#is this normal for the games or?

[xxinkyshadowxx]

sometimes teal mask and indigo disk(and honestly sv in general) dont feel like actual things that happened like no way a super popular franchise has some fucking emo boy that we curb stomp and divorce, a tube of toothpaste who thinks he knows how to manipulate people, a girl that probably plays animal crossing way too much and constantly makes the incorrect buzzer noise, crispin, old men in love, yuri love triangle, rika, some parentless guy who jumps for joy after making some magic herb sandwhich, dragon dog thats going to terrify a subway employee, green eight year old that murders three losers by going bonk, dont forget to smash that like and subscribe button, a antibullying group that was a discord server that is now a feared gang, nemona, transgender pro cringe weeb lesbian, two lesbians which have the most difficult hair to draw, femboy emo ice man, attempted murder turtle, and larry

like excuse me how does this game exist????

[mariorsomething]

moments right before daisuke saves the day and gets all the love and praise he deserves and rescue comes just in time and everyone lives forever the end

[cl0wnesque]

[sleeqymoon]

cutest sunshine in the entire universe, space, and beyond 🗣️ 🌺

[ochiody]

i think they're funny

[borealing]

"hey man, you remind me of my dead wife"

[lilacxquartz]

love you, love you, love you;

mr. crawling x reader

plot: some things are best expressed without the need of words — themes: spooning/cuddling, smut, maybe yan vibes — w.c: 1.1k

a/n: my first homicipher related fic. i want to try one for mr. silvair & mr. gap next, bc they were also my favs. this game has been taking over my life so much lately. like it’s been in my dreams, haaah.

masterlist • ao3

Mr. Crawling was always loud when he was excited within your company; his laughter filled out the vast empty spaces that were otherwise unadorned with familiarity. Whatever you once sought from those winding corridors was ever-fleeting, temporary, leaving you stuck within the confines of his company.

Yet, when he felt what you could only interpret as affection—that’s when Mr. Crawling then became different—quiet, soothing, kind but also… curious.

And when you would usually sleep, he would stand watch, knelt over the floor as per his usual stance but sometimes crouched near you, sometimes leaning back against the wall with his legs pressed up against his chest. He would watch you as his life depended on it, unwavering in focus and with eerie intensity. He would watch as your chest rose and fell, leaning close on occasion to catch the sweep of your breath and sometimes, he would trace the pad of his milky fingertips in long, languid strokes against your face. Always so delicate, so tender, but for the most part, quiet and even shy.

Having once caught a glimpse of Mr. Gap in your blanket space, however, set something territorial off for Mr. Crawling and he was never able to recover from such an invasion. The very idea that someone else was able to infiltrate what he deemed to be your space—especially someone who he disapproved of—wasn’t something he could stand for. Especially with the sort of trickster Mr. Gap was, he couldn’t bear to see you get hurt. It would kill him on the inside (and on the outside, too).

So, just as you were getting into bed to rest up once more, he too, slipped in under the covers with you. At first, you were startled as usual, turning to face him with confusion evident in your eyes, murmuring out some words in a language that he still could not understand. He repeated something back, the meaning lost and indecipherable upon your ears, though soon surrendering to emphasis using gestures instead. A hug to bring you closer, a reassuring pat on your head and a small, longing kiss over your nose.

You listened to his words again, repeating over and over like a broken record.

Perhaps he meant no harm, after all.

You turned your back to him and settled into his chest, finding that he was surprisingly warm for what he was. His taller frame encased your body, wrapping his ashen arms around your waist—accidentally brushing the fabric that sat over your breast—nicking the cloth ever so slightly. Your breath hitched in surprise and as though in sheepish realisation, he withdrew right away, terrified that you were upset with him.

You drew out a long breath, reminding yourself again, that after everything that has happened thus far…

That, Mr. Crawling does not want to hurt you.

That Mr. Crawling has only ever helped you.

So perhaps, right now, Mr. Crawling only wanted to be closer to you.

You relaxed your breathing, settling into his comforting shadow once more and allowed for his presence to envelop you. He repeated the soothing motions of his grappling arm, although he held onto you softer that time. His hands explored your body with a delicate touch, as though afraid of breaking you—of upsetting you again—his motions growing confident the longer that you didn’t protest. It wasn’t long before he, otherwise not disturbed by your lacking, conscious awareness, decided to explore further with you. Mr. Crawling’s fingers didn’t ask for permission that time, creeping beneath the clinging fabric, feeling your skin against his palms, inviting a pleased, almost delighted smile to curl on his lips.

The silence remained unbroken as Mr. Crawling continued his explorative focus on you; the quickly-building evidence of his need growing harder the longer he pushed himself behind your body, the repeated touches arousing something warmer within him. To both his surprise as well as your own—you were not repulsed, allowing him to creep even lower, below the skirt of the dress and up, brushing his hand up to your exposed skin and, reading into it—you communicated your consent from the moment you parted your legs, allowing him to get even closer.

