#Ceramic rope

[qlala]

giving myself an idea for a new fic and trying to stealthily open a blank word document but the tiny edna mode that i installed in my brain for exactly this reason immediately wakes up from a dead sleep and begins smacking me over the head with a rolled-up newspaper

[alunimoon]

Wall hanging moth 🖤

[teddy-bear-naps-and-random-snaps]

[rmayuscula]

frontal cortex development hits like a truck. no longer want to play dumb for older guys. want to move in with a woman and go to mass every sunday instead.

[theclassyhuman]

Kitchen Great Room in Boston

[ucitavanje]

Game Room - Family Room

[peachesofteal]

18+ noncon, Simon drugs you/her, somnophilia

Girl who takes herself to her favorite coffee shop on the corner to post up with her laptop and a latte.

They serve them in those big ceramic mugs she likes. The white ones that seem so wide you could take a bath in them. Filled to the brim with an unbroken layer of foam on top, she always appreciates when the barista takes the extra time to draw her a quick little design. Makes her feel seen, special, almost.

She always sits a corner, headphones in, typing away on whatever it is she’s working that week, barely away of the comings and goings around her.

She doesn’t notice anyone, and no one notices her.

It’s perfect, really.

Until one morning when she attracts the wrong kind of attention.

It starts with the cup being just a tad too full, balancing on its saucer, ceramic trembling in her fingers. The shop is busy, and someone at the long table in the middle fails to look over his shoulder, sliding backwards in his chair to stand. Hot espresso and milk splashes down her chest, her shirt, and she gasps, sizzling pain shocking the breath from her body.

“Oh shit,” the man starts, turning to face her, hands out and frantic. It’s quiet now, eyes in the room fixed on her, watching, waiting, expecting a civilized reaction. They want her to say ‘oh that’s alright, it was an accident’ or ‘no harm no foul, it happens’ something like that, effectively releasing the burden of shame hanging over the perpetrator.

But, alas. She’s not the one.

“Oh shit?” She rolls her eyes. “You just made me spill my fucking coffee all over myself, and your response is oh shit?” If it was quiet in the coffee shop before, it’s pin drop worthy now.

She expects the man to back down. To cower, start stuttering a profuse apology. That, or the other option, the one where they get defensive, enraged, emotions running wild at the idea of being challenged.

The man does neither of these things. He crosses his arms and cocks his head, sizing her up like he forgot to eat dinner last night and she’s his next meal. The hair on the back of her neck stands up. “Are you going to let me finish, little spitfire?” Jesus Christ. She shoots him the nastiest glare she can conjure, then turns on her heels.

Fuck that guy.

Simon likes himself a little spitfire. A little piece of c4 in his hand, his finger on the trigger. Likes a girl with fight in her, one that scratches, that yells.

His cock aches thinking about how she’d howl under him, face screwed up with rage, salty, sweaty slick pooling between her legs. He’d jam his thigh right in that spot, and order her to rub her pussy against the grain of his jeans until she was cumming on them. He wants to hear her gag on his finger as he scratches her tonsils with it, pressing down on her tongue, forcing her teeth wide, testing.

So, of course, he does the thing he knows he’s not supposed to do. He’s got some time, some leave, plenty of time to hunt his prey and set a snare, a rope around her ankle, stringing her up like a pretty precious offering.

She’s got a nice home. It’s small, one story, windows open with the breeze. The curtains wave with the wind, exposing slivers of her living room, kitchen, bedroom. She putters around the house for a while before the lights go dark, noise of the street enough to drown out the sound of his knife surgically cutting an opening in a screen.

Once the window is open, it’s over. There’s no match, no matter how explosive she is, there’s no him vs her. It’s just him, with her underneath, throat clogged by his cock.

Probably not tonight. Tonight, he’s going to peel her free from the top sheet and jab a needle into her ass to push diprivan, enough to keep her loose and sweet, trapped in sleep long after he leaves. She’ll be more than groggy when she wakes again, chalking it all up to some sort of dream.

She takes it so easy too. Doesn’t fuss. Barely stirs when he rubs a hand over the fat of her hips, squeezes the flesh for his needle. She gasps in her sleep, brow furrowed, listlessly drifting away.

The first thing he does is roll her to her back. She sleeps naked, a pleasant surprise, muscles soft as he pushes her knees to her chest, exposing her cunt to his hungry eyes. He’s only supposed to look, to inspect, but he can’t help pulling a glob of spit from his cheeks to the tip of his tongue, letting it drip down in a long drop, oozing onto her clit.

