#read the trigger warnings first

[oakydeer]

[plumdale]

Twins 😃 named after kitay & rin from the poppy war trilogy, one of the best series I’ve ever been blessed to read.

[felonytaxevasion]

@lakesbian

Saw this post on the one day a year I go on twitter and said "yea I'll read that"

So all this to say that if people didn't massively over hype DunMeshi as a Yuri series and get mad when people yaoied it no one would have ever posted about worm being a Yuri series and gotten me to read it

[tigerbears]

Homestuck Spoilers Out of Context.

[moraygrotto]

sequel to this!!!

explicitly ÑŚFŴ; vil jacks it to neige burping uwu

~💜~

Once the film comes out, Vil will not be able to bear it. Neige swallows someone—swallows Vil—in this film, in some travesty of cannibalism just shy of grotesque. And then, to regurgitate Vil, Neige—

Neige—

Vil can barely think it.

Vil is alone, feeding a DVD into his laptop, applying a clinically measured pressure to its shiny curve until it disappears into the slot. This is a different film. This one is innocent.

This older film, Vil tells himself, has always been innocent, even as the scene selection menu hits his eyes and ears, more familiar than the feeling of unzipping trousers.

His hands find the scene automatically. He knows how many increments he may skip ahead, not to get too close; the lead-up is vital, like fertilizer upon the soil of—

A young Neige adorns the screen, even younger than twenty—Vil was younger when he first saw this clip, when it first lodged itself into his mind, playing nonstop behind his eyelids long after the screen went dark. He is old enough now to name the way it made him feel, still makes him feel.

Neige engages in a saccharine, snappy exchange with another character in the fantasy, a potion maker.

They're discussing potions.

With fluid grace, then, like it's nothing, like what's about to happen is nothing, the potion maker yanks Neige's jaw open, tips a phial over his mouth, and lets fall two glittering drops.

Neige gives a comically large gulp. It's good genre acting; Vil recognizes that Neige is objectively his superior in comedic skill.

The next few seconds of the clip flow like electricity through water; Neige's eyes bulge, his lips part, and he belches, a petite puff of glittering smoke bursting from his mouth.

It's terrible CGI. Vil could recognize this much as an adolescent, was perplexed that despite the poor quality, this scene had always fascinated him, allured him, caught his heart as if it were a masterpiece of cinema.

Vil's breaths come shuddering. Now, he is old enough to understand.

Vil's fingers skip back the familiar number of seconds. Vil's fingers unzip his trousers.

He's half hard already, and Neige's lips look so plush between the potion maker's fingers, squeezed plump and open, only to be force-fed the seed of that—

Belch.

A satisfying prickle rushes through Vil's body; it's the first time he's touched himself to this tape, to any tape of a belch, but he values his sexual health too much to hold back now, doesn't want to forbid himself any fleeting rush of arousal.

It is not an easy effort. Shame clouds his mind the way it always has when he finds himself stuck to this clip, desperate for just one more replay, over and over.

But he is adept at touching himself. He has even touched himself to the thought of Neige before, has deliberately worked himself up over those very lips. He hates how much better this feels.

Burp. Burp. Belch.

It's such a good-sounding burp. Neige's round eyes pair well with it.

Burp. Burp. Over and over he plays it.

How would it feel to belch up a picturesque little cloud of glitter? How would he feel, if Neige expelled that into his face?

It feels too good. This all feels too damn good. His body begins to tremble as he approaches climax, so quickly, so overwhelmingly good.

He is about to cum to a video of Neige LeBlanche belching. It's vile, but he cannot, will not stop.

Neige cannot burp like that in real life. The sound effect was dubbed in. During the conversation, before the belch has even happened this repeat, Vil comes, spurting up weakly into his palm.

His insides churn.

Neige cannot burp well in real life, and Vil is infuriated; some childish part of him blames Neige for taking away any satisfying ending Vil might have had, blames Neige for ever having burped in his life.

The belch happens, and the dialogue continues on, like nothing momentous had happened at all, and Vil flops down atop his bed, hormones seething through his body.

Vil hates himself most of all, he is sure of it. Sweat adheres the sheets to the back of his neck.

A few moments' measured breathing later, he feels less sick. He'll have to cum again; Vil Schoenheit will not leave himself half-spent, half-full like this.

He thinks of Neige.

He thinks of beautiful models burping.

He is soft as silk, still sensitive from his last orgasm, but not needy of himself, no part of him yearns to be stroked... yet.

Vil has never done what he is about to do.

