#just block me if I piss you off that much

[hometoursandotherstuff]

This really pisses me off- an 1892 Victorian mansion in Denver, CO was converted to an office building and now they want to sell it as a home. 12 bds., 8ba, 21,285 sq ft, asking $8,407,575.

Forget about having a home with a yard and a garden, they made it a parking lot.

In the reception area, which is also the grand hall, it looks like the wood is still intact, but the fireplace behind the desk has been blocked off.

The stairs look good.

It's hard to tell what most of the rooms were. This one looks pretty good. It still has lots of original millwork, the fireplace, and stained glass.

There's a staff kitchenette back here. The cabinets are nice, but the counter is laminate and I wonder what it was before.

This must be a sitting room. It has a beautiful fireplace.

It looks like the pocket doors are intact. I'm not sure if the cabinets are original, but they were nicely done.

This has to have been the dining room. I know that some of it is new, but how did they get the original wood so light? The original ceiling was plaster. There is no longer a kitchen.

This must be an area for staff sing-alongs.

In this room, only the frame of the fireplace is left.

The woodwork in this room was painted white. I don't know if these are separate offices or the same business in the whole house.

Don't know what this room is, but even though it has beautiful brick and wood, they put up modern office lighting and ductwork.

Not bad tile work on this little fireplace, but I don't like the shelves above it.

This room was modernized. I wonder what's under all the commercial carpeting. The door with a transom indicates that this could have been a bedroom. Notice that they advertise 8 baths, but don't show any. They're probably like public restrooms, now.

This would be a landing. Glad to see the railing and columns. Hate the lighting.

If they left the wood in most other areas, why did they paint some of it?

In this area, they put in modern commercial doors and windows, plus the modern ceiling and lights. I'm not sure that the brick is original, but there's a fireplace.

More ductwork and new walls, plus cement flooring. Look at the clear glass door. That's different.

I wonder if the barn doors are original.

I'm thinking that these are different offices, not just a single business. I don't know if the steel columns could've been there. I don't even know where we are.

All modernized except for the fireplace. Nice chandelier.

Here's some sort of a loft or stair landing.

This looks like an attic office and it also has a kitchenette.

In the basement there's a staff room with a kitchenette.

Plus a staff gym. So much money, and I don't even know how much it would take to make it right- like what do you do with the ductwork and all the flush mount ceiling lights. The plaster ceilings, medallions, and light fixtures are all gone.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/1115-1121-Grant-St-N-Denver-CO-80203/439736633_zpid/?

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Bad Guy 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power dynamics, cheating, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The men your mother brings home rarely stick around, but her latest catch can't seem to unhook himself from your life.

Characters: Destroyer!Chris

Note: I'm going to a physio today for the first time.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The house is quiet as you come out of your room. The single floor is just enough room for you and your mom. You’ve never needed much else and all your life, you’ve made do with what you have. It’s just the way it is.

You stretch your arms and arch your spine as you stop in the doorway of the kitchen. You yawn. You fell asleep reading outdated discussions about your most recent syndicated obsession. You should know better by now, that thorn in your neck is only driving deeper. 

You bend at the elbows to rub your neck and drag your feet over the cold tile. Your nipple poke rigidly against your cropped tank top and goosebumps raze up your bare thighs. You open the fridge and pull out the bottle of orange juice, your panties riding up with your movement.  

Before you can stand straight, a sharp strikes snaps against your ass and radiates through your flesh. You yipe and grip the bottle by the neck as you jump and turn to face the culprit. The strange man stares back, his brows twitching. 

“Mm, you’re not Gail,” he mutters. 

“No, I’m not,” you press the juice to your chest, overly aware of your barely covered body.  

You don’t ask who he is. You stopped doing that in middle school. She’s another one of her ‘callers’. You don’t usually see them more than once, if at all. Most leave before you’re awake. 

“Was takin’ a piss, heard you skittering around, thought...” he trails off into a shrug. 

He’s shirtless too. He only wears a pair of briefs as he stands shameless before you. A dark tattoo covers half his chest and extends around his shoulder and down his arm. It’s the typical snake and skull aesthetic sported by men like him. 

“Nope,” you reach for the fridge door and step to the side as you close it.  

He doesn’t move. You go to dip around him and he moves with you. 

“Taking all that with you?” He points at the bottle. You look down and sigh. You push it towards him. “Here.” 

He puts his hand under it and you let go. You skirt around his other side and squeeze through the door behind him. You don’t look back as you flee to your room. You resist the urge to reach back and cover the bottom of your ass, not wanting to draw attention to it if he is watching. 

You shut your bedroom door and cringe. Great. You can’t really complain. Your mother hasn’t kicked you out. Yet. Not like half your friends’ parents. She just asks for half the rent and you can manage that. With the rent around here, you’d be on the street otherwise. 

You cross the room and flop on the bed. You pull out your phone and go back to scrolling the old discussion boards. It’s funny. The more recent posts are totally contrary to the ones when the show aired. You’re not sure who you agree with. 

You roll onto your back and drop your phone to the mattress. You have to work at noon. So much for a relaxing morning. You’ll just be hiding in your room until that man leaves. 

A knock jerks you up and you roll your eyes. You search the floor and pull on the wrinkly pajama bottoms. You go to the door and crack it open an inch. It’s him. 

“Uh, hi?” You utter dully. 

“Got you a glass,” he offers one of the cups in his hands. You squint at it then look him in the face. 

“Thanks?” You go to take it but he doesn’t let go as you wrap your fingers around the cold glass.  

“There a problem?” He asks. 

“Uh, no,” you scrunch your nose. “I said thanks.” 

“I don’t like your tone.” 

You let go of the glass and retract your hand. His eyes flick down and yours do too. The white tank does little for your modesty. You cross your arms. 

“Okay? Well, never mind,” you go to close the door and he steps forward, digging his elbow into the wood as he blocks you with his body. 

“Your mom said you’re a nice girl,” he looks you up and down again. “Coulda fooled me walking around like that.” 

You frown. It’s your house. Why should you worry about what you’re wearing? Besides, if you knew he was there, then you wouldn’t wander around in your panties. 

“Thanks for the orange juice but you should just give it to my mom. That’s why you’re here,” you shrug. 

He scoffs. “Got a smart mouth.” 

“No, I—I didn’t do anything.” 

“There you go again. Disrespectful.” 

“Huh?” You shake your head in confusion. 

“That way you talk. Low and flat, like you don’t give a fuck. Maybe you don’t. Would explain why you’re grown living in your mommy’s house,” he mockingly pouts. 

You blink, “you don’t know me.” 

“I know girls like you. Pretending like they don’t care. You care. We both know you do.” He moves a glass closer, “say thank you. Like you mean it.” 

“I don’t want it,” you insist. 

“Don’t want to waste it. Was it you or mommy who paid for the bottle?” He taunts. 

You grit your teeth. What is his problem? Why won’t he just leave you alone? 

You deflate. You really just want him to go. You look at the ceiling then back to him. He’s the kind of man you would avoid on the street. His blue eyes are as cold as ice and his hair is shaved, but a little longer on top, and he sports a goatee amid the short stubble on his jaw and cheeks. 

“Thank you,” you reach for the glass again. 

“Thank you, sir,” his voice grizzles as he corrects you. 

You steel yourself and your lips slant. You really just want him to tell him to fuck off but like you always do, you don’t say what you think. You keep it inside. Put on that face that keeps you safe. 

“Thank you, sir,” you repeat after him. 

“Now smile,” he demands. 

You flinch and look away. You take a breath. That’s you’re least favourite, when they tell you to smile. It happens often at your job and it always sours your day. 

You force a smile. 

“Come on, you can do better,” he snickers. 

