#which i most certainly Don’t have

[zombiejette]

Yesssss finally, I am seen. Make them morons, and make them hopeless around each other. I want to see them make mental gymnasts into mincemeat with the way they avoid rational thought and defy the laws of simple attraction time and time again. I need everyone else to petition for stem cell research just so these two idiots can grow a single brain cell to finally use. thank you so much @fanby-fckry for the tag!

Tagging: @ckret2 @sowheresmyroom @gayasstheythem-ofmd

New tag game just dropped >:) my result kinda tracks doesn’t it? 🥺😅 @letmelickyoureyeballs @mossthebogwitch @daisey14 @kilibaggins

Quiz is here!

[milolunde]

We all know Timmy is Wanda’s mama’s boy but we need to keep in mind he’s still Cosmo’s kid too and that Cosmo would love him just as vehemently as Wanda

[danielnelsen]

ok prediction time

(it’s my first time playing bg3, i know nothing about the plot; DO NOT SPOIL ANYTHING FOR ME. currently im at moonrise towers and the extent of gale’s plot is that he’s been stabilised by elminster and has also just made the shadow lantern. shoutout to astarion for being the only one not to tell me that was a bad idea, that’s when you know you’re making good life choices)

so what i’m getting from this is that the big moral choice in gale’s story is gonna be to get forgiveness and acceptance from mystra (presumably before/without using the orb) vs embracing his own ambitions and, having a vague idea of the intensity of some of the endings, possibly going way off the deep end with that

while i don’t know the full story for other companions, im feeling like gale was probably the best choice for me in terms of playing an origin because im an extreme completionist and im going to get sage inspiration points all over the place, but im also going to push *everything*. i want to follow every potentiality to its end, make dodgy deals, play all sides, etc.

and surface-level that sounds good for playing as astarion (definitely getting a lot of charlatan inspiration), but what it really means is that i get a lot of approval from astarion and also i feel like it’s gonna affect the way gale’s story ends a lot more. gonna try not to go too far off the deep end but it’s gonna be pretty tempting lmao. i’ll just keep downing these tadpoles and ‘trusting’ my hot dream guy. nothing can possibly go wrong!

[giddlygoat]

my brother can make me laugh without moving at all. he can make me laugh on command, just by existing, and there is no physical tell or indication that it is about to happen. it’s like he can will me to laugh and i will. of course we’re not telepathic, but we do speak in unison sometimes. we improvise like no one’s business. we could fool anyone into believing we are psychically linked. when i try to explain it, i sound silly saying it out loud, but i really CAN tell what he’s thinking. we exchange so much information just with a look. he can make me cry laughing and he doesn’t even have to move

[therosevest]

for months i genuinely wholeheartedly could not tell the 911 guys apart and this is so important for me to stress bc throughout my life i have prided myself on being able to tell twins apart really easily and liking being that person to connect faces to other things ive watched or honestly just seen in passing like i could track down a random commercial actress and shit and i mean i suppose part of that is not knowing their characters and they just twin all the time but i apologize still im aware that mans last name is diaz and now i feel like im sitting here laid up @ all the tumblr lesbians like haha damn so thats buck x eddie? that said idk if im like happy i know any of this.

[isdalinarhot]

I do worry if I get the job im applying for I’ll “relapse” or “slip back” or what have you. Because if I get the job I will 100% have the money to get blackout drunk 7 days a week and from my vantage point right here I will take it. It takes a great deal of sacrifice and suffering for me to skip a day or even get less drunk than usual and with the whole “having a job and being more physically and emotionally drained” I’m almost certainly gonna drink more to cope. I dunno.

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

I feel like if one wants — and is trying to give themself — a mental disorder by using the label of “transid,” then they are probably already disordered in some other way that they are in denial of; because it‘s more stigmatized, or “less interesting” than the neurotype they’ve chosen to mimic… which is sad because they’re masking in two different directions at that point: one to hide their illness, the other to create an illness… which will lead to more illness. Bleak, to be honest.

[dahldahlbills]

starting to realize podcast writing might be so difficult for me bc I don’t like episodic writing.. I miss my big storylines and slowly building up to something

[designernishiki]

aight im just gonna say it. some folks really gotta stop treating nishikiryu like they’re actually related and considering anyone who’s so much as Okay with them as a pairing of being incest apologists. like. that’s a legitimately fucked up and serious thing to accuse someone of just because of your view of two factually unrelated fictional characters.

[your-lovely-ghost]

Lord don’t let this be the day my egg is cracked

[impossible-rat-babies]

the peanut brain strikes again of “not everyone has done that much stuff in this game dipshit”

[autism-disco]

i can’t believe for a brief amount of time when i didn’t like requiems holy shit they’re so good??? i mean some movements can be boring but like if you listen to dies irae from mozart and don’t somewhat explode i do not understand you, also verdi’s dies irae it’s really the fucking song ever

[theywontletmebeprincipal]

Wait. Your family spoke Syriac? Is that what you’re saying?

Not doubting, just looking for clarification.

I’ve been fascinated by the language and I wish that the Assyrians had an independent country again, they’ve been through no end of shit these last few centuries.

(I have several posts relating to them and the Syriac language, you can reblog them if you wish)

I’m an Irishman and I don’t speak a word of Irish, I’m generally bad at speaking other languages in general and it makes me feel dumb.

And the lessons in had in school never stuck with me.

