still use the same old ones


Dear anon,

I was going to ignore your message, but let’ be honest I have no reason to lie about losing weight, if you go on my tumblr you can find my before and after (just face btw).

Also if you don’t believe me I don’t understand why you say I’m ashamed of who I was. You made me think a lot about it, so I decided to post this to show you I really don’t care how I used to look, I’m actually proud of the old me. Btw It’s a before and during, because I’m still working on my body and I know one day I will get where i want to be.

I don’t know if you can see the change, but I actually feel like a different person.

P.S. Same phone, Different body.


Daysea: 7C00 - 001E - C7D1

If you’ve read my latest posts you’d know that I’ve lost my town due to some issues with the amiibo update. Since then I’ve resetted and worked hard on making a new Daysea. it’s not the same as it used to be,the dirt paths aren’t there anymore,the villagers are different but I was lucky enough to find a very similar map to the old one. 

I don’t have access to the hacks very frequently now so this is still a work in progress as I still have to decorate the beaches and add palm trees here and there. As you can see the color scheme has also changed from orange+white to blue+yellow.

If you visit and take pictures please tag them as “mooncakecrossing”. Hope you enjoy this town as much as the old Daysea :)

Dex’s mom is asleep on the couch. She’s got a blanket over her, a really hideous faux-fur thing that was a gift from Great Aunt Edna six years ago. It’s warm as hell, but every time Ma sees it, she goes on about the gaudiness of it. She did the same thing half an hour ago when Dex put it on her. Her head is pillowed on an old Pillow-Pet from Mary’s younger days; it’s so used that it’s misshapen from the stuffing that’s fallen out. Her greying orange hair fans over it like some kind of sun ray, spreading warmth on everything it touches.

In a pile on the rug sits all three of Dex’s sisters, two of them asleep and one of them halfway there. Mary’s still sitting up, so her head fell forward when she slipped into sleep and she looks comical. Sadie still wants to watch the end of the movie, but her eyes are slipping. She knows how it ends, anyway; she’s seen Miracle on 34th Street a million times this Christmas.

It’s snowing outside, a back-and-forth thing where it’s hard, then tiny flurries, then a mess of swirling thick flakes. A part of Dex wants to go outside and just stand in it, but he’s warm here, in an armchair with his laptop on his lap. The family cat, which is inside for once because of the weather, is sniffing around the coffee table, where cookies have been left out, forgotten. He licks at a snickerdoodle and pulls back, affronted, and saunters off to bother someone, probably Max. Max is a little shit, and probably Dex’s least favorite sibling if he was pressed on the answer, but he’s the cat’s favorite.

The book in Mary’s lap is being squished by Colleen’s head, and Dex makes a note to himself to save it before it becomes folded in. Dex hates ruining books, partly because it wastes money, and partly because he’s always seen books as sacred. Something to be cherished, preserved. Nursey thinks so too, but he doesn’t care about preserving them. He thinks that leaving his mark on a book makes it an experience. Someone read that book, they liked that line, they cried on that page, they got distracted here and put it down so the page got creased, or maybe they were up too late trying to get to the end and fell asleep right in it.

He misses Nursey, Dex realizes as he thinks this, a goofy smile on his face. Warm in his family home, half of his immediate family asleep around him, he misses Nursey. Almost absurdly, his phone begins to vibrate right at that moment and he answers it quickly to keep from waking up his ma and sisters.

On the screen, a judge gets several bags of letters addressed to Santa Claus dumped in his lap. Dex smiles and says, “Merry Christmas, Nursey,” into the phone.

I just wanna say something..

Okay, so I usually can’t explain my feeling, but I’ll try my best.

I know for sure that subscribing to Mark channel was one of the best decision of 2016.
He is one of my biggest inspiration and one of the reason I keep trying.

But a few months ago, I started feeling uncomfortable while  watching his videos.
He seems he was trying so hard, that he didn’t want to do videos anymore.
I started watching him less and less, but I never gave up on him.
I still trusted him, even if here on Tumblr probably seemed the opposite, I knew that he was the same old Mark, he was just going through something.

A few weeks ago, he told us what happened and how he was feeling in that period, I felt SO bad ‘cause I didn’t understand what was going on.
I felt like I judged too harshly his contents.

With the last few videos, I finally saw the passion, the power, the joy in his videos again and I never felt happier about watch his contents.
I finally saw the reason why I subscribed to his channel and why I’m so in love with him and why, after all this months, I never left.
I finally saw again how much he loves making videos and wants to get better and better.

His last vlog made me so happy, and I also cried, 'cause I finally saw the old Mark and his happiness.
He is so happy with was he is doing, he still loves making videos and wants to make them.
I never felt more happier to follow someone as much as I’m happy to follow him.
After the last videos, seeing Mark passion and joy in making new content, filled me with determination and I needed motivation 'cause everything was going terribly, school is hard, I’m losing friends and I’m feeling down every day, but his videos are finally making me smile again and I finally watch them again gladly.

I’m so happy to see Mark like this and I’m so grateful I stayed.
At least I know that, even if everything fell apart, I will always have safety place to feel secure and find the strength to go on, and that place is Mark channel.

