Stella Ex Inani Ni Revelare Te

I’M BACK IN THE FUCKING BUILDING AGAIN

I can absolutely believe that on their first night at the mountain cabin, after Andrew has left Neil completely spent, Neil automatically offers to return the favor. “Your hands aren’t exactly in working condition,” Andrew says, nodding toward the bandages around Neil’s fingers. Neil doesn’t move away. “I have more than just my hands,” he answers in the same calm tone, brushing his lips against Andrew’s. Andrew stares at him for several long seconds, caught between that stupidly confident expression, the blind trust in Neil’s eyes, and the complete lack of understanding of what, exactly, he has just offered. Neil has no experience whatsoever. all he has is the pure, uncomplicated desire to do something for Andrew in return. Andrew’s gaze flickers toward Neil’s mouth for the briefest moment. then he gets up and disappears into the bathroom, where he spends the next twenty miserable minutes trying to cool himself down while his mind stubbornly replaces hand on his own dick with the image of Neil’s slightly chapped lips—the same lips that had delivered those fucking words only moments ago.

I think I might be about to send a deranged email

Wait actually we should do this. Theres a serious blood shortage in the US(and canada iirc) right now

there is! reminder that eligibility is less stupid than it used to be and blood donation is a good thing to do most of the time. especially o-negative people.

imagine you work at a luxury car dealership. two college kids show up in a shitty rental car one day. one is has facial tattoos and the haughty attitude of a famous person. the other is a dead-faced goth the size of an elf. tattoo boy says they’re here to buy so you humor them and show some cars. elf man doesn’t say a word the whole time but clearly is calling the shots. he points at a Maserati and says he’ll be paying for the whole thing, no financing necessary. then he goes back over to the rental car, where evidently there has been a whole person asleep in the backseat the entire time. this man is about the same height as the goth pixie and dressed like a homeless person. he listens to the goth say something, pulls out several wads of cash, hands them over and goes back to sleep. your boss spends the next hour walking these freaks through the paperwork while you count through what turns out to be nearly 100k in cold hard cash. no one explains a goddamn thing and they leave with the nicest car on the lot

ahhhh finally the weekend is beautiful and wide open ahead of me. surely this will be the weekend I finally get my whole life in order and do the twenty-seven things I've been putting off and fix my sleep schedule and make memories with friends and discover my purpose in this world. surely

this time we're really gonna do it guys. I believe in all 4000 of us

It's so funny to me that Mary Shelley, her husband, John Polidori, and Lord Byron had a competition to see who could write the best horror story and she wrote fucking Frankenstein. Imagine losing a competition that badly. Imagine just doing a silly little competition with your friend and she basically invents a new genre and creates one of the most famous characters in fiction. Imagine being proud of your little story and then she shares one that people will still read every day in 200 years. Imagine doing a writing competition with your wife and she becomes so recognizable that you'll always be known as Mary Shelley's husband

Today Jeremy will upload a tiktok with the caption: "In your early 20s you will get a call from a friend asking if you're willing to take a Raven defensemen for your Exy team. It is very important that you say yes" and the next picture is Jerejean wedding