#i'm LOSING my fucking MIND i can't BELIEVE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[robinvomit]

omg yay i shall await my essay (in my dms or wherever it will be)

͙͘͡★

I'm putting it in the open so people can fight me or share opinions lol [ I need everyone to remember my characterization comes from the og 1988 hellblazer. not the watered down pg13 socially acceptable bullshit they decided to make. ]

sooooooooooo.... john is basically haunted man in a too used trench coat and no matter how snarky or sharp his tongue or how loud his laugh, carries the weight of every single person he's failed. he's a working class magician with blood on his hands and he'd rather bluff his way out of a demon's claws than throw a spell. john isn't just cynical, he's weighed down by grief and rage, furious at god, the church, and the kind of people who look away ( who isnt, lets be real— ) but under all the bite, he's devastatingly and paingully human. he feels things too deeply. he'll drink himself sick over a friend's graves and curse the sky like it'll answer. he survives not because he's unshaken but because he doesn't have a choice ‐ somethings gotta work out eventually, right? he carries every mistake, every fuck up, every lost thing with him.

his magic isn't the kind with glowing runes and incantations, because why would it be- it's ugly, desperate, and wildly intimate. it's the kind of magic that costs something every time; a piece of your soul, a friend's last breath, the faith of someone who trusted you and thats what makes it real, right? his power lies in knowing people, knowing fear, knowing how to make others dance when he's already sold his own soul too many times to count. he's not out to save the world - hes not a hero, never has been and has never wanted to be.

he's trying to keep it from collapsing under the weight of its own sins long enough for someone better to pick up the slack. when he does try to save someone, it's always personal - which, in turn, always makes it much more than it needs to be. always messy. he wins by making it hurt and he never come out clean or unscathed.

what sets constantine apart isn't the magic, it's the fact he's a walking contradiction. he's callous and tender, selfish and sacrificial - he's a lot more vulnerable than anyone ever seems to give him credit for. he's a lot more than the surface - he wants to be needed and wanted but doesnt know how to hold or keep that because everyone dies, everyone leaves - not to mention, no one can handle the way he exists.

which, isnt to say hes healthy and someone needs to deal with it, no. but he'll curse out his oldest friends then fall to pieces when they're gone. he never forgives himself even though he pretends not to care. he drinks and smokes and fucks like he's got nothing to lose because he feels like he doesnt and admitting he does is a lot harder but you only live that way when you've already lost too much. he is so deeply english, istf--- politically bitter, class-

aware and always four seconds from telling the world to fuck off. he's also a man who wants to believe. in redemption, in love, in something better. he just knows better than to trust that wanting it is enough.

he doesn't believe he deserves anything good - doesn't believe he's worth it. he's not great at a lot of things and he tends to fuck up a pretty good bit. but the way he cares and the way he loves is often overlooked.

♤♡♡♡♤

okay so everyone can fight me for this but it won't change my mind. this is a shoooort little take from my own pysch knowledge, character analysis and idk having..... bpd.

fear of abandonment: john is fucking terrified of people leaving him but he causes the abandonment himself by pushing others away first, convincing himself he's poison - he's cursed, he's no good. the newcastle crew. kit. chas, sometimes, often. he gets cruel or cold right before he gets close because connection = risk = pain. he believes keeping people at arms length helps to not lose them but doesn't fully piece together that that also equals pushing away. he can't admit he doesnt want to lose them but breaks down, by himself, when it happens.

unstable relationships: his friendships are intense, laced with loyalty and betrayal. his romantic connections burn bright but collapse hard and burn out in the worst ways. he loves in extremes but never believes he's worthy of being loved back without consequence. another situation of arms length but also the smallest things are used in his favor to leave before he can get hurt. didnt answer the phone? didnt text back? well, obviously you hate him and he should disappear without a word.

chronic emptiness and identity issues: he walks between worlds, a thin line between wanting to live and wanting to not exist, not belonging to anything or anywhere. he's not a hero. not a proper occultist. not a family man. he talks big but his internal monologue is full of doubt and disgust and hatred. excuses to push people, lies towards himself that thats the right thing to do. his voice shifts depending on who he's with. always adapting, always slipping. he is a different person when he needs to be.

impulsivity and self destruction: the drinking, smoking, reckless sex, throwing himself into magical deals he knows will hurt him. he punishes himself constantly. he invites suffering to feel control over it. plus, if hes suffering, hes got no time for anything else, right?? he believes he deserves to be punished.

