I'm gonna take your nightmare and BONK
he likes men now.
that's the gay agenda đ
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ellievsbear
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PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
ojovivo
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shark vs the universe
Sade Olutola
Game of Thrones Daily
I'd rather be in outer space đž
YOU ARE THE REASON
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$LAYYYTER

â
Sweet Seals For You, Always
Keni
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"

blake kathryn
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her

if i look back, i am lost
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@scripttura
I'm gonna take your nightmare and BONK
he likes men now.
that's the gay agenda đ
iâm not in the mood to write, but since iâm playing pokemon, hereâs each boyâs poketeams from a hc forever ago !
classic / impact â munchlax, staravia, marill, croconaw, alolan!cubone, and slacking! heâs more of a laidback trainer, takes care of his pokes plenty, and out of the others has the most potential to become champion, just not the motivation. youâre more likely to find him asleep and his pokemon having wondered off than him actually doing anything! but make no mistake - impact wins nearly every time, mostly through underhanded yet clever tactics.
fell / drux â vaporeon, bayleef, houndroom, poochyena, luxray! a rowdy trainer with a suspicion towards most, drux prefers pokemon above the company of others. heâs brash, bull-headed, and while his win to lose ratio isnât the best, itâs obvious heâs got a passion that rivals even the most elite - that and he learns very quickly after every loss, so thereâs hardly ever repeat failures. itâs only his ruthless anxiety and distrust towards others that really hold him back.
horror / acri â typhlosion, gardevoir, sandslash, aron, skarmory, and mawile! a quiet, sickly trainer, and yet from his first battle itâs obvious : heâs got a ruthless and unnerving skill for battling.
error / aevena â haunter, electrike, prinplup, glaceon, rotom, alolan!vulpix! difficult, angry, destructive. his prinplup shares the same destructive tendencies, and heâs a fumbling trainer at best. with his nasty and awkward attitude, he ofts get carried away and over-extends himself in battles or gets too cocky.
SURPRISE!! StoryShift Goblins! I wanted to put a bit more of my style with these so if they look a lil different thatâs why. I still kept a lot of elements from the Goblintale style tho. Also, Storyshift is pretty confusing but I LOVE the idea of Papyrus and Sans being boss monstersâŠ.erâŠin this case goblins⊠I wanna boop Poppyâs noseâŠ. @theskeletongames  <â goblintale was created by this amazing person
1-*I made this image myself* WOWZERS! this is cool, itâs so lovely! đ„° 2- Iâm glad that youâre doing fine đ đ
foihusfd thank you! i love making edits in photoshop, itâs a big hobby of mine!! it comes in handy for making roleplay blogs <3 ... and i hope youâre doing good as well! tomorrowâs my sisterâs bday so iâll be out all day, so iâm hoping before the end of today / tomorrow i can get the next chapter of sotak out ... iâve already got impactâs part finished ^__^
a little snippet, tw for nsfw,
heâs too much, you know. too thorough, too all at once, and you love it. holding you down with a hooked grip to your navel, soft words of how good you feel, how soft you are, how beautiful you look like this, like always, he canât ever get enough.
he loves you until you are spent. itâs less an act of fucking until you canât â itâs more a time devoted solely to loving you, to making you melt, keen until you just canât take it anymore. it isnât about him. itâs about pulling and drawing every last thing he can out of this, out of you, and waiting until the last moment to sink between your legs and finally, finally bare his teeth in the thinly held restraint tested by how dearly he wants you. and even then, itâs not about him. itâs only you.
and when the time comes after that you both lay spent and your nose is tucked into his chest, the smell of chalk and sex and ketchup stronger than anything else, you know you will wake with the marks of the strength of his love for you streaked across you like stars on the nightâs sky.
Hello! How are you doing?
got home to my house having apparently caught a slight case of being on fire, with a side of the ac control unit exploding into a glorious fuse-lit fireball. thankfully everyoneâs okay and itâs all set and dealt with, so iâm great!
Your writing are so great đ Keep it up! đ
  fdijhsdufsidf THANK YOU âŠâŠâŠ.   this is so sweet v__v
i needed to get this out before my hand fully heals
i didnt really translate it well with the other sans drawing I did recently.
