Someone screwed up your reincarnation papers, and you’re reborn as yourself. You start your whole life over, with all the knowledge and wisdom (or lack thereof) you had when you died.
Siren Rhys AU of mine that I finally decided to draw. I changed up my previous tattoo hc for him, and just altered his og tatoo to look more siren-y. It’ll probably change again but w/e.
Basic info, for now, is that Rhys was found out to be a siren by H. Jack while he worked on Helios, and ended up becoming his very powerful arm candy that he takes everywhere. Who needs a gun when your boyfriend can literally melt people? jack, thats who, he likes guns, but still
Beagles are scenthounds traditionally used for foxhunting and the like, but are used in modern times as expert tracking and sniffer dogs (the kind used to detect drugs and other materials). Perfect for our little investigative android.
Beagles are very people motivated and are some of the most sociable and affectionate dog breeds.
Beagles are also considered one of the most adorable, as they possess a ‘forever puppy’ face and make the silliest sounds.
SO now imagine Hank being an old guy who finds a sneaky little pup eating garbage out of his trashcan every night like a little scrounger. The poor thing looks frightened when he first stumbles upon him with those big brown eyes and shaky little body. Hank can’t help but toss out scraps so he doesn’t have to go scavenging so much. Every night he sets out a plate of some sort of leftovers, eventually adding a bowl of water, then a towel to lay on. Poor little guy.
Slowly the pup starts to get closer, trusting Hank little by little. He still shakes, tail tucked, but he gets to the point where he’ll eat while Hank sits nearby. One night the man decides to test his luck: he holds out a half eaten ruben in his hand. The puppy seems to debate his choices for a second, paces around, and stares at Hank right in the eyes as he tries to read the human. Then, slowly, low to the ground, he crawls up and takes the morsel. Hank is enthralled, letting the puppy eat bit by bit.
Then, he reaches his other hand out. The puppy doesn’t scatter but flinches hard, eyes shut tight and all but laying on the ground in terror. Hank just pets him a little on his tiny head, then offers more food. They exchange like this for a while until Hank is able to completely pet down the puppy’s body without a reaction.
They repeat this night after night and each time the beagle opens up a little more. He seems to enjoy it, eventually, laying against Hank’s leg after he’s eaten.
That’s when Hank decides to pick him up, and to his surprise, the puppy doesn’t protest. In fact he wags his tail in delight, looking up at him with big sweet eyes full of happiness, and Hank decides he can’t take him to the shelter at all. Too late- he’s fallen for the little mongrel.
I wish I put as much effort into my life as Phil Collins did into the Tarzan soundtrack
One time my Spanish 2 teacher was like “I dont have a lesson today. We’re watching Tarzan” and put it in the VHS (This was 2010). We [sophomores – seniors, I was a junior] were super excited. The movie starts and my friend and I look at each other and say at the same time “IS PHIL COLLINS SINGING IN SPANISH?!” I went home that night and found out Phil Collins sang the songs in the English, Italian, German, Spanish, and French versions of the film. Mind blown.
Phil Collins gets a lot of shit but the man has never half-assed anything in his creative career.
Due to the well of my friends’ “def not an axe murderer” date recommendations drying up, I have turned to that most sacred of modern relationship institutions: online dating. As a very busy person trying to get it in with other very busy people, I prize honestly and directness above all else when it comes to profile creation. I include full body shots in my photos, try to minimize the use of MySpace angles in selfies, and write at the very top of the summary/caption/profile that I am fat. Not “curvy,” not “thick,” not “lots to love”–I’m f*cking fat. I’m not ashamed of it, but I also known that weight is a dealbreaker for lots of people. I don’t want to waste anyone’s time.
About a year ago I met “Evan” via Tinder. We exchanged friendly messages for a few hours one night and agreed to meet up for drinks the following evening. I waited for a full hour past the designated time, and just as I was getting up to leave, the texts started rolling in.
“I can see you sweating from here.” “How long does it take you to roll out of bed every morning?” “Is there an earthquake or are you just getting up for more pretzels?”
Really idiotic, juvenile shit. Four separate numbers, commenting on things like my clothes, which clued me in that the senders were nearby. This went on for 15 minutes before I finally saw Evan, trying to hide in at a corner table and giggling with a group of buddies. I made eye contact, saw that he saw me, and then walked out. The texts kept up until I blocked the numbers a few hours later.
I ran into Evan about 3 weeks later. We got on the same elevator, and he tried really hard at being super interested in the emergency phone instructions. I just confronted him, and he admitted it was just some “game” that him and his friends play. He knew I was fat before agreeing to meet up; they all did, because that’s what they do. Match up with fat women, then either ghost them or “troll” them at the meet-up. It was also kinda obvious he’d never seen any consequences from this bullshit, as he was sweating pretty hard and looked more humiliated than I felt. I just said whatever and walked out, expecting to never see him again.
About a month ago, some local foodie wrote a great review of the restaurant I own, and we’ve been slammed ever since. In the past, I stayed mostly in the kitchen, but I’ve been doing more and more front-of-house stuff lately, and Valentine’s Day I was working a bit of a split between the two.
I saw Evan just as he was pushing in his date’s chair. My name isn’t on the restaurant, and he didn’t see me. I checked the section up at the hostess stand and saw that one of my favorite old-timers, Nan, was going to be his waitress. I went to the bar till, took out $400, put it in her hands, and said, “This is going to be your only table for the rest of the night. You are going to make this the worst date he has ever been on.”
She spilled every single thing she brought out to the table, all over him. I was waiting for him to blow up on Nan, but he bottled it up, obviously trying to make a good impression on his date. She seemed like a perfectly lovely lady; I told Nan to make sure everything was good for her and terrible for Evan.
She poured ice water on his d*ck. She smacked the back of his head with the edge of a tray. Spilled soup on his shirt. Dropped every fork he asked for. I personally oversalted his food, used the shit liquor for his drinks, used flour instead of sugar on his dessert. To be honest, I don’t know why he didn’t just walk out. He must have really wanted to f*ck this woman.
Finally, he cracked. Demanded Nan find the manager and bring her out. I was only too happy to emerge from the kitchen with my chef’s coat and say what, I’m not ashamed to admit, I’d been planning out all night.
“I would have said hi earlier, but I didn’t want the earthquake to disturb your dinner.”
I will savor the look on Evan’s face for the rest of my life.
He was a little too flummoxed to explain, so I pulled a chair up to the table and introduced myself to his date, Amanda. Told her how I met Evan. Showed her some fun old messages. Then I told gave her a voucher for a free meal on her next visit and told Evan to get the f*ck out and never come back.
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