emotional intensity: his rage is harsh. his grief is feral. he explodes then goes silent. he sobs in graveyards and curled up on bathroom floors. he screams at the heavens. he doesn't process emotions, healthily or very well, he bleeds them. and he doesn't often trust others with them at all.

he's not a caricature. he's a deeply complex, emotionally repressed man who's been traumatized by fucking everything: systems, religion, class and magic alike. if you read him as having bpd, it only deepens that tragedy and it makes sense 😞 he isn't "just" a trickster. he's a man who's never felt safe in love or in his own skin, he feels small and pretends he doesnt, constantly pushing people away before they confirm the worst thing he already believes: that he ruins everything he touches.

[cyclogenesis]

oh my god. oh my fucking god. everyone on this show is a lesbian. oh my goD

[clownprince]

HELLO??? ARE YOU FFUCKING KIDDING ME...

[thestormlightnetwork]

I love how you're all (all 10 people who interacted with my Jimmy Mushrooms Last Drink lyric post) fuck with me about Will Wood. I mean I haven't had this much fun being in a musician's fandom since like... Four years ago when I was for a year or so listening to 5 seconds of summer and got really into the fandom.

Omg I just remembered this really cringe 2014-esque that surely came from Tumblr about 5sos that is like sexual stuff about the band members which is like "drummers do it harder, bassists do it deeper..." And some shit like that.

[that-fannerd-with-the-glasses]

Hey so this is fucking happening next month.

Can someone pinch me actually because I'm--

[into-the-milgramverse]

Do you ever think about how Amane's warnings were either seen as threats (by Mahiru and audience) or as just test of patience (by Shidou)? Do you ever think about how Amane likely was just trying to protect the ones she cares about? Do you think she didn't actually want to kill Shidou, but felt like she had to to save Mahiru? Do you think that's why she's mad at us for not stopping him?

First MV, shows her helping a (cartoon) cat, getting punished, then promising to be good. Gets voted guilty and punished, giving a message that practicing medicine is bad and deserves punishment.

Second MV, shows what the punishment was and that the cartoon cat was real cat.

Do you think after that first vote result, she started to think of Milgram as the same as her mom? That Milgram has the same rules against medicine? That if Shidou continues to practice it, Milgram will punish both him and kill Mahiru?

Do you think Amane killed Shidou immediately after knowing that he was voted Innocent? Do you think she felt like that was a huge risk and that she'd get punished again, this time for ending a life too early before it was supposed to, but that she thought it was worth it to protect Mahiru from same fate that the cat she took care of faced? Or do you think she waited until she was voted Innocent as well, to get confirmation that it's acceptable to punish someone for breaking the rules? Do you think even then it felt like a risk given how close she was to being voted Guilty again? Do you think she's currently scared of what we'll do now?

Do you think she regrets the decision? Do you think she too blames herself now for Mahiru's death, along with millions of voices that blame her for it?

[piratebay]

resisting every urge to just chop my hair off right the fuck now.

[brain-of-soup]

augahhahhhh i don't knowwwwwwww

[drop--pop--candy]

why why why why why why is any of this happening to me what did i do wrong why why why why why who let this happen if there is a god surely he is a cruel one for letting my mother have children in the first place why hasn't anyone noticed why didn't anyone stop her why why why why why why why why why why why whyhwywhyehyehywhywhyhywhywhywhywht

[dip-lou-in-honey]

.

[antiyourwokehomophobia2]

omg YEAH Buck (from the🚨🚨🚨 weewoo firefighter show) is bi!!!!!! We as a fandom kinda called it happening but in a like….. joking way??? Like no way they’d actually do that but !!!!!!!! HERE WE ARE lmao

I remember seeing all the gifs from the end of s4 on my dash and being like huh… gay firefighters fr?? And then getting into the show and realising oh… nvm lmao but god. GOD they actually did it!!! (halfway lol but like 👀 it could actually for real happen now 👀 )

Destiel wishes it had what you guys do 💀

[x-for-a-y]

god kebian should've won lr4m2. imagine if toby lost twice in a row. imagine if kebian's only loss was to alphagenos. imagine if- okay well losers' finals was going to be both contestants that lost to ag no matter what. i don't think they could've beat dubduo but just imagine

[shinedoitsulikeabright]

