flow curves

umm….apparently, humans are the only animals that can draw straight lines and all i can think is

aliens coming to earth and wondering why, when all their cities and ships and constructed forms on their own worlds are either organic and flowing, smooth edged and curving, or rough, uneven and jagged (but naturally formed), that the humans have architectural structures that have impossibly smooth, straight lines that are–yeah, okay, theyre mathematically possible–but HOW ARE THEY NOT NATURALLY FORMED WHAT SORT OF IMPOSSIBLE, IDIOTIC CREATURE MADE THIS

even the aliens spaceships are smooth, but aerodynamically curved, with no straight, 180° lines because theyve never thought straight is aerodynamic, sharp edges proving too wind resistant and obviously built, so any invading species would easily identify their crafts or dwellings

Drawing the King’s Card (Requested)

Originally posted by lullabyun

OTP(s): Yixing x Reader 

Genre: Smut, fluff

Word Count: 5,036

Sypnosis: Yixing recieved something he didn’t expect, but so did you.

Request: (from Anonymous) Yixing comes home after a long day of work so you give him a pretty intense massage in the living room, but once he joins you in the bedroom he finds you wearing a unicorn outfit (or lingerie and some kind of unicorn horn thing idk??) And that results to loads of smutty sex with a dom Lay?


A delicious breeze rolled through the house, rumpling the clothes of the sleeping figure flattened on the sofa. Her (y/h/c) tresses flowed silkily along the curves of her chest and she tightly grasped a large, soft pillow for comfort. Its scent carried the contents she deeply adored — the strong, robust whiffs of cologne, the sweet droppings of fruit, the soft waft of tea. The more the smell swelled in her face, the longer she slept.

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7

Heydar Aliyev Center

The Heydar Aliyev Center is a 619,000-square-foot building complex in Baku, Azerbaijan designed by Iraqi-British architect Zaha Hadid and noted for its distinctive architecture and flowing, curved style that eschews sharp angles.

The Heydar Aliyev Center represents a fluid form which emerges by the folding of the landscape’s natural topography and by the wrapping of individual functions of the Center. All functions of the Center, together with entrances, are represented by folds in a single continuous surface. This fluid form gives an opportunity to connect the various cultural spaces whilst at the same time, providing each element of the Center with its own identity and privacy. As it folds inside, the skin erodes away to become an element of the interior landscape of the Center.

Want to see more architecture? Follow Pretty Architecture
Text source: wikipedia

myklaineinthe67impala  asked:

Hi!! Sorry for bother you but a really want a teacher x student gradence au please please

“Barebone! I want to see you. In private.” Graves’ glare bore into the other students, their eyes rolling in an irked response to their overly dramatic instructor.

Loud clacking of dark dance shoes filled the studio, mirrors reflecting back the magnificent bodies of the students; some tall, some short, some thin, some larger, but all coordinated and elegant. Well, save for Credence. The boy’s limbs were gangly, seemingly disproportionate for his body, too long, moving in clumsy motions that often left the student upon the floor in a mess of bent legs and arms, back flat upon the hardwood floor, head throbbing from the cracking his skull made against the surface. His constant flailing coaxed stifled laughs from the remainder of the class, which were quickly shut down by a sharp, hissing shush that Graves would emit immediately, intolerant of any insubordination his students dared express. Credence would turn red, his brow sweating furiously in anxious embarrassment, damning the fact that he was required to take a liberal arts class despite his declared major; chemical engineering. 


Very much out of place, the boy had simply ended up in the class because he had to meet a requirement and this was the only available class. He had no choice lest he wanted to screw up his university schedule. Being tossed into the fray of daring, adventurous, outgoing dancers was discombobulating, confusing, distressing as they moved around him like elegant cranes as he flailed like a ruddy penguin who couldn’t see well. In the mirror in front of him, the boy’s frame shallow, bony and tall, unfit to be in tight clothing that showed his joints in what he imagined was horrifying to others, Credence saw but his pathetic self, dark and inept for what he was to do. Made worse, now he had finally attracted the attention of the instructor, no doubt because of the insistent screw ups he had during this particular class session, failing so badly that he had ended up smashing his jaw upon the ground and biting into his own tongue, blood seeping from his lip slowly; an ugly sight. He’d been sent out to clean up, the entire class murmuring, annoyed by the sorry interruption, frowning at the droplets that stained the boy’s button-up shirt a dark, disgusting red. Of course he would be reprimanded, how could a teacher accept such ineptitude in his own class, not to mention the fact that his teacher was known to show little care for his student’s emotions, asking only for great performance, expecting excellence. A sinking feeling drowned Credence’s entrails in his own abdomen, and he swallowed back the fear with an audible gulp.


“Yes…Yes sir…” Credence muttered in reply, his eyes wide for a moment before they lowered, a finger raising to scrape at a fleck of dried blood upon his chin, expression blatantly sad, vaguely afraid, and anxious. What else was to be expected from the walking mess that was Credence Barebone at the moment?


