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#who are deprived of sleep
spooksicl-e · 1 year
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small comic for a thing i’m very deviously constructing with a friend (nemesis)
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wu-does-art · 20 days
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coming out as a "Will snores obnoxiously loud" and "Nico breaths so quietly you can barely tell hes alive" truther
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carnivalcarrion · 7 months
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i had to
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irate-iguana · 7 months
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We need more weird historian rep in Doctor Who. The companions are too normal when faced with the prospect of time travel. I want a companion who makes a list of super specific historical destinations related to their dissertation. I want somebody whose first reaction to finding out that the Doctor is a time travelling alien is to create a Microsoft Word document and ask, “What caused the Late Bronze Age collapse?”
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puppetmaster13u · 6 months
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Prompt 41
Hear me out, DP and DC crossover where Scarecrow is cousins with the Fentons. 
 His mother was siblings with Jack’s father, and both Jazz and Danny met ‘Uncle Jonathan’ during one of the many Fenton-Nightingale family reunions that happens every few years. Honestly, perhaps it’s what gets Jazz interested in psychology, hearing from her ‘uncle’ about fear and its effects.
 And honestly once they start having to deal with ghosts and having had to deal with their parents for years it’s not really hard to talk with their uncle. Crane still doesn’t know how he became these kids’ favorite uncle, or even all of the family kids’ favorite uncle-cousin, but that’s just how the family is. 
 Really he’s not even the only villain of the family, with both Jack and Maddie being close but not quite, even if they’re definitely mad scientists. Their son becoming a local hero, even if they’re not aware of that fact, is just ironic. 
 John knows. The two kids told him when they found out that Danny may or may not need to feed on fear now that he’s half ghost, and well he’s the specialist about the emotion so…
 At least they have someone to stay with when Jazz goes to Gotham university and brings Danny with her, even if the local vigilantes are concerned as to why Scarecrow attacks have suddenly took a nosedive…
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attyattlaw · 3 months
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still not posting finished art today
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cult-of-the-eye · 5 months
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Here's a thought...what if Martin Kartin Blackwood looked like super fucking scary. What if you go into the institute and you see like a 6"4 huge man bustling around with sparkly nail polish and a pride pin and he's scowling and then he offers you tea and comforts you after you have your statement and you're like oh ok I'm not gonna get beaten up by a massive gay man.
A second thought (I know shocking)...an amiable enough looking Jonathan Sims, you look at him and you sort of think yeah I'd tell that guy one of my deepest secrets, he looks kinda decent and then you sit down in the chair opposite and his features sort of sharpen and stand rigid against his face and his eyes narrow dangerously and it happened so quickly that you cant even imagine how you ever thought you could trust him but the words are flowing out and you can't seem to stop them.
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jestroer · 16 days
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Grian and Scar in their exciting new cosplay! ^^
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flamingpudding · 6 months
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Fictober23 Prompt: 4 - "Do you even know what this means?"
Fandom: DPxDC
Rating: G
Warnings: -
Tim stared at his family with pure exhaustion before letting out a sigh while covering his face with his hands because of the worried looks they were sending him after his long rant.
It had all started with a stupid school project. It was just supposed to be a stupidly simple school project. Did he think of the whole thing as the greatest nonsense project his school has ever come up with? Yes. Did he still do it? Yes. He needed the extra credits, because of some stupid meetings he had missed other projects which was the entire reason he took part in this one.
Maybe he should have tried buying his grade out of it like all the other snobbish rich kids but then he would feel guilty and the moment Alfred found out, he would have to life with the disappointed™ look. Something he really didn't want to deal with. So instead he took part in this stupid ancestry project his school had organized.
But when he had allowed the school to send in his DNA he certainly did not expect the result he got back. Because when he opened the email, he noted that it was addressed to someone named Danny Fenton not Tim Drake, he didn't even read the rest really. That should have been his first warning.
His second warning was when he had hacked into the that DNA testing facility to actually get his results back and then found a note on his data file about a near 100% DNA match to one Danny Fenton which caused them to assumed that Tim was Danny and just had sent in his DNA a second time after, he peaked through his finger onto the screen, 5 years. That should have been his second warning.
