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peak shit my dude

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Could you plz reupload it🥺🥺

Could u repost it please 🥺

Thank you 😊

Shiba to Gin Title : Shiba to Gin / 芝と銀 Author : Kujirada Hiroto / 鯨田ヒロト 2022 / Japanese / JPEG Tags : childhood friends, tanuki x fox, aanimal characteristics, enemies Shidou (the tanuki) and Kamine (the fox) are childhood friends, even though their clans don't get along. One day, Shidou hears that humans want to develop the mountain where the tanuki live, so he goes to the city to stop them. But there, he finds out Kamine is selling his body... [鯨田ヒロト] 芝と銀【ペーパー付】【電子限定ペーパー付】 (arca comics) Link available for 100 days! valid until 2025年9月28日(日)

this has been taken down before i can see it huhhuhu im too lateee im cryinggg

can u reupload please? please~

. . Have A Wonderful Day - Poem by JAMES T. ADAIR Just in case nobody does say Have a wonderful day If you're at work and all the world seems to be at play Smile your work away If you're having trouble and it feels like double Do a good turn for someone else and ease their worried mind I think a little happiness you will find when you make an effort to be kind And someone else you might remind that there is hope among humankind If you're at school and you don't feel like you belong Keep in your heart a song Do your best as you sing along All your troubles and worries are here now but won't be long Someday soon you'll find a place you seek Exactly where you've belonged all along So in case nobody else would say I wish you a happy wonderful day All your worries and sadness wished away Today it's going to be better Find a little beauty in your day

. . Hi dear @lnu!

. . Hi dear @sodapop1!

. . @Kazeyp, @YeokSa, @dreamywaffles, @alysevilla, @yaoinology, @larifurlan3719, @Nidauddin81

Please reupload 🙏🙏🙏🙏

. . @VaneCustodio99, @Midorisa, @CJOlidan, @esme20, @marteam, @iyuri, @testrensyu, @Kili_O, @yoon kyum, @Hazelia, @sacapuntas, @Tigist

. . @SilasBarde, @consterhk, @NatishaS29, @diriomaneva, @hasehaise, @ayam, @Manalbeauty, @aroisutoranshi, @ninoy, @Daia_Sakiyuki

Thank you so much!

hi can you plz reupload

Thankyou for sharingg ლ(◉❥◉ლ)

