oh and clearly this was inspired by

anonymous asked:

I have a question about Creator of Flowerfell, so what you think about her? I know this question is stupid. Anyway, I was her supporter because I did like her art in the past. But when I tell her "take a short break" and she doesn't like my tone from it. She make fun of my disability which I am deaf. I told her that is not my intention to hurt you or other that she think I am stalker (which it is not true) I am just here to look inspirational for my art.

… oh boy.. *sigh*

This is a very sensitive topic honestly. If such things were said to you, then I’m sorry. But the writer of Flowerfell clearly had problems going on.

I agree that taking out problems onto others and insulting others about their health is not a good thing. But then the majority of people weren’t very kind to the writers of Flowerfell either, and and didn’t respect how they felt.

From what I understand, the writer (and the respected co writers and artists) received allllot of harassment and pain. Sadly I guess that built up anger and pain from those who hurt them was spread to those who support them. With being surrounded by the negativity, guess they couldn’t see what was good at the time.

This does not make the Flowerfell writers bad people. Not at all. They were defending a story they loved, despite being attacked for having their opinions, and just felt the only way to end this fighting was to stop what they loved altogether. Because what they loved was being destroyed by people who didn’t understand nor respect their wishes.

It’s a very hard situation to really say “who did who” and “who is mean”.

I’m sorry you were hurt, but I hope you know that being deaf is not something to be ashamed of. I can’t imagine how you must feel, but I know personally some pretty amazing people who are deaf. You are another awesome person at that too. :)

I can understand you are a fan of their artwork. The art style is stunning.

But don’t be discouraged. I have no doubt you can develop an awesome art style too :)

(Anxiety thoughts incoming..)

I’m sorry if my response as offended and upset people. I just want to make my views across that no one is completely innocent. Some actions are because of said reasons, and those actions probably aren’t purposeful. Just wrong place, wrong mood, and the wrong time.

anonymous asked:

Hero flirting with an experienced but easily flustered villain...?

1) “You do know that when you wipe my memories it doesn’t actually work, right? One of the perks of being me.” 
The villain froze at the hero’s words. They’d just attempted their grand entrance four times in a row, trying to anticipate the hero’s response, blanking their brain when they didn’t quite get it perfect. First impressions were important. PR won battles as much as soldiers did. Don’t worry,” the hero grinned, looking the villain up and down slowly. “You’re doing great. Very impressive.”
Now they definitely had to die. 


2) The villain prowled closer, gaze intent. 
“Mm. The last time someone looked at me like that we didn’t get out of bed all weekend, good times.” 
“Cute bravado, it won’t save you.” 
“You’re blushing.” 


3) “You could be so brilliant if you only turned your mind to creating things instead of destroying them,” the hero murmured. They paused to tighten the villain’s restraints, before glancing up to catch their eyes. “I’ve never seen anything like you. You’re stunning.” It was so earnest that, for once, the villain didn’t quite know what to say. The hero wet their lips, practically on their knees. “Just let me help you, please. You’d be a terrible waste to the world rotting.” 


4) “Are you going to put me in handcuffs? Tell me how bad I’ve been? Punish me to the full extent of the law?” 
“Do you want me to?” The hero shoved them up against the wall, breath hot against their ear. “You do seem to spend rather a lot of time making me chase you. All those clever schemes, your convoluted games. I mean, I’m flattered, but you could just ask me for a coffee.” 
“Ah, but how would you know it was really me then.” A shiver ran down their spine for all the flippancy of tone. 


5) “Oh, I could just take you apart. See how long that cold, untouchable reputation of yours lasts then. You’re trying so hard to pretend you’re not even human, but look at that…” the hero pressed a hand above the villain’s heart. They both felt it pounding far too clearly. This was not supposed to happen. There was a reason nobody was supposed to get close. 

Right so I’ve made posts about this before but I just wanted to say something, speaking as someone who has never had credit stolen and has really only seen a couple friends experience that as well. My point being, I’m not just coming from some emotional self righteous place. I’m coming from a place of being a human being who believes in the common sense that if somebody created something, they should get credit for it. A fact which is apparently lost on or ignored by many people.

Let’s get some things straight:

  • Tagging or captioning something “not mine” does not make it okay to post without credit.
  • Saying “thanks but that’s not mine” when people compliment your post does not mean you’re giving credit.
  • People who create original content deserve to be credited. Some posters may have spent hours creating something, only to watch it be posted by someone who didn’t put in any of that effort, and gain recognition and likes and what have you without crediting the person who made it exist in the first place.
  • It doesn’t matter if it’s a photograph or a drawing (those seem to be the most common). Give credit to the creator.
  • It takes. So. Little. Time. To credit. Ideas in descending order according to length and effort:
    • Reposted from ____
    • Originally from ____
    • Posted by ____
    • Credit to ____
    • From _____ (that’s literally four letters, plus a link or username. I think you can handle that)
  • If you can’t find the original post via reverse Google search, at least link back to the source URL. It’s simply the decent thing to do.
  • Who really enjoys stupid, stressful arguments over credit? The offenders get defensive and mad, the posters get hurt and even angrier, and it all could be prevented by the simple act of crediting.
  • Like seriously. If for no other reason, just credit the damn person to avoid clogging people’s dashes with angry posts, wasting everyone’s time in blocking you, and getting into fights with internet people you’ll never see in real life.
  • Isn’t plagiarism bad? I mean the school system, internet, and life failed you drastically if you’ve never heard of plagiarism. People get suspended, failed, and expelled for it. So clearly that’s not cool.
  • As a final note, it would be very nice of you to even consider ASKING permission *gasp* before reposting. What a NOVEL idea! Let’s look at some options, shall we?
    • I wish I could *insert skill here* like you. Maybe you could give me some pointers? In the meantime would it be okay if I reposted this for inspiration/reference?
    • Hi! I really love this post and I was wondering if I could repost it to my *insert social media here*
    • Hey! Do you mind if I repost this? (oh DAMN look at that, that one took me less than 30 seconds to type. Holy shit the miracles of giving credit)

Long story short, JUST GIVE CREDIT. I cannot wrap my mind around why people find this such an insurmountable burden. Usually you got the photo directly from the source anyway, so you know where it came from. And it takes less than 5 minutes to do a reverse Google image search; if you can’t find ANY information, either consider not posting it and asking permission to repost something else, or at least put down the URL to indicate that this is not original content.

THE END.

P.S. Give credit. Please.

Sorry I’m Late, I Was Saving Paris

Read here on AO3!

Fandom:
Miraculous Ladybug

Rating:
General

Theme:
Humor

Summary:
Caline Bustier has heard many ridiculous excuses from Marinette when she is late. But this one took the cake.
What she had not expected, was for it to be true.

