#rambles from here on ->

[romance-rambles]

au - magic/knight!alkaid | can i ask: do you love me?

By a series of accidents involving love potions and cookies, you end up with a boyfriend.

k, fluff + one (1) background relationship, mentions of angst, accidental usage of love potions, reader is mc, series: none

WHEN IT COMES TO THE morality of love potions, there is usually no universally-agreed upon answer, in large part due to the sheer variance in what, exactly, constitutes such a thing.

The law, however, is as full of loopholes as it can be—as long as it doesn't seem to talk, walk, or act like a drug capable of inducing others to fall in love with you, it isn't. And so, if such a thing were to ever find its way into someone's food, it technically wouldn't be a crime.

Then where, you wonder, does the present situation fall under?

With horror twisting your lips into a grimace, you gaze silently at the empty tray of cookies, sat upon the table unsuspectingly. No crumbs remain on its surface, though that speaks more to the character of the man who accidentally devoured them than any skill on your part. Alkaid has always been like this, even when your delicious cookies were nothing more than chunks of coal.

Despite the conclusions you manage to draw so easily, a question—one qualified enough to be called idiotic—slips out of you.

"Did you…" You swallow the lump in your throat. "Did you eat all of these cookies?"

Alkaid chuckles, smiling warmly. "Of course. They were as delicious as always."

On the topic of love potions, sweet in taste as they are, they tend to be amber in color. Sugar turned into caramel, or honey gleaming in the sunlight, as your friend once described it. A treat perfectly suited to her tastes.

Food dye is what brings out the pink hue oft associated with love, and the association is such that there are those who believe that love potions in any other color are simply…

Defective.

It was this same association that led Ehlonna—who came to you in tears, her once-in-a-lifetime request as much a paradox of selfishness and selflessness as she herself was—to request a more natural approach. As the soon-to-be Princess of Leighton, even so much as a hint that a love potion existed in her possession could not only be damaging to her reputation, but would incite needless worry in her brother and father.

Her brother who has just inhaled a plate full of cookies made accidentally with the love potion you crafted for her.

You don't scream. For one, you can't scream, but it is a near thing. The devil whispers in your ear, isn't this a good thing? And it takes a frightening amount of time for your conscience to talk you down.

This is why you don't play around with love potions.

"That's good." An awkward smile. An even more awkward silence. "And you feel okay? They didn't taste…funny?"

The love of your life laughs again. You think it's deserved, a little. A lot. It takes the embarrassing sting off the joke that is your current existence. How does one accidentally put a love potion in a batch of cookies? They run out of sugar and attempt to make due with honey.

How does one mistake a love potion for honey? They put it in an inconspicuous jar and wake up to bake at three in the morning. All because of a nightmare, one as equally like to come true as the opposite, where the groom looked suspiciously like the man in front of you and a blob of colors substituted as the bride.

"Have more faith in your baking," he says gently, holding his teacup to his lips.

On average, knights are not the best at holding their own against magic of any sort. But Alkaid bucks the trend by being startlingly difficult to hex, which, by all accounts, should bode well for him.

Except for the fact that he did, in fact, succumb to the last potion you tested on him. Trust, after all, is a powerful thing. It knocked him out for a week, and when he woke up, it was to the sight of your inconsolable form at his bedside. Even his own family wasn't half as concerned, though his father did advise against using him as a test subject in the future.

"I do," you say numbly, resting your arm atop the chair. Soon enough, it is your entire body that the wooden dining chair—one older than even you—must support. "I really do…"

His amused smile fades, making way for an expression full of concern. Setting the teacup down, he asks, "Has something happened?"

You exhale.

Ordinarily, you would confess everything to him. But everything entails secrets that are not yours to give away. Like the part about Ehlonna nearly taking a lover, for one. How the prospect of marrying for duty terrifies her enough that she would sooner numb herself to the world. How the love of her life vanished at the start of the month, the only proof of his existence being the whispers of the townsfolk and the songs the children sing.

So, you play around with the truth instead, to the best of your ability.

"I think…" You slip onto the seat in front of you with a sigh and a careful bite of your lip. "I think I poured a truth serum into those cookies. It's not where I keep it anymore."

But no one said it'd be a good lie.

His eyebrows nearly disappear under his bangs. You've always appreciated the siblings' willingness to go along with whatever excuses you offer them. Call it gullibility, as some people do, but you think it veers on blind faith.

