not here for no men who think they gods gift to women

Pleasing you

Synopsis: Stolen from Earth when you were only a teenager, what is left of your life consists of training to become an obedient pleasure slave on Sakaar… that is, until the Grandmaster, your slave driver, decides to gift you to King Loki, who seeks to visit to observe one of the Grandmaster’s infamous gladiator fights. Now, you belong to him, obliged to fulfil his every need. A truly tempting opportunity, is it not? After all—who is the God of Mischief to miss out on all the fun that comes with being king of Asgard?

Pairing: Loki x Reader
Rating: M
Chapter: 1/1 (Oneshot)
Words: 6725
Warnings: (sexual)
submission, kidnapping, (sexual) slavery, imprisonment, mentions of abuse, dub-con, smut

Read it on AO3!

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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.

cassiebones  asked:

How many girls do you think Alex accidentally flirted with before she realized she was gay? Like she was SO flirting with Maggie before she realized but like how often do you think that happened and she just thought she was being nice or whatever? Fucking oblivious gay nerd.

She’s six and the girl’s brothers had left her all alone in the sand as they dashed into the ocean, yelping and shoving and splashing each other as they barrel deeper into the water.

The girl looks lonely and the girl looks listless, and Alex knows the feeling.

“You don’t like the ocean?” she asks without preamble, because six year old social code permits so much more direct communication than older codes will.

The girl turns to her and sighs. Her face is pretty, even when it’s sad, and Alex bites the inside of her cheek. “I’ll just slow my brothers down,” she says, and Alex holds out an open hand.

“You won’t slow me down.”

They take each wave together, the girl never letting go of Alex’s hand, and Alex never wanting her to.

Eliza, watching from their balcony overlooking the beach, is proud that her shy little Alexandra is finally making a friend.

She’s ten and the pretty girl from homeroom has the best science fair poster in the whole lunchroom.

Except for Alex’s, of course, but Alex doesn’t mention that when she tells her that it looks great, and how did she get such clear images of a monthly progression of sunspots from a homemade pinhole camera?

Alex thinks the girl blushes, but it must be because she’s shy, or maybe she doesn’t like talking in such a crowded, bustling space. Or it’s Alex’s imagination.

Either way, she decides that the best course of action is to keep complimenting the girl, because she deserves it, and if Alex’s life as a professional ten year old nerd is any indication, the girl can use all the compliments she can get.

She’s fourteen, and her newest surf instructor is eighteen, and Alex has never been nervous before classes before, but she almost throws up each time, now, because what if she messes up, and what if her instructor decides that Alex has only been accelerated to an advanced class by luck, and she demotes her back down to surfing with the other fourteen year olds, and – 

“Nice job, Danvers!” she calls, and Alex nearly spills off her board at the way her heart leaps, at the way she says her name.

When her boyfriend picks her up after class – her instructor’s boyfriend, not Alex’s, because who would ever want to date her, anyway? – Alex stands a little bit straighter, gets her instructor to laugh a little bit louder.

“Make sure he takes you somewhere nice: you only deserve the best places, you know?” she tells her, and she thinks she’s smooth, thinks she’s putting the college boy in his place, even though she’s not quite sure why she wants to.

She’s sixteen and Vicky Donahue is always on her mind. And that’s okay – they’re best friends, and best friends are supposed to always be on each other’s minds, right? – and Vicky is nice to Kara and Vicky smells so damn good and Alex wants to be just like her and she usually loves school but god the days before the nights she gets to sleep over at Vicky’s are horribly, horribly long.

Because Vicky’s mother keeps offering to set up an air mattress in Vicky’s room, and Alex keeps telling her, “It’s alright, Mrs. Donahue, you don’t have to go out of your way, I don’t mind the tight space, honest.” Because it is a tight space, sharing Vicky’s bed, but it means that Vicky’s body is close to hers, and best friends snuggle all the time, right?

And friends play dress up, too, even in high school, right, and when Vicky goes through her parents’ closets and tosses her top off without thinking to try on something new, Alex gulps extra hard and she blushes like she’s Kara and she stammers but she obeys when Vicky tells her to come zip her up, and she nearly kisses the back of her neck because friends are affectionate with each other, right, and she’s sincere when she tells her that she’s beautiful, that she’s the prettiest girl in the whole school, the whole town, and Vicky gives her something of a strange look, and she turns her back to Alex before she changes again.

She’s nineteen and she doesn’t have much use for English class, but that girl who sits across from her makes great drawings in her notebook and Alex has to tell her, right, because who doesn’t want to be complimented?

“Hey – I really like your uh… art.”

The girl giggles. “They’re just doodles.”

“No, but they’re really good! You’re really good.”

The girl shrugs, her eyes lingering on Alex’s face a beat too long. But not long enough.

She starts doodling for Alex, nudging her and edging her notebook toward her, sometimes ripping out the sketches and gifting them to a spluttering Alex. She keeps every one of them and she takes them out during long days in the lab, and she chews on the inside of her cheek, and she fantasizes about what the girl’s boyfriend probably likes to do to her in bed, because some of the doodles are a bit sexual, so it’s only natural for the mind to wander, right?

She’s twenty-three and she’s partying way too hard, because college was too easy and grad school is easy but what’s not easy is Eliza’s voice in the back of her head, is the constant guilt of having gone off to Stanford without Kara, is the constant confusion and loneliness because she can get everything else right, but not dating, not men, and Eliza is starting to ask uncomfortable questions.

She goes home with men with clumsy hands and overeager tongues, but she dances with women with scintillating touches and vodka on their breath. She smiles and sometimes, she winks, and sometimes, she puts her hands on hips that aren’t hers, and sometimes, her blood rushes through her veins so fast she can barely breathe because her body will go home with a guy, but her mind will stay here on the dance floor.

She’s twenty-seven and it’s been too long, and that’s okay, because the DEO keeps her busy, the DEO keeps her focused. The DEO saved her life.

But she’s twenty-seven and Lucy Lane walks in and Kara isn’t wrong about how nice she smells and how smart she is and how date-able she is, but she’s the enemy because of who her father is and she’s the enemy because of who her ex-boyfriend-sort-of-still-boyfriend is and she’s the enemy because she almost sends Alex and J’onn off to Cadmus, but suddenly she’s not the enemy because she rescues them and fights for them and she throws everything on the line for them and Alex thinks of that thing she felt during her interrogation, correcting Lucy from calling her Alexandra, Lucy’s piercing eyes when she called out that Alex was lying, Lucy’s uncomfortable shifting when what’s his face was going on yet another xenophobic rant, and Alex can’t think about any of this now because now, she’s on the run, and sure, she’ll always have Lucy to thank for that, but later, later, later.

She’s twenty-eight and it’s her crime scene, dammit, not some arrogant detective’s with gorgeous eyes and gorgeous hair and a confident smirk and god, god, god, how is she that smart, how is anyone that sharp?

She’s twenty-eight and it’s innocent, it’s pool, they’re friends, and of course she’s not jealous when she says she’s got a hot date, because sure, whatever woman has a hot date with Maggie Sawyer is probably the luckiest woman in the world, but Alex is just excited to finally meet someone that can go toe-to-toe with her, that can challenge her, that can change her. And if her stomach flips a little bit when she saunters off in those jeans and that tank top to that date, it’s just because she’d hoped maybe they could go for a drink, because it’s been so long since Alex has had a friend outside of work.

She’s twenty-eight and she’s up all night, because she’s twenty-eight and she’s falling in love. In gay love. Lesbian love. 

God, god, god, how has she not seen it before?

She’s falling in love with a woman, and memories are exploding out of her like water bursting out of a dam, and she’s terrified and she’s confused and she’s never felt more… herself.

And Maggie Sawyer is the reason why.

a hundred more random starters [2/??]

