yeah this isn't one of them

2

She’ll be fine once she’s had her coffee, but Spirit, you forgot to tell them what you like. ~ Wise Guy

Oh yeah. Um… I don’t drink coffee all that often. If I do like cold kinds with some like chocolate flavor. I also like it hot with some cream in it. I really don’t know much about this kinda stuff. ~ Spirit Roots

Extra sugar please! ~ Wave Break

That’s the preference of this blog’s 3 main ponies (since they are the ones open to asks at the moment). I’m like Spirit. Don’t drink it often and don’t know much about it.

Thank you for the ask @askcaffeinehazard

5

Legolas reports back to his father.

INTP internal monologue
  • Someone: *expresses an opinion that is ignorant and illogical*
  • INTP: Oh ffs here we go.
  • Ti: That person is being ignorant and illogical. We have to correct them.
  • Ne: Yeah they're so narrow-minded. We have to make them see things from a different perspective.
  • Si: Yeah and they're just factually WRONG about this one thing as this handy Wikipedia article proves.
  • Fe: BUT WE'RE GOING TO LOOK LIKE A DICK IF WE ARGUE WITH THEM ESPECIALLY SINCE EVERYONE LIKES THIS PERSON AND ESPECIALLY SINCE LIKE OUR OPINION ON THIS PARTICULAR SUBJECT ISN'T EXACTLY NORMAL LOL
  • Ti: But
  • Ne: They're
  • Si: Wrong?
  • Fe: DO YOU GUYS WANT US TO LOOK LIKE A DICK
  • Ti + Ne + Si: ...no?
  • Someone: Sorry you looked like you were going to say something, INTP?
  • INTP: ...........nope. Never mind.

anonymous asked:

Consider: junkrat with peg leg made entirely of dildos

It’d be one big dildo
A Bad Dragon 30′ horse cock dildo

Made of solid GOLD

inimitablebiscuit  asked:

Erm Flintwood please if you're still doing 150. * Winning smile *

pairing: marcus flint x oliver wood

setting: modern, non-magical, soulmates-at-first-touch au

word count: 1394


Marcus punches his soulmate in the face the first time they meet.

Wait.

No.  

It’s worse than that.

Marcus punches his soulmate in the face the first time they meet, the flats of his knuckles crunching against the guy’s jaw, hard enough to draw blood and leave a mark and hurt—and then there’s a strange fluttering sensation erupting in the pit of Marcus’s stomach, a comforting, calming warmth suffusing the blood in his veins and the marrow in his bones and it’s exactly like how they’d described it in Health class, the awareness—the connection—slotting into place so seamlessly that he’s astonished he’d never noticed something missing before now.  

“Oh, fuck,” Marcus blurts out. “Oh—fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Marcus’s soulmate—who’s tall and lean and has the prettiest brown eyes, what the shit—is just sprawled out on the dirty arena floor, blinking and blinking and prodding gingerly at the bruise that’s already beginning to blossom—

“No,” the guy says firmly. “This isn’t happening.”

“Fuck you,” Marcus immediately snaps. “I rejected you first.”

The guy snorts, kind of irritatingly sarcastic, before grimacing. His emotions, so far as Marcus can tell, are all over the place; shock and dismay and frustration and—very, very deeply—a flickering, almost unwilling tremor of interest.  

“It wouldn’t work, anyway,” the guy goes on, more loudly. “You have terrible opinions about hockey.”

“Fuck you,” Marcus snaps again. “You’re the one in the shitty jersey.”

“He’s won three Cups.”

“Yeah, and he was a fucking healthy scratch for two of them,” Marcus retorts. “Try again.”

“Hockey is a team sport,” the guy says hotly. “It isn't—it isn’t about individual accomplishments.”

Marcus rolls his eyes. “Sure, whatever,” he drawls, “but your shitty jersey is still shitty.”

