Hanzo had been searching for some time, before he found McCree slumped against a cargo container, looking worse for the wear. His hat was a foot away, revealing the nasty gash on the right side of his forehead, blood running down his face. His arms were in no better shape, the mechanical one was damaged, while the sleeve of his right arm was soaked with blood.
The archer knelt down, reaching forward to press his fingers against the cowboy’s throat. Before he could find a pulse, McCree’s hand mechanical hand came up, wrapping gently around his wrist. The damage seemed to lock his index and middle fingers into pointing forward. “Hey, babe,” he croaked.
McCree finally cracked his left eye open, smiling at Hanzo. “Y’lookin’ pretty fine, I gotta say.”
Ok but mistletoe trope for 3rd gym? Like Bokuto and Kuroo getting caught and full on making out, Bokuto and Akaashi being sweet and disgusting, Tsukishima refusing but when they leave giving Bokuto the tiniest peck on the lips (which means a lot okay), Kuroo kissing Akaashi who doesn’t even push him away, Tsukishima thinking he was in the clear until Akaashi grabbed his arm and they ended up in the corner
The word "cliche” doesn’t derive from any Latin word or even any prior French word. Actually, as legend has it, a group of printers back in 1800s France got the idea to save time by forging common phrases onto a single plate instead of writing out every line of text word-by-word. In English, these plates are referred to as stereotypes.
So when you utter a cliche, you’re saying something that is so unoriginal that there’s actually a prepared mold to represent it. And when you unjustly “stereotype” a person or race, what you’re really doing is “forging them onto a French printing press plate.” You monster.
Instead of dying after
speaking their last words to the other characters, the main character lives.
Now they have to deal with the consequences of what they’d said.
We all know those tired clichés. It’s time to kill them. Take one of them and turn them on their heads or at least these will hopefully keep the errors out of your writing. If you think of any other way to change them up go right ahead. Happy hunting!
BTS Reaction to: Their Crush Asking Them What They Like About Her
Jin: get ready for something cheesy like “what’s not to like? you’re kind, smart, funny, beautiful. well, not as beautiful as me. but close enough.” if he senses that words aren’t enough for you, don’t be surprised to come home to a home cooked meal and a foot massage
Suga:“are you really asking me such a stupid question? why do you think I could simply list off the reasons why? there’s too many.” treats your question like it’s stupid but inside, he knows what that self doubt feels like. but instead of wasting time with words, he writes a song or composes something on the piano for you
J-Hope:at first laughs off the question since he thinks it’s a stupid one but the more he thinks about it, the more he starts to wonder if he’s not been showing you enough, how much he cares. so from then on, he grows more clingy and into skinship and texts you as much as he can when on tour
Rap Monster: takes a long sip of his drink so he can think through an answer before coming out with something so romantic and cringe before taking your breath away with a kiss. you don’t ever wonder why he likes you again
Jimin: this lil squishy is so upset by it that he sits you down for a serious talk, asking you where the q was coming from. then spends the rest of eternity showing you he cares & why he cares, showering you with hugs and smooches and his precious eye smile
V: can’t understand where the q is coming from. quirks his brows and asks “what do you mean? did I not give you enough reasons last night? unless you want a round two?”
Jungkook:“to be honest, the first time I looked at you … I thought you looked kind of like IU.” whether you take his joke to heart or not, he knows not to push it too far. “ah, you know I’m just kidding, right? I like you for so many reasons that even if IU asked me for my number, I probably wouldn’t give it to her.”
My Head Hurts (Young Sirius Black x reader-- drabble)
A/N: I’m very tired and my head hurts and so this happened instead of me writing smut.. fUCK i’m awful
word count: 212
You lay in bed, unable to open your eyes. Your head is pounding and you have absolutely no idea why. You hear Sirius moan quietly next to you. He throws his arm over your waist and pulls you into him. “G'morning, beautiful.” He hums, his voice groggy.
You will your eyes open to see his smiling face. You can’t help but smile, yourself, even though you aren’t really feeling well. “Morning, handsome.” You press a lazy kiss to his jawline.
“How’d you sleep?” He asks, brushing hair out of your face.
“Fine.” You respond. “My head hurts, though.”
His face drops. “Oh no. We can’t have that, now can we?” He sprinkles your forehead in kisses.
You giggle, gently swatting him away. “Sirius, stop!” You cry.
He does and leans his forehead against yours, his hand cradling your face. “Well, I don’t want your head to hurt, darling. Don’t know how else to fix it.” He chuckles.
You pull away and tuck your head into the crook of his neck. “Just be here.” You murmur. “Be quiet for once in your life.” You snicker.
“Ha ha.” He replies sarcastically. “I’ll let you rest, though.” He places a hand on the back of your head, entwining his fingers in your hair. “Feel better, love.”
question: if /d/ is /t/ but voiced and we write them as d and t, and /ð/ is /θ/ but voiced, why tf do we write both of them as th instead of dh and th? words like thought and threw would stay the same but this and there and though would become dhis and dhere and dhough
I couldn’t decide on what ship to write for Valentine’s Day, so instead I offer these 100-word drabbles, containing Papyrus x Many (but not at the same time :P). All are in the Undertale-verse, unless otherwise marked.
Summary: You’re caught in a time loop during the 11 days leading up to the RFA’s party unless you can do… what, exactly?
13+ Recommended you’ve played at least one of Zen, Yoosung, or Seven’s route due to small spoilers.
Shit. An icy hand grips
your insides. You try to slam the door shut, but the intruder – Unknown,
whatever his name is – thrusts his leg in its path and forces it back open. You
almost fall over at the strength behind his shove and scramble to regain your
footing, pushing off of the wall and running to the kitchen. There has to be a
knife, o-or a frying pan… anything you can use to defend yourself…
intruder is in the doorway to the kitchen just as you pull out a knife and
brandish it in front of you with both hands. Goddammit, it’s your bread knife.
The rounded tip and serrated edge do little to make you look menacing. Why had
you spent all your excess time cooking and reading instead of studying judo or self-defense?
I am a writer,
and that makes me a dirty liar.
I sit here spinning tales of true love,
I write poems about dancing in starlight,
kissing in the rain and making promises
you really will keep.
I write things I’ve never really done.
I make up lies about happily ever after,
hoping that if I bring it to life on my page
it’ll come alive in real life too.
If I had somebody to kiss in the rain,
I’d be off doing that instead of writing poems.
My words might sound pretty,
but that’s all they are.
They’re skeletons of an idea
that I wish so badly had some substance-
that I wish so badly was more than
a crumbling framework that’s half alive
but also half dead.
I am a liar.
My words are rotten and dead.
My love stories are pretty, but they’re only in my head.
I want to be the beautiful one instead.