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#flops stuff
alghulnyssa · 1 year
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Brooklyn Nine Nine | Ding Dong
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Interesting drawer. I guess they had to custom make the front by gluing 2 small cuts together, so when they put the knob in, it split.
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batshaped · 3 months
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wane, little crescent, and i'll be the moon
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bug-eatr · 4 months
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trend going around on twitter right now to draw 2 of your comfort character s like this ☺️
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meegan420 · 5 months
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Silly Baby ear flop
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clownpalette · 6 months
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TSUKI NO-
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NEW STYLE?!?? 😍😍😍
PLS INTERACT OR I'LL CRY
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lynxgriffin · 2 months
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Since Cattington is collectively a cat and a snake, would they like naps in sunbeams? Is that even a concept in the Dark World?
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There's not really a proper sun in the Dark World, so Catti and Jockington would probably be enraptured by some real sunbeams in the light world they could lounge in!
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luluspicedesigns · 1 year
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just 2 blondies studying for exams
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letojessica · 1 year
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we are only human, and the gods have fashioned us for love. that is our great glory, and our great tragedy.
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meirathinks · 8 months
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⊹ ♡₊˚๑ 𝙀𝘼𝙏 𝙔𝙊𝙐𝙍 𝙃𝙀𝘼𝙍𝙏 𝙊𝙐𝙏 ! ⊹ ♡₊˚๑
chef!Sukuna headcannons
okay. I know I haven't posted anything in like a year. and I know I'm a little rusty so bare with me ok😭 I'm sorry for the wait! Reader was intended to be black but I don't describe any features. lmk if I should turn this into a fic!!
Warnings: none!!
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Chef!Sukuna is one of the world's biggest assholes. SURE he graduated top of his class AND SURE! The waitlist for his restaurant is so, ridiculously long. But his personality? Awful. 
He’s known for his near godly knife skills. He can chop an onion in ten seconds. He’s pretty sure it’s a world record.
His own staff is so, so terrified of him. The new kid, who’s bright-eyed and fresh out of culinary school, who was beyond excited to work at a Michelin-star restaurant quits on his first day.
(he cried on his walk home)
Sukuna leans into the back of his chair, while Uruame lets out an uncharacteristically loud sigh from their spot at the door. 
They step closer into the room while speaking, “You can’t keep a Junior chef for more than six hours—”
Sukuna groans, “Calm down— your job is to be my sous. Act like it.”
He puts his feet up on the peeling wood desk in front of him, deftly ignoring several receipts that were strewn on it.
Uruame nods, before leaving.
Sukuna wasn’t in the wrong you know, the junior chef should’ve known the difference between sauté and panfrying. 
He groans while moving to leave his office— he had prep to do. 
He’s worked hard to get where he is— to make his restaurant as good as it is. He designed the kitchen himself. He chose each appliance meticulously and placed them in the space deliberately
The delivery and food-prep and pastry sections are in specific parts of the kitchen, they cater to the menu.
Speaking of the menu. You cannot tell me that he didn’t lock himself in his apartment with pots and pans strewn everywhere. 
He’d have a thin layer of sweat on his forehead, and his hair would be a little dishevelled
But, he finally figured out that what his main dish needed was an acid. 
He’d have a rare, genuine smile on his face while he runs his hand through his hair. He’ll take another bite and excitedly drum his fingers on his kitchen countertop. He’s good. He knows he’s good. 
Sukuna’s leaning on the host station with a pencil in hand reviewing the guest list for that night’s dinner. His eyebrows raise at your name— which is circled in red marker angrily. He shouts to Uraume, who’s at the back prepping.
“What’s the red marker for.”
“We have a food critic coming in tonight.”
Sukuna scoffs, “We always have food critics coming in.”
“This one’s different.”
Yeah right.
For the head chef, and owner of a michelin star restaurant— Sukuna is relaxed. 
He’ll wear a white button up and some black slacks and the days he’s expected to work front of house. But his sleeves will be rolled high on his forearms and there’s always this dismissive look in his eyes
He doesn’t have to be some kiss ass— his food speaks for itself. 
People waited months to get into his restaurant for his food, not to have a conversation with him. 
The first thing Sukuna realizes is that you take a laughably short time looking at the menu. From what he can see from the host station, you’re looking at it out of graciousness than necessity. 
He walks over, ready to take your order. He nearly laughs when he notices that your notepad already has writing on it. 
You’re looking up at him through the low light of the restaurant. It’s tinged red. Like a night club you think. Tacky. 
“Hi,” You smile, “I’m surprised I’m being served by the Sukuna.”
“Yeah— it’s a slow day.”
You hum, “And here I was, thinking that you were out here just for me.”
He laughs. It’s this loud, low and smoothe. “I can hear your heart breaking from here.”
“Let’s start with the focaccia.” Your voice is a little shaky. He likes the sound of it.
He walks to the kitchen with a familiar grin on his face. 
Food critic his ass— you’re in love with him. He can tell. 
Chef!Sukuna who’s never had a negative review. Ever.
GQ. The New York Times. The Washington Post. Critics become regulars— they want an excuse to chat Sukuna (even if he doesn’t entertain it)
He’s earned a name for himself in the food scene, you know. People love him whether they like it or not. 
This was just the start too— he’ll open more restaurants, maybe something more formal. He thinks of himself as an immovable object or an unstoppable force or whatever is in those management books Uraume reads
So, imagine his surprise when Uruame forwards an article to him at 11:54 pm on a thursday.
Especially when he sees that you wrote the article. 
And that you gave the restaurant a 3 out of 5
A three out of fucking five.
