#i would put him in the blender i think

[yandere-daydreams]

you either die a geto enjoyer or live long enough to see yourself become a gojo stan. sigh.

[yhksweep]

// bright colours/eye strain warning

yoohankim sweep

[mattodore]

if i can get these hair ties to work first try i'll be unstoppable

[chronurgy]

might be alone in this, but I actually prefer essek being totally correct about the luxon not being a god more than any other theory. there's something so delicious in knowing you've proved evethying you'd always striven to prove, and then realizing that what you did to get there wasn't worth it. that you shouldn't have done it. to be totally vindicated, and have it not matter. to claim the title of the world's bestest, most smartest, rightest boy and realize it doesn't mean a damn thing

[whiterunguard]

If hes not a girl why does he wear a skirt..... Checkmate. imperial libberals .... HA!

[ssreeder]

I’ve moved on completely.

[smokewars]

rolands bad ending is perfect to me i am not kidding when i say its exactly what i would want from anything ever it checks all of my boxes. but the idea of him distorting after killing angela... whether its because he realises killing her didnt help at all or because a part of him is unsure if it was worth it. the realisation of becoming the very thing that killed his wife, killing countless of other people in his own distortion and being apathetic to it... like do you see it do you get where im going

[dollopheadedmerlin]

New cat just dropped

His name is Wyllt

[eye-cri]

His mullet looks like Sonic the Hedgehog ngl.

[oceantherat]

Spreading my End World Normopathy agenda

I would analyse it but I’m not sure how to put it in words

Also Makoto doodles for shits and giggles

[stromboli-muncher]

HIS LAST NAME IS ROMANO??!!!

yuh 😎😎😎😎

his full name is Fartlord Harvey Romano.

[littledreamling]

Dreamling Inception AU where Hob sinks further and further in the Dreaming, delving through the layers and dimensions of Dream’s realm until he loses sight of what’s real and what’s fake. He knows he can kill himself in the Dreaming to wake up, but he’s convinced that he’s in the Waking; he’s not ready for Death’s gift yet. Not even Dream can force him to return to the Waking, but he can plant the idea that he’s dreaming in Hob’s mind, deep in his subconsciousness, buried in the dust and love of his childhood home. So Hob becomes obsessed with the idea that he’s in the Dreaming and he and Dream “commit suicide” to return to the Waking world.

Except that idea is still there. It’s still hidden in those ancient rooms, convincing Hob that he’s still in the Dreaming. Once again, Dream can’t disavow him of this notion for several reasons, not least of which being that he’s the one who planted the idea in the first place. Hob thinks that his entire life, his entire perfect life, his job at the university, his fellow professor friends, the New Inn, everything is a lie, is a dream. Cue Hob begging Death for her gift, not because he wants to die, but because he wants to return to the Waking, wants to return to his real life.

You can choose how angsty that ending gets

[arklay]

did not just think about diana finding al just sitting on their bed holding their wedding photo in his hands after she brings him back, and he's just looking at it, visibly distressed, and the moment she touches his shoulder he starts crying and buries his face against her chest because he thinks he really ruined their relationship. good lord

[loverboybrightsideghost]

8, 10, and 14 for the wip ask game?? :)

8- in ten words or less, what are the themes of the piece, intentional or otherwise?

the idea for this fic spawned from me remembering that aziraphale “doesn’t need sleep” and thinking that maybe aziraphale never has slept, so i thought it would be nice if he and crowley had a silly little sleepover. at first i didn’t think it really had any notable themes other than “wouldn’t that be cool,” but upon further thought, i would say the themes are: healing, discovering your own autonomy, letting go (of a variety of things), and probably something about the power of friendship i think. oh and something about transitionary periods in life too.

10- what do they currently need?

on the large scale, to step back, re-examine their existences and decide what to do with themselves, but in a more immediate sense, to get wasted and then get un-drunk, play some scrabble or something and have a good long nap :)

14- what do you like about this WIP?

i think i’m succeeding at striking a balance between imitating the writing style of good omens the book (which i absolutely love) and my own writing style, which makes me very happy. i also think that it’s pretty funny; it starts with aziraphale unintentionally scaring the shit out of a tax inspector guy with his perfect accounting (and then crowley on purpose scaring the guy to be an asshole, lmao).

[outismm]

I smells a Sandman side blog incoming 👀👀👀👀👀

MSNDAMSNDA ANON, FRIEND, ALLY, I'M ALREADY BALLS DEEP IN ASKS ON THE IJ SIDEBLOG, I THINK IF I MADE A NEW ONE I THINK I'D DIE. 