But no, Tim had actively ignored all the warnings and decided to dig into who this Danny Fenton was. Because there were so many possibilities of how they could match but only so little to explain the time difference between them sending in the DNA samples. For dear good Tim hoped to all things that there wasn't someone else to have attempted to clone him before Ra, no worse even, he hoped HE wasn't the clone in this situation.
Really he didn't want to add existential crisis to all the problems and cases he already had to deal with.
So what does one do best when they learn there was someone with nearly the same DNA you have? He looked that someone up. So that was what Tim did next. He had spent nights looking up anything he could find, summarizing all the information he found, branching off when he found other concerning stuff and then stewed in some frustration of the incompetence of some people when discovering other facts.
In the end Tim compiled all the data he had found into a 30 slides long power point. That he had presented to his family and was awaiting their reaction. Bruce had grunted earlier and the demon brat had huffed out something in between slight 25 and 26 earlier. Jason had muttered something right at the beginning and Dick had stayed quiet the entire time, so did Cass. Steph hadn't said a thing either and Duke looked just puzzled.
"Do you even know what that means?" Demon brat finally broke the silence, causing Tim's eye to twitch before aggressively pointing to his last slide still on the presenter.
"Yes, I do know what this means. I have listed all possibilities right here if you haven't noticed. And i explained possibility three, four and six on slide-"
"Replacement. I don't think that's what the brat means." Jason cut in and Tim glared at him.
"Timmy, when was the last time you slept?" Dick carefully asked and Tim directed his glare at him.
"I believe Master Timothy hasn't slept for about 72 hours now." Alfred added in with that disapproving stare of him and time looked away stubbornly. How was the amount of sleep he got relevant right now? There was a possibility of him being a clone or someone having cloned maybe even years before he started to follow B around as a kid with a camera.
Bruce let out a sigh and Steph appeared to try to hide a chuckle leaning on Cass shoulder. "He must be lacking sleep if he doesn't see the most obvious possibility considering the time line he presented on slide 18."
"Oh so, I am not the only one thinking he is missing another obvious possibility?" Duke asked and once more Tims eye twitched. Getting fed up with his family, Tim huffed and crossed his arms, glaring at them all.
"And what is it that I am obviously missing?"
"The screenshot of the mail you put in slide 3 stated that it's not a 100% match but 89%. In addition it stated in the last line a suspected possibility of a familiar relation. I am disappointed, Drake. That you would miss something this obvious."
"What?" Tim whirled around going to the slide to reread the mail.
"Considering that I am pretty sure, we don't have any sort of cloning case here Tim." Dick started his voice now slightly laced with Humor and Tim narrowed his eyes at his older brother over his shoulder. "You just discovered that you had a twin, that we probably still go to rescue."
Tim's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. He did not know what to say and before he could even catch up with what his brothers had said Alfred was already behind him pushing him towards the elevator.
"It is time for you to get some sleep Master Timothy. I am sure Master Bruce and the others will be perfectly able to handle the rest of the situation with the information you compiled. You can join them after you have rested."
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repeat after me: something is better than nothing. it's better to take small steps one at a time than to pressure yourself to take a step that is too big and then burn yourself out. you're not on anyone else's timeline. something is better than nothing
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mblue-art · 5 months
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hhappy pocky day 11/11!! here's some self-indulgence ft oreo man///
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thesunisatangerine · 5 months
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against all odds (to wait for you is all i can do) – part six
alexia putellas x photojournalist!reader
warnings: explicit descriptions of violence, blood, and death
(a/n in the tags) [parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve]
word count: 3.3k
You had to get out of there.
Tremors shook the ground as another shell made impact somewhere far to your right but it was close enough that the explosion left your ears ringing. You flattened your back further against the fallen wall behind you when you heard the unmistakeable sound of gunfire, the rubble that cut into your skin barely registered in your mind from the adrenaline that rushed through you. But the cacophony of noise amalgamated into something continuous, something malevolent and cruel; something that promised death in its wake. 
Bullets embedded themselves in a column, a wall, a body–everywhere–and fine pieces of debris flew and pelted against the exposed skin of your cheeks and against your helmet. Your eyes watered from the fine powder of pulverised cement and the oppressive heat, while your lungs were smothered by smoke and a choking stench–something like freshly-laid asphalt mixed with the distinct, rancid smell of burnt human flesh, sulphuric and sharp. 
