More women should be mad scientists

Yes I am aware he has committed atrocities but have you considered that he’s my special guy

Ewan McGregor.

Artwork by Aalma do Luar (Aalma's Artville)

Six Years Wiser

“Hello, Ann’da.”

“Hello, my princess.”

“Minn’da always told me that you are a kind and loving man.”

“Do you believe it?”

The red haired girl stared at Melaeth for a moment. With a faint smile, she nodded. “Yes.” Her small hand reached out and touched his hand. He was more than happy to swoop her hand into his, lifting her hand to his lips as he gently placed a kiss upon her skin. He smiled at the six year old girl and she gasped. “You have sharp teeth. Are they dangerous?”

Melaeth’s lips closed to cover his teeth, but the smile lingered. “Not to you.” The little girl canted her head to the side and gazed at her father curiously. 

The man inched away against the wall as the tall elf approached him from the shadows. He had trapped himself and, desperate to find a way out, he tried to run to the side, but he saw grotesque humanoid things scowling at him from the sides. He knew what they were. Ratz. He turned to see a sharpened smile coming toward him. “It’s so good to see you again, Gerald,” the elf said. “You owe me something.” The Ratz grabbed the man’s arms and legs and before he could beg for mercy, the elf leaned in and the sharpened teeth dug into the man’s neck, like little daggers tearing into his skin before a chunk of flesh was ripped off

The little girl’s eyes shifted up his face, examining his features she had only heard in stories. “We don’t have the same eyes,” she said softly. Melaeth gazed into her green to light blue eyes.

“No, but your eyes are very similar to mine a long, long time ago.”

“Really?” She smiled and reached up to touch his eye lids.

The man gasped for breath as the deranged elf’s brilliant green eyes stared at his brown eyes. “Did you think you could hide from me? I have eyes everywhere, Gerald.” He smiled again with now blood-stained teeth. “Everywhere.” The man couldn’t help but stare at the mad eyes that terrorized him at that moment.

“Will they ever go back to this color? Minn’da’s eyes are not so green.”

“I don’t think they will, my princess,” Melaeth said softly. He gazed up at a tree off in the distance. He could see her silhouette, watching them closely, listening closely. That was as close as Lily would dare to be. He understood. They had promised to stay away for Amaranth’s sake. Meeting once more would be disastrous. That she had granted him permission to speak to Amaranth and spend time with her was a blessing. As long as he did not disclose who he was to the rest of the world, he could spend time with his daughter. It was a simple request that Melaeth could attain to. 

Amaranth’s eyes shifted down his neck and torso, looking at the tattoos and trying to decipher what lay beneath his fur vest. She looked at his hands again. They were rough, but slender and soft to handle. She saw the nails that extended into sharp points and she said, “And your hands look like claws.” She giggled a little, “Like minn’da.”

The Rat King stared at the dying man and he laughed softly. “I’m not going to lie. I enjoy this part very much. Just watching you take your last breaths. It’s quite satisfying.” The man continued to gasp, choking on blood. “But you’re not dying fast enough.” The King punched the man a few times, then he dug his nails into the man’s chest, as if his nails alone could rip through his chest to grasp his failing heart. The beat slowed and the man gasped a few more times before he stopped moving altogether. The Rat King retreated his hand and licked the blood off his fingers and nails. “Get rid of him,” he ordered. The four Ratz with him drew weapons and began to tear the man apart before anyone walked into the alley. 

Melaeth smiled and nodded. “They are there to protect you. I promise you, my princess, no one will ever harm you.” He smiled at her and then gazed up at the tree. “No one,” he said again, a little louder. Turning back to Amaranth, Melaeth reached down to kiss his daughter’s head.

“Happy birthday, my beautiful princess,” he said.

“Thank you, ann’da,” she said. Without hesitation, she leaned into his fur vest, wrapping her little arms around him. There was something about his scent, a musky sweet, coppery scent that made her feel safe and comfortable. “I love you.”

“I love you too, my princess,” Melaeth said softly, closing his eyes to take in the moment that only took place twice a year. 

A Writer’s Guide to Viewpoints

Most of us know that there are three major viewpoints from which stories are told:

Those are the three viewpoints, and that’s all there is to it.  Just pick your favorite, and you’re ready to go.  Right?

Well.  Not exactly.  

You see, my fellow scribblers, there are actually multiple sub categories of each viewpoint – beyond even the “Third Person Omniscient” or “Third Person Subjective.”

To be specific:

First Person:

Second Person:

Third Person:

This might seem overwhelming, but fear not!  Each perspective is fairly easy to break down, and ultimately, apply to your own work and understanding of literature.  This post will elucidate each.

So let’s take charge of our narratives and delve in, like the active protagonists we are.

Keep reading

People in the BDSM and kink communities are the only people who are normal about sex, actually, and we should all learn from them.

I think everyone should familiarise themselves with the theory for such key concepts as consent, rejecting a sexual practice for yourself without judging it morally for others, sub drop and how it can happen even in the most vanilla sexual encounters, and aftercare and how it’s often needed in even the most vanilla sexual encounters (but often treated as a joke and something to ridicule).

Summary for those who haven’t read the links:

Sub drop is basically getting the endrophin high from sex and then crashing hard from it. You just had an amazing, intense experience, so why do you want to cry??? Why do you feel weird and empty and alone? Even if you don’t get the outright crash, when the horniness fades, it catches up to you just how vulnerable you’ve been, and it’s natural and common to feel a little lost and alone after that. Contrary to what the term implies, you don’t need to be the submissive party to experience this. Note how much vanilla sex culture ridicules this (”crying after sex” jokes, etc.).

Aftercare is the antidote to sub drop, it’s the post-sex affirmation that things are good and you are safe and appreciated. Common forms include cuddling, ice cream, taking a warm shower together, wrapping yourself in your fuzziest softest bathrobe available and general relaxation together. Comfort and reassurance. Note how much vanilla sex culture condemns people as “needy” for wanting this kind of treatment, or for being upset that their partner just walks out on them after sex. (The people being condemned as “needy” are usually women, but I don’t even want to think about how much men certainly need this comfort too but feel like they can’t ask for it without being seen as un-masculine.)

This is what I mean when I say BDSMers and kinksters are the only ones who have this shit figured out. None of these things are actually exclusive to BDSM and kinky sex, vanilla sex for everyone would be SO MUCH BETTER if these things were part of universal sex ed.

Mahmoud Darwish

having ocs is like she's my daughter. she's my power fantasy. i'm giving her everything i hate about my personality. she's a war criminal. she's never done anything wrong in her life ever. i love her. i hate her. i'm making her life miserable. who did this to her. she's unlikeable but everyone should like her. she's baby. she does cocaine in the bathroom

An ad for your deepest desires :)

yes, babe, you’re sick and twisted, will you come back to bed- what? yes, of course you’re evil and irredeemable. now can you please cuddle with me

"A ship can never truly love an anchor." dude shut up. a ship without an anchor gets dashed against the rocks. it's useless, completely at the whim of the currents. a ship loves an anchor so much it carries it everywhere it goes. the anchor gives the ship the world to love. dude.

DUDE DON'T YOU DO THIS TO ME

https://spamp.com/the-spamp/

EWAN MCGREGOR + SMOKING 🚬

Bonus because I can: 

i think i’m going to become an unreliable narrator. if you see me obscuring the full truth or saying things that directly contradict each other, don’t worry about it.

sending me gross porn that reminds you of me is valid form of flirting