hyperfixation please stay with me long enough to complete the project. hyperfixation do not fade. hyperfixation finish what you started for the love of god
Arepo built a temple in his field, a humble thing, some stones stacked up to make a cairn, and two days later a god moved in.
“Hope you’re a harvest god,” Arepo said, and set up an altar and burnt two stalks of wheat. “It’d be nice, you know.” He looked down at the ash smeared on the stone, the rocks all laid askew, and coughed and scratched his head. “I know it’s not much,” he said, his straw hat in his hands. “But - I’ll do what I can. It’d be nice to think there’s a god looking after me.”
The next day he left a pair of figs, the day after that he spent ten minutes of his morning seated by the temple in prayer. On the third day, the god spoke up.
“You should go to a temple in the city,” the god said. Its voice was like the rustling of the wheat, like the squeaks of fieldmice running through the grass. “A real temple. A good one. Get some real gods to bless you. I’m no one much myself, but I might be able to put in a good word?” It plucked a leaf from a tree and sighed. “I mean, not to be rude. I like this temple. It’s cozy enough. The worship’s been nice. But you can’t honestly believe that any of this is going to bring you anything.”
“This is more than I was expecting when I built it,” Arepo said, laying down his scythe and lowering himself to the ground. “Tell me, what sort of god are you anyway?”
“I’m of the fallen leaves,” it said. “The worms that churn beneath the earth. The boundary of forest and of field. The first hint of frost before the first snow falls. The skin of an apple as it yields beneath your teeth. I’m a god of a dozen different nothings, scraps that lead to rot, momentary glimpses. A change in the air, and then it’s gone.”
The god heaved another sigh. “There’s no point in worship in that, not like War, or the Harvest, or the Storm. Save your prayers for the things beyond your control, good farmer. You’re so tiny in the world. So vulnerable. Best to pray to a greater thing than me.”
Arepo plucked a stalk of wheat and flattened it between his teeth. “I like this sort of worship fine,” he said. “So if you don’t mind, I think I’ll continue.”
“Do what you will,” said the god, and withdrew deeper into the stones. “But don’t say I never warned you otherwise.”
Arepo would say a prayer before the morning’s work, and he and the god contemplated the trees in silence. Days passed like that, and weeks, and then the Storm rolled in, black and bold and blustering. It flooded Arepo’s fields, shook the tiles from his roof, smote his olive tree and set it to cinder. The next day, Arepo and his sons walked among the wheat, salvaging what they could. The little temple had been strewn across the field, and so when the work was done for the day, Arepo gathered the stones and pieced them back together.
“Useless work,” the god whispered, but came creeping back inside the temple regardless. “There wasn’t a thing I could do to spare you this.”
“We’ll be fine,” Arepo said. “The storm’s blown over. We’ll rebuild. Don’t have much of an offering for today,” he said, and laid down some ruined wheat, “but I think I’ll shore up this thing’s foundations tomorrow, how about that?”
The god rattled around in the temple and sighed.
A year passed, and then another. The temple had layered walls of stones, a roof of woven twigs. Arepo’s neighbors chuckled as they passed it. Some of their children left fruit and flowers. And then the Harvest failed, the gods withdrew their bounty. In Arepo’s field the wheat sprouted thin and brittle. People wailed and tore their robes, slaughtered lambs and spilled their blood, looked upon the ground with haunted eyes and went to bed hungry. Arepo came and sat by the temple, the flowers wilted now, the fruit shriveled nubs, Arepo’s ribs showing through his chest, his hands still shaking, and murmured out a prayer.
“There is nothing here for you,” said the god, hudding in the dark. “There is nothing I can do. There is nothing to be done.” It shivered, and spat out its words. “What is this temple but another burden to you?”
“We -” Arepo said, and his voice wavered. “So it’s a lean year,” he said. “We’ve gone through this before, we’ll get through this again. So we’re hungry,” he said. “We’ve still got each other, don’t we? And a lot of people prayed to other gods, but it didn’t protect them from this. No,” he said, and shook his head, and laid down some shriveled weeds on the altar. “No, I think I like our arrangement fine.”
“There will come worse,” said the god, from the hollows of the stone. “And there will be nothing I can do to save you.”
The years passed. Arepo rested a wrinkled hand upon the temple of stone and some days spent an hour there, lost in contemplation with the god.