Your cheeks tremble and your smile falls. You tuck your chin down. 

“Can you please just leave me alone?” You mumble. 

“Excuse me, girl? I can’t hear you.” 

“I said...” your throat locks up and your eyes singe. God! When you get angry, you don’t get bold, you just get teary. You hate it. “I said ‘thank you, sir’.” 

You grab the glass so abruptly that it sloshes over the side. You don’t stop, you just spin and throw your weight against the door. He lets it close and it slams. You spill most of the juice down your front. 

You hear the friction of his fingers dragging down the wood. It sends a chill through you. You slowly pull away and put the glass down, juice dripping down your arms and chest. 

He’ll be gone soon, just like the rest. 

💀

Your mom’s still asleep when you leave for work. As you sneak out of your room, you listen for any sign of life.  If the man’s there, he doesn’t make himself known. You step into your shoes and leave through the front door without looking back. 

You head down the street with your earbuds in, a podcast about an old show you watched in high school droning on, as you take the shortcut behind the house at the end of the street. It’s almost four blocks to work but you save money on bus fare. You try to only waste the change after dark. 

The ice cream shop is never very busy outside of the post-soccer game crowds. You take your vigil behind the cold counter and bob along with the radio station’s Top 10 countdown. Miley leans in the corner by the till as she chews gum and scrolls through her phone. 

You’re fidgety to do the same, but you hate just letting your eyes glaze over. You pace a bit back and forth until her shift is up. When she’s gone, you feel a little less on edge. You always prefer being alone, you don’t have to worry about performing. 

Customers come and go. You greet them with the usual ‘how can I help?’ You’ve never been very good at the customer service part but you’re not rude. You just do your job, which it to scoop ice cream and toss some sprinkles around. 

You’re entitled to one cone a shift. You rarely have it. You don’t need the extra sugar or the brain freeze. That day, as you close up, the chocolate peanut butter entices you to go outside your routine. You put the lids on all the canisters except for that flavour and do yourself up a waffle cone before you lock up. 

You lick the softening cream and turn to face the dark plaza, lit only by the overhead marquee. There’s a car idling just by the curb. You ignore it. A few neighbouring businesses close up around the same time. 

The engine revs, and it jolts forward. The horn nearly has you throwing your cone. You fall back into step and keep walking. The Trans Am continues to follow you and honks again. The window rolls down as someone whistles. Only your name stops you. 

You turn and bend to see through the window. What the heck? It’s him. The man that invaded your house and threatened you over orange juice. 

You exhale through your nose and stand up. You turn down the pavement and keep going. The bus will be there any moment. 

“Hey,” he barks, “get back here.” 

You keep going. Why is he there? Because of the orange juice? 

The car door opens and closes. You speed up as you hear him following you. 

“Your mom sent me to pick you up,” he says. 

You snort, “sure she did.” 

“Really,” he says as his footsteps echo yours. 

“She doesn’t even know when I work,” you keep going and he catches your arm, yanking you back. 

You spin to face him and yelp. Your scoop shifts precariously in the cone. You try to pull away but not too hard as you selfishly want to keep your treat intact. 

“Alright. I offered. I heard you leave. Figured you could use a lift.” He squeezes and you whimper. “I can be a nice guy.” 

Can be. 

You wince and flutter your lashes, “can you let me go... please?” 

He opens his fingers sharply and lifts his hand, showing his palm. “Since you said please...” 

You look over your shoulder then back at him. Finally, you glance at your cone. You weigh your options. You’re not a quick runner. 

“I appreciate the ride but--” 

“I appreciate the ride, sir. Like I said, I can be nice, but respect is earned, girl.” 

You swallow tightly, cheeks pinching. 

“Sir, I appreciate the ride but I have money for the bus--” 

He clucks and points over your shoulder, “that bus?” 

You turn and watch the headlights blow by the stop. You flick your eyes to the sky and face him again. “Mmhmm.”” 

