#get FUUUUUUCKED

[bogleech]

I'm actually not going to let this go until Gerry is at least as widely ridiculed as Human Pet Guy. That guy still didn't do anything half as disturbed as this fucking loser, let me pull up my favorites again:

Gerry messaging me from an alt pretending not to be an alt

Gerry claiming again that it's antisemitic of me to say the IDF are bad guys who do not represent the entire Jewish population. This is not, in fact, the same as saying they're "not jews anymore." Also bragging about supposedly baiting and sealioning me into saying whatever they believe I said wrong. I guess the stupid ass hell thing????

Calling me a "blorbo" like I'm a fictional character rather than a human. Also, I went and got the original hell comment to double check it:

.....This doesn't even say the IDF should go to hell. It says I hope people "excusing" the IDF's actions should go to hell, I just typoe'd it as "excising." I guess Gerry successfully gaslit me, since I fully believed I had said specifically "the IDF go to hell." Thanks!

Gerry accusing me of "lumping them in as pro genocide" in response to a comment in which I specifically state I do not see them that way. How else am I supposed to read them NOW, though? Because I defined that as "someone who thinks kids deserve bombs dropped on them," and Gerry's response is "how dare you say that about me......???????" What?? Not once do they ever simply say "no one deserves their town to be bombed" or anything like that. They absolutely refuse, because they do in fact believe that it's okay to bomb a whole community if some of that community might hypothetically be "hamas." They do in fact think it's acceptable that people who never hurt anyone else should die that way for some sort of greater good, or that only hamas can be blamed for those deaths by "forcing the hand" of the ones with those bombs.

Gerry admitting the IDF bombs, loots and tortures, even though most comments they call antisemitic are calling out just that very behavior. Gerry to my knowledge has never willingly blamed anything negative on the IDF since this comment and continues to attack people who do.

Gerry admitting the honest core of their beliefs and behavior. This isn't really about me, though. I mean, part of it is, I can definitely be vindictive. But I mostly ignored this asshole for the past year until the doxx comment, and now I'm getting more messages than ever from people who feel actually hurt and terrorized by this motherfucker. I've suffered ZERO fallout from their attacks, I am evidently too big I guess, but there are people who change their username to hide from this piece of shit, even fucking minors who dared to say "free palestine" once. Then there's @stoptheantisemitism, who is NOT gerry, but is impersonated by gerry's alt account @spottheantisemitism and other alt accounts, @stop-the-antisemitism and of course @stop--the--antisemitism in this very thread. Creating so many variants is a deliberate attempt to make it as hard as possible for casual rebloggers to remember which one is the real person. I mean, two alts only add dashes to the same username, and the other only moves one letter "p." I have no idea how tumblr staff can rationalize that as okay. But, again, if there's a guy who can't show his face without human pet jokes because he was just generally creepy, or everyone remembers sixpenceee's family having slaves, why can a user devote this much of their miserable life to "baiting and sealioning" people from multiple accounts and still have a usable blog left? ONE LAST THING!!!!!!!

In the notes on this very post, gerry is so bent on finding people to call out and slander they tried to find "misogyny" in a comment saying that women like studying bugs????????

Gerrysherry, the user who tells people I'm antisemitic because I think IDF soldiers are killing innocent civilians (rather than framed by some kind of Hamas conspiracy), believes my real name was a secret that I only just now accidentally revealed rather than the default way I've signed all my web content since the 1990's. Also believes that I have an employer, that "telling my parents" would affect a grown man, that my hippie mom would disagree with me anyway, and that the hatemail they got last year was all me rather than the natural and inevitable fallout of the supremely fucked up shit they say about the victims of a mass murder. Apparently would gleefully leap at any hypothetical chance at "doxxing" me though. Good to know. Literally wishes they could ruin my real actual life because I don't think Netanyahu is a hero.

[hanalyrata]

Just put my notice in lmaooo.

[cum-a-calla]

as someone who’s written amazing sub!roman, any thoughts on tipping him so far over the edge that he comes without permission and gets all panicky ??

He’s leaking.

His cheeks are so red, the apples of them nearly glowing hot - it feels good to press your lips down against them in small, peppered kisses, soft and sweet. He’s absolutely miserable. Eyes cloudy, words melting off into meaningless, whining moans… god, he’s so pretty. So lost. You wonder idly in the back of your mind how many times he can really bite his bottom lip between his teeth before he makes himself bleed, before it’s so chapped he has to start subtly moisturizing at work. And isn’t that a cute thought? Every time he pulls a goddamn chapstick out of his suit pocket, covertly rubbing it on his lips. Embarrassed. His stupid little smirk being just a little bit shinier, a little extra soft. Fuck.

