inexplicable hair

but imagine if the art style in death note was less realistic. picture this: Light with naturally blue hair. L with horrifyingly long kawaii eyelashes. Mello with biologically inexplicable steam coming out of his ears and one equally inexplicably sharp tooth. Mikami’s hair blowing in the wind at inappropriate times. Near with bright purple eyes. Sayu in an undersized schoolgirl outfit.

i think we all have to be thankful that none of these things happened.

7 reasons you should try DAYS

1. The protagonist is constantly blushing. Like it’s literally part of his character model.

2. It’s one of the those sports animes where your beautiful protagonist doesn’t realize that THEIR TEAM IS THE VILLAIN TEAM (see: Haikyuu!!). It’s your teammates that are the terrifying af crazy-eyes in all black tracksuits scaring the shit out of the other feel-good teams at the joint training camps and inter-highs. In the front of which is this sprinting, blue-eyed happy-go-lucky main character that is just delighted that he gets to play on such a wonderful team.

3. You know those characters that communicate their sports and life logic only through shitty sound effects? (see: Hinata Shouyo & Kotaro Bokuto) In DAYS, that’s your terror of a team captain. He’s a stoic, cold-hearted, tunnel-visioned leader that makes other regional teams’ captains weep bitterly into their pillows at night whose only advice during training is “your foot has to go ‘boof’ more

4. There is constantly great shit going on in the background. Like, cool side characters are nice, but cool side characters madly scaling a chain link fence in the background of a regular conversation in a desperate bid to reign in their injured sports-hungry captain is even better. Important monologue happening? Better have a high school girl soundlessly shouting at you behind that window.

5. Speaking of, you know the stuck-up prodigy character that all sports animes have to contrast against the main character’s inept, bumbling, warm-hearted approach to the game? In DAYS, the prodigy is that blonde lady killer that looks like a Pantene ad loafing around in all the promo art. And he loves the main character. Not in a tsundere, reluctant admiration way, but he genuinely beats the shit out of people for being mean to the protagonist and laments to himself at how bad a friend he is and thinks of ways he can apologize. He’s ornery and lazy and a bit of a jerk, but he’s not socially incompetent or a clueless asshole, and frankly that’s refreshing. Also he has inexplicably nice hair.

6. The token female manager that’s always such a tragically unfulfilled character? She’s amazing. She’s aggressive, polished and social with realistic philosophical problems, and she’s incredibly intelligent in general and loves literature and writing. Her internal monologues are some of the most profound discussions in the whole show. She also bullies the hell out of the protagonist, and takes absolutely no shit from anyone because why should she? She’s beautiful and already has friends and you’re in her way. Move.

7. Finally, the animation of the whole show is shockingly well done. When I first ran into DAYS I avoided the hell out of it, because there have been a wealth of shoddily-adapted sports animes these last few summers after Free! and KuroBasu’s success. But even the opening sequence is nice, the art is clean and pleasing, and the camera angles and details (both literal and in content) are just enjoyable.

So there you have it! If you haven’t given DAYS a try, you can find it on Crunchyroll with minimal ads. It’s full of gems like the stuff I listed above and is super, super worth your time to at least check out–so get to it! Summer’s almost done!

8

A TMM color/design comparison I did a while ago but never posted. I did two versions for the manga colors, but really every picture is slightly different since it’s not digitally colored.

Not included: the two or three times when Bu-ling inexplicably has dark red hair, and the times when Zakuro’s weapon has the whip part coming off of the top.

Ichigo

Mint and Lettuce

ktrovosky asked for some ronsey tattoo aftercare and I honestly live to serve adriana so I wrote what was supposed to be a drabble and is actually 1.8k :’)

idk how gay and sad you wanted this to be but hoooo boy it is both


Gansey finds him swaddled in cling wrap like a miserable cafeteria sandwich, his fine freckled back drenched in black and red.

“Jesus Christ.”

Ronan glances over his shoulder at him and bares his teeth.

“Badass, right?”

Gansey tuts, an impossibly condescending noise inherited from a long line of impossible, condescending people. “Declan will be livid.”

Ronan’s face twists, but he doesn’t move to spit or break or topple like he usually would. Gansey realizes all at once it’s because he’s paralyzed by pain. 

He steps closer, trying not to visibly hover.

Fuck Declan. What can he do to me that hasn’t already been done?”

