#fivethousand

[transfemgeorgecostanza]

You can tell I’m going on holiday bc I am working on my giant playlist folders again

[gutsfics]

im having a real normal one about Finn in that Fiona and Cake episode

[breitzbachbea]

Anyways, also GUESS who has a new minor job next wintersemester and will have to become INTIMATELY aware with identifying the building blocks and patterns of German grammar from 1650 until 1950, come hell or high water, yeehaw.

[instituteled]

@sealone​ inquired:  it isn't real tenderness - no one, they themselves included would define it as such. a sentiment close to it but with a thousand other names and different implications all tangled up in its meaning. a no-name emotion to read between the lines, between the wrinkles on the hands of an old man (not for long; not for too long still) as he picks up a much, much younger one (hasn't been for long; will be again in decades) from his messed up bed.

     Iғ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ was any room for such considerations right now, he'd hate the weakness. Would hate showing it most of all: and he will, when time comes for that. Eventually. But the first time after switching to a different body, everything hurts. Not in the traditional sense: there aren't many wounds that need to heal. (A couple bruises around where it had trashed against restrains, and the area surrounding the eyes of course: and actually trying to see is another task entirely. Focus comes hard, and mostly it's much easier to keep them closed for the time being.) But there are different struggles: a body that feels it should die and doesn't in the slightest. The adjustment of everything feeling wrong — his teeth click differently together and require a different jaw position to not be uncomfortable, his fingers are slightly longer, there's a slight asymmetry in the legs that's not too bad on it's own but too notable now. Everything hurts, and it can't all be slept away, a part of which he actually has to grow used to. But part of it. Part of it — the days after spent in a haze, in every little movement too much, in not being able to do much else but fade in and out of restless sleep.

     It's different, having someone there. He didn't like the idea much, even if it had been his own, but it's both to help the other man understand the process, something soon shared: to make sure he knows this torture, at least, is one of necessity, not cruelty. (Not meaning there won't be others, aren't others: just this specific one.) And out of convenience. He dreads being seen as helpless and weak: but his body and self need to merge together and he's not able to support either of those for a while, and it never helps that as soon as the pain gets bearable and he has to work through the adjustments, he has to go about feeding himself and other mundane basic needs. It's as disgusting and humiliating, but — this too would pass. A few weeks of pain and discomfort, traded in for a couple more decades.

     There aren't words now. Neither of thanks nor of disgust for himself and his weakness. Words would require understanding how these vocal chords work, and he neither has that nor drank enough to even feel capable of any proper sound escaping that throat anytime soon. But it's the mimicry of a motion similar, of mirroring the other one. Trying to remember the movements. Trying to translate it to this new body, knowing that some months from now, it will be with reversed roles, and that at least is something. A trade off, too. The grasp of his hand on the much larger one is weak, but it's at least progress. It's roughly what he intended to do.

     And in some ways: it's nice, not being alone, for the first time in that sense of the word.

[parkjinwoos]

HOT COMEBACK THIS MONTH*

*it's me, mara the idiot who came back to this hellsite (prev. @parkjinwoos).

nice to meet u, i'm mara, 25 yo. my pronouns are she/them and i'm a idiot for seventeen, astro and fivethousand other groups. i'm very normal abt jinjin, seungkwan and hoshi (+ mingyu but we don't talk abt him...). sometimes i make gifs agdhgshjf

i'm on a quest to find my moots, so pls help me out!!!

[writing-good-vibes]

handle it

mtl oc week 2023 drabble: fan-mily

my contribution to this years MTL OC week !! here was have jules and nathan, the most dynamic sibling duo. or: the first time nathan gets arrested, it's because of jules.

WARNINGS for violence, alcohol and mentions of toxic relationships.

"Nathan, we have to go! Leave it, c'mon!" Someone from the bar called the cops, fucking snitches, and Jules was frantically watching the end of the alleyway for any sign of a cop car pulling up.