  • ❝ women endure what men cannot bear. ❞
  • ❝ ‘tis my crown & I will fight for it. ❞
  • ❝ how long? how long have you been planning this? ❞
  • ❝ you betrayed me! betrayed US! how could you? ❞
  • ❝ we’ve lost control of [name/pronoun]. ❞
  • ❝ [name/pronoun] sees the forests, but not the trees. ❞
  • ❝ the gods & kings of old have deemed you unworthy. ❞
  • ❝ what will you do, now that you know the truth? ❞
  • ❝ take your shirt off. ❞
  • ❝ can’t decide if I want to fuck you in bed, or if the wall is a better option. ❞
  • ❝ I will not lose. ❞
  • ❝ people are using condoms to apply makeup. why? ❞
  • ❝ well, they certainly know how to put lipstick on a pig. ❞
  • ❝ remember the promises we made to each other. ❞
  • ❝ spring will always arrive. ❞
  • ❝ you look beautiful in the moonlight. ❞
  • ❝ I hope you can understand my heart. ❞
  • ❝ people do stupid things in the name of love. ❞
  • ❝ if anything should happen to his/her majesty, I should think you’d look to me to secure your future. ❞
  • ❝ if you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves. ❞
  • ❝ have you ever regretted what we did? ❞
  • ❝ yes, I’ve imagined fucking you. ❞
  • ❝ when did you lose your virginity? ❞
  • ❝ was he/she any good? ❞
  • ❝ let me cum! ❞
  • ❝ i’m going to hell, want to join me? ❞
  • ❝ we fought. it’s over. i won. ❞
  • ❝ stop, you’re only making a fool of yourself. ❞
  • ❝ can you ever forgive me? ❞
  • ❝ we can’t trust them! ❞
  • ❝ be careful with your words. ❞
  • ❝ they’ll hear us! ❞
  • ❝ what if I want them to hear you screaming my name with pleasure? ❞
  • ❝ hey! I’m romantic! sometimes. ❞
  • ❝ the world will change & my era will begin. ❞
  • ❝ you have to resist. ❞
  • ❝ so is this how you take control of your life? ❞
  • ❝ don’t let the bastards grind you down. ❞
  • ❝ you’re a fucking idiot. ❞
  • ❝ he who has no bread, has no authority. ❞
  • ❝ there is little gain from further conflict. ❞
  • ❝ I do not fear death. what I fear is doing nothing & losing everything. ❞
  • ❝ my love for you has only grown. ❞
  • ❝ I can’t imagine my future without you. ❞
  • ❝ the tides will turn in our favor. ❞
  • ❝ I will do everything in my power to protect you & our child. ❞
  • ❝ how can you protect me from the monsters inside me? ❞
  • ❝ you must cry for me, for I have no more tears. ❞
  • ❝ know that I will be with you, always. ❞
  • ❝ my winter will end & yours will begin. ❞
  • ❝ god has no business controlling what I do with my body. ❞
  • ❝ if this is what you want, then fine do it! but know that I will never forgive you. ❞
  • ❝ if you love me, why did you leave? ❞
  • ❝ pregnancy sex is one of the best kinds of sex. ❞
  • ❝ you know, maybe you should take it easy. ❞
  • ❝ a little fresh air isn’t going to kill me. ❞
  • ❝ it would mean the world to me. ❞
  • ❝ you are my soulmate. ❞
  • ❝ I’m not wearing any underwear. ❞
  • ❝ you’re so cute when you’re horny. ❞
  • ❝ fine! I’m jealous! ❞
  • ❝ you have no idea how much I’ve missed you. ❞
  • ❝ I hate it when you leave. ❞
  • ❝ we miss you. ❞
  • ❝ our child hasn’t been sleeping well since you went off to war. ❞
  • ❝ you light up whenever you look at them. ❞
  • ❝ I hate fighting with you, especially over something as silly as this! ❞
  • ❝ I’m suffocating here! ❞
  • ❝ for once in your life, accept responsibility! ❞
  • ❝ it’s your fault they’re dead. ❞
  • ❝ too many people lack the gift of knowing when to fuck off. ❞
  • ❝ humbling, isn’t it? to become the very thing you mocked. ❞
  • ❝ with you, I feel like I’m home. ❞
  • ❝ the best thing you can do for yourself right now is beg for forgiveness. ❞
  • ❝ I only have a little neck. ❞
  • ❝ [name/pronoun]’s head seems to have grown bigger. ❞
  • ❝ I am madly in love with you. ❞
  • ❝ it takes a lot to get me angry. ❞
  • ❝ I can’t even look at you right now! ❞
  • ❝ why can’t I stop crying? ❞
  • ❝ there’s a hole in my chest & I don’t know if it will ever heal. ❞
  • ❝ even now, whenever I’m with you, I can’t help but fall in love with you again. ❞
  • ❝ a sweet for my sweet? ❞
  • ❝ it’s not the first time this has happened. ❞
  • ❝ this world is far too cruel to girls. ❞
  • ❝ a daughter is a blessing. ❞
  • ❝ I’m sore. ❞
  • ❝ is there such a thing as too much sex? ❞
  • ❝ there’s nothing more beautiful than seeing you stand there in the moonlight. ❞
  • ❝ everything I’ve done, it’s for you, for us! ❞
  • ❝ this is too risky! we might get caught. ❞
  • ❝ you can’t be prepared for everything. ❞
  • ❝ you have to trust me & in me. ❞
  • ❝ I trust you more than anyone else. ❞
  • ❝ what if something happens to you because of something I did? ❞
  • ❝ please, just tell me what’s wrong. ❞
  • ❝ I just don’t want you getting hurt. ❞
  • ❝ love is not something that can be taught. ❞
  • ❝ come back to bed. ❞
  • ❝ as long as we stand together, nothing can stop us. ❞
Song of Themyscira | Eight

Summary: As an Amazonian warrior, you’re invited to Man’s World by Diana Prince. Ares, angered by the situation, decides to send an army, led by his son, to disrupt the peace. Will James be able to follow through, or will the Amazonians keep the peace?

Pairing: James ‘Bucky’ Barnes x Amazon!Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Language; torture description - no blood, just violence

A/N: Update! This one is all about our boy James, so enjoy :) s/o to mi amor, abril, for being with me every step of the way w/ this fic, te amo || SoT masterlist

Originally posted by rohgers

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Brooklyn nine-nine  sentence starters 

change pronouns as fit, lots of trigger warnings ahead, taken from multiple characters

  • “Click. I just captured the exact moment you realized you had failed. I guess we all got something out of this.”
  • “I appreciate the offer, but I work best alone. Except when it comes to sex. Actually, sometimes including sex.”
  • “People receive meaningless threats all the time. It’s really no big deal.”
  • “I’m surprised you’ve read Othello.”
  • “Well, no one asked you. It’s a self-evaluation.”
  • “We’re a package deal, everyone knows that.
  • "Oh, great! I’ll take my shirt off.”
  • “I’m in unspeakable pain.”
  • “Oh, I really came in here with the wrong energy.”
  • “I am flummoxed! That’s a word I learned for this party, and I am it!”
  • “Anyone over the age of six celebrating a birthday should go to hell.”
  • “I’d rather walk into the freezing ocean.”
  • “I remember that old bag. She was my favorite.”
  • “Thanks, good note. I was going for extremely harsh. I’ll turn it up.”
  • “"Kind, sober and fully dressed.” Good news, everyone. We found the name of [name]’s sex tape!“
  • ” Can you magically make everyone kind, sober, and fully dressed?“
  • "Of course. Totally. I mean, why would a death threat be a big deal? Oh, that’s right ‘cause it threatens death!”
  • “ When it comes to shooting patterns, I like to go PB&J. Penis, Brain, Jaw.”
  • “You don’t out grow punk, sir/ma'am.”
  • “Here, wear my shirt. I was gonna take it off anyway.”
  • “I’m really into rented clothes. I love how many butts have been in them.”
  • “ No one knows. I am a rock. I am an island. I have lapsed into song lyrics again.”
  • “Not a gift, snitch. It didn’t cost me anything. Just my worthless man hours.”
  • “Don’t remind me. I’m going to be untangling that web for a month.”
  • “And when this is over, I’m going to find you, and I’m going to break those little fingers.”
  • “Nope. I’m gonna wait 'til I’m on my deathbed, get in the last word and then die immediately. ”
  • “I’ve only said I love you to three people. My mom, my dad and my dying [relative]. And one of those I regret.”
  • “ I’m gonna punch him so hard in the mouth that he bites his own heart.”
  • “Thank you, [name]. Your entire life is garbage.”
  • “I cannot believe that I’m considering a non-violent option.”
  • “My [erelative] always said, "Bad news first because the good news is probably a lie.” Fun fact: she/he/they made me cry a lot.“
  • "Yeah, I might buy my shoes at a kids store and yeah, I might be scared of geese, but I am a damn good [profession] and I will not be made a fool of.”
  • “I thought he was faking it. I wanted to splash the lies out of him.”
  • “Seriously, you are beautiful. If he/she/they ever lies to you again, you can call me.”
  • “Okay, just so we’re clear, from this point forward, my call sign will be Death Blade.”
  • “Yeah, I’m not an idiot. I know how to trick my best friend into eating his/her/their fiber.”
  • “Why are you giving candy to a baby in the first place? Don’t give candy to a baby! They can’t brush their teeth!”
  • “ I’ve talked a lot about [name] in my departmentally-mandated therapy sessions.”
  • “You should take my minivan.”
  • “ I was working out and I saw a muscle in my shoulder I’d never seen before. I thought it might have been a scientific discovery.”
  • “Your head is so small. It is so small. Where do you keep your brains?”
  • “Probably not. I mean he/she/they seems like the kind of laid back guy/girl/person who delights in having his/her/their mistakes exposed.”
  • “ Don’t move as a group! You’re not gazelles!”
  • “I feel like a proud mama hen whose baby chicks have learned to fly!”
  • “Baby, I’ve got some bad news. Someone painted a giant penis on our minivan.”
  • “I threw away the photo because I think it’s ostentatious to hang pictures of yourself, especially when you haven’t earned a place on the wall.”
  • “I even managed to eat some plain toast this morning.”
  • “So nice of you to greet us, [name]. I thought surely you’d still be crushed under that house in Munchkinland.”
  • “approval ratings are - pardon my language - in the commode.”
  • “Look at that. You’ve helped me find my smile.”
  • “That is amazingly funny.”
  • “You’re a grown man/woman/adult, [name]. Strong like an Oak.”
  • “Their components have a long shelf life, they’re cost effective, and they’re so simple a child could make them.”
  • “Dress it up however you want, that’s some disgusting animal kingdom nonsense.”
  • “So you choose your [relative] over me, your co-worker who hates you?”
  • “Every time you talk I hear that sound that plays when Pacman dies.”
  • “Honestly, I’m going to last forever. You hear that bitches? I’m gonna last forever.”
  • “My mother cried the day I was born, because she knew she would never be better than me.”
  • “All men/women/people are at least 30% attracted to me.”
  • “At any given moment, I’m thinking about one thing: [name] hunkered over eating dog food.”
  • “Turns out I gave up easy. You hear that bitches? I gave up so easy.”
  • “Mmm-kay. No hard feelings, but I hate you. Not joking. Bye.”
  • “Hi, [name], the human form of the 100 Emoji.”
  • “Hold it up. You’re gonna let some quack doctor just knife around down there?”
  • “You are blessed with a great power, and you should never snip its wings. You should let it soar.”
  • “I am prepared to light [name] on fire in protest.”
  • “After zero consideration, I’m happy to say, "hard pass.”“
  • "Sounds like a genetic disorder.”
  • “We didn’t want to say anything that would get us uninvited.”
  • “You called us useless. You called us incompetent. You called us zeroes in the sack.”
  • “Yeah, no doy. How do you think we got to be the oldest guys here?”
  • “Get your act together, or so help me God, you won’t live to see retirement.”
  • “Oh, I am as serious as a heart attack. No offense, [name].”
  • “Just drop down onto the ground and wiggle.”
  • “Who wants to have sex with a tree?”
  • “Take me to the land of vending machines.”
  • “It takes a big person to admit when they’re being a total dumb-dumb.”
  • “Can’t spill food on your shirt if you’re not wearing one.”

