tied blouse

8

My ears hear what others cannot hear; small faraway things people cannot normally see are visible to me. These senses are the fruits of a lifetime of longing, longing to be rescued, to be completed. Just as the skirt needs the wind to billow, I’m not formed by things that are of myself alone. I wear my father’s belt tied around my mother’s blouse, and shoes which are from my uncle. This is me. Just as a flower does not choose its color, we are not responsible for what we have come to be. Only once you realize this do you become free, and to become adult is to become free.
Stoker (2013) dir. Park Chan-Wook

Pin-up Girl

A/N: this is something I had written on my previous blog, please do tell me if any of you guys have more headcanons in mind, I’ll see if I can write them!

Warnings: NSFW-ish (+18)

(ps this gif has melted my insides)

So, as a pin-up girl, imagine yourself something like this, but along with the long black stockings, held up by garter belts.

You’d be dressed to the nines, cherry-red lips and neatly quaffed hair, pinned down to a side, hair in perfect ringlets, bouncing down on your shoulders. The blouse tied down, just enough to accentuate your best assets and that mini shirt would leave very little to his imagination.

Your look would what be describe as the one the brings your man down to his knees.

You’d give yourself a final look, making sure everything is just as described by your boyfriend, only then you’d be satisfied with your job. Bucky had once disclosed to you about one of his fantasies, that being seeing you in a pin-up dress.

And just the thought of him seeing you like this would make you jittery.

You’d be sitting by the dresser, fluffing up your curls when he’d walk in. Your eyes would meet looking at each other through the mirror watching him give you a double check with his blue eyes wide and astound. He’d be surprised for sure. Then slowly, a smirk would pull at his lips, as he’d take his steps forward, practically doing that murder strut.

“I see someone’s been busy,” he’d mummer as you stand up to face him. He’d lick his lips hungrily, already wanting to touch you and feel the silky material of the cloths and your skin together. He’d probably want to compose himself, as his voice would drop down a new octaves, “God, who told you it’d be fine to do something like this without giving me a fair warning, sweetheart?”

You’d slowly tilt a side of your mouth up, eyes feigning innocence as you look up at him through your thick lashes and casually slide your arms around his shoulders locking wrists behind his neck.

“Oh, no. You don’t get to act all innocent, doll. Not after wearing this,” he’d chuckle lowly, picking at the knot of your blouse; the blue in his eyes almost disappearing as they’d land on your half exposed breasts, his hands would travel down to sneak under your skirt, grabbing a fistful of your plump flesh in his hands. You’d squirm and squeal, the scarlet color of your lips matching with your cheeks, in part embarrassment when Bucky would give one of your ass-cheek a sharp spank.

“Now, I’ll tell you what. We know this little number won’t last longer than one night,” he’d start to back up and leave you standing right in the middle of the room. “So we’ll take a picture or two, with you posing for each of them as I desire. Okay, sweetness?”

“Okay, Sarge.” You’d smirk, watching his eyes turn darker at using his rank.

“Before I rip it to shreds,” and let’s say, the rest of the evening would be very eventful.

*finger guns*

2

“I wear my father’s belt tied around my mother’s blouse, and shoes which are from my uncle. This is me. Just as a flower does not choose its color, we are not responsible for what we have come to be. Only once you realize this do you become free, and to become adult is to become free.”

Stoker (2013) dir. Chan-wook Park

3

My ears hear what others cannot hear; small faraway things people cannot normally see are visible to me. These senses are the fruits of a lifetime of longing, longing to be rescued, to be completed. Just as the skirt needs the wind to billow, I’m not formed by things that are of myself alone. I wear my father’s belt tied around my mother’s blouse, and shoes which are from my uncle. This is me. Just as a flower does not choose its color, we are not responsible for what we have come to be. Only once you realize this do you become free, and to become adult is to become free. 

 Stoker (2013) Directed by Park Chan-wook

Room 316 (M)

word count: 5.1k

genre: smut + a little fluff; CEO!seungcheol

pairing: reader/seungcheol

summary: your boss, CEO choi seungcheol, has been injured in a car accident and you go to visit him; strictly out of worry as a friend and employee, definitely not because you harbor a sort-of crush on the man. but as the anesthetics leave seungcheol a little loose, he ends up saying more than you were meant to hear and it reveals a lot about what you mean to him.

masterlist

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Private Lessons

Originally posted by ayegrons

Written By: Admin Gilfairy & Admin Jaefairy

Genre: Smut

Summary: In which you and your boyfriend decide to try role play, and you can’t stand not being in control.

