That's What I've Been SAYING.

That's what I've been SAYING.

Fated adversaries, meant to battle for eternity, equaled in their determination and skill. It's so... intimate, in one way. This dance. Slicing and clawing and dying only to stand back up. So consumed with one another that you can't see the world dissolving around you?

It is everything to me, tbh. Also the fact that her voice direction was "dommy mommy" makes it better.

(Not to mention it's the only route I've seen so far with a color other than red, but that's just a design thing I adore.)

The Adversary is my favorite, The Tower a very close second.

smitten adversary. can THEY kiss

everyone wants to kiss the adversary, but fighting her forever is so much more romantic, dontcha think?

Me in the pussy if I'm being honest.

For the record guys I'm playing this game with my mom and we're discussing the decisions and she's having a wonderful time. Excellent game, no notes.

omg pristine cut leak (real)

The first pride was a riot. Take a brick in these trying times as well.

in honor of pride month, everyone who rbs gets a pride explosion in their inbox bc I have extra bombs

WOAGH

Love the layering and the mug and the steam very good <3

Like a gimmick birthday card but it plays the most artifact-ridden, deep-fried royalty-free music. perfect

tryin to make this bro more real

Please remember what they took from us. Years and years of removed art, never posted anywhere else. Self-expression and self-acceptance. They took Tumblr Sexymen away from us, even, because without the rampant yaoi sketches, what was meant to catch on. Simply unconscionable.

Not to mention the disproportionate effect on queer and ESPECIALLY trans posters.

Biggest L ever. Bring porn back and maybe we can salvage this broken land of ghost-images and ancient relics. Y'all are the British Museum, taking something precious and hiding it, leaving it in cardboard boxes marked with sharpies in the basement because you'd rather saw the sculptures from plinths, than allow the monument to stay in its home. All we are left with are the feet, hacked off at the ankles, a ghost of a beautiful piece of expression.

I don't WANNA have a twitter account, y'all. I would rather never ever think about it again. And yet here we are.

For shame.