she would have been such a beautiful woman

‘If you ever think beauty has turned its back on you, look again’ – Lawrence

Das Schöne ist eine Manifestation geheimer Naturgesetze, die uns ohne dessen Erscheinung ewig wären verborgen geblieben! – Goethe
* * *
'Beauty is a manifestation of secret natural laws, which otherwise would have been hidden from us forever.’ – Goethe

Edvard Munch (1863–1944)
Ung kvinne på stranden - Young Woman on the Shore (1896)
aquatint, zinc (N.B. on coloration “Motivet er polert og skapt fram med polerstål og platen er deretter innfaget med nyanser i blått, gult og rødmaling ved hjelp av tamponger.”)


The Arabian Lady - Lawrence Magnuson


‘I will not go
to Cuba with out you!’

her firm vow. but
that shark-sea-distance
spanning ‘without,’

is she trying to be cute
or have we lost each other?


of a last published
sketch which included nothing
but volumes of Renoir-like portraits of her
she from her lap-topped mattress
easily declares
‘It was Wonderful. Truly.’

and then she claims
despite her Old Saxon name
that she may be Arabian
or be Arabian again

as if her histories, her stories and palaces can be built on sand!


They most likely can,
I mean, I’m trying right now,
O my postcard love!


why did I ask a beautiful woman to lie?
because her islands, her alleys would never be mine.


when I compliment her seriously
on her own seriousness,
she returns her leggy giggles,
a heron barely rippling the lake she flies–

no, use much smaller water and
fewer birds, she says–
like a widening string of spring water
darkening a strip of
pink shale nearer a sleepy red
(with the shaded sunlight
all through my hair)
there, at the little spring near the insect-eaten ferns
when it’s summer at Buzzard Cave.

‘then,’ she says, ‘dress me up well
before I get there and then get me
home in one piece. then you can go
big for the oasis and herons,’

and she laughs even more,
watering every flower in heaven.

(though I am careful not to say so).

O my flower!


Araby no longer much writes
though in my dreams she does nod
to me wisely of

the confounding appearances
of silver waterfalls
–as large as silver willows
and getting larger–
delivered with blue-necked ducks every time,
everything shimmering, near our two houses.

those white unwinding water scrolls
and those calm blue-black feathers
express, she says, synchronicity.

after all, she says, it’s happening to us both.
it’s got to be true.
it’s love’s final act before dying.
I tell you, she says,
these are undeniable symbols of love
sent to the dying, because
we’re dying.

just a dream, she says, forget it. an accident. a stupid coincidence.
please, go to sleep.

what a bitch Araby is!


‘Wonderful,’ a word
spoken first by her to me
when we met
when saying and hearing
became a single mirror
without distance

neither was I the brave
one to even ask about
sea-fishing in Cuba, but she:

‘I will not go to Cuba with out you!’

but that sweet, adventurous
deal is dead she says

because she’s dull as a chrysalis
and she might instead read

that’s when she claims
exotic Arabian blood, starts

doing the long figuring
from her bed.

she says we’ll follow each other
along the long isthmuses of time

and then awake together, likely in
very distant flowers


this sounds good–
no one leaving anyone,
islands full of fishes and butterflies,
her rumpled white sheets
poised like island waves
across her queen-sized bed,
the psalms we read in her book of hours,
and, of course, her notion of
flowers joining the ends of time

my Arabian flower!


she wrote me last,
distantly from Cuba
that striped sorts and
speckled sorts of fishes swim
always milling through their sea-bedded hills
and not that far under
their mirror of bright revolving stars

stars that come casting after us,
she says, until we’re good and caught,
hanged like prisoners
two golden fish
on one star-silver hook.

she wrote me that from afar
when she was alone,
had all but left me

–I cheated on her, dancing
a row and again a row of pretty time–

she said no one will have a home,
with a well and a stone fence,
a small apple tree

that our hands now together,
just sitting and talking,
will from this day on
be wonderful, enough.

that in our place between
derelict stars, a love
never imagined
is given us, Araby,
as lakeshore herons turn from gray stone
leaving vagrant blossoms rocking on the water.

O my flower!

* * *

Four decades of feminism later I am reading the comedian Angela Barnes’ blog. “I am ugly, and I am proud,” she writes. She goes on to say: “The fact is I don’t see people in magazines who look like me. I don’t see people like me playing the romantic lead or having a romantic life.”

At the top of the blog is a picture of Barnes. And the thing is, she isn’t ugly. Neither is she beautiful. She’s normal looking. She’s somewhere in the middle of the spectrum, just like lots of women you see every day in real life.

It made me think of this year’s Wimbledon ladies’ final between Sabine Lisicki and Marion Bartoli. When Bartoli won, the BBC commentator John Inverdale infamously said, “Do you think Bartoli’s dad told her when she was little, ‘You’re never going to be a looker, you’re never going to be a Sharapova, so you have to be scrappy and fight’?”

The first thing I thought was: this woman has just won a tennis tournament! And she’s being judged on her looks! And then I thought: but Bartoli is attractive. Sure, she’s not at the very highest point on the scale – she doesn’t look like a top model. But she’s pretty. And, in any case, why should it matter? She’s a top athlete. Surely that’s what counts.

A sports commentator refers to a pretty woman as “not a looker”. A normal-looking woman thinks she’s ugly. Why?

Because, even though the world is full of normal and pretty women, the world we see – the world of television, films, magazines and websites – is full of women who are top-of-the-scale beauties. And right now, in the second decade of the 21st century, the situation is more extreme than ever. If you’re a woman, a huge proportion of your role models are beautiful. So if you’re normal looking, you feel ugly. And if you’re merely pretty, men feel free to comment on how un-beautiful you are.

As a normal-looking man, I find myself in a completely different position. Being normal makes me feel, well, normal. Absolutely fine. As if the way I look is not an issue. That’s because it’s not an issue.

As a normal-looking man, I’m in good company. Sure, some male actors and celebrities are very good looking. Brad Pitt. George Clooney. Russell Brand.

But many of Hollywood’s leading men, like me, look like the sort of blokes you see every day, in real life. Russell Crowe, Kevin Spacey, Bruce Willis, Jack Black, Seth Rogen, Martin Freeman, Tom Hanks, Steve Carell, Jim Carrey, Will Ferrell, Vince Vaughn, Brendan Fraser… In fact, you might almost say that most leading men are normal-looking blokes.

It’s true of television, too. Bryan Cranston, who plays the lead in Breaking Bad – he’s a normal. James Gandolfini – he was a normal. And chubby too. Kevin Whately – normal. Ben Miller – normal. TV cops all look normal. Ray Winstone looks normal. Tim Roth looks normal. They portray people who are interesting for what they do, not what they look like.

Oh, and think of sitcoms. The Big Bang Theory features four normal-looking blokes and a stunningly beautiful woman. New Girl is about two normal blokes, a guy who’s quite good looking, and two women who are… yes, strikingly beautiful.