Author’s Note:
So, this is just a little one-shot reveal, inspired by a line in another one-shot I am working on. (The never-ending spiral of inspiration doom!)
Clearly, this one spoke to me most, because I got it done in just a couple of days.
Just one of my usual humour one-shots, so I hope you like it!!!


If there was one thing Caline Bustier could count on in her class, it was Marinette. Oh, sure, she was a brilliant, reliable class president, and always turned her homework in on time (sometimes just in the nick of time, but still on time). But no, what she could count on, was that Marinette would be late (not all the time, just… way too often at this point) and that when she arrived, she would make the most ridiculous excuses that she had ever heard.

They were the excuses of someone panicking and struggling for an excuse. And as creative as Marinette was… she was atrocious at coming up with believable lies. Oh, they were still brilliantly creative, just not one bit believable. In fact, some of them were so brilliantly insane that she had started making a list of them in a notebook that sat on her desk. So far she had filled up an entire two pages, and there were some utter gems.

She had even talked with some of the other teachers and they had come across the same thing. Though she wasn’t as lenient with Marinette’s tardiness, Ms Mendeleiev still shared some of her favourite excuses with her.

Still, nothing  would ever beat:

“I’m sorry I’m late!” Marinette called as she dashed in. “I - I was…” She panted slightly as she rushes up to her desk and began unpacking her things. You could practically see her floundering for an excuse. “ I was saving Paris!”

Keep reading

It’s A Meta Crisis!

Anon: Hi first off I love your writing so much! I was wondering if you could do supernatural story were the reader is obsessed with the show but one day she wakes up in the bunker and she finds out she’s Sam and Dean’s sister but starts to freak out and her ‘brothers’ thinks she may be sick or tries to calm her down. Sorry if that’s confusing <3

Nonnie, I need to apologize for taking so long to get this out, but I hope this was worth the wait. Like always, please message/leave something in my inbox with comments, questions, criticism, if you want to be tagged, etc. Enjoy everyone!

Summary: You are a Sister!Winchester writer and you wake up inside the Bunker one day.

Warnings: None (yes, I know the gif is a typewriter, but it’s hard to find good gifs!)

Tags: @the-third-winchester-warrior @winchesters-favorite-girl @jensen-jarpad @daughters-and-winsisters @lil-sister-winchester

Originally posted by mr-nikolo

“Aaaand, you’re done.” You say the final words of your newly written story aloud as you type them. You wrap your blanket bundle around you a little tighter and click the post button. “All right. You’re up for the whole world to see.” You sigh in relief, happier than ever to get this story out. School is about to start up, something you’re not looking forward to in any way, shape, or form.

You close your laptop slowly. You wish the magic of the holiday break didn’t have to end. The sleeping in, the bliss of not knowing what to do for a whole day, not being sure whether it was Monday or Friday. It was heaven.

You look at the clock. 11:08. Well, if you are going to get any sort of sleep for the early day tomorrow, now was as good a time as any to count sheep. You turn off your light and flop down on your bed. You don’t bother to change clothes or take off your shoes for that matter; you’d be wearing the same outfit to school the next day anyways, so why bother?

You turn your head to look around the sights of your room. A Supernatural poster from season 8 hangs on the far wall. Nearby that, you can see the different ‘hunting’ accessories you had collected over the years, scattered all around your bedroom. Some came from bygone Halloweens, others as holiday and birthday gifts. The old pocketknife with the Men of Letters symbol you carved into the handle, the iron sculpture you pilfered from a garage sale, your stashes of salt and homemade goofer dust, and the leather bag that you used for a hex bag in cosplay. A stack of plaid and flannel shirts sits piled under the poster. You’re particularly proud of the angel blade you had ‘forged’ from moldable plastic beads.

You smile, dreaming about your made up life of being the Winchester’s sister. It’s easier to gain story inspiration through dreaming fanfiction. Oh, the hunts, the magic, the creatures, the excitement, the strong sense of family. Every little aspect about it. Just, Sam, Dean, and you. Against the whole world…

Even before you wake up, you can sense something’s wrong. It’s cold. Colder than your room. You feel around for your blanket to pull up to your face. You freeze.

They’re not yours.

Your eyes open immediately. You sit up cautiously. Did I just get kidnapped? you wonder silently. A dark ceiling and plain walls meet your tired eyes that clearly do not belong to you.

You’re not in your bedroom anymore.

The walls are windowless, an odd bookshelf in the corner. Your eyes scan along the book titles: Mythology and Lore, The Official Book of Exorcisms, Shapeshifters vs. Skinwalkers Vol. 1. The entirety of the bookcase was covered with more scrolls and books like these.

“Okay…little creepy…” You glance around the room, suddenly feeling a sense of either paranoia or excitement. You’re not sure yet. The floor is made not of your soft brown-beige carpet, but a hard floor instead. The most off-putting thing is the smell; it’s a mix of air freshener and dust. Overall, pretty musty. Definitely not the smell of the scented candle at home.

Sounds are pretty much nonexistent. There was always some noise in your home. A passing car on the outside street, siblings arguing in the kitchen over who’s turn it was to use the toaster for Pop-Tarts, or the neighbor’s cat yowling in terror after being chased up a tree by a bullying squirrel.

You peer over the edge of a plain bed. There’s a large wooden chest with leather straps on it. Sort of a trunk really. You’ve never seen this before, but it’s familiar. You abruptly realize you have seen it before.

In your head.

Pieces of everything about this room fly together. The books on the shelf. The floor. The lack of windows and noise. The smell. Waking up in a different bed. Everything is how you’ve imagined it in your stories. You’ve pictured this room in your mind a thousand times, creating different story upon story in this setting.

This is the room you created for the sister of Sam and Dean Winchester.

“That’s not possible…” Only one way for you to be sure. You rub your hands on the top of this mysterious box. If every other detail is right, then this would prove what was going on. Your eyes look down apprehensively, suddenly feeling a series of grooves on the lid of the trunk. You gasp aloud, trying everything to keep from screaming. A six-pointed star is burned into the top of the chest. A Star of Aquarius, better known to you as the symbol for the Men of Letters.

“Just like I wrote.” Your whole body is trembling. Jury’s still out on whether your shaking is from panic or happiness. You look down at yourself. You’re still in the same outfit you fell asleep in: black and white plaid shirt over a black tank top and ripped blue jeans. Your feet are still in the brown faux leather boots from Shopko. You’d tastefully nicknamed them your ‘Winchester Boots’. Little did you know that you’d actually be wearing them in the freaking Bunker.

You slap yourself. Ow. “Okay. Real. Not dreaming. I’m…in…the Bunker.” You turn around in place in a daze. A frightened happy smile stretches across your face. “I’m in the Bunker. The Bunker.”

