does that make me a light weight

tell me if I’m wrong (tell me if I’m right)

For Nurseydex week prompt: July 19th – gender/sexuality

“Come on, Nursey, let’s hook you up!” Holster’s voice is half-lost in the pounding bass that’s been shaking the Haus for the last two hours. “Yeah, bro, after that filthy fuckin’ shot you netted tonight, you deserve it!” Ransom has got one arm slung over Holster’s shoulder and the other over Nursey’s, and both his captains are grinning at him in a way he knows usually leads to trouble.

“We know for a fact that girl in your poetry seminar–”

“—Melissa,” Ransom supplies.

“Right, Melissa, is just waiting for you to say go.”

Nursey tries to stifle his grimace. “Melissa’s nice, but I’m not interested,” he says, sipping from his cup of tub juice. His eyes flit to Dex instead as he joins the darkened mass of people dancing and grinding together a few feet away.

“Come on, bro, you haven’t hooked up in weeks,” Ransom protests, and Nursey shoves at his head playfully. “I’m chill, if I find someone I like I’ll go for it, but I’m good where I am.”

“All right, man,” Holster says, slapping his shoulder before stepping back. “C’mon Rans, let’s go make sure Bitty hasn’t lost his shoes or some shit.”

Nursey appreciates their efforts, he does, but they’re wrong – he hasn’t hooked up in over a year.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Prompt 'im sorry i accidentally kissed you after playing house for bellarke

For you, nonny! This one got away from me, too. I’m not good at short drabbles apparently, but hey, who cares! Enjoy!


Bellamy’s life is perfectly together for the first time since he was five and his sister was born. She’s off at school and he’s only working one, stable job that makes enough for him to live comfortably. It took a while to get here, but he’s enjoying the freedom and the lightness. No longer does he hold the weight of the world on his shoulders. So leave it to Clarke Griffin to completely ruin his bliss.

He’s cooking breakfast for himself on this fine Saturday morning when she barges into his apartment (why he thought it was smart to give her a key, he doesn’t know) and asks him to be her fake boyfriend.

Which is problematic for him because he’s spent the last three years wanting to be her real boyfriend. They met in college, forced to work together on an art project (he took it because he needed another elective, and she’s an art major) and despite not getting along at first, they became best friends. Mostly because she’s a spitfire and he’s a dick and somehow the universe just knew the two of them would cause chaos together. It works. He’s been half in love with her for most of their relationship but the timing has never been right, whether one of them isn’t available or he just completely chickens out. Not to mention she calls him her friend all the time and while he’s not the kind of guy to believe in the friend zone, sometimes it’s really hard not to.

“What?” He asks stupidly, holding his spatula in mid-air having been distracted from his egg flip.

“My mother is coming into town and I need to prove to her I have my life together despite having not gone to med school,” She hops onto his counter and reaches over to his plate of bacon to snag a piece.

“But you don’t have your life together,” he says before swatting at her hand as she goes for another piece, “Quit eating my food!”

She pouts her lip and pulls her hand back with a sigh, “Thanks for reminding me. I just need to create the illusion I do, which includes using you as my significant other.”

“Why would having a boyfriend somehow mean you have your life together?”

She’s batting her eyelashes at him now, which always means she wants something ridiculous, “Well…maybe not just a boyfriend. Maybe a boyfriend…i live with?”

He drops his spatula with a loud clang, “You can’t be serious.”

She grasps his arm with both hands, “You’re my best friend, Bell! Help me look less pathetic!”

He still feels a slight twinge at the word friend but pushes it down, “Let me guess, you don’t want your mom to see what kind of travesty you live in?”

She lives in a small studio apartment that has no working air conditioning and also tends to get a mice infestation every few months. It’s pretty awful. They usually always end up at his place to hang out and, okay, she’s slept over on more than one occassion but always in the guest room!

“Also that.” She confirms for him and he shakes his head at her antics. He knows he’ll regret it, but if he’s completely honest he misses the company. He’s not fond of living alone and his place has felt eerily empty lately. It’s a dangerous line, doing the whole fake boyfriend thing especially when feelings are involved on his end, but she makes it very hard to say no.

When he agrees, the smile on her face makes it all worth it. God, he is so screwed.


It’s surprisingly easy to fall into domestic bliss with her, which doesn’t exactly help his case at all. The day before her mother comes, Clarke comes over with a bag full of items to make the apartment look more ‘equal’. She’s going for a very convincing argument. Pictures of them have been scattered around the place, some in the living room and a couple in the bedroom. She always forces him to take picture when they’re out so most of them are drunken one am photos. She’s taken over his bathroom placing her hygiene products all over the shower and hair products on the counter.

“Is that necessary?” He asks as she hangs a few dresses in his closet for good measure.

“I’m trying to be thorough,” She replies. By the time she wears herself out, it definitely looks like they live together. He has to admit, she’s dedicated. He also doesn’t mind having her stuff around. Having her around…

Things go relatively smooth from there. Her mother arrives and is friendly enough to him. She actually seems impressed which makes something like pride swell in his chest. It’s a nice apartment in a nice part of the city and while Clarke has mentioned her mother being a snob, he’s still satisfied by her approval.

Being best friends has given them a comfort around each other that has only been beneficial. They touch each other freely and it’s not weird and quite honestly, from the outside anyone could see they are a couple. He tries to build Clarke up to her mother, mentioning small successes she’s had with her art and okay, maybe, fabricated a little. Clarke beams at him as he dotes on her and everything feels natural.

It gets a little weird when they remember they’ll have to sleep together in the same bed. When she walks out of the bathroom in an oversized t-shirt he genuinely thinks about throwing himself out the window because she looks so beautiful standing there and yet they aren’t like that. Pretending to be her boyfriend has been easy but her mom is asleep and they don’t need to pretend anymore.

