((i spent entirely too long on this))

iilesgemeauxii-deactivated20170  asked:

I really liked your awkward Hanzo comics~ Could you make one where McCree compliments his hair (particularly the white little hair-wings part thing) and the next day someone (Genji? Symm?) finds him with a little smile trying extra hard to make them perfect? (not in a snooty/prideful way. more of a "i hope they look good today maybe he'll talk to me again" way) I am not sure if I'm allowed to make requests/suggestions so i hope this does not come off as pushy~ '3' Welp, 25 letters left so this -

im super glad you liked it omg thank yOU!!! i am 1000% down for requests & suggestions hehe there u go!!!

I’ve been thinking a lot about how old I am in technology years lately so here’s a bit of reminiscing for you kids in the form of stuff you’ll thankfully never know the pain of

  • having to rewind cassette tapes. you want to hear your favourite song again? no just clicking <<. nope, you gotta manually rewind that shit and keep hitting play to see if you’re at the beginning again.
  • like listening to your own music in the car? back in my day we had to bring a bag full of CDs and swap them out in our portable CD players. if the car went over a bump, the CD would jump in the player and the music would skip. eventually the CDs would get wrecked. I killed so many CDs thanks to all the moving around I did as a kid.
  • stifling the dialup tone when your parents were in bed. want to sneak online? good luck. I had the modem squeezed between my legs, with two pillows pressed on top of it, and still. crrrrrRRRSSSHHHHHHHHHHH
  • fucking. homepage wars. hacking was a lot easier back in the day thanks to no one knowing shit about security and nerds like my generation quickly learning more than the web developers did. this resulted in carnage if you owned your own webpage. it was commonplace for different groups to have wars and constantly hack each other’s pages and deface them. you could trust no one. you leave for five seconds and suddenly your state of the art homepage and all its lit wordart graphics has been replaced with a plain text message insinuating something about your mother.
  • an entire room in your house was dedicated to the computer. it was called the computer room. it was filled with wires you were constantly tripping over, and thanks to the fact you were on a desktop, there was no battery life. you better get used to tripping over your power cord or rolling back in your chair and ripping it out of the wall, therefore instantly shutting off your computer, because it’s going to happen multiple times a week my guy.
  • “get off the internet, I need to use the phone” “how long will you be?” “only a couple of minutes” *two hours later*
  • I’m pretty sure it was messenger that had this, but basically if someone ignored your message for too long you could send them graphics that would hijack their entire browser and pop up on the screen. they were huge and would sometimes make the screen shake and I heard rumours that some of them could even make noise.
  • this is one that’s near and dear to me because I spent like 60% of my childhood in a car but handheld game consoles didn’t have built in lights. I remember playing Pokemon on my big purple GameBoy as it got dark, holding the screen closer and closer to my face, and eventually having to resort to quickly jamming the buttons when we passed under a streetlight. I remember when the GameBoy Advance SP came out with a built in back light and I lost my fucking mind.
  • *is two seconds away from finally downloading a picture online that’s been downloading for 15 minutes* *someone picks up the phone downstairs* *internet disconnects* *download fails* *why must you hurt me in this way*
  • writing everything you wanted to say online in the raw html code because it didn’t do it automatically. fine if you just wanted to make things bold or underlined, a lot more annoying when you wanted to add an image or bullet points or something. no such thing as a quick rant.

this is really long already so I’ll stop here but long story short it was a dark time and you all should grab every technological advancement you can with both hands and never let them go. for the sake of my childhood self, nose-to-screen with a GameBoy. do not let them go.

You’re His Ex Girlfriend and You See His New Girlfriend Wearing Your T-Shirt: Part 4

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Masterlist linked in bio


Harry watches the wall clock as he waits patiently on his couch, counting the minutes until Y/n finally wakes up.

He’s barely slept all night, feeling a mix of anxiousness and misery as he thought of all the outcomes that could happen today. He also found himself looking at Y/n all night, watching her in her calmest state of mind and feeling a sense of tranquility as he sees her in her most beautiful form.

He could never get tired of it—admiring her in her sleep. But as the morning passed and the late afternoon started approaching, Harry didn’t know what the hell was going on.

She was still asleep, crashed on top of him as snores raided her mouth and the only movement being the slight rise and fall of her chest against his. He started to worry, solely for the fact that she slept at a completely reasonable time last night and was known to be an early riser. And since he barely got a blink of sleep, he knows she didn’t wake up for a second during the night.

