wench out

Our group had just set up camp in a haunted graveyard, huddled together around a small fire. While food cooked and people began to settle down, our Tiefling bard (me) decided to play on the atmosphere and tell a scary story.

Bard (me) OOC: Can I tell “man door hand hook car door”?

DM: Make it period-appropriate and you’re good.

Bard: One night, a man and his wench go out for a carriage ride under the moonlight. They stop at on the side of the road, and he turns to his wench and says: 

“Darling, I love you very much.”

“What is it, honey?”

“Our horse has stopped moving. I think its leg is broken. I’ll walk to get it some food.”

“Okay, I’ll stay here and look after our guitar. There has been word in the town of guitars being stolen.”

“Good idea. Keep the carriage doors locked no matter what. I love you sweaty.”

So the man left to get oats for the horse. After two hours the wench says, “Where is my gentleman? He was supposed to be back by now.”

Then, the wench hears a scratching sound, and a voice saying “LET ME IN.”

The wench doesn’t do it, and after awhile goes to sleep. The next morning she wakes up and finds her man still not there. She gets out to check and man door hand hook carriage door. 

It’s interesting to see how heroes change (or don’t change) throughout the books, because the people these characters idolize does say a lot about them. Like with Jon, we find out in his very first chapter who he considers to be his hero:

“Daeron Targaryen was only fourteen when he conquered Dorne,” Jon said. The Young Dragon was one of his heroes. –Jon I, AGoT

Which is confirmed again in Jon’s memory of the game him and Robb would play where they pretended to be heroes of legend:

Every morning they had trained together, since they were big enough to walk; Snow and Stark, spinning and slashing about the wards of Winterfell, shouting and laughing, sometimes crying when there was no one else to see. They were not little boys when they fought, but knights and mighty heroes. “I’m Prince Aemon the Dragonknight,” Jon would call out, and Robb would shout back, “Well, I’m Florian the Fool.” Or Robb would say, “I’m the Young Dragon,” and Jon would reply, “I’m Ser Ryam Redwyne.” –Jon XII, ASoS

Except in this memory it’s Robb who claims the title of the Young Dragon, no doubt as a form of retrospective foreshadowing, since both Daeron and Robb took up the mantle of king while they were young teenagers and both died very young too. Regardless, it’s made clear that Jon adores these young heroes, these legends, these warriors, with his particular favorite being the Young Dragon. Even in ADWD, we see him bring him up again:

When Jon had been a boy at Winterfell, his hero had been the Young Dragon, the boy king who had conquered Dorne at the age of fourteen. Despite his bastard birth, or perhaps because of it, Jon Snow had dreamed of leading men to glory just as King Daeron had, of growing up to be a conqueror. Now he was a man grown and the Wall was his, yet all he had were doubts. He could not even seem to conquer those. –Jon VII, ADWD

Seeing Jon grow from “the Young Dragon was one of his heroes” to “he could not even seem to conquer [his doubts]” is such a poignant way of showing how much Jon had grown. Whatever confidence and naïveté he had before the Wall, disappeared with Jon’s post as Lord Commander. Despite the victories he’s had so far, he hesitates to compare himself to this hero, sees himself as only a shadow of conquerer that Daeron was. In other words, he’s grown up. Jon’s heroes are not his heroes anymore, they’re merely unattainable and reminders of how much he hasn’t done.

Another character who has the same sort of singular hero is Jaime Lannister. For him, it’s not a long dead king that’s his hero, but a knight he lived with and knew. His hero is Arthur Dayne, and he’s a man he brings up in his thoughts and conversations many times, particularly when he ponders knighthood and examines his own weaknesses as a knight. He states his worship of him rather clearly:

And me, that boy I was … when did he die, I wonder? When I donned the white cloak? When I opened Aerys’s throat? That boy had wanted to be Ser Arthur Dayne, but someplace along the way he had become the Smiling Knight instead. –Jaime VIII, ASoS

Like Jon, he wanted to be his hero, but unlike Jon, he walked in the complete opposite direction of the path he should have taken. Jaime did not become the chivalrous and well-loved knight that Arthur was. He became someone selfish, he spurned his vows, and he was reviled as a Kingslayer. Jaime does not delude himself into thinking that he can ever be Arthur Dayne, not even in AFFC when he starts to take his first steps towards changing himself:

“The Sword of the Morning slew the Smiling Knight, my lady. Ser Arthur Dayne, a better knight than me.” –Jaime IV, AFFC

He wondered what Ser Arthur Dayne would have to say of this lot. “How is it that the Kingsguard has fallen so low,” most like. “It was my doing,” I would have to answer. “I opened the door, and did nothing when the vermin began to crawl inside.” –Jaime VIII, ASoS

Arthur, the better knight, slew the Smiling Knight that Jaime feels he had become. While Arthur does remain as a paragon of knighthood in Jaime’s eyes, he also has a new hero in his heart, though he might never admit it to himself.

