#i love corgis

[harshserenity]

I want a corgi so bad. That is all.

[all-the-things-2020]

I demand the address of this bakery!

They loaf

[ravendruid]

Omar on the table brings me joy.

[mrsbridgerton]

ok but the REAL question is….. will newton the corgi be appearing in season 3????

[ferronickel]

Portrait of my mother's corgi that I painted for her birthday. His name is Kip, and he always smiles for photographs

[peppermintbits]

My personal highlight reel from the Westminster Dog Show yesterday. ✨ 🐶

The silly faces club

🧡 Pomeranian Fan Cam 🧡

Dinero's Angelic Eyes 👀....vs Jolene's Glorious Wizard Beard

And finally...Our Lord And Savior; Stache.

[lessendless]

I could last days saying nothing but Sad-One's quotes

[asterrovenator]

re dog au sketch dump

[allaboutanimals]

Just gotta knead the dough

[fayeandknight]

Cozy

[goodsmellerart]

finally blasted myself with the puppy beam

[pointycorgiears]

It's F1 weekend here in Vegas! It's super busy and my back hurts, my knees hurt, and I'm running on caffeine, but I managed to do this quick Nami sketch to celebrate! Go Team Orange McLaren!

[mettywiththenotes]

I hate this fucking baka series

[pallysuune]

Me: Mortarion needs more love, maybe I'll write a quick little thing for him.

Also me: *writes 2000 words of backstory.*

Me: Well fuck

[tennessoui]

wip wednesday but make it a short fic i wanna finish and post tonight

for fun you know (stressed) (based on this tumblr au)

“Excuse me, sir,” a man says, voice coming from beside his shoulder. Anakin keeps his eyes closed pointedly. If he just stays very quiet and very still, then maybe the man will go away. 

It doesn’t seem to work because a moment later, the man continues as if Anakin has given him any sort of indication that that’s an option. “Your shoes are untied.” 

Oh.

This again.

Anakin’s wrist, where the same words are written on his skin in dark blue soul ink, burns the way it always does when he hears that sentence. 

He can never tell if the ache is real or psychosomatic, if the lurch in his heart is a normal response to a half-connection—-a moment where someone speaks your words and you haven’t yet replied to either complete the match or prove it to be a coincidence—or if it’s just because Anakin’s a die-hard romantic and he always has been.

But today—today has been such a shit day. Today has been just such a shit day and he has no patience left for any well-meaning stranger, any lurches of his heart. He should have tied his damn shoes just to avoid this whole mess of an unwanted social interaction, but after nineteen years of having his laces untied, he’d just forgotten all about them as he closed up shop.

And now, this. 

When he opens his eyes and turns his head to face the stranger, he doesn’t actually think he’ll say anything but a very terse, thank you. Or I know. 

And then he sees the other man, an older guy with a well-groomed, perfectly trimmed beard, holding a jaunty umbrella that’s keeping the rain off of an impeccable looking fucking pea-coat in one hand and a dog’s leash in the other. The corgi at the end of the leash has on a fucking yellow raincoat, same shade as the umbrella, and when Anakin looks back at his face, the man raises a skeptical eyebrow, clearly having just given him the same sort of once-over he’s given the man and been struck deeply unimpressed.

“Mind your own fucking business, you fucking asshole,” Anakin snarls, stuffing his hands in his pockets and swinging back around to glare out at the busy street. The cars still have not slowed, the crosswalk light staying a faithful red.

The man beside him is silent for a moment, two. He’s probably never had anyone speak to him like that in his entire life, Anakin thinks derisively. Fucking uppercrust accent. Fucker puts a dog in a raincoat, he should be called an asshole more often, he’s obviously a fucking dick—

“Well, that’s no way to speak to a stranger,” the man says primly, and Anakin’s body feels electric because he’s had a shit day and he’s not about to stand here on this cold, dirty street corner and be lectured by a man who puts raincoats on his dog.

He whips his head around, mouth already pulled back in an animalistic snarl, and the man pulls his hand out of his coat pocket and shakes the sleeves back. Where a normal rich snob may have a heavy watch, this man’s wrist is empty—save for the tail end of the word asshole.

“Or to your soulmate,” the man adds.

[crazycollectortheorist]

Baby Corgi