#stay spun

[bizzareweird]

If you're 503 or Oregon hit me up.

If others places drop area codes...

[nodope]

Anyone feel like sending me some birthday money so I can party a little bit this weekend? ❄️😘

cashapp 》》

$mileebby

[99banshee]

Got the party just need a female to party with. 606 area code

[piromina]

huge props to marinette for spinning up that lie so fast and on the spot, too. I thought I was good but damn. of course she must have had a general idea of what she was going to say to adrien beforehand going off of gabriel's "make me look good" and her own love telling her that the truth would hurt adrien even more, but that's just a very vague idea. she could not have possibly spun up that entire story of a lie in her head beforehand with all that was going on - dealing with all the truths coming in one after the other, the crying, the emotional trauma, getting the kwamis back -

and of course, there's adrien. he is one of the highest things on her list of priorities, his safety being the first thing she needs to take care of. the problem is, she doesn't know how. the only thing she can do in that situation is lie. a small lie. just one to make it better for now and then she can make it a long-term lie later. make sure no one else finds out.

and once she started telling the lie, once the first words were out of the mouth, it was all improvisation. her next words showed up in her head as she was going, spinning up a believable story, just good enough to be taken as the truth. she rambled - a rookie mistake for liars - but you couldn't blame her. she's a professional liar, almost, with her superhero identity, but this one is different. just one hour after learning the truth she had to cover up all this with no warning beforehand.

she couldn't tell adrien the truth. but she couldn't do much to comfort him either. ladybug couldn't tell him something only marinette knows.

she had to lie. she had to come up with something on the spot. those words would haunt her for the rest of her life - that lie was all she could think about for the next couple of months because she had to make it work. she had to keep the truth and make everything work out. it wasn't a big deal. she just had to tell adrien something, anything that would comfort him! what would comfort him about his father? what would convince him that he was a good guy this whole time? that he was a, a, a hero! yes, she would tell him that. it was a white lie! she wasn't a bad person! she just had to tell adrien that his father was a hero so that he would never have to know the truth and suffer like she did. he was a hero.

was.

once that word came out of her mouth, there was no going back.

[a-dash-in-the-middle]

wanting to visit the archives without looking like a fanatic bc nobody likes posting government documents online apparently

[slovo-ljubve]

I made this for a OC prompt on Bluesky but completely forgor to post it The prompt reminded me of this little scene I wrote but couldn't fit in the main story

The Exarch of Death and Fawn-eating butterflies

“Fawn, wait!”

Arno strode out to a glade, disregarding the cries that the thick trees behind him had already muffled. The glade stretched endlessly, mirroring the boundless sky, its sweeping green expanse encircled by the forest, which from the horizon could easily be mistaken for dense shrubbery. Fighting the stiff grass, he slowed to a stop. Wide eyes took in the scenery taken aback by the waves of green dancing under the wind’s caress. For a moment, he stood completely still, breathless, mesmerized by the silent beauty and the world completely unknown to the human touch that unfolded under his feet. He took few tentative steps, sharp grass catching the ends of his long skirt, when suddenly a burst of color dispersed around him. A dozen butterflies erupted from the ground beneath, fluttering their colorful wings in a playful dance. Arno spun slowly as butterflies encircled him, following their lead as if thanking them for a warm welcome. The butterflies dipped and soared, brushing past his hands and hair, and Arno allowed to be swayed by the delicate wings, to be part of this joyful, fleeting world.

“Stay just like that.” The voice, soft yet authoritative, was much closer now.

Arno hadn't noticed when Orfeo has settled into the grass by the forest’s edge. He was back in his human form, red locks brushing teasingly against his bare collarbones.

“Do you even know what those creatures are?” he asked, his sharp white fangs visible.

Confusion painted Arno’s face. “They are butterflies, right? I’ve seen them in the village,” he said in uncertain tone, knitting his brows. Few butterflies had by then landed softly on his clothes and in his hair.

