#burrough house

[constitutionalweasleymonarchy]

Romione kiss - 1813 edition

From the most recent update to my Regency Muggle AU, The Pride of Burrough House: chapter 23. I love writing Romione kisses and wanted to share this one.

.

“You’re full of odd questions today,” he remarked curiously.

When she didn’t respond, he decided, “No, I take that back — ” He sent her a sly look. “You’re full of odd questions every day — Hey!”

He laughed as she swatted him with her book.

“Now listen here, miss — ” 

Hermione wasn’t expecting it, and the book slipped from her fingers easily when Ron grabbed it, rolling away from her and rising to his knees

“ — that’s no way to treat — ” He paused, appraising the cover. “Now this one I haven’t seen before.

“Pride and Prejudice,” he recited as though reading aloud in class. His eyes glinted wickedly. “Is it about you?”

“Oh!” She lunged, but he was too fast for her, jumping to his feet and tucking it behind his back.

“It’s about a girl who meets a very rude boy,” she informed him pointedly, rising herself and brushing off her skirts. “Now give it here.”

Ron evaded her once again by lifting it high above his own head, feigning indignation. “Well, ask me nicely!”

She huffed. 

“Mr Weasley,” she goaded, saccharine and affectedly courteous, “might I please have my book back?”

She punctuated her request by sticking out her tongue.

His laugh was the sort you couldn’t hear but could see, and he obliged her. When she grasped the small tome, though, her fingers closed over his and he didn’t let go, not right away.

Not for the first time she noticed that something about standing so close to him, face-to-face, set her nerves jangling — something inscrutable between them that made it hard to breathe, and not just because they were still breathless from their play.

Perhaps it was because they’d been so deliberately avoiding talking about it, instead talking in circles around it. Perhaps it was because they’d quietly refused to give it a name, that it grew impatient and decided to declare itself. 

Whatever the reason, Ron decided to see about something, and Hermione decided to let him. She knew what was going to happen almost the moment the idea formed in his mind, just by his little intake of breath. Even so, at the first (somewhat inartful) clasp of their lips against one another, Hermione inhaled sharply. The book tumbled, abandoned, to the ground.

Ron’s face was flushed when he pulled away, and shyer than she’d ever seen him. He struggled to find his voice, and Hermione realised she couldn’t bear to hear him say he was sorry. Because she wasn’t, not at all.

Hermione solved that problem by kissing him again. She saw his clear blue eyes go wide, saw his hands gesture awkwardly at his sides, afraid in that second to do anything with them. Finally, when her hands rested at his shoulders, his came up to softly frame her face.

Hermione had always thought she was too sensible for this sort of thing. That maybe someday there’d be someone, because that was a nice thought, in its way; but not yet, when she still had so much to learn and do.

The trouble was, from that moment on, every minute of every day, Hermione wanted very little else than to be kissing Ron Weasley.

[aranazo]

A recent edition of Naked Lunch by William S. Burroughs with a appropriately cut-up cover by Julian House of Intro.

[rubeau-art]

He’s wearing her pants because she’s wearing his pants.

I enjoy the dynamic these two have. They’re just so comfy with each other.

[thegraftedbranch]

something about the abject horror of death

T.S. Eliot, The Waste Land // Un Chien Andalou (1929) dir. Luis Buñuel // Paul Bowles, The Sheltering Sky (1949) // William S. Burroughs, Queer (1985) // Francisco Goya, Saturn Devouring His Son (c. 1819-1823) // Julia Kristeva, Powers of Horror: An Essay on Abjection (1980) // Pink Floyd - The Wall (1982) dir. Alan Parker // Nathaniel Hawthorne, “Young Goodman Brown” (1835) // Mark Z. Danielewski, House of Leaves (2000) // Elliott Smith, “Don’t Go Down” (2004)

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

THE LORD OF THE JUNGLE MEETS HIS MATCH FROM ANOTHER WORLD -- THE HUNT IS ON.

PIC INFO: Resolution at 1985x2985 -- Spotlight on a killer house ad for "Tarzan versus Predator: at The Earth's Core," written by Walter Simonson & illustrated by Lee Weeks. The limited series was published by Dark Horse Comics in 1995, while this ad ran in January of 1996.

