#i had a post on my old blog

[untherapized-eddie]

i've always kind of wondered if 5b was supposed to be leading to buddie in s6 (or even just the hintings of it more explicitly in s6). because i know part of it was eddie's ptsd arc and the fact he was at dispatch so he & buck couldn't have scenes together at work anymore, but the amount of scenes of buck in the diaz house in 5b was truly unprecedented. like he was fully enmeshed in their life and their space during that period.

[fungi-maestro]

Happy tdov to fat trans people. 🏳️‍⚧️ Biggest thing that helped me as a trans kid was seeing older fat trans people. There were a lot of really irritating "advice" posts going around early in my time on the internet with a lot of misinformation in them, but one that I constantly saw (in addition to people claiming you should wear your pants rediculously low or only wear button ups) were posts saying you had to lose weight to transition. Can confidently confirm that is completely untrue. 👍

[disgustinggf]

i love being choked because it turns me on and also because i wanna die

[biggirldreaming]

God I love handjobs 😮‍💨 just slowly moving my hand up his thigh, making my way to his crotch while kissing his jaw and down his neck. Cupping his bulge through the pants he’s wearing, giggling as he tenses up and a soft moan leaves his lips, kissing my way to his mouth while palming his cock through the fabric. Pushing my hand in his pants, feeling how hard he’s getting.. ‘awe look at you baby, do you like it when I touch you like this?’ .. taking his pants off, leaving the boxers on, so I can kiss my way down his chest, tummy all the way to the pretty bulge, leaving one tiny kiss on the tip through the fabric before kissing his thighs and making my way back up to his mouth, sitting next to him, with my nails digging lightly in the soft skin of his thighs, dragging them all the way to his hips and just above the waistline of his boxers, watching as his pretty cock twitches.. ‘you’re so cute’.. palming him over the boxers, leaving kisses on his neck, pushing the fabric down so I can spread his leaking precum all over his length, before softly running my finger from the bottom to the tip, grabbing it in my soft hand and moving it up and down, making him whimper and moan .. ‘gosh the sweet sounds you make for me, baby.. so so pretty’ .. moving my hand all the way down to his balls, playing with them before stroking his cock again, faster this time, the stopping for a bit, circling my thumb around his tip, feeling him twitch under my touch as he gets more sensitive.. ‘does that feel good baby? Yea?’ .. playing with his balls some more, leaving wet kisses on his neck and jaw, grabbing his pretty cock again and stroking faster, switching from fast to slow, bringing him to the edge then stopping.. over and over, until he’s a whimpering mess begging to cum .. ‘are you gonna cum for me, my love? Yea? Fuck look at you, you’re so pretty.. can you beg for me? .. such a good boy! You sound so cute .. you gonna cum for me yea? Okay baby… cum for me, make a mess all over your tummy and my hand.. that’s it.. so pretty..’

[liveinblankets]

being a regressor that is technically still a kid and lives at home with a parent/parents is a whole different kind of pain.. youre telling me that everything ive ever wanted, needed, is in a room over from me? still leaving me utterly alone? and the only comfort i have is found in cuddling my stuffies and sleepily babbling to myself? okay thanks. ill go wrap up in my weighted blanket andcry myself to sleep now ♡

ⓘ dni : nsfw / 18+, gore, proship, pro-ed/sh, non-child-safe things, ddlg (etc.).

[warper-in-training]

reupload because i can't open ibis paint x to do shit nd im bored

[traumasurvivors]

I’m having some pretty big feelings about turning 30 next month.

It’s making me feel anxious and sad. I lost so many years to trauma and mental illness. So many years being in a dissociative state where I can’t recall most memories and don’t even know what happened.

And I’m someone that likes to remind people that “you aren’t behind, you can still have a lot of good life left” and it’s true. But this is a reminder I need right now and want to share with others in case they need it, too.

It’s okay to have big feelings about the years you’ve lost. It’s okay to mourn and grieve the years. It’s okay if you move beyond those feelings but they come back whether it’s because of a birthday or another reminder. You are allowed to have those big feelings. You don’t need to be positive all the time.

What happened sucked, and you’re allowed to acknowledge that and feel that.

[twistedshipper]

MERLIN 2.11 The Witch's Quickening

[Gwen curtsies and leaves. Morgana pulls out the Crystal.]

MERLIN 3.10 Queen of Hearts

[Gwen smiles, curtsies, and leaves. Morgana smirks into her mirror.]