Warnings: Dirty talk, roleplay, switch!mark, switch!reader

Word Count: 2,160

A/N: Oh good lord this is finally done.  (Admin Jae) Hey, lovelies! This is the first in a random series of collabs from the hoebroes. Hope you enjoy and expect the next story soon~ (Admin Gil)

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6

My ears hear what others cannot hear; small faraway things people cannot normally see are visible to me. These senses are the fruits of a lifetime of longing, longing to be rescued, to be completed. Just as the skirt needs the wind to billow, I’m not formed by things that are of myself alone. I wear my father’s belt tied around my mother’s blouse, and shoes which are from my uncle. This is me. Just as a flower does not choose its color, we are not responsible for what we have come to be. Only once you realize this do you become free, and to become adult is to become free.

Stoker (2013) dir. Park Chan-wook

— who cares | 02 (m)

pairing  kim taehyung x oc 
genre/warnings— angst, drama, adultery
words4,363

:: summary what happens when Taehyung falls for someone who’s already taken? Can he control his feelings or will they take over and render him powerless? In the end is it all her fault or his…?

note— inspired by Dean’s album 130 mood:trbl

» 01 :: 02 :: 03 :: 04 ::05 :: 06 :: 07 :: 08 :: 09 :: 10 :: 11 ✓  

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2

Least vs Most Expensive Coordinates

Least Expensive Coordinate Rundown
Btssb Hair Ties- $15
Btssb Blouse- $10
Handmade Skirt- $15
Bodyline Shoes- $20
Bodyline Socks- $2
Usakumya Bag- $140
Total- $202

Most Expensive Coordinate Rundown
Romantic Cat headbow- $45
Btssb Choker-$10
Innocent World Blouse- $150
Romantic Cat OTKs- $30
Betsy Johnson purse- $45
Btssb Shoes- $60
Cat’s Tea Party JSK- $925
Total- $1,265

3

A List Of 100 Favourite Films 4/100 - Stoker Directed by Chan Wook-Park

My ears hear what others cannot hear; small faraway things people cannot normally see are visible to me. These senses are the fruits of a lifetime of longing, longing to be rescued, to be completed. Just as the skirt needs the wind to billow, I’m not formed by things that are of myself alone. I wear my father’s belt tied around my mother’s blouse, and shoes which are from my uncle. This is me. Just as a flower does not choose its color, we are not responsible for what we have come to be. Only once you realize this do you become free, and to become adult is to become free.

anonymous asked:

I really love your Transcendence vampire AU and the Bonnie and Clyde AU sounds really great too!! All of your future projects sound good tbh

Sand Dunes & Mojitos - M

Min Yoongi 만윤기 - bonnie&clyde!au

Warnings - idk, illegal shit, strong language, angst/fluff and all that jazz, kinda set in 1950s 

Listening to - lost, frank ocean


Yoongi had been on the run since as long as he could remember.

Sometimes, he wonders if he could ever get out of this lifestyle, but then he remembers the thrill of it.

He remembers how it feels to hold a gun in his hand, complete power over the person in front of him.

He remembers how fast his heart beats as he holds your hand on the way out the door, Namjoon with his hand out the driver’s side, ready to take off as soon as possible.

He remembers that this is how he met you, a small-town waitress looking for more out of life, a hopeful smile on your face.

He also remembers how quickly that hopeful smile changed when he introduced you to his lifestyle.

But it was meant for you. You were perfect, befriending the bank tellers with your enticing smile and the swing of your hips, perfect hair bouncing with your step. With Yoongi’s skill and panache, the whole group had taken thousands from small banks in a matter of a year, finessing it right out from under their noses.

With you and his rowdy friends by his side, the world finally feels like it’s on Yoongi’s side. He’s got the girl of his dreams, friends who he can trust, and money up to his ears.

He smiles to himself as he sips on a mojito, eyes wandering across the bar, focused on the display of hundreds of different types of alcohol. You lean on your elbow and study him. “Darlin?” He hums but doesn’t look at you. “What’cha thinking about?”

“Nun’ much. Just thinking about how much I love you.”

“Oh, baby. I love you.”

You sip on your cocktail and intertwine your fingers with his, thinking on your own.

Namjoon taps Yoongi’s shoulder, reminding him that it’s time to leave. He tosses a few bills up on the bar and pulls you by your locked hands outside. The fresh air strikes your face and you feel alive, much more alive than you’ve ever felt.

