#tthis is incredible

[theflowergothic]

Heklo its Shrimp anon I know its been awhile and i am SORRY but i am BACK

So Lets talk about isolation, specifically the lack of other influences in Max's life, this is sometthing i realised lately that Max doesnt really have friends, You look at the people he interacts with and its like, his team, the redline people, his family, Kelly's family and other drivers

Now, on their own thats fine, but if you only interact with those people, and from what i can tell, only people like that for AWHILE, Jos seemed to keep him busy, and busy=Isolated from people his age and with people who could and WOULD intervene with the very clear abuse that was going on, it does seem like he missed a lot of school as a kid and Teachers are usually the people who step in in these types of situations (them being the first to notice my self harm and suicidal tendencies)

Anyways, my point sort of is that Max has been surrounded by people who either CANT, or WONT intervene for various reasons I will explain later, and because he's been SO ISOLATED for SO LONG, he wont be the one to break out of it and get any kind of positive influence

Ok let me break down the many people in his life and the various reasons that they wont say anything, let me prefice by saying that there are some people in this who i do not blame for not doing anything and others that i DEFINITELY do,

HIS TEAM: Alright, this one's a biggie, for the people higher up in the team, Christain/Helmut etc, I do think theres a bit of keeping max Obidient, if he is used to this sort of toxic behavior and doesn't get OUT of it, they can keep using this sort of toxic behavior and the cycle repeats,

for people lower in the team, Mechanics etc, i do think its a bit about their job, a lot of h to em probably enjoy or at least appreciate what they do and with how toxic redbull is, they probably dont want to rock the boat and risk their careers, I blame them a bit but not that much

REDLINE PEOPLE: Honestly I dont trust them, yall heard the Abuse jokes they make so Casually and sometimes I wonder if they see Max as a cash cow and a way to get them more money and exposure, NOW i do jot know ANY of the redline lore so if someone could explain that would be very helpful

HIS FAMILY: Not a lot to say on this, Jos is an asshole and an abuser but Max is clearly Very, very codependent on him, which is one of the reasons that i think Sophie and Victoria wont really say anything, Max will go with his dad in the inevitable split and fallout that happens, Also Max most likely won't trust Sophie because, AND IM NOT CALLING HER A BAD PERSON FOR THIS, she did kind of abandon him, obviously she was in an incredibly hard position and noone can know what thats like unless we experience it for ourselfves but I would bet that Max has Abandonment issues from that

KELLYS FAMILY: Not even gonna say anyhting, yall know

And finally, THE OTHER DRIVERS: Ok first of all, most professional sports involve some sort of toxic relationships, hero worship and money and yadda yadda yadda, for some of these people tthis might just seem normal. some of them are obviously not that close to him as to notice anything amiss, Also i do think it has something to do with saving their reputation, say what you will about Kelly but she has her Cult and i think that the drivers who KNOW whats happening are also aware of the fact

Honestly i just feel so bad for Max, i sincerely hope that he gets out of this but as i dive more into it it just kind of seems hopeless, he seems to have resigned himself to it, Sometimes i wonder if he's depressed or something, i know that if i was in a situation like that i would have killed myself

I mean, if he does try i cant say i would be surprised

OK THAT GOT LONNNNGGGGG SOORYYY

love youuu- Shrimp

Welcome back, shrimp anon!

Thanks for this very detailed (and probably spot-on) look at Max and the dynamics of those around him!

Can... can I reference this in the exposé? DM me.

[freakinator]

I just wanna say I betted on team mice break up first solely because they started the team for the mace.

My day 1 thoughts:

They gathered a bunch of people to do trial chambers and it felt like a mix of duos instead of a team. It was just an alliance to get the mace that turned into a team cause.. why not? They couldn't get the mace(squiddo, unknown at the time), so they might as well team up! (also cause other groups started fighting them as a team, so for the sole reason of numbers, they had no choice but to stick together)

And they all knew that if they ever got the mace in the first place, everyone on the team would want to take it for themselves. Now that the 'obtaining the mace' objective is gone, they don't really have a real common goal to work towards as they were just a hastily made day 1 alliance(it literally was 'join group vc!', then team made), so it was bound to break apart.

Later, they proved to be true:

Fundamentally they did not built up any trust at all especially they all had disagreements here and there, doubting each other's judgements:

-Trusting the empire in the end fight (oops, the empire betrayed! why did you trust them?)

-Who to fight and who to not (I dont think killing this person is a good idea...)

-Angering manepear (red had no opinion at the time, but it had been revealed to us that he tried to negotiate with mane but failed, so I guess he chose the betrayal option)

-People doing their individual projects (leo's flame void trap<-after this leo basically dipped, woogie's tower<-woogie just wanted to build his tower)

,etc.

(just my thoughts though, anyone can feel free to disagree)

(also didn't mean for it to be this long 😅)

honestly tthis ask made me realize just how doomed from the start they were and how leo never managed to grow an attachment to any of them lmao cause like at the time i really thought they had a chance despite all their strife and perhaps they could have but at the end of the day they never took that chance which ultimately lead to their incredibly messy breakup

i oon the other hand thought that the empire would break up cause of how volatile and willing to take action each individual members were, i knew that minute and mapicc were both incredibly loyal ppl ofc and that in the right circumstances spoke can also be really loyal himself but figured the drama between spoke, jepexx, and chief would cause them to splinter somehow even if nobody ended up betraying

maybe if several of the empire members didnt become inactive they could have broken up but i honestly have no idea cause in hindsight almost all the members have experience in some really messy teams amd deciding to stay despite that, chief i honestly thought would betray the empire to join the blindfold alliance but he hasnt done that at all despite having all the chances to do so so maybe hes a lot more loyal than i assumed he was

