six-foot-one

So apparently, I’ll forever be single because I’m 6’
A guy has confirmed this.
Because according to him, guys like shorter girls. He didn’t say it, but it was insinuated.
Not forgetting his reaction to my height being ‘oh shit…’ So nice.
He also said ‘Good luck in finding your Green Giant’.

Where IS my Green Giant? He doesn’t have to be green, but I can understand if he has to come from another planet.

But really.
Where is my Green Giant? My manraffe. Yes. A man who is also a giraffe.

Playlist #2

1. Outta Control - Thousand Foot Kruch

2. Face Down - Red Jumpsuit Apparatus https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W8wvyPDZo_w

3. The Dilemma - You Me At Six https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jra25m1vIyI

4. Casual Affair - Panic! at the Disco https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zyx0W5UhJGM

5. Sweat It Out - Breathe Carolina https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ifHqMQ_5O8w

6. Car Radio - Twenty One Pilots https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O7FVD2Gskwo

7.  Situations - Escape The Fate https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zRWMMZkTkPk

8. Way Away - Yellowcard https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=96ZamsVVa_A

9. Good Girls Bad Guys - Falling in Reverse https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ga2r8bpzo5k

10. One Of THOSE Nights - The Cab  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aSj93Tly0Gg

Miami

The lift’s on again. Tranquil trance played on electronic instruments behind a speaker, top left on the ceiling. Two updates away from up to date, half a second slower than the song’s normal play. Small deviation in backup synths to avoid copyright. Ultraviolet light fixtures on sides of the door. Stains illuminate bodily fluids, no indication of which. Empty, except for Xerxes. Six foot two, one-hundred fifty six pounds, dark clothes. Stands out from patrons in glowing fluorescent paint and neon colored clothing. Third floor, fifth floor.  Tyoko’s Club, Miami. Time is twenty-three and twelve. Loaded pistol, left hip holster designed for right reversed. Slight graze of metal detector causes momentary EMP spike in scanning equipment, custom designed smart gloves, twelve thousand credits. The music pauses in the elevator. The door starts to open. Xerxes grasps his weapon, clearing it from holster. The crowd dances to throbbing bass driven music. A cold gloved hand shorts the panic button in the elevator.

The shadow steps out of the elevator, dark duster coat sweeping away the detritus of condom wrappers, half chewed tabs of empathogenics, and whatever else constituted the livelihood of the dancing mass centered around ten foot tall speakers in an orgy of controlled chaos and sound. The first person to spot Xerxes’ firearm was a bouncer, face lined and a cybernetic eye in his left socket that had already keyed in on the metal frame. Xerxes spun, gyrating in similar ways to the dancers, index finger on the safety for any opportune second. The prey was close. The swirling bodies limned in every color imaginable and a couple that seemed inconceivable didn’t notice or didn’t care, their brain function either deadened or too high to care off whatever they’d taken in bathroom stalls where the pulsing pound of bass was a crashing wave on a welcoming sandy shore.

The bouncers were pushing through the crowds, no doubt all had a chatter in their ear of a red alert. They were always fifty feet away though in the massive swarm of bodies. The patrons were unwitting aids, pushing back against the bouncers, furious that their synthetic ecstasy was being tarnished by physical contact that didn’t constitute another in skintight clothing with glassed over eyes. The rough and tumble push was slowed greatly. Xerxes eyes brightened in the strobe and kaleidoscope of lights as he saw the target. Well dressed, forties, peppered black hair, slight belly behind dress shirt. Seventeen year old girl on lap, a detail Xerxes keyed into by some feral instinct. The safety clicked off. Screams. The lights were fading in Xerxes eyes, the world was darkening. The lights were turning white in his eyes, the darkness was darker, a void that needed to be filled burying into his psyche and soul. Arm raises 35 degrees, sights aren’t aimed down. 35 meter shot. Forty five caliber bullet. Index finger sits on trigger. A deep voiced black man is shouting. The girl begins to leap in panic. Man’s pupils dilate, fight/flight. The trigger is squeezed once. The hammer drops. A miniature supernova in the pistol; the birth of a bullet exiting barrel womb. The slide pulls back, placenta cartridge ejects like unwanted afterbirth next to a condom wrapper. Shot hits carotid, arterial spurt of bloody fireworks. Xerxes ducks as a heavy arm nearly snaps into his neck. Grabs bouncers arm and performs somersault off of it. Bouncer falls off balance. Twelve credits an hour is hardly enough for this kind of spectacle.

