deep ridged


Best PS1 Games of 1999
Takes a Look at The Best PS1 Games of  2000  -  1998  -  1997 -  1996

lostinangela  asked:

1 or 11 :)

11) things you said when you were drunk

“I’m sorry.”

Yuuri follows sounds of offbeat knocking to their front door, which he opens to find Victor standing there, his hair sticking up in impossible angles and the bags under his eyes deep, like ridges engraved into his skin. “Victor,” he breathes, confused.

When Victor speaks again, Yuuri understands—he’s drunk. “I’m sorry for what I… What I said,” he says slowly, as though trying hard to remember. He hiccups and with that he falls against the doorway, one palm splayed against the wood to support himself.

Tears stinging his eyes.

(There had been a fight, a day ago.)

(It hadn’t been bad, just a normal domestic dispute, but…)

“Victor,” Yuuri exhales, and takes him into his arms. “Victor, what happened?”

“I started thinking…” Victor answers, and the rest of the words are blubbery, muffled by tears and pain extruding from every syllable, like he’s putting all of his energy into hugging Yuuri and can’t be bothered to focus on words. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, please, don’t be,” he promises, and strokes his arm. “This wasn’t our first fight. What happened? We always… You know that we always figure it out, right?”

Victor takes in a shaky breath, and his words blend. “Called you. I called you. I called you and you didn’t, you never… Twice. I was going to say… I…”

Yuuri removes one arm from his back to lead him inside of the apartment and towards the bedroom. He’s trembling. His skin feels like ice to the touch. “Let’s get you into bed. We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

His fiancé is silent as Yuuri helps him remove his clothes. When he’s down to his boxer briefs, he pulls back the sheets and guides him to sleep in underneath them. Yuuri slips in beside him and is met with huge, watery eyes locked intently on his own. He reaches out a hand and his fingers brush against Victor’s elbow. As soon as the contact is made, there’s a head pillowed against his chest and a body flush against his own.

He smells of alcohol and sweat, but Yuuri only holds him tighter.

“Don’t be mad at me,” Victor whispers against the fabric, and the words are so slurred that Yuuri almost can’t make them out.

(It’s a prayer, he realizes. The words aren’t meant for his ears. Aren’t meant to be heard, aren’t meant to be interpreted.)

Yuuri strokes his hair, tries to lull him to sleep. “I was, but I’d never be mad forever.”

Till Death Do Us Part - Jimin (M)

A/N: This is just deranged Jimin, and yes, they’re married- Don’t ask me whut this is tho, srry [If any fandom could handle it I thought it would be the armys]


Word Count: 671

Originally posted by kookies-for-taehyung

He had dreamt of it, of the gleaming blade caressing your skin, of the dark blood staining the sheets endlessly.
Your venerable figure lay before him, your soft skin illuminated by the dim lights filtering into the small room through the curtains. Shadows crept through the night, consuming his conscious as his gaze fell upon your neck. His fingers itched to constrict around your elegant neck, his mind yearning to see the life leave your bleary gaze.

Stirring gently, your tired gaze fell upon Jimin, his gaze transfixed upon your lips. You smiled gently, snuggling close, tracing the defined ridges of his chest with your finger lazily.

“Can’t sleep?”

He let out a soft murmur, pressing his lips to your hair endearingly.

“Neither can I-”

Your soft gaze met his own as you caught your plush lip between your teeth. His gaze turned lustful as you drew near, the silk sheets shifting gently with each movement.
His lips captured your own slowly, his mind growing hazy as your lithe fingers threaded through his soft locks.
His lips grew feverish as he crawled over you, his hands moving to your soft mounds, the coarse material of your thin shirt brushing your hardening buds.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmured in a hushed tone, letting his lips ghost over your own tantalizingly.

Mumbling a response, your impatient hands tugged on his boxers irksomely. Annoyed, he swatted your hands away, his thick fingers wrapping around the column of your throat dangerously. Surrendering, your gaze fell to the deep ridges of his chest and abdomen.
Jimin sat back, drawing his hand to the elastic of his boxers. You squirmed in anticipation, your thighs brushing his own.
He halted, his entrancing gaze falling over your figure. Your gaze grew questioning as he seemed lost.
His mind wandered to his earlier thoughts, your pristine skin feeling empty without the bruises of lust blooming.
Gently, your hand cupped his cheek as you sat up, the cold metal of the ring upon your finger interrupting his thoughts.

“What is it?”

He ignored your question, pushing you back onto your back roughly. He freed his throbbing member, stroking himself a few times. Hypnotized, you watched the erotic sight, drawing your legs from beneath him. His calloused fingertips brushed your soft skin as his guided your thighs around his hips. Carelessly, he brushed your panties aside, letting a finger glide along your slick folds.
Slowly, he guided his length to your entrance, gingerly pressing his tip to your slick folds. Your heartbeat seemed to echo in your ears, your breaths heavy in anticipation.
It took only a moment to adjust to the familiar sensation. A sigh of content left him as your slick walls engulfed his pulsating member.
It was too much.
His hips drew back slowly, his blunt nails digging into your hips.
Small gasps escaped you as his hips bucked forward, his lips parting in awe.

It hurt.
The bed creaked gently as loud gasps echoed through the small room.
He was too rough, the sensation rugged and uncomfortable.

