clear frame glasses

*flaps so hard that the camera shakes* ANYWAY I’m going to start using a new hashtag for disabled positivity! It’s #disabledANDcute because I feel like so many people believe that their disability and cuteness are mutually exclusive but they aren’t! You are disabled AND cute (or whatever adjective you prefer) not disabled BUT cute. The shame and ugliness that disabled people attatch with their disability is disheartening and needs to be talked about. So post pictures of yourself with the tag #disabledANDcute to spread some self love and fight the stigma! I’ll also totally be tracking the tag <3

Gif description:

 {A white, androgynous presenting person with black hair and clear framed glasses are in the frame. They are wearing a large blue and white sweater that covers their hand and flapping their hands and arms around with a large smile on their face. They flap their hands so hard that the frame shakes slightly. They are sitting in front of a white wall with various colorful posters of varied sizes on it.} END DESCRIPTION

anonymous asked:

"why haven't you kissed me yet" for shyan!

thanks to the lovely people over at the bfu writers’ discord, this spiraled into a 5.7k monster, and the title just about sums it up. 

relevant notes: contains lots of drinking, background Standrew, lots of fluff, and making out in a closet. 

on ao3 here.

BuzzFeed Presents: We Got Drunk and Played Three Typical American Party Games.

Ryan has worked at BuzzFeed long enough to learn that, across the board, when someone is about to ask you to participate in a video that could be potentially embarrassing or particularly ludicrous, they get a certain glint in their eye, some mixture of guilt and amusement.

He doesn’t know what it says about their workplace culture that he can recognize such a glint from across the room, but ten minutes after he sits down at his desk on a Monday morning, when he looks up to see Zack strolling towards him, he immediately knows that something is up.

“Ryan!” he says, perching on the very edge of Ryan’s desk. “How’s it going?”

“Just tell me what you want,” Ryan answers, leaning back in his chair. He hasn’t even finished his first coffee yet; it’s entirely too damn early for this. To his credit, Zack takes it in stride, simply shrugs and continues.

“How would you like to spend a few hours drinking on the company’s dime?”

Ryan has to admit, that does sound intriguing, but that being said, there has to be some kind of weird twist, some angle at work, so he doesn’t allow himself to get sucked in quite yet.

“What’s the catch?”

“No catch. Not really, at least. It’s not going to cost any more than a few hours of your time, and maybe a little bit of your dignity.” He trails off a little on the last words and at least has the decency to look somewhat embarrassed, a trait that Ryan thought had already been successfully bred out of most of the people he works with.

Before he can answer, Shane pipes up beside him.

What dignity? Ryan lost all of his two seasons ago.”

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anonymous asked:

Could you write #4 for tanunatsu?

writing prompts
4: “you can’t keep doing this.”


By the time he’s eighteen, Kaname knows a lot, but it took him a long time to get there.

He can’t even count how many late nights he and Taki spent camped in her grandfather’s study, all those long hours of reading handwritten journals, combing through a good man’s life work. Taking an impossible language apart letter by letter and rebuilding it into something they understood, until the symbols making up the yokai circles were as familiar to them as the kanji they learned in elementary school.

“There’s so much here,” Taki said once, hair piled up on top of her head, sleepless shadows under her eyes. But she was so bright, that day, her face a study in remarkable determination as she touched one of her grandfather’s books with reverent fingers. “Help me, Tanuma. I want to make him proud.”

“Of course,” Kaname said, covering her hand with his own. One of his very first friends and one of his very best. She looked up at him, and her expression melted into something warm. Her fingers wrapped around his and squeezed.

“You help everybody,” she said, not quite teasing. “Will he ever know how much you’re doing for him?”

There was no prudent way to answer her, and maybe Taki knew that, so they just sat in silence together, hands clasped comfortably between them.

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Took this photo like the day after the last full length one I posted but I didn’t want to post right away for *~variety~*

I have 2 face angles and one full-body pose lol

Idk, should I talk about what I’m wearing like a throw back ootd? Warby Parker clear frame glasses, F21 sweater size 1X, Levi medium wash high rise jeans, and Inkkas camper sneakers :P

Set To Bloom

Summary:  Nygmobbblepot Flower Shop AU - Oswald buys flowers at Edward’s shop and immediately gifts them to Ed. The men have their first date at the mayor’s mansion.

Rating: Teen (Slow burn fic with eventual smut)

Tagging: @snoji : Because this AU was originally your ideas. I’m so grateful that you allowed me to write for it. @nygmobblespot : Asked to be tagged! If anyone else ever wants to be tagged please let me know.

Note: FLOWER SHOP EDWARD IS THE SQUISHIEST AND I LOVE WRITING HIM! I’m excited about this story. It’s so full of fucking fluff. TOOTH ROTTING FLUFF! I hope those who read it enjoys. Please feel free to let me know what you think. There is more to this story to come. Happy reading! ヾ(o✪‿✪o)シ


Part One: Yes, Edward, They’re For You

Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot holds the key to the city of Gotham. As the town’s mayor, Oswald hasn’t had much time to focus on his personal life - his love life, to say the least. But today he’s looking to change all that. He wants to open his heart and the doors to his home to someone he’s admired for years; Edward Nygma who owns the quaint little flower shop he passes every day on his way to city hall.

Oswald stands outside the glass door of E-Nygma Green Room, starting at the wide range of flowers inside, nervous that this particular visit to the shop won’t be ending on a good note. He knows that nothing can begin to blossom if he doesn’t take this chance and make the first move to gain what he’s hoping to have.

He takes a deep breath and breathes out heavily, checking his appearance from his reflection on the glass. Though it is a bit a breezy in the city, Oswald’s hair remains perfectly style just the way he arranged it before leaving the mansion. He straightens his violet necktie, then readjusts the ruby tie pen back into the fabric, before taking yet another deep breath. The urge to turn around and forget that he’s ever tried attempted this weights heavier the longer he stares at his reflection in the glass.

Oswald’s heart skips a beat when Edward catches him lurking in the door. The florist waves with a friendly smile at his potential customer, beckoning Oswald to enter the shop.

Caught, and frozen, by the welcoming gaze of his intended love, the choice for Oswald to head back home is now off the table. He can do nothing more but go inside now.

Oh, shit! He thought as Edward strolls up to the door to invite the mayor inside. Oswald’s heart races faster and his hands begin to sweat the closer and closer the florist gets.

The little green bell hanging above the door chimes when Edward pushes it open. “Good afternoon, Mr. Mayor,” he greets him kindly, tucking the amethyst daisy he removed from the floor behind his ear. “You know, the shop is open and you are welcomed to browse on the inside,” he says and flashes a bright white smile. 

God, he looks like a beautiful ray of sunshine. Oswald clears his throat and cures an anxious tick by scratching the back of his head. “You have so many gorgeous flowers, I’m not sure what to get.”

“Well, the choice could be easier for you to make if you were closer to the flowers and smelling their alluring perfume. You can’t do that lingering out here,“ he chuckles lightly and lays his hand on Oswald’s shoulder, easing him inside. “I can help you make the best choice for whatever the reason is for your purchase today.”

“That’s very kind of you, Edward. Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me, Mr. Mayor—” he closes the shop door— “it’s my job and I love to help my customers find the best flowers for the occasion.” He stands before Oswald with the flower still snugly tucked behind his ear, framing his clear glasses and deep coffee-colored eyes. His hands are behind his back and his chest is adorned with a white apron that has the shop’s logo; E-Nygma Green Room with a vivid pink tulip at the end of the forest green lettering.

Oswald always loved the comforting style of Edward’s shop and the clever play on words with his initials that he used to name the business.

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