for many years where i may lay

anonymous asked:

The only reason that I love their first kiss is because is GRABBY ya know. Their kisses most of the time are too short and without a tongue or anything too explicit and sexy. So their first is the only one where there is grab, possession, hunger. So the fact it was grabby saves the day for me.

Hulllloooooo Nonnie! Thanks for sharing your thoughts! I’m so glad you liked their first kiss so much. I have to admit I don’t disagree, despite what I said to @thisdamndesire, you’re right the grabbiness gave it something that kisses like this…

Originally posted by lizzzzoo

just don’t have. ITV is a pretty conservative channel, so I imagine there needs to be a real narrative reason for a passionate make out sesh. 

And what reason can top the literal start of their affair? Seriously, it needed to be breathless, urgent - just goddamn EXPLOSIVE. And it was. Em is so right, it’s iconic, a landmark for them and it can be appreciated for that alone. 

Originally posted by lizzzzoo

I love it because Robert was just so desperate for Aaron. He didn’t know why, but there was this intense gravitational pull to this scruffy little greasemonkey. And Aaron was kind of expecting it because Robert’s desire almost had a physical presence between them (lol, boner jokes are always funny)… But, bless his sweet soul, when Robert grabbed him - I think it was mostly just surprise. No, shock. That this gorgeous, rich businessman who had so snarkily turned him down for a beer, wanted him so badly, he would call him out to the side of the road under the pretence of fixing his car and try and fuck him in a lay by. I love those elements of it. 

But honestly? I would prefer 100 more kisses like this… 

Originally posted by maclexa-bane

where their lips don’t even touch. The reason being… they are so at ease, so comfortable with eachother and their kisses now show it. The history between them, the connection, all the many, many things they’ve shared over the years tell in the way they hold eachother. The grief, the pain, the joy and the intimacy. How well they know eachothers bodies. To me, that clumsy first kiss doesn’t even compare, why would you want to go back?

Originally posted by justleavemebreathless

The urgency may have dissipated (a little)… but what was just a casual, spur of the moment hook up then (even if they were crazily attracted to eachother) has become so much more than that. They are soulmates, husbands, family. They literally fucking live and breathe for one another. 

And besides, they still do great make out sessions now, with added belt pulling… lol

Originally posted by noelfmilkovich

Thank you so much for giving me a reason to pore over gifs of them kissing Nonnie! And thanks to all the gifmakers for giving their time and talent to this very important cause. 


Originally posted by itsafangirlthing

(Cos how can you write a post about Robron kisses and not include the Xmas kiss?)
How PLL Is Saying Goodbye
Showrunner I. Marlene King spills on the Freeform series' final episode, airing Tuesday June 27

The game is almost over.

After seven seasons, Pretty Little Liars is about to reveal the final identity of A and say goodbye for the last time. Over the years, probably hundreds of mysteries have been presented, solved, unsolved, and reopened to the point where we’ve forgotten many of the questions the finale still has to answer, but for executive producer I. Marlene King, writing tomorrow night’s finale wasn’t nearly as daunting a task as it may seem like it should have been.

“It helped that we knew what the mystery reveal was going to be a while ago, so the legwork was sort of laying the path to being able to write that episode without having to go back and fix anything we might have screwed up,” King tells E! News. “We did a pretty good job of not screwing up, and it was really fun to write. But there were a couple scenes that were painful to write because they felt like goodbye scenes and they left me in tears. But I think that it’s all good.”

King and the writers knew how the series would ultimately end for two years now, since the midseason finale of season five where it was established that Alison’s secret sibling Charles—later revealed to be Charlotte—was Big A.

“I think if you go back, start watching from the 5A finale, moving forward there are definitely clues,” she says, and she fully encourages fans to play detective. “We intentionally wanted to make it possible for fans who were really paying attention to figure out the answer. There are people who have it right.”

While the big reveal of the identity of AD (also known as Uber A, who is different from both A and Big A) is, of course, a major part of the finale, but keeping that particular bit of info a big surprise is not necessarily what King was concerned with.

