#intox mention

[spicy-phantom2]

I'm high so this might not make sense but thinking about jerking off two straps against each other. I wanna get a tentacle or some other fantasy style to contrast my regular human one. Making you choose which one you want to wear and which one you want to see frotting against yours. Cum lube dripping and getting all over our hands and stomachs. Messy and explicitly queer sex please.👋👊 Gimme

[fuzzytipsybunny]

wishing i was so drunk im unable to walk

instead i just can't walk because of my chronic knee pain 😔✊

[tummy-purling]

not even into intox like that but omg the drunk bellies give off such deep burps

[dazeyxdream]

absolutely stoned and cuddly,, it would be suuuuuuch a shame if a poor little puppy wandered in......... I'd just have no choice but to shower them in kisses,,,, ^-^ 💜💫

[weepingfireflies]

[Photo ID - a close screenshot of Anos Voldigoad from the anime The Misfit of Demon King Academy. Anos is a man with short black hair and red eyes. He is wearing a black coat with a white hem and detailing. He is placed against a white, surrealist background where the ground is made up of cubes and a few float upwards behind him. The caption at the bottom of the screen reads, "Did you really think that killing me would be enough to make me die?" A tumblr post is pasted in the top left corner. It reads, "shirt that says 'i'm not high I just love saying insane sentences that don't make sense'" /End ID]

Original Post

[pinkplaycow]

i took a 100mg edible last night and spiraled sooo hard...

like my friend kept talking me down to fuck with and i tried to tell her to stop but couldn't stop giggling

it was like fighting to keep my head above water, and istg somehow she knew all my trigger words and...

honestly i haven't stopped thinking abt going that deep in trance again hehe

[selarina]

Guys, you know how in schools teachers place the loudest kids next to the silent ones hoping their silence will rub off on them?

Yeah, this happens with you and Gojo Satoru, but you don’t rub off on him entirely. He carries his boisterous (albeit somewhat lovable) energy well into adulthood.

He does quiet down though, at times. Gojo spends his time watching you, not with any intent but with something closer to curiosity.

His eyes can’t help but zero in on your quiet concentration. You're all precision in a sense — the way you scrunch your nose, the way your brows pinch together when you don’t understand something. It mildly bothers him, how noiseless you are in all your movements.

Soon, the bell rings, and he realises he’s been silent the whole class, his time spent entirely on studying you.

His eyes trace your form as you rise, and join your friends, leaving the room without a second glance in his direction.

And what should mean you fading into the bustling background of his school’s hallway becomes finding you front and centre, everywhere — in the sports field, in the cafeteria, at the school assembly when you’re front and centre reading the day’s agenda.

And this odd phenomena lingers in adulthood too.

“Sir—” Higuruma’s voice manages to cut through.

Gojo blinks, a daze simmering beneath the surface as he forces himself back into the present.

“Yes, yes,” he says, brushing off the conversation with a dismissive wave of his hand and a cheerful smile. “Let’s buy them!”

Ijichi clears his throat, chuckling in unease. "We're selling them to Murasaki Industries, sir."

"Oh." Gojo’s mind catches up, but only just. "Right. Let’s do that, then."

His phone vibrates in his hand, and he glances down, the screen illuminating a picture of you as his wallpaper. You’re wearing his hoodie, working on a laptop, surrounded by the half-finished mess of the apartment you both recently bought.

The message in front is simple, reading: i’m here. i'll wait outside

He grins, already moving, already leaving. “Meeting adjourned,” he calls out over his shoulder. “I have to see my wife.”

Behind him, the murmur of exchanges continue. Higuruma and Nanami exchange weary glances before staring dead straight into Ijichi's shifting figure.

“Um—“ Ijichi speaks up, nervously.

"Yeah," Nanami interjects, his tone dry. "We'll need to revisit this. I have serious doubts about his capacity to enter into a legally binding contract based on this meeting. Under the Mental Capacity Act 2005, one could argue he wasn’t of sound mind—seemingly intoxicated. I don’t want you coming back at us for this later."

Higuruma nods, muttering in agreement as they prepare to leave. "The whole time, he was just staring at his phone."

