quarter face

A Masterpiece Immortalized

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You wouldn’t exactly classify yourself as a photographer, but Bucky Barnes was definitely your muse.

Warnings: Implied Sex, just fluff, maybe one swear word

Word Count: 2.5k

Originally posted by onetomanyknives


MASTERLIST

A/N: tag list is always open! x

It always saddened you to watch him shy away from the lens. To hold up his hand, obscuring the view. So many moments that couldn’t be immortalized in a photograph because the world had taught him to thoroughly hate himself. That he was a monster, incapable and undeserving of love.

Hydra may not have physically held him any longer, but their mental grip was still tight as ever. After so many years of pain, torture, and suffering, he was finally offered a chance at freedom, and yet the scars of his past continued to limit him, crushing any self-worth that once exuded from his soul.

You were so desperate to show him how truly magnificent he was. Not only in his physical attributes, but the strength that radiated from deep within his bones. How, after so many years, he was still standing on his own two feet; ready to fight a noble battle for those too quick to call him a villain, still laying down his life for those who would never deserve it.

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anonymous asked:

How should someone respectfully salute a woman they met for the first time?

Thank you for coming to me with this question.

The first thing you absolutely must do is accept the fact that a woman met for the first time will take it as a grave insult if you have no visible muffin on your person. Understandably one can’t be expected to carry around a muffin at all times, so if you come upon a woman whom you haven’t met before and you are, at the time, unmuffined, you should immediately cover both of your eyes with you left hand, and place yourself flat on the ground, face down, as quickly as you can (use your right hand for support). Then you must emit a sharp whistle, followed by a long voiceless alveolar trill, transcribed thus: [r̥ːːː]. This will indicate to the unmet woman that you mean no disrespect, and were simply caught off-guard by her sudden appearance. At this point, the unmet woman should continue on her way. Be aware that it is within her rights to step not just over, but on your body as she continues on her way (for more on this, see Corbitt v. Russell). If you believe that the unmet woman has moved out of your line of sight, you should ask as loudly as you can, “Are the frocks still on the bannister, or hasn’t Uncle Harry explained?” If you receive no response, you are safe to get up off the ground and continue your day. If the unmet woman is still within earshot, though, she will began to shake and hiss violently. If you hear this, it’s advisable to remain on the ground and to keep still and quiet. Don’t try asking again until a full hour has passed.

Now, assuming you do have your muffin with you, should you come across an unmet woman, you need not be alarmed. Whether or not the unmet woman has caught sight of you, you must immediately say, “Hop! Hop!” Say it quite loudly, but no need to shout. If the unmet woman is unaware of your presence, this will draw her attention. If she is already aware of your presence, though, she will take it as a sign of respect that you still went to the trouble of saying, “Hop! Hop!” With that done, place your muffin in your left hand, and then with your right hand, tear off a small piece. Having done so, raise your right knee quite high in the air (as high as you can), and then step down nice and forcefully, while at the same time executing a clockwise quarter turn. Facing this direction, toss away the bit of muffin in your right hand proclaiming, “To the sun!” Execute the same series of steps, and then, when facing away from the unmet woman, proclaim, “To the moon!”, and toss your second bit of muffin away. Repeating the same steps and facing a new direction, you will toss your third bit of muffin away, proclaiming, “To the moon!”* Finally one executes the last quarter turn and, rather than tossing, eats the last bit of muffin, offering, after the bit has been swallowed, “To a divine morning of auspicious portent.” At this point one executes a half turn, facing completely away from the unmet woman, and sits down, cross-legged. The muffin is then placed upside-down atop one’s head. If the muffin stays, the woman is considered respectably met. If the muffin falls forwards, towards the greeter, the meeting has gone awry, and the entire affair is considered a failure. If the muffin falls towards the unmet woman, she may replace it on the greeter’s head and give it another try, or she may toss the muffin in the street, continuing on her way. If the muffin falls in any other direction, this is considered a draw, and both parties continue on their way, officially having never met.