OVERVIEW: "In the center of the earth lies Pellucidar, the last bastion of primeval forest in the world. To Tarzan, Lord of the Jungle, this is sacred ground. But to the Predators, it is hunting ground. Dark Horse Comics is proud to present Tarzan vs. Predator at the Earth's Core, by Walter Simonson and Lee Weeks. When Tarzan receives word that Pellucidar's greatest warriors and strongest beasts are being killed, and his friend David Innes, ruler of Pellucidar, has gone missing, there is no question that he must travel to the earth's core to investigate. The people of Pellucidar rest a little easier, knowing that their protector is coming. And in this land of eternal noonday sun, the Predators rest up for their greatest challenge yet!"

-- DARK HORSE COMICS, c. summer 1995

Source: www.reddit.com/r/predator/comments/9134ew.

[themagnustournament]

Round One Part Five - Match 39

Would you rather vote for autism arbitrarily sorting or for cannibalism in the Catholic church? That's a lie they're Anglican. That's another lie he's Catholic.

MAG 138 - The Architecture of Fear | Spotify - Acast - YT | Wiki | Transcript

Statement of Robert Smirke, taken from a letter to Jonah Magnus dated 13th February 1867.

MAG 019 - Confession | Spotify - Acast - YT | Wiki | Transcript

Statement of Father Edwin Burroughs, regarding his claimed demonic possession.

[onebluebookworm]

Ranking Books I Read in 2022: 40-36

40. The Way of the Househusband - Kousuke Oono

What I Liked: Tatsu is the cutest malewife to ever draw breath, his relationship with Miku makes me squee with delight What I Didn’t Like: Got pretty formulaic after the first few strips Final thoughts: Adorable ways to pass the time, but you can read the first volume and basically get the gist for the whole series.

39. White Lies: The Double Life of Walter F. White and America’s Darkest Secret - A.J. Bimes

What I Liked: This is always an interesting time period to read about. I’d literally never heard of Walter F. White before I read this book, and that’s a crime because his contributions to the early civil rights movement cannot be undersold. What I Didn’t Like: White himself was kind of a douche, which isn’t a fault of the book, but it didn’t make him very much fun to read about. This also isn’t the book’s fault, but reading this did once again reignite my fury over the fact there still isn’t a federal anti-lynching law on the books. Final thoughts: A fascinating book about a criminally understudied period of history and an underrepresented man. Worth a look if this is your sort of thing. TW for racist language and hate crimes.

38. A Wolf at the Table - Augusten Burroughs

What I Liked: Absolutely gorgeous language, a bittersweet ending that legitimately left me feeling sad and empty (a positive when reading a memoir about abuse) What I Didn’t Like: Not really the book’s fault, but most of the anecdotes about Burroughs’ father’s abuse followed a similar formula - something good happens, usually regarding a pet, then Burroughs’ father acts like a sociopath and ruins it, causing Burroughs to hate him a little more. Took the book a while to break this formula. Final thoughts: Perhaps a little too intense for me, but ultimately a raw, painful read that is worth it, especially for how short it is. TW for abuse and animal cruelty. Seriously, the amount of animals in this book that get the shaft is almost too much.

37. Banned Book Club - Kim Hyun Sook

What I Liked: An interesting look into a period I don’t think gets talked about very much. Evocative imagery with an excellent build up of tension and drama, without feeling melodramatic. What I Didn’t Like: A little too abrupt of an ending, although that’s another thing that you really can’t fault the book for, since it’s based on such a short period of Sook’s life. Final thoughts: Not the best memoir I read, but it was cool to get a look into a culture and history I wasn’t intimately familiar with. TW for torture.

36. Howl’s Moving Castle - Diana Wynne Jones

What I Liked: Hilarious characters. Sophie is my hero whether it’s the movie or the book. Howl is the funniest bastard ever. “You’ll exploit me” “And you’ll cut up my suits to show me” gets me every time. What I Didn’t Like: Things can get a little confusing with all the plots and schemes and callbacks and such. It takes a bit to get the plot off the ground. Final thoughts: A bit of a slog to set everything up, but once it does get going, it hits the ground and doesn’t stop, so it’s definitely worth it.