Nanami scoffs. “Why do we need him again?”

Ijichi’s ears catch a faint response from Higuruma. “Well, he’s rich.”

[stuckinmythroat749]

Me: [Stays up slightly too long] God, I wish I was drunk/high

[transbunnyboi]

Hey guys taking an edible would be a VERYYY bad idea right now right? I mean, they make my brain so fuzzy and my cunt instantly starts clenching around nothing and dripping down my thighs and if I take the correct amount, I’ll start whining and crying for nothing but I want some sort of stimulation and I can’t think.

So this coupled with how fucking horny and needy I am for my bf’s cock despite him not being here? I may um, I may die.

Anyways that’d be a horrible idea, right? :3

[kewpiekills]

bb & marcie barhopping together

[allamericandogboy]

okay listen i love fagbreaking but the reverse is also really good.

meeting some straight (“straight”) guy who hasn’t thought too hard about having sex with men before me. maybe he thinks hooking up with me would be a good way to subtly indulge those mildly curious thoughts in the back of his mind. i look like a man, sure, but i’ve still got a cunt and he could convince himself that i’m a girl if he tried hard enough.

but actually doing it, feeling my hands on him, he can’t pretend. he’s trying so, so hard. he thought he’d be able to see me as a girl. he can’t.

and maybe he tries to back out because of it. he’s getting cold feet. that’s not fair, though, i’d tell him. he asked for this. and i’ve already got my hand down his pants and i can feel how hard he’s getting. wouldn’t it be so much easier to just give in? to admit he’s gonna be such a good fag for me? practically begging for it?

and when i’m on my knees for him and he lets out that little groan and “good boy” slips from his lips, i know i’ve got him. he can’t pretend. even if he wants to go back to pretending tomorrow, we both know he’s a faggot tonight.

[mini-ism]

#— LIT CIGARETTES.

paring: gallagher x gn!reader (female anatomy, no use of “breasts”)

words: 3.1k

synopsis: gallagher meets a companion that he invites on a smoke break.

warnings: MDNI! intoxication, p in v, dubcon, alcohol, semi-forced smoking, smoking, cigarettes, kinda OOC?, choking, wrist binding, cunnilingus, light degradation, spanking.

DARK CONTENT AHEAD, DISCRETION ADVISED!!

flick, flick…,

the haze of fresh smoke covered his face as he leaned against the stone wall. the golden hour of penacony was ever-bustling. gallagher took a long drag from the cigarette, taking it out of his mouth with his index and thumb, ashing it slightly, and exhaling the smoke.

a cigarette every so often was refreshing, sometimes soulglad can be sickening. or at least to gallagher, though he might be the sole believer of that. damn near every night was the same, “can i get uh… soulglad?” another drunken patron slurred. the face of this patron is just as muddled as their voice. likely because every night, every person asked for a bottle of soulglad. gallagher obliged, as it was his duty, finishing wiping a glass, then uncapping a fizzy bottle of the drink, and passing it to them without a complaint or a mere word.

he took another puff, a longer one. he sighed, murky grey clouds leaving his mouth and nostrils. he put the cigarette back into his mouth, brushing his long, brown hair out of his eyes, savoring every intoxicating breath. he crushed he butt beneath his shoe, tobacco smearing onto penacony’s smooth pavement, watching it fizzle from existence. another benefit of the dream, one could assume.

he scratched at the stubble on his jawline, walking back into one of the many bars he frequently bartended at, bracing himself to serve more damn soulglad for the nth time tonight.

the chestnut-brown hair on his shoulders bounced as he strode back inside, music blaring a bit too loudly for his liking. he cracked his neck, then his gloved knuckles, and made his way behind the counter.

“how was your break?” a coworker inquired, “you smell like smoke.”

“it was alright, i guess. nothin’ too special.” he spoke, “is that a bad thing?”

music rang in his ears as he wiped down a few more glasses. the same coworker tapped on his shoulder after a few moments, “gallagher, look to your left. total cutie over there.”

gallagher wasn’t the type to pay attention to anyone’s looks. he listened. that was simply his job. he just so happened to look to his left, grumbling slightly. “i mean, they’re alright. what’dya want me to say?”

