crayons are the best

  • fanfic writer: *writing* Oh wow, they are going to love this. This is by far my best work!
  • fic: *witty lines* *perfect love making* *fluffy enough to kill us all* *a dash of angst, a smidgen of hurt/comfort*
  • fanfic writer: Oh man. This is it. This will be my legacy! *sweats into fic* *bleeds into fic* *cries into fic* *spends days perfecting the grammar and verbage and sex scenes* *has 15 betas look over it*
  • fanfic writer: Okay. It is finally time to release my baby on the world. Here you go fandom. You're welcome.
  • fandom: Ha, cute. *like* *kudos*
  • fanfic writer: :/
  • * * *
  • same fanfic writer: *writing* Whatever. This is shit, I don't even care right now. A singing squirrel? Sure, let's do it. Haha, cheesy lines that make no sense, sure. Grammatical errors out the wazoo? Why not. No one's going to read this piece of crap anyway, I literally wrote it on a scrap of 1 ply toilet paper with a broken yellow crayon.
  • fanfic writer: LOL *post*
  • fanfic writer: *sigh*
The Pastas but with kids

Slenderman: no thank you -teleports away-

Jeff: uhhh….hey there….omg I can’t -kills kid-

Ben: -is playing Mario Kart with the kid-

Jane: - best mom 2017-

Laughing Jack: hey kid you want some candy -insert devil laugh-

Masky: -thinking “Omg what do I do it’s looking at me oh god”- Just take the crayons and paper and go away

Hoodie: -best dad ever-

Toby: hEY kID WAnnA PLAY tAG?!?!? OKAY I’M IT -the small child runs as fast as they can away from the maniac who’s about to trample them-

Clockwork: hey kid you want to play hide and seek? I’ll count! One, two, three -kid hides far away from clockwork-…four, bye bye little bug!

Eyeless Jack- here just take my 10 dollars and go away.


If you:
-take a white tealight candle out of its little metal holder
-slip the wick out of the candle
-break up the candle wax
-find a box of crayons
-break small pieces off (a) crayon(s) in the color(s) of your choice
-put the white wax and the crayon pieces back in the holder
-put a pan on the stove with like an inch of water in it, heat it to a boil
-put the holder in the water
-stir the wax mixture as it melts until the color is even (or mottled if you want, whatever)
-take the holder out of the water
-put the wick back in while the mix is still liquid
-let cool


ETA: I have just determined via Scientific Observation that Crayola wax doesn’t blend perfectly with… whatever kind of wax is in Family Dollar tealights… once it hardens so the effect is sort of swirly but it’s actually kinda cool looking so I stand by this being an AMAZING DISCOVERY bedtime now maybe

ETA2 FROM THE CLEARHEADED MORNING: This seems to work best with smaller amounts of crayon wax, which means more pastel colors; Crayola crayons are made of paraffin, which wicks up and burns readily, but some of the pigments they use seem not to burn very easily. That’s my guess, anyway. Some of the candles I made last night are burning properly and some don’t really work; I’m just theorizing it’s excessive amounts of pigment that are interfering, since the ones that I used more crayon wax in seem to be the ones not burning right, and since I know the wax Crayola uses should burn. It is definitely the pigment in the crayons clogging the wicks and also I found that out by belatedly Googling it, meaning I am not the first one to think of this. Alas, my grand half-manic discovery is less grand than it seemed. 

i need a human au with a single father sesshomaru and adopted rin living in an apartment next to an enthusiastically involved neighbor jaken


 Countdown to Chris Evan’s birthday with gifsets [8 more days]

“The best [fan] encounters are with little kids. I remember getting a beautiful drawing once done in crayons and spelling mistakes. It’s adorable…it’s the best part of my job.”

Best Boy

What a good boy! Despite his scary demeanor, Okuyasu Nijimura stole our hearts (at least, 41.8% of us).

In second place we have our very own Josuke Higashikata, at 25.9%. It’s okay Josuke, at least you have the coolest hair!

Third place is where we stop being we and become I because I, the admin, have a lot of questions about how Rohan Kishibe, giant walking crayon, was able to beat Koichi Hirose the tiny little bean in best boy. Rohan got 10.1% of the votes, just one percent higher than Koichi. I’m in shock. 

Also, I have a lot of questions for the two people who voted Hazamada as Best Boy. 

