- Joined
- Dec 4, 2020
what teddy fresh is to pedophiles
this is to Diaper shitters
Sophie Labelle Verville / Guillaume Labelle / Serious Trans Vibes Comics / Assigned Male / Candycore Comics / Pastel Sexy Times / WafflesArt - Obnoxious webcomics and horrific porn by a crazy fat pedo troon
- Thread starter Hat
- Start date
this is to Diaper shitters
AmazingEagle
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Jul 17, 2020
People who are into ABDL and think that wearing diapers and shitting themselves is "cute" make me want to put an icepick through my fucking head.
- Joined
- Jun 15, 2020
Same, but their heads, not mine. In Minecraft.
AmazingEagle
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Jul 17, 2020
Most people who are into ABDL turn out to be pedophiles or animal rapists.
- Joined
- Feb 26, 2021
I figured as much. If he did then he wouldn't be able to make cartoons about how lezzers are evil for not sucking his girl dick
- Joined
- Jan 15, 2014
The Internet never forgets, Billy. If he’s not talking about it now, it’s only because he’s realised that “I knew I was trans at 13,” “I lost my virginity to a much older man at 13” and “I like drawing child porn but it’s not sexual” collectively make for a pretty bad look.
- Joined
- Jul 19, 2019
Not to mention all the men who joined the boy scouts, played football, did a few years in the service, learned a trade, married a girly girl, had kids, and then when they were 35 were like "SIKE I've been a woman this whole time."
AmazingEagle
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Jul 17, 2020
- Joined
- Feb 3, 2013
He's not even attracted to women, Have you even been paying attention to pastelsexytimes?
- Joined
- Dec 6, 2020
Anyone who uses the word ”Latinx” is invariably a gringo and has voluntarily given up his right to be taken seriously.View attachment 2023105
Log into Facebook
Log into Facebook to start sharing and connecting with your friends, family, and people you know.www.facebook.com
View attachment 2023111
View attachment 2023126Log into Facebook
Log into Facebook to start sharing and connecting with your friends, family, and people you know.
View attachment 2023116
View attachment 2023129
View attachment 2023131
View attachment 2023133
View attachment 2023135
View attachment 2023140
View attachment 2023142
View attachment 2023143
View attachment 2023147
View attachment 2023148
View attachment 2023149
View attachment 2023151
View attachment 2023152
View attachment 2023153
View attachment 2023155
View attachment 2023158
- Joined
- Dec 13, 2017
It was free on Patreon
Wish Upon a Satellite - Chapter 1
Here is the first chapter of Wish Upon a Satellite, the YA novel I wrote about the characters from my comics. I will be posting new chapters (there are 20 in total) here every week for $3+ Patrons.
It tells the story of 14 year old Ciel, who has the bad habit of developing crushes on everyone they get close with as a way to find validation : their love for their best friend Stéphie reaches new heights ; their confidant Liam, the knight in shining armor with a fondness for astrology, has already said no ; Jayden, the cute cheerleader from their science class, isn’t really their type but his friends are already shipping the two.
At the same time, Ciel’s classmate Viktor starts sharing around the nudes that his (ex-) girlfriend sent him. Soon, the entire school sees them, an experience from which no one will emerge intact. As Ciel navigates the complexity of finding love and validation within their own support networks, they will find themself making compromises no one should need to make in order to feel like they belong.
***
Chapter One
Stéphanie Bondu’s lips are everything you would think they were : they make you feel at home and they taste like honeydew chapstick. I had no clue I needed the touch of these lips so much until now.
It’s because, you see, Stéphanie Bondu has been my best friend since fifth grade. We had countless sleepovers before tonight. She was there for me during my first heartbreak, and I was there for her that time she had under 90% on a ministerial exam. So, you know, I should have known about these lips. They were right under my nose. Well, under her nose, technically.
