True freedom.
Very true but why does this jpeg look like the fever dream of a dying man
my parents trying to get ahold of me in 1998
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@riotaero
True freedom.
Very true but why does this jpeg look like the fever dream of a dying man
my parents trying to get ahold of me in 1998

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I felt this
You’re a goddamn genius
There’s a lot of excellent examples of the difference between a million and a billion, but here’s my new personal favorite from a conversation I had today:
A million minutes ago was April 2021, the height of the COVID pandemic.
A billion minutes ago was November 121 CE, the height of the Roman Empire.
caving as an extreme sport is sooo unfathomable to me why are u as a creature of the daylight doing that. were u born without the dread in ur bones or something
come 9 year olds let us sleep in the hell fissures where time goes to suffocate

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i cant stop laughing
‘how would other people describe you’ why would i know this
was violently compelled to do this
i hate this post because the original unedited tweet was made by my girlfriend and she fucking loves the show bbc merlin so fucking much. but that’s not the bit i hate, the bit i hate is that the original tweet is about how she outed me as from a protestant family to her irish catholic grandmother to distract from us being lesbians and it’s TRUE she DID DO THIS and also i SHOWED HER THIS EDIT AND SHE LOVES IT 🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🥰🥰🥰🥰🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬💘💘
After shoving Hansel in the oven, the witch turns to Gretel - who is currently fending the witch off with a gingerbread chair - and says:
“I can’t believe you thought a trail of breadcrumbs would save you. I mean, honestly, this is a forest! It’s full of animals. Honestly, the very idea that a dumb shit like you thought you could get the better of me is absurd.”
Gretel hits her in the face with said chair. To be fair to the witch, she takes the chairshot like a champ.
“Ow!”
“Did you know,” says Gretel, “that crows are capable of facial recognition?”
“Eh?” Says the witch, clambering to her feet and pulling a candy cane sledgehammer off the wall. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Not only that,” Gretel continues, “but they can remember both friends and enemies. And they’ll often follow people they remember as friends.”
The two fence with their sugared weapons for a moment, before the witch knocks the chair out of Gretel’s hands.
“Enough with the bird facts! Honestly, this whole attempted escape has been utter clownshoes. Get in the fucking oven!”
She seizes Gretel by the collar. Gretel immediately sandbags, letting her whole body go limp. This eminently practical defense forces the witch to try and deadlift her. Which is hard, as the witch often skips leg day.
“For example,” Gretel says, as the witch struggles and grunts, “if you feed crows a lot of breadcrumbs, they’ll probably start to see you as a friend and follow you in the hope of more food.”
The witch stops. Outside, she hears the thunder of wings.
“They’ll even bring you shiny things they find as presents!” Says Gretel, as a corner of the gingerbread ceiling is suddenly cut away by a large crow with a knife in its mouth.
“Oh shitballs.” Says the witch, as the crows descend. “I hope you know this is a great unkindness.”
“Technically,” Says Gretel, “It’s a murder.”
Have I told y’all about my husband’s Fork Theory? If I did already, pretend I didn’t, I’m an old.
So the Spoon Theory is a fundamental metaphor used often in the chronic pain/chronic illness communities to explain to non-spoonies why life is harder for them. It’s super useful and we use that all the time. But it has a corollary. You know the phrase, “Stick a fork in me, I’m done,” right? Well, Fork Theory is that one has a Fork Limit, that is, you can probably cope okay with one fork stuck in you, maybe two or three, but at some point you will lose your shit if one more fork happens. A fork could range from being hungry or having to pee to getting a new bill or a new diagnosis of illness. There are lots of different sizes of forks, and volume vs. quantity means that the fork limit is not absolute. I might be able to deal with 20 tiny little escargot fork annoyances, such as a hangnail or slightly suboptimal pants, but not even one “you poked my trigger on purpose because you think it’s fun to see me melt down” pitchfork.
This is super relevant for neurodivergent folk. Like, you might be able to deal with your feet being cold or a tag, but not both. Hubby describes the situation as “It may seem weird that I just get up and leave the conversation to go to the bathroom, but you just dumped a new financial burden on me and I already had to pee, and going to the bathroom is the fork I can get rid of the fastest.”

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Why does this read like an insult
wouldn't you like to know, brunch boy? you sandwich-eating so-and-so.
This instrument so sophistocated in design it sounds like two instruments.
I just looked up this instrument and HOLY HELL it’s great.
No one: Tumblr gif makers: *downloads a 70GB video file just to make one gifset of some blorbo that’ll only get 120 notes*
Are they....are they hunting him?
He will die for our sins

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I want to read a fic exacly like my most beloved favorite fics but also NEW and DIFFERENT. but also the same.
Lexa smiling (only for Clarke)