#AHH Tumblr posts

  • thegirlthatsdancingintherain
    25.07.2021 - 16 minutes ago

    today i made the prettiest gifs out of all the ones i've ever made, maybe this practice thing does work 🥺

    #i decided to gif baby don't stop for practice and testing things out and because it's available in 4k and... #i am genuinely properly happy with my gifs and their quality? for the first time? #i think i'll play around some more tomorrow morning and post all three sets at once then #ahh it's so nice to have exams over and to be free to invest time into actually figuring things out #emma talks
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  • blackjourney
    25.07.2021 - 45 minutes ago

    oh my god a person born in 2005 is turning/has turned 16 this year im gonna lose it

    #stop ive just been hit by the facgt that time passes while im looking at this persons carrd #16 ISNT EVEN THAT FAR AWAY FROM ME ITS JUST THAT. 2005?? AHH #sonata
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  • devilzfruit
    25.07.2021 - 1 hour ago

    just got back from going to my work to buy pots and stuff for my plants and HGSHDJFJFK firstly i walk up and grab a tea plant (!yay!) and one of the employees said hey as he started watering near me. then when i went to go inside the younger cashier lady must have recognized me??? even tho i wasn't wearing my vest??? and asked if we had any citronella and i told the customer where they'd be if we had some. then she said that i smelled good and then went "oh god that was weird sorry" which. i just thought was funny and also i didn't know i smelled good so 😳 that was cute. and then my fave employee p was working so i had her help with getting the perlite from the back of the shelf and she was talking about how work was going and showed me some plant info stuff she got from a grower. and then when i brought my cart back i went to say goodbye we talked for a few more min and she said that she knew wherever i went and whatever i did i'd be good at it and they'd be lucky to have me and that she was going to miss me because i was such a big help and she knew that she could rely on me 🥺 and then she asked if she could give me a hug and i told her if she needed anything she had my number. god i'm going to miss working with her.

    #ship logbook; #the good thing is i'll be back next year but i'm really sad ahh #the first thing. the very first thing she asked was whether or not i'd be back or if my boss gave me more hours 😭 i was like 'i WISH lol' #im still gonna call it work cause even tho im just seasonal its still where i've worked the longest #next year will be my third year therr #also just being recognized was so funny i had on jeans and a tank top #it says 'mug life' #idk being percieved is nice sometimes #long post
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  • sapphicvevo
    25.07.2021 - 2 hours ago

    HELP im nervous im going to meet up with the girl im sorta dating at her friends house for a pool hang out thing and im NERVOUS 🙈

    #p #neither of my best friejds picked up AHH
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  • kidza
    25.07.2021 - 2 hours ago

    Fire alarm 😵‍💫

    #talk tag #and now im dizzy... sudden switches are awful #ahh... internal flashback too... #-scott#delete later
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  • dayrooo
    25.07.2021 - 2 hours ago

    I am going to DIE IM IN SO MUCH PAIN

    #WHY DOES MY PERIOD HURT SO MUCH #AHH #i wanna draw but my stomach hurts and my back hurts and everything hurts #personal talk tag #i was suppose to go somewhere tomorrow but theres no way im doing that #ugh why did i have to be born a female
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  • 4otherthings
    25.07.2021 - 2 hours ago
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  • requiem626k
    25.07.2021 - 3 hours ago
    #Kat🦋 #kunikida charanon <3 #hehehe💕 #you talented people i swear #both of you were truly flawless😖<3 #so fitting for the characters you played as #ahh
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  • brattywhor3
    25.07.2021 - 3 hours ago
    #🖤—chatting#🍭🦷—saki #ahh house husband Kisaki is so nakajsbsk #kisaki x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #this is not edited and the formatting is trash :p #but he’s sho cute ☺️☺️
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  • bluejayblueskies
    25.07.2021 - 3 hours ago

    the before, the after, the in-between

    Chapter Seven: daybreak trains Words: 3.3k

    Relationships: Jon & Daisy, Jon/Martin Tags: Post-Canon, Scottish Safehouse, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mute Jon, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Hopeful Ending

    Work Summary:

    There was no knife, no blood, and Jon was not dead. And when he heard a strangled noise from beside him and looked over to see Martin standing in the doorway of the safehouse, flung open and letting in the frigid bite of near-winter and sunlight, there was sunlight, he felt such a dizzying, intense wave of relief that he could hardly breathe around it.
    Then, he opened his mouth to say Martin’s name, and nothing came out, and all of the relief fell away in an instant.
    Jon wakes up in the safehouse in October of 2018, alive and well but without the Eye and without his voice. In the days that follow, he finds himself confronted with a world that has reset itself in space and in time, a version of himself that is no longer the Archivist, and the fact that death during the end of the world had not been so permanent as it had seemed.

    Chapter Summary:

    Daisy sighs and stands, brushing her hands off on the thighs of her trousers. “It’s not like you’re never going to see me again. I’ll still visit.”
    “I know,” Jon signs, his hand gestures a bit too wide. “I’ll still…” He pauses, his hands lingering in the air for a moment as he tries to figure out what the next sign should be, before giving up and stepping forward instead, reaching for Daisy’s hand and capturing it in his. He squeezes tightly, looking up at Daisy with an open, vulnerable expression. Then, he brings her hand up with his as he presses it against the left side of his chest, a few inches above the jagged line of scar tissue, and settles his other hand on top of it. He may not know how to sign I’ll miss you, but he’d learned love early on.

    Read on Ao3 (link in source)

    Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven

    Or read below:

    (cw for mentions of canon-typical worms)


    A quick note that all sign language in this chapter (BSL) is indicated via italics in quotation marks. I recognize that BSL has different grammar and sentence construction than spoken English, but for the purposes of this fic and for clarity’s sake, I’ve written all sign language as it would be translated into English syntax and sentence construction. Further disclaimer that I am not deaf or mute and that I don’t speak any version of sign language, so if I’ve made an error in depicting the dialogue here, please let me know!


    Jon raps his knuckles on the frame of the bedroom door, and Daisy glances up from where she’s crouched on the floor next to the bed, halfway through packing her bag next to the cot they’d gotten so Daisy didn’t have to sleep on the couch. (Though they have been saving up for a new couch, a decently nice one that doesn’t sag in the middle and leak stuffing. Martin’s new job at the village’s library pays adequately enough, but in the three months it’s been since the world snapped back to normal, they’ve only managed to accumulate a few hundred pounds in savings. It’s all right though, Jon thinks. They have time.)

    “You don’t leave until tomorrow,” Jon signs, his hands still a bit clumsy around the words but adept enough to get his point across. He still carries his notebook with him for when the modest collection of signs Daisy’s been able to teach him so far aren’t enough for him to convey his thoughts, and he has a cell phone now with a speech-to-text app that he uses occasionally even though he finds the mechanical voice grating, but he’s been having to use them less and less. He still likes having the notebook, though. It feels nice to look down and see his words still scrawled on paper even after the conversation is over. A reminder that, for all that his voice has been used and stolen and manipulated over the years, his words are still his own.

    “I know,” Daisy says, tucking a few more things in her bag before zipping it closed. She sits on her heels and looks up at him, her hair loose and falling just beneath her chin from where they’d cut it a few weeks prior. “But now it’s done, so.”

    Jon sighs lightly and shakes his head, more an expression of resignation than irritation. The spot where Daisy’s things used to sit looks empty now, barren. It makes something heavy settle in the pit of his stomach. It must show on his face, because Daisy sighs and stands, brushing her hands off on the thighs of her trousers. “It’s not like you’re never going to see me again. I’ll still visit.”

    “I know,” Jon signs, his hand gestures a bit too wide. “I’ll still…” He pauses, his hands lingering in the air for a moment as he tries to figure out what the next sign should be, before giving up and stepping forward instead, reaching for Daisy’s hand and capturing it in his. He squeezes tightly, looking up at Daisy with an open, vulnerable expression. Then, he brings her hand up with his as he presses it against the left side of his chest, a few inches above the jagged line of scar tissue, and settles his other hand on top of it. He may not know how to sign I’ll miss you, but he’d learned love early on.

    Daisy’s hand relaxes underneath his, and she stares at where their hands are clasped, mouth settling into something warm and fond. “Yeah. Me too. But it’s… time.” Her mouth twitches into something halfway displeased. “Basira’s waited long enough.”