You take a look at a wooden nightstand. You pull open the drawer cautiously, fearing what might be inside. Inside sits a knife, exactly like your knife in your bedroom. Your other bedroom The not Supernatural one. All the way down to the Men of Letters symbol carved inside. Which makes sense; you’ve based so much of your stories on yourself. Under that sits a small framed but faded photo. You immediately know who it should be, but your curiosity gets the better of you. You gently pick it up.

It’s happy photo of the little baby you sitting on your Dad’s shoulders. Not John Winchester’s shoulders. Your father. Riiight. The sister I created was adopted, not a Winchester by blood, you remind yourself. You stare intently at the picture, recalling the backstory you’d given your Win!sister.

A father turned into an encantado and the mom was a good friend of John Winchester so she teamed up with him in the hunting life. Y/N, became real close to Sam and Dean, helping out with research in her early years and later learning the trade. Teaming up wasn’t a constant thing, but enough to where the boys considered her their sister. John ended up killing Y/N’s dad when he showed up years later. Sam and Dean meeting up became less and less until it stopped completely when Y/N helped Sam get to Stanford. Contact resumed at Roadhouse with Ellen. Her mom died when the Gates of Hell were opened while Y/N was young. She’s been in Sam and Dean’s care since-

You’re cut off by a sudden, yet soft, knocking on the door. “Hey, Y/N.”

You know that mellow voice all too well. You gasp loudly and just barely manage to hold on the to the picture before it can shatter. Standing in front of the door is the freaking giant of a man Sam Winchester.

Originally posted by brothersinsync

He looks at you with mild concern. “You okay? Didn’t mean to scare you.” He finishes with a natural smile. “You didn’t answer your phone. Dean and I just finished one weird case. You’re gonna laugh your head off at this one.”

You back up into the side of bed, still not sure whether to be terrified or bouncing off the walls. You can barely hold onto your voice.

“S-Sam?”

“Yeah?”

Your eyebrows shoot like rockets towards the ceiling. “Sam??”

“Yeah…that’s me.”

“Sam Winchester??”

Sam steps towards you. “Y/N, is something going on?”

“Sam freaking Winchester. In front of me.” You run your twitchy hands through your hair. “Oh gosh, this is happening. This is real. This-this-i-i-it’s. Holy mother flippin’ Metatron. You’re Sam Winchester.”

Sam smiles unsure with a little laugh in his throat. “Y/N, you’re acting like you’ve never seen me before.”

You start gesturing frantically, as you usually did when you fangirled. “Yes yes yes yes, I know I know I know! This i-i-i-is. This is unbelievable. I mean, you’re right there and I’m right here in this room and-” You abruptly stop and take a look at Sam, who is slowly backing towards the exit. “I’ve gone meta, haven’t I?”

“Uh…Dean!” Sam shouts over his massive shoulder.

“What?”

The distant reply of another voice you know hits your ears and a dorky grin stretches across your face. “Oh man, Dean’s here too. Oh boy. Oooookay…”

“C’mere for a sec!” Sam gives you a funny look. “Just…stay right here for a minute.”

You sit down on the bed, beyond happy to comply. “Okay!” Your energy level is off the charts.

Sam walks out of the room with a slightly faster pace than you expect. You hear his footsteps recede to where they’re undetectable. You get up off the bed, a whole new strength coursing through you; in your sudden excitement to see the Winchesters, you ignored the fact that not only are you in a different place, but you’re different too. Your body is roughly the same height, maybe a little taller. But you’re extremely fit now. You feel muscles bulging out of your arms, calves, and torso. It’s a whole new thing. You’re still around the same size as you were, but more of a body-builder version rather than a light exerciser.

You run your hands along the slightly bulging muscles in your upper arms. “Cool.” Your eyes sidle to an unopened closet. A new thought hatches in your mind. “I wonder…” You walk over and open the door, adrenaline and adventure filling your energetic body. You smile. Inside, behind the rack of clothing, is the set of weaponry you dreamt of always having. Shotguns and rifles and swords and pistols and ninja stars and salt rounds and-

You lay your eyes on the two weapons you crave the most: the Enochian carved angel blade from your I See Wings series and three sets of throwing knives you imagined: One for demons, one for creatures, one for witches. Each knife set was enchanted with spells you had found in the Bunker, designed with silver or iron or salt.

At least, that’s how you wrote it. You still hope it’s true.

You pry one out from it’s meticulously crafted case. Oh, the glory of holding one of those babies is indescribable. The black leather grip, the smoothness of the knife, the simplistic beauty of the curvature. You never knew how long you waited for this moment. And your new body is just begging you to try the knife out. You curl it back almost daintily, aim and…

Originally posted by twoidjitsinthesalvageyard

Before you can let your blade loose, Dean himself comes striding into your room. He’s on guard instantly when he sees you with the knife. “Woah, Y/N.” He rushes over to your side and grabs your wrist. “If you wanna throw, we’ve got the shooting range, not your room.”

You stare at him in utter shock, that goofy fangirl smile coming back onto your face. “Dean?” you whisper. Your eyes grow wide. “You’re…real…”

Dean knits his eyebrows together. He scoffs and sits you down on the bed by your shoulders. “Course I’m real. Why wouldn’t I be?”

You can see Sam standing in the door, hesitant to come in the room. Your eyes flick rapidly between the two of them. “I’m-I’m really here? This isn’t some sort of…prank or-or joke or…” You look into the Winchester’s eyes, ever growing concern stretching across their faces. “I mean…you’re both real…” you breathe out.

Dean sets your throwing knife on the bed. “Y/N, are you high?” The seriousness in his voice throws you off guard.

“No! No, no, nope!” you yelp. “Definitely not high.” You scan around the room distractedly, trying to ground yourself on something. “Not high…definitely…not…”

“Uh-huh…” Dean clearly doesn’t believe you. He turns to Sam. “And you just found her like this?”

“Yeah. I don’t know what’s going on-”

“What was the last thing that happened to you?” you interrupt. If you can figure out what just happened to the boys, then maybe you can figure out how you got here.

Dean takes a breath. “Well, you wanted to stay and get some research done. We just got back from some weird ass musical about our lives.”

Season 10 episode 5, you immediately think. “So, you’re not a demon anymore and,” you point to Sam, “you just killed Calliope then, right?”

Sam squints at you. “How do you know that?”

“Y/N, what’s going on?” The expression on Dean’s face just melts your poor little fangirl heart. The concern, the honesty. Ugh.

“I…I don’t know. I just woke up here and…” You struggle to find the right words when a lightbulb goes off. You stand up off the bed. “Do you remember when Balthazar zapped you two to an alternate universe?”

Both Sam and Dean groan. “Damn, that was bad,” Dean complains.

“Well, think of this as a reverse one of those.” You grin sheepishly, standing awkwardly in the room as it dawns on the boys. Sam speaks up first.

“You mean…you’re from…”

“Not exactly.” You rub the back of your neck. “My name’s Y/N Y/L/N. I write stories about the show Supernatural. Mostly about if Sam and Dean Winchester had a sister…” you fade out seeing as Dean’s head looks like it’s about to explode.