Yoongi has been stressed all day, this morning left the dead body of a bank teller on his conscious. He never liked killing them, yet, maybe he had to, maybe he didn’t have a choice because he would lose you. But his rage only built as hours passed in the silence of the car until he slid across the front seat and slammed his foot on the brakes, grunting in the direction of a small bar up the street. Everyone agreed to get food and take a break, they were far enough away from the incident to take a breather.

When everyone is back in the car, Yoongi offers to drive and you slide in between Namjoon and him in the front seat. You could almost smell the tension and wanted to buffer Yoongi’s anger as much as possible.

The pavement slowly becomes pebbled roads and then dust with indents where previous wanderers had packed down the sand so others knew where they were heading. Metal signs slowly turn into wooden, hand-painted ones and the sand mountains—as Yoongi calls them—climbs up on the sides of the cars, and plateaus peak out in the distance. Cacti and brush litter the desert, rolling in the soft wind. Yoongi drives and drives, his eyes glued to the endless skyline that only seems to get farther and farther away.

You’ve become accustomed to nights like these, where the only light was the moon and the headlights flickering on the sand, small creatures scurrying in front of the car into the night.  

Your head falls against Yoongi’s shoulder and your hands naturally lock together. He rubs the back of your hand until the car sputters and cruises into the middle of the desert, tank empty in the darkness. Jeongguk is sleeping in the back seat, head leaning against the window, mouth open, and Namjoon mimics him in the front seat beside you. Hoseok is laying curled up in the back seat.

Yoongi shifts and opens the door, sliding out then reaching inside to pick you up out of your seat. His lips press to the nape of your neck and you shiver under him in the darkness. He closes the door softly and pops the trunk, grabbing a few blankets.

Together, you fall asleep on the wide trunk of the car, wrapped between each others arms, breath mingling.

Hoseok is taking a piss on a cactus when you wake up and Yoongi has shifted his weight so he’s sitting up against the back window, your head in his lap. You both chuckle and pack your things.

“Only about twenty miles until the next town. We have enough money to get a hotel for a day if you’re willing to stay for that long or we can get another car and keep going.” Yoongi says, draping an arm over your shoulder.

Namjoon shakes his head, “We should get a car and keep moving, it’s not safe.” Jeongguk hums in agreement.

“Hoseok?”

Hoseok looks up from kicking the dust around his boots. “I vote for the car.”

“Okay, then we’re all in agreement.”

Everyone grabs a bag and leaves the car. The walk is silent and you have to switch between holding Yoongi’s hand and not because it gets too hot. Pieces of ripped clothing are left behind as you walk, sweat drenching everyone as you melt under the hot sun.

It takes almost 10 hours until the town finally comes into view, everyone is exhausted and reconsidering the car idea. But when you make it to the general store and step into the air conditioned building and take that first breath of cool air, you feel luminous. Your legs are still numb, your jeans are cut as short as they can be without revealing anything and your blouse is tied under your breasts—bra had been abandoned very quickly—but you still feel amazing.

The apples of your cheeks are rosy and you can’t help but smile at Yoongi, who’s fanning his face and bare chest with a newspaper. He looks at you and the two of you start laughing for no reason. Namjoon and Hoseok catch on and join in, falling to the floor in laughter. Jeongguk smiles on the sidelines—always a little left out of the group.

When you finally compose yourself, you ask a wandering woman where you can get cheap food and a place to stay. The kind old woman smiles and says you can come to her home. The group would usually be suspicious of things like these, but no one was thinking straight, so you all agreed. You pile up in her rusty town wagon and travel across the town. Small wooden buildings slowly turn into brick ones and one floor houses come into focus.

You admire the small shops and people walking up and down the street in their colorful clothing and eccentric hairstyles. You softly remember when you had been like these people, so blind, so hypnotized by the new technology. Seeing them from an outside perspective was almost saddening, but it’s not their fault, they’re just used to conforming to the expectations of society.

The woman drives into the town and maneuvers her way through the endless streets full of family homes and children riding bikes. She pulls up to her own and everyone gets out. The house is quaint and small enough for one. One bedroom, one bathroom, small kitchen.

You thank her as she prepares a meal. Namjoon passes out on her small couch, long legs dangling over the edge. You chuckle but don’t wake him, he’s going to have to drive when you all leave. Hoseok and Jeongguk sit on the floor, chattering. You and Yoongi take to the bedroom, shifting through your bags and pulling out extra clothes.

“We should leave, something doesn’t feel good about this.” Yoongi buttons up a baby blue shirt and trades his dust covered slacks for newer cleaner ones.

