#of a fucking panic attack

[dykeredhood]

I am having. a weird fucking time.

[stump-not-found]

mabel pines #1 hater

[inkskinned]

hey btw if you're in the USA at  2:20 p.m. ET on Wednesday, Oct. 4, they're testing the emergency broadcast system. your phone is probably going to make a really loud noise, even if it's on silent. there's a backup date on the 11th if they need to postpone it.

if you're not in a safe situation and have an extra phone, you should turn that phone completely off beforehand.

additionally, if you're like me, and are easily startled; i recommend treating it like a party. have a countdown or something. be surrounded by your loved ones. take the actions you personally need to take to make yourself safe.

i have already seen mockery towards any person who feels nervous about this. for the record, it completely, completely valid to have "emergency broadcast sounds" be an anxiety trigger. do not let other people make fun of you for that. emergency sounds are legitimately engineered to make us take action; those of us with high levels of anxiety and/or neurodivergence are already pre-disposed to have a Bad Time. sometimes it is best to acknowledge that the situation will be triggering for some, and to prepare for that; rather than just saying "well that's stupid, it's just a test."

"loud scary sound time" isn't like, my favorite thing, but we can at least try to prevent some additional anxiety by preparing for it. maybe get yourself a cake? noise cancelling headphones? the new hozier album? whatever helps. love u, hope you're okay. we are gonna ride it out together.

[mothgenes]

Part 3

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

[illmoraineakoi]

Just noticed something I thought was very interesting:

Victim depicts the Cursor as being giant in comparison to himself

When in reality this just wasn't true.

Victim's fear and trauma has caused him to re-imagine the Cursor into a much bigger monster than it ever was, something huge and horrible and capable of crushing him like a bug. A scale and strength fitting of how terrifying Victim considers it to be.

As opposed to the little thing barely bigger than his own head.

Except, those drawings look a little familiar...

This is literally Victim's worst nightmares made real.

Something tells me things aren't going to go very well, if the Cursor does end up being summoned into Rocket Corp...

[strwbrryfire]

[seldompathic]

Too much fear in familiar blue eyes for his liking :((

[boarloved-art]

Wei Wuxian should be able to get drunk for once. I think he'd either be singing bawdy drinking songs on the roof of the Jingshi or he'd be getting irrevocably lost no matter where he is. He's found in the bushes behind the mountains like a cryptid, and then he's like "I can't believe you all got lost" (extremely slurred) as if he didn't get embarrassed by something Lan Wangji had said and just somehow disappeared when everyone looked back at him

oh ABSOLUTELY im walking with u and nodding and agreeing, i can see him becoming an absolute menace to keep track of at his drunkest.

anyway heres wonderwall The Gang (Wangxian & their fave group of ducklings) in a city known for its STRONG wine and wuxian being like well. ur all grown now, youre technically not juniors anymore. we have to see whos lasting the longest against this stuff!, smash cut to a suspiciously wei ying-less group of the worlds drunkest cultivators being wrangled through the woods by designated driver hanguang-jun, with at least 2 of them clinging to his robes at all times.

[ianitegal56]

I saw Godzilla Minus One and he is quite literally one of god's silliest showa scientists

[carhorno]

felt called out with this latest chapter

anyways go follow @3koboldsinahoodie so YOU can get notified as soon as a new chapter is uploaded :333

go read this fic now im losing my mind over it

Alt styles because i'm indecisive anyways love y'all

[cupophrogs]

How powerful is the anon magic? Because what if I just....

REVIVE MAMA SPIDER REVIVE MAMA SPIDER REVIVE MAMA SPIDER REVIVE MAMA SPIDER

“That may not be the best idea. I’m sorry.”

(scene inspired by @bumblehoneybee's fic "You're Safe With Me" GO READ IT NOW)

[sgt-tombstone]

headcanon that Ghost doesn’t know how to drive a manual transmission. Military vehicles are all automatic, and he’d never had a reason or opportunity to learn, so he just… hadn’t. At least, not well. He’d driven stick shifts enough to understand the basics and not stall every time he got behind the wheel, but it’s not something he’s super comfortable with

When he retires (or is forced to retire), the car that Price sets him up with is a manual. He makes it back to the flat (that Price also set him up with) with no small amount of frustration, and he spends the rest of the following week in a state of near-paralysis

If it were just the car, it would be fine. He’s not afraid of learning new things, and he’s definitely not one to let his own pride get in the way of being a functional adult human being. But it’s not just the car. It’s the disruption to his whole routine, the stark unfamiliarity of civilian life, the fundamental alteration of his entire life being uprooted and hastily replanted. The car is just the physical embodiment of it

He’s avoids driving as much as possible, because he hates the reminder that things are different. If he just stays in his flat, he can almost pretend that he’s just on leave. So he lives on take-out, he doesn’t furnish his flat past the bare essentials, he doesn’t let himself settle in

It all comes to a head when Johnny tries to visit on his leave. He asks Simon to pick him up at the airport, and Simon… can’t. He’s built such a mental barrier around his car, the physical manifestation of everything slipping out of control in his life, and he just… can’t

