#READ THIS ITS SO BASED

[beebopurr]

Uh, this is pretty long. I hope you like it!

———-

The prior lighthouse keeper warned April of the storms that raged the region.

Impenetrable weaves of clouds enfolding the sky, freezing volleys that shot through bone, frenzied waters made into maws and mountains. The storms were the main reason the lighthouse was one of the few in America that still manned a keeper. Cursed things, she was told, born from a cursed anger.

But when April saw a blue light flash from the southern coast of the island, she moved.

Outside, the world was narrowed to a 10 ft. beam of a flashlight. Rain pelted April’s face, mottling her glasses. Her boots slapped into ankle high pools that swallowed the footpath. The wind hadn’t quite picked up though, thankfully.

As April made her way down the crest of the island to the shore, she looked out for the blue light. It never flashed.

When she finally reached the beach, April heard more than saw the crashing of the angry waves. She swept her flashlight across the water’s edge for any sign of a ship. The light didn’t look like it could’ve come from anything bigger than a fishing boat. She began traveling along the coast. The island was small enough for her to search the entire stretch even under limited vision.

There. Gripped onto the fringes of the beach was a form that could’ve barely qualified the size of a rowboat.

Oh god.

April rushed forward. Were they out in the storm in that thing? Or did they come from a bigger ship, maybe to get help? She needed to––

April stopped her tracks.

Her gaze was held by dark, forward facing eyes.

They were breathing heavily. The movement pulled tight against the fish nets that ensnared their entire figure. And it was a figure. Long limbs, vertical torso, and a head perched on wide shoulders.

They were scaled. Green with yellow stripes, as far as April could tell under the weak lighting. A giant blue shell, like a turtle’s, enveloped their back, and their chest looked made up of hard armor. On their face, two red crescents stretched through the eyes. They were missing an arm.

For eternal moments, all April and the creature did was stare.

———-

The keeper was going to run. She was breathing heavily, her face scared.

The nets weren’t heavy, but locked under her gaze they crushed Leo like a thousand stones. He felt his pulse match the beating of the rain. The keeper took a step back from him.

She stopped. Leo’s breath stopped with her. The keeper’s face did something complicated; lips thinned, a crease pinched between her brows, eyes shut. Leo couldn’t decipher it.

When she looked at him again, the keeper didn’t run.

Humans that didn’t run from the unknown were dangerous. Either they were stupid, crazy, or saw something to gain. But when Leo looked at her hard gaze, her hands were low and open.

She took a slow step toward him. Leo clenched the sharp rock hidden behind his back. His head was the closest to her, with the water lapping at his feet.

Leo could bare his teeth at the keeper. He knew their human resemblance were unnerving. Snapping at her might run her off; but it might also just stall her.

Leo couldn’t afford back-and-forth struggling. By now, his brothers were looking for him. Worried about why he didn’t come home during the storm. If they found him now, tied at the feet of the new lighthouse keeper, there’d be no world where they’d stay out of sight and unknown. It’d be Leo’s fault for being careless and getting caught in the fish nets.

The keeper took another step, and slowly put her free hand into a pocket. She pulled out what Leo recognized as a switchblade. She held the knife loosely, aimed towards the clouds.

If the keeper got closer, Leo wouldn’t be able to bash her head in quick enough if she lunged at his neck. It would’ve been a different story if he had two arms. The new lighthouse keeper looked small, but she was tough if she got to the coast through the storm on her own. Though, If she truly meant harm, then Leo shouldn’t do anything at all.

Him and his brothers couldn’t hide from her forever on this tiny island. If the keeper was dangerous, then it was better that was learned now with Leo alone, than with any of his brothers.

When the keeper took another step closer, Leo didn’t react.

Steadily, she made her way close enough to kneel next to him. She looked at Leo, his face, as if asking for permission. And maybe she was. Leo lowered his head back to the wet pebbles and bared his neck towards her.

She placed her flashlight on the ground, and with her free hand reached for the heaviest knots that coiled around Leo’s throat. She pulled a handful taut, creating a gap. Carefully, the blade was inserted under the netting, and, sharp edge facing herself, the keeper pulled.

A series of snaps cracked through the air, and Leo felt the netting around his shoulders go slack. He took a breath.

The keeper moved down his chest and methodically repeated the same motions, cutting with sharp side pointed towards herself. She did this twice more around his legs, and when Leo moved to pull the rest of the rope off him she stepped back. He finally got his feet under him.

