the mistakes he makes are good man mistakes

ok so like full offense… I can not be the only person who notices that most (not all) Tony fans will be the first to admit that Tony Stark is Not Perfect, and he makes mistakes and fucks up sometimes… but if you try to tell a Steve fan that Steve also fucks up and makes mistakes, most (not all, but most) get Offended becasue Steve Rogers is Captain America and a Good Man and he can Do No Wrong and I am TIred I just don’t understand

The Joyride - Part 2 (Jason Todd x Reader)

A/N: Part 2 to The Joyride! I’m really glad that you guys enjoyed part one so much! Here’s the ending to your cliffhanger, but no guarantees that there won’t be another!

Warnings: Angst, descriptions of injury

Tagging: @solis200213 @pinkwitch21 @tigeragathe @gokusanfan @just-a-girl-maybe @queen-of-all-the-fandoms @neverlandprincessjaz 

Part One // Part Two // Part Three


Jason blinked in an attempt to dispel the blurriness that clouded his vision. He was lying in a hospital bed with an IV hooked into his arm. His head was pounding and he squinted at the bright lights above him. He grunted slightly and moved his unhindered wrist to shield his vision.

“You’re awake,” came the gravelly voice from beside him, which he identified as Bruce’s.

“Yeah,” he groaned hoarsely, turning his head to face Bruce. “What time is it?”

 “About five in the morning. It’s a Saturday. Why do you ask?” Bruce replied, maintaining his usual composure.

 Jason noted that it was still early the morning of the accident, meaning he hadn’t been out for too long. “(Y/N). Is she- I- Is she- How is she?”

Jason didn’t miss the darkness in Bruce’s eyes or the grimace that he attempted to hide. He felt a pit forming rapidly in his stomach and he shook his head, his eyes going wide. “She’s- She’s d- dead?

 “Not dead,” Bruce corrected, and Jason let out a sigh of relief. “But it’s bad, Jason. She’s going into emergency surgery. I- I wouldn’t get my hopes up.”

 “Oh.”

 There was silence between the two after that. The occasional beeping of the machines, and the steady quiet buzz of the air conditioner were what kept the room from utter silence. It wasn’t for a few minutes until Bruce spoke again.

 “They say- They say you’re lucky to only have sustained a concussion and some bruising. Especially compared t-” Bruce cut himself off before he could finish. It wasn’t a statement Jason would appreciate.

Jason, however, didn’t need to hear the end of the sentence. He knew what the ending was. Especially compared to her. He shifted his head awkwardly against the stiff material of the hospital pillow to look away from Bruce.

“How did you find out so soon?” Jason asked, less out of interest in the answer and more out of a desire to fill the silence. To give himself less room to think.

 “They recognized (Y/N) as one of my wards, called me over here about an hour ago,” Bruce explained.

 “I see,” Jason replied shortly.

 Another painfully long moment of stiff and awkward silence came to pass.

 “I know you blame me for this but-”

 “I don’t.”

 “You- You don’t?” Jason asked, slightly surprised. He had been expecting Bruce to make this more difficult. To make him feel guiltier than he already did.

“No. But I know you blame yourself. And I don’t think that’s fair,” Bruce said, his tone even and his voice unfaltering.

“How would you know that it’s not my fault? How do you know this didn’t happen because of some irresponsible mistake that I made?” Jason inquired, still surprised at Bruce’s lack of vindictiveness. He turned his head back across the pillow to face the other man.

“How do I know? Because I know that you don’t make irresponsible mistakes when it comes to her. I know that when it comes to her you take precautions, and you’re more careful than I’ve ever seen you,” Bruce stated matter-of-factly 

Jason didn’t know how to respond to that. So he didn’t. And suddenly he understood why Bruce stayed silent when faced with difficult questions. Because sometimes there was no good way to answer. “What are her injuries like?” Jason asked, deflecting off onto another topic.

“Are you sure you want to know? It’s not pretty. I would understand if-”

I want to know,” Jason cut him off firmly, steeling himself for what he was about to hear.

Bruce nodded, the expression on his face grim. “They said that there’s extensive internal bleeding in several locations and-” Bruce paused to let out a weak sigh. “The impact caused several broken ribs. One of which- One of which punctured a blood vessel. The lacerations she suffered were severe and some cut into the bone. One shoulder is dislocated and the opposite wrist is broken. She has shrapnel scattered throughout her legs. It’s not pretty.”

Jason’s mouth ran dry. He had imagined that your injuries would be bad, but this? This was more than he knew how to process. “I- All of that?”

Bruce nodded wordlessly. “Despite all of that,” he started slowly, “They say that she’s lucky. Her head, neck, and spine are all intact, aside from minor stress from impact on her spine.”

“Lucky,” Jason tried out the word for himself, and he felt a sense of bitterness as it rolled off his tongue. Lucky. He didn’t feel like you had been lucky. He felt like the hospital staff decided to call your condition lucky because they didn’t have the hearts to tell him that you were on the verge of death. All because the two of you had been bored and sleepless at an odd hour of the night. No. Lucky wasn’t right. Lucky wasn’t right at all.


You awoke abruptly with a tube down your throat and no idea where you were. Immediately you wanted to kick your arms and legs, but not only were you restrained, it hurt to move. Every inch of your body was in pain, and your muscles ached and your chest hurt with every movement 

You felt panic rising in your chest and you started to hyperventilate. You struggled against your restraints despite the fact that every single fiber of your being was screaming for you to stop. You wanted to cry out, but you couldn’t get your voice to work, and the breathing tube restricted you from any form of verbality. Despite your inability to call for help, before you knew it, there were people in pristine white clothing standing above you and gently holding you down.

You felt a sharp and searing pain rip through your abdomen as you twisted your torso in a strange way while attempting to struggle against the doctors and nurses.

The pain forced you to stop resisting so much, and after a few moments your state of hyperventilation had passed. After you had calmed down, you gained some recollection of what had happened and where you were.

Another few minutes had passed and a nurse began to ask you questions about what you remembered, how you felt, and if you knew why you were there, having you write down your answers on a pad of paper with your unbroken wrist, though she was careful not to harm the dislocated shoulder.

Your writing was barely legible. Your hand had been trembling violently the whole time, and your only usable hand was your off hand.

Once she seemed to be done interviewing you, you zoned out, still in shock after your violent wake-up and the events of the crash. You heard her say something about stitches, and then something about extubation before you completely tuned out 

The breathing tube was uncomfortable, but it seemed like a minor thing compared to the pain you felt up and down your arms and legs, as well as in your abdomen. You had no idea what time it was. The curtains were drawn, and you had absolutely no perception of time, aside from the wall-clock which read seven-fifteen. Morning or night, you couldn’t tell.

You shut your eyes and tried to ignore the pain. Instead you focused on how tired you felt, and how nice it would feel to sleep. Slowly, you drifted out of consciousness.


When you woke up again, you felt no panic. Just bleary eyed and still just as tired as when you had fallen asleep. This time, though, there were two people in the room with you. One at your bedside and another sitting by the door.

You blinked a few times and gave your vision time to clear. You identified the two people as Jason and Bruce, and a strange sense of comfort washed over you. Bruce was dressed in civilian clothes, but Jason wore a hospital gown.

Both were asleep, Bruce hunched over in the too-small chair, and Jason slumped onto the side of the bed with his head resting in his arms.

The clock on the wall read seven-thirty, but you doubted that it had been only fifteen minutes since you were last awake. No. You felt the hours of sleep in the way your eyelids seemed to stick shut when you blinked.

You wanted to make some move to alert them that you were awake, but the breathing tube still kept you from speaking and Jason was on the side of your broken wrist. Your dislocated shoulder prevented you from reaching across and waking him with your other hand 

You felt helpless all over again. You were scared and it felt like you had been alone for an eternity.

As you realized your predicament, you became painfully aware of the sounds of your breathing tube and heart monitor and the buzz of all of the machines that were keeping you alive.

That was another thing that scared you. How close were you to death? What kind of line were you walking? What if you fell onto the wrong side? What if you fell asleep right here and just never woke up? What if the last time you ever got to see Jason he didn’t get to see you? It scared you tremendously. But it was a hollow, passive fear. Passive because what else could you be with a tube down your throat and two useless arms? As you stared up blankly at the hospital ceiling you realized that the most terrifying experience of your life wasn’t staring into the barrel of a gun, or colliding with the asphalt at fifty miles per hour. The most terrifying experience of your life was taking place right then. Staring passively up at a hospital ceiling. Helplessly wondering if you were going to die. There was no adrenaline. There was no rush that kept you from looking death straight in the face.

You pondered this for a long while, until, to your relief, Jason stirred from his sleep.

He groaned slightly as he awoke, and you smiled to yourself as best you could around the tube 

You watched as he lifted his head and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Slowly, his eyes met with yours, and you saw slow relief take over his expression.

He smiled sadly and moved a hand to the side of your face, stroking your cheek with his thumb. “I’m so sorry, baby,” he whispered, his eyes expressing relief, but also guilt and love.

You managed a small shake of your head. It’s not your fault, you wanted to say. The subtle change in his expression told you that he’d understood what you’d meant.

“I love you. I- I just- I need to say that. I love you.” The sadness he carried in his voice broke you. The way his voice started to break at the end. The bittersweet message that his words carried. I love you and I need to say it now because if you fall asleep again I might not get another chance.

You nodded your head as best you could, never breaking eye contact with him. I love you too, you wanted to say. There were so many things you wanted to say in that moment. I love you. It’s not your fault. If I die I don’t want you to blame yourself forever. I’m scared. I love you. I love you. I love you.

His hand never left the side of your face, and he continuously brushed circles on your cheek with his thumb. As you watched him, you swore you could see the moment where whatever thoughts he was having, whatever ideas plagued his mind, broke him. His face contorted into a caricature of grief and it alarmed you.

It was so unlike Jason to cry, or display his grief so openly. Part of you wanted to tell him not to waste his tears on you, but the other side wanted to cry along with him. To cry because of the helplessness that ate away at your resolve.

Jason managed to wipe away his tears quickly, and if you hadn’t seen it yourself, you wouldn’t have been able to guess that he had been weeping just moments earlier. He rest his head gently against your upper arm, careful not to hurt you.

A few moments of comfortable silence passed before you felt a sharp and painful twinge in your abdomen. You winced slightly, but paid it no mind. You figured it was just a bruise, or some stitch from your surgery that had been pulled 

You grunted in pain when the twinge returned, more painfully. You became alarmed once the pain branched up into your chest. It hurt like hell, and soon your entire abdomen was in excruciating pain.

You cried out through the breathing tube. It was a strange, mangled sound and it had Jason’s head shooting up from the bed.

“(Y/N)?” he asked in a panic, trying to get you took look at him. You cried out again, and Bruce, who had just woken up, shouted for a nurse.

Several people came running into the room, two of which began pulling a struggling Jason out into the hallway.

He fought tooth and nail to get back to your side, struggling hard against the people who were pulling him away. 

“I love you!” he shouted, just as he was pulled out into the hall, and the door was shut in his face.

It's rant time.

If you ever DARE to call yourself a fan of a group and you single out one or two members and call them names, pick on them for physical features, try and make them insecure or try and make them feel like they should not be in the group in ANY WAY, SHAPE, OR FORM….you are NOT a fan. You’re a real shitty person. There are whole twitter pages right now dedicated to hating on members from certain groups. Taehyung from BTS is one I saw today. Saying he can’t sing or dance and picking on his physical features, saying he isn’t a visual and saying quote “ot6 will rise without Taehyung because he’s ugly.” And people are actually agreeing with this awful human being. And she stans Seokjin. Literally tweets about how she loves the other 6 but singles out Taehyung and gives him disgusting hate for NO REASON.

It’s sad that people are so fucking unhappy with themselves and their lives that they have to make someone else feel like shit. Especially someone like him. He has so much love to give and so much warmth in his heart and soul. He loves armies and he loves children, he looks at them with such adoration. He cares for his group members and he is sensitive. He’s such an amazing human being. If you hurt him and insult him, you have no fucking right to call yourself an ARMY. None at all. Armies don’t consider you an army. And you can be damn well sure that bangtan wouldn’t either. As the other 6 absolutely adore Taehyung. He’s one of the most gentle and loving people I’ve ever seen. How dare you insult him and then call yourself an army.

This goes for every other group too. I’ve also seen twitter pages insulting Taeyong from NCT because of mistakes he made when he was what? 12? He’s a GROWN MAN NOW. Are you seriously saying such disgusting and nasty things to him because of mistakes he made when he was a child? I have seen videos of him talking about it and I’ve seen him cry over it. He is absolutely genuine and he is sorry. That’s all he can do. That’s what human beings do. They make mistakes and they apologize and learn from them. He takes care of all of the members and he is a genuinely good person. I really believe that. Wholeheartedly. And if you insult him and then call yourself a fan of NCT, you got some real nerve.

Now I’ll move on to Vernon of Seventeen. Picking on him because he’s half Korean and half white? Really? I’ve heard people say he’s lying about being Korean at all. This is so dumb on every level possible. I’ve seen people pick on him also for his physical features and even his personality like??? Don’t you have better shit to do than pick on this precious fucking gift to the world?

This goes for any group. These are just a few I’ve seen floating around. You can’t bash one member of a group and bully them and then call yourself a fan of the rest. You can’t. It’s all or nothing.

Anyway I’ll never understand why people are such pieces of shit goodnight.

“Redemption” - Tamlin

@hermajestymanon I shall win this war. 


Feyre’s eyes snapped as magic slammed into her forehead. She was falling, falling an impossible distance. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head and she wasn’t sure who caught her. 

Feyre gasped, blinking slowly. “Tamlin?” Feyre whispered, staring into his bright green eyes, his eyebrows pinched in concentration. Feyre could feel the waves of magic vibrating around them, she could feel an evil, stronger magic pushing against Tamlin’s. 

“It would help if you stood up, beautiful” Tamlin gave her a crooked smile, thick blood slipping out of his mouth. Feyre rolled to the side, landing in a crouch. “I have your back,” Tamlin grunted and he let the shield fall, just as Feyre sliced out with her own magic. 

“Move,” Tamlin urged her, wrapping his arm around her waist. He half dragged, half carried Feyre down a long corridor, his blood still dripping out of his mouth. More blood slid from his nostrils, but he kept moving. 

“Tamlin. Tamlin, we can’t leave them!” Feyre shouted, crying out in agony when she put too much pressure on her right leg. Tamlin swore and he leaned Feyre against the wall, handing her his blade. 

“I never planned on leaving them. Give me some credit, Feyre” Tamlin shoved his hands outward, a wave of magic rippling through the corridor, tearing it apart. The ceiling fell. Tamlin grunted and he looked down at Feyre. “Stay” 

Feyre heard his back crack. Tamlin tilted his head back and roared and Feyre covered her eyes as a beam of bright light flashed before her. When she looked back, Tamlin was gone, but she saw the shadow of a beast on the walls. 

Feyre blinked slowly, gripping Tamlin’s blade and her own Illyrian one. She breathed through her mouth, trying to understand where everything went wrong. So, so wrong. Who had betrayed them? Did someone even betray them? Or was the King always one step ahead? 

Was the King always one step ahead even with Tamlin helping them? 

Feyre went still when she heard footsteps. She forced herself to her feet and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Tamlin, burdening the weight of three grown Illyrians on his body. 

The beast’s front leg shook, then snapped, causing Tamlin to fall. Azriel and Cassian moaned as one, falling on their sides. Feyre scrambled to her feet, helping Rhys up, putting his weight over her shoulders. She gripped his arm, staring down at Tamlin. 

Move” Tamlin grunted, before he stood up. His arm hung loosely at his side, but the High Lord slammed it against the wall, and Feyre cringed as he knocked it back into place. “Feyre, cover our rear. Protect their wings” 

Feyre blinked slowly. The Tamlin before her was something new, something different. Feyre remembered when Rhys told her about how he and Cassian and Azriel had trained with Tamlin, how the four of them had become something like brothers. Feyre wondered how many times Tamlin had protected their wings. There was so much she still didn’t understand about their pasts together. 