He calls Johnny, who’s obviously still at the airport if the background noise is any indication, and he pours it all out. The empty flat, the constant take-out, the unmoored feeling, and above all, the fucking car. He’s scared, he’s alone, he’s in over his head, and it’s the first time he’s admitted any of it. When he finishes his outpouring of uncharacteristic emotion, Johnny just says, “I’ll help you buy a new car,” like it’s that easy, like that will solve everything

And it does, because the car was never just a car. Johnny cashes in all of his built-up leave time and helps Simon pick out a new (automatic transmission) car. He helps Simon shop for furniture, even if it takes all day and they both leave the store frustrated with nothing to show for it. He helps Simon stock his pantry with ingredients, snacks, and pre-prepared meals, because some days are worse than others. He helps Simon get his feet underneath him, because it’s something he’s never had to do before

He never drives a manual transmission again and he thinks that maybe that’s okay

[melon-fodder]

cw: fingering, female orgasms, praise (?)

~

It takes a long time for Shouta to get you off.

It has nothing to do with him; he has plenty of experience and the patience of a saint. No, it’s entirely you.

He’s assured you a few times that he doesn’t care how long it takes or how messy you get or what sounds your body makes. He’s a grown fucking man. Still, you shrug it off, tell him that you’re more than okay with toys. You found what works for you and want to stick with it, and okay, he won’t argue. Your comfort is his top priority after all.

The sex is great, ranging from loving, languid sessions in the early morning hours to dirty fucking that makes it hard to look each other in the eye the following day. No matter what, though, it always ends with you and your vibrator. Sometimes you stay in bed, let Shouta watch with half-lidded eyes. Other times you scurry off to the bathroom so you can just hop in the shower when you’re finished.

He doesn’t take it personally, mostly because he knows he’d be able to get you off if given the chance. Not frustrated, just curious.

It takes months for you to finally let this wall down, and it’s only because you’re half delirious from Shouta’s fingers relentlessly toying with you for the last half hour. You don’t say it explicitly, no sweet little whine of please make me cum, sho (you’ll get there eventually). You just don’t tell him to stop, so he doesn’t.

Kneeling between your spread legs, Shouta listens to the way your breath hitches over and over again, little hiccups that turn into little mewls that turn into whispered swears and drawn out moans. Your thighs twitch every time he brushes your clit, whole body trembling when he dedicates most of his attention to the slick bud.

Your facial expression changes by the second, scrunched up as if in pain for a moment only to go completely slack the next. You squeeze your eyes shut only for them to pop back open in something like alarm before rolling into the back of your head.

He slips a finger inside of you to give you something to clench around, gives your clit a little break as he massages up and down your leaky slit, then picks back up.

Your body jack-knifes, air punched from your lungs, but still you don���t tell him to stop.

Shouta stares, his own heart starting to beat faster and harder as you quake beneath him. You moan his name. Gasp. Whimper. Keen. Pulled tight like a bowstring, fingers twitching, lip caught between your teeth. It looks like you’re being tortured.

Except slick is dripping from your pussy, seeping out around the fingers you’re fluttering around, and at this point if you asked him to stop, Shouta isn’t sure he’d be able to.

Because you’re so pretty, so fucking cute like this, chest moving rapidly with breaths that are much too shallow. Your lips part and tremble, forming the shape of a word only to be cut off by some animalistic noise. Your eyes are still rolling everywhere and nowhere, eyebrows knit together, and it seems like you’re on the edge forever. Shouta doesn’t think you can get any more tense than you are, and yet you somehow manage. He’s got you wound so tight, it’s a wonder your muscles aren’t cramping. Are you even breathing at all?

Your back arches suddenly, painfully, a broken moan pouring from your mouth, and then you’re spasming around his fingers, undulating and sobbing and cumming harder than Shouta ever thought possible.

“Oh g-god fu—oh~”

You’re unintelligible, gasping and panicking as your hips keep rolling. Shouta stops the onslaught on your clit but doesn’t remove his fingers, lets you clench around them as he moves to hover over you.

He shushes you gently, presses his forehead against yours and tells you, “deep breath, baby, it’s okay, just take a deep breath for me.”

And you do. It’s a fractured, shuddering thing, but it fills your chest, and Shouta nods in approval. “Good, good job, just like that. Again.”

Your eyes slowly lock onto his, not quite so wide anymore but now brimming with tears. You aren’t trembling the way you were before, simply shivering as if in some form of shock.

You whimper when he withdraws his fingers, but Shouta just nuzzles against your cheek, wiping his hand on the sheets before bringing it up to swipe the tears from your cheeks.

“You back with me?” he asks with a smile you can’t see. You take another deep breath and nod. “Good, that was so good.”

He’s not all that surprised when you wrap your arms around him and pull him down on top of you.

“Deep pressure,” you rasp, and Shouta chuckles, situating himself so that you’re taking the weight of his torso while his lower half rests between your legs.

You shake for a little while longer, humming every now and then as he strokes your hair, until your breaths resume a more even pace.