“It hurts-” you managed, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes.

“Good,” he grunted, his hips smacking your own once again.

Wincing, your nails dug into his warm skin angrily. He murmured to himself quietly, watching as his shaft disappeared into your core repeatedly.
His thighs tensed as he came, his warm seed filling your cavern.

Your tensed frame relaxed as he leant down, pushing your shirt up, revealing your chest. His plush lips enclosed around your erect nipple, his teeth grazing the sensitive bud teasingly. A whine escaped you as his hand fondled your other breast, tweaking your nipple with his calloused fingers.


He drew back, his gaze meeting your own. His gaze seemed to harden as his thoughts from earlier recurred.

He left you, abandoning you on the bed. Your gaze followed his frame as he made his way to the kitchen in silence, his gaze falling upon the rack of knives beside the stove.

Adam Driver’s Face

This is my attempt to explain the beauty of Adam Driver’s face: CONTRAST.

Anyone familiar with art principles knows that contrast draws attention and is visually pleasing. It is a tool artists use to direct a viewer’s gaze.

Adam Driver’s face has layers of contrast:

Light/dark: Pale skin contrasts dark hair

(also, light and dark sides of the force for Kylo Ren)

Hard/soft: prominent brow ridge, aquiline nose, pointed chin, and broad shoulders contrast with the flowing curves of his hair, his soft jawline, his rounded ears, and his large, round eyes

Masculine/feminine: masculine features of brow ridge and deep set eyes, adam’s apple (deep voice), large nose, broad shoulders, and facial hair (usually) contrast with feminine features like long eyelashes and large round eyes, paler skin, long wavy hair, fuller soft lips, and a softer jawline

Typical beauty/ugly: Large ears, large nose, long face, contrast with full lips, large eyes, broad shoulders, and luscious hair

The contrast in Adam Driver’s face (and even his personality and most of his characters) is what makes him so appealing. He is strong yet vulnerable. He is intense yet kind. He is awkward yet elegant. He is relatable yet mysterious. He is languid yet bursting with energy. He is intimidating yet endearing. He defies categorization and definition. This is what draws attention to Adam Driver. This is why he has such presence. This is why people can’t stop looking at him.

I also would like to draw special attention to some certain features of interest.

EYES: Huge and watery and deep and dark round surrounded by luscious dark lashes. Both size and roundness draw attention and create interest.

EARS: Their roundness flows perfectly into the waves of his hair.

LIPS: Pink and full and beautiful.

BEAUTY MARKS: Both endearing and beautiful. They add additional contrast to his pale skin and adds variety and interest to the symmetry of his face.

FACE LENGTH: A long face adds an additional height illusion to his already impressive height. Both his long face and height give him a thinness that contrasts with the bulky muscles of his perfectly toned body.

And now, there is just one last reason Adam Driver’s face is so beautiful: he has a unicorn soul, a heart of gold, and a reflective mind of bottomless depth. Like, he is just a really great person and you can see it in his eyes, okay?

89th Academy Awards - nominees

“Hacksaw Ridge”
“Hell or High Water”
“Hidden Figures”
“La La Land”
“Manchester by the Sea”

Casey Affleck
Andrew Garfield
Ryan Gosling
Viggo Mortensen
Denzel Washington

Isabelle Huppert
Ruth Negga
Natalie Portman
Emma Stone
Meryl Streep

Mahershala Ali
Jeff Bridges
Lucas Hedges
Dev Patel
Michael Shannon

Viola Davis
Naomie Harris
Nicole Kidman
Octavia Spencer
Michelle Williams

Denis Villeneuve
Mel Gibson
Damien Chazelle
Kenneth Lonergan
Barry Jenkins

Keep reading

“Loki,” You whined pitifully, “I’m so cold.”

Loki rolled over in bed to look at you curiously, “You’re covered in blankets, love.” His voice was still scratchy from sleep and normally the sound would excite you, but right now, your body ached all over and any such thoughts was easily forced away.

Slowly you shook your head, mind changing, though you immediately regretted it. “I’m warm.” You hastily pushed your blankets away, groaning at the movement.

Loki’s frown deepened as he pressed the back of his hand to your forehead. “You’re burning up, is this one of those ‘flu’s we’ve discussed?”

Your mouth fell open, “Damn.” Previous plans to get up quickly fell away as you slumped back into your pillows. “What about the shindig or whatever Tony’s calling it, isn’t that today?”

“Oh how dreadful, a reason to skip out on socializing with those insufferable mortals and have you all to myself instead?” Loki grinned.

You closed your eyes, rubbing them at the pounding in your skull. “Not like we’ll do anything, I feel like hell Loki.”

Loki chuckled, “A reason to pamper and care for my queen? That’s hardly nothing, and I’m sure when I have you feeling better, you’ll be more than happy to make up for time wasted.”

You cracked an eyelid open and smirked ruefully, “You really are incorrigible, aren’t you?”

“Comes with the territory of being a god, love, now then, what can I do for you? Back rub, breakfast of soup in bed?” Loki offered, slowly easing himself out of bed.

You watched him, arm thrown over your eyes though pulled away enough to watch him. Shirtless, only in his black sleeping bottoms, it was always hard to pass up the opportunity to admire him - even feeling like this. Loki crossed his arms, turning back to face you.