Nathan doesn't stop though. He has Darrell, the now-former guitarist of SlaughterHouse FiveThousand, pinned against one of the dumpsters outside the bar, and his fist is drenched in blood as he pulls back, again and again and again.

"If you ever touch my sister again, I. Will. Kill. You. You look at her and you're dead," Nathan growls. It's low and rough and he can barely hear himself over the rushing of blood in his ears that beats in time with his racing heart.

"Nate, come on," Jules is pulls him back by the shoulders, stumbling when he finally stands back up to his full height.

Darrell drops from his grasp into a heap on the grimy asphalt, with not much to say at all. Nathan turns and follows Jules, the both of them breaking into a run.

Jules lags behind, even with her haste to get them away. Nathan grabs her wrist, trying to help her keep up, but she's coughing up a lung by the time they make it to the end of the block.

"Mom's gonna kill you," Jules says between gulping breaths.

"I don't care," Nathan shrugs, "it was totally worth it."

Jules looks up, red faced from effort and something else. "You didn't have to..."

"I did. Fuck him. Seriously." Nathan inspects his knuckles instead of meeting Jules' eye. He wipe the blood onto his shirt. Most of it is Darrell's - that fucking son of a bitch - but he's split the skin over his middle knuckle.

Jules slides down the brick, legs splayed on the sidewalk. Tears sting her eyes but she bites her lip, puts her face in her hands to keep from crying.

"Hey," Nathan crouches beside her, his voice as soft as he can make it. "You're, uh, you're okay, right?"

Jules nods. She is okay. Mostly. She's kind of scared and kind of relieved. She knows Nathan hasn't fixed things. No matter how bad he beat Darrell, he can't undo what he's already done. What Jules has already done. Because she really thought it was what she wanted. Darrell was so cool - cooler than her - and talented and she wanted him to like her so badly. So what if he was a bit older? So what if he looked at other girls even when he told Jules he loved her? So what if he was a little to mean, a little too harsh, a little too much?

"Just..." she trails of, unsure of how to put into words even a fraction of what she wants to say. "Just, thanks."

A cop car rolls around the corner, lights on but no sirens.

The pair watch as it pulls up to the curb besides them. From the window, "Explosion?"

Nate closes his eyes and lets out a pained sigh.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

*sobbing angry tears* BEE, NOOOO! SWEET SUMMER CHILD-

I am in a very murdery mood right now. Lloyd's despicable behavior has reached new heights even I am surprised by. Fuck. He's a tyrant and I wanna bash in this stupid face so bad.

"Fivethousand and change" he declares proudly. "And you wanna sit here and act too good for it-"

Sir, imma stop you right there. Bee does in fact not want to sit there. And you damn well know that.

"I know you want me"

I... Where do I even START?! Lloyd is downright delusional. He's so narcissistic and obsessed with himself that he can't seem to understand that not every woman is all over him. The way he keeps trying to make Bee out to be something she's not...

"You've been to a place like this dozens of times" "You're fun, Bee" "You're a bimbo"

Dude. You don't know the first thing about her. It's like his self centered, dysfunctional brain is trying to somehow make sense of the fact that Bee is not interested. But because that's a concept he can't grasp, he tries to depict her as something in his head that works for his perception of the world and doesn't challenge his narcissistic personality. Man, a psychiatrist would have a field day with this douche.

I also love how he keeps boasting about how he's gonna fuck her so hard, but then it's like.... Average? And he's being really selfish and sadistic too? Sir, how's that good?

"Did I tear you?"

*screams* WHAT IS WRONG WITH HIM, FUUUUUUUCK-

Imma tear something right about now, Good Sir. You wrote his disgusting, unlikable personality so fucking well, Roo. I just want to strangle him. Hes- he's.... There's no words for how awful he is.

His reaction to her coming just put the cherry on top of his terrible behavior. It's SEX, man. What did you expect? She's not one of your blow up dolls or flesh lights. There's gonna be some fluids. I wanna know what he would say if Bee suddenly jumped up and pushed him away, cursing how he's gotten his mess all over her. Wouldn't appreciate that, would he?

