red lightbulb

Types as Roommates (based on actual roommates I’ve had as an INTP)

ESFP:  Rarely around, because they are always out with friends.  When they are home they usually talk about how cool their lamp is.  And you don’t disagree, because it’s a pretty cool lamp.  “I really appreciate you, dude” they say everyday after their shift, until you hate them and their stinky socks all over the bathroom floor.

ENFP:  They are SO! EXCITED! that you’re finally home to hang out with them even though they’ve been going and doing things all week.  Dishes are everywhere.  The rabbit is out of his cage and has chewed through the electrical wires.  The fire alarm is going off again.

INFP:  The best thing about living with them is their music taste.   You keep asking yourself if they are really as laid back as they say they are?  Their poster selection is haphazard, their trash can is filled to the brim, and they show everyone who comes through their dorm their collection of vinyl sex feet.  However, one day you get a terrifying message via text.  You drank from their cup.  That was the special cup.  You shouldn’t have drank from that cup.

ISFP:  THC is more important to oxygen to them.  They line their room with trippy tapestries, and a list of “cartoon conspiracies” is listed on their door.  During that really promiscuous phase of yours, they didn’t say a thing every night you must have waken them up moaning.  You couldn’t believe that anyone could be so laid back.  Then, exams came.  No one had ever been more vigilent, and more terrified than they are during exam week.  “Aderall” your friends say, “They’re hyped up on amphetamines,” but you know what they’re like on amphetamines, and this is a step above.

INTP:  You’ve watched the same anime from start to finish 3 times this week, but you don’t have the nerve to tell them that you’re tired of it.  They’re taking up all of the couch space too.  Because while they might have spent the first 2 weeks of being moved in creating the perfectly efficient and comfortable bedroom (complete with a pillow fort), they fall asleep in the living room most nights with their heated blanket and a wikipedia article up on their laptop.  You peek at their laptop expecting to see something related to their favorite video game or the classes they are taking, but “substitutional insect genitalia”  doesn’t fit either of those categories.

ENTP:  When they have friends over, they don’t just have friends over.  The banter is endless and it almost always lasts until 5 am.  Their is only so much existential philosophy you can take, and that is literally none when it it is being shouted by drunken satanists during the golden hour.  

ISTP:  They really like sex.  Sex is their favorite subject and they feel the need to tell you that frequently.  If you don’t update them on your current sexual status, they might get a little bit grumpy.  Their pet names for you include “slut” and “bitch”.  They read trashy novels and their television choices are questionable to you, but it matters little because you have finally found a roommate that simultaneously respects your boundaries and recognizes you for the asshole you are.

ISFJ:  Tea has suddenly become very important to you.  You memorized your roommates favorite teas for every occasion, every ailment and every time of day, before you even realized it was happening.  You wonder how you know this, without even knowing their last name or what they do for a living.  What time do they come in at night?  Do they have friends?  What kind of music do they listen to?  You imagine that they spend most of their time with their family, and at work, but it’s anybodies guess.

ENFJ:  The greatest sin of yours, is the sink that you leave untouched.  Once a week, they clean it begrudgingly.  With passive-aggression with more fervor than all of the crusades.  They are experimenting with brewing beer and cider.  They are also studying seminary.  They never sleep.  You try to explain to friends of friends that your roommate is going to be in the ministry, but they never believe you, because they’ve only ever seen your roommate black-out wasted.  “Before I was a Christian,”  your roommate says drunkenly  “I would have considered myself bisexual”.  Your eyes have never rolled so far back into your head.  You really wish you could light a joint about now.

ESTJ:  Late night chats about the economy have never been so interesting, but really, they are not interesting enough.  Why in the fuck are you living with a business major?  You down another beer and go to bed with a nauseous feeling in your stomach.

INTJ:  You constantly wonder to yourself if the moderately clean kitchen is worth your roommate’s “quirks”.  They haven’t really done anything, but you’re afraid of them.  You’re too afraid to tell them that they are listening to their audiobooks of The Foundation Trilogy too loud, and you’re too afraid to tell them that you don’t like how they’ve replaced all of the regular lightbulbs with red ones.  Your sense of reality starts to disintegrate.  Is that blood in the fridge?  Are those dildos?  Their is a stack of papers on the coffee table which, as far as you know, are comprised entirely with the digits of pi.

