when will the government stop my sinful hand

anonymous asked:

that actually makes so much sense, because the Fox would naturally want to have multiple litters. It would mean more of a chance of survival. Hux would probably instinctively want to have many litters now that he had a mate. So I could see Hux yearly wanting to be filled with pups again because it would feel like the right thing to do. It would mean their family has more chance of survival in the wild, and "don't you want our family to survive Kylo"


Hux’s mindset is so different to Kylo’s. He thinks harsh winters and lack of food can take his pups away from him, despite Kylo telling him that they’ll always be warm and always have food in their bellies because it’s different than the forest. They don’t have to fight against the cold for survival, they don’t have to worry about invading predators.

But Hux still isn’t having it. He settles three of their babies down in their cots, keeping hold of the fourth, cradling him close. He’s smaller than his three sisters, and Hux is scared that he’s not going to make it past his first year because that the reality he’s grown up with in the wild.

Kylo gently sits down next to Hux, kissing his cheek and stroking his son’s ginger hair.

“They’ll all survive, Hux. We don’t need to keep having litters to protect the children we have. They’ve got us, we’ve got this house, nothing is going to happen to them,” Kylo says, breath warm on Hux’s ear, kissing it softly.

“I…” Hux looks down at his sleeping son, fearing for his health. Nonetheless, Hux turns, nuzzling Kylo’s cheek. “I trust you.”

It’s the second day of 2017 and I’m still upset that Luke and Lorelai never had kids together…

Thanks ASP 

I’m also still upset that the explanation for them not having kids is they never really talked about it, although they brought it up in seasons 5 and 6… smh

Today I made the semi-final decision to get my tubes tied, pending doctor’s consultation. And I’ll talk more about it when and if it happens, because that’s my way, but like the thing is–I’m only trepidatious about the procedure itself. I’m nervous about anesthesia and incisions. As for Not Being Able To Get Pregnant Ever Forever, I’ve been trying to talk about it like it’s a Big Decision because I felt like it was supposed to be, but it isn’t, for me! The fact is, I decided it a long time ago. This is just the means. I didn’t even decide it, really. I was simply never not sure, from the time I became aware my body would one day be one that could host another, to puberty when it became actually possible, to young adulthood when it was at risk of actually happening. The time until menopause was always a stretch to get through while managing that risk. This isn’t a decision. It’s just a way of accomplishing the life I’ve always known I’d have. 

And the fact that birth control may soon be harder to get doesn’t hurt the timing. And somewhere down the road, if we all survive that long, when I foster and adopt kids, they’ll know they weren’t my backup plan, that I wanted them and waited for them on purpose, and that’s an added bonus.

You are in Love

For the lovely @ishelmascarinas because I promised and she deserves every happy thing in the world. Inspired by “You are in Love” by Taylor Swift.

Annabeth looked the apartment for one last. She couldn’t believe it was empty, well, except for some boxes that hadn’t made it to their car yet. Time had moved too fast and now all she had was memories. This little apartment had been witness of the best moments of her life and now she was leaving it behind, no, they were leaving it behind.

It looked so bright and big, with the early sun lighting hitting the windows, but she could remember how dark it was when she and Percy first moved in. They were twenty two and they had just move in, fresh out of college in New Rome, they were back in his city, their city, and they finally had their own place to call home in the city that was home.

The first thing they put up was fairy lights, all across the small living room and their little room. Even after all this time Tartarus still haunted them, and they didn’t like living in a dark home. Their house always had light, from fairy lights, small night lamps or candles, but it was never dark.

Their little kitchen, where Percy spent innumerable hours trying to teach her how to cook, and failing every time. She would always remember that sunday where she almost burned down their place making toast. The kitchen with the coffee at midnight, sometimes filled with sad, sleepless night that they spent sitting on the floor just drinking coffee and resting their backs against the oven in silence. But then there where the nights with conversations, filled with laugh and love and happiness, nights when they sat on the floor talking about nothing and about everything. Nights that remind her over and over that she was in love with him.

