apple shoes

Baguette baguette baguette !

This time, it’s a video !!

I added a song with the animation and worked with the rythm, it was a test and I really like how it looks ! I have to post more videos like this one in the futur, it’s funny to do and I missed doing it ^^

I draw all on the DSi, then I put the frames on Movie maker to work the song and the animation together =)

Hope you will enjoy it =)

J’en ferais d’autre !

The song belongs to Daft Punk : Robot Rock


I Fought The Law,  Photographs by Olivia Locher of the Strangest Lawes from Each of the 50 States !

In Nevada it is illegal to put an American flag on a bar of soap !

In Wisconsin it is illegal to serve apple pie in public restaurants without cheddar cheese !

In Texas it is illegal for children to have unusual haircuts !

In Kansas it is illegal to serve wine in teacups !

In Hawaii it is illegal to place a coin in your ear !

In Alabama it is illegal to have an ice cream cone in your back pocket at all times !

In Utah no one may walk down the street carrying a paper bag containing a violin !

In North Dakota it is illegal to fall asleep with shoes on in bed !

In Ohio it is illegal to disrobe in front of a portrait of a man !

In California Nobody is allowed to ride a bicycle in a swimming pool !

iamcuziam  asked:

I feel like it took years for your askbox to be open. Lol anyway, some scenarios for Shinso, Shoto, and Tokoyami falling instantly in love with a new student but she continuously rejects them only for them to continuously try again and eventually she falls for them too. Please and thank you.

I know! It takes forever for me to get through request. Sometimes I feel like I should write less to save myself the trouble, but I can’t help it and always end up writing pretty long fics (well, in my opinion). I hope this is what you were looking for though. 

You are burned into his memory. Shinsou didn’t think it was possible, but there you are, lingering in the back of his mind. He teeters casually on his bike as he balances with his hands in his pockets. He doesn’t know why he’s waiting for you. Your answer will probably be the same as yesterday’s: no. 

Your rejection hurt. It kept him up at night. He’d stare at his ceiling until sunlight trickled through the blinds, shining on the dark circles he gathered from the restless night before. He hadn’t felt this sick since he found out that he wouldn’t be a part of the Hero Course. But Shinsou is a guy who simply cannot accept what people say about him. He can’t help what his heart wants.

“You should just go home. It’s cold, and you’ll get sick.”

He turns, shaken from his thoughts. You are already walking past him with your school back lazily slung over your shoulder. Shinsou turns his bike, riding next to you. You won’t look at him even though he’s right there.

“Yeah, it is cold out. That means you’ll get sick too,” he says, “So are you going to let me give you that ride today?”

“Not a chance,” you hum, putting your earbubs in, “Have a good evening, Shinsou-san.”

“You too, (Last Name)-san.”

You honestly don’t know why he is trying so hard. Day after day, Shinsou offered you rides on his bike, and, day after day, you shot down his offer. You look at his Shinsou’s back as he begins to pedal ahead of you. That day flashes in your mind. You can’t help it. That day when he stood in the center of a crowded stadium and pointed into the crowd … pointing at you. You approached him afterwards, asking what that meant. Why you? What did you mean to him?

“Consider it a declaration.”

That was the only thing he said. A declaration. A declaration for you. Why you? Why is he willing to be shot down day after day? Why is he willing to go so far for you, the new girl in the Gen Ed class? Why? You feel like you have to know … or you at least have to go. 

“Hey …” you mumble, staring at his disappearing form, “Hey.”

Before you realize it, your feet are smacking against the pavement as you break into a run. You can’t even hear the music from your earbuds anymore. The sound of your pounding heart and short breaths are too loud. Hey … wait … wait … 

“Hey!” You shout.

Shinsou hits the breaks and looks over his shoulder. Your hair is disheveled and your chest is heaving as you look at the boy leaning on the handle bars of his bike. Shinsou raises an eyebrow. His eyes flicker up and down your form before setting on your face. Your breath is condensing in the frigid air, billowing around your lips as your breathing returns to normal. 

“Is that ride still on the table?”

Shinsou leans back with a crooked grin splitting his lips, “Absolutely.”

You hated people like him. Pretty boys with so much natural talent that they have no idea what to do with it. Pretty boys with rich, important fathers and big homes. Pretty boys who expect you to swoon just because he asks you on a date. You don’t like his type, those damn pretty boys, and you don’t like him. You know is type and you know his father. And you can confidently say that you are not impressed with either aspect.

When Todoroki asked you on a date, you scowled. You might’ve been the new kid in the Gen Ed course, but you were very familiar with the Todoroki Family. Your rejection came fast like a cobra’s bite and hurt Todoroki just as much.


