two minutes into a will wood song and i’m either face down on the floor thinking about all my mental illnesses or strutting around the room pretending i’m a cartoon villain. what does he put in that shit
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TFW you finish reading Harrow The Ninth by Tamsyn Muir:
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i desperately want haiku bot to notice me that is all thanks
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silly and very messy doodle of these guys having a sleepover while I try to battle through chronic artblock :3 (they're gossiping about their crushes)
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Him, a literal God of Death that killed thousands of mortals and other gods, including his own siblings, in order for his own desires to be fulfilled:
Me:
Kibbyyyyy❤️💕✨️💕❤️✨️💕❤️💕✨️❤️💕❤️✨️
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In doing some research for a fic, I have come across a magic trick that I think Aziraphale's Turnip-into-Inkwell might be based on: the Ink, Handkerchief, and Turnip Trick. The earliest record I can find of it is in The Sphinx ("An Independent Magazine for Magicians") in Vol. 36 from November 1937; Ireland Magic Company published "The New And Improved Ink Handkerchief And Turnip Trick" in their yearly magazine, Ireland's Yearbook, in 1947.
The trick is as follows:
Ask the audience for a lovely lady willing to briefly part with her handkerchief, and tell her you will mark it with a spot of ink (I assume similar to how modern magicians might ask someone to write their name on a playing card). Test the ink with a piece of paper to prove the ink is real and then... stuff the entire handkerchief into the inkwell.
But not to worry, you reassure the volunteer, for the handkerchief isn't there, and it isn't stained! Reach into your bag to retrieve the turnip there-- cut it open, and there it is, unharmed! Ta-da!
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