long time as in a week and a half

Veronica Mars' Kristen Bell and Rob Thomas Talks 'Six-Episode' Revival Update
With the Gilmore Girls revival behind us, it’s time to reopen our investigation into a second Veronica Mars reunion project.
By Michael Ausiello

With the Gilmore Girls revival behind us, it’s time to reopen our investigation into a second Veronica Mars reunion project.

Over the summer, leading lady Kristen Bell confirmed our initial scoop that she and series creator Rob Thomas are eyeing a limited-series format vs. a fan-funded feature film this time around, telling me at Comic-Con, “We are definitely striving to do it again… And this time around we’re not going to ask the audience to pony up for anything.”

At the Television Critics Association winter press tour last week, Thomas — who was promoting iZombie Season 3 — revealed that the potential continuation would consist of a half-dozen hour-long episodes. “Kristen and I both want to figure out some way we could do a six-episode Veronica Mars mystery,” he shared. “If I were a betting man, I bet that it will happen. I just don’t know when it will be.”

Two likely complications/obstacles: Bell’s commitment to NBC’s The Good Place and Thomas’ in-the-works Lost Boys remake for The CW. “We need to find a window where we could both do it,” he explained. “When actors are on network shows, most standard contracts will give them outs for, like, one episode a year of guest-starring. But then there are also sometimes outs if you’re doing something that is non-competitive. Would NBC consider a Veronica Mars thing on, like, Netflix non-competitive? We have not figured that out yet.

Hey y’all! I’m not usually one to ask for money, but this month due to the severe weather in Portland (yay climate change) I’ve been unable to find a job within the time frame I had in mind. I’ve also had some injuries because of my physical disabilities, preventing me from going out to search for a new job. I get child support from my dad next month, but it isn’t enough to cover rent, bills, and groceries. Until the child support comes in, I don’t have enough money for groceries for the next week and a half.

I’m still trying to find a job and I’ve been applying online and whenever I can physically go out, but who knows when I’ll get one. If anyone could donate some money, even a dollar, to my paypal (ebourgeau@gmail.com) that’d be amazing. If you can’t, just a reblog is helpful! I know that money is short for everyone, so I’m just asking for help where I can get it.

I can offer some services in return for money, but you’ll have to message me and we can discuss that further. This includes music education, in music theory or in several instruments. I can also write music for people, albeit I have limited resources and tools to do so.

Please, help a broke physically and mentally disabled queer kid eat this week! It’d be much appreciated. Thank you!

i feel like a senior citizen on this site like ive been here for 6+ years and i cant keep up. back in my day i clawed my way to the top with shitty puns and Relatable Meme Gifs, now everything is carefully calculated shitposts that i cant seem to grasp the formula of… im in ruins….. i did not live thru the mishapacolypse and tumblr prom for this…

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random assorted trb notes

just some things from my trb reread i’d like to share with the class (not in any particular order, including linear bc time is fake). this is long and obnoxious but i forgot how much i loved this book so, who cares

  • gansey and ronan order half sausage and half avocado pizza all the time and it might be the only thing they eat
  • ronan and adam fight a lot but they make up within the day
    • adam and gansey on the other hand have had at least one fight that lasted two weeks (i think) and they barely spoke. it ended when ronan said something offensive
  • i’m only gonna say this once but ashley was playing declan and smarter than she looked and got zero respect from any of the boys, including gansey and adam, and i hope she’s in the dreamer trilogy and spits in their eyes
  • adam’s pov is so dramatic and funny. examples:
    • ronan walked out of his room and “a cloud like there would never be sun again crossed declan’s face.” (direct quote)
    • refers to ronan’s “lizard smile”
    • “adam was, all at once, fatigued with ronan and his uselessness”

(a lot) more under the cut

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MPC and Sam

I do not get involved in a lot of the angst that happens here for a few reasons.  First, I tend to be a peace-maker and develop some anxiety when angst and drama rear their heads.  But mostly because I get enough angst and drama from my work, as I am often “beat-up” a bit on a daily basis - think a combo of ER and Breaking Bad - that is sometimes my reality for 12 hours many days of the week.  

Some of you know that I am in remission from non-hodgkin’s lymphoma, so I signed on to My Peak Challenge from the get-go.  When I was first diagnosed, I was critically ill due to complications following surgery - a collapsed lung and lacerated esophagus. I spent a month in the hospital, with half that time in the ICU.  I then had a year long journey with chemo and radiation.  

For me MPC is win-win, i.e. I get to learn more about nutrition and fitness so that my well-being and health are improved, while at the same time raising money for Bloodwise to support research and programs for people with blood cancers, of which non-hodgkin’s lymphoma is one of the most prevalent.  

There has been a lot of negativity directed at Sam recently, which has carried over to poking fun at MPC and therefore MPC participants.  So basically anyone who has said things “just in fun,” or “we’re just teasing,” - you have been poking fun at me and the thousands of other who have benefited from MPC.  Like most other MPC participants, I did not sign on to impress Sam, get to know him, or whatever other motivation has been given for why people participate.

If I have a relapse of my cancer, I will need a bone-marrow transplant (BMT), a highly specialized procedure that is done in a few hundred cancer centers in the US, requiring a hospital stay of several weeks to months.  I am in good health now and do not anticipate that I will ever need a BMT, but I am enough of a realist to know that a relapse is always a possibility.  Some of the research money that has led to the development and implementation of the BMT as a life-saving measure comes from organizations like Bloodwise

So when you are tempted to criticize Sam’s work with MPC, or to poke fun at MPC participants by writing things like “leading 10,000 porridge eating ass kissing Samonlys up a hill,” or “Maybe they could starve the black bears for a month. Make everybody wear a peanut butter sandwich hanging from their neck.” That would eliminate a few of them,”  please just remember that you are poking fun at me.  I am a real living breathing person who has endured a great deal of suffering in life, primarily due to being diagnosed with non-hodgkin’s lymphoma.  

