i love this man so very much

xtaticpearl replied to your post: also: the wasp is so cute? she is so cute and she…

HI, YES, WELCOME TO THE QUESTION THAT HAUNTS ME EVER SINCE MCU DENIED ME JAN!!

SHES SO CUTE WHERE IS SHE she named them? she came up with the name for the team she said it with her mouth and she’s such a delight and i don’t know her v well yet but she Seems Important why did we not get a wasp movie

anonymous asked:

Thank you so much for dissecting the jedi order philosophy. I'm especially there for all the reflections on obi wan as a character. he is one of my absolute favorite characters in the entire series and i hate that so many people fail to see how deeply flawed he is as well. of course he is very much a product of his environment seeing as he grew up at the jedi temple and indoctrinated in their politics/way of viewing the world.

Thank you but I can’t take all the credit for that. It’s a group effort :)

I love Obi-wan too. And his flaws are what endear him to me. Obi-wan was a good man, who tried so hard to be good but failed terribly. Just like Anakin, he was the product of his environment. If Anakin’s upbringing turned him into man ruled by fear and pain, Obi-wan’s turned him into a man utterly unequipped to deal with beings like Anakin.  they both made choices that led to tragedy and they are both victims.

And the real tragedy of their roles in Star Wars universe is that we are not supposed to talk about it.

We can’t talk about Obi-wan’s flaws or Anakin’s virtues. Every time you mention Anakin did something good someone will appear to say “but he killed the younglings” and if you even imply Obi-wan ever did anything wrong ever than you are a hater. Same thing with the Jedi Order. They are supposed to be the good guys so, of course, they couldn’t possibly have done anything wrong.

This trend is ironic when you think about it. Fandoms are always clamoring for complex, layered characters and yet they refuse to talk about the shades of gray that actually make characters realistic and interesting. As if someone’s worst qualities somehow negates their best ones.  

Obi-wan was a good man and he failed as mentor.

The Jedi Order wanted to do good and they were corrupted.

Anakin was a victim and he committed terrible acts.

We don’t need to pretend something about the character doesn’t exist to appreciate them. imo, talking about a character’s flaws only makes them even more interesting.

anonymous asked:

i saw someone do this for zendmylife, who are your favorite tumblr peeps? :))

oh man this is so hard bc there are so many lovely people on here. but some special shoutouts i guess:
@cuteparkers sarah has been my #1 since day 1 and i love her to death, my wholesome watermelon :’)
@screamholland mi mariposa i love her so much, she is my world and best friend
@tomrannosaurusholland the aussie love of my life, kirby is so sweet and funny and i can always complain to her about the same old shit and she doesn’t get tired of me and i love her
@purelyparker mi cariña i love her so very much, she is so sweet and lovely and i could go on
@midtownsparker izzy is fantastic and i love her so much. she’s so talented and lovely and so funny ugh i’m her biggest fan
@panicholland is the sweetest angel on this earth, i love her so much and seeing her on my dash or in my notifs makes me smile so much
@lovelyimagines tori is the love of my life she is so sweet and talented and caring. she’s my favorite angel ever
@parkerroos lyss is so adorable and sweet, i love her a lot, she’s so caring and honestly sam better wife you up
@spee-iderman my bby kal, she is so sweet and lovely in every way like i’m honored to be her mutual??
@curiouspeterparker an actual angel sent from heaven above, she’s always so sweet and lovely and is just wonderful

and pretty much all of my mutuals?? like i don’t deserve this much love from these wonderful people but i’m honestly so thankful for each and every one of you!!! 💜💖💜💖

anonymous asked:

I loved your Butters character analysis! What are your Bunny headcanons?

Oh man it’s hard for me to talk about headcanons in a general sense because I could say sooo much, so it’s easier when people ask me about specific aspects that I can kinda use as a jumping off point to explain my reasoning.

But in a general sense here’s some that I’ve considered:

Keep reading

4

Without light, there would be no darkness.
                     Without you, there is no meaning.

8

“I come out of this refrigerator and start walking towards him [Jack Dylan Grazer, who plays Eddie], very much in his face. When they shout action, I get really into it – it’s really, really intense. I’m drooling all over him, and Jack is, like, gagging and crying and screaming and it’s horrible, but you know, it’s for the movie. I kind of plough through and then as soon as they say ‘cut’ I go, ‘Hey, yo, are you OK Jack?’ And he turns to me and goes, ‘Yeah man, that’s fucking awesome! I love what you’re doing, you’re awesome!” -Bill Skarsgård

I adore the duality of Tony Stark. Not the secret identity thing, but this idea, one that you get to see more of in the comics than the films (though IM1 did this a lot): the idea that there’s this aloof, cold businessman who puts on perfectly-tailored suits and snarks his way through a room and destroys opponents without a thought using an offhand quip, and resorts to pragmatism when nobody else will, and wears his playboy persona on his sleeve, and knows all the easiest ways to blow up a person or a world, and has a bit of a god complex, and used to be called the Merchant of Death -

- but he’s also the guy who wanders around like a zombie before the first coffee of the day, and works with his hands, and spends his time with mad-scientist hair and wearing scruffy vests covered in oil because he got caught up in his hard work and his passion for creation. He’s the guy who will do anything for his friends and makes silly jokes over breakfast and wholeheartedly, dorkily loves the Avengers, from the concept of it to the people in it. He falls hard for the people he loves, and is incredibly lonely. He’s the guy who goes to orphanages and holds babies when he can’t sleep, and adores kids. He’s the guy who cries easily, never thinks he’s doing enough, struggles with alcoholism and chronic illnesses, and desperately doesn’t want to be his father, no matter how much the media pins the opposite on him. He loves the world and the people in it, even when he kind of hates them, and is constantly working to make things better. He remembers his employees’ names and asks after their families. He tries to see the good in people and goes for rehabilitative over punitive justice wherever possible, even when it comes to villains who have actively tried to kill him. He’s known for how much he cares, exhaustingly, about everything. He’s the man who honestly has a good heart and is constantly trying to reach out, and often gets laughed at for his idealism. He’s a man who’s so often in pain, but tries to use it to improve the world rather than letting it destroy him.

Sure, I like his ruthlessness and some of his coolness, but I also love the guy who unironically adores classic Star Trek and makes absentminded Dune and Arthurian references and thinks equations are cool; who makes mental notes of his friends’ favourite breakfasts and takes young heroes under his wing and is semi-jokingly horrified when one doesn’t have a file system. Who goes “but why does that do that?” and wants to take everything apart and fix it so it can help people, and honest to god believes in a better future. 