    She can wait a bit longer, Jon thinks, even as he nods and lets go of Daisy’s hand. Besides, he… he knows she’s right. The longer she stays, the less of a chance there is of her leaving at all, and he knows that it’s for the best if she goes. For her and for him.

    That doesn’t mean he has to like it.

    Daisy must see the vaguely sullen look on Jon’s face that he’s trying to hide, because she gives Jon an amused look and says, “You’ll be fine. No need to be so… grumpy.”

    “I know,” Jon signs again, perhaps a bit more forcefully than is strictly necessary. “I’m not.”

    “Sure,” Daisy says, her eyes wandering past his face and over his shoulder, where the door is sitting ajar. Jon knows Martin isn’t out there—that he’s still at work, will be for another hour or so—but he still has to resist the urge to follow her gaze, to check for himself that the doorway remains empty. “You’ve got my number? So you can call if you need to?”

    Jon nods, signing the numbers just to make sure, and Daisy hums. “Good. I know the reception’s shit out here, but if I call three times with no response, I’m on the next train to Scotland. Understood?”

    Jon rolls his eyes and tries to pretend like the fact that Daisy cares doesn’t make something warm and comforting settle in his chest. “Yes, mother.”

    “Don’t be cheeky,” Daisy says, amused.

    Daisy’s bag of things—clothing, toiletries, a few other items she’d accumulated over the past few months—sits accusingly by the door as Jon goes through the motions of making dinner, timing it so it’ll be ready by the time Martin gets home. It’s achingly domestic, and though Jon doesn’t really mind it, he’s found himself restless more days than not, hands itching for something to do that isn’t practicing sign language with Daisy or dusting the windowsills for the twentieth time. He thinks he’d be fine finding a job in the village; Martin insists that it’s still too dangerous, that people are still too angry. It’s a recurring argument, so old that almost all of the vitriol has bled out of it by this point, but still, they have it. Every moment he spends confined in this house is just another aching reminder of why he’s confined, and it builds and builds until some part of it springs free and brings with it all the frustration and hurt and pain that he just can’t seem to shake.

    Maybe that’s why Jon’s so frustrated about the… therapy situation.

    He stabs the knife through the pepper he’s cutting with a bit more force than necessary, and it makes a dull thunk on the cutting board. Daisy glances over from where she’s taking spices out of the cabinet, one eyebrow raised. “You’re going to wear a hole through the plastic if you keep doing that.”

    Jon sighs and sends her a withering look. “Thank you,” he signs with a roll of his eyes, the motion sharp and forceful, before turning back to the cutting board and continuing to slice with clipped, jerky motions.

    Daisy exhales slowly, turning back to the cabinet. “What’s wrong?” she says, reaching in and sorting through the frankly obscene amount of spices they’ve accumulated over the past few months.

    “Nothing,” Jon signs without looking away from the pepper. “It’s fine.”

    “Hm.” Daisy locates the spice she was looking for and pulls it out of the cupboard. “Is it because I’m leaving? I told you, it’ll be fine.”

    Jon sighs and shakes his head, brushing the cut peppers off to the side and starting in on the onion. Daisy is quiet, busying herself with the spices and clearly waiting for Jon to elaborate. She’s patient, and he knows from experience that she’ll wait and wait and wait until he finally tells her what she wants to know. It reminds him distinctly of a persistence predator, stalking their prey and waiting for them to tire before they pounce.

    Jon makes it all the way through the onion, ginger, and mushrooms before he finally sets the knife down with a clatter and signs, “It’s Martin.”

    He leaves his hands in the air for a lingering moment, three fingers pressed tightly to the palm of his left hand, before forcibly relaxing his hands and dropping them. After a moment, Daisy prompts, “Okay. It usually is. What about Martin?”

    Jon flexes his fingers by his side a few times before resigning himself to the fact that Daisy won’t let this go until he explains himself fully. He turns to gather his notebook from the kitchen table, sets it flat on the counter next to the cutting board, and taps the pen on the page a few times before deciding to just be blunt. I don’t understand how going into town for therapy is different than going into town for any other reason.

