soapsud

EXO: Chanyeol Smut

causekpop:

Sinful Moans I The Last I Bent Over I Disturbing the Silence I Neighbour I Dreaming of You I Are We Ready I Handful I Exasperated I Egregious | Even Though | Pipe Dream |

modestlydreaming:

Movie Night I Hopeful

thesammtimes:

Happy Birthday I Neglected I Underneath My Tree I Imperious I Caught In Between ft. Kyungsoo I Hazardous ft. Sehun I Friends With Benefits I Educated I I Need You I Scream | Show Me How |

krismebaobei:

Cabin I Soapsuds I A Dangerous Game I In The Summer 

x-ratedkpop:

Your Idiot  

bubbleteaandsmut:

Homecoming I Masquerade I Don’t Upset Daddy I

an-exotic-writer:

Let’s Continue 

irresistible-scenes:

I Just Like You ft. Kris

duizhangdeluxe:

Check Your Coat and Inhibitions at the Door

smuttykpopscenarios:

Attack I Always Call Me Oppa

noonatrash:

Out In The Open | Up In The Air I Oral Fixation I Just Like That I Two Years I Like The Pictures

exobtssmutimagination:

Code Red I He’s Just a Friend I Warm Winter Night I Distracting performance I Looking good I Show me I First time I

keypea:

Canvas I Steamy I Gimme More I Deleterious I

i-write-storiesandsuch

Sexy | Anatomical | Keeping Promises |

kbeatzscenarios: 

A Scarred Heart (Fluff/Smut/Angst) |

sexonextdoor: 

Competition |

soobadnoonecanstopher: 

Deep Voice & Dimples | Killer | Make Me Feel It

Let Me // Jeon Jungkook

-

the prompt: prince jungkook au where he always comes into the kitchen for late night snacks and y/n is new to the kitchen staff. soon they become friends and maybe something more. (definitely something more who am i trying to kid)(also request was rlly long so i summarized it)

words: 3820

category: fluff + once again, fond!kookie

author note: never apologize for long requests bc that is how i survive. also, someone seriously needs to stop me from writing about fond jungkook bc ya girl can’t get enough. anyway, please enjoy!

- destinee

Originally posted by jeonilys

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Sherlock didn’t cure my brain

It’s fair to say I have made my peace with series four. I didn’t like it, although some scenes were clever. Visually it was often beautiful, although that mawkish scene when John and Sherlock were blown nicely out a window was cringeworthy.

I’ve read lots (LOTS) of different views here, and all of them have informed me one way or another. I appreciate the varied views and opinions. There isn’t any one way to enjoy or loathe a program, although usually there are firm underlying reasons that will support your like or dislike.

It has taken me ages to work out why I didn’t like series four. I had my secret head canons, but no expectations that the writers would uphold them. I felt I had a good handle on the characters, and felt I had paid attention to the plots. Indeed, Moffit insisted that we must pay attention to the plots and clues, or heaven help us.

Bleeding obvious, isn’t it? Viewers have to pay attention, because that’s how they claim their the payoff, and satisfaction from the stories. So if we’d been told in ASIB that Holmes was besotted with Irene Alder, if we knew somewhere (anywhere) in series three that he was still texting with her, it would have made sense when we John made his furious directions (for Sherlock to make himself complete and pursue her) in series four. But series three was a train of events wherein Sherlock acted only in the service of John.

Same with Mary. If I knew that the writers were intending to create this platonic threesome with Mary at the core, calling the shots, I would never have watched, because that kind of tedious soapsuds narrative bores me.

And that’s why I hate series four. I like to follow clues and suggestions in a program. I like to have the rug pulled, I like to see how the clues are interpreted or tipped over. I expect good stories to do that. The Sopranos is a masterclass in that skill - you know about the mafia, you get to know the characters, but even after six series, the program can still shock or stun. Swathes of dream sequences that are not only brilliantly connected wit the story, they are also pinnacles of program making. Hugely ambiguous ending, yet utterly in keeping with the story we’d been told. Series one and two of Sherlock lured me into the same (false) sense of security. I expected a payoff, a resolution, some confirmation and some rug pulling.

Instead, with the final series,  I got pails of garbage thrown at me from all directions: the murder sister (incarcerated at the age of four contrary to all British laws) who Sherlock thought was a dog. The assassin who was stupid enough to store their identity on a usb key and then hide it in a plaster vase. The other assassin who shot Sherlock and then - well, nothing happened. She just did it and then everyone forgot about it, and then she became some kind of Angel who shops at Next.  The great advocate, John Watson himself, kicking and striking Sherlock in an assault that would score at least a couple of GBH charges and two years minimum. Another frigging serial killer who wants to kill Sherlock for no adequately explored reason. Moriarty unable to actually die. Mycroft thinking it would be a good course of action to introduce Moriarty to the murder sister. The murder sister who didn’t actually have to stay in the prison but just did. Her mind powers. All these tails of thread that were supposed to make a story and ended up being a a mess of tangles that, no matter how carefully you try to unpick them, won’t form a coherent pattern or even a serviceable mat.

The writers had no concern for the people whose investment made their product globally famous and hugely profitable. To be sure, they have no obligation to do that, but isn’t that what writers do? Tell a story that makes sense, or is at least consistent? Well, that’s what the ones I like do for me. The story doesn’t have to take the path I thought, and I am more than happy to suspend my belief to see a character turn bad or redeemed. I just like to see it supported by the narrative.

Anyway, I’m not trying to start a fight or cause distress. I’ve just realised that Sherlock made me feel duped, and that’s something I expect from face creams, not the world’s only consulting detective.