Opening a private browser tab is something he has done countless times before, and he is surprised to find that, fingers to keys, typing the words into the search bar is no more difficult.

The first rush of offense only hits him when he gets exactly what he searched for.

Neige LeBlanche Burp Compilation. It's so simple, so horrid.

Vil adjusts his headphones. They are warm from the body heat of his ears. He opens the link.

Blessedly, all the video therein appears to be taken after Neige is legally an adult. The fact both reassures and sickens him. Almost everyone who opened this video did so for the same reason.

The burps are all terrible. They're all utter trash, little stifled sounds amidst interview answers, half-audible gurgles at the back of Neige's throat, and Vil is watching them, terrifically frustrated; just like with his movie clip, he is unable to stop; the almost rhythmic flow of pitiful belch after pitiful belch sinks Vil into a state near hypnosis.

Some of Neige's belches are better than others. Vil likes when his chest or tummy does a little hiccuping motion alongside the sound. Once, Neige's lips squirm in a way that goes straight to Vil's hips.

The compilation ends too quickly. Vil actually growls, and hits replay.

Rrrp. Mggph. Mmm. Ggnp.

Vil is hard again. One of the better burps catches Vil by surprise; he had appreciated it the first watchthrough, but it sounds even better the second time; it's so clear next to its brethren, rumbling through Neige's soft body with despicable, sonorous grace. Arousal prickles through Vil as he mentally picks out the belches he likes the most, still yearning fiercely for a fantastical version of this video where each is both big and true. Neige's lips squirm again.

Thousands of individual people have liked this video. Thousands of people have done what Vil is doing now. The idea that Vil has higher standards than them is a comfort; he knows if he came to these pathetic sounds, he would still be unsatisfied, be disgusted with both Neige and himself.

He replays the video.

Only... Vil has something these people do not. A few weeks ago, Neige belched a real, strong belch right into Vil's face.

It had sounded so fucking beautiful.

Perhaps Vil is jealous. He can barely think. All Neige's little sounds from this video form a backdrop to Vil's memory, and Vil feels perfect.

Neige's eyelashes blink as he burps. Neige presses a pale hand to his mouth as he burps. Neige had expelled a soda-scented monstrosity of a belch right at Vil, and Neige's lips press together when he burps.

Vil's dick is getting sore, he's moving so hard. He feels like an animal, bent only on self-satisfaction. If Neige were to ask to marry him, in this moment he would say yes.

Neige's lips squirm when he burps. Vil comes.

Every drop of satisfaction Vil can milk from himself, he takes, as is his habit. It's difficult, letting himself feel good when it is Neige LeBlanche belching that drove him to the brink, but Vil is nothing if not determined.

After the last drops leave him, his brain conjures up an image of curling naked around Neige's warm, soft-skinned body, and this makes Vil recoil in disgust.

Finally finished, he assesses the session while he wipes the heavy palmful of cum out of his hand. He feels marvelously good, right now. It's got to be healthy, circulating one's bodily fluids so thoroughly like this. He ought to replicate this experience next time. He ought to encourage Neige to burp more.

The same thought had struck him that evening, the evening he approached Vil's trailer with a belly full of cola.

Neige had drunk so, so much cola.

It would be bordering on inhumane to manufacture a scenario where he would need to drink that much again, to drink more than that, to bloat himself even fuller with gas. Vil would not let himself be inhumane.

The video had ended long ago. He looks back at the screen. If he told Neige he wanted to hear... wanted...

Neige would surely oblige. Vil's cock twitches weakly. Vil would never make such a request, least of all of Neige. He copies the link to the video, opens his secure messaging app, and sends it to himself.

[aandrewscotts]

seblaine fandom you would love andriel

[carlyraejepsans]

Just took a few hours to watch Kwite's video in response to the (now proven false) allegations against him and I feel sick to my stomach. I mean genuinely nauseous.

[violentdelightshavevioletends]

Welp… I’m bawling like a baby… just read Chapter 36 of Fourth Wing… and I am not okay.

[faerielotus]

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙ FRESH ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

KYOUTANI x READER

tw : murder, violence, blood, gore, smut

You’re not surprised when he slides into bed without a word. Being talkative isn’t something that you’d associate with Kentaro, especially with it being so late. What’s surprising is the distance between the two of you. He’s close, but not close enough for you to turn over and face him, to hold him. It’s a strange new practice for him. A pattern you’ve seen repeating the last couple of days.

