#y'all will never find me

[keithbutgay]

oh my fucking god i forgot i still have fics posted on wattpad----

[cozylittleartblog]

Columbo and the Knight (1984)

put me in the universe where Columbo ran through the 1980s and had a crossover episode with Knight Rider. I think they deserved it, and I am not just saying that because they're my two favorite Old Shows. @telebeast wrote a little fanfic blurb about it and I HAD to visualize it into a comic (which is also the longest comic I have finished thus far at five pages...), so writing credit goes to them.

Autism W!

[corviday]

old wip from 2022

[atwas-gaming]

I've had a scenario in mind for a while now about what it would take for Sonic to finally own up to his feelings about Amy. And I think what it would take is...

Shadow.

Well, just plain jealousy and a fear of losing Amy before he even has her. But Shadow would be the best one to instigate it.

First, some headcanons about how they behave romantically:

Amy's maturing and spreading her wings. She's not moving on from Sonic, not really, but it's possible that she's starting to notice other guys. There's some hints in the Twitter takeovers that she may be developing some small interest in Shadow.

Sonic is clearly interested in Amy, and if you pay attention, he has been for a long time. What he's not interested in is marriage- at least, not yet. And Amy is clearly wifey material- she cooks, she takes care of people, she has a caring nature, she's protective, and she's extremely loyal. She's not someone you can use for a one-night stand, you take all of her or you risk shattering her into pieces. She's Sonic's friend, no matter what else he may feel about her, so he avoids any romantic interaction because he doesn't want to hurt his friend.

Meanwhile, Shadow is... not aro-ace, per se, I don't know what you'd call him. He can see that Amy is attractive, but so is Rouge, and Shadow has no interest in Rouge. He just isn't interested in the physical side of romance.

What I think it would take to get Shadow's attention is something deeper, an emotional or spiritual connection.

So here's the Sonamy/Shadamy love triangle scenario that I came up with:

As Amy ages, she feels her desire for male companionship growing stronger. Sonic takes little notice of it, but it doesn't escape Shadow's attention.

Somehow or other, Shadow and Amy end up alone together, probably on a mission or something. I haven't figured out the exact circumstances, but they're together for quite a while. Amy loves to talk to people and get to know them, and Shadow has a soft spot for her, so she's able to get him to talk to her about things that he's probably never told anyone before. And he knows she won't tell anyone about them, either, so he feels safe telling her.

At some point, Shadow realizes, she's done it. She's broken through his barriers, and at the same time, she's calmed the storm of emotions that he's had swirling inside him for 50-odd years. He hasn't felt such peace since... no, not even then. This is something else. He's never felt this way before, and he doesn't have the words to describe it, but he's fallen head over heels for her.

This is why he never lets his guard down, even around the people he trusts most. Because if he lets them in, even a little bit, he might let them in too far. ("Can you see all of me, walk into my mystery, step inside and hold on for dear life.")

He loses control of himself and kisses Amy.

And when he lets go, he instantly hates himself, he starts throwing his barriers back up, because... she's crying. She's crying because she liked it, and she wants more of it, but she's still so desperately in love with Sonic, and she's starting to think she'll never get it from him, so she'll accept affection from just about any man, and it's not like Shadow's unattractive, and, and, and...

So Shadow's raw and open and hurting, he knew before he said or did anything that he was going down a dangerous path, but talking to Amy felt so good he didn't want to stop. And he wants to erase what just happened like it never did. But now he has to be the one to comfort Amy, because this was his fault, Amy was just being the kind and compassionate person she always was and Shadow was an idiot for letting it get to him and making more of it than what it was and losing control. So he has to keep his barriers down for just a moment longer, just long enough to hold Amy and tell her it's not her fault, until her tears finally stop.

It leaves Shadow burning with rage, and as soon as he can, he forcefully confronts Sonic (I imagine Shadow slamming Sonic against a wall or a tree and shouting in his face 😝) and basically tells him, "Amy needs attention from a man, she wants that man to be you, but if you can't grow up and do what it takes, then I'll be more than glad to take your place."

Which scares Sonic good and proper. It's bad enough to think that he could lose Amy, anyway, but to lose her to that faker??? And it finally makes him go to Amy and (very, very awkwardly) ask her to be his girlfriend. And... I'll let y'all imagine the rest.

As for Shadow... he, quite understandably, becomes somewhat aloof towards both Sonic and Amy for a long time after that.

