dusky beauty

Welcome to the deep end, kid


The Art of the Hunchback of Notre Dame:
Quasimodo | Esmeralda (link) | Frollo | Phoebus | Clopin

A Celestial Creature

Although Hugo makes Esmeralda age sixteen in the novel, the Disney moviemakers matured her to somewhere in her twenties. Designed with an unruly mane of jet-black hair, a quality of having survived a hardscrabble life, and the carriage of a born leader, she marks a refinement and maturation of what writer Jonathan Roberts terms “the sentimental Disney heroine with big eyes.”

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Versace on the floor(M)

Genre: Smut

Pairing: Junmyeon x reader

Word count: 3330

Description: A simple party leading you up to make sins with a man you just met.

A/N: So as the title says, this piece of oneshot was inspired by Bruno mars’ Versace on the floor and thanks @oh-beyond for suggesting me him, this one is dedicated to you. LOL. Have some guilty pleasure girl. And at last sorry, I was supposed to post this yesterday but my parents came all the way from California to surprise me on my birthday so it got late. Thank you for reading!!

Originally posted by daenso

It was the last day of your business trip.

Even though you didn’t like business trips in general but if you joined this business trip, it would really be beneficial for you. It was because there was a party on the last day of the trip in which many Board of Directors, Corporate Officers and Shareholders of million-dollar companies would join and for a lowly secretary of some general manager like you, you have to make it more productive.

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anonymous asked:

May I get some Kylux wing au?

Hux isn’t sure how long he’s been in captivity.

He’d tried to keep track of time but after his kidnappers had injected him with something to make his body limp and unresponsive to his mind’s cries to move, Hux had lost.

He’s held in an oversized bird cage, round, with a mocking perch suspended above him, seeds being thrown at him every day in jest of a real meal.

The floor of his cage is cold as he sits back against the bars, body shivering, wrists cuffed together, and the cuts on his skin sting and bleed. But the worst pain comes from his wings being tied together. In four separate places along the top bones of his glorious grey wings, metal chains have been fastened around them both, keeping them locked together in an unfathomably uncomfortable position—forced and stretched out behind him—but regardless of how Hux strains and screams, the ties do not loosen.

As best as he can manage, he shrinks back into his cage, face buried in his arms.

“Look, Boss,” one of Hux’s captors clangs against the front of the bars. “Our little birdie looks sad. Should we take him out for a fly?”

Please, Hux thinks, though he doesn’t move. Let me go.

The thought of being able to spread his wings, feel the wind blow through his ashen feathers, be able to fold them back properly and have his officers admire his impressive appendages makes Hux tremble. He wants to go back to the Finalizer, back home, back to Kylo.

“Nah, leave him be,” a different voice replies. “He’s going to be let out today. But for a much better reason.”

The low chuckle at the end of the man’s sentence makes Hux looks up to see The Boss—a tall human male with a heavily scarred face—staring through the bars of his cage at him, right through him. With a loud click of the man’s fingers, four portly men emerge from behind him and enter Hux’s cage, chains in their hands.

Even with his wings and wrists tied, Hux puts up a noble fight.

He kicks, he bites, but his malnourishment causes him to be restrained much too easily, and chains find themselves around his knees and ankles, one around his neck like a collar for no other reason than it can.

He’s dragged from his birdcage, trying his best to flap his wings but the metal chains only rattle against his struggles; the sound of his captivity.

The room he’s taken to is large, with a large window in the roof where Hux gets a good look at the purple sky of dusk before he’s pinned down to the floor, the chains on his wrists and ankles fastened to hooks on the ground.

“Give him the shot,” the boss says. “Secure the assets to the ground.”

Hux can’t help but whine when hands are suddenly all over his wings, a pinprick pain in between his shoulder blades and suddenly all feelings in his wings are lost. He manages to turn his head, cheek resting on the floor, to see his wings being unchained but immediately pinned down again, clasps fastening around the arched bones of his wings.

“Now, boss?”

“No. Let’s wait for the feeling to come back to the little thing, hm?”

