poo on a stick

Ace Attorney: Then and Now- Miles Edgeworth by CrayCat
Miley has the most amazing transformation, from losing his dad, to following his dad’s killer, to finding out about the truth, to being like “Am I on the right path”, and finally, “No…This is the path I have chosen, and I will stick to it.”

We salute you, Edgey-poo.

More characters to come.

2

Christmas Day

27

There was a loud banging on my door, which I had been expecting, because my mother got all chirpy like that every Christmas morning.

“WAKE UP YOU TWO! IT’S TIME FOR PRESENTS!” She called.

Our sleep must have been incredibly calm, because I noticed right away that my hand was still wrapped up in Harry’s. He was still blissfully slumbering, his hangover keeping his head heavy, but he still looked incredibly peaceful.

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Smashed Smash

Request: How are ya doing? Can I request a Markiplier&Jacksepticy imagine where them and the reader are streaming and playing a drinking game where you take a shot every time you die. The reader is the most skilled therefore taking less shots but is also a lightweight. So while the other two are buzzed the reader is flat out drunk and is saying incredibly funny stuff about the game and their friends. How do these two deal with their drunk companion.

a/n- The only game I could think of was Smash lmao. Fun fact my main is Diddy he’s my BOI. Anyway, here’s an imagine that I should’ve tried harder on but didn’t because I’m still drained from finals. Disclaimer: I have no idea what these dudes are like drunk or how many shots it would take to get them buzzed/drunk.

The rules were simple: every time you die, you take a shot.

The game? Smash. Final destination, no items, 99 lives.

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rules: answer the questions in a new post tagged by: @awintersrose

a - age: 32

b - birthplace: midwest

c - current time: 11:40pm EST

d - drink you last had: ice water

e - easiest person to talk to: brother

f - favorite song: obsessed with What Kind of Man by Florence and the Machine

g - grossest memory: back when I was in a lowly job as a teenager, a coworker fished a $20 out of a unflushed public toilet with his hand!  Yes!  There was poo.  Time are hard, yeah.  But there are things like toilet scrubbing sticks and gloves. X__X  (he used neither)

h - horror yes or horror no: no

i - in love?:no

j - jealous of people?: no

l - love at first sight or should I walk by again? you’re going to have to walk by and tell me your name every day for 2 months.  I’m really bad at facial recognition.

m - middle name: don’t have one

n - number of siblings: one

o - one wish: money 

p - person you called last: my dentist

q - question you are always asked: where were you born? (looks up at letter b)

r - reason to smile: fanfic reviews, tall tales from my father, the smell of food in the oven

s - song you last sang: LOL POCKET FULL OF SUNSHINE

Originally posted by ariamanna

t - time you woke up: 8:32

u - underwear colour: blue

v - vacation destination: desert

w - worst habit: indecision

x - x-rays: teeth

y - your favorite food: bread

z - zodiac sign: Aquarius

honourary big brother

simon!”

a muffled “what?” sounds from under the mound of blankets beside him.

“i need to ask you about something.”

he’s being stupidly paranoid, he knows, because simon’s been to his house before, he’s met his parents, he’s met mordelia, he’s perfectly fine. but he still wants to ask, because he’s nervous, and he is nothing if not meticulous in his planning.

the heap of blankets give a huge shift, and simon’s head pokes out at the top, bleary-eyed from sleep, bronze curls tangled, looking so soft and blurry and home to baz.

(he wonders if simon snow will ever stop taking his breath away. but even if he doesn’t, baz is perfectly fine with that.)

“yeah?”

baz swallows.

“would you go home with me for christmas?”

simon’s eyebrows raise, and he looks about ten times more awake now.

“would,” simon begins, then pauses and gives his head a little shake before continuing. “would,” he asks, and his voice is a little sad and a little weary, “would your family allow it?”

does your family welcome me, after i went off in hampshire and pretty much destroyed your home and your family’s traditional place of residence? does your family approve of me? does your family hate me?

baz can hear all the unspoken questions surrounding simon’s careful inquiry, can feel the apprehensiveness and fear and guilt radiating off him, because of course simon snow has got to be fucking noble and take the world’s burdens on his shoulders even if it destroys him from the inside out.

“they’ll be fine,” he says, and it’s true. as long as simon doesn’t break anything.

he tells simon this, and inclines his head towards simon’s tail and wings, and as simon gives a sheepishly hopeful smile, baz’s heart clenches, because simon can’t break anything. he lost his magic.

his family isn’t worried at all.

(but if he’s going to have to fight tooth and nail to convince them that simon snow isn’t useless, he will.)

besides, he thinks, daphne loves simon. she’d told baz so, that she felt like her cooking was appreciated for once. and she said it was like simon had lit up baz’s eyes.

he’s willing to try, if simon wants to.


the moment simon cautiously pulls his small luggage into the new grimm-pitch house, mordelia comes bounding up to them.

“go away, mordelia,” baz says out of the corner of his mouth, because at ten, mordelia is not the most tactful of conversationalists.

she just lifts a careless shoulder at him in return, then turns her attention to simon (baz groans internally).

“you’re simon snow,” she says, looking at him critically.

simon, to his credit, doesn’t flinch. “so i’ve been told.”

she squints at him for a moment longer, then turns to baz abruptly. “i like him,” she announces.

simon looks both amused and slightly relieved, and baz has no idea what to do.

“mordelia grimm-”

“oh, poo,” she rolls her eyes at him, sticking out her tongue, “full name? really?”

before baz can respond, she leans in to simon, who obligingly bends down to listen.

“he’s lame,” she tells him in a stage whisper, nodding towards baz. “you’re cooler than him. maybe you can up his cool factor.”

simon lets out a small laugh, straightening up, and grins at baz, and he looks so much more relaxed that all baz can do is smile back.

mordelia tugs on simon’s sleeve, and he kneels down beside her this time.

“you’ll have to excuse his habits,” she tells him. “he plays his violin and mopes around the house all day and keeps threatening me every christmas and every birthday about presents. and he irons all his suits until they’re one hundred percent wrinkle-free. it’s horrifying.”

“mordelia, i swear-”

she spins around to stick her tongue out at him again. “you can’t threaten me this christmas,” she says triumphantly, “because i’ve got him, now. and,” she smiles wickedly, “you can’t refuse to put the star on the tree so father christmas won’t see our house, because simon’s tall enough to do it.”

simon shrugs. “she’s right.”

“backstabbing, this is,” baz mutters, but as mordelia grabs simon’s hand and insistently tries to drag him to the fireplace to give him a stocking and calls to the entire house that we have a guest and simon’s smiling so wide like this is home as daphne comes out of the kitchen to greet him happily, and baz thinks that this will really be okay.


what even is this i’m

for @askmordeliagrimm and @askbasiltonpitch because you guys are amazing and because i’m always a sucker for some sibling love. thank you for inspiring this fic!

Bowl Me Over (C.H.)

Y/F/N = Your Friend’s Name

—–

“Y/N!” Your friend calls, carrying out the last syllable.

“What do you want? It’s like,” you glance at your bedside clock, “eleven! Who the heck is awake at a time like this?”

“Normal people. Now get out of bed! We’re going bowling!” You reply with a series of unintelligible groans and mutterings. “That’s the spirit! Up and at ‘em!”

“I want you to know I hate you.” You grumble following Y/F/N to your kitchen once you’re dressed.

“To the alley!”

“Wait! Not yet! I want breakfast!”

“Well if you had woken up at a normal time, like a normal person, you could’ve had breakfast.” Y/F/N drags you out the door as you stare longingly at a box of Froot Loops. “Fine. We can stop and get you a cinnamon bun somewhere.”

“You are my favorite person ever.”

“And you are my least favorite person ever.”

-

Y/F/N guides you into the bowling alley while you dig into your (delicious) breakfast pastry.

“Y/N, you’re going to run into someone.”

“So long as I don’t drop this cinnamon-y goodness, I don’t care.” Y/F/N sighs exasperatedly before telling the worker both of your shoe sizes and paying. You head over to the lane the clerk had assigned you, your attention still glued to your food.

“Y/N put your shoes on.”

“But-”

“Just put your shoes on!”

“I’m ea-” Y/F/N swipes your breakfast and spins to face you.

“You can have it back when you put your shoes on.”

“I hate you.” Your grumble, though you still replace your regular shoes with the (hideous) bowling shoes. Moments later, Y/F/N returns with two bowling balls and your beloved cinnamon bun. “Finally.” You grumble to your friend. “I missed you.” You coo at your cinnamon bun before taking a bite of the delectable pastry.

“You are so weird.” Y/F/N groans while programming your names. By the time you finish your breakfast, Y/F/N has already gone and it’s your turn.

