#like cant my brain just be nice to me

[dandylion-s]

I had a panic attack in my motherfucking sleep how is that fucking possible

[lemongogo]

[theshy1sout]

I just got the randomest talk with a coworker I haven't known before:

Coworker, being bored: So... Would you ever like to go to Peru?

Me: Huh, why not? I've got a friend there.

Coworker: Really? In Peru? That's so far! How did you two meet?

Me: Oh, in fandom.

Coworker: What fandom?

Me, smiling shyly, knowing that the guy will laugh at me: Lego Monkie Kid fandom

Coworker: What's that?

Me: It's a funny cartoon with nice animation. It's about a kid being Wukong's successor and stuff. I really like it

Coworker: *grabs a pen and a piece of paper and writes down with capital letters LEGO MONKIE KID* nice, I'm gonna watch it right after Arcane

[ciimarron]

this is so ass im so sorry

[crunchycrystals]

minecraft movie looks fuckign awful and i genuinely wish it was a lego movie type of thing. but i do think the vids i see of people screaming the meme lines and stuff look like such a fun experience

[telesodalite]

Hey, uh? Any scavengers fans wanna share their fav headcanons?

[varietysky]

aa someone who can handle The Thing but not that first episode of Doom Patrol, I honestly have no idea how I'll do with the body horror in The Substance.... but I hear it's a great movie

[sentientsky]

lady cassandra o’brien really truly is nikola orsinov’s wildest fucking dream

[lanternlightss]

as of late i have been haunted by the thoughts of venti + vennessa + nameless bard polycule . they are . in mybrain

[lemongogo]

[wackywatchdotcom]

actually honestly yeah theres def some sort of rotation system my brain has for discussing tadc characters.... pomnis always in the middle of the circle but whatever character i am drawing a lot is is arranged nin a circle and i just loop thru them. that or its more like a spinning wheel and it randomly selecte a character every 1-3 days for me to draw a bunch and then draw someone else

[bushpoppy]

Matched with someone with ‘ofos femme 4 butch’ in her tinder bio like eleven days ago and she messaged me right after we matched but I didn’t have the app downloaded at the time so I didn’t see it for like four days, and I messaged her immediately when I saw it but she hasn’t replied and it’s been like a week 😭 needless to say she’s living rent free in my mind

[telesodalite]

Thinking about KrokFire...

Thinking about them sparring in the cargohold, because it's a long trip, and cabin fever is setting in, and Misfire is gonna pop a gasket if he doesn't do something about it soon, since flying in open space gets real boring real fast, and it's making everyone a little nervous, but Krok has time to kill, and maybe, quietly, he's also two steps away from doing something stupid just to feel alive again after cruising around pointlessly, mindlessly, endlessly, for so so long... (It's barely been a month)

And sure, Misfire is a terrible sparring partner. He has no technique, no concept of proper balance, or an inkling of how to use the weight of his own frame. He rushes headfirst like he's more bull than fighter jet, he talks too much, he spits, he bites, and he can't stand losing. But, in a roundabout way, it almost makes him the perfect partner in Krok's eyes.

Crankcase won't spar, "can't" he claims flatly, gesturing at the gaping hole in his helm, but Krok can respect his want for distance. That occasional flash of fear and frozen unease in Crankcase's visor in close combat doesn't go over his head. He knows that look. He gets it. He won't push.

Fulcrum... well, a streetlight might be a tougher fight, or at least it would stay up longer and complain less. So much for a once respectable officer of the empire. What was Deathsaurus' command thinking promoting anyone without any actual combat training? It would almost be pathetic if Fulcrum didn't find a way to put the vitriol of thrown fists into his words instead. Now there was some swears Krok hadn't heard in a couple millennia, it would be inspiring if it wasn't his own spark Fulcrum had been damning to the pits and back through a bloody nose.

Spinister? Now Spinister was a good fighter, a better fighter, Krok wasn't so prideful to deny that truth. He'd tasted the dust of the cargohold floor enough to know it was a definitive fact. But Spinister held back, he was careful, he matched Krok's pace, his movements, he held himself defensively, any attack was quick, simple, and merely restraining. It was less a fight, and more a waiting game until Krok finally gave up, and that... well, that did sting a bit.