“Bastard,” Hux mutters, groaning as the sensation returns to him; and the feelings of the clasps in his wings burns.

The boss is suddenly kneeling down beside Hux, brushing his hair from his face.

“Ready to be plucked, my pretty bird?”

Hux’s heart sinks, stops.

“No, don’t, stay back!” Hux yells but only agitates the fresh wounds in his wings. He’s stuck, he’s trapped.

“Hush, little hatchling. Grey feathers are a rarity, you know?” His cold hand strokes along the length of one of Hux’s wings, and he whines. “White and black, boring. Your beautiful silvery, dusky feathers will fetch me a pretty price. Now. Lie still. This is going to hurt.”

Hux growls in defiance—though he realises it emerges as more of a sob—when the man plucks the first feather from him. It’s a big one, long and perfect, waved in front of Hux’s face in mockery.

“Don’t cry, birdie. You’re going to make me rich. My little pet.” He strokes Hux’s cheek, plucking another feather free with his other hand. “I wonder, is it true that beings with wings are better sex partners than those without? Heightened senses, not to mention the sight of those magnificent wings stretched out when I make you climax so fucking hard—”

But the rest of the man’s sentence is drowned out by the sound of wings being spread, opened defensively with tremendous strength, wind rushing past everyone in the room.

Take another feather from him. I dare you.”

Ren. It’s Ren, Hux’s mind echoes that same phrase, turning his head to the door to see Kylo standing before them, white wings stretched out in intimidation. Kylo’s wingspan isn’t the largest Hux has seen, but stars, he casts a striking image; black robes, scarred face and stark white wings flanking him, arched to block out the light from behind him.

The boss scoffs, and Hux sees his hand moving to pull another one of his feathers from his wing—but the pain of the pluck never comes.

Instead, the man is thrown backwards with the rest of his hulking posse, cast back against the wall, hitting the brick with a sickening crack.

“Are you alright?” Kylo says softly, kneeling down next to Hux, waving his hand to unfasten the binds around his arms and legs, but the Knight uses his hands to release Hux’s injured wings from their clasps.

“Fine,” Hux exhales, relishing in the feeling of having Kylo’s soft fingers against his feathers again. “Just get me out of here.”

Kylo hums in response, apologising a few times when Hux groans in pain as he’s freed, able to move his wings of his own accord for the first time in a long time. The appendages ache as he spreads them wide, pain radiating down his back and, as he stands, Kylo steadies him.

“How many did they take?”

Hux shrugs. “Only a few. So you showing up a few moments earlier would’ve been ideal.”

“You’re welcome,” Kylo says and Hux rolls his eyes, but he falters immediately.

“I thought I’d never be free,” Hux says, wings folding in behind him to rest. “I thought I’d die here.”

“Wouldn’t happen,” Kylo says, cupping Hux’s cheek. “I promised I’d never allow anyone to clip your wings, Armitage. Not your father, not Snoke, not anyone.”

Kylo smiles at him, pulling him into his chest, using his white wings to engulf the both of them in a warm and feathery embrace, protected. Hux feels safe.


This is one of my favorite advertisements ever. It cuts stereotypes.

1. Dark Skinned Women can be beautiful.

2. Widows can re-marry in India.

Dusky women in India have it hard guys. Dusky women are beautiful.


Back at ya with another inktober collab! This one is for Day 11, Stargazing, and you can go find the wonderful @ainudraws wonderful art right here!!! Seriously guys the art is so beautiful, and she’s putting so much love and work into each piece it’s inspiring. Enjoy!

Hinata will show up. Of course he will. If he didn’t want to come he wouldn’t have accepted Kageyama’s offer, right? Unless this was all a joke and he only accepted so he could get the entire team to come hide in the bushes and jump out to take pictures of him, humiliated and heartbroken.

Kageyama shakes his head. No, of course that won’t happen. The team isn’t that cruel; well, maybe Tsukishima would get a kick out of it, but Suga would set him straight.