I will always support Sam for many reasons, but mostly because he has given alot of his time, money, and energy to the creation of a program that has changed the lives of countless people.  Please think about that the next time  you are tempted to joke about or make fun of MPC.  

“hux hates him”

more like: “hux is kept awake nights consumed with thoughts of him. hux would do anything to remove the mask and lavish that pretty face with attention. hux has gotten himself off ten and a half times imagining him this week alone and he still can’t fucking function long enough to make it through his paperwork GODDAMMIT KYLO REN IS A MENACE”

Thanks tumblr for letting me stumble across my best friend, better half and nothing but a bright spark in my life. Words cannot describe how ridiculously excited I am for this time next week. No doubt I’ll have this beaming smile back on my face. 4 months… Crazy. I’ve been counting down the days ever since. @olli-rue ❤🇳🇿🛫🇨🇦

Undercover 1: Truth, Dare, and the Scientific Method

“Heyyyy, Scully, look what I found!”

Mulder comes back from an unusually-long kitchen prowl, naked per the new usual, holding two lowball glasses with a half-inch each of Scotch in them. It’s the only real liquor she has — the bottle of Glenmorangie 18 Year that she bought herself when she joined the Bureau. She forgets about this bottle for months, years at a time — it’s not much fun sipping Scotch alone. The lowball glasses, with their heavy bases and beveled rims, were a housewarming present from her then-boyfriend when she moved into her apartment. She hasn’t seen them — or him — since a few weeks after the move.

“Ooooh, yum!” She sits up, holding out a hand for her glass.

“Really?” he asks, a curious smile starting on his face as he settles on the bed by her outstretched legs.

“Yeah,” she says, pulling the sheet up to cover her breasts and tucking it demurely under her arms. “It’s one of those things I learned about on purpose to fit in with the boys’ club, back in med school. But drinking Scotch actually stuck with me, unlike quoting Caddyshack or shooting pool.”  

He shakes his head, filing this fact away with the many new ones he’s discovered about her in the weeks since this insane and wondrous transformation of their relationship.

“And here I thought it was going to be a good dare,” he says, sniffing at his glass and trying not to make a childish “ick” face.

“Guess it’ll have to be ‘truth,’ then,” she says, low and throaty, taking a sip with her eyes on him over the rim of the glass like a film noir mystery woman. She’s kidding — vamping at him, amusement dancing in her dramatic expression — but it stirs him, despite the short interval between now and what got them into their current state of undress. Christ, she is sexy, and he may never find out all her secrets, but he’s going to spend the rest of his life trying to.

Aiming for suavity, he takes a small swallow of his drink, and manages — marshaling every ounce of his manhood — merely to tear up a little from the strong taste and powerful aroma, instead of coughing and spluttering like a freshman as it burned all the way down. God, how had his father knocked back so much of this stuff?

“OK,” he says, when he can speak again, “Truth: The first blowjob you gave.”

Her eyes go wide and innocent. “Why, that was three weeks ago — on your couch — that very first night we were together.”

For a long, shocked second, he almost believes it — he can feel his eyes start to bug out, his mouth go a little slack — and then she laughs and he feels like an idiot. He makes a face at her; she just makes one back, still laughing.

“All right,” she says finally. “What do you mean? First-ever attempt? First successful completion? First guy to ask me to marry him based on that alone?”

He wants to follow up on every lead, which renders him unable to pick just one — god, he must look like a cartoon right about now, sweat beading on his forehead, steam coming out of his ears, jaw agape …

“Um …” Oh, smooth, yes.

She looks down into her glass with a smile on her lips. “I’m just saying — people who hang on to their virginity — technically — because of religious guilt, tend to develop other skills to compensate.”

He purses his lips, eyebrows raised — “Oooooooh, Scully, I wanna hear allll about that,” he says, and she giggles again. They should play Truth or Dare every day. “OK — first, ah, successful completion.”

She settles back with a little shimmy of her shoulders, tongue darting out over her bottom lip as she searches her memory. “All right … I was seventeen, he was also, or close to it — anyway, we were both juniors. Met him at church. He went to the Catholic boys’ school near us — not to the public school, I forget whether he was a Navy brat or not, but he had longish hair which most Navy dads won’t allow, so I don’t think so? And he was tall and skinny, dark blonde hair, green eyes, nice kid, very respectful — like, way too respectful — I wasn’t ready to lose my virginity, but Caleb would barely touch me.”

Mulder moves closer, placing a hand on her sheet-covered thigh just above her knee, charmed by the description of what Scully once found attractive even as he finds and bats away the tiny egg of ridiculous retroactive jealousy trying to hatch in his head.

“It took us two months of very proper dating to work around to what my youth group leader called ‘heavy petting’ —”

Her sudden laugh almost upsets her drink, which she’s holding between her breasts to warm. “‘Heavy petting,’ oh brother … anyway, I finally got him alone for long enough and convinced him I really did want to — which, by the way, I did — that wasn’t really like me, at least not at that age, but I was so curious and I guess horny? Although I wouldn’t have called it that.” She takes a meditative sip. “And I knew there was no way he’d tell anybody and ruin my reputation, so he was safe that way. Plus — it’s not like I thought I was going to marry him, but I really did like him a lot. So … one afternoon when we were at his house, supposed to be studying, and his family were all out, I just … went for it.”

He’s been watching her mouth as she talks, only half-aware of his own arousal creeping up on him. He likes this new view he’s getting, of Scully the Good Girl taking charge of things.


She shrugs. “My technique wasn’t very sophisticated, so I don’t know how great it was for him — well, I guess pretty OK, he did come —”

Mulder almost chokes on his second, wincing swallow of liquor. She laughs, a roguish gleam in her eye.

