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#not really tbh
myuminji · 8 months
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nyanimisu · 1 month
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low quality csm memes anyone????????? hahahahah
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not-eli · 4 months
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I know this is most likely never going to happen but what if MK starts to watch the confessionals again and Julia finds out, and to tease her a little she sits down and goes,
"I don't know what's happening to me lately. Me and MK... we are such a great team. But lately I begun to see her.. differently?" She then looks up the camera. "Maybe I wouldn't just date her BRAIN, you know what I mean?"
And MK's reaction is just "O//////////O" but she can't say anything because she doesn't want Julia to know that she watched her confessional while Julia 100% knows and ehhdhdhshes
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nick-close · 9 months
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FREDDIE WONG ON DIMENSION 20 GOD IS REAL AND FAVOURS ME!!!
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wiredpeople · 4 months
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thirt13n · 2 months
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share's been consistently quiet for the first time in almost five years and i have zero idea what to do with this information...
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Interacting with my extended family, I'm honestly surprised I'm the first one to end up on mental health meds ✨
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6xthcoyote · 1 year
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guys these are totally the legit lines sholmes says when lord stronghart calls for a recess to find and issue a subpoena to yujin mikotoba in 2-5
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niccolofares · 1 year
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This is the first time since 1978 that Mexico hasn’t qualified past the group stage.
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little-demy · 9 months
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There’s a well known secret within the growing community of Ravenloss; to either the older inhabitant or the refugees of aboveground.
Oh hey I write again hehe
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lafortis · 4 months
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Constantly reminded of how much more I want for myself and my life 😔😔😔 rattling the bars on my cage and wishing someone would come along and make me a real LD and take me away from this horrid little place
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wardenred · 8 months
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Whumptember 8: "Don't Come Home"
I wanted whump with dragons, I somehow ended up with a dark fairytale and a new fantasy world I want to play in, RIP.
Once upon a time, I used to have a home. It was a beautiful place hidden away in the tall, wintry mountains. Ice glistened on the rocks. Blood-red flowers broke through heaps of snow. Endless pine-trees tickled the sky. The sun didn't come out every month, but when it was there, it would linger about for days, casting a golden glow over the wild streams that never froze over.
What made my home all the more beautiful were its people. Our community was small but tight-knit. Everybody knew everyone else, and everyone was there for each other, through thick and thin. Whenever a child got sick or an old woman got lost in the woods, the entire village banded together to solve the problem. No one ever went unfed or unclothed, even if they couldn't work.
There was only one thing the community asked of each other, one rule for everyone to abide. If the dragon steers under the Gruesomest Rock, the elders will cast the holy stones and call out a name. Then, a person shall walk to the dragon's cave with a single promise: "Don't come back."
I had a home, once. Then the dragon steered, and the stones spelled my name.
* * *
The last flames crackled over the ashes. Deep in the cave, water dripped, dripped, dripped down the stone, the kind of sound that could drive a man insane. The bone-chilling cold seeped in through the cracks in the stone.
"Is this some kind of joke?" the villager asked, willing their voice not to shake. "Are you trying to mess with my mind on purpose? There's no need to tell me my story. I know it."
The dragon laughed, drowning out the incessant drip, drip, drip. It emerged from the darkness, uncoiling, and its scales burned just like the dying coals: no brighter, no dimmer. 
"Do you think," it asked, "that your story is so unique? There are seventy-seven souls steering in my gut, little one. All of them came here from the same place, to the same end."
The villager swallowed, or tried to. Their throat was as dry as the great serpent's voice.
"Worry not, though," the dragon continued. "This is the last time this story gets told. For you shall be the seventy-eighth; a full deck. The spell shall not hold anymore, and the village will get what's coming. Now, stay still."
It advanced, and the villager wanted to run, but couldn't.
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spicysucculentz · 8 months
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in case you guys couldn’t tell… I just finished good omens season 2….. I am Unwell
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nemonclature · 3 months
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Mat and Rand post-fade snippet
With his reins gripped in a single hand, Mat brings his other to his chest, presses his palm against his skin and tries to order his heart to stop beating a drumroll. He takes a deep breath, feels his ribs expand. The space between his shoulder blades prickles. Is it still following them?
Twisting round in his saddle, he can see nothing but the trees pressing close behind them, like a crowd of tall men, dark, sombre, watching them pass. Any shadow there could be the twitch of a cloak, the pale gleam of a tree trunk, the curve of an eyeless face. Mat shivers, turns forward, urges his horse on.
Had Thom killed it? Slowed it? Or had he spent his life for nothing? Mat knows he should feel sorrow, but his heart is still beating hard enough to bruise and he doesn’t have space in it to mourn the Gleeman. He’s just another body left behind. Like Dana, Like Nyneave, Perrin, Egwene. Like his family. Like his sisters.
The thought of them brings him back to what he’d been trying not to think of since Rand and he swung themselves into their saddles and galloped into the treeline.
The girl. Her crumpled body lying on the floor.
Mat presses his eyes shut a moment. A stupid risk when riding through dark unfamiliar woods at night. And the darkness behind his eyelids doesn’t shut out the images, it only brings them closer.
He’d woken to the cold metal of the dagger in his hand. To the certainty that a Fade was standing, behind the shadows.
But how had he got there? Why had he left the barn? He had no idea. He’d laid down to sleep, no dreams, just a wave of thick darkness tugging him under. He could have heard something, gone to investigate, still more asleep than awake.
He could imagine himself rising, leaving Rand and Thom behind, walking to the farmhouse door. He could imagine himself knocking, stepping close as it opened and gutting the farmer in the middle of greeting. The body would have fallen to the side. Then his wife, looking up at him from a spinning wheel or perhaps the strove, the fire, the bed. Any could be true, all of them played on behind his eyes.