The water lapped at Leo’s feet, he threw the netting away from it. The cove where him and his brothers lived was safe from flooding, holding old warm blankets they scavenged from sailors and the lighthouse.

One of his brothers was there, probably Mikey, as  ancillary to check if Leo got back on own. By now, Raph and Donnie would still be looking for him. Leo would need to spin a tale for them, something about getting a bit tied up and briefly having to take shelter. Keep them from worrying. He looked at the waves. For a second, he just stared.

Leo turned around. The keeper matched his gaze, looking at his face. And there was that peculiar expression again. Something softer than fear. Whatever it was, Leo believed it was sincere.

The keeper opened her mouth, it was hard to hear her through the storm and waves. “You got anywhere to go? Somewhere safe?”

Leo didn’t answer. He stared at her.

“I, uh, I don’t know how much you can understand me, but I’ve got a place at the lighthouse. You could stay with me.”

Unwittingly, Leo’s gaze drifted up towards the shining beacon of the lighthouse, its unwavering light revolving through the rain. He couldn’t remember the last time he took shelter there from a storm. But he remembered the warm scaleless hands, the rough voice that deepened during the dramatic parts of the bedtime story.

Leo looked back at the keeper. She wasn’t like him. 

She didn’t run away though. She cut the ropes off Leo. Her eyes were green, he just noticed.

The keeper mimicked Leo’s glance towards the lighthouse behind her and hesitantly pointed towards it, “Yeah, the lighthouse. You wanna come?”

When she began walking towards the footpath that was flooded with puddles, Leo followed her.

I AM NOT LITERATE ENOUGH TO PROPERLY EXPRESS JUST HOW FUCKING COOL THIS IS

I've re-read it multiple times already it's so good... you get it.

The way the only reasons he could think of for her not to run away are a. She's dumb, b. She's crazy, or c. She wants something from him, is driving me nuts you literally hit the nail on the head

[insufferablemod]

You watch him hem and haw over answering, feet shifting, same beat up black shoes, scuffing the gravel, cape swishing behind him in a one-two step. The halo of his hair, bleached eery white in the street lamp, how the light never seems to catch the rim of his shades. You missed this, you think. The bits of him that are so unsettlingly inhuman, how he's so close to you, but just far enough that you couldn't reach to touch. - Metempsychosis

[choccy-milky]

part 3 to my modern AU 💞🍺 (part 1 / part 2)

[hinamie]

congrats on your recovery n all yuuji but unfortunately for you I thought the scars were cool >:/

[thebutchtheory]

the more i read about transandrophobia as a concept from 'transandrophobia truthers', the more i just end up feeling like these specific experiences are better explained under things like 'gender essentialism' or 'oppositional sexism', or that at the very least these terms need to be brought into discussion of transandrophobia more, but they aren't.

a lot of transandrobros end up coming off like MRAs because they're trying to describe experiences that they don't have proper wording for, and then go on to speak in ways that clearly shows they haven't unlearned [internalized] misogyny/toxic masculinity, gender essentialism and oppositional sexism themselves. often because they haven't read any theory on the subject, and because a lot of them outright refuse to read up on transfeminist theory or understand transmisogyny as a systemic force outside of 'misogyny that trans women experience' or 'transphobia that trans women experience'. then they go on to try and talk over trans women about transmisogyny, or speak about trans women discussing transmisogyny in some extremely bigoted ways because of it.

like, the amount of trans women discussing transmisogyny who have read or even written entire books about transmisogyny, transfeminism and feminism in general seems to be astronomical compared to the amount of trans men discussing transandrophobia that i KEEP seeing. i've seen trans men who have read theory, but they seem to be the bigger popular bloggers that others base their opinions off of, if that makes sense. as if other people in the community are trying to theorize on what people who have actually read theory are saying, without reading any theory themselves.

so much of what transmascs experience is related to misogyny, but it's also related to gender essentialism, oppositional sexism, and toxic masculinity--all things which the trans community has taken from cisgender heterosexual society and applied it to themselves in a way that is Queer Inclusive This Time, yet they never question it.

i'm BEGGING transandrophobia truthers to read books about trans oppression, and to bring this language into your vocabulary when discussing your experiences. when i started doing that with my experiences as a butch on T, it gave me a new perspective on all of it, and the queer community itself.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

Lackadaisy Enrichment

[prettyboykatsuki]

cw for ; cheating like really bad cheating dskfsk, mind games, bisexual reader (its relevant!!!), emotional sadism, yandere in the most uncomfortable flavor, and sexuality fuckery.

readers gender is intentionally left neutral!!. @p00pdev1l tag for my beloved.