At first, when it hit 12 hours since she’d fallen asleep, he tried to brush hair out of her face in an attempt to wake her from her slumber. Nothing came to his avail, however, when all he got was a slight shake of her head and a small smacking of her lips.

When the afternoon started to approach, he started to move his fingertips along her back and neck. But again, nothing; just a slight groan and a movement of her hips to get away from the sensation.

He gave up after that, helpless in disturbing her sleep and trying to get some sort of reassurance in the midst of his worrying. He really needed something, because his nerves were getting the best of him and he needed to rid the anxiety building inside of him.

That’s when he decided to call Gabby.

“She fell asleep at around 10:00 last night and it’s nearly 2:00 now. She’s barely moved, she’s still right on top of me and doesn’t even flinch when I turn. I’m really worried.”

Harry lifts his hand to her hair, softly brushing the knots out with his fingers, waiting to see if there’s any sudden movement. But there’s nothing, just the movements of her soft breath and the occasional repositioning of her neck.

“She’s barely slept in months, Harry. She’s not fully comfortable here, no matter how much she tries to tell me she is. There are nights she doesn’t sleep at all. She’s completely incapable of being alone anymore, she’s always thinking and it doesn’t let her calm down in the slightest, you know? And mixed with everything that happened last night, she’s probably extremely exhausted. Just let her get her sleep, yeah? She really needs it, trust me. Besides, you being there is helping her in the most.”

He looks down at Y/n, where her cheek is pressed against his chest as her eyes are closed in a dream. She looks most beautiful this way. It’s the peaceful, angelic side of her that he always remember her being.

She looks safe, too—away from any potential hurting and pressed so close against him as if he were the protector of her heart. He almost laughs at the irony of it all, how she’s the exact opposite of peaceful and nowhere near protected from any harm—especially in his arms.

And there’s a part of him that wishes he could stay in this moment forever, holding her to him as he watches her in her must vulnerable state. She doesn’t push him away, or tell him to stop staring at her, or cry because he still can’t figure out what to say. She’s oblivious to his admiration, and the second she regains consciousness in her reality, he knows this moment can’t last much longer, no matter how badly he wants it to.

“Yeah, of course I’ll let her sleep. You think I can move from underneath her without waking her? Might make her some food, can feel her stomach growl.”

“Yes, please make her something. She gets really upset sometimes and forgets to eat. They’ll be days I have to remind her. She really needs you to provide for her right now, more than anything. She shouldn’t wake up, though.”

It doesn’t take much convincing to get Harry up from the couch. Although it was a bit of a struggle to maneuver himself from underneath Y/n’s body and out of her tight hold on him—especially between her occasional whimpers and groans from the sudden movements—he managed to do so without waking her up too much.

He decides to make her her favorite breakfast, as well. He knows it won’t distract her from the problems they have to face, but it’s something—it’s something as opposed to all the nothingness he’s been giving her.

It doesn’t take much longer than half an hour before Y/n finally wakes up from her slumber. She’s confused upon her awakening, groggy and the remaining amount of exhaustion still present in her body.

She’s comforted, though, when she acknowledges that she’s back home with the aroma of breakfast filling the air. It reminds her of old times—mornings of her anniversaries with Harry and mornings of their birthdays or purposeful events. It’s everything that she’s missed and it brings a soft smile to her face. Only for a second, though.

“Afternoon.” He smiles softly, eyes watching her every movement as she leans against the doorway of the kitchen.

In any other circumstance, he would have greeted her with a proper kiss and held her against him for a while; but as he observes her red eyes, her tear-stained cheeks, and her overall broken down structure, he knows not to overstep his boundaries.

Y/n frowns, watching what would normally be the most heartwarming sight of her life—Harry cooking in the kitchen of their home, a smile on his face while the sun peeks through the windows—but is now only seeing it as something that could have been.

She wonders if this is how he spent his mornings with Jessica.

He frowns slightly, too, when he sees her in the way she is now. There’s absolutely no life to her. He can tell that the Y/n that he knew is long gone—now replaced by a much more miserable soul. It almost brings tears to his eyes, seeing how much damage and destruction he’s caused onto her. He feels as if he’s taken away Y/n’s heart entirely, only leaving her to suffer through the loss.

