because of his lips

3

“I HATE MY LIPS”

After I took this boy’s picture, I was told by his mom how self conscious he is about his vitiligo that’s developed over the past year. She told me that he hates his lips. He avoids looking at himself in the mirror and can hardly smile in pictures because he can’t bear the thought of his “ugly” lips being preserved in photographs. Can y'all do me a favor and like or reblog this? I wanna show him this post so he can see how poppin he actually is. I want him to realize that his skin is flawless and that his vitiligo is just an additional mark of distinction to the already unique beauty that is Blackness, in all of its various shades.

in this era that we’re in, self-love is crucial and we can’t afford to have our black children facing the world with anything less than overwhelming love and pride in their skin. Instagram.com/themightydexter
5

Crimson Peak (deleted scene) | ‘Lucille at the piano’

5

“Cards on the table?”

anonymous asked:

What if Stiles and Derek's first kiss is post-nogitsune? Would he feel like a thief? Would he mourn the body that Derek never held? Would each brush of fingertips or kiss to his temple be a betrayal? They'd probably talk about the scars too. Derek would understand-- to an extent. But he grew up not without his history on his skin so he'll never understand how it feels to have that ripped away.

Their lips brush and Stiles turns away a second later, breaths shallow, hands twitching against the folds of Derek’s shirt. There’s warm breath on his cheek, the ghost of beard still so close and all Stiles can think is that he wants this. He wants this. And…

It’s wrong.

Those fingers, twitching against Derek’s shirt, smooth and uncalloused. The scar that used to live above his third knuckle just a burn-hot memory in his mind.

Everything still feels off in his body, out of balance, and he remembers the way Derek used to look at him. All tension and frustration in ways he couldn’t start to make sense of. And now Derek’s lips are in reach, a short turn away, and he’s murmuring out “Stiles…?” and all Stiles can think is…

“Do you want me?”

He can feel the stall in Derek’s thoughts like a physical reaction, and he wonders if there was a subtle tell or if… if he’d just felt it, inside, the confusion a flicker of chaos in Derek’s chest. Can he do that? Feel chaos? The Nogitsune drank it in and Stiles…

“Stiles,” Derek breathes again, a quirk of amusement in his tone. Thumbs smooth down his hips and Stiles fights the urge to rise into the contact. “Thought I’d just answered that question.”

And Stiles could leave it at that, asked and answered. Except…

There should be a scar on his hip, long and thin, from a fence he’d scaled once and dropped down five times faster. Derek should be feeling that right now, that piece of Stiles’ history, that stupid ten year old adventure laid out across his skin. But the skin’s smooth. Blank slate.

He shivers, gripping tighter into Derek’s shirt.

“No, I––” He can’t think of how to explain it. The thoughts are a choked feeling in his throat, a twist in his gut. Something like guilt and fear and he doesn’t even know what answer he wants when he leans back enough to find Derek’s eyes and say: “Since when? Did you… I mean, before…”

He’s not sure Derek knows what he means, but there’s a hint of flush under that dark beard suddenly, and Stiles gets a little bit lost in the contrast.

“Last summer.”

“Last––?” It pulls Stiles back, his eyes startling up. That was… most of a year, that was before…

A sick lurch sets him falling back out of Derek’s grip. Too-smooth fingers (uncalloused) slip too easy from Derek’s chest. His sneaker-covered feet might as well be walking over glass and he’s being dramatic except that he’s really not. Because if Derek wanted him last summer…

“That wasn’t me.” It sounds wrong as he says it, stupid, because… he was there that summer. He remembers every moment spent with Derek, researching the Alphas, searching for hints of Boyd and Erica. Charged smirks and snark and quiet moments that felt more comfortable than they should. He remembers the moments before summer too, when the thought of Derek made his heart pound and his body thrum in a way that could have only meant fear, except it hadn’t only been fear. He’d been scared of the Alpha too, and the hunters, and that coil of electric heat only sparked through his gut for Derek. He remembers that, like he remembers the scars that aren’t there anymore, and he can’t help running his too-soft fingertips over the smooth flesh of his knuckle as he breathes out, faint and lost, “…Was that me?”