Outlander photo shoot on the beach as planned by JAMMF

“I have been thinking of this for months, now,” he said, with keen anticipation. “Every night, folded up in that godforsaken nutshell of a berth, listening to Fergus grunt and fart across the cabin. I thought it all out, just what I would do, did I have ye naked and willing, no one in hearing, and room enough to serve ye suitably.” He lathered the cake of soap vigorously between his palms, and applied it to his face. 

“Well, I’m willing enough,” I said, intrigued. “And there’s room, certainly. As for naked …” 

“I’ll see to that,” he assured me. “That’s part o’ the plan, aye? I shall take ye to a private spot, spread out a quilt to lie on, and commence by sitting down beside you.” 

“Well, that’s a start, all right,” I said. “What then?” I sat down next to him on the berth. 

He leaned close and bit my earlobe very delicately. “As for what next, then I shall take ye on my knee and kiss ye.” He paused to illustrate, holding my arms so I couldn’t move. He let go a minute later, leaving my lips slightly swollen, tasting of ale, soap, and Jamie. 

“So much for step one,” I said, wiping soapsuds from my mouth. “What then?” 

“Then I shall lay ye down upon the quilt, twist your hair up in my hand and taste your face and throat and ears and bosom wi’ my lips,” he said. “I thought I would do that until ye start to make squeaking noises.” 

“I don’t make squeaking noises!” 

“Aye, ye do,” he said. “Here, hand me the towel, aye?” “Then,” he went on cheerfully, “I thought I would begin at the other end. I shall lift up your skirt and—” His face disappeared into the folds of the linen towel. 

“And what?” I asked, thoroughly intrigued. 

“And kiss the insides of your thighs, where the skin’s so soft. The beard might help there, aye?” He stroked his jaw, considering.

“It might,” I said, a little faintly. 

Etc etc etc

Voyager Diana Gabaldon

It’s Always You

@aftgexchange for @autisticminyard I hope this is okay! You mentioned an interest in canon divergence (like coffee shop aus) and wanting something sweet. This is my take on a happier, more upbeat, summery first meeting for Andrew & Neil. :)

“Neil! Hurry the fuck up! Coach wants us out in the parking lot yesterday!” Will pounds on the door of the bathroom stall and Neil bites back all the shit he wants yell and does a final adjustment of his shirt, making sure it covers everything. He takes a deep breath, reminding himself that he joined the exy team because exy is life, not for the annoying teammates. He slides the lock back and steps out. Will gives him a horrified once over.

“Uh, dude, did you miss the memo? This is a car wash.” Will’s standing there in swim trunks and flip-flops, probably to show off his athletic build. His dark skin is scar free and suspiciously gleaming. Neil wonders if he applied cocoa butter or shea butter or something because nobody’s skin is naturally glowy like that.

Neil plucks at his oversized T-shirt. It’s a thrift store find but Neil really likes it because it’s merch for his favorite team, the Palmetto State Foxes. Kevin’s team. He’s wearing a pair of black sweat pants that need to be washed anyways and Crocs, also from the thrift shop, also orange.

Will is still looking judgy, scowling even.

“Look, this isn’t a beauty pageant,” Neil snipes. “We’ll be washing cars all day. Excuse me if I don’t want to get majorly sunburned.”

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who’s scruffy looking?

in which clarke has ~a thing~ for bellamy’s beard

happy late birthday to @prosciuttoe​; sorry this isn’t furry enough for you 🌚

wc: 4 951
rated m | read on ao3

As with most things, Raven is partially to blame.

(“I don’t understand why you’re also blaming me ,” mutters Miller mulishly, “ She’s the one who made the bet with him. I had nothing to do with their bullshit ideas.”

“You spurred them on,” says Clarke, and he rolls his eyes, but doesn’t deny it.)

It starts when Miller returns from vacationing with his dad up in the mountains sporting a full beard.

His beard isn’t really anything new to them- normally he just errs on the side of scruffy, but has been known to grow it out once in a while, especially back when they were in college- so there’s just the general ribbing and maybe one or two pointed comments dropped by Monty before they ignore it.

And then Bellamy gets drunk.

Bellamy doesn’t usually get drunk when they go out; in fact he’s usually the one still annoyingly sober while they do stupid shit like climbing up on the tables or trying to rewire the jukebox. But it is the start of summer break and all his AP students passed their exams so if there was an occasion for overdoing the celebratory drinking, this would be it.

Drunken Bellamy is even sort of cute, far more tactile and vocal about his affection. Which is why it’s no surprise that as the night wears on, they find him gently stroking Miller’s cheek murmuring all sorts of nonsense while Miller looks three seconds away from throttling him. Clarke sneaks a picture. She’s totally going to use this in a mood board when his birthday comes around.

“I’m so jealous of your beard,” he slurs, just a little, and Miller slaps his fingers away. “I’ve always wanted a beard.”

“I don’t know if you’ve realised this,” says Raven, dropping in from seemingly out of nowhere, “But you’ve got all the components you need to grow a beard, Blake.”

Miller snorts at the exact same moment Bellamy’s face falls. “Yeah, no. Theoretically he might have them but trust me on this. Blake is as bare faced as they come.”

Raven’s eyes practically light up at that and her head snaps back to look at him. “You can’t grow a beard?” she asks delightedly.

“Of course I can grow a beard,” he grumbles.

“Then how come we’ve never seen you with one?”

“Because it’s uncomfortable .”

“Uh huh, sure. That’s why.” She lifts an eyebrow. “I bet you can’t grow a full beard like Miller’s before the month’s up.”

“Easiest fucking bet you’ve ever made, Reyes,” says Miller, and Bellamy elbows him in the ribs.

“I can totally grow a beard in the next three weeks,” he protests. “I don’t need to prove that to you.”

“Methinks the man doth protests too much,” she says in a sing-song voice, and his scowl deepens.

“I’m not protesting. And that’s not the quote.”

“Come on,” she wheedles, “Fifty bucks says you can’t.”

