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myshipsokdontouch · 4 years ago
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It's like they googled 'butch outfits' and said 'yep this is something Kara Danvers would wear. Seriously, all these outfits are found under the search 'butch outfits' Kara Danvers is a butch this is canon
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staycute1234 · 4 years ago
Jungkook wants to get his licence so he can buy a car so he can take Jimin on dates and do him in the backseat.
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closertotheclouds · 3 years ago
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“I am fucking crazy, but I am free.“
Ride | Lana Del Rey (2012)
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maiuoart · 2 years ago
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A dare for Gillby to kiss Black on the cheek-....
Turns into this.
...I’m... Laughing too hard, Fuku, you PRECIOUS GEM OF A BEAN, YOU SLAY ME. NKDFJGHDFLKH
Anyways, a Payback? From this comic here where Mutt was dared to Lick Gillby.
Fuku’s train of thought; “Kisses are shared with those you like... Daddy got kissed by Uncle Pappy, who got a kiss in return. 
...New Pappy?” 
I just. I’m dying so hard, folks. I really can’t help this. Thank you guys and I hope my cringe worthy shit is funny to you too; EVERYTHING IS MORE HILARIOUS WITH KIDS! 
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jikookruinslives · 3 years ago
we don't talk enough about the gay rainbow unicorn photoshoot jikook did, it's a crime
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We still don’t have the explanation
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for this
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Almighty GAy jikook’s honeymoon
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You’re right anon, we don’t talk about it enough, and we should because holy shit jikook did THAT
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markwatneyandenesemble · 3 years ago
Prompt thing: scully cuts mulder’s hair
Thank you so much!!! 
58: One time Scully cuts Mulder’s hair. (AKA, why Mulder had that haircut for all of season 7)
She missed him. A lot. Since she’d left his doorway, after all that they’d said, all she had wanted to do was turn around and go back.
She kept telling herself that he needed space. After all he’d been through in the last few weeks, in the last year for that matter, he could use a little time alone. And a little time to grieve.
She was telling herself all these things, when her phone rang and she dove to answer it.
“Hey, it’s me,” he sounded a little hesitant. “Can you come back?”
She immediately went into doctor-mode. “Why, what’s wrong?”
“I need help with my bandages… the doctor said I need to change them every couple hours and I can’t see the back…”
She could practically hear him pacing around his apartment. This was a ploy to get her over there. He’d been injured enough he practically could change them in his sleep. And besides, when had he ever followed a doctor’s orders? She tried to convince herself not to go, that he needed time to process whether he knew it or not. But then the  irrational tried to justify it’s argument. He can’t leave the wound exposed, it’ll reopen. And before she knew it, she was standing back in front of his door, wondering why she had felt the need to come running to his aid so eagerly, and wondering if it was a mistake.
She had her hand raised to knock, but the door swung open before she could make contact.
“Hey, Scully.” He gave her a small smile. His victory cap was absent from his head, and his hair sticking up in all directions around a messily wrapped bandage. “Thanks for making this house-call.”
“No problem.” She followed him inside, and put her hand on his shoulder to guide him to the couch, sitting him down in front of her. She stepped between his legs and started unwrapping his head.
Under the bandage, she found the long, but thin red scar tracing around his head, and disappearing into his choppy hair like a halo.
“Whoever cut your hair at the hospital did a bad job,” she said, as she ran her hands through his hair far more than called for. It felt soft and silky beneath her fingers, like it always did. She found the end of the scar, just above either ear, and saw that the stitching, while badly done, was healing up nicely. She was about to turn away and start bandaging him again when she noticed a couple red scratch marks on the left side. “Mulder, have you been itching the scar?”
“Hmm?” his eyes were fixed straight ahead. Only, she realized, straight-ahead from his face was her chest. She rolled her eyes, and tilted his chin to look at her face. “A little,” he answered, “it was just a little itchy.”
She sighed. “How many healing wounds is it going to take for you to not reopen them?”
He shrugged and stared up at her with large, puppy-dog eyes. She rolled hers in response. “The itch’s probably the bandage pressing longer strands of your hair into the cut. I can trim it for you, your hair will just be shorter for a while.”
“As long as I’m not bald, I trust you, Scully.”
She rolled her eyes again. “Where’re your scissors?”
He thought for a second. “Bottom left corner of my closet?”