Jaime sat alone at the table while the shadows crept across the room. As dusk began to settle, he lit a candle and opened the White Book to his own page. Quill and ink he found in a drawer. Beneath the last line Ser Barristan had entered, he wrote in an awkward hand that might have done credit to a six-year-old being taught his first letters by a maester:

Defeated in the Whispering Wood by the Young Wolf Robb Stark during the War of the Five Kings. Held captive at Riverrun and ransomed for a promise unfuffilled. Captured again by the Brave Companions, and maimed at the word of Vargo Hoat their captain, losing his sword hand to the blade of Zollo the Fat. Returned safely to King’s Landing by Brienne, the Maid of Tarth. –Jaime IX, ASoS

Jaime disparages Brienne, calls her stubborn and a wench, and yet is mystified by her innocence, her commitment to duty, and her ability as a warrior. It is not until after Jaime’s travels with Brienne do we begin to see change in Jaime, whose very first chapter begins with thoughts of Cersei. It pushes him to defend her, to saved her from being raped, save her from being gored by a bear, defends her honor to Loras (who had still believed her to be Renly’s murderer), and strikes Ronnet Connington when he speaks ill of her:

“Why, I went to Tarth and saw her. I had six years on her, yet the wench could look me in the eye. She was a sow in silk, though most sows have bigger teats. When she tried to talk she almost choked on her own tongue. I gave her a rose and told her it was all that she would ever have from me.” Connington glanced into the pit. “The bear was less hairy than that freak, I'll—”

Jaime’s golden hand cracked him across the mouth so hard the other knight went stumbling down the steps. His lantern fell and smashed, and the oil spread out, burning. “You are speaking of a highborn lady, ser. Call her by her name. Call her Brienne.”

Connington edged away from the spreading flames on his hands and knees. “Brienne. If it please my lord.” He spat a glob of blood at Jaime’s foot. “Brienne the Beauty.” –Jaime III, AFFC

Which one might consider the peak of irony because Jaime more often than not refers to Brienne as a wench, except for the day they part:

“There’s the stubborn stupid wench that I remember.”

She reddened. “My name is…”

“Brienne of Tarth.” Jaime sighed. “I have a gift for you.” He reached down under the Lord Commander’s chair and brought it out, wrapped in folds of crimson velvet. –Jaime IX, ASoS

Yet even when he calls her wench, it’s hardly out of hate. Jaime admires Brienne. The irreligious Jaime even gives her a sincere prayer:

Unbidden, his thoughts went to Brienne of Tarth. Stupid stubborn ugly wench. He wondered where she was. Father, give her strength. –Jaime I, AFFC

Watching Brienne become his modern-day heroine is just so satisfying. He moves away from worshipping only the dead, whether they be Arthur, or Gerold Hightower, or Rhaegar Targaryen, and finds someone amongst the living, a glimmer of hope, that inspires him. The dead are unattainable; the living are not. Jaime also gives Brienne a Valyrian Steel sword named Oathkeeper, which I can’t help but connect back to Arthur Dayne and Dawn. It seems to me that Jaime believes that every great hero has to have an incredible sword with a good name.

I’m sure there are others in the series that show this same sort of growth via their idols, but these two are the only two I can think of right now (and how fitting, because Jon and Jaime share some pretty interesting parallels IMO).

Frying pans?!

This came to me after an amazing anon came and told me about a dream involving Lucifer, Castiel, Chuck and frying pans. I literally got this idea in my head straight away and had to write it. Tags are from the tag lists from SPN Fanfic pond and @mrswhozeewhatsis

Summary: Lucifer is annoying you and demands a duel from Cas for your honor.

Warnings: Fluff.