They're both so down bad for each other, it's sickening /j

My poor guy is just trying to find any other Poseidon that can help him

Context and more context

yall rlly gotta stop comin to my posey for help............ (ft @messymoonmad )

[haeyos]

૮꒰´ ˘ ` ꒱ა ⟡ㅤ HOLD ME TIGHT.

ft. virgin ! heeseung femreader 489 words. ( 18+ MINORS DNI )

LEE HEESEUNG almost cums when he enters you—he's wearing a fucking condom, for christ's sake—he doesn't even want to imagine how much worse he'd be if he hadn't had a condom on. he can't help it, though. not when you're making those sounds and squeezing around him so tightly that he thinks he might lose his mind.

hell, he already lost his mind.

he groans when you pull him closer to you, taking a moment to process that you're speaking to him. "..eung. heeseung. please, i need you to fuck me already."

rolling your hips, you push him deeper inside you, too impatient to wait for him to do it. the loud, whiny moan he lets out in response would be embarrassing if he wasn't so lost in the feeling of you. once he gains enough confidence in himself, both from your neediness and pleas, he completely lets loose. he grabs your hips, holding your legs up to his shoulders. he watches his cock slide in and out of your pussy, mesmerized by the shine your slick left on your skin.

your hands clawed into his arms, almost breaking skin from how tightly you were holding onto him. "fuck, baby, you're so tight. i can't—" he cuts himself off with a wanton moan, his cock rutting into you deeper than he ever thought could be possible. the wet squelch of your cunt, sucking him in, is making him feel insane. he can't believe he got the opportunity to fuck the pretty girl from his english class, that he's able to make you feel this good.

you gasp, body twitching from the sheer force he's using to push into you. he can tell you're surprised. he's a virgin, virgins aren't supposed to be good their first time—that's what you had told him, smiling all pretty as you traced your nail up his arm. but now here he is, listening to the loud whimpers he'd never thought he'd hear and when you moan out a broken statement of how you close you were, he has to hold back a grin, fucking you harder than he had been.

"holy fuck, oh my—fuck, hee, i'm coming, please don't stop." holding onto him tighter, you press your mouth against his, pushing your tongue into his mouth without warning. heeseung kisses you back, his strokes becoming more erratic as he reaches his high with you.

your orgasm rolls through you like a wave, your body trembling as he fucks you through it, his cock pulsing inside you. his hips grinding deep, he spilled his release into the condom. is it fucked up for his to wish that he didn't have one on? that he could've came inside of you, marking you as his?

body weak and twitching, you give him a dazed smile, eyes glassy, and he loses it. he pulls out, taking off the used condom. "can we—" he swallows, "can we go again?"

[apatheticsunday]

Dead Tired College AU

AKA "Danny Fenton and Tim Drake go to college at Gotham-U together" headcanon!!

Maybe Danny moved to Gotham to avoid his parents finding out about Phantom and Tim is a part-time college student trying to get his business degree so people stop accusing Bruce Wayne of nepotism after Tim inherited WE. (It absolutely still is, but at least this way Tim is at least somewhat more qualified on paper.)

Anyways, they both took Anthropology as their humanities/pre-requisite elective and they're discussing death rituals, afterlife, etc. Now imagine Danny, officially Half-Dead, and Tim, who's brothers (Jason and Damian) literally died, getting into a heated discussion about spirits.

I also find the idea of them arguing via fucking Canvas (or whatever discussion forum/platform Gotham-U uses) so, so funny.

Imagine it's like 3am;

Danny, insomniac, been awake for 42 hours and popping melatonin gummies like gummy bears, furiously typing: i'm literally THE KING of infinite realms?? i know what i'm talking about, i fucking died

Tim, also been awake for 42 hours, chugging an energy drink, sending a response in 0.2 seconds: Half of Gotham has died at some point. You're not special, dumbass.

Give me "group of scientists losing their minds and climbing over the table to assault one another during scientific conference" vibes!!

And then they get paired up to do a group presentation (and Brad, who they ignore because they're both Experts, so this poor frat dude just slowly sinks into his chair between two sleep-deprived maniacs screaming at each other in the library). But Tim notices something weird about Danny, aside from his insane views on afterlife. Danny... glows? And sometimes doesn't really touch the floor when he walks. They're going to get coffee (so they can keep arguing debating, obviously, not because they enjoy each other's company or anything), and Tim watches as Danny just kind of... floats. Like, he's still walking but he's not really touching the ground.