“I can put shorts on,” She says awkwardly tugging on the end of her shirt. Clearly she hadn’t thought this through before walking out.

“I’ve seen you naked, remember?” He tries to ease the tension but that might have been the worst thing to say, “Remember when I had to carry you home after the whole Finn dilemma?”

It seems to work, “Ugh, don’t remind me. That was not my finest moment.”

She had managed to get so drunk, standing was nearly impossible and he had to take her home. She puked on herself and like the knight and shining armor he is, he managed to bath her and change her before putting her to bed. She told him she loved him that night, but he’s not sure she remembers. He definitely didn’t bring it up.

She crawls into bed with him and they fall into an easy silence. He lies on his stomach and is just beginning to drift off when she says, “Thank you again, by the way. You didn’t have to help me, you know?”

He’s groggy when he responds, “You’re lucky I love you.”

His eyes snap open when he realises what he said and holds his breath.

She laughs gently, “I love you, too.”

Too bad, he thinks to himself, if only she meant it in the same way.

It’s gets weird. And confusing. The following night he is in the kitchen cooking dinner for everyone when Clarke gets back from her walk with Abby. She joins him in the kitchen while her mom showers and he laughs when he sees the newly formed sunburn tainting her pale skin.

“Forget the sunscreen, princess?” He teases and she smacks him playfully on the shoulder.

“I didn’t think we’d be outside all day…” She mutters miserably, poking at the skin on her arm.

“Clearly,” he laughs before moving to the refrigerator to grab some aloe. He squeezes the goo onto his fingers and gently rubs it onto her skin. She watches him carefully, like she’s surprised by the intimate gesture.

“All good,” he says wiping the excess onto the dish towel next to him.

“Thanks, honey,” she coos and before he can react she pecks him on the lips.

He’s frozen, his lips burning from the contact. It was an innocent kiss but he felt it all the way to his soul.

Her eyes widen, “Shit…I–”

His mind is racing. Did she mean to do that? Does she know how he feels about Her? Does she feel the same? She regrets it, doesn’t She? He fucked up. This plan was stupid.

“Smells good!” Abby compliments as she enters the room and suddenly the moment is over. They step back from one another and he clears his throat awkwardly.

“I interrupted something, didn’t i?” Always the perceptive one.

He tries to make light of it all, “I was just telling Clarke about the benefits of sunscreen.”

Just like that, the moments over. Things go back to normal, he and Clarke continue the charade and he can’t help but wonder what happens when it’s all over.


By the end of the trip, Abby Griffin seems to be very pleased with the way her daughter has turned out, even asking that she paint something for her office at work. Clarke nearly bursts into tears. He’s happy to see that their relationship is on the mend, even if it’s partially based on a lie. It’s not that Clarke isn’t successful, just that she’s not that successful. She’s not living the dream like she hoped and she isn’t in some perfect relationship. He should be bothered by it, but he does get it.

He remembers how upset Abby was to find out her daughter was pursuing art. That was toward the beginning of their friendship and he’s seen their relationship go back and forth since. He’s glad to help, but he’s starting to wonder at what cost. How long can he continue to just be friends with her? He has to tell her.

When they go back into the apartment after seeing Abby off, things are quiet. She’s wanders idly about the living room, running a hand over the picture frames she brought with her. Now or never, he thinks.

“So…” He leads with, and it’s not the best thing he could say but he’s kind of at a loss.

It seems to work, though, because suddenly she’s wringing her hands in front of her and word vomiting all over the place..

“I’m sorry I kissed you, I just got really caught up playing house and it’s been nice and, I don’t know, I thought you were my boyfriend for a second.”

She looks so small and innocent now. Guilty, even. Which hurts because he doesn’t want her to be sorry about it.

He decides now is the moment. It was bound to happen, hell, it’s been building for a long time.

“I’m not sorry,” he says simply and moves towards her, “I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.”

She releases a long breath, like she’s been holding it in this entire time, “Really?”

He laughs and reaches out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, “I’m so in love with you, Clarke. I have been for a long time.”

It feel cathartic to finally say it. Even if she doesn’t feel the same, he’s just happy to have it out there. He didn’t realize how heavy it’s been, but he feels lighter now.

When she laughs, he worries for a second that maybe it was a mistake and he’s ruined their entire friendship. But then she throws her arms around his neck and kisses him, really kisses him like her life depends on it.

When she pulls back, lips swollen from the activity she brushes a thumb across his cheek, “I love you, too, by the way.”


A month later she moves in with him for real this time. Half her belongings were already there, anyways.

fool’s paradise

i don’t want fucking, that’s boring shit.

i want to climb inside your body, follow every vein to find out what makes your heart beat the way it does.

i want to trace every muscle, ask it - does it still hurt, the ache of invisible weight, does it hurt him to carry it? i want to ask, how can i help?

i want to see the colors your brain creates when you talk about what you love with that light in your eyes. you know the light. that light. the kind that makes me want to follow it into the dark. i don’t know where it came from but i want to see it up close, like we spread our fingertips to the stars and imagine we can almost touch the fireworks.

i want to know what your lips remember. do they remember the number of my ribs, when you counted them? do they remember your tongue tripping over a language that is second skin, never the first? do they open of their own volition because you would like me closer and you know you can’t? can you tell them that i understand? i, too, dream of impossible worlds.

i don’t want fucking, that’s boring shit.

skin is just skin and it shivers when your city is cold and when it laughs when it knows the cadence of our moans, knows more than it should, but we have always been shameless. i don’t know what regret tastes like. all i’ve ever felt with you is honey.

fucking is boring shit because you are a sun rising to its power and i want to bask in the full glory of your warmth.

anonymous asked:

Could you do some chubby female farmer struggling with self esteem and Shane comforting her?

