Planets align in your gaze
Geodes, sparkling blue
Stars twirl their ancient ballets
I can’t take my eyes off you

You enrapture my senses
All of them with ease
Evading my defenses
Leaving me begging you please

Yearning for your kiss
And the explosion of all
Eternity’s ardent bliss
Let me please answer that call

Your gaze makes me plead
You’re all that I need

- M.A. Tempels © 2016

Because everyone should love themselves, and they shouldn’t strive for perfection.
—  Harry Styles, after a brief pause when asked why the boobs on his mermaid tattoo were saggy. He could’ve been glib. He could’ve laughed. He could’ve just said, “I don’t know.” But he paused. And he thought. And he said this. And this is why he is so, so special.

More Kanan Please! - Day 6: with Yoshiko Yohane

“Oho~ You have the potential to be a littoru dehmon… no, a Warlock!!”
“Ahaha… thanks?? You look great, Yoshiko.”
“Like I said, It’s Yohane!” /“Dakara Yohane yo!”

[To protest Kanan’s lack of screentime, I’m going to doodle one pic of Kanan with each girl every day until the next episode] ((╬●∀●)

Being the indulgent onee-chan figure she is, Kanan lets Yohane dress her up and plays along with the chuuni act and enraptures hordes of fangirls

For @inesathammar, thank you for always being there for me when I need you. 

The South Pole was hers, despite recent years calling her far away and even more recent months offering her a new land. And while that land, a land of fire and heat, was his- she had a way there. Many cursed its sweltering sun. She welcomed it. Many damned its political hitches. She lived for the adventure. She adapted and thrived and bewitched the heart of the man who ruled it.

And now he was here. Far away from his home, but still equally settled and safe. It was his second visit of his short twenty one years, and even with all he’d uncovered -all he’d destroyed- when he first came, he’d never noticed… As enraptured as she was by the red and the gold and him, she had a way here too.

A way that was invigorating and intoxicating, a way that mesmerized him like his dragon’s scales in the sunrise. 

As easily as she governed within his red walls, reigned over his volcanic lands… she ruled here. The land of ice. She was surrounded by her element, mirrored for her natural state of unsuspecting prowess and deceptive safety. She was this land, she was a part of it as it was a part of her, and she knew it like she’d lived a thousand years. 

Keep reading

Just unearthed an old poem l wrote at some point in 9th grade as an introduction to a whole anthology l was gonna do from the POV of test subjects in this lab. Basically each poem was going to be a different subject discovering something else about what it was to be a human being, or to age, or to watch others grow ill and die, ending with general coming to grips with mortality when they’d been infants that morning. Basically what the hell lil me??

Way out yonder in the desert bare with 
Nothing but sand for miles,
There sits a little schoolhouse
Hidden villainy in innocent smiles.

For you see it’s now a facility
Where nature herself is captured.
Ruined, ignored, and blatantly scorned
While Curiosity stands enraptured.

lt’s a human farm–
“A farm?!” You chime.
“A farm,” l nod. lt’s true.
Where boys are men and dead again
ln the span of hours few.

These humans are studied for
Their aches and their pains,
Disease by nature, but faster.
Where humanity’s king
But can’t do a thing
With science as its new master.

Another "reading to the kids" story.

I read the first chapter of Protector of the Small (another of Tamora Pierce’s girl knights of Tortall books) to both girls the other day. In it, the hero Kelandry sees a bunch of local ruffians throwing a sack into the river, and she sets out to rescue the creatures inside it.

Owlet: That’s mean.
Ninja: I hope it’s kittens!
Owlet, enraptured: KITTENS!

Kel runs off the boys but before she can wade out and retrieve the sack from the sandbar, a centaur-sized monster with the body of a spider and a human head shows up and snares the bag with its web. It pulls in the sack, opens it, and

Me, shutting book: And at this point the spidren eats a kitten, kids.

Kel throws rocks and runs the monster off. It climbs up the cliff on the other side of the river, and she follows it but gets stuck half-way up. It opens the bag again and

Me: Yup, so it eats another kitten.
Ninja: I was counting on a rescue!

The forces of good show up and rescue both Kel (who has a fear of heights she will need to work on until she can do her own animal rescuing later in the book) and the remaining five kittens. Kel takes them to the cook “who knew what to do with small animals.”