anonymous asked:

Hi i really love your drunk!mc and not recognizing them hc :D is it okay if i request the same but with v and saeran ^u^

Here it is! I don’t know if it is as cute as the original post, tho… still, hope you like it! ^^

Drunk MC doesn’t recognize Saeran and V

Saeran

  • He hates when you go out like this, because he knows you’re getting home drunk.
  • And you’re a very unpredictable drunk. Sometimes you get really emotional and cry over things like that time you hurt a little boy who had a crush on you: “he wrote me this letter and I answered correcting all his misspells, why am I so bad, Saeran? Whyyy?”
  • Or sometimes you laugh at everything, like when you kept giggling and repeating the word “chocolate pudding” for half an hour.
  • And sometimes you get a little handsy and… hum, he has nothing to complain about that, actually.
  • “Can I help you?” he thought you were being sarcastic when he went to pick you up at your friend’s house, she said somebody looking for you was at the door.
  • “Well, can I help you? You look like shit!” “I’ll tell you what looks like shit, your move! Do you really think nagging will work here? Boy, bye.” What is this woman saying?
  • “Look, no time for jokes. Let’s just go, okay?” he was trying to be patient, but you ignoring him was something he couldn’t stand. It was nothing like you!
  • “Look, dude, as if your shitty move wasn’t bad enough, I already have a boyfriend, okay? And he will beat the shit out of you if he hears about this.” Oh… he knows what’s going on…
  • Yes, you not being able to recognize him happened once, it was pretty funny. You kept telling him to go away because you already had a boyfriend waiting for you at home… and you were already home. Shit, that was hilarious.
  • “Really? Is he that mad?” “Yep, so mad! He used to be madder when he looked like Kaneki from Tokyo Ghoul, but now… he’s more like Lindo from Dance with Devils, like, mad but cute mad, you know?” He… has no idea who are these people, and he didn’t know he was that mad…
  • “Oh, and… are you scared of him?”. You scoff “Nah, he’s cute. When he crosses his arms and frowns his eyebrows like this… freaking cute!”
  • “Men don’t like being called cute, isn’t he badass?” “Yep, but I like more when he’s cute! When he hugs me and calls me a dork, and tries to braid my hair when I pretend I’m sleeping…” Shit! You should not know about this! “Don’t tell him, but I’m thinking about inviting him to move in with me! Do you think it’s weird? I mean… the girl inviting the guy?
  • “N-no, it’s not weird at all…” okay, joke time is over, this is serious and he needs you sober as soon as possible. “So, hey! Uhm… I’m just your friend’s neighbor, turns out your boyfriend rang my bell thinking it was hers. He’s, uhm… waiting you downstairs.”
  • You said goodbye to your equally wasted friend and went downstairs, where he was waiting for you, trying to do a grumpy face. But it was hard, he really felt like smiling.
  • “Stop drinking that much! And… don’t tell deep weird things to strangers! And…” you interrupt him with a quick peck on his lips and a giggle.
  • “You’re so cute!” he feels his cheeks getting as red as his hair. “I… well, I… yeah, I… thanks.” He needs to get used being called cute if he’s going to be your roommate.

V

  • You two were at this art exhibition.
  • You two got separated for a while when he went to talk to the artist and you decided to see the paintings and sculptures.
  • When he found you again, you were staring at a painting, your mouth a little ajar. Wow, did it impress you that much? He really wanted to hear your thought about that.
  • “Hi, honey. Do you like this? We can buy it!” you let out a sigh that sounds like a groan and walks away. What… just happened?
  • “Honey? Did I say something wrong? You don’t like it?” “Yeah, I don’t like guys trying to be all sugar daddy over women, stay away from me, granny.” What? Sugar Daddy? Oh my god… is he really acting like this? But… he thought you liked his gifts…
  • Wait! No… it’s not this. He realizes that when he sees you taking a glass of that sweet drink that seemed harmless…
  • And the way your cheeks are flushed, he knows: these aren’t harmless when you have too much.
  • He watches as you stare at another painting. “Do you like this painting, miss?”
  • “Yes, it feels like it’s talking to me.” “Really? What is it saying?” “See the lines in the bottom? To me it’s totally about feeling a strong connection with someone, this brown lines are like a house, or maybe a body. And the blue spot is the soul inside the body, trying to be free.” Well, it was  open to interpretation, anyhow…
  • “Interesting…” “Yeah, it reminds me of my boyfriend, he’s the blue spot. I want the blue spot to be free and happy.” Oh, that was sweet…
  • He wanted to hug you, but he knew you wouldn’t recognize him, so he walked away a little and waited. Until you finally turned your head and faced him, this huge smile showing up in your face.
  • “Hey, honey! Anything you liked?” “Yeah, that one! Look, this shade of blue is the same of your hair!” “Oh, and that orange spot there is the same as your dress.” It was a different tone of orange, but you agreed, amazed.
  • “Now, let’s go, my orange spot, your blue spot needs to make sure you don’t have a hangover tomorrow.” “Why? I’m not drunk!” he chuckles, you are an adorable orange spot, aren’t you?
Mine

Pairing: Lin-Manuel x Reader

Word count - 4410

Summary - You finally convince Lin to take a break and go out for a night. It starts out well, but when someone tries to flirt with you at the bar, Lin snaps.

Warnings - smut, badly translated Spanish, dirty talk

Tags - @serkewen12 @small-stars @futureauthor45 @sunriseovertheroomwhereithappens @butlinislin @darling-danger @invisiblerambler @daveedish @getupoffathathang @hamilton-gaygod @iluvnialljameshoran

You stood in the doorway to Lin’s study and watched him scribble away in one of his many notebooks, headphones around his neck. He’d been doing this more often since he’d gotten deeply involved in his latest project, and while you admired his work ethic and dedication to his craft, you wished he’d take a break every once in a while. And you didn’t mean a short break to have a meal with you. You meant an actual night off, the two of you going out and enjoying each other. Dinner and a movie. A concert. The museum. Anything as long as you got to be together. You loved him and missed spending time with him. Maybe tonight you could convince him to put down the notebook and go out, to let off a little steam. It wouldn’t hurt to try, you decided.

Keep reading

Requested by @lunarwolfspn : When the village finds out that you and Gaston slept together without being married to each other, they decide to make it clear of what they think of you. Gaston to the rescue, or actually.. you do that yourself.

Pairing: Gaston x Reader
Fandom: Disney ; Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Warnings: mentions of sex, but no actual nsfw stuff (soon, darlings, soon)

A/N: holy shit, my dudes, this wasn’t supposed to go the way it did, but I couldn’t help myself. My feminist ass decided to show itself and then this happened lol. hope you guys like it <33

                                                           *****

Nothing ever happened in towns like the one you were living in. At least nothing of grande importance.

But if something did happen, even if it was just the smallest thing, everyone was talking about it.

Every little mistake, every little failure or embarrassing moment? Everyone in the village would talk about it by the end of the night and they wouldn’t let you forget what you did/what happened for ages.

So when you left the house that morning and realized that everyone was disapprovingly looking at you and shaking their heads, you knew that somehow, everyone knew what happened last night. 

What you and Gaston did..

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Imagine: You catch Ramsay's eye. He watches you, then he gives you revenge.

It was your voice that caught his attention. He was walking to feed the hounds when he heard you. You were by a small shop, talking to an old woman about how to make candles last longer.

He looked over, to try to see who had created such a beautiful sound. And it was you. Your physical features were gorgeous. Your hair was (H/L), and (H/C). It was a wonder how you looked so flawless. Ramsay stopped walking, fiddling with the keys in his hand. You looked wonderful delicious.

He was a young boy, a cruel boy. So the first thing on his mind was getting off. Satisfying his urges and lust.

