#formless blob speaks

[p2ep]

one of my fav things about medieval manuscripts is many of the illustrations of birds are recognizable as real bird species. i can go birding in here

my man the european goldfinch!!!!!!!

short-eared owl?

magpie!

sparrowhawk !

like idk. i get mad at posts making fun of medieval art because 100% of the time it's a drawing that is deeply steeped in iconography and its own visual language that is difficult to interpret if you don't know the symbols and what they mean. and i feel like wider pop-culture does not ever think about the fact that these people were illustrating the world as they saw it !!!

[satorena]

#BUILD-A-BLOB !?

bad ☆ summary. good news? your nephew’s birthday gift to you definitely works. bad news? turns out to be a cranky four armed creature that nags at everything you do. good / bad news? he’s smokin’ hot and you wanna fuck him nasty. seriously, what the fuck.

cw. explicit content. foul language. monsterfūcking. blobkuna to true form!kuna. double penetration. anāl. deepthroăting. cunningūlus. pūssy slapping. bāckshots. belly bulge. creāmpie. degradation (he calls you mean things) overstimulation. dumbification. mentions of drug usage. sukuna speaks like he has a stick up his ass. pōrn without plot. 4.4k words.

rena’s ☆ note. guys i’m giggling so hard at the gif HELP

“the fuck are ya starin’ at?”

technically speaking, you think you’re looking at a seven foot monster with more arms than you can count, more mouths than necessary and much more tattoos than you can see. just a minute ago, this entity had been an ugly formless blob with a singular eye and bucked teeth that sat against your window, forming incoherent sentences as “me want water”, “me need light” or your personal favorite, “me want you to fuck off”.

you’d left to check on your plants momentarily, coming back to your living space to find that the blob had transformed into a . . . human? something along the word that you use very loosely.

he stands tall and proud and very naked— though unimpressed, toned arms crossed and ass cheeks facing the world outside. you can see the reflection of his clenched buns through the glass and— is that a fucking tramp stamp?

“i’m thinking. . . what used to be my birthday gift,” you answer slowly, brows pinched in confusion as your head tilts. it’s below you, sure, but you can’t help staring at what’s below him. surely it’s the weed catching up to you because there’s no way that, “is that— holy shit, is that two dicks?”

“perverted woman,” the man (question mark) clicks his tongue, as if he isn’t the one dressed in his birthday suit, asshole bearing for pedestrians outside to file public indecency on you. “your reaction suggests you’ve never witnessed the presence of two at once.”

“well. . . no,” he stares at you as if you’re the one with four arms and abnormally long legs. you crouch down, index finger scratching at the corner of your mouth to analyze it some more. you were curious, nothing more! you feel the multitude of his eyes trailing your movements, daring you to proceed forward. he truly doesn’t know you.

they stack atop one another, though both sizes are nothing to scoff at. packing in both girth and length, they stand tall and semi hardened, with curves to the right. he’s got prominent veins running all over his skin, mushroom tips an angry shade of reddish brown. frowning, you peek your head lower to confirm following suspicions,

his tone is rough along the edges, “i do not possess four testicles.” damn it.

“boo, you suck,” you sigh, indeed disappointed by the confirmation. you’d think a monster with monstrous limbs and monstrous cocks would own monstrous balls. “whatever.” you stand back up on your feet, though you’re met with hard ripples of glistening abs.

“so like,” you pause, now shamelessly staring at his torso with shimmering eyes. he’s ripped with an eight pack, waist snatched like a motherfucker and skin inked like a colouring book. “what do i call you?”

you think you hear him chuckle, “how foolish,” a mouth then appears on his stomach, to which you jerk back from how sudden it was. your brows jump to your hairline, eyes widening as teeth bare at you menacingly. “it is common decency to introduce yourself firsthand. have you no manners in the presence of a king?”

“a who?” you squawk, overwhelmed by the intensity of the situation. this four-armed freak was a king? from where exactly? you shake your head, as if to turn off your inner monologues and quiet the voices down, “right, right. erm, you can call me y/n.”

he repeats your name slowly, followed by a deep chuckle. the rumble of your name against his voice sends a weird tingle down your gut, as you crane your neck upwards to finally look him in the face.

you gulp. damn it, he was attractive all around. though morally questionable, you found his features dashing. sure, there was the weird thing stuck in the side of his face that resembled a mixture of flesh and wood. and yeah, he had an additional set of slender eyes. however, his facial harmony somehow blended perfectly. his facial structure was sharp all around, from his nose bridge to his jawline, and his ears with pierced.

what more could anybody want?

blame it on the sativa or the fact you hadn’t been fucked in a while, but it was your birthday and you want your birthday gift, damn it. there shouldn’t be anything wrong with that— the pulsing at your core had your thighs rubbing together subtly (you hoped) (he smirked when he noticed your legs shifting) (fuck, he already knows).

“you will address me as sukuna, mortal.” he says instead, one of his arms mounting to grasp at a piece of your hair. he’s beefy, big biceps surrounding your peripherals as they flex hard. he twirls your hair between his fingers, and shit, you’re gonna need his nail technician’s reference.

“you talk like you have a stick up your ass,” your voice sounds distant, as distracted as you are, perverted eyes trailing to follow the bulging of his muscles. even his forearm is sexy, a large vein running course beneath his skin amongst others. “you ask for my name and choose to call me mortal? corny.”

“i am not a product of this time,” he riddles, tugging at the strand in his hold. the searing pain of his tug at your hair has you moaning— in agony or pleasure, who truly knows— and before you know it, he spreads the rest of his large fingers at your scalp, “you say i speak as if i have a stick up my ass,” shivers run down your spine when his fingernails scratch at your head, “but really it is you who wants my stick up yours, huh?”

you blink. how the fuck did he know? “th-that’s not even remotely true—”

“do not lie,” another arm lifts to cup at your face. his index rests beneath your jaw as his thumb sits at your chin. you feel the sharp edges of his nails grazing at your skin, “your scent is rather . . . pungent.”

you feel heat quickly spread to your cheeks and your panties effortlessly dampening. he smirks, dipping his thumb into your parted mouth, before scrunching his nose into a whiff, “ah, there it is again.”

the pad of his thumb swipes against your bottom lip, skin collecting your saliva before rubbing the fluid all over your mouth. you feel the tip of his nail poking into the flesh, and your brows furrow, “and you called me the perverted one.”

