Please Im Begging - Blog Posts

OKAY BUT!!

Imagine

Izuku moving to the states for some reason and ending up in gothem

Batman would love him if he found him on the streets.. new robin?

Anyways izuku has this insane training arc and like he goes back to Japan joins UA and gets into the hero course just with the bat training!

SOME ONE PLEASE WRITE A FIC PLEASE FOR IF YOU KNOW ANY TELL ME

Being in both the fandoms of My Hero Academia and Batman is so funny.

Like Izuku is all: I can't be a hero, I'm quirkless.

And meanwhile Batman is out here going toe to toe with gods and monsters and winning, without any superpowers at all.

Like Izuku, my teeny, tiny, smol boi, it has never been more apparent that you are not aware of what the base human body is capable of. And also everyone in your world is wildly unimaginative.

REQUEST OPEN

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PLEASE SEND REQUEST I DONT KNOW WHAT TO DRAW 😭🙏🙏

SKSHSEHA [tiktok smirk] drew a lil something for my..friend heh. (Was bribed with the promise of vbux/robux) SORRY I FUCKED U UP A LITTLE FUMI </33

© yammpi3 2024. All work belongs to @yammpi3. You can repost if you want to support my blog/art! Please don't modify, or steal in any way on ANY platform. I will piss and shit on your lawn if you do.

i want a pretty theme with pretty colors for my blog but i have no idea what to do or where to even start 🥺 i just wish i was gifted with that kind of creativity and patience can someone please please please teach me?

Someone please tell me why i just "argargargargargarg" 'ed like mr.crabs please someone anyone ive never done this in my life and its been years since ive seen anything spongebob someone help

Saw a post like this with negative outlook so I asked for it to be fixed

Hi bsd tumblr if you don't know already BSD s4 is going to be aired for the whole year and should be 25 to 26 episodes long!! Which means we'll probably go all the way past chapter 100 in the manga!! Let's celebrate!!!

Reblog if you want asks and want moots but nobody is around

I yearn to write something silly. Give me ideas PLEASE

Fandoms im willing to write for-

Stardew Valley

Star Wars

X-man ( I’m picky on which era)

Assassins creed

FERNANDO PINCHING HIS CHEEK. I'M GONNA COMBUST

Guys would you buy these. jrwi flower charms (sketch)

I so badly wanna do a blue exorcist RP but my normal partners don't like it

However I'm scared I won't be able to really hold up expectations since I don't do like five paragraphs of RP. I don't do one liners though and I always do my best to reply.

I just really REALLY wanna do one that's close to the lore it would be so much fun!!

Not so Fun Anymore

Gotham is good for a lot of reasons. Excessive amounts of death leading to a lot of ambient ectoplasm, a (mostly) quiet ghost population, and enough problems that Danny could have his slice of the Obsession with protection cake and eat it, too.

There's also Red Hood.

He's not exactly sure what the man is yet. Excessively Liminal or Revenant or some kind of halfa, but that is, admittedly, part of the attraction. Red Hood finds him when he's flying close to the roof tops of Crime Alley-- one moment Phantom is flying through the air, the next there's a hand around his wrist that slams him down into the concrete. Pinning him beneath a body that's got more bulk than his little undead body will ever have.

And... he's a halfa. In that moment, he is strictly more ghost than human, and what Red Hood just did? It's an invitation. An open house opportunity to have some tussles, communicate with the undead like he's used to. So he phases out from underneath the man, chuckling quietly to himself, and pins him right back.

This escalates. This escalates drastically.

Because Red Hood seems to have it out for him now. It takes Phantom far too long to realize that they aren't playing the same game, and by the time he does the Not A Game has culminated into being shot at and grabbed and pinned down the second Red Hood registers him in the vicinity.

He doesn't mind that part. He doesn't mind being held down with another man panting heavily into his ear, and he doesn't think Red Hood is protesting that, either.

But Red Hood seems to find him no matter where he is, these days. And it's still escalating. They're starting to fall off rooftops, several storeys at a time. And though the bullets are honestly useless, there's something... not good, when Red Hood solely aims for places that would likely down a human and stop them from getting back up.