You can feel yourself starting to cry again.

You have a headache. The noise of the izakaya is flooding out into the streets. Even with alcohol and cigarettes and other distractions, you can't help but feel like you're about to throw up. The dry-heave works itself up to your throat, and you smoke a little to shove it back down.

You were careful this time.

When you hear footsteps walk themselves next to you, and see nice black dress shoes from your gaze is downcast - you already know it's Suguru.

You feel yourself getting sick again. Your voice is hoarse, scratchy with pain and tears. You're unimaginably angry at him, and you're sure if you were a little drunker, you'd take your pocket knife to his throat.

But the words don't come. You're so frustrated you just ended up crying again, hiccuping. Something falls onto your shoulders, a jacket that smells like cologne.

That wakes you up, makes you turn your head to one side. Your heartbeat is hard and loud, and your anger is the only thing in your body. Your seething, all hard lines and rage.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

He shrugs. "It's cold. You'll get sick."

"Don't act like you give a single fuck about me, you psychopath."

His reaction to that is cold. Makes your blood run cold. "Call me whatever you want but don't say I don't care about you."

"Fuck off, Suguru," The feeling of his name is intimate in the same way knives are. Sharp against the roof of your mouth because of the smooth way the syllables slice. The familiarity of a cut. "Go inside and fuck off. Go be with..." Your words trail off.

"I'd rather be out here," He assures, then shrugs. He joins you in smoking, but you turn your gaze back to the pavement so you don't have to look. "She'll be fine without me."

There's a lot of things you don't understand about him. What you understand least though is this. How long has it gone on? How long did he plan on doing this?

The first time Getou stole the girl you loved from you, you're nearly too heartbroken to stay friends with him. It was your first real crush. A girl in the same year as you. You loved her. She smelled soft like roses and put her head in your lap. You managed to confess to her despite yourself at the end of your second-year.

She was your friend, still - even as she let you down gently. Told you that she had a boyfriend now. He was your friend, actually.

The first time it happened, you thought about cutting your ties with Getou. He didn't pretend to be apologetic to you, said she was cute and he liked her. He didn't say he was sorry.

Instead he said: "You shouldn't be with a girl who could get over you so easily." And leaves it at that.

You almost got physical with him, you remember. Gojo stopped you.

Over the years, the incident becomes pattern enough to recognize. The first is a mistake, the second a frustrating coincidence. The third time it happens you do get into an altercation. Each time Getou confronts you he says the same thing. That if a girl really loved you, she wouldn't been with him so easily. If a girl really loved you, she shouldn't have been so easy for him to persuade.

You think abut killing him. It's so frustrating, so humiliating, so painful it nearly puts you in therapy. The fourth time in happens, you try to cut him off but you can't. Your lives are so tied together you can't avoid seeing him and for whatever reason he can't leave you alone.

When there's no one you're interested in, he's your friend after all. That's the strangest part. The part that makes the least sense, that he acts like your fucking friend when he does that to you but he does it again and again and again. It hurt less when it was just puppy crushes. Eventually you grew numb to it. Gave up on love for a while.

When you meet Mikoto, you don't make the mistake of showing your interest. You especially don't show it around Getou. On the job, a sorcerer from a branch in the Nara prefecture who's recently moved. A nice woman with black hair and soft eyes, you seek her friendship first and don't let yourself indulge in anything more.

You don't dote on her more than friends. You don't show your feelings off. You don't tell anyone, not even Gojo whom you tell everything, or Shoko - who you tell when you don't want Getou finding out. You bury the feeling of love in yourself and hope they die there. You hope she ends up with anyone but you, or you in some miracle.

You fall in love with her because it's who you are. Getou shows up with her at your gathering the minute you begin to accept it.

If he doesn't hate you, it must be something much stronger. Disgust or pure disdain. Something stronger than hate must drive him to do this so perpetually.

It's not even something you can tell anyone. What do you tell girls before you go out with them? What do you say to people when they ask why you and him act so odd?

There's nothing to say. Nothing to explain. It's so fucked up that you wouldn't even know where to begin.

Your voice is trembling as you take another drag of your cigarette. "How did you know?"

He laughs a little. "You make it obvious."

"Why do you keep doing this to me...?" You ask, defeated. Broken, maybe. "....I really loved her."