Whatever questions he has sit on the tip of his tongue—then he swallows them back down and places a hand over his forehead. Gently moving the tray to the side, you lean in close, upper body crossing half the table as you wait your turn.

Alkaid has always made note of your hands. How they often run cold, instead of warm. The telltale increase in body temperature that results from love potions, then, could be obfuscated by that fact.

Frustration knits your eyebrows together. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you ask:

"Do you feel like telling me anything?"

"Not particularly," he answers, looking concerned. For you, you suspect. Then, he takes your hands and squeezes them gently. "It's been a long time since that day. It isn't out of the realm of possibility that I've gained some resistance since then."

Your expression tells him all you'd like him to know. It wouldn't be out of the realm of possibility—if he was anyone else. You'd love to give him some other potion to prove your point, but you can't risk him getting knocked out before the delegation for the Kingdom of Leighton comes knocking on Eden's door for their new princess.

Which is…

Two days from now.

You feel yourself breaking into cold sweat again. The potion takes a month to make.

And Ehlonna is nice. Ehlonna is understanding. Ehlonna is your best friend, and with love troubles of her own under her belt, she will surely understand your circumstances. There's nothing to forgive, her saintly voice echoes in your mind.

On her part, sure.

On your part? Absolutely not.

The smile on your lips grows forced. At the same time, Alkaid reaches out and brushes your bangs out of your face—and you'd love to draw conclusions, but he's always been like this.

"Alright, why don't you ask me a question?" he proposes, half-exasperatedly. "If you've wanted to ask anything at all, now's your chance."

Do you love me?

You swallow the lump in your throat with great difficulty. "What's your favorite color?"

"Green." A lie. The answer is purple.

"What's your favorite season?"

"Summer." A lie. The answer is undetermined—his usual line is, Spring is the season flowers bloom, but Winter is the season we met.

"What's your favorite food?"

"Whatever you and Ehlonna make." A truth. He'd have to be the liar of a lifetime if it wasn't.

This back-and-forth continues for a while longer, his initial reason for visiting nearly forgotten by both of them. It's not as though they'd made any progress on coming up with a fun night for Ehlonna anyways. You'd preemptively rejected places that were sure to remind her of Yin, which left the two of you with almost no options in the nearby town.

Eventually, you run out of questions, but the soft smile on Alkaid's lips does not fade. The devil whispers in your ear, and, for some reason, he sounds a bit like Yin, Ask: do you love me?

You opt for a slightly different question. "Is there a girl you like?"

His eyebrows furrow at the question, and his lips purse. He looks a bit uncomfortable, really. But it's only for a brief moment before he smiles again.

"Yes." A statement, undetermined.

Taking a deep breath, you ask, "Is that a truth or a lie?"

"Which one would you rather it be?" he counters.

Silence engulfs the home you inherited from your mother. It's deep in the forest near Eden's capital, with enchantments cast specifically to keep it hidden from unwanted guests. If someone wants to commission you for a magical product, they must ask during your business hours, at the quaint little art store you own.

The lavender walls of the dining room seem quite intriguing, all of a sudden—even to an eye like yours, which has seen them since birth. There's a few scratches on the table from when you were a child, and the chair slats feel more uncomfortable that usual when you lean back against them.

It would be easy enough to pick the first option, you think. But if the end result is anything like your dream…

Eden—more specifically, you—can only handle one broken-hearted mage right now.

"Who is it?" you eventually spit out, to the tune of your heartbeat thrumming in your ears. Regret instantly floods your veins, but it's too late to back out. Your mother did not raise a coward, nor did she raise someone unaffected by sunk-cost.

"She's…" He pauses, seemingly at a loss for words. "Wonderful. Kind. The most beautiful woman in the world—"

You wonder if you can tune him out.

You wonder if you should.

Every little compliment functions like a dagger, repeatedly stabbing you in the heart. Even so, you count each one and wonder, Could that be me? Who else does Alkaid know who sometimes eats like a slob? You're not proud of it, but hunger often has a way of making you forgo niceties.

And it can't be his cat, either. Sparkles, despite his name, is not a girl.

"Is she sitting in front of you?" you blurt out finally, when it seems like he's about to stop. Then, to make up for your mistake, you bury your head in your hands and pray this ritual grants you invisibility.

"How'd you know?"

When you look up, Alkaid is smiling his usual gentle smile.

THERE IS A LITTLE FOOTNOTE in the banned potion's textbook that provided the recipe for this love potion. You learn about it that night, after pulling the book out of your shelf to occupy your sleepless night in a productive manner.

Half of it is written in a handwriting you've only ever seen in letters your father wrote before his untimely death—the one you modeled the curves of your alphabet after. The other half is written in your mother's handwriting, still in cursive, but with a definitive air of practicality to it, in that it would nearly be illegible to anyone else but you.

It says:

A love potion will not go into effect if the target of the ingester's affection and the first person they see are one and the same. In rare cases, with sufficient willpower, if the two people are separate, the ingester will be able to overcome its effects.

Biting your lips has no effect on your ever-growing smile. Neither does the prospect of having to tell Ehlonna about your mistake dampen your excitement about today's events.

Perhaps that makes you a bad friend. Perhaps wondering if the love potion would've failed anyway, owing to Ehlonna and her brother having an incredible willpower, makes you a bad friend too. In any case, in the following days, it ceases to matter, because your hunch about Ehlonna's fate happens to be correct.

Just not in the form you expected.

When you finally show her and her new husband the textbook—smuggling it into the manor carefully and quietly, though the Duke tends to turn a blind eye to your shenanigans—on the day after their wedding, the three of you can only laugh, as you did in the old days.

— happy (very) belated birthday to @chiefcroissantdeanbanana

[wathanism]

no cause some of the shit y'all are saying has me genuinely worried that you don't understand the difference between immigration and SETTLER COLONIALISM. y'all do realize that if jewish people just mass migrated to palestine and lived peacefully among palestinians as neighbors and countrymen, then none of this would be a problem. right? you get that, right? you get that our issue was never "there's too many jews here" but rather "why am i getting kicked out of my house." RIGHT?

[insomnia-and-caffeine]

Average arcane act 2 experience </3

[getvalentined]

Thinking a lot recently about the constant comparison of Oblivion to Skyrim, particularly claims that Oblivion is superior in every way strictly by virtue of quest length and the greater grandiosity of the organizations in Oblivion, and I think there's been a fundamental misunderstanding of what's actually going on with Tamriel during the time period of Skyrim. Even though it's like...one of the core concepts of the main storyline.

Putting most of this under a cut for length, but I just...I think people misunderstand what's going on here. This is not a "One Game Good Other Game Bad" post, it's an analysis of a major, key difference in story basis between the two that I think gets lost in the (frankly asinine) argument about which is superior.

See, everything in Skyrim sucks. Every organization you can align yourself with is falling apart. Literally every single one.

That's the point.

To summarize:

The Companions (equivalent to the Fighters' Guild) are about a dozen strong, literally cursed, and their most beloved leader gets murdered very early in the storyline.

The College of Winterhold (equivalent to the Mages' Guild, not to the Arcane University) has seemingly only been saved from collapsing into the sea because a master of Restoration fused himself with the structure itself when the Sea of Ghosts tried to tear it down a little under a century ago and his presence is constantly physically "healing" the foundation.

The Thieves' Guild has lost the favor of every possible patron deity, having been outright cursed by Nocturnal after one of her Nightingales murdered another and stole the gift she offers her champion, while the boon that the organization's founder claimed from her in ages past (the cowl) is missing.

The Dark Brotherhood has been all but completely dismantled, the Night Mother's tomb in Bravil having been raided and struggling to persist without a Listener for over a decade; the bodies of the Night Mother's children have been lost and she's essentially being smuggled from region to region in an attempt to find a safe place to continue operations.

The Empire itself has been kneecapped, forced into a traumatic treaty by a fascist regime determined to strike the beliefs and culture of anyone not Altmer off the face of the planet; the Thalmor have gone so far as to torture and radicalize the figurehead leader of the Nords in order to use their own nationalism and superiority against the Empire, sparking a civil war that will further weaken the Empire and allow the Aldmerri Dominion to destroy it wholecloth.

This extends out into the rest of the world, too! We have confirmed existence of Hist-deaf Argonians. The Dunmer are floundering to recover after the quadruple-whammy that is the fall of the Triumverate, the destruction of Vivec City when Baar Dau finally made impact, the Red Year, and the Argonian uprising. The Bosmer are literally endangered due to habitat loss following a super-isolationist cultural shift due to wars with the Khajiit and Altmer. The Void Nights were devastating to Khajiit culture and population in ways that have yet to be fully explained.