“So, is that a ‘thank you, sir’ on your lips?” He challenges. 

You slant your lips back and forth. You fight back a wave of hot frustration. You’re used to feeling powerless but he is suffocating. You nod. 

“Thank you, sir,” you choke out. 

“See, not that hard to be a good girl.” 

He waits until you move. You head back towards his car, and he gets in the driver side. As you claim the passenger seat, he huffs. He looks at you as you try not to acknowledge him. 

“Don’t like food in the car. Try not to get it all over,” he snarls. 

“I can--” 

“Just be careful,” he snips. 

Just be quiet, you tell yourself. You pull the seatbelt down and stare through the windshield. You lick around the cone as the cream threatens to melt onto your fingers. The car idles and you glance over. He watches your tongue as you lap up the trickle.  

You sit back as his eyes cling to your lips. He lifts his chin and turns straight. He grips the wheel and cranks the volume on the stereo. He speeds off and you struggle to keep from doing just what he warned you not to. You’d tell him to slow down but not only will he not listen, but the sooner you’re home, the better. 

[bunnis-monsters]

Guys. I am not a content creator. I am a person, a human being posting fanfics on the internet. You are responsible for your OWN online experience. I’ll tag things, but it is your job to filter out things that you do not like. It’s not MY JOB to hold your hand and tell you what to filter and how to make yourself comfortable.

I have a list of tags you can filter in my pinned post. It’s in bold letters. That’s the most I can do for you, directly giving you the tags you need to filter to help you not be triggered or upset. I care about y’all, but there’s only so much as I can do.

I’m autistic and don’t like change, and I really don’t like people telling me the thing I’m doing is wrong when I KNOW it’s the right way. It really pisses me off.

You do not tell me what to do, you either filter the tags or block me and move on. Just like I’m doing to the people in my asks that think I’m some sort of content creator, which btw is a harmful way to view people. I create stories, works of art, whether you see them as such or not.

I’m 23, write Fics in my spare time. It’s not that fucking serious.

[theosmanuscript]

tequila & empty cups

theodore nott x reader

warning: not proof read and its 2 am im dead tired

word count: 800+

synopsis: at an afterparty celebrating slytherin’s big win against gryffindor with bf!theo

author's note: sorry for the lack of content! i’ve been terribly lazy tehe!

Typically, the dungeons of Hogwarts are dark, cold and gloomy. First and second years were always huddled up in a corner, scrambling to complete their overdue assignments. This time, none of them were in sight. The highly anticipated Quidditch match resulted in Slytherin’s favour and like every other win, another raging party was put on. 

Green strobe lights lit up the common room and the air was filled with the scent of intoxication. Pansy and Lorenzo were on the floor, amidst the sea of people, dancing to the rhythm.

The loud music blasted out of the speakers made your heart thump with excitement. Mattheo and Blaise were on top of a table which surprisingly supported the weight of two beefy beaters. The former shouting the lyrics to Weasley Is Our King at the top of lungs along with the rest of the crowd whereas Blaise was taking swig after swig of the Firewhiskey which was graciously provided by an anonymous seventh year. On the other hand, Theodore was seated on the leather chair and you, comfortable on his lap.

“Weasley cannot save a thing! He cannot block a single ring!” Mattheo sang, throwing both his hands into the air. 

You watched with amusement while taking a sip of the strange concoction of punch and tequila out of the plastic cup. Contrary to popular belief, Slytherins knew how to appreciate Muggles’ masterpiece of hard liquor. Theo’s hand stroked your thigh that was draped over him. 

“He’s making a fool out of himself,” Theo whispered into your ear. His breath was hot against your neck and your skin started to tingle. Your heart pounded against your ribs as you looked into his eyes

“C’mon, he’s just having fun,” you replied, holding in a laugh as the table wobbled and Mattheo stumbled. “Couldn’t hurt to loosen up too, Mister Nonchalant.”