ESFJ:  You still can’t get over the fact that your roommate has a sex schedule.  And more importantly, no concept of respectful noise levels while they do it.

INFJ:  You finally found that roommate that will just share quiet, peaceful company with you.  You play Okami, and they work on their novel.  You write your essays, and they put on Star Wars.  No words, just good vibes.  However, things have started to get weird since their SO broke up with them.  They adopted a dog without your permission, and they’re taking it back to the shelter tomorrow because a two bedroom apartment isn’t big enough for a greyhound.  They keep asking you to cuddle them, and you are running out of polite ways to say “fuck off”.

Sorry that I missed a few types ..

I don’t have a lot of time to draw now a days; but when I do, it’s gay basketball idiots

Prompt: mukuro naming her weapons by @ikusabamukuroo

A/N It’s been a while since we last talked about this but I never forgot. I hope you read this wherever you are now, friend. You will be missed. (She’s not dead or anything, I just really miss her.) Disclaimer: this is a mess of google searches, I’m so sorry.

What’s in a Name? - naekusaba

Corpse Warblade is what her name literally translates to. Back when she was a kid, she called herself “Corpsey Mcwarblade” and to this day, she still tries to be edgy.

She still has this leftover habit of giving nicknames and one day Makoto stumbles upon this fact by accident.

“Have you seen Reaper?” She asks frantically.

To which he gives her a confused look and asks, “Who’s Reaper?”

He later finds out that Reaper is actually the name she has for her favorite knife. He thinks it’s adorable and even voices out his opinion which makes her blush furiously. He asked for any other weapons she has names of and he could have sworn it was like a lightbulb was switched on in the room because of how bright she looked. Granted it was a red tinted lightbulb because she was blushing but that’s beside the point. She takes him to the “Armory” or the small closet where she keeps all of her weapons stored.

It’s only after being introduced to her other weapons that he finds out that she likes to name in more than one language.

“Sah mat here is my trusted sniper.” She proudly hold it up in her possession. “It’s Turkish for checkmate.”

“Rychlý is one of my oldest rifles.” She says with a touch of nostalgia sifting through her voice. “It’s Czech for fast.”

“This is Raspršiti, the best shotgun that I have.” She states and easily hefts it out. “Croatian for scatter.”

She pulls out the smallest gun. “This micro-pistol is Biche.” He looks almost scandalized at the name until she corrects his misconceptions. “French for doe.”

“And this is щит.” She says when she gestures to the bulletproof vest with a name that sounds like “sheet” but with her deadpan expression he suspects it’s supposed to sound like “shit” instead. She sees the face he’s making and she smiles, amused. “Don’t worry. It’s just Russian for shield.”

He inspects the rest of the cabinet’s contents and sees the smaller yet still deadly kinds of arsenal. “What about the discardable types of weapons? Do you also name them individually or just in general?”

“Just in general according to type.” She pulls one out and explains, “This is a smoke bomb or as I like to call it Fantôme ou fantosme. It’s French for phantom.”

“It’s a bit of a mouthful but I like the translation.” It’s a genuinely good name, he admits.

She puts it back and pulls out a different one. “This is Fantasme.”

He looks at it and he can’t quite tell the difference between this and the first one. “Oh, is that a smoke bomb too?”

“No, it’s actually sleeping gas.” She shakes her head. “It sounds close if you’re not learned but it translates to fantasy.” It’s her most romantic name he’s ever heard yet.

They go through her knife collection last.

“смерть.” She points at the first one.

“Oh, that sounds different.” He winces as he tries to think of which language it was but he honestly couldn’t tell. It’s unlike anything he’s heard of. “What does that mean?”

“It’s Russian.” She answers with a small smile. “It translates to death.”

“Interesting word choice…” Well he had to admit that it was fitting for a military knife although disturbing for the common citizen. He points at another. “How about that one?”

“Ölüm.” She supplies.

“Is that another language?”

“It’s Turkish.” She nods. “It means death.”

Huh, that’s an odd coincidence. He doesn’t let it bother him and points again. “And that one?”