“Yes, it’s fun, we want to know who AD is, but to me, it’s always been more interesting to reveal the how and the why,” she says. “So that’s going to be an exciting part of the finale, in addition to who it is.

If you, like us, were kind of hoping for the longest, most in-depth villain monologue of all time to explain some of AD’s more insane accomplishments (like the inner workings of that board game), King laughed at that suggestion (even though we were totally serious).

"There are definitely some flashbacks that are very telling and a big, fun, interesting part of the story,” she says as to how the how and why will be revealed. “Yeah, there’s a little story time involved, but it’s very compelling.”

Tuesday night’s finale won’t be your typical episode of Pretty Little Liars. While, according to King, it will be filled with romance, drama, and sexy time, at two hours long (or one and a half with commercials), it’s more like a movie than an episode.

“It is structured in a way that you could sit in a movie theater and watch it,” King says. “It feels like a big, bold movie.”

Or to put it a different way, it’s an entire but very short season of the show.

“Most of our finales answer some questions but leave you with questions, and that launches into our next premiere. But I feel like this is the reverse,” King says. “It feels like the first part of it is a premiere, and the last half is a final finale. So it feels like a premiere and a finale all in one.”

In preparation for the end, King studied the show’s premieres and finales, “trying to learn from fans’ reactions to those things,” and specifically went back and watched the pilot.  

“I wanted to get that feeling, that full circle moment of completing something that we started,” she says. “Hopefully we leave people very satisfied.”

For King personally, she says the biggest thing she’s learned over these seven seasons is to slow down and enjoy herself.

“Your energy level just rises to this point that you never thought was possible,” she explains. “I think I got stressed out about a lot of things early on and then realized that, you know, this is fun. Just have fun, and I think that shows on the screen.”

While the finale may have been relatively easy to write, King says filming certain final scenes was another matter entirely.

“There is a scene where the pretty little liars are saying goodbye to one character, but it was such an emotional ending for all of them, and all of the crew, like these grown men were crying as we were shooting this scene,” she recalls. “When you spend seven years with people, they become your family. This has been a chapter or an era of our lives that’s going to be very memorable.”

Of course, in this day and age, more and more closed chapters of TV shows are opening right back up again, so the liars may not be gone for good.

“[The finale is] definitely a complete end to the show, but that said, I’ve always said if the opportunity would arise, years from now, there’s always a way to reinvent this world.”

Honestly, years from now, we’ll take it, as long as it’s ghost-free. (RIP Ravenswood.)

Pretty Little Liars’ two-hour series finale airs Tuesday at 8 p.m. on Freeform.

people are always telling me
“Love your body!”
“You need to be more positive!”
“You are perfect just
the way
you are!”
How do I tell them
that is not my problem
when every time
I try
with clumsy words
to explain
there’s been a mistake
and I am stuck
in a meat suit
that does not
to me
they tell me
“Don’t hate your body.
There’s nothing wrong with you.”
I want to scream to their faces

because my body
is not
a temple
the way you would define it
if you were to mean
that it was conquered
and ravaged
and ransacked
and defiled
if you mean
that it was ruined
by thoughtless conquerors
shattered into pieces
by forces beyond controlling
and reconstructed
into a lie
then you would be right
But you didn’t mean it
that way
did you
so I stand here
to tell you
that my body is not a temple
it is a prison
I have found myself
trapped inside
if it is sacred
than it is sacred
to the wrong ideals
your ideals
that tell me
I am bad, I am broken
for wanting to be someone, something
that is not what I want
I want to be me