“I, uh—" he mutters softly, realizing that he’s been staring at her for longer than he’s probably supposed to, “I made you some chocolate chip pancakes. I know it’s a little after lunch time but Gabby told me you haven’t been eating as much and well, I kind of figured I’d make you something I know you can’t resist.”

She wants to appreciate the gesture, she does. She wishes that she could look past the gloomy side of the situation, and instead focus on the fact they’re together again. Even if it’s the bare minimum—where Harry does all the speaking while she just listens with a stupid pout on her face—there’s a reflection of what their relationship was like before their time apart, and she feels as if it should be making her feel something other than sick to her stomach.

But she just can’t, no matter how hard she tries. She can’t quite understand how he’s doing so well. Not a part of him resembles her ruined self. He’s so put together, even after everything that’s happened. He’s still alive, which is almost the exact opposite of how she feels; and she can’t help but to wonder if he ever felt the way she did—broken and helpless. She wonders if he even cared.

And if there’s anything that can make her feel worse than she already does, it’s if Harry continues to pity her—to treat her like a charity case when he was the reason for all of this. He should be the one sulking from his mistakes, on his knees begging for mercy, but it’s her. She’s suffering the pain for the both of them and she doesn’t know how much longer she can bare it.

“Is this how it’s going to be?” She whispers, tears flowing from her eyes and she’s genuinely surprised that there’s still some left to cry.

Harry’s heart stops as he watches her break again. He doesn’t want to witness her in that form again, he doesn’t even know if he can; and imagining the pain that must be bursting through her veins is only making this harder for him.

“You’re just going to pretend like everything is okay? While I stand here, practically begging you to say something to me about all this, you just continue to show off how perfectly fine you are?”

“What?” He asks, nearly dumbfounded by her accusations. “No, baby. That’s not—no.“

He doesn’t know exactly where all this came from, considering there isn’t any part of him that’s feeling any sort of sanity. He’s been suffering, too, no matter how much he tries to hide it for her sake. The masking his hurt has been hiding under has been wearing thin over the past couple of weeks, but he couldn’t bring himself to show her how much this affected him.

He was always the one to stay strong for the both of them. No matter what came their way, he was always the one to bottle up all of his emotions and get them through whatever it was bringing them down. He couldn’t break, especially not in front of her. He has to be the one to mend them back together; he doesn’t have a choice, considering he was the one who broke it up in the first place.

“You think I’m fine? You actually think I’m okay with all this? You haven’t even—you haven’t even seen me before last night, and even then I was a wreck. Y/n, how could you even think like that?”

“Look at you!” She yells, eyes widened and teeth clenched as she speaks. Her hands are at her head, pressing at her temples in complete hysteria and despair. “All fucking pretty and perfect! I don’t see anything wrong with you, like there’s nothing gripping at your throat or feeding your insides with the guilt that should be eating you fucking alive right now!”

“Y/n—“

“And look at me! Just take a goddamn look at me and how fucked up I am! Do you see what the problem is? Do you see how none of this is fair to me? Fuck you and fuck your precious happiness, and fuck your selfish decisions and just fuck you, Harry! Fuck you!

Her voice is harsh and loud enough to nearly echo from the walls. The cries and whimpers haven’t stopped, either, and there’s a certain type of tension building between them that’s nearly sucking the air from their throats.

But she’s not stopping, not yet. She still has so much to say and nothing is getting in her way, not now.

“How did it feel, Harry?! How did it feel to love on some other woman while your ex-girlfriend was alone and breaking on her bed?! Was it nice?! How did it feel?!”

Harry’s jaw clenches once the words leave her mouth, and his hands are balling to fists at the side of his thighs. He’s frustrated—frustrated because she’s so blinded by her own pain that she hasn’t eve acknowledged his. And the way she’s making it sound—like he doesn’t love her, like he doesn’t care—almost makes him throw up.

As much as he fucked up, he never imagined to be perceived as such a villain. She’s looking down on him, digging into his insecurities and accusing him of being a man he knows he’ll never be capable of being, and he doesn’t like it one bit. As much as he had done wrong, he never found pleasure in her pain and he doesn’t even want to think about how that thought processed through her brain.

“Are you being serious right now? You really need to tell me this isn’t some sort of sick joke.”

Her eyes narrow up at him, and for the first time since he’s seen her, she starts to laugh.

