hey fellas, i need mutuals so i can like all your posts and comment everything you post about

if you like, stan and post about:

please reblog (or like) and follow and i’ll follow you back B)

*uses my thumbs to lift my bra straps like an old timey political man would with his suspenders* im the mayor of titty city, bitch

another fine post from god herself

Arya Stark singlehandedly saved mankind and ended the long night, all this after getting her first dick a few hours before

I STAN AN ICON

This morning I woke up to find that my favorite fic series had been cancelled due to the sheer amount of anonymous hate, anger, and backlash being thrown at the author over a plot choice. Now listen, I’m going to say this once. If you are reading a fic and you don’t like it, then don’t. fucking. read. it. It is absolutely not your place to complain about or ridicule a work of fiction that someone has worked on. The people who write these pieces have jobs, school, families, etc. but they find the time to write because it provides an escape for them and others. Constructive criticism is great if the author has specifically asked for it, but generally? No. It’s not your place. I lost my best friend to a car wreck about a year ago. The fic that I had grown so fond of? Its portrayal of one of the main characters was mirror image of my friend and his personality. I know it’s odd, but through this work of fiction, I was able to interact with him again. You don’t know what stuff like that can mean to people. No one is forcing you to read it. No one. You have absolutely no right to fuck with an author because you don’t like their work.

i’m so mad holy shit

Cinder-Fuckin’-Rella (Brian May x Reader)

A/N: Another Pretty Woman-inspired fic that I also took way too seriously. Please indulge how very extra I am. Also, I would like to emphasize that this is a completely FICTIONALIZED take on the New Orleans Jazz party, I’m 100% sure Brian partied just as hard as the other boys, but for the story’s sake let’s pretend he was feeling sad boi hours. Additionally, the research I did on the party was fairly limited and there aren’t very many clear accounts of what happened that night, so who knows if this party and this hotel was really this extra. All of the descriptions of the hotel are fictional as well as the party guests/hired entertainment (cuz who knows, ya know?). For the sake of the story, Brian is also not married/in a relationship/a father in 1978 in this fic because that would complicate things way too much. 

Summary: A Night at the Fairmont. It’s 1978, and Freddie Mercury is hosting the legendary New Orleans party in celebration of Queen’s latest album, Jazz. Exotic dancers, musicians, peculiar acts plucked from the street join in revelry alongside glossy celebrities. As one of the hired entertainers of the evening, you feel like you can’t quite enjoy the festivities. Queen’s guitarist feels the same way.

Word count: 7.2k

Warnings: smut, prostitution, angst, kinda cheesiness, extraness, foul language, 18 + ONLY

✾ ✾ ✾

The lively, uptempo music was flowing through the large ballroom of the Fairmont Hotel. The source of the music was the hired cross-dresser band that had been playing on a temporary, yet very ornate stage that Freddie Mercury himself had commissioned to be built for the party. The way they played was deafeningly loud, but was somehow still not as ear-shattering as the roar of the guests, who were ineffectively yelling over each other, laughing raucously, and shrieking obnoxiously—not to mention hammered six ways to Sunday.

In some ways, this was exactly your scene, but in others it was far too expensive for what you were used to, and you weren’t nearly drunk enough to tolerate the behavior of some of the guests. The other hired entertainment, acts picked off of the street, flown in from exotic lands, or plucked from houses of ill fame were also interesting to say the least, but you weren’t one to judge. You came from your own house of ill repute.

The girls like you who had been hired to entertain at the party had scattered, all hanging off of the arm of an gentleman or lady decadently dressed to the point of obscenity. It was Halloween after all, and many guests had taken the theme of the night quite seriously—costumed in everything from fine silks to ghoulish rags.

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wow i love my wife

Calling All Boys, Calling All Girls (Gwilym Lee X Reader) Part I

A/N: Hello dears, here’s the first part my first Gwilym series! 

In typical self-indulgent nature, it’s set in an AU where everyone is a teacher because I needed an excuse to write drama teacher Gwil. I just had to.

Pairing: English Teacher/Phone Sex Operator!Reader x Drama Teacher!Gwilym (weirdly specific, but that’s how it ended up lmao)

Summary: As a secondary school teacher with student debt and bills to pay, as well as being generally burdened with millennial misery, you’ve taken up part-time job to help make ends meet, as a phone sex operator. One night you get a call from an equally miserable teacher.

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: smut (um. sorry.), foul language

The drink in Gwilym’s hand had diluted from a rich mahogany hue to a watery brown color, the melted drink creating a build-up of precipitation on the despondent man’s fingers, which were wrapped around the base of the glass. The quiet chatter of the bartender and a few other customers soothed him a bit, making him feel less alone while he was waiting for his blond friend to arrive.

Gwilym and Ben had met while they were both in teacher’s assistant positions at a local secondary school—as an aspiring drama and mathematics teacher, respectively. Despite the gap in their ages, the two of them got along like former university roommates and hit it off almost immediately, and although they had initially both found teaching positions at different schools, they still made sure to see each other all the time.

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ALLY WTF THIS IS AMAZING I WANT MORE OMG AA A A AA A A A A WE STAN

CinemaCon on April 1st, 2019

mMmMm loving my boyfriend