The girls at your lunch table stared at you with wide eyes. No sane person would reject a date from the Todoroki Shouto, the runner up in the sports festival. You were sane, but you were also new and you also didn’t give a damn about a sports festival. From that day on, you were no longer the new girl. You became “the girl who rejected Todoroki Shouto,” and the fact that he caused in situation that gave you the moniker didn’t help his chances of winning you over.

But Todoroki is tired of people slipping through his fingers. He’s sick of the “what if” and the “if only.” What if he had went to save his mother sooner? What if he was born into a different family? If only … if only … He hates living like this. When he first saw you, “if only” echoed around his head for days on end. When you rejected him, “what if” was the only thing he could hear.

He is done living in scenarios.

“Man, don’t you get tired of hearing the word no?” you say, leaning back against the wall, “I’d think a rich boy like yourself wouldn’t be accustomed to it hearing it.”

When he came to your class, asking to see you, you scowled. Everyday. Everyday he comes to your classroom, requesting to see you. And everyday you follow him to the same empty hallway only to tell him the same thing you told him the day before and the day before that. You’d think he would’ve lost his persistency, but here you are, standing in that damn hallway with him yet again.

Todoroki is leaning on the wall across from yours, just staring back until he opens his mouth, “You don’t know me.”

“I know your type well enou—”

“You don’t know me though.”

“If you’ve seen one, you’ve seen ‘em all.”

“Are you willing to take the chance on that?”

Your face twitches, “What?”

“Are you willing to bet on me being like the rest? ‘What if he’s like them?’ You’re willing to spend the rest of your life on ‘what if?’”

“Don’t talk like you know me.”

“I’d like to know you. And I’d appreciate it if you took the chance to get to know me as well,” he says, “I don’t know about you, but I’m done with ‘what if.’”

His heterochromic eyes are intense, sweltering as they bear into yours. You are almost uncomfortable standing before him. He looks so determined … so determined to have you. You of all people.

“Fine,” you say, staring at the ground, “Fine, dammit. (XXX) XXX-XXXX. That’s my number. If you didn’t get it, too bad. I won’t repeat it.”

“(XXX) XXX-XXXX,” he repeats flawlessly.

You turn on your heels and walk away from him, trying to swallow the grin that is threatening to pinch your cheeks. That boy … 

There it is again. That shiny red apple sitting in your shoe locker. There’s no note. Just a glossy blood red apple. You drab the piece of fruit, staring at it in your hands. You aren’t dull. You know who it’s from, but you honestly didn’t think he would be so persistent. He just didn’t seem like the type.

The first apple came with a note. Meet me by the gates after school. At the time, you were new. Fresh meat. It had to be a prank, just some cruel kids hoping to have their way with the new student. You transferred to U.A. for a reason. Being the butt of a childish prank was not that reason. So you threw the apple away.

The next apple came the very next day, again with a note. Please consider meeting me at the gate after school. I assure you, it will only take a moment of your time. You stared at the note, frankly impressed that a simple note almost made you feel for whoever wrote it. Almost. There was no name. Just a note and another apple. But you didn’t have time for a someone who could even leave his name. So you threw it away.

Another apple was there the next day, staring you in the face with it’s glossy eye. You searched for the note this time. Of course, you found it folded neatly behind the apple. Tokoyami Fumikage. You had to admit … you were intrigued. What a name. You tried to imagine a face but you couldn’t. What kind of face could match a name like his. You were beginning to put the pieces together. This wasn’t a prank or a coward. This was a confession. You transferred to U.A. for a reason. Love was not that reason. So you threw it away.

But you don’t want to throw away this one. For some reason. You’ve thrown away twenty-five apples, but this one feels heavier in your hands. Maybe you find his persistence endearing. Maybe no one has ever chased you for this long. Maybe it feels good to be the apple of someone’s eye. You look at the clock hanging on the wall as you shut your locker. He should still be there. By the gates. Tokoyami.

You walk to the front gates alone with your bag slung over you shoulder and the apple firmly grasp in your hand. You see a boy and you instantly know it to be him. Tokoyami Fumikage. What kind of face can match such a strong, handsome name? His face does so perfectly. You just know it has to be him.


Your voice is sweet like honey. Tokoyami just nods as bashfulness stirs within him. How can he not be nervous? He is here with you in front of the gates after school. After waiting for two hours everyday for twenty-five days, you are finally here, holding his apple in your hands. You are staring at him, not saying anything. You toss him the apple. He catches it with one hand, looking down at the fruit before looking over at you. Tokoyami doesn’t let his internal grimace show. Is this it? Your rejection? Did he lose you even before he had the chance to have you? 

“I like sour apples best,” you say before walking past him, “You’ll bring me one tomorrow, right, Tokoyami-kun?”

“Y-Yes, of course.”

“Good. I’ll be looking forward to it.”