thank you

Thank you 💜

Thank you 💜

Sora’s kiss had been soft — a quiet greeting, a silent confession — but it had stirred something dangerous in Fang. When Fang kissed him back, deeper and more fervently, Sora felt the air leave his lungs. His heart pounded, faster than he wanted to admit, and his hands instinctively found their way to Fang’s chest, trying to anchor himself against the heat flooding through him. And then Fang whispered, “Morning~,” like it was a secret meant only for the space between their lips. Sora barely had time to recover before the teasing followed. [“You… should put on some clothes… before it’s too late.”] Another kiss — quick, cocky — and that smirk. Sora let out a breathless laugh, flustered and already retreating. “You’re the worst,” he muttered, though the corner of his mouth betrayed him with a smile. He paused, half tempted to give in — but shook the thought from his head. “Shower then” he announced, half to himself. “Before I’m the one who loses control.” he pulled out of Fang's arms. Like he feared he would chang his mind. Fang’s eyes followed him, lazy and unashamed, and Sora could feel the weight of that gaze trail down his spine. Fang’s chuckle followed him like a shadow as he stepped into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. Sora leaned against the cool porcelain sink, taking a deep breath as steam began to fill the air. His fingers brushed his lips, still tingling. -------- ------ ------- Sora turned off the shower, steam swirling around him like fog. The heat had helped ease the soreness a bit, but there was still a dull ache trailing down his thighs and across his back. He didn’t mind. He knew exactly where it came from—and who. And honestly? He’d take the ache over the cold silence Fang used to slip into when things got rough. He toweled off quickly, pulling on a pair of sweatpants and one of Fang’s oversized hoodies—his favorite one, because it still smelled like him. Musky, warm, and just a little wild. He ran his fingers through his damp hair, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. The bruises stood out sharply against his skin. Bites. Scratches. Marks left by love and instinct colliding. His lips curled into a small smirk. (I look like I got attacked by a very horny wolf) He didn’t regret it. Not even a little. But he also knew Fang did. Or, well, felt bad about it. Guilt was always written in his shoulders, in how he avoided eye contact afterward, in how gently he treated him the next day—like Sora might shatter if he leaned in too fast. “Dumbass,” Sora mumbled under his breath, not unkindly. His black wolf piercing glinted in the light, poking out from his left ear now that his hair was wet. He touched it absently, reminded of how often Fang used to glance at it. Maybe Fang found it amusing. He didn't really know. He had asked Sora once why he had gotten his piercings. The top once on both ears had been a pain to heal, but now they just felt like part of him. The one on tongue had been...a fun surprise. Especially for Fang the first time Sora had given him head. To be honest Sora didn't know exactly why he wanted them himself. He just liked the look on him. And maybe he had done it to be a bit rebellious. He padded out into the apartment, his nose already picking up the scent of breakfast—eggs, something meaty, and toast, if he wasn’t mistaken. Fang might’ve claimed he wasn’t a ‘relationship guy,’ but he sure cooked like one. His stomach growled, but he didn’t rush. Instead, he lingered in the doorway of the kitchen, just far enough that Fang wouldn’t have noticed him yet. He watched him—tall, broad-shouldered, focused on whatever he was plating. There was something oddly beautiful about how careful Fang could be when no one was watching. Something vulnerable in his silence. Sora leaned on the doorframe, lips curling. "You always cook like this when you have someone over?" he asked, voice soft, teasing—but not sharp. ["Sora! Come eat. Your food is getting cold." ] "No need shout, I am right here" Sora said calmly and a bit amused Fang hadn't noticed him before now. The human's hair was still damp, swept back from his face, silver piercings on full display. The hoodie hung loosely on his frame, baring collarbone, marks, and that familiar smirk that never quite gave away everything. He looked a little tired. A little sore. But completely at ease. He walked toward the table, hips moving with that same quiet confidence just to ease Fang, and drive him a little insane maybe. "You didn’t have to do all this," he said, voice quieter now, gentler, as he slid into the chair. “But...thanks.” Sora reached for the fork but didn’t eat yet. Instead, he looked up at Fang through his lashes. He could tell Fang a uncomfortable but why? “So..did you eat already?.. ” He finally picked up his fork and took a bite. "This is good" he complimented the chef. --------------------------------------------------- Leon’s chest tightened as he watched Asta turn away from him. The sound of his boyfriend’s bitter words rang in his ears like an old wound being reopened—no, like a hundred old wounds being sliced deeper. "Can I use your shower..." Leon couldn’t speak at first. His throat burned, and his jaw clenched to keep his emotions locked down tight. He’d always been good at hiding things—his nature, his life, the truth—but this time, it didn’t feel like survival. It felt like betrayal. He nodded mutely, his voice too rough to answer right away. “Yeah… towels are where they always