[suguann]

There comes a point where Simon finally admits that he hates your new boyfriend—not that he’s liked any of your past relationships over the years, but this one he’s more vocal about—with a name not worth remembering. Matt? Martin?

He’d stopped trying after his first week back from work.

“I don’t fucking trust him,” he says one night while at the pub right under your apartment; it’s become a weekly ritual of sorts when he’s on leave ever since meeting you there on Soap’s birthday several years back. 

“You say that about every guy I have you meet,” you tell him in that know-it-all voice that you always use with him. “You hardly even know him, and his name’s Marcus, by the way. It wouldn’t kill you to use it.”

He snorts. “Love, the bloke would put his cock in anyone with tits and a warm cunt.”

“He wouldn’t,” your voice is soft because maybe you already know.

He would.

You’re so fucking oblivious that you don’t even realize this, but there’s nothing except stars in your eyes whenever you look at (or even talk about) the Naval officer who thinks he’s some bigshot because he can fly a plane. 

Even now, at your boyfriend’s promotion after-party in some back alley nightclub, he’s hardly talked to you or offered to get you a drink. You’re always too nervous to order one by yourself, and only Simon—tall and imposing standing beside you—could have the grumpiest bartender reach for the blender to make a blended cocktail. 

When he comes back with your drink—too big fingers unfolding the tiny umbrella for you—he watches your boyfriend (Marcus) flirt with a girl in a tight leather dress on the other side of the room. It’s that moment that he decides he’s tired of you giving your attention to someone who doesn’t deserve it, tired of you lying belly up for men who only want to sink their teeth into you and leave once they’ve had their fill. 

He likes to think he’s a pretty good friend—opening your eyes to something better is a job he takes rather seriously.

“It’s just a bit of fun,” he says after coming back with your third margarita, a small amount of frothy liquid sloshing over the side when he sets it down in front of you. “It’s okay to want it.”

You bite your lip, eyes dropping down to where he’s patting his thigh. “Just fun?”

“Yes, love.” He smiles. “Just fun.”

Let me.

Whether you’re tipsier than he thought or he’s just really persuasive, it’s easy to get you crawling into his lap in the corner of the cracked leather booth. His hands wander the span of your smooth thighs where your short skirt doesn’t reach, and he muffles a groan in your shoulder when you start squirming against the tent in his jeans.

You say his name like a warning when his hands find their way under your skirt, yet you’re biting back a moan and don’t tell him to stop.

Simon undoes his jeans and shifts them down before pushing up the back of your skirt and adjusting your hips to watch the tip of his dick slide between the covered cleft of your ass. Nobody in the room can see what the both of you are doing with your skirt fanning around his lap, but someone could if they were truly looking, and that has him tugging your panties to the side so he can feel you.

"Your boyfriend is too stupid to realize you're sitting here riding my lap. What do you think he'd say if he saw you like this?"

 “W-wait, Simon!” you squeak. “What if he sees—”

He’s almost tempted to roll his eyes at your blind devotion—I’ll deal with it—dealing with it would be him making sure the prick never tries talking to you again.

Then, his fingers, like iron at your hips, jerk you back to impale you on his cock. "Fuck," he says, voice trembling around the edges.

“O-oh! It’s too—ah—too big!”

He wraps a hand around the slender slope of your throat, fingers digging into vulnerable flesh as he pulls you back until his lips are at your ear, nose pressing into the soft skin of your cheek. “Come on, love. I know you can take the whole thing. Right inside this tight cunt.”

Simon thrusts into you shallowly, just the tip going in and out, and you whine, little fingers scrabbling at his wrist—gasping and shivering and bucking in the trap of his arms.

A smirk curls at the edges of his mouth when he finally bottoms out in your hot-wet cunt for your boyfriend to see from the other side of the room. He'd laugh at how his jaw drops, but he can only manage little choked intakes of air at the feel of you wrapped so tightly around him.

“Squeeze my cock for me—fuck, there you go.” He presses a kiss below your ear and reaches down to pet your soaked clit with his thumb. Feels the moment you realize that your boyfriend is watching when you tense up.

“I’ll deal with it,” he says again and again until you’re melting into him, thighs trembling around his. “Promise. I promise…”

I apologize if you see this again! I was trying to edit it, and it wouldn't format right with the gif. You can find part two here.

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