He glowers at her for one last moment before finally caving. “Fine,” he sighs, sticking his hand out for her to shake. She does so rather enthusiastically and Clarke already knows that this is going to be a disaster. “I’ll take your stupid bet.”

Keep reading

Uncertain Future: 4

One Two Three Five Six

SEASON


That night you and Taeyong moved your things into his room before privately washing up and snuggling into his side, peacefully falling into a dreamless sleep. But when you woke up, he wasn’t curled around you. You scowled, palming the sheets to find them still warm, wondering where he went. 

Stretching with a large yawn and swinging your legs over the bed’s side, feeling the bottoms of your feet touch the soft carpeted floor. With a grunt of reluctance, you stood and stretched some more before wandering over to the bathroom. The light was off and door open, so you brushed your teeth and washed your face before finding a pair of jeans and T-shirt to wear from one of your boxes. Heading out, you followed the sounds of cooking and talking, descending the staircase slowly, eyes wandering over the updated photos of the pack on the wall. 

Stopping behind the dining room wall, you paused, ready to make an appearance. Get it over with, you thought and turned the corner, standing under the doorway, a peaceful smile on your face.

Utensils hit the table and floor with light clanks, as sixteen pairs of eyes stared at you in shock. “Umm…” you gave them an awkward wave, hoping everything would go back to normal.

“Y/N? Oh my goddess,” Jaemin was the first to speak, dumbfounded.

“Hi, yeah,” you shrugged, slightly bashful, and quickly surveyed everyone in the room. “I’m back.”

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Wedding Dance

When Izuku takes his hands, it is to the muted tunes of some unknown pop song Shouto’s heard over the car radio one or more times. It’s a fast-paced song, vibrant and lively with guitar strumming and beats, and the energetic catchiness of it all makes his skin tingle and heart rate speed up.

Izuku laces his fingers through Shouto’s own wet hands, dripping with dish soapsuds and wrinkly from the soak, and raises it into the air. With his other arm, he holds Shouto by the hip and they move in tandem, legs (or Shouto’s, anyway) stiff, limbs awkward, and laughter on their breaths.

“What are you doing?” escapes Shouto in a hiccup of a giggle, eyes going crossed as Izuku turns him into a spin. The other man sings out the sweetest laugh he’s ever heard and continues wriggling in that uncoordinated dance of his, hips jutting left and right and feet filling the kitchen with a squeaky pitter-patter against the tiled floor. Shouto can’t help it–his chest swells before it erupts and he’s guffawing over the background music.

“You and me,” Izuku’s voice dips into a falsetto (and he’s singing, but those aren’t even the lyrics to the song), “impossibly in love–”

“Midoriya Izuku, that is embarrassing, what are you doing?” Shouto’s mouth hurts from the smile that stubbornly sits on his lips.

“–together at laaaast, Shouto I love you, and–” Izuku spins them again, this time swaying their arms in the air as well, “–you love me, so now I can die happyyy!”

And then they slow down. Shouto’s breath comes out heavy in his chest, but his heart feels light and warm. “You’re not going anywhere.” He tugs Izuku closer to him, gentle pulls and lingering caresses, and plants his smiling lips onto the other man’s hairline. Perhaps he mouths those same words, those I love yous, into Izuku’s skin as well. But it doesn’t need any voice to be heard, and he hopes, just as he can feel Izuku’s love in his blood and bones, that Izuku can hear his vows for the same until the end of time.

Their apartment–it is new. It is unfamiliar; too clean, just a tad too neat to feel lived-in, but all the same it is home. For home is wherever Izuku is, and if it takes running away from his father to marry the love of his life, he will run (and most certainly he will fall–even harder for the man in his arms), and he will not look back.

*Set in the same universe as [the sound of the end] | [hands that hold] | [Star Studies] | [(dis)(re)possession] (which aren’t written in order, but are meant to be treated like fabric pieces in a quilt that form a bigger picture. So yeah. No specific order to read these in.)

Bare [Missing Year OQ]

Belated birthday drabble for the lovely @notsoevilqueen​, based on her three word prompt (bubbles, hug, and music). Featuring Regina the cat. Unwritten verse.


Being a cat suited Regina most days: the haughty airs, slinking between tight corners, literally taking swipes at Robin whenever he misbehaved.

Her feline disguise had its drawbacks (“Oh, what a beauty,” cooed Snow while she glared), but Robin’s personal favorite was what came after – discovered one day as he cradled an unsuspecting Regina, only to toss her most playfully into the bath he’d just drawn.

She emerged from the soapsuds fully human, looking baleful and soggy and so very gloriously bare as Robin, winking, flipped on the phonograph, stripped out of his things and sauntered over to join her.

anonymous asked:

Can't take a whole interview of Diana talking? Would you mind sharing her fave sex scene.

“Well, I have it planned, aye?” he said, sloshing water over his face with both hands.

“You have what planned?” I asked. He snorted and shook the excess water from his beard before replying.

“I have been thinking of this for months, now,” he said, with keen anticipation. “Every night, folded up in that godforsaken nutshell of a berth, listening to Fergus grunt and fart across the cabin. I thought it all out, just what I would do, did I have ye naked and willing, no one in hearing, and room enough to serve ye suitably.” He lathered the cake of soap vigorously between his palms, and applied it to his face.

“Well, I’m willing enough,” I said, intrigued. “And there’s room, certainly. As for naked…”

“I’ll see to that,” he assured me. “That’s part o’ the plan, aye? I shall take ye to a private spot, spread out a quilt to lie on, and commence by sitting down beside you.”

“Well, that’s a start, all right,” I said. “What then?” I sat down next to him on the berth. He leaned close and bit my earlobe very delicately.