(The movies are subtler about that side of him, but it’s still there. I mean, as a little thing, I’m always grateful they let RDJ put some of his own love of classic and sometimes silly rock into Tony Stark. Not just because I share that music taste, but I always like characters who are nerdy and wholehearted about at least something. But the bigger stuff, too: the between-the-lines moments: the naming his bots, the “here, have my whole R&D lab/my company/my home/my heart if you want it, why do you look so surprised?” That’s all straight from the comics. It’s just done slightly more snarkily and with a slightly shorter, brown-eyed Tony rather than a tall, blue-eyed one.)

But it’s still a very bad idea to piss him off.

He’s both. I love that he’s both.

#bnhainktober day 3: kurogiri as my favorite villain! (please Let Him Rest™)

the list of prompts that i’m using: (x)

when i was seven the sea-witch cursed me.

she cursed my great-grandfather, actually, who had spat on the hands of the ocean and disrespected the beating heart of the earth - for what else are waves but a pulse - who was silly and violent and who tried to rip from the water what was hers by rights. we were wealthy, before that, a family of merchants. my mother says in her youth she recalls white horses, the gleam of candles, early mornings with bread baked fresh by a horde of servants.

he didn’t ask permission to cross her. that’s what my mother tells me while she spoons porridge with no flavor into the wood of my bowl. he had no faith in superstition, rode with boats that were more decoration than strength, the folly of a man who was cruel and vain and proud of his own gold teeth. the sky had been blue, so regardless of what the village witch said, he would sail that day. and when his boat sank; their lives turned blue like the sky that day.

my mother says she thinks the curse on the men of our family, even if they come in when they marry, is that they will forever be violent, too foolish to see the storm on the horizon. she whispers this to me on the eve of my seventh birthday, while father is his own storm, thundering around the house, looking for her. later, when i am cleaning the cut by her cheek, she tells me the curse is on the women to forever be unhappy, to wane until they are shadows, to walk into the deep like a sinking ship. 

we don’t burn candles often, they are too expensive. she tells me this in the silk of a dark room. the moon kisses her hair. 

in three days, my mother will walk into the ocean, and my father will be my own problem. the curse will pass onto me. 

my father does not believe in superstition, no curse to conquer him. when he is gone, and i am heartbroken, i go to the village witch. i ask her to teach me about magic, and other things, and about how the ocean can be coaxed, and how to save my father’s soul. 

and my hands rot too, keeping a house by myself with things i barely knew. i learn the art of a good scrubbing, keep my mind full of white horses while i endlessly clean, dream of candles in dark while i make the bread that he will not allow me to eat. he keeps me from the ocean, from visiting the place that took my mom, from following in her footsteps where the water makes women undone.

i am sixteen when i see her in the water of a bowl. she scares me so completely that i drop it, and my father comes in with his hands, and the curse, and i almost forget all about it. it isn’t until after that i realize she is beautiful, and young, which surprises me. 

i think about it every evening. her face becomes distorted to me. i can no longer remember the exact shape of it, only the impression of beauty. 

i turn seventeen and wait for the high moon. i pin safety to my vest in little witch herbs and runes. i put naked toes on the sand and slip closer, closer, to the avenue of my family’s doom. i find a little private beach, small and surrounded by rocks, hidden from my father in the event he ever thought to come looking. at high tide, it is barely the span of my body. at low, it feels empty.

the witch of the land has given me what i need to call in the witch of the sea, but i do not use it. it feels wrong, somehow, standing here in the wind and the quiet pulse of the world. i put down the incense and sage and i sit just close enough it feels wild, dangerous - but not close enough to get caught up in thrill. 

when nothing happens, i go home and i make bread that i will not eat.

for months i do this. i climb down to my beach. i learn to do it when the moon is half, and then when the moon is empty. i learn to do it so well that sometimes i go to sleep in my own bed and wake up by the water. i take to sleeping with warding runes to keep me from being pulled in the rip out to the waiting hands of a hungry sea-witch.

i don’t know when i start talking. more often i sing, because singing in my house is not allowed, and something about the way the rocks echo my voice feels comforting. the older i get, the more i can pretend i hear my mother’s voice, answering me, harmonizing gently. i sing songs about sadness and lullabies about curses. when i have exhausted every song i know, i write new ones about fathers who have never learned how to be kind, about the house i work in but do not love, about mothers who left, and about a sea witch.

i see her sometimes. in a puddle, in the drop of rain, in the strangest places. i never expect it, although i always hope. i am never able to see her for more than the length of a wave, breaking, and each time, it does something new to my heart.

at eighteen i am too much of my father’s burden. he tries to unload me onto other men. the land witch helps me with this. i rub hemlock, burn wolfsbane. we arrange so these men have other women to marry. the news of my curse is bad enough to scare most away. my father is not happy.

after a particularly savage night, i wonder how bad it could be. i could marry some boy from the village who didn’t quite bother me. i suppose they’re not ugly. timothy had always been gentle to me. i think about a life, and how i am cursed to be unhappy. my father would finally be proud of me.

i walk to the beach and i tell the waves about him and how i could convince myself it was love if i just never wanted from him. how i could be okay, if not content, how i could be free, how i already had learned life down on knees.

but i go home and i write a rune of warding. and the years pass and i find reasons each suitor is wanting. and the sea witch i see, sometimes, peeking out at me, staying long each time in the water, looking, watching. i see her in mirrors when my father storms against me. it is bad because he mistakes the cause of my smiling. it is better when she is there the next morning.

and i go to the ocean. when i am too sad to speak, it seems like the ocean is whispering for me. i picture my mother’s voice and tell myself i am happy. i am seven again and we are sewing. i am seven again and the curse has not been given to me. i am seven and she came home after she walked to the sea.

i grow silly, brave, unthinking. i leave behind the herbs and i wade deep. i teach myself the art of swimming. i am bad at it, at first, but something about it feels good to me. like the ocean wants to buoy me. in the day i think of it, guilty. what if there was a rip tide, and the water took me? who would care for my father if i stepped off the beach into a long drop? wasn’t i clever enough to know that the ocean is uncaring?