Kageyama sits at the wooden table, pulling his jacket sleeves over his hand to avoid any splinters. He can barely think straight, his mind replaying the scenes from yesterday’s volleyball practice for the millionth time.

He and Hinata had been left to sweep the gym floor by themselves as punishment for arguing during practice again. That seemed to happen a lot, but Kageyama has started not to mind so much. He likes watching Hinata push the broom that’s almost taller than he is, running around like a hamster in a ball and sweeping in erratic zigzags. Sometimes it’s hard to focus on him as he bounces around, but Kageyama has spent enough time around Hinata that he’s attuned to all of his movements.

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I hate how disney’s visual designs are taking over every fairy tale media they produce so here’s my ideal fairy tale illustration list

  • Snow White: Long straight hair, thin lips, dressed in either golden delicious or granny smith colors; after her “death” she’s dressed in black and white with tiny red details to draw the eye
  • Perrault Cinderella: Black with an afro, wears a large Rococo-level size gown that’s decorated entirely in shades of gold and orange (to best suggest pumpkins without pumpkins), have you ever seen the discards piles of stained glass artists? That’s what it looks like the slippers are made of
  • Grimm Cinderella: dressed in reds and golds to resemble a phoenix, with amber drop jewelry and red peacock feathers in her hair, golden slippers (duh)
  • Perrault Sleeping Beauty: Golden haired and rosy cheeked, dressed in soft pinks & blues, maybe a soft orange
  • Grimm Sleeping Beauty: dusky skinned & brunette like a fertile garden bed; dressed in greens with white accents
  • The Little Mermaid: deathly pale, hair the dull blonde color of northern sand, dresses in dark, dark blues like the Nordic ocean so she looks constantly washed out
  • Beauty & the Beast: dresses in red or dark velvet pink, ideally Napoleonic era or similar so she has large sleeves but a thin skirt, to best look like a rose bud; Beast looks like a Siberian tiger & dresses like a renaissance prince
  • I haven’t reread the original Aladdin recently enough to comment on visual tropes to draw from so MOVING ON
  • Frog Prince: Princess should be dressed in gold, preferably with prominent beading as decoration & hair netted into a bun; no opinion on the prince other than he needs to be green & have a cape
  • Rapunzel: I’m tired of blondes!!!!! Let Rapunzel be brunette!!!! Let her be brunette and dress her in flouncy skirts in shades of green ranging from iceberg lettuce to spinach-dark; purple “red” lettuce colors are acceptable as accents
  • The Snow Queen: Kai should be dressed in blue, always, with red accents before abduction & solely blue afterwards; Gerda needs to be in white to start with, & can change during the different parts of the story, but should always be dressed simply, with clean lines; the Snow Queen should have her hair drawn up, out of her face, and topped with one of those tall, thin crowns that only exist in fairy tales, and have her entire body be swathed in a giant ermine fur and white velvet coat except for her forearms, covered in white silk down to her hands, where they connect to little diamond drop rings on her middle fingers

HMU with a fairy tale if you want me to elaborate on my Very Specific Visual Designs

Wake Me Up...A Smutty Teddy in the Morning Blurb....

Title:      Wake Me Up  - as inspired by @sippin-on-red-wine

Author: @naughty-teddy-innit

Rating:  NC-17 / MATURE (Much Super SexyTimes)

Author’s Note:  @sippin-on-red-wine decided to throw this at me this morning and I was simply FLOODED with…Certain feels. 😈

“Like, you wake up and he’s still snoring, totally sound asleep… so you slip out of bed and head to the kitchen to make the mother of all breakfasts. Talking french toast, eggs, bacon, OJ, hashbrowns, the whole nine. You’re not sure if it’s the void you left in bed or the sizzling sounds and wafting smell of the bacon that woke him, but suddenly his arms are wrapping around you from behind, his face nuzzled into your tangled hair as he breathes Good Morning into your ear… Followed by the poke of something else of his saying Good Morning…”

And then this accidentally happened.

