easy roll


Let’s start off easy * rolls up sleeves*

Originally posted by beuits


The picture might be blurry but the first thing that caught your attentiont is probably that veiny forearm

When he flexes while cooking asfdghjk 

His veins are just effortlessly showing as if it was normal shit to look that sexy

His manly forearms *nosebleed*

That manliness showcased through them , like : “ Baby girl * grabs your waist*” # you all thought of this # don’t deny me ppl

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Heart Cinnamon Rolls

Yields 5 rolls

The things you’ll need

  • Pillsbury Grands cinnamon rolls
  • White glaze icing
  • Heart sprinkles
  • 8 inch round cake pan
  • 8 inch round parchments
  • Decorating bag fitted with a #6 tip
  • Baking spray
  • Knife and cutting board
  • Parchment paper

Let’s get started!

  1. Preheat oven to 350ºF.
  2. Remove cinnamon rolls from canister. Unravel each roll and shape strips into hearts. Arrange in a greased and lined cake pan. The tips of the heart should point towards the center.
  3. Bake for 15 to 17 minutes. Allow to cool in the pan for a few minutes and then transfer to a cutting board to cut out individual cinnamon rolls.
  4. Scoop glaze icing into piping bag and drizzle on top of cinnamon hearts. While the icing is still wet, place sprinkles on top.
  5. TaDa! Here are some sweet hearts for your sweetheart!

On the Cliff is a slice-of-life comic about six roommates and their strange landlord!

Created by Kopso & Chickenstab

Hey!! So my friend Syd and I have been working together for almost a year now on developing a neat little comic called On the Cliff! We’ve put a lot of love into all of the characters and everything about the universe that it’s based in, and we’re finally ready to start putting it out to the public! There’s a couple posts up already, but we’ll be updating it on Fridays. If you’re interested in stupid jokes and dumb faces all the way to some pretty real moments, give it a look!

[On The Cliff] <– Read it here, or start here! –> [Start]


random phone screencaps of Lin in Do No Harm because I love this character a lot and he deserved so much better


futurama appreciation week  [day one - favorite character]: Philip J. Fry

Let Her Go
Mac DeMarco
Let Her Go

tell her that you love her, if you really love her
But if your heart just ain’t sure, let her go

Bering & Wells: Split Screen #60 Brady Bunch Edition

Private Tutor - Teacher AU

Jimin sighed, leaning back against the couch. “Well, you’ve got another two days to finish it. Do you wanna meet up again tomorrow and we can try again to work on it then? Maybe…”

“No!” you interrupted, barely in control of your own voice. It was hard to tell which of you were more surprised by the sudden outburst. “I mean… I don’t want to leave. Not just yet.”

“Oh,” Jimin said, barely able to look you in the eyes. “You can stay then, if you want…”

word count: 3.3k

genre: fluff(?)/smut (teasing, begging, oral, after care :-))

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12.14 coda

Dean may have missed out on the fight, but he still feels like drinking when he finally gets back home. Ketch’s expensive bottle of bribery is still sitting on the war room table and his glass is still in his favorite spot, right where he left it.

“Oh, hello, sweetness. Daddy’s here,” Dean coos at it. He hums as he picks up the bottle - still heavy even after a couple of drinks. “Shhh. It’s just you and me now.”

Sam scoffs. “Really, Dean? You’re that easy?”

Dean rolls his eyes over his shoulder. “So?”

Sam doesn’t really want to start anything, he’s feeling too good. He lets Dean smuggle his booze away to his room like always and revels in the still-fresh feeling of adrenaline-fueled ass-kicking. Changing the world. Power in the palms of his hands. He’ll try not to let it go to his head, but he deserves to celebrate the win at least.

Dean, meanwhile, falls like a heavy weight against the back of his bedroom door. 

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I watch the older butches. They have perfectly shined shoes and crisply ironed dress shirts; ties that point politely down, slung around necks I want to carefully touch; thick belts and square edges and hair that looks like it’s been freshly cut at all times; change in a loose jangle at the bottom of pockets calling out an insistent rattle as they walk by; neatly clipped nails on hands that are forever ready to hold open the door. Their postures are straight and stiff, except for the ones who stoop their shoulders to hide their softness.

The butches are always quietly determined to get the drinks. I watch their calm circle to the bar and back, nobly presenting cocktails to femmes who take them like prizes. At the end of the night, I see them hold up coats with outstretched arms for their tired femmes, hail cabs with one authoritative arm reaching for the stars, the other wrapped lightly around their girl’s waist. They make everything look charmed and easy–rolling coins across the table with a silver flash; arm-wrestling with their sleeves rolled up as my eyes hungrily lock on their tensed forearms; swinging Zippo lighters open before I’ve even contemplated having a cigarette. I crave their softness, how gentle they can me in touch and gesture; I love their hardness, all of the sharp lines and angles I want to feel the pinch of and press myself against. They wear their difference out there every day in a mostly hostile world. They take refuge in approving nods of other butches, in welcoming smiles of the femmes at the bar. When they are here, they are home. When they are here, there is nowhere else.

—  Debra Anderson,