When I watch the news, on whatever channel, it’s presented by the classic partnership of an ordinary-looking guy and a gorgeous woman. After the news, I watch the weather. Male weather presenters look like standard males. Female weather presenters look like models. Footballers look normal. Footballers’ wives and girlfriends look stunning. Daytime television presenters: men look like Phillip Schofield; women look like Holly Willoughby.

A typical Saturday-night judges’ panel consists of two types of people – middle-aged blokes and young, stunning women. Sometimes a normal-looking or ageing woman slips through the net – but then, like Arlene Phillips, her days are soon numbered.

Countdown had an attractive woman and an ageing bloke; when the attractive woman began to show signs of ageing, she was axed – replaced by a woman who was, of course, strikingly beautiful. Who presents historical documentaries? Guys like David Starkey. Normals. And what happened when a normal-looking woman, Mary Beard, presented a series about the ancient world? She was mocked for not being attractive enough.

In a recent interview Dustin Hoffman, another normal, made a revealing comment. Remember when he dressed up as a woman in Tootsie? “I went home and started crying,” he said. Why?

“Because I think I am an interesting woman when I look at myself on screen. And I know that if I met myself at a party, I would never talk to that character. Because she doesn’t fulfil physically the demands that we’re brought up to think women have to have in order to ask them out… I have been brainwashed.”

My grandma lived under the house

by reddit user chewingskin

Before you read these moments from my life, I’d like to apologize for the language, but I’m trying to recall it from the exact detail.

During the months of June, July, and August, I spent many hot summers of my childhood at my Grandmother’s house further west on the island of Cape Breton. The forest was plentiful, the plains were a vibrant green, and my Grandmother’s house was a rickety old two-story that was built sometime in the 50’s and looked like it didn’t belong.

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An Oath For Sinners, 2.

Part: One Part: TwoPart: ThreePart: Four (Finale)

Genre | Vampire / Escort AU.

Pairing | Min Yoongi / Reader.

Words | 14,872 words.

Conspectus | Min Yoongi needs some kind of hobby, a distraction much more sophisticated and preferably not so wholly illegal as blatant murder in order to satiate his esurient thirst and perdurable boredom.

But not even the dastard vampire himself thought he would find it in the bloodstream of a sightly girl who lives for diamonds in her pockets and Armani suits adorning her men.

Warnings | Surprise cameo by rich businessman Kim Taehyung. Mentions of blood and other vampire necessities. Brief explicit sexual content. Yoongi getting hard over trivial matters.

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Never Would Have

Requests: “Could you do an imagine where the reader is also a witch and with Kai. Just after he died the reader found out she was pregnant. She had twins (whatever genders). When Kai came back in the latest episode, Damon calls her to tell her that he’s back when him and Kai are in the car and Kai hears the twins in the background (maybe they call her mom or something and he knows she’s their mother). Then the reader brings the twins to see him? Thanks xx” (Credits to gif owners!)

“You guys be good, Damon is calling.” Y/N gave a stern look to her son who was about to tackle his sister. The twins stopped, nodded and sat on the floor together to watch cartoons. The ringing phone reminded Y/N that she had to answer soon or else it would go straight to voicemail. Lately when Damon called it was important. She gave it a second after pressing the answer button, “Hello?”

Damon was in the car. She knew that much. A window was down and there was heavy breathing. “Y/N!” She knew the vampire was smiling. “How is my favorite…household?” Y/N wiped her forehead. What? “Uh look, you don’t have to answer that.” He was struggling. “Can uh…can you stop by my place? Say, ten minutes?”

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Post-Rescue Kara and Alex (on guilt and on love)

She flew Maggie there.

She could tell Maggie hated it.

She could tell Maggie wanted to throw up.

She could tell because she could hear Maggie’s heartbeat, she could feel Maggie’s stomach roiling.

She could tell because she wanted to throw up, too.

And when they found her?

When they found her, and she spilled out of the water, the longest moment of Kara’s entire life was the moment before Alex did the most beautiful thing Alex had ever done.


She’d held on.

She’d held on.

She’d held on.

And now Maggie was holding on to her, and Alex was holding on to Maggie, and Kara knows that this morning, she would have been jealous. This morning, she would have been territorial. This morning, she would have been angry.

Because this morning, Maggie was an arrogant cop who only barely deserved her sister.

But right now? Maggie is the woman who loves her sister so much that she saved her.


They saved her.


And Kara? Kara will never look at Maggie the same way again.

But she needs Alex. Just Alex. 

She needs her sister.

Because Alex is breathing, breathing, breathing, and they’re loading her onto a stretcher but Kara doesn’t want that. Kara just wants to fly her home, fly her home in her own arms, because she never wants Alex to leave her arms again.

And she doesn’t.

Because the medics must know.

They must know that if they try to pry either Maggie or Kara away from Alex’s barely conscious form, all hell will break loose.

So they work around the women.

The women who love her most in the world.

It takes hours for Alex to rouse from when she passes out on the way back to the DEO.

Hours during which James and Winn have to pry Kara from her side so she can eat, so she can rest, so she can breathe, breathe, breathe.

But only after, of course, they’ve done their share of touching her, of crying over her and pretending they’re not, of watching her chest rise and fall, rise and fall, rise and fall, because she’s only sleeping, only resting, not dead, not dead, very much not dead.

J’onn tries to reason with Maggie. James tries to reason with Maggie. Winn tries to reason with Maggie.

She won’t move from the room.

Kara decides that Alex is adequately protected.

So she lets Winn and James take her away, take her to get out of her suit, to shower, to eat, to try, just for a moment, to breathe.

And when she checks in on her sister less than an hour later – they couldn’t keep her (or themselves) away longer than that – she’s awake, and she’s busy.

Busy making out with the woman who loves her, busy wiping tears from Maggie’s eyes, from her own eyes, in between open mouthed kisses, in between foreheads pressed against each other and I love yous whispered over and over and over again.

Kara smiles, and Kara nods, and Kara waits.

She waits, and she waits, and she waits, and she wonders vaguely how someone who just nearly drowned can possibly kiss someone for that long, but then again, if anyone can figure out a way, it’s her sister. 

Her sister who’s alive, alive, alive.

“Kara,” she hears, and Alex’s voice is weak. Weak and somehow strong at the same time.

Weak with exhaustion and weak with tears and weak with something that sounds an awful lot like happiness. Like relief. Like being alive, alive, alive.

She crosses into the room so fast it blows Maggie’s hair back, blows Alex back with an oof onto the bed, and Kara apologizes desperately, but Alex just wheezes a laugh and pats the bed next to her. 

Maggie stands and then bends to kiss Alex’s hand – one knuckle at a time, slow, staring into her eyes the entire time, and Kara thinks with a jolt of Lena before shoving the thought away – and then she’s touching Kara’s shoulder, and she’s hesitating, and she’s leaning down to kiss Kara’s cheek for a long, lingering moment.

“Thank you, Kara,” she whispers, and Kara splutters.