“As for what next, then I shall take ye on my knee and kiss ye.” He paused to illustrate, holding my arms so I couldn’t move. He let go a minute later, leaving my lips slightly swollen, tasting of ale, soap, and Jamie.

“So much for step one,” I said, wiping soapsuds from my mouth. “What then?”

“Then I shall lay ye down upon the quilt, twist your hair up in my hand and taste your face and throat and ears and bosom wi’ my lips,” he said. “I thought I would do that until ye start to make squeaking noises.”

“I don’t make squeaking noises!”

“Aye, ye do,” he said. “Here, hand me the towel, aye?”

“Then,” he went on cheerfully, “I thought I would begin at the other end. I shall lift up your skirt and—” His face disappeared into the folds of the linen towel.

“And what?” I asked, thoroughly intrigued.

“And kiss the insides of your thighs, where the skin’s so soft. The beard might help there, aye?” He stroked his jaw, considering.

“It might,” I said, a little faintly. “What am I supposed to be doing while you do this?”

“Well, ye might moan a bit, if ye like, to encourage me, but otherwise, ye just lie still.”

He didn’t sound as though he needed any encouragement whatever. One of his hands was resting on my thigh as he used the other to swab his chest with the damp towel. As he finished, the hand slid behind me, and squeezed.

“My beloved’s arm is under me,” I quoted. “And his hand behind my head. Comfort me with apples, and stay me with flagons, For I am sick of love.”

There was a flash of white teeth in his beard.

“More like grapefruit,” he said, one hand cupping my behind. “Or possibly gourds. Grapefruit are too small.”

“Gourds?” I said indignantly.

“Well, wild gourds get that big sometimes,” he said. “But aye, that’s next.” He squeezed once more, then removed the hand in order to wash the armpit on that side. “I lie upon my back and have ye stretched at length upon me, so that I can get hold of your buttocks and fondle them properly.” He stopped washing to give me a quick example of what he thought proper, and I let out an involuntary gasp.

“Now,” he went on, resuming his ablutions, “should ye wish to kick your legs a bit, or make lewd motions wi’ your hips and pant in my ear at that point in the proceedings, I should have no great objection.”

“I do not pant!”

“Aye, ye do. Now, about your breasts—”

“Oh, I thought you’d forgotten those.”

“Never in life,” he assured me. “No,” he went blithely on, “that’s when I take off your gown, leaving ye in naught but your shift.”

“I’m not wearing a shift.”

“Oh? Well, no matter,” he said, dismissing this. “I meant to suckle ye through the thin cotton, ’til your nipples stood up hard in my mouth, and then take it off, but it’s no great concern; I’ll manage without. So, allowing for the absence of your shift, I shall attend to your breasts until ye make that wee bleating noise—”

“I don’t—”

“And then,” he said, interrupting, “since ye will, according to the plan, be naked, and—provided I’ve done it right so far—possibly willing as well—”

“Oh, just possibly,” I said. My lips were still tingling from step one.

“—then I shall spread open your thighs, take down my breeks, and—” He paused, waiting.

“And?” I said, obligingly.

The grin widened substantially.

“And we’ll see what sort of noise it is ye don’t make then, Sassenach.”

-Voyager

Letting Go

The cascos huddled in the river.
Flat-bottomed boats with curved bamboo roofs
That looked like a somber group
Of half-submerged turtles.
You and I stared at the monsoon
While you copped a feel.
In the far distance, the bamboo fishing rafts
And their weird haunches swayed in the storm.
We were warm in the shadows
Where we tried to dry each other’s tongues –
Or so I thought.
I had not realized then
That you were already singing
A contemporary song.
My jazz was still the river, circa love,
That long age ago
When I climbed into your chest
That you promised was open;
But inside its wideness
I felt only more afraid.
When the rains end, the women will come
With dirty clothes to beat on the stones,
And fill the banks with soapsuds
To hide the dirt below.
I will huddle between the boat houses
That are no longer there.
Stubborn like a shell,
I would still kiss your echo.
Smiling like a knife, carving on and on
To keep the hollow you left
So it may breathe
While I lap at the moon.
You will settle in the abyss
When the rain comes again.

The Fault in My Code: Ch. 17

You can read Chapter 17 on Ao3 Here

Chapter 17: One Eye of Love, One of War

           It was the blood that stopped him. The blood, and the way it’d seeped through the denim to stick to his leg and taint it with the ugly discoloration. He was pressed against the doorway to the bedroom, gasping for air that refused to come, and as Hannibal worked the jeans off of his hips, he looked down and saw the blood.

           “No,” he murmured, and it seemed to shock the desire out of him, a cold douse of water to his system. He shook his head, like it could dispel the image. It didn’t. Streaks of blood, faded but still present. A cop, dead by his hand. No, no, Red Dragon’s –weren’t they the same, though? Didn’t Will exist in this form because Red Dragon existed? Weren’t they, in some odd sort of way, two parts of a convoluted whole?

           He wanted to meet Red Dragon. He was sure they had a lot in common.

           Hannibal glanced at his face, then to the streaks that continued down to the top of his calf. He passed a hand along the skin, but the blood was long since dry and didn’t wipe off so easily.

           “No?”

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frozenoverblackballoon

reblogged

your post:

frozenoverblackballoon: mischiefmanagedmwpp: I’m…

He could have called her a slute for hanging out with the four bullies that sexually assaulted him, a bitch for laughing…

…No. That is not how it works. You are placing all the blame here on Lily, and while I don’t subscribe to the idea that she was an angel, you are being disgustingly unfair towards her.

Allow me to present the order of events!

From OOTP, Chapter 28:

‘Leave him ALONE!’
James and Sirius looked round. James’s free hand immediately jumped to his hair.
It was one of the girls from the lake edge. She had thick, dark red hair that fell to her shoulders, and startlingly green almond-shaped eyes–Harry’s eyes.
Harry’s mother.