She’s five, and she’s already been claimed.
“You’re mine.” That’s what her mother softly tells her, kissing her hairline and pulling her close. But she happily allows this enveloping warmth.
She’s seven, and once again someone says those words.
“You’re mine.” That’s what the small girl declares across the crayon-littered table after asking if she has a best friend. But she is treated as an equal, so she accepts this declaration.
She’s sixteen, and she’s given herself to another.
“You’re mine.” This is whispered against the hollow of her neck, and she quickly nods her agreement. She offers up a piece of herself that she cannot get back. But she is willing as he kisses her every corner and every edge.
But with time, love can rot.
She’s seventeen, and now she feels owned.
“You’re mine.” This is shouted, and it’s a demand for conformity. Her mother’s voice is no longer soft; it has grown sharp and jagged. It scratches her. It draws blood.  
She’s nineteen, and her voice has been stolen.
“You’re mine.” That’s what her friend tells her, the now-grown girl overcome by the coldness that’s seeped into her life. She’s called terrible names before the girl asks if she’s her enemy. After a pause, she fills the void.
She’s twenty, and she’s been robbed of all that she was.
“You’re mine.” That’s what he tells her, voice low as he grips her bruised arm between rough fingers. She tries to shake her head no, but she has no voice to speak, and her body is no longer her own. So she lets this boy take her, hurt her, burn her.
Now she stands in front of a mirror, trying to say the words she’s heard countless times. They’ve been murmured, and they’ve been whispered, and they’ve been shouted, but her mouth is unable to form that simple sentence.
She belonged to everyone but herself.
—  H.L. // mine

Yuri was angry and felt ignored. He’d traveled from Russia to drag Victor back home, and was instead in some ridiculous skate-off with Japanese Yuri. Then the old man had saddled him with that program. 

Who believed in agape anyway? Unconditional love like that was a myth. Love always had strings. 

Victor was supposed to be his coach. Then he fucked off to Japan, and even now seemed more interested in the crying pig than him. He had more talent. He had a brighter future. 

Victor was trying to get the pig’s attention, strutting like a peacock, and the pig was doing everything he could to pretend that it wasn’t happening. 

Yuri couldn’t take it anymore. He stood and strode out of the family’s private area of the inn. He didn’t have a plan, but a few minutes later his feet had taken him to the genkan. He sighed and pulled on his shoes. At least this town was small and safe enough he didn’t need to worry about taking a walk by himself after dark. 

He was almost to the door when the pig’s mother appeared. “Yuri?” she asked carefully. 

She didn’t speak much English, so he made a walking gesture with his fingers as he told her he was going for a walk. She nodded, held up her hand, and handed him his jacket. 

“Cold,” she said simply, a soft smile on her face. 

Yuri nodded in thanks. At least the pig’s family was nice. Then he was out the door. 

Yuri meant to wander aimlessly, but since he wasn’t familiar with the town he soon realized that his feet had carried him toward the Ice Castle. 

He sighed. For a moment he considered going inside, but the lady who ran the place, Yuko if he remembered, was locking the doors. 

He turned around and started to head back when he heard footsteps. “Yurio?”

“That’s not my name!” He spat, turning around to face her. 

A hand on his shoulder. “Yuri then.”

Yuri huffed, but was glad that she called him by his right name. He started walking again. 

“Wanna talk about it?”

Yuri stopped, turned and stared at the woman. “Huh?”

She smiled softly. She approached, held her hand up for a moment, unsure, then tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear. 

“Have you eaten?”

Yuri blinked, but a rumble from his stomach reminded him that in fact, he had not eaten. "No.“

She smiled. "Come to my house. Takeshi always makes too much.”

Yuri was silent. It would let him get away from annoying Victor and the pig for a few hours. “Yeah. Ok.”

Yuko smiled and motioned for him to follow. “This way.”

A few minutes later he found himself led into a small but comfortable house. Crayon drawings were plastered to the wall, figure skaters in many of them. Yuri smiled, remembering his own drawings of skaters. 

Yuko yelled something in Japanese. Yuri heard a male voice, then three excited girls clambered around a corner. “Yuri Plisetsky!” one of them said. 

“You’ve met my girls right?” Yuko asked. “Axel, Lutz and Loop.”

Yuri scoffed. “You named them after skating jumps?”

Yuko laughed. “It made the most sense.”

The girls clamored around him, asking for autographs, and adding in skating questions in broken English. 

Yuko clapped her hands and said something in Japanese. The girls backed off, but still looked at Yuri with amazement in their eyes. 

His eyes traveled to the crayon drawings. 

“Um… Yuko right?”

Yuko turned. “That’s right.”

“Could you… could you tell them that if they’ll make their best crayon drawings of me I’ll autograph them?”

She smiled. “Sure.”

Another string of Japanese, and the girls ran off excitedly. 

