dreadful projects

The Types in College

ENTP: overall a good student but they go out every Friday night to drink away their pain and get wasted – regrets it each week but will not stop until they feel like their life is going somewhere, never takes anyone’s advice

ESTP: they don’t look as dead inside but they’re the deadest inside, probably only passing their math classes because they make their friend tutor them once in a while, they act stupid but they really arent tho

ENFP: Asks all their friends to teach them things because they feel like asking the teachers will make them look bad, most likely to openly have a mental breakdown during class every other week, will get far in life if they stopped procrastinating

ESFP: They were getting ready for this since freshman year of highschool. They were preparing themselves. They truly, honestly were. But somewhere along the way, they lost it. What did they lose? yes.

ENTJ: mastered the superiority complex face four years ago and somehow they just keep improving it, gets through their classes easily, thinks college is chill (actually not haha psyche that’s what they want you to think)

ENFJ: Started to consider dropping out of college back in high school, probably more interested in the fine arts classes, lowkey scares everyone but they dont realise it and they get genuinely surprised when people tell them that they’re kinda scary

ESFJ: They used to be one of the top students in high school but they became a little better than mediocre in college due to stress stress stress, really self conscious, poor thing pls show them warmth in this cold cruel world

ESTJ: Often seen as the leaders during those dreadful, wrenched group projects and their group almost always gets the highest score. Wants to become a dictator but those weren’t the options

INTP: They treat college like highschool, but like a really hardcore highschool. Sure, they can get the studying done easily and (somehow) get pretty good grades but everything else is like climbing Mt. Everest. “Okay but how do you expect me to go out there and–and BUY things?? Why did they think leaving me alone was a good idea. I’m so malnourished”

INTJ: mental breakdowns every other day that last like ten minutes, sits in the front of the classroom, sort of a teacher’s pet but not in the obnoxious way yknow man they just wanna get through life successfully

ISFP: Average by day, dreamer by night. They’re doing fine so far but whenever they have free time, they plan on how to escape from civilisation and build a cabin in the middle of the woods in Alaskan wilderness. Stress free and hey! no diploma necessary

ISTJ: they sit in the middle of the classroom and aren’t really seen studying (ever) but somehow pass with a grade that’s better than half of the class, they’ll go days without shopping and binge shop whenever they do

ISTP: Only raises their hand whenever they come up with a smartass comment to piss off the teachers but the teachers cant get rid of them because other than that they’re [ISTP] actually good students, goes on backpacking trips during free weekends to get away from everyone

INFP: Probably failed their first year because they really, genuinely, had no idea what the shit they were doing, needs to be reminded of what to do next all the time, intelligent but lazy

INFJ: The really approachable one who probably wants to be a biology teacher and everyone loves them as a student teacher. Reeaallly popular but not in a bad way and they probably have sparkles trailing behind them wherever they go

ISFJ: Nobody knows who they are, never raises their hand during class, always tired even though they get more sleep than the average college student, puts in the most effort and gets along fine but not socially

anonymous asked:

I imagine in Gotham there would be lots of kids called Robin/Robyn/ however else you spell it and Damian would be really annoyed when he goes to school to find out that half the kids are called it

Damian tried not to slouch in his seat in the back of his 8th grade homeroom. They were seated alphabetically, Damian was very happy he’d enrolled under “Wayne” not “al Ghul”. Since there were no Xs or Ys and only one Z (Aaron Zabotinsky) Damian was in the back row of seats. In his homeroom so far on the first day of school there were four Robins. Three girl “Robyns” and one boy “Robin” 

He marked each one of them, drawing flying knives in his note book every time one of their names were called. He hated them, he was never going to speak to any one of them, never even acknowledge, and he would do anything to avoid getting trapped in a dreaded group project with any Robin or Robyn. Damian looked at them, skinny preppy rich kids in their Gotham Academy blazers, not a one of them would last 10 minutes in a Batcave training.

It was bad enough that his brothers insisted on reminding him he wasn’t the only Robin. At least they however wouldn’t totally embarrass themselves in a fight, these children however. It had been Jason who’d pointed out the phenomenon to Damian about a year into him being Robin. Of course it had been Todd, he always liked to annoy Damian. Robin and Robyn had been in the top ten most popular boys and girls names for nearly 15 years.

By lunch time Damian had been two 3 classes not counting homeroom, there’d been Robins and Robyns in each one. He found and empty table and flopped down pulling out his lunch, he’d insisted to Pennyworth he would just eat the school food. That idea had been violently vetoed by the butler with vocal support from father and each of his brothers. Looking around at the plastic trays with sad looking mashed potatoes, strange gray meat that might have been steak or roast beef, and green peas he was rather glad for his brown paper bag. 

Damian carefully unpacked his vegetarian lunch, a watercress sandwich on whole grain bread, a green fruit drink, chips, and a few of Pennyworth’s homemade cookies. “Hey do you mind if I sit here?” Damian did mind. Looking up he nearly spat the question before really seeing the boy who’d asked. “Why?”

The boy shuffled nervously, he was maybe a little taller than Damian, most of the boys were. He had very green eyes, pale skin and freckles, he had long messy red hair falling into his face. His uniform didn’t seem to fit quite right, or he wasn’t comfortable in a jacket and tie. A scholarship kid Damian thought, which was followed by the unwelcome thought that the boy was cute. “Um well you’re new too right?” Damian barely nodded “and uh I thought us new kids should stick together” 

against his better judgement Damian found himself nodding. “alright sit down” The boy looked unbelievably grateful as he sat down and plopped his disgusting looking school lunch onto them table. “So how are your classes?” The boy asked clearly still nervous. Damian never needed friends but he understood that other people weren’t that way, being alone in a strange place must be scary for him. “unbelievably dull and subpar. It’s incredible the price they charge our parents to have a bunch of barely awake adults, and I use that term loosely, to either drone at us or treat us like children, it’s embarrassing” The boy looked at him blankly and flutter of worry hit Damian’s chest. Some times, a lot of the time if he was honest, he got social situations like this wrong, talked too much or too little said the wrong thing, or used the wrong tone. He hoped he hadn’t ruined things so quickly

His new friend broke out laughing. “wow dude you don’t hold back do you?”

“why would I?” the boy smiled and that weirdly made Damian feel good. He had to make sure Drake never found out about that he thought trying not to smile back at the red headed boy. They talked through the rest of lunch, they had a shared art class last period and agreed to sit together there, if it was allowed. Damian was right he was a scholarship kid, felt awkward about it. Damian found he was nearly relaxed around this boy, strange since he rarely felt at ease.

The bell rang and they got up as the boy hustled to bus his tray Damian realized something. “Hey! I never told you my name” The boy turned and gave him a big smile. “I know who you are, Damian Wayne, you’re the most famous kid in this town” Damian mentally kicked himself, his friend was right, he was famous. “Oh well then what’s your name?” 

still smiling his friend said “Robin Jackson, see you in art!” and he was off leaving Damian rooted to the spot. 

if you post one or more of the next,like\reblog and i’ll follow you,(I’m looking for new blogs to follow)


  • Kesha
  • Justin Bieber
  • Miley Cyrus
  • 3Oh!3
  • Big time rush
  • Ellie Goulding
  • Heffron Drive
  • EDEN/The Eden Project
  • Little Mix
  • Drake
  • Imagine Dragons


  • The perks of being a wallflower
  • Supernatural
  • chernobyl zona atchozdinia (Russian)
  • zakrytaya shkola (Russian)
  • InuYasha
  • Cardcaptor Sakura
  • Anne of Green Gables (if someone really knows what about I’m talking)
  • Big Time Rush
  • The Hunger Games
  • Black Mirror
  • My Rainy Days
  • Miss Peregrine’s home for pecuilar children
  • Wolf’s Rain
  • Dantalian no Shoka
  • Akame ga KIll!
  • Rokka no Yuusha
  • Skins UK
  • Penny Dreadful
  • Death Note
  • Dogs:Star dog howling in the datk (anime)
  • Nerve
  • The Duff


  • The Hunger Games
  • The Vampire Dairies
  • The perks of being a wallflower
  • The seven kingdoms series (Graceling,Fire and Bitterlblue)
  • Looking for Alaska
  • The fault in our stars
  • Delta star
  • Divergent
  • I’m number 4 (all the books that are out yet)
  • The 100
  • The 5th Wave
  • SteelHeart 
  • Paper towns 
  • Baisaclly every Etgar Keret’s books (read them all)


  • WassabiProductions 
  • LaurDiy
  • Tasha Leelyn
  • BananaJamana
  • Niki and Gabi
  • DiyLover
  • Alisha Marie
  • Miss Remi Ashten
  • Mia Stammer
  • MyLifeAsEva