She opened her mouth to comment on his absurd organization system, but he beat her with a defense. “There was a loose string on one of my sweaters. And then I forgot to put them back.”
Another eye roll. “Hold on.” She strode into his closet, and found the scissors where he’d said they were. She stood up, her nose only briefly brushing a pile of shirts, taking in the scent of his off-brand laundry detergent. While the makers of “Arm and Mallet” likely were just trying to be the cheaper alternative, that smell felt more comforting to her than any one with a teddy bear on it.
When she returned, she found him sitting in the middle of the kitchen, on a solitary chair, as if he cared about the mess he was preventing.
He smiled at her. “I’m thinking longer on the top, shorter on the sides, think it’ll frame my face better?”
“You’ll be lucky if you don’t have to comb over.”
She grinned at him playfully, and stepped back between his legs, far closer than was necessary for the job she was doing. One hand ran again through his hair, feeling it between her fingers. God, it felt good. After a moment, she realized she had just been standing there running her hand in his hair. Her face flushed with embarrassment, and she glanced down at him. His eyes were shut, with a sweet smile on his face. When she pulled her hand away, they snapped open, and he looked up at her, and their eyes locked. The air between them became more electric as they stared into each other’s eyes, lips parted, their faces mere inches away from each other. Is it my imagination or was he leaning in closer? That question was answered when she felt one hand on her hip, and the other reaching up to her neck. Every so slowly, she let him guide her face to his, their lips meeting in the soft, tender kiss she’d been craving since that morning. Hell, since 1992.
Her heart raced in her chest as he wrapped his arm tighter around her waist, pulling her tightly against him. Her arms wrapped loosely around his shoulders, and in the distance, she could hear the scissors clatter to the floor. His lips pressed harder, the kiss becoming less and less chaste. She felt the velvety softness of his tongue brush against her lips, and she opened to him in an instant. Their tongues ran against each other, god, this felt good, and she could feel him placing his hand on the inside of her knee, to guide her onto his lap, where she went willingly, groaning at the contact. She sighed happily against him, and she could feel the corners of his mouth turning upwards in a grin. She let her hands wander back to his hair, running through it, worrying the soft strands between her fingers. Their lips only broke apart when her right hand accidentally grazed his scar, causing him to wince.
“I’m so sorry,” she breathed. He chuckled and shook his head, leaning forward to rest it on her shoulder as they leaned against each other catching their breath. “’s fine,” she heard him mumble.
She felt his lips press into her neck, and for a moment, she let herself drown in the sensation. But then the constant, rational voice in her head piped up. This was wrong. He’s grieving. You’re grieving. You’re partners.
Irrational Scully remained unconvinced, leaning in and letting him trail his lips up her neck towards her jaw. Her eyes opened halfway, and she saw the thin red line through his hair. It was like ice water in her veins. She stood up and practically jumped back, with Mulder looking as surprised and terrified as she was.
“I’m sorry,” they both gasped at the same time.
“No,” she said, reaching out to touch his chest, trying to reassure him. “I just need to…” she pointed at his scar. They needed to be responsible, and he knew it too. The best they could do to fix whatever was done to him would be to cover the cut, and let it heal. Making out on a kitchen chair wasn’t going to help, no matter how much they both were convinced.
He nodded, and she stepped around him to pick up the scissors.
“I’m… uh, just going to cut the sides a little shorter so that you still have hair when you don’t need the bandage, but not so long it’ll irritate the skin while the bandage is on.”
He nodded, and she stepped towards him again, only standing by his side this time. That said, she didn’t miss his hard swallow when her thigh brushed his.
She pinched his hair between her fingers, and cut just below, like she’d seen her mother do to her brothers a thousand times in her childhood home. Come to think of it, this kitchen wasn’t a far cry from that navy base house. Tiny, with dark, painted cabinets and cheap, tacky tiles.
She made her way around his head, evening up the choppy cuts some hospital official had put in his hair. She cut a little below the ears so it didn’t look uneven or strange. He shivered when she put her hand under his jaw to tilt his head.
“Stay still,” she said.
“You’re making it hard.” She traced her finger under his jaw, and it got another shudder. His breathing had gotten ever so slightly heavier.
“Well,” she said, “you’re in luck. I’m finished.” She walked over to the first-aid kit and pulled out the roll of gauze and cut a good length. “You’ll want to see an actual barber as soon as it’s healed more. Your hair’s looking a little like Charlie’s around 1976. But it’ll itch less.”