God, I just wanna gather Bee baby up in my arms and carry her away. The way he shoved her off of him when she was coming and then just used and mocked her afterwards?

No. No, no, no. We don't do that here. I wish Bee would get up and straight up leave after she's gathered herself as best as possible. I just want her to walk out of there and never come back near him unless it's to beat the shit out of his stupid smug visage.

Murder daddy or deserves to be murdered daddy lol. He is fucking awful, not only did he assault poor Bee but he actively demeaned her and insulted her the whole time. Touting his status and money over her. Well dude you're like old so--

Bee was like 'can I pls go home and sleep' but Lloyd apparently is so narcissistic he functions on his ego alone. It's like a battery powering his despicable action. And I'm sure he's never dealt with rejection so rn he just doesn't even recognise it as that, he's just like oh that means I just speak louder, right?

He definitely is assuming a lot of someone who he still a) presumably doesn't know their name, b) only just thought to ask their age c) hasn't asked a damn question about.

And like the fucking was hot but bro. it's not like you paralysed a ho, try harder.

He don't even know nothing about nothing and that makes it worse. I mean he couldn't ask for a better assistant but as always he's thinking of his dick.

[engelsschwert]

Can we go back to phones without cameras?

I'm looking for a new phone and every video is like 'The selling point of this phone is the 8 mega pixel camera with fivethousand zoom' or 'It's weak point is the camera, you won't get good pictures with this'

Like... if I want to take pictures I get a camera designated for taking pictures??

I just want a small pocket pc that makes phone calls, sends messages, can surf the web and maybe play some decend gamed to pass time

There should be a service where you can just ... make your own phone. Like you are able to build your pc!

Because all I need is a decent processor, Ram and storage. I don't care about taking pictures or videos, I don't need 5 cameras on the back of my phone and I don't need a 4k display

[axolotlsauce]

Reverse feeding-of-the-fivethousand where the kitchen accidently prepares far too much food but I save the day by eating five thousand portions

[marigoldsays]

Marigold Says... 

Random thoughts on travelling and life in general. 

Our blog didn't win Blog of the Year. Again. That's three consecutive years it's been on the Shortlist and all it has to show for that feat is three 'Highly Commended' awards.  Not even a rosette! 

Oh well, que, sera, sera.

We have over 165,000 'unique' followers by now, it's over 167,000 actually now,so we're not too disheartened. 

What's different this year is having not one but two separate blog posts being singled out for a 'Best Single Blog Posts' award. They're on very different subjects but recognition of any kind is welcome. Feed the ego; body and soul. That's never a bad idea.

If you're interested in what critics think (!) the two posts they selected for special praise are:

Hippie Life in Spain

and

Party for Grownups

You'll find them and much else besides in the list of titles, almost 200 separate postings on a wide diversity of subjects and locations.

As for awards... Well, as we've had well over 165,000, yes, that's ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-FIVE THOUSAND individual readers by now, we must be doing something right. Anything over ten thousand readers meant we'd arrived in the Bloggin' Premier League, so hitting a hundred and sixty fivethousand plus is just WOW!

Who needs awards anyway?

G regards himself as an ex-writer these days, but a pandemic brings many surprises in its wake. He's written a new book, quite the departure from the style that brought far too much fame and far too little fortune as compensation for all that life disruption, hence the ex-writer tag.

The new book is a Young Adult novel about a pandemic, written a year before most people even imagined such a thing. More details and a link to this book and a few others long hidden from public view are in the recent blog post, Staying Alive.

Stop Press.

We may not have won Blog of the Year, but our blog post Only the Lonely, written during Covid-19 Lockdown, has been chosen from a few million other offerings as the Best 'Pandemic' Blog Post by the very clever people who judge this sort of thing for a living. We like critics! 

This isn't Marigold. Far too sophisticated.

