#oops ?

[m1dori-eyes]

Oh I crucially misread the original post I thought you were making a hunter gatherer themed playlist

trying to find more songs for the playlist like a hunter and gatherer

[takomakiii]

best friends

[gayestcowboy]

trans demon 12

(uncensored)

[dreamsofhannah2]

𝓓𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓶𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝓗𝓪𝓷𝓷𝓪𝓱 2

[vjmars]

you dumped crude oil on kasane teto

IM DUMPING CRUDE OIL ON THE POST BELOW THIS

[puuuders]

What if when Terzo is gone omega sometimes stays up at night watching that silly kazoo video of Terzo and he laughs at it until eventually he starts to cry

[sushi-flavored]

I saw the template and it was just so them i had to do it

[a-whispering-echo]

Dust wasn’t expecting this.

Sure, he’d had a lot of strange shit happen to him in his life. But getting hit by a car? That wasn’t on his bingo card. It wasn’t even on the fucking board.

Lying on the cold asphalt, the world feels like a thousand broken pieces scattered across a canvas, all melting and bleeding into one another. The sky is upside down, a swirl of violet, green, and black, and his mind - his oh-so-broken mind - is trying to make sense of it. But it doesn’t make sense. The shapes behind his eyes are bouncing around like fireworks in a bottle, red and blue, dancing like little ghosts he started to see after the first hundred resets.

He giggles.

It’s not a laugh, not really. It’s a fractured sound, escaping from a place inside him that doesn’t care about the pain in his ribs, or the sharpness in his neck. It feels funny - the way his thoughts don’t quite line up, the way the world is bending at strange angles. Like a Salvador Dalí painting, all melting clocks and twisted perspectives.

People are screaming. They’re calling his name, but it feels distant. Far away, like a forgotten echo in an empty room. Dust.

Is that his name? Yeah, it is. Right?

He should answer, he should be more responsible, he should tell them he’s fine - tell them he’s just… giggling at the shapes. That everything is going to be fine, it always is, because it always is, right? But his tongue is like dead weight in his mouth, and his neck? Oh, his neck. It hurts. He tries to turn his head, but it’s as if someone put a metal vice around it. It’s odd, he thinks, and then he giggles again, louder this time, at how strange it all is.

Somewhere above him, Cross’s voice breaks through the noise. “Dust! Dust, can you hear me?”

It’s that high-pitched, worried tone. The kind Cross only used when he was too scared for his friends teammates - when the anxiety got the better of him. Normally, that tone of voice would have Killer or himself giggling at the poor monster like hyaenas, just to take comfort in the fac that someone cared enough about them to make that tone of voice at them. But Dust can’t feel the usual comfort of that voice right now. Instead, it sends a little pang of guilt through his chest.

I should answer him, Dust thinks.

Another voice, low and controlled, a bit calmer but no less urgent, joins in. “Dust, don’t move. Stay still. We’ve got you.”

The sound of shoes scraping across pavement. Hands, tentative but firm, wrapping around his shoulders. Horror. Dust can tell even without seeing his face - Horror’s got that quiet strength, the kind that’s always been there, holding them all together. Dust can feel his presence, even with his mind slipping and sliding away from him.

“Dustbin, hey, stay with me,” Killer’s voice cuts through next, that familiar playful edge still hanging in his tone, but it’s tinged with concern. “Come on, don’t leave me hanging, yeah? You gotta be alright. Don’t make me come down there and drag you back to reality.”

It’s so loud now, the cacophony of voices, and Dust can’t focus, can’t make sense of what’s happening, except that everyone sounds so damn worried, like he’s some fragile thing that might break at any moment.

Oh, right. He’s broken, isn’t he? Broken inside and out. The pieces of his mind are always scattered, like the pieces of this world that are spinning in front of him. There’s something comforting about it, though.

The pain. The shapes. The people calling his name.

He wants to laugh again, but the sounds inside his head are louder now. The world spins faster, and he has to blink hard to keep from losing it entirely.

Then, Cross’s voice, more desperate this time, seeping through the cracks of his scrambled brain: “Dust, please. Please, open your eyes. We need you.”

Something about that - something in the way Cross says please - makes his soul flutter, makes the world slow down for a second. It makes Dust want to answer. He really does. He wants to tell them he’s fine, he wants to tell them he’s used to this, that it’s just another one of those fucked up days.