Pairing: Reader x Lucifer? Reader X Castiel? Reader X Chuck? Gotta read to find out :D

Word count: 793.

Originally posted by lucifer-is-pretty

“Get away from me you weirdo.” You shouted at Lucifer. He had been following you around the Bunker for days. Just yesterday, he popped into your room as you were in the middle of a Disney marathon and he hadn’t stopped going on about it since.

“Really Y/N? I’m the weirdo.” Lucifer scoffed. “You’re a grown woman who watched Disney crap.”

You spun on your heel, jabbing your finger into his face. “Listen here you hell spawn. I enjoy the films. Lots of people watch them at all ages. Besides do you really have a leg to stand on? You go strop into your room like a teenager whenever you throw a tantrum and you are one of the oldest beings in creation.” You were panting by the end of your rant but you were furious with him. The sooner your brothers came back the better.

Keep reading

sailuros  asked:

Ieyasu with Tip of Toe please, just to max out the difficulty level hehehe. If not the waist would be lovely too! Please and thank you!

Anonymous: You’re amazing! Would love to see what you can do with Ieyasu and “tip of the toe”~

  • Ieyasu + Tip of the Toe (worship/idolise)

It comes out like a snake, slithering past his lips and coiling itself around her chest. She won’t look at him for fear of giving too much away, but if he only knew what his voice did to her, chest pounding, the Archer of Tokai would not be giving her that particular look.

“Will you stop doing that?”

“Doing what?” she asks. And she really won’t be doing anything, perched as she is on the porch near his bedroom, legs swinging, his warmth close enough to set her alight.

“Do you think this is funny? Stop right this instant.”

His scowl sets her mind aflame. She doesn’t stop thinking just how delicious it would be to kiss that face of his. With no warning. To sling her arms around his neck and press herself into that chest. How irritated he would be as her fingers grope inside to feel the skin that binds his heart away.

“Kitchen wench.” His hand shoots out, and she’s betting it will land near her face, or grasp at her arms, but it flies so off course and seizes her thigh, squeezing hard, that her body will shoot fireworks out of her brain for the sudden sizzle it elicits.

“I will only tell you one more time. Stop it.”


“Milord, perchance you’re distracted?”

And she won’t be able to stop teasing him. She puts a brake on her legs, and they slowly settle into a slight swaying, the motion soft enough to set her sandal bobbing up and down. With each back and forth, her kimono slides up revealing the most tantalising bit of skin; a roadmap of sin from her ankles up and up and up into the unknown.

She knows how it must look — absurdly distracting in that orderly mind of his — and the knowledge thrills her.

How dare you.” But it comes out too soft, too choked, too breathy.

“Forgive me.” She doesn’t mean a single word, not when her sandal goes flying off, arching not too far away into the garden against a spot of sunlight. In a movement that sends her pulse careening off a cliff she lifts her foot and settles it in his lap, gazing at him through lashes at once provocative and unrestrained.

Oh, she feels the storm. It won’t be coming from the sky, but billowing at her side. Electricity sparks off him, and she sees how he fights with himself. She can’t tell if he’s furious or aroused. Or furiously aroused. Her toes will curl in anticipation either way.

He lets her have it, that’s for sure, ranting and raving like the child she’s so fond of, but it will escape him how her smile curves just a little higher, the amusement rolling into a wave before it bursts out of her in clipped tones, loud and giddy.

“You’ve gone and done it now. I will have your head.”

Her back arches in delight and she struggles for words. “You’d— Milord, you’d— You’d make a better case of it if you weren’t so— distracted!”

And he’ll look down and almost gag for how his hand has moved from her thigh to her feet, fingers clasped around the pesky appendage and sending tickles all over. He looks so much like a lost deer she doubles over, almost sending herself off the platform if not for his tight grasp around her toes.

Shut up.” 

She won’t. “Give us a kiss, milord, and I won’t mention this to Tadatsugu.” 

For all the huffing and puffing, and for all the good it does him to glare at her, he will surprise her because she means a kiss on her lips, not the one he plants on her toes, soft and achingly warm, hair tickling the space of skin between her ankle and the edge of her kimono. It shuts her up immediately, and a longing so fierce contracts in her gut. 

His look is hell itself. “If you mention this to anyone, dung beetle, I will–”

“–kill me, right?” 