You grab your ball and head to your lane, taking a deep breath. You position yourself in the center and roll the ball with as much force as you can muster. It goes down the middle and oh my gosh is it going to be a strike? It looks like it! Wait, wait. Never mind. Your ball veers off to the side and into the gutter.

“You suck, Y/N.”

“Love you too.” While you wait for the ball to return, you look at the scoreboard. ‘The Most Perfectest Person Ever’ has a spare and ‘Weirdo’ has 0. “That really is genius, Y/F/N. I mean, Weirdo. How did you come up with it?”

Why did you agree to come bowling again? Your ball rolls out onto the rack and you quickly grab it, heading back to your lane. This time, you line yourself up a little more precisely and throw the ball with less force. It rolls down the center before curving to the right a little, knocking down 5 pins. Could be worse, right?

-

Y/F/N absolutely demolishes you in the first game. Strike after strike, spare after spare, you had no chance. Now, though, you are midway through your second game, and lo and behold, you are in the lead. Y/F/N has been grumbling for the last two frames, absolutely positive you’re cheating.

“Maybe if I distract you you’ll mess up. Y/N! There’s pizza! Ooh what’s that? Ice cream? A cinnamon bun! Is that All Time Low? Wait, shit. Shit. Shit. He is hot. Damn. Y/N, look. No seriously. Wait, shit, he’s coming over here. Shitshitshitshit. Do I look okay? Wait, shit. Act natural Y/F/N. Act natural.” By the time Y/F/N is finished, you’re already done with your turn (a spare).

“Your turn, honey bunches.” You call to Y/F/N.

“Y/N! This is serious. Do I look okay?” You look at your friend in vexation.

“But my turn is over!”

“That doesn’t change anything!” Your friend says shrilly. “Do I look good?” Y/F/N says quietly, as if not to be overheard.

“Yes, of course, always.” Y/F/N sighs, relieved. “Where is this attractive guy anyway?”

“Behind you.” Y/F/N hisses. You turn to look over your shoulder only to have Y/F/N grab your arm. “Don’t look now! Or at least try to be discreet.”

“Okay, sorry.” You laugh. Y/F/N is so over-dramatic sometimes. You discretely glance over your shoulder, and holy shit Y/F/N is right. That boy was sculpted by the gods. Wait, no. He is a god. Probably an evil god, with your luck. But attractive all the same. And now suddenly, you too are wondering if your hair looks okay and do you have any acne and why didn’t you take more time to get ready this morning and is there any cinnamon bun on your shirt?

“See.”

“His hair and his face and his tattoos and his damn jawline holy crap I’m going to go cry myself to fucking sleep.”

“Who are you talking about? He doesn’t have any tattoos.”

“What the heck, are you blind? He had a bunch on his arms.”

“No he didn’t, who are you talking about?”

“Yes he did, who are you talking about?”

“The hot one! Well, they’re all pretty attractive. The tall blonde one with the quiff.”

“Him? Oh yea, he is pretty cute. But did you see the tan guy with the tattoos?”

“Yea, he’s hot, but just look at Blondie. He’s like an angel.”

“But Mr Tattoos is a god.”

“You’re wrong.”

“No, you are.”

“No, you are.”

“No, you a- You know, never mind. Just go.”

“Fine.” Y/F/N harrumphs. Y/F/N gets up to grab a ball and bowl and you know you should be paying attention, but a certain group of boys is distracting you. The four boys are in the lane next to you, but when you sit down, they’re to your back. At the moment, they’re putting on their shoes while getting their balls (and making various ball jokes). You’re trying not to make it too obvious that your eavesdropping and checking them out, and you’re pretty sure you’re succeeding until your friend sits back down.

“Could you be anymore obvious?”

“What? I’m not being obvious!” You defend. “Right?” You question.

“You were pretty obvious. Now, it’s your turn, lovebird.” You stand to bowl yet again (another spare), and when you return, you notice Y/F/N checking out Blondie.

“And I’m the one who isn’t discrete enough.”

“What?” Your friend blushes furiously.

“It’s your go. You’re still losing, by the way.” Y/F/N flips you the bird before grabbing a ball. Today will most definitely be interesting.

-

“She’s cute.”

“Has wittle Calum got a crushy-poo?” Michael asks, sticking out his bottom lip.

“Oh my god, I said she’s cute, not ‘I want to marry her.’”

