#so APPARENTLY!!!

[torchickentacos]

you ever scroll past some sort of discourse that you didn't even know existed, and you have to take a second and realize that, while none of us are superior to others, some of us ARE much better at choosing which dumbass hills to die on? because I think sometimes you deserve to go 'huh. at least I'm not getting involved in all that'.

[stealingpotatoes]

i love my cat but he is very fond of trickery

[loz-tearsofahomo]

tea

[kiryuing]

[bogkeep]

ok so i think that my favourite fantasy subgenre is The Inherent Tragedy Of Being Born Into Royalty. which mostly means that i like to read about gay princes but with some nuance

[starscour]

big sister and little brother.

[vulcanette]

[bl00dalchemist]

something something parallels

[ciderjacks]

contracts written in blood

+

[beaft]

a small child came into the café today and asked to buy a chocolate truffle. he tapped a credit card on the reader and it did not go through, mainly because it was not a credit card but in fact a junior cinema pass. i gently explained he couldn't use that to buy things in shops and he looked so gutted that i was like "...but just this once you can have it for free, don't tell my boss though" he said thank you and walked out with his truffle and as he went i heard him chuckling to himself and saying "yes..... yes!!!!!" like the sickos comic

[symphonyofsilence]

Let the poor man rest.

[1alchemistart]

this is based entirely off of the fact that the "complete without issue" chapter completion trophies are cancelled if you get the eggs, making the eggs the issue LKDSLKF

i just think it would be so funny if we had two mysterious forgotten guys and they hated each other

[dinkywinks]

there's lots of things to talk about in the huge dump of "CANCELLED PLANS FOR DISCO ELYSIUM 2: CUNO BOOGALOO" but i am fixated on this little diagram of a mechanic where the better the kids are getting along, the closer they will walk to each other, and at maximum, they start holding hands

the whole game was going to be based on this complicated relationship between two traumatized orphans. and then it was going to end with them fighting to the death

[asiatic-apple]

If there’s one thing Caleb is loud and passionate about, it’s his absolute hatred for anyone who uses the term “granny panties” like it’s some kind of insult. Especially if it’s to mock the idea of plain, comfy underwear in any cut or style that isn’t the small scrap of a thong.

He already grimaces every time he hears his fellow uni classmates indulging in disgusting locker room talk, but one day, he overhears some asshole talking way too loud about how his girlfriend didn’t wear anything “sexy” the first time they got intimate.

And the second the words “granny panties” come out of that idiot’s mouth, Caleb is marching over, looking pissed and ready to educate the group of boys snickering in the corner.

“What exactly do you mean by that?” he asks, voice sharp and unimpressed.

Caleb absolutely towers over every guy there, but even if he didn’t, the dark look on his face would be enough to shut them up. Still, the only one dumb enough to keep running his mouth is the guy who started it all. Caleb doesn’t even try to hide the way he rolls his eyes when the guy makes another half-assed joke about his girlfriend showing up in “ugly” panties.

This isn’t just a pet peeve for Caleb. It’s a hill he’s fully prepared to die on.

First, he has to rein in his annoyance that there are actually people out there who don’t appreciate a good pair of cotton underwear. Like, seriously? Do these bozos really need lace and frills to find a woman attractive? Just because the wrapping isn’t flashy doesn’t mean the present underneath is any less sweet.

He’s this close to banging his head against the lockers as he launches into a full-blown rant. And yeah, it turns into a thing. He’s breaking down the myth that any underwear that isn’t deemed “sexy” somehow counts as “granny.” Comfort doesn’t mean boring, and high-rise doesn’t mean unsexy.

His voice is gaining volume and causing heads to turn in concern as he’s citing studies, talking about vaginal health, explaining why breathable cotton is literally recommended—by doctors, no less. He’s throwing out terms like “moisture-wicking” and “pH balance” while giving these losers the dirtiest look imaginable.

And the other guys? They're just standing there, blinking at him like he’s grown two heads. Caleb couldn’t care less if they thought he was clinically insane. He stood by every damn word.