And she won’t feel the pinch at her feet because her head will be rolling so far into the clouds he’ll have to reach up and bring her down himself. 

Goblin King! AU

Genre: This part is some angsty shit with the grandmother but that’s about it, and even then there’s not much. There will be a second part that will wrap it up (the second most likely going to be more filth than plot just an fyi) w/ Goblin King! Jimin

Pairing: Goblin King! Jimin X Reader

Posted: 2/22/17

Words: 2.3k, just a warning it is really long even if it may not seem like it.

Warnings: mature themes, swearing, shitty writing, alternate universe (So Jimin will act different, as well as the other members), winky wonk sturf (not until later), shitty writing, and oh did I mention shitty writing?

Description/Summary - When your stepmother treats you like dirt and tells you that she’s selling your childhood home, the one that held all of the memories you had of your now deceased father, you become enraged, betrayal seeping through your veins. In a fit of a thunderous rage you call upon the Goblin King and beg him to kill her and take you away from your horrible life. Little did you know, he heard your call. But there is a price ;).

A/N: I’m warning y’all now, I haven’t really written in a while so I’m a bit rusty, oh and I’m shit at writing. Yeah I’m just damn trash floating around in a void of more trash that consumes my every being. I also did not edit this, I was hella bored and this happened. I don’t really feel like editing this after 3 days of work on this thing. Let me know if you guys want the other parts, and please be nice.
Also, some ideas are taken from the cinematic genius that is the movie Labyrinth, It has David Bowie in it and it’s one of my favorite movies from my childhood. If you haven’t seen it, set your shit down and go fucking watch it, it’s awesome. I do not own the Goblin King aspect, but most of the other stuff is mine.

Keep reading


A/N: Agressive sex, plottwist and me having no idea tf I am doing. You have been warned. This is a smut shot based on the Moon Jongup we see in skydive. This means there will be violent kinks in this smut.
You are adopted daughter and heiress to South Korea’s biggest mobster. He’s married you to Kim Himchan. It is a loveless and fruitless marriage. You have always found his men infinitely more interesting. Especially Moon Jongup.

Only Days prior

“Sleep well, my love, I will be back before you know it.” Himchan leans in to kiss you on the forehead. “Who will you take with you?” You ask sweetly. You silently hope he’ll leave one of the younger men home. “Only Yongguk.” Himchan replies., stuff multiple handguns where ever they will go in his outfit. You humm softly, thinking to yourself about how Yongguk is probably Himchan’s lover. It’s not like you can spite him for it. You aren’t all that faithful either. There is no love lost between you and Himchan.

Himchan leaves swiftly, not stalling for heartfelt goodbye’s. He leaves you behind in your own spacious mansion, probably not suspecting of what happens when he is away.

Keep reading

jaime: calls brienne wench almost entirely through out asos, calls her ugly, insults her constantly, shows her bare minimum respect for saving his sorry ass

yall: omg!!!! i can’t wait until jaime leaves cersei for brienne they have such a healthy relastionship

Where We Belong (3/6)

au. It’s like they can’t help it, they are drawn to each other like moths to the flame and she knows that she’ll only get burned if she doesn’t stay away but she can’t find it in herself to care. captain wench.

part one. part two. part three. part four. part five. part six.

rated m

(Alright, sorry for the wait. First of all, thank you for all the likes and reblogs, they really made my week. Second, remember, this is a Captain Wench story and CW’s dynamic is a little bit different than CS’, so I hope you like how I’m handling these two idiots. And, fair warning, lots of no talking stuff in the first part of this chapter.

I hope you like it and stay with me until this is over.)

part three.

Funnily enough it is fairly easy to find her - fairly because even though it takes almost five weeks to find her it is not as hard as he thought it would be. It’s not like Hook remembers her face or - to be entirely honest - anything else about that night (only golden tresses, a flash of bright green, a pleasant voice with a teasing lilt - a siren, maybe, lulling him into safety while already planning to drown him in the depth of the dark sea). He doesn’t remember anything after the tavern only that he woke up the next morning, his head pounding so hard that for a moment he thought it was going to explode, feeling dazed and slightly nauseous, his pants around his ankles - how they got there is truthfully the thing he wants to know the most, he’s only a man after all.