Here’s that Only the Lonely blog post, just as a sample…

Solitary Confinement - It's Not All Fun and Party Games

M Says'

I havedecided my hair needs cutting. I actually said to G, 'my hair needs cutting badly' and he of course jumped straight in with, 'sounds perfect job for me.'

I have two styles to choose from. It can either be Boris post virus locks or Michael Fabricant. To actually wear a wig like that needs an award. Love it. I haven't decided yet. It all depends on G's patience, and nifty use of a rather large pair of kitchen scissors. As their use is varied from cutting up a chicken, cardboard or old clothes for dusters, am sure they will be up to the task. 

As my hair is not a favourite asset it doesn't really matter. In fact I can't think of an asset I have got. Anyway need to work up to it when G isn't on his exercise bike or wandering up and down the path. 

Have started to think about waste a lot. Had loads of peelings yesterday and thought about making our own potcheen. Anyway, I thought about it and then put them in the bin. We have made all sorts of strange and varied things in the past. 

We had a spell making Kombucha when we lived in France. It was very successful. In fact too successful and we were left with lots of Mother pancake things and didn't know what to do with them. It was suggested you fry them and eat them. We in fact buried them in the garden. I wonder if any have grown into something that can't be identified. 

I also added cheese to olive oil and herbs. It went rancid. Buried that as well. Tried rhubarb wine. Awful. It would have been great as a toilet cleaner. We had grape vines, lots of them and the wine we made was a success thankfully. We had vineyard owning friends who were good teachers and we ended up with a quaffable product. 

I was in charge of labels and my only instruction was 'put them on straight'. Did they think I was going to put them on upside down? Why do people get bossy when they know more than you? We even had a wine bottle hedgehog. Look it up. Surprise, surprise. 

We have been walking up and down the path and G counts his steps. As I was borrowing his Fitbit and he claimed I was pinching his steps he bought me one. No stopping me now. Onwards and upwards. As it is a narrow path G starts one end with me at the other. We meet halfway and do a dozie-doe circle as in Scottish dancing to liven us up a bit. 

Marv. 

I have walked to Lands End and back. G said you would be better in shoes and not your slippers, but comfort is really important for athletes. 

Have had requests from family, friends, debt collectors and people I have never heard of to do a video something or other called Boom, Zoom or something or other. Can't think of anything worse. 

What does it involve? Do you have to wear make up, remove any rogue hairs, have an interesting back drop? It all sounds very stressful and have had to decline. What if we came on their screen and they screamed, or we screamed? Our conversation could be over in 3 minutes and then you have to revert to 'somebody is at the door' while G can clearly be heard shouting 'I don't want to talk to them'. Then you are trapped in a cycle of daily non goings on. 

I imagine it is like visiting someone in hospital and saying 'what did you have for lunch' or 'are you sleeping ok'. I would rather people imagine we are having lockdown parties and doing handstands. 

A friend said she started to do a diary. Day 1 Got up, had breakfast Had walk for an hour Had lunch Had tea Had shower Went to bed 

Day 2 -ditto-. She won't be doing it anymore. 

On the Thursday night clap session a woman over the way from us was clapping in an upstairs window, well actually a bit more energetic than that; she hangs out of the bathroom window with a large saucepan and a plastic veg drainer. Anyway, saucepan went flying and would have killed the old geezer underneath if he'd been there at the time.

It is still on the lawn. I have got my eye on it, as it looks better than mine. G said she could be lying on the floor having fell off backwards off the stool shouting 'the clap has killed me'. 

Just off to do steps and catch up with G. I need to win. 

After I made such a brill job of cutting his hair G came at me with large wallpaper scissors, a tin basin and said 'put your legs in the stirrups' and guffawed. He is not taking it seriously so can bog off.

Yes, I'm sure they mean well, but...

A bit more nonsense now...

G Says'

I don't go in for Zoom or any other type of video conferencing malarkey. Quite apart from having to make a bit of an effort with my appearance there's the absolute certainty I would be miles away, both literally and figuratively, when faced with the distraction of someone else's living room in the background. If there's a bookcase in view, forget conversation, my attention is elsewhere.

