curvacous

anonymous asked:

"I was definitely met with a pair of baby blues as the door swung open, but they did not belong to Niall. Rather, to a somewhat tall curvaceous girl about my age, dressed in large t-shirt that hung down to her mid thighs and was slipped precariously over her exposed shoulder." U SCARED ME

HAHAA good that was the point 😈

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Happy Birthday, whitesilenceinthesnow!

July 17 - “Too hot, hot damn, make a dragon wanna retire man!” Bucky/Darcy for @whitesilenceinthesnow

There was someone singing in the kitchen. Loudly.

Stealthily, Bucky crept up the hallway, peered around the door. None of the Avengers were particularly musically inclined, except Clint who liked to twang on his guitar and sing country songs when he’d had a few beers - but the singer in the kitchen was neither male nor singing country.

It was, he found to his astonishment, a curvaceous brunette, dancing around in leggings and a baggy T-shirt, singing along to the music she was clearly listening to through her earbuds. She was also clearly not wearing anything under the T-shirt. The bounce of her unrestrained breasts beneath the thin fabric held Bucky’s attention riveted for quite a while, the wiggle of her hips about the only thing that distracted him as she turned her back to him.

Girls hit your Hallelujah,” she sang, “Whoo! Girls hit your Hallelujah!

He didn’t know the song, but it was poppy and catchy, and the girl obviously loved it, if her gyrations and the smile on her face as she sang were anything to go by.

Realising that he was being a creep watching her - and since he didn’t know who she was, he really should check if she was actually meant to be in here - he took a step forward into the kitchen, just as she turned again and saw him.

“I’m too hot, hot damn, called a police and a fireman,” Darcy sang, having a thoroughly good time. From the corner of her eye, she saw something move, and turned to see oh my goodness that’s the Winter Soldier himself. Wearing a pair of loosely fitting black track pants and absolutely nothing else. Her eyes roved over him appreciatively.

Too hot, hot damn, make a dragon wanna retire man!” The next line of the song was just too appropriate. She sang it directly at him, watched the grin appear on his handsome face. Pulling her earbuds out, she offered a hand in greeting. “Hi. I’m Darcy Lewis.”

“Ah, Dr Foster’s assistant,” he said in sudden comprehension, accepting the proffered hand and shaking politely. “I heard the two of you arrived back today.”

“Jet lag’s a bitch.”

“Which explains why you’re in the kitchen at three in the morning.”

“Yup!” Gesturing towards the stove, she said cheerfully “I’m making snickerdoodles. They’re not all that easy to come by in South Korea and Singapore, oddly enough. I woke up with a craving.”

“I love snickerdoodles,” Bucky admitted, charmed by her infectious cheer and her apparent lack of fear in his proximity. She hadn’t given his scars and his arm more than a passing glance.

“Play your cards right, Buckeroo, and I might share.” Darcy grinned at him.

“Does that mean I have to let you call me Buckeroo?”

“Well,” she gave him a comprehensive look up and down, “it’s either that or HotStuff McMurderThighs, which would you prefer?”

“If you go with that option I’m gonna call you CheekyMiss BouncyBoobs,” he threatened back with a chuckle.

“Oh, shit,” suddenly remembering her braless state, Darcy hastily folded her arms over her chest.

“Please don’t, I didn’t mean to be a creeper. I was admiring your dance and couldn’t quite help noticing,” Bucky was careful to keep his eyes on hers. “You’re very beautiful, I - oh God, please forget I said it. Just call me Buckeroo.”

Darcy smiled shyly back at him. “You think I’m beautiful?” she asked in disbelief.

“Like an old-time pinup girl,” Bucky said honestly. “Back in WWII, all the guys had trading cards of pinup girls, used to trade them for smokes or chocolate, did ya know that?”

Fascinated at hearing a bit of history she’d never known about, Darcy shook her head, let her arms drop, leaned back against the kitchen counter and listened.

“Stevie, he could draw, ya know? He made some original ones, gave them to the Howling Commandos. There’s one he drew and gave to Jim Morita that’s in the Smithsonian. The museum curator told me that a similar one he gave to Gabe Jones fetched thirteen thousand dollars in a sale last year,” Bucky shook his head in wonder. “Anyways, he drew from his imagination, or pictures of the USO girls he knew.”

Darcy nodded in understanding.

