are-you-reading-this

  • The Killing Joke Movie:we're going to expand the story from the original source material
  • Me:that actually sounds kinda like a great idea. Some of that extra time could be used to flesh out Barbara Gordon's character and make her more than a plot device that shows up for two seconds to be brutalized and help give her an actual story ar--
  • TKJM:we made her fuck Batman
  • TKJM:so he can feel like, EXTRA sad when she gets shot by the Joker
  • Me:
  • Me:
  • Me:did you even try???????
4

I’m really trying to get over this art slump, drew some TAU today to try and help me through. Get into the drawing mode and whatnot. 

I dunno. :V

anonymous asked:

Do you have a favorite sterek fic? like one that you come back to read frequently?

I don’t have just one favorite sterek fic, so I’m gonna give you a whole list of fics that I’ve loved and read more than once.

Cornerstone by Vendelin (83.7k, E)

Suffering from PTSD, ex-Marine Derek Hale moves back to Beacon Hills to open a bookshop and find a calmer life. That’s where he meets Stiles, completely by accident. Stiles is talkative, charming and curious. Somehow, despite the fact that he’s blind, he’s able to read Derek like no one else.

Move A Mountain by ZainClaw (69k, E)

Stiles goes camping with his friends in New Mexico after graduation where they befriend a biker gang led by Derek: a guy whom Stiles can’t decide if he will be either relieved or devastated to never see again once their week is up.

Wild Horses by thepsychicclam (78.9k, E)

Derek’s a drifter with no home, no destination, and no will to live. Stiles works on his family’s failing cattle and horse ranch while all his friends are going off to college. When Derek falls asleep in a random barn, exhausted and half-starved, he doesn’t expect to wake up on the other end of the sheriff’s shotgun. And Stiles sure as hell doesn’t expect his dad to invite the drifter in for breakfast.

The Guard and Red by andavs (74.2k, T)

Derek moves back to Beacon Hills after twelve years in New York and finds that the city has a superhero problem, his sister has a co-op problem, he has a neighbor problem, and he and Stiles spend a lot of time hanging from a fake rock and yelling at each other at seven in the morning.

Keep reading

  • Taehyung:People keep saying I have a "box smile"
  • Yoongi:That's because you do
  • Taehyung:What do you mean?! I don't have a box smile
  • Yoongi:[hysterically laughing] yes you do. [Pulls out box] Now smile for me
  • Taehyung:Don't you dare...

anonymous asked:

doesnt all of this, assuming eto and arima were meeting, and that arima knew he was the oek, kinda undermines all the things that ishida showed us in the last chapters? about how arima was suffering? how does that and this can make any sense? im just... really confused on how to feel about him in general now (i still love him, i just dont know if the sympathy is there anymore, since now hes a "badass motherfucker" and not just a victim...)

Sigh….

It was not stated anywhere in the recent chapters that Arima has been meeting with Eto. For all we know, he could have left her there lying there to die that day, about 12-13 years ago. We are yet to know.

Moreover, let us assume they were in contact, one way or another, this does not mean that Arima was part of Aogiri, nor that he has been implicated in their conduct. Even more, assuming they were in contact for Kaneki’s sake… this does not wipe away all the depressing shit and suffering Arima had to go through on a daily basis. He still had to 

  • be treated as a dog, 
  • be used as a tool, 
  • be wiped the floor with, 
  • be relied upon to do every fucking thing in the CCG, 
  • kill people he never wanted dead, 
  • feel suicidal,
  • feel like trash and filth,
  • distant himself from the ones he really cared about (Ui, Fura, Hirako, the Garden Kids… and later his precious Haise), 
  • be overworked 24/7,
  • not have a day for him to rest and be human (leading a normal life),
  • physically suffer pre-mature aging and whatever diseases this brought to his body,
  • become fucking blind,
  • be isolated from his coworkers,
  • be called a monster,
  • be denied love and parental care,
  • be denied Happiness,
  • watch the people he cared about get killed (Hairu…),
  • Be a toy for V also,
  • etc

I am really sick and tired of people hating on Arima after this chapter, or even after the previous chapter (calling him a coward for killing himself). I know you aren’t but I am just using your ask as an opportunity to straighten things out. I am sick and tired of this because I, personally, have went through hell and countless tragedies through out my life, yet I kept on being envied because I was smart and always managed to stand on my feet, and become an honor student/researcher/worker… a true mastermind in my field. This never meant I was not suffering. This never meant I was not a victim. This is a way to fight back the horrendous life that was imposed upon me.

So did Arima. If anything, he was a fighter and never give up… who would have even fought this long with this shitty life anyway? I am happy and proud of him.

-The End.

PS: This is Ishida’s writing. I never think he undermines his own work, nor does he belittle his characters. Ever.

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh i dont wanna do this I dont wanna front right now but I can’t swap with anyone right now. Tabi is upset and Nia is busy comforting him and diancie is nowhere to be found and pigs could fly before I let oliver front no way!

Can you imagine the disappointment if the human race will come in contact with intelligent aliens and they will turn out to be exactly like us? Same looks, same basic biology, almost the same trends of history and culture, even their spaceship works by pretty much the same principles as our spaceships. And yes there are differences, but they could as well just be from another foreign country.

And it will be even funnier if at first we will think that their culture is vastly different from ours but as we learn to communicate with them it turns out that they just have their own names for it.

“Well at least you don’t have ice-cream!”
“We have a dessert that is made from frozen lactic fluids of a large grass-eating animal. I know it sounds weird but I bet it’s much better than your so-called ‘ice-cream’!”

Honestly I would watch a movie about this.

anonymous asked:

What tattoos does Yoongi have and where? Does he have any about/dedicated to his girlfriend?