There’s a too long pause while the question burns back into his throat, buzzing through his limbs like a current until he realizes he’s shaking from them. Was that him? Helping Derek track the Alpha pack? Helping Scott learn to control his wolf? Sitting by his mom’s hospital bed, watching her lose the long war to her illness, pieces of her flaking away like old scars, like a whole identity, like––

A warm hand closes over his, large and gentle, grounding.

“It was you,” Derek says, simply. Like there’s no question, like nothing’s changed. Like Stiles hasn’t changed. 

But that’s wrong. He’s not the same person he was before the Nogitsune, and he’s not talking in the experiences change you, huh kind of way. He’d had scars before. He’d had… a whole life written on his skin. And then he’d crawled out from inside his possessed body’s throat, spawned out like some alien parasite or… clone and––

“My body died, back there.” Four months past, and he still can’t wrap his head around it. That he’d watched himself bitten and impaled, spasm and cracking and shatter to dust.

The scarred body. His real body.

And he was left in… this.

Long fingers uncurl, stretching out slow. Thin, pale digits fitting strangely perfect between Derek’s, and Stiles can only wonder what it would have looked like before.

“…What if I’m not real?” He watches Derek’s fingers twitch, barely perceptible, tightening like they’re fighting to hold onto him. And Derek’s lost enough in his life, too much. It’s a dick move to say this, to take anything else away from him, but… “What if the guy you wanted last summer… what if he died inside the Nogitsune, and I’m just––”

No.”

The sureness of it has Stiles’ throat clenching. He tilts his head, challenging. Finds Derek’s eyes again.

“You don’t know that.”

“I know you.”

Which is just… it’s stupid how that makes Stiles’ heart jump. Flutter around like it’s fighting to leap the distance between them and plaster itself all up against Derek’s stupid, muscled, secretly sweet as hell chest.

Which… yeah, that’s nearly a gross enough visual to stomp his fondness boner in the bud. He sets his jaw.

“Did you know I used to have a scar on––”

“Your right hand? Just above the third knuckle, a burn.”

Stiles’ argument stalls out. He blinks, finger shifting to rub over the space, but Derek’s is already there, soothing the phantom mark over his skin.

“I… was eleven.” Because silence has never been safe for him. Because noise distracts from the too-easy pleasure rippling up his arm. “First time I tried cooking dinner for me and dad. Mac and cheese, it… didn’t go great.” He wets his lips. Looks away “Or… the other me did, I don’t––”

You did.” And Derek still sounds so damn sure. Stiles wants to believe him. He parts his lips, can’t. Because––

“Stiles, I’ve never had scars on my skin. I… can’t relate to what it’s like to lose them. But the things that have happened to me… they’re not any less real because I can’t see them. Every bullet, cut, punch I’ve taken…” He might sense the wince forming on Stiles’ face, and shakes his head, shrugging that off like it’s not important. But that’s an argument for another day. “Every scar life gave you… they’re still there. You’re still carrying them, inside you.” He flits his eyes down Stiles’ frame, then away, finger soothing over the ghost burn. “There are plenty no one would have ever seen anyway. But they made you. Who you are, and who you are…” He shakes his head, looks back to meet Stiles’ eyes squarely. “You recognized me when I was a teenager. That’s the same person who recognized me in the preserve.” Stiles feels his face heat because… even knowing Derek’s a werewolf now, he’d never put together that Derek would have heard his fangirl moment to Scott after Derek had walked away.

Before he can speak up, though, Derek’s going on. “You tracked me to Mexico. Faced down the Calaveras to save me. That’s the same person who stared down the Argents, drove a Jeep into a kanima, who hit an Alpha with a wooden baseball bat––”

“Two Alphas,” Stiles cuts in, because props, ok? “Two, that were…” His free hand mimes squishing, and Derek’s lips twitch.

“Two,” he agrees, and Stiles can’t not smile back. Just for a second –– fond, helpless –– then he’s ducking his head. Derek sighs, catches his chin. Guides it up until their gazes lock again.

“That was you,” he says, so firmly Stiles can’t help believing this time. “Was the man who clawed his way out of his own possession. Followed Scott’s howl back to the real world. And whatever happened to your body, whatever… magic gave you a new one, Stiles came out with it. Your scars are still there, just…” His fingers trail to Stiles’ chest, and something thumps out eagerly to meet them.

“Inside,” Stiles breathes, and the way Derek’s eyes warm makes him shiver with a proud ripple of pleasure.