But Misfire? Misfire was a different beast all together. Sure Krok could dance circles around the flier all day, but it wasn't totally effortless work, he had to stay sharp, Misfire was so predictably unpredictable, he kept him thinking, moving, on his toes, and maybe it felt good to sidestep another stupid headfirst charge, easily grabbing and swinging Misfire around by his arm, so unbalanced all Krok had to do was let him go, and the weight of his own frame would send him careening into the crates stacked around them.

Most days, Misfire would give up by then, pull himself off the pile of overturned cargo with no small amount of burning shame and frustration, as he avoided Krok's optics and stormed off into the bowels of the ship before Krok could say something to ease the sting of losing again and again. Misfire didn't want his apologies though, and even as a pang of guilt ate at him over it, Krok knew he'd be back eventually.

But today, too pent-up and bored to quit now, Misfire pushed himself back onto his feet and charged back in again, and again, and again.

And Krok moved with him again, and again, and again. It was almost repetitive, but lively enough that he could feel the energon pumping through his head, a thrumming beat in his audials that reminds him of deafening battlefields and roaring stadiums, and oh, he'd missed this feeling, the adrenaline, the movement, more so than he thought he did.

Maybe it's the overconfidence that gets him then, or the memories pulling him out of the present, but Misfire's fist suddenly comes slamming down into his mask, and for a moment everything becomes a blur, until he finds himself on the floor, clutching at the shattered metal falling from his face in disbelief.

Faintly he can feel the twinge of broken mesh, of pain pinching dully across scarred flickering sensors, and maybe it's the adrenaline that pulls a suprised and breathy laugh out of him as he stares down at the pieces in his hand.

Maybe it's also the disbelief, the sudden shock at being struck hard enough to break his mask, by Misfire of all mechs. Or maybe he's cracked his helm, finally snapping something important deep in his processor, some vital function that kept him sane all these years.

Either way, an old familiar buzz of heady energy fills his chest, loosening his joints and straightening his struts as he stands back up, brushing off the broken remains of his mask as he stares back at Misfire, barefaced and bleeding and amused as the flier's optics go bright and wide.

And all Misfire can do for a moment is stand there, wide-eyed and breathless, his own adrenaline filled frame and hammering processor still trying to make sense of the broken plating of his knuckles and the energon trickling down Krok's scarred lips.

But connections are made, and it's a panicked realization at first, a cold dread, a 'ohhhhh fuck oh primus I fucked up I'm dead I'm so fucking dead-!' sort of feeling, as Krok's marred face breaks into an energon stained grin. But then there's another feeling, growing somewhere underneath the panic, a sudden curl of heat in his chest, a flush of pride, conviction, a sort of frenzied joy at the sight of broken mesh and fresh energon, and another rush of hot anticipation as Krok began to move again, circling, waiting, an unspoken question in the air as he rolls his shoulders back and flexes his hands.

And Misfire answers eagerly, suprising himself almost as he charges foward again, wanting more of that feeling, wanting to win again.

It's not really sparring past this point, and somewhere in the back of their minds they both know that. Every strike, every kick, every punch, it's all thoughtless instinct, each clash of plating, and bite of denta, and scrape of fingertips, is part of a mad dash for victory in the gladiator pit of scrap and debris they've built around themselves.

Of course, it can't last forever. They're no real gladiators, no phase-sixers, no primes, and movements get sluggish, vents rattle and wheeze as coolant pumps reach their limits, and building condensation slides powerless punches right off of scuffed metal and mesh.

Even like this though, worn out and bleeding from more scrapes than he had half a mind to count, Krok is still better, and Misfire is still predictable, and it's no great feat to sweep his legs out from beneath him, landing him flat on the floor, wings spread out and chestplate heaving.

Overworked joints sharply protest as he goes to pin the flier down bodily, and finally Krok faces the fact he has to consider how to end this, so he might let his own beaten frame finally still for a moment to breathe.

But as Krok catches one flailing arm in his grip, scoffing at the desperation, still goading Misfire on even as he tries to end this, a hand stubbornly catches his throat, but stops before it can truly squeeze.

And once more they're not really moving, just staring, watching, but it's less wired and tense now, rather, its shaky, a little unfocused, as exhaustion filters out in heaving puffs of hot air between their frames.

Someone's plating is rattling, Krok isn't sure if it's his own or Misfire's, but the cost of adrenaline is painfully noticeable now. His grip loosens on Misfire's arms, and the idea of total victory is less sweet as his cables begin to ache throughout his inner-framework.

