this is so ugly i cannot see

when i was seven the sea-witch cursed me.

she cursed my great-grandfather, actually, who had spat on the hands of the ocean and disrespected the beating heart of the earth - for what else are waves but a pulse - who was silly and violent and who tried to rip from the water what was hers by rights. we were wealthy, before that, a family of merchants. my mother says in her youth she recalls white horses, the gleam of candles, early mornings with bread baked fresh by a horde of servants.

he didn’t ask permission to cross her. that’s what my mother tells me while she spoons porridge with no flavor into the wood of my bowl. he had no faith in superstition, rode with boats that were more decoration than strength, the folly of a man who was cruel and vain and proud of his own gold teeth. the sky had been blue, so regardless of what the village witch said, he would sail that day. and when his boat sank; their lives turned blue like the sky that day.

my mother says she thinks the curse on the men of our family, even if they come in when they marry, is that they will forever be violent, too foolish to see the storm on the horizon. she whispers this to me on the eve of my seventh birthday, while father is his own storm, thundering around the house, looking for her. later, when i am cleaning the cut by her cheek, she tells me the curse is on the women to forever be unhappy, to wane until they are shadows, to walk into the deep like a sinking ship. 

we don’t burn candles often, they are too expensive. she tells me this in the silk of a dark room. the moon kisses her hair. 

in three days, my mother will walk into the ocean, and my father will be my own problem. the curse will pass onto me. 

my father does not believe in superstition, no curse to conquer him. when he is gone, and i am heartbroken, i go to the village witch. i ask her to teach me about magic, and other things, and about how the ocean can be coaxed, and how to save my father’s soul. 

and my hands rot too, keeping a house by myself with things i barely knew. i learn the art of a good scrubbing, keep my mind full of white horses while i endlessly clean, dream of candles in dark while i make the bread that he will not allow me to eat. he keeps me from the ocean, from visiting the place that took my mom, from following in her footsteps where the water makes women undone.

i am sixteen when i see her in the water of a bowl. she scares me so completely that i drop it, and my father comes in with his hands, and the curse, and i almost forget all about it. it isn’t until after that i realize she is beautiful, and young, which surprises me. 

i think about it every evening. her face becomes distorted to me. i can no longer remember the exact shape of it, only the impression of beauty. 

i turn seventeen and wait for the high moon. i pin safety to my vest in little witch herbs and runes. i put naked toes on the sand and slip closer, closer, to the avenue of my family’s doom. i find a little private beach, small and surrounded by rocks, hidden from my father in the event he ever thought to come looking. at high tide, it is barely the span of my body. at low, it feels empty.

the witch of the land has given me what i need to call in the witch of the sea, but i do not use it. it feels wrong, somehow, standing here in the wind and the quiet pulse of the world. i put down the incense and sage and i sit just close enough it feels wild, dangerous - but not close enough to get caught up in thrill. 

when nothing happens, i go home and i make bread that i will not eat.

for months i do this. i climb down to my beach. i learn to do it when the moon is half, and then when the moon is empty. i learn to do it so well that sometimes i go to sleep in my own bed and wake up by the water. i take to sleeping with warding runes to keep me from being pulled in the rip out to the waiting hands of a hungry sea-witch.

i don’t know when i start talking. more often i sing, because singing in my house is not allowed, and something about the way the rocks echo my voice feels comforting. the older i get, the more i can pretend i hear my mother’s voice, answering me, harmonizing gently. i sing songs about sadness and lullabies about curses. when i have exhausted every song i know, i write new ones about fathers who have never learned how to be kind, about the house i work in but do not love, about mothers who left, and about a sea witch.

i see her sometimes. in a puddle, in the drop of rain, in the strangest places. i never expect it, although i always hope. i am never able to see her for more than the length of a wave, breaking, and each time, it does something new to my heart.

at eighteen i am too much of my father’s burden. he tries to unload me onto other men. the land witch helps me with this. i rub hemlock, burn wolfsbane. we arrange so these men have other women to marry. the news of my curse is bad enough to scare most away. my father is not happy.

after a particularly savage night, i wonder how bad it could be. i could marry some boy from the village who didn’t quite bother me. i suppose they’re not ugly. timothy had always been gentle to me. i think about a life, and how i am cursed to be unhappy. my father would finally be proud of me.

i walk to the beach and i tell the waves about him and how i could convince myself it was love if i just never wanted from him. how i could be okay, if not content, how i could be free, how i already had learned life down on knees.

but i go home and i write a rune of warding. and the years pass and i find reasons each suitor is wanting. and the sea witch i see, sometimes, peeking out at me, staying long each time in the water, looking, watching. i see her in mirrors when my father storms against me. it is bad because he mistakes the cause of my smiling. it is better when she is there the next morning.

and i go to the ocean. when i am too sad to speak, it seems like the ocean is whispering for me. i picture my mother’s voice and tell myself i am happy. i am seven again and we are sewing. i am seven again and the curse has not been given to me. i am seven and she came home after she walked to the sea.