“come on, man, just have fun for once. i get that this is your job, but it never hurts to bend the rules a lil’, huh?” they responded, “i’ll give you like, 200 credits if you talk to them.”

“make it 500 and i might.” he joked, watching as his bartending partner pulled exactly 500 credits out of their breastpocket, slipping it into his pocket.

“do it,” they snickered.

he watched as you settled into your seat at the bar, waving to your friend from across the club. “anything i can get you tonight?” a voice rung from behind you, slightly raspy, yet smooth, and tired.

he was just as tired-looking as his voice led you to believe, “well, firstly, are you okay?” you asked curiously, hands resting on the edge of the marbled countertop.

“yeah, i’m alright. is there anything i can do for you?” he asked again, his amber-colored eyes focused on you, accented by his eyebags that happened to be deeper than oceans. he was visibly aged, and had scars littered all over him.

in the quiet moment you were investigating his appearance, he too was “checking you out.” you looked nice, now that you were in front of him. his vision wasn’t the best nowadays, but it suffices well enough to delineate all the delicate features painted onto your skin and your face. he liked that.

“could i get a crimson sunset?” finally, something that wasn’t a fucking soulglad.

“sure thing, not a problem.” gallagher grabbed a glass with his hand, pouring a mixture of syrups, drinks, and spirits into the glass masterfully. he smiled tiredly at you, passing the drink to you on a red napkin. the drink itself was a pretty red-orange color that faded into a deep purple.

“mind if i get myself a drink?”

“are you allowed to do that?” you replied.

“well, i mean, never hurts to bend the rules a lil’, yeah?” he answered, unintentionally charismatically.

his accidental confidence made you laugh slightly, “go ahead, mister…?”

“gallagher,” he said, pouring himself his own drink. he isn’t mixing it with anything, just straight alcohol from the bottle into the same type of glass you have in your hand, “no need to be so formal. you can just call me gallagher.”

“alright, gallagher, it’s nice to meet you.” you grinned brightly, taking note of the faint smile painting his features and lighting up his dull eyes.

“it’s nice to meet you too… ah…” he trails off.

“(your name).” you replied, giggling slightly as you take a sip from your drink, admiring the complex profile of gallagher’s mixing skills, “by the way, this is really good.”

“thanks,” he shuffles awkwardly, mimicking you by taking a swig of his own drink, “it’s really nothin’ though, just a lil’ bit of gallagher magic.”

he watches as you sip from your drink again, raising his glass again and finishing the rest of the liquid inside. he can feel the alcohol burning in his throat as he drinks it down hungrily, blurring his own mind as you start to talk again. he’s listening, but not a word is registering in his head. gallagher refills his glass with a more potent drink, leaning over the counter and propping himself up with his toned forearms.

“…and that’s how i ended up here, with my friend,” you finished off, the mix starting to get to your head too. he has no idea you could be such a talker, it almost makes him want to shut you up, but that’s not nice and he should play fair! he never does anyways.

“well, ain’t that a story!” he laughs, sipping on his own concoction again, flashing a grin, “here, lemme getcha another drink, it’ll be on me, hun.”

“thank you, gallagher!” you smiled drunkenly, watching him show off his mastery of mixology like it’s a performing art, pouring the beautiful mixture into your new glass.

“mmmn, what? you like the way i do that, eh?” he teased, leaning over the marble counter again, sliding you the glass, “so what if i do?” you teased back, your words starting to slur together to form one big super-word.

“i can do it again for ya, if ya like,” he breathed, his tired eyes starting to look more like bedroom eyes.

“really? can you?” you nearly begged, awe-struck at his sheer skill.

“yeah, i can show you everything i can do. ‘m not jus’ good at mixin’ drinks, y’know?” he said, sending a shiver down your spine, making your back nearly arch with just a single sentence. he looked at you again, greedily sipping his drink, his eyes imploring you to do the same without a single word from him. you do just as they say, watching the spark ignite within his pupils like a flick of a lighter. his lips curl into a smile as he finishes his mahogany colored concoction, a marvel of alcoholic creativity. you cough slightly as you finish up your own drink, the burn in your gut rising like a flame. it travels from your tummy all the way up your esophagus, tickling your lips with a sting.

