all of you idiots

anonymous asked:

What is wrong with this fandom? If people have a problem, they should diplomatically discuss it with YOU. No one should ANONYMOUSLY spread hate abhe out anyone, write in ridiculous books, or any of that shit. People are petty. Honestly, fuck all of them. You shouldn't be ashamed only bc some idiots misinterpret the truth. Your candy is YOUR candy, and she always was. Do y'all idiots even know how many white haired + blue-eyed Sucrettes are out there?? ILY hun so f* all of them.

For an example @mcl-limos Candy also got white hair and light blue eyes but she got tanned (?) skin. Luna is a lot more paler than Lena. So I don’t get the fact that I get hate? As u and some other ppl already said: My Candy is not the only Candy with white hair and blue eyes.  

And also thank you for your words.

people who put video tutorials online for literally everything are the backbone of this society i would be nowhere without the comfort that whenever i don’t know how to do something painfully simple i can look it up like i bet i could look up ‘how to preheat the oven’ and there’d be endless videos and i never have to look like a complete idiot again. thank you all for saving my life 

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There, have some nb peeps & trans & queer ladies of color with their loved ones. ♥

I actually ended up REALLY liking these so I’m going to post them on their own.

agenderraskel  asked:

What do you think of JARVIS? Can he get inside your arm? Has he ever done so? Are you ever concerned about him taking over the world?

i like jarvis. hes everything nickel science fiction novels promised back when i was a kid.

 jarvis–and anyone else for that matter–cant get inside my arm because my arm has no ability to transmit or receive data, except for an internal data port under the armor plates which has to be accessed with a unique cable. so if you can get at it and you have the necessary equipment you can mess with my arm, but it’s impossible to hack while im out doing stuff. 

not that tony or i told anyone that for the first few months. i managed to knock steves glass out of his hands four times, throw things at clint six times, and smack sam upside the head twice before they realized that my arm was not being remotely controlled by ‘the evil Dr Dextrous.’ 

im not concerned about jarvis taking over the world because probably hed be a lot better at keeping things running smoothly that current management. jarvis has managed to keep tony stark mostly alive without actually having hands for like. several decades now. which probably qualifies him for sainthood, or at least a really nice retirement package. i figure after all that chaos managing a few billion non-geniuses without access to flying tanks is basically a cakewalk. 

but since jarvis has more sense than–well. basically any avenger–he knows that taking over the world would be way more stress than its worth.
jarvis is smart like that.

2

me @ those haters who’re trying to smear super junior members

4

Star Wars…. if it were told through Anakin Skywalker’s Instagram Adventures

I’M SORRY I HAVE NO IDEA WHY THIS IS A THING THAT EXISTS I just got too excited about the new Clone Wars and-

This could either be a modern AU, or an alternate universe where everything is exactly the same… except everyone has instagram. (let’s be real this universe would involve a lot more bad hashtags, ~dramatic filters~ and check-ins at Mustafar)

A man enters an office supply store. He was a mere mortal seconds before, but as he passes through the door he becomes a customer. His superior gaze drifts across his domain and settles on the cashier. 

“Do you sell stamps?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say,” However-”

“I want one.”

However, we sell them only in sets of ten.”

“But I want one.”

“I’m sorry, Sir, but I can’t sell you a single stamp.”

“Can’t you just…” He (skillfully) mimicks the act of ripping apart paper. 

Clearly, I have never thought of this. My simple mind grapples with the idea. I realize I am dealing with a genius, and yet, I regretfully inform him, “Sorry. They come on stickersheets, and anyways, the barcode–”

“Well that’s just rubbish,” he informs me. He is right. I realize this now. His genius ignites a spark within me. 

“You are right,” I tell him as I take fifteen sheets of stamps into my hands and begin to tear them apart. I type 0,019 stamps and press a non-existent key on the register. I hold out a quarter of a stamp to the customer (with a smile), but he shakes his head (without a smile). I rip apart all the stamps I can find, desperate to please him, for he has gifted this humble store with his presence. From the pieces, I begin to assemble a perfect, custom-made stamp. It is worth exactly 66,66€. I single-handedly reprogramme not only my cash desk, but the entire system. It can now scan any stamp in (or out of) existence. It is raining stamps. I am smiling.

Two hours later, it is done. Beaming, and covered in the torn remains of hundreds of unfortunate stamps, I hold the perfect stamp out to The Customer. He accepts it. I rejoice. It might just be my high fever and blurry gaze, but I think the right corner of his mouth moved upwards for exactly half a second. I am blessed. 

He licks the stamp and slaps it onto a letter. He wants to lend a pen. I lend him a pen. When he is done, he holds the letter out to me expectantly. He does not say a word, my silent angel, but I can tell what he wants. Thus is our connection. There is nothing, I assure you, nothing I would have rather done than to accept his letter, on my knees, with tears of gratitude streaming down my cheeks… But alas: 

“I want to send the letter,” my dear customer finally says, after the silence has stretched into infinity and back.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Sir,” I say with a polite smile, brushing stamps off my shoulders, “We don’t accept mail. We only sell stamps.” 

After all, you can’t make exceptions to a well-established rule in the workplace. 

The customer doesn’t bat an eyelash. “That’s okay,” he says with a disarming smile. “I wouldn’t ask the impossible of you.” 

As he turns to walk away, a single tear rolls down my cheek. I wipe it off with a stamp that wears his majestic face, hand-stitched by me. 

I don’t tell him there’s a mailbox around the corner.

(That’s not my job.) 

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Legends of Tomorrow | 2.13

Doctor Palmer, it’s very nice to see you again.

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deleted scene from x men first class

(insp.)

bonus:

what you gon do now charl