“Me, I was mostly surprised at the volume — it wasn’t the pint or so that I’d imagined. More like a few tablespoons. Also it was in spurts, not one long gout of ejaculate. Which was scientifically interesting — I hadn’t been able to figure that out from books.” He makes a strangulated noise, to her clear amusement. She goes on, “But it made a hell of a mess. I had to wear my jacket home, zipped up, and immediately do a load of laundry with my shirt and bra in it as soon as I got there —”

“You didn’t, ah …”

“Swallow? No — I told you, I didn’t have the technique down, plus — scientific curiosity. I really wanted to see it happen.”

He ponders this new revelation for a moment, wondering if her approach had anything to do with how quickly she’d learned things about pleasing him that had taken other women much longer to discover, if they ever did at all. He hopes, suddenly (though not for the first time) that he’s doing as well with her as she is with him. He shifts a little, trying to formulate a way to ask her that, but just then her eyes drop to his lap and her lips curl up in an absolutely wicked smile.

“Your turn,” she says in a husky tone that makes his erection bob eagerly toward her. He might’ve laughed at that if it weren’t for the way she bit her lip — there’s nothing funny about what he wants to do to her right now. She looks up, finishes her drink with her eyes locked on his, and puts both glasses on the nightstand. “What’ll it be — Truth? Or Dare?” She lets the sheet drop away, where it pools around her waist.

He slides his hand higher on her thigh, leaning forward to close the distance between them. He’s not sure how it works within the game, but he knows she understands when he murmurs against those soft and devilish lips: “Both.”

Sweet Heart

Originally posted by negandarylsatisfaction

Originally posted by qothams

IMAGINE: You’re Rick’s daughter and in the line up, Negan takes an interest in you.

A/N: I said I would try to upload on Sunday, and I did not fail! I am, though, sad to say that I will probably not be able to update this story until Friday. As I said I am going to be having a crazy busy week and will unfortunately not have any time. But, I tried to make this chapter extra long and though this episode was focused on The Hilltop, I will being mentioning it but instead creating my own storyline.


Simon had been sent off to The Hilltop, you were only able to hear briefly. But from what you caught, they were going to collect their half and rekindle on their ‘deal’ with The Hilltop. You weren’t positive, but you’d had a lot of time to think, and if Maggie wasn’t really dead like you thought she was, that meant she was most likely at The Hilltop. Though, you were happy she was able to possibly get to a doctor, you need that if Simon found her she was better dead.

You had pushed it, you realized the other day when you had been very open and ‘ungrateful’ as Negan had called it when you said goodbye to your family. You didn’t think you were being ungrateful, you’d only wanted to have a proper goodbye seeing as it seemed that would be the last time in along time you would see your father and brother.

Negan had made it clear that you wouldn’t be joining him on anymore adventures to Alexandria anytime soon, after your disobedience the last time. Though, it upset you greatly, you guessed you expected it too. You should’ve kept

You should’ve kept your mouth shut.

Right now, you sat in Negan’s room, waiting. For what? You didn’t know. You had been thrown in here and left here, you figured eventually Negan would want his payment for letting you say goodbye. The only question was when. 

Your head snapped up when the door in front of you snapped open and another woman stepped in. You were slightly shocked by her presence, you hadn’t ever seen a woman here only man and she looked well, as well as clean. She wore a similar dress Negan had tried to force on you a few days.

Looking down at yourself, you realized it had been very long since you had a change of clothes or a shower. You could smell your own BO, and it sickened you. Looking up at the girl, she smiled softly at you. “Hi,” she waved, “I’m Sherry. I’ll be showing you to the wives quarters and giving you a shower as well as a fresh pair of clothes.”

You froze at the word ‘wives’ and you looked this girl, Sherry, up and down. Figures. You should have known you weren’t something special and Negan wanted to just make you another one of his whores. Something akin to jealousy crawled through you, though you weren’t sure why. 

You glared at Sherry, despite knowing it wasn’t really her fault and followed her outside. She led you through a series of doors and you could hear soft music in the far background. You wanted to ask, but kept your mouth shut, instead following mutely.

You were led into a room filled with a few girls. All glared at you immediately when you entered the room. You gave them your own, much deadlier glare, not really giving a shit if they disliked you or not. You didn’t really give a shit about any of them. Sherry grabbed your wrist, turning your attention back on her. 

“This is the ‘wives’ quarters, where i’m sure you’ll be staying soon enough. All those doors,” she pointed to a series of doors lined all around you, “are doors to each of our rooms. That door,” she pointed to a white double door facing the opposite direction of the others. “Is the bathroom door, we are allowed to have showers every two days or longer, there’s only one for all of us. You will be given your own supplies, shampoo and conditioner. They will provide it all for you.” You figured by ‘they’, she meant the saviours.

You said nothing, but let your eyes wander around. You refused to let Negan make you into one of his whores, but you wouldn’t tell these girls that. You would just have to wait until you saw the man yourself. Sherry shook her head, something close to understanding floating across her eyes before she led you to the bathroom.

As you looked around at all the girls, you saw they all wore dresses and were prettied up to look very feminine. It made you feel sick, but you said nothing.

“Theres a set of clothes in there for you and shampoo and conditioner. Until Negan’s men get you some, i’ll let you borrow mine.” Suddenly you felt a little selfish for being so cold to her. “Also, I heard you didn’t like dresses, so I managed to get you some pants and a shirt instead.” Now you felt extremely guilty.

Sherry smiled at you, and you smiled small at her. Muttering a quick thanks, you shut the door.

Staring at yourself in the mirror, you know realized how badly you looked. Grime and sweat covered your entire being and you t-shirt was torn, your jeans having a huge tear on the thigh. Your hair was knotted up pretty well and felt like a puddle of grease. Sighing, you took a deep breath in and stripped of your clothes, stepping into the shower.

The water felt nice on your skin. You felt like you could finally breathe again, washed away from the grime and dirt that left you in a permanent memory of what happened that night. With a breathe of relief, you let the water completely submerse you.