Tyoko’s out of his office, on the floor. Bright green spiked hair, as if black and white corporates would ever run a place like this. Middle-eastern, emigrated 2067. Xerxes devoured details, and had found all the information on the club owner any personal site could offer, and a couple hacks into his email account, as if anyone with an account named *Agent69@Miami.com* would have some hard to crack password. Xerxes has already made it to the elevator, enabling it and the alarms. The police will show up in fourteen minutes by mileage from the station and that the only pressing concerns at near midnight are drunk drivers. Most likely four cars. Xerxes had no intent to sit in the back of one of them. The music is soft and harmonious as the door closes as a bouncer closes in on the door. He will press the call button, but by then someone on the third floor has called to get up. They will be disappointed. Xerxes steps out as a fifteen year old boy gets in. Fake IDs will get you anywhere these days. The stairs have already been found, and Xerxes glides down them, riding the rails or hopping three steps at a time. Already at ground floor. The black walls are going back to their electronic and shifting colors, working for the appearance of nebulae. The front door is wide open. Twelve minutes until the cops arrive. Already out, briefcase in back alley by Miami. Xerxes pries it open after entering his code to the electric lock. Throws dark clothes in and changes garments. The change is miraculous. Five minutes. Xerxes crosses the street when safe and watches. The night is quiet but for the distant sounds of the club, the music continues. The orgy of noise persists. Hardly anyone in there will care about a dead body. The man who dressed as Xerxes smiles as the four cars come, as planned. Frantic with nine millimeter pistols out of holsters breaching through the front. The man who left the club tugs a cigarette from an embossed metal case, lighting it with a flourish and puffing pollution into the air already choking in human corruption.


Comments are welcome!

“He is credited with popularizing the clown car, which has been a staple of circus clown acts ever since. Jacobs enhanced the visual contrast between his six-foot-one-inch frame and his tiny twenty-three inch car by making himself a bigger pair of shoes. However, the shoes impaired his vision. He accidentally ran into Jimmy Armstrong, a fellow clown. That collision broke the steering arm to the car, causing another collision into a stage in the center ring. Jacobs could not get out of the car due to the extent of the damage. He had to be towed from the arena while inside the car and was eventually freed with a hacksaw back stage.”

anonymous asked:

My crush is like omf I die. First off he's six foot one and he looks like Mikey. We talk and laugh a lot. I've never had a boyfriend and this is the first time I've felt this way towards somebody so yeah and he kind of broke my heart... It was during lunch, my friend and I were waiting in line and he comes up to her while we were talking and asked her out. Idk if it was friendly tho. I wanted to cry tbh. Later that day i had a dream (2x) about him where we almost kiss and its so real but we dont

omg that’s the worst like…. what’d your friend say? and have u been dropping hints that you’re interested?? if so and he still isn’t into you or w/e then i’m sure it’s for a reason like there’s an even hotter version of mikey out there waiting 4 u u know what i’m saying

sleepover!!!

Am I the only one thinking. That was half anti climatic? Like the start was good the fade out was good. But they’re not even laying in bed or anything?

Ahh well. That was still nice.

…did.

Did Felicity. Just. you did. Wow.

That “I can’t lose you.”

is being muffled by

HOW THE FUCK ARE YOU GOING TO CARRY OUT A SIX FOOT ONE BAG OF MUSCLE AND BROODING THIS WASN’T EXACTLY THOUGHT THROUGH WAS IT- Oh Digg is here ok now they’re just like “what the fuck are you on Felicity”

That’s Life: Part 1

Characters: DeanXReader
Words: 1,462
Warnings: Talk of sex (they do it, just not in detail)
Synopsis: Maggie meets Dean Winchester, a young hunter in a bar as he’s about to go on a Wendigo hunt (1X02: Wendigo). Things change as they really find out each other’s true jobs / / identities.
Author’s Notes: I put this in the perspective of my character Maggie. Feel free to substitute Maggie’s name for yours! As always, I’m open to constructive criticism!

You seat yourself on the only available barstool as you walk in to the pub that night. Two women sat on your left, chatting about the day’s work. Two men sat on your right, neither one talking. The man directly at your right was good looking. You couldn’t help but look at him from the corner of your eye. He stood at least six–foot, six–foot–one, with broad shoulders, sandy blonde hair and beautiful green eyes.