“And you say I’m insatiable?” The corner of his mouth quirked upward as Loki stared at you darkly.

“Yes to everything.” You mumbled finally, “But also, do you think, maybe, just maybe….” You trailed off, knowing he would prompt you to continue.

Loki scowled, noting the change in your tone, “What?” He deadpanned, hardly even asking, almost demanding an answer.

“That thing, where you make yourself really cold, your true heritage,” You hesitated as Loki’s eyes flashed angrily, “it would cool me down so much Loki, please, I know you don’t like it but I’m dying here.”

Pressing his lips together, you could see Loki weighing his options. At long last, he breathed in heavily, “Very well, but you have no idea what you owe me.”

“Thanks Loki, you’re the best.”

Loki shook his head slowly, finally sinking back onto the bed as he focused on the illusion keeping him his usual pallor. “I am indeed.” He grumbled, focusing his magic.

“I love you.” You whispered, watching in awe as the magic shimmered over his skin and blue slowly spread along him. Deep ridges etched along his skin, spreading with the blue, before he turned to face you, opening his ruby red eyes.

“And I love you.” He shook his head, “Even when you ask me to do such tasteless things, I’ll never understand your fascination with this form.”

You managed to smile, reaching for him and pulling him into your arms. His touch chilled you instantly and Loki grabbed the blankets, trying to balance your temperature.

“Only until you love yourself, all of yourself, as much as I do.” You whispered, pressing a weak kiss to his cheek.

“You’re a fool to love me, but I appreciate it all the same. Now hush, it must be the delirium of this fever getting to you.” Loki stroked his chilly fingers along your skin and you sighed in relief.

“You’ll see some day, I promise.”

“Of course, now sleep, we can talk more when you feel better.”

Meeting at Midnight

Your ridges, your deep crested valleys,
Invite the lonely traveller,
To reach his hand out – to stop.
He inhales, breathes deep, and the earth shivers,
The sky claps, the oceans sigh.
May he marvel at you, your
Rogue crested plates, your sloping eaves
Your tightly wound core.
In these valleys, flushed bright with swathes of red,
You tempt him further.
You ooze crimson, fields of velvet.
May he sit on a cliff’s edge
Just to gaze in wonder.
He meanders downhill, eyes ablaze,
No longer on the edge he indulges himself:
He wraps himself in you.
Cocooned in your flesh, blankets seeping,
He fills his lungs, the red tickling, caressing.
In the moon – awake? Dreaming? –
He travels further still.
The moon slumps, the wolf howls and the fields
And the valleys relent.
New ground paves way, unfamiliar, dark.
He has fallen, lies trapped on a protruding rock.
He lies beneath the canopy, the interlocked weaves of red.
You have set the sky ablaze,
So he sits gazing upward,
Desperate just to singe his hand on you,
To allow the flames to lick him,
To melt into your fire.


` S L E E P E R

Madara is a tidy sleeper. By tidy Tobirama means that he falls asleep quickly, silently, as easy as the quiet death he deals to foes he deems insignificant: laying on his side, his chest rising and falling to an unknown steady rhythm, strands of black-auburn hair making a thousand tendrils of darkness upon pillow and blanket. His hands lay slack close to his face, his fingers curled, and his eyes are closed and in this intimate distance, Tobirama can be certain nobody else has eyelashes longer than Madara Uchiha. 

He falls asleep, as easy as quiet death.

In sleep, he is affectionate. In the dead hours of the night, Madara is known for pressing close, an arm thrown carelessly ‘round Tobirama’s waist, fingers limp, resting against his chest. A nose that has once been broken but expertly healed buries into Tobirama’s shoulder, and more often than not it wiggles in, wiggling, wiggling, as if determined to disappear into cloth and flesh. 

There is a silent delight in the warmth of Madara’s breath against the curve of his ear, or the trenches of the old scars on his face. His lover does not snore, although there are times his breath whistles through parted lips and softly flaring nostrils, in time with every exhale and inhale. 

He tosses with the impression of a tumult: flailing arms, fingers frozen mid-claw in the air, before falling back down with a dulled thump upon the sheets. The dark hair that grows past the waist creates messier curvatures on sheet and skin and cloth, and Tobirama has to smooth them from a worn face, taking it as an excuse to smooth his thumb over the deep ridges under Madara’s closed eyes. 

In sleep, at least, there is peace.
Or what semblance of it.

There are nightmares; it is a staple for shinobi. Dread visions plague his lover’s sleep, and his breath hitches, and there’s a choking sound, and his fingers reach blindly in the dark, his arms shielding his face from some unseen terror.

Sometimes, just sometimes, he wakes up and bursts into tears, and in the half-dead silence of a candle almost spent, Tobirama watches as his lover scrambles for the scraps of his half-sane composure, dabbing at his face and nose and mouth with whatever cloth is in reach, whether blanket or sleeve. 

He stirs: he pushes up to sit, his arm reaching– most of the time Madara ruthlessly pushes him away and he gets up and vanishes into the dark. Tobirama will lay back down and close his eyes, and he will fall asleep to the soft sounds of weeping.

