in a new suit c:

BL Summer Bingo: Humidity

In the chat we talked about how Russian!Jack would deal with the humidity and heat of summer in America. 

Not well, is the answer.

(Featuring Jack’s pupper too!)

“My God,” Jack moaned, pressing the back of his hand against his sweaty forehead, “how do you live like this?”

“Well, first off, we don’t bitch and moan about it.” Rhys replied tersely from his perch on the couch, where he was busy twisting a vanilla and strawberry popsicle deftly between his bright pink lips. He was dressed lightly, in a pair of navy shorts and a breezy white dress shirt. His legs were bent under him as he lazily sucked on his popsicle, and the sight would have been arousing to Jack if not for the sweltering heat that was consuming him.

What a day for the air conditioner in Rhys’ fancy apartment to break.

“Why is….is the air like soup?” Jack groaned from his position on the floor. He looked positively unkempt, so far from his usual prime and polished appearance as Rhys’ bodyguard. His hair was wet with sweat, dark strands plastered against his forehead as sweat dripped down his tan skin, running uncomfortably all the way down his neck and to his exposed chest. He’d shed the thick charcoal suit he had been wearing and completely unbuttoned his stiff dress shirt, revealing his soaked undershirt and the necklace of interlocking gold rings hung low around his neck. Still he was suffering in the shimmering hot air that seemed to swarm all around him, and only his shred of dignity preventing him from stripping completely down to his boxers.

“That’s just how New York is in the summer. The real question is why don’t you own any clothes other than suits and jackets?” Rhys snarked from his position on the couch, hair moving lightly in the breeze from the small fan he had blowing directly on him. Sadly even the fan was little comfort to Jack, who merely slid further, back sticking to the hardwood floors, sweaty skin fogging up the glossy finish.

“I didn’t….I didn’t think it would get this hot,” Jack complained, scrunching up his face when his dog came clattering back into the living room, licking her muzzle clean of water from her dish. The black borzoi nuzzled her owner’s cheek affectionately, lapping at his sweaty face.  

“Angel….нет, Фу!” Jack growled, grimacing as he eased her away. Usually he welcomed affection from his pet but the last thing he wanted right now was warm, humid tongue rubbing up against his skin. Angel whined, before turning and hopping up on the couch with Rhys and snuggling up to the omega’s flank.

“You’re so mean.” Rhys pouts, wrapping his arms around Angel and snuggling her close, letting her lick his face and bump her snout against his jawline.

“She is warm. I need to be less warm.” Jack moaned, rubbing his temples. Rhys frowned, petting Angel’s flank as he tilted his chin to the side.

“Mmmm, well, if you don’t  mind swimming in your boxers, we could go out to the pool.” Rhys’ smiled perked up at the edges at the idea of his handsome bodyguard standing shirtless besides his magnificent pool. The omega himself, of course, relaxing in a comfortable chaise lounge, his thighs squeezed just right by his blue spandex briefs. A margarita in his hand, sunglasses inched down to get an eyeful of his alpha’s sculpted ass? Yum.

“As long as it is cool I will do anything.” Jack groused as he slowly sat up, his skin making a big show of peeling away from the sweaty hardwood. Rhys sucked off the last of his popsicle, eager as he hopped to his feet and ran off to change into a new swimsuit he’d bought a few days ago, already mentally noting to buy Jack an equally sexy pair to match.

New York summers weren’t exactly known for their mercy. Jack would have a lot of time to show his new suit off.

  • hayden as anakin: *speaks*
  • y'all: omg what a Bad Actor! he can't deliver his lines properly, worst of the prequels
  • darth vader: *speaks*
  • y'all: So majestic! Those PAUSES. That PROSE. So much SUSPENSE. I am orgasm ing


Taupe wool, the jacket with curved sleeve pleated into shaped cuff, white pique collar, pleated peplum, faux pockets and belt decorated in black velvet bands and graduated dots with white embroidery, black rick- rack and buttons, trained skirt with graduated layered hem bands having embroidered dots, bodice lined in white silk with gold dot decoration.

anonymous asked:

So wait...if Stride comes back via all-spark shard what does Aria do since she's now without her suit? And what does Stride think of the new colors? Does he and Aria get alongside? DOES HE JOIN THE AUTOBOTS EVER?! And what about after he dies again? Does Aria take back the body and keep using it? That seems a bit insensitive...I HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS. also would he be the kind of bot to want beans or no? Sorry I'm done wow...


