#Al Connelly

[mikeladano]

REVIEW: Glass Tiger - Diamond Sun (1988)

GLASS TIGER – Diamond Sun (1988 Capitol Records) Produced by mainstay Jim Vallance and recorded at Le Studio with Paul Northfield, Glass Tiger’s Diamond Sun is generally considered the best of their studio albums. What you may not know is that the Canadian pop band’s second album also really rocks.  Diamond Sun was their last album featuring the co-writing skills of drummer Michael Hanson, and…

[guerrilla-operator]

REVOLTING COCKS

[ourladyofomega]

You have had all that money can give you, but that wasn't enough. You became a thrill-seeker. Kill for the thrill. This thrill-seeking became the one great thing in your life, planning one thrill on another until the murder. Kill for the love of killing. Kill for the thrill. The thrill-seeker comes from all walks of life. He comes from the home, a home where the parents are too busy to treat their children with respect.

[middleeasternpeopleloveus]

Ministry/Revolting Cocks & Skinny Puppy + Text From Last Night

[ + cameos from Rob Zombie, Trent Reznor, and Chris Vrenna ]

[myvinylplaylist]

Revolting Cocks: Beers, Steers & Queers (Remixes) Cassette single (1991)

Wax Trax! Records

[xcziel]

i don't think i can watch the substance just because horror movies are *really* not for me

but i am fascinated by the styling of sue - the incredible 80s-ness of it

from the contrasting dayglow legwarmer-esque socks, to the very obvious 'fun!' makeup, the aquanet-sprayed hair, the poufy baby blue dream-barbie "gown", even to the cut of that iconic leotard

and contrasted with elizabeth's more modern - as of ten years ago - look with the 'natural' or 'classic' makeup and hair: shades of the gwyneth paltrow-style health guru

like i've only seen gifs and photos but sometimes the details are even more obvious - the way sue's front teeth are whitened but when she smiles big you can see the rest of her teeth are yellowed like

that is so obvious it's absolutely on purpose but what is it? it looks normal to me because in the 80s they hadn't hit on 'high def' beauty yet

very likely that's what ekizabeth's teeth looked like back when she started out - isn't sue supposed to be 'better'? or is it purely just 'younger'?

i've really never seen a recent movie get the tiny imperfections of an 80s styling so right before - down to sue's slightly off lipstick application that only someone that young and pretty could get away with

it's amazing and so very clearly directed by a woman

(and also i may be projecting but i feel like demi moore probably had input into some of the detail - they have that vibe of someone who had *been there*)

[spilladabalia]

Revolting Cocks - Beers, Steers & Queers (Take 'Em Right off Mix)

[nanshe-of-nina]

I dunno why I've never noticed this before, but that sure reminds me of someone....

[thisisnotmyhomeplanet]

Ministry - In Case You Didn’t Feel Like Showing Up (full show)

[egoschwank]

al things considered — when i post my masterpiece #1338

first posted in facebook august 21, 2024

adrienne elise tarver -- "weary as i can be" (2021)

"i'm weary of the ways of the world be weary of the ways of the world i'm weary of the ways of the world" … solange

"oh, she may be weary and young girls, they do get wearied wearing that same old shaggy dress, yeah yeah but when she gets weary try a little tenderness, yeah yeah" … jimmy campbell, reg connelly, and harry m. woods

"images of tarver’s paintings of seated black matriarchal figures are gracing bus shelters throughout boston … focuses on the power and restoration found in the mundane act of sitting. the paintings, which mirror the posture of many commuters, spring from tarver’s deep research into media archives, family photos, and found imagery and explore notions of rest and personal sovereignty through time, especially as they pertain to black women" … cate mcquaid

"jazz, to me, is one of the inherent expressions of negro life in america: the eternal tom-tom beating in the negro soul - the tom-tom of revolt against weariness in a white world, a world of subway trains, and work, work, work; the tom-tom of joy and laughter, and pain swallowed in a smile" … langston hughes

"so try a little tenderness whenever you can … swallow some pain with just a smile" … al janik

[middleeasternpeopleloveus]

Ministry/Revolting Cocks/Pigface + Texts from Last Night

[cephalomosh]

AAAAUUGRrrrrrGGGHH!!!!

