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this collection of works is for entertainment purposes only. do not attempt anything mentioned in this work without contacting a qualified professional.

this collection of works is inspired by the character sup3rqu33n and the life/canon of the character. while many elements may be inspired by real experiences, many narratives have also been altered, exaggerated, or fabricated for artistic license, comedic impact, and entertainment purposes. narratives presented may have been true, may have been exaggerated, may have been composited, fabricated, or otherwise altered; names, locations, and times are often changed to protect others' privacy. the sup3rqu33n universe and inhabitants therein may or may not correspond to actual events or people. some elements are drawn from real experiences. some are not. this work combines elements of truth, exaggeration, and fabrication. it is not guaranteed to be complete, accurate, reliable, or suitable for all audiences. the images included are authentic photographs, artistic creations, drawings, generated art, or real pics with identifying details blurred or changed. these images may or may not correspond to real people, places, or events.

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Tarot: Wheel of Fortune

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tarot card: the wheel of fortune -- cycles, change, acceptance. phyl’s “bunniversary” (not “gotcha day,” which i hate) is new year’s eve. i celebrate it because it’s special to us. her mullet haircut from summer has grown back. she’ll need another one soon. we’ve accepted the cycle.  i’ll snip slow and uneven again. she won’t care. punk rock girls don’t give a fuck. she’s got a mullet. she can see. life goes on. spritzing on my high-quality perfumes, especially lush, which gets good reactions. jessica’s anxiety is hitting hard, and i can feel the emotional weight it puts on her. not that i can fix it, buuutttttt i notice. tramp from lush… i miss it. smells like bitter herbs, and a forest floor -- tis a perfect distraction.
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💾 the dirty qwerty, #006: suit up, slut up, slur up, then shut up.

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💾 the dirty qwerty, #006 suit up, slut up, slur up, then shut up. 🩸 “slut” → “suit” “slur” → “suit” “shit” → “suit” 🧠 keyboard logic: • l → u: side-eyeable neighbors • u → u: no notes • t → i → r: we’re getting loose, but we’ve seen worse • h → u: ok but WHY • r → i: this one feels personal • i → i: thx guy • s → s: yasssss look. it’s being auto-puritan. you’re mid-text, dropping a “what a dumb slur,” or “she was slutty and proud,” or just plain old “shit,” and suddenly autocorrect says: “dearie… don’t you mean suit?” and listen: i’m not shaming suits. i own one. but i am shaming the part of the code that keeps hijacking the language of pain, power, and poop… and redressing it in department store politeness. slut-shaming? slur-erasing? shit-washing yeah. it’s all the same glitch. m’phone is trying to censor my mess. but mess is where truth lives. this episode was brought to you by the letter S — for slut, slur, shit, motherfuckin snakes on a motherfucking plane, but not suit today. ...
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Assblasting Festival

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From the Franiverse Wiki, the sacred source of lore and gastric terror. The Assblasting Festival is a core Franiverse blood orgy -- an official holiday. Celebrated annually by mortals, vampires, and Sims-based lifeforms, it is a metaphysical shitshow of digestive depravity. As one of the highest holy blood orgies, it’s a sacred, cursed, and utterly pooptacular event rooted in mass trauma and a metric fuckton of emotional gluten. Think Thanksgiving, but everyone’s dead, and the turkey is alive. The festival originated when Thorne accidentally served a cursed casserole laced with tainted plasma fruit. This infamous dish -- Gelatinous Soul Ambrosia Casserole -- was crafted from expired Makkabakka meats, ghost tears, and litterbox scraps. The result? Mass toilet casualties, soul docking (don’t let the casserole dock souls), and explosive bathroom Jackson Pollocks -- but not smelling like one. 🔪 The Grand Meal (The Last Slaughter) Participants consume spoiled or cursed food, triggerin...
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the big bad wolf’s growl…

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moonmoon fanfic 😂 his growl wasn't just sound; it was a primal language resonating with presence, connection, and a raw, undeniable desire. she felt it instantly – a supernatural vibration that bypassed her impenetrable mind and spoke directly to her body. it was seductive, possessive, a silken assertion of his claim: i am here. i see you. i want you. he buried his face in her neck, inhaling the intoxicating blend of vanilla and jasmine clinging to her skin. the growl deepened, a low tremor that vibrated through her. the heat of his body pulsed against hers, his muscles rippling subtly under the soft fabric beneath her fingertips as she drew her arms around him. safety and desire melted into a delicious pool of fire within her, leaving her breathless… gasping for more… never enough. his exploration was animalistic in its intensity… a thorough, sensual investigation. he savored her scent, the feel of her skin, the very essence of her being. her ethereal sighs mingled with his...
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