It took a while to notice things, but he tended to notice things more when it came to his new bride. She spend more time in the mirror, more time searching through clothes.

One day, when she was trying to find some clothes for the Mayor’s birthday, she was taking an extra long time. He walked up behind her, looking at both of their reflections.

“Wassup?” He asked.

“Nothing,” She threw another dress on the chair nearby.

“I like the pink one,” he supplied.

She sighed, going back to the closet.

“Would you prefer light red?”

She snorted, but her laughter wasn’t as long as usual. He could tell something was wrong.

“What’s wrong?”

“I can’t find anything to wear.”

“What’s wrong with the pink one?”

She angrily peaked out at him from their closet. “That one makes me look fat.”

“Really?” He asked. “I don’t think so.”

“It does,” she snapped. She disappeared into the closet.

He waited a second before walking in after her, noticing she wasn’t looking at the clothes. He pulled her into a hug.

“I thought… I thought that working out on the Farm would help me lose weight. But it hasn’t.”

“Then your body’s just built like that. There’s nothing wrong, dear.”

“I know, I know.”

“And you’re still pretty.”

“No I’m not.”

“You are to me.”


Meal Prep done! Cranberry Almond Couscous with Avocado, broccoli, and carrots and light raspberry vinegrette. Super simple to make.

Make 1 cup of Couscous as directed, add in almond slivers and cran-raisins. Let it sit and cool and fluff up. Divide into 5 dishes.

Boil 500g of carrots (100g per dish) and 350g (70g per dish) of frozen broccoli. 1 avocado. Divide into 5 dishes.

The. Add some dashes of black pepper and 1 tbsp of light raspberry vinegrette… Bam done… Close and freeze. Ready at 5am wake up call…

Let me know what you think.. it really does taste awesomeeeeeee!!!!

Married To The Boss [Nine] | Rap Monster

Originally posted by bangtangirl-cutennes-v

Things become more initmate between Namjoon and Y/N.

Slight smut


These past few weeks I’ve caught myself staring at Namjoon’s lips and now I’m actually feeling them against mine. His actions today caught me off guard. The whole time my mom was here I was scared to tell him anything about her, thinking he would be embarrassed by me. I didn’t want him to worry about his father finding out and using it against him to get rid of me. In the end he knew everything and never asked questions about it. I’m truly grateful.

Once the shock passes that we’re kissing and I’m not fantasizing it I take the chance to explore the parts of his body that I have been curious to touch. As expected, his shoulders are firm to the touch. My hand trails up his neck into his soft hair. His full lips continue to control mine giving them no chance at a break.

A moan escapes me when I feel the warmth of his hands roaming up my spine, pulling me closer into his body. The harder he squeezed me into his hold the more parts of his body I felt and the more turned on I became.

Keep reading

PSA for my fat folk...

I had my regular appointment with my kidney specialist yesterday. Unfortunately my kidney function has continued to deteriorate and is close to being the worst it’s ever been. I guess I was hoping to see an improvement given I’ve lost so much weight, even though I’ve always been told my disease is likely not weight related.

Why did I hope that losing weight would fix my health problems? Because as fat people we’re fed this message that we are unhealthy and if we ever get sick, our weight is always presumed to be the cause often without considering other possibilities. Yet the reality for me is my blood pressure has always been perfect, as has my blood sugar, cholesterol, liver and all the other usual telltale fat disease markers. My blood was blissfully unaware that I was morbidly obese.

So I want to put it out there to all my fat folk, that if you are happy in the skin you’re in and if your fat is not hurting you and putting you in harms way, fucking rock that shit. Own it and fuck the haters! Your body is beautiful and you are healthy af! I fucking love you.

On the other hand though if you feel your weight dragging you down mentally, then by all means have a crack at losing weight and see if that makes you feel any better. Weight loss for me has above all else improved my mental health. I am mentally healthier than I have ever been. I am happier and more confident in myself. The little things don’t drag me down anymore and I no longer feel like it’s me against the world. I tried the whole fat acceptance thing and tried to learn to love myself at my fattest but it just wasn’t for me. Does that resonate with any of you?

For awhile weight loss was about a number on a scale but now it’s about the lightness and brightness in my head.

You do you!

Such A Joker (4/?)

Previous Part

As I walk up to the Valeaka’s trailer with my costume in hand I get a light weight feeling. Lila looks at me first holding her snake in her arms. “Oh (y/n)! How does it fit?” “Good, but don’t you think it’s a bit skimpy? I mean there are children here, and me dressed as a sexy bunny is only going to entertain the men and probably make their wives hate me.” Lila laughs and pets the snake. “That’s the point. I’m sure Jerome can’t satisfy you as much as a grown man can. Trust me darling you’ll have men forgetting the names of their wives by the end of the night. Now go on get changed.” Without a word I walk into the trailer seeing Jerome trying to tie his tie around his neck.

Jerome POV:
“Need some help there?” A voice asks from behind me. I turn around smiling at the beautiful girl. “You came.” I say smiling and rush over to hug her. “You didn’t think I would?” She asks with furrowed brows. “My mother had her doubts. Kept saying that you wouldn’t come because circus freak wasn’t your type.” I speaks rolling my eyes.

“I really have the feeling she doesn’t like me.” (Y/n) says adjusting in my arms. “It’s not you who she doesn’t like. She likes you more then me; alway wanted a daughter instead she said.” “Jerome you know that’s not true.” I shrug my shoulders and turn beck to the mirror.

“Here.” (Y/N) reaches over me and grasps the tie making it look perfect with ease. “There. Perfect.” She says looking in the mirror at me. “I’m gonna go change.” She whispers in my ear and kisses my cheek walking away with her bag.

I slip on my vest wincing a bit when my sour shoulder is moved. I glance under my shirt to see the deep purple blue bruise on my body caused by my mother.