Through lidded eyes you witnessed the depravity; the extent of humanity’s appetite for senseless destruction and anarchy. It was total chaos–no, it was worse than that: it was butchery and brutality at its finest; a type of hell on earth.
All around you were bodies upon bodies, men and women alike–children. Their faces, frozen and pallid, permanently bore imprints of terror and agony; their crooked fingers and still eyes fixated to the sky imploring in violent judgment–resentful and anguished in their silence–the unspoken question: 
Why?
Why? 
Why?
Everything overwhelmed you all at once: the sight and the smell made your stomach churn to no end. Even when you heaved the remnants of your stomach to the ground, the nausea remained, pulsing and gnawing.
Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you brought your camera to your eye and you willed the shaking in your bones to still. 
You took a shot. 
Another round of bullets splattered to a nearby wall and this time, you threw yourself front-first to the ground and you felt the rhythm of your heart reverberating against the mud. And a sinking feeling hit you. You’d bore witness to many conflicts, faced mortal peril, and was familiar to death like it was an old friend. Each time you were in such a situation, hopelessness never got the better of you–it was like you’d always known you were going to make it out each time. 
This time it was different, you could feel it in your bones. You were going to die here and it wasn’t a matter of if, just when and how. 
But you had a job. If you were going to die, you would die being the mouthpiece for the ones who’d already been silenced–from their premature deaths or from the hand of the power meant to protect them or both–to show the world what they’d suffered, what they’d sacrificed.
With that in mind, you steeled yourself. You loaded your camera with another ring of film, fingers stiff from the cold and marred by blood and mud, and you captured the scene.
Repeat.
There were people screaming, running, clamouring for survival. As you moved with them, you kept an eye out for other survivors who needed help to get out of there. You scanned the faces for the familiar ones of Jones and Gilda but they were nowhere to be seen. You’d lost track of them after the initial explosion and the chaos that followed so the only thing you could do now was to look for them as you went and hope for their safety. 
Meter by meter, inch by inch, you moved slowly away from the direction of gunfire. You were farther ahead now but the gunners were still dangerously close, still close enough to be able to catch up to where you were if they continued their pursuit, so you remained crouched and cautious for any sound that could indicate danger. 
When you came across the rubble of a fallen building–freshly destroyed by artillery from the smoke that came from it–you heard a whimper. It startled you; the softness of the sound barely pierced through the ringing in your ear but when you peered under a slab of concrete braced by a rugged beam, you caught sight of a scene that shattered what was left of your heart.
In the shadows, big eyes that you could not mistaken belonged to a child shone with terror, a little girl that looked no more than ten years of age, her mouth partly open in fear. You could discern another person next to the child but they weren’t moving at all and from the blood smeared on the girl’s cheek, you had a sinking feeling that the other person was dead. 
Gunfire echoed somewhere behind you and you flinched at its closeness. How did they get so close so fast? You needed to get the both of you out of there. If you could save this child’s life then maybe, just maybe, your life was worth something after all. 
You raised both of your hands up and spoke gently, hoping the little girl would be able to understand that you were there to help as you stooped to fit through the gap. The child hesitated and receded further back into the rubble so you tried again as you inched closer to where the other person laid unresponsive, patient despite the ever-closing sound of shots being fired. 
You reached the other person–a woman–and when you placed two fingers against her pulsepoint and found no rhythm, you bit your quivering lip and looked at the child, chest heavy. And as if the little girl finally understood that you meant no harm, she inched towards you and placed her small hand in your open one. With a firm yet gentle grip on the girl, you guided the both of you out of the rubble.
Once outside, you carried the little girl behind a wall, heart breaking when you felt her shiver and at the fact that it took little effort carry to her for she weighed so little. And now with light and cover, you inspected the little girl.
To your relief, other than the trail of flaking blood that originated from the crown of her head and on her cheeks, the little girl looked like she didn’t sustain any other physical injuries. Satisfied for the time being you began to tend to her, gave her water and what little food you had on you, and then wiped away the blood.
After she finished, you detached the velcro of your bulletproof vest and unbuckled your helmet before you put them on the little girl. Then you hoisted the girl up on your back, leaving your camera dangling heavily on your chest.
You managed to sneak across the district without being noticed but you knew the danger was never far away. A little farther on, you began to recognise key landmarks that let you know you were close to the base you came from. So even when the muscles in your legs protested for you to rest, you pushed on.  