I tried to tell you
that all I wanted
was to be able
to look at myself
in the mirror
without feeling ripped to pieces
but more than that
to be reassured
that knowing my body
did not
and would never
match my brain
did not
could not
mean that I was beyond
or not worth
I needed to explain
that I already knew
there was something wrong with me
and the only thing I needed
was a way to fix it

but I didn’t have the words to explain
and so when I told you
in the only words I could articulate
you smiled and said
that I am me
and I am perfect
and then
you stopped listening
you had solved
a thirteen-year-old girl’s
body image
so you patted yourself
on the back
too lost
in self-congratulation
to see the PERSON
for help
for understanding
for something
to cling to
as proof
that they weren’t
who they
were meant
to be
but that
they could change

how can I tell you—
no, wait, that’s not it
what I want to know is
how can
I make you
when I tell you
that my body
and mind
fit together
like someone tossed two
entirely different
jigsaw puzzles
into a box
with no regard
for what went where
and now
I cannot put them together
when I tell you
that I am chained
by the ideas
and stereotypes
the world espouses
that feel as though
they were burned into my brain
for no other reason
than to constantly punish me
when you
have already decided
what my problem is
and you do not hear
what I am screaming
in desperation
you just tell me
“Try harder to love yourself”
and think
that it is enough
you think
you have done your part
and if I do not listen to you
that is my problem
when I can hear you just fine
but it doesn’t seem
to be working
the other way
because you can’t hear me
or just aren’t listening
when I tell you
that I don’t love my body
because I love myself
and the two
are incompatible

my body
may be
a temple
but it was built
by conquerors
who first
laid bare
the natural beauty
already there
to convince
the inhabitants
down was up
right was wrong
and everything
they wanted to cling to
was doomed to wash out
from under their feet
that wanting
the safety
that came with a body
that had not yet learned
to care about gender
was shameful
and foolish
and petty
my body
may be
a temple
but it was built
to the false gods
of your gender binary
on land
a beauty
in itself
one that you
your society
so that you could lay
your foundation
of self-loathing
and then
have the gall
to tell me
to love
what you have twisted me
to be

My body
may be a temple
but it has been buried
under years of refuse
and lies
told by other people
and by me
my body may be a temple
but it has been defaced
and defiled
and damaged
with so many layers
of hate
that even I
can barely see
where it began
my body
may be a temple
but society has worked so hard
to rid it of perceived flaws
that thousands of real ones were created
by their efforts
My body
may be
a temple
but it is to a sect
of the human condition
that can only be whispered of
in dark corners
because those who speak of it
are too ashamed
to bring it to light
but it is here
Let’s face it
My body is not a temple
it is not something to be glorified
and held up
as a shining pillar of worship

My body is not a temple
and if you continue
to claim it is
I will tell you
about the nights I spent
sobbing into my pillow
because I wasn’t given the chance to learn
that even temple blueprints
can be misconstructed
I will tell you
about how broken
I felt
in a world
where my feelings
fell on the wrong side
in the binary
of “Normal” and “Not”
I will tell you
with my words
that are still too clumsy
for me to communicate
how much
it hurts
to not have a word
that validates your existence
and so feel like you are doomed to fade away

Tell me again
that my body is a temple
and I will try
my best
to tell you
about how I woke up
for too long
feeling like I was made
of anger
and pain
and broken glass
that could never be glued back together
about how knowing I wasn’t right
didn’t hurt as much
as not knowing I could fix myself
about how not having answers
and learning
that other people
will never give you
the ones you need
can mean you demand them of yourself
until you have torn your own mind apart
in a desperate frantic search
for something

tell me again
that my body is a temple
and I will tell you all of this and more
and this time
my only question will be
“Do you like my temple now?


“My Body is Not a Temple.”

Expanded version of this


(10/29, Note: there have been a few small edits to the French in this, thanks to @remuslaurens for pointing them out to me! I really appreciate it!)

The first time Bitty heard the word was when they were practicing his flashcards, grinning and giggling more than the words for clothing deserved, reveling in the fact that they were boyfriends. Jack had been chirping him, about his terrible accent, about how quickly the words fell out of his head.

“Lord, Jack, you do realize, if you want me to actually learn to speak French, you’re gonna have to keep helping me, right?”

Something in Jack’s gaze shifted, becoming slightly more serious, softer, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“Oui. Toujours.”

And Bitty didn’t know exactly what it meant then, but he felt it in his bones just the same.