Your eyes were dark, and when you noticed the lord was staring you looked over at him. Your heart also leapt. Those pretty big eyes locked with his and both your stomach’s jumped. It was like time froze. His throat tightened.

You smiled politely, before looking back to the woman you were talking to. It pissed Ramsay off greatly. He wanted your attention. He wanted you to think about him. To wonder. To lust. He wanted your mouth to water when you saw him.

He remembered your face and fed the dogs.

***

“I want five men following her at all times.” Ramsay said to his advisor. Since he killed his father, he was the warden of the North. So he was in control of everyone there.

“Gutter, Thoro, Tames, Red, and Scout.” He announced. “You five will make sure no harm comes to her. Do not let her know you are there, though. If she comes in contact with any of you, I will kill you.” He smiled darkly. “Understood?” They nodded. “Good.”

Ramsay had to admit, he was being stalkerish about this. But he had to make sure his little cardinal was safe. Especially out here in the North.

He found out soon you were a lady, you had visited from the fingers and decided to stay. You had formed a bond with one of the bed warmers, but thankfully you weren’t one of them. Ramsay would have to kill every man who touched you.

A few days went by and he convinced the bed warmers to get to know you, and tell him about you. Things you liked, loved, and hated. Your favorite flowers and books.

After a month he found out where you lived. It wasn’t from lack of information and struggle, it was because he had lots of things to do. But your place was in the tavern, sleeping in one of the rooms with your friend Ross.

He sent you the first gift right after that. It was a bundle of (F/F), your favorite flower. He didn’t let you know it was from him, though. The game was too fun to give that away so fast.

He ordered Ross to tell him how you reacted. And, it disappointed him. You didn’t seem happy, you looked annoyed. If Ross was being truthful, you even said “what dirty old man sent me this?”. Ross tried to convince you it was a romantic gesture. But you didn’t care. You were stuck on the idea it was some creep who wanted into you.

For the next few days he focused on his work. He didn’t care for getting Sansa back. He had another lady in mind. But he was still going to storm castle black. He was going to spoon Commander Snows eyes out. It infuriated him that the stark bitch and Reek escaped.

But he didn’t care too much. His army would win anyways. Soon enough he started thinking about you again.

He had heard you liked talking forest walks, from his five men who had followed you. You would go down the stream, into the woods, and you’d sit on a tree stump and just look at the sky and read. It was beautiful, when he pictured it in his mind. So he decided to go see for himself.

It was really early, the times you went to take your walks. He was fine with it, the waking up early bit. He dismissed his guards and walked far behind you, able to see your hair faintly from far in front of him. He wished he was a little bit faster. Soon enough you turned into the woods, going to sit on your big tree root and admire nature.

When he walked into the woods he saw you were crying. You had your arms wrapped around your legs, your forehead on your knees. His heart caught on fire. Who did this. Who caused you this pain? He would flay their neck and make them live like that.

You didn’t hear him walk up to you, sitting down next to you. “My dear…” He finally spoke up and you gasped, jumping away. “Woah now, calm down please.” He smiled at you. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Lord Bolton?” You trembled, wiping your tears away.

He smiled, nodding. “And you are?”

“(Y/N). (Y/L/N).” You sighed. “Sorry. Excuse me.. but… What are you doing out here?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing, sweetling.” He said. You were beautiful. Seeing you up close was like seeing an angel. It made him believe in gods.

“Just walking.” You said, and he said the same.

“But why are you crying?” He asked. He wanted you to tell him so badly. So he could find whomever or whatever caused you this pain.

“It’s stupid.” You said, and he was surprised at your comfortability with him. It was probably because you were so hurt. And it made him angry.

“I doubt that.” He said.

“My betrothed…” You had whimpered and tried not to cry. “He slept with one of my friends…”

That made him angry in three ways. Your lover hurt you, your friend hurt you, and you had loved someone in such a deep way.

He stood up, and you looked at the tall handsome lord. “Ramsay?”

“Come with me.” He held out his hand and you pulled herself to your feet. He hugged you tightly, and you started sobbing. It was strange to get comfort from him. But you needed it. “Shh, my dear..” He soothed you, rubbing your head. He gently rocked you back and forth. He separated from you and smiled. “Show me them.”

Your eyes widened. “You don’t have to…”

Oh but he would. And he did.

He took your hand and you went back into the town. “Show me them.” He said again. You led him into the tavern, and he was hit with many foul smells. He wrinkled his nose in disgust. But you lived here, so he didn’t want to upset you. He put on a straight face and ignored the smells. You were too beautiful to be seen upset.

When people recognized him they gasped, standing up. The music stopped, and all the women froze.

“My Lord.” Ross, the main attraction it seemed, smiling and curtseying, spoke in her seductive voice. “What can I get you?”

“You think I’m here to pay for sex?” He laughed. You seemed uncomfortable so he saved his speech. “Nothing. I don’t need you.” He waved her away. She smiled and walked off. He turned to you, and he felt that same strange feeling of euphoria. His beautiful girl.

“Show me where they are, lovely.” He said to you, and you pointed to the back. Your room.

He grinned wickedly. “Would you like to see them bleed? Would you like to see them beg for their lives?”

“Don’t hurt them…” You said quietly. “Just scare them… Please…”

It made him angry and upset. He wanted to hurt them. He wanted to make them bleed. And scream.

Suddenly, an idea surfaced. He wouldn’t hurt them at all. But his hounds would.

“As you wish.” He smiled at you, and went into the room. A man and a woman lay asleep on the bed. The man was ugly, long hair. Very chiseled jaw. He had a slight beard. The woman was of course what every whore looked like. Long hair, thin eyebrows and lots of color on her eyelids.

“I will take them to my dungeon.” He smiled, and so he did.
**********
“Why did you do that for me?” You asked him. You were sitting in the woods again, the same pretty spot you always sat.

“Because it angered me to see you sad, love.” He said to you. “And, well, I can do anything I please.”

You smiled, and looked up at the sky. “But I can’t live in the tavern anymore.” You were right. They would never let you.

“You always have a place in winterfell.” He smiled at you.

“I don’t want to be a bother, my lord.” You said politely. He understood how you felt.

“Not a bother at all.” He told you. “I’d love to have you around.” He could imagine his hand around your throat as he fucked you. Your breath ragged as he made you feel such great pleasure. His tongue pleasing you. Your hand slapping his face. Your nails making him bleed. Your teeth making him bruise.

You looked happy. And it made him happy.

He gave you a room beside his. Close to him, so he could make sure you had everything you needed. And so that he could get there quickly at night.

Once, he was in his room killing time before dinner. He heard you crying,and he rushed in your room. “(Y/N)!” He kneeled next to you. You looked terribly sad. Crying again, like when he first met you. “Poor beautiful cardinal, tell me what’s wrong.”

“I keep thinking about it Ramsay I can’t fucking stop thinking about his bloody face and her hair and how they had sex in the bed I slept in since I was 12!” You leapt at him weeping. You sobbed into his arms and he held you, sitting on the floor.

“My sweet rose.” He sighed, petting your (H/C) hair. “You didn’t want me to hurt them then. Do you want me to now?”

You looked up at him through your red watery eyes. “Make them wish they were never born.” You said through your teeth. He grinned wickedly. He was rubbing off on you perfectly.

You looked at the two people tied on the X. Melisa, and your former lover, Leo. There was anger in your eyes. Normally, even in this situation, a girl would be scared. She would feel sympathy. But you, oh, you. You loved it. You wanted to see them hurt.

It thundered loudly outside, and you jumped a bit. His heart leapt. You were so beautiful. He wanted to protect you from everything. He would do anything to see you happy.

“What do you want me to do with them, my rose?” He asked you, and you looked up to him with those big (E/C) eyes.

“What causes the most pain?”

So a couple of days I go I wrote this for @jeusus‘s magnificent viking Hux and the support I got was kind of overwhelming and a lot of you seemed to want me to write some more so uh, have whatever this is I guess? (under a readmore cause it’s a little longer than I want to put on some unsuspecting person’s dashboard >.<)

(also sorry Jeusus I wrote this before I read your headcanon post so I know some things don’t quite match up but I hope that’s okay!)


Kylo, too his credit, had tried to be a gracious host for the man who would become his husband. He had taken the wild creature into his home, placed him at the dining table and served him food, a meal of delicious fruits and cheeses. He had tried to make small talk with him, tried to get to know him before they were to be officially wed.

Keep reading

NOTHING NATURAL by Diana Hurlburt

They call him Prosper, a measure of mockery for each measure of awe.

-

You know the road to the laboratory blind, could walk it in your sleep—have, because sleepwalking is telltale of the godborn, so your mother says and touches your ankle in rare affection where it rests on the porch rail, one foot on the earth and one in the realm of spirits.

“Spirits,” she repeats, gesturing to the road below, the spindly pine woods and the yellow haze of heat and pollution that makes up your horizon. “He controls the spirits.”

There are no spirits, only neighbors: Men and women and half-made machines given to rust, the detritus of civilization. A plot of bloodless jackdaws, midway between flophouse and refugee camp. You know that part of her statement, at least, is true. The weak and weak-willed, the dying, the once-dead, the discarded and useless, the flagrant all require direction. Seek strength. Are used by those stronger.