Getou shrugs again. You can tell even if you don't see it. "She was the same as the rest of them. I'm doing you a favor."

"Do you even like her?"

He takes a drag of his cigarette and looks at you a little longer than you expct. "So-so."

"I hate you," You give up on everything else, letting your cigarette fall to the ground. Your voice is shot. "You're fucking horrible. Just leave me alone. Please, please just leave me alone."

There's a minute of silence there. He stamps his own cigarette out and sighs. "You should come in. You'll catch a cold." You don't reply. He sighs again. "I'll buy you a drink."

You break down in tears all over again.

When you're in highschool, you date Satoru for a week.

Suguru remembers this. It's one of the only things about his highschool experience that feel standout. A defining moment of his youth, where the two of you try it just because everyone says you should and neither of you really like it. You end up being friends again, laughing it off after it happens.

But he hated it.

There was a pit in his stomach the entire week. Even though you barely dated, and only really held hands as a joke - Suguru hated it. You kissed Satoru too, you confessed. He was a decent kisser, but you didn't feel much.

It was a joke of a relationship. Still.

He remembers too, the first time you had your first real crush. Up until then, you'd really never thought of anyone else. There was no one for Suguru to care about. But he remembers exactly when it happened, and where - how the four of you were slacking off in the storage room, passing around Shoko's cigarette. He remembers the way you got embarrassed telling them about her. How you could barely keep the smile off of your face.

The first time Suguru steals someone from you, it's during highschool. It wasn't because he had really wanted her. He hated her. Hated how she smiled at you and hated how innocently she spoke. But when he stepped closer to her, she blushed.

It was to get her to fall for him. And that wouldn't do, he didn't think. How could you like someone with so little resolve? When she couldn't be even a little loyal to you?

He asked her out on a whim that time. But he saw how angry it made you. How your eyes were wet with tears and how much you hated him in that moment.

How much you thought of him. Have you ever before then? Considered him so much? Suguru didn't think so.

It becomes an obsession, Suguru can admit. It didn't really matter who it was, though it'd been mostly girls. Anyone you showed interest in. Anyone who caught your eye. Suguru got their first and you always, always looked so miserable about it. Like a puppy who can't get on a couch, he thinks.

He prefers when you've already been with them. He prefers knowing that your skin has touched theirs. The parts of you that linger in their life become Suguru's so wholly. When he can smell your scent and taste your cigarette smoke. It'd be better if it was you, but there was something gratifying in this.

In the roundabout ways of finding you. Of seeing pictures of you in their phone, or of tasting you. It's like being with you, even though it's never enough. Always wants to make him break you more.

He likes when they cheat on you with him. He likes when it's just after. They get some cheap thrill out of it. Suguru can entertain it even if it disgusts him.

It's the only way your shirts end up in his closet. The only way he can smell your new shampoo so deeply because you share it. They think that he must hate you. He's sure you think that too.

But that's not it. He couldn't hate you. All the people he's ever fucked, he's tried to find evidence of your intimacy with them. Kiss marks he didn't leave on their skin, clothes they don't own, music they wouldn't normally listen to. You would. They're all yours.

He'd ask about you to them. Often. Listen to the parts of yourself that you'd been trying to keep secret from him.

He'd take it all by force and discard them all afterwards. That was all he wanted. You were all he wanted.

He liked seeing you angry with him. Liked seeing you cry and weep. Liked that you couldn't go anywhere or love anyone without thoughts of him following you and haunting you.

Satoru thinks he should just ask you out already. Suguru doesn't think he's broken you down enough. You need it to hurt a little more. You need to think of him a little more until you can't love anyone else.

Suguru wants to see you hurt a little more. Until you're so broken you're really begging. When he brings her with him today, you react even worse than he could have hoped for it. He shivers a little thinking about it.

He's getting closer to really breaking you, he thinks.

He looks at you now as he puts out his cigarette, broken from his thoughts.

"You should come in. You'll catch a cold." You don't reply. He sighs again. "I'll buy you a drink."

Suguru turns around to leave after he says it. Goes back inside. Before the door of the izakaya closes again, he can hear the way you sob so desperately.

He smiles at that. Just a little.

[do-you-know-this-queer-character]

Do you know this queer character?

Murderbot is Agender, Aromantic, and Asexual and uses it/its pronouns!

[seiwas]

sellllllll it's meeeeee. hehehehehehehehehhehe

so for ur writing exercises.... deku + light? please? pretty please?