But instead, Dust just squeezes his eyes shut tighter, trying to keep the world from floating away completely.

It’s too loud. Too much. Too -

His neck hurts.

No, no, no. He’s fine. His body isn’t moving, but his mind is, slipping away into the dreamspace. His body’s gone numb, and he can’t tell if he’s awake or asleep. He tries to hold on to that part of himself that’s still Dust - the part that’s real - but it feels so far away now.

But they’re here.

They’re all here. Even though they’re shouting at him, even though they’re pulling at him, even though they’re worried that he’s slipping, they’re here.

So maybe he can let go. Just for a second. Let the shapes take him wherever they want. Let the voices be muffled.

He’ll be fine. He always is.

Dust lets out another breathless chuckle, his chest fluttering as the world blurs.

It’s not the end. Not yet. Not today.

At least, he hopes not.

[unstablequeerbitch]

My dog LOVED peanut butter. She also LOVED chocolate. Like eat 1/2 a pan of marble chocolate brownies when they were cooling on the counter, loves them.

So we got her the big Reese cups that were stuffed with Reese pieces. She adored them.

I miss you baby

People who give pets a bit of chocolate when they know it’s their pets last day are a bit of a funny concept. Imagine being old and friends with an alien who will live ten times your lifespan and they’re like “ah shit he’s dying, well since you’re dying anyway haven’t you always wanted to know what uranium tastes like?”

[eepythegoof]

Wow! Inanimate Insanity! Yay! One day I’ll actually find something meaningful to say in these posts…

[pangur-and-grim]

I love how you can use the environment in baldur’s gate.

for instance, I got my ass completely handed to me in a battle, so on my second attempt I piled barrels of gunpowder & wine near where the enemies would run out, and had one of my guys posed with a fire spell to ignite them. and THIS TIME, I triggered a massive explosion on my first turn of combat, instantly killing my entire party.

[anthropologist-on-the-loose]

Me: "I don't often cook but I'm going to quick look through my mom's recipe cards and see if I can find that specific recipe"

Me, 15 minutes later, sobbing: "Love is stored in handwritten recipe cards"

[hellyeahscarleteen]

F*c&!ng First Aid: A Quick Guide to Common Sex Injuries

New from our founder, Heather Corinna, a guide for those sexual times that wind up more “ow” than “oooh.”

It’s remarkably easy to hurt ourselves in the pursuit of feeling good. From genital abrasions to broken skin to pulled muscles to infections to allergic reactions, even fractures or breaks, exploring our bodies and their capacities sexually can sometimes mean finding out⁠ what’s past a bodies’ limits. We can think there was enough lube, but who among us (cough) hasn’t found out at least once that there wasn’t? We can forget that when it feels to us like we couldn’t possibly get enough of something, our body parts may have an entirely different and considerably threshold (um). Heck, you can hurt yourself just getting a date a glass of water (says my once-broken toe, bitterly).

For whatever reason (probably a combination of ableism⁠, totally inhumane sexual⁠ ideals and maybe some leftover stuff from our DNA way back when we lived a wilder existence), if and when people get hurt during sex⁠, they often feel ashamed or embarrassed, like they have ruined something. Getting hurt in our bodies is as acceptable an experience as feeling good in them. It’s not “weak” to get hurt, and it doesn’t mean anyone failed at anything, it just means we’re living in the body of a mere mortal, not a sexual superhero. So, if some kind of sex injury happens to you or a partner⁠, don’t get hung up in negative feelings about it. Instead, turn your attention to yourself or whoever got hurt. Not only might you or they need physical care, caring for ourselves and each other in attentive, tender ways is only likely to enhance our sexual experiences and the ways we connect to ourselves or one another through them. This kind of care, much like general sexual aftercare, can be something that is a highlight of a sexual experience, even when something painful or bummerful happened which that care is centered around.

This simple guide covers the most common sexual injuries for people in the age group we serve, what needs to be done when and after they have happened, and how you can best prevent them. Read F*c&!ng First Aid: A Quick Guide to Common Sex Injuries over at Scarleteen.

[babyanimalgifs]

When he didn't realize you're in the room

(Source)

[chenhelelalala]

[herobrain900]

And in both I ship the two guys with each other more than with the girl of the group.

Ah yes I love the throuple composed of the hot competent woc, the slightly naive but ultimately well-meaning himbo, and the quippy twunk who came back wrong™