“that remains true.” another— jeez, how many more— arm snakes at your waist. it creeps below your shirt and sits at your bare skin, a touch so warm it sends jolts of electricity across your limbs. his hand rests at your lower belly, and when a wet tongue drags itself across your sensitive skin, you clamp your lips down around his thumb in a whimper, “you’re an obedient one. i think i’ll have fun with you.”

your brows furrow as your cunt clenches. his smirk deepens and, fuck you really need to stop doing that, “have fun with me?”

“it has been a while since i’ve fooled around with a mortal,” he hums, slipping his thumb out of your mouth. there’s a thin string of saliva connecting from your lips to his fingertip, and you hate how you already crave the salty flesh back in your mouth. “let us see just how weak the human body truly is.”

somewhere along the lines, you find yourself on your knees in your living room, carpet digging into your kneecaps as your fingers interlock at your back. your jaw aches, to the point of snapping as two fat cocks shove themselves down your throat. you breathe through your nostrils as your mouth is clearly occupied, fat tears dotting at your lash line and dribbles of saliva slipping past your lips and down his cocks.

two of his hands grasp at your head as leverage, hips thrusting up and down your throat. the gags that escape you are pornographic, throat muscles clenching around the intrusion. fuck, the strong musk of his pubic hairs cloud your senses and overwhelm your mind— driving you dizzy in arousal.

“loosen up yer throat,” sukuna commands, though you find it contradictory as another one of his abnormally large hands wrap themselves around your throat. he presses just lightly, as if to trace over the bulge of his dicks inside of you, but the lack of oxygen has your body liquifying in heat. you think you see stars, and your pupils start to dilate. “c’mon mortal, don’t pass out on me now— we’ve only just begun.”

easy for you to say, you roll your eyes, though complying to his orders. shit, it’s really hard to breathe but you can’t deny you love how objectifying all of this feels. bounding your own hands back, kneeled in front of this king, hair grouped up in one hand to tug onto. he was using you as if you were merely a toy for his own pleasure, mushroom tips repeatedly abusing the walls of your throat.

your cunt clenches around air, gushing more of your essence against the flimsy material of your panties. his stomach clenches tightly, as do his thigh muscles, the embodiment of man in front of you, destroying your throat.

fuck, your clit throbs.

the king coos at you degradingly, ruby eyes narrowing down at your figure, “awnn, ‘s it too much for ya?” you feel a wad of spit land on your cheek, and despite the nastiness of the actions, the filthiness has you clenching your thighs together. of course he finds pleasure in your desperation, leaning back further into the couch to cock his head at you, “humpin’ on yerself like a desperate slut beggin’ for a proper dicking. how pathetic,”

you nod your head eagerly, as your mouth fails to express just how badly you do want him. he’s so deep down your throat, you swear you feel him near your heart. the sting at your scalp plus the lack of oxygen and your need to have him stuff you full drives you wild with want— so desperate that tears leak through your eyes, stream down your cheeks and land right at his dicks.

“mhm, i’ll take care of ya,” sukuna cuts himself off with a deep groan, sliding further down into his seat. he shifts his hips deeper down your throat, and you gag terribly loud, “you hungry, mortal? open wide and, fuck, take what i give ya—” another grunt leaves him, and as does thick ropes of cum do.

your eyes widen as you’re greeted with hot cum shooting down your throat. it’s creamy, thick and so, so much of it that you’re certain swallowing it all would be impossible. your cheeks hollow as you attempt in your best efforts to gulp him down, the flavour of salty semen bursting at your taste buds.

“greedy bitch,” he chuckles through a moan, grinding his hips in rotations as he rides down the high. sweat dribbles down the crevices of his abs, stomach clenching hard as he empties his balls in you. “thaaat’s it—shit, not fuckin’ bad.”

when he finally pulls out, you gasp loudly for the sweet air you had been deprived of. your body trembles as you release your own hold, hands flying up to grasp at his thick thighs. your fingernails scrape at his skin as your chest heaves.

“y’re so,” you pant, and you can barely register how broken your voice sounds. did his cocks destroy your vocal chords already? “y’re so fuckin’. . . mean.”

“too much?” sukuna cackles, though he’s nowhere near sounding apologetic. his fingers cupping your face swipe at fallen tears on your cheeks. at the feel of a wet tongue licking at your damp skin, you pout in retaliation, brows furrowed and swollen lips puckered, “better get it together, ‘m gonna stretch that pussy out.”

damn it— he had such a way with words. you subconsciously lean your cheek further into his touch, and the grin he gives you is barbaric, “face down, ass up.”

so yeah, you find yourself with your cheek pressed into the softness of your couch, hips pulled up and thighs spread as sukuna feasts. the panties you once wore stuffed in your mouth, they muffle the wanton sounds that rip out your abused throat.

you feel his tongue lap at your folds hungrily, fingers spreading your pussy lips apart for better access. he tongue fucks into your hole, lips sucking and nibbling at your clit with precision. wet heat intrudes your insides and have your stomach tightening.

fingernails scratching at the couch, your back arches as you grasp at anything for support. having multiple mouths should be illegal— you feel tongues trailing all over your thighs and the dip in your back, you feel them rimming at your backside. you even think you feel one diving into your ass.

“mmph, m‘kunaaa!” you wail, toes curling as you push your hips further into his face. you’d never been eaten out as good as he is, nose deep in your cunt as your insides get devoured. you’re so overwhelmed— your puffy clit secreting essence as a slick tongue flicks at the bean.

a hand slaps once, twice at your ass as another pair of hands grip at your plush flesh. “shut th’fuck up,” he speaks into you, the vibrations of his voice sending shivers up your spine. you roll your eyes to the back of your skull, foot shaking uncontrollably. when the hands cupping at your breast begin tugging at your nipples, tongues flicking the stiff bud, you feel your dam erupt.