Their living room, that became even more small when they had their friends over, the seven of them never managed to be in the living room at the same time. The living room with the overused couch that didn’t match the rest of their place, that was their favorite make out spot. The living room was also their place to dance, with music or without music and it was those dances without music, where the silence surrounded them, when she feel it, it was true love. Their living room, the place where he got down in one knee and asked her to be his wife.

Their little bathroom, where having two of them at the same was an incredible challenged they liked to accept every day. He always left his shirts on the floor, shirts she loved to claim as hers. It was the place where he gave her the necklace she will never took off; They were relaxing on the bath, it was filled with bubbles and candles when he put the chain around her neck, the chain that had the silver anchor, a reminder that she will always be his anchor.

And then, there was their little room that had been witness of nights filled with love and nights that were filled with desperation and sadness, the room that was witness of fights and making love. But most important she remembers that night, the first night they spent on their bedroom as Mr. and Mrs. Jackson, when he woke up with a strange look on his face and he told her “You are my best friend” and she knew, he will always love her.

And now she was saying goodbye to this apartment, she was saying goodbye to New York, to the kisses on the sidewalk while they walked home. Soon he will be driving them to their new place in New Athens, the house she spent months designing, the house that will hopefully be home for the rest of their lives, and touching her belly, she started thinking about the new memories the three of them while have there, but first she had to tell Percy about the third member of their family.


Latest news! t.A.T.u. fans be sure to read!

About 4 hours ago Lena Katina gave birth to a son! His name is Alexander!

I wish them happiness,love and luck in the new part of life!


Julia Volkova  congratulated her on instagram! (They were in a fight!)

She said: “We are constantly running somewhere in a hurry, busy with work and affairs. But in life there are what we live-love, family and Babies too! Darling, Lenochka!!!!! I would like to congratulate you on the birth of son!! I am sincerely happy for you, that opened a new chapter in your life! For one little man, you were the entire universe, and he to you-new meaning to life! Let babe pleases you with Sash!!! Be happy!”

Sorry for long post, I’m overwhelmed with emotions ♥♥♥

when ur sick, touching something is like marking it as yours.  that couch? I sat on it, it’s mine now.  That dog? I pet him, he’s got my germs, he is now mine.  Those crackers? I opened the box.  Your bed? I sweat all over it.  Your boyfriend? I accidentally sneezed and shook his hand I’m so sorry do you want him back I covered him in hand sanitizer

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Owen’s Hands In Amelia’s Hair

(I’m posting again on a Thursday. Because this story is my favorite thing. I don’t want it to end.)

I touch her hair… before anything else, as I tell her not to say anything. My fingertips caress behind her ears, and I rest my thumbs against her cheeks. She sees me in the darkness, soothed by the trailer lights and the unexpected gift of her. I see her too. I watch her wait for my mouth on hers. Then I feel her lips open on mine, plucking gently. The softness of her moves through me like the chill of early spring. It’s winter still, but my body says otherwise. I’m alive again, all at once. Her hand slides up my arm, and then drops away, signaling that’s all there will be tonight. One kiss. Just a taste of how it could be. I take a lock of her hair between my fingers, a last moment of softness, and then I let it fall away. “And now you can go home,” I tell her because if she doesn’t go now, I know I’ll kiss her again.


I touch her hair… as we lie in bed, the morning after. It spills around her on the pillow and her shoulders. Her eyes are closed, and she smiles gently in sleep. I want to peer inside her dreams. Images of last night fill my thoughts. We had sex. I slept with Amelia Shepherd. Sunlight shines through the uncovered window, across her back. My fingers trace between sun and shadow, along her skin. I can’t help myself. I have to touch her – to make sure this happened and she’s real.  Her eyelids flutter open, and she lies still, just feeling. “Hey,” she whispers, and I say the same. The longer she looks at me, the more her smile deepens. Her dimple appears on her cheek like a speck of magic.


