Honestly I Would Like To Make A Magical Girl Show Where The Transformation Sequences Are All The Cute

Gorgeous Padme Amidala concept art for Attack of the Clones by Dermot Power

I don’t think a lot of people have heard of Dermot Power, but I am a huge fan of his work.  His designs are just stunningly beautiful. 

Art by kerembeyit

Two days into the cotl fandom: wait you can MARRY Narinder??? The game let's you do that?? Oh there's even a ship tag that's amazing. It's hilarious and amazing and i am so in. Yeah sure let's marry the final boss. Committing to this bit now.

Four months into the cotl fandom, knee deep in how complicatedly romantic the bond between a chained god of death and his vessel who's destined to free him and betray him can be: .........Turns out it's not a bit anymore actually-

While I like the concept of The Lamb gaining more eldritch and god-like features, I cannot get a comic idea out of my head for the characterization that they stay exactly as a normal sheep is, because they don't need to become anything else in order to enact revenge

They have blunt teeth that's not quite sharp, but they don't have to bite when their horns are hardy and pointed.

Their natural hooves and fingers lack any sort of claws, but they do not need them when they can pull a fist back to pulverize.

After a while, the Mystic Seller, the Bishops, they all expect the Lamb to gain eldritch features like they all did in their ascension. But they stay exactly the same: unassuming, mortal-looking, completely indiscernible from normal sheepfolk, and the Lamb wants that.

They want to look like a normal, mortal Lamb. They want to look exactly like the default prey animal when they kill the Gods. This image is who you killed, and this destroys you. They will not lose themselves, or else they will be erased entirely.

They are not grandiose or deadly looking. They don't mirror the ones that tried to erase them. They don't need to become anything else then The Lamb. The Lamb. The Lamb.

"After everything that was taken from me for being a Lamb, why would I give that up too? I am not the Bishops, I am not monstrous, I am not giant, nor do I have bladed wings or droves of eyes."

"I do not need to resemble monsters to be one. I do not need to become anything other than a simple Lamb to kill gods, or to be one."

All that and they're genuinely an upbeat personality kind of sheep, (you just won't know when they're not) Lamb Lamb Lamb Lamb

me for the past week and i'm so fucking maddd

STOP👏TAGGING👏XREADER👏IF👏YOU👏USE👏AN👏OC👏NOBODY👏 FUCKING👏ASKED👏FOR👏THAT👏OKAY???

The wrong thing is not the fact that you write a story with an oc, no, that's not the real problem, really.

IT'S JUST THE FACT THAT YOU USE THE WRONG TAG SO YOU HOPE MORE PEOPLE READ YOUR STORY. BUT BELIEVE ME IT'S JUST FUCKING ANNOYING 'CAUSE WE AREN'T ABLE TO FIND THE RIGHT FICS IF YOU KEEP DOING THIS!!!

There are people who like to read more stories with ocs than reader inserts, so use the fucking right tag go reach that community and stop spamming your stories among ours.

I don't think you get it but, you know, the purpose of fanfics with reader insert is to make the reader imagine her/himself as the mc of the story. The best part of these fics is the fact that EVERYONE can be included in them.

SO WHY THE FUCK DO YOU HAVE TO RUIN THEM BY MAKING THE MC A PERSON THAT LOOKS COMPLETELY DIFFERENT FROM THE READER AND EVEN HAS A NAME THAT IS NOT THEIRS?

Not to be dramatic but i hate y'all.

And the fact that it's always the same fandoms and we all know who we're talking about...

I’m just happy :)

An Unexpected Visit

You meet by chance an stranger man in red and black when he breaks in your house through your window.

The previous situation isn’t worth telling. It really doesn’t matter who Deadpool was fighting, nor how he ended up being catapulted against an apartment block. The important thing is that he fell on your living room, after a harsh landing where he broke your window.

Not that you cared anyways.

Wade Wilson was slightly confused to hear a faint giggle. He looked up. There was crystal scattered around him; he was thankful he only had a few cuts, for they would heal quickly. Wade was inside someone’s house, painted in cream colours, which seemingly was in dismantling process. It was your own apartment.

Another giggle. He stood up and turned around to the source of the sound. And there you were, now laughing way louder.