“Pretty pet.” He murmurs, gloved finger stroking through her folds, fingertip barely pushing against her hole, sliding down to feel the tight furl between her cheeks. “Perfect little holes f’me, eh? Tight little things you’ve got.” Maybe she’s never been fucked before. Too much acid in her blood to bend or break for anyone. He buzzes with the idea that no one has ever had a cock, or anything, inside her, and spits again, this time a bigger wad, bubbles and all, thick and viscous. “Let’s check little spitfire.” He presses inside her, working his finger in easy strokes, feeling her walls, the heated clutch of her cunt. There’s resistance there, a flimsy, thin barrier separating him and the rest of her, his chuckle dangerous in the dark. It’s tempting to take it right now, but he’d rather watch her face when it happens so he can see the moment she realizes, when he ruins her, when he rips through her purity and makes her his own.

He unzips his pants, fisting his cock, precum already beaded at the tip and dripping, coating his palm as he pumps. She moans, like she knows somehow. It’s a high pitched, breathy thing, one that rattles his bones. He answers with a thumb on her clit, pressing, circling, still stroking himself, indulging in her shudders, the jerking of her legs as she she climbs to her climax.

He wants it at the same time. Wants to paint her pussy with his cum when she explode into hers, wants to do it together. As he gets close, he works both himself and her furiously, waiting for that moment when her muscles will go rigid and her pussy will flutter.

When it hits, he follows, white spend shooting up over her belly to her breasts, almost too much to be believed. It’s a mess, really, and he doesn’t want to leave her like this. Too obvious.

He takes his time licking her clean, filling his mouth with his own cum, holding it against his teeth, under and over his tongue. He breathes through his nose until he’s satisfied he got it all, and then sticks a thumb between her teeth, prying her jaw wide-

so he can spit it, drool it, into her unsuspecting mouth, letting it drip to the back of her throat, white sticky load of spit and cum coating her tonsils, her teeth, her tongue.

See you tomorrow.

[missmeinyourbones]

CLEAN ME UP 

c/w: established relationship, hurt/comfort, light mentions of blood and injury, atsumu lowkey gets his ass beat </3 but he is so sweet

Atsumu sits crisscrossed on the floor of your bathroom with a tender black eye and a busted lip—and though this should be a rare thing, you need all five fingers to count the number of times you’ve seen this film before.

The first two were ages ago, high school days when he and Osamu couldn’t stop themselves from throwing a punch or two over nothing at all. Their egos too big and brains too small, twice you'd gotten roped into their post-brawl aftercare. Another time it was a fight off the court, when a rival captain made a snide remark about his foul accent. The fourth, a drunken, immature mistake.

Tonight’s wounds are different. Because when Atsumu nonchalantly shows up black and blue at your door, he doesn’t tell you what happened. There’s no story attached to the bruises he bares, no lengthy explanations or excuses. And Atsumu is a lot of things, but speechless is never one of them. 

He looks childish, you think, the way his broad body folds itself into a tiny pretzel and hardly takes up a corner of your tiled floor. He’s oddly quiet, too. Sure, you heard his witty comments down the hallway about how you should see the other guy, but something’s still off. His eyes aren't lit with their usual flame of youth, pride. 

Only a few words are exchanged through the process of cleaning him up. Between wet washcloths and tiny sniffles, Atsumu fumes, You haven't asked enough questions yet, and it’s beginning to freak him out. He doesn't know whether or not he should be grateful or unsettled with your silence.

A frozen bag of vegetables presses against his left eyelid when you finally ask, "What the hell did you do this time?"

Atsumu smiles at the mere sound of your voice, an instant warmth against the burning ice on his body. "Why's it always my fault?"

You remove the bag from his brow to shoot him a look, that look. He knows better than to argue with that look. Arguing with that look gets him nothing but trouble and an achy back from a night on the couch. So, he diverts. 

"Nothing,” he sulks. “He started it, and—"

"—And you finished it, right?" 

Your words are meant to be sarcastic, at his dispense of how stupid he behaved, but Atsumu doesn't take them as such. Instead, at your interruption, he shoots you an earnest smile filled with satisfaction and dried blood stretched across his chapped lips.  

"See? So smart, baby." 

His hand rises to pet your chin but you lean back quick enough to dodge his caress. His eyes fall to the bag of vegetables that now sits by your lap. 

“Atsumu,” you try again, foreboding. 

He rolls his head back in a huff against the bench of the bathtub, and the ceramic feels warm against his neck compared to the still stinging chill on his eye. 

“What was I supposed to do? They were bein’ assholes.”

His whole team had gone out drinking tonight for a celebratory round or five, followed by a few days off. And as charming as Atsumu is, he does have his foes. People in the volleyball world he’s not the biggest fan of, for reasons he doesn’t seem to discuss with you. He likes to leave it at his good intuition, something you know he lacks.  

With the context clues provided, you can think of two or three people he’s implying. 