I touch her hair… with my eyes as she steps inside. It curls in wisps around her neck, with strands out of place from running to catch the elevator.  I want to reach out and tuck one behind her ear. Just to touch her. But she doesn’t look me in the eye. That’s when I know. My stomach sinks before she says the words, “I just don’t think this – us – is a good idea.” She doesn’t want what we started. Anger boils up inside me. I’m mad at myself. Because I’m standing here falling, knowing this is more, taking her hands in mine, even as she’s ending us. I step back and look at the ceiling, the floor, anywhere but her. “I’m not hurt,” I say. …It’s the only lie I’ve ever told her.


I touch her hair… in my dreams. Chocolate curls around my heart, tugging slow and persistent. The feeling never stops, even when I wake in the night to the sounds of war. Half a world away, she tugs at me. My shirt is drenched in sweat. I sit up and take it off, then fall back again on the pillow, wanting her. Wanting her still. I allow myself the fantasy of the dream, before it fades away. The feeling of her hands on me in the dark. Pretending. Never finding relief.


I touch her hair… as she weeps. I cradle her head as we kneel on the porch. My hand clenches the tiny bag of oxy that she almost chose instead of this. Instead of feeling this profound grief. I hold her close, feeling the silk of her hair against my cheek and the slightness of her body in my arms. With each sob, she breaks into a thousand pieces, and I scoop her up. Again and again. With each of her sobs, I break into a thousand pieces, and she scoops me up too. Tears fill my eyes, and I don’t wipe them away. “You’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna survive this.” My words are for both of us. I hold her until my knees ache – until her sobs turn into whimpers – until her body melts into mine. Then I hold her longer. I’m not running. Not anymore.


I touch her hair… as she kneels on the grass in the cemetery. Strands blow with the breeze. She doesn’t tie them back in a ponytail. Not today. She lets them blow. I weave my fingers through them. Her head is warm from the sun. Flecks of red and gold dance on a sea of brown with an occasional wisp of silver. It’s been a long year. Time keeps going. Until one day it stops, and the breeze blows over your grave. I shudder at the thought. Amelia brings her arm across her chest to her shoulder and covers my hand with hers. She tilts her head and rests her cheek against my thumb. “It’s a beautiful day,” she says, “He would have loved this one.” I caress her face lightly, following the tracks of her tears, wiping them away as they fall.


I touch her hair… as she drips on the floor, wet from the rain. I curl a strand around my finger and tug gently. “I like what you did with your hair tonight,” I smile close to her ear, feeling the dampness of her head against my cheek.

“For our date,” she says, unfolding her arms. Her shirt clings to her body. The saturated fabric reveals the contours of her breasts. She’s not wearing a bra.

“Amelia…” My gaze travels up the hollow of her throat to her face. She smirks at me with eyes gleaming.

“Do you want to help me out of these clothes?” she asks.

I keep my eyes on hers and take her waist in my hands. Her mouth is close enough to kiss, but I don’t. Not yet.

“How far do you want this to go?” I question.

She touches my elbows and slides her hands up the backs of my arms, drawing my body close. “All the way,” she answers.

I rest my forehead against hers and slip my fingers beneath the hem of her shirt, peeling it upward. Slowly.

“I like this version of starting over,” I say.


I touch her hair… as she touches mine. She runs her fingertips over my scalp as my head rests on the pillow. Her hair spills around my face, as she lies on top of me. I slide my fingers through silk at the nape of her neck and hold the back of her head as she moves her body over mine. Her skin on my skin. Her breasts on my chest. “You feel so good,” she murmurs. She takes me in deep and swallows me. Then she does it again. And again. Falling into a rhythm that quickly takes me to a place where there’s no turning back. “You have to slow down,” I tell her, and she gasps. I feel her come around me. Already. And I follow. There’s no more waiting.


I touch her hair… while she sits on the bathroom floor. I hold it behind her head with one hand, and I feel her forehead with the other. Sweat beads up on her temples and trickles down her neck. Her hair and skin are damp beneath my touch, but her face doesn’t feel hot. “I don’t think you have a fever,” I tell her, kissing the top of her head.