“Those cards were like currency, and one of Stevie’s drawings could get ya a bottle of wine, or three or four packets of cigarettes, they were worth more than the printed ones because they were originals. Well,” Bucky ducked his head, smiled shyly at Darcy, “I reckon if he’d drawn pictures of you, I wouldnt’a wanted to trade them, but if I had, it would have been for no less than an entire crate of French Champagne. Each.”

Darcy stared at him in silence for a moment before sighing and saying. “Damn it, Buckeroo. All right. Consider my heart completely stolen.”

Lyrics from Uptown Funk by Mark Ronson and Bruno Mars.

Being a Hispanic/Latina Asexual

Growing up, all it took was my dark features for people to label me as Hispanic/Latina (I was mostly assumed to be Mexican, even though I’m not). The only depiction of Latina women in mass media was this hypersexualized image of tanned skin, dark features, and curvaceous bodies. These women were all described as “hot”, “sexy”, and “spicy”. As you can imagine, this stereotype can and did have pervasive and damaging effects on my own body image and self-identity. According to this media depiction of Latinas, we must maintain this image of being a sex symbol in order to be successful and attach our self-worth directly to our embodiment of sex. Our value is based upon being a fetish, an exotic prize to be won, to sexually satisfying men, and we’re supposed to find this empowering. This is a problem of not only for Latinas, but all women of color. However, I haven’t seen much about how it affects asexuals, so I thought I would share my experience being both.

One of the things I struggled with when I was younger was the constant message from society that I, as a Latina, shouldn’t have sexual desire, but somehow my body should be expected to be available sexually for men. This made it incredibly difficult for me to figure out my own sexuality. I believed that women didn’t really have sexual desire, that only men were the ones who were supposed to have sexual desire. Also, I didn’t really know the difference between sexual desire and sexuality (for an explanation, go here), and I equated and internalized sexual desire with sexual attraction. But then I struggled with the idea of having to be “sexually available” to someone without actually desiring to have sex with them. I couldn’t put these thoughts in words at the time, but it caused a great amount a fear in me to believe that I had to sexually please a partner, since sex is ultimately going to be in a relationship. This fear was also reinforced in the idea of consummation in a marriage. I, like many Hispanics/Latinos, grew up Catholic, so this idea that you will have to have sex with your partner in order to be officially married also scared me.

This is when I started to feel a sense of brokenness, like something was wrong with me. Why didn’t I want to have sex? Shouldn’t I? I remembering talking to a close friend of mine at the time, a Hispanic and hardcore Catholic, and finding out that he didn’t feel the same aversion to sex as I did despite being a strong believer of waiting until marriage. Maybe he didn’t feel this way because he was a guy? It wasn’t until later on in high school did I realize that girls actually experience sexual desire and attraction by the way they talked about having sex to other girls. More shocking to me was how they reacted to it like it was completely normal for them to be talking about sex the way they did. Coming from a family that never talks about sex, much less enjoying it, it was weird to hear them speak about sex in this way. This further reinforced my own feelings that something was missing or wrong in me. It also took me a while to finally be aware of the internalized sexism and racism I possessed as well, and realize the fact that Latinas and women in general should be in control of their own sexuality. But where was mine?

After I finally found the term “asexual” and come to terms with my asexuality, there are still problems I face being an asexual Latina. For one, the majority of the asexual community is white, so I don’t see much representations of PoC, much less Hispanic/Latinx asexuals in the online community, so I don’t see representations that look like me.

A factor that prevented me from coming out was the fear that men see me as Latina and therefore a sexual object. They believe to have autonomy over my body, and this is a problem not only in American society but in the Latinx community was well. I experience this incredibly dangerous authoritative belief in a relationship with someone I had (and that friend I mentioned above) before I realized I was asexual, and feared possible assault from being openly asexual. The corrective rape of asexuals happens too often as is often not heard of or addressed because of the lack of representation of asexuals.

Another problem that Hispanic/Latina asexuals face is this idea that Latinas embody “marianismo” or the female gender role counterpart to machismo. This includes the idea that the power of femininity stems from a women’s ability to have children. The traditional idea of a self-giving, nurturing women and motherhood is upheld in the Latino community, and causes tension for asexuals who do not want to have children. Often the ability to have children is treated like a possession belonging to the family (you’re going to have children eventually) and I’ve experience this already despite only being 18. Motherhood is embedded in the Latina identity, as evident in the high fertility myth, and being asexual can sometimes bring their identity as a Latina into question. Motherhood often seems not optional for the Latina asexual.