Gansey rolls his eyes. “Oh but he’s constantly outdoing himself.”

“I wasn’t talking about things he’s done,” Ronan says darkly, and Gansey’s mouth twitches, indulgent.

“No. You weren’t, were you.” Gansey fingers the peeling edge of the second skin holding Ronan’s tattoo together, and he twitches violently. “He could cut you off,” Gansey suggests.

Ronan scoffs, as he knew he would. “Good thing I have a filthy fucking loaded best friend.”

Gansey warms. This has been their inside (and only) joke in the broken glass marathon of the last few months. Declan is the obstacle and Gansey the solution. He wishes it didn’t make him feel so gorgeously needed.

He wishes Ronan wasn’t in this warped custody battle between brother and friend at all, that he hadn’t found himself in sudden need of that kind of parental display. He wishes Niall Lynch would walk in right now and fill the room up wall to wall to ceiling, leather and whiskey, ground shaking laughter and crystal cruel eyes.

“What is it?” He asks quietly, eyeing the puffy black lines twisting Ronan’s back into something as angry as his insides.

Ronan shrugs delicately. “Lots of shit. Nightmares.” He seems to find this funny for some reason, and his back quakes.

“May I?” Gansey asks, a tender palm at the nape of Ronan’s neck just above where the mess begins.

He shrugs again, but there’s new tension in him, and a silence that Gansey doesn’t understand.

Keep reading

I WAS HAPPILY MARRIED TO A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN WIFE WHO HAD INEXPLICABLE WHITE HAIR AND DRESSED IN BLACK, AND WE HAD ADOPTED A 9 YEAR OLD GIRL WHO ALSO DRESSED IN BLACK AND WHITE AND KEPT HALF HER FACE COVERED, CUZ THE WIFE COULDN’T HAVE BABBIES FOR WHATEVER REASON AND BASICALLY I HAD A B&W FAMILY AND I LOVED MY TWO GIRLS BUT THEN AFTER WE TUCKED THE KID IN BED AND WENT TO OURS THE WIFE, SHE HAD BARBIE ANATOMY AND AND AND SAME AS IT EVER WAS SAME AS IT EVER WAS SAME AS IT EVER WAS SAME AS IT EVER WAS SAME AS IT EVER WAS

“orz

catyuy  asked:

LOST

shout out to the rogue, bored children who always got lost in department stores. I was one of you. may our sense of adventure never leave us, lol

(this one got just a teensy bit longer than the others so there’s a read more :P)

(one word prompt thingy)

“Mom, can I have this one? Please?” Lizzie’s 8-year-old son tugs at her hand, then runs back to the shelf and picks up the gymnast Barbie set – complete with doll-sized parallel bars – in both arms, widening his big blue eyes pleadingly and giving her his sweetest smile.

Lizzie kneels down to his eye-level and whistles. “Very cool, Kurt. But I thought you wanted Veterinarian Barbie?”

Kurt hoists the big box in his arms and says, “I do, but this one can spin and flip on the bars, and – and I like her clothes.”

Lizzie smiles at the doll’s sparkly turquoise bodysuit and the tiny gold medal hanging from her neck. “She’s fabulous, sweetheart. Here, I’ll trade you, if you’re sure.” She takes the Barbie set and puts it in their shopping cart, then hands Kurt the other doll so he can put her back on the shelf.

He beams at her and runs back to where Veterinarian Barbie is displayed, but he stops in his tracks before he gets there and says, his voice suddenly gone shy, “Hi.”

Keep reading

isra heesch ( twenty three / masters student / the hobbit )

canon / inexplicable bruises; messy, knotted hair; the nervous usage of “like”; two pencils shoved into top knot, one forgotten; daily reminders that go unchecked; finishing the milk carton and putting it back into the fridge; multiple wake up alarms; procrastination crises on repeat; notes left for people always scrawled poorly but decorated with smiley faces; bad shower singing; cat naps; chronically unprepared in line ups for ordering food.

needs / school friends? perhaps a mismatched group of study friends or housemates, idk. a sister? some cousins? im open.

2

@thecraftycracker I guess this is your fault:

“Ok, so it’s an extra large triple Ethiopian Yirgacheffe hazelnut latte with whipped cream, gingerbread sprinkles, cinnamon, and a single drop of sriracha for Wade,” said the handsome barista, sliding the elaborate drink across the bar, “and a flat white for Steve. Enjoy, fellas.”