He wasn’t a man easily impressed. Yet the last thing he expected was a person in a torn wedding dress with a bottle of whiskey in one hand and a piece of cake in the other. Your eyes were fixed on him and his ridiculous attire, and he just did the same.

“Wow, man. You’re like a Spiderman on steroids.” You managed to say between hysteric laughs. In a normal occasion you would have freaked out at the stranger… however the whiskey had made it too hilarous for you to take it seriously.

Wade took a liking to you and decided that he could hide a while there.

“May I take a seat?” He said and laid his arse on the couch, right next to you.

You took a gulp from the bottle and handed it to him. Wade doubted, but at last he moved away the mask from his jaw and let the liquid wet his lips. It pleased him that you seemed to ignore his skin full of scars.

Shifting on your seat, you faced him.

“Why are you here?” You asked your visitor, with a goofy- and, why not, lovely- grin upon your face. Wade left the whiskey on the table and smirked.

“You see, I was fighting this really fucking annoying guy…”

“What are you? A superhero?” The cake you stuffed in your mouth muffled your voice.

“Oh, no. Shit. I’m just a really cool dick who kicks other dick’s asses.” You nodded. “Then that bastard threw me to the sky… from several streets away. I don’t think he’d know where I am at the moment.”

“That’s nice. You can stay and eat cake then!” Your words were spoken with happiness. But Deadpool was curious.

At first he thought you were plainly drunk. Later he discovered a sad sparkle in your eyes; despite your intoxication he was sure you knew what was happening. And it was very abnormal that his presence didn’t agitated you at all. Unless something had happened and you took in the absurdity of the situation to forget it.

One way or another, nuts or not, he wanted to know more about you.

“What about you? Were you waiting for our wedding night too much?” You could swear you could see his eyebrows wiggling through the mask.

“The dress.” You stated, not knowing what to answer next. Sincerity was what you found. “An asshole left me standing at the altar. He was fucking a bridesmaid in the bathroom meanwhile.” You drank again.

“What the fuck!”

“That’s what I said this morning.”

“Is that your wedding cake then?”

“Yes. I took it all. It’s one of the bright sides, like not being married to a cheater impotent.”

He laughed and so did you.

“You know, thank you.” You continued. “You are the only one who has stuck around me for more than five minutes today. I would offer you something to eat, but I was in the middle of a move… Obviously cancelled.”

“The cake is great.” You kept on eating and drinking.

At some point he told you he was a mercenary and some aspects of his life you didn’t expect. He told you about a certain woman called Vanessa, a heartbreaking story. You didn’t know if he did to make you feel better or more comfortable around him, but you welcomed the newfound confidence. Your conversation soon dyed of love.

“Damn, girl. At least you’ll get to meet another guy. A soulmate or something worse.”

“My love records has always been really deficient. I’m not very hopeful. But who cares, love is not everything… eh… Wait, what’s your name?”

“Deadpool.”

“I heard that name on TV. You were right about being a dick.” Your smile as sweet as sugar.

“I told you. Call me Wade, though. Unless you want to hire my services to scare the shit out of that fucker of ex you have.”

“No, no. I punched him, but I didn’t feel better. It’s not worth it. My name is [Y/N], by the way.”

“You punched him! [Y/N], I like you more and more by the minute.” He touched his face and realised his mask was still up. He felt self conscious. Even though you didn’t give him any signal of repugnance, Wade thought you were just being polite. The truth was you didn’t care how he looked like; he was an insane and pleasant visitor, one who drew you to him.

“Wade. Haven’t you moved from Vanessa?”

“What do you mean?”

“You said that I’d meet somebody else. You will too.” The liquor was finished, and you felt bold. This stranger caused you fascination and once you found something out, you seeked more knowledge.

“Oh, my dear [Y/N]. I won’t.”

You tilted your head to a side, confused.

“Why? I like you and I just met you.”

“You are drunk and you just met me, that’s why.”

You laughed, and made an offended expression. His smirk was now permanent, sometimes wider, sometimes smaller, as if pastered on him. Nevertheless, melancholy and harm were shown in some of his gestures.

“I’m not that drunk.” You placed your gaze on his mouth. When you spotted some cream on the side of his face, you tried to reach it.

Wade suddenly took your wrist, but let it go. You slide your finger across his coarse skin. Then, you put your finger against your tongue and licked the rests of the sugary mix.

