i'm not small but i'm not ashamed

  • psychic: *reads my mind*
  • me: come on nagisa– yeah what up sluts it's ya boy NG
  • 'bout to drop a rhyme on these bitch buoys
  • sho' 'nuff, i'm shota tough
  • haters always on me 'cause they think I'm just small stuff
  • kiddie pools
  • swam up from the bottom now i'm killin' fools.
  • thug life anime school, catch me stuntin' with my iwatobi crew
  • makoto, rei and my boy haru!
  • SPLASH flow just like water and cash
  • call me H2OH
  • DAMN
  • other mcs get straight up tidal wave slammed
  • my gang goes ham and when you see us swimmin' better know we're in demand!
  • rackin it up top shelf la croix,
  • yo crew is on sale, 50% off!​​​
  • psychic: what the fuck
  • Chase Chrisley: I'm 16 and want a tattoo.
  • Todd Chrisley: people in hell want ice water, that don't mean the gonna get it.
  • Chase: I'm 18 so I should be able to come home whenever I want.
  • Todd: as long as you are living under my roof like hell you won't. The only thing open at 2 am are emergency rooms and girls legs, and you won't be found in either.
  • And my favorite!
  • Todd: talking to his oldest son, "How in the hell did you get a girl pregnant with something that small! I am ashamed."
  • My favorite family!

natasha-plisetsky  asked:

(When you wanted to throw Natasha's things away, a small letter fell from one book) Dear Yura, if you are reading this, you probably found the book I was reading to you when you were small child. I loved those days, before I destroyed them. I am a unacceptable failure as a mother. I'm so ashamed of myself. I can't live with this feeling inside my heart. It's eating me alive. So... Maybe we will never see each other again. I'm so sorry. I'm so proud of you, my son. Can I call you that? Natasha

Yuri pauses at the letter for a moment, before tucking the book under his arm and scribbling out Natasha’s name. Just beneath it, he writes “Mama,” and looks at one last time before putting it in the book, leaving with just the book and the contents in it.

anonymous asked:

A box of sweets - chocolates of all varieties from the nearest town - are laid outside the Being's dwelling. "For our good spirit" is written upon a piece of parchment tied to the package in Agatha's elaborate handwriting.

dark as the night was when he stepped out from his dwelling, the being nearly failed to see the small box of chocolates laid out along his path. the note, shining pale in the moonlight, was what caught his attention first; frowning, he squatted down, closed a hand around the note and the box on which it rested, and lifted it up to his eyes so that he could adequately read the words. he was accustomed to reading only printed lettering, and it thus took him several moments to puzzle through what was written — when, however, he had deciphered the message, he very nearly sobbed aloud. the box itself was forgotten entirely in favour of the note, which he pressed against his bosom as though it were the rarest and most precious of jewels. agatha, sweet agatha, had addressed him with kind words! it was true enough that she was still ignorant of who it was she might be addressing, but the being cared little for that; nothing, at that moment, could spoil his happiness. all but trembling with delight, he carried the gift back into his hovel. the box of chocolates, he tucked away at the driest corner, intending to open them later; the note, he carefully pinned against one of the chinks in the wood, so that it could hang on his wall like a painting. for our good spirit. smiling for the first time in his life, the being traced the words with a withered, yellow finger.

in the morning, once the sun had thrust its way up over the horizon, the chores of the farm, as usual, were done — but there was, in addition, something new. against the doorstep of the cottage rested a bouquet of wildflowers, bound carefully together with a bit of straw; atop that, a small note, written on a rather tattered and stained bit of paper, rested. 

              from your good spirit. 

submitted by anonymous

Gif by Mod Yuki


“Do we have time?”

She asks the question even though she already knows the answer. She squeezes the crying baby in her arms more tightly to her chest and sucks in a sharp breath when the house shakes from the impact of another bomb in the distance.

“No, but I’ll be damned if we don’t try.” His voice shakes and his chin trembles, but he pushes it away. He has his family to think of and crying never solved anything anyway. He wants to call Octavia and tell her how much he loves her. He wants to apologize for not being around as much lately, but the cell towers have been down for weeks and he can’t so instead he grabs the little gray car seat with tiny pink flowers in the fabric from the hallway and sits it on the kitchen table. He swallows hard as he watches his wife try to soothe the agitated infant in her arms by humming softly to her. His stomach drops to his feet when he recognizes the tune. It’s the same one she hums to the fallen soldiers at the clinic when she knows their time is up. It’s the song of a soothing death.

“Clarke let’s go!” He hollers because he’s angry at her for giving up while they still have a chance. She’d never quit on him before, how could she quit on him now?

“Bellamy…” She trails off, her blue eyes are brimmed with tears and her voice sounds tired. He balls his fists and clenches his jaw so hard he fears his teeth may break.

“Get in the fucking car, Clarke. We still have time. We have to try. Some of the roads are down, but we’ll figure it out. We’ll get there. Just… Just get in the car!” The desperation in his voice stings his throat.

“Bellamy, please. She’s finally sleeping,” she whispers and turns to the side so he can see his daughter’s face. Her tulip lips are open slightly and her round face is slack with peace. He reaches with a gentle hand to brush over her wispy black hair and bites down hard on his bottom lip. He looks back up to Clarke and nods, taking her hand and leading her into the bedroom.

They sit on the violet bedspread and lean against the sturdy, wooden headboard. They don’t speak. They don’t have to, everything they have to say is in the desperate way their hands cling to each other and in the looks they give in between staring at their sleeping daughter. Bellamy lets himself cry when Clarke starts humming again. He joins her this time because now the song is for all of them and he figures Clarke deserves to hear someone hum to her too.

The next bomb is much closer and Bellamy can see the fire it caused burning fiercely through the window. He grips Clarke’s hand tighter and takes a shaky breath.

“I love you,” he whispers.

“I love you too,” she whispers back.

The small smile she gives him is the last thing he sees.

So, this is an AU where Bellamy and Clarke are the family that never made it to the bomb shelter. You hate me? I just killed three people so that’s fair. I’m sorry.