well i am most certainly not :'(


Has anyone done this yet?

sweeter than sugar (m)

Originally posted by life-ruiners

Words: 19,371.

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader.

Genre: Sugar daddy au + fluff, smut.

Summary: Jungkook comes to you with a proposition to give you money in return for your company and all you know is that being spoiled has never felt so sweet before.

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The limits of violence: why Toffee won’t be defeated through force alone.

In this analysis, I’ll talk about the fight against Toffee in “Starcrushed,” compare it to “Storm the Castle” and “Into the Wand,” and discuss the implications of this comparison. This will be the first of two analyses I have planned for the season two finale. The second analysis will discuss the finale’s contrast between Moon and Star and include a breakdown of the narrative structure of both episodes. (The number of analyses may change based on whether or not I notice anything new between now and then.)

Since “Starcrushed” is still fresh in all our minds, let’s first go all the way back to the season one finale, “Storm the Castle.”

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My dear lgbt+ kids, 

If you sometimes wonder if you are attracted to someone of the same gender or just want to be their friend, if you sometimes worry your attraction is nothing but loneliness or a desire for platonic friendship that you somehow misunderstood: 

- You are not alone and those thoughts are not uncommon or weird. 

- Those thoughts are in no way a sign that you can’t be lgbt+ or that you’re “secretly straight”. 

Society, mainstream media and the people around us often try to push a invisible pair of glasses on us (figuratively speaking), through which we see some people as “okay to have a crush on” and others as “okay to want as a friend”. These glasses would, for a cis girl, portray boys as okay to date and girls as okay to want as a friend. 

We call those invisible glasses heteronormativity: The (often unspoken) belief that being hetero is “normal” and the silent assumption that everyone is straight. 

I’ll use “cis girl” as an example again: Even if she never downright got told “You are not allowed to date girls”, she may have heard “So, do you like any boys in your class?”, “You’ll understand when you’re older and have a husband”, “Oh, how cute, little Tommy hugged you, is he your boyfriend?”, “Oh, how cute, little Sarah hugged you, is she your best friend?”… She, like most of us, likely grew up getting taught that boys are potential boyfriends while girls are never more than friends. 

It’s no surprise that, when she gets older and realizes she actually has a huge crush on Sarah - she might doubt that, feel insecure about it or tell herself that it’s silly. Not because her feelings are not real, just because she got taught to feel a certain way. It’s not easy to just put off the glasses, throw them away and say oh, well, that’s not me - in fact, there’s a internal struggle if the glasses or your heart lies to you for most of us. 

We get taught to see two girls who love each other as best friends forever with a sisterly bond and two boys loving each other as “best bros, no homo”. That silent message - people of your own gender are friends, only friends! - is everywhere. 

So, is you wondering “But what if i really just want friends and am just a bit confused?” a sure sign that you are straight? No, certainly not. Those worries are a natural result of heteronormativity. 

With all my love, 

Your Tumblr Mom

i’m hurt. and angry. and bitter. and filled with resentment. and sad.

let me be.

what is going on? what … what is this mess of a season? after the high of s3, and the way julie wrote, directed, shot, edited, and gave us s3 … seriously? this is what she is giving us in s4 now? this????

where even the social media updates are so damn sloppy, that they have to keep on deleting them, taking them down, fixing the errors, and then reposting them. why such a low level of care and lack of attention to detail? why? this is your final season, this shouldn’t be happening?

if you’re gonna have a muslim woc as your final season main, when you KNOW how huge of a deal islam and the ill treatment of islam and the escalating levels of islamophobia that are on the rise bc of the current political climate we live in, when you KNOW all these things, when you KNOW you have muslim poc who are pining their hopes and dreams onto you for correct portrayal and accurate representation of them, when you KNOW all of this …

then, why? why is this season not even focusing on islam or sana?

this is not your “i’m gonna tie up loose ends and dump *spins wheel and rolls dice* ah!, sana as my main for it” season. no.

julie, if you can address huge topics like homosexuality, (internalised) homophobia, mental illness and ableism as well as you did last season, then you most CERTAINLY can do the same for islam, islamophobia, racism and xenophobia.

i am hurt, as a muslim woc, with this season. and all of you know how much i love skam. how much it means to me. but this? what is this? this isn’t sana’s season at all! this is STILL HAVING NOORA and her never ending sob story of a waste of time storyline about her bullshit flop romance, that is eating and eating and eating away at the minutes of screentime that should be focusing on sana.

i get it. you wanna show sana as lonely. you wanna show all the girls seperate from her. you wanna show islamophobia in the sense of how your own friends can’t even accept you. but … atleast show some more islam with it too? islam isn’t just the salah and the adhaan app sounding. islam is so vast and huge, that you could have EASILY generated discussion or slipped in a topic here or there about things in islam.

episode 1 was so promising. so, so promising. i thought to myself, finally … finally. but its just gone downhill from there.

having a non muslim character in yousef recalling events that don’t even primarily involve him, and then that causing islam to have a bad name bc of his “bc mikael’s very religious” and then showing him drinking??? and not even providing us answers??? making mikael so ABSENT when he plays such a central role in this story?? and mikael was the one who was breaking up the fight between elias and mahdi, so he clearly doesn’t do violent confrontation. what is up with this laziness of half showing mikael and half not??? not giving us answers for elias’ recent strange behaviour??? THIS IS THE CONTENT we wanna see being addressed, julie, not noora and the russebuss, SO WHY AREN’T YOU DELIVERING?????

and then … “i’ve taken the best parts of religion and dropped the rest”, “if religion is so good then why does it split society?” … what the fuck??? and ever since then, this had fed into this constant running theme of muslims vs the gays, and i’m sick of it. it is testing my patience now. when islam IS being shown, its being shown like this???? especially after sana last season said to isak “hate doesn’t come from religion, it comes from fear” …. WHAT IS GOING ON????

all this suffering sana is going through. it is one thing to show sana lonely. but … i can’t believe she STILL hasn’t corrected vilde as of yet? yes, sana is a girl of few words, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t speak up. so, why has she still not yet?

pitting the white woman vs the woc? seriously julie? seriously? are we really fucking doing this?????? really??? this UGLY ASS age old trope, why julie? WHY? i thought you’d be the LAST writer to use this trope.

i’m just … so, so, so disappointed. so disappointed with the way this season has gone. i feel cheated, betrayed, hurt, as a muslim fan. i know julie can write better, especially after season 3. so why now? why are you not coming through? this isn’t what us muslim fans wanted.