“For what?”

“For bringing her back to us.”

“Maggie, you – “

But Maggie just puts her finger on Kara’s lip affectionately and makes to leave. “Spend time with your sister, Little Danvers. I’ll go get extra potstickers for when you inevitably need to refuel.”

Alex laughs softly. “I love you, Maggie Sawyer,” she calls out as Maggie leaves.

Maggie stops full in her tracks, her smile too big for her face, for the room, for the world, for the universe.

“I love you, Alex Danvers.”

She leaves without another word, and Kara raises her eyebrows at her sister as she links their fingers together.

“Well that’s new.”

Alex shakes her head, still smiling like she didn’t just nearly die.

“No, it’s not. It’s just new to be saying it out loud.”

Kara smiles and leans down to kiss Alex’s face.

“I thought I lost you.” Her lips quake – her entire body quakes – against Alex’s forehead, and Alex raises her hands to hold her sister close to her.

“Can’t snag the title of only badass in the family that easy,” she quips, and Kara just sobs harder.

“It’s not funny, Alex.”

Her voice cracks, and Alex almost breaks.

“I know. I know. I know.”

“It was my fault,” Kara squeaks, her face now buried in Alex’s shoulder, her body shaking so uncontrollably she jolts up from the bed so she won’t accidentally break Alex’s bones.

So she won’t accidentally hurt her. Again, again, again.

Alex furrows her brow and tries to sit up.

“Kara, what – “

“All of it, it’s my fault! That he knew who I was, that he knew to target you! That… that you broke your arm. I broke your arm, Alex. And then I… the water, it…”


“You would have been fine, we would have worked it out, I… the water, you almost drowned, Alex, I can’t… I can’t imagine how scared you were, I… and that was my fault, Alex, mine, mine, and I don’t expect you to ever forgive me, but I – “

“Kara, stop it. Please.”

“Alex, it’s all my – “

“Kara. Listen to me. Can you do that? For me? Please?” She sounds exhausted and she sounds exhilarated and she sounds worn out and she sounds alive, alive, alive. So Kara stops, and Kara worries at her lip, and Kara wrings her hands, and at Alex’s weakened beckoning, Kara sits.

“Kara, none of this was your fault. Okay? None of it. None. Not the plan, not the… the water…”

Kara shakes and starts to sob again, and Alex lays a hand on her thigh.

“Hey, hey, listen to me. Remember… remember that surf competition, when I was a junior in high school?”

Kara adjusts her glasses and sighs out a soft laugh. “Yeah, you wiped out and nearly dr – oh. Oh.”

Alex grimaces, too, but she shakes her head. “When we were kids, I… what I thought about, then, was… was how much I wanted to tell you. About how you weren’t just… an annoyance, you weren’t a hindrance on my life. You weren’t a nuisance, you were… you were my everything. And you still are. Kara, I… this time?” 

Alex shudders and Kara knows there will be long nights, and there will be nightmares, and they will be so much different than after that surf competition, because that wasn’t deliberate and it wasn’t torture. Traumatizing. Very. But not… not this.

But Alex presses on, and Kara files it away for later.

“This time, I knew… I knew you know how much I love you. I knew you know… Kara, that was… short of hurting you, or threatening you, that was the scariest thing that anyone has ever done to me. But I… Kara, I would do it a thousand times, a million, more, if it was to protect you. If it was to keep you safe, keep you from being blackmailed like that again.”

She doesn’t say that next time, it could have been James. Winn. J’onn. Lena. Cat. Maggie. She doesn’t say any of it, because she can barely bring herself to think it.

All in all, she’s grateful.

Grateful it was her, not any of the other people Kara loves.

“Alex, I would never want you to – “

“I know. I know you wouldn’t, but Kara, I just… I love you. I love you, and I would do anything for you. But I don’t have to anymore, not right now. Because look! I’m safe, and I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. Okay? I promise.”

Kara sobs again, and this time, when she curls down onto Alex’s chest, Alex sobs, too.

She breaks her promise when Maggie comes in and Kara shifts back out, to replenish the water she’d drained from her tear ducts onto Alex’s shirt, to try to stave off the brutal headache from her crying session.

She breaks her promise because she unleashes her puppy eyes on Maggie, and Maggie is helpless, and Maggie is all but forced to help her limp out of bed, and Kara can’t do anything but beam, because if the way Alex breaks her promise to not go anywhere is simply by stumbling away from her bed with her girlfriend’s strong, loving arms around her?

That’s something that Kara can definitely, definitely live with.

anonymous asked:

Thoughts on Swan Thief?

Neal and Emma honestly had the potential to be the ship of OUAT, the big Alpha pairing, the OTP to end OTPs. They were so poetic, the child of the dark one with the product of true love, the one the curse was built for and the one who would break the curse. There is no doubt that they were the original endgame, what with Tallahassee being mentioned as early as the second episode of Season One. There is so much foundation laid for this ship, and it was all for nothing, and I will never not be bitter over that.

Emma and Neal are so natural together. They just fit together so effortlessly, two lost children searching for home and finding it with one another. They are easy and light and free with one another, they smile, they laugh, they give and take and build one another up. Their rhythm is natural and real and so incredibly endearing to watch and there was so much more to explore in their relationship, and so much left to repair and rebuild.

Neal always wanted what was best for Emma and Emma never stopped loving or wanting Neal. Neal made a mistake when he left her, but one can’t really blame him for running from his father (which was essentially what he was doing). And he never forgave himself for hurting her, and when he returned, he never pressured her to forgive him, never pushed her into giving him a second chance, instead he simply let her know how sorry he was and how he would be there for her if she needed him, no strings attached. He wanted her to be happy, even if it wasn’t with him. He loved her so much, and always tried to do right by her.

Emma, in turn, connected with Neal on a deeper level than she did with anyone else. She opened herself up to him, planned a future with him, saw him when she thought of the person she wanted to spend her life with. She forgave him for running and genuinely wanted to be with him. By her own admission, she never got over him.

So many of the story lines which have played out would have been so much better with Neal around. Emma losing control of her magic could have been beautifully juxtaposed with Neal’s fear of magic in general, Emma losing her loved one and marching into Hell for him would have been so much more emotional for someone like Neal whom she has so much history with and loved so much, and Emma as the Dark One would have been amazing, what with Neal’s history with his father. Imagine the emotional impact of Neal losing not only his father but the woman he loves to Darkness. Such a wasted opportunity.

Neal and Emma could have been beautiful, amazing, epic. They had so much history and so much love and such a deep connection between them, not to mention that they also have a son together. The fact that this relationship and Neal’s character were thrown under the bus for Rapey McPirate is and will always remain a travesty.


A/N: Hey guys, sorry I’ve been so inactive! I’ve had a bit going on and have had family visiting and everyone wants to know how I’ve been! Here’s something I thought up a little while ago.

Word count: 680

Pairing: Dean WinchesterXReader

Warnings: None, it’s just a little bit of fluff with some hints at leading toward smut at the end


It had started out with the generic Sweetheart that he used on everyone. Man, woman, child, goat… It didn’t matter.