It’s probably too much info, but we spent about 10 minutes exchanging saliva and snot during the most intense smooching session of my life. That’s longer than my ex-boyfriend and I ever did. Everything I ever experienced before feels kind of fake.
And it happened just like that. No warning signs, no anticipation. Well, OK, we were hugging, but that’s what you would expect from BFFs when one of them just dumped her terrible boyfriend for the fifteenth time. She sent me a text message shortly after dinner saying that, this time, it really was over with Frank and, by her tone, she seemed really pissed. So I gulped the bolo de rolo cake my dad made for my little brother (it’s his favourite, a way to apologize for leaving him at home tomorrow while my dad and I go on our last cycling trip before winter) and went to meet Stéphie at her mom’s house.
It started with a long rant about Frank, whom she’s been dating since time immemorial. Turns out this bad excuse for a boyfriend asked Stéphie for nudes because his best friend Viktor got some from his girlfriend. Now, I don’t really know that girlfriend. I mean, I know her face and I can remember her name (it’s Raquel) because we went to the same elementary school, but that’s pretty much it. She’s been quite rude to Stéphie and I in the past. If she wants to put herself in trouble and do something as questionable and potentially illegal as sending nude pictures of her underage self to the smelly, thoroughly average soccer player that is Viktor, I guess that’s on her. But I draw the line at these boys going out of their way to ask for them.
As Stéphie was telling me everything, I felt a lot of anger. First, from Stéphie’s pain: it was so unfair to her! Frank should have known that she has body image issues. Feeling validated in her body shouldn’t come atcost such a price. It hits her where she is most vulnerable. I know that if she wasn’t so opinionated, she would have fallen for it - letting Frank play with her self-esteem in such a toxic way.
Second… how the heck did Frank know about Raquel’s nudes? Did Viktor share them around? Apparently, when Stéphie confronted Frank about it, he simply said that it’s what boys talk about in locker rooms. Stéphie didn’t buy it. I’m glad she didn’t. I’ll bet that if she had sent him any pictures, Frank would only have used them to brag to his soccer teammates, and would have ended up showing them around, which is probably what happened with Raquel’s.
She broke down while she was telling me the story - her anger gave way into sadness and despair. She had to stop talking because her sobbing hiccups made it too hard to articulate words. As we were both hugging on her new bed (she outgrew her princessy four-poster one), I instinctively pulled her closer to my shoulder to pet her hair and shush her. And I guess it worked? She calmed herself and we ended up cuddling, like many times before, although it never culminated in something as intimate as the hot mess we’re in right now.
The tears stopped. We spent an eternity resting our heads on her pillows, staring into each other’s eyes. Strands of hair dried onto her cheeks. Every boiling emotion turned into body heat that felt familiar. I had no clue what just happened. All I know is that it was real. I must look like a deer in the headlights. What does she look like? What’s that expression in her tired, bloodshot eyes? Maybe it’s just drowsiness? I can’t really tell.
We’re holding hands. I wish we could kiss again, as I’m getting dehydrated and could use some of that honeydew chapstick. But her eyes are now closed and I wouldn’t dare. So I just press my forehead against hers to feel her breath near my mouth. Soon, she’s asleep. Too many things are going through my mind to imitate her.
For example, it’s the first time I’ve kissed a girl. It was great. Does that mean I’m bisexual? I know Stéphie is, but I never really thought about it myself. Not that I care particularly, considering how I don’t feel like either a boy or a girl. It makes every potential relationship kind of gay.
Will that change our friendship? Can we still go see bad movies together and ship every character in the most bizarre ways possible? Above her ponytail, which was draped lazily around her neck, I can see her Lafontaine poster on her wall, that musical we’re both huge fans of. We’re supposed to go see it in November. My dad bought us tickets for my birthday, back in March, and we’ve been waiting impatiently since then. Does that mean we’ll go as a date? That we’ll both need to dress fancy to impress each other during a romantic pre-show dinner, instead of nerding out with all our Lafontaine gear while stuffing ourselves with piles of greasy poutine?