The stereotype of the hypersexualized Latina is not only damaging to Latina women, but can also have different effects on Latina asexuals that are not discussed enough in the asexual community. It often ignores the effects of sexism and racism on asexuals, and leaves PoC asexuals feeling just as marginalized and erased in the asexual community as they are outside of it.

           Sabrina is far from shy and she’s definitely not afraid to let that be known. Her curvaceous frame sways to the music that could be heard from outside of the club, laughter pouring from her freshly painted petals as she throws her head back. Ochre hues finally meet with who she assumes is her blind date, and they’re definitely as attractive as their friend had said. She won’t lie, she’d pre-gamed with a couple friends back at her apartment, and she’s feeling a little bit more than buzzed. A little liquid courage would never hurt, right? “Heeeeeyyy, babes – ‘m Sabrina. I assume you’re the cutie that Nadi set me up with?”

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The Bet

Tig and Chibs walked out of the garage, as the older car came coasting into the lot. They both watched as a beautiful, curvaceous woman climbs out. Chibs smiled at her, stroking his goatee, walking towards her.

Tig grabs his shoulder smiling. “This one is mine brother.” Chibs rolls his eyes at the wild haired man.

“I’ll bet you $100  Tiggy, that I take her home and you end up in the clubhouse, drinking a beer alone.”

“You’re on Chibby.” He watched as Tig strolled across the lot, towards the woman. He smiled to himself as he watched it all unfold. Every step he took towards her, she took one step back. He tried to hold her hand, when she gave him the key, she pulled it away from him.

He heard him ask. “Doll, can I take you home.”

He nearly lost it when she turned him down, he watched her go into the office, so she could take fill out the paper work. He was standing at the door, waiting for her to come out. Tig was over by her car, looking it over.

When she walked out the door, she smiled at him. “Hi handsome.”

Taking her hand in his, he brought it to his lips kissing it. “Hi my beauty. Can I give you a ride home?”

She smiled at him again. “I was hoping you’d offer.” He pulled her into his arms, kissing her.

“I want you to meet my friend Tig.” They walked over, Tig hand his hands on his hips, looking pissed as hell.. “Tig, I’d like you to meet my girlfriend (Y/N). (Y/N), this is Tig.”

Chibs laughed as Tig pulled out $100, and stormed off towards the clubhouse.

anonymous asked:

Sometimes I wish artist that drew black women showed us with bodies other than pear or hour glass shape. Some of us do have what is considered "undesirable" or "unattractive" like an apple shape, diamond & rectangle. We all don't have the super curvaceous black woman body.

@themelancholyblackwoman Have always said how hourglass pear shaped figures aren’t really desired or seen as attractive, at least not on black women. They can be sexualized especially through art but in real life discriminated against and not desired. I don’t like the stigma being attached to black women who do have this body, because black women this body have been ridiculed through racial discrimination for centuries.

However, you’re accurate. It’s logical to draw a variety of shapes of black bodies, not to exclude the other body type either, but to promote diversity in body types in black art, so every black woman can see themselves. All of us have a different body type we’re not built the same. Also I hate when the bodies are always naked. The only time I approve of nude art drawn is if they’re from women because it’s less sexualization and misogyny.

The visit to a substitute vet was… Interesting. It was a weird, dirty, unorganized place and some of their information about keeping hedgehogs was not good or accurate advice. The vet himself was rather rude to me about my curvaceous figure- he’s lucky my mouth hurt so I didn’t bite him!

He put me in a container and tried to gas me to sleep to look in my mouth, but he hooked it up wrong so he tried again. He apparently still messed it up because I was asleep for only about five seconds and he scruffed me. He sorta-kinda looked in my mouth real quick, but said that he “doesn’t like to mess with hedgehogs’ mouths” so he wasn’t going to do more than that. He also said from that brief visual look that “there’s no cancer or tooth problems”, but initially he didn’t even see the blood until my captor showed him. It’s unclear if I have lost a tooth; the vet says no but we don’t trust him and my captor says it looks like one is missing– but he’s no expert either. As a precaution they put me on antibiotics, and charged my captors a small fortune for doing nothing. I hate the vet, but this place made me really appreciate my normal vet! And my normal vet has a soft spot for exotics and rescues, so he hardly charges anything.