:3c

heheh heheh hehe niku. this will be the death of me. me writing izuku for the first time 🥲 i will only do this for you </3

contains: established relationship, spoilers for the end of the manga, aged up deku but sometime in between the final outcome (he doesn't get the h*** s*** from bakugo yet), mentions of sex and scars

deku + light

izuku only sleeps with the lights off.

it isn't uncommon; many people you know can't sleep with even just a sliver of light turned on somewhere in the room. but the difference with izuku, you learn, is not that he's unable to stand the light―it's that he refuses to.

you quickly pick up on it the first few times he sleeps over.

he fidgets in bed, pretty badly, actually. the nightlight you sleep with glows a warm yellow, illuminating the side of your face and coating him in its afterglow. you chalk it up to nerves, how he pulls at his sleeves and adjusts his position constantly; he is, after all, one of the most anxious people you know.

and this relationship―it's new. heck, even you feel a little jittery with his arm wrapped around you.

the rhythmic tapping on your hip only increases pace. you don't think he realizes it, so your hand gently reaches for his, intertwining your fingers as you turn around in his arms.

he's close, nearly touching you nose-to-nose; the proximity leaves you fuzzy, a little ticklish, so you giggle, a soft "oops," as the freckles dusting his face almost glisten under the warm light.

"hi," you whisper, meeting his eyes; they stare back at you wide in surprise, "can't sleep?"

he looks almost guilty at your question, as if you’ve caught him with the one thing he's been trying to keep from you.

"just—" his voice comes out louder than intended, prompting him to chuckle nervously as he readjusts his volume, "just winding down, sorry."

you inch closer, nuzzling his nose lightly, "it's okay."

"did i wake you?" he asks, cheeks flushing pink as his eyebrows furrow in immediate concern. his expression is something caught between stifling a grin and feeling sorry.

you shake your head against the pillow you share, strands of your hair tangling with his. "just winding down," you tease, watching as his gaze turns softer, eyelids drooping heavier.

sometimes, you think, izuku holds the world in his eyes―a deep, dark green, the color of life. most times, they look at you with wonderment, bright and alive; photos from inko tell you they're the eyes of his inner child.

on nights like this one, however, they hide a depth in them weighted by what you can only assume is time, and all that has happened to him in such a short span of it.

you try your best to understand what lies beneath them, knowing full well he'll never tell you outright what truly bothers him.

"is it the light?" you bring up, some time after laying in silence.

"hm?" he clarifies.

"do you have a hard time sleeping with the nightlight?"

his eyes widen briefly once more, as if shocked that you've caught him again. these split second reactions are ones you've learned to be attentive to when it comes to izuku.

"no," he tries to lie, but you know better as you turn to your nightstand and reach for its switch, "you don't–"

"it was hurting my eyes," you quickly make up an excuse, tucking yourself closer under his chin as you cut off his attempt to deny it again.

finding out that the light was the problem was the easy part—

you'd begun to notice much earlier on that izuku was barely rested on the nights he'd spend at your place. it was only when your old nightlight broke that you began to notice him waking up much later than you did, groggily rousing from a deep sleep.

—what was hard, was figuring out why.

at first, you suspected it was his scars.

"s-sorry, it's not—" he'd warned you, right as your hands gripped the hem of his shirt the first time you were about to have sex, "—it's not nice."

you didn't care though; you still don't care, and you've made that abundantly clear to him since. you love izuku and all his parts―all the nicks and jaggedy pieces of skin that make up who he is.

when you eventually ask him about it, with a request that he be honest with you for once, he tells you that it is and it isn't―the reason why he exclusively sleeps with the lights off, that is.

it's an odd, comforting relationship he has with his body—that he is simultaneously grateful and sorry for how its become a canvas, both painted and marred to symbolize japan’s historic last stand.

you find out the real reason when you catch him staring at his hands.

he does it often, when he thinks you aren't looking—his fists bunched up in the same way he used to watch the power of one for all course through his fingertips; the same way he used to prepare them in battle.

there’s a faraway look in his eyes that lingers, you notice—a little wistful if anything.

“do you miss it?” you finally ask. he gives you the same shocked look he does every time, as if he’s been caught with a secret he’s been trying to hide.

he’s learned a fair bit about you now, too, though—lying to you is futile when you’ve perfected reading his truth. he stares at his fists again as you take a seat beside him, moving to give you space. you rest your head on his shoulder gently, waiting.

“sometimes,” he admits, but you know it’s an understatement.