it is not this that does it. i go out after a rain and i slip on the rocks and suddenly i am in water above my head but without the moon i cannot see the up of it. i kick and i thrash and the water surrounds me. the tide pulls on my body and in the cold i feel my body grow weary. water spills into me. it punches through my body, up my nose and into my lungs and some part of me knows this is what mother felt before she was gone.

i kick ground by accident, reorient, drag myself heaving and spitting into the air. i lie there for a long time, half in and half out of death, enjoying the sensation of breathing and of life.

when i look up, i think i see her, watching me, her brows knit with something like worry. but we make eye contact and my heart leaps and then she is gone and i am left alone with nothing but the dawn breaking.

my father is furious when there is no bread. he finds my hair wet, and the salt of the ocean still smelling on me. and that is it. that day he goes out and pays someone to agree to marry me.

this feels right to me, i think. i’m twenty-one, three times seven, a perfect number for a curse to fully come down on me. i will be wed in three weeks.

the land witch comes to visit me. she looks like she’s sorry for me. she gives me a spell and tells me to put it under my pillow; i’ll dream of love and it will soothe me. instead i dream of the seawitch, and how wonderful she is, and the sight of her, out on the water, worried.

even though it is risky, i go down to the beach. i do not bother with protective spells, i have already seen that the water can kill me. fear alone keeps me from wandering. i sit on the beach and in the sand i draw runes for understanding and i make the small magicks i’ve spent years learning and i close my eyes and i ask the ocean “why do you do this to me.”

i fall asleep. i dream that the sea witch talks to me. i dream she is my age, that she is the great-granddaughter of the first to curse my family. i dream she has spent years watching, learning, finding the truth of me. that she just needs to get the courage to come and speak, that she has fallen in love with my singing, that she knows no curse but the one in her heart that brings her back to a human, to a creature of air and not water, to a mistake in the making.

in the dawn i know it is a dream and no more. i make bread. i pour water out before it can make mirrors. i do not look. i do not like the ache that has filled me, as if i’ve been looking for an answer and the answer only leads to longing.

the man i meet - my husband-to-be - is delighted by the house i keep. he believes a woman should keep in her place, and her place should be clean. he hears from neighbors that sometimes i sneak out to the land witch’s house. laughter barks out of him. not going to allow that behavior, not me. he does not believe in curses. he will pack me up and move me from the ocean to somewhere in the mountains, where i know nobody. and i will, he promises, learn to keep my place, and that place clean.

i tell myself i could love him. he is not ugly. he says i’m pretty enough after whiskey. my father mentions i used to sing. i refuse to perform for these men so instead i make them cookies. they laugh and talk about me, even when i am in the room, as if they cannot even see. they shake hands and talk about how useless a woman is for much else than breeding. it’s very funny. the man meets my eyes and promises he’ll put a baby in me. i look down and pretend the thrill i feel is excitement, not fear brewing in me.

the land witch comes by a week before my wedding. she is smaller these days, aging. her apprentice and i get along wonderfully. the two women stand before me, holding something. 

a small box, so tiny and lovely. “break the curse,” the witch whispers, “learn to be happy.”

i smuggle the box, take it everywhere with me. it is days before i have a moment to slip away, to open it by the sea. i take a candle with me, even though my father will notice and be angry.

by the light of fire i read the spell they have left me inside, and then i am so full of gratitude i cannot stop crying.

it must be a full moon, so i must wait. in the meantime, i walk home, and i bake. 

i do not see the seawitch, even though i look for her. maybe i have wounded her, getting married. my father asks why i keep smiling. i tell him it is because i am finally with a man. he grunts and says to stop looking so silly. 

the man kisses me. i let him. we are married on a night with a full moon, and i poison him and my father in the bread i did not eat. i think of how these men were cursed so they could not see a storm coming. i watch them as they lie there, dying, and then i put all of the things i own into a basket for the land witch. i leave it there with a song i wrote for her, a spell i know will make her happy, will stop the aging of her joints, will give her the kind of relief she gave me. 

i go down to the water. i find myself running, even though i am in no hurry. i know the way so well it is like i wake up there, panting. i ask permission first. i lay out the contents of the box, i organize and practice and when the needle and pain comes, i am ready for it. i am used to pain at night. i breathe into it and walk naked into waters that swallowed my mother.

i chew bitter herbs. i swallow fire. i feel myself drown as i change from land witch to sea witch. 

when it is done, i open my eyes in the deep of a moonlit ocean. and i see her. 

this time she does not flicker. this time when i reach for her, she is there, and she is pushing my hair out of my eyes, and we are kissing with the ocean rejoicing around us, and i am laughing, and i hear her voice as clear as bell inside me.

and we live like this, a whole world between us where white horses are the size of pinky fingers and swim with their thin snouts, where i need no candles because i was raised lightless, where we have no servants but the water takes care of us. i show her the magic of land and she unfolds the magic of water. together we are unstoppable. when i come up to the air to sing little girls a promise that they can survive the madness, she sings with me, and we make a beautiful harmony.

BTS Reaction - Make up sex

Seokjin

“Sweetheart… I’m sorry.”  

You feel Jin’s weight settle next to you on the bed, returning from wherever he stormed off to not ten minutes earlier.  Sorry or not, his apology doesn’t take back all the ruthless things his sharpened tongue have said, or act to ease the flow of tears running down your face.  He’s usually such a sweetie - such a goofball with his terrible jokes and cheesy smiles - so seeing him lose his temper like that… having him yell at you for the very first time… it’s shocked you to the core.  

He reaches out to touch your back, unable to hide the hurt he feels when you flinch away.  When he softly utters your name you can hear the regret lacing his voice, and despite all the pain you feel you can’t help but lift your face from your knees to look at him, this man you love so much.  

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, and expression he wears is so guilt-ridden, so tormented, that you feel some of your own anger start to slip away.  

“I’m sorry too,” you whisper back, tilting your face into his hand when he reaches out to wipe your tears away.  Jin’s touch is so comforting, so soothing, that you don’t resist when he moves closer, cupping your face in both hands now.  The way he leans closer to you is cautious, his eyes flicking between yours for any sign that you’re going to run away, but much to his surprise you’re the one closes the gap between you.  You bring your lips to his in an eager kiss, your hands finding the front of his sweater and gripping it tightly to pull him closer.  

“I didn’t mean… what I said…” Jin mumbles between the meeting of your mouths, his fingers pushing back your hair and then grabbing at your back, pulling you into him as you start to tug at his clothes.  