“Mort.” She doesn’t even wait for him to ask. “It’s French for death.”

He feels like he’s detecting a pattern here. “And this one?”

“Muerte.” She answers and waits a beat before adding, “Spanish for death.”

Yes, definitely a pattern here. He points again. “And this guy?”

“Tod.” She says curtly.

He almost anticipates her to say it’s death again but the normalcy in its name catches him off-guard. “Huh, that actually sounds like English and surprisingly ordinary.”

She holds his gaze for a long moment. Until finally she continues, “It’s actually German for death.”

Ah, there’s the pattern again. He should have known. “And this?”

“Faca.” She carefully enunciates.

“Let me guess, it means death?” He says almost jokingly.

She shakes her head. “No, it’s just Portugese for knife.”

He pauses and blinks at his mistake. “Oh.” Well that was… unexpected and embarrassing.

There’s still one last knife and Makoto recognizes it as the one he gave to her as a gift.

“How about this one?” He says with a blush dusting on his cheeks. He shouldn’t be so embarrassed about it but he can’t help but feel shy still.

“Oh, that one…” Mukuro pauses far longer than she’s supposed to and when she does speak up, it’s barely above a whisper, “Ma…cutie.” She doesn’t meet his eyes and it takes all of his will just to stare at her in shock. They’re both blushing madly.

And Makoto thinks that as much as he likes Mukuro’s edgy naming sense, he likes the cuter ones too.

anonymous asked:

What's the difference between demifluid and demiflux?? - a confused questioning bean

a good question my questioning bean pal!! i remember having this one when i was confused and questioning.

SO down to the defining. 

demifluid and demiflux both include a “static” portion, or a portion of the gender that doesn’t change- aka i always feel partially female, the static part is common among all demigenders. the difference between these two is the flux and fluid.

the lightbulb metaphor is my favorite. fluid is like a light bulb that changes color, sometimes it’s green, sometimes it’s purple, sometime’s it’s orange, sometimes a bit of each or a combination of any number of the colors. flux is like the lightbulb is always one color, but it dims and brightens. so you always have a red lightbulb, but sometimes it’s a really bright red, and sometimes it’s barely even on. 

with fluid the actual gender changes, and with flux the intensity of it changes. (demifluidflux would be a combination of both! a lightbulb that changes color AND intensity.)

i hope this helped my friend!!

Man…heats up like a lightbulb: red hot in the twinkling of an eye and cold again in a flash. The female, on the other hand…heats up like an iron. Slowly, over a low heat, like tasty stew. But then, once she has heated up, there’s no stopping her.

Carlos Ruiz Zafón, The Shadow of the Wind (The Cemetery of Forgotten Books, #1)

I took a photo of myself that I don’t hate for once, and thought I might as well share it here because all my followers seem really nice. Plus my short hair is helping me a lot with gender dysphoria. (And no, this isn’t a filter - red and orange lightbulbs help me to read better and are easier on my eyes!)

Marvelmas (4/13) - December 16 - Thor Odinson x Reader

Words: 1116
Pairing: Thor Odinson x Reader
Featuring: Loki
Warnings: none
Authors Note: i felt like drinking hot cocoa with thor would have been funny. it was.

Marvelmas Masterlist. Masterlist.

“Everyone, we are gathered here today to honor the person who saved the world!” The person standing in the middle of the room called, “(Y/N) (L/N)!”

Miles of cheers came at your name. The people loved you; you saved the world your amazing device! You had awards, and ceremonies, all in your honor. You did it all by yourself, too, it was unbelievable!

That’s how you knew it was a dream; you couldn’t do it alone. You’re part of a team; you wouldn’t be able to do it yourself!

You were now in control of the dream, and all your friends suddenly appeared from what you were thinking. They were all just, in the wrong outfits. Somehow, your mind gave your dream the message that you wanted to see your team dressed in the different suits. Granted, it was hilarious, but it was also confusing the hell out of you.

You gave yourself wings and the power to hold Thor’s hammer, which he was not too happy about. “(Y/N)!” He shouted at you, making you laugh. “(Y/N)!” He yelled again.

“What?” You mumbled.

“(Y/N)!” Thor yelled, making your eyes shoot open. He was standing over your bed, trying to wake you.

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