Escape:  the residency years

Claire sat cross-legged on the bench outside of the hospital.  She was trying to decide if she should call Jamie or take the bus home after her appointment. Her OB-GYN had given her the all clear today.  

Six weeks.

Six weeks since she’d lost her daughter.  Six weeks since her body had survived a bloody nightmare.  

You can resume a normal life, her doctor had said.  

There was nothing normal about her life, except for the hospital.  Her life as a doctor was normal in that chaotic, hectic way.  

Her home life wasn’t normal.  Jamie was quiet, and distant.  Some nights she would see him at his drafting table gazing off, unfocused, his face a mix of sadness, and introspection.  Some nights she would get home from working late, and see him on the fire escape sipping from his tumbler of whisky.  He was a strong man, yet even he had his limits.  

She wasn’t normal.  She felt and looked different.  She was softer now.  Her mind, her body, her strength all so much softer than before.  Her stomach was far from the flat plane it once was.  Her mind was plagued by insecurities, what ifs and why me. 

You can resume a normal life.

It was time to reconnect.  Reconnect with her husband, with herself, and with her dreams.  

Claire unfolded herself from the bench, gathered her things, and began walking to the bus stop.  She was standing at the corner waiting for the light to change when the small shop caught her eye.  Normally she would walk past. That was for other women.  Life was no longer normal, so maybe a trip to that shop would be what she needed.  A suit of armor, so to speak.  

She crossed the street and pushed open the glass door.  

Jamie was waiting for her text.  He’d asked her to tell him what the doctor said, and she nodded absentmindedly.  He didn’t want to badger her, so he waited. He checked his phone obsessively, and fought against the impulse to call her and ask. By three o’clock he’d had enough of waiting.

“Gu ifrinn le e!” Jamie said, and started to pack up for the day.

 “Willie!” he shouted to the outer office.  

His assistant lifted his head.  “Aye, Jamie?”  

“We’re done for the day, mate.  Let’s go.  It’s Friday. We’re knocking off early.”

Jamie walked into the flat laden down with his computer bag, and two grocery sacks.  He bustled in banging into the door frame, his keys wound around a finger, and the post in his mouth.  

“Claire!” he said, and dropped the envelopes in surprise. He laboured over to the kitchen trying not to drop anything else.  “What are you doing home so early?”

“I could ask you the same thing?  And what’s all this?”  Claire got up from the sofa to check out what her husband had brought home. The floppy leaves of fresh leeks were sticking out from one of the brown bags, and in the other she could see the tiny spears from a bunch of asparagus peeking over its edge.

“Ach.  It’s been a long week.  Willie and I skived off early.  Also,” he said a little sheepishly, “I saw this dish on Instagram today and I wanted to try it.”  

“Jamie Oliver?” Claire laughed.  Ever since she started her residency Jamie had done the cooking, and once she got pregnant –

You can resume a normal life.

“Aye.”  Claire’s breath caught at his smile.  Jamie really did have the most beautiful smile.  “Risotto.”

“Oooooo!”  Claire started removing the foodstuffs.  

Jamie looked at this wife.  She was freshly showered, her curls drying around her face. She had on one of those wee dresses she found so comfortable, and that he found sexy.  He could see most of her legs, and the fabric clung to the curve of her bottom.

“Ye look beautiful, Claire.”  

She paused for a moment, and glanced up at her husband.  It was his voice that stopped her.  That mixture of wonder and awe that sometimes crept into it. She could see truth in his eyes.  After all he had witnessed, after all the ugliness, he still found her beautiful.  His compliment was a soothing balm to her mental wounds.  She walked around the counter, and placing her hands on the sides of his jaw, kissed him softly on the mouth.  

“Thank you.  Now go change.  I’m starving.”  

Dinner was amazing.  The risotto was delicious, and it did his heart good to hear Claire laugh as he tried to juggle the recipe on his phone and imitate Jamie Oliver while he cooked.  They’d had wine, and talked.  Claire told stories of people at the hospital that made him laugh until he ached.  He caught her up on the recent projects at the Distillery and showed her a couple of his newest designs.  

When he sat down on the couch with a beer and turned on one of his many recorded rugby games, she stole upstairs.

You can resume a normal life.

Jamie stretched his long legs out in front of him. He sipped from his beer, still content from dinner and the fact that Scotland was winning.  It took him a minute to register the shape at the top of the stairs.

“Jesus.  God.  Claire.”  He fumbled trying to put down the bottle without knocking it sideways.  He almost missed the table because he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her.

Her breasts were plump over the barest of lace cups.  He couldn’t tell from this distance but there was no way they covered her areolas.  The panties hugged her low on her hips.  Her hair was a riot of curls dancing over one shoulder, thick and full.  She smiled like the devil herself, twirling one curl around her index finger.  Well, if that wasn’t a damn metaphor for how he felt right now.      

Red.  She was wearing scarlet red lingerie.  

She set him afire.  

Mesmerized he walked slowly, one bare foot in front of the other, to the bottom of the stairs.  

“Holy Mother of God.”

Claire laughed out loud.

“What?  What did I say?  Are ye laughing at me?”  Jamie’s brain was completely addled.  

“Yes, I most certainly am!”  She couldn’t stop giggling.  

What had he said that was so funny?  

“You can call me Claire, darling,” she added, teasingly.

Jamie bit his lip.  Aye, she wasn’t exactly the image of an angel.  “Don’t make fun, Claire, or ye’ll get what ye deserve.”  

“Promise?”  The vixen turned, and walked away.  The scrap of lace from behind framed her bottom in such a way that her bare skin resembled the shape of a heart.  

He groaned and missed the first step, swearing as he stubbed a toe.  The sight of her bare arse swaying in front of him was too much.  He sprinted up the stairs two at a time.  

Their bedroom was dark, just the light from the hallway seeped through his first few steps into the room.  He moved to turn on a lamp but she stopped him.