You may blame her. (Or thank her?) Either way…? 😘

Happy Monday!! Xoxoxo

You sort of just melt back into him, and his lips are just peppering soft kisses on your hair until he kind of gently tugs it out of the way, tucking it behind your shoulder, and he’s dropping kisses along the curve of your neck and shoulder, those barely-there, lingering kisses that leave the best kind of shiver-y tingles darting through your body….and the food is quickly becoming forgotten as you tilt your head back, wanting his lips on yours, now, and your hands would just slide into those silky, messy curls, keeping his sweet, scruffy face pressed to yours, and you can feel him, hard, against the rise of your ass cheek as his tongue glides into your mouth, and you can feel the aching heat between your legs growing, throbbing, and you’re pretty sure breakfast is longer the priority.

You feel his arm reach past you, somewhere in your hazy mind you hear the metal click of the knob as he awkwardly, quickly, shuts the burner off, and you lips come away from his only long enough to turn around to face him properly, and he’s still all sleep-mussed, messy cinnamon curls, loosely-tied pajama pants and a worn white tee that shows off all the sexy, colorful shapes on his broad chest and perfect tummy and strong arms, and and with a soft “mmmphhh” his lips quickly find yours again, and you’re cupping that sweet face, the sandpaper scratch of his scruff delicious against your hands, your jaw, your chin, and he’s maneuvering you back against the counter, beside the stove, and he’s knocking the paper towels and utensils sideways to make room, and his hands are suddenly cupping your ass cheeks, squeezing, kneading as his tongue is fully in your mouth tasting every bit of you, and you’re so turned on, you can barely form a coherent thought other than needing him NOW, and how gooddamn wet you are for him…

Fuck… He’s got you, strong arms under your legs, gripping your thighs, he’s suddenly lifting you onto the counter, all while his mouth is still devouring you, and your legs just automatically wrap around his lean, narrow waist, pulling every bit him against your soft, pliant body. All you’re wearing is your favourite soft, oversized sleep shirt and lace panties, and he’s stripped you of the fabric that was clinging to your body, your breasts, and he presses you as far back onto the counter as you can go, and his lips have not left yours, deep, frantic kisses, not a tiny bit of your mouth left untasted. He’s rock hard through those worn, soft flannel pajama pants, pressed against the inside of your thigh, and the volts of electricity that are just coursing through your body, it’s fucking divine and it’s insane and GOD what that man can do to you in the space of minutes….

“Fuck the food, yeah…?” He breathes in your ear, and the only response you can muster is, “Fuck ME, Teddy, NOW.”  Your hands find the drawstring at his bellybutton, you’re desperately yanking at it, needing those pants OFF, and you all but growl as they finally drop, pooling at his feet, and his beautiful dusky pink cock slaps against his belly and goddamn if your mouth doesn’t water.

The contrast of his pale pink cock, rock hard against the colours of his belly, the coppery strands that adorn it…. It’s fucking sexy as HELL, and it’s an image that is burned into your mind on a rather permanent basis if you’re quite honest. Your curl your fingers around him, hot, silk-encased steel, his foreskin stretched back over the swollen head of his pretty cock, and you revel for just a moment in the the way his body tenses and stutters as you grip and stroke it, pumping it just to hear him losing his mind.  His mouth is still fused with yours, his hot breath coming in bursts because he is JUST as turned on as you are,  and you’re suddenly aware your panties are still on, but he doesn’t give a shit.  He’s yanking them to the side, “Fuck…so wet…” he growls, ghosting his fingers over your aching, dripping slit, wanting to make sure even in frantic lust driven haste that you’re ready for him.  The "Baby… Fuck…” that escapes his lips tells you he knows you are SO ready, he’s almost reverent at how hot and turned on you are, and your hands find his face as he guides the plush, hot head of his cock right to your pussy, and in one slick movement, he’s balls deep, filling you up SO good…

Your legs are wrapped around him, so fucking tight, He’s got you pushed back against the backsplash of the narrow counter, one colourful, muscular arm braced against the wall beside you as he fucks into you, the other one firmly gripping the underneath of your ass, keeping you anchored to his cock. His eyes are locked on yours, the mussed-up, sleepiness GONE, and the sounds of hot, sweaty skin slapping against skin is echoing through the kitchen, whispered dirty curses falling from both your lips.