Me: She’s going to put them in a pie.
Me: She doesn’t put them in a pie. Should I find a different book?
Girls: No!

@mrsscreamgirl said:  ☁ your favourite Sabriel Headcanon :3

Sam adores it when Gabriel sings to him. 

It’s not a rare occurrence to see Gabriel singing at all. Quite the contrary, in fact. On quiet days in the Bunker, Gabriel would be in the kitchen, baking and singing along to his iPod, or he’d help Dean outside to work on Castiel’s Lincoln and hum along to “Smoke on the Water,” or he’d just prance around the hallways, belting “Heat of the Moment” at the top of his lungs. Gabriel’s voice was beautiful, and Sam loved it. 

But he was infatuated, enraptured, in love with moments like this. Moments where it was just Sam and Gabriel and the air between them, arms wrapped tenderly around each other in a warm embrace. Where Sam had his face nestled against Gabriel’s hair, and Gabriel’s chin was resting on Sam’s shoulder.

And Gabriel would sing, and he’d sing so that tears flooded Sam’s eyes and spilled over. The pure beauty ringing from the archangel, the harmony and melody of every instrument in the world chorusing in Gabriel’s words, the love and devotion Gabriel’s voice resonated, it was all so much and not enough. Sam buried himself deeper into Gabriel’s arms in moments like this, and allowed his soul to sing along.

I have so many Sabriel headcanons, it’s difficult to choose a favorite, so here’s one of them! I got a little carried away with this one; I made a few mistakes, but eh. 

Thank you so much!! <3

Want something handwritten or drawn??

Book 18/40 in my #40books2016 challenge is the great Canadian classic Anne of Green Gables! Anne is nothing short of a cornerstone in the lives of female Reists, and I am finally part of the fan club. And oh my goodness, I certainly didn’t expect this book to be as hilarious, heart-wrenching, and beautiful as it was. I completely relate to Anne, who is constantly enraptured by nature, always screwing things up, and who lives primarily in daydreams. I love her. And I love Avonlea.

Made with Instagram

I’m seeing a post going around talking about how Dorian is attracted to the Inquisitor no matter his body type and, I just, of course? Have you seen the way Dorian looks at the Inquisitor? Completely enraptured. But I know this is about his stated attraction to muscular men, specifically Qunari if the Inquisitor is Adaar and I really don’t like the implication that Dorian isn’t allowed to say things like that. I’ve made a similar post before, but I feel like this should be repeated

Gay men are often shamed for their attraction to other men, so saying Dorian isn’t allowed to talk about his attraction or preference just seems really gross to me? Just because he likes muscles doesn’t mean he can’t also find other Inquisitors attractive and it doesn’t mean he’s fetishizing an entire race. Yes, the burly pirate comment was weird, but Dorian often lapses into sarcasm and inappropriate jokes when he’s uncomfortable (“oh my blushing buttcheeks” for example) so I never put much weight in that. Honestly, that specific comment doesn’t even show that Dorian has a preference? (honestly to me it sounds more like he’s referencing a porno or something. Maybe something in the Randy Dowager?) The only way I heard about his fondness for muscles was watching videos of Adaarian players so I really don’t understand what the problem is. It’s not like Dorian outright compares any non-Adaar Inquisitor or laments their lack of a muscular build or anything like that.

So fine, talk about how uncomfortable the pirate comment is, that’s fine, but don’t act like Dorian, a person of color, is fetishizing a race the way straight white men often fetishizes woc. Dorian is allowed to find muscles particularly attractive and that has absolutely no bearing on his ability to be attracted to other body types. Gay/bi/lesbian people get shit just for mentioning anything about their attraction, as if they are inherently more sexual/gross because of it and it’s not okay. I guarantee you people would be complaining about Dorian talking about it too much if he had a unique comment for each race based on what he finds attractive.

I know this new post is coming from a supportive place, wanting to assure everyone since Dorian isn’t here to do it himself, but seriously. Dorian never gives us any reason ingame to assume he isn’t attracted to an Inquisitor of any race or body type. There’s a reason he can be romanced by all four races.

every new fun fact i learn leads me to further believe we live in a dystopian cyberpunk world now. a cyborg doesnt have access to data that enables her to live. a cyborg. denied important data. you can talk to your phone and have it do things. we have multiple cloud-type archiving sites. geocaching and pokemon go. we recently mimicked life. what the fuck.