SHATTERED, by Ashley Herring Blake

Usually, we dance to forget, but tonight feels different. Tonight, we move our bodies through the full moon’s light to remember. Maybe it’s because our father finally drew blood, the evidence a crimson smear across Naomi’s cheek. Maybe it’s because when Mama turned her face away while he raged, I saw the ghost of the girl she used to be and more and more lately, my body has started to feel transparent. Too light, too easily tossed aside.

The same desperate fire lifts Elisa’s arms over her head, her face still tear-damp and her feet bare. Naomi’s fingers fly over the church’s old piano, delicate and elegant but fierce, like she’s pulling her own marrow from the keys and placing it back in her bones.

Naomi’s the youngest, but of the three of us, she’s the one who stands the tallest, her shoulders always rolled back and ready for a fight. Elisa, the eldest, is quiet and thoughtful, her mind always full of strategy, a way out that never comes.

I’m the girl in the middle, the one who spends months squirreling away granola bars and little cups of applesauce and bottles of water under our bed for when our father locks us inside, spewing hate and corrections on the other side of the door.

Good girls don’t talk back to their fathers, Naomi, you little slut.

Good girls don’t smile at boys, Astrid, you little slut.

Good girls don’t cry when they’re being reprimanded, Elisa, you little slut.

Good girls don’t. Good girls don’t. Good girls don’t.

Those words are a constant presence in our house, a member of the family that slips into each of our beds in turn, trying to fuse with our skin. They even creep between Mama’s sheets, clinging to her nightdress and wrapping around her shoulders. She never does anything to slough them off. They drag her farther and farther down, a chain on her ankles and wrists until she barely has any words of her own anymore.

The first night she turned away while our father pointed his thick finger in my face and ripped the hem of the dress I’d spent months babysitting the Briley twins to afford, telling me Good girls don’t wear dresses that short, you little slut, that was the night I knew.

She’d given up.

But I hadn’t.

I couldn’t.

Later that night, I gripped my sisters’ hands as we climbed out the window of our tiny locked bedroom, our feet bare in the moon-silvered grass, our breaths terrified but alive in our throats.

“Where are we going?” Naomi asked.

“Another world,” I said.

This was a silly thing to say, but it made sense to us. Naomi ran faster and Elisa squeezed my fingers, the possibly of something else a solid heartbeat in our chests. We ran through the woods, the river was a rolling force next to us that seemed to spur us on.

Go. Flee. Run. Fly.

We ran and ran and I didn’t know where we were going until I saw it.

The abandoned church was about a mile from our house, tucked in between the pines and beeches like a forgotten secret. It was once a vibrant Baptist water cooler, its Sundays and Wednesdays filled with organ music and clapping and the quiet hush of prayer. At least that’s what Mama says. The pews in that church haven’t been filled in years, abandoned for flashier services, lights and drums and stages.

I pulled my sisters up the rickety front steps and by some midnight miracle, the padlock was rusty enough that it broke right off in my hands. Inside, the once-red-now-pink carpet was covered with twigs and dead leaves and raccoon poop.

But we didn’t mind. The room was alight. The full moon streamed in through the stained glass windows, spilling red and blue and green and gold over the pulpit and pews and floor. Naomi headed straight for the piano, flipping its creaky lid and laying her long, skilled fingers on the yellowing keys.

As she started to play, Elisa and I crept up to the front of the sanctuary, where the pews ended and there was a wide open space in front of the alter.

Then we danced.

It started small, just a gentle sway of our hips to the beat of Naomi’s song. Naomi had a way of playing the piano that made you move. It was impossible to stay still when her music filled the air, because it filled you too. Your heart and blood and bones. Elisa grinned at me and soon I was grinning back. The smile felt so foreign on my lips, but I liked it. I lifted my arms in the air and soon it was more than a gentle protest.

It was an anthem. Naomi pounded out the song of our rebellion, our bodies acted it out, cemented it, made it real. I felt my nightdress slide over my thighs, my arms, my breasts. My bare feet pressed into the carpet, reminding the earth I was here. I was alive. I was a girl and I was real.

We danced until the sky pinked up and grew hazy. I held my sister’s hand and we laughed and felt and moved. Naomi moved in her own way, her eyes shining, her fingers quick and determined. We made our own world, dancing underneath the colors of the moon.

Since then, we’ve sought out that little sanctuary more times than I can count. Our father locks us inside our room and then forgets us, forgets we are girls with hearts and minds and wills. We climb outside and into our secret haven and we forget all that ugliness. We remember we are beautiful.

But tonight is different. Tonight, Naomi’s fingers fall heavy on the keys. Tonight, Elisa doesn’t smile while she dances. She cries. She rages. She throws her body about the room, every action a demand for more, for freedom, for respite. Tonight, I my legs move underneath me, but my mind is with Mama, with the note I left in her vanity, the one our father never ever touches because it’s full of those womanly graces he despises so much.

Him or us.

That’s what I wrote to her. And I meant it. I glance over at Naomi’s face, so wise for her thirteen years. I look at Elisa with her effortless beauty, the smiles she can’t help pull out of everyone who meets her. I think about Helena, the girl who lives down the road and who doesn’t think I notice how she watches my sister, the longing in her eyes so clear, it makes my heart hurt.

Elisa doesn’t think I notice how she watches Helena back, a shy smile curving her pretty mouth.

