By FDASuarez

fake relationship but its a king and his concubine that was once an amazing soldier but he couldn’t go up the ranks for whatever reason so the king was like listen. hear me out. you can be my strategy dude. u just gotta be okay w walking around shirtless a lot. and soldier dude is like man that’s an UPSIDE and yknow they end up falling in love

One of the things I love about Mandalorian culture is that it basically involves loving who ever you want, raising as many kids as you want, wearing cool body armor and flying around on highly unreliable jetpacks, and trying to shoot a space wizard who can send bullets back at you which is peak herbo/himbo culture. But seriously you don't get in trouble for picking a laser sword that's the wrong color, being forced to never see your parents as a toddler because you could move blocks with your mind, or never allowed to have family or life outside the Jedi order. One of the things that the EU established is both how family oriented Mando culture and one of the reasons they dislike the Jedi is partially because they force a child to separate from their family.

Beannnnn

Doggy vs Christmas tree

When i first read this it nearly killed me, so i had to draw it :V

Let's see if it'll work

May the 10 of Pentacles bless your account with more money than you can spend. 💵✨

Just a reminder because apparently people don’t realize this, but the rainbow gay pride flag isn’t like…a gay male pride flag? it was literally meant as a pride flag for everyone in the community. not that there’s anything wrong with specific identities having their own flag, but i keep seeing ppl post flag sets as if the rainbow ride flag only represents gay men and saying that not including every single other flag known in existence means you’re excluding people when no it’s not the rainbow flag is for everyone

I had a dream last night that Mark said in a stream that Illinois’ middle name was was Philadelphia

The whole community took to calling him Illy Philly 

“I want to speak to a manager,” the middle-aged woman said in her stern I-used-to-be-a-soccer-mom-ten-years-ago voice, looking down at me over the top of her Gucci reading glasses.

A wicked grin split across my face and the gates of Hell opened up behind me, releasing a gust of hot wind that whipped my apron around my body and forced the woman to shield her face. Demons came forth, dancing around in flames with songs of, “She wants to speak to a manager. Did you hear that? She wants to speak to a manager!” before erupting into earsplitting shrieks of laughter, none louder than my own cackling.

I took in the woman’s look of utter horror before my eyes rolled back into my head and I growled,

“I am the manager.”