above-them

anonymous asked:

can I get some type of like enemies to lovers headcanons for bakugou ????

hmm lets see if i understood what you meant, if i didn’t fulfill your ask, sorry in advance i am a nut

  • the first time he met his significant other, he absolutely hated their guts. the fact that he had to deal with more competition annoyed him immensely 
  • had this mental goal to beat and be above them at all times, even when it’s like being ahead of the line in the cafeteria 
  • whenever he beat them, he had this smug grin and boasted about it to their faces until they cracked 
  • his little obsession in beating his future significant other made him know most of their moves, not in a creepy way per se, but in a way that made them predictable so he can rub it in their face later
  • after a while he doesn’t really look at their moves, just their face and he can’t take his eyes off of them 
  • tries to cover it up by saying it’s because he can’t stand them and is picturing them dead ((oops))
  • starts getting clammy and sweaty whenever they walk by him 
  • when he realizes that whenever there’s trouble and his first thought goes to them, it’s not hate but it’s opposite and he hates himself for it
  • later, he tries to apologize for the crude insults he threw at them (tried as in insulted them while apologizing) 
  • swears to never hurt them again and looks at them in adoration instead of hatred 
  • pops out that ‘fucking love u bitch’ and it’s been love since that 

anonymous asked:

Sterek Badass with Bat

Taking Sterek Prompts!

———

Come on!” Stiles shouted, slamming his bat against the ground before twirling it up into the air, blue and green light streaking off of it in long tendrils.

The angel whipped around at the challenge, yellow eyes lighting up yellow as it opened its maw and shrieked back. Derek used the distraction to bring his feet up and kick hard enough to dislodge the creature, shifting to avoid the splurt of golden light that spilled from the gaping wound in its side. It scrabbled to its feet the same time as Derek, but Stiles shouted again, and it turned its attention away from the wolf.

“That’s it,” Stiles coaxed, grinning now. “You know where the real threat is here.”

The angel clawed forward, hackles rising, all six bone-and-feather wings opening to arch above it. Stiles spared them a glance, remembering the feathers had barbs that burrowed into skin. He stepped backward as the angel advanced, freeing up one hand to twist runes of light off his skin to act as a shield.

“Pathetic,” the angel slurred. It had lost a lot of ether, but they knew from their earlier encounter with it that it would go until the last moment before slipping phases to heal. “I will tear your soul from your skin and bathe in your blood, mortal.”

“I bet you say that to all the boys,” Stiles taunted, stopping dead to take a stand, his bat raised and rune magic crackling over his skin. He hoped it would be enough. He was vaguely aware of Derek a few yards away, recovering enough to rejoin the fight in a moment. They should have had more people. They had been on their way to get more people. “I’m not afraid of you. You’re weak.”

“Weak!” it shrieked, and launched itself at him.

So light headed he thought he might black out for a moment, Stiles swung. The runes etched into his bat lit up red as they connected with the twisted face of the angel, the magic flaring up and out, turning into claws. Stiles dragged the bat toward the ground, the magic gripping onto the angel’s face hauling it along with the motion. It scrabbled as it fell, one wing knocking into Stiles’ side, and Stiles gasped in pain as the runes soaked the damage and pulled on his life force to reform. He couldn’t take another hit like that.

Luckily, he didn’t have to. The moment the angel was on the ground, flailing, Stiles heard a shout from behind him and then the rest of the pack was there, scrambling to grab limbs and get the angel under control. Stiles’ rune magic held it bound to this phase until Scott’s claws had torn open its chest cavity and removed the small sphere of power that kept it moving.

The angel’s form fell still as Scott retreated, light-soaked sphere clutched to his chest, his skin smoking from contact with the burning, liquid light. Derek was there in the next instant, and Stiles collapsed to his knees, panting and shaking with adrenaline. He looked up, caught Derek’s eyes and then Scott’s.

They had done it.

Writing Prompt

“Have you heard of torture?” They all laugh as they hold their blunt weapons in their oversized hands. Harsh white light flickers above them as they look down at the victim with shadows contorting their faces into madness. “Because that’s childs play compared to what we do here.”