“do you like it, babydoll?” he collects the glasses, putting them in the sink for later, “i hope you did. i worked really hard on making you a nice drink.”

you nod sloppily, words caught in your throat like the eager blaze that’s simmering within your body. words are barging into your mind, but you cannot decipher, nor string them together, properly. “that’s wonderful. would’ya mind joining me for a smoke break?”

“sure, we can do that…” you smile, your cheeks hot and your skin prickly with fire. gallagher walks out of the bar, helping you walk out of the bar with enough stability. he leads you back to the wall he stood against before, the golden hour much darker than before. you leaned against him within the alleyway.

“have you smoked before?” he asks, taking out a cigarette from the carton in his pocket, where the credits from before lie.

“nooo…” you slur, giggling against the wall as gallagher helps you up, the unlit smoke between his lips.

“…wanna try?” he asks again, lighting the cigarette, flick, flick, shielding the flame with his free hand.

you considered it for a moment. you never thought you’d touch a cigarette, nevertheless smoke it, yet here you are, “uh… sure…?” you said with a hiccup.

gallagher takes a long inhale of the cigarette, his lungs filling with smoke before he takes it out, filling your own mouth with smoke as he puts his lips on yours, gently cupping your jaw with his other hand.

he exhales the rest of the smoke, watching you cough with a weirdly sick pleasure, “you like it?”

just as you were about to whine and say ‘no,’ the rush of nicotine blurs your mind, you can barely muster up a whimper, let alone nod your head weakly. “thas’ good, hun.”

he passes you the lit cigarette, watching you take it between your fingers as you take a small puff, the paper that wraps the tobacco burning up. again, you cough, but the menthol soothes your throat a bit more this time.

“feels real good, don’t it?” he breathes on the junction of skin between your collarbone and your neck, the burn boiling over as you exhale, feeling his hot breath against your prickly skin.

gallagher takes the cigarette from you again, taking a long drag from it, and exhaling in front of you, a bit of the smoke tingling within your throat.

“gonna feel better sooner or later,” he murmurs, taking the cigarette out of his mouth and kissing the intersection between your carotid artery and your clavicle, tickling your skin with his raw, swollen lips.

you whine as his hands crawl up your body, feeling your chest and your covered up nipples. he’s getting handsy as he finishes the rest of the smoke, holding it in for longer, then exhaling in your face with a sinister chuckle, “you’s needy. i gotcha babydoll, don’t worry.”

you fall into him as he crushes the butt-end of the cigarette, the orange menthol filter dissipating out of existence. his gloved hands feel all over every inch of your torso, from your collarbones, to your low abdomen. gallagher plants more rough kisses onto you, picking you up and leaning you against the wall, your back facing him as your cheek presses against the cold, hard surface of the wall.

your vision is spinning as your intoxicated state seeps deeper into your mind and body, watching as he unties his pretty magenta-colored tie. gallagher binds your hands with the tie, keeping your hands behind your back, in place and secure.

“you wanna stay here like this? i’m not gonna ask you again, so you’d best tell me now if you don’t wanna go through with it.” he commands, his grip tight, but loose enough not to bruise flesh.

truthfully, you want to do this, your body does too. your words are failing you as you make little noises, your cheek scraping lightly against the ragged surface. you mustered up a meager, “wannit, gall… ger…”

“yeah, hun?” he whispered breathily, heat radiating against the shell of your ear, “you gonna be good f’me?”

“yessss…” you whine in response, shuffling against the wall, your mind buzzing with every possibility.

“thas’ good, so good already.” he smiles, you can feel his lips curl against your neck as he gives you another little kiss, his raw, rough lips grazing against your tender, needy flesh.

gallagher was buzzed himself, he’s always had a high tolerance for things like alcohol and nicotine, being high off life was almost entirely new. something he hadn’t felt in so long, and here you were, back arched, being all obedient. all for gallagher, bartender and bloodhound (that of which you were unaware of).

in a swift motion, he tugged your at your clothing, moving it out of the way, so he can paw at your undergarments. you looked so cute like this, wrists bound and legs spread. all of this just so he can see what awaits him, “my, my, you’re all wet.”

