box shirt

I want to see Greek gods in the modern era.

I want to see Zeus in a tailored suit and shaggy beard, a walking disparity of the loud, brash, post-graduate frat boy variety who can’t pass a woman on the street without catcalls, who has more one-night stands than he could possibly keep in his head, for whom adultery comes as naturally as the weather he predicts on the Channel 4 News—with startlingly accuracy, and an endless wealth of charisma.

I want to see Hera walking tall, six-inch heels and not a wrinkle in her skirt, knowing her boyfriend is cheating, and knowing with equal certainty that she is better, stronger, fiercer than he will ever be, a wedding planner with an eye of steel, spotting vulnerability, slicing it open, teaching every woman who crosses her path to value themselves over any mistake made in the name of men and love.

I want to see Poseidon in Olympic prime, a gym rat who skives off class to shatter backstroke records, who spends his summers lifeguarding at the city pool, who keeps an ever-expanding aquarium in his bedroom and coaxes all the pretty girls up to visit his fish, his charm as impressive as the earth-rending temper he generally uses to fuel his competitive nature.

I want to see Hades, big, hulking, quieter than his brothers would ever think to be, who dresses in neat dark clothes, and polishes his boots, and spends more time reading than fighting, who debates eventuality and ethics, who stoically reminds everyone how enormous, how terrifying, how inescapable a thing like silent inevitability can be.

I want to see Hermes in a beanie, with watercolor splashes of tattoo crawling up his arms and holes in his Chucks, a bike messenger with no helmet, no regard for the rules of the road, all cataclysmic laughter, lock-pick tricks passed along to every kid who thinks to ask, thumbing through his iPhone without a care in the world.

I want to see Athena with reading glasses pushed high on her head, six books in her bag and a switchblade in her back pocket, her clothing as neatly ordered as her mind is feverish, brilliance and temper clashing and blending, doing her best to look dignified—even when her brain chemistry rockets ahead of her well-intentioned plans.

I want to see Apollo splattered with acrylics, board shorts and Monster headphones and a beautiful classic car, busking on street corners, not because he has no choice, but because the sunlight catching on a sticker-patterned acoustic is summer incarnate, because music is blood, because the act of creation is the ultimate in sublime.

I want to see Artemis in ripped jeans and haphazard topknot, star of the soccer team, the track team, the archery team, who rides a motorcycle, and keeps a tribe of girls around her at all times, and does not care for men, for expectation, for anything but volunteer hours down at the local animal shelter and falling asleep under the stars.

I want to see Aphrodite in sundress and scarf, homemade jewelry and lavish amounts of bright red lipstick, who is excellent at public speaking, at theater auditions, at soothing bruised egos and sparking epic fights, who kisses as easily as she breathes and scrawls poetry onto bathroom stalls.

I want to see Ares all but living in the boxing ring, cutoff shirts and sweats, red-faced under a crew cut as he punches, punches, punches until the noise in his head dims, a warrior with no war, all crude jokes and blind fury, totally incapable of understanding what it is to sit, think, plan before running screaming into the fray.

I want to see Demeter with the best garden you’ve seen in your life, with a lawn care business she runs out of her garage, a teenage prodigy grown into a joint-custody single mother, who teaches her carefree daughter all she knows while scaring off the hopeful neighborhood boys with the pet python draped across her shoulders.

I want to see Dionysus with a joint in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other, baggy hoodies and three-week-old jeans, who brews his own beer in his basement and greets all visitors with a fresh pack of Oreos and half-stoned theories of the universe, of birth and death and partying mid-week, because why not, man?

I want to see Hephaestus with a workshop taking up the majority of his house, whose kitchen is overrun with blowtorches, whose bathrooms are home to all manner of hodge-podge invention, who walks with a cane and forgets his laundry for weeks at a time, and strings together the most beautiful steampunk costumes at any convention at the drop of a hat.

I want to see wood nymphs fighting against climate change, waving their signs and pushing for scientific progress. I want to see epic heroes sitting down to Magic: The Gathering tournaments, poker brawls, Call of Duty all-nighters with beer and snapbacks. I want to see Medusa working a women’s shelter, want to see Achilles training for deployment, want to see Prometheus serving endless community service stints for what he calls providing necessary welfare with stolen goods.

Give me modern mythology. I could play for hours in that sandbox.

wildaxes  asked:

Hi! I have a fantasy setting that I've been developing for about two years, and while I'm happy with most of it, I struggle to really fresh things out and make the races and societies seem real, compared to rl ones. Do you have any tips to essentially fill in the blanks or make things closer to a cohesive country? Thanks!

I always find that the easiest way to fill in those pesky details is to sit my character in a place within the world (on a park bench, on a bus, in a chapel, in an office building) and observe. 