The world is falling apart. Everything is dying.

And then Alduin shows up.

We all kind of talk about Alduin carrying on as World-Eater through the course of the Skyrim storyline like it's him being a piece of shit, since he'd started it ages ago and was just displaced in time to land on the Last Dragonborn's head in the Fourth Era, but I don't think that's the case.

Based on the state of things, I think Alduin arrived right on time. I think it's the end of the world. The only reason he "should" be stopped is because the Last Dragonborn has the capacity to stop the world from ending in a more down-to-earth sense than just defeating Alduin: they can't save everyone, but they can "fix" every single organization that's holding "the world" together.

They can align with the Imperials and keep the civil war from further crippling them, keeping the Empire from being too weak to push back against the Aldmerri Dominion.

They can save the College of Winterhold, the only group in the right place at the right time to stop the Eye of Magnus from opening, and in doing so make sure that the Psijics are able to put it somewhere nobody else can find it.

They can lead the Companions, cure the curse for those members who don't want to run with Hircine after death, which bolsters their spirits enough to keep doing what they can even when everyone else is trying to kill each other. A single neutral martial force in the middle of a civil war.

They can regain Nocturnal's trust for the Thieves' Guild, restore the Nightingales, and in doing so they can return the luck that was stolen from them as punishment for Mercer Frey's transgression. They can even reclaim the Crown of Barenziah and award the guild with a paragon to increase their newly-regained luck.

They can hear the Night Mother, becoming Listener for the Dark Brotherhood to restore the balancing force of Sithis in the world, purify the most broken Sanctuary the Brotherhood has ever had, and finish a story set into motion way back in the Third Era—Emperor Titus Mede II is murdered under the order of a Motierre, a descendant of a mark the Brotherhood specifically kept from dying during the Oblivion Crisis.

The Last Dragonborn can't do anything outside Skyrim—there's nothing they can do for the Argonians or the Bosmer or the Khajiit, and they can only do very little for the Dunmer via work in Solstheim—but they can work with every single guild or guild-adjacent group, strengthening the Empire to stand against the biggest threat to Tamrielic culture since the First Era, and in doing so they can make it so the world isn't ready for Alduin to eat it.

The Hero of Kvatch exists when Tamriel, and presumably Nirn as a whole is in the prime of its life, that's what makes the Oblivion Crisis such a big deal. This is a world that isn't ready to give up, it still has the strength to fight, it just needs someone standing at the head to direct it. The Last Dragonborn comes into the story when everything is falling apart and nothing really feels worthwhile, when it's hard to see why the world is worth saving. They have the chance to prove that there's still some life left here, that the world isn't too far gone to save—Alduin arrived right on time, it's the Last Dragonborn's job to change that.

I can see how coming from Oblivion to Skyrim would feel disappointing and hollow, but I'm pretty sure that's literally the point of the story.

Oblivion tells you the world is worth saving because it's got so much left to live for, even with the odds stacked so high against it. Skyrim asks you whether a world that's dying is still a world worth saving, and it's up to you to prove that it is.

[cavalierclavier]

When I broke the cycle, I made sure that the tear was rough. You carry a part of what should be her, and she carries a part of what should be you.

[lazylittledragon]

y'know every time i feel guilty about bothering someone by singing along when i'm listening to music, i just remember that i have to tolerate my dirtbag brother screaming at his ps5 for hours every day so listening to muffled off-key fall out boy is probably preferable

[didyousaykfc]

[tariah23]

The manga industry, especially JUMP, needs to hurry up and do away with weekly scheduling for mangaka. There needs to better regulations put into place for their health and safety because this is pitiful. Two weeks - monthly updates should’ve already been the standard for the manga industry at this point. These money grabbers will only continue to put the lives of these artists at stake for the sake of capitalism unless some serious changes are implemented.