I gently reach in the pocket of my dress to grab my phone with my free hand. I have a notification from Liam, the person I trust the most after Stéphie and my dog Borki. We’re weirdly close, considering I only met him when class started, back in August. He’s that shy and awkward nerd, although you probably wouldn’t expect such a manga fanatic to also be an international level athlete. His wall is decorated with medals and trophies he won during swimming competitions - along with tons of japanese-style art he makes. He’s a guy of many talents.
I told Liam I was spending the evening with Stéphie because shit hit the fan with Frank. He’s asking : “Hey Ciel! Everything alright?”
Even though it’s not my legal name, my close friends call me Ciel. It means “sky” in French. It feels more colorful, changing, and evocative than “Alex”, the name I’m called at school.
“Yeah. She cried a lot. She’s asleep now.”
“That bad, eh?”
“You have no idea. Frank has been such a jerk.”
“What happened?”
I type several attempts at explaining the whole story, but nothing feels right. I just say :
“I’ll tell you at school, it’s complicated.”
“Oh. OK.”
“How’s the competition?”
Liam is spending the weekend on the other side of the border, near New York City, to splash around with fellow North Americans. At this point, it’s not even special for him anymore.
“It’s fine. I made it to the finals, tomorrow. Saw some guys I knew from New England.”
“Sweet.”
He sends me a picture of a hamburger and a milkshake on what seems to be hotel bed linen.
“My teammates and I are having room service dinner!”
“Ooh, fancy!”
I put my phone on selfie mode and send him a portrait of myself pulling my tongue out. My hair is all over Stephie’s pillow.
“Ooh, sexy!”
“I’m the dessert.”
“Of course.”
We often pretend to flirt, but it’s just a game. I know he’s not interested in going out with me, he told me when I asked him last month. He said he’s not ready to be that close to anyone, or something like that. I still think we’d make a fine couple.
I look at Stéphie snoring besides me. It itches me to tell Liam about that kiss she and I shared. That’s all I can focus on. But I don’t know, it would feel weird to tell that kind of stuff to a boy I had a crush on. What if he thinks I’m only telling him to make him jealous or something? I have to tell someone, though. And I’m sure I’ll end up telling him anyway, he’s one of my best friends after all.
“Also, I guess Stéphie and I are smooching buddies, now? Idk”
“Oh! That was unexpected.”
“Same.”
“So she took the first step? She’s such a Capricorn. You’ll have to tell me more!”
“I can call you tomorrow evening, after my cycling trip.”
“We’ll see, I think we arrive in Montreal at 9pm. The time to get our bags, take the airport shuttle to the subway and the subway home, it’s gonna be pretty late...”
“Fine. Well, enjoy your milkshake with this new layer of suspense in it, then!”
“Slurp slurp!”
* * *
It’s about 10pm when Stéphie wakes up. She wipes her eyes and asks : “Did I sleep?”
I put my phone down. I’ve been playing games on it for at least an hour. I bend over Stéphie, look at her in disbelief and put my hands on her shoulders : “Stéphie!! You’ve been asleep for TWO WHOLE YEARS!”
“Ha ha ha! Is that why you’re wearing the same clothes as when I last saw you?”
“Just a coincidence.”
She reaches to get her own phone that’s been charging on the little table near her bed. Her expression changes as she scrolls through her notifications. I say “You missed a couple of calls. I figured I’d let you sleep instead.”
"I’m glad you did.”
She puts her phone back on the table and sighs. No need to ask who’s been calling her. She passes one hand in her hair to smooth the strands tangled by dried tears and looks at me.
“Do you want to sleep here?”
“I’d love to, but we’re leaving early tomorrow morning.”
“That’s right, you’re going on a cycling trip.”
“My dad and I, yes. We’re going to the West Island, then to Vaudreuil. We’re going to see the Beauharnois locks.”
