#we were right for this
novelconcepts · a month ago
The defintion of hell is knowing a show is incredibly well-received in its first season, but if people don’t become machines churning out tweets, content, and rewatching 24/7, there’s no likelihood it’ll get a chance to tell its whole story. This shit is madness. Shows in different genres shouldn’t have to pit-battle for dominance. First seasons are MEANT to be baselines establishing worlds and characters, not complete storylines. The idea that this golden age of television has turned into “get it done in one or get out” is revolting.
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unfortunately I'm watching supernatural and someone on screen said 'there are No Wolves in pennsylvania' and I was like. what a bold incorrect statement. where did they possibly get that idea from. so I googled it...google is insisting there are no wild wolves in pa?? except I've Seen wolves here?? there used to be a wolf that would hang out in my backyard and roam around the neighborhood?? like Everyone knew about this wolf we assumed he lived on the golf course and would come to our yards if he got spooked by golfers (very quiet block). like we all thought he just lost his pack or whatever so people just gave him a wide space and let him chill, he didn't try to break into any houses or attack any pets but this was definitely. a wild wolf. where. where did he come from what do you MEAN there aren't wolves in pennsylvania I'm literally spiraling right now
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latinposeidon · 2 months ago
Almost every piece of media ever: fat characters either don’t exist or they’re undesirable obnoxious clumsy jokes, and bisexual goth girl vampires are evil seductresses who use their incredible charms to get their way
WWDITS, making Laszlo a pornstar who’s had some sort of sexual relationship with a majority of the characters, Guillermo a hot hypercompetent badass with a lot of sexually-coded scenes and several people interested in him, and Nadja a loud weird cringefail loser who sucks at flirting and wishes she had an armadillo for a son: yeah fuck that thanks
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egophiliac · 4 months ago
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this started as a reply to someone but got out of hand when I remembered what Trey’s unique magic does, and therefore what the cutest solution to white queen Riddle would be 🌹
and then it very quickly spiraled out of control
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chiptrillino · 7 months ago
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Kuspuk Week, Day 1: Favourite Avatar in a Kuspuk @mostly-mundane-atla
sorry for being a day late. uhm... i kept adding... and adding ;;; (i am sorry for squeezing katara in. but i am no good in just drawing one person without making it look akward) *edit: i made... a smal mistake while saving ;;; oh well...
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eupheme · 7 months ago
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Don’t Be Voyeur with Me
Bruce Wayne x F!Reader
Rated E - 2.3k
Tags: inappropriate use of contacts, (filming a sex tape), fingering, spitting, PiV, hand on throat (not choking), begging, suit sex, implied voyeurism, cream pie, cum play, size kink, praise kink
“Are you recording this?”
The drag of his eyes is slow, passing over the curve of your hip, the soft swell of your breasts - up over the column of your neck until he meets your eyes.
His lips part.
Or - Bruce’s contacts aren’t just for solving crimes
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“Are you recording this?”
The drag of his eyes is slow, passing over the curve of your hip, the soft swell of your breasts - up over the column of your neck until he meets your eyes.
His lips part.
His fingers haven’t slowed, two of them knuckle deep within you, pressing and pumping and curling, working you slowly open for him. Your thighs spread just a little wider as you suck in a shallow breath to answer, “Good.”
There’s the slightest tick to his lips, a split second as they turn up before his eyes drag back down, casting them into shadow as he pumps. His slick fingers are loud as they disappear into you, each thrust punctuated with your sharp exhale of breath.
You’re spread out before him, the work table you’re laying on looking sterile as he stands between your bare thighs - wiped clean of his work, of any evidence. The lighting above is turned down dim, casting soft shadows against the curves of your body, contrasting with the sharp sheen of the metal.
He’s focused, you can see it in his expression, the steady curl of fingers. Methodical, carefully preparing you for him.
But really - you just want him to fuck you.
Split you open on his cock, make you come so hard you can’t even think.
So you tell him this, though in a way that’s little but more refined, his jaw clenching as he bites back a groan as his fingers flex within you at your words.