And yet, there are times too that his love will consent to be held, and Tobirama will curl around him like a protective wall or barrier, and there are no words that need to be said. If he is allowed, Tobirama will use his own sleeve to wipe at Madara’s face. Red-nosed, teardrops clinging to his long curling lashes - there is a different beauty here, fragile and no less intense than that rabid beast in lacquered armor during war. 

As for Tobirama’s part, he is oft pressing close, burying his nose into the black-auburn strands of hair that still smell like sleep and fluffed pillows. Sometimes it takes only minutes, and at other times they take until sunrise, sitting there doing nothing, Tobirama’s arm around slumped shoulders. 

Yet always, they lay back down together, both on their sides, and Tobirama watches his love as he watches him, and slowly, those eyelids droop and close, and there is again an exquisite view of those tear-stained lashes. When Madara’s breathing evens into sleep and his chakra withdraws, Tobirama too closes his eyes. 

Masada - Israel

Situated on the eastern ridge of the Judaean Desert, this ancient fortification overlooks the dead sea. Herod the Great first built his palaces here, in 31 BCE, after seizing the land from Alexander Jannaeus, the second king of Judaea. The location was a perfect refuge from danger, due to the deep valleys and ridges surrounding it. The cliffs themselves reach heights of up to 400m. 

Masada is the most visited tourist site in Israel, outside of Jerusalem. Of all the structures on Masada, the synagogue and mikvah’s are the most popular. A sunrise hike is a favoured way of getting to the top of Masada, although in more recent times, cable cars have also been added to transport visitors to the top. 

Hair Cut
Requested by Missiarty

Selected - Ruki, Kou, Shuu and Kanato
Kink - Humiliation and Hair

Unable to control himself with how beautiful they said you were and how they have been looking at you. When you belonged to him, he cut your hair, taking a part of you that attributed to your beauty p, proving to himself you belonged to him, that he could do anything to you because you will, always be his.

Your chest burned with embarrassment as you blinked away the tears that threatened to trickle down your flushed cheeks. As you wrapped your arms around yourself, with each soft leering and disapproving remarks playing over and over in the back of your mind. Till all the snickers and jeering comments swirled around as the tears started to spill. While you bite softly into your bottom lip to hold back the sounds of your sobs as you ran your hand through your choppy short hair, which stick out in uneven spikes. That he had snipped your hair into yesterday before bed, because this was your punishment, but the worse was throughout the day as you endured the mocking leers from your peers you wondered why and what. Why were you being punished this way, and what for? Why did he chop your hair off? You questioning, mulling over past events to try and conclude what warrant such this punishment.As the jeering laughs and mocking snickers become too much as you broke out run.
Not paying attention where you were going you ran deep and deep into the high school, till the students dwindled down till finally you were alone. As your legs gave out and you collapsed to the ground, your shoulders shaking as your soft sobs echoed throughout the abandoned hallway of the old science wing of the school.


Smirking at you as you trembling and sobbed at his feet, with your fingers twisted into your short hair and your legs brought to your chest.Ruki mercilessly taunted you as he crouched in front of you,
“Succumb to pitiful tears already livestock?” As he grabbed your chin firmly and forced you to look into his gray blue eyes that danced with delight.
Your breathing shuttered as your bottom lip trembled, catching Ruki attention as he ran his cold thumb slowly over it, feeling the deep ridges where you had been bitting into it. He growled lost as his eyes darkened,
“How disgraceful it was, attracting the attention of other suitors when you already have a Master.” Ruki hissed possessively, before he smuggle smirked,
“I’m sure they are not sparing a second glance at you now with how childish you look.” You closed your eyes at Ruki’s harsh words, as you softly whimpered, and Ruki moved closer so that his breath was hitting your bottom lip.
“How foolish they are as well, from being deterred from a woman due to the simple factor of your hair.” The grasp on your chin grew softer as his hand moved up to cup your cheek as he growled,
“Now understand this, your mine livestock, it doesn’t matter what others think, it should only matter what I think. Since I am your Master.” He purred, reassured those classmates wouldn’t be wanting


“Fufu~ m-neko-chan looks even more ugly crying on the floor~ that its cute.” Kou chuckled merrily as you heard the light click of his camera going off.
“Look at me m-neko-chan!” He chimed playfully as you dropped your hands and looked up at him, your wide eyes meeting his bicolored ones, with his crimson eye staring into the confusion that swirled in your heart. Which he chuckled at softly, as he took another picture,
“I believe you even more enticing his way, collapsed on the floor pathetically sobbing, heh your so hideous like this. They think so too, everyone does.” He growled jealously while remembering those classmates’ desires towards you, you were his and his alone, no one else could have you.
“Your my kitten, my maschoistic little kitten, you’ll take everything I give to you and let me take anything I want.” Kou purred, his eye turning back to blue as he slipped his phone into his pocket and grabbed your shirt and choppy hair twisting his fingers and yanking her head back. As he crouching in front of you, while running his fingers over your throat, which was covered in hickeys and bite marks.
“Your such good girl, how should I reward you?” he mused as he lowered his head and brushed his lips on your soft spot before sinking his fangs in, moaning loudly as your blood flooded his mouth.
“Your so sweet little kitten, I’ll give you something just as sweet tonight as I pleasure you m-neko-chan.”