Graves trotted over to a corner, his every step calculated, wonderfully acted out, his lean body showcased through tight, flexible pants that clung to his flesh, and a collared shirt that lay unbuttoned down to the man’s mid-section. It did not take a much of a glance to dictate to anyone that the man was remarkably handsome, though his allure seemingly ended there. Graves spoke bluntly, lacking or withholding his ability to empathise with others, gruffly calling out students when they were acting immature, lashing out when one did something stupid. He had, several times, replied to Credence’s clumsy actions with witty, teasing remarks about how the boy contained the grace of a giraffe, complete with gamey limbs and a sorry appearance. How dark in the face had Credence become at such comments, hating many things simultaneously, but damning himself most of all. His hands grabbed at his own stomach, clutching at the ribs that protruded from his taut skin anxiously, a response he’d acquired while at university, grabbing whatever he could to keep his hands from clawing at his own flesh. 


Saying nothing, Graves pushed Credence close to the dance bar, a hand upon the small of the boy’s back guiding him. Credence braced himself by gripping the bar tight, and he gave a quizzical look towards the teacher, who simply raised his brow right back to Credence, his eyes looking straight at Credence, but without any sort of annoyance that he was used to, neatly stoic, with a vague sense of kindness. Credence felt the knot tying his intestines together loosen inexplicably. “P-Pardon…M-Mr. Graves…but wha-” Graves quickly put a finger to his lips and shushed the boy, asking for complete silence as he slid around Credence, his hands dancing upon the protruding hips beneath Credence’s thin pants, bone poking from the skin sharply. Gentle motions upon the young man’s iliac adjusted his posture and position, pushing and pulling slightly to get an appropriate alignment. Credence had no clue what was going on, only that his teacher was holding him by the hip, alone, just the two of them, and the realisation had begun to dawn on him, bringing a flush to his cheeks. 


“Relax.” Graves said with a husky voice, low, impatient, his eyes fixated upon Credence’s lower body, running rough fingers up and down the boy’s side, making miniscule adjustments that tickled Credence’s skin and left a burning sensation that was surprisingly pleasant. How was the boy to relax when he was being touched more intimately than he’d ever been before, thanks to Credence’s absolute lack of physical relationships, making him one of the most inexperienced young men on the campus, to his extreme embarrassment. “Raise you leg, like you tried to earlier.” Percival murmured to the boy, tone not rough, nor dominant, but nonetheless provoking enough to get Credence to tense. “W-What…?” Graves sighed and dug his fingers into the thin thigh, pulling upwards as he put his palm against the young man’s back and curved his spine. Credence gave a startled yipe, feeling the flush upon his neck and chest now, his ear afire, and his body tingling oddly. “There you go…”
Credence gawked at the mirror, seeing his body contorted, but beautiful, flowing naturally with the curves of his body, held in place by Graves’ strong build, gentle, but firm hands on his flesh. And even more perplexing than the image he was reflected in the mirror, were the roiling emotions in his chest that made his heart flutter in his throat much too pleasantly. He choked on his own breath and lost his balance rapidly, slipping upon his planted foot and crashing down on the floor, his ribs slamming into the ground painfully, a cry sounding from his throat, high-pitched, surprised. “M-Mr. Graves!” He shouted, just reflexively.


Percival, to his own misfortune, found himself clinging to Credence in a weak hope that he could prevent the boy from falling, but was met with the untimely effect of Gravity and found himself upon his own student, an entanglement of limbs, his face brought down on Credence’s chest hard and fast, his jaw sore immediately. “Oh…damn it…” Graves groaned, rubbing his aching flesh with a rough palm and shaking his head, trying to find his footing, but only grabbing Credence’s flesh, and awkwardly trying to touch his student, for obvious reasons. For a moment, they looked at one another, eyes wide, surprised, embarrassed both, and as Credence opened his mouth to shout, “I’M SO SORRY, MR. GRAVES!”, the teacher broke into a boisterous laughter and rolled off the young man’s chest to lay beside him in a giggling fit. The hilarity he found in the situation calmed Credence instantly, a wash of joy removing the pain that throbbed in his back, loosening his taut muscles and even tugging at the corners of his lips until he himself was also chuckling quietly alongside Percival’s cacophony. 


They lay for a few moments, the separation of teacher and student forgotten, and the moment simply taken in, exchanging playful glances that only elicited further laughing, until Graves broke the comedic scene. “You know, you really are beautiful, even if you are not the most graceful dancer…with just a bit of guidance, you could really put your form to use. It’s absolutely perfect for perfomance, gorgeous.” Credence bit his lip and turned his head to look at Percival, quickly sitting up and bringing his knees to his chest, shaking his head nervously. “N-No…. I mean, I’m…I’m not…trust me…Mr. Graves.” Percival shot a look at the boy and shifted to lay upon his folded legs, leaning forwards. “Credence, I’ve seen you move. While it’s unorthodox, it is truly wonderful it its own way…” Graves fought the urge that had been yanking at him for weeks now. “I’m serious, Credence. You’re different…” He neared. “But it’s not bad.” Graves’ nose nearly pushed against Credence’s now and the boy’s breath was held back, but he refused to shy away from Graves’ advances. “It just makes you special…” And Graves craned his neck, pressing his lips to Credence’s, thinking to himself, “Fuck…I’m kissing my own student, but I don’t give a damn.”

