#( &&. p: faultless )

[lustsickforyou]

i was wondering if you are doing requests, if you could do first time with remus please 🤍

summary: it’s your first time, and you couldn’t ask for a better person to be doing it with.

pairing: remus lupin x female reader

warnings: MINORS DNI, this has graphic content. loss of virginity, p in v, fingering, remus being a soft dom.

a/n: sorry this took me so long to get around to, i hope you enjoy it :) not proofread it’s way too late lol

REMUS LUPIN was the perfect boyfriend. he was patient and understanding beyond belief, incredibly kind and intelligent. he was everything you wanted and more. so when you expressed to him that you were a virgin, and that you were waiting for the right moment, he was more understanding than you could have ever imagined. that sort of comfort tucked deep within knowing that he wasn’t some douchebag who would leave you because you wanted to wait.

and that’s exactly what you did. every time it came down to the moment— whether it was with remus or someone else— you grew to nervous about the whole situation. your head was clouded with intrusive thoughts crawling their way into your mind. would it hurt? what if you looked weird? felt weird?

but today was different. it was ideal— completely faultless. you and remus decided to stay back in school for the fall break. the rest of the boys had either gone home or on some trip with their family, so it left the two of you alone. not that you minded. you spent the morning cuddling in bed, and the day in the library trading book recommendations back and forth. and when the world went quiet late at night, the two of you silently sat in the gryffindor common room and listened to the fire crack.

you just looked at him, the way his brown eyes looked down at the book in his lap, the comfort of your socked feet just under the book and resting on him. how his sweater he lended to you was too big around your body but keeping you warm with the scent of him heavy in your nose. how the fire illuminated his face as he concentrated at the words he read.

you leaned up from your previous laying position, your face now only inches from his. your hand reached over to grab his chin and draw his attention away from the book and onto you. you planted a soft kiss on his lips, which he happily returned the favor. and as one thing led to the next, he dragged you up the stairs and towards his dorm, stopping every so often to kiss you hotly.

he opened the door and you both practically jumped to the bed, remus crawling over you and planting another kiss on your lips. your heart was pounding, and again those old thoughts that popped in your head before returned to your mind now. but the way he looked at you like you were the most beautiful thing in the world, and the way he held you. quickly those intrusive words, loud, insistent, unwelcome, were shoved away.

you pulled the sweater over your head to leave you in nothing but your bra and sweatpants, remus leaned down and planted a kiss on your neck. nipping at the skin that would likely leave a bruise in the coming morning. you giggled at the feeling, your hands reaching up to tangle in his dusty blonde hair and he pulled away to look at you again and out of breath.

“remus..” you whispered and he looked at you with that addictive look. “yes, darling?” he asked. you took a moment to think— really think about what you were about to say. “i’m ready.” you finally blurted out and remus leaned up fully now. “what? are you sure? because we don’t have to—” he started and you shook your head.

“i’m ready.” you repeated but this time much more firm than before. this mischievous smirk fell on his face. he planted another kiss on your lips before reaching up and pulling his tee off of his body, and his pants and boxers along with them. your eyes widened as you looked at his half hard cock, wondering if he would ever fit inside you.

remus must’ve noticed this reaction because he let out a laugh, “don’t worry my love, i’ll take good care of you.” he whispered, trailing kissed from your chest and down your stomach. he made eye contact with you as he slid off your sweatpants, then each sock carefully and threw the items of clothing onto the floor. he propped up your left leg, kissing the inside of your though gently.

you let out a soft sigh as he did so, and without notice he had slipped off your underwear. remus’ kisses were getting closer and closer to your already sopping cunt which dragged a smirk onto his lips. “already so wet for me.” he sighed, his skilled digits reaching up to rub slow circles onto your clot with ripped out moans from you.

he placed his pointer finger deep inside of you, pumping it in and out slowly and after a few seconds he inserted his middle finger. you moaned, leaning your head back as the heat rose to your face. “please remus— i need you.” you begged and he shook his head. “patience darling.” he teased and you rolled your eyes in annoyance. “i’m getting you ready for me.” he explained, and then his fingers started to move quicker inside of you.

remus held onto your thigh as he did so, his fingers digging into you skin. your hands gripping the sheets tightly, and you were nearing your orgasm before he slipped his fingers out. remus pumped his cock a few times before crawling over you again. he lined himself up to your entrance and looked at you again. “are you sure?” he asked, just to make sure. you desperately nodded. “i need to hear you.” remus demanded. “yes remus— i’m sure.” you sighed and with that he slowly pushed himself inside of you.

the two of you gasped out in sink, both your mouths falling open as he hovered over you. he stood still for a few moments so you could adjust to his side. the stinging and burning sensation almost being too much. “it’s okay, the pain will go away soon.” he reassured and you nodded slowly, screwing your eyes shut. “we can stop whenever you want.” he reassured. “okay.” you breathed out slowly, “i think i’m okay now.” you finally said and with that he slowly started to push in and out of you.

a loud moan escaped your lips. “fuck—“ remus said breathlessly. “you’re so tight, baby.” he gasped, picking up in speed. you held onto his biceps, his arms propped on either side of your head as he looked down to see his cock coming in and out of you, coated in your juices. “you’re doing so good for me.” he praised which ripped another moan from you. the pain was fully gone now, and only replaced with pleasure.

remus picked up in speed, nearing his end. he reached down and started to rub your clit again, and the pleasure started to cloud your eyes. “oh god— i’m so close.” you gasped out, pushing your hips up to meet his with each thrust. “i love you so much.” he cried out, going at an impossible speed now. “just like that— yes—” you moaned, you coil in your stomach close to snapping. “i’m gonna cum!” you cried out and his thrusts became sloppy, and with that the band snapped and you let out a loud moan.

remus only fucked your harder, and suddenly you could feel his cock twitch inside of you, the dirty blonde letting out a moan and and slid his cock out to rest on your stomach, pulsating and leaking the rest of his cum onto it. you both breathed heavily, remus falling to your side as you both tried to catch your breath.

you turned over to him, leaning on your side with a smile on your face as he looked up at the ceiling. “that was perfect.” you whispered and he turned his head to face you. “i’m addicted to you.” he replied, because unbeknownst to you, you had just awoken something in him. you were his now, forever and always his. “come on, let’s get you all cleaned up.”