It starts to become worrying. Then, it stops being fun. It stops being fun the day Red Hood comes across him in his human form.

At least he genuinely seems freaked out about the blood staining Danny's shirt, thanks to the bullet he just put in his shoulder.

Yo, can someone write me a fanfiction, maybe just a one shot, of Billy joining the group in season 2, that exact night? Like:

No fight between Steve and Billy, because Steve "promised to keep you shitheads safe, and that is exactly what I'm doing to do." And honestly? What could be safer for max in that moment: staying in the house this mind flyer thing knows where they are OR at her home, with her brother who should have a decent punch seen from the basketball court.

So instead of being like "Max? What's a Max? A ginger, like the roots?" He just straight up goes; "you know what, yeah, they've been playing and she definitely should go home, NOW. Just drive, mister 2. place, drive and don't ever look back. Got it Hargrove?" Suddenly screaming and Steve is back in the house immediately- the Demodog wasn't as dead as they thought...

People who make screen caps/edits of bones how do you get high quality clips plssss let me know 💔🙏

I swear we used to be able to think critically about random GoFundMe asks

It used to be understood that if someone using a throwaway blog suddenly starts messaging a bunch of accounts to beg for money, they were most likely a scammer.

Now suddenly there are fucking swarms of throwaway bots relentlessly shilling GoFundMe campaigns to anyone who even so much as breathes in the direction of a trending tag or post, yet the mere suggestion that any of these could be a scam will immediately get you yelled at by self-righteous strangers.

What changed?

Please save Hollywood from the victim x bully trope

TELL ME WHY I OPEN TIK TOK JUST TO GET JOSHUA ON MY FYP TELLING ME HIS FAVOURITE SHIP IS HOOK X BRIDGET????? NO.

House of Sky and Breath Ending Spoilers:

Lemony Snicket was canonically a cheerleader and I haven't seen a single person talk about it. The possibilities are delightful- Lemony saying cheesy rhymes in a deadpan voice?? Lemony in a cheerleader outfit in general?? Lemony getting tossed around by others more qualified to be a cheerleader?? Lemony who joined cheerleading simply because Beatrice was in soccer?

I NEED someone to make an one shot on ao3 about toddblack to the sing hostage by Billie Eilish it's set before black realizes he dirty and as the song goes on it reveals the truth about todd and the lyric

'Gold chain beneath your shirt, the shirt that you let me wear home'

Is black analyzing him when he has the gun pointed at Todd as he's about to shoot him

Then after since Todd doesn't get put in a coma when ROL has taken down black and Todd meets up or something (not following canon on this one)

'And let me crawl inside your veins. I'll build a wall, give you a ball and chain. It's not like me to be so mean. You're all I wanted. Just let me hold you'

And those lyrics are just Todd thoughts before the fix end happy ending or angst doesn't matter I just need this to written.

a small request

max verstappen x reader | 2k

even world champions deserve love letters. after missing the mexico gp, you're determined to see max have a good weekend in brazil. maybe all it takes is a handwritten note.

cw: fem!reader, being in love, softness, a track-side kiss, love letters. and google translate, sorry to any dutch speakers.

a/n: was this inspired by that video from austin? yeah, it was! sue me! also, written/posted before the gp, so. no race details <3 xx

__

You miss race weekend in Mexico. It happens. You can't be there every weekend, much as you'd like to be. You're even more peeved about it after, considering you quite like Carlos and wish you had seen him earn what very well might be his last win with Ferrari. But you're mostly upset because Max, though he won't say so, could probably have used your support.

Years of experience have him calm, cool, and collected despite the team troubles. Flippant, some headlines say. Mad Max, others. But you know he's probably just tired. Tired of the media, of the FIA, of the churning conflict between him and Lando -- something you all knew was coming someday, but maybe not so suddenly. The longest season ever continues to drag and drag and drag.

"Twenty seconds was...Christ, Max," you say. You know what happened, of course. You watched what you could, saw the sharp moves around the corner and heard the radios. It never gets easier, watching him take risks like that. Usually, everyone else backs off, but McLaren can see victory on the horizon and won't let it go. You can't blame them, either of them, you just wish it was all a bit less tense.