Confidence surged in Mr. Crawling as he pushed himself into your hilt, allowing his hardened length to slip inside. Betraying the stagnant silence, he shuddered out a ragged gasp before giving into his own rising need; grinding himself into your sopping sex with steadily increasing fervour. His fingers clamped around the curve of your hips as he held you in place, slamming every last inch of himself deep into your core.

Ever touch-starved yet wanting nothing more than to surrender to the sensation of you, Mr. Crawling continued to drive his cock into your needy cunt, soon wrapping his winding arms around your body and holding on tight. He bucked intensely as you soon succumbed to breathless whimpers, incoherently begging for his name. Equally desperate whines rolled off the slip of his tongue as he found his lips pressed into the crook of your neck, dampening your skin with sloppy wet kisses—as many as he could give.

It felt overwhelming for you in a way to be worshipped like this but you did your best to keep up with such intensity, especially as the warm, tingling pleasure built up inside of you, too. You held on just as tight as he did, your hand seeking out his own—fingers weaving into his bony digits—interlocking and squeezing tight the closer you got, your grip and otherwise clenching need tightening simultaneously. To feel him losing himself inside of you was dare you admit, addicting, feeling him completely fill and stretch you out leaving you almost dizzied from the impaling force.

Mr. Crawling, like you, soon surrendered to the rolling bliss from the flick of his hips, feeling a surging warmth mount and rise, encouraging him to lose himself to the searing heat of the moment and you. Encircling your body in a possessive hug, he suddenly began to mutter out a new word in a strained mantra, again and again.

Given how desperate he seemed to be, you understood the meaning as ‘close’, especially as his actions grew more strained and less controlled.

“Close, close, close,” he repeated.

It didn’t take his chased release to catch up as his hips grew to a stutter, rutting out one final pump before melting into you. Mr. Crawling cried into your neck, spilling out the entirety of his overflowing love, feeling the pent-up devotion trickle down your thighs—yet not letting you move away—still retaining his claim on you.

Instead, he kept you even closer than before, not allowing you to part from him ever again (despite understanding your yearning for rest).

Words were never the problem, it seemed.

Mr. Crawling would have always found a way to… connect with you.

[wombrion]

[danidoesathing]

[tariah23]

The manga industry, especially JUMP, needs to hurry up and do away with weekly scheduling for mangaka. There needs to better regulations put into place for their health and safety because this is pitiful. Two weeks - monthly updates should’ve already been the standard for the manga industry at this point. These money grabbers will only continue to put the lives of these artists at stake for the sake of capitalism unless some serious changes are implemented.

[qzish]

i don’t even know man

[keywhole]

there's only four players. curly sat out. no one talk to me (except there's more under the cut)

something about anya and daisuke getting really into games, really into joy is something so special pre-crash. the fact that daisuke is considered "always insanely lucky", too, has importance, even though curly is just talking about board games. when curly breaks the news to everyone and jimmy goes off on his rant, he doubles down about how daisuke will be fine because of his parents, making him, supposedly, "the lucky one."

in the end, daisuke climbed through a vent just to witness either the final moments of anya's life, or to be face-to-face with her corpse. no one could stop it from happening, but jimmy had put so much pressure on him to "save her and curly". when jimmy goes into the medbay looking for disinfectant and he looks to the vent, he says "at least he made it out the other side". was that luck?

daisuke truly was just a damn good kid trying his best.

[crumb-crumblet-s-crumbington]

strange animal attempts to show affection for the first time ever

[disastersappho]

the sunshine court really put the original trilogy in a new light bc we finally see just. regular college students. they go to get boba. they have a cute gay apartment. they actually go to classes. and then we have jean, neil, andrew, kevin, and the rest of the foxes who are just Not Having a Normal Time between unresolved oodles of trauma, not a single stable home life in sight, oh also and the literal mafia. — their metric for being Okay is just,,, not helpful. but trying to picture jean just like— in my econ section. hanging out at someone’s bday party on a saturday in socal. my man holding a corona and having no idea what to do with his hands. i cannot.

[egophiliac]

A guy who just wake up from a coma -> what did i miss?

Pomefiore was the last plot i follow before real life made me forget about our silly boys. How bad has the plot become now for our gang? Also who is that Gojo looking guy?

anon, I am so sorry and I mean this in the best way, but I do think episode 5 is the absolute funniest place to have stopped following Twst because shit starts escalating SO fast after that. episode 6 literally starts with a secret government shadow agency breaking down our doors and kidnapping students. zero to a million instantly.

and like...that's not even the zaniest thing so far? Ortho's hacked into the collective human unconscious. there's time travel (sort of). "Crowley might be Malleus' long-lost father" is a serious theory. if you'd told me any of this back pre-episode 6, I would have asked for the link to this unbelievable but highly intriguing fanfic.

also, episode 7 gave us (and then immediately took away 😔) the best character in the whole story:

[saurinzz]

the reason i love Andrew is so simple; this man will not even acknowledge Neil when he's there but the second he dissapears he'll litterally tear down an entire exy stadium in hopes of finding any clue so he can go save him himself.