[robo-writing]

Sweet Knowing

Summary: Cid becomes aware of the attention you seem to draw from a certain Rosfield, and uses it to his advantage.

Warnings: implied voyeurism, p in v actions, 18+ MDNI

This is the second part to this, but can be read on its own.

Cid can be called a slew of things; Lord Commander, Dominant of Ramuh, Outlaw—but one thing he cannot be called, is a fool.

When he found the young Rosfield in the wastelands he felt his heart tug at the display; of a man beaten and broken, only to find that his mission was to kill his childhood friend, one he thought dead long ago. He didn’t think twice about recruiting him to the cause, bringing him to The Hideaway and giving him a rundown of his plans to free bearers from their lot in life. He offered the boy a hot meal and a warm bath, or rather his beloved did.

When word got around that there was a newcomer she was ready to accommodate him. Bright-eyed and friendly, you had offered him whatever was needed to make him feel at home.

“Gods, your clothes are filthy!” You gasped, scanning Clive from head to toe, shaking your head at the muddied state of his armor. “I’ll run to the markets tomorrow and get you some more suitable attire, I can’t let you sleep in armor.”

“Thank you ma’am, but there’s no need—“ he began, only to be stopped by your stern gaze.

“Nonsense. You’re a part of our merry band and I won’t have you sleeping in iron and steel. Now, when’s the last time you had a hot meal?”

Despite his protests you wouldn’t take no for an answer, offering Clive a handkerchief to wipe his face as you ran towards the kitchens to make your own stew for the war-weary traveler.

Cid noticed it when you set the plate full of soup in front of him, how Clive had gotten just the slightest bit nervous around you. He was already the quiet type but this was a different kind of quiet, as if he was afraid of saying something he shouldn’t. Subtle to anyone else, but not to him.

Intrigued, Cid didn’t say a word, only watched in amusement as the former Lord ate by the spoonful, thanking you profusely.

That same night you offered to give him a tour of what would be his new home. Clive had initially declined, afraid of taking advantage of your generosity, and it was only with a firm hand on his shoulder and encouragement from Cid that he accepted.

“Come now, the nice lady’s offered, you wouldn’t want to disappoint her now, would you?” He grins, waving a hand at your expectant form. “Promise she won’t bite.”

He finishes with a wink before pushing Clive a step forward, watching as he follows behind her like a lost puppy.

Let’s see how far this schoolyard crush goes.

The answer, he’d find out, is very far. Weeks have gone by and Clive still looks at you entranced, practically jumping at the opportunity to spend time with you. Just a minute ago you had offered for him to accompany you to gather some flowers, Tarja needing them for one reason or another, and Cid had never seen the man so eager to leave.

He watches the interaction from a secluded corner, a cigar between his lips, relishing in the view. Your doe-like eyes fluttering, the young Rosarian struggling to keep eye contact—the boy was a fool for you. Not that he could blame him, just looking at you made Cid’s heart jump in his chest, fondly remembering how nervous he was when he asked you to be his.

You were far too pretty, too humble, practically a walking angel and he was…him. He had his faults, but you, you were faultless, despite how many times you tried to convince him you weren’t. You’d spend the rest of your life trying to convince him because as far as Cid was concerned you were perfection personified, and nothing you’d say would change his mind.

His thoughts are broken when you notice his secluded form, the smallest wink being sent his way before returning to your conversation with Clive.

Well, you did have one fault; You could be a bit of a tease.

He still remembers what you told him days ago before he had to leave for an excursion. You kissed him goodbye before his mission, words as sweet as honey, only to whisper pure filth in his ears when no one was watching.

“Come back safe and I might give you a reward.”

He did not miss how your fingers wandered down his shirt for the briefest of moments, before pulling away enticingly.

He doesn’t think he’s ever completed a mission that fast before, or so effectively. Tarja was stunned to find not so much as a hair out of place considering his reputation for getting hurt, but Cid was too busy thinking about just how you would reward him for his efforts. The thought of it made him impatient, made him want to drag you away and keep you all to himself, but he could wait a while longer. You’d be back by tonight, and then he’d have you all to himself.

“Always so eager…” He murmurs against your lips, keeping you pressed into the sheets. Slow, sensual, he holds you close as he fucks you, taking his time to watch your eyes roll back and your jaw go slack.

Your legs close around his waist, pulling him ever further into your wet heat—he could never get used to how good you feel, how quickly you surrender yourself to him. He grinds himself harder against you, listening with pride when you whine his name.

“I missed you so much,” he sighs. “Missed me too, didn’t you?”

You nod shakily, unable to speak. He breathes you in, his hands touching every expanse of your skin from your hips to your breasts, unable to stop himself. His fingers hold firm against your pliant body, the smallest tremble moving through you when he presses himself deeper into your heat.

You cast a spell on him, a lust that borders on insanity. You clench against him so tightly like you never want him to leave, nails leaving angry lines against his back that he’ll be sure to be proud of in the morning. The slight sting only motivates him further, teeth grazing against the sensitive skin of your neck.

“That’s it,” he groans into your ear. “Don’t think, just feel, feel what you do to me.”

It’s in that moment that he hears the soft tapping of someone outside his door. Footsteps? This late into the night?

Stopping doesn’t so much as cross his mind—whatever it is cannot be more important than you.

His assault against your senses continues, hitting that soft spot that has you arch your back and moan his name like a whore.

“Gods, Cid…”

He unravels you, he keeps you whole, he takes your sanity and brings you to new heights all at the same time. The whiplash is dizzying, not sure if you should cry or beg for more.

“Good fucking girl,” he rasps, pride in his voice. “Lay back and take it, just like that—“

His heart beats faster when you let out an even louder noise, squirming against his length. So good, so fucking perfect, you’re a dream, one he never wishes to wake from.

He moves with a practiced ease, focused on your pleasure, but also towards the door, distinctly aware of his midnight visitor. There were footsteps coming towards the door but none leaving it—whoever’s there is still listening.

An idea springs forth, feeling just the slightest bit mischievous.

Might as well give them a show.

His brings his thumb to your clit, circling it ever so slightly, teasing the hard nub and watching as you’re reduced to a mess before his very eyes. Mouth open and eyes lidded, you whimper under his commanding touch, begging for more.