If I should have a son
Instead of naming him after
A great-grandfather he will never meet
I’m going to name him after someone who
Reminds me of the way that
Even though the sun is nearly 93 million miles away
We still can’t look directly at it
Because my son is going to be
Nothing short of illuminating
And if I should have a son
I will paint kind sentiments over his knuckles
So he always knows to use his words
Before he uses his fists
And when my son doesn’t let me cut his hair
And instead chooses to let it droop into his eyes
I will let him
Because sometimes the world makes a little more sense
When you’re seeing it through strands, not magnifying glasses
And when the other parents gasp at me
For letting him ride his bike without a helmet
Or cheering him on while he tries to flip over the rusty top of the swing set
I will tune them out
Because I know that a bruised forehead
Hurts a hell of a lot less than a bruised ego
If I should have a son
I will wait until the blood and the marrow in his bones
Have been sucked out and replaced with sorrow
Before I tell him that heartbreak is supposed to feel like this
And even though she may have been his sea
He might just need to look inside a puddle
And every time my son inhales
I will teach him to smell for rain
Because that is the first sign of flowers
And anyone who says they don’t need more color in their life is lying
If I should have a son
I will put a baseball bat in his left hand
And ballet slippers in his right
And tell him he doesn’t have to decide between doors number one and two
That the only thing in front of him is a gate, and it’s wide open
If I should have a son
I will stand tall above him with a sword and a spear
One to slice through his troubles
And one to stab through his fears
And since I’m standing with two weapons
He will have to be the shield
And the blows that slip through my steel grip
Will push at him like a roaring tide
But if I should have a son
I will teach him to push back like he is the moon
And he is their master
And if I should have a son
And he decides to leave
I will bid him adieu
But I will always set an extra plate at the dinner table
And have a mug of hot cocoa – the kind with extra chocolate – waiting for him
Because no matter how many unmarked pathways he chooses to cross
He will always belong to his mother


Inspired by Sarah Kay’s “B”


I’ve started a new photography project and this is just a sneak peak of it. Everyone thinks, by looking at my social media and the persona I choose to perpetuate, that I live a glamorous life full of adventure and travel. This is not true. My life is not always beautiful and exciting. Most of the time it is very boring and sometimes painful. I’ve started to document my life, the good and the bad, to show that we all have our battles to fight even if they aren’t visible. I usually don’t talk about my disease or this aspect of my life because I don’t want it to define me…but I think I can grow and become stronger from this and maybe others in similar situations can too. I hope to encourage people to be kind and compassionate and understanding…not to judge others because they may be going through a tough situation that you don’t know about. Please just be kind to each other.


Eight years ago today, I arrived in Australia for the first time. 

I checked into the The Hatton Hotel where, the following morning, I’d finally meet Tim in person for the first time. 

Sadly, The Hatton is no longer open. We’d always planned to go back there, back to our room, but we never got the chance. It closed up shop while we were busy building a life elsewhere. It is something that I’ll always feel some regret about. Fortunately, the regret of not getting to stay there again pales in comparison to the memories we made while we were there. 

The bottom two photos are of Room 16, the same room where Tim and I spent our very first days and nights together. (Isn’t the internet wonderful?) 

I can see Tim sitting at the table at the end of the bed, wearing his fluffy white hotel robe, having coffee. I can see him standing at the mirror in the bathroom, fresh out of the shower, brushing his teeth. I remember seeing hot air balloons outside the window as they made their dawn flights over the city. I remember my head on his shoulder feeling like I was the luckiest girl to ever live. 

That initial image of Tim as he came through the door the first time, big smile on his face, both of us nervous, those tentative hello’s. Those will always be some of my most treasured memories.  

It was an absolute life-changing four days. 

The purpose of my brief trip had been to see if there was anything more to the two of us than the long distance friendship we’d built up over the previous six months on Tumblr and in emails and chats. And, lord yes, there was much more. There was all the chemistry we’d hoped for and then some. 

But there was something else too. There was this sense of having known him my whole life. A connection that felt as if it had existed for ages. If previous lives are a thing, then I have no doubt that we knew each other before we knew each other. 

There was also this strange sense of it being ok to trust him. And for someone like me, with trust issues as big as the ocean I’d just crossed, it was equally reassuring and unnerving. I did not know whether to go with my heart or to stick with the ruler by which I’d measured the other men who’d been in and out of my life. Thankfully, I chose my heart and I let Tim show me that trust and loyalty and truth and steadfastness actually exist and can flourish. 

Tim is, now 8 years on, my best friend, my true companion, my moon and my stars. It is Hallmark-y, and Nicholas Sparks-y and every other cliche with all the grittiness of real life and real issues and daily struggles thrown in the mix. 

Just like those first few days at The Hatton, we still lie down on the bed and turn toward each other and chat about our day before we get dinner on the go. I’ll lay my head on his arm and we’ll talk bollocks and laugh, oftentimes I’ll still cry about this thing or that and he still wipes my tears, or tickles me, or both. 

We still count hot air balloons in the sky and report back to each other when we see them. We send each other pictures that we take when we see hot air balloons in the morning sky, the talisman of our relationship. “I saw three balloons this morning and thought of you.” It warms my heart.

In November of 2009, during a month long in-patient stay at River Oaks Hospital in New Orleans, we did one of those dreaded art projects that no adult really likes to do. We were asked to create a visual representation of a place of safety in our lives. For most of us there on the trauma/PTSD unit, places of safety were few and far between. Even so, I knew immediately of the place I wanted to depict. The Hatton, Room 16. Hot air balloons seen from the window. A full moon still above in the dawn sky. 

It took me over a year to get back to Australia after this first visit. A time filled with many difficulties: my first full year of clean time, more traumatic events, the death of my mother, violence at home and in complicated relationships, my hospitalisation after months of being a danger to myself, finally being able to face some of the damage that my life had been made of. 

At times, I wasn’t certain that I’d ever make it back. But I held onto the hope of it, kept putting one foot in front of the other, kept waking up one more day, until the day came when I got on the plane with a one way ticket home. Home with Tim.

No one believed that we would make a permanent go of this. I’m not sure that Tim and I even believed then that we’d still be together this far on. But here we are. For today, we are solid and secure with one another. Life is good. I believe we are both happy and content with each other. 

The Hatton may no longer exist as a physical place. However, every day, I am reminded by Tim’s “16″ tattoo on his arm. It is his only tattoo and it commemorates our time together at The Hatton. It is the singular most romantic thing I could ever imagine. 

When I see that tattoo every day, I think of how we carried the experience with us into our everyday lives. What had been a particular place and a finite space in time, our week at the hotel, is now part of us each and every day. It stays with us and sustains us. We both remember what we went through to be together. The sacrifices and the hard work that brought us to where we are today. 

The talks, the tenderness, the hope.  

The chemistry, the connection, the promise. 

We embody it. We renew it. We fight for it. 

That’s what matters. 

We are the Hatton. 

We are the Hattons. 

And today is the 8th anniversary of a love story.  

Our love story. 

tfw you finally start cutting some items from your rl to do list as already done, and rl nicely thinks you are running out of tasks and adds some more. When will this end? (aka sporadic activity on all blogs AND skype/discord will be continued)
rp-wise, I am slowly replying to threads, will queue everything once I reply to everything. Baby steps. Thank you for your patience, loves


Summary: Dan’s an art student who’s lost his inspiration, although midnight wanderings to an 24/7 coffee shop seem to be helping. The cute barista is probably to thank for this, although the coffee’s good too.

Word Count: 2.6k

i originally wrote this for a fic exchange for @wisperwynd! :]

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Jet Set Radio Redesign Project 12/19: Clutch

The final GG and the second original GG for JSRF. I liked his design a lot in JSRF but hated him soon after when he STOLE MY GRAFFITI SOULS THE MEANIE PANTS! Still afterwords we were pretty tight. 


64/100 • nearly done with my little autobiography book :) I still have to add more color and bind it, but that’s what lunch period is for, right? I initially dreaded starting this project, but the more I worked on it the more exciting it got! 💫

I’m in love with my beautiful colored-pencils box - it was originally a box of Dutch chocolates.

Listening to: Kodachrome by Paul Simon

Love You Like: A Peter Parker Oneshot

Originally posted by disconected-of-this-world

Plot: The Potato baby. It’s the end of the semester health project everyone dreads. You and whoever you’re partnered up with must take care of a potato with a face drawn on it. If you bring it back at the end of the week with little to no scratches or dents, you ace the project and potato parenthood. You’ve been partnered with fellow Avenger Peter Parker. The boy you’ve been friends, and only friends with, since forever. The boy who’s tried so hard to hide his feelings from you. The boy who’s had a crush on you since first grade. But you’re calloused, a soul bent but never broken. Leaving you protective of yourself and hard around the edges. Your only goal, never hurt anyone, and never let anyone you love get hurt. And Peter loving you will only get him hurt as far as you’re concerned. But Peter is determined to prove otherwise. 

Warnings: slight language 

Characters: Peter Parker, and Steve Rogers


“It’s a potato. How hard can it be to take care of?” you laugh, tossing it around in your hands. He rolls his eyes as he clasps the helicopter seatbelt buckle across his chest, keeping his smile hidden. 

