#sighs if you insist

[canon-gabriel-quotes]

Transcript:

I'm going to kiss you.

Aaaannnd then kiss you again!

Audio source

[deadfileinthecabinet]

I have reached pique meme humor

Pose reference used: https://pin.it/4lkPR94

[yuwuta]

gojo would kill your work husband. but if he were the work husband, that's a different story

REAL!! he’s such a hypocrite because if someone mentioned you had a work husband, his entire world would stop and he wold devise the absolute worst plans to make sure that your co-worker, everyone at your job, and everyone in the next building over knew that he was happily committed to you 

but if he is the work husband, he’s very........ dutiful in his role. there’s a loose office/lawyer au in my head where satoru is your secretary, and for all intents and purposes, your personal assistant, and he’s good at his job, but mostly because he considers his job to be pleasing you. he has coffee for you when you arrive, he moves your schedule around without you asking, he has answers to questions before you can even ask them, he has fresh flowers on your desk weekly, pokes into your meetings to pretend to hand you a file that’s really just maybe a single document in a manilla folder with candy on top of it—he’s made himself your business, your partner; he’s made himself irreplaceable, and he loves to remind everybody of that fact. 

he’s also extremely loyal. sure, he could day a week’s worth of work done in about a day, but that doesn’t mean he’ll just use his talents for anybody. he’s your secretary, so he’s at your beck and call, and everyone knows it. they know he’s the best, but also that he’s off limits—not because you won’t share him, but because satoru won’t let himself be shared. 

he also extends his duties beyond work, of course. when he hands you a print out of your schedule for the day and you’re confused by the three-hour block of time you have in the middle of the day, satoru just helps you shrug your coat of your shoulders and smiles, “that’s for the lunch date you have with me, of course!” hanging up your coat in your closet for you, “i’m paying, see you soon, sweets.” and because you’re great at your job, and satoru helps you be great, nobody really questions when the two of you have time for a 13-course tasting menu at 1pm on a tuesday afternoon. and if they did, all satoru would say that you two had a lovely date 

[beskarfrog]

For the artwork post: I think anything ancient greek would be so awesome (I'm a classics major) with dinluke, but if you want a specific reccomendation, I would say the vase painting of Achilles and Patroclus, where Patroclus is bandaging Achilles' wounds. I'm pretty sure I've seen someone draw it with dinluke before, but there can never be too much art!

my friend, that is absolutely galaxy brain!! here you go

[magnusbae]

On the rare occasions when Hob is actually mad at Dream— he refuses to sleep. Coffee, energy drinks and the God forsaken awakeness pills? All fair game. If he has to inject caffeine directly into his vein, he would. Hob doesn't often get mad, but when he does, he likes to make a point. Dream and Hob match in more than one ways, really, they do. And so it is that the Dream Lord must come out of his realm personally to sprinkle sand into his lover's eyes because he'd be damned if Hob refuses his gift for more than two nights in a row. Not speaking for 100 years? Easy. Hob refusing sleep? Unacceptable.

[officialspec]

genuinely curious, and probably will agree but on your tags for the post about mental illness terms being used trivially you said that it’s basically impossible to self diagnosis dissociation- genuinely i want to know why you think that

my stance is that its pretty much impossible to distinguish dissociation from other potential symptoms in any meaningful way without professional guidance, for a few reasons:

for one, its a widely misunderstood symptom even in actual psychiatric circles, and on top of that any legitimate information you might be able to find is surrounded by 100 times more tumblr-infographic-style misinformation and for most people it is straight up impossible to tell the difference

you (general) might be inclined to think 'i know not to trust infographics i would be able to tell', but the sheer volume of misinformation has saturated the field so completely that its plastered on very official looking websites, and even some more trustworthy sources, so a discerning eye wont save anyone

the average person simply will not be able to sift through the hogwash to any legitimate resources without direction from someone who knows what theyre looking for, no matter how savvy they might be. no one is immune

if you do somehow manage to separate the wheat from the chaff, the next issue is that dissociation is a wildly nebulous human experience, and the way it presents overlaps with about one million other things that are all managed in completely disparate ways. a treatment for dissociation might make someones actual problem much worse, or drive them to hopelessness if it doesnt change their symptoms at all. its a huge risk that i just dont think is worth it

this answer is already long as hell but ending on the usual disclaimers that im aware diagnoses are prohibitively expensive and also i cant stop anyone from doing anything. but i will have opinions about it. as is my right

