#600 is a little shit

[iwillfightformydream]

Ijin: Can I have a moment with him.?

XXX: Of course

Ijin, leaning over 600 Coffin: I know you're not dead.

600, opening one eye: No shit

[bobbydabob]

I came for the eddsworld but I like everything that comes along, it’s a buy one get four deal following you

Glad to hear it man. I am a casual Eddsworld enjoyer forever and constantly dabble in like every fandom that sucks or is embarrassing. You’re like my buddy in the passenger seat that is buckled in with titanium. Here along for the ride, too late now.

[springcatalyst]

WAIT I havent done a poll b4 but I'm curious so my writer homies... . .

as in u write that much and you're like wow! that was pretty successful. in one sitting

[mousey-toy]

just bought 4 more motorcycles lol and might buy another one tomorrow

[chaotictomtom]

trying to check out to see if i'll ever manage to get top surgery this year and. let's just say i thought the delay would be bigger but. the price is still always such a big ass problem i kinda wanna bash my head against a wall but. anyway

[taniushka12]

"I Can Write" <- he says, while staring at the screen, writing an aproximate of 5 words per 30 minutes

[leofrith]

girl......... NOT the realtor who worked for the couple who bought my apartment and jacked up the rent so much i couldn't afford to stay there adding me to his fucking email list without my permission

[orcelito]

Thinking about rereading Sentido before I reread ITNL

I peeked in the last chapter and I was like "damn ok this is actually kinda good"

[solradguy]

I wish Copic markers weren't like $500 for fuckin like only 50 of them or whatever (exaggerating) because they're so much better than any of the other markers I've tried but I don't use markers frequently enough to justify spending that much on a nice set

[farfromstrange]

I just randomly wrote the next chapter for Foreigner’s God and I got a bit carried away, so now it’s basically just fluff and smut and the perfect Valentine’s Day vibe. Unfortunately, I haven’t gotten around to Frank’s storyline yet because I got REALLY carried away and I was wondering if you want it today as a little Valentine’s Day gift? It’s cute as fuck y’all. It’s sugarcoated enough. You’ll get diabetes.

Three tropes: declaration of love, soft sex and pillow fight.

Also, I passed the exam that had me depressed last week. The grade isn’t good but I fucking passed the first one and that’s better than what happened last semester. If the next one goes the same I’m safe in that class.

Hallelujah. That’s gonna be me this weekend ^

[samuraisharkie]

It frustrates me so deeply being so incredibly poor rn. I hate that I can’t afford to send money to every person that needs it right now. I hate that even the tiny amount that I have is more than many others. This world is absolutely fucking cruel. I will still send what I can, but it breaks my heart that I can’t send more.

[adhdvane]

okay, time to farm 70 veritas rip once i've done that (and maybe also farm the extra gospel for the character uncap), i'll just trade nwq for the remaining astra & ideans since i should get at least some along the way. at least arcarum even starts soon

[motheyes]

apparently i gotta get new tires and shit in a few months so i gotta keep that in mind :/

[nereidprinc3ss]

pillow talk

in which spencer reid chooses a very odd time to reveal an anecdote from his past to fem!reader

18+ (fluff, extremely suggestive) warnings/tags: fingering but nothing graphic whatsoever, it's basically fade to black sex, discussions of spencer's gsw from season 5, medical talk (and inaccuracies), spencer is a sarcastic little shit a/n: found this super random little thing in my drafts and it was done and i think it's silly and cute so i'm posting it! 600 words, short n sweet!

“You got shot in the knee?”

It’s perhaps said too loudly for the setting—tucked into Spencer’s bed in the late hours of the night when up until this point the conversation had been nothing but murmured stories and quiet giggles. And before that, well—before that there hadn’t been much conversation at all. 

Still you can’t find it within yourself to apologize as you sit up, holding the top sheet to your chest and looking down at Spencer incredulously. His eyebrows raise like he’s surprised by your reaction. 

“Thigh, technically. And it was years ago. Come back.”

You huff but allow yourself to be pulled back down, head on his shoulder as his hand finds its place stroking your hip once more. 

“How have you never told me that?”

“You never noticed the multiple incision scars on my leg?”

“What? No! Can I look now?”

“You won’t be able to see them. It’s too dark.”

You angle your head toward him, and he does the same, tilting his down until your noses almost brush. 

“So turn the light on.”

“If I turn the light on I’ll get distracted.”

“Distracted by what?” You ask, realizing what he means and voice quickly fading even as you finish the sentence. He chuckles and kisses your head. 

“I’ll show it to you in the morning. Come here.”

“I am here,” you grumble. He hums, leaning down further to try and kiss you. 

“Closer.”

So you scoot up the mattress and roll onto your side, pressed right against him, to meet him halfway in a sweet kiss. 

“You’re kind of spoiled,” you laugh against his lips as he begins pushing the sheet from your body. 

“You have to be nice to me. I got shot, remember?”

“Right. And how long ago was this, approximately?”

“It was 19 days before my 28th birthday.”

So much for approximations. 

“Aw. You got shot for your 28th birthday?”

It’s his turn to laugh into the kiss as he carefully rolls over you but recovers quickly, assuming a deadpan delivery. 

“Yeah. And it was really bad.”

“Sexy,” you murmur as he kisses down your jaw. “Tell me more.”

“Shots to the leg can be life-threatening if the femoral artery is nicked. Thankfully the bullet missed mine. You’re welcome.”

Your heart skips with a split second of true anxiety, but you snort at his cavalier attitude. 

“Yeah? This is really working for me.”