And one fateful day, from across the wine-dark seas, came War.
Arepo came stumbling to his temple now, his hand pressed against his gut, anointing the holy site with his blood. Behind him, his wheat fields burned, and the bones burned black in them. He came crawling on his knees to a temple of hewed stone, and the god rushed out to meet him.
“I could not save them,” said the god, its voice a low wail. “I am sorry. I am sorry. I am so so sorry.” The leaves fell burning from the trees, a soft slow rain of ash. “I have done nothing! All these years, and I have done nothing for you!”
“Shush,” Arepo said, tasting his own blood, his vision blurring. He propped himself up against the temple, forehead pressed against the stone in prayer. “Tell me,” he mumbled. “Tell me again. What sort of god are you?”
“I -” said the god, and reached out, cradling Arepo’s head, and closed its eyes and spoke.
“I’m of the fallen leaves,” it said, and conjured up the image of them. “The worms that churn beneath the earth. The boundary of forest and of field. The first hint of frost before the first snow falls. The skin of an apple as it yields beneath your teeth.” Arepo’s lips parted in a smile.
“I am the god of a dozen different nothings,” it said. “The petals in bloom that lead to rot, the momentary glimpses. A change in the air -” Its voice broke, and it wept. “Before it’s gone.”
“Beautiful,” Arepo said, his blood staining the stones, seeping into the earth. “All of them. They were all so beautiful.”
And as the fields burned and the smoke blotted out the sun, as men were trodden in the press and bloody War raged on, as the heavens let loose their wrath upon the earth, Arepo the sower lay down in his humble temple, his head sheltered by the stones, and returned home to his god.
Sora found the temple with the bones within it, the roof falling in upon them.
“Oh, poor god,” she said, “With no-one to bury your last priest.” Then she paused, because she was from far away. “Or is this how the dead are honored here?” The god roused from its contemplation.
“His name was Arepo,” it said, “He was a sower.”
Sora startled, a little, because she had never before heard the voice of a god. “How can I honor him?” She asked.
“Bury him,” the god said, “Beneath my altar.”
“All right,” Sora said, and went to fetch her shovel.
“Wait,” the god said when she got back and began collecting the bones from among the broken twigs and fallen leaves. She laid them out on a roll of undyed wool, the only cloth she had. “Wait,” the god said, “I cannot do anything for you. I am not a god of anything useful.”
Sora sat back on her heels and looked at the altar to listen to the god.
“When the Storm came and destroyed his wheat, I could not save it,” the god said, “When the Harvest failed and he was hungry, I could not feed him. When War came,” the god’s voice faltered. “When War came, I could not protect him. He came bleeding from the battle to die in my arms.” Sora looked down again at the bones.
“I think you are the god of something very useful,” she said.
“What?” the god asked.
Sora carefully lifted the skull onto the cloth. “You are the god of Arepo.”
Generations passed. The village recovered from its tragedies—homes rebuilt, gardens re-planted, wounds healed. The old man who once lived on the hill and spoke to stone and rubble had long since been forgotten, but the temple stood in his name. Most believed it to empty, as the god who resided there long ago had fallen silent. Yet, any who passed the decaying shrine felt an ache in their hearts, as though mourning for a lost friend. The cold that seeped from the temple entrance laid their spirits low, and warded off any potential visitors, save for the rare and especially oblivious children who would leave tiny clusters of pink and white flowers that they picked from the surrounding meadow.
The god sat in his peaceful home, staring out at the distant road, to pedestrians, workhorses, and carriages, raining leaves that swirled around bustling feet. How long had it been? The world had progressed without him, for he knew there was no help to be given. The world must be a cruel place, that even the useful gods have abandoned, if farms can flood, harvests can run barren, and homes can burn, he thought.
He had come to understand that humans are senseless creatures, who would pray to a god that cannot grant wishes or bless upon them good fortune. Who would maintain a temple and bring offerings with nothing in return. Who would share their company and meditate with such a fruitless deity. Who would bury a stranger without the hope for profit. What bizarre, futile kindness they had wasted on him. What wonderful, foolish, virtuous, hopeless creatures, humans were.
So he painted the sunset with yellow leaves, enticed the worms to dance in their soil, flourished the boundary between forest and field with blossoms and berries, christened the air with a biting cold before winter came, ripened the apples with crisp, red freckles to break under sinking teeth, and a dozen other nothings, in memory of the man who once praised the god’s work on his dying breath.