“Wait, you what??”

“In the show, it’s just…well, you two. But, I began writing my own stories imagining if you two had a sister. And I guess I’m having some kind of meta crisis right now, apparently. I woke up here in the world I created.”

“In the body of our sister.” Dean sounds more hostile towards you than before.

“Not exactly. It’s sort of a reverse Balthazar situation with a bit of Chuck mixed in.”

Sam looks the least freaked out out of everyone in the room. “Okay. So, you wrote about…us and if we had a sister? Why if?”

“In my life or universe or whatever, Y/N Winchester doesn’t exist except in the stories I write.” You take a look at Dean who looks like he could Hulk out on you. You raise your hands defensively. “I based her on me though. So, it’s not like I’m possessing her; I am her. Sort of.”

“Wait, wait, wait. You wrote her so you are her?”

“Pretend you rewrote the Lord of the Rings with you in them. But, you didn’t want to name yourself after you, so you came up with another name. Like…Jim. Then you find yourself in that story you wrote as Jim. But you based Jim off of you so it is you in it’s own way.”

“This is already making my brain sick.” Dean rubs his forehead with the tips of his fingers.

“No, I get it. That makes sense.” You silently thank Sam for saving your bacon.

“The only question is how I got here. I literally went to sleep and woke up here. Nothing different than normal.”

“Okay…if you were writing this, as a story, what would you explain it as?”

You put a hand up to the back of your neck, a habit when you try to concentrate. “Well, if I was writing this, I’d probably be dealing with a spell of some kind, but nothing crazy happened to me last night. So,” you begin to pace, “that leaves me with…oh. Great.” You sigh and purse your lips together.

“What?”

“Hex bags. I have one in my room.” The Winchesters continue to stare at you. You sigh. “Not a witch, it’s just for cosplay and Halloween. But, I didn’t sweep my room last night. Someone could’ve swapped it out for a real one.”

Dean tips his head up to the ceiling. “I freaking hate witches.”

“Well, it might not be a witch.”

“What do you mean?”

“A witch is only one idea. It might be a tulpa, or a really messed up spirit, or-” You stop, a new idea entering your head. You close your eyes. “Ah, crap.” You raise your hand in a ‘shut-up’ gesture, simply going over to a tv set in the corner of the room and turning it on.

Dean leans forward on the bed. “You gotta kidding me.”

“Perks of writing your own world. You get a pretty good hunch on who did it.” A Casa Erotica scene starts setting up.

Sam points to the screen. “But, he died.”

Originally posted by your-not-invisible-to-me

A very familiar waiter rips off his mustache. “Think again, boys. And girl.” Gabriel pops out through the tv screen landing in front of you and the Winchesters. A weird combination of a smile and an ‘exasperated-parent face’ hits your face. The archangel looks at you. “How do they do it on BBC?” He raises an eyebrow. “Did you miss me?”

Inked - Jughead Jones

Request: I’m not sure if you can come up with much for this, but maybe getting matching tattoos with jughead/cole? Btw I was wrong was absolutely freaking amazing omfg dude

I was really tired so this sucked aha, and thank you so much! >.< Also I am so so so sorry that I have been MIA for so long <3 Also i’ve never gotten a tattoo so sorry for my failure at life.

Jughead x Reader

Warnings: -

Words: 1,787

Nobody had expected a romance to blossom between you and Jughead Jones. Your relationship was no exception when it came to the phrase, ‘opposites attract’. He was a brooding, mysterious author with a sardonic and sarcastic sense of humour, often shying away from a varied social life. 

You, on the other hand, were the life of the party. Charismatic, sociable, late nights and bright colours were your aesthetic. The two of you clashed personality-wise but somehow you had hit it off from the moment you met.

There was an attraction, a real chemistry between you two that none of your friends could describe. The two of you kept your relationship private, inclusive and intimate. You wanted it to be a real and raw relationship, as you truly loved him and the feeling was clearly mutual.

You were smitten for each other and sometimes the words ‘I love you’ aren’t enough. 


Veronica had proposed the idea during a casual get together in the student lounge.

“What are you doing this weekend (Y/N)?” Veronica was leaning against Betty as the attention in the room shifted to you. You were sat on the couch opposite, legs draped over Jug’s lap and resting against the back of the sofa, in a laid-back position.

“Well I don’t know but I think you’re pretty overdue a party or something. I’m dying here, it’s been way too long, I’m running out of shows to binge on Netflix,” Kevin sighed, sinking into his own chair. You laughed before shuffling across the couch so you were now snuggling into your boyfriend’s side.

“Sorry Kev, not this weekend. It’s our two year anniversary and we were going to do something together, just the two of us,” You linked your arm with Jughead’s, as his cheeks flushed pink. 

“Don’t you always do stuff together… just the two of you?” Archie joked, causing Jughead to throw a cushion at him playfully. 

“So what exactly were you guys gonna do?” Betty smiled, genuinely interested. You and Jughead exchanged looks before you sighed with a shrug.

“I actually don’t know… we were kind of hoping for some suggestions. We want to make it something that’s special to us, something we won’t forget,” You replied. Everyone sat in silence for a moment as they pondered possibilities before Archie made an ‘Oo!’ sound.

“Paint balling… go paint balling… and bring friends,” He grinned and everyone rolled their eyes.

“A romantic anniversary Archie, is that really the best you could do?” Veronica gave him a scolding look and he sunk back into his chair, the grin refusing to subside. Betty tapped her nails against the armrest in thought.

“Romantic dinner, candlelit? Beach walks? Pinterest inspired date?” She suggested, Veronica and Kevin nodding in approval.

“Been there, done that,” You groaned. Jughead rubbed his hands along your sides reassuringly, planting small kisses on your forehead occasionally. 

More silence.

“Oh my gosh I’ve got it!” Veronica shot up, clapping her hands and bouncing on the sofa excitedly. You tried not to smirk at Jughead’s terrified face, clearly anticipating the worst. “You guys want something to like bind you… right?”

You nodded warily. “Just something special.”

“Well… what about tattoos?” She squealed. To your surprise, Jughead actually looked quite impressed by her suggestion, and a chorus of ‘oohs’ sounded from your friends. 

“That’s adorable! They can be something with meaning, symbolism, something that reminds you of one another,” Betty cooed. Veronica looked smug, as she perked a perfectly plucked eyebrow, awaiting your response. Jughead clasped your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze and looking lovingly at you with those heart eyes that made you melt inside.

“Tattoos sounds perfect,” You stared back at him, a small smile forming on your face along with that infamous, smitten twinkle in your eyes.


