#pls dont kill me for this

[animation-is-my-jam]

Halo heloo!! Popping in to say if you have any more Wordgirl hot takes? I'm new to the fandom and I saw your post about the opinion meme. (Btww my favorite character is Lady Redundant Woman and I ship Tobecky-- I wonder if you also have unpopular opinions on those mostly cause im curious)

Hi!! Thanks for the ask.

Kinda funny that I'm asked fandom/character questions considering my activity and obscurity, but I have been in the Wordgirl space for 7 years and observed it back in the early 2010s.

As for hot takes...hmm, I could give some since I was watching through the series again, and I recently had some discussions with a friend about Wordgirl stuff. (The Disclaimer, aside from one of the takes I have, these aren't that serious, or do I want to come across as confrontational, just my thoughts and opinions):

Scoops is not a jerk. Random, I know, but it's also connected to the idea of Scoops being this secretly selfish boy and why he's the least liked kid character in the fandom next to idk Eileen. Yes, Scoops is a bit of dunce and can often say or do stuff because he gets carried away or his ego--but he wouldn't straight up be malicious. He's a kid. And idk, I think it's pretty funny how oblivious or callouse he can be to others. But no Tobecky fans, Scoops wouldn't just straight up hate or stop being Becky's friend if she either confessed to him or started seeing Tobey. (I agree that he's such a dummy at times and could say the wrong things, but come on, look at Scoops and tell me he would treat his friends terribly.)

Granny May is funny. I know a lot of people don't like her or her episodes because they hate the gaslight or turn on Wordgirl schemes, but idc I think it's hilarious that this 75 year old is beefing with a child and gets away with manipulating people for the 100th time. Plus, I think it's interesting that her episodes could bring out a Becky that makes us question if she's doing good deeds bc it's the right thing or doing them because it gives her purpose and adoration. Either way, I'm like the only Wordgirl fan who is interested in Granny May character lore, and what exactly is her relationship to her own kids and grandkids. And that's cause she makes me laugh.

(Oh boy, serious time) Okay, so this is a very recent observation and discussion I had with a friend who is more educated on this matter over the entire fandom perception of Two-brains|squeaky. And I'm gonna say it on mine and on their behalf... I don't like the usage of squeaky as this ultimate evil or an overt metaphor for the difficult/bad side effects of mental illness. Like, okay, I know this is touchy for people since Two-brains is the favorite--but I don't like the constant fandom aesthetic sticking to making Two-brains the ONLY character with either DID or any number of serious mental conditions just because he fused with the brain of a evil mouse, especially when their depiction of it is worse than Detroit Become Human with racism. At worst, it could be ablelist and ignorant to people with those actual diagnoses. What do I mean by this? Well, it's mostly for people who think that Steven is still inside Two-brains or that Two-brains could be fixed. I'm one of the Steven is gone believers, but regardless--it's kinda ehh to try and make Two-brains represent someone with mental illness or addiction and just say "dw he can be cured if we kill this other part of himself". Even worse than when he does get "fixed," it's only squeaky's influence that encourages his bad behavior and that others would care for him more if only he got rid of the "problem" and went back to being "normal". Like...that's not how a mental illness/condition works. I should know. And this idea kinda makes me uncomfortable because idk, it's like the equivalent of when TOH was still airing and some ppl going: "Why doesn't eda just isolate or destroy the owl beast?" Or the audacity to say that she should have been fully healed at the end when no, she was a good example of the metaphor, and it would completely ruin the purpose. (Plus, I don't get the Jekyll and Hyde comparisons if you try to apply the mental illness metaphor).

As for the other parts of your question. Hmm do i have unpopular ideas/takes of Lrw or Tobecky?

For LRW, um, not really? She's one of my favorite villains, so I'm good, not really any complaints with her or how she's done in fandom tropes. All I know is that fandom actually makes her cooler somehow, and I get mad about that bc shes so awesome/lhj

For Tobecky...yeah I know, another discussion about them, lol, can't help it. But for unpopular ideas/takes...I guess one is that I don't think Wordgirl was completely terrible during the Miss Power scene with him. Like obviously it hurted Tobey's feelings and Wordgirl shouldn't be so mean, BUT you can't lie to say that if not then...Wordgirl would have blown up at him one day and it's good that Tobey at least knows what she deep down thought of him. I know a lot of people who like Tobey don't think he should be treated badly ever, but no, the kid kinda needs the humbling (the stuff of his appearance was uncalled for though. Like who cares about his drip Wordgirl--he destroys buildings and belittles others 😭 thats the least of his issues.)