Not a moment later though did loud shots fill the air and immediately, you fell to the ground, feeling fine rubble and shrapnels cut into the side you landed on as you manoeuvred your body so that the child wouldn’t get hurt. The little girl cried out and adrenaline coursed through your veins, instinct driving you to keep the child safe so you pushed the two of you against a nearby wall, your back to the open space while you shielded the child with your body, her head safely caged between your arms and chest.
You craned your head over your shoulders to figure out where the shots were fired but then a feeling of lightness passed through you followed by a growing thickness at the back of your throat. You coughed, the force of it made you keel forward, and as you looked down you saw fresh blood splattered on the face of the girl, her eyes wide with horror as she looked up at you.
Then you felt it, a burning sensation that enveloped the entirety of your right side which left you cold. When you looked to your side your shirt clung to your skin, soaked with blood.
No. 
You sputtered again and you tried to breathe but the pain only intensified and instead of feeling relief, the act smothered you–it felt like you were drowning. Then everything began to blend together: the shapes lost their edges and some images doubled, but the light seemed to intensify on its own, swallowing all in its wake. Then you sagged forward and the ringing in you ears, too, blared unceasingly.
No.
You must… 
The child… 
Wait. 
Alexia–
“–are you okay?”
You started as Derek’s voice brought you from your reverie, your mind someplace else that you’d already forgotten but the feeling that you were missing something important lingered behind in the back of your mind.
“Huh?” 
“Honey, your brother’s been trying to get your attention for the past minute. Are you alright?” The familiar voice of your mom brought your focus to her. She sat at the head of the long table while Derek opposite you, and you found twin pairs of blue eyes looking at you with concern. Your mom stood, chair scraping against the tiled floor as she did and she made her way towards you. She put a palm over your forehead once she was close enough before she asked, “do you have a fever?”
“Mom, I’m fine. I’m just–” You began but suddenly, a wave of exhaustion came over you which left you cold. It was as if a sheet of ice was put over you and you felt the coldness cling to your bones, weighing you down as your body slowly began to freeze over. “I’m–I’m just tired. I think I’ll rest up now.” 
When you moved to stand, staggering slightly due to the weakness in your knees, Derek snatched your hands and clung to them, and you looked at him in alarm, eyes wide.
“Please, don’t. Don’t.” He said through gritted teeth, the corners of his mouth drooped low in a pained grimace, blue eyes glazed over and brows furrowed in a silent plea. 
His obsecration confused you and you were about to ask him why you shouldn’t rest if you felt tired when your mother placed a hand on your shoulder, her grip gentle yet firm. You turned to her and when you found her gaze, she wore the same expression as your brother. 
“You’re brother’s right, honey. Just–please, just stay with us for a bit more.” 
What was going on? Why weren’t they letting you go?
Another wave of fatigue doused over you but this time, pain erupted from your chest. So intense was it that it nearly made you keel over the table, nails digging into its hard surface as you tried to catch your breath but with each inhale the more it felt like you were running out of air.
“I’ll–I’ll join you in a bit. I just… I just need a nap.” You staggered to your feet, pulling your hands away from Derek’s grip with the remaining strength you had and brushed off your mom’s protest.
As you passed the full-body mirror just beside your bedroom door, you saw your reflection, haggard and pale, and with her were the familiar silhouettes of the people that haunted you… your mother and father. They stood there behind you–your mother to your right and your father to the left–but you only found an empty space where they stood when you whipped your head back to look for them.
So there you stood, rooted in front of the mirror as you soaked their images in but for some reason, your couldn’t quite discern their faces. They were blurred; it was as if someone had swiped their thumb over the freshly laid ink of their image and made their features indecipherable. 
Longing prompted you to reach out a hand to try and trace the lost edges of their faces but instead of meeting the mirror’s smooth surface like you expected, your fingers sank into the mirror like it was made of water. Quickly, in fear that it would hurt you, you retracted your hand and you watched in awe as the mirror image went still again, back to the reflection of yourself and your parents.
Then out of curiosity you plunged your hand again into the mirror and instead of feeling pain, you felt… nothing. The sensations in your hand in the mirror stopped as if it had ceased to exist completely. 
Would it soothe then the pain in your body if you stepped into it?