“You really want it, huh?” Soft voice, soft hands - gliding up and down his shaft, and fuck… he’s so thick, so fucking hard. Precum drips over the knuckle of your thumb on the upstroke and you gather it, gliding it back over the fat, engorged head, soft as velvet. There’s a fleeting consideration about leaning down to lick him, or even kiss it… but you don’t. Roman whines and tenses up, hips bucking so softly into your hand.

“Yeah… yeah, yes, fuck…”

His voice. So delicate. Quiet and loud all at once, somehow, drawn so painfully high - he’s gotta be so embarrassed, begging for your touch like this. It makes it so much better.

You’re only human. Throbbing, careful in revealing your desperation, you sigh, you stroke his hot cheek and reach up to thread your fingers into his mussed hair, pulling it into your fist. He gasps and his eyes fly open, looking obediently up at you. For once, Roman Roy has nothing to say. He’s just an object. A thing, a vessel. You smile kindly down at him, fixing your expression into a soothing one despite squeezing his cock at the base before stroking him again, slowly, diabolically. When he arches his hips again you pull away from his dick to slap him on the thigh and he stops.

“Good boy,” you whisper. “I’m going to use you now. No - no…. shh. Don’t say a fucking thing. It’s not up to you, is it, baby?”

He squeezes his eyes shut and there’s the initial tensing of his muscles, the barest hint of a thrust - and, like the good boy he desperately wants to be, he stills it down, takes a breath, whining through his gorgeous nose like a fucking puppy. There’s a beat where you wait, trusting that he can be obedient. It’s important to train a dog. You slide a thumb against his bottom lip and he accepts it without thought - and does he have any thoughts left? Does he need any? No. No, he doesn’t.

The slow, delicious slide down his cock is everything. Working yourself down over the throbbing length, making it torturously slow for the both of you - not that his feelings matter… not really. It’s yours, after all. Roman, that is - his entire life and professional position doesn’t stop him from being an object to be used right now, in this moment, moaning and begging in half-words as you take your time to work his cock inside of the warm, tight place in along body. Your time, your rules.

It’s only a few rolls of your hips in that you realize there may be a problem - he twitches, hips bucking so very slightly - and then his voice draws up so loud, so painfully, embarrassingly high-strung. His cock throbs, and you grab him by the jaw, shaking him til he looks at you, barely, eyes glazed.

"Oh, I'm - mmm'sorry, sorry, I'm... I -"

Roman gasps his breaths, whining like a soft little thing. Eyes squeezed shut, nails digging desperately into your thighs as his hips grind up, up, bucking the both of you off the bed with the force of his wet cock between the slippery lips of your cunt. Under your gaze, he gives in to his own end. Cum shoots from his pretty, flushed slit in ropes, over his own belly.

You're not mean... no. Accidents happen.

Roman moans and whines as he comes back down, and the reality of his situation comes to the forefont of his brain as the haze clears up. His breath visibly, audibly hitches in his chest and he makes another whining sound, but it's different - this one borne of humiliation, disappointment. No pleasure at all. His big, beautiful eyes, pupils dilated in the melting of pleasure into fear. And that's exactly what it is. You watch as he processes and the panic rises up his belly, his chest, til there's a film of tears over his eyes, the faintest wobble in his chin, his bottom lip.

"Fuck," he whispers. "I fucked it. I... I fucking -" He covers his eyes with his forearm, pressing into it. There's a twitch in his chest as he bites back the threat of sobs, his trembling body underneath you.

"Rome. Baby - hey. Stop. Look at me. Look," you urge, pulling his arm away. Red spiderwebs of veins cross into the whites of his eyes, his lashes wet. He still looks so beautiful. So absolutely wrecked. "You know I'm still going to use you, right?"

It's not a question. Not really. It's a fact. He takes a moment, sniffling, nodding obediently.

"You gunna be good for me, now?" You ask firmly. "Gunna make it up to me?"

"Good."

His whining - his pathetic, wavering voice, his gasps, his weak little uh-huh, I will, please, I'm sorry. It's enough to make your cunt clench down on nothing, still lazily gliding your hips over his spent cock.

The slow ascent up his body, crawling. His eyes on your face, your tits, reverent, watching until you're poised over his mouth. "Ready, baby?" you ask. It's only a courtesy - it doesn't matter, not really. He's going to do it anyway.