[wormchaser]

chad (hi.. i missed you.but anyways. prepare for a huge rant.... i read your ao3 last night and germs made me feel sick. "fuCK You" was my favorite of the germs series.. however in general, "respite" was really really good. i loved how it was written > and I understand why Deron hits me. this is evil i think galactic prey is one of my favorite albums ever. unpopular opinion. the entire theme and premise of it all is sooogood.. and megadextria makes me so curious. i want to dig around in deron's mind and ask him what does we are all living to follow you mean. what does thismean. what are you implying. shakes him by the shoulders violently. one glance puts a smile on the face that only cries.. and the universe responds with just a nod. i 'm going to puke AND TWO TICKETS TO HEAVEN. oh lord and music-wise (because if i keep talking about song themes, it'll be impossible to read) it is top tier. i am super impressed with deron's vocals & jess' drumming, i can never get tired of listening to it.. galactic prey makes me go crazy "brain invasion a germ’s persuasion" in a host to suicitis. he knows... for synergy restored, i don't have that much to say on. because i just really fucking love the music.. wish me dead makes me feel fucking sick to my stomach. and 90 car pile up. 90 car pile up tears apart my brain violently. i wish i had more things to say about it but the instrumentals are simply incredible, deron's vocals are gross and i need to tear out his voice box (in a good way.) and the lyrics claw their way into my chest like always )

ok. idid read this last night but only like 5 minutes before i had to go to sleep or i would miss the window that my meds let me sleep. but i am here now. i am so glad you like my stuff :^D. andi really like respite too..

tthis kind of makes me feel like im reading text generated by an ai based on me because we have so many of the same opinions. galactic prey is so so good.. (did you know the premise was some other guy's idea, who pitched it to deron? they were working on it together until deron pulled a deron and kicked the other guy out because of iirc 'creative differences'. lol) . dude i was listening to megadextria yesterday and being like...i feel sick please tell me what you mean.. i was even going to make a series of posts about hoping he dies so i can pick around in his brain and figure his shit out. one glance puts a smile on the face that only cries?? rolls around. fffunny that you mention 2 tikcets to heaven....definitely one of the songs ever........... dude. holds the wall like im about to throw up. a host to suicitis. i do have opinions about the mixing of galactic prey... of course, it's post-split deron, so the mixing is going to be bad (because chad mixed the cky stuff- at least the early stuff? maybe he didn't mix carver city? not sure). but, to give it some credit its not as egregious as the 96 stuff. in terms of the writing, its awesome. it's really hard to follow the story in the first half, but the second half gets better at that. YES germs in galactic prey. so awesome. so epic. he knows. in terms of derons vocals.... well. lets just say. you can sort of tell (across his whole career) when he stopped practicing. sometimes i like to hurt myself by wording that as 'when he lost the drive to improve himself in service of cky'. youre right about derons vocals being gross and needing to tear his voice box out in a good way. my thoughts precisely. aargggh. i need to write a dissertation about all the thoughts i have about the synergy restored songs and how every 96bitter beings song ever is about chad ginsburg

[beforus-for-real-justice]

eeveryone oon tthis bblog hhas ssomething iincredibly wwrong wwith tthem

everyone who sends ASKS LIKE THIS has something incredibly wrong with them.

[theriverbeyond]

for the fanfic tropes: coffee shop au, xeno, bodyguard, and kidfic

Coffee shop AU done here! (

Xeno

B: Like it. Not one of my bigger cravings, but it can scratch a certain itch if I’m in the right mood.

Xeno can be FUN!! I am not always in the mood, and I don't really go looking for it? but also i don't think it has featured heavily in a ton of fandoms i've been in, so idk. I enjoy the creativity! also, speaking of xeno,

open up all the faucets (be fruitful and multiply) by NotAFicWriter on ao3 is absolutely incredible and i wish i had more adjectives in my pocket. it's good, and i highly recommend (griddlehark, harrow crawls out of hell a full blown resurrection beast, they fuck)

Bodyguard

A: Love it. will click on a fic only because of this tag

what can i say other than chefs kiss. italian hand emoji. the dynamics!! the loyalty!! the vibe!! plus.... i wanna say that all the ships i am *really* into have some sort of body guard energy, lmao. it's so up my alley it IS the alley. the potential for angst and hurt/comfort is up the wall with this trope, which doesn't hurt either. this trope is just so fun. a longtime if not lifetime favorite

Kidfic

F: Will immediately make me nope out of a fic.

tthis trope hits multiple levels of apathy for me. I don't dislike it, i just... don't care, and usually avoid these fics based on the tags alone. HOWEVER, i make an exception for the very specific AU of "Three Lyctors and a Baby: baby Gideon is raised by the disastrous trio of G1deon/Pyrrha, Augustine, and Mercymorn". i actually don't think this fic exists outside my head, but, here it is (someone please write it)

[fandomwandererer]

wow tthis tab was buried deep in my Firefox inactive tabs

last song : technically something from Spotify especially auto generated salsa playlist, but I'm gonna put down 'ballroom blitz' instead.

Fav colours idk.deep blue and purple I think

Currently watching: doctor who, just finished one piece LA, and jojos bizzare adventure part 2 (I stalled last time I tried to watch it, and so I was rewatching it all. Am now up to where I stopped last time, but not further yet)

Sweet savoury spicy- I like spice but I'm terrible at it. Other than that idk tbh

Relationship status: single, trying to figure out if I'm aro or not.

Currently obsessed with: the recent discovery of a new symbiosis-turned-organelle called a nitroplast, like a mitochondria or chloroplast. And the huge story I've got fermenting about the incredible intimacy of designing your mechs to make them able to combine like voltron.

No pressure tags: @the-autistic-spider @villainessbian @five-rivers @copperbadge

@letsstartafamilywellinvitewelove

I sshould probably find more but I can't rn, and I know if I don't send this now I'll completely forget to finish it.

Nine people i'd like to get to know better:

Tagged by: @bell-of-indecision, thank you so much for tagging me <3

Last Song: Gmfu by Odetari,6arelyhuman

Favourite colour: Dark red, violet, pink

Currently watching: Death note, ep6

Spicy/Savoury/Sweet: Spicy

Relationship status: Single

Current Obsession: Mbti types and cognitive functions.

