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#me at 2am
lordsmaf · 11 months
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ineffablecaptain · 7 months
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This is me just listening to music at 2am.
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so i drew another one of these silly little guys
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loulively · 1 year
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Been thinking about Sokeefe recently.💛
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aboredneet · 1 year
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Idea: 128 people wake up in a death game, slowly going though trials. In each two go in only one survives. It eventually boiled down to the last four, the last few trials were quite sloppy, the organizers didn't plan on it processing so quickly. They are all given a break in the arena while the last three events are set up. The four who sped through the game and defied all expectations are; a world renowned assassin on his only day off (pissed of he has to kill off hours), a deranged teen who likes to inflict pain on others (a massive contrarian who refuses to kill only because she is being made to), a psychopathic lawyer with a god complex (impatient, nitpicks and belittles the organizers), and a suicidal, neurotic wage slave with a death-wish who got this far by pure luck (he keeps trying to get others to kill him but his "plans" always fails). They are all pissed for their own reasons, not to mention hunger and sleep deprivation, so they put their "free" time to good use and start making a plan...
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eddapoetic · 6 months
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- - foile pour un @lostsovl
England, Byrne Estate, in the aftermath of the Treaty of Paris, 1814
An amicable bustle of light conversation mingles with the early summer air, laying comfortably mild across an otherwise lukewarm soiree; It is a modest congregation of gentlefolk that has come to dawdle in the gardens of the good Captain's estate, ladies in arms and men of the states, men of war, gathered far and not so far at all to partake in the clandestine performance of aristocratic repertoire. To show face, so to speak, as contracturally obligated by their standing in light of recently wordly events which might merit such a perfectly muted display of tactful camraderie.
It's almost impressive how dutifully they perform the charade of civility, expressions downright cordial, regardless of which sir or dame might otherwise stand to be associated with whom amongst their neighbour at any other time of day--
Or night, at the risk of tempting indiscretion. But that is to digress. What stands to matter is that the neatly trimmed lawn is host to many fine people on this particular eve, milling about to the strum of vaguely convivial chords and partaking in the finest selection of quaint appetizers His Majesty the King's money could afford. What stands to matter is the arrangement of finely laid out tables, neatly framing the grassy borders at the far brickwall, offering their bounties of fruits and tarts and fruity tarts with, at their center, a truly impressive layered trifle.
What stands to matter is that that's the one she goes through, first.
A cacophany of shattered glass and ungraceful clatters heralds it. The aftermath of one sly figure's improvised fence vault rings a discordant note throughout the merry gathering she interrupts, affronted gasps and startled squeaks taking the attendants like a wave as their baffled gazes tear from each other to fall upon her character - and she must look quite the image indeed, gaudy in her swallowpaint tailcoat and dandelion undershirt, the distinguished rosy-pink pantalons a sight to catch the eye even before she'd bepeckled herself with the benobled's early-dinner desserts. And stunned as they be, she doesn't stop at simply thus.
She breaks into a dash across the lawn, swift, steady, footing hardly lost from the fall and weaving through the crowds with little but quick nudges and darts of 'Pardon Me's'. At the heel of her wake, two constables struggle to make it over the wall in pursuit, clumsy in their scrabble of alarmed shouts whilst a third appears further down the lane - having evidently opted to spare himself the dignity and go through the gates, instead. He sprints whilst his companions drop onto what remains of already turned over tables and tarts, attendants splitting aside from his beeline to allow him to catch, to reach--
His target, however, is not yet lost for diversions.
"Spare a hand, lass?" The swallowtailed interloper ducks, for lack of a better word, into the brace of a singled-out lady ahead, dark-haired, fair-figured and keen eyed all at a gaze; A flash, for a blink, strikes her of something poignat she can't quite put her tongue to, through she does not wait to find the words, nor does she wait for a response before her arm shoots around the woman's waist and her hand finds a clasp in hers. With a smile and a mischievous glint, she spins them both aback - letting go to twirl the other straight into the arms of the constable behind, who promptly stumbles in reach for propriety. That'd be her cue to leave.
"Much appreciated. Enchanté--!"
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askyuripetrov · 1 year
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Me <3
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carbondweller · 1 year
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Ha Ha Ha hey guys i draw sometimes
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blairpuffs · 2 years
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This is the kinda stuff I draw when I'm bored at 2:am. Anyway espresso with cat ear headband lmfao I'm so sorry
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spiderwebkinz · 11 months
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Just randomly smelled these…. It’s like 2am and there was nothing to trigger this core nostalgia.
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Does anyone else just not get on tumblr for a while? Then, when they come back, people actually read your fics and start following you and interacting with you, and you feel scared and also realize you need to post some fics? Also, I don't remember re-blogging and commenting on half the shit I did.
P.S.
Thank you to my 17 following. I love you 💜💜💜🖤🖤🖤
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2am thoughts
i like the night. not because i’m emo or think i’m “quirky” or because i’m looking for attention, but because 2am is the only time i can truly be myself, away from all the noise and expectations.
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2am is for all those scared to be themselves in the daylight
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Me: sometimes I feel like I'm not my own person.
Also me 2 minutes later: Look at (insert fictional character)! Literally me. I am them. I will be them.
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justsomonewatching · 2 years
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the good life is when you pass the fuck out at 5pm and then about 6 hours later the monster under your bed go “ay bro some nice dogs you got there” and then grab your feet so hard you wake up.
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readtoyourdarlings · 2 years
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I can’t decide whether I want to write an essay on a random topic, read a whole book in one sitting or do my make up and put on a silky dress and take Polaroids of myself
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robinsversion · 4 months
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How I sleep knowing I always cite my sources:
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(First image from the film Drip Dippy Donald (1948); second image from season 4, episode 3 of the Simpsons, “Homer the Heretic” (1992).)
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