[invinciblerodent]

also quietly remarking that having read through the preliminary patch notes for patch 7 of bg3, there are a few changes that I immediately don't like, chief among them the expression “fixes” for the PC in the AA kisses.

like I get that it makes for a more versatile story and a wider variety of possible characters for the PC to be, but Astarion, especially ascended, is already the character people most struggle to read. And I of course don't blame Larian for that, any complex story worth telling is bound to be misunderstood, I respect their commitment to bringing the story closer to their own vision (if that was the intention), but.... I really can't help but wonder if that's actually the case this time, or if they're just bending to the will of a loud minority of people who aren't even interested in engaging with the story beyond "he's strong and rich now, yay".

(I mean. not to say that certain AA fans wouldn't be able to see a big flashing neon sign across the screen that says ��THIS IS A TOXIC AND ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP. YOU FAILED TO BREAK THE CYCLE OF ABUSE.” and ignore it just the same; but you know what I mean.)

[mothemotics]

i just know during the "ok for your solo patrol while im in brazil you have to scare the criminals with a hologram" conversation tim was like "shiva would let me beat them up :/"

[voxtekfanclub]

..... so.

we have a laios. in our system. aight.

and uh......... we just introduced him to undertale.

........

let's say he's very autistic about it

ut/dr fictives block tag #tw monster eating if necessary

[wheels-of-despair]

It's the Easter Dragon, Eddie Munson Pairing: Eddie Munson x You Summary: Just a big scary metalhead doing cute Easter-y things with Evil Woman and her family, nothing to see here. Contains: Easter fluff + She's Not A Regular Mom; She's A Cool Mom. Words: 2.7k-ish

"Nobody look, eyes closed, these bags do not contain things that are going in Easter baskets!"

You laugh and get up to close the door behind your mother, who's struggling to hold onto her top secret bags as she kicks off her shoes. Eddie watches curiously from the kitchen table.

"Look at you, pretending to be helpful so you can sneak a peek!" she jokes, turning to shield her loot from you.

"Hey lady, you pay the electric bill, if you want me to leave this open, I will," you threaten with the door still open a crack.

"Hello, Eddie, my favorite child, the only one who never talks back to me," your mother greets him, ignoring you. You close the door with a roll of your eyes.

"Hi," he laughs. "Can I help?"

"Nope, you stay your butt right there, I'm outta here."

Finally free of her shoes and done taunting the teenagers, she proceeds to her bedroom, where the candy will be stashed until Easter.

You return to the table, which is covered with open books and scribbled notes and an unreasonable amount of homework.

"Easter baskets?" Eddie asks with a raised eyebrow.

"Shut up," you say without looking at him, a hint of pink appearing on your cheeks.

"That's cute," he continues.

"Shut up," you repeat.

"I'm not making fun of you."

You look over at him, and determine that he's really not.

"I think it's cool," he shrugs in a way that makes you soften.

"Mom's a basket junkie. It's not just Easter. Baby shower? Gift basket. Retirement party? Gift basket. First period? Freakin' gift basket."

He smiles and turns back to his work, but the wheels in your overactive mind are already turning.

After the homework was finished and dinner was done, Eddie returned home to spend a little time with his uncle before work. (And bring him a plate, of course.)

You're lying on your bed with a book you're not reading when you see your mother walk through the hallway. You call out to her, and she comes back to pop her head in your open door.

"You rang?"

You bite your lip, your nerve faltering. It's not a big deal, you chicken. Just do it.

"Do you think… maybe… we could do an Easter basket for Eddie?"

"Why?"

You'd planned out a whole speech about why you suspected he hadn't had a real Easter in a long time, and why he'd be very appreciative, and how good he was to you, and how he really was your mother's favorite… and all of it went right out the window the second you were questioned.

"Relax, would you? He's taken care of."

"What?"