“Please don’t.”  Claire stood by the foot of the bed, twisting her fingers.   She was nervous.  She had been offered so many opinions. Women telling her it would be different.  It would hurt.  Don’t expect too much.  

“What’s this, then?”  Jamie approached her cautiously.

She shrugged.  Her eyes begged him to acquiesce to her request.    

Jamie moved to the window and opened the curtains. The pale gray light of the streetlights coupled with the moon bathed her in a pearly glow.  She was luminescent.  Claire covered her tummy, just below her belly button.  Ah. So that’s how it is.  Jamie moved toward her slowly, linked his pinky fingers through hers and slowly drew her hands away from her body, and the flesh they covered.  One red striation snaked down the left side of her tummy.  Her belly button was droopy.  Jamie looked at his wife, and saw the insecurity in her eyes.  

“It’s ugly,” she whispered.  

You can resume a normal life.

“Aye,” Jamie whispered back.  “I ken a wee bit about scars, Sassenach.”  He let go of her hands, and pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it to the side.  “I ken how they make ye look at yerself.”  He turned his back to her, and spoke over his shoulder.  “Because I once looked at myself, and felt ugly, too.”  

Claire made a small noise that made him turn around and face her once more, fingers tapping nervously on his thigh.  Claire needed his reassurance.  He would give her the same gift she gave him years before.

“I remember every minute, every second of that first time we made love.  Ye walked around me, and ran yer hands over my back.  I waited to see revulsion in yer expression, and when I looked at ye, weel, I saw lust.”  Jamie chuckled. “Ye’ve no idea how relieved I was because by then I was so turned on I couldna bear it if ye walked away.”  

Claire smiled at the memory.

He ran his index finger lightly down her stretch mark, and hooked it under the lace edge of her panty.  He heard her breath hitch.  He tugged at the fabric, just enough to knock her off balance so she had to take a step toward him.  He placed his big hands on either side of her, and slowly ran them over her hips and down her backside.  He cupped her, lifting her slightly.  Her face was close to his, her mouth a fraction away.  “Now kiss me, mo neighean donn, and let me show ye how beautiful ye are to me.”

Claire grabbed her husband’s shoulders, and hung on. He kissed her, pouring all of his love into that first meeting of their mouths.  She ran her hands over him, feeling his familiar scars.  The scars that made him Jamie, and no one else. This big man who was the gentlest of lovers when she needed him to be. 

Tonight, she needed him to take the lead.  She surrendered herself to him, let him turn her around in his arms and hold her against his chest.  Let him run his hands over her body, feeling the weight of her breasts as he kissed the side of her neck.  Let him slide a hand down over her soft stomach, and find the heat between her legs, making her feel warm, and sexy while he nipped at her lobes.

Jamie led her by the hand to their bed.  He slid off her panties, murmuring in Gaelic, his eyes hooded.  He worshiped her body, kissed every inch of her skin.  He ran his tongue down her stretch mark, and kissed her misshapen belly button.  He took her slender legs and placed them over his shoulders, making her writhe and buck, and finally shatter.  

Then, he stood and shucked his jeans.  Climbing onto the bed, he nestled himself between Claire’s thighs before she could catch her breath.  He balanced on his elbows, and kissed her again.  

He felt her tense beneath him.

Jamie pulled back and looked at her.  “What’s wrong, mo graidh?”  

“I’m scared,” she breathed.  “I’m scared it will be different for you.”

You can resume a normal life.

“Och, aye.  After 2 months without my wife, it’ll feel different right enough.  It’ll feel like Heaven.”  He bumped his nose against hers, waggling his eyebrows.  

Claire did not smile.  “They say,” she swallowed, rubbing the back of his neck. “They say after you give birth that it’s….it feels….looser, down there.  To a man.”

A Dhia, she was struggling. Jamie had no idea that Claire had all of these thoughts battling inside her head.  While he appreciated her honesty, she picked a fine time to reveal her anxieties, when he was fit to bursting.  He took a deep breath, and brushed her hair away from her face.  Laughing through dinner relaxed her.  Their banter on the stairs relaxed her.  He’d carry on with the humour.  

“Is this yer way of saying size matters, Sassenach?”  He teased her with the tip of himself.  “Are ye afraid ye’ll find me lacking?”

Claire grinned, and slapped his bottom.  “That is not what I meant, and you know it!”

Jamie took that moment, when her legs relaxed, to enter her.  She arched her back, and gasped.

“Can ye feel that?” he asked, breath hot against her neck.  “For I surely can.” He kissed her, licking her bottom lip.  “And it feels like I’m home.”

You can resume a normal life.

It did feel like home.  Jamie was right.  He was in her arms, and in her body, and it felt like it had a hundred times before.  It didn’t matter what she looked like, how many stretch marks she had.  Even the damn lingerie didn’t matter. This was right.  This was perfect.

In response Claire locked her legs around his back.  She shifted and settled him deeper between her thighs. Reaching up, she brought his head down for a scorching kiss that had him rocking instinctively.  She gave him all of herself and took nothing in return.  When Jamie shouted and stiffened above her she felt the joy of loving him fill her heart.

Jamie’s head was pressed against her neck as he tried to catch his breath.

“So, where did ye find this?”  He pulled at the strap of her bra.  

“At that lingerie shop near the hospital bus stop.  The doctor said I could ‘resume a normal life’ and I wasn’t sure I could without a bit of help.  A suit of armor, so to speak.” She ran a hand over his bicep.

“Christ, Sassenach.  Dinna show up to battle like that again.”  He dropped a kiss on her shoulder, and mumbled sleepily.  “My heart canna take it.”  

Claire woke up some time later to the sound of cheering. Slipping out of bed she stole downstairs to find the television still on, and Jamie’s beer warm on the table. She hit the button on the remote, and silence fell. She took his bottle to the sink, and turned off the lights.  

Darkness in the flat allowed her to look out the window at the lights of Edinburgh.  She could see the fire escape that mirrored their stairs inside. She had taken those outside steps, cautiously, years ago, not knowing where it would lead her.  Now, she was on the inside, having taken those steps towards love, marriage, medical school, and a family.     