[somecunttookmyurl]

oh so that's why every mor american white dude namedrops burroughs and kerouac to show how quirky they are. because they don't read it.

overheard at the library "yeah i can't give you recommendations unfortunately what i like to read is really off the wall like i'll read a book by jack kerouac and then another by william burroughs"

my guy i do not know how to tell you this but you are a middle aged white american man with the most middle aged white american man reading list possible. that isn't "off" the wall. it's so on the wall it's actually part of the wall

[constitutionalweasleymonarchy]

The Pride of Burrough House

NEW CHAPTER

Chapter 25: In which we bust out of this joint

Rating: M

AO3

A Draco confrontation, and a Hinny carriage ride.

[simmyfrobby]

The Pugilist

Joe Nelson, Fan films unreal view of Vancouvers Kyle Burroughs hammering Wilds Brandon Duhaime | Ariel Glucklich, Sacred Pain: Hurting the Body for the Sake of the Soul | Canucks Army, Analyzing what the Canucks might like about Wild forward Brandon Duhaime | Mikki Tuohy, NHL Trade Rumours: Will the MN Wild Trade Brandon Duhaime? | René Girard, Violence and the Sacred | Kayla Hynnek, Brandon Duhaime Brings It Every Night For The Wild | Max Bultman and Dan Robson, The mental toll of hockey fighting goes beyond getting ‘punched in the face’ | Joel Auerbach via Getty Images | Anne Sexton | Kayla Hynnek | 1 Corinthians 4:9 | Bultman and Robson | Catherine of Siena, The Prayers of Catherine of Siena (trans. Noffke) | Tyson Cole, Analyzing what the Canucks might like about Wild forward Brandon Duhaime | Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio, The Martyrdom of Saint Matthew (c. 1599-1600) | Bultman and Robson | Joe Smith, ‘Vintage Flower’: Behind the scenes of Marc-Andre Fleury’s emotional night in Wild’s win | George Bataille, Guilty (trans. Bruce Boone) | Toni Calasanti, Feminist Gerontology and Old Men | Becoming Wild: Brandon Duhaime via YouTube | Cole | Eimear McBride, The Lesser Bohemians | Cole | Vitor Munhoz, NHLI via Getty Images | Elly McCausland, 'Mervayle what hit mente': Interpreting Pained Bodies in Malory's "Morte D’Arthur" | Capfriendly: Brandon Duhaime Injury Updates | Calasanti | McCausland| Kenneth Hodges, Wounded Masculinity: Injury and Gender in Sir Thomas Malory’s Le Morte DArthur | Becoming Wild: Brandon Duhaime | Dieric Bouts, Christ Crowned With Thorns | David Berding via Getty Images | Bataille | Brandon Duhaime vs Will Borgen Feb 24, 2024 | Michael Russo and Joe Smith, Brandon Duhaime traded by the Wild: Why they moved him, and what he adds to the Avalanche | The Winter House (2022) dir. Keith Boynton | Joe Smith, Wild’s special teams deliver, Fleury exits early on ‘Fight Night’: Key takeaways vs. Panthers | Vibeke Olson, Penetrating the Void: Picturing the wound in Christ’s side as a performative space | Joe Smith, What Brandon Duhaime’s deal means for Wild salary-cap situation and Filip Gustavsson talks | Girard | Ocean Vuong, Devotion | Caravaggio, Sacrifice of Isaac (1598) | Bultman and Robson | Bultman and Robson | Bultman and Robson | Amelia Arenas, Sex, Violence and Faith: The Art of Caravaggio | Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov | Girard | Michael Russo and Joe Smith, Wild GM Bill Guerin working phones ahead of trade deadline, no regrets over training-camp extensions | Concannon, “Not for an Olive Wreath, but Our Lives”: Gladiators, Athletes, and Early Christian Bodies | Matt Blewett - USA Sports | Michael Russo and Joe Smith, Wild trade tiers: Who is on the block? Who could be dangled? Who is untouchable? | Thornton Wilder, Our Town