i grow silly, brave, unthinking. i leave behind the herbs and i wade deep. i teach myself the art of swimming. i am bad at it, at first, but something about it feels good to me. like the ocean wants to buoy me. in the day i think of it, guilty. what if there was a rip tide, and the water took me? who would care for my father if i stepped off the beach into a long drop? wasn’t i clever enough to know that the ocean is uncaring?

it is not this that does it. i go out after a rain and i slip on the rocks and suddenly i am in water above my head but without the moon i cannot see the up of it. i kick and i thrash and the water surrounds me. the tide pulls on my body and in the cold i feel my body grow weary. water spills into me. it punches through my body, up my nose and into my lungs and some part of me knows this is what mother felt before she was gone.

i kick ground by accident, reorient, drag myself heaving and spitting into the air. i lie there for a long time, half in and half out of death, enjoying the sensation of breathing and of life.

when i look up, i think i see her, watching me, her brows knit with something like worry. but we make eye contact and my heart leaps and then she is gone and i am left alone with nothing but the dawn breaking.

my father is furious when there is no bread. he finds my hair wet, and the salt of the ocean still smelling on me. and that is it. that day he goes out and pays someone to agree to marry me.

this feels right to me, i think. i’m twenty-one, three times seven, a perfect number for a curse to fully come down on me. i will be wed in three weeks.

the land witch comes to visit me. she looks like she’s sorry for me. she gives me a spell and tells me to put it under my pillow; i’ll dream of love and it will soothe me. instead i dream of the seawitch, and how wonderful she is, and the sight of her, out on the water, worried.

even though it is risky, i go down to the beach. i do not bother with protective spells, i have already seen that the water can kill me. fear alone keeps me from wandering. i sit on the beach and in the sand i draw runes for understanding and i make the small magicks i’ve spent years learning and i close my eyes and i ask the ocean “why do you do this to me.”

i fall asleep. i dream that the sea witch talks to me. i dream she is my age, that she is the great-granddaughter of the first to curse my family. i dream she has spent years watching, learning, finding the truth of me. that she just needs to get the courage to come and speak, that she has fallen in love with my singing, that she knows no curse but the one in her heart that brings her back to a human, to a creature of air and not water, to a mistake in the making.

in the dawn i know it is a dream and no more. i make bread. i pour water out before it can make mirrors. i do not look. i do not like the ache that has filled me, as if i’ve been looking for an answer and the answer only leads to longing.

the man i meet - my husband-to-be - is delighted by the house i keep. he believes a woman should keep in her place, and her place should be clean. he hears from neighbors that sometimes i sneak out to the land witch’s house. laughter barks out of him. not going to allow that behavior, not me. he does not believe in curses. he will pack me up and move me from the ocean to somewhere in the mountains, where i know nobody. and i will, he promises, learn to keep my place, and that place clean.

i tell myself i could love him. he is not ugly. he says i’m pretty enough after whiskey. my father mentions i used to sing. i refuse to perform for these men so instead i make them cookies. they laugh and talk about me, even when i am in the room, as if they cannot even see. they shake hands and talk about how useless a woman is for much else than breeding. it’s very funny. the man meets my eyes and promises he’ll put a baby in me. i look down and pretend the thrill i feel is excitement, not fear brewing in me.

the land witch comes by a week before my wedding. she is smaller these days, aging. her apprentice and i get along wonderfully. the two women stand before me, holding something. 

a small box, so tiny and lovely. “break the curse,” the witch whispers, “learn to be happy.”

i smuggle the box, take it everywhere with me. it is days before i have a moment to slip away, to open it by the sea. i take a candle with me, even though my father will notice and be angry.

by the light of fire i read the spell they have left me inside, and then i am so full of gratitude i cannot stop crying.

it must be a full moon, so i must wait. in the meantime, i walk home, and i bake. 

i do not see the seawitch, even though i look for her. maybe i have wounded her, getting married. my father asks why i keep smiling. i tell him it is because i am finally with a man. he grunts and says to stop looking so silly. 

the man kisses me. i let him. we are married on a night with a full moon, and i poison him and my father in the bread i did not eat. i think of how these men were cursed so they could not see a storm coming. i watch them as they lie there, dying, and then i put all of the things i own into a basket for the land witch. i leave it there with a song i wrote for her, a spell i know will make her happy, will stop the aging of her joints, will give her the kind of relief she gave me. 

i go down to the water. i find myself running, even though i am in no hurry. i know the way so well it is like i wake up there, panting. i ask permission first. i lay out the contents of the box, i organize and practice and when the needle and pain comes, i am ready for it. i am used to pain at night. i breathe into it and walk naked into waters that swallowed my mother.

i chew bitter herbs. i swallow fire. i feel myself drown as i change from land witch to sea witch. 

when it is done, i open my eyes in the deep of a moonlit ocean. and i see her. 

this time she does not flicker. this time when i reach for her, she is there, and she is pushing my hair out of my eyes, and we are kissing with the ocean rejoicing around us, and i am laughing, and i hear her voice as clear as bell inside me.

and we live like this, a whole world between us where white horses are the size of pinky fingers and swim with their thin snouts, where i need no candles because i was raised lightless, where we have no servants but the water takes care of us. i show her the magic of land and she unfolds the magic of water. together we are unstoppable. when i come up to the air to sing little girls a promise that they can survive the madness, she sings with me, and we make a beautiful harmony.

