#covering the bases just in case

[lorecatchup]

Cody please

Well, he didn't lose his title

1. That look Cody gives Santino when he first walked up is so Nightmare Cody I can't believe it

2. The way he just said "I don't want your Christmas present"??? If Nightmare Cody ever brought out that voice it would be over for everyone

I'm not enjoying this Booker feud, he's just being like RUDE rude, not fun rude lol

Booker and Cody were out in the ring talking and now Dustin's coming out

We made it to 2012 😌

Soon Seth

I guess Dustin and Cody still haven't made up (good for Dustin, Cody's such a dick lol)

I know he's supposed to be an asshole but this segment was ROUGH, he's in Laredo, TX talking about "legal" citizens and stuff 😬😬 Cody no

[pencil-amateur]

(spoiler warning for lisa frankenstein)

sobbing crying thinking about the creature doing everything he can to make lisa's return a happy and comfortable experience. he gets some of those little fridge poetry magnets so she can talk to him if she has trouble speaking after coming back like he did. he gets a record player and some of her favorite music. he gently re-wraps her bandages after she gets cleaned up. he knows what it's like to go through this- it's scary and weird to get used to being undead, but it's easier when you have someone to help you through it

[quackle]

my drafts and i are sooooo ready for the new year 😇

[bulldog-butch]

trans men 🤝 trans women, having wildly better orgasms after starting hrt

[void-bitten-ghost]

Angel laughs a lot during sex.

I don't mean when he's on the job. He's a professional, and the last thing any of his John's tend to want him doing is laughing. The clientele he has... they'd rather he be sobbing or gagging or not be making any noise at all.

But when he's with Husk it's giggles galore. He scoffs. He chuckles. He's so fucking expressive and Husk fucking Loves It. When Angel gets a bee in his bonnet and wants to ride him? He makes a fucking meal out of it. Only when he's close to his limit, thighs trembling and every set of arms grasping at something, the sheets, the headboard, Husk, only then do the giggles stop, replaced by the most gorgeous, devastating determination to get them both there at the same time

He's never been the praying sort, but it's in those moments Husk thinks he sees heaven in his Angel. Sees a glimmer of the divine when Angel whispers his name, curling around him with a desperate cry into his chest and-- and--

Jesus, I think I need to sleep

[the-random-factor]

It's a modern Renaissance painting

[junior-high-nene-official]

Rui pulls into the driveway and knocks on the door to the Kusanagi household. Given the entire clone situation, while he was sure the shirt he'd found left at his house belonged to Nene, he couldn't be sure, well, which. So he'd decided to just drop it off at the house.

Oi~ knock-knock! anybody there?

( @future-rui-official )

Nene had been on the ground, previous attempts to stand up and do anything failed- simply falling because of his own weakness. It had been.. how long since he'd done something? They couldn't remember.

Hearing the noises, or well, moreso feeling them on the floor below, he was stunned with slight adrenaline. It sounded like Rui, not his Rui, but a Rui. Good enough- they could get help at least putting his hoodie back on. They sat up painfully slow, barely grasping on a hoodie abandoned somewhere in a pile of clothes on the ground. They trudged and practically just fell down the stairs, dragging their body of bones to the door and just nearly opening it, having to look up at the figure standing there.

Nene was pale, noticeably ill with greasy hair and dirty skin, and acne starting to form up clearly hasnt been taken care of. The hoodie he was dragging looked like it weighed a hundred pounds to him, and that the wind would knock them down in an instant, or give them hypothermia at least with how much he was already shivering.

...r-rui..?

[simmyfrobby]

― from War is Kind ["Do not weep, maiden, for war is kind”], Stephen Crane

Hockey Poetry Post 53/?

(Photo credit: Tony Gutierrez, link, link, Smiley N. Pool, link, Steph Chambers, Jennifer Buchanan, Ashley Potts, Steph Chambers, Steph Chambers, Ashley Potts, Dean Rutz, Stephen Brashear, Matthew J. Lee, link, Bob DeChiara, Maddie Meyer, link, Sam Navarr, Wilfredo Lee, Sam Navarro, John Locher, Patrick Smith, Ellen Schmidt, link, John Locher, link)

[happi-tree]

i am aware episode 38 came out two weeks ago HOWEVER. this interaction has not left my mind since ❤️‍🔥

[asketchydomesticatedgremlin]

mmmmmmmnnnnnnghhhhhh need to finish the other half of this but motive is low and im excited to show off.......

[pumakaji64]

Chicos... I think I won the game 😎

[pro-birth]

I know politicians tend to cater to popular demands over what is actually good, but mannnn is Trump’s new platform flying in the face of what he did during his presidency 💀

[gaylittlemans]

I am so inexplicably tired and vessel!Dazai has been haunting me so I will info dump about this dumb little AU because I can

This probably will not make sense, will make it seem like I don’t understand his character (who actually does? Besides his creator, obviously. Probably), or won’t have proper grammar but in the world of this shit, he will become a part of my personality if I do not write him down. So!