But Shadow's immortal, right? And there's other Amy's in the world. He doesn't have to be alone forever.

Oh, and as for why Shadow would confront Sonic instead of just taking Amy for himself: because he respects both Amy and, especially, himself far too much to do that. He knows good and well she will never be able to fully commit to anyone else as long as Sonic is still an option. If Shadow was to start dating her, she'd go along with it, but it would become a power play between him and Sonic to try to "win" Amy's affections. Shadow has no issues with fighting Sonic over just about anything, but when it comes to his own feelings, he won't stoop that low, and he's not about to hurt himself by playing such a game. I also don't think he would view Amy as "a prize to be won."

[10yearsofdnp]

December 31, 2014: Looking back, 10 years later... I think he did just that! ❤️🥠

[good-to-drive]

Abuse, Silence, And Why Kevin Can Fuck Himself

I recently finished watching Kevin Can Fuck Himself on Netflix, and, aside from being the most brutally honest portrayal of domestic abuse I have ever seen, I discovered a beautifully written examination of narrative as power and silence as abuse and how this manifests in our larger culture. 

Without going into too much detail, the show is filmed in two distinct styles that are interleaved throughout each episode to tell a cohesive story. Allison and Kevin’s relationship as seen by the rest of the world is told through a multi-cam, laugh-track sitcom that depicts a very typical “goofy husband, shrewish wife” mainstream comedy. Allison’s life through her own eyes is told through a single-cam drama/thriller about Allison planning to murder Kevin to escape his abuse. 

It’s an absolute masterclass in screenwriting, but more than that, every episode explores the difference between truth, fact, and reality, and how none of these things are quite as much or as little as story. But while the process of transforming the chaotic and plotless reality of life into a story is as involuntary and essential as breathing, misogyny and the degradation of women is just as ubiquitous in our society, and a story that exists at the expense of another person’s lived reality is a refutation of their humanity. 

It's also just a great show for anyone who likes to engage with history (or reality TV or true crime or “real life stories” in general), because while we have to tell ourselves stories about her own lives, we have to tell ourselves stories about other people as well. Eternal silence is narrative death, and the perpetual silence of an unspoken narrative is often the last death we can visit on someone whose story we’d rather ignore. 

I also pulled up some books – Lolita and Disgrace – that dealt with similar themes, but from the perspective of the abuser. And what strikes me the most is that, across three beautifully written stories about narrative and silence within a culture that normalizes abuse, Allison, who began her story within a state of narrative death, was the only point-of-view character who had any chance of surviving. 

One of the main themes of Kevin is that a compelling story is often a story that reinforces what we already believe or like to believe, and while the story may be factual and true it often also exists at the expense of someone's lived reality. The exact same series of events can be a silly joke or a harrowing tale of abuse depending on the lens through which we view it, but historically we've only been willing to see the multicam, laugh track, sitcom perspective on unbalanced relationships.

The alchemical process of turning a series of disjoint facts and experiences into a narrative creates something new and compelling, and erases much of what previously existed. In this way, it’s entirely irreversible. We spin our experiences into a very thin thread, a story we can tell ourselves that elicits something within us, something we need in order to live with the complex, uncertain, and unsatisfying reality of life. In think in many ways the thing we elicit in ourselves is truth. But truth is both more and less than fact, often more a reflection of our own beliefs and desires than the events of our lives. And in telling that truth we may never stray from the facts, but we almost by definition cannot give voice to another person’s reality.

There's a scene in season 2 of Kevin when Allison is hit by a door – a la the classic excuse – because of Kevin’s carelessness. And while he absolutely did not hit her, the way it's written is such an incredible allegory for how Kevin has curated their story and curated their friends' and family’s perceptions of their story such that even if she tells everyone the exact, unvarnished truth of what's happening to her and begs for help, they will only be capable of seeing the laugh-track, sitcom, “Kevin is a harmless goofball and his wife is a total shrew” perspective on the events of their lives. 

As so often happens with abuse, their friends and family saw Allison being hurt because of Kevin. But the alchemy of creating a narrative around Kevin and Allison is irreversible, and the series of events they witness can only be spun together to a joke, an accident, a silly, childish mistake. Allison’s reality, Allison’s pain and fear, is completely elided. Like a lost sound in the middle of a sentence, her experience goes silent, and their larger understanding of her relationship never has to change. And you feel so acutely how Allison lives her entire life in that silence. 