Theo snorted and sighed, “I think I need a refill, if you want me to loosen up.”

“I can do it. I need someone to top me up too.” You swung you legs off his lap and stood up, straightening your skirt that rode up. Theo probably had a good view of your ass but you didn’t care.

You took his now empty cup and walked towards the bottles, opening them, careful not to waste a drop of liquor. After all, it was difficult to acquire and sneak the bottles into the castle. 

“Great turn out, right?” 

You jumped at the sound of the voice. Turning around to face Adrian Pucey. He looked far to merry to be sober. You doubted he could walk in a straight line. 

“Yeah, I mean it was the last game before the end of the year,” you said nervously, “I think someone would have to be a bloody prat to miss it.” 

Adrian laughed as he took a step towards you. He was definitely not sober at all to disregard how uncomfortable you looked. 

“Well, I’m glad I made it. Wouldn’t want to miss seeing you here,”

You took another step back, as he reached out to grab your arm and a lump formed in your throat. 

“I have to get back to –” 

“C’mon, baby. You know you want this,” Adrian insisted. He tugged on your arm as you tried to wriggle out of his grip.

 “Pucey, let go of me,” you shrieked. As if you wanted anything to do with this slimy, lame excuse of a man.

“C’mon, we will have so much fu–” 

“She said let go of her,” a familiar, husky voice snapped from behind you. You turned to see Theo standing there, arms crossed and he looked pissed.  

Adrian’s face paled, immediately letting go of your arm. Your arm was painted white. How tightly did the wanker have to grip you? Adrian left as quickly as he came, pushing through the crowd, escaping from your volatile boyfriend.

Theo’s face was dark and if looks could kill, Adrian would have been burnt alive by Theo’s scowl. 

“Are you alright, cara mia?” Theo asked, worry written on his face.

You looked up and sighed, “Pucey was just being a prick. Nothing I can’t handle.”

Theo’s finger went up to your face, stroking your cheeks gently. “I love you.” he professed. He glanced at your lips and held your waist, pulling you closer to him. His lips met yours and your eyes fluttered close. You brought your arms up and placed them over his neck, deepening the kiss. Theo squeezed your waist and you let out a gasp, taking the moment to slip his tongue in, dancing with yours. 

Your eyes opened as you pulled away to take in some air. Looking into his eyes as you responded, “I love you too.” 

© 2024 theosmanuscript. All rights reserved.

[randomthefox]

IT’S OVER!

Surge and Kit are confirmed to be redeemed after the Phantom Rider arc. Even Ian Flynn has given up on them because even he’s treating them like jokes now. 

Do you know what that means? I CAN FINALLY LEAVE! The ONLY thing stringing me along in this stupid comic was that I loved the concept of Surge and Kit and even enjoyed the execution up until issue 56. They were the only thing about the comic I liked after Starline died. But now that the original concept has been officially thrown into the trash, as signalled by Ian Flynn giving up on his original characters now that his idea for them has been completely destroyed by Evan Stanley, I can finally leave. I can finally cut all remaining emotional investment from this comic. It feels like a weight has been lifted off of my shoulders. I no longer feel obligated to participate in the discussion of this comic. I know it’s ass; you know it’s ass. But know, I feel like I can finally accept that and just move on…

Or at least as much as I can while tumblr just censors posts with blocked tags rather than just removing them entirely.

I’ll still get pissed off whenever I see anything to do with IDW Sonic, but I know longer feel the need to read every issue. So I still count this as a win. Hooray for me!!! 🎉🎉🎉

(Unless it’s just a fake out. Where Surge and Kit decide that being heroes isn’t for them by the end of the story and go back to being villains so that Ian can course correct. I wouldn’t even be mad if that happened because it would be hilarious. It would mean Evan’s entire idiotic Phantom Rider arc would be fucking pointless, and that would be hysterical to me).