Regarding the type of muffin, there are at least nine different major opinions on the matter. Naturally, attitudes have changed through time, but most commenters agree that a non-apple cinnamon muffin is the safest bet. It’s prudent to avoid fruit flavored muffins of any kind before Labor Day. After Labor Day, it really depends on whom you ask. Most agree that apple is always in season, but Collins (1913) disagrees sharply. According to Collins, the only suitable fruit flavored muffin after Labor Day is lemon, but both Chesterfield (1869) and modern commenters Selwig (1994) and Mayors (2002) suggest lemon muffins are suitable only in the spring. As noted in Malcolm, Rodriguez, & Morgan (2016), modern women are far less traditional than in decades past, so it’s best to adhere to recent surveys of woman meeting practices, like Dante (2004), Huang (2007), and the seminal 2011 study “Muffins in the New Millennium: How modern women are redefining the commoditization of space in nouveaux interpersonal interactions” by Mansfield, et al.

The important thing is to not think too much about it. It always seems like a big to do on paper, but the truth of the matter is we meet many woman every single year, and with Amazon’s Prime Now, purchasing fresh, interesting muffins has never been simpler—or cheaper. So relax! When a new woman comes along, so long as you’ve got a muffin with you, you’ll know what to do.

(Oh, but of course, NO BANANA NUT MUFFINS. lol Sometimes it’s so obvious you feel like you don’t even need to say it, but in the interests of being thorough, there you go. And again, I really am just being thorough; please don’t take it amiss that I’m stating something so obvious! After all, we all have to learn some time, and this post may be someone’s first exposure to the art and science of respectfully saluting women.)

*For those wondering why one says “To the moon!” twice in a row, it’s actually a bit of a historical accident. Originally, one said, “To the mode!” This persisted until the 19th century, when some confusion was introduced into the system. In territories west of the Mississippi, it was common to say, “To the main!” on the third toss [for obvious reasons, given the region], and this custom was passed on in various forms further west and to the south. These individuals misinterpreted the word, though, and simply substituted a second “moon” in its place. This is the wording that came into vogue in California, when the short silent film A Dame for to Court was shot. The film was a hit, and played in theaters all the way from Avalon to Albany. Younger folk especially began to replace the original “mode” with “moon” as a direct result of the film’s influence. This at the time was known as “Doing the Dame”—a phrase which was grossly misinterpreted in later years. Its origin aside, though, the practice persists to this day.

Someone on Discord wanted to know how far Soldier: 76′s hairline had receded.  I did the math for them.

We know that canonically, Jack is 6'1", or 73 inches tall. In art, it’s generally accepted that the ideal male proportions are that the body is 7.5 heads tall. This means the head is .13 of an ideally proportioned human male’s height.

Assuming, then, that he’s ideal male proportions (which I am because SEP fuckery), Jack’s head is 9.49" inches from crown to chin.

Typically, in art, you can split the face into quarters: chin to nose, nose to outer corner of the eyes, eyes to hairline, hairline to crown.

Jack’s face isn’t exactly perfectly symmetrical along those dimensions.  He’s got more chin. I eyeballed it, and assigned that extra .5 inch to his chin, and equalized across the other three portions.

This gives him, in his prime, 2.25 inches from the outer corner of his eyes to his hairline, and from his hairline to his crown.

Comparing the shots of Jack’s younger and older models, we have a convenient sharpening of the brow curve RIGHT about where his youthful hairline started in the ¾ view. 

In older Jack, you can figure where his hairline starts from the part in his hair. Which shows his hairline has receded just about halfway up from its starting point.  Or, 1.13 inches. Or, 2.86 centimeters.

I know you all needed to know this.

Knighted- Chapter 4

longest one so far, but not too long to enjoy. Bunch of stuff in this one! rather liked it. Let me know what you think! seeing people enjoy it makes it all the more fun to continue!

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WiP Wednesday

He slams the doors on whatever cheerful single entendre Christophe is about to say under the guise of being helpful, then leans back against them, eyes falling shut. For just a moment, Victor allows himself the luxury of feeling his own heart roar in his breast, of relearning the pathways his blood takes to pool and pound in his ears, of giving into the compulsion to clench his fists around the hilt of a broadsword, or a neck — all familiar on the field of battle. Enduring it all now without the bloodthirst is awful.

Exhaling shakily, he opens his eyes and finds he is not alone.

Lounging on Victor’s bed, sprawled out as though he were still the greedy brat from years ago demanding Victor read him another story before being kicked out in favor of sleep, Yuri gives him a black look over the edge of the parchment clutched like prey in his hands.

There’s no sense in delaying the inevitable, so Victor smiles and waves his hand; an invitation. “All right. Let’s hear it.”