As she climbed up on her way back to bed she laughed softly thinking of how Jamie had bolted up these stairs tonight at the sight of her.  Honestly, why had she worried so much?  Scars be damned. They didn’t change how she looked at him, how could she have been so shallow as to think hers would have mattered to him?  Resuming a normal life had made her think that how they had been living for the past six weeks was somehow abnormal.  Wrong. Flawed.

It wasn’t.  

They would carry their scars together.  The ones on their bodies, and the scar of losing Faith on their hearts.  Together.  Forward in life.  

She crawled into bed next to her husband,and stroked the russet coloured curls back from his forehead.  He smiled briefly, and her heart melted. Jamie was still Jamie.  They still found pleasure in each other’s bodies.  They still had the same dreams.

Everything was normal.  


Reader x Klaus Mikaelson


*Requested smut

Imagine: Klaus is overwhelmed with everything that is happening on his life, so he leaves you all alone to work some stuff out. Then, when he comes back, he finds you playing with yourself and decides to punish you in the best way he knows.

Word Count: 2144

A/N: may be the dirtiest thing I’ve ever written, so I hope you enjoy it. :)

“Klaus, wait!” You said as he stood up, leaving the bed. “Don’t go just now.”

The Mikaelson had been absent for the past few weeks and you could not blame him for that. With all his family problems, such as Mikael and Esther coming back to life, alongside his brothers Kol and Finn, and adjusting to his newborn baby daughter Hope, eh, you felt like you had no right to push him over the edge. Ask more than what Niklaus was giving you. Loneliness was a bitch, though.

“I have to, love.” The hybrid simply replied, a grin on his face. “You know I need to take care of a few things.”

You nodded, lowering your eyesight and sighing.

“Yeah, I know.”

“I promise it will not take long.”

“That’s okay, Nik, I get it.” You bit your lip.

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telamvitae  asked:

Look. I know April fools is a time to make jokes and make people laugh but this whole thing went way too far. I'm not just speaking for the fans. I don't think it was right to make them upset, but think about the creators of the aus! Imagine what would happen if someone said your au would be in some popular series and then it was brushed off as a joke. Like "haha who am I kidding why would I put THAT in my work?" It's not cool. And most certainly not funny.

Well I think you’re taking this too much serious.

If my AU would be included in a big project, at least I would try to make the best with my characters and story and BEING NICE with the person that want to take my characters… Not just begging them all time, threatening, telling that person bad words to get their attention and thinking that I am THEIR BOSS to force them what they must do and what not.

At least I would giving my best to create a good AU and make it “popular” or loved by my own, not taking the easiest way. Some people doesn’t even have PRUDENCE and RESPECT about I as an artist, and they think that I’m just doing this as a request. 

Would you like people start giving you orders about the course of your stories, comics, or even YOUR OWN LIFE?? That’s the “Not funny” thing you’re talking me about.

And I’ve seen the comments of my video. People is laughing and happy. I haven’t seen someone upset…well I think you’re the only one.
Try to chill a bit and just enjoy!


The Smuggler

Note: Ben Solo, the most notorious smuggler in the Galaxy, has taken a liking to you. But with his profession of choice, you fear that he hides his true self in favour of a ‘bad boy’ persona. But one night, he shows up at your bedroom window, trying to prove to you how genuine he can be.

Originally posted by adamblessdriver

“Get out of my way,” you said through gritted teeth as you tried to stroll through the market.

“I just want to talk Y/N,” Ben called after you.

You stopped in your tracks, Ben quickly stepping to the side before he crashed into you.

You sighed, “How many times are you going to pretend to just ‘run in to me’ at the market, Solo?”

“As many times as it takes for you to talk to me,” He smirked.

“We’re talking now, aren’t we?” You asked blankly, “Besides, surely the Ben Solo has somewhere better to be.”

“Can’t think of anywhere better than right here,” he shrugged, “And you brushing me off hardly counts as talking.”

You frowned. It’s not that you didn’t like Ben. You just didn’t agree with what he did for a living.

“Ah, there’s the look.”

“What look?”

“The one you make when you want to talk to me, but then you remember I’m a smuggler.”

“That’s not a real expression,” you replied flatly, “Now get out out of my way, smuggler. I have things to do today, and engaging with your pathetic attempts to charm me isn’t exactly a priority.”

“Well hang on just a minute, sweetheart–

“Don’t you 'sweetheart’ me,” you scoffed, shoving by him. You cursed as you heard his footsteps following you eagerly.

You tried to ignore his presence behind you, turning your attention to the market stall and eyeing the rows of bouquets of flowers lined up. One in particular caught your eye. You were about to pick it up when you felt Ben’s hand grip your wrist gently. You turned around with a scowl, “Let go.“

“I will, sweetheart,” He flashed you a grin as you rolled your eyes, “But only if you tell me what it will take for this pathetic smuggler to ever gain your affection,” he asked you, his hand reaching up to stroke your cheek gently.

This is the part you hated. Despite everything you had against his chosen profession, you couldn’t deny that Ben Solo was a relentless flirt. And a fantastic one at that.

“I’ll take that smile on your face as a good thing.”

You quickly frowned at his words, shying away from his touch, “You want advice? Try being genuine for once.”

Ben raised his eyebrow, “You think I’m misleading you somehow?”

“I’m sure you can’t be 'Ben Solo: infamous smuggler, ladies’ man and bad boy’ all the time,” you started, “I want to meet the real you.”

“This is the real me,” you could see him getting frustrated now.

“I think you know exactly what I mean… but hey, if you don’t, I’m sure there are plenty of other women in this market you could try and win over,” you told him as you marched off.

“There’s only you, Y/N,” Ben sighed as he watched you walk off, “Only you.”

Three nights later, as you were getting ready to sleep, you heard a knock at your bedroom window. You jumped at the unexpected noise, but curiosity got the better of you as you glanced towards it.

You frowned at the sight as you walked over to open it slightly, “How in the galaxy do you know my address?”

“I asked around about someone called Y/N… gave them an accurate description: beautiful, confident–”

“Alright enough,” you stopped him before he could get carried away, “How did you really find out where I live? This city is enormous!”

“Oh my sweet Y/N, your city is a village compared to some of the other planets I operate in. I just got in touch with a few of my connections, and it took all of five minutes to get your address– I don’t mean to alarm you,” he added as he watched your expression change.

You scowled, “I’m not alarmed, I just have half a mind to push you off this damn ledge.”