It’s a habit she’s obtained whenever she tries to hold back all the anger boiling inside of her. It’s a rare occasion, considering she never really gets mad, especially at him. But she’s on the edge of complete rage, and she feels it building inside of her.

She still has tears falling from her eyes, and they’re both unsure whether it’s from the laughter, the pain, the anger, or all three of them.

“You think I’m joking? You want to hear a real joke, Harry? You saw me. You saw me at the grocery store, you saw me looking at Jessica wearing our shirt and you didn’t do anything! You did absolutely nothing, you just fucking stood there and watched me fall apart. What kind of twisted shit was that, Harry? Did it make you feel good about yourself? Or was it a nice image to look back on while you fucked Jessica the following night?”

All his frustration subsided when her voice started to crack and shake between her words. Her emotions are scattered, along with his, but he can’t help but feel an aching in his chest when he sees how helpless she looks.

Looking back at it, Y/n gets the same exact feeling she did that morning—betrayed, broken, and completely hated. There is no other explanation for it. He had to have hated her, for whatever reason it may be, it’s the only thing that makes sense.

The Harry that loved her would never leave her to fend for herself. He wasn’t the same man she remembered him being. The kindhearted, selfless, loving man she fell in love with was not the man she came to contact with—standing with a mysterious girl, showing her off in the t-shirt that meant everything to him and Y/n.

He had to have hated her.

“Is that—“ his voice cracks, and he has to swallow the lump building in his throat before he continues to speak, “Is that what you think? That I just watched because I’m heartless?”

She sighs, shaking her head softly. She crosses her arms at her chest, tucking her hands beneath them as her eyes drift away from his.

She never thought he was heartless, but there must have been something he had against her for him to not say anything to her. She deserved an explanation, or even a half-assed apology at the slightest. But she got nothing. All she got silence and heartbreak and everything inside of her knew that she didn’t deserve it.

There had to have been something.

“No, I just—I never felt so hated before. It was like—like you found some sort of comfort in watching me suffer. You never did that, Harry. You never did that to me, not in all the years that I’ve known you and knowing that you didn’t want me anymore was like all the life was sucked out of me all at once.”

She closes her eyes as she sobs, clutching the fabric of her shirt in her hands right where her heart is.

“Just imagine feeling your heart stop beating and your lungs collapsing all at once. I thought you hated me, Harry. Nothing was worse than feeling that, nothing.”

An inhumane sound emits from Harry’s chest—something between a sob and a growl—a sound she’s never heard before and it’s utterly pitiful.

He’s never thought of it in that way. The thought of Y/n thinking he’s hated her never crossed his mind, always just assuming that she was so upset because Jessica crept her way into his life. But the more he thinks about it, all the more it makes sense.

When he saw Dan wearing Harry’s ring, all the hope that Y/n was ever going to love him again was ripped away from him. The feeling of betrayal and heartbreak was so overwhelming because while he was suffering from the loss of her, she was finding comfort in somebody else and nothing brought him more pain than thinking she didn’t love him anymore.

And that’s exactly what he did to her. She was waiting for him—waiting for him to come back and fight for their relationship. She was alone and hurt all throughout the nights while he was finding pleasure in another woman to get him through the pain.

He’s put her through so much that she didn’t deserve, and he doesn’t know how he can live with himself for it.

He whimpers, tentatively reaching out for the hand that’s decorated with his rose ring, and slowly brings her against his chest. She buries her face in his t-shirt as she weeps out the rest of her tears, tugging at the back of his t-shirt in agony.

“No, baby. No. Please don’t ever think that. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t know what to say, and everything that I wanted to say was getting so scrambled inside of my brain that I couldn’t even understand what was happening. There were so many things, my love. There were so many things I wanted to say to you but I just couldn’t, and it’ll be something I have to live with for the rest of my life.”

He presses a kiss to the top of her head, squeezing her a little tighter in his arms as he brushes out her hair between his fingers.

She feels his tears at the top of her head, but she doesn’t pay any attention to it. All she can wrap her head around is that Harry’s holding her again, shielding her from any other hurting that could get to her. And as much as she does want to push him away, she can’t, because she can finally fucking breathe again.

“And I’m so sorry, Y/n. I’m so sorry for all of this. I could never hate you, my love. I love you so goddamn much, you have to believe me. You don’t deserve this pain, sweetheart. I’ll do whatever it takes to mend you, okay? If you give me the chance, I’ll take the time to fix you. You just have to work with me.”