“Hello, God of Every Humble Beauty in the World,” called a familiar voice.
The squinting corners of the god’s eyes wept down onto curled lips. “Arepo,” he whispered, for his voice was hoarse from its hundred-year mutism.
“I am the god of devotion, of small kindnesses, of unbreakable bonds. I am the god of selfless, unconditional love, of everlasting friendships, and trust,” Arepo avowed, soothing the other with every word.
“That’s wonderful, Arepo,” he responded between tears, “I’m so happy for you—such a powerful figure will certainly need a grand temple. Will you leave to the city to gather more worshippers? You’ll be adored by all.”
“No,” Arepo smiled.
“Farther than that, to the capitol, then? Thank you for visiting here before your departure.”
“No, I will not go there, either,” Arepo shook his head and chuckled.
“Farther still? What ambitious goals, you must have. There is no doubt in my mind that you will succeed, though,” the elder god continued.
“Actually,” interrupted Arepo, “I’d like to stay here, if you’ll have me.”
The other god was struck speechless. “…. Why would you want to live here?”
“I am the god of unbreakable bonds and everlasting friendships. And you are the god of Arepo.”
The most important writing lesson I ever learned was not in a screenwriting class, but a fiction class.
This was senior year of college. Most of us had already been accepted into grad school of some sort. We felt powerful, we felt talented, and most of all, we felt artistic.
It was the advanced fiction workshop, and we did an entire round of workshops with everyone’s best stories, their most advanced work, their most polished pieces. It was very technical and, most of all, very artistic.
IE: They were boring pieces of pretentious crap.
Now the teacher was either a genius OR was tired of our shit, and decided to give us a challenge. Flash fiction, he said. Write something as quickly as possible. Make it stupid. Make it not mean a thing, just be a quick little blast of words.
And, of course, we all got stupid. Little one and two pages of prose without the barriers that it must be good. Little flashes of characters, little bits of scenarios.
And they were electric. All of them. So interesting, so vivid, not held back by the need to write important things or artistic things.
One sticks in my mind even today. The guys original piece was a thinky, thoughtful piece relating the breaking up of threesomes to volcanoes and uncontrolled eruptions that was just annoying to read. But his flash fiction was this three page bit about a homeless man who stole a truck full of coca cola and had to bribe people to drink the soda so he could return the cans to recycling so he could afford one night with the prostitute he loved.
It was funny, it was heartfelt, and it was so, so, so well written.
And just that one little bit of advice, the write something short and stupid, changed a ton of people’s writing styles for the better.
It was amazing. So go. Go write something small. Go write something that’s not artistic. Go write something stupid. Go have fun.
revising your writing is just like "is this weird. is this a weird sentence. is this the weirdest most poorly-worded sentence ever written by anyone" and the sentence in question is "he walked across the room"
as much as I would like to be the best at writing, i would prefer working for it, so i would say playing piano, i have my digital piano for almost five years now and i can only play basic melodies that shit is hard
List of 120 unique fantasy jobs to give to your fantasy characters. Writers save this!