“Mirrors are dangerous things. They can just as easily tell us what we don't like as what we do. Yet in truth you can't tell anything from a reflection, as a reflection is actually empty.” ― Susie Staplehurst

[bitchthefuck1]

I'm fully convinced that like 90% of the differences in how Kaz and Matthias turned out are just because Matthias was the oldest child and Kaz was the youngest. Both of them were totally normal kids with loving parents, but when they lose their families at a young age, oldest child Matthias joins a military organization with a clear set of rules and hierarchy, meanwhile the second youngest sibling Kaz realizes no one will look after him he decides his only option is to completely throw his morals out the window and start committing violent crime. That's literally it.

[dualitieds]

[lockspick]

(insert the old ask about what species my joel is/why he drools so much)

oops! looks like i never reposted this one lolol

also because it’s not stated in the image, he has a genetic variation for sharp teeth + a glitch that made all his teeth incisors! they’re like razors :)

[thisischeri]

instagram: cheri.png

[micamicster]

Super Rich Kids

Close my eyes and feel the crash...

I wrote this one on post-its on a trans-continental flight after my phone (where i was re-reading the raven cycle) died. 0/10 plane experience would not recommend but I did manage to entertain myself! And now hopefully you as well!

When Ronan pulled into Monmouth Manufacturing he knew Gansey wouldn’t be there. Adam Parrish was, though, sitting on the steps in the golden afternoon light, bike dumped to the side in dying grass. He didn’t so much as flicker an eyelid when Ronan bootlegged the BMW into an approximation of parking on the far side of the lot, which was fine because that’s how he would have parked the car anyway, whether or not Adam was here.

Ronan was pretty sure that Gansey had arranged a shift system with the other boys, to prevent Ronan from being unaccompanied on the rare occasions of his own absence. The idea of a babysitter should have rankled Ronan, but Adam did not seem particularly invested in his role. Small favors.

As he got out of the car he gave Adam his customary once-over, as brief as it was habitual. You could notice a lot in a single glance, if you were Ronan, glancing at Adam.

Adam was wearing long sleeves (his father? Or just because it was October?) and his faded camo pants, the ones Ronan said made him look like a jingoistic meathead. They had recently acquired a tear in one knee. Not in the stylish, deliberate manner in which Ronan’s own jeans were shredded, but awkwardly, in an L-shape, where they had caught on some jagged edge and given way before even careful Adam had noticed and unhooked himself. The tear gaped open at times, like it was doing now, revealing Adam’s knobby left knee and, worse, a triangle of his brown thigh.

Ronan looked away.

Ronan never allowed himself, even in dreams, to trespass beyond the carefully demarcated boundaries of Adam’s clothes. And Adam was usually helpful in the maintenance of this boundary. Unlike Gansey, who could be found working on his model Henrietta in boxers at all hours of the night, or wandering to and from the shower in a towel, absent-mindedly forgetting his clothes in bathroom or bedroom. Unlike the boys Ronan played tennis with, who stripped down casually in the locker room after practice. Unlike even Ronan himself, who’d never met a shirt he couldn’t rip the sleeves off; Adam was always fully covered.

This summer, foolishly, Ronan had imagined that this might change. Now that the hideous secrets Adam protected with his long sleeves were no longer his alone. But by now he knew what kept those sleeves in place, something that Adam had already understood: that knowing and seeing are two very different things.

For example: this. Ronan knew that Adam, like most people who walked around on earth under their own power, possessed thighs. Two of them, attached in the normal way to other body parts, such as knees and hips. To know this was one thing.

Now that he’d seen it, he couldn’t stop seeing it. The way his knee bent, and the muscle above shifted as Adam made room on the steps for him. Ronan was looking away, out at the familiar, grounding, skid marks on the concrete of Monmouth’s lot, but he could picture in their place with deadly accuracy the hinge of Adam’s knee, the tanned skin of his thigh, scattered with golden-brown hair. He could dream about pressing his face against it.

He picked up a rock and hurled it. It glanced off the side of the soulless suburban and fell anticlimactically into the grass dying by the rear tire. It didn’t help.

Adam shifted next to him, subtly.

“What?” said Ronan. “Impressed?”

“Surprised, more like. I thought you were supposed to be the tennis star.”

“You think you can do better?” Ronan pried another hunk of gravel or concrete out of the dirt and tossed it in his left hand, tauntingly.

“I know I can.”

“But?”

“But,” said Adam, with some hint of exasperation coloring his voice, “I’m not going to sit here chunking rocks at Gansey’s car to prove it. My ego’s not that fragile.” His accent slipped out on chunkin’, not as if Ronan had pissed him off enough to forget to hide it, but as if it was a word he’d never used any other way.

Ronan threw his rock again. This was, if anything, a worse throw than before, and it skittered harmlessly across the suburban’s roof.

Adam made a small but contemptuous noise.