Another one is that I don't think Wordgirl/Becky owes him anything just because he likes her and is secretly lonely. Like you can have Tobey as your favorite and want him to be happy, but, to me, it's like don't just make Tobey the one who only gets Becky because he like deserves it after getting mega sad or he "won" her (im saying this as a tobey fan). What's Becky thoughts? Or make her the one to realize why she would be with Tobey? How does Tobey make her happy? And that it's okay that Becky rejects Tobey in a fic or art. It doesn't make her the bad one in the scene or that she's treating him unfairly. (Something I realized in my own fic).

[tobacconist]

Can you explain your thoughts on dreams, genuinely interested

hmm. to put it simply: shared dreaming is real and most dreams are infact shared (yes, i find this as troubling as you do) something like an mmorpg? idk. i believe it is one of lifes greatest secrets.

'but if thats true, surely more people would be aware of it...' a small but significant number of people are definitely aware. and it is in their interests for everyone else to be ignorant of this fact. there are also probably deeper cosmic reasons why we spend most of our time in the dreamworld unconscious or semi-conscious, and why even if we are conscious in the dream we often forget almost everything we did or experienced shortly after waking. im not in favour of complete human instrumentality either, guys.

not an expert in this, do not claim to be, but expert enough to have an unshakeable belief in what i just told you.

im sure the dream yogas of naropa expound on this in much more detail, but afaik almost nothing of those teachings are available in written form; if it were even possible to record and transmit them that way

DISCLAIMER:- THIS USER IS INSANE AND YOU SHOULDNT BELIEVE ANYTHING THEY SAY

[plagalkey]

ENERGETIC ⚡️

you make me feel so high

[hana-no-seiiki]

YAN! BOSS : I would kill for you.

OVERWORKED! READER: With all due respect, I just need a fucking break (or paid vacation).

[captainbobbin]

happy birthday, saix

[punk-in-docs]

A song of rage and salty waves: part I

— Emperor Geta x reader (Salacia)

— 2.5k words

— Read all parts here: Part I — Part II — Part III — Part IV

Summary; You were raised outside of this Rome. Born into peace. To know of fathomless deep seas, and skies so big, they wrapped around your whole sight. The way that at night all you can smell are lemon trees kissed by salt. The jasmine plants wound around the white walls of the villa. Salacia. And now you are sent to Rome for your father in the Senate. There you will catch the attention of Geta; in all the wrong and darkest of ways— any reblog and comments are greatly appreciated 💙💙💙

TW!! some dub con/ threat/violence/basically forced marriage/forced smut situation/Geta is such a vile human being/Macrinus is villain sorry denzel ily

You’re imprisoned in Rome.

You certainly didn’t come here of your own free will. Your father had tugged you here from Corsica. Employed clever charm with letters and schemes from his high position in the senate.

As the role of your sex; you were born to obey.

He sent you imported silken stolas the colours of cornflowers or lazurite, with gold fibulae at the shoulders. Gem inlaid jewellery, rings to decorate every finger, and earrings the sway. A golden net for your hair. Wheedled you into coming to join him. Sending servants to travel with you and take heed of your every comfort.

He made sure you dined on plump fresh fruit. Seafood of lobsters and crabs. Drank wine so rich dark it looked black.

You despise it. The stone pillars and temples. And gods of old. Eyes watch you everywhere. See you. Follow you.The governing heat and noise and sweaty heaving mass of all forms of life.

You were raised outside of this Rome. Born into peace. To know of fathomless deep seas, and skies so big, they wrapped around your whole sight. The way that at night all you can smell are lemon trees kissed by salt. The jasmine plants wound around the white walls of the villa.

Salacia. The ocean nymph and the being of your name. Crowned with seaweed in your hair. Sea foam dripping off your fingers. Ripped from your home, an isle by the sea, at the whim of another.

Imprisoned here in this cold marble city. A fish out of water. Gasping dry on the shore.

Pulled inland and stolen away. You can’t hear gulls or waves anymore. It sickens you. Heart pangs that throb for home.