The thought tempted you and you stepped forward, ready to sink into this silver miracle, but something stopped you–a weight on your shoulder pulled you back from the mirror. You staggered backwards, caught off guard from the force of it, but when you looked back you found nobody however this time, when you returned your attention to the mirror, the reflection of your parents was gone. 
Emotions bubbled in your throat, bitter grief and burning confusion a familiar taste on your tongue. Where did they go? Why did they leave you? And as these questions filtered through your mind, another wave of exhaustion doused over you, its weight was unbearable. You needed relief, and soon.
You were ready to step into the mirror–into oblivion–but it wasn’t there anymore. In fact, everywhere you looked there was nothing, just negative space as if the light had dissolved all existence but you. You looked down and you saw your reflection on the still water you were apparently standing on. 
It was so still, so peaceful, and you feel so heavy. It would be easy to just sink into this blissful nothingness–this silence–after… that’s right, after having witnessed the revolting boil of humanity’s thirst for blood. Yes, that was it, the reason you were here: you were here to forget. 
The longer you stared into the water, the more your will to remain standing frayed. 
Not a moment later, you let yourself be plunged downwards into the cold water. Into nothingness. 
You woke with a start, breathing sharply as you did, the sensation of falling still with you and the memory of the dream you just had lingered. It was about… what was it?
When you opened your eyes, you found golden light and you squinted at the stream of the early sun that found its way through the gap between the heavy curtains. Your cheek was warm against Alexia’s bare back and you relished the way her muscles shifted beneath her skin as she breathed, still deep asleep. 
With her so close like this a sense of peace and calm washed over you, the kind that only Alexia’s presence could provide. You turned your head slightly and shifted closer to her, pressing a soft kiss on one of her shoulder blades before you nuzzled the nape of her neck where her scent was most prominent.
You sighed as you breathed her in.
“What are you up to back there?” Alexia’s voice, rough and heavy from slumber, met your ears and the question elicited a small laugh from you.
“Nothing. Just getting comfortable.”
Alexia hummed then she murmured, “come here.”
You moved as she began to turn and disappointment filled you from the separation but when she pulled you into her embrace after she settled on her back, the disappointment quickly faded away. And when she kissed you, soft and languid, everything melted away except for the tender warmth of Alexia’s lips.
You were content.
Suddenly, a gnawing feeling seeped into the edges of your mind and, little by little by little, apprehension filled you. There was something you’d forgotten, somewhere you needed to be.
You pulled away from Alexia’s lips. “What time is it?”
“Don’t go.”
Her answer jarred you. You lifted yourself up on your elbow and considered Alexia, confused as to why she would say such a thing. She knew you had to go. How could you not go? Where else could you possibly be? So you asked her as much.
“No, you don’t have to. Please.” Alexia placed a hand on your cheek, her eyes glassy. You sighed, turned your cheek away from her touch, and extricated yourself from her warm embrace. You stood at the foot of the bed and regarded Alexia again who was now sitting up, the sheets pooled around her waist, her chest bare, shoulders hunched forward as she looked at you. You only shook your head before you went into the en suite bathroom to get ready.
Once you got in the shower you, unsurprisingly, thought of Alexia and your confusion returned twofold. Why was she making this difficult? She knew you had to go. You already told her… 
At that thought, you frowned as you tried to remember. When did you tell her? Why did you need to leave? The questions were beginning to make your head hurt so you left the shower, wrapped yourself in a towel and headed to the closet. In there, you found your stack of simple white clothes. You picked a white shirt and a matching pair of jeans and you made your way to the bedroom door. 
As you passed by the bed, you saw Alexia just as you left her and from where you stood, you saw how small she looked. And those eyes… they shone with something you could only name as plea, the tears in them now in danger of falling. 
Your chest ached and so did your head. 
You shook your head and made your way to Alexia, pressed an apologetic kiss against her temples, then you moved to the door.
You opened it and an abyss greeted you, a world of no outlines, shape nor colour, just a brilliant white that called to you. Its pull was magnetic, like a tide that wanted to sweep you away, but there was something keeping you in place, an invisible tether and it was anchored to the woman sitting in your bed.
“Please, don’t go.”
You had one foot out of the door when Alexia spoke with such gentleness you couldn’t do anything but look over your shoulder. The sight of her crying made the pounding in your temples unbearable and the pain in your chest blazed anew, excruciating and cruel. The world blurred and warmth slipped down your cheeks. 
