#literally it doesn’t have to be expensive

[yueebby]

date crasher — dick grayson

synopsis. dick grayson swears he’s not in love with you. he just happens to find an unreasonable amount of joy in ruining your dates. purely for entertainment, of course.

contents. fluff, lowkey manipulative dick? he’s weird, theyre both whipped but they’re also both equally dense.

notes. inspired by that one smallville scene.

Despite what everyone says, Dick does not have feelings for you. You’re annoying, bossy, and frankly, rude. Definitely the opposite of his type. Or so he tells himself as he trudges to your apartment, cursing every step like it’s some great inconvenience instead of an excuse to see you.

You open the door with a glare so sharp it could cut glass. “You again?”

“Shower’s broken,” he says like it explains everything.

You blink. “And?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Let me use yours.”

A sharp laugh escapes your mouth. “Oh, sure, yeah. Let me just roll out the red carpet for Gotham’s most dramatic orphan.”

“Would it kill you to be nice to me for once?”

“Probably.” You cross your arms. "You literally live in a penthouse, Grayson. Call a plumber like a normal rich person. Or better yet, go use one of Bruce’s fifty extra bathrooms.”

Dick sighs, already tired. “First of all, Alfred’s out of town, and I’m not about to let Bruce nag me about home maintenance. Second, I’d rather take my chances with you than with Jason. You want me dead? Because he definitely does.”

You hum, considering. “Tempting.”

“Oh, come on, it’s just a shower.”

You squint at him, like you’re searching for the catch. “Fine. But you better not take forever. Some of us actually have social lives.”

Dick steps inside with a smirk. “Right, those thrilling Friday night plans of yours. What is it this time? Reorganizing your bookshelf? Watching true crime documentaries and judging people’s bad decisions?”

You scowl. “For your information, I have a date.”

His smirk falters. Just a little. “Date?”

“Yes, Grayson, some of us are desirable. Now hurry up so I don’t have to explain to him why my apartment smells like a stray I let in out of pity.”

Dick rolls his eyes but heads to the bathroom before you can catch the way his jaw clenches.

The bathroom door shuts behind him, and the moment he turns the water on, Dick sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. Being around you is exhausting and the hot water does little to soothe his irritation. You always have something to say about him. His stupid smirk, his messy hair, his tendency to throw on whatever shirt is closest without looking in a mirror.

Fine. If you’re going to be so obsessed with his hair, he’ll just use all of your expensive shampoo out of spite.

He squeezes way too much into his palm and lathers aggressively, enjoying the petty satisfaction. But as the steam fills the air, the scent of you clings to him. Vanilla. Something floral. Something undeniably you.

His nose scrunches.

It’s nauseating.

…Nauseating, he swears.

But he doesn’t stop sniffing.

Damn it.

Dick groans, pressing his forehead against the cold tile, letting the slowly cooling water run down his body in a weak attempt to regain his composure.

"Get a grip," he mutters under his breath. He’s a trained vigilante, a disciplined fighter raised by one of the greatest strategists in history. He’s faced warlords, assassins, and intergalactic threats without breaking a sweat.

So why does his stubborn mind keep circling back to the fact that his shower isn’t actually broken? That he’s here, in your bathroom, standing under your showerhead, using your shampoo, because he was bored enough to come bother you?

Now he sounds like a complete loser.

The thought barely has time to settle before..

BANG. BANG. BANG.

“GRAYSON, YOU BETTER NOT BE RUBBING ONE OUT IN THERE.”

Dick jerks upright so fast he nearly slips. “Excuse me?”

“You’ve been in there forever! I can feel the steam coming through the door!” Your voice carries through, laced with that whine. The one where you drag your words out just enough to send shivers down his spine. He hates it. It’s infuriating. It’s…

“Don’t make me send you my water bill,” you huff.

Dick sighs, turning the water off and grabbing a towel. “I’ve been in here for, like, ten minutes. What’s the rush?”

“My date’s here, genius, and I left my purse in the bathroom.”

Dick pauses, towel in hand. His grip tightens around the fabric as an unexpected weight settles in his stomach. His frown is instinctive, but he masks it with a quip before he can dwell on it.

“Purse?” He tuts, stepping out of the shower. “The guy’s making you pay? Wow.” He whistles lowly. “You have awful taste in men.”

Silence.

Then, barely audible through the door.

"Trust me, I know."

Something about your quietness shifts the atmosphere. The usual fire in your voice dims just enough for him to recognize it. Hesitation, maybe. He doesn’t know why it makes his chest tighten.

