A hilarious phenomenon of animal misinformation that exists in many parts of the internet is fake/edited bird pictures. Not only does it shock me that people don't realize that the image is of a felt doll, or that the image is obviously edited because the grass in the background is near purple, but people apparently don't think about, or don't already know about cool ass birds and feel the need to make up new shit. I'm sorry but it doesn't get better than wood ducks and sick ass pigeons my guy.
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Punk Steve!
Steve who feels so fucking lost bc robin went off to college and the kids can drive themselves around and he’s lonely and doesn’t know what to do with himself.
So he takes to driving around aimlessly on the evenings, because that’s what he and Robin used to do.
And one night, he stumbles on this building, out in the middle of (mostly) nowhere. There are beat-up cars in the parking lot, and he can hear the music all the way on the road.
He doesn’t totally know what he’s doing when he pulls in, and he’s out of the car before he can really decide if this is a good idea or not.
He’s glad he was wearing something plain, a dark green t-shirt and jeans, because he’d stick out like a sore thumb in his usual attire here.
He’d never seen so much black clothing.
Everyone had on similar items, black pants, all ripped up. Some people had put patches on their clothes. He saw names like The Dead Kennedys, The Runaways, The Ramones, The Sex Pistols. He saw leather jackets, clothes covered in safety pins and spikes. Big dark boots with blue, or yellow, or purple laces.
The band was playing some crashing song, and it was so fucking loud that Steve could hardly pick out the words, let alone differentiate the sounds of each instrument.
But something about the way the crowd was moving, head-banging and slamming into each other. Everyone had huge smiles on their faces, even as they all smashed together.
He didn’t join in the first day, sue him if he was a little scared, but he just kept, coming back.
And he made friends. Friends his own age. Friends with piercings in their faces, who shared cheap apartments on the outskirts of town. And they called him a yuppie, but they gave him hand-me-down clothes and helped him diy his first leather jacket, one that had been hanging, sad and forgotten, in his closet since last July.
He would go to the little venue every weekend, smearing black make up around his eyes in the car on the way there. He got his nose pierced in the bathroom, three people crammed into the tiny space. (He’s fucking shocked he didn’t get an infection).
He made out with a boy against the back wall while some shitty band raged up front, slamming their instruments into the floor.
(He ended up in tears later that night, black eyeliner staining his cheeks, because the boy’s blue eyes reminded him of someone he was too heartbroken to think about.)
It was a weird coincidence that led him to this little sea of punk weirdos, and nobody, not even Steve, had expected him to get so deep into this counterculture, but he finally felt free, and himself, and happy, and he can’t remember a time in which he has ever felt more comfortable in his own skin.
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one of the hardest things you can do, but one of the most rewarding, is understanding the fact that if one of your friends is annoyed with or mad at you, they will tell you. and if they are annoyed with or mad at you and they dont tell you, that burden is on them, not on you. catastrophizing in your head about how your harmless interactions might be enraging or disgusting a friend is damaging to you both. if someone respects you as a friend and as a person, they will tell you if they need a change. otherwise, its not your problem, baby. you are both individuals capable of communicating your needs, and neither of you (i am assuming) are telepaths.
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