Everyone was Sweetheart to Dean Winchester.

Of course, he wouldn’t say that. He’d dispute the fact until he was blue in the face, but that didn’t change the idea that he called too many people Sweetheart for it to have any term of endearment attached to it.

Then came–gag–Princess.

“Princess, would you like to watch a movie?”

“What should we get for dinner, Princess?”

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, Princess.”

Okay, the last one might have been okay every once in a while, but he got to the point where he used Princess just as frequently as he had once used Sweetheart.

And it made her sound like a little girl when he said it, not that he meant it to sound that way, but it gave off some vibes that she wasn’t completely sure she was into.

So then came the combo of gorgeous and beautiful.

These two were often interchangeable, and definitely more manageable.

“Your ass is so perfect, gorgeous.”

“Even with blood all over you, you’re still beautiful, beautiful.”

The names made her blush whenever he said them, but she still didn’t quite feel like they completely suited her.

More often than not her hair was thrown in a ponytail, a tee shirt and jeans over her body, and a pair of SWAT boots on her feet.

Far from the average woman that came to mind from the words gorgeous or beautiful.

And she knew that Baby, or any of its variations were off limits. Baby, Babe, Babygirl… And she wasn’t particularly fond of Sugar, Honey or Darling.

Needless to say, she was quite picky with her nickname. She didn’t even really see the need for one, as she had a name for a reason. But he insisted that she had a nickname of some sort.

“What am I supposed to call you then?” he had sighed after she had finally admitted to him that gorgeous and beautiful didn’t really feel like they fit.

“I dunno. You’re the nickname giver,” she shrugs with a sheepish grin. “Just pick something that’s actually me.”

“I’ve tried and you don’t like any of them,” he pouts, leaning back against the headboard of the dingy motel bed.

“She’s old school. Maybe something like lovebug or dear,” Sam chimes in his input from the other bed, looking up from his computer.

“No, she’s my girl, you don’t get to pick her nickname,” Dean shoots back, and Sam raises his hands in defeat.

“Just trying to help,” he says before he returns to his research.

She smiles at the older Winchester, settling herself on his lap.

“I think you finally found a good one,” she says, pressing her forehead to his as her legs slipped on either side of his.

“I did?” he asks, his hands settling on her hips with ease as her nose pressed to his.

“I’m your girl,” she returns, smiling at him.

“My girl,” he ponders aloud. “You’re okay with that?”

“Yeah, I think so,” she agrees, grinning before pressing her lips to his.

He responds in earnest, sliding his hands from her hips to her back, where he inches them up her shirt.

She releases the softest of moans against his lips, pulling away to rest her forehead against his cheek. His kisses always took her breath away, so passionate and filled with love.

She leans in for another kiss, her hands carding through his hair possessively.

“Guys, I’m literally right here,” Sam’s voice cuts through the haze she’s already been drawn under.

“Sorry,” she giggles, shooting him an apologetic glance.

“Don’t like it, get another room,” Dean says lazily. “I’m gonna kiss my girl as much as I want to, whether you’re in here or not.”

“Dean!” she scolds, but he just grins and sweeps her into a deep kiss.

“Fine! I’ll go! Just… Don’t be loud tonight, that’s all I ask,” Sam groans as he begins to gather his things.

“No guarantees, Sammy.”

Tailor In Love

Pairing: Hercules Mulligan x Reader

Requested?: Nope! This was supposed to be for the hamwriters writeathon actually BUT I did not finish it on time! Better late than never????

Prompt: Solo adventures can bring some incredible things (and people) into your life.

Words: 1.2k+

A/N: I finally remembered to fucking post this, jesus christ. Well yeah, HERE YOU GO! #WriteForOak (I love Oak)

Originally posted by possiblestalker

Being in a new town meant endless opportunities for adventure. So, of course once you throw down your bags in your hotel room, you head out into the heart of the city and search for some fun. You passed the essentials; Forever 21, Nike, Adidas and a few drugstores but nothing called out to you yet. You decided to cut through a park, watching the kids play and the adults chat with each other. The leaves crunched under your feet as you made you way down the path, a beautiful shade of orange covering the grass around you. The slight chill of Autumn was a relief from the blistering Summer days.

For some reason, you decided to take this trip on your own; wanting to embrace the world for what it was and do some soul searching. You exited the park onto another street, surveying your surroundings and noticing the most elegant red satin dress on display in a window. You slowly approached the store front, imagining yourself slipping the dress on for a night out and feeling like you owned the world. You looked up to see the store’s name.

“Hercules’ Tailor Shop.” You read before looking back at the dress.

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Lana Del Rey Interviewed By Paris Match, May 17, 2017.

Lana Del Rey lounges on the divan.

She hasn’t left her false eyelashes, but she has gotten rid of her sadness. After two years of absence, the diva of “sad pop” comes back with “Lust for Life” her fifth album which comes out July 21st and “Love” her single, which has already passed 50 million views on YouTube. Same hypnotic voice, same poetic universe for a woman who now has a certain taste for happiness. Since her debut in 2012, on the internet, with Born to Die which made her one of the biggest stars in music, Lana tells us in mind-blowing songs and beautiful music videos of her fragile life as a young girl haunted by death and failure. Today, she says that she has overcome these demons and her toxic relationships. Single, maybe, but a little more light-hearted.

For her, it’s already history. At 17 years old, Elizabeth Woolridge Grant wrote her own songs and made her own music videos: “I took a lot of photos. Then I started to record myself, to use my image.” After seven hellish years of singing in Brooklyn bars, her music video “Video Games,” posted in 2011 and has since been viewed 155 million times, which thrusted the young American into an unforeseen notoriety. She evolved into Lana Del Rey, Lolita 2.0, fan of the sixties who over the course of her songs tells a sometimes indecent and provocative story but always sensual. “I am connected to the future and the past at the same time… That’s why I have few friends…” Today, she sings “I’m young and in love”. But confides that she has found happiness… since she is no longer dating. “I’ve never been lucky in choosing boyfriends”.

She always loved putting on a show: “As a child, I loved making my life a work of art.”
“My passion for beautiful films might explain my aesthetic,” says the woman who would have loved living in the Flower Power of the hippy years.
“Kids. Friends, all that’s a bonus. My dream is simply to be happy.”

From our colleague in Los Angeles Karelle Fitoussi.

Paris Match: We knew you as somber and melancholic, singing your stories about tormented love. You’ve come back with two songs that exude a lack of worry. What happened?

Lana Del Rey: I haven’t been dating for a year and a half. Apparently, that has done me a lot of good. [She laughs] I learned how to say no and to listen to the little voice in my head that tells me to do one thing or another.

Paris Match: You have “Trust no one” tattooed on your hand… Have you often been betrayed?

