There’s a Pakistani girl in my high school that dreams of becoming an actress but was always put down by everyone in her family because she wears a hijab. She was on the verge of giving up and not pursuing art when she stumbled upon 19 year old Halima Aden (a hijabi model who was apart of New York Fashion Week). You could tell from the look on her face that some hope was restored if not all. Yesterday while watching the oscars, she broke down and burst into tears when Mahershala Ali’s name was called out as it made her so proud to see that a Muslim had finally won an oscar. She made the decision then and there to pursue a career in the arts because for the first time in so long, she felt like she had a chance. Don’t ever try to convince me that representation and diversity don’t matter.
I like to call this “Les Miserables: The Infomercial” I mean “buy this amaizing feedback and you will see results in a week! Just check our before and after models!” (?)
Joking apart, I think this could be useful for everyone (and I love laughing of myself even when I force myself to be perfect and when I make a mistake I feel terrible (?) so I’m making this my therapy) Well, what I mean with this is that everyone makes mistakes and that’s ok. Feedback is important because we may be very afraid of failing or insecure we don’t want to realize our mistakes or just don’t think we can do it better and we are like “I better don’t redo this because I’m going to spoil the whole drawing”. Still, even if it’s scary, listening to feedback will help you improve a lot u3u Again, we all make mistakes, being able to correct them is important and worth trying. And it’s ok if you couldn’t see it at first. Make a pause, breath and analyze what went wrong all the times you need until you find the way to make it better.
So hope this proves you can also go a step forward and improve, step by step u3u I super believe in you!
Anonymous said: Hey love! how are you doing? is there anyway possible to write a fionn imagine, where theres like an argument between fionn and the reader and it takes someone else ( literally anyone) to talk him into realizing he messed up or something? or any adjustments to make it easier for you to write? thank you very much!! hope your day goes well :))
It was just another day full of homework from university and you were
already exhausted, trying to not tear your hair out while cutting foam board
cleanly and accurately in order to finish your last project, an architectural
scale model of an apartment building you had designed recently. Right now,
after one whole week of working on your project, the only thing you wanted to
do was to lie down on the couch and get some rest —who knows, maybe your
headache would disappear—but you needed to finish it and present it in front of
your classmates by Wednesday, in two days.
I think, as a fandom we have crossed the line so many times that most of you are more amused by it than distraught but seriously, it has been enough.
Dandongs, one of the most amazing and talented nsfw artists of this site deleted. Why? Because someone (who has apologized already stop sending her hate jfc) thought it would be awesome to repost their art in the heyphillookatthis tag and.they.saw.it.
Take a moment to imagine you as them, making art because you like it, you enjoy it and you don’t want the real Dan or Phil to look at it. You state it SEVERAL times but there’s always someone tagging them on it, submitting it when they ask for fanart for the book and lastly reuploading it to the tag they are going to check and watch them look at it
TO THE ARTIST AND TO D&P
AND VERY FUCKING HUMILLIATING
What’s this fandom anymore?
Phil opens a space for us to show him stuff and what’s in that tag?
Cringing edits. “Phan is real”. People with pretty much nothing to say. Selfies.
It’s so so fucking sad that amazing art (i saw someone who made an scale model of their apartment so lit), or people who really want to say thanks to them for helping them through dark times, or just funny stuff gets buried by this GARBAGE.
I said it. It’s fucking garbage. It gets fucking old, why do you tag him in your gross edits and say like “omg someone stop me” or “just take me away from the internet” I won’t even ask if you are all 12 yrs old, because that would be disrespectful to all those 12 yr old mature shippers WHO DONT DO THAT. You know they will saw it and be disturbed by it. It was funny the 20 first times now it isn’t anymore why won’t you just stop stealing space from people who DO want to show them nice things?
And don’t tell me that they want this, Phil practically took off the Draw Phil Naked because he got disturbed by it. Dan spent half of the video saying he was at his limit.
Stop it. It’s not funny anymore, to be rude to them, the gross edits, the “— fic”, to call Dan a rat, to send them disturbing stuff, to ask/tell them about phan.
You are driving them away
They are being rude back.
Tbh at this point i think the relationship between D&P and the phandom is so deteriorated that they shouldn’t make tumblr tag anymore.