She nods against his chest, pushing him away from her a little bit so that she can look at him in the eyes. They’re red and soaked with tears, but she’s missed them all too much and they still make her weak in the knees.

“This will be a slow process, do you understand me? There’s a lot of lost trust and a lot of work that needs to be done when it comes to our relationship. I’m not risking this again, so we’re taking this slowly. I’ll stay at Gabby’s for another few weeks until I can fully trust you again. You’re not pulling that shit on me where you call Jessica when you’re lonely, you hear me? You call me. We’re in this together and we’re in this for a long time, but we have to do this my way.”

He nods feverishly, closing his eyes as he does so. His fingers dig into her back as he exhales strongly, almost as if releasing a breath he’s been holding in.

“We’ll go at your pace, sweetheart, I promise.”

She smiles softly—a true, heartwarming smile that Harry swears he could look at for the rest of his life. It somehow mends the ache in his chest and he starts to cry from happiness, this time, and he’s never been so relieved in his life.

“We’re really doing this, huh?” She giggles, running her fingertips along his back. “We’re really starting this all over again?“

He smiles down at her, admiring the woman he’s loved with every bit of his heart. She’s never looked so goddamn perfect, either, in this moment of complete serendipity.

“Yeah, we are.”

the crows as things i've done at school
  • kaz: sat in class, in full view of the teacher, doing the homework that should have been done when it was assigned a week ago, and somehow not getting any late points taken off
  • inej: spent like 20 minutes in the bathroom playing on my phone and my teacher never said anything?? i was gone for a really long time and nobody noticed
  • nina: exclaimed that i was "full on gay" right as my class quieted down and the teacher walked in behind me
  • matthias: got through an entire semester of health class without talking to anyone or making a single friend
  • jesper: laughed until i cried because i remembered that there was a woman named was "Janet McNutt"
  • wylan: got too enthusiastic about a project and explained the intricate details of a specific volcanic eruption on an icelandic island to my class for over ten minutes
  • kuwei: said that i didn't want to donate blood because "it's my blood. i made it and nobody else can have it but me"
youtube

As a neonatal intensive care nurse, Lauren Bloomstein had been taking care of other people’s babies for years. Finally, at 33, she was expecting one of her own. The prospect of becoming a mother made her giddy, her husband Larry recalled recently— “the happiest and most alive I’d ever seen her.”

Other than some nausea in her first trimester, the pregnancy went smoothly. Lauren was “tired in the beginning, achy in the end,” said Jackie Ennis, her best friend since high school, who talked to her at least once a day. “She gained what she’s supposed to. She looked great, she felt good, she worked as much as she could” — at least three 12-hour shifts a week until late into her ninth month. Larry, a doctor, helped monitor her blood pressure at home, and all was normal.

On her days off she got organized, picking out strollers and car seats, stocking up on diapers and onesies. After one last pre-baby vacation to the Caribbean, she and Larry went hunting for their forever home, settling on a brick colonial with black shutters and a big yard in Moorestown, N.J., not far from his new job as an orthopedic trauma surgeon in Camden. Lauren wanted the baby’s gender to be a surprise, so when she set up the nursery she left the walls unpainted — she figured she’d have plenty of time to choose colors later. Despite all she knew about what could go wrong, she seemed untroubled by the normal expectant-mom anxieties. Her only real worry was going into labor prematurely. “You have to stay in there at least until 32 weeks,” she would tell her belly. “I see how the babies do before 32. Just don’t come out too soon.”

When she reached 39 weeks and six days — Friday, Sept. 30, 2011 — Larry and Lauren drove to Monmouth Medical Center in Long Branch, the hospital where the two of them had met in 2004 and where she’d spent virtually her entire career. If anyone would watch out for her and her baby, Lauren figured, it would be the doctors and nurses she worked with on a daily basis. She was especially fond of her obstetrician/gynecologist, who had trained as a resident at Monmouth at the same time as Larry. Lauren wasn’t having contractions, but she and the ob/gyn agreed to schedule an induction of labor — he was on call that weekend and would be sure to handle the delivery himself.