Oh it's from the new annual lol. Wow that's really asinine. Why are they releasing those pages now of all times? It's pretty much a spoiler for the current storyline. It's like how they released a trailer for the new spider man movie after infinity war.

>"unless it's just a fake out"

Can't tell if this is wishful thinking or addict mentality =P

Can't help but notice they appear to be in Central City. Aka San Fransisco. Aka the level from City Escape. And yet it appears to be populated by animal people instead of humans. Even though that doesn't make any sense and is actively acanonical to the way the world of Sonic was presented as per the Tailstube videos.

It's almost like these comics aren't canon or something.

[bxriles]

nesta stans are so annoying. you all complain that she was “abused” by going to the HoW but she would be dead in a ditch somewhere without feyre intervening. get over it feyre was right you just won’t admit it

I am about to be the biggest dick right now because BRUH. I need you to be so for fucking real.

“ShE wOuLd Be DeAd In A dItcH”

My brother in Christ, with all disrespect intended, please shut the fuck up. My GOD. Nesta, a character who has been HORRIFICALLY traumatized, decides to cope by drinking, gambling, and having one night stands, and that means she was going to end up dead in a ditch?? You would be SHOCKED to hear how most people deal with their trauma. You would be SHOCKED to know how uncommon it is to lock a person up because someone else doesn’t like the way that person is coping.

(Disclaimer since you people have the reading comprehension of a fucking goldfish: I know some people do get locked up when they’ve been coping poorly for too long. That is not the majority of people though and you fucking know it. If you got locked up against your will for drinking a bit too much and were happy about it, GREAT. But I don’t think it’s a stretch to say that is the minority of people. And yeah, I am downplaying Nesta’s drinking because it’s not like she was guzzling liquor every second of every day and passing out on streets out in Velaris for everyone to think she’s a homeless drug addict and it’s not like she was having physical withdrawal from lack of alcohol. It’s also not like she was drunk every single time she saw one of her sisters or at family events like Winter Solstice. She was just partying hard. Not saying it’s great behavior. It’s not, but I also don’t care because I AM NOT THE PURITY POLICE.)

Why is it so hard for you people to admit that if you hate Tamlin for locking Feyre up then that means you need to AT LEAST be critical of Feyre for locking Nesta up? And before you say Feyre had her reasons, SO DID TAMLIN. I’m not saying Tamlin was right to lock Feyre up, but he had his reasons just like Feyre did. They both fucked up. I don’t know why that is so fucking hard for you people to grasp.

ALSO. CASSIAN LITERALLY SLAUGHTERED AN ENTIRE VILLAGE AFTER HIS MOTHER DIED. BE SO FOR FUCKING REAL WITH ME WHEN YOU BITCH ABOUT NESTA’S COPING MECHANISMS WHEN CASSIAN DID THAT.

[stiffyck]

Saw a post that made me furious yesterday so if people STILL don't understand this:

Aspec people are queer.

And no, it's not our love that makes us queer, it's our LACK of certain types of love that make us queer.

There is of course aspec people who are queer both because of their love and their lack of love, but being aspec is queer because of the lack of love.

Saying "but aspecs love too! Their love is also important! Aro and ace people have love and their love is also important!" is not the support you think it is for a lot of aspec people.

My love for my mother isn't what makes me queer. My love for my friends isn't what makes me queer. It's my lack or romantic love that makes me queer. Yea love is important to me, especially platonic love, but that is not what makes me queer.

And let's not forget about loveless aros.

For the love of god stop going "but aros love too!" just so you can relate to us somehow or just so you can include us. We don't need love to be included.

And because some people are going to take this as a personal attack: no, there is nothing wrong with being gay. There is nothing wrong with love is love. Love is important to a lot of people and I am not saying love is bad.