His reasoning is flawed, to say the least, but the way he says it has your heart breaking in the slightest. He avoids eye contact, as if he's embarrassed, dancing around the subject and wishing the ground to swallow him whole. 

His shyness has you trying a softer approach. 

“Everyone is an asshole,” you whisper, lightly returning pressure to his eye with the makeshift ice, “if punching assholes was reasonable, I’d do it all the time.”

Atsumu smiles a bit at that, but you catch how he winces slightly at the movement. 

“Yer so funny, baby,” he tries to trail off. “Funniest person I—”

“Miya,” comes his second warning, and by the look in your eye, he’s not brave enough to try for a third.

“Fine,” he grumbles, “but when yer a Miya, I’m playing that card on you, too. Y’know that, right?” 

You nod, and whether it's to his proposal or to encourage his words, you don't know. But it works, because Atsumu takes a deep breath and stares at the ceiling again. 

“This time was different, okay?”

His tone is eerily soft. One only you get the privilege of hearing, and not because it's out of love, but because it's out of hate. Something’s shaken him so bad, he’s almost been rendered speechless. 

“How was it different?”

“They were talking about you,” he shakily exhales. “Sayin’ stupid shit that isn’t true.”

Your heart softens as you do your best to keep a strong facade, but maybe Atsumu does have good intuition, as his hand squeezes yours through the quick moment of silence. 

“If it’s not true, then it shouldn't have mattered, right?” you try.

“No,” he’s quick to work himself up again, eyes finding yours. “Like hell was I gonna let ‘em keep talking about you like that, ‘specially when I’m right fuckin’ there.” 

Your fingers lightly skim his jaw, nowhere sensitive but he jumps all the same. You apply pressure to tilt his head, forcing him to find your gaze. He does.

“Do you want to tell me what they said?”

Atsumu gaze softens, and after a moment of thinking, he shakes his head. 

“No,” he decides, “I don’t.” 

His eyes fall to your lips and back up to your eyes. “Do you want to know?”

You smile at his sincerity. Atsumu, who you know to be just as sweet as he is boisterous, would tell you if you asked. He’d do anything you ask. But, you decide against it. 

“No. No, I don’t.” 

Atsumu exhales a breath he didn't realize he was holding as he lets his head nuzzle against your palm. Contrary to the ice, it's warm and soft on his skin. He thinks it could heal wounds faster than any bag of broccoli ever could. 

“I trust you,” he hears you coo into his hairline, kisses now dancing along his forehead and jaw, “even if you do have the emotional intelligence of a middle school boy, sometimes.”

Astumu hmphs at your words, simultaneously agreeing and brushing you off. He doesn't care enough to bicker, right now. He doesn’t need to tell you about how the man from the bar was talking about you. About how easy you’d be to persuade into bed. About how you're just with Atsumu for his flashy perks and award winning smile. 

He doesn't need to because he knows they're wrong. Because they don't see these moments, when Atsumu sits on the ledge of your empty bathtub. With popped blood vessels and tender welts, those men don't melt beneath your careful fingertips or soothing pecks. 

He doesn't have to say anything, because you trust him. You trust Atsumu, and it's the one thing in this world he knows to be true. 

He lifts his head up from your hold to find your lips. 

“I jus’ love you,” he insists, lightly pressing himself to you with such caution, “so much.” 

And if there’s one thing in this world you know to be true, it's that Miya Atsumu loves you.   

[sacrificialspice]

POV: You are Sukuna’s catgirl!

~Part 2~ Headcanons + Mini Fic

18+, Sukuna x fem Reader

Thank you to all the people enjoying these posts, it isn’t something I’ve done before so it’s great to see. If I ever miss a content warning, please inform me.

Contains: Pet names, Master and pet dynamic, hybrid reader, some fluff, mention of killing, restricted freedom, nudism mention, mild degradation, pussy inspection, male masturbation, cum eating.

Your daily life with Sukuna quickly became a routine. As a pet, you don’t have many responsibilities but to be a companion for your Master. Your job is to provide him with love, basically. Sukuna isn’t an affectionate being, but he thrives off your love and worship. Deep down, you are the reason why he isn’t driven crazy by his almost-immortal life. Uraume has noticed the change in his demeanour since you arrived, and thus they appreciate your presence.

Whenever Sukuna sits on his throne, you are his lap-cat. His lap is very large and comfortable, also warm. His kimono smells so good, and you always drift off to sleep while he strokes your back. Sukuna kills anyone who questions why you are always with him; you get used to this (you have to). If you feel uncomfortable being nude while he addresses other curses or lowly humans, he lets you crawl into his kimono. So, he does have a soft spot and only wants to humiliate you for his amusement alone.

He is the king of pussy inspection! (“Spread those legs for Master, little sex kitten. Good girl… I can see the way your little hole clenches. Do you need cock, kitten? You know the magic words. Master will give you what you need.”)

