness of strong emotions you were inexperienced with.

And Sunday was at a loss. That wasn’t part of the plan. Well—he didn’t have much of a plan with you. The platonic acquaintance he had built with you was nothing more than for his own gratification. His desperate attempt at normalcy. Someone to fill the void of not being able to see his dear sister…

Still… you’re so willing to just give and give and give to him. Anything, for even the slightest possibility of returned affection. Even if you don’t outright confess to him, he sees it. In your actions, your speech, your eyes.

Would it truly be so bad to take that which is offered in earnest?

[zichiwatchesyou]

OH GOD THE LIGHTNING AND ANGLE AND THE WAY HE MOVES AND THE LITTLE DING I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE FUCK SLEEP I’M GONNA WATCH THIS 1000 TIMES

[wikitpowers]

no one talks about the fact that if kitty do in fact go on a road trip and kit is the one driving, ty will definitely fall apart if kit does the hand reversing move on the steering wheel (you absolutely know what i’m talking about c’mon)