The second time Bitty hear the word from Jack, he was holding Jack’s giant hands to his chest, trying to warm the clammy skin while Jack’s gaze, glowing in the grey, rainy light, looked at him with a focus that was nearly unnerving.

“Oh Jack…” Bitty wasn’t sure what he wanted to say. Something between what were you thinking and thank you thank you I love you so much, between I can’t believe you think I’m worth this and you’re here, with me, because you love me.

“Bitty. I’m glad… I’m glad you called me. I’m glad I’m here. In a minute, we’ll sleep, and in the morning, we’ll tell the boys, and I’ll be with you. Toujours, quand tu as besoin de moi.”

It was the only part of the sentence he really understood, but it was the only part he needed.


The third time was in December, Bitty, having spent the evening decorating the apartment to the sounds of Jack’s game in the background. Jack knew that Bitty would be there, they just missed each other with the timing of the train, but Bitty was hoping the garlands, the bells, the little deer on the entryway table and the runner on the coffee table, would be a pleasant surprise.

What he hadn’t prepared for was how tired he would be, after a day of turning in his last paper, packing his clothes and his skates and his baking supplies, taking the train, and whirling around the apartment, pining and arranging and checking on the pie he had made yesterday and set to warm in the oven, the smell of cinnamon and maple and nutmeg easing through the room. So when he sat down to watch the postgame interviews, wrapped in the snowman blanket he’d brought, he hadn’t expected to doze off.

He never really sank under, the sounds from the TV tying him to consciousness. When he heard the sound of the door opening, he struggled towards wakefulness, but succeeded only in blinking his eyes a few times blearily, seeing Jack looking around the apartment, before sinking back down. It was in this state that he heard Jack’s voice, moving closer to his head, as his arms worked under Bitty’s body, lifting him and carrying him towards the bedroom.

“Mon coeur, je t’adore. J’aime les décorations, mais t’avoir ici… Je veux que tu sois ici, toujours.”


Bitty wasn’t sure how many times he had heard the word, at this point. Again and again, through years, until it felt like a promise whenever Jack said it. This time though, it was a promise.

“Bitty.” Jack looked up at him from where he knelt, on the floor of their kitchen. “Bitty, I love you, Je t’aime. Will you marry me?” Laying on his palm was a thin gold band.

“Yes, Jack, yes, of course, I love you too.” Bitty grabbed Jack’s face in his hands, pulling him up into a long kiss. when they finally broke far enough apart to breathe, their foreheads together, Bitty realized that while one of Jack’s hands was pressed flat against his back, the other was holding onto his shirt with just his forefinger and thumb, the rest of his hand still curled around the ring.

“You should give me that ring now,” he said, smiling up at Jack.

Jack moved his hand between them, uncurling his fingers. “There’s one thing, first.” He took it in his fingers, rolling it to show Bitty the word engraved inside.


“You know in French it means ‘always’, but the literal translation would be ‘all the days’. That’s what I want with you, Bitty. Always, and all the days.” He slipped the ring onto Bitty’s finger.

Bitty, the tears he’d been holding back finally slipping down his face, looked up at Jack. “That’s what we’re gonna have, together. Always, and all the days.”


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Natural Selection

Pairing: Nalu

Genre: Romance

Rating: T (for adult themes, surprise surprise)

Words: 1,777

Summary: Because “mating season” or not, Natsu had always known where his heart lay, and now with whom.

Notes: Based on a real nice request placed on ffnet, which I tweaked a bit. A (hopefully different) take on Natsu and the mating season trope. 

Special mention to the bro, @taleen777, for all her help and support (PS: you’re awesome, brooo)!

So, clearly, it was that time of year again.

Every year it came like clockwork, a few days before spring, and his senses would heighten - more than they apparently already were - and then focus on one particular female, with not so subtle nudges and winks about the different ways and possibilities of how to…sample their bodies.

This year was Lisanna.

Unbidden, his eyes roamed to where she was standing behind the bar, helping Mira with breakfast.

He took in how much prettier she looked, how her dress hung attractively over her frame, how soft her snowy hair seemed and how much sweeter she smelled. It worked that she was in a particularly fertile point in time of her cycle too, he assumed.