Ministry 

Propaganda Magazine interview with Al Jourgensen & Nivek Ogre 

Also included is a mini RevCo interview with Chris & Paul.

[leodette]

I just want to say.

Mr Garry Connelly Mr Derek Warwick Matthie Remmerie Amro Al Hamad

These guys apparently decided that it's appropriate do decimate Lando once race before the end. For basically nothing.

[jadarnr]

TRINITY BLOOD

RAGE AGAINST THE MOONS

(Storia: Sunao Yoshida // Illustrazioni: Thores Shibamoto)

Vol.1 From the Empire

FLIGHT NIGHT - Capitolo 2

Traduzione italiana di jadarnr dai volumi inglesi editi da Tokyopop.

Sentitevi liberi di condividere, ma fatelo per piacere mantenendo i credits e il link al post originale 🙏

Grazie a @trinitybloodbr per il suo prezioso contributo alla revisione sul testo originale giapponese ✨

La Tristan, con una lunghezza di duecentocinquanta iarde e seicentomila piedi cubi di elio, era la terza nave volante più grande al mondo. La superavano solo la Midguard Gerange del Regno di Germania e la Charmaneau del regno di Francia. Ma la sua velocità massima di cento miglia all’ora generata dalle eliche a doppia inversione del diametro di 13 iarde, insieme al suo lussuoso servizio passeggeri mettevano la Tristan in una categoria a sè stante.

La nave passeggeri era il fiore all’occhiello dei cieli del Regno di Albione.

“Ecco Capitano” disse Jessica.

“Oh grazie cara. Pensa che piloto questo mostro solo per extra come questi” confessò il Capitano. Annusò il ricco aroma del caffè. Il vapore inumidì i suoi baffi perfettamente tagliati, tipici dei nobili di Albion.

“Avete del tempo libero non é vero?” commentò la ragazza.

“Soprattutto tranquillo. Abbiamo ancora sei ore fino a Roma” rispose il Capitano.

Il timoniere e l’ingegnere erano rilassati e di buon umore— segni sicuri di un viaggio tranquillo.

“Dov’è il Vice Capitano Roswell?” Chiese il Capitano.

Dickins, il navigatore, si guardò intorno nello stretto ponte di comando, verso il sedile vuoto accanto a quello del capitano. “Capitano, ho visto Roswell di sotto. Non si sentiva bene perciò si è preso una pausa”. Lo informò Dickins.

“Non mi sembrava tanto in forma nemmeno a Londinium” osservò il Capitano.

“Si tratta di qualcosa di fisico o di personale?” Chiese il signor Orson, il timoniere, alzando un sopracciglio.

“Probabilmente qualcosa che ha mangiato” disse Dickins facendo l’occhiolino “ Sua moglie è la donna più adorabile che conosco, però…”

Il piccolo equipaggio della Tristan poteva sembrare sotto staffato per una nave così grande, ma avevano tutto sotto controllo. La loro sicurezza avrebbe tranquillizzato anche il più pauroso dei passeggeri. Ed essa era ben riposta. Il sistema di auto pilota della Tristan, disegnato dal geniale ingegnere Catherine Lang, era il fiore all’occhiello della nave. La Tristan era controllata da un ‘computer’, una reliquia della civiltà passata. Per questo motivo per pilotarla serviva solo un decimo dell’equipaggio. Ed il suo design rivoluzionario era senza pari.

“Signor Orson, mi scusi credo che…” Jessica indicò uno dei pannelli di controllo “L’assetto sia leggermente sabgliato. Non dovrebbe correggerlo?” Chiese.