SNK Characters as. . . SPONGEBOB QUOTES

Eren Jaeger

“Goodbye everyone, I’ll remember you all in therapy!”

Mikasa Ackerman

“Once upon a time, there was an ugly barnacle. He was so ugly that everyone died. The end.”

Armin Arlert

“Knowledge cannot replace friendship. I’d rather be an idiot than lose you.”

Jean Kirstein

“A five letter word for happiness… money.”

Marco Bodt

“Am I a pretty girl?”

Annie Leonnhardt

“Can I be excused for the rest of my life?”

Reiner Braun

“Fine, I guess you’re gonna miss the… Panty Raid.”

Bertholdt Hoover



“Take it easy it’s just a drawing.”

Krista Lenz/Historia Reiss

“Ymir, go away! Can’t you see I’m trying to forget you?”

Sasha Blouse


Connie Springer

“East? I thought you said wheast.”

Erwin Smith

“Remember, licking doorknobs is illegal on other planets.”

Levi Ackerman

“Hey pal. You just blow in from stupid town?”

Hanji Zoe

“Look at all the hip, young people eating sal…ads.”

Mike Zacharias

“Do you smell it? That smell. A kind of smelly smell. The smelly smell that smells… Smelly.”

((At work need shit to do))

I’m all here for the natural hair movement, but I feel like the natural hair movement has taken a step back. The women who are seen as the bigger advocates for the movement are either mixed or Hispanic. There’s nothing wrong with them being apart of the movement, but they should not be the spokeswomen for the movement when it was more intended for women with type 4 hair than type 3. The natural hair movement was more intended for women with type 4 hair so that they no longer had to grow up or go through life any longer being ashamed for being born with their type of hair being seen as “bad hair” or “nappy” (such an ugly word 🙄) or “ugly”. The women with type 3 hair should not be advocates for the movement for the reason being that they are always the ones labeled as “hair goals” which with women with type 4 hair cannot reach such goals because they are two completely different types of hair, and are pushed more to the side because many don’t see type 4 as “hair goals”. I love my natural hair but sometimes I shouldn’t feel ashamed for being born with my type 4 because society and men aren’t accepting more of it than a woman with type 3 😔.

Back to the Future: Part 8

Pairing: Castiel x reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: pregnancy, language, fluff, angst, angsty cliffhanger bc I’m a bitch. 

Back to the Future Masterlist


You were in the beginning of your second trimester now, about 15 weeks along, and your baby bump was small but becoming more noticeable with each passing day. Castiel was practically attached to you at the hip, his hand always on your tummy in some way. He was very protective, as always, but even more so as your baby continued to grow.

Keep reading

Some Misc. Prompts From My Old Blog

(Most of these were thanks to @m4rloe5 coming into my inbox and feeding my addiction of writing prompts instead of actually writing bdfhdvhgdfh)


  • “You’re telling me we’ve been friends for SEVENTEEN YEARS and you just forgot to mention you’re the towns masked hero???” // “It… never came up.” // “Gee, I WONDER WHY!”
  • “Okay, Kallia’s been missing for two weeks now; something’s up.” // “Sweetheart… There’s something we need to tell you about Kallia…”
  • “You can fly?” // “Yes.” // “Like, up in the sky, flying?” // “…Yes.” // “So, if, let’s just say, a special girl wanted to, you know, fly with you-” // “No.”
  • “You crashed in my window at three in the morning when I was crying in my underwear with a tub of ice-cream and don’t you dare try to fly off and save the world or some crap; I need someone to RANT TO!” Au
  • “I did NOT mean to light your pants on fire, oh my goodness, I am so sorry, wait- why are you laughing? THIS ISN’T FUNNY!” Au
  • “If you ask me to beat your boy/girlfriend up ONE MORE TIME, I will strangle you!” // “But you’re a superhero! You beat up the bad guys for a living! And I think you need practice!” // “…”
  • “Hey, Jake! I was wondering if- Oh shoot, sorry, you’re not Jake. Why are you wearing a mask? Is there some ball going on?” Au


  • “So, I’m starting to wish I wouldn’t have argued with the witch because now she turned me into a rock instead of a frog and oh Lord, this is so much worse!” AU
  • “Whenever we kiss your stupid dragon gets jealous and needy and last time he burned my favourite dress so NO MORE KISSING!” AU
  • “I’m cursed to be ugly forever, but you called me handsome??? And I just???? What???” AU


  • “I’m supposed to be a werewolf but my transformation occurs at the last sunrise of the month and I’m just so scared, what is happening?” AU
  • “I can’t believe I bit my best friend. They keep telling me they forgive me, but I see it in their eyes. They don’t.” AU
  • “I’ve been hunting for werewolves for years now and I finally have proof. I just need to take the thing in, but it looks like it’s gonna get me before I get it.” AU
  • “My friends swore they’d meet me in the woods at nine, but now it’s ten and there’s freaking footsteps and I think i’m gonna die, shoot.” AU