[mintaikkcorpse]

I fuck hard with Asexual Venom, but the idea of Venom, an alien whose species doesn't breed sexually and don't have concepts of sex, being sexually attracted to some boring sad and sweaty white guy he picked up on the streets is just so funny to me

[aashiqeddiediaz]

you know what boils my blood.

over the last 2 weeks, i've seen countless patients walk into my urgent care center, symptomatic for so many things, refusing to get tested for covid and flu, citing that they don't want to knowingly bring it to their holiday tables. i had a patient tell me, verbatim, "i don't want to test for covid, because i don't want to be the asshole who brings it on a plane."

i understand that - i understand that holidays are times where people look forward to meeting loved ones that they might only see once a year, or where they get a break from the hectic back and forth of their lives.

but here's the thing - whether they get tested or not, they will bring whatever they have to their holiday tables. it's pure recklessness to know that you're sick, and walk into someone else's house spreading the disease.

today, january 2, i saw 91 patients, many of them who have tested positive for covid and flu. many of these patients are the same ones who didn't want testing 3 days ago, until their events were over, and now, they will have to reach out to everyone they know to let them know that they were positive because they were showing symptoms well before their event.

the next week or two? we're going to see many, many more, all people with symptoms that started around christmas. these are the only two viruses we test for rapidly in our office, but they are potent and can be fatal in many people.

so here's why i wrote this post, and maybe it's a little late, but - if you care about your loved ones, please get tested if you know you're sick. it doesn't have to be at a clinic if you don't want it to, because the over-the-counter tests work just fine too (if you test within 5-7 days of symptom onset). just...please don't try to run from the knowledge that you might have covid, because immunocompromised people, elderly people, people with co-morbidities like asthma, pregnancy, diabetes, etc...many of them may not recover. and they may not be sitting at your holiday table in the future because of it.

[romance-rambles]

qixi lars | what comes the morning after

The morning after their reunion, Lars wakes up beside his beloved empress. Naturally, he takes the opportunity to admire her before waking her up.

1.1k, post-qixi card story, domestic + possibly toothrotting fluff, reader is mc, series: none

FOR ONCE, IT IS NOT a dream when Lars wakes to the sight of his beloved. And if the warmth of your skin should not be enough to persuade him of such a thing, then his aching arm—burdened with the most important task of all—should suffice instead.

You are, at once, exactly as he imagined you and a fantasy beyond his wildest dreams. The length of your hair falls further than it used to, and there is a scar on the palm of your hand where there was nothing. But the lovely smile you shared with him last night remains the same as ever.

He shifts onto his side, careful to leave the sleeping beauty on his arm undisturbed. His other hand reaches out and carefully brushes through your unkempt bangs, leaving them to lay flat against your forehead.

It is tempting—to poke your forehead as he used to, back on your boat when his world seemed to limit itself to you. But, instead, his hand travels to your cheek, knuckles gently carressing your soft skin.

If yesterday is a day of firsts—the first time he saw you again, the first time he held you again, and the first time you uttered those three words, which, for the longest time, he heard only from the ghost that haunted him—then today, as well, should hold that distinction.

For today is the first day of the rest of their lives as emperor and empress—

And the first time he can appreciate your slumbering visage outside of his nightmares.

The slight furrow of your brows. The faint smile playing on your lips. The way your nose lightly puffs up with every breath you take. And the shadow cast under your eyes by your thick lashes, short though they may be—shorter than his, supposedly.

You measured them both out last night. He sat obediently with his eyes closed, the taste of your lips lingering on his tongue. As the seconds passed by, you grew increasingly miffed. Though you could grasp his lashes, such a fact did not seem to aid you in proving your point.

(You once heard a woman you'd befriended complain that her husband's eyelashes were long and beautiful, and his skin required virtually none of the upkeep hers did. She said she was sometimes jealous that he was more beautiful than she was—but mostly, it was the fact that everyone else knew to appreciate his beauty that drove her.

Somehow, when a brief awkwardness descended after that first kiss, that was the first thought your mind offered you.)

When he opened his eyes, you were as close as you had been at the start of it all. Close enough to hold, closer still to kiss. His lips had flattened; his smile, behind which he was attempting to smother his laughter, deepened.

Amusement glinted in his blue eyes—as it does now, in the present—and he asked:

"So, have you found your proof yet?"

The word no never left your lips. With the way a scowl crept up onto your face, it wasn't necessary. That was when he laughed, and his shoulders felt so light. He couldn't remember the last time he felt this way—but he figured it must've before that fateful night, when they hadn't even said goodbye.

Before his smile could fade, ever so slight, you were already holding his face. And with that came another kiss—this time, from you to him.

