#it’s embarrassing how easy

[cyb3r-mutt]

Sometimes I think oh I could totally brat but then I remember that I fold like a cheap tent at the slightest hint of possibly being praised

[lupins-hehim-pussy]

[ ID in ALT ]

he giggles

[ln4wins]

he may not realistically be in the battle for the drivers championship anymore, however that doesn’t at all minimise just how proud i am of all lando has achieved this season. 3 wins (including his maiden), 7 poles, 12 podiums, leading his team to first place in the constructors championship, securing the most points of any mclaren driver in history. and that’s just on track, off it i am immensely proud of his growth too, from being someone who always saw everything as glass half full and was always so hard on himself, to the way he now talks in interviews you can see his confidence and belief in his own abilities has come on so far (as it should). it’s so nice to see how far he’s come from the little boy who started out in f1 so many years ago. maybe this year wasn’t his for the championship but mark my words, his time will come.

[canisalbus]

I am watching 2023's Haunted Mansion adaptation and this dog, ignoring the colors & scrawniness, made me go "VASCO?!?!"

.

[unnonexistence]

hermann thoughts: if i discredit newton and his approach enough, the martial won't give him the equipment for his kaiju drift, and i can protect him from himself. if he despises me for it, so be it. there is little i wouldn't sacrifice to see him safe.

newt thoughts: this is a Best Science competition and i have to Win

[quikyu]

The Loyal Three Blast Off

(Sketched, scanned, and digitally touched up! Alt text included!)

[daily-hanamura]

[butchharts]

would you develop stockholm syndrome if i was your kidnapper? I promise I’d treat you sooo well

[nulllray]

rid15 star practice ft. a glimpse into my twisted mind

[brown-little-robin]

okay, I'm crowdsourcing advice for a minute, so bear with me and please lend some words if you have any:

I want to get out of the house more. Like, on a regular basis. Weekly, maybe. Preferably, I would like to be interacting with people—the same people—every time, for... like... accountability, but also because I am hoping to put myself out there as the 21st century's most neurotic platonic Casanova. Uh. Making a friend or more out of this would be desirable. But I think if I go out with the intention of making a friend, I will be disappointed.

So. I want to go do something, for that something's own sake. I don't want to go be fake once a week hoping to get a friend out of it.

However, the beautiful state of Iowa is a bit cultureless, and I am too introverted and easily overwhelmed for this world (e.g. going to bars is probably not gonna be my thing). So.... I guess.... any suggestions? opinions? thoughts on making friends in general, or finding good activities as an introverted adult, in general?

oh yeah, also: I am poor. that's a factor. so. signing up a class or similar is not a great option right now.

what the heck, I'll add a silly poll for fun:

[friendlyengie]

can you guys watch him while I go smoke

[candyheartedchy]

Chy PLEASE drop the character crush 👀

(we all in this together song plays CUZ)

sigh….. it’s him….

[hiskillingjar]

Yoo what if Lawrence x mc with a knife kink and they be fuckin... like lawrence learns of the knife kink

i'm in the mood to write some stuff for law. be prepared for that!

1200+ words, cw for self harm mentions, same MC as this fic

"It was my grandad's in Vietnam,"

It was late in the musky apartment, and you were a little high (as you so often were) when you pulled the pocket knife from your messenger bag, unfolding it and holding it out for Law to look at.

The blade was probably shiny once, but it had been spotted with brown rust since you'd been given it, and its hollow, wooden handle was on the verge of splintering (wrapped up with white, packing tape) and black with mould, showing its age, what it had seen, the life it had lived before it was put in your hands.

“Cool, right?” You then asked, holding the dirty blade against your palm.

Law lowered the joint from their lips, sleepy (dead) grey eyes blinking as they sat up and stared at the knife.

You couldn’t stop yourself from smiling proudly at their somewhat impressed expression.

"I always carry it when I'm out," You explained nonchalantly, taking the burning joint as you passed them the knife, raising it to your lips for a slow drag, heat burning in your lungs as you quickly breathed out. You still weren’t very good at smoking weed, but you were getting better at it. "But I have more at my apartment, vintage ones, new ones. I collect them."

"You collect them?" They repeated, looking up at you with a raised brow. "That's probably-"

"Probably a little concerning, right?" You asked with a little titter, leaning back on the bed, spreading your legs lazily, your skirt hiking higher up your thighs, exposing dashed white scars under your fishnets. "Come on, don't play therapist with me, Law. It doesn't suit you."

"I was actually going to say it's probably a little stereotypical," They replied, a slight and uncharacteristic smirk on their lips. "You’re a trans girl obsessed with knives...that's kind of obvious, even for you, isn't it?"

You barked out a laugh, sitting up quickly (not closing your legs).

"Look at herrr though," You drawled through your giggles, pitching your voice up to the catty drawl you and your girlfriends sometimes spoke to each other in, taking the knife back when they held it out to you. "Clocking me for my phallic fixations. I didn’t know you had jokes, Law.” You grinned. “You're gonna have a field day when you show you my gun, aren't you?"

"You…really have a gun?" They asked after a moment, lowering their voice as they took the joint back for another drag. “Isn’t that illegal?”