“Thanks,” said Steve, doing his best to conceal the blush he felt rising in his cheeks when the barista - whose name, he was reliably informed, was Bucky - flashed him a little smile before going back to work. “I don’t know how you can drink that stuff, man. What’s the point of getting the expensive single-origin stuff if you’re just gonna bury it under all that crap?”

“The Yirgacheffe’s got lemony top notes,” interjected Bucky, as he wiped the steamer wand down with a bar towel. “With the hazelnut and cinnamon, it tastes kinda like Christmas cookies. Not saying it’s what I’d ever drink, but… I get it.”

“Thank you,” said Wade, glaring pointedly at Steve. “See, not so ridiculous after all, Mr. Unsweetened Flat White.”

“The sriracha’s just weird, though,” added Bucky.

“Thank you,” said Steve, glaring pointedly at Wade.

“Guess your palette’s just not as refined as mine,“ said Wade, as they settled in at their usual table.

Wednesday mornings were Wade and Steve’s Old Soldiers’ Weekly Caffeinated Bitchfest (as named by Wade), when they met at an agreeable café in the city centre to shoot the shit, reminisce about the good times (though their respective definitions of "good times” we’re not always in agreement), and generally avoid actually talking about any of the struggles that came with being not only combat vets, but the former guinea pigs of a top-secret military science fair project that, it turned out, fared better for some than for others.

“Okay, yeah, that’s good,” said Steve, as he relished his first sip, dark and smooth.

“So, Rogers,” whispered Wade, leaning as far forward across the table as the cramped space would allow, “when are you going to get your shit together and ask that soft barista bear out on a date?”

Steve blushed. He blushed harder than he thought it humanly possible to blush. He blushed with the sort of humiliating intensity that it was probably visible from the space station. Bucky, oblivious to their exchange, was fixing his hair into a small bun just above the nape of his neck, before beginning to refill the muffin display.

“Waaaaaaaaade,” he protested, “I can’t.”

“Why not?” countered Wade. “Guy literally drew a heart around your name on the coffee cup. He’s hot for you, Steve. Bucky Barista probably lies awake at night longing for your beautiful dick.”

Steve had been too busy noticing Bucky to notice the inscription on his cup; indeed, there was his name, encased in a soft heart.

“Oh my god, could you at least please keep your voice down?” said Steve. “Look, I do like him, okay? But you can’t just ask out somebody you have to see all the time. What if he says no? We’d have to find a new coffee shop, and I don’t know anywhere else in the neighbourhood that’s gonna be as accommodating to your… flavour needs.”

“He’s not gonna say no,” argued Wade. “We’ve been coming in here for, what, six months? He’s had your name and your order memorised for five of them. If I were him, I’d have notebooks filled with nothing but our names written together, and so many thematic playlists for every kind of sex I’d have imagined us having while masturbating.”

Steve buried his head in his hands. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that,” he said. He was grateful that Bucky was out of earshot then, speaking in hushed tones to a well-dressed blonde woman. Steve casually looked away when he sensed they were about to look in his direction.

“Fine, fine,” conceded Wade, “but just trust me that this guy wants to do all kinds of wonderful gross stuff with you, like visit Ikea to buy lamps for the attractive little loft you’re inevitably going to rent together.”

“Even if that was true, it’s kind of hard to find anybody with, you know, shared life experience,” argued Steve.

“Have you seen the guy’s arm?” asked Wade. Steve had, of course, noticed Bucky’s arm, though it was not polite to stare. Bucky kept his shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows most days they saw him, and the shining metal fingers moved with such perfect dexterity that it was easy to forget that it could not have been anything other than an extension of his own body. “There’s no way that’s a standard issue prosthetic. He might get it more than most. If you don’t make a move, I’m gonna have to go full wingman on you.”

Calm thoughts, Bucky told himself. He was used to carrying himself with an air of ease and confidence, as befits anybody working in a public-facing vocation, but then there was Steve. Steve had been coming in every Wednesday for a flat white and to talk with his friend Wade - who swore loudly, which was oddly endearing - for almost as long as Bucky had been manning this particular bar,

Was drawing a heart around Steve’s name too forward of a gesture? Or was it too subtle? It was entirely possible - probably, even - that what seemed like flirting was actually Steve’s easy, affable nature, and Bucky’s attempt to suggest that they take their relationship beyond the reach of the espresso machine was a critical misstep. Mercifully, there was no time to dwell, as another of his regulars appeared just as he was refilling the muffin display.