“mmfuuuuckkk!” you whine, as your cunt gushes in his face. he never lets up, tongue repeatedly scissoring your hole as he swallows your juices. you’re squirting so much it drips all over his face and down the suede couch, down your thighs. you think your soul had been taken by this damn near succubus with how long it takes for you to come back to your senses.

he pulls back with a nasty smack from his lips to your lower ones, using the back of his hand to wipe at any excess fluids, “sweet cunt,” he praises you, and you weakly whine, body drained of energy as you fall limp into the soaked couch. you’re out of it, bottom lip quivering as your limbs tingle in bliss— you feel your lids growing heavier by the second but sukuna is having none of that, “aht aht— where the fuck d’you think yer goin’?”

you feel pair of hands pull your hips back up and another grab a handful of your hair in a steady hold. you’re immediately pulled up on all fours, and you whimper at the firm blows he lands yet again on your ass.

he lifts himself on his knees, and you feel his hardnesses rub against the curve of your booty, “told you i was gon’ stretch this pussy out— ‘m a man of my fuckin’ word.” and shit, you think you push your ass back against his leaking cocks, dragging the beady fluids all over the softness of your skin.

your back arches sinfully as you spit out the soaked panties from your mouth and onto the floor. the slide of his dicks in between your thighs has your stomach heating in lust, the drags of his tips at your clit reenergizing you faster than you’d like to admit.

“mmhm, that’s it,” he grumbles into the supple skin at your neck, grazing his fangs teasingly at the flesh and his warm breath further dampening your skin. the large hands that cupped at your waist now lean you forwards against the arm of the couch, and you suddenly feel a lot of blood rushing to your brain. your arms feel weak as they support your body weight, your back arches like a cat and legs stretched out—

holy shit, are you hanging off the fucking couch?

“give up and you fall face first onto the damn floor,” the king cackles, as if the funniest joke in the world, as if your cunt wasn’t gushing your essence— begging to be filled and tore apart. your eyes widen comically as your knees buckle just slightly at the feel of his cock rubbing at your clenching hole, “try and keep up, mortal.”

sukuna grips at the base of his first dick, aligning it to your entrance. you hear him hiss as he collects your cum around the circumference of his tip, fingernails digging deep into your waist. fuck, that hurts so good. any further deeper and you’re certain he’d draw blood.

now, you were definitely no athlete the way he took his sweet time teasing you both. you had barely finished coming down from your previous orgasm, and with the excessive blood seeping into your brain, you felt yourself dizzying quicker than you’d anticipated, “kunaaa— hurry, i can’t hold out any longer— ngh fuuuck!”

your nails claw at the wooden floor when you felt him finally bottom out. holy fuck— how many inches was he packing? you could physically feel your pussy stretching out to his size, to accommodate to the intrusion of his ruthless cock into your tight hole. the sudden penetration hurt in a way that had your clit tingling, walls clamping down as if to seize him from moving any further.

“mortal,” he groans deeply, and there goes another spank at your ass. naturally, you clamp down harder. “quit— fuck, squeezin’ so tight. how the fuck am i s’posed to dick you down when you’re grippin’ me like a damn vice?”

“‘s too much!” you argue, though your hips roll around as if to adjust to his unreasonable size. you feel more tears flooding your eyes, and your core aches for a mean pounding. “just. . . gimme a minute,”

“a minute?” he repeats, though his tone is far from understanding. there’s a hint of mischievous dripping from words, and shit, he’s already pulling out. your cunt negates your words, desperately latching onto his length as if to reprimand him from exiting any more. he notices your contradiction, “doesn’t seem like yer pussy needs a minute. gotta tell you baby, i don’t like liars.”

your toes curl as he fucks himself back into you. the moan that rips from your throat is far beneath your ability to stop, and you squeeze your eyes shut. he repeatedly pounds into your cunt, the more the strokes, the deeper it goes. he may as well create an indent in your guts with how intense his thrusts are.

“hnng, ohmyfuckkk,” your back only arches further, the delicious burn of his dick stretching your velvet walls driving your mind delirious. his pace is insane— with every meet of his hips at your ass, you jerk forward, tits jiggling in the process. you feel hands spreading your cheeks for better access, alongside a wad of spit land at your cunt, sealed by a nice slap on your reddened ass.

he’s crushing your cervix. it hurts but you don’t want him to stop. it’s all too overwhelming— the repetitive slaps of his heavy balls at your sensitive clit, the way he digs himself deep into you, rolling his hips to reach all sensitive spots inside your spongy self. god, you can hear how sinful the point of contact between both your bodies as it echoes in the living room.

“creamy fuckin’ pussy,” sukuna grunts, tone so low you assumed he was more so speaking to himself. your wetness had submerged into a thick essence of cream around the base of his shaft, further easing the ruthless slides of his dick into your cunt. you don’t ignore how his second cock twitches against your asshole. “you tryna snatch my damn soul? tsk, greedy slut.”

your arms are giving out. your thighs burn and furthermore— your cunt aches, badly. he’s giving and giving, pounding so mercilessly into your pussy it was as if he were mad at you. you’d never been fucked so profoundly, his tip bullying into you so meanly with the additional mix of blood rushing into your head— fuck, you need a break.

still, sukuna seems two steps ahead of you, slithering an extra arm to your nape and gripping at your hair. two other hands drag your hips backwards in place, simultaneously pushing himself back where he’d once been— snug in the comfort of your warm pussy. “nah, nah, don’t you fuckin’ run away. fuckin’ take what i give you—” he holds you by the hips and lifts you up and down on his cock. you feel your feet leave the couch as a majority of the weight you held onto your palms were lifted. “this is what you wanted. mhm, be a good bitch and own up to your consequences.”

you’re babbling, the idea of you being a toy again for his use, the new angle of his cock protruding inside has drool dribbling down your chin and your eyes rolling to the back of your skull. “too d-deep, feel you in my— nghhh, h-heart.”

“‘s that so?” he chuckles heartily, and your mind is too numb to register the weird sting that grows at your forbidden zone. you’re too fucked out to notice what he has in store for you, “let’s double that shit. pierce right through yer mortal heart and mark it my territory.”

a sharp wail erupts, as you’re now filled to the brim with two girthy cocks. it’s an uncomfortable stretch in an area you were far from accustomed to, but in your current position, you’re nowhere near able to stop him. you’re not too sure you want him too— his cocks rubbing against the thin linen that separates your cunt to your ass.

holy fuck, your brain is turning into mush. he’s fucking into you like a madman— both your holes abused by the same pair of hips diving deep into your insides. your limbs feel numb, despite now being lifted into the air. he’s fucking manhandling you, hands holding all regions of your body still as he grinds his cocks in. what an out of body experience— head and tits jerking to the rhythm his hips set.

your guts are on fire, and you recognize this feeling all too well. the same one that has your eyes crossing to the centre of your face and your wet tongue lolling out of your mouth. your breaths are cut short, your tummy bulging into the shape of the king that’s taken control of your entire being.

holy shit.

