like really isn't it weird

jared: hey
connor: in case you haven’t noticed, i’m weird. i’m a weirdo. i don’t “fit in,” and i don’t wanna fit in. have you ever seen me without this stupid jacket on? that’s weird.

anonymous asked:

You should make a sea angel mermaid! They're my favorite :)

Here ya go : D 


So my city’s library has this art installation with bright, colorful HUGE animals all over the place and apparently they just put all the snails together in the outdoor reading garden!

@cutiemabel you were the first person I thought of when I saw these snails so I snapped some pics for ya! :D

This is unedited and probably out of character but I wanted some Simon-Klav friendship with angsty and drunk Klavier.  This is pure self-indulgence.  Mentions of Kristoph, Apollo, Ema, and Daryan; could be read as slight Klapollo references.  Approx. 2300 words.  (I might at some point revisit this and make it longer idefk) 

“Since when do you drink at the office?”

Once again, Simon found himself staying overly late at work – it had been dark for at least two hours, and he originally thought that he was the last person around.  Hell, even Edgeworth had gone home already; Simon really wished his boss would just hire a new prosecutor already. Because of how short staffed they were, he and the more experienced prosecutors had been working overtime for more than a few weeks now, and it was starting to take a toll.  

The paychecks were nice, but Simon would like some time to his own hobbies once in a while…which was why he was particularly happy about the fact that it was Friday and he actually had Saturday off.

He was about to finally leave, but noticed that Klavier Gavin’s light was on, and invited himself into his coworker’s office with barely a knock on the ajar door.  When he did, he saw Klavier drinking whiskey straight from the bottle, hence why he asked his question.  Klavier’s cheeks and nose were a little red, indicating that he had to have been drinking for some time now.

But his eyes were also red.  And not in the drunk sort of way.

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I mean I don’t… Despise the Jack/Ashi romance and I KNOW they only had like - one season and they have a limited amount of time but…

Like I’m not going to pretend they didn’t just like throw MOST of the romance element in all at once like woah. 


A hundred years it’s been stuck at that time. Why would nobody have fixed it? A memorial? But there’s nothing otherwise marking the place. No plaque I can read. April’s information is all word of mouth, someone’s had to tell her about this.

This isn’t a memorial.

This is a WARNING.

random convo with my roommate
  • roomie: yeah, when i was like 14 or 15 i used to be really weird
  • me: how so?
  • roomie: well it's embarrassing but i used to look up pics of my celeb crushes and like scroll through them and stare at them all day like uGH isn't that so weird of me
  • me: o-oh really... hahAhHa yeah that's sooo weird...
  • me: *renames bts photo album to "Boring Tax Stuff - Don't Look"*
  • me: *changes jikook lockscreen to a pic of me and my doggo*
  • me: *still cries silently at night over airport preview pics and twitter selcas*

anonymous asked:

i think i sent this ask when i was really discombobulated so i'll try again. can i have one where mat's a transguy who can't medically transition until he's like 26 (for financial reasons) and when he starts going on t/finally saves up enough money for top surgery he cries? ik it's really specific but i've been feeling kinda down lately and it would mean a lot (unless you don't want to write it! that's fine too) -🌹

There was an envelope tucked under Matt and Steph’s worn down mattress. It was full of money, crumpled $20’s and $50’s stuffed in whenever the couple could spare it. Despite that, even on their worst days when they were scrambling to pay rent and were living off of diced tomatoes and pasta for almost a week straight, they didn’t touch that envelope. Matt had suggested it once or twice, saying that taking $100 or so out wouldn’t be too bad, but each time Stephanie refused and said they’d make it work. Each time, Matthew loved her a little more for it.

Once a month, the two would pull the envelope out and lay the money across the bed and count it. They’d get excited together about the slowly closing gap between what they had and what they needed; $2000 difference, $1000 difference, $500 difference. This month, both of them were itching with anticipation for the 30th to roll around so they could count their savings, and as the two sat on the bed and counted they both felt like laughing and crying as they counted out $4500 in messy bills

“We did it.” Stephanie said softly and picked the money up into a bundle, running her fingers gently over it. “Matt, we finally did it.” Every single part of him wanted to scream or shout or run into the street and tell anyone who would listen ‘My girlfriend and I finally saved up enough to afford top surgery’. Instead, he started crying and hugged Stephanie tightly, burying his face in her shoulder and sobbing loud, relieved tears. “We can call and book an appointment tomorrow, it said keyhole surgery can be about $3000 to $4000 so this should be able to cover that plus any additional costs. We finally did it, Matthew.”

