RGF (Resting Grumpy Face) - it’s a thing, and I have it!
Hi guys, I’m Maddie at Fur-Gotten Tails Animal Rescue in Plainville, Connecticut. Please don’t let my RGF fool you - I’m actually very sweet, loving and mellow! But I’m pretty sure my “condition” is why I’ve been passed over for TWO years. I hear some humans have a similar condition so maybe you can relate?
Anyway, I’m a half-glass full kinda gal and tend to like that most people don’t believe that I’m a 10 years old… thanks to my lack of smile lines, perhaps? (Hehe!)
Bottom line, I’ve got a TON of love to give and would do well with humans and possibly another laid back cat or dog. And, although I’m not big on it myself, I promise I’ll make YOU smile. A lot. Seriously. Just look at my face.
Now go call 860-308-0899 or email firstname.lastname@example.org.
Okay, these mini-breaks from episodes kind of suck, don’t they, Rosebud? They do. Because they could simply fill those hours with Oliver working out and we would be quite happy, right? Why don’t they do that? We are nice and good and loyal and we deserve that.
So, this week’s WW is full of fun and angsty bloody shirtlessness. And some super flashbacks as well. I just wish you could all be privy to the text conversations between @tinaday3w and I while I sought her counsel on the photos to include this week. There was one that was just a little too naughty once I unleashed a creative filter on it. Cooler heads prevailed and Mr. Man’s modesty is retained. (Yes, I can hear you all whining from here.)
Enough chitter chatter from me. Here’s some hot damn for you, spanning the ages of Oliver. With love.
First, nice hair, even while being tortured and almost sporting Grumpy Cat face.
Season 1, Episode 1. I miss that towel. So much.
I think he looks pretty hot here. It’s the angry face and the beautiful shoulder.
Cargo pants from Season 1! And salmon ladder. Because it’s magical.
Bloodied, broody and still beautiful.
Prepare yourself. Yeah, I know it’s not Ollie Queen. It’s Jason the randy puppy from Hung, but do you care? Really? Tina and I are still giggling, I swear.
Is he better in black and white? Worse? The same?
Fan girl down, yet? If so, my job is done.
And there you have Washboard Wednesday for this week, my naughty cupcakes! I hope you enjoyed it. I hope you will share with others so that they can have a smile or two. Wishing you a lovely rest of your week…until Man Face Monday. Tags after the break.
i want a scenario where the reapers need to get information out of someone without having them realize anything fishy is going on so they end up falling back on the old “fake prostitute” plan, but grell downright refuses to play a sex worker and ronald is really uncomfortable with doing it, so william ends up being the one trying to sexily interrogate the guy. it goes about as well as william’s other undercover missions.
Tony was below, the flash of his repulsors causing crazy shadows when combined with the tangled brambles that had swallowed Steve’s apartment building. Clint hauled himself a little higher - feet placed carefully to avoid the thorns that were longer than any knife he’d risk juggling - and finally saw a clear enough path for the grappling arrow.
It was a slow ascent - had to be, with all the criss-crossed branches - and he didn’t escape entirely unscathed (aw, pants, no). But eventually he was able to haul himself onto the fire escape outside the apartment next door to Steve’s.
Poor Mrs Ortiz had missed the couch by bare inches when she’d collapsed into enchanted sleep. Clint grabbed a throw pillow and tucked it gently under her head before letting himself out into the hallway, picking the lock to the left.
There wasn’t much he’d be able to do, obviously, ‘cos everyone knew how these stories go. Tony would battle his way through the aggressive foliage, and he’d gently kiss Steve - who was looking exactly like a Disney princess ought to, even in the flannel pants and iron man shirt - and everyone would wake up and live happily ever after.
But Clint had just had to check, okay, see Bucky’s grumpy-cat face even in sleep, awkward and uncomfortable where he was curled against the wall. He’d had to make sure because there were certain responsibilities even with fuck-buddies, especially fuck-buddies who might sort of be concealing occasional one-sided feelings underneath the target on their shirt.
Clint sprawled out with his back against the wall, one knee hitched up, and leaned his shoulder against Bucky’s.
“Hey man,” he said, “it’s cool, Tony’ll be here soon.” And, impulse, he leaned over to press a kiss to the line of Bucky’s clenched jaw. It twitched against his lips.
“Ha!” Tony yelled, triumphant, over the comms. “What the hell did I say? The plants couldn’t stand up to the suit, and they were clearly anchoring the spell.” He snorted, dismissively. “Who the hell thought that ‘true love’s kiss’ was gonna work, seriously?”
Clint actually felt his heart drop into his stomach, feeling stupid and small and royally screwed. (Aw. Love. No.)
“Guess we’re done here, then,” Clint said, flat, into his comm, and looked away from sleepily confused gray eyes.