I look down at my own arms, my own feet, my skin and my desires trapped beneath an ugly man’s hate, a sad man’s inability to understand.

Well, I’m done with imprisonment. I’m done with weakness. I’m done with blood trickling out of my little sister’s nose. I’m done with that quick flash of shame I feel whenever I hide wrapped in the quilt on my bed and slip my hands under the sheets to figure out my own needs and meet them.

They are mine. I am mine. Elisa is hers and Naomi is her own and tonight feels different.

Tonight is different.

We dance. We dance and Naomi plays and the room grows hotter and hotter. The colors steaming in through the windows seem to move with us, undulating in my vision. They twist and curl as our bodies twist and curl and I know they’re on our side. They’re with us, the colors. They’ve watched us all this time and now they know it’s time.

They know it’s time to break free, to be reborn.

The sound starts low, a tickle in my ear. I keep dancing, my heart thrumming in my chest so loudly that at first, I think that’s it. My blood is coursing through me so fast, so violently, it’s audible, a tangible force in this tiny room.

But then it gets louder and a little pucker forms between Elisa’s eyes. Naomi turns her head toward us, a question on her brow. Still, we keep dancing. It’s almost otherworldly, this understanding between us, how we just know that we need to keep moving, keep shouting to the universe.

The sound grows, a crackling, like ice thawing on the pond in March. My fingers splay above my head, a dark silhouette against the colored glass and looking up, just to see my hands in motion and life, that’s when I see it.

A crack splintering across the center stained glass window. The fissure grows and widens, zig-zagging across the glass like a living thing. Soon, there are more of them, more jagged lines over the glass, kaleidoscoping the color through the room.

I grab Elisa’s hand and we run over to the piano so that we’re next to the piano. I press my fingers into Naomi’s shoulder, but she doesn’t stop playing. Her music goes on and on and I can’t stand still. Even though a fear bites at my heart, I have to move.

I catch Elisa’s eye and she smiles. The breaking has softened now, like it’s in tune with our bodies. I arch my arms in the air and lift up on my toes. Immediately, the noises increase, the glass splits and groans and the more we move, the more it breaks, our little world coming apart all around us.

Pieces of glass fall from the windows, sloughing off all the old, letting in the cool night air and the pure, unadulterated moon. It envelops us, the colors bursting into silver over our skin.

We laugh, the windows shattering around us, our feet brushing with the glass but untouched. It’s wild and impossible, beauty unleashed.

It is us.

We dance until the air shifts, the breeze through the empty windows stilling, the quiet clear and stark even against Naomi’s music.

All at once, we stop. All at once, my hand finds Elisa’s and Naomi’s hand finds mine. All at once, we see her.


She stands in the doorway, jeans on under her own nightdress, her hair braided messily and her wool peacoat buttoned up to her chin. A duffel bag hangs from her already stooped shoulders, the straps of two more gripped in her hands.

She’s breathing heavy, like she’s been running.

Or maybe, like she’s been dancing.

My sisters and I stare at her. Behind her, I see our father’s old pickup truck. Well, actually, it’s Mama’s old pickup truck, passed down to her from her older brother, Vance, when he moved to the city. Its engine is running and I peel my eyes for my father’s head, for his piercing, impatient eyes locked on me, yelling at me silently to hurry up, you little slut.

But he’s not there. The truck is empty, the driver’s side door yawning wide open, waiting for us.


“It’s time to go,” Mama says.

I suck in a breath, my fingers tightening on my sisters’. I look around at the bare windows, the colors strewn around our feet, the echo of Naomi’s song still whispering through the sanctuary. The whole room breathes, urging us on.

These windows can’t shield us anymore. They’ve broken and now they’re something new. A window that reveals what’s outside rather than shelters.

My mother meets my wary gaze. She doesn’t turn away. Her eyes are soft on me, but a hardness runs just underneath. A readiness, a determination to be remade.

As one, my sisters and I move toward her. We fall into arms, we fall into her tears, we fall into a new life, right there in that moment.

As one, we leave the broken little church behind and everything we’ll never forget.

Ashley Herring Blake is a reader, writer, and mom to two boisterous boys. She holds a Master’s degree in teaching and loves coffee, arranging her books by color, and watching Buffy over and over again on Netflix with her friends. Her young adult contemporary debut, Suffer Love, is out now from Houghton Mifflin Harcourt. Her second book, How to Make a Wish, will release in 2017.

Learn more about her: Twitter | Instagram | Tumblr

“Shall we skate ?”

I can’t take this song out of my mind (that and “Theme of King JJ” or basically every frickin’ YOI music xD).

I made this illustration on Paint Tool Sai (except for some details), it was kind of the first time I used it (I tried it a bit before, but mostly with doodles only). I usually use FireAlpaca but for some reason it has not been working well for the past couple of months. I thought it was because of my tablet that was getting pretty old, so I recently bought a new one but it still does weird stuff like not considering the pen pressure after a while or lagging like crazy. If you have any idea of what could cause that feel free to contact me, even when I upload the newest version it still does the same thing.

Anyways, I drew Phichit because I love him and he is my favourite character in YOI, just before Yurio (b̶e̶c̶a̶u̶s̶e̶ ̶s̶h̶o̶t̶a̶c̶o̶n̶ ̶b̶a̶b̶y̶ ̶8̶D̶).

