The Fact That Scammers Are Consistently Using Real Palestinian Stories To Scam People Is Genuinely Sickening.

Keanu on his Norton Commando

another gaz study ehe

Neighbor! Simon who is sitting cross-legged on your kitchen floor, a hand on his stubbly chin while he tries to figure out how your washing machine works.

Meanwhile you're stirring a pot on the stove and glancing down at him apologetically every now and then.

Funny that there's a pack of Marlboro on the windowsill of your balcony along with an ash tray you'd bought especially for him.

Simon's muddy shoes are in your hallway more often than not, and you decided to get him a pair of slippers since he spends so much time there.

He wears them religiously, you find it adorable.

When you finally hear a click and the washing machine whirrs to life, you're so overjoyed that you wrap your arms around his waist and stand on your toes to press a kiss to his jaw.

His expression barely changes except for the corners of his eyes crinkling in delight.

He rubs gentle circles into the small of your back. You insist he stays for dinner.

He ends up sleeping on your couch, just in case something else goes wrong in your new apartment.

fawn's rules ✧ .・

these are mostly just based on being a decent human being, if you arent happy with these rules, please feel free to find another blog <3

✧ if you support homophobia, racism, ableism or misogyny, you are not welcome on this page.

✧ i am not comfortable taking requests from individuals who do not have their age in their bio, nsfw or not, please respect this, this is for your safety as well as mine.

✧ i do not feel comfortable writing smut that deals with incestual relationships, age play, pedophilia, scat, vomit, and or anything relating to sexualising any form of an eating disorder. so pleaseee do not ask for content relating to any of this <3

how it feels to shift after doing your hair, showering, shaving, putting on lotion, and changing your sheets

He’s a grumpy veteran. Sleeps with a knife under his bed, flinches at fireworks. Get the dog, is Price’s order advice. So he drags his feet begrudgingly to the local shelter, fully expecting to walk out empty handed. Just for the sake of it, so Price’ll stop bothering him.

You’re working the shift that day. Immediately clock him as ex-military. Take him to the room of older, more scarred dogs–shared trauma helps the two animals bond. Tell him to take a look around, wait for that special connection, that special click moment to happen. He thinks it’s all bullshit, but he bites regardless.

His eyes roam the room. Pitbulls, dobermans, rottweilers. All tough and scary looking, but their eyes are kind and their tongues hang out in pants. They all look excited to see him. Except one.

One, looks more than pleased. Dutiful. The german shepherd stands, notched and torn ears perked up. She has small punctures on her snout. Her neck is riddled with raised, old bites, a ring of scar tissue that has scarce and patchy fur. One of her paws is slightly misshapen, toe sticking out. Her elbows are viscerally calloused.

He walks closer to her, slowly like he’s approaching a startled doe. She’s silent, body flinching slightly with him. He looks her straight in her eyes, brown boring into yellow. You and I are the same, he tries to say. And he knows she’s trying to listen.

“She’s a special one,” you say, the voices of the other dogs quieting at his obvious interest. “Think she escaped from a dogfighting ring.”

He inhales sharply, now crouching down to her level. She stares at him with an unwavering posture, but behind her eyes rages a flame of something uncertain. Shaky. He recognises it better than his own mirror.

“What’s her name?”

“Doesn’t have one. Abandoned, no chip or collar. Everyone here just calls her birdie.”

The corner of his mouth twitches ever so slightly. “She’ll do.”

He takes her home, carries her in his big arms. She’s heavy, well fed. He has you to thank for that. You talk him into buying this pink collar for her, a bunch of toys that make a noise when squeezed, and a bed that’s probably softer than his own. There’s this one dirty, tattered bunny plushie Riley insists on taking with her. 

Convinces himself he’s not attached. But everytime someone so much as tries to pet her without permission, he glares. Bites out the words “show some respect” with bared teeth. Damn dog doesn’t even use her own bed. Sleeps at the foot of his, and only because he won’t let her come to the main bed. Something about being dirty and slobbering over him. All that goes out the window when he wakes to sounds of whining and whimpering, her body twitching in sleep. He recognises that better than anyone.

It’s her first nightmare with him, and thanks to her sleeping cuddled in his arms every night from then on, it’s her last. He sleeps better, too. Mutually beneficial arrangement, he justifies it as. Sneaks her scraps during dinner, all the while telling her how spoiled she is. How ill mannered she is. But the grin on his face says otherwise.

He keeps visiting you at the shelter. Dog’s good for something, at least. Asks you questions he knows the answer to. “What the hell does it mean when she whines like that?” 

“She wants attention, Simon.”

“Bloody princess,” he mutters, proceeding to pet her for ten minutes. Scratches her behind the ear and below her chin, gives her belly rubs just to see her wiggle around. He used to be something scary and serious, you know. Now he’s just some guy who’d kill for his daughter.

He comes to see you even if he doesn’t have questions. Makes up some stupid excuse like, “came to see if she needed… supplies. Or something.” Won’t admit that he’s interested in you. Riley foils all his attempts at being nonchalant by wagging her tail whenever she sees you, or slobbering over your face in kisses.

Eventually, he stops pretending. Brings you coffee. Comes there just to hang out and talk. Stutters and leaves immediately when you ask him on a date, but Riley drags him back by sheer force. It’s ridiculous.

EMERGENCY AUTHOR UPDATE

I feel like this needs to be warned about. Everything on Ao3 that isn't set to private, HAS been data scraped and fed to 3 data sites that provide data for AI training, including writing and artwork.

Yes, this includes my entire Ennead series and everything else I've ever written and posted. As well as anything you all have written but not made private.

Ao3's legal team is fighting it and one site has made the data unavailable, but the other two aren't based in the USA so the fight is harder.

This is frustrating and upsetting news, especially for those of us who now need to pick between our Guest readers who have supported us for a long time and protecting the hard work that we've put our hearts and souls into and I just ask that we support each other and our choices during this time.

The link here has more details but from now on, until I can be sure there's a way to protect my work, which I've spent decades writing and planning, my stories will be posted for members of the site only.

18+ !! <3 coming to theatres soon...

joel miller ✧ .・sharing a saddle, pulling him in with his belt loops, southern accent, dirty flannels, learning to shoot a shotgun, campfires, sleepy mornings, falling asleep in his lap, branding his cowboy boots with your initials, sewing up his worn clothes, warm kisses in freezing temperatures (ceo of "lemme warm ya up baby, c'mon"), age gaps, dry humping his jeans.

johnny b. goode, chuck berry

nobody's soldier, hozier

surfin usa, the beach boys

american pie, don mclean

rubberneckin, elvis presley

house of the rising sun, the animals

cowboy like me, taylor swift

if there really is a john wick 5 in progress they better show my man retired with dog.