Once again, desperation for more Alec Hardy and Broadchurch fic has made me write some.
Damn you Grumpy Beanstalk!
Alec Hardy’s been staring at the same page for the past five minutes. It’s useless. He’s exhausted, and the words are no longer registering.
Frustrated, he swipes off his glasses and rubs his face. The pressure feels good against his tired, itchy eyes, but stubble bristles against his palm. He should really get around to shaving, sometime…
Questions swirl in his head. Where was Danny’s skateboard? Why did he have that much money stashed under his bed? Was he meeting someone the night he died? If so, who?
Friend has the sad???!!??!!!!!
I’m coming friend I’ll save you from the sad!!
I am here now you’re going to be okay!!!
You are so beautiful and i love you!!!
Shout out to all of the oldest children…who were used as the tester kids and now watch their younger siblings get away with stuff you would have been killed for.. Justice will never be restored
how do i lose 30 pounds in 1 minute
go to England and buy something