#THE CURL THE VOICE

[slashersteve]

I CANT GET LIVE ACTION CLONE WARS ANAKIN OUT OF MY HEAD

[rhinestonesox]

this panel makes me sick and i’ve seen nobody talk about it???

my heart’s breaking.

[fuckingdeadinsidetm]

Something something Eury realizes Ody’s hair has grown since Troy and also notices how Ody looks almost identical to Ctimene now

[sturnioloho]

pouty bb

[dinnerthyme]

[strangerhands]

he is too beautiful...

[canon-gabriel-quotes]

Smth abt Gabriel really makes people go hogwild huh . I don’t think I’ve ver met a sane Gabriel fan we’re all rabid dogs around here.

Yeah,,

[justghoulythingz]

curled smoke and gossamer clouds

an au in which you and cooper howard get snug as a bug in a rug inside a photo-booth at the county fair.

pairing : cooper howard/afab reader

word count : 1.3k

warnings : sentimental horniness, finger banging in a confined space, desperate grinding, light praise kink, cooper being a genuinely kind, suave motherfucker. 18+, mdni

writing tag

gif credit

divider credit

The photo-booth is a snug fit, perfect for two adults enjoying an evening straight out of their youth. You taste like cotton candy and he smells like cigarettes. A contrast that melts into one another smoothly, painting a picture of curled smoke and gossamer clouds.

His words are spun sugar in your ear, your laughter hoarse and secretive in his.

“‘Member the first fair we went to?” Cooper reminisces, tracing circles along your abdomen.

Your initial pose is looming, so you stare at the lens, anticipation for more (always more) of him beginning behind your ribs and spanning your limbs.

You make sure to smile before you answer, the timer moving faster than the leisurely pace at which you like to experience these moments.

Outside, you hear muffled conversations and the buzzing of insects. It’s industrious farm land and the pleasures of city life combined. An eight o’clock hue beneath the curtain. Summer.

Every day is a summer’s night with Cooper Howard.

“God, I was so nervous,” you finally reply, and the deep rumble of his own laughter tickles your backside.

His thighs flex. As they distract you, pressed so tightly to yours that they’ve started to stick, one of his hands slips through the dense humidity to caress the front of your hip.

You twitch. He grins, award-winning. Your heart demands an encore.

“Scared outta your wits by a harebrained ranch hand, were ya?” he teases, peppering kisses along your throat, the shell of your ear. Right where you feel the thunder of the ocean.

The second photograph captures your full-tooth smile, glancing toward the floor, his smirk buried in your throat.

“Who is this harebrained ranch hand you’re referrin’ to? Because I distinctly remember a very determined teenage boy who excelled at everything he put his mind to. Hell, you even got me t’talk. Remember how mousy I was?”

Your speech warms him, igniting a flame, a match struck by fingertips grazing the sinew of your inner thigh. You inhale as if sparks flew directly from its tautness. He speaks against your straining tendons, watching you swallow.

“I can still make ya squeak, darlin’,” he purrs, nuzzling the bridge of his nose into you. A fever passes on to the sweet softness of your lower belly, fluttering like the wings on the other side of this maroon curtain.

In retaliation, you roll your eyes and your hips, hard. Cooper groans, his other hand sliding upward toward the curve of your swathed breast.

“‘Sides, y’weren’t mousy. Jus’ selective. I felt pretty damn lucky y’chose t’have me in your winner’s circle. You were always someone I wanted t’impress.”

You sigh contentedly: charmed, transported, as the third picture snaps.

“Coop,” you breathe, lips ghosting his. He lifts the hem of your dress, its airy texture silken against the heat dampening your skin. “You’re a naturally impressive person. Never had t’try so hard.”

He roams the length of your body, squeezing you, dipping lithe fingers between your clenched thighs. Your underwear is like a glistening veneer of dew blanketing early morning grass. His dull nails split your supple folds through the white fabric, stroking you lovingly.

The gaze you’re met with is rife with affection, adoration, ardor. Witnessing how you unfurl within its grove; how alluring you appear, how beautiful he is; causes your stomach to seize. It clamps down around everything and nothing and suddenly thaws.

The tranquility of winter, then the newness of spring.

You moan quietly, tenderly. All for him.

He stiffens underneath the pressure you provide, solidifying the more noise you make, the more you squirm.

“I wanted to.” Cooper’s voice echoes that smoker’s rasp, an amorous break. “I already told y’that. I want to. For you- ain’t that what you want? A fella who aims for your sky an’ doesn’t miss a single speck?”

Instinctively, you swallow him whole with your outstretched pupils. He lulls and stimulates you, grip on his pant leg firm, yielding, firm, yielding.

He finds specks you neglected to name. Reaches somewhere beyond the pines and hits the overwhelming enormity of space. Somehow, he makes it seem attainable.

“I want you, no matter what sky you’re aimin’ for.”

The fourth and final still is as intimate as a carnation fastened to the lapel of a school boy’s jacket, restless as he waits for his prom date at the bottom of the stairs. Dodging scrutinizing glances from her parents. Complexion reflecting streaks of sunlight as he follows her descent, standing straighter, shoulders pinned behind him.

There’s no one else in the room.

You have your arms around Cooper, drawing him closer until whatever gap remains is filled entirely with avid mouths and Elysian Fields. You live and die as many times as you devour and bring him back, returning hungrily to the parting of his lips while he delves between yours.

“Well, right now,” he grunts against you, accelerating, shifting, sneaking digits inside your panties. “I’m fixin’ for you t’cum. All over this pretty, pretty dress.”

He slots a finger beneath one of your straps, eluding the shawl decorating your shoulders, and playfully snaps it against your kindled flesh.

“All over me.”

Words are trapped in your chest as you nod. Anticipation and longing hang in the expanse of tongue and cheek, lingering like a raw scratch in the throat.

You whimper, almost wounded, as he massages your panty line, pinching and fondling the elastic like he hasn’t already made an incredible mess of you. Like you aren’t about to be ravaged inside a very small, very public photo-booth.

You are his sole focus as he ultimately succumbs to your shared desire, jaw clenching and pointing toward the ceiling while staring you down the heavy lids of his eyes.

Panting, you spread as wide as limited room allows, scuffing one of your kitten heels on the ground below. It scrapes along solid surface, sending tremors up your calf toward the tingling of your scalp, pulled by the roots.

He nods out of encouragement, mouthing whispered praises of that’s it, baby, that’s it, dulcet tones making you wetter, your release steadily building.

Like he’s aiming for.

Holding you stable, Cooper’s opposite palm fastens to your lower back, clutching you, feeling the rigidity of your spine bump into his fingertips. Added weight shoots directly to your cunt, squeezing his middle and ring finger, coaxing a breathless moan from his lungs.

“Fuck. Yes. Gettin’ close. C’mon, sugar. Gimme somethin’ sweet t’taste.”

He throbs beneath you, undulating, thrusting the littlest bit upward. You salivate at the mere imprint of his intoxicating arousal, giving him friction as you rock back and forth.

Driving him deeper inside, his thumb swirls your clit and you dip backward, exposing the slender column of your throat.

Seizing the opportunity, he sinks his head into your open, thrumming chest, cleavage cushioning and hardening him further. Fingers work faster, applying ample pressure that gathers in your belly and blossoms, stemming to each and every inaccessible part.

Your strangled gasps, both of you attempting to keep these matters private, blend and bleed together as your orgasm plunges outside of you, gushing all over the digits that gradually still.

Cooper doesn’t wait for your heart to cease its racket. He leans away and leaves you empty, a stream of restrained essence draining from you and onto his lap.

He pops fingers into his mouth, one by one, including his thumb. Humming satisfactorily, he samples them like he’s on his fourth course. Then he offers you to yourself.

You observe him past a rose-colored haze, cotton-candy film. Gripping his wrist, you bring his center digit to your lips first, wrapping your tongue around its length, moaning as the salty summer air of you brushes your senses. Tar from his cigarettes mingle with what you originally picked up on, easing in like banter on a date.

Cooper reminds you that he loves you. Loves watching you enjoy yourself. Loves being the cause of it.

You return the sentiment, reluctant to untangle your body from his. You’ve already tangled up this booth much longer than necessary.

You are, however, excited to see how the pictures turned out.

[brainrotcharacters]

"Not talking now, are ya?"

[mysticalcats]

self indulgent skimblies

[yaoigovroom]

young vale

[kenobion]

Andrew Garfield | Variety's Actors on Actors

[moppets]

big blessings to the casting director for giving us an armand/daniel with curly hair and interesting noses

[eves-da-best]

I am absolutely ON MY KNEES FOR HER - EVE, HOW?!

[ask2ps]

how on earth do you draw italy?

idk if this is helpful... like at all... but heres my general process for drawing this guy! 

[andy-clutterbuck]

TV Guide Magazine | 2016