“That’s good,” she says. “I don’t need any more symptoms this morning.” She pushes up the sleeves of her pajamas and rests her hands again on the edge of the toilet bowl.

“Do you think it’s something you ate last night? We had that take-out. I can call the restaurant to see if anyone else has reported illness.”

She shakes her head. “You and I had the same dinner, Owen.”

“So it’s not food poisoning. And probably not the flu.” I consider the possibilities.

She tilts her head up and looks in my eyes. “I was sick yesterday too. Just after rounds. And the day before… also in the morning.” My mind races with my heart as her words sink in. “…Try not to hope yet,” she says.

It’s like telling me not to breathe.


I touch her hair… in my mind as she storms away from me. Her ponytail flies behind her, pissing me off and tempting me to follow.

“Amelia, wait,” I tell her, “Stop. Just. Stop!”

She keeps going. “There you go again!” she hollers back at me from down the hall.

“What?” I snap, following her into the bedroom.

She stops there and turns to me. “You shut me out, and in the same breath you ask me to let you in. This doesn’t work that way!”

“This?” I question.

She points between us with her hands moving quickly back and forth. “This. Us. You and me. We don’t work that way.”

“I’m not shutting you out,” I insist, “I just don’t want to talk about it!” I’m adamant. To me it feels final – until I see her face fall with my words.

She takes a deep breath before she speaks. “Owen, your not talking about it… is killing us. We’re just surviving. I need us to thrive. I need more. We need more.”

I sit on the edge of the bed and rest my head in my hands. This feels like Megan all over again. I drop my hands to my knees, and I look at her. She stands in the silence between us. Waiting.

I’m afraid. “What if I don’t have any more to give?” I ask.

She moves toward me and runs her fingers through my hair. My eyes close as the tension eases between us. I reach for her hips and rest my forehead against her breasts. My thumbs caress the sides of her stomach, and our baby flutters against my palm.

Her voice softens. “I don’t believe that.”


I touch her hair… with a towel, drying it gently between my hands. The steam from our shower evaporates slowly off the mirror. I watch her reflection as she leans her head back against my chest. “Drying my hair is good practice for you,” she says, “Our daughter will have long hair before you know it.”

Our daughter. The words echo in my mind a hundred times.

I slip my hands inside Amelia’s bathrobe and caress her stomach in circles. The robe falls open. She’s round and firm and feels incredible. I kiss her temple, and strands of her hair stick to my cheek. Drops of moisture collect on my lips when I suck along her jaw.

I glance in the mirror as I stroke down the center of her body toward her thighs. Her mouth falls open, and she moans softly, “Owen…”

“Yes, dear,” I whisper at the corner of her mouth, “What else can I do for you tonight?”

She smiles. “A lullaby.”

I chuckle as I sing into her lips,

“If only you knew -
The sunlight shines a little brighter,
The weight of the world’s a little lighter,
The stars lean in a little closer,
All because of you…”

That’s as far as I get before she takes my breath away.


I touch her hair… as I massage her shoulders. It falls across the back of my hands and curls around my wrists as my fingers play over her skin. She sighs deeply, and the bed shifts with her breath. “You feel wonderful,” she whispers. Her cheek rests on the pillow, and her eyelids start to close. My gaze follows her lashes downward. Our baby lies next to her, nursing at her breast. Her rosy cheeks move in and out as she suckles. A dimple appears and disappears like magic. I could watch forever. I slide my hand around Amelia’s body and touch each tiny finger pressed to her chest. Our baby’s mouth stills. She opens her eyes and looks into mine. I’m lost in a sea of blue as she grabs my finger and holds on. Fierce love wells up inside me. It’s overwhelming. I curl against Amelia’s back, feeling the warmth of her body. I nestle my face in the softness of her hair. She sleeps now. She doesn’t feel my tears.