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?

Bad Night

I was kind of just wanting to write D.va and then it turned into angst and big brother Hanzo? A little vent fic to get out stress before finals

(Don’t tag as Hanzo x D.va)


D.va. Hanzo. Implied BunnyRibbit. Hurt/Comfort. Angst. 


It’s not a good night.

Four in the morning, and she’s in the kitchen. Looking through the fridge and cabinets but nothing really seems satisfying. She’s more afraid of preparing something and taking one bite just to find it tastes like cardboard.

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Early Mornings: Bob Morley imagine

The warmth of the sun just barely crawled in the room. The winter morning was cold yet he felt so warm with you wrapped around him. His large arm laid across your waist as you laid spawned across his chest. Your breath tickled his collar as you let out soft even breaths.

His large hand flowed down the curve of your spin. In times it seemed as if he couldn’t help himself but have his hands all over you. You where his, all his. You where his prize possession. You meant the world and more to him. He didn’t understand why or even how but you were with him.

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anonymous asked:

this is a challenge where i send you a one word ask and you are to write the shit out of it. GLOVES

Nonnie, you are hilarious, I lol’d when I read this and it took me a day or two to figure out how to respond, but… here is me, writing the shit out of GLOVES.

(Part of this is beneath the cut because it got long but I FOUND SOME INTERESTING THINGS. Honestly if I were more invested and less tired this could have been way longer, because I really did find some interesting stuff. But y’all can yell with me about this, if you want.)

ON GLOVES IN ACOTAR AND ACOMAF: musings by Leslie

There are several examples of Feyre wearing gloves throughout ACOTAR and ACOMAF. Each time they are mentioned, they have a specific purpose, and they are a good indication of her economic and social status, at the time, as well as the amount of agency she has in her own life. It isn’t just the kind of gloves she wears, but also when, and for what reason. In the beginning, in ACOTAR, her gloves are fairly predictable:

“My eyes stung, but I blinked the moisture away as I stuffed my hands into my worn gloves. “When spring comes, hunt in the grove just south of the big bend in Silverspring Creek—the rabbits make their warrens there. Ask … ask Isaac Hale to show you how to make snares. I taught him last year.” (chp. 4 acotar)

In this scene, we see the gloves that Feyre begins with, which are for purely utilitarian purposes, and they are worn – we can imagine that they get a lot of use, and she might have to replace them frequently, given how often she needs to work with her hands to provide for her family. The poverty her family experiences means that she isn’t able to afford better, but this is… pretty much what we would expect. Normal glove usage here.

When Feyre goes to the Spring Court, her gloves are of a completely different variety. In fact, you could almost say that this complete change in glove style indicates the fact that she is no longer useful in the way she was before. And perhaps more importantly, they indicate that she is mostly ornamental to Tamlin, and that he sees little value in her besides looking very nice at his side. Clearly, this was a sign that he did not appreciate her intellect, her pragmatism, or her desire to actually do something with her life.

“I tugged at the lace gloves—useless and flimsy.” (chp. 28, acotar)

It’s interesting that Feyre notes the fact that these gloves are useless and flimsy, as they are a contrast to the ones she is used to. She doesn’t note how pretty they are, or how nicely they go with her dress. She doesn’t care about that, clearly. She is perhaps still adjusting to her life in the Spring Court. Perhaps she is the kind of person who never would have gone for purely ornamental finery. It’s hard to say for sure.

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The death and life of James B. Barnes (1)

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Warnings: One curse word? Maybe?

Word count: 1.182

Summary: Bucky and Steve participate in a sailing competition against Y/N and Natasha.

Based on 40′s Bucky and Steve.

First part of the @hunters-from-stark-tower movie challenge! I am SO SORRY that it took me this long to post the first part, my computer crashed some time ago and I lost the entire series at once. I guess I just didn’t have to heart to start over, but here we are! I hope you enjoy my take on the movie Charlie St. Cloud.

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Black Boxes

PAIRING: Jim Moriarty/Reader

AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/users/drwilliamsherlockscottholmes

SUMMARY: You celebrate your birthday with your boyfriend and he showers you with gifts.

Originally posted by cecycarstairs


“Honey, I’m home!” you heard a voice sing as the front door slammed shut.

A smile instantly spread across your face, he promised he’d be back before lunch and he was. Your boyfriend didn’t have the most flexible schedule but he made a promise and as always he kept it. It was your birthday after all. You had wanted to spend the whole day with him but you knew what would happen if he didn’t answer the call and run into ‘work’.

