#i can't escape the bastard

[kaixserzz]

Hellooo!!! Just came by to wish you well Kai!! Hope you're doing alrighty and are having a good week :3

Take this dottore concept art 🔥🔥🔥🔥

HII POOKIE omg i was literally just staring at my drafts and crying bc I WANNA WRITE SO BAD BUT MY BRAIN WONT LET ME 💔💔 i've been doing a bit well, WBU??? HRU?? 🥺🥺

DHSDSAHDSA ALSO AN OWL???? I LOVE THAT... HE EVEN HAS THE FRILLS TOO OMG... one of them has the bowtie im crying 😭😭😭😭 i think the crow fits him so much better but the owl is SOOO cute

[bonefall]

Feel free to ignore you've probably got a lot going on right now, but considering you know a lot about DOTC and Clear sky, I had a question...

We know that he's a terrible, misogynistic, woman beating and war mongering lunatic who was excused of all his actions because his equally misogynistic brother said " But-But he's nice! Deep down! This isn't the real him! "

But! In a world where the Hunters could write such a character, what do you think Clear Sky would look like as an actual sympathetic villain?

Idk if that makes sense, but what I've thought of doing is taking purely cannon Clear Sky and attempting to change him enough that he's still an antagonist, but not too far where only Reddit defends him.

I don't think he works as a sympathetic villain, on any level, ever. I think you're making a huge mistake to even try, and I have never seen an AU where it was done well nor am I interested in entertaining the thought.

Characters. Are. Tools. They exist to tell a story. The story that people tell me, by obsessing over some alternate universe where he was "ACTUALLY sympathetic and had a REAL redemption arc," is that they're not fucking interested in his dozens of victims. Nor do they actually care about the abusive impact he had on the minds and feelings of his family. They're JUST interested in Clear Sky himself.

Just like the Erins. Everything that happens in DOTC revolves around him. Everything. All his wives die so he can be sad about it. His brother defends all of his actions and BEGS you to sympathize with his pain so he can be 'redeemable.' One Eye comes out of nowhere so that there can be an example of "real" evil to contrast Clear Sky so he's less bad in hindsight.

The first three books of DOTC are bad, but the last three are fucking insufferable because SUDDENLY all that Gray Wing apologia pays off, and they take their main villain and throw him out a window. You CAN'T have "redeemable" Clear Sky and the plot of DOTC without dragging in someone else to drive the conflict, to BE the bigger threat to "unite" against. Slash and One Eye have to be conjured up out of thin air so Clear Sky can WHINE about how people only suck his toes instead of deepthroat them after he killed all their friends.

And yet, in spite of this absolute failure of an attempt, we continue to see this bullshit "redemption" be a mistake because Clear Sky is a fantastic villain, with major antagonist roles in nearly EVERY bit of follow-up material for DOTC that came after.

He's the most consistent monster in all of Warriors.

He's a fragile, egotistical, self-absorbed megalomaniac who ALWAYS sees himself as the victim, REFUSING to self-reflect and blaming everything else for all of his terrible choices. He will USE your love of him against you like it's a chain through your nose, step out of line and he will yank you into place with guilt trips, manipulation, public shaming, and violence.

He's a child abuser. He's a tyrant. He abandons the sick and disabled as soon as they're of no use to him, with grand speeches about "illness" and "weakness." He's a murderer who stands above the shredded corpse of his victim and bellows, "I'M NOT GREEDY! I'M JUST STRONG!"

And you'd write a "good" redemption arc for this, why?

Why are people so chronically unable to accept that there are LOTS of people like him, and you can't save your abuser? Why don't you ask yourselves why you're not interested in exploring Thunder, or Petal, or Gray Wing, and how his toxic influence impacts them? Why does the sympathy fall on Clear Sky? What about the DOZENS of victims who are dead by Book 3, and how THEY could have been saved?

Why ruin a perfectly good villain?

What's behind this trend where a billion people say to me, "Yes Clear Sky is a walking cavalcade of fucked up abuse apologia, and an incredibly realistic depiction of an abuser, but how would you change this while keeping it all the same?"

I wouldn't. You can't. It wouldn't be the same story, or it wouldn't be the same character. Never seen it done well, and I have seen it a lot. So I don't entertain this deeply frustrating "Well What If Clear Sky But Nice" impulse.