Tagging: @somin-yin @a-cloud-for-dreams @axepen @hinsaa-paramo-dharma @basic-bitch-alkali @rhysaka @blackknight-100 @squishywizardd @reykalot

[daylighteclipsed]

tetsuya nomura in 1990whatever designing the protagonist of his new disney/ff game: afab (assigned feline at birth)

[sbf-orouborus]

THIS TTHIS THIS!!

I CANT STRESS THIS ENOUGH.

ok so you fixed the disability because you're own feelings, but it's selfish- Incredibly selfish. Like- as a Writer/Artist I aspire to be inclusive and bring TRUE representation.

Quote on Quote "Fixing" the disabled is an insult to the character and to the readers. It's just making them feel like fucking worthless because they have something that's out of there control! And that's an insult.

Not even mentioning the character- like- if part of the characters' lovely trauma and struggle in the story is directed around their disability "fixing" it is saying that there struggle and achievements to overcome it mean nothing and were pointless. Especially if said character had finally come to except said disability.

Oh and disability doesn't equal personality. And said disability doesn't have to be a struggle or even a major plot point, it can just exist and that's perfectly OK

Okay, cool, so you magically "fixed" all the physically disabled characters so they don't exist anymore, because you think being physically disabled is worse than death. Alright. All of the characters are ablebodied now.

But guess what. I'm still here. In real life. Still physically disabled. So what am I supposed to do now? Why do you think not letting me see myself in fiction is a positive outcome?

You do realize that physically disabled people exist in real life, and we want to see ourselves represented in fiction, right?

You realize that writing magical cures in your fictional stories doesn't make you a god, right? We're literally still here. You haven't cured us. The only thing you've done is told us you think we shouldn't exist, and that we don't deserve to see positively portrayed characters like us. Now we don't get to see ourselves in fiction. And you think you're being a good and helpful person by erasing or destroying our representation. Okay.

[eyerealm]

Your art is mindblowing for real..every time u post i show my friends 😭 srsly such a huge inspiration. have a lovely day. Also your rohans are PERFECT genuinely on point. Like its incredible .

Thank you sso so much anon, im so flattered.. i am very happy about the rohan part too, i really try to capture him well, i tend to use many references for him.. This was how my canvas looked like for tthis drawing lol. You could say i can be kinda obsessed with capturing his likeness. But if i dont do that i dont feel content. I really want to be 100% confident in drawing him without looking at any references. Anyways have a lovely day too anon, you made my day

[broccolianddandelion]

Chapter 291: In which hearts are broken (including mine)

TThis might honestly be my favorite bnha chapter so far. This arc feels like a turning point in the entire series, and the emotional stakes have never been higher. Hori drives the oomph home with artwork that does an incredible job capturing the devastation Touya is raining down on the social order. Characters have never seemed so fragile in their pain, even Endeavor.

First, Touya as a child was an actual angel.

Maybe because I’m old and have Stuff Going On, this hit me:

This is the face of man whose grief over his dead child has been torn open.

We learn in this chapter that life in the Todoroki household isn’t as black and white as we thought it was. Keeping in mind that neither Touya nor Enji are reliable narrators, there is a part of Enji that has always cared about his family. Now I’m going to get into territory that is both controversial and probably hard for many bnha readers to sympathize with.  Enji was likely in his early 20s when Touya was born. This may be hard for many teens to believe, but in your 20s you are still young: your personality isn’t fully formed, your prefrontal cortex has barely developed, your ability to form sound judgement is iffy. Enji’s fate was not yet set in stone. He ended up listening to his darker angels and allowed himself to become consumed by hatred and jealousy, which is unfortunate and does not excuse his subsequent actions, but damn, does it make for good family drama.

All this is to say, something broke in Enji when Touya died -- the manifestation of Enji’s hopes and dreams, even as unheroic as they may have been. (Remember, he could have changed!) Nevertheless, his sorrow was genuine.

Chapter 249

Not sad enough for you? Have some more Todorokis about to get their lives shattered?

And we can’t forget “Can’t you see-kun” who was started out shocked in Chapter 290:

To denial:

To anger:

To more shock (no acceptance here):

To “please god it can’t get any worse.” (Bonus: shocked and heavy-hearted Bakugou and Midoriya)

To unbridled devastation:

Twice, when he realizes he’s about to die at the hand of someone he thought a friend:

Endeavor, when he learns of Hawks’s actions:

(I can only imagine how Hawks is going to feel when he learns the truth about Endeavor.)

Tokoyami, desperate to save his mentor:

And Shouto, who begs his father through his tears to save his friends:

At least we end on a couple positive notes -- the twin stars having Resolve.

And everyone’s favorite presumed-dead, denim-clad hero:

What a ride. As I said, for me this chapter was all about the emotion. Hori’s drawings scream, weep, and rage right off the page. Horikoshi is perhaps more celebrated for his action sequences (though I swear sometimes I can’t tell what’s going on until Hexamendle’s take), but he is equally talented at reminding us how very human his characters are.

[floralseokjin]

;big dick, big heart (m)

your new boyfriend has a really big dick

pairing | kim seokjin x reader genre/warnings | smut, a 9″ dick lmao, new relationship au, fluff words | 1,957

“Where the hell have you been hiding that?”

There’s pure shock in your voice. Mouth agape, eyes wide, heart on standstill as you have an internal breakdown over the size of the dick in front of you, hard and bobbing up and down in your line of sight.

“What do you mean?” Your boyfriend asks, perplexed by your sudden change in attitude. Not a minute before you’d been eagerly waiting for him to tear off his underwear, hellbent on getting your hands on him.

“The snake in your pants.” Voice deadpan, you really are trying to piece together the logics of all this. Granted, you haven’t seen many dicks in real life, but shit, you haven’t even seen something this size in porn. (Granted, you haven’t watched much, but still.)

“Oh, my god,” you mutter weakly, looking up at him instead of the giant flesh coloured pole between his legs. “Seokjin, it’s massive.”

“You’re making me self conscious.” He whines, hands attempting to cover his modesty. Ha! Good luck, even he can’t successfully accomplish that.