“Well before you decide to kill me, let me explain,” Ben said as he gestured for you to open the window fully, his amused expression never faltering. “It’s the least you could do before making me fall to my death.”

You groaned, “Fine. Get in– But if anyone knocks on my door you’re going right out the way you came.”

“Sounds fair, sweetheart,” He said cheerfully as he landed with a low thud.

You glared at him and he gave you a sheepish grin.

“So tell me,” You circled him, “What could I have possibly done to deserve Ben Solo knocking at my bedroom window?“ You asked him mockingly, “And at this ridiculous hour too,” you added with a huff.

“I think we both know you’re enjoying this,” He teased, stepping towards you.

You put a firm hand on his chest to stop him from getting any closer. Had he seriously not listened to anything you said to him during your last encounter? “You said you were going to explain all this. I’m waiting.”

He nodded, “Right, of course. Well, do you remember what you told me at the market a few days ago?”

“I believe I told you a great deal of things that day, you’ll have to be more specific.”

“About being genuine.”

“So is this… I mean are you… being genuine right now?” You went to sit on your bed as you watched him stay put, "Because I’m not sure which version I prefer. The Ben Solo who follows me around the market, or the one who comes knocking at my bedroom window in the middle of the night.”

Ben let out an amused huff. How was it that even while mocking him, he still thought you were the most beautiful person in the entire Galaxy?

“Look, Y/N,” He started, shuffling slightly, “I wanted to bring you a something… Try and be a little ‘genuine’, as you put it.”

Your confusion was quickly met with pleasant surprise as Ben produced a bouquet of flowers from his satchel.

“D-daisies and peonies?… How did you know these are my favourite?” You asked happily as he handed you the flowers, saying a quick thank you as he did so.

“I went back to that stall and asked the merchant which ones you had been looking at. He was confused about who I was talking about at first, until I told him I was buying them for his most beautiful customer.“

There it was again. The word he seemed to love using towards you. “Y- You really think I’m beautiful?”

"Well yes… and clearly the merchant thought so too. He’s the one who told me which flowers you liked, after all.”

"I’m pretty sure I’m that man’s only customer these days,” you laughed, “It’s like one buys flowers in this city anymore.”

“Well now he has two customers,” Ben chuckled, “Just me and you…”

You smiled as you heard his confident tone shy slightly while he spoke.

“Why do you try so hard to impress me?” You couldn’t help but ask, “I-I mean…You can have anyone you want… so why me?”

“Because I can’t get you out of my head, Y/N” Ben said as he stepped forward, “You’re sweet, and by far the most intelligent person I’ve ever met,” he said softly as he put a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“And you’re the only person to ever call me out on being too invested in this whole smuggler image,” he laughed, “You’re not like the other women, Y/N. The ones who agree with every little thing I say, and certainly not like the ones who force themselves on me,” he chuckled again, “So you want to see the real me? Well, here I am. Ben Solo. Just a regular man who can’t stop falling for someone way too good for him.”

“Well this Ben Solo I can see myself falling right back for,” you smiled, grateful that he was showing you the sweeter side of himself.

He grinned, “I would very much like for you to see me as much more than the smuggler you think I am.” He added, “And I want you to see how happy I could make you… you know, the 'real’ me.”

“I think I would like that,” you smiled, “Perhaps there’s still hope for you yet,” You said as you kissed his cheek softly.

With your lips so close to his in that moment, Ben quickly stole a kiss from your lips before looking at you with a gleam in his eye. You were taken aback by his action, trying to hide your growing smile, but it was no use. You couldn’t possibly be mad at him in this moment.

“I will endeavour to be my true self with you, Y/N. But you’ll have more fun kissing the smuggler, promise.”

“I think I can make that one exception then,” you beamed, pressing your lips to his again.

The Excuse [1/1]

A/N: I honest to God have no idea what this is. This article came across my newsfeed and my brain did that thing (every writer in this fandom knows what I mean) and with enabling from one @xpumpkindumplingx, this came about even though I haven’t updated TMTC since October (still working on that, btw). Again, no idea what this is. It is teacher/student so if that’s not your jam feel free to give it a hard pass. The events that happen would not happy in real life but… fiction, right? Many thanks to @spartanguard for looking over this for me!

Rated: T
FFNET | AO3 (will post when AO3 decides to bloody cooperate) 

Killian Jones had seen many excuses for late assignments in his short teaching career but the one currently sitting in his inbox was by far the most extensive he had ever seen.

Killian Jones had seen many excuses for late assignments in his short teaching career.

A death in the family (a viable one, of course, except that one student whose grandmother died eight times in one semester) or the fact they were in a family member’s wedding and completely forgot about the assignment, even though every assignment he gave was on the course syllabus his students received on the first day of class. There was the one where they thought it was due another week (again, his course syllabus had the dates for all assignments) and the trickster excuse that it was showing in their sent email but not his inbox - like he was the seventy-year-old Mrs. Lucas who didn’t know how e-mail worked. Sickness of some sort was another one, although he doubted the one student had really had walking pneumonia but been able to drink his fellow classmates under the table that same night at the football game. His personal favorites were the dog had eaten their ten-page research essay and a tv show had left them emotionally compromised. He watched Doctor Who as well and while he could sympathize with their pain after the Doomsday episode, it still wasn’t a practical excuse.

But the one currently sitting in his inbox was by far the most extensive he had ever seen.

Keep reading

No Regrets - The Dress

Not a request but a few of you ( @remybosslika @percywinchester27  @atc74 ) asked about their wedding so I have decided to make a few planning drabbles before actually writing the wedding drabble.

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Warnings: nothing but fluff.

Word Count: 774

A/N: This is a drabble complication. All drabbles fit into the universe I created for my Jensen x Reader series Living with Regrets. Most can be read as stand alone, but will also very much be part of the series.

This takes place a few months after part 9 of Living with Regrets. Jensen has asked Y/N to marry him and she has accepted. Finding out how and where the wedding is gonna be will be the next step.

Still not over my writer’s block but for some reason this universe comes easy to me.



You stared into the mirror looking yourself up and down deciding that you looked like cotton candy, before letting out a deep sigh in annoyance.