“I have no clue where any of these places are.”
“You know the West Island, at least? The western part of Montreal. We’re in the East, now. If you go to the westernmost end of the island, you get to the Saint Lawrence river. Vaudreuil is on the other side of it. Last time we went, it was very pretty.”
“Noice. Send me pictures.”
“Of course!”
Stéphie lies down and puts my hand on her head.
“Wanna cuddle some more?”
* * *
I don’t put the brakes on when I’m cycling down Rosemont boulevard in the fresh October night, and it feels like I’m flying. The neighborhood where Stéphie and I live is in the easternmost point of the plateau stretching from Mount Royal, the mountain that gives its name to the city it overlooks. It gets hilly in places, but it’s not much compared to the Visitation slope, which we need to climb in order to reach our neighborhood from the downtown area. Fortunately, I usually only climb it twice or thrice in a month when I go to the youth meeting at the LGBT Center.
The streets are empty at this time, except for some folks getting last minute snacks and drinks from the dépanneur (French-Canadian bodegas) and a couple of suspicious tomcats minding their own business. Sometimes, if you’re lucky, you can also see one of the foxes who live in the nearby Maisonneuve park. They like to visit when the city is quieter. There are also bunnies living in that huge park, but we rarely see them in the streets. It does happen, though.
As I unlock the door, I notice that the living room light is on. My dad is still up.
“Hey sweetie. How was your evening?”
Borki yaps before coming to lick my leg. I scratch his little head and say, not too loud since my brother is probably sleeping : “Good boy! It was intense. Stéphie is really upset at Frank. He asked her for nude pictures, can you imagine?”
“Nude pictures of who?”
“Of herself. Frank’s friend got some from his girlfriend, so…”
“Oh dear.”
“Yeah. So, you understand…”
“Precisely.”
I look at my dad, sitting between piles of exams scattered around him. It was mid-semester in colleges last week, so we haven’t seen the color of the couch since then. He teaches chemistry in the North of the city. He says : “Anything else?”
“Nah, I should go to bed now.”
“You still want to leave at 7 tomorrow?”
“I’m so ready for it!”
“Alright. First up wakes the other one! How about dropping by a Tim Hortons for breakfast on the road?”
“Aww, yes!”
Here is the first chapter of Wish Upon a Satellite, the YA novel I wrote about the characters from my comics. I will be posting new chapters (there are 20 in total) here every week for $3+ Patrons.
It tells the story of 14 year old Ciel, who has the bad habit of developing crushes on everyone they get close with as a way to find validation : their love for their best friend Stéphie reaches new heights ; their confidant Liam, the knight in shining armor with a fondness for astrology, has already said no ; Jayden, the cute cheerleader from their science class, isn’t really their type but his friends are already shipping the two.
At the same time, Ciel’s classmate Viktor starts sharing around the nudes that his (ex-) girlfriend sent him. Soon, the entire school sees them, an experience from which no one will emerge intact. As Ciel navigates the complexity of finding love and validation within their own support networks, they will find themself making compromises no one should need to make in order to feel like they belong.
***
Chapter One
Stéphanie Bondu’s lips are everything you would think they were : they make you feel at home and they taste like honeydew chapstick. I had no clue I needed the touch of these lips so much until now.
It’s because, you see, Stéphanie Bondu has been my best friend since fifth grade. We had countless sleepovers before tonight. She was there for me during my first heartbreak, and I was there for her that time she had under 90% on a ministerial exam. So, you know, I should have known about these lips. They were right under my nose. Well, under her nose, technically.
It’s probably too much info, but we spent about 10 minutes exchanging saliva and snot during the most intense smooching session of my life. That’s longer than my ex-boyfriend and I ever did. Everything I ever experienced before feels kind of fake.