The clicking of heels is now heard as (Y/N) exists my room. As I put my eyes on her I only want to see everything that’s under the costume. This is certainly a new outfit I’ve never seen before. The black strapless one piece hugs her body making her curves look even more nice then they are. Her hair hangs down lose framing her face perfectly, and the black thigh high stockings make the uncovered skin tempting to touch, and on top of her pretty little head is a pair of bunny ears. How am I supposed to do the show with her wearing that? I’m going to be to distracted.

“See something you like?” She asks in a giggle pulling the long silk gloves on along with a few bracelets. I nod my head to her question; my head being to clouded to even think.

She then pulls out a collar like necklace. “Snap it on for me would you?” I mutter a quick ‘yes’ grasping the croaker in hand as she spins around. I know I shouldn’t but I can’t help it. My eyes travel down the back of her body. Her bottom looking very round and her waist looking very tempting to grab.

I place the necklace around her neck and clip it. “A little tighter Jerome.” She speaks lowly. I can feel my pants tighten. I know she doesn’t mean it in a sexual way, but just hearing those words makes my imagination run wild. I grant her request snapping the croaker tighter around her neck. “Thank you.” She says and turns to me smiling.

“So what do I do? I know there’s things I’ve got to hand you or get it a box right?” She asks looking at my props. “Jerome? You okay?” She asks waving her hand in front of my face taking me out of my trance. As I’m set free from my mind my actions take over without me thinking.

I push (y/n) against the table and attack her lips gripping her hips. I lift her onto the table and she wraps her legs around me bringing me closer to her. I wish I could rip this skimpy outfit off of her and take her right now. She pulls back out of breath. “Looks like someone’s gotten some more confidence.” She laughs pulling my tie in a teasing manor.

I pull her tighter against me and smirk at her shocked but pleased expression. “Maybe I should just cancel my act and us stay here. No other man needs to see you in this anyhow. I wouldn’t want others to imagine what’s underneath it. I don’t like people thinking about what’s mine.” I say dragging my lips on her soft skin.

“You were so excited for the show though. You can’t just go and cancel.” (Y/n) speaks trying not to moan as I suck on her skin. “Can’t I?” I say determined to tell the ringleader that I will not be performing.

“Jerome stop. You can’t just stop your show because you want to have sex.” (Y/n) laughs trying to grab at my arm. “Okay okay. If you cancel you won’t get the special surprise I was going to give you after we talked, but I guess since you’re so needy we can just fuck around and you won’t get anything else.” I look back at her. “What surprise?” I ask stepping back a little.

She gets off the table and walks towards me pushing me back onto the couch. She straddles me and plays with my tie. (Y/n) looks up at me and smirks pulling the tie bringing me closer to her. “The surprise where you get to do anything you want to me. Weather it tying me up, blindfolding me, spanking me, or even choking me.” My body tenses at the last one, and she takes notice smirking as she brings her hand down to my crotch.

“I bet you got hard when I asked you to make the necklace tighter didn’t you?” She palms me through my black dress pants causing me to get fully hard. “Tell me what you were thinking about Jerome.” She whispers in my ear biting softly on it.

I gulp and try to control myself. “I was thinking about pounding into you with my hand wrapped around your neck giving you both pain and pleasure at once.” I say closing my eyes imagining what I could do to her. “Do you still want to cancel?” I shake my head bucking my hips up to hers.

She giggles getting off of me. “Come on you need to tell me how to do everything.” (Y/n) says walking over to the props. I groan standing up. “All you need to do it look pretty. Step into the box when I ask, and then go behind the black curtain in the box when I open it to show the audience you’ve disappeared then come back in front of it when I open it the second time. That really the only thing. Everything else is self explanatory. Smile and wave, and act cute.” “Yes sir. Now come here.”

She pulls my tie yet again and smashes our lips together. I lay my hands on her hips lightly savoring this moment as long as I can. How can she go from being kinky as hell to the most fragile thing in 5 seconds flat? She’s completely turned the atmosphere from lust to passion.

Two loud bangs on the trailer door break the moment. “You’re on in 10!” A voice yells from the outside. (Y/n) and myself gather props in our arms making our way to the tent. “New assistant huh Valeaka?” One of the Grayson’s asks looking at (y/n) like a piece of meat. “Back off Grayson.” I say making my way to the back of the curtain.

“Go ahead and get in that cage. The curtain will rise when I introduce you.” As told (Y/n) gets in the cage with a smile. I place my top hat on my head and wait to be announced.

“Ladies and Gentlemen would you please give a warm welcome to Haly’s very own magician Valeaka the great!” The ring leader shouts and the curtain rises showing the seats full of people who are cheering. “Good evening ladies and gentleman! Thank you all for coming out tonight. Being out here and showing you people the wonderful world of magic still gives me butterflies to this day! Even now they want to just burst out!” I say lifting up my hat and letting the bugs out of my hat earring cheers from the audience.

“Now let me introduce my lovely assistant for tonight. (Y/n) Gordon!” I walk over to the cage and lift the curtain reveling my beauty. As she’s in view the crowd goes wild especially the men in the audience. I grab her hand lightly and lead her out of the cage letting her take a bow.

The show continues with me doing silly illusions and making flowers appear from thin air, but when it comes down to my last trick my patience is very thin. Caused by the men in the audience of course. Hooting and saying things to (y/n). “Now as much as I hate to do this, but for my last trick I will make my lovey assistant disappear!”

(Y/n) steps into the box and I close the curtains. I wait 10 seconds and then I open them to revile an empty box. The crowd again cheers. Though some are filled with ‘bring her back!’ Or ‘we want her!’. I place the curtain back where it was, wait 10 seconds, and open it once again to revile (y/n). “Please everyone give my assistant a hand!” I yell and spin (y/n) around. “What about the amazing Valeaka? Huh? Come on give him a round of applause!” (Y/n) yells smiling. The crowd goes even more wild when she speaks making me a bit jealous just knowing they’re clapping for her body and looks in that skimpy outfit.