“i think about the vestiges a lot. i miss them the most, i think,” he continues, clenching his fists tightly, “i always try to reach out to them, but i guess it doesn’t work that way.”

“i… i try to replicate the right conditions every night, but…” then he lets go, stretching his fingers out wide. the scars on the surface ripple through his skin, telling its own story.

you hum, acknowledging what he means. silence sits with the two of you as you take his hand in yours, slowly unfurling his fingers until his palm reveals itself to you. it’s rough to the touch, seasoned with hard work and all that he’s been through.

“is that why you prefer the dark?” you ask softly, after some time.

it's not often that you stay up later than izuku does. when you do though, you catch him shifting in bed, moving from side-to-side. you pretend you aren't awake, but you hear him mumble their names, dwindling in volume as he dozes off to sleep.

he stares at his palm for a moment before he admits quietly, "yeah." his brows furrow as if contemplating whether to say more, but he shakes his head, dark green strands swaying to the beat of his embarrassed chuckle, "nevermind, it's silly."

"it's not."

you intertwine your fingers, sandwiching his hand between yours. a slight sheen glosses over his eyes as he tilts his head up to look at you. he draws in a breath, before it spills over.

"it's..." he finds the words, and you squeeze his hand in comfort, "it's easier to believe it was all real when the lights are out, and that maybe it can happen again."

[autisticaradiamegido]

day 169

this is it, the dynamic

[anbaisai]

Happy birthday to @crystallizsch and the lovely Yuusha! May you have another wonderful year full of happiness and currynoodles💜

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Smell Check [Easy: Failure]

MDZS Disco Elysium AU part 1 (part 2 - part 3)

[mechadria]

im honestly still just as wary about the next season of the witcher even after the table read -

because it was never about liam's acting skills.

do i think henry cavill was a spectacular match for geralt?

yeah. but not only because of his looks or his acting: he GOT geralt and the witcher in general. he's a massive nerd who knows the franchise like he wrote it himself and was a big reason (not the sole, but a big one) that the show kept on track and was even somewhat faithful to the original material.

but i don't believe cavill did a regé jean-page and like. left to seek stardom or whatever. this was a passion project too for him, you could tell.

no, I'm wary of the future of witcher because of the higher ups involved.

so what DID the people who disagreed so hard with him he quit the project do? well, they needed a 7000 word letter from joey batey and the fanbase pleading just to allow jaskier to be queer like he (pretty much) canonically is. didn't need incentive from anyone to create fake gay motives for the worse villain of the story, though. didn't need incentive to completely ruin one of the most beloved characters of the franchise, or let his actor get harassed on socials after the swap without ever saying shit.

i do not trust that these people, who have proven callous, arrogant and ignorant about both the source material and the opinions of the fanbase (and have made some choices nearing bigotry) and who disagreed so heavily with the actor who knew the source material best are capable of producing a good season 4. liam or no liam. am i hoping he's a good geralt? yes, the series and other actors don't deserve to have their performance harmed by him. can it be as good as the seasons cavill was in? for the reasons cited above: fuck no.

[thursdaymoonrise11]

Modern AU: Hogwarts Legacy

Two seconds earlier...

A chance meeting in a bookshop📖✨

I really just wanted to draw Sebastian and Phoebe as if they were both living in North East London and are the most INSUFFERABLE, sustainable, soft boy/girl versions of themselves lol (and that isn't complete without the secret history, sally rooney and THOSE tote bags)

I had to really fight giving Seb a moustache

(and because everyone and their uncle is reading intermezzo atm)

[birdy-babe]

ME JUST REALIZING THAT "stols" IS CANON!??!?!?!? WHEN I THOUGHT IT WAS FANON/ A HEADCANON THIS WHOLE TIME?!?!?!?

THROWING UP, SOBBING, SLIDING DOWN A WALL, SCREAMING, KICKING MY FEET AND GIGGLING

[2000dragonarmy]

HEY GUYS OH MY GOSH I AM SO EXCITED FOR THIS

KATYDID AND ZYLA SWEETBEAN MADE A DFO FIC WHERE THE HUMANS ARE SPACE ORCS AND WHEN I FOUND OUT I WAS MELTING IN MY SEAT FROM EXCITEMENT

They have been so awesome and let me in on the writing process and AKDHSKAJHD LET ME TELL YOU ITS SO GOOD

But anyway here's some art and a link!!! please read you will not regret it!!!!!!!!