because sometimes there are invisible tests and invisible rules and you're just supposed to ... know the rule. someone you thought of as a friend asks you for book recommendations, so you give her a list of like 30 books, each with a brief blurb and why you like it. later, you find out she screenshotted the list and send it out to a group chat with the note: what an absolute freak can you believe this. you saw the responses: emojis where people are rolling over laughing. too much and obsessive and actually kind of creepy in the comments. you thought you'd been doing the right thing. she'd asked, right? an invisible rule: this is what happens when you get too excited.

you aren't supposed to laugh at your own jokes, so you don't, but then you're too serious. you're not supposed to be too loud, but then people say you're too quiet. you aren't supposed to get passionate about things, but then you're shy, boring. you aren't supposed to talk too much, but then people are mad when you're not good at replying.

you fold yourself into a prettier paper crane. since you never know what is "selfish" and what is "charity," you give yourself over, fully. you'd rather be empty and over-generous - you'd rather eat your own boundaries than have even one person believe that you're mean. since you don't know what the thing is that will make them hate you, you simply scrub yourself clean of any form of roughness. if you are perfect and smiling and funny, they can love you. if you are always there for them and never admit what's happening and never mention your past and never make them uncomfortable - you can make up for it. you can earn it.

don't fuck up. they're all testing you, always. they're tolerating you. whatever secret club happened, over a summer somewhere - during some activity you didn't get to attend - everyone else just... figured it out. like they got some kind of award or examination that allowed them to know how-to-be-normal. how to fit. and for the rest of your life, you've been playing catch-up. you've been trying to prove that - haha! you get it! that the joke they're telling, the people they are, the manual they got- yeah, you've totally read it.

if you can just divide yourself in two - the lovable one, and the one that is you - you can do this. you can walk the line. they can laugh and accept you. if you are always-balanced, never burdensome, a delight to have in class, champagne and glittering and never gawky or florescent or god-forbid cringe: you can get away with it.

you stare at your therapist, whom you can make jokes with, and who laughs at your jokes, because you are so fucking good at people-pleasing. you smile at her, and she asks you how you're doing, and you automatically say i'm good, thanks, how are you? while the answer swims somewhere in your little lizard brain:

how long have you been doing this now? mastering the art of your body and mind like you're piloting a puppet. has it worked? what do you mean that all you feel is... just exhausted. pick yourself up, the tightrope has no net. after all, you're cheating, somehow, but nobody seems to know you actually flunked the test. it's working!

aren't you happy yet?

SO IVE BEEN GOIN INSANE SINCE THIS TRAILER DROPPED. JUST. SIMON. SIMON. SIMON.

friendly advice from vetmed: I know that when your animal has an infection that is generating a lot of discharge, you want to describe that to the veterinarian, because it’s a concerning sign. that is true. I also know that the most common word for this type of discharge is “pus,” so it’s logical that that’s the word that you’ll use when describing what’s going on. and in English, we often add a “-y” when we’re using a word as a descriptor.

but. the word. the word you are looking for. is purulent.

please stop sending in messages telling the doctor that your dog has a “pussy wound.”

Tiny skk Thunderstorm Megacomic: part 1 (here ↓) - part 2

(continued under the cut)

part 2

Nice night 🌘

what's on my mind ? going on a date to the arcade with teen!gojo. feeling his soft hand in yours as he drags you along, the patterned carpeted floor beneath your feet as you follow behind him, laughing, "slow down, 'toru, we have all day!" only for it to fall on deaf ears because gojo has always loved the arcade. thinking about the way he challenges you to games he knows you're bad at, his dimples creasing into his cheeks and his eyebrows quirked in satisfaction as he watches you sulk and pout and whine about him being unfair or "cheating" when you inevitably lose. thinking about the way he makes up for teasing you by winning you that plushie you'd been eyeing from the claw machine (even if it took him some frustration and roughly 15 dollars), your mood immediately improved as you follow him around with it in your arms. his arms around your waist and his chin on your shoulder as he whispers, "go, baby!" or, "there y'go," or "attagirl," into your ear as you [try to] focus on a game of your choosing. it's a day for you two, in your own little bubble, just two dumb teenagers in love. the way he smiles? only for you. the way he pouts when you win? only 'cause you look so cute when you beat him, even if you are rubbing it in his face. the way his lashes flutter against his cheeks when he pulls you into a sweet kiss ("your reward for winning," as he put it)? only because it's your lips he's kissing. thinking about the sparkle in his pretty eyes when you win him a keychain as a thanks at the end of it all, and the way you catch the little cat figure dangling from his schoolbag the very next day. ♡

having a very rough night so raph doodles needed to be made

when in need, mash two interests together

Late night gaming with Shane

I was possessed to make a comic page about the Chicken Man

NSFW comic ive been wanting to do for a while of seb getting…influenced…by the dark relic👀👀no idea how long its gonna be or how long itll take, so have a wip for now 🙃