“How could you ever be self conscious with that hanging between your legs?” You gape, eyes back on the thing like you can’t look away. You really can’t. Yes, the shock has been a little debilitating but god, just imagining attempting to pleasure that makes your heat clench and pulse like no tomorrow. Despite the very satisfying orgasm he’s just given you.

It’s beautiful. If a dick can be beautiful. Smooth, and long, and thick...and shit, you don’t even think your mouth can cope with it, let alone your poor vagina.

You could die trying. Imagine that. Death by your boyfriend’s humongous dick. New boyfriend! That’s why the shock is so much. Didn’t he think to tell you he was hiding a 6 foot rod that is surely capable of splitting you in half?! You’re just glad you haven’t agreed to go all the way tonight. Romance in stages. Although you realise now that ogling him like he’s some sort of animal at a zoo isn’t very romantic. Either way, you need that extra time to prepare. Your mouth aches at what’s to come right now though.

“I regret the ‘I’ll show you mine if you show me yours’ idea now,” he mutters, almost pitifully, and perhaps that would be believable if he didn’t have your arousal dried across his mouth and chin.

Still, you don’t want to give him a complex. You’re going to suck his dick tonight. You’ve been wanting to jump his bones since the night of your first date. Although definitely thankful you waited a few weeks now. You may have passed out from the shock with a decision that soon. 

Ten minutes later Seokjin is lying in a pool of his own sweat, body flushed, panting for breath, gritting his words out, fists clenched in your hair as you gorge yourself around the monster.

“Fffuck, tthis is so hot.” You feel like a slobbering idiot, but you take his word for it. Your fist is soaked in your own saliva, moving vigorously across the base of the biggest dick you’ve ever pleasured as your mouth tries to take care of the rest.

He cums down your throat. You’re sure it’s a lot more than you’re usually used to. The bigger the dick, the bigger the cumload. That’s your logic anyway.... Maybe also bigger the ego.... He sure has a dirty mouth on him.

“You need to practice, baby,” he tells you two minutes later, mid kiss, your jaw aching. “For when I fuck you.”

Your vagina begins preparing itself for a beautiful death.

x

It’s 9 inches. nine inches. 9”. However you want to write it, it still translates to fucking massive. You make him measure it to the exact centimetre and share his findings on your Friday date night. Of course it rounds up perfectly. He looks embarrassed as you have your dick discussion over a candlelit dinner, an audience of about forty others if they happen to be listening in to your hushed conversation.

You want to know how he’s just been walking around so casually with a monster in his pants. It is increasingly above average so there’s no point acting clueless. (He does.) How come past dates and girlfriends haven’t brought it up? He says he can’t remember if they did or not. Honestly, his dick has never been this much of a conversation starter... You gasp. Thinking you’ve finally cracked it. Maybe a dick that length actually kills a person. Maybe he’s a serial killer... He just laughs fondly and calls you overdramatic. Well... you are a writer. Maybe if writing magazine articles goes down the drain, you can take up fiction writing. Thriller novels. Death by Dick would be your first work. (If you didn’t literally die from said death this weekend.) 

Seokjin apologies unnecessarily, but asks you how he could’ve possibly slipped it into conversation if he had known anyway? “Hey, I know this is our first date, but just a heads up, I have a 9″ inch penis, so maybe mull that over before you agree to a second...” That makes you snort loudly, wine nearly exploding from your nostrils, and it definitely gains the attention of the neighbouring tables. Your embarrassed, but he takes your hand in his, caressing the skin with his thumb. 

While sharing a moment, he tells you that you can always wait a little longer if you were feeling a nervous, which is cute of him. But you’ve waited long enough, and real talk, you don’t think your vagina will ever be ready enough, so may as well bite the incredibly large bullet sooner rather than later...

x

“It’s not going in.”

24 hours later and you’re more than panicked. Definitely overthinking it. You’d been up the night before googling “how to tell if you have a shallow vagina.” You’d also been two seconds away from messaging your last boyfriend “how big is your penis?” before you realised you were delirious from no sleep and dick worry.

“Will you just chill out,” Seokjin chuckles lowly, kissing your forehead. “I haven’t even tried yet.” That much was true. Admittedly he was just rubbing his dick against you.

You tense a little when you feel him begin to press against your entrance, fingers digging into his back unintentionally.

“Now, I’m trying,” he says, his voice doing things to you. It’s deeper than you’ve ever heard it. Maybe if you just concentrate on how hot he is, he’ll just slip inside unnoticed.

“How far is it?” You ask a moment later (nice try). You know he’s penetrated, just need to know how much.

“About 2 inches.” You groan, impatient. He laughs, kissing your mouth. “Just calm down, baby.” As his lips meet your neck, you let your eyes close, sinking into the feeling as he pushes deeper, beginning to thrust shallowly. He rubs your clit too, body instantly getting hotter. 

“You’re so wet. I made you so wet.” Seokjin murmurs, almost like he’s reassuring you. He has made you very wet. You’re quickly realising how talented he is with his fingers. He’s stretched you out ever so helpfully.

“Mhmokay.”

Seokjin has already told you he’ll take it slow, knowing how nervous you are, which is sweet of him. If you really think about it, say your exes all had 6 inch penises, all you needed to do was to make room for three more extra inches, and that really wasn’t much at all. It was doable. The women before you had managed. You’re just a worrier. 

Three inches, you remind yourself. Easy. But then... 6 + 3 still makes nine. You’ll still be stuffed 9 inches deep regardless, and he’s just getting deeper with each slow thrust. Oh, god... Where do the excess inches even go? Your guts?!

“You’re tensing.” Damn, your body is betraying you, and just like that, Seokjin pulls out. The loss is frustrating. You’ve been so distracted, you haven’t had time to concentrate on the pleasure. He begins rubbing his dick against your folds though, coating you and him in your arousal and it just gets you hornier. Now, if only your mind can stop betraying you, that would be nice.

“It’s kinda hard not to when you’re about to be impaled to death,” you whine. (Fuck you mind.) 