Tamlin bent down and he picked up Azriel, grunting, and placing the Illyrian on his back. Feyre didn’t want to ask how Tamlin could bear his weight, on top of letting Cassian lean against him. Her legs were shaking with just supporting Rhys. 

“Am I being saved by Tamlin?” Cassian whispered, his eyes dazed and unfocused. Tamlin gave a droll half grin, blood still coating his teeth. 

“I owe you a few” Was all the male said, before he started walking. Azriel, balanced on one shoulder, his limp body pressing into Tamlin’s back, his wings hanging, unmoving. Cassian, his legs leaving a trail of blood, arm wrapped around Tamlin. Rhys, helping Feyre more than she was helping him. All of them, beaten, broken, in pain, dying. And Tamlin was bearing their weight, helping them escape. 

“Why?” Feyre whispered. She sent a wave of magic behind her blindly, hoping it would delay their attackers. “Why are you saving us?” Feyre whispered. Tamlin turned his head, his eyes narrowed. 

“Ask them when you all make it out alive” Tamlin grunted, shifting his shoulders so Azriel wouldn’t fall. He continued to walk, his legs buckling each time. Feyre doubted they would make it. She didn’t know how long Tamlin could hold two Illyrians, she didn’t know how long she could hold off an enemy she couldn’t see. 

“Feyre, go” Rhys whispered, pointing forward. Feyre noticed the thick closed door. Tamlin stood by it, gently leaning Cassian against the wall, then slid Azriel from his back. He gripped Azriel’s face and tapped his cheek gently, mumbling under his breath. 

Tamlin stepped away from Azriel, before pushing the door open as far as he could. He braced his back against it and Feyre watched as his legs grappled for purchase, the door pushing against him, as well. Tamlin reached out, grabbing Cassian’s forearms. Cassian swore heavily as Tamlin dragged him across the floor, and pulled him into the darkness. Tamlin now only used his leg to keep the doorway open, pulling Azriel in after Cassian. His face was contorted in pain, breathing hard, sweat dripping down his skin. 

There was a shriek and Feyre stumbled into the wall, Rhys falling after her. The ground shook, the very castle shook. And Feyre was positive the entire island was shaking with the King’s rage, mixed with his beasts. 

Tamlin’s fingers linked with Rhys’s and he dragged the High Lord forward. Rhys seemed to be yelling something, almost pleading with his “enemy”, but Tamlin ignored him. He pulled Rhysand into the darkness next. 

Feyre lunged forward and Tamlin caught her as the castle shook again. The King’s monsters finally caught up to them. “You aren’t coming with us,” Feyre whispered. Tamlin’s arms slacked against her back, their noses almost touching. 

Not so long ago, they were in this embrace, because Feyre was lying to him. Pretending to love him; pretending, lying, being a spy. It was all the same. Not so long ago, Tamlin was a beast. A true, living, terrifying beast in the body of a man. What Feyre saw before her, was one of the best stories of change and redemption she would possibly ever know. She hoped to one day paint the story of Tamlin. 

A man who wasn’t born a beast, became a beast, and died a man. A good man. A good man who made mistakes, accepted those mistakes, and tried to make amends. A man who was using his life to save three Illyrians who had hated him for centuries. To save a girl who should have never entered his life anyway. 

“Do me a favor?” Tamlin whispered and Feyre nodded. She felt the same vibrations around them again. Tamlin had a shield that split the corridor in two, keeping the enemy forces at bay for as long as he could. “Remember me like this? You didn’t know me before, but, remember me as I am now?” 

Feyre took in his face and she pressed her hand tightly against his heart. Tamlin shuddered, knowing Feyre was pressing against his stone heart. She nodded once. Then she was flying and arms wrapped around her middle. Feyre didn’t think she would cry when Tamlin died, didn’t think she would fight for him. He hadn’t fought for her. But as Rhys held her back and as Tamlin stood on the other side, slowly pushing the door closed, she screamed. 

She tried to scramble forward, kicking at Rhys, scratching his arms. Tamlin had no right to make himself the sacrificial lamb, he had no right to choose when he died, he had no right to stand there, smiling sadly. 

He had no right to make himself a martyr. 

Feyre wanted him to live so she could punch him in the face for trading his life for theirs. 

“Tell my sister I said hello” Rhys said. Tamlin nodded, before the door closed in front of them, leaving them in darkness. Feyre cringed as she felt the walls shake, as she heard a roar, as Rhys dragged her down their escape route. Their only change at survival. 

Yes. 

She would keep her promise. Tamlin would be remembered as he was in his last moments. 


Tamlin roared as the door closed. He clenched his fists, baring his teeth at the King’s forces. He looked to his left and a girl stood beside him, smiling, joy in her eyes. She swung an Illyrian blade around, her eyes shining. 

“I knew the man I loved was still in there,” Chiara said. She took a step towards him, and grabbed his hand. She swung her blade again in her left hand, squeezing his own hand. “I love you”

“I love you too,” Tamlin laughed softly. “I missed you. They’re safe; your brothers are safe. Your wings…I kept them. I’m so sorry”

Chiara paused, her eyes twinkling like stars. “I know. It’s okay” She took a small breath “They’re alive because of you. Welcome to martyrdom, my love” 

“Is this what you felt like?” 

Chiara pulled him close, pressing their brows together. She swallowed softly, running her thumb down his cheek. “It isn’t such a hard decision to make. Your life for the one’s you love. Yes. This is what it felt like. It will be short, I promise” 

Tamlin nodded, swinging his own blade. 

Then Chiara ran forward and Tamlin ran after her, slicing through the beasts, right after she did. Her slices, her stabs, her kicks and jabs, did nothing. But Tamlin did as she did, taking down as many as he could, before he was overwhelmed. 

Tamlin was knocked onto his back, drowning in the sea of enemies, and he grunted. He head slammed against the floor, cracks spreading across the floor in his wake. He looked to his left one last time, and he saw Chiara standing over him, smiling. Her violet eyes were swimming with an emotion Tamlin couldn’t place. 

“I want to save you again. I don’t want you to die” Anguish. That was the emotion. But also…happiness? Possibly happiness, because they would be together again. 

“A little late for that, my star” They both bowed their heads, and then there was nothing for a long time. Tamlin was lost in an eternity of nothing, of everything, of nothing and everything. 

Then he opened his eyes, and there she sat. Under the night sky. Leaning back on her palms. 

Tamlin thought it was more than he deserved. But he would not question it. 

He walked forward and sat by his mate. Chiara leaned her head against his shoulder and their fingers intertwined, their joined hands resting on his knee. Tamlin pressed his lips against her forehead, nuzzling her hair. 

“Rhys says hello” 


World War Maas II continues. 

A few causalities have been reported. 

But the masses still stand.

Not for long. 

Yakov God of Skating and Everyone’s Angry Dad

Since Yakov is Always Angry Dad to his group of skaters I like to believe he was the one who took Yuuri back to his hotel room in Sochi.

This is how I imagine it went down: (Ao3 link)

“What the hell have you all done? Vitya why are you allowing this boy to do this to you?” Yakov could feel the start of a headache. He had been pulled out of the room to talk to some sponsors for Yura when someone from the hotel interrupted to ask if he could ‘control his skaters’ the answer of course was no. No he couldn’t. He’d been trying for years but it never bloody worked.

He would however try.

He hadn’t anticipated anything too bad. They must have just gotten tired of the boring banquet and started making havoc in their rooms again.

He was catastrophically mistaken.

Keep reading

Drunk in Boston

In reference to this post, about someone getting a random postcard from a previous tenant. Tagging @thegreatshipcaptainswan and @ab-normality for encouraging the madness! Totally unbeta’d. I feel like it took me far too long to write this little ficlet, and figured I’d best not delay it further!

Summary: Emma Swan receives a mysterious postcard from Boston. Little does she know, it’ll change her life.

Once Upon a Time

Captain Swan

Rated G

2240 Words

Originally posted by bctmans

Hey,

I used to live in your house. I’m drunk in Boston, and it’s the only address I know.

