#will maybe do another piece
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quixoatic · 2 years ago
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boomer tries colouring for the first time and shits tears
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hinamie · 2 months ago
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mentor
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shima-draws · 7 months ago
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Huh...wonder what he's thinkin about...
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devicecontact · 1 month ago
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Do you want sloppy iPad baby sitting render
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sorunort · 3 months ago
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(You are bound to the Universe's will the same way the moon is bound to this planet, the same way the planet is bound to the sun, the same way a puppet is bound it's strings!!!!!!)
top ten pieces of dialogue ive screencapped because of how normal it is and how normal it made me feel
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buwheal · 2 months ago
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Mr. Spamton, have you ever tried sewing before? The patterns some people draft up are bamboozling to the mind, for sure...
-Silly woman who tried, but only managed to stitch together lopsided "pillows" from t-shirts and stuff them with cotton balls
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steveyockey · 2 years ago
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Once you start looking, you see queer presentism everywhere. It pops up when politicians espouse our “unprecedented” ability to love who we love, and when recent book bans are said to “roll back the clock” on LGBTQ+ rights, implying that clocks tick continually toward progress. It manifests in Oscar Wilde hagiography, which elevates him to the status of singular queer martyr and extrapolates an epochal paradigm from his 1895 trials. It seeps into our everyday speech, in our references to “forbidden love” and our use of the term “Victorian” to imply prudish homophobia. It both stems from and structures the editorial projects that publishers pursue, giving rise to catalogues like the NYRB Classics, where the oldest work tagged LGBTQ+ is Colette’s The Pure and the Impure (1932) — as if nothing queer was written before.
The truth is that there’s a world of queer writing that predates Colette, volumes of manuscript and books that aren’t so much products of historical suppression as they are suppressed by today’s “it’s gotten better” mindset. This is convenient for a culture industry in search of the sui generis and always eager to pat itself on the back for its own enlightenment. But the almost total neglect, outside the academy, of the queer literary archive is a shame, and not only because it propagates factual errors. In limiting our horizons for understanding how our predecessors lived, loved, and wrote, we end up narrowing our own vistas. When we apply the repressive hypothesis, we’re actually repressing ourselves.
Colton Valentine, “Against Queer Presentism​ | How the Book World Neglects the Archive,” The Drift, October 25, 2022.
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umbrvx · 8 months ago
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[ @orvwomenweek ] free day (anna croft + love) || day 7
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mipexch · 2 years ago
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heed heaven’s call, one way or another
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italyveneziano · 3 months ago
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Old redraw of an even older drawing ☺️ They are the father and son ever. To me (please don't tag as ship!)
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wisted-twonderland · 2 months ago
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aware
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averlym · 1 year ago
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litany of the martyrs (click for better resolution!)
#at some point i wanted to make an illustration for each character but in retrospect maybe each is multiple song-coded..#drew the sketch for a quincy thing after a chat with a mutual reminded me this song existed dfsghjkl and then spent weeks rendering this#quincy cynthius martin#adamandi#i'm finally done with this! the saints especially were joys to paint and the halo a menace.... this has been the most ambitious one so far.#but it also took quite long because i only worked on it <engages with quincy> when mentally okay to deal with the themes. i'm not religious#but i do identify with the irrational(?ish) guilt + family legacy + academic achievement + disregard for self. also more complex thoughts#about love [but depsite quincent being a large part of quincy's character this piece deals with mostly the Rest of it. so another time..]#anyways! in the original sketch- the saints had heads bent towards quincy so the halo spikes pointed at him. but this worked better! halos#of the saints implying/creating one for quincy was a concept from the start though. in the show they don't touch him directly here but#differences in mediums i think- i don't have time in an image to craft a narrative so everything has to be happening. also artistic liberty#misc inspiration for this includes stained glass windows. i might have maybe misinterpreted the saint costume but i think i logic-ed it out#as the cloth part following a nun's habit w the hood. and then halo above. the material is also more transparent originally but i had. um.