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#so if you think it sucks
liquidstar · 5 months
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Yes, Greece still exists, we didn't all die 2000 years ago. Yes, people speak Greek. You people are so fucking stupid for real. So many of you claim to love ancient shit but can't even acknowledge the actual living culture of the people whose mythology and classics you romanticize. You keep leaving annoying comments about how you just forget Greek people still exist, thinking you're being quirky because you love ancient stuff soooo much that you forgot about the people it came from. You think about it so little you don't even realize that an actual Greek person has to read this shit, making it clear how little you actually care about the culture beyond the romanticized (and westernized) mythology. Don't claim you love Greece, don't use our mythology anymore if you can't acknowledge that we're still around without making it about how little you think about us. It's mind boggling that you'd think a Greek person would read this and think you're anything but obnoxious. Explode.
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starwarjotta · 3 months
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looking for someone on Tatooine
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Michael doesn’t like his father in any FNAF universe..
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dyketennant · 1 month
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as someone who has obviously done extensive research on the topic i would like to present to you all...dyketennant's "which david tennant character are you" uquiz
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wolfram-but-art · 3 days
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drew one of the memes in this person's post again
reblogs > likes
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Love you Zukka you really are that blue gumball and the hot topic. Unrelated news about the state of the island….
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ohno-the-sun · 3 months
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Sol
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xulips · 8 months
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🎈 🌟 X レディメイド (READYMADE)
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inkskinned · 9 months
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it just sucks because nothing is ever fucking made for you, and if it is made for you like 75% of the time it gets chopped into little pieces by every person alive because this is the one thing you have, so it has to prove itself to you.
like, a thing can't just be for women. men need to assign it to women. women have to experience "must" or "should" before their hobbies and passions - women are allowed to do silly, passive things like tuck our ankles and titter behind a fan, or something. women are allowed to, they are welcomed to. like the world is a house and we are supposed to be in the kitchen and now we are being given the divine right to enter the living room if we bring chips
because when it becomes for you, or about you, that is when the thing is vile. you should/must wear makeup so you can appear beautiful to men. once you wear makeup for yourself, or because you yourself enjoy putting it on, then you are no longer doing the right thing. there is a reason men hate certain fashion trends. there is a reason men hate things like the pumpkin spice latte - because it's not about them. you are buying it because it is good for you. they degrade your passions and interests. there is a reason women-led fields are largely seen as being "not a real" profession. when you are a good cook, that is because you can provide for him. close your eyes. you're not going to be a chef, be honest. that is a man making food for himself.
bras are made so breasts will be appealing to men. they are rarely about comfort or support. you have given up entirely on the idea of pockets. young girls have to worry about a shorter inseam on their shorts. a girl on instagram gets her septum pierced, and men in the comments are rabid about it - i just want to rip it out of her face. she'd be beautiful without it.
and fucking everything is for them. even the media that is "for you" is for them, eventually. remember "my little pony"? remember how hard it is to convince any executive to believe that little girls are worth selling to? in the media that is for you, you see little ways that you still need to make it accessible for them - the man is always powerful, smart, masculine. he is a man's man. the media usually forgives him. it usually says okay, some men are awful, but hey! gotta love 'em. because if you don't hold their hands and say "this is literally just a story about my lived reality", they shit their pants about it. they demand you put them into the media that's for you.
these are people who are so used to glutting themselves on the world. they are used to having every corner and every dollar and every place of leadership. so you say can i please have one slice of cake, just for myself, please, holy shit. and they fucking weep about it. they say you're being unfair, because some of their one-thousand-slices aren't beautiful, and your singular cake slice doesn't have their name on it. and aren't you being rude by not offering to share?
and honestly. fucking - yeah, man. you were kind of surprised, because the cake is a little basic (you bake at home, you're way past this stuff). but holy shit, it was nice just to be offered cake in the first place. you're used to having to starve. you're used to getting nothing, but going to the party anyway, because you're expected (professionally) to show up. you liked that it is a simple cake, and that it is warm, and mostly: you like that there is, for once, a cake-for-you.