It’s rough and frantic and all you want is to be well and truly fucked into this kitchen counter, and his mouth leaves yours only long enough to dip down, his tongue curling around the the stiff, silky bud of your nipple, and he’s sucking and flicking and it’s driving you fucking mad, every time you think it can’t feel better, he switches to the other nipple; the flicks and nips and suction causing the more delicious spikes of pleasure to rock through your body.  His cock his still fucking into you at an inhuman pace, the feeling of his thick mushroom head pressing into you, past your delicate, swollen wet tissues, filling every spare bit of you, it’s sublime, and you think you’d literally be happy to just be fucked by him every second for the rest of your lives. The cold fire in your belly, the layers and layers of building pleasure and heat, and that incomprehensible tightening in the deepest parts of you, you’re just consumed by him, and he lifts his head from from your breasts, and the whispered  "Fuck… Wanna watch you come… Come for me, Love… All over me…“, and he slips his hand down between your legs, and the rough pad of his thumb is THERE, pressed to your aching, needy clit and the scream that rips through you, the way your whole body spasms and shakes at this… INSANE…indescribable pleasure that just rips through you, the way you clamp your kiss bruised bottom lip between your teeth, but can’t hold it there, the way your head falls back and your mouth forms into a not so silent scream…the way you just come UNDONE?

That’s what he wanted.

You’re jelly, practically floating above the two of you in the most delicious orgasmic haze, and now that he knows he’s fucked you into pure bliss, he is desperate to come. It’s sloppy and wet and messy and he’s all but grunting as he loses control.

"Fuck… Baby… Gonna come in you so hard…. SHIT….”

And he is slamming into you, an exquisite almost jackhammer that that’s burns you from the inside out in the best way. Your hips thrusting to meet his, loud, slick slaps as he chases his orgasm, and you unlock your legs from around his waist, spreading them open and pulling them back, KNOWING how he gets off on that view….

“FUCK yes!” He pants, his breath coming in sloppy, uneven bursts, and his hands are pressing on the underneath of your thighs, pushing your legs back so he watch his throbbing, needy cock slide inside you, over and over, and he’s like a man possessed, and you can feel his balls slapping against your ass as he all but loses it pounding into you and and the LOUD, even for him, moan that falls from his lips as his whole body tenses, and he’s grunting, “Ah..GOD- FUCK….” and you can feel his warm come filling you up, dripping out you as he just bursts inside you…coming and coming, his head tipped back and his hands still gripping your thighs, pushing them back and riding out every last bit of his orgasm.

Somewhere in your post orgasmic haze, you sprawled on the counter, his warm weight slumped on top of you, you can’t help but think… THIS is how you want to wake up EVERY morning….


Plant of the Day
Saturday 1 July 2017

The beautiful large, dusky pink bell-shaped flowers of Allium insubricum (Lombardy garlic) a clump-forming bulbous perennial with flat, narrow, slightly twisted leaves. These were forming a display in a sunny location on the large rock garden of Copenhagen Botanic Garden, Denmark, which provides this bulbous perennial with a well-drained soil.

Jill Raggett

New Zealand’s BROODS is one busy sister brother duo these days. Not only have they been revealing songs from their highly anticipated sophomore album, but the two also guest on a much welcome new song from Australia’s Jarryd James! 1000x is darkly moody and softly stirring. Its dusky melancholic beauty is the perfect match to BROODS’ featured bittersweet vocals. My heart is torn asunder by this tender pop ballad. Excuse me as I wipe a tear away from the corner of my eye. Is it a little dusty in here? It is, isn’t it?