“Fammi vedere. Uh. É vero. Come lo sapevi?” si chiese Orson guardando attentamente il pannello di controllo ed aggiustando un pulsante. Il resto dell’equipaggio sembrava divertito.

“Perché non lascia il timone a Jessica?” Suggerì Dickins.

Il Capitano rise “Mi renderesti il lavoro molto più semplice.”

Jessica arrossí per l’imbarazzo. Si vergognò per aver corretto il signor Orson. “Sono solo una hostess” farfugliò.

“Ma avevi fatto richiesta a questa compagnia per essere timoniere, giusto? Che spreco. Perché non possono giudicare meglio il talento?” Si lamentò il Capitano.

Il Capitano Connelly era conosciuto per le sue idee progressiste. Voleva l’equipaggio migliore, senza far caso al genere. Sapeva che quel mestiere era troppo pericoloso perché le vecchie abitudini andassero ad ostacolare il miglior lavoro possibile. Età e genere non avevano posto nella sua analisi.

“Lo farò notare ai miei superiori la prossima volta” disse il Capitano.

“Grazie, ma non c’è bisogno che faccia questo per me” mormorò Jessica timidamente.

“È nostro compito quello di raccomandare le persone con un vero talento, Jessica”

Proprio in quel momento ritornò il Vice Capitano Roswell, con un viso estremamente pallido.

“Dov’era finito Roswell?” Chiese il navigatore “E chi è lui?”

C’era un uomo dietro Roswell. Roswell iniziò a balbettare una presentazione, ma l’uomo lo interruppe “Sono Alfredo, Duca di Meinz, del Regno di Germania”

Il Duca si inchinò in maniera eccessiva. Il cappotto che portava, una costosa giacca con cappuccio, era minuziosamente confezionato. Il suo giovane viso mostrava un ghigno malvagio. “Perdonate l’intrusione, ma ho detto al signor Roswell che ho una passione per le navi volanti. Dopo aver insistito un po’, si é offerto di portarmi a vedere il ponte di controllo” disse il Duca con voce suadente.

“Duca, mi spiace ma non le posso permettere di rimanere qui” disse il Capitano educatamente. Il suo tono gentile diventò un rimprovero quando si rivolse al Vice Comandante Roswell “Cosa le è saltato in mente Vice Comandante? Sa benissimo che le persone non autorizzate non possono salire qui!” Il Capitano era furioso.

“Signore, la prego non si arrabbi con lui. La colpa è mia” disse il Duca con voce piatta.

A Jessica non piacevano per nulla le maniere affettate del Duca. Invece di sembrare nobile o elegante, appariva volgare ed insolente.

Pensò a quanto fastidioso fosse quel ricco Duca, e quanto invece fosse stato gentile quel povero prete che aveva incontrato solo pochi minuti prima. Anche se non aveva soldi, sembrava molto più ricco nello spirito.

Ora che ci pensava, non le sembrava di ricordare che nessun nobile Germanico avesse prenotato un viaggio sulla Tristan quella notte.

“Le mie più sincere scuse, Duca, ma non possiamo autorizzarla a rimanere sul ponte di controllo. Sono sicuro che capirà.”

“Che peccato” disse il Duca “Mi sarebbe proprio piaciuto far schiantare questa bellezza contro qualcosa di grosso, sapete? Così, per gioco”.

Lo humor nero del Duca non fece presa sull’equipaggio. Specialmente sul Capitano Connnelly, che disse “Questa nave ha una funzione di auto-pilota. Anche se l’equipaggio cambiasse la rotta… Hey! Ma che sta facendo?” Chiese il Capitano, sbigottito.

Il Duca fece scivolare un piccolo disco di metallo dalla sua manica e lo fece cadere in uno slot sul pannello di controllo. Il capitano tentó di fermare il braccio del Duca ma era troppo tardi.

“Che cos’ha fatto? Cos’era quello?”

Dickins si alzò per protestare, ma improvvisamente lo schermo del suo display tremoló e si spense. Prima che potesse capire cosa stava succedendo, lo schermo venne invaso da del testo indecifrabile.