“Wrong!” Orfeo roared. “They are the spawn of the Exarch of Death, a creature lurking in the shadows of these woods, with a taste for human flesh. Why do you think this place is so devoid of human presence?” His expression was deadly serious, a finger raised toward the sky in emphasis. “Much like their creator, they hunger for blood. Their shimmering wings lure in prey, only to devour them completely, leaving not even the bones behind. A slow and painful death one can’t escape.” Orfeo retrieved a booklet, thumbing through it until he found a blank page. With a piece of graphite, he began sketching the outline of a figure - long hair and a skirt swirling in the wind, just like the person standing before him.

Arno bristled, standing frozen in place - a futile attempt at dissuading the flesh-eating creatures. Cold sweat trickled down his back as he watched the demon’s casual demeanor, unnerved by the calmness. He remained motionless, helpless under the weight of Orfeo’s piercing blue gaze, which silently demanded him to stay still. He bit his lip, his eyes darting frantically in search of an answer . “But what should I... How do I...” he stammered, his voice breaking between sobs. A single butterfly, nestled in the raven hair, crawled slowly toward his face. Black eyes, brimming with tears, desperately sought the demon’s unwavering gaze . “Please, help me,” he cried out his voice trembling with fear and helplessness. In that moment, Orfeo rose and approached the frightened Fawn. He towered over Arno, a gentle smile softening his features, tenderness pooling from his eyes. Arno blushed as the demon cupped his cheek, wiping away the tear that had slipped down. With his other hand, he grabbed the Fawn-eating butterfly from Arno’s hair. In an instant, it burst into flames, its wings never to flutter again. Arno stared, dazed, his breath slowly calming .

“There’s no need for those tears, Fawn,” Orfeo murmured with a smile. “They’re just ordinary butterflies.”

[unproduciblesmackdown]

getting gnc with it out & about at math meetup (or wherever)

[graysongraysoff]

Ask Me About the Transformative Power of Yuuta Okkotsu's love for Rika Orimoto,

[clits-and-clips]

Do you see a difference in not smoking weed? I’ve been trying to cut down. I smoke like 3 spliffs a day if I’m really stressed lol and it’s going on 5 years since I started. I will admit, I have cut down a LOT imo. I used to chain smoke back to back like 6 or more a day especially when I was together with my ex. But what helps you get your mind off of smoking or trying to fight the urge?

Ah jeez, I quit the day he broke up with me because I thought maybe he would take me back lmao, but I wanted to quit for a long time before that so that made it easier. I'm definitely less agitated, less anxious but I still have anxiety. I was smoking all day every day for two years, before that it was every day but not consistent throughout. I've been reading a lot, but when I cant concentrate on that I just sit on my phone a lot or watch TV shows. To be honest I really don't know what's distracting me the most... probably all the appointments I've been forcing myself to go to. The main thing for me is my anger issues, I hate being an angry person and weed made it worse (because it stems from my anxiety) my advice would be I guess to find something that genuinely takes the focus off it. Reading (find a good series), TV, art, if you have pets play with them, reorganise your stuff and cull (did a lot of that moving back home), cleaning is a good one but I dont have the energy for it anymore. Sorry if this is long haha. Focusing on my pets is a big one cause I have to be more independent with it and do it myself. Gardening!!! Buy some plants and take care of them lol. My parents and siblings are a massive help and keep me distracted so if you have a good family or circle of friends ask for their help! Set small goals and work towards them

[leslieseveride]

so how am i supposed to feel about shauna? cause quite frankly i think she’s a sociopath, and not in the fun, silly, goofy way.

[pseudowho]

"--need to go--" kiss "--just for a minute, let me--" kiss "--go to the bathroom, I--" kiss "--god, you're a menace, I'll lift you onto this counter, and you'll stay there until I get back--" giggle, kiss.