“Don’t give me that shit, man. You know he hates this fucking car.”

“That was for your shitty aim.”

“Come on then.” Ronan hefted another piece of gravel. “Ten points if you knock out his taillight.”

“It costs a hundred and five dollars to replace a taillight on that make and model. Plus tax.”

Ronan’s brief cheer was collapsing again. “I’ll pay you a hundred bucks to bust Dick’s lights.”

Adam blinked slowly, his dusty eyelashes obscuring the contempt in his eyes for a brief moment. “I’ll leave.” (He wouldn’t).

Ronan dropped the rock. Next to him Adam sighed. Abruptly, he put out his hand. “Telephone pole. Six feet from the top.”

Ronan swept back up the rock and dropped it into his hand. Their fingers did not touch. His heart thudded.

Adam tossed the rock once, testing its weight while his gaze, cool and assessing, remained on the telephone pole. It was a splintered, tilting thing, shamed by his attentions. In one smooth, economical movement, he rose to his feet and let the rock fly. His leg went forward, knee jutting out of his clothes, his back curved, and his arm swept around in an arc, fingers scraping at the blue October sky. Ronan didn’t need to turn his head to know if the rock hit—he could see it in the brief hard satisfaction on Adam’s face.

Adam turned back to him, one eyebrow cocked.

“You’re going to have to do better than that if you want to earn that hundred,”

Adam shrugged. The gesture was disinterested, but there was a quirk to his mouth that contradicted it. “I know nothing blew up, but…”

Ronan already had another rock in his hand. “West corner lightbulb. It breaks or it doesn’t count.” Adam rolled his eyes, but turned agreeably to watch Ronan miss.

“Would you like to get your tennis racket?”

“Eat me,” said Ronan. (Maybe).

They traded shots back and forth for a while, calling increasingly specific and complex plays.

“Bullshit. Bullshit.”

“Get the government to pay for some glasses, Parrish, and then come back and try to tell me that wasn’t a fucking bullseye—”

“It wasn’t even close! You—”

“You calling me a liar?” Ronan loomed, and Adam, as usual, was unimpressed.

“Just because you don’t lie doesn’t make you right all the time! Like when you said that quote on Tuesday was Seneca. It doesn’t stop being Martial just because you’ve got a child’s sense of morality—”

“See, right there.” Ronan pointed triumphantly at an invisible scuff mark on the doorsill, marking where his handful of gravel had made impact.

Adam gave it a skeptical glance. His face was faintly flushed from exertion in the cold air, but his eyes were as cool and considering as ever. “What we need,” he said, “is a knife.”

Ronan was not allowed knives.

~

“Are you trying to stab each other in the feet? Why are your shoes off! It’s October!”

“Equal playing field.” Ronan wiggled his toes against the cold asphalt. “Parrish’s shitty knife is no match for my boots.” Over Gansey’s head, Ronan tried to catch Adam’s eye, to share a ‘can you believe him’ sort of look. Adam’s embarrassment over being caught acting irresponsibly meant Ronan could expect the look to be rebuffed, but he couldn’t help himself from trying it anyway.

Adam was bent over, eyes hidden. He carefully dusted off his socked feet one at a time before sliding them back into his shoes, as though the socks or sneakers could look any worse. A little parking lot crud might improve their appearance, actually.

Next to him, Gansey was still fussing. Without the pressure release valve of eye contact with someone who knew Gansey was overreacting, Ronan snapped, “Come off it, man, I’m not going to slit my throat while Parrish watches. He can’t afford that caliber of snuff film.”

Gansey’s concern transformed into revulsion, but underneath it he looked hurt, which was far far worse.

Adam straightened up. “We were just using it to mark where we hit. Honestly, we could have done it tossing a sharpie, but neither of us had one.” He sounded conciliatory, which pissed Ronan off. But Gansey was letting it go, returning the knife to Adam with an apologetic smile. Sorry for the fuss. Sorry for Ronan. Ronan’s bare feet were cold against the asphalt.

“Well? Are you going to throw or not, Parrish?” he said belligerently.

Adam rolled his eyes, but obligingly stooped for gravel and let one fly at Ronan’s open bedroom window, a shot he made easily.

Gansey whistled. “You’ve got quite the arm on you. How come you’re not on the Algionby baseball team?”

Adam shifted his feet, awkwardly.

“Please,” scoffed Ronan, “he’s not a team player.”

Gansey did not let it go. “Bet you’d have a better fastball than both our pitchers.”

There was a pause, during which Adam’s face clearly showed all of the thoughts he was trying to corral into a polite response to Gansey’s unconsidered enthusiasm. Ronan got there first. “Yeah, Parrish, why not hitch your wagon to the star of organized sports, like every other rags to riches wannabe?”

