Bullshit Frog's Crack Corner

[Sharky - 18] ,[SFW-ish] Girls and Goblins: Enjoy the show

[frogs-crackcorner]

Welcome!

My name is Shark or Sharky. I mostly write for Call of Duty characters but I'm open to new characters if you have any requests.

My requests are open but if you're just asking for money, the answer is no. I literally have no money.

Please be respectful and friendly and enjoy!

Master List

Simon x reader

Drunken mistake

Permission

An Angel All My Own

An Angel All My Own P-1

An Angel All My Own P-2

An Angel All My Own P-3

[inkedtension]

clan leader!Gojo Satoru x reader the 'elders' lay their hands on you.

...

everytime you look at his footwear, you remember the first time you ever tried cleaning them.

“Sweetheart” Gojo Satoru’s voice rolled like summer thunder, low and indulgent. “What did I say about touching those?”

You looked up, after two months of marriage, the sight of him stole your breath. his eyes, glowing softly in the daylight. The haori of the clan head rested over his broad shoulders, the fabric whispering as he crouched before you.

“I was only going to wipe the dust” you murmured, cheeks warming. “You have the elders’ meeting after breakfast, and—”

“And nothing.” His large hands, hands that had ended curses with casual flicks, gently took the cloth from you. He lifted your chin with two fingers, thumb brushing your lower lip.

“The only thing these hands should be doing is resting on my chest while I kiss you senseless.”

Before you could protest, he rose, pulling you up with him as if you weighed nothing. In one smooth motion he swept you into his arms, carrying you back inside the main house. The servants bowed and vanished around corners. they had long grown used to their lord’s open affection.

...

the elders were already gathered. You moved to serve tea, old habit, but Satoru’s hand caught yours.

“Sit” he said simply, guiding you to the cushion beside his own.

The elders’ eyes widened when he asked them to pour thier own tea. One elder, an old man with a face like weathered stone, cleared his throat.

“You should not be idle, daughter” Elder Haruto intoned, sipping his tea while his gaze flicked disapprovingly to the way Satoru lounged nearby, one hand resting possessively on your knee. “The floors must be polished. The lord’s footwear cleaned and set properly. A wife’s hands are never still, child or no.”

“Her hands will rest when I say they rest.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “If the floors need polishing, the servants will handle it. As for my geta—” He glanced at the wooden sandals by the door, the ones you had never been allowed to touch, even before you were pregnant, “—I never let her near them. Why would I start now?”

“My lord… the lady is perfectly capable of light duties, tradi—”

“Tradition? now observing education for higher students is enough work for her.” Satoru cut in, voice pleasant yet edged with Infinity’s chill, “She worked herself to exhaustion at home before I wed her. I will not allow it now.” He glanced at you, eyes warm. “Besides… I like doing things for her.”

You stared at him again, long, unblinking.

The elder looked displeased, but said nothing more.

...

It happened on the third afternoon of his absence. The sky hung heavy with late spring clouds, and the air inside the main hall smelled of aged wood and incense. You were kneeling by the low table, arranging fresh white camellias and pine branches, when elder Haruto and two others entered without announcement.

“Daughter in law of the Gojo house” Haruto began, his voice like dry leaves scraping stone. His gaze flicked to your middle with clear disdain.

“Carrying the heir does not exempt you from your duties. It is a wife’s role to maintain the household’s dignity. Do not think your condition makes you special.”

Tradition bound you, as a non sorcerer brought into the clan through marriage, your place was one of service and quiet strength. Defiance against the elders could ripple through the entire household.

“But… my husband said—”

“His indulgence is temporary,” another elder cut in sharply. “The child is not yet born. Clean them, thoroughly.”

A servant boy hovered anxiously nearby, eyes wide with worry, but he dared not intervene.

...

The sliding shoji screens of the estate did not merely open, they rattled on their wooden tracks, vibrating with the sheer force of the cursed energy bleeding off Satoru as he stepped into the main pavilion.

The air in the compound always grew heavier when the clan head returned, but tonight, it felt suffocating. It tasted of ozone and impending lightning.

You were already asleep in the main room, exhausted from a day that had fractured your spirit far more than your body. Beneath the heavy, silk futon, your hand rested protectively over the slight swell of your belly, a few months along, still delicate, a fragile miracle you and Satoru had wept over in the privacy of your quarters.

