#ta-fucking-da

[paintpanic]

👑

[kopivie]

trick-or-treat.

# — pairing: spidey!kazuha x gn!reader

# — characters: gender neutral reader, spider-man!kazuha

# — warnings: a little suggestive.

# — tags: fluff, kisses (bc who am i if not a madman for kisses), mild hurt/comfort, BANTER YIPPEE!!, this is zuzu's way of making up for the fact that he all but forgot kazuha's birthday, apology fic

# — notes: (PLEASE READ!!) this is... not at all what i intended to do. it's 1:30 am and i just came down from a much needed high. as my head cleared, i noticed that this fic was like, riddled with flaws, but i feel too good about this to second guess it and feel bad. anyways, this is heavily inspired by this fic that 🎻 anon sent in my asks, as well as a follow-up to this fic i wrote on @awlumii last year on kazuha's birthday. i hope you enjoy and please do let me know what you think! i could really use some feedback.

✦ — 🎃 — ✦

There's a knock on your door. You stare at the entry to your apartment and think: "How mean would it be if I ignored them right now?"

In your defense, you've been giving out candy all day. All. Day. You figured that there would at least have been a lull in the early afternoon since children had school to attend, but no — you've been giving out candy to all ages from as early as 10:30 this morning. It's a good thing you stocked up on candy late last month, otherwise you would've had to ruin the days of some very enthusiastic trick-or-treaters. So after setting aside a bucket full of your favorites and giving out the leftovers until about 10 at night, you finally thought yourself ready to curl up on your bed with your softest blanket. You were halfway to dreamland when some monster started pounding on your door.

(So maybe you're exaggerating a little. But who could blame you? You're tired and you want to sleep.)

And so, here you sit, your legs half-tangled in your weighted fleece blanket as you glare at your door and hope that your unwanted visitor is telepathic and gets the message that you want them to leave. Scram! you think. You raise your voice in your head. Get out of here. Shoo! Begone!

…They knock again. (Kind of a dick move if they can read minds.)

The groan you let out is obnoxiously loud and is most definitely heard by whoever is on the other side of the door. You hoist yourself to your feet and trudge to the door, but you don't open it quite yet. Judging by the fact that this person has yet to say anything, you figure that they're old enough to know when their presence is not welcome and left.

Wrong. You're too optimistic. They knock again.

You sigh and once again, hope that the sound carries through the door. "Who is it?" You try to make yourself sound as unfriendly as possible. Considering how cranky you are, you don't have to try very hard.

"Trick-or-treat..?" The voice on the other side is muffled by the door, but also by something else. Fabric, probably. All you know is that their voice is deep enough to be an adult's.

You click your tongue. "Trick." You almost snicker. It's a little refreshing not doling out treats for once. "Go home."

"Can I at least give you a treat?" The person asks.

You blink. They didn't leave? "Pretty sure that's not how it works," you reply. "I give you treats and you… I dunno, TP my house or something."

"Yeah, well," the person at the door chuckles, "I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to say 'trick', either. Since you're breaking the rules, it's only fair that it's my turn, right?"

Well… Shit. They have a point.

Impressed by the stranger's reasoning, you hum. "Fine. Let me find my costume." You turn to gather your costume and notice that you can't find the full thing. You were so eager to get to bed that you didn't hesitate to drop the thing in the wash. Not wanting to make the stranger wait too long, you improvise. You blindly grab the mask and the blue throw blanket you have folded up on your couch and tie it around your shoulder like a cape. It's a shitty excuse for a costume, but you reason that your exhaustion is a good excuse. You swing open the door and cross your arms over your chest. "Alright, what do you got for-- Oh."

Standing on the other side of your door is none other than Spider-Man himself. The two of you stand in silence as you take in each other's appearances. Then, after what feels like forever, he speaks. "So… a cape, huh?"

You don't hesitate — you grab your door and swing the thing shut as fast as you can, but Spider-Man is faster, catching the door in his gloved hand. You turn your back to him. The mask is obscuring his face, but you already know what expression he has underneath. "Don't say a word." You warn him.

Spider-Man pays you no mind. You can feel him lifting your 'cape' as he inspects it. "Hmm… capes are kinda aerodynamic, but considering how dirty my enemies fight, I don't think that's a very good design choice." You can hear the shit-eating grin in his voice. "I'll give it a five out of ten."

"I said shut it!" You snatch your blanket out of his hands and march further into your apartment with Spider-Man's laughter following at your back. He walks inside and the door shuts behind the two of you. "Get the fuck out, webhead," you seethe. Your voice trembles with shame. "I didn't invite you in."