Hence why I have plans to learn Armenian and Syriac.

not syriac! I’m also irish (american) :) a lot of my great/great-great grandparents moved over here bc they were in poverty in ireland during the era when the us was still really hostile to the irish, hence why they had to hide that fact. over just a couple generations they full on forgot the language. my grandpa (immigrated after serving in wwii) was sort of the only exception to that, he’s where I learned most of my irish culture knowledge from

[oatmilkandvellichor]

ya i’m not like other girls. my therapist in high school use to tell me all the time how much better i was than her other teenage patients bc they were ‘just rich drunk kids’ and i had ✨poverty trauma✨ and was sober. of course, i went home and celebrated my metaphorical A+ in therapy by drinking lean and tequila alone in my bedroom, but obvs that’s just cos i’m quirky and different

[euthymiya]

“Did you know—”

“I don’t care,” Sukuna interrupts, wholly disinterested. It’s half past three—(which is, of course, his fault, but that doesn’t mean he’s any less tired).

But you, wholly uncaring, promptly ignore him. “—That some female spiders eat the male ones after mating?”

“What do you want me to do with this information?” He looks at you irritably, glaring at you from the corner of his eyes. You flash him a grin—it’s a mischievous little thing, your lips curled in a cheeky, flirty way that warns him silently that he’s about to risk popping another vein. He seems to do that around you quite often, and it certainly feels like it’s underway once more.

(And, as it always is, his intuition would be right).

“It’s a warning,” you hum.

He snorts, raising a clearly disbelieving brow as he hums, “oh yeah? For what? Are you gonna—wha-hey!”

Not a lot catches Sukuna off guard. You giggle as he barks out a surprised yelp of your name, harshly shoving you away from his chest. There’s a nice, fresh, very crystal and very clear outline of your teeth marked right on the flesh surrounding his nipple.

He looks at you like you’ve lost your mind.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He asks incredulously.

You let out a soft, amused little giggle that sounds through the room before he feels your weight shift and fall onto him, making him grunt as his arms steady you and his eyes stare up at your hovering face with an agitated purse of his lips.

“I’m eating you,” you say cheekily, “see?” For emphasis, you leave an equally as shocking bite to his bicep, your head leaning down to get a mouthful of his bare arm. He lets out a low, startled grunt before one large and very firm hand grabs the back of your neck and yanks you off.

“Have you completely lost it?” He hisses.

“We just mated—”

“Who on Earth talks about sex like that? We are not animals who—”

“—And now I’m going to eat you after mating. Like a female spider.”

“If you’re going to be weird, just go the fuck to sleep,” he grumbles lowly.

Sukuna is tired.

(And yes, the reason is partly because he’s a bit inexhaustible once he’s felt the velvet heat of your walls, and yes, it’s technically his own greediness that’s worn him out so physically for the night. But that’s all been the cost for something of greater benefit to him. Something he doesn’t exactly mind draining his energy for.

Bur your odd, unsettling, abnormal and very plainly weird schemes are not a part of the list of things he’s willing to sacrifice his energy for. There isn’t much pleasure in entertaining your nonsense most of the time.

If anything, there’s pain—the stinging bite marks on his skin can attest to that.)

“I’m not tired,” you hum.

“Then let me make you tired,” he offers smugly, lips tugging into a cocky grin as he looks up at you.

“If you didn’t manage that the first time, what makes you think that’ll work the second?” You tease.

He doesn’t seem to like that very much, because with a growl, he pushes the back of your neck until your face falls into the crook of his neck, a strong, bulky arm wrapping around your waist and keeping you in place against his body.

It’d be awfully intimate, and awfully sweet if he didn’t mumble, “I love when you sleep because it’s the only few hours of the day I get to hear you shut the fuck up.”

“Maybe if you’d just appreciated my fun fact—”

“You bit my fucking nipple.”

“I could bite the other one, too, if you want,” you pipe up with an excited grin. He can feel it pressed against his skin as your face buries deeper into the space between his neck and shoulder.

Sukuna is tired. Most of the time, it’s because of you. All of the time, he chooses to allow it because he likes having you around for a good fuck.

(And, of course, there’s all that bullshit about love and affection, too. But that’s just that odd stuff you like to babble about—that odd, unsettling, abnormal and very plainly weird emotional part of you that somehow ropes him into being the same way every once in a while.

He doesn’t like it.)

“You need a lobotomy,” he mutters, wincing when you bite the skin of his neck in response. Not in a manner he likes, either—very much in a manner that makes sure he feels the sharpness of your incisors.

“Don’t be rude,” you scold, “I’m biologically meant to be your predator.”

“You biologically give me fuckin’ migraines.”

You grin—it’s a smile that’s easy. Smooth. Maybe a little giddy, too. It comes out only around Sukuna. Him and his gruff, rugged way of accepting your affection, and his double as rough and crude way of giving it back. His callused hands and toughened knuckles that brush along your cheeks carefully. His crass and undignified words that are carefully thought out enough to never cross the line. His downturned lips and narrowed eyes that only ever soften at the sharp corners around you.

“Next time, I’ll eat you for sure,” you murmur, settling against his chest and getting comfortable. He wraps both arms around you, warm and tight enough that you almost think you can forgo the blanket altogether. “Assert my dominance.”

“You can’t even open the pickle jar.”

“That’s different.”

“It’s only a matter of time until natural selection gets you,” he snickers quietly. You huff, biting back a smile as he yawns.

Gently, with a kiss over the bite mark you left against his neck, you say softly, “goodnight. Love you.”

“Night.”

“I love you.”

“For the love of—love you too, holy fuck. Go to sleep.”