“Detective Carter,” he greeted her, with a playfully curt nod.

“Sergeant Barnes,” she replied.

He shook his head. “No Sarge, just Bucky,” he corrected her. “The usual?”

“Uh-uh,” she said, slumping forward onto the bar. “Bear claw, two lattes.”

“Two?” he repeated. “Long day?”

“You remember that case I was working a few weeks ago,” she said, “the one I obviously couldn’t tell you about except there was a whole thing and I had to work with someone from federal?”

“The little red-haired girl?” asked Bucky.

“Well, we closed the case a few days ago, and… we’re meeting for coffee in the park,” she told him.

“That’s great, Share,” smiled Bucky, feeling the milk grow warm and voluminous with steam. “Tell me where you’re registered and I promise I’ll buy you the second-least expensive thing on your wedding list.”

“Come on,” she blushed. “It’s not like it’s going anywhere anyway. She’s FBI, I’m NYPD. I’m not sure that’s wise.”

“Oh please, as if you’d let something as minor as that get in the way of your job,” he argued, weaving the softly foamed milk into an intricate flower atop Sharon’s drinks.

Sharon let out a soft laugh. “Isn’t that more or less what I told you last week about flat white guy? You know, the one you keep making shy faces at whose shirts are all just that much too tight?” she asked.

“Okay, yeah,” he agreed. “I… I drew a heart on his coffee cup.”

“That’s great,” nodded Sharon, resting a hand on his forearm. “At this rate, you might see a movie together in only another five years or so. Talk to him. He’s literally looking at you right now.”

Bucky looked across the bar out of reflex, but Steve’s head was turned towards the window.

“You were saying?” he sighed.

“Please don’t make me talk to him for you,” she said, but inspiration had already struck him.

“It’s okay,” he said, bracing himself. “I can do this.”

Wade had had it up to here with these two assholes mooning over each other in silence. It was gross, and Wade was not usually one to be fazed by gross things. That was just how gross it was. If someone did not do something, this could well stretch on until the end of time itself, he thought, and he suspected that Steve was probably even more fun when he was in less of a state of constant sexual frustration. And if Wade was any sort of judge of character (and his judgment was, of course, impeccable), Bucky the barista most definitely knew his way around a wiener. And any and all other relevant erogenous zones. It was not something Steve readily discussed, but Wade suspected that someone as seemingly normal as Steve had to have at least one weird sex thing. Maybe his hair was inexplicably ticklish. Maybe he liked the feeling of freshly shaven legs against silk bedsheets. This was getting oddly specific, thought Wade, but then again, Steve was by no means forthcoming with this kind of stuff.

Either the lesbian with the great hair at the bar had inexplicably ordered them a snack, or Bucky was bringing them an extra for being such fabulous regulars, thought Wade, as Bucky set a small plate of biscuits down at their table. Or maybe it was that actually, Steve, Wade was right all along and Bucky is super in love with you, dumbass.

“Christmas cookies,” said Bucky. “With ground hazelnuts, lemon zest, and a liberal sprinkle of cinnamon.”

Steve took a bite, and let out a little sigh of appreciation.

“Wow,” he said. He was making what Wade suspected was dangerously close to his come-face.

Wade was more than happy to try one, which was almost as good as his coffee.

“Good shit, my man,” said Wade. “So when does your shift end today?”

“Wade, please,” cautioned Steve, which Wade happily ignored.

“Uhh, six-thirty,” said Bucky.

“That’s great, because I’d like to invite you and my friend Steve here to my favourite Ukrainian restaurant,” replied Wade, “except I’m going to get a wicked case of stomach flu sometime between now and then, and you two are gonna have to go without me. Please order the cheese blintzes, and don’t let the waiter’s toupee put you off.”

“I do like blintzes,” Bucky grinned, running a hand over his hair. “Sorry to hear about your stomach flu, pal.”

Steve blushed. “I hope you feel better soon, Wade,” said Steve, turning to Bucky. “It’s okay, you don’t have to - ”

“No, I’d… I’d genuinely love to get blintzes with you,” said Bucky. “Six-thirty?”