“You want to marry someone? But you’re not even in a relationship!” Ashton exclaims, a bowling ball in each hand.

“I’m not getting married!”

“Why not? I always thought you seemed like a family man.” Luke questions, following behind Ashton.

“Oh my god.” Calum puts his head in his hands, his voice laced with exacerbation. “I hate all of you.”

“Whatever Mr Stick-Up-His-Ass, it’s your turn.” Ashton says, handing Calum a ball.

“I do not have a stick up my ass!”

“That’s exactly the kind of thing someone with a stick up their ass would say.” Michael comments. Calum groans walking towards his lane.

Calum is only five steps from where the boys are seated when he hears a gasp, followed by Luke’s voice exclaiming, “Calum has a crush?!” Calum whips around, glaring at Michael, who sitting next to Luke, wearing a shit-eating grin.

“Shut up Luke.” Calum hisses, while continuing to backpedal towards his lane.

“I can’t believe this. Finally. Now I can make fun of you instead of the other way around!”

“Luke, we’re never going to stop making fun of you.” Michael tells the blonde boy. “Now we’ll just make fun of the both of you.”

“Michaelllll, we were supposed to be best friends.” Calum pouts. “Why would you make fun of me?”

“Are you saying we aren’t anymore?” Michael asks, clutching his heart as if in pain.

“Let me put it in terms you would understand: WE USED TO BE BEST BUDDIES. AND NOW WE’RE NOT.”

“No! Calum! Please, don’t leave me.” At this point, Michael is standing, one arm outstretched towards Calum, the other wiping fake tears from his eyes. “We can still be friends! This doesn’t have to ruin everything we had.”

“I-I’m sorry Michael. I think… I think we need to take a break.” Calum says, in a voice that sounds like glass breaking. He wipes a couple of non-existent tears from his chocolate brown eyes, before turning his back to Michael and his attention to the task at hand.

Calum positions himself a half-step left from the center of the lane, so his right hand, the one with the ball, is aligned with the center pin. He brings his hand back, preparing to swing the ball forward and release. Just as he begins his swing, he hears a shriek.

“No!” He turns his head to see where the voice is coming from, but before he has fully rotated his head, a body is slamming into him, the force knocking him to the floor.

“Holy shit.” Calum groans. “What the fuck was that for.” The person on top of him pushes themselves off of him a little, giving him a proper view of their face. Oh. It’s the girl from earlier. The really pretty one.

“Um, sorry.” She mutters, sliding off of him, resting her weight on the floor, instead of on him. “You were, uh, in my lane. I didn’t want you to bowl for me. I’m winning.” She says, a blush tinting her cheeks slightly.

“Oh, I didn’t even realize.” Calum stands, offering her a hand. She takes it, standing. “Uh, here.” He hands her his ball, but she shakes her head.

“I can’t.”

“No, I insist. You must. It was my fault for-”

“No, I can’t. That ball is too heavy. It won’t go down with enough force if I throw it.”

“You seem to know an awful lot about bowling.”

“I mean, I’ve been doing it for the past hour or so.”

“Would you mind helping me? I kind of suck.”

“Good thing you didn’t bowl for me then. I’m only up by three. Here, I’ll go, and then I’ll help you?” She asks.

“Yea, yea, that’d be nice. Calum steps over to his lane, and watches as she grabs her ball. She walks to her lane, and holds the ball up, peering just over the edge of the ball, at the lane. She takes a deep breath, pulls back, and releases. She watches as the ball rolls straight down the center of the lane, but he’s too busy watching her. She’s fiddling with her shirt hem, and then all of a sudden she’s jumping up and down and sticking her tongue out at her friend and doing a little happy dance. Calum allows a smile to overtake his features, while taking a quick look at the scoreboard, and yes, as he suspected a strike. She approaches him while he’s still looking at the scoreboard.

“Uh, sorry you had to see that. Me and my friend are really competitive.”

“No, it’s okay. It was cute.”

“Really?” A look of shock crosses her face, “I mean, uh, thanks.” She quickly recovers. Calum is just looking at her, trying to remember the details of her face, so that when he looks away, she will still be etched in his mind. “Anyway.” She interrupts his thoughts. “Bowling.”

“Right. So how do you do this?”

“Why don’t you do the first one and I’ll help with the second?” Calum wastes no time, positioning himself the same place he did before, and swinging the ball. He knocks over two pins.