[astriefer]

We fail as a fandom if we don't talk more about the fact Alastair teaches Ari's pet parrot rude persian words (and will not be stopped even by a very tall person's opinion on the matter)

[withywindle-valley]

This One Guy in the group chat won't shut the fuck up about the rugby every weekend knowing full well we're an AFL chat over the Winter like bro you were supporting the Lions last year read the room

[wanyinchen]

We all know that S3 is gonna be about the Second Coming-slash-Final Judgement blah blah blah blah blah but what i NEED is for Jesus to radiate so much little sibling energy™. I need them and Crowley to be a chaotic-sibling-bestie duo ok??? It's one of the only ways i can heal

[ouranbutworse]

the people on twitter who liked this and caused it to pop up on my dash are dead now

[shirogane-oushirou]

so guess who just came out of a... /checks clock/ 12 hour fugue state? :')

...aka i need my little guy to be finished tomorrow so i can squeeze him in my fist on monday as i Suffer ksjndkjsndf

[i-am-become-a-name]

the more I listen to new audios with Braxiatel in them (and relisten to old ones) as part of the Year of Braxiatel, the more and more I am just genuinely unsure of what I think about him.

[twicecut]

oh my stars wait also. diego's stutter when he realizes he's lost grace???

diego loves his android mom SO much. SOOO much.

he'll 1v1 anyone who treats her like anything less than a living, loving, existing person who was just as much a victim of reginald hargreeves' abuse as anyone else.

[bunnyb34r]

Well we know hermit crabs don't get smarter with age... but they sure do get cuter! Happy 8th birthday Gurkle! I cant believe you've been a little Baby Menace in my life for this long! Here's to many more G-Man!!

[cherrie-blue-s]

HELP IBRAHIM'S FAMILY ESCAPE GAZA!!

DONATE TO THIS LINK:

Please help raise the donations for him and his family, if you can't, shares and likes are much appreciated!

@nabulsi @commissions4aid-international

@ana-bananya @norrriey @zagreuses-art @lesbianmaxevans @waci-illstr @heritageposts @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @schoolhater @apollos-olives @appsa @90-ghost @soon-palestine @magnus-rhymes-with-swagness @troythecatfish @the-bastard-king @paper-mario-wiki @sabertoothwalrus @saberghatz @vague-humanoid @palms-upturned

[ozzgin]

I'm in my parody mood again. I'm so sorry. You have to attend a yandere school: quite literally, an academy designed to train you into a proper yandere. Except you're terrible at it. So pathetic, in fact, that all the yandere-to-be students and teachers have to help you. And now they're slowly but surely falling for you. Content: gender neutral reader, horde of yanderes, parody

"For the last time, (Y/N)..." the teacher sighs, mild frustration creasing his features. "You can't be a cool and aloof yandere if you look this tense."

"I thought I'm supposed to obsessively stare at my crush from the window", you argue, waving away some cherry blossom petals that were blown by the wind straight into your face.

"Yes, but no one can tell you're a yandere yet. Your gaze must be indifferent, idle, bored. Do you understand?"

You're a lost cause. The older man readjusts your body's position with pursed lips. You'll never be a proper yandere with this attitude. He should be angry about it - Yan Academy dons an unmatched reputation of flawless success. Every student graduates with impeccable results. Well, except for you. And yet, he's almost enjoying the repeated efforts, the daily observations, the additional training you require.

A thought crosses his mind: what would you even do without his help? You'd be lost. You need him to succeed. He shakes his head in embarrassment, swiftly shoves his glasses further up the nose, and coughs.

"Meet me after class. I'll be in my office."

"Again?"

The words escape your lips before you can stop yourself. His brows furrow, and he lifts your chin with his index finger, responding in a deeper voice:

"Yes. Until you learn to act properly, (Y/N)."

“What’re you doing now? We were going to hang out at my place, so we can practice efficient stalking methods.”

Your classmate smiles at you, almost pleadingly. Oh, if only you’d join them. How else will you manage? He can already picture your confused, innocent expression as you try to keep up with them.

You were made to be stalked, not the other way around.

“I can’t”, you whine. “Teacher wants me to stay behind again.”

The students stare at you with a peculiar glimmer in their eye. This bastard…is he trying to keep you all to himself? He should be minding his damn business and leave such matters to people who’re closer to you. They know you better. They’d do a much better job at…training you.