Once you've lowered your hips, his perfect, gorgeous nose is buried at the apex of your slit, his red eyes fluttering shut as he gets to work licking, sucking, lapping like the dog he is. An obedient little mutt, lips working overtime to show you he can learn. His tongue is so soft and warm on your clit. It's like he's spelling a prayer, there, begging forgiveness with his little whines and moans. A glance behind shows you his cock twitching just a little, barely half-hard but on its way. It's too bad, really, because he's not going to be allowed to use it for a while. But you save this tidbit for later - no need to distract him.

Roman eats your cunt like it's his last meal. The thought of it has molten heat surge down between your thighs, where he looks up at you in little bursts of bravery. God, he belongs here. Belongs underneath, being used, and your hips are rolling as that pressure builds and builds, dripping over his face, his chin.

You thread your hands into his hair as it washes over you - Roman picks up the pace as you start moaning and riding against his mouth, trying to take in all your pleasure, to be useful, to worship your pussy for the heaven it is, all tight and pink and pulsing on his face. The vibrations of his moaning only serve to heighten how hard you cum on his tongue.

"Nose - now. Nose," you demand, and he obeys, shifting lower to rub the tip of his nose over your sensitive, pulsing clit, his tongue diving as far as he can into your wet, tight, twitching hole. You trail your thumb over the visible bridge of his nose, over and over and over, tattooing its skight curve into your brain like braille as your eyes clench shut and you ride the last of it out. "Good boy. Fuck - you're so fucking good, you belong here."

In the aftermath, pulling off of his face and flopping bonelessly beside him, he eyes you with a certain level of shame. His red-rimmed eyes, feverish cheeks. His cock almost fully hard now, pointedly ignored.

"Good job, Rome," you coo softly, kissing the red blade of his cheekbone. He shudders and leans into it, the softest hum vibrating through his chest as he surrenders, snaking a tentative arm around the dip of your waist. Wanting to pull you closer, careful to be slow in case you don't want it. "You need me? That's okay, baby."

You sink into him, kissing his forehead, his eyebrows, the tense lines between them. You trace your lips down the devastating slope of his strong nose, licking the tip before you treat him to a kiss. Not because he's earned it - just because you want it. He responds hungrily, reaching up to frame your face with his fingers.

Worship.

Face pressed against his chest, both of you cooling down, there's a wonderful silence. An acceptance. News of his impending punishment can wait for now - you're not cruel. Roman nuzzles closer, arm around you, seeking your heat, and for now... he can have it.

[sunsetsandsunshine]

~ 𝙲𝚊𝚗 𝙸 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝…? ~

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝚃𝙸𝙲𝙺𝙻𝙴𝚃𝙾𝙱𝙴𝚁 𝙳𝙰𝚈 𝟷𝟷: 𝙽𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃𝙼𝙰𝚁𝙴˚*• ̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*＊·̩̩̥͙

𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: 𝙷𝚞𝚛𝚝/𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝 (𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑, 𝙸 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚎 💗)

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜: 𝟷,𝟽𝟿𝟻

𝙻𝚎𝚎: 𝙼𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚢 🐢🧡

𝙻𝚎𝚛: 𝙳𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚎 🐢💜

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝙼𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚎. 𝙸𝚝’𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢….𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚜𝚔 𝚖𝚎 *𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚗𝚞𝚍𝚐𝚎 𝚗𝚞𝚍𝚐𝚎*

(𝙰/𝙽: 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢: 𝙳𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚐𝚞𝚢! 𝚃*𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙺𝚒𝚗𝚔/𝙽𝚂𝙵𝚆 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚜 𝙳𝙽𝙸!!!)

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝙲𝚞𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚢𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚋𝚒𝚊.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙹𝚄𝚂𝚃 𝙲𝙰𝙼𝙴 𝙱𝙰𝙲𝙺 𝙵𝚁𝙾𝙼 𝙰 𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚃𝚈 𝙸𝚃 𝚆𝙰𝚂 𝚂𝙾 𝙵𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙺𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙻𝙸𝚃 𝙾𝙼𝙶‼️‼️‼️˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

Dreams were one thing. 

Mikey loved dreams. 

He adored dreams in fact. 

It was…his escape from reality; sort of like drawing in a sense. Except, when he dreamt…he didn’t have to do a single thing.

He could do anything he wanted…whenever he wanted without having to get the 'a-okay' from anyone.

And plus, the best part about dreams was that if there was an ice cream cat barfing up sprinkles…Mikey wouldn’t question it oneeeeee bit. 

That was the magical part about dreams. 