Storytelling is human, it’s essential, there’s no other way to engage with our own lives. And it’s not lying. It’s never lying to tell the truth. But it doesn’t reflect every reality, either, because another person’s reality can’t be reflected within our own narrative, because that’s what it means to be another person. To spin two different threads.

And because narrative is the essential process by which we understand our reality, denying someone their own narrative, or denying that this narrative be heard, is inherently abusive. To allow someone a voice is to give them humanity, and to suppress it is to strip that humanity away. 

Disgrace, by J.M. Coetzee, follows the story of a professor, David, who rapes a student and then fails to protect his daughter, Lucy, from being raped by intruders in their home. He destroys his daughter’s life  – not through failing to protect her, but through twisting her rape into a story about why the rape of his student wasn’t wrong. The main theme of the book is generally considered to be exploitation, but Coetzee doesn’t deal with the exploitation of the rape. That’s too direct, too immediate, too easy for the reader to understand as misogynistic and wrong. Rather, Coetzee delves into “the innocuous-seeming use of another person to fill one's gentler emotional needs” (Ruden).

The rape is how we understand David as a fundamentally exploitative person, a person who denies others their humanity by converting them into a vessel for his own desires, who erases their voice in order to speak through them and give himself the things he needs. And that’s how we recognize that the way he absorbs and claims the stories of his daughter and his student is another kind of violation of their humanity. Another way of turning women into vessels for men’s pain and fear and need. 

What’s fascinating is that David's student finds her voice – files a complaint against him – and is eventually able to continue with her life. The woman he raped is less damaged by him than his own daughter, because she was the woman he couldn’t permanently silence. 

In Lolita, another brilliant novel about abuse, dehumanization, and storytelling, Humbert turns to the reader at the end and says, “Imagine us, reader, for we don’t really exist if you don’t.” 

It’s not that Humbert knew he was fictional, but that he knew everyone was fictional. Believed the entire world only truly existed in his own mind, because anything beyond that was irrelevant to his needs. He coped with the collapse of his ability to dehumanize Dolores (who he called Lolita) by demanding that his voice be resurrected. Demanding immortality. Demanding his narrative exist in another person’s world, and thereby be given the existence and humanity that Allison and Dolores and Lucy and David’s student were denied. 

Pushing his needs, finally, onto the reader, because we are the only person he has left, and a person like him can only exist through the use of another. In that way, Humbert was powerless. In that way, Kevin and David were powerless, too.

In Disgrace, David’s dream is to write an opera, and at the end of the book he realizes he’ll never finish his magnum opus. He’ll never be able to terminate the process of converting himself, his world, into a story. But he does learn to decenter himself in that narrative. And it’s when he loses all fear of death, and any conception of the self, that he gains the ability to give dogs – who he generally equates to women – a voice within his opera, his life’s work. 

It’s in death that we discover our true unimportance as human beings, that we learn to let go of vanity and our conception of the self entirely. And David had degraded women so thoroughly in order to justify how he used them to meet his own emotional needs that it was only in losing all value for his own life that he could gain the ability to see them as equal voices. To actually put those voices into his own life story. It's at the cost of himself that he allows other people to truly exist, in the death of the self that he finally allows the world to exist outside of himself. It’s almost a positive character arc. Almost.

When Kevin finally loses the ability to abuse Allison, he, like many abusers, loses all desire to live. His world was built on a structure of superiority and inferiority, on beings and vessels, on the inherent value of men and the inherent meaninglessness of women’s lives. The system on which he based his entire reality has been destroyed by Allison’s declaration of the self. And, if he was a being because she was a vessel, then in losing the ability to treat her as a vessel, to fully and completely dehumanize her, he has lost his own humanity. 

It may be perfectly summed up here: “Become major. Live like a hero. That's what the classics teach us. Be a main character. Otherwise, what is life for?” (Coetzee).

If you’re not to be a main character, if there indeed is no split between major and minor characters, between people and the paper dolls that populate their story, between living beings and the vessels into which they pour their need – what is life for?

Nothing. At least, not for people whose narrative must exist at the expense of another. 

And that’s why I say that only a narrator like Allison could survive this kind of story. Despite beginning her story trapped in eternal silence, her reality fully elided no matter how immediate and obvious it became, Allison was the only point-of-view character of any of these three stories who didn’t establish her power through the degradation of another. Who didn’t conceptualize the world via being and vessels. Whose narrative didn’t exist, by necessity, at the expense of another person’s humanity. Whose thread could exist in a larger tapestry without destroying her sense of self.