Lana Del Rey: Yes. I’ve never been good at choosing friends. But now it’s better, I know how to go about it. I’ve learned one thing, and that’s that people show you really quickly who they really are. You have to listen to them, and pay attention to the signs. In the past, I’ve had lovers who’ve told me strange things, things I should have found unacceptable, but I closed my eyes. That doesn’t happen to me anymore. At the smallest indication of something strange, I get out. A love story that doesn’t do you any good is toxic. I finally understand that.

Paris Match: Are you not afraid that your newfound happiness will ruin your inspiration?

Lana Del Rey: No. When I was writing Born to Die, I was living in London, and I met a lot of new people, I didn’t know what was going to happen, but I was full of hope. I saw myself evolving into this type of avant-garde artist and this excitement made creating simple and easy. When the critics starting being really harsh, when things started becoming more violent, that’s when that magic left me. So happiness is obviously a good thing. I’m not afraid.

Paris Match: The New York Times said that you were a “nightmarish reflection of cynicism and of American fakeness.” 

Lana Del Rey: An interesting start to someone’s career, isn’t it? [She laughs] It was horrible, completely horrible. I really must have loved music to have continued after that. But I should’ve stopped. Thankfully, things have changed. I won’t ever change myself to make myself more popular or to make someone else happy.

Paris Match: People have really shamed you for your heavily constructed public image. Some people even said that you’re a puppet.

Lana Del Rey: For a long time, I didn’t understand these reactions. Of course, I paid attention to my look. I had long styled hair, but I was too preoccupied with the music to understand why they talked about me like that. I was waiting for people to figure out for themselves that I was smart… I really had to question myself, to ask why people reacted to me like that. A question of energy, maybe. With a bit of space, even if I find [what they’re saying] ridiculous, I can understand.

Paris Match: If, with a wave of a magic wand, you could start all over, what would you change?

Lana Del Rey: Everything! I don’t even know where to start!

Paris Match: You wouldn’t be a singer?

Lana Del Rey: I love music, there were times where it saved me from my own demons, but it’s a double-edged sword. If I had the opportunity to take a simpler path, I would do it, without hesitation.

Paris Match: When you were younger, you dreamed of being a writer…

Lana Del Rey: Yes, but after having tried from a young age, I knew that I didn’t have the writer’s soul. I tried to write short stories, but they were terrible. So, I tried to do poetry… but it still wasn’t for me! That’s how I decided to write music. [She laughs]. The next step would have been Haikus!

Paris Match: Between two records and two tours, what do you do?

Lana Del Rey: I go to the beach. I swim once per week, I work out with my sister who shares my house with me. I take advantage of the sun and the wonderful Californian nature: with my girlfriends, we go to Big Sur or to Carmel… I never get over seeing the bright light from 7:30 in the morning. For a New Yorker like me, every time it’s still enchanting. Yes, I am that girl you can constantly talk about the time and the weather! But above all what I love the most in Los Angeles, is that there are so many musicians. Every band from London to New York have moved here! Artic Monkeys, The Last Shadow Puppets, Father John Misty… They’re all here in L.A.!

Paris Match: Have you finally found the community of artists you’ve always dreamed of being a part of?

Lana Del Rey: Yes. And when I go on tour, after four months on the road, they’re like me. They want to pick up where we left off. My friends who don’t do music, they’re lives have moved on.

Paris Match: How do you deal with living in the constant view of the paparazzi?

Lana Del Rey: I wrote a song called 13 beaches, which talks about how I do it, last summer, I had to go to 13 different beaches before I could find one without paparazzi, where I laid down with a book. But we can get used to anything. And then maybe it’s worth it. What I can’t get used to, is systematically finding my songs on the internet before they’re supposed to come out. It takes so much time to make a record… a year and a half! When leaving the studio, I always have to hope that they’re secure.

Paris Match: Why do you impose this cycle of every two years for an album?

Lana Del Rey: It’s the time needed for reflection and contemplation. My records are like love letters to myself.

Paris Match: And will you have kids?

Lana Del Rey: When I have kids… I’ll take them on the road with me. Muse’s or Chris Martin’s boys do it well! I have the feeling it’ll work out, whatever I decide to do. It’ll be a nice surprise. Yeah, I would love to have a family.

Paris Match: Is it on your agenda? 

Lana Del Rey: [She laughs]. It’ll happen one day. Without a doubt within the next five years. Kids. Friends, all that’s a bonus. My dream is simply to be happy. Which I am right now.

-Paris Match


Requested: no.

Warnings: none.

This is really different but I really like it. I’m proud of this one. Hope you enjoy it.

Originally posted by dreamilygloriousarcade

Would you believe me, if I said I went To the same church as Justin Bieber? I doubt it. People never did. But then again, who would?

But I do. And I have for a while now.

It’s not like we’ve talked or anything. In fact, I don’t think Justin even knows my name, but I still see him every week. So much that seeing him around isn’t even a shock anymore.

To me, he’s now just a normal person, attending church on a Sunday - who goes upon there normal day just like any one else would.

The church I attended was a private one. Very closed off and self kept. It was no wonder Justin came along.

At first, he would come along with his family. Sometimes alone. Basically just came to say grace, attend mass then leave. And it was like that for around a year, before I noticed someone else.

A girl who’s name I learnt to be Y/N. She was sweet from what I had seen. A religious girl who had good intentions. It surprised me to see her considering we usually don’t get a lot of new faces here.

She was friendly to everyone - including Justin. They looked like a couple of old friends who had grown up together and I actually think that’s what they were.

From what I had heard from my mother they have been best friends since as long as they could remember. And apparently Y/N’s normal Church closed down, so Justin invited her to join him at ours until she found a new parish.

But What was supposed to be a one time thing turned into a series of repetitive events, and after a month, she was considered a member of the church.

I honestly didn’t mind. It wasn’t like she was bothering me or anything and she was rather friendly. I liked her.

Months had passed and everyone in the church had begun to see a change in attitude around the two. It was as if they both a had a secret they were too afraid to tell each other but otherwise tried to act as if it wasn’t there.

But everyone else in the church had noticed. I remember my mother talking to Mrs smith one weekend after church about the two - they were saying how they ‘had seen this coming since the day Justin brought her to the church.’ Whatever that meant.

What did they see coming?

It wasn’t until weeks later I realised what they were talking about. One week at mass I watched them intensely, there was something about them that was just so interesting.

I may have been sitting a few seats behind them, but it was impossible to miss the way they were looking at each other when the other wasn’t. The love in there eyes.

That’s when I knew that they both had feelings for each other, they were just too afraid to admit it.

Time went by and nothing had changed. The problem about our church though is the church mothers love to gossip, and the kids love there media.

Apparently, some of the teen girls had seen on tmz some rumours that the two were dating, and they must have passed that message to there parents because it wasn’t long before the whole church was talking about it.

I didn’t believe it. I never believed anything the church mothers talked about. They’re always full of crap. But it came as a surprise the next Sunday when justin and Y/N walked in, smiling at each other with so much love, hand in hand.

Honestly, I was glad. It was about time. If I’m being honest, I think they looked cute together.

They were touchy throughout mass. Rubbing each other backs, winding their fingers through each other’s and even giving each other short, small pecks throughout.

It was honestly adorable.

And of course the church talked. No one in this place can keep there mouths shut but I didn’t mind talking about them. They were fascinating to me. And no one was saying anything bad.

A couple months had gone by and nothing had changed. They still had the same amount of love and passion in there eyes for each other. Sometimes they would show up looking a little pissed and avoided each other, but the next week they’d come back as if nothing had happened.

Just like a normal couple.

Justin continued making music and I even heard that Y/N got into modelling. Good for her, she had the body for it.

But that got the church talking once again. I think the girls were jealous honestly since from then on out people began throwing crap Y/N’s way. But after a while it passed.

Years had gone by and i think they were around 23 now. I know because Justin was exactly 6 years older then me. And I had just turned 17.

They still attended church, still sat in the same seats and shared the same love but one thing was different. Not only did they seem a lot more happy, but something in particular seemed to stand out.

Of course, this had the Parrish gossiping like crazy. Especially once they caught the size of the 27 carat diamond engagement ring wrapped around Y/N’s slender finger.

From that day on, the church began looking at her differently which was really uncalled for and rude. She had done nothing wrong and minded her own business - not disturbing anyone. But the Parrish saw her as spoiled and a gold digger.

Which didn’t make sense. It wasn’t like she askedfor the ring. It was Justin’s idea to propose. And they were a beautiful couple. Not just by looks but by personality as well.

Yet the couple went unphased. And a couple months later they both sported another ring each. Both just a simple wedding band.

Of course I didn’t attend the wedding personally but I heard they got married in the Parrish church. And the photos that flooded the internet only proved that theory.

Everything about the two was perfect. And they continued to attend mass together like a normal couple would.

All until a few weeks later. When Y/N walked in looking tired and saddened. Alone.

No Justin. And it was like that for a little while. She was alone.

I couldn’t believe it and apparently neither could the Parrish. They talked like crazy, some saying that they saw it coming and knew they wouldn’t last but others in as much shock as I was.

I couldn’t believe that they had broke up. They were so happy. I just couldnt figure out what went wrong.

But if you think that was a surprise, then you had to see how much more surprised we were to realise a couple months later, that Y/N’s stomach had grown.

No not fat. But Baby weight.

She was pregnant.

I couldn’t believe it. I felt so sympathetic for Justin. And the church couldn’t either. The news and rumours spread so fast after that and I even remember the day I heard it.

It was from Mrs Banks, the young housewife with the twin girls. Her daughters where bitches.but I remember my mother talking to her, and the way the news slipped Mrs banks lips, as if she was talking about a convict in prison. So much disgust.

‘She cheated on him.’

She said.

'she got pregnant with the other mans baby and poor Justin couldn’t take the heartbreak - left the sorry women just like she deserved.’

I was dumbfounded. I couldn’t believe such a sweet women could do such a terrible thing. Or maybe she wasn’t as sweet as i thought.

I avoided her for a long while after that. She tried being friendly, tried to say hello or throw a smile at me but I kept my distance. I was surprised father Gabriel hadn’t kicked her out.

A few more weeks went by, her stomach grew and so did the gossip and rumours. But suddenly, a month or two later, something happened. Something so small, yet it caused the whole church to shut there mouths.

Justin showed up one day. Not alone. Not with family. But with Y/N. Smiling.

He was walking behind her, with one hand on her swelling stomach and the other clutching her hand which also rest on her stomach. He guided her down the isle and into there usual seats, cuddling next to her.

Like nothing had happened.

Every pair of eyes where on them. Even father Gabriel’s.

Everyone was confused. Why had Justin gotten back with her? After what she did. I would never have forgiven her.

But it wasn’t long for word to get around. The truth. A girl who was a fan of Justin had actually asked him.

I don’t know how. I would have been so embarrassed. Thats such an invasion of privacy, yet she did it and I’m honestly glad she did.

Y/N never cheated. And the baby was Justin’s! The reason she showed up alone was because Justin had been on tour and everyone had overreacted.

I told you the woman were full of crap.

Anyways, months passed and Y/N’s stomach continued to grow. Swelling with life and beauty. Justin and herself looked so happy. And every time they walked in, I couldn’t help but notice how Justin clutched her stomach. It was so beautiful.

Everything was normal until one day, they both just stopped showing up.

It disappointed me. I really enjoyed watching the two from a distance, examining there lives. I wondered where they went. And hoped they would come back to the Parrish.

But they didn’t. Not the next week, or the week after that. Not even the week after that. They were both MIA.

I was convinced they had found a new Parrish. One with less crap and gossip. I wouldn’t blame them.

But that wasn’t the case, and we all found that out when they finally one Sunday, showed up again. This time, Y/N was not pregnant.

And Justin seemed a lot happier. So did Y/N but she also seemed tired. Not sad though. It was like a happy tired.

It was pretty obvious what had happened but I was still shocked when Justin’s body came into full view.

In his hands, he held a beautiful baby girl, dressed in a pink dress with a white flower band on her hair.

The girl was stunning. She had a full head of hair which was obviously inherited from her mothers thick dark brown hair, but was a dirty blonde like her father. Long thick eyelashes supported her eyes and a cute button nose sat on her face.

She was really small. But I think she was actually premature by a couple of weeks. So it made sense that the two weren’t at church for the last few weeks. They were busy looking after there new born baby girl.

And although Y/N brought a pram along with her, Justin didn’t put his little girl down. It was obvious he was proud of his little beauty. I would be too. She was really cute.

And well behaved. I hadn’t heard her cry all mass. There was a few times when the baby girl would stir, become a little restless but all Justin would need to do was say “shh it’s alright” and she would settle.

It truly was adorable.

And it wasn’t until Justin wrapped his arm around his wife, as Y/N placed a hand on her daughters leg and another around Justin’s torso that I truly realised.

This family was unbreakable.

hi yes remember me???????? i’m back with a list of black females who need more resources so y’all can stop using gross ppl like selena gomez and the hadid sisters. step ur fucking female game up.

