#im not fucking sorry

[krypticcafe]

Me: Oh hey another cool-looking König x Reader fic, this looks fun and unique-

König: 'maus'

Me: god FUCKING dammit not again

[drowninnoodles]

You say that this is not a topic for conversation, but I prove to you that it is a normal topic for conversation

They are amazing people

Also yes im tagging it as undertale

[ellitchhizui]

So a while ago my moirail and I were flirting and I had to hit'em with that custom meme rizz

you're welcome

[hayleyzorel]

Im not sorry

[the-elder-polls]

appalachia is devastated. towns i loved, towns i visited all the time, are gone. not damaged, GONE. they are leveled to the ground. there is nothing left but rubble and ruin. people are dead. appalachia is poor to begin with and relies on tourism for a lot of its income, and multiple of those tourist locations are just...gone.

my town is okay, but it's flooded and wrecked. trees are blocking all but one way out of our neighborhood. power lines are hanging limp in the roads. we've been without power for over 24 hours and will continue to be without power for likely another 24+. disabled people and poor people are GOING to die from this. gods save appalachia.

[james-p-sullivan]

the older i get and the closer i am to reaching 30, the more the people around me try to deny me my age. it’s a constant ‘oh you’re just turning 29 again teehee 🤭’ or ‘dont tell your SO that, he’ll leave you for a younger model 😉’ and i just???? hate it?????????

i spent my entire teenaged years fighting for my life. i crawled through the deepest pits of my depression to cling to the promise of a life beyond that pain. i was so convinced that i was going to die young, that i would never see the grace of my age starting with a 2, let alone 3.

so im going to turn 30, and there’s not a damn thing anyone can do to stop me from loving it.

[daftmooncretin]

spock’s room decor is actually fucking bonkers. The weapons??? the big red velvet curtain??? like ok phantom of the opera go crazy.

for reference jim’s room has some photos and a plant so we can surmise this is uniquely a spock being a dramatic weirdo thing

[tofumarinado]

"feeling unsafe at night is something no man could ever understand"

black men beg to differ

brown men beg to differ

aapi men beg to differ

autistic men beg to differ

gay men beg to differ

trans men beg to differ

[mutualcombat]

*bites ur scruff*

[full on twitter]

[inkskinned]

this is just my opinion but i think any good media needs obsession behind it. it needs passion, the kind of passion that's no longer "gentle scented candle" and is now "oh shit the house caught on fire". it needs a creator that's biting the floorboards and gnawing the story off their skin. creators are supposed to be wild animals. they are supposed to want to tell a story with the ferocity of eating a good stone fruit while standing over the sink. the same protective, strange instinct as being 7 and making mud potions in pink teacups: you gotta get weird with it.

good media needs unhinged, googling-at-midnight kind of energy. it needs "what kind of seams are invented on this planet" energy and "im just gonna trust the audience to roll with me about this" energy. it needs one person (at least) screaming into the void with so much drive and energy that it forces the story to be real.

sometimes people are baffled when fanfic has some stunning jaw-dropping tattoo-it-on-you lines. and i'm like - well, i don't go here, but that makes sense to me. of fucking course people who have this amount of passion are going to create something good. they moved from a place of genuine love and enjoyment.

so yeah, duh! saturday cartoons have banger lines. random street art is sometimes the most precious heart-wrenching shit you've ever seen. someone singing on tiktok ends up creating your next favorite song. youtubers are giving us 5 hours of carefully researched content. all of this is the impossible equation to latestage capitalism. like, you can't force something to be good. AI cannot make it good. no amount of focus-group testing or market research. what makes a story worth listening to is that someone cares so much about telling it - through dance, art, music, whatever it takes - that they are just a little unhinged about it.

one time my friend told me he stayed up all night researching how many ways there are to peel an orange. he wrote me a poem that made me cry on public transportation. the love came through it like pith, you know? the words all came apart in my hands. it tasted like breakfast.

[thebigcomed0wn]

im so serious if you cant imagine a single female character u like or you coincidentally only care about men or imagine that women are a different species of human that are impossible to draw or write about or relate to, You are the problem. its not because you’re gay it’s because you do not like women

[rambrandt-the-painter]

went insane with the brushwork here

[doctorhomo]

“old man writes about gen z on their damn phones” ?????? no?????? old man writes about the dangers of staying in your own bubble and prejudice and privilege to the point where you’d rather die than let a black man save you????? old man writes about useless influencer-types who are so dependent on their bubble that they dont know when they need a piss???????? old man writes about white people desperately trying to make their own aryan society and staying in their racist BUBBLE ????????

[nekurothings]

FOCUS!!

[malevolencc]

[everwalldigan]

You know what would be really funny. If Jason had the most normal/conventional food taste out of his siblings (still very far from regular people’s “normal”), he’s stuck in the manor because of an injury and therefore has to witness the culinary WAR CRIMES his siblings consume for sustenance. Since there’s no Alfred to stop them anymore, they have been running rampant.

Jason: What. The fuck. Is that.

Damian, pouring out a green sludge into two cups: father and I’s breakfast smoothie, or did you hit your head hard enough to forget the concept of a smoothie?

Jason, scooting his chair away clutching his water bottle to his chest: yeah I dont know what nuclear reactive, Gotham harbour concoction you so flagrantly bestow the title of “smoothie” on but keep that shit FAR away from me

Tim: *sits down next to Jason, cracks open a can of energy drink and pours it into a glass, pouring milk on top until it reaches the brim*

Jason, with tears in his eyes looking at Dick for help:

Dick: *shrugs, shoving a fistful of dry cheerios into his mouth*

Jason: *turns his horrified gaze to Cass*

Cass: *grins at him toothily with two heaping plates of a full English breakfast sitting in front of her. He has no idea where she got it from. She is using a set of utensils for each plate.*

Jason: *stands up calmly* maybe I should stop looking for the unstable bomb I lost in the manor the other week *walks out of the kitchen, a few moments later a shrill scream is heard*