TUMBLR PHANNIES

hey everyone!! ive created a survey to compare/contrast phandom experiences by platform....and i really want to hear from you!

its abt a 5-15 min time commitment depending on your answers, but your feedback is invaluable and it's completely anonymous!! (i hope it doesn't need saying but this survey is run without platform bias and the last thing i want to do is pit people against each other! i just need a bigger sample size!)

thank you <3

fucking hate it when the stuff everybody says "actually works" does actually work.

hate exercising and realizing i've let go of a lot of anxiety and anger because i've overturned my fight-or-flight response.

hate eating right and eating enough and eating 3 times a day and realizing i'm less anxious and i have more energy

hate journaling in my stupid notebook with my stupid bic ballpoint and realizing that i've actually started healing about something once i'm able to externalize it

hate forgiving myself hate complimenting myself more often hate treating myself with kindness hate taking a gratitude inventory hate having patience hate talking to myself gently

hate turning my little face up to the sun and taking deep breaths and looking at nature and grounding myself and realizing that i feel less burdened and more hopeful, more actually-here, that i am able to see the good sides of myself more clearly, that i am able to see not only how far i have to grow - but also how much growth i have already done & how much of my life i truly fill with light and laughter and love

horrible horrible horrible. hate it but i'm gonna do it tho

there's a lot of Jason as a fanfic writer headcanons (which I love) but we're sleeping on the bat that is canonically not just a huge nerd but also a great writer: duke

where's he's at now he doesn't do hobbies he barely does humaning, he's The Signal practically full time, all his fics are on permanent hiatus

theres a better future where he learns to take breaks and has a note on his mega fic like "life ya know?" like No duke we Don't know

Bylerween 2023 • Day 6 • Supernatural Creatures

once a month, after a full moon, mike risks the morning sun to comfort a guilt-wracked will with cheerful tales of his own atrocities (trying to flirt)

Don’t Cry (Stucky x Reader)

Crying wasn’t in your everyday routine. In fact, out of the three of you, you were the one known to cry the least. Maybe it was the anti-depressants, but for some reason you just never felt the need to cry.

Until today.

Steve and Bucky had been gone for mission after mission. And you appreciated this, truly, as one of the people living in the world they protected so fearlessly. But today was day number 8 in a row of Steve and Bucky gone without a trace, and not only were you getting antsy and angry, but you were starting to get upset too.

Even though you knew you shouldn’t, you picked up the phone and called Steve. He would answer, right? Wrong. Not only did he not answer, but you were sent straight to voicemail. An anxious chill ran up your spine, and you tapped on Bucky’s name next. 

“Hello? Babygirl?”

You sighed in relief. “Hi Buck.”

“Are you alright?” He sounded rushed.

“Yea,” you answered, already feeling insecure that you called. “Just miss you and Steve.”

“I miss you too babygirl-” There was the sound of movement in the background. “I’ll call you back later.”

And with that he abruptly hung up.  

You pulled the phone from your ear and looked at your phone in disappointment and shock. You certainly didn’t expect that. With a shaky sigh you retreated to the bedroom to get in your pajamas–aka Steve’s shorts and one of Bucky’s crewnecks. You tugged a blanket off of your shared bed and dragged it to the living room of your apartment, letting your body flop on the couch as you pulled the blanket up in comfort. You felt your lip start to tremble. Surely you wouldn’t cry. 

Don’t cry. You told yourself. This is silly. There’s no reason to cry.

You felt your breath become uneven and your vision became hazy.

Don’t cry.

Then, as if on cue, your cat came over to you and tilted his head with the smallest “Rrrow?”

That was what made the waterworks burst. You picked up the cat and sobbed as he purred loudy in your arms, making ungodly noises as you heaved relentlessly. 

It’d just been you and the cat for over a week now, things were becoming not just lonely, but worrisome as your thoughts antagonized you wondering if Bucky and Steve would ever come back. You used more tissues than you could count, carelessly throwing them onto the floor. Eventually you exhausted yourself from the tears, passing out on the couch with your cat snuggled up beside you.