Sicaria laughs and makes her crooked cross, murmurs her oblique prayer.

“Get out,” she tells you in sudden rage, “go to your master. Get out of my sight, you unworthy and unclean thing, you who have forsaken the ways of God, you who cleave to the machines. Your eyes see only falsehood.”

-

It is fifteen years since your mother was cast out. It is your lifetime that has been spent in wasteland, the between-place, the unplace beyond the pale. It is a pine island that shelters you, a fanatic who raises you, a scientist who uses your hands and your back and his daughter who considers your mind.

Your mind. You know you have one. All creatures do, born or made. It is the First Law of Being.

Your name. If Sicaria gave you one it has been lost. It was only after Prosper’s carelessness that anyone else tried—his accident in the lab, though he would never call it that, surely you were at fault, your clumsy hands too broad for fine work and your elbows always in the way. Acid scattered from a flask, droplets caught in sun. You did not scream; it wasn’t the worst pain you had felt. In the washroom Miranda’s hands were gentle, washing, salving. They slowed after the initial motions and your pulse followed. You examine your two faces in the mirror. If you had ever displayed beauty it was gone now, Miranda’s heightened by your face now scarred. Her luminosity beyond the human and your coarseness, a sun and its shadow.

Her hand stayed on your cheek after its necessity had lapsed. She traced the remnants of acid, specks and splotches, long fingers black and velvet like the touch of night. You believe her grasp could shift moons from their orbit.

“Calvaluna,” she said, a cantrip reshaping your vision of yourself. “I read it somewhere—where? I have never read a book. I don’t need to, Father put his knowledge into my head before he activated me. But I hear it.” She tapped her forehead, then yours. “I hear it. It means you. It suits you. Calvaluna.”

It was prettier than you, you knew that, a beautiful name. Prettier than most things. Not prettier than her.

-

When Prosper leaves the laboratory it is less a retirement for the evening and more retreat. He would never call it that but you believe him fearful, after all. The powerful always are. He swings himself like a cudgel upon exit, he shouts for Miranda to attend him and cuffs you, a passing blow, thoughtless. Brutality is his lever, rarely compassion.

You know his laboratory better than he does, you think, wiping down counters. You know his daughter, made in his own image but ultimately fathomless. There’s a phrase in Sicaria’s Bible that makes you quiver when you apply it to Miranda.

It is full dark when Miranda comes for you. Your laboratory is Prosper’s in miniature, piecemeal and theft-built, squirreled away in a shed in the woods south of the pine island on which the best of the unplace’s hovels are built.

“It was a citrus packing house,” Miranda says as she always does. Touches the frame of the door right and then left, stretches to her full height to brush its top. It’s a ritual the way your mother’s prayers are, her prostrations, her rages. “Before the Laws took effect there was an industry here. Fruit. Citrus fruit.” She looks at you, a delight on her face that would fire the darkness. “Can you imagine it, Calvaluna? Whole stands of trees with fruit on them. Wild fruit, just growing. Imagine taking fruit off a tree and eating it.”

Your imagination is not that good.

She goes to the single table in the laboratory and stands before it in a manner you’ve thought must be like that of the Israelites in the Holy of Holies. You are not supposed to know what that means. You are not supposed to have holiness in your life. She looks at you briefly, with mischief, and draws down the shroud you have used to protect the R.E.L.’s shell from rain.

“I think we’re close,” she says. Her eyes are fascinated, distracted; her hand reaches for you. “Come here, Calvaluna, tell me if this is calibrated properly.”

“You have your father’s knowledge,” you say. But you go and look at the R.E.L. with her. You’re proud of the effort, the work of your joined hands. You are not supposed to have pride, either. There is no pride in being raised beyond the pale. In being the offspring of a hanged woman, a witch they would have called her in days past, a lawbreaker too iconoclastic to be allowed in the city and too ineffectual to be executed, spared for her belly to the tune of mockery. Certainly there is no pride in your form or your face.

“I think he’s almost ready to revive,” Miranda says. Her joy is the only light in these woods. The sun exists, you know, in theory. Miranda’s face is your only evidence thus far, fifteen years alive and far from those spaces left which thrive in natural sunlight. She links her fingers in yours, her thumb rubs the calluses on your palm; she points with your hands to the R.E.L.’s blank and staring eyes, his half-human head, his chest with its missing heart and its new core of wires. “Oh, Calvaluna! I’m nervous. Are you nervous?”

Nervous is not the right word for what you are.

-

“Calvaluna,” Sicaria repeated the day you told her of Miranda’s gift. She scraped the tip of her ritual knife between her teeth, grinning. “An appropriate name for you, my aborted dream. I should have exposed you as a sacrifice to God.”

There is no god but human will. This is the Second Law of Being.

-

Your fellow-spirits are all will-bound to Prosper’s caprice. He makes the cogs of the community turn, greases the paths of food and potable water and herbs plucked at the witching hour that make life slightly less… life-like. Thus he is obeyed.

“Daughter,” Sicaria echoes. She spits at the trash heap beside the back gate. “Blasphemy. Blasphemy. Such words I hear from your lips, my burden. Who was it gave you speech, that you fling curses in my face? I think maybe you’re the worse for your time spent in that man’s house. I see you confuse craft for birth.” She broods, her fingers twitching at the strand of beads beneath her wrapper. “But there’s no more to be done. How else are we to live?”

Once, and only once, you suggested that perhaps her god might see to living arrangements, if she did not like how you were turning out under Prosper’s tutelage.

“Go.” She waves to the wood path. “I heard tell there was meat today.”

If there was meat to be had, you suspect it’s long gone now. Your fellow-spirits are avaricious. What have they but base pleasures?

“He’s in a gloom,” Miranda says, her face round and open as a poinciana pod. “He’s made me clean the laboratory twice over, and asked me to cook… something. I didn’t recognize it, Calvaluna. Lentil soup? What is a lentil, do you know?”

You know of lentils.

“You can’t make lentil soup,” you tell her. “He shouldn’t ask you to do things he knows are impossible.”

“He believes anything is possible,” she says. You love and hate to see her countenance. You remember a time when she would have spoken the same words in hope and affection. You know it is your fault, the way she is changing, her will a canker on the face of beauty. You wonder what Prosper will do when he realizes it. You ponder in the night, sometimes, this scholar whose eyes perceive all but the truth.

Perhaps you will be gone before he awakens.

“Race me,” Miranda says, but she takes your hand.

“How am I to race if you keep me beside you?”

“A race doesn’t have to have a winner,” she says, and begins to run.

She times these things impeccably. She runs so that you can almost believe the light follows her footsteps, that she leaves no mark on the earth. Dusk springs up behind you. You prefer night, its honesty; you prefer the real dark that would cover most of your world if not for artificial day. The unplace is a hive of night creatures. Your fellow-spirits are easiest perceived in dimness, their proclivities hidden and their countenances smoothed.

Miranda keeps your hand in hers and runs, runs, fearless and laughing. She runs like a dart flung toward the center of the south woods, the pine cloven by lightning looming over your laboratory. The pine grows despite the wound at its heart. It is where you found the R.E.L.—one of Prosper’s cast-offs, what he termed a failed experiment—half-dead and crumbling piecemeal to rust in dank rainfall.

She drops to the base of the pine and pulls you down and points up.

“I know of stars,” she says, her eyes searching as though Heaven might reveal itself. “The Southern Cross, the Swan. The Pleiades. Many more names my father gave me.” She touches her forehead, as she does when she speaks of Prosper’s knowledge, planted in her like seed corn. She is godborn more surely than you can ever be, gleaming divinity. She touches your forehead, your cheeks, the tip of your nose. “I think they must look like you. The stars beyond our sky.”

She traces the scars and specks and splotches. She draws new constellations and names them, her fingers a warm trail on your skin, her breath a promise.

-

Just once you asked your mother if you would ever leave the unplace. You did not then understand that no one came to the salt-strewn plots of land on the city’s outskirts by choice—no one laid eyes on the pine island and thought, I am home. It is far more difficult to leave a place you have not happened upon by choice.

“He’ll be a protector,” you say, pliers in one hand and cording in the other. “His new code will require defense. Otherwise…”

You look at Miranda and think of what might happen to her if the R.E.L.’s defensive code does not run as planned. You picture yourself and remember Sicaria’s dark jibes, her reminiscences of city life. You rub your upper arm where the contraceptive block had been implanted. It only prevents some things, can halt neither the heady mix of desire and aspiration nor flat violence.

“Defense,” Miranda says, her face solemn in its thinking pose, unaware of your thoughts. “Defense, financials, new birth records and identification…”

Her voice skips along, almost merry, a fertile stream in which to seed possibility.

-

The Third Law of Being is the inviolability of life. No one has ever explained to you whether the Law covers all life.

-

Light explodes behind your eyes when Prosper’s hand meets your skull. Or, you realize a little belatedly, it is the fault of the lab table, the edge of it kissing your temple. Air rushes from your lungs. You stare at the vault above the shed in the woods, its ceiling gaping in sections to reveal leaves, the white sky of noon.

Miranda flies at him, her face dressed in horror. You have never kissed her, you think. You would prefer not to die unkissed; you’d prefer not to die at all.