Satoru shed his haori, his six eyes instantly cataloging the state of the house. He had been gone for three days on an emergency deployment in the north. Three days too long.

"Gojo sama."

A small, breathless voice broke the silence of the corridor. It was a servant boy whose family had served Satoru’s personal branch for generations. The boy was with some information.

Satoru paused.

"Tatsuya" he murmured, his voice deceptively low. "Why are you still up? And why does the courtyard smell like damp earth?"

Tatsuya swallowed hard, looking toward the closed doors of your bedroom before continuing. "While you were away... the council of elders called upon the lady."

Satoru’s posture didn't change, but the ambient temperature seemed to drop. "Did they?"

"They... they claimed she was becoming arrogant. They said a housewife of the Gojo clan must know her place, less she 'grow into her mind' and believe herself above the bloodline." Tatsuya’s voice hitched. "They dragged her to the northern wash-basin. They forced her to clean the clan’s formal geta and zori. With the well water."

The silence that followed was absolute. Not even the crickets in the garden dared to make a sound.

"They forced her?" Satoru repeated. The words were quiet, but they carried the weight of a collapsing star.

"She refused at first, reminding them of her condition," Tatsuya whispered, tears leaking onto the floorboards. "But Elder Ogi... he grabbed her arm. He forced her down to her knees on the stone path. She tripped. Her knee... her knee was scraped. She spent three hours in the cold, scrubbing their filth. She asked them to let her rest, but they told her she needed to be 'disciplined'."

Satoru didn't say another word, nor did he storm off. He simply vanished from the hallway, leaving behind a draft of freezing air.

In the dimly lit inner sanctuary of the estate, three of the clan’s oldest elders sat around a low table, sipping roasted green tea. They were discussing the upcoming seasonal rituals, completely self assured in their ancient, stagnant authority.

The heavy oak doors of the sanctuary didn't just open, they shattered inward, exploding into wooden splinters that embedded themselves into the priceless hanging scrolls on the walls.

The elders scrambled backward, but before they could even draw a breath to protest, Satoru was there.

He didn't use Limitless to crush them from afar. This required the brutal, visceral reality of his bare hands.

"What" he begins, voice deceptively soft, "in the name of all the ancestors, possessed you to order my pregnant wife to wash filth?"

"Satoru! What is the meaning of—"

Ogi, the eldest among them, didn't get to finish his sentence. Satoru lunged forward, his movement a blur of lethal grace. He grabbed Ogi’s right wrist and twisted.

A sickening, wet pop echoed through the room as the bones in Ogi's wrist shattered under Satoru's grip. The old man screamed, a high, reedy sound of pure agony, as Satoru slammed him face first onto the tatami mats.

"You touched her" Satoru whispered. The sound of his voice was worse than any shout. It was dead. Completely devoid of the playful sorcerer they thought they could manage.

Satoru brought his heavy, geta down directly onto Ogi’s outstretched hand, grinding his heel into the old man's knuckles. The sound of fracturing finger bones filled the room. Ogi choked on his own vomit, pinning himself to the floor under the immense, crushing weight of Satoru’s physical strength.

"Satoru! Step back! This is a violation of clan law! She is a woman! She must be disciplined to understand the weight of the Gojo name!" another elder shrieked, his hands shaking as he tried to form a cursed technique sign.

Satoru turned his head, his brilliant blue eyes glowing with a terrifying, unhinged light in the shadows. He had never been this angry in his entire life.

"Disciplined?" Satoru's voice rose, vibrating with a rage that made the very foundations of the estate groan. "You dynamic pieces of garbage. You dare talk about discipline to me? About my wife?"

He stepped off Ogi, leaving the old man weeping into the ruined tatami, and advanced on the second elder.

"I don't let her touch a single piece of anything when she is perfectly healthy" Satoru snarled, the raw emotion finally breaking through his terrifying calm.

"the servants wash my damn boots. I carry her across the courtyard when the gravel is too sharp. And you... you useless, disgusting, vile, rotting fossils... you dragged my pregnant woman out into the cold? To scrub your filth? Her knee bleeds because of your exclusive skill of not using a brain"

He grabbed the second elder by the front of his expensive silk kimono, lifting the grown man entirely off the ground with one hand.

"She is the future of this entire fucking world, and you risked her safety—you risked my child—because your fragile, pathetic egos were threatened by her existence?!" Satoru roared, his voice shaking the roof tiles.