You craned your neck to see if you could see him yet as you heard him start down the hall, swearing you could hear him skip. He was always so cheery, it was what you loved most about him. Well, that and his accent . His Irish drawl was an aphrodisiac, it sounded like liquid sex and he knew it.

He walked into the living room clad in a Westwood suit, brandishing a gift bag in each hand. Jim Moriarty knew how to dress and boy, did he dress well. You knew that one of his presents would be a dress for you, it always was. But what designer? You insisted that designer clothes weren’t necessary, that designer dresses were overrated, but he knew you were lying. He knew how much you loved to be spoilt, which was good considering he loved spoiling you. He loved seeing your face light up when he bought you something you adored.

“Jim Moriarty, what time do you call this?” you scolded, still wearing your smile.

“I wouldn’t know darling, I was too busy picking a few things for this girl I know” he replied.

“Really? She sounds interesting, tell me about her”

“Well, she is drop dead gorgeous, I mean wow. She’s pretty smart too, and she knows just how to make me smile. Did I mention she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen?” He said, looking into your eyes.

“Hmm, I don’t know, what makes her so great?” you teased.

“She can deal with all my fabulous bullshit. She is hilarious, but not as funny as me. And are you sure I didn’t mention that she’s absolutely breathtaking?” He smiled and winked as he said the last sentence.

“What’s her name?” You asked him, teasing him once more.

“Y/N, Y/N Y/L/N. Beautiful isn’t it?” He said, leaning close for a kiss.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him down to you, his soft lips crashing onto yours.

You pulled away and said,

“Flirtings over Daddy, I’ve had enough now!” mimicking his sing song voice whilst saying a phrase he’d so often said to you.

He pulled his face into a pout and his puppy eyes got even bigger and you got lost in his eyes all over again.

“Fine, here are your presents” he said, continuing to pout and handing you a red bag with matching tissue paper sticking out over the top.

You began to pull out the tissue paper until you reached the bottom, which wasn’t long considering the bag was quite small. You pulled out a parcel wrapped in red wrapping paper with a gold ribbon. You pulled the ribbon off the parcel and began to carefully open the present. It was a beautiful F/C dress.

“Try it on” said a familiar Irish voice.

You stood up, turned and began to undress, wiggling your ass to make sure your boyfriend was paying attention. You stepped into the floor length dress and pulled it up.

“Can you do it up?” You asked.

“Do I have to? You know, I really think you look better without it.”

“Maybe later”

He pulled the zip up, planting one hand firmly above your ass in the small of your back. You turned around, the dress flowing and hugging your curves.

“Definitely later if you plan on looking that good in this dress” he smirked at you.

“I take it we’re going somewhere then?” you smiled at him

“Only the best for my favourite girl” he flirted, handing you the other bag he had in his hand.

You took it and peeked inside, there was a long black box. You opened it and saw a diamond necklace with a J and a Y/F/I on. It was beautiful and it perfectly complemented your dress.

“Now go and get ready darling, we’re going out soon.” Jim flirted, kissing you softly.

“How soon?” you whispered, biting his lower lip.

“Well” he teased.

“Jim, do not fuck around” you whispered in his ear

“I do not fuck around”, he said pulling away with an exaggerated look of shock on his face, he leaned in close and said, “I only fuck you”

You giggled as he picked you up and carried you into your bedroom.

*****************************

You stepped out of the car, Jim holding the door for you and closing it behind you. He offered you his hand but you chose to hold his arm instead, his dark Westwood suit making your new dress look even more stunning in the soft evening light.

“So, do you plan on telling me where we’re going to eat then?” you asked, looking into his perfect eyes.

“I thought you already had” He teased, grinning.

You playfully punched his shoulder and laughed “Jim!”

He started laughing with you and wrapped his arm around your waist. He may be a harsh consulting criminal, who threatens people for a living but with you he was like a fluffy bunny. Always joking, and laughing and in love . He pulled you close and quickly kissed you.

Then, without warning, he took your hand and pulled you into a lavish restaurant. It was amazing and you could see why he had bought you the dress (not that you didn’t own anything that wouldn’t fit in, he just felt that a new restaurant required a new dress). The waiter didn’t even ask your name, he knew who you were so you figured that Jim had probably sent Sebastian ahead to let them know you were coming next.

The waiter led you to a table and Jim pulled your chair out for you before sitting down himself, he was a proper gentleman. You ordered your food and a bottle of wine to share with him. When the waiter flirted with you as he poured the wine, Jim’s eyes turned to stone and you knew that if looks could kill, the waiter would be dead. Jim’s grip on your hand tightened. He was jealous. He was being protective.

“You can go now” he said, his voice sounding as though it was a knife cutting through the air.

The waiter fled from the table almost instantly and you could’ve sworn you heard Jim mumble “Mine”.