“Should make you wait,” his voice is low, eyes dark as dark as the shadows he hides in. “Should make you beg for it.”
You’re begging now, you want to tell him. Can’t he feel how much you need him? His fingers are just not enough, you need more. You need him.
“Please,” your voice comes out ragged, your eyes fixed on him, the powerful spread of his shoulders, encased in all that armor. He’s big with it on, intimidating in a way that makes you ache, knowing that despite how he’s feared, there’s nothing for you to be scared of.
“Please, what?” His hand leaves you to drift down, damp fingers drifting over the clasps on his suit, where you’re sure he’s rock-hard beneath.
“Please fuck me.” The claps loosen, the codpiece clattering to the ground as he draws himself out, heavy and thick in his hand.
Fingers wrap around the base, squeezing and pumping for show, spreading your arousal on his shaft before his thumb swipes over the damp slit at his tip.
“Do you think you’ve earned it?”
You blink, your tongue peeking out to wet your lips as you nod, “Yes.”
He moves closer, until your hips are flush, letting his cock drop against your stomach, leaving a smear of precum against your skin as he imagines just how far into you he’ll go.
“Are you going to take what I give you?”
Your breath is a whimper, needy and high, your hips rocking against him. He drags his cock down, pressing it against your slick lips, tapping it against your clit as your hips jerk.
“Fuck, yes. Anything.”
His eyes leave your cunt to watch your face as his head dips down, jaw flexing before his lips part, before his spit drips hot and wet down your slit.
You gasp, both of you watching the way his cock drags though it, running over your clit before it’s moving down, pressing against your entrance.
His eyes flick to yours, waiting for your nod before his hips snap forward and he buries himself in you.
The stretch is exquisite, your back arching against the table, your moan loud as fingers scrabble over slick metal for purchase - searching until you reach your own thighs, fingernails biting and sharp as they dig into flesh.
“Fuck, sweetheart,” he groans when he bottoms out, his hips bumping against yours, pressed so deep that it feels like he’s in your guts.
The quick snap of his hips might hurt if you weren’t so wet, so fucking needy - wondering if he’ll watch this later, the same hand wrapped around his cock as he remembers just how good you felt.
“Is this what you wanted?” His voice is low, desperate, gritted teeth blurring the sharp edge, “Just needed my cock, didn’t you?”
His hands are holding you wide, thumbs digging into your inner thighs as he draws back, sliding half-way out of your heat before rocking back in.
“Yes.” You choke out, and you see it again as he hums, the slightest curve of lips.
And it is - he is - and he’s barely even moved yet. The feeling of him pressed deep, filling you, his handsome face almost impassive behind the angular cowl.
He finds a rhythm, head carefully still as he looks downward, hips slapping against you again and again, until the strip of matte black armor above his groin shines with you, until each of your breaths is short and sharp.
His hands adjust, leaving your thighs as you keep your legs spread wide with your own, almost forgetting about why you’re doing this, forgetting any self-consciousness as his hands roam, up to your waist - one digging in to your hip, the other still traveling upwards.
You jerk against him, the pleasure red-hot in your belly, another soft cry leaving your lips. His eyes drag upwards again, pausing to watch the bounce of your tits with each of his thrusts, his hand stopping to cup one with a wide palm.
Fingers pinch the pointed bud of your nipple, drawing another gasp before he moves again, brushing over the column of your neck. The palm of his hand goes flat before his fingers curl around, not pressing - just holding your head still, his thumb brushing against the edge of your jaw.
His look is intense, and this only adds to your heightening pleasure, his eyes dark and unblinking as he sees just how big his hand looks against you, how your lips part in a gasp with each thrust.
Your skin feels hot, buzzing with desire beneath his cool palm, and you wonder if you look as wrecked as you feel.
“Are-“ you start, before you lose the thought on a soft “oh!”, before you suck in a breath to try again, “Are you going to watch this later?”
He’s looking directly into your eyes now, you can see how they move, taking in each expression, each breath. Analytical. Observing.