“atta girl,” sukuna whistles when you spray him unexpectedly. your muscles clench as does your cunt and ass around his dicks, body trembling from an outwardly orgasm racking over you. sukuna never lets up, your crying only spurring him on more, “oh yeahhh, now that’s an ugly face. hah! turns me on.”

you’re snivelling, and you think you feel snot dripping down your nose. through the window where this creature was once an ugly form on nothingness, you watch your reflection. my goodness— how is he not stopping? you feel like you’re gonna die, your soul getting snatched from various regions, the repetitive strokes of his dicks at your most sensitive areas. holy shit, you’re gonna die.

“c’mon, entertain me some more,” he accentuates each word with powerful thrusts, and in return, receives splutters of more juices. you’re leaking like a damn faucet, dripping down your thighs and soaking your soiled couch. your fluids leak down to meet his pair of balls, now lubricated as they slap more intensely at your abused clit.

you’re left wordless. seriously, arms as limp as noodles as they hang to your side, head lolled forward. your mind feels so empty yet so full, the familiar pain of overstimulation now taking over your body. your muscles spasm violently around him, uncontrollably as sukuna takes and takes more of you.

“thankyouthankyouthankyou,” although not entirely sure what you’re thanking him for, the words slip past your kiss-bitten lips and into the thick air. you feel him press his own mouth at the column of your sweaty back, and your chants continue, “thankyouthankyou—”

“what an obedient lil thing,” sukuna coos, and you feel an extra tongue flick greedily at your tight bundle of nerve. your body begins to seize, stomach caving deeply in as you succumb to the pressure, “who’s my good bitch, hmm?”

“m-me.” you answer so weakly that it unsatisfies him. the tongue torturing your clit now bites down onto the bud and you cry out loudly. shit, you’re squirting again.

“i said,” he repeats himself with more finality. the wet squelching sounds of his cocks bullying at your holes overpower his own voice, and you can’t stop the shaking of your body. and with every pause, his cocks slam further and further in, “who’s. my. good. bitch.”

“meeee!” you hic, drool be damned as it seeps past parted mouth and down your throat. god, this was so above you and yet, here you were, getting fucked like your life depended on it. it hurts, hurts so good that you simultaneously want to push and pull from his embrace.

he holds you up higher, and your legs wrap around his waist with your back tucked into his chest. his hands slide from your waist to your inner thighs, now holding you tight against him. your head falls back onto his shoulder and in the midst of your daze, you feel a fingernail trailing down the slope of your neck.

“yeahhh,” he chuckles darkly, eyes narrowing onto your fucked out figure. his eyes then flick to the imprint of his cock penetrating at your belly, followed by the inconsistent tremors of your body. “‘s what i fuckin’ thought.”

somewhere along the line, you’re left boneless in his strong hold as he fucks and fucks and fucks. he’s everywhere at once, a presence so dominating that you’re left as if you have no other choice but to surrender. but that’s exactly all there is to it, no? a king using his pussy to his satisfaction.

“‘m gonna breed this slutty body full of my cum, make you mine. cause that’s all yer good for— ain’t that right baby?” you nod, because of course you do. he’s pounding some more and more, and the warmth that fills your belly to the brim is anything but surprising. he’s grunting in your ear, a string of profanities flowing into the air. he’s cumming so much from both cocks that it leaks past your bruised holes.

his hips roll some more, and both your cunt and ass clench around him greedily, milking him out for every drop he’s worth. he hums against your damp face, dragging the tip of nose through a multitude of fluids. you have a weak smile gracing your lips, and his arms tighten possessively around your tinier frame, “happy birthday indeed, mortal.”

oh my god, you’re gonna die.

. . .what the fuck did i just write.

[stagedoor-sobber]

welcome ! ! !

my name is noah, but you can call me pebble, spork, or toad if you want a nickname! i’m open to other nicknames, but only @hiidkwhatimdoing7525 can call me nil/nilip >:3

i’m autistic, anxious and i have arfid

i have some sort of chronic illness, i don’t have any idea what it is unfortunately, but i experience chronic pain, orthostatic hypotension, and fatigue

i’m what i call 75-80% aroace—i’m asexual, arovague, and demiromantic

i‘m queer, and i’m open to any gender!

i’m single!

i'm very awkward, so if i seem off i probably just feel weird about what i've said! i also am bad at replying, so don't worry if it takes me a bit to reply to any messages!

gender is kind of complicated for me, so i generally use either “a fucking formless blob”, just a guy, demiboy and boyfreak, or transmasc.

i’m transmasc, and i use he/they/it pronouns!

i’m a minor—i don’t mind adults interacting as long as we both feel comfortable! 

i will block people if they make me feel uncomfortable, so dni if you’re going to be rude or sexual or violent as you will forcibly not interact!

dni: maga, homophobe/transphobe/queerphobe, racist, ableist, trump supporters, proshippers (i don’t have a problem with others enjoying it but i personally don’t enjoy it!), generally rude people, anyone who supports cringe culture, anti-endo, anyone who judges any religions, farts (terfs)/radfems, and judgmental people! 

besties:

@joellalovestoread @kalied0skull @colequette @reeeneeereee @texasholdemup @very-super-silly @yournormalidiot @halfofmysoulasthepoetsay @banana-catdude @newsies-united @fandoms-you-never-knew-existed @sameena1500 @whynotreinventmyselfeveryday @zombiegiraffe @anxietyandpineapples @linguisticsnerd13 @awful-amateur @nestavadavat @billiethewoodlandfaerie @iliketoeatair @kai-in-the-korner

irls:

@mushroomenthusiast14 @mages-maps-mistakes-podcast @mages-maps-mistakes-dm

my real best friend, companion through life, like actual soulmate:

@hiidkwhatimdoing7525

interests: 

dan and phil

the great gatsby

maybe happy ending

the outsiders

newsies

sharks

hamilton

hadestown

all history but french revolution, 60s, and napoleonic era specifically

robotics (i do fll and kidwind)

gravity falls

jentry chau vs the underworld

the owl house

keeper of the lost cities

riordanverse

be more chill

phineas and ferb

elio

lilo and stitch

noahfinnce

sci guys pod

notcorry

cavetown

beach bunny

music in general

musical theatre 

some fun facts about me:

i want to be an actor, microbiologist, or ichthyologist!

i’ve won multiple world championships!

i’ve been to a cavetown concert, a brandi carlile concert, a beach bunny concert, all in, hadestown, annie, hamilton, six, mamma mia, the book of mormon, the outsiders, the lightning thief, cats, wicked, beetlejuice, high school musical, frozen live, aladdin live, the lion king, the play gone wrong, the outsiders play, and to kill a mockingbird!

i’m actually tall, which surprises people when they meet me irl!

i’m intp!

i’m not religious atm but i’ve found praying (just to the universe) can help me feel better when i’m feeling anxious or depressed so i’m open to suggestions

i live in america (unfortunately) but I speak french!

[freckliedan]

as someone quite new in the phandom, has pj ever talked about gender in a…gendery way?

off the top of my head:

pj enthusiastically agreed with dan about feeling like a formless blob gnenderwise when BIG dropped, iirc? in a tweet?

a couple years ago pj changed pronouns in bio to he/they, but has since removed pronouns from bios completely, which—both of those are equally gendery moves to me. sometimes you remove your pronouns from bio because they're not for public consumption yet (or maybe ever) but leaving un-updated ones there also sucks.

i don't follow pj's stuff as closely as i used to so i couldn't speak more on this but like. updating ur pronouns is about as definitive as it can get.

[rhineposting]

"I am Scott Cawthon, and you are?"

(short story about Scott 01_01 meeting one of the Phone Guys. Not sure what else is there to say besides that I was very inspired by dsaftales "Nothing" and this gorgeous drawing of Scott Prime)

Something began to stir, an ominous rumble echoing through the vast space, faintly lit up by a pale light coming from seemingly nowhere and everywhere all at the same time. No walls to be found in any direction for miles ; only an old, wooden floor that seemed to stretch past the horizon into eternal darkness. Aside from that, there was nothing that could have moved or made any sounds, and yet, it did. It writhed mindlessly, louder and louder until finally, that nothingness burst : violently birthing a groaning, wheezing wet blob of wires onto the floor - a puddle of something best left unnamed and undescribed forming around it as it continued pouring from the wound in the nothingness for a while. There should have been no air to transfer the sound of it trickling, spreading everywhere and yet…

One arm was abruptly extended from within the formless mass. Fingers twitched as an invisible force tugged at it’s wrist, similarly to how one would have tugged at a knot on a string of yarn in hopes of untangling it. In no time, another arm followed ; then a leg, then a torso, another leg and finally a head - encased in featureless plastic and metal. Though it had neither a mouth or a nose, the form through means inexplicable (incomprehensible, even) took a deep, deep breath. Cold air filled it’s aching lungs, the sensation somehow simultaneously refreshing and numbing, it’s wet fingers slipping slightly over the wooden tiles. Weak, barely conscious, it would have surely fallen over, plastic-cage first into the floor, were it not for something suddenly pulling it upwards, straightening it’s posture. A sharp pain shot from it’s spine, and the mass let out a choked up cry.

“Here, here. Let me help you up, put you back together…I’m sorry. I’m so sorry about all of this.”

Warm, calloused hands began gently wiping away the wet grime from the plastic and the flesh connected to it, tenderness of it oddly familiar to the mass : now slowly taking shape of a man, clad in jeans and a blue shirt. Above it all, like a poor mockery of a crown, stood a black, scratched up rotary phone where a head of flesh and bone ought to have been. Then, and only then did he became aware of being conscious - as if experiencing the entirety of the evolution of sapience in the span of five seconds. Startled, just like anyone else would have been in his place, the man jumped away.

“A-Ah, who are you?!” he stammered out, at the same time looking around - despite not having any eyes, so to speak of. “W-Where am I? What is this??”What - or more so, who - stood before the man was another man. His suit, well taken care of in spite of age, was a blue so bright it appeared to have been painted onto the man…Much like the rest of the man himself, really : his presence radiant and warm, contrasting greatly against the cold darkness surrounding them.He too, had a phone for a head - a relic, the casing still made out of wood, the visible metal parts ever so slightly rusted at the edges. Yet, between the two of them, the younger model looked almost crude, with all it’s scratches, stains and other marks of wear and tear when facing the older one : regal, well maintained, having visibly been loved.

“I am Scott.” the man in blue extended one hand in greeting towards him. “I’m so happy to meet you.”

(READ THE REST ON AO3 HERE)

[diz-eaze]

I'm in my "would you still love me if I died and while you were grieving, an eldritch being stole my mortal form giving you an avenue deny reality and continue on as though I'd never left?" Phase again.

I need to know, would Scara stoop to the level of kidnapping other people to feed an eldritch blob so said blob had the energy to actually take my form so he can lay pipe, or is he 'above' monster-fucking, let alone sticking his dick in what he knows is a formless blob taking on your appearance and memories?

This is very important, and the answer has the potential to cause a nuclear (fictional) relationship fallout greater than that caused by the infamous "can of worms" question.

the death of you had him clawing at his chest until he bled because the pain was too great for him to bear. the tears spilled in your name, and the sobs he gave out were all meaningless because your heart had stopped beating. perhaps you were taken by a chronic illness, an accident, or became a victim of a killer's hands. either way, your physical body, your voice, and your touch no longer exist, for your flesh had long rotted away, exposing your skeleton to the world. you are gone. and there's no waking up from that.

but perhaps an illusion is enough to anchor him to reality, to keep him going as a functional human being.

this... creature isn't you, he knows well deep in his soul. but it looks like you, and perhaps through time, he can teach it how to act like you, too. if he can just close his eyes and will his brain to block out the memories of your death and funeral, then he can blissfully live out the rest of his life and pretend as if you never even left the mortal plane.

unfortunately, the creature's shapeshifting ability begins to wane off when it's hungry, and when it shifts back into this incomprehensible blob form that takes up an entire room's worth of space, scaramouche is left with no choice but to find food for it. in the beginning, he had assumed that what it needed were home-cooked meals; vegetables cut up, meat tenderly cooked, eggs perfectly fried, and all together nicely plated. he had opened the door, only enough for the plate of food to fit inside, before closing it quickly.

when it doesn't have your face and body, he finds it hard to look at it for long periods of time.

merely seconds after closing it, the sound of the ceramic plate collides against the closed door with an ear-curdling wail that follows soon after. he hears the creature stomp around, a childish action, before sighing and opening the door once more. he's not quite sure yet if it can understand him completely. all he remembers from his first encounter with it is when it was already inhabiting your body.