Spider-Man just walks around you to look you in the eye. "Come now, lovebug," he tilts your chin up with a finger, "you look cute wearing my mask."

You grumble and push his hand away as you struggle for words. You want to say something like, "this isn't what it looks like!" to try and save face, but there's no point in trying. This is exactly what it looks like.

Because the mask you'd been wearing for Halloween -- and the mask you haphazardly thrown on moments ago -- was none other than Spider-Man's mask.

To be fair, these things were a dime a dozen. The people of this city adore the vigilante. It was only natural that kids and adults alike would want to pretend to be him for a day, even if they had no powers like him. You're not exactly one of those people — you've seen firsthand just how brutal Spider-Man's job can be. You wouldn't trade your life for his even if you were offered money. But as you stared at the costume while shopping, you couldn't help yourself. There were obviously cooler, much more interesting costumes to choose from but this one just… called to you.

Hindsight is 20/20, after all. You should've ignored that calling.

Spider-Man takes your chin in his fingers and shakes your head side to side. "I never knew you liked me so much, lovebug. I'm touched."

You scoff. "Don't be."

"Y'know, if you wanted to wear my mask so badly, you could've just asked." Spider-Man leans in and presses a clothed kiss to your cheek. You consider yourself lucky; he can't possibly feel the burn of your cheeks through all that fabric.

You stammer. "Ha-ha. Very funny."

"What? I'm sure I have a back up somewhere." He eyes you for a moment. "You'd look good in it."

Against your will, you wonder if he's saying that he wants you to wear his clothes. Would he ever actually loan you clothes that he's worn? The thought makes your face burn hotter. "Why are you here?" You ask. Anything to change the topic.

Spider-Man chuckles, but plays along. "I haven't swung by in a few days," he says, "so I figured I'd try and surprise you as a trick-or-treater." He shrugs. "I wanted to do some reverse psychology thing where I could trick you into thinking I was just some guy in a costume so you would give me candy."

You process his words for a second. "Okay, first of all, you already are a guy in a costume."

He visibly deflates and places a hand over his chest. "Ouch, lovebug. What if you hurt my feelings?"

"Second of all," you continue, "do you have any idea how many Spider-Men I've seen today?"

"...Is that a serious question?"

"Don't be a smart ass."

"I'm gonna go out on a limb and guess twelve."

You pause. You actually aren't even sure if that's the right number or not. You lost count after three hours of giving out candy to cute kids.

"Am I right?" He asks.

"Who knows?"

Spider-Man huffs. "If there's that many of us around, then what am I even here for?" You giggle at his petulant behavior, and he makes another breathy sound, reminiscent of a stifled laugh. "Did you treat them the same way you treat me?"

"What?" His question takes you off-guard for a moment. You chortle. "Oh, definitely."

"You gave them band-aids and kicked them out, too?"

"Mhm." You cross your arms. "Just slapped a few on some pretend wounds and told them to get the fuck off my property."

The two of you laugh together for a moment. Once the laughter dies down, Spider-Man tugs at your cheek for a brief second. You let him get away with it for now. "You're so cute." He sighs and you can hear something somber enter his tone. "I was worried about you. It's been a week since I've seen you."

It has been a week, hasn't it? You may have been swamped with work at the hospital, but there was never a night that you didn't find yourself waiting on your balcony like an idiot in this chilly weather. You had faith that he was okay — the Daily Bugle printed something new about the "masked menace" every day this past week — but that didn't stop you from longing for his presence. Stories can't compare to the real thing, after all. You're far more taken with the masked vigilante than you'd care to admit to yourself.

You hum. "About time someone else did the worrying for once," you mumble jokingly. "It gets tiring worrying all by myself."

Spider-Man stays quiet. "I've been okay. A little worse for the wear for the past two days, but okay otherwise."

You reach for him instinctively. "Lingering pain isn't like you," you say, already in doctor-mode, "did something happen?"

"No, not like that. I've just been… sad. I guess." His confession is soft as he takes your outstretched hands in his own. He's been more vulnerable around you lately and you're not sure if that's good or bad. "It's been a rough couple of days, that's all."

You rack your brain. What could possibly be paining him that you don't know of? He's already told you that he tells you everything (within reason), so maybe it's something that you already know of? You furrow your brows as you dive deeper into your memory. Deeper, deeper… until you happen across a memory from just about a year ago.

The kiss you shared on your balcony close to midnight.