The idea - as appealing as it could have been - only made him sigh deeply.

And he suddenly remembered Levy and all the questions she had had the year it was her that his senses sought.

Natsu snickered, wondering how Gajeel would have reacted had he been in the guild back then.

“M-me?” she squeaked.

“Mm-hmm,” mumbled a sixteen year old Natsu around his first true love - food.

If he had been paying attention he would have seen how red she turned.

But he did notice how she was backing away.

“What’s wrong?” he wondered out loud.

“W-w-well aren’t you, you know, going to…d-do something about it?”

Natsu swallowed, not entirely understanding where she was coming from. “Why should I?” he asked curiously.

“Um, don’t you, you know, need to satisfy your, um, urges with that person? And not… entirely be in control all the time maybe?” she asked, as delicately as she could, still not having stopped in her attempts to put some distance between them.

Natsu ignored the very real pang of hurt the gesture caused. As if he would ever hurt anyone he called a friend.

He chose instead to laugh at her, much to her surprise. “What have you been reading?!” He guffawed and Levy stopped her slow inching away from him, her innate curiosity now firmly taking root.

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I invite you to think about Regina Mills, a woman who has broken every convention of her world and embraced every taboo in her path of darkness.  But the least strange thing about her and the one thing she never thought about was her sexuality.  A&E have told us a number of times that in their world it is just normal, so one has to presume that Regina’s pansexuality was simply something she never thought about.  She was attracted to men, she was attracted to women, she was attracted to nonhumans and it wasn’t a big deal.  They probably didn’t even have a word for it back in the Enchanted Forest. 

Of the Evil Queen’s many sins, this was not one of them.

But she cast the curse, and she woke up in Storybrooke with a head full of knowledge about this new world and while it was in so many ways much fairer than the world she came from there was something she was suddenly aware of.

Here, her attraction was not considered normal.  It was 1983 and in this world there were still laws (not that they would have been enforced on someone with the money or position of Regina) criminalizing sexual activity between consenting adults.  Suddenly Regina woke up and she was a queer woman.  Not that she had those words for it because the reclaiming of that term was still in it’s early days and bisexuality wouldn’t be discussed openly for another decade or so, and what did one do in this land with a sexual attraction to dragons?

But really, it didn’t matter, because she had no interest in romance.  What sexual needs she had were met by Graham (whatever you may think of that relationship is for another day and another meta), and she certainly had no desire to date anyone in Storybrooke.  So the disconnect between conservative small town mayor and queer woman was something that didn’t have to be a problem.

That was until Emma Swan came to town.  I want you to think on the hypothetical that of the many things that lay dormant all those years one of the things that woke up that night Henry brought Emma to town was Regina’s sexuality.  And she really had no idea how to express it in land where sex and sexual attraction was something put neatly in boxes.  She found herself flirting when she didn’t mean to.  She found herself angry when she realized what she was doing.  Emma was infuriating and attractive and one of the thousand things Regina had to figure out as she redefined herself was what did it mean to be a queer woman.

And as she became more comfortable in her own skin the conflict went away.  She stopped trying to fit into or fight this world’s byzantine view of sexuality and slipped back into what was natural to her.  One that saw men, and women, and dragons, and maybe even fairies ad potential partners.

A meta on Queer Regina, as requested by @anothershadeofgreen

Happy new year
Happy new year
May we all have a vision now and then
Of a world where every neighbour is a friend
Happy new year
Happy new year
May we all have our hopes, our will to try
If we don’t we might as well lay down and die
You and I

(ABBA - Happy new year)

A happy new year to all of you, much love, laughter, fun and many, many cool and stunning photos!
Sorry about this pic but actually it’s only an iPhone shot and I wasn’t really sober ;)

[…] Not to say that having chickens for eggs is bad of course…! But for being bred to produce so many that it effects them like this, it’s very sad. But so saying, where should one look to get hens that DON’T have these issues? It seems like it’s partially breed but also source. But if hatcheries and feed stores aren’t the best, what do you think?