"She will think she's the best of all? She is the best of all! She is mine! Which makes her untouchable to the likes of you!"

He threw the elder across the room, smashing him into a heavy wooden cabinet that collapsed under the impact.

"Satoru... the--the hierarchy... her place-" the third elder stammered, backing into the corner, clutching his prayer beads as if they could save him from a god.

“Her place?” The air crackled. “Her place is to be cherished. To be protected. I have torn apart special grade curses with less effort than it takes me to tolerate your outdated nonsense. You dare speak to my wife as if she is a common servant? As if the life she nurtures is insignificant?”

Satoru stood in the center of the ruined room, his breathing heavy, his chest heaving under his clothes. The sheer pressure of his cursed energy was cracking the plaster on the walls. He looked down at them with a disgust so profound it was sickening.

"Listen to me very carefully" Satoru said, his voice dropping back to a lethal, quiet hiss. "Tradition dies when it threatens what is mine."

 "I have never asked her to perform such tasks. Not once. Not before she carried my child, and certainly not now. Do you have any idea what pregnancy entails? The strain? The risk? My wife is not a servant. She is the heart of this clan. She carries the future."

His voice rises, never before this uncontrolled. "You forced her to kneel by a basin while I was away securing this clan's power? While she should be resting, being cared for? If any of you so much as suggest she lift a finger for menial labor again, I will personally ensure your retirement is... permanent. and I will remind you exactly why I am the clan head. Not because of bloodlines or dusty customs. Because I am the strongest. And I will not hesitate to make examples.”

He stepped closer, his shadow engulfing the final elder, deciding it was enough.

"Get out. All of you. Pack your robes, your tea sets, and your useless books, and fuck yourselves out of my estate before the sun rises. If I see a single one of your faces within the clan boundaries tomorrow morning, I won't just break your hands. I will erase your entire branches from the registry. Try me. See if the jujutsu authorities can stop me."

None of them doubted him. The strongest sorcerer in the world was standing before them, completely unhinged. They nodded frantically, Ogi clutching his ruined arm as they dragged themselves out of the room, terrified for their very lives, knowing the strongest's word was law, and his wrath absolute.

The slide of the shoji screen was a mere sigh in the quiet night, a soft friction of wood on wood. The moment Satoru crossed the threshold into the master bedroom, the terrifying, static heavy aura of his rage dissolved entirely, locked away behind the absolute precision of his control. He didn't want even a stray spark of his cursed energy to disrupt your sleep.

The room smelled of sweet tatami, dried lavender, and the faint, bitter tang of the medicinal salve Tatsuya had helped you apply.

Satoru shed his socks, his bare feet sinking into the woven mats as he approached the futon with agonizing care. He knelt beside you, the sheer size of his frame casting a protective shadow over your sleeping form. Without his blindfold, his six eyes tracked every rhythm of your breathing, noting the slight, tense line between your brows even in slumber.

You stirred, your senses waking up before your eyes did. The air in the room suddenly grew warmer, sweeter, thick with the distinct, dizzying scent of him.

"Satoru...?" you mumbled, your voice heavy and thick with sleep. You began to shift, your palms pressing into the futon to push yourself up, but a large, impossibly warm hand slid over your shoulder, gently anchoring you down.

"Shh... stay down, hime" he whispered, his voice a low, gravelly rasp against the quiet of the room. "Don't get up for me. Never get up for me."

He slid under the heavy silk duvet, but he didn't pull you into his arms just yet. Instead, he worked his way down to the foot of the futon. His touch was feather light as he peeled back the edge of the blanket, exposing your bare legs to the cool night air.

Your heart pinched, a sudden flush of anxiety warming your cheeks. You remembered the heavy, frozen stone of the northern wash basin, the harsh, disapproving glares of the elders, the way the coarse bristles of the brush had scraped against your skin. You had desperately wanted to hide it from him, to spare him the headache of clan politics when he already carried the weight of the entire world on his shoulders.

But Satoru was already staring at your right knee. The neat, white bandage Tatsuya had carefully wrapped was stark against your skin.

A tiny, involuntary tremor ran through Satoru’s hands. The very fingers that had just shattered bones and ground old men's knuckles into dust were now trembling with a terrifying fragility as he slid his palms beneath your calf, lifting your leg just an inch to cradle it against his chest.