And it happened just like that. No warning signs, no anticipation. Well, OK, we were hugging, but that’s what you would expect from BFFs when one of them just dumped her terrible boyfriend for the fifteenth time. She sent me a text message shortly after dinner saying that, this time, it really was over with Frank and, by her tone, she seemed really pissed. So I gulped the bolo de rolo cake my dad made for my little brother (it’s his favourite, a way to apologize for leaving him at home tomorrow while my dad and I go on our last cycling trip before winter) and went to meet Stéphie at her mom’s house.
It started with a long rant about Frank, whom she’s been dating since time immemorial. Turns out this bad excuse for a boyfriend asked Stéphie for nudes because his best friend Viktor got some from his girlfriend. Now, I don’t really know that girlfriend. I mean, I know her face and I can remember her name (it’s Raquel) because we went to the same elementary school, but that’s pretty much it. She’s been quite rude to Stéphie and I in the past. If she wants to put herself in trouble and do something as questionable and potentially illegal as sending nude pictures of her underage self to the smelly, thoroughly average soccer player that is Viktor, I guess that’s on her. But I draw the line at these boys going out of their way to ask for them.
As Stéphie was telling me everything, I felt a lot of anger. First, from Stéphie’s pain: it was so unfair to her! Frank should have known that she has body image issues. Feeling validated in her body shouldn’t come atcost such a price. It hits her where she is most vulnerable. I know that if she wasn’t so opinionated, she would have fallen for it - letting Frank play with her self-esteem in such a toxic way.
Second… how the heck did Frank know about Raquel’s nudes? Did Viktor share them around? Apparently, when Stéphie confronted Frank about it, he simply said that it’s what boys talk about in locker rooms. Stéphie didn’t buy it. I’m glad she didn’t. I’ll bet that if she had sent him any pictures, Frank would only have used them to brag to his soccer teammates, and would have ended up showing them around, which is probably what happened with Raquel’s.
She broke down while she was telling me the story - her anger gave way into sadness and despair. She had to stop talking because her sobbing hiccups made it too hard to articulate words. As we were both hugging on her new bed (she outgrew her princessy four-poster one), I instinctively pulled her closer to my shoulder to pet her hair and shush her. And I guess it worked? She calmed herself and we ended up cuddling, like many times before, although it never culminated in something as intimate as the hot mess we’re in right now.
The tears stopped. We spent an eternity resting our heads on her pillows, staring into each other’s eyes. Strands of hair dried onto her cheeks. Every boiling emotion turned into body heat that felt familiar. I had no clue what just happened. All I know is that it was real. I must look like a deer in the headlights. What does she look like? What’s that expression in her tired, bloodshot eyes? Maybe it’s just drowsiness? I can’t really tell.
We’re holding hands. I wish we could kiss again, as I’m getting dehydrated and could use some of that honeydew chapstick. But her eyes are now closed and I wouldn’t dare. So I just press my forehead against hers to feel her breath near my mouth. Soon, she’s asleep. Too many things are going through my mind to imitate her.
For example, it’s the first time I’ve kissed a girl. It was great. Does that mean I’m bisexual? I know Stéphie is, but I never really thought about it myself. Not that I care particularly, considering how I don’t feel like either a boy or a girl. It makes every potential relationship kind of gay.
Will that change our friendship? Can we still go see bad movies together and ship every character in the most bizarre ways possible? Above her ponytail, which was draped lazily around her neck, I can see her Lafontaine poster on her wall, that musical we’re both huge fans of. We’re supposed to go see it in November. My dad bought us tickets for my birthday, back in March, and we’ve been waiting impatiently since then. Does that mean we’ll go as a date? That we’ll both need to dress fancy to impress each other during a romantic pre-show dinner, instead of nerding out with all our Lafontaine gear while stuffing ourselves with piles of greasy poutine?