The guy’s mouth falls open, and Marcus can feel the sour note of his indignation—the jagged spike of his outrage—as clearly as if it were his own. “Jesus fucking Christ,” the guy sputters, shaking his head like he’s got a nervous tic. “What are you so—what are you so angry about?”

Marcus raises his eyebrows. “Um,” he says slowly, because, really, what the shit, “I’m not angry. I’m confused.”

“No.” The guy frowns. “You’re definitely angry. I feel it, like—” He gestures vaguely to his chest and upper abdomen. “Right there. Like heartburn.”

Marcus’s nostrils flare, and he scratches viciously at the side of his neck to distract himself from the fact that this complete fucking stranger with boy band hair and, and Bambi eyes is apparently better at deciphering Marcus’s emotions than Marcus is.  

“Oh, hell,” the guy sighs, “now you're—embarrassed, don’t be like that, I didn’t mean to—hey, come on, where are you—where are you going? You can’t just—hey! Come back!”

Marcus does not come back.

And the ensuing wave of regret that pulses through Marcus’s sternum is lukewarm and salty and depressingly difficult to pinpoint the origins of.

It’s not his, he thinks stubbornly.

Probably.


Marcus lasts two and a half days before the persistent invisible tugging at his gut becomes too annoying to bear.

He follows it.

He follows it to a bench in Riverside Park that’s near where the gross little fish and chips stand is, and the scent of old frying oil undercut by whatever the fuck is currently decomposing in the Hudson is—less nauseating than it arguably fucking should be, seriously, what the shit.

But—

His soulmate, his soulmate, is sitting with his legs spread obnoxiously wide, wrists crossed and hands dangling in his lap, squinting intently up at the clouds like he’s waiting for them to tell him what to do next. It’s endearing. Maybe. Marcus’s stomach is in knots—a tangled mess of dread and unease and, abruptly, relief.

“Oh,” the guy says, quirking his lips into something that Marcus chooses to generously describe as a smile. The bruise on the guy’s jaw is a lurid, chalky looking violet, partially obscured by the auburn of his stubble. “You found me.”

“Of course I fucking found you,” Marcus says, dropping down next to him. Their knees brush, just for a moment, and it’s like—lightning, bright and fierce and sizzling, coiling around the base of his spine. “There’s been this—this buzzing, in the back of my head—”

“Yeah,” the guy interjects glumly. “I know. I would've—if you hadn’t. I would’ve tried to find you.” He pauses. “I missed you, I guess, which is—weird.”

Marcus scowls down at the sidewalk. There’s a crack in the cement, and it’s dirty, gritty with loose gravel around the edges, splintering off into a dozen hairline fractures before disappearing into the grass. He can feel his own surprise at the guy’s admission, and it’s so—uncomfortable, knowing that there’s nothing he can hide behind. Making himself smaller, holding himself still; they’re not antidotes for anything, not anymore, and this guy—his soulmate—he’s got a rabbit-fast heartbeat and an intimidatingly focused way of feeling things. Marcus wonders how he’s supposed to get used to that.  

“I’m Marcus,” he eventually offers, voice emerging gruffer than he’d have liked. “My name, I mean. It's—Marcus.”

The guy turns, slightly, to look over at Marcus. “Oliver. I’m Oliver.” He hesitates before he goes on, sounding nonplussed, “I still can’t believe you fucking hit me. Over a jersey.”

Marcus huffs. “It’s a really shitty jersey.”

Oliver grins, short and sweet and self-deprecating, before nudging at Marcus’s ribs with the point of his elbow. “I’ve, uh. I’ve been told I’ve got kind of a…bad habit of, of taking things too seriously.” His mouth twists, and the stabbing ache of some long-ago insult, or argument; it lances through the pads of Marcus’s fingers, stinging and sharp. “Obsessive. That’s what—I dunno. That’s what I’ve been told. I can be…obsessive. About—whatever.”

“Obsessive,” Marcus repeats, shaking out his hand. “That’s your—one big fault. Enthusiasm.”