  • “I was a vegan before I got bit and this is JUST LOVELY. Do vegan vampires exist???? How does it WORK? SOMEBODY HELP ME!” AU
  • “What are you doing?” // “Dipping you in garlic sauce.” // “Aren’t vampires like- isn’t that gonna kill you? Not that I’d mind” // “Oh shoot, it’d kill me? Crap, I’m new at this… I just love garlic sauce.”
  • “I AM NOT A KILLER!” // “Look, kiddo, either you kill or you’ll starve to death.”
  • “Where’d this super strength bull come from? Because I was weak before I was bitten and I think I only got weaker.” AU


  • “Is that a dragon?” // “Uhm… no, it’s my dog.” // “That’s a freaking dragon.” // “Dang it, how the heck can you see that? Nobody’s supposed to be able to see!”
  • “I have zero control over my magic and I just completely destroyed your living room. Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” AU
  • “What’s his name again?” // “Kary Likewood. He’s the only guy in the world that can teach me how to control my magic…” // “I’m sorry… He’s dead.”
  • “You have magic! You can cure her! Please! I’m begging you!” // “…I am so sorry. I cannot.” 
  • “You set me on fire with your stupid uncontrolled magic twelve years ago and left me forever ugly with all these horrible scars; how dare you show your face to me now?” AU
  • “My best friend has magic, but I don’t and I kind of feel really annoying for being a boring old human and I feel like I always get in the way with my wheelchair.” AU
  • “Every time somebody touches me, my skin leaves a permanent print from the touch so when I say don’t touch me, I mean don’t freaking touch me.”

For my whole life, I have seen myself as a monster. That there is something deeply wrong with me at my core. I felt like some kind of frankenstein’s monster, something that was never meant to be. A lot of people think of themselves this way to an extent, but it does get poked and prodded at a lot when its also validated by interactions as a visibly gender nonconforming person, someone who can’t hide it even when trying very hard – the knowledge that people can see the monstrosity in you under whatever you try to cover it with has a lot of weight to it. You should see my drawings of myself, they’ve been the same since puberty. Monster body.

When I started to re-identify with womanhood and do some amount of healing from self hatred, or at least that self hatred was transforming, I reclaimed a lot of monster woman imagery. For those of you that have known me a few years, that will sound very obvious and familiar to you. Monster woman. Failed female. I have a horror blog called themonstrousfeminine. I love my wolfman-wolfwoman figurine, I love gorgons and huge fucking creatures and body horror. God, I love the warped and conceptually disfigured body! It makes living in my own larger than life. Someone spits on the ground at my feet and I think, yeah, yeah, that’s what happens to monsters when they walk amongst their neighbors in the sunlight and not the sewers! They’re afraid! I’m not afraid! 

This past weekend, I went to a music festival with a thousand lesbians. I’ve never seen so many different ways to be a woman in one place. There are so many ways to live in these bodies. Its not the first time I’ve met women with features like mine who move through the world like I do, but it was the first time seeing so many, and so many seeing me, that there were too many to talk to. It was the first time seeing us everywhere I looked, it was the first time I saw us in the context of community.

When we are with each other, it makes it the most obvious and clear fact in the world: These women aren’t monsters. What has been done to them is monstrous, but they are not monsters. Monsters are imaginary, and we are real. They are larger than life, and we are alive. They are ugly and scary. I cannot imagine anyone who is less so. A recognition on a deep and visceral level: I see myself in these women and they saw themselves in me. 

I don’t know how I will feel a week from now, when I’ve been around more people who do think I’m a monster (or I’ve watched a couple of cool horror movies), but for now, I don’t agree with them. Some affirmations: I will not draw myself as a monster, I will not use monstrous language to conceptualize myself. There is nothing wrong with me and I was not born wrong. I would not say these things about the women who I recognize as being like me, and they would not say these things about me.

I can’t reclaim and revel in the hatred of myself and my body anymore, I can’t let the only way of relating positively to myself be thinking its actually cool to be pushed into the sewer. Not when I know in such a real, material way that women look like this and we can and are part of communities and can and do walk around in the sunlight with one another, basking in it like we deserve to be there. And we do.

New Korean slang just invented! 새로운 한국 속어

  I was sitting with my friend bored, and we decided that there are somethings in English that we cannot translate into Korean. So we sat down and had a long think about it.  

Pronunciation of difficult slang is in [발음] :)

please re blog this because NO KOREAN uses this yet! Actually NO KOREAN except for my closest friends use this slang so please please share with your Korean friends too! I would like to see AOA use the phrase 큐섹! :)

Here are the new slang!

Cute and sexy -큐섹하다  큐트(귀엽다) + 섹시하다 (to be sexy)

Adj: 큐섹한 Adv: 큐섹하게 Noun: 큐섹함

e.g 오늘은 큐섹한 원피스를 샀어요.