First, little stuffs about this AU because I can:

Dazai is trans here (FtM) because I kin him inexplicably and so am I, but he doesn’t experience that much gender dysphoria (mostly because he feels just a little disconnected from his body) and honestly what is the point of worrying about what body you have when the embodiment of the allure of death is currently using your body as her host? Exactly. There isn’t one. Also because I want to give this man a break on hating himself.

Basically everything about this AU is the exact same as the original, but Dazai is the vessel of a god, similarly to Chuuya. Some people do know about the whole kinda being a god thing, but not everyone. When he was Demon Prodigy, Mori kept and convinced Dazai to keep the vessel thing mostly a secret because it was better to keep as much information about him shrouded in mystery and basically make speaking his title mean the invitation of death, rather than let Dazai go and murder everyone as a vessel. I will sort of expand on this later. Probably.

Chuuya still has Arahabaki. He gets called ‘Baki’ in the rare times his name is mentioned in their world because I refuse to respect the god of destruction (Dazai started calling Arahabaki ‘Baki’ and Chuuya eventually found himself calling him that too). Dazai’s possessor’s ‘Machiko’, but might sometimes be called ‘Chiko’ or some other nickname instead.

Dazai is just slightly cannibalistic.

I ship Soukoku, which will probably be obvious by the way I write them. Neither revolves around the other, but they are both permanently drawn to one another.

Dazai struggles with skin picking in this au because he kinda craves the taste of blood thanks to Chiko so he does care a little bit more about his hygiene in this au so he doesn’t have anything to pick. His hands are very soft in his world. My man is moisturized 😚

So, Dazai.

He’s around seven years old. His life has been nothing but dehumanizing and cruel and cold. He’s being raised in a neighborhood of rich assholes who think they’re all better than one another because of meaningless, materialistic means. (Death will claim all of them in the end, so it doesn’t matter what they do, anyhow. He won’t say anything about them, though. If they need to hide from Her gaze, he won’t judge.) His parents are controlling and overbearing and want him to grow up to be some rich asshole’s trophy wife. He doesn’t want that to happen, but his body will not let him say anything to disappoint them. He can’t afford their ire; he’s seen what they do to people who think they can and the least he can say is that it looks painful.

He’s been raised by nannies and caretakers his entire life thus far and some of them were nice, but most of them just followed his parents orders to make him behave.

Modest, pretty, demure.

Modest, pretty, demure.

Those were the most important things for a little girl his age to learn. Of course. He is nothing, he is not human, if he doesn’t behave. If he doesn’t act modestly and polite. If the boys in the neighborhood tug on his skirt, he is to hold it still so they cannot expose him. If the girls in his private school pick on him for his doe eyes and thousand yard stare, he is to be reserved and accept their insults graciously and not respond to their taunts.

He is a monster if he raises his voice, or disobeys his parents or caretakers or teachers, or acts out of line—acts like a child. His purpose of being brought into the world is to grow up to serve his future husband and children and be pretty.

So he kills them.

The voice of death herself whispers in his ears at night, when the moon is full and bright, that they do not deserve their gifts, they do not deserve their gifts of breath and life.

So he takes them away like she says to.

He stands in the woods beyond the gated mansions in a white, blood splattered nightgown and a pair of what are probably Mary Jane’s, but he’s not for certain and white, just as blood splattered, socks. He doesn’t remember much of what he did, but he does not mind. The cool night, late summer breeze reaches his skin through the minuscule layers he wears. He has always run cold, kind of like what you would expect a corpse to feel like (they’re actually room temperature), and has yet to build the habit of halfway mummifying himself. Bad circulation, doctors had told him. How fun.

Here is where he sees her for the first time, the woman—the God—who changes his life forever, with the handle of one of his father’s expensive kitchen knives grasped in his right hand as the left toys with the seam of his dress. She’s beautiful. She speaks to him, but he does not remember all of what she says. He remembers “Machiko”. It must be her name. He also remembers her permitting him to call her a nickname, as he’s young and he deserves to choose what he calls his friend.

Chiko offers him her hand and Dazai’s left hand goes numb. As if puppeteered, he moves to take her hand and she smiles at him. For only the second or so time in his life, he feels warm.

Dazai learns a lot from her. He would kill without her influence, but she tells him to embrace death and its endless, inescapable dance and he does.

Perhaps too much.

Mori Ougai was a man, a doctor, whom was highly praised by rich folks he’d grown up around (and consequently been raised by after the murder of his parents). He had met the man before, who had said he was interesting and reminded him of himself. In his adulthood, Dazai was ashamed to have felt pride at the fact Mori found him intriguing, or that the man saw himself reflected in the shattered, blank soul of his.