An idea strikes him. One that he’d know would definitely rile you up.

With his towel slung low around his hips, he heads for the door.

You sigh in relief when he finally exits the bathroom, but the relief is quickly replaced a glare.

“The hell are you doing?” Your voice is suspicious, but he can hear the shuffle of your footsteps behind him.

Dick smirks. “Relax. I just wanna meet the poor guy who’s stuck with you for the night. Give him a warning and all that.”

“Grayson, don’t you dare—”

But he already has his hand on the doorknob. And the way your eyes widen in actual panic makes a sick part of him swell with amusement.

“Are you crazy?!” You lunge for him, but Dick is faster— or maybe you let him be faster. Either way, it’s too late.

The door swings open.

Your date stands frozen on the other side, his eyes nearly bulging out of his head as he takes in the sight of Dick Grayson dripping wet, shirtless, towel hanging just low enough to be scandalous.

“…Uh.”

The poor guy looks from Dick to you, eyes flickering down to where your hand is still gripping Dick’s bicep, peeking out from behind him like some kind of guilty party.

The silence stretches.

“Hey,” Dick says easily, leaning against the doorframe like he’s in his own apartment. “You must be the guy.”

Your date blinks rapidly, clearly struggling to compute the situation.

Dick grins, because this is too easy. “So… you treating them right, or should I be worried?”

But Dick isn’t stupid. He knows the guy isn’t right for you. No, he doesn’t know how you take your coffee in the morning, or that you have this annoying habit of leaning on the nearest person, him, of course, when you’re tired. And he definitely doesn’t know how your voice gets all breathless when you two play fight, like you’re trying not to smile even when you’re pretending to be mad.

You shove him. “Grayson, I swear to—”

But the way your date’s expression shifts, how he suddenly looks a little less sure tells Dick everything he needs to know.

And if that knowledge makes his smirk widen? Well.

He’ll chalk it up as a win.

thank you for reading! :3

[gtgbabie0]

⋆⁺ ✮⋆⁺ Wilderness!Lottie Matthews x Reader

Synopsis: {Headcannons loosely based on this request} AN: I say loosely because I got so carried away with this, sorry. I love her sm. Thank you for the request annon. !!-18-!! towards the end.

♡︎ Lottie was attached to your hip from the moment she first met you—you were the new girl in the neighbourhood who moved in from out of town. There was just something about your energy she absolutely adored, and the pair of you immediately clicked together like puzzle pieces!

♡︎ You two soon became inseparable— wherever Lottie was you were and vice versa. The rest of the Yellowjackets have an absolute field day making fun of you and the whole ‘codependency’ thing you two have going on.

♡︎ Sleepovers were a constant thing— Lottie always went all out, like above and beyond. Daddy’s money paid for fancy face masks and other self-care stuff that cost what should be considered an illegal amount, matching pj’s, rented DVDs, nail polish, etc… etc.

♡︎ She borderline spoils you. Birthdays or a random ass Tuesday morning it didn’t matter to Lottie. You were her best friend so why wouldn’t she want to appreciate you?— or steal the occasional item here and there because it was literally made for you so duh you just have to have it!

♡︎ Lottie splurged extra hard on one particular piece of jewellery— it was a bracelet, a pretty rose gold colour encrusted with the most beautiful gems that twinkled oh so prettily with a matching one in a slightly different colour. As soon as she had seen the set she immediately thought of you.

♡︎ It was worth all the trouble, seeing your eyes light up in surprise— the “Oh Lot I can’t take this, this looks so expensive.” That flies from your lips, it makes her so happy and she immediately shakes off your worries with a gentle, “Don’t be silly, we’re matching now.”

♡︎ You go to every single one of Lottie's games whether they were away or at home and each and every time she’d be looking out for you in the stands— a smile so wide it hurts her cheeks, watching you jump up and down, waving at her with a Yellowjacket painted on your cheek.

♡︎ Lottie soon came to the devastating realisation that she felt a whole lot more than just friendship towards you after she won a game and you came rushing out onto the pitch with everyone else— beelining to her to congratulate her. It makes her head spin.

♡︎ Her heart has never pounded against her ribcage so violently before, the feeling of your arms wrapping around her tightly. It almost took her out— she doesn’t know if she’s shaking from the adrenaline or the fact that you’re so close to her, wearing her number, her jersey, in her team colours.