Had she dived for a poker, a knife, a saucepan to defend herself? He could have knocked her arm away. He’s tired, so tired, but he’s not weak. He could have raised his dagger again, opened her throat, her blood, so dark it looked black. Then, turning around. The girl…
His thoughts stutter and still. Fractured, disconnected moments. Turning, grabbing her. But are those his hands he sees, or his father’s? His fist in her hair, dragging her back, flinging her against the wall, like Da threw Bode last Beltane. His arm raised, the cruel strike of his palm, just like the night of High Chasaline, or Foolday, or any day Abell Cauthon came home drunk and full of violence. But no, the girl wasn’t beaten. She was dead. And it wasn’t Abell Cauthon. It was him. Mat, with the dagger in his hand. The farm house. The blade. The girl. Images swirled, disappeared, fell apart like imaginings, like dreams.
He couldn’t see it. Not the girl, never the girl, a child.
The horse’s pace is steady under him now, and he doesn’t know how long his eyes have been open, staring at Rand’s back, too far ahead of him. He urges his horse to catch up. Her breath steams in the cold air.
The dark woods close around him, branches whip his face, tug at his hair. He wraps his long coat tighter around his shoulders, fixes his eyes on Rand’s back. The light of the moon turning his friends red hair a silver grey.
Mat spreads his hand over his pocket, feels the hard outline of the dagger against his hip. And under him, his horse’s flesh twitches, like she’s trying to shake off a biting fly.
There’s a dark taste in his mouth. Oily and gritty, a residue left on the back of his teeth. As if something crawled into his mouth and died there while he slept. Or worse, like he opened his mouth and welcomed it in. Mat leans over, out of the saddle and spits. It’s dark. He can tell himself his spit isn’t black.
His chest aches. A cold and heavy weight.
It wasn’t him. He didn't touch them.
--
They ride through the night and into the morning. The trees thin and the track widens. On either side of them the woods give way to grazing land, dotted with sheep.
A little while after dawn, Rand points out a thin stream of smoke rising from a dip in the land. “Another farm house, do you think?”
Mat sniffs. He wipes his nose with his frayed cuff. “Best avoid it then.”
He kicks his horse into a trot, hooves kicking up clods of earth as they pass Rand. A band tightens around his chest, squeezing, until he hears his friend follow. Rand guides his horse abreast, but says nothing when he reaches Mat’s shoulder. Doesn’t mention the house even after the smoke has disappeared into the distance behind them.
But the farm house, if it was one, soon gives way to more houses, first spread, then clustered closer together. The dirt track, widens into a packed earth road, that takes them through the centre of the town.
There’s a low stone pool in the square and Mat swings down from the saddle, stretches his stiff limbs and watches as Rand leads the horses to drink. Rand cups his hands and drinks too.
“Mat?” he calls over his shoulder. “Aren’t you thirsty?”
Mat’s throat is parched.
He steps closer, bends over the pool, and sees the colourless reflection of the grey sky. The drops that fall from Rand’s hands shatter the image, ripples swirling and reforming until he sees his own face looking down. Gaunt, hollow cheeked and hollow eyed. He flinches. “I’m good,” he says, stepping back.
The look Rand gives him is familiar, incredulity mixed with concern. Mat turns away.
The largest building in the town looms over the square. Solid hewn tables and benches line the outside, a few with late morning wastrels already drowning their sorrows. Mat wouldn’t mind a pint of whatever they’re having, or maybe a place in the dice game he can hear clinking away.
“Think they’ve got food?” Rand asks joining him in his staring, wiping water from his chin.
“Wouldn’t make a difference, we don’t have any money.”
“We can work.”
Mat glances at Rand, a twist to his mouth. “That didn’t go so well last time,” he says.
“They can’t all be… darkfriends,” Rand says, his voice dropping, and he tugs Mat forward.
The sensation of Rand’s grip, the way it bunches his coat and presses the fabric against Mat’s arm feels strange, his skin feverish, his flesh hot both hot and cold at the same time. He can’t stand to be touched.
Mat shakes Rand off; steps away.
“You go. I’ll watch the horses.” Her turns away before Rand can protest.
--
Mat sits on the stone edge of the pool, the horses nickering softly beside him. He wraps his arms around his knees, and stares up at the grey sky. The days had been turning darker. Something about the air in the lowlands, perhaps. And he was so tired. So tired since the Shadow city. Since the scramble through the crumbling sewer.
He’d been soaked to the bone in their escape, and while Rand had offered his coat, Mat had just laughed and said he didn’t want to spend the trek stinking of sheep.
But perhaps he should have swallowed his pride and taken his friend’s coat. Instead, the cold had soaked into his bones. He carried it with him still.
What if the water outside the shadow city had been poisoned? Maybe the taste in his mouth was… but don’t think about that. His fingers tapped out a rhythm against the weight at his hip.
He’d thought things were looking up, after finding the dead man, the crystal, his coins returned by the Gleeman—don’t think about that.
He twists, drops his feet to the ground abruptly, and his horse snorts, shies away from him.
She’s been skittish since the barn—don’t think about that either. But before he can push it away, the eyeless face of the Fade floats into his mind. That mouth full of teeth, that sense of being watched by eyes that hovered somewhere under the cold expanse of skin.
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clownsuu · 2 years
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isnt drinking against the rules? did the princinple… betray us?
He’s the principal he can do what he pleases smhhhh
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everythingisubtext · 2 years
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Is it just me or does the miraculous fandom here seem... gone? Been browsing through the tags and its, all empty or very few posts or very little engagement etc etc.
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