    Daisy hums. “Are you upset about the therapy part or about the rest of it?”

    I’m fine with the therapy part, Jon writes, a bit messily in his haste and frustration. So the rest of it.

    Daisy crosses her arms, clearly waiting for him to explain.

    It’s just, Jon writes, then scribbles it out. I just don’t understand, he tries, before scribbling that out too. Finally, with a frustrated huff of air, Jon settles on, I don’t think doctor-patient confidentiality is going to be as protective as Martin thinks it will be.

    “Hm.” Daisy leans back against the counter and taps her fingers against it thoughtfully. “Maybe he thinks it’s worth the risk.”

    Jon makes a breathy hmph sound, not sure if he’s displeased about the fact that this is what finally convinces Martin that it’s ‘worth the risk’ or about the fact that Daisy has a point.

    “Why don’t you talk to him about it?” Daisy asks. Which is a perfectly reasonable question, Jon knows, so there’s no reason for him to grow even more frustrated when Daisy asks it.

    He sighs, stares at his notebook, and eventually just shrugs wearily. We just haven’t been very good at talking lately, he writes, feeling every bit of his energy seep out into the ink. The end of the last letter bleeds when he leaves his pen pressed there for too long, which he thinks is fitting. That’s sort of the point of the therapy.

    It’s not that Jon’s resistant to therapy. He’s not. He’d done a few sessions with a child psychologist when he was eight (that had eventually dropped off when he’d decided that never think about it again and pretend like it never happened was a much better method of coping than trying to explain something unexplainable to a smiling woman in a pantsuit), a good month or two in uni when the stress of it all had compounded and he’d shut off sometime after exams, and they were… fine. He’d taken away a few tools that he still uses—breathing techniques, the occasional bout of journaling that he’d never managed to maintain, things to help him at least identify when his thoughts begin to spiral—but nothing had really ever seemed substantial enough to justify going back. Even when things had gotten… bad, in the Archives, he’d never entertained the thought, because what would he say? He’d sat in his flat after Prentiss, laptop open as he scrolled through the available services, and found the phone number he was meant to call. His wounds itched underneath his bandages; he tried not to scratch them. The ones in his mind were a bit more difficult to let be.

    He hadn’t called, in the end. He’d imagined it—sitting in a sterile office, bandages from head to toe, trying to explain being half-eaten alive by worms without saying those words—and had felt a lump that was equal parts desperation and despair rise in his throat, so acute that he’d shut his laptop with a bit more force than necessary. Therapy just… wasn’t in the cards for him, he’d decided.

    And then things had gotten more complicated, and he’d been paranoid then on the run then comatose then just trying to fight against the hunger, and he’d resigned himself to the fact that he… he couldn’t be helped. Every aspect of his life was so entwined with things that he couldn’t explain to someone else, with things that a therapist wouldn’t understand, and to try to separate the parts of him that were human from the parts of him that weren’t seemed like an impossible task. Better just… not to try at all, he’d decided. He’d be fine. He always was.

    Jon supposes that now, the problem is quite the opposite. Before, he’d avoided talking about the parts of himself that were supernatural because the therapist wouldn’t understand. Now, he’s avoiding talking about them because they’ll understand a bit too well.

    “I think you’re still meant to try,” Daisy says, and Jon’s confused for a moment before he remembers oh, right. Talking to Martin. “Besides, he’ll… be able to help more than I can. I can’t tell you what he’s thinking; only he can.”

    Almost flippantly, Jon signs, “I know.” He sighs and, after a moment, writes, I think it’ll be easier if I just trust him on this. If he thinks it’s safe, then

    Jon pauses, pen still sitting on the paper, before finishing with a bit more conviction than he feels, then it’s safe.

    Daisy just watches him for a moment, forehead slightly creased, before shrugging. “All right. If you need somebody to tell you that that’s fine, then here I am—telling you that it’s fine.”

    “Thanks,” Jon signs with a fond sigh and a roll of his eyes. “Very helpful.”

    “You’ve got to work on your ‘sarcastic’ face, or I’m going to start taking you seriously.”

    “Ha ha.”

    “Hm. Much better.”

    . . .