Lily was not “hanging out” with the Marauders; she was sitting a good distance away and only came over when she saw what was going on. Severus knows she dislikes them.

Please enlighten me as to why he would think of her as a “slute”, which I presume you meant to mean “slut”, for hanging out with them, when she doesn’t hang out with them and in fact avoids them as much as possible.

'All right, Evans?’ said James, and the tone of his voice was suddenly pleasant, deeper, more mature.
'Leave him alone,’ Lily repeated. She was looking at James with every sign of great dislike. 'What’s he done to you?’
'Well,’ said James, appearing to deliberate the point, 'it’s more the fact that he exists, if you know what I mean …’
Many of the surrounding students laughed, Sirius and Wormtail included, but Lupin, still apparently intent on his book, didn’t, and nor did Lily.
'You think you’re funny,’ she said coldly. 'But you’re just an arrogant, bullying toerag, Potter. Leave him alone.’

More evidence that Lily doesn’t associate with the Marauders, nor does she show any sign of wanting to! She is openly and loudly sticking up for Severus here and not joining in the laughing at his expense.

'I will if you go out with me, Evans,’ said James quickly. 'Go on … go out with me and I’ll never lay a wand on old Snivelly again.’
Behind him, the Impediment Jinx was wearing off. Snape was beginning to inch towards his fallen wand, spitting out soapsuds as he crawled.
'I wouldn’t go out with you if it was a choice between you and the giant squid,’ said Lily.

And here we are again! Lily does not want to be around James!

'Bad luck, Prongs,’ said Sirius briskly, and turned back to Snape. 'OI!’
But too late; Snape had directed his wand straight at James; there was a flash of light and a gash appeared on the side of James’s face, spattering his robes with blood. James whirled about: a second flash of light later, Snape was hanging upside-down in the air, his robes falling over his head to reveal skinny, pallid legs and a pair of greying underpants.

Does this count as a sexual assault? Perhaps. I can understand why some people would interpret it that way. To me it wasn’t intended as sexual, but as pure humiliation; I don’t believe that James intended it any other way either. But as I said, I can understand that, intent or not, there are plenty of people who would consider it that way.

Many people in the small crowd cheered; Sirius, James and Wormtail roared with laughter.
Lily, whose furious expression had twitched for an instant as though she was going to smile, said, 'Let him down!’

This is the only time that Lily appears to show even the slightest sign of amusement, and she stops herself instantly and repeats her demands for James to stop. It’s clear she knows that it was mean of her to even be slightly amused, and it’s more important to her that Severus gets left alone.

You’re seriously going to claim that a) Severus would have seen that momentary flicker while being dangled upside down with his robes over his head, and b) even if he had, this means he would think she’s a bitch and deserves to be called slurs?

At no point did Lily laugh at what he was going through, and at NO point did she display any sign to him that she thought it was okay.

This is not her acting dirty, tainted or subhuman; she’s a sixteen-year-old girl trying to stand up for a friend who’s being publicly humiliated!

'Certainly,’ said James and he jerked his wand upwards; Snape fell into a crumpled heap on the ground. Disentangling himself from his robes he got quickly to his feet, wand up, but Sirius said, 'Petrificus Totalus!’ and Snape keeled over again, rigid as a board.
'LEAVE HIM ALONE!’ Lily shouted. She had her own wand out now. James and Sirius eyed it warily.
'Ah, Evans, don’t make me hex you,’ said James earnestly.
'Take the curse off him, then!’

And now she’s even willing to get into a fight to try to help him, on her own, against two of the most popular and capable boys in the school!

James sighed deeply, then turned to Snape and muttered the counter-curse.
'There you go,’ he said, as Snape struggled to his feet. 'You’re lucky Evans was here, Snivellus– ’
I don’t need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her!

And there we go. After all that, after he’s seen and heard her coming to intervene and doing her damn best to get the bullies off his back, shouting at them and making sure everyone knows how horrible she thinks they’re being, he lashes out at LILY.

Not the two pureblood boys who were actually tormenting him.

The Muggle-born girl who was doing her utmost to stop it happening.

The Muggle-born girl he is supposedly in love with.

He calls her one of the worst slurs in the wizarding world in front of half the school and doesn’t even seem to think about lashing out at the boys who actually hurt him.

Lily blinked.
'Fine,’ she said coolly. 'I won’t bother in future. And I’d wash your pants if I were you, Snivellus.’

Quite frankly, her reaction here is remarkably controlled given what he’s just said about her. If she’s at fault here, it’s for not calling him out for being a disgusting hypocritical racist who’s happy to throw her under the bus to salvage his own ego. If any supposed friend spoke to me that way, they’d be out the fucking door so fast it hit their ass.

She is not obliged to stay friends with him just because he was upset about what he said. She stayed friends with him for a long, long time leading up to this, making excuse anfter excuse for his behavious. I can only praise her for ditching him once she finally realised how bad he actually was for her.

He fucked up. He drove her away. She did not “throw his love away”; she escaped a toxic situation.

This isn’t “people who love each other having a fight”; this is a teenage boy being as spiteful and vicious as he knows how and taking it out on someone who, even from his point of view, did nothing to deserve the way he treated her.

“Mudblood” is not the kind of word one uses accidentally in this scenario. It is, like “ni**er”, a word brought up and used very deliberately to mark out the target as someone worthy of contempt, someone lesser, someone not really human. Do not ever tell me Severus used it by accident.

Yes, he claims he loves her. But if you love someone, do you call them names like that when you fight? I sincerely hope not. I have had horrible fights with my family, but I have never lashed out with names that horrible.

And to address your last couple of sentences, no, “I love you, you disgusting, filthy animal,” is never spoken in the series. But from the context of what we know about Snape and Lily, it is certainly very clear subtext.