“Shut up,” he quips with a smile, but he’s out of breath, slightly impatient. You can tell as he slips to your entrance once more. “Try again? I only had like 3 inches left.”

You nod. Okay, back to your original thought process. Three inches. Doable. He begins to push inside you again. Easily this time, already warned up and your arms wrap around his neck, kissing his mouth eagerly. This time you don’t forget to concentrate on the pleasure. “Keep on like that. Slowly. Bit by bit.” You want to quit the thrusting for now and just feel him fully.

“Metre by metre.” He jokes. Yeah, you’ve definitely inflated his ego. That’s what being a dramatic bitch will do to a guy with a massive dick. But you’re progressively feeling fuller, so you can’t think of a comeback. Only a little whimper leaves you involuntarily.

“Is it uncomfortable?” He asks, immediately noticing.

“A little—no!” You wail, when he pulls out straight away. You reach for his dick immediately. The feel of the hot, hard flesh turning you desperate. “Why did you pull out?! You were nearly there!”

”I don’t want to hurt you.” He replies, but his gaze is on your hands, rubbing his dick against you, and now you can feel how wet you are yourself. The relief is immense. You can take on the world. You can take on your boyfriend’s 9 inch penis!

“You’re not. I promise,” you tell him, kissing him sweetly, wondering what you did to deserve such a caring man. A hot, caring man. You really lucked out there. Your friends are super jealous. They’ll be even more so when you tell them about tonight.

However, despite your reassurance he still seems a little reluctant. “Maybe we should try again another time...”

“No—!” You practically shout, clinging to him. “Nooo. Seokjin, I want you. I need you.” He can’t say no to that. He practically whimpers. Soon enough pushing back inside.

“You have the patients of a saint,” you murmur, fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

He chuckles, breathing laboured. “As soon as I bottom out I’m coming.”

He doesn’t. You’re thankful. He somehow holds back until you’ve cum first. Which actually doesn’t take long. Seokjin takes it slow at first, making sure to stretch you out carefully until you’re pretty much begging him to go a little faster. He obliges until all you can feel is his dick. You’re solely existing for the monster living in his pants. Only now you feel mean for calling it that, because all it cares about is your pleasure.

The secret to a g-spot orgasm? A really big dick! You cum hard. It obliterates all your senses. Makes you stiffen, convulse around him. You’re seeing stars for a good ten minutes afterwards. Aware Seokjin has cum too, but way too out of your mind to give him the proper attention. You’ll make up for it next time. You won’t be so dazed. (Maybe.)

“Oh, god,” you exclaim shortly after, finally finding your voice as he showers your body in kisses. “That was really something.”

He laughs, lifting his head to place a kiss on your lips. “You changed your tune.”

Indeed you have. Like you said, you’re a big worrier. Most things turn out fine. In this instance, it turned out life changing...

[mobox87]

I wanted to tell you that you have been my great admiration for make my own animations! Literal, since I met your Ida channel, you inspired me to create videos and upload them to youtube. Now, you are an incredible cheerleader, I hope you get very far and never give up on reaching your dreams, I wish you all the best, God bless you

TwT Thank you, i really apreciate tthis and im happy to be an inspiration to others

[tatakaeeren]

one day after snk ends i'll write a book about levi and i'll share it to you so whenever were feeling down and depressed, we can read it and be reminded how levi cured our lonely hearts just by being short,grumpy but definitely a handsome hot model, and most of all being our strongest man but got biggest heart that touched us all sdhdjkkl. 😌💕💕💕 hope you'll feel better soon. i pray more good things coming your way.✨

jdkhdjajhag yessssssss!!! i need this!! I want tthis book so so much :’) . It is such an incredible and lovely idea :’). A book that will cure all our problem, because Levi is our everything💕💕💕. I really love this idea and I hope you will write it someday, i’ll be patiently waiting here for it 😍. Thank you very much for your kind words, I am feeling a bit better, every day it is a step forward :).

[outofbluecomesgreen]

Jon Bernthal // Tom Hardy

Ok so i’ve been wanting to do this shitpost for a long time, and so.. why not?

not only this two motherfuckers are incredible lovable, and can make your ovaries explode in the blink of an eye, but i’ve come to find maaany things in common with them,. (aside from being this hottie devils and creators of an ever ending fustration on many levels) Im sure you all know them, but i still wanted to list them, just because my fucking mind insisted on it. So..

IM SURE THERE ARE MANY MORE.and now i can only think of these. So if you like, feel free to add!

- Edward

-Jews

- Born in September (ok, Jon is from ‘76, and Tom is ‘77, still quite close)

- Tough past

- TAttoos

- Both are dogs sluts. 

-These guys can look al rough and badass, but those two are sweet muffins. really

- Family and missus? Dear lord, these two are a couple of suckers for them. like in a level i wish i could see more frequently. They fucking melt my heart

- Respect their military forces. like a lot.

- While Tom was figthting in WW2 on” Band of Brothers”, my dear Jonny Boy was fighting on “The Pacific”. -i love those 2 series sosososo much, they are sooo good-

- Did anyone said mafia guys? Yeah, they both played as Al Capone, (Ok Jon already did in Night at the Museum what a dooorrrkk BULLET BULLET BULLET., and Tommy boy has recently filmed for the Fonzo movie, we have yet to see him blow our minds with his performance) 

- ANTI HERO? ANYONE? BLACK WITH WHITE SYMBOL ON THEIR CHEST? (i knooooow tthis venom didnt have the spider, but lets just say in general, the characters itself, he does..)

- DESERVE A MILLION OSCARS AND MANY FUCKING AWARDS

WE SHOULD MAKE A PETITION TO CREATE THE BERNTHAL HARDY NOMINATIONS, OR MAYBE JUST “THE EDWARDS AWARD” OR THE “EDAWARD”. ok im gonna stop

- both fandoms are amazing ♥

hope you dont mind me tagging you: @lightblindingme @kteague @frankcastiglione @allinourprivate-traps @iamkatehardy @deartomhardy 

[megasuperhappyfuntimestuff]

Holy shit

for those of you who dont know, i have a favourite fma au

its replacing Pride with Caliborn, but keeping everything else exactly the same.

and it’s a grande old time

[calculatingminutiae]

And Then He Was A Zombie

Ch. 1/?

