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Date uploaded: March 3, 2026

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partywithponies

My woke take, as someone who has worked in both a public library and a school library, is that we desperately need both more books that are at a higher reading level but a less mature subject matter, and more books that are at a lower reading level but a more mature subject matter, because 8 year olds who are advanced readers are still 8 year olds and don't want to read about graphic violence and torture, and teens and adults who have learning difficulties or who are just later readers for whatever reason are still teens and adults and don't want to read about Billy the Bunny going to school or whatever the hell.

partywithponies

Shoutout to people in the notes also mentioning people learning the language, I should've mentioned that really, given that I've been stuck reading German picture books myself while learning German.

freakoutgirl

when the conversation is women talking about how much weight they want to lose or what cosmetic surgeries they would get done

chososprettygirl

⡴ utterly whipped gojo forcing you to praise him during sex [kinda a pt 2 to this ? ] ⡴ didn’t even touch word count

he’s balls deep in you, and yet of course he’s still spouting stupid bullshit.

“i’m doing good, right baby?” he moans (moreso whimpers), still thrusting in that half-romantic half-what it’s actually supposed to be—a hookup—rhythm. his normally porcelain cheeks are completely flushed, his cool white hair falls in his face, some strands sticking to his forehead glistening in sweat.

“i—what?” you manage to say, still out of breath from how he’s fucking into you with his unfairly big cock. every perfect ridge and vein of it is dragging against your walls as he thrusts in and out of your sopping cunt—though you’ll deny how wet you are because of how large gojo’s ego will be if he knows he actually arouses you.

“say it.” he pouts above you, gripping harder on your shoulders he’s deemed a perfect leverage point in you to help with his strokes. “say i’m doing good… please?” his blue eyes pleading to you like a puppy dog.

“gojo, i’m not fucking doing th—” he shoves all the way back in and stops his thrusts. you moan without even meaning to from the sheer amount of girth being stuffed in you. he juts his lower lip out further, clearly upset by your answer.

“c’mon,” he looks physically pained as he restrains himself from continuing his thrusts. “just say it and i’ll keep fucking you.” he whines out, sounding a lot more weak and less intimidating than he thought he would.

you breathe out. you know he’ll hold on to this for the rest of the foreseeable future but you’re close anyway. you’ll come then kick him out like always and if next time he keeps mentioning it, you’ll just stuff his face with your pussy.

“you’re doing so good, gojo.” you moan out in a shaky voice.

he moans, loudly, near pornographic, and he gets back to thrusting immediately, except he seems more motivated. his strokes are fasting and more like he’s trying to impress you. his sounds are more desperate and huffy than before.

he reaches around your waist to hug you closer and shove his face deep in your neck, right below your ear.

“haaah, fuck, baby—say i’m the best you’ve ever had, please.”

“mm, god, gojo you’re the best i’ll ever fucking have.” he cries out. cries out and actually cries. tears start streaming down his pale face and cupping along your neck and collar bone where he’s found solace. he’s breathing like he’s just run a marathon.

unwantedly but admittedly, you say this next one yourself. it’s almost like you’re starting to… like him. ew.

“such a g’boy for me, satoru.” he nuts. immediately thick cum oozes into your pussy, spilling out from how overstuffed it already is with his girthy, oversized, genetic lottery winning cock. his whole body shakes and shivers while he releases, still trying to thrust so you could finish like the good boy he is.

unfortunately he forgets he’s not god and ends up overstimulating the hell out of himself by the time he gets you to cream by his thumb pressing along your clit.

he brings his head up, covered in sweat as he’s still shaking from the feeling of nutting the hardest he ever has.

he looks nearly completely out of it before his lips curl into a smirk. “you finally called me satoru!” and then he’s attacking your lips and shoving his tongue so far down you’re throat like he’s wasn’t just near seizing from cumming.

tennesseewillams

whatever tho. not like i really care that much because im cool and easy going

foolhearteyes

Oh, okay. I see. You think this has nothing to do with you. You go to your closet and you select out, oh I don’t know, that gaslight gatekeep girlboss meme, for instance, because you’re trying to tell the world that you think modern feminism has been co-opted by corporations. But what you don’t know is that that meme is not from Instagram, it's not from Twitter, it's not from Tiktok, it’s actually from Tumblr. You’re also blithely unaware of the fact that in January 2021, Tumblr user missnumber1111 posted, "today's agenda: gaslight gatekeep and most importantly girlboss." And then I think it was a-m-e-t-h-y-s-t-r-o-s-e, wasn’t it, who reblogged it with an image of the phrase edited over a piece of "Live, Laugh, Love" wall art? And then gaslight gatekeep girlboss showed up in the feeds of eight different Twitter repost accounts. Then it filtered down through Instagram and then trickled on down into some tragic “alt side of Tiktok” where you, no doubt, fished it out of some clearance bin. However, that meme represents millions of notes and countless Tumblr users and so it’s sort of comical how you think that you’ve made a choice that exempts you from Tumblr when, in fact, you’re wearing the meme that was selected for you by the people in this room. From a pile of “stuff.”