"You think I'd leave my favorite child out? Actually, I think every time one of you displeases me, I'll take a piece of candy out of your basket and put it in Eddie's."

"What?!" you hear your brother shriek from further down the hall. You and your mother both cackle. Fear not, Eddie Munson, the women of this household adore you.

Your mother was not much of a religious person, but Easter was her favorite holiday as a child, and she loved reliving some of those traditions each year.

Not the sunrise service, thankfully. She'd tried that a few times when you were little, and it proved to be much less fun when she was the adult wrangling the children, rather than one of the children being wrangled. She'd given up on that fantasy quickly.

These days, she settled for Easter baskets, her favorite holiday foods, and watching The Greatest Story Ever Told. She was the only person in the house who had ever made it all the way through it without falling asleep, but she didn't mind. Her offspring tried… occasionally.

By the time the youths had recovered from their morning sugar comas, brought on by her famous cinnamon buns and a pile of Easter candy, the real feast was usually underway in the kitchen. There was no room for experimentation on your mother's Easter menu: Ham, rolls, scalloped potatoes, green beans, dressing, deviled eggs, and a carrot cake for dessert.

She had cousins who always tried something strange, and had never forgiven them for tampering with her grandmother's carrot cake recipe. Everyone was expecting the familiar taste of childhood, and what they got was a mouth full of strange spices. And coconut icing instead of cream cheese? Blasphemy!

Now that her little trio had a few hundred miles separating them from the rest of their brood, she got to do things her way. Some might complain about being so far away from the bulk of their family on an occasion like this, but she didn't mind a bit.

She was looking forward to a nice, quiet, family affair. No nasty food-related surprises, no noisy toddlers screaming for attention or fighting over candy, no outrage over who said what or who brought an uninvited date or who's getting divorced. Just a calm and quiet day with her own children, and a shaggy-haired bonus kid.

You weren't sure how you did it, but you convinced Eddie to come over for breakfast on Easter morning.

Eddie Munson, out of bed before noon on a Sunday.

It was an Easter miracle.

He knocked on your door at 9:55.

Five whole minutes early.

He did not look happy about it.

"Good morning, sunshine!" you beam as you let him in. He grumbles and walks straight into you, resting his head on your shoulder like he's ready to fall asleep standing up.

"We have coffeeee," you tease quietly. He grunts.

"And sweet, gooey, freshly baked cinnamon bunssss," you continue. He licks the side of your neck, and you squirm away with a squeak.

"Sit, stay, gooood Eddie." You give him a gentle push toward the table and reach for a mug. Smiling sleepily, he drops into his usual chair. He puts his elbows on the table and rests his face in his hands, squishing his own cheeks adorably.

You fix his coffee how he likes it and bring the mug to the table, sitting close in case he falls over before the caffeine can work its magic. A minute later, your mom comes bustling in to check on her precious cinnamon buns.

"Good morning, Eddie, my favorite child. I'm honored that you got up so early to be here with us, that must've been very hard for you."

He chuckles into his mug. You sit silently by his side, both mesmerized by the sight of your mother whipping up a batch of icing in a measuring cup. Watching her magically turn a few basic ingredients into the best-tasting icing in the world never gets old. Especially when she begins pouring the liquified sugar onto the giant pan of perfectly golden brown cinnamon buns.

"Children, you're drooling on my table," your mother teases as she scrapes out the last of the icing with a spoon. "Saucers, please."

You get up and pull down a stack of saucers from the cabinet, placing them next to the pan that smells like heaven.

The aroma must be wafting through the house, because your brother stumbles into the kitchen blindly, still in his pajamas. He feels for his usual chair and sits down hard, sprawling his upper body across the table. Your mother carefully lifts out the first cinnamon bun and places it on a saucer. It nearly reaches the edges.

You give the first to Eddie, who is suddenly very awake. He looks from his massive cinnamon bun to you, and you give him a wink before returning to the stove. You bring the next one to your brother, still half-laying on the table, and accidentally put it so close to his face that it leaves a little icing on the tip of his nose. Finally, you retrieve yours and return to your seat next to Eddie. Your mother follows a second later, licking her fingers and carrying a saucer of her own.

