carry about your business

Mind your business.
  • Random man passing us outside of Petco: Look at him carrying the small bag and making her carry the big one. That's not right.
  • Me, carrying the giant bag of dog food on my shoulder: He's recovering from a hernia. Go screw yourself.
  • Random man: *mortified*
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Carry on about your business - nothing to see here!  Dan totally wasn’t just jamming out to “Footloose” - not even a little bit!

Runaways | Jughead Jones

Originally posted by diltons


Request: OMG okay I just got this idea but could you maybe write something were jughead and the reader like runaway together?? Like maybe because she’s pregnant or just because they both have terrible family you can choose

Pairing: Jughead x Reader
Description: You’re determined to get away from Riverdale even more so when you find out you’re pregnant.
Warnings: I don’t think there really is any? Just pregnancy and talks of rubbish family life.
Word Count: 1858
A/N: let’s pretend that they’re like 17/18 in this, ok. anyways lemme know what you think like always and if you wanna be added to the tagslist and stuffs <3

Starting a family was something a lot of people thought about. It was something a lot of people wanted and it was something a lot of people needed. When family life wasn’t the best at home in the first place, it was nice to have the idea that maybe, just maybe you could start a better family of your own. The whole shebang! A loving partner, a couple of kids and a nice home where you could be happy.

Your family life wasn’t the best. It was barely existent most days. Your dad had left when you were around five so you’d never really known him but from what you did remember he and your mom had so many arguments, it wasn’t healthy. It got so bad that one day he’d ended up leaving and not coming back, that’s what your mom and everyone else told you anyway. Since then, your mom wasn’t the happiest. She threw herself into her work often forgetting that she had you to care for. It sucked, it truly did. Then she remarried and things only got worse. Your step dad was always yelling at you and your mom always seemed to take his side. It hurt but you didn’t really have anywhere else to go. All you wanted was for a nice family life which is why when you were ten years old, you told yourself your dream was to make sure that any children and partner you had would know they were loved and appreciated every single day.

Some days you felt so lonely because you couldn’t exactly talk to your mom about anything but luckily for you, you had a good group of friends that were the most supportive people around and a loving boyfriend that you’d been with for two years now.

Jughead was the love of your life, there was no doubt about that.

Keep reading

Sword Fighting for Fic Writers: Chapter 11

You can follow the tag #Swords for Fics if you want to keep up without following me :)

Available Chapters:
1: Dumb Ways to Die  2.May Your Blade Be True! 3.On Your Guard!
4. Making the Cut 5.Stick ‘em With the Pointy End 6. It’s Like a Dance
7. The Measure of A Man 8.A Crossing of Blades 9.Like Chess, but with Knives
An Interlude About Story Telling
10. You Can Barely Lift Your Sword 11.Buckle Some Swash 12.Dual Wielding
13.Everything is a Weapon 14.Got Your Sword!

 Buckle Some Swash
Using a Buckler Style Shield - And where the term swashbuckling comes from

Arrrr! Swash Swash Buckle Buckle! This chapter has nothing to do with pirates at all!

Swashbuckler was actually a slang term used to describe people who walked about the streets with their side swords banging against their bucklers in the 16th century. Being in armour 24/7 wasn’t practical when going about your business, but carrying a side sword and a small buckler for self defence or anger fuelled attacks was quite convenient. It can’t be said the term was meant as a compliment.

This raises a lot of questions about how common the use of bucklers were with pirates. If anyone knows, please contact me.

Language of course is an ever changing thing. So please feel free to keep using “Swashbuckling” for it’s modern meanings. I just like the idea of townspeople complaining about the swashbucklers ruining the peace.

*I don’t have any experience with full sized shield myself, so I’ll only be covering bucklers. I will update with shields when I have more info, but don’t hold your breath for that. It’ll be a while. 

Bucklers: These small shields were rarely bigger than a dinner plate but are used in such a way that they protect an area far larger than they are. 

Bucklers are held straight out in front of the fighter, with the sword hand kept behind it. Keeping the buckler out like this creates a cone of safety from attacks. Because most cutting attacks are swung in an arc, good buckler placement will catch cuts on the buckler’s edge or domed centre and deflect the attack or leave it too widely pointed away from it’s intended target. When making a thrusting attack, striking the buckler will redirect the sword to a wide angle that will miss it’s target.

It’s surprisingly hard to find an opening between the tiny buckler and the the opponent’s sword to make a straight thrust around it. Just because the defender has a buckler doesn’t mean they’ve lost their other defences.

As the buckler user moves their sword to defend against attacks or make attacks from new angles, the buckler turns and passes above or below the sword hand to keep it covered. There is little need to let the buckler fall back when attacking, but sometimes it happens anyways as a mistake, or for some other greater plan.