But…there were always two sides to a coin.

…Nightmares…were the opposite of dreams…

…And they were a whole other thing.

They could turn your most happiest memories and moments into horrid and scary ones.

It could turn the most greenest of valleys into nothing but dry ash, blowing away in the wind and fluttering and intoxicating the air. 

Or…perhaps…maybe nightmares were just…lonely. 

Perhaps…it was just lonely to be alone, watching you sit in your room as you break into cold sweat, the darkness weighing you down like a ton of bricks. 

And maybe the nightmares wanted you to be there with it…so it wouldn’t have to be alone…

'I could be lonely with you' as Beach Bunny would say…

But back to the initial topic, Michelangelo always hated having nightmares.

But what he hated more was not even remembering what said nightmares was about. 

It was terrifying for sure— I mean— he woke up from it so it must’ve been really…bad…right?

The box turtle sighed loudly, running a tired and shaky hand down his face.

…He should probably get some water while he’s awake; his mouth was as dry as the Sahara desert.

Or, better yet, Mikey could go find his brothers.

Well…one of them. Or at least see if anyone was awake.

The light scarlet eyed mutant hopped down from his bed, hugging himself with one of his blankets as he made his way towards the hallway, the darkness almost consuming him in the process. 

Even as a little kid, the box turtle was never fond of the dark. 

…You could never see beyond it. 

It was cold and…just, well, dark in general if that makes sense. 

Michelangelo never understood the appeal some people had to it.

The only time he did welcome darkness, though, was when there was light occumpining it. 

Like the moon. 

Or the stars. 

Or even car lights! 

It was Mikey’s small reminder that no matter where he was, there was always some glow or gleam with him…

So relitavley speaking, he should head to where the nearest light was…which was his immiediate older brother’s room. 

The smallest turtle opened Leo’s car door ever so slightly, peeking inside to see a very sound sleeping slider. 

The youngest buried down his disappointment as he quietly closed the door, going back into the darkness once more.

Leo barely got any sleep as is…

…And besides…the chance of accidentally waking him up was waaaay too high. 

It was fine, anyway. Mikey could try going to Raph’s! 

Michelangelo dragged his orange blanket with him, putting it around his shoulders as he tip-toed to Raphael’s room…surely he was awake, right? 

“Raph…?” The youngest called out quietly, looking into his older brother’s room. The smallest mutant wasn’t greeted with a small grunt of acknowlgemnt nor a kind Raph greeting.

What the light scarlet eyed teen was greeted with, though, was a loud, ear pierecing snore from the snapping turtle. 

Mikey snickered softly at his brother’s loud noises, going into the room and giving him his favorite Squishmello that was on the floor.

The alligator snapping turtle smiled in his sleep, squishing the plushie to his chest and his tail wagged slightly. The smaller turtle giggled at the action, walking out and closing the car door.

Alright…so the odd’s on Donnie being up…were…rather…slim but it was fine! 

Quite very much fine.

If the softshell was asleep, the light scarlet eyed mutant would just hed back to his room…alone; in complete darkness. 

…But it would be fine…!

Probably.

The box turtle quickly and quietly shimmied to his purple loving brother’s room buuut not before tripping over his own feet and stumbling in front of Donnie’s train car door.

And Mikey was supposed to be a ninja…pfft, yeah right. 

The youngest turtle got up on his feet, brushing off his knees and shoulders as he grabbed his blanket from the floor. 

Maybe if he just stood perfectly still until the crack of dawn…Donnie wouldn’t wake up…!

Besides, it’s not like the softshell heard him or anything.

“I can hear you trying to be quiet over there, Mikes.” The second oldest deadpanned, turning around of his bed so him and his little brother shared eye contact.

Well shit…

The youngest’s stomach twisted and turned with guilt, rubbing the back of his neck as he leaned on the doorway nervously, “Oh! H-Hey, Dee…sorry…did I wake you up…?” Michelangelo asked guiltily. 

“Eh, kinda. But it’s alright.” Donatello yawned, rubbing his eyes as he sat up on his bed, reaching for his desk as he put on his glasses. 

“…Are you going to come into my very humble abode or are you just going to continue to stand there?” The taller turtle asked, squinting into the darkness where the youngest was almost being consumed by.

Mikey shook his head ever so slightly, closing the door and hopping into Donnie’s bed with his blanket. The elder hugged the smaller turtle tight, rubbing his shell gently as Michelangelo melted into the embrace. 

