four twelves

statistics teacher: *showing us a graph of results of rolling a 10 sided die 100 times*
student: is that even possible? a die with ten sides?
statistics teacher: there are dice with ten sides, yes.
me: theres dice with twenty sides too. and four, and twelve, and eight.
friend sitting next to me: how do you??? even know that????????
me, who thinks im hot shit because i carry around a dungeon masters guide and ate dice for breakfast that morning: 

3

Phil Lester + Van Gogh icons

(please reblog if you use them)

Part 1/Part 2

8

Ooh! I mean, each cat will live about twelve years, I can’t wait… and each cat has nine lives! That’s four times twelve, times nine… No, it’s less than that. Anyway, that’s more than I’ll ever live. I’ll be gone! No, oh, no. They’ll be gone. I’ll think of a way. After all, there are millions of reasons why I should. All of them dollars. Millions. Those cats have got to go!

Day One Hundred and Nine

-A young boy yielding a pool noodle thrice his height shouted the word “penis.” He may be only three, but he is well on his way to becoming as mature a man as any.

-A child passing by Starbucks remarked, “Hot chocolate? Like in Polar Express?” I hope that their innocence and enthusiasm are never dampened and that their exposure to liquid goodness goes beyond disturbingly-animated movies.

-I have become something of an attraction to possessed children today. Throughout my shift, upwards of two infants have twisted themselves around 270 degrees in their seat to maintain eye contact with me. I am unsure how best to utilize my legion of demonic toddlers, but I am certain they will come in handy.

-Four twelve year-old girls spent the better part of an hour sprinting throughout the store, and the better part of another hour sitting in a single cart at the front. This gaggle of gals had a large bag of water and a complete lack of supervision. This has potential to be a devastating combination as any of us have seen.

-A nine year-old busted out a surprisingly sick drum solo. With nothing more than a plastic stick, she gave my life a sense of drama which I can only hope to live up to.

-A man left his bag behind. I began to shout after him. A woman behind me chimed in, echoing my calls in a soft whisper. My attempts were not enough. Thankfully, the sound level it took to get his attention was precisely one whisper above a shout, so once again partner and I have triumphed.

-A clean-shaven neckbeard spent his evening compulsively and sporadically dabbing to entertain his friends. Sadly, his attempts at being impressive were entirely in vain, as he was behind them the entire time, and he was dabbing.

in the beginning a hollywood bigwig was outed as a sexual predator every twenty-four weeks, then twelve, then six, then every two weeks. the last one with harvey weinstein was a week. in four days, we could be seeing an actor outed as a sexual predator or apologist every eight hours until they are coming every four minutes


“Sorry I’m late” INFP Edition
In chronological order.

  1. I was watching the sunrise over breakfast and got lost in a daydream. 
  2. I plotted out an entire book in the shower. 
  3. I started listening to music.
  4. I heard this new song and had to listen to it on repeat for an hour. 
  5. I stared at my closet for 15 minutes trying to decide which outfit best expressed my current mood. 
  6. I started reading/writing.
  7. I was dealing with the existential crisis I have on a daily basis. 
  8. I spent half an hour thinking about how I currently felt about eating what I had earlier decided to eat for lunch. 
  9. Someone asked me for my opinion. 
  10. I got lost in a daydream again.
  11. I was lying on my bed for an hour just crying into oblivion. 
  12. I started reading/writing again.
  13. I decided to start studying a new language right this minute.
  14. I was looking around Esty for something that perfectly expresses my personality. I didn’t find anything. 
  15. I lost track of time because I don’t keep track of time.

My life is a lovely combination of four, six, seven, ten, twelve, thirteen & fifteen. But mostly seven & fifteen.
I love being an INFP - wouldn’t change a thing

First Present

Originally posted by v-writings

Twelve Days of Fanfic: Day Four

Pairing: Warren Worthington x Reader

Request: “ giving Warren a present for Christmas and he gets really emotional because no one has ever cared so much about him to do that”

Warnings: Kinda sad, but fluffy


You ran through the back door to Xavier’s mansion, a blustery winter breeze pushing at your back as you crossed the threshold into the mansion. You knocked the snow off your boots, brushing snow off of you coat. You made sure the package you held in your hands was alright, keeping it away from any snow.