When you arrived, pulled back your folded palla down to your shoulders. He welcomed you with open arms and fondness. Wrists linked in gold cuffs. Tugged you to his chest and embraced you warmly. Hissed in your ear - abrasive like harsh sea spray - spies are everywhere.

He needed you close by. For reasons you had yet to fathom.

You dined like spoilt deity’s. Breads and wines, fish, fruits from far regions fattened by the suns heat, and succulent meat roasted in sweet cassia spices on a spit.

He had urns of flowers - picked by the servant - placed in every room. Lilies, juniper branches still bearing dark fruit, lavender, oleanders.

Companions join him and he is boastful of you. A nubile creature offered placement at a table of old muddled men. He introduces you to trusted friends and advisors in the senate.

One man in particular takes keen interest as to your recent arrival. His name was Macrinus. Man of information and resources. Dealt in cunning and cruelty though you found him sincerely charming. Your father watched you with a desperate eye.

Macrinus bore a smile so dazzling and blinding it made you dizzy; made think of the sun god. Apollo and his light cast across golden wheat fields. Notes of fine music. He sipped his wine slow, as he learned the flavour of your name. Where you came from. Understanding the rolling sea foam in your veins.

There’s a game to be held at the coliseum. He will have your father as his guest - and you by a very pretty extension. He nods at you; his eyes glimmer like pooled liquid gold in the half lit dark. It almost makes you feel safe.

They dine and drink into the small hours. Yet you slip away.

You watched this awful city out your window that night in your silk dress the colour of night time tidal waves. The air is stale. Carrion to you. Hot. Full of dust and sweat. Here, It smells like mulberry trees and a green garden waiting for blessed rain.

You couldn’t hear the sea. Or your sisters. Your mothers humming as she wove cloth and mended clothes. And you wept.

Salt found in your tears to be your only sacred comfort of home.

~

You are soft to this hard stone city. The coliseum is magnificent. As large as it is those who hold their powerful fists over its rule. Clutched in gold. Fine for the rich. Deadly for the slaves and warriors thrown into the pit at the whim of others. Met with carnivore teeth and sand and death.

The senators, generals, and the rich merchants watch from their perch, up among the gods they serve, presiding in shade and clothed in perfumed silks and jewels. Ladies and men both.

Your hair took hours to fasten in its current coiled style. Plaited and weaved. Your dress is the colour of the softest blue shore. Your servant lavished your arms and fingers in golden finery. A serpent cuff coiled around your arm. Skin draped in lemon oil because it’s the small piece of Corsica you carry here with you. Serenity to push against this place of gore, butchery and death.

You find yourself seated here amongst giants. Macrinus is seated one side. Your father the other. He fondly lays his hand across yours in gentle touch.

His palm is damp. Gold rings wet.

His face looks haggard with age. The lines by his eyes more prominent. Rome is poisoning him. The golden apple just a fingertip shy of his reach. St Bartholomew flayed and stripped of skin piece by piece. Schemes and plots lay thick in his mind like rot. Sweat beads down across his brow and the thinning salt pepper of his hair.

He says something to Macrinus that you’re too absorbed to hear. It’s low. Dragged through a growl. He appears unmoved, with a slow flick of his eyes to you. Watching this finery and loudness devour you. Your eyes so full wide and round. Salt and innocence entwined.

You all rise when the emperors pass by, Geta and Caracalla, who stride in, garbed in gold and cloaks. Come to take their rightful place at the mouth of the box where you are seated.

They are like twin suns to the Roman people. Lion gold hair kissed by fire. They burn and twist and shine with it. Make noises like gold coins that clack when they move. Strung in riches and golden crowns of olive leaves and branches.

Together they make you think of Romulus and Remus. Raised rabid by wolves. And they certainly make an impression. You’ve heard tale of the voracious nature of the blood sport they all but live for. Faces limned in the glory of gore.

The crowd cheers for them. They nod and wave but it appears barbed. The games begin with a wave of applause and a regal hand.

Caracalla twists and casts an eye in your direction. Seeing new meat.

The way you sit sedately and can’t cast your mind into the butchery and violence happening below. The clash of steel. The hollow squelching cries that proceed death. The spill of viscera and the scatter of brain matter from split heads.

Each new gash or split in skin made them smile. The taint of blood. Metallic sour. Spilling of offal and exposed bone.