It wasn’t often that you saw Yoongi’s tattoos when you first began dating. He was always hiding them under thick jackets and his preferred white button ups. He kept them hidden not because he was ashamed of them, but because he was afraid of what you would think. 

You loved them though, and whenever Yoongi climbed into bed, you would move away to trail your fingers over the dark ink. “What does this one mean?” You would ask every so often, eyes focused on the intricate designs. 

On his left arm he would sigh, looking down at the half sleeve of roses weaving across his skin. “They’re pretty.” He would excuse, avoiding the question. 

“What about this?” You would ask, fingers running across the inside of his right arm. 

Yoongi hated that you constantly asked questions, yet he couldn’t help but want to answer all of them. “It’s Dopamine.” He would whisper leisurely. 

After his reply, you would continue down his arm, touching the black letters there. “I am enough,” you would recite out loud, looking over at his other arm to see the same words imprinted to the skin there. 

“You are enough,” Yoongi would repeat, smiling down at you and kissing the top of your head before telling you to sleep.

Then, at restaurants you would turn over your joined fingers and run your thumb across the sparrow that matches his other hand. “Why did you chose a sparrow?”

“Because they’re free.” He would say, moving his food around the plate with his utensils. 

When you looked up at him hopefully and asked, “Do you want to be free,” he would never reply. All Yoongi would do is smile down at you, the grin not quite reaching his eyes. 

Yoongi only wears boxers to bed, always allowing you a few moments to study the tattoos littering his thighs before he goes to sleep. On his right thigh, is a house of cards, a whale, and almost twenty small butterflies. You’d learn each butterfly by their colors and their designs. “What do all these things mean?” You had the courage to ask once. 

Yoongi rolled the two of your over and told you to sleep and that he would tell you later. He never did, but you think you know the answer anyways. 

His left thigh only has one tattoo. It’s a blimp, colorless and seemingly stuck to the monotonous plane of Yoongi’s leg. Many of his other tattoos always seem to be moving in a way, like the butterflies. They look midflight, wings fluttering as they take off into a gleaming, blue sky. Even the house of cards seems to be swaying in a wind. But the blimp just sits there, as if waiting to be lit by an imaginary flame so it can take off too. 

You’ve never asked Yoongi about the blimp. 

After Eunah was born, Yoongi added two more tattoos to his collection. Along his right color are roman numbers. He refused to tell you what the date was, but it didn’t take long for you to figure out that it was Eunah’s birth date. You cried when you confronted Yoongi about how thoughtful it was. 

Just after adding Eunah’s birthday, Yoongi went back to the parlor. This time, he came back with the largest tattoo he has. A large butterfly that spreads out below his rib cage. It was different from the ones on his thigh. This one is geometric, each angle perfect in form to create a weightless creature on his skin. 

For many nights you admired the tattoo, often becoming distracted by it when you were laying bed together. Yoongi didn’t mind, only biting his tongue when you accidentally ran your nails across the healing skin. 

You admired all of Yoongi’s tattoos. Once, he had tried to convince you to let him get one dedicated to you, but you refused. If anything happened, Eunah would always be his daughter, but things change and you might not be the only love of his life. And you’re willing to accept that for now. 


tattoo references i used to write this, if you have our own ideas, feel free to stick with those! 

rose half-sleeve refs : un. deux. trois. quatre. cinq. six

arm dopamine ref : un.

arm quote ref : un.

hand sparrow refs : un. deux. trois.

chest / thigh butterfly refs : un. deux. trois. quatre. cinq. six.

thigh whale ref : un.

collar date refs : un. deux.

possessive. drabbles. prompts.

a/n: inspired by this wonderful short film featuring Harry Shum Jr that simply left me breathless and empty, but also so full it felt like I could combust

this is for @nathenmiller, @youcamethrough, @kingbellamy@prosciuttoe, @hooksandheroics, @kay-emm-gee, @goldenheadfreckledheart,  @ariadneblake, @bispaceprincess, @clarke-griffin and @nephilimchloe because you all deserve to be loved and to be appreciated, because in all this time you grew up as people, as friends, as creators, because I don’t know all of you as well as I could, because maybe you’re my whos and whats and whens and wheres and whys, because you’re wonderful and I love you, and I always, always, wish you all the best; stay fab 


who, what, when, where, why | ao3

The stars had no right to make him feel so small, so insignificant, just another speck of dust in the vast universe.

They had no right to make him question his soul, to make him tremble at the realization that he was just a little lost boy in a world that could survive without him.

The stars had no right to look so pretty. To yank the breath from him lungs and leave him reeling, knees weak and shaking, and yet delirious with happiness.

They had no right to make him feel powerful and helpless at once, they had no right-

But maybe they did.

Because they had seen his tears, his cries, his weaknesses and his mistakes, his smiles, his calloused hands and bruised heart – they saw everything and still they shone upon him brightly, unwavering in their faith that he deserved their light.

Bellamy leaned further back, letting his elbows support his weight as he stretched his legs out, the wild green grass filling his nostrils with the scent of moon flowers as the gentle breeze descended upon their meadow, playfully messing around with his curly hair.

Next to him, Clarke sat with her legs pressed to her chest, her head tipped back and her eyes closed, lips stretched into a grin, swaying with the gust of the wind.

His heart squeezed and expanded at once, pulse rushing to his ears and leaving him deaf for anything that wasn’t her voice. It was ridiculous – this itch under his ribs – the twitch of his fingers to push the hair away from her face, to take her mouth with his and lose himself between her lips, in the endless heath of her skin.

It was ridiculous because he could do it, because she would let him in with a brilliant smile and the soft bite of her teeth. He could touch and touch, get drunk on her moans and emerge reborn, remade from the lines she would drag down his back, from the way his name would fall like a confession lost between kisses.

It almost hurt, how much he loved her.

Keep reading