“Ungrateful wretch,” Prosper says. “Twisted ape-child, spawn of—how thought you?” He smashes his hand across the table. “How thought you to betray my kindness? To turn my own blood against me?” He lifts one of the R.E.L.’s arms, almost delicately. “Whore and daughter of whores. Thief.”

Small comfort to think his rage stems from fear, but it’s enough. Prosper would not be angry if he didn’t believe the R.E.L. was sound.

“You.” He points to Sicaria in the doorway. One of your fellow-spirits has fetched her at his command and she is in a state, white-eyed and gagging on anger. “Take your mooncalf in hand, I never want to see her again. Corruptor.”

He catches Miranda and snares her arms, wrenches her close, covers her head with his hands as though she is innocent. As though healing and reviving the R.E.L. were not her idea. As though a child can be born of only one parent. The R.E.L. is your inheritance, legacy of unnatural issue, a being greater than the sum of its creators.

“This abomination will be destroyed,” Prosper says. Sicaria prays in the doorway, her eyes not on you nor on the R.E.L. but searching, seeking. She hates the sight of machines. Had the city not cast her out for improper worship she would have repudiated them anyway.

“He is an R.E.L.,” Miranda says. You stare despite the throb in your head, the blood in your eyes. Her voice remains soft, wondering, a caress on the cyborg’s clinical name. Aerial, a creature of movement and possibility. “Robotically Enhanced Lifeform. Give him his name, Father, lend some pity, even if you thought nothing of flinging him into the trash when he failed to serve you.”

“Abomination,” he repeats. “Homunculus, deformity—daughter. Listen. Calvaluna has done wrong in her ignorance but you… you are not ignorant, Miranda.”

You marvel at the blindness of the learned man, the man cast out for his learned ways, the man who has made the wilderness blossom in decay. Lord of chaos, king of the misruled.

“God be with me in this hour,” Sicaria prays, her hands on either side of the doorframe. “God be with me in my pain, God give me strength for the task before me, God grant me…”

Me, you mouth. God be with Sicaria, and science with Prosper, and neither passionate belief nor dispassionate prowess sustain them. Miranda looks at you from beneath her father’s hands. Her smile is your signpost, her trust your life raft. Your fellow-spirits are like unto you only in substance: Crude matter, blunt usefulness. Miranda is your true equal, beloved of your soul. Her eyes remain open.

Your eyes must remain open. You must get up. There are but two steps between you and the table, one step in the scientific process, a bare nudge of your fingers at the master switch. Miranda’s being is in your hands.

On the table, the R.E.L. casts off slumber and rattles to life.

Hero: Prologue (M)

Author’s Note: This is literally my first ever foray into the fan-fiction side of this fandom. It’s been quite exciting!  Song for this chapter: Dozo (Guns For Hire Mix) - Puscifer

Genre: Vampire!Chanyeol AU; suspense; thriller; romance; eventual smut

Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader (oc; female)

Synopsis: The sire of one of the largest, most powerful covens and a human woman find themselves forced to trust one another as they attempt to survive an impending outbreak of war.

Rating: M - mature 

Warnings (this chapter): graphic violence; swearing; references to drug/blood trafficking

Word Count (this chapter): 1.4K

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11a | 11b

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~ Hold My Hand ~

Originally posted by ch-est-er

Originally posted by cute-guysxx

Request: Jim Kirk, your boyfriend, teaching you to slow dance at a party. - Anon

Words: 2897

Warnings: None really, a little bit of tears and angst maybe, but the rest is hopefully fluff!

Beta’d: Again by the lovely @yourtropegirl! I’m sure all who follow me also follow her, but if you’re not following her… go do it! She’s lovely and kind and really, really nice!

A/N: I’M SO SORRY NONNIE! I have no idea why it took me so long, but I deleted this story at least 10 times before I found a beginning that I liked. And I’m also really sorry that the part of the actual dancing (or learning at least) was cut short, I just am a person with two left feet, so I kinda went with my own experience here (I did google how to teach slow dancing, but that didn’t really help me, because I had no idea how to turn what I saw into words, so I hope you’re not too mad at me!).

Tags (requested for this fic): @musingsongbird, @cookieoffortune 


“Ambassador Y/L/N?“

You put the little girl you had in your arms down on the ground and nudged her softly, pushing her in the direction of her friends and siblings, who were running around a little bit further down the path.

“Yes?,” you said, straightening yourself up and turning around to face the man who had spoken.

“I have a message for you. It’s from Yorktown.”

“Thank you”, you whispered, smiled weakly and took the letter with a trembling hand from the Vulcan. He just bowed a little and disappeared between some houses, his tunic floating in the wind.

As you pondered over the decision to open the letter or not, you walked down the path to the little cottage you called your home, at the border of the capital while you were on New Vulcan. Of course you had heard of the events in Yorktown and about the destruction of the Enterprise during the rescue mission of that alien’s crew, so you knew that the letter would come sooner or later.

The moment you walked through the door you slumped down to the floor, your body shaking and tears flowing. Not only had you lost your good friend Ambassador Spock some time ago, now you had to live with the knowledge that your boyfriend and his crew had passed away too.

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“You don’t know what you’re asking, Jon. The Night’s Watch is a sworn brotherhood. We have no families. None of us will ever father sons. Our wife is duty. Our mistress is honor.”
“A bastard can have honor too,” Jon said. “I am ready to swear your oath." 
You are a boy of fourteen,“ Benjen said. ”Not a man, not yet. Until you have known a woman, you cannot understand what you would be giving up.“ 
I don’t care about that!“ Jon said hotly. 
"You might, if you knew what it meant,” Benjen said. “If you knew what the oath would cost you, you might be less eager to pay the price, son.” (AGOT)

“It may be that the Many-Faced God has led you here to be His instrument, but when I look at you I see a child … and worse, a girl child. Many have served Him of Many Faces through the centuries, but only a few of His servants have been women. “Women bring life into the world. We bring the gift of death. No one can do both.” He is trying to scare me away, Arya thought, the way he did with the worm.
I don’t care about that.
"You should.” (AFFC)

But can you pay the price?
“What price?”
“The price is you. The price is all you have and all you ever hope to have. We took your eyes and gave them back. Next we will take your ears, and you will walk in silence. You will give us your legs and crawl. You will be no one’s daughter, no one’s wife, no one’s mother. Your name will be a lie, and the very face you wear will not be your own.” (ADWD)

obviously, arya and jon have a great deal of parallels between them with the night’s watch and the faceless men. these two organizations demand arya and jon sacrifice all that makes them who they are: their homes, families, loves and allegiances ect. they no longer are permitted to be true individuals but servants of the realm and the gods, respectively. its a huge sacrifice. the price is high as both benjen and the faceless men point out. they have to give up their chance at a future for themselves. which very often includes finding love. 

at 14 jon is still adamant that he doesnt care about being with a woman or love and he certainly won’t father any children out of wedlock. this is unthinkable to him because he’s young and just doesnt know any better. he knows nothing, one could say. of course, he goes onto fall for ygritte. and breaks his vows by laying with her. his future will very likely hold more romance too (….with dany, just so we’re clear)

which i think suggests arya could end up feeling the same. she’s only 11 and she has no interest in marrying or having children. which is completely understandable. all the more so because she’s a homeless, traumatized orphan. but theres no reason to assume her feelings won’t change as she grows older just as her brothers did. most little boys don’t dream of marriage and children but they often find themselves pursuing both at some point.she has more reason to be hesitant than her brothers as well since girls are often sold like cattle to the highest bidder. she also has a complicated relationship with femininity. girls in westeros need to be pretty and feminine to be seen as worthy of love. so arya believes herself to be unwanted and unloved. but i believe as she continues to grow she’ll realize thats not the truth. and that her future could very well include falling in love. honestly it almost definitely will knowing grrm. 

FIC: Infodere Ch 2

This story was formerly know as Lost Treasure of the Zapotec but I hated that title so in the thousand years that have elapsed since chapter 1, I have changed it. Hope no one minds.

Hope you enjoy this one and chapter 1 can be found here for those that haven’t read it 



Her back arched at the sensation. Hair like fire tickled her thighs. She gasped as strong hands grasped her under her hips lifting her towards his mouth, her breath coming in gasps. His tongue worked gently but persistently and she could feel the muscles of her stomach and thighs tighten as her climax built. One of his hand reached up and caressed her breast and she brought a hand down and ran it through the red hair.

A loud crash jerked Claire awake. She blinked dazed and struggled to sit up. She was breathing heavily, sheened in sweat which wasn’t entirely to do with the tropical heat. She looked around as she realized where she was and who exactly the red hair and wandering hands belonged to. She blushed further when she realized that all that separated her from the man in her dream was two thin walls of canvas and six inches of grass between the tents. Pulling herself together she grabbed a pair of sweatpants and dragged them on, as she headed out to investigate the commotion.

Running across the clearing to where a crowd had begun to gather, she pushed her way to the front. One of the equipment trailers, which had arrived with the last of the convoy at dusk and had therefore not yet been unloaded had been forced open and some of its contents were flung about. Only the top layer seemed to be disturbed however.

“Wi’ the racket they were making, they’d no have any time to really find whatever it is they were looking for. What’s in this trailer, Sassenach?” Jamie turned to her in question and it took her a moment to realise he meant her.