——————

There will not be a new chapter tomorrow (Friday Dec. 16th, 2016) on account of holiday events and the remaining chapters being illustration heavy. Updates will resume on Saturday.

enecoxstrify  asked:

I just reread TG re and in Ch 8 I thought it may be possible, that Mutsuki rememberd what Sasaki said there: "You Ghoul Investigators have to run! Even if your limbs are torn off!". What do you think?

(Looking at the follow-up is making me nostalgic because that’s such a Haise thing to say and believe in… //deep sigh.
I knew Kaneki had a positive mindset in him, somewhere deep in his subconscious. He was already there since the beginning.)

But, back to your ask: I always took this scene at face value, and tbh this hasn’t really changed. But I can see that looking back at that quote right now, it really looks like Ishida was winking at us :)

While it’s certainly possible that Mutsuki remembered Sasaki’s advice, I think it’s also reasonable to believe that even if he hadn’t, Mutsuki would have probably still tried to run for his life if he had a chance of doing so. It’s survival instinct after all. And we know that every minute spent with Torso has been excruciating for him. 

But, as much as I want to believe that Mutsuki really did run off (it’s the hypothesis that involves slightly less pain than the others), I’m starting to doubt that’s what’s happening right now. Yes, it makes sense if you think of the parallel with Kaneki and how he had to defeat Yamori and eat him (thus accepting his ghoul side) to escape, but there are a few hints here and there that make me think otherwise. 

I don’t want to speak too soon and jinx it, but I think that this is all a trap and Mutsuki is still as much of a prisoner as he was before this chapter, and here’s why: 

1. Last time we saw him, Mutsuki was still in a passive mindset, and there’s no hint at the fact that he underwent a change of heart like Kaneki did back then. I think it’s a bit of a stretch that something so important for his development - like chosing to become violent instead of staying a victim who only endures violence - would happen off-screen, without some sort of introspection/hallucination on Mutsuki’s part. Showing a dead Saeki this abruptly seems to me only shock-value worthy. I think Ishida at this point could either go with a parallel to Kaneki and let Mutsuki walk his path too, or using Urie’s presence as a fuel for more positive character development (as a reverse parallel to how Mucchan reached out to Urie after he went nuts against Big Madame. I’ll go back to this one).

2. I’m willing to bet Torso’s nose (or sight) is just as sharp as a Quinx’s. Remember how he spotted Mutsuki standing on a boat who knows how many miles away from Rue’s shore?

Plus, Torso is really possessive with his “lovers”. I think that if he caught whiff of the Quinx approaching, he would’ve set up a trap not to let them “rob” him of his prey. Call it a predator’s instinct, idk.

3. And for this horrible realization I have to thank @madame-pongo-de-pompadour‘s post here. I think there’s an high possibility of that body being neither Torso’s nor Mutsuki’s, but Shirazu’s
I know it sounds like madness, but if you think of it, it’s at least possible. For one, Urie noticed a difference in the smell he had been following up until that moment.

(Like the body was of someone who’d been long dead at that point, and had started to rot.)

Secondly, and that’s what really sold me on this hypothesis, is this:

“I can’t help but feel uneasy” and  “I don’t want to imagine”

It’s as though he already knows who that person is, but just doesn’t want to believe it because it would be a nightmare. Hence he feels so scared and he’s internally panicking.

But notice how he’s worried about Saiko in particular even before he reaches the cave where the body is kept. As though he knows that finding that body will have a huge impact on Saiko alone. If it were Saeki’s he wouldn’t have told the Quinx not to enter the cave: 

So there’s a high chance that the body is from someone both Urie and Saiko knew personally, hence the shock, the fear, the wariness. This definition applies both to Mutsuki and to Shirazu, but for Urie of all people to lose his cool like that, I’m willing to bet it must be Shirazu. Someone whose thought Urie had pushed to the back of his mind until he forgot was even in Aogiri’s hands, since he was so focused on the imperative of Saving Mutsuki from a really similar fate. Someone whose smell he definitely knew, someone whose smell would definitely be stronger than that of a bleeding and bruised Mutsuki, someone who he after all knew was in Aogiri’s hands, someone neither he nor Saiko ever properly mourned.