What about you ? Who’s your favourite character ?

This quote always intrigued me for a number of reasons:

1. It confirms that Alternia has an actual school system
2. It confirms that Alternia has sex offender laws
3. It implies that Alternia has an age of consent, and laws would prohibit sex offenders from residing near schools

But that leaves me with a bunch of questions. What would make someone a sex offender by Alternian standards? Would Mindfang be considered breaking the law for using mind control to have sex with a slave? At what point does one intervene legally when it comes to kismeisitude? Would Cronus hitting on Eridan and Tavros when he does in the ministrife flash be considered predatory because they died at 6 sweeps old and that’s (assumedly) under the age of consent? Would it become okay to sleep with someone who died and has the physical form of a 6 sweep old after they’ve been dead for three sweeps, or would it still be considered immoral because they have the body of a 6 sweep old? This is the same legal system that would kill you for not mowing your lawn, how strict are their laws on this?

So. So many questions about this. And neither topic was ever brought up again after this.

Omg, I'm in my twenties.

This year, I turned 24 – and with it came a startling realization.

Oh my god. I’m 24. What the hell?!

Now I know that sounds stupid. “You’re only 24,” my colleagues tell me - in fact, somebody said this to me today. “You’ve got your whole life ahead of you!” my older friends preach (if you reckon you’re one of these older friends, I’m sorry for calling you old and appreciate your endless wisdom. You look extra dashing today).

And yeah, I suppose I still am quite young. I haven’t had to start using Just For Men quite yet. Sure, I’m just getting started with things like my career and other adulty stuff that I’m too scared to even write because they’re so daunting. Because if I write words like rent or mortgage or bills, then that makes them true. It makes them applicable to me.

But at the same time, a tiny (and by tiny I mean huuuuuuuge) part of me is screaming that everything just needs to slow down. Because how am I 24 already? How have I not achieved THIS LIFE GOAL yet, and not accomplished THIS DREAM by now? How am I not the person I wanted to be? How are so many of my Facebook friends doing better than me? Look, they’ve just bought their first house. And how nice, he’s moving to America. And her job probably pays her a shit-ton of money. When you’ve got people like Zara Larsson making millions at 18, and you’ve got young people making entrepreneurs out of themselves through social media, it can be crippling to realize that you’ve done none of these things. As though it’s expected of you. As though that’s the norm.

It all gets a bit much sometimes. You realize that the months are blurring into years and that today you’re 24, but one day you will be 30, then one day you’ll be 40, and then it might just be too late to do all the stuff you always wanted to do. We all give ourselves a sort of itinerary for life, don’t we? We’re in the age of the bucket list. When the future is one enormous, foggy tunnel that you’re racing towards and you can’t stop, it’s all you can do to stop yourself from diving into bed with a multipack of Reese’s peanut buttercups and hiding away from the world with your favourite memes. Because let’s face it, we’ve all got ‘em (quite fond of the latest Kermit craze, tbh).

Stop. Breathe. Just freakin’ calm down and stop overthinking for a second, alright? Have a cup of tea and pet something fluffy. Sometimes I literally just grab my half-pug and bury my face in his abundance of rolls and instantly feel better.

My problem is that I’m quite self-critical. And if there’s one thing that my boyfriends asks me all the time, it’s this: why do I keep comparing myself?

And he’s right. I do constantly measure my own life up against that of other people. Mostly in terms of career success. I sometimes look at other authors, others who have literary agents or who have even been published by my age, and I wonder – how come they’ve managed to do that, but I haven’t?

The thing is, we’re living in an age of instant gratification. Our internet is faster than ever. You can take a picture, upload it to Instagram, and rake in the likes in just a few seconds. Everything is happening now, and as a result our attention spans have taken a real hit. Hell, my attention has wandered several times just writing this blog post. Oh, let me just check Facebook real quick…

So it just makes sense that we’ve accidentally conditioned ourselves to expect the same from life. From our long-term goals and aspirations. They need to happen right now, and then we need to tell everyone about it.

No. No more. Social media can be great. I couldn’t live without it now. But it’s also toxic. We poison ourselves into thinking we need to be something, when all we really need to be is happy. Happy and in the moment. And what makes me happy? Well, Tom makes me happier than anything. So does our dog, Buzz. And travelling. And going out. And reading. And writing. And good food.

And I get to do those things a lot. On a weekly basis. Daily, for some of them. I get to go to work and come home to cwtches (Welsh word for cuddle, which I will use unsparingly… you would do well to integrate it into your own vocabulary) from my amazing boyfriend and our sausagey little pupper. We have travelled to, and will be travelling to, some amazing places and I don’t think we’ll ever tire of it. We’ll always be jetting off to somewhere in search of adventures. We have some amazing friends, and we go out pretty much every weekend. I get to read books I love and write books I love whenever I want.

And don’t get me started on the food. I will hoover up anything and everything you set before me (I have been known to eat dog biscuits, but that was completely an accident and I probably need a whole other blog post just to explain myself).

Those are the things that make me happy right now (okay, so maybe not dog biscuits). Within instant reach. My real life instant gratification. Not the faux kind that comes from a little red bubble on Instagram telling you how many likes you’ve had. Or the artificial validation you get when you boast about something on Facebook. Because that doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’m surrounded by people and things that I love.