Even television presenters work from home now and I find it hard to listen to what they're saying as their furniture, fixtures and fittings become my main focus.

Actually, I prefer it like this. Something to occupy the mind while they waffle inanely on, just like they always did, but now I have a valid excuse for tuning them out.

Even in real life situations, whatever they used to be, I constantly found myself contorting my head and neck to read, sideways on, any books on a shelf. Talking to me under these conditions is a waste of breath. Oh, and no, of course I can't concentrate on more than one thing at a time. Multitasking is not in my DNA. I struggle to cope with one task at a time.

I messaged a friend a week ago, just to say hello, and asked 'what are you up to anyway?' She hasn't replied. I can't believe it requires so much thought. A simple question, surely?

Is overthinking yet another byproduct of our recent isolation? Or am I reading too much into this? Did she just forget to reply? Even worse, is she ignoring me and my fatuous remarks? I wish I hadn't mentioned this now. I may not sleep tonight for worrying'

The same friend moved house 18 months ago and she's still got numerous taped up boxes in the 'spare' room. Getting sorted out after a move, that's just asking for an onset of prevarication, isn't it? Some 'stuff' gets unpacked and put away virtually straight away. By which I mean, within the first week. Or so. After that, it's bye bye box, see you whenever.

I find the best removal system (and we've moved house many, many times) is to incorporate the science of random selection. Obviously, one should never write on a box what it contains - where's the fun in that? When its time comes to be opened, possibly far into the future, there's a frisson of excitement about the process.

There's about an equal balance I find between, 'oh, finally, there you are' and 'why did we ever imagine we'd need that?'

Best of all are things you really needed, couldn't find and so went out and bought a new one. Now, inside the box you finally got around to opening is that most precious of all items, 'a spare.'

I see Marigold has referred to our 'French' period when we grew, nurtured and cherished the many grape vines on our land. We became confirmed oenophiles in the process, but not everything went smoothly all the time. I developed a condition related to tennis elbow, namely secateur wrist through pruning about a million vines.

The vast wine press in the cellar of our isolated farmhouse took all our combined strength to operate - we only learnt later that the previous owner used a mule to provide the muscle power - and Marigold, for all her many virtues, having briefly and unsuccessfully tried every other aspect of the wine making process was finally relegated to sticking labels onto the bottles.

Easy? Not as I recall. Getting a wine label to attach to a bottle and look anywhere near level must be harder than it looks. Perhaps the major chateaux have a ready supply of spirit levels to hand as our finished wine bottles would never be snapped up by the head buyer of Majestic Wine.

I heard someone on the News this morning saying how much they're missing their grandchildren. They come over to wave and shout hello occasionally and the proud grandparents throw them down a Magnum each as a treat.

'Sorry we can't come down to give you a cuddle,' they shout.

'Don't worry,' the kids reply, 'we'd rather have the Magnums anyway.'

Marigold has now started saying 'I'd rather have a Magnum' to me every time I give her a kiss or a squeeze in passing. It ceased to be funny five hours ago.

In retaliation I have threatened to withhold all future aspects of intimacy, but that strategy seems to have backfired. Oh well, as long as she's happy.

The modified sheep dip pit I ordered to protect us from people calling at the house hasn't been entirely successful. Our postman wears shorts, winter and summer, and yet is still insistent on blaming me for the full body rash he claims to have contracted by his very brief immersion.

Yes, I fully accept I made an error in not realising he was relatively short of stature before filling it to the brim with Domestos, but if he carries on complaining for much longer he'll be risking missing out on the usual 50 pence tip come next Christmas.

Marigold was dead against the plan from the start and continues to complain about my choice of Domestos when Tesco's own brand bleach is so much cheaper.

'Have you even glanced at the comparative efficiency ratings in this Which? Report,' I ask, but Marigold has always shown very little interest in my extensive research material.