"what do you want?" the words are spit out through gritted teeth, a frown set firmly on his face.

it speaks, or at least he thinks it's trying to, but all that he hears is a mess of gurgles and babbles. his frown deepens before reluctantly taking a step forward.

"what was that?"

"...-uman..." this time, what he hears is nearly comprehensible, yet still quite tapered. this creature can't seem to grasp speech quite yet, it seems.

still, scaramouche asks for confirmation, "human?"

it nods to the best of its abilities, moving in an up-and-down motion.

this thing... eats humans? this would undoubtedly spell trouble for him, there are too many unknown factors at play here. how often would it need to consume a human? is one even enough per meal? how will he find someone without raising suspicion? what about the bones, will it consume those too?

and most of all... should he fail to find a sacrifice, would he be the meal himself?

it's too risky, yet as he peers into what stands infront of him, the only thought worth echoing in his mind is the prospect of bringing you back.

it's not you.

but it's enough for now.

(down the line, he deludes himself enough into believing that perhaps, this is actually, truly you. maybe this is you in death, and that you had left the afterlife to crawl back into the one place that you can call home.)

[spiribia]

My most grinch like opinion about Sky COTL is I wish they never added shared memories that projected the full clear appearance of other players. I like shared spaces as uninhabited artifacts and shelters people place in the world for others and I love the idea of text messages people can leave behind like the paper boats. These feel more like the echo of someone else reaching out to anyone who might come along without any surety someone else will hear. That’s the kind of simultaneous presence and loneliness I really enjoy about the atmosphere of the game. The warm glow of it is it can often feel like solitude, but other people are here to help nevertheless. You can’t verbally speak to most people, but you can call for help. Whenever you enter a new map, everyone is a stranger in the sense that you don’t even know what they look like individually (all formless gray blobs) - everyone looks the same until you mutually touch candles to reveal their visage. no one has a name until you befriend them and assign them one. It’s the principle of the little prince and the roses and the fox. Being able to both see and hear other people at the same time is a privilege afforded by a little outreach of closeness. Then there’s the shared memory feature where interacting with an object on the floor instantly puts some fully visible stranger kitted out in in-app purchase cosmetics that just dropped that day saying something like “Were you injured in that fall, darling? ~ *kisses your forehead* There. All better?” in visible text even though you never met this person in your life

[sadkachow]

(cw: brief mentions of internalized arophobia)

now that i've actually realized i'm arospec, i'm starting to notice just how obvious it was. like, i've suspected it a few times in my life, but each time i was like "nooo, i can't POSSIBLY be aromantic". and, um. yeah, so that was a lie.

so, here's a:

list of things that probably should've made me realize/accept i was arospec before i actually did:

only ever had "crushes" on people that either would have made social sense for me to, i just thought were really cool and wanted to be friends with, or people who either confessed or me first or who other people assumed i had a crush on. i legit just went through a list of these with my friends, and literally everyone single one of the people on it was one or more of these three things. speaking of that is:

only ever had a "crush" on literally six people. six. this doesn't count what was assumed to be "crushes" on fictional characters, but even that i'm??? not really sure if i ever did??? plus, the first crush i can remember having wasn't until i was like 9, which would've been around the time that kids at school started getting more into having "crushes"

always got frustrated when i wasn't believed about not having a crush on someone.

that Uncomfy feeling in my tummy the few times when i actually got into a "relationship" with someone and literally anything "romantic" happened ever. seriously i would be trying to be all "romantic" and stuff, and i'd be like "huh, what is this weird all-consuming nausea i am experiencing? why do i feel absolutely awful being perceived to be in a relationship or acting romantic?? i'm sure it's nothing!!!"

my confusion at dating culture. @theeviltwinduh can attest to the rambles/rants i've been on about how weird i find dating culture, specifically the fact that people just. meet people for the sole effort of getting into relationships.

my inability to actually express what crushes felt like and my confusion about what it meant to have one. furthermore, my confusion about what actually qualified as romantic and what separated those feelings from other ones. (i still don't really get this one. i just??? what makes something romantic??? how do people Know??? why are certain behaviors perceived as only for romantic relationships and no one else??? what makes those things inherently romantic, other than just that society deems them so???)

finding characters and people attractive, but never actually really imagining myself in a relationship with them. or if i ever did, it was just kinda like a friendship.

really really liking the idea of qprs for a reason i could not explain. and also being confused about the differences between qprs and romance bc idk what romance is supposed to feel like.

liking the concept of "being in a relationship" but literally any time that concept is brought up as an actually possibility just having fight or flight instincts kicking in (mainly just flight)

when imagining my future and trying to imagine a partner, just kinda seeing some sort of formless blob. or not imagining one at all. or just imagining like a really good friend type thing.

literally ID-ing as aro at one point but being like "nooo i can't possibly be aro!!! i've "totally" had crushes on people before!!!"

that's really all i can think of right now, but i'm sure there's definitely more!

[spanishskulduggery]

Does El and Lo bring different contexts between el peor vs lo peor? Or do they both mean "the worst thing"?

Kind of, but it's a little talked about grammar issue

In Spanish there are technically three genders - masculine, feminine, and neuter/neutral

Neuter gender is sometimes called agender meaning "lack of gender", and that's the lo but you wouldn't know it exists since the adjectives that are "genderless" end in -o typically

Essentially, el is masculine, la is feminine, and lo is used in the idea of an "abstract noun" as a place holder for a noun

...