Sighing softly Shuu slumped to the ground beside you, as he grabbed your wrist and yanking you into his lap, forcing you to straddled his waist. As he curled up, resting your head on his chest,
“Why?” You questioned as twisted his sweater in your grasp, your tears seeping into his shirt,
“Everyone was looking at you song bird, and your mine understand.” He smirked, as he roughly grabbed your chin and made you look up at him, as he wiped away your tears with his thumb.
“Your body is mine, your heart is mine, as for your blood too, down to the very last drop. No one will take you from me, and I can do anything I want to you.” He growled darkly as his grasp softened and his hand moved down to your neck as he cupped the back of it and lower his head.
Brushing his lips across yours,
“I own you, little song bird, how about I make you sing for me tonight and chase away all the tears as I drag you deeper into my world.” Shuu’s voice grew dark as he crashed his lips against yours, as he sank his fangs into your bottom lip with your blood mixing with your salty tears.
“Sing for me tonight little song bird.”


“ Chuckling lightly Kanato stared at you as you trembled on the floor,
“Cry for me some more why don’t you? Then maybe I’ll forgive you for tempting those vile boys in your class when your my little doll.” Kanato hissed with jealousy as he remembered how they looked at you, how they undressed you is their eyes, when you were his.
“Don’t worry, we will get your hair fixed cutely, so that you resemble a doll even more. Just remember that I can do what I please with you, everyone should remember. No matter how you look I will always adore you, even with how stupid you look sobbing on the floor like a worm. It’s cute though, cry some more out of embarrassment for me.” He giggled as he got in his hands and knees crawling toward you,
“Though I might like this look even more, sobbing underneath me while your covered in my freshly made marks.” He purred as he ran his fingers over the newest bite mark,
“Close your eyes and accept everything I inflict on you, the pleasure, the pain, take it all little doll.” Kanato told you with a husky voice,
“As I dirty you more and more.” Wrapping his hand around your neck, Kanato groaned softly at the idea of what more he could to you, of how he could play with his little doll.

‘I’m up here sweetheart’

Genre: Still Gang AU

Member: Kim Namjoon

Description: Early morning’s revelations brings Namjoon to realize how deep he really has sunk. 

Warning: Descriptions of scars, mentions of blood and gore, swearing, you know the drill by now.

[This had a point but I got off the non-existent point long before this ended. This was bordering fluff but I still believe my angst brought it back. Sorry for it being so late. Anyway. I’m sick. Please shoot me. I’m not a criminal I swear. This is probably my favourite part]

Part 1 I Part 2 I Part 3 I Part 4 I Part 5

He was breathtaking.

As you laid on your bed, half the covers thrown off yourself, you watched with sleepy eyes as his chest fell up and down. His bare chest rose and fell with slow movements, a sure sign he was still asleep. 

His eyes were closed, blocking brown ones you’d become much too familiar with. His hair was a mess, strewn about over his forehead, partly your doing, partly the pillow’s. His mouth lay half open, his lips parted. Lips that had once been on yours and just about everywhere else.

His lean arms were splayed across the bed, the same arms that had held you while you slept. His hands were calloused,scars and rough patches adorned them like battle scars. But wherever you looked you always managed to come back to one place in particular.

His chest.

Scars from switch-blades and butcher knives alike were scattered across his sternum and ribs, harsh white lines on pale skin. Some were long, others were short, but they were all painful. 

Like a sickening tattoo they curved their way along his chest like vines, a horrible reminder of how much time was put into making them. For all the world, they looked like tiny pieces of metal embedded underneath his skin, catching the light and glimmering, mockingly almost. One lay just at the base of his neck, another by his ribcage and too many more to count strewn about aimless across the rest of his front.

They a mismatched puzzle, like an array of stars, connect the dots, hidden messages galore. Tracing them with your eyes, you made new patterns each time. 

You didn’t know much. 

All you really knew was how much he despised them.

Your questions about the array of atrocities that were scattered across his sternum were met with short and unrevealing answers. He would never get angry, he understood the curiosity. He just never entertained it. 

“You don’t wanna hear about that baby”

“Too graphic for you”

“I don’t wanna scare you off princess”

Excuses you were used to. Excuses you didn’t hear any-more, because you didn’t ask. You didn’t mind, really, you didn’t. It was his story, his past, and you didn’t have a right to pry. The same way he respectfully didn’t pry too much into yours.

Your relationship status was too blurry to fathom at this point. Between the late nights you would spend tangled between the sheets or the early morning kisses that would turn into desperate make out sessions you were just in your own little world. You’d go out to dinner sometimes and he would surprise you with coffee some mornings. Your hand was always seen in his and forehead kisses were what you awoke to most mornings. Giddy and childlike banter as you tried to finish college papers, when all he wanted to do was dance with you. Teasing and glares and sarcastic remmarks and late nights and sickening grins and probing kisses and a fairytale like lie you were both all too keen on pretending to live, was just too complicated to begin to explain.

So with blurred morals and a hunger for something exciting, you were content with lying in bed, with one of the most beautiful things you had ever seen.

Your hand found it’s way to his chest, tracing a gash with a butterly touch. Scared of re-opening the long since healed wound, you were still cautious. Soon getting lost in the array of ugly scars that made up his a horrific looking pattern on his chest, you hadn’t noticed Namjoon’s breathing quicken, signalling he was walking up.

He was still breathtaking. Scars and all.