“nnnmh, yeaaah…” you heaved, you’re dizzy, needy, you’re hammered, and you’re vulnerable. how much more adorable can you get? his fingers traced circles around the dampened spot in your underwear. you’re soaked already.

gallagher pulled your underwear to the side, tucking it in the crevice between your lip and your asscheek, working his fingers on your wet slit. he took some of your slick on his finger, rubbing your clit with his dominant hand. he gave your pussy a self-indulgent slap, before teasing your entrance with a thick finger. wordlessly, it slipped in with relative ease, eliciting a loud moan to pass through your swollen lips. he chuckled at your reaction, pulling it out, then slipping the digit back inside.

another moan fell from your lips, throaty and whiny. his finger started to move inside you, at first unbent and quickly fucking you. you slid against the wall, knees buckling slightly, before gallagher’s free hand pinned you to the wall, keeping you in your place. his single finger curled inside you, hitting your spongy g-spot. you mewled, crooning at the sensation, practically seeing stars. your vision started to blur as black splotches started to cloud it, but all you could feel, think, understand, want, smell, need, was him. he continued fucking you with his finger, watching your legs shake and your juices drip down his finger and onto his gloved palm.

“feels real nice, don’t it?” he cooed, slipping in another digit without warning. his scarred, toned arm flexed with every movement, curling and slipping inside and outside of you. his fingers made their way to your clit, rubbing it with vigor and passion, before he spread your other lip with his thumb and put his lips to your pussy. he gave it a rough, sloppy kiss, pulling away to listen to you cry out. nobody could care any less, they were experiencing the dream. in all actuality, this feels like a dream within a dream, if that makes sense. you were just so amazing, you were alluring. definitely worth more than 500 credits. he gave your pussy another sopping wet kiss, his scratchy stubble rubbing against your skin, creating friction. his tongue darted to your clit, licking and sucking it between his lips and teeth. his thumb still held your cunt open. gallagher gave you a couple more long licks and kisses for good measure, savoring your every drop, relishing your taste, before standing up.

“ready, babydoll?” gallagher rhetorically asked before unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants (which happened to be the same magenta color as his tie). you nodded, drooling and zoning out. all you could understand was the pleasure he was giving you, all you could care about was how much more pleasure he could give you, “great.”

he pulled his thick cock out from his boxers, lining it up against your entrance, savoring the difference in size. your small, little cunt and his big, fat dick. how cute. gallagher re-adjusted you, spreading your legs just a bit further, then putting some pressure on the lumbar portion of your back, causing you to arch more instinctively.

without warning, the burning within your body had boiled over again between your legs, the stretch to accommodate his girthy dick nearly destroying you. you screamed, but nobody gives a damn, “scream all you want, babe, you gonna take it.”

gallagher pulled out again, just a little, to slam back into you, watching your cunt stretch as much as it could. he savored how warm and tight you were, tight as a vice could get. your eyes rolled into the back of your head, saliva dribbling your chin and onto your clothing. a loud crack, followed by a searing pain, flooded your senses. his palm made contact with your asscheek again, slapping it roughly for a second time, pushing himself into you with as much force as he could use before breaking you in half.

“you takin’ me so good, ‘m proud of ya, doll,” he chuckled, smiling again. gallagher had found a pace inside you, his hand snaking up to your throat and wrapping around it. he applied pressure to your jugular and carotid with his thumb and his other four digits on their respective sides. he sped up slightly, gripping your hips as air flow lessened.

gallagher continued to slam-fuck into you, speeding up with every thrust, chasing his high. his breath was hot and heavy, huffing in your ear as your vision and hearing fizzled out like the cigarette butt on the pavement. your breathing became ragged as he bullied your pussy ruthlessly, “you ever been fucked like this, huh?”

air rejuvenated your senses as he let go of your throat, you heaved a weak, drunken “no.”