Sukuna was going to kill someone. You, preferably. 
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alghulnyssa · 2 months
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LEVELS OF INTIMACY: according to this
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A member of another group I belong to was looking for a starter home and the realtor took him to see this one in Houston, Texas. The cabinetry looked high end from a distance, but upon closer inspection he saw that they were outlined in Sharpie. (Can you imagine the smears when you go to clean it?)
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cali-kabi · 1 month
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~ I don’t know how to put this out of context xD 👑 🌟💫
saw meta knight wearing the master crown in the Kirby manga and it inspired me to draw this :,) I’m not sure if my master crown meta design is good I feel like I could’ve done better ;0;🌟
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jorrated · 5 months
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idk why sonic fans care so much about canon timelines. classic sonic is past sonic or an alternate version sonic? who gives a shit sonic canon is the definition of fuck it we ball have fun with your blue rat
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sleeplessdreamer14 · 6 months
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we’ll be alright ִ ࣪ ✦˚ drabble
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request: no
fandom: treasure planet (2002)
relationship: jim hawkins x gn! reader
summary: You have a touching moment with your boyfriend.
contains: established relationship, fluff, hugs, tears, kiss at the end, short dialogue, no reader pronouns, second person POV, very sappy
a/n: this is set post voyage, and was inspired by Fine Line
Resting his head on your shoulder, Jim takes a slow deep breath as he relaxes against you. You feel his shoulders shake a little as he lets out a soft chuckle under his breath. His hands wrap around your middle and he pulls you in closer, locking you in a wholehearted embrace as if this was the last time he ever would. He’s so close that you can almost feel the subtle beat of his heart against your chest.
You can tell by the way that he buries his face into your shoulder and takes a slow deep breath that he’s on the brink of crying. Tears of your own begin to well up in your eyes as you return the gesture, wrapping your arms around him and giving him a gentle squeeze as you lean your head on him.
It’s perfect. As if you were made to hold each other, fitting in each other’s arms like lock and key. Part of you wanted to spend the rest of forever here.
Just as the thought crosses your mind, you hear a muffled sniff come from Jim as he begins to raise his head and slowly pull back. Not completely, just enough so you can look at him.
“It’s gonna be okay,” Jim says softly, reaching down and taking one of your hands in his. As he presses the back of your hand to his lips, you can’t help but let out a tearful giggle. Deep down, you know he’s partially telling himself that.
You know Jim loves you, and he knows you love him too. But he has confided in you about his anxieties and fears before, that something would happen out of your control, that would take one of you away from the other, or that you might wind up falling apart the way his parents did. A dozen and a half different ways your relationship could go wrong.
But now, those fears seem to have washed away with the tide, and in their place was a newfound courage in himself as he holds your hand against his chest and leans in closer so his forehead touches your own.
“We’ll be alright.” Jim whispers, as certain of that as the sunrise, tears rolling down his cheeks as he leans in closer until pressing his lips against yours.
Jim isn’t sure what he could have done to deserve this, but dammit if he isn’t grateful for it. And now, all he wants it to be close to the light that is you, to feel the loving warmth of your soul in the simplest of gestures. And now, he has the faith in himself to do this right.
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astrum99 · 2 months
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Do you think bugs fall in love?
Their small bodies host even tinier brains. Built to crawl through soil and rocks bigger than itself. Running on a simple software bouncing between eat, sleep, fight, flight, and copulate.
V1 is smarter than a bug. It must be. It’s a war machine, so it must be. Its programming is complex enough to fry several motherboards; the internals are heated from constant, unrelenting processing needs. If it updates its optical data intake to any greater degree than these rough, messy polygons, it’d surely perish from the overwhelming information.
V1 is built to kill first, survive second. To be fair, survival would ensure more killing, so it’d be more effective. Moving through the battlefield, culling lives, drawing blood. Perfectly aligned with its programmed objectives, then.
Gabriel is smarter than a bug. He must be. He’s an angel, so he must be. He’s one of the best soldiers in the heavenly realm. Armour and swords glistened with pride and justice. He sees all. He judges all. His loyalty and perfect track record have earned him a high rank within the order. Leaving behind the creaturely "it". His light burns hot and bright within his constitution.
Gabriel is built as a messenger of the Father, then a judge of Hell. To be fair, the role of a judge was assigned to him by the council, so he supposes that his placement can be summed up as the bearer of the divine authority to bring right to all other creatures. Perfectly aligned, then.
Bugs… Well, they’re the same. I suppose. Small beings. Running pre-programmed orders derived from centuries of evolution: eat, sleep, fight, flight, and copulate. No role. No responsibilities.
Bugs are built naturally and fully, unlike humankind; but formed and ready to go within seconds from their births, like machines and angels.
So. Do they live?
When the machine and the angel escape their chains, do they see themselves in bugs?
Bugs are born to live, temporarily, fleetingly, yet live nonetheless. Do they, then, deserve to live, freeing and meaninglessly. No role. No responsibilities.
So. Do bugs love?
Do they learn that they can go beyond their basic structures? Do they see their own reflection in each other’s compound eyes? Do they recognize each other’s bodies, scents, heat? Do they feel the desire for closeness?
To flutter wings like a dance of waltz. To brush antennae like butterfly kisses. To greet and caress and lie next to each other near their death.
To move through the sky in battle, in passion. To clash swords and fists and bullets. To greet and caress and lie next to each other near their death.
The same cells in the same blood coursing beneath the same suit of exoskeletons.
Machine, angel, bug. Boiled down to the barest essence of existence; crisp simplicity.
To live, to love.
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