Oliver shrugs, easy and casual, like it doesn’t matter, like Marcus can’t literally feel the crippling uncertainty—the tension, swampy and thick—weighing down his limbs. “Enthusiasm is…too nice of a word for it, I think.”

“Bullshit,” Marcus hears himself say, with absolutely zero fucking direction from his brain, or his conscience, or his admittedly flimsy sense of self-preservation. “Enthusiasm is the perfect fucking word for it.”

Oliver startles, slightly, eyes widening a fraction. There’s a coolly refreshing burst of—happiness, maybe; gratitude, definitely—coating the back of Marcus’s tongue. Citrus. Summer. Chlorine and coconut. It’s fucking nice.

“Oh. Um. Okay,” Oliver says, haltingly. “Thanks.”

A tentative silence descends between them on the bench. Marcus drums his fingers against the inseam of his jeans, jiggling his foot and glaring at a rotting spear of tree bark and swallowing around a metallic-tasting lump in his throat that he instinctively wants to label curiosity.  

“Sorry,” Marcus grunts, slouching forward. “About the—hitting you. I just—sorry. I was angry. I get angry.”

Oliver stares at him, bottom lip clutched between his teeth, and there’s a swirl of something taking root in his lungs, something chewy and rich, like caramel, so that every breath he takes in is like burnt brown sugar crystallizing against the roof of his mouth, but then there’s more, too, a champagne bubble pop of amusement, and—

“It’s alright,” Oliver says wryly. “I heard I was wearing a pretty shitty jersey.”

Marcus snorts, and then groans, and then laughs, almost despite himself, before confessing, as quietly as he can manage—  

“Yeah, I’m…not really sorry, anyway.”


  • [Yuuri Katsuki, Victor Nikiforov and Yuri Plisetsky are watching a movie together. There is a knock at the door.]:
  • Victor: Yurio, do you mind getting the door? I think Yuuri is asleep and I don't want to disturb him.
  • Yurio: yeah, whatever. *leaves room to open door*
  • Otabek: *begins playing Christmas music.* shhh *holds up card that says "tell them it's carolers"*
  • Victor: who is it?
  • Yurio: carol singers.
  • Victor: oh. Okay.
  • Otabek: *flips card* it reads: with any luck, next year I'll be the Grand Prix champion.
  • *flips card*: you'll be 16
  • *flips card*: and maybe your dads will let you date
  • *flips card*: but for now, let me say
  • *flips card*: without any hopes or agenda
  • *flips card*: because it's Christmas
  • *flips card*: (and on Christmas you tell the truth)
  • *flips card*: to me, you are perfect
  • *flips card*: and I will love you
  • *flips card*: until we both retire
  • *flips card*: merry Christmas.
  • Yurio: *smiles*
  • Otabek: *begins to walk away.*
  • Yurio: wait! *runs after him*
  • Otabek: *stops*
  • Yurio: *kisses his cheek* by the way, we don't celebrate Christmas until after the new year.
  • Otabek: oh.
  • Yurio: also my dads are watching that movie right now so they totally know what's going on.
  • Otabek: right. My bad.
  • Yurio: why don't you come inside?

- truce / twenty one pilots

please do not repost - reblogs are always appreciated

anonymous asked:

Ok so like this isn't really important but I just got to talk for a second and you're one of my favorite blogs so I'm just gonna say it, I came out to my mom as bi not even an hour ago and she was so excepting and I'm so happy because I can be openly gay with my gf now and yeah, sorry for disturbing you

OH MY GOD YASSSS
ANON CHELD I’M SO PROUD OF YOU*paps anon and gives them a cookie*

8

New Girl rewatch → 1x02, Kryptonite

I’m happy you cheated on me. Thank you, because if you hadn’t, I would have married you, and then you would have hurt me all over again. And yeah, I was scared to start over, I didn’t know what to do. And yeah, I’m living with three guys I met on the lnternet. And yeah, stranger danger is real. But I love these guys. I barely know them, but I love them.