He’s fuming, practically vibrating, steam probably spewing from his ears. Because how the hell are these guys lucky enough to be inches away from a pair of soft, comfy, cute panties and not get immediately overwhelmed with the desire to bury their face in them out of sheer appreciation?

Once he’s finally done with his rant (he’ll swear up and down he changed at least one life that day, even if those idiots are a lost cause in reality), all he can think about is you. You and your cute, comfy underwear that he used to steal straight from your hamper like some kind of perverted pack rat.

It didn’t matter what kind you wore. Whether it was a lacy thong, high-waisted briefs, plain cotton, or something silky—he cherished every single pair because they were yours. Because they had the privilege of sitting nice and pretty on your hips, pressed just right against your perfect pussy (he hasn’t seen you like that yet, but god, the mental image alone could ruin him).

And later, when he’s alone in his dorm and thinking about you a little too hard, he actually tears up a bit. Just sits there, clutching one of your forgotten panties like it’s some sacred relic from a past life, missing you so much it physically hurts. Imagining the day he’ll get to prove every dumbass like that one in the locker room dead wrong—and prove himself right.

He’s already making a plan while sniffling through his tears and gently petting the soft cotton in his hands. When he finally returns to Linkon to see you again, he’s going to remind himself—very thoroughly—why any and all panties are holy. And why he’ll defend them to his dying breath.

[starryeyed-apple]

subby, pussy drunk caleb overstimulating you

For most your life, you always trailed behind Caleb, his little shadow. But he always looked back at you, always asked you where you wanted to go.

Letting you lead the way was an instinct that blossomed into a beautiful dynamic in this new stage of your relationship. Him, longing for you to direct him in whatever way you wanted. You, guiding him gently with all your love and affection.

Still, you would have never guessed just how far his thirst for your guidance went.

Sometimes the reality of it hits you, all at once and all too much in one singular, awestruck moment. Your sweet, loyal, bright-eyed Caleb—the man you'd always known, always loved better than anyone—now nestled between your legs, flushed face buried in your cunt as if it's the home he's always been seeking. Reduced to a drooling, whimpering mess as he devours every drop of you.

Sunset eyes glaze over and droop shut. His lips are swollen and wet, drenched in his spit and the evidence of just how many times he can make you cum.

Your release drips down his chin whenever he pulls back for a gasp. His half-lidded gaze flutters up to your blissed-out face when he dives back in, moaning in time with each thrust of his tongue inside you.

The familiar whine of his name from your lips, coated now in a wanton need only he'd ever hear, drives him even more insane. Each tug of your fingers through the sweaty strands of hair at the nape of his neck gets him even more pussy drunk, grinding into the mattress from just the taste of you.

Caleb's right hand fists into your bed sheets, cloth tearing between the strength hidden in those fingers. His other fingers skirt along your inner thigh as he grips at it, keeping you spread open along with the steady thrum of his Evol.

“Caleb,” you whimper, tugging harder at his hair, the sweet bite of pain dragging a moan from deep within his throat. “I—I can’t—”

“Just one more, huh?” he pants his desperation into your soaked cunt, eyes wide and pleading while his fingers trace up your thigh to join his tongue in your folds. He slowly scissors those callused digits into your wet heat, and moans when your walls flutter in eager response around them. “Please, please, just one more. I’ve been so good, pips, haven’t I? Haven’t I, baby?”

You’re pretty sure you’re just as gone as him at this point, nothing but adoration and praise in the stroke of your shaking hand against his blushing red, freckled cheek.

“One more,” you whisper with a nod, already feeling the impossibility of another orgasm creeping up on you when he sucks your clit back into his mouth, flicking his tongue around it along with the upwards curl of his fingers inside you. “One more, baby. Just—oh, fuck! So good for me, Caleb, so fucking good…”

The bed rocks under his mindless humps into the mattress, and you lose yourself to the sounds of his mewling and desperate suckling of your cunt until he makes you cum again—and again, and again, because you know very well it won’t just be one more.