#just screeching

[horsetailcurlers2]

“you think millennial gray is bad? at least it’s not gen x orange!” i actually find “ugly” gen x trends so nostalgic and comforting. at least things had WARMTH back then and weren’t all white shiplap and slate gray wood and black fixtures. “everything was brown :(“ YES EVERYTHING WAS BROWN AND I LOVE IT. i love u honey oak cabinets. i will never paint over you. i love the way light reflects off the “ugly” orange stained hardwood.

[hawkpartys]

[zerojanitor]

twitter: currently owned by techbro pissman

tumblr: actively removing functionality and bloating the interface with things nobody uses

discord: being retooled by ex-Meta management who don't understand the appeal of the platform

youtube: neutered by advertisers and algorithms and also tiktokification

reddit: half of the site is down due to protests about the outrageous monetization of third-party API support

facebook: my mom is on there

[papanowo]

i think dan should get to be a little weird too. as a treat

[egophiliac]

some more Twst pokemon as my brain melts at the impending episode 7 drop tomorrow! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

I went with Gholdengo and Cufant for Kalim, and Seviper and Malamar for Jamil! I went back and forth a looooot on whether to give Malamar to Jamil or Azul, but ultimately I think it just fits Jamil better. (Seviper was a given though)

[shotmrmiller]

(secret lovers but simon will not be kept a secret.)

you hadn't liked him from the get go. amongst the regulars that frequent the place you work at serving drinks, had been him; a burly, massive figure that commanded attention even though his clothes were nondescript and blended into the shadows created by the sickly, flickering lights overhead. his broad shoulders were squared, imposing, the fabric of his faded jeans stretched taut over his knees, tapering down to his scuffed sneakers.

him appearing a menace isn't what made him stand out. it doesn't even make him special, to be honest. one too many rowdy oafs call this hole in the wall a haven, seeking solace at the bottom of a thick glass.

it's the very air around him. it's heavy, muted, as if absorbing sound and movement. that one time you had the displeasure of personally handing him an beer, it'd felt suffocating, pressed down on you, made it hard to breathe. the stillness had been almost palpable, the usual hum of the bar nought but a distant buzz, even the clank of the chilled glass on the table had seemed muffled.

you'd felt the drink slosh over the rim in your haste to get away, retreat, escape. he hadn't even glanced your way and you'd been overwhelmed.

fucking hell.

and that's not the worst of it. the way he looks at people is unsettling. his beady eyes glint with a manic, rabid hunger, fixated on any bare legs that come into his field of view, as if he sees nothing but prey. that turns the discomfort that pricks at your skin into disgust.

revolting bull of a man is a pervert to boot.

(sometimes he comes in with others, 3 much more approachable, charismatic men that pop that personal bubble of oppressive silence he brings with him with their boisterous laughter and lively chatter. they're good folk except for when they want to act like your eyes are on your chest.)

so it's a true shame you spent weeks snarking about how foul he is when he's one of the best lays you've ever had in your life. (and continues to be.)

it's all discreet, of course. you can't be caught having a thing with the man you'd cursed up, down and sideways because he wouldn't stop staring at the tits you let him come on that same week.

you wouldn't even know how to explain how all of this started. that'd he'd been a surprised you and strong armed a belligerent drunk off the property for you a while back? that he'd happened to be around when your car got a flat, pulled out a jack from the bed of his truck and told you to sit your 'pretty arse' inside while he changed it? or that after the nth night of him being the very last patron, you realized he'd only leave after you were done with restocking and ready to close up shop?

you kept it all of it on the down low. pretended you couldn't feel his eyes on you, boring holes into the side of your head while at work then garble out his name through the fingers you're drooling over after work.

and it stayed that way for a while. he never stayed longer than you let him (not like that meant anything, he barely let you out the bed to pick up the door dash before he sat you on the countertop and lapped at your sore cunt until you came.)

he rarely used his phone so there was no worry about sudden texts while you had friends around.

it seemed a fine thing at the time. but then he started sitting at the bar top instead of his usual corner haunt, occasionally calling you over with a curl of his fingers (the ones he had you lick clean last night.) he stopped being a total lech, keeping his eyes glued onto you and you only, being so blatant about it that your co-workers offered to walk you to your car later.

embarrassing. you'd meant to give him a talk about laying off the intensity of his stare but it slipped your mind when he slipped into you from behind while fisting your hair.

when your boss is the one that gives you the stranger danger talk, even though you have said strangers love bites mottling the junction of your shoulder, you decide that enough is enough. so after your shift, you ask to speak with him.

only to have him snort in your face.

"don't think so."

before you get to say anything else, he's sitting you on the hood of his truck, legs hooked over his shoulders, eye level with your bare pussy because he'd stuffed your knickers into his pocket before work.

the first glide of his tongue between your folds is deliberately slow, tip catching the bundle of nerves at the top. your palm stings from digging your nails into it.

the second sends a shiver licking up your spine, his hands dimpling the soft of your thighs to keep you from squirming.

"look at me."

your body reacts instinctively at the low, grating tone of his voice and you're peering down at him before your mind can even catch up.

he nips at the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. "best get used to 'avin' me 'round." this was no conversation.

the tips of his fingers grazing over your wet heat, gently prodding the entrance. when he sinks them in, scissoring, thrusting, you realize he's not going to let you come.

this isn't a reward. this is about to be your punishment.

slick glistens on his knuckles under the streetlight as he undoes the zipper of his jeans, the sound of the metal teeth deafening in your prickling ears.

simon puts his hand close to your mouth like he's done in the bedroom, and you spit on it, like you've done in the bedroom.

the searing (but oh so good) burn is both familiar and not when you take him to the root, a shuddering breath escaping your quivering lips at the sensation of him filling you until the seams feel like they're becoming undone.

he lowers his head to nose your sweat-slick temple, large hands flat by your sides. his breaths warm your throat as he speaks.