You shake your head, “Let’s just enjoy this while it lasts. She was kind enough to offer us her home, we should stay for dinner and then decide where we want to go.” You switch out your pants-made-shorts for yellow shorts and a while blouse. You don’t have another bra but it doesn’t bother Yoongi—of course.

You wrap your arms around his waist and sigh into his chest, exhaustion finally kicking in. “I wish we didn’t have to run. I just want to be with you.”

Yoongi runs his hands through your hair. “Not for much longer, darling. We’re going to be across that border sooner than you think.”

“Of course.”

There’s shouting outside the bedroom and you turn to the sudden screams. In the kitchen, the woman is holding a knife towards Jeongguk, who in turn is holding his pocket knife at her. She’s sobbing, standing in the corner, holding the knife haphazardly in her hand, the home phone in her other.

The telly is on and a few away you can hear, Notorious gang members have struck again in Rockwell, where, this time, they took out one bank teller and left five others injured. Reports show they left and started heading west in a stolen. An abandoned car with no license plates was recently found just a few miles outside of Fernfield and Hill Valley but has yet to be connected to the gang. Nothing else has been confirmed on their whereabouts. If you have heard or seen anything please call the number on the screen.

You look over and on the screen, in black and white, are all of your faces, freeze frames from dingy cameras. But damn, you would have to be blind to think it wasn’t all of you.

Yoongi walks over to Jeongguk and places his hand on the younger’s shoulder. “Get your things, this doesn’t have to be violent.”

Jeongguk pushes Yoongi’s hand off his shoulder and stares down the shaking woman. But Yoongi reels him back by his collar and shoves him out of the way with a grunt. Jeongguk takes his place behind you, arms folded over his chest.

“I’m sorry, if you put down the knife and the phone, we can leave peacefully.” Yoongi holds his hands out, trying to beacon the items from her.

She shakes her head. “I’ve already called the cops. You criminals are going to get what you’ve got coming to ya.”

With those words, the whole house suddenly shifts into overdrive. Namjoon and Jeongguk go to the bedroom and tear through her dressers and purse, looking for her money and valuables. Hoseok grabs her keys and swings them around his finger and hops out the door with a, “We’ll be taking these, ma’am.”

Jeongguk and Namjoon follow behind Hoseok, bags in hand. You still stand behind Yoongi as he holds his hands out to the woman. “We don’t want to hurt you.”

“I don’t care what you want. Get the fuck outta my house!” With her scream, she lunges forward. Yoongi tries to move out of the way. The knife fatefully catches his cheek and slices through the skin.

From outside, Namjoon is honking the car horn and Jeongguk and Hoseok are yelling, banging on the sides of the car, trying to get you to come out. Yoongi grimaces and looks up. The woman has horror in her eyes. She takes a step back. Yoongi lunges at her.

Her grabs the blade of the knife with his bare hand. He barely flinches as he pulls it out her hands. She screams and sobs as he takes the handle and raises it up. You step back in fear. Yoongi’s never been blood thirsty or violent. He’s just a stupid daredevil that never has enough money. You can feel the heat radiating off of him. His arm comes down. You close your eyes.

When they open, the knife is in the wall. He grabs your hand and you leave together.

Police sirens blare in the distance as Namjoon speeds off. You direct him through the town with a map, trying to avoid the police.  

You head past the houses and the brick buildings, turning off a street that takes you out of the town, where the colorful people turn dusty and tired and the buildings become wooden shacks. The desert welcomes you again but this time you’re not sad. You feel at home.

You take Yoongi’s hand and smile, leaning against his shoulder.

You accept the golden sand and the heat and the radio as it screams Johnny Cash and Elvis through open windows. Everyone sings along silently, nodding as the car heads north, off to no where in particular.  

masterlist.

2

“My ears hear what others cannot hear; small faraway things people cannot normally see are visible to me. These senses are the fruits of a lifetime of longing, longing to be rescued, to be completed. Just as the skirt needs the wind to billow, I’m not formed by things that are of myself alone. I wear my father’s belt tied around my mother’s blouse, and shoes which are from my uncle. This is me. Just as a flower does not choose its colour, we are not responsible for what we have come to be. Only once you realise this do you become free, and to become adult is to become free.”  

Stoker (2013)                                                                                                                                 dir. Chan-wook Park 

Masked - Shalaska

A/N Hi! This is my first time posting here or writing something like this, so any kind of feedback is welcome! English is not my first language so i apologize in advance haha. (the cursives are thoughts of the characters, I didnt know how else to write it, sorry if its difficult to read!) I hope you like it and if you are interested ill write more chapters! enjoy! xx -Anna

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Tell The Truth

Hello Lovelies!!! I haven’t written Kastle in sooo long. I’m so sorry. I been involved in writing other things and I’m trying to get finished with a couple of before November, because I know where my muse is going in November. 