1. Spellscribe: Weaves magic into ink, creating enchanted scrolls and spellbooks.
2. Dreamweaver: Shapes dreams, ensuring a peaceful slumber for all.
3. Star Cartographer: Maps constellations and celestial paths.
4. Potion Alchemist: Brews elixirs, love potions, and invisibility brews.
5. Whispering Wind Courier: Carries messages on ethereal zephyrs.
6. Crystal Harmonist: Plays melodies on gemstone xylophones.
7. Arcane Librarian: Guards forbidden tomes and ancient grimoires.
8. Stormcaller: Commands lightning and tempests.
9. Shadow Weaver: Manipulates shadows for stealth or illusion.
10. Fey Ambassador: Bridges the gap between humans and fae.
11. Time Tinkerer: Repairs temporal rifts and broken clocks.
12. Soul Gardener: Tends to souls in the afterlife.
13. Dragon Whisperer: Communicates with fire-breathing beasts.
14. Labyrinth Architect: Designs mazes with shifting walls.
15. Aetheronaut: Pilots airships through the skies.
16. Cauldron Chef: Cooks magical stews and enchanted pastries.
17. Goblin Negotiator: Haggles with mischievous goblins over stolen treasures.
18. Wisp Shepherd: Herds glowing wisps across moonlit meadows.
19. Constellation Painter: Dips brushes in stardust to create cosmic art.
20. Swordsmith of Destiny: Forges blades with prophetic properties.
21. Oracle of Riddles: Answers questions through cryptic puzzles.
22. Moss Whisperer: Encourages moss-covered stones to share their secrets.
23. Harvest Moon Dancer: Leads celestial dances during lunar eclipses.
24. Chimera Veterinarian: Cares for mythical hybrid creatures.
25. Lore Bard: Sings epic sagas of forgotten heroes.
26. Stardust Prospector: Mines cosmic minerals from fallen meteors.
27. Mistwalker: Guides lost souls through foggy moors.
28. Enchanted Cobbler: Crafts shoes that grant extraordinary abilities.
29. Celestial Clockmaker: Constructs timepieces powered by starlight.
30. Gargoyle Sculptor: Carves stone guardians with hidden sentience.
31. Wandmaker: Whittles wands from ancient tree branches.
32. Mermaid Translator: Deciphers underwater songs and sea whispers.
33. Nightshade Apothecary: Harvests moonflowers and midnight herbs.
34. Serpent Charmer: Mesmerizes serpents with haunting melodies.
35. Skyship Navigator: Charts courses through floating islands.
36. Frostfire Sculptor: Shapes ice and flame into ephemeral statues.
37. Cursed Cursebreaker: Lifts hexes and breaks enchantments.
38. Goblin Archaeologist: Digs up lost goblin civilizations.
39. Sylph Perfumer: Captures the essence of zephyrs in fragrances.
40. Mystic Cartographer: Maps hidden ley lines and magical nexuses.
41. Moonstone Miner: Extracts shards of moonlight from caverns.
42. Gryphon Trainer: Raises and trains majestic gryphons.
43. Candlemaker of Lost Hopes: Creates candles that reveal forgotten memories.
44. Starwhisper Cartographer: Maps cosmic phenomena—comets' paths, shooting star trails, and celestial alignments.
45. Gloomsmith: Crafts melancholic artifacts—music boxes that play haunting melodies, mirrors that reflect lost loves, and inkwells that pen tear-stained poetry.
46. Siren Songstress: Sings enchanting melodies by moonlit shores, luring sailors toward rocky fates or guiding them safely through treacherous waters.
47. Astral Weaver: Spins threads from stardust, creating cloaks that grant glimpses of alternate realities or tapestries that depict forgotten legends.
48. Cryptobotanist: Studies otherworldly flora—glow-in-the-dark mushrooms, singing vines, and moonblossoms that bloom only during eclipses.
49. Soothsayer: Reads the future in tea leaves, cloud formations, or the patterns of fireflies. Their predictions shape destinies.
50. Stormglass Sculptor: Carves intricate sculptures from stormglass—frozen lightning, raindrop chandeliers, and thunderstorm dioramas.
51. Wispkeeper: Tends to wisps—tiny, glowing spirits that flit through forests. They bottle wisp-light for healing potions.
52. Eidolon Portraitist: Paints portraits of ghosts, capturing their essence before they fade into oblivion.
53. Moss Oracle: Listens to moss-covered stones, deciphering their murmurs to reveal lost histories.
54. Labyrinth Minstrel: Wanders through shifting mazes, singing songs that guide lost travelers to safety.
55. Frostbite Healer: Extracts shards of moonlight from caverns.
56. Gryphon Trainer: Raises and trains majestic gryphons.
57. Candlemaker of Lost Hopes: Creates candles that reveal forgotten memories.
58. Starwhisper Cartographer: Maps cosmic phenomena—comets’ paths, shooting star trails, and celestial alignments. Their charts guide explorers to hidden constellations.
59. Gloomsmith: Crafts melancholic artifacts—music boxes that play haunting melodies, mirrors that reflect lost loves, and inkwells that pen tear-stained poetry.
60. Siren Songstress: Sings enchanting melodies by moonlit shores, luring sailors toward rocky fates or guiding them safely through treacherous waters.
61. Astral Weaver: Spins threads from stardust, creating cloaks that grant glimpses of alternate realities or tapestries that depict forgotten legends.
62. Cryptobotanist: Studies otherworldly flora—glow-in-the-dark mushrooms, singing vines, and moonblossoms that bloom only during eclipses.