Steve and Bucky arrived at the apartment early in the morning, well aware that you were likely asleep in the bedroom.

“Careful Steve–take your shoes off, they’re too loud.” Bucky whisper-chastised Steve as they entered.

Steve shook his head, smiling, and timidly took off his boots.

Bucky walked through the apartment while Steve took off his boots, stopping immediately at the sight of you on the couch, surrounded by tissues and your shared cat.

“Babygirl?” He called out.

You stayed unmoving.

He got closer as Steve approached, also surprised by the sight of you sleeping on the couch. He crouched down next to Bucky.

Bucky rested a hand on your shoulder, shaking you slightly. “Babygirl? Are you alright?”

You jumped at the sound of his voice, causing an explosion of crumbled tissues to erupt from the couch. “Bucky!! Steve!!”

You latched yourself to them both, squeezing as tight as you could. You squished your face in the crook of Bucky’s neck, inhaling his scent deeply. 

“Why are there so many tissues here honey?” Steve asked hesitantly.

You pulled back from the hug and looked down at the floor, at the tissues, in shame. “I guess I just missed you both.”

This time it was Steve who grabbed you by the face and pulled you in for a passionate kiss, catching you by surprise. When he released you, Bucky held you next, kissing you slowly.  

 You pleaded, breaking up the kiss with Bucky. “Please don’t leave again.”

mark couldn’t help it. he couldn’t help but to place his hand over his pants, palming himself when the only thing racing through his mind was how pretty u looked today, ordering a coffee from the cafe that he worked at. he thinks about how u pursed ur lips, reading the menu in concentration, the way ur chest heaved up and down when u came running into the store, escaping the rain. a groan catches in his throat, knowing that this was so wrong, getting off to someone he’s never even talked to, but oh god did it feel so right when his hands slipped past his waistband, fingers curling around himself. the outline of his hardening dick was too prominent thanks to the plaid pyjama pants he wore. he bit his lip, inhaling deep breaths as his hand started stroking himself. he remembers the spark he felt when ur hands brushed his as u handed him ur credit cared, he imagined it was ur hands that were rubbing against his skin right now, ur hands that were playing with the warm pre-cum that was dripping out of his swollen tip. the little voice in the back of his head was still telling him that it wasn’t too late to stop, but all he could hear was how silky smooth ur voice was ordering a drink, he wished he could listen to all the pretty sounds u would make if he was buried inside u. his pace quickens at this fantasy, imagining that he was fucking u right now, not his right hand. groaning at the thought of how good he would feel surrounded by ur warmth, his hips thrusting up into his fist harder and faster. his grip tightens when he remembers how ur white tshirt had gone slightly see through from the rain, how he must’ve been the only one who had the honour to see the traces of ur blue lace bra before u threw a crewneck on top. he couldn’t help but smile at the fact that u were wearing his favourite colour. his deep breathing now morphing into shallow whines with how long the pleasure has been building up inside. it’s the thought of ur pure, innocent smile that pushes him over the edge. the orgasm causing a string of swears being grunted out. his hips sputtering at the thought of cumming all over ur sweet face. his hands continue stroking, milking himself for everything he has. the clarity starts to settle and shame creeps over him at that fact that he really did just get off to a total stranger. but the shame didn’t last long when he discovers that none of his cum spilled and he doesn’t have to change his sheets, grateful for the fact that he was so horny, he didn’t even bother to take off his pants.

ngl smoothie dance practice mark has me in such a chokehold i had three other scenarios i started writing for him but they were all getting SO long i had to stop myself 🧍‍♂️ mark pls hmu i want u so bad 🙏

- 🌱

GODDDDD WHY MEEEE... perv mark who doesn't even realize he's being a little perv... i need him. 🌱 anon get in line bc i need him FIRST!!!!!

he would tell himself it wouldn't matter that he got off to you. it was probably just a one time thing that you came to the coffee shop he worked at. if he doesn't have to see you, it doesn't matter that he came in his pants because he'll probably never see you again anyways.

except, there you are again, pretty smile on your face as you enter the cafe. you're not drenched this time, but you are wearing a low-cut top. you're quick to order this time, same order as last time. mark tries so hard not to stare too hard at your chest, but when you hand him your card, he takes a moment too long to grab it, too busy staring at you. you clear your throat, and you're met with a sheepish look as his face turns red.

he's trying hard not to mess up your order, hands fumbling all around in embarrassment. he's also trying very hard not get a boner at his job where quite literally anyone can see him. when he calls out your order, he swears that your hand lingers on his for a while, and he swears it's on purpose. he watches you walk away, saying goodbye to him as you go about your day.

he waves goodbye to you. although he said it was a one time thing, he might just have to fuck his fist again tonight because of you.