Don’t get me wrong, she’s not generally a likable character. She’s misogynistic, cruel, selfish, jealous, desperate, afraid, and in pain. Like anyone in an abusive relationship, she’s not at her best, and she’s often pushed to do things that are ugly and disturbing because she’s simply been pushed too far. 

But, for me, the power in her character is in how her last scene never felt like a final scene. Her story didn’t have to be killed, her conception of the self didn’t have to be killed, in order to reveal the brutal reality of stories twisting and intertwining without any inherently superior truth or narrative among them. Allison’s story was one of declaring herself. And that’s why it didn’t feel like it ended at the end. Instead, this felt like a beginning.

[hamletshoeratio]

Apparently, Eloise is a mean girl and is not a girls' girl???

[camellcat]

some doctor who cyanotypes I made for my photography class that I just realized I never shared

[aashiqeddiediaz]

watching 4.05 (buck begins) for Reasons™ and in the end scene where buck tells eddie that he “had to do it”, about risking himself to save sal, there’s not a trace of apprehension in his voice. there’s no worry, no defense, nothing but calm acceptance of his role. he’s even smiling slightly, even though the buildup to the scene leads us to believe that buck is holding his breath on what eddie will say, just by the way he pauses when he catches sight of him waiting for them to pull in, and the way he nervously reaches for his belt. it’s like despite the conditioned response because he grew up being belittled for being buck he immediately knows he doesn’t need to justify himself because if anyone understands, it’s his partner.

and eddie? eddie proves it when he very specifically says, “i know you did.” in an episode where buck’s main reason for running to maddie, one foot out of the state of pennsylvania, is, “the way they look at me...through me...i can't live with that anymore” and here eddie is, specifically telling him that he knows buck for who he really is. he doesn’t see through him, he doesn’t see around him, and he doesn’t just see buck — he knows him. the word choice in that scene is so remarkable when you consider the rest of the episode and all of buck’s back story??? eddie is so in-tune to buck that despite knowing him for only a handful of years, he somehow reads his past for everything that it is, and soothes the wounds inside him by just being eddie.

(im literally going insane actually haha)

[superm4ks]

| A breaking up and making up college romance story, set in Oxford University, that fails to accurately portray either of those things. | first, second, and third chapters now re upl0ded on ao3. Mature, read chapter warnings. Tbc.

[bright-eyes-strawberry-lies]

Idk what you guys mean when you say "HOO is so much darker and more mature" than PJO. They contain the same things.

[stop-breaking-my-heart-dragonage]

I'm back on my bullshit thinking about the Hawke siblings again and how much I love a "both twins live" AU... but y'know what I love just a little bit more? An AU where all three Hawke siblings are alive, but one of the twins still get attacked by the ogre in Lothering and is presumed dead when they actually survived.

I like to think that since the narrative in DA2 is framed as a story Varric's telling Cassandra, we can play around with the fact that he's an unreliable narrator. Varric wasn't there in Lothering. He only knows what Hawke told him. It makes for a better story if Leandra, Hawke, and the surviving twin get to huddle around the dead twin and say their goodbyes... especially if they didn't actually get to do that. I mean, a lot of us already have that train of thought when it comes to Leandra's death and Hawke getting some closure through her final words telling them how proud she is. Whose to say Varric didn't do that for the lost twin, as well?

All that to ask what if the ogre attack happened, but the group was so overwhelmed by darkspawn they had to flee further and couldn't check the twin who "died?" Flemeth still showed up, but it was too late to go back and say goodbye.... so Hawke made a deal with the Witch of the Wilds and they all pushed forward to Kirkwall.

Imagine Bethany, left behind with broken bones and bleeding in the sand, fading in and out of consciousness as the remaining darkspawn surround her. She knows how to heal, how to fight back, but she's weakened. Her staff lays out of reach. Air shakes in her lungs. She tries to call for help, but only wheezes come out. Where's her mother? Her siblings? Did the ogre get them, too?

At this point, we all know what happens to the women darkspawn take, and Bethany could've met that fate; she doesn't have the strength to fight back as they drag her away. But before they can bring her underground, she's saved by another group of survivors. Perhaps they're more soldiers fleeing Ostagar, or townsfolk who recognize her from Lothering. They do what they can to treat her wounds but she needs a healer, so they bring her with them to seek refuge in Redcliffe... except they eventually realize she's an apostate. Well, she doesn't seem dangerous, but they still contact the templars.