“So good, so good, oh gods—please don’t stop—“ You cry, shaking against him. Your legs are barely able to hold onto him, a brutal pace being set and yet you beg him for more.

How could he resist when you ask him so nicely?

So he indulges you, and this time you really can’t keep up, trying and failing to match his rhythm but your poor abused body just can’t, no matter how badly you want to. Cid grabs you by the hips with both hands and presses you flush to him, practically breathing each other’s air. Between the scrape of the bed and the slap of skin against skin, Cid can faintly make out a muffled groan.

The tone is strikingly familiar.

He can’t help the wicked grin painted on his face.

He slows down, just enough to bring your attention back to him as he whispers against your neck.

“Do you hear that? We have an audience.”

Eyes glazed, you slowly gather your bearings before looking at him in confusion. “What are you—“

“Shhh,” he silences you, pressing a quick kiss to your lips. “It seems like a certain Rosarian has come to visit us.”

He grinds himself against you, your own sound of pleasure being followed by the softest grunt from outside the door. Your head turns, finally realizing with wide eyes.

“Is that—“

“It is,” he moves slowly against you, making sure to keep you pleasured but coherent. “I could tell him to leave, if that’s what you wish.”

He knows you better than you know yourself, so it’s no surprise to him when you shake your head.

“Keep going, please.”

The moment you give him permission he’s back to fucking you, thumb moving against your sensitive nub once more. You keen for him, louder and louder as he chases your lips impatiently, swallowing your moans with his tongue. When he pulls away he growls against your lips, eyes pinning you on the spot.

“Like being listened to? Like the idea of him knowing how desperate you are?”

You shake your head, but the way you tighten up tells another tale.

“Don’t lie to me, I know you do, it’s okay,” He coos, his own high slowly approaching. “You don’t think I see how he looks at you? How you’re so eager to let him follow you around?”

You shake your head ready to deny the accusation. The moment you do Cid’s movements slow to a crawl, holding you right on the edge, tantalizingly close to falling apart.

“Don’t, please move—“ He refuses when you beg, tears welling in your eyes as your pussy throbs for release, a release Cid holds you back from.

“What did I say my dear?” He breathes. “Don’t lie to me.”

You whimper, begging for mercy once again. “I promise, just, please don’t stop, need you to fuck me—”

Cid’s grin is nothing short of sinful. “Need me, or need us?”

The notion makes your heart stop, a shocked expression painting your face. And yet he can feel your velvety walls spasm around him, answer clear as day.

He laughs, breath heaving. “You do, don’t you? Want us to fuck you, treat you like the needy little whore you are—“

He’s moving again, even faster now. This time you can’t even bring yourself to lie, a broken mess below him. Half-uttered sentences and broken moans, too far gone to care about anything except how fucking good you feel.

You scream, and Cid hears a thump outside the door.

Hope he’s enjoying himself.

He wraps his arms around you, unwilling to let you go for even a second. “Fuck—say it, say you want us, fucking say it—“

“Yes—I want it, please—!”

Your cunt is so welcoming, he feels like he’s going to go mad. He gives his all and then some, relishes in how fucking tight you hold onto him, gushing around him.

“There’s my girl, come on, let go for me—“ He grunts into your skin, shuddering as his own release takes hold of him.

You look glorious, spread out before him. Even when you look fucked within an inch of your life he can’t help but admire what a fucking sight you are. He doesn’t stop, keeps going even though he’s so sensitive it’s downright painful, if only to squeeze out a few more seconds of your orgasm. Your sobs threaten to wake the entire Hideaway but he just can’t bring himself to stop.

“Yesyesyes, so good, I can’t—fuck—I can’t—“

“Yes you fucking can,” Cid interrupts in awe. “Be good and let me see you stain the sheets love.”

[fullofmeihem]

Blood runs thicker than water.

lies of p paring: pinocchio x reader word count: 1159 cw: angst :], mentions of death, blood, beyond canon-typical violence i think, rage frenzy

a/n: welcome to my first real post on this account. i've been obsessed over pinocchio from lies of p since i started the game, then i started listening to chloe ament... you can probably see where this is going. hope you enjoy.

Emotions were not as elusive as they had previously been for the man-made puppet and yet, in this moment, he couldn't identify a singular one he felt. There had been a rush of worry, fright, and terror. But now it was an invasive mess.

His skin reacted to the slight breeze that blew past him, a shiver breaking him from his frozen stance.

Still, he wished for the sight before him to be one of the lies he'd thrown around.

Approaching the scene, Pinocchio would stumble, an imperfection to his typically faultless cadence. The ground below him squelched with wet mud as he did so, a distant sound to his eerily still mind. The loudest noise to him was the rising tempo of his mechanically heart, it rang in his ears, obscuring the sounds of pattering rain and squished mud.

Before him was you, pale as your blood had drained from your face.

You were posed on your knees, arms dangling loosely by your sides as a sword held you up, struck through your chest and into the muddied ground below. Pinocchio's glass eyes trailed the blade of the sword, every few inches was an extended notch of the blade, permitting the relatively upright position you'd been laid to rest in. A wooden sign hung with rope from the hilt of the blade,

Puppet Fucker. It read.

His hurricane of emotions came to an eerie calm.

The dark-haired puppet would take the rest of the paces to you, kneeling by your lifeless form. Pulling the sign from the hilt of the blade and tossing it into the muddied ground below, Pinocchio would do a once-over of your body.

Your shirt was torn, multiple wounds bedded into your skin, signs of struggle ripped across your hands. Your blade was broken in half, a few feet from your person. Your hair was matted and stuck to your face. He watched as the rain paved its path down your skin, some pooling in your stuck-open eyes before sliding down your cheeks. If he had known any better, he'd have guessed you'd been sad.

The puppet would reach forward, silently pressing the pads of his fingers against your top eyelids, pulling them down to finally let you rest your eyes.

A breath escaped him, fogging the air between you and him.

Slowly, Pinocchio would place a hand against your back, then his other between your thighs and calves. Bringing himself to his feet, you'd rest in the bridal position he held you in just a year prior. The tone of that moment was much more pleasant to bask in.

One step at a time, Pinocchio found his way back to the hotel.