You can practice by literally putting yourself on a park bench, a bus seat, etc. and looking at all that’s going on around you. Imagine that you’re an alien or a time traveler and notice the nuances of every day life that speak to our society and culture…things that might make no sense to someone from the outside. We don’t really think twice about seeing someone wearing a Doctor Who shirt, or someone bobbing their head to the music in their headphones…but what if an onlooker didn’t know the purpose of headphones? Or hadn’t experienced music outside of a live performance? How do you explain the blue Police Box shirt to someone who doesn’t know the reference, or the commonality of having pop culture images on our clothing to advertise our personal interests?

When you sit and observe the intricacies of our world, you can think back to the roots of the behavior, that object, and apply similar lines of cultural evolution to your own world. 

Write a scene (one you might very well never use in your novel), and let your character(s) notice the random little bits of their world. What do people do in their free time? What types of activities constitute hobbies? How socially acceptable are certain behaviors or fashion choices? We don’t bat an eye to someone sitting on a busy street corner playing a guitar…but what about if your character passed by someone playing music on the street corner and noticed passers-by snickering or giving the musician a wide berth? That action speaks to the commonality of troubadours, or the acceptance of the arts, without spelling it out in the narrative (show, don’t tell!). 

For the following list, you can consider the history of each item, its influence on the present, the what and the why, the opinions people (most importantly, your characters) hold about them…any and every aspect you can think of. 

Elements which might be used to fill in details:

  • Literature
  • Music
  • Language (how freely it’s used)
  • Art
  • Fashion
  • Interactions with Strangers
  • Differences–or lack thereof–between genders in society
  • Theatre (in any form it might be present)
  • Religion(s)
  • Architecture
  • Hierarchy of careers
  • Ideas of casual vs. formal
  • Insults
  • Structure/intimacy/location of residential areas

There are undoubtedly more, but I hope this gives you a starting point. I went pretty general since I’m not sure exactly what points you’re specifically wanting to fill. 

Also, always keep in mind that if you have multiple races or species within your world, then these points will likely vary between groups. You wouldn’t make the same observations on a New York street corner that you’d make on a Paris street corner or in Madrid or Tokyo. There should be variety among your fictional cultures as well. It really helps each of them pop off the page!

If you have any more specific questions, don’t hesitate to ask.

Happy writing!

Boxer Harry

You didn’t really like boxers and man buns before you met Harry. And you didn’t really like him before you got to know him. He seemed so rude and cocky but then you became friends and started hanging out for a while. Then it happend, he kissed you on your way to home and it was all blurry but one of the best nights in your life. Dating him was fun, extremely fun. But loving him and being loved by him was the best thing that ever happened in your life.

So here you are, a year after you two kissed in front of your old apartment, in the boxing hall waiting for him to finish his training. He’s wearing shorts and boxing gloves. His t-shirt is wet and his hair is in a man bun. You can pretend you’re not that affected of his hotness in front of him all you want but here’s the truth - you will never be able to deny how he takes you breath away.

“Done.” His trainer says and he sits on the floor completely exhausted.

It takes him some time to find you but when his eyes locks on you, it’s all gone. Your consciousness is empty now and you find yourself struggling to exhale your breath. It’s all getting worse when he starts walking to you. His hands are now free from the boxing gloves and your skin is hungry for their touch.

“Are yeh alright, babe?” He has this cocky smile on his face again and his lips look so kissable.

“Yeah” you murmur.

He bents down a little bit to whisper in your ear. “Good, ‘cause i can bet you’re dripping wet right now.”

Before you can ever think for an answer, you’re both in the dressing room. He locks the door and pulls you to the lockers. His lips travel from your neck to your jaw ans his cold hands are burning the skin of the back of your thigh. Your try to find something to hold onto because you can feel your knees bend so you bury your fingers in his hair which you set fee from his hair tie.

“I hate it when yeh tease me with these cute dresses” he says with a husky voice and his british accent is so evident now. “But i also love thinking ‘bout rippin’ ‘em apart.”

“Harry, please” you beg him as the pain between your legs is getting worse.

“What, babe? Tell me.”

“Kiss me, please just… Fuck me.”

Your words drive him crazy and soon you find yourself getting rid of his shirt completely naked in front of him. He lifts you and you wrap your legs aroung his waist. Kissing him is always passionat but never the same. He’s always doing something new that makes you dream of him at night. And here he is now controlling your mouth and massaging your booty in the same time. Here he is driving your crazy.

“Tell me how yeh want it.”

“Fast and rough” your words slip of your mouth before you can even think about their meaning.

“There yeh go then, baby.”

His fingers check you down there just in case. “God, yeh are so fuckin’ wet for me. Just as i thought.”

“Please…” You beg him one more time before he pulls his shorts and his boxers down and slides in you.

His trusts are fast and he’s biting the skin of your weak spot on your neck just as how you want him to. Your back is closely resting on the lockers and your mouth falls open when his fingers glide down between your bodies and start stimulating your clit.

“Harry” you moan loudly, making him lose his tempo and his trusts are uncontrolled now “I’m so close, please.”