You placed your other hand on his, forcing him to look at you. You looked into his eyes and saw his face instantly soften. He didn’t think that anyone but him should be able to flirt with you  and live. You always found him so cute when he was jealous. After all, you were the only one who could calm him so quickly.

He pulled his hands away from yours and stood up. What was he doing? You saw him pull a small black box from his jacket pocket and begin to kneel on the floor. He opened the box to reveal a diamond ring that matched your necklace and said

“Y/N Y/L/N, you are the best thing that has ever happened to me. You are beautiful and kind, and funny and you are perfect in every way. You are the only one who can make my heart pound and flutter the way it does around you. Will you marry me?”

You were shocked and overjoyed and didn’t know whether to cry or smile or what to do.

“Y/N? I’m going to need answer, this suit’s a Westwood and it’s touching the floor-”

“Yes! Of course I will!” you interrupted him and pulled him up to kiss you.

*********************

You stumbled through the door, laughing whilst your boyfriend, now fiance whispered in your ear while kissing your neck.

“Happy Birthday, Mrs Moriarty” he whispered in your ear while picking you up.

“My birthday’s not over yet” you laughed.

“Suddenly I’m Mr Sex,” he laughed, bending to kiss you once more.

2

Chibs bringing his girl to a Samcro party for @may85 ! Hope you like it!

-

This definitely wouldn’t be your first date with Filip, but the butterflies in your belly make it feel like it is as you look yourself in the mirror. It’s not as fancy as the other dates he’s taken you on, settling for simple jeans that hug your thighs and bottom in just the right ways along with a a black top that dips down far enough you’re showing a little cleavage and the rest of it flows with the curves of your body.

The two of you are just going to a Samcro party together, you’d already met every one of the guys and felt at peace around them all. You especially got along with Happy, the two of you sitting and talking about various things you have in common. Many of the croweaters believe that you’re simply using Chibs because he’s the V.P. and that your true love is Happy.

The relationship you and Happy have is simply friends, if anything, he looks at you as a sister and you look to him as a brother. In your mind, you could never have actual feelings for Happy, though he’s a handsome man, you’ve only got eyes for Filip himself. And croweaters don’t seem to believe that.

When you hear the rumble of Chibs’ bike outside of your home, you grab your phone and wallet before heading outside, greeting him with a kiss. “You’re lookin’ too good for a good ole SAMCRO party, lass.” Chibs teases and you roll your eyes with a grin and a hint of a blush on your cheeks, patting his chest.

“Have to look good and never less.” You joke with a laugh, pulling Chibs down for a deep kiss, your hands cupping at his cheeks. His hands rest on your hips and he hums against your mouth, moving to deepen it further, though you pull back. “Not disappointing Gemma and showing up late. Plus, Chucky’s cooking and you know how much I love his cooking.” You state.

Chibs huffs softly, moving a hand to pat at your bottom. “I’m gettin’ you to myself later then, love.” He growls and you try ignoring the shiver sent down your spine along with the heat growing between your thighs. “You’ll have me all night, Filip.” You breathe.

Leaving it at that before he gets too caught up in the moment, Chibs steps back onto his bike, getting you settled behind him with his helmet on your head before driving off for the clubhouse.

-

The moment you two step into the clubhouse, all eyes are on you, the guys smirking. “And the lovely couple makes it on time!” Tig yells, one of the prospects groaning and handing over a hundred dollar bill to Tig. “Taking advantage of the new meat I see, Trager.” You laugh, Tig shrugging with a grin as he leans down to kiss your cheek.

“Just doing business, doll.” Tig laughs and you nod, saying hello to the boys that aren’t preoccupied with a girl on their lap, that including Happy. You and Chibs both know you don’t need each other right there at parties, and Chibs knows that nothing is going on between you and Happy.

So if you slip off after kissing his cheek in the middle of the party to go sit with Happy and talk a little, getting down some beers together, it’s perfectly fine.

What isn’t perfectly fine is that a croweater who’s been eyeing Happy all night gets upset when she sees you with him, the two of you sharing laughs and smiles. The girl grabs a full beer bottle, storming her way towards you and dumping it over your hair and drenching your shirt as well, making you gasp and jump off the barstool you’re sitting on.

Happy immediately stands as well, making sure you’re okay before glaring at the girl as she slams the bottle onto the counter. “You’re a lying, cheating bitch!” She yells and you laugh at her words, wiping beer from your eyes, effectively smearing the makeup you’d worked so hard on that evening.

Chibs hears the commotion, looking up and once his eyes land on you, he immediately stands, making his way over. The girl lunges herself for you but before she can lay a finger on you, Chibs is pulling her back firmly, pointing to the doorway.

“Out! Now!” He barks, the girl looking to Chibs with wide eyes, his voice making her shake slightly. Happy grabs a towel to wipe the beer dripping down your face, Chibs looking to you and sighing. “C'mon, love.” He murmurs, guiding you back to his apartment in the clubhouse.