As for the other things? The long-term stuff? They will come. Keep hacking away at things in your own time, and things will start to happen. It doesn’t matter how long it takes. Life isn’t a race. JK Rowling was in her thirties before her first book was published – and look where she is now. Maybe instead of reading about people’s successes, read about their failures. Normalise it. Accept it. Know that failure isn’t actually real – it’s only an internal measure of yourself. It’s fictional.

So if you’re like me and you’re in your 20’s, feeling like you should have amounted to something by now, please stop. You’re doing just fine. Go at your own pace. Stop comparing yourself to others, because it’s dangerous. It rots your mind. It makes you lose sight of what’s important. Make a list of the things that give you that real life gratification and focus on them. Because they’re what matter the most.

And next time those slimy thoughts start creeping their way back in, come read this blog post. I’ll be here, probably experiencing exactly the same thing.

Winter Foxy (redraw)

i did a redraw from the last year artwork of the same title since tis’ the season xD

i noticed that the 2015′s one has a pretty crappy lineart (since i’m not used to it /ded) and i guess i have improved a bit in here (except the jawline, i’m still not satisfied a bit;;)

Link to my 2015′s art: winter Foxy

did you know, I CRINGED SO MUCH AT MY OLD ART;;;

Reblogs are appreciated and have a great winter at the north hemisphere x’D

Chris Evans: Imagine your daughter coming to watch you putting some make-up on...

A/N: It has been a long time, and I still got a few half-finished stuff in drafts, but this one is quite special as it actually happened to me with my little niece, hah! Anyway, enjoy it! 

Warnings: fluffy. Just plain old fluff. 

Originally posted by lufelicity

You just got out of the shower, and walked into your bedroom in a towel. You turned your music off in the bedroom as Chris - your husband - left it on and went off to keep an eye on his daughter. 

You put your strapless black bra along with a small black thong as well. You used the same towel onto your hair to keep the hair stop dripping onto your back and it also kept your hair out of the way from your face. 

You sat down on your dressing chair, next to your make-up kit, so you started to put some liquid foundation on. As you just finished off covering your freckles, you heard your daughter calling out your name. 

“Mummy - are you putting some make-up on now?!” your 5 years old daughter cried out as she ran into your bedroom, with your husband coming behind slowly. 

“Yes, honey - I am. Why, do you want to watch me putting some make-up on?” you asked her, which she nodded excitedly and it made both of you and Chris laugh. 

“Babe, I’m just off for a shower - keep an eye on Jess, alright?” Chris came to you and kissed you on your shoulder, and ruffled Jess’ hair, which she growled at her father but he went into the bathroom, along with his outfit for tonight. Obviously, he didn’t want Jess to see him naked, now she was 5. She was becoming more curious and interesting in things such as why people got certain hair colours, why the sky is blue and where does water comes from and so on… 

So, clearly, this was one of her curious days. 

“How long does it take you to put make-up on, Mummy?” she asked, while she picked a few of your eyeliners, but she was just being nosey. You explained that it takes about 20 minutes, while putting powder on. 

It was 20 minutes full of questions, near-drops, small giggles and laughs there, but when you finished your masterpiece and took the towel off, most of your hair were dry as it was short, anyway. 

Jess helped you by taking the dress out of the wardrobe and picked out the biggest heels out of the collection and placed them near the bed. Chris came out of the bathroom with his outfit on - a smart navy long sleeved shirt with navy trousers. He looked very smart, and he gelled his hair back slightly along with his brand aftershave. He always smells so good. 

As you put the dress on, and put the heels on and had a quick look at yourself in the full-length mirror. You definitely looked like you are worthy of being Captain America’s wife. But you nearly forget to ask Jess’ opinion. 

“Oh, Jess - what do you reckon? Does Mummy looks nice?!” you asked, and Chris chuckled when he saw Jess looking up from playing a game with Chris for a minute. 

“Wow, Mummy. You look so pretty!” Jess got off from the bed, and went up to you and smiled happily. “But, you look so much prettier when you don’t have any make-up on or wearing dresses like that? You don’t look like Mummy, really?” Jess crossed her arms and tilted her head as if she was thinking about her choices. 

You looked at Chris, who was just amazed by his daughter’s answer, and looked up to you as if he was proud just now. “But Mummy, don’t wear make-up in the house from now on. I want you to be really pretty, okay? When you come and pick me up from school or making me some dinner or when my friends are coming as well - don’t wear make-up, okay? Is that right, Daddy? Do you think Mummy is prettier without make-up as well?” Jess asked her dad, who nodded as well and looked at you with a seductive smile and crossed his arms. He was doing his sexy pose. 

“Alright, Jess. I won’t wear make-up, okay? It’s time for bed-time, anyway! Come on, say good night to Daddy, and get your little bum into bed, okay?” you noticed what time it was - nearly half past 8. Jess nodded unhappily but she kissed Chris on his cheek, and came to you for two kisses on your cheeks, and went to her bedroom. 

Chris’ mum was staying in; to make sure Jess is okay over the night while you and Chris went out for a date to celebrate your sixth anniversary!   