"Oh my God." You voice your incredulity aloud. "Oh my God! I missed your birthday!"

Spider-Man straightens his posture as he inhales sharply.

How could you have forgotten? He confessed to you on his birthday last year that you were the only person he had left in his life since he hated his birthday so much. October 29th was such a painful day for him — to think that you didn't stop for a second to wonder if he was okay that day. It's not like you would've been able to contact him of course, but what if he swung by after you'd fallen asleep? You should've at least left him a note or something.

"Don't beat yourself up over it, lovebug." The confidence is starting to bleed out of him, you notice. Spider-Man walks over to your couch and sits on the floor in front of it. "I'll be okay. It's not like I was going to celebrate or anything."

You move to the couch and adjust yourself so that the vigilante is between your legs. You two often assume this position when you're finished patching him up and too tired to goof around until he leaves. You would place your hands on his head and press your fingers into the fabric of his mask. Spider-Man told you once that the action was soothing, but you have yet to admit to him that it's your way of trying to conjure up an image of what his hair must look like underneath.

Like always, he gets himself into position, draping his arms across your legs. This time, however, he's looking up at you. You're not sure what expression he might be wearing.

"I wasn't saying that we should've celebrated," you say softly. "I'm just upset that you had to be alone. Are you sure you're okay?" You ask as you massage your fingers across the crown of his head.

He hums. "I am now. I promise."

"If you're ever feeling down, you know you can come and see me." Your words surprise the both of you, but you don't regret them at all. He always seems to be around when you need his company the most, so why shouldn't you do the same for him? Who else would? your mind unhelpfully supplies. "I may not be the best company in the world, but at least you won't be alone, right?"

Spider-Man moves so that he's on his knees facing you. He's so close to your face like this; you inch backwards to preserve your sanity. "You're the only company I need." He says it with so much conviction that you shiver. "But does this mean I'm getting special treatment?"

"What--? You mean from the other Spider-Men?" When he nods, you snort. "Yeah, I guess you do get V.I.P privileges. You get extra treats unlike everyone else."

"Extra?" He tilts his head. "But you haven't given me any candy at all."

You raise a brow. "All that's left is the candy I'm hoarding for myself. And before you ask, no, I'm not sharing any. Why don't you try actually trick-or-treating? People would probably give the city hero the best of the best."

He sinks a little lower, seeming defeated. "...Would you believe me if I said I tried that already?"

"Did it work?"

He's silent.

"...It didn't work, did it?"

"...No. They thought I was just some superfan."

Peals of laughter burst out of you at his admission. "So this is how they repay you, huh?" You say between giggles. "No faith and no candy? That's rough, buddy." You get the distinct impression that he's glaring at you, but that only makes you laugh harder.

Fed up with your insistence on laughing at his misfortune, Spider-Man taps your leg. "Since I get special treatment from you, can I ask for a few wishes?"

You wipe a stray tear from your eye. "I'm dressed as a superhero, not a magic genie."

"Please?"

"Fine, fine." You finally catch your breath. "You get two wishes.

"Not three?"

"I'm not a genie. Don't push it."

Spider-Man puts his hands up in defense. "Alright, two it is. The first is… let me stay with you for the rest of the night."

You shrug. Wouldn't be the first time. He's usually gone by the time you wake up, anyhow. "Granted. Next one's your last — make it count, bug boy."

Spider-Man doesn't react to your nickname. Instead, he just stares at you. A familiar sensation tickles up your spine. He's watching you; you know that stare all too well. "I think you know what I'm going to ask for next." His voice is deeper, smoother than it was mere moments ago.

You nod and he eases himself closer to you. You feel your heart pick up an unsteady rhythm and rather than kiss him normally, you lean in close and press your masked lips to his. He makes a surprised noise before he laughs and melts into the "kiss" all the same. When you pull away, he's still laughing. A very welcome change from the bitter smile you're sure he was wearing when talking about his birthday. "Consider that a freebie," you mutter.

"You're too kind," he chuckles.

Soon, your fingers come to the base of his mask to raise it just above his lips when he suddenly stops you. He reaches for your face and you feel something tug at the base of your neck. Somehow, you completely forgot you were wearing that stupid mask. "It's kinda funny," he half-laughs, "having to unmask you for once."

"You... You can't tell anyone about my identity, okay?" You tease.