Nonetheless it still confuses you. You know he likes to touch you, feel that you’re there; the same as you. You enjoy the way he hooks his arm over your waist, holding you tight to his chest. The sound of him slightly out of breath when he first joins you in bed, most likely from shuffling up the stairs of your rickety apartment building. But most of all you enjoy the way he smells. He always manages to smell fresh, even when he was covered in sweat from moving in the sofa that was way too big for your living room, but that you insisted on buying; or another time when he came back home, holding a hoodie covered in red splotches. Even the metallic smell was overpowered by the smell of him ingrained into your apartment.

You love everything about the man beside you. That’s why it’s so strange to you. How you know he feels the same way, but is still so far away from you. His distance continues to plague your mind. That is until he sighs, not irritated but not relaxed. Yes, you find the whole predicament strange until he sighs, scoots closer to you and holds you tight, resting his head on your neck. That’s when you forget how strange it is, and start to think about him, how he feels, how he sounds, and how he smells.

You’ve been laughing for what feels like ten minutes. One joke from Matsuwaka growing into his own personal comedy show. You can’t hear anything else anybody’s saying. Not even the music from the back of the club thrumming through your body is truly reaching you. Your drink has almost fallen out of your hands more than once, quickly being saved by the brunette sitting besides you.

You finally calm down, taking a swig from your drink and inhaling a big breathe of air. You look over to Matsuwaka, readying yourself for his next barrage of wisecracks when you notice that he’s looking over you.

You turn around and see three tall men all maneuvering through the crowds of people towards the two of you. Their attire matches the clothes that Matsuwaka is wearing, a fancy, if not slightly disheveled suit. You take brief notice of the fact that their eyes are on you, or at least shifting between you and the man you were having a conversation with. Your eyes, however, are focused on only one of those men. With a buzzcut that’s been bleached blonde and a mean look on his face you feel like shying away. His tanned skin absorbs the colors of the club lights. Over his suit he’s wearing a clashing leather jacket and overall looks a bit mean.

You realize how long you’ve been staring when they get closer, and the blonde cocks his eyebrow at you. You turn back towards Matsuwaka and nurse your drink.

“Issei.” The brunette in the middle of the three men speaks up when they reach the bar.

“Oikawa.” Matsuwaka says in a drawn out fashion, almost teasing the man in front of him. “I was coming back, I just needed something to drink”

“We can see that!” A strawberry blonde on the side of Oikawa pipes up. He yells over the loud noises of the crowd while staring at you. “My names Hanamaki, but my pals call me Makki!” He’s leaning over now and holding out his hand for you to shake.

You take his hand and introduce yourself. He slowly drops his hand from yours and looks at Matsuwaka with a sly smirk on his face.

The atmosphere is laid back, but you can’t help but feel awkward stuck between these men in suits.

“I’m sorry if I stole him,” you start, looking up to Oikawa. “The both of us were waiting for our drinks when I started a conversation.” You brush a stray hair back, one that you missed with your bobby pin when rushing out the house to meet your friends.

He looks over to you with a smile. “You’re all fine sweetheart. This one right here is responsible for himself.” That got a laugh out of you, and the angry man standing by his side focused his eyes on you. “He’s still got some work to do though, so we’re gonna have to steal him back.”

“Come on, Oikawa, I can’t leave a girl like her on her own here.” Matsuwaka said, feigning a pout and grabbing your hand.

Oikawa dramatically sucked air through his teeth and sighed. “Yeah, you’re right about that.” Oikawa shifted on his foot and turned towards the cross blonde next to him. “Well, Kyoutani already did his job for the night,” he faced forward again and smiled “Why don’t you keep the pretty girl some company Kyo-kun.”

Kyoutani stared at you with a glare and you stared back, looking at him more closely. His scowl didn’t make him any less handsome. His face was strong and his skin was glowing underneath the light. He was lean, but you could tell that underneath his suit he was toned. You looked back over to Matsuwaka who had an incredulous look on his face.

“‘Kawa, you know that’s not what I meant man.”

Oikawa’s grin widened even more. “Kyo-kun take Matsuwaka’s seat for me.” On the side of Oikawa, Makki snickered and hid his face in his elbow.

Matsuwaka grumbled as he shifted out of his seat. Kyoutani dropped himself onto it and motioned for the bartender.

“We’ll see you later Kyo-kun.” Oikawa said as he and the rest of the men walked off, arm draped over Matsuwaka’s shoulder.

You turned your body towards the bar, but kept your head facing the man beside you. Ignoring his rough look you were somewhat entranced by him. Everything from his appearance to his smell was strangely attractive to you. He started to order a drink when he looked to you.

