i have this written on my wall

Let's talk Lance

OK so I wanted to write this because I love how Lance has been written so far, and I feel like a lot of the fandom have sort of missed the important themes of Lance’s character development. Warning, MASSIVE wall of text incoming, so I’ve put the bulk of this under the cut. 

After watching and rewatching season 3, I’m convinced that Lance’s character arc has been handled very carefully and deliberately. I’ve seen a lot of people hoping for a big epic Lance moment where he becomes a badass in his own right and finally fits in etc. But in my opinion, that doesn’t fit Lance at all.

So far, there hasn’t been a direct focus on character growth for him, at least, not in an obvious ‘this episode is about Lance’ way. There were points in the season, such as the interactions with Allura in which he actually had a serious conversation with her, that show he has grown from the wannabe casanova he was in the earlier seasons, but no episode dedicated to his insecurities within the team and him overcoming those issues and finding his role.

That doesn’t mean his issues have been forgotten (see him believing he should step down from the team twice in s3), nor have they been ignored.

Keep reading

playlist 2.0

{spotify}

  1. Blackbear - Do Re mi
  2. Stargate - Waterfall ft. P!nk, Sia
  3. Clean Bandit - Symphony feat. Zara Larsson
  4. Cashmere Cat - Quit ft. Ariana Grande 
  5. Already Gone - Sleeping At Last
  6. Kygo - It Ain’t Me (with Selena Gomez)
  7. EXO - Hurt
  8. Supergrass - Alright
  9. London Grammar - Nightcall
  10. KREAM - Taped Up Heart ft. Clara Mae
  11. Cloves - Don’t Forget About Me
  12. BANKS - Fuck With Myself
  13. Gabrielle Shonk - Habit
  14. Charlie Puth - Attention 
  15. Kehlani - Distraction
  16. EXO - Call Me Baby 
  17. Paramore - Hard Times
  18. Lana Del Rey - Lust For Life ft. The Weeknd 
  19. Neiked - Sexual 
  20. Sleeping At Last - As Long as You Love Me
  21. Linn Brikell - Get Lucky
  22. The Weeknd - D.D
  23. Little Mix  -  Word Up!
  24. The Weeknd - Reminder
  25. Jacquees - B.E.D
  26. Zella Day - 1965
  27. Ta-ku ft. Wafia - American Girl
  28. Ta-ku & Wafia - Love Somebody
  29. Clean Bandit - Tears ft. Louisa Johnson
  30. Little Mix - No More Sad Songs
  31. 6LACK - Ex Calling 
  32. Marc E. Bassy - You & Me ft. G-Eazy
  33. The 1975 - The Sound
  34. Dillon - Thirteen Thirtyfive
  35. Troye Sivan - TOO GOOD
  36. Wafia - Heartburn
  37. Mothica - No One (Kayge Calypso & DUNN Remix)
  38. Xavier Omär fka SPZRKT - Blind Man
  39. Hayden James - Just A Lover
  40. Margaret - Cool Me Down
  41. Medasin - Daydream (feat. Joba)
  42. BANKS - And I Drove You Crazy
  43. Sabrina Carpenter - Thumbs
  44. Years & Years - Ready For You
  45. Zayn - Wrong (feat. Kehlani)
  46. Niykee Heaton - NBK
  47. Full Crate x Mar - Nobody Else
  48. Stanaj- Goddess
  49. Young The Giant - Silvertongue 
  50. Aminé - Caroline 
  51. Imagine Dragons - Thunder
  52. Tove Styrke - Say My Name
  53. Skizzy Mars - I’m Ready ft. Olivver the Kid
  54. Kings Of Leon - Crawl
  55. Flume - What You Need
  56. Bea Miller - Burning Bridges
  57. The 7th Sense - NCT U
  58. Elle King - Where The Devil Don’t Go 
  59. Vampire Weekend - M79 
  60. The Strumbellas - Spirits 
  61. Roy Woods - Dangerous 
  62. Snakehips - All My Friends ft. Tinashe, Chance The Rapper 
  63. Gin Wigmore – Written In The Water 
  64. ZAYN - Still Got Time ft. PARTYNEXTDOOR 
  65. Lorde -  Liability
  66. Lana Del Rey - God knows I tried 
  67. Sam Smith - Leave Your Lover 
  68. Russ - Look 
  69. The Neighbourhood - #icanteven ft. French Montana 
  70. Childish Gambino - Sober 
  71. Charlotte Cardin - Like It Doesn’t Hurt (Feat. Husser) 
  72. Trevor Moran - Let’s Roll 
  73. 6LACK - Worst Luck 
  74. Blackpink - Boombayah
  75. Blackpink - whistle
  76. Nct Dream  My First and Last
  77. Halsey - Alone
  78. Halsey - Strangers ft. Lauren Jauregui
  79. Halsey - Don’t Play
  80. Halsey - Walls Could Talk
  81. Halsey - Bad At Love
  82. Camel Power Club - Altaïr
  83. Katy Perry - Power
  84. Bea Miller - like that
  85. Rita Ora - Your Song
  86. Camila Cabello - I Have Questions
  87. Andrew Belle - Black Bear
  88. The Black Keys - Tighten Up
  89. Thomston - To and Fro
  90. VÉRITÉ - Rest
  91. angus maude - i’m happy you exist
  92. Clinton Washington - Black & Blue
  93. Sophia Black - k i s s i n g
  94. Sody - Sorry
  95. Eyes for You - EZA
  96. Charlotte Cardin - Dirty Dirty
  97. SYML - hurt for me
  98. EZA - Shape of You
  99. Hamilton + Rostam - A 1000 Times
  100. Ruel - Don’t Tell Me
  101. Charlotte Cardin - Big Boy
  102. IZA - I Put a Spell On You
  103. Arcade Fire - Chemistry
  104. MØ - XXX 88 ft. Diplo
  105. VÉRITÉ - Somebody Else
  106. Andy Kong - City Lights
  107. Andy Kong - All We Are
  108. SYML - Where’s My Love
  109. Cage The Elephant - Trouble
  110. Cage The Elephant - Cold Cold Cold
  111. Cage The Elephant - Too Late To Say Goodbye
  112. Jasmine Thompson - I Will Follow You Into The Dark
  113. The Weeknd - Twenty Eight

The Great Marauder’s prank wall headcanon
Okay but imagine this…
-The Marauders having a wall in the dorm covered with paper
-It starts out when James writes a note to Sirius about the potions homework
-Then it just becomes the default place to stick reminders and notes that are just never taken down again
-Then Remus takes a risk and adds a photo of the four of them at the end of the first year
-The photo stays up and is quickly joined by hundreds of others
-When Sirius starts writing really bad poetry he sticks that up there too
-The others like to write feedback to him
-James kind of misses the point of ‘constructive’ criticism
-“PRONGS HOW IS ‘THIS IS CRAP’ GOING TO HELP ME IMPROVE MY ARTISTIC PROSE”
-When the war starts they stick up articles about disappearances they want to solve
-A shrine is made in one corner to commemorate those lost
-When they leave they each sign the wall with non-removable ink
-They also write one thing they want to try and do before they die
-When the war is over Mcgonagall finds the wall
-On it is written the following
-‘Before I die I want to make peace with my brother’
-'Before I die I want to gain control’
'Before I die I want to have a whole bunch of kids with the best woman ever and then they’ll all form a super Potter quidditch team’
-And last of all in the smallest and neatest writing it says
-'Before I die I want to not be afraid’
-Mcgonagall takes everything down and puts it in a large box
-She sends it to Harry anonymously
-She adds a note saying this
-'Before I die I want to be outlived’

Drarry fics II
  • Fanfiction-author: Mmh... I haven't written some good old smut in a while... let's just start with Harry pushing Draco angrily against the wall in a fight...
  • Draco: Potter, what are you doing?
  • Harry: I don't-
  • Fanfiction-author: ... and then Harry draws closer... and closer...
  • Draco: Ew, Potter! Get away from me.
  • Harry: I'm not... I don't know what's happening. She's making me do it!
  • Draco: *huffs* Then why do I feel like your wand is pushing up against my thigh... even though you're holding it in your hand???
  • Harry: It's clearly HER fault.
  • Fanfiction-author: *evil laughter* Wait for what I have prepared for you guys in the Room of Requirement... 😜🎁🎉🎊😈😉
  • Draco: What the hell? 😳
  • Harry: *panicking* Oh no. Please don't make me lose my virginity to him.
  • Draco: Hahaha, you're still a virgin, Potter?
  • Fanfiction-author: Why are YOU laughing?
  • Draco:
  • Fanfiction-author: Also, this is a bottom!draco-fic, so...
  • Draco: WHAT??
An observation of Markiplier TV

Emphasis on the observation part because I’ve never really been good with theories. I have a number of things to do today but unfortunately, I watched this video and now I can’t stop thinking about it. Hopefully this’ll quiet my mind and let me function, and who knows? Maybe it’ll help someone out there with their own theories too. :)

So, let’s talk about this scene:

We got one hell of a group here BUT what I’d like to focus on is their seating arrangement and what that could mean, because if there’s anything I’ve learned in videos like this it’s that EVERYTHING is by design. This entire table scene (props to the Editor btw) has so much hidden psychological subtext in it, so while I’m no professional I’ll still do my best to uncover them all.

First off, let’s look at the table: Rectangular with two long ends and two short ones. Pretty normal setting yeah, but is it beneficial to their situation (i.e. finding a way to ‘take control’) where everyone easily agrees? Nope. Because tables like these embody competition and a clear sense of authority, and I love this detail. It means that while they could’ve easily gone for a round table to promote cooperation, they go for this because of course, no one’s going to cooperate that easily.

This setting, however, works better in the business cooperative world, because you got two people (Darkiplier & Wilford) who can control the meeting from both ends of the table and are essentially the people everyone will need to look up to.

Here’s a great detail though: In this kind of setting, the more powerful of the two is usually the one opposite the entrance to the room. This allows him not just a vantage point of whoever comes in and goes, but complete control as well. And as we see where King of the Squirrels pops up:

Originally posted by antisepticjack

Which we can easily tell was from the right of the room based on the direction his body and eyes shift to, we can point out where the entrance is and who was right there:

But yeah, in this moment it didn’t seem like Will had control over King’s sudden entrance but let’s face it: he doesn’t care. He already knows that there’s more than one king in that room.

Speaking of, let’s move on to the seating arrangement.

Obviously we got Dark and Will at the ends as the higher ups, but I’d like to talk about Googleplier and The Host.

In medieval times, kings would often have their advisors right at their side at the table. This actually explains the term “right hand man”, because the king would have them close at hand to help him rule, unless of course, he was left-handed. Looking back at Dark’s antics, I have reason to believe that he’s either left-handed or ambidextrous.

Originally posted by http-darkiplier-403forbidden

Which I guess would make sense, considering that while Ed, Bim, Silver and Dr. Iplier were all concerned about their parts in the video, only Google and The Host were able to keep a level head and not lose sight of their main goal/situation.

Now the last thing I want to talk about is Wilford’s idea for Markiplier TV. I must warn you though because this is going to be a bit of a stretch so stop reading if you’d like BUT… I think he may have been inspired by Anti.

AGAIN, please bear with me. Jack’s mentioned before that Dark and Anti ever meeting each other was very unlikely, which in Dark’s case (being the alter ego that’s been pushed inside the most) could be more than true. However, Wilford makes up for this as he’s the only one not bound by the laws of physics and is, potentially, omnipresent. So it’s possible that he’s aware of Anti (since he was aware of Septiplier after all) and his methods (i.e. using social media to have his fans notice him which then gives him control) BUT, being Wilford, he goes about it in his own roundabout way which is, of course, TELEVISION.

So, yeah, this is all I can come up with. Excluding my attempt in theorizing at the very end I hope this was helpful. Now I’m just hoping that my thoughts on Antisepticeye don’t get too hectic and end up like this long wall of text. Thanks for reading. :)

8

→ In July 1795, as soon as word got out that Marie Thérèse had been seen walking into the Temple prison’s garden, many came to catch a glimpse of the Princess who had been locked for over three years. In that time, she had changed from an adolescent girl of thirteen to a young woman of nearly seventeen of age. On August 17, the Gazette de France reported that Marie Thérèse still did not know of the fate of her mother, brother and aunt. In the later part of August, Madame de Chanterenne broke the news to Marie Thérèse. One by one, as she told the girl that each member of her family was dead, Marie Thérèse emitted sobs of anguish and pain.

In early September, the Committee at last allowed Madame de Tourzel, Pauline and Madame Mackau to visit the Princess in prison. […] She showed them the room in which her brother had died. Pauline was impressed by how strong Marie Thérèse remained throughout and thought the girl resembled all three her parents - the King, the Queen, and her ‘second mother’, Madame Elisabeth. Marie Thérèse revealed to her old friends that she had scribbled on her cell wall:

“I am the unhappiest of creatures. She can obtain no news of her Mother, nor be reunited to her, thought she has asked it a thousand times. Live, my good mother! Whom I love well, but whom I can hear no tidings. O, my Father, watch over me from Heaven above. O, my God! Forgive those who have made my family die.”

On the wall of her late brother’s empty room, the women saw that he had written in charcoal an unfinished message to his mother which read, ‘Maman, je vous pr…’ “Mommy, I beg you? I promise you?”. On another wall, he had drawn a flower.

- Marie Thérèse, the fate of Marie Antoinette’s daughter, Susan Nagel

Clips: Child Marie Thérèse from Marie Antoinette (2006), Teen Marie Thérèse from l’Evasion de Louis XVI (2009), and Fancast for adult Marie Thérèse: Dakota Fanning in Effie Gray.

friendly-neighborhood-hufflepuff  asked:

Hi! I'm very curious as to what Hunger Pains actually is. I know it's a book but as far as I know it's Hunky Dory here's some very nice plot, let's get down to business TO DEFEAT.. THE HU- I mean- ANYWAYS I know next to nothing about your book and I have a Need To Know Things.

Hunger Pangs (don’t worry, my husband calls it Pains all the time and I have the draft manuscript On. My. Wall.) was a shit post written just over a year ago after @jeneelestrange goaded me into it.

(source)

If you go through my tags #Hunger Pangs and #the vampire werewolf thing, you will finds lots and lots of meta and the occasional snippet of fiction. Some of it is very NSFW, and has been marked as such. I hope to get most of that archived on Ao3 at some point for easier perusal, I just haven’t had the time yet.

I will request that you be careful when typing #Hunger Pangs into the tumblr search function, as the tag is unfortunately used predominantly by eating disorder blogs, often ones not aimed towards recovery. This is something I was not aware of at the time when I started tagging the book and I’ve since started using HPangs (also Phangs) more often and am working my way back through the tags to fix this. If you wish to look at things pertaining only to my work through that tag, the url link is here: https://thebibliosphere.tumblr.com/tagged/hunger%20pangs

By request there is going to be two versions of the book, one with kink, and one without for those who prefer more fluff than smut in their reading repertoire. This is something I plan to do for all my future novels as well for those who are interested in my work, but don’t necessarily want to read about kink. 

The whole thing was supposed to be me just flipping tropes on their head for funsies, with the original draft intended to be a short 10k satire of the paranormal romance trope where Totally-Average-Girl gets sucked into a magical world and becomes the heated love interest of two usually “dominant” supernatural males and a toxic love triangle ensues (among other things). It was a trope I had to work with a lot in the industry as an editor, and became somewhat of a pet peeve of mine. So much so that somewhere along the line this fun little satire turned into a full 60k+ manuscript with happy, healthy polyamory instead, where nobody dies. Because that is also a trope in bi poly romance novels that can fuck right the fuck off as well. I mean, one of them’s already kinda technically dead?? But he’s fine with it.

The focus is on three main characters, a vampire called Vlad, a werewolf Nathan, and a being of as of yet undisclosed species who goes by the name of Ursula, and how they are brought together in a fantasy AU regency styled world torn apart by war and prejudice. If Game of Thrones ascribes to the idea that the world is dark and full of terrors, Hunger Pangs is the weird cryptid fancier asking where you can find them and are they looking to date anyone right now.

It’s ultimately a story of struggle, betrayal and power. But above all else Hunger Pangs is about love, romantic or otherwise, and the lengths people will go to in order to protect what is good and right in the world. It’s love as an act of bravery and defiance. And also punching fascists with your werewolf boyfriend, but that was honestly just a happy narrative coincidence that happened to coincide with the absolute shit show 2017 has turned out to be. 

It’s heavy on puns, satirical commentary and at times, moments of outright defiance.

Author friends who have read the raw manuscript have described it as being, “like reading the queer-goth-punk love child of Terry Pratchett and the Addams Family filled with hope and rage” and honestly I’ve never been more proud or terrified of anything I’ve ever done in my entire life.

I’m hoping to have the pre-order on Amazon up by the end of October, with full release planned for sometime around Christmas, provided my health holds out and I don’t end up needing more emergency surgery. So far the odds are looking good :)

The artwork for the covers has been designed by our very own @whales-and-witchcraft/ @umicorms and is just, I have no words for how much I love it. I can’t wait to share it with all of you. I’m so excited.

Terrified. 

But excited.

“Benjamin felt a nose nuzzling at his shoulder. He looked round. It was Clover. Her old eyes looked dimmer than ever. Without saying anything she tugged gently at his mane and led him round to the end of the big barn, where the Seven Commandments were written. For a minute or two they stood gazing at the tarred wall with its white lettering.

‘My sight is failing,’ she said finally. 'Even when I was young I could not have read what was written there. But it appears to me that that wall looks different. Are the Seven Commandments the same as they used to be, Benjamin?’

For once Benjamin consented to break his rule, and he read out to her what was written on the wall. There was nothing there now except a single Commandment. It ran: ALL ANIMALS ARE EQUAL BUT SOME ANIMALS ARE MORE EQUAL THAN OTHERS.”

-George Orwell, Animal Farm

“So what are you?”

The question which plagued my childhood in suburban Kansas; the ponderance of which led me towards years of agonizing identity searching; the answer to which I still hesitate to deliver.

“So what are you?”

It is an innocent question; one I know I am not alone in hearing the echoes of. But what do I say? “I’m mixed” is the short answer, but it always leads to the question of “With what” so do I say “My mom is white and my dad is brown” but brown isn’t usually specific enough so do I say “my mom is white and my dad’s Pakistani” but that doesn’t flow right because white is a race and Pakistani is a nationality so do I say “my mom’s American and my dad’s Pakistani” but that isn’t true because my dad was born in Canada and he’s lived here his whole life and American sure as hell doesn’t mean white I mean my dad IS American so do I say “My mom’s a white American and my Dad’s Pakistani American” but that just sounds like I’m trying too hard so that’s out of the question and so do I just drop it and leave it at “none of your business” but that’s rude and it’s really such a simple question so what in the hell do I freaking say?

“So what are you?”

It’s a good question, really… why don’t you tell me? I am the alienation that I feel when my mom’s family talks about how dangerous those Muslim immigrants are over dinner and I am the strange sinking feeling in my stomach which occurs when my cousins tell me that whatever I’ve just done is haraam. I am the frustration which clouds me when people around me doubt that I am what the hell I say I am. I am the product of the millisecond long stares of confusion people give me when I tell them the pale as china blonde lady I’m with is my mother and the looks of disgust I get when I, the young, doll eyed light skinned girl, go out to dinner late at night with a big burly middle aged brown man, aka my father. I am the three and a half years it took me to decide what to call the pigmentation of my skin.

I am the sadness which clouds me when one of my Aunties asserts how lucky I am to be so fair skinned. I am the anger I feel each and every time I think about the people who called my full and plump Desi lips fat as a kid and now use copious amounts of lip liner to accentuate their tiny mouths on Snapchat. I am the hours of hoping and praying during and after shootings that it wasn’t a Muslim. I am the incredible lengths I go to, the precise and complex knowledge I feel I must have of my roots in order to truly claim my heritage. I am neither and I am both and I hate it.

“So what are you?”

I can’t stand here and tell you that it is all bad. That would be I lie, for I am also the cool, smooth feeling of the bronze crucifix which sits on one side of my bedroom wall and the sentiment of the words “Allah most merciful” written in beautiful Arabic script on the other. I am my large French hazel eyes and my thick and wavy South Asian hair, my favorite of my features.

I am the pride I feel as I trace my thumb over the intricate embroidery on one of my anarkalis and the anticipation I feel for Christmas as I help line my grandmother’s fireplace with garland. I am the rhythmic clanking of my bangles as I dance to bhangra music at a cousin’s wedding and the clicking of tongues by a sizzling grill as my grandpa flips our burgers during a Sunday night barbeque. I am the flavorful and savory taste of pulao my father makes and the creamy texture of mashed potatoes on Thanksgiving. I am the Maybelline mascara I coat my eyelashes with and the kajal I used to line the edges of my eyes. I am the flavorant meeting of two cultures melting in an incredible country in which such a thing is even possible.

“So what are you?”

God, but what am I thinking? I’m Jackie. I am the impending messiness that is my bedroom. I am my inability to fall the hell asleep before eleven o’clock at night. I am my love for all things fashion and glamour. I am my obnoxiously large collection of makeup. I am my hideous shedding of tears each and every time Spock dies in the Wrath of Khan.

I am my intense love for horror movies and my struggle to move in the dark for two days after watching them. I am my passion for music and Michael J. Fox and Kanye West and my unrequited love for Zayn Malik. I am my collection of records and of 32 scarves which I never wear, my brown riding boots, my belting of Christmas carols in the middle of July, my irrational hatred of algebra, my inability to sleep without my phone being on its charger, the Toll House cookie dough I eat straight from the bag and the four Beatles posters I have hanging in my room.

I am the scent of Aussie conditioner and my clumsy, spacy nature; my obsession with the Kennedys, my adamant love for Diet Dr Pepper, losing myself in my daydreams, my extreme extroversion and procrastination of literally everything, my weakness for Reese’s peanut butter cups, my A to Z knowledge about Mick Jagger, my ever changing mind. I am my dreams and I am my fears and and I am my tenacity and I am my mistakes and my courage and my insecurities and my abilities and my hope … I am so much and yet I am so little. I am me. I am unapologetically and beautifully me.

“So what are you?”

I am Jacqueline Renee and I am what I am and no answer that I give you to this question will make what I am any different.

Secret

A Bucky Barnes One-Shot

Character Pairing: Bucky x Female Reader

Word Count: 2426

Warnings: NSFW 18+. Smut, swearing, fingering, unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap the willy!) chocolate pie porn.

Request: Hello! I have a request, could you do one where the reader starts working for Tony and soon after the reader and Bucky start a secret affair? Thanks love! - Anon

A/N: Here you go my dear! Sorry that it took me so long!



‘You can do this.’

‘You have worked hard for this.’

‘You deserve this.’

The pep talk you were giving yourself as you drove up to the gate surrounding the Avengers compound wasn’t helping your nerves at all. You leaned forward to look up through your windshield at the concrete walls. This place was a fortress.

You rolled your window down when you approached a booth. You hit the green call button and jumped at the electronic voice that spoke.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

heyy tell me the name of the songs in your playlist? 🤗🤗

  1. Blackbear - Do Re mi
  2. Stargate - Waterfall ft. P!nk, Sia
  3. Clean Bandit - Symphony feat. Zara Larsson
  4. Cashmere Cat - Quit ft. Ariana Grande
  5. Already Gone - Sleeping At Last
  6. Kygo - It Ain’t Me (with Selena Gomez)
  7. EXO - Hurt
  8. Supergrass - Alright
  9. London Grammar - Nightcall
  10. KREAM - Taped Up Heart ft. Clara Mae
  11. Cloves - Don’t Forget About Me
  12. BANKS - Fuck With Myself
  13. Gabrielle Shonk - Habit
  14. Charlie Puth - Attention
  15. Kehlani - Distraction
  16. EXO - Call Me Baby
  17. Paramore - Hard Times
  18. Lana Del Rey - Lust For Life ft. The Weeknd
  19. Neiked - Sexual
  20. Sleeping At Last - As Long as You Love Me
  21. Linn Brikell - Get Lucky
  22. The Weeknd - D.D
  23. Little Mix  -  Word Up!
  24. The Weeknd - Reminder
  25. Jacquees - B.E.D
  26. Zella Day - 1965
  27. Ta-ku ft. Wafia - American Girl
  28. Ta-ku & Wafia - Love Somebody
  29. Clean Bandit - Tears ft. Louisa Johnson
  30. Little Mix - No More Sad Songs
  31. 6LACK - Ex Calling
  32. Marc E. Bassy - You & Me ft. G-Eazy
  33. The 1975 - The Sound
  34. Dillon - Thirteen Thirtyfive
  35. Troye Sivan - TOO GOOD
  36. Wafia - Heartburn
  37. Mothica - No One (Kayge Calypso & DUNN Remix)
  38. Xavier Omär fka SPZRKT - Blind Man
  39. Hayden James - Just A Lover
  40. Margaret - Cool Me Down
  41. Medasin - Daydream (feat. Joba)
  42. BANKS - And I Drove You Crazy
  43. Sabrina Carpenter - Thumbs
  44. Years & Years - Ready For You
  45. Zayn - Wrong (feat. Kehlani)
  46. Niykee Heaton - NBK
  47. Full Crate x Mar - Nobody Else
  48. Stanaj- Goddess
  49. Young The Giant - Silvertongue
  50. Aminé - Caroline
  51. Imagine Dragons - Thunder
  52. Tove Styrke - Say My Name
  53. Skizzy Mars - I’m Ready ft. Olivver the Kid
  54. Kings Of Leon - Crawl
  55. Flume - What You Need
  56. Bea Miller - Burning Bridges
  57. The 7th Sense - NCT U
  58. Elle King - Where The Devil Don’t Go
  59. Vampire Weekend - M79
  60. The Strumbellas - Spirits
  61. Roy Woods - Dangerous
  62. Snakehips - All My Friends ft. Tinashe, Chance The Rapper
  63. Gin Wigmore – Written In The Water
  64. ZAYN - Still Got Time ft. PARTYNEXTDOOR
  65. Lorde -  Liability
  66. Lana Del Rey - God knows I tried
  67. Sam Smith - Leave Your Lover
  68. Russ - Look
  69. The Neighbourhood - #icanteven ft. French Montana
  70. Childish Gambino - Sober
  71. Charlotte Cardin - Like It Doesn’t Hurt (Feat. Husser)
  72. Trevor Moran - Let’s Roll
  73. 6LACK - Worst Luck
  74. Blackpink - Boombayah
  75. Blackpink - whistle
  76. Nct Dream  My First and Last
  77. Halsey - Alone
  78. Halsey - Strangers ft. Lauren Jauregui
  79. Halsey - Don’t Play
  80. Halsey - Walls Could Talk
  81. Halsey - Bad At Love
  82. Camel Power Club - Altaïr
  83. Katy Perry - Power
  84. Bea Miller - like that
  85. Rita Ora - Your Song
  86. Camila Cabello - I Have Questions
  87. Andrew Belle - Black Bear
  88. The Black Keys - Tighten Up
  89. Thomston - To and Fro
  90. VÉRITÉ - Rest
  91. angus maude - i’m happy you exist
  92. Clinton Washington - Black & Blue
  93. Sophia Black - k i s s i n g
  94. Sody - Sorry
  95. Eyes for You - EZA
  96. Charlotte Cardin - Dirty Dirty
  97. SYML - hurt for me
  98. EZA - Shape of You
  99. Hamilton + Rostam - A 1000 Times
  100. Ruel - Don’t Tell Me
  101. Charlotte Cardin - Big Boy
  102. IZA - I Put a Spell On You
  103. Arcade Fire - Chemistry
  104. MØ - XXX 88 ft. Diplo
  105. VÉRITÉ - Somebody Else
  106. Andy Kong - City Lights
  107. Andy Kong - All We Are
  108. SYML - Where’s My Love
  109. Cage The Elephant - Trouble
  110. Cage The Elephant - Cold Cold Cold
  111. Cage The Elephant - Too Late To Say Goodbye
  112. Jasmine Thompson - I Will Follow You Into The Dark
  113. The Weeknd - Twenty Eight

{spotify}

Have You Seen This Painting of A Hallway?

I got this package in the mail from my dad: brown paper wrapping, large but flat, with the word “FRAGILE” written on it in black ink. When I unwrapped it, it was this big, acrylic painting, framed in some sort of bronze-gilded plaster.

The painting itself was of this long hallway full of doors, kind of like you’d see in a fancy hotel. The walls had edging about halfway up, the upper part was painted sort of an off white while the lower half was a crimson red that blended into the carpeting. Between each door was an up-turned light, as well as on the far wall at the end, where the corridor seemed to connect to another hallway running perpendicular to it, disappearing around a corner.

It was really amazing detail, though I wouldn’t call it life-like by any means. Just the sheer amount of intricate pieces to each aspect of the scene showed that the artist really paid attention to every little thing, like somewhere in the world was this hallway, and you could stand in it and hold the painting up in front of you and if it weren’t for the border and the clearly stylized art, you wouldn’t be able to tell where the canvas ended and the real world began.

I called him up and thanked him immediately.

“But where’d you find this?”

“I got it at an auction.”

I kinda figured as much.

So I hung up the painting in my office, just behind my desk, which I realized later wasn’t the best place for it because in order to actually look at it, I had to swivel completely around, but there wasn’t anywhere better really, and once I’d gotten it hung up, I felt less willing to take it back down, so I just left it there. It kind of hung out over my shoulder and watched me work, and every now and then I’d turn around and stare at it and get entranced by it, feeling like I could get up and put my hands in the frame and climb into the painting as if the frame were a window.

Of course, I wouldn’t be writing this if something weird didn’t happen as a result of the painting.

We had a couple friends over, Marc and Sabina, and Marc and I went into my office when the women-folk started talking about knitting, which has become my wife’s new favorite hobby. I went and sat down at my laptop to find a video I had been telling Marc about, and Marc wandered over and started admiring the painting.

“Where’d you get that?”

“My dad bought it at an auction and gave it to me.”

“It’s creepy.”

“It’s not that creepy. It’s kind of… I don’t know.”

“Hypnotic?”

“Yeah.”

I turned around to look at it with him while the video loaded. He got up close and was running his finger over the canvas, feeling the raised acrylic, and I just let my gaze wander over all the details again.

“Huh, I didn’t notice that before.”

“What?”

“At the end of the hall, there’s some sort of light coming from around the corner, and it’s casting a shadow on the floor.”

I got up and looked closer, because I really hadn’t spent a lot of time studying the far end of the hallway. There was definitely some yellow and some darker colors making what looked like the shadow of a person coming from around the corner. I even reached out and touched it to make sure it wasn’t some trick of the light in the study making it just look like there was this shadow in the painting, but I felt the paint and sure enough it was actually there in the painting.

“See what I mean?” Marc said, “Creepy.”

I genuinely felt weirded out by it. It was one of those moments where you start thinking, Why didn’t I notice this earlier? Was it there to notice?

A couple days later, I was working on a project in my study, and it was like 9:30 at night, and I just couldn’t focus, so I spun around in my chair to look at the painting and I felt this sudden vertigo effect, like the ground wasn’t there and I had to grab my chair to keep from tumbling into emptiness.

You wouldn’t have noticed it if you hadn’t looked at the painting a hundred times like I had. The hallway was long, with exactly six doors. I remember, because I counted them the first day. three on the left, three on the right, each with a little shiny, metal doorknob.

Only now there were seven doors. Three on the left, four on the right. It didn’t make sense. Everything looked proportionally exactly the same, and the far end of the corridor was just as far away, and yet there was a fourth door in the right side of the hallway, with its little metal doorknob. I don’t even know which door was the fourth door, that’s how well it blended in, I just know that there were four doors where once there were three.

“What the hell is going on?”

I turned away in my chair and back to check several times and make sure my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me, but the number of doors remained constant.

I called my dad again and I asked him, “Is this a trick painting you sent me?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean it keeps changing. I can see it changing.”

“Not as far I know. It was just one in a bunch I picked up all at the same auction.”

After I got off the phone I took the painting down and checked the back for some some of mechanical or digital hocus pocus, but it was all soft canvas so I left it on the floor behind my office chair with the painting facing the wall because the thought of it was freaking me out.

The next day I pulled my wife into my office and held the painting up so she could see it because she hadn’t had a chance to before.

“How many doors are there?” I asked.

She looked it over for a moment. “Seven.”

“When I first got this, there were six.”

She just looked at me like I was being a goofball. “Okay, so which one wasn’t there before?”

“I have no idea.”

“You don’t know which door magically appeared?” and she laughed and gave me a kiss and went back into the other room.

It gets worse.

The next time I chatted with Marc, I told him about the extra door in the painting.

“Are you sure there weren’t seven doors to begin with?”

“Well, I would swear I counted six.”

“Well, if another one shows up, at least Melissa counted seven, and can confirm it then. You know what you should do? You should take a photo of the painting so you can prove it if anything else changes.”

What a great idea, so I got my phone and took a photo of the painting.

Two days went by. Nothing.

On the third day, I walked into my office and there was a man staring at me. Well, I mean… it wasn’t… I can’t say that it was a man or a woman. Hell, I can’t say that it was human. There was a shape at the end of the hallway in my painting. It was oddly lacking in the detail that the rest of the painting had, like someone had hurriedly painted it on. I even ran my hand over it to make sure it wasn’t fresh, that someone hadn’t actually come in and painted over my painting to drive me crazy.

It was really there.

And the look of it scared me more than anything else, changing painting included. I wish I could do it justice with words, but the best I can describe it is that it was human-ish, with legs and arms, but it seemed squat, or hunched, and lopsided, like someone had slapped a blurry Quasimodo onto an otherwise beautiful painting. You couldn’t see the details of its face, but you could see shading on it, defining really warped features. I was almost glad that there wasn’t more detail to it, except that it left just enough to the imagination to give one nightmares.

But I had proof! Here was proof that the painting was changing. So I brought up the file on my laptop to show my wife for comparison, only when I did, the figure was in the photo I took too!

At no point did I start questioning my sanity about all this. Something unnatural and terrifying was going on, so I took the painting out of the house and set it on the curb where we put our trash for pickup. I was so done with that painting.

Or so I thought.

The next evening, when I got home from work, it was gone from the curb. I figured someone had seen it and taken it home, and I waved my hands and said, “Good, now it’s someone else’s problem.” I went in, played with daughter, had dinner, put them to bed, and after watching a show with my wife, went into my office to check my email.

No, the painting wasn’t back on the wall. I made sure of that the moment I walked in the door.

But I got a message from Marc, asking if the painting had changed anymore, and I told him about the creepy new addition and also how I had gotten rid of the painting.

“Oh man, that sounds cool. I wish I’d gotten a chance to see it.”

“Well, I can send you the photo I took of it.”

“Cool.”

So I opened the image file.

The thing in the painting had raised its arms.

Before, you could only barely make out the arms hanging at its sides, but now both arms were raised up over its head, and its fingers were spread apart like it was waving hello at me. I think it was waving hello at me.

I zoomed in, as best as I could without pixelating the image, and the shaded contours of the face seemed stretched into a grin.

Oh Jesus, Mary and Joseph.

I sent Marc the file, but the connection kept fucking up, so I put it in a folder on my dropbox account and gave him access to it.

“The file’s corrupted.” He texted me.

I tried to open it as well, but he was right. Every time I copied the image file, somehow it got corrupted.

“It must be the spooky magic.” Marc joked.

“This is no joke. I’m freaking out here.”

“Delete the file if it’s scaring you so bad.”

So I deleted the file.

But it gnawed at me, you know? The painting was still changing, in horrible, terrifying ways, seemingly acknowledging my observation of it, and now it was gone. But if it was gone, why should it matter? If something unholy happens, it’s the problem of whoever has the painting now, right? And they’ll see it changing too, won’t they?

“Oh shit.”

It was two days later, and I was organizing a folder of documents and had accidentally deleted a couple I hadn’t meant to. I went into the Windows recycling bin and –you guessed it– there was the image file along with the documents.

I had to look. I was trembling with dread at the thought of it, but when something so surreal happens to you, you have to witness it and see it through to the end.

I recovered the file and opened it.

The walls of the hallway seemed to be melting. The partition separating the red from the off-white was lower than it had been before, and drooped in places. The ridge on the lights looked like they were peeling off. The carpet seemed less crimson and more reddish brown.

And the figure had taken several steps down the corridor toward the viewer’s perspective. More details had become defined: hair hanging off its head, long and black like it had been painted with a fine-tipped brush, the eyes were little more than dull black points under the shading of the brow. The grin came with teeth, uneven and fat, like those of a child more than an adult. Its arms were extended out on either side of it, touching both walls. One foot was ahead of the other, as if I had caught it mid-step in a game of red light/green light.

I realized I was panting and shaking as I looked at it. It was really hard to breathe, an anxiety attack. The painting was going to make me pass out, just from looking at a digital photo of it.

Quickly, I closed the image to calm myself down, but that suddenly brought forth the thought, What if it progresses every time I look away? The only way to stop it is to keep looking! and I opened the file again.

No change. Oh– no, wait, that wasn’t a new change, I had noticed it before, but it hadn’t dawned on me. One of the doors was open. There was a dim blue light coming from the room inside, moonlight I thought. And just outside the threshold of the door, there was an object lying on the floor.

I zoomed in for better detail.

It was a little, yellow, stuffed lion with a scraggly, orange mane. A child’s toy. Of all the details, the melting hallway, the grinning fiend with arms wide open, the blue light from the open doorway, it was the innocent nature of that little toy lion that filled me with the most dread.

My wife came into the office.

“Come kiss Gabby goodnight.”

I went into her darkened room, where she was wrapped up in blankets in her bed, hugging a half dozen stuffed animals and looking cute as could be. My little darling. I love her so much.

I kissed my daughter goodnight. She kissed me back and hugged her little pillowpet with the built in night light. It glowed through a variety of colors.

“I love you, baby.” I told her.

“Can you get my Simba?”

I looked around. “Where’d you leave it?”

“Over there.” She pointed to the closet. The door was open, and her toy lay on the floor just inside.

Simba, her little, yellow, stuffed lion with the scraggly, orange mane.

Seeing it lying there, just past the threshold of the closet door, while the dim glow of my daughter’s night light faded from red to purple to blue, I felt my heart rise up in my chest. The closet was just a closet. I could see it was just a closet. There were clothes on hangers and bags with toys and blocks in them. They were right there. And yet, as I looked at the stuffed lion lying on the floor, waiting for me, I felt as if I could see carpeting on the floor inside the closet, even though there was none. Carpeting, not in my vision, but in my imagination. And maybe if I went in and shut the door, I’d find that the walls beyond those clothes had a wooden partition, red below, off-white above.

And maybe there was something hunched and terrible shambling its way toward us even as I stood there staring at that toy.

I walked, briskly, trying not to look half as frightened as I was, snatched up Simba and shut the closet door. My breathing was heavy, like I’d just run a mile, and I struggled to avoid gasping for breath as I tried to calm myself down.

“Hey, did that poster fall down?” I asked nobody in particular, then pretended I was trying to adjust a cat poster that had been on the floor by her dresser for months, and shoved the heavy dresser over so that it partially blocked the closet door.

“Here’s Simba, sweety.” I handed the lion to Gabby, gave her a quick hug and kiss, and wished her goodnight before rushing back to my office.

The painting had changed, as I knew it would. The open door was closed, the toy gone from the floor, the hallway was dimly lit with yellow light from the melting lights again. But the thing, that not-quite-human fiend, was standing right outside the now shut door, its body turned to face it with both hands pressed up against the door itself like it was running its hands down it, caressing it, and its head turned toward me, still grinning that awful, frightening grin full of gnashed, crooked teeth.

Oh God how close had it been? No, it’s just a closet! The hallway is not there. It’s not real. None of this is real.

I’ve put up signs around the neighborhood, knocked on doors, asked everyone I know and many I don’t if they know who took the painting. I need to find it and get it back. I want to tear it, shred it in my hands, throw it in a fire and watch it burn to ashes. Jesus God in Heaven, I hope it didn’t end up in some landfill.

I’ve learned the awful truth… All Doors Lead To The Hallway

cartoonphysics  asked:

in response to the "why you know so much about everything" post, i would like to inquire about the aforementioned banana famine

Ah, yes, the great Banana Famine. Dark, dark days indeed. Gather round my children, I am going to tell you a story of great tragedy.

Eons back, in a strange far away land, in a world now long gone (circa 1950), the Gros Michel reigned supreme. It was the one Banana to rule All bananas. Gros Michel (literally Fat Michael in French, also known as “Big Mike”) was the main banana cultivar grown in Central America and sold around the globe. A noble specimen, it’s thick peel and dense bunches made it resilient, easy to ship, and yes also fat. Look. Look at it. This banana is thiiiiiiiicc

hard to find good photos. it would have also resembled the goldfinger banana. looooook et it, it so thicc

so thicc. 

Ahem.

And all was well and good and peaceful.

Everything changed when the Panama disease attacked.

Ah, the Panama disease. The great banana plague. The Banana Blight, if you will. Songs were written in elegy to the terrible destruction it wrought. Like, actually. Here’s the “Yes we have no bananas” song:

It was Chaos.

Vast tracts of plantation banana trees, noble warriors, slaughtered, cut down in their prime. Ah! the grief. Ah! the loss.

But, amid the havoc of what wikipedia and I refer to as the Gros Michel Devastation Era, an unlikely hero arose. You know it as simply a humble banana. But our hero has a name:

cavendish, it’s named cavendish. 

The Cavendish banana, a cultivar that had been mass produced since the turn of the century, but only just then got it’s Time to Shine. For whatever reason, Cavendish bananas grew just fine in the same Panama disease-ridden soil that destroyed Gros Michel trees. So yeah, we planted them, fought the blight, won the war, got bananas back. 

But every war has casualties. 

Never again were bananas so tasty. Never again, were bananas so thicc.

I warned you this was the story of a tragedy. A moment of silence for our fallen comrade, please. Raise your wands to our late, great hero, Gros Michel.

(You can still get em in some places tho. Or like hybrids? idk. ) 

And kiddies, that’s the story of the banana famine as i know it.


Other deets:

BANANAS HAD SEEDS HOLY SHIT LOOK AT THIS

LOOK AT IT

bananas were cultivated over time to be seedless. 

Bananas were deboned. dwell on that.

unnfff yeah

feels so wrong but so good

unnnfff

misc stuff 

  • cavendish bananas may or may not be dying. We may or may not see the dark days of plague descend again. idk, look it up.
  • There’s a story (not proven) that the reason artificial banana flavor tastes weird is b/c it was based on the flavor of the Gros Michel. If so, it might be cause Fat Mike had a stronger taste (due to higher levels of isoamyl acetate). idk.
  • the “Yes we have no bananas” song was written in 1922 during an earlier outbreak. src.  like any good plague, panama disease has a history of hovering over it’s fearful victims, sometimes for years, before striking the final blow.
  • sources are in the links above, also see the links on these wiki pages
  • i swear if i get hate mail on a banana post i don’t even know what i’ll do, probably stab a wall with a fork and eat it.


I want to share one more thing with you.


I saw this with my own two eyeballs. now you have too. we never speak of this again. we take this to our graves


shhit I’m tired. 

you guys owe me a reblog on this one. Honor system, don’t mooch.

-BGP signing off

anonymous asked:

Top 5/10 jonaerys fics?

Oh, great question!

I’m not good at reading other people’s work and supporting them the way I like to be supported as a writer and I want to change that. I just don’t have a lot of time for leisure reading AND writing but I will recommend some of my favorites that I have read :) Basically I’m just sorry if anyone gets left off here. I am not current on good new fics. 

1. On The Knees of My Heart by @thefairfleming [What can I say? I don’t know how many times I’ve read this. I love it. As far as I’m concerned it’s perfect. A fic that is fluffy enough to make me tear up and hot enough to hide from my fiance’ lmao.]

2. The White Wolf and the Dragon Queen by Archer94 on AO3. [A classic in our fandom. Super long, super good.]

3. Kisses to Last a Lifetime by @myrish-lace-love [Sweet and sad one-shot. Good stuff.]

4. Roles and Raptures by Gohans_Onna2 on AO3. [Another long one. Still WIP but cool so far!]

5. Breaker of Chains by @danykinkfic [I’m ashamed to admit this because danykinkfic is a friend of mine on here … but I haven’t read the WHOLE thing. I’m a boring, vanilla chick and I like a traditional fluffy romance so at times this fic is a little different than what I am looking for in terms of my own fantasy wish-fulfillment fanfiction haha. BUT if you are into kink and especially femdom, then check it out! Very talented writer.]

6. A Song for Dragons by @doublehex [Another long, saga of a fic. Cool AU concept that is still set in the ASOIAF universe. I like AU’s but not modern ones, so this concept was cool to me.]

7. Girls Just Want to Have Fun by @ellimomo [Like I said above modern AU’s aren’t usually my thing, but elli is great! If you like modern AU’s, check her out for sure.]

8. Eight Times by @blue-roses-in-a-wall-of-ice [Really great one-shot! She writes a lot of Jonerys :)]

9. Waiting for Dawn by jaztice on AO3. [Cute drabbles.]

10. This might be in bad form but I’m going to recommend my own work here haha. My most popular story is What Are You Waiting For? but I’ve written several Jonerys one-shots and have a multi-chapter in the works that I’ll start sharing in the next couple weeks. 

Thanks so much for the ask and I hope you enjoy these!

P.S. This probably won’t show in the tags because of external links so if anyone wants to signal boost this to give our Jonerys fic writers some exposure, that’d be great :)

I kept wondering why I immensely dislike the ‘how dare Padme be written as losing the will to live!!!’ posts that unfortunately swarm this place, for reasons other than the fact that I adore tragedies and Tumblr seems to have an allergy toward them. 

And then it clicked, when I saw post #5491 along the lines of ‘she had two beautiful babies.’ That’s what drives me up the wall – the idea that women and female characters by extension must have some sort of overriding moral imperative to live for the sake of their children, otherwise they’re not worthwhile as characters or ‘written well.’ I grew up in a conservative Christian society and people’s idea of helping me get through suicidal ideation was ‘think of the babies you’ll have and how happy they’ll make you when you learn to live for them!’ No wonder Tumblr and its screechy hatred for Padme’s death makes my hair stand on end, when it’s turned into ‘but what about the baybeeeez!’ nonsense

Unpopular opinion: I think that, to Padme, her husband and the Republic carried more value. I’m not saying that she didn’t love her children – no, she loved them fiercely, enough to fight the odds, cling to life a little bit more and name them. But this love was likely not enough to offset the blows and the grievous harm caused by the loss of both Anakin and the Republic. Add in the very real possibility of Sidious meddling and you end up with a foregone conclusion. But that would entail her being a complex, flawed and perhaps somewhat selfish person (gasp!), when it came to the things close to her heart, instead of a wholly pure, angelic figure who was supposed to live for the sake of her children, like every Virtuous Mother should. Supposedly progressive people coming at something from the same angle as religious conservatives is the thing guaranteed to always make me angry. 

There’s also this obsession on here to claim that Padme was supposed to be some sort of Leia 2.0 were it not for ‘that dastardly Lucas.’ And my God, does that shit ever irk me – it reduces the category ‘female heroines’, which is supposed to be incredibly broad and diverse, to a narrow archetype: they’re supposed to be fiery, snappy, with a spine made of titanium and they’re not supposed to ever fall apart or give up, ever, otherwise they’re badly-written characters. 

CaptainAmerica!jungkook (m)

A/n: sorry…I….have no words for myself.

Warning: rough sex, cunnulingus, dirty talk(?), humiliation, cumplay, sin.

Written on my phone and tumblr is such a lil binch idk how it’s gonna look. Sorry again for the sin. ;)

Originally posted by jimiyoong


You groan as he pushes you against the wall and hikes your thigh immediately up over the curve of his hip, fingers digging into the flesh.

His shield clatters to the floor as he rips off his mask and presses desperate, hard kisses to your lips, sucking the breath out of you and swallowing your mewls.

“Fuck,” he mutters, “I need you.” He rips open your blouse and kisses down impatiently your revealed chest, not even bothering to undo your bra and instead just yanking it down so he can latch onto your swollen nipples.

You groan as he tongues messily at the flesh and continues to trail down towards where he yanks down your underwear and skirt at the same time and yanks your thighs apart, hiking one over his shoulders.

How scandalous would it be? The leader of the avengers, the representative of the country, and the face that graced all the informative physical education and detention videos in every single high school, was currently buried between your legs, tonguing at your soaking slit as if his life depended on it, sleeping with his secretary while he put on a fake smile for the world to see? The calm and assuring face of dedication, to his country and his people and especially the “love of his life” that he dedicated himself to that passed away decades ago, was currently groaning into your core.

“Ohhhhhh captain,” you whisper, keeping yourself standing and groaning at the sensation. “Please don’t stop.”

He moans into your vagina, the vibrations rumbling through your lower half as you tremble to stay up against the wall. You grip his hair, mussed from being pressed within his mask all day, holding the strands right between your fingers as you yank him closer to your core. As if it would do anything. You were currently standing above the strongest man in the world probably.

He deems you ready enough and stands, roughly pulling off his suit so he stands in front of you in a white shirt and boxers, too rushed to even pull them down past his hips as he slides into You in one fluid motion.

The both of you moan at the sensation, his throbbing cock pressed past the flesh that you could ever dream of reaching with your pathetic little fingers and your core clenching down on his dick like a thousand hot, wet fists. He buries his head into your neck as he hikes your legs around his hips and shoves You higher up the wall so he can get some leverage to move inside you.

Your hands scrabble in his neck, hair, and shoulders, desperately reaching for something to anchor yourself against as he begins his mission of practically carving his name into your pussy with the tip of his dick.

It’s messy and desperate and so dangerous. His reputation on the line and your security and job in danger if anyone knew of your escapades. But you realize, the thrill is the essence, the epitome of why you are always soaking wet for this gorgeous man who’s got you pinned to the wall of his expensive estate. The risk of getting caught and being aired out for the entire country to know what a slut you are for this mAn is one of the many reasons that you open your legs for Jungkook whenever he comes knocking, no barging, into your apartment at the late hours of the night.

“Ugh,” he grits, teeth clenched as he strains to keep himself from cumming too quickly. You drove him fucking crazy. “I fucking hate this, hate you, hate how you drive me fucking nuts.”

Maybe also, you enjoy the hatred behind the sex. Jungkook never forgets to remind you how much he hates it, hates the fact that you’re the only one who satisfies his actual human needs. He can smile and parade around all he wants, claiming to still be in love and dedicated to the one woman he always loved, but essentially behind the walls he was just a man.

A man helplessly addicted to you.

“Fuck,” you whine, your breath cutting off as he pounds into you harder at his words, his body mirroring the same hatred and anger as his low voice ground into your collarbones. “Please, sir.”

His fingers are practically embedded into the skin of your hips and waist, and your neck already throbs at the hickies he sucks into it. It’s funny, really. He’s the one person who hates and loves and fears the fact that he uses you as his own personal fuck buddy toy, but he is also the only one who’s had such a marking fixation than anyone you’d ever slept with before. Every time he leaves your apartment you take a day off to recover from the bruises and marks he leaves on your body.

You feel your orgasm approaching and you dig your fingernails into his skin as he lowers a hand and begins to run expertly at your clit, thumbing the bundle of nerves roughly and slightly to the side, because you’re too sensitive and it hurts when he does it directly on top.

He knows your body.

And you know his.

You clench around him, drawing out a deep groan around gritted teeth, and latch your lips on his ear, tonguing the skin behind it and whispering dirty encouragements into his ear. What he likes to hear.

“Fuck, fuck fuck fuck please don’t stop, please—I swear, god,” you ramble, helplessly sobbing into his shoulder as he draws you closer to the high.

The both of you cum within seconds of eachother, and you’re not sure who does first because Jungkook slants his mouth across yours and begins hungrily swallowing your moans and mewls with his tongue, hips not faltering as he finishes cleanly inside of you. Distracted, you can only cling onto him as he finishes and removes himself, catching your waist as you almost crumple, and cupping your heat.

He fingers at the wetness there and raises his eyebrow at your worn state. “Little slut,” he glares at you, “don’t let it leak.”

You clench your eyes, still shuddering from the orgasm and try not to squeeze your thighs together too hard around his large hand. The pressure of your clenching and his fingers that swipe against your entrance threaten to hurtle you over the edge again, the threat of overstimulation waiting at the edges of your sanity.

“Captain, I-I can’t, it’s t-too much,” and he cuts you off with a hard look.

So you only whimper back at him, trying not to cry too much, because he just towers over you with huge muscles and the hatred looming off of him in waves that are in sync to the aftermath of your powerful orgasm.

Cause you’re so in fucking love with this man, the man who was the leader in every aspect of his life. You let him ravage you day after day, grunting hurtful words of hatred into your ear as long as he’s touching you as if he’s in love with you, as long as he fucks you like you mean something to him. And then you return, to his office, to assist him in anything regarding the avengers and the ugly politics that follow. But you know you’re taking advantage of him, just like he’s taking advantage of you.

You don’t know what it is, but the captain refuses to have sex or intimacy with none other than yourself. He always comes back, and you know this deep down. And you know he is addicted, so helplessly tied to your cunt and your body that the words he rasps into your ear mean nothing. He threatens to never come back, that this is the last time, but they’re never true. He always comes back. Always.

Because he knows that whenever he pounds on your door at 2 am, and slams the door shut behind him as he kisses you senseless is that you’ll always be waiting, always be willing for him. And you never say the words back. No matter how much he drives you up the wall (figuratively and literally), with his harsh words and caustic tone, no matter how hard he fucks you and how many bruises he litters on your skin, and no matter how many times he makes you cry, you always hold him like you mean it, an embrace warmer than he can ever remember having before.

And he absolutely hates it. Seethes at the sight of you smiling and always so willing at his disposal, like a kicked puppy that keeps returning. He absolutely hates how he cannot cum unless he’s inside of you. He absolutely hates how whenever he and Stark get into an argument, his mind and body scream at him to just return to you and hold you and vent all his frustrations into the smooth and soft curves of your tiny body.

But he Tamps down his horrendous thoughts.

“This is the last fucking time.”

You nod. You’re crying again. He absolutely hates it when you fucking cry.

Jungkook rolls his eyes at your shaky legs and leans down to swoop you into his arms and carry you to your bedroom. he doesn’t miss the way your eyes widen. He’d never stayed the night before, always leaving you full of his load and shaking on the floor of your apartment.

Aftercare was definitely below his pay grade.

But He turns into the hallway and drops you into the bed, grabbing a towel from your restroom and gently wiping away the remains of his orgasm from between your thighs. You watch him warily, tear stained cheeks still glistening as you confusedly, scaredly watch him dress himself again, ditching the suit instead for a dress shirt and pants he keeps on your apartment. The shield, with a click, disappears into his pocket. He watches you from the foot of the bed as he fastens his cuffs, dark eyes glistening from behind his fringe.

You don’t say anything, afraid that if you mutter a word, everything will disappear and break And shatter. But he just continues his actions as if he hadn’t just given you a brain wrecking orgasm and driven you up your wall at 1:24am on a weekday.

You slowly kneel up, crawling to the edge of the bed where he stands, and stare up st him through your wet lashes, holding out your hand for him to place his wrist to.

“Let me,” you whisper.

You’re silent as he eyes you and narrows his eyes at your actions, but nonetheless places his thick wrist into your waiting hands. Your nimble fingers graze his skin lightly as you do the buttons one by one on both his hands and move to work on his dress shirt.

He can do it himself. But he watches you with narrowed eyes as you focus on buttoning his shirt slowly from bottom to top, ending up at the base of his neck, and your shaky fingers tie the silk tie expertly around his thick neck. Loop over loop, and threaded through the correct side.

You politely sit back down on your thighs when you’re finished, and he glares down at you as he stuffs his shirt in his pants and does his belt. You fold your hands in your lap and his dick twitches at the sight, the image of a perfect little naked sub kitten, waiting for his command.

But he can’t submit. This was the last fucking time. He wasn’t gonna fall for it again, wasn’t gonna let himself indulge in this addiction again.

His fingers linger around the neck of the tie as he brings it up closer, tighter to the base of his neck and hesitates for a second before deciding otherwise.

“Fuck it,” he mutters.

He crosses your room in two quick strides and presses your waiting figure into the sheets.

You yelp, caught off guard at the sudden movement, hands flying up to steady yourself Against the bedding at the onslaught of his body. But he’s too quick for you, as he kneels up between your legs and hastens to grip your wrists in his large hands and press them high up above your head. He whips off the tie around his neck in a quick motion, the snap of the silk against his neck startling You.

But the man is on a mission. He fixates on your wrists and begins expertly tying them to the bars of your small bed frame, looping the silk thin tie around your wrists and around the bars to securely fasten them away.

“Jungk—I mean, captain, what are you—?”

He cuts you off with a hard kiss to your mouth, using the opportunity of swallowing your words to shove his tongue in your mouth and dominate the kiss. You moan underneath him, soft and pliable as his hard chest comes down securely against your breasts and he kneels sovthat your body is trapped between his knees underneath him.

“You can call me Jungkook.”

“Wha—?”

He’d never allowed you to say his name under any circumstance. If you did, he’d punish you. And you’d never tried to venture that way.

“Only for tonight,” he says, as his long fingers swipe the belt from its loops with a smack. “It’s gonna be the last fucking time.” He says with a glare and a darkening of his eyes before he swoops down again and captures your lips in his.

But the both of you know it’s not true.

anonymous asked:

do you have any jopper fics that you could recommend?

OHHHHHH BOIIIIIIII ANON. Yes, I most certainly do. Granted I haven’t been in the Jopper fandom as long as others - I got here about a month ago after I finally gave in and watched season 1 a year and a half late, because I’m an idiot. But I know @starmaammke and @obeydontstray have written a million amazing things, so check out everything of theirs! 

Now, here are the ones I keep coming back to (note: they’re mostly oneshots, and I provided AO3 links for most though some are on Tumblr, too):

1. A Low and Distant Sound - The first Jopper fic I ever read, and I love it with every bone in my body. Set after S1, Hopper has dinner with the Byers family during a snowstorm and it’s ridiculously perfect and everything you hope it’d be. 

2. You Sweet Talk Like a Cop and You Know It - Hopper helps Joyce fix that hole in her wall after season 1. Straightforward cute fluff with some eventual smut.

3. They Are We - I LOVE THIS ONE SO MUCH. In some ways it’s almost a character study of Joyce first and a Jopper fic second, which I love because I’m utter Joyce trash. It’s so beautifully written and I want to sit down with the author of this fic and ask them to teach me their witchcraft with words, because dear God. Spans pre and post-season 1. 

4. Home Again - Focuses on why Hopper came back to Hawkins, and the differences between what he tells himself is the reason and what the reason really might be. (Hint: the reason really might be Joyce). Pre-season 1.

5. And They Breathe - Similar to the others in that it spans pre-and post-season 1, except this is closer to a mirror of #3 in that it’s a good study of Hopper as a character. It’s beautifully written and ties in events from canon and outside it. I cry. 

6. A Little Night Music - THE CUTEST THING?!?!?!!??!!? THE LITERAL CUTEST THING. I squealed so many times while reading this, and it’s two chapters instead of just one! Hopper finds something of value to Joyce at a police auction and thinks it would make a good birthday present. 

7. The Little Things - Another super adorable fic (that is being continued!), formatted around the “100 ways to say I love you” prompts on Tumblr. 

8. Smoke Break - Flashback fic of young!Joyce and Hopper smoking together between fifth and sixth period. Totally adorable.

Self-promotion: Here’s a link to my one-shot Jopper fic, if you’re at all interested: http://abbykomskaikru.tumblr.com/post/166486305126/time#notes

So, those are my recs! I know new fic is showing up every hour of every day, and I’m so excited about it. I love those, and I love what’s in the tag, and I love what’s on AO3, and really I just love Jopper, in general.

skye07  asked:

Ohhh!!! you wrote the knitting Tony story!!!! I've been hunting that story for a long time!!! (was on a reading spree on your Tony tag, I'm having a swell of a time) So HOW ABOUT!! Someone finding or just ended up in Tony's stash room (it might be a floor if we are being honest, I would with his resources). I am salivating just imaginging the AMOUNT of yarn Tony must have collected, of all colours and types. Just, please. I would love you even more if you decide this prompt worthy~~

You mean that story I sent to bloody-bee-tea about Tony knitting? I’m surprised I haven’t written more Tony knitting, tbh. Hope you like it! Look out for under the cut!

This work can also be found on my Ao3 here.


Natasha had been investigating her new home when she stumbled into it. The room was gigantic, cube shelves covering the walls. Every single shelf had balls of yarn in it, starting with red in one corner and spreading in a circular rainbow of yarns, except for the few columns of shelves that were filled with needles, hooks, counters of some sort?

Natasha felt nervous for a reason she couldn’t explain. Perhaps because this room felt deeply personal? That the person who had set it up had taken time to organize it just right?

She stayed just long enough to tuck a gun under some soft yarn before she left. Each room needed at least one weapon hidden in it.


“Why would you ever need this in my stash?” Tony complained, shoving the gun into her hands. “You can use literally anything in there as a weapon. The straight needles can be used to stab people and the circular needles can be used as garrotes. My double-pointed needles can be used in close combat. And if your attacker is allergic to wool, he’s gonna be in for a bad time.”

Keep reading

Revenge

Since you mention it, I think I will start that race war.

I could’ve swung either way? But now I’m definitely spending
the next 4 years converting your daughters to lesbianism;
I’m gonna eat all your guns. Swallow them lock stock and barrel
and spit bullet casings onto the dinner table;

I’ll give birth to an army of mixed-race babies.
With fathers from every continent and genders to outnumber the stars,
my legion of multiracial babies will be intersectional as fuck
and your swastikas will not be enough to save you,

because real talk, you didn’t stop the future from coming.
You just delayed our coronation.
We have the same deviant haircuts we had yesterday;
we are still getting gay-married like nobody’s business
because it’s still nobody’s business;
there’s a Muslim kid in Kansas who has already written the schematic
for the robot that will steal your job in manufacturing,
and that robot? Will also be gay, so get used to it:

we didn’t manifest the mountain by speaking its name,
the buildings here are not on your side just because
you make them spray-painted accomplices.
These walls do not have genders and they all think you suck.
Even the earth found common cause with us
the way you trample us both,

oh yeah: there will be signs, and rainbow-colored drum circles,
and folks arguing ideology until even I want to punch them
but I won’t, because they’re my family,
in that blood-of-the-covenant sense.
If you’ve never loved someone like that
you cannot outwaltz us, we have all the good dancers anyway.

I’ll confess I don’t know if I’m alive right now;
I haven’t heard my heart beat in days,
I keep holding my breath for the moment the plane goes down
and I have to save enough oxygen to get my friends through.
But I finally found the argument against suicide and it’s us.
We’re the effigies that haunt America’s nights harder
the longer they spend burning us,
we are scaring the shit out of people by spreading,
by refusing to die: what are we but a fire?
We know everything we do is so the kids after us
will be able to follow something towards safety;
what can I call us but lighthouse,

of course I’m terrified. Of course I’m a shroud.
And of course it’s not fair but rest assured,
anxious America, you brought your fists to a glitter fight.
This is a taco truck rally and all you have is cole slaw.
You cannot deport our minds; we won’t
hold funerals for our potential. We have always been
what makes America great.

-e.c.c.