Bethany wakes in a warm but unfamiliar bed with skilled healers tending to her. Templars hover by the doorway. First Enchanter Irving greets her, gentle in explaining she's safe inside of Kinloch Hold and that she's going to survive. When Bethany asks about her family, he gives her a sympathetic smile and says they only found her.

Bethany, who never took to embracing her magic the way her older sibling did and always felt like it burdened her family... has lost that very family. Could they survive the ogre and darkspawn? Or did the ogre tear them apart, too? How did she survive... but not them? Did the Maker really have such a sense of humor? How else would she end up in the Circle, a place her family went to great lengths to keep her safe from?

She doesn't want to think about it. She hopes they made it to Kirkwall, but the prickle of dread that crawls up her spine knows how unlikely it is. Bethany finds comfort in speaking with the mages who rotate in to heal and bring her food. Some feel trapped by their magic just as she does, but others remind her of her older sibling in the way they embrace their magic, a gift from the Maker. The younger apprentices who aid the mages ask her questions about what lies beyond the walls. The templars mostly keep their distance, but one is friendlier than others. A man with curly blonde hair and a sympathetic view of the mages bothers to speak to her more than his fellows do.

She's still in recovery when Uldred and his blood mages attack the tower, but she survives. Bethany heals, even as she's haunted by nightmares of the ogre wrapping its tainted hand around her body to crush her, flinging her aside to lay among the limp bodies of her family... haunted by the horrors the blood mages unleashed on the tower. She aids in restoring the tower the best she can, and accepts her new home, her new life. When she's well enough, she lights a candle for each of them; her father, mother, her eldest sibling, her twin... she even lights a candle for the family mabari, and prays to the Maker to give them her love as they stand at His side.

The Blight ends. Years pass. Bethany settles into her new life, becoming a fine example for the younger apprentices she mentors. She witnesses wrong doings against her fellow mages, loses friends to their harrowings or tranquility. She accepts what she is, even if bitterly. The Chantry's teachings about magic scar more than enlighten; she sees it in some of her fellow mages, feels it in herself. Secret meetings. Whispers of escape, of freedom. More escape attempts. Harsher restrictions.

Around this time, back in Kirkwall, Knight-Captain Cullen stands where he always does in the Gallows courtyard. He notices Hawke appear with some of their companions. It hurts to think back to Kinloch Hold, but something occurs to him: he knew of another Hawke who was brought to the Circle while he served there. They only spoke once before... well, before. He wonders if there's any relation. When Hawke wanders over to speak to him, as they always do, Cullen brings it up.

Hawke pales. A beat of silence. Cullen recognizes heartbreak; he sees it unfold in their eyes and swell in their throat as they realize that all this time, their baby sister was alive.

Then the day comes where new whispers float among the mages in the Circle. A visit by a Grey Warden. Most, including Bethany, assume he's here to recruit... until Irving comes to her. He says this warden's requested, though more like insisted, he see her now. But then Irving smiles; the warden in question said his name is Warden Carver. He received an urgent letter that his sister is here, alive, and he demands to know if that's true.

Bethany nearly collapses when she sees him.

While the reunion can't last; she can't leave the Circle and he has his calling; the twins embrace, sobbing out apologies and exclamations that they thought the other was gone. Carver tells her of Kirkwall, the expedition that led him to the Grey Wardens, and their older sibling's status as Champion. With a gentleness she never knew her brother to have, he tells her what happened to their mother, and more tears flow freely. Their sibling learned about her from a templar, though Carver grumbles that the bastard could've said something sooner.

There's the Maker's humor again.

...Now flip the script: imagine Carver being left behind instead.

For as strong and passionate as he is, that ogre still picks him up and slams him to the ground. Bones crack. Black splotches flood his vision, agony exploding across his skin. His sword flies from his hand. The soulless bastard tosses Carver aside like he's nothing, and he's left to lay there. His mother's cries muffle in his ear as though he's stuck underwater, sinking slowly into the dark.

It figured, honestly... that he'd survive Ostagar while his fellow soldiers were cut down all around him, that he and his eldest sibling would flee the field when all hope was lost... that he'd make it home to get his family out of Lothering... only to die protecting his mother. And why not? He is a protector. A warrior. It's a honor to die saving those he loved... so why didn't it give him peace?

