#rip toaster
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alexablissmark Ā· 1 year ago
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darby blows up your toaster
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reader gn <3Ā 
it was late at night, or rather, early in the morning. the sun was just barely coming up, and not even the birds were singing yet. all of a sudden, you hear a loud noise that made you jolt out of bed.Ā 
*BOOM!!!*Ā 
ā€œwhat the-!ā€ you said, as you sat straight up, and reach over for your boyfriend out of instinct.Ā 
except, he wasnā€™t there. instead, you heard obnoxiously loud laughter.Ā 
ā€œugh,ā€ you rolled your eyes.Ā 
of course he would be up to something! but this early already?? you knew you shouldā€™ve trusted your gut when Darby asked if his friends canĀ ā€œcrash on your couchā€ just a few hours ago.Ā 
you threw on some slippers and walked to the back door.Ā 
and there it was. the scene of the murder.Ā 
your beautiful toaster you had used to make countless pieces of perfectly cooked bread. Darby and his friends noticed your arrival. but, you didnā€™t look at them. no, you were too focused on the kitchen appliance that served you so many good lunches, breakfasts, and dinners. now smashed to bits, with smoke all around the air, black soot around it, and the small red firecrackers they stuffed into it.Ā 
thank god you lived in the country.Ā 
Darby came over to you.Ā 
ā€œdonā€™t worry,ā€ he said.Ā ā€œi thought ahead this time!ā€Ā 
ā€œyeah, this time,ā€ you rolled your eyes, and began to walk away.Ā 
ā€œgo look in the kitchen!ā€ he yelled as you stepped in the house.Ā 
and low and behold, a brand new, technologically updated toaster was waiting just for you!Ā 
next to it was a card, it was one of thoseĀ ā€œiā€™m sorryā€ cards.Ā 
it read:Ā ā€œsorry, we got bored. love you! -darbyā€Ā Ā 
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peargreen-jellybean Ā· 3 months ago
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too fuckin long, so sorry about that, but enjoy a 3k word count poolverine hurt/comfort ficlet from the prompt idea i posted
my writing skills suck a bit and i wrote this on my phone but i did my best. enjoy
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Loganā€™s woken up in alleyways, face down, with clothes torn from a brawl he instigated and the glass bottles heā€™d fallen onto. Sometimes, if heā€™s lucky, he wakes up slumped over a table in the back of a bar because the owner was too afraid to tell him to leave.
Afraid of his claws or just his name.
The buzz of alcohol never stays long, even with high proof liquor, but the tiredness of a fucked up life still lingers for awhile more after several bottles of booze.
So waking up exhausted isnā€™t new. It's about the only way heā€™s woken up for a long time.
And thatā€™s what Logan expects, slowly coming back to consciousness.
Exhaustion. Some hard surface. Hopefully most of his clothes intact.
One eye begrudgingly cracks open.
Yup, definitely a little fucked up. His joints ache deep into the bone and his head is cotton-y.
Butā€¦ Nothing feels hard or sharp beneath him. In fact, he feelsā€¦ comfortable.
Huh.
Turning just a bit, he finds his face buried in softness. It smells lived in; skin, spilled food, a hint ofā€¦ gunpowder? And, after a moment, he hears the soft sound of music- too quiet to be bar music but not muffled enough to be from a building he isnā€™t inside of.
Huh.
ā€œMmm.ā€ Using his forearms, Logan props himself up just enough to leave the softness and get a look around him.
Not an alley. Not a bar. Not even a cheap, seedy motel.
A house- er, an apartment more likely. And heā€™s sprawled, a moment ago face down, on top of an old couch with a blanket over him and pillow under him. Neither the couch nor the general space is all that large, heā€™s practically spilling off the furniture, but everything feels warm and lived in. Home-y, if a little messy.
There isnā€™t anyone else here- the living room, a good guess- but noises, once he registers them, coming from an adjacent room says he isnā€™t alone. The soft music seems to filter through from there as well.
Logan flips himself over, a bit too groggy to be elegant about it, and rubs the sleep from his eyes. The feel of gritty grime on his face, more than he usually gets after a night drowning in alcohol, confuses him.
And then-
His head slumps back into the pillow and he groans. ā€œFucking hell.ā€
The TVA. The Time Ripper. The Void.
The red spandex-ed asshole who stole him from his timeline.
ā€¦ Who, after everything, took him home, here, introduced him to his blind roommate- Althea, if he recalls- and offered him a place to stay and sleep for a while. And, vaguely remembering being too tired to shower, who also gave Logan some clothes to sleep in.