When Shirazu’s body was stolen by Aogiri, he lost his sleep training and wearing himself down in his obsession to find him and give him a proper funeral. So it could make sense that he reacts like he’s seen a ghost if - after all his efforts and during his mission to save Mutsuki from ending up as a name on another empty grave - he comes across the very source of his failure, cut up like meat, far from Urie’s idea of respectful rest:

Yep, it’s still a crack theory and you should take it at face value, but I think it could fit because it would build a cycle: Shirazu was the first one who made an impact on Urie and started his character development: Urie blames Shirazu’s death on his own personal weaknesses. He thinks it was his personal failure

So finding Shirazu’s body there, in his quest to save Mutsuki, could be the stepping stone to a more positive growth: it would imply that Mutsuki is actually still alive, and that he can still actively do something to help him. Like reaching out to him in a parallel to how Mutsuki reached out to Urie during his emotional breakdown here: 

That’s what I want to believe at least, because if that body really ends up being Torso’s it means that Mutsuki is taking the Kaneki Road, and that’s one for self-destruction, we all know that by now. It means that Mutsuki will end up believing that to contrast abuse you have to become an abuser and push back the gentleness inside of yourself because it makes you weak. It means walking the lonely path because the other ones only hurt your loved ones.
And Mutsuki did say it himself, didn’t he?

It’s painful, being alone… It’s agonizing.

anonymous asked:

What you do best: newborn NA Bros and fruk!!

England had never quite understood babies. He was the baby of the family and, in all honesty, he avoided the drooling tiny versions of humans like the plague. This had probably been a huge draw back when England had come to the New World, determined to colonize the land along the land for his country.

France had found Canada in the north, hidden among fallen leaves and wrapped in a beaver skin cradleboard*. He knew at a glance that the baby wasn’t human. All the same, he firmly attested to looking around and calling out for a mother before he dared pick the baby up. He moved the cloth away and was met with a pink cheeked baby, with deep blue eyes speckled with auburn, skin that was slightly tanner than his own, and tiny curls that were lightly browned at the tips.**

France smiled down at the infant and cooed quietly at it. “Are mine now?” France asked, not expected an answer from the baby, “I think Arthur will love to see you,” He gave the area one last look before leaving. France couldn’t shake the idea that someone was watching, but if it was the mother, surely she wouldn’t simply leave a baby behind. Nations never knew how their kind was born and this seemed as normal as any other new born nation discovery as any other. He brought the baby back to their camp and France named him Mathieu.

It had been England who found America. The baby had been hidden under the bushes, crying and wriggling against his cradleboard. He shared the same face as the baby France had brought home and Arthur could tell that this baby wasn’t human either. Without a mother for the first baby and knowing that the baby was like them, England didn’t hesitate in picking the baby up and bringing him home. England ran his fingers over wheat colored hair and smiled down at the baby’s watery blue eyes, resembling he skies above them and quivering lip. “It’s alright, love,” England whispered, “I’ve got you,” He hadn’t noticed the pair of sad eyes watching him from a hidden spot in a patch of trees. An arrow had been aimed at the back of his head. Fortunately for England, it was never released.

England named the baby Alfred, after one of his kings. He knew the baby would be great one day. After all, he’d be the one raising the little one. France was quick to remind him that he couldn’t even hold the baby properly. How could he even expect to raise the child if he held him like he was going to explode? France was right. England was clumsy holding such a fragile being. As America stared up at him with shimmering blue eyes, England struggled with holding him to where he constantly wasn’t falling out of his grasp. “He wriggles,” England said as he attempted to lay America down for a nap.

“Or you just can’t hold a baby,” France teased and bounced Canada lightly in his arms as England continued to struggle. America had woken up again and cried out when ever England’s arms left the crib and the man was out of arms reach. “I’m here,” England promised him and let America grasp his finger and naw on his knuckles. “Goodness, you’re needy,”

“Babies are needy,” France said and kissed Canada on the forehead.

“Since when did you become so good with children?”

“Oh, to spite you, mon cher!” France smirked. “You don’t know how to care for them, but I do,”

“Shut up, frog,” England growled.

“You know you love me,”

“Shut up,”

France rolled his eyes and set Canada down in the crib. He wouldn’t tell England that he hadn’t denied his love. England already knew that.

(Notes:

*Native American babies were carried and slept on these. Their sort of like the baby carriers you see today. Not quite, but they served the same purpose: Carrying the baby around, while you go about your business.

**Matthew is described this way as a baby b/c it’s my headcanon that they were found by Native America first and looked vaguely Native American before more and more white people came along, changing their appearance. I like to think that baby nations are more susceptible to population changes than older nations. Explaining, why the nations look the same through history as adults. By the time they find Alfred, he and Matthew already looks Caucasian.)

Here’s your present!