In other words, el peor "the worst one" / "the worst" [or like es el peor "he's the worst" possibly] implies a masculine noun of some kind

lo peor "the worst (thing)" has no noun directly stated. It isn't technically a "thing" but it's like trying to talk about an amorphous blob or something that lacks form... it can be a concept, an abstract idea, but it's not technically a "noun" in the typical sense

This might help a bit to explain the idea:

el asunto importante = the important matter la cosa importante = the important thing lo importante = "what's important" / "the important thing" el problema complicado = the complicated problem la idea complicada = the complicated idea lo complicado = "what's complicated" / "the complicated thing" el peor partido = the worst match [a sports match/game] la peor final = the worst finale [or "the worst final match" in a sports context] lo peor = "what's worse" / "the worst thing"

If you're saying es el peor de todos "it's the worst of all" or "he's the worst of all", you're implying a noun

If you say lo peor de todo "the worst (thing) of all" is often an abstract thing or concept, used to sort of put a name to a formless idea or concept, like you're trying to put a name to a whole concept that doesn't necessarily have a name... or in general Spanish, it can be used to speak about things as a whole, or a big sequence of events, or trying to conceptualize or contextualize an overall feeling

If you're trying to talk about sports, you can say es el peor partido "it's the worst match" or es la peor final "it's the worst championship/final match"... but if you're trying to talk generally like "the worst thing about it" or "worst of all" or "it's the worst" (generally) you'd use lo peor

I hope that maybe made sense; you usually just have to ask yourself is there an actual noun - a person, place, or thing - or is it a vibe, a mood, an idea etc that hasn't been stated somehow

[waylay-managment-2]

TW: Description of injuries and implied abuse

Mason took a big breath and let it slowly, clearly anxious to take his shirt off and show her the injuries. Mischief curled up around him soothingly, making sure he knew he was safe and wouldn't be hurt anymore, it made sure of it.

"Th-thank you," he murmured to Mischief before slowly taking off his shirt, the red, tattered thing simply moving past the formless blob without so much as passing it.

Mason's back was…it was a mess. There were whip lashes everywhere, in every direction and spanning from his lower back to his upper shoulders. They only looked skin deep, at least, but they still looked painful. Along with the lashes, there were bruises too, of all different colours and healing stages, though none looked too purple or too painful, and…words, seemingly carved into him, something hurtful and pained; they didn't look self inflicted, at least.

"N-nothing really hurts too much," Mason said, sounding a bit more like an excuse than anything. He turned around so Daisy could see his front too which, thank gods, didn't look as bad, though there was still a lining of shoe shaped bruises on his thin stomach that didn't speak kindly of his he was treated when he was still alive.

-🌲&⚕️

*when he turned around, Daisy was crying. She stared at him for a moment, tears running down her face, before she took his tiny hand.*

“I- I’m okay. This isn’t your fault. Manager can you um—“

*she wiped her tears, clearing her throat.*

“Can you tell them what happened to me? I need to go get the bandages and disinfectant.”

*The Manager nodded as she rolled away, hand lingering on Masons a bit before letting go.*

“Daisy went through the same things you did. The lashes, and other things. Shes better now, just like you’ll be, but seeing you made her sad because she didn’t want anyone else to go through it. You did nothing wrong.”

[gremlinshatephilosophers]

Sorry for the long messy ramble on my memories of when BIG came out six years ago (and also how is 2019 six years ago already time isn’t real):

It’s funny how when BIG came out I felt like I’d already been out for such a long time despite my 16-year-old self having lived a mere fraction of the life experiences of the world around me. Three years felt like so long then, and the six years since have flown by like nothing.

I remember seeing Dan’s name trending when I opened twitter, and immediately closing the app and staying offline until that night when I could watch the video in full, staying up until 2am rewatching his channel. I was so proud of Dan for posting that video, and I remember at that time feeling like there were two completely different worlds going on around me. I remember blocking several people I knew for being weird about it, saying that they knew or that it didn’t matter. Because at that time it felt like there’d been such a huge wave of coming out videos from 2014-2016 that certain folks who’d been privileged to be “out” for more or less their entire lives couldn’t fathom the need for a long video or how it could still be terrifying to come out in their already rainbow-tinted world. It was 2019, the world was “progressive” and “accepting.”

And while that was the experience I was living in (and very privileged to be) that I felt so confident to speak out and rainbow it up and never really had to formally “come out,” a big part of the reason I was so happy to see that video (besides it being a well crafted and very personal video that so many people have praised more eloquently than I could) was for all the folks I knew who were stuck on the other side of it.

What those few people didn’t see were the dozens of people in their own community who were being harassed by their families and would be disowned, who had to hear their deadnames yelled across the stage because their parents were watching, who were being shielded by their friends in the locker rooms in gym class, who wanted to attend pride but could never find a secret way out of the house. We didn’t live in a right-wing conservative area, but local voting records don’t show the full picture of everyone’s individual reality.

Even for people I knew closely who weren’t facing those obstacles who had accepting families and friends, that still didn’t mean that it was “over.” Of my five closest high school friends senior year, one of them was out in 2019. Three have come out since.

I guess that’s all to say my experience was so damn lucky and that nothing stays the same forever, you can grow and change and so do the people around you. The know-it-all 16-year-old me who first watched BIG who didn’t “need” representation and thought that they were done coming out still didn’t understand why they resonated with the “formless blob” line so much and wouldn’t for another several years. Your labels can change or you can ignore the concept of labels altogether, you can “come out” formally or you can wait until you feel safe or you can slowly decorate everything you own in suspicious amounts of rainbow without ever verbally confirming a single thing. You can come out at 13 or at 23 or at 63 or 83 - and it’s okay to not know everything.

And I’m pissed that stupid “culture war” bullshit has set progress back to the point where someone graduating from the same high school this week that I did six years ago might not feel as comfortable as I once did to paint their graduation cap into a rainbow flag or have a pride-themed pep rally or go to their homecoming dance with someone their same gender. I’m mad for all the people I knew who couldn’t come out in high school or college, and I’m mad for the people today who want to but still can’t.

And i also think about all the folks who’ve come out after then despite the world being more closed minded in some places, and the folks who’ve come out later because they just needed time to learn themselves because your identity doesn’t follow the whims of what’s viral on the algorithm. I think about the people who came across a coming out video and finally heard the acceptance they needed. And I’m so fucking happy for them.

Dan made a damn good video and I’ve watched it too many times to count. And I’m proud of him, proud of yall, and proud of the community as a whole.