Ben was good with words. More so than anyone Hikaru had ever met. He was quiet and reserved but, when he wanted to, he could spin together love poems and sonnets that wove through the fabric of emotion and enraptured Hikaru’s heart.

Words like that stretched beyond galaxies and found Hikaru at his most vulnerable moments. He always wanted to send loving words back, but poems and composition were never his strong suit. He sent pictures of flowers instead. Reds, pinks, blues, each with their own means of expressing emotion, feelings, love.

Hikaru never asked if the flowers were enough. He didn’t have to. Ben’s fondness was clear in the poems that he sent back.

the bedazzling of the american email newsletter

So, I guess the Olympics are going on? Just kidding, my DVR is at 90% because it has been recording 24 / 7! Dive into the past with this compilation of all the pictograms of previous summer Olympics, dating back to Tokyo 1964.

Having been enraptured by the women’s gymnastics this year, while simultaneously lamenting the terrible commentary, I welcomed this New Yorker piece calling for better coverage. It takes NBC to task for their watered-down coverage while offering soupçons of information about specific gymnastics moves that would be tantalizing if offered during commentary, such as:

Follow-up reading: The New York Times on the “bedazzling of the American Gymnast.” Bear with me! It talks about the history of leotards, and the advantages in having spangles that catch the light (and the eye of the judges).

In an entirely different textile direction, designer Menja Stevenson made outfits out of German public transit upholstery fabric, and then photographed herself riding the respective trains.

Lucy Bellwood writes lovely comics about tall ships, but most recently wrote one about the rebirth of wind-powered cargo shipping. Follow that up with this map of where all cargo ships are on the planet.

Are you all watching Stranger Things? Sarah Glass writes on the typography of the title sequence and why it’s so compelling, and Vox dove into the actual creation of the sequence.

Anna Felicity Friedman finds a tattoo shop in Jerusalem that’s been tattooing religious pilgrims since 1300 (!) and talks with the current owner about his technique (antique stamps) and taking on the family business.

Two bittersweet stories about our relationships with our parents and food. The first, Kevin Pang writes about realizing his father had a YouTube following for his cooking videos, and the second, Michelle Zauner about her relationship to her late mother’s Korean cooking.

A palate cleanser in the form of a look within Prince’s fridge. As with everything Prince-related, it’s not as simple as it looks—Prince specified that they could only illustrate (not photograph) the contents, and ask him questions about it later. His responses are delightful. I love it.

Etcetera: We don’t know why all the corpse flowers are blooming at once

What should I write next?

After taking Sunday off, it’s time to get back to writing. I have several ongoing works, so I don’t know which should I work on. These are:

  • Queen of Lions, which is my failed project for Camp Nanowrimo on last July, but very dear to my heart. it’s a crossover between my 2 biggest fandoms. I wrote chapter 1 and started working on the second when my muse cruelly abandoned me. I estimated that this would be a short fic, around 5-6 chapters. so, it’s a doable goal. I just could get it done. I want to write complete before posting it.
  • Then, for Enraptured Submission series, I already wrote and edited the next installment, which is waiting to be published. But I started writing several others one-shots that will come after. Should I work on them? Should I unleash my kinky muse?
  • And third, but not last, I know many are already wanting to read Chapter 8 of Savin’ Me, even if I updated about 2 days ago. I have the idea for the opening scene of the chapter, which I’ll reveal something you didn’t know about a minor character, something that shouldn’t be of too much importance in this day and age, but as member of the Bratva, it might be a delicate information.

Soooooo, what I write?!

anonymous asked:

Hey :) I was wondering how Lexa dealt with the influx of twitter messages after the PDA at Clarke's match?

Lexa was so caught up in the moment she didn’t really even check her social media or her phone after the match. She sat there enthralled and high off the excitement of the live game before her. Enthralled and enraptured by everything Clarke. 

Clarke who is a boss on the field, who is a completely different person with the ball at her feet, a machine, a dagger in the night. She was swept up in all of it. In the excitement of this new person she is completely smitten with, in the hugeness of the Olympic stage, of the moment. Watching Clarke get that gold medal placed around her neck she just felt completely overwhelmed and proud. And a bit silly because she hasn’t even been a part of it, but she can’t help feel her chest swell at Clarke’s accomplishment. 