큐못남 [큐몬남]- Cute but Ugly boy  (귀엽다+못생긴 + 남자)

큐못녀 [큐몬녀] - Cut but ugly girl  (귀엽다+못생긴 + 여자)

큐핫남 [큐한남]  - Cute and sexy boy (귀엽다 + 핫 (완전 섹시한) 남자)

큐핫녀 [큐한녀]  - Cute and sexy girl (귀엽다 + 핫 (완전 섹시한) 여자)

섹똑하다  - Sexy and smart (섹시하다 + 똑똑하다)

배피다 - To be hungry and tired (배고프다 + 피곤하다)

온괴자 - A cyber bully  (온라인 + 괴롭히다)

온괴하다 - To cyber bully (온라인 + 괴롭히다)

늦온남 /늦온녀 - Someone who comes online late and makes bad excuses  (늦게 + 온라인 + 남/녀)

늦온되다 - To be late online and  start making excuses

라소되지 -  A greedy person who eats just ramen and soju all day (라면+소주+되지)

라소먹다 - To eat ramen with soju (라면 + 소주 + 먹다)

헤어진크림 먹다 - to eat at icecream after a break up (헤어지다 + 아이스크림 +먹다)

듣싫노래 [듣실노래] A song that is on your playlist that you no longer listen to.

(듣기 싫다 + 노래)

영대왕 - Someone who speaks English like a native (영어 + 대왕)

한대왕 - Someone who speaks Korean like a native (한국어 + 대왕)

노대왕 - Someone who sings really well (노래 + 대왕)

게임대왕 - Someone who has amazing gaming skills (게임+대왕)

한쁜억 - Someone who speaks Korean with a bad accent (한국 + 나쁜 + 억양)

한잘억 - Someone who speaks Korean with a good accent (한국+ 잘 + 억양)

한원남/ 녀 - A guy/girl who wants to be Korean (한국 + 원나비 (되고 싶은) +남/녀) 

일원남/녀 can also be used

케중남/녀 - A guy/girl who is addicted to K-pop  (케이팝 + 중독 + 남/녀)  

메중녀/남 - A girl/guy who is addicted to makeup (메이컵 +중독 +남/녀

싫걸남친 [실걸람친] - A boyfriend who does the things that his girlfriend hates (싫어하는걸+남자 친구)

싫걸여친[실걸려친] - A girlfriend who does the things that her boyfriend hates (싫어하는걸 + 여친) 

여친못하다 -To not understand your girlfriend (여자친구 + 못하다)

남친못하다 - To not understand your boyfriend (남자친구+못하다)

첨만얼- someone’s face that you meet the first time(처음 만난 + 얼굴)

첨만얼 보다 - To see someone’s face for the first time.( 처음 만난 얼굴 + 보다)

악데몽[앙데몽] - A really bad date (악몽+ 데이트 = 악(데이트)몽)

좋데꿈 - A really nice / amazing date (좋은 꿈 + 데이트 = 좋(데이트)꿈)

쌤개 - Teachers pet (선생님 + 개)

불합남/녀 [불함남/녀] - A boy/girl with the lowest grades (불합격하다 + 남/녀)

짱님 - The best teacher (선생님+짱)

숙까먹다 - To forget your homework (숙제+까먹다)

비커플 - A couple who are dating secretly (비밀+커플)

몰연애하다 - to date secretly (몰래+연애하다)

빌애인 [비래인] - Secret lover (비밀+애인)

올친지애 - A lover who you were friends with for a long time before you dated them,  and have just started dating them today. ( 오랫동안 + 친구  + 지금+ 애인)

속어들은 많이 이용하시길 바랍니다. We hope you use these slang words al ot !

속어는 강태빈(Christian Kmachni)과 구아영 (Eden Nkukulu)에 의해 복제되었다.

when will i stop reading this bullshit when will i stop reading yall butcher my home girl kara danvers’ characterization oh my god…….. “the little grimace that she does just before interrupting him. she does not want to hurt him” i literally cannot deal u just…….. mon el deadass dont think twice before sayin the most hurtful shit to kara and yall stay mute… but then i see yall doing shit like this… kara “grimacing” before interrupting his self-centered-egoistic-man-pain-guilt-tripping words because she dont wanna hurt him. god…….. sometimes like i dnt even know where to start when i see shit like this im crying yall are so ugly

Bar Sinister (pt 3)

Summary: You make a deal with Negan to save your friend Daryl’s life. But when you can’t give Negan the child he wants, you ask Daryl to help make it happen.

Pairings: Daryl x Reader, some Negan x Reader

Chapter: 3/?

Word Count: 4,651

Warnings: Language, smut, unprotected sex (obviously), dub-con?**, angst

**It’s pretty consensual honestly, but Negan is an asshole so I’m putting a warning anyway.

Originally posted by talkinboutmyimagination

At first glance, Negan’s bedroom was just like the harem, bathed in both lamplight and candlelight. It sported the same plants and plush cushions, but the rest of the décor made it imposing. Stuffed animal heads stared at you. There were five paintings on the walls and all of them were illustrations of snakes. There was even a skull on the trophy shelf.

This, combined with the fact that all of his furniture was black, made the dimly lit room feel like it belonged to a Victorian ghost story.

“I know,” Negan whispered in your ear, his hand on your lower back. He was letting you ‘admire’ the room from the doorway. “You can hardly believe your luck. If I was you? I’d feel the same way. I’m sure it’s not like the pretty little house you shared with Daryl… that nice little suburban place with running water and flowerbeds,” he smirked, leading you towards the bed. Even the bed sheets were black.