If you whine to Sukuna that you are hungry, watch out. This is an invitation to him to do some nasty ass shit to you. Literally kinky nasty stuff that an innocent catgirl shouldn’t be doing… (apparently you don’t apply to this). After whining too much and testing Sukuna’s patience, he then grabs you off his lap and places you on the cold floor. (“Down. Get in position.”). You hastily position yourself in the way which he says you look best in; on all fours, arms folded in front of you, your legs strained slightly to lift up your ass. (“Stay like that. Now watch.”). He takes out a small ceramic dish, places it down by your face. He takes his kimono to one side, his hung manhood springing out. He strokes himself to get hard, admiring you being face down ass up. As he concentrates, you realize what is coming. Literally. He leans down, grunting while thick ropes land on the dish, painting it a pearly white. The musky smell of your Master hits your nostrils, making you salivate in anticipation. (“There’s your milk. Lick it up. No fingers.”). You finish by lapping up Master’s milk with a grateful smile.

(I have an idea for another mini fic, so I will find the time to write that soon.)

[nerdypixel]

Items mentioned

Prefacing this with the caviat that I will write some associations in brackets behind the items, as I just can't unsee it.

large false plant in a somewhat disconcerting ceramic pot modelled on a shouting human face (reminds me of the Spiral)

a large Bearskin rug with really sharp teeth (the Hunt maybe?)

a large chandelier of dark glass (the Dark?)

an oversized gramophone with a collection of records of what I believe to be religious plainsong (reminds me of Father Burroughs)

A crudely-carved rocking horse

a grandfather clock that leaked some sort of dark oil

A heavily vandalized set of the Encyclopedia Britannica

an extensive collection of abstract canvas artworks (Daria? Ink5oul or the Spiral)

two large, soiled Crinoline dresses (this could be the Stranger)

a Chaise Longue with cushions filled with some sort of coarse sand

a taxidermied vulture (we have seen taxidermi before)

a rusty antique printing press

a collection of old medical equipment that had seemingly been recently used (the Slaughter?)

some sort of leather kite

an oddly curved brass telescope

a wheelbarrow full of shifting fossils

an armload of swords (Slaughter?)

lengths of rope

A tin bathtub filled with moldy food (the Corruption)

a stack of old dental retainers

a brace of half-butchered pheasants (Flesh like)

jars of what appeared to be pickled hands (Flesh like)

This all feels like a mix between so many different things. We have a list for orientation now.

[pastelcheckereddreams]

Sooo, I bought the Lotus Tower model kit and, of course, I went overboard making it as accurate as possible to the show. To no one's surprise, I'm guessing? 😅

For reference, this is what the completed model (sans horses) looks like without most* of my alterations:

*The awning material and decoration is my only alteration at this point, as I didn't like the fabric they included with the kit.

I had so much fun with this model! It is well-made, has moving parts, and is actually fairly easy to put together, with most parts just clicking into place. It even has furniture details inside!

Let me know what you think! Have you got the kit? How are you finding the building process to be? If you want to hear a more detailed review of it and see my progress shots and details of my own creative additions, click below:

First, unboxing!

This is how the box arrives. I ordered it from CPOP Universe and it arrived well-packaged and undamaged within a matter of weeks.

Along with the kit itself - which as you can see consists of a stack of laser-cut sheets coded from A-Q, and numbers detailing the specific parts - you receive a coaster (ceramic, backed with cork, and very pretty), little standees of difanghua, a letter styled after the ones difang recieve from Li Lianhua, and a replica of the booklet of yangzhouman techniques.

The process:

The first floor came together pretty quickly:

Glue is provided, but isn't necessary for a lot of the pieces, as I found the measurements for a lot of the joints to be pretty snug and able to hold together themselves. Glue is necessary for some parts, though, particularly for areas such as the step up to the rear sleeping area. Strong glue. Here is what the fist floor looks like:

Fitting on the ceiling turned out to be the hardest part of most of the build. All of the holes on the second floor had to line up with every joint on top of the walls and doors.

The next big step I encountered was a curiosity. How to make the rear wall work? There was a curious piece clearly meant to anchor the rope, and a round hole that - much like the doors - meant that this piece was supposed to rotate - and even lock. But I received no instructions on how to achieve that. I found this puzzle (which I like to think was an intentional challenge, given the gadget-orientated FDB) to be a fun challenge. So I won't show you the inner workings and spoil it, but I'll show you the working product:

Next was the rather fiddly job of creating the sail awning. I imagine this will be quite difficult for some as there's no clear indication of how to fix the material in place.