Spider-Man rolls your mask up just enough to expose your lips and you do the same to him. Neither of you are sure who leaned in first, but you meet in the middle in a kiss that has fireworks bursting behind your lids. The two of you are greedy, pouring a week's worth of longing into the kiss. The mutual yearning is palpable, so much so that you can hear his breath hitch when you sigh. He rises to the couch slowly and without breaking the kiss, doing his best not to part from you for even a second.

You missed him. Oh, how you missed him — you missed how he would wrap a strong arm around your waist and pull you closer like it was nothing; how he would whisper his adoration for you between breaths; how he would chase after your lips whenever you would tease him with barely-there kisses. You missed the exhilaration, the thrill of knowing that you were the only one Spider-Man would ever treat this way. That you were his and he was yours.

He moves from your lips to your jaw, trailing kisses up to your ear and down to your neck. His pace is unhurried, though he seems eager to pull a reaction out of you. You give him what he wants whether you intend to or not. You press yourself closer to him in a silent request for more and he indulges you; his kisses become little nips, and the nips turn to bites as he starts to leave marks on your neck. He eases you back so that you're laying on your couch and he's hovering over you. The two of you stare at each other for a moment.

"Can I use my next wish?" His voice is rough. When you nod, he leans in once more. His uncovered lips brush against your ear as he whispers. "Let me give you a treat."

Something foreign yet familiar makes you shudder as you nod.

Spider-Man attacks your neck once again. Clearly he was holding himself back earlier, because every mark he leaves stings. He makes them dark and obvious, completely disregarding any warnings you may have given him on other days. You normally would tell him to ease up, to hide the marks that he so desperately wanted to leave on you. But now you let him do as he pleases. You gave him an inch and as expected, he took the mile. He soothes each one with a kiss and muffles your whimpers with his lips.

It takes a while before he's satisfied with his handiwork. Kazuha raises himself up with a shaky breath. Your wrists are in his hands and pinned against the couch. Looking down at you now, all flushed absolutely covered in his marks, he feels something uncontrollable stir within him. He has half a mind to tell you to close your eyes so he can take his mask off, but he refrains.

That's all he ever does when it comes to you. You, the greatest test of his endurance that he will ever encounter in his lifetime. No supervillain with any amount of underground connections or otherworldly technology will ever test his patience and restraint quite like you. For years, Kazuha has weighed the pros and cons of telling you who he is. He always wonders if you would still allow this, if you would still treat him like a lover if you knew who he was — if you knew that he's been lying to you. Though your reaction may not be guaranteed, it's a risk he's more than willing to take.

But he doesn't. Not tonight. Maybe another day when the time is right.

For now, Kazuha releases your wrists and sits himself up. He fixes his mask while you take yours off. You sit up and he watches as you ghost your fingers over each of your fresh hickies. You wince a little when you brush the one on the left side of your collarbone, above your heart. The silence that hangs in the air is evident, but not uncomfortable.

Then, you mutter. "I was supposed to give you a treat."

Kazuha reaches out and touches a hickey left on your pulse point. A sensitive spot for you – you shudder in response. He admires the lingering haze in your eyss. "You did. Thank you, lovebug."

✧ my goodness. @perpetualcynicism look at what you've done. you've reawakened a monster in me.

✧ edit: btw, the dividers belong to @cafekitsune!! thanks so much for making such beautiful dividers!

[leechandoki]

MY SON! I'm sorry that I did you no justice the last time I drew you. His name is Lobo and he just stole a bike and he's taking you with him.

[feralsteddie]

couldn't remember if i'd ever gotten around to posting this here but uhhh dumb bunny by @thorniest-rose still lives rent free in my head

[kyuala]

fiquei até meio xoxa agora pensando que provavelmente nao vou ver os jonas brothers hoje :(

[hippolotamus]

Thank you for the tags @panbuckley @spotsandsocks 🥰

Have some more Bridgerton au. For context this takes place just before Eddie crosses paths with a certain Buckley while out horse riding.