I will not respond to any more posts you make on this matter; I have given you more than enough of my time, and any further attempts you make to justify your position will be dismissed as I have clearly pointed out here all the reasons why I refuse to accept your reasoning.

The new captain of the Artemis...

was standing in the middle of his cabin, eyes closed and completely naked, blissfully scratching his testicles.

“Er,” I said, confronted with this sight. His eyes popped open and his face lit with joy. The next moment, I was enfolded in his embrace, face pressed against the red-gold curls of his chest.

We didn’t say anything for quite some time. I could hear the thrum of footsteps on the deck overhead, the shouts of the crew, ringing with joy at the imminence of escape, and the creak and flap of sails being rigged. The Artemis was coming back to life around us.

My face was warm, tingling from the rasp of his beard. I felt suddenly strange and shy holding him, he naked as a jay and myself as bare under the remnants of Father Fogden’s tattered robe.

The body that pressed against my own with mounting urgency was the same from the neck down, but the face was a stranger’s, a Viking marauder’s. Besides the beard that transformed his face, he smelled unfamiliar, his own sweat overlaid with rancid cooking oil, spilled beer, and the reek of harsh perfume and unfamiliar spices.

I let go, and took a step back.

“Shouldn’t you dress?” I asked. “Not that I don’t enjoy the scenery,” I added, blushing despite myself. “I—er…I think I like the beard. Maybe,” I added doubtfully, scrutinizing him.

“I don’t,” he said frankly, scratching his jaw. “I’m crawling wi’ lice, and it itches like a fiend.”

“Eew!” While I was entirely familiar with Pediculus humanus, the common body louse, acquaintance had not endeared me. I rubbed a hand nervously through my own hair, already imagining the prickle of feet on my scalp, as tiny sestets gamboled through the thickets of my curls.

He grinned at me, white teeth startling in the auburn beard.

“Dinna fash yourself, Sassenach,” he assured me. “I’ve already sent for a razor and hot water.”

“Really? It seems rather a pity to shave it off right away.” Despite the lice, I leaned forward to peer at his hirsute adornment. “It’s like your hair, all different colors. Rather pretty, really.”

I touched it, warily. The hairs were odd; thick and wiry, very curly, in contrast to the soft thick smoothness of the hair on his head. They sprang exuberantly from his skin in a profusion of colors; copper, gold, amber, cinnamon, a roan so deep as almost to be black. Most startling of all was a thick streak of silver that ran from his lower lip to the line of his jaw.


…..

Maitland was turning to leave, with a last admiring glance at Jamie’s scars, but I stopped him.

“One more thing, Maitland,” I said.

“Oh, yes, mum?”

“Will you go down to the galley and ask Mr. Murphy to send up a bottle of his strongest vinegar? And then find where the men have put some of my medicines, and fetch them as well?”

His narrow forehead creased in puzzlement, but he nodded obligingly. “Oh, yes, mum. This directly minute.”

“Just what d’ye mean to do wi’ the vinegar Sassenach?” Jamie observed me narrowly, as Maitland vanished into the corridor.

“Souse you in it to kill the lice,” I said. “I don’t intend to sleep with a seething nest of vermin.”

“Oh,” he said. He scratched the side of his neck meditatively. “Ye mean to sleep with me, do you?” He glanced at the berth, an uninviting hole in the wall.

“I don’t know where, precisely, but yes, I do,” I said firmly. “And I wish you wouldn’t shave your beard just yet,” I added, as he bent to set down the tray he was holding.

“Why not?” He glanced curiously over his shoulder at me, and I felt the heat rising in my cheeks.

“Er…well. It’s a bit…different.”

“Oh, aye?” He stood up and took a step toward me. In the cramped confines of the cabin, he seemed even bigger—and a lot more naked—than he ever had on deck.

The dark blue eyes had slanted into triangles of amusement.

“How, different?” he asked.

“Well, it…um…” I brushed my fingers vaguely past my burning cheeks. “It feels different. When you kiss me. On my…skin.”

His eyes locked on mine. He hadn’t moved, but he seemed much closer.

“Ye have verra fine skin, Sassenach,” he said softly. “Like pearls and opals.” He reached out a finger and very gently traced the line of my jaw. And then my neck, and the wide flare of collarbone and back, and down, in a slow-moving serpentine that brushed the tops of my breasts, hidden in the deep cowl neck of the priest’s robe. “Ye have a lot of verra fine skin, Sassenach,” he added. One eyebrow quirked up. “If that’s what ye were thinking?”

I swallowed and licked my lips, but didn’t look away.

“That’s more or less what I was thinking, yes.”

….

“Upon second thoughts, I think perhaps we shall anchor here for the night,” he said thoughtfully, looking at me.

“Shall we?”

“And sleep ashore, where there’s room.”

“Room for what?” I asked, regarding him with suspicion.

“Well, I have it planned, aye?” he said, sloshing water over his face with both hands.

“You have what planned?” I asked. He snorted and shook the excess water from his beard before replying.

“I have been thinking of this for months, now,” he said, with keen anticipation. “Every night, folded up in that godforsaken nutshell of a berth, listening to Fergus grunt and fart across the cabin. I thought it all out, just what I would do, did I have ye naked and willing, no one in hearing, and room enough to serve ye suitably.” He lathered the cake of soap vigorously between his palms, and applied it to his face.

“Well, I’m willing enough,” I said, intrigued. “And there’s room, certainly. As for naked…”

“I’ll see to that,” he assured me. “That’s part o’ the plan, aye? I shall take ye to a private spot, spread out a quilt to lie on, and commence by sitting down beside you.”

“Well, that’s a start, all right,” I said. “What then?” I sat down next to him on the berth. He leaned close and bit my earlobe very delicately.