They had the priorities sorted, it seemed.

"I mean, just one," You said with a shake of your head, watching as they breathed out a thick mouthful of smoke. "And it's, like...plugged up with so much junk that it doesn't work. It’s probably as legal as your joint," You gestured towards it and huffed out another little titter, feeling oddly defensive. “Like, I’m not gonna go flashing it to the cops, but I don’t think they’re gonna bust down my door for it.”

They nodded their head slowly, taking another drag of the joint.

You knew that they weren’t calling you out. They didn’t care about you owning weapons, just like you didn’t care about the dead animals they had rotting in barrels in the forest.

They were both parts of you that you didn’t make public to polite society but kept to yourselves and, occasionally, each other.

You knew how meaningful that was. And how important it was for you to have someone you could be authentic with.

You wondered…

"Sometimes…” You stared with a little sigh, slowly lowering the blade of the knife to your thigh, running it along one of your dashed, white scars. “I cut myself and I swear …I can feel the pain of everyone it's ever hurt inside of me. Like a pulsing heat."

You cut through one of the segments of your fishnets, exposing flesh and showing off your scars.

Law’s eyes glanced up lazily, just enough to make you feel desirable.

"You think it's hurt other people?" Law asked softly, lowering the burned-out joint to the ashtray at their bedside.

Figures, they wouldn't care about you hurting yourself, or give a second glance to your self-harm scars. 

That's what you liked about them though. They didn't ask questions.

"It's a product of war," You said like it was obvious, pressing a little more pressure against the knife, making the skin underneath it turn white. "Of course, it's hurt people…that’s, like, all it was made to do."

"Mm, that was lifetimes ago, though," They drawled, leaning forward and running a hand (big, made you feel small, made you feel delicate) over your knee, not stopping you as the rusty blade started to split your skin. They never did stop you, though. "You've kind of taken it and...made it your own, you know? It's kind of like you, in that way."

"Mm?"

"You...existed as one thing," They explained, reaching out for the knife with long, bony figures and waiting for you to give it to them, which you did readily, obediently. "And now you exist as something else. Just like this knife was once a product of war, and now it's a...tool for your pleasure, mm?"

"Pleasure," You repeated with a huffed laugh, trembling with pain as they pressed the blade against the bleeding cut, teasing the skin open more, making the wound that much harder to heal. "That's a funny way of putting it, Law."

"You're hard," They said, a little bluntly, using the blade of the knife to flick up your skirt (the gesture made your cheeks flush and your knees tighten together), showing your cock pressing tight against the bars of your chastity cage. It was less of a symbol of your submission to them (the two of you were above such binary concepts, after all) as it was a symbol of your devotion, your promise to remain faithful, your promise to not do anything they didn’t agree to. "Or, harder than you usually are. You must be enjoying something about this…"

"Okay," You huffed again, hissing as they dragged another shallow cut into your thigh, severing more segments of your tights. "Let me hold onto one phallic symbol, can you? If I’m now allowed the other…"

"Sure," They replied, taking your sarcastic retort seriously (they weren’t good at picking up on sarcasm) as they continued to stroke your scar-patterned skin with the blade. “Whatever you want…”

You breathed out unsteadily as their other hand reached up your thigh, their thumb tracing over the twin cuts tenderly, smearing blood and tracing the lines of muscle that they had inadvertently exposed.

“You have a good pain tolerance,” They observed as they dragged a third cut into your skin, their gaze going up to your face to watch you as you bit your lip, a bead of sweat running down your cheek as you tried, with all your might, to not flinch or whimper.

“Thanks,” You murmured with a sardonic smile, leaning back on the bed as they kept rubbing at your cuts. “Hh…I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should,” They replied with a smile, gentle and eerie and unnervingly sweet.

“I meant it as one.”

[skiptoyuri]

can i be so honest and say i feel like the whole 'kabru wants to kill laios' thing, joke or not, is overplayed kinda a lot in fanon. i find it a bit frustrating! like yeah haha funny but also .

kabru at his most honest and vulnerable explicitly says he doesn't want to!!!!! it's clear through his actions as well!!! he saved laios (and party!) on multiple occasions even!!!! he would be six feet under at this point if that's really want kabru actually really genuinely wanted 😭😭😭

[thebestusernamepossible]

I’m mostly staying off the Mouthwashing fandom bc I personally don’t want to put myself through whatever discourse is ever going on there. But know I love Anya and Mouthwashing is one of the best games I’ve played that had an SA survivor AND was respectful about it!! The abuse Anya suffered is never portrayed as a spectical for the audience to leer at. They use the art of implication VERY well, and in the end Anya gets to go out dignified. She’s not just Jimmy’s tradgic victim, she’s her own character who makes her own decisions. Jimmy doesn’t get to kill her, she expresses her own agency to do so. She’s also the one who kept the gun away from him for so long. Also she’s SO fucking strong, she’s so cool. Anya I love you.

Also the game’s overarching (but subtle) commentary on rape culture, enabling, and how capitalism almost makes a set dressing for it is peak.

[rashfcrd]

thank god save and hope are together bc no one else should have to deal with them 😭