#too much fun painting fabric folds.. if you look closely you can see the basis of faces though behind the cloth; but only the vague shapes#because smth obscurity + inhumanness// cassian is the only one i gave a mouth though. that stems from melliot's post about the saints and#st cassian as spokesperson (<- did research teehee!) that's also how i found out which costume = which saint. speaking of which.#left to right: 'st lucy take my hand' // 'st lawrence give me strength' (presses quincy forward; but hand on shoulder connotates guidance)#/'st cassian help me smile' (quincy's mouth is btwn a grimace and a smile; tilts up at side. also no direct touch bc added insidiousness.)#//'st jude [...] i hope your causes burn' (jude's hand is in two places to show movement- nearing the flame and then snatching back; burnt)#other notes: at the midst of the flame the core is shaped like a human heart /the saints and their wax are all melting like the candle for#fun visual effect and also this way they are even less tangible <real>. perks of painting as a medium i guess. // also insp from icarus?#wax and burning imagery; looking at the halo and rays as parallel to sun that burns. too close to the sun; melting; hurting; hurtling //#candles at bottom are a nod to the frankly gorgeous set// also the entire composition kind of stems from the lyric <what use is a candle if#both ends aren't burning>; the two sides between the concepts of catholic guilt and academic perfection that spur quincy#the halo above (saints and guilt; litanyofthemartyrs) and the 'halo' below (academic papers; insp from choreo for perfect at school)#the papers were originally supposed to be more glowy. but i like the idea of it now being a reflection of how quincy's priorities shift#also of note is that <candle> in centre = quincy; w burning candle + aforementioned heart in flame -> most human; idea of love + passion#last thoughts: kneeling + hands close tgt = prayer //wax dripping onto the red As make an effect that looks like blood. because i like#hiding that within the adamandi pieces :OO continuity!! // i've run out of tags but yeah! had fun with this one! every so often i go a#little insane in making art and the final result astounds even me. ngl i'm quite proud of this one. pretty colours <3333
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quadrantadvisor · 1 month ago
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Multiverse, Reverse Robins au, 2,514 words
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Jason (Red Hood)
The imposters are good, Jason will give them that.
They need to work on their looks, unfortunately, because each one of them is a little off. Their Nightwing is too bulky, and his costume isn't made with Dick's flexibility in mind. Besides that, he's got an undercut that doesn't match the shaggy way Dick has his hair now, and his blue is too dark. And the swords. Those are different.
Their little Robin looks more like Dick, actually, Dick as he was before Jason's time, with his happy grin and his bright yellow cape. He doesn't match Damian's style at all, and Jason wonders if their intel was out of date. He tucks away his anger (the way he's used to doing, now) at these bastards roping some little kid into whatever con they're trying to pull. They can help the kid after they subdue him, and he stops trying to flip-kick people in the face.
The Red Robin outfit isn't bad, but the guy playing him is way too tall to be Tim. He doesn't use a bo staff, either, clearly preferring the armory of sharp little implements he keeps tucked away in his utility belt, including a wicked looking combat knife.
Which brings Jason to the current pain in his ass, the idiot trying to pass himself off as the Red Hood.
Yeah, they'd split off into pairs to fight. First off, for practicality's sake. Less risk of friendly fire if the only guy you're trying to punch is the one who isn't you. And secondly, it's just what you do, isn't it? Somebody gives you a set up like this, you go along with the poetic justice. No bat is immune to drama.
Jason is regretting that a bit, now. Fake Hood had taken him for a ride, leading him, he now realizes, far away from the warehouse where Nightwing and Robin had initially called in the disturbance. This other guy isn't the powerhouse that Jason is, but that doesn’t matter if Jason can't ever get in a hit. His movements are precise, deadly, and familiar in a way that makes Jason suspect League training. Jason is keeping up, but barely, and that's with the advantage of his guns. The other guy hasn't touched his, still gleaming red in his holsters, and Jason has a sneaking suspicion that they aren't filled with rubber bullets.
They're at a bit of a stalemate, standing on opposite sides of a dark rooftop, and Jason's trying to catch his breath but he can't relax, not when his gaze is locked onto his opponent, waiting for the minute twitch of muscle that will indicate his next move. He's wondering if he could get a shot off, wondering where to aim, when his comm crackles to life.
“Stand down!” Tim snaps in his ear. “Hood, Wing, the alternates aren't currently a threat. Deescalate however you can, and get back to the warehouse. We can explain this whole mess there.”
“Really?” Nightwing asks. He goes on to say something else, something about his doppleganger being incredibly threatening, thank you very much, but Jason stops listening, because there's something going on across the roof.
A mechanically distorted voice says, “What? No, I'd be able to tell. This guy isn't-” The imposter(?) cuts off suddenly, presumably listening to a response.
And then he… giggles.
“That isn't funny, Red,” he says, in contrast to the little peals of laughter making him subtly shake. “You- you get how fucked up that would be, don't you?”
Jason can't figure out what to do. Tim's intel is almost always good, but he can't get himself to stand down, not when, for some reason, that laughter is setting his teeth on fucking edge.