She came back to him, hesitating, before stepping between his spread legs. She started wrapping carefully over the scar.
“I can do that, Scully,” he said, forgetting his entire excuse to have her over. “You can head home.”
It wasn’t an offer, but a question. She shook her head as she stared into his eyes. No, she thought, I don’t want to. He seemed pleased by her answer.
“I am a medical doctor,” she said, as though her degree made her more qualified for the job. Her hand cupped the side of his head, as she finished wrapping the gauze around his head.
“There,” she said. “And there wasn’t a lot of blood, so it’s mainly just protection for now, so you don’t have to change it as frequently. It’s pretty tight so it won’t slide off or anything”
“No matter what I’m doing?” He waggled his eyebrows at her, and got an eye roll.
“I… uh, guess my work here is done,” she nearly stepped away, but his hands grasped her hips again. Her eyes locked with his- his full of love, and desire, and hunger. She was sure her eyes showed the same emotion.
“Scully,” he said, unmoving this time. Letting her make the first move. It didn’t take any convincing on her part, as her lips descended on his by the second syllable. Their mouths melded together once again, each groaning, realizing how much they’d been starved for this. It felt like they’d reached “Finally” part, like they were given the opportunity to enjoy something for once.
But it came to an end far quicker than it had started. She knew, however right the time felt like, they still weren’t there yet. They broke apart, and he rested his forehead against hers.
“What is it?” he whispered.
“I can hear you thinking. What’s wrong.”
She opened her eyes again, and pulled back slightly, the image of him in front of her bringing her back to reality, reminding her of that morning.
“Scully,” he tried to stop her. “Not her. Not that subject. Please.”
“She just died,” Scully said, a lump forming in her throat. She wanted to hate that woman, despite her last redeeming actions. But she didn’t hate him, and she was a part of him, of his past. So she couldn’t. And she couldn’t do this so soon. “She meant a lot to you. You need time.”
“Scully, I’m not getting over a breakup, this isn’t a rebound. It’s us. It’s comfort, and…” he gulped, almost backing out of whatever he was going to say. “…and love.” He let it sit in the open for a second. “And our time.”
She shook her head. “I can’t… I can’t start this so soon after all that’s happened in the last few weeks.”
“Scully,” he protested, but she stopped him by pressing her lips tight against his. She broke apart before he could deepen it.
“Soon,” she whispered. “But not now.”
He stared into her eyes, before nodding. She cupped the back of her head, before pressing a long kiss into his forehead, a mirror image of that morning.
They shared one last wordless gaze before she reached down and squeezed his hand tightly. And then she left the apartment, aching just as much for him as she had this morning, if not more, but knowing it wasn’t the time to run back.
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oh-mother-of-darkness · a year ago
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It was cold in Gotham, cold enough for Dick to wear his heavy jacket, his new boots, and his good scarf while he stood outside Wayne Tower. Behind the podium, Bruce began his speech. 
“Hello,” he said, flashing a grin. “I’m Bruce Wayne, CEO of Wayne Enterprises, and I won’t keep you long today— I promise.”
That got an appreciative laugh from the crowd gathered around them. Dick squeezed past a few people and into the front of the circle, where he could see. At eight years old, he stood several heads below the adults. 
“It’s a new year tomorrow,” Bruce continued, “and here at the Tower we’re celebrating our new programs. They’re all fine initiatives, and I’m not going to talk about them. As a matter of fact, I’m not going to talk about anything.”
The crowd murmured softly. Bruce grinned again. 
“I’m supposed to give a speech, or so they told me. I thought for a long time about what I was going to say, and I just couldn’t figure it out, until I talked to Dick Grayson, my foster son. That’s him over there.”
The cameras that had been focused on the stage turned with Bruce’s gesture, towards Dick in his position at the front of the circle. He gave them a little wave. 
“I asked Dick what I should do,” said Bruce, “and he told me this: just shut up.”
The crowd laughed again. Dick took a bow. 
“Shut up,” Bruce repeated, “and he’s right. I have a loud voice, in person and in the world. I’m a billionaire, a CEO, a rich kid from Gotham that’s never wanted a thing in his life. I’m not the one who should be talking. I do enough of that.”
Bruce’s grin turned into a grave expression. He looked out over the cityscape. 