The victim laughs, “That’s adorable, you think you all scare me.”

anonymous asked:

this isn't a prompt but i loved the makeup hero/villain thing and i can't get the image of the villain doing an intimidating up-in-your-face dialogue and continually getting tripped up and they keep switching from looking right in the hero's eyes to right above them, until finally they visibly give up, let their shoulders go slack and dip their head and then after pausing to regain their dignity for a second they look back up and ask "is that from the modern renaissance palette?"

HAHAA PERFECT I LOVE IT AND IM STEAlING IT

listen i want the modern rennaissance so bad but i’ve been like. restraining myself from buying it (for now) BUT HAVE U SEEN THE NEW SUBCULTURE PALLETTE COMING OUT SOON?? IM GETTING IT OKAY THOSE R MY COLOURS. literally im like. praying the redbubble/ ko fi pick up soon so i actually have money for it because that pallete (dies)

listen. listen. im such a slut for makeup im absolutely the villian here

also the villian and hero mentioned in the prompt r from a future project im planning on starting once i finish book 1 of the gwiazdka fuckery, if yu’re into that. They’re femme af and become girlfriends despite being on opposite sides of the power divide, and r cute an gay and its all v healthy. im stealing ur little scenario here for it. this is gonna be how they get 2gayther (together). makeup.

blasting Harry’s album to welcome them to my building and help them get acclimated with their new living situation aka me living above them and screaming about 1D for the rest of the foreseeable future

anonymous asked:

I think you guys put Dylan on such a high pedestal that it's doubly depressing and embarrassing when he does something you don't expect him to do. A humbling experience for the stans, aye? He's a great, talented guy but he's not a superstar yet.

Nope, we don’t pedestalize him at all and are well aware of his ability to make mistakes and have imperfections.  It’s something we celebrate more often than not. 

That doesn’t stop us from having expectations and being disappointed when he doesn’t meet them, especially when in other circumstances he rises above them. 

okay no wait a minute

this makes perfect sense

youngest siblings tend to share a similar attitude in which they feel the need to over compensate in things such accomplishments and personality because they are always being over shadowed by older siblings
thats not to say that younger siblings aren’t accomplished
but its the fact that they’re always looking up to someone who is above them and might always get compared to that might make them subconsciously (or consciously) insecure
a lot of times younger siblings turn to things such a humor or some other way to get the attention that they feel they’re not getting because of their older siblings taking up the spotlight

this explains why lance is always trying to over compensate with comments and actions
this explains why he’s always the one cracking jokes and stepping into the center of attention
this explains why he craves a little more direct validation for his accomplishments
this explains why he feels that hes not anything special on the team

After the Parade

“Hush,” he says.

Above them, Cabal ships drag thick black smoke across the flickering twilight, and flames rise from the Tower. Legionnaires scour the streets, seeking out the cries of the wounded and afraid.

“Hush,” he says again, as the child starts to sniffle, and he pulls her into the shadows cast by an apartment block as a patrol makes its laborious way past. He was made to protect, made to serve, but he feels clumsy now; the hand on her shoulder is almost larger than her head and she has no armor to protect her bruised and burned skin from his rough gauntlets. When he tries to wipe the tears from her face he worries that he will be the one to break her.

He followed her screams, just as the Cabal did. He had no rifle to kill the Legionnaires that would have silenced her; dispatched the first one with his boot-knife but was not quick enough to catch the second unaware. It is dead, but his chest-plate is cracked and burned and the thing that eats the Traveler has also eaten his Light.

She is wearing yellow. A summer dress, for a celebration. When he offered her his gore-spattered hand she took it at once, and did not look back at the splayed and broken limbs visible beneath the rubble around her as though she knew there was no one left to wait for. He brushed dust and chips of concrete from the tight black curls on her head, and when she tried to smile her gap-toothed smile at him despite it all he knew that he would die the second death to save her.

They pick their way through dust-covered streets and alleys, one grimy hand holding his armored fingers, the other wrapped around the silent shell of his Ghost. He told her to keep it safe, and she clutches it to her chest with an intensity that would do any Titan proud.

To those behind the Wall, love and service. To those outside it, fury and fire. He is young: the Order’s maxim has never meant much to him, but here at the end of an Age he feels each word burning in his chest and he wraps his Mark around her shoulders like a cloak, like a little Hunter, to keep the nearness of the night from her as best he can.