Spurred by the memory, Lars leans down and kisses your forehead. Your eyes are still closed, but your hand manages to capture his own. Your once faint smile has grown uncontrollably, its soft edges cutting into your flushed cheeks.

"Good morning, my empress," he whispers softly into your ear, and watches you bite your lip.

(The truth is, you've been awake for a while now.

Or, perhaps, it's more accurate to say that you never slept at all. How Lars managed to fall asleep with the many thoughts that must've been running through his head is a question for the ages.

But if you'd been sleepy at all, then his little stunt certainly woke you up.)

It's only when he pulls away that you deign to crack one eye open. Squeezing his hand gently, you bury your head into his chest with a groan, any thoughts of waking up seemingly forgotten. He chuckles warmly and squeezes your hand in return.

Outside, the sun has already risen. Gentle winds carry birdsong to every corner of the empire as his stomach—and, undoubtedly, your as well—reminds him of its hunger.

In the previous days, Lars would've already been up by now, a quill in hand while he poured over documents in his office. Even in the short time he lived with you, he was always waking up first. You hadn't been joking when you appointed him as your personal chef, after all.

And even if you had been, Lars finds your smile—and your snack stash—to have been payment worthy of an emperor playing fisherman. There are few things a man wouldn't do a for beautiful woman he was beginning to fall in love with.

So, with great reluctance towards disturbing your peaceful countenance, he attempts to wake you up in the only foolproof way he knows how.

"How does some grilled fish sound for breakfast?" Lars asks.

You pull away, lifting your head off his arm just enough that he could easily slip it away. Propping himself up by his elbow, he watches you quietly contemplate your options. Eventually, you sit up, legs folded and bent to the side.

(You would never turn down food when it's offered to you.

And you would certainly never turn down food made for you by the man you love—who also happens to have proved his skills in the kitchen. Naturally, there's only one choice you can make.)

"Good—" A yawn breaks up your words; you cover your mouth with your other hand. "—morning. Fish sounds good."

And his hand remains still in your grasp. Only that, instead of clutching it against your cheek, you have it resting atop your calf. He can't help but think back to the days when even something as simple and domestic as this seemed to be out of reach—that is to say, up until last night.

"Some grilled fish worthy of an empress, coming right up."

Intertwining their fingers together, Lars smiles softly. You don't fight him when he draws your hand closer—and for his efforts in kissing the back of your hand, you reward him with flushed cheeks and a distracted smile.

(It truly is unfair how beautiful he is, you think, and it is perhaps the only part of your thoughts that happens to be coherent. The rest of it comes in the form of visions—of things one would normally expect to happen the night before.

It's hardly the first time you've thought such things, but it is most certainly the first time it's happened in front of the man himself. You suspect this won't be last time either.)

— happy birthday to @sparklesfromtheashes!!

[pollyanna-nana]

So. It’s no secret that the dunmeshi manga gradually changed art style as it went on (thereby twinkifying a few characters…) but I like to think that, in Thistle’s case specifically, it was also a change in perception by the party. I mean…

Early in the story, when all they knew about him was that he was the creepy, all-powerful mad sorcerer? Probably were much more intimidated by him. Same with the reader. BUT….

By the end? Oh, he’s just a little jester twink who writes poetry and can be picked up and slung around like a bag of potatoes. No way they could take him seriously anymore. Literally this meme but in reverse

Little guyification…

[chatlote]

Just because you don't love yourself it doesn't mean I will stop loving you.

[foldingfittedsheets]

My manager brought a tray of sandwiches to the store from the training we went to. On Monday.

It’s Friday today. No one put it in the fridge.

I came in today and was like. What is making the mattress store smell like rancid meat.

Turns out it was the rancid meat.

I was alone in the store until noon so I couldn’t run the trash out. My backup walked in and went, “What reeks?”

The rancid meat.

I texted the work group chat: ...so it turns out that when you leave unrefrigerated lunch meat out in the break room you can cast "Rotting Meat" which is a second level necromantic smell- I mean spell.

This was the source of many laughs and the smell has finally been removed. The doors are all wide open to cleanse the evil.

[lucabyte]

On autonomy, and what it means to be Obliged to Help.

Bonus:

[doodoodinklefart]

pov fallin in love w ur homie cuz he's so pretty all of a sudden?!?!