Always imagined sans saying â IâM GOING TO HAVE ONE HELL OF A TIMEâ
aside from â GREAT TIMEâ only because I was thinking of the forgotten underhell nameâŠ
ok bye have a good weekend everyone :-)
i rlly wanna write some shit w ink and itâs killin me
bruising, a drabble with classic ( âimpactâ ) sans. monsters mark partners with bruises / marks as a way to show commitment to a relationship. sometimes, it's a big turn on.
âhey.â soft, warm. impactâs voice is a good morning in of itself, draping over the two of you along with the morning sun daring to peak through the blinds. Â you greet him with a hum in your chest and a curl on your lips, meeting his doting gaze with your own.
itâs no surprise youâd wake to the both of you caught in the other, legs tangled and a skeletal hand laid in memory of last night over your hip.
âHey yourself.â gentle rasp, and you lean forward to kiss his jaw - only to wince, his expression twisting in mimicry of your own.
âcareful,â impact murmurs, âmightâve overdone it last night.â
you crook a brow. âMightâve?â
with you awakens the memories of the night prior, the aches and sated need all alike, and impact watches you with those quiet, appreciative lights as you shift, a gentle laugh breaking from his ribcage.
âyou complaining?â navy dusts the lines of his cheekbones, humor the feature of his smile. itâs good to see, par the way heâd held you down with hard fingers and a snarl as he kept you pressed beneath him just hours prior, that he flushes more so than you at the memory.
you try again, mindful this time as you reach, and press your lips to his nasal ridge. âAlways.â
â wh -â warm appraisal at whatever he thought you were going to say dies, and skeleton rumbles with his amusement, those lights of his near twinkling. his nasal ridge scrunches up, âuh huh. sure. and here i was gonna make you breakfast.â
a distrustful noise erupts from your throat, and impact laughs. â- in bed! â
âLike i trust you to -â
â- iâm not sure i like where that thought is going -â
â- shut up , oh my god.â you canât help but giggle, even if it cinches at your insides. âItâs too early for this.â
his hand upon your hip grows familiar, a soothing sweep of his thumb over your navel. thereâs an endearment there that will always catch your heart in your throat, and a look - a look he has for you that has you lost for words. he knows it, too, and his voice is but another soft touch among others.
âyeah, but i donât think it is.â
â Impact ,â gentle warning, but itâs not quite a plea to stop. skeletal grin only crooks, and heâs slow, painfully so, as he pulls the sheets from your hips to the bedside, laying you bare. the way he intakes for a pseudo breath is all you need to hear for that familiar ache to thrum within you, in tune with the path those star-lit eyes of his map across your skin.
â... damn. i, uhâŠâ youâre watching him, the way he glances from your sure to be bruised thighs and hips, thoroughly bitten collarbones and fingerprinted waistline, all up to you, as if heâs unsure quite where to drink you in - and drink he does, shameless, that hand on your hip now hovering, unsure, phalanges twitching in want to follow that taste with touch. that navy flush returns, and dimmed, flustered lights look back to you with a slight, if abashed grin. â... yeah. i donât think âoverdoneâ does it justice. you lookâŠâ
âLike yours.â
his smile catches. itâs such a small, obvious thing, the way his entire expression stutters, like heâs caught in the middle of something, snagged at such words. you love it, love him, and reach a hand to tangle it in his, and bring it up, close enough to press a kiss to the ridge of those phalanges that marked you as such.
âyeah.â he sounds choked, but canât help but smile back. âyeah, like ⊠mine.â
kissing, a short foray on how each sans kisses you. classic / undertale = impact, underfell = drux, horrortale = acri, error is error, ink is ink.
impact kisses you like heâs afraid something might break. be it you, him, the very world, itâs a tentative thing where his skull tips up suddenly, and he almost startles you (heâs caught you like that a couple of times, craning up and catching your chin; nevermind the time you were pressed so close his head hit your nose, and you jumped, only to further slam into him), but never on purpose.
you really canât blame him for being so careful. he loves to wander the lines of your face, your skin at times, noncommittal touches that leave bruises without even trying, and even now, teeth pressing to your lips, he tucks your hair behind an ear and hums into you, slow, seated heavy into your body.
he kisses carefully, but he kisses thoroughly. taking as much time as youâll give him and more, thereâs no such thing as chaste when he tugs you down by the hair or the front of a shirt, or the way he nestles up into an open lap and begins teething at your bottom lip, slow to the rising heat of a moment, and slower to conjure magicked tongue, enjoying all of the build-up and not afraid to put the breaks on things if only to leave you wanting.