When they hear the distant bursts of gunfire he waits until the chatter fades, then leads them in a different direction even though it gives him hope to know the City is still fighting. Perhaps if he ran to the violence he would find weapons or more Guardians, but he will not risk it. And so hours pass as they slink across the city, and as slowly as his wounds force him to move she still takes ten strides for every one of his. She has only one sandal, silver leather wrapped around a tiny leg, but he thinks that a single piece of armor is better than no armor at all.

He finds a battered pulse rifle in a street that leads to a square, tries not to wonder where its owner went. The magazine is full, but it is all he has and there is no Ghost at his shoulder to synthesize ammo. He bends to pick it up, never letting go of the hand that holds his own, just as a troop of Legionnaires turn the corner in front of them.

He pulls the child behind a crumbled wall. Waits one heartbeat, two; no slug throwers roar in response. Even so, they are between him and the direction he has lead, and he doubts he has the strength to cross the City again.

Love and service to those within. Fire and fury to those without.

The Legionnaires do not notice, but neither do they move on. More join them, and they begin to spiral out in all directions, continuing their search. It will not be long before they find him and the child. A narrow street, once hung with banners but now collapsing from the rooftops down, will lead her west, to the walls, away from Cabal patrols - as long as there is a distraction.

He lifts her chin as gently as he can.

“You have to run,” he whispers. He is bad at whispering. “I’ll keep you safe.”

“That way,” he says when she stares at him in silence, pointing with his outsized hand down the shadowed street.

He gives her a delicate push, points again. She blinks, once, then toddles into the dark, Ghost held close as though it will protect her. Perhaps, if there is a way to undo this disaster, it someday will.

He props the rifle atop the ledge, lifts his visor and sights with naked eye. There are so many, he thinks, and then bites back a laugh - there are only eight.

Love within. Fury without.

The rifle barks. One Legionnaire dies and the others spin in confusion, firing in the direction of his cover. He ignores them, squeezes the trigger again. And again. And again.

Love within. Fury without. Love within. Fury without. Love within. Fury without. Love within -

Something tugs his arm. He looks down into the eyes of the little girl, and pure terror finds him.

“I said run,” he growls, but she does not, her face set in a scowl. He shakes his arm and she does not let go.

A micro-rocket bursts against the barricade and he ducks, throws his body over her, sprays the rest of his bullets in response. The child buries her head in his cracked armor, her frail body shaking.

Never has he been so afraid to die.

He feels a fool. He tosses the rifle down, wraps one arm around the child and pulls her close. With the other he slams his visor shut. He takes a deep breath, and then another, and when at last there is a break in the constant fire he lurches to his feet, lifts the child to his chest, and runs.

It is hard, so hard, to move full Titan-plate without his Light to drive it. His body aches. Something inside is probably broken, and he does not know how long it takes a body to heal without a Ghost.

A slug hits him in the back and he stumbles but his armor holds, and he sprints down the street where he tried to send the child, the sound of jump-packs following behind. He ducks his head and cups himself around his charge, makes himself as big as he can, plows across the debris-choked pavement. The girl begins to cry again, though to his ears it is not the sound of fear but of fury, and before long he is roaring with it, and the two of them roar together down the long, narrow street as explosions scatter bits of ruins that once were homes. He does not know where he is going, knows only that he must go somewhere, that he will not stop until the child is safe or his legs no longer work; that when he has nothing left he will throw her from him and tear the Cabal apart with fists alone, Light or no.

He has stopped counting the impacts. Every step is a knife in his chest. The Legionnaires must be close but he does not turn, lest the shield that is his body fail. He can feel himself slowing, a sensation that fills him both with wonder and despair, but he cannot force himself to let her go despite his promise. Something cracks against the back of his leg, and he is too tired and too hurt to correct. He lands heavily on one shoulder, slides ten grinding yards, arms still wrapped around the child. At the very least, they will have to rip him apart to get to her. Maybe, if he dies quickly, they will not notice her at all.

Gunfire interrupts his thoughts, along with the sound of footsteps and the roar of Cabal. Hands grab him, drag him out of the street, but still he does not uncurl. He sees Hunter cloaks, Warlock robes, a Titan mark.

“Hush,” he tells the child, head still tucked close, while they cower in a doorway and around them Guardians fight.

“Hush,” he tells her, over their surprised cries of pain.

“Hush,” he tells her, over and over, until at last all is silent and he dares to lift his head and stand.