♡︎ Lottie really wanted to kiss you the night before they left for nationals. After the party when everyone else had left and the pair of you were sitting in your car outside of her house— your fingers drumming nervously against the car wheel. You looked so pretty, with gloss on your lips that she desperately wanted to kiss off as you went on about how much of a bust the party was— she wasn’t even listening.

♡︎ But unfortunately she totally chickens out and spends the entire night completely torn up over it— the poor girl didn’t get a wink of sleep.

♡︎ You weren’t even meant to be on that plane— but you were the photographer for the school's paper and they wanted you to snap some shots for the team during nationals so there you were, sitting next to Lottie, pinky curled around her own as she tries to calm your nerves.

♡︎ The crash had really taken everything out of you— the first day wasn’t bad, you clung to naive hope that you would be rescued— you clung to Lottie who made sure you were eating the rations and drinking water, changed the bandage on your palm and wrapped extra blankets around your shoulders during the nights, but then the days turned to weeks.

♡︎ It felt like everyone had embraced different roles with ease whereas you kinda just floated around— flitting between just sitting there with a blank expression to doing an odd job here and there with the least amount of effort, trying to not be seen as a deadweight.

♡︎ It scared her more than she’d like to admit, watching the light slowly dwindle away from your usually bright eyes— your attitude doing a complete one-eighty from normal. It only made her hold you extra tightly as you slept, whispering soft affirmations against your shoulder. “We’ll be okay.” Reassuring herself just as much as you.

♡︎ She felt so helpless just watching you retreat in your own head— you didn’t speak much to anyone and Lottie only got a few sentences out of you, little victories she’d call them. “Hey, come braid my hair?” She’d ask softly, nudging your shoulder in hopes the task might keep you grounded, anything to get you out of your own head. “Mhm, yeah, kay.” The smile that ghosts over your lips is enough for her. And for a few short moments, it almost felt like a sleepover again, one big fucked up sleepover as you weave the damp locks of her dark hair into a braid.

♡︎ Lottie got you to do a little bit more than just what was expected of you— helping you wash clothes and so on because she didn’t want the other girls to start berating you. “I’m sorry.” your words were nothing short of guilty, a dejection in your eyes that pained her. “Hey, it’s fine. You’re fine.” She’d always reassure you.

♡︎ She’d watch you sketch out the surrounding landscape— cheek resting against your shoulder marvelling at the way you drag the pencil across the paper. Those sketches would soon help make a map that Natalie and Travis became reliant on, it was one of the tiny ways you helped out. Plus it was fun, you enjoyed it— mostly enjoyed the way Lottie would sit right up next to you praising your work beneath her breath.

♡︎ The cabin could be suffocating at times so the pair of you would take walks— enjoying the nature and peace that it brought despite the rough times. Mostly she just liked to admire you, watching you pluck wildflowers to decorate the cabin. “Those a pretty.” Her voice would be impossibly gentle, always with you, her fingertips brushing past yours. “You’d suit them,” she adds in a whisper, tucking the flower behind your ear and all you can do is stutter out a soft— “O-Oh thank you.”

♡︎ The one thing Lottie couldn’t handle was you being distant— drawing away from her, she would call you out on it. “You’re acting strange.” She would state as if you hadn’t been acting ‘strange’ since the crash. Her words only make you scoff, shaking your head. “Yeah, no shit. Look around Lot, we’re fucked.” The quiver in your tone dismantles her into something much more gentle, her hands reaching out for yours to stop you from sharpening the hunting knife. “We’ll get through it, just— just please stop pushing me away, I need you.” She practically pleads with you, squeezing your hands a little tighter as her soft, brown eyes tear up slightly. You nod with a shaky sigh, “I need you too Lottie.” She doesn’t hesitate to pull you into a hug, face pressed into your neck with a mumbled, “I’ve got you.”

♡︎ You’re the only person she really trusts, she would spend all night talking to you about her ‘Visions’ and you’d soothe her— hand over her heart guiding her through breaths. “You— You can feel it too, right?” She asks, trembling. “Yeah, I feel it, Lot. I feel it.” And you did, you felt it through her. Something at least.

♡︎ Lots of late nights, your head resting in her lap as she plays with your hair— it was during these times that your voice would find you again, if only briefly. “I’m scared Lottie.” The words muffled against her thigh. She brushes her thumb over your jaw, making you look up at her. “Don’t be. It loves you, it’ll protect you. I promise.” and you trust her.

♡︎ Lottie would give you little trinkets to keep you safe. It brought you impossibly closer and you believed it was the only reason you kept surviving through each day, that Lottie was the only reason.