“This is useless!” You grumbled making Gen instantly appear behind you, along with Sabrina, the woman who had been kind enough to bring all of these dresses turning yours and Jensen’s apartment into a small bridal shop.

In between filming and other wedding arrangement, you hadn’t had an entire day to set aside to shop for wedding dresses so Sabrina who owned a small store in Austin had offered to come to you. You had paid her handsomely for her efforts of course but you still felt like and ungrateful brat each time you turned one of her suggestions down.

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Compromise - Jacob Frye x Female Reader

A/N: This jealous Jacob request has been sitting on my list since forever and I am so sorry.

I don’t write Jacob as a angry jealous guy. I think he’s more of a “feeling sorry for myself” kinda jealous.

**this is from his POV

Words: 1,490
Warnings: None. it’s pretty much fluff..

She was, by far, the prettiest woman Jacob had ever laid eyes on in his two decades of life. He saw her every day, he had to since they were working together. How he longed to tell her how he felt but there was always a voice in the back of his head repeating: “Don’t allow personal feelings to compromise the mission.”

Keep reading

Wanted - Character Portrait Artist



If you are a portrait artist, please consider reading this post! If you know any artists, please comment or private message me their information!

My name is Jenna Moreci, I’m a SFF author and writing vlogger - you can peep my channel here. Within the upcoming months, I will be in the market for a character portrait artist in order to prepare for the launch of my highly anticipated fantasy novel, The Savior’s Champion. Want details? I’ve got ‘em.

- I am looking to commission a minimum of 2 but ideally up to 10-35 character portraits. Said characters are from a fantasy novel with a Grecian vibe. I have reference photos readily available.

- I am looking for professional inquiries only

- I am looking for a realistic or semi-realistic style. No cartoon, Disney, or anime submissions, please. I would prefer digital work, but if it’s possible to make the portraits look as though they were painted, that is a plus (though certainly not mandatory). I am open to colored portraits or black and white.

- These portraits will be displayed on my website as well as all social media platforms. They will be used for promotional material and tools. Most importantly, they will be displayed on my YouTube channel. You’re looking at a total reach of roughly 100k+ followers, many of whom are other writers potentially in the market for artwork.

- Artist watermarks/signatures are encouraged on all portraits. I will also promote said artist prolifically on all of my platforms, including YouTube. If you’re working with me, I want to bring you traffic and clients. I want this pairing to be mutually beneficial.

- Of course, I am not anticipating paying you “in exposure” (though I do want you to get TONS of it). We creatives need to make a living, after all. I want to hear your rates. Let’s talk payment.

If this sounds like a project you’d be interested in, or you know of an artist who fits the bill, please let me know. I did have an artist already in mind for this project, but it looks like she might be bowing out :(

Note: this project is not yet time sensitive. I am not looking to get to work for a few months, so if you’re interested but not currently available, that is not a deal-breaker. My schedule is very flexible. My everything is flexible (except for my actual body - I can’t even do a cartwheel). I am just starting the hunt early, especially since my expected artist might no longer be interested.

Looking forward to hearing from some amazing talents! I’m aware that this is potentially a very large project if we move forward with up to 35 portraits, but my goal is not only to produce an outstanding novel release but also to expose a talented artist to my audience. I take care of my own.

<3 Jenna Mo

yellowfeather84  asked:

Shifted ficlet prompt: can we please have some Claire and Murtagh fluff. Maybe Claire helping Murtagh as he's getting older. Discussing their shared concern about Jamie or the bairns. Or even reminiscing about Paris and Murtagh escorting Claire to l'hopital everyday. Their relationship in the show is so close and caring that it would be wonderful to see more of that during happier times.

For the next few weeks I’ll be writing one-shots in the Shifted universe, filling in the blanks that we don’t see in the main story, before we resume the main action with Part 7 - The Visitor.

If there is a particular scene you’d like to see, send me an ask and I’ll see what I can do!

In Shifted, the premise is simple - what if Claire had gotten pregnant with Brianna a month or two earlier in the story, and she and Jamie had re-evaluated  their priorities and decided that the cause was lost, and they were able to slip away from the army and quietly return to Lallybroch?

Previous installments…

Interlude – The Injury

Lallybroch, Autumn 1756

Murtagh hissed as Claire splashed the wound with raw whisky, muttering several very filthy words in the *Gaidhlig*.

Three-year-old William Fraser gasped from the doorway of Claire’s surgery.

“Out!” Claire ordered, head still bent over the deep gash that had sliced the top of Murtagh’s hairy foot nearly to the bone, drawing the lantern a bit closer over the smooth wood of the table Jamie had made her.

“Ye heard yer Mam! Out!” Murtagh echoed weakly, gripping the sides of his chair, bobbing his uninjured leg up and down.

Jenny appeared in the doorway and softly swept William away to the kitchen.

Claire rose from her crouch and quickly crossed the room, taking her tray of needles and the earthenware jar of sutures – the long, delicate strands of catgut Murtagh himself had helped Jamie prepare (based on Claire’s instructions) not so long ago – from the cabinet Brian had made Ellen when Jamie and Jenny were small. As stubborn as the Fraser who had made it, the cabinet had seen many uses over the years – from Ellen’s dishes, to Jenny’s linens, and now Claire’s medicines.

“It’s a miracle you didn’t slice your bloody foot off.” Claire’s voice was even, methodical. From years of practice, Murtagh knew better than to crack a joke when she was like this. “Weren’t you watching what you were doing? And hasn’t it *ever* occurred to you that we’ve already got a number of able-bodied men on the estate who should be doing that kind of work? I daresay your reflexes aren’t as keen as they used to be – ”

“What will ye have me do, then? No’ help Jamie wi’ the harvest?” Murtagh shifted uncomfortably in his chair – keeping his injured foot steady – and glared at the chignon pinned at the back of Claire’s neck, watching her carefully thread the needle. “Ye ken that Ian canna do it. Young Jamie is still too small to do much in the fields. Fergus can help, aye, and so can Rabbie MacNab – but it’s no’ enough.”

“You can stay here in the house – God knows there are enough children running around to keep you busy.”

“So ye want me to be a *nursemaid* then? Hmm?” Were he able, he would have pounded a table in frustration. “Is that all I am, now? Is it no’ enough that my clan and plaid have all been taken away from me? I must give away my *manhood* as well?”