    The bus from the village to the train station in Inverness leaves just after dawn. Jon shifts from side to side by the door to the safehouse as Daisy does a final check to ensure she hasn’t forgotten anything, Martin trailing close behind. When they finally join him by the door, Martin hardly has time to open his mouth before Jon signs, quick and crisp, “I’m coming with.”

    “Jon—” Martin starts, but Jon shakes his head.

    More emphatically, he signs, “I’m. Coming. With.” When Martin opens his mouth again to argue, Jon holds up a hand, digs his notebook out of the pocket of his jacket, and scribbles, If we can visit a therapist for the foreseeable future, I can go into town once to say goodbye.

    Martin’s lips purse, but after a moment, he sighs. “No, you’re- you’re right. I’m sorry. I’m just…”

    “Scared?” Jon signs, one hand still holding the notebook and the other brushing against his chest.

    Martin’s expression deepens, and he nods.

    Jon worries his bottom lip between his teeth, then reaches forward and takes Martin’s hand in his. He squeezes it gently, reassuringly, then threads their fingers together and holds it tightly. Martin takes a deep breath, lets it out, and squeezes back. “Okay,” he whispers. “Sorry. I just- I worry.”

    I know, Jon thinks. He nods and fumbles to tuck the notebook back in his pocket, then brushes his fingers gently against Martin’s cheek. I’ll be okay.

    He hopes the sentiment comes across. He thinks it does, from the way Martin leans slightly into his touch and takes another, more even breath.

    “I think I’ve got everything,” Daisy says, breaking through the tension between them a bit indelicately but not without purpose. “We should start walking.”

    Martin presses his face into Jon’s hand for a moment more before pulling away, and Jon drops his hand back to his side. “Yeah,” Martin says with a short, firm nod. “Let’s go.”

    The trip to the village is surprisingly short. It might be because of the anticipation building in Jon’s stomach, half from the knowledge that he has at best another hour with Daisy and half from the clawing worry that he’s horribly miscalculated and the moment he steps past the village limits, an angry mob will coalesce around them and demand reparation for all of Jon’s past mistakes.

    It doesn’t happen. They arrive at the village and the streets are quiet, most people still asleep or preparing for the day as the sun tickles at the horizon, tinting the landscape around them with a soft morning blue. The few people they do pass pay them no mind, save for an older gentleman who wishes Martin a good morning and nods politely at Jon and Daisy. As they get closer to the bus station, Jon relaxes in increments until, by the time they reach it, he’s nearly free of tension entirely. A new wave of anxiety rushes through him as he sees the small crowd clustered by the pickup area, but they stay away from the crowds, instead stopping a bit further away near a grouping of benches. Jon settles down gratefully, the walk having made the ache in his knee flare up slightly, and after a moment, Martin and Daisy sit down as well, one on either side of him. They’re warm and solid, and even as a few more people begin to filter into the station, Jon relaxes once again as he stretches his leg in front of him carefully.

    The bus is there too soon. Jon cuts off halfway through his sentence, his pen pressed against the paper as the rumble of the bus fills the air and people start to shift and stand, making their way towards where the bus is slowly rolling to a stop. He looks at Daisy, suddenly feeling a bit lost, and she places her hand atop his and applies a gentle, firm pressure. “Call,” she reminds him. “Twice a week, at minimum. I expect you to be alive and well when I come back to visit, okay?”

    Jon takes a deep breath. When he lets it out, it hitches in his throat. “Okay,” he signs. He flutters his hands in the air for a moment, caught between signing I love you and Be safe, then gives up and leans forward, wrapping Daisy in a tight hug instead.

    She huffs out a laugh, but after a moment her arms curl around him and she settles her hands flat against his lower back, pressing down lightly. “Yeah, yeah,” she says softly. “I’ll miss you too.”

    And then she’s standing and walking towards the bus and boarding and the bus is pulling away and then it’s just him and Martin, sitting side-by-side on the bench and watching the bus disappear from their line of sight. After a moment, Martin settles his hand on Jon’s knee and says quietly, “You okay?”

    Jon takes a deep breath, lets it out, and nods. “Let’s go home?”

    Martin nods, shifting his hand so it slips into Jon’s and squeezing tightly. “If you’re sure.”