“Okay. Your positioning is good, the issue is the swing. You don’t want to start with it back here, you want to start with it here, in front.” She accompanies her speech with hand movements, illustrating what she’s saying. Calum tries to mimic her actions, but he isn’t paying enough to what she’s saying. Rather, he’s paying attention to how she’s saying it. Her voice is melodic and sweet as honey. “Okay, okay. Um,” She takes his hand in hers, helping him properly position his arm. Calum is sure she can feel his hand sweating. “We want to bend the elbow,” She bends her elbow, forcing him to bend his, because her hand is still holding his. “Good. Now swing back.” She pulls back both his hand and the ball. “Then forward and release.” she guides his hand, but he is all the force behind the ball. The ball rolls down the lane, and knocks over the eight remaining pins. Calum doesn’t know what to do with his excitement, so he does the first thing that comes to mind. He picks Y/N up and spins her around before putting her down and giving her a quick hug.

“Thank you!” He exclaims. Her hair is a bit of a mess and her cheeks are red, but she’s grinning like a fool, and Calum thinks she looks beautiful.

“Yea. Sure thing.”

“Oi! Love birds! Get out of the way, it’s my turn!” Ashton pipes in.

“I didn’t get your name.” The girl says.

“Calum. Yourself?”

“Y/N.”

“Well Y/N, you really knocked me off my feet.”

“Would you say I bowled you over.”

“You could say that.” He grins. “I’d love to do this again sometime.”

“Yea, maybe minus the minor injuries.” Y/N says, lifting her shirt a little to show Calum the bruise on her hipbone, side effect of their crash-landing in the lane.

“Yea, and-”

“Calum, I said move!”

“And maybe minus them.” Calum laughs.

MASTERLIST

anonymous asked:

Owner shame: Bucky took foobs out one night while half asleep. He flipped to avoid stepping in his poo and his hand went into it cause he misjudged a stick for the actual poop

Hey can someone pls provide links to the (many) panels of comic!Buck falling on his face? Bc I 100% love this, anon, but I think you’re giving Buck too much credit regarding coordination! Dude would straight up fall into the poop!

My Mistletoe ((BTS Namjoon))

Originally posted by forjimin

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Bestfriend!Luke Pt. 3

im experiencing a lot of heartbreak today

This is a submitted series by a writer who wished to stay anonymous, so I will be transferring their submissions to text posts yay! I just wanted to make it known that this work is not mine, and all credits go to the original author that decided to submit their series to my blog. Enjoy!

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signs as niall’s quotes

aries: if it were legal, i’d marry food.

taurus: i’m the most carefree ‘mofo’ in the world.

gemini: i think there’s nothing wrong with eating all the time. at least i’m not doing anything illegal.

cancer: i’m still in bed cause all my boxers are dirty and if i stay in bed, i don’t have to change them.

leo: i can’t stand pigeons after one once flew in through my bathroom window and went for me while i was having a wee.

virgo: louis’s feet smell the worst. literally like dog poo on a stick-that bad!

libra: don’t mess with our fans or we’ll come and find you.

scorpio: chicken fillet is my favourite word for boobs.

sagittarius: wow this is unbelievable

capricorn: zayn pisses me off sometimes, how can he be so stunning without even trying?

aquarius: i’d rather go to sleep than find a girl.

pisces: i want a girlfriend who eats as much as i do, which is a lot.

When you’ve got a highly mobile anus, you build a poop shield on your back with it. That’s just what you do.

“It’s hard to deny the effectiveness of a poo stick in warding off attackers.” There’s no way I could provide a description of this week’s Absurd Creature of the Week that will possibly top, or in any necessary way contribute to, the fantastic brief treatise Matt Simon writes about the fascinating little creatures that build poop swords to protect them during their larval stage.

Favorite quotes include: 

“Using a highly elongated and mobile anus, they build a tower of poo on a special structure on their backs.” A tower of poo! 

Photo: Premaphotos/Alamy, courtesy Caroline Chaboo, University of Kansas

“So, the shit shields. They’re all built on top of a structure called the anal fork that the larva can manipulate to reach any part of its body.”

Photo: Kenji Nishida, courtesy Caroline Chaboo

“When threatened, even by something as simple as a scientist’s shadow passing over them, the larvae form up into a circle, pointing their butts and shields outward, as their mother charges around the perimeter.”

Keep reading. And don’t miss the hilarious photo captions.