The box turtle buried his face in his older brother’s chest as the other rested his chin at the top of the smallest turtle’s head, “Mhmmmm…your warm as fuck…”

Donnie bit back a loud laugh, instead, smiling faintly as he rolled his eyes fondly. 

Typical Mikey…

The second oldest wrapped his younger brother tighter in the hug, “Your literally using me as a blanket right now. I’m not your own personal heater, y'know.” 

“Ehhhh…you kinda are to be honest.” The other snickered. 

“Oh? You're just using me for my body heat, huh? And here I thought you loved me for me…” Donatello sniffled theatrically, wiping away a fake tear for dramatic effect.

“I do! But I also love you for your body heat.” The younger turtle giggled snarkily. 

Donnie scoffed, shaking his head slightly as he smiled; he couldn’t help but chuckle faintly.

"You're such a dunderhead, y'know that?” The older said as he scribbled at the youngest’s sides, grinning as Mikey almost immediatley squealed with laughter. 

“Here I am, pouring my heart out to you, being all sentimental and caring...and all you care about is my toasty body heat.” Donatello fake seethed, scribbling where the younger’s plastron met his shell. 

Michelangelo screeched loudly at his brothers squiggly and wriggly fingers, hugging his middles before turning around so his shell faced the young scientist. 

The light scarlet eyed turtle squealed, kicking his legs from under the bed sheets as his brother continued to tickle him, “N-NohoHAH! D-Deehee cahahome ohon dohon’t doohoo thihihis!” He squeaked, pulling on Donatello’s arms. 

“And where do you think you’re going, little brother?” The taller turtle asked, wrapping one arm around Mikey’s chest so his arms were at his sides. “You’re not going anywhere~!” Donnie grinned before scribbling his free hand all long the younger’s stomach. 

“OHO FAHAAAHACK! DEEHEE NOHO STAHAP!! THAHAT’S SOHO SOHO BAHAHAD!!!” Michelangelo screeched whilst laughing loudly and hysterically, kicking his legs so much that the blankets soared high in the air and fell on the floor. 

'And she was a fairy' ahh moment…

“I’m going to tickle you foreveeeeer! Eeheevihil lahahaugh!” The purple hoodie wearing mutant announced as he nibbled the crook of his baby brother’s neck.

Donnie laughed along with the other, his mind flashing back to times when they were very little…

…When they would lay together in the dark with fairy lights hung around the ceiling, infodumping about shows and movies as he would hold his younger brother close to him to keep him warm…

…It was just like when they were little kids.

Well, almost like when they were little kids. 

In their early childhood years there was definetly less hyena cackling…that was for sure.

“GAHAHAD DAHA— squeal NOOOHOHOHO!” The younger mutant squealed, shaking his head as a faint blush spread to his cheeks.

“Yeeeeeeees~!” Donatello playfully cooed, “And stop your loud Tom-foolery! You’re going to wake up the entire lair!”

“THEHEN STAH— squeal!! GOHOD— squeak SCREHEHEW YAHA— YOHOU! STOHOHAP TIHICKLING squeak MEEHEEHEE!” Mikey yelled through his laughs. 

“But you looooove it~!” The other smugly countered. 

“DEEEEEHEEHEE! PLAHAHEASE! YOHOUR GOHOHONNA KILL MEEHEE!!”

“Kill yohou?” The elder mutant asked in awe, pausing the tickling for a split second before mercilessly prodding where the other’s ribs would be.

The reaction was almost immediate as Michelangelo let out a loud, genuine scream before descending into hysterical fits of laughter. 

Mikey thrashed and squealed helplessly, throwing his head back on his older brother’s shoulder. “DOHOHAHA— squeak DOHOHAHANNIE!!”

“You are conversing with Donatello; yes?” 

“PLAHAHAHEASE!”

“Please what~? Pleeeeease keep tickling you~? Pleeeeease tickle tickle your oh-so ticklish ribs~?” 

“N-NAHAH! THAHAT IHIS NOHOT WHAHA— squeal IHI DIDN’T MEEEHEAN THAHAAAT!”

The softshell chuckled lowly, holding his baby brother’s wrists above his head as he lightly nibbled his ribs. 

The box turtle squeezed his eyes shut, throwing his head back once more as he could do nothing but happily laugh. 

“D'awww~! Are Mikey’s wittle wibs tickwish~?” Donnie teased, using his free hand to flutter along the orange cladded turtle’s neck.

“AAAAAHAHAHAH— SQUEAK!! NONONOHOHO! DEEHEE DEEHEE NOHO— SQUEAK SQUEAK— NAHAHA— SQUEAL— NOHO MOHOHORE!!!”