“Are we sure this was a good idea?” You mumble nervously, picking at your nails as you stood outside the Riverdale Tattoo Parlour. You seemed to forget when you first heard the idea that you’d always had an irrational fear of blood poisoning. You hated needles as well, ever since your first compulsory injection at school. You had previously read, ‘tattoos gone wrong’ stories all over the internet and they had done nothing but fill you with doubt and dread. 

Besides, you couldn’t help but be a bit scared. Tattoos were pretty permanent. You loved Jughead with all of your heart, and he loved you the same, but if the two of you were to ever fall apart for whatever stupid reason, would it really be that easy to erase the engravings on your skin that were supposed to make you think of him.

“We don’t have to do anything that makes you uncomfortable,” Jughead took your hand in his, his thumb drawing gentle circles on your skin. You sighed, resting your head on his shoulder.

“I want to Jug, I really do. I’m just a little bit pessimistic I guess, I’m not exactly the luckiest person alive. What if something went wrong? I just want this to be special, to be perfect you know…” 

Jughead sighed, stepping out of the embrace and tilting your chin towards him affectionately. “I’m gonna be there with you the whole time. Besides, nothing’s perfect. If it doesn’t go well then it still means something, a perfect reflection of our messed up lives and angsty teenage mood swings,” He smirked, causing you to laugh and lightly punch his shoulder. You gently cupped his cheeks before standing on your tiptoes to place a gentle yet passionate kiss on his lips, followed by a soothing butterfly kiss. Your nerves seemed to simmer, as he took your hand and led you into the tattoo parlour. 


Jughead was talking to the man at the counter of the shop, whilst you were browsing designs. You’d only had a brief talk about what you were looking for design wise. You just knew that you didn’t want the design to be huge, just something small and subtle to have on either your wrist, ankle or neck. You had suggested two small hearts, but Jughead opposed. Another idea you had was key and lock tattoos, infinite signs, each other’s names, anniversary dates but nothing had really stuck out.

“(Y/N)?” A voice called out, and you turned around, only to be greeted by an old friend. Josie McCoy, your party pal. You were on good terms, and although you didn’t attend late night raves together anymore, you were still close. You smiled as she instantly went for a hug.

“Jo, what are you doing here?”

“Band hit its three year anniversary, so I decided to cross a tattoo off of my bucket list,” She pulled down the shoulder of her blue crop top, to reveal the word; “Pussycats!” in thick, black lettering. You stared at the tattoo in awe as Josie showed it off with pride. “Anyways, what are you doing here?” She raised an eyebrow at you.

“Well, it’s me and Jug’s two year anniversary too and we decided tattoos were the way to go,” You smiled bashfully and Josie nudged you playfully.

“That’s couple goals right there, I honestly don’t understand how you two got together or how the heck you lasted this long but I live for your relationship. You were polar opposites as well, fire and water, light and dark… yin and yang,” She stood in reflection for a moment before adjusting her kitty ears and saying goodbye to you, confidently strutting out the store, her crop top shoulder slightly pulled down so everyone could catch a glimpse of the artwork on display.

Yin and yang…

A lightbulb went off somewhere in your mind as you frantically searched through the store, looking for a specific design. When you casted your eyes on the matching ‘Yin and yang’ tattoos your mind flooded with pictures in your head of how they would look, perhaps on your wrists. Jughead was indeed the yin to your yang and this kind of dorky but meaningful symbolism was exactly what you were looking for. You walked over to the counter, design in hand.

“(Y/N), this is Jake, he’s going to be doing the tattoos,” Jughead smiled down at you reassuringly as you once again held his hand. Jake shook your hand and sent you a warm smile that helped add to the growing comfort. 

“Hey (Y/N), I’m going to be talking you through the process, how to take care of the tattoo, general things you should be aware of as well as actually tattooing you! Have you guys picked out a design yet?” He was talkative and friendly, and you felt yourself relax. 

“Well we haven’t actu-” Jughead began, but you interrupted him, sliding the design (which had previously been concealed behind your back) onto the counter with a giddy smile.

“These,” You said confidently, beaming up at Jughead, who was admiring the simplistic, black and white tattoos in awe before staring back at you with affection and joy. He looked back at Jake, nodding his head enthusiastically. 


“They’re… they’re perfect,” Veronica took another photo of your matching tattoos, as you stuck out your wrists next to each other, for all to see. The process had felt less painful with Jughead at your side, whispering sweet nothings and comforting words into your ear the whole time, as you did to him when it was his turn. You were still in the phase of cleaning it and getting used to it being there, but that meant you would sit and stare at it a lot.

As intended to, it reminded you of Jughead. The thought of the fact that he had something so similar on his own skin, with the purpose of reminding him of you, sent butterflies through your stomach. You were so in love with him it was crazy.

“Maybe we could get more in the future,” Jughead whispered in your ear, as people stirred around you, trying to get a look. You bashfully smiled at him.

“Like what?” You raised an eyebrow and he looked down in thought for a moment before looking back up at you, straight in the eyes with an evident blush.

“Wedding dates, baby names, that kind of mushy stuff,” He mumbled and your eyes widened. A small pause ensued. “Our bodies could be some kind of journal of our lives and the tattoos tell a story,” He continued, trying to clear the silence his previous words had caused. You felt a wide grin split on your face before letting out a dramatic sigh.

“I mean, being inked was great and all but… I still don’t want blood poisoning,” You shook your head and he chuckled, shoving you off of the couch with a small yelp.


oh wow an imagine get me I’m not dead

[Don’t Wanna Cry Series] Joshua ver. (G)

Prompt: Don’t wanna cry - Joshua 
Genre: Angst
Word count: 666
Warnings: None

A/N: Hi guys! So i got inspired by their MV to write a Don’t Wanna Cry Series. It’s gonna be just really short drabbles and it’s also gonna be emo but I hope you guys enjoy it! Here is Joshua’s drabble! Oh! And I will be putting in lyrics from the song at the end of the drabble! Also posted this on Seventeen’s 2nd anniversary, HAPPY ANNIVERSARY BOYS! 💕

-jihooned 😶

[DWC SERIES]

S.Coups | Jeonghan | Joshua | Jun | Hoshi | Wonwoo | Woozi | DK | Mingyu | The8 | Seungkwan | Vernon | Dino |

Originally posted by visual-17


“Why didn’t you say anything? That man was clearly in the wrong!”

“I’m sorry, (y/n), it’s just that I thought it was okay to let the matter go.”

“Oh my gosh this isn’t the first time, seriously you got to be more vocal and stand up for yourself.”

Joshua sighed, it was very unlike you to blow up.

“Joshua, if you’re going to be this quiet, people will take advantage of you. I care for you and I wouldn’t want that to happen.”

“Hey (y/n), I really didn’t mean to, you know how shy I can be.”

“You know what, if I can’t make you a better person, then find someone else who can. I’ve had enough of always having to stand up on your behalf.”

 And the only thing Joshua was left with was the bracelet he bought for your two year anniversary and the image of you walking away engraved in his mind.