drux drinks in your lips like a monster starving. no such thing as sacred when heâs seen it all, kissing is less a cherished thing, more a prequel, a teaser to bigger, better things. if the skeleton had it his way all together he might not bother with kissing at all - itâs too intimate for him, too even for a playing ground, little way to gain an advantage with but teeth and tongue, both better meant for breaking skin and making you cry.
that doesnât mean heâs bad at it. no, far from the contrary, skeleton has a masterful use of tongue and teeth, pulling at your lip until itâs bleeding and suckles at it with bite to spare, swiping along your own teeth before diving, drinking you in. kissing is either done fully, sloppily and roughly with too much pain and too little time, or not at all.
in the end, fellan leaves the kissing up to you, for the moments you catch him by surprise. for all his blustering and that ragged, bandaged soul, heâs quite the nervous creature, and when you catch his teeth with your lips, quickly, sweetly, the way he shades red is worth the look he gives and the curse spat in return.
acri kisses to conquer. there is little room for misintent in his world, facades and deflecting. if he wants you - when he wants you, he takes you quickly, roughly, by the pull of a chin, towards his own teeth and kisses hard, commanding in the way the world has turned him. he doesnât want back-talk, he wants you pliable to a tongue that tastes of blood and teeth too thin to be so strong, tugging without any of the bite (for both your safety and his).
he kisses you to remind you he loves you, for whatever words canât say, for whenever he forgets to, in that consuming, encompassing way of his. acri refuses to let there be room left for you to breathe, to think, to doubt, for a single moment in the way he tugs you close, presses hands to skin, digs in to bruise, that you donât belong to him just as much as he does to you.
itâs the only way he can do things, here. all at once without a single doubt or not at all, and itâs often once heâs started he doesnât stop; not until youâre heaving, a mess, spoiled and ripe all the same for his taking, and how he loves you like that, kissing you so richly that youâre ruined for anyone but him.
error doesn't kiss you. he might claim he doesn't care for it, spitting static slurs with the taste of battery acid in the air, but you know that's not true. he knows how, you're sure, and par his hesitation to partake, is far weaker for it than you'd give him credit for.
kissing for error is a daring, daunting thing and it comes after the harrowing flings with his archenemies, comes after returning covered in dust and static and marrow, comes after the frightening idea of tucking a lock of hair behind your ear with shaking phalanges and barbwire sharp teeth pressed into a thin line. kissing is dangerous, error says without words. kissing is reckless.
so you kiss him. when the hiss of the antivoid is but a soft cradle against your ears, when his hands are still and steady on those rare days between, when he seems at peace, maybe, if his scowl wasn't so heavy set; when he's got thick red-rimmed glasses set on a dark nasal ridge, and isn't expecting it - a soft press of lips to his skull, his cheekbones, his eye-socket. quick, stolen before he can erupt into a flurry of strangled snarls accented with a bumble-bee blush. before you can enjoy the moment between, when shattered eye-lights had widenned and teeth fell in surprise, and error must have thought to himself, what did I do to deserve you?
ink often forgets to kiss you at all, between the mischevious, innocent way he takes your hand in his and leads you about, place to place, and the blunt, blatant way he regards you when heâs got that passion-fruit colored paint betwixt his teeth. itâs not his fault, you know, because artist is oft either far too grounded and focused to really remember such trivial things, or somewhere between jupiter and saturn with how distant in orbit that soulless one-track mind has taken him.
but when he remembers? oh, when he remembers.
there is no mercy from an artistâs plunging tongue or pointed fangs, no refuge or hiding from the way he maps you out every single time, as if heâs forgotten ( he probably has, and yet, you would not be surprised to find your taste and texture scribbled out upon his scarf like some treasure map for him to follow, time and time again ) how you feel beneath him, always hands-on and eager to tumble into you, head first. ink has no such thing as modesty or restraint, not when he kisses you with a fevor that near demands to swallow you whole - learning, thorough, kissing until youâre just as drunk as he is on the taste of acryllic paint and that chalky, sweet musk thatâs all him. he kisses you until youâre more desperate for air than his touch, catching little glimpse of that minkâs grin he wears so well - before he dives in again, always chasing after more.
