my horrible grammar

anonymous asked:

Hey~! What would it look like if Drew has a long hair and how would it affect Aiden? (Like, if Drew change physically does that mean that Aiden will too?) (Sorry for my horrible grammar ;-;) )

(It’s okay 💕)

Btw if Aiden wants ‘em long too they would, but those changes of Drew dont affect on Aiden
Because they usually take as an example of human body just their body, then they change was they want to

Fanfiction.net: Hey yo remember this really old unfisnished fanfiction you did like years ago? Yeah well someone added your story to their favorites. :)
Me: -deep sigh- fuck

Just some basic vocab for clothes as a sorry message for my horrible inactivity!

Got another grammar post coming up as well so watch out!

Hope you can forgive me?

잘가!

agentmidnight  asked:

I WANT TO SEE CATS

Ask and you shall receive!

MY (ELI’S)  FURBABIES. (AKA THE LOVES OF ELI’S LIFE

This is Rex. His face just kind of always looks like that… Its like he can see the entire universe from my bath tub.  Also, his two modes are needy and bitey.  


This is Sheba, and she likes to bathe in sunlight, eat crunchies, talk about her feelings at inopportune times, and knocking shit over when she unhappy with anything. 


Here is some more pics of them from my recent snapping adventures. 

(Sheba covering her face while she is sleeping next to me, all tucked in under the blankets. )

(Its true. He is a weird one.)

(Sorry for my horrible grammar.  It suppose to say “I am /Trying/ to get some..” )

(They both do this a lot) 

(Bread Boy) 

(Grain Girl)

(The Golden Age of Cat Cinema in my living room) 

(Sheb when she has given up on the day) 


THANK YOU FOR THE ASK!! 

I AM ALWAYS DOWN TO TALK ABOUT MY CATS!!

I just had a legit heart attack. Someone came into work and my coworker asked him where he was from (because he knew I’d be excited) and he said Norway and without thinking I instantly started talking to him in Norwegian and my grammar was horrible but he was so happy that I could talk to him in Norwegian and said he would come back more often to speak with me and that my Norwegian was really good and omg I’m so happy

I forgot about gruvia week. 😱
Also it’s like instead of my art improving it got worse and my grammar is horrible after not taking a proper English class in years.

I have way too many headcanons for this ship, so I tough that i could write this one here.. 

Baze is really organised, I mean like really REALLY organised whit all of his and Chirruts gear and what anything they carry along. Like rations, clothes and other nick knacks.

He hates it if anyone else other than the two of them touch any of their things and messes up the order where anything in their bags is, because it means that it’s a lot harder for Chirrut to find anything he might need.

They don’t carry along too much, they do not need anything extra in their travels and anything extra feels waist-full, just extra weight to carry along. But still there’s couple of little trinkets that Baze has collected to him self because they remind him of Chirrut. 

He is slightly embarrassed by his small collection of  long leather straps that Chirrut had once put on his hair. Baze really doesn’t wan’t Chirrut ever to find out that he carries them along. Cirrut definitely knows it and finds it all really endearing.

ok but what about a vixx fanfic au where luck are college students who are studying in Japan for a year and meet each other in the school’s library while Leo was trying to reach for a book only for Hyuk to grab it first.

Keep reading

Morning

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Words: 1,908

Song: Fidelity, cover by Jasmine Thompson 

A/N: Part ten to the Raindrop series! Thank you all for being so patient with me about this! But, I would like you to know, that the next part will PROBABLY be the final installment. And a big thanks to Fem for fixing my horrible grammar. I have ZERO grammar skills. So let me know if you liked it and if you want a next part! 

_ _ _ _ _ 

PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3 - PART 4 - PART 5 - PART 6 - PART 7 - PART 8 - PART 9

For a sweet, split second each morning, you woke up believing everything was fine. That you never had amnesia, that demons weren’t hunting you, and that you weren’t petrified every time you thought about it. This morning was no different. You woke up and rubbed your eyes, flipping onto your back. You stared up at the white ceiling, and once again, let everything that happened in the last month roll its way back into your mind.

From all that you felt, the worst was the guilt. It gnawed at you every time you looked at Dean. His eyes were perpetually filled with concern. He blamed himself for everything that happened to you and you couldn’t figure out why. From the memories you did remember, his eyes used to be bright and they would wrinkle at the corners when he laughed. Now, the once bright green had dulled.