You feel a tug behind you. The classmate removes your backpack and throws it over his shoulder.

“Fuck that. You’re coming with me.”

[More parodies original work] | [Part 2] | [Part 3]

[lasnevadaslaborunion]

It frightens and discourages me how pervasive "tribal" stereotypes and imagery are in the fantasy and adventure genres.

It's all over the place in classic literature. Crack open a Jules Verne novel and you're likely to find caricatures of brown people and cultures, even when the characters are sympathetic to the plight of the colonized peoples - incidentally, this is the biggest reason I can't recommend 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea to everyone, despite Captain Nemo being one of my favorite fictional characters of all time.

You can't escape it in modern cinema, either. You'll see white heroes venturing bravely into jungles and tombs to steal from natives who don't know how to use their resources "properly." You'll see them strung up in traps, riddled with sleeping darts, forced to flee and fight their way out. Hell, Pirates of the Caribbean, a remarkably inclusive franchise in many other ways, had an extended sequence of the white heroes escaping from a cannibal civilization in the second film.

And when fantasy RPGs want a humanoid enemy, the "bloodthirsty natives" are the first stock trope they jump to. World of Warcraft is one of the most egregious examples, with the trolls - blatant racist caricatures with faux-voodoo beliefs, cannibalistic diets, Jamaican accents, and a history of being killed in droves by (white) elves and humans - being raided and slaughtered in nearly every expansion.

It doesn't matter how vibrant and distinctive the real-world indigenous, Polynesian, Caribbean, and African cultures are. It doesn't matter how much potential these real civilizations offer for complex and sympathetic characterization. Anything that doesn't make sense to the white western mind is shoved under the same "savage" umbrella. They're different. They're strange. They're scary. They have to be escaped, subjugated, eliminated, ogled at from the safety of a museum.

Modern writers, directors, and developers don't even seem to realize how horrifying it is to present the indigenous inhabitants of a place as "obstacles" for non-native protagonists to overcome. "It's not racist," they say, "because these people aren't really people, you see." And if you dare to point out anything that hurts or offends you as a descendant of the bastardized culture, you're accused of being the real racist: "These aren't humans! They're monsters! Are you saying that these real societies are just like those disgusting monsters?"

No, they're not monsters. But you chose to design them as monsters, just as invaders have done for hundreds of years. Why would you do that? Why can you recognize any other caricature as evil and cruel, but not this?

This is how deep colonialism runs.

[writersdrug]

I need the bartender Simon having to escape upstairs for a few minutes just to control the monster in his pants just because of a more direct provocation from the reader

I was saving this ask and I think this is the perfect moment after Simon sees reader in his shirt, no?

Warnings: NSFW, masturbation, sex toy, pining, daydreaming about p in v sex

He doesn't dare go up to his room - even after the bar is closed, after you and Johnny are both gone, after his tasks are complete. His mind has been scrambled ever since you came down in his shirt, looking like you'd just woken up from having a nap in his bed. He knew that wasn't the case, but it was so easy to pretend. You made it easy, looking like wearing his shirt was just your typical Friday outfit. If he tried hard enough, sitting at the bar after hours, sipping on an Old Fashioned- he could imagine you were up there right now, lying stomach-first in his bed, wearing his shirt, with "LT RIELY" on your back - you weren't objective, he certainly doesn't think of you like that - but having his claim on you aroused the most primal part inside him. If only you could see what you've done. Did you even know it?

Price comes lumbering down the stairs. Simon doesn't bother to look at him; he sits at the bar, his Old Fashioned long gone, with an empty whiskey glass and the mostly-full bottle next to him. He was hoping to replace the thought of you with drinking, but he didn't have the stomach for it.

"I'm plannin' to see if Garrick wants to join the team." Price says, shrugging on his jacket. "I know he wanted to be his own man, but we could use him. Our girl's made this place quite popular."

Simon wants to spit out the words he'd just heard. Our girl. Whose girl? John's? Soap's? The entire pub? It was his name on your back. Not Price. Not MacTavish. He was the one you came to with all those receipts, numbers scribbled in the margins, trusting him to help you ward them off. Sure, you have fun with everyone, asking them all for help - but you go to him the most easily, whenever you need to feel safe. Bad customers, bad situations - you looked to him. Didn't that mean anything to Price?