“But you see this? This antique oak four-poster is where queens are made. Because as soon as you lay down with me in that bed, there ain’t nobody alive who’s gonna screw with you!” he stepped right in front of you, chewing his lip and grinning as you looked up at him. “And nobody alive who’s gonna screw you… except for me. That clear darlin’?”

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A Lesson In Courtesy

In honor of the sweet and wonderful @riahchan‘s birthday, I have written a little bit of Starkling fluff.

Jon is in the rookery when word reaches him.

The king has been injured.

He does not wait to hear more from the skinny lad that has been sent to find him, and all but sprints down the tower stairs into the keep proper, roughly jostling past servants and guardsman in his way. 

A coldness grips at his heart, far worse than anything he faced at the Wall.

This is what he has feared since the moment Wyman Manderly had produced Rickon from out of nowhere, hale and whole, after the dust had settled from the siege on the Boltons.

Surely the Gods would not be so cruel as to separate them when they had only just found one another again?

Jon skids to a halt in front of the Lord’s Chamber and throws open the door without knocking. He is not sure what to make of the sight that greets him.

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anonymous asked:

Message received had such fucked facial expressions which is why it's one of my favorites, like Steven in his hoodie, Amethyst as a helicopter all of peridot's faces during her confrontation with YD, Yellow Pearl's grinch face, the infamous YD face. Like it was Ren and Stimpy levels of weird and it was so expressive and awesome. I want to see that again, but it's all so cutesy now.

HONESTLY. You know this is what I mean when I complain that this show has gotten “uglier”.

it’s stiff and boring now. No one makes exaggerated expressions anymore or whatever. The writers just assume that awkward pauses and a single sweat count as jokes now. I remember learning about how RS had to redo a bunch of Ruby’s scenes in Keystone Motel because her VA was so damn over the top and expressive.

Rocknaldo made me smile because of Pearl’s sudden cat face but it’s a shame that the show doesn’t really go all out with their features anymore and I really cannot follow on why that is. I used to applaud su for having female characters that make ugly expressions and now I don’t see it anymore. Heck I don’t see it from Steven either.

It’s a shame really..

ten things you should know about the girl i love

i. she’s beautiful. 

ii. when she’s angry i want to fight for her. stand in front of whatever the world throws at her, take punches thrown at her, throw a few in return. when she is sad the world shrinks to contain her and only her and i am clumsy in my need to help her. 

iii. when she laughs i think i might be able to fly.

iv. every so often she has this very specific shy smile; she ducks her head and her cheeks dimple, and honestly, just murder me now. 

v. there are people who have told me that to be gay is an ugly thing, and it is so hard not to believe them. but i cannot make myself believe that the warm feeling in my chest when i think of her is ugly, cannot tell myself that the flutter in my stomach when i see her is anything but pure. 

vi. oh my god, have i mentioned the dimples. 

vii. she’s thoughtful and she’s polite. when she’s annoyed she gets a little sarcastic but never so far as to be mean. i wish i could talk to people like she can. 

viii. i could listen to her voice for years and not get tired. i wish i could talk to her always. 

ix. before i met her i would write hateful things along the inside of my arm in sharpie and pull the sleeve down, inked reminders. freak. and worse. now on my arms i doodle hearts and to-do lists, place temporary tattoos or leave the skin clear, roll my sleeves up to the elbow and leave them there. 

x. love is a big word and everyone uses it differently, and i don’t know when it’s appropriate. but i do know this: loving her - the curves of her cheeks, the scent of her hair, how she is when she is happy - feels better than anything else. i do know this: loving her has allowed me to love myself. in the end, what more can i ask for?

fuckingquitalready damnitfuckoff iswearthistimeimeanit forfucksakepleasegoaway

Please stop coming around

Stop trying to contact me

Stop popping up

Stop using that pet name because it used to be my favorite thing and I know that’s why you started using it but I’m really starting to hate it and you’re ruining things I liked long before you were even around so could you just not

I don’t want to see you

I don’t want to talk to you

Your voice makes me nauseous

I get those angry hot flashes when I see your name pop up on my screen

It’s annoying

You make me want to scream

So stop

Just stop

Let me heal

Leave me be

I’m not playing these stupid games with you

How long you can string someone along before they break because I’m there

I’m really truly there

I’ve had my breaking point and I just literally cannot even right now so could you please because this thing you’re doing makes me think and feel and say ugly things and I hate that because I don’t like being ugly but oh my freaking goodness can you just not because hello nervous breakdown here I’m not even breathing between monologues for shit sake

I’m not a play toy

I’m not a yo-yo

I’m not a piñata

I’m not a floor mat

This is not chess

or checkers

or tic tac toe

or monopoly because everyone hates that long ass stupid game and no you cannot monopolize me anymore either so don’t even start

or any other annoying game you can think of on how to manipulate me and emotionally and mentally abuse me









btw Daehwi saying:

밉상으로 보일 수도 있습니다
(there is a chance you see me as an eyesore/ugly)

It makes me so sad. People always complain about how unfair it is that international fans cannot vote, but in the case of Daehwi, I am so glad we can’t. The hate he gets from Chinese fans is unbelievable, to the point where even people who don’t watch PD101 make fun of him on Weibo, saying stuff like “Daehwi, let’s walk the downward path” or “PD101: the story of Lee Daehwi and 97 better-looking guys” or comparing his looks to gagmen in China or even insinuating that he must have had some backhanded dealings (and I am being very careful with my words here) with the producers of PD101 to get his position. WTF.