Groaning, only half heartedly after remembering the comforts offered and taken, Logan pulls back the blanket and, likey for the first time, actually checks to see what heā€™s wearing.
A gray, ā€œI eat cementā€ T-shirt and blue, rubber duck shorts.
Yeah, that seems about right.
He huffs, but sits up to get his elbows onto his knees and scrub more of the sleep away from his face. Instant regret again. Both he and Wade- battle worn and disgusting- had forgone a shower in favor of just near instantly passing out. He is fucking gross; dirt, blood, and god knows what else covering him in a disgusting layer.
Logan feels a pang of shame for getting onto their couch with this much dirt and sweat coating him- maybe he can wash the blanket and pillowcase as an apology- but a clattering from the room with the music recatches his attention. The volume of whatever song is playing- a woman singing, pleasantly raspy- increases afterward.
Too interested to ignore whateverā€™s going on, Logan gets up to stand- with only a small groan, thank you- and, after a quick, satisfying stretch, slowly pads over to the doorway. Nothing outright sounds or feels dangerous, but from his experience and especially after the past few days, the need for caution canā€™t be shaken.
He must still not be fully awake, because the smell hits him only a few creeping steps from the doorway; pepper, eggs, something a bit burnt.
Food.
God, he didnā€™t realize how hungry he was until now. Even the burning smell is appetizing.
Popping his head in, the sight inside startles him awake completely.
With ā€œI <3 hot dadsā€ shorts, a red apron, and fucking crocs on his feet, Wade shifts around in front of the kitchen counter, swaying to the song he has playing from a radio somewhere. The place is a complete mess of egg shells and plates, but the table has a, rather large, plate of scrambled eggs, another plate of half burnt toast, and an assortment of other breakfast items. The smell of coffee also hangs in the air. And for the first time, maybe since knowing the man- and when he wasnā€™t unconscious- Wade is happily content not saying a word. He simply turns a toaster, with a fucking butter knife stuck into it, this way and that, and shakes it like he wants information from it.
Itā€™s jarringly warm, and domestic.
Logan is again thrown for a moment.
When was the last time he woke up to clean clothes- even though he himself is gross as hell- the softness of a pillow, to the smell and sight of another person cooking breakfast in a kitchen?
Ever?
That sounds pathetically sad and incorrect, but in the doorway, watching it happen in real time, Logan feels lost and a bit raw.
Lucky for him though, Wade is still an annoying fuck and pulls him from his thoughts.
Like he sensed the presence of the other man half lingering in the doorway, Wade looks back at him and smiles wide. All bright teeth. No mask.
ā€œWell, good morning Peanut! Did ya sleep well? I don't know about you but I think being torn apart and put back together finally got rid of the knot in my back. God, I slept like Al after she goes through waaay too many little baggies.ā€ He motions over to the table with his chin. ā€œI made some eggs and toast if you want. A true triumphant heroesā€™ breakfast! Hopefully you like them both a bit overdone. And thereā€™s a pot of coffee over there.ā€ He gestures to a machine on the counter now. ā€œYou can literally just drink from the pot if you want. Caffeine does not work on me, funnily enough. We donā€™t have creamer but thereā€™s milk in the fridge and sugar next to the coffee makerā€¦ā€
Wade goes on to babble about everything and nothing and, while Logan cannot count the number of times heā€™s wanted to stab the man for not shutting up, he canā€™t find the want to be actually irritated.
Not in the face of food, and coffee, and justā€¦ comfort.
Speaking ofā€¦
Logan clears the lump in his throat. ā€œThanks.ā€ Itā€™s all he can think to say, but he means it, even with the rough rumble of his morning voice.
Which Wade seems to find fascinating.
ā€œHoly shit! How the fuck does your voice get even deeper? God, you would make a killing as a erotic audio book reader. Millions probably.ā€ Wade flashes a flirtatious look before he turns back to the toaster and continues to mumble to himself, or perhaps the broken machine.
Logan huffs, but the call of coffee is stronger than his need for a comeback. The whole pot is grabbed per the offer, the sugar too, and now standing in front of the table he finds himself hesitating. No spots are occupied and nothing says ā€˜preferred seatā€™, but Logan canā€™t help but pause. ā€˜Make yourself at homeā€™ feels like the unsaid, unfamiliar offer he canā€™t accept as easily as the coffee.
It feels too easy- another pathetic thought- and he canā€™t help but feel like he isnā€™t awake yet, and the reality of a cold, pavement bed will greet him if he gets too comfortableā€¦
ā€œStupid fucking piece of metal crap!ā€ Wade hisses, followed by the sound of the knife stabbing into the toaster.
Nope, probably not a dream. Logan is not a creative enough person to come up with something like this.