He doesn't respond to his captain, choosing to stare at his empty glass instead. Price looks at him quizzically.

"Feelin' alright, there?"

Simon grunts. "Long day."

Price knows he's bullshitting him. He knows exactly what this is about. He sighs, pulling his beanie on and tucking the money pouch into his jacket. "If you want 'er, Simon, tell me to back off. Can't read your mind."

That has him pursing his lips, grip tight around the sides of his glass. He would have punched John, was he any other man. He knows exactly what Simon's thinking, yet he makes him work for it. Typical. His pride and his jealousy are fighting tooth and nail against each other, but he can barely say a word.

Price stands there a moment, waiting for Simon to speak - but he doesn't even spare the owner a glance. Bastard's always punishing himself... he thinks, sighing again.

"Bright and early tomorrow, lad." He says, heading towards the kitchen. "Lights off when you're done here." He knows Simon's capable of closing, but he repeats it every night regardless.

"Sir."

Price stops, halfway through the kitchen door. He looks at Simon, who's now staring directly back at him. There's a look in his face, something that reminds him of Ghost - the reason he became his right-hand man.

"Respectfully..." he says slowly. "Back off."

Price almost finds it comical. Like an animal staking its claim, staring at its rival - except they’re not rivals. The only reason Simon is bothering to play his captain's game, asking for permission to have what Price would happily hand over, is because he's his superior. Even if they're all retired from the SAS, no one ever really dropped the dynamics of the team.

He smiles, nodding his head once. "Understood." He says, shoving himself through the kitchen door. "But hurry up and say somethin' to 'er. I'm sick of you losing your mind during the rush."

With that, Simon hears him leave through the back door. He stays there for a moment, his mind reeling - he feels both satisfied and angry at the same time. It was a bit humiliating to tell Price to leave you for himself - you don't belong to him. But that was a problem he was going to fix. You had his name on your back-

For Christ’s sake, he’s got to give it a rest. You wore his shirt, that was all. You wore it – with no bra. Bare. Naked underneath the 141’s insignia, under his title.

And that damn bra is still in his room.

He can’t take it anymore. He unscrews the whiskey bottle and takes a few swigs, before slamming it back onto the bar top. He leaves the bottle and the glass there as he gets up, making his way across the floor, up the stairs, passing the office, and continuing up to his studio flat.

Nothing seems out of the ordinary. If you’d gone snooping, you either did a good job of hiding the evidence, or you didn’t really rifle through too much. His bed was untouched, his books and items where he had put them last – he goes into his drawers, checking to see if you had gone through anything other than his shirts. Considering everything is still where it should be, he assumed not. Though you did leave a mess in his shirt drawer – you’d been digging around in there until you found his old SAS shirt. Did you mean to do that? Were you looking for something with his name on it, just to drive him insane?

He goes back into his top drawer, muttering a curse as he pushes the contents aside. His cock is pulsing in his pants as he grabs his pocket pussy, slamming the drawer shut and heading towards his bed. He doesn't want to draw this one out - this is nothing more than a wank, just to get you out of his head. He sits at the foot of his bed and unbuttons his jeans, pulling his hard length out of his briefs – it bounces up and slaps against his abdomen, precum already smeared across the tip. He’s been hard for hours now, trying not to cum in his pants at the thought of your tits rubbing against the inside of his shirt. Do you have small, pebbly nipples? Or ones that are soft and pliant? He growls as he smears the tip of his cock against the lips of the toy, rubbing up and down the slit. He sighs, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. You’re there, rubbing your lips on his cock, your hand wrapped tightly around his shaft as you stare up at him, licking and kissing his tip like a good girl…

He scowls and opens his eyes, sitting upright – he sees your bra hanging off the back of his chair, and he nearly passes out form how quickly the blood rushes to his cock. Pink lace, delicate and kinda skimpy… and your shirt, crumpled on the seat of the chair. You’d forgotten to shove them into your bag before you left. Or did you do this on purpose?

He's reaching out before he realizes it, slowly standing up and heading towards the chair. He wants to grab your bra, rub his cock in it until he stains it with his thick cum – but something in the back of his mind keeps him from touching it. One, it’s purely you, and he doesn’t want to ruin that. Two, he’s trying to cum. Not to cum to you. He’s doing this to get rid of your image in his head.