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5 Pakistani top models you should know about..
  • MEHREEN SYED is called “the queen of ramp” for a reason and rightly so… Her elegance and poise on the ramp is unmatchable. But what makes her truly special is her dedication to Pakistani fashion; she is the founder of Pakistan’s first training institute, IFAP, that trains and grooms aspiring models, makeup artists and photographers. 
  • AMNA ILYAS best loved by designers for her versatility in high fashion editorials, this dusky beauty can transform herself into anything. She is also vocal about fairness creams ads in a fairness crazed society, “I find them offensive.  These appallingly irresponsible advertisements promote self-loathing and low self-esteem.” Another reason why we love her.
  • ZARA PEERZADA is best known for her out of the box sense of style. She does not have a huge body of work and nor is she a runway model but it’s hard for anyone to ignore her when she shows up with creative editorials and edgy red carpet appearances. She is the favorite of many designers and is the brand ambassador of the most popular cosmetic company in Pakistan, Luscious Cosmetics. 
  • SADAF KANWAL and AMNA BABER, both new, both started their careers around the same time and both have become the new favorites of most designers. You will see them in almost every photoshoot and it’s not hard to figure out why. Both can rock the runway as well as editorials.

i want more than anything to see Ganondorf overcome with anger and want to avenge either of his underlings after they get severely hurt and nearly die in battle at the hands of team cia or team hero

i want him to look at the damage the enemy has done to his lieutenants and just sneer as he walks away to his quarters to sharpen his blades for a “special solo mission” later that night

give me dat angry protective daddydorf

Ask and ye shall receive, Latte dear. Hope you guys like!

Also have a very appropriate gif to set the mood.

     “F-forgive me, m-master… I h-have f-f-failed you…”

     “Do not speak. And keep still. Any more damage to your body and not even my magic will be able to mend you.”

     Bared hands glowing with a crimson light, his palm hovered slowly over the Twili’s abdomen. The beautiful, dusky skin the warlord had caressed so many times before was marred by jagged clawmarks that furrowed deep into his minion’s flesh. Zant whimpered under his breath and shivered feverishly. 

     Cradling his lieutentant’s head with his free hand, Ganondorf’s thumb stroked his gaunt cheek over and over again in the only comfort he could offer in that moment.Sweat beaded on the Gerudo’s brow from the sheer effort of healing, and his face was twisted in an unmasked snarl. Glancing up for a moment he took in the sorry state of his other second-in-command as he lay in the corner. 

     Ghirahim was hardly any better for the near-fatal encounter. Only his more robust body and agility had kept him from death in the ambush. The porcelain veneer of his skin was still falling off in ashy flakes, revealing the scuffed and dented metal beneath. Acid burns covered him from head to tie. The gem in his chest had escaped damage by dumb luck.

     The attack had come out of no where. Somehow the protective wards had been compromised. Unprovoked, in their very own fortress, his commanders had been jumped. The warlord had arrived barely in time to see the demon, Wizzro, and his shadowlings disappearing from the scene. And he was left to pick up the broken and bleeding pieces of his two lieutenants.

     When Zant was finally in a stable condition, when he had finally succumbed to the sheer trauma of the skirmish, the Gerudo slumped against the cot. It was not exhaustion that bowed him, however. No, it was anger. Grinding his teeth together and slamming his fist against the flagstones, he could scarcely hold back the roar building in his throat. 

     There were no words for this humiliation, this rage. Under his own watch the bastards has snuck in and nearly killed his best lieutenants. And then the perpetrator had turned tail and fled like the cowardly jackal he was before Ganondorf has been able to return the favor. Oh, but the man would amend that little matter presently.

     Gently he carried Zant’s limp form, careful not to disturb his bandages or the barely closed wounds beneath. The Gerudo laid the Twili next to his demon partner, both out cold and half-dead. For a moment Ganondorf allowed himself to hang over them, his armored frame a shelter for the convalescent pair. He touched his temple to theirs in turn, and the weak yet warm pulse he felt beneath his palms was enough to assure him that they would yet survive.

    “Rest, my warriors,” he rumbled gruffly, lips pulling as he bared his teeth. “This humiliation will not go unavenged. I will make sure of that.”