The OUAT fandom
  • Swan Queen shippers: So, we ship Swan Queen. Isn't it an awesome, beautiful ship? Too bad the writers are still queerbaiting.
  • Rumbelle shippers: We feel you. They screwed up our ship too. We see the chemistry btw.
  • Outlaw Queen shippers: We totally respect Swan Queen, but we ship Outlaw Queen. It was nice to see Regina happy for a change. But, yeah, one of them is dead so that sucks.
  • Swanfire shippers: Sorry you guys have to go through that, our second half also died and we still miss him. :( Most of us now ship Emma/happiness, so we're with you, Swan Queeners!!
  • Snowing shippers: Hey y'all, we just want to send you some love, our ship isn't handled in the best possible way either, but at least they are both alive and canonically true love.
  • Swan Queen shippers: Group hug!!
  • *Rumbelle, Outlaw Queen, Swanfire and Snowing shippers join in for the hug*
  • CSers: HA!!!!!!!!!! Your ships all suck. So glad Neal is dead, Rumbelle and Snowing only steal screen time from Killy the saint and ew.. two women as mothers of a child and lovers? It's a family show for God's sake! NOW BOW DOWN TO THE GLORIOUS ONE AND ONLY SHIP!!!!

anonymous asked:

What's ur honest opinion about all of this Neymar talk

There’s a point where letting all of this drag out as long as it has and all the silence turns into disregard for the club, and nobody is bigger than the club. To a certain degree the media is playing a role in over-exaggerating these rumours, but he’s had several opportunities to speak about them and all we’ve been getting is silence.

Some people defend all of this by saying he has a right to do this because he’s “stuck in Messi’s shadow” - as if Messi hasn’t had to sacrifice certain things himself (ex: playing in midfield/as a winger) for the comfort of Ney and Suarez. As if Messi isn’t the one plastered on front covers and always given the blame for our losses when it’s really never his fault. As if Messi hasn’t rightfully built his legacy here and being recognized how he is here is in any way “unfair” to Neymar - in fact you can argue that Messi isn’t even appreciated enough here for all that he has done/does. If “being in Messi’s shadow” makes Neymar doubt playing for our colours or if he just wants to be the center of some other project, then he can go. And I do NOT say this out of animosity or disrespect toward him at all! We all know how much talent Neymar has and that he has even greater potential looking forward. We can all recognize the history he has made here (himself and with us as a team) and nobody can deny the impact he has on our team and as part of the best trio in the world. Obviously he is a huge part of this team and we count on him, but he also counts on us. I don’t want him to go, but the idea of the club and his teammates needing to “convince” him to stay at BARÇA is pretty ridiculous to me. 

On the other hand, if all this uncertainty and chaos he is letting carry on is about holding the board hostage for more money, this is also a problem. They just renegotiated his contract last year. And then even if he stays at the end of it all and maybe gets a new contract out of it, are we going to do this every summer?

Basically: if he’s going to stay, break the silence - nobody can really cut the rumours off except him. In my opinion, it shouldn’t even have been left to go on for this long. If he wants be the centre of another project and he’s going to go, then go. 

No needing to be “convinced” to stay, no cryptic posts on social media and letting chaos drag on for the club and the fans all summer. None of this drama is in the club’s best interest and, let’s say it again, nobody is bigger than the club. 

roncastron  asked:

Oh and by the way mr or mrs or insert-generic-way-to-refer-to-someone TQ, I'm rather curious about Chara - They are painted in such an 'evil-heartless-etc-etc' way, but (going by their logic for a second, not that I agree with it!) isn't "putting something out of its misery" (stopping the monsters from being tortured by the humans by... obliterating the entire universe...) essentially a form of mercy?

That’s what Chara believes it to be, yes. Which means that their motivations are purer than one might expect… even if they are wrong and bad. A person with pure intentions can still do bad things after all. But yeah, I don’t see them as evil or heartless. Far from it.