He helps the child to her feet, and though he leans against the doorway it is her tiny hand in his that keeps him upright. He looks around at their saviors: most are near as bruised as he is. They nod their heads, pat him on the back, and he opens his mouth to ask for forgiveness, for leading the Legionnaires here, but a Hunter shakes her head as though she knows what he will say.

Two Guardians lie dead. Truly dead. One Hunter, one Titan wearing the Mark of the Gatewatch. He waits the half-second for their Ghosts to revive them, feels sick when they do not rise. He swears that he will learn their names and add them to the Order of the Pilgrim Guard.

Someone makes cooing sounds and tries to take the child, tries to give her water, but she refuses to let go of his hand, refuses to surrender his Ghost. For a moment they stand there, all seven of them in a circle around her, and it is as though a different light has risen to bond them all.

They need ships. Weapons. Food, maybe. The child, at least, must eat. The Hunter offers water again, and he wonders how many new scraps of fabric she has taken for her cloak. A different Titan, this one wearing the Mark of the Six Fronts, hands him the dead Hunter’s rifle - then looks down at the child, still clinging to his hand, and passes him a sidearm instead.

They turn their backs to the Tower, and continue their slow march to the western wall. Perhaps they will find supplies along the way. If not, so be it - they are still Guardians, and they will save what light they can.

Love within. Fury without.

The Cabal have no word for ‘retreat.’ Soon, they will learn that the Guardians have none for ‘mercy.’


Words: @themothyards

Art: @artdailybykitty

Peter Parker (Tom Holland) Imagine: Savior

Summary: Peter saves you when Flash begins to get a little bit too handsy

Requested: Yes
–> “No, like…. It’s just, I can’t believe you’re actually wearing my clothes.” And “You can’t leave without letting me hug you first.” combined into one with Peter Parker please? Btw I love your writing!

A/N: fucking pissed cause tumblr deleted all of this and so now I’m writing it again

Warnings: none

————————————————

To say that Peter Parker had a crush on you was a complete understatement. The boy was head over heels in love with you. He thought he had it bad with Liz, but with you it was a whole other level. In fact, his infatuation with you was the sole reason he dragged Ned to this party with him.

Peter had over heard some fellow classmates talking in the hallway about how Flash was planning on asking you out tonight. And Peter simply couldn’t just stand by and let that happen.

His soft brown eyes scanned over the crowds of people hoping to find the one angel that stood out above all of them, but to his dismay all he saw were strangers.

Apparently Flash has many friends from other schools cause Peter only knew a handful of the kids that he could see.

“Do you see her anywhere, Ned?”

“No. Maybe we should split up. Cover more ground, you know?”

“Yeah, good idea.”

Ned headed off in one direction, and Peter in the other. Peter wondered off through the different crowds of people searching for the girl of his dreams.

He said a few hellos to some people he knew from the robotics club, the school band and the academic decathlon team.

He was just about to give up on finding you when he suddenly heard the beautiful sound of your laugh.

Peter jerked his head around and saw you leaning against a wall surrounded by a group of your friends, one of them which was obviously telling a funny story.

Peter admired the way your soft curls perfectly framed your face and how the crop top and high waisted jeans you were wearing hugged your body in all the best ways.

Peter felt his heart begin to beat rapidly when his eyes connected with yours from across the room. You gave him a soft smile and a small wave and Peter is still not quite sure how his brain got the message to the rest of his body to return the gesture.

But the beautiful moment was quickly cut short by Flash pushing through the wall of your friends and placing an arm above your head.

Peter didn’t have to be near to know what Flash was saying when he saw his mouth begin to move. He knew he was asking you out.

Peter heard his heart pounding in his ears as he watched the horrific scene unfold before him. It wasn’t until he saw you flip Flash off that he was able to breathe again.

But soon the relief disappeared once again as he watch Flash grab your wrist and pull you into his chest. Peter realized all your friends had scattered once Flash walked up and there was no one to come to your rescue.

Now, Peter knew you were a tough girl that could fend for herself, but he also knew how relentless Flash could be. And the thought of anything happening to you was enough to send him across the room in a matter of seconds until he was standing between you and Flash.

Peter felt your fingers grip the back of his shirt and it was the fear in them that caused the sanity in his brain to blur. Peter no longer cared if he used his Spidey strength to harm the ass hole that threatened the girl he loved.

Peter sent Flash flying across the room into a glass door that lead into his backyard.