Why were you crying? Why was this difficult? You had to leave, you were about to miss something important.
“Alexia, why?” You sobbed, clutching your chest. It hurt.
She was out of the bed now, right beside you, and she reached out and cupped your face with one hand, the other went to your hand on the door handle. Her touch that used to soothe you, that used to bring you peace and clam, sent pain to every nerve in your body. You gasped, your chest was in danger of bursting and your knees lost their strength. And then you remembered why you needed to leave: you needed this pain to disappear; you had to get better.
Finally, your knees buckled under your weight but Alexia was there to catch you, her body strong and firm, and oh, so warm.
“Alexia, please let me go,” you sobbed into her arms. 
Everything hurt. But she held you, unyielding.
“Stay. Please, stay with me,” she whispered in your ear and the words were followed by another wave of pain. This time, you screamed in agony and clawed at Alexia’s shoulders to get yourself away but still, she didn’t budge.
“I got you. I got you. I got you,” she repeated as every nerve in your body screamed at you. Everything coalesced into a singular, never-ending noise but Alexia’s voice pierced through the veil like a silver lining, a life line that you held onto as you were washed away into an ocean of light.
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desperatehoney · 1 month
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I missed my life’s calling as a sexy victorian pretty boy vampire… I would’ve seduced the fuck out of repressed men
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ogsherlockholmes · 2 months
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If I wrote a modern day Holmes adaptation I’d include a scene were Watson was like “Holmes, it’s four o’clock in the afternoon, it’s too early to go to bed” and Holmes would pop out from beneath his duvet and say “who decided four o’clock was too early? Capitalists, and I oppose capitalism." then he would turn his lamp off and fall asleep.
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loveyourownsmiilee · 28 days
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Ok no because knowing Tim is fully back as showrunner and he wrote the first episode, in which we have that Buckley Diaz family scene, I’m legit losing it at the possibilities. As @shammers86 mentioned, Tim played a huge role in Eddie’s shooting, plus the aftermath. Some things he said about that storyline were:
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Tim is the same person who wrote Shannon off because he didn’t think they would ever be able to redeem her in the fans’ eyes after her leaving Christopher. So knowing what we now know of what’s to come in s7, Shannon’s letter is going to be an important factor that sets up Eddie and Christopher’s storyline for the season. And it’s such a choice to have Buck there before that whole thing goes down. We know Chris already trusts Buck and confides in him, which is most likely what’s happening when Buck is sitting on his bed with him. So it’s likely Chris mentions his mom, which then causes Buck to look at the picture on Chris’ desk.
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It makes sense for Buck to then have a talk with Eddie about what Christopher confided in him. Which further strengthens the theory that Buck and Eddie are in fact coparenting Chris together.
Buck either tells Eddie exactly what Chris said or hints at the topic, which then prompts Eddie to bring out Shannon’s letter.
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Now why are all these things important? Well Tim has always been pro Buddie whether we wanna believe it or not. He’s always put on a front where he neither confirms or denies it but just his recent actions have proved that he’s leaning more towards keeping this Buddie dynamic the way we all know and love. Him sharing all those Buddie related stills, talking about how they’re reenforcing dynamics and then showing us these three as a family unit can only be a good thing for us. I just don’t see how Tim could bring up Shannon and then not acknowledge the will of it all. Buck is there for a reason. Also, Chris doesn’t look all that sad after that letter has been opened. Which makes me think he’s slowly working through his grief and is in a place now where he doesn’t have to hurt as much when thinking of his mother. This also can be because if Eddie does bring up the will and Buck being Christopher’s legal guardian, maybe that’s why he’s content and not all that sad. Maybe Chris himself has accepted that Buck plays a parental role in his life and just having his father confirm that is a huge relief to him.
All this to say, I think Tim has been slowly pushing the Buddie agenda. And I am interested to know if he’s doing that because he fully has plans to have them be together romantically or he’s just giving us this family dynamic to appease us without actually giving us anything more. Suffice to say but I truly don’t see how they would even come back from reaffirming these three as a family unit on a new network only to have both gentlemen end up with other people. Now is the time for them to either truly distance these men or continue building this family unit. And given the stills we’ve received, I mean it’s not hard to see what choices they’ve made.
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tacc0yak1 · 1 month
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smthn smthn princess n the frog au (?) except its liliyuu
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