skelotan

Thanks for reading. <3

stood-onthecliffside

fairycosmos

i really don’t have the time to be the way i am

aurpiment

I wish insomnia at least gave you more usable hours in the day instead of just more hours where you are stupid

ceruleanheaven

[looking at people younger than me] you have your whole life ahead of you [looking at people older than me] you have your whole life ahead of you [looking at myself] its over

wingkink

btw it's so fucking stupid you can be anxious physically in your body even after you've decided mentally you don't care. I'm supposed to be in charge here

shiinyoomi

Sakusa Kiyoomi who’s not so subtly obsessed with his girlfriend.

It all started lowkey, back when he just went pro and questions about the life of a promising player piled on to him, the clip of one of his first ever interview that happened off-court, and not in a conference room when they were all still covered in sweat and trying to breathe evenly, is still circling social media, the interviewer went with the anticipated question, “fans wish to know if there’s someone special outside the gyms, perhaps a partner?” to which Kiyoomi only nodded with the same level of sternness he carried during a match point.

Overtime it seemed to become much easier to let others in, he still appreciated privacy, but to know that people loved seeing him break out a grin whenever mentioning you after a good game was priceless. It was one time after an away game in Malaysia that they’d won in just two sets, he was approached by local reporters, swarming him with questions but one in particular stood out for him. So when he was asked “what do you miss about Japan?” he didn’t hold back the smile, instead leaning closer to the microphone and bluntly saying “my partner”.

Kiyoomi had already prepared for the worst when faced with the fame that’d come alongside success, he’d seen it happen before, the gossip and tabloids, people breaking up or even getting a divorce over others’ opinion, but seeing the feedback from his supporters each time a new photo of both of you walking around Osaka or visiting his family in Tokyo popped out only encouraged him to share you with the world further.

Eventually he had a whole highlight dedicated to photos of you in his instagram profile, stories piled up each year, sometimes domestic, candid ones where you’d be making cocoa or simply rearranging and cleaning his memorabilia that Sakusa had earned throughout his career, or less private moments of you walking around the streets of Rome when he took you with him to the training camp, moments from all across the world with you beside him.

It’s all gotten to the point where people recognise you in the stands when the Black Jackals are playing, some of Kiyoomi’s fans had even asked for a photo whenever you were wearing the jersey or jacket with his number.

One time on Valentine’s Day Kiyoomi had posted a photo of you sprawled out on your shared bed, hand on your heart and phone almost up your nose with a caption saying “sleeping through the special day”. He deleted it not even ten minutes later, but of course people had already screenshot it plenty of times, to this day remembering the random exposure that was gone in record time.

Safe to say one thing Sakusa was always good at was hard launching, brand deals, important events, friendships with players people wouldn’t even expect him to know, but one particular time outshined the rest of his shenanigans. It was nearing evening after a tough home game where they walked out with another win that Kiyoomi was stopped by a fan with camera angled at him, filming a video when they suddenly asked “what are you looking forward to after today?” when he simply lifted his hand, showing off the golden band on his finger, “seeing my wife”.

podcastwizard

you don’t realize how important lunch is until you’re wandering around thinking about how unloveable and untalented and uniquely cursed you are and then it’s 4pm and you finally eat lunch and you go Oh. oh right.

mintmatcha

immortal and the human they've been cursed to watch die over and over again

mintmatcha

he remembers the first time you left him, the way you gently gave into the fever and went. the heat of your skin rose and rose, then it was over, and then you were gone. he gave you one last kiss on your cracked lips and pretended you were there to feel it.

he mourned, of course. harder than he had ever mourned any other lover he had ever entertained.

it was fifty years later before he saw you again. a baker's daughter, softer around the waist, with the same laugh you've always had. of course, you had no memory of your past life, but you fell into loving him like it was habit.

that death was the hardest.