I gently reach in the pocket of my dress to grab my phone with my free hand. I have a notification from Liam, the person I trust the most after Stéphie and my dog Borki. We’re weirdly close, considering I only met him when class started, back in August. He’s that shy and awkward nerd, although you probably wouldn’t expect such a manga fanatic to also be an international level athlete. His wall is decorated with medals and trophies he won during swimming competitions - along with tons of japanese-style art he makes. He’s a guy of many talents.
I told Liam I was spending the evening with Stéphie because shit hit the fan with Frank. He’s asking : “Hey Ciel! Everything alright?”
Even though it’s not my legal name, my close friends call me Ciel. It means “sky” in French. It feels more colorful, changing, and evocative than “Alex”, the name I’m called at school.
“Yeah. She cried a lot. She’s asleep now.”
“That bad, eh?”
“You have no idea. Frank has been such a jerk.”
“What happened?”
I type several attempts at explaining the whole story, but nothing feels right. I just say :
“I’ll tell you at school, it’s complicated.”
“Oh. OK.”
“How’s the competition?”
Liam is spending the weekend on the other side of the border, near New York City, to splash around with fellow North Americans. At this point, it’s not even special for him anymore.
“It’s fine. I made it to the finals, tomorrow. Saw some guys I knew from New England.”
“Sweet.”
He sends me a picture of a hamburger and a milkshake on what seems to be hotel bed linen.
“My teammates and I are having room service dinner!”
“Ooh, fancy!”
I put my phone on selfie mode and send him a portrait of myself pulling my tongue out. My hair is all over Stephie’s pillow.
“Ooh, sexy!”
“I’m the dessert.”
“Of course.”
We often pretend to flirt, but it’s just a game. I know he’s not interested in going out with me, he told me when I asked him last month. He said he’s not ready to be that close to anyone, or something like that. I still think we’d make a fine couple.
I look at Stéphie snoring besides me. It itches me to tell Liam about that kiss she and I shared. That’s all I can focus on. But I don’t know, it would feel weird to tell that kind of stuff to a boy I had a crush on. What if he thinks I’m only telling him to make him jealous or something? I have to tell someone, though. And I’m sure I’ll end up telling him anyway, he’s one of my best friends after all.
“Also, I guess Stéphie and I are smooching buddies, now? Idk”
“Oh! That was unexpected.”
“Same.”
“So she took the first step? She’s such a Capricorn. You’ll have to tell me more!”
“I can call you tomorrow evening, after my cycling trip.”
“We’ll see, I think we arrive in Montreal at 9pm. The time to get our bags, take the airport shuttle to the subway and the subway home, it’s gonna be pretty late...”
“Fine. Well, enjoy your milkshake with this new layer of suspense in it, then!”
“Slurp slurp!”
* * *
It’s about 10pm when Stéphie wakes up. She wipes her eyes and asks : “Did I sleep?”
I put my phone down. I’ve been playing games on it for at least an hour. I bend over Stéphie, look at her in disbelief and put my hands on her shoulders : “Stéphie!! You’ve been asleep for TWO WHOLE YEARS!”
“Ha ha ha! Is that why you’re wearing the same clothes as when I last saw you?”
“Just a coincidence.”
She reaches to get her own phone that’s been charging on the little table near her bed. Her expression changes as she scrolls through her notifications. I say “You missed a couple of calls. I figured I’d let you sleep instead.”
"I’m glad you did.”
She puts her phone back on the table and sighs. No need to ask who’s been calling her. She passes one hand in her hair to smooth the strands tangled by dried tears and looks at me.
“Do you want to sleep here?”
“I’d love to, but we’re leaving early tomorrow morning.”
“That’s right, you’re going on a cycling trip.”
“My dad and I, yes. We’re going to the West Island, then to Vaudreuil. We’re going to see the Beauharnois locks.”
“I have no clue where any of these places are.”
“You know the West Island, at least? The western part of Montreal. We’re in the East, now. If you go to the westernmost end of the island, you get to the Saint Lawrence river. Vaudreuil is on the other side of it. Last time we went, it was very pretty.”