Reluctantly, you stood up and gathered your hair to the side, heading towards the bathroom to wash up.

_ _ _ _ _

“I could make a deal.” Dean raised his brows at his brother. “Crowley owes us about a million favors.”

Sam sighed and crossed his arms, “Deals backfire, Dean. You’re living proof.”

Dean absentmindedly picked at the label on the beer bottle. The paper ripped off in small shreds.

“I don’t know if I care anymore, Sammy.” Dean’s voice was low.

Sam lifted his leg and sat on the counter top. “Isn’t it too early to be drinking?” He asked his brother after glancing at the clock.

Dean rolled his eyes and brought the bottle to his lips, gulping down the last of it. He tossed it into the trashcan, caring less about the sound it made as it shattered.

“I’m tired of buying new trash cans, Dean!” Sam could already picture the dented metal of the can.

“Don’t be a bitch, Sammy!” Dean shouted as he walked towards the hallway.

“Jerk!” Sam shouted back.

Dean pursed his lips and dropped his head, his brain trying to think of any other options to help you regain all the memories you’ve lost. Not only did he believe that your loss of memory was his fault, but he was to blame for the demons after you. Had he never let you stay with them, they would never connect you to him. You would have parted ways, and no demons would try to ruin his life by murdering you.

“Mornin’” Your voice ripped him from his thoughts. You scrunched up your nose at the sight of his half drunk beer bottle, and you ripped it from him grip. “Can’t you just have some orange juice like everybody else?”

Dean raised a brow at you.

“You need some vitamin C.” You said, taking down two glasses from the shelf.

“I’ve survived this long without it.” He said. You rolled your eyes and poured him, and yourself a glass. He looked at you, and placed the beer back in the fridge, studying the glass that you poured.

“Drink it.” You pushed it towards him. Sighing, he began to sip at it. He just wanted to see you smile at him.

“Anyway,” You brought your hair to one side, “Was Sam able to pinpoint the demon’s location?”

Dean shook his head. “I think they’re just gonna have to come to us this time.”

“Here? The bunker?”

“No, not here. We’ll stay at a motel and try sticking to public places. Then they’ll find us, and we can kill ‘em.” He explained his plan.

You sat across from him. “Maybe we should wear big bright stickers too. Oh! And maybe they should say WINCHESTER across the front!” You exclaimed sarcastically.

“That’s actually not a bad idea.” Dean said with a smirk, downing the last of his juice.

You found yourself constantly rolling your eyes at the man.

“I’ll go pack my things.” You placed your glass in the sink.

Dean crossed his arms. “You’re staying here.”

“You said we!” You spun around.

“Yeah,” Dean said as if it was obvious, “Me and Sammy.”

“So let me get this clear. You and Sam are going to hunt demons that are after me, without actually bringing me?” You stated what you assumed to be his plan.

“Yeah.”

“Are you fucking serious?” You rubbed your face with your hands. “They won’t find you that way if I’m the one they’re targeting.”

“I’m not-” Dean started before sighing, “I’m not putting you in any more danger.”

“That’s not your choice, Dean Winchester. These demons are after me, and solely me. I should be going there alone so that you and Sam don’t get hurt because of me!” You exclaimed.

Dean stood up and stepped closer to you. “Me and Sammy can take care of ourselves. We have for years.”

“Just because you’ve been hunting since forever, and Sam is built like fucking Thor, doesn’t mean things can’t go wrong, Dean!” You shouted, “So, please,” your voice softened and you placed your palm against Dean’s chest, “Please, just let me do this.”

After what seemed like an hour of watching Dean clench his jaw, he dropped his head while nodding a yes. You dropped your hand from the soft touch of his t-shirt.

“And Thor?” Dean asked, meeting your eyes. “Really?”

“Have you seen the abs on that man? Just rock solid abs of-”

Dean placed his hands over his ears and began to walk away. “Don’t talk about my brother like that!”

_ _ _ _ _

The motel was even worse than you expected it to be. Not only were the floors littered in mysterious stains, but the ceiling had strange brown patches on it. While the beds looked promising, the small table that accompanied a set of chairs, tilted to the side and nearly fell on you when you dropped your duffel bag onto it.

“This place is definitely haunted.” Was the first thing you announced upon entering the brother’s room.

“Huh?” Dean looked away from the television.

“As in ghosts. Caspers.” You thought about the curtains in your room moving from side to side.