Keep reading

I have a few thoughts about Keyleth’s new tattoos...

Let’s start this off by saying I am not here to start drama that is the last thing that I want or need right now. I have always been an avid Keyleth/Marisha supporter because she gets far too much hate as it is. However, these tattoos really aren’t that ok. There will be a few Māori words in here so if you don’t get it just google it. Under the read more because it got very wordy.

Keep reading

honestly, All Might just…. break if he ever sees Izuku’s room. b/c it’s literally covered with All Might posters, toys, merch, clothes…….

he would get a firsthand view of just how much this kid (who’s pretty much become like a son to him now) admires him, and for how long

i mean

the man can barely contain himself when he realizes that Izuku’s hero outfit is clearly inspired by him

he might just. break if he saw Izuku’s room

Mkay. So I’m just going to rant a little here.

Cultural appropriation. It’s a thing. And it SUCKS. I’m white right? Granted I’m half Cherokee, but I’m white. I’m American. Just clarifying all of this.

Just because I’m a white American girl does NOT mean that I can’t write creative writing pieces, scripts, poetry, and fanfics that are through the eyes of someone from a different gender, background, and culture. 

What it DOES mean is that if I choose to write a story from, say, a Jamaican pov, that I better DAMN WELL truly care about the culture and I better DAMN WELL do the research and not fall into cliches and shit like that. 

For my screenplay workshop final piece I’ve chosen to write from a Japanese characters pov in, guess what, JAPAN. But I have a deep knowledge, passion, and respect for the culture. So I did my research. My film genre I was given was horror. I worked hard to keep away from Japanese folklore or ghosts because I didn’t want to fall into cliches or traps. There are tons of things I need to improve in the editing process- but I think I did a pretty damn good job. 

Wanna know some of the things my first critique said to me?

- “Do you watch anime? I suggest watching some of that to see more of what their culture is like.”

- “Japan doesn’t really have serial killers. Why not watch the Ring or the Grudge for inspiration?”

- “More inspiration: watch some more anime (as mentioned above), like Naruto or whatever”

- (my title is Shinjuu) “I looked up the title. It means two lovers who can’t be together so they kill themselves. I don’t see that in here at all.”

……………………..

……………………..

……………………..

FUCKING. HELL.

Anime does NOT represent all of Japanese culture. Some FEATURES and some ASPECTS of Japanese culture is present in anime.

Japan DOES have serial killers. They aren’t as widely prevalent because of weapons laws, but they ARE there. Watch the news.

Watch. The. Ring. Watch. The. Grudge. I’m not writing a fucking ghost story. It is a horror movie that simply takes place in Japan. 

“Naruto or whatever” You clearly don’t know anything about anime if you’re suggesting I watch NARUTO for inspiration here. It has NOTHING to do with horror or serial killers. Oh, and “whatever?” Could you fucking care less? 

Sweetie, Shinjuu has multiple fucking meanings. How about you do more than look at the first result on Google, mkay? 


I cannot STAND when people disrespect a culture. I get it, there are a lot of things that I DON’T know about the Japanese culture. But this is a short film script. We aren’t actually filming. We aren’t putting details into the setting or the culture. I’m not writing about what I don’t know. I’m writing about what I DO know and what I have RESEARCHED because I want to get the facts RIGHT. This person clearly just reviewed my script based off of stereotypes and that’s not cool. AT. ALL. 

If it was “Oh, hey, I noticed that the school uniforms were this color, when I think Omori has these uniforms” then I would have been FINE. I would have WELCOMED it. But it wasn’t. 99% of the “advice” she gave me was nothing but stereotyping shit. Not. Fucking. Okay.

You aren’t helping my writing. You aren’t furthering my knowledge of writing scripts. You aren’t interested in the script at all. Get. Out.

anonymous asked:

Hi ! Not important but I wanted to say it : In the French version of ASiP, when Sherlock says "a girlfriend ? No, not really my area", the right translation in French would have been "une copine ? Non, ce n'est pas vraiment mon domaine", but they chose to say "une copine ? Non, ce n'est pas vraiment ma tasse de thé", which literally means "not really my cup of tea" so I'm sure the French translators decided to reference TPLoSH when Holmes says that women are not his glass of tea but Watson is.

Oh! Interesting!! Uh, hmm. Not that I don’t trust my Nonny, but I just want to make sure; can any of my other French followers confirm this? 

If it is the case… then clearly the French translators are fans of TPLoSH and know where Mofftiss drew their inspirations from. And decided from the get-go that Sherlock was gay. Hmm.

heyo

Prompt: “Imagine your otp proposing repeatedly at different restaurants to get free food; and when the real proposal comes and they get free ice cream or something, person a is like ‘omg that was a really good one the whole speech was a nice touch where did you get this ring it looks so realistic omg’ and person b is just like ‘r u fucking kidding me’.”

As requested by the amazingly patient @ishipallthings <3 <3 <3

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

fukawa, komaeda and amami comforting reader-chan after being rejected by their crush? ;n;

;o Poor Reader - chan T_T I hope you like it, I personally never had this situation happen to me so uh… This is kind of improv XD

Request: Fukawa, Komaeda and Amami comforting Reader after they’ve been rejected by their crush

Toko Fukawa:

- Gyaaaah…. Inspiration… She needs inspiration! Aha! She’ll just ask Y/n. 

- She make her way over to your room she’s about to know but then she hears something

- Is that… Crying?

- She tries the handle, it’s open

- “Y/n!” She announces as she storms in “Wh-what is the meaning of your crying?!”

- “F…Fukawa…chan? Why…Are you in my *sniffle* room?”

- “I needed inspiration okay! Geez! But… W-what’s up?”

- “I got rejected…”

- Oh. OH.

- What an asshole.

- She kinda… Awkwardly shuffles towards you and does that awkward side hug

- “You shouldn’t be crying Y/n! You should… Forget about him! He’s clearly n-not worth it!”

- “What are you… Saying?”

- “If he rejected you then… It’s his problem!”

- “Huh?”

- “If he rejected someone like you then… He’s clearly a m-moron!”

- You let out a little laugh “Fukawa - san, are you… Complimenting me?”

- “W- Where did that come from?! That’s not what I- Wah!”

- You pull her into a proper hug and hold onto her tightly

- Again, she just awkwardly puts her arms around you

- “Thanks Fukawa - san… You’re the best”

- “Tch. You don’t mean that…”

- “Oh course I do!” You smile at her

- “Yeah. Okay I need to get going.” She quickly pushes you away and walks out

- … Literally 3 seconds later she leans back in “… C-Call me if you need more h-help.”

Nagito Komaeda:

- You and Komaeda were friends since childhood, you always motivated him and reassured him that he is not trash

- That’s why when he opens his door and sees you crying he literally pulls you in

- “What happened?”