“No more~? Are you sure~?”

“YEHAHAHAH! YEHEHES YEHE— SQUEAL YEHEHES!!” 

Donnie gave his brother one last poke at the rib before stopping and hugging him from behind, resuming the gentle shell rubs. “I guess I really am nothing more than your own personal heater, hm? Just a walking furnace at your command…”

The box turtle mutant groaned loudly, flicking the taller turtle’s forehead slightly, “Deeeehee yohou knohow damn wehell thahahat’s nohot true.” Mikey pouted, snuggling in the embarce. 

"Yeah, yeah…I know, I know. You supposedly love me for more than just my body heat.”Donatello said as he let out a huff of laughter and rolled his eyes. 

The elder wrapped his arms tighter around his brother, resting his chin on the orange cladded teen’s head once more. 

The smaller turtle giggled at the action before yawning, snuggling into the other’s plastron, “Lohove yohou, dorkwad…”

“Pfft— dorkwad? Is that the best you can do? Really?” The softshell snickered. 

“Is ahass faced Atomic Lahass fuhucker good enohough fohor you?” The box turtle asked snarkily. 

“I’ll stick with dorkwad, thanks.” The older giggled. 

“That’s whahat I thohought.” Mikey grinned as he yawned, resting on his face on his brother’s chest, “Lohove you, Dee.”

“I love you too, Angelo.” 

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙵𝙸𝙽˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙ 

(𝙿.𝚂.: 𝙸𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚌, 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐!!!)

[rain-shoshana]

I

I am not

I cannot

DAVID PLEASE WHAT THE FUCK

[ballcrusher74]

Your art is so good I wanna eat it!!!!

Mosaic:

#sorryfortheyaoiz

COFFIN

[clockwork-carstairs]

Emma touching the place above Julian’s heart and thinking Here where you’re broken. To think of all the things he went through for so many years, one tragedy after another…Julian deserved a villain arc more than anyone

[amywritesthings]

i totally took my 10 min break to 25 to finish part one of compass by @peachdues and i swear to god i look like

[blurglesmurfklaine]

“Woah, you win the lottery or something?”

Jack doesn’t know why he asks the guy in front of him at the checkout line that, but he does. Half the time, he couldn’t give an explanation to why he says the things he does. He took one look at the huge pile of merchandise on the conveyor belt, overheard the cashier calculate the total, and couldn’t help himself.

“Nope,” the customer says casually, swiping his card through the machine. “Just having a mental breakdown.” He turns towards Jack, lips pursed in an awkward smile, and throws up a peace sign.

Jack blinks. “Oh,” he says stupidly. He scrubs a hand behind his neck. “Uh, sorry.”

“Don’t be,” the stranger replies as he bags his various items—ranging from a throw pillow with the word I’m Pretty Sure I Seized The Wrong Day embroidered on it, to a coffee mug that says Live, Laugh, Lubricant. “You’re not the dumbass roommate who got us evicted with an illegal gambling ring.”

Jack opens his mouth to reply, but isn’t sure he’d know what to say anything.

The young man lifts up the pillow, frowning at the vomit green fringes sewn onto the obnoxiously turquoise fabric. “This is the ugliest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. Why on earth did I buy it?”

“I have a theory,” Jack says.

The guy starts laughing, loud and obnoxious and it should be the most off putting thing in the world, but Jack is utterly enthralled.

This might be the most peculiar person Jack’s ever met, which is an incredibly high bar. Jack desires him carnally.

“You’re funny,” the guy says, cracking a real, genuine smile this time, and Jack feels his insides become putty in this stranger’s hands. “I’m Davey.”

“Jack.” He grins, extending a hand that Davey takes in a shake. “We should hang out sometime.”

[shoot-i-messed-up]

trying to figure out the logistics of a Superlantern arranged marriage AU

[terminaltimeline]

<3

[hero-dualies-pog]

i need to be tall

[osamucide]

it’s a really little thing. but do you wanna know what pisses me off so bad. the fact that when you’re typing on mobile quotation marks look different that when you’re typing on pc.

[allmyandroids]

EATING HIM ALIVE LIKE THIS ❤️‍🔥

[grimcatician]

Absolutely sick and twisted

Yoshi P you can’t keep getting away with this!!

UGH THEY BOTH DID SO MUCH IN THESE PATCHES OHHHHH MY DAYS

[kit-kat-jo]

hey uh house md season 4 finale. what the fuck.