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Hey hey hi hey hello it’s me asking the universe for maybe a 48 hour break, where I can pretend it’s 2008 and curl up on the sofa with my dog and watch dumb shit like Merlin and Dr Who and don’t have to make packed lunches or mortgage repayments.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Bakugou stares. And glares. And meets people's eyes with a scowl. He isn't afraid to look even death itself in the face.
But sometimes, he glances. Quick flits out the corner of his eye. Almost afraid to make direct gaze. He can't help it though. Some days he doesn't have a problem locking eyes with Kirishima or giving him unimpressed looks at his corny jokes.
But other days, like when Kirishima oversleeps and can't fix his hair. Locks not spiked but falling around his face in soft waves. Or when Kirishima gets tickeld and can't stop giggling until his face is pink. Or when Kirishima is laying back on his bed, all comfy clothes and big laughs. Bakugou can't look at him directly.
He's too damn pretty in those moments and Bakugou could stare down AFO himself with more ease than looking at his gorgeous best friend too long. And besides, it's bad to look directly at the sun too much or too long and Kirishima's beauty outshines those rays any day.
Omfg, I’m looking at the notes on my last post and I’m realizing you guys seemed sorta worried about me??
Sorry that I left you guys hanging!! I was busy on my main blog, I didn’t know I’d upset anyone hdjdhshj
Just so you know, here are 3 main reasons I check out sometimes-
My job 🔥☠️🔥
I’m working on other projects on my main
Under/tale got me yet again
If anyone thinks I might be dead, just IM me for my main blog/discord tag, I could always use more friends and I don’t want to scare anyone again, at least not like that lol
Submissive and loyal in the way an attack dog is.
Growling and baring my teeth at strangers, at those who would cause my Master harm.
Loving and nurturing to my pack.
Violent and aggressive when protecting what is mine. What and who I belong to.
Love in the way only a guard dog can love.
Feel like screaming. Eating's no good. Smoking either. Water is whatever. Not watching my comfort show. Listening to my music doesn't help. Cumming either. Maybe cuddles would fix me.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
I briefly eluded to this before but I have had more time now to fixate on the new Hozier album and have managed to collect my thoughts into a more cohesive lump of crud rather than just vomiting them out through a haze of angry Celtic tears so here we are.
I lost my dad last year which sucked. Obviously. But one of the more minor reasons it sucked (it felt minor at the time but has been congealing away) was that I am now left as the last survivor of my dad’s family.
My dad’s parents came across to England from south Wales to make a better life for themselves.
In the space of a generation the language, the accent, the culture was lost.
And the rubbish bit is, I can see Wales. I see the mountains across the border on the other side of the river when I drive to work every morning. Cymru is right there, it always has been but at the same time it’s so far.
My connection to it has always been in little things. Little words like “cwtch” that slip through or idioms that haven’t quite been anglicised yet.
Not too long after my dad died I ended up sitting there and watching the National Theatre video on YouTube of Michael Sheen reciting Dylan Thomas’ Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night for like, hours and hours and hours. Because the whole thing just speaks so fundamentally of a home I haven’t been allowed to know.
We call it hiraeth, and the fact we have a term for it is in and of itself insane.
Anyway I’ve been picking up little things. Like the language, learning Cymraeg and trying to properly articulate place names and what have you.
It’s painful but it’s bringing me back in little steps to a home I haven’t ever been familiar with other than on road signs at the border.
And then Hozier comes along and drops Butchered Tongue and expects me to be okay.
Out of my gourd on migraine medication, hiding under a blanket, trying not to vomit, shoehorning more smut into the last 3 chapters of my fic because I’m an adult and I can do whatever the fuck I want.
Leaving my lab for Christmas and my three little fucked up gonorrhoea children are here to wish you well over the festive season.