“Jin… just shut up.”  His sweater coming off cuts short any reply what he might have had, your tongue slipping into his mouth ensuring he remains mute save the languid groan of pleasure he makes as you fall onto your back, pulling him with you to lie between your legs.  It doesn’t take long for the both of you to lose the rest of your clothes, and when Jin starts to touch you gently between your legs you only wait a few seconds, no more, before pushing his hand away and whispering against his lips that you’re ready.  

He needs no more encouragement than to hear those needful words from your tongue to give into that most primal of urges.  He lines himself up with your achingly wet core and then slowly starts to push inside, his kisses never ceasing even as you gasp at the feeling of his thick length stretching you open beneath him.  The feeling of Jin beginning to move inside you, his hands worshipping every inch of  your body… there could be no better comfort that he could provide.  

He rests his face against the crook of your neck, peppering your skin with sweet, loving kisses as he maintains the slow, steady pace of his hips, dragging his cock back and forth inside you to stimulate all your deepest, darkest places.

“You’re so beautiful… I love you so much.”

Originally posted by melanielovesgaysempai

Yoongi

You hate it when he’s like this.  Arguments you can handle easily enough; blessed with a quick mind and wide vocabulary, verbal slanging matches are practically your forte - but this?  The cold shoulder, the sullen silences, the dean-pan expression and icy stare?  You have no idea what to do with this.  

It makes you feel nervous, chewing on your bottom lip and playing with a frayed thread on your shirt as you wait for Yoongi to explode; to shout, to scream, to throw things, anything.  Anything but just stand there on the other side of the room, arms folded, regarding you like you’re something nasty he just found on the bottom of his shoe.  You knew you were asking for trouble when you kept teasing him earlier, talking back and making fun with the rest of his friends.  The dark look settling Yoongi’s eyes should’ve been enough of an indicator for you to stop, but you’d liked making them laugh and you’d liked being centre of attention, so you’d carried on, unknowingly pushing him far beyond his limits of tolerance.

“What do you want from me, Yoongi?”  you sigh eventually, peeking out at him from under your lashes.  Silence.  “You want me to say sorry?”  He cocks his head to the side.  “Well I’m sorry, ok?”  Still he says nothing, and you end up losing your patience, letting out a loud groan of frustration and shoving your head into your hands.  

“I don’t want your ‘sorry’s’,” he drawls after a moment, voice soft and deadly, and you lift your face to look at him over the tips of your fingers, wide eyed.  He starts to walk toward you, letting his arms fall from his chest, rotating the ring on his index finger round and round.  “What I want… is for you to never disrespect me like that ever again.”  Yoongi stops short of the sofa, just a pace or two away, his eyes blazing as he glares down at you.  “I want you to not to be such a fucking brat.”  

You take a sharp intake of breath into your hands, equally shocked and confused by his savage tone and the heat you can feel unfurling deep in your belly in response to it.  

“I want you down on your fucking knees, showing me you can do as you’re told, for once.”  What?

Your hands fall from your face, sitting up just a little bit straighter as you try to figure out if Yoongi’s serious or not.  The steely look in his eyes and the obvious bulge in his sweats are enough to convince you of his intentions, and before you know it your body is moving down to sit on the hard wooden floor at his feet, your hands grabbing at the elasticated waist to tug them down.  

“Open your mouth,” Yoongi tells you sharply, grabbing the base of his hardened cock and pointing it towards your lips expectantly.  You do as you’re told, letting your jaw go slack as you look up at him from under your eyelashes, taking a breath when you feel him grab a hold of the back of your head.  He pulls you onto him, slipping the entire length of his cock into your mouth and down your throat in one fell swoop, and then holding you there with a grunt of satisfaction. When you start to caress the length of him with your tongue, your throat burning, you watch as pleasure softens the harshness of his features.  

Though Yoongi’s still rough as he starts to thrust in and out of your mouth, some of the anger seems to have faded from his eyes, a smirk forming across his face as you moan around him.  His other hand comes up to cradle your cheek, his cock slipping back and forth between your spit slickened lips.  

“Can’t talk back now, can you?

Originally posted by jiminiessugamonster

Hoseok

It’s been six months since yours and Jung Hoseok’s paths have crossed.  Six months since he walked out of your life, shouting and slamming doors, tired of having the same argument with you again and again.  You’d convinced yourself you were long over him, sure that if you ever saw him again you’d be able to look him square in the eyes and feel absolutely nothing.  

Oh, how very wrong you were.  He had to be here, tonight of all nights, when you’ve already fallen out with the people who’re supposed to love you most.  All you want is to drown your sorrows, but when you catch sight of Hobi from across the dance floor, his body moving fluidly to the music, you can’t deny the magnetic pull that draws you across the room.  He hasn’t seen you yet, too busy beaming his 1,000 watt smile at the petite girl grinding against his side, and even though it hurts you to watch, you can’t look away.  

Hobi always understood.  He was always the one to put you back together after mother had torn you apart with her sharp tongue and harsh criticisms, and you find yourself aching for that comfort from him now.  Thoughtlessly you approach until you’re only a few steps away, standing in the middle of the dance floor like some kind of motionless moron, gasping when his eyes pass over you and ready to sob in the split seconds between him looking away and then doing a double take.  You see his mouth form the syllables of your name, and though the music is far too loud the memory of his voice makes it almost so you can hear it anyway, a thrill running down your spine.

He steps away from the girl - she’s thankfully too drunk to mind - to stand directly in front of you, his eyes running all over you from top to toe, like he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing.  

It’s only when he reaches out to touch your cheek, his eyebrows knotted in concern, that you realise you’re crying.  You pull away abruptly, shaking your head and roughly wiping your eyes, but the damage is already done.  That simple touch has been branded into your skin now, and all you can think about is having more and more and more.  Apparently, Hobi feels the same.  He grabs your hand and drags you away from the dance floor, towards the toilets, and when he finds the one marked as disabled he pushes you inside and then locks the door firmly behind him when he enters too, ignoring the shocked look on your face.  

For a few moments you both just stand there, absorbing every inch of each other, but right when you’re about to speak Hobi suddenly launches himself at you.  Your back slams into the countertop behind you as his mouth does the same, meeting yours in a hard, fervent kiss that smacks of desperation, and then suddenly his hands are hooking behind your thighs, lifting you onto it so he can stand between your legs.  Your hands are in his hair, pulling on it, trying to get him closer even though you know it’s not physically possible, his tongue fighting for dominance with yours.  