in the real world, outside of metaphor, it feels like fucking being slapped. barbie didn't even say anything particularly unusual; it literally just made factually evident points. there are less women in leadership than men. we can look at that fact objectively. that is a real thing that is happening. and the movie is aware that it has to defend itself! that it has to spend like half an hour just turning to the camera and saying: i know this is hard for you to understand, but this is a real thing that women experience.
it's just - this is that one kid on the playground who thinks its allowed to hog all the toys. he builds this hoard that nobody else is allowed to even look at, or he'll get aggressive. everyone's a little scared of him, so they let it slide, because his daddy gave him the golden touch. he hates when people cry and thinks bullying is cool. he writes boys only! on a big sign and makes all his friends take "alpha male" classes.
and then girls pick up barbies, because there was nothing left for them. and in the void they've been given, with their scraps: they make long, spiraling narratives about how barbie is actually descended from snakes and has given her righteous followers magical (if concerning) powers and can speak 32 languages (2 of which are animal related) and has big plans for infrastructure (beginning with the local interstate). and the boy comes over, and he has a huge fit about how the girls aren't "including" him. he wants to know why the girls aren't making the story about ken.
"we didn't like your story." the girls blink at him. they point to his war stories and the gi joes and the millions of male-led narratives and how still in the modern day men get two-thirds of the speaking roles in movies and they point to men making mediocre shows that don't get lambasted and they point to men encouraging toxic masculinity and they point to men everywhere, men and men and men. and they say: "how is this our fault? you had ken."
"no!" he is already back to screaming and stomping his feet and tearing at his hair and intentionally reminding them that men are holding back thinly concealed violence and he says: "if it's not for me, it's actually sexism."
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stararch4ngelqueen · 7 months
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Don’t Call Him Jealous
Time written-6:10 p.m.
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Jason Todd/fem!reader smut (I’m on mobile so image is huge, but c’mon it’s Jason. Take him in)
“Look at that, babe,” His hot, erotic rumble roared your heart into an irritating, intense drum in your chest, heating up the tips of your ears.
“It’s crying for me, begging me to have a taste.”
Hungry eyes kept an intense focus on the mirror in front of you both, the hardwood floor pooling with your arousal. He held both your legs junction over his propped up knees, keeping you spread open for his viewing pleasure alone.
Your bare chest heaved with sweat, perky nipples heavily flushed from countless pinches in between his thumbs. Repeated begs for him to slow down to give you an ounce of a break fell on deaf ears, a forearm secured between the valley of your tits, grasping you close as he fucked you with his fingers.
Overstimulation became your toxic lover, sparking you up in pain with the promise of pleasure, quickly following eachother in an endless loop.
Bucking away didn’t help, he’d only hook his fingers against your G-spot harder, forcing your ass back against his hard, girthy cock, swollen and throbbing for pussy behind the prison of his red gym shorts.
You were in a dress, at one point. A dress you kept in its protective plastic hanger for weeks. Now, it laid abandoned, torn and neglected scraps on the ground since the second Jason saw you in it.
What was his main concern about it? “Nothing.”
The fabric was a rich, deep silky blue, caressing your body perfectly in every way. His biggest issue was a certain cocky bastard, who’s signature color just so happens to lay in pieces on the ground.
Yes, he’d get calls and texts from the rest once they realize he failed to attend yet another Gala. Yes, they’d most likely realize that it wasn’t you who had planned to miss it in the first place.
The last thing he wanted was said certain cocky Grayson to make even so much as a thought of a snarky comment on such. Knowing him, he would.
It was all Jason; the man who didn’t bother to think of the tux he was supposed to have picked up from the dry cleaners before coming home from the gym.
All he had on hand was you, working up to your fourth climax in front of your bedroom mirror. A beautiful, erotic mess of smeared lipstick and cloudy mascara tears, moaning endlessly on his fingers before working you open on his cock.
Never catch him thinking he wasn’t a giver. It was his second favorite sport.