He lowers his voice to the one he uses in more intimate contexts and you giggle as he explains his gunshot wound to you like it’s dirty talk. 

“The bullet went in through my rectus femoris…” now uninhibited by the sheet, he finds the spot on your thigh and pinches lightly, “and came out clean through my semitendinosis muscle.”

“Clean? No bone fragments?”

“Nope. The doctors said I was extremely lucky it didn’t splinter my femur but it completely destroyed my muscles. I had to do physical therapy for a year and a half and I had a cane for months.”

“That’s kind of hot,” you breathe, losing commitment to the bit as his kisses get lower and his hand creeps higher. 

“Wait until you hear about the mid-surgery aortic clamping and ligature complications. You’ll love this—I was awake the whole time.”

A soft moan slips from between your parted lips and your brows pinch. 

“Spencer—”

“What?” He murmurs. “Me getting shot in the leg isn’t sexy anymore?”

You manage something between a breathy laugh and a mewl as your back arches. 

“I’m gonna kill you.”

He hums against your throat. 

“Good luck. You’d be far from the first to try.”

[kathryn-maraudersversion]

I'm going to do the reblog thing cause I'm bored and should probably do half of this shit anyway:

50 notes and I'll drink 500ml of water everyday (I'm lucky if I have a sip usually)

100 notes and I'll clean my house

200 notes and I'll go out of my house everyday

300 notes and I'll try to wear my glasses more

400 notes and I'll start taking my meds again (probably should do that anyway but it's fine)

500 notes and I'll get a therapist

600 notes and I'll try to eat everyday

700 notes and I'll start journalling again

800 notes and I'll go to bed before 1am

900 notes and I won't cry for a week

1k notes and I'll tell my brother I'm dating his best friend (I swear this better flop or I'm going to die)

1.1k notes and I'll make more of these

Doing more since it made it

1.4k notes and I'll tell my bf I love him (I do but I'm not good with talking about feelings)

1.6k notes and I'll post one of my songs on here (their kinda bad so you probably don't want this)

1.8k notes and I'll talk to my brother again (don't want to cause I'm mad at him)

2k notes and I'll talk to my step-mum for the first time after my dad's death (which was when I was 12 so was 10 years ago)

2.1k notes and I'll make more

Red=will start soon

Yellow=in progress

Green=done

I swear to god you little shits making me do things.

[syoddeye]

john price x f!reader thing. unedited. ~600 words.

john price finds a dent in the driver’s door and a note tucked under a wiper.

sorry i can’t afford to pay, please forgive me x

and he’s angry, of course. who wouldn’t be? piece of shit. then he registers the looping handwriting and the little heart in the corner. interesting. he pulls the cctv. lo and behold, there she is. the culprit. some stumbling drunk buffoon.

~~

you probably shouldn’t have nabbed an e-scooter when you were three sheets to the wind, but you did, and fuck, you’re paying for it. you genuinely feel bad about the dent you left in the parked car last night, but you think a broken wrist and three stitches in your lip is more than enough punishment, thanks. you groan, remembering how you tossed the scooter into a bush and hiked a few streets away before calling 999. having to clock in for an opening shift added insult to injury.

~~

he imagines it’s rough going, working an espresso machine with a busted wrist. he supposes the manager didn’t want her as the cashier given the lip. pity, the swelling and stitches aside, she’s quite cute. but serves her right.

he wonders how she’ll react when he picks up his coffee and procures the printed still of her face, clear as day, fleeing from the scene of the crime.

he should feel bad, considering her injuries and what a barista job pays, but. it’s the principle of the thing.

“rough night?” he asks, hovering at the end of the bar.

“huh? oh, yeah. could say that,” she smiles tiredly. it’s a little strained, but still warm. “pity partied too hard.”

john’s smirk flattens. “pity party?”

“yeah,” she shrugs. “series of unfortunate events.”

like running into my car?

“what, bad date?” he jokes carefully, hiding behind a friendly grin.

“ha, guess so. it was supposed to be an anniversary dinner.” she explains dryly, looking all the more defeated as she tamps the grounds.

“supposed to be?”

she glances up, locking in the portafilter with a crank of her good arm. she finally looks a little suspicious of him. smart. “yeah.”

“i don’t mean to pry. you just seem like you could use a vent.” solid recovery.

it works. she considers a moment, shrugs again, and nods as she pulls the shot. “guess so,” she licks her lip and looks back, evidently deeming him harmless. not smart.

“found out he was cheating, called him on it, and he stormed out. after we ordered.”

that’s. that’s not what he expected. but it stirs something oddly protective. john’s a bit old-fashioned, he’s the first to admit it, so to hear about a man carrying himself so poorly? a man running around on a pretty thing like her?

it doesn’t sit well with him. car be damned.

“so how’d you…” he prompts, nodding at the cast.

“oh, yeah, we ordered some fancy wine. i drank most of the bottle alone, sobbing,” she cracks a self-deprecating smile and it dislodges something in his chest. “but the server didn’t charge me for dessert. i, uh, fell on my way home.”

crashed. you crashed into my car.

“sounds terrible.”

“it was. the whole night was. anyway.” she pauses to slide a pen from her apron to write on the cup. “americano to go?” she asks, pushing the drink over the counter, eyes floating to the next order.

john spots the same little heart, the looping letters. he looks back at her, plugging along despite the clear heartache and injuries. he sighs, crumpling the print out in his pocket.

“think i’ll have it to stay, actually,” he mumbles, knowing she doesn’t hear him as she makes the next drink.

he camps out at a table where he can watch her. there’s a dent in his car, but he’s decided there’s a barista-sized hole in his life.