Carver eventually wakes in the night among the bodies of fallen darkspawn. Everything aches painfully hot and his thoughts reject coherency. He knows his family is gone; they're dead, or they've fled... either way, he's alone; left behind. Something's broken inside of him, but he has just enough will to pull himself up at the sound of approaching footsteps. A group of survivors find him- funny enough, the same group who aided Bethany in an alternate timeline. Imagine that.

That's how Carver ended up in Redcliffe's Chantry with an overworked healer tending to him. He doesn't even flinch when the mage works their magic on him, knowing all too well the sensation of healing magic seeping into his skin, mending the flesh. He tries not to think of Bethany, or what might've happened to her.

The Chantry's overwhelmed with townspeople hiding from a danger outside that he can only assume is darkspawn... except it's not. He wonders how hard he hit his head when he hears the undead have come from the castle to slaughter what they can of the town every night. But then he sees it with his own eyes when one breaks in, taken down by a templar, and never before has he ever felt so useless.

Then the last two remaining Grey Wardens arrive. They're crucial in the final fight against the undead, swearing to enter the castle to stop the attacks at the source. While Carver couldn't participate in the final fight, something he complained loudly about, he did what he could in his condition to help like sharpening swords and handing out supplies. Mostly to keep his sanity and quite his thoughts throughout his recovery.

When the time came, he took up his sword again in the name of all those he lost.

An archdemon was said to be on the horizon, and the Grey Wardens needed everyone they could get to fight. Carver fights in the battle of Denerim where the Hero of Fereldan defeated the archdemon. He cuts his way through every darkspawn he sees. Ostagar flashes red behind his eyes. Lothering clutches at his heart. So much anger and sorrow built up inside him, flooding out in his tears and screams. Blood everywhere. Fire and smoke.

Then it's over.

In the aftermath of the Blight, like so many others, Carver has no home to return to. No family. He thinks to go back to Lothering to help rebuild, only to hear the lands were too tainted. These tainted creatures took everything from him... That's what eventually brings him to Vigil's Keep, standing before the Hero of Fereldan themself, asking to be made a Grey Warden. He already dedicated nearly two years of his life to killing darkspawn, and he had nothing else. Even when faced with the Joining, holding the chalice of darkspawn blood and being told to drink, he didn't flinch.

Life as a Grey Warden isn't as simple as he assumed it would be, but Carver finds purpose in his calling. Over the years, he grows to view his fellow wardens as family. He travels all over Thedas, venturing down into the Deep Roads to help clear out hoards of the darkspawn. But then comes the day he finds himself in Kirkwall, and it doesn't take long before he hears the name Hawke on the lips of the townspeople. His eldest sibling was not only alive, but they're quite popular among the people. But what about Mother? Bethany? He doesn't have to snoop too far to learn templars took Bethany away to the Gallows, and that Leandra Hawke was the final victim in a string of murders committed by a blood mage.

Carver finds himself standing outside the estate, glaring at the door. Furious. Heartbroken. Bitter. He wants to scream. This entire time, they lived. He's torn between wanting to reunite with his older sibling again, to get the truth from them, and wanting to barge into the estate, demanding answers to how they could let the Circle take Bethany... after what Carver sacrificed, how could they let Mother die like that? Was it all pointless in the end?

He leaves without knocking. He can't bring himself to see them. Not that it mattered. Before he could leave Kirkwall, the tensions with the qunari finally overflowed, and chaos fell upon the city. He's forced face to face with his older sibling again, but he wasn't prepared to watch the recognition slowly bloom on their face, or for all his anger to turn to mush. Carver's the first to speak.

"Somehow, I knew it would be you."

.............So, yeah. I really like this idea.

[bisexualelphie]

julie e os fantasmas (original julie and the phantoms) was so wild. like, what do you mean the boys were crushed to death by a truck? what do you mean julie has committed more than one crime? what do you mean the main triangle consists of a rockstar with a closet dnd player vs a my chemical romance revenge era rejected song? what do you mean the ghost love interest was a menace to society in life and public enemy number 1 in death? what do you mean he was tortured more than once? what do you mean there was a dude trying to enslave ghosts and this plotline only lasted two episodes????

[alphabetcompletionist]

even if the stream doesn't come to fruition it was still fun to fiddle with the pngtuber app

ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOP RSTUVW Y

23/26

[cinamun]

[strongintherealgay]

I HAVE MISSED USHA SO MUCHHH!!!!