I couldn’t find a new meme to use, so have an old one and go off for Cheeky Nandos with Lena Oxton. I’ll preface this with something very simple and very stupid at the same time– I’ve been in this fandom almost since the game dropped back in May. I’ve watched it explode from a little niche place to this amazing, diverse community of people who are so passionate about the muses they love. We’re a bit of an odd bunch with wide views and wide perspectives and despite the recent waves that have rocked the fandom boat we’re still a bit of a massive family.  

This massive dysfunctional family that I’ve come to adore and love despite how much it will drive me nuts sometimes. Ask mi wife, she’ll tell you. I genuinely enjoy your presences on my dashboard and I love the content you all create, it’s genuinely a lovely experience to interact and know all of you. You’re all great and please, please remember that when you feel down on yourself that you’ve got a fan in me, and you’ve got a cheerleader in me! You’re great, I love you all. 

My dearest darlingest babes that honestly I don’t know where I’d be without, you are the best of the best. I love your characters, you as a person, and I’m, so glad that you’ve been in my life either as a friend, an RP partner or what have you. I hope this year brings nothing but good things to you.

@amongheroes @fishoooked @properlycool @hameya @niyantran @riobeats @skycodcr@wundertater @latrodectae @climxtologist @pharahsmom @novasurge @techbred @riobeats @talonsbane @ccmmand @finelendal @galactocentric @huntinghim @teufcl @romanaofheartshaven @wingedclemency @coyotefaced

Chronal Anomalies
My doubles and my friends, my favorite ducklings, I’m so glad that you guys exist. I love the fact there’s a community of people who adore Lena Oxton as much as I do. I’m so happy to call you all friends! And a couple I’ve only just followed but I hope we can also become friends. 

@celeriitas @timereverse @inexistentself @blutraces @pulsepistoll @timejumped @alacrus @avietrix 

Overwatch Agents
The rest of you I’ve yet to get to know, I’ve yet to interact with or the people I admire from afar and will continue to do so. I adore you people and I hope that I’ll be able to interact with you in the future.

@aeristheancient @aesthetic-junkrat @aithreachas @aoryu @arashiyumi @asclepiius@asone @balanceshiifts @basadoir @bellarosea @bombra @booyvh @burysong​ @breakiitdown @burntjunk @cemetaryterror @corpsebind @createdvillain @createdhero@createdghost​ @cuidadc @deadliestship @deathwisps@derhimmels @desertbred @diiisplaced @dirtrepellent @divinerest @doomedfist @draconqueen @dragondawned @dreammother @dutytied @dynamiting@erascdd @euvhoria @falseshot @fariiha @filthyferal @gamemade @gardenbot @garrachica @gigabombed @glorypast @gravc @gravitybcmbs @greymaned​ @hackedpower @hasselhardt @healbliss @hacksuited @hedives @hleydley @hograge @honorbreak@honorpledged @icathiaism @iincursiion @indomitablle @infiltrationiisms @infragain@iinfiltradora @iingrate @inkheal @jehennam @junkcrs @kadinchay @kagonosuzume@kirykeio @khagei @laviperae @licnhardt @lysglorie @llacus @lxonessa @mechagain@mechfighter @mekv @mirrorbled @morriison @moshchnost @motherswrath @msfrosti@needahealer @niinjas @notdefense @nowidcws @nowordsjustbirds @ofsparda @okamii@omnicmcnk @onekilled @petitewidow @pistolslang @playnxce @pointncliick @pretndr@pullingthestriings @pulsemissions @qadiim @qanaasa @qunslingcr @readyfortranscendance @red-boston-batter @resurrectionism @roadhcggin@robotfamiliar @rotwar @runhome @ryujinta @shrakin @silurianveil @splodie @sombrc@skelewraith @soulsown @spaceape @spacecurls @spiritkind @stcrmcaller​ @stvrlost @suollac @swiftbreak @synthesian @tacticalviscr @targetrich @teata @technotranquility@thuashdore @tilvalhala @timedeath @toxicscrap @tohonor @tranqcility @trxhi@ttimetwistt @ukulclc @valkyriebcrn @vaquxro @vasvvani @venimbise @vexvenoire @venuscode @vigxlante @villaincss @virvitae @vitalzerg @vvarbuilt @wakairyuu @warbreed @warpledged @warhybris @warscourge @widowkissed @withhcnor @wraithfcrm @xendure

i have to agree with the consensus that rogue one is better than force awakens, and here’s why. 

TFA was under a lot of pressure as the first Star Wars movie to come out in a long time, especially after the minimal success of the prequels. The hype was up. It needed to follow specific requirements and show that the new sequels were going in a direction more true to the original trilogy. Hence, in TFA we got the classic same old Star Wars story. The writing was humorous but not great at times, there was a lot of action but not much put into world building, it was a tired plot. 

Rogue One had a larger cast and yet still managed to give each character an arc, build relationships, make us love them, gave us the action we wanted, the writing that was lacking in TFA and honestly all the SW movies prior, and by the Force the visuals were stunning. Every shot was artistic. I was blown away by the love put into every single shot, every background, every panoramic view. The music, although not John Williams, was still captivating. It gave us plot and character and spectacle. I felt like I was inside the story alongside the characters the whole way. The actors clearly had chemistry which added to the chemistry of their characters. 

