#you dumb fucks!

[toss-a-coin-to-your-stan-account]

fyi if you're trying to use the fact that that rancid ass muskrat cunt is autistic to be like "oh he didn't know what he did was wrong" about the fact that he threw up a fucking nazi salute then you are one of the stupidest fucking cunts to walk the earth and since we're in a housing crisis you should start offering the massive amount of empty fucking space in your skull for rent

(signed, an autistic person)

[collaredkittyboy]

[prlssprfctn]

Batboys, who finally got Jason to agree to join them in their Farm Weekends at Kents, and who beforehand warned Kon and Jon that, well, Jason can be a little flippant, but it nothing personal, only to find out that Jason has an awful, tooth-rotting soft spot for Supers.

Kon, sighing: Okay, Jon, remember, this guy is probably like Damian but older and worse... On the other side, you probably would like that, but just in case if he makes you cry, call me. I'll deal with him. Jon, giggling: Don't worry, Kon. Jason, appearing on the doorsteps: Hey, little ones. I wasn't sure what people usually bring as a gift when they are staying at someone, so I bought the bunch of sweets for ya. You don't mind, do you? Kon: L-little ones? Jon: SWEETS!

Batboys are flabbergasted. Jason never acts like this with them, so what the actual fuck. Tim checks on Jason's temperature, like, three times in the row, and gets his hand smacked. Damian stares at Jason, trying to figure out if the Pit madness had returned in a different light. They have no explanation for this.

Kon: Dude, you said that he was meanie. Tim: He IS. Usually. Kon: I don't know, man... He lets Jon sit on his shoulders and piggybacked me this morning. That's not really mean to me. Tim: WELL. HE NEVER DOES THIS WITH US. Kon: Maybe he just doesn't like you that much. Tim: SHUT UP.

Jason, helping to Lois with some chores: So, I need some help in stalls. Pretty boy, come and help me. Kon: (keeps standing cluelessly) Jason: (glares at him, confused) Kon: Oh! I am pretty boy? Jason: Yeah? Chop-chop, come on. Tim, muttering: All I get is Timbers. And Timberline. And Timmers.

Jason, cooing on Jon: Aw-w, here goes my itty bitty tiny- Damian: (growls) Tim: Somebody sedate me. Kon, twirling around in new leather jacket that he stole from Jason: Yeah, we are his new siblings at this point.

Dick: I am. SO. Happy. That. Little. Wing. Finally. Can. Unleash his. True. Cringey brother. Personality. Tim, concerned: Is that kryptonite in your hands? Dick: No. No. Don't get me wrong. I am very happy. I had waited for this day for years, even. Well. I expected ME to be his itty bitty tiny weenie. But. That's fine. I am fine. Damian: I'll fetch father... Tim: Yeah. Please.

[mochasucculent]

Was looking at refs and since Viktor has two different leg braces I was wondering, do we think he wears them simultaneously?? The refs don't perfectly line up perspective-wise so it's hard to tell but parts of the one he wears during the Hexcore scenes look like they could maybe line up with the brace that he wears over his clothes, but also some parts really don't and look like they'd be super uncomfy. Also HOW does he take these on and off. Experts weigh in

[bitchofdarkness]

I hate how fandom has become "if you haven't created anything in this very specific time frame after the release of the show/movie, everyone will have moved on"

And call me old fashioned, but that's just not me. I sometimes take ages to create and publish. And I will love a show or movie for such a long time (years, babes, years) that I just can't relate to the fast consumerism that's going on.

Because, let's be real, it can get really lonely in a fandom if most have simply moved on to the next shiny thing. Is what's created less worth, just because it was created outside the hype? Why is it such a taboo for this new fandom generation to love an old or "late" fic or art?

It's so tiring and I'm too old for the 30-seconds-hype-tiktok-shit. Just tired. So, so tired.

[your-fuccked-up-dad-volume100]

[bumblebeebats]

As much as i love Dungeon Meshi, i do think that given Ryoko Kui's attention to realistic worldbuilding there ought to be a companion series called Dishes Meshi where they spend 2hrs washing and drying and packing away. Alll the goddamnfuck dishes they just made

[nemesis-is-my-middle-name]

mini malevolent meme dump

[3amfanfiction]

I fully headcannon that Simon Riley is the type to take anything you give him, regardless of the impact to his health.

“Simon, you’re home!”

