LMAO SO I CANT SEND IN MEDIA ON ANONYMOUS SO I GUESS I JUST WONT BE ANYMORE -pip
AYO WTF THESE ARE FUCKING IMMACULATE THE HELL??? THE TALENT I LITERALLY-
And I’m not being dramatic. Like holy shit those are phenomenal
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"homeless people don't have any right to complain, the american indians lived off the land, why can't homeless people?"
sometimes people say shit so fucking stupid there's not even a response you can make besides "do you know how literally anything works"
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He could tell Alice was nervous, and when she didn't speak to him, he tilted his head. Odd, was she embarrassed about talking to him? Or maybe simply was uncomfortable in Hatta's presence? Doorrat couldn't quite tell, but he understood enough to know that he had to change something.
Doorrat squeaked happily at the affection, nuzzling into her hand. Though, the tension went far from unnoticed, and in a way to break it, he chirped at Hatta, sticking his face towards him, eyes shut. Maybe if Hatta started talking about him, or too him, Alice would feel more at ease.
'Pet me!'
-🐀
There was a moment before Jervis looked to the two. The frantic panic seemed to disappear all as he saw Alice, his Alice, with the doorrat. So calm was the creature as it bunched into her hands, small noises leaving as if beckoning him to sit with them.
He wouldn't deny noticing Alice's gaze anxiously failing to focus on one particular subject, but he hoped that would soon ease.
Pulling out a chair, the man hunched forward, tea pot to the table and fingers lightly scraping against the peeling glaze. "You must think me mad to be talking to a rat," he began, head down to the table cloth. Strange, how a faux sense of calm washed over him. Something to latch onto. Something to help float in a terrible storm.
Alice shook her head. "Just silly."
A small huffed laughter left the man as he watched the company carefully. "Truth be told, he's a very good listener. Very sensible." He looked up to the younger, "I think you'd like him. If he ever opened up, that is."
It was then that she offered a gentle smile, small and meek, but something less tense. What was she thinking, Jervis wasn't mad. He just didn't have a lot of friends. That's why he talked so much. Surely. Just calmly, with great rapport, about the people he cared about.
"There are others too."
"The person on the phone?"
Jervis nodded with a genuine smile, offering snacks to the rat before him. "They talk to each other sometimes too. It's nice. To be part of that." There was a pause, "Like a small family. The occasional bicker but we all mean well."
He looked to the doorrat, his head tilted to the side, "This one knows the story by heart. Well, with the three sisters. In the well. We recited it once together."
Silly little man that he was.
"If he decides to grace us with a good conversation, I'm sure he'd have a lot to say to you. He's good, this one. If not overly sentimental. Heart in the right place, I believe is the saying."
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so i kinda dropped off the internet a bit because ngl, my summer has been kinda hell
tldr : some one important to me died, my cat had to go to the urgent care and needs a medical presecure done to save him, and i am incredilly sick and financally not so stable
so with that all in mind, i drew Jamie in beserk hisui zoroark form because it’s my obsession and mom says i get to hyperfixate on it when im sick
im stuck between wanting it to be a beserk form he can tap into, or him having to die first to be able to use the form, but either way is genuinely good to me
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Normally I am firmly in "I don't get poetry" club. Sometimes it's nice, but usually it doesn't click for me, so I'm not really inclined to explore it, like free jazz or bondage. But then every once in a while I'll read a really famous poem that just punches me in the solar plexus and I'm like "oh yeah, this is that high grade medical". Cuz holy shit, man, some guy who barely made it into his 40s sat on the side of a cliff and wrote this and it reached across 250 years and bitch slapped me in the heart
"O were my love yon Lilac fair,
Wi' purple blossoms to the Spring,
And I, a bird to shelter there,
When wearied on my little wing!
How I wad mourn when it was torn
By Autumn wild, and Winter rude!
But I wad sing on wanton wing,
When youthfu' May its bloom renew'd.
O gin my love were yon red rose,
That grows upon the castle wa';
And I myself a drap o' dew,
Into her bonie breast to fa'!
O there, beyond expression blest,
I'd feast on beauty a' the night;
Seal'd on her silk-saft faulds to rest,
Till fley'd awa by Phoebus' light!"
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After reading this absolute peak of a chapter I would use a cigarette or two if I was smoking
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