(sorry for the quote, I wasn’t sure how else to reply to this)
Well, this is a really personal choice! There are many options, and there may be options that I don’t know about.

1) Some folks choose to rescue “Battery hens”, meaning, hens from commercial egg producers that typically will raise hens for the first year of laying, and will generally either sell them off at that point or force molt them and get another year from them before selling. Most such hens get sold to the meat industry (pet food, chicken ‘stock’, chicken products other than meat cuts) but some people are able to buy a few and rescue them. There are resources out there depending on where you live. This is not an option for everyone, though, because of location, or biohazard to existing flock members (meaning, if someone has chickens already, there is a small risk of bringing in disease with rescued hens). Some people also prefer to raise birds from chicks, which is not possible with ex-battery hens. Such hens are sometimes special needs and might need extra care or help, because they have been living in such awful conditions their whole lives, and they often are in really poor condition when you first get them, so having a basic understanding of avian health and care is very useful. Many are beak-clipped and will need deeper feeding dishes. And, sadly, many may need vet care if they do develop problems due to their breeding. Still, if you have the will to do so and the means, it can be very rewarding to see a chicken learn what it is to have a good life, after being so miserable. Rescued battery hens can be so friendly, that it will break your heart to think of how they used to live.

2) Local / independent / individual breeders. Local breeders can be awesome, or awful. Just like with any animal, some people breed responsibly and some don’t. This simply requires a lot of research into the breeder. Just like with other pets, careful, thoughtful, responsible breeders contribute to animal welfare, not detract from it. A good, responsible, careful breeder is a wonderful thing. It just takes homework to find them.

3) Small scale hatcheries, such as Greenfire Farms (in the US) that breed for health and longevity over sheer quantity, and take very good care of their breeding birds, and never kill “extra” males as some commercial hatcheries do. (”[…] to avoid pursuing a similar strategy on a smaller scale, at Greenfire Farms we sell our birds two ways, neither of which requires us to kill males:  we sell day-old chicks and juvenile pairs of birds.  We don’t sell trios (one male and two females) because the hidden cost of that transaction is that we would have to kill a male.”). There is typically a wait list, and the birds are more expensive (partially due to being rare breeds in some cases), because you are paying for the good care of the birds all the way around.

4) Chicken meets, swaps, trades, county fairs, Craigslist, etc. This is a real crapshoot. You might get birds that were well bred for health, or hatchery birds that someone else raised and is now selling/getting rid of, or who even knows what. I gently want to warn people against doing this, even if the birds seem like they are well cared for. There are a  handful of chicken diseases out there that can not only wipe out your birds, but they are highly contagious among chickens. I have researched a few at great length so I am not simply some weirdo trying to scaremonger. Some are so virulent that once you have the disease on your property, you can never get rid of it. Some people get lucky and never introduce such diseases, but some people get very, very unlucky. It is heartbreaking to see a pet succumb to some of these ailments. Quarantining new birds for at least 30 days in a separate airspace is helpful but no guarantee against communicable disease, especially given that some chickens can be carriers and never show symptoms, all while spreading something that can be terminal. The commercial poultry industry has inadvertently bred some “superbugs” in regards to chicken diseases, and backyard keepers often pay the price.

Bad Days

Astra’s first indication that it’s a Bad Day is when she wakes up to the sound of Alex’s alarm going off and witnesses the phone being thrown across the room. Alex usually sets her alarm for 4:30 AM; 5:00 on days she’s feeling lazy, but she never fails to get up and throw on a T-shirt before heading to the kitchen to make coffee. Astra lazes in bed while Alex gets ready, and she only gets up when her human brings in a cup of coffee for her (the caffeine doesn’t affect her Kryptonian metabolism, of course; she just likes the smell and the taste), and then they’ll eat breakfast together before Alex leaves for the DEO and Astra can get started on her own day. Alex only ever throws her phone when….. 

Well, it looks like she’ll be needing to call the Martian and tell him that Alex won’t be arriving at work today.

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