Peter felt the eyes of everyone at the party on him. He knew everyone was wondering how the scrawny kid from gym class that could barely do a pull up managed to send a man flying across the room.

Peter was about to panic when he heard your soft voice pull him back to reality.

“Peter? Can we please get out of here?”

There was no hesitation. Peter had grabbed your hand and was leading you out of the house.

Once you two had safely exited, Peter began to lead you down the street.

“Where are we headed?”

“I-I can’t go home. Not like this.”

It was then that Peter saw the tears in your eyes which only angered him more. He pulled you into his side and wrapped his arm around your shoulders.

“We can go back to my apartment. It isn’t far, and May won’t mind if you stay over.”

Peter felt the girl nod and began to lead her in the direction of his home.

The two fell into a comfortable silence until you finally spoke up.

“Please don’t think I’m a baby for crying… I’m used to guys hitting on me and I’ve gotten quite good at shutting them down. I’m just not used to them beginning to get physical with me and it freighted me. Thank you, Peter, for saving me.”

The fear in the your voice when you spoke of Flash’s actions was almost enough to send Peter back into the house to end the bully for good.

“I’ll always protect you, Y/N. No matter what.”

Peter was too focused on getting the two home safely to notice the smile that crossed your face, but he did notice the way your small fingers gripped his shirt tighter.

After a short while of walking, you and Peter had finally reached his apartment.

Peter lead you quietly into his room, careful not to wake his aunt up.

Although he knew May wouldn’t mind the girl staying over, he also knew she would never stop teasing him about having a girl sleep in his room. Especially one as pretty as you.

Peter opened up one of his drawers and pulled out some clothes for you to change into.

“Here you go. I’ll sleep on the couch and you can take the be-”

“No! I um… sorry. Can you, um, sleep in here? With me?”

Peter didn’t think he’d ever hear such beautiful words leave someone’s mouth.

Peter nodded his head and turned around to give you privacy to change. He stared at his poster of the periodic table until he heard you clear your voice, signaling to him that he could turn around.

Peter felt his cheeks grow red as he looked over your attire.

His t-shirt hung loosely off your body and his sweatpants were bunched up at the bottom due to him being a few inches taller than you. You looked completely adorable.

You shifter your eyes to the floor under his intense gaze.

“Do I look bad or something?”

“No, like…. It’s just, I can’t believe you’re actually wearing my clothes.“

A smile grew across your face as Peter crossed the room and took your hand in his to lead you to his small twin sized bed.

Peter laid down on his back and pulled you to lay on top of him. You laid your head on his chest and Peter began to run his fingers through your hair.

The soothing gesture and the sound of his heart beat was enough to send you to sleep in a matter of minutes.

—The Next Morning—

You were pulled from your dreaming state as the sunlight crept in through Peter’s window.

You lifted your head up and couldn’t help but smile at how adorable Peter looked as he slept.

His brown curls were scattered in different directions. His soft pink lips were slightly parted and a soft blush was spread across his cheeks.

You reached your hand up to push a loose curl out of his face and Peter’s eyes began to flutter open at the soft touch.

A smile spread across his face as he leaned into your touch.

"Good morning, sleepy head.” You whispered.

“Good morning, beautiful.” Peter replied in his husky morning voice.

His eyes widened as he realized what he said but the soft giggle that escaped your lips calmed him in a matter of seconds.

“I should go. My parents are probably worried sick.”

Peter frowned at the loss of warmth as your body left his.

He watched as you picked up your clothes from the floor. You turned and gave him one last smile before your hand reach out to grab the door handle but his voice stopped you from opening it.

“You can’t leave without letting me hug you first.”

You bit your lip and turned around to see Peter already standing behind you smirking.

“I can do you one better.”

Confusion crossed his face as you gripped the front of his shirt and pulled his lips into yours.

The kiss lasted a few short seconds but they were the best seconds of his life.

Peter watched you walk out of his apartment with a goofy, lovestruck grin on his face.

He had finally got the girl of his dreams.

Ok but when team Voltron tries to go to the bom base they’re told they can “bring two.” When shiro and Keith first get there, two blade members are above ground waiting for them. And when Kolivan goes back to the castle ship, he brings Antok with him 

 So anyway, the Blade of Marmora believes in the Buddy System

Cradled In Love

Pairing: Tom Holland X Reader

Words: 2217

Warnings: “Angst to fluff to smut”. NSFW gifs (you know me by now!!)