Matthew barely heard what Steph was saying, he was too busy dealing with the surge of emotions in his stomach. He could feel Stephanie running her fingers through his hair, pressing kisses to the top of his head. For a second, an entire life time of pain and anxiety seemed to disappear. Being shot down from trying out for male roles, trying to fit a binder under stage costumes, every moment of raised eyebrows and dirty looks and ‘she’ or his dead name faded away at the feeling of Stephanie holding him and the thick wad of money he could feel pressed against his back. “Finally.” He whispered against Steph’s neck, smiling through his tears. “Finally.”

My local library has a couple temporary part time positions open. It’d only be 4 hours every other week but the pay is good and the job descriptions are like. Exactly what I wanted to be doing with my diploma. And the hours they’re looking for wouldn’t conflict with my current schedule because it’s a Sunday position and both my other jobs are closed Sundays.


csevet replied to your post “Got my yurt set up yesterday! I invited the whole family over for…”

randomly, i have also been rereading the cloud roads, and drawing things about it. maybe don’t do processing tomorrow if there’s any way you can get out of it

No, I gotta do processing– it’s the main thing I’m here to do. And I don’t mind it, it’s just hard work. The packaging is the part that I really hate, and I never seem to be able to get out of that one, alas. If I’m clearly ill, I might be able to shirk it, or at least get a less-strenuous duty– there are, after all, new employees who I might be able to scrape the parts I hate off onto. 

I would love to see the things you drew about cloud roads! I’m sorry if you’ve posted them and i haven’t noticed, I have very little time online and while I can do mobile data tethering out in the yurt, I’ve discovered that refreshing my Tumblr page like, one time, takes me 2 GB of data and shows me the same shit over and over again even if I PostBlock every image-heavy post I see. So I’m kind of resigned to missing out on almost everything.

Being able to plug in and charge my devices is making such a big difference to my weird OCD-ness about making sure my stuff is charged. Just– knowing I can recharge overnight makes it so much less high-stakes. 

The wind blew my yurt hole cover off today and then it rained. I didn’t know it was going to be rainy today or I’d’ve secured it better. :( It only got a little of my bed, and none of the blankets– just the fitted sheet– so I’m okay, but it’s so humid in here. Which is actually kind of nice– it’s cold out, 55 or so, but so humid I’m in shirt sleeves and comfortable. If it drops lower I’ll probably be sad, because that’s going to start feeling very raw, but I’ll be in bed by then and can just put the covers over my head.

every day i thank the cosmos for the fact that symmetra exists because honestly she is the only character in widespread media that i can name who is not only autistic but also slammin hot

anonymous asked:

Your triangle!bill is the best, write more of that please and thank you. Or Bill holding the puppet deal over Dip's head because they never specified how long Bill gets to keep the puppet and its seriously stressing Dipper out. Man idk go nuts I know whatever you write will be delicious

Wooo, prompt! I really like writing Triangle!Bill, so, uh. Here’s some Triangle!Bill. 

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 I should be doing things instead of feeling sad for no reason.

I don’t usually do fanart for actual people but uh, this is something that I’ve wanted to do for a long time.

This is Rhodes, who is owned by @itsprecioustime, who is a huge inspiration for me. Not only are her characters really amazing, but she is just a phenomenal artist, and someone that I really look up to. Seriously, whenever I feel like I don’t want to draw, I just camp out in her art tag, lol. It always reinvigorates my imagination because her paintings are something that I really strive to match some day.

So anyway, I just wanted to say thank you so much for sharing your art with us, and I’m sure that I speak for many people when I say that every time you post a new piece it really brightens up my day!

--All I Need

            Bail Organa sighed heavily, and massaged his temples tiredly. It had been at least thirty-six standard hours since he had last slept, possibly longer—in the flurry of frantic activity after the birth of the twins, Padmé’s death, and the rushed flight from Polis Massa, keeping careful record of the last time he had slept had not been at the top of his priority list—and he was beginning to truly feel the effects of the long hours awake. Closing his eyes, the senator allowed both of his hands to fall to the desktop with a quiet thud, his chin drooping to rest on his chest.

            His exhaustion ran deeper than mere lack of sleep, however. The last week had been one terrible, horrifying nightmare—and Bail knew it was only the beginning of the darkness. The future stretched out before them, and for the first time, Bail found that he could not see how the next day, the next week, the next month would be shaped. The dance of politics that had wielded the galaxy, shaping and molding, was no more. The puppeteer’s strings had been cut. Now there was only a twisting, confusing mass of tangled knots and empty, fluttering strings. Now there was a new puppet master, and all the rules had changed.

            So much is lost, he thought despairingly. Amidala. The Jedi. The Republic. And there would be more death in the days to come. More sorrow. More tragedy. More fire and blood and the shattering of hope. How did it come to this? How did we fall so far, so quickly?

            “Not so quickly,” a quiet voice whispered in his thoughts. “The first cracks were visible years ago, the rot growing right beneath your nose. But none of saw it; all of you were blind. Even you. Especially you.”

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