Feet Pic Quotes

When my sister starts dating someone, I expect a full report. Vivid descriptions, photos, videos, oil paintings—I don’t care. Even those dick pics I mentioned, which you never sent.” “Isabel.” I lowered my voice. “Shut up. He will hear you.” We were only a few feet away from the group. She cocked an eyebrow and then tilted her head slowly. Dammit. “He is dating you. What’s the big deal with him hearing you talk about it with your sister? You’ve seen his penis. We are allowed to discuss it.” She rolled her eyes. “Actually, I think we are expected to do that. I’m sure he’s talked to his friends about your bubbies.

Where the hell is everybody,” he bitched as he glared up the stairs. “You just called them about two seconds ago—” People came at a dead run, a traffic jam forming at the top of the stairs in spite of the fact that the thing was huge, the sound of big feet thundering down to the foyer as the Brothers came with their mates in tow. “Here,” she said, taking out a flimsy slip of paper. “Show them this—it’s a picture from the ultrasound.” Wrath shifted her around so he was holding her with one arm—and he took that pic and thrust it out like it was billboard size and made of gold. “Look!” he barked. “Look! My son! My son!” Beth had to laugh even as her tears ran harder. “Look!” His Brothers formed a circle around what he was holding out, and she was astonished . . . every one of them had a sheen across their eyes, their manly, tight smiles proof they were holding their emotions in check. And then she looked at Tohr. He was hanging back, with Autumn close to his side. As his mate glanced up in concern, he seemed to brace himself to come forward. “I’m so happy for you,” the Brother said roughly to both of them. “Oh, Tohr,” she blurted, reaching out her hands. As the Brother clasped them, Wrath dropped his arm as if hiding the picture. “No,” Tohr cut in. “You keep that up, you feel that pride. I have a good feeling about this, and I’m rejoicing with you—all the way.” “Ah, fuck,” Wrath said, yanking the Brother in for a hard embrace. “Thanks, my man.” -Wrath, Beth, Tohr, & the others

I tried to take a selfie or ten. Lame, maybe, but I hadn’t posted to IG in a few days now and since I actually make money from my account for posting things like my outfits, then it’s something I can’t really neglect, demons or not. “What are you doing?” Jay asks, leaning across the roof of the car and watching me curiously. I chuck the duffel bag a few feet from me to get it out of the shot and try another angle, holding the iPhone far above my head. A lone scraggly-haired man in his pajamas exits his room, heading to the vending machine. He looks at me like I have a screw loose. Whatever. He probably takes dick pics so he should know all about getting the right angle.

Raffe lifted the latch on the heavy door and sidled in. As usal, he gagged as he took his first breath in the cloying, fishy stink of the smoke that rose from the burning seabirds, which were skewered on to the wall spikes in place of candles. In the dim oily light, he could make out the vague outlines of men sitting in twos and threes around the tables, heard the muttered conversations, but could no more recognize a face than see his own feet in the shadows. A square, brawny woman deposited a flagon and two leather beakers on a table before waddling across to Raffe. Pulling his head down towards hers, she planted a generous kiss on his smooth cheek. Thought you'd left us,' she said reprovingly. You grown tired of my eel pic?' How could anyone grow tired of a taste of heaven?' Raffe said, throwing his arm around her plump shoulders and squeezing her. The woman laughed, a deep, honest belly chuckle that set her pendulous breasts quivering. Raffe loved her for that. 'He's over there, your friend,' she murmured. 'Been wait ing a good long while.' Raffe nodded his thanks and crossed to the table set into a dark alcove, sliding on to the narrow bench. Even in the dirty mustard light he could recognize Talbot's broken nose and thickened ears. Talbot looked up from the rim of his beaker and grunted. By way of greeting he pushed the half-empty flagon of ale towards Raffe. Raffe waited until the serving woman had set a large portion of eel pie in front of him and retreated out of earshot. He hadn't asked for food, no one ever needed to here. In the Fisher's Inn you ate and drank whatever was put in front of you and you paid for it too. The marsh and river were far too close for arguments, and the innkeeper was a burly man who had beaten his own father to death when he was only fourteen, so rumour had it, for taking a whip to him once too often. Opinion was divided on whether the boy or the father deserved what they suffered at each other's hands, but still no one in those parts would have dreamed of report ing the killing. And since the innkeeper's father lay rotting somewhere at the bottom of the deep, sucking bog, he wasn't in a position to complain.

my plan B is to sell feet pics. If all else fails,

Well, when he puts it like that, I might have to get a pedicure so I can start selling feet pics.

I’m…I’m taking a picture for Alexis.” Silence. “I’m coming over.” “What? No. Don’t come over.” I heard his screen door slam. “I’m serious, Doug, I don’t need you.” “Let me guess. You’re taking a top-down shot, using the flash, standing in your shitty garage bathroom, you can see your feet in the picture and you’re wearing socks.” I looked down. Shit. I heard his engine turn over. “That’s what I thought. Don’t do anything until I get there.” “Doug—” “DON’T DO ANYTHING UNTIL I GET THERE.” He hung up on me. Fifteen minutes later Doug walked in. He had a ring light. “No.” I shook my head. “I’m not using that shit.” He walked past me into my workshop. “She’s going to show this to her friends. You want to send her a shitty dick pic? That’s what you want?