I know they do it for our entretainment but if they are going to be hate like 90% of the things they do for them, be cringing edits or just a cute fanart of them and Dil as a family (which i think the rudeness towards that one was out of proportion) i don’t see the point. I suppose they are just so touchy towards anything shippy at this point that they’d rather be rude than have everyone saying like “omg they liked it!!! phan confirmed!!”
I lost my little sibling in IKEA and I need your help finding them au
Davey is awkward and anxious, Jack is a child and Les is a menace. Javid au
“Davey, the meatballs!” Les exclaimed, nearly
pulling Davey’s arm from the socket as he yanked his older brother towards the
Davey glared at him and tugged Les back to his side. “Not
now. We’re here to find a desk.”
Davey rolled his eyes and continued down the aisle, dragging
his brother with him. He wasn’t thrilled to be here in the first place. IKEA
stressed Davey out with its big crowds and people milling about, sitting on the
furniture. He intended to be in and out to get his desk but his mother had
insisted he take Les along so she could do the grocery shopping in peace. Les
loved IKEA, she had said. Therein was Davey’s problem. Les would spend hours in
the store, given the chance and Davey was already starting to feel panicked
after being there five minutes.
“Hey look!” Les pointed at a bedroom display, causing Davey
to look around.
He saw an adult man jumping on the bed, much to the chagrin
of the other shoppers.
Les quickly slipped from Davey’s grasp and joined him.
“Hey there!” The guy said, grinning as he and Les caused a
“Les!” Davey pushed his way through the crowd to the side of
the bed and dragged his brother down. “You can’t do that here!”
“He’s doing it!” Les protested, pointing at the man.
“Besides, you can’t tell me what to do. You’re my brother, not my mom.”
“You’re brother sounds like a real wet blanket, kid.” The
guy still bouncing on the bed commented causally.
Davey rounded on him. “Why? Because I behave like an adult
in stores?” He snapped. “Come on Les. We’re going.”
“Bye!” Les waved as Davey dragged him away.
They went up the escalator to the office furniture displays.
Davey breathed easier as this floor was less crowded than the others.
He examined the mix and match desk frames carefully, before
finally deciding which ones he wanted.
“Okay, this is the one!” He announced, grabbing a tag for
the warehouse reference number. “We’ve gotta go to the bottom floor Les. Are
Davey broke off as he looked up and realized that his
brother was no longer at his side.
“Les? LES?” Davey’s hands began sweating as he began walking
quickly down the aisle, peering into the display rooms for any sign of his
rambunctious younger brother.”
“Les! This isn’t funny! Come out right- ooooof!”
Davey rounded a corner quickly and collided with a large
frame, stumbling backwards.
“Careful there!” The man he ran into reached out to steady
“Thanks,” Davey mumbled after regaining his footing. He
looked up. “It’s you!”
The man who had been jumping on the bed earlier grinned.
“I’m flattered that you remember.”
“Have you seen my little brother anywhere?” Davey asked,
wringing his hands. “He was right there and then he was gone and now I have to
find him in IKEA and I hate this fucking store so much and there’s so many
people and my mom is gonna kill me and-“
“Hey! Take a breath there.” The guy reached out to pat
Davey’s back. “My name is Jack and lucky for you, I have nothing better to do
today than help you hunt down your brother in IKEA. What’s your name?”
Davey took a shaky breath and counted to ten. “I’m Davey.
And my brother is Les and I really need to find him and-“
“Davey,” Jack cut in smoothly. “I said we would find him and
we will so you need to calm down. You’re gonna give yourself a heart attack.”
Davey nodded as Jack gave him a final pat on the back.
“C’mon.” Jack gestured to the escalator. “If I were a kid in
IKEA, I wouldn’t be spending my free time in the office furniture.”
“You’d be jumping on beds.” Davey mumbled as he followed
Jack down to the floor below.
“Exactly!” Jack smiled.
When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Davey’s breath
caught in his chest as he looked at the sea of shoppers and thought of trying
to find his brother.
“C’mon.” Jack said quietly, grabbing Davey’s hand.
Davey looked up in surprise. Jack’s hand was warm and big
and felt really nice in Davey’s but he was still basically a stranger.