As the curtain closes I just look at (y/n). “That was so fun! I can’t believe you get to do this all the time!” She laughs spinning around causing me to smile. She’s so free, so careless, so fun. I wish to be like that. I want to be free like her. I want to be free with my love.

I grab her lightly and spin her around so she’s facing me. “Now…what about that surprise?” I ask with a smirk.

anonymous asked:

An idea - a kind of Alexander the Great AU. Kylo has been dead for a while, but Hux still loves and remembers him, and talks fondly about him to his new lover all the time. I like to think that the lover doesn't mind! Hope you feel inspired :)

It would be so easy to be jealous, to constantly compare, to wonder if he is measuring up in Hux’s eyes. But the fact of the matter is that Kylo Ren was so legendary that it is like comparing yourself with a god from a folk story, a monster from a child’s tale. It is absolutely unimaginable. He feels none of the common jealousy one feels when their lover’s eyes linger too long during introductions when meeting an attractive stranger. He feels only distant awe, a strange and not unpleasant sensation of being the next-best thing. 

Normally, that kind of feeling would upset him. Nobody wanted to feel next-best to another man. But to feel next-best to an almost-god, well. That was another thing entirely.

It doesn’t hurt that Hux will answer all his questions happily. He sometimes wants to know things, things Hux might not discuss with just anybody. About what aspects of Kylo Ren were truth and which were lies, legends, or half-accuracies. What was he like when he was alone? What made him laugh? What could hurt him? 

At first, he had been hesitant to ask, just because he hadn’t wanted to upset Hux. It seemed gauche to bring up that kind of thing. But when Hux broached the topic first, it felt like a weight had been lifted from them both. Hux had said something, gentle, inviting, early in the morning–probably 0100 or 0200–when they should have been sleeping but they’d been fucking around, literally, figuratively, any way. 

“Sometimes you look like him, just in the low light. The facial expression, I mean.”

He knows he does not resemble Kylo Ren very strongly in looks. But something sleepy and intimate in the way he looked up at Hux reminded him strongly enough to make a remark.

“Do I?”

“He often looked at me just like that.”

There is something so strange and thrilling about hearing that, that he was walking in this dizzying shadow, that he was worthy of Hux’s love.

I wanna post “before and after” pics in the #gainingweightiscool tag, but I know my motivation is to get validation for how sick I was, and I don’t need that in my Healthy Life™.
Instead, I’ll just say this:
Gaining weight is cool when it’s necessary for your body. Gaining weight is cool when your body is changing. Gaining weight is cool when it brings the light back into your eyes. Gaining weight is cool when it brings you back to life. Gaining weight is cool when it comes with renewed passion for life. Gaining weight is cool when it brings you back to the things that really matter. Gaining weight is cool because, for me, it means a second (or a third) chance at being the Real Me.
Gaining weight does not have to mean just going to the gym and making muscle gains. Gaining weight can mean restoring fat to your body because that’s what it desperately needs. Gaining weight can mean gaining a pudgy (and cute!) tummy. Gaining weight can mean thighs that touch and bigger boobs and arms. Gaining weight can mean letting go of what you perceive to be the “ideal” body.
Gaining weight can be scary. And necessary. And worth it.

For The Emison Shippers:

Why is Alison upset that she was, indeed, implanted with Emily’s eggs? Wouldn’t she rather be the mother of Emily’s “child” vs still led to believe that she was impregnated with, in her own words, “a con artist with no real medical training”’s devil child?

Why would they make a point of both of them feeling violated when this came to light? Who would Emily have rather had as a father (or mother, carrier, whatever), and vice versa?

Yes, A.D. stole the eggs, but this, to me, is the least evil thing A.D. (supposedly) has done yet. How does it hurt anyone…unless Ali doesn’t keep the baby? (We saw that she cancelled her appointment… “put it off.”)

I also don’t like how, in my opinion, they used Sasha’s real life weight gain as an excuse to write in a pregnant storyline. Other actresses on other shows are shot strategically, if they choose to continue to work through a real life pregnancy, or they’re given a temporary out. (I believe Ellen Pompeo was pregnant on Grey’s, prior to adopting Zola. She and McDreamy actually COULDN’T conceive but irl she had a baby.)

[FIC] Lost And Found (G)

Member: Soonyoung (Hoshi)
Prompt: First meeting with Soonyoung / Soonyoung loses his ring
Word Count: 8,727
Genre: Light fluff
Warnings: None

A/N: In honour of our dear 10:10′s special day! Stay awesome, Soonyoung, you deserve all the happiness in this world.

Originally posted by parkchny

“I came here as soon as I could,” you breathe out in between pants as your running slows to a jog the moment you reach the comforting air conditioning of the office. You draw in a deep lungful of air before expelling it to regain your strength. Glancing around, you can only see one other person in the office.

“Finally,” Jimin gripes unsympathetically, typing away at his computer without sparing you a glance. “If Taehyung and I were going to be the only ones dealing with the mosh pit crowd like the last time again, we would skin you alive if the fans didn’t trample us to death first.” Leaning against the doorframe, you roll your eyes at your coworker’s dramatics. “The concert’s three days away, Chim. We won’t have to be dealing with mosh pits or the wrath of fans anytime soon.” Jimin says nothing but responds with a light huff of his nose.

Keep reading

I tried cashew milk for the first time today and LOVED it!

This is the first milk alternative I’ve actually liked. I’ve tried soy, almond, coconut, and rice milk.