“Thank you.”

Yuri looked to her, confusion on his face. 

Yuko laughed. “They’re big fans.”

Yuri found himself smiling. He liked these people. A few minutes later he was seated at a low table, the girls holding crayons and carefully drawing him while Yuko and Takeshi finished cooking dinner. 

“Do you need to call your family to let them know you’re not at the inn tonight?” Yuko asked as she slid a plate in front of him, Takeshi added a bowl of miso soup on the other side. 

“No,” Yuri replied simply. “I don’t know if my mom even knows I’m in Japan. The only family I told was my grandpa.”

Yuko gaped. 

“It’s not as if we’re close anyway,” Yuri continued. “She was always working and I rarely saw her. I’ve only seen her a couple times since I moved to St. Petersburg, mostly when I returned to Moscow for competitions.”

Takeshi urged the girls to put away their drawings for dinner. Then they were eating, everybody trying to use their best English in order to make Yuri feel welcome and like part of the family. 

It was so different than what he was used to, and a nice escape from Victor and the pig. Soon he found himself smiling and opening up, embracing the people who had opened their home to him. 

The girls finished their drawings while Yuko and Taksehi cleaned up from dinner. As promised, Yuri autographed each of the girls’ work. He liked interacting with fans like this, who were respectful and not scary like his angels. 

A few minutes later Takeshi came out and hustled the girls from the table. Yuko knelt beside him. “Sorry to leave you alone for a few minutes, but it’s their bedtime and it takes both of us to get them to settle down. Takeshi will drive you back to Yutopia after they’re in bed.”

Yuri nodded. 

Once he was alone he relocated to a couch and started browsing through social media on his phone. He chuckled as a commotion echoed down the hall. He didn’t mind staying away, it was nice to get a break from Victor and the pig. 

The food was heavy in his stomach, and Yuri was comfortable. He was still jet lagged and was suddenly so tired. He closed his eyes for a moment, relaxing until Takeshi could drive him back to the inn. 

Yuko walked back into the family room. “Are you ready to…”

She smiled. Yuri was asleep on the couch, phone fallen from his fingers onto the cushion next to him. 

“Is he ready?” Taksehi asked, coming up behind her. 

Yuko brought her finger to her lips and shushed her husband. 

Takeshi chuckled, and walked over to the sleeping teen. He wrestled him into a better position to sleep in, and draped a blanket over his slender form. 

Yuko stepped into another room after turning out the light. She placed a phone call, which was answered on the third ring. 

“Hello Hiroko. I wanted to let you know that we found a stray Russian kitten near the rink. We gave him a bit of food and he fell asleep on our couch. We’ll get him back to you in the morning if that’s ok.”

A moment later Yuko ended the call. She smiled at the sleeping teen, he’d obviously needed something that night, and had seemed to find it. 

A little spirk drawing for @spirkficrecs :D I decided to give you something in return for that giveaway. I hope you like it even though it doesn’t look like I wanted…

[It’s the first time I tried out this style and it’s so much harder than I thought :o oh and it’s also the first time I intended to draw aos versions of them whoa what an adventure]

The Woes of Having Neighbors Part 6.5

Lorcan Salvaterre glared at the small egg held between his thumb and pointer finger. He’d never hated something so small in his entire life. He thought Easter egg painting was supposed to be easy. Something children did for fun. So why the hell was he having such a hard time with it? A light, twinkling laugh broke his concentration and his hand twitched, causing his paint brush to smear across the egg shell. Brow twitching, Lorcan looked to his right and into the dark eyes of Elide Lochan. The siren that lured him into this egg decorating trap. 

“What’s so funny?” He asked her.

“Your face,” she said plainly. Lorcan blinked, surprise slackening his tightened jaw. Whatever response he was expecting, it wasn’t that. “You look like you’re in a battle to the death with that egg.” She laughed again and the sound of it made the muscles in Lorcan’s shoulders relax.  It was so genuine, so care free. And even though she was laughing at him, he didn’t feel as if she was laughing at him. “Have you ever done this before?”

Shrugging, he told her, “Not really. Easter isn’t a big holiday in Doranelle.” That, and it wasn’t like he was raised in a home that would have indulged in such a frivolous craft, but Elide didn’t need to know that. He returned his focus to the egg and frowned. 

Elide reached over and placed her small hand over his, “you’re taking it too seriously,” she explained softly. With her other hand she grabbed a few cups full of dye and placed them in front of him. “Now,” she twisted to look at him with her large doe eyes. “What’s your favorite color?”

Quirking a brow, Lorcan asked, “What?”