Happy pride everyone

[thisismisogynoir]

I love it when women hate men. I love it when women are allowed to vent to each other about how horrible and creepy men are. I love it when women form friendships with and prioritize each other over relationships with men(whether they're attracted to them or not). I love it when women put men dni in their bios and on their nude photos and on posts on their blogs. I love it when women refuse to mollycoddle and accommodate entitled male feelings with "but this doesn't mean I hate all men, I know a few men who are great, I love my father/sons/brothers/uncles/male cousins/guy friends" I love it when women complain about men WITHOUT "not all men" being a disclaimer. I love it when women avoid socializing with/refuse to be around/befriend/get close to men because they know men can't be trusted. I love it when women make "kill all men" jokes. I love it when women offer absolutely no concern or care for men's feelings and if their misandry offends men whatsoever because why should we, men are the oppressor class who have raped and killed and abused us and kept us as subjugated as second-class citizens for millennia, they regularly mistreat us and the women in their own marginalized communities still every single day and make this world so much harder and more awful for us to be in, and if we choose to hate them and not spare them any sympathy then so be it, and I don't just mean "men as a class" either, you can be a woman who doesn't want to have anything to do with any man on an individual basis and completely cuts off men from her personal life too and ykw I will love and fucking support you in that because men deserve absolutely NOTHING from us. If they're so tough and strong then they can handle it just like they can handle being lonely. If you are a woman who hates men, ESPECIALLY IF YOU ARE A LESBIAN AND/OR A TRANS WOMAN, then just know that I love you. I love you, I support you, and you are safe here.

[biblically-accurate-dca]

moon n ballora

[demonic-shadowlucifer]

yes, we shouldn't ignore the terrible events going on right now (Palestine, Sudan, etc), but I think we need some reminders because some of the posts i've been reading have been giving off *extremely* guilt-trippy vibes: Not posting about current events or bad things =/= not caring. Not reblogging =/= not caring. Adding "don't scroll past this" or "reblog this or block me" to posts is guilt-trippy as hell. And lastly, online activism is not the only form of activism.

[rosetterer]

*sees someone post anti-bucktommy stuff on the bucktommy tag* blocked

*sees someone post anti-bucktommy stuff on the anti bucktommy tag that still shows up in the bucktommy tag* blocked

[wickjump]

grrr cross whump… grrrr making him suffer… grrrr giving him extreme amounts of injury and blood soaking his bones… grrr…

[swiftfootedachilles]

im just gonna be honest gang obviously its gonna be easy for you to say youre in love with a character and theyre an angel when anytime they do something you don't like you brush it off as out of character

[wren-kitchens]

you ever see someone complain about something in a game that makes you think they just don’t like the game itself because why are you complaining about that. that's universally loved and your complaint is that it 'could do more'. where is your whimsy

[marlshroom]

this isnt to anyone particular and is moreso just a warning but if you are going to be interacting with my blog please be normal about disabled people.

[myteavsricochet]

Now that we are seeing and listening to Nick talk about rwrb it's so obvious that he is the only one who perceives the character of Henry on a deeper level as only great actors like him can. He argues like no one else. He perhaps understood the character and the film better than the author. Tzp is absolutely not capable of this. He certainly cares about the film, I won't deny it, but he doesn't have the same empathy and emotional intelligence as Nick. He doesn't know Alex like Nick knows Henry. He seems almost desperate to say as many words as possible to appear as cultured as possible. He needs that movie more for not being forgotten than anything else and he doesn't have the deep connection with Alex that Nicholas has with Henry, which is why he actually carries the entire film on his shoulders and that's why for me he's not the lead actor of the movie at all. Nick is the real lead.

Congrats on being able to put all this shit into one ask.

It's funny because up until recently a lot of you were having multiple orgasms just thinking about Nick moving on with rwrb and not even caring about the movie but now that you're seeing him actively promoting it and after the confirmation of the sequel obviously he's the only one who understands rwrb and the only one who talks about it as it deserves. the only one here the only one there.

because for you the most important thing is always to belittle and talk shit about that man. you don't care about anything else.

fuck you.