“Yes.” His answer is the same as before, short and certain.
And you know he will, playing it back until he’s cataloged every sound, every move you make. That he gets off - just a little bit, or maybe more than that - on it.
Watching, listening, learning.
Rewind, replay. Repeat.
You don’t mind thought, the thought as ripe and sweet as fruit - the Dark Knight, the Defender of Gotham, jerking his cock to you until he’s spilling across his gloves.
You’re brought back as his answer is slowly amended, “Only when I can’t have you.”
His words makes you clench down hard around him, his groan joining yours as he pounds into your heat.
The hand moves, until his thumb brushes over your lower lip, until your tongue darts out to brush against his skin. The noise he makes is low as you nip at it, tasting yourself, sharp and tangy on him.
His head dips as if you kiss you, before remembering, before he stills - making a frustrated sound low in his throat as his back curves to hover over you. The angle of his cock has you crying out, each of his thrusts sends him over your spongey inner wall, against the spot that threatens to break you.
Your cries has become loud, the vast room doing nothing to mask the sound, and perhaps that’s what he wanted. He’s never been much of a talker, his low groans sliding through gritted through teeth, as if he’s holding them back. But he’s never objected to hearing you, all the sweet noises you make.
The rough pace slows as the hand on your hip ghosts downwards, hoisting your thighs over his hips - around his waist, pushing himself deeper.
They linger on your skin, his fingers drifting down over your slick folds, thumb moving until it glides against your clit. A jolt runs through you, everything winding and twisting so tightly you feel like it’s about to snap.
Unable to stop you hips rocking to meet him, you push yourself eagerly against his fingers - your own hands flying to grip his arms, needing something to hold onto. The table under you rattles with each thrust, from the force of his hips banging into the edge.
Your brow furrows as your eyes drift closed on their own, your face turning until your cheek presses against the cool metal, the sensations almost too much.
The hand comes back, forefinger and thumb touching the hinges of your jaw, tilting your head back.
His voice is low and rough, “Look at me.”
You do with an effort, your brow still pinched, mouth open as you pant out a breath. Focusing on the pair of sea-blue eyes, you cling to him, your fingernails digging into the suit covering his arms.
He has you close, incredibly so, his wide frame filling your vision, the low timbre of his voice making your stomach clench. Bruce’s other hand is still between your thighs, pressing and circling and stealing your breath.
“Are you going to come?” He asks, and it’s those eyes again, unblinking as they gaze down at you, full of hunger.
His voice alone almost does, low and rough as it is, his lips parting as he wets them with his tongue, his breath going sharp as you nod.
“Yes-“ You can feel it, feel him, wanting to shut your eyes as it builds, but you keep them focused on him, “Yes, fuck yes, please-“
His eyes flicker downward for a moment, to where he’s speared deep, unsure of which he wants more - to see your face, lips forming his name - his true nature - when you come. Or whether he wants to see how you’ll gush around him, soaking his cock, the tight flutter of your hole.
His hips snap forward as he makes his decision, eyes rising back up to watch you, with so many pretty details to capture there. You watch his lips part again, the words always starting to sound muted in your cock-drunk haze.
“Come on my cock, sweetheart. Fuck, let me feel you.”
And with another flick of his wrist, you’re there, crying out as you clench down around him, until he can’t hold back the long, low groan that finally bursts forth.
His hands drift to your waist, using his grip as leverage as he fucks you through it, each thrust a spark that seems to draw the feeling out for ages, the radiating pulse that travels down your limbs.
All the while you keep your eyes on his, where you know his contacts are still recording, taking every detail in.
Your cunt is louder now, wetter with your release, as he thrusts into it, his breathing going shaky and his hips not quite keeping the same rhythm.
“You feel so good, I’m not-“ he groans, his composure starting to crack.
His eyes roam freely now, down to where’s he’s fucking you, his thrusts short and shallow. With a thought, you legs unhook from his waist, your fingers hooking under your knees to pull your thighs up towards your chest.