“What’s your favorite color?”  She asked again, waiting patiently for his answer.

Shrugging, he said, “Black.”  Elide rolled her eyes and snorted.  “What?”  He asked, the threat of a smile pulling at his lips.  He never knew what to expect with this girl.  At first, he’d been stunned by her eyes—so warm and inviting—then drawn in by her shy, tentative smile and inviting offer, but he was enraptured by her spirit.  Her essence. She was quiet, but if you paid her enough attention—which he was proud to say he did—and listened enough, Elide’s sharp wit and blunt tongue would emerge and show itself.  She wasn’t some timid doe that needed protecting.  No, Lorcan was quickly learning that Elide was a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

“Black is not a color.  Name another color,”  Her tone left no room for argument so with a good natured shake of his head, Lorcan looked at the possible choices before him.

“Blue, I guess,” he decided.  The dye in the cup looked almost black anyway.  

“Blue it is,” Elide happily showed him the art of egg decorating.  She grabbed him a new egg and a white crayon and showed him the best method was first to draw on the egg with the crayon before dropping it into the dye, that way the design would show through.  “You only want to use the paint brush for small things,” she told him, “like polka dots.”

Lorcan eyed her egg from the corner of his eye and had to admit he was impressed with her artistry, “And how did you become so good at egg decorating?”

Elide flinched at the question, and Lorcan worried for a second that he’d said the wrong thing, but then a melancholy smile graced her lips and she said, “My mother taught me.  We used to practice making eggs for weeks leading up to Easter.”  Lorcan thought that was a bit odd, but didn’t voice that thought.  Lorcan didn’t know anything about Elide, but he could tell from the glassy look in her eyes that her parents were no longer with her.  Blinking, Elide shook away her nostalgic gloom and said, “Now all that’s left is to wait.”  She looked around the room, checking in on her friends, before offering, “Want to go outside for a bit?  Get some fresh air?”

She fluttered her eyelashes, and Lorcan felt as if someone sucker punched him.  That look.  Those eyes.  It was the exact same look she’d given him before asking if he wanted to decorate eggs with her.  And just like before he found himself nodding silently.  They slipped away quietly, without anyone stopping them, which Lorcan thought was a blessing, considering who his friends were.  The spring air was cold and crisp, and felt amazing against Lorcan’s skin.  He hadn’t realized how stifling it was in the apartment, surrounded by all those people.

Looking to Elide, he saw her rubbing her hands together furiously in an attempt to warm them up and realized with a dull blink that she’d forgotten to grab her coat.  “Here,” he offered, slipping his black leather jacket around her shoulders.

“Thanks,” she said, a pretty blush blooming across her cheeks.  She pulled the jacket closer around her shoulders and breathed in deeply.  Something ancient and instinctual reared up from deep within Lorcan as he watched Elide take in his scent.  A wave of warmth rippled outwards from his chest at the thought of her smelling a bit like him.  “So what brings you to Rifthold?”

Lorcan shrugged, “Work.”

“Yeah?  Does work bring you here a lot?”  She smiled tentatively at him and took a shy step towards him.  

“Not really. Every few years or so.”  He was only telling the truth, but when she turned her gaze away to hide her disappointment, Lorcan wanted to kick himself.  “I’ve been thinking of relocating, though.”  He wasn’t sure why he said it, because that wasn’t at all true.  But now that the words were out, they didn’t seem outrageous.  His friends were here, after all.  Rowan was here.  Elide was here.  Not that that meant anything.  Not yet, anyway.  

“Really?” Elide’s head snapped up and hope lit up behind her eyes.  Lorcan gulped, his mouth suddenly turning dry.  He’d never thought of leaving Nightingale and Company before.  Never even dreamed of it, but now, looking down at Elide’s large, doe eyes, it seemed like the best idea he’d ever had.  The flush over Elide’s cheeks darkened and she took in a shaky breath and stepped closer.  “I know we’ve just met, Lorcan,” his stomach flipped like a pancake when she said his name, “but I’ve really enjoyed spending time with you and,” she hesitated, then looked away.  When she looked back he saw fiery determination burning behind her gaze, “I’d really like to keep . . . spending time with you.”

The words were stilted and awkward, but they made Lorcan smile.  He liked spending time with her, too, and he wanted nothing more than to get to know her better.  In that moment, there was nothing more than the two of them and the prospect of what they could be.  He opened his mouth and was just about to tell her how much he’d like to take her up on his proposition, but before he could the shrill ring of his phone erupted from inside his coat pocket.