For the people who are out there âfighting the good fightâ and âtrying to make fandom a better place,â I have two important questions for you:
1. Is the author dead? x
2. Is your baby in the bathwater? x
What do I mean by those things? Letâs start with #1. The Death of the Author is a type of literary criticism, the extreme cliff notes version of which is that art exists outside of the creatorâs life, personal background, and even intentions. Iâm using it slightly differently than Barthes intended, but thatâs okay, because the author is dead and Iâm interpreting his work through my own lens.
In fandom, the author is dead. In fact, the author was never alive in the first place, not really. The author has only ever been the idea of a person, because unlike published fiction, the only thing we know about a fanfic author is that which they choose to tell us about themselves.
Why is that important?
Because it might not be true. Hell, that happens in real life with published authors, who have SSNâs on file with their publishers, who pay taxes on the works they create and have researchable pasts. If the author of A Million Little Pieces could fake everything, why canât I? Why canât you? Why canât the writer of your favorite fic in the whole wide world?
Stop me if youâve heard this before: âyou can only write about [sensitive subject] if [sensitive subject] has happened to you personally, otherwise youâre a disgusting monster that deserves to die!!â Or maybe âyou can only write [x racial or ethnic group] characters if youâre [x racial or ethnic group] otherwise youâre racist/fetishizing/colonizing!â
You can play this game with any sensitive subject you can come up with. Iâve seen them all before, on a sliding scale of slightly chastising to literal death threats.
Now, I could tell you that Iâm a white-passing Latina whose grandmother was an anchor baby. I could tell you that I speak only English because my family never taught me to speak Spanish, something which Iâve been told is common in the Cuban community, though I only know my own lived experience. I could tell you that Iâm mostly neurotypical. I could tell you that Iâm covered in surgical scars. I could tell you lots of things.
Are any of these true? Maybe! I could tell you that my brother has severe mental development problems, so uncommon that theyâve never been properly diagnosed, and that he will live the rest of his life in a group home with 24-hour care. Is that true? Am I allowed to write about families struggling with Americaâs piss-poor services for the handicapped now?
Am I allowed to write about being Cuban? After all, I did just say that Iâm Cuban. But is it true? Can I instead write a character thatâs Panamanian? Maybe I really am Panamanian, not Cuban. Maybe Iâm both. Maybe Iâm neither. Maybe Iâm really French Canadian. Should we require people to post regular selfies? I canât count the number of times Iâve had someone come up to me speaking Arabic, and Iâve been told that I look Syrian. Whatâs stopping me from making a blog that claims that I am Syrian? Can you even really tell someoneâs race and ethnicity from a photo?
Am I allowed to write about being a teenager? Am I allowed to write about being a college student? Am I allowed to write about being an âadultyâ adult? Can I write a character whoâs 40? 50? 60? How old am I?
All of this is to say: you canât base what someone is or is not âallowedâ to write about on a background that may or may not be real. No matter how good your intentions. And I get it - this usually comes from a place of well-meaning. Youâre trying to protect marginalized groups by stopping privileged people from trampling all over experiences that they havenât suffered. I get that. Itâs a very noble thought. But you canât require a background check for every fic that you donât like.
If you say âyou can only write about rape if youâre a rape victim,â then one of three things will happen:
Real survivors will have to supply intimate details of their own violations to prevent harassment
Real survivors will refuse to engage and will then have to deal with death threats and people telling them to kill themselves for daring to write about their own experiences
People who arenât survivors will say âyeah sure this happened to meâ just to get people to shut up
Has that helped anyone? I mean really - anyone??
So now letâs get to point #2: is your baby in the bathwater?
If your intention is to protect marginalized people from being trampled upon, stop and assess if your boot is the one thatâs now stamping on their face. Find your baby! Is your baby in the bathwater? Which is to say: find the goal that youâre advocating for. Now assess. Are you making the problem worse for the people youâre trying to protect? Does that rape victim really feel better, now that youâve harassed and stalked them in the name of making rape victims feel safe?
Letâs say you read a fic that contains explicit sex between a 16 year old and a 17 year old. Is this okay? Would it be okay if the writer was 15? 16? 17? Should teenagers be barred from writing about their own lives, and should teenagers be banned from exploring sexuality in a fictional bubble, instead of hookup culture? Is it okay for a 20 year old to write about their experiences as a teenager? Is it okay for a 20 year old to write about being raped at a party as a teenager? Is it okay for a 30 year old? How about a 40 year old? Is it okay so long as it isnât titillating? Is it okay if taking control of the narrative allows the writer to re-conceptualize their trauma as something they have control over? Is it okay if their therapist told them that writing is a safe creative outlet?