It’s been so overwhelming that I can’t even read PD101 news on Weibo anymore because there is so much shade and blind hatred. He is just 16 in international age. He is obviously talented and has trained for a long time. Just because he doesn’t live up to the “visual standards” of some people, does not mean he is deserving of such hate THAT I AM SURE HE READS because he keeps referring to it since his meringue time.

TL;DR. #protectdaehwisquad

From Trophy Wife To Trophy Slave

There isn’t a rich man in the world that doesn’t know what I do for a living, at least by reputation. Owning, training, and selling slaves, is, like many things, a rich man’s game.

You’re not going to find Bob, that works down at Walmart, buying slaves on the market.

Now, you don’t need to be a rich man to kidnap a woman, and make her your slave, as has been demonstrated by many, many sexual sadists, and even serial killers throughout history.

But to really get into this game, you need to be a rich man.

Rich men know what they want, and, more importantly, they know how to get what they want, which is why men with certain tastes, or just men of a certain level of accomplishment, learn how to get in touch with me.

Which leads to, luckily for me, the formation of a little side market for wealthy older men to take advantage of if they end up with a troublesome young bimbo bride that they need to get rid of.

Now, not every one of them is looking to sell their trophy wife into slavery to get rid of them. In fact, most of those marriages, when they end, just end in divorce.

After all, that’s why they have prenuptial agreements.

The fact of the matter is that most men cared about these women at one point, and still do, and cannot see themselves dooming the woman to a life of slavery, no matter how upset they are.

So, although many of them know of my services, few take advantage of it.

However, as I have often pointed to other slavers, love and hatred are two sides of the same coin called passion. And under the right circumstances, and the right personality, love can very quickly twist into a vile ugly hatred.

When that happens, the bimbo can often time find herself in very dire circumstances.

Case in point, blonde cunt here.

She had it all. Her rich husband found her as a waitress. There was, “just something about her eyes and smiled” that drew him in.

He was old school, and courted her for quite a while, and at no time did she seem like a gold digging bitch.

My research showed that she wasn’t, at least not when he met her.

But once he put the ring on her finger, and she had access to the accounts, something ugly took her over. She dyed her locks, got herself a boob job, and became a sterotypical rich bitch from hell to everyone around her, except for him.

For his part he didn’t think she needed to do any of those things she did to change herself, but if it made her happy, he was all for it.

As for the attitude, he basically ignored it. His love, blinding him to what she was becoming.

Pretty soon, her sense of entitlement led to her libido kicking into overdrive, and it just wasn’t enough to be a one-man woman, even if that man was her husband who had, quite literally, given her everything.

After all, she had access to so much money, she could have anything he wanted.

The stupid little bitch forgot that it was not her money, it was never her money, and it was never going to be her money.

Despite her plans to get rid of hubby and make it all hers.

That was where she screwed up and her little plans became a one-two punch that ended any love her husband had for her with incredible speed.

First, was he found out she was cheating on him with a real piece of shit. A low life scum bag she’d met somewhere that made her feel like she was the queen of the world. He was probably the one that put all the ideas in her head, and was problably planning to screw her out of the money in the end, not that it mattered. She was the one that chose to act on the plan they’d come up with.

Second, he found out that there had been some kind of clerical error with his will and she had plans for him to have an “accident” before he had finished updating his will to make sure his children were taken care of.

She would have left his kids with nothing.

That was absolutely un-fucking-forgivable. He loved her and might have even forgiven her, but to try to fuck over his kids? They were his universe.

And that’s where I came in, and this lovely party I was attending that he and the little wife were hosting.

The piece of shit, met himself an unfortunate accident a few hours ago. Meanwhile, to establish an alibi, my client, and the bimbo were having this little party.

The guests weren’t people that she knew, but she played the dutiful hostess perfectly, just as she’d been playing the loving wife. Keeping up the act until she could finally get rid of her clown of a husband, and start spending her money.

What she didn’t know was that this small intimate party of 10 or 15 people was a group of very select clientele of mine, each of them here so they’d be given the opportunity to examine the merchandise prior to putting in a bid.

Everyone was chatting, having a great time, and sipping the champagne.

A few hours later, she began waking up from the sedative that had been slipped into her drink.

She found herself on her knees, bound into a sturdy metal frame that kept her from being able to move in any direction.

She gave the usual cries for help, and indignation when her husband and his guest walked in, especially when she realized how exposed she was.

Her anger and indignation gave way to threats of dire retribution. She didn’t know what he thought he was doing but she’d see him in prison. She’d see us all in prison.

She was so filled with self-righteous fury that lasted right up until the moment her husband revealed the fact that he knew everything that she was planning to do.

The Anger and indignation vanished as if a switch and been thrown and was quickly replaced with fear and begging.