“So you guys are now parents to a…vegetable?” Steve asks from the front of the helicopter, keeping his eyes on the sky as he flies to Avengers Tower, where you and Peter have been told you will be staying for the next two weeks. 

This happens a lot. You’ll get a text on one of your many burner cellphones saying that Steve or Nat or someone from the team will pick you and Peter up from school that day in a discreet silver minivan, the kind soccer moms drive. You drive for a bit before veering off some side road and end up in an ally where the helicopter is hidden. You get on and fly to whatever destination the mission requires, usually stopping at Avengers Tower for a few days to prepare for the assignment. 

You’re both their so often you have your own rooms, half your clothes there, and the other half back at home. And as far as Aunt May or your parents know, you’re on an overnight school field trip, or engineering camp, or simply sleeping over at the others house. It’s a system with very few flaws. 

“It’s not just a potato!” Peter says, pretending to be offended, “It is our child and we love it very much.” 

“Very well said!” you grin with an approving nod, “I’ve been working on getting him in a nice potato private school, the one across from Celery Charter School. It’s hard work, but I will have nothing but the best fro our little…our little…” you trail off, trying to come up with a name. 

“Roger.” Steve chimes in, “Named after none other than his uncle Steve Rogers.” You and Peter share a quick look before silently agreeing that the name Roger will do just fine. 

“Roger it is.” Peter nods. Although Peter would never admit it to anyone, he had persuaded the health teacher to make him your partner. Because as he figured it, if you pretended to be a couple for this project, maybe you’d want to be one for real. Although going over the once thought to be perfect plan, he’s now realizing it’s a long shot. Because just about every guy, and a few girls for that matter, have or have once had a crush on you. 

It’s not only because of your effort looks and charm, but your hard to get nature that everyone believes to be a teasing strategy. Really, you’re just a hard to get person. You don’t like getting to close to people. Peter is the closer to you than any person has ever been. 

“Are we almost there?” you ask plainly. And just as the words leave your mouth, the helicopter jolts forward, causing your head to snap forward violently. On instinct you use one hand to grip your seatbelt strap to make sure is secure, and the other goes to your waistband, where your gun is holstered. You don’t even notice that the potato has come flying out of your hands. 

“Easy there soldier.” Steve smiles, easing the plane downwards as you near the tower, “It was just some turbulence. No need to go all agent mode on me.” 

You take a sharp breath and feel your grip relax on the gun’s handle, but your finger still pulses over the trigger. You’re a naturally cautious person, or rather, you like to be ready for whatever comes. 

“Hey…we’re alright y/n. We’re here. We’re home.” Peter says slowly, raising his hand to rest on your shoulder. But you flinch away before his skin can meet yours. 

“I’m fine Parker.” you say tightly, tearing the seatbelt from across your chest and standing up, not even waiting until the chopper has fully landed on the platform to throw open the door and jump out. Peter unclips his own straps and reaches over to grab the now dented potato. So much for an A+. 

He closes his eyes and draws in a long sigh, shaking his head at the stupid move he tried to make. He’s known you since you were kids, before you were both recruited as Avengers, before the accident that left both your parents dead. He knew you back when you believed the world was full of good people and everyone deserved a second chance. He knew you when everything was good and you weren’t so afraid of hurting people. He knew you before everything changed. 

“Don’t beat yourself up over it kid.” Steve sighs, powering down the chopper before turning around and looking at Peter, “Y/n’s had it rough. Anyone she’s ever cared about has been taken from her, and she thinks it’s her fault. I know what that feels like…” he trails off, a far off look in his eyes, “You can’t blame her for wanting to keep her distance.” he says, holding Peter’s wide, lost gaze, “If you thought you were a ticking time bomb, you wouldn’t want anyone to get too close either.” 

“But she’s not. She couldn’t control her powers at first, but I know she can-” 

“It doesn’t matter what we think or know to be true.” Steve says harshly, “It matters what she thinks.” he mutters, his voice softer now, “And that’s all that matters.” With that, Steve jumps from the chopper, Peter close behind. 

The place is empty when he walks through the sliding glass doors to the living room. It’s usually bustling with at least half the team, all with different agendas and assignments. But now it’s quiet, an eerie kind of quiet. Steve is probably in the home theater Tony insisted the tower needed, watching movies with Bucky who is always here. They’ve made it a mission of their own to watch all the movies they missed while Steve was frozen and Bucky was…out killing people. And Peter knows where you’ll be.

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