-TQ

Team Voltron making a gingerbread house
  • Allura: I made my room out of little silver MnMs, but they don't have silver MnMs so I spray painted them
  • Pidge: Okay those are poisonous, no one eat them
  • Lance, with silver on his lips: Yeah, that would be a stupid thing to do-
  • Pidge: Go throw up
  • Lance: I didn't have any-
  • Pidge and Keith: Go throw up
  • Lance: *gets up* fine
Life Is Strange

so me and my boyfriend are playing Life Is Strange on his PS4 and I mentioned it being kind of popular lesbian stuff and he just looked at me all confused like: whaat what lesbian there are none… wait you mean Chloe and Max… they are friends..umm but they are cute…ummmmmm I don’t know Kate.

*3 hours later*

Chloe: If you’re hardcore then kiss me Max 
choice one: Kiss Chloe                      
choice two: don’t kiss Chloe

me: ooooh yeeesss finally
boyfriend looks at me grinning while I laugh and try to steal the controller from him: ooooooooookaaay you were right *he himself hits option one* 

both: awwwwwwwwwww 
both: 

Originally posted by goldenfluffy

anonymous asked:

I had an idea for a tatooine slave culture saying: "gilding the chains and calling them jewelry", ie, a do-gooder who bought a slave and "freed" them, only for the do-gooder to turn around and (unintentionally?) end up keeping them around in someway. Kind of like the Cliegg and Shmi relationship can be read. Basically, one side thinks the other is free and the other isn't... exactly willing to clarify that they feel pressured to stay. This also kinda applies to Anakin and the Jedi

What a fantastic metaphor, anon, thank you for sharing!

There are probably a lot of oblique ways of talking about this, too, that reference the metaphor without saying it outright. Like, Kitster might say about Shmi, “Yeah, I heard Cliegg gave her some jewelry,” and that sounds perfectly innocuous, but everyone knows what it really means.

(Jewelry, it should be noted, is an entirely different thing from japor wood charms, which are elements of folk magic and religion, and often associated with freedom marks.)

I think Qui-Gon definitely qualifies as a chain-gilder as well, though it took Anakin a while to realize that, and I’m not sure he ever let himself think consciously about it - at least, not while the Jedi Order still stood. (Darth Vader is very aware of his status, but then, Palpatine isn’t exactly a chain-gilder, either. He’s a much more straightforward Depur.)

Okay so @chirpingisflirting said she’s been having a real poopy bday, so I thought I’d take a crack at a nurseydex hc (which became this lame ficlet chimera) for her! Here goes nothing! Literally!

I’d imagine that, early in Nursey and Dex’s relationship (say, four months in?), school starts hittin’ Dex hard; boy’s got assignments up the wazoo, some emergency fees come up and he takes a small job a few days a week at the school bookstore/convenience store, his life’s just a mess. Nursey’s trying to keep his cool and be understanding, but it’s driving him nuts. He hasn’t seen Dex outside of practice in like, a month and a half, and he keeps trying to text him and make the best out of a crappy situation, but Dex tends to fall asleep or get bogged down by a new assignment and just forgets to text back and or it’s been almost a day and it’d feel really awkward to answer now and… yeah. It’s really fucking with Nursey.

He’s been taking it slow with Dex (whom I headcanon as only recently really coming into his sexuality?) since the start, but it feels like he’s the only one who gives a crap sometimes. Nursey reminds himself that’s obviously not true, though, and that Dex is just obscenely busy and just… lays on the supportive texts, or brings extra snacks for Dex after practice/before class. Still, this can only go on for so long.

And it’s driving Dex crazy too, because he’s reading all the texts, and he can see how upset Nursey is every time he splits up with the rest of the team after breakfast to head off to class, and it weighs on his mind when he’s knee-deep in some cs problem. It’s his first real relationship (with a dude?), and he’s crazy for Nursey, but he feels like he’s only giving 30% when Nursey’s constantly giving 100% (which ISN’T TRUE; boy’s running himself ragged, here!).