☆ you sow; & thus you shall reap what you are owed

{☆} characters tsaritsa {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings blood, violence {☆} word count 0.8k

You are dying.

Gold melts into the dirt, bleeds into the very earth that you'd molded by your own hands – a familiarity you do not understand the source of – you know it to be true, yet you do not remember it as Teyvat does. It weeps, in turn, for the way you bleed upon it, the way your lungs strain for breath.

It is fury and sorrow and fear and hatred so raw that your mind buckles.

You will die.

"A dying godling and its judge, it's jury – it's executioners," The voice is hollow and cold, sweeps across your broken body like the first chill of winter, "Archons who saw themselves Gods, now brought to heel by their own hubris."

A cold hand upon your cheek, the brush of a thumb across your lip, the gentle caress of cold across your skin. You know her – you don't remember, you shouldn't recognize her but you do – and she knows you. The cold beckons and you follow, let her kindness settle in the hollow space of your chest. You want to speak, to cry and scream and rage, let the world burn around you in a fit of flames so hot even she cannot contain it – but she silences you, quiets the anger seeping into your blood, quiets Teyvat itself.

"Do not speak, little godling. Guide my hand," She is cold; her hands are not gentle, yet it is bliss compared to the callous, cruel hands that have shattered you. She is cruel and cold and brutal but she is love in the way she kisses the crown of your head. She is love in the way she is the bulwark between you and the world that has scorned you – she is fury in the way she brings them to their knees. "And I shall enact judgement most divine."

They will pray for forgiveness, and they shall find themselves wanting.

"It wasn't our fault!" They cry, but you cannot recognize the voice – it breaks and cracks like glass. "They were too human. How were we meant to know? We– we thought they were.."

Silence.

You watch your judge – the executioner, the blade that shall carve their sins into the very marrow of Teyvat, stand above you like death. As cold as winter and just as brutal. Your temple has been painted in the gold of your divine blood, and she shall complete the masterpiece with their own. The Archons shall become the grandest art in the world – this temple the canvas, their blood the paint and their bodies the palette. The cold that cuts sinew cradles you – it sings to you, whispers sweetly in your ear and carves bone from body in the same breath. The cold presses it's lips to your wrist and it cradles a heart within it's palm – judges them and finds them guilty.

It is her spear that rests between their ribs, her sword that dissects and her dagger that carves – the cold devours.

In the breadth of this divine sanctuary, the Archons dwindle. They become the pieces of a divine work of art, they bleed and bend and break upon her hands. She shakes the heavens and carves mortality into the bones of the divine – your word is Law, and you weave their deaths into the roots of Teyvat itself.

They shall know of their grand folly in every moment henceforth and longer still and they shall weep.

And as the curtain falls, as the world crumbles beneath fist and blade, she cradles your face between hands too cold – as gentle as a shard of ice between your ribs, as brutal as the kiss of gentle snowfall. The world buckles at the loss of six, but she alone does not allow it to break – you will have to mend the wounds of the world when you are well, but today you weep and Teyvat weeps with you.

And alone, the cold remains.

Stone has eroded, the wind has ceased, the flames have been extinguished, the storm has been silenced, the forests have gone quiet and the seas go still.

But the cold remains, bathed in gold.

It wraps you in thick furs, cradles you against the winter storm that brews beneath a veneer of composure. It brings you home – lets the world settle into a stillness and silence that inspires only dread and still she presses a kiss to your brow.

It is cold, but there has never been something so warm.

Where hands have broken you, she drapes you in furs, wipes away the thick gold that clings to your skin. She pieces you back together where you have been shattered, reshapes you where you have been bent – makes of you something new. Not a god and not a mortal but something wedged between them.

But you are yourself.

And you are where you belong.

They shall put you back together and you shall know only the worship worthy of the divine. They shall carve this world into your image, tear out and burn away the rot that festers.

All you need to do is say the word and they shall be your tools to make this world your own.

One word and those who wronged you shall burn, too.

Just one word. That's all it takes, and they shall take away your pain.