Yuri clears his throat so loudly that it feels like an expletive, then begins grandly, “His royal highness, Viktor Maxim Ivan Vladimir Karl Alexander Sergei Nikolai Ilya H —” Yuri pauses, then barks a laugh. “‘Hermann’.”

“Hermann,” Victor confirms, sighing. There’s one in every family.

… Pyotr Gleb… is giving a ball.” Yuri sneers, teeth bared like a tiger. How anyone could believe him to be a spectre born of ice and swan’s feathers is a mystery lost to the ages. “’… All eligible lords and ladies are invited to attend…’ I hope you aren’t under the impression that I’m going to be present for this farce.”

“Will you not support your brother in his time of great need?”

Yuri gives an inelegant snort. “I’ll be too busy moving my things into your room. You won’t need it after the unwashed masses finish tearing you to shreds in hopes of claiming a piece of you. I think my bookcases will look splendid against the wall over there.”

“You really won’t go?”

“I’d rather be drawn and quartered.”

In the face of Yuri’s familiar mulishness, the urge to shout I am not a prize —ever since his mother turned upon him a chilly stare and announced he was to sign his life away to a stranger by the ball’s end or she would find a suitable spouse for him (”If you do not do this, my dear, your father might actually deny you the crown and live forever just to spite us both, and I refuse to give him the satisfaction.”)— ebbs like the tide, and Victor relaxes into a real smile. “That is too bad. I hear the good Hero of Kazakhstan means to attend.”

Yuri goes still and says, flat as sword and twice as sharp, “Prince Otabek is coming.”

“So I’ve been told.” Victor shrugs off his jacket with not a little relief. Despite the slide of summer into autumn, the sun shows no sign of relenting its heavy hold on the kingdom. “Last we spoke, he was all talk of you… insomuch as he talks, which isn’t very. You must have made an impression at the trade negotiations, but if your aim is to be elsewhere the night of this idiocy, I will send along my apologies so he does not make a needless trip —”

There’s a sudden flurry of movement as Yuri rolls off the bed and spills to the floor, and Victor can do little except step aside as his brother blasts by and kicks the doors open. 

“So… shall I expect to see you there?”

Yuri sniffs and tilts his chin up just a bit in a bid to look aloof. All it serves to do is catch the light on the red flush in his cheeks. “I suppose I can find it within me to witness our dear parents set you upon the auction block, if only so I can laugh myself sick when some country bumpkin covered in pig shit wins you.”

Victor grins. “Otabek will be pleased to see you.”

The flush deepens to scarlet. Yuri turns his face away, but not fast enough to hide the small smile there. “I hope they give you to an actual pig.”

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Brendon Urie smut (after 143282 years)

warnings: cybersex?? , masturbation, nsfw

Originally posted by brainstewz


As you opened you laptop placing it in front, the screen went off displaying the red and green buttons along with Brendon’s icon which signalled for a skype call. Eagerly answering the call, the screen moved to Brendon’s face who was shirtless and drinking beer.

“Hey babe,” Brendon smiled automatically making you too smile. “I missed you.” You pouted through the screen.
“I missed you too, baby.” He told but quickly adding, “Daddy misses his little girl so much.” as his lips transformed into a devilish smirk.

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The Arrangement: Chapter Five

Author’s Note: This little scene was meant to be short but it ended up needing to be longer, so I made it into its own little chapter! I’m so keen to write Chapter 6 because things might get a lil fluffy…

Also, I thought it was time for a GIF change haha enjoy :) 

Feedback is always appreciated, happy reading!

Masterlist

Originally posted by tfareylo

“Have you learned nothing this past month? If you become distracted for one second in battle, you will die.”

“I know,” you mumbled, picking up the training stick that Kylo had easily knocked from your grip. Your combat skills were steadily improving, though they were still nowhere near a match for him.

You waved the stick lazily towards him, and once more Kylo knocked it from your hands and lightly tapped his own weapon to your shoulder.

“Disarm me,” he instructed, handing you the stick.

“I can’t.”

“You can.”

You dropped your training weapon and crossed your arms.

“What’s wrong with you?”

You were feeling particularly miserable today, that’s all it was. You looked up at him, seeing your own reflection just slightly in his helmet. You looked an absolute mess.

Shrugging, “Nothing, I’m fine.”

“You’re clearly not.”