WARNING violence! Sorry Karen. Just a little piece. I have no idea where this came from but here’s a little bit with Karen, Frank and an ex-con named Grindle… don’t put your money on the ex-con, fyi



Tell The Truth


She wasn’t giving this asshole the satisfaction of seeing any fear. The man dressed in all black was locked in a damn cage, no way to get to her.

Grindle dragged the blade’s blunt edge across Karen’s collarbone. He’d already stripped her of her top, leaving her in her purple bra and black skirt. Her lip was split, blood drying on her chin, but her blue eyes flashed angry; no fucking fear.

The ex-con turned the blade and poked her flesh with it just enough to draw a few drops of blood. “He’s not even saying anything. You’d think he’d come to your rescue, instead of sitting there like you’re not going to die under my blade.”

She spit out a mouthful of salvia and blood next to Grindle, staining the cement pink.

“Not much of a lady are you?” He jerked on the flex cuffs that restrained her and flicked the knife against her bicep making a thin red line trail down her arm.

She didn’t whimper; she didn’t cry out; and the man in the cage was still silent.

“Why’s he letting this happen to you? You must really only be a piece of ass to him. Him letting me cut on you like this.” Grindle made another thin line down her arm, before turning to the man in the cage and sneered. “Is she not any good? You use her up already? That why you don’t care if I mess her up? So much for the big bad punisher…” He chuckled darkly before examining Karen again.

He pressed his finger against one of the cuts, forcing it to bleed more. He held his finger up for the woman to inspect, her expression was still stony. Grindle painted her lips with her own blood then grabbed her chin. “I think I’ll fuck you before I kill you, but I just can’t decide if I want to do it myself or use my blade on you.”

Her eyes filled with tears suddenly and she let out a pained whine. “Please.”

“Please what darlin? You want me instead of my blade?” He patronized. “I knew you were scared. No one to protect you… Now you beg me like a good girl.”

“Please.” Her blood-stained lip quivered and she bowed her head.

“There we…”

Whatever else Grindle would have said was interrupted by Karen throwing all of her weight into him in the form of head butt to his chest. He fell back on his ass, teeth clacking together as she struggled to push away from him. Her long legs flailing wildly as she scrambled to her feet.

“Run.” Came the one-word order from the man in the cage.

She paused by the cage for a moment, but then dashed out of the warehouse, looking desperately around the docks for someone to help her.

Grindle was on his feet. He couldn’t believe that dumb broad wasn’t screaming for help. He snagged her hair and jerked her back towards him, but instead of fear in her eyes there was only triumph. “No one’s coming to help you.”

“You dropped your knife.”

“I don’t need a knife to kill you.”

“You dropped the keys.”

He could feel ice run down the back of his neck, like death’s hand was a moment from grasping him.

“and… I kicked them into the cage.”

….

She had tied her blouse together in a vain attempt to cover herself, but she looked a like a city version of Catherine Bach. Her hands were still shaking as she heard the splash of the body hitting the water. She closed her eyes and tried to take a calming breath, but she was still trembling.

“You’re just out of adrenalin. Gonna have the shakes for a bit. Need to eat and rest.” His presence blocked out the streetlight; the darkness somehow more comforting than the light right now. His voice was a low growl as he questioned, “You good?”

She looked up at him, “Are you?”

“Bit better now.” He shrugged off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders.

Well he never lied to her.

“How’d you know I was playing possum?”

“You told me once that you’d die before you begged.”

Well she never lied to him either.

He nudged her gently, “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“That’s my line.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”


I’m not sure how Frank ended up in that cage…but I do not want to know what Grindle looked like when he went into that water..Yikes.

Love to my Loves.

I wear my father’s belt tied around my mother’s blouse, and shoes which are from my uncle. This is me.
— 

India Stoker - Stoker

I think this line (her clothes) really represent how these three people moulded her into the person she becomes. She learns hunting, patience and perception from her father; emotional distance from her mother; and deceptiveness, cunning and murder from her uncle.

2

‘’Just as the skirt needs the wind to billow, I’m not formed by things that are of myself alone. I wear my father’s belt tied around my mother’s blouse, and shoes which are from my uncle. This is me. Just as a flower does not choose its color, we are not responsible for what we have come to be.’’

Stoker (2013) dir. Chan-wook Park