#that was a BIG ramble but hope it makes sense

[ellecdc]

Evan's little freak (affectionate)

prompt: There's something oddly comforting to me about how if I was freaking out about something and they were in their blitzed out state they'd help me calm down while sort of thinking I was a weird freak. - @moonstruckme

poly!rosekiller x fem!reader who is having some sort of mental breakdown [1k words]

CW: reader is having a quasi-panic attack, rosekiller do their best to help but they truly Don't Get It™, they think she's weird but love her anyway

Evan found himself very much unprepared and ill equipped to handle this right now. 

You’d come flying into the flat in a tizzy rambling on and on about some great injustice or upheaval in your life at a million miles an hour without hardly even sparing him or Barty a glance. 

Granted, the second blunt may have been a little much, but he generally did not know how to handle big emotions. The horrified and uncomfortable expression that Barty was wearing told Evan that he, at least, felt the same. Neither boy grew up exactly encouraged to feel their feelings out loud; pushing down all upset didn’t exactly lend itself well to empathy and compassion.

He wondered if he was simply imagining the heavy smoke in the room or if you were just oblivious to it; either way, you were clearly not on the same level as the two boys.

He’d come to the conclusion about two and a half minutes into your tangent that no one was dead or dying, and when he deduced that those were the only scenarios worth this amount of anxiety, he more or less sort of tuned you out; only registering the panicky quality of your voice.

Barty had tried calling your name a few times which only seemed to spur you on and cause Barty to look over at him in a bemused sort of concern. “What the fuck? Are you seeing this?” Barty seemed to be asking. 

I am seeing this, what the fuck, indeed.

“Sugar,” Evan tried in his most authoritative tone, hoping to hell that his words didn’t sound as slow and languid as the felt on his tongue, “you need to settle down.”

That had, apparently, been the wrong thing to say if the way you turned your body towards him with wild eyes and nearly shaking hands meant anything. 

“I can’t!” You shrieked, causing Barty to actually wince at the pitch your voice took. 

“But…why not?” Barty asked cautiously, and you burst into tears.

“Fuck me.” Evan groaned under his breath as he stamped out the end of his blunt; he was clearly done for the day. “Alright, hold on. Let me get my shit together so I can talk some sense into you. Calm down.” 

“I can’t.” You keened, Evan tsked at you. 

“Jesus Christ, you’re wild today.” He commented as he flung open the windows. Barty was already in the kitchen grabbing bottles of water and some snacks; following proper sober up protocol. 

Evan took the time to actually move the ashtray to the opposite side of the room, hoping to have as clear a head as he possibly could to deal with his wound tight little minx. Ruining his high by being all adorable and weird.  You were lucky you were so cute. 

“Treasure, you need to go sit down.” Barty murmured then as you seemed to be frozen in some sort of panicky fright in the centre of the kitchen. “Or maybe light up for a minute…” He added sarcastically under his breath. Unfortunately for Evan, you heard him.

“I can’t do that, Barty! I get paranoid!”

“As opposed to whatever you are right now?” Barty asked incredulously then, and you let out a gut wrenching sob. 

“Okay! Okay, fuckin’ hell. Come here.” Evan called as he sat back down in his chair and beckoned you forward with one impatient hand. 

“This is too much, Sugar.” He chided as he pulled you down onto his lap. “You’re going to make yourself sick.” 

“But-”

“Enough; your only job is to breathe right now, got it?” 

You sucked in a shuddering breath as you nodded; eyes squeezed shut, forcing a steady stream of tears down your cheeks. You looked pitiful. 

“He didn’t say to hold your breath.” Barty commented gently as he sat on an ottoman in front of Evan’s chair and tried to hand each of you a bottle of water - Evan took both. But the breath that escaped your lips was forceful and left you panting for more. “Oi! Not like that, hey. Deeper breaths, Tres.”

“Y/N. Relax, doll. Relax. You’re fine.” Evan chided; his hand resting on your lower back and his thumb drawing circles at the space between the top of your jeans and the bottom of your shirt gave way to skin.

The flat fell quiet save for the sound of your breathing - at first shuddering, then practised and intentional, and finally settling into a more natural cadence - as Evan drew lines up and down your back with one hand and drew circles with his thumb on your knee with the other, and Barty fiddled distractedly with your fingers. 