“Pretty, pretty,” Jason murmurs against your neck, kissing along your flushed skin. “Pretty, pretty girl. Y’know what I want, huh? Give it to me.”
“C-C-Can’t,” you exhale, both your hands clutching his working forearm, needlessly crying out broken words and drawn out cries as the fire in your tense tummy threatened to burst.
“J-Jay, J-J-Jay, I-I can’t! S’too much!!”
“Come on, babygirl. Don’t be like that, give me what I want. Come on, baby. Come on, come on.”
He urges via lustfully hasty words in your right ear, bucking his fingers deeper and faster into your stretched walls, the palm of his calloused hand directly abusing your swollen, rosy little clit.
Your nails dig deeper into his forearm, deep enough to add onto his collection of angry scars as liquid heat surges through your veins. A collection of trembling cries erupted from your quivering, rouge smeared lips as his palm grew soaked.
He grunts out a pleased groan in tandem with yours, nearly drowned out by your whimpering as if he was the one that came, forcing every nerve in your body to shiver.
“There we go,” Jason cooes, working his fingers until he picks up on those irritated, little overstimulated whines he recognized by memory, telling him to slow down without use of words.
Only, your body didn’t give him what he wanted. Almost, but not yet.
He listened for now, retreating his fingers, lingering about to pry your soaked lips apart, biting back a deep growl at your soaked, gaping pink hole.
Never more than now did he want to stuff you full, but he was working for something a little more… eye catching.
He enjoyed what he saw right now; maroon lipstick smeared off the edges of your lips, transferred onto his the second he kissed you against your mirror. Pink scratches and dabbled love bites that would morph into rich, wine bruises littering your neck and shoulders.
Red, pure red from your blooming cheeks, aroused skin, sore breasts, and abused pussy.
A dirty, surface drenching show only your body could provide, ignited by his favorite hue of color, by any means necessary. So. why stop at four?
Without a word, Jason dips a finger back inside your cavern, feeling your body nearly wince from the intrusion, a low little whine escaping your deflated lungs.
“Jasooon,” you croak, your rising hips instantly jolted back against his lap by a strong grip on your hip, followed by the click of his tongue. “Please—“
“Not done yet, Princess,” he murmurs, kissing along your neck as his other finger joins in, expertly finding your sweet spot and curling his fingers, determined to go for five.
Blue wasn’t a good color on you anyway.
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boylikeanangel · 9 months
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mean absolutely zero hate by this at all but talking to non book fans casually about certain details of the book is literally the funniest shit ever like yall are so sweet you dont know anything. yes aziraphale gets called a faggot in the book. by an eleven year old girl. and yes crowley revives the dove at the birthday party not aziraphale. and book fans got so mad about this change that they initially boycotted the show when it came out in 2019. dont worry I dont get it either. please continue to be confused about all this it makes my day every time I see someone in my tags be outraged they put homophobic slurs in a book written in 1989 <3
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tiredyke · 1 year
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every time queer discourse surges on this site everyone is so quick to jump to “it was actually the evil lesbians who divided us” because y’all heard the term “political lesbian” and never bothered to figure out what that meant
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acowardinmordor · 4 months
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Everyone knows that Wayne knows about and supports his nephew in his various flavors of queer across all fics and headcanons. But I especially enjoy it when Wayne knows and supports him, while Eddie is completely oblivious to the fact that he's not straight.
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sadmages · 5 months
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Gods work hard but Matt Marja works harder
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troynabed · 3 months
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hey bro, is it cool if i write and perform a comedy set entirely about our life together that no one else understands just so i can see your beautiful smile
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poorly-drawn-mdzs · 1 month
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I started reading Dungeon Meshi last week, became instantly charmed and captivated, and blitzed through the entire manga in 4 days (and changed my profile picture about it). With that in mind, I would just like to say...
I love your dungeon meshi art so so much
CHILCHUCK!!!!!!!!
Thank you kindly! I love Dungeon Meshi a lot, so I'm happy to see so many people get into it for the first time.
CHILCHUCK!!!
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