“Ronan!” said Gansey, Ronan’s offensiveness registering where his own had not.

“Hitch my wagon to a star?” Adam was unruffled. “I thought quoting Transcendentalists could get you excommunicated.”

“Who said I know it’s Emerson. It’s a sourceless idiom to those of us who aren’t sad little nerds.”

Adam smirked. The smirk said, I never said Emerson. His words said, “Gansey’s damning me with faint praise. No one’s going pro out of an Algionby sport team. Even tennis.”

“Ouch,” said Ronan, cheerfully. “Hit me where it really hurts. My school pride.”

~

Now that Gansey had arrived, his plans for the day took precedence over noble pastimes such as flipping pocketknives at each other’s feet. His plans involved comparing readings from various instruments and then placing said various instruments in various new locations, all of which were equally arbitrary (to Ronan’s eyes) and inaccessible. Gansey’s plans involved him waiting by the car to monitor the readings while people hiked with antennae to the outermost reaches of the signal. People, in this instance, being Ronan and Adam, Noah having mysteriously and silently fucked off, as he so often did when a job required carrying anything.

Ronan put his head down and trudged. It was brambly here, and slightly damp, and he was beginning to work up the kind of counter-intuitive sweat that appears from working in the cold, the kind that makes you colder later.

As the person leading the hike, custom would dictate that he should catch and hold the long clinging arms of the brambles for the following hiker. This presented a dilemma. Ronan compromised, and set about stomping the multiflora into the ground as he walked. Scarlet hips burst under his feet, invasive and beautiful, spreading their millions of seeds across the damp earth. Noxious weeds.

“It’s too unreliable,” said Adam, into the silence. “Sports. It all depends on… your physical condition.”

“And your condition is shit.”

There was Adam’s ironic smile. “Yes. So.” He shrugged. There was the part they weren’t saying, which was that his physical condition could always get worse. Unexpectedly.

“My dad hates baseball.” Ronan heard himself make the slip—hates and not hated—and a spark of fury burned through him, brief and inconsequential.

“My dad loves it.”

They marched on in silence.

Adam swore as a bramble Ronan had beaten down sprang up again, catching him right across the tear, where his skin was exposed. He bent to unhook it from the camo with deft, deliberate hands. “What?” he said, like he could feel Ronan’s eyes.

Ronan looked away. “Why not the military?” He kicked purposelessly at the bramble and heard Adam sigh. “And don’t tell me you never thought about it. Test scores like yours out in hicksville high school, you must have had recruiters hopping all over you like fleas.”

“Would you believe I had a moral objection?” Adam’s smile was self-deprecating. Ronan studied it.

“No.”

Adam shrugged. It, too, was self-deprecating.

“I think you had a superiority objection. You think you’re too smart for that shit.”

Adam blinked at him. “Do you think I’m wrong?”

Ronan snorted. “Hell no. You can do better than getting blown up in a desert for the United States government.”

The smile, when it came, was small and stunning. “Damned by faint praise again.”

[my4lg1c-p1err0t]

'origins' of different web graphics

userboxes: wikipedia stamps: deviant art smileys: chatrooms online now: myspace blinkies: geocities/ myspace sig tags: forums/ e-mail

yeah, so, Wikipedia has a rich community history. The userboxes just started as a way to show users proficiency in different languages…

anyways, all these graphics have spread around, but this is more-or-less where they were popularized. feel free to ask questions or add on!

[scoobhead]

twilight's writing is almost universally bad EXCEPT for at the end of the second movie when edward is about to show himself to the humans and bella knocks him backwards and as he's holding her he says "heaven"..... like what do you want me to say. he thinks he's damned. he does not believe he has a soul. he truly does not believe that he can reach heaven. but for just a moment before he understands what's happening, he thinks against hope that he has died and received salvation. because she is there. am i not supposed to think that fucks?? am i not supposed to say that they genuinely popped off with that???? be so serious

[lil-grem-draws]

Will has a hard time believing that Elland has feelings for him, especially after crushing on the Hufflepuff for 2+ years. And if Will isn't willing to listen, Elland is taking the wheel 🧡💚 There are way too many scenarios in my head as to how they'd finally get together so I don't limit myself in AUs. I like Dark!William one; Yule Ball "going as friends"; adult AU with ministry official Will and Auror Elland tasked with protecting him; a bunch of modern AUs like spoiled brat Will and hit way too patient bodyguard Elland (sense the pattern); Spy Elland and his Q William... I'll never get tired of them.

Thank you @kallynnekmi for drawing this commission and @kiwiplaetzchen for enabling this whole thing 🥹💚