Happy Holidays.

KJ

Emma turned the postcard over a couple times, taking in the strange message, and the artistic photo of the brewery the card was purchased at. She wasn’t sure if it was a sweet gesture, or if it was just some drunk thinking he was funny.

Deciding it was likely the latter, she stuck the postcard into her planner before heading out to lunch. If anything, the girls would get a kick out of it.

Regina was the first to comment. “Well it looks like your first Christmas card is from a drunk guy in Boston.”

Keep reading

SPOTTING A TRUE DOMINANT

A dominant man will not start off with, ‘Bow down on your knees upon receipt of my message!’ There seems to be many complaints from women about this kind of ploy as first introduction, and this is reason alone to ‘block n’ move on.’ (I would advise ladies to use this tactic often and liberally rather than engage in argument or flame wars…life is too short). Ignore the Insta-Dom.
- A dominant man will not seem ‘desperate’ for your attention. Getting dates or getting laid is not his problem; he can find women on kink sites, at work, or in the grocery store. He knows women, and women are drawn to him. Many women, kink or vanilla, prefer a man who is take-charge both in the bedroom and in life. If a ‘Dom’ becomes frantic, anxious, or despairing because you don’t write him back every other hour, chances are he has a hard time with the fairer sex. The good news is desperation is easy to spot.
- A dominant man most often will be successful, a maverick, or at least happy in his chosen profession. If he has had some bad luck in his past, it will be fleeting, for he will strive relentlessly to place his universe back into the order mandatory to his existence. If your suitor languishes in poverty, unemployment for years, or hates his job, most likely his dominance is merely a cover-up to appease his lack of success. Though he may not be the millionaire, look for the man who is happy, confident, unique, and/or successful in his chosen endeavour.
- A dominant man will be very interested in you, and not just your sexual needs (though they will certainly get his attention). He will see you as a puzzle, and desire to make sense of that puzzle. The dominant guy loves challenge and that in essence is why so many submissives find disillusion in the vanilla world; most men do not seek challenge in sensuality, they fear it. Submissive women are the most challenging of lovers for they have great fantasy. Their fantasies often require a man to move far outside normal gestures requiring both skill and creativity. How you think about a myriad of criterion will be of great interest to him.
- A dominant man is likely to be damn good in the sack. Most men have their hands full with straight-up vanilla sex. The dominant man has either mastered or has no interest in such elementary play, at least not all the time. Making a woman orgasm many times has left him bereft of sport, so he now seeks a woman who will challenge him on other levels. The dominant guy is going to have a good understanding of the female anatomy, and will persist in finding the keys to your body and mind. He will have done his homework and already experimented in real-time on many lovers. He will be a bit of the Don Juan, if not Don himself; not a womaniser per se, but certainly sexually advanced.
- A dominant man may have all the accoutrement of kink (the whips, chains, and whatnot), but he will not need them to be dominant. A whisper, a word, a look, a swagger, and a touch are the essence of his talent. Confidence is his weapon of choice, not bragging about his dungeon. Those who tout their toys too highly might well be lacking in other departments.
- A dominant man will be very cautious in selecting you because he knows you have great desires, hopes, and dreams, and it is he that has to live up to them. Above all things he will wish to be good for you. He attempts to choose wisely but may at first make many mistakes in his choices as he finds his way.
- A dominant man will make mistakes and have no fear admitting them. The dominant guy knows he is not All Knowing, for he is human. A guy who believes he never makes mistakes or does not admit to them with good cheer is most likely not dominant.
- A dominant man will never send you a cock shot at first greeting and it is highly unlikely that he’ll have one on his profile.
- A dominant man will not beg you for naked photographs. In fact, he won’t beg for anything. He will simply wait till you’re dying to send him your naughty pictures unsolicited and accept them with lordly composure (or a rock hard-on, depending on the photo).
- A dominant man will never lie about being married or already having a girlfriend. If he’s married to vanilla, he’ll simply say so. If he’s dating vanilla, he’ll break up with her before venturing in with another (less he’s doing a poly thing and brings her along, or in an open relationship). The dominant guy is straightforward, will wish to be plain about his true desires and needs, and if he is attached, will be forthcoming with that information. If he’s cheating on his vanilla wife, he will say so. He made his choice and is going for it.
- A dominant man won’t lie about much, though he surely will keep some of his thoughts from you. A Dom who feels swallowing golden showers to be right up your alley may well know telling you straight out might have you running for cover. This is not in itself lying, he’s just taking the appropriate steps first and at the speed he thinks you can absorb them (he may well discard such thoughts as he gets to know you; he will discard his thoughts often). The lying ‘dom’ will have an agenda that has no bearing on your needs. The real dominant guy wants no part of someone for whom he cannot be good. A man who attempts to get with a woman he cannot handle or vice versa is desperate.
- A dominant man will not be heavy handed in his approach. He will be skilled at drawing you in, opening you up, making you feel at ease or on edge (depending on his tastes). His efforts will seem effortless; even aloof at times. He will grow on you. Capture you. Enlighten you and make things seem clear that may have been once blurry. You will feel better about yourself when communicating with him (even if your desire is to live in debasement!). Only an impostor will try to tear you down in order to raise himself to higher ground. The dominate gets off by watching you soar, not fall. In essence, taking on a submissive is both invigorating and empowering yet also a humbling experience. He may err constantly, particularly if he is new. Yet he will always, always strive to be better, and though longs and seeks challenge, he will avoid that which he knows he cannot handle, or will in some near future be unable to handle. It may take time but he will understand his own limits as well as his woman’s. A submissive is a truckload of challenge (ask their ex-vanilla lovers), and so the dominant man needs you like he needs air. He wants your worship not simply for worship sake but because he has gone beyond the call of the norm, ventured into the realm of risk, and passing across the dangerous abyss where footing is treacherous, hopefully breaks into the sunshine of success offering you something glorious. THAT alone is why he seeks your worship; because he has earned it and deserves it.
If a man does not seek risk and challenge in his life, if he wishes worship without venturing his ego, if he does not persist continually toward excellence in handling a woman as he does in many things, he is not a dominant man.
________________________________________________
“I did not write this but it is excellent. I agree with just about ever word of it. Everyone can ALWAYS use enlightening words such as these so I must share them with my friends and followers. Dom or a sub, everyone should read this piece.”

The reason why Mon-el is a great charachter

I think it’s important to state, that I’ve seen many tv shows and I know many tv charachters. All of them have their journey; they might go through only little changes or learn how to better and others go way lower than where they started and become a worse version of themeselves.

But I got to say, and I’m totally honest here, Mon-el has one of the best charachter development I have ever seen.
He started his story on Daxam, before we even met him, but as we know, he was spoiled, useless, bad person, who never cares about anyone but himself. Later, when he got on Earth, he was still pretty selfish. He got himself fired from the job Kara got him, he beat up others, he ran away when a bigger problem happened.

Since then many things changes. First, he realized that he wanna be better. As I see it, it’s on of the most important moments in everyone’s lives: to decide who you want to be. At this point I need to mention, that back on Daxam he never seen anything else but the way his parents lived, the way they taught them how to live. And when you’re a kid and your parents tell you something you believe them, because that seems the only way. Why would you doubt that when they are your parents? Mon-el was brought up by their parents’ views of life. And if we consider that, him deciding he wants to be better is even a bigger thing.

After that, he started his journey on becoming this new person he wants to be: of course he made mistakes, like not listening to Kara, but since his a (mostly) human, that’s ok. Because we all make mistakes all the time. But he also learned a lot: he’s much for selfless, caring and thoughtful. He can finally see what a good person is, how a good person acts. He is becoming the man he always wanted to be, but never had the chance. On Daxam he didn’t have a choice who to be, but on Earth he got one: and he chose well.

You could hate him because who he used to be, I get it. But in my opinion, that’s pointless and a simply bad decision. Because everybody should get a second chance. Everybody should get to decide how to live their lives. And if you can’t look over someone’s past and see how hard they work to become who they actually wanna be, maybe the problem is with you.

anonymous asked:

What do you love about Sansa Stark?