God, so justā€¦ sit, you fucking moron.
Picking a chair facing away from the toaster killer, Logan sets the coffee pot down- on a mat he also picked up, he isnā€™t an asshole- and settles in.
He feels awkward, like a kid at his first sleepover, but the eggs are there in front of him and his stomach is starting to growl. Awkwardness can wait until after a few bites, at least. Thereā€™s a lack of something important on the table though. After a quick glance around the plates and cups, and not finding anything, he looks over to Wade who seems to be completely brawling with the toaster now.
Wincing at the sight, and before he can rethink his decision, Logan clears the remaining sleep from his throat and uses that to draw the other manā€™s attention.
ā€œDo uh, do you got a fork or somethinā€™?ā€
ā€œAh fuck, thatā€™s what I forgot!ā€ Wade sets, or slams really, the toaster down and moves over to a drawer, then rooting through it. ā€œDidnā€™t run the dishwasher either and all the good forks are in it. Fuckā€¦ā€ He mumbles something else too, but lets out a triumphant ā€˜ha!ā€™ when he pulls out two forks, one a little more bent than the other.
He skips, almost, over to Logan and presents the utensils. ā€œHere you go Peanut, pick your favorite!ā€
Grabbing the more bent fork, Logan nods a silent thanks and begins slowly transferring eggs from the larger plate to one of the smaller, empty ones. Wade, satisfied with the choice, simply sets the other fork onto the table and goes back to the counter, and that damn toaster.
But before brawling again, he calls back, ā€œHelp yourself to as much as you want Babygirl! You deserve it for all your sexy hero work!ā€
Logan huffs again but grabs one of the toasterā€™s victims, once heā€™s gotten a fair amount of egg, and takes a bite of the slightly over cooked toast and justā€¦ enjoys.
The moment is prettyā€¦ nice.
Warm food. Morning sun from the window- god, he doesnā€™t even know that time it is. Wade isnā€™t quiet, hardly ever is, but heā€™s not overly inane or loud right now.
Itā€™s allā€¦ good.
Soā€¦ What does it?
An old memory, like deja vu, from another place and time with other people? The still lingering, ghostly sensation of his own body shredding and healing, just below his skin? Wade grumbling at the counter over the broken toaster, like a strange picture of domestic living?
It could be anything, everything.
But all he knows is that itā€™s twisting into something else. Something darker, and sharper, and cold.
Logan starts to tremble in his seat and the fork in his hand damn near snaps in his grip. The bite of food in his mouth tastes like blood- no, it is blood. Heā€™s bitten into his tongue. His heart is racing, and something is tight in his chest, too tight and still tightening. Crushing.
Air isnā€™t breathable. His lungs wonā€™t let it in.
Whatever stupid song is playing now is muffled by a white hot pulsing between his ears.
ā€¦ He knows this.
Panic.
This is panic.
Of all the times to break, after days of one problem after another, pain after pain, this is when it happens? Now? While heā€™s sitting in Wade fucking Wilsonā€™s kitchen, wearing his worn-soft clothes and eating at his table and listening to some soft song on the radio?
Yes, it is.
Pathetic.
Fucking pathetic.
He canā€™t focus anywhere anymore- itā€™s too much, too overwhelming, too fucking stupid to reason with- and burning nausea is creeping up his throat.
Heā€™s spiraling. Heā€™s breaking. And he canā€™t find the fight to beat himself out of it.
Perhaps thatā€™s the reason he doesnā€™t hear the increasingly desperate ā€˜Logan?ā€™s behind him or the quick footsteps moving towards the table.
He does startle, however, at a sudden touch to the side of his skull, making him gasp.
His claws gouge the surface of the table and knock over a half-filled water cup but, remarkably, they donā€™t thrust into the sudden presence pressing to his side.
It takes a good minute to process the situation, much slower than it usually takes him. But he feels the warmth of another person and the pressure of a hand on his head and his head is bent at an odd angle-
Wade, his mind breathes. This is his scent- gunpowder, spandex, and his own strange, unique smell. The touch to the back of his skull is his hand and the press to his cheek is the exposed skin below his shirt.
Heā€™s cuddling him.
Uh-
And because itā€™s what he does best, Logan rages.
ā€œThe fuck are you doing?!ā€ Logan snaps, and he yanks his head back from the other manā€™s grasp. Or, at least, he tries to.
ā€œEeeasy Peanut,ā€ Wade hushes, not relinquishing Loganā€™s head. It's easy to forget the teasing, ridiculous man is incredibly strong. The battle lasts all of two seconds, and Wadeā€™s stubbornness takes the victory. Loganā€™s cheek presses back to his hip and stays there under the weight of his hand.
