Won't ANYONE feed this poor hyena he hungee
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"Never trust anything without feet."
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Terrance is singing with the birds, quite a beautiful voice and song that seemed to hum through the valley and mountains.
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"I've decided to day is my birthday. So I expect presents within the next few hours."
Is it her birthday? No. Not even sort of. Is it her birthday anyway and does she actually expect gifts? Yes. Absolutely.
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He's just having a lot of emotions.
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Sometimes, when Butch is feeling particularly angry inside and all that anger boiling beneath the surface has been festering for far too long, he finds somewhere nice and secluded to let it all out. Whether that be through screaming at the top of his lungs or hammering his fists against the bulkiest tree trunk he can find until his knuckles are battered, bruised, and bleeding.
This specific occasion was no different except for when his temper flares this time, not only is his head hot but so are his fingertips. He disregards it in the moment, feeling nothing but his emotions, until—WHOOSH!!!
Flames whip from his fingertips abruptly, singeing the edges of his gloves and scorching the bark on the tree he had chosen as his target. Anger melts away fast and is replaced with surprise quickly followed by fear as the cowboy glances down at his hands, sooty vapor still rising from his finger tips.
“What th’ fuck—….” He mutters under his breath with wide eyes and a frown, still in shock by the damage he had done. He looks from his hands and to the tree and then to his hands again. HE had done that.
Though he’s grateful he hadn’t set the thing on fire, he still feels bad for leaving an impression in the bark; it would be a reminder of one of his fits, actions and feelings he didn’t want to remember. On the other hand… could he use fire now? Was that something that came with becoming a demon??? If so, it was… admittedly kind of cool in a fucked up way. Perhaps some more practice was in order but, how the hell had he managed to do it in the first place?
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No one look at him he's rushing away from the bunker with at least twenty notes.
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Fairgrave is fully sober once and is confused about why she's getting cuddles from Joseph. "I want to go home now, please."
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"I gotta say, I think it's a real shame that I'm not at some tropical paradise right now laying on the beach, fun little drink in my hand. A real, real shame."
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If you adore pomegranates, withered roses, literature, poetry, writing, books, typewriter poetry, Greek mythology, Greek tragedies.
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NOPE. Not a fan of thunder and lightning. Too many fucking associations. He's agitated, wings flicking as he paces. Not NECESSARILY looking to hide somewhere, but he's moving some shit around to try and bed under it or just keep himself busy.
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Laying in bed but unable to sleep. He wants to sing. But he cannot...
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Penelope is feeling judged as a parent right now.
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"Southwark is clearly my biggest fan. The time spent here is just so devoted."
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^ you stab him and he gets turned on
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