#in THIS

[kitteecassee]

i looked hot today this has been a psa

[psalm40speakstome]

No Gain, No Love. Episode Twelve.

Like seriously every single proposal this drama knocked out of the park!!?

The convenience store.

The photos of the rings!?

Seriously SO creative, emotional and beautiful.

[allo-frouto]

mm your post and reblogs get my cock throbbing and the yearning to fill your yummy little pussy while staring into them beautiful eyes.

What an experience indeed.

[untilyouremember]

Insomniacs After School

Available digitally (included in Viz subscription)

Available in print

[tullycicero]

dicuntur meam scholam 'inutilem' esse sedne cogitavistis ut eam causa VIBUM amem? causa LAETITIAE?!? modo laeta esse volo :') non mea culpa est vos in vivendo laetitiam habere non posse

[sophiasrant]

draw your favorite character wearing this

[themagicfolf]

Andrew Taint

[soulreapin]

I feel like there is a divide.

I am on one side, and then there is a divide that drops thousands of feet down, and on the other side is the Bible, sitting on top of a pew.

There is life in that divide, and the parts of me that do not dig their toes into the gross red dirt of the cliff I stand on are falling straight down into it. They twist-mid air so that they face the sunlight, falling so far so fast that the wax of their wings is nothing but the memory of whistling metal.

Finding my way up the side of that divide has been…a struggle. It gets darker and darker, my chin slipping underneath the water’s surface, but because I can still stick my hand out of the roiling, spitting waves, it’s all just fine. Everything tastes apathetic, and apathy itself burns to look at, the name to a feeling I have been shoving down, down, down all my life until I can’t see it, can’t hear it, can’t even taste it in my mouth.

But aiding my weak hands has been the concept of religion. I find a particularly deep foothold and throw myself up the side of the wall, and my shoulder slams into cold glass, but just for a second, my cheek presses against it and there is warmth and light. If my head is turned I can hear music. Particularly lucky passes show me images of choirs holding candles and empty pulpits.

Then I fall again, reaching out desperately until I find a lip in the rocks and hold fast, but the memory of light through glass and the idea that that glass will break is enough to spur another try, another yank of my shoulder out of its socket.

I toy with the idea of going back to church. Walking in, breathing in stale air that smells like wine and communion and a hand to hold, and sitting down right in the middle, sandwiched between mothers of five and the devout. In front of me, the divine, and behind, the disgraced. It might fix me, being so close to those words, breathing them in and letting them run in my veins, but I am not so sure it won’t break me.

Religion has never extended a hand to me before, but it has also never said no, walking into a church has never pulled the rope any tighter than it was. It is what I will make of it, and whether that is beautiful or barely hanging on, I don’t know. There must be a something, an anything to keep one foot tucked in front of the other.

But do I deserve it? Will I walk in and sit in that confessional and pour my heart out to the man on the other side, and realize that when I look up, the sun is gone and my life is cold, salvation too far out of reach for me to bother with it now? I need this cross around my neck to mean something. I need it to be clasped between my hands for prayer and not just to jolt myself back to life. God has done nothing to me or for me, letting me stray down this path but walking beside me all the while, and I need all that to just mean something other than I am hopeless and beyond safety. He hums in my ear that to live is to sin and to sin is to confess, and the me from before that kept my chin down to my chest grits her teeth and shelves the knowledge.

I’ve sat in a church before, not a mega-church but something close to it, but I was too young. I was young and concerned with making it to the next day, and then the next, message and meaning going in one ear and floating out onto the empty seat next to me in the back of the church.

There was no stained glass to float rainbows through the room, but there were metal trays and communion crackers and a sick feeling in my chest that for a reason I refused to look at. She was not meant for church grounds, but she is me and I will be worth it to run my fingers over the thin pages of the Bible and feel Eve’s forehead press against mine, because we are in this and out of it together.

Both come in, and both will come out.

I need something to believe in again. Living show to show, game to game and practice to practice isn’t getting me by anymore. It’s all slipping away from me. The words in my mouth taste like dust. Even if I have to fight to hold on to this one thing, go to war just to keep my fingers tucked between the thin pages of David and Goliath, I’ll do it, because having something to fight for is better than having nothing to live and sin for at all.

Religion seems like it will and won’t do it for me. I’m afraid to get bored of it. I’m scared to look into the face of Jesus Christ, nails through his wrists, and whisper into the still air that his sacrifice cannot hold my attention. I am not afraid that he will be upset with me. I am afraid that he will offer me a sad smile and a hand to hold and say, “I know. It is not your fault. You, sister, are forgiven. ”

It is my fault that I do not stay and I do not keep my eyes open. I am not deserving of the forgiveness Jesus affords me. But I will try to earn it with every twist of my necklace and crack of my fingers. Gradually, I want Bible stories to replace the half-moons dug into my forearms, the rosary cradled in my hands instead of dirt. Wine will replace water.

It is a start, I think, light beating through thin white glass. I can feel the heat through it that sinks into my fingertips. It is a start.

[lucrezianoin]

Astarion in this

Marazhai in this

[arithechair]

Got bored while listening to music and started drawing

[abrahamlincolnscat]

Harambe didn't die just so you could sit around harass minorities online

[bi-buck-coded]

[allo-frouto]

What is your favorite toy friend ?

I am torn between a vibrator and a plug.

[mrsmarymorstan]

I got a blaze post for a Dave From Homestuck Body Pillow....

[mt10lt20]

AC Z/6/7 - The Wingmen’s perspective (slightly shippy)

Count: This group date fucking sucks! >:(

Shamrock: For the last time Count, can you stop calling this a group date? We are on sortie!

Pixy: Yeah.. For once I agree with Shamrock. I would never want to go on a group date where people start yelling “Missile! Missile!” or where I need to get random guys off my partner’s ass.

[mieledoll]

okay im drawing my friend's bald barbie fashionista in a lolita dress.