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pegacornalley:

heiress-to-the-industries:

mldmnnrdrprtr:

crazylipgloss:

thebatmanchild:

athagazagoraphobic:

invisicanada:

About three things I was absolutely positive. First, I had a pokemon. Second, there was a part of me - and I didn’t know how dominant that part might be - that wanted to be the very best, like no one ever was. Third, Gary Oak was unconditionally and irrevocably a douchenozzle.

Reblogging for the comment

How old are you?
“ten”
How long have you been ten?
“…”

HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN TEN

Misty looked at Ash, his breathing still heavy from carrying her on his bike as fast as he could through the long grass outside of Pallet Town.
“You’re eyes are impossibly huge and black,” Misty said. “Your hair is… incredibly pointy, and doesn’t need product. Your face changes size and shape based on your feelings… and sometimes you speak like - like you’re from the 90’s. You never spend money on anything; you don’t go to the bathroom.”
The silence hung there, thick and heavy like a Snorlax blocking the bike path.
“How old are you?” Misty asked, not sure if she wanted to know.
“Ten,” Ash replied, with a slight smirk and an almost amused tone.
Misty new that wasn’t true. Ash wasn’t like the other boys her age. He wasn’t even like her older sisters who ran the gym in Cerulean City. He was wiser and his passion was genuine.
Ash didn’t just want to catch them all, he needed to. He was going to be the best there ever was no matter how long it took, which gave Misty this nagging in the back of her mind. She had to know for sure.
“How long have you been ten?” she asked. Her voice weak, knowing full well the answer could change everything she thought she knew.
“A while…” Ash said. His voice trailing off, as if he were losing himself in a flood of memories.
Misty let out a faint gasp. She knew now. She was certain.
“I know what you are,” she declared, as if whatever had been holding her back from accepting the truth, finally let go of her hand and let her fall right down the Diglett hole.
Ash eyes were alive now, flickering like the flame on a Charmander’s tale.
He stared right into her and said, ”Say it… out loud. Say it.”
Misty’s heart was pounding louder than the thud of a Marowak’s bone club attack.
Despite the now eerily silent meadow, she could barely be heard as she whispered, “Pokemon Trainer.”

I AM SO DONE WITH YOU PEOPLE

OMIGOSH I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH THIS MADE MY YEAR OMG

heiress-to-the-industries:

mldmnnrdrprtr:

crazylipgloss:

thebatmanchild:

athagazagoraphobic:

invisicanada:

About three things I was absolutely positive. First, I had a pokemon. Second, there was a part of me - and I didn’t know how dominant that part might be - that wanted to be the very best, like no one ever was. Third, Gary Oak was unconditionally and irrevocably a douchenozzle.

Reblogging for the comment

How old are you?

“ten”

How long have you been ten?

“…”

HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN TEN

Misty looked at Ash, his breathing still heavy from carrying her on his bike as fast as he could through the long grass outside of Pallet Town.

“You’re eyes are impossibly huge and black,” Misty said. “Your hair is… incredibly pointy, and doesn’t need product. Your face changes size and shape based on your feelings… and sometimes you speak like - like you’re from the 90’s. You never spend money on anything; you don’t go to the bathroom.”

The silence hung there, thick and heavy like a Snorlax blocking the bike path.

“How old are you?” Misty asked, not sure if she wanted to know.

“Ten,” Ash replied, with a slight smirk and an almost amused tone.

Misty new that wasn’t true. Ash wasn’t like the other boys her age. He wasn’t even like her older sisters who ran the gym in Cerulean City. He was wiser and his passion was genuine.

Ash didn’t just want to catch them all, he needed to. He was going to be the best there ever was no matter how long it took, which gave Misty this nagging in the back of her mind. She had to know for sure.

“How long have you been ten?” she asked. Her voice weak, knowing full well the answer could change everything she thought she knew.

“A while…” Ash said. His voice trailing off, as if he were losing himself in a flood of memories.

Misty let out a faint gasp. She knew now. She was certain.

“I know what you are,” she declared, as if whatever had been holding her back from accepting the truth, finally let go of her hand and let her fall right down the Diglett hole.

Ash eyes were alive now, flickering like the flame on a Charmander’s tale.

He stared right into her and said, ”Say it… out loud. Say it.”

Misty’s heart was pounding louder than the thud of a Marowak’s bone club attack.

Despite the now eerily silent meadow, she could barely be heard as she whispered, “Pokemon Trainer.”

I AM SO DONE WITH YOU PEOPLE

OMIGOSH I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH THIS MADE MY YEAR OMG

(Source: setyourphaserstostun, via dominicknight)

May 21, 2013

264,420 notes

Photoset

coyotestar:

might do more later

(via flatluigi)

May 20, 2013

13,560 notes

Photoset

coyotestar:

might do more after my hand stops hurting 6_9

these are so awesome/beautiful

i wish generation x/y was just filled with pokemon fusions

(via flatluigi)

May 20, 2013

29,362 notes

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Why Do Men Keep Putting Me in the Girlfriend-Zone?

literaryreference:

You know how it is, right, ladies? You know a guy for a while. You hang out with him. You do fun things with him—play video games, watch movies, go hiking, go to concerts. You invite him to your parties. You listen to his problems. You do all this because you think he wants to be your friend.

But then, then comes the fateful moment where you find out that all this time, he’s only seen you as a potential girlfriend. And then if you turn him down, he may never speak to you again. This has happened to me time after time: I hit it off with a guy, and, for all that I’ve been burned in the past, I start to think that this one might actually care about me as a person. And then he asks me on a date.

I tell him how much I enjoy his company, how much I value his friendship. I tell him that I really want to be his friend and to continue hanging out with him and talking about our favorite books or exploring new restaurants or making fun of avant-garde theatre productions. But he rejects me. He doesn’t answer my calls or e-mails; if we’d been making plans to do something before this fateful incident, these plans mysteriously fail to materialize. (This is why I never did get around to seeing the Hunger Games movie. Not to name any names, but thanks a lot, Tom.) Later, when I run into him at social events, our conversations are awkward and lukewarm. This is because the moment we met, he put me in the girlfriend-zone, and now he can’t see me as friend material.

I must say that I find this really unfair. I mean, I’m a nice girl. I have a lot to offer as a friend, like not being a douchebag and stuff. But males just don’t want to be friends with nice girls like me. They can’t help it, I guess; it’s just how they’re wired, biologically. Evolution conditioned our male hominid ancestors to seek nice girls as mates and form friendship bonds only with the other dudes that they hunted mammoths with. It’s true—I know this because I studied hominids in my fifth-grade science class.

So what’s the answer? Should I take up mammoth-hunting in an attempt to appeal to the friendship centers of men’s primal lizardbrains? Should I keep making guy “friends” and then prevent them from making a move on me by subtly undermining their self-confidence? Should I just give up on those manipulative, game-playing, two-faced bastards once and for all? I don’t know. I mean, I’d really like to have a true friendship with a guy someday, but it’s so hard to trust and respect them when they never say what they mean—and you never know when you might be relegated to the girlfriend-zone.

May 20, 2013

12,299 notes

Text

meladoodle: