i like how it looks like i've just taken a photograph of her

anonymous asked:

Hi! I've just discoreved this site and I'm so TRILLED! It's AMAZING, I love you! :) But to the question: OK, Sherlock loves John, so.. why was he acting so wierd in SiB, after The Woman left the country (him), he was really sad, looked depressed, wasn't talking for days, was composing sad music, he acted as if she broke his heart.. as if he was indeed IN LOVE WITH HER. Why do you think he behaved like that, he shouldn't have been if he didn't have ANY feelings for her! It's really bothering me..

Hi, and thank you so much!!

That’s a great question, and I get lots of Irene asks, so I’m just going to go for it here…

Irene Adler: The Woman, The Myth, The Meta

Let’s start with A Scandal in Bohemia. Often, when writers set out to create another Sherlock Holmes adaptation, they decide to use Irene Adler as his love interest, despite the fact that she only actually appears in one canonical story. Why? Because she’s beautiful and clever. So naturally canon-Sherlock was in love with her.

Of course, anyone who actually bothered reading the story knows that isn’t the case at all. 

Canon Sherlock Holmes is intrigued by Irene. She’s highly intelligent and she outsmarts him. He keeps a photograph of her as a souvenir once they part ways as a reminder of the woman who beat him. 

If I had to make a list of guesses to Canon Sherlock Holmes’s sexual orientation, “straight” wouldn’t even crack the top five. So it irks me to no end that people assume his interest in Irene must be sexual. God forbid he really is just impressed with her mind. Who cares how powerful her brains are?? Look at her boobs, for chrissake!

There was no romance between them in the canon story. Period. 

I imagine Moffat and Gatiss were beside themselves with glee when they wrote this episode. They made it through the first season loading all three shows with crazy homoerotic subtext, setting up the beginning of their slow build to Johnlock, reading reviews and criticism that pointed out All The Gay while at the same time heralding it a fine bromance, with a minority of fans crying “queerbait.” Queerbaiting? the writers thought. No no no. Quite the opposite, dears. Just you wait.

Enter: The Woman.

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So I wrote a thing.

Untitled ficlet, Harry/Louis, PG, canon.

Harry sends him an issue before the photos even leak, by courier, as if he’s afraid Louis might not see it soon enough. Louis knew he’d been working on something, because Niall told him, but he had no idea the scope was so big. “A special document curated by Harry,” the magazine cover proudly proclaims. On it, Harry stares at Louis through a spiderweb, but it’s hard to pay attention to Harry’s eyes when Louis’s gaze keeps coming back to the collar around Harry’s neck. The bottom of the picture is obscured by text, but Louis’s quite sure there’s a leash dangling from the collar.

It’s admittedly not what Louis had been expecting.

Louis watches the cover for a long while before he flicks the magazine open at random…

… and falls on an ad.

It only takes him two more tries before he methodically rips off every page that isn’t to do with Harry, barely looking at the ones that do feature him, until there’s a pile of paper at his feet high enough for him to throw a good kick into it, scattering them everywhere.

This time when he opens the magazine, it’s to find Harry sitting on a trashcan. He looks so young that for a second Louis assumes they’ve used old pictures for the article, but the shot is quite obviously recent, even if Harry’s hair looks nothing like on those Dunkirk pics (which Louis only saw because Liam sent him some, it’s not like he trolled the #dunkirk tag on twitter or anything).

Louis flips back a few pages, stops on a picture of Harry sitting on a kitchen counter in the most hideous jumper Louis has ever seen; it looks like someone’s killed a muppet and made a sweater out of it. It should look ridiculous, but Harry looks beautiful, with his lips curled imperceptibly down into a bored pout, his slender fingers pressed against his chin, his eyes half-lidded.

Another picture shows him holding a pint, looking too young to be allowed to drink its contents. He looks like the Harry Louis met six years ago, like the Harry Louis used to call his best friend before they were driven apart… by the rumours, by fear, by time.

Louis loses himself in the pictures and the words, sitting cross-legged on the carpeted floor of his hallway, fingers stroking the glossy pages. He knows every word and every photo has been carefully chosen, knows Harry has only shown precisely what he wanted to show, but he still gets fooled into believing he’s being made privy to the deepest corners of Harry’s soul.

Once upon a time, this wouldn’t have been an illusion. The memory only makes the deception more potent, and more painful.

Harry is baring his heart out for the whole world to see and he apparently wanted Louis to see it so badly he made sure Louis would get a copy.

When Louis types Harry’s name into his phone with fingers that are definitely not shaking from nerves, the autofill feature remains silent. There are no previous messages saved. He doesn’t actually remember the last time he texted Harry.

He doesn’t know what to write, so he goes for the expected.

Artsy, are we? he sends, not expecting any reply. He’s barely pressed Send that a happy little bubble pops up at the bottom of the screen to indicate that Harry’s writing back.

Did you like it?

He should lie.

He cannot.

Yes. he types, then adds, against his better judgement; It’s amazing.


He doesn’t ask Harry why the fuck his opinion suddenly matters. But he does something much worse.

Are you in town?

His treacherous thumb presses Send before he can stop himself and Louis looks at his phone, horrified, but there is no turning back. He doesn’t even know why he wrote this. He doesn’t even want-


It’s like he doesn’t have any control over his fingers. They fly over his screen, while his brain desperately tries to hammer some sense into them, in vain. Louis knows every letter he types is a mistake, but the magazine in his lap is opened on that picture of Harry standing tall and long-haired, his naked torso framed by the lapels of a ridiculous red jacket, and Louis can’t think.

Dyou want to come over?

Harry’s answer takes ages to appear. It’s definitely for the best. Louis doesn’t even know why he asked, doesn’t know what he would do if Harry agreed. They have been strangers for too long now. There is no mending what fame has undone.

The answer pops up just when Louis’s managed to convince himself that he never wanted Harry to say yes.

Come to my place. Easier.

And just like that, Louis’s off.

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lovehedalexa  asked:

Hey you :) I love gaf so much. You and eliza are doing such an amazing job creating your universe. I've never read a fic that just makes me / feel / so damn much for not just the main pairing, but every character. If you're taking prompts at the moment, any way we could get an angsty little something with clexa ft. mentions of either finn or costia? No worries at all if you're busy, but I crave scenes like that with all my soul. Much love <3

(sry this took so long to fill & honestly this is literally just clarke being an ass but its cute & a lil funny & i love her so here u go)


you’ve tried your best to be a good host, and, really, costia is smart and kind and she makes lexa smile. she’s also neat and funny.

and beautiful.

it’s irrational, you know, that you’re jealous, because not once has lexa even probably considered cheating, and you don’t doubt that she’s profoundly in love with you—it’s always been you who has been more hesitant to love her back in the same big grand way, because it seems to come so intuitively to her and sometimes it’s hard for you—but you know lexa loves costia too. she has to, because they’re familiar with each other, and comfortable, and lexa’s only like that with people she loves. which, you know, include, well, her friends.

but she, at one point, was in love with costia. and sure, it was for a little over two months six years ago, well before the two of you got together in any official capacity, and sure, you and lexa have lived together for a little over a year, and you’ve applied to grad schools in the same areas, and you’re entirely, completely sure that one day lexa intends to see the world with you, and marry you, and have a family. she has never, ever done anything to even suggest otherwise.


you come home from your p chem lab, which had taken so long, and your photographs hadn’t developed properly, and you have a bio exam in two days that you’ve not had nearly enough time to study for, and you’d had to process numbers for like four hours in lab, so you’re not in your favorite frame of mind, for one. you’re exhausted and it’s getting close to your twenty-second birthday, and you love parties, and you certainly love yourself (mostly), so generally you like birthdays—but your dad isn’t here for them now, and it’s all just kind of a lot. especially because you’re kind of a disaster at emotions anyway.

let alone with your girlfriend’s ex sitting on the couch with her when you get home from hellish math, and costia is holding lexa’s arm, tenderly tracing the flowers there, and lexa is looking at her fondly and saying something soft in farsi. 

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Picture Perfect

A Percabeth Christmas fic in which Percy becomes a model. (6.7k)

The numbers on the elevator blurred together, and Percy couldn’t tell if it was because of the adrenaline or the alcohol. His pulse hammered in his ears like someone was kicking him in the head. He could feel his palms sweating against the cool surface of the fishbowl. As the elevator lurched to a nauseating stop, he gulped and loosened his tie.

Level one.

For some reason, the thought of his letter sitting on his boss’s desk sent the wine sloshing back and forth in his stomach like a tide. He tried to remind himself that he had filled out those forms and he had made the decision to change the course of his life. Somehow, he only ended up feeling trampled.

The doors to the elevator opened, a blast of air making his eyelids flutter. The blurry tile floor came slightly into focus in front of him. After a moment, he remembered to step out. The world slightly turning, he started through the lobby towards the glass doors, probably for the last time in his life. His briefcase knocked against his leg. From the fishbowl, Zippy stared up at him with inquiring eyes, as if wondering if the cold December air would make his water freeze.

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poniespoems  asked:

My dogs are both wolves I've had DNA tests done and if you fucking try and argue with me I will win. So don't even try. Khloe is a artic timber wolf an piper is a German Shepard mix from a shelter. Don't argue with a horse kid we are stubborn like no other. You don't know everything. I know my dogs. Thanks for the compliment that didn't go unnoticed but I'm stuck on the fact you don't think they are not wolves. And that bugs me. So suck it up and stop arguing with people about THEIR dogs.

I’m fully aware of the stubbornness of horse owners, being that I am one. I do, however, show respect to others when I’m show evidence and facts. I have never claimed to know everything, I am sharing the knowledge I do have and have gathered over years or research and hands on experience. 

 "I’m stuck on the fact you don’t think they are not wolves“. Um..I do think they are not wolves. I know for a fact(100% fact) that Khloe is not a wolf. Even if Piper has any wolf content at all, it is such a minuscule amount that I could not call her a wolfdog and she is a poor example of wolfdogs in both looks and(most likely) behavior.

As I said in this post:

Piper does not appear to have any wolf content that I can see from multiple photos I’ve looked at. Percentages are a horrible way of explaining wolf content, if you got her from the shelter and they were telling you that she’s 10%, they were misinformed or mislead. You describe wolf content as low, mid, high with variables of each such as upper-mid, lower-mid, etc.

The only test to show wolf content is the UC Davis test and that can only show if there is any content at all, not how much. It is also inaccurate after only a few generations, meaning that something that only had “10%” wouldn’t show up anymore.

Khloe is an Arctic Timber wolf? That’s what I’m understanding from your statement above, so dismiss this if that’s not what you mean by “An Khloe is arctic timber wolf.

I honestly thought you were only talking about the “wolfy” looking dog. I didn’t think you’d be thinking the other was a wolf as well. I will bring up the fact that it is ILLEGAL to have a wolf as a pet. It is classified as a wild animal(because that’s exactly what it is, they are not lap dogs.) and you cannot have them without a permit.

Okay, first, there is no wolf called an Arctic “Timber” wolf. There are Arctic wolves and they are a subspecies of the Gray wolf. Second, have you ever seen Arctic wolves before? I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that you haven’t since anyone who has could see that Khloe is not an Arctic wolf. But just in case you haven’t, here’s a few images:

External image

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And here’s your dog(100% dog. Looks like a white shepherd mixed with a Siberian Husky.):

Khloe has brown eyes, bi-colored eyed, a pink(snow) nose, light colored nails, tall, thin, pointed and not well furred ears, short/average legs, small, compact paws, and a solid white coat. Arctic wolves have a range of eye colors NOT including dark brown and blue and even though their coats are mainly white, they have grey/yellowed areas throughout their coat, they are not completely solid. They have black noses and claws, small, rounded and very well furred ears, extremely long legs and large, wide paws.Your dog has NONE of these traits, she does not share a single trait with Arctic wolves. Why do you think she is one?

Since I only have one image of it, I don’t want to dwell on it but do you see how she is interacting with that horse? An Arctic wolf would NOT behave this way. That is a calm and curious/nervous being introduced to a strange creature. A wolf would be horribly behaved in the car anyway, let alone with a new and strange smelling animal of THAT SIZE standing in its face. This photograph would not have taken place were she an Arctic Wolf.

a-january-girl  asked:

Okay, I saw you wanted us to give you prompts to inspire some new RPF fic... Would you consider writing the BTS of the Mark Mann photoshoot for me? Preferably with a little bit of smut pleaaaaase :D haha, bisous 😘

When she enters the dark room, he’s here already. “Shit!” she thinks. However, her cab picked her up first at his apartment, he must have been slower than the Uber driver he ordered. That’s the second time she loses this little game this week. Next time, she takes the Uber, she notes for herself before heading towards the photographer.

“Hi, Gillian,” he greets her with a hug and a soft chaste kiss on the cheek.

“Hi, Mark,” she answers back. “Hi, David.”

“What? No kisses for me?” David complains, playfully.

No. No kisses for him. She knows trying to hide their relationship by not drawing too much attention to them can actually have the opposite effect, but she never knows how to behave normally in those situations. If she kisses him on the cheek, she knows it would sound fake. She can’t kiss him on the lips. She’s not going to hug him like he’s her army buddy. She can’t shake his hand either. So she just smiles at him. With a simple smile, no one can guess she teared up the leather of his couch with her fingernails an hour later.

“If one day, someone has told me I would make David Duchovny jealous…” Mark says, chuckling and leading them towards the set.

It’s very minimalist, with very little light, a simple small stool resting on a crumpled black sheet.  

“Do you have a second one?” she asks, nodding at the stool.

“Nope.” Mark, answers without hesitation. “Only one. I thought it would be better. It’ll give you guys more complicity, intimacy.” he says, making the settings of his camera.

“Chemistry?” David deadpans.

“Chemistry! Exactly! Okay, sit down as you like.”

David obeys first, resting one cheek on the stool, leaving enough room for Gillian to sit next to him. They’re so close she can smell the remnant of their sexing behind the scent of soap after the quick shower he took a few minutes ago. She’d better focus on what they’re doing instead of thinking of what he just did to her, especially because Mark has already begun to take pictures. One says Photography reveals the truth. It must be true because she just notices his hand on the side of her right cheek and hers on his thigh. That’s what happens when they stop paying attention. He even grabs her wrist, now. She starts to wonder if he really was jealous earlier. He’s so territorial and protective at the same time, it’s hot and cute. One would call it professionalism, but only Gillian knows what it really is. Love. Plain and simple. He doesn’t hide, he doesn’t pretend and it’s stressing her. He looks so at ease while she’s fidgeting over his thigh.

“That’s really good, guys!” Mark interrupts her thoughts. “Gillian, can you come closer? Maybe try to whisper in his ear. I need a few sexy poses.”

She obeys, and focuses her attention on the red mark, here, just behind his ear. She made it. She’s so close she could just dart out her tongue and soothe it. He would love it. It would maybe be enough to make him hard. He squeezes her wrist harder like he heard her thoughts.

“I lost.” she whispers in his ear. He nods imperceptibly and grins, still staring at the camera. “Do you know what you’re gonna do to me?” she continues, slightly leaning against him and rubbing her shoulder against his torso. “Do you want to use the toys again, David?” she teases, making him silently grunt and shift on the stool. “How do you want to fuck me, David?” A droplet of sweat starts to form on his temple. “From behind?”

“Okay!” David screams, a little louder than necessary. “Do you have everything you need?”

She may have lost the race, but she won this little game easily. She didn’t respect the rules, though, and she knows it. She’ll happily let him have his revenge later. There’ll be another joint appointment sooner or later, another race, another Uber to pick and another chance for her to win. And this time, he’d better be ready to satisfy all her wishes and desires. She remembers when they started to play this game. He lost a bet a few years ago, and she won the right to tie him up at the bed and do whatever she wanted. Since then, they have taken every occasion to play, and for her own pleasure, she’s in a loose spiral lately. He accused her to lose on purpose, but she didn’t tell her cab to slow down, after all. Or maybe she did, just a little. She may love to be in control in her everyday life, but sometimes, in the intimacy of a bedroom, or a bathroom, or a kitchen, it feels good to let him overpower her. To feel him pump hard inside her, to have his strong hands deep in the flesh of her cheek, to let him whisper insanities in her ear.

“Yeah, sure.” Mark says. “Can we just take one together? Do you mind?”

David looks like he would have preferred to run away, to get out and calm the emerging bump in his jeans, but she pushes him away playfully, making room for Mark on the stool. Tonight, after her dinner, she’ll be his, but now, she’s the boss and he knows it well when kneeling at her feet, watching her sit on Mark’s lap, powerless.

“Don’t be jealous, David,” Mark teases. “I’ll give her back to you in a few.”

He knows.

i've never wanted anything like i want you.

A/N: In which Emma finds something in Killian’s pocket that makes her realize just how much he gives up for her everyday. [x]

(Also because I just needed all the domesticity and casual intimacy that last night got me addicted to nbd i’m totally fine)

As soon as Emma wakes, she feels the steady rise and fall of Killian’s chest under her head. She had never really been a big cuddler before, but there is something about her pirate that has her clinging to him even in sleep. She cracks an eye reluctantly, seeing that the clock on the nightstand next to Killian’s bed says a bright and blinking 8:12, and she sighs.

Waking up this early had been easy for the past six weeks, not worrying about new arrivals and magical beasts, but today is different. With the presence of that chernabog thing yesterday, she can feel a change coming.   

Her gut tugs at the memory. Her poor, beautiful bug.

Gathering up all her motivation to rise, Emma pushes herself up onto her elbows above Killian, briefly struggling to free her hair from where it was pinned under his shoulder. The tug of her hair must have gotten his attention, because Killian rouses with a few grunts.          

“Swan,” he mumbles, cracking a hazy blue eye at her. “Where are you going?”          

She leans back down to press a kiss to his neck, his lips. “Time to get up,” she announces. “Back to the grind.”          

He sleepily chuckles and wiggles his eyebrows at her. As he tightens his arms around her waist, she is painfully aware of the thin layers of clothing separating them.         

 “Uh-uh,” she protests, pushing him back down into the bed. “I’m not going to be late for work. Again. Besides, I have to do a damage inspection after that thing from yesterday.”          

Killian runs his hand through the ends of her hair briefly, eyes darkening. She can tell he can feel it too. The change. “Alright, love,” he says. “I should be heading to the library soon, anyway.”          

She kisses him again before rising and collecting her clothes. They’re sort of…scattered. Regina had taken Henry for the night and her parents were far from ignorant, so she had opted to stay the night with Killian at Granny’s. With the hellbat thing and the arrival of two new storybook villains, she had seriously been on edge by nighttime, and Killian was her usual refuge. It was like when they closed the door behind them, all their troubles disappeared. And that was exactly what she had needed.          

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“He is an excellent antagonist, cool as ice, silky voiced and soothing as one of your fashionable consultants, and poisonous as a cobra. He has breeding in him—a real aristocrat of crime, with a superficial suggestion of afternoon tea and all the cruelty of the grave behind it. Yes, I am glad to have had my attention called to Baron Adelbert Gruner.”

Adelbert Gruner was the villain in canon story The Adventure of the Illustrious Client.

“Have you ever heard of Baron Gruner?”

“You mean the Austrian murderer?”

Gruner was from Austria, which is officially known as the Republic of Austria.

Adelbert Gruner, Republic of Austria


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anonymous asked:

Would like to add to my reveal ask if okay. I've always seen if there are rumors of a r-ship it's with the celebrity pictures and "chit-chat" gossip back and forth. There have been no pictures out on sites about Sam and any of the girls he is rumored to be with. The only woman he is linked with is Cait by gossip sites and by other journalists. That's what's throwing me. We have that airport pic but only in a small part of fandom? Sam wants to be private but posts pics that can be matched on IG?

Gosisp bloggers aren’t going to spend the time to connect all those dots. There isn’t enough time. Let me give you a rundown on what I used to do on a daily basis:

Sit down at 7:30am and start looking for post fodder. TMZ, Celebitchy, Entertainment Weekly, UsWeekly, E!Online, Popsugar, DailyMail, Just Jared, etc. I don’t know how much you read online sites, but they are generally all variations of the same news because they all source from each other for some of their content, and jot down potential post topics. 

I would source, write, edit, find an accompanying pic and publish three to four posts between 8 and noon. Take a break, then write another three to four before putting the site to bed for the night at 5. Sourcing quotations, pics, etc. is the easy part. Writing an on-demand post, especially on an off-mojo day or for a topic I personally couldn’t care less about could take twenty minutes or two hours. I posted no less than five and up to ten posts per day, five days a week. And I was small time. If anyone can muster a fuck to give, it’s all still there.

Even if I had my nose in a specific fandom as a fan myself, I still would not have wasted my time with faceless airport pics for a mid-tier celeb like Sam. There is no general public interest and readerships like gossip they can believe, not endless speculation with absolutely no proof. Sam and Cait get attention in the are they/aren’t they arena because they are the biggest names on their show and everyone likes a costars falling for each other story. None of the other women Sam has been linked to are noteworthy or interesting. There is basically nothing to write about without it reading like that CDAN blind item, and I guarantee if I had tried, it would have been met with "Who??”, “Who cares?”,  “Slow news day?” or the golden barometer of gossip: “Pics or it didn’t happen.” I never would have taken the time to Google rumors about Sam and who he’s dating, get enough of an eyeful of some blonde on social media to be able to guess if I’m looking at the back of her head and barf out some wildly unsubstantiated post. 

I know we all care about this. But the general gossip public doesn’t. If Sam showed up with someone on his arm as a clear date to an event, was photographed with them and had a truly public reveal of a relationship, that would get some traction. This won’t because there’s nothing there in the eyes of the media. You’d need an electron fucking microscope to see it because it’s all tiny particles invisible to the naked eye. 

Hope this helps shed some light! xoxo

anfaidora  asked:

Hi Crunchy, I was curious if you could give me your input as a male m/m writer? When looking at ways to improve I've come across points made about female writers missing what is appealing to their male audience, mostly concerning smut. Such as, sensations during sex, or where in the body arousal begins, lack of inclusion of body hair, sack foreplay, incorrect assumptions about prostate sensitivity. Have you found this to be true, what tips would you suggest to help us be more accurate/inclusive?

Well. I’ll do my best.

First off, I don’t really like generalising when it comes to gender. I’ve made assumptions about the gender of writers and been totally off-base before. And when it comes to smut everyone’s experiences and bodies and preferences are all different; no one has ultimate authority here. And it’s kind of hilarious when people try and claim it. I remember a massive argument on an lj community years ago when someone claimed that it was impossible to have anal sex without lube, and a guy who actually had first hand experience of the same was not believed for two hundred plus comments.

Trust your own instincts, because we’re all flailing about trying to describe, with mere clumsy words, things that are impossible to describe. What’s an orgasm like? You’ll probably only get the vaguest idea from reading about it regardless of how well it’s written and regardless of the gender of the writer. It may well be different for everyone, and the very vagueness inherent in trying to describe it makes it universal.

More to the point, what’s this about a male audience anyway? If we’re talking fic and fandom, the audience is mostly female. The dudes in fandom are here because we like what fandom produces; you’re probably doing fine. If there are these mythical dudes who are offended by lack of body hair in fics, they can write their own.

Although, the one piece of random smut I remember reading (not fic, just porn) from a guy made mention of how the virgin twink’s arsehole was shaved and the cop’s cock was so huge it shredded the giant size magnum condom so they fucked bareback; guys are not magically going to write smut any more realistically than girls, let me tell you. In fact, fandom being what it is, I think a ton more effort is put into writing things realistically than what the dudes on porn forums write.

I see it like this. Story and characters first, that’s primary, then your personal preferences, then you worry about the audience. There’s no rule that’s going to apply for every character of a certain gender. I remember being thrown out of a published novel once because the main character lights a candle to have a wank over the photographs his crush had taken (not of herself, just of stuff, apparently) and I was just, well, no, wanking’s like brushing your teeth; I couldn’t imagine lighting a candle to set the mood for it. And I thought, this was written by a woman. But, given the infinite variety of humans, there might well be guys out there who only jack off by candlelight; the scene didn’t seem plausible me, but I couldn’t say she was objectively wrong to write it like that and if she’d characterised her protagonist differently or better I might have accepted it without blinking.

If you want to write smut that feels more ‘real’ you don’t have to write a dissertation on prostate massage; there are things that are universal; cramps, positions that turn out to be awful, accidentally kneeling on sensitive areas, interaction with the environment; temperature, light, furniture. Getting interrupted, falling asleep. You can write smut that’s pure fantasy and perfect and amazing, and you can write smut that’s all weird noises and wet patches (or better yet combine the two) but it’s that sort of thing that makes it real for the readers. That’s the kind of stuff that makes it real for me, anyway. Approximate, extrapolate from your own experience, have fun.

Your character do not have to be statistically likely with regard to their sexual preferences and responses for their gender. You’re not confident writing anal sex? 40% of gay couples don’t practice it anyway according to a survey I have long forgotten the source of, so if you skip it you’re in good company and even if you weren’t so what?

Writing is hard. Writing smut is hard. Worrying about gender differences should be way down the list of things to fret over, is my feeling and as a reader I’m not sitting there thinking ‘that refractory period is unusually short’, I’m probably thinking ‘just tell him how you feel, you idiot.’

I've often wondered the same

     A few hours ago Tara Reid tweeted “Had an amazing dinner with my great friend Corey Feldman” with an accompanying picture of herself, another blonde woman, and Corey Feldman. Of course he was throwing up the thumbs because really, what other pose is suitable when taking such a contrived and self-serving photograph? You know what happens when I go to dinner with friends? We eat. We talk. We leave. Thumbs remain firmly in place.

Speaking from a strictly personal standpoint, I just don’t feel the need to share a moment with people who do THE SAME FUCKING THING EVERY NIGHT OF THEIR LIVES WITH ZERO FANFARE. She ate dinner with friends and reported back to complete strangers to inform them of such. Let that sink in for a moment. “Hey everybody, I did something biologically necessary to survive!” Then come the RT’s and favorites. Who does that? Who retweets that Tara Reid ate dinner?

Tara says the dinner was amazing…okay. Lift the veil I say. What was so extraordinary about this meal? Did Corey reveal some salacious detail about his relationship with Michael Jackson? Did your Frankenboob pop out mid-dinner landing squarely in the Foie Gras leaving the surrounding diners red-faced?

Fucking tell me right now…What?!

What I ask, was so fucking mind-bendingly amazing about this dinner that she couldn’t let it just…be? Now, this is mere speculation on my part and I have no way of actually proving my theory…but here goes…


Nothing was amazing.

Nothing about her dinner with Corey and the nameless blonde lady was any more or less spectacular than the dinner you’ll have with your friends and/or family tonight…or any other night for that matter.

@ditkovonkirby from Twitter (obviously) says:

“I’ve never understood why posting an objection is always taken as anger rather than simple commentary”

I’m guessing it’s in the way I present myself at times, but I’ve often wondered the same. Just because I comment on something doesn’t mean I’m angry about it. Usually I’m not.

This is one of those times. I promise you, my feeling about this (and many other tweets) stems from a complete inability to comprehend why anyone aside from the three people at that dinner would care AT ALL that 1) they went to dinner, 2) how the dinner was, 3) if the dinner was or wasn’t amazing…I truly cannot fathom why anyone gives a shit about any of the above.

Oh, but they do. People DO care. If they didn’t, average (at best) looking women like the Kardashians wouldn’t be considered super models. C'mon man, it’s insane. I see better looking women than the Kardashians every single day of my life and not a one of them have any discernible shred of talent so exactly what kind of Faustian shit is going on here? Kim Kardashian sucked a cock on tape and Sears gave her an endorsement deal. What the fuck?!

Celebrity idolatry has always existed. Always will exist. At least in the past a celebrity had to do SOMETHING to earn some level of respect. They had to display a talent that rose above and beyond.

Having the “nicest ass on Instagram” qualifies you a celebrity? Gimme a fucking break.

Marrying a 50-something guy when you’re 16 and having your tits blown up to the size of beach balls shouldn’t earn you celebrity…It should earn you a full-time therapist. 

Obviously I’ve been around celebrities a bit over the past twenty years and it still astounds me when “regular people” are blown away at how nice (fill in the name of the celeb) was to them. Why the fuck shouldn’t they be as nice, cordial, and polite as anyone else?

In my experience, they usually are. Matt Damon, great guy. Rosario Dawson, super good-natured and fun. Eliza Dushku, extremely sweet. Seth Rogen, down-to-earth fun dude. Affleck, really funny and very smart guy. Steven Yeun, personable beyond belief. 

The common bond is, they’re all people with a body of work that speaks for itself. They aren’t compelled to persistently remind you that they’re somehow elevated and evolved by ironically enough, posting pictures of themselves doing the exact same shit we all do and always have done like eating dinner.

I’m not angry. I’m befuddled. I’m confused by joe and jane average orgasming all over themselves because someone who is no better than me or you, tweeted that they ate dinner…or any other meal.

Big fucking whoop, as we said back in the day.

377. Articles
  • Harry: As soon as you walked into the house and made eye contact with Harry you felt a tension in the air. You took your heals off and walked over to Harry who was on his phone reading through Twitter not obtaining anything he was reading. His eyes continued to scan the screen ignoring your presence until he threw his phone onto your lap. "do you think I am dumb?" He asked after your eyes skimmed over the headline which read '[Y/N] spotted with a hot boy who isn't Harry Styles.' You shake your head at the nonsense displayed on the screen. "You honestly have to be kidding me Harry. Are you believing is garbage?" You asked locking his phone and putting it on the side table. "I see no reason not to since you aren't denying it." He says crossing his arms. "Babe, this is the same website that started the rumor that Zayn was actually a transgender." You laughed and he didn't seem to amused by your poking fun at the website. "babe, I would never cheat on you." You sighed standing up trying to show your assertiveness to the boy who towered over you. "Pictures don't lie [Y/N]." He stated anger beaming through his green eyes. "your right those photos aren't lying because I'm hugging my fucking cousin you complete dumb ass! Remember he came to visit like 3 months ago and he literally stayed in the house." You said raising your voice at the end of each sentence. His face dropped in embarrassment, he should have realized the all too familiar face of your cousin in the picture. "Damnit baby, I'm sorry." He almost whispered to you, defeat in his voice as he uncrossed his arms. "Yeah, you should be." You said crossing your arms. "If anyone, I thought you would know not to trust everything you see on the media." He wrapped his arms around you in attempt to hug you. "I know that was just so dumb. I'm so sorry." He mumbled into your neck. "It's okay. Just ask me first and let me explain, okay?" You said uncrossing your arms. "deal." He snickered.
  • Niall: He was fine all morning, the night before replaying in his mind as he got dressed to go to band practice as you slept in the bed, which he wished he could still be in. When you woke up alone you couldn't stop thinking of last night and sent a few cheeky texts to Niall. He didn't answer but he did open them so you just assumed he was too busy to reply. You clean up around the house for a while the stared to cook dinner as Niall came home. He marched his way to your shared bedroom as soon as he saw you. You brushed it off but once the meal was done and you didn't hear a noise from upstairs you decided you should go check on Niall. As you walked into your room you saw your blond boyfriend spread eagle on the bed with his head buried into the pillow, face down. "Baby, dinner is ready." You whispered, he answered with a hiccuped breath. "Babe is everything okay?" He didn't answer. "Ni, baby turn around and talk to me." He turned his head and you were greeted with blood shot eyes and tear stained cheeks. "Whats the point of me even being in the band." You cocked your eyebrow at him. "There's a rumor that I left the band and some fans are like happy about it." He sobbed "I'm not good enough am I?" He asked as he chocked out another sob. "Nialler, you shouldn't let the fans get to you like this. You shouldn't read the negative stuff, you and I both know you deserve to be where you are more than anyone else. So don't let a few fans with the clear unpopular opinion ruin your day." I said as I slid my hand up his shirt to scratch his back lightly. "It just hurts, yanno." You continued your scratching as he continued to rant. "You probably think this big man who dominated last night is so sensitive and weak." He said after his rant fully rolling over. "oh no baby, your sensitive side turns me on so much." You said causing him to chuckle. "There's that smile I love to see." You said kissing his cheek and running your finger along his stomach. "Now come eat, and forget about what those dumb girls say." You said kissing his temple. "God I love you." He mumbled as you walked away.
  • Zayn: You were fuming as you sat there waiting for your best friend to arrive back at your shared flat. The hook up in your car made you want to break everything that he owned in this house. You stared at the paused tv screen which showed Zayn laying with a girl in the white Mercedes Benz that your father gave you and you still owned. You were not really mad that he took your car without your permission it was more about the fact that he slept with some random girl in the car. You looked at the picture of you and Zayn standing with Mickey and Goofy at Disney World which you flipped faced down. Even looking at his photographed face made you want to knock yourself out with a rock. Another hour rolled by before you heard a few masculine laughs that wasn't his and then heard him tell his company he will meet them upstairs. He strolled into the main room and looked at the screen which is almost impossible to ignore. "Whatcha doing [Y/N]?" Zayn giggled at the screen. "You think this is funny?" You asked, anger evident in your voice. "you think stealing my car and sleeping with a random girl is funny?" You were now standing, meeting eye to eye with Zayn. "You don't re-" you didn't give him time to finish his sentence. "That's my car Zayn and just because you are some famous person now doesn't mean you get to dick around with whatever you like!" You yelled. "[Y/N] calm down." He said putting his hands up in defense. "how dare you tell me to calm down!" You were so angry, your eyes were budging out of your head. Zayn took the yelling for a few more minutes until he finally interrupted you. "that's you!" He yelled, causing you to stop. "what?" You asked clearly confused. "that was after Niall's party, you got shit faced so I brought you to the car and laid with you. See, you can see your pink dress with the black bottom." He pointing to the dress that was clearly yours. You covering your mouth, hating yourself for everything you just said to him. "I love you [Y/N], you're my best friend. I would never do anything like that... Especially in your car." He said smirking at you. "I love you too Zayn, and I'm sorry I just lost my head." You signed wrapping your arms around his waist as he immediately swallowed you in a hug. "It okay, you were jealous." He giggled. "I was not jealous!" You said hitting his chest. "it's okay, I get jealous sometimes too." He said letting you go and retreating to his friends.
  • Liam: He was wrapped up in your arms sobbing, all the articles about his break up and the whole scandal tore him to pieces. His most recent girlfriend admitted to cheating on him more than once the night before their 2 year anniversary, this day was more than 3 months ago. The media just caught up with the news and having the whole incident thrown back in his face made his heart hurt more than anything. He thought he found the girl of his dreams, he was ready to spend the rest of his life with her, but she evidently had different plans. Soon enough he calmed himself down and tried to rid his eyes of tears. "It kills me, just thinking about it." He sighed keeping his head in the crook of your neck as you two continued to lay down. "Thank you for always being there." He said kissing you neck lightly and looking up to you. "Anytime Liam." You smiled as you traced the tattoo on the forearm that lays across your body. You loved Liam, always has and always will. You two grew up as neighbors and vowed to stay friends right before his first audition for the X-Factor. "[Y/N], do you think I will ever meet the right girl?" He questioned causing you to chuckle. "There are so many girls out there, and one day you will find the perfect girl and live in a little suburban area with your million dollar record label and pet chihuahua." You joked causing him to spit out a laugh. "And if all else fails we live together and grow happily old together with Mr. Whiskers and a tall glass of whiskey." The tears were completely gone and substituted with his infectious laugh. "Part of me wishes she never told me yanno, I mean sure I've read the articles over the past few months but I never thought they would be true." He said crossing his arms. "She really got me." The room fell silent as we watched the ceiling fan spin. "Liam, you deserve the world, and don't you ever forget that." You whispered. "I promise I won't." He smiled his eyes shifted close.
  • Louis: Louis was currently sitting across from you with his arms crossed. The stare down between you two was so intense that you could feel it in your bones. "This is a waste of my time." You said standing up and going to walk away. "isn't everything?" He questioned. "what's that supposed to mean?" You snarled biting your lip. "According to everyone I'm a waste of your time." He said pulling the box of death sticks out of his pocket. "and apparently these are more worth it." You gasped at the box of cigarettes that now sit in front of you on the table. "You and I both know those aren't mine." You use to smoke, a lot more than your average teenager should, but you went cold turkey last year on your 20th birthday. In no way was that your decision but Louis wanted you to, so you did. "This box may not be yours, but this is exact type of cigarettes which were in your hand when these pictures were taken." He slid his phone across the table. You scoffed at the picture and read through the article that claimed that you've been smoking since you were 14 and the article stated that you had no intention of stopping. "You know what these things can do to you [Y/n], are you trying to die?" He asked. "I can't even bare the thought of having to lose you, and I read all these tweets and see all these photos of you smoking it makes me sick." He was now squeezing the bridge of his nose. You had no idea why he was getting so bent about this. "Louis I haven't smoked in a year, and not to mention this picture was taken before I even met you." You explained sliding the phone back at him. "So next time know your facts before you come to question me and stress yourself out." You then threw the pack of cigarettes back at him and walked away.
  • -jenni