I believe this is because Rogue One was not under the same pressure to succeed as TFA. People had fewer expectations, I believe. Don’t get me wrong, the expectations were high, but not in the same way. I equate it to Guardians of the Galaxy in that it was allowed more room to do what they wanted, and a better film came out of that freedom.

Rogue One is the prequel we could have had if George Lucas had kept his distance. 

EXO Reaction to: Dating an Older Man

nct version; here

Xiumin: is used to getting teased for being the “old” one in exo & watching all these baby boppers debuting nowadays, so being younger is a nice change for once. he likes having someone with more experience than him, who he can rely on

Luhan: the same as minseok; he likes being the younger one. thinking about getting older scares him less as he watches you age but still look like the handsome man he fell in love with

Kris: “oh, cool, there’s a ww2 movie on. what was like being in the war?” will tease you so much about being a “dinosaur,” unimpressed if you try to point out that he’ll be your age eventually too

Suho: likes having someone more mature & experienced to go to for advice or comfort

Lay: “ah, can you help me with this?” goes to you for help or a second opinion. he values your expertise and considers you very intelligent since “you’re old so you must know a lot of things, right?” (don’t worry, he’s just teasing :P)

Baekhyun: “oh, be careful! if you lift that you might break a hip. why don’t you let me do it?” teases the crap out of you but also loves being babied and feeling protected and safe in your presence. tries to look out for you as well, making sure you eat well & take your vitamins

Chen: another one would who would tease you, “wow, you’re even older than minseok!” but enjoys the expertise you show in the bedroom ;) age just means more experience, remember that kids

Chanyeol: “you were born in what year?” hadn’t realised your age until later on into the relationship, feeling ashamed that he had missed out on so many weeks of jokes and teasing

D.O: goes to you for comfort or support. he may not ask for your advice but appreciates it if you give him some. he trusts you a lot and having someone mature around soothes him, after having to deal for so long with the zoo animals that are exo

Tao: loves having an older guy to rely on, and as his elder, you look out for him and spoil him. he loves that kind of attention, but isn’t ungrateful. “thank you,” he’ll always say, showering you with kisses and cuddles, “I appreciate everything my man gives me”

Kai: teaches you a thing or two about modern times (even if you’re not really old but whatever) & you teach him a thing or two in the bedroom :^) having someone older to pick him up and toss him on the bed is his dream come true omg yess daddy

Sehun: at a family dinner like “dad, can you pass the salt?” *you and his dad reach for the shaker*

so yeah, he calls you daddy. at first it was as a joke to make fun of your age but then it stuck and he does it all the time now. makes you buy him bubble tea or sweets he wants since “you’re older & you’re dating me, you have to”

Originally posted by chanyocolate


My Aunt Franny (great aunt) came to stay with us for the last almost two weeks. She’s my grandma’s twin and the last living relative of their five siblings. She’s 93 years old. For my family, she’s the last thread we have to my grandma (Madeline) who passed away four years ago.

It’d been hard because Aunt Franny used to be the most energetic, sharp, meticulously put together, and kick in the pants woman. Not to mention LUCKIEST. Seriously though, she wins EVERYTHING. She has since developed dimentia, forgets a lot, and sleeps a lot. She’s still a kick I the pants and loves to have a drink (or two). “Drunk again!” Being one of her favorite phrases. However, she’s not the same woman anymore. Over summer, she was moved out of her home and moved into her grandson’s house with his wife and two kids. Lovely, wonderful, family. She couldn’t be with better people.

I always love having her over, but I always wonder when it’s going to be the last goodbye. She just left with her family. I gave her a hug and said goodbye.

“All doctors have those patients who sit on our shoulder. Their image is always with you. One kid will pop into your head every time you hit a wall - when you encounter a disease that is so unrelenting that you’ve exhausted all therapies and you’re still not even close. One memory will keep you going. It’s a different kid for every doctor. It’s hard to know why they stick with us. I remember one patient that had red hair just like my son. And I remember one five-year-old girl who made me laugh, because when I asked her how she was doing, she told me: ‘I don’t know. You’re the doctor.’ And then there was the boy early in my career who was born without an immune system. He’d already lost two older siblings to the same disease. He lived the first two years of his life in an isolation room with no windows, and his entire exposure to the world was through a black-and-white TV. We gave him a bone marrow transplant, and suddenly his immune system came online. And we took him for a walk in the garden. This boy who had spent his entire life in a windowless room. And a sparrow landed on a bush, and he pointed at it, and said: ‘Bird.’ That moment will always be with me.”

say what you want about this Hell Site but like. a least everyone i interact with has been so so so kind and accommodating abt my name and pronouns and stuff. like i kind of made the change out of nowhere and generally expected people not to realize which is fine, like i was prepared for still being called my old name but like no one has used it? i was less prepared for everyone to be so good and nice and great abt it 

Jorvik Warmbloods

If sso doesn’t wanna remodel the Jorvik Warmbloods because it may get complicated with how everyone has one (do they replace it, have old players keep theirs and give new players new ones, etc) they could always just re-texture them. The colors on them look dull compared to the new ones, I’d love to see them in the gleaming vibrant colors we have on new horses. They could still use the same colors, just redraw them. For example the paint one would be replaced with a revamped paint texture. Put a bit more color shade differences into all the brown base coats so they don’t all seem pretty much the same in the creator (really dark, really light, etc) and a few other minor tweaks with the redraws and even with the old models the horses would look pretty nice.