“Do you want another?” He motioned to your drink, still with a glare on his face. You nodded with a smile and he finished ordering.

You asked him a couple of questions, mainly about Matsuwaka, how they met, their friend group, but also about him. That seemed to loosen him up enough for his brows to relax.

“And you?” He asked as the bartender set your drinks in front of you both.

“What questions are you asking me?” You said with a dopey smile.

“Anything.” He responded after taking a second to gulp his drink. His short answers made you realize how little interest he has. No, not that, how little he likes to talk. He seemed engaged even with his limited amount of interactions. That, like so many of his other qualities attracted you.

“Well,” you started, leaning your elbow on the bartop. “I think you’re hot.” You tilted your head, resting your hand on his knee.

You saw him take a small gulp and you laughed at that. He stared at his drink until he picked it up and downed the rest. He swallowed and turned to look at you again.

“Yeah?” That was the first time you saw him smile.

You wonder if you really got everything you needed. You didn’t want to head back to the store for something small. Thinking about calling Kentaro to check the kitchen, you decided to brush the idea off, remembering he left earlier that morning.

You sighed, shifting and moving your grocery bags around in your arms. You felt like you haven’t talked to him in so long, the last form of contact between you too being a kiss on your forehead as he slid out of bed. You made your way into the lobby of your apartment and up the stairs. You couldn’t tell why he was acting the way he was. You just knew that something was wrong.

Just like how you knew something was wrong when you opened the door to your shared apartment to see clothes caked in blood on the floor. You couldn’t feel your bags dropping from your hold. All you felt was fear. It doesn’t take much time for you to run into your bedroom at all.

What takes time is your realization. The realization that Kentaro’s completely fine. Wearing black joggers with his shirt stripped off, a towel hanging off his shoulder, he turns to look at you. He has a cut on his lip, but his face has no emotion. He just keeps staring at you, not a single word passing between you too.

You look down. “What happened Ken.” You look back towards the living room, motioning towards his discarded pile of clothes, already seeping into the carpet. “What happened to you.” You turned back to him taking a couple steps forward.

“Nothing.” He says turning back around, back facing you. “Some asshole had too much to say at a meeting.”

You weren’t sure what type of work Kentaro and his friends were in, but the past couple of years gave you some insight as to how violent it could be. “Kentaro,” you said demandingly. “Your clothes are soaked in blood.” You finally got close enough to him to turn him around and you noted how tense he was.

He stared down at you, this time you could see something in his face. “Are you scared of me?” He whispered.

You were taken aback, but kept your hand on his shoulder and the other on his face. “No,” you turned your head at him and frowned. “Why would you think that.”

He takes a breath, whether it’s relief or him trying to compose himself you can’t tell. He pulls your hands from him and pulls you into an embrace, inhaling your scent.

“Not important,” he finally says, toying with the bottom of your shirt. “Just help me real quick.” He kisses you, beginning to lift the bottom of your shirt, you’re distracted from the look on his face.

You can’t think about how scared he looked when he’s fumbling with your bra, grunting into your neck when you reach down to pull his sweats off.

You can’t think of anything else except the way he’s touching you, and the fresh scent coming off of him from washing off the grime and blood of a tough day.

You didn’t think you were going to go

home with the indifferent man who sat beside you for half a night, but you couldn’t deny the strong feeling of euphoria from between your legs as Kentaro slammed his hips against yours.

He grunted as he lifted your legs over his and lowered himself closer to your face, hands intertwined with yours. He moved his lips against yours and you moaned. He cursed and pulled away, biting your lip in the process.

He moved his hand down your body and you mewled, thrusting against him.

“Fuck!” He shouted, touching you, and dipping his head. You grabbed his shoulder with your free hand, trying to urge him closer. “You want me, baby?” you nodded, squinting your eyes closed and moaning. “Yeah, you want me.”

He moved his hand from you, up your body, resting on your breast for a moment, before he harshly gripped your throat. “Kyo-” you tried to say, but were overpowered by his strength and the urge to moan.

You arched your back, still trying to get closer to him. He finally caught on to the way you were flexing, and kissed you hard. He continued to pump himself in and out of you, taking time to grind into you causing you to release cut-off moans and gasps.

“Come on, baby, cum for me.” He tightened his grip on your throat, dragging his face along your neck and thrusting harder. He pushes you closer and you squeezed his hand, shaking and squeezing his cock.