    Jon runs the fingers of his free hand along the cover of his notebook, now lying closed on his lap. The back half is filled with words, thoughts, some carefully inked and others scratched down quickly before Jon forgot them. He has another two just like this one, tucked away in his drawer in the bedroom underneath his jumpers. There’s so much contained within them, so much more that’s still contained within himself, and the path ahead—the one where he sits side-by-side with Martin and faces a trained professional and tries to iron them all out into something manageable—is a daunting one. But he wants to try. God, he wants to try. So badly he aches with it.

    “I’m sure,” he signs, then reaches down and picks up his notebook and pen. For all the uncertainty he’s faced in the past, all that he still faces, that, at least, is clear to him.

    “All right.” Martin bumps his knee gently against Jon’s once before standing, helping Jon to his feet. Jon’s knee twinges in protest, and without missing a beat, Martin slips his hand out of Jon’s and around his back instead, subtly supporting his weight as they make their way out of the station and back to the paved road that turns to gravel that turns to dirt that leads to the small wooden cottage at the top of the hill.

    Right now, the soil outside their house is dark and barren. But in a few months’ time, Jon knows, it will grow warm and the days will grow longer and he will be able to sit outside and look at the sky and think of just how lucky he is that he’s allowed to have this. That, despite all of the bad that has happened and all of the bad that has followed them still, he’s allowed to be happy.

    And in the spring, the daisies will bloom once again.

    #tma #the magnus archives #jaisy week#jonathan sims#daisy tonner#martin blackwood#my writing#my fic#before tag #ahh i did it! it's done! :D #also a note that the sign jon uses for martin here is just the letter 'm' and isn't a sign name
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  • jeonsweetpea
    25.07.2021 - 3 hours ago

    if anyone wants to trade their peaches taehyung photocard for my peaches jimin photocard... pls lemme know... uwu

    #dl#bts trading#bts #lol i'm just so impatient ahh #i also have cream jin and pob jin pc
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  • ardellian
    25.07.2021 - 4 hours ago

    Rosie the Riveter

    #ahh two days into vacation and i feel like i can draw again #bless#fhr rosie#fallen hero#fhr #my fhr stuff #my art
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  • esteweird
    25.07.2021 - 4 hours ago

    a tiny voice in the back of my head has been saying 'oh for real? on god? just like that?' in the doofenshmirtz voice for the past week please help

    #yk that one video?????? #AHH
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  • happyheidi
    25.07.2021 - 4 hours ago

    “Kitchen. Noun – A gathering place for friends and family. A place where memories are homemade and seasoned with love.” ♡

    #ahh love is stored (pun intended) in the kitchen! <3 #this brings me such inner piece and a feeling of comfort #cottagecore#kitchen#kitchencore#quote#interior#kitchen aesthetic#food#foodcore#herbs#cozycore#cosycore#design#kitchen decor#fruit#vegetables#grandmacore#cooking
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  • hockstuff
    25.07.2021 - 6 hours ago

    mat with the C and beau with the A does things to me so… i did a thing

    you’re welcome

    #imagine this like 5-ish years into the future bc right now we still love our dilf leaders #it’s a real struggle between wanting the dilfs to stay forever but also wanting the young guys to start (and get the C and As👀) #tried to edit as best i could but ahh well 😂😮‍💨 #mat barzal#anthony beauvillier#mathew barzal #new york islanders #q
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  • neohiara
    25.07.2021 - 7 hours ago

    I'm sorry for not posting any drawings but I feel unmotivated and tired for a few days and I don't know how to feel better.

    #Ahh sorry #I hate my mood #My mind wants drawing but my body no #Sorry again #I hope you are okay #Text#My post
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  • chasing-starlights
    25.07.2021 - 7 hours ago
    #like hmm#i #have rlly barely said everything i can say abt manbun cam #tho it is essentially just variations of #kill me zaddy~ #sksksksks #ahh i um i rlly um like his wrestler au um yes #....and like yk i feel odd simping over a version of him i helped to write but um I SWEAR HE WROTE HIMSELF AND HE HAD NO BUISNESS
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  • redrosedream
    25.07.2021 - 8 hours ago
    #i love niki so much ahh #asks #anon my beloved
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