#i’m disgusted.

[mysicklove]

just found out that one of my followers that was HEAVILY interacting with my account and even dming me is 12 years old! 12 FUCKING YEARS OLD! kill me 🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗☺️☺️

[mcwhytubers]

fuck this shit

I don’t know if I have the words for what I want to say. I feel disgusted and hurt.

The only words I can find are words other cc’s have spoken.

That apology was shit. It wasn’t an apology. He’s saving face. “I want to extend my sincerest apologies for any pain that I caused.” That is the worst fucking “apology”. You know what you did. You do not get to make a victim’s story about you.

This is not twitter drama. He’s not canceled, he’s an abuser. (Aimsey)

Support victims before anything else. (Ranboo)

You cannot separate the art from the artist. Nobody is perfect and I know the music is good but actions speak louder than words. But even still, the words are all right there. They hurt.

I stand with shubble/shelby.

- Wilbur

[natashxromanovf]

who in the world hears a girl say “i’m 15. how old are you?” and then proceeds to ask her if she’s single when he just told her he’s 19. like excuse me?!

[mrsbridgerton]

the bridgertons (mainly benedict) being confused with colin’s appearance (“glow up”)

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 185

No one could get into contact with Constantine. 

Now usually that wasn’t that big of a deal, the man constantly disappeared for a few days at a time doing something or other, but he’d been completely silent and unseen for months. Usually he’ll at least answer a call to tell them to fuck off or something. 

And they really need his expertise and are getting incredibly worried for their grumpy team member. Yes he’s an asshole, but he’s their asshole, y’know? And he has a habit of getting into Situations (sure he also usually gets out of them, but what if he didn’t this time?!) 

So they’re desperate. Kind of really desperate. Desperate enough to use the summoning sigil they found on his fridge. They’d checked it, multiple times, and it should summon the hellblazer. 

“You’re not Constantine.” . 

The white-haired teen in the circle yawned, stretching and blinking at them blandly with familiar blue eyes before sighing. “Actually I am,” he stuffed his hands into his hoodie as he looked down at the summoning circle. “Well, technically just one of the many Laughing Magicians currently in the Realms.” 

He gave a grin, looking more amused than annoyed. “Pretty much every one of us is in the Realms right now for family reunion lol. (Did he just say lol out loud??) So like, you’re gonna have to specify which of us you’re tryin’ to summon. Honestly perfect timing for me thanks, the fruitloop keeps flirting with John and it’s horrific so.” 

… That was probably their John, wasn’t it…

[starlightseraph]

i actually hate house and wilson like what do you mean you talk about railing each other constantly and you live together and you’re the only people you want during the most important times of your lives and you canonically say i love you but when one of you is dying you refuse to say it unless they try everything imaginable to survive and you quite literally can’t live without each other and you nearly die multiple times because of it and you save yourselves for each other and you run away from everyone and everything to ride off in the sunset together and live out the last days of your lives just with each other. what do you fucking mean.

[plxviophile]

i hope everyone who wrote a letter supporting brian peck is wracked with guilt for the rest of their lives

[carma-tjol]

Show me your worst. I love it all the same.

As long as it's me. As long as it's you.

[swampthingking]

andrew’s definitely gotten in trouble with his pr manager for tweeting things along the lines of:

“no mania inducing medication will compare to the euphoria i will feel the day donald trump drops dead”

[11thsense]

Some Sargent quotes.

[dilutedbeanibeans]

wow can’t believe these r the same characters‼️‼️‼️‼️

they’re both meow meows

[sommerregenjuniluft]

@rosekillermicrofic may 4 — hopeless — 1233words — cw: mildly pervy and sexual thoughts, nothing explicit though

no thoughts, just line cook! barty

A miracle.

The gods have heard Barty’s wishes and granted him this blessing.