I put some in my coffee this morning. It threw me off a little because it didn’t make my coffee light and creamy like regular milk does, but it still tasted good! Just have to see how it holds up with cereal now.

Crookedly in Love - Chapter Thirty Four (A Shawn Mendes Fan Fiction)

Chapter Thirty Four

My eyes were groggy, head pounding. It felt like a mallet was beating its way into my brain. The memories from last night blurred in my mind, a blurry film over the night’s events.

I slowly came to, buried underneath the hotel’s comforter. It was starting to come back to me.

The champagne. The tequila. The dancing. His arms around me, his lips on mine. Grappling at his shirt, fumbling with my zipper. Feeling him pressed against me. The passion, desperation, confusion.

It was all shooting back into my mind. I rolled over, pulling the sheets up around me. I could feel him breathing beside me. His back was turned to me, his hair dishevelled. I shook my head. I was so stupid. I shouldn’t have gotten that drunk.

I started to slip out of the bed, grasping at the clothes on the floor. I felt his cotton t-shirt on the floor and put it on.

“Jules?” His voice was quiet, but it made me freeze in my tracks.

“Yeah?” I turned around.

“Where are you going?”

“Back to my room,” I whispered.

“Wait, come here.”

I was tired of arguing with him. I was tired of fighting against him, pushing him away. I was exhausted from resisting this all-consuming power that wants him. Needs him. Craves him.

I made my way over to his side of the bed. He tugged at my shirt.

“This is mine,” he said, smiling.

“Sorry,” I murmured.

“Looks better on you anyways,” he said.

I melted into putty on the floor. I’m not proud of it. I loved him, and I wanted everything back to normal again. I didn’t want to cry. I just wanted to be happy. Was that so hard to ask?

So I repressed everything bad in my mind, even if I was blocking out a part of my that was screaming this was wrong.

He pulled me into him, and I could feel the warmth of his body radiate onto mine.

“Hi,” he whispered.

I kissed him, lightly. He pulled me close, and our mouths touched again. This time, he had a sense of urgency. I let myself give into the moment. Just this once. Why did my happiness have to end because last night did?

“You smell like alcohol,” he said.

I laughed.

“You do too,” I responded.

We became tangled up in one another, forgetting about the time rapidly passing. My anger had melted into a small corner of my mind, and I just wanted him close to me.

“Last night,” he said, in between feverish kisses, “was the best night of my life.”

“Me too,” I said, breathlessly.

He stopped to stare.

“What?” I wondered.

“I – I don’t know,” he said, softly. “I just…I thought things would be different this morning.”

I didn’t want to answer that. Even Shawn couldn’t tell me why I was acting the same as the blurry last night. I was drunk, my actions pulled into question. But, now…I had no excuse to hide behind.

“Well, they’re not,” I said, silencing him with a kiss.

“You mean, we’re okay?” he asked, hopefully.

I pulled away and stared. This was the time where I was supposed to tell him I hated him again. Where I knew I didn’t forgive him. Where he still broke my heart every time I looked at him.

But it was so much easier to forget and ignore.

“I just want it to be like it was,” I whispered.

“I do too,” he said in return.

“What’s wrong with just wanting to be happy again?”

“Does this make you happy?”

I nodded, but I felt something twist in my stomach.

“For months, I’ve felt something just sitting on my chest, weighing me down in every step I took,” I started.

“I know,” he whispered.

“And, then, last night happened…” My voice trailed off. He hinted at a smile, and I couldn’t help but smile back.

“I’m sorry, I’ll be serious,” he said, trying to turn down the corners of his mouth.

“And all my road blocks were down. But, I’ve never felt that light in so long. It was like the weight lifted, and I could finally be…me again.”

He nodded, waiting for me to go on.

“I’m happy with you, Shawn,” I said, softly. “I’ve always been my best with you.”

“So we’re okay again?”

He needed to know, and I didn’t know what to tell him. Apart of me was screaming that we weren’t. We couldn’t be okay because I still looked at him and felt anger rising up in my lungs. But, at the same time, it was just so much easier to say we were fine again.

I would be able to stop shutting him out when all I wanted was to tell him everything, share every part of me with him.

I didn’t know what to do. My mind and heart were pulling me in two different directions.

“I just…” I trailed off. “I just want to be happy again.”

That seemed good enough for him because he kissed me and pulled me in close.

“Come on, let’s get ready for recording,” he said, climbing out of bed.

I reluctantly followed suit. I didn’t want to face Brad after a night with Shawn. I was just anticipating how he would lecture me this time.


I was right. I could see the judgment seer through Brad’s eyes when we walked in. Shawn and I were holding hands, and everyone could tell just how much more comfortable we were with one another.

He gave me a kiss on the forehead, and I leaned into him.

“Shall we record some more?” Shawn asked, happily. Brad couldn’t even hide his disdain for Shawn or me.

He just shook his head and walked out of the room.

Connor interjected. “Yeah, Shawn, let’s get you in and started.”

“I’ll be back,” I whispered to Shawn.

Reluctantly, he let me go after Brad. He knew I had to talk to him, even if he didn’t want me near him.

I owed Brad that much.

I bumped into him in the corridor, where he was taking a swig from his water bottle. I went up to him and put my hand on his shoulder.

“Brad,” I said, softly.

“What?” he asked. “What’s your excuse this time?”

“Hey, that’s not fair—”

“You’re just playing the part? You have to be more convincing for his manager to set you up with cool new gigs? You’re just magically over everything he did to you in the past and are in love with him again?”

“Well, maybe I am.”

His jaw dropped in disgusted shock.

“What the hell, Julia?” he shouted. “After all he’s done to you, you’re just going to go skipping back to him?”

“Maybe I forgave him. Ever thought of that?” I fired back.

“No,” he said, firmly. “No, I never thought of that! Because you’re smarter than that, Julia. You know better than to just fall right back into this sinkhole because you’re never going to find your way out again.”