“I’m sorry.” You whimpered eventually, and both Evan and Barty let out sighs of relief. 

“That was fucking wild, Treasure. Absolutely deranged.” Barty scolded playfully, pulling your fingers to his lips for a kiss.

“Scared the shit out of me, Sugar. I thought someone was dying.” 

“I didn’t mean to worry you…” you offered shyly, shoulders curling in on yourself as if you sort of wanted to disappear. Evan pulled you roughly into his chest and stamped a kiss to your forehead. 

“I’m always worried about you, weird little freak.”

“I’m gonna need like, five more blunts after that. Do I have grey hairs? I feel like I have grey hair now. You’re ageing me, Treasure. You’re sending me to an early grave.” Though you clearly accepted Barty’s teasing for what it was when you returned his kiss fervently. 

“No more blunts.” Evan called as Barty moved to put on a record. “Next time she comes in like a bat out of hell, I would like to have our wits about us. Hm? Give us a fighting chance.” 

“So we’re rawdogging our way through life from now on? Alright, Ev; but if I start having meltdowns like our perfect little freak over there, you’ll have no one to blame but yourself!” 

“....Maybe one blunt a day?” Evan asked you when Barty disappeared around the corner; murmuring the question into the slightly damp hairs at your temple.

“Maybe so.” You agreed with a tired chuckle turned sigh. He couldn’t blame you; if he was tired after all of that, you must be exhausted.

[beloveds-embrace]

Wait, I had to comment on that “skinny people expulsion” anon said

I’ve been both big and small in size (being big most of my life) and there have been never anything such as skinny people expulsion

Also, when people write for bigger bodied reader, smaller bodied readers can still get immersed. But it can’t be said said the other way around

You can still have boobs/ass/…etc as a smaller bodied person. But you can’t have a waist that isn’t there visible or any very skinny centred description be inclusive for bigger readers, if that makes sense?

Of course they’d be a surge in a bigger bodied reader, it’s only now that bigger bodied people aren’t being demonised (though unfortunately, it’s still a prevalent thing). Of core they’d be an increase before things even out

And honestly? If you’re that bothered by seeing representation for something that doesn’t resonate with you upsets you that match, maybe you should look inside to understand why you still holding onto your prejudice

A normal person wouldn’t get offended over others writing what represents them

Anyway, I rambled enough I think. It just really bothers me, that mentality lacks logic. I hope you have a great day/night!!

Still hoping they weren’t serious 😭 the whole “them vs us” mentality was weird af like what. Anyways I hope you’ve have a wonderful day/night as well dear anon, let’s all just not think about that other anon anymore lmfao not worth the trouble

[adolfusraptor1985]

Hiiii!

I saw that you’re a physical nonhuman and I’ve been interested in that for a while since I’m also a Therian, but not physical (I think) I know the community is really hateful on that topic and I want to get the view of an actual physical nonhuman.

Thanks for answering!!<33

Much love and big meows :3

Hey there!

I'm no expert by any means when it comes to terminology, but I'll be happy to share my personal experience with physical nonhumanity.

Being nonhuman physically, for me, comes from a few different thought processes, which I honestly am still sorting through myself 😅.

The first reason is how me being nonhuman similar to being trans. For reference, I'm transmasc. In no way would I ever refer to myself as "physically a girl" or "physically female" despite my biology/labels at birth. I'm a guy through and through, that's just who I am (technically demiboy but who cares). Being nonhuman is the same way. I'm not ever going to call myself "physically human" because biology ≠ identity. It really doesn't matter how I'm born.

The second reason is how I sometimes view the human body as a viel of sorts. My physical form is the physical form of the creature I identify as, simply because it's literally me (if that makes any sense whatsoever). I believe the term used by some is "pseudohuman". I feel as though people (myself including most of the time) just aren't able to see my true form, almost like this human body is an illusion.

The last reason is relatively new, and I've never actually spoken about it on this blog. It also clashes a bit with the previous theory, so I haven't determined which is more accurate. While searching through the physical shifter community, I've come to the idea that I may physically, genetically, be a shifter (werecreature). For me, it comes from feeling like I should be able to physically transform, but either haven't "unlocked" that ability or am unable to do so for some reason.

There's a lot of different reasons someone may identify as physically nonhuman, but these are three that I share with many others. There's also some people that may be physically nonhuman due to delusions/mental illness, and that's perfectly valid too! I personally don't think I experience this, but it's still something good to mention.

