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YAAAAS the doujin I was crying about yesterday went back in stock and I managed to snag some! Because HELLO? I'm not going to pass up on MalleYuu masterpieces like this

If anyone wants to get them, here are some direct links to the doujin:

In a Quiet Garden at Midnight by Konazatou (Rated G)

Endlessly Sweet! by Chiitara (Rated 18)

Look at Me! by gallon_DECO (Rated G)

Other in-stock MalleFYuu doujin

Other in-stock MalleYuu doujin (Boy Yuu or gender unknown)

This also has very good art but is yandere noncon, so NOT recommended for those who can't stomach it.

To get them, you either have to find local proxies close to you, ask a Japanese friend to get them for you, or use international proxy services like Neokyo, Tenso Japan, or Anime Otaku Carry Service. I personally used Neokyo this time and it's very easy to use. The shipping fees will be higher than the actual cost of items.

Have fun 👀

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Every farmer ever:

Original:

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To understand how everyone feels about shen yuan you have to think of him as a beloved neighbourhood cat. Everyone loves him. If you can get him to sit next to you for a few minutes, you have the right to tell everyone around while they glare at you in jealousy. If he scratches someone, everyone will agree they must have done something wrong to deserve that, because our cat is so sweet and lovely. If you say you don't like him, everyone hates you because what sick fuck doesn't like cute cats?

So you can imagine when someone (binghe) takes the cat that should belong to everyone and decides its going to be HIS own now. The entire neighbourhood would be up in arms. Shen Yuan is EVERYONES cat and they demand he's let back out so they can occasionally get ten seconds to pet it.

But then something terrible happens: the cat decides it likes binghe and wants to stay inside his house. Even when everyone holds the door wide open and tries to lure him out with treats, he ignores it and jumps onto binghes lap. Everyone is devastated. Their cat CHOSE to be with the guy who stole him away from them.

There's nothing they can do other than randomly barge into the cats new home every now and then, pathetically hoping for a bit of his attention while annoying the cats new owner.

That's shen yuan.

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Grim: Imagine the dorm leader as the GPS lady Ace, mimicking Riddle: I AM YOUR GPS AND IF I SAY TURN LEFT, YOU TURN LEFT! Jack, mimicking Leona: Good job, you missed your stop 5 minutes ago Epel, mimicking Vil: That turn was sloppy! Go back and do it over again!

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''Who better to understand the depths of one's heart than the blade who chose their wielder?''

AU in which Shen Yuan gets transmigrated into Xiu Ya, and ends up cultivating a human form and being there for Shen Jiu in his disciple years.

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twisted wonderland as textposts 1/?

i have so many more of these babies on backlog so expect more very soon

next >>

(credit to @/alchemivich for the sprite assets!)

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I need her

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This is so random, but as I just got out of English class, I really just can’t keep it in.

English classes are failures.

More specifically, English essays are failures.

To this day, in every English class I’ve taken, I’ve read Shakespeare. (So, already, we’re off to a bad start. Nobody will ever convince me he is not the most boring author in the world.) And in every single class, when the time came to write an essay, I’d be presented with a list of potential topics to write about.

Usually, there’s about six of them. Two or three would be on some short stories we read over a certain time period, and the others would all be potential topics on the one Shakespeare.

Wonderful.

There is something horribly upsetting about the fact I’m being asked to write my opinion, with proof, when my “opinion” is just me lying to fit within the topics my teacher cares to read about.

“Discuss how Othello is so sad” no. I want to discuss how Othello is a little bitch who, even in the end, didn’t hold himself accountable for his own stupidity. How all it took was two to three days to have him completely lose faith in his wife, and murder her, and how none of the characters seemed important outside of their eight second roles. And then they call it a tragedy. Yeah, it’s tragic that I had to actually spend time reading it.

Regardless of that, however, I think it’s just stupid how an English class is about learning to coherently and intelligently present your thoughts through an essay… without really ever letting me represent anything I actually had an opinion on. And teachers will say “it’s not a criticism piece”. Like, hon, I’m not criticising it. It’s just… my opinion is that the story sucked. I read it, analysed it, and found it deeply lacking.

“Write about how The Road was a masterpiece and perfectly illustrated a lawless world through its grammatical errors” no. I thought the book was boring, and I ended up with many headaches reading it due to the lack of commas. Like, how about you let me write about what I want? Maybe I want to discuss how the imagery affects the way a person feels about the book, and how not naming your characters creates a genuine inability to empathise with the characters. And how that’s a really good tool for the novel.

How am I supposed to be a good writer if the only skill I’m developing… is how to bullshit well enough to appease your fragile little brain? I’m sorry I thought Of Mice and Men was better than your fav’s novel. I genuinely don’t understand what’s so horrible about letting students write what they think about what they read. I’m supposed to express my genuine ideas, how I analysed the text… but I’m not. I’m limited to the six things you thought up for me.