“Capitano, il computer sta negando l’accesso!” Urló Dickins.

“Che cos’ha fatto?!” Esclamò il Capitano.

In quel momento la nave si inclinò in avanti, come cadendo in picchiata.

“Le impostazioni per la nostra destinazione non sono cambiate ma l’altitudine è scesa a meno trecento! Se continuiamo così ci schianteremo su Roma!” Gridò il timoniere.

Un sorriso sottile si allargò sulle labbra del Duca. “È tutto qui? Cavoli è stato fin troppo facile! Questo bestione cadrá sulla testa dei quel maledetto Vaticano! Ahah!”

Dickins afferró il bavero del Duca e lo scrollò violentemente “Sei pazzo? Morirai anche tu!” Urlò.

“Non credo proprio, sporco Terran! Morire non è tra i miei piani” disse il Duca seccamente. Dietro quel sorriso compiaciuto si allungarono i bianchi canini appuntiti del Duca ”Sono un Methuselah! La morte non può toccarmi!”

“Un vampiro!” Sputò Dickins. Fece a malapena in tempo a proferire quella parola che la sua gola venne tagliata dal Duca ad una velocitá impossibile da vedere da un occhio umano. Soffocando nel suo stesso sangue, il navigatore urlò e poi cadde a terra.

Il sangue schizzò in tutto il ponte di comando. Ogni angolo della stanza si riempì di grida di terrore. Uno per uno, ogni membro dell’equipaggio cadde vittima delle azioni brutali del Duca.

Alla fine rimase soltanto Jessica, il colore scomparso dal suo viso.

“Bambolina finalmente siamo soli!” Il ghigno lascivo del Duca rivelò le sue zanne.

Il mondo di Jessica iniziò a vorticare senza controllo. Tutto l’equipaggio era morto? E che ne era stato del Vice Capitano Roswell? Lo vide sdraiato a terra vicino ai suoi piedi, il corpo senza la testa. Essa si trovava sul pannello di controllo, la sua faccia congelata in un grido eterno.

“Ahah quel tizio era veramente un idiota. Che bisogno c’è di tenere degli ostaggi quando puoi ucciderli, stuprarli e poi bere da loro?”

Jessica sentì un dolore lancinante al petto. Le dita di Alfredo le palparono il seno sotto il suo grembiule. Iniziò ad ansimare per il dolore, la paura e l’umiliazione.

“La smetta la prego….”

“Così mi fai eccitare ancora di più. Quando ci si nutre delle donne, tanto vale possederle prima, e poi leccare il sangue dalla loro gola!”

Le labbra del vampiro si incurvarono. Alfredo afferrò uno dei suoi seni con una mano, Jessica inarcò la schiena esattamente come si aspettava, e le sue zanne si allinearono perfettamente con il suo collo.

“No!” Jessica gridò nel momento in cui sentì un dolore acuto nel collo.

“Signorina Jessica, stavo pensando…” la voce gentile del prete giunse dal portellone aperto. “È contro i dettami della Chiesa accettare la generosità senza poterla ripagare. Quindi pensavo che forse potrei lavare i piatti o pulire i bagni o… Ma che sta succedendo?”

Il vampiro indietreggiò alla vista della veste del prete e sibilò: “Vaticano!” Una corda sottile uscì da sotto il suo mantello.

“Un Vampiro?!”

Abel scivolò per terra su una pozza di sangue, proprio nel momento in cui una lama trapassava l’aria sopra la sua testa.

BANG! Improvvisamente un colpo di pistola li sorprese tutti.

La pistola fissata al fianco di Abel si era staccata accidentalmente. La pallottola era rimbalzata contro la parete ed era andata a colpire una tubatura sul muro dietro Jessica. La tubatura si spezzò e il vapore bollente fuoruscito da essa ustionò il vampiro.

Il Duca lasciò andare Jessica coprendosi la faccia in preda al dolore. Evidentemente perfino gli occhi ed il viso di un vampiro erano sensibili al vapore bollente.

“Signorina Jessica, da questa parte!” Gridò Abel.

Il prete afferrò il gomito di Jessica e scapparono via. Lei si voltò indietro per vedere il vampiro accecato imprecare e distruggere le console.

“Sei morto, cane del Vaticano! Mi hai sentito? Ti tirerò fuori l’intestino e lo userò per strangolarti!”

[taintandviolent]

Punch Bowl - Winston Connelly x Reader

summary: 2.2k words. you went to the prom all by yourself, but luckily, Winston's planned date didn't go to well either. w a r n i n g s: canon divergence (technically), smut without a lot of plot, car sex, slight coercion, masterbation, praise.

ao3 link here! / full link below the cut! / recommended playlist here!

As the music slowed and the lights changed to a soft, dreamy hue, you were still leaning against the wall, debating on whether or not coming to the prom by yourself was an absolute win or a tragic loss. You kicked your leg up, watching as the tulle and satin fluttered down. One on hand, you were sitting on the outskirts during the slow dances, hopefully not looking too desperate. On the other, you had your pick of all the dorky, cute boys who also came alone. There was something about boyish innocence that drove you insane… after all, the entirety of the football team had come onto you at least once, and you never paid them any mind.

The quiet ones, the dorky ones. The ones that laughed a little too loud, or broke out some goofy dance moves — those were the ones that drove you up the wall so hard that the texture of the wall left imprints on your skin. Or the ones that you wished would. You heaved a sigh and reluctantly pushed yourself off the wall. As you navigated around the swirling couples, one of your friends made eyes at you, before rolling her eyes to indicate where her date’s hand was. Her ass. How nice for her. You raised her eyebrows and ducked underneath someone’s arms, making a beeline for the punch table.

The punch table? Abandoned? Ouch. The four-ton weight of realising you might just be the only one flying solo made your hands shake as you scooped the too-sweet liquid into the plastic cup. Suddenly, a hand… connected to a white-sleeved arm slithered next to your waist and took a handful of napkins. You lifted the cup above your shoulder and turned around to find the inconsiderate meathead who —

You immediately recognised the boy behind you. Soft brown hair framed his angular face, which was scrunched up in frustration. Winston Connelly. Soft voice, good manners. Handsome, dark eyes.

“Hi,” you murmured. In the way a dog’s expression changed, his brows lifted as his brown eyes flitted up to you. You inhaled sharply through your nose. He was cute, you remembered that, but he was even cuter now.

“Oh… hi! I’m… I’m sorry.”

You swirled the last mouthful of punch around in the bottom of the glass, watching him as he returned to his cleaning. “It’s okay, Winston.”

He stopped dabbing and looked up, confused. Now unattended, the remaining red liquid streamed down the front of his suit jacket like blood. Your lips curved into a smirk, bemused that that statement had almost floored him. “We have science together.”

“Huh.” He bobbed his head, taking in the information, and took a breath. “You know, it’s the craziest thing. They say ‘things can’t get any worse’, but believe me — they can. The girl I was supposed to take to prom hates me, I got lost on the way here, found out that I really don’t like ginger ale and tequila, and then she ditched me as soon as we got here. And now, I have punch on my arm.”

“Wow, sounds like you’ve really hit rock bottom.”

He shrugged. “I guess so.”

“Well, if it makes you feel better, I came to the prom without a date.”

He seemed absolutely appalled by that confession. Good. “What? No way! That’s…. You’re way too pretty to not have a date.”

“Want to dance?”

He did.

Although your lust had been the original driver of your decisions, as one arm wrapped so gingerly around your waist, you realised very quickly that Winston Connelly was actually adorable. He smiled at you, his tan, buttery skin begging you to touch it. And the way he held you a little tighter whenever Tara passed by…

“You—uh…” After a few songs, he cleared his throat, trying to find the words to woo you. You continued swaying back and forth, but lifted your head from his shoulder. Your eyes met and a flurry of butterflies battered their wings against your ribcage. “You’re really pretty.”

The delighted smile you gave him told him everything he needed to know. You appreciated the compliment - and that was the most important thing. Without another moment’s hesitation, you leaned in, pressing your lips against his jawline, just before his ear. You felt the shudder that started at his neck and travelled down his body. A breathy laugh through your nose brought another one out of him.

“Can you take me home?”

Winston’s head snapped up, previously dreamy-lidded eyes narrowed with confusion. His dark brows were knitted together. “What? ….What did you say?”

“This,” You gestured vaguely around you, glaring at the crepe streamers and shimmery strands of tinsel. “…stinks. Can you take me home?”

As you hoped he would, your silly golden retriever boy fell right into your trap. He took the statement personally, already crestfallen from his unsuccessful evening. You’d given him a scrap of hope that he’d clung to with an iron grip.

“I - uh. Sure. Sure. Whatever you want.”

As you walked down the empty hallway, the tip-tap of your high heels echoing on the linoleum, you wanted to reach over and grab his hand and lace your fingers in between his. You were cursing yourself for never really noticing before, but he was easily one of the most attractive boys you went to school with. From the way his fawn brown hair flopped over when he walked to the way his arms swung gently with his loose, boyishly casual gait, he had created a tight, pulsing knot of arousal in your core.

With a metallic screech, the front doors closed behind the two of you, banging into place. The air was cold enough that it made your lungs ache when you breathed in too deeply, but it was a welcome contrast to your sweaty skin underneath the tulle of your dress. The high school parking lot was full of cars, though you two were the only ones outside. The only two solo losers outside.

“That’s me over there.” He threw his arm up, pointing towards a car on the far edge of the lot. Perfect, you thought. Far away from any prying eyes. Again, in complete silence, the two of you walked until you’d made it to the car. He unlocked it, and opened the side door for you. Naturally, when you hoisted up your dress and climbed in the backseat, Winston looked more confused than he did excited.

Once situated, you called out to him. “I didn’t want to go home, Winston…. I just wanted to be in the car with you.”

In one swift motion, Winston ducked his head into the car, chocolate eyes begging for an explanation. Of course, the visual he was met with short-circuited his brain. You were leaned up against the backseat window, fluffy dress tucked between your spread legs. He blinked. And blinked again.

You beckoned him with one finger.

“Wh-what?” He obeyed however, climbing carefully into the backseat with you and reaching behind him to pull the door shut. It slammed, and he jumped, momentarily throwing a worried glance back.

“C’mere,” you cooed. “…I think you’re really cute. Come. Here. ”

“You’re…. Wait, hang on. Me?”

You nodded.

“Wow, huh…. Maybe this night won’t be so terrible after all.”

Although it wasn’t intended, the way your lips curved was almost villainous. “I’ll make sure of it. Here…” you whispered. You reached for his hand, bringing it to rest atop your thighs. Since you’d already pulled the dress up, his hand laid on your bare skin. His plush lips were parted slightly. You could feel his hot breath washing over your shoulder with each shaky exhalation.

Winston blinked again. You were slowly becoming obsessed with the heavy way he blinked, like each one was his way of processing information, of taking it and committing it to memory. You hoped he’d never forget a moment of this.

“Keep going…” You yanked his hand forward more and pressed it into the pillowy cushion of your inner thighs. You pulled further still, bringing him closer and closer. As the usually submissive one, the sheer aplomb and assertiveness that you were demonstrating was staggering. He brought it out a certain dominance in you… but the reality that was glaringly obvious that if you didn’t initiate it, he wouldn’t either. He made you too hungry to drive home in silence. Dripping, frustrated silence.

You spread your legs slightly, allowing just enough space for his hand. With your thumb, ring and pinky finger still wrapped tightly around his pointer and middle finger, you pulled the soft satin of your underwear to the side. “Just…”

You gave one final pull and the pads of his fingers pressed against your clit. He yelped, but eased into nervous laughter, which then melted into a hungry moan. “You’re so… wet.”

You held him there for a moment, before hesitantly letting go. To your surprise, his fingers stayed and even ventured further down. They moved up and down so slightly, curious, almost twitching over your wet folds. Your body shivered in response, wanting more.

You nodded, brows raised high. You had to pause before answering, rolling your lips inward to suppress the laugh. The very word “wet” in that context seemed so dirty to him, you could tell it felt foreign on his lips. “Guess whose fault that is?”

“Mine?! Oh god,” he whimpered. “I’m so sorry, it’s my fault.”

Was he… joking? Was he actually serious? Bless his heart. “Winston. “

You leaned over and flipped the edge of his black bowtie against your middle finger. “What are you going to do about it?”

Your fingers laid over the bulge, stroking the crisp fabric of his black suit pants. His whole body quivered, hips forcing upwards into your hand. You heard the muted thump of his head hitting the window as he leaned back, giving into the pumping motion of your hand. It didn’t take long for his body to respond, either — underneath the rented polyester, his cock was hardening quickly.

“You like me, Winston?”

“Hhhh…huh… yeah. YEAH!” He weakly lifted his head, searching for your face in the dark. Once his eyes adjusted, he swallowed, wetting his throat, and said, “Yes, I do like you. A lot.”

You knew that he was only answering with one head, but that was okay — you had a hunger than only he could sate. You chewed on the corner of your lip, letting the slippery flesh slide in and out of the grip of your teeth. With a deep breath, you shifted, moving yourself around so that you were on your knees, ass facing him.

As shy as he was, he knew what to do — knew what he wanted to do. He shifted his weight from one knee to other, clumsily scooting closer to you. Hearing the telltale sound of a zipper sliding past teeth, you smirked and suppressed a giggle at his eagerness. Amidst frantic, repeated whispers of ‘Oh my god’ and ‘Wow’ from Winston, you felt his head press into you. You moaned breathily, pushing back against him.

“Fuck me!” You demanded.

“O-kay!”

You were only allowed a moment to admire the high-pitched, enthusiastically boyish way he replied before Winston took hold of your hips and pulled you onto his length. Moaning, you wiggled against him for a few moments, getting yourself used to the fullness he provided. Another theory proven; it was always the shy guys that were hung.

When he started thrusting, his speed made you see white, hot streaks of light and you closed your eyes, whining pathetically into the leather of the backseat. Every tribulation that Winston had dealt with that night dissipated like the smoke in that bar him and Tara had ended up at. He hung his head back with a low groan, bottoming out inside you.

The car shifted with each enthusiastic thrust, and though you did your best to meet them, the waves of pleasure were conquering you, melting you. A cacophony of high pitched moans, groans and ragged pants filled the car. You dug your painted nails into the upholstery, screaming his name as the coil within you snapped.

Without any warning Winston suddenly pulled out, and took himself into his hand, jerking his leaking cock into your hot cunt. Every few sections, he’d line his head up with your slit, collecting your wetness on it and sliding it back down.

“You like that?” You asked, already knowing the answer. “You’re doing so good… it feels so — aah!”

“—Yeh—yeah.”

You whimpered loudly as ropes of white decorated your ass and exposed slit. He collapsed against the opposite window, his chest heaving.

You flipped over, tucking your dress between your legs. Modesty and all that. “I’m real sorry about your date, Winston.”

The sweat had shellacked his brown hair to his forehead, which glistened in the moonlight. He reached up to wipe the sweat from his brow. Glazed over eyes finally refocused.

With pursed lips, he flashed his eyebrows once, lifting them high. “I’m not…. This was…. Way better. I totally wouldn’t, but if I told my friends, they wouldn’t even believe me.”

“You can tell them…. As long as you take me on a second date.”

