pourxamour

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                                                     thxravxn;

          A few years ago, in school, she'd been made to read a poem about what the world           would end with: Fire or ice. There was more to the poem, she was sure, but with           the outside world slowly making its way from her uncovered orifices to her brain,           she couldn't remember what it was. Her world was going to end in ice -- because            she was going to freeze to death before those firefighters made their way back            outside. Those were some lucky firefighters; if there was a fire in there -- which           she seriously doubted -- were going to die warm. If there wasn't, they'd be warm           still, because that apartment building was heated -- unlike the outside world.

          Allah must really hate her; a breeze passed by just then, pushing hair into her           mouth. The shampoo she used made her hair smell like her namesake, but it sure           didn't taste as good. Jasmine turned her head, trying to spit out the thick strands           while her hand came up to pull them out. She was trembling. Her apartment was           always kept at toasty eighty-five degrees, long pants weren't necessary when she           was sleeping. Pants weren't necessary when she was sleeping. Curse these           adorable booty shorts. Why hadn't anyone offered her a blanket?

          Jasmine rubbed her arms, huddling closer to...anyone. Literally anyone. Anyone           was better than being cold. Even her father's creepy, pedophilic second-hand-man           would be worth cuddling in order to keep this biting chill away. She clenched her           teeth to stop shivering. That didn't do much better. Brown fingers bushed away           more of her hair, getting to it before the wind could.

          She wasn't the only one near naked, was she? The man in front of her -- who she           was trying to cuddle against without having him notice -- was nearly in less clothes           than she was. The boxers covered more than her shorts did. Lucky son of a mule. 

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grow out the mustache/beard thing and she'll consider it

at this point he's just really really pretty

     at what point is one considered really really really pretty?

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Send me a “Φ” if you think my muse has a rocking booty.

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like this for a starter or go to this tag and come plot

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Someone needs to write a ‘the fire alarm went off at 3 am and now the cute guy from the flat next door is standing next to me in his underwear’ AU

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thxravxn replied to your post:if you’re a pretty prince there’s a ten thousand...

[ what about a pretty demon ]

jasmine hates seb because her cat does tbh

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weestley replied to your post:if you’re a pretty prince there’s a ten thousand...

what about a pretty pirate

no hate

unless you're really really really pretty

then she's just really really really frustrated

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if you're a pretty prince there's a ten thousand percent chance jasmine hates your guts

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problem // natalia kills

i got your name hanging from my chain don’t you wanna claim my body like a vandal? you got the cure underneath your shirt don’t you wanna save this dirty little damsel?

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Fuck You - Lily Allen

"…Fuck you (Fuck You) Fuck you very, very much…”

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I’ll swallow my blood before I swallow my pride.

(via idrxs)

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picspam meme: The Big Four [3/4] → Rapunzel

“I promise. And when I promise something, I never ever break that promise. Ever!”

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chosenbyfire replied to your post:chosenbyfire replied to your post “/modern au...

SWEATS WHO SHOULD START

pls do

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priincesoma:

◤♛ ⋮ —— There came the final confirmation Soma needed to hear, the reality of the situation now reluctantly accepted with a nod and rather a subdued acknowledging hum. But when engaged in conversation, it seemed disappointment was a fickle emotion that was easy enough to dispel, as the young royal was quick to perk up once more. After all, he didn’t actually expect her to go along with one of his suggestions so willingly!

“So you will write one, I see..! That’s great! And you’re welcome! If you want my help to compose it, just say the word, okay? I’m good at writing letters.”

Beaming grin went to show that such a positive response from the princess worked wonders on his mood. The knowledge of having been helpful in some way, whether it was to a friend or an entirely new acquaintance he’d only just learned the name of, never did fail to have the Bengali prince’s spirits skyrocketing. Not to mention, with that letter, the disastrous misunderstanding would meet its end… even though the recipient surely wouldn’t even be half as happy about his unwilling woman of interest’s message as Soma figured he would be.

Carefully matching Jasmine’s steps as they proceeded through the bazaar bustling with what must be the last bout of activity for the evening, his head canted to send a not-so discreet glance in his female companion’s general direction. 

“…Hey, you mentioned you were an only child just now. What is that like? Do you get to speak with your parents often? And celebrate birthdays?”

Now that the opportunity to get some answers to questions he’d pondered on since early childhood had presented itself, curiosity took over. As the youngest child of one very large royal family, Soma had definitely never even been remotely close to experiencing a less crowded palace life, himself.

     “Don’t worry, I’m good at writing letters too —       and I might just let you read it after your brother.”

          For some reason, she didn’t think he’d be able to wait. He might try, and have the           letter tease him in the pocket of his baggage, but she suspected eventually the           curiosity would overtake him. Father had done that before; luckily she’d been there           to remind him that, as Sultan, he needed the trust of his people and others’ more           than he needed to know what was written inside a stark white envelope. If anything,           perhaps that black butler that had terrified Rajah so badly would try to stop him, but           this Prince Soma didn’t seem the type to listen. It didn’t matter if he did read it or           didn’t — he would know about it eventually. It’d be addressed to the whole of their           royal family, after all.

          No one would be able to say she was shy after what she had in mind.

     “With my father, more often than I’d like.”

          That wasn’t entirely true. She loved talking to her father. He was a ball of joy bigger           and brighter than the sun, when he wasn’t worrying about her. He was whimsical; he           liked to play with dolls, even before Jafar turned that hobby into a weakness. When           she was young, he’d sit beside her and watch her brush her doll’s hair. Once he had           helped her come up with fantastical backgrounds for a rag they’d found in the           garden. He made her laugh at the silliest things. It was only that now, since she’d           come of age, their conversations geared more towards when she’d accept a           husband than to how their day had gone. Jasmine frowned. She knew her father           loved her; any father that didn’t would have married her to the first man to come           knocking. He underestimated her — underestimated the entire female population of           the planet.

     “I never knew my mother; she died when I was       little. My birthday’s a country-wide affair — I       think your father was here for my tenth birthday.       There was a parade. Why? Isn’t having so many       siblings nearly the same as being an only child?       Or does your father have more than one wife?”

          The Palace was getting closer. She could see the details on the guards’ faces. 

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chosenbyfire replied to your post “/modern au where raja's a single mom and her son takes dance lessons...”

can we do it

y e  s