Anon, prepare yourself because the  anwer is LONG. There are a lot of things that I love about her (she is my favorite character in ASOIAF afterall..). 

The first reason  that comes to mind is that she is NORMAL. She starts the story as a very avarage 12 years old, she loves stories of knights and songs about love. She wants to live in a fairytale. These are all things that made me feel connected to her from the start. 

I love her flaws: how  sometimes she cant face the truth, because it scares her.  It makes her more relatable. Her relationship with lies its one of the most interesting things in the books. (the unkiss! the trident incident! and i can go on and on…). 

I love her kindness, how she saved Dontos, or helped Lancel. 

Her desire to be loved and to find someone to love. This is something that breaks my heart, I dont like how some people accuse Sansa on being power hungry and wanting to be queen because she wants to rule everyone (looking at you dumb and dumber). Thats not what i understand from her story. Sansa wants to be loved, she wants to love. To the point that she betrays her father for it (it was a betrayal….just not for power but FOR LOVE). 

“How well I know that, child,” Cersei said, her voice so kind and sweet. “Why else should you have come to me and told me of your father’s plan to send you away from us, if not for love?

“It was for love,” Sansa said in a rush. “Father wouldn’t even give me leave to say farewell.” She was the good girl, the obedient girl, but she had felt as wicked as Arya that morning, sneaking away from Septa Mordane, defying her lord father. She had never done anything so willful before, and she would never have done it then if she hadn’t loved Joffrey as much as she did” 

Tyrion was surprised. “Truly? His own daughter?“ Sansa had always seemed such a sweet child, tender and courteous.

The girl was wet with love. She would have done anything for Joffrey, until he cut off her father’s head and called it mercy. That put an end to that.“ 

Once she had loved Prince Joffrey with all her heart, and admired and trusted his mother, the queen. They had repaid that love and trust with her father’s head. Sansa would never make that mistake again.

Wich brings me to another reason as to why i love Sansa: she learns from her mistakes. She adapts. She uses the hard lessons to be better. 

How she loves to sew and dance, how she uses her femine traits, her lady courtesy as an armor. Sansa is not just a lady, she is THE LADY.  She rappresents all that is good about that term.

Ser Boros was an ugly man with a broad chest and short, bandy legs. His nose was flat, his cheeks baggy with jowls, his hair grey and brittle. Today he wore white velvet, and his snowy cloak was fastened with a lion brooch. The beast had the soft sheen of gold, and his eyes were tiny rubies. "You look very handsome and splendid this morning, Ser Boros,” Sansa told him. A lady remembered her courtesies, and she was resolved to be a lady no matter what.

Sansa felt that she ought to say something. What was it that Septa Mordane used to tell her? A lady’s armor is courtesy, that was it. She donned her armor and said, “I’m sorry my lady mother took you captive, my lord." 

How Smart she is. (but i hate how she doesnt believe in herself..she doesnt trust her instinct because she lost lady) 

Her relationship with Bran (how similiar they are, both young and loved children whose hopes and dreams are broken early in their life)

Her (very problematic but real) relatioship with her sister Arya. 

Her strange link  with the greek goodness Persephone (who blossomed in the spring but is the Queen of Winter) 

How Grrm is setting up the classical story of the student who surpasses the master with her and littlefinger. 

Her strange parallels with Jon snow (maaan i could go on and on on those…)

How she brings out the kindest side of  the characters personality  like Tyrion, Sandor and yes even Dontos. 

How she looks like Catelyn but has the same sense of honor as Ned.

How she calls her self: the blood of Winterfell. How even after joffrey and the lannisters, and losing her direwolf she is still A STARK.

How she builds a castle in the snow which rappresents her home. 

But my ultime reason for loving Sansa stark with all of my heart is this quote:

There are gods, she told herself, and there are true knights too. All the stories can’t be lies.  

This is important for me because Sansa is a person what endured beatings, and awful men and is afraid for  her life since she was a 12 years old who has seen the “love of her life” kill her father. Still after all she has suffered, she believes that there are good people, that the hope is not all lost. She didnt become cynical, she becomes stronger but not hateful. 

Mystic Messenger Analysis: V’s role in the story.

HEAVY SPOILERS FOR THE ENTIRE PLOT OF MYSTIC MESSENGER UNDER THE CUT. IF YOU’RE ON MOBILE, PLEASE SCROLL DOWN FAST TO AVOID SPOILING YOURSELF.

I wanted to write another Mystic Messenger post after my analysis on the timeline regarding Mint Eye and the RFA (which I suggest you read if you haven’t!) and I came across cool artist @zoecam37‘s analysis of V’s character in the story

In all honesty I respectfully disagree with them in every single way conceivable so replying to their post and their views on V is a good excuse for me to write a bit on what I’ve been meaning to! @zoecam37 I hope you don’t mind I made a new post for it!

This got LONG but it’s divided by small sections where I address five different issues concerning V. 

Keep reading

Chapter 9

Mark Tuan || frat boy au

Originally posted by gots7

Reader (you) x Mark Tuan ft Im Jaebum

Word Count: 1666  

Genre: Angst, fluff

Summary: MARK’S POINT OF VIEW!!!! (enough said)

Chapter 1  Chapter 2  Chapter 3  Chapter 4  Chapter 5  Chapter 6  Chapter 7   Chapter 8


MARK’S POV

I was no good for her. And I kept telling myself that since the day I met her. But she kept coming back and I couldn’t resist myself. Out of all the relationships I’ve had, I never came across a girl who made me work so hard for her. I care for her, defend her and, listen to her. Now, she’s gone out of my sight.

Picking up my phone, I looked at the texts Shae sent me. To be honest, I felt disgusted and I’ve never felt that way before. (Y/N) was the one who made me realize things. She opened up a whole new world for me. A world where love can exist. For me, I never believed in love because I thought all girls were the same. But I was wrong. Since a girl like (Y/N) will never come by easily, I have to fix this. 

Dialling Shae’s number, I came up with millions of plans in my head and thought on how I would end this. Dump her like I did with every other girl? Or simply say I have a girlfriend and hope she would leave. Either way, it wouldn’t hurt me at all. 

“Hello?” I heard a soft voice answer my call. 

“Hey, Shae. Can we meet?” I asked bluntly, without any emotions put into my words.

“Sure? My room?” Shae purred. Even though she couldn’t see me, I gave a sour expression and rolled my eyes. At this moment, I realized Shae always threw herself onto me when she wanted sex. And yes, I went along with it for the pleasure. But now, I have to change things. 

“No,” I coldly responded, “Let’s meet in the art wing hallway. I just want to talk to you.”

“Now? What’s wrong, Mark? Is everything okay?” Shae asked, sounding concerned. 

“Meet me, now.” And with that, I hung up the phone. Yes, it was quite rude to hang up the phone when someone sounded concerned. But to me, I just didn’t care. Getting out of bed quickly, I cleaned up myself and got dressed. Before running out, I caught a glimpse of a rose gold ring lying on the nightstand. Smiling, I picked up the ring and tucked it in the pockets of my jeans. 

Casually walking towards the art wing, I thought about the different things I could do to prove to (Y/N) I’m not a bad man. I didn’t know her favorite flower or what she liked to eat. All I knew was she liked coffee and she wears a rose gold ring. But that wasn’t enough. I wanted to win her back like any man would do. 

“Mark!” I heard a voice yell, interrupting my thoughts. I turned around to see Shae sitting on a bench just outside the art wing hallway. I took in a deep breath and started to walk towards her. I needed to act cool and collected, hoping she’ll get the message that I didn’t care for her. 

“Hey.” I simply said as I approached her. She was definitely wearing a shirt too low for my liking but, like I mentioned, Shae was someone who was thirsty for sex. 

“What did you want to talk about?” Shae asked, making her voice sound sweet even though it sounded like death to my ears. 

“Let’s end this now.” I coldly stated without any emotion. Shae looked at me for a second and started laughing her head off. I looked at her like she was crazy. Does this girl not get the memo?

“What a joke, Mark. You sure are funny.” Shae said, with a slight sarcastic tone in her voice. 