So he works double time for like a week to give him enough slack to slack off for an evening. It’s Tuesday, and he texts Nursey around lunch to get dressed in something comfy and wait outside the Haus for him after dinner. Nursey’s totally confused and is so… idk? Anxious? What could Dex want to talk about? Can Nursey even take this anymore? Is this fair to him? He almost doesn’t reply or want to show up, but he’s a sucker for Dex, so he puts on a cute li'l sweater over a collared shirt and waits out front.

Dex pulls up ten minutes late (definitely unlike him), and Nursey and him drive off silently.

They pull up to this hill hidden between these real posh houses that overlook Samwell and the surrounding town, minutes pass, and Dex pulls a scrap of paper and a single, haggard looking rose from behind his seat, but he still won’t talk. He just stares down at the things in his hands, and Nursey’s somewhere between concerned and pissed.

“I stopped by the flower shop before they closed and picked this up for you,” Dex starts, hands on the rose he’s now jerking in Nursey’s direction, “but I realized I don’t even know if you like roses, and this is completely fucking cliché, and it got all fucked up because I kept fiddling with it, and- Jesus, Nurse. I’m sorry.”

Nursey just looks up and locks eyes with Dex for the first time all night. Concern is winning out over anger now. He takes the rose, and his eyebrows wrinkle in an almost sad way.

“Shit, Nur- Derek! Derek. Are you okay? I’m so, so–”

“I love it.” Nursey places his hand over Dex’s. Dex just blushes and goes silent again, his eyes returning to the scrap that’s getting closer to becoming, well, scraps.

“I know I’ve been really shitty about, well, us, recently.” Dex is breathing deeper now. “But I know how hard this is for you, and I think about you all the time, and I thought I could balance everything, but I-” Dex shrugs. “I guess I can’t,” he chuckles.

“And I guess I know how much you like poetry and stuff, and- just- I brought you here to tell you…” He stretches out the paper in his now shaking hands, and sucks in a sharp breath. Th- this. Just read this.“ He passes the scrap over to Nursey:

‘You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you that he loves you, but he loves you. And you feel like you’ve done something terrible, like robbed a liquor store, or swallowed pills, or shoveled yourself a grave in the dirt, and you’re tired. You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and you’re trying not to tell him that you love him, and you’re trying to choke down the feeling, and you’re trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you’ve discovered something you didn’t even have a name for.’

"Yo, you know plagiarism is probably the least effective way to my heart, right?” Nursey chirps.

“I know that, idiot,” Dex starts. “I- I’m not saying I wrote it. I just-”

“I know, man.” Nursey’s hand tightens around Dex’s.

And then Nursey’s kissing him, and Dex could almost cry for all that he feels he doesn’t deserve it after this past month. They break apart soon, though, and Dex takes the moment to hold Nursey out at arm’s length.

“I'msosorryDerekyoudeservebetterthanthisI'lltryharderforyou,” Dex breathes out.

“Hey, chill. I’m not blind, you know? You’re doin’ everything you can, Will. Just… just let me help you too, y'know? If you’re too busy to leave your damn room, let me come to you. It’ll kill me, but I can catch up on my readings and… not distract you.” He waits a beat for Dex to answer, and when he doesn’t, he continues, “Or I can meet you in between classes and walk you to your next one, or we can call each other… I just miss you.”

Dex’s eyes start darting here and there, like he’s looking for something in Nursey’s, and he finally answers: “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.” He’s sniffling now. “Let me do better.”

And with that, Dex leans in to kiss the smile sprouting on Nursey’s lips.

(And then vehicular cuddles. A lot of them. To the point where Nursey has to drive them back because Dex is half-asleep.)

6

Do you like dumb comics? Do you like dumb comics with side characters? Then don’t follow this blog everything that comes out from here is PhD-level work of art. Obviously.