what i mean when i call a character perfect is “wow look at how flawed you are, how broken and three dimensional and well written. look how much of a disaster you are and how you are constantly torn between right and wrong and you make so many mistakes along the way wow look how human you are”
so basically when i say they are perfect what i mean is thank god they aren’t
Hey everyone: for those of you who are wondering, the Westboro Baptist Church and gonna bandwagon on he death of Micheal Brown in order to promote even more hateful rhetoric. Please don’t let them do this. If you can, send the people of Ferguson support. If not, then signal boost this as a warning.
aw, hell naw.
reblog and see what your followers say
I’VE LITERALLY HAVE NEVER DONE ANYTHING TO YOU PEOPLE
I was just reblogging for the above post I didn’t think I’d get any
I won’t get any but I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing
What I do?
When that baby walks away with her hand in the air sayin “OKAY” is me
Kibum works at a burger bar and Minho’s the cutest customer they’ve ever had.
(3321 words - minkey / jongtae - this is for shineesque, and also keystagram and mingetskey on twitter omg i’m sorry idk ur tumblrs, and also anyone else who has hella minkey thirst atm. this fic has taken so long to wrie istg)
When Kibum had applied for his job at Bobby’s Burger Shack it had been mostly sarcastic, since he didn’t actually fulfill any of the requirements that they were asking for - ‘must be passionate about working in a fairground!!,’ ‘must LOVE kids!!,’ ‘must be passionate about quality service of burgers!!!!!!’ Kibum didn’t give a shit about burgers, he was a vegetarian, though he hadn’t been when he had applied, but all of the grease and fat had put him off just a week into his job. He hated kids too, he hated them almost as much as he hated fairgrounds and that was a considerable amount. It wasn’t much of a surprise that Kibum found his job the worst thing in the world, they didn’t even pay a legal wage.
Summer time was the worst, since the amount of people flooding in tripled or quadrupled, and he’d have to deal with queues that twisted around the tables to the fence over the other side of the courtyard. Sometimes it was worth it, when someone slipped him an extra note as a tip, or let him keep the change, but mostly it fucking sucked. The van was tiny, boiling hot, and it stank all of the time, to the extent that he would leave at the end of the day smelling like meat. He often envied the women across the courtyard with their pleasant smelling candyfloss stall, its pastel coloured sweet tubs and fizzy pop in cans lined up across the back. All he had was lumps of raw meat (which was possibly 90% horse, he wasn’t sure) and burger buns that tasted more like paper than anything else. By the end of the day he just wanted a salad, so he supposed it had at least been good for his health.