“Can’t have both of you getting lost.” Jack muttered,
Davey bit his lip in an attempt to hide his smile as Jack
guided him through the crowd, toward the model apartments.
They searched the first one with no luck. But in the second
apartment, Jack pulled back a loft bed curtain to reveal Les sitting on the futon,
playing on his game system.
“Hey guys! Davey did you know there’s wifi here?”
“What were you thinking?” Davey exploded, dragging Les off
the couch. “I couldn’t find you!”
“Well you found me now.” Les rolled his eyes.
Davey glared at him. “Les, I’m serious. You can’t just run
“I think,” Jack began. “That this would be a good time for
Les to apologize for causing his brother a lot of stress in a big, crowded
store where it would be very easy for him to search for hours by himself.”
Les had the decency to look ashamed as he scuffed the toe of
his sneaker on floor and mumbled “Sorry Davey.”
“Excellent!” Jack clapped his hands together. “Now to
celebrate the return of Les, I propose meatballs!”
“We really need to be going…” Davey said, looking uncertain.
“But Daveyyyyyyyyy!” Les whined.
“But Daveyyyyyyyyy!” Jack echoed, mimicking Les’ pout.
Davey sighed. “Really, we can’t. I have to be at work in an
hour and we still need to check out. But thank you for your help Jack.”
He turned, grabbing Les’ shoulder to steer him toward the
escalator but Jack called after him.
Davey and Les both turned as Jack hurried toward them.
“Aren’t you at least gonna take my phone number so you can
ask me on a date later?”
Davey went bright red as Les snickered.
“I… Well I mean- I think I should… I’m sorry, I didn’t… Um
here’s m-my phone. You can put it in me, I mean it! You can put it in it.”
Davey looked like he wanted the earth to open up and swallow
him whole as he handed his phone over to Jack, who merely grinned wider.
“Please call me.” He said, handing Davey’s phone back.
Jack patted Les on the shoulder and then did the same to
Davey, letting his hand linger on the older boy’s arm much long.
“Take care guys.”
“Bye Jack!” Les smiled.
“Bye Jack.” Davey blushed.
Jack gave Les a salute and Davey a wink as he turned and
headed back into the depths of IKEA.
“So that was fun.” Les wiggled his eyebrows at Davey.
Davey cuffed him on the back of the head.
“You’re an idiot.”
“But now you have a date!”
“You’re still an idiot.”
The argument didn’t end until they got home a half hour
later and Mrs. Jacobs told them both to shut up.
Does Mars have rings? Not right now, but maybe one day
As children, we learned about our solar system’s planets by certain characteristics – Jupiter is the largest, Saturn has rings, Mercury is closest to the sun. Mars is red, but it’s possible that one of our closest neighbors also had rings at one point and may have them again someday.
That’s the theory put forth by Purdue University scientists, whose findings were published in the journal Nature Geoscience. David Minton, assistant professor of Earth, atmospheric and planetary sciences, and Andrew Hesselbrock, a doctoral student in physics and astronomy, developed a model that suggests that debris that was pushed into space from an asteroid or other body slamming into Mars around 4.3 billion years ago and alternates between becoming a planetary ring and clumping up to form a moon.
A theory exists that Mars’ large North Polar Basin or Borealis Basin, which covers about 40 percent of the planet in its northern hemisphere, was created by that impact, sending debris into space.
Kiss prompts, oh gosh! Jane/Garrus, with either 1 or 7? ;u;
Kiss Prompt #1- breaking the kiss to say something, staying so close that you’re murmuring into each other’s mouths
Contains Red Streak plot points. Coincidentally whoops, this got long.
The Normandy kit was a rushed knock-off, cobbled together by drooling entrepreneurs who were hungry to make a quick couple of credits. Several details were laughably off the mark: the proportion of the wingspan, the placement of the IES vents, the width of her stripes. None of it to spec, but Garrus had to admit that for a rush job, it was almost too close for comfort.
It was the thought that counted. Normandy was already important enough to merit an adoring if inaccurate grey-market replica on her maiden voyage. Garrus Vakarian was important enough to said maiden voyage that his own mother had mailed a Normandy model kit to his apartment while he’d been off gallivanting through the universe, chasing the tail of Shepard’s comet.
Garrus had been important enough, yesterday. Now he was nobody. Again.