I hope this was helpful! As always, I've ended up typing way more than expected, so I'll leave it hear before I ramble for too long 😅. Hope this is helpful, and if you have any more questions I'm more than happy to try answering!

[haunted-xander]

Do you think Saix' emotional co-dependence started as a Nobody or did it start as human Isa and just grew to an unhealthy degree?

[drawnfamiliarfaces]

i... wrote a smol fic (っ´▽`*)っ

also!!!!! If you haven't seen it - shoutout to first ever published fic in Ninja Showdown/My Immortal Soul tags - Lustrous Red by @missadmyre !!!

[independent-fics]

Also thinking a lot today about Sophie’s “he’s his father’s son” about Hardison in redemption because now I’m wondering about all the traits in the ot3 kids that are all a little bit Nate.

Like Hardison has the drive to be a good man. He desired to do more always. They all did in their own ways it’s how they got into this but Hardison always was doing more than just being a criminal even when he was a self proclaimed criminal. That drive definitely was influenced by Nate and his catholic guilt in a way. His desire to be a good man yet he also then later claimed he was a thief. That duality exists so much in Hardison too. The ability to be both and it not be bad.

Parker obviously became the mastermind. The planner. The one always one step ahead of everything else. That was honed by Nate as well as the drive to be good but with her own Parker twist. As Nate said when Archie said ruined her in “The Inside Job” he said he didn’t do anything to her. He never tried to change her. Influenced her sure. But Nate never tried to make her anything she wasn’t. Parker always had that in her to be good as she learned to be part of a team but the masterminding was from Nate. And with that was less a desire to do good but a willingness to do what is needed. To be ten steps ahead similar to her conversation with Eliot in “The Long Way Down Job” to be a mastermind and do what others won’t.

Eliot also has a little but of that but always had that trait. The influence he got from Nate was the self sacrificing. Eliot always had that in a way but usually for money and his reputation of getting the job done. But as he was with a team and that team became family he definitely was more and more willing to do what was needed if he had to. Like Nate sacrificing himself to sterling at the end of season 2 Eliot would do the same if he felt it was necessary. He went from “every man for himself” to declaring he would die for them in the end. And that was Nate’s influence as well as just being part of a team.

[dirty-bear-rick-sanchez]

Thinking about Prime calling C-137 simply 'Wife Guy'/'Dead Wife Rick' despite C-137 being the first Rick to actually escape the goo trap and find Prime and the only other Rick to invent portal travel and I was reminded of that scene in Pickle Rick where Rick is fighting the big rat:

"By the way, you might notice that in spite of your numerous distinctive features, I never gave you a name like Scar or Stripe or Goliath. That's because, to me, you aren't special. You were special to rats. Now they're dead. I guess it was me you should have impressed. God damn it, I love myself."

Prime really did think of himself as so far above every other Rick but also had the desperate need to prove that to the very Ricks whose opinions he claims to be above. He definitely was the 'Rickest Rick', not for the reasons C-137 thinks but because of his massive ego and need to prove himself.

C-137 is making progress towards being different from Prime in terms of accepting and admitting to his vulnerabilities and flaws, which I think is very evident in JuRicksic Mort ('you don't get to be so smart that you remove yourself from everybody'). Now that Rick has killed Prime, he's left to confront all the things about himself he hates. His hunt for Prime really is the perfect metaphor for Rick dealing with the fact that he's a bad person - his whole quest to find Prime was ultimately just another Pickle Rick situation where he used the guise of sci-fi adventures to avoid confronting his real problems in therapy. Unmortricken was a massive turning point for him because, for the first time since his Beth and Diane were killed, he finally has to face himself and put in the hard work and long hours to actually confront and improve his flaws.

[defiledtomb]

I got so scared of putting myself out there but. Let me tell you, even if you hit a few snags. It is so fucking worth it

[silusvesuius]

this tree from my new drawing looking goated afffffff 👑👑

[kaseyskat]

hi guys so I relistened to the lark and sparrow scene at the dance three times and I am having some Thoughts re: motivation and love between the twins because like. I know. I know we all focus on sparrow telling normal he's not proud of him I know. but also I feel like we tend to gloss over some of the other moments in this scene: bits like, sparrow repeating I love you I love you I love you so much like a mantra: because I think it is a mantra? another example of sparrow self-iding as loving so hard it comes off almost forced?

and another thing: there's such a stark difference between the twins motivation and it's so in your face and yet I don't see it discussed much so I'm adding it here too: sparrow is familial. he tells normal he wants normal to rescue him explicitly because he wants to see him again. he only confesses his disapproval in normal because he thinks if they can meet in the middle, it'll boost their daddy magic: ie, sparrows willing to hurt normal a little to help him a lot later, which is definitely a parenting style he inherited from henry ahskfkkdlflg

but lark's motivation is alllll self-sacrificial. "don't come save us we can either handle ourselves or die for our sins and it'll be fine either way" he says. coupled with the reveal of lark sleeping with rebecca and the amount of times he tries to talk over sparrow when sparrow is actually the more helpful one really hammers in the concept of how lark views himself and his relationship with sparrow vs how sparrow sees it: lark tends to view sparrow as an extension of himself, and sparrow never corrects him (and probably made this worse in the process) while sparrow views lark as someone in his family who he will love and forgive even if he's not proud of him, and I just think that is such a neat thing to explore!

[kyouka-supremacy]

Well.

[bambiraptorx]

Prompt 25 with Donnie and ... any one of his enemies ig

Sorry for the delay in answering this, my original attempt got eaten by tumblr (that's what i get for writing things directly in an ask and nowhere else lol) and then only after I wrote it did I remember that I was considering having Donnie be an amputee in this au. And I was like well I can't not have him be disabled now that I've remembered that, and I had to rewrite it lol. 

Anyway. This ended up a bit on the longer side.

Prompt 25: Showing up injured at their enemy’s house

ask game

Content warnings: injury/being poisoned, ableist comment

—

Donnie’s head pounds as he pushes his wheelchair through the dark streets, the fire burning behind his eyes all but consuming him.  It drips through his skull like lit oil, strangling his attempts to think with pure, incandescent pain.  

It would have been wiser, perhaps, to head for an apothecary’s instead of towards the palace, or maybe a bonesetter’s?  Hard to tell through the pain.  But no, it’s too late, and finding one that’s open at this time of night would be far more dangerous.  Right, right.  He’d forgotten.

It certainly hadn’t been smart to work so late in his smithy alone, especially after not sleeping well for the past few days, but spilled milk and all that.  He just has to get to the palace now, he’ll be okay if—when he gets there.  The Baroness will take care of him.  Hold it over his head for the rest of his life and then some, just like his smithy, but she’ll keep him alive to do that.

So here he is, out past midnight and hoping that he remembers the way to the palace well enough to get there in the dark.  His head aches horribly, but it can’t be that much farther, right?  Just… around this turn.

He can’t quite make out the guards at the gate, but the way the torchlight seems to pierce straight through his eyes (ow) isn’t exactly helping him see who it is.  It’s… someone with feathers?  And someone with a long reddish face, taller than the other guard.  That one fox guy, hopefully, what's his name, Reynard?  He’s good, he tolerates Donnie.

Just a few more feet.  A few more.  His arms ache from pushing his chair so far, over so many hills, his vision fills with black blotches, his heart seems to be inventing beats to follow (and there’s something else that he doesn’t dare think about, because if he thinks about it that makes it feel real—)

“H-hey, Reynard,” Donnie manages to squeak out, before his front wheel slips into that damn pothole in front of the gate that’s never been fixed.  Fuck, now he’s got to get himself out—

The world tilts on its edge, and the last thing he remembers is the guards running towards him.

He wakes up slowly, in a bed with purple hangings and beautifully soft sheets.  There’s light coming from somewhere, but thankfully gentle and mostly blocked by the hangings, save for the slight gaps between them.  It’s comfortable here, and for a long moment he considers just going back to sleep.

Wait.

Where is he?

He turns his head—or tries to.  It’s a painfully slow process that ends with his face half-buried in his pillow.  Alright, arm, then?  Hand?  Finger?  Nose?

It takes an unbelievable amount of exertion to get any of his body parts to so much as twitch.  A sluggish panic builds in his veins; he doesn’t know where he is or why or how he got here or what happened to him.

The panic spikes when a hand reaches through the bed’s trappings and pulls them apart, bright lights streaming through an open window.  Ow.  His fucking eyeballs.