“I should listen. I should shut up and listen, and I urge all of you that are like me to do the same. We need to listen to the voices that matter: the experienced, the knowledgable, the ones who can tell us their own stories. We need to let them speak.”
Bruce shrugged. “That’s all I have to say before I get off this stage and let some other people talk. I’d like to thank Dick for his wisdom, because he is very wise. That’s one of the many reasons I love him.”
Dick froze, but only for a second. He didn’t have time to process with cameras focussed on his face; he couldn’t afford to let his smile drop and show the crowd the truth— that Dick had never heard those words before. 
I love him?
What? Why would Bruce say that?
Who did he think he was?
Dick set a small smile firmly on his face and held it there as Bruce’s voice buzzed in front of him— buzzed because Dick couldn’t understand what Bruce was saying anymore. He didn’t know anything beyond the heartbeat thumping in his ears. 
I love him? I love him?
Dick startled back into reality as the crowd broke into applause. On stage, Bruce gave a final grin and made his way down the steps. He slipped into the front row, alongside Dick, while the next speaker bounded up to the microphone. 
The cameras panned away from Dick, finally. He let the smile slide from his face. 
Bruce noticed. He glanced down at Dick, curious, and raised an eyebrow.
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In return, Dick gave Bruce the flattest look he could muster, then spent the rest of the program staring intently at the other speakers. Dick and Bruce took pictures afterwards. They mingled, Dick circling the square while Bruce watched with concerned eyes. 
Dick stepped into a camera blind spot and glared at him. 
Bruce stepped into another. He raised his eyebrows again, this time in a what-are-you-doing sort of expression. 
Bruce’s eyes flicked up in exasperation. Dick jerked his head to the side, indicating the entrance to the Tower. He slipped inside as soon as the cameras weren’t looking. 
Dick took the elevator up to Bruce’s office, watching the crowd beneath him get smaller through the glass as he went higher and higher. He turned down hallways decorated for the New Year— golden lights and silver streamers— and into the familiar room. 
Bruce appeared seconds later, as quietly as he always did, like he had materialized in the office. He opened his mouth to speak. 
Dick beat him to it. 
“Hi,” Dick snapped. “What was that?”
“What was—?” Bruce raised his hands, apparently confused.
“That!” Dick put his own hands on his hips, drawing himself up to his full height. “What did you say about me?”
“I said you were… wise?”
“Not that part.”
Bruce’s face hardened. He stepped forward into what Dick recognized as a defensive stance. 
“I said I loved you?”
“You said you loved me!” Dick turned away and paced down the center of the room. “Why did you say that?”
“Why would you say that on a stage? Oh, I get it, I’m—” Dick spun around again and strode back down the tile, arms outstretched. “—I’m Bruce Wayne, CEO of Wayne Enterprises, and I want you to like me! Look at this little boy. Isn’t he cute?”
“I’m so glad I could help with your speech and your credibility and your— your reputation and—”
“Why are you acting like this?”
“Why am I acting like this?” Dick’s mouth fell open in shock. This was Dick’s fault now? He was the one behaving irrationally? No. No, he was not. 
“Yes!” Bruce stepped forward again, forcing Dick to take a step back. “All I said was I love—”
“All you did was play father in public!”
“Dick,” said Bruce. His voice went lower, scarier. “What are you talking about?”
Dick’s vision fuzzed out for a moment: silver static and a roaring in his ears. He felt his face go red in rage as he marched forward, jabbing a finger into Bruce’s chest. 
“That! Is! Your! Batman! Voice!”
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Bruce blinked, taken aback. 
“You do not get,” Dick snapped, “to Batman at me, or yell at me, or say— say what you— Don’t say that!”
“Don’t say that I love you?”
“I said don’t say it.”
“Okay!” Bruce crossed his arms. “I won’t say it anymore. Are you happy?”
“No! Don’t say it, and don’t— don’t look at me like that or, or talk to me like you’re—”
“I don’t understand why you’re upset.”
“Oh, you don’t?” Dick glanced at the golden lights strung from the ceiling, back to Bruce, lights, Bruce again. How was Bruce not getting this? It was simple enough. How much detecting did it take?
“Dick,” Bruce began. Batman again. 
“That!” Dick pointed wildly. “That right there! Oh it’s always ‘try harder, Dick, be better, Dick’ and ‘Robin, you’re making mistake after mistake,’ but then the second you need to look good in front of a crowd, it’s different.”