Especially when she knows the weight of the medal as it hangs from the neck. The years of work and toil that go into one single tournament. How it feels to carry the hopes of a nation on your shoulders. 

In all honesty, she didn’t want to stop kissing Clarke and didn’t realize what was happening until the other girl was running across the field again and holding her arms out for Raven to jump into.

She didn’t check her social media at all until the next day.

She got a few texts razzing her from Lincoln and Anya (who is involved with the team but injured and unable to compete). 

She waited until Clarke laughed and asked her if everything blew up after the kiss and they checked it together. Still sprawled out in bed. Clarke ignoring the alarm going off telling her she needs to shower and get ready for the Today Show and the media blitz. Lexa complacent to be here and be done and to get the girl.

Kissing Bucky Barnes - Drabble

When he could, he loved to take his time with you and savor every second. He had been waiting nearly a century for something like this- he wasn’t about to rush anything and mess it up.

His eyes would meet yours, smoldering into your soul. Whatever words were about to come out died on your lips as you found yourself, as always, enraptured with this man. His steps towards you would be slow yet confident. A metal hand would reach you first, brushing delicately across your own- always so, so very gentle with you, no matter how much you reassured him. He would cup your chin softly with his flesh hand, running the tip of a finger nail right underneath your lips. The bare edge would trace the contour of your bottom lip and your eyes would flutter shut at the contact. As he leaned in his blue eyes would flick across your face before meeting your eyes once more. A small smile, one reserved only for you, would flicker across his mouth right as your lips met.

Starting off soft with just the barest of touches, he would massage your lips with feather-light caresses. Tired of his teasing you would grow impatient before molding yourself against his body, one hand tracing a pattern on his chest and the other lost in his mane of hair. He’d grip you closer, a metal hand rubbing your hip and the other cupping the crown of your head to pull you closer. He would deepen the kiss and groan as his tongue met yours, heart fluttering as he felt yours speed up. Bucky found himself thanking God or whoever was responsible for bringing him to you. This was when he was home- when he was wrapped up in you, your light, your very essence. Those soft moans leaking from you were part of what kept him grounded, kept him sane. He would push you closer and the kiss would turn desperate and needy, teeth clacking against teeth. Messy, but you liked it.

You would know, however, what this meant. You’d pull away and press loving kisses across his cheeks, cooing to him how wonderful and kind and string and brilliant he was. How you know he’d never hurt you. How he deserved everything. How much you absolutely loved and adored and near worshiped him. His lips would find yours again, a winning smile stretching from cheek to cheek. A playful nip to your bottom lip would have you squeaking, but it would be easily swallowed up by the man before you. He’d tilt you back, loving the way it made you grip tighter onto him.

Tongue entangled with yours, arms wrapped around one another, he reminded himself that you- you beautiful vision you- loved him for whatever crazy reason, and if you were willing to accept he’d kiss you all night long in return.

You were quite willing, and he was very generous.

thegoldenavenger  asked:

five types of canon TONY STARK

Canon: Tony stark and ROLLER SKATES, okay?

Headcanon: He installs them in all the suits because they are heavy, and the idea of trudging around in one completely under his own power is thoroughly a non-starter. It’s just practical.

Heartcanon: He installs them in all the suits because Howard did not approve of roller skates and Tony really does enjoy the middle finger to Dad (especially since they really are practical)

Soulcanon: Tony was eleven the first time he saw a figure skater - 1981 Winter Olympics, and was instantly enraptured. Jarvis let him swish around the kitchen floor in just his socks for weeks before Mom finally relented and took him to an ice skating lesson. Howard hit the roof, and that was the end of any hopes of figure skating. The roller skates are almost close enough.

Crotchcanon (not really, but c’mon, fluff is my thing)- He’s 42 when Natasha discovers his secret and gives him ballet lessons in the guise of physical training. They pay off the first time she drags him to Central Park and shoves a pair of ice skates in his hands. He doesn’t think he’s even held a pair since that first and last lesson. The media does a fluff piece on Iron Man ‘pretending’ not to know how to ice skate for his very young fans. Natasha saves the article with the picture of him sprawled on the ice and grinning ear-to-ear.