You follow, the stickiness of the beer making you cringe, Chibs shutting the door behind you. He rummages through clothes as you head into the bathroom, starting the shower, and stripping down.

Once you’re clean and don’t smell completely of beer, you step out and dry yourself off, finding the clothes Chibs has laid on the sink counter. It’s one of his shirts with a pair of baggy boxers that’ll probably be shorts on you.

Stepping into your underwear, you pull the clothes on, sighing at the comfy, clean clothes and heading back into the bedroom, seeing Chibs sat on the bed. He looks up and smiles at the sight of you, motioning you over.

“Feel better?” He murmurs as he settle for straddling his lap, nodding and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Mhm. Don’t reek of beer anymore.” You laugh, kissing Chibs gently and sighing.

“What was all that ‘bout anyways?” He hums, nuzzling your noses together, you sighing. “Everyone thinks I’m using you but fucking Hap on the side.” You explain softly, Chibs pulling back as he rolls his eyes.

“All that matters is I know you’re not fucking Happy on the side.” Chibs sighs, flipping the two of you over and making you laugh as he nuzzles into your neck, his goatee tickling your neck.

Untitled

Prompt: Trans!Reader x Nb!Gee submission

Reader: Male

Pairing: Gerard x Reader

Author: Submitted by @phoeniebean

A/N: dude you always write the cutest lil things

You’re tired. You’re tired of everything. You’re tired of people spitting their words if venom at you. You’re tired of being the shortest in your class. You’re tired of hearing that name being associated with your being. You’re tired of your chest, hips, eyelashes, flowing hair, curves, small feet. And most importantly you’re tired of being stuck in this invisible, tiny, claustrophobic, painful, and lonely realm called the closet.

Now that we’ve got that out of the way, you’re tired, on the first day in the second semester, and you are staring at the scratches, slurs, scribbles, and doodles on the side of the table in your art class. When someone walked in and sat next to you, you look at this “someone”, they look really cute. Messy, longish, colourful hair, cute sorta round face, beautiful hazel eyes, super great kissable lips. God, you must get your mind straight, you don’t know this kid. Well it’s time for you to get to know them if you want to befriend them.

“Hi I guess we’re sitting together, I’m Gerard, so yeah. What’s your name?” The cute dude says before you could utter a word.

“Oh uh, I’m y/d/n (your/dead/name) it’s, nice to meet you.” You mumble hopefully sounding nice.

“Huh, you don’t look like a y/d/n, you look more like a Alex, or a Pj, or something like that, oh sorry. I was just thinking aloud.” Gerard said laughing quietly. That’s when the teacher came in and made the class get quite, but you and your new friend keep whispering to each other. They tell you that they’re non binary and you let it slip that you’re transgender. That’s when you get quiet, thank god you have a free period after that then you can just run and cry because now you’ve lost your new friend.

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“Take off your shirt,“ I said, sitting up and pulling at the hem of the garment.
“Why?” he asked, but sat up and obliged. I knelt in front of him, admiring his naked body.
“Because I want to look at you,” I said.

He was beautifully made, with long, graceful bones and flat muscles that flowed smoothly from the curves of chest and shoulder to the slight concavities of belly and thigh. He raised his eyebrows.
“Well then, fair’s fair. Take off yours, then.” He reached out and helped me squirm out of the wrinkled chemise, pushing it down over my hips.

Once it was off, he held me by the waist, studying me with intense interest. I grew almost embarrassed as he looked me over.
“Haven’t you ever seen a naked woman before?” I asked.
“Aye, but not one so close.” His face broke into a broad grin. “And not one that’s mine.”

― Diana Gabaldon, Outlander

Flipped // Part 2 (Brett Talbot)

Originally posted by inter-somniac

Summary: There’s a fine line between lust and love. (Part One)

Author’s Note: This part gave me just as much trouble as the first one! Hahaha, anyway, so Cody Saintgnue made this tweet and coupled with the idea of crazy knee buckling smut, the idea spiraled into this. I hope everyone enjoys this as much as I did (as frustrating as it was to write this as close as possible to what I imagined).


The first time Brett Talbot saw her for their first date, he flipped.

It was one thing to see her in her uniform five times a week; that was a whole other boat filled with dirty fantasies that he stroked himself to late at night. But starting with the dress she wore on their first date, he fell for her even harder than anticipated.

After their first kiss at Amber’s party, he could sense her lowering her guard around him, but just barely. It still took him time to earn her trust, to prove to her that he was not the same asshole from the third grade. His efforts were eventually rewarded with a date. When he picked her up that night, she came outside wearing a simple dress that complimented the color of her eyes, and his eyes did not want to leave her. Each time he glanced at her, the more beautiful she seemed. She was simply iridescent and no one else could compare.

“Will you stop?” she asks, turning to him.

His eyes run over her; the dress frames her body just right that he knows he’ll never get tired of seeing her in it. “Stop what?”