You are beginning to regret your life choices. Mostly, you ponder as you sink nearly shin-deep into slowly fermenting brain, you lament your audacious decision to exist.

Not a soul has seen height nor hair of Mituna Captor for weeks, which is concerning considering that he's seldom let you forget about him before. The four sweeps you've known him have felt like a neon-coated, caffeine-laced retro fever dream, and the stark absence of that unabashed presence, that sheer bravado from someone so contemptible is tangible. You.

You don't miss him. Not really. You may have, once, but the long nights of your friendship passed as you grew up on diverging paths, as his unwavering confidence in his abilities (outwardly; you were privileged with the knowledge that his "natural psychic talent" came from practicing with his psi until odd hours of the morning in order to make his anxieties and excess energy recede until he could sleep) eroded at your patience, until his unrepentant criticism of your studies and etiquette (you are most certainly not a "TToTTal fuckiin bulgewrench hiigh off [y9ur] own ego iif you TThiink you're TThe only guy people are giiviin' 2hiiTT TTwo for b2 rea2on2," nor any variation thereof, thank you very much) became so great (why does she have to like him so much can't she see he won't treat her well, not like you can, he can't even treat himself well) that you drifted apart. You haven't spoken in at least two perigees, and even then the last two sweeps have only included game-related correspondence. Even if you find him irritating, even if his "prophecies" and grim predictions are clearly nonsensical and demoralizing, you must admit his abilities are valuable to the team. You are aware he must know that all twelve of you will be at a great disadvantage should any of his several, several deaths stick.

So how dare he? Drag you out here? (#unsanitary, #b9dy h9rr9r, #w9uld it kill you t9 have a deep pers9nal quest that includes air c9nditi9ning?)

Except he hasn't actually dragged you out here at all. His absence has started to concern your mutual friend (his datemate, somehow) to the point of anxious episodes, which you should have known he'd cause sooner or later. Selfish as he can be, you'd almost thought she meant more to him than this, leaving her high and dry in the metaphorical torrent of suspended ambivalence. He could well be fine, could well not. She has no way to know. Neither do you, but you foolishly volunteered to find out. You hadn't exactly thought about the consequences of reconciling, let alone explaining to her, what it is you really find.

Brains. Fire. Case closed. You knew that going in, of course, as did she, but the name of this planet seemed significantly more superficial before you had to smell it.

The air carries the caramelized odor of constant decay, beyond the blood of your own ironically-clad planet and into the territory of viscera you are entirely certain that no soul should ever actually witness outside of a morgue. The smog only makes it worse. Each sweltering, ragged breath is physical pain, and you are certain you've been burned from exposure within the first two minutes of your journey. Cranial nerves serve as pale-pink branches on trees formed from the wet, undulating flesh forming the islands you stand upon as not to plummet into the infernal abyss below. You need to throw out these shoes. Immediately. And your sweater, and yourself, a pitter-patter of droplets from above, finally, r

It's cerebrospinal fluid.

That is definitely cerebrospinal fluid.

God.

Damnit.

And, by the game's logic, it's flammable too, stirring a flare-up of the fires roaring near the borderline of this islet over the horizon, at which point you decide that you  can afford to burn all of your clothes after this if it allows you to sit in the dubious shelter of one of these brain-trees and wait out the storm.

The terrain directly in your line of sight is vast, but you feel an incessant need to give your status updates to the group. Calm down. Stare at your phone, your eleven (Ten? It may well be ten now, you consider, a shiver as you banish the thought) remaining followers in this post-apocalyptic wasteland will no doubt praise your perseverance. Even as your fingers become so disgustingly slick with Actual-Fucking-Brain-Juice that you have to give up your comprehensive progress report and actually bother to take in your surroundings.

There aren't any enemies on this island. No imps, no ogres, no basilisks or other "no-thank-you's" which you stopped having a use for long ago, their resources trivial when you consider yourself to have made a rightful living quarters at long last. Finally, no cullers to tell you what to do. Just a meager living, one you miss at the moment as you idly watch the glistening "rain" wash its way over small pale rocks in this sparse savannah.

You'd thought you were walking into woodland, but consider you may have been mistaken. The thick woods behind you beg to differ, however, but you elect to ignore that little fact just as well as you ignore the treads in the ground from what you are positive must have been a battle with more than a few psionic lasers. You must admit, you still aren't entirely sure how he does that.

He's always been psionically gifted, of course, for as long as you've known him, and he's always had the audacity to complain. To be culled by the empress herself, to be of the highest rank in his class, to be lauded and loved and lucky, so, so lucky, and complain. Even his headaches could reveal incredible things, privileged facets of the near-future, while yours. Yours bought you time locked up in your block, bouncing from culler to culler as your health fluctuated, so fragile, you, and nobody cared to deal with you. Nobody listened to your ideas, nobody took you seriously, no matter how hard you tried to become an educated, upstanding member of society on your own. And yet, once, you tried to vet his problems. "Problems," when he'd argue with you at odd hours about rock bands and the oxford comma, or putting on matching socks or not or the heat death of the universe. Problems when you'd stay up, some mornings, just to see when he'd finally run out of steam. Problems when you knew you'd helped him tire himself out and all that pent-up anxious energy released and sometimes you'd smile to yourself for a job well done from halfway across the district.

You find yourself laughing a little. Almost fond.

He'd trusted you with his insecurities, as you trusted him with yours. You thought you weren't tall enough, that your pants came up too-too high on you if you wanted the legs to fit. (He'd told you to wear them anyway;"iiTT'll be a TThiing by nexTT 2weep, The hiigh waii2TT. iiTT'll be, liike, riighTTeous, dude, you're a TTrend2eTTer 2o long a2 you own iiTT. TThey ju2TT don'TT geTT you yeTT." You have, truthfully, under your sweater, in spite of another dear friend telling you exactly how you dress like a travesty. You won't be controlled. Entirely.) He thought he was only ever given a second look because he has his ancestor's face. You.