You whispered filthy whispers against Kento's lips, playfully dragging him back to you by the collar each time he tried to release himself.

Half-huff, and half-kiss, he grumbled and spun you around as you laughed, gripping your hands behind your back and pressing you forwards against the counter.

"--unhand me, wife, or I'll tie you up--"

"--don't threaten me with a good time, Kento--"

"--truly-- truly incorrigible woman--"

You laughed again, arching back against him, and pressing his cock into the crease of your barely-covered arse until he moaned; in annoyance, or lust? You weren't sure. Perhaps both. You had the bit between your teeth.

Kento wouldn't put up with your shenanigans for much longer. He slapped your arse, jiggling it with a growl, and dashed past your swiping hands to the bathroom. You whined, then sighed to the sound of his victory chuckle, the bathroom door clicking closed behind him.

Silence-- for 30 seconds. A minute. Two minutes. Three. You called out, smirking.

"Doesn't take that long to pee, Ken--"

The bathroom door clicked open. A low, mulish grumble sounded from within.

"I...can't go."

You frowned, stifling a laugh. "What?"

"I can't go. I'm too hard. I...can't pee."

Bursting out into laughter was your downfall, and it broke down into panicked squeals as Kento stomped out of the bathroom after you, his lap tightly tented over his cock.

He tossed you onto the sofa, dragging you back by the legs when you tried to wriggle and escape, and pinning you beneath him with nuzzled growls to your throat.

"--thorn in my side-- too erect to piss, and other problems my wife causes--"

"--oh, no, whatever can we do to fix this--"

"--you're talking too much and wearing too many clothes, as usual-- come back here-- certainly one thing we can do to fix this, madam--"

[t-o-r-t-u-r-e-d-p-o-e-t]

[songweaver]

I'm really enjoying the story and characters in An Archdemon's Dilemma, but J-Novel Club really needs to up their translation game. If I have to read the phrase "span on the spot" one more time, I'm gonna seriously lose my shit >_<

[foldingfittedsheets]

Did you know guinea pigs are born just like. Tiny adults? They’re fully cooked. They come out, eyes open, fully furred, ready to do the whole array of guinea pig activities.

I learned this as a child. I was perhaps ten when this story took place. Our female guinea pig was pregnant, but she’d gotten mites and needed a bath. She was wildly pregnant. Bulging at the seams with babies. Ready to burst at any moment because all the babies needed to stay in there long enough to be full pigs. But we wanted to avoid the babies all getting mites and needing baths. We failed, they all needed baths. Mites are a bitch.

We knew she had three babies cooking in there. How did we know? We could feel each individual bulge in her belly. My mom was overseeing the pig bath but I was pretty much just doing my own thing, scrubbing her gently, rinsing the soap carefully.

After the bath our mother pig was not in the best mood. I was carrying her back to her freshly made mite free bedding when she’d had enough.

I was acutely aware that I was holding four lives in my childish grip, and I bore her along as if she were made of precious jewels and spun glass. Balanced in my hands I could feel the bulge of each of her babies slithering wetly around under her skin.

Which is why when she hauled off and sank her teeth into the meat of my hand I didn’t flinch. I didn’t drop her. I bore her as carefully and steadily as if I weren’t now bleeding freely, and I set her gently into her pig palace.

As I drew my hands away I screamed:

“FUCK!!!”

I then turned to look at my mother, who’d been watching the process intently.

I was fully aware that I had just done the worst possible swear directly in front of an authority figure and was very probably going to be punished. My mom was looking at me with a blank expression that I was waiting to turn stormy or disappointed.

“That must have hurt a lot,” was all she said.

She helped me throughly clean and bandage the bite. All the babies were born healthy and sound, looking like someone had used a shrink ray on trio of a guinea pigs.

Years later my mother confided in me that contrary to my belief that she’d be angry for swearing what she’d felt for me in that moment was overwhelming pride that in the face of pain and shock I had refused to let harm befall my little charges.