“I have a handle on things, okay? I’m in control of the situation.”

He snorted. “No, you’re not. I know that you don’t forgive him. I can see it in your face. You’re still angry at him. And getting back into a relationship with him isn’t going to help your cause.”

“Why the hell are you making such a big deal out of this?”

“Are you that oblivious?” he yelled.

“What are you talking about?”

“Can’t you see that I could be so much better for you? Can’t you see that I care so much about you? I want to be with you, Julia. I want to be that person you turn to and fall in love with. I want to be the one to appreciate all the little things about you.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Brad was pouring his heart out to me, and I didn’t even know how to react. I couldn’t tell if I was ecstatic or sick to my stomach.

“Brad, I don’t know what to say,” I stumbled over my words.

“Say you want to be with me,” he pleaded. “I will never want to change you because I will love you for exactly who you are.”

He stared intently at me, waiting for an answer.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

Those were the two words that absolutely crushed him. I could see it in his eyes—I just whisked the light right out from under him. He simply shook his head and turned away.

I wanted to shout for him to stay, but the words wouldn’t leave my mouth.

In the Web

On. With a quick swipe of my thumb, I unlock the screen. A couple of notifications are waiting for my attention. There are a few texts that I can answer right away. Another is the reminder to get to the job interview in time. A glance on the top right hand corner does the same. So I get moving. The train doors open and they close. The reassuring weight of my phone in my hand calms me down. I won’t be late, I’m sure of it. No new e-mails have come in as of yet. Still, I check again. The interview could have been canceled after all. The tunnels open and darkness closes around the train. Looking around, I can make out a couple of faces, lit from beneath. A shivering feeling creeps through my thumbs into my arms. As the screen turns black again, a faint light still shines into my face. My thumbs are not only cold now but glowing slightly, too. Curious, I manage to think when the darkness opens again and the tunnel ends.

“Nice profile pic!” I raise my eyes to see where that came from. But nobody’s even looking at me. The doors open. “No, really, you should wear that shirt more often!”, a voice exclaims, again right next to my ear. A different one. As I turn around to see who said that I only see a woman staring me in the eye. I am pushed to get out and stumble. An arm right next to me prevents me from falling but disappears right there and then. So does the woman from before. I turn in circles, looking for her. Or for that first voice. Nothing. The doors close. My feet carry me along. I won’t be late. Check the phone and the inbox again.
I squint my eyes to decipher my screen. Every once in a while a shadow grants me a moment to read. Then I also see windows and signs, advertisements and even an occasional face. Where they might lead? Bzzzz. An e-mail just arrived. My interview has been moved to an earlier time slot. I scroll through the text. I squint at the clock. I can make it. If only all these people would walk faster! I bump into someone but have no time to spare. Four more messages coming in. They don’t know me anyways. Now running, I finally arrive at the reception desk. The doors open and they close. I sit in a waiting room. My leg starts fidgeting. The inbox is now empty but the messages keep coming in. I stare at my fingers but the blueish glow is nowhere to be seen. I read that a former classmate married, a cousin got their drivers license and somebody’s on vacation. Good for them, I think. I start to write a status update. The woman next to me averts her eyes. As I turn the other way, a man stares blankly at me. The new buzzfeed test is out. I like somebody’s lunch and wonder when I have last eaten. An invitation to a wedding arrives. I re-start my status-update. The door opens and it closes. 

As I sit and wait again, the weight in my hand gets heavier with every buzzing sound. But no, I cannot check on them, at least not yet. The person in front of me starts to talk. “So, you would like to work for our company. As far as I could tell from your resume this will surely be a good fit.” Two more buzzes make my hand clench around the screen. Not yet. “We just have a few more questions: Why is it that you have not updated your relationship status for such a long time? I mean, sure the last break-up was tough for you — considering how much you still click through your ex’s profiles you’re also still working through it — but still there’s no need to stop searching. You know, we are looking for someone who is persistent in his pursuits. Considering how you keep on changing—” I sit and stare. How does this person possibly…— “And then your google history… really, why would you try to look up your symptoms online?” She rambles on. I don’t even hear what she is saying anymore. The cold feeling has crept up my arm again and I start to shiver. No, to buzz, every time the phone does. A door opens and I walk through. It closes. My feet start walking. Reflections of skyscrapers pass by and my dad has finally repaired his car. I am handed a leaflet for a concert that is set for next week, 9 pm PST. I should check that with my calendar. I bump into someone who shouts at me. My ex has uploaded another photo with the new partner. I turn because I heard the woman’s voice again. And an e-mail from the company is already in. I trip and fall but there is nothing to hold on to. My phone lands on the pavement first. It is glowing in bright colors as I fall right on top of it.

The screen opens and it closes. A roaring sound. Chatter and laughter and screams. I peek into the darkness. Buildings looming left and right. Endless heights. Suddenly they light up. Cast flashes that illuminate. Thousands of people flood the street. Bodies moving recklessly. Pushing other bodies carelessly aside. My feet start moving. Did they? Did I? Or did the punch from behind make them? I have to get to the other side. Pushing through this stream. The flickering light ends. As mechanically as it began. No sunlight here. No sun. No moon. No sky. But the roar remains unchanged. “Fake!” — “Liar!” So loud I cannot figure out a single voice. I push and shove. The rows of buildings do not end. Another lights up as the first goes blank. Bodies everywhere. “Look! Tits!” — “Test yourself!” Pushing, shouting through the crowd. Pushed and drawn into the looming structures. Finding what they did not seek. They stay. They flicker in the light. Their faces unaccounted for. Shimmering masks with hollow eyes. They stare. At me. I squint through the lightnings. The same face. Over and over and over again. I am dragged along. Scanning the faces. One second square. The next, they’re round. My own eyes staring back at me. From millions of these unmoved grimaces. “Ugly!” — “Come and play!”