ā€œEasy, easy, easyā€¦ā€ Wade mumbles. He hesitates, only for a moment. ā€œVanessa did thisā€¦ when shit got really bad.ā€
Heā€™s quiet. He doesnā€™t elaborate. He doesnā€™t have to. The meaning and weight of the softly spoken words are enough.
Thereā€™s a growl starting to rumble in his chest and while he wants to fight against Wade harder- he doesnā€™t need sentimental crap or, god forbid, pity- Logan takes a breath just long enough to pause here in the moment, and letā€™s himself feel.
Wadeā€™s hand is cradling his skull and his fingers are threaded through his hair. The weight of them is firm, but not crushing. No, theyā€™re gentle. And they press his cheek and temple into Wadeā€™s side, where the dip of his waist is. Even at the odd angle his neck is bent to, the shape of the dip fits to his face near perfectly and, if obliged to stay here, he would be comfortable. Wadeā€™s body heat- much like his own, running high due to constant cellular regeneration- seeps into him. Into his skin, and then his flesh, and then his bones, settling deep into his chest.
All of it, itā€¦ helps.
The revelation startles Logan.
The weight and solidness of Wade is grounding; constant, steady pressure. His warmth slowly relaxes the painful tightness behind Loganā€™s ribs. Even his smell- showered now, likely before he started cooking, still strange but not unbearable- settles his mind just because itā€™s there.
Wadeā€¦ is anchoring him.
Maybe he really should fight this harder, or be annoyed at the coddling, or pissed just because heā€™s being handled at all, but Logan canā€™t keep a grip on any of the feelings. He canā€™t stop the calm that pulls him in and brings him down. Itā€™s so- Heā€™s feels so-
ā€¦
ā€¦ When was the last time he was held?
Not fucked by nameless faces, or hanging on to another person for dear life, or punch near through the stomach- Held.
Was it before- God does it hurt.
ā€¦ Was it before, when he had his fellow mutant friends and family? Before that?
After?ā€¦ Definitely not.
Warmth, gentleness, nothing of the kind was what he deserved afterwards. He could never reward himself with something he never showed, and no one offered it to him regardless.
Logan shudders, his breath likely teasing Wadeā€™s skin but, if the other man feels it, he blissfully leaves the fact be.
Wade- warm, solid, annoying as hell Wade- who breaks his train of thought, unaware of it. ā€œBetter right? When Vanessa first did this, waaay back in the storyline, I fucking melted like a kidā€™s ice cream. Itā€™s like the guilty, trauma victimā€™s morphine.ā€ He pauses, and thereā€™s a grin to his words now. ā€œI also ate her out that first time, but we can wait to do that until the second mental breakdown session, Babygirl.ā€
Yup. There it is. Asshole.
But Logan just, non-committedly hums, although it's more of a grumble. Yeah, Wade will probably be insufferable after this, smug and a whole new level of too comfortable touching him, but right now, right here, heā€™s calming.
Heā€™s- something Logan canā€™t quite name. Or at least, heā€™s unwilling to.
Call Logan weak, call him pathetic- because he truthfully is, just below the storm in his skin- and like hell does he actually deserve this, but heā€™s gonna savor it for as long as he possibly can.
Seconds pass, or maybe hours, and the gentle massage of Wadeā€™s fingertips to his scalp continues during it before his hand slides away from Loganā€™s hair onto his shoulder.
The loss of that contact against his head is disappointing-a private thought- but when Wade shifts like heā€™s about to move away the disappointment quickly morphs into panic.
He isnā€™t ready to let go.
He isnā€™t ready for Wade to leave.
With pure, unthinking action, Logan latches onto the fabric of Wadeā€™s shorts just below the hip he isnā€™t leaning against. He fists the material into a ball, like heā€™s afraid the other man will just disappear if he doesnā€™t hold tight enough.
Like he really is going to wake up, and be alone again with only the memory of coffee and warmth.
Embarrassment quickly reddens his face once he understands what heā€™s done but, instead of releasing Wade, Logan turns his face into his hip to hide. Clenching his eyes shut for extra precaution.
Weak. Pathetic.
Wade is quiet, his hand hovering above Loganā€™s shoulder after it was started off but, just as Logan is about to relinquish his hold of the man- he can't bear the unnerving stillness of him- Wade surprises him again.
Quick but gentle, Wade cups the back of Loganā€™s head and neck, turns ever so slightly to the side, and presses Loganā€™s forehead to the cushion of his stomach. And just lets the other man stay against him, as he rubs his head and shoulders.