I anointed last night and there was no blood though, and I’m still eating my hard food. I also quite like my antibiotics, so I take them willingly twice a day (and anoint with half of it).

The central air went out last week here and it is very hot outside, so it was very hot in our room. It was repaired, or so we thought, but it broke again yesterday. Despite this I tried to hibernate for the second time in three days. I have never done this before. It seems I’m having trouble recovering. My age is showing; I’m almost three years old after all. I may need higher temperatures from now on.

4

Turn of Events

Last night I was driving around, trying to catch Pokemon on Pokemon Go, I was led to a country road looking for a damn Abra and I looked away from my steering wheel like an idiot and slammed into a tree and a rock.

I got out my car, looking around for service, but couldn’t get a bar on my phone–it was pointless. I started walking back down the trail until I heard a noise, footstep like but I didn’t see anyone; Little did I know it was someone peeping from behind a tree.

The man in the green mask was famous for kidnapping young women like myself  and taking them to his hidden spot. I felt his eyes look my curvaceous body up and down, watching my hips sway as I walk. I knew I was being watched, but I didn’t  know by who and where; I continued walking even further down the path following my tire tracks thru the grass as a breeze of cold air in the night made my nipples harden and turn my piercings cold adding to the intensity, wishing I had a jacket, or a bra on at least.

Hearing the footsteps get louder, I turn around quickly, slamming into the man with the green mask. “Oh shit!” I screamed out, trying to pull away from his tight grip, he held me extremely close, looking down at me smirking and chuckling, saying “Come here, pet.” as he watched me struggling to fight him off. I felt him pull me even closer, then let me go–he let me go??

I use all my force shoving him away from me, he barely was taken aback still standing in his same spot, I run fast as fuck away from him; yet he was right behind me, I felt like I was barely moving, then I realized.. I wasn’t moving-as fast as I shoved him, he grabbed my arms and held me up as I was kicking my legs, thinking I was running when he had me the whole time, walking with me in his strong and buff arms. I scream loud “NOOO! Let me go, you fucking creep!” He laughs loudly as he says, “Don’t fight, no one can hear you scream” I still try to fight him off, biting at his hands until he pinches me in a specific nerve making me instantly KO.

I wake up confused and in a daze, looking at the ground realizing I’m over his shoulders with him holding me tight, rubbing my asscheeks as he enters a room and closes the door behind him. “Where am I?” I ask. “My secret room–your prison for the night.” he says with a deep and lustful voice. My body shivers at the thought of being imprisoned by this creep, but I’m too weak to even fight him off.

He walks me down the stairs, hanging my handcuffed wrists up against the wall as he strips me down, I feel all embarrassed and scared–mad at myself for getting out my car as he rubs my body down with his big and warm hands, feeling him caress my tits and tug at my nipples before he looks at me then puts me in a new outfit of his choice. He then un-hooks me from the wall, picking me up again and laying my on his table, cuffing my wrists and ankles down to it. He kisses on my neck, biting down on it softly making chills go down my back as my breathing gets heavier-I never been so turned on and scared in my life. I watch him as he unzips his overalls and looks at me right as he moves my thong to the side and shoves his fat inches inside of me, making me gasp for air and loudly scream out, he covers my mouth saying “shh”, then reaches over to the wall and grabs a ball gag and puts it in my mouth, forcing my mouth open and muffling my moans while he begins to dig deeper in me, my legs shake while he goes faster, then slam into my walls i yell out from the intense pain and pleasure as i grab the table, holding it for dear life as he shows my pussy no mercy. I feel him starting to throb inside of me, breathing heavy against my neck as he growls “fuck,” in my ear, sending my nerves over the edge, my juices gush out all over him and down my thighs as I moan out, drooling all over my gag and down my chin as he says “not yet princess, I’m not done” my eyes roll into the back of my head as I tilt my head back, my walls tighten and grip his dick making him moan softly and choke me hard, slapping my face, grabbing it as he moans louder, yelling out and thrusting inside me harder, I know he’s about to cum hard. I look to him as he chokes me again as he then explodes inside me making my body shake hard and fall weak onto the table as he slowly pulls out of me, letting our mess drip onto the floor. He looks at me and says “I own you now.” I look at him and weakly giggle and say “Not looking like a bum.” he bites my neck and lays on top of me as we pass out.


My first story ft. @fuckoflame ♥ @xnickymonroex @roguemodelingimvu