So yeah. Fuck Shakespeare. And the English curriculum (at least where I’m from).

(Sorry to any Shakespeare stans out there, but it really is what it is. I just.. am incapable of liking what he writes. Props to you for sticking with it though.)

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memes round 13, I don't have anything else to add

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This is still my favorite part of Spectral Soiree

"You know it's bad when Ortho - who I remind you is a robot - is worried about your emotional growth." -Ruggie

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Silver retells the story of his orientation when he was struggling to stay awake… when suddenly Floyd was set on fire and yeeted across the room… because he touched Riddle’s hair and exclaimed “IT’S NOT EVEN HOT”

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The Waynes' Nanny

Batfamily and Reader/ Bruce Wayne x Reader Chapters Ao3 Originally, I was going to make this a half-chapter because I wrote this on my phone while at work, but I decided I'm a bitch who doesn't do half-chapters. Anyway, here's this one. Sorry for any mistakes, it was slightly rushed because I wanted to get something out there since I've been away from the keyboard for a good moment!

9-Nanny in The Attic

Alfred had asked you to get some spring decorations from the attic, and you were happy to oblige. You loved decorating, it brought a sense of wonderment to your life that was otherwise filled with the endless tasks of being a caretaker. So, you took to the attic like a moth to a flame. There were boxes upon boxes, old coats strewn about, a creepy-looking rocking horse in one corner, and copious amounts of dust.��

“The box is labeled but I couldn’t tell you where the damned thing is,” Alfred said as he flipped on the light. “If you like, you could wait until I return. It might be easier.” 

You waved him off as you ventured further into the room. “No, no. You’re a busy man, Alfred. Plus, the kids are at school, and this will give me something to do today.”

“Very well, then, have at it,” The old man said, heading towards the attic stairs. “Master Bruce is working from home today, and there’s an intercom on the wall over there if you want to call for help should you need it. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind lending a hand.”

You looked over to where the butler was pointing. “Just when I thought this place couldn’t get fancier. Thanks, Alfred. I’ll see you later.” 

With a wave, he left. You began to pull apart the attic in search of the alleged spring decor, and it seemed almost hopeless. There were just too many boxes. There was Christmas (which you couldn’t wait to see), Halloween, and just about every holiday decor that had ever existed. Some boxes were full of pictures and jewelry. You took a peek into some, just out of pure curiosity, and were amazed by just how old some of these things were.

Then, you stumbled onto one box that had photo albums from within the past thirty years and decided to look through them. It took you very little time to realize that these were albums of Mr. Wayne’s family.

You smiled, looking at a smaller version of your boss, as you realized just how much Damian looked like him. You also noted just how much Bruce looked like his father. Eerily so. That had to do something to his psyche. His mother was a beauty, too. You found her headshot sitting right under one of the photo albums. She had curly reddish brown hair and deep blue eyes that reminded you of Bruce’s. Mr. And Mrs. Wayne were a handsome couple with the world at their feet, but that was cut short the day they died. You were almost too young to remember but could recall some family member bursting into the kitchen to announce that the Wayne family had been murdered. It wasn’t entirely true, only Mr. And Mrs. Wayne had been killed— leaving behind a traumatized little boy. 

“Poor Mr. Wayne,” you said to yourself before putting the albums back. “Now, where in the hell is that box?” 

You looked around the room, eyes scanning when you saw it. The box was high up on a shelf labeled ‘spring’ in black Sharpie. After moving some more boxes out of the way, you began to make a path so it would be easier to move. It was going to be so easy and perfect, you thought. Once all the boxes were out of the way, you could grab the step ladder and get what you needed. 

Setting the ladder up, you climbed it, but the box was still just out of reach. You supposed that the shelf could support some of your weight, so you lifted your leg to step onto it. What you hadn’t seen was an old broken vase jutting out from one of the boxes. You felt the pain of it cutting into your leg before you knew what it was. With a cry, you fell back hard onto the floor. 

“Ow, ow,” you said, pushing yourself up. Looking down at your leg, blood was streaming from the wound. Alfred would not be happy about this, you thought. Putting your hand over the cut so not all the blood would drip onto the floor, you awkwardly made your way over to the intercom. 

You had no clue how to use it and began pressing buttons. 

“Mr. Wayne,” you would say when it sounded like you got through to a room. “Mr. Wayne, are you there?”

Finally, after about ten minutes, you got a voice coming through the other end, “Everything alright?”

“Aha! Mr. Wayne, I cut my leg pretty bad and think I need a first aid kit. Could I trouble you to bring me one?” 

