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Pinned ping

An important fact about me is that I picked up the Banner of the Stars manga randomly at a Borders in middle school and have been ever since then seeking a space elf princess to be a devoted companion to.

"I'm not owned! I'm not owned!" I say, as I shrink and slowly transform into an object with no needs other than Service.

Minor life improvement: smart speakers that you can group up and sync audio between. As a kid this luxury was provided automatically by the radio waves being everywhere at the speed of light so it's nicely nostalgic to be able to wander into the kitchen and hear the same thing.

There's a lot of scholarship about how the introduction from the New World of sugar and cocoa, and the spread of coffee and tea sparked a new era of intellectual ferment in the west. Is there any equivalent with things like peppers which became important in eastern cultures?

From the darkened kitchen, an aproned figure peers hopefully out at them. Everything was just right: the dinner, the vintage, the ambiance were exactly as directed. Does that mean she's going to do it? Is tonight going to be the night I get a sister?

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The fire is banked and crackling. Its light outlines two figures, glasses in hand, in the final throes of
companionable conversation, when both parties drift into longer and longer silences.

The semantics of Twitter circles are fun. Posted publicly, this is just a funny joke; posted to a circle it has a confessional feel.

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You either die traumatized or live to see yourself become trauma aware.

Promoted tweets that look like shitposts, entry 1:

This was supposed to be 6, and I'm supposed to be able to edit tweets but I guess not yet!

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If it is to be a war-doll, tell it it was an atoning sinner, a condemned criminal or a useless drunkard scooped up off the streets. Any lie will do as long as it creates the right sense of self and of the world for its purpose.

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When a newborn doll asks, inevitably, "what kind of person was I?" It's important to tell the right kind of lie. If it is to be shaped for domestic service, tell it it was a good person who fell on hard times or a child who was sold by destitute parents.

I think I should make a hypertext labyrinth out of my empty spaces writing. Other people put their content in neatly ordered threads and websites but I feel like you could make a great experience for the reader with a more chaotic design.

Part of me knows that this isn't right, that she's poking holes through smooth muscle that could never heal, wounds that should be slowly painfully, mortal. It's exactly that part of me that I came here to excise.

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The witch's needle slides in, deeper than anything has ever gone. Deeper than anything was ever meant to go. It feels good, then bad, then good again, like losing a baby tooth but in reverse, somehow.

I don't regret what I did. He'll heal, and even get back full range of motion if he does all the physical therapy exercises. My treasure will always bear the jagged marks of his careless shove, however carefully I align and glue her.

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People and dolls break differently. The latter a quiet, priceless sound followed by "sorry, miss," the former, a nauseating, wet-sounding crack with an instant screaming response.

*frantic googling* can you give self bpd


"Everyone hates me, I hate everyone! Everybody hates me, I eat everybody!"

-marching chant among the Rotten Dolls of the Bilious Witch

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