You wish you would have told him n9, Mituna, y9u're a w9nderful individual as y9u are, but instead, you were too focused on his new co-op partner. The same girl playing some MMO with fanciful hats and discussing legal precedents on forums you'd found in your research,  it was far too unlikely to seem true but once you'd made the connection it was inescapable. She'd gone inactive, disappeared because of him. She gave into that anti-intellectual sniveling drivel because of him, a brilliant mind squandered, he ruined your chances with

The flames rise in the forest behind you, driving you into the clearing. At least, if you want to keep your ass firmly un-toasted. You do.

It's strange, anyway, his actual, tangible absence from your life. You're by no means co-dependent, but it doesn't feel quite right. Like a building on your commute's gone out of business, or perhaps like an old tree in the schoolyard has been hacked to the ground, leaving behind the stump where it once joined the ground, it's. Surreal. You find this surreal, but maintain confidence that you will, eventually, get over it. Life moves on. (It is Doom that lingers.)

The rain abates, leaving you temporarily distracted from the direction you were initially headed in and entirely susceptible to tripping over something in this clearing while you idly admire how nice and tan your retinas must be getting from looking at the sky so much.

C-rRck .

A trail of bone shards fly from your shoe, much to your temporary horror, until you realize the crucial factors that A. this skull is not that of a troll and B. it's actually partially buried in the ground, so it may well be a fossil of some kind, you suppose. In fact, it looks as though it's been picked clean by time, or some very efficient fungi. You almost feel bad for this poor ex. . . Snake? This may well have been a snake, at one point, you determine by looking under the hands that prevented you from faceplanting into cerebral cortex and discovering that what you thought were "rocks" are actually the ridges of a very, very large snake's spine. The ridges etched into the surrounding brain matter, truthfully, deviate from the folding pattern of the rest of the ground. There is a stick planted at the head of the site that you hadn't initially noticed, a ruler hastily wedged into the mush. Penance, you ponder, for the additional rocks washed up in this clearing. Perhaps that explains why you have failed to run into any friendly lizard civilians in this place to offer you directions. Surely, you've merely committed a lizard-social faux pas by wandering back-asswards into an Important Game Landmark. Yes. Obviously.

You decide this will not appear in your reports, and press on.

The planet maintains itself, just as before, equally disgusting in its crags and valleys and hills and rivers of you've-stopped-caring-keep-trudging. Really, if she hadn't seemed so upset, you question whether or not you could have brought yourself to look for him. He, by and large, had his shortcomings. Bouts of belligerence in violently vacillating mood swings, calloused comments with so little tact that it was hard to excuse his lack of social etiquette; he hardly seemed to be trying. Verbally belittling himself, constantly, even in the presence of those doing quantifiably worse than him in the same categories. You know social cues didn't come easy to him, he told you as much. You still don't think that's an excuse not to correct yourself the nth time you laugh at a "fail" compilation including serious injuries.

He was as sore a winner as loser, in those days, considering himself accomplished for having posted artwork before and thereby actually knowledgeable on the subject, or at least moreso than anyone who told him that he could not, for the life of him, draw properly-proportioned arms and hands. He'd repeat the same mistakes, content to call them inevitable or very much a choice. He poured himself into his favorite games, between practices, to the point of obsession. To the point of being outwardly off-balance should he be knocked from his proud number-two (for number one, evidently, was for those unskilled enough to calculate exactly where they need to be) spot on the leaderboard. Always in twos. Two different socks, two different shoes, two different bright red-and-blue eyes, always even, lest something go amiss. "The FaTTe2 don'TT liike TTwo be mocked," he'd tell you on the subject of threes and parallelisms during your early-morning chats, though you'd never truly understood his fascination yourself. It's an old legend, in the community of psionic yellowbloods, that three incarnations of fate bestowed them with the powers of electrokinesis and prophecy, "TTwo make 2ure TThe Dyiing are wiiTTne22ed when TThey, liike, reTTurn TTwo TThe bounTTy of co2miic liifeforce and whaTTever. TThaTT 2omeone geTT2 iiTT before you go, yknow?? 2o nobody ha2 TTwo be alone."

You sigh, officially Hopelessly Lost. You take a seat atop some maroon rocks, which you are absolutely confident are actually. Bricks. And scraps of drywall, the rough texture under your fingers as they drift over this cleft piece of what was part of a block, at some point. His block, from the oil pastel staining your fingers. You run like you didn't know you could before, overtaken by a sudden need to know exactly what happened here. The pastel isn't quite baked to the surface yet, and it may not be too late. You hope for her sake, that it is not too late. You hope for your sake, that it is not too late. You need to tell him something before he's allowed to leave again.

Your name is KANKRI VANTAS and you, begrudgingly, have regrets.

The hive is in complete disarray once you find it. You let yourself in, considering the entrance is missing, let alone the staircase to the top of the tower the two of you had built upon entering the Medium. You remember that he didn't want this wall here, or that block there, and his load gaper is still firmly defenestrated and stuck in the ground even though you know he could have put it back by now. It's much easier to look at that than the maelstrom of dirty laundry and magazine pages covered in ambiguous tv-dinner sauce in the main livingsblock, a proper mountain of crushed cans of toxic Appleberry Blast that nearly cancel out the smoke encrusting your lungs.  You knew he was somewhat a slob, compared to you, but if the place weren't still standing you'd swear a tornado went through here. Old microwave trays are covered in mold. There's no telling how long this has been this way.

"Mituna…?"

There is no answer. You can't say you expected one, heading further up through the vertical labyrinth.

The floors pass you by in slow motion, blurring into a singularity as you refuse to acknowledge the little things about the remains of his hive. How it feels you've walked into a ghost town, how there's a deep ochre staining the carpet at the bottom of the stairs, how the smell of decay somehow only gets worse as you ascend. Worse, and. Sweeter. Sickeningly sweet, like candied excrement, the tang of touching your tongue to an outlet emanating from a block you haven't seen in a very, very long time.

