Plus the kit shows signs that he has some type of relationship with Joe. That they are more than friends.
tbf we know they’re not in one, as of now, bt definitely feel like kit does show signs that he’s interested in joe (personal opinion, dont mind me if you disagree)
edit: hehe if you’re comfortable to come off anon please do!!!!!
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you want to be a therapist but your too mentally ill itll never work
……I’m gonna be honest I have never met a therapist that wasn’t severely mentally ill.
It’s important that therapist’s understand how deep the pain of mental illness can go
Very weird ask to send hope you have an average day
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realizing that I am practically older than most of my mutuals, which makes me their auntie
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there is 934 fics under the bartylus tag - 343 of it is Jegulus and 592 if you exclude that tag from it.
I'll continue to emphasize if Bartylus is only in a fic for 5% of your 95% jegulus fic (or rosekiller fic) maybe just maybe you should tag them in the additional tags <3 not in the main tags if they aren't even in the story. so we could maybe stop clogging up the bartylus tag 🥰 just a thought.
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SPICY ART UNDER CUT - UNDER 18s DNI
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Maybe you asked too many times, maybe he was just in a particular mood, but you asked him again to see him without the bandana.
Now you're slung over his lap, his bandana wrapped around your eyes, your hands gripping tightly to his plastoid boots as he turns you into an absolute mess with those beautiful dextrous hands of his.
And it's an absolute kriffing shame, because you can't see how wonderfully tousled his hair has gotten as he watches you become undone under his touch.
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LAST WARNING! SPICY ART UNDER CUT - UNDER 18s DNI
ahAhHAhaaa... this took so long im so sorry but i got a fancy new pen display tablet and it jsut kept getting more and more detailed- i don't normally do backgrounds man :'3
@moodymisty because i know you're gonna wanna see this
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the way you draw mario.exe is sooo 😳👉👈 /pos!!!!
FJDKAS;FL thanks! XD it was mainly because of my moots, i drew Mario.exe this way XD i might draw him again someday
don't know when tho, but hopefully when i'm not too busy
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i'm busy, i'm with this person, i'm with that person, i don't have time, blah blah blah. that was the only type of responses you got from your best friend, seonghwa. well, ex-best friend sounds better in this scenario.
ever since he's met that new group of boys, you practically disappeared from his life. isn't it crazy how a lifetime of friendship can vanish in a span of one day? isn't it crazy how replaceable you are?
you stare at your phone, specifically at the post of seonghwa and his friends out watching a new movie. your bottom lip quivered, it was even your birthday today, but of course, it didn't matter anymore.
your eyes watered as the oven dings. you sniffled and fanned your eyes before taking the small cake out of the oven, you smiled and poured the batch of icing on top of it, smearing the vanilla over the cake, covering every nook and cranny, just like how seonghwa did to you.
he covered your heart and filled it to the brim. he cared and was like a brother to you, always there when you needed and you did the same. the word 'hate' couldn't express the overwhelming feeling you had towards his new friends, the ones that took him away from you.
tears fell from your eyes as you lit the singular candle on the cake, not even placed in the centre as you mumbled the birthday song before blowing out the candle.
liar. that's what seonghwa is; a liar. he lied about your friendship, about being there for you, about putting you first, he lied. you yanked at your hair and screamed, kicking down the table. it crashed down with the plate of your birthday cake.
you cried as you swiped everything from the counters onto the ground, kicking and punching anything and everything, breaking anything you could get your hands on.
your knuckles bled as you punched the wall, so pained by being betrayed, betrayed by your friend, your brother, someone whom you loved. if he acts like this, he would be no different from your parents who left you at a godforsaken age.
you took a deep breath as you grabbed a knife and sliced into the squashed cake, tears dripping onto the pink icing, gross. cutting out a slice, you placed it onto the quarterly broken plate and cut it vertically with the knife.
sitting on the couch, you put a random tv show on as you scooped up the cut-up slice of cake with the knife before placing it into your mouth. continuously stabbing the cake like how seonghwa had stabbed your heart.
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Reading For I'm In Your Walls
It’s not a place, exactly, but the best way I can describe it is still: once I found myself in another place. And when, later, certain other things happened, that place returned to me, and I found to my surprise that it was familiar. I’d expected to go somewhere, but I thought it would be an undiscovered country, and it wasn’t. I’d been in this room before.
0.
It’s a different place, but it’s not a different location. Maybe a better way to put it would be that you suddenly perceive new aspects of the place you start from. Imagine if you were a carpenter ant chewing through a portion of wall and one day, briefly, you could see the whole house. Or smell it, with your antennae. It wouldn’t seem like your home. It wouldn’t feel like somewhere you completely recognized.
But it does seem like my home. That’s the part that I think is unusual. It feels like I’m actually supposed to be there. It feels like I was born in it, but someone threw something over me— like a bandage over a hole in the skin, like a plastic cup over an ant— and I forgot. But maybe I’m wrong about that, maybe everyone feels/would feel exactly as I do. When I’m not there, I kind of wish I was. It’s hard to remember, moreso as time passes between visits. The parts that are great and the smaller parts. The parts that hurt. It’s hard to remember exactly what it feels like and how it’s different— but it is different! It’s hard to remember what you can see through the windows of that room.
I.
Like how many things are made of paper and smoke; they look solid, but you can push through them with a thought. Paper walls don’t have to contain you. The difference between you and an ant is not very much (zoom in) is everything (zoom in again) is nonsense; there are just shapes and pieces of material (zoom out) is ordinary and vast. You can hold her in your hand and you’ll never know each other, but you’ll know she’s there.
XXI.
The difference between you and a house is that houses were built to serve you. Similarities: good bones, weeping, black mold. The joy of inhabitants. You, the dream of so many cells, so many bacteria. The culmination of so many thoughts inside your brain, which you know looks and feels like clay. A clay city of ghosts. A maze of many rooms. A million tiny yous looking back through the windows, and then other things behind them (it’s not just solipsism). Other things like quick flashes of lightning, patterns.
X.
It’s hard to remember any of that. Yeah, it’s like trying to smell the air off the Ionian Sea by looking at old vacation photos. That specific quality of the air, not your general impression of what it was like, synthesized later. The air as you breathed it in the moment, in that specific place, at a specific time.
Only the place and time I’m talking about may be reachable, may come back, may be called.
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