My instinct was to sew it as that is also a craft I have practice in, though granted not everyone who buys this kit will be as comfortable with a sewing needle. The two swatches of fabric provided is also quite prone to fraying, and is quite thick and canvas-like. So, knowing that the awning is a big feature of Lotus Tower, I decided I could do better:

On the left is the provided fabric, and on the right is my own material (an old blouse that I never wore, with patches dyed with my promarker pens).

After that, things should've been an easy home run, as all I had to do was affix the wheels to their axis points and put the horses together. However, quite unfortunately, one of the wheels hadn't been cut out in my kit. I had to cut it out myself with a coping saw, a Stanley knife and much patience😅

It came out looking rough, but nothing a little sanding and a touch up with my promarkers couldn't fix. I also eventually glued the wheel caps to the axis to prevent the wheels popping off every time I touched it, and they all still spin fine (minus the one I had to cut myself, that one's a little sticky😅). Then came the horses, and I was done!

Or so I thought. "Don't you think it looks a little too brown?" said my detail-obsessed brain. "We could do... more...."

And so I did.

My additions:

I used scraps coloured by my blue marker to create the beams of the house, and later coloured the fence posts red.

I made a second sail to hand under the stairs.

I created a second planter box (again, from the scraps and coloured with promarkers - two sets of flowers were included in the kit, so I could put one in each planter.)

And I even created a rain chain using old earring backs, jewellery findings and a chain, spray painted matte black and then painted blue-grey.

To colour the roofs, I likewise painted them a light blue-grey (/brown for Hulijing's kennel), then used a darker blue promarker to roughly add in texture.

I painted the weather vane, and used scraps to add in its missing two cardinal points.

And then finally, I made a winch for the rear wall! It's also easy to turn with the roof on, so I'm very pleased even though it's a little rough looking 😅

Had to gif my video clip because tumblr said boo no to more than one :(

And that's it, that's my latest build! I found this kit very fun, loved the process and seeing Lotus Tower come to life. I also loved adding in all the details to make it just that bit more accurate to the show. My only true criticisms are 1) small design oversights with the base wood colour being a tad too dark imo; the missing arms on the weather vane; and no second flowerbed (although I may be being a tad too pedantic about it 😅). 2) The fact that one of the wheels in my kit didn't get cut out properly (a quality check issue).

Obviously, I made the choice to use a different material than the fabric included so I can't speak to how satisfactory it is. However, if I were ever in the position to give IQiYi direct feedback, I'd suggest they include thinner fabric, and paint (or paint suggestions, as I know model paints aren't usually allowed through customs in these kinds of kits) for the roofs, because (by way of how they're constructed) they're just raw edges of the reinforced card parts - completely uncoloured, despite being a very visual element of the piece.

Thank you for reading this far lol Keep an eye out for more art and craft posts! (I have a Siji Manor set update coming shortly 👀)

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Blue and Fire Engine Red, Pt 6 (smexy times ahead)

To Kara’s surprise, steak dinner happens at Lena’s apartment. From how little Lena has shared so far, she’d expected to wait weeks or months to see where Lena lives. It’s not until she arrives that Kara realizes exactly why Lena is so willing to let Kara into her inner sanctum. 

It’s completely void of personality.

Well, Kara allows, it could be that a lack of personality could be a personality in itself. And there are photos, but they all feature Lena and her crew. All smiling– all recent. Nothing to suggest Lena had a life before National City. She spies a punching bag in one corner, but the rest of the furniture is worn and basic, suggesting the place had come pre-furnished by a landlord who didn’t particularly care about aesthetics. It’s spartan and plain– forthright in a way that actually fits Lena. Still…

Kara wishes the space could have given her a better look at Lena’s inner life. 

The kitchen, at least, is functional enough. Enough that Lena is able to season and sear her steaks to perfection, with some fresh asparagus sauteeing on a side burner. And she does it all with a smile, chatting with Kara as well as she had on the way home. A capable multitasker, Kara notes, though it’s less than surprising. 

Lena seems incapable of being incapable at anything. 

The meal is served up on non-descript plates– at least they’re ceramic and not paper, and Lena does lower the overhead lights to set the mood. Kara moans when the first bite of steak hits her tongue. Moist and savory and perfectly seasoned, it puts anything she herself could have made to shame. The asparagus is also perfectly softened without being mushy, retaining enough of its texture to allow for a bit of a crunch at the center. 

“Are you sure the Army didn’t put you on the chow line? This is delicious!” Kara groans. 

Lena smirks, taking a sip of her wine. “You think ‘chow’ tastes like this?” An arch eyebrow dispels that notion. “Nah. Not so much.”

“Well, wherever it comes from, color me amazed and impressed.”

Kara takes another large–too large– bite, and has to spend several quiet moments chewing her way through it. When she swallows– still too large– she tilts her head. 

“Is there anything you’re not good at?”

Lena’s eyes warm with mirth, but takes a moment to consider.