“Really? Because I don’t think I’m that funny,” I bluntly stated, “Listen to me again, Shae. Let’s end this now. You forget about me and move on with life just like how I would when I leave you.”

“Are you kidding me, Mark? You can’t just leave like that. We shared something special and I’m pretty convinced that you like me so, why end this now?” Shae raised her high pitched voice.

“Because I love someone else.” I simply said. And it was true. (Y/N) had an aura that couldn’t keep me away from her. Shae didn’t give that sense of aura which was why she was only someone who shared the same pleasure.

“Bullshit.” Shae huffed out, getting up from the bench and walking over to me. “You said a couple nights ago that I was the only one. And here you are, telling me that you love another girl? We had something. That passion we shared together. Why can’t you see that?”

Suddenly, Shae grabbed my arm and pulled me close to her. I could smell the strong perfume as she pressed her body against mine, making me feel uncomfortable. I stood there for awhile while I listen to Shae smooth talk her way back into my life. I didn’t know why I even had sex with this girl because damn, she’s too clingy for my type. 

I grabbed her by the waist and pushed her away from me. Straightening my clothes, I look at Shae dead in the eye and opened my mouth. 

“You are a complete whore,” I started off, “The only time we ever hung out was when you asked for sex. Do you really think I’d love a girl like that? You throw yourself on me and clung on the me like glue. I’m not sure how many guys you’ve slept with but I can tell by your face that I’m not the only one. I’m ending this now because I don’t want to see your fucking face anymore.”

“Aw, Mark. Is college too stressful for you? I could help you.” Shae winked at me, completely ignoring my speech. I looked at her with disgust and was about to say something until someone from behind spoke up.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” The voice said from behind. “Just leave already. The man says he doesn’t want you so skedaddle your ass out of here. Your voice is hurting my ears.”

I turned around to face the man whom everyone feared. Jaebum stood behind me with his cap covering his face while his hands rested in the pockets of his jeans. I was slightly confused on why he was defending me. Or the big question was, why is here?

“Fuck you, Mark Tuan.” Shae yelled at me as I turned to face her. She held up her middle finger towards me and stomped off into the other direction. 

“God, I thought she would never leave.” Jaebum sighed as he stood beside me, looking straight ahead of him. He was a few inches taller and I could take him down if I got really angry. Today, it was a different situation. 

“Thanks.” I mumbled, shoving my hands in my pockets. 

“Don’t thank me. It was (Y/N)’s state that made me do this.” Jaebum replied back coldly. We both stood there, without making eye contact, making the air tension tight. I moved slightly, feeling the awkwardness that was shared between Jaebum and I.

“Why?” I suddenly asked, breaking the silence.

“Why, what?” Jaebum bluntly replied back. I turned my head to look at him as I examined his expression. He looked lonely and broken. I may not be a talkative person but I know how a person feels by looking at them.

“Why are you helping me?” I asked as I turned my head to look straight ahead of me again.

“You deserve her more than me.” Jaebum simply stated. “I see that way you look at her and I know you will treat her better than I will. Out of all the things I’ve done to her, I’ve only been a huge dickhead. I ignored her in high school, denied her feelings for me and, punched her. I don’t deserve her which is why I’ll let you have her.”

“I’m a dickhead too.” I chuckled under my breath. 

“Yeah, well, no one’s perfect in this world.” Jaebum sighed as he grabbed me by the shoulders and turned my body to face him. Shocked by his actions, I stood there and gave him a weird look. 

“Take care of her, please. She was my first love.” Jaebum exclaimed, looking at me with a serious expression plastered on his face. 

“Uhh…” I huffed out, not knowing what to say. It was quite weird that Jaebum acted his way towards me. It was so sudden, it took the words out of my mouth. 

“Don’t be an idiot.” Jaebum said as he lightly hit my head. “You be careful with her. Cherish her by your side and if you make her cry again, I won’t let it go. She deserves to be loved from head to toe. Make a mistake again and I’ll beat your ass.”

I pushed Jaebum away and raised my hands, “Don’t need to tell me, man. I love (Y/N) too much to let her go. I’ll make sure I’ll treat her right and be a man for her.  If I do make a mistake, I can give you full on permission to beat the shit out of me.”

“Good.” Jaebum sighed. “If you want to see her again, she’s going to the big band dinner dance this weekend.”

“Where can I get tickets?” I quickly asked with full determination in my actions. This was my chance to fix my mistakes, and this time, I’m giving my undivided attention towards her. 

“Just ask Yugyeom. He’s that kid who hangs around the music hallway. Red hair, tall and, dances well. You’ll know once you take a look at him” Jaebum stated.

“Thanks, man. I owe you.” I smiled, feeling good about what’s going to happen this weekend.

“The only debt you owe me is treating (Y/N) right. Don’t fuck up man.” Jaebum smiled as he turned to look at me and gave me a slight nod. 

“I won’t.”


long time no see… hey what’s up? how ya doin? MARK TUAN FRAT BOY IS ABOUT TO END. Only one more chapter left folkes. No worries, I have another series in mind. The member for the next series is (drum roll please) Mr. Jaebum. Thank you for giving this series so much love. Hope y’all have a wonderful day. Take care :)

-admin

In this African tribe, when someone does something harmful, they take the person to the center of the village where the whole tribe comes and surrounds them.

For two days, they will say to the man all the good things that he has done.

The tribe believes that each human being comes into the world as a good. Each one of us only desiring safety, love, peace and happiness.

But sometimes, in the pursuit of these things, people make mistakes.

The community sees those mistakes as a cry for help.

They unite then to lift him, to reconnect him with his true nature, to remind him who he really is, until he fully remembers the truth of which he had been temporarily disconnected: “I am good.”

Shikoba Nabajyotisaikia!

NABAJYOTISAIKIA, is a compliment used in South Africa and means: “I respect you, I cherish you. You matter to me.” In response, people say SHIKOBA, which is: “So, I exist for you.”

The Best Way to Go (Philip x Reader)

Word Count: 1447

Genre: angst……..

Request/Summary: You volunteer to be Philip’s second when he goes to duel Eacker.

Pairing: Philip Hamilton x Reader

AU: HamilTime

Warnings: Angst, maybe cussing? idk, violence, sad Philip, self blame

A/N-Ima make you sad today, it’s my goal. Also, I’m not evil.

Originally posted by hamilton-gifs


You caught Philip as he walked out of the theater, cheeks reddened with anger and humiliation.

“(Y/N)!” He said upon noticing you, surprise in his voice.

“I’m sorry (Y/N), I’m afraid I’ll have to talk to you later. I have to go ask my father about something.” He pecked you quickly on the cheek and began walking past you.

“What about?” You questioned, quickening your pace to catch up with his long strides.

“Uhh…” He stopped and scratched the back of his neck.

“Philip,” Your brow furrowed, sensing something was wrong. “What is it?” You cupped his freckled cheek with your hand.

“It’s nothing.” He smiled weakly and leaned his cheek into your hand.You traced his lips with your thumb absently.

“You can tell me anything.” You said softly.

“(Y/N), I think I’ve made a mistake.” He admitted. Your hand dropped from his cheek and you rested it on his upper arm.

“What kind of mistake?” You asked.

“I have challenged Mr. George Eacker to a duel.”


“Make me proud son.” You had watched Hamilton lecture Philip on what to do. And it didn’t sound good.

“Mr. Hamilton,” You protested. “Eacker is no man of honor.”

“But can he be so dishonorable as to murder a young boy his own age, whose gun is pointed to the sky?” Hamilton asked you calmly. You contemplated for a minute.

“It’s too dangerous.” You shook your head. “Philip, just don’t go.”

“He’d face humiliation beyond measure.” Hamilton responded, perhaps a bit to over dramatically.

“Mr. Hamilton, it is his pride or- or his life.” Your eyes filled with tears and you couldn’t manage to hold eye contact with the stoic faced Alexander Hamilton, your gaze dropped to the floor. Philip lifted your chin gently.

“(Y/N), I’ll be fine.” He donned a brave and reassuring smile, but knowing the young man as well as you did, his fear and nerves were blatantly obvious to you.  