Danny's hands are also super cold. Tim knows this because he grabbed Danny's hands once or twice (or more) to do... something, idk. But since his hands were so cold, Tim figured he should probably keep holding them; y'know, to warm them up.

And when Tim leans in to ask a question or insult him, Danny's breath comes out almost like a mist. Visibly white, like exhaling a hot breath in winter. Which... what. Holy shit, is his presentation partner actually sort of dead??

Danny, on the other hand, has no idea that Tim doesn't know. He literally said he died? And Tim took it so well, snarked back that he's not special - it was so nice to just feel normal. So he lets his guard down a bit. Maybe isn't as tangible, maybe is a bit more floaty, lets his body temperature drop enough to be comfortable. Doesn't put a whole lot of effort into making himself look so alive (because it's really tiring to pretend to be something you're not) when it's just him and Tim because Tim already knows, right?

They could be friends or they could be more! Whatever floats your boat.

But I could totally see Danny squinting at Tim holding his hand, remembering how Tim bought his favorite coffee, saved him a spot a the library, constantly texted him (because, c'mon, Tim is a bit obsessive and you don't think he'd be texting his new "friend ;)" every minute he has the chance?), and always leaned in super close to "ask a question"...and be like, are we flirting?? Oh, Hells, am I into him??

For plot reasons, Danny could be like, "I can't tell Tim I like him! What if I ruin our friendship? It'll be my secret."

And then, one day, Tim is like, "Hey, I know you're keeping something from me. I think I know what it is." And Danny's like ohshitohfuck. This cumulates into them saying, at the same time, I know you're a ghost and I have a crush on you.

Tim and Danny: *shocked Pikachu face*

Then, Danny's like, "I can't believe I have a crush on a fucking idiot."

[juli-mari]

OH MY GOD

ix. deer dolly

see all chapters here apologies for the delay! this SHORT chapter is all about the long-awaited reunion, filled with steamy scenes. no plot points, just pure passion. if this portrayal isn't your cup of tea, feel free to skip to the next chapter: to be posted in a few days. tags: fem! reader, alastor being demisexual/demiromantic, allusions to marital activities, steamy bordering smut, mention of blood and injury, religious symbolism, love as a fucked up obsession

As you shut your eyes, the world around you dissolves into swirling shadows. The darkness envelops you, cocooning you in a sense of weightlessness. Pressed against Alastor, you bury your face into his suit, your cheek brushing against the smooth silk of his tie. The decrepit, torn building fades away, replaced by the crisp, clean ambiance of a hotel room. The air feels fresher, devoid of the musty odors that had clung to your senses before. Light streams in through the windows, casting delicate patterns on the walls that dance and sway with ethereal grace.

"Cher."

Rough lips press tenderly against the side of your temple and a heave escapes your chest, tears tracing silent paths down your cheeks, their presence unnoticed until they meet the fabric beneath your eyes, staining Alastors suit. The noise of your own blood rushing in your ears drowns out all other sounds, leaving you isolated in a world of agony.

Suddenly, the pain in your ankle resurges with a vicious intensity, sending waves of agony coursing through your body. A whimper escapes your lips, barely audible amidst the overwhelming sensation. It feels as though your very being is folding in on itself, ribs straining against flesh, breath catching in your throat. With the adrenaline long gone, every ache and throb becomes magnified, threatening to consume you whole.

"Al, it hurts," you manage to utter, your voice strained with anguish.

Alastor remains silent, his dilated, frenzied eyes locked onto your shaking form. His hand reaches up, lingering where your throat meets your jaw, the sharp points of his claws pressing down with a calculated pressure. You feel a sharp nip, and a bead of blood begins to seep from the small wound, a crimson offering that seems to stir something primal within him.

His mouth waters, and he swallows audibly, his gaze fixated on the trickle of blood.

"Sweet girl," he murmurs softly, the words a stark contrast to the hunger in his eyes. His thumb moves to gently swipe away the tears that streak down your cheeks, his touch oddly tender despite the predatory gleam in his gaze.

Leaning down, Alastor presses a tender kiss against the small wound, his lips a soothing balm against the raw edges of your suffering. A rush of conflicting emotions floods through you—pain, longing, and a desperate craving for his touch. With a soft sniffle, you raise a trembling hand to press against the back of his head, your fingers threading through his hair.