“As for what next, then I shall take ye on my knee and kiss ye.” He paused to illustrate, holding my arms so I couldn’t move. He let go a minute later, leaving my lips slightly swollen, tasting of ale, soap, and Jamie.

“So much for step one,” I said, wiping soapsuds from my mouth. “What then?”

“Then I shall lay ye down upon the quilt, twist your hair up in my hand and taste your face and throat and ears and bosom wi’ my lips,” he said. “I thought I would do that until ye start to make squeaking noises.”

“I don’t make squeaking noises!”

“Aye, ye do,” he said. “Here, hand me the towel, aye?”

“Then,” he went on cheerfully, “I thought I would begin at the other end. I shall lift up your skirt and—” His face disappeared into the folds of the linen towel.

“And what?” I asked, thoroughly intrigued.

“And kiss the insides of your thighs, where the skin’s so soft. The beard might help there, aye?” He stroked his jaw, considering.

“It might,” I said, a little faintly. “What am I supposed to be doing while you do this?”

“Well, ye might moan a bit, if ye like, to encourage me, but otherwise, ye just lie still.”

He didn’t sound as though he needed any encouragement whatever. One of his hands was resting on my thigh as he used the other to swab his chest with the damp towel. As he finished, the hand slid behind me, and squeezed.

“My beloved’s arm is under me,” I quoted. “And his hand behind my head. Comfort me with apples, and stay me with flagons, For I am sick of love.”

There was a flash of white teeth in his beard.

“More like grapefruit,” he said, one hand cupping my behind. “Or possibly gourds. Grapefruit are too small.”

“Gourds?” I said indignantly.

“Well, wild gourds get that big sometimes,” he said. “But aye, that’s next.” He squeezed once more, then removed the hand in order to wash the armpit on that side. “I lie upon my back and have ye stretched at length upon me, so that I can get hold of your buttocks and fondle them properly.” He stopped washing to give me a quick example of what he thought proper, and I let out an involuntary gasp.


“Now,” he went on, resuming his ablutions, “should ye wish to kick your legs a bit, or make lewd motions wi’ your hips and pant in my ear at that point in the proceedings, I should have no great objection.”

“I do not pant!”

“Aye, ye do. Now, about your breasts—”

“Oh, I thought you’d forgotten those.”

“Never in life,” he assured me. “No,” he went blithely on, “that’s when I take off your gown, leaving ye in naught but your shift.”

“I’m not wearing a shift.”

“Oh? Well, no matter,” he said, dismissing this. “I meant to suckle ye through the thin cotton, ’til your nipples stood up hard in my mouth, and then take it off, but it’s no great concern; I’ll manage without. So, allowing for the absence of your shift, I shall attend to your breasts until ye make that wee bleating noise—”

“I don’t—”

“And then,” he said, interrupting, “since ye will, according to the plan, be naked, and—provided I’ve done it right so far—possibly willing as well—”

“Oh, just possibly,” I said. My lips were still tingling from step one.

“—then I shall spread open your thighs, take down my breeks, and—” He paused, waiting.

“And?” I said, obligingly.

The grin widened substantially.

“And we’ll see what sort of noise it is ye don’t make then, Sassenach.”

3

My family tree! 

Mom’s parents are Soapsuds and Minty Hooves. Dad’s parents Aurora and Pierce . Me and Dinky share the same mom but different fathers! Mine is Warden but aah i don’t know who Dinky’s dad is? I asked her and she doesn’t seem to know and mom won’t talk about him so i just left it blank!

My mom has SEVEN sisters! Can you believe that?! From oldest to youngest it goes Quilty, Icy, Smoothy, Candy, EDGY, Prickly, Derpy (mom), and Rosey! They’re all my aunt and it can get pretty crazy during the holidays…

A Social Experiment for the HP Fandom

“All right, Snivellus?” said James loudly. 

She reacted so fast it was as though she had been expecting an attack: Dropping her bag, she plunged her hand inside her robes, and her wand was halfway into the air when James shouted, “Expelliarmus!” Her wand flew twelve feet into the air and fell with a little thud in the grass behind her. Sirius let out a bark of laughter. “Impedimenta!” he said, pointing his wand at Snape, who was knocked off her feet, halfway through a dive toward her own fallen wand. Students all around had turned to watch. Some of them had gotten to their feet and were edging nearer to watch. Some looked apprehensive, others entertained. Snape lay panting on the ground. James and Sirius advanced on her, wands up, James glancing over his shoulder at the girls at the water’s edge as he went. Wormtail was on his feet now, watching hungrily, edging around Lupin to get a clearer view. “How’d the exam go, Snivelly?” said James. “I was watching her, her nose was touching the parchment,” said Sirius viciously. “There’ll be great grease marks all over it, they won’t be able to read a word.” Several people watching laughed; Snape was clearly unpopular. Wormtail sniggered shrilly. Snape was trying to get up, but the jinx was still operating on her; she was struggling, as though bound by invisible ropes. “You — wait,” she panted, staring up at James with an expression of purest loathing. “You — wait… .” “Wait for what?” said Sirius coolly. “What’re you going to do, Snivelly, wipe your nose on us?” Snape let out a stream of mixed swearwords and hexes, but her wand being ten feet away nothing happened. “Wash out your mouth,” said James coldly. “Scourgify!” Pink soap bubbles streamed from her mouth at once; the froth was covering her lips, making her gag, choking her — 