“ain’t no dick good as gallagher’s, huh? good as mine, mmm.” he groaned, his hips colliding with yours faster and faster andfasterandfaster…, “gonna cum, babydoll. i ain’t pullin’ out, though.”

you hoarsely whined, your fucked-out brain needing more of him, any morsel of him is good enough, and it just feels so good, and youreabouttofuckingcumtoo…

“mmn, i’m cumming, hun. i’m gonna fuckin’ cum in you, you needy bitch. fuuuuckyeah…” gallagher’s grip on your throat tightened the moment the burning hot coil in your stomach loosened, allowing you to orgasm and scream out his name just as soon as he came. he groaned and huffed in your ear, his brown hair messy and clinging to his sweaty face, “feels so fuckin’ good, fuuuck.”

you let out a choked noise, prompting him to let go and pull out of you. he leaned over you, resting his forehead against his forearm, that of which was supported by the wall you leaned against. your knees wobbled, and before you could fall, gallagher instinctively held your abdomen with his other arm, tucking you against his chest. you stared at his scars, which littered his arm, as you came down from your intense orgasm.

“…you okay?” he asked with a newfound gentleness. he helped you back up as he untied your wrists and pulled up his pants, fixing his belt. he chuckled, “i bet you’re tired.”

“very,” you panted back in response.

“how ‘bout i clock out and carry you home, how’s that sound?”

“sounds amazing, gallagher,” you leaned against him as he lit another cigarette before walking back into the nightclub.

[ten-years-late-with-fanart]

methinks you should draw dream and swap getting stoned in a basement

(PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PL)

aight.

[marzipanandminutiae]

Good news! There's a chance that in the upcoming Dorian Grey adaptation they might actually not be brothers!

Because there's a chance they might be making Dorian a woman. The deadline article reported him being named "Doran" and refers to them as "siblings".

So. You know. That's... there.

Is...Doran a woman's name? Is Dorian not? Oscar Wilde made it up; it's associated with the character, but technically it has no gender.

So it's hetero incest, then, is what I'm hearing.

(Also, I like more female characters in things generally, but the fact that I've heard the new adaptation centers around the modern beauty industry leaves a bad taste in my mouth.)

(Like. Oh. Wow. A woman corrupted by youth and beauty. A young beautiful woman who is Evil because she's young and beautiful and that makes her self-centered in the extreme. Groundbreaking)

(You Wanted To Look At A Naked Woman So You Put A Mirror In Her Hand And Called It Vanity etc. a story about youth and beauty that revolves around a MAN is so much a departure from the norm that switching the subject to a woman feels dull at best and at risk of falling into old misogynistic tropes at worst)

(the idea that women, and only women, will do anything to stay young and beautiful- an idea that is usually framed as personal failing rather than a struggle to stay relevant to a society that judges us solely by our appearances and tries to shuffle us out of the spotlight the second we age -is such a worn-out storyline at this point. it's used to trivialize our battles in life and make us monsters in the least interesting way possible)

(Also like. a painting done by someone who is so in love with the subject that they capture that person's very soul in it- literally -is pretty different from the artist representing some kind of Larger Social Ill. That changes the whole story, one feels)

EDIT: someone has pointed out that "Doran" might just be a typo, and I do heartily agree that it's entirely possible. "siblings" worries me a bit more here though

[statementlou]

I don’t understand why the hotel didn’t call an ambulance, the first time Liam came down acting erratic and passing out/convulsing. that’s clearly a medical issue?? like I know it was drug and alcohol induced but that’s still a medical issue and they should have called whatever the Argentina equivalent of 911 is. I wonder if they would have handled it differently if he had been sober and was still passing out/acting strange. it makes me think it’s some stigma thing surrounding substance abuse. so sad and tragic and could have been prevented in many different ways

I agree; both that they should have handled it SO differently (and treated it as the medical issue it clearly was at that point) and that the stigma of intoxication was absolutely why they didn't. It's so fucking sad.

[transbunnyboi]

I had to stay extra late at work and now I’m finally home (after showering and changing) and getting high :3

Which totally doesn’t mean I’ll be fucking myself until I’m crying !! Not at all !!!