“You know I’ve awoken to pretty strange things happening but this has to be one of the strangest”

His voice was gruff, thicker and deeper from not being used for the time he spent sleeping. It bordered teasing but it still made you shiver, like each syllable the deep thing said was sending a tremor through your body. Perfect lips sounded out words and you found yourself, looking away, back to his chest, to avoid his face.

He didn’t stop you. He just silently let you trace his war scars and he watched, no emotion in cold eyes. He was warm, your fingers were cold, the contrast was nice. Warm hands eventually caught yours as you moved to touch the one near his neck.

“I’m up here sweetheart”

That’s what he had said the first time. The first time he lay on your bed, shirt strewn about, somewhere in the bedroom. Dress pants wrinkled from where you had sat on his thighs.

He remembered you much too well.

You had sat, knees touching, half clothed, as Namjoon had just dicarded his shirt. Half drunk and bordering senseless all you could think to do was reach out, reach out and touch the beautiful scars that adorned his beautiful chest.

Eyes wide you had stared at them, not frightened or disheartened, no look of disgust, just a strange childlike wonder. Many girls Namjoon had slept with were usually confident. Assuming they would be made breakfast the next morning if they gave head the night before. They were sorely mistaken the next morning when Namjoon would ask them to leave, no number, no name, just a harsh ‘last night was fun I guess’ and a quick goodbye. 

He had grown used to your shy movements and tiny sounds. He had looked forward to the way you would cup his neck, like cupping a delicate flower, you were so careful, like he was made of glass and was ready to shatter. His rough hands and scarred chest had never felt such a light touch as your butterfly kisses probing their way along his sternum. 

His night of rough stress relieving sex had been scrapped when your drunken smile had stared down at scars with such a weird appreciation and wonder. Most girls didn’t care, they were there for the casual hook up, much like him. Some asked, none got answers. 

But you, oh god, you were mesmerized by the deep ridges of knife scars on Namjoon’s chest.

And you, to his utter confusion, still were.
“Sweetheart, stop.” he tried again.
You eventually gave in, looking at him with an expression he had never thought he would be met with. Your eyes were turned towards, almost saddened by his statement, shaking your head, hair fell into your eyes. He waited for your reaction, expecting one. You lay on your stomach, hands a makeshift pillow for your face, half lidded eyes disappointed. 

Your eyes found his and he found himself confused with your reply.
“They’re beautiful” you whispered, staring down at the deep knife gashes with one of the saddest smiles he’d ever seen.

He was dumbstruck. His eyes widened at your bold statement, looking at you with a face of both confusion and awe. He wasn’t expecting that. And your next action, left him even more wordless.
Leaning forward slowly, you pressed your lips to the scar just below his neck, holding them in place for a few seconds before briskly turning your back to him and returning to your side of the bed.

Namjoon had laid, staring at the place you had been few seconds before, unmoving, trying to wrap his head around the situation.
No one ever asked really asked, not daring to tease Namjoon’s short temper. No one ever really got answers either. Only a few knew why the gangster had such a scarred chest. 

But he had never encountered such a strange word for them.


When he looked down at them, all he saw was the bitter reminder of laying on an alley floor, blearing pain, too much blood and the constant slip between reality and a nightmare. The glint of a knife and the glimmer of a smirk. The horrible sound of wheels stopping on tarmac and the smell of burning rubber. Gasoline bottles and cigarettes were a deadly mix, and when someone takes a knife to you there wasn’t much you could do but grin and bear it.
But as he traced the deep ridge where your lips had been, he had pushed those thoughts away.

They were beautiful then, he concluded, anything that had the honour of being touched by you was.

Early mornings blur into one and nobody may have a chance to differentiate, the sweetness of the softest kisses that beckon us all with open arms to lie in the warm embrace of another just a little longer and the ugliest of truths we must all succumb to eventually.

For now we lie, in both senses of the word, in the promise of another’s warmth, without the threat of much, but the cold air outside the covers and the taste of bitter coffee, rendering our goodbyes, not forever, but maybe very much that. 

[Probably the end. Anyone who really wants more may request it. I’d be more than happy to start another Namjoon series. Or another member. I will cator to the people’s thirst as always]


VERGENNES, Vt. — A man in Addison County says he captured a video of an “unusual” creature. The owner of the video, a 33-year-old Navy veteran and IT student, said that the sighting took place back in late July. ” I had placed a motion activated camera trap at the water’s edge. At 4:00 a.m., in the darkness, it recorded video of an unusual animal,” he said. The 31-second-long video file, which he titled Champ 2016, shows footage taken by two different cameras in a split screen containing something floating or swimming through the dark water.

“The head, similar in morphology to an alligator head, can be seen moving through the water. Only the top half appears visible, also similar to how an alligator moves it on the water’s surface with only eyes and nostrils exposed,” he told. “Deep eye ridges, vertical pupil, very similar to an alligator except for a protrusion on the snout between the eyes. A snout crest possibly? The nostrils seem more to point more forward than an alligators.”

The Vermont resident claims he has had another sighting of this creature before, but that he did not report it because he lacked the evidence to support it. And, he says, even though this could be something as unusual as a reptile with a snout crest or simply a beaver moving branches, he wants others to express their serious opinion about the video.