  • lauren london — HONESTLY? yall are disrespectful for this woman having absolutely NO resources.
  • cassie ventura — AGAIN!!!! both of these women just starred in a movie in march of 2016. c’mon, now.
  • dascha polanco — AGAIN, THEY ALL THREE STARRED IN THE PERFECT MATCH. also, dascha is afro-dominican. win-win.
  • yaya dacosta — i feel like she has no resources. i’m mad about it. are you?
  • laverne cox — MORE REPRESENTATION 2017
  • solange knowles — i’m…….disgusted. offended. where are the solange resources after all this woman has done for us.
  • samira wiley — hello??????/
  • danielle brooks — my queen. my everything. shut up.
  • uzo aduba — MY LIFE.
  • octavia spencer — i genuinely would like to see more octavias out here.
  • keke palmer — she does have resources, but not enough.
  • logan browning — did we………did we forget about dear logan?
  • raye boyce — a make up artist. a queen.
  • anaya roderick/theanayal8ter — not only did she have vine videos, but she has a whole ass youtube channel. stop playing with me.
  • joan smalls — a woman.
  • jourdan dunn — another amazing woman.
  • jasmine tookes — more woman. fucc a k*ndall!!!
  • chanel iman — ARE YALL EVEN TRYING AT THIS POINT G????
  • miracle watts — i can assure yall, resources can be made for this woman.
  • yaris sanchez — want a model who is also an Art Queen? use yaris!
  • sza — its a shame that yall are ignoring wonderful women in favor of trAsh!
  • candice patton — i dont really see resources for her. hm. wonder why.
  • nicole beharie — again……..yall zont even look.
  • simone missick — yall truly dont look.
  • tae heckard — i feel like yall forgot about this gem.
  • sherise cromwell/th*inkreese  — she is mixed with black, and also has the videos for resources.
  • mila j — we remember jhene, but not mila. tragic.
  • kali uchis — shes not black but she needs resources, i just wanted to slide that in here real quick. thanks, b.

and i’m missing PLENTY more women, rest assured. but like i said, i’m so??? sick of seeing the same fucking face claims that yall use as your ugly ass tokens when theres a sea full of beautiful and amazingly underused women with not a single goddamned resource on this damn hell site. yall yelp for diversity all this other shit but never wanna actually put forth any effort. step it up 2017, folks!!!

Why Linda McCartney is amazing:
  • Pursued a successful career as a photographer BY ACCIDENT, in her own right. 
  • Had several affairs with famous rock stars when she was single not married, just to make that clear. (Like: Mick Jagger, Jim Morrison, and Jimi Hendrix (Although she says Jimi was just her friend)) 
  • Was already a muse at the age of 1. Yep, Paul McCartney was NOT the first musician to write a song about Linda, it was actually Jack Lawrence a famous musician of the 40’s. His song is called ‘Linda’.
  • Being a Beatles fan herself she often joked about “marrying a Beatle” when she had not yet met any of them….she ended up ACTUALLY marrying Beatle Paul McCartney.
  • Also, her favorite Beatle was John, not Paul.
  • Was an extraordinary mother to all of her children. She always put them first and were her main concern. 
  • Even though she often got criticized for any little thing she did, she was not afraid to fight for animals’ rights.  She often said she preferred spending time with animals than with people. For years she defended animals and when she passed away she was given the title of “The animals’ guardian angel”. She saved thousands of animals with her campaigns and her vegetarian cookbooks, and frozen food line. 
  • Redefined what “marriage” was back then in the 60’s and 70’s. Back then it was the normal thing for the wife to be a stay at home mom who cooked meals for her husband and the husband to work all day to pay the rent. But Linda and Paul’s marriage was quite the opposite. They were one of the first famous couple’s to redefine that word. Linda and Paul lived on the road (very often), BOTH working hard and helping each other. They took their children with them on tours. Really, both of them contributed the same amount to their marriage.
  • Although fans (of Paul’s and The Beatles) and critics hated Linda in the first years she was with Paul, and often criticized her voice and her skills in playing instruments she kept her head up and continued doing what she enjoyed without letting the reviews bother her. She really was doing the “Just because you’re not entirely good at something doesn’t mean you shouldn’t do it, GO FOR IT! Let the haters hate” thing. 
  • She also got criticized A LOT for not dressing fashionably and not doing her makeup. Linda was a very casual person. She never wore make up (very rarely anyway), and just threw on whatever felt comfortable, she could give a rats ass about being “in style”. BUT of course the world judged her on her looks. She was SO pressured into being what everyone wanted her to be yet she never gave in. She stayed herself completely and never changed who she really was just to please the public. 
  • Oh, and she also often let her leg and armpit hair grow, basically, Linda was a very NATURAL human being. Which is bloody amazing, imo.
  • She is OFTEN described as a “very kind, and endearing person” by people who knew her personally. Which, isn’t surprising at all. 
  • She helped Paul in his time of depression when the Beatles had broke up. Paul went into a very deep depression and often stayed in bed ALL day and let his beard grow and drank hard liquor since very early in the morning. Paul has said that he felt his world was crumbing down and he was going downhill but Linda helped him get out of that. She helped him get out of that depression and that is when Paul wrote the beautiful song called “Maybe I’m Amazed” for the Lovely Linda (:
  • She was also one of the reasons Paul stayed so humble, being a Beatle and all it wouldn’t be too difficult thinking you’re all that. Being a casual, simple, nature girl she showed Paul how to live a simple life (Mainly when they spent time in Scotland). You would think Paul would have a maid or something but they both did all the house work, they both fed themselves and took care of their own children, just like a normal family!
  • She was a warrior. She fought cancer for years and stayed so strong about it. It has been said by one of her close mates, Danny Fields, that she NEVER complained about her illness. Of course, she was suffering and also caught depression but she always tried to stay positive about it. 
  • She was an extraordinary woman who was so very beautiful on the inside and the outside. The is no doubt why Paul loved and still loves her so much. ♥
  • THE END. (:

many things can be reinforced in a quick sentence if several things must be assumed for it to be true. “like she would ever be raped” relies on the idea that rape is an unintentional consequence of uncontrollable male lust for beautiful women, that women can be put on a scale of ugly to beautiful, and that women should, and then also that the scale is then accepted fact that is understood in all men to adhere, as in it’s objective, and that “ugly” women who claim to have been raped can be disregarded as lying, which can extend that there can be circumstances for any woman lying, so therefore even “objectively beautiful” women could lie, and then in that sentence the burden of rape, or lack thereof/the possibility, lies at the woman, so of course it means that rape is a woman’s fault, and really so much more could be said about the layers that are being enforced in six words.

most cultural platitudes are the same, and are hard to fight because of their very nature of being so heavy in context while appearing to be light and undeniable. 

read very carefully, always. it’s long hard work, but take apart things word by word and always try to do it over and over and over again. 

Lana Del Rey covers Paris Match’s May 2017 Issue.
Photographed by Sebastien Micke.

Lana Del Rey lounges on the divan.

She hasn’t left her false eyelashes, but she has gotten rid of her sadness. After two years of absence, the diva of ‘sad pop’ comes back with a ‘Rage de Vivre’ translation of ‘Lust for Life’ her fifth album which comes out July 21st and “Love” her single, which has already passed 50 million views on YouTube. Same hypnotic voice, same poetic universe for a woman who now has a certain taste for happiness. Since her debut in 2012, on the internet, with ‘Born to Die’ which made her one of the biggest stars in music, Lana tells us in mind-blowing songs and beautiful music videos of her fragile life as a young girl haunted by death and failure. Today, she says that she has overcome these demons and her toxic relationships. Single, maybe, but a little more light-hearted.