He wore a leather jacket too big for him, possibly a hand–me–down. Beneath that, he’s layered with a dark shirt and a green and black plaid shirt.

You order a beer and muddle in your thoughts for a while. Lately the angel in you, and the reaper have been running restless. Those two led you to this dump of a town. A Wendigo had been terrorizing the people; the hunter in you wanted to help, hell even the angel in you wanted to as well. The reaper just wanted to reap all the souls the Wendigo would take. You were just waiting to see why you were here. Kali and Sariah had different ideas for you. They knew fate liked to rear her ugly head, even when you weren’t looking.

“Well hello good looking.” A deep gravelly voice breaks you from your thoughts. Kali is jumping inside of you, excited to hear his voice. Sariah stays pensive, dormant almost. She gives Kali the chance to play the game at the forefront.

You turn and smile at him. Not sure what to make of him. “And hello to you too?”

“I just can’t let myself pass up such a beautiful girl. I wou’ hay mysef for it.” He slurs. It sounded a little like ‘
I would hate my self for it’. His alcohol definitely starting to get to him.

Kali, your little devil immediately takes over, excited by the new prospect of the fresh meat, she hadn’t been with a man for a long time and neither had you.

“Well, you are too kind.” You can feel Kali’s smooth words fall out of your lips. That was the thing, sometimes you didn’t know when she’d surface, or your angel. That was the downside to being the vessel for the two.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asks. He turns to you, and you can see his gorgeous face, his jaw line strong, the freckles dusting his cheeks.

“Are you sure you haven’t had too much already?” you ask. You look at him trying to stay sitting upright.

“I don’t think I’ve had too much. Can I buy you a drink?” he asks again. He’s more persistent.

“So, what is in it for me?” Kali is playing hard to get. She brushes your hair past your ear, but she leans in closer to him.

“A chance to get to know me.” He says. You take a sip of your beer. A good point.

“I guess a drink won’t hurt.” You smile. You aren’t sure if it’s you that wants the drink, or if it’s Kali.

Three beers and a few shots of whiskey later, you’re feeling like you’re floating on cloud nine. You have found his name is Dean Winchester, the same Dean Winchester you’ve always heard about; one of the greatest hunters of your generation, after you. You have found he’s ultimately single, and ultimately free. You let him get a little touchy–feely; his hand makes it to your thigh. You hadn’t realized that Kali had dressed you into a short black dress, and his hand rests comfortably on your skin, sending chills up and down your body. You didn’t know what was going on in your mind, what he’s doing to you. His thumb rubs gentle circles on the sugar skull tattoo on your thigh.

“Do you want to get away?” you ask. You look into his green eyes and smile at him.

“I thought you’d never ask.” He murmurs into your ear.

**********

You lightly push Dean against the door of the hotel. It closes, and he chuckles as your lips find his neck. You pepper kisses along his jawline until his lips find yours. He tries to wrap his arms around you, but you pin his hands in yours against the door. He seems to not like relinquishing control, but groans as your lips meet his once more.

“Oh Dean, I don’t cave that easily. Let’s have a little fun. Play a little game.” You say. You let one hand go, and it snakes around your back, holding you tight to his body.

“I don’t even know your name. What am I going to call out in our little game?” he asks.

“Maggie.” You say quieting him with your kiss. Your body flush against his elicits a moan deep in his throat; his hand works it’s way down your back, rubbing your ass in the process. He runs his hand down your thigh, feeling the metal of your knife between the fabric.

Shit, you thought. You forgot to leave your knife at the hotel.

“And what is this?” he asks breaking away from your kiss.

“A little protection, for the things that go bump in the night.” You put your hands on his chest and look up to him, biting at your lip.

“What are you?” he asks

“Undress me, and you’ll find out.” You smirk at him and walk to the bed, flicking your heels off as you go. You leave Dean confused at the door for only a second, but he comes to your side, hands needily pulling you to him. “You know, I could ask you the same question Dean. What are you?”

“Well, why don’t you undress me and find out?” he says. He tries to mock you, but it only comes out cute.

You chuckle and start to pull off his leather jacket, as he pulls at your dress’s zipper.

“Seriously?” you whine as you see his red and black plaid shirt, and his black undershirt. “Layers?”

“That’s how I roll baby girl.” He says. He tenderly pulls his hands over your shoulders, pulling your dress’ straps down. He looks down to your tight black lace push–up bra and groans. “Oh god, so gorgeous.”