Evan usually gets set up for dealing with the bar or counter but on rare occasions his lovely name gets jotted down in the column of servers/busboys. Today is one of those fateful occurrences which means Barty has at least 30% longer time windows of flirting his jolly ass off and burning food he’s not paying attention to curtsy of Evan’s slutty narrow hips in those damn aprons. Obscene things, those are.

Barty is currently staring at them as he blindly flips the burger patties one after the other, the stove sizzling animatedly. Barty is pretty sure he hasn’t blinked once since Evan has entered the kitchen again a minute ago to help sort dishes.

“So how’s your day been so far, Evan darling?”

“No,” comes back immediately. Not even a look thrown over his shoulder.

Barty’s grin widens. He puts more meat on the stove.

“Aw, c’mon. People been scant with tips already or what?”

Evan doesn’t reply, instead ripping off the notes from his pad and wordlessly striding over to Barty’s station, pinning them up.

Two of today’s specials, one cheesesteak and one portion of chicken for a caesar salad. And a little dick scribbled in the bottom corner.

“More people coming in than usual. Get a move on,” Evan says before briskly walking off again. Barty just so manages to get a whiff of spicy deodorant and whatever shea butter coconut extract beauty shit Evan uses for his curls before he’s gone again.

Barty sighs, looking after his pert little ass and long legs all the way until he’s around the corner. Then he readjusts his grip on the spatula and finally picks the patties off the grill, calling for Lily to collect them and assemble.

“They’re burnt,” she hisses, punching him in the arm with vigor. It hurts but Barty is too busy thinking about what type of underwear Evan might be wearing today. “Stop getting distracted by Rosier and do your damn job, chef.”

Barty hums, “What you think it’ll take to trick Evan into following me into the freezer room?”

Another hit. The same exact spot and Barty can’t help but hiss in pain this time.

Lily simply shakes her head, muttering Hopeless as she leaves.

Rush hour comes and goes.

Barty doesn’t let himself be bothered by the frenzy of it, bobbing his head to his playlist jamming over the old, staticy speakers while servers bustle around him like worker bees.

It’s meditative to him in a way and usually he sort of snaps out of it once it all calms down.

It’s when Evan asks him for leftover containers that Barty is brought back down to earth today.

The other boy is flushed in the face, slightly sweaty and hair messy with what can only be described as the final quarter of an eight hour shift look. It looks unfairly sexy on him.

The take out containers are in the cupboard over Barty’s head to his left side which he made sure to push all the way back during his break earlier.

“Yeah, they’re right here,” Barty says, nodding to the shelf.

“Grab two for me?”

Barty turns back to his meat again, teeth digging into his lower lip, grin straining his cheeks. “Nope.”

There’s nothing for a few seconds, only the background noise of the restaurant, the sizzling oil and Barty’s music.

When he turns again Evan is standing in the middle of the kitchen, rooted to the spot, blinking at Barty once. “‘No’?”

Barty hums, “Yeah, ’m pretty busy right now in case you can’t tell.” He shuffles a strip of bacon around as if to prove his point.

Evan’s eyes narrow, lips twisting into an obscene little pout, “You just have to lift your arm!”

“Sorry, no can do, Rosie baby.”

“You-” Evan huffs, “Hand me the fucking boxes, Crouch.”

“Can’t,” he replies airily, shrugging. “They’re pretty high up, too,” a hum, “I might not even be tall enough. I think you’ll have to walk your devilishly tall ass over here and grab them yourself.”

“Branleur,” Evan spits before reluctantly closing the distance between them.

His amber eyes glower dangerously at Barty and he has to suppress a deeply satisfactory hum, gut tightening and blood thrumming.

Evan yanks at the handle, opening it up to the ceiling before stretching up on his tiptoes to peer into it. He lets out a grumble, presumably at finding the containers to, in fact, be there but pushed all the way to the wall.

He’s only taller than Barty by a bit, an inch or two, maybe three, which means he’s struggling to reach the boxes too.