He leaned down, his silver hair spilling over your skin like silk. He didn't just look, he pressed his lips gently against the side of your knee, just beside the gauze, kissing the uninjured skin with a soft, lingering reverence. Then, his lips tracked a slow, agonizingly tender path up your thigh, his breath hot against your skin.

"I'm sorry" he murmured, his forehead resting against your thigh as his voice cracked, raw and bleeding with a guilt he couldn't hide. "I'm so sorry I left you alone. I'm so sorry I wasn't here, sweetness."

The sheer vulnerability in his tone made your throat tight. You reached down, your fingers weaving into the thick, ridiculously soft tufts of his white hair, gently tugging until he shifted upward. He crawled back up the length of your body, sliding his frame beneath the covers until he was flush against you.

"It's okay" you whispered, your thumb catching a stray tear that threatened to spill from the corner of his brilliant, crystalline eyes. "It's just a little scrape, Satoru. Truly. They... they just wanted me to learn the household duties. They said it was tradition for the women of the house. I just didn't want to cause trouble for you."

Satoru let out a ragged, shaky breath that stuttered against your collarbone. He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, his nose scenting your skin, inhaling you as if he were a starving man. His lips pressed a frantic, hot sequence of kisses along your jaw, up to your cheek, and finally against your lips, a soft, bruising, desperate kiss that tasted of a possessiveness so deep it bordered on worship.

His large hands slid down your back, molding your spine to his chest, before one palm found its permanent home, flat and warm against the slight, delicate swell of your belly. His fingers splayed wide over your abdomen, a protective shield of flesh and boundless power.

"You don't have duties to anyone but yourself" Satoru swore against your lips, his chest heaving as his heart thudded rapidly, a frantic, wild rhythm against your own ribs. He pulled you so close you could barely tell where your body ended and his began. "You are the lady of this house. My lady. You don't bow to anyone, you don't clean for anyone, and you don't break yourself for their rotting ideas of tradition."

He kissed the crown of your head, his hand on your stomach gently rubbing in tiny, soothing circles, his thumb caressing the soft fabric of your sleepwear.

"Let them talk. Let them rot" he whispered, his voice turning dark for a fraction of a second before softening as he pressed another kiss to your eyelid. "You just stay safe. Stay soft and warm right here. Let me handle the rest. Please, hime... just stay safe for me."

You smiled softly in the dark, your senses clouded by his immense, radiating warmth and the intoxicating rhythm of his breathing. You let your eyes close, completely melting into him, entirely unaware of the bloodied, broken elders currently packing their things in the dead of night, fleeing the estate in absolute terror.

You didn't need to know. As Satoru tightened his arms around you, pulling the duvet up to your chins and burying his face back into your hair, he held you like you were the only piece of reality that mattered in the universe.

And as his thumb continued to trace slow, adoring lines over your belly, you knew that to him, you absolutely were.

[neenarchive]

maidens if you are going to flee dramatically from my castle in the middle of the night once i reveal my true nature to you please leave your candelabra on the little ledge by the portcullis we are running out of them

[neenarchive]

starting to think these maidens are stumbling in soaked through from the rain just to steal my beautiful gowns and homewear are any of you actually lost

[elektrashocktherapy]

At the checkout in Home Goods loading the belt with nothing but candelabras in all shapes & sizes while the cashier watches sympathetically and asks if it’s the maidens again

[newrider]

[wamscoastsmoker]

IT’S HALLOWEEN TIME TO GET SPOOKY

[notsocialphobixanymorelmao-deac]

I T S T H E M I D D L E O F J U N E

[wamscoastsmoker]

I T I S H A L L O W E E N T I M E T O G E T S P O O K Y

[thebelfry]

I just learned that the Russian word for “ladybug” translates to “God’s Little Cow”

[vampireapologist-archive-deacti]

It’s the same in Irish! bóín Dé!

[peniswizard69]

in hebrew it’s “our rabbi moses’s cow”

[vampireapologist-archive-deacti]

Oh I love this news!!!!

[pulmonary-poultry]

Multiple cultures upon seeing a ladybug for the first time: “Who’s cow is this????”

[thejonymyster]

[thejonymyster]

[thejonymyster]

[postilionstruckbylightning]

It feels like some early humans were naming things and one of them ran out of ideas.