- “H..He…”

- He just hugs you and rocks you gently as you sob into his chest

- “He… Rejected me…”

- He hugs you tighter

- “Hey, Y/n - san, I can’t really… Do anything about him but… I can give you ice cream”

- *Sniffle sniffle* “… With chocolate sprinkles?…”

- “You bet I have chocolate sprinkles.”

- He spends the rest of the night just completely spoiling you with ice cream and your favourite movies

- If you start crying again he’ll hug you and offer tissues

- “Hey, don’t cry… I’m the one that’s trash remember?”

- “Komaeda - kun! I told you you’re not trash!”

- Ah good, the distraction worked

- You have a little rant about how he shouldn’t call himself that which makes you forget about your sadness completely

- Smooth Komaeda, very smooth

Rantaro Amami:

- Oh? What’s this, a call from Y/n - san

- “Amami - kunnnn” Oh no. You’re crying.

- “Where are you?”

- “Restaurant…”

- The boy sprints

- He finds you sitting on the pavement crying

- “Alright, let’s get you inside, you’ll catch a cold otherwise”

- You don’t move so he does the only logical thing he can think of, he lifts you bridal style and marches back home

- “Ah! Amami - kun?!”

- “You didn’t move so… You have yourself to blame. Now, what’s up, where’s the luck guy?”

- “… Probably at home…”

- “Did he..”

- You nod

- “Fuck him.”

- … Nice choice of words Amami. 10/10 Advice

- “Wait, Y/n - san do you have his number?”

- “Uh… Yeah… Why?…”

- “Ouma - kun taught me that sometimes, lies are necessary.”

- You give him the number and he puts you down before calling him

- “Um, hello is this *Whatever their name is* - kun?” he says with a weird accent

- “Yeah”

- “Where’s the money?”

- “Money?”

- “Don’t tell me you already forgot, we agreed that’d you’ll buy for 10,000″

- “10,000?!”

- “Why do you sound so surprised? You bought the thing man. You know what whatever. Bring it tomorrow to the decided location at noon. You better not be late.” And then he just hangs up

- You have a hand over your mouth and at first he thinks he majorly ruined everything but then…

- “Hahahahaha! Amami - kun! Your accent was terrible!”

- “Wh- I am. Offended.”

- On your way home he buys you a big bag of your favourite sweets and just tells you funny stories that happened to him


(I hope this was okay >_>)

BatFam Week Day 5: Legacy

Na na na na na na na na na…BATFAM!

BatFam Week Day 5: Legacy

———

Day 5: Legacy

“Damian, what are you doing?” Bruce asked, wading through the pool of cloth that was surrounding his youngest.

“Tt. I am sewing, Father.”

“Don’t you *tt* at me,” Bruce seethed. “What are you sewing?”

“A costume for myself.” Damian stood up and guided his father to a chair, sat him down, and then climbed onto his lap and took Bruce’s face in his hands. “I want you to listen to me, Father. I am making my costume for when I shall pass on the mantle of Robin and adopt another identity.”

“Huh?”

“It is tradition to adopt another persona before finally stepping into the shoes of Batman. Grayson did it, and practically everyone else has their own superhero identities. I am getting on in age, Father - I am ten years old now. It is high time that I started planning for my future.”

Bruce held back the biggest grin throughout Damian’s speech, and adopted a faux serious expression to address him. “I see. Which persona will you choose?”

Damian held up a black, skin tight outfit with blue highlights that was clearly inspired by Wayne Manor’s resident sentimental blob. “I shall be the second Nightwing, and I will strike fear into the shriveled hearts of evildoers in my city!”

Bruce sat, shaking with silent mirth at Damian’s new identity. He pursed his lips and forced himself looked suitably sad. “Oh, I see. Very well, Damian,” he sighed theatrically, “I will let you go. I’ll have to just fly solo from now on. No Robin, no son, no…” Bruce trailed off sadly and stared into space. “I’ll be fine. It’s just…I thought that I would have a son who wanted to be with me for longer. But I guess I’m just going to have to get used to the fact that I’ll have to patrol alone now. All alone in Gotham, with no partner, no one to watch my back…oh well.”

Damian’s eyes widened until they looked more like coins and shook his head violently. “No father! I didn’t think of that! I can’t simply leave you all alone; after all, you are getting older-”

“Hey, now-”

“-and I cannot trust your deteriorating senses. No, I will stay with you until you inevitably get another child. What with Drake and Todd being virile males, and your compulsion to pick children up off the streets, it shouldn’t be that long, another three to four years at most-”

“It’s not a compulsion, that just makes it sound wrong-”

“-yes, yes, I see now what must be done. Don’t worry, Father, I won’t go anywhere,” Damian said, patting Bruce’s cheek tenderly. “I will find Todd or Drake and tell them to find potential children, either for you or for themselves to adopt. Don’t hassle yourself,” Damian said decisively, jogging out of the cave.

“What about Dick?”

Damian looked at Bruce like he had lost his mind. “Grayson will not be having any more children, not until I’m through with him. That will be for another eight years, and after that, he will be so fulfilled, he won’t want another.”

Bruce sat in his chair, slightly disturbed, as Damian ran out of the cave, yelling for Jason and Tim to gather quickly, as he had life changing plans for them.

————

“Bruce, why as Damian being leaving these pamphlets on my desk?” Tim asked tensely, smacking a stack of papers on Bruce’s desk.

Bruce picked one up and read, “Your Life with Children - Find Fulfillment in Adopting a Child and Embracing Motherhood,” Bruce muffled a laugh and laid down the pamphlet. “I guess Damian really wants to be an uncle.”

“Bruce!” Jason stormed into Bruce’s office, dragging a small, squeaking, redhead behind him. “What is this!?” He cried, pointing at little Colin Wilkes, who was looking adoringly at Jason.

“Damian said that you were gonna to adopt me, Mr. Hood,” Colin said in awe of the gun toting anti hero.

Bruce groaned and slapped a hand down his face. “Damian!” He roared. “Get in here now!”

Damian slunk in and stood next to Colin and nodded approvingly. “Ah, good, Colin’s adoption has been competed. Colin, from this day forward, I am your uncle. We will, of course, remain best friends forever.”

“Damian, you can’t decide who Jason decides to adopt, and even if he wants to adopt. He’s legally dead, for Gotham’s sake! Who let this happen?”

“Jason Todd may not be able to adopt, but my older brother Mason Podd, accountant at Wayne Enterprises certainly can. The press will easily accept that you’ve gone and adopted another child, Father, this will easily pass scrutiny. Now, Colin can begin training as Robin, and I will slowly transition into the role of Nightwing II.”

Jason and Tim gaped at the declaration while Bruce sat stunned. Colin looked as pleased as punch, and hugged Jason’s leg. “I’m going to get a family! This is so cool!”