I suppose I shall have to just carry on digging the moat as a back up now the Council have taken up such an unreasonably antagonistic stance to my outline planning request for a minefield.

'High explosive devices not allowed on domestic dwelling units within the Borough' indeed.

If they had bothered to read all 96 pages of my dossier they should have realised the mines would be concealed underground and therefore not visible at any time.

It's bureaucracy gone mad in my view.

The news flash along the bottom of the television screen just said, 'Greater Manchester Police attended 500 house parties last weekend.'

Well, that's not setting a very good example, is it?

My latest NHS letter, my third since the decision was made, presumably at Cabinet level that my life expectancy if exposed to 'other people' or other equally dangerous entities starts off by saying' 'Persons like you in the clinically extremely vulnerable cohort will continue to be advised to shield themselves for some time yet, and the Government recognises the difficulties this brings for those affected.'

Wow! Last time I was classified as being in the 'clinically extremely vulnerable group.' Now it's the 'clinically extremely vulnerable cohort.'

Is a cohort better than a group? More selective? Even more special?

Who writes this stuff?

Pubs, bars, nightclubs, snooker halls, Burger King and gyms are all closed. Hordes of people have apparently had their lives ruined by the enforced absence of these recently deprived pleasures.

But, even allowing for this devastation, it appears my own routine will be completely unaffected.

That can't be right.

It's now day something or other since we entered the deep hibernation of lockdown. Not every day is a bundle of laughs. I'm finding it a bit upsetting to see Marigold with her nose pressed against the window, tears streaming down her face making whimpering noises.

It's heart breaking, it really is.

I've even considered letting her come back inside, but after she went out and collected that Amazon parcel left on the path we'll need to wait a few days yet to see if she starts coughing.

Oh, I know it seems harsh but rules are rules.

Just hope those Midget Gems in the Amazon box are okay out there. It's getting a bit nippy at night.

Marigold has decided to cut my hair. No fastidious micro examination of a stray hair, none of that two mirrors malarkey or inane chatter about inconsequential trivia, it's sit down, keep still and don't distract me.

As a result I have a haircut that will last several months without even seeing a brush or a comb, that takes moments to wash in the shower, is economical with shampoo and yet only took three minutes to create.

Salons of Britain, you can learn much from Marigold. Seat customer, switch on clippers, three minutes later shout 'next.'

I suspect Marigold watched a training video from the United States Marine Corps Induction Centre when honing her technique.

Oddly, my offer to return the favour and cut Marigold's hair has not yet been accepted.

Some say we need social interactions to maintain good mental health. Aristotle said, 'man is by nature a social animal.'

I yield to no one in my admiration for Aristotle. More than 2300 years after his death, he remains one of the most influential people who ever lived. He contributed to almost every aspect of human knowledge then in existence, and he was the spark, the founder of many new fields.

According to the philosopher Bryan Magee, 'it is doubtful whether any human being has ever known as much as he did.'

Even so, and far be it from me to offer an alternative view to old clever clogs, I know several people who are positively relishing lockdown.

There's a couple living behind our place - there's a ten foot hedge between us so I've never actually seen them and their entrance road is 'around the back, somewhere'' but they're obviously elderly and a bit deaf as I used to clearly hear snippets of their conversation on days when we were both engaged in that idyllic activity usually confined to warm, sunny afternoons known as 'sitting out'.

I only learnt the name of the unseen neighbour yesterday as I limped along my 25 step exercise path.

'Malcolm, are you coming in? I've got the thingie all set up to zoom the family.'

The enquirer was female, seemingly not in the first flush of youth, and with more than a hint of exasperation in her tone.

'No, 'I'm stopping here,' replied the unseen Malcolm. 'I've just got to a good bit.'

'The book can wait. Your grandchildren will want to see you.'

Malcolm was obviously having none of it.

'No, they won't, they're as fed up as I am of these wretched video things. Quite frankly I don't miss seeing any of them and if you're honest, neither do you.'