Human 1: (points at animal) What’s that?

Human 2: Cow.

Human 1: (points at bug) What’s that?

Human 2: … little cow.

Human 1: But it’s so much smaller. Who would have use for such a small cow?

Human 2: (panicking but in too deep to stop now) God.

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

The “Lady” in the name “ladybug” is the virgin Mary. People just cannot stop giving religious names to this bug.

The reason for this was that if you lived in an agrarian society then your survival was a throw of the dice every year, depending on the success of the crops. A failed crop year is a very hard year where deaths are expected. And if you grew a cereal like wheat, there were several things that could cause your crops to fail, but one of the big ones was if you happened to get a fuckton of aphids. You know what eats aphids? Ladybugs! If there are lots and lots of ladybugs around, there was a good chance that it’d be a good crop year! They were little crop protectors! When your family lives or dies on the success of that crop, of course they’d be seen as a blessing and given an appropriate name!

[magical-bear-dubin]

That is such an interesting etymology!!!!

And entomology too i guess

[asparklethatisblue]

in German they’re Marienkäfer which also pretty much means “Mary’s Beetle”

[istadris]

In French it’s “Good Lord’s Beast”

Not even a cow, it’s just a little Creature but we know for sure God loves it.

[dent-de-l1on]

In Dutch it’s “Lieveheersbeestje”, the Good Lord’s Little Beast

A liddol creeture

[fallout-lou-begas]

i cannot even begin to describe how load bearing this video has been for my mental health lately. thank you macho man randy savage. i'll get over it but not really

[soundcarvings]

for me personally, self-respect is self governance. it's like an internal throne. Nobody above me, nobody directing me, nobody defining my path. The validation that I receive is genuinely irrelevant because the reference point is internal. it's this sense of being self authored. The moment someone else's authority supersedes my own internal authority my self-respect has always felt violated, regardless of whether that authority comes from a crowd or a single person.

But this has morphed a lot as I have aged and I find less of a need to rebel. I dont need to rebel because again I am internally self governed, and in that inner knowing I can play any role and do anything so long as I remain in the space of inner respect for myself. I think this is why I also feel detached from myself in many ways, detachment as synonymous with not so self focused as I age. because I dont need self focus or self love and whatever other bullshit terms we say because I have self respect.

and if your self respect requires a witness then... it isnt really self respect now is it?

[niknak79]

[odysseusyes]

even with those four numbers there are countless possible combinations good luck with figuring out which one is the right one you punk

[eatsleepcrap]

*straightens calculator*

It’s pretty likely that it’s a four digit number, and as there are four digits chosen there, that means that there cannot be any repetition. This mean that there are:

n!/(n-4)! possible orders. As ‘n’ is 4 (number of digits available). 4!/0! which becomes 4x3x2x1/1 which simplifies to 24. That means that there are 24 possible combinations of codes. This would take you about two or three minutes to input all possible codes.

[crashingsunlight]

Unless an alarm goes off if you don’t get it right in 3 tries

[eatsleepcrap]

*straightens calculator again*

Kick the fucking door in

[the-brave-little-blogger]

well ‘technically’ the code is most likley 1970. statistically, a majority of people, when told to choose a 4 digit code will choose their birth year. and this key pad is obviously a few years old to put it nicely, thats most likley it. 

[everyonesfavoriteging-blog]

some sherlock holmes shit just went down over here

[the-neon-pineapple]

No, no, no. Don’t base your deductions of psychology. Let’s talk chemistry. When you first press a button, there’s more of the natural oils on your skin, and therefore it wears down the numbers on the keys faster. Obviously 0 is the first one, then. Try 0791 first.

Sherlock out.

[perks-of-being-chinese]

woah.

[panicrobot]

it got better

[twistedthicket1-deactivated2022]

and this is why the sherlock fandom could either rule the world or end it….

[ofthefantastic]

Close, but not quite, I think. People will almost always choose a number they can remember. What’s memorable about 0791? Try 0719 - a birthday, 19th of July. That is more likely.

[venatrix26]

Those deductions are great and all, but unnecessary.

The light is green.

The door is already open.

[party-gilmore]

And that’s why we have a John Watson.

[lotrlocked]

This is “top 10 favorite posts” level.

[moriartyfortheevening]

Omg, it’s actually on my dash! This post is like a fossil!