[blueberryarchive]

The One Were Jungkook;

more slasher!jk

𝙩𝙝𝙚��𝙚𝙨; slasher, 80s, psychological horror

𝙩𝙬; heavy non-con, somnophilia, horror, violence, blood

(thank you to @hoseokshobagi for helping me with this big mess, I love u, shut up)

NY, 1985

The little ol' Brew House wasn't like the bar you went to with Jimin. It was so small that you could feel the sweat running down your back, the ghost of a hand or a glance behind you with every step. There was a sour smell of old, dried beer on the rustic green furniture and freshly disinfected vomit in the corner where Jungkook motioned for you to sit.

"Sit down, don't move."

You climbed onto the cracked brown leather stool, your bare thighs sticking to it like Velcro. A band was playing Iron Man on the other side and it was so uncoordinated that it matched the people sitting there: middle-aged men in blue-collar jobs, women in black leather skirts and foreign students with little money, underworld poets and their upper class girlfriends living the fantasy of muses sitting one their boyfriend's thighs while they discussed Bob Dylan and Williams Burroughs. A green and brown amalgam of sweaty skin drinking warm beer and watered down whiskey.

You couldn't help but compare both places.

Sweaty Joe's was a bar just two corners from the university, it was bathed in colored lights and posters as old as the owners of the place themselves. Red leather sofas were distributed in the corners and those, for years, have belonged to the Maroon Knights players.

This is where you met Jimin, it was your first week and you and Bobby Joe decided to have a beer, you two were new, smiled candidly at each gentleman who offered you another drink. You had never done that in the small town where you came from.

Jimin was celebrating his first winter tournament, his crimson cheekbones and his elegant smile conquered your heart, he let you sleep in his room in the trailer where he lived with his four brothers. His hands never took yours without first asking you, never looked away. You fell asleep so quickly in that bed while the little snores of the quaterback kept you stable, safe.

At dawn, you couldn't even see his face, you spent a week avoiding the hallways where he frequented until you did what your mother did to apologize to people: you baked some cookies. Unfortunately, he was on a diet but he still accepted them, his younger brother would eat them all with pleasure, you offered him a kiss and he let himself go.

That afternoon you lost your virginity behind his secong-hand orange Pontiac, white cotton panties crumpled and drooled between your teeth as Jimin held your calves. You cried so much that he forgot to moan, but your boyfriend wiped away each tear with his wet tongue and his thumbs until his cum fell thickly onto your skirt and his uniform.

The second time was different. What you don't know is that you cooking for him lit a spark, a simple breeze in a dry forest and you were the summer sun. You were going to be his wife, he promised you, with drooping eyelids and your pelvis on top of a pillow, his hands guiding your ass until they collided with his waist.

“I'm going to make you mine, I'm going to buy you a house and a huge ring. Fuck—you’re going to have to stop me at some point because I’m going to get you pregnant every time you smile at me, love. Doesn't Ms. Park have a ring to it?" He growled grabbing your hair to pull you closer to his sweaty chest.

“What is that pretty head of yours thinking about, huh?” Jungkook snapped his fingers at you, placing a long mug of beer in front of you. The second cigarette of the afternoon dangled between his fingers as he waited for you to take a drink, his eyes darting from your chest to your hair. “I saw you look at the ring on your finger.”

“My boyfriend gave it to me a month ago.” You said fixing the thin silver ring, a promise desperate to be fulfilled.

“How very” The boy laughed, choking on the smoke, you held the beer and took a long drink.

You realized that men when they exist in a cloud of promises and anonymity are more fuckable, because now seeing the metalhead in front of you, you just wanted to hit him.

“I don't understand why you keep yapping when you're not here to hear me speak.”

“I didn't want us to move on to fucking so quickly, but if you can't wait, then we'll make a little something in the alley.” Seeing your face blush he laughed again. “I'm kidding, doll. Don’t be so rigid.”

With a whistle, Jeon effortlessly caught the eye of a man nearby. His muscles were