“Second!? I’ll take you on a second, and a third, and a fourth, and a —“

You kissed him again, shushing him before he got too excited. “You have to take me home first.”

[cinemaslife]

#185 Sólo los Valientes - Only The Brave (2017)

Brendan McDonough (Miles Teller) es un joven en paro con adicción a las sustancias que deja embarazada a una chica joven con la que ha tenido una fugaz relación, está embarazada de una niña. Por mucho que ella lo aleja, Brendan se siente comprometido con la niña, ya que él sabe lo que significa nacer sin padre, por lo que decide terminar sus estudios de ATS y presentarse a las pruebas de bomberos forestales de su pueblo.

Por otro lado, Eric Marsh (Josh Brolin) es el superintendente de Fire and Rescue Crew 7, una unidad de bomberos forestales que busca subir de posiciones para llegar a ser bomberos de élite y estar en primera línea de fuego. Para ello tienen que pasar como equipo varias pruebas.

El incendio se comporta como anticipó Eric y el vecindario se destruye. Eric habla con el jefe de bomberos sobre su deseo de que la Tripulación 7 se convierta en un hotshot certificado. Duane (Jeff Bridges) advierte que ningún otro equipo municipal del país tiene ese estatus y que tendrán que comprometerse con una temporada laboral más larga. Esto frustra a la esposa de Eric, Amanda (Jennifer Connelly), a quien le molesta que el compromiso de tiempo ya impida que Eric quiera formar una familia.

La tripulación entrena duro y finalmente es enviada a un incendio forestal para su evaluación. Pasan y se convierten en los "Granite Mountain Hotshots". Natalie comienza a aceptar a Brendan y lo deja pasar tiempo con su hija.

Brendan quiere ser como Eric y no sabe que Eric tiene mucho más en común con él de lo que se imagina.

El equipo trabaja duro y consigue ir avanzando posiciones, pero tienen que luchar con dejar a sus familias mucho tiempo desatendidas y ponerse en peligro constante. Brendan quiere estar más presente en la vida de su hija y decide pedirle una recomendación a Eric para otra brigada más alejada del fuego, Eric se enfada y le desea lo peor, recordándole que él lo sacó de las drogas y le dio un motivo.

Los Hotshots de Granite Mountain son llamados al incendio de Yarnell Hill. Entrando en la zona de fuego, Eric le dice a Brendan que lo ayudará a asegurar una transferencia para que pueda pasar más tiempo con su familia. La tripulación comienza un contraataque para contener el fuego, pero un avión cisterna lo confunde con un fuego secundario y lo extingue. La tripulación ahora tiene que reubicarse, por lo que Eric envía a Brendan a un terreno más alto como vigía. Cuando el viento de repente se intensifica y cambia, Brendan es rescatado por otro equipo y evacuan a la sede móvil. El resto de la tripulación se dirige a una zona segura después de darse cuenta de que el fuego en rápido movimiento es demasiado intenso.

El fuego toma velocidad y salta la zona segura, continuando hacia la brigada y cortando su ruta de escape. La tripulación despeja un sitio pequeño y Eric llama a un avión cisterna para apagar el frente de fuego que avanza rápidamente. La brigada despliegan sus refugios contra incendios compactos.

A medida que el fuego azota a la brigada, varias llamadas de radio quedan sin respuesta. Por lo que todos son conscientes de que la brigada completa ha caído. Brendan escucha la llamada de radio desde el primer helicóptero que llega al lugar: se confirma que los 19 miembros de la tripulación fallecieron.

Brendan va al gimnasio donde están las familias de sus compañeros de brigada para dar la cara y darles respuestas, pero lejos de sentirse mejor, Brendan colapsa y se rompe por la maldición del superviviente.

Tres años después, Brendan lleva a su hija al enebro que fue salvado por la tripulación. Durante los créditos finales, se muestran fotos de los verdaderos Granite Mountain Hotshots y sus contrapartes actores.