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#ok to rb I guess lmao
catgirlwarrior · 3 months
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Only in America do they use a gun to stab you. Happy Ides of March everyone!
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munku-collar · 1 year
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does it ever driveeeee you crazyyyy
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just how fassst the nighttt changessss 
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fatcowboys · 5 months
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poll for my dimension 20 fans okay. obviously i cant include every season as an option so pls use tags for other answers and details BUT....
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torchickentacos · 5 months
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girl help i've been hit with the twentysomething curse of wanting to move to a city where nobody knows my name and where I get to feel and see and be something new✌️
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club-prideguin · 2 months
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happy tdov.
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dolltwink · 1 year
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My tax dollars are being used to find dead millionaires who payed $250,000 dollars to get on a death cruise so they could brag to their friends.
I make minimum wage.
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revvywevvy · 1 year
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:-)
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howldean · 7 months
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and now, a reading from the winchester gospels
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candied-peach · 1 year
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ao3: “ain’t as bad as it seems” rating: T warnings: platonic dukexiety, age regression, crying, internalized ableism, chronic pain genre: hurt/comfort description: Virgil has Feelings about his new mobility aid.
Virgil eyes his new rollator hesitantly, chewing on his bottom lip. It looks okay. The frame is purple, just like he wanted. It isn't going to bite him if he sits down. And god, does he want to. His lower back is absolutely killing him. He could go and sit down in his office chair or a kitchen chair or the couch. But his rollator is right there. Fitted for him and everything, the guy just left after making sure it worked for him and he knew who to call if it broke. He can just...sit down. At any time.
He bursts into silent tears instead. He should clutch the handles, should sit down, should do something because it's not good for his pain levels to just stand, but his mind is rapidly going fuzzier and fuzzier and he just wants his squid.
As if he summoned Remus, he hears a key in the front door and Remus's cheerful voice announcing his presence. Virgil hiccups, rocking back and forth, his arms wrapped around his middle. He's unsteady on his feet, but he still doesn't know what to do. He's glad he has the new rollator. It should make getting out a lot easier.
But people might point and stare and laugh and jeer because he's so young to need a rollator of all things, and it's not like horrific back pain and arthritis actually show easily. Maybe his feet, he does walk on the outsides of them a lot, but it's not like most people just look at your feet. So he doesn't even look like he needs it and-
"Whoa there, scare bear," Remus says, interrupting his downward spiral. His green eyes are surprisingly serious as he bends down a little to stare Virgil in the eyes. Virgil stares back, vision blurry with the tears still dripping down reddened cheeks. "What's wrong?"
Virgil points at his new rollator. Remus inspects it.
"Is it the wrong color?" Remus asks. Virgil shakes his head. "Does it not fit right?" Remus's next question. Virgil shakes his head again. He had to sit in it for the guy from the mobility aid company. It fits okay. He can sit down.
"So what's the problem, little bat?" Remus questions. Virgil's voice wobbles as he explains.
"Means it's real."
"Oh," Remus says, and his whole face softens. "Oh, storm cloud, I'm sorry."
"An'- an' what if people laugh," Virgil continues, his face crumpling as Remus carefully draws him into his arms.
"Then I'll throw them in a river," Remus promises, startling a little watery laugh free.
"Okay," Virgil agrees, readily enough, as he sniffles.
"You look like you're in pain, Virge," Remus continues, his face getting a little serious. "Do you need to sit down? It doesn't have to be the rollator. I can carry you, if you want. Or help you to a different chair. It's all in your bat wings."
Virgil giggles at that, studying the rollator. It's just there. Just a mobility aid. He can decorate it with some stickers later if he wants.
"I can sit down there," he says, a little hesitantly, as he wriggles free and sits down in the rollator, making sure the brakes are on. His back instantly feels a little better, and his feet hurt a little less.
It's not so bad after all.
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timephase · 2 months
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I'd send sappy love letters to Euphrasie's office too. I'd make poems, I'd make love songs. I'd sigh dreamily whenever she passes by and combust on the spot when she holds my hands. I'd invite her to read together with me. While she's focusing on the book, I'd steal glances at her. Why would I read something fictional as means of catharsis when the real thing in front of me is enough to make my heart goes haywire
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cherry-shipping · 9 months
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ermmmmm.........SOMETHING LAME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i dunno. i just wanted to b comforted 4 once LAWL
THIS IS SELFSHIP ART NOT FUCKING FR*NS STOP SHIPPING PEDOPHILIA AND LEAVE ME ALONE FOREVER
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raazberry · 3 months
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i think it's beautiful how different everyone is and how we can all work together in our own little ways to help each other out but the fact that it's so easy to feel ashamed of your own difference makes me so sad
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mxwhore · 2 years
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should i tell my very selfish and stubborn father the many ways he has hurt me these past few months in the hopes that he'll apologize and change his behavior or should i do something productive instead?
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tymorrowland · 1 year
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i just wanna be told i’m a good boy 🥺
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goodnightwindy · 9 months
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ive never drawn lightning in my life but i have never felt so suddenly compelled to draw something than i did when i thought of this idea
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cedarspiced · 1 year
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from the minute we are born, it seems like our humanity is slowly stripped from us. children are human only until it becomes an inconvenience to their parent; then, they are merely a problem that will be dealt with in ways that communicate to the child that their wants and needs don't matter; or are, at the very least, lesser than those in power. it is evident the exent of the damage this repeated mistreatment does to our psyche -- especially at such a crucial point in our emotional development. by the time we are grown, we have become merely a shell of the true, vibrant human we could have been.
i wonder at what could be accomplished if only we were not trapped in this seemingly unending cycle of psychological vampirism.
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