“This has nothing to do with—”
“Don’t say,” Dick ground out, “things that you don’t mean.”
They glared at each other. 
“I didn’t,” said Bruce. 
“Didn’t what?”
“Say… something I didn’t mean.”
Dick let his hands fall back to his sides. He turned away from Bruce, looking out through the windows to the skyscrapers across the street. Those glittered with lights too. As Dick watched, snow started to fall, floating outside the glass on gusts of invisible wind. Single flakes thickened into a barrage of white that whipped through the Gotham air. 
“Say it again, then,” Dick whispered. “You can— you can say it once.”
“I don’t—?”
“I said fine! You can say it once!”
“I…” Bruce’s voice sounded softer now, while Dick was turned away. “I love you?”
“And if you don’t want me to say it anymore, then I… won’t.”
“Not now,” said Dick. “Just… not for now.”
“Okay then.” Dick squeezed his eyes shut, opened them, held his breath, let it out. 
“Does that…” Bruce trailed off, unsure. “Does that make it better?”
“Do you… want a hug?”
“What do you want, then?”
“Um.” Dick struggled for a moment, turned around, raised a hand, then put it back at his side. “I want…”
Bruce waited expectantly. 
“I want a smoothie,” Dick decided.
“It’s cold?”
“I want a smoothie. And, and I want to watch the fireworks tonight, and I want Alfred to come with us.”
“I want to, um, I want to go to school next week, and come back again, and…”
“And I… want?”
Bruce nodded thoughtfully. “You want to stay?” he suggested. 
“Yes,” said Dick. He found that he was crying, tears smearing everything around him into a blur of gold and silver, silver and gold. The first drop fell onto the leather of his new boots, and he brushed the rest away with the sleeve of his coat. 
“Yes,” he repeated. “I want to stay.”
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Happy New Year from Kenza and Amy! We’ll say it once: we love you very much.
art by @kurawastaken​
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thepalmettofoxes · 3 years ago
wine mom: Andrew
vodka aunt: Kevin
tequila cousin: Nicky
cider sibling: Dan
beer brother: Matt
sangria sister: Allison
gin grandma: Renee
scotch grandpa: Neil
fireball family friend: Aaron
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monlunetaeil · 2 years ago
[4:07pm] BadboyHaechan! couldn't stop the blush from appearing on his cheeks as you sat on his bed, holding the small blue teddy in your hands.
"So your telling me, Lee Donghyuck, Haechan, The schools resident bad boy still sleeps with a teddy bear?" You questioned breaking the silence, a look of bewilderment on your face.
"Shut up, look i've had that bear since i was a baby, if you tell anyone i'll never speak-"
"Wow that is the cutest thing I've ever heard." Haechan looked up to see a smile on your face, the bear resting on your lap, bright eyes starring at him,
and suddenly, the blush on Haechan's face was no longer from embarrassment.
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eddiektozier · 3 years ago
Richie: I have a question. If Ben was in Ben’s bed and Bev was in Ben’s bed, what exactly was going on in said bed?
Ben: Nothing she needed a place to sleep.
Richie: “Needed a place to sleep”?! Well a bed is an interesting choice now wouldn’t you say?
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nextlevelwaterpanic · 3 years ago
i think my favorite part of warframe is that any attempt to describe a certain game mechanic just sounds like a bad creepypasta to anyone who hasn’t actually played the game
“there's a character called “the stalker” that sends you foreboding messages in your inbox after defeating certain bosses. sometimes he'll invade your missions seemingly at complete random, signalled by the lights flickering and more foreboding comms messages. he features a black and red color scheme, looks vaguely like a player character but featuring equipment unlike any available to the player, and wields a scythe named "hate," a bow called "dread," and throwing knives named "despair." if he kills you, you skip bleedout and just die instantly even in multiplayer, and he's the only enemy in the game that can do that. he has the ability to just no-sell any debuffs you put on him, strip you of your buffs, and resist damage more as he takes it. no one knows what the fuck he is lore-wise other than that he's There, and the devs just act like he doesn't exist“
tell me that doesn’t sound like a setup for some contrived Haunted Video Game creepypasta
if you haven’t played the game, tell me on a scale of one to ten how much you want to bet i’m bullshitting
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thebestofshadowandbone · 2 months ago
inej named one of the crows she always fed kaz pekker and no one can tell me other wise
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milqueandsugar · 2 months ago
Hi Milque!