“Inside,” Derek echoes. Runs a thumb light along Stiles’ lip. “You could have come out of the Nogitsune looking like anything. Wouldn’t change who you are.”

And damn, Stiles has fallen for a goddamn poet in a grumpy wolf’s body. …But then, Stiles is pretty sure he’d known that already.

His fingers go up, curl gently into Derek’s shirt.

“But… you like this body,” he prompts, and Derek gives an exasperated huff, pulling him in.

“I like this body,” he confirms, and it doesn’t feel wrong to hear that.

When Derek kisses him this time, Stiles doesn’t pull away.

Imagine Blitz going temporarily blind on a quest and he and Hearth are incredibly stressed and freaking out because they don’t know how long it will last and they have no way to communicate properly without someone translating for them.

— lit me up | (m)

pairing: kim namjoon x reader, author! namjoon
genre/warnings: smut, slight angst, romance
words: 9,222
summary: you find yourself becoming captivated by a mysterious, handsome author, but you may have bitten off more than you can chew…
note. extracts taken from the bts highlight reels, found here and the serendipity lyrics, found here. Inspired by the song found here.

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The universe never really sent me a warning. When love first arrived, I didn’t pay attention to him the moment he walked right up to me. I didn’t even spare him a second glance. Love wasn’t what I wanted love to be, was far from what I wanted him to be. Love was from a different world and our paths crossing was never part of our plan. But love had already set his heart on me and was persistent. Love showed effort that I never asked him for—love waited for me because love knew I would always walk home. So love walked beside me every single day on my way home and held my hand. Love would even sometimes stay for a little while once we reach the house, love gave me a forehead kiss while my head laid on his shoulder riding the bus but left it at that because love knew that if his lips touched somewhere else, it would be another story. Love made sure I always made it home safe, love inspired me. Love made me do things I never imagined I’d ever do in my life. Love held the ice in the warmth of his hand and it melted. Just like that. But love always fought with me. Love glared daggers at the friend who was only asking for help in courting someone else that he admired. Love stopped talking, stopped seeing me. And love grew tired. Love gave up. But love told me he still wanted to be friends. And with a final wave of hand and a smile, love walked away.

And once he was no longer in sight, I was sure I wanted nothing to do with that. I swore I wouldn’t let love set foot in my house again for a while once it came knocking at my door on a winter night. But love reappeared not long after, just when I wasn’t expecting love to.

Love looked different now. No more tan skin and deep, chocolate eyes. Love smelled different now, spoke differently now. With a sweeter voice, gentler hands, a broader back, and a different kind of warmth. Now love’s eyes, a lighter shade of brown—so mesmerizing. But love wasn’t all new after all. Because love already met me years before, he just didn’t remember. Love didn’t remember my name, but recognized my face. Love wanted to know my name. For the second time. Love roamed the hallways, sneaking a glimpse room after room searching for that one familiar face.

Now love would stay up late at night with me when my mind won’t stop counting reasons to hate myself, keeping me wide awake. But would usually make sure we both got enough rest. Love cared differently now, gave just the kind of love I have always longed for probably without him knowing it. Love became everything I have ever hoped for and so much more. Love’s arms alone felt like home and love offered more kisses now. Love felt safer now. Love made sure he always took care of himself, because he knew I couldn’t afford to lose him, so did I. Love never forgot to remind me knowing I need reassurance every 3 seconds of everyday. Love became the miracle I’ve always asked for from the heavens above. Love became my main source of happiness. Love, every time he got the chance, would hold me in his arms singing me songs all the while running his fingers through my hair and on my skin. Love would wait ‘til I finally got a ride home. Love would always think I’m beautiful—with my hair a mess, cheeks stained with tears, and with a crestfallen face. Love would always say I’m beautiful. But love would also cry, get angry, and would sometimes be cold and distant. Love would also make mistakes and would sometimes forget. Love wasn’t as simple now. Love wasn’t perfect, but neither was I. Love hasn’t been there that long, not all my life, but has been making up for all the years he wasn’t. And that’s all that mattered. Because love promised that love would be here to stay until the very last breath he’d take.

—  irrxlevxnt 

Relief was the last emotion Rey could’ve felt. How could she believe anything he said? She seethed with anger at him, desperate to tear the man’s mask off and hammer it into his skull. He regarded her with the same cold metallic expression. “You still want to kill me.”