Requested By: @i-must-touch-marksheppards-butt

Part: One

The first time Dean showed up at your door, you were wearing an old pair of Christmas pajama pants and a stained t-shirt that read “butter my biscuit.” The spoon you were using to eat ice cream was half-hanging out of your mouth and your eyes were still pink from crying. You didn’t handle break-ups gracefully.

“Uh, I must have the wrong address,” he said, awkwardly shuffling from one foot to the other after glancing at you. A blush spread across your cheeks the same color as the skin around your splotchy eyes. Would it kill Charlie to warm you when she was having hot guys come over?

“Looking for Charlie?” you asked. He nodded and you disappeared back inside the house to deliver the message. 

The walls to your shared house were thicker than you wished them to be. Even from the living room, you couldn’t make out what Charlie and this mystery man were whispering about, but when Charlie dashed back inside, she was throwing clothes in a bag.

“Hey, what happened to eating ice cream and crying over chick-flicks tonight?” 

“Sorry,” Charlie called over her shoulder, “it’s an emergency!”

“What could be more urgent than my pitiful relationship status?” you called back, an exasperated expression taking over your still very pink face. You ambled back into the main hall so that you could see Dean through the front doorway and pointed an accusing finger at the brashly handsome man. “You so owe me.”

Charlie rushed out and slammed the door behind her before he could answer, but a few days after he returned your roommate (who was very clearly lying about the reason of her sudden disappearance), you got a package in the mail. Inside was a copy of The Notebook, and a note that read “Sorry for ruining your girl’s night in – Dean Winchester.”

Glaive and Gladius

someone commented on my last gladius photoset, before finding the answer to their own question (which is good, always look up stuff people).
English got these weird little spots when they assimilate two words that are, in fact, the same. Gladius, Latin for ‘sword’ and used in modern English to design that stabby thing the romans used to kill people, especially the one they stole from Iberian tribes, became in old French gleve and in modern French glaive.
sometime afterward English borrowed glaive to call what French people know as a fauchard (swiper/reaper), but in French a gladius is still a glaive, and that can lead to a few confusions.
most people involved in historical shitblogging already know that but I’m very much entry-level so I think some at least will find this interesting (if my rambling isn’t too incomprehensible).

English: Gladius / Français : Glaive

English: Glaive / Français : Fauchard

Some FAHC losers

-Geoff Ramsey would never tell you, but he shows up to meetings late not only as a power play, but also so the other guy can sneak up on him. He wants to make a good impression, and shrieking like a four year old doesn’t exactly do that.

-Jack Pattillo met Geoff when they were both piss poor drunk at a shitty local bar. She woke up the next morning with a pounding headache and an entire plan for a heist. Geoff left her a note that told her to meet him at the same bar if she was interested in getting into the criminal life.

-Ray Narvaez Jr owns every single Webkinz ever made. He never uses the site, calling it a “bullshit factory”, and if you try to so much as pick one up you’ll get a knife in your hand faster than you can say…well anything really. His favourite is the tattered old Bobcat he’s had since he was little. It’s the only thing from back then he still likes.

-Michael Jones loves the Harry Potter series. If you made him pick a favourite character he’d stare at you, scandalized for a moment, before grudgingly admitting that it’s Neville Longbottom. His best rocket launcher is named Neville (if you tell anyone he’ll kill you. Really.) and he will talk your ear off about Dumbledore’s manipulation of Harry and his hatred of Snape.

-Gavin Free has an infamous penchant for giving out ridiculous dares, but the worst by far involved Matt, Ray’s sniper rifle, and a half full bag of peanuts. Neither of them will disclose the details of what happened, and the crew won’t either but Gavin still can’t look at a peanut without crying and Matt has to leave the room when Ray breaks out his gun.

-Ryan Haywood has a weekend job at Applebee’s. He has it mostly because he thinks it’s hilarious, but he neglected to tell the crew also because he thought it would be funny. The first time Gavin, Ray and Michael tried to rob the place for a laugh he took them out in a matter of minutes. (They hadn’t seen his face yet so the rest of the crew lost their shit over the Lads losing to some server). Ryan kept it a secret for a long ass time and just let crew legend grow about the badass Applebee’s employee. When they finally saw his face after unmasking as the Vagabond there was dead silence for maybe two seconds before a screaming match began.

-Jeremy Dooley takes great pride in his abilities and there are many of them. Usually his role is muscle with the crew but several times he likes to surprise them with random abilities. He can do great impressions as the crew found out one hilarious night. His spaghetti bolognaise is to DIE for. Rapping was another one, but the scariest skill was discovered when they were celebrating after a heist. After a really dumb bet (instigated by Geoff) they decided to bet Jeremy forty bucks he couldn’t get to the top of the penthouse from the ground floor up without them catching him. Twenty minutes later he was nowhere to be seen and the crew, assuming he had given up, returned to the penthouse only to find Jeremy sitting on the couch sipping a beer. He never said how he did it but the bets are as follows: Ryan, Michael, Matt and Lindsay say he climbed the building, Ray and Geoff think he snuck up some tiny secret passage, Jack thinks he climbed the elevator shaft, and Trevor and Gavin swear he used magic.