Jason cleared his threat and looked pointedly at Damian. “Ok, let’s get something very clear. No kid of mine is going to be fucking Robin,” he said, glaring. “I don’t want Bruce giving them any ideas, like righteousness and shit. Any kids I have are going to be trained by me.”

“I’m not an adult yet, so I can’t adopt,” Tim chimed in.

“You can procreate and produce a child, can’t you?” Damian asked vehemently.

Tim shook his head. “Naw. I’m sterile.”

Bruce looked shocked at this information. “What?”

“When I rescued you from that time warp thing, the radiation basically killed my nads,” Tim shrugged. “I’m testing whether I got any meta powers from the radiation of time and space. So far, tests look promising.” Bruce looked apoplectic, and Tim continued. “That means that Damian can’t have anymore paternal siblings, because I’m pretty sure that you’re sterile too, Bruce. You didn’t even test positive for a meta gene, so you suck double now.”

Bruce glared at Tim and then at his own feeble testes. He was Batman, he should have been able to withstand a little radiation from the fabric of time and space, damnit! “You’re not a meta.”

“But I might get cool powers!”

“No.”

“Bruce, you’re so-”

“Silence!” Damian cried. “Cease your useless banter! It matters not that father cannot have another child of his loins! I told you that Colin will train to replace me, and I shall become the second Nightwing!”

Bruce looked at his tiny, seething, son, and picked him up. “What if I don’t want you to?” He asked.

Damian stopped flailing and looked up at Bruce in shock. “W-what?”

“I want you to be my Robin,” Bruce said softly. “Me and my little boy soaking across Gotham, watching each other’s backs and fighting crime together - that’s what I always thought we would do.”

Damian frowned. “But if I do not become Nightwing, how can I become Batman? The day is not far off when you will be too decrepit and old to carry the mantle-”

“Hey-”

“-which means that Grayson will take over. That means that I have to become Nightwing, and after Grayson retires, I have to be Batman.”

Bruce looked down at Damian and burst out laughing. “Being Nightwing isn’t a prerequisite to being Batman,” he laughed. “Dick was the ideal candidate at the time, but he hates the cowl. He just indulges his old father too much, bless him,” Bruce said with a smile. “Any one of my chidlren can take on the mantle if they so choose. Jason-“

“Hell no,” Jason scoffed. “I ain’t touching that suit. It’s probably got Bruce cooties on it.”

“Bruties,” Tims supplied helpfully, high fiving Jason.

Bruce silenced his sons with a glare. “Or Tim…”

“No thanks, I’m good,” Tim mumbled. “Angst isn’t a good look for me. I like a bit of colour in my outfits. You look like a smudge every night, B. It’s not a good look,” he informed his father.

“Fine, then, Cassandra!” Bruce decided. At that moment, his phone pinged. He opened up a new message from his daughter to a text that simply said, “No.” Bruce flung his phone down and looked at Damian. “What I mean is, you can be Batman if you can handle the weight of the cowl.”

Damian sat up straighter on Bruce’s lap, and looked him in the eye. “I will. I will follow in your footsteps and take over the cowl when my time comes, Father. I will make you proud!”

Bruce smiled down his son and ruffled his hair. “That’s my boy.”

———–

“Am I still being adopted?”

Jason looked incredulously at the small red headed child that had followed him home and sighed. “Kid, I’m nineteen, I ain’t adopting no one. Tim can fudge some paperwork and you can be my ward, if you really want to.”

Colin beamed at his new guardian. This was going to be the start of a wonderful new era.

———–

nolimitgonnatouchthe-sky  asked:

I hate when people ask you "why do you upload other things when you say you are busy and can't upload so and so project?" You have clearly say how you need time to get inspired and how difficult your job is 😒 uggh why can't people just appreciate your hard work and amazing stories i seriously wanna punch them 😡 also is not like you draw to please their asses!!! I hope you don't feel pressure or discourage because of this ugly people and just keep doing what you like, Zoe fighting 😊✊🏼

Oh my god so cute so cute people of tumblr are so cute my heart can’t handle this huhuhu Thank You

Originally posted by sooper-dee-dooper-natural

Okay so I know that it’s a pretty common idea that Mama Bittle already knows that Bitty is gay (an idea that I kind of agree with as a kid who was also best friends with thier mother in high school.  they just fucking know everything.) But a hilarious possibility just occured to me so I’m going to take the other side briefly of: What if Mama Bittle still assumes that Bitty is straight?  Well I’ll tell you what’s happened.  Larissa. Fuckin. Duan. Man.  

AWKWARD MOM MOMENTS INSPIRED BY LARDO:

  • She has totally answered Bitty’s phone groggily in the morning because Bitty is still asleep in her bed and massively Tub Juice Hungover “Oh hang on Mrs. Bittle, he’s right here.” Cue Lardo clearly just rolling over and shaking Bitty until he’s alert enough to take the phone and let her go back to sleep
  • She has also thrown herself on Bitty’s bed and demanded snuggles while he’s in the middle of Skyping his mom. “Yo Bits, spoon me while I smoke this, yeah?  Fuckin science requirement sucks balls.”  [scandalized silence] “…Oh…Hi, Suzanne.  Sorry bro, my b.”

  • Bitty sends her mini pies in the mail over the summer, and she Skypes him to say thank you complete with eating a pie on camera so he can laugh at her outrageously pornographic sounds of appreciation.  Bitty didn’t even think to put in his headphones because duh it’s just Lardo, but Mama can’t look him in the eye at breakfast.

Mrs. Bittle and Coach discuss the incidents and while they’re happy that Bitty is happy, they’re kind of worried that this crass stoner girl is going to be their daughter in law.  When Bitty comes out and they realize that their son in law is probably going to be the quiet and well-mannered Zimmermann boy they are tickled pink

Hunter’s Aftercare (Part 13 of Faking It)

And the kinks continue. Although this one isn’t technically a kink, I still enjoyed it! Hope you do, too!

Read Faking It, Just Breathe, Sex Hair and Blindfolds, Cold as Ice, Rough Around the Edges, Sticky Sweet, Slow Burn, Adult Film 101, Date Night, Hell on Heels,  The More, The Merrier, and Even More, Even Merrier.

Warning: SMUTTY SMUT, sort of rough sex?

Word Count: 3150ish

A/N: Thanks y’all. This series has seen so much love from you, and I appreciate every word. Still several more parts to come, including some kinks I’ve never written before!

“Stop looking! It’s no fun if you know beforehand what’s in the bag!” You tried to shove Dean away, but his large frame didn’t budge as he tried to peek at the slips of paper in your lap.

You both glared, sitting on the motel bed facing each other with your legs tangled together between you. “I’m not writing anything while you’re looking.” The empty makeup bag sat next to you, waiting to be filled with your next adventures, but Dean seemed to be having a hard time coming up with anything.

Keep reading