“Why, hello, my turtley-boo.  I’m glad to see you awaksies!”  It’s Mother.  Of course it is.  His vision is blurred from the sharp light, but he can make out the fluffy halo of white hair around her face and the shade of purple she always wears.

Donnie hisses reflexively, both because ow sunlight ow and because Mother.  He doesn’t know what’s going on but spider lady waking him up at Oh Bright Thirty in the morning is never a good sign.

She chuckles condescendingly at the sound, and claps both sets of hands together.  “Malutaciously naughty of you to pass out on Reynard the other night, you know.  Such a fribbety-fright you gave him!  He was nearly more nervous about how to handle your chair than he was about you, he’s so aware of your silly-billy little rules on it being touched.”

Donnie growls.  It comes out as more of a weak extended grunt.

“And you just had to be noodling around with that armor piece at night, didn’t you?  Not very smart of you, dearie.  I could tell from the poisoning symptoms you had—what a fizzy-winkle!  You’re lucky you came here, really, I doubt many people would know how to treat it.  It would have been quite the gruesomey-wuesome way to die!”  The light glitters on her fangs as she leans over him, a hand reaching out and gently stroking his forehead.  Her touch burns his skin like the poison had last night.

…is that what happened, then?  But… he’d be careful, he really thought he had been.  He’d heard the rumors of the kind of corruption a piece of the Dark Armor could cause, that’s why he’d taken so many precautions when forging it!  What, was he supposed to just turn down a commission that promised to pay that highly and provided the metal to boot?  Actually, maybe that had just been a scam.  Or possibly an assassination attempt?  He never used to have those happen before they’d moved to the palace with Mother.  Ugh, so annoying.

But what had he even been doing with it?  He’d worn his thickest gloves, his goggles, even wrapped a scarf around his face so he wouldn’t risk inhaling any of the blackened flecks that had come off the armor.  He’d had a friend take Shelldon so he wouldn’t be exposed to the armor either, and while it was admittedly harder to work without his service animal, there wasn’t anything that could have caused Donnie to—

Oh, right.  His face heats as the memories come back.  He’d finished reshaping the piece, had finally quenched it, stored it in that enchanted chest the metal had come in… and cleaned up.  Without any protection.  There were flecks from the armor piece all over his workspace, and he’d cleaned them up like it was just a normal day of work.  He must have breathed them in, gotten them on his skin—

So, fuck, it was his fault.  He’d gotten himself poisoned through exposure.

He glances at Mother’s face above him, a sickeningly gentle smile on it that doesn’t reach a single one of her six eyes.  “Don’t worry, turtle-boo, you’ll be just ducky.  It’s only going to take a month or so for the effects of that armor to wear off, at least with my doctors helping you, but no breezing off for you, dearie!”

A month where she’ll refuse to let him leave the palace at all, no doubt.  If he could bite her hand he would.  …Which is probably why she’s keeping it well away from his mouth.

Distantly, a door creaks open.  “How is he?”

Wait, is that… ?

Donnie’s suspicions are confirmed as Mother sighs, her unsettling smile flipping into a frown.  “I believe I told you not to be a meddle-doo, darling.”

“I—I know, I just…”  A soft swallow, quiet enough Donnie can barely hear it.  “I heard what happened, and I need to know he’s alright.”

“Oh, fine.  I know how you are with the turtley-boos.”  The Baroness steps away, and someone else rushes into her place.

“Donnie?  Donnie, can you hear me?”  Another hand, this one thin and bony, gently cups his face.  “I was so worried.  I haven’t seen you in months, and then this—that cursed armor—”

A quick, shaky breath, like a muffled sob—Donnie would recognize the way his dad cries anywhere.  It’s as awful a sound as ever.  If Donnie could, he’d shake off the bone-deep exhaustion settling into his bones, he’d take every second he can to make sure his dad knows he’s okay, he’ll be fine, but even as he forces his mouth open to speak, his eyelids close of their own accord.

He’s tired.  And he doesn’t want to be, but he can’t help it.

The Baroness’s footsteps pitter across the floor.  “We need to leave him be, my dear.  He needs his riddley-rest if he’s to recover, and it will be easier on the healers if the little giggly-pin is asleep again when they come check on him.”

Dad sighs heavily, and for a second, Donnie hopes.  Will Dad stand up to her this time, for once?