“Why do you care?” You asked, lightly tapping the weapon from his hands, knowing he wasn’t at all focused on it, “There. Happy?”

He frowned beneath his helmet. He understood that training daily was taking its toll on you, but you hadn’t physically shown your exhaustion until now. He meant what he had said to you earlier, he cared for your wellbeing. The Supreme Leader had commanded Kylo took watch over you, and he was doing his best to adhere to that.

Since the attack on the original Starkiller Base, the First Order had kept a low profile while it rebuilt and recovered from its losses. While the threat of the Resistance remained, Kylo felt that you would not engage in a confrontation with them at least in the near future— Maybe he was overworking you. Your training was certainly proceeding far quicker than his did with Snoke. That thought gave him an idea.

Sighing, Kylo also dropped his weapon, “We’re done for today. Ensure that you are well rested for tomorrow, I won’t show such leniency if this happens again.”

You nodded gratefully and rushed out of the room, tears threatening to spill from your eyes as you headed straight for your quarters.

Meanwhile, Kylo went to Hux’s office. He opened the door, not bothering to knock first, and was greeted to a scowling look by the General.

“What do you want?”

“Arrange an audience with the Supreme Leader immediately.”

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

Hux muttered something under his breath before pressing something on his datapad, “How’s the Princess?” He asked as he kept his eyes glued to the screen. He had barely seen you since you arrived.

“Fine.”

“Her progress?”

Fine.” 

“Fallen in love with her yet?”

Kylo slammed his fist on Hux’s desk, “Shut up.”

Hux gave him an amused look before finishing his work on the datapad, “Be in the meeting room in ten minutes.”

Kylo nodded, “You’ll need to be there too.”

“What in the galaxy is this even about, Ren?”

Kylo said nothing before he slammed the office door and made his way to the meeting room. Hux entered shortly after Snoke’s towering hologram appeared.

“What is it, Commander Ren?”

“Supreme Leader, I wanted to ask for your permission to speak with Y/N’s father.”

Hux looked confused while Snoke responded, “What business do you have with the King? You met with him just over a month ago, surely any matters you needed to discuss with him were already taken care of,” Snoke said.

“I believe he will want to hear of his daughter’s progress,” Kylo responded.

“He left the Princess in the First Order’s care, her progress is not his concern.” Hux said.

“I believe it will strengthen our alliance, Supreme Leader. Show the King that we have nothing to hide from him.”

Snoke hummed in agreement, “Perhaps you’re right. I’ll send for him at once—”  

“No, I-I,” Kylo faltered slightly, “I would rather visit him.”

“A diplomatic mission sounds more like a task for me, doesn’t it?” Hux said.

Kylo nodded, “General, you will accompany me.”

“I assume you wish to take the Princess with you?”

“Yes, Supreme Leader. Her training will not be affected by this visit.”

“I would hope not, Ren.”

“Oh please, she is obviously the reason for this ridiculous trip! Why are you indulging her?” Hux asked, agitated.

“Has she expressed the desire to return home, Commander?” Snoke asked.

Kylo looked briefly at Hux before he continued, “No. But the Princess has become…melancholy.”

“And is it affecting her training?”

“Yes, Supreme Leader. She needs something to re-focus, perhaps lift her spirits.”

“Well you are her husband, surely you can take care of that,” Hux smirked.

Kylo felt the heat rising to his cheeks, and he was thankful that Hux couldn’t see him underneath the helmet.

Snoke ignored Hux’s comment, “Then you may bring her with you.”

Kylo nodded while Hux frowned, “I would be careful that we do not allow the Commander to be influenced by the Princess’ whims in the future, Supreme Leader.”

“She didn’t ask for this, General. I have made that quite clear.”

Hux raised an eyebrow, “Then you’re being awfully thoughtful towards your apprentice.”

“That’s enough General,” Snoke commanded, “If the Princess’ training is being affected, I see no problem with this matter. I trust you won’t either.”

“Fine.” Hux said before storming out.

“You may leave, Ren,” Snoke said, “Ensure the girl is back to her normal self when you return.”

Kylo nodded before making his way to your quarters.

You were lying face down on the bed, tears still streaming down your cheeks. You shot up at the sound of the blast doors opening and quickly wiped your eyes as you heard Kylo’s footsteps enter the bedroom.

“What is it?” You sniffled.

“I’m taking you home,” he said.


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