"I know," he says, voice raspy over the connection. "I -- well, you know how I feel about it. Don't want to say anything in case the FIA is tapping my phone."

You laugh into your hand so you don't disturb the other people in the airline lounge, not entirely used to places like this, still. Max has told you over and over that it's absurd for you to spend your own money when you're coming to see him all over the world. When you told him you moved things around so you could come to Brazil, he booked you the nicest ticket, per usual.

"Oh, ha, ha," you say. "Don't give them any ideas, Mr. Community Service." You sigh. "Do you need anything? Be honest."

"Aren't you at the airport already? Your flight should be leaving in --" A pause, like he's checking his watch -- "forty minutes."

You glance up at the departures screen. He's right, but you don't give it to him so easily. "Know my schedule, do you?"

"Well, I booked your ticket, so I should think so."

"Your assistant booked it, you mean."

He hums and you picture him in his hotel room, maybe at the window, looking over the city. "I know your flight information. Don't be silly."

"I mean it, Max," you say again. "Is there anything I can do to make the weekend better?" It's a bit of a useless question and you expect him to answer with a snarky get me a new car or apply for the position of steward.

But he doesn't. He clears his throat.

"I'm just glad you're coming," he says, softly. "I've missed you."

You never doubt how Max feels about you, but he must be pretty tired to admit it like this. He's all about actions, this man. Making sure you have what you need when you're at the track, arranging your travel, remembering your schedule. He shows you how much you matter, and that's more than enough. He never wants to make you feel bad for having a life beyond being his girlfriend. And this doesn't, not really. It just makes you ache, fills your chest with the hopeless affection you've felt for him for so long.

"I've missed you, too," you reply. "But I'd like to be useful."

"Oh, I can think of a few things, then," Max says, all of a sudden all cheek. Such a boy, sometimes. A boy in love.

You can't help but laugh, face hot. "Hush, you!"

He huffs. A few beats of silence, the comfortable, well-worn kind. Sometimes, when he's halfway across the world and up late on the sim, he'll call you just to hear you breathe.

"Max?"

"I -- do you remember what you did for my birthday?"

He'd wanted something small, quiet. There was a lot of work to be done with the team but three weekends off meant you had a little time to yourselves. A few days hardly leaving his place, a dinner with some of the guys, a cake you made yourself, hand-delivered in bed. Gifts for a very wealthy man are difficult, especially since Max doesn't seem to want much.

"Oh, the pillow with my face on it?"

Max laughs. The lounge loudspeaker announces that your flight is going to board soon, so you gather your things but keep your phone wedged next to your ear.

"No, the other thing," he says. He clears his throat and summons some of that World Champion courage. "The letter."

You'd written him a fairly long love letter, thinking it would be a nice thing to carry to the races you couldn't be at this fall. It was tempting to be embarrassed about it when you gave it to him the morning of his birthday, but his cheeks had gone pink and he'd buried his face in your neck.

"Oh, that," you say. The airport is busier outside the lounge and you push your case in the direction of your gate weaving between. people.

"You could write me another, maybe."

Max is direct. He is honest, at work and at home, but this surprises you a little.

"You do know I'm about to get on a plane to see you, right?"

He huffs, and you imagine his cheeks pink, eyes bright. "You asked!"

"I'll write you another love letter, Max Verstappen," you assure him. "I'll write you a hundred."

"One is a fine start," he says firmly. "You should be boarding soon, and I've got to go to the press conference. Text me when you've landed?"

"Of course," you reply, eyes rolling though he can't see. "I'll see you soon, okay? Love you."

"Love you, liefje."

On the plane, you tear out some pages from your journal. You'd prefer to have some nice stationery like what you wrote on for his birthday, but maybe this is more romantic, more real. Making do with that you've got because he asked.

In the last one, you told him your memories of when you first met. How your stomach swooped when you made him laugh, how his blue eyes wouldn't leave your dreams. In this one you tell him about when you first realized you loved him. How absurdly early you were sure, how badly you wanted to tell him for weeks. The way you remember every second of when you blurted it out -- his face, his smile. His voice in your ear, telling you over and over, geliefde, ik houd van je, zo veel. I love you, so much.

