Reblogged reznotrekt-deactivated20210423
that-edm-life
im the dj screaming w laughter
bicries
I think about this at least once a day.
tom-marvolo-dildo
working in customer service be like
Reblogged happyhumannoises2
do not tease mario
Reblogged cottaterra
brosefvondudehomie
Reblogged
dktr8pus-deactivated20210828
Finger (s)
Loba trying to rile up Wraith and doing so accidentally commiting tasked failed successfully. Bangalore has to unfortunately listen through it all.
Loba, beckoning Wraith with a finger: Would you come here for a second?
Wraith, walks to Loba: what
Loba, laughing: How adorable... You really came with one finger? Because I said so?
Wraith:
Loba, winks: Now imagine it with two fingers, I bet I can do more than just make you come...
Wraith, confused: what? You wanna make me go to you with two fingers? I'm not following. It wouldn't really matter if its one, two or five.
Loba, smirking: So the whole hand can work?
Wraith: Yeah it can.
Bangalore: No tHE FUCK IT WON'T RENEE
Reblogged gehruntervondercouch
★ 【squidsmith】 「 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 」 ☆ ⊳ overwatch (cyberpunk) ✔ republished w/permission ⊳ ⊳ follow us on instagram
Reblogged tiefsterwinter
Oh to be a postwoman delivering love letters to nymphs
Reblogged happyhumannoises2
M-medibang...?
Korrasami comic based off this post
Reblogged biotic-raptorian-angel-deactiva
Fareeha can’t sing but she does, sometimes. When she’s cleaning, or alone; when a song she’s heard a hundred times comes on, even when she doesn’t like it - even when she doesn’t know the words.
When Angela first met Fareeha, they were so far removed from one another so as to be little more than accessories of the environment. Just another person passing through the background.
When Angela met Fareeha again, years later, having forgotten and then relearned her name, she was much more present, but less in the way a friend is and more in the way a stranger in a room full of familiar faces is. She was calm, and distant, and quiet and this gave Angela the opportunity to inflict a personality onto her based on nothing but speculation.
She was aloof. Pragmatic. Ruthless. She had a reputation as a good, great even, tactician but not an approachable one.
Learning Fareeha had been like learning the streets of a new city. Where once the mental image was one partially-familiar street, one visible trait, which could be relied upon as an indication of the whole, the back roads and points of interests were a slow revelation, providing a more complete picture which the first street could never have given.
For a very long time, Fareeha did not sing.
And then one evening, as by chance Angela was passing the woman’s room, she learned that Fareeha did. Had, perhaps, all along.
“I love you,” says Angela, and Fareeha stops her song. It’s the first time she’s said it. It’s the first time either of them has.
“That’s sudden,” Fareeha responds, but grins.
“No,” says Angela, smiling faintly, “I don’t think it is.”