[jailedmoonshine]

im not hating or anything but does anyone else feel like this recent uptick of defining gender as "formless blob" is giving 2012-speak

[d6b-onion]

I'm thinking about how so many of the characters we see as firmly established and unchanging were once formless, malleable blobs inside of ZUN's head.

Just a touch of whimsy in such-and-such direction and it could have gone rather differently. We could have Ayaka Saigyouji and Yukari & Ran Suzukaze. It's likely they wouldn't have been that different as characters, like just another coat of paint, but things like this are hardly deterministic, so who knows.

I can't speak for the exact tone since I don't know Japanese, but it seems like ZUN didn't immediately shoot down the idea of having Myouren be the last boss of UFO. Where would that have led us?

The transience of it all. So many concepts that were probably flushed and changed right before a demo came out. All it takes for one to become 'official' is for it to be in a game, and nothing more. So many little character traits that didn't come through.

So many little nuances of yuri that we didn't get to rotate in our minds. It wouldn't have been YukaYuyu, but perhaps YukAyaka? But. I suppose these things can still happen.

Can you see? Can you see how fickle our time here is? How much we cling onto these fictional women, shaping them into paragons of stability, when they're little more than Keiki's haniwa, infinitely moldable until at some arbitrary point, their shape was fixed, one way or another.

So go make Ayaka Suzukaze, be the one fix these shapes into existence. ZUN took a snapshot of one side of a pendulum swing, be the one to present the other swing. Is anyone out there?

[queerloquial]

anyway I've been playing morrowind lately

- by far my biggest "why..." is wrt how often attacks just. miss. like- okay brief note that I've been playing on godmode bc I got Immediately bored-frustrated by trying to maintain health and stamina while having No magicka regen- okay so I decided to test it out. got in combat with a rat, went in unarmed, just to see how long it took me to punch the rat to death. I went up twenty fucking hand-to-hand levels without landing a single hit, by which point i was bored and just re-equipped my sword for a one hit kill. the miss rate is fucking absurd

- hey speaking of godmode. what the fuck do you mean all it does is give you infinite health/magicka/stamina. why do I still have to count arrows. why do I still have to count carry weight

- I'm not hating the lack of quest markers as much as i expected to. what keeps getting me, though, is that the journal is so nonspecific even about things you-the-character definitely know. I spent fifteen minutes wandering every last layer of vivec city trying to find the damn mages guild again bc i couldn't remember what canton it was in, much less which floor, and my journal could only tell me "go back to the mage's guild in vivec :)". eventually I got frustrated and asked uesp for the answer, and I'm getting the sense that I'm going to spend a Lot of time there bc this game is. not for stupid people

- what i miss most from the other games is map markers. blease put a lil symbol on the minimap when I walk by a cave. I can't tell it's there, otherwise

- maybe the bottom left corner of the map is just comparatively empty. maybe exploration will feel more rewarding as i get further along. maybe there will be literally anything in this formless brown blob of a landscape besides me and all these fuckdamn rats

- how in the fuck do merchants magically know that i've got moon sugar in my pocket but not that i'm selling them stolen goods

- every bandit having a name makes me nervous that by exploring I am accidentally fucking myself over by killing npcs for quests i haven't reached yet

- how tf do i level mercantile. half my time is spent selling shit and yet not a single skill level has been gained

- man oblivion's acrobatics/athletics really upped the effect of leveling compared to this. by hitting 50 skill now I have unlocked the ability to... jump 1 foot in the air and to powerwalk. I miss jumping onto roofs. it's hard to feel like I'm making any progress

- also even with a font replacer i am hurting my eyes with the constant squinting. maybe i need a replacer with a more basic font

- had to turn the voice settings way down bc I can't walk two steps in vivec city without another fuckdamn ordinator telling me "KEEP MOVING" in that loudass gravelly voice. can I make a mod that just completely silences that and "wHAt do you wANt, oUTLANDer?"

- no really why tf did they go with the weirdest possible emphasis in that line

- maybe I should just reinstall oblivion. I'm starting to miss wes johnson's guard voice

[pinnedbackartfringe]

i come in early so i can see my boss off, remind him about the vege juice i bought him in the fridge. my coworkers disability payments got cut. we speak intensely about the mongol conquest of genghis khan for 5 minutes which seems to cheer him up temporarily, this is good because he keeps throwing stock around. i process 3 refunds. i call a customer. i plan dinner. i need to piss. I explain the spreadsheets of budgets and targets and kpi’s to a coworker. i help another work out the specs of a conveyor toaster. i tell a man that a stainless steel table isnt heavy so he would be embarrassed not to lift it, and long to feel like a woman or a girl not a formless blob in a polyester work polo.

[freebooter4ever]

Do you have any favorite vintage jersey designs?

Oh this is a good question!! I've been obsessed with 1920's style since I was a kid and the hockey jerseys are no exception. But specifically I like the era when the college sweaters were basically just a lettermans sweater with a few extra details. Tragically the pittsburgh hockey team during this time did not do this

Severely unfortunate color choice. I also really like the new york 30s era jerseys with that classic diagonal lettering:

And a bonus shoutout to the years where for some bizarre reason stripes were in style:

Would i say no to seeing geno and sid playing in booty shorts and skintight striped tights? Speaking of if i could i would go back in time and tell my 2008 self like, look, i know you are a sophmore in college and broke but bus down to the hockey rink and buy this jersey your future self will thank you:

I like the historically inspired style and it also would match my eyes.

BUT if i was picking for sheer style factor, i would have to say the 70/80s were the coolest looking jerseys

The fabric was less stiff and hung on the player's bodies in a more flattering, interesting way. The triangle V of the collar emphasized the shoulder padding. And you can just see how much better the jersey cloth is when the players aren't wearing any padding underneath and it still looks good on them:

Present day jerseys make the players look soooooo goofy if they dont have any padding, its ridiculous. Like even with all his gear on, geno is looking hot but the jersey isnt doing him any favors:

What is that wonky V? Where are my clean lines and silhouettes??? I'm totally not biased in this because present day jerseys are also a pain in the ass to sculpt. Or that like showing up to the rink in your favorite players jersey in 2023 you look like a formless blob, its impossible to style so you might as well give up. Versus there is a vintage shop down in the orange circle that sells a bunch of old jerseys and i tried on a nyc one from the 80s and it was just like WOW i CAN look good in a jersey???? Im totally not bitter.