At fourteen, his adoptive parents rushed him to the doctor another attempt at death. He woke up, hazy and exhausted, and strapped to a bed with an oxygen mask, IV in his arm, and a heart monitor. Machiko screamed at him, for his safety and his body, to not listen to the man in the white coat who offered him a reason to live, a purpose to life outside of being a vessel. Just like he’d subconsciously been searching for.

He did not listen to her.

Dazai would say he was built to be a mafioso. And it was easy enough to sever ties with his adoptive family—they weren’t too attached, anyways—and old life.

When he was fifteen years old, he met the most annoying person on earth; Chuuya Nakahara.

Every move the boy makes is so completely full of life and energy. Dazai would say he was envious, but he was not. Machiko was drawn to the boy, though, or—as he truly found out—she was drawn to Arahabaki. Death and destruction go hand in hand, he supposed. And it seems Dazai wasn’t the only one who felt that pull towards the other.

Boo. Feelings sucked. He wouldn’t say he had a crush on Chuuya, no, never, but he was drawn to the redhead like the pull of gravity said redhead controlled.

But the first time he had seen Corruption, seen the final form of Upon The Tainted Sorrow, Dazai had been mesmerized. For all his wit and bravado, he still had no explanation as to why he found this redheaded slug so enchanting, even seven years later.

Machiko still hailed over him, but she was not his puppeteer. She guided him and attempted to help him through inexplicably human issues, but she did not attempt to forcibly take control of him. If she was in charge of his body, it was entirely because he had allowed her too. He spoke with her on the regular—she was a mentor who hadn’t forced herself into that roll exactly as Mori had.

Machiko was the god of death, yet also the god of allure, of temptation, of beauty, and of yearning. Some called her the moon. Others simply didn’t know of her existence. It didn’t matter to Dazai. His mentor knew how to be merciful, despite the blood and desolation she craved.

Chuuya clearly remembered the day he’d discovered Dazai was also a vessel.

Things had been dangerous and he had still been injured from a mission Mori had sent them out on previously. He had been occupied by a horde of enemies when he’d lost track of Dazai amongst the commotion. Grunts were incapacitated or dead at his feet before he knew it.

Now, he would never admit it, but looking around and not finding the dark, sullen eye of his partner watching him from a safe distance had scared him. Made him anxious.

He pushed his way into a corridor that had been blocked by debris during the fight that he could almost sense Dazai’s shenanigans coming from and walked—maybe just a bit quicker than normal—until he saw bodies scattered and crimson pooling. In the center of this crop circle of cadaver was his partner, small, white, star-like marks twinkling across what very little skin was exposed to the open air, ripping out the throat of one of their enemies with his teeth. Blood soaked his clothes and his bandages.

Chuuya felt unreasonably calm, and oddly awestruck, at the sight.

And that’s all I can write 😚 ‘cause I am so tired. I dunno what else to say, ‘cause this is just about all my smooth little brain has let me know about the blorbos of today, but yeah. Thank you if you actually read all of this. :3333

Have a good day/night/morning/afternoon/evening!! Remember to drink water, eat, take your meds, all that.

Byeeeeee <3333

[tea-and-secrets]

cw eating/food mention

idk if i have pica or what but there are soem TASTY nonedible things. well not exactly nonedible but. dont-eat-that-gross things. and i cant tell ANYONE bc i know my family would make me stop and my friends would teast me RELENTLESSLYYYY

sand? immaculate texuture. the sound of the sand crunching between my teeth is SO good. must be terrible for my enamel but idc

paper is a huge one. like diy gum that lasts maybe a minute and has no flavor. so no different from a juicyfruit gum or something. the longer its been sitting in the sun the better

YOUNG TREE BRANCHES. i like stripping the bark off and gnawing on the soft wet inner bark (the bit between the bark and the wood). id never actually swallow it but its so fun to just chew on UNUSED CLEAN cat litter. ohhhh my god this one. THIS ONE. i specifically buy the big tubs of cat litter instead of the box/jug so i can reach a hand in and get some. its like the texture i expect/want clay to be (bc clay just gets all wet and soggy when i eat it.. no fun i want the crunch) flour is so good. only eat a pinch at a time otherwise you invoke the pharaoh's curse but its so SO good. getting it out from between my cheek and my gums is the best part

couch syrup is a strong craving but i never drink it because duh. i have self control on this one thing. same w mouthwash. mint gums and cherry candies and etc can only go so far, i want the Texture and the aftertaste too

anyways. theres more but i dont feel like listing them. like and subscribe for part 2 (should i claim an emoji incase i do say more? sure. im 🍽️📃, aka 'plated paper' anon. haiii)

.

[angelnumber27]

*he spilled my cup of paint water all over everything idk why I said he spilled watercolors I just woke up girls

I literally walked away for two minutes tops to make coffee and came back to his ass sitting on this water color palette and my painting open after spilling my watercolor water all over it

Look at that face. He knows he did something wrong hahahha

[fatehbaz]

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