When you stepped out, you felt fresh and soft, so unlike how you had felt the entirety of the past week. Once you’d tried yourself, you took a look at the clothes set out for you. Sherry had truly picked out something to your liking, a black tank top and blue skinny jeans, as well as a new set of panties and your old bra. You appreciated her kindness which seemed so unlike the other females

Though you would never let them get to you, you couldn’t help but feel slightly small. Your pride would never let them win, but the behaviour and treatment was so different then how it was back home and all you wanted to do was go home.

You threw your hair up in a high ponytail and stepped out of the bathroom. As soon as you did, Sherry stood up and began directing you back towards what you guessed Negan’s room. Seeing as you didn’t have your own room like she had implied. 

You were stopped however when you felt a painful yank on your hair and snarl. Whipping around, you came face to with another female.  You glared at the girl who smiled sickly sweet at you. “Hi, i’m Amber,” `she tilted her head. “Welcome, whore.”

Narrowing your eyes, you didn’t know what you did to this bitch but you said nothing. Knowing better than to let her get to you. 

“Amber…” Sherry spoke up, sighing.

“Shut up, Sherry.” Amber ordered, “i’m talking to the new bitch.”

You crossed your arms, leaning heavily on your left leg. 

“You think you’re so special don’t you?” Amber sneered, “can’t even wear the same wardrobe as us. Negan may have ‘picked’ you, but now that you ain’t his favourite.”

You laughed, the ideas this woman has! “You think I wanna be here?”

Amber stayed silent for a moment, not expecting you to reply. “Y-Yeah.”

“I didn’t,” you laughed, “i’m only here because I was forced to. I’m here so Negan doesn’t kill my family. My friends. I ain’t no whore like you who will spread my legs wide open for the psychopath.”

Amber’s face went red and she raised her fist to throw a hit at you, to which you blocked grabbing her wrist. Sherry immediately came between you two. She turned to you with pleading eyes. “Please, don’t.”

You glared, “what would you know? What would you all know?” You yelled at all them, “you fucking think this Negan is the greatest thing alive…” You muttered. 

Sherry grabbed your wrist, turning to you. “I understand, I was forced to as well. Please, he will get mad.” Your eyes widened and before you knew it your hand dropped and you turned around. “Let’s go.” You muttered, not liking that she got to you. 

You felt it before you realized it, a sudden hit on the back of your head, making you lurch forward. You snapped around, side sweeping Amber and punching her straight in the face. She fell on the floor with a whimpered, holding her bloody nose.

“What in the bloody fucking hell is going on here?”

You stare defiantly at Negan who paced in front of you. “What the hell, girl?” He turned to you in anger. You had to admit you maybe went a step to far with Amber but she had pushed you.

“She deserved it.” You muttered, defensively.

“You have caused me more fucking issues than your fucking fuckity worth, Y/N.” Negan swore, crouching in front of you so he could stare you square in the eyes. You glared at him, rubbing the bump on the back of your head where Amber had hit you. You hated to admit it but she packed a good punch, though this was nothing compared to what you’d done to her.

Negan shook his head, you looked away. “Look at me, sweet heart.” You hadn’t heard the pet name in a while. It shocked you.

When you ignored his direct order, his grabbed your chin. Making you face him, though you avoided eye contact and instead stared at lucille who leaned against the wall opposite to you. “Fucking listen to me!” Negan suddenly yelled, making you finally make eye contact with him.

“Why’d you hit her? Amber had a pretty fucking face, and I don’t want it fucking bruised.” Negan spat at you, making you flinch slightly.

“She called me a whore, the new bitch. I tried to walk away and she hit me behind my back. She fucking deserved it.” You glared, Negan’s eyes stiffened sightly and he leaned his head against your forehead, rubbing the back of your head. You froze in shock, not used to seeing this soft side.

Before you knew it he was placing soft kisses on your neck. Despite yourself, you leaned further, letting him travel up your neck to your jaw all the way up to your lips. You leaned into the kiss, accepting it with gratitude. You hadn’t felt this kind of affection in so long. Even back at Alexandria no one had loved you like you wanted, well except your family.

But you wanted to be loved because they thought you were beautiful. Negan bit your bottom lip, grabbing the back of your neck and waist. He stood up, leaning over you so you laid against the bed. He grabbed you, moving you closer to the head board.

He pulled away from the kiss and you gratefully breathed in the air. He chuckled at you, before leaning down and grabbing your tank top, ripping it off of you. You blushed, covering yourself in shame and turning your head with a bright red blush on your cheeks. Negan chuckled before grabbing your wrist, placing them above your head. “Don’t hide yourself.” He ordered, leaning down and placing rough kisses and licks across your stomach.

You moaned in pleasure, eyes clenched tightly, forgetting where you were and who you were with.

“You’re so beautiful.” 

“You’re beautiful.” 

“Just like your mother.”

Your eyes snapped open, a picture of your father flashing before your eyes. You stared in shock at Negan, who was working on unbuttoning your pants.

“I’ll protect you. I promise.” Carl

“You never fail to make me laugh.” Abraham…

“You’re like a daughter to me, never forget that.” Maggie…

“I remember when you were only a tiny little thing, Y/N.” Glenn…

Negan. Negan killed Glenn and Abraham. Negan ruined the life of Maggie. Negan stole you from your family.

You began twisting and turning, trying to escape Negan’s grip on your wrists. You were know pants-less and he was working on working you up. In panic you screamed, making his head snapped up to you in shock. Confusion and anger flashed through his eyes. 

“Y/N! What the hell?” 

You shook your head, tears brimming. “I won’t let you. I won’t become one of your mindless whores. I won’t become your wife.” He stayed silent, still staring at you in shock. “Not after what you did. I won’t do that to them.”