The next morning finds Eddie awake far too early. Judging by the relative silence, the servants haven’t started their day yet. There aren’t any boots scuffling through the halls, muted clanging of pots from the kitchen, or muted conversation and giggling from the stablehands trying their best to flirt with the maids. He’s pretty sure they think he doesn’t hear any of it, but it’s difficult to ignore with his frequent restless nights. Everyone gets their work done, so it’s not like Eddie’s going to come down on them for trying to have a little fun. After all, somebody should be. He closes his eyes, willing his body to be overtaken by the warm, fuzzy tendrils of sleep. Instead, he’s continually greeted by the cherubs, orchids, gladiolus and myrtle painted on the ceiling in various shades of pinks, blues, greens and creams. Through the years he’s studied each petal and feathered wing enough times he could recreate them from memory. Well, if he could paint that is. The image has been there since the estate was built, watching over each generation as they married and grew their own families. One day the house and land will go to Christopher. Eddie can only hope his son is blessed with better fortune than he and Shannon were.  When, at last, faint gray morning light begins to creep between the curtains, Eddie breathes a sigh of relief and allows himself to get out of bed. Away from the scrutiny of angelic beings. Unfortunately it does nothing for silencing his mother’s voice running on a loop in his mind, playing back her demands from yesterday’s awful visit.  In a desperate rush to clear his head, he hurries through a perfunctory wash and pulls on his riding clothes. At least one of the horses should be ready to go by now. If not, he doesn’t mind doing it himself. Some people think being titled, and having wealth, are enough to be excluded from such mundane activities. Personally, Eddie’s always found it relaxing. Something about the routine of caring for animals that serve him through no fault of their own. They never asked to be here, pulling carriages and equipment. It seems like the least he can do.  “Morning, Henry. Emma.” Eddie chuckles to himself as the pair break apart and Henry jogs to catch up with him.  “Morning, sir.” “Just Eddie. Please.” “Right. Eddie,” Henry replies as if they haven’t had this same conversation dozens of times, and won’t have it ever again. “Will you be needing the carriage?” “Not until evening. Is Artemis ready?” “Yes, si- Eddie. She’s been brushed down and is ready to go. Will your young one be joining you?” “Just me this morning.” Eddie steps closer to the stalls, taking his time so as not to spook the mare. “Hello there, beautiful. How was your night? Hopefully better than mine.”

It's late, so no pressure @shortsighted-owl @alyxmastershipper @911onabc @buddierights @mysteriouslyyounggalaxy @jesuisici33 @littlebitofdiaz @elvensorceress @monsterrae1 @stereopticons @megsvstheworld @the-likesofus @chaosandwolves @heartbeatdiaz @gentoodiaz if you wanna 💞

[namari-hime-moved]

namari hime is so cool man...... like WHAT DO YOU MEAN every single character has unique instrumentation and the duets are combinations of those!!!!! LIKE THATS SO COOL!!!!!!

[yoylechess]

play online with your friends!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[imwritesometimes]

I should be making peppermint bark & more fudge today since I have a super light work load but I am..... tired 😫

[castielhasabigdick]

"The only thing I think we have left, Dean and me, is each other. If Dean says it's time to go out in a blaze of glory, win or lose, so be it. I'm in."

for Jenna @bloodydeanwinchester!

[gurorori]

thinkin' abt dat nrmk fic again :[

[the-archpriest-and-the-outcast]

✨ or “proud” for one my muse’s proudest moments (are they proud of themselves or of someone else?) (Lorgar)

[Time asks]

It was over. At long, long last, it was finally over.

Lorgar collapsed to his knees in relief. Here, hidden to all, he allowed himself to be tired. He allowed himself to feel the exhaustion that had long since settled into his bones from his endless travels over the entirety of the world. Finally. Finally. It was over.

History would remember it as the "Last War", and there would be a time of unity and rejoicing at its conclusion. For the entire world stood united -- actually united -- under one faith, one lore, and one law. It was one of the proudest moments in his entire life. He had been victorious. He had won.

But something about the victory had rang hollow. Something, he could feel, was not quite right. As he lay upon a bed which had been constructed to accommodate his size, his mind travelled elsewhere. The subtle music of the spheres, the universe singing to itself, slowly wove its way into his thoughts. He heard notes of melancholy, of victorious warfare, of celebration, of hope... All blended together into one beautiful melody. It was beautiful. A perfect symphony, heralding what would be his greatest triumphs.

There was still work to be done, of course. For now, he could rest, allow his gifted body time to recuperate after being exerted for so long. But there was part of him that remained soul-weary, in a way he would never be able to put to words.

His eyes closed once he made himself comfortable. And almost immediately, his mind was on fire.

And he was no longer on Colchis.

He was knelt before an altar of basalt and brass, weapon feebly clutched in one fist. Blood, thick and gilded, ran from his foe, who towered impossibly high over him. He himself was covered in a thousand, thousand cuts, bleeding enough to fill a lake. How he was still conscious, let alone holding his weapon, was a miracle in and of itself. He gathered up his strength and stared up at this creature, roaring his defiance and staggering upwards to deliver another blow.