His heart skipped a beat.

“Besides, there’s always someone who would not care about your attitude.” You ended your sentence.

“It’s not about my attitude. I’m fucking awesome. It’s about my face.” He lowered the tissue over his mouth once again. “I look like a rotten avocado.”

“You’re saying you are ugly?”

“Worse.”

“Well, your mouth was nice.” It was a lighthearted comment, but it stired Wade’s deepest feelings.

“What? Did you see the skin around it?”

“Do you think I’m ugly?” You simply asked, hoping to prove a point.

“No. Of course not.”

“I have skin too, you know.”

“It’s not the same.”

Silence. And eventually he took his mask off.

You were surprised. You didn’t think he’d have the guts to do so, regarding how low his self-esteem was. Therefore, acting on impulse you pecked his lips. Then you froze and opened your eyes. Your drunkenness evaporated instantly.

“Sorry.” You spoke. He didn’t say anything. “I-I didn’t want to… I  mean, I wanted to but maybe you didn’t… I should have asked…”  

“Shut up.” Was all he could say.

Wade was utterly unprepared for your actions. Yet he found himself leaning in for another kiss. You didn’t move, and welcomed his mouth on yours. It was slow and chaste, just a kiss between two broken souls. He caressed your cheek, and you smiled into the kiss.

You parted from him, and he whispered.

“Are you a dream?”

“No, are you?” You teased.

“You are too good for me…”

“Says the one who fell from the sky like an angel and made me forget I got dumped on an altar.”

“You’re unfucking my life.”

“That’s not even a word.”

“You’re intelligent too?”

“Wade…”

“How about a second date? I promise I won’t try to get on your pants yet.”

“Yes.” You wanted to see him again. Definitely.

You weren’t aware of the insanity that had just entered your life. However, just like the broken window, you didn’t care. Everytime you saw Wade Wilson you felt happy and alive. So, even though it was a challenge, you couldn’t enjoy more the adventures he always brought. He, on the other hand, just loved how he could sleep in your arms without any worries.

Fate sometimes is a kind bitch, as Wade once said.

Ramy Youssef posted this some time ago about when he managed (despite great restrictions from israel) to perform a comedy event in Palestine and upon finding out he was American, a Palestinian girl asked about the flint water crisis. And this reminded me of when the BLM protests started in Ferguson that people from Gaza reached out on social media to help them what to do when being tear gassed. Palestinians haven't just fought for their own rights. They've also despite their own horrors tried to help others like them

“I know I’ve told this story before, but my abusive ex refused to let me take birth control. I was on the pill until he found them in my purse. I went to the Student Health Center—they were completely unhelpful, choosing to lecture me about the importance of safe sex (recommending condoms) instead of actually listening to my problem. Then I went to Planned Parenthood. The Nurse Practitioner took one look at my fading bruises and stopped the exam. She called in the doctor. The doctor came in and simply asked me: “Are you ready to leave him?” When I denied that I was being abused, she didn’t argue with me. She just asked me what I needed. I said I need a birth control method that my boyfriend couldn’t detect. She recommended a few options and we decided on Depo. When I told her that my boyfriend read my emails and listened to my phone messages and was known to follow me, she suggested to do the Depo injections at off hours when the clinic was normally closed. She made a note in my chart and instructed the front desk never to leave messages for me—instead, she programmed her personal cell phone number into my phone under the name “Nora”. She told me she would call me to schedule my appointments; she wouldn’t leave a message, but I should call her back when I was able to. And that was it. No judgment. No lecture. She walked me to the door and told me to call her day or night if I needed anything. That she lived 5 blocks from campus and would come get me. That I wasn’t alone. That she just wanted me to be safe. I never called her to come to my rescue. But I have no doubt that she would have come if I had called. She kept me on Depo for a year, giving me those monthly injections in secret, helping me prevent a desperately unwanted pregnancy. I cannot thank Planned Parenthood enough for the work they do.”

—

Curious Georgiana (via grrrlstudies)

I know I’ve reblogged this before, but it bears re-reblogging (?).  This is how you respond to abuse, this is how you give people control over their bodies/uteruses, this is how you act as a generally non-judgmental and compassionate person.  I love this story so fucking much.

(via coffeewithants)

Freaking lit! Queens!!