“Noice. Send me pictures.”
“Of course!”
Stéphie lies down and puts my hand on her head.
“Wanna cuddle some more?”
* * *
I don’t put the brakes on when I’m cycling down Rosemont boulevard in the fresh October night, and it feels like I’m flying. The neighborhood where Stéphie and I live is in the easternmost point of the plateau stretching from Mount Royal, the mountain that gives its name to the city it overlooks. It gets hilly in places, but it’s not much compared to the Visitation slope, which we need to climb in order to reach our neighborhood from the downtown area. Fortunately, I usually only climb it twice or thrice in a month when I go to the youth meeting at the LGBT Center.
The streets are empty at this time, except for some folks getting last minute snacks and drinks from the dépanneur (French-Canadian bodegas) and a couple of suspicious tomcats minding their own business. Sometimes, if you’re lucky, you can also see one of the foxes who live in the nearby Maisonneuve park. They like to visit when the city is quieter. There are also bunnies living in that huge park, but we rarely see them in the streets. It does happen, though.
As I unlock the door, I notice that the living room light is on. My dad is still up.
“Hey sweetie. How was your evening?”
Borki yaps before coming to lick my leg. I scratch his little head and say, not too loud since my brother is probably sleeping : “Good boy! It was intense. Stéphie is really upset at Frank. He asked her for nude pictures, can you imagine?”
“Nude pictures of who?”
“Of herself. Frank’s friend got some from his girlfriend, so…”
“Oh dear.”
“Yeah. So, you understand…”
“Precisely.”
I look at my dad, sitting between piles of exams scattered around him. It was mid-semester in colleges last week, so we haven’t seen the color of the couch since then. He teaches chemistry in the North of the city. He says : “Anything else?”
“Nah, I should go to bed now.”
“You still want to leave at 7 tomorrow?”
“I’m so ready for it!”
“Alright. First up wakes the other one! How about dropping by a Tim Hortons for breakfast on the road?”
“Aww, yes!”
AmazingEagle
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Jul 17, 2020
- Joined
- Jan 15, 2014
A novel that features a naked 14-year-old. I wish I could say I’m shocked.
- Joined
- Dec 6, 2020
He's really not doing a good job of convincing us that he isn't a paedo.
- Joined
- Feb 25, 2013
BAD TOUCH! BAD TOUCH!
Also, Stephie's an actual girl now? You fucking wish Billy!
I do love that he turned Frank into a skeezy prick (so a normal teenage boy really) and Raquel into a whore though. Seethe harder!
- Joined
- Nov 12, 2016
A "young adult" novel.
Typically, not meaning a novel about young adults, but one pitched to teenagers by the marketing department. It is not a real genre of literature.
If it merely means a novel that a literate young adult might enjoy, that could be any sort of novel past or present. Jane Eyre, I Robot, Bonfire of the Vanities, et cetera, et fucking cetera.
So basically LaBelle wrote a Mary Sue on steroids.
I just checked. Yes. Estrogens are steroids.
Typically, not meaning a novel about young adults, but one pitched to teenagers by the marketing department. It is not a real genre of literature.
If it merely means a novel that a literate young adult might enjoy, that could be any sort of novel past or present. Jane Eyre, I Robot, Bonfire of the Vanities, et cetera, et fucking cetera.
So basically LaBelle wrote a Mary Sue on steroids.
I just checked. Yes. Estrogens are steroids.
ATaleOfSofa
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Jul 21, 2016
*and/or
Which reminds me, a good chunk of Labelle’s fanbase still desperately clutches on to the belief that Labelle is a 14 year old girl.
- Joined
- Dec 28, 2014
He is certainly doing nothing to dispel the idea that perverts like him reproduce by molesting children.
- Joined
- Jul 3, 2019
Who said he was trying to. You his end goal is to have access to children
- Joined
- Dec 13, 2017