“Kyo…tani” you croak, but he’s not listening, he’s pounding into you harder, holding you tighter, and now kissing you rougher.

He was close to losing control, almost crushing you with his strength, but he held back. He held back until he came, cumming inside of you and growling into your ear.

You both were out of breath but he continued thrusting into you. It took a moment for him to settle down, releasing his tight grip on you and collapsing on top of you. He rolled to the side and held you, tucking his face into your neck, taking big breaths.

You were tired and still catching your breath when you thanked yourself for going out tonight.

He gripped you tighter, kissing your neck.

He murmured. “You smell good.”

You sat still, tears slowly running down your face as the recent events of the day replayed through your mind.

Kyoutani stood in front of the counter, in between your legs, drying your washed face with a towel, and trying his best to avoid your blooming bruises and aching cuts.

You know he’s thinking the same thing as you. Probably thinking about how he bashed in the head of the man who cornered you during an afternoon outing with his friends. He was probably thinking about how scared you looked when he saw the dickhead from earlier that week groping you. You know he was thinking about if you were okay when the asshole started getting rough when you tried brushing past him.

Kyoutani set the towel down and sighed. He reached for you and you shied away. He ignored it and held your face in his hands.

“I killed for you.” He said. Staring you in the eyes and assessing the damage done to your face. You didn’t say anything and more tears rolled down your face. He tilted his head and took a moment to really look at you.

You thought about his question from a couple days ago. The fear in his eyes when he asked it. His bloodied clothes, now tossed away, probably living in some dump. Your assailant, and his bandaged body and furious face.

“He had it coming for a long time. He kept messing with me and my boys.” You couldn’t tell what he was trying to say to you. Was he trying to explain his actions, soothe you? Was he trying to convince you that his murderous rage was an outcome of the dead man’s actions and not his own violent tendencies? You didn’t care.

All that you knew was that you were scared. You were scared of your boyfriend. You loved him, but he terrified you. You started to sob. Wails escaping you as you replayed the moment when he repeatedly threw the head of the random man against a brick wall, not stopping until his skull was shattered, spilling out his most vital organ onto the pavement you both stood on.

Kyoutani didn’t try to hug you. He didn’t try to comfort you. Not even in that traumatic moment. He just picked you up and walked away, leaving his friends to clean the mess.

Kyoutani was never good at talking. Not even now. He just kept staring at you. “Are you scared of me?” He said, reaching for your face.

He didn’t look afraid this time. He looked tired, and serious. He looked like he already knew the answer and was just asking to ask.

You still didn’t say anything. Your hiccuping cries were enough of an answer for him.

He sighed and picked you up, carrying you to your shared bedroom. He laid you down onto the bed and after taking a moment to undress joined you. He hovered over you as you continued crying.

“I can still smell that dickhead’s cologne on you.” You didn’t know what to say to that either, you just kept still underneath him. He reached for the buttons on your dress and you stayed still.

You realized he was trying to get the smell off of you. He was almost scared of it.

The same way you were scared of the way he smelled. Not the fresh scent that you adored, but the metallic and almost deathly smell of blood.

This was my first fic!! I originally posted it on my other account, but I made that my personal blog. I also posted it on AO3 under Faerie_Lotus. Please please please!! Tell me what you guys think 「(°ヘ°)

[brotherslayer]

@notenderhands, @penwl, @the-lord-of-springs when it's my turn to choose a novel for the book club can I pick The Pattern Scars? 👉👈According to reviews it's about an orphan with the gift of prophecy who is groomed and magically entrapped into helping an insane Seer named Teldaru practice blood magic/necromancy in order to try to ignite a war with a neighboring county.

[1moreoffkeyanthem]

How did Kyle and Stan get together in the OJV universe.

I didn't find it on Ao3. Or am I just blind?

It’s not in the ao3 lineup, though their first kiss is the focus of day 4 of my Style Week fic if you want that, bc I made the conscious decision to start the OJV in their sophomore year of high school even though they started dating as freshmen, but I’ve gotten into the beginning of their relationship a few times under the OrangeJuiceVerse tag on here! I’ll summarize in this ask tho bc it’s probably a lot to sort through.

So the summer before and through about October of the m5’s first year of high school, that’s when Kyle’s ed developed and wound up getting really fucking bad. Stan finding out when Ky passed out from low blood pressure and sugar at basketball practice and telling Sharon who told Sheila was the beginning of his first recovery arc, getting into an outpatient program and set up with a therapist and dietitian, having to do online school for a while so he could focus on healing, all that. And Stan, unable to stand being away from his best friend (who he “secretly” had a crush on) for very long, was over at Kyle’s house every single day, bringing him flowers, being there for meal support, doing his research on what Kyle was going through, making sure he felt supported in a way that wasn’t his mother’s overbearingness.