Champ is the name of an unproven giant water reptile reputed to live in Lake Champlain, between New York, Vermont, and part of Quebec, Canada.


~Pipestem Resort State Park~

Field Camp is approaching (9 weeks away!) and I’ve started “training”. There’s a State Park close to campus and today I journeyed forth and trekked one of the trails.
It was horrible.
It was beautiful.
The terrain was awful (weird ruts and deep waves in the mud - like one foot + high/deep ridges/holes - and I about killed myself. But it was worth it.

It was something she always reveled in, the smooth darkness of his skin. As she laid her head on his warm chest, porcelain digits running along the deep ridges of his flesh. As if memorizing, tracing the contours absentmindedly.

“A Blibbering Humdinger could fit right along here, hide away here if it really wanted to,” she whispered in her airy silvery tone, nuzzling further into his warm purple heat of his neck.

“Yeh? And why’s that, love?” he rumbled, voice pure and deep, coming from the silky depths of his throat as his meticulous, gentle fingers threaded into her satin blonde locks, grinning down at her. Letting out a pleased hum, she gazed up at him with her doting sweet eyes, full of life and wonder.

“Well you see, they’re attracted to warmth, and mystery. They like the secrets you keep. Even though you’re not that good at keeping them. I can just tell people don’t take the time to look,” the pretty girl remarked rather evenly, clarity ringing through her very chiming melodic tone. Blaise, who had been twirling his wand in his other hand suddenly stopped and really took her in, admiring her angelic heart shaped face. She was like a breath of fresh air, so uncommon and vastly deliriously different and it allured him to her in a way he couldn’t describe. She was bright, a gust of sunshine that renewed his blackened soul. Awoke him from within. Luna to him was an anomaly, a rarity, something so beautiful and unable to be categorized that it terrified him and he loved it. He loved that someone could reach his bones, his soul, enough to entice him in such a manner. That he never knew what to expect since she had no label outside of just being her own solitary entity. To stir him in such a way that brought him to life when most people couldn’t bring themselves to be anything above ordinary, was unheard of for Blaise Zabini. Luna surpassed extraordinary, and his silent reverent awe wasn’t caught unnoticed by her, just unspoken. Words were of little use most of the time. For them at least.

“You take that time,” he stated after a long moment, his warm deep forest green eyes locking with her oceanic hues, getting lost at sea.

“Yes. It’s hard not to when they stare at me so vividly. You’re all the colors I never expected to see in a person, in real life. It’s refreshing. And calming almost. The last time I saw this many colors was when my mum would sing. I missed it. Thank you,” the girl whispered back to him, a tendril falling into her eyes as she felt his hand raise to tuck it behind her ear. “It’s so interesting to think but, I love you, you know.”

Blaise could only chuckle and pull her closer, kissing the top of her head and breath her in. A slow languid blink overcame him as he smirked, sighing and licking his full lips. “I… saw life in blacks and whites before you. I didn’t know color existed. It’s. Been interesting, yes. Curious even. But I’m not complaining. Because, I.. Eh. Hm. I love you, too, Luna,” his deep smooth baritone rang out, molten hues gazing down at her.

She smiled at this, pressing pink tulips to his jaw, right under his ear, smile evident in her speech, causing a smile to glide along his own lips. “Oh, I know. I took the time to look,” she mumbled, grinning, resuming the tracing of his contours, the ridges of his musculature, noting how swell it felt to be pressed against his side with his strong arm wrapped around her, his hand busying itself in her hair. She was content, delicate dainties doing their duty as he sighed, also content, closed his eyes and fell asleep to the gentility of her innervations.

-Addicted to 2 am and your spit- 

We wished that 2 am
could last forever.
Where we can walk
barefoot to get coffee,
and you spoke to me
in the only language
you thought I understood.

Your words spilled
out of your mouth
in the form of
Metaphors saying
that you could be my

We were lost in a different
universe where I didn’t know
where I was,
but I knew where your
lips were.
But then again we were also
high on acid, and
various other
illegal substances.

But the substance hidden
in your saliva got me
higher than any strain
of marijuana could.

When he tells me that
you lie about everything
and live to get fucked
up, I tell him I know.
You live to fuck with my
head and you whisper lies
as many times as you whisper
you want me.

He asks why I enjoy
your company.
I can’t let him know
that it’s because some
part of my brain
thinks that the dimension
of us happening ever again
will slip back open
and we can slide back into
each other.

You are a lie more intricate
than the northern lights.
But there are flaws and
ridges so deep
in you, I could
call you the
grand canyon.
Because you told me once
that you had lung
I said that the
tumors had
expanded and popped.
and it explains
why they suddenly
and a new disorder
in your spine.
You blew out smoke
much longer than
you blew intoxicating
promises into my ear.
Said you had MPD
and I was the opposite
of your medicine.
Said every word you
spoke took
a pebble out of
of the hole inside you.

I told you that I lived
in fantasies in my head
and you said I dropped
an atomic bomb inside you.
That I was the bane of your
existence and when you got hung
up on what addictions do to you,
I whispered that they destroy everything.
You stopped in the street and
stared at me.