For her, it’s already history. At 17 years old, Elizabeth Woolridge Grant wrote her own songs and made her own music videos: ‘I took a lot of photos. Then I started to record myself, to use my image.’ After seven hellish years of singing in Brooklyn bars, her music video ‘Video Games,’ posted in 2011 and has since been viewed 155 million times, which thrusted in a few minutes, the young American into an unforeseen notoriety. She evolved into Lana Del Rey, Lolita 2.0, fan of the sixties who over the course of her songs tells a sometimes indecent and provocative story but always sensual. ‘I am connected to the future and the past at the same time… That’s why I have few friends…’ Today, she sings ‘I’m young and in love’. But confides that she has found happiness… since she is no longer dating. ‘I’ve never been lucky in choosing boyfriends’.

She always loved putting on a show: ‘As a child, I loved making my life a work of art. - My passion for beautiful films might explain my aesthetic’ says the woman who would have loved living in the Flower Power of the hippy years.

Keep reading

Looking in the mirror, Wendi still wasn’t used to the reflection that was looking back at her. She was so different from the person she had been just weeks ago. But that was before all of the changes.

It had all started with an overheard comment, ever since that moment, life had seemed to spiral out of control. John was sitting at the bar talking with Paul, when he noticed a beautiful young woman walk in and sit at the far end of the bar. It looked like she was waiting for someone, but had almost immediately been approached by at least one stranger trying to strike up a conversation. John was admiring her beauty, “I would be willing to bet, a pretty young girl like that, doesn’t need to be smart, have a job or really anything. As long as she looks that good and is willing to jump in the sack with the right guys, she will do just fine in life.”

Before Paul could even respond an older woman had barged into the private conversation, “Is that what you think? You think a woman shouldn’t have aspirations or want to make something of her life, just because she is attractive? As long as she is attractive and enjoys pleasing men… or women for that matter, that is all she should be good for? See how you like that kind of life.” With that the strange woman poked John in the chest with her fingers. John was about to respond, but when the woman’s fingers made contact with his chest, it was as if an electric current ran through his body.

While Paul was trying to contain his laughter as John was recomposing himself, the woman went down to the young lady, they talked for a moment, and then left together. After some awkward silence, trying to figure out what had just happened, John and Paul continued their evening, have a few drinks and watching the game. While he never commented on it, the rest of the nigh, John had a strange tingling sensation running through his entire body.

The next morning, when John woke up, he brushed his long hair off his face as he enjoyed the soft bed and pillow, under the warm covers as he debated getting up. But the longer he lay there, and the more awake he became, the more he realized things didn’t feel right. When eventually, it hit him. Long hair? His legs felt so smooth against each other. Sitting up, John was quickly confronted with just how different his body was, as the weight of two substantial breasts bounced and jiggled on his chest. Looking down in shock, his hand tentatively reached between his legs in hopes of finding that the long hair and breasts were the most dramatic changes. Instead he found that he was all woman. With a hand between his… her legs, John couldn’t help but let out a surprisingly feminine gasp then moan as her fingers touched her new folds.

The chimes of a cell phone shocked John away from the new pleasurable sensations his new body was giving, from just the slightest touch. Reaching over to answer the phone, John was greeted by a vaguely familiar voice. “Good morning Wendi. I am sure the new day has brought you a whole new perspective on life. A life that I am sure will be exactly what you expect for a pretty girl like you.”

With the phone clutched against John’s ear, he was coming to the realization that this was the strange woman from the bar last night. Not even registering just how different John’s room or apartment was, instead, the full length mirror in the room was the focus. Staggering to it, John realized he was much shorter and then seeing his reflection, it became abundantly apparent there were pronoun problems in his self image. He was not a he in any sense of the word. The reflection staring back was a gorgeous young woman, with a slim waist, amble breasts, a sexy but angelic face, and shapely hips that were attached to long smooth legs. John was a sexy woman now.

“Now, Wendi Pleases, that is your new name and it describes you quite well. In fact, you will never be able to refer to yourself as that old name you used to have. And just to make sure that you are prepared to live the life that a young woman like yourself can live. You should start to feel a yearning very soon. It is a need that will grow until it is overpowering. A yearning to please and a particularly strong urge to pleasure others, this yearning will soon be the dominant force in your life, especially when you are around powerful individuals. It will probably make you appear rather submissive to them, and I am sure eventually, some sugar daddy or maybe momma, will take you as a little pet or trophy wife, at least so long as you… what was it you said? Oh yes, keep them happy in the sack. Now, just so I can have my own little momento of our encounter, send me a picture of the new Wendi.”

With that, the line went dead. Hearing her new voice for the first time as she said to herself, “This can’t be real. This can’t be happening.” The woman’s words were still running through John’s mind, replaying over and over. “I am Ww… My name is Ww…My name is Wendi!!” She couldn’t believe it, she was Wendi now, just like the lady had said.

Standing there looking at her reflection still trying to take it all in. But the longer she stood there, Wendi started to have a strange feeling. She needed to do something. She hadn’t done what she was told. A feeling of dread, and fear that she was disappointing someone started to come over her. That is when she realized it, she had been told to send a picture and she hadn’t done it. She needed to do it.

As Wendi raised her phone up, snapping a picture to text to the number that had just called her. The moment she sent it, she felt a wave of pleasure wash over her. It felt so good. She knew she had made someone happy, by doing what she was told.

While still enjoying the pleasurable feeling, Wendi started to realize what her new life was going to be like. Constantly needing to please others, if the right or wrong man or woman figured out just how compelling her sensations were… What was her life going to become, a hopeless slut trying please and pleasure everyone she met, or could she end up as practically a willing slave to some master, or some kept woman waiting on her man to return so she could pleasure him, or if she was lucky a patient adoring wife to someone. Was that really the best she could hope for now? None of this was what she really wanted, she wanted her old life back.

Tending to the Fire (Nessian Collab, Part Two)

So as promised a couple of weeks ago, @tacmc and I have been working on a Nessian collab. As of right now, it is only two parts, but it could end up with more if there is request for it! There’s nothing we enjoy more than getting to work with our best friend.

Part 1 can be found HERE, in Nesta’s POV, from my ultra-talented bff, @tacmc.

Part 2 is from Cassian’s POV.

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I’m Not a Kid

I’m Not a Kid

Word count: 4.2k

Genre: smut

Parts: one | two

“Y/N” you heard Jungkook sing song. He had been bothering you for the past three weeks. Jungkook was your boss’s son and he had been trying to get you to go out with him since day one.

You had given the papers to your secretary and turned to face him. “Jungkook,” you sighed and walked back over to your office. You walked inside your office and turned to close your door but Jungkook stopped it and walked in. You sighed again and went to sit at your desk. You got on your computer, not looking at him, “Yes, Jungkook.”

“Oh, Y/N” he laughed. “I love when you call me that.”

You looked over at him, “It is your name.”

He just stood there and smiled with a wink. You rolled your eyes, “What did you need?”

He walked over and sat at the on the edge of your desk. “Well, I need a date to dinner tonight?”

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