Is your author dead?
Is your baby in the bathwater?
Now letâs take a hardline approach: no fanfiction with characters who are under 18 years old. None. Is the 16 year old who really loves Harry Potter and wants to read/write about characters their own age better off? Should they be banned from writing? Should they be forced to exclusively read and write (adult) experiences that they havenât lived? Will they write about teens anyway? Should they have to share it in secret? Should 16 year olds be ashamed of themselves? Should we just throw in with the evangelicals and say that the only answer is abstinence, both real and fictional?
Letâs say that no rape is allowed in fiction, at all. None. What happens to all the hurt/comfort fics where a character is raped and then receives the support and love that they deserve, slowly heal, and by the end have found themselves again? Are you helping rape victims by banning these stories? Are you helping rape victims by stripping their agency away, by telling them that their wants and their consent doesnât matter?
Is your baby in the bathwater?
Fandom is currently being split in two: on one side, the people who want to make fandom a âsaferâ place by any means necessary, even if that means throwing out all of the marginalized groups they say they want to protect - and on the other, people who are saying âif you throw out that bathwater, youâre throwing the baby out too.â
The whole point of fandom is to be able to explore all kinds of ideas from the safety and comfort of a computer screen. You can read/write things that fascinate you, disgust you, titillate you, or make your heart feel warm. This is true of all fiction. People who want to read about rape and incest and extreme violence and torture can go pick up a copy of Game of Thrones from the bookstore whenever they want. Sanitizing fandom just means holding a community of people who are primarily not male, not straight, not cis, or some combination of those three, to higher and stricter standards than straight white cis male authors and creators all over the world.
There is nothing you can find on AO3 that you canât find in a bookstore. Any teenager can go check out Lolita, or ASOIAF, or Flowers in the Attic, or Stephen Kingâs It, or Speak, or hundreds of other books that have adult themes or gratuitous violence or graphic sex. The difference is that AO3 has warnings and tags and allows people to interact only with the types of work that they want to, and allows people to curate their experiences.
Are these themes eligible to be explored, but only in the setting of something produced/published? Books, movies, television, studio art, music - all of these fields have huge barriers to entry, and theyâre largely controlled by wealthy cishet white men. Is it better to say that only those who have the right connections to âmake itâ in these industries should be allowed to explore violence or sexuality or any other so-called âadultâ theme?
Does banning women from writing MLM erotica make fan culture a better place?
Does banning queer people from writing about queer experiences make fan culture a better place?
Is M/M fic okay, but only if the author is male? What if heâs a transman? What if theyâre NB? Who should get to draw those lines? Should TERFs get a vote? What if the author is a woman who feels more comfortable writing from a male characterâs perspective because sheâs grown up with male stories her whole life, or because she identifies more with male characters? What about all the transmen who discovered themselves, in part, by writing fanfiction, and realized that their desires to write male characters stemmed from something they hadnât yet realized about themselves?
How can we ever be sure that the author is who they say they are?
Who is allowed to write these stories? How do we enforce it?
Is it better for none of these stories to ever exist at all?
Have you killed your author?
Have you thrown out your baby with the bathwater?
this post is AMAZING.
YYYYESS! The whole âyou canât write x unless youâve experienced xâ is baloney. I once wrote a Merlin fic where he experienced regular seizures and I did a LOT of research for it. And someone commented on that fic saying that they had similar issues and that I actually had accurately touched on aspects of having seizures that they had never seen represented before!
Now obviously, that person could have written this fic instead of me, but what if they donât like to write? What if they would have been too afraid to mention the less-than-exciting aspects of their disability because itâs so often ignored that they feel it would be boring? What if they just donât want to? What if they needed to FIND this fic instead of create it?