His hand disappears for a moment, then takes Donnie’s and squeezes softly.  “Alright, my love.”

Of course he doesn’t do anything.  He never does, never even tries.  The hangings are pulled back into place to block the light, a gentle “rest well, my son” is whispered, and Donnie is alone.

It doesn’t take long before he drifts off.

[inkykeiji]

clari, clari! have you seen the movie "grease"? if so, what'd you think about it? to tell you the truth, it's my favorite romance film! my mom introduced it to me when i was a little girl and i still love it so much to this day 🥺💖

beloved ran!!! (ㅅ´ ˘ `) I HAVE HEHEHE oh my gosh okay so, similar to you, my best friend’s mom introduced us to it when we were like, so young (maybe a little too young; took us many many many years to finally understand what broke in the car with kenickie and rizzo LMAO) because she was a HUGE fan. she had a really cool collectors edition of the VHS that came with the script and some other fun memorabilia :3

anyway, i love that film so much and it has such a special spot in my heart bcoz we used to watch it every sleepover and just like ??? act it out hahaha (*ﾉωﾉ) i often credit grease as the first piece of art that really got me into that good girl x bad boy dynamic ehehehe <3

[forgetbeam]

i’ve seen someone complain about like. why is the only universe where bonnie and marcy have a good relationship the one where they’re both guys (which, not true — bonnie and marcy are very happy together in the main universe now, they just went through a bit of a. rough patch)

but like. gary and marshall live(d) inside simon’s head. of course they’re gonna be all cutesy and lovey with each other, simon’s an old romantic and one of the number one things he always wanted was for marceline to be happy. it’s been pretty clearly shown that simon’s subconscious and the world around him had an effect on fionnaworld while it was still stuck in his dome

[bookwormstarwarsfan]

I never understood the gay Luke Skywalker concept

This sounds strange, I know, but I'm not talking about Luke simply being gay in people's headcanons. That's totally okay (if his characterisation is still on point and he is not some stereotypical soft gay femboy uwu without any other character trait than that), after all, in the movies we don't get to know his sexual orientation (besides that little crush on Leia) and the new Canon is also not clear, so it's excepted that there will be many different kind of interpretations.

What I don't understand is the common, really popular 'Just look at him, he is sooo gay' fandom thing.

Because, and maybe it's just my observation, but he behaves in the most avarage, (stereo)typical heterosexual way.

Of course just because somebody behaves the typical heterosexual way, he can still be gay, almost every gay man I know are like that. But avarage, typical heterosexual looking/behaving people aren't called gay by tons of people normally. There is nothing on them that can be the base to 'he is so gay'.

So back to Luke, and don't forget, as I said, this is just my observation! He is the most avarage 19 years old straight boy to me, at least his behaviour, he still could be gay unrelated to those. He lives at a farm, where he does the usual farm works, he likes to do mechanic stuff as a hobby, he also shoots womprats in his free time and goes on speeding races with his friends. His biggest dream is to go to the Imperial Academy to became a pilot. He can't stop thinking about his father, he wants to be just like him. The moment he sees Leia, he is mesmerized by her beauty and imediately wants to save her. Later it's more clear that he has a little crush on her. Then he joins the Rebellion and becames a good freedom fighter soldier, leading his squadron, going on mission, being an ace pilot etc. He wears the typical farmer clothes and then he wears standard issue soldier clothes and then he wears basic jedi clothes. His gesture, his posture etc. are Mark Hamill's, who IS the avarage straight guy.

(Don't get me started on his relationship with Han, Biggs or Wedge! I mean, you can ship them, I don't like these, but don't have problem with other people shipping it. Just please, don't forget that MEN CAN ALSO HAVE PHYSICALLY, EMOTIONALLY AFFECTIONATE PLATONIC FRIENDSHIPS! Don't be a neighbourhood in the 50s seeing the two boys, who are good friends, smiling at each other and going feral that they must be a couple; even though yours and the neighbourhoods's feelings about this relationship are obviously the complete opposite.)

So shortly, as I already said, I understand why such a big part of fandom headcanons Luke Skywalker gay (the lack of clear sexual orientation in the movies and/or Canon), but I absolutely don't see why such a big part of fandom says 'Just look at him, he MUST be gay'.

[thewindandthestars]

WHO ARE YOU ANON??? REVEAL THY SELF THIS INSTANCE ‼️