“Oh,” Elide said with a start.  She dug into his pocket and pulled out his phone. “It’s Maeve,” she told him, then winced.  “Sorry, didn’t mean to look.”

“Thanks,” he said when she handed him the phone.  He didn’t even think, he heard the name and his body went on auto-pilot.  Pressing the green button on his phone screen, he answered, “Hello?”  

Lorcan? Lorcan, where are you?  I need you.”  And like that he was lost.  His mind turned fuzzy, and he barely knew what he was saying. He agreed to meet up with her, to try and work something out.  Her voice was so calm, so sure, so familiar.  Like an old vice beckoning him to answer, and like an addict, he’d come running.  

With a final nod, Lorcan hung up the phone and returned to his surroundings.  Elide was looking at him wide eyed, and he winced at the resignation he saw there.  “Elide … I’m sor—”

“It’s fine,” she cut him off with a shrug.  Her lips thinned and she shrugged off his coat.  “I hope you enjoy the rest of your time in Rifthold.”  Her words were cold and terribly polite.  He hated it.  But Maeve was waiting and so he grabbed his jacket from her.

“Maybe I’ll see you again?”  he asked, putting his jacket on,  “Later in the week?”

Eyes unyielding, she shrugged, “Maybe.  It was nice meeting you,” she said before turning and heading back into the apartment before he could say a word.

His phone buzzed in his hands and he looked down to see a text from Maeve.  Cursing under his breath, he pulled up his Maps app and began walking towards their meeting point.  Elide’s scent lingered on his jacket and he breathed in a lung full of it as he braced himself to walk back into the waiting arms of his very own drug.  His dark master.  Darkness was his friend, but this time, as Elide’s steely gaze burned through his mind, it didn’t seem too inviting.  

anonymous asked:

do you have any roy, jason and kori taking care of lian headcanons? i'm having joyfire parental figure feelings and even fanfics aren't helping enough :')


• Jason is Lian’s honorary uncle because he’s so good with her and she loves him so much, so he’s always in charge whenever they babysit 

• He and Roy oddly love all of Lian’s cute princess and animal coloring books, so sometimes they’ll be coloring with her on the floor but she gets bored and leaves, but Jay and Roy are still sprawled out on the floor coloring, surrounded with crayons and paper  

• You know who is the best at lullabies? Kori. You know how many soothing lullabies she learned on Tamaran and sings in her native language turn out to be some song about death or war? Pretty much all of them. But Lian doesn’t know the difference, so they let it slide 

• Roy can never say no to his daughter, so sometimes he’ll be walking around the house with makeup or paint on his face, and Lian was so proud that he just doesn’t have the heart to wash it off  

Lost & Wild Special Edition: Blue’s Valentine

So I’m a few days late, but had to get private feedback first (<3 you guys)

Rated: M ( for a little bit of steeeeam)

Blueberry Gypsy Brown busied her chubby little fingers on the construction paper. She held the crayon as best she could, attempting to keep her scribbles to a minimum. She hunched over her little kiddie table, her tongue hanging out her mouth in deep concentration. The wood floor was littered with her previous attempts; the hearts were the wrong color; the hearts were the wrong shape; there were too many hearts; there weren’t enough hearts.

“If there aren’t enough, just add more.” Harper had encouraged her daughter.

“NOOOOOOOO! Mommy…just-give-me-new-paper.” Blue had insisted. Harper gave in, shaking her head as she handed another piece over. She rubbed the soft, velvety hair of her little baby boy, Joshua Bam Bam Brown, Jr. as he calmly laid his head against his mother’s shoulder. He did things at a much different pace than his headstrong sister. He hadn’t tried to walk, but didn’t matter as he much preferred to be held and loved on rather than be independent.

“You are as stubborn as your Daddy.” Harper teased Blue, going back to working in the kitchen where she could watch over her daughter.

“But at least I’m as pretty as you!” Blue batted her eyelashes, fully aware she was being impishly sarcastic. Harper laughed, shaking her head as she sipped her herbal tea, wishing that little J.B. would nap soon. He kept rubbing his eyes and laying his head down, but he was refusing to actually nap. Usually there was a trick or two to getting him to lie down, and that was Harper singing his favorite lullabies and violin playing by her temporarily absent husband, Bam.

The brothers and their father, Billy, had embarked on a hauling trip a few days prior and were due back any moment. The weather had been sketchy at best, February was after all an unpredictable time of year in the southeast Alaskan waterways. It was hard not to worry, even with as busy as chores and the children kept her. In those rare moments of levity, she would fret. Those nights she slept in the middle of the bed, her hand on the spot where his head normally laid, she’d worry.

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