So, he goes for the next best thing. He grabs your shirt and sits back down on the edge of the bed. He lines himself up with his fleshlight and brings your shirt to his face; no wonder the drinks had turned it translucent, it was the thinnest fabric he had ever felt. Practically skin.

He presses it against his face and inhales: the scent of you, sweet, floral and spicy, fills his mind. It makes it all to easy to imagine that you’re sinking down onto his cock, and not that he’s stuffed it as far as he can into the toy. He groans, his eyelids fluttering shut as he pumps his hips once, then again… the tightness of the fleshlight slides over him easily, offering no resistance with the precum acting as a lube while he grinds up into it, heat knotting in his gut. The waist of his jeans hugs his thighs as he slowly and steadily pulses towards the ceiling, taking deep breaths of your scent.

He feels like an animal. Dirty, cheap, and desperate. He has to remind himself that it’s not about you, it’s about having a good wank and getting you out of his head. He drops your shirt on his chest and uses his free hand to cup his balls, groaning as he massages them. The schlick of the fleshlight around his dick is loud, the sensation borderline painful as he quickly fucks into it, curses spilling past his lips as he slams the thing down to the base of his length, catching on the Jacob’s ladder piercing on the underside, then back to the tip.

He shouldn’t, but he lets his mind slip elsewhere. What would you be doing? Would you have your hands on his chest, lips parted in a moan as you drop your hips onto his thighs, your cunt dripping and squeezing around his member…? What are you doing now? Are you still wearing his shirt? Are you lying back on your bed, playing with your breasts under the fabric and using your other hand to toy with your pussy? What do you sound like? Are you saying his name, or can you make any sound at all?

He falls back against the bed. “Fuck fuck fuck-“ he mumbles. He’s caught himself in a trap here – he can’t allow himself to indulge in the thought of you, begging him to take your hips and buck up into you – but it’s impossible to get you out of his head. Even if he could, he doesn’t think he’d be able to cum without you. He squeezes his fist around the fleshlight, groaning loudly from the pain, trying to drown out the sounds of your moans in his head… you’re always there, ever present, leaning over him and whimpering in his ear, need you, Simon, wanna cum on your cock, want it inside-

It's all too much for him, but not enough. He turns himself over, climbing up to his knees on the bed. He props himself up on his forearm, holding the fleshlight with his other hand as he ruts into it, stuffing his cock in as far as it will go, until the lips are smashed against the base. He pants and groans, mouth hanging open as he hovers over the bed; over you, holding one of your thighs up, touching his forehead against yours, watching as you’re covered in a layer of sweat, tits bouncing with each violent thrust of his hips. Both wrists secured above your head with one of his meaty hands, whimpers and whines spilling from your mouth as you struggle to remain coherent. Your cunt swallows him greedily, hugs him tightly, pulses around him, coaxes him to pound into you harder and harder, your walls twitching as slick gushes around him, your fingers digging into the back of his hand as you cry out his name, “Simon, Simon, Simon”-

He hisses through his teeth as his balls seize up, his abdomen going taut and his dick twitching in the toy. He rips the fleshlight off and grabs your shirt without a second thought, wrapping it tight around his cock and pumping it. “Gonna cum, gonna cum- fuck- oh, fuck-!” He mumbles to no one as his orgasm is ripped from him, hips canting repeatedly as cum spurts into the fabric of your shirt, leaking out around his thighs as he thrusts into it, thighs aching from the exertion. He bites into his hand and growls as he continues rutting, fighting through the overstimulation to chase what remains of his high – but he soon collapses on the bed, huffing and groaning into the mattress.

His orgasm fades slowly, his heart ramming against his ribcage and the fog clearing from his head. Realization sinks in as he’s hyper-aware of your shirt, still wrapped around his dick, now soaked in his cum. He'd have to wash it, now. Filthy doesn’t even begin to describe how he feels, but he doesn’t find it in him to care anymore. He rolls onto his side, clutching your shirt in his hand. Fuck. One quick tug was all this was supposed to be, and now, he’s picturing you lying across from him. Face flushed, lips swollen and eyes hazy, smiling at him and panting. Telling him you love him. He’d say it back a million times. Listening as you breathe, as you talk about your silly little ideas for the pub, for redecorating his room… craving the moment where you drag yourself closer to him and snuggle into his chest for the rest of the night.