“Always more intense when it’s not my own hand,” you muse, voice quiet and strained, and Shouta makes a noise of acknowledgement to show he’s listening, “but that was… I didn’t think…”

He angles his face to stare at you now, eyebrow quirked. “You mean that’s not how it always is for you? I figured that was why you never let me…”

You shake your head. “No, I just go for my vibrator cause I’m impatient. Wasn’t trying to hide anything from you. If I knew it could be like that, though…”

Shouta presses a kiss to your sternum before pushing himself back up to his hands and knees.

“What, you would’ve let me do this sooner?” He’s a little too smug about it, especially considering how genuinely concerned he was just minutes ago. Now that you’ve calmed down, though, he can actually bask in the fact that he basically had your brains melting out of your fucking ears.

The sound that comes out of you is an incredulous sort of gurgle. Shouta doesn’t give you time to try to expand on it, just noses up your neck and teases in that deep voice he knows you love, “Will you let me do it again?”

[sleepyicon]

blitz was selfish af for not letting millie carry out the job just bc it reminded him of his imaginary family with stolas. it’s fucking sinsmas let her get paid.

[elsecrytt]

masochist gojo. gojo who's in love with pain, so much that it feels like pleasure, he can barely distinguish between the two anymore.

gojo who's so starved for touch. who's had an infinite space between himself and the whole world for so long, for so many years, every day in and day out.

gojo who's survived off glancing presses when a barista hands him a coffee, the rare hug from his students (who are mostly orphans) that he can't bring himself to decline.

gojo who craves more but can't bring himself to accept it except in fleeting moments with strangers or students.

his hands that long to be held. he wants it so bad that he teases a cursed spirit, laces his fingers with its own, right before he utterly crushes the being in battle, untouchable all over again.

gojo whose skin is hungry for someone else's. he hasn't felt the warmth of a hand in his own in so long. not since - since his youth.

gojo who sometimes wishes he could get hit. who sees the impact of curse techniques on his infinity and feels a wild, strange desire for them to go straight through and strike him.

he imagines it, vividly, being impaled by a long spear (inverted spear) that goes straight through him. how it would lance his flesh so cleanly.

being struck so hard, across the face, in the stomach, enough to knock the wind out of him.

enough to feel it with his whole body.

gojo who wants to be touched so bad he doesn't even care if it hurts anymore. infinity couldn't protect him from geto's betrayal.

gojo who keeps infinity up not because he doesn't want to get hit, but because he's terrified of what he might do when it happens.

gojo who got hard whenever geto sparred with him. he still doesn't know if it was because of geto, or because he had no infinity back then, no way to block the strikes.

he dreams of his youth. bruises littering his pale, pretty form like kisses, proof that he was human, there, that there was someone who could reach him.

dark purple things that turned pretty colors as they healed. he remembers pressing into them, relishing the hurt, feeling like he was getting hit (touched, reached, connected) all over again.

nothing ever touches him again. not like that. not like anything.

he never feels it. he never feels anything.

satoru gojo who wants, so very very badly, to feel something.

pain is a choice for him, always a choice. he alone has the privilege of deciding whether or not anything can touch him.

he could try to let more strangers touch him. one night stands, discreet arrangements. he had a pretty face and a body to match. there was no shortage of willing partners.

he lets them touch him, lets them hurt him. lets them drool over his body and use it at their leisure. they tell him he's beautiful, and he believes them.

white hair, blue eyes, sprawled out with a lean, unmarred body full of bare flesh for them to bite and scratch and bruise. he finds people who will do it, do it hard, fuck him up until he's lost entirely in the feeling of being touched, having someone against him, with him, above him.

it makes him feel like a piece of meat. it makes him feel good.

or he thinks it does, anyways.

sometimes, when he's gone particularly long without sleep, when his partner has gone particularly hard, he gets a real rush.

heart racing out of his chest. a cold sweat that overwhelms him. breaths coming in labored gasps. he can heal himself, he's physically fine, so this must all be in his head.

he acknowledges that information, distantly, like it's not happening to him. it doesn't help.

it feels like part of his body has been ripped away from him, something vital and important, and it's about to get up and run away.

always, always, it happens when his partner is no longer touching him. when he lays alone in the sheets, by his own volition, because of course these partners are not meant to be attachments.

love is not a privilege, though, not for the strongest sorcerer. it's a curse.

it's the only curse which infinity cannot protect him from.

so gojo stays untouchable. distant.

but the hunger doesn't go away. never.

he likes to imagine that suguru swallowed this one last curse before he died. something sweet and bitter, like losses at the arcade, sunny days at the beach, walking together with shoko, nanami, haibara.

but even suguru couldn't have absorbed this curse. it's in his bones, deep, longing and wanting even after he's dead and gone.

gojo is hungry. he is so, so hungry. and he has nothing to eat that will not leave him just as empty as before.

touch-starved. love-starved. pain-craving.

if someone could hurt him then it wouldn't matter that he was terrified of attachment. they could latch onto him, into his heart, under his skin. bury themselves in his chest like they belonged.

they could kill a hundred and twelve people and it wouldn't matter, because he wouldn't be able to kill them.

gojo is hungry, so hungry.

please feed him.

[23z567]