He tilts his head like a clever wolf. Eyes darken. His sneer as terrible as a skulls. He leans across and whispers something to his brother with a knock of his arm to gain attention.

Another set of wolfish eyes join the first in hooking to your skin. Silly soft girl. Made of gentle sea breezes and lapping blue waves calm and soft enough to wade in. Pearl shining in moonlight. So watery and weak. So good. Untouchable.

Geta swept his gaze on you from head to toe. Appraising you hungrily through greedy eyes. The beauty of your figure in that soft folds of that stola. The gold that crushed your neck. Broaches at your fair shoulders. Hair glistening and finely arranged.

He liked the way you winced when another sword blow came. The pull of your brows and how you had to look away. He wanted you gathered up in his lap; fingers crushing your jaw as he turned your head; force you to watch as the men cleaved at each other and drew blood. Hacked off limbs. Laugh at your revulsion.

Looking at you sat there; He has an urge to take his dagger, slit that fine silk from your shoulders and bare your real beauty. Grab it off you and snatch your dress down. Spoil himself on your curves. Grab your breasts. He’s sure you’ve tits that even a goddess would envy. He’d reel you in by grabbing your ass that definitely needs a spank and some attention.

You’re even prettier than some of the finest whores he’s had grace his bed. They never kept his interest too long. Too entwined in filth and sin like him; you look pure as a vestal virgin.

He likes that. He wants to pluck it off you and spoil it.

You don’t dare meet his eyes. Of course you don’t. He’s an emperor. He could have you executed for looking at him wrongly. Instead; you wring your hands in your lap and squirm. Close your eyes tighter with every dying wail.

He turns back to the fight. As do you. A gasp flies from your mouth when you draw your eyes to one of the measly soldiers in the arena. Your father left his seat to stand, mouth gaping.

You saw the familiar arrangement of strong limbs. Garbed in warriors clothing. The way his arms shook holding a sword. Inexperienced and struggling. The fight was not fair. The same head of hair that matched your own.

Your oldest brother.

Macrinus grinned. “He’s not my finest fighter. But I wager he’ll be good sport.” He smirks.

Your father turned, cursed the gods, and exploded with venomous rage. Flew for the man with his fists. Grabbed his clothing. You tried to restrain the storm of his temper - but then you’d got that trait from somewhere hadn’t you? - an ocean thrashing wild and free. Terrifying in its rage.

“You promised me.” Your father roared. Spittle flying.

“I never promised to protect your traitor of a son. Let us see if the gods spare him. Yes?” Macrinus commented.

You couldn’t take your eyes from the pit. Nor could your father. He clutched to you like he could barely stand. Weakened and shrinking. Hand a vice on your shoulder. It burned like the sting of sun but you couldn’t shrug him off.

Your brother was meeting with an opponent far larger than he was. A Retiarius. Helmet, trident, dagger and a net.

Of which had currently knocked your brother to the blood dusted dirt. Spearing the trident deep into his thigh. Pinning him to earth like a bug. His cry of pain ringing out. Blood sheeted down one side of his head. His scream is the most horrible thing you’d ever heard.

You can’t help it. Where you’re stood, you cry out. It pours forth from you.

The Retiarius loomed over your bother like a terrible storm cloud. Looking up at the stands for direction. The whole audience cheered and screamed for more.

Geta stood up and the crowd bayed. He sneered at the sight before him. All the power of a god; crammed into a mortal man.

He raised his arm. And hesitated for a moment. Before he smirked. And pointed his thumb right up.

Death.

Your father wailed. The huge lumbering gladiator descended onto your brother. Flinging the net off and cutting his throat in one fast slice. Blood poured and pooled around lifeless eyes. Stained the sand.

Macrinus stood to his feet and clapped along with everyone else. The emperors’ laughed like hyenas at the sight. Blood and pain only made their smiles grow.

Before you knew what was happening, the palace guards had you and your father surrounded. Hands viced around your arms. Your shoulders. Your father too.

Traitor. He decried. A traitor in the senate. The tarpeian rock.

Just like his now dead son. People’s poised against the glory of Rome. Against Caracalla and Geta. Death to all.

Macrinus spoke harshly to the guards to release you. He backhanded you across your cheek. Your eye felt like it was going to burst. Cheek flamed with fire. Lip cut and bleeding down your chin from his ring.