"i won't be your dirty little secret, pet."

a hand creeps up to the nape of your neck, claiming a fistful of hair. simon pulls a sibilant hiss from you when he tugs hard enough to ache.

ouch.

"can't shove me in a closet and pocket the key." he rolls his hips once, twice before widening his stance.

oh.

oh no.

"now be good and let me take what's mine."

there'd been no arguing with him before he fucked you in earnest, and certainly not after when he takes you home, spend dripping onto his seat on the way there, where he makes you ride him on the driveway, only letting you go inside once he felt he got his message across.

(message understood.)

the next morning you wake to sore thighs, a throbbing pussy, a dry mouth and a text from your boss.

i've got cameras outside the place, by the way. go home next time.

at least you didn't get fired 🥴

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

probably will be FORCED by Pomp And Circumstance to go to the CLOWN HOSPITAL, for a CLOWN INJURY (may or may not be An ALLEGEDLY Fractured Foot...a MOURNFUL MALADY incurred in the most PATHETIC and LAPSIDAISICAL Fashion of TRAGICALLY UNFASHIONABLY Events......

Anyway. Forgot what I was saying. Buy me 1/25th of an x-ray or whatnot I guess

[emilyjunk]

"Kevin isn't that bad it's not like he beats her, why does she need to kill him or fake her death, just get divorced" you are the point of the show, you are missing the crucial reveal. Allison sees Kevin in every single scene as she does their last scene together, but we as the audience aren't privy to that and we only see sitcom Kevin which is Kevin's self perception. He is not suddenly becoming scary and threatening to her. He was like that the whole time. We only see Allison's feelings about Kevin and the aftermath of her interactions with Kevin -- this is the ONLY time we see Kevin from her POV except for the brief initial breaking of the sitcom cam. Every other time we see Kevin on screen it's from Kevin's POV. Even after she cuts her hand we only see the bandage in her singular pov when she is away from kevin, but when it shifts back to sitcom Kevin it's gone.... We do not see the reality of her interactions with Kevin, that's the point of the show!!! Because when Kevin is on screen, it's Kevin's world! We only see Kevin from anyone else's lens in ONE scene at the end, which is when Allison decides to leave, so yes the sitcom cam "softens his abuse" but it also just fully acts as an unreliable narration because we never literally see Kevin from anyone else's POV until the series finale so every time Kevin is on screen it isn't even an accurate portrayal of what's happening, it's Kevin's perception of what's happening. Allison has viewed him like that the entire show, we as the audience just did not get to witness that POV until the end

[housederiva]

I think we all deserved to see Spite have a little itty bitty freakout when Solas joinked Rook into the Fade as compensation for the fact we’re not told that Rook was in there for several weeks

[edwinisms]

george rexstrew deserves awards for many things but i have to say. edwin’s bloodcurdling scream as niko gets killed deserves a whole award unto itself. like. that scream did not feel at all like a tv show scream. to a somewhat jarring degree. and i can’t express how much I respect that

[naamahdarling]

Video ID:

My hand petting Fancy, a rumpled little gray cat lying on her back. She is purring loudly and making biscuits in the air as I talk softly to her.

"Hi, Fancy.

I know the babies are really cute, and they're charming, and they're pretty.

But that doesn't change anything about how I feel about you.

You're my Fancy girl. My little Jellicle queen. My compass. My heart.

I love you very much, baby girl."

She bites me on the hand, still purring like a motorboat.

"Oh, that's my Fancy. That's my baby girl.

Every day's a bite day if you do it right."

[wizardemotions]

the question came to mind of "in your ship, how might the larger/stronger party pick up or carry the smaller one?" and these were the answers i came to

[nibbelraz]

sqh has two god powers. accidentally changing the world by saying something, and any time he's more stressed than he can physically take anymore he pulls a bocchi scream. glitch effect and all. "Shang-shixiong, why don't you meet with other sect leaders? What do you think, sect leader?" "Oh yes, our trade and intersect reputation could benefit greatly from- SHANG SHIDI?????" nightmare fuel situation. he acts 100% fine when they say he doesnt have to, like it never happened.

IM ACTUALLY SO OBSESSED WITH THE IDEA HE'S DOING A BOCCHI SCREAM WHEN HE'S TOO OVERWHELMED OR DOESNT WANT TO DO STUFF ANON THIS IS EVERYTHING TO ME

He's just a little tired, nothing like an all-powerful god screeching to inhuman levels that beings can't comprehend

[euripidestrousers]

I think one of my absolute FAVOURITE wolfstar tropes is Sirius doing things that are unintentionally attractive and seductive and Remus desperately trying not to react.

Sirius flexing as a joke - Remus raising his book to hide his flushed face

Sirius shouting at the top of his lungs, cheering for James on the Quidditch pitch. His voice has gotten remarkably low in seventh year. Queue Remus having a coughing fit, not taking his eyes off the game.

Sirius leans over Remus' shoulder to point out the potions ingredient he missed. Remus tries to twitch away and bumps his cauldron, spilling shrinking solution everywhere and now everyone is yelling and he's horribly flustered

Sirius "give me a leg up" Black meets Remus "Oh God his crotch is in my face, stay calm" Lupin

[gauntletqueen]

@fishing-lesbian-catgirl (original post)

[kpceramics]

A variety of lil guys