I was wondering if I could get Wilbur, Foolish, Eret and Awesamdude with s/o who has a service dog for their anxiety & pstd? Totally not asking for something to self project onto.
- 🌲 anon
🏵 Your Tea Is Ready 🏵
Warnings: mentions of mental breakdowns/panic attacks
Genre: fluff
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| Wilbur |
Completely understands what it's like to struggle with mental health
Between war and governing he's got alot of stress on his plate too
Very experienced when it comes to panic attacks and will talk you through them
"Do you want me to touch you? Can I touch you?"
"Yes.. yes please"
"C'mere my flower, you're okay, it's okay, look at me, look at me please? Good? You're doing great, can you tell me where you are?"
"In your.. in your a-arms"
"Cl-close, I meant the room, my rose"
Sneaks your dog treats when you aren't looking
"Don't give him any more treats today, they gotta go on a diet"
The second you leave that good boy is getting a treat
Anyone that takes care of his s/o deserves the best, including your puppy
| Eret |
Nightmare bros? Nightmare bros
"What are you doing up so late?"
"Just getting a class of water"
"You had a nightmare didn't you"
Very good at distracting you, it's the voice it's just so fucken smooth
"Did I tell you what Hbomb said today?"
" I don't th-think you did.."
Honestly they're probably the one who offered you the dog
They cant be with you all the time to protect you, so they gets the biggest, best trained dog they can find to comfort you
You two absolutely dress him up when he's off duty
"Why is the dog wearing a knit sweater?"
"He looked cold"
"Why didn't you say so I would have gotten his scarf!"
His on duty harness has cute little patches on it and you cannot tell me other wise
| Foolish |
Very protective of you and the dog
Anyone tries to bother the dog on duty? Lightning.
Someone is trying to distract the dog? Lightning.
Someone- what do you mean he can't keep electrocuting people?
Encourages you to speak to other with the same issues
He doesn't suffer from anxiety nearly as bad as yours and he knows he cant relate, so he'll introduce you to people who can!
Tries to keep you from anything that might trigger you,
Yelling? He keeps his voice as calm and steady as possible
Overwhelmed with work? Hes got it dont worry!
"Yeah, honey?"
"Can.. can you order for me?"
"Of course! Bagels?"
"Yes please"
Very supportive boyfriend 10/10 would recommend
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poppyscreen · a year ago
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I'm fucking tight.
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Animal crossing inspo
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lisa-lostinlit · 2 years ago
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Q&A fun with Hannah West + a #giveaway! 🤗 . Q: Name three items we would find in your Author’s Survival Kit. . A: 1. Word count tracker/progress tracker. Just like getting a gold star from a teacher, a progress tracker can offer extra motivation, especially for writers like me who tend to write based off a feeling of inspiration rather than habit. I draw cute little icons and color in a new one for every 1,000 words I write. 2. A thesaurus. I ain’t ashamed: I use the heck out of a thesaurus. It is a dangerous tool that should be used wisely. Other writers and readers can absolutely tell when you’ve just copy/pasted a word in the wrong context. But it helps when I know I know the word I want, but can’t summon it to memory. 3. A pep talk from someone who believes in your work. As most authors and aspiring authors know, this career path inevitably throws rejection and criticism and failure and FOMO your way at some point or another. Sometimes it’s not enough to believe in yourself until the skies clear and the path smoothes out in front of you; you have to know that someone else believes in you. Every author should cling to the encouraging words that remind them this is a worthy pursuit. Whether it’s praise from a critique partner, a beta reader, an agent, or a dazzled reader, really relish that positive feedback. . Realm of Ruins by @hannahwestya is about an unlikely heroine who must battle the terrifying effects of a time-bending resurrection spell. Weaving together the imaginative world of Nissera with snippets from Beauty and the Beast and The Little Mermaid, Hannah West goes dark and dangerous in this gripping companion to her acclaimed debut. . I have partnered with @holidayhousebks to give away both books in the series! . TO ENTER: - follow me, @hannahwestya, @holidayhousebks and @storygramtours - tag a friend you think will be interested . For EXTRA entry: - visit @bookwormgram tomorrow and repeat these steps . RULES: - Giveaway will end December 17th at midnight EST - US Only - not affiliated with Instagram - must be 18 or have parents permission - must be a public account to verify entries . #RealmofRuins #KingdomofAshandBriars #HannahWest — view on Instagram
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