♡︎ She had a whole morning routine with you, she literally couldn’t start her day off without it— otherwise, she wouldn’t stop worrying about you even if you spend the whole day practically attached to her. “What do you hear?” Her hand was warm, clasped around your own. “The firewood, crackling, it’s like an applause,” you reply, thumb caressing over her knuckles slowly.

♡︎ It all became so different one morning— it happened after a particularly rough night and Lottie really just needed to feel closer to you more than ever. “What do you feel?” Her voice was low, calm as always yet now twinged with a certain edge— her forehead resting against your own. “You, I feel you, your breaths… it’s comforting.” Your words are hushed, breathing intermingling. “I feel you too. I always feel you.”

♡︎ The pair of you leaned in until your lips met, the kiss was slow— tender. “Lottie—” you whisper, her hands immediately cupping your face, mouth chasing after yours with a feverish, “I know…” as she deepens the kiss.

♡︎ Lottie quickly became utterly addicted, hooked on the taste of your lips and any excuse was a good one when it came to sneaking you out of your chores. You would be trying to hang up the washing when her arms would snake around your waist, lips grazing along the sensitive curve of your jaw— “It’s calling for you, the wilderness, it needs you.” whispered hotly against your neck.

♡︎ You’re all hers no matter the cheap excuse— she was just too damn good at convincing you and kissing you.

♡︎ Lottie would ‘bless’ you in her own unique way down in the lake— her thumb pricked and pearling with blood that she rubs across your forehead, a pattern you couldn't see. “Nothing will hurt you.” It’s a statement, a promise, that she seals by pressing her bloody thumb to your lips, dragging it across the pillowy flesh, before kissing you— the coppery taste only urges her to deepen the kiss.

♡︎ Blessings to the wilderness would just be her laying you down beneath the craved-out tree stump— her face between your thighs making come undone on her tongue and fingers over and over again until the ‘wilderness’ was sated— although it was never truly sated, it was a bottomless pit when it came to you.

♡︎ The codependency jokes from before the plane crash were never truer— you definitely got some snide comments from the girls especially during the colder, rougher days when everyone was really feeling the hunger. Lottie wouldn’t hesitate to immediately step up for you with furrowed brows and a curled lip— “Back off.” bared teeth and a wild glossiness glazing over her big brown eyes.

♡︎ Sometimes they get to you because a part of you— deep down knows what they say is true. You were dependent on Lottie, more than you even realise. She comforts you whenever their comments stab a little harder than usual. “They’re right, Lot. I’m useless— I don’t do shit.” you sigh, face pressed against her shoulder as her hand caresses your back slowly. “Sshh, they don’t know anything— they’ll understand soon, how important you are.” She gives you a caring smile, pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth and it's enough to make you feel better.

♡︎ There are times when you don’t understand her, but it’s the blind trust that keeps you by her side without question—a trust that she’ll keep you safe no matter what happens, and it makes all this a lot more bearable.

[ghostgirl-22]

Ik you don’t really do x reader but I was thinking art with reader that’s a lot like Patrick like people comment on it all the time and he brushes it off but he gets to think that you have a lot of similarities…

Maybe he moans his name when your fucking I don’t know

Ah yes <3

CW: 18+ NSFW, Age gap

—-

older!Art newly divorced and kinda desperate to relive his glory days doesn’t realize he’s doing it when he meets you. You’re so young (probably too young—he tries not to think about it). You’re brilliant but kind of a mess, a little bit aimless, college drop out cause that shit made your head hurt. You’re still incredibly wild, a bit of chaos is what he says he doesn’t want but is probably what he needs. 

You love to play the vintage video games that he probably grew up playing, like Mario kart on the original Nintendo (you beat him constantly but you never tease him…at least not to the point of real tears anyway). 

You can drink Art under the table easily. In fact as young as you are you can beat him at most things you both try. Even if he’s been doing it forever. Except tennis, that's the one thing he can actually teach you.

Not that you didn’t do your best to distract him.

You wear a tiny little tennis skirt with no panties underneath to the court the first time he offers to give you lessons. You just want to tease him, bending over to tie your shoes. Getting on all fours to crawl after a tennis ball that rolls through a hole in the fence. Pretending like you have no idea he’s losing his mind. 

Of course he can’t help himself. he gets so aroused watching you he has to drag you to the car and taste you right in the backseat. Fogging up the windows.  So lost in the sauce he comes untouched at just the sound of you getting off while he desperately licks his name into the folds of your cunt.