There’s someone banging on the toilet door - people must’ve seen the two of you run inside - but you couldn’t care less.  All you can focus on is Hobi’s fingertips grabbing  your thighs, hitching up to your skirt as you yank open his pants, craving the feel of him inside you after so long.  As quickly as you can pull his long cock free he’s sliding you off the counter and onto it, thrusting inside you barebacked as you wrap your legs around his hips, knowing instinctively that you’ll be wet enough to take it.  You always were.  

“Shit, I missed this pussy,” he grunts into you ear, bouncing you on his length.

“I missed you, god, I miss you.” 

Originally posted by hayoomin

Namjoon

Hitting the ‘send’ button with far more force than necessary you let out a scream of frustration, throwing your phone across the room and onto the sofa for a soft landing.  Yes, you’re pissed off, but you still don’t want a broken phone.  Namjoon wrecks enough of your stuff without trying, you won’t give him the satisfaction of being responsible for that too.  

You’re not replying again, no matter what he has to say for himself.  In fact, you’re not even going to read his response.  Deep down, you know you’re over-reacting - him not doing the dishes is hardly worth this amount of aggravation.  Truth be told, every time he does it you usually end up having to to the store to buy more to replace the ones he’s dropped and smashed on the floor, but that’s not the point.  The point is Namjoon always makes these promises about things he’s going to do to help out more around the house, and then something bigger and better and more important comes up, and you’re left to do all the grunt work.  Every time.  

You pointedly ignore the flashing light on your phone for the rest of the night, knowing that he won’t be home ‘till really late and still soothing too much to make up in the meantime.  It’s left abandoned on the sofa when you go to bed, too, only managing to fall asleep after you’ve helped yourself relax with a long, hot bath that helps to melt some of the stress away.   

It’s Namjoon climbing into bed next to you that wakes you up a few hours later, though you still pretend to be fast asleep until you feel him start to shuffle up against your back, his face pressed between your shoulder blades.  

“I’m still mad,” you murmur, your voice husky from sleep, and mad you might be, but you still can’t find it in your heart to pull away from him into the little bit of space left on your side of the bed.  

“I know,” he mumbles back, the words blowing hot across your back, shuddering involuntarily at the lingering kiss he presses there.  In the pause that follows Namjoon gingerly places his arms over your side, bracing himself for rejection but squeezing you tightly when it doesn’t come.  “Do you still love me?” He asks it so cutely, his voice sugary sweet, and despite all your earlier irritation you end up huffing a laugh at him, placing your hand on top of his where it rests on your stomach.  

“Of course I do, you dick.”  Namjoon laughs now too, kissing the slope of your shoulder as you twist your head round to be able to look at him.  

“Good.”  He plants another kiss and then another, working his way upward until he’s pressing kisses to your neck too, all the hairs on your body standing on end when he whispers, “Because I love you too.”  When you feel his hand start to slowly make its way southward you do little to stop it, more than happy to make up in the most pleasurable way possible, sighing softly when it slips under the waistband of your pyjama shorts.

It doesn’t take Namjoon to work you into a frenzy, rubbing gently at your clitoris and then running his fingers through your folds until they’re slick with warm arousal, all the while kissing your neck, loving the skin with his lips and his tongue.  He pushes your shorts down over your hips, separating your bodies for just a second to remove his boxers, and then he’s taking hold of your uppermost thigh and lifting it, supporting it as he positions himself between your legs, the head of his cock nudging at your entrance.  

“Joonie,” you sigh softly, arching your back against him, feeling him smile against your neck before slowly sliding in from behind.  He groans when his long length is fully seated inside of you, feeling your warm walls clench around him in welcome.

“Babygirl, you feel so good.”

Originally posted by myboi-yoongi

Jimin

“What the fuck am I supposed to think?”  Jimin yells, brandishing your phone out by his side, waving it around like a taunt.  

“He’s a friend Jimin, that’s it!” you shriek back, a hand in your hair as you pull at it in frustration.  Sure, those text messages from Baekyun might’be been a little flirtly, but you know he didn’t mean anything by them, not really.  Obviously, your boyfriend doesn’t see it that way.

“Oh yeah, it really looks like it.  Real friendly.”  A sneer twists Jimin’s usually soft, pliant mouth, your stomach twisting unpleasantly too when you see it.  

“Well maybe you shouldn’t go looking through my phone if you’re gonna have such a fucking problem with what you find.”  You see his fists clench at his sides, his eyes narrowing as he glares back at you from across the room, and it takes every bit of your willpower to force yourself not to look away, to stand strong and glare right back.  You know if your heart of hearts that you haven’t done anything wrong, so you’ll be damned if you let Jimin make you feel guilty.  Fuck that.  

Still, when he suddenly stalks towards you, throwing your phone to the side, you can’t help but flinch in anticipation of what he might do.  He grabs a hold of each of your upper arms, squeezing hard as his dark eyes flit back and forth between yours, and then all of a sudden he’s crashing his mouth to yours, rushing you backward until your back slams against the wall.  

“Jimin!” you muffle against his mouth, your eyes wide as his hands start to roam all over you, grabbing at your hip, groping your breast, fixing your bottom lip between his teeth and biting, hard.  “What’re you-”

“No one but me gets to touch you like this, you hear?” he growls into your mouth, already pulling up your skirt with one hand as the other flips open his belt.  His tongue pushes into your mouth as he shoves his jeans down to sit just below his shapely ass, pulling his erection free from his boxers to leak pre-cum onto your favourite top as touches you through your panties.  “You think Baekyun could get you this wet?  Shit, I barely have to touch you and you’re dripping for me.”   

“Jimin,” you groan helplessly, loving how rough and forceful he’s being even though his fingers hurt and you’ll be covered in bruises tomorrow.  Fighting or not, all you want is for him to take you, now, right here, wreck and ruin you in his name.  

He grabs one of your thighs and hitches it over his hip, bending at the knees and pulling your panties to the side to line his cock up with your entrance.  He thrusts up and into you savagely, splitting you open with his girthy length, and once he’s deep inside you he picks up your other leg so they’re both wrapped around his waist, supporting your weight with help from the wall you’re still pressed against.  