He hasn’t gotten rid of you, like he hoped for. He’s only made it more clear: he wants you. He wants his life to be threaded with yours, he wants to wake up next to you, he wants you to change his routine, to pick up his broken pieces and make a mosaic – and he wants to be there when you need someone, he wants to give you everything you want and more, whether that’s a life up in the clouds or down here, in his arms, in his small bed and lackluster apartment. You’d make it better; you’d make anything better.

He sighs, slowly sitting up and on the edge of the bed. Price was right – he’s got to hurry up and say something to you, or else he’ll be drowned in his obsession. You’d either agree to take this fucked-up giant on a date and end his misery, or you’d reject him, and he could force you from his thoughts and replace you with misery. It’s worked before.  

He pulls off his jeans and shirt and grabs the fleshlight, standing with a grunt and walking into his bathroom. He’s planning to clean the toy, but if he waits long enough, he might just be fucking it again in the shower.

[abdallahblog0]

I need a minute of your time, please read my story and don't ignore it.🥹❤️🇵🇸

I created my campaign about a month and a half ago but unfortunately I didn't expect it to be this bad, I expected to get a lot of love and support, it's unfortunate that someone asks for money in this way but we have no other way to escape the war

581$/30,000$

Remember: $5 is not a small amount and helps me a lot.

The first and most important goal of war is to escape from war and go to safety (go to a place where at least basic materials are available, water, food, electricity, medicine, safety).

The second goal, no less important than the second goal, I was a university student and I built dreams in my imagination and I was planning for my future but all of that ended once the war started, I wanted to study medicine, my university was destroyed and thus my dreams were destroyed with it

You are the one reading this message, you can change my life and you can't imagine how happy I will be when you help me

My campaign has been verified by 3 people.

1. @90-ghost LINK VITTED

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You can donate to me through

(Remember that your money will reach me in full 100%)

1.GFM

2.PAYPAL

3.GOGETFUNDING

(My old campaign but it still works)

@sayruq @sar-soor @90-ghost @vakarians-babe @northgazaupdates2 @helppeople @ibtisams @appsa @annoyingloudmicrowavecultist @feluka @el-shab-hussein @sayruq @tortiefrancis @flower-tea-fairies @tsaricides @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @vivisection-gf @belleandsaintsebastian @ear-motif @ibtisams @animentality @kordeliiius @brutaliakhoa @raelyn-dreams @troythecatfish @the-bastard-king @4ft10tvlandfangirl @queerstudiesnatural @northgazaupdates2 @90-ghost @skatehani@awetistic-things @morallyrainyday

[ferass97]

A family trapped in Gaza pleads for survival

Hello,

I'm Feras from Gaza strip homeless with my family of 9 people in an uninhabitable tent, we live in the midst of genocide in Gaza Strip, trapped between walls of despair and frustration not to mention the fear that never leaves our souls. .

We struggle daily to survive in an environment full of dangers, threats and death.

Each one of us has lost his life, his dreams, his future, his work and we are now in torn tent can't even protect us from the rain .

We are desperately appealing to you for moral and financial assistance to cover the costs necessary to escape to a safe place, where we can ensure the safety of my family.

We are in dire need of your support. Any donation, no matter how small, can help save our lives, I'm deeply so thankful me and my family for your concern and support during these difficult times.

No amount was collected.

0€\45000€

best wishes🇵🇸❤️ @sar-soor @plomegranate @nabulsi27 @sayruq @palipunk-blog @communistkenobi @queerstudiesnatural @bluebellsinthedells @rizzyluke @kordeliiius @self-hating-zionist @raelyn-dreams @unfortunatelyuncreative @licencetokrill-blog @jezebelgoldstone @rampageshunt @labutansa @sammywo @autistwizard @tortiefrancis @sparklinpixiedust @feluka @revcuse @golvio @leftismsideblog @star-and-space-ace @rainbowywitch @marscodes @annoyingloudmicrowavecultist @boyvander @the-bastard-king @ammonitetheseaserpent @girlinafairytale @timetravellingkitty @appsa @applejupiter @malcriada @retvolution @deansmultitudes @devilofthepit @heritageposts @wellwaterhysteria @dykesbat @lesbianmaxevans @gorbling @half-empty-orbitals @seanp0donnell