black hair gel

uggggnnfffffff dat thigh tat tho bb like how dare you

tools used: pentel brush pen black, micron liner 03, copic multiliner, signo white gel pen, copic sketch in colors W7 W2 W5 & R20, photoshop to clean some fuk ups, & strathmore bristol paper

I blame marty-mc for this monstrous plot we’ve come up for a trc grease au I can’t believe it I really fucking can’t-

Private Lessons

Originally posted by ayegrons

Written By: Admin Gilfairy & Admin Jaefairy

Genre: Smut

Summary: In which you and your boyfriend decide to try role play, and you can’t stand not being in control.

Warnings: Dirty talk, roleplay, switch!mark, switch!reader

Word Count: 2,160

A/N: Oh good lord this is finally done.  (Admin Jae) Hey, lovelies! This is the first in a random series of collabs from the hoebroes. Hope you enjoy and expect the next story soon~ (Admin Gil)

Keep reading

5

Don’t try to tell me he doesn’t do this every morning
Mascara game strong enough to slay demons

At the end of the day, white people are gonna do what they want. We can talk to them about this until we’re blue in the face honestly. This is OUR culture and they mocked it on us for years. They teased little girls who had these same hairstyles. And now that they’re wearing them, they expect to get praise and credit for what WE made. I have accepted the fact that they will wear what they want to wear but, THEY need to accept the fact that we will criticize them and call them out on their appropriation. They chose to appropriate. Now deal with the consequences.

We will continue to criticize you in any way we so choose and you’re just gonna have to deal with it. You can’t have it both ways.

windsor knots & empty crosses

I used to put on
pressed khakis,
button-down
tucked-in shirts,
polished black shoes,
gel my hair
&
make sure there were
no smudges on
my glasses lenses

I found god on those days,
sitting in the pews with
brothers
&
sisters
who never call anymore
but send thoughts
and prayers
when they remember my name,
when football is in off-season

sundays in college meant
cigarettes lit end to end
at 3AM, waiting on the Skillet’s
scrambled egg
&
fried bacon
breakfast buffet
with brothers and sisters
who forgot my name
&
stopped praying

at that time in my life,
somewhere in-between failing tests,
fucking girls with no names
&
pretty paintings for faces,
I would wink at the stars
thinking they were the eyes
of god, but on those nights
I stopped finding him
I stopped feeling him

so I stopped believing in him,
because I didn’t want to

my sunday best was a blasphemous
band t-shirt with trashcan punch stains,
wrinkled khakis covered in blood,
mud from punch drunk stumbles,
tear
&
beer stained converse,
wondering
if the stars of the universe
have ears
or hearts
that beat in synchronous symphony
with ours

today sunday is just
the end
&
the start
of a new week,
it’s a mother dying
during childbirth
it’s a bird with smokelungs
and wings with flames for
fingertips,
it’s a line with no ending
it’s a line with no real beginning

I no longer look for god
I know he’s not there

in my
darkest times I
still wink at the
stars mumbling
half-prayers
they never

wink back

but god damn
how
I wish they would