  • Aria would slowly build a new suit from scratch, with two possible end results: if Stride stays on Cybertron and lives, she has a suit that doesn’t transform. If Stride stays on Earth and dies again, he tells her she can have his t-cog as a thank you for helping him so much. 
  • And yes, they get along pretty darn well. It’s a sweet little friendship.
  • When Stride comes-to the first time from Sari’s key he doesn’t really notice the colour change, he’s too excited about being alive and then too scared that it’s only going to last a few minutes, he’s a terrified shaking mess (also his optics crap out after a few minutes so he physically can’t notice). 
  • When he comes-to the second time with the AllSpark fragment he does notice and he is not pleased. “Why the FRAG am I PURPLE??!” He promptly has Aria paint him brown again. (He does take a moment to admire how good he looks as a slightly more feminine version of himself, he even considered keeping it that way) He doesn’t know how to feel about all of his scars being gone either, he thought they looked cool but at the same time when he sees his reflection for the first time without them there he gets pretty emotional, it’s like he’s a new bot. It’s exciting and scary.
  • HE DOES JOIN THE AUTOBOTS. HE’S A GOOD BOY. Aria left the badges that she’d put on the suit for him to have. He marches around the autobot base beaming and cheering and laughing, he’s so happy. He also officially joins the Autobots when he meets back up with Ultra Magnus. Happy boy is very happy. He doesn’t stop smiling for several days.
  • STRIDE WOULD DEFINITELY WANT BEANS. BURY HIM IN BEANS. LET HIM BE YOUR BEAN-SITTER. Honestly nothing would convince him that he’d really changed and become a good bot than to have his own sparklings, he would probably hold them in his arms and give them all little smooches (and cry).

The True You

If you walk into a bookstore, you’ll see that the largest section is called Self-Help. Maybe Self-Improvement.  Maybe Inspiration, Spirituality, or Psychology. Most of the books are about how to realize your true identity.

You do it by meditation, weight loss, working out, tai chi, getting a better education, dealing with your social inhibitions, advancing your career, ditching your current partner. Whatever.  There are so many books because none of them really works.  And that’s because you have to do that stuff yourself, and doing it yourself is hard.

Prison doesn’t expect you to do it yourself.  The Prison bus doesn’t stop at a bookstore, or a gym, or a dating counselor, or a martial arts studio.  It stops at a Facility that will do it all for you.  And do it fast.

From the moment you’re dumped off the bus, your false identity is removed and you are given your true identity, free of charge.  You surrender your clothes.  You surrender your wallet.  You surrender your phone.  You surrender your photo ID, the one that shows your name, address, and stylish haircut. In return, you’re given a number. You’re given a shower.  You’re given a uniform.

And you’re given a haircut.  You’re shaved to the skull.

While you’re sitting there for the 90 seconds it takes to dispose of your hair, you’ll feel the buzz go right to the bone.  If you care to look down, you’ll see the fragments of your former identity piling up on the floor.  Then somebody says, “All right. You’re through.  Get back in line.”  When you rise from the chair, you’re no longer a mixed up college student with floppy hair and a funny little grin.  You’re a big bald man in a convict suit, marching off to your new life in Block C, Cell 182.  

That was easy, wasn’t it?    

25535) I never thought my disorder was about my weight until I remembered the first time I purged. I was ten years old, I had just gotten a new swim suit and tried it on to show my parents b/c I was excited, when my dad made a comment that I should start losing/watching my weight. My mother was shocked that he said that, especially in front of me. I don’t remember wearing the swim suit again, but I do remember restricting, binging, and purging for 12 years after that.