“Jumping rope.” Lena shrugs. “I hate it. Can’t stand it.”

“But you can do it?”

Lena waves away the answer. 

“Then it doesn’t count!” 

Lena laughs. “Alright, alright… um. Okay. I can’t draw to save my life.”

It’s a surprisingly candid answer. “Really?”

Lena nods. “Any required art classes were passed on charm alone.”

Kara grins. Lena eyes her suspiciously. 

“What?” 

For a moment, they play a game of silent chicken as Kara waits for Lena to say the words, and Lean waits for Kara to confess what she already suspects. Finally, Lena caves.

“You’re an artist, aren’t you.”

Kara laughs, tickled by the suspicion at odds with the twinkle in Lena’s eye. “Maybe…” she draws out, unable to help the taunt. She relents when Lena’s eyebrow climbs dangerously close to her hairline. “Okay, fine. Yeah. I am. Kind of. At least, I was.”

“You were?” 

“Not much opportunity to flex my brush skills on a cop’s schedule,” she deflects, unwilling to dull the mood with the somber reality. If Lena suspects the deeper reason, she gives no indication. 

Instead, she tilts her head. “Well, I’d like to see some of your work, sometime.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Lena confirms. “If you’re willing to share, of course. No pressure.” She takes another sip of her wine. “I just know that anything you do would be amazing.”

Lena’s voice is low and throaty, and Kara senses the shift to a mood far more intimate than playful banter. “In that case, you would be right,” Kara confirms, leaning forward across the table. “Play your cards right, and I’ll prove it to you. Again.”

“Uh uh,” Lena returns, leaning to meet Kara midway across the table. She pecks a tantalizing kiss to Kara’s lips. “Tonight is my turn to go first.”

“Oooh,” Kara purrs. “I don’t mind the sound of that.”

She plays a light drumroll on Lena’s ass as she clears the dishes, which only receive a quick rinse before being forgotten in the sink. Lena’s attention turns to Kara, who feels the weight of her focus like a planar shift. The rest of the world ceases to exist, narrowing to the two of them alone.

They haven’t even reached the threshold of Lena’s bedroom before warm lips caress the skin of her neck. Her flesh prickles with goosebumps, a frisson of desire coursing through her. She wants this, and the flutter of nerves in her belly only heightens her anticipation. She’s never wanted anything– or anyone– as much as she wants this, wants Lena. She doesn’t know what Lena has in store for her, and doesn’t quite know how her body will react to her ministrations. If her current arousal is anything to go by, Kara suspects she might not survive what’s to come. And she’s perfectly fine with that.

Lena guides her with gentle hands to sit on the edge of the bed. For a moment, Kara thinks she’ll sit on her lap, like the last time on her couch. But instead, Lena lays her back, leaning over her with a muscled arm holding her up.

“Tell me what you want,” Lena murmurs between slow languid kisses. Kara whimpers into her mouth, making Lena’s lips curl in a smile against hers. “That’s not an answer, love.”

For a moment, Kara struggles to think, but Lena doesn’t relent in her ministrations. It takes long minutes of nearly losing herself in the sensations before she manages to conjure her wish.

“Let’s go slow.” she murmurs.

Lena pauses immediately, but Kara keeps her from pulling away by cupping her cheek. Lena gazes into her eyes, studying her to understand the meaning behind her words. Then, slowly, a low fire sparks deep in her gaze.

“How slow, exactly,” she asks, low and silky.

Kara lifts her chin to kiss her. “As slow as possible.”

Nodding her understanding, Lena runs a velvet touch up under Kara’s shirt; slow enough to count each and every rib. “And where would you like to start?”

Breath hitching when Lena hits a sensitive spot just under Kara’s breast, Kara tries to blink her way to at least partial coherency. 

“Do you have a vibrator?” she gasps.

Lena nods, nuzzling Kara’s ear. “Excellent idea, darling.”

Finally, Kara releases herself to the experience. Lena takes her time with her, going deliciously slow as she raises Kara’s shirt by inches, kissing every exposed bit skin on her way. Not just kissing. Licking, nibbling, suckling. She lingers on Kara’s breasts, brushing her thumbs over pebbled nipples as she diverts back to Kara’s lips. 

Slowly but surely, Kara’s skin heats with pleasure. But when her breath starts to quicken, Lena draws herself away. Without Lena’s body heat against her, chill air washes over her, making her groan. She squeezes her eyes shut in frustration.

“Now, now,” Lena tsks. “I want you to watch.”

Kara’s eyes fly open, and she props herself up on her elbows to watch as Lena unbuttons the fly of her jeans. Her fingers dip beneath her waistband, and Kara’s breath goes ragged in her chest. But just as smoothly as they slide under, they slip back out, and Lena shimmies out of her pants. 