Claire carefully brought the fully prepared tray to her work table and set it down beside the lamp.

“You *know* that’s not what I mean.”

He felt her gaze burning on him – and defiantly matched it.

“What, then? I am getting auld, yes. But must ye remind me, Claire?”

“I want you to take care of yourself.” She paused, pursing her lips. “You – you can’t just do anything anymore. You *must* be more thoughtful. I’m not saying you don’t think – of course you do. But I certainly *don’t* want happening to you what befalls most men your age. Or what happened to Brian.”

Murtagh physically recoiled. “That was due to shock – ”

“Of course it was – but he *had* to have had an underlying condition. Farming is hard. I’ve come to appreciate that so, so much since I came to Lallybroch. And of *course* accidents happen.”

Now she turned to retrieve a needle, the suture trailing behind like a long, shiny trail of dew. Then took the lantern in her other hand, set it on the floor beside Murtagh’s foot, and knelt before him.

“I can’t lose you,” she said finally. “You’re the only father I’ve ever known. And if I have to keep you bloody locked up in this house to keep you safe from yourself, then damn it that’s what I’ll do. You’re too important to me – and to Jamie – and to the children – and to Jenny and Ian and bloody everyone else in this house.”

She splashed more raw whisky on his foot. This time he didn’t – couldn’t – flinch.

“This gash is just an inch from your anterior tibial artery. Had that artery been severed, you would have lost an incredible amount of blood. And I wouldn’t be patching you up – I’d be amputating your foot. And where would that leave you?”

As gently as she could, she inserted the needle and made her first suture.

“I – suppose – wi’out a leg – to stand on,” he hissed.

Claire lay her left hand on the back of his ankle, bracing the foot to help with the stitches. Her face was still turned away from him – but he watched her shoulders shake in a silent laugh.

“Ye ken I’d never purposely put myself in harm’s way. I *do* always have ye and yer wee family on my mind.”

Claire pulled another suture through the two sides of the wound. “I know that. And I appreciate that. I should tell you more.”

“No need, lass. I ken it, and ye ken it, and yer husband kens it. That’s all that matters.”

She worked in silence then, pausing to collect the other suture she had prepared – but not before pouring the rest of her raw whisky in a beaker and handing it to her patient.

“Here – this should take the edge off.”

Murtagh sniffed the glass, then inhaled deeply. “Aye. It’s better than when we first made it – but it’s still enough to knock ye flat on yer back if ye’re no’ careful.”

Claire pressed the sides of the wound closer together. “So, will you be a bit more careful from now on? For me?”

He took a swig, exhaled, and then belched.

“Aye. Ye ken I’d do anything for ye, Claire.”

She nodded absently.

“Hey.” Now he nudged her side with the toe of his good foot. “That’s no’ the drink talking. That’s crabby old *me* talking. Aye?”

“Aye,” she echoed. “You’ve proved that often enough.”

Two more minutes, and then it was all done.

And Murtagh’s whisky was all gone. He handed the empty glass to Claire with a smile so wide that it reminded Claire of the Cheshire Cat illustrations in the book Uncle Lamb had given her for Christmas one year.

“Ye do mind me of Ellen, now and again.” He tilted his head, studying her as if with new eyes. “Foul mouth. Kind heart. Staggering to look at. And a heart so beautifully full of love that she doesna ken what to do wi’ it all.”

Claire flushed. They hadn’t spoken of Ellen since that night in the cave on the beach – a lifetime ago.

“So why would I no’ pledge myself to yer service? Why would I no’ heed every word ye say, Claire?”

Clearly he was waiting for an answer. All she could do was lay a gentle hand on his shoulder and kiss his sweaty brow.

“I’ll be right back, all right? Let’s get you settled in to bed upstairs. You’ll feel much better in the morning.”

And when she returned with Jamie, who helped his godfather stand up and offered his shoulders for support to walk out of the room and up the stairs, Murtagh blessed Claire with another beatific smile.

“More whisky?”

“Now?” Jamie’s brows rose skeptically. “Ye smell like the still house – God kens why Claire thought *that* was a good way to fix yer foot.”

“First bed. Then we can talk about more whisky.”

Then Murtagh FitzGibbons Fraser blew her a kiss, and for once in her life Claire Beauchamp Fraser was at a total loss for words.

anonymous asked:

have you seen "theneedledrop"'s review? he's the biggest music reviewer on youtube...he was pretty harsh but he had good points as well...

I don’t think I did – I’ve certainly not watched any YouTube reviews (and I have negative interest in doing so – there’s only so much male critique I can take, especially not in written form. I am far far more interested in the reviews from women. For the most part, male music reviewers can go wank in their own corners out of my line of sight, thank you).

Don’t get me wrong – I loooove this album. It’s flaws make it what it is, which is just the first step in Harry’s solo career. It’s a reflection of this time and place. Harry couldn’t have made this album if he were fully out, I don’t think, and clearly his inspiration from figures like Bukowski and some older rock and roll includes these female archetypes. As trite as they are to us, they are meaningful to Harry, not necessarily because of what they say about women, but because of what they say about male desire and introspection and demons. I think many of us would have preferred more ambiguity, but that’s not the project Harry was doing. Harry was writing an album to tell about his journey over the last 7 years and that includes his interest in that music and those writers. He used that source material in a way to tell his own stories about fame and ego and frustration but he had to work within the confines of his reality. Which means his metaphors are trapped in an older discursive framework than maybe he’d have liked, but they still served to tell his stories, to get his point of view across. It’s just that the more constrained your metaphorical options are, the fewer people that are going to truly get where you’re going. 

  • Ivy: I know that look, I’ve seen something similar on Selina’s face before.
  • Oswald: W-what look?
  • Ivy: The one that says you’re interested someone, that someone being Victor Fries.
  • Oswald: I am NOT interested Victor Fries.
  • Ivy: Well you either want to kiss him or steal his wallet, either way there is a certain level of interest there and you most certainly do not need the money.

This sigil is to “Counter the Negative Effects of Empathy

“Can you do a sigil for an empath? Im struggling to control my emotions and letting others overwhelm me. My abilities are hard to control and like to build up. Also do you think it work if i sewed it into a patch to put on a bag or a jacket that i use all the time?”