He’d discovered the kit in the middle of the night while stumbling across the threshold of his Citadel apartment for the first time in weeks. Trying to wipe Shepard out his brain had required alcohol of a strength and purity usually administered to gushing wounds in field hospitals. Too angry to see in a straight line, he’d caught a glimpse of the Normandy’s familiar curves, taken her reappearance for an elaborately cruel prank, and thrown the box across the room before passing out on the couch.
Upon waking in a mess of his own sweat and drool, details were fuzzy. Had Shepard kicked him off the ship, or had Garrus volunteered to resign? He remembered a lot of yelling, and the look on her face when the silence had finally set in, but not much more. Only one detail remained: she’d left with Nihlus.
Sulking around his apartment all through the gray morning, digging in dusty cabinets for any food that hadn’t expired, Garrus rediscovered the crumpled Normandy kit. It was cowering in the corner behind a newly shattered 1:100 model of the Rhapsodon, along with an omni-tool code that triggered a personalized holographic message from his mother.
How proud she was, though she wished Garrus had talked to her first. How scatterbrained Garrus was, for not setting up a forwarding system so she could contact him while he was away. How much Garrus owed her a call.
He couldn’t bring himself to call Mari. Not now. The least he could do was cobble together the gift she’d sent, maybe send her a snap of a wannabe Normandy assembled and sitting on his shelf next to the Kara… or the PFS Tenefalx.
The unguarded thought made him flinch, and he stared at his old stock model of the Blackwatch legend for a long time after that, as if hoping he could force it to confess or explode or both. It looked like the Normandy’s homely sister. Boxier and larger by half, primitive in comparison, but an undeniable relative.
Garrus rudely shoved the thought aside and managed to get one wing attached to the Normandy when the first knock arrived.
He froze and considered not answering. It was probably his father. Almost certainly his father.
How disappointed he was, because he wished Garrus had talked to him first. How stupid Garrus was, for dropping C-Sec like a hot rock and running after the Spectres again. How much Garrus owed him an explanation.
Another knock. Followed immediately by two more.
“Fine!” Garrus barked, setting the fake Normandy on his desk in a pile of detritus where it belonged. “I get it!”
He picked up the sloshing, mostly-empty bottle of horosk and brought it with him to the door, hoping to discourage a long visit. Artfully embellishing his own shame had always been a sure-fire tactic for getting his father to give up on him faster. Look at me Pari, I’ma washed up waste of a cop and a drunk. Leave me alone.
“Get it over with,” he said, palming open the lock. “I know. I should have stayed–”
The words died in his mouth.
It was Shepard.
No. Not Shepard. Standing in his doorway was someone almost completely unrecognizable. Sloppy makeup and a crooked leather jacket Garrus had never seen before. An ill-fitting combination of military blues and casual wear that made her look like a crude mash-up of Alliance Marine and duct rat.
The name was little more than a bruising wheeze.
She nodded, staring at his knees. Jaw clenched, fists clenched, everything clenched. She’d come to finish the fight.
He keeled forward to laugh in her face, welcoming her into his apartment with a crooked sweep of his liquor bottle. She didn’t move.
He recognized that look. It was the same one she’d leveled at him last night, the same one she’d leveled at him the First Night, when she’d abandoned him in his squad car. No warning, no reason, just walked out of his life forever.
Except it hadn’t been forever. Not quite.
“Hit me while I’m down,” he jeered. “C’mon. I’m ready for it. Are you here with severance pay? What?”
She yanked the bottle from his hand.
“That’ll make you sick.”
He quoted their first encounter on reflex, ashamed even as the words tumbled out of his mouth, reeling at his persistent sun-blindness. Shepard had never been a girl in a bar. He wished he’d known that from day one.
“Shut up,” she said, uncorking the bottle to take a deep swallow.
He watched the mechanism of her throat as she finished the last inches of turian liquor. As if she was born to it.
She was, he remembered. In her way.
She pushed the empty bottle into his chest, and he tossed it onto the carpet with a pathetic muffled thud.
“That was my last drop,” he whined.
Then she was on him.
Her lips were cold, maybe from the liquor, maybe from wandering the wards alone. In startling contrast, the inside of her mouth was hot and sure, so forceful that he staggered and almost lost his footing.
