aries: sexually frustrated at everything
taurus: really nice but dead inside
gemini: mostly just hungry
cancer: in the closet but not really
leo: super gay for everyone
virgo: promises not to tell and then tells everyone
libra: lazy assholes like seriously do something with your life
scorpio: i’ve never met one but they’re all jerks
sagittarius: always boning your mom
capricorn: loves everyone but loves themselves more
aquarius: never not killing you
pisces: big booty bitches
finding fanfiction i haven’t read yet
Jaimie Alexander behind the scenes for South Magazine | 2013 | x
"You were never happier than that weekend. On the following morning, you would be married. One more night as Miss Mina Murray before you became Mrs. Charles Branson. You didn’t seem to mind this loss of self. Perhaps, I minded it for you.”
♛ 500 episode challenge ♛
↳ 93. kings - 1.01 & 1.02 Goliath
Some people are waiting for a stranger to walk up and tell ‘em just how perfect they are; as if you are in the middle of their dance floor. A fluttering wish of syrup you can’t wait to taste.
Hold your breath and wait. We need to get rid of them. But try it. Look at the one that’s lonely and wandering aimlessly for warm arms to shelter in. Look into their eyes and tell them just how entitled they should be to have drawn you in; floating on their pheromones, thirsty for a touch of that curved smile. You’re guaranteed a night of royalty.
But that’s a high standard to keep.
I prefer a different route:
You have to choke your lover with so many actions, so many words and so much dismay they can’t help but to want to touch you. You have to say you want to kiss them and only rub their lips. You want to say you can’t keep your hands off them and sit quietly, legs crossed and hands locked between your thighs and say, “i’m fighting the feeling.”
Be… as if your skin is a different kind of leather and your tone a different hue than most. You have to slither like a fucking python, poison them with the lights on, smile when they flicker off and let it be known to the public. You have to make them feel securely independent, free to roam and come at will. You have to let them breathe on you just a little. You have to starve and feed and starve and feed ‘em.
Or you can find your prince and princess’. But I prefer leggings to a cinderella dress. And I prefer vodka over water before bed. Take your pick, I guess."
when he calls me darlin’ my heart trips over his southern drawl.
he watches my lips kiss red lipstick at a stoplight
as I remind him to look at the road when he’s driving.
he rambles about how wine gives him a headache,
I leave a red kiss on his neck.
he thinks it’s funny that I keep oranges in the backseat of my car.
he leaves the taste of citrus on my lips when he says
fruit in the summer reminds him of being a kid.
let me be your rekindled innocence,
climb my jungle gym all night long,
leave your sugary kisses on my wrists.
“forbidden fruit,” I say as the windows of my car fog.
we make love in a backseat of oranges.
I put sugar on my toast for breakfast and eat wearing just his shirt.
he says I’m the reason the birds sing in the morning.
I tell him I’m the reason hurricanes destroy innocent cities.
he runs his hands up my thighs,
my body shivers over a sip of coffee gone cold.
he thinks he’s keeping me safe when he holds me close at night,
he’s naive to the destruction love leaves behind.
girls like me are the reason people have storm shelters.
boys like him are the reason people forget to use them.
CS AU Week: Day 3 — Modern Day AU
Rating: F is for Fluffy first meetings
Emma doesn’t see it coming — one second she’s walking down the street like any other normal morning on her way to get coffee before work, and the next thing she knows, she’s flat on her back seeing stars dancing around the edges of her vision with the wind knocked out of her and a very large, very fluffy, very enthusiastic dog nuzzling and licking at her face. She tries to buck him off, tries to use her hands to push him away, but he’s insistent and heavy and his paws keep digging into her stomach and making her wheeze.
“Damn it, you mongrel!”
She dimly hears the voice before the dog is yanked off of her and a struggle ensues. She’s breathing hard, attempting to pull air into her lungs amidst the sounds of whining and barking, intermixed with the low curses of a rich voice and his occasional grunts as he attempts to handle his dog.
“What the hell did I say?” he asks, as if the dog can understand fluent English. “Where the bloody hell are your manners?”
Emma groans and pushes up onto her elbows, and suddenly he’s the there — both hands on her arms, helping her sit up.
“Are you alright?” he wonders.
She tips her face up, ready to berate him for his inability to control his dog, but the minute their gazes meet, every singe thought slips from her mind. All she can do is stare, slack-jawed, into quite possibly the most handsome face she’s ever seen in her life — all scruffy and chiseled and dark-featured with insanely blue eyes.
I just really miss Disney.