You pull off his plaid button up, an easy feat as it wasn’t fastened. You pull off the black shirt he is left in, and take in his sturdy chest, defined abs. You step out of your dress, keeping your hands on his chest.

He pulls at his belt buckle, button and zipper until he drops his pants, leaving his boxers. You palm his lap, drawing a groan from his lips. “Please tell me you have a condom?” you ask.

He looks down to his pants and quickly pulls out his wallet, and pulls out a condom. “Never leave without one.”

**********

“You aren’t like all the other girls.” Dean says later, twirling your knife in his fingers. You are wrapped up together in the sheets, naked and limbs intertwined. Kali and Sariah are dormant, you’re quietly engrossed with holding tight to Dean’s body.

“And you aren’t like most boys.” You retort back. You take a nip at his chest, not even breaking the skin.

“I’m serious. You. You’re something else. I can’t put my finger on it.” He replies. “You aren’t like all the other girls I’ve met.”

“I’ve heard that one before.” You say smugly. Your lips ghost across his chest as he moves slightly to face you closer.

“No, really. Who are you?” he asks. He puts his hand on your head, running his fingers through your hair.

“Some people might call me crazy, others dangerous.” You put your lips to his cheek, and his mouth finds yours.

“Are you a hunter?” he asks.

“Yes I am Dean Winchester, I’m just the same as you are.” You tighten your grip on his face, rubbing your thumb over his lips, soft and swollen. In the activities last night, you must’ve bitten a little too hard. You run your tongue over his lip, begging for permission to enter his mouth. He lets you in, holding your head with his free hand. It only takes him a few seconds to let go of your knife and take your face in his other hand. He tenderly rubs your cheek with his thumbs, pulling you on top of him. The feel of his naked skin against yours elicits a spark, sending that tightened coil back to your middle quickly.

“Ready for round two?” he asks, as he sees my face. He comes up for air, still holding your face in his hands.

You nod, and go down on him, peppering kisses down his body before taking him in your mouth.

i never thought i’d enjoy working in an office this much. man, i don’t know. haha. whatever. but i’m having fun. i mean, i never had been so positive about anything for years, so it’s good, i guess.

→ X A V I E R ‘ S  F I L E S

Full Name: James Howlett
Codename: Wolverine
Age: Unknown
Status: Senior Staff / Teacher
Affiliation: X-Men
Identity: Unknown
Faceclaim: Up To Player
Availability: Open

→ A B I L I T I E S

Wolverine is a mutant who possesses the ability to regenerate damaged or destroyed areas of his cellular structure at a rate far greater than that of an ordinary human. Wolverine also possesses superhumanly acute senses, making him capable of seeing things at a maximum distance greater than a normal human’s. His hearing is enhanced in a similar manner, and he is able to recognize people and objects by scent, even if that person or object is hidden. Wolverine’s skeleton includes six retractable one-foot long claws, three in each arm, that are housed beneath the skin and muscle of his forearms.  [x]

→ B I O G R A P H Y

Bio is to be written by player. You’re encouraged to generally stay true to the character while making them your own. You may incorporate as much background from this canons past as you wish, but you may also be creative with it.

anonymous asked:

Eric couldn't help but scoot closer to Tommy as he cleaned him. The soap stuck to his chest and neck, claiming his body in its suds. This whole thing was making Eric so giddy! How many other lover's were treated like this? None, that he knew of. No one had this intimate and tender kind of love. It seemed unreal. "You give the best baths every, baby." The six foot one bassist blushed, "Do you think we'll still be bathing each other even if we're in our fifties? Or even older?"

I took my time to delicately bathe my lover’s upper body. I ran the washcloth over his forearms before making my way over to his chest. I bit my lip when he moved closer to me. I was biting back a grin as I tenderly ran the soap and bubbles across his beautiful chest. He looked so gorgeous, oh my God… How did I get so lucky? How many other people get to share beautiful moments such as these with one another? Some people just live their lives day-to-day and do the same thing over and over again. Some couples just have sex with each other and call it a day. That’s not a true relationship built off of love. This relationship of ours is pure and full of life.

“You think so? Thank you, baby! Only the best for you! I think I bathe you more tenderly than I do myself,” I said with a wink. “I have no doubts that we’ll be doing this to each other even then. We’ll be doing it forever!”