I Fucking Hate That The General Response To RFK Jr's Eugenist Take On Autistic People Is "autistic People

sleep w her at night and keep a mini version of her in my purse :))) plus my various other ones

If your 13 or older and still sleep with a stuffed animal please rb this im tryna prove a point to my friend.

bakugou being so whipped for kirishima that when other people bring up things about him kiri is wildly confused.

them talking about how stubborn bk is and kiri being confused bc wdym stubborn ?? just say please ?? when everyone else has to argue with him for a minimum of three days before they start making headway.

someone says bk doesn’t pay much attention to his classmates and kiri is like “but he knows my shirt size favorire food and social security number wdym” meanwhile bk isn’t totally sure how to spell aoyama’s name.

It's about time for LGBTQ+ youth to take back their power, so we're awarding grants up to $10,000 for projects that support LGBTQ+ youth in their own communities and schools

"But what if my school's not accepting or doesn't have a GSA club?"

We hear that - that's why LGBTQ+ youth can pair up with various different types of organizations to apply for a Changemakers grant, including:

• Nonprofits

• Public libraries

• LGBTQ+ centers

• Public schools and GSA clubs

• And other youth-supporting community organizations!

A fave example: One of our previous grantees from a GSA club in Vermillion, South Dakota couldn't get their school on board with their idea. So instead, they paired up with a local mural artist organization to create a giant sparkly unicorn Pride mural on the side of a downtown restaurant - which went on to earn the town a USA Today Reader's Choice award for small towns with the best art scenes!

Youth + a partner organization can apply for a grant now by May 5th at itgetbetter.org/changemakers

see him schmoove

The radio crackled on. Robin clutched the microphone as steady as she could, the poor thing not used to the rough location of Steve's beat up Beemer.

"Evening, Hawkins," she announced into the mic. Not in her typical bravado. This was all Robin: trembling, scared, but defiant against it. "This is Rockin' Robin, here with Sailin' Steve in what very well may be our last broadcast."

She adjusts her spear, getting Steve to double check his shield. Not easy to do while speeding down the road, but when their destination is the same no matter where he goes, it doesn't quite matter anymore, does it?

"It's been a pleasure serving you lovely people and WSQK Radio," Robin continues, her voice shaking less as the certainty of her words takes over. "But it's time for us to sign off one last time."

"The end of the world is calling, baby," Steve says, loud enough for the radio to pick up. It's the first time he's ever dared to speak into it, and the wave of power it gives him makes him feel possessed. With the way his hand moves off the wheel to twist the knob of the barely functioning sound board between them, turning the music up as he accelerates and fueling his words, he may as well be. "We're here to pick up the call."

Steve grips the stick in front of the sound board, clutching the leather as familiar as the denim beneath his war clothes. "We've got one final song for you all, dedicated to an old friend of mine."

He smells ash. Tastes blood on the tip of his tongue. Feels the sting in his sides like a call from the other side.

Not painful. Hopeful.

Daring.

Trusting.

Fueling.

"We're gonna finish what you started, bud. I'm gonna make him pay."

As the first notes of the guitar solo to "Crazy Train" begin rattling his car, as his fingers tighten impossibly more on the wheel and a tear rolls down his cheek, he feels the ghost of a hand on his shoulder.

Ring laden.

Strong in its fear. Familiar in its loss.

Steve grits his teeth. Takes a deep breath as a calmness burns just as bright as the fire of vengeance.

"Eddie Munson, this is for you."

Then he shifts the stick, grips the wheel, and speeds straight into the apocalypse.

genuinely wild to me when I go to someone's house and we watch TV or listen to music or something and there are ads. I haven't seen an ad in my home since 2005. what do you mean you haven't set up multiple layers of digital infrastructure to banish corporate messaging to oblivion before it manifests? listen, this is important. this is the 21st century version of carving sigils on the wall to deny entry to demons or wearing bells to ward off the Unseelie. come on give me your router admin password and I'll show you how to cast a protective spell of Get Thee Tae Fuck, Capital

i saw a license plate this morning that said ‘drgn slr’ which probably means ‘dragon slayer’ but ‘dragon slur’ is funnier. dragon faggot. draggot if you will.

I hate a "you're not a vibe bro" type of a hater. Dogs don't see colours the same way that people do, and yet your dog has never told you that you're stupid for taking a picture of a sunset. Just because you can't see the beauty of something doesn't mean that everyone must live in a world as dull and ugly as yours.

Let an aesthetic bitch be.

this hurt my chest. like angst doesn’t usually do much to me in any one capacity but this made me upset man. great job

The radio crackled on. Robin clutched the microphone as steady as she could, the poor thing not used to the rough location of Steve's beat up Beemer.

"Evening, Hawkins," she announced into the mic. Not in her typical bravado. This was all Robin: trembling, scared, but defiant against it. "This is Rockin' Robin, here with Sailin' Steve in what very well may be our last broadcast."

She adjusts her spear, getting Steve to double check his shield. Not easy to do while speeding down the road, but when their destination is the same no matter where he goes, it doesn't quite matter anymore, does it?

"It's been a pleasure serving you lovely people and WSQK Radio," Robin continues, her voice shaking less as the certainty of her words takes over. "But it's time for us to sign off one last time."

"The end of the world is calling, baby," Steve says, loud enough for the radio to pick up. It's the first time he's ever dared to speak into it, and the wave of power it gives him makes him feel possessed. With the way his hand moves off the wheel to twist the knob of the barely functioning sound board between them, turning the music up as he accelerates and fueling his words, he may as well be. "We're here to pick up the call."

Steve grips the stick in front of the sound board, clutching the leather as familiar as the denim beneath his war clothes. "We've got one final song for you all, dedicated to an old friend of mine."

He smells ash. Tastes blood on the tip of his tongue. Feels the sting in his sides like a call from the other side.

Not painful. Hopeful.

Daring.

Trusting.

Fueling.

"We're gonna finish what you started, bud. I'm gonna make him pay."

As the first notes of the guitar solo to "Crazy Train" begin rattling his car, as his fingers tighten impossibly more on the wheel and a tear rolls down his cheek, he feels the ghost of a hand on his shoulder.

Ring laden.

Strong in its fear. Familiar in its loss.

Steve grits his teeth. Takes a deep breath as a calmness burns just as bright as the fire of vengeance.

"Eddie Munson, this is for you."

Then he shifts the stick, grips the wheel, and speeds straight into the apocalypse.