“Oh, erm, this one..” She shone a torch into the trailer “Reference materials mostly. Dr Moreno’s stuff from the university.” She was referring to the cultural anthropologist from the National Autonomous University of Mexico, who along with Jamie, Claire and a physical anthropologist, Dr Zapote, made up the senior team overseeing the dig.

“Maybe they thought there was something else in her?” She wondered out loud. Jamie made a Mmmmph noise in the back of his throat and Claire fought the urge to laugh at such a thoroughly Scottish sound here in the middle of the Mexican rain forest, surrounded by the remains of another, very different culture.

“Well, we’ll lock this up the best we can and I’ll maybe talk to the camp manager in the morning about having some extra security here at night.”

Claire made her way back to her tent and laid there in the dark listening to the sounds of the camp. She heard Jamie come back to his own tent sometime later. She could him him rustling around as he undressed and her stomach flipped slightly.

“Damn it, Beauchamp” she murmured into the dark turning on her side

Breakfast had been eaten and after several hours of frantic activity which involved the arrival of the archeology students from the local university who would along with a group of interns do the majority of the actual digging and cataloguing, and Dr Zapote the physical anthropologist they gathered for a site briefing before the dig began in earnest.

“Okay,” Claire’s voice was clear and rang out across the clearing. Jamie leaned against a trailer drinking coffee and watching her. “We need to lay out some very strict rules for this dig. This is an area of immense cultural significance to the indigenous community. We have been invited here. Very strict protocols must be observed when it comes to the excavations. First up, nothing bigger than the palm of your hand comes out of the ground without running it by Dr Moreno or one of his team. They will decide if it needs special handling or if it is not appropriate for it to be handled by someone outside the Zapotec community. You photograph, document and only when you have permission do you bring it out of the ground. “ Claire looked around the assembled group, catching eyes and trying to impress the importance of her words. “This goes double if you find human remains. We have no idea what this area was used for. As a result in the case of any bones, photograph, document and haul ass to Dr Zapote, here. He and his team will make all decisions about how these finds should be treated. There are to be no exceptions to this. This might make this dig slower than some that you might have worked on, but ethics are important in archaeology, as is the understanding that we show respect to the past.”

She continued, introducing the various team leaders, outlining protocols and assigning teams. She was lovely, but there was something slightly ferocious about her, something wild and untamed. She fascinated Jamie more than any other woman he had ever met. It wasn’t just her intellect, formidable though it was. As an academic her knew any number of intensely gifted women, his last girlfriend, Geneva had been a highly published sociologist, but Claire was different. His reaction to her at first meeting had caught him off kilter.

“Dr Fraser?” He started as he realised she was looking at him along with 65 archaeologists, 8 technicians, 4 physical anthropologists and cultural anthropologist. He shook his head.

“Sorry, could you just repeat that, Dr Beauchamp?”

Claire rolled her eyes a little but she was smiling.

“I said, would you like to explain our documentation and classification process?”

“Oh aye, sorry.” He stepped forward then, explaining the paperwork that should be completed for the different artefacts and how they should be then packed for shipping to the museum in Mexico City.

By the end of the week the first trench had been dug and a significant number of small items recovered. So far they had found the usual expected items, pottery, household items and a smattering of jewellery, but they boded well for more significant finds to come. The camp sat scattered across the clearing in sociable groups, chatter in Spanish, Portuguese and English drifting through the air. Jamie sat down next to Claire on ground close to their tents. He held out a bottle of beer to her and she took it with a nod of thanks.

“You happy with the finds?” he asked?

Claire nodded as she took a swig of beer.

“I think so. There was definitely something here beyond just the pyramid, but what we’ve found so far don’t really tell us much more than that. I’m hoping the second trench will give us some structures, or at least some slightly more quantifiable artefacts. We only have a limited permit to dig here and without some significant finds it will be hard to justify our presence. There are plenty who don’t want excavations here. Its why the protocols matter so much.”

“Aye, and then there’s the legends?” Claire laughed slightly at this and chinked her bottle against his.

“The great lost treasures. Ha. Those stories are just that. If anyone seriously believed those stories someone would have dug here long before now, permits or not. There were plenty of people with less scruples about desecrating indigenous sites in the past. Our knowledge of the past is practically founded on it.” Her voice was wry and she pulled a slight face at this.

“True” He replied, slowly. “And there still are.” Claire followed his gaze towards the trailer that had been broken open a week earlier.

“You can’t seriously think…?” she practically stuttered in her incredulity. “That people might actually think…? That we ‘know’ something? Oh God that is too ridiculous, we are a serious fieldwork team not Indiana Jones style treasure hunters. God…”

“Aye, Sassenach.” was his measured response. “We ken that, but there might be others that don’t. Most people dinna realise that 90% of archaeology is digging up wee bit of pottery and trying to glue them back together. How many times have ye been asked if you’re like Lara Croft?” Claire threw her head back and laughed at this statement.

“Honestly, more than once. And I bet you get the Indiana Jones thing all the time don’t you?” She was grinning at him now. “Especially in that hat.” She nudged him cheekily in the ribs and he nudged her back. They stayed like that for a moment, both leaning against the other, savouring the warmth of the person next to them as the night cooled, both overcome with how *right* it felt. Almost without thinking Claire shifted slightly bringing her body closer to Jamie’s so that they were flush along their sides and rested her head on his shoulder. Jamie shifted in time, his arm coming round her back, bringing her close to him. Neither of them spoke, they just looked out over the camp, watching the lamps sway in the gloaming light. A shriek of laughter from the group nearest to them made them both jump and made them suddenly aware of their intimacy. Jamie turned to Claire, meaning to apologise but instead found her mouth against his. Without hesitation he returned her kiss, the heat of her lips and tongue making his stomach flip. His hands ran across her back as hers came up around his neck pulling him closer to her as she bit his lip gently. She leaned back pulling her down with him onto the grass.

“Jamie” she murmured against his neck as she moved down and kissed his throat. “Jamie”

It had been dark in that part of the camp, neither had brought a lamp when they sat down and the nearest group was far enough away that the light did not reach them. They could have been alone in the world as he kissed her, and she kissed him in the darkness.

She didn’t know what had prompted her to do it. Claire was not one for kissing men for no good reason, especially ones that she had to live in very close proximity for the next few months. But there was something about him that defied her conscious thought. She hadn’t planned to kiss him, she hadn’t even realised she was going to kiss him until the moment their lips met and it was too late by then. The weight of him above her as they kissed felt like home and his soft kisses with a hint of promise made her blood pound in her ears.

But then suddenly he was gone. He was on his feet and pulling her to hers. Light flashed around them as a row of tents went up in flames. Jamie went to move towards the commotion when gun shots rang out. Quickly changing course he turned and headed into the cover of the rainforest dragging Claire behind him. He came to a stop about 200 metres from the camp, so suddenly that they collided. The forest around them was full of people fleeing and screaming. Claire looked towards the camp and saw the main tent catch fire. She made to run towards it,  but Jamie caught her arm.

“No, mo nighean donn” he murmured into her ear, holding her close to his body both in protection and restraint.

“But the equipment,  the finds…” She was twisting in his arms trying to free herself but she could not overpower him. He pulled her closer murmuring comforting sounds into her ear, in what she guessed was Gaelic, And around her the world burned.

anonymous asked:

I am kind of concerned that so many people are reducing the female body into a sexualize object on your post. Like yes we shouldn't be walking out in a bra and panties but like wearing jeans and a t-shirt isn't a sin. Why are people acting like it is? Why are we judging our sisters in Christ as if they are looking for them to mess up so we can -pardon my language but it is how I feel - call them a whore. It is makes no sense that we are dragging each other down. We should be raising them up

It’s because of our irreverence of God and our lack of fear/awe of God.

Let me explain it this way:

When we see a painting of a person who is nude, we are in awe of the skills of the artist and the beauty of the human body. We do not hide these masterpieces from children, we do not lock them away in sections of museums or art gallery’s that are “not for minors”. It’s our respect for art and the artist.

How we view the human body is much different, because we see other people through a lens of our own desires of the flesh, and reduce them to this. This thought is actually a combination of lust and immodesty (of the mind). We do not view others as made in the likeness of God, but as tools for our own use. We do not simply see a man or a woman as they are-Gods masterpiece, but as a reflection of our own sins and temptations.

Our natural response to the naked human body, unless that person is our spouse and they are mutually engaged in intimacy, should be love, awe of God, fear of God.

Here is the problem, we are very aware of a small percent of modesty, which would be “covering the body”, and really that’s just a skim from the top of the virtue. To desire modesty, we must desire to understand the gift and value of ourselves and others, just as chastity is not “no sex until marriage” but the holy understanding of human sexuality and also love. “No sex until marriage” is to “cover the body” when it comes to virtues, it’s a good step in the right direction but it’s just not that simple.

Some people say to cover it up “for your spouse/future spouse” (or “only your spouse should see you naked”) but your body is not given by God to your spouse, it was given by God to you to use as an instrument for God’s work, for your vocation. For many people, they do not have spouses and are not called to become one flesh in physical union with another person.

I think if we look at those who more frequently dress very modest, we would find many of those people actually have a history of sexual related sins, so have a disturbed perception of the human body-people like myself. Others have been instructed that “naked human body =sex sex sex only for your spouse!!!” Definitely not ALL of us who are concerned with modesty, but many of us.