(He knows the reason. He'd know that cadence anywhere, he hears it in his fucking nightmares, but it isnt possible. He's in Arkham, right now, because Batman won't kill him and Jason isn't allowed to kill him and that uncomfortable truce is what got him his family back. Jason would know if he'd broken out, they wouldn't have kept that from him. They wouldn't.)
“Oh shit,” Tim says, and it makes Jason wonder how he knows, “Hood, is your alternate having some kind of fit right now?”
The sound escalates, from breathy little giggles to screeching laughter, and even with the hood's distortion, it's unmistakable.
It's the Joker's laugh.
It's the Joker.
And isn't this exactly some shit that Joker would pull, making a mockery of Jason's family, a twisted parody that fucks with his head? Tim's lying, he's trying to get Jason out of this situation, and Jason gets why, he does, but obviously the rest of them can't (won't) protect him from this, so if he has to take fate into his own hands, he will.
The green is creeping up, but Jason doesn't let it haze over his vision because he has to be in his right mind while he does this, not for them, for himself. As he stalks across the roof, he empties the clip from one of his guns and pulls out the live rounds, loads them into place.
He thinks Tim is calling for him, maybe the others, too, but the chatter over the comm is getting further away the closer he gets to his target. He should be smart, should take the shot, but maybe he's got more pit in his head than he wants to admit, because Joker, still laughing, pulls a knife, and Jason steps into his range to disarm him.
The strike is fast, but compared to the careful movements of before, he's practically telegraphing his actions. Jason sidesteps, and if the blade knicks him when he twists Joker's arm, he doesn't feel it. He's got the clown in a hold, now, and forces him to his knees with the gun against his temple.
If the hood is anything like his own, the bullet won't do it, not even at point blank range. Jason would like to get it off him, would like to see the life leave his eyes, but he doesn't have to. Jason moves the barrel beneath his chin, right where the armor ends. The pit rages inside of him, says this is too easy, says to make him suffer. Jason pushes it down. This is the compromise he'll make, this is what he'll do to try to maintain both his humanity and his peace of mind. The bullet will ricochet off the hood from the inside, will tear through Joker's brain at least twice, and he'll never come back from that, and Jason will finally be free.
It'll be easy.
This is too easy.
“Nothing to fucking say?” Jason growls, jostling the clown in his grip, because there's always some joke, some shitty twist.
The Joker just laughs.
“Unhand him this instant!” someone snaps, and Jason's finger twitches but somehow the trigger stays still. And now what's he supposed to do, because of course fucking Nightwing- but wait, that isn't- but it is, he's right there- it's both of them, two Nightwings. Fucking fantastic. Twice the guilt trip.
“Come on, Jay,” the Nightwing who's actually Dick pleads, and hey, what the fuck, codenames? In front of the fucking Joker, Dick? “Let him go, we can explain everything.”
“I'm not doing this again!” rips itself from Jason's throat, and he'll think later about just how wrecked he sounds. “I'm not just standing here and letting him go, Wing, not when one bullet can put a stop to all this, not when I can end him.”
“Jason,” Dick says, slow with forced calm, “that's not the Joker.”
“Don't you fucking lie to me!” Jason seethes.
His hand is wrenched to the side, the barrel facing open air, and before he can make a move the unfortunately familiar feeling of a high voltage shock courses through him.
By the time he's stopped seizing, Dick is at his back, supporting him with his own body and with arms under his pits and around his chest in a weird reverse hug. Technically, Jason's hands are free, but they're empty, the gun skidded to somewhere else across the roof.
Dick is murmuring into his ear, “Sorry, Little Wing, I'm so sorry,” and, “You're okay, you're okay, you're okay,” mantras meant to soothe his brother as much as himself. Jason wants to be angry, wants to snap at him to let go and fucking cut it out, but he's feeling strangely disoriented. He only has enough brainspace to pay attention to one thing, and that's the scene playing out in front of him.
Dick had clearly hauled them back a few steps, but Jason is still uncomfortably close to the bastard version of Nightwing (who, Jason realizes in hindsight, had tazed him while he'd been distracted by his brother, not cool) and the laughing maniac he should've killed. Nightwing is holding onto Joker's shoulders, his hands bouncing as the gasping, shrieking laughter continues.
“I'm going to remove your helmet now,” Nightwing says. He has a slight accent that Jason knows he's heard before, and his tone is professional, almost clipped. And yet, somehow, Jason can tell that this is a gentled version of the man's voice, the sharpest edges sanded away. His hands move from Joker's shoulders to the back of his head, carefully inputting whatever sequence allows for safe removal of the hood. Jason hears a hydraulic hiss when some sort of catch releases, and as Nightwing starts pulling the red metal up and away Jason can't help holding his breath.