You headed down the hallway, hearing loud laughs and voices coming from the end. Jean and Jubilee were standing at the counter, Peter leaning against it lazily.

“Hey, Y/N! Where did you go all afternoon?” Jean greeted cheerfully.

“I was finding something for Warren,” you said, lifting up the newspaper-wrapped present you were holding.

“What did you find?” Jubilee asked, eyeing the package.

“It’s a secret,” you said, grinning.

Jubilee blew a strand of hair out of her eyes, taking a sip from the bottle of Coke in front of her. “Alright then,” she said with a sniff.

“You’ll see, “ you promised. You glanced around the room, frowning when you didn’t see your winged boyfriend. “Where is Warren? I thought he’d been down here with all of you.”

Peter shrugged. “Probably in his room. We asked him to stay, but he refused.”

You felt a little bit of worry at Peter’s words. You hoped Warren was feeling okay, but you knew that the holidays were very hard on him.

“Thank you,” you said, turning to leave the kitchen.

“Of course,” Peter called as you left. You made your way up to Warren’s room, striding down the empty, shadowed halls. Most of the students were down in the library or in the dining room celebrating with each other.

You reached Warren’s door, knocking softly before entering. Warren was sitting on his bed, dressed in old jeans and a dark gray shirt. He looked up when he saw you, his expression almost immediately brightening.

“Hey,” you said, going over to his bed.

“Hey,” Warren said, shifting to sit on the edge next to you.

“I um- I wanted to make sure you were doing alright,” you said carefully, watching Warren’s face fall slightly.

“I’m okay,” he said, giving you a tight smile. “I’m just not used to having someone to celebrate Christmas with.”

“Well,” you began, pulling the wrapped present from under your coat. “I got you something.”

Warren gave you a wide eyed look before taking the gift carefully. You bit your lip, waiting for him to unwrap in anxiously. He tore the newspaper carefully, letting the contents fall into his hand. It was a couple cassette tapes of his favorite bands, ones you knew he had wanted for a while but had no money to buy.

“Y/N…” he breathed, turning the cassettes over in his hands. He looked up at you, his eyes shining. “Thank you so much.”

“It’s no problem,” you said, smiling. Warren pulled you into a tight hug, cradling your head in his hand.

“I’ve never had someone give me a Christmas present before,” he said, his voice cracking. You thought you could feel something wet on your cheek, realizing it was a tear after a moment. “I’ve never had someone care for me before.”

“I do,” you said, tangling a hand into his curly blonde hair as you tucked your head into his shoulder. “Merry Christmas, Warren.”

8

twelve days of twelve day four: favorite episode
“But it might take me a little while, so do you want me to tell you a story? The Brothers Grimm, lovely fellas. They’re on my darts team. According to them, there’s this emperor and he asks this shepherd’s boy, “How many seconds in eternity?” And the shepherd’s boy says, there’s this mountain of pure diamond. It takes an hour to climb it, and an hour to go around it! Every hundred years, a little bird comes and sharpens its beak on the diamond mountain. And when the entire mountain is chiselled away, the first second of eternity will have passed! You must think that’s a hell of a long time. Personally, I think that’s a hell of a bird.”

one (relatively minor) thing that bugs me about moffat who is his tendency to use long periods of time as mere plot points. we got a fairly mild version of it this episode, where bill had to wait for the doctor for over two years, but just think about that. two years unable to go outside, where her only friend is the master in disguise, forced to do manual labor under a terrible boss, while the doctor- knowing full well that time is passing more quickly for her- dithers about explaining this to people, instead of racing to save her. think about that, and think about how little weight that’s given in the episode. now think about rory, guarding the pandorica for two thousand years, or eleven spending nearly a millenium on trenzalore, or twelve spending four and half billion years in the confession dial. it’s all about the bombast of the impressively large number and not about the human impact of that time

One really weird aspect of bpd is how deeply a song/movie/book can affect your entire mental process and sense of identity.
Like I think it’s “normal” for a neurotypical to experience deep emotions from a piece of media they really connect to but it’s like, does it literally change who you are for the week? The month? Will you think about it forever? Will it become a crucial part of your identity???
I know I’ve been there three or four or twelve times.

Feigning The Connection Series Masterlist

Series Masterlist:

Bellamy X Reader!

Season One!

Season Two!

Season Three!

Season Four!

Season Four Bonus!

8

She was making water, her clothing tangled about her ankles, when she heard rustling from under the trees. Hot Pie, she thought in panic, he followed me. Then she saw the eyes shining out from the wood, bright with reflected moonlight. Her belly clenched tight as she grabbed for Needle, not caring if she pissed herself, counting eyes, two four eight twelve, a whole pack …

One of them came padding out from under the trees. He stared at her, and bared his teeth, and all she could think was how stupid she’d been and how Hot Pie would gloat when they found her half-eaten body the next morning. But the wolf turned and raced back into the darkness, and quick as that the eyes were gone. Trembling, she cleaned herself and laced up and followed a distant scraping sound back to camp, and to Yoren. 

Markiplier Gothic

-The lucky flannel has returned. The lucky flannel will always return. You cannot seem to destroy the lucky flannel. No matter how many times you steal it and burn it in the woods behind your house, it always makes its way back to him. You have tried to warn him many times, warn him that the luck comes with a price, warn him that the flannel will one day demand that all debts are paid; he has not heard your warnings, or perhaps he is ignoring them. Either way, you sadly conclude, it is too late. He is too far gone now.
You stop trying to steal the lucky flannel.

-“Herb lore,” you hear one, solitary voice chirp. It is a voice you do not recognize.
“Herb lore.” Responds another.
A cacophony of voices suddenly surround you. “Herb lore, herb lore, HERB LORE!” They chant, although not quite in unison.
You do not know where these voices are coming from, nor do you remember when you started chanting with them. With each passing repetition, you forget a little more about the life you lived before herb lore. You keep chanting anyway.

- @markiplier uses a slightly different voice for approximately 4 and a half seconds in a video. By the time you click away and open a new tab, Tumblr has created a character out of this voice. They have named him Kevin. Kevin now has four ask blogs and twelve fan blogs, seven of which have some variant of the phrase “protection squad” in their usernames. One of them is dedicated solely to NSFW KevinxAntisepticeye fan fiction. It already has 300 followers.

-Every once and a while, you hear the Ancient Ones howling outside your window in the middle of the night. “COLA AND MEAL PLEASE, NO BREAD,” they shriek. You do not know what this means. You are too afraid to ask.

-“Markiplier’s fanbase is a bunch of 12 year olds,” you hear them say. You look around, but you can’t see any. You realize that you can’t remember the last time you saw a 12 year old at all. What does a 12 year old look like? How long have you been older than 12? Were you ever 12?
You turn to the person nearest to you. It is a middle-aged man. He has a wife and two children. He works in accounting.
“How old are you?” You ask.
“12,” he replies.
You scream.

-“Subscribe for More!” reads the cheerful font at the end of the compilation video. It is not a suggestion.

-A blonde woman in an alien-themed sweatshirt passes you in the grocery store. As she walks around your cart, her arm brushes against a six pack of Corona.
“I CAN’T DRINK THAT, OR I WILL LITERALLY DIE,” a voice booms, the noise crackling in the air like lightning. The woman glances at you and you nod, confirming that, yes, you heard it too.

-“Shares are a little low this month,” he tells you. Something about his tone fills you with a strange, primal fear. You share his videos with your friends. You share them with family. You write the URLS on pieces of paper and staple them to trees.
“Shares are a little low this month.”
You’re positive it’s a warning this time.

-You go on a date with Markiplier. “You look so familiar. Have we met?” he asks. You decide not to tell him that you have. You have done all of this before. You have always been on this date with Markiplier.
There are now two Markipliers. You are holding them both at gunpoint. You know that the one on the left is the real one, because you have done this before. You have always been doing this.
You shoot the one on the left anyway.
Afterwards, you go out for ice cream.
“Bonjour!” The man behind the counter smiles. His eyes are not yet filled with quiet desperation. He must not know about the time loop.
You go on a date with Markiplier.

Not Enough Twelve on my Dash...Final..Just Damn Sexy

I think I have served those of us who are fans of the Twelfth Doctor well enough for tonight.  I think I will end with some my favorite sexy pics from season 10.  Nighty Night fellow fans..

Have a great evening/day and sleep well…I know I will.  There is enough of Twelve on my dash now.. I’m done….for now.