"Eat up, Eddie. I only make these a few times a year. I'm amazed that these monsters agreed to share with you."

"I don't remember agreeing to that," your brother mumbles with his mouth full.

"Are you sure we can't revisit the No Familial Violence on Easter policy?" you ask.

"Nope, not today, but he's fair game tomorrow." He scoffs, and you smirk.

The boys each had seconds, and you split one with your mother. She collects everyone's saucers and walks them to the sink.

"Alright, it's go-time, they're in the living room," she says without turning around.

Your brother gets up and wanders into the next room. Eddie glances at the door and chugs the rest of his coffee like he's about to make a break for it. Before he can speak, you stand and extend a hand. He furrows his brow in confusion, and you tilt your head toward the living room. He hesitates, but reluctantly gets up and lets you guide him in.

Your brother is already digging into his haul on the floor, but there are two more heaping baskets on the coffee table.

You lead him toward the couch, where he begins to protest as soon as he sees his name. He turns to your mother, who followed you in.

"You really didn't have to--"

"I know. I wanted to."

"But you--"

"Eddie, it's not a big deal."

"But I'm not--"

"I told you, you're the best kid I've got."

He walks over and gives her a silent hug, which she returns.

You sit quietly and watch them, bursting with love for them both.

"Alright, I'm not used to all this genuine affection, go see what's in your dang basket."

Eddie laughs and lets her go, dropping onto the couch next to you. He pulls out each trinket and piece of candy like it's the best gift he's ever received. He seems exceptionally fond of the little stuffed dragon, which has been christened Sir Scorch.

Just a big scary metalhead sorting through his Easter basket. Nothing to see here.

After all the little treasures were discovered and your brother was barreling toward a sugar coma, your mom put her favorite Easter movie into the VCR. You began thinking about your forthcoming nap.

Eddie fought it, but eventually drifted off after about an hour.

Your mother was very impressed.

"Anybody wanna dye Easter eggs?"

You and Eddie both jolt awake at the same time. Your mom stands in the doorway, drying her hands on a kitchen towel.

"Really, Mom?"

"I missed it," she shrugs. "I'll do it myself if you don't want to help."

You look at Eddie and cock an eyebrow. He bites his bottom lip, looking unsure.

"C'mon," you say with a grin. You get up and walk over to your brother, still snoring on the floor, and nudge him with your foot.

"Get up doofus, we're dyeing eggs." He grunts and rolls over. You shrug and continue toward the kitchen, Eddie walking uneasily behind you.

Your mom has set up an egg-dyeing station: newspaper covering the table, six little cups of dye, a box of crayons, and a bowl full of boiled eggs. You and your brother had lost interest in this particular activity years ago, but you have a pretty good idea why it was suddenly back.

"Eddie, have you dyed eggs recently?" she asks, putting on her glasses and reaching for a green crayon.

"Not since I was a little kid," he admits, still standing awkwardly behind you.

"Come on, we'll show you how it's done." She finishes her drawing and drops the egg into the green dye.

You and Eddie sit at the table, and you reach for two eggs. You hand him one, and he takes it hesitantly. As you're trying to think of a way to explain this without making him feel bad about having no idea what he was doing, your mom reaches for one of the little egg dippers. Each kit only came with one, so she saved them every year.

She pulls an egg out of the pink dye with "Easter 1985" written on it in crayon. Eddie's eyes widen. She carefully places it in the empty egg carton, lined with a paper towel, to dry.

"Two down, twenty-two to go. Hop to it, kiddos. No curse words!" She points an accusing finger at you, causing a mischievous grin, then slides the box of crayons toward Eddie. He's still looking a little intimidated.

"Hand me the white?" you ask. He picks it out and gives it to you, watching as you write a quick, invisible message on your egg before dropping it into the pink dye.

"What's first: A Corroded Coffin egg, or a Hellfire Club?" you suggest, handing him the crayon. Eddie's eyes light up, and his face splits into a grin. He leans over and gets to work, cradling the egg with his left hand and letting the creativity flow with his right.

You look up, and your mom catches your eye. She winks, and focuses on her next egg.

"You're not gonna make us wear bunny-ear headbands and hunt for these, are you?" you jokingly ask after a few minutes of silence.