He’s so obsessed with you. the way you walk around, over confident, loud. You wear short shorts and tight dresses. Showing off your curves. Getting him so jealous and possessive. His eyes fixated on your full tits and his favorite thing to grab onto, your ass. 

It makes him so anxious. How hot you are. How fucking perfect you are for him. He feels so lucky to have you and so terrified to lose you. Thirty something and choking down viagra trying to keep up with you. Buying you literally whatever you want. Making sure you get your nails done regularly, and your braids are always fresh. Even gave you his black card for just in case. You almost feel a little bad cause you’re still so irresponsible. Ordering dumb expensive things from Prada just because you’re hyper fixating for five minutes. He grimaces sometimes at the bill but he never complains.

It’s funny when you realize it.

You only have to meet Patrick Zweig once for it to become crystal clear. You both see it right away. He’s like the older male version of you. You don’t look anything alike but it’s eerie how similar you are as people. 

Everything from the way you both tease Art, to the way you both overcompensate with bravado when you’re feeling insecure. And then there’s the fact that you have almost the exact same interests, in food, movies, music and eerily similar mannerisms. 

You point this out to Art. He doesn’t seem to realize it at all but it’s so cute. Your dilf!boyfriend clearly has a little crush on his friend. 

Patrick even stands as close to Art as you do. Touching him playfully, teasingly. Art leaning into it, grinning so much his face lights up and he looks at least 10 years younger.  

It’s adorable and kinda hot. 

It’s solidified one night when Patrick visits. You were up till late playing video games and drinking too much. Patrick’s falls asleep in the guest room and Art wakes you up in the middle of the night.

He’s hard all on his own (no help from little blue pills) after waking from a dream. And he’s desperate to fuck you from behind. And you're sleepy and turned on enough to let him. He’s sleepy too but so worked up lubing up and pumping into your ass, you have an idea what he was dreaming about … 

“Was it a dream about him?” You sigh. You just wanna know.  

“Huh?” he’s distracted but not too distracted to stop fucking you, can’t help himself.. 

“It’s okay if you did, it’s okay if you’re thinking about his thick thighs, in those training shorts, his pinchable ass. Wishing all night you could just ease the tip in.” 

Art chokes on a groan, his breathing, stuttering while getting heavier in your ear.

Oh he’s so easy.   

“Imagine railing into him, fucking him as hard as he fucked your wife.” You whisper.

“Shut up,” he hisses as he grips your hips a little tighter. He never talks like that, never gets rough until you bring up Tashi. You hate to do it but his reactions always turn you on. 

“God,” you moan. “I know you love how messy he is, how messy we both are. you need the fucking chaos, don’t you baby? Need to fuck into my ass because I remind you of him.”

”No,” he growls, but he’s fucking you like crazy, hard heavy thrusts. Driving you to the brink. 

”t’s okay baby…” you gasp. “Do I make you feel 21 again? Make you feel like you felt when you could’ve had him?”

 “Nnhgh… oh fuck. God. Patrick,” he whines. “Shit… oh shit… gonna fucking— ‘m coming,” he groans. Half out of his mind as he’s spilling inside you.

“I fucking knew it,” you giggle.

“Fuck,” he whispers again after catching his breath. “I’m so sorry baby. I-I want you. I really do. I promise I’m not…” he trails off. 

“It’s okay,” you smirk, bringing his hand down between your thighs to rub your clit. “We’re gonna get you what you want.”

[thefayecoven]

Something that’s been on my mind about the Owl House universe recently..

In real life, we used to rely on vinyls and cassettes and things like that to listen to music, but now that we streaming so easily accessible and overall cheaper on our phones and such, vinyls and cassettes have become “collector’s items” and not as common to own anymore. (Like if you own a bunch of vinyls, people will ask if you’re collecting.)

More in the sense of we don’t have the problem of “Ugh, I want to listen to this album, but I CAN’T because the vinyl is sold out.”, or the problem of only hearing our favorite songs on the radio. We can just.. get on YouTube music or Spotify or whatever and listen immediately.

So in that case, in The Owl House universe, considering how widely used concealment and cloaking stones are.. is makeup in the Boiling Isles a thing of the past, or is it more expensive and considered a collectors item or an unnecessary tool?

I imagine producing makeup would be a nightmare, considering the people of the Isles have various ranges of skin tones that humans obviously don’t.

Human shade ranges will need like 50-60 colors to even be considered a decent foundation range, and if that’s just naturally occurring skin colors, IMAGINE how many foundation shades there would have to be to accommodate every color across the rainbow.