“Leave her ALONE!” James and Sirius looked around. James’s free hand jumped to his hair again. It was one of the girls from the lake edge. She had thick, dark red hair that fell to her shoulders and startlingly green almond-shaped eyes — Harry’s eyes. Harry’s mother … “All right, Evans?” said James, and the tone of his voice was suddenly pleasant, deeper, more mature. “Leave her alone,” Lily repeated. She was looking at James with every sign of great dislike. “What’s she done to you?” “Well,” said James, appearing to deliberate the point, “it’s more the fact that she exists, if you know what I mean… .” Many of the surrounding watchers laughed, Sirius and Wormtail included, but Lupin, still apparently intent on his book, didn’t, and neither did Lily. “You think you’re funny,” she said coldly. “But you’re just an arrogant, bullying toerag, Potter. Leave her alone.” “I will if you go out with me, Evans,” said James quickly. “Go on … Go out with me, and I’ll never lay a wand on old Snivelly again.” Behind him, the Impediment Jinx was wearing off. Snape was beginning to inch toward her fallen wand, spitting out soapsuds as she crawled. “I wouldn’t go out with you if it was a choice between you and the giant squid,” said Lily. “Bad luck, Prongs,” said Sirius briskly, turning back to Snape. “OY!” But too late; Snape had directed her wand straight at James; there was a flash of light and a gash appeared on the side of James’s face, spattering his robes with blood. James whirled about; a second flash of light later, she was hanging upside down in the air, her robes falling over her head to reveal skinny, pallid legs and a pair of graying underpants. 

Many people in the small crowd watching cheered. Sirius, James, and Wormtail roared with laughter. Lily, whose furious expression had twitched for an instant as though she was going to smile, said, “Let her down!” “Certainly,” said James and he jerked his wand upward. Snape fell into a crumpled heap on the ground. Disentangling herself from her robes, she got quickly to her feet, wand up, but Sirius said, “Petrificus Totalus!” and she keeled over again at once, rigid as a board. “LEAVE HER ALONE!” Lily shouted. She had her own wand out now. James and Sirius eyed it warily. “Ah, Evans, don’t make me hex you,” said James earnestly. “Take the curse off her, then!” James sighed deeply, then turned to Snape and muttered the countercurse. “There you go,” he said, as she struggled to her feet again, “you’re lucky Evans was here, Snivellus —” “I don’t need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her!” Lily blinked. “Fine,” she said coolly. “I won’t bother in future. And I’d wash your pants if I were you, Snivellus.” “Apologize to Evans!” James roared at Snape, his wand pointed threateningly at her. “I don’t want you to make her apologize,” Lily shouted, rounding on James. “You’re as bad as she is… .” “What?” yelped James. “I’d NEVER call you a — you-know-what!” “Messing up your hair because you think it looks cool to look like you’ve just got off your broomstick, showing off with that stupid Snitch, walking down corridors and hexing anyone who annoys you just because you can — I’m surprised your broomstick can get off the ground with that fat head on it. You make me SICK.” She turned on her heel and hurried away. “Evans!” James shouted after her, “Hey, EVANS!” But she didn’t look back. 

“What is it with her?” said James, trying and failing to look as though this was a throwaway question of no real importance to him. “Reading between the lines, I’d say she thinks you’re a bit conceited, mate,” said Sirius. “Right,” said James, who looked furious now, “right —” There was another flash of light, and Snape was once again hanging upside down in the air. “Who wants to see me take off her pants?” 

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Chapter 28, Snape’s Worst Memory. Only alterations made were to replace Snape’s pronouns (and a couple instances of Snape’s name/nickname). I always wondered if some might react differently to this scene if Snape’s gender was different. Thoughts?

12 Kisses | Pearlet

 In every relationship, there are always those 12 kisses that you’ll never forget, these ones were Pearl’s.

This is almost identical to my other kissing fic which can be located HERE but rather than the sad ending, this one is happy. (I think we all need it after the shitshow that was untucked and having to watch Pearl cry) So Enjoy! <3

Keep reading

4

Imagine Chris Evans telling you about the girl he likes

(Gif credits to their owners!)


“What’s wrong with you?” you asked locking eyes with your best friend.

“Nothing,” he answered frowning.

“Yeah… Nothing…” you gave him your best bitch face knowing that he was lying. You went back to the dishes, turning your back on him.

“Y/N?” he murmured.

You turned again to face him and raised an eyebrow, silently asking what he had to say.

“Please sit,” he started, pointing with his eyes to the stool in front of him.

You rolled your eyes and snorted, cleaning the soapsuds of your hands. You still had a lot of things to do and he had an annoying bad habit of distracting you when you were busy. Chris was an awesome friend but sometimes he just enjoyed teasing you. He used to be that overprotective neighbor that’s always looking after his little sister, and since you were his sister’s best friend… he was overprotective with you too. Even when he started with all the acting thing he had managed to come back home and keep your good relationship alive.

You sat and asked, “What?”

“I have to tell you something…” he mumbled looking down.

“Shot!” you smiled watching him blushing.

“I think… I think that I’m in love with someone…” he said looking up at you again.

Your heart sunk and the feeling of someone kicking your stomach came all over you. You had to admit Chris had been your crush since you wore pink skirts and pigtails, and knowing that he was in love with someone else made you wanna cry.

You put yourself back together and tried to smile, “And who is she? Do I know her?”

“Yeah… you know her pretty well” he chuckled.

Great, you knew the girl Chris was in love with. Could it get any worse?

“I actually wanted to ask you if you know how could I tell her that I like her…” he said.

Well, it definitely could get worse. You stood up and turned around fighting the tears.

He stood up too, “Come on Y/N! Help me with this! Please…”

You faced him, hoping he wouldn’t notice how bad he was hurting you and said, “If you like a girl, you should just grab her and kiss her,”

“Just like that?” he asked with a half-smile.

“I guess…” you shrugged.

“Well, then…”

He didn’t said anything else, he just placed his hand in your nape and pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around your waist and crushing his lips against yours. You put your hands around his neck and kissed him back, letting him know how long you had been waiting for that kiss.


Tags: @kbrand0 @spnwriting1 @cassjoream @blacktithe7 and @raeganr99

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