At first, he sees what he expected to see. It's the Joker's expression, after all, his laughing face pulled into a rictus grin.
But the grin isn't right, somehow. The man is pale, but his face is unpainted, and the smile stretches wide, too wide, wider than even the Joker ever managed, and after a moment Jason recognizes the red, raised scar tissue on either side of his mouth for what it is.
Then, Jason takes in the actual features of the person in front of him. Dark hair, pale blue eyes, the cheeks, the jaw, the nose.
It doesn't make any fucking sense.
The Red Hood, collapsed on his knees in front of him, scarred face bare with no hood or domino to protect him as he struggles under the weight of his own laughter, is Tim Drake.
He's crying.
Jason is suddenly glad that Dick's holding him, because he's certain that he'd be on the ground, otherwise. Then, he realizes that he can't breathe.
Jason knows, logically, that his hood has sensors and filters that keep him safer than he could ever be without it. It is only every once in a while, when something stupid happens, that he regrets that he, a man with claustrophobia, decided to stick his head into a metal bucket.
Dick can probably tell that he's hyperventilating, and doesn't fight him as Jason gets his hands on the back of his neck and pulls off his hood.
Jason gasps in polluted Gotham air, and Tim's eyes snap onto him. Nightwing says, “I'm administering the emergency dose of your medication,” and then stalls, like he's waiting for a response, but all Tim does is laugh and stare. Jason stares back. He can't look away.
Nightwing retrieves a small tubular device, almost like an epipen, and presses it against Tim's leg. That shouldn't work. Tim's wearing body armor, same as the rest of them, and there's no way a needle could pierce it, but Jason looks as Nightwing draws the device away and there's a small raised circle of hard plastic on Tim's thigh that the head of the device fits into perfectly, like it was designed for that purpose. An injection spot, built into Tim's clothing, specifically for whatever drugs fake Nightwing just pumped into him.
Immediately, there's a difference. He doesn't stop laughing, or smiling that horrible fucking smile, but the manic tension is gone. He doesn't look like he'll shatter at a touch anymore, too brittle to be handled. The curve of his spine gentles, muscles no longer pulling it to the point of snapping. Jason watches as slowly, oh so slowly, Tim gets quieter, leans more into Nightwing's hold on him, starts gasping more than laughing.
Dick is talking behind him, into his comm, it sounds like. If it's important, someone will get his attention.
Finally, Tim breaks eye contact. “T- tell him,” he says to Nightwing, struggling between gasps and giggles, “tell him what you, gave me. Jay doesn't, he doesn't like, needles.”
The strange Nightwing turns his head, and Jason gets the impression of a sharp, searching gaze behind his domino. He's nothing like Dick, not at all, but something niggles the back of Jason's mind, some sense of familiarity regardless. He tosses something, and Jason automatically reaches up to catch it.
It's the empty tube of medication, which does seem a lot like an epipen, up close. “It's a combination,” the man says. “The antidote for Joker venom, an antipsychotic, and a mild sedative.”
“What the fuck?” Jason hears from his own mouth as he looks down at the innocuous little tube.
“It's only used in emergencies,” Nightwing adds, and does not clarify any further.
Jason doesn't know what to say to that. He shakes himself out of Dick's hold and grabs an evidence bag out of his jacket. He watches Nightwing, to see if he'll object, but he doesn't. Jason slips the medicine tube inside the bag and tucks it away.
“There you are!” Dick says in a bright tone, one meant to cover his anxiety and relief.
Jason turns, and finds that their roof has gotten a little crowded. All four Robins have arrived, his brothers mingled in with their copies, copies who don't quite match in ways that are now sticking in his brain. Tim, Jason's Tim, is standing right there, pressing his mask against his face like he'd broken the seal on the adhesive, and it isn't sticking quite right. Other than that, he's normal. He's fine.
The Robin, the one in the classic colors who Jason had thought looked a bit like Dick (oh God, could that be-?) gives a little whistle. “Trust Red Hood to cause drama!” he says in a bright tone that is too too familiar (fuck, fuck he is). “Must be a universal constant.” He grins, cheeky, looking past Jason.
Jason isn't processing fast enough to be offended for his own sake, but he turns and checks on Tim, other Tim, the Tim who apparently also has a claim to the Red Hood name. Tim is propped up on Nightwing's shoulder, looking drowsy and relaxed. He's looking back at Robin, and his lips are pressed tightly closed, but he's smiling, and it reaches his eyes.
Alright, then. This is probably fine.
