my fav colt photos..

izzy's playlists!
sheepfilms
cherry valley forever
Three Goblin Art
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
Stranger Things

pixel skylines

JVL

#extradirty
Claire Keane
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
Not today Justin
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH

Andulka

ellievsbear

祝日 / Permanent Vacation
we're not kids anymore.
will byers stan first human second

tannertan36
i don't do bad sauce passes

seen from Mexico
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seen from United States
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seen from Germany
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seen from Kenya

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@zenie3
my fav colt photos..

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lol the way that sticker is there is so cute
All of the emergency vehicles and first responders that were dispatched to Columbine High school on the morning of 4/20/99.
Their crosses are so sad 😿
bro colt what is that sticker

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FULL RECAP ON NEW ARTHUR INVESTIGATIONS
Austrian news source “ServusTv” investigates his home, finds out he has been medicated for schizophrenia and depression since he was 13.
When the police searched his room, his room was filled with pills of all sorts.
His diary isn’t fully released yet but his final entry is “I hate you all”.
Friends of the perpetrator claim he used to jokingly threaten to shoot up his school and tell them about his favorite american school shooters.
His mother recalls him telling her that he’s gonna get a gun to “kill everyone.”
His siblings said they were aware that he was cutting himself.
ServusTv is pushing to reopen investigations, sign petitions pls ❤️
Year one without Arthur
Choosing You
Hubby and I took a quick trip over the weekend. “3 days for thirty years,” we called it.
No lights.
No cameras.
Lots of action.
Lol, I am just kidding….maybe.
I have spent the better part of the last thirty years aggravating hubby for sport, and I have loved every minute of it.
Well, most of it, anyway. Like all relationships, we have experienced hardships, and there were a couple of times I honestly wasn’t sure our relationship would survive.
We survived them all.
Because we were committed.
We still are.
Not because we have settled into some level of comfort, which, undoubtedly, is true. But because, still, after thirty years, we wake up every morning and choose each other.
I thought about that as I sprawled out in my beach chair, peeking at him over my iPad while gracing him with a smile or a scowl, depending on what memory I was reliving when I got caught.
Like the time he left a pair of socks on the bedroom floor for longer than I deemed socially acceptable, and when I inquired as to why, he said the socks were “art.”
The next day, after he left for work, I dedicated an hour of my life to shredding the socks into a million pieces and carefully placing them back where he left them. When hubby got home, he took one look at the heap of cloth that was once his socks and asked,
“What’s that?”.
“Art.”
He found the clothes hamper after that experience and has never forgotten where it was. And, to this day, the only art adorning our home has been chosen specifically by me.
That memory earned hubby a smile.
While immersing ourselves in a state of nothingness on our little beach non-adventure, hubby asked what I was reading so intently, since he witnessed me waging war against the sunlight to read the kindle version of a book in the two-inch spot of shade our beach umbrella afforded.
“Dark mafia romance stories.”
“Why are you reading those?” he asked, taken aback by the degree in which he deemed these stories to have detoured from my usual literary jaunts.
I detest romance stories unless they are situated within Middle Earth.
“I wanted to get a better glimpse at the subtlety in which gaslighting operates, and psychological thrillers wear their psychology on their sleeves so I needed something less obvious.”
“And you think dark mafia romance stories offers that?”
I shrugged my shoulders while suggesting, “You’ve gotta start somewhere.”
He processed this information with the precision of a man who has spent years dedicated to working with numbers and trapped in logical thought.
He then asked if I had picked up any pointers. I could tell by his expression he wasn’t thinking about gaslighting and I laughed.
“Not really.”
“Well, that’s disappointing,” he responded as his expression shifted back to something neutral.
“Yeah,” I said, “but only because we don’t have the right equipment.”
That earned a slight eyebrow raise as he stared out onto the ocean.
Moments later, he turned his attention fully towards me. The expression he wore was pure deviousness.
“You know, we could always…”
“No.”
The possibilities he was considering quickly morphed into an expression of defeat and he returned his attention to the ocean.
“Fine.”
I laughed. Not because his deviousness had been squashed, but because mine had been elevated.The entire exchange was blog-worthy, and the absolute horror hubby would experience at having to read his words in print filled me with absolute joy.
Because I love this man. I love aggravating him for sport. It gives me great pleasure and an immense feeling of accomplishment knowing that I am the number one reason why his blood pressure remains elevated.
Happy anniversary, honey. I would apologize for this post but we both know I am not sorry. Thank you for choosing me, and God help you, because, after thirty years, I still choose you.
Until the next time,
Source: Choosing You
HELP
Arthur’s gun license!!!

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i need him to shout at me ౨ৎ ♪
who tf did yo hair?!
I sometimes wonder which gun Arthur used to die and why that gun
the suicide guns
arlene tec9
educational post

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Counting down to ur birthday 12 more daysssss:3 im thinking of u everyday
photo of Dylan's coat discarded in the library