A big factor to how Kyle got so unwell with his eating disorder is because he’s also a type 1 diabetic, and got super reckless about not taking his insulin because he wasn’t eating, never checking his levels and just flying from the seat of his pants ignoring his already chronically ill body. Here’s why this is relevant.

So the decision is made by Kyle’s doctors and parents that he’s getting a Dexcom, about a month into recovery, so he can better deal with things and it isn’t as easy for him to skip his medication. The day he’s set to go get it, Stan’s over ofc, and Stanley Down Bad Marsh just blurts it out that he’s so happy he’s doing better and that he loves him. Not just as a super best friend, but “like, romantically and shit”. And of course Stan’s worried that 1) maybe Kyle won’t reciprocate but also 2) Kyle might not be in the place mentally for a relationship, but Kyle, who has been ALSO madly in love for years is STOKED!!! Cue mutual confessing, Sheila interrupting to take Ky to his doctors appointment, and style texting all “does this mean you’re my boyfriend now?” While Kyle’s in the waiting room and Stan is still in his room until Kyle gets back lmfao

As much as anorexia is a bitch and a half, Kyle’s recovery WAS the catalyst for OJV style getting together. Stan was fucking terrified when he realized how bad off Kyle actually was, how good he was at hiding it, and that made him really face how much he COULD NOT LOSE HIM. And he had to tell him, and they’ve been together ever since

[zirosisblog]

Heres some art of Hylia and the first Link! So sorry if this is hard to see! I wanted to experiment with my led lights to add some spice to my art since I don't color them often because I do them during school when I don't have my coloring stuff. So here's a version without the red lighting!

I drew this in September, but I thought I'd post it to show it off. It's one of my favorite drawings. And I probably didn't do very well avoiding glare because of the sheer amount of graphite this drawing used. Also, yes... bro is kinda dead. It isn't too graphic, hopefully, and I've been told he does not look dead. But I apologize if it's still triggering.

If you just wanted to see art, you can continue scrolling. If you want rants about my opinion and headcanons for Hylink, keep reading! And remember, this is just my opinion and personal headcanons. You're allowed to have your own. Let me have mine.

What I personally believe is that Hylia and the first Link weren't close during pre-skyward sword. He did have the vision about Demise and warned Hylia about his imminent appearance. But otherwise, Link and her never interacted. Link lived with Orville, (guy who gave Link the sword in the manga), his partner. He wasn't really a hero. He was just another knight in his own opinion. Except he had an unbreakable spirit, one capable of harnessing the hero's spirit.

Which Hylia noticed. After seeing him lose his life defending her land, she knew that he was the perfect person to help carry out her great plan to defeat Demise.

And then, after the two of them had been reborn as children on Skyloft thousands of years after that war, they grew close. Attached at the hip, even. It was unplanned, but it happened anyway. Just like a lot of Skyward Sword... honestly, when you really think about it, Hylia's plan went to shit. Link had to kill Demise twice. Like... that plan wasn't very secure, but I can't really blame her since she was likely on her death bed when making it. Which is very impressive, because I can't decide what to eat most of the time on my normal bed with all the time in the world.

Anyway, that's my little rant. It's nice to let the thoughts that have been living in my brain out into the world. Guess they're leaving the nest. Thank you for reading!

[super-sucklet]

depressing ass article i just read

[piratewithvigor]

Luchasaurus is going through an Oedipus thing. Let me explain:

Lucha had a family. That family included Marko who, yes, acted as his son in vingettes, but in the ring, was more likely to be a watchful, protecting eye. He played the role of Father

Lucha got Christian, who would hug him and JB all the time, providing comfort. He played the role of Mother

Lucha most likely ate Marko (or did something to him that Christian is blackmailing him with) in order to dedicate his life to Christian

By being rid of the "Father", Lucha became one of the first of Christian's fatherless children

[longlostpath]

lacrosse ??? lacrosse ??? book about lacrosse ????? helloooooo 👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀 ?????????

ahaha no, that's fanart for beloved edgy book series "all for the game" by nora sakavic which is about a made up sport called "exy". i've heard from reliable sources that know anything about sports that exy is very silly and makes no sense, but that's okay. they use those rackets though

[bee-boppin]

My hubris of never checking tags or warnings of books finally caught up to me ✊😔