And of course then there is the fact that he had opened the top drawer of his desk only to find a feather instead of the golden compass he had originally been looking for and, well, everybody in the Enchanted Forest has heard of the Swan - in his circles the bandit is even better known than Snow White and that’s really something these days, considering the fact that the Queen herself has not only offered a pretty high reward for the former princess but is also searching the entire realm for her in the cruelest manner.

However, according to a variety of sources the Swan is the most skilled, the most vulpine and rumor has it even the most beautiful thief that wanders their realm at the moment - though some people like to appeal against the last statement, claiming Snow White is by far the fairest of them all (which is simply a matter of taste, really).

Until now Hook has not really given any thought to her, only admired her work from afar and never for too long but now that he has fallen victim to her impressive skills himself it is rather hard not to think about her all the time.

Keep reading

Hairstyles and hats, ca. 1830: part 3

Whew!  So now we’ve talked about hair and hats, so what’s left?  What’s left is the good stuff, honey.

The eccentricities of 1820s/1830s fashion can only be fully appreciated by looking at some of the shit women put on their heads.  I don’t mean hats, because that’s just so mundane.  I mean, like, turbans.  Feathers.  Veils.  Tortoiseshell and strings of pearls.  Random scraps of van-dyck-a-licious fabric.  That kind of stuff.  At least it’s a little toned down from earlier decades.

Yeah, I’m looking at you, 18th century.

Hair ca. 1830 wouldn’t be complete without a look at these not-quite-hats-but-what-should-we-call-them headdresses.

First, the good old fashioned turban.

^^^An early 1820s example.  Not too different from the stuff still being worn 10 years later:

Now, I can only assume that this fashion trend, which had actually been around even since the 1790s, had a lot to do with orientalist tastes in a Europe that was just starting to take more artistic notice of North Africa and the Middle East.  The turban example just above seems to support this assumption, with its little orientalist tail sticking out the bottom.  See also:




Now, some people can’t be satisfied with just a turban.  They need to kick it up a notch:

I mean, I like turbans and I like feathers, right?  Why can’t I have them both together on one headdress?  There’s no such thing as too much-much in the 1830s, as we will see below.

Besides turbans, there’s a sort of stiffer, more structured turban that some ladies wear, which I guess I would call a tam, since that’s what it most closely resembles.  You know, like a PhD graduation hat?

(Yes, they look terrible on everyone.  Including this dummy.)

It’s still a fabric lump on your head, but one with more stiffness and shape.  They look a bit like a mortarboard’s bastard child with a beret.  Of course, it’s 1830, so these ladies have to take it to the extreme.  Because, 1830s.  So the 1830s tam isn’t just any tam.  It’s, like, a tam on steroids:

^^^Huh???  What is this thing, even?

^^^Wow, this lady was not to be outdone, by anyone.

You’ll notice that all of these turbans and, um, tams are designed to sit far back on the forehead, so that the ladies’ sausage curls can stick out the front.  Cuter that way, I guess.  But these hats are seriously helpful for those days when you just don’t feel like doing your hair up.  And now that you’ve seen what “doing your hair up” entails for these ladies, you can even better appreciate the usefulness of a turban or two in a fashionable closet.

Another really common headpiece is the so-called “morning cap,” and its sluttier cousin, the kerchief.  The morning cap is a form of undress, that is, stuff ladies lay around the house in, before they feel like getting dressed to go out.  The kerchief is what you tie on your head when you’re a brazen wench hanging out the window and making kissy faces at the hot guys in the street:

Kidding, it’s something you wear to bed over your hair.  But in all seriousness, it is boudoir chic, so maybe not something you’re going to receive company in.  Unless it’s that sort of company.

 The morning cap is usually seen on married women, especially if they’re old and crotchety:  

But it’s also for the young and nubile ones that guys are always trying to hit on:

^^^The bigger the better, amirite?  Welcome to the 1830s.

^^^Looks like she has some competition, though.

As you can see in the above examples, it’s basically a simple cap made of embroidered muslin, netting, or lace that falls around the face in flounces and ruffles, decorated to hell with ribbons and held onto the head with pins.  Like the turban, it covers all the hair except for the curls on your forehead.  Because of this, women found morning caps and turbans useful for wearing with fake curls, as mentioned in a previous post.