Logan cries a small sound heā€™s never heard himself make before- something wounded, and relieved, and ragged- but he canā€™t be bothered to care. Not right now. He releases his death hold on Wadeā€™s shorts and wraps his arms around the other manā€™s thighs, as flush against him as he can be in their current positions. His hold might be too tight, edging on painful most likely, but Wade doesnā€™t complain. Doesnā€™t do anything except thisā€¦ hold him.
Thank you, thank you, thank youā€¦
ļæ½ļæ½Of course, big guy. Whatever you need.ā€
Ah, he said that out loud.
ā€¦ Heā€™ll care about that later. Logan will be pissed, and embarrassed, and in denial at some point, but itā€™ll all be later. When Wade isnā€™t cradling him or murmuring soft words. When he isnā€™t cooking warm food or listening to music on the radio.
When he isnā€™t making him feel like, for the first time in a long time, heā€™s allowed to have kindness.
Fuckingā€¦ Wade.
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marshbevvie Ā· 20 days ago
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RIP Richy Tozierre
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Here is a photo of his tragic death. Truly we are all mourning. We miss you @richie-trashmouth-tozier or @richies-funky-shirts (YES I FOUND YOUR ALT RICHIE)
1 like=we try to revive him šŸ„€ ā¤ļø
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phantomrose96 Ā· 1 year ago
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I was at the grocery store yesterday (in the rain) attempting to tetris all my groceries into my bike saddle bags (I folded my french bread in half, wet) at the bike rack right near the entrance/exit of the store. I heard a woman standing at the exit (just out of the rain) ask a man who was leaving if she could please borrow one of his plastic bags (the green produce kind) to put on her head because she forgot an umbrella. And he did, and I looked up in time to see her putting the green plastic bag on like a sleep cap ("I paid too much for this hair" she said) and I told her it was an excellent look (me very wet). It was a good day for grocery shopping.
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drawfee-quot3s Ā· 8 months ago
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i've seen a toaster on a table . in my life
- nathan
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fuzzyoctoplushie Ā· 8 months ago
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My toaster oven broke while I was trying to make breadsticks
Now I canā€™t eat my breadsticks cause they may have glass in them :(
RIP random ass toaster oven- I never learned how to fully use it
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shadowspirez Ā· 7 months ago
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a friend said i should repost this (very) old squip art for pride month, soooo... :3c
HAPPY PRIDE!! YAYAYAYAY! <3
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hms-incorrect-quotes Ā· 11 months ago
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(Heart in a trebuchet)
Soul: Hey Mind, wanna watch me test my new trebuchet?
Mind: Isnā€™t this more of a catapult?
Soul: ā€¦šŸ™‚šŸ™ƒ
(Heart & Mind in a ā€œtrebuchetā€)
ā€Ž
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ironicmemeing Ā· 1 year ago
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"Powered by ai" "ai powered technology" how about you get powered by some bitches. Huh?. Shut , up
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yourlocaltoad Ā· 11 months ago
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Assets used for the Villain's Vehicle Blueprints (skylanders superchargers, 2015)
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thedubiouspeach Ā· 2 years ago
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Fushiguro: Alright, I'm off to school.
Gojo: Wait! Pictures first!
Fushiguro: No thanks.
Gojo: But it's your first day! How else am I gonna embarrass you when you're older?
Fushiguro: I said no, Da--
Gojo: owo?
Fushiguro: ā€¦ Gojo: You, uh, gonna finish that statement? Fushiguro: Nope. Bye. Gojo: D:
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makaplushfanclub Ā· 1 year ago
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My best beyblade edit ever
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dotuvoidsynth Ā· 1 year ago
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i still think about the fact that henry canonically jumps in his seat when he hears the fucking. toasters. doing toaster thingys. like yea you're just like me fr i diagnose you with silly guy sindrome (autism)
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oimoi-op Ā· 2 years ago
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Oh look I have a new niece!!!!
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bonetrousled Ā· 2 years ago
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one of my favorite kevinfacts is that heā€™s absolutely dumb as rocks when it comes to like. how shopping works or computers and the like however if you need a perfect attack strategy heā€™ll spew one out with the immediacy of an off the cuff joke. he hisses at the microwave but he can make a flawless phalanx formation in mere seconds
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hermes-stole-my-sandal Ā· 8 months ago
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Damn. You're right, I was projecting all my insecurities about robo fucking, ill make my youtube apology video shortly šŸ˜”
i think we can all agree it's a bit of a missed opportunity electronics don't have a "milk socket" you could plug some sort of milk battery into, which would slowly disperse milk into the body of the machine, possibly ruining it.
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