Heat took you once again, this time in the form of fire. the bakery's flame caught your skirt and you along with it. by the time you were saved, it was too late. the final days of your life were spent in horrible pain, crying and screaming and begging for death. by the time it came, it felt overdue.

the cycle kept repeating. the two of you would meet and within five years, you would die. illness and childbirth and a stray bullet from war; even in the lives he tried to avoid you, tragedy would follow. once, you had married another man, only for him kill you within the month.

the worst part, he thinks as he stares at the most current iteration of you, is that his chest still flutters with joy when he sees you for the first time. that, despite the trauma and heartbreak and horror, he still loves you more than anything.

mintmatcha

He can feel it coming this time. There's a tickle in the back of his mind, like a click ticking down each second he has left.

"You've got-" He tugs the laces of your boots, your foot stepping up on his thigh. He loves kneeling over like this, at your feet. it reminds him of the very short life you had as a princess. "To tie your shoes better."

"What's gotten into you?" you laugh. "I'm not made of glass."

He lets you pull away, sitting back on to his heels. It's amazing how little your face has changed over all of your lives, how you still look the way you did when he first laid eyes on you, just with more lines around your smile. This is the oldest you've ever been-- and maybe ever will be. "Are you sure? I could swaddle you in bubble wrap, just to be safe."

You roll your eyes with a smile. "Sure, I'll just walk around the office covered in bubblewrap. My boss will love that."

The itch in his head gets stronger.

"Why don't you stay home for work today?" His hand runs up your leg, more appreciative than sexual. "Spend the day with me."

He leans forward and presses his head into your thigh, the way you've always been weak for. Your hands immediately find his hair and scratch his scalp, your body's tension giving in just a bit.

"Well..."

"Please." He's not really speaking to you. "Just give me one day."

You give in gently.

"Anything for you."

It happens three hours later.

You're laughing, pulling your shirt back on post sex. Lately, you've been insatiable and he knows why.

"I'm just saying-" you muse. "we're stable, we're in love. I'm just waiting for the ring."

He knows. He still has your original ring, the one he always takes from your finger before burying you.

"I'm not getting any younger. I wanna have babies and t-"

Your eyes shift a bit. It's subtle, until you make this garbled sound, not quite a word at all, like your tongue has disconnected from your brain.

Before he can get up, you're on the ground. Just like always, you're give into death gently.

The beat of your heart is gone before he can even call for help. By the time the EMTs arrive, you're cold. They cover you with a blanket, like it saves your diginity as you wheel you out of the apartment building. He cries, just like he always does, when the doctors tell him it was an aneurysm, that nothing could have saved you.

That's the horrible truth he needs to learn to swallow. Nothing could have saved you. Nothing will save you.

mintmatcha

For the first time in centuries, he speaks to the thing that made him. It comes only in the deepest of nights, when the winter air is most bitter.

"Why do you curse me like this?"

The voice tastes of forgotten pine, a species now lost. "Why do you speak in tongues I do not know?"

The language should be dead, but it rolls off his tongue as easily as it did back then. No written word, no official name in the modern tongue: a secret between him and the monster he's bonded to.

"You take her from me, life after life." He never ages, but he feels young again, angry, reckless. "You lied to me when you promised a painless life. You lied when you promised no one else would die."

The wind howls with insult. There's a moment where he can feel it there, hunched and hovering above his shoulder, maw gaped and empty.

"The only lie is the one you tell yourself."

It's gone again, nothing but a whispering voice on the breeze. Without worshippers, it no longer holds much power. Without him, it would fade into nothing, just like the other forgotten gods.

"I know your mind does not fail you. You remember your first meeting with the girl."

"In the summer fields."

"Ach. Your lie." It growls its words. "That was her second life."

He has no answer to that. No, he had met you in the fields, right after the grain had sprouted. The memory is his prized possession.

"You play your tricks again."

"You truly forget the face of the woman you sacrificed in my name?" The hiss runs a chill up his spine. "The one who you killed with your own hands? The one who's blood you drank to live for all eternity?"

Blood is always the price. He had taken a woman from the neighboring village, covered her face in cloth so he could not see the tragedy he was committing. The ritual was long, grueling, and the girl had almost died too soon multiple times, but she fought to live, fought against his hand-

"No." Those screams. Were they yours? "That's- no."

"You had chosen her to die, so you may live."

His stomach turns as he remembers the taste of your blood on his lips, the metal aftertaste as you fought with the last ounce of life-

"Now, she dies."