Not only this, but things like bronzer, blush, highlighter, setting and baking powder… all of those things take skin color into account. A very pale person can use a blush that isn’t pigmented enough to show on a darker person’s skin, so imagine the nightmare of “My skin is literally green and I can’t find a makeup shade of anything.”

It makes me think makeup would be extremely expensive to produce, and therefore might just be a collectors thing for the few that can afford.

OR, makeup could be an issue of being custom made to suit your skin tone. Maybe makeup stores would custom make foundation shades for you? I have no clue. I’ve just been thinking about it.

I imagine the average person might just own eyeliner or eyeshadows to create cool eye looks, and then just uses a concealment stone to achieve a clean base. Or they might just say fuck the effort and use a concealment stone to create a whole makeup look without all the handheld product.

Or on the flipside, maybe makeup doesn’t even exist because they’ve always had concealment and cloaking stones… and handheld makeup adding up to $300-400 for a full routine is seen as wasteful and stupid.

I have this question across every fantasy world because literally HOW.

[acti-veg]

Any thoughts on Kobe beef? One of my friends went on a trip to Japan and was very excited to try 'authentic' Kobe, and told me all about the strict welfare standards to produce it, then tried it and adored it. Was quite expensive as well. My friend made it sound like the most looked after and revered cattle in Japan.So I was just wondering if you know some more.

Kobe is beef for foodies, not for people concerned about welfare. It is high quality meat from bulls or uncalfed cows who are slaughtered between 28 and 60 months, so they don’t exactly live a long life.

Kobe certification standards are stringent, but they are more to do with traceability, breeding, meat quality and texture than anything else. You can read the criteria here - note that welfare is literally never even mentioned. It is not even considered important enough to cover in their FAQs.

Kobe beef farmers will tell the same story that all farmers do, that their cows are treated uniquely well, they’re basically pets, they have the best life then they enjoy a quick death. I have never encountered any farmer who doesn’t think that animals are treated uniquely well in their country, and I hear it a lot from consumers as well. It is nothing new, and crucially, it is nothing legal.

I can’t find any information on their site about any welfare standards imposed on farmers or slaughterhouses, much less details about any verification or inspection system. It is likely that because their meat is so valuable they probably are generally treated better than standard cattle are, but this is very much not a welfare certification. Even the infamously poor Red Tractor farms here in the UK have far more welfare conditions imposed on them, and are at least subject to welfare inspections, however infrequent and inadequate.

Your friend has bought into a luxury brand like any other. It is a bougie product kept artificially scarce and aimed at the rich, with a lot of talk about the “purity of the bloodline” and barely even a mention about animal welfare or slaughter procedures. Whoever sold it to your friend saw them coming a mile off, and simply told them what they wanted to hear.

[touchlikethesun]

it’s that time of year again, and i get so annoyed when my family is like “oh you’re so hard to get gifts for” and i’m just like. i’m literally not. i am so loud and open about my interests, the quickest of google searches will turn up dozens of little knickknacks i’d love. i’m not hard to get gifts for, you’re just not listening to me.

[meteorwitch]

wanting to engage socially about the things you like but the community being so nasty and negative that you leave all your groups and threads and revert back to silent obsession

[iamthemaestro]

continuing to work on that silly suggestive doodle but the whole I’ve been just sitting here debating the most practical but distinctive design for the undress uniform

[iwatcheditbegin]

I had a migraine and had to use instacart. Yeah this is why I don’t. And why I try to always get a female shopper if possible bc the male incompetence I am always subjected to. And I try not to make generalizations but this sounds like it’s an across the board experience . How are you telling me a store doesn’t have any tomatoes or almonds?

[thirteens-earring]

if Eye am refusing an impulsive trip you know it’s really too impulsive. I am not famous for my risk assessment

[heartbreakfeelsogood]

.

[meraus]

Someone explain to me why the noise suppression function on my €120 earphones creates noise when activated

[fxmmeangel]

doordash is shut down from the hurricane damage until further notice so i can’t make any extra money and i have like $20 to my name until the 10th :3 thriving

[j-esbian]

thinking abt how much of my life i’ve lost to depression and i truly want to throw up

[twistedappletree]

i’ve been at the emergency vet for 3hrs and it’s a 1hr drive here and back and it’s 5am now and i’m so fucking tired omfg there’s no way i’m gonna be able to sleep for work today 😭

[zippityzap]

aw man, I think my laptop is on its last legs