He'd kick the door open with a lack of urgency, your fate had been sealed hours before.

Trekking mud, rain water, and dead city grime onto the shiny floors of the hotel, Pinocchio would approach the central Stargazer.

The first to notice him was Sophia, gasping in horror at the large, notched blade sworn through your chest. Antonia, from the other room, would advert her gaze, a solemn expression Pinocchio couldn't read overcoming her face. Eugenie had frozen, leaving Venigni to look around the corner of the wall. Shock was quickly present in his features.

Finally, Pinocchio's eyes would leave your form, his eyes coming into contact with Sophia's, a silent plead shifting his expression. No words were needed in the exchange, a nod coming from her as soon as she saw his face.

Your funeral was small, held in the garden of the hotel. The guest list didn't expand beyond the residents of the safe space, no one of your biological family lived beyond you.

Pinocchio stayed the latest of everyone, knelt by your makeshift headstone, fingers lightly tracing the dirt before it.

The calm of the storm hadn't passed, he'd been near numb to the entirety of it all, earning him a few concerned glances from Gepetto and Sophia. He knew the two of them shared their worries behind his back whenever they could.

He had given the sword to Venigni and Eugenie to inspect, perhaps find its maker, or better yet, who wielded it.

Venigni had an answer two days later. Pinocchio hadn't moved much until given the information he desired. Slowly, and in a fashion that near scared the philanthropist, the puppet rose. His glass eyes trailed the blade Eugenie held behind Venigni. He approached. Carefully, as to not hurt the woman, Pinocchio would take the sword into his palms.

The metal made a horrifying screech as it bent, Pinocchio's Legion Arm doing the majority of the work. When the sword was rendered useless, the puppet would move forward, back into the luxury of Hotel Krat.

He was working out his lack of emotions while he moved, it wasn't a numbness like he had before he began gaining humanity.

It was a silent, simmering rage.

The atmosphere surrounding the puppet was enough to alert Sophia, she started to interject as he approached the Stargazer, but his human-like arm had already reached the glowing center piece.

In a moment he was back to the creepily empty streets of the city, a new mission on his mind.

Pinocchio tore through any puppet trying to attack him on his path, his rapier tearing their arms from their torsos, or their heads from their necks. Oil and Ergo splattered against his clothes and face, nothing the rain couldn't wash away.

Eventually, Pinocchio would kick in the door of a luxurious-looking mansion, the wooden door splintering from its hinges and loudly clattering against marble floors.

Eyes scanning the foyer was nearly enough to send him into a rage. Weapons, all custom made lined themselves against the walls, a list of names under each of them. For some, names were crossed out, for others, the names laid untouched. Though, as Pinocchio entered further into the quiet of the mansion, he'd find his eyes traveling to the central stairs at the back of the main room.

Your name, printed in bold, crossed with a red line, lay under an empty sword mount. Next to your name, under a sword mount with a plain blade, was Pinocchio's, untouched.

A few claps would pull the puppet from his stare, as a man came down the upper level of stairs.

Pinocchio's mechanical heart beat louder, obscuring the words of the man before him, his eyebrows pinching towards each other as he'd throw the sword he'd bent onto the ground between the man and himself. It scraped across the marble floors, leaving a few scratches that would never be repaired.

Whatever the man was saying, Pinocchio couldn't hear. His breathing began to pick up, a trait he'd copied from you, his heart was raising in tempo again.

The man would grab the sword labeled with Pinocchio's name.

An invitation to begin.

Pinnochio found his way back to Hotel Krat, covered in blood that the rain couldn't wash away.

hope you enjoyed my first one-shot ♡

[instruth]

SENRYU & HAIKU

faultless dilemma

luxury principles none

only boundless air

solemn morticians

utmost best save some not all

big leap for small gain

crops condemned to hell

husked seeds stray on rocky ground

even locusts starved

mother nature serves

cruelest eviction notice

patriots of free land

fallen braves by thirst

secret pleas by arrows fly

new hope untested

©Johnny Lee

19 January 2024

5-7-5 (humor / nature)

Photos: J. P. Lee

[kuriipi]

I need you guys to stop lying and pretending like all Lanthimos' movies are some form of high art.

The guy is literally every greek film bro that went to cinema school.

I do believe he genuinely believes he is revolutionising and combining the greek mythos with modern philosophical ideas. A harsh critic of the fickle and contradictory human nature. But that's where the problem mostly lies. He's not in the slightest bit subtle.

His earlier stuff is seriously just a bunch of pretentious one liners masked as some big profound truth.

"oh you don't like a killing of a sacred deer bcs you don't get the original myth" like no. I get it. And I also know that the greek myth wasn't really a much about divine punishment as it was about facing the reality of your actions. Agamemnon didn't want to sacrifice his daughter to stop the punishment that fell upon them all, after he had killed the sacred deer. He is forced to do it after outside pressure, forced to move past his denial and recognize that it is his only way of atonement. And then the gods still ultimately decide to save Ifigenia because after all she was faultless in all this.

Making "the killing" a medical malpractice is honestly brilliant. Agamemnon hadn't known it was Artemis' sacred deer that he had killed. He only found out after his punishment had already begun. Colin's character hadn't meant to kill the man either, hadn't known of his identity either. But this is as far as the briliance goes.

It is a deeply dark story about a man's desperate attempt to escape fate, to find a loophole, but ultimately it falls flat cause there is not an ounce of sympathy for the characters. You can't feel anything for them or their struggle because they are , intentionally, written so uncannily. Most if not all of Lanthimos' characters really lack the human element.

And although I get the thought and it really does work for a story on human connections like 'the lobster ". The unnatural and completely "un-human" way the characters are portrait adds more layer, a greater punch. Honestly it's extremely well fitted and executed. But for "the killing of a sacred deer" a story whose point really is about the despair, the cruelty of actions and events one is far too powerless to prevent it's...well I think it's a pretty terrible execution.

"you don't like the lobster because you simply can't see the point" Yes it's about society, everything is, it's about forced intimacy, the fear of loneliness, societal pressure and they way we would rather lie to ourselves and our potential partner if it meant we won't be alone. It's about dating for the sake of dating, about children being reduced to nothing more that accessories. About the reactionary solitude, the loners being just as cruel as the hotel enforcing the same strict rules but at the opposite direction. (It doesn't even matter if that is the actual point of the movie because if I talk long enough with enough buzzwords, throw enough ideas at the wall, you'll believe I know exactly what I'm taking about.)