“Six-thirty,” Steve agreed. “I’d like that.”

Fucking finally, thought Wade.

anonymous asked:

•We’re in a library and you forgot to plug your headphones in so you’re music was playing loudly and I’m gonna take this moment to criticise your lack of musical taste.AU would be amazing for Peter!!

Peter Maximoff + this prompt list

There are two days left of midterms, and the absolute last place you want to be is in the library, yet here you are. You’re about two seconds away from punching through your laptop screen, because you really, really do not want to think about the genre based implications of Jane Eyre and the impact it had on the stylistic development of narrative in gothic literature, but your essay is due in less than twenty four hours and you definitely do not have enough analytical thinking in it yet.

Yanking your headphones out, you stretch and twist in your chair, trying to find the motivation to keep plugging away at your essay when you hear a tinny, insidious whine from somewhere else in your otherwise secluded and mostly productive corner. You cast an irate eye over your surroundings and spot the offender at a desk on the other side of the room.

Rising from your seat, you stalk over to him, entirely prepared to smite him down for daring to break the sacred code of library silence. As you approach, you can make out what he’s listening to and dear god, it’s atrocious. It’s something generic, over produced and distinctly of the bubble-gum pop variety, which only fuels your rage, because he could at least have the courtesy to infect the library with decent music. You lean against the edge of his desk and wait for him to notice you before you begin your admonishment, but as you wait, your willingness to admonish is almost derailed, because he’s incredibly attractive, with captivating brown eyes and inexplicably silver hair. But you’ve always had a strong sense of your priorities, and you really need to finish your essay. He looks up at you, one eyebrow arched quizzically and you offer him a tight smile.

“Look, I’m really loving the mass produced, consumer driven bullshit you’re listening to,” You start, your voice dripping with sarcasm, and the exact moment he realizes why you’ve come over is wonderful to behold, as his eyes widen and dart down to his phone and his tragically unplugged headphones. “But you’re kind of ruining the whole ‘silence in the library’ thing, which is interrupting my intensely painful literary analysis, and honestly, if you have to interrupt me, the least you could do is interrupt it with music that’s actually worth listening to.” You say, and the mixture of contrition, mortification and indignation on his face is a combination you’re pretty sure you’ve never seen before.

“It’s-I’m-It’s not consumer driven bullshit.” He remarks sounding offended, and you raise an eyebrow at him sceptically. “Okay so maybe it is consumer driven, but the music’s not that bad.” He says, and you roll your eyes.

“Whatever. You can listen to whatever you want, just please, for the sake of my goddamn essay, make sure you’re the only one who can hear it, okay?” You reply, and he offers you a sheepish grin, and having delivered your intended message, you let yourself get caught up in the appealing slope of his lips and the mischievous gleam in his eyes.

“I can do that and more. Would you be opposed to letting me buy you dinner sometime, y’know, as penance for disrupting your study time?” He suggests, grinning up at you. “I’m Peter, by the way.” He adds as an afterthought, and you find yourself smiling back at him.

“I’m (Y/N), and you can absolutely buy me dinner sometime.”

Avengers Grimm

Have you ever thought to yourself “Gee, I wonder what it would be like if fairy tale princesses formed a superhero team”?

The answer is amazing. For the record.

Imagine a world where Little Red Riding Hood is out to avenge her family at all costs, where Snow White’s husband gets fridged and she’s full of determination and womanpain. Imagine Cinderella inexplicably having purple hair. Imagine that Rapunzel attaches a miniature wrecking ball to the end of her hair and uses it to battle people. Imagine a world where ALL OF THESE LADIES PLUS SLEEPING BEAUTY FIGHT TOGETHER AND FIGURE SHIT OUT AND ARGUE AND GET VENGEANCE AND HAVE PLOT POINT MAKEOVERS AND SAVE THE WORLD WITH A FABULOUS SOUNDTRACK.

You do not need to imagine this world, because you can see it for yourselves.

It is streaming on Netflix and probably in other places of dubious legality, I don’t know friends, you do you. Feel free to ask me if you have any questions or hesitations (is it a little bit terrible? Yes. Are there warnings to keep in mind? Mostly mind-control related things, some characters death mostly of villains, feel free to ask me to expand), but I will do anything I can to enable people to watch this magical film.