emilyparagraph:

Weak Trope: Having a character’s driving motivation be REVENGE up until the last second when they pull the “revenge won’t bring my wife/sister/town/three-eared dog back” and leave the bastard they’ve been hunting down alive.

Strong Trope: Hello! My Name! Is Inigo Montoya! You Killed My Father! Prepare! TO! DIE! *corners count rugen* Beg for your life *slashes cheek* Offer me anything I want in the world!  *slashes other cheek* I WANT MY FATHER BACK, YOU SON OF A BITCH. *stabs count rugen to death*

laziestofthedreamers:

vmohlere:

tigerliliesandcherryblossoms:

tetsuskitten:

infinityonthot:

fangoddess817:

endreams-s:

writing-prompt-s:

A dating service where matching is based on people’s search history exists. You’re a serial killer. You go on a date with a writer.

Serial Killer: metaphorically, if you were to kill someone, how would you do it?

Writer: Air shot between the toes, it’ll look like a heart attack.

Serial Killer who is obviously in love already: *sucks in a breath* ok

Writer: how long would it take to die if you were to potentially stab someone in the guts

Serial killer: anywhere from 2 to 30 minutes

Writer, already bringing a ring out: *shaking* thanks

A++ addition

Writer: *shows the serial killer the murder scene they’re writing* babe, i’m not sure if this would actually work?

Serial killer: *kisses writer on the forehead and leaves, comes back later, a suspicious scent of blood coming off them* it works baby, you’re doing great

I LOVE THIS

Oh no, murder comedy is my jam

I love this, I love all of this, but quick question, does the author know? Like are they aware that their significant other is a serial killer or do they just think that they have a morbid sense of humor? It’d be even funnier if the author had no fucking clue, like how Aurthur Conan Doyle was apparently stupidly gullible, and on top of it they’re a horror or crime novelist. Like the serial killer works at a butcher shop or something so it’s completely normal for them to come home smelling like blood, no murders going on here, no sirey. Just my darling coming back home from a long day at work.

Now fast forward a bit and the author has managed to get their first book published, with loving support from the serial killer who helped them fine tune all the murder scenes, and it’s a big hit. Enough so that a detective with the local police department has noticed some disturbing similarities to several active cases, including details that were never released to the press. Obviously he brings this up to his superior and convinces him that there’s something to the theory, but it’s all circumstantial right now. He stakes out the author’s home and is super convinced that the author is the murderer, but they don’t seem to do anything??? Like they literally are at the house all day, that’s it. Most they do is leave for groceries.

So you get this dynamic of the serial killer mining the author for creative murder schemes, the author being lovingly encouraged by the serial killer, and finally the detective who is just so sure that the author is the killer and that if he sticks it out long enough he’ll FINALLY have proof.

starsparklez:

quomododragon:

quomododragon:

quomododragon:

quomododragon:

quomododragon:

quomododragon:

My students are up to something. They keep coming up to me and handing me pieces of fruit, and when I ask why, they just smile cryptically and say, “Don’t worry about it.”

Like, the apples I get. That’s a teacherly thing to give. But one of them just straight up handed me a grape.

I took a sick day today and sent an email to the first girl to hand me a piece of fruit, asking if I could have an explanation now.

Her response was to send me this meme:

That clarifies exactly nothing, thanks.

Walked into school today to an email from her saying: “There’s more to come, hope it doesn’t leave you *sour* (you’ll get that later).”

Ominous.

Just before my first class of the day, one of my students came floating in, a black cloak billowing behind her, hood pulled low over her eyes.

“An offering,” she said, handing me a plain white bag with a green ribbon.

Inside is this:

Life gave me a plastic lemon.

WE HAVE AN ANSWER!

Apparently this was the result of a number of my students playing Truth or Dare at a birthday party. I’m not sure which one of them came up with “I dare you to confuse Magistra by handing her a piece of fruit without explanation”, but I 100% approve of any thought process that ends with me getting free food.

That was wild until the finish.