He had just walked in the door as you take a bite of a cooling cookie. you grab another one and hurry over to give him a hug and kiss, then you hand one of the cookies over to him. “You’ve gotta try these. They’re a cherry cream-cake cookie that my coworker gave me the recipe for. Tell me what you think!”

You wait expectantly for him to try it, bouncing excitedly when he tells you it’s good.

you grin as you stuff the rest of your cookie into your mouth and hurry back to finish your last batch. Simon follows and sits at the kitchen table to visit with you while you finish baking and begin cleaning the kitchen.

Before too long you notice his voice start to go a little hoarse when he answers your questions. as he clears his throat for the third time you ask, “You okay? Do you need something to drink?”

“Nah, I’ll b’ fine” he rasps, standing and coming to give you a kiss on the forehead. “i’ll be back in a bit, lovie.”

Is out the door before you can get your thoughts together enough to question him.

That evening you’re laying in bed when the door opens and in walks Simon.

When he crawls into bed you turn to him and let out a “Simon!’ when you see him covered in hives “what happened to you?”

He tells you he went to A&E since he’s allergic to cherries. His throat was swelling up while he was listening to you tell him about your day and he broke out in hives shortly after he left.

When you grill him, trying to figure out what was going through his mind when he accepted the cookie without saying anything, he just shrugs and pulls you into his chest with an eye roll and a, “it came from you, sweetheart. What was I gonna do? Not eat it?”

Next || Story Repository

[appleleef]

yeah, kinda.

[flayyr]

how you covet the scorn of the eye of god

[itslilacokay]

new group activity: period cramp transferring (based off convo with @cyanvalour)

[drgstore]

he didn’t think they made these anymore

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

katsuki hides his face in your neck when he gets embarrassed. that’s it send tweet.

[your-fuccked-up-dad-volume100]

The urge to kidnap her & rape her in the woods. Chained against a tree & split open on my cock. The screams in pain drowning out all the pathetic cries for help. Carving our initials inside of a heart on, “our” tree afterwards so everyone knows what a sweet couple we are.🔪

[shotmrmiller]

re: rugby team ghoap

it'd been a one-off, seize-the-moment kind of thing. casual hookups aren't really for you, plus you distinctly remember your ex prating on about how the team would only be here for the weekend hence the absolute burning need to go, and you've got work monday.

goodbye, great knowing them. you'd traipsed out of the hotel room with your sneakers in hand, soap's used jersey in the other- a memento of sorts, a trophy. mild serial killer behavior but you reckon since you just became another pearl in their long string of conquests, the least you could do is take something with you that won't be gone with a warm epsom salt bath and a couple of days rest.

("would ye believe yer the prettiest we've ever brought back with us?" right. you know where you stand on that scale, and people like you don't typically pull men like them. another cringe-worthy comment like that and you'd mistake their interest with pity.)

you'd put both jerseys in the wash later that day, and the rattling of your washing machine marked the end of your exciting weekend.

or so you'd thought. from your side of things, you'd wiped your hands clean of their sweat, spit and come and went home, once again falling back into semi-familiarity, expecting to go to work feeling completely relaxed and loose, in more ways than one, while ignoring the photos taken of you and the "star players" at the stadium on social media.

(no one caught your face, what bloody luck.)

when you see them again, it's by pure chance. you'd been ordering a sandwich at a deli down the street, hand already reaching for your wallet when an arm curls around your shoulders, dark, coarse hair of a forearm brushing against your cheek.

cedarwood and citrus. it clings to your senses— a sharp, tangy reminder of that time you'd only look back on when the familiar pang of want pooled searing hot between your legs. small world, you suppose.

"didnae leave a note. stole my jersey. 'm surprised ye didnae leave us money on the table, bonnie." warmth flared beneath your cheeks but you didn't cow to his crude joke.

"i suppose i could've left a tip. what do you want?"

the playful lines around his eyes smoothed as his lips straightened into a firm line, his eyes frostbitten. you ignore the way his touch makes you feel trapped, tethered, a cage made of velvet.

"took my shirt and then didn't show up to a single game after tha'. jus' gettin' wha' i'm owed. unless he's yer favorite."

how can he be your favorite when you know nothing about the sport they play and have no interest in knowing?

"too bad. we come as a package. get yer food, we've a place nearby."

(simon had been nowhere near as good-natured as johnny had about you leaving without a word. made you spit out apologies with swollen lips, only accepted the ones that came with a fluttering of your raw pussy around the splitting thickness of him while soap condescendingly cooed in your ear about lessons having to be learned the hard way.)