“Oh fuck-“ He groans, the words sounding broken, watching the wet shine of his cock, the angle pushing him deeper, his strokes slowing so he can deep the way he disappears into you, how you stretch wide around him, “Baby, I’m going to come. Can you take it all for me?”
“Please,” and you arch into him, thighs shifting wider, “Please, I want you to come in me.”
With a ragged groan his hips snap forward, his back arching, eyes locked on his pulse and jerk of his cock as he spills into you. Bruce pushes himself deep, grinding against you, until he forgets himself, his form changing, curling over yours so he can meet your mouth with his.
It’s sloppy - messy, teeth scraping lip, your hand cupping the curved cowl at the base of his neck to keep him close. He licks into you, as you take the last of his spend, pressed to the hilt until he finally starts to go soft.
He pulls back after a long moment, a low hum in his throat, his eyes softer than before. Carefully he eases out of you, and you already miss the stretch. Your legs dangle from the table now, pressed together - limp with satisfaction, an arm thrown across your face as you catch your breath.
But there’s one last nudge between your thighs, his finger sliding down between puffy lips until the tip sinks inside you, coming out slick and shining - covered in your combined release.
“Show me, sweetheart. Please.” His voice has lost the rough edge, and the sound makes you shiver, goosebumps pricking your skin.
Carefully, your thighs spread again, opening yourself up, and his groan is sinful - his thumb stroking over where you drip with him, his release warm against your skin from as it leaks to pool on the cool metal below.
“Good fucking girl.” If he had stopped recording earlier, he is now - you’ve never seen him so still, so fascinated, “Just look at that mess.”
A finger swipes through his cum and up, pushing himself back into you, a moan of your own joining his. It’s dirty, but fuck - it does something to you, the fire sparking again in your belly.
“What do you think?” You ask carefully, and his eyes reluctantly leave to focus on you, “Did you get everything? Or…. or do you think we should try again?”
You can’t see his brow but from the look in his eyes, you think they might be furrowing, uncertain.
“I’d just hate for you to miss anything. After all the work you did.” Your teeth sink into your lip to hide your smile, and understanding flickers across his face.
He moves closer, pulling you up until you’re pressed against him, his cock trapped against your slick, used cunt.
“I think you may be right.”
He grinds against you, and you can feel him twitch, start to swell again.
“We’d better try again. Always better to be thorough.”
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A/N: there’s just no way he hasn’t used those contacts like That before
(And fic title comes from the soundtrack!)
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cosmicvoid-system · 11 days ago
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Scar in dress Scar in dress Scar in dress!!!
[bonus under the cut]
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ohmaerieme · 9 months ago
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me and @clownwry and @artiemartietartie thought the madrigals going on a roadtrip would be a very funny concept
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slushedpuppys · 4 months ago
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AKA... the CATS!!
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girlgerard · 14 days ago
this clip from riot is crumbling me to bits their MANNERISMS
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cryptvokeeper · 16 days ago
don’t get me wrong I think the general interpretation of Leo being like “I put up a cocky front but deep down I don’t actually think I’m that great and that’s why I have something to prove” is good. It’s cool, plenty of drama/angst potential and probably what the creators were going for, I’m here for it.
But there is a distinct appeal to me of the slightly-to-the-left interpretation of Leo being like “it’s not a front, I know I’m that good/smart/skilled, but I also know I’m seen by others as just the goofball face man and that’s why I have something to prove.”