She kicks them aside as soon as she steps out of them, and Kara is left to ogle smooth, tones legs. Lena may not match Kara for height, but her legs are long and packed with muscle. Kara’s mouth goes dry.

“Jesus fucking christ,” Kara mutters. 

Lena saunters closer, a satisfied smirk on her face. “Well, hopefully he won’t be the one fucking tonight.” 

She tilts Kara’s chin up. Kara lets her mouth gape, just enough for Lena to see the invitation and take it. Her tongue slides over Kara’s, then curls languorously up and along the roof of Kara’s mouth. She sucks against Kara’s upper lip as she withdraws, and Kara lists after her when she sits back on Kara’s knees. 

“Do you want to see more?” Lena croons.

Kara swallows thickly. “All of it,” she croaks. “I want to see all of you.”

Lena smiles, pleased with her response. She grips the hem of her shirt with her fingertips, and slowly begins to pull it up, up, up over her abdomen, her breasts, and finally her head. Dark hair flows through the neck opening, swishing around Lena’s bare shoulders. When Lena’s fingers move to her bra, all higher function vacates Kara’s brain. The little strip tease that follows sends bolts of arousal down through Kara’s core, pooling between her legs. Soon, only Lena’s underwear remains.

When Lena twists to deposit her bra on the pile with the rest of her abandoned clothing, Kara catches sight of a dark smudge on Lena’s ribs, but it flashes out of sight and out of mind when Lena turns her attention back to her. 

Thankfully, Lena makes quicker work of Kara’s own pants. Soon Kara is completely and enthusiastically nude, and Kara notes that Lena makes no mention of how wet she is. Kara’s glad for it– she suspects it will be her default state whenever Lena’s eyes take on this sort of glint. 

She jumps when the first rumble of the vibrator tickles the inside of her thigh. She inhales through her teeth, and is answered by a palm pressing flatly against her labia and clit. 

“Easy,” Lena coaxes. Her lips still smirk though. “Don’t want you getting worked up too soon, do we?”

The even pressure on her groin eases some of the edge that had been building within her, and she manages to take a breath that relieves any more. Even so, she knows that once Lena gets to work with the vibrator, she would be hard pressed to draw this out as long as she hoped she could.

Lena isn’t one to disappoint. She plays Kara like a fiddle, taking her tantalizingly close to edge after edge, before drawing her back down again and again. Her technique is expert– the vibrator seems to trace patterns everywhere but her clit. Her labia, her bikini line, even the bottom edge of her belly. Sometimes, when Kara lingers too long on one edge, a warm tongue soothes her clit, dulling the hungry ache.

“Hanging in there?” Lena checks in once Kara stops squirming. 

“Barely,” Kara gasps, panting. 

“You are so hot,” Lena purrs. “You’re doing so good.”

That alone almost almost pitches Kara over the precipice. She curls her fingers into the sheets, gritting her teeth. “Soon,” she warns.

“Just say the word, baby. I’ll get you there.”

Lena starts again, taking her time tracing more patterns around her ultimate destination. Slowly, inevitably, the pressure building to unprecedented heights. Kara’s never been attended to like this, never been read so plainly, so intuitively. It’s as though Lena has already memorized her body, chasing every sensitive part of her with expert precision until even the ebb aches as deliciously as the flow. 

When Lena brings the vibrator closer to her clit than she has so far, Kara cracks. 

“Now!” she gasps.

The vibrator has hardly touched her clit when Kara hurtles over. She can’t help the cry that escapes her, loud and long and desperate. She’s never made a sound like this before. She doesn’t realize Lena hasn’t moved the vibrator before she’s tipping into a second orgasm, then a third. The last lingers for long, long seconds and only then do the vibrations cease.

The whine that Kara issues is inhuman to her own ears, but Lena only chuckles as she climbs up to check on her.

“Still conscious?” 

Kara grunts plaintively, as her fingers slowly release the sheets. 

“That was– whoah!”

Lena’s exclamation is swallowed by Kara’s mouth on hers, lunging for a kiss before full conscious thought has even returned. Lena melts into it, letting the kiss deepen and last until Kara is the one to break it. 

“Amazing,” she finishes Lena’s sentence for her. “That was amazing. You’re amazing.”

Lena’s cheeks flush under the praise. “And you,” she returns, “are a glutton for punishment. You lasted longer than I thought you would. Much longer.” She licks Kara’s upper lip so sensually, it almost makes Kara ask for another round. Almost. “Good girl.”

Kara sighs. “I don’t know if I can return the favor,” she confesses. It kills her to say it, but she barely feel her toes. Lena laughs. “I’m sorry…”

“Please,” Lena dismisses, still laughing. “That’s possibly the greatest compliment I’ve ever gotten.”

Kara blinks. “Ever?”

“Ever,” Lena confirms. She smiles, her eyes warm and full of comfort as she gazes down at Kara. “How about an early night then?”

A sigh escapes Kara. “That sounds…”

“Amazing?” Lena teases.

“Yeah,” Kara confirms contentedly. “Amazing.”

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if i moved out over my partner's creepy doll

recently, my partner (24F) has picked up the hobby of collecting haunted objects. she goes to thrift stores to pick up "creepy" or "weird" knickknacks and scours ebay for haunted dolls and other related items. now, I (22M) don't mind this at all. I do sometimes feel like I'm living in an old lady's house with the number of little ceramic figures on the shelves but it's her money and she can use it as she likes! the issue comes with one particular item in her collection. I have been living my entire life with intense coulrophobia. that summer of scary clowns a few years ago was genuinely frightening to me and i had difficulty leaving the house because i was genuinely and sincerely afraid i might have a full blown panic attack meltdown because some creep in a clown outfit might approach me with a knife. my partner knew about my phobia prior to picking up her new hobby. you can probably guess where I'm going with this. recently, my partner purchased a supposedly haunted clown doll. i can not stand this thing. the tips of my ears tingle and i feel gross in my stomach when i have to be near it, which is basically all the time because she has insisted on putting it on our dresser in our bedroom. i have woken up in the night to pee and practically jumped out of my skin seeing that thing staring at me in the dark. i have asked her repeatedly if she could at least move it to a different room if she won't get rid of it and she just tells me that she doesn't have a better item to put in that spot, and that she likes having the doll there, and that I'm being annoying and dramatic. I'm at the end of my rope, i feel a stone in the pit of my stomach at the thought of having to go into the bedroom and have been losing sleep over this stupid clown watching me, but she won't move it somewhere where it isn't watching me when I'm most vulnerable. after talking with my parents about this, my mom invited me to move back in with them until i can find a place of my own that i can keep clown free. WIBTA if i took up this offer?

What are these acronyms?

[nobrashfestivity]

Robert Rauschenberg Gold Standard 1964 oil, paper, printed reproductions, clock, cardboard box, metal, fabric, wood, string, shoe and Coca-Cola bottles on gold folding Japanese screen with electric light, rope and ceramic dog on bicycle seat and wire-mesh base 85 x 142 x 51 1/4 inches (216 x 360.6 x 130.2 cm)

[statement-continues]

Here is our list of every artifact in the statement and what entity we believe they align with. We are more confident about some than othersss ... PLEASE share your opinions

ceramic pot modeled on a shouting human face- stranger

large bear skin rug with sharp teeth- stranger

large chandelier of dark glass- dark

oversized gramophone with a collection of records of religious plainsong- dark

crudely carved rocking horse- spiral

grandfather clock leaking dark oil- end

heavily vandalized set of the encyclopedia Britannica- weeeeeb?

extensive collection of abstract canvas artworks- spiral

two large soiled crinoline dresses- buried

chaise lounge with cushions filled with course sand- desolation?

taxidermy vulture- stranger

rusty antique printing press- eye

a collection of old medical equipment that seems recently used- slaughter

leather kite- flesh

oddly curved brass telescope- eye

wheelbarrow full of shifting fossils- buried

armload of swords- slaughter (woooow the slaughter being as subtle as a knife lol)

lengths of rope- vast??? (I'm so sorry, we tried our best)

tin bathtub full of moldly food- corruption

stack of old dental retainers- corruption

brace (a pair) of half butchered pheasants- hunt

jars of pickled hands- flesh

ancient diving suit filled with sawdust- buried

a broken picnic hamper- lonely

a jar of imperial copper coins- slaughter

[adorablediscoveries]

Kathrin Marchenko - Embroidery Artist

Kathrin Marchenko, from Lozivskyi, Ukraine, is an embroidery artist who uses ropes, threads, and laces to create incredible works of art. Marchenko creates three-dimensional embroideries on frames and walls depicting animals, portraits, and anatomical parts of the body such as eyes and hands.

The artist does not use preparatory drawings but relies on the inspiration and creativity of the moment. "Embroidery is a meditative process that helps me calm down and gather all my thoughts," stated Marchenko, who uses various materials in her works, including multiple types of threads, fabrics, needles, hoops, beads, ceramic pieces, and other objects inspired by the moment.

The artist also organizes online courses in meditative embroidery using modern embroidery stitches to develop creative skills. "The art of embroidery is not easy, but once you get used to improvising with threads and matching their color shades, you can create anything in just a few steps," the artist states on her official website. The purpose of meditative embroidery is to broaden horizons and see embroidery from a new perspective.

The courses are accessible to both experienced embroidery professionals and beginners who want to develop their creative skills by creating impressive works with low-cost materials.