He then wasted little time in digging his fingers into your finely done hair. Hauled you along screaming. Tears streaming.

Your father could only watch, limbs wrenching forwards in terror to help, as Macrinus marched you across the stands to where they sat.

He threw you to the ground like a feral animal. Tumbled you onto your knees. Skimmed your hands. As you squirmed and cried at your body twisted to his cruelty.

“Your majesties. I have personally uncovered a traitor in your court. Senator Aurelius. Not only was his first born placed in rebellion against Rome. But he himself has been sowing seeds of treason in your senate. I bring you his filthy kin as recompense…” He spat at the Emperors. Releasing your mussed hair to throw you to their feet.

They examined you as one would a creature. Nothing of humanity left. Devoid of any feeling. You crawled slowly to your elbows. Tried to claw away sobs. Raising up but not daring to look at them. You weren’t worthy. You feared them.

Geta was the one who rose slowly to his feet. Coming to stand before you. “We are most grateful for your revelation, Macrinus. You will be rewarded for such loyal service.” Though he spoke to him, his eyes never left you.

You father shouted and cried pleas. They go unheard. He snaps to the guards who hold him. “Silence that treacherous snake-“ he barks. They beat him into submission.

You stay cowering on the ground. In amongst the gritty dirt, and the blood like those slaves and gladiators. That’s how they saw you. That’s how much you were worth. Held in the same regard as the dirt on their shoes.

You feel a ring clad hand tip a finger under your chin. Blood dripping down onto that digit as he made you raise your head to look at him until your neck hurt.

“What is your name, pretty little traitor-“ He sneers. Because that is all you are. They’ve tarred and feathered you with the same brush.

You give it to him through tears that run freely. You give this awful golden haired emperor with dark lecherous eyes your name.

“Salacia.” You cry. Voice watery and cloaked in heavy salty sobs. Lips parted. So soft and pliable. Lovely and ripe and waiting for him. A gift from the gods-

He tilts his head down at you. Looking like some sun gold lion. Showing his canines in a cruel white smile.

“Imprison them. Both.” He smirks.

He thinks he may have them bring him your fathers head on a platter. Strangulation seemed too soft. Too forgiving. He had to make an example of you.

He had a particular way in mind for your fate. He watched you get led away crying as he sucked your sweet blood off his thumb.

You tasted like salt and sea foam

~

Tagging in the hopes this finds its way to the right people—

@indouloureux @trashmouth-richie @atabigail @lunatictardis @waywardrose @ceriseheaven @hillarymurray4 @lurkingprincess @ramona-thorns @joequinnswhore @iliveforotps @eddiesskittle @roosterisdaddy36 @rose-tinted @lluviamg06 @ravensfromvalhalla @fujiihime @youaremyfamiliar @captain-tch @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @svenyves @sammararaven @feralgoblinbabe @groupie-love-71 @andromeda-andromeda @morganamoonstone @gvtosbith @munsonswhore @shenevertricks1831 @hazzaismyreligion @harrys-titties @anaisweird @cinnamoncunt @red-lipstick-bisexual @wheels-of-despair @tvserie-s-world @callmeloverr @ho-for-joequinn-fics @bettyfrommars @rip-quizilla @songforeddiemunson @usedtobecooler @peachesandfiends @littlelioncub43 @heyndrix @babybluebex @blueywrites @joejoequinnquinn @cool-nick-miller @sheneedsrocknroll92 @rehfan @pedgito @dracomaledicte @gamingaquarius @mypoisonedvine @ddejavvu @sharp-and-swift @chaptersleftunwritten

[sourkreem]

[wip] pov: you've just finished classes, you're jason's boyfriend, and your first name starts with the letter O

[servospawn]

A man & his attire...

[pumpkin-gizzards]

ok because i have heaps of work to do and i rly dont want to do it...

50 notes and ill start planning my english speech

60 notes and ill start writing my english speech

70 notes and ill research and study for my sceince prac and chem. test

80 notes and ill study for my french test

90 notes ill study for my music exam

[faunandfloraas]

that is the thing about kpop fans that i really cant deal with. the lying. someone will be put in a bad weird outfit and they'll be on twt like YASSSSS he looks soooooo good! the slayage! the cunt! (image of oversized navy suit a 54 yr old lawyer from 1987 would have worn) he's never looked better please dress him more @THEBRANDWHODIDTHIS and im like 👁👁 im going to break your phone.