“Baekyun couldn’t fuck you the way I do,” Jimin grunts, snapping his hips back and forth as you cry out again and again, grabbing onto his shoulders, your head tilted forward, tears streaming from your eyes.  He’s fucking you so hard that his hip bones are digging into you with every thrust, sharp and painful, but you don’t care, you want it to hurt.  It only makes it feel better. 

“Say his name, I fucking dare you.”

Originally posted by princejimin

Taehyung

You and Tae have never had a complicated relationship.  You’d gotten on instantly when you‘d first met working as a make up girl under BigHit’s paycheck, fast friends ever since.  You’ve got the same sense of humour and humble upbringings; even the same fashion sense 99% of the time.  He’s always invited you to the group’s dance practices too, though you get the feeling that if Tae could’ve taken back tonight’s invitation without  having to give you a reason, he definitely would’ve done.    

He’s been off with you ever since you stayed the night last weekend, replying only intermittently to your texts with short, clipped sentences that just aren’t like him, and for the life of you you can’t figure out what’s wrong.  It’d been a normal night; you watched movies, ate crappy food, talked.  Nothing out of the ordinary.  You’d hoped seeing him in person might improve things but Tae’s been avoiding you all night, barely saying a word.  The only time he paid you any attention was when you’d been playing thumb wars with Jin, and then his stare had been intense that it was you who’d to look away first.  

Once practice is over you expect Tae to wait for you as he usually does, but when you straighten up from collecting your things off the floor you see his back already disappearing through the doorway.  You call his name, running after him, grabbing hold of his arm and forcing him to stop.  

“What the hell is going on with you lately?” you question, ignoring the awkward look you can see on Jimin’s face as he passes.  “Aren’t you giving me a ride home?” Taehyung just stares blankly back at you.  

“Why don’t you get Jin-hyung to take you?”  You raise your eyebrows at him, infuriated when he copies your gesture.   What’s that supposed to mean?  Huffing, you drag him back into the studio and lock the door behind you, determined not to leave until you’ve gotten this sorted out.  

“Why’re you bringing Jin into this Tae?” He avoids your eyes, staring at his feet. “Is this about what I said the other night?”  It’s the only possible thing you can think of; you’d asked whether you should ask Jin out on a date - he was sweet and funny and always made a lot of effort to speak to you, so why not?  It’s not like you’d been getting any other offers lately.  Still, Taehyung says nothing.  “Look, if you think it’d be too weird for me to date one of your friends you should just say so.”

“It’s not just Jin!”  he suddenly snaps, his deep voice raised in volume, “I don’t want you to date anyone at all!”  Your mouth hangs agape for a moment - Tae’s never shouted at you before, not once.  

“Why not?  I know you’re protective of me, but-”

“Because I want to date you, ok?!  It should be me, not Jin!” he blurts out, slinging his bag off of his shoulder to slide across the wooden floor and into the mirror.  You’re at a total loss for words, struck mute by his confession. “And I know I’m too young for you and I’m immature and I’ve never… I’ve never told you any of this.”  Taehyung strides over with more decisiveness you’ve ever seen from him, grabbing hold of your hands in his.  “But I love you, I’m in love you with you.”  And then suddenly he’s kissing you with an intensity and a fierceness you never knew he was capable of, pressing his body against yours and squeezing your hands so tight it’s like he’s afraid to let go.  

“Tell me you feel the same, please, Noona, I need to hear you say you love me too,” Taehyung pleads, his forehead resting against yours when he pulls away, his eyes closed tight like he’s in pain.  

“Of course I do,” you whisper, taking his face in your hands and smoothing out the worry lines with your thumbs, finally letting yourself succumb to all the feelings you’ve been holding back for so long.  “Of course I love you.  I always have, Tae.”  The look of amazement and wonder on his face is so pure, so sweet that it almost makes you cry until he starts kissing you again, deeper and needier than before, more perfect than you ever dreamed it could be.

Before you know it he’s dragging you to the floor with him and you’re both pulling off your clothes, desperate for the intimacy you’ve both deprived yourselves of for so long.  You’re too caught up to even properly appreciate the sight of each other naked for the first time; just feeling, tasting, touching one another, wetter than you’ve ever been in your life when Taehyung finally finds his way inside.  He starts to move only when you’re gasping and begging him to do so, tilting your hips up to help him find and abuse your g-spot.

“I’ve wanted this for so long, Noona,” he groans into your shoulder, his thick, hardened length throbbing inside you as he moves.  

“This is perfect… you’re so perfect.” 

Originally posted by mylovertaehyung

Jungkook

Jungkook’s in one of his silly, playful moods tonight.  Usually it wouldn’t be a problem - you love the times where you get to play around and laugh together - but you’ve got a paper due tomorrow, one you’re already way behind on, so you really don’t appreciate the way he keeps poking and prodding you in an attempt to get a reaction, tickling and teasing you when you’ve already repeatedly asked him to quit it.  

When he goes so far as to start tapping the top of your laptop, flapping the screen down over and over and over again as you try to type, your frayed temper finally snaps.  You round on him, the stress you’re under making you respond far more angrily than you normally would, fingers clenching the keyboard so hard that it creaks.  

“WIll you just stop it?”  you yell, oblivious to the way Jungkook shrinks back into the sofa a little, startled by the ferocity of your voice.  “Can’t you just act your age, for once? Maknae or not you’re still supposed to be an adult, Jungkook, so maybe you should start thinking about growing the fuck up.”    He blinks at you once and then twice, expression completely blank and unspeaking as you glare back at him, almost daring him to give you an excuse to let rip once more.  He doesn’t utter a word though, not as he rises from the couch or as he leaves the room, shutting his bedroom door quietly behind him.

It doesn’t take you long to calm down.  As hot and quick as your temper is it always burns out fast too, and by the time it does you’re feeling truly awful about what just happened, guilt sitting heavy in your stomach when you think about the way you spoke to him.  It’s useless trying to work now - even without Jungkook here to bother you you still can’t concentrate - so you shut your laptop with a sigh and then ready yourself to go eat a slice of humble pie, approaching Jungkook’s closed door and knocking softly.  There’s no answer, but you don’t hear a ‘go away’ either, so you decide to forge ahead cautiously, opening the door and poking your head through the gap to look inside.  