“It’s a shitty motel, I’ll give you that. But we checked for EMF.” Dean said, picking his legs up onto the table.

You walked over to their window, peering outside at the dark parking lot. Leaves littered the ground, blowing in every direction.

“AH!” You jumped.

“You alright?” Dean’s arm was close enough to you for him to reach out and hold you by your side.

“Yeah, fine.” You stared at the cat that jumped out from the bush.

“What was it?” Dean stared at your back.

“Have I ever mentioned cats can be really scary?” You turned around.

Dean cracked a smile, “What about those?” He pointed to your socks.

“These are kittens! There’s a difference.” You crossed your arms and stared at your socks before smiling. “Hey,” You tapped his shoulder, “Remember when we first met and you laughed at these then, too?”

He nodded before turning his head to you quickly. “You remember that?”

Your eyes went wide as you nodded furiously. “I do!” You exclaimed, as giddy as a child. Without thinking you wrapped your arms from behind Dean’s sitting frame and laughed. He gripped your arm and smiled.

Back in your room, you undressed, swapping your jeans for pajama shorts, and bra for a tank top. Your eyes scanned the room for a clock, and landed on one shaped like a tropical flower. It’s colors were faded.

Crawling into bed, you shut off the hardly-working palm tree lamp, which you decided that you hated, and rolled over onto your side.

Before you even had the chance to shut your eyes, the window began to creak. Branches hit against the glass and you pulled your blanket up higher. Hunters weren’t supposed to be afraid, you thought; but here you lay, heart pounding from the sounds you heard.

For another half hour, you lay on your back, eyes staring up at the ceiling. The wind began to whistle outside and you swore you heard someone walking outside. Without another thought you jumped out from your bed and flew into the Winchesters door, shutting it behind you.

“Dean.” You whispered, shaking him gently. He immediately reached under his pillow for what you assumed was a gun and you held down his hand. “It’s me.”

“What happened?” He whispered, rubbing his eyes.

“I think my room is haunted.” You whispered back.

Groaning, Dean moved over and motioned for you to get into his bed. You did so, resting on your side so that your back faced his chest.

“Promise you won’t wake me up again?” Dean asked.

“Promise.” You whispered. His sheets were warm, and his pillow already smelled like him. It was a scent you felt safe in. Dean began snoring once again, only moments after you got in bed. Taking advantage of his warm body, you pressed your cold feet flat against his legs. If he felt it, he didn’t say anything. Suddenly, it became easy to fall asleep.

You woke up to the sound of running water. With half-shut eyes, you looked towards the sound and saw Sam washing something in the sink. You tried to move, forgetting you were sharing a bed. Dean’s chest was pressed against your back and his arm was wrapped tightly around your waist.

“Dean.” You whispered, raking your fingers across his arm. You finally felt his grip ease up as he began to open his eyes. He found himself staring at you next to him; your hair, falling loosely around your neck that dipped so perfectly to your shoulders.  

“Guys,” Sam’s voice broke apart the silence, “I got breakfast.”

With a smile, you hopped out of bed and walked towards the kitchen.

“Cinnamon rolls?” You asked, poking around the brown bag of food.

“Dean said you liked them.” Sam said, taking the coffee’s out of their holder. You smiled at Dean, who still lay in bed. The sheets only covered below his knee as he kicked them off of himself.

“And hazelnut coffee.” Sam shoved a cup in your direction.

“I like hazelnut?”

“It’s what you ordered on our first hunt together. I figured you’d still like it.” He said.

“Thanks, Sam.”

A playful smile grew on his face, “Don’t you mean, Thor?”

Your cheeks turned crimson. “What?”

“The bunker echoes.” He stated as he bit into his apple.

“Of course it does.” You whispered, walking towards the door with your breakfast.

“Meet back here in twenty.” Dean said, loudly from his bed.

You nodded and shoved half of the cinnamon roll into your mouth before opening the door.

“This is good!” You exclaimed, but doubted they understood a word with the amount of food in your mouth.

With half of breakfast hanging from your mouth, and a hot cup of coffee that was nearly slipping from your grip in your hand, you twisted the knob to your room and shoved the door open with your foot. Why was it so dark? You looked around to find the blinds that were open last night, drawn shut. Carefully, you set down your coffee onto the broken table and took the roll out from your mouth. It was unnaturally quiet. The only sound you heard was the clock ticking incessantly.

Walking over to the lamp, you reached down to turn it on when a hand clamped over your mouth.