[carpathiians]

dont think i ever posted this

[mikayesha]

she keeps on growing,

slippin' through my fingers all the time.

[lyqiche]

pov kuroo holding volleyball classes with bokuto :D based off the recent haikyuu interviews

[obsmiechujek]

Day 4 - Claude weighs nothing to him

[spamgyu]

Angel // Minghao

"Always and angel. Never a God"

DESCRIPTION: She knew she never fully had him – despite his countless reassurance that she did. She wasn't stupid, she knew that she had big shoes to fill and though his words said one thing, the ghost of his past says otherwise. GENRE: Angst

There was a ghost of her that haunted every part of your relationship.

He said it wasn't so but you felt it.

She had been long gone for years but you can feel her presence with every time he touched you, with every word he said, with the cologne he chose to wear, and the songs he listened to.

It was all her.

The girl that once occupied his heart before you did.

He never once uttered her name, not even during the worst of your fights. He never once held her over your head.

But he didn't need to.

He kept her around – his favorite jacket he wore during the cold winter months were from her. The chain that dangled above your face during the nights he made you his, she purchased.

He doesn't think you know, but he underestimated a your power to sleuth – finding all information about her down to what high school she graduated.

But it wasn't just him.

His friends kept in contact with her - her name slipping from their lips every now and then when we were in group settings. You knew they didn't intend to utter it, you can see the regret in their eyes as they pause in the middle of their sentences.

And every single time, you pretended not to hear it.

You pretend to not be fazed by the sinking feeling in my stomach; the voice in your head screaming at you.

"You'll never measure up to her."

Everyone had their own demons. Yours just so happened to be your boyfriend's ex-girlfriend.

"Angel," Minghao's voice pulled you out of your thoughts, turning to face him. "You okay? You're out in space over there."

You pulled your lips into a tight smile, giving him a soft nod. "Just– thinking."

"About?"

Her.

"Nothing." You shook your head, scooting into his open arms – allowing him to pull you against his chest.

"Is it about what Jun said?"

What Jun said.

The reason why you allowed your thoughts to consume you.

During dinner, your boyfriend's best friend had accidentally mentioned her as he gushed over the meal in front of them. He spoke of how Kaia was the one that showed them the Italian restaurant – the one that Minghao had claimed to be his favorite when he had first brought you around.

You thought it was the one final place that she didn't haunt.

Boy, were you oh so wrong.

For the remainder of the night, you couldn't help but think of the first time Minghao had ordered for you when he had taken you to the establishment – not bothering to glance at the menu.

He knew the meals by heart.

Was the pasta that you liked so much once hers?

"It's nothing, Hao." You shook your head, not wanting to further dig deep into the large wound.

"He didn't mean it."

"They never do."

"What's that supposed to mean?" His body shifted from under you, causing you to sit up and face him again.

"I– She'll always be around, it's okay." You shook your head. It was far too late in the night to start an argument, and you weren't in the mood to sleep without the warmth of his arms.

"We– you know she and I ended in good terms. I– I can't really tell them to not hang out with her."

He was right and that's what hurt the most.

Minghao did his part, he steered clear from her. Not once did he join his friends when they hung out with her, nor did he stay in contact with her.

Out of respect of you.

But despite all his efforts, and his reassurances – she still remained. Almost as if she had never left.

"I know." You nodded. "I– it's just my head."

"It's you that I chose to be with. It's you that I come home to."

Minghao was right yet again, but why did it still feel like it wasn't so.

Because if he did let go of her, pieces of her wouldn't remain in your shared apartment. He wouldn't smell like the scent she had picked out for him all those years ago.

He wouldn't take you to the places they once claimed to be theirs.

He would have started a brand new slate.

"Angel, I need you to know that I love you." Minghao spoke slowly, taking your hands in his.

You looked down at the cold metal that made contact with your skin – the Chrome Hearts ring she had gifted him their first year together.

Yet another reminder of her as he professed his so called love for you.

You had him, but never all of him. You were his angel, but never his god.

PERMANENT TAGLIST

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(for some reason it's not allowing me to tag some who wanted to be added to the perm tag list ... cries... pls check ur settings so i can for future posts)

[piebank]

thehotsummenights