“I’ll be right there,” he said. Before you could say anything back, the line went dead. 

Grumbling to yourself, you made your way to the attic stairs to sit and wait for your rescue. Blood was pooling between your fingers, and you could feel it slowly get closer to your socks. 

“I’m here, I’m here.” You looked up to see Mr. Wayne rushed up the attic steps with an aid kit in hand before stopping right in front of you. “Alright, let me see.” 

You moved your hand to the side, but couldn’t bring yourself to see just how bad it was. He put his hand on your knee to keep your leg steady, and you couldn’t help but notice just how big and warm his hand was. 

“Luckily, you don’t need stitches, just a clean-up and some bandages.” 

“What should I do?” You asked, hands already going for the kit. 

Bruce didn’t let you get close enough to grab it before he picked it up. He didn’t say anything as picked out the hydrogen peroxide, some ointment, and bandages. Pouring a little of the hydrogen peroxide onto a cotton ball, he slowly started to wipe at your leg. You yelped from the sudden sting and pushed his hand away. 

“Stop it, that hurts,” you said meekly. “Ow! Bruce, please.”

He stopped to look at you, eyes meeting yours and thumb starting to trace small circles on your knee, before speaking, “Sorry, just hold still. It won’t take much longer.” 

He began to dab the cotton ball back on the wound again, and this time you were prepared for the sting. As he worked on your wound, you stared at him. Mr. Wayne wasn’t just a handsome man, but he was pretty, too. He had the type of looks that befitted a character in a fantasy novel rather than a traumatized rich boy. His eyes, though, were such an intense blue that they were hard not to look at.

You thought out loud, “You have your mother’s eyes.” 

Bruce whipped his head up to look at you, eyes narrowing. “What?” 

You tried to not let the embarrassment show through. It was a fact that just so happened to slip from your mouth. “You have your mother’s eyes. I saw a picture of her earlier.” 

Bruce broke his gaze and continued working on your leg, now putting the bandage on. “Oh.” 

“Do you remember your parents?” You asked. 

“Yes,” He said after a minute. “Everyone said I looked like my father, but he saw more of my mother.” 

You giggled and took his hand when he offered to help you up. “She must have loved that.” 

“Oh, she did.” For the first time, you saw Bruce smile genuinely. A smile for himself instead of the kids or you. “That’s why she wanted a girl after me, but they never got around to it.” 

“Can’t picture you as an older brother,” you said as you wandered over to the shelf. 

Bruce didn’t say anything to that and changed the subject. He offered to get the box down for you, saying that you didn’t need to be reaching up or doing anything else on your leg. You weren’t going to complain and let him get the box. 

“Good thing you called me,” He said with a grunt. “It’s heavy. Now, where do you want it?” 

“The living room would be a good place to start,” you said before you checked the time. You still had a couple of hours before the kids got home, but thought that perhaps you could wait. “Maybe I should wait for the kids. They may want to help.” 

“Alfred would rather burn the manor down.” 

You could imagine it. Mr. Wayne brought the kids up in a way that they were very creative, and you could only imagine how that would transfer over in the decor. Alfred was too neat of a person for that. 

Mr. Wayne set the box down on the living room coffee table, making a cloud of dust come up from the box, before turning to you. You smiled kindly and thanked him. He nodded before heading towards the door, he stopped halfway before turning to you. 

“Make sure you clean your wound, you wouldn’t want it to get infected.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Wayne.” 

He nodded before finally leaving you. You looked back down at the decoration in your hands and huffed. It’d be a lot of work, but if you wouldn’t get it done. 

And, you did as such. By the time Alfred got home with the kids later that afternoon, he was shocked by just how well you did. The whole house was overflowing with spring delight to the point that he began to ask how you managed such a task. You only told him you had magic hands before you went to tend to the children. They were happy to see you, all of them clamoring about, and noted the bandage on your leg. 

“I got in a fight with a bear today,” you said. 

Dick rolled his eyes. “You’re such a liar.” 

Bruce suddenly popped into the kitchen where all of you were. “It’s true. I was there. I helped fight off the bear.” 

“Are there even bears in New Jersey?” Jason asked, curiously. 

Duke, on the other hand, looked horrified, “Why are there bears in the backyard, Dad?” 

You were quick to tell him that the two of you were only kidding, that the cut really just came from an accident. Duke seemed relieved, while the other kids were a bit disappointed. When they all ran off to do their own things, Bruce quickly stopped you from joining them. 

“Next time you decide to decorate, let me know in advance.” 

“You don’t like it?”

“On the contrary, actually. What I don’t like is anyone in my household getting hurt.”

You nodded, trying to reason with yourself as to why you had butterflies in your stomach. 

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This was stuck in my head and i had to get it out

(Extra art below the cut)