Negan’s eyes narrowed and he grabbed your hips, your hands instinctively covering your chest. He pulled you down, you let a gasp escaped your lips. “Listen here, sweet heart. I won’t let you stop after you have me so worked up.”

It was the first time you realized he had taken off his leather jacket and white shirt. Now only in his pants and you could see the bulge clearly. You gulped, knowing you had done something you would regret.

“Now, I won’t force you. But let me make it fucking clear, that if you don’t give me what I want, much worse things will happen to them.” Your eyes widened in fear and you took a deep breath in. The lust and pleasure you had felt before was gone, but you knew Negan wouldn’t let you go.

Closing your eyes, you nodded, letting him continue. He smirked before ripping off your panties and his own pants. He inserted his fingers, curling them and roughly pushing them in and out. You bit your lip, trying to stop from moaning. You could hear his chuckle before his lips descended upon you.

He released your lips, continuing his work on your vagina. He slowed down, making you whimper and buck your hips. “Open your eyes.” He ordered, to which you ignored, continuing to buck your hips 

“Open your fucking eyes.” He yelled, and you snapped your eyes open. Immediately making eye contact with his lust filled eyes. He smiled dreamily down at you and you for the first time felt an incredible attraction towards him. 

Guilt filled within you but you ignored it, pushing it deep down hoping that would help. It didn’t.

He continued until you came on his hand, he smirked before lapping it up with his mouth. You watched in mixed disgust and arousal. He laughed at you before placing kissed along your jaw and taking a rough bite at your neck. You yelped in pain and you could practically feel his smirk against your neck, he pulled away. Ripping his boxers off and grabbing one of your breasts.

You watched in anxiety as he place himself in front of you. “This is gonna fuckin’ hurt, sweet heart. But don’t worry, it’ll feel good soon enough.” He pushed in quickly, before you were prepared and you screamed in pain. Feeling it break, you grabbed the bed sheets, clenching so tightly your knuckles turned white.

“Ah, ah, hnnn.” You panted, your chest heaving as he grabbed both your breast. Quickening his pace once you situated yourself you could already feel the pleasure building.

“Fuck yes! Sweet heart, your so good.” He groaned, and you moaned. Grabbing him so your hands were placed around his back, you grabbed him pulling him close. The lust clouding your mind your forgot about everyone and instead focused on the pleasure.

Before you knew it you were panting from exhaustion, the pleasure dying down as Negan slumped next to you. He cradle you as you panted, your eyes dropping close. Guilt flooded you as you lied to yourself, saying you did this for them.

“I-I…” You panted, “I betrayed them…” You whimpered before passing out. Negan stared at you for a moment. His eyes softening as he pulled you close.

“You’re not just a ‘wife’ to me, you’re much more.”


@followyourfuckiingdreams @idonthavehusbandsihavelovers If you would like to be tagged, message me in private inbox or ask :)
No Words: a Fred Weasley x Reader Imagine

Requested: yes

In this imagine, a shy Ravenclaw reader has major feelings for Fred Weasley. The problem is that he will never notice. When an old friend makes some unwanted advances problems arise. There are no words for the butterflies or the stones in the readers stomach over the course of this week, but then again, sometimes there’s no need for words.

*Note: you can substitute another house while reading if you like, but the requester specifically wanted Ravenclaw. If you spot any errors please let me know.

Warnings: light cursing

Y/N - your name
Y/L/N - your last name
~~~ - used to show passage of time

Word count: 3,008


The pale yellow of the ceiling is fading into a powder blue as the Great Hall fills with half sleeping students. Four long tables are piled high with all variety of breakfast foods. On either side of me Ivy and Ethan, my two best friends, take their seats at the Ravenclaw table.

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a note on burr’s intellect and how it’s portrayed musically

i’m only going to be talking about burr’s short verse in my shot bc otherwise this would be ten miles long, but let me just say: lin-manuel miranda is a fucking genius. (warning, this is going to be a long post.)

as far as i recall, this is the only time burr raps in the narrative. and it’s 4 measures to tell hamilton and crew to shut up, in a language they’ll understand (rap), after being asked in the previous song to rap a bit.

just for a second, let me talk about internal rhyme.

internal rhyme is a component of rap that’s exactly what it sounds like: the rhymes within a verse that don’t fall in line with the ends of the phrases. they can still rhyme with the ends of the phrases too, but they aren’t on the ends of the phrases. (most of the time, you’ll notice internal rhymes because there’ll be emphasis on the rhymed syllables.)

now, hamilton’s verses are laden with internal rhyme: i could cite a billion examples, but i’ll only pull one for now.

“older”, “colder”, and “shoulder” are grouped together in the same rhyme scheme, with “shoulder” being the main source of internal rhyme.

similarly, “(disad)vantage”, “manage”, “brandish”, and “famished” are all in the same rhyme scheme, with “manage” being the main source of internal rhyme (although it can be argued that “brandish” is too because of the way it plows through the end of the phrase there with the straight sixteenth notes.) (also, shoutout to those polysyllabic rhymes for showcasing hamilton’s intelligence.)

now we’ll take a look at hamilton’s crew’s verses. start with lafayette:

there’s not really internal rhyme in here. because of his accent, lafayette can pull rhyming “france” and “’on(archy)”, but that’s about it. not surprising; he’s not unintelligent, it’s just that he’s still figuring out english.

then mulligan:

mulligan’s got a bit of internal rhyme going on with “chance”, “(ad)vance”, and “pants”. the “so(cially)” and “sew(in’)” could be argued too, but the fact that the emphasis is placed on the “ly” of socially and not on the “so” makes it hard to argue.

then of course, laurens:

laurens, getting up there with hamilton and bringing in some polysyllabic rhymes! we’ve got “truly free” and “you and me”; “you and i” and “do or die”; “sally in”, “stallion”, and “battalion”. that’s three different rhyme schemes, so good for you– but then, we’d expect a good command of the english from someone who helped hamilton write essays.

now, finally, we get to burr:

“gen(iuses)” and “keep”. “trouble” and “double”. “with” and “sit(uation)”. that’s already three internal rhymes, completely separate from the end rhyme. (he fits a polysyllabic rhyme in there too with “trouble” and “double”.)

and then the internal rhyme that goes with the end rhyme?

“fraught”, “got”, “taught”, “talk”, and “shot”.

that’s five instances of rhyming in two measures. let me repeat that: five instances of rhyming in two measures. the example i cited has hamilton doing four instances of rhyme in three measures.

burr’s intelligence and command of the english language is at least on par with hamilton’s, if not greater, as evidenced later by their partnership as lawyers; but lin-manuel miranda manages to portray that just in four measures.

that’s how to develop a character musically.


Part 8

You have no idea how incredibly sorry I am that this took me so long to put up. Between a terrible fit of writer’s block, school, and work I had no time in the last week and a half to sit down and sleep, let alone write. 

To make up for it though I did dabbled a bit in Rhysand’s POV…sorry if it sucks…

I also apologize to all of those who asked me if there was going to be a Part 8 and I told them a time frame of when I wanted this up and I didn’t meet that time frame at all! I feel really bad about that. :( 

And to all of you who have supported me in writing this, thank you. You all are awesome!

There will be a Part 9, I’ll do my best to post it ASAP!

Also, since my brain wants to block me from writing, if anyone has any requests or anything like that just hit me up with your ideas and I’ll see what I can do!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6Part 7.

Word Count: 3,185


Rhysand had calmed me down, wiped my tears, and was off in the kitchen making breakfast but I could not stop sniffling.

We didn’t go back to sleep after I had had my nightmare. He held me and insisted we talk only about happy things so that’s what we did until the sunlight filtered into the room.

We told each other happy stories from our past. My favorite of his was of him and his mother. He had told me that when he was little and couldn’t sleep, she would take him out on the roof and teach him about the stars. He told me she would drag out blankets and pillows and sit with him for hours and teach him all of the constellations, about the planets and stars. It made me want to meet his mother, she seemed like a wonderful mother.

Rhys told me his favorite story of mine was the first memory I have with paint. I couldn’t have been older than kindergarten. My mother and father were painting something in the house and I remember little baby me had hobbled right up to the tray of blue paint and smashed my hands in it. I remember having paint everywhere, in my hair, on my face, all over my little floral dress. I had made little finger paintings on the wall. My father still had the pictures to prove it.

Nonetheless, Rhys insisted we only speak of good things. He also insisted that I stay in bed while he cooked us breakfast later in the morning—not that I minded.

Once he had left I had a chance to really look around his room. It was simple but everything about it screamed “Rhysand.”

It was furnished in dark wood. A bookshelf that is lined with books sits between the two windows. A dresser sits next to the closet door with pictures on it. A desk is shoved into the corner and is covered in stacks of paper and his laptop. The walls were a dark gray color, but Rhys had hung up a tapestry on the wall behind the bed.

The fabric stretches cross the whole length of the wall. It was a beautiful pictures of a forest covered mountain range with three stars shining brightly at the peak. The night sky beyond was cloudless and dotted with other stars.

I sat on his bed for what felt like forever. Not that I cared if it was forever. His bed was humungous, and so, so soft. It has the warmest set of blankets I had ever slept in, and it was flanked on either side with a nightstand and a lamp atop each. An old fashioned trunk sat at the foot of the bed and could be used as a step up if someone needs it.

I don’t have the energy to explore more of his room right now otherwise I would have gotten up. I remain seated with my legs pulled to my chest. I sit and look at the tapestry hanging on his wall. It was beautiful. Whoever designed it had an eye for art.

My stomach then omits a loud growl, the smell of whatever Rhys was cooking drifting into the room. I make to climb out of his bed and hiss when my feet hit the cold, wood floor.

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And don’t forget that the new Islands miniseries premieres the very next week at the same time probably. Check your TV guide.

(This promo is a part of @fuckyeahkasumisty‘s “Promo Art Initiative” where us longtime fans draw our own promo art to help promote the season premiere on Tumblr because Cartoon Network won’t on their own TV channel)

Here begins my personal update:

AND HERE I AM BACK AGAIN TWO AND A HALF MONTHS LATER. Still no revamp/rebranding or whatever you wanna call it. I did basically no art at all on my month-long winter break (but this counts as one, thanks for the inspiration kasu), and I’m back to college in the next few days. This doesn’t necessarily mean I’ll be MIA for an even longer period of time, though. I am confident to find a balance between this hobby stuff (which I plan to make a career out of someday) and my studies (which I also plan to make a career out of someday, good luck with that one genius). So HOPEFFFFULLY in the next month I will finally decide on a final name change or no name change at all for this blog, complete with a new avatar, banner, and comic to pop things open fresh and new again. Along the line I hope to post more than art and comics and expand to animation…and that’s it. Just animation. Maybe music too but that’s a long shot. YouTube videos? With my voice and lord have mercy my face in them? I’m thinking too sadistically. My name is Charlie and I’m the only one responsible for being the procrastinating lazy horrible excuse for a human being that I am. But I say to myself: “Anytime you want to start being a productive, hardworking and happy person, just go right ahead. Take your time. Just not so much time.” And I will see you soon Tumblr. Happy New Year and do great things. I know I will.


love actually christmas au;

Newly elected prime minister, Franchesima “Phasma” Hux is the first openly gay woman elected as prime minister, and finds herself in quite the predicament as shes ushered through her new staff and meets her new loose lipped assistant, Rey.

Finn has been taking care of his sick brother for years and hasn’t had time for relationships. Except one day his boss, Armitage Hux at the First Order Designs, calls him out and asks him exactly how long hes been in love with their lead graphic designer, Dolph Mitaka. Finn now knows that not only Hux, but the entire office including Dolph knows about his four and a half year crush.

Just weeks before, Hux’s personal assistant and best friend Ben Solo was best man at his picture perfect winter wedding to the love of his life, Poe Dameron. Despite his extravagant show as best man, Ben has been harboring not one, but two secrets: he’s been in love with Hux for what feels like forever, but when Hux introduced Ben to Poe, everything got infinitely more complicated. Hes been in love with both of them for longer than he cares to admit. So when Ben all but blurts out his true feelings for Hux in the midst of planning their office Christmas party, Hux isn’t quite sure what to do. He can only ignore Ben’s advances for so long before addressing them.

Snap Wexley, returns early from Hux and his childhood best friend Poe’s wedding to find Bazine, his girlfriend of five years, in bed with another man. He unceremoniously dumps her, packs up and goes on a writing holiday to the country where the landlady of his rental sets him up with Jessika Pava, a highly recommended housekeeper who unfortunately doesn’t speak any English. Despite their communication breakdown, Snap manages to end up head over heels for her.

Han Solo, washed up rock star and estranged father to Ben is looking to make a comeback on the urging from his manager Chewie. In an unlikely turn of events, his stinker of a Christmas song goes all the way to to holiday #1 slot with smatterings of dodgy advice along the way from Uncle Han. Don’t do drugs kids!

Hux swamped with work, transfers all of his calls for the day to Ben, around noon he leaves Ben a call with a warning, “Ben I know you took that amazing video, Poe needs to talk to you. And, Ben, please be nice.” After their awkward phone call, Poe shows up at Ben’s studio flat that evening to take a look at the video and finds the footage far too intimate for a casual wedding video. Ben knows he’s caught when. Poe is baffled. “Ben you don’t talk to me. You don’t even like me.” Ben anxiously explains, stumbling out of his own apartment that the reason he’s so cold to Poe is simply self preservation.

Ben’s confession to Poe doesn’t stop his office flirting with Hux and in a brazen move asks Hux who is taking a half day to finish his Christmas shopping with Poe, what he plans on getting him. Hux hadn’t planned on getting him anything at all. But after Ben’s confession that when it comes to him, Hux can have everything, he splurges on an lavish luxury watch. Poe finds this later and knows immediately that it’s not for him, its not his taste or size.

Just before Christmas, American President Snoke shows up for talks with the UK and after Phasma, already feeling bullied by Snoke, sees him making a sleazy pass at Rey she makes a stand against President Snoke. Afterwards, she also reallocates Rey’s position on her staff. She’s already feeling something akin to possessiveness, and she can’t have her heart broken again. Not so close to Christmas and certainly not on the job.

When the First Order’s Christmas party finally arrives, Poe and Ben and Hux are all in attendance, and Poe, giving much needed dating advice to Finn, sees Ben openly flirting with his hands all over Hux. No matter that Ben makes more than one awkwardly shy pass at Poe, Poe confronts Hux about everything after they arrive home. He takes the gift that Hux had bought for Ben out of his predictable hiding place and places the impeccably wrapped box in Hux’s lap. Hux infuriated by Poe’s cool demeanor he heatedly admits that he had bought it for Ben and fully intended on giving to him. After a tense argument, they hatch a plan to solve their ‘Ben problem’ once and for all.

Late evening on Christmas Eve, Ben shows up to properly confess to Poe that he wants to be honest with him, and that his wasted heart will love him forever. Just as the relief of confession washes over him and he turns to leave, Poe grabs him and pulling him down into a chaste kiss. Ben realizes that Poe isn’t pulling away and takes what he wants, opening his mouth up and kissing Poe open mouthed and far too filthy for the occasion. Ben breaks the kiss breathlessly and sees that Hux has appeared in the hallway. Unexpectedly, Hux smirks and hums lowly into a long sip of whisky, leaning his hip into the wall, “Is that you kissing my husband, Benjamin? I thought the agreement was that I could have you not that you wanted everything that’s mine. Or did I misunderstand?” he sets his glass down in the entry table and makes a show of hungrily kissing Poe, deeply and possessive before turning to Ben, reaching around and finally shutting the door to the cold air and a trickle of cars passing by. “We can’t have the neighborhood seeing this.” as he claims Ben’s mouth firmly with finality and a promise of more. Pulling away only to murmur against his lips “My husband tastes good on you, Ben Solo.”

Phasma is opening up the end of her large stack of Christmas cards when she comes across a simple but lovely card from  declaring that despite what Phasma saw that day with President Snoke, Rey is sorry about what happened and that she understands, but that she was and always has been only hers. Phasma finds her driver and scours Rey’s neighborhood looking for, not knowing her exact address. Finding her right as she and her Aunt Leia and Uncle Luke are bustling down their steps with Finn and his new boyfriend Dolph in tow to see Leia’s ex husband hopefully not make an ass of himself in his Christmas Even live performance. Rey mentions that she would be happy to assist Phasma in whatever she needs, that it would give Leia a few more moments to wait on Ben to show up. Phasma, having seen the end of the display at her brother’s house on her way to Rey’s promises that Ben won’t be showing up and insists they take her car to the performance.

You know where the veil between worlds is truly thin? 1990′s - early 2000′s documentary programs

There are a lot of posts about liminal spaces and to be fair they’re a fascinating concept, but while highway rest stops are a good example, I feel we are all missing a great deal by not exploring the liminal dimensions present in made-for-tv documentaries from the 1990′s and early 2000′s.

For Instance:

When I was a child, my bed time was 8:00. Unfortunately for me, the weekly program about dinosaurs I wanted to watch on.. the Discovery Channel I think it was(?) happened at 9:00. My mom would tape them for me every week, because VHS was still a thing back then.

Eventually however, the series ended without either of us noticing. She taped the timeslot anyway and gave it to me to watch the next afternoon, like usual, which is how I, a 7 or 8 year old child, ended up watching a half-hour long program about people who had died by spontaneous human combustion.

I watched, enraptured, as the program explored the puzzling and horrific cases of people who, for seemingly no reason, had burst into intensely hot flames which reduced them to mere ashes, with no discernible source of ignition and which left nearby flammables curiously untouched. “Could this happen to anyone? Could this happen to you?” the program asked me, flashing yet another grisly black and white photograph of an incinerated body across the screen. “Yes, and I must fear it” I thought in reply, and continued to think about constantly for the next several years.

In time though, I forgot. Until my friend Paloma recommended me some short stories she had read for one of her classes, because I needed some new reading material for the train to class. One of them was about a character whose parents had died by SHC (Blowing Up on the Spot by Kevin Wilson). Suddenly, I remembered.

“I have to find this program,” I thought. “There must be a reason I have this specific, persistent fear, and for some reason I bet watching it again will make it less awful,” I continued, because I am an idiot and I don’t know what’s good for me.

After hours of scouring the internet, I have found exactly one copy of this show that so scarred me. It has subtitles in Greek, the audio unsyncs from the narrator’s lips and becomes steadily fuzzier as the video goes on until it is nearly indecipherable, and searching the actual name of the show yields not even a Wikipedia article. A few sites have episode lists but that’s about it, and those with dates list them all as being released on the same day in 2009, so I am forced to conclude that no one knows when these programs came into existence. They seem to exist in neither this time nor space, and attempts to keep them tied to this dimension result in warping of sound and language.

They are trying to escape, and after rewatching this awful barrage of burned bodies and early 2000s CGI simulations of people on fire, I think we should let them. The veil is thin between universes which are so close to touching as to allow hints of passage. These are moving away from us. Let them go.

This is the final vestige of a world not our own. (tw for fairly graphic images of dead bodies, I am serious here)

Creepypasta #976: The Driver Forgot I Was Still On The Bus

Length: Super long

I used to live in a small Northern English town called Hayfield, not much more than a village, a quaint and picturesque place surrounded by nothing but miles and miles of countryside. However, there was an excellent transport link to the rest of civilization in the form of a bus every half an hour, direct to and from the large town of Stockport, near Manchester; for people like me who didn’t drive, this bus was a godsend, and enabled me to work at that time in a multiplex cinema in Stockport town center.

My shifts varied each week, but usually I would finish no later than about nine-thirty, and catch a bus home at around ten. The bus route was serviced by an obscure company who I believe went out of business; their fleet of buses had a distinctive green and white color-scheme. 

But the night on which this bizarre incident happened, I finished late and caught the very last bus of the night, which left the bus station at 11:30. The journey took about 40 minutes. It is quite a strange part of Britain, as Manchester is one of our biggest cities, a huge urban area, but travel just a few miles and you can find yourself in the middle of nowhere.

The bus to Hayfield was always pretty quiet but at that time of night it was almost deserted; it seemed that myself and a couple of older people would have the big double-decker bus all to ourselves, until just before we rolled out of the bus station, an obnoxious boy and girl aged about 10 or 11 jumped on, insulted the driver as they bought their tickets, sat down and immediately began to irritate their fellow commuters.

They were shouting, calling the passengers names, calling the female driver fat and frigid and frumpy, and I remember they both started belting out a hip-hop song at the top of their lungs: Purple Hills by D12, which I guess probably dates these eerie events to around 2002. I don’t normally mind Eminem too much but I always thought that song was pretty stupid. The two unpleasant brats must have memorized every word, and were trying to emphasis all the blatant drug references it contained.

I turned on my MP3 player and tried to ignore them, but their vexatious voices were drowning out the sweet sound of Morrissey; in fact, I think they tried to sing even louder when they noticed I was wearing headphones. 

So about five minutes into my journey, I decided I had endured enough of their off-key caterwauling, and rose from my seat, shot them an irritated look, which is about as confrontational as I ever get, and trudged wearily upstairs. They were making ridiculous threats to my back, threatening to shoot me, making gun noises, that sort of dumb thing.

So I sat alone on the upper deck, right at the back of the bus, stared out of the window into darkness and tried to unwind. I heard the bus stop and saw the older couple walk away down the street before we resumed our journey, and then I must have dozed off pretty quickly and awoke again, as suddenly we were no longer passing pubs and shops and tower-blocks but endless tall trees, the branches of which were sometimes scraping and scratching against the bus windows; perhaps it was these tapping sounds that woke me up. 

I didn’t quite recognize where we were, but looking at my watch, we were still at least five minutes from our destination. I began to become dimly aware of shouts coming from the kids downstairs which were incoherent over my music, but I thought nothing of it at first, figuring they were still just goofing around and getting on the driver’s nerves. But then two things dawned on me at roughly the same time.

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Maybe It’s Time (M)

Author’s Note: So, better late than never, here is the Yoongi Christmas scenario I’ve been working on for the better half of a week because my writer’s block was absolutely insane. I’m still not completely satisfied with this, but I hope you enjoy it! [It’s ridiculously long].

I am an idiot and forgot to mention my love @babyitsbts helped me immensely with this; thanks love!

Request“I know we hate each other but it’s Christmas Eve and your flight was cancelled please come inside,” foR THE GRUMPY LIL SQUISH AKA MIN YOONGI PLS MY SWEET <3″ from my love @lovingyoongi.

Genre: Smut mixed with fluff.

Word Count: 6145 [holy moly]

Originally posted by sugagifs

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” your fingertips rubbed relentlessly at your temples as you mumbled to yourself, taking a sharp inhale at an attempt to calm yourself down. This witch of a woman behind the counter at the airline was doing absolutely nothing to help your mood right now. Her obnoxiously white smile was blinding you, causing your eyes to unconsciously twitch; her voice sounding like nails on a chalkboard as it pierced through your ears. An impending migraine was forming, and it took everything you had not to reach across the linoleum and strangle the life out of her.

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