'No, I know, it's been lovely having time to ourselves and no need to pretend we enjoy having the whole tribe turn up on the doorstep, but they think we're lonely. They think we're at risk.'

Silence, then a deep sigh from Malcolm.

'Tell them I've croaked,' he shouted. 'I'm not coming in.'

Another long pause and then the woman said 'I'll say you're on the lavatory.'

I really want to meet this pair one day. Malcolm and I would get on very well. Imagine having to leave your place in a book just as you get to 'a good bit.'

Rules? There are no rules any more

[briarcrawford]

WAR AND ARMIES. 57 Francis I. replaced them by the light horse, a body chiefly composed ofmercenaries of different nations. In England, ever since the thirteenthcentury, the mounted archers formed a considerable portion of the nationalforces. An army of fifteen hundred complete lances, which represented a totalof six or seven thousand horsemen, required a complement of at least fivethousand mounted archers, who were all skilful marksmen. In the timeof Henry VIII., an English bowman could discharge as many as twelvearrows in a minute, and he would have considered himself disgraced if he hadlet fly a single shaft which failed to kill, wound, or at least strike an enemy. From Wikicommons

[captainhowlreportingforduty]

Me: ok brain I want to continue writing. In English. Please, imma need English.

My brain: äh ja klar hier *fivethousand poetic German sentences* ¡No entiendo nada! ¿Que quieres? Je ne crois pas que c’est possible. До свидания.

[vilaspatelvlogs]

चीन ने रोकी निगेटिव खबरें: चीन ने शुरुआती दौर में वायरस के प्रकोप की खबरों को रोका; इसके लिए पांच हजार आदेश जारी किए

चीन ने रोकी निगेटिव खबरें: चीन ने शुरुआती दौर में वायरस के प्रकोप की खबरों को रोका; इसके लिए पांच हजार आदेश जारी किए

Hindi News International China Initially Prevented Reports Of An Outbreak Of The Virus; Issued Five Thousand Orders For This Ads से है परेशान? बिना Ads खबरों के लिए इनस्टॉल करें दैनिक भास्कर ऐप 23 मिनट पहले कॉपी लिंक हांगकांग और चीन में कई स्थानों पर कोरोना वायरस फैलने की जानकारी देने वाले डॉ. ली को श्रद्धाजलि दी गई। सोशल मीडिया पर फर्जी लोगों की वेतनभोगी फौज ने सरकार के अनुकूल जनमत बनाने का…

[hokuspocus]

@ilbuia​​

it didn’t look like a fort - at least not like the one they used to make when she was younger. granted, she didn’t have much pillows in her house. they used to build one with the ones at zyler’s house. and right now, haylee wouldn’t dare step two feet away from her front door, let along walk inside. “it turned out - “ a beat. “ kinda crappy.” a huff of air escaped her cheeks, blue orbs falling down to the mess of pillows on the floor. it had been a while since she spent some time with her sister. quality time at that. recently she had pushed more people than she wished away. felt necessary at the time. however, she owned zahara an explanation. 

she held two cups of tea in her hands, as she awaited for her sister to join her in the living room. “is everything okay in there, z?” she raised her voice, as she glanced over her shoulder at the kitchen door, which was wide open, yet she couldn’t spot the other girl. 

[cometforever]

We Mobbing #InfamousTies #TattooNitty #FiveThousand #NewSingle 🎥 available link in bio #cataclysm_mme_sb #NowStreaming on all platforms #PhysicalCopies Available dm for details. Mastered by @pfcuttin mixed by @djswab ft @blaqpoet_qb @tynittyqb @godfatherpt3_im3 @agdacoroner @sadatx @liggylong etc... production by #MySelf @nickplated @thorotracks @supremedaalmighty @djkanzer @djswab etc... #MadMenEnt #screwball_the_army #LoveAndLoyalty. https://www.instagram.com/p/Btcso-GFNyW/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=zpzxw42midrp

[the-working-man]

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