[oriocookie]

@hellsite-hall-of-fame

[frogs-crackcorner]

"You're not supposed to be here."

Simon's heart dropped and his blood began to boil. Not supposed to be here? This was the only place he was supposed to be. Lying in the warm grass, holding you in his arms. How could you not want him here?

He'd been to hell and back just to be with you again. How could you push him away like this?

You gently reached, caressing his cheek. "Simon, please. I need you to go back now. I promise I'll see you soon."

Tears welled in Simon's eyes. For the first time in a long time, he begged. "Please, please baby. Let me stay. Please, I need you. Please," he sobbed. "Don't do this to me. Please, I need you. Please, love."

"I love you, Simon Riley"

Simon slowly opened his eyes. Your voice was still ringing in his ears yet here he was, back in the bathroom. The bathroom of the house you used to share. The bathroom where he took all those pills. The pills instead of a bullet because he still wanted to look nice for you. You always said how much you loved seeing his face.

The pill bottle is still there. The dust he never bothered to clean is still there. The hollow, pressing weight in his chest is still there. But something was different. His cheek was warm, the same cheek you touched. He could almost feel your skin against his.

"I wish you would've let me stay," he breathed.

[frogs-crackcorner]

Im starting a business

I'm going to be opening a leather business that specializes in custom fantasy armor. I need some ideas on what to make. I've made bracers in a few different styles. I've made pauldrons, a leather corset, and some stamped dice trays as little add ons. So what do you guys want to see?

[fairycosmos]

They shouldve killed me back in october

[obimomkenobi-deactivated2020062]

[kitchikishangout]

MY NAME, IS FRICKIN MOON MOON. I’D BE THE MOST IDIOTIC WOLF. ‘OH SHIT WHO BROUGHT FUCKING MOON MOON ALONG?’

[amusette]

the post that started it all

[star-spangled-jackass]

oh god

[danthefrickinking-deactivated20]

Never not reblogging.

[clarinetfool]

I’ve only seen this post in screenshots

[salamencerobot]

I’m very surprised this post hasn’t broken a million.

[ollielephant]

[cumonthevoid]

none pizza with left beef

[the-chocolate-chip-pancake-blog]

It should be a rule of Tumblr to always reblog none pizza with left beef

[babymarkers]

ive missed you

[montparnah-deactivated]

#THIS IS MY FAVORITE FUCKING THING JUST THE BEEF#YOU COULD TELL THE POOR CHEF WAS JUST FUCKING#DISGUSTED#WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS#WHAT THE F U C K IS THIS#WHO THE FUCK ORDERS A#A /NONE/ PIZZA?? JUST BEEF ON THE LEFT???#FUCK IT#F U CK IT#JUST COOK THE FUCKING DOUGH#HERE LET ME THROW THIS FUCKING HANDFUL OF OBLONG BEEF CHUNKS AT YOUR NONE FUCKING PIZZA#FUCK YOU#FUCK YOU AND ALL YOU STAND FOR#LEFT FUCKING BEEF (via askscientistcarlos)

[ineffable-raccoon]

I love None Pizza with Left Beef.

[tonyswirl]

3th time i’ve reblogged this

[price-ofthe-job]

"Heya Captain. My emotions bottle turned into a barrel that I will now submerge in the nearest lake! Also, I'm gonna claim my little wheat emoji! Hehehehe......Nerves go brrr."

—🌾(Roman)

I don't want to even know anymore.

[frogs-crackcorner]

Hey Cap, I put dry ice in my emotions bottle and then handed it to an unsuspecting passerby

[sovikofferman]

Theres lots of ships with merged names like Ghoap, and im wondering what it'd be for Ghostprice or Nikprice. Something like Ghice is funny... but all I can think of for Nikprice is Nice and Nikrice

[hjartasalt]

Mods are asleep post forbidden tits

[hjartasalt]

Huh

[hjartasalt]

Huh

[hjartasalt]

Huh

[hjartasalt]

Hhhhhhh

[anothermarkiplierfan]

Perfectly balanced as all things should be…

[0v9]

[lexeirikrleif]

[fruitloopghosty]

[offbrandbeethoven-blog]

i

[immortalcheesewedge]

balance

[rainbowkessem]

Huh

[boatemholes]

phew

[goldenbunny30]

I balance

[everythingfoxes]

[foxpost-generator]

it fucken WIMDY