“That happens when you’re being hunted by a creature in a mask.”

He held her stare, and then his gloved hands touched the sides of the mask and took it off.

He had a young man’s face, with an old man’s eyes. His lips and dark hair stood out agains the pale complexion of one who shirked the sun. He looked like a student who took no joy in his studies. One who perceived only the great problems of the galaxy and not its simple pleasures.
—  p. 133-134, The Force Awakens: A Junior Novel by Michael Kogge.
i have too many feelings about michelle jones so here have headcanons and peter x michelle

this was obnoxiously long because i have no control so lots of stuff is under the cut and it became very fic-like at the end there, whoops. 

one (THIS ONE!) | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine

  • so michelle moved with her family to new york when she started high school
  • and mj was actually pretty sad to leave her friends back in chicago because it had taken a long time to make those friends and she always feels awkward around new people
  • so she isn’t very happy about The Move
  • she comes from a loving family
  • like, she gets kissed every night before she goes to bed, her parents read her bedtime stories until she was ten, she used to wear matching outfits with her mother, family movie nights were every friday
  • her parents were really good to her for the most part and just loved and supported her
  • they’re also pretty smart and since mj has pretty much always been inspired by them so intelligence and the acquisition of knowledge is really important to her
  • hence reading and academic decathlon, but she’s also into math and science too because she’s very driven and doesn’t have that many friends in new york so what else is she gonna do?
  • and her parents are an interracial couple and they’ve encountered a lot of hate and mj was always so sad when she walked out with her mother and people would give them weird looks
  • so she’s tried to end hate whenever she can and fights to give a voice to those who are silenced
  • but now cue mj going to high school in new york
  • she joins academic decathlon ofc because who do you think she is she lives for this shit
  • and then! there is this little shithead on the team PETER PARKER
  • like who the fuck does this kid think he is
  • answering all these questions, acting like he’s sooo smart just because he happens to know a lot of facts and is really good at physics and speaks spanish really well and also happens to be really dorky and adorable and okay maybe he’s kind of attractive too and maybe mj starts throwing herself more into academic decathlon and possible CONSIDERS joining band but that’s ONLY BECAUSE PETER IS A SHITHEAD AND SHE NEEDS TO SHOW HIM HE ISN’T THE ONLY TALENTED ONE OKAY
  • anyway

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1940 -- Chapter One

(banner credit: @tiostyles)

The beginning of a series where you fall in love with a soldier named Alex.

A Note From The Author: This is the first of many chapters for this Alex!AU. This chapter is simply setting the scenes for what is to come between y/n and Alex. Stay tuned for swing dancing, cheeky banter from Alex, and a few stolen kisses along the way. Let me know what you think! xxh


April, 1938
London, England 

The store sat empty, as it did most days of the week. Dust regularly collected on the cash register sitting in front of you and its brass keys grew stiff with the lack of activity. With your elbows propped up on the counter, you leaned your weight forward and held your chin in the hand that wasn’t busy drumming across the countertop. They tapped in time with the clock ticking on the wall, a constant reminder that you were stuck here on such a lovely day outside.

It was unusually warm for this time of year. Normally covered in a dreary layer of gray, the sidewalks and storefronts shone in the rare-April sunshine, people out and about, taking advantage of the weather. You were antsy as you watched out the window, hoping that someone, anyone, would walk through the door and give you something to talk about.

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Soulmates (AU) Part 2

Pairing: Harry and Y/N

Word Count: 2677

Prompt (AU) : Harry took his anger out in sex-and you weren’t supposed to do that. He would go to the bar and find others just as terrible and lonely as him, drink, and then sink his sorrows into anything with breast and a hole were to put it. Niall always rolled his eyes the next morning and say to Harry “you’re a proper dick, yeh know that right?”, to which Harry would lift his middle finger up and respond with, “if soulmates are real she would love me anyhow.”

“Harry when you meet her your life will change,” Anne says, handing him a cup of tea.

Harry rolls his eyes, “I don’t care to meet her. It’s all bullshit,” Harry grumbles.

Part One


There were very few things that bugged Y/N in life. Y/N hated when people didn’t use their turn signals when driving, or when people walked too slow in front of her, or when people rolled their eyes or stared at her, but she absolutely loathed when people wouldn’t respect her choice and try and force her to talk. It was clear, crystal clear, that she wasn’t much of a talker, and yes or no questions where the good route to go, but when people edged her on she got upset.