Then it was the kind
of coffee I got.
I got vanilla cupcake
and you teased me on how
I want what’s normal.
How I am liquid and I
fit to whatever container
I am put in.
But baby you see, when you
asked for an explanation
you didn’t want the one I had.
I went to tell you that
my mind isn’t stable
and I’m never in one place,
so when I kiss you,
it’s hidden in a garden
in my mind and I’m not sure
it really happened.

Yesterday you apologized.
Said I don’t really love
him and you don’t love your
I kissed you with my thumb
in the way,
and I swore if I could
of just moved it
the world would shift upside
down and I would
be tripping with you
at 2 am again.

When we sat on my porch,
as the sun came up,
you said you wish it could of
lasted forever.
But the thing with forever
is I can’t do commitment.

Maybe it’s best that 2 am
is just another dimension
where people walk around bare
blowing clouds of lust
into each others mouths
poetry falling off my fingers
like a hang nail,
hurts just a bit
to get that deep in my words
that they don’t even flow right.

Maybe it’s best that we only
exist where we float in our
personality disorders.
We are more than one person,
souls caught in our head
fighting to take control,
seeing a weakness and lunging,
and you are my weakness.
Explains why when I’m with
you I forget that he exists,
while when I’m in my head
he is my everything.
You said I’ve never been addicted
to you, and if I gave you the
chance my life would change.
But darling I had one
taste and I’m hooked.

From the first night that
we got so high
hair was pulled and mouths
were stuffed
I was… I was stuck.
And I have been stuck on you
ever since.
We exist in a universe
that only the dark allows.
No eyes to pry.

2 am is where
we aren’t in a relationship.
2 am is where I
can kiss you
and you pull me away
saying that won’t
stop your question of
why I do it?
What do I feel?

What I feel is 2 am
tugging at my knees
pulling me down,
begging it not to become 6 am.
Because I’m addicted to you.
I am addicted to the night
where the streets are empty
and we can lay on gravel
and stare at the lights.
I told you before.

Addictions destroy you.

—  J.h.p
Headcanon Wednesday: Baby Turians

Been a while since I’ve been able to do a headcanon Wednesday post.  It feels great to be back. :D

Infant turians don’t have the thick metallic plates or the reflective skin cuticle that their elders do. Instead, they’re born with a layer of fine inorganic fibers; when damp, the fibers are transparent and lie flat to the body, but as the infant dries off they turn into a thick, silver-white down. To put it briefly: baby turians are fluffy. (While gestating, turian mothers generally develop strong cravings for plants that are high in certain minerals, which are then passed to the fetus; during prenatal development, the fetus turns those inorganic compounds into the down.)

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populartheory  asked:

42,28,17 and 7 ? Thx bro

42. Your favourite “old” song (pre-90s)
atm im really liking the Specials so maybe Do Nothing by them? oh but also Lady Stardust by Bowie is a Classic and ahhhhhh also In The Evening by Led Zeppelin shit dude one of those i guess

28. A song that represents “your aesthetic”
(i had something else for this but it got too deep so) Blue Ridge Mountains by Fleet Foxes or Corruption by Midlake or How by Daughter

17. A song that makes you want to slay your enemies
(i love this question) ive got loads for this eg. Vale by Midlake, She Wants To Know by Half Moon Run, Fireplaces Escape/Battlefield/Voldemort’s End from the Deathly Hallows soundtrack (theyre more for a battle), No Hassle Night by the Dead Weather, or Inhaler by Foals (if you wanna get really angry) idk

7. A song from a genre you don’t usually listen to
theres a deep house playlist on spotify i listen to when im doing homework? Millenium by Joachim Pastor is really good i would highly recommend

thanks angy! i spent ages on this but it was v enjoyable

As I Feel Myself Fall

[Hello, everyone!  Due to popular demand, this is the second installment in my series where our dear readerchan is a plus size girl.  I want to remind you all again that this isn’t about exclusion, it’s about positive representation for those of us who “fit” into this category, so that we might be able to see ourselves better in a world we’d like to belong to.  I mean nothing offensive by taking this approach and stick to my assertion that ALL bodies are the best bodies, that we are all beautiful and worthy and deserving of love and respect.  If you think you might be upset by the subsequent one-shot for any reason, I humbly request you do not read it.  If you choose to continue, I hope that you enjoy it.  Thanks again, my lovelies <3 ~ Tabby]

When you set out for work around nine in the morning, it’s already unusually balmy, sunshine beating down on the city streets like it might turn London itself into a Salvador Dali painting. One glance down at your t-shirt and jeans and you know you won’t make it like this today. You can already feel sweat collecting at the small of your back, trickling into the tiny gap at the waist of the jeans. Sighing, you turn right back around to change.

Dressing for the weather is often a struggle. On the one hand, as soon as summer even thinks of settling in, you all but become a nudist. Shorts and skirts that don’t quite make it to your knees, tank tops with straps so thin everyone can see the bright pink and white paisley of that one bra you had to spend a ridiculous amount of money on. It’s the only comfortable one you own, because bra shopping is a nightmare at your size; if you can find the cup, the band is made for someone of plastic porn star proportions, and if you get the band size, good luck finding the cup at all.

And, of course, there’s nothing wrong with having those types of proportions. It’s just that you don’t. Which brings us to the other hand. No matter how good you feel in your skin some days, no matter how unbearably hot it might get so that you need to dress so skimpily or risk passing out, there’s always going to be someone who gives you that look.

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