63. Soothsayer: Reads the future in tea leaves, cloud formations, or the patterns of fireflies. Their predictions shape destinies.
64. Stormglass Sculptor: Carves intricate sculptures from stormglass—frozen lightning, raindrop chandeliers, and thunderstorm dioramas.
65. Wispkeeper: Tends to wisps—tiny, glowing spirits that flit through forests. They bottle wisp-light for healing potions.
66. Eidolon Portraitist: Paints portraits of ghosts, capturing their essence before they fade into oblivion.
67. Moss Oracle: Listens to moss-covered stones, deciphering their murmurs to reveal lost histories.
68. Labyrinth Minstrel: Wanders through shifting mazes, singing songs that guide lost travelers to safety.
69. Frostbite Healer: Treats frostbitten extremities with salves made from frost sprites’ tears.
70. Chalice Enchanter: Carves runes into crystal goblets, infusing each sip with memories or emotions.
71. Goblin Archaeologist: Digs up lost goblin civilizations, unearthing rusty gadgets and cryptic hieroglyphs.
72. Sylph Perfumer: Captures the essence of zephyrs in fragrances—dawn mist, thunderstorm ozone, and moonrise musk.
73. Mystic Cartographer: Maps hidden ley lines and magical nexuses. Their charts reveal portals and ley-gates.
74. Moonstone Miner: Extracts shards of moonlight from caverns, which can be used for enchantments or as lantern fuel.
75. Gryphon Trainer: Raises and trains majestic gryphons for aerial patrols or epic quests.
76. Candlemaker of Whispers: Crafts candles that flicker with spectral flames, allowing communication with the departed.
77. Stardust Prospector: Mines cosmic minerals from fallen meteors—star iron, comet opals, and nebula gems.
78. Golem Animator: Breathes life into clay and stone constructs, imbuing them with purpose.
79. Wraith Whisperer: Communicates with restless spirits, negotiating unfinished business.
80. Celestial Navigator: Guides ships by star charts, steering vessels through astral currents.
81. Chaos Theorist: Predicts chaotic events using butterfly-wing equations, preventing or exploiting chaos.
82. Fairy Ring Dancer: Enters mystical circles to converse with fairies, striking bargains or seeking wisdom.
83. Banshee Lullaby Singer: Soothes grieving souls with haunting songs, easing their passage to the beyond.
84. Goblin Diplomat: Negotiates peace treaties between realms, balancing goblin mischief and human interests.
85. Veilwalker: Steps between dimensions using shimmering veils, exploring parallel worlds.
86. Moonshard Weaver: Threads moonstone shards into cloaks that grant moonwalking abilities.
87. Gryphon Whisperer: Communicates with gryphons through empathic bonds.
88. Cursed Curator: Collects cursed artifacts, safeguarding them in hidden vaults.
89. Sphinx Riddler: Poses enigmas to travelers seeking wisdom, granting answers in exchange for riddles.
90. Bard of Echoes: Sings songs that echo through time, preserving forgotten tales.
91. Goblin Inventor: Constructs whimsical gadgets—umbrellas that predict rain, shoes that dance, and hats that translate squirrel chatter.
92. Serpent Astronomer: Studies cosmic serpents—constellations that writhe across the sky.
120. Starforged Smith: Hammers star fragments into celestial armor and swords.
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So it looks like NaNoWriMo are happy to have AI as part of their community. Miss me with that bullshit. Generative artificial intelligence is an active threat to creativity and the livelihoods of hundreds of thousands of people in creative fields.
Please signal boost this so writers can make an informed choice about whether to continue to take part in such a community.
i’ve been carrying around this fortune cookie fortune for like a year and now it’s time to pass the good fortune on to all of you! you should write a book!
Again, just suggestions that shouldn’t have to compromise your author voice, as I sit here doing my own edits for a WIP.
1. Crutch words
Specifically when you have your narrator taking an action instead of just… writing that action. Examples:
Character wonders/imagines/thinks/realizes
Character sees/smells/feels
Now not all of these need to be cut. There’s a difference between:
Elias stops. He realizes they’re going in the wrong direction.
And
Elias takes far too long to realize that it’s not horribly dark wherever they are
Crutch words are words that don’t add anything to the sentence and the sentence can carry on with the exact same meaning even if you delete it. Thus:
Elias stops. They’re going in the wrong direction.
I need a word in the second example, whether it’s realizes, understands, or notices, unless I rework the entire sentence. The “realization” is implied by the hard cut to the next sentence in the first example.
2. Creating your own “author voice”
Unless the tone of the scene demands otherwise, my writing style is very conversational. I have a lot of sentence fragments to reflect my characters’ scatterbrained thoughts. I let them be sarcastic and sassy within the narration. I leave in instances of “just” (another crutch word) when I think it helps the sentence. Example:
…but it’s just another cave to Elias.
Deleting the “just” wouldn’t hit as hard or read as dismissive and resigned.
I may be writing in 3rd person limited, but I still let the personalities of my characters flavor everything from the syntax to metaphor choices. It’s up to you how you want to write your “voice”.
I’ll let dialogue cut off narration, like:
Not that he wouldn’t. However, “You can’t expect me to believe that.”
Sure it’s ~grammatically incorrect~ but you get more leeway in fiction. This isn’t an essay written in MLA or APA format. It’s okay to break a few rules, they’re more like guidelines anyway.
3. Metaphor, allegory, and simile
There is a time and a place to abandon this and shoot straight because oftentimes you might not realize you’re using these at all. It’s the difference between:
Blinding sunlight reflects off the window sill
And
Sunlight bounces like high-beams off the window sill
It’s up to you and what best fits the scene.
Sometimes there’s more power in not being poetic, just bluntly explicit. Situations like describing a character’s battle wounds (whatever kind of battle they might be from, whether it be war or abuse) don’t need flowery prose and if your manuscript is metaphor-heavy, suddenly dropping them in a serious situation will help with the mood and tonal shift, even if your readers can’t quite pick up on why immediately.
Whatever the case is, pick a metaphor that fits the narrator. If my narrator is comparing a shade of red to something, pick a comparison that makes sense.
Red like the clouds at sunset might make sense for a character that would appreciate sunsets. It’s romantic but not sensual, it’s warm and comforting.
Red like lipstick stains on a wine glass hints at a very different image and tone.
Metaphor can also either water down the impact of something, or make it so much worse so pay attention to what you want your reader to feel when they read it. Are you trying to shield them from the horror or dig it in deep?
4. Paragraph formatting
Nothing sticks out on a page quite like a line of narrative all by itself. Abusing this tactic will lessen its effect so save single sentence paragraphs for lines you want to hammer your audiences with. Lines like romantic revelations, or shocking twists, or characters giving up, giving in. Or just a badass line that deserves a whole paragraph to itself.
I do it all the time just like this.
Your writing style might not feature a bunch of chunky paragraphs to emphasize smaller lines of text (or if you’re writing a fic on A03, the size of the screen makes many paragraphs one line), but if yours does, slapping a zinger between two beefy paragraphs helps with immersion.
5. Polysyndeton and Asyndeton
Not gibberish! These, like single-sentence paragraphs, mix up the usual flow of the narrative that are lists of concepts with or without conjunctions.
Asyndeton:
We came. We saw. We conquered.
It was cold, grey, lifeless.
Polysyndeton:
And the birds are out and the sun is shining and it might rain later but right now I am going to enjoy the blue sky and the puffy white clouds like cotton balls.
They stand and they clap and they sing.
Both are for emphasis. Asyndeton tends to be "colder" and more blunt, because the sentence is blunt. Polysyntedon tends to be more exciting, overwhelming.
We came and we saw and we conquered.
The original is rather grim. This version is almost uplifting, like it's celebrating as opposed to taunting, depending on how you look at it.
—
All of these are highly situational, but if you’re stuck, maybe try some out and see what happens.
*italicized quotes are from ENNS, the rest I made up on the spot save for the Veni Vidi Vici.
The old school lack of transparency on tumblr is amazing because you assume the people you follow must all be equivalent to you and then you see someone write “I brought my youngest to college today” and someone else write “my mom wouldn’t let me listen to Ariana Grande when I was a kid” and then your head explodes
honestly one of the best things we can do for ourselves is realize that people of different ages than us can still be the same kind of person as us. it's humbling and it gives everyone involved a sense of continuity, and it busts those stupid generational stereotypes media is so fond of.
kaledo-art
yousharknotpass
2087
areudirty
dededos
germansingergirl
titsay