Faintly, there are familiar noises. I remember. Remember what I had hoped to forget. I try to run from these voices. The mass of bodies in the way. Unmoving suddenly and glaring. Regret is mirrored in their pages. Who could they—? Do they… know? The noise gets louder. Feet get faster. Hits get rougher. The bodies part. Just for a bit. Their eyes return to run. From one light to the next. One mask to the next. “WTF?” — “HAHA!” — “Loser!” Long enough to run from the bellowing familiar sound. Running, trying to find a way out. Every turn another poll, another blank to fill in. Just to get further down the road. Getting cold. Colder. Step by step. Just like every shoulder I push against. Cold and unblinking. “You did WHAT?”

Countless voices shouting. A clacking, rattling sound. Blind and deaf. “Look at this!” — “Share my shit!” — “You idiot!” Flashes of blue and white. Bodies all around. Flickering lights. Flickering faces. Changing eyes. Blurry lines. Pushing and kicking. “Shut UP!” Mocking smiles when you wince at a punch. “Who the FUCK are you?” — “Buy this!” I stumble. “Leave me be!” Grab a shoulder not to fall. There’s nothing there. A glint. Body readjusts. Now looming high above. Hands transparent. Shadows. Flicker. “FUUUUCK!!!!!!” Screams. Shrieking. Blue. Buy! Bright. Black. Off.

This was a creative writing project I did in the class Dark, Darker, Gothic this summer semester and which I also read at this year’s summer fair. I set out to figure out what a kind of Virtual Gothic might look like; translating the genre into our digitalized world if you will.
- Rika


Heirloom knife 4 .

This awesome Kukri was recently passed to me by my Dad who carried it faithfully in service of his Country for many years .

It was a gift to him from his Brother a serving Gurkha officer and was made in Nepal ,supposedly from Army land rover leaf spring and a buffalo horn handle with brass fittings .

The sheath is wood covered by good old UK DPM camo housing the 2 small blades the Karda and Chakmak with a further OD green top cover

This knife is stunning to use as the design does all of the work for you , its light and fast but still punches well above its weight, and I was honored to carry it with me in the Amazon many years ago on an expedition .

I plan at some point to make one similar just in case it ever needs to go back to my Dad .

The other day, I was watching The Clone Wars episode The Zillo Beast Strikes Back, and something very interesting caught my attention. Near the beginning of the episode, Obi Wan and Padme team up to try and convince Anakin to change the Chancellor’s mind about killing the Zillo Beast. 

It makes me think that, for all that Obi-Wan and Padme had their differences (if you take Wild Space to be canon, which I provisionally do), they probably gang up on Anakin from time to time in order to convince him to do something in line with their shared values. I think the episode in question makes it very clear that Anakin not only knows that this is exactly what they’re doing, but that he really resents it.  

Not only does this contextualize Pamde trusting Obi-Wan so implicitly in RotS, but I also think it gives a lot more weight to Anakin’s growing resentment towards them both. The RotS novelization implies very strongly that he suspects an affair, which doesn’t really sit well with me in light of what’s been revealed in The Clone Wars. Far more likely, Anakin sees a continuation of a pattern that’s been going on throughout the Clone Wars, only now it’s taken on a dimension of duplicity. At least in The Zillo Beast Strikes Back, Obi-Wan and Padme were completely upfront about what they wanted from him.

I think that by the time RotS rolls around, Anakin would be expecting deception from Obi-Wan – after the Rako Hardeen incident and the way he appeared complicit with the council when Ahsoka was expelled. He trusts the man with his life in battle, but knows full well that Obi-Wan will deceive him if the stakes are believed to be high enough. And that he will always abide by the Council’s wishes, no matter how much doing so will hurt Anakin. 

But I don’t think he ever expects that kind of deception from Padme. I suspect there may be some seeds sown in the Clovis arc of the upcoming bonus content, but as of right now I think Anakin believes Padme incapable of lying to him. And yet, in a very real way, Obi-Wan and Padme trust each other more than they trust Anakin, and their actions long before RotS would make this abundantly clear to him. So when Anakin accuses Obi-Wan of turning Padme against him, it may very well be the confession of a suspicion he’s had for quite a long time. “I used to be able to trust Padme, but now she’s acting just like Obi-Wan.”

And I honestly see that hurting Anakin just as much as any romantic dalliance between them. The two people he cares for most are willing to deceive him – are willing to manipulate him – and they’re doing it as a united front.

I get annoyed about applications of the word ‘feminine’ as a particular kind of cultural judgment. Mostly, as far as my work is concerned, I hear that word used as an umbrella term for elements of it that are often described as 'fragile’, 'ephemeral’, 'pale’, 'impermanent’. What a massive insult. The fact that anyone might think that I would set forth such connotations is an affront to me. I wonder if anyone ever thinks that the massive scale of a lot of the works, the weight of them, the tonnage of materials involved, the physical labour and the endurance inherent within them are 'feminine’?
Does anyone ever describe the works of Franz West as 'feminine’? He uses a lot of pinks and powder blues. Or Richard Tuttle? A lot of his works are very small and fragile and light. Or Jeff Koons, with all his bows and rosettes and cuddly toys? Obviously there’s some sort of wilful blindness going on, and it makes me wonder whether to label a work 'feminine’ is a veiled insult. Still, in the contemporary art world, only women’s work is gendered. The work of a male artist is always an acceptable norm and anything else is 'other’, even though in reality it’s all exactly the same. Female and male artists both have aspects of 'femininity’ and 'masculinity'—for want of better descriptions, since those categories are completely made up anyway—in all of their works.
—  Karla Black, in conversation with Barry Schwabsky, 2014