“Don’t make a sound.” He whispered.

10

[the comic end /but I still got a doodle]

So this was an idea I had this afternoon,It’s about what if because of some errors or some reason that we don’t know..make Sans can control the game,and he had went through a lot horrible things as genocide end….and he’s terrified of seeing anyone he knows die,this gives him a chance to make things right,but there’s so many possibilities after the comic,it can be sad,horrible…..or it can be happily ever after …?

❤sorry for my poor English and horrible grammar❤

Pro-tip: Commas are your friends, especially in short introductory word groups.

Come on Bucky has a vastly different meaning from Come on, Bucky.

Let’s eat Steve might convey something else to your readers than Let’s eat, Steve

When Sam was ready to jump his friend tossed him the pistol reads a bit differently at first than When Sam was ready to jump, his friend tossed him the pistol

I remember in the Episode “Human Nature”of Doctor Who, Martha Jones endured all kinds of racist foolishness, worked her ass off, and lived in primitive squalor( compared to modern times), for the sake of the 10th Doctor. All through their travels (before and after) he had no time or interest in her; and was loath to acknowledge her feelings for him, because of his feelings for rose. That was all well and understandable.*shrugs* It made sense to me.

However, i almost stopped watching the show after that episode. After all that they had been through, and all that Martha had done for him; when he had finally regained his memory (or became the man he truly was), he some how suddenly had room in his heart to “try” with that homely school teacher.

To be clear, i didn’t ( and don’t) ship The Doctor with Martha. At the time my OTP was definitely him & rose. But as a black female fan, i can’t say that that situation didn’t seem like a slap in the face. Martha is this Beautiful, Wonderfully Intelligent, Loyal, Companion; a woman with whom he could trust his life. A woman who was willing to sacrifice her dignity , and even her life to a certain extent, to be there for and with him, and to protect him.

And yet some how that school teacher seemed to be more worthy than Martha?

I couldn’t even enjoy the 10th Doctor after that. I took a hiatus from my netflix binge of the show for some time before i was able to get back into it.

That’s how this thing with Jessie and Rick makes me feel. Now i still plan on watching on Sunday; because i love the walking dead for more than just my Ship(s).

However, this interest the writer’s have in Rick and Jessie having a thing (outa nowhere) still makes me a little sick. And to be honest,  despite the fact that i believe that Richonne will become cannon eventually ( maybe even in 6B!),  depending on how this kiss and this Jessick thing plays out, it would be difficult for me to continue shipping Richonne with the same fervor that i do now. Michonne Deserves BETTER Than To Be Someones SECOND Choice.

I am Here for Michonne before i am here for anyone else ( save Sasha).

Don’t get me wrong, I love all of the cast. I love the show, i love the story lines, gray morality, and all of that. But Michonne is my representation as a WOC, as a black woman she is another facet of affirmation for me as a viewer. First as a woman, and second as  someone who is black.

I am not here to see her treated as less than. I am not here to see her be good enough to: mother Rick’s children, to nurse him back to health, to keep him tethered to reality, and be his moral magical negro. I am not here to see her be good enough to be a confidant to him; and good enough to be an equal and partner to him in EVERY WAY, and yet somehow she is not ‘good enough’ to be his love interest. His Sole love interest.  

It’s 2015. I am not here for them making a “Mammy” out of Michonne. That is beneath her. Being sidelined like this is beneath the Bad Ass and Dynamic character that she is.  And more importantly (because this is a Richonne post), A rick that would choose Jessie over Michonne is beneath her.

The rick that (it seems) these writers are creating does NOT Deserve Michonne.

I’m still gonna watch the show. And as much as i love the Richonne fandom, if the writers are going to continue to down play everything that Michonne is in favor of a Jessick romance ( remember that party scene and that ugly dress they had her in?!?!), then i’m going to JumpShip.

….At least until the writers find some way to fix that. It wouldn’t be enough for rick to just suddenly choose Michonne. Like i said, I am not here for her being some white dude’s second best .[or anyone’s really]

I don’t hate Jessie’s character, and i am not here to vilify her, or even Rick’s character. But these ‘i’m a celibate strong black woman’, ‘mammy’, ‘side kick best friend’, ‘ you’re too strong and i am only attracted to white delicate damsels’, type tropes the writers got going on for Michonne are tired as fuck.

I know i have probably said it twice before but it bears repeating.

Michonne Deserves Better.