“What—” he attempted, but that was all he managed. She grabbed the sides of his face and pressed in tighter, silencing him with her tongue. Bodies flush, he could feel the gyration of her hips swelling toward him like some ancient curse from the sea.
“No talking,” she warned, talking.
He pushed back, tangling all of his fingers into her hair until his hands were nothing but knots.
“I like talking,” he growled, biting down on her lower lip until she swore. “Apparently it’s the only thing I’m good at.”
Her breath painted his face in sour, sloppy bursts, remnants of the bottom of the bottle they’d shared. She was strong, too strong, and he was suddenly shoved onto his own couch, unable to defend himself even if he’d wanted to.
Luckily, he didn’t.
“Shut up,” she repeated. Her teeth traced his throat, his keel, his waist, the traitorous wasteland of his groin, and she did her best to undo him all over again. “Just shut up.”
Sharpay Evans was kind of her role model - apart from the seriously incestuous vibes going on that Disney really should have edited down. Playing love interests with her brother? So bad.
Well, Rebecca was an only child, and she was at least as ready for stardom as Sharpay had been. Which was why she was ready for the announcement - her name was going to be right next to the female lead.
And it was. Except right next to the male lead… Nathaniel Plimpton.
And then they have to practice the kiss and stuff happens and Nathaniel is being forced to do drama but he actually starts to like it and fic of epic proportions that I should really write someday.
Night night. #brodziak presents #lascivious #apartments #filmed by Jacek Jablonski. Part ½
#photographer Szymon Brodziak #keystylist Chloe Hamblen #hair Krzysztof Nawrot @krzysztofnawrot #makeup Slawka Sadowska @slawkasadowska #backstage Tom Fraud #models Katarzyna Danysz, Magdalena Psiuk, Weronika Sierant, John Esposito #assistant Krystyna Szydlowska #production FACTORY311 Watch full movie at #Vimeo @szymonbrodziak vimeo.com/77810567 #bw #photography #lingerie @lasciviousofficial #beauty (w: Brodziak Gallery)
Jimin sighed as he pulled on the break of his bike before hopping of and parking it by the stairs of the apartment duplex.
The street was empty at this time in the morning, which was around 6:30, and the temperature had gone chilly with Fall approaching.
Though Jimin always did like the cold and decided to idle a while outside, walking across the narrow street where the canal was.
He sat by the bench and watched the still waters, sighing once again. He was forced to go here, though he had to admit he didn’t really put up much of a fight.
Suho had caught him skating in the rink a couple of weeks after his leg has completely healed, letting him walk without those damn crutches.
The doctor has given him an order not to exert much on his leg and wait for a month or two before training on the ice again as to prevent further injuries.
But Jimin always has been one to break the rules and skated anyway.
“Jimin!” Suho’s voice boomed around the empty ice rink, his face a mask of disappointment and that ‘aish! This kind really…” look upon seeing his champion skater, skating on his ice (as funny as that sounded). “What did I just say? You are banned from this arena—”
“I mean it.” Suho stopped sharply in front of him, his skates shredding the ice. “If you want to be able to compete again, you have to let that leg rest.”
“It’s fine.” Jimin said though he knew it was a complete lie for he could still feel a slight ache whenever he tried to bend his knee. He could walk sure… but skate?
Good enough. But he wasn’t a 100% sure if he could execute all the jumps flawlessly when his leg easily gets tired at the simplest of exertions.
“Jimin, you have to take a break. Hang out with your friends, do some other things for a bit. You’ll be back in the rink soon—”
“I don’t want to 'hang out’,” Jimin argued stubbornly. “I want to skate, coach. If I want to be able to go to the Olympics I have to start getting into shape. Sectionals are only—”
“Months away and we still have a bit more time. Suho interrupted, silencing him. "We can get you ready. But you have to trust me when I say you have to give this a little bit more time to fully heal.” Suho motioned his head towards his right leg. “That’s your landing leg, Jimin. I don’t want it getting worse—”
“It’s fine.” Jimin said yet again before skating away, leaving Suho sighing at his stubbornness.
“You leave me with no choice.” He muttered before retrieving his phone from his jacket’s pockets.