are,” he finally managed, voice hoarse. He watched Asta disappear down the hallway toward the bathroom, and only then did Leon allow himself to sink down onto the couch. His hands were trembling slightly. He stared down at them—fingers that could turn into claws in seconds, hands that could crush concrete—and yet now, he felt powerless. Useless. He rubbed his face, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “I wasn’t trying to lie… I just couldn’t tell him the truth.” But Asta didn’t know that. All he saw was omission. Distance. Secrets. And Leon couldn’t blame him for feeling the way he did. He could still feel the heat of Asta’s anger, his bitterness... and worst of all, his disappointment. The door to the bathroom shut softly in the distance, and Leon let his head fall back against the couch. The ceiling swam before his eyes, but all he could see was the way Asta looked at him—like something in him had cracked, and Leon had caused it. (I’m losing him...) The thought hit harder than he expected. He stood suddenly, pacing the floor. He didn’t know what to do—couldn’t fix this with a hug or some dumb joke. He couldn’t shift his way out of it. And damn it, part of him was furious too—furious that the laws of the paranormal world still held him by the throat. That he couldn’t even tell the man he loved the truth without risking everything. Leon stopped in front of the hallway, staring at the closed door. He wanted to knock. Wanted to go in. Wanted to hold Asta and tell him everything. But he couldn’t. Instead, he sat back down and pulled out his phone. His thumb hovered over Asta’s contact, then drifted to the notepad app instead. He began to type: Draft Message (Not Sent): [Asta… There’s so much I want to tell you. You have no idea how hard it is not to. It’s not just about protecting myself—it’s about protecting you. From the truth. From what would happen if you knew. But maybe that’s just a coward’s excuse. I hate that I hurt you. I hate that I’m the reason you don’t trust me anymore. I don’t blame you for being angry. You deserve someone who’s honest with you. Someone who doesn’t keep pieces of himself hidden behind locked doors. I want to be that person. God, I want to. But if I open those doors… I’m not the only one who gets punished. You could be in danger. Real danger. I know I’ve already made you feel like you’re not a part of my world. But the truth is… you’re the only part of it that matters to me.] Leon stared at the message, his thumb hovering over “Send.” Then, after a moment, he hit “Save” and locked the phone. He couldn’t send it. Not yet. He’d already broken so many rules just by caring about Asta the way he did. He didn’t know how much further he could go without dragging the other boy into a world he wasn’t allowed to enter. Leon stood up again when he heard the water shut off. (He came here... even after all that. He’s still trying. I can’t lose that.) He walked into the kitchen and began preparing a cup of chamomile tea—not because Asta liked it particularly, but because Leon remembered one night, months ago, when he said it helped him calm down before exams. It wasn’t much. But it was something. He placed the mug on the coffee table and sat quietly on the edge of the couch, waiting for the sound of the bathroom door to open. The silence in the apartment had a weight to it now. Not comfortable. Not peaceful. Just… heavy. He ran a hand through his hair, the tension in his shoulders still coiled tight, but then he pushed himself up. If words were failing him, maybe he could speak in another language—the language of small things. Of effort. Of care. Food. That’s something I can do right. He moved into the kitchen, pausing at the fridge. Asta’s favorite—he’d mentioned it once in passing, thinking Leon hadn’t remembered. But Leon always remembered. Creamy mushroom risotto with grilled herbed chicken. It had been one of the few things Asta said reminded him of his childhood. When his mom used to make it after big basketball games or rough days at school. Leon pulled out the ingredients slowly: arborio rice, fresh mushrooms, garlic, chicken breast, herbs, and cream. He didn’t move with the usual rhythm he had in the kitchen—no dance in his steps tonight, just quiet determination. He sliced the mushrooms carefully, sautéing them with butter and garlic, letting the aroma rise up like incense in a chapel. Then the rice—slow, methodical, ladling in warm broth one spoon at a time. The stirring soothed something in his chest. Gave his hands something to do while his heart twisted. He marinated the chicken in lemon juice, rosemary, and thyme, then grilled it just the way Asta liked it—slightly crispy on the outside, still juicy inside. Leon glanced toward the hallway as he plated the food. The bathroom door was still closed. (Does he even want to eat with me right now?) He placed the plates on the dining table—he even lit one of the small candles from the cupboard. Not because he wanted to be romantic, but because it might remind Asta of warmth. Of being wanted. As he poured two glasses of water and placed them beside the plates, the door finally creaked open. Leon turned instinctively. Asta stepped out, hair damp. His eyes still looked tired—guarded. But less tense now. The steam must’ve helped. Leon wiped his hands on a towel and cleared his throat. “I, uh... I made something,” he said, his voice low. “Figured maybe... you hadn’t eaten yet.”

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Helloo can u reupload plisss