But Misfire's hand slides up to catch his jaw before he can lean back and relent to a truce, and he's pulling him closer, and Krok starts to push him off, call it quits before either of them breaks something past repair, but a flash of energon on Misfire lips catches his eye, and that hadn't been there a moment ago?

Before he can even begin to ask what that was supposed to mean, Misfire is pulling him down again, angling his helm upwards to feverishly meet his lips half-way.

Although the mesh of Misfire's face was throughly bruised and scuffed, Krok had frustratingly failed to return the favor of a busted lip. So, it had to be his own, smeared across Misfire's face at some point in the scuffle, it shouldn't have been interesting in the slightest, but Krok's processor was hazy, slow, and his optics trailed Misfire's glossa as he licked his lips and made an odd curious sound.

And maybe it was a stupid move to make so impulsively, one he'd regret making probably, but still too caught up in the waning heated high of the fight, Misfire figured he could worry about losing such a hard-earned battle later. Right now, this seemed far better than actually winning, and the taste of Krok's energon felt like a victory and reward nonetheless.

Bracing himself as Misfire wriggled his other hand free to splay out over his thigh, holding him desperately against his frame as he tried pulling him even closer, Krok considered the heat dispersion warnings flickering distractingly in his peripheral, and the very noticeable strain on his back and legs, even his arms.

It's not a great position to be in right now, after all they've done already. He'll regret it, he knows he will, his body will make sure of it, if Spinister doesn't first.

But then Misfire's glossa is sliding against the jagged edges of his teeth, and he's making hoarse little pathetic noises into Krok's mouth that stoke some sort of ego at having the flier so desperate beneath him, and Misfire's hands are warm and heavy over aching plating and seams, and really, on second thought, after weeks of boredom, why the hell not?

They've got nowhere to be.

[gemharvest]

I think I need to accept I'm having some kind of episode. Not because it makes anything better, but like. Idk I keep feeling bad that I am having Moments but I'm just not getting any better. I can Not Feel It for a good period of time but them something snaps and it just takes me over. I feel like The Calm is the exception to my rule of misery rn.

[gomzdrawfr]

Gomzzzzz hello!!! I’ve been lurking in your blog for like, over a year now and I just wanted to say, your art is so freaking amazing and cute....the big cheeks!! I’ve always struggled with confidence in my own work, to the point where sharing anything felt almost impossible (stare at my stuff for hours only to delete them) But seeing you do your thing? I decided to try posting too. Okay it took a while but when I did I was fully expecting it to get like… 2 likes, max. But then YOU reblogged it, and my phone basically exploded. I’m not even kidding—my notifications were wild, and for the first time, I actually felt proud of something I made. It might sound silly and you probably don't know which art of mine you reblog but it really hyped me up and frankly...i found back the feel to draw again. I can't thank you enough for doing what you do, for making cod space a better and nicer place (your reblogs on others are always soooo positive and top tier)

Anyway, I’m keeping myself anonymous because, uhhh, social anxiety vibes and don’t want to overwhelm you;w; but I hope you know how much you’ve impacted people like me just by being yourself. I’m wishing you the absolute best for 2025!! zapping you with my beams to give you braincells for your school stuff

you deserve all the good things fr

-🦈

🥹

CryING iN THE CLUB— (my room)

Shark anon, thank you for the sweetest words, I really needed this today…and I’m so proud of you for finding back the love to draw again. I hope 2025 will be a blast for you too man!! Remember to take rest and have a good year ahead

[icewindandboringhorror]

"We can get through this by working together, reach out to your friends, community is all we have, a social network will be your security in the world, now is the time to lean on others!"

I do agree, and it's scientifically sound (pretty sure there is data about how people with better social networks live longer and etc) but also....augh..... what about the severe social issues, difficulty to leave the house, physical issues which lead to like zero socialization energy a majority of the time, etc. etc. Social support can be a replacement for structural support, but.. I guess I just wish it didn't have to be. Community is extremely difficult to build, even moreso if you're someone who has issues with social cues or group conversations or even just being around others in the first place. And blah, nuance, of course I'm just complaining or maybe being too negative or maybe misunderstanding, but, I hardly have the energy to brush my hair once every 2 months.. how am I supposed to maintain a wide social network and be active in a Community and Join Groups lol... sometimes it kind of feels like "er.. well if thats my only option then...... ruh roh". It's overwhelming