Inductions often go slowly, and Lauren’s labor stretched well into the next day. Ennis talked to her on the phone several times: “She said she was feeling okay, she was just really uncomfortable.” At one point, Lauren was overcome by a sudden, sharp pain in her back near her kidneys or liver, but the nurses bumped up her epidural and the stabbing stopped.

Inductions have been associated with higher cesarean-section rates, but Lauren progressed well enough to deliver vaginally. On Saturday, Oct. 1, at 6:49 p.m., 23 hours after she checked into the hospital, Hailey Anne Bloomstein was born, weighing 5 pounds, 12 ounces. Larry and Lauren’s family had been camped out in the waiting room; now they swarmed into the delivery area to ooh and aah, marveling at how Lauren seemed to glow.

Larry floated around on his own cloud of euphoria, phone camera in hand. In one 35-second video, Lauren holds their daughter on her chest, stroking her cheek with a practiced touch. Hailey is bundled in hospital-issued pastels and flannel, unusually alert for a newborn; she studies her mother’s face as if trying to make sense of a mystery that will never be solved. The delivery room staff bustles in the background in the low-key way of people who believe everything has gone exactly as it’s supposed to.

Then Lauren looks directly at the camera, her eyes brimming.

Twenty hours later, she was dead.

Focus On Infants During Childbirth Leaves U.S. Moms In Danger

I was really inspired to start drawing again after reading @velocesmells webcomic CTC!!! Go read it its awesome!!!! After reading I really wanted to contribute an oc so here they are :) (this character is literally based off a plant called “Solomons seal” - a plant that i spent an entire day digging the tubers out of my grandmothers garden bc IT SPREADS EVERYWHERE - which kind of inspired the duplicate power).

All right. Much has been made of the Shower Air Dry Scene, particularly Keith’s savagery as he watches Pidge blow away and Shiro’s majestic hair floof dancing in the wind – and much should be made of this! Shiro’s hair floof is a gift to us all.

But can we also take a moment to appreciate the preceding scenes?

Keep reading

Stop Wishing Death Upon People!

Over the course of the last 48 hours, I’ve had to listen and read to so many opinions but nothing could prepare me for the spree of people wishing death, jail and even the disbandment on SHINee. 

What type of person are you, that you can feel comfortable with wanting someone else to suffer and die? And in this case not even one person, but five people who have always given their 100% from day one? Do you have no idea how much words can affect someone? How words can actually lead to suicide and depression? Though judging by so many comments on this situation, that’s exactly what people want and the mere thought of that makes me sick to my stomach.

Do we really live in a society where we judge and prosecute a person without all the facts OR giving them the chance to defend themselves? My tumblr feed was filled to brim with people calling Onew (and even the entire SHINee) a rapist and people who said that he was no longer their bias or ultimate bias, hell even people who said they now wanted nothing to do with SHINee!

And they all judged him without all the facts. Fans, the media, and so many others who condemned him for something that has been stated by the victim to be and I quote “a misunderstanding”. None of you who talked so badly of him will ever be able to take back the words you said about him. NONE OF YOU.

This doesn’t excuse the state Onew was in or how the victim had every right to feel as she did before she realized it was a misunderstanding BUT for those of you who haven’t been updated with the latest facts…Onew stumbled in the club and grabbed onto her leg for support. Her leg, not her privates as so many of you went on and on about. She had every right to feel like something was off because getting touched in the club by someone you don’t know is scary, an accident or not. The point of all of this is that Onew is not and has never been a rapist, a label none of us should be throwing around so casually like that either.

As for the people who went on bashing the rest of SHINee…How long have you been waiting to do this? To say you hate and want nothing to do with them? Your posts just seemed a little too excited to me. Do I need to remind you all of just how much SHINee has done for their fans, kpop as a whole and charity? Taemin donates to charity each and every time he loses an item and doesn’t really accept gifts from fans because he’d much rather his fans do something for charity than him. Hell, they all do.

I guess after all this we know who the real fans are. Those who waited to hear the entire story before jumping the gun and unstanning Onew and the rest of SHINee. A real Shawol wouldn’t have given up one someone they apparently loved and supported without all the facts. The situation had hurt me too and I spent a long time yesterday just crying and staring at the merchandise Onew and the rest of SHINee had signed for me at fan meets over the years. I cried and I waited for more to be heard. I didn’t jump to conclusions and start hating on people who dragged me out of my own depression.