And it’s glorious and heavenly and so very tempting because Evan’s shirt is riding up in the back and, oh god, he has dimples there. Fuck, Evan has back dimples and they’re approximately half an armslength from Barty’s twitching fingers and it really requires visceral effort not to reach out and dig the pads of his thumbs into them. Push and maybe fold Evan right in half over the counter all together. Lick along his spine and bite into his hip bones, the smooth skin of his stomach, nibble at that one little mole right next to his navel that Barty was once fortunate enough to make acquaintance with and has since rubbed one out to more times than he could count.

When the other boy lifts back down he catches him staring, their eyes snapping to each other instantly.

“Don’t be a perv,” Evan comments, giving Barty a derogative once over and christ, no, don’t do that.

Barty laves his tongue along the corner of his own mouth, collecting spit that was threatening to drool, and uses a quick hand to adjust himself in his jeans.

Evan’s eyes follow his movement, arms crossing in front of his chest and a heavy breath punches out of Barty. He can’t help it, his mind is a powerpoint of all the different things he wants to do to Evan to make him lose this put-on condescending demeanor. Glimpses of the prettiest pair of eyes rolling back, eyebrows scrunching pitifully as Barty sinks into deliciously tight heat.

He desperately needs to get Evan alone with him. “Wanna smoke a blunt with me after closing?” he blurts.

And then Evan suddenly smiles. A downright cute little thing, all coy and syrupy sweet, poisonously candid. So viscous saccharine Barty feels it immobilize him like a glue trap and he groans in anticipation of the fatal blow Evan is about to deliver.

“Sorry, B,” he murmurs innocently, clicking his head, “no can do.”

It glides over Evan’s lips all strained and faux and with the most erotic little pitch Barty’s ears have ever heard.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his semi straining so heavily against the denim it would surely be visible without his own apron.

From one moment to the next Evan’s smile falls, having fulfilled its purpose, and he gives one last snootily look before he whirls on his heels and marches away, takeout containers in hand.

Just over to the other end of the kitchen where he bends down to grab some cutlery with which he will scrape the leftovers from the plate into the aluminum containers.

Doing so, Evan’s shirt rides up again, his ass jutting out and Barty vaguely registers the smell of burnt pork as he commits the muscle shift of Evan’s thighs and back into his memory for later.

[matchamiko]

Being sandwiched between them and the mattress, ass nestled in the cradle of their pelvis, thighs framing the outside of your hips. Deeeeep long strokes, the kind that have you sighing and moaning like a melody. Grinding hard and purposeful, big big hands fisting the sheets either side of your chest where the fat of your tits spill out from being squished into the bed. Hitting so good, hips dragging up your ass with every thrust, balls catching on your spread pussy, tacky with arousal. Makes you wanna bite the pillow by your head, makes you wanna scream and thrash, makes you wanna cry and sob; but all you can do is take it with glassy eyes and drool drying on your lips.

When they press their nose to the top of your head and breathe in your scent, when they turn your head to the side and pant against your cheek, when they struggle with keep such a long deep pace that they begin to shudder and they’re begging to hold on, begging you to just lay there and keep taking it. Kicking your legs wider, a broad hand spanning your hip to shove you back and back and back on to their quickening pace, their deepening pace. A usefulness only you can provide, a cock only you can take, yelps and gasping grunts only you can give. Smacking deep into your belly, hips loud against your ass, all gritted teeth and sneering winces when you cum loud and messy and creamy over their pubes. Shoving harder, taking harder, fucking you right down into the mattress like it’s their only business with you. You know it’s not, but right now, it’s all you want from them; to take and take and take.

[herbaklava]

This verse alone in Kendrick’s 6:16 in LA is better than anything in Drake’s discography omg

[let-me-rot-in-peace]

How do you not develop an £d in high school. Like, if I didn’t already have one, I would have definitely developed one. There’s not enough time to eat.

[wrathofrats]

Ifrit having sex with cirrus for the first time and she’s like “fuck- call me a stupid whore, pull my hair” and ifrits like “no omg id never shame a woman I love women-“