[Name] swats his arm so his eyes pull up to hers. “Stop staring at me.” She wraps her arms around her body as if to shield it from his eyes.

Brett grins and gently unwinds her arms, grasping her hands in his. He shakes his head and says, “I can’t do that. I always need to admire something so beautiful.”

She rolls her eyes and chuckles. A blush dusts her cheeks as she averts her eyes away in embarrassment. Each of her smiles was like an award; it was only fitting that he reward each one with a kiss. She squeezes his hands as they kiss; it’s unlike their first one. It’s slow and steady and filled with the unspoken promise of feelings that he felt when she stepped out that night in that dress.

“You’re full of shit, Talbot,” she whispers when they break apart. A small smile graces her lips, and he barely catches the whiff of amusement behind her words.

“That’s what you think.”

Brett Talbot had flipped. [Name] was no longer just a challenge; he was unequivocally, unabashedly, in love with her.

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I’m writing this in a journal so I can pretend to be the type of person who journals.
The archetypal writer chick who always has poetics on the brain.
Who can philosophize,
Be romanticized,
Who is the manic pixie dream girl I will never be.
My handwriting is not flowing, curving cursive,
Smooth and cold like a river,
Like my finger that teases down your spine.
It is rough, like the goose bumps I wish I made on your skin.
I try to decipher braille on your arms,
But I am not even bold enough to touch you.
I want to say my handwriting is a metaphor for who I am:
Frantic, disorganized, misunderstood,
But I am not even interesting enough to be misunderstood.
I am not sad –
At least not the right type of sad.
I have plenty to be sad about –
In the last month I have lost most of the stability my life ever had,
But I am not the type of sad who sees the symbolism at the end of the tunnel.
Who finds solace in the smell of stale coffee, burnt cigarettes,
Who has stared at photographs for so long that even my happiest and hardest memories feel stale at the sight of it.
In short, I am not the type of sad people write poems about.

I wish I could find comfort in convenient clichés.
At the bottom of a red plastic cup,
Between crumbling frat house walls,
Among the smoke I inhale to try to make rings,
And even though I always fail,
At least then I would know where to find it.
Every young writer needs the piece about feeling alone in the crowded bar,
Feeling the most alive after killing some brain cells,
Feeling your hot, beer-tainted breath on the nape of my neck,
And waking up the next morning smelling like tears, or regret,
Or the best goddamn night of my entire life,
But I think this is as close as I am going to get.

I am not Alaska or Clementine.
My name is weird, but not in the unique story kind of way,
My hair is dyed, but that was supposed to wash out in 32 washes so I think I just messed up.
I will never get a tattoo because I’m too afraid my parents would be disappointed.
In short, I am not cool.
Not in the fratty, college sort of way.
Not in the indie movie, self-destructive sort of way.  
The inebriated kisses in the back of your car were not romantic.
I am not creative or disciplined enough to keep a journal.
My emotions are not interesting.

I had set out to write a poem romanticizing cheap beer and sweaty basements
Because every young writer needs one of those,
But I am not every young writer.
I am not an archetype or a cliché.
Written by John Green or played by Kate Winslet.
A poem on somebody’s blog.

I am sober feelings
And honest words on a page.
I may not be the adventure you had that one Saturday night,
But I am Sunday morning.
I’m freshly brewed coffee and clean lungs.
I’m safe, and maybe that’s just a euphemism for boring,
But I’m still something worth writing about.

—  In Which I Romanticize Cheap Beer and Sweaty Basements (e.d.d)

thedawnsky  asked:

Pls pls i am so craving for a super rough and passionate bed adventure with the demanding yoongi 😭😭 but he is still gentle doing me. thanks so much

This request was fun to write. Sorry it took so long.

It was your two year anniversary. You’d planned everything because you wanted it to be perfect. You’d bought his favorite candy and snacks; you’d saved up to get him the expensive pair of head phones he wanted; you’d cooked dinner, and you’d even bought new, sexy lingerie to wear that night. You’d rushed to do your make up so you would be ready by the time he got home. Everything was prefect except for one thing: Yoongi wasn’t there.

He was two hours late. At first, you were okay with it. He was hardly on time for anything, but he’d usually text and tell you what was going on. It was like pulling teeth to get him over to your place. Every time you’d call him, he’d say he was on his way. You were getting tired of waiting.

When he finally arrived, he didn’t speak any apologies; he just walked in like nothing had happened.

“Do you realize how late you are?” you huffed at him, trying to get ahold of your anger. “You were probably doing something important, right?” you asked hopefully. “Was there a last minute recording session?”  He just looked at you and smiled.

“Oh sorry, Jagi. I was just messing around with the boys. I got carried away. It’s not that big of a deal, right?” he breathed, brushing it off like it was nothing. Everything hit you at once. You felt unappreciated and dumb for getting so excited for a day that he obviously didn’t think much of. Angrily you started to undress, ripping the new cloths you’d bought just for that day off of your body. You stormed into your bedroom and put on some ugly sweatpants and a stained sweatshirt.