Heartache - Dally

You hadn’t intended to start a fight when you confronted Dally about the girl at the bar, but Dally’s defensive nature shot that plan right to hell. She’s been eyeing him all night, sending kisses and drinks his way. You tried to stay cool, you knew it wasn’t his fault she was acting so trashy. But the moment you stepped in between the two’s line of sight he puffed up. Dally immediately started cussing and carrying on about how it wasn’t any of your business. You weren’t his girlfriend anyway, so why care at all? Embarrassed by the scene he was making you screamed right back at him, trying to look tough. Fighting with him like that never worked, but it was hard to take his anger. Dally had stormed out of the bar, leaving you with an empty bar stool and an expensive tab.

You wanted to be angry at him and his tantrums, but staying angry always seemed too difficult. You’d fume and occasionally throw things around in your room, maybe even yell into your pillow if the frustration was too much, but the anger always subsided within a few hours. In truth, you missed him. Dally was more than friend to you, you had real feelings for him. Ones that you thought he returned. He’d cozy up to you during movies, talk real sweet in your ear, and hang an arm lazily around your shoulder. Maybe Dally was just playing you like all the others. That thought, too painful to process, made you curl into the blankets of you bed.

A brisk rap to your window set you alert. Usually only one person ever visited your window. You uncover yourself, turn to your bedroom window, and light up with excitement as there he was in all his worn leather jacket glory. Getting up to open the window you ask, “Dally, what are you doing here?” You can’t help but smile at the random visit. “I needed to see you. I’ve been missin’ you.”

“Really?” Sitting back on your bed as he climbed through the opening, you give him a puzzled look. “I didn’t think you missed anyone.” Dally adjusted himself, “Well, no one’s as hard to miss as you.”

You blush, staring at your feet, “Listen, Dal-“

“No,” Dally seats himself in a chair, moving it to be directly in front of you, “I’m sorry about the other night. I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that.” You chew the bottom of your lip. His apology is what you wanted, but it felt like things were never going to change. Dallas Winston was always going to be the boy who would sit in your hands for a moment, but vanish the instant you tried to hold on too tight.

He places a hand on your knee, rubbing his thumb in small circles, “Babe?” Your hands grip tight in one another, as you twist them anxiously, “Yeah?”

“Did you hear me?” He cups your hands with his. Looking up into those eyes of his, you sigh, “Yeah, I heard you. Thanks, Dally. It’s fine.” Unconvinced, Dally moves to sit beside you on your bed. He gently places a hand on your opposite cheek, making you look at him, “What’s the matter?” His eyes show real concern.

Releasing a breath to blow the bangs out of your eyes, your body visibly deflates, “Dally, it’s just I feel like you’re giving me the run around.” The two of you sit in silence for a moment as you get the nerve to explain, “You say all these sweet things to me, you hold me, you tell me you miss me, but it’s like your words are empty. I know you’re looking at other girls and I don’t appreciate this feeling you give me.”

He interrupts then, “What feeling?”

“Like I’m actually special to you! I hate that!” Almost shouting, you try to calm yourself down before you wake the rest of the house. You think better of what you want to say, but you take a deep breath and it all comes rushing out, “I really like you, okay? That’s why it bothers me so badly. I could handle how flirty you are if I was in on the joke too, but I like you too much.” Your voice cracks ever so slightly. You can feel the tears coming on, but try with all your might to hold them back.

“(Y/n)…” Dally sighs your name, “I figured you knew how I felt about you.”

“Yeah, and how’s that?” You throw back sarcastically.

“I like you.” Dally’s words don’t fully absorb. You’ve always wanted to hear him say it, but something prevents you from reveling in this moment. Looking him square in the face you ask in an even, if not callous, tone, “Then why are you always letting those girls hang off of you?”

“It’s not like that. I’m not asking them to hang all over me.”

“But you don’t stop them!”

“I don’t know how! Look,” Dally cradles your face in his hands, “the only girl I want hanging on me is you. Got that?” “But-“ He brings his lips to yours then, halting your words and train of thought. The sweet smell of his leather jacket fills your nostrils, the taste of his lips engulfing you entirely. You’d imagined this first kiss with Dally so many times, but nothing compared to the present reality. The kiss deepened, becoming more passionate, desperate even. Dally secured his arms around you, gripping you to his body. The kiss continues like this for what seems like eternity before it sweetens, slows to light pecks, and finally him pulling away.

Dally makes you look at him, firmly stating, “Only you. Got that?”

Your heart’s beating out of your chest, your face flushed from the intimacy. You give him a shy smile as you look from his lips to his eyes, “Got it.”

Interested in more? Message me!

You know one thing I love about roleplaying?

Those ‘epiphany moments’ you have when you realize something about your character that you didn’t intend in the first place.

Ex:

Jamie

Spelled with an a, e, i, j and m

Can be rewritten to spell 'Imaje’

*Image

*Imagination

Add an r and keep the j as a g and you get

Mirage

As in hallucinations or distorted imagery

boom.