Alastor responds to your desperate craving, his hands flying to your hips as he lifts you effortlessly and lays you down onto a nearby chair. One of his shadows encircles your ankle, causing you to tense instinctively. However, instead of pain, you feel a cool sensation spreading through your skin, soothing the ache and tension. With a sigh of relief, you close your eyes, allowing yourself a moment to relax into the chair.

All the while, Alastor's gaze pierces through you, his eyes dark with desire and desperation.

You're right in front of him, vulnerable and exposed, a temptation too potent to resist. The taste of your blood still lingers on his tongue and he longs to sink his teeth into your soft flesh, to taste the sweetness of your essence as he consumes you with a fervor bordering on madness, leaving marks that brand you as his and his alone. Every fiber of his being yearns to ravage and possess you, to consume you in a frenzy of passion.

But he understands that to yield to his desires would mean risking further harm to you, and he cannot bear the thought of causing you any more pain.

And so, with a tortured soul and a heavy heart, he fights against the primal instincts that surge within him, denying himself the one thing he craves above all else.

As the minutes pass and the pain begins to dissipate, you find yourself panting softly, your chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. Exhaustion and relief wash over you in waves, mingling with the lingering ache that still echoes through your body.

Gazing up at Alastor, you smile, your hands instinctively moving to rest on his lower abdomen, seeking the reassuring warmth of his touch in the dimly lit room.

A silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating.

Alastor's hands remain clenched at his sides, the strain evident in the way his claws dig into his palms, threatening to break through the surface of his flesh. The protection of his gloves is the only barrier preventing the sharp tips from drawing blood.

His intense gaze, like twin flames burning in the shadows, enveloped you in their fiery embrace. Crimson eyes, almost glowing with intensity, held you captive, trapping you in a cage of his unspoken desires.

With each passing moment, it became increasingly apparent that he was relinquishing control, leaving you with the reins in your hands and him at your mercy.

Straightening yourself, you let your nails graze over his abdomen before landing on his beating chest. The rhythmic pulse beneath your touch erratic. Finally, after what feels like an eternity to Alastor, you break the stifling stillness with a voice barely above a whisper. "On your knees."

Alastor's gaze darkens, a predatory glint flashing in his eyes as he pauses for a moment, as if considering your request. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, your husband obeys, sinking to his knees before you.

Wasting no time, you seize him by the collar, pulling him close as your lips collide in a fevered kiss. The red lipstick you wear leaves its mark on his mouth, staining and smearing across his lips, cheek, and jaw. A low growl escapes him as he tugs off the jacket to his suit before his claws are grazing down your legs, leaving a trail of destruction as the fabric of your stockings tears with an audible rip.

With a breathless whimper, his name rolls off your lips, and Alastor freezes in place. It's as if something inside him shatters, a floodgate bursting open to release the pent-up longing and passion that he's kept restrained for so long.

Suddenly, his arms tighten around you, pulling you closer as he responds to the urgency of your kiss with equal fervor. With a low, primal grunt, your husband pushes against you. Every brush of his lips against yours, every press of his body against yours, speaking of a hunger that can no longer be contained. It's a hunger born of years of yearning and longing, a hunger that demands to be sated here and now.

Both of you lean back, lost in the intoxicating frenzy of desire. The chair beneath you groans and creaks ominously under the strain before finally giving way with a loud snap.

You yelp in surprise as the ground rushes up to meet you, but before you can hit the hard floor, Alastor's arms wrap around you protectively, catching you in a tight embrace. With a swift motion, he pulls you up into his embrace, effortlessly supporting your weight as he holds you close.

With deliberate steps, Alastor guides you to the edge of the bed before gently lowering you onto its soft surface. You land with a huff and a thud, the mattress embracing you like a comforting embrace.

As you settle onto the plush bedding, Alastor follows suit, hovering above you with his arms caging your head. Leaning down, he presses a trail of kisses down the valley of your breasts, each touch igniting a fire within you.

The straps of your white silk dress are tugged down, revealing the curve of your chest as you melt into the softness of the mattress. Your body instinctively arches towards his touch, every nerve alive with anticipation. As his hands explore the contours of your body, your mind succumbs to a blissful haze, thoughts dissolving into a fog of desire and need.

"Al..."

Alastor continued his ministrations, each kiss a fervent prayer offered up to the goddess beneath him. A reunion long overdue, it felt akin to a sacred ritual. With each tender touch of his lips, he sought to worship you in the most unholy of ways, offering himself up as a devoted supplicant at the altar of your desires.