The begging got even louder when he explained exactly what was happening.

I saw her husband smile viciously at her increasing fear as she was stripped and someone applied nipple clamps to her tits.

It was a fear that continued to increase while, over the next two hours, her cries were ignored as each one of the men was given the opportunity to experience either her cunt or ass before the final bidding.

Interestingly, nobody wanted to stick their cock in her mouth because she’d probably try to bite, and besides, listening to her cries and desperation was making every single one of us even harder.

Finally, the bids were examined and the winner revealed.

She continued to cry and beg as she was gagged and the winner was aided in binding her into a transport cage, and then placing that into a crate to take her away.

As the crate holding his caged former wife was carried out the door and the rest of the bidders quickly departed, I shook my client’s hand at the front entrance and told him, “don’t worry about her boyfriend, either, that problem has also been taken care of, free of charge.”

He thanked me and then asked that he be left alone, to grieve.

I told him I understood but held out an envelope. He seemed torn but I explained it was necessary just, for protection sake.

He nodded, took the envelope holding his percentage for the sale, reluctantly, and then shut the door.

He’d be kept under surveillance for a while, just to make sure he didn’t have second thoughts and try to do something stupid, like go to the authorities.

If he did? Well, his kids would be getting that inheritance sooner than expected.

I left and returned home, after all, I had other acquisitions that needed training and sale. This has just been a little fun destraction. Hardly a blip on my radar.

As for Rich cunt?

The winning client was kind enough to send me a few video clips and pictures of what the little bitch was enduring. It was funny, watching one of the early sessions as she continually shook her head as if somehow her denial would change her new reality.

He told me that he wasn’t even truly training her, just doing whatever he wanted to do, and letting the experience slowly, but irrevocably strip away her humanity, her sense of self-worth, her very personhood.

Each indignity, each strike of the whip, each jolt of electricity, session of rape and degredation was searing into her, seeping into the very foundation of her being and slowly, but surely, destroying her mind, will, spirit, and very soul.

He relayed that he had learned that she was especially terrified of cat o’ nine tails and forced orgasm tortures. So naturally, he liked to combine the two whenever possible. She seemed to respond to this more so than other forms of torture, especially when she was forced to endure this unique combination for long periods.

It had become her new Owner’s favorite entertainment and way to torture her. He said her mind seemed to be collapsing in on itself much more quickly now that he had implemented this.

Her descent into slavery was, as a result, happening as surely as if he were actively attempting to break her as a slave. After all, if he treated her like a slave toy, that exists only for her entertainment long enough, and that’s exactly what she would become.

He told me in a few months’ time when he got bored with her, he’d probably sell her on the market himself.

I let him know that if he planned to do that to give me a heads up, who knows, I might be interested in purchasing her for a little while myself.

In the meantime, until that day when her mind had completely crumbled I was certain there was not a second that went by that didn’t have her regretting what she had planned to do.

Sorrowful that she hadn’t appreciated what it was that she had.

Too bad, that was not a lesson that she would be able to take advantage of.

I love you like the sun loves the moon (Peter Parker x Reader) (Requested)

Request: can I have a one shot where the reader has rosacea and she has a really bad flare when she’s with Peter and she gets super insecure and he comforts her?

A/N: I apologize in advance for if this is too bad. I had to some research about rosacea and I don’t really know much about it. I also used a comparison, and I don’t really know if it makes a lot of sense??? Anyway, I hope you like it!

Peter was helping you with your homework, looking at your notebook, when your face suddenly started to itch. You knew what that meant, and you didn’t want Peter to see it, so you quickly excused yourself and rushed to the bathroom. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you could see your skin turning red. Obviously, you had to had a rosacea flare when being with Peter.
You didn’t know what to do. You didn’t want Peter to see you like that, but you knew that if you stayed for too long in the bathroom, it would look suspicious. You sat on the floor, back pressed to the wall. Why couldn’t you have normal skin? Why did you have to be ugly?
‘[Y/N], are you okay?’ Peter’s voice called. He sounded worried. What had you been doing there for so long? You weren’t answering, and he was getting scared. He did the only thing he could think of -breaking the door handle. So when he did and saw you sitting on the ground, tears running down your red face, he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t even know what was happening. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘I-oh my God, don’t look at my face. I’m so ugly. This is embarrassing.’ You said in between sobs. You didn’t want your boyfriend to see you like that. You didn’t want him to see you looking ugly.
‘You aren’t ugly! You are the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. You have rosacea, so what? Remember that pimple I had in the middle of my forehead two weeks ago? I looked like a unicorn! And you didn’t think I was ugly. I do not think you are ugly. You… you are like the sun. At some times you shine your brightest, and there are other times, when you don’t shine as much in the outside, but you shine so bright on the inside. Sometimes we cannot see the sun shining, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t. That’s just you. Just because you aren’t shining on the outside right now, doesn’t mean that you are ugly. You are different. And that’s completely fine. I love you for that.’
You could feel the tears in your eyes after what Peter told you. He was so sweet, so gentle. And you loved him so much. He was your Peter, after all.
‘I love you. I love you like the sun loves the moon, so much, that he dies every night to let her live.’