#Rottmnt#Wild metaphor incoming but it’s like the difference between a hersheys bar and fancy Ghirardelli or something#At the end of the day they’re both chocolate. But ones got a bit more depth.#where was I going with this again idk I got caught up in food metaphor#It’s like. With the first one it boils down to character A (in this case Leo) going “I’m useless because I’m not good at [thing]”#Resulting in those around him either going “of course you’re good at thing! Remember the time you were good at thing?”#Or sometimes “it doesn’t matter that you’re not good at [thing] we love you regardless of what you can provide”#And again THATS GOOD THATS SOME GOOD SHIT#I LOVE THAT#but with the latter it’s more like “I know I’m good at thing *but I don’t know how to prove it to you*”#And that gives you the best of both worlds where you CAN get character A feeling bad but not for their lack of thing#But because if no can see it surely they *must* be doing something wrong right?#And ALSO you get the characters around them getting all sorts of feelings of “we didn’t do enough to show we believe in them”#Or “we didn’t notice how hard they tried”#Cuz you can get that a little in the first one but it can come off as kinda meh cuz they didn’t actually do anything wrong#It also has more opportunities for emotions besides straight sadness#You can have anger and conflict of “why am I not good enough for you?!”#That straight sef deprecation doesn’t always allow for#You can also have jealously and envy that feels less toxic and more justified#Not that it strictly needs to be justified mind you#Sometimes some toxic feelings stemming from perceived inadequacy are fuckin *chefs kiss*#But again it’s abt the VARIETY yknow#This isn’t even about Rottmnt anymore I’m just rambling#It’s my post and I get to choose the bullshit tags
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weirdgirlcore · 6 months ago
you all gotta stop saying ed/stede is a slowburn for real....in episode 5 stede says ed has been aboard the revenge for a few days. in episode 6 izzy says it's been 2 weeks. in episode 8 it's the next full moon after the one in episode 4. there is literally a month between ed and stede meeting and them being captured by the navy. i'm sorry to disappoint the 300k fic fans in the room but "slow burn" is not even in these two's dictionary!!! they fell in love so fast the fucking moon didnt even have time to complete one cycle!!! they couldn't pretend to not be in love with each other if they tried!!!!! this is not a slow burn it's a fucking flash fire!!!!!!
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bdoubleowo · 10 months ago
“Watcher!Grian this” “Watcher!Grian” that, the only watcher Grian I wanna see is that the eldritch monstrosity watchers adopted Grian and he has No Idea He’s Not A Watcher. And they’re like embarrassing parents. Once he was like “isn’t it weird how I have so few eyes and arms and I’m so small?” And they’re like “Ŏ̷̭h̶͖͠ ̵̳̕s̵̭͘w̶̧͂ě̷̗e̷͓͂t̴͖͊i̷̦̕e̸̟͊,̷͖̇ ̷̻͐w̸͍̎a̷̧͂ṫ̵̰c̵̞̓ḩ̵͑e̵̖͊r̷͍͝š̸͎ ̶͗ͅc̶̦̔o̸̹̓m̵̘͝ë̶̦́ ̴͓̓i̶̪͛n̶͓͋ ̷̺͛a̷͍̓l̷̻̃l̷̡̐ ̴̗͛s̷̹̽ḣ̴̝ȁ̷̗p̵̠̂e̶̤͋s̷̹͑ ̷̦̈́a̶̢̓n̴̘̎d̷̢̓ ̸͎̑s̵̍͜ḯ̵͎z̸̳͌ê̶̹s̸͕͊,̶̭͋ ̴̤̍d̵̖͌ǫ̶̈n̵̢̔’̸̢̈́ẗ̶͜ ̶̼̾w̸̯͑o̷͚͐r̷̤͆r̵̫̄y̵̢͆,̸̟͆ ̴͈͋ẏ̴̠o̸͕̽u̶̫̍’̷͇͌ȑ̶̘e̶̦͠ ̸̻̍å̵̪ ̵̤̾w̴̤̎a̵̱̓ṭ̴̕c̸͍̐h̸̲͑ẻ̴̻r̸̗̽ ̷̣̆ẗ̴́ͅḥ̵́r̴͓͊o̸̳͗ṳ̸̓g̷̾ͅh̷͖͂ ̷͇͝ạ̵͘n̷̮͠d̷͙̕ ̴̳̀t̸͔̐h̶̡̍r̶̩͝ő̶̯ȗ̸̻g̵̝͑h̷̞̀.̵̙͘” and he never worries about it again.
Pearl is actually a watcher but she is also convinced Grian is a real watcher too. She’s been emulating his form since she first saw it so that’s why she looks like a person too. Martyn is also adopted but he’s aware he’s adopted. The watchers are like “s̴̠͆t̸̛͖o̵̻͝p̷̻͑ ̵̞̌h̸͇̿ã̷̡n̸̻̏g̵͓͝ḯ̸͈n̷̤̾ģ̵̊ ̸̯̏o̵͕̓u̸̲̕t̵̤͝ ̶̖͝ẃ̷͎ĭ̵̱t̸̗̑h̸̯͗ ̵̝̒t̸͓̐ȟ̸̟ǎ̷̬t̶͍̃ ̴͈̆J̵̰̇i̵̳̍m̷̪͊m̴̬͝y̸̳̔ ̸͉͝b̵̦͑o̷̩̽y̶̦͘ ̷̡͝h̵̞͒ě̵ͅ’̵̡̔ś̵̨ ̵̠̔s̸͉̿ṵ̴̃c̴̘͒h̷̥͆ ̴̦̐a̷͎̾ ̸̾͜ḃ̷͈a̶͖͒ḍ̶̃ ̵̼̕ḭ̶͝ń̶͜f̷̳̚l̷̠̾ǘ̷̘ȅ̵̞n̸̠͋c̵̦͗e̶̺̓.̷̲̍ ̴̲͗Y̴̖̿o̵͎̽u̷͎̐ ̴̤̒ș̸͒h̵̫̀ö̷̢́u̸̟̿l̷͈͛d̸̽ͅ ̷͖͐s̸̳̕p̶͙͂e̴͕̕n̷̥̈́d̴͇̿ ̸̬̆m̷̥̿o̸̟͘r̵̛̭e̸̛̺ ̶̡̆t̷̮͘i̶̧̓m̸͇͊e̷̢̓ ̵̾ͅŵ̶̪i̴̪͠t̶͉͝ḧ̵̩ ̸̻́R̵͎͘e̸͎͑ṅ̵̤!̵̰̾ ̷̝̍H̸̘͗e̵͙͘’̷̜͗s̴̞͒ ̵̭̓s̷̬̕ǘ̵͉c̷̥͆h̸̯̃ ̴̡́a̴̱͑ ̶̙̀n̴̟̾ȋ̶̘c̵̻̑e̸̽ͅ ̵̅ͅb̶̧̍o̷̢͘ŷ̷͔!̸̥̆”
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elytrians · 10 months ago
you all: "let people enjoy things!!!" "no, let people HATE things you personalityless fandom blogger" "ugh you miserable hater i bet you've never felt love or joy"
me, just having fun liking the things that i like and not liking the things i don't like, forming my own independent opinions of media with input from other people to support them but not dependent on their approval or disapproval, and not giving enough of a shit about what anyone else thinks of me for that to waste time arguing with people about it when i could just keep doing my thing instead:
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vanilla-bean-buttercream · 7 months ago
You know, maybe it's the trauma talking, but I'd rather have kids identify as Asexual but realize later straight fits them better than Ace kids feeling like they can't identify as Ace because they're "just a late bloomer"
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transgendermtt · 2 months ago
The idea that Mettaton knows about the amalgamates and that's why he and Alphys aren't friends anymore drives me insane and it's an interpretation no one can change my mind about
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dandelions0cks · 6 months ago
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(ID under the cut!)
lore, amiright?
sorry it's so wonky LMAO
ID: A digital drawing of c!Aimsey and c!Ranboo from the Dream SMP. They're standing in the snow, and the background is a misty white. Aimsey looks angry, fists clenched at their sides. He's wearing a white hat with bunny ears that wave softly behind him in the wind. They have a green backpack, striped shirt and shorts. It seems like way too cold of an outfit for the climate. She's looking up at Ranboo, or Ghostboo, who looks like the stereotypical ghost. He has a sheet draped over him, it's half black and half white. The sheet has a slash through the front and back, revealing what seems like red and green blood. He's surrounded by small purple particles. Ghostboo is looking down at Aimsey almost sadly, though his expression is obscured by the sheet. The text at the bottom reads: "Nothing happened, and that was the problem." End ID.
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