He bury his head in your neck and moves his hand from your clit to your boobs. His other hand is tightly wrapped around your butt, holding you.

“Me too, babe, me too.”

One last trust in you and he freezes, coming with one of the loudest moan you’ve ever heard from him. Just as he starts trusting in you again your head lean on the lockers and you pull him closer not sure if you actually freeze like him or start tugging his hair.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck” he moans as you keep trembling in his hands.

Cries leaves your mouth while he’s trying to mumble them with kisses because someone easily can hear you. After minutes of staying like that, not able to move, you two start remembering where you are and that you can get caught so you start dressing. When he unlocks the door and you go in front of him, you two see his trainer smiling.

“You naughty boy” he says to your boyfriend “Take care of this lady, i can see how she’s still trembling.”

Harry lifts you one more time and wink at his trainer as he pass him in the coridor and keeps walking to the exit of the building with you falling asleep in his arms.

anonymous asked:

#40 with Clay x Fem reader

Thank you for requesting!! This was so funny to write, god damn here’s some awkward!Clay lmaoooo

#40: You both need to go out and buy condoms.

It was getting pretty heated in Clay’s bedroom. You were straddling his waist as he lay on his bed, his eyes closed as you kissed up his shirtless chest and blushing neck.

You smirk, intertwining your fingers with his as your lips met. “A-Are you sure?” He asked, like he always did.

You nodded, leaving a trail of kisses along his jaw line. “Yes.”

He continued to kiss you, reaching over to his bedside table and pulling open the draw. You pulled away and sat up straight, watching him mumble to himself as he shuffled through his draw.

He sighed, laying back down. “We’re out.”

“We’re out?” You questioned. “Really?”

“Yes.” He chuckled.

You ran your hands over his chest, smiling down at him. He quirked a brow at your reaction. “Let’s go buy some then.”

His eyes widened. “Now?”

You laughed. “It’s late, no one will be at the shops and besides,” You kissed him again. “At least we’re using them, no one has the right to judge.”

You knew Clay feared buying condoms. You were the one who had bought the packs beforehand, or had a friend do it with you. It was slightly embarrassing, but the person at the checkout didn’t know why you were buying them - there’s a million different reasons - and like you said to Clay, at least you’re practising safe sex and using them.

Clay looked at you and you chuckled. “C'mon,” You mumbled. “Let’s just get it over and done with.”

You grabbed his hand as you entered the store, walking around to find the aisle with what you needed.

You drove to a store that neither of you shop at. At least then you won’t have to see the people again.

You soon found the aisle and walked up to stand in front of them. Clay eyed the elderly woman looking at the pain relief medicine a few paces down the aisle. He looked down and shook his head, making you laugh loudly.

“It’s fine, she’s bought plenty, I bet you.”

He recoiled back in disgust. “Ew,” He exclaimed. “Don’t put that image in my head!”

You rolled your eyes at his exaggeration, turning your attention back to the problem at hand, and looked for the brand and pack that you always bought.

“Here,” You handed him the small box. “Lets go.”

Clay almost dropped the box, his cheeks flushing. “Great, now I look like the perv.”

“You don’t look like a perv.” You chuckled, slapping his chest lightly.

He walked beside you as you headed out the aisle and to the checkouts.

“Should we get something else so we don’t look so suspicious?”

“Clay,” You sighed. “We’ll go to that old man, he won’t care.”

Clay reluctantly followed, placing the box onto to the conveyer belt, his head down. The man scanned it through without even looking at it twice. See? He didn’t care. We paid and Clay grabbed the box quickly, before wishing the man a good night.

“You too,” He said. “But I already knew that.”

Your eyes widened as you grabbed Clay’s hand and pulled him out the shop. “Oh my God,” Clay said. “Oh my God,” He shoved the box under his shirt. “I can’t believe he said that!” You laughed loudly, agreeing.

“Clay Jensen and Y/N Y/L/N.”

Your head whipped around to the voice just as Clay threw the box to you. You missed the catch from being distracted, the box landing beside your feet. You squeaked out and grabbed the box quickly, shoving it under your arm in order to hide it from Montgomery.

“Hey, Monty.”

He smirked at you and Clay. “What’s that?” He asked.

Clay stood beside you. “Oh, just some medicine, Y/N isn’t feeling well.”

Monty nodded unbelieving. Fuck. “Okay,” He smiled, walking around you both and toward the shop. “Have fun!”

You spun and glared at Clay. “Sorry.” He meekly said, holding his hands up in surrender.

“Let’s go.”

lmaoooo clay you silly billy


(gif credit to the creator)

Prompt: “literally everything about this is illegal.”
Pairing: Misha x Reader
Word Count: 728
Warnings: fluff, so much fluff
A/N: This is my entry for Angelina’s (aka @atc74) first Break The Zone challenge. The challenge was to keep the word count under 1K with the prompt above. Hope you guys like it! Anyway, feedback for this is awesome! :)

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