For example, Harry just couldn’t wrap his mind around how his other half would not utter a single word to him. Y/N had written down on a whiteboard that she was ‘mute’ and would really prefer if Harry stayed away from the label. She explained that even though he was her soulmate (and she would love to be open with him) talking just didn’t seem like something she was ready for.

She watched as Harry rolled his eyes, crossing his arms, and frowned. She could feel his annoyance (literally) and she wanted to stub her toe on the table just to tick him off, but she felt like it was rude and she didn’t want to put herself through the pain as well.

“So like what? I’m supposed to spend the rest of my life with someone who won’t talk to me?” Harry asked, his eyes on her as she walks down the hallway of her apartment complex.

Y/N shrugs, ‘learn asl,’ she signs.

“The fuck does that mean?” Harry spat.

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Wolfstar - Sirius and art

•Sirius black is an amazing artist
•You bet your ass he designed all his tattoos himself
•And you can bet your ass that Remus LOVES it
•But it’s so much more than just something Sirius happens to be good at, it makes him feel good about himself when he feels like he can’t do anything (or when his parents tell him he can’t do anything)
•It helps him focus, it’s a healthy escape
•When Remus is recovering from a full moon Sirius refuses to leave his side, but mostly Remus is asleep. So Sirius draws him. Draws his eyelashes, captures his freckles, he perfectly depicts gentle rays of light coming in from the windows and dancing over moonys face.
•(Also Sirius is really good at hands and he takes immense pride in this)
•But he has a sketchbook (from Mrs.Potter) full of his moony, with landscapes and animals and random doodles sprinkled in
•And after one particularly bad full moon, when Remus is propped amongst a mountain of pillows and Sirius is laying next to him, he shows Remus the drawings. Charcoal sketches of his hands gripping his sheets, watercolors of his eyes, and Remus runs his shaking fingertips over himself on the paper because god they’re so beautiful and god he’s in love with this boy
•"How long have you been doing this?” He asks, and Sirius is red and quietly describes sitting at his bedside and worrying so badly that he has to watch moonys chest rise and fall and sometimes even that isn’t enough to convince him he’s okay and he just draws him because he looks so peaceful (and he’s madly in love with him)
•And Remus lifts a bandaged hand, tucks Sirius’ hair behind his ear, pulls him close, and kisses him. And the thoughts of “oh my god does he think this is creepy what the fuck is wrong with me” explode into nothing because his lips are so soft and it’s better than either of them ever dreamed
•And Sirius expands his portfolio to include obscene depictions of James, and he starts to incorporate magic into his art to show his professors morphing into ugly monsters
•And then one day Remus is like, “you should paint a mural”
•And holy shit does sirius love that idea
•He fucking paints a mural in their dormroom of them all prancing around in animagus form and he enchants the scenery to change with the seasons and the house elves tell dumbledore and dumbledore is like “um holy shit this is amazing” and not only does he let them keep it up he asks Sirius to paint one in his office
•And he does
•It’s got a Phoenix and it shows the phases of the moon as it changes and he hides little pictures of different candies throughout it and it’s dope

Sirius is an amazing artist that is all

Learning 2 Share - Stilinski Triplets + Mitch Stilinski [Smut]

Author: @writing-obrien

Character(s): Stiles Stilinski/Reader, Stuart Stilinski/Reader, Thomas Stilinski/Reader, Mitch Stilinski/Reader

Word Count: 5668

Notes: Here y'all go. Finally here. So, there’s a lot of warnings for this one, let’s go. *cracks literally every fucking none in my body as preparation* Oral (both receiving), Fingering, Orgy, Multiple Orgasms, Spit Play, Anal, Rimming, Anal Fingering, Squirting, Double Penetration, Thigh Riding, Face Riding, Marking, Biting, Scratching, Over Stimulation, Shower Play, Exhibitionism, Spanking, Dirty Talk, Begging, Dominance, Older/Younger, Orgasm Denial and Choking/Gagging. Huge thanks to Steffy because even though she doesn’t like butt stuff, she proofread this for me. If that ain’ true friendship then I don’t know what is. I love you @dumbass-stilinski​ <3


Originally posted by headintheclouds-lostinthequotes


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