Two days later, Jimin came home to hear his eight-year-old brother, Jacob, laughing and talking animatedly in the kitchen, which scared him a bit because they lived alone and Jimin didn’t recall inviting anyone over nor did he allowed Jacob to bring anyone home without his permission. The only person who came to his house freely was Taehyung, and he was away on a school trip for the next two weeks.
“Jay? Who are you—” Jimin stopped upon seeing the visitor; wearing a black apron around his waist, cooking by the stove.
And just like that, Jimin was suddenly whisked away to Amsterdam.
Jin was their cousin and a model working for various agencies around the globe. He has been a model for several international clothing brands such as Burberry and GiorgioArmani. He was pretty popular and excessively busy with his career, so Jimin was always surprised whenever he came over unexpectedly. And then Jin would always scold him, defending that he would always make time for his two most favorite cousins in the world.
Although this time, he came with an intention that was to take Jimin away on a vacation. Somewhere he could really relax and not think about skating or anything else for at least a couple of weeks.
There was an emphasis on “not thinking about skating” when Jin told him all about it.
Jin had prepared everything and Suho, the culprit who had called him over, has volunteered to let Jacob stay with him for the time being as he still had school to attend.
Jimin didn’t like the idea of leaving his brother but he trusted Suho with his life so he eventually agreed.
And now here he was, a week in and doing nothing but sleeping, biking, and walking around the city. He was living in Jin’s place, a really nice duplex at the heart of the peaceful city. One of the perks of being a famous model was having an apartment in almost every great city in existence. Jimin was almost jealous of his hyung.
As Jimin sat by the bench, he suddenly recalled his time at the Rijksmuseum yesterday when one of the tourists recognized him and asked for an autograph. It was almost nice until she asked him:
"So what are you doing now that you’re retired?”
Jimin had to excuse himself as politely as he could before leaving the place with a heavy heart. It’s only been a few months and people have already forgotten the great skater he once was.
It was heartbreaking.
“Hey, you’re up early.”
Jimin looked behind him and found Jin with two mugs in his hand. He offered one to him which he took appreciatively.
“It’s great here, isn’t it? One of my favorite places.” Jin said as he sat beside him on the bench.
“Quiet.“ Jimin nodded. "I really like it.”
“Well, you’re always welcome to visit and stay at my place. As much as I love it here, I hardly live in it. Bring Jay sometime.“
Jimin nodded with a small smile before turning serious again.
Jimin sighed heavily. “Not really. Been thinking about… a lot of things.”
Jin sighed as he patted the younger’s lap before leaning back on the bench. “My manager told me thinking too much causes wrinkles so I try not to do that.” He chuckled, trying to lighten the mood.
“They think I’m already retired.” Jimin suddenly blurted, causing Jin to frown slightly. “How am I suppose to get back on the ice now when people have already stopped believing I—” he huffed while Jin remained quiet and listened intently. “It’s over, hyung. My figure skating career is over—”
“Now hold on a second. You are what? Twenty-one? You’re young Jimin and are definitely not retiring.” Jin smacked him upside on the head and the younger glared at him in return. “Stop being dramatic and exaggerating your little accident.”
“But it’s true!” Jimin argued. “I won’t be able to be ready in time for sectionals and I have to win nationals if I want to get into the Olympics—”
“This is coming front the same boy who never thought he could be a world champion and yet became the youngest in history to get the title…twice.” Jin emphasized which silenced Jimin. “You give yourself way less credit than you should. Maybe you should try being confident in your talents for once, Jimin—not to mention your determination.” He said. “You are a gifted skater…”
Jimin looked away, clenching his jaw as he stared at the canal. A boat was floating pass as he let his cousin’s words sink into his system.
“And I know your parents would’ve been really proud of you…” Jin added. “Jacob idolises you! And I’m so proud of how you’ve managed to raise him well despite being so young and busy with training. If youc an do that, you can get through this too, Jimin. Because no one deserves that gold more than you do.”
At his words Jimin felt tears pricking his eyes and the older man let his arms envelope his shoulders, pulling him in for a half hug.
“Thanks hyung.” Jimin sniffed.
“No problem kiddo.”
Right then, a spark of hope ignited in Jimin’s heart. And he hoped it would be enough to light his passion for skating once again.