Anon asked “I’m on vacation with my so called family which is breaking apart at the moment and um it’s really hard to be here with them and I can’t really enjoy this vacay so is there a possibility if you could write a tom holland one shot to cheer me up maybe with angst and fluff and smut and beautiful words of yours.. I don’t want to be here with these people and I want to cry every second of the day.”

A/N: So this is my first non-Bucky/Sebastian fic. It’s special because the anon who asked is having a super bad day…I know how it gets when family is a bitch to deal with (trust me all my extended family are a bunch of assholes!!!!) Anyway, here you go and I hope I did him justice. SENDING HUGS AND KISSES YOUR WAY LOVELY PERSON.

Permanent Tag List: @meganlane84 @mizzzpink @bringmetheemobands @kimistry27 @fireandicewillsuffice @vacam79 @amrita31199 @badassbaker @feelmyroarrrr @aekr @sexy-sea-basss @isaxhorror @actual-bucky-barnes-trash @cassandras-musings @kimistry27 @mo320 @ssweet-empowerment

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anonymous asked:

ok but sub!tom holland tho

  • Tom is defiantly a switch, do not make me fight anyone on this
  • As much as he likes being dominant he totally likes to get dominated every now and then 
  • Sub!Tom comes out when he’s tired mostly,especially in the morning
  • He’d wake up to neck kisses and he’d be so whiney 
  • ‘‘baaabe 5 more minutes’‘
  • and he’d roll back over 
  • and no way in hell were you having that so you’d climb on top of him and start straddling him
  • and that would wake him up real quick 
  • and he’d go to reach for your hips but you’d grab his hands and pin them above his head and whisper in his ear ‘’no touching’
  • he’d go wide eyed and just nod
  • you’d probably be able to feel him harden under you because home boy would be hella turned on
  • you’d slowly start grinding down on him while still holding his hands above your head
  • he’d be biting his lip so hard 
  • ugh and you’d lean down and start sucking on his neck and collarbones and he’d start cursing 
  • ‘‘fuck y/n let me touch you please’‘
  • he’d sound so exasperated and it would be so hot
  • you’d kiss him and give him permission to grab your hips and wow he’d grab them so hard and start grinding into you 
  • you’d strip of your underwear and climb back onto him and tell him to keep his hands at his sides 
  • and he’d be straining against his boxers so you’d be good and pull him out of them 
  • you’d waste no time putting him in your mouth and he’d be grabbing at the bed sheets and trying his hardest not to grab on to your hair and fuck your mouth 
  • poor guy wouldn’t be able to stop cursing as you bobbed your head on his length
  • you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of cumming in your mouth so you’d climb back on him and hover your entrance over his throbbing dick
  • he’d be begging for you to sink onto him but you’d take your time grinding on him 
  • he’d be running his hands through his hair a lot and the veins in his neck would be popping out 
  • you’d slowly lower yourself onto him and he’d let out the biggest moan and honestly so would you 
  • you’d start rocking your hips back and forward and it would feel so good for the both of you 
  •  no way in hell he’s lasting long after all that teasing
  • he’d start bucking up his hips to thrust into you and it would feel so good that you wouldn’t stop him
  • he’d probably cum in you without meaning too and honestly his cum face would be the hottest thing like he’d throw his head back and scrunch up his eyes wow 
  • you’d probably kiss him after and he’d thank you for the best morning ever 
Can’t Flaunt What’s Not Yours (M)

Originally posted by sweaterpawsjimin

Word Count: 6k

“You’re the one always saying how you wouldn’t give a fuck if I were to up and leave. The one that told me I can’t flaunt you because you’re not mine,” he says, stepping away from you to run a hand through his hair. “And you’re telling me you like me?”

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  • ORIGINAL POST: [Important information in an easy-to-read format that I want to reblog from]
  • REBLOGGER: [Important information in an easy-to-read format that I want to reblog from]
  • NEXT REBLOGGER: “WHAT THESE PEOPLE SAID IS IMPORTANT INFORMATION AND NONE OF YOU ARE GOING TO REBLOG IT BECAUSE YOU HATE US!”
  • ME: *ascends to the 4th dimension to get away from people like that, after q'ing from the person above them*