I hope Onew finds a way to work on his drinking problem after this and I want him and the rest of SHINee to know that I for one won’t be giving up on almost 10 years together anytime soon.

We need to stop accepting a world where it’s okay to wish death and harm upon others.

“You’ll always be my lily of the lamplight. My own dear Roderich.”

Lily of the Lamplight has got to be my favourite George deValier fic. A scene in Chapter 1, where Gilbert sees Roderich in Berlin for the first time. I was listening to Vera Lynn songs this entire time my heart hurts. 

I tried to incorporate everything I learnt from last term’s classes– Mainly focal points and controlling values and hues. Most of all it’s nice to be able to paint stuff that you feel moved by. :) 

Hello, my name is Adrian and I am a salty seabiscuit.

For the last couple of years I have watched as the roleplay community has shifted its aesthetic from pre-made themes to this make-your-own container theme trend. Now I have absolutely nothing against container themes, but this trend has brought with it some other really awful design choices that have plagued us for entirely too long. I spent a lot of time shouting into the void about it, but I’m here now to give you a breakdown of how to design functional themes that we can actually fucking navigate because that should be your absolute first priority.

As for my credentials: I have been learning and writing code since I was eight years old (no, I am not making this up—thank you pet pages on Neopets) and I have run my own domains in the past. I have learned to write html/xhtml, css, php, and javascript (the last of which I have more trouble with for some reason). In my spare time I design forum skins for friends, forum templates, and do Tumblr themes on commission. I have been coding Tumblr themes for about 3 years now. You can see some of the things I’ve made on this blog as well as some of my roleplay blogs.

Yes, this guide is going to be mega insulting at times. I basically turn into Gordon Ramsey about this shit. But hey, it’s called a no bullshit guide. I promise you that the insults are out of love and also frustration. Admittedly, more of the latter than the former. But pretend there’s more love and encouragement than there actually is.

THIS IS BY NO MEANS A COMPLETE GUIDE, but I’ve written most of this in one sitting and I need to go do something else for a while.

Part One: On Font Legibility (or, Why Squiggly Text is Bullshit)
Part Two: On Color Theory and Choice (or, Low-Contrast is Bullshit)
Part Three: On Background Images (or, Why the Fuck are You Using Gifs?!)
Part Four: On Navigation Link Aesthetics (or, Fuck This Stupid Trend TBH)
Part Five: On Stylesheet Upkeep (or, Why You’re Doing It Wrong)

Special Instructions (4/?)

Summary: Drunk Emma really likes pizza. She also really happens to like the cute delivery guy who seems content to carry out all of her wishes via the “Special Instructions” box on the website. (AO3)
Rating: E (fuck it, I’m upping the rating bc I know this will turn into filthy smut by the end)
Word Count: ~3000
Chapters: One Two Three

well this was a bitch to rewrite since the original chapter got accidentally deleted. sorry for the wait, babes. have some UST. 🍕😏

reader requested tag: @lenfaz @ilovemesomekillianjones @like-waves-on-the-beach @emmaswanchoosesyou

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Special instructions: spook me!

It had been nearly a month since Emma had gotten stupid drunk at home and thrown herself at the very attractive pizza guy whose name she now knew was Killian Jones.

Jones, as in, “Jones Bros. Pizza.” Literally his last name, and apparently a poorly executed cartoon caricature of his fucking face, was on the logo on every pizza box she’d gotten from them and she’d had no idea. She hadn’t really given a flying fuck to the name of the place before; she just knew that they had a website, online ordering, quick delivery since they were located only a few blocks north of her apartment, and actually great tasting pizza that wasn’t hit-or-miss like the big chains.

With that revelation came another: Killian was not a delivery boy.

Well, he wasn’t supposed to be one. He was co-owner of the place, along with his older brother, and only went out on deliveries if he was filling in for a sick employee, or if he needed a break from the atmosphere (read: his overbearing brother), or, as it turned out, if her name came up on the order list. (He’d been sick the night that his sister-in-law had delivered to her sober self; go figure.)

It had been a pretty damned good feeling to know she got special treatment. After their first encounter, he’d been “captivated” and felt “compelled to see her again” (his words) – yeah; sweatpants, HANGRY, hot mess Emma in all her broken-hearted glory. She sent him a middle finger emoji as a reply to that particular text message, assuming that he was being a sarcastic ass but somehow knowing that beneath it all he was probably sincere.

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