"You're working hard on that," someone says. You look up at your seatmate, a woman a few decades older than you with a heavy accent.

You feel a little like you've been caught doing something illicit, but you just smile at her. "For my boyfriend," you tell her. "A love letter."

She flattens her palm over heart and sighs. "How lovely," she coos. "I hope he takes care of you, too."

We take care of each other, you want to say. You could tell her about how he sends you postcards from every country he goes to after you told him you like to put them on your fridge. You could tell her how sometimes you text him during his streams to make him laugh on camera. How he remembers your favorites, how he saves you his special team gear, how he sends you flowers all the time. How he likes to sit on the couch, your toes under his thigh, fingers around your ankle. How you've been learning Dutch and how he patiently corrects your pronunciation. You could go on and on and on.

"He does," you say instead.

__

The plane lands safely in Brazil, but the pilot tells you that there is no open gate and that you'll be sitting for a while. You text Max.

stuck on tarmac, will be later than expected! :(

He must be in media responsibilities still because he doesn't reply until you finally get off the plane.

go relax at the hotel. i'll see you for dinner!

You find your ride easy enough and take a deep breath. The letter you wrote on the plane feels heavy in your pocket, and you just want to see Max. To be near him again. To give him this small thing he asked for.

"Excuse me," you say to the driver. "Do you think we could go to the track, instead?"

You text Max's assistant to say you're headed there, hoping it's not too much of an inconvenience. You're told he's almost done, maybe an hour left, and when you arrive you're led to his driver rooms. His shit is everywhere, per usual. Max is quite neat except in here -- Carmen once told you that George is the same. Clothes strewn about, his race boots unlaced and left in the way, warm-up equipment in a pile. On the table are a few of his things -- his wallet, a notebook, some papers.

Wait a second. One of those papers looks...familiar. It's been folded in three, the envelope it came in nowhere to be seen. His name is scrawled on the blank side in your hand and when you tug it from the pile you can see that it's creased, the edges a little more worn than when you gave it to him a few months ago. Max Verstappen, three-time World Champion, actually carries around the love letter you wrote him. Brings it to the track. It's darling. You love him so much. You pull the new one from your pocket and set them side-by-side on the table where he'll find them.

You ask to be taken to the pit wall, please, so you can see whatever the drivers are doing on track. Some dedication, you're told. The timing ends up being perfect and you get there just as they're finishing. You lean on a gap in the barrier where, on Sunday, crew members will be holding timing signs as the drivers zip around the hot pavement. The crowd in the stands is loud, as always, and maybe you imagine it but it seems to get a little louder when you look out.

The guys are talking amongst themselves and a few of them wave at you. You spot Max as he turns away from Charles and you can't help but grin. His eyes meet yours under his cap and his entire face chances, softens, and he breaks into a jog. You lean out over the concrete ledge and meet him in a kiss that's more two smiles pressed together than anything else.

"This is a surprise," he says when he pulls away. Eyes sparkling, he shows no signs of rejoining the other drivers as they head to whatever their next thing is. Photos, probably.

"I missed you," you tell him. "I've left you something in your room."

"Oh?" He straightens the lanyard of your credentials with careful fingers.

You reach for him, palm on his cheek. His stubble tickles and he leans into it ever so slightly. It doesn't feel like there are thousands of eyes on you, not even a little.

"Yeah," you say. "As promised." Someone calls his name. "Go on, then. I'll be waiting."

He kisses you again, a quick brush of his lips on the corner of your mouth.

Later, you'll wake from your nap in the hotel room to those same kisses on your cheeks, your forehead. Max will gather you in his arms and tell you all the moments he almost told you he loved you, how he could hardly believe when you said it first. You'll tease him for how many times he's read that first letter and he'll cheekily say that's why he needs more. And you will write him more, you'll write him as many as he wants. As many as you can, for the rest of your lives.

But now, in front of thousands of screaming fans, he smiles at only you, boyish and pleased.