And it's still not really that good.

The premise falls flat. The macabre aspect of being turned into an animal, if you fail at forming a connection, the horrifying depersonalisation, dehumanising the characters is hardly explored.

Ok fine, it was just the premise, just to set the scene (arguably it's the most interesting part of the story, but I digress.)

It's all about human nature. Yes, but it's nothing more than a cynics caricature of it.

But you see the loners are treated like animals but we see how they function and enjoy mundane things like shampoo and going to the mall, and are actually human. Yes me playing with my barbies at 10 had more depth than that. On other news water is wet.

The humans are complex, and actually human and also just as bad as the other humans isn't deep enough of a point to make me watch 2 hours of a stagnant film, and endure like five separate dialogs about ass fucking and masturbation. And how you need a partner to protect you from being sexualy assaulted (like from whom, if that's the case why not just simply turn the entire male population into animals, they seem to have ways of procuring children out of thin air so that doesn't seem to be a problem)

"You can't ask things like that. It's about philosophy and human nature not mechanics plot holes" yes but they're still part of a rather drawn out movie.. if he didn't want me to comment on the plot wholes he should've made the film one hour shorter and avoided them all together.

Like I'll be honest what annoys me the most in his films is the way he forces you to watch these scenes that can only be described as pretentious if not outright bad, that are so meticulously woven into the story. How deep how profound all sex is rape, humanity is cruel and uncaring, detachment is the bain of our modern society. I'm going to add 50 one liners about ass fucking because then it's just about sex, depersonalised. It's really not deep at all.

Like I'm so sorry that not wanting to watch Colin Farrel fuck a woman cosplaying as a corpse multiple times in a movie makes me unappreciative of high cinema. But I guess it is what it is.

(That said, his newer stuff is getting better at keeping up the engagement and evoking more sympathy for the characters. There is far more space to connect to them. The ending of "The favourite" let me feel the despair, the hopeless and absolutely miserable situation the characters found themselves in at the end of the movie.)

[danses-with-dogmeat]

Day 20 -- Pickman

The (nsfw) details for Kinktober 2023, Day 20 are just below the cut!

Minors, please don’t interact.

Body Modification with Pickman x g/n!Sole

Ohhhhh, Pickman. What a strange, intriguing character. His dialogue makes for very fun writing, though. Definitely a killer aesthetic to go with the homicidal tendencies, lol.

Anyways, I hope you all enjoy!

Here is the link to my  Kinktober 2023 Event List so you can stay up-to-date, or re-visit these works as you please.

Included: Body Modification, knifeplay, non-explicit gore, blood, cutting, marking, masochism, painplay, scarring, all very consensual, just kinky, restraints, dirty talk? kind of? (mostly very flowery), oral sex, cum eating.

Words: 1.9k

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“This one, I’m liking, darling. How much bigger were you thinking?” 

He spoke to them softly, in that painfully honeyed tone of his– the one where you could practically hear the smile on his face, whether or not he actually wore one.

Pickman wasn’t now.

He rarely smiled in the midst of his work; no, he was concentrating. Especially when it came to the canvas of his beloved. The myriad of scars upon them was faultless, due to the level of focus he always maintained throughout their carving. Despite his unwavering attention, those certainly furrowed brows he looked upon them with, Sole knew the way that this undertaking of his, it… excited him. The unmistakable bulge forming in the front of his worn, beige dress slacks told that tale of yearning. Loudly and with urgency.

Their gaze remained at his waist, as Pickman’s knife moved in small, careful increments over their collarbone and down to the left side of their chest. Sole was restrained. Their wrists, chest and forehead all held down against the firm table beneath them– it made it less likely for them to flinch away and perhaps ruin the intricate scrawl of their partner's blade over their once-smooth flesh. 

And it was more thrilling this way. 

Sole’s heart pounded in their chest, they felt sweat lingering on the surface, felt a heat of their own pooling low in their belly, with each spike of pain, it made their eyes roll back and their breath come out in increasingly fevered pants. 

They didn’t even need to hear Pickman’s smile, to know the way he wore one now, as he pulled the knife away to admire his work. 

He delighted in their delight. Relished their love of the pain he gifts them, and the art he makes of them.

“We were made for each other, you know.” He put their thoughts to words, almost as if he could hear into their mind. 

“And this… This is a reflection of that.” 

Their names, penned together with the keen blade and combined in an ornate, calligraphic inscription barely legible, but to the artist himself… It was a masterpiece. 

“In all my art pieces, we have never seen the like of this. None compare.” 

He etched another line, and Sole’s breath came out a whimper. 

“Shh, shh, my love. Nearly there. Don’t worry.” 

A sweet kiss planted on their forehead, and Sole leaned into it. 

“M’not.” They managed, despite the delectably overwhelming pain. 

“Hmm?” 

“Not worried. Take as long as you need.” 

They wished they could reach out and touch him, then. Reassure him that this was undoubtedly what they wanted, but that would be counterintuitive. They didn’t want to ruin his work by moving. 

Pickman pulled the knife away, grabbed the soft, thin rag off the table beside him, and wiped clean the blade, before dabbing the cloth on their skin, absorbing the excess scarlet so he could see what lay beneath.

“My, it’s… breathtaking, my dear.” 

“I’m sure it is.” They said with a small grin, “You are a fine artist, my love.” 

He hmm-ed happily at that, before they felt the cold metal against their hot skin again. 

He made a few more carvings, the sting of which shot up their whole arm, protesting within the survival portion of their brain, urging them to shy away, to stop the wounding in its tracks, but Sole closed their eyes and ignored it. Their mind went foggy, the pain all that they could focus on, and the last thing they could focus on, all at once.

A particularly deep cut made them shudder unwittingly, releasing a moan at the same such time. Between their legs, they felt a distinct reaction, and Pickman let loose another knowing hum. 

“Shall we take a break, then? Don’t want to… overwhelm you, dearest.” 

“Do we have to?” They croaked, and Pickman chuckled in response, letting the flat of his blade tap down their bare body in increments, before it clattered onto the steel table just out of their peripheral vision. 

“No, we don’t have to. But oh… it should be fun. I guarantee you’ll enjoy it.” 

Another kiss had Sole opening their eyes, straining to look down at his shining hair as Pickman set his lips over their neck, down their collarbone, and achingly close to the open wounds on their chest. 

“Would you like to stay tied?” He whispered between presses of his mouth over them. 

“Let me touch you.” Sole pleaded, adrenaline still coursing through them from the stinging in their chest, from that building heat within. 

“As you wish.” He kissed them square in the middle of his newest art piece, and Sole’s shoulder tensed. 

He licked his reddened lips as he pulled away.

Pickman then moved out of their sights, and soon the rope over one wrist was being cut. It snapped, and the pressure released. Pickman moved to the other as Sole twisted their wrist, flexed their fingers, feeling the blood return to their hand. 

He always secured them just a tinge too tight, knowing how that pain acted as an appetizer for what was to come. 

Another snap of rope released the pressure over their collarbones, which had been effectively holding their chest in place, and Sole looked down to see marks there too. Just the reddened rashes and imprints of the rope, but now with their forehead being set free of its bounds against the hard table, they let their head raise up to admire those, as well as the new scar-work over their heart.

“Beautiful.” They agreed, and saw the way their partner grinned, the appreciation for them shining honestly in their stark, grey depths.  

“Ah, like you.” He pulled a hand to his lips then, pressing another kiss there as he released the last of their bounds. “A masterpiece to match a masterpiece.” 

A blush heated their skin, and Sole looked away shyly, like Pickman didn’t spoil them with his poetic dictation on a daily basis. 

“Now, you wanted to–”

“Touch you.” Sole said easily, quick enough to interrupt as they shifted upwards and slid off the end of the table. 

Dark air surrounded them both outside the ring that illuminated Pickman’s work area. Crimson brick walls looked in from every side, and without preference, Sole chose one to push their partner into. 

Pickman yielded to their touch instantly, until his back rested against the bricks, and Sole had both arms wrapped firmly about his shoulders. His kisses were magnetic, as they pressed forward into him; they felt they could never pull away, not without another catalyst to force their lips away. His skin was soft, his lips no exception, and Sole– as they often did– asked themself how, in a world such as this, Pickman managed to keep himself so tidy. 

His hair was slicked just a certain way, that when they combed their fingers over it, it remained in place. He smelled of aftershave and starch powder, and tasted like spearmint toothpaste. 

It brought Sole back. 

How they’ve changed since then, they thought, as their hands explored him, as their fingers brushed over their own marked, scarred forearms– forever changed, by the man pressed against them. 

“My love,” Pickman mumbled into their mouth, before gently pushing them away. “I’m meant to console you. Remember?” 

Sole looked away again, like a dog being reprimanded for going after a food scrap they know they’re not meant to have. 

He tutted at them, drawing their gaze back to his. 

“Here, let us switch, dearest.” 

They did as he asked, moving like dancers as he grasped their hands and twirled them about until their back was resting against the cold brick. A shiver ran through them, but soon enough, Pickman became a distraction from that as well. 

He ran his hands, ripe with scars of their own, up and down their form, like he was trying to smooth out wrinkles. His touch was firm, but light enough not to ruffle.

One hand smoothed right down to their center on its journey, palming over their heat, feeling their pleasure, so evident against his touch. 

“Darling, you are perfection.” He kissed their lips again, savoring the sighs they released at his undulating contact over them. “To have my work displayed on you… it’s the greatest honor I can fathom.” 

All his words were heady whispers against them, as his hand increased its movement, as the other drew lines with his fingers over the path of raised scars he was responsible for. 

“The most perfect gallery.” 

Any words they wished to speak in return paled in comparison. Pickman’s natural pomp, his archaic charm had them swooning and leaning into his every touch, his every word. The feel of his hand over them, over the most sensitive of spots, just firm enough to thread the needle between intense and overwhelming. 

“I hope you can forgive my absence, here.” He said, a despondent look in his eyes, and Sole blinked as a question in their mind made their brows furrow together. “I’m needed elsewhere.”

With that and a distinct clench of Pickman's hand between their legs, his lips were descending their body. He paused only once, to press a handful of kisses over their newest linework, and then he was on his knees before them, lifting one thigh up to rest on his suit’s shoulder pad. 

Sole’s hands dove down to his hair, to the back of his neck, writhing their fingers over the skin there, until they could all but feel the goosebumps their touch, their gasps of pleasure, inspired upon him. The contact only seemed to encourage the artist, as he mouthed fervently over their heat, as though this were the only sustenance that could sate him. 

His noises became more carnal the further he buried himself between their legs, the more slick skin rubbing together, moans catching in his throat, breaths rattling in his chest as he opted to breathe them rather than the air. 

Sole’s fingers clung to him, nails digging into his skin as the back of their head dug into the brick wall behind them. Their muscles tensed, sweat stung their open wounds, and a moan escaped their straining throat as their partner relished in their pleasure, tasting all they had to offer him, and pleading for more with every lave of his tongue, every hollow of his pronounced cheeks. 

“Seems you needed this break just as I did.” Sole chuckled, and Pickman hummed out his agreement. 

“More so, even.” He pulled away to answer in a flash, before his lips were firmly back upon them. 

He tilted his head this way and that, dove forward and then released the pressure in rapid movements that gave Sole no time at all to recover. Their pleasure could only build as his teeth entered the equation, nipping over those sensitive places between their legs, scraping over the skin there until jolts of pain-infused bliss ran up through their veins. 

Pickman gave an answering moan as their hands clenched him all the tighter, as their leg tensed from its place on his shoulder and their hips thrust their heat against his mouth with each passing second. 

He carried on though, always one to see his work through to the end, Pickman ran a hand over them as his lips refused to relent, as he nearly bit into his tongue in the euphoric turmoil of their combined actions. 

Then, Sole was crying out their release, bursting onto his asking tongue as he pressed further into them, crazed and wanting for all they could give. 

It’s what he craved most about them. The way they gave themself over to him, his work, his craft. Let him mark them in every way possible, both physically and mentally, and let him love them in every way Pickman wished to display it. 

He was right, they both decided in tandem. 

They really were made for each other. 

[hell-aint-half-full]

"The shadow of an eagle that had set forth from those high and craggy fastnesses crossed the line of riders below and they looked up to mark where it rode in that brittle and faultless void. … In the evening they came out upon a mesa that overlooked all the country to the north. The sun to the west lay in a holocaust where there rose a steady column of small desert bats and to the north along the trembling perimeter of the world dust was blowing down the void like the smoke of distant armies" - Blood Meridian (McCarthy, 2001: p.106).

[leynaeithnea]

Vocabulary Captive Prince taught me

#34

impeccable

(of behavior, performance, or appearance) in accordance with the highest standards of propriety; faultless

p. 1

[veradragonjedi]

Last Line tag!!!

Fresh from a chapter of Ink On My Faultless Frame that won't be released for another [REDACTED], this!!! .

Din was certain that if he'd killed the loving feeling when he'd had the chance, there'd have been no guilt, no pain, within him then.

But he hadn't, and there was.

TWO lines!! Thank you @babygirlbridger (I was thinking about tagging you next time!!!)

No pressure tags! <3 @airlocksandaviaries (👀)

@materassassino @insertmeaningfulusername <- p sure that babygirlbridger tagged you, but hiiiii nonetheless, @funkyphonophorae @athelstan-anglecyning @darlin-djarin @emilianadarling and idk who else to tag!!! Kil me!!

[nova-world]

I can do hard things. Not because I will be unaffected and bulletproof within my growth, not because I am immune to breaking down, not because I will find it easy to navigate all that is healing within me. No, my journey is never faultless, is never going to be devoid of pain, but I can do hard things because I show up to do them, even if it’s imperfectly. Even when it hurts. Even if I break down. . “Finite Bodies” Acrylic on Cardboard (70x50cm) No.1 of 2 . #interiordesign #floralpainting #acryl #anders_abstract_art (at Oestrich-Winkel) https://www.instagram.com/p/CqYOI79D7Ah/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[stellarhistoria]

Well, this was one surefire way to ruin his mood. And his plans... Andrii had thought that the commission was the perfect chance. The Akademiya needed some people to do some heavy lifting, just like before. It shouldn't have been all that difficult for him to sneak off, dig up the dirt he needed, all that jazz.

Too bad the one he was trying to take care of had overheard him. Which now put him in an awkward position. "...Il Dottore... Sir... Don't you have better things to do?" He was going to have to try again another day.

" Now that's a wonderful question, Andrii. " ── A patient smile curls along his lips underneath the raven like mask, his nigh faultless memory showing that while he may have forgotten what the man before him held in style and belief and anxiety problems, but he NEVER FORGETS A VOICE. And when he heard that familiar voice... the one who sounds so irreverent towards any and all it comes into contact with, and yet filled with such LIGHT.

How can he not smile, at such peculiar familiarity?

" I actually finished my job for the day. ── I came down here to chat with my fellow coworkers about what they're helping me with! After all... you can't build a right proper c o m p a n y on shadow work, wouldn't you agree? "

@terredivine [ andrii & dottore ]

[yhwhrulz777]

Morning and Evening with A.W. Tozer Devotional for October 27

Tozer in the Morning Growing Numbers Do Not Guarantee Increasing Quality

The question of numbers and their relation to success or failure in the work of the Lord is one that disturbs most Christians more than a little.

. . . There are Christians, for instance, who dismiss the whole matter as being beneath them.

. . .They prefer to sit around the Lord's Table in a select and tight little circle, admiring the deep things of God and, I very much fear, admiring themselves a wee bit also. This is a kind of Protestant monasticism without the cowl and the beads, for it seeks to preserve the faith of Christ from pollution by isolating it from the vulgar masses. Its motives may be commendable, but its methods are altogether unscriptural and its spirit completely out of mood with that of our Lord.

The other and opposite school is the most vocal and has by far the largest following in gospel circles today. Its philosophy, if it can be called a philosophy, is that "we must get the message out" regardless of how we go about it. The devotees of this doctrine appear to be more concerned with quantity than with quality. They seem burned up with desire to "bring the people in" even if they have not much to offer them after they are in. They take inexcusable liberties both with message and with method. The Scriptures are used rather than expounded and the Lordship of Christ almost completely ignored. Pressure is exerted to persuade the people (who, by the way, come to the meetings with something else in mind altogether) to accept Christ, with the understanding that they shall then have peace of mind and financial prosperity, not to mention high grades in school and a low score on the golf course.

The crowds-at-any-price mania has taken a firm grip on American Christianity and is the motivating power back of a shockingly high percentage of all religious activity. Men and churches compete for the attention of the paying multitudes who are brought in by means of any currently popular gadget or gimmick ostensibly to have their souls saved, but, if the truth were told, often for reasons not so praiseworthy as this.

Tozer in the Evening Condemnation or No Condemnation

A sinful man should be afraid; he has plenty to be afraid of. The consequences of his sins, death, judgment and hell are all awaiting him and he cannot escape them by looking the other way. While he lives on earth there are dangers of every kind facing him and everyone he loves. Any religious teacher that exhorts him to ignore these dangers is unrealistic, false to the facts and a deadly enemy to his soul. The prophet of tranquility is indeed another source of danger to him and should be considered one more object of fear. Where there are mortal perils and no place to hide, fear is the only sane reaction. To dismiss fear while the danger still exists is little short of insanity. Until the danger has been removed, fear should remain. Only that man has a right to be unafraid who has fled for refuge to the mighty Savior. Such a man knows the danger is there, but he also knows that his Almighty Lord will bring him safely through and present him at last faultless before the p resence of God. There are in the Scriptures innumerable exhortations to put away fear; but they are all addressed to Gods own children, never to the children of this world. Someone must care, and if a man has not cast his fears on Christ, he must bear them himself. The safety of the Rock is for those who have put their trust in the Rock. All others must face their enemies alone.

Copyright Statement This material is considered in the public domain.

[liverpoolgolf02]

How an Ideal Golf course Should be

The golf amazing camaraderie and the pleasure of playing holds us to the game even more than the difficulty itself. Apart from that, the beauty of the landscapes and design of the courses that are the background of the game also keep us here. A perfectly tuned golf course is a combination of beautiful nature, challenging hole layout, and precise grounds keeping, which makes an everlasting impression on all golfers, from beginners to amateurs. Let's explore the key elements that contribute to crafting the perfect golf course:Let's explore the key elements that contribute to crafting the perfect golf course:

https://liverpoolgolf.com.au/wp-content/uploads/2018/07/lgc-slideshow-1-3-1200x800.jpg

Breathtaking Scenery: 

The privilege of any golf course making first-class is its incredible environs. The most excellent courses can make the nature of the land appear as greater splendour combining rolling hills, meandering streams, tall trees, and of course, the majestic views. The perfect course employs the natural landform and the art of golf design for the design in such a manner that the features of the terrain are harmoniously incorporated for the players to get an enjoyable and involved way of playing.

Strategic Design:

A perfect golf course should be a dilemma for but provide solutions for, people from all abilities and therefore it should be a strategically and engaging playing field from tee to green. Placement of the defences, as the word implies, are located at spots where some water hazards and undulating fairways force players to think logically and make the criteria for their decision making hard and difficult with each shot. Intelligent routing format is a vital element of a well-rounded golf course, through which the course becomes a way to pass time in a wonderful manner, offering a diversity of dilemmas and space to demonstrate the players' creativity and skill.

Variety of Holes:

It is indispensable for any tournament to have a variety of shots, otherwise it will fall flat and would not provide the best golf course. An outstanding course shall have a wide spectrum of the hole length, shape and level of difficulty so that golfer will pass several tests, which he will continue through the game. Whether they are short par 3s or long par 5s, each hole requires players to develop a strategy that makes the most out of the given situation, ensuring the utmost thrill at every turn of the game.

Impeccable Conditioning:

Safeguarding a delicate playing area is the key element to prevent a golf course from being anything less than great at service. Premium courses in fact would be faultless fairways, smooth greens, and the ground areas that are nicely cut creating a good and consistent play area for the golfers of various skill sets. Paying attention to details is essential, and special care needs to be applied to all the stationery (such as the guidebooks, signposts, maps and brochures) being taken care of, and their quality kept up to the best standards.

Sustainability and Environmental Stewardship:

With growing knowledge about environmental problems, everyone has to care not only about sustainability, but also consider it in golf course design and management. A Greener course will promote environmentally friendly technologies such as conservation of water consumption as well as sustainable management so as to reduce the ecological footprint. Through placing emphasis on sustainability and leadership to the environment, these wouldn't tear down the natural habitats, stew away the resources as well as elevate their beauty and the integrity of the land.

Memorable Signature Holes:

All of the greatest courses in the world will be the home of at least one iconic hole players will remember for a long time after they finish playing. Whether it be a challenging par three that requires one to cross over water, a strategic par four which has water hazards beside it, or a long par five with a risk-reward play that forces players to put their accuracy to the test, signature holes add to the character of the course and the overall excitement of the game becomes more memorable to the player as they look themselves forward to coming back to it again and again.golf courses sydney

The essence of an excellent golf course is a spectacle design, which reveals the natural element of the land and at the same time giving different golfers the chance to show their best skills in the playing process. Alongside the stunning landscape, the course's unique design, grade, technicality, and environmental awareness also all make important contributions to its overall attractiveness, guaranteeing that its players are given a priceless experience that will stay etched in their mind forever. Of course, as time goes by, the underlying art of golf course architecture is a process that aims at eternity. Such a process is manifested in the development of course whose characteristics will attract the players to come to the course for a long time.

[zerogpt23]

ai writing check

[libertariantaoist]

https://www.libertariantaoist.com/?p=9432

DAILY SELECTIONS FROM LAO-TZU’S TAO TE CHING — DECEMBER 25, 2023

“Higher Virtue isn’t virtuous thus it possesses virtue Lower Virtue isn’t without virtue thus it possesses no virtue Higher Virtue involves no effort or the thought of effort Higher Kindness involves effort but not the thought of effort Higher Justice involves effort and the thought of effort Higher Ritual involves effort and should it meet with no response then it threatens and compels virtue appears when the Way is lost kindness appears when virtue is lost justice appears when kindness is lost ritual appears when justice is lost ritual marks the waning of belief and the onset of confusion augury is the flower of the Way and beginning of delusion thus the great choose thick over thin the fruit over the flower thus they pick this over that”

-Lao-tzu- (Taoteching, verse 38, translation by Red Pine)

HAN FEI says, “Virtue is the Tao at work.”

WANG PI says, “Those who possess Higher Virtue use nothing but the Tao. They possess virtue, but they don’t give it a name.”

YEN TSUN says, “Those who embody the Way are empty and effortless, yet they lead all creatures to the Way. Those who embody virtue are faultless and responsive and ready to do anything. Those who embody kindness show love for all creatures without restriction. Those who embody justice deal with things by matching name with reality. Those who embody ritual are humble and put harmony first. These five are the footprints of the Tao. They are not the ultimate goal. The ultimate goal is not one, much less five.”

WANG P’ANG says, “Kindness is another name for virtue. It differs, though, from virtue because it involves effort. The kindness of sages, however, does not go beyond fulfilling their nature. They aren’t interested in effort. Hence, they don’t think about it.”

LU HUI-CH’ING says, “Higher kindness is kindness without effort to be kind. Kindness is simply a gift. Justice is concerned with the appropriateness of the gift. Ritual is concerned with repayment. When ritual appears, belief disappears and confusion arises.”

SU CH’E says, “These are the means whereby sages help the people to safety. When the people don’t respond, sages threaten and force them. If they still don’t respond, sages turn to law and punishment.”

FAN YING-YUAN says, “‘Augury’ means to see the future. Those in charge of rituals think they can see the future and devise formulas for human action, but they thus cause people to trade the spirit for the letter.”

WU CH’ENG says, “The Tao is like a fruit. Hanging from a tree, it contains the power of life, but its womb is hidden. Once it falls, it puts forth virtue as its root, kindness as its stem, justice as its branches, ritual as its leaves, and knowledge as its flower. All of these come from the Tao. ‘That’ refers to the flower. ‘This’ refers to the fruit. Those who embody the Tao choose the fruit over the flower.”

RED PINE adds, “And yet the plastic flowers of civilization still deck a billion altars.”