"Heck no! I'm packing these in my lunch next week, you're not taking them outside and getting them all dirty!"

You and Eddie both laugh.

"Wish I'd thought to buy bunny ears, though. I bet Eddie would look awfully cute in them."

He hunches over his egg, trying to hide his scarlet face with his hair, so he didn't see the adoring look you and your mother shared.

After the egg-stravaganza was cleaned up, it was nearly time for dinner. Most of the prep work had been done the day before, so it was mostly a heat-and-serve situation. Your mom was not a fan of doing more work than she had to on holidays.

Eddie's uncle was quite the opposite. The plant was always desperate for people to work the holiday shifts, and Wayne Munson always stepped up. Wayne took every holiday double-shift he could, so he and Eddie rarely saw each other at all on special occasions; they usually celebrated everything the day after. It broke your heart to think of all the holidays Eddie had probably been on his own, but now that he was yours, he'd never spend one alone again.

You'd been with him for over six months when you'd invited him to come over for Easter, and he'd still shyly asked if you were sure you wanted him to crash a family holiday. "You ARE family," you'd told him. You hoped that today had banished those thoughts from his twisted little brain for good. He's family. Your mom said so.

Dinner was perfect. You'd been stuck at the kids' table with annoying cousins for most of your young life, so this lineup was ideal. The Holiday A-Team. The meal was full of laughter and memories. Your mom told stories about dressing you and your brother in matching outfits when you were little, and the last time she tried taking you heathens to a sunrise service, and you finally revealed how a raw egg found its way into your least favorite aunt's fancy new purse. (She yelled at your baby brother. She deserved it.)

Eddie didn't volunteer any information about his early Easters, but that was okay. He enjoyed himself, and laughed until he cried when your mom broke out the album containing all the obligatory Mall Photo with the Easter Bunny photos.

She sent him home that night loaded down with so many Tupperware containers, he needed a bag to carry them all. There were two more cinnamon buns, a sack of colored eggs, and enough Easter leftovers to make a meal or two for him and Uncle Wayne the next day. He insisted that she didn't need to send so much, but you know he loved being fed as much as she loved feeding him.

Maybe next Easter, you could convince him to put on bunny ears.

[smaller-comfort]

Sometimes, when writing porn, one finds oneself staring into the abyss, and the abyss whispers, "monster fucking and size difference." And you're like, okay sure, that's not that big of a leap at all.

But sometimes the abyss whispers "watersports" and you kind of just have to sit there on the edge and rethink your life choices.

Literacy was a mistake!

[nube55]

Mission: to get an anniversary gift for dear mr nube

Way to accomplish mission: look for the most horrendous piece of decor out there

[benoitblanc]

when there's something strange in your neighborhood, who you gonna call? fox mulder!

[animentality]

As per usual, I am LATE.

But I have posted my newest Durgetash brainrot fic.

And it's a multi-chapter one, so...

I imagine I will try to be consistent with how often I update it...I imagine I will fail.

But I have every intention of at least updating either every week, or every two weeks, should disastrous things happen, or if I simply need a break to think of more disgusting ideas.

Sooooo.

With that being said.

MIND THE TAGS AGAIN PLEASE. THANK YOU.

Link:

Pairing: (Trans male) Dark Urge x Gortash

Warnings: Sex and swearing. Also, mind the tags on AO3. Not present yet, but I have every intention of being disgusting.

Summary:

The Dark Urge does not remember Enver Gortash, but the lordling refuses to accept that. He will force him to remember what they were to one another, before his memories were carved out. Whether he wants to remember or not.

[philhoffman]

“And you can’t lose! I mean, you think at that time, ‘I can lose,’ but you really can’t. And you try to tell people that young—it’s like, it’s not gonna matter. Make the mistake, who cares? You know what I mean? Be bad, go do that thing, it doesn’t matter.”

Last night I found this interview with Phil from 2008 and it really spoke to me. A lot of what Phil says means a lot to me, but this moved me to tears. Some wise and kind words of assurance for anyone else who needs to hear them 💙

[hermitsdump]

I wish all jujutsu kaisen fans a very media literacy and manga reread