“If I didn’t show up, Eacker would come after me anyway. And that encounter would have more of a certainty of death.” You pulled your arms around his torso. Shaking your head against his shoulder. You felt him rest his chin on your head.

“Let me be your second.” You said stepping out of his embrace.

“What?” He asked blankly.

“I know that if you were going to bring someone it would be Richard Price, but take me instead, maybe I can negotiate a peace.”

“(Y/N), I can’t let you-”

“It’s not your decision to make.” You interrupted. “I’m coming with.”

“Be smart.” Mr. Hamilton interrupted the silence. “And stay safe.” He embraced his son.

“Both of you.” He added, nodding towards you.

“We will, father.” Philip replied.


“I still don’t feel good about you being here.” Philip said as you approached Eacker after crossing the Hudson.

“And I don’t feel good about you being here.” You replied.

“You are the most stubborn woman I know.” He shook his head and fiddled with the sleeves of his jacket.

“Hey.” You stopped him, taking his wrist. He turned to you. “Everything’s going to be okay. I’ll talk some sense into him.”

“I love you, (Y/N).” He whispered, gazing into your eyes.

“I love you too, Philip.” You answered, kissing him softly.

“Mr. Eacker. How was the rest of your show?” Philip questioned as you approached Eacker.

“I’d rather skip the pleasantries, let’s go.” George said. “Who’s this?” He asked, noticing you.

“I’m Mr. Hamilton’s second, it would be beneficial for me to confer with your ‘number 2’.” You said eloquently.

“So you brought your special girlie hoping that I wouldn’t shoot you if she was here?” Eacker  questioned tauntingly.

“I’d like you to know that I came here against his will. Now, if you’ll please lead me to your second, we can get through this much faster.” You snapped, trying your best to maintain a calmer tone.

“A scoundrel like your baby-boyfriend, I see.” Eacker teased. You took a deep breath.

“Very well, I’ll have to speak to you directly then.” You sighed.

“Mr. Philip Hamilton is only asking for an apology regarding your vulgar comments directed at him and his father. If you would kindly provide such apology we could easily move on from here.” You explained.

“You can’t make me apologize for having opinions with the addition of formal language.” He replied.

“All it takes is a simple “I’m sorry.” no need to even specify the dispute. And no one gets hurt. No one’s pride ruined.” You stated.

“I don’t have the time to listen to your attempts at peace, woman.” Eacker pushed you aside. “Let’s get to this Hamilton.”

You watched carefully as the boys prepared their guns, you could see their hands shaking as the met in the middle of the dueling ground. You counted their paces as they did so aloud. 

One. Something wasn’t right, this wasn’t going to end well. 

Two. You could feel it. 

Three. But it was too late now and there was nothing you could do. 

Four. Philip began to raise his pistol in the air, aiming for the sky. 

Five. The determination was strong in Eacker’s eyes. His will to live, he wasn’t going to let Philip win, even if it meant cheating. 

Six. You saw him begin to turn, and you ran without thinking. 

Seven. Philip turned to Eacker at the sound of movement. The crack of the gunshot rang loudly in your ears just after you had shoved Philip to the ground.

You fell yourself, unsure of why, perhaps it was just momentum. Everything happened in the space of perhaps three seconds, but the world turned to slow motion. You heard both boys beginning to shout passionately, Philip obviously much more so. And that was when it hit you. The pain. You screamed in agony, unable to contain it. You looked down at a rapidly growing stain just above your right hip. Sticky scarlet liquid poured from the area. I’ve been shot. You thought. I’m dead. I’ve been shot.

“(Y/N)!” Philip called sprinting back over to you. He knelt beside you and you moaned again at the pain.

“Doctor on sight.” He muttered.

“There’s supposed to be a doctor on sight. We did everything wrong.” He said, lifting you into his arms. Panic was seeping through his voice as he continued to talk to himself about everything they did wrong. He set your head on his lap as the boat carried you across the Hudson. He pulled your silk shawl from your shoulders and pressed it to the wound in a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding. You opened your mouth to speak but it felt as though your words were strangled to oblivion. Instead you reached up and placed your bloodstained hand on his cheek. You felt the tears slide over your hand before he rested his hand on top of yours.


“I’m sorry sir, the wound was already infected when you brought her here.” You heard the doctor say.

“But-”  Philip began.

“I’m doing everything I can.” The doctor said. There were a few seconds of silence before Philip walked into the room you were in.

“I’m going to die today, aren’t I?” You asked, your voice strained.

“N-No.” He said, trying to hold back the flow of tears. “Y-You can’t.”

“Please make sure Eacker is charged with murder.” You said. Philip nodded, afraid that if he opened his mouth the only sound to come out would be an ugly sob. He knelt beside you, maybe because he needed to be closer to you, maybe because his legs wouldn’t hold him up.

“I’m so sorry, (Y/N)!” He finally said, you traced his features with your finger. “It’s all my fault.”

“Don’t you dare blame yourself.” You scolded. You suddenly felt yourself slipping, the pain beginning to take you.

“Philip, I love you.” You whispered.

“I love you too.” He leaned over and kissed you softly and sweetly. The best way to go. You thought to yourself.

Philip went home that day with your bloodstained shawl clutched in his shaking hands. He was never the same after that. Some days he’d wake up and roll over to drape his arm over your shoulders, only to be faced with a flood of memories. Or he’d dream of you and wake with tear stained cheeks and only thoughts of how it was all his fault. He’d spend hours staring off into space, just wishing for you to touch his face one more time, to trace his features or to cup his cheek in your hand.

He never stopped blaming himself after you’d gone.

How to spot a good Dom?

Negotiation is the core of BDSM. Safewords are essential. Contracts can be useful in formalizing these negotiations. But at the root of everything, negotiation is what separates BDSM from abuse. D/s is a journey. I believe that more strongly now than ever. It is, however, a journey that one must undertake with much forethought and preparedness. It is not a thing to engage in lightly and there are no shortcuts.

A dominant man will make mistakes and have no fear admitting them. The dominant guy knows he is not All Knowing, for he is human. A guy who believes he never makes mistakes or does not admit to them with good cheer is most likely not dominant.

A dominant man may have all the accoutrement of kink (the whips, chains, and whatnot), but he will not need them to be dominant. A whisper, a word, a look, a swagger, and a touch are the essence of his talent. Confidence is his weapon of choice, not bragging about his dungeon. Those who tout their toys too highly might well be lacking in other departments.

A dominant man will never send you a cock shot at first greeting and it is highly unlikely that he’ll have one on his profile.

A dominant man will not beg you for naked photographs. In fact, he won’t beg for anything. He will simply wait till you’re dying to send him your naughty pictures unsolicited and accept them with lordly composure (or a rock hard-on, depending on the photo).

A dominant man will not seem ‘desperate’ for your attention. Getting dates or getting laid is not his problem; he can find women on kink sites, at work, or in the grocery store. He knows women, and women are drawn to him. Many women, kink or vanilla, prefer a man who is take-charge both in the bedroom and in life. If a 'Dom’ becomes frantic, anxious, or despairing because you don’t write him back every other hour, chances are he has a hard time with the fairer sex. The good news is desperation is easy to spot.

A dominant man will not start off by with, “Bow down on your knees upon receipt of my message!” There seems to be many complaints from women about this kind of ploy as first introduction, and this is reason alone to block n move on (I would advise ladies to use this tactic often and liberally rather than engage in argument or flame war’s life is too short.). Ignore the Insta-Dom.

A dominant man most often will be successful, a maverick, or at least happy in his chosen profession. If he has had some bad luck in his past, it will be fleeting, for he will strive relentlessly to place his universe back into the order mandatory to his existence. If your suitor languishes in poverty, unemployment for years, or hates his job, most likely his dominance is merely a cover-up to appease his lack of success. Though he may not be the millionaire, look for the man who is happy, confident, unique, and/or successful in his chosen endeavor.

A dominant man will be very interested in you, and not just your sexual needs (though they will certainly get his attention). He will see you as a puzzle, and desire to make sense of that puzzle. The dominant guy loves challenge and that in essence is why so many submissives find disillusion in the vanilla world; most men do not seek challenge in sensuality, they fear it. Submissive women are the most challenging of lovers for they have great fantasy. Their fantasies often require a man to move far outside normal gestures requiring both skill and creativity. How you think about a myriad of criterion will be of great interest to him.

