When a hoe does not want to leave ur bed (or an annoying douchebag, etc) and you're busy or sumthing you get consent from botha there parents and then ask them to go under the bedsheets with ya.' However instead of proposing to them you stick your middle finger up your ass and flip them the bird and watch them run away from your "Black Lightsaber."Works like a charm it does. However if they manage to work around the black lightsaber then you gotta propose later that night, because holy moly thats a keeper. Luv.'
Person 1: Aye yo i had a rough night last night i was dealing with a sexual partner dat' did'nt wanna' l eave my pad and so sorry im late.
Person 2: Aye yo you shoulda given them dat "black lightsaber!"
Person 1 and Person 2 roll on the floor and laugh their asses off
Person 2: Aye yo you shoulda given them dat "black lightsaber!"
Person 1 and Person 2 roll on the floor and laugh their asses off
by MicNOTMac January 11, 2023
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Get the Black Volcano mug.This is a account from the book of the Wulfecks where they have stored their family hostory, the story is labeled The Blood Debt and is from 1813.
Deep in the Black Forest, the Wulfecks gathered under the iron chandelier, each sibling radiating venom. The Drakwyn clan demanded blood—a Wulfeck life to repay an ancient betrayal.
“Let’s give them Orin,” Thessira sneered, her dagger gouging the oak table. “He crawled back here like the worm he is. Let him squirm for them instead.”
“Charming,” Orin drawled, flipping a tarnished coin. “If wit could kill, you’d still be harmless.”
Valken slammed his fist into the table. “Enough! This isn’t about grudges. It’s survival.”
Calessa swirled her wine, a smirk curling her lips. “Weakest link, then. Any objections?”
“Besides you?” Orin quipped. Thessira’s dagger flew, embedding inches from his hand. He laughed darkly. “Relax, dear sister. I have a solution—a spell to make a doppelgänger. The Drakwyns get their life, and we stay whole.”
“What’s the catch?” Calessa’s voice dripped with disdain.
“It needs a willing sacrifice,” Orin hissed. “One life for all. Fair trade.”
Silence. Firelight flickered over their murderous glares. Valken’s knuckles whitened. “We don’t sacrifice our own.”
Calessa chuckled coldly. “How noble. Let’s see how long that lasts.”
The tension thickened, their hatred palpable. The blood debt loomed, and the Wulfecks stared each other down, venom and curses dripping with every breath.
Deep in the Black Forest, the Wulfecks gathered under the iron chandelier, each sibling radiating venom. The Drakwyn clan demanded blood—a Wulfeck life to repay an ancient betrayal.
“Let’s give them Orin,” Thessira sneered, her dagger gouging the oak table. “He crawled back here like the worm he is. Let him squirm for them instead.”
“Charming,” Orin drawled, flipping a tarnished coin. “If wit could kill, you’d still be harmless.”
Valken slammed his fist into the table. “Enough! This isn’t about grudges. It’s survival.”
Calessa swirled her wine, a smirk curling her lips. “Weakest link, then. Any objections?”
“Besides you?” Orin quipped. Thessira’s dagger flew, embedding inches from his hand. He laughed darkly. “Relax, dear sister. I have a solution—a spell to make a doppelgänger. The Drakwyns get their life, and we stay whole.”
“What’s the catch?” Calessa’s voice dripped with disdain.
“It needs a willing sacrifice,” Orin hissed. “One life for all. Fair trade.”
Silence. Firelight flickered over their murderous glares. Valken’s knuckles whitened. “We don’t sacrifice our own.”
Calessa chuckled coldly. “How noble. Let’s see how long that lasts.”
The tension thickened, their hatred palpable. The blood debt loomed, and the Wulfecks stared each other down, venom and curses dripping with every breath.
by Wulfeck Son November 26, 2024
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