Iâm all for supporting people who write stories about minorities from their own experiences, but diversity in fiction is GOOD no matter who writes it, so long as they represent it properly and in a respectful manner.
diversity is always good and should always be welcome especially if itâs written and portrayed good and correctly and having it shown will always make /someone/ feel better
CHAPTER ONE: Not So Fresh
Rewritten: 4/28/2019 Characters: Error, Fresh Tags: Alternate Universe - Errortale, Alternate Universe - Underfresh, Monster heat, Dubcon, Choking, Gagging, Light bondage, Biting, Growling, Violence, Kidnapping, Smut, NSFW, Cursing A/N: sup bitches here it is fresh and hot. First chapter of the rewrite, three more before new content!
iiiiiâm going to rewrite csch ,
headin to bed, but got! 18 of 72 pages so far rewritten, so if this trend continues donât expect an update prooobably until... the first of next month? probably!
Skelebro content i need to see
Papyrus just picking Sans up at any moment and carrying his sleeping body around and just continuing to talk to whoever heâs talking to but with a koala Sans snoring in his arms.
Sans doing things that cat owners do with cats that jump real high, because Papyrus can fly. So Sans will just be on the balcony and randomly throw something and Papyrus will jump from the snowy ground to catch it in his mouth.Â
Sans having the philosophy âIf it fits I sitsâ
Sans makes Papyrus an Easter egg hunt but he holds all the eggs and Papâs job is just to find Sans sleeping with an egg and a note somewhere. He actually has good hiding spots and it gets extremely heated.Â
Papyrus realizing that when Sans goes down for a midnight snack he just eats cold mac and cheese cause he doesnât want to wake Papyrus up, so he pre-heats mac and cheese for him and leaves it there.
Every time they go shopping together they can and will by at least one kazoo. They have a secret stash of cheap kazoos for special occations in Papyrusâ closet.
Papyrus starts getting overstimulated at a party and Sans is the only one to notice and takes him home and makes him a mug cake.
When Pap was little Sans would bury himself in the snow and leave a sticky note on the fridge saying âcome sniff me outâ. Papyrus got so tired of this almost daily ritual and woke up super early and buried himself in the snow. It took Sans all day to find him and thatâs why Papyrus wakes up at 4:30 now.
They have gone trick-or-treating as Edward and Alphonse Elric.
They have very different taste in music except they both like Twenty-One-Pilots and Hamilton and they rock out to it in the car.
Both of them legit thought arson was legal until recently.
Someone suggested they watch Coco (because Skeletons) and they both really liked it but when âRemember Meâ started playing at the end Papyrus looked over to see Sans fucking silently bawling. He was just sitting there, the usual smile on his face, and an entire waterfall coming out both eye sockets. No one knows why.Â
Papyrus plays exclusively string instruments and Sans plays only horns. But they are masters of their craft. The only exception is the xylophone bc they are skeletons after all.Â
Every time Papyrus hurts himself by accident, no matter how, Sans just says:Â âthatâs what you get for being tall.â
Papyrus once came home to Sans upside down on the couch, leg detached, covered in ramen and blue glitter, and crying while watching Breakfeast Club. Papyrus joined him.
Whenever they watch Poohâs Hefflump Movie and Roo fails to capture Lumpy Papyrus just says âGOD WHAT A FUCKING MOODâ without fail.Â
Once they were bored so Sans stuck a bluetooth disco ball in his skull and they headbanged to Living Tombstone with the multi-colored lights shining through Sansâ eye sockets.
Once Papyrus couldnât find Sans anywhere, like anywhere, and was getting really worried. And then he looked up and saw Sans sleeping on the ceiling bc gravity manipulation is dank.
Whenever Sans is awake but zoneing out, Papyrus will prank him by T-posing and hovering over to him.
Papyrus once forcefully woke up Sans by playing Despacito real loud in his room.
back when u were still enemieswithbenefits i read csch (like in 2018 idk) and loved it to pieces n like a few months ago when i read the tl project i loved it ok. n then when u changed users n stuff and mentioned enemieswithbenefits i was like "wait. wait a minute." and fhghfgn i freaked out with glee dude. ur like. one of my favorite undertale writers ever. youre the best, man
jfiojoidsf ah oh my god yea itâs me... snas undertale... or... better known as... enemieswithbenefits
i spent a long ass time in the undertale roleplaying community, so trust me my dude i never dropped it!! iâve loved and cherished it for going on four years now, but!! this is so sweet omg dfsh
thank you so much!! iâm actually at the very moment working on rewriting through the first chapter of csch, since iâm very,,, hot and cold with my interests. hereâs hoping i get,, maybe,, a new chapter out by the end of the week!!
ur the best :knife: <3
some designs of my storyfell take