A dominant man is likely to be damn good in the sack. Most men have their hands full with straight-up vanilla sex. The dominant man has either mastered or has no interest in such elementary play, at least not all the time. Making a woman orgasm many times has left him bereft of sport, so he now seeks a woman who will challenge him on other levels. The dominant guy is going to have a good understanding of the female anatomy, and will persist in finding the keys to your body and mind. He will have done his homework and already experimented in real-time on many lovers. He will be a bit of the Don Juan, if not Don himself; not a womaniser per se, but certainly sexually advanced.

A dominant man will be very cautious in selecting you because he knows you have great desires, hopes, and dreams, and it is he that has to live up to them. Above all things he will wish to be good for you. He attempts to choose wisely but may at first make many mistakes in his choices as he finds his way.

A dominant man will never lie about being married or already having a girlfriend. If he’s married to vanilla, he’ll simply say so. If he’s dating vanilla, he’ll break up with her before venturing in with another (less he’s doing a poly thing and brings her along, or in an open relationship). The dominant guy is straightforward, will wish to be plain about his true desires and needs, and if he is attached, will be forthcoming with that information. If he’s cheating on his vanilla wife, he will say so. He made his choice and is going for it.

A dominant man won’t lie about much, though he surely will keep some of his thoughts from you. A Dom who feels swallowing golden showers to be right up your alley may well know telling you straight out might have you running for cover. This is not in itself lying, he’s just taking the appropriate steps first and at the speed he thinks you can absorb them (he may well discard such thoughts as he gets to know you; he will discard his thoughts often). The lying 'Dom’ will have an agenda that has no bearing on your needs. The real dominant guy wants no part of someone for whom he cannot be good. A man who attempts to get with a woman he cannot handle or vice versa is desperate.

A dominant man will not be heavy handed in his approach. He will be skilled at drawing you in, opening you up, making you feel at ease or on edge (depending on his tastes). His efforts will seem effortless; even aloof at times. He will grow on you. Capture you. Enlighten you and make things seem clear that may have been once blurry. You will feel better about yourself when communicating with him (even if your desire is to live in debasement!). Only an impostor will try to tear you down in order to raise himself to higher ground. The dominate gets off by watching you soar, not fall.

In essence, taking on a submissive is both invigorating and empowering yet also a humbling experience. He may err constantly, particularly if he is new. Yet he will always, always strive to be better, and though longs and seeks challenge, he will avoid that which he knows he cannot handle, or will in some near future be unable to handle. It may take time but he will understand his own limits as well as his woman’s.

A submissive is a truckload of challenge (ask their ex-vanilla lovers), and so the dominant man needs you like he needs air. He wants your worship not simply for worship sake but because he has gone beyond the call of the norm, ventured into the realm of risk, and passing across the dangerous abyss where footing is treacherous, hopefully breaks into the sunshine of success offering you something glorious. THAT alone is why he seeks your worship; because he has earned it and deserves it.

If a man does not seek risk and challenge in his life, if he wishes worship without venturing his ego, if he does not persist continually toward excellence in handling a woman as he does in many things, he is not a dominant man.

Kamikaze 1/3

Prior to Russian Roulette.

→ Reader x Kai

→ A popular call girl is hired by a rich CEO to ruin his old friend Kai’s career and life.

→ Warnings: Angst/Thriller. Mentions of sex.

Word count: 1,8K


I had only expected another normal call.

Normal in my sense though, you know - the same greasy guys that had absolutely no chance to have sex with, I suppose, a normal person. They would hit me up with the same cringe-worthy ‘heey’ every time but it was alright because that was my job and I had gotten to this point in my life myself. I was alright.

But this- this was so far from normal.

Only a couple of minutes before I officially closed my line for they day, the phone had rung obnoxiously, startling me out of my small and cozy nap. I was prepared to kindly tell this person calling that he was a bit late and that I would not be able to schedule anything with him now- and that he could call earlier tomorrow.

Grabbing the phone and saying hello into the line, I was shocked to not hear another greasy ‘hey’ but instead a mature and deep voice speaking quickly. He spoke so fast and curtly that I was almost not able to understand anything. When I was finally able to focus, the voice stopped.

“Eh.. Hello?” My jaw was slack and I was only able to stare with wide eyes into the grungy wallpaper of my small apartment. I made a quick, internal note to starts saving some money to fix the place up.

The voice on the other side chuckled before sighing and starting again; slower this time. 

“Is this Y/N?”

Keep reading

Prompt: “I’ve made so many mistakes, but you’re not one of them.”

Character: Richard B. Riddick (Suggested by anon)

Warning: Mild angst


“Y’know…being with me, that’s a mistake. I’m not exactly the cuddly home making type…it’s not safe.” You watched Riddick from where he sat sharpening a knife, (really to anyone else that would have said that his statement was more than true…but you were just about as dangerous as him and it didn’t phase you one bit) watching the almost disconnected way in which he spoke. He did that you noticed, he said things that should sound sad or dejected, but there just wasn’t anything there…like he’d grown to hide it, to mask it, and he probably had. 

“Riddick, I’ve made so many mistakes, but you’re not one of them.” You’d done a lot of things that you regretted, bad things, good things, stupid things, far too smart things…and regret was something you’d gotten used to, but you had a hard time believing you’d regret any second you spent with the man in front of you. 

“Yet, you might think that now, but…trust me you’re better off leaving me.”

“I think i’m a little bit too attached for that, I know whether i’m making a mistake or not, Richard. I know me, and trust me…when it comes to mistakes you’re no where near a mistake, and i’ve made so many I think i’d know by now.” You were pretty sure the only person who could decide whether this was a mistake or not was you, he didn’t have a say in it as far as you were concerned, not your part anyway, “You’re stuck with me…through all the shit and the dirt and the terrible terrible bullshit, you’re not getting rid of me.” Because for once you felt like someone actually understood you and was on the same level as you and the last thing you wanted was for that to end and for you to go back to being alone and isolated from everyone and everything. 

“Good, you’re growing on me.”

“Of course I am, you need someone who can give you a run for your money.” You pressed a kiss to his cheek before going off to check on some things, happy to see him shaking his head in good humour rather than brooding. 

Master and Mistress - Part 2

Author’s Note: Welp, here it is.

You can find Part One of this story RIGHT HERE!


Joshua tapped a foot upon the floor in irritation as he watched Jan back his way out of his office. It was taking a lot of effort for him to bite back the words he felt bubbling up inside him. Jan did the right thing, it was his duty as his steward to make him aware of any and all wrongdoings in his house – even those of his beloved wife.

He would rather hear of it from Jan, than from the media or worse - one of the other princes. He had time now to contemplate everything, to work out the logical solution to this roadblock they had reached. Yet now Jan wanted to tell him that he, the Crown Prince of Dres Van, was making a mistake?

He couldn’t help but scoff at the idea. Joshua Lieben did not make mistakes. He fixed mistakes, and did a damn good job of it too.

Keep reading

God created you, and he made no mistakes, God created me bisexual, and he made no mistakes, and he creates some people gay, and makes no mistakes: ‘For everything created by God is good, and nothing is to be rejected’ (1 Tim. 4.4-5). Marriage is not between man and woman, marriage is between love and love. Love is not wrong, love is not a mistake, love is not an abomination, love is just love.
— 

Gay Marriage is Fabulous

This 127-page paper was written by a student, who goes by the name averagesmurf on reddit, in response to being asked to write a paper proving the church's’ teachings are correct and then being shut down when he defended gay marriage in the ensuing class discussion. Averagesmurf identifies as bisexual. He spent the next 4 months writing the paper. It is fully referenced comes with footnotes.
I want this quote spread because people need to know the bible does is not against homosexuality. Only people are. Your God did not make a mistake. Never let anyone tell you otherwise. You are valid and you are loved.

I’m by no means a religious woman. I understand why people need it but I do not believe myself. I need to share this quote and the story behind it.