^^^I think this is also a morning cap, there on the right?  It doesn’t cover her hair too thoroughly, though, so it kinda just looks like a pile of ribbon and lace plopped on her head.

Besides morning caps, there are caps that I would call more of a coif.  

(For the non-medievalists, ^^^this is a coif.)

Coifs continued to be worn by women of the lower classes from the Middle Ages through the 20th century, though by the 19th century they were being called “caps” and required a more complicated pattern:

These coif-looking caps were probably used in much the same way as morning caps, to cover the hair of married ladies.  They’re more plain, though, and they give me more of a homespun, provincial feel, despite being made out of amazingly fine muslin and linen that couldn’t have been cheap to buy or to maintain:

You’ll notice for these examples that most of them have a ridiculously tall crown in the back.  As with the hats that I looked at in the previous post, that’s of course to accommodate the very tall hair of the period and not squash it.

Here are some extant examples of caps that fall somewhere between the simpler coif style and the more floofy morning cap style:

^^^Made of fine netting.  Amazing that it survived this long.

Here’s another weird hybrid that looks like a coif, but with an extended brim and a neck protector, making it more of a sun bonnet:

Besides caps and turbans, women also had the option of wearing veils.  Veils came in two basic types: those intended to be affixed to a hat of some type, and those worn directly on/in the hair.  Veils worn in the hair were a common sight at special occasions such as balls, the opera, and, yes, weddings.  The bridal veil is just one type of special-occasion veil in this period, and in appearance, it looks fairly indistinguishable from other hair veils.

^^^Normal dressy veil.

^^^Bridal veil.

^^^????  Not really sure.

^^^Crazy veil.

^^^Awesome veil.

Then there are some veil types that are unusual, and defy description.

^^^Almost more of a kerchief.

^^^What is this?

Veils are extremely common on hats as well.  They were worn to keep the sun and elements off the face, but also for modesty and especially by women who were “up to no good” and did not wish to be recognized in public.  Not all veils were long, though–some were only little fringes hanging from the brim of the hat.  For show?

^^^Riding/hunting hat with veil.


^^^…but then she recognizes a friend and stops to chat.

^^^They come in colors, too!  The return of the greenness of hats.

If none of these headdress options appeal to you, you will always still have the good old mainstays of 1830s hair fashion: ornaments, combs, and tiaras.

^^^Tortoiseshell combs: very, very popular in this period.

^^^Fab tiara!


And every once in a while, you come across an exemplary example.  By which I mean, an example who is more 1830 than 1830, for whom “too much-much” does not even come close.  Because one headpiece is never enough:

Oh so baroque!  She’s one fierce, detailed-oriented diva.

So that was hair and hats.  It took forever, but it’s a lot of gorgeous and fabulous to take in at one time, and so better digested in parts.

Fridays | Part 7 |

Plot - He didn’t think things could do downhill so fast. He blamed himself, but who else was there to blame? He did that to himself and now he was facing the unavoidable consequences. 

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 || Part 7 ||


Jungkook nervously glanced at the clock, time not being on his side and going slower than usual. His foot tapped on the ground impatiently, gnawing on the pen in his hands. Jimin glanced at him from the corner of his eye, lightly nudging him when the teacher turned her back to the class to start writing on the whiteboard. Jungkook quickly looked up, his eyebrows lifted as the pen fell from between his lips. Jimin felt himself smirking as he rolled his eyes at the younger boy. 

“What’s your problem?” He whispered, laughing softly when Jungkook squinted his eyes in frustration. “You know exactly what’s my problem. The wench yelled it out for everyone to hear, especially (Y/N) and her little toy.” Jimin clicked his tongue against his teeth in annoyance, shaking his head and sitting straighter in his seat. Both boys kept their eyes on the whiteboard but continued talking to avoid getting in trouble.

“You do know that’s you’re fault? (Y/N) didn’t tell you to sleep with the wench.” Jimin scoffed and lazily scribbled down what the teacher wrote, not bothering to listen to the actual lesson. Jungkook’s grip on the pen tightened as he quickly wrote down the important words on his paper. “I didn’t think she cared.” 