“What’s your problem, _______?” he stammered as you stomped around angrily. “Do you not want me here? Because I can leave at any moment,” he said, starting to get angry himself.

“Leave. I’m not stopping you. It’s not like you wanted to be here anyways,” you answered half-heartedly. You waited for his reaction. He just put his head in his hands and sighed.

“I’m sorry. I’ve ruined our day. I’m being a bad boyfriend.” You went over to where he was sitting on your bed. You kissed his cheek.

“You’re still the coolest boyfriend ever to me.” With those words, he smiled, embracing you and then pulling you onto the bed with him. He kissed you deeply and rubbed your back, making you moan. You pulled away, saying: “We have dinner to eat, and I have to give you your gifts and we—” You were cut off by his lips. He pulled you closer to him so you could feel his hardening member against your stomach. Moaning, you pulled his head to your neck so he could kiss your sensitive spot. You began to come undone as kissed you.

His kisses started to become rougher. His teeth started nip at your neck, and your hands flew to his hair. His hand roamed down your body and found their way under your shirt.

“Yoongi oppa!” you whimpered as he pinched your nipples, rolling them between his thumb and forefinger. Your shirt was pulled over your head, and you pulled yourself away from him.

“I have something for you, but if you want to see your special gift you have to leave the room for a second; can you do that for me?” you asked in a sickeningly sweet voice.

“Fine, but you’d better hurry because I want you now,” he said, his eyes dark with lust. He stood and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. You jumped off the bed and flung open your closet. You ripped the white lingerie off of the hanger and pulled it on to your body. The lace rested perfectly on your breasts, and the translucent material flowed across your curves effortlessly.

You ran back to the bed and pulled the blankets over your body. “You can come in now,” you called. The door swung open as Yoongi strode back into the room. He immediately pulled the covers off of you and stepped back to drink in your beauty.

“Stand up so I can see your gorgeous body,” he ordered. You stood up and faced him. A blush crept onto your face as you felt his eyes scanning your entire body. “Come here, Jagi,” he whispered. You sat on his lap and looked into his lust filled eyes. “Is there anything you want me to do for you?” he asked playfully.

You looked down, embarrassed; for the last few days, you’d dreamt about his tongue on your core. But you could never tell him that. You sighed; you wanted it so badly, maybe it was worth the embarrassment. “I-I um can you… l-lick m-me please?” you managed to choke out.

Teasingly, he ran his fingers across your dripping underwear. “Where do you want me to lick you? Tell me where,” he breathed into your ear. His hot breath was threatening to make you go insane. You gathered up the courage and you finally stammered out:

“My p-pussy.” Yoongi smirked at hearing you say such a dirty word. Satisfied, he laid you on the bed, your head propped up by a pillow. His hands spread your legs as he kissed and nipped his way up your thighs, leaving bright red marks. Your core throbbed from the anticipation. You whimpered and wiggled your hips around, hoping to get some kind of satisfaction. Finally, he pulled your dripping panties off and brought his tongue to your clit. Your back arched off the bed. His strong hands held your hips firmly to the bed as you moaned something that sounded like his name. He brought his eyes to yours and flattened his tongue on your clit, watching your reactions. His gaze was so fiery, it made the knot in your stomach tighten. Both of you knew by the way your body was shaking that wouldn’t last much longer.

“I need you in me right now. Please,” you breathed, trying to compose yourself. Wasting no time, he pulled your body to the edge of the bed and he stood beside it. He positioned himself between your thighs and put your legs on his shoulders. He plunged into you in one deep stroke. You gasped from the sudden fullness and intense pleasure. He smirked, knowing only he could make you feel this way.

Yoongi slammed into you, causing your boobs to violently bounce, the way he liked. Your fingers gripped the sheets, and your back arched off the bed. With your legs still on his shoulders he, bent forward and kissed you. The farther he bent forward, the deeper he went into you. All you could do was moan. Every one of your senses were on fire.

He pulled out of you and bent you over the bed. He entered you again without warning. You desperately clawed at the bed sheets, trying to anchor yourself to something. Yoongi’s grunts filled the room as you both came close to your climax. His hands fisted in your hair pulling your head back, causing your whole body to arch. Your eyes shut tight as your orgasm to hit you hard. Your whole body shook as you moaned out incoherently. As he came, he pulled out of you and shot his seed on to your ass.

You both fell forward onto the bed, depleted of energy. He turned his head toward you and smiled.

“Happy anniversary, Jagi. I love you,” he whispered, then he got up and brought back rags to clean the both of you up. As he wiped you down, you giggled and turned towards him.

“We still didn’t eat dinner,” you said jokingly.

“Well it seems I had my desert before my dinner,” Yoongi smirked. “I think I might want a second helping.”

Well that was hot. The way I like it. Guys your requests are just getting better and better. I love writing them. 

~ Admin Sugar 

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