The roof to his respiteblock is missing. Entirely. It's been blown off, debris around the room, the place soaked from the rains and exposed to the enemy and yet apparently untouched. He did not come up here often, so it seems, the block mostly barren save the diagrams and prophetic scribblings on the walls, a leather-bound book and a pile of broken glass.

You, in spite of your better judgment, take a look at the book.

It's his sketchbook. One with pictures you've seen before, of )(er Radiance and Meenah, younger and almost caricatures of a happy household. It's immediately followed by Meenah's snaggle-toothed grin, by Radiance (dubbed "Radz", in these pages, the marked messy handwriting of a younger child ) and her icy, gaslighting "disappointed" pout. Abstract works, impressions of his old biclops, experiments with colors (always the primaries; he can only trust the primaries, so notes the back of the page, upon learning he is colorblind) and drawings of the psionic roundtable he was forced to sit at. A child sits surrounded by people ten times his age because of his visions of the end of days. He's exaggerated them, made fun of them, save the ones he liked. A childhood spent drawing, trying to capture the likeness of the Archiver, connector of the stars, among other things. The portraits have odd titles. "maybe ii can'TT iinvenTT The iinTTerneTT, bu7 ii'll be 2omeTThiing you'd be proud of."

There are large gaps in drawing quality, from then on, from starting and stopping and meeting new people. You find he's drawn portraits of you, even, and of Latula, so many of Latula. Never flattering ones, either, in the strictest sense; he seems to have poured a lot of time and effort into a drawing you've never seen before, a sketch of her laughing over the webcam during their matches. Her nostrils flair a bit, a few hairs out of place, and yet every freckle on her face has a degree of life to it. He may have held himself to an impossible standard, but this picture you are certain would make her cringe is so thoughtfully put together that you are positive that she has never seen it.

Then you entered the game.

The sketches rapidly deteriorate into scrap paper, holding notes and lists written in a hurry. Prophecies, you gather, in a shorthand reserved for the empress's board of elite psions. A way to convey ideas quickly and efficiently in the confused daze in the wake of a vision (a way to keep anyone from effectively snooping, as you are, since the symbols appear near-incomprehensible to you). The text only becomes sloppier over time,  to the point that you don't hazard to guess what it could possibly mean. You suppose he'd distilled the important parts into his reports in the groupchat.

The less important parts are written plainly,  without a care for who may see. Notes like "Charon ii2 a liil biiTTch abouTT TThii2 whole que2TT junk, hone2TTly," and "noTT enough iimp2 come by TTwo ju2TTiify TThe TTrap2 anymore." Like "ii2 a popTTarTT really a raviiolii," or "by TThe TTime you 2ee TThii2, ii have noTThiing for you." Scribbled prophecies in purple, drawing your attention to the pink and violet powder of pastel on the ceiling, what must have once been a drawing. A gaze staring directly into his heart, artificial, requiring him to always blink first.  Unless he could act first.

The next several pages are stuck together with a highlighter-yellow substance,  the source of the sweetness in the air. If you were to peer under his desk, you'd note the glass shards fit perfectly into the shape of an empty jar.

A sprawling note on the next available page, stained by the toxic honey and pale yellow tears. You fail to stomach reading beyond the first line.

"laTTTTiie,

    iim 2orry."

You skip to the end. At least,  the end of what you can see. It's another portrait, one of an event you recognize, of the first anniversary of your entrance into this hellhole. Meenah baked you all a cake,  as you recall. The group quickly split up and stratified, but in this sketch. In this sketch you can stand one another,  huddled together around the mystery ahead, in various stages of smiling and excitement. You all were happy, then. Most of you. Most of you were just as happy as he paints.

You realize that, in all of these pictures, including this group shot, he hasn't once drawn himself.

There is the unmistakable sensation of a hand, not gentle nor rough, planted firmly on your left shoulder.

You came to this planet alone.

The shadow looming over you does so by about half a foot, your immediate instinct to tack on "n9 matter what he says" identifying the corpse it belongs to long before you raise your head. You can tell it's a corpse because of the sudden intense smell of putrification in your immediate vicinity, of rot and decay, of something seared and burnt like overcooked grubloaf disposed of with lighter fluid and a careless match. Your epic quest, as shitty as it's been, is over, and your prize is presenting itself to you on a bloodstained, honey-soaked carpet.

It could be looking at you. He, could be looking at you, this thing that used to be a friend of yours. He could be looking above your head, for all you know, or at the glimpse of his psyche you've stolen, claws curled into fists, venom dripping from his fangs, frozen in space and time when you finally look at him. Overgrown bangs obscure his eyes. It wouldn't matter much anyway, considering you can't tell where those hidden eyes point when they begin glowing a bright, bilious green, either.

His bright yellow jacket (you should have known you'd never see him without it, even in death) is singed and slashed to shreds, more obviously steeped in dark ochre than the plain black shirt underneath. Torn jeans can no longer contain a leg broken at such an extreme angle, dragging behind him as nothing more than a counterbalance to the tall, spindly form. His ribs art particularly obvious now, looking as though he should snap in half at the waits with a breeze that, of course, never actually comes, on this planet. A hand (hesitantly?) reaches for your shoulder, calloused and scarred, showing off the kinds of skin-boiling horrors only concealed by the general unassuming dark neutrality of (most of, spare that damn jacket) his attire. Webbing red and blue scars, like veins, like lightning travel up from his fingers to his wrist, creep up his neck, epicenter unknown but almost certainly obscured somewhere in the cesspool of a body lumbering towards him. The figure-- no. The shell of Mituna, advances, pauses, and keeps advancing.

You are aware that he must know.  Must know your guilt, your conflictions, the overpowering sense of dread sweeping in with the scent rotting flesh. The bright, bright green light flickers,  flickers, and glows. You could swear you see a slight sly smile on his face.

Someone finally understands.