Jungkook’s sat on the edge of his bed, his ps4 controller in hand, eyes fixed on the TV as his fingers move mechanically over the buttons.  He doesn’t acknowledge you as you approach, nor does he when you sit gingerly beside him, but when you try to place your hand on his knee he abruptly jerks it away from your reach.  You deserve that, you know you do, so you try not to take it to heart.

You lean forward to look at his face and when you do you’re devastated by what you see;  his cheeks are red and splotchy, and even though his eyes are dry now you can tell by how puffy they are that he’s been crying.  God, if you felt awful before, it’s nothing compared to how you feel now.  

“I’m so sorry…” you murmur, looking guiltily at the floor, “Kookie, I-”

“Don’t call me that,” he snaps, pausing his game to glare at you icily, “I’m not a baby.”  You flounder for a moment, wanting so desperately to touch him but frightened he’ll push you away again.  

“I know you’re not, Jungkook… I didn’t mean what I said, I was just… stressed out and angry and… I know that’s not an excuse.”  You’re rambling now, wanting to make it better but unable to find the right words to say under such an intense gaze.  “Let me make it up to you.”  This time when you reach out to touch him Jungkook lets you, albeit still reluctantly.  He lets you place one hand on his cheek as the other settles on his thigh.  He lets you kiss him too; softly, apologetically, and with all the feeling you can muster.  He’s slow to kiss you back, but when he does it’s with a needfulness that makes you groan, his tongue slipping inside your mouth, delving deeply.  All his earlier upset from your harsh words has morphed into a will to dominate, a desire to show you just powerful he can be that has him grabbing onto you so hard that it starts to hurt.  

When you dig your fingernails into the meaty muscle of his thigh Jungkook abruptly pulls you onto his lap to straddle him, and suddenly you’re all too aware of his erection pressing hot and heavy against your core, gasping when he shifts his hips underneath you.  He grabs onto your waist, grinding you down against him, smirking at the moan that leaves your lips.  

“Are you gonna tell me that that doesn’t feel like a man, huh?”  he growls, circling both of your hips to provide agonising friction against your clit, stimulating you through your clothes until they’re practically soaked through.  “I guess you won’t want me to fuck you then, will you, if I’m such a child… if I’m so immature?”  

“Please… Kook-Jungkookie, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it,” you mewl, grabbing onto his shirt, your body trying to ride him even as he shoves you off of his lap.

“Take those off,” he orders and instantly you obey, stripping your lower half, your mouth practically watering as you watch him strip and then lie back flat on the bed, stroking his cock with his hair dangling into his lust-darkened eyes.  You crawl back onto the bed when he beckons you with his finger, sitting astride him with your core hovering above his cock, dripping into his lap with how aroused you are.  He rubs the tip of his cock through your folds, teasing you until neither of you can bare it any longer, finally grabbing onto your hips and pulling you down onto him hard, grunting as your ass slaps into his lap.  

“Come on baby, show me how sorry you are.” 

Originally posted by gifsbangtan


My oh my, those just got longer and longer didn’t they? 

This Day in 1D History - June 26

2010: 

  • Liam does a thank you gig for friends and family before heading off to The X Factor!

2012: 

  • ot5 meet AAOOD creator Mark Parsons before the show!!
  • Up All Night Tour concert – Atlanta, USA, feat. the boys’ cover of Man in the Mirror!
  • Elounor show off their matching jammies on Insta :)) 

2013: 

  • a soft sleepy bab in the early morning in Boston <3
  • ot5 bring out the guns for a M&G
  • Take Me Home Tour concert – Mansfield, USA

2014: 

  • FINGER GUNS AT WIMBLEDON BC WHY NOT

2015: 

  • Nouis take Glasto!
2

It’s strange to think that somehow ambition or drive is the only way to continue reinventing your freshness. It’s not passive- it’s a very strong position to be in.

anonymous asked:

since u did the voltron au, do u have a ship from the actual voltron show???? also who's ur fave in voltron???

Lance’s my absolute mostest fav!!!! And since he’s my fave I’ll ship anything in which he’s happy, honestly, but I did draw some klance a while ago so I guess you might say that’s my main one 👍

theinsanechesirecat413  asked:

Does Grillby have bishoune eyes without his glasses? If that's too personal to answer, what would your ideal wedding dress look like for each other if you were to create one?

* (( … though I think we would have suits if we ever have a wedding… ))

* aw man, dresses would be so cool tho

Where Every Brown Sugar Baby Should Look for Her Next Sugar Daddy and Why

The more the game changes, the more it stays the same.

     Best friend, my first disappointment with sugaring came when I realized that sugaring sites were not for me. When I joined Tumblr, I was surrounded by stories of women who signed up for Seeking Arrangement and within an hour found their inbox full of messages from men willing to hand them the world or at least a pair of So Kate’s on the first date. When I joined Tumblr, I thought that I was going to command large allowances just because I existed, not because I did any work. I learned otherwise.

     My successes with sugaring came when I got very clear about what exactly it was that I was sugaring for. I realized that I couldn’t make myself care about designer goods. They’re pretty, and I loved looking at them on Instagram but dating a man so he could buy me luxury goods just did not seem like a lot of fun. But art supplies? Everything I needed to write a novel and maintain my blog? That sounded much more feasible. As soon as I committed to it, it happened. As soon as I got off the sugaring sites, it happened.  

     As an introvert, I did get off the sugaring sites, but it took me quite a while to get off the internet. I used Tinder to find the three gift daddies that I had. Last month, I went free styling for the first time.   

     There is a general horror around free styling that, trust me, I understand. If I didn’t have to leave my house, I wouldn’t. But I realized a few things. The sugar sites are not set up for you to succeed. We, as sugar babies, are the draw that is used to attract men with money and unrealistic dreams.  

     Do you want to have the perfect relationship? A young, beautiful, smart woman who will hang off your every word and, unlike escorts, will be with you and you alone for a fraction of the price that escorts are demanding? Sign up for a membership with our site at the low price of $39.99/month and become a sugar daddy tonight!

     While this might not be the exact language the sites are using, I guarantee if you go on any of the sugar sites you will see something similar being touted to men.  I also promise that the men that have the real potential to be amazing sugar daddies and give you things you didn’t believe that you could get aren’t on these sites.
     

     And, honey, maybe you haven’t noticed but online dating-sugar or vanilla- is not set up for black women to succeed. I’ll say it once more. You’re far more likely to find the man you’re looking for when you let go of the sugar sites.
So what happens next? Next, you change your mindset. There is one thing that needs adjustment, your attitude, in two different areas. The first is what a sugar daddy looks like. Maybe you don’t have this problem. But I do. I tend to find myself thinking that sugar daddies look a certain way. They’re white and in their 40’s-50’s. Most of them are married. But this isn’t what sugar daddies look like. They can be any age. They can be any race. They can be anywhere. When it’s time to free style, don’t think that if a Black man, an Asian man, a Martian, whatever, approaches you that because they don’t fit in with the idea of what you think an SD looks like you can’t pay any attention to them.

     There will be three types of men that you’ll meet when you go out: cheap men that would like your time and attention for free, men that will simply ask how much you want or make it known that they have no problem paying you, and men that are willing to spend money on you but need some type of connection with you first. Ugh, connection. Don’t you hate that word? Men should just hand us money because we asked for it right? We’re young, we’re beautiful, we’re smart. Just fork over the coins.

     But consider this. How often do you give money to complete strangers because they asked for it? How often have you walked up to an attractive or interesting looking person with $5 that you know you don’t need and said: “here this is for you just because you look cool or like you needed a little help”? Never right? If we were a society where that was the norm homelessness would not be an issue. No, we give our money to people we like, to people that have bettered our lives in some way, to people we trust. But, still. That word-connection. Months and months of dates. Maybe even putting out. That must be what I mean, right? Nope. Not what I mean at all. A connection can be made in 15 minutes or 15 months. It really just depends on how well your personality meshes with his.

     How do you tell these men apart? Let’s build a scenario, shall we? Let’s say you meet a man at a bar. You each talk a bit about who you are and what you do for a living. His job sounds promising. You don’t know exactly how much he makes but when you google it in the bathroom after touching up your lipstick you see that it’s an acceptable amount. He buys you a drink to continue the conversation you’ve already started, but when the night ends, he doesn’t pick up the tab you had started before he sat down. Splenda! Salt! That’s what Tumblr will tell you. I say wait. You spend some time texting. He says he wants to take you out. This is when we find out what kind of man he is by analyzing a few things:


  • Where does he want to meet? TGIFridays or one of the best restaurants/bars in the city. Look at where he wants to take you and why. If he asks you where you want to eat and then shoots it down because it’s overpriced or “just not his scene” you have two options: dig your heels in or run. My first meeting with Bentley took some time to plan because he shot down the restaurants that I chose as not being good enough for a first date. It was a good first sign. 
  • How and what do they order? We know what a man who doesn’t want to spend a lot of money looks like when he orders at a restaurant or bar. He asks if there are any discounts or deals. Asks what’s the best and cheapest drink or food item on the menu. Makes “jokes” about how expensive everything is. 
  • How do they look when you order? A man that asks if you want anything else after you’ve decided what you want is a keeper. A man that asks what you want scans the menu and then asks if you’re sure you want those things or if you’d be happy with something cheaper presents you with two options: to dig your heels in or run.
  • What are they talking to you about? A man that talks about sex as soon as he meets you only wants you for one thing and it ain’t playing cards. Now, if he’s willing to compensate you for that time in a way that you find acceptable, fine. Get your money girl. If you want a man that cares about you as an individual but he can’t stop talking about how well he’s doing on Viagra, you have two options. Dig in or run. I suggest you run, but this is your life, not mine
  • Do they listen when you speak? Do they remember what you said? I got my first laptop from a man who listened when I talked about wanting to write. I got my second laptop and art supplies from a man who listened to my business plan. If they can’t hear you, they can’t help you. 

     When the date is over, look at this man’s behavior. You’ll know if he’s the type of man that you can keep in your life. If he isn’t, let him go. LET HIM GO! Don’t, please friend, don’t hang on to a man because you don’t think that you’ll be able to get another. This game isn’t for the desperate that need quick cash because their life is falling apart. This is going to take time. You’ll find yourself getting dressed up and going out quite a few times before you find a man that you’re willing to stick with. If you understand this from the beginning, that reaching any goal is going to take time, you’ll be far less likely to fail.

     I’d like to give one piece of controversial advice. Do not ask for a gift or token or whatever you want to call it on the first date. Remember what we talked about earlier? About how we don’t give away our hard earned money to strangers or the undeserving? This applies here. And I know, I know. The posts of girls that say they asked for a gift and got one is so much more fun to read than what I’m saying, but here we are best friend, here we are.

     You do have one thing on your side. Men know that it is their responsibility to take care of the women in their lives. Vanilla men know this. They know. I’m going to say it one more time, best friend so it really sinks in. All men know that it is their responsibility to take care of the women in their lives. What’s more, they know that the younger and better looking a woman is, the more they will have to spend. Your job is not to convince a man to spend money on you. He already knows he should. Your job is to separate the men willing to spend from the men not willing to spend by opening up your mouth and talking about what you want. Talk about college and the class that you’re going to be taking, but god isn’t it crazy how expensive books are? Talk about how much you love to write, but your laptop broke. Talk about how you want to get into digital photography but don’t know what camera to get or if you can afford to buy one. Give it a couple weeks. The right man will show up with a laptop, or an iPad, or a book, or a camera or whatever it is you say you need. The wrong man won’t have made it past the first date.

Happy hunting, best friend.

Best friend, be honest, what did you think? Do you think you could ever get off the sugar sites? Go free styling? Do you think my approach makes any sense or is something that could work for you? Leave me a comment and let me know so we can talk about it.

continuing on with this topic of victorian dressage and dancing—my favorite man!

Honestly though it’s a little amazing how open Taako is with Kravitz? Like, he’s still definitely his same goofy self, but he’s honest in ways that I don’t think he is with anyone else.

There’s some people who he isn’t honest with on that level because he doesn’t need to be; he very rarely needs to lay anything out for Lup because she already gets him on a level where his goofing isn’t actually… obfuscating much from her, and to a lesser extent that’s true of the rest of the IPRE crew as well. But most of the time, he doesn’t seem to… intentionally build trust. He just kind of exists in proximity to a person until there’s a Taako-shaped space in their life and they either hate his guts or they love him. Even with people he likes and respects - he might be less openly abrasive toward them, but he still expects them to meet him more than halfway.

And he very much does not do that with Kravitz. With Kravitz, his approach is much more “I want the Taako-spaced shape in your life to be a positive one, so this is what you need to know about me, and what I’m trying to do, and what I’m not trying to do.”