He stood resplendent, a crowd of millions beneath his plinth. He knew they cared not for him. He knew their praise was not for him; it was not even praise at all. The cacophony of sounds emerging from the impossibly massive crowds before were invitations, promises, various attempts for him to jump in and join them. His mind battled against itself; he did want to give in, to finally be able to enjoy the finer delights of existence. Perhaps he would be able to find true joy in something. He shook his head to banish the thoughts, a strangely human action, all things considered. He turned from the crowd, and heard their cries turn furious.

The crystal was cold. It was as reflective and as mocking as any other piece of the labyrinth he found himself within. He was shivering. Anywhere he walked looked almost identical to the last -- except, maybe, that one chip in the wall was closer to the floor? And the ceiling, when did it get so smooth? Did he even have a ceiling when he started walking through here? Why was he here? Who was he, even? Did he have a name? At the heart of this madness, his body shivered. He felt eyes on him. A laugh snaked through his mind.

Something squelched underfoot. He could feel the slime and ichor of it paint over his foot, clinging to it almost as though it were a sapient thing. Everything felt alive, uncomfortably so. He wandered through rows and rows of plants, his every move making him feel more and more weary. Everything sapped him of his strength here. A channel of water ran alongside him. More than once had he been tempted to jump within it. After all, what awaited him here? He would never leave. He was slowly becoming food for the strange flora anyway. He should jump, shouldn't he? Make his existence a little more useful than simply walking like a shambling zombie. But each time he came close, each time he saw a glimpse of his reflection, his feet carried him away. Sometimes still walking alongside, sometimes in the precise opposite direction, but most importantly away. He need not meet his end here.

Lorgar opened his eyes. He was kneeling, a massive mosaic beneath where he had knelt. It was a simple design, one representing the sacred Octed and the Four; simple, yet potent in its symbolism.

His main meditation chambers where he wiled away the... gods, what had it been now? Years? Decades? Centuries? He could not tell. Nor did he care to know.

Something burned within his breast. Something familiar and warm. It took him a few moments to realize it was pride. Pride? What had he to be proud of?

Memories of a life long past flickered to the surface of his mind. He nearly snorted. The Last War? Would he still remain proud of it? What had he to be proud of regarding that failure?

Unity, his own thoughts replied. It was a proof that unity can be found among humanity. That faith can bind people like no other force. That, perhaps, all is indeed not lost.

To take pride in the first accomplishment completed without the badgering of others; the first accomplishment completed by your own will and design. One clouded by a deluded faith in a false god, perhaps, but an accomplishment nonetheless.

It was the first time you felt like a grown man. There is pride to be had in that still. And pride to be found that you had learned from your mistake, and that you can still apply those lessons to the future.

Lorgar grunted, shaking himself out. His limbs were heavy. His body was weary. The song of the Empyrean swelled within his mind with notes of sorrow, of combat, of joy, of promise. A powerful and lovely orchestral arrangement of the universe singing to itself.

He closed his eyes again. There was still much to be done.

But this time, there would be no time to rest.

[capturerextraordinaire]

There's a serious dearth ae good hate sex an' enemies ta enemies content.

I'd reblog a bunch ae it ta git more porn on yer dash, oot ae spite, but, I seriously hink tha's all th' actually good shite I can find.

(Fuck My Hero Academia. Am no' readin' any ae those feckin' "Kirishima" or "Bakudeku" posts I'm findin' in tae tags.)

KIRISHIMA'S LITERALLY AIN'T EVEN A SHIP HE'S JUST A GUY!!!! HE'S 'DA ONE WHO LOOKS LIKE ME IF I WERE RED AND PALE AND HUMAN

regardin' bakudeku t'ough? DEVESTATIN'. 'DA WORST PERSON YA KNOW JUST MADE A GREAT POINT. ('ey ain't even ENEMIES 'ey's just RIVALS!)

[obaewankenope]

This just in: the back button exists and works great to leave fics you don't wanna read alone without you needing to comment and complain about said fics!! Amazing!!!

[shamelesslymkp]

also posts where people talk about a specific food in the most disgusted and patronizing of ways. those make me angry too. and I'm pretty sure I've DONE it, it's human, but like. there's a bit of a difference (imo) to saying something like 'linguini is EVIL' or 'oatmeal feels like brains' and a full like. paragraph of hyperbole about 'who hurt you' 'have you never tried x' 'the color and flavor of paste'

maybe there isn't a difference! idk!

[tnbc-thoughtsandheadcanons]

I hate Disney Magic Kingdoms. Getting kicked out for updating my game is FUN when it happens for the 2746282nd time.