Hi Anon! Firstly, thank you for your request. Secondly, I am sorry to hear you’re struggling– I understand the difficulties associated with being an empath, it can be maddening. This sigil is, flipping the negative E(mpathy) into the positive E(mpathy), it is meant to change the difficult energy and emotions associated with being an empath and mold it into something easier to control and manage, something, well I guess more positive. If you sewed it into a patch I would most certainly expect that it would work, when you make it into a permanent symbol (instead of burning it, tearing it, that kind of thing) the energy should mold your abilities over time instead of a quick use that needs to be repeated- so for what you’re trying to accomplish I would support that idea ten fold. Good luck, okay? <3

The baby was just shy of eighth months the first night she was parted from her mother.

Important business in Orlais. He didn’t like it, and he hadn’t agreed with it. The Inquisitor was a target now, and a valuable one at that. Orlais was not the most trustworthy of ventures either.

But still, Elicia had gone. A duty call, she had said. Just because the Inquistion was not needed so desperately did not mean she was not needed at all. His fears had become realised when they had lost contact with the party, and local scouts reported heavy fighting along their chosen path. Fierce storms had seized the hold, and his units had taken refuge for the night, unable to press ahead. He had paced holes in the flooring of his office waiting for any news, frantic and growing increasingly inpatient by the second, praying for even the smallest slither of information, yet none such had yet come.

And thus, he was in sole custody of the tiny bundle he and the Inquisitor shared. A baby girl; Imogen, they had named her, with tufts of blonde curls, and a gummy smile rumoured to command with ease the very Commander of the Inquisition himself.

Elicia had left enough milk to feed her (and half of Skyhold, Cullen reckoned on inspection) but still, she wailed and refused any more. She was clean (a cautious sniff to the napkin had confirmed that), warm (maybe too warm…or cold?!) and yet, he sensed that his growing anxiety was the culprit in this mess, that his own fear was terrifying her.

He had tried everything to calm her,  Maker, to calm himself, but it was all to no avail.  He paced the floor of their private quarters, bouncing the tearful infant over and over, shushing her as he did. So when his shaky voice managed to find the words to the Chant of Light, and she began to quiet from a scream to a whimler, it was a miracle. A sad sort of smile crept across his face as she finally fell silent, instead choosing to simply stare at him.

“I’m sorry, my little one. I’m not doing very well, am I? Most certainly not up to your mother’s standards. Maker knows what you are thinking right now.”

She continued to stare up at him from his chest, with a quiet hic, the same eyes he recognised as his own, locked to him.

“Actually, I know what you are thinking. What an awful excuse for a father, and for a husband. And you aren’t far wrong. I am not worthy, not deserving of any of this, and you and your mother deserving of something better. I pray you forgive me, little one, for all the instances I fall short of perfection in your eyes. I do not mean for it to be this way.”

He drew her to him, soft head tucking into the crook of his neck, and his cradling arms wrapped her in warmth, and in the sudden fierceness of paternal love.

“But, Andraste preserve me, I love you more than you will ever know. My child, the light of my life, you…have brought love into such dark places of my heart, with such ferocious power I did not know was possible. You and your mother, little love, you have given this sinful wanderer such purpose. I doubt you shall ever know just what you mean to me. And I shall never fail you, I will change it all for you and I will give my life before the Maker a thousand times before I see you come to harm.”

It had become a feverent, hushed muttering, and he pressed a shaking kiss to the side of her head, the wide, innocent eyes of his daughter seizing him once again as he whispered to her, leaning his nose down to rest against her own tiny one.

“This I vow to you, precious one.”

She nestled her head against him, her small body curling against his broad chest, a fist twisting with his linen shirt, and he felt his heart leap, a proud, moving warmth rising in him as her lips twisted with a peaceful sigh; “Da.

Cullen Stanton Rutherford did not often cry. He had long believed that it was for the weak; a fault, a failing. But that night, in the midst of the wild weather, and worrisome wait, he allowed himself a single exception - after all, there was no possible weakness that could have moved him so greatly.

thetrassssssh  asked:

Oh my gooooood!!! I'm not going to pax!! I tried for the last two fucking years and still nothing!! And I bet you're going to say "oh well" or "that's your lost" because you constantly get attention for making chibi's and you're actually proud of your art! And I'm just like forgotten?? I don't know!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Sorry for wasting your time!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

1. i’m sorry if you think i’m one of those ppl that does art just to be famous and all that crap, i’m sorry if you think i am. i’m certainly am not and at least trying not to be that person. i do art because its a thing i enjoy the most, a thing where it gave me emotion where i should let it all out, or be happy. so do me a favor and NEVER assumed me as one of those people who’re only in it for the fame, because i despise those ppl tbh.

so pls, if you can.. just… think of me as one of your friend who’re really chill and like to post silly art for a hobby. :)

2. i’m sorry that 2 years that you didn’t make it to see the ppl that you wanna meet. tell you what, at least you have the materials and the “feeling” that you wanna go. i certainly don’t have that “i wanna meet this ppl irl” (sorry jack, mark, tyler, amy <<especially you boo :’’D)  just because.. i’m not one of “those” ppl? i mean like if i did meet em than i’m thankful, but sadly that thing will never happened because “reality”. i guess, i’m just a chill person. i never mind this kind of things, so lucky for you for not being in my position if you wanna meet your fav youtuber, cuz that would’ve sucked.

and.. probs yer not muslim like me, trump ain’t hatin ya as much as he hates me lol, so you’ll have a chance, don’t give up darl! ;D

anonymous asked:

I imagine that's not very safe to feed your dog an ice cream cone?? Or am I wrong?

I wouldn’t say so. They’re mostly flour and sugar, which isn’t harmful to dogs on an occasional basis. Dogs certainly don’t need sugar, it can lead to cavities, obesity, and diabetes, but I hardly think that will occur after eating an ice cream cone.

Ice cream itself is fine in moderation as well. Dogs do not need dairy, and most are lactose intolerant, but it isn’t harmful on a small scale.

When it comes to people foods, you actually need to be cautious of foods that do not have sugar in them! Xylitol is an artificial sweetener found in sugar free things, and is toxic to dogs 😱