Jason snorts, to get the kid's attention, and rolls his eyes. “Comes with the job description,” he snarks.
The kid lights up. Jason feels distinctly weird, having that smile directed at him, but it's not… bad.
Yeah. This is fine.
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I'm planning to add a reblog with more information on this au/fic idea, so if you're interested, watch this space.
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I FORGOT TO THROW OUT AFTER THE EPISODE RELEASED NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
#hand jumper#webtoon#sayeon lee#heron#ig??? BRUH..................#these fireworks are going to SET ME ON FIRE!!!!#but that's alr i guess!!!!!!!!!#because charcoal grilled prawn literally solves all my problems#before thinking about killing people i need everyone to sit down and think of their favourite food#and manifest the version of them that has it!!!!!!!!#maybe then all compulsions and intrusions of the mind can just go away#what if we all just pictured better versions of ourselves and just did it!!!#if we all stretched out our hands and tried we can at least live in the world knowing we did try!!#and it's better than not trying!!!!! AND BEING USELESS PIECES OF ROTTING GARBAGE!!!!!!#idk i've had a shit three years man i don't think i can take this any longer#IGNORE THAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#AND INSTEAD NOW LET'S THINK OF THE GOODIES YOU'RE GONNA GET IN TWO WEEKS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#or now if you offer up your wallet to OUR LORD AND SAVIOUR sleepacross#and for the SMALL price of 5USD that's right 5USD!!!! this is to the people with credit/debit cards ofc#YOU CAN ACCESS THE GOATACROSS QNA BECAUSE IT IS PEAK!!!!!!#but just because the juninators[on here in case they aren't in the server] need to hear this so we can all sing happy birthday to her#INSTEAD OF MISSING IT FOR TWO YEARS#AND HAVING A WHOLE WINTER/CHRISTMAS COMPETITION IN DISCORD WITH MEMES AND ALL WITHOUT THIS CRUCIAL INFORMATION!!!!!!!#I THINK BECAUSE I KEEP THESE IN TAGS IT'S SAFE TO SAY THAT HER BIRTHDAY IS DEC 24TH AND WE SHOULD ALL SAY HAPPY LATE/HAPPY EARLY BIRTHDAY#TO OUR BELOVED QUEEN JUNI CHANG#BECAUSE NOW I JUST SHAFTED A 40K WIP I NEVER FINISHED FOR LAST YEAR'S WINTER SEASON FOR THE CHRISTMAS EPISODE OF 2024 IN THE RECYCLE BIN!!#BUT NOW WE CAN GIVE HER QUINTICE THE AMOUNT OF GIFTS THIS YEAR!!!!!!!!!!! SO LET'S DO THAT INSTEAD!!!!#ONE FOR HER BIRTHDAY!!!! ONE FOR CHRISLER!!! ONE FOR CIVIL SERVICE APPRECIATION DAY!!!!!#ANOTHER FOR BEING PEAK MENTOR!!!!! AND ANOTHER ONE FOR BEING GOD'S SILLIEST SOLDIER!!!![in our hearts!!]#APOLOGIES AS ALWAYS IF YOU MADE IT THIS FAR HERE!!!! AND A GOOD EVENING TO YOU ALL!!!!
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kacievvbbbb · 3 months ago
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I think Mihawk should break his arm, have to wear it in a sling the whole shebang, it's just completely useless for a little while, meaning( because I'm pretty sure Yoru is a two hand sword) he can't use Yoru at full potential.
I think it'd give him a lot to think about, once he made it past all the anger that is.
preferably his right arm because while I'd bet he's ambidextrous to some insane self taught degree I'm pretty sure he's right hand dominant
Also I don't now how he'd break it but preferably something involving doing something for/protecting he kids. (could be silly could be serious) maybe they made him climb a coconut tree who knows, not me 🤷🏿‍♀️
But I think he'd come out of the whole ordeal wih a little more respect for Shanks and just how hard it is to live without your dominant hand, A realization that he kind of made the whole shanks lost an arm thing about him and while Shanks' loves Mihawk's vanity that was a little too childish even for him.
And finally i think he's be angry cause how could Shanks give this up? He can't use Yoru with the extreme ease he usually can and even just this is threatening to swallow him whole, how could Shanks' so recklessly, willingly, throw away his forever?
But he looks over at where a pair of cotton candy haired idiots are arguing over nothing; whole, relatively healthy and maybe not very happy but alive and he thinks about how he had a little something to do with that.
And Maybe he's starting to get it.
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buwheal · 6 months ago
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i lied and i messed around on a canvas instead spare me from your wrath......
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