Jimin froze, pausing to take a deep breath. “You’re lucky we’re in class, otherwise I would’ve punched your front teeth in.” The younger boy dropped his pen harshly on the notebook, turning to face Jimin, who didn’t spare him another glance. “If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t be all buddy-buddy with her, so I’d shut up if I was you. You don’t get to be all protective around her because that’s my job-”

“Technically it’s Wonho’s job.” Jimin said smugly, shooting Jungkook a cocky smile. Jungkook opened his mouth to say something else, but shut it when he heard the bell ring. He quickly threw his things in his backpack, shoving people out of the way and making his way to your class. He faintly saw the top of your head through the large crowd, the absence on Wonho making his feet move faster. 

Once you were in arm’s length, he pulled you away from the crowd, dragging you down to the courtyard. You let out a small grunt, almost dropping the content in your arms. You turned to face whoever had grabbed you, ready to curse at them, but seeing Jungkook caused your eyes to widen. Pursing your lips, you narrowed your eyes at him. Giving him a deathly glare, you started to walk away from him. 

“Just hear me out.” He pleaded, his tone softening. His voice sent shivers down your arms, the want of hearing his voice again pained you. You set your stuff down  on the ground, opening your arms. “Go ahead. You’ve already wasted enough of my time. What more can 5 minutes do.” You held in a sigh, crossing your arms over your chest and waited for him to say something. His mouth remained agape, trying to muster the words he’s been wanting to say. 

“Yes, she’s pregnant.” You snorted, letting out a couple laughs. “Is that all? I could care less about who you get pregnant.” He felt his heart sink at how you were acting towards him, usually if he came to you about his problems, you’d stroke his hair, tell him everything would be fine, give him a kiss on his nose or temple. But you didn’t even soften your gaze at him, nor make an effort to make him feel better.

“I’m surprised she’s the only one actually. Considering you’ve slept with almost every living person on this campus.” You hissed, shifting your weight from foot to foot. You knew your words hit him like knives, but with the amount of fury running through your veins, you didn’t care. His eyes widened slightly, his mouth dropping in shock. He had never heard you say anything hurtful, you were always a bundle of hugs and sunshine. 

“I always thought of you.” 

The statement made you lose it. A round of patronizing laughs left your mouth, your head falling back in laughter. “You sleep with so many women, but I’m always the one of your mind? Give it up Jungkook, you’re making yourself look pathetic.” 

“It’s true. Yes, I sleep with them, I get pleasure from it, but I picture you the whole time. I feel your touch, I inhale your scent, I’ve always wanted it to be you. You make me feel pure, you rid me of all the things they’ve done to me. You made a different side of me.” His voice was almost begging you to believe him, but you knew better. 

“Shame, that would’ve made me melt if I actually cared.” You mumbled, picking up your things. He panicked, throwing the things out of your hands. His hands gripped your arms, pulling you close and pressing his lips against yours. Despite your hits against his chest to push him away, his grip only tightened. He cupped his hands against your cheeks, burying his fingers in your hair. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.” He mumbled against your lips. 

You felt him being ripped away from you, shocked to hear the sound of blows being landed against each other. You saw a cluster of two boys angrily throwing punched at each other. In a panic, you grabbed the closest one, a gasp escaping your lips when you saw who it was. Jungkook spat out a bit of blood that had collected in his mouth, glaring up at the male who attacked him.

“Jimin, what the hell?” 

A/N - It’s been so long since I updated this. But tell me what you think (:


((When Nohrians turn up at a party

Xander voice: By order of the king…t URN THAT SHIT UP

Camilla voice: This makes me want to show a bit of ankle.

Leo voice: This is so 1170s, give me some 940 classics.


Forest Inktober - Day 4 - The Ancient Wizard

⚡️ — You find yourself ducking into a hollow log as soon as his heavy, uncertain footsteps can be heard. Barely daring to look out, you catch glimpse of him. Heavily bandaged eyes under a grey hood, hand clutched around some sort of pendant. “I know you’re there!” He bellows suddenly. “Come out, wenches!” You soon know that he doesn’t mean you. His footsteps fade away, and you continue on.

sonofjudah-deactivated20140621  asked:

I think it's time for us black men to start uplifting our sisters and show them that they're more than just pieces of body. You're our sisters and without y'all to support and uplift us also, we can't do shit. So my beautiful sister, I want to tell you that you're the most beautiful woman on earth. If no other man on earth tells you, tell them I said it first. The black woman is our rock, our support, our foundation, not our bed wench. So out of love sister, I say to you, RISE UP!