This is because their (or my) attempt to uphold modesty is by first covering up and essentially protecting the body as we would cover something very precious to us. My previous perception of the naked human body was always =sex. It’s shameful and disturbing and our culture is very aware of the sexualization of human beings (and even young teens/children) and our best attempt is to “cover up” our bodies rather than actually obtain true modesty, respect for other people, love for other people, and most importantly awe of the power of God in his creations.

The first step is modesty of the mind. As Catholics/Christians we must see someone in a swim suit/short dress/etc not as an “immodestly dressed” person or a “walking temptation” but as a creation of God. If we think “wow this is Mass I can’t believe they would wear something like that!!!” we should repent and beg God for the gift of true modesty (and humility).

I NEVER was telling people “it’s ok guys just like be naked or whatever modesty is like whatever who cares” I was just saying that it’s much deeper and more beautiful than “hide those nasty ankles, neck, shoulders stomach from menzzz eyes!!!” It’s unfortunate that it wasn’t received well or maybe not even understood.

I also believe we should be holding men to higher standards because I KNOW wonderful holy men can fulfill these standards. We shouldn’t be telling young girls to “cover their bodies because all men are going to lust after your body!!!” because then their standard for a husband (if it’s her vocation) will be a man that reduces her to such. I think men have self control and are capable of viewing women as Gods precious creations rather then just something for their taking.

One last and final thing (sort of off topic from the question) before I hit “post”, we should remember that modesty is a life time GOAL. Our understanding of modesty will not look the same as someone else. (Example;) We are told to dress in our finest clothing for Mass, if a person who was impoverished came to mass in a t-shirt and jeans would we be disturbed? Would we really know if it was that person’s finest clothing if we did not know their financial status or what hangs in their closet. Can we say that this person is not making an effort? A person with humility and love for God and others would not notice a person’s clothing. The same goes for modesty.

Maybe that person’s understanding of modesty is so innocent, so pure, that they do not see the human body in such a disturbed and lustful nature as we do? Maybe that person’s understanding of modesty is better than our own.

How We Fail Our Boys and How We Fail Ourselves

“Therefore I have reached the decision that we should not trouble those Gentiles who are turning to God, but we should write to them to abstain only from things polluted by idols and from whatever has been strangled and from blood and the girls should abstain from sexual immorality.” Acts 13:19-20 (Except, NO. NOT REALLY.)

Among liberal Christians, there’s this tendency to decide that in the name of gender equality, everyone should be exempt from sexual morality. Among conservative Christians, there’s a tendency to really think sexual morality is important. For girls. On both sides of the aisle, we just don’t really expect anything out of our boys and men. And there’s a great deal of misogyny there, but I think there’s also an enormous touch of accidental misandry.

We don’t expect anything out of our boys because at some point in human history, we decided that women can resist their sexual appetites, but men can’t. To quote my ex-boyfriend, “guys have a natural animalistic urge”. Men have to look at women. Men have to watch porn. Men have to have sex. At best, women are expected to allow a certain level of infidelity from their significant others. At worst, women are shouldered with the responsibility of keeping men from wandering into sexual immorality. We’ve made women into virgin goddesses, and we’ve made men into beasts. And it’s unfair to everyone.

How We’re Failing Our Boys

We see it in the school system all the time. Students tend to meet expectations. When nothing is expected of them, they never fail to deliver. That’s human nature. When someone is expected to fail, they tend to not see the point of trying to succeed. A few do. A few become determined to defy expectations. Those few are incredible, because they are rare. For the most part, if someone is given an excuse from the get-go to behave as they please, success is not going to be their primary goal. And if a boy is told in a million subtle and not-so-subtle ways from childhood that he can’t resist his urges, sexual morality is not going to be his primary goal.

Once upon a time and in some places today, a woman was expected to cover herself to keep men from sin. In the Middle East, for example, women are, in many cases, still to blame if they are raped. She seduced that man. She tempted him. He is just an animal gifted with speech and he can’t keep his penis to himself if he sees a pretty woman.

Ain’t hatred a double-edged sword?

It’s not quite that extreme in the United States. The vast majority of people here understand that rape is the rapist’s fault. But tell someone that you expect your boyfriend not to be checking out other women with his friends. Tell someone you expect your boyfriend not to watch porn. Tell someone you aren’t having sex with your boyfriend. All of the sudden, men are just poor helpless animals again.

That attitude isn’t compatible with Christianity. Not real Christianity.

Genesis 2:18 says, ’Then the Lord God said, “It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him a helper as his partner.”’ My job as a girlfriend and future wife is to be a helper and a partner. If the ultimate end goal is heaven, I’m supposed to help him get there. So I should expect the things out of him that Christ expects. Sure, he’s human. I know that. He and I are always going to fail at loving each other just like we fail at loving Christ. But going into a relationship with the attitude that we aren’t perfect so to hell with all of it? That’s not fair to either of us.

So what does Christ expect?

Four things were asked of us by the early church when they decided to accept Gentiles.

1. Abstain from food sacrificed to idols

2. Abstain from blood

3. Abstain from the meat of strangled animals

4. Abstain from sexual immorality/fornication

We’re explicitly given those four requirements in the New Testament. The entire basis for our not following Kosher Law is concluded with that. As Christians, we are called to chastity. All of us- male and female. And a boy’s chastity is just as valuable as mine. His soul is just as valuable as mine. I refuse to treat him with anything less than the honor with which Christ has asked me to treat him. Because I love him.

And as for my “well, he can look but he can’t touch” folks, that isn’t what Christ expects, either. ‘You have heard that it was said, “You shall not commit adultery.” But I say to you that everyone who looks at a woman with lust has already committed adultery with her in his heart.’ (Matthew 5:27-28)

I’ll say it again. If the ultimate end goal is heaven, I’m supposed to help him get there. Part of that job requires me to not make chastity more difficult for him. But the other part of that job is expecting chastity from him. Whole chastity- not pieces and parts. I refuse to treat him with anything less than the honor with which Christ has asked me to treat him. I refuse to treat him as anything less than made in the image of God. He is not a dog. He is not a slave to his desires. He is capable of chastity, and he is worth chastity.

How We Fail Ourselves

The other side of that double-edged sword I mentioned earlier is the side that’s poisoned by misogyny. As women, according to whatever side of the political spectrum we happen to be on, we either undervalue ourselves by deciding that we’re dogs, too, or by deciding that we’re not worth true fidelity from our partners.

I’ve addressed the dog opinion; apply it to women and it’s just as wrong. I’m going to get right into the fidelity part. When we decide that women should be moral and men shouldn’t be, there’s a certain level of infidelity that becomes permissible. Maybe it becomes permissible for him to have a “side chick” since I’m not having sex with him. Maybe it becomes permissible for him to watch porn or watch other women’s butts as they walk by. You’re worth more than any of that garbage.

Christ says that when a man looks at a woman with lust has already committed adultery in his heart. Christ is literally giving you permission to tell your boyfriend/husband that you expect him not to use other women’s bodies for his own pleasure through pornography. Christ is literally giving you permission to tell your boyfriend/husband to stop checking out other women with his friends. He is saying that they are in the wrong- that they are doing something wrong. Here’s the great thing about you being made in the image of God, too: you don’t have to accept the bare minimum when it comes to love. You don’t have to accept the bare minimum when it comes to fidelity. And frankly, you shouldn’t. Expect the love you deserve and don’t accept anything less. You deserve a man who truly attempts to be faithful to you with his body, his mind, and his heart. And you are failing yourself by not requiring that.

Nightclubs and Vampires

Dean x Reader

Prompt: “Are you getting jealous?” - “You’re changing your outfit, now!” requested by Anon.

A/N: Another drabble turned into a one-shot because I was having too much fun writing Jealous!Dean. Want to request a Dean x Reader drabble? You can pick one Here or Here. Just make sure to include in your ask which list you’re picking it from, or just write the prompt itself if that comes easier. 

Word Count: 1150+

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Her Instinct - Chapter 16

Chapter 16 -  Savage

This chapter was inspired by the song “We Should Be Together” by Pia Mia. Feel free to listen as you read!

I woke up in a daze, starring at wall of my room, completely spent from the total workout, or should I say workouts we had last night. I felt Mr. Leto’s arm wrapped around me, entrapping me in his grasp. I stroked it absentmindedly, inhaling the sweet morning air as memories from last night flooded my mind. This was pure bliss.

“Morning, Kerri.” His voice in the stillness of the morning almost made me jump. I was surprised he was up.

“Good morning” I nearly croaked out as I turned.

He was wide-awake; his is blue eyes gazed into mine dreamily. He leaned in and kissed my forehead as his hand grazed up and down my side. He slowly kissed down my face to my cheek and jaw.

“Tell me something Kerri.” His voice was so soft I had to really focus to pay attention. “Why do you waste your time with Derek, when you have this” he plays with my hand and pulls it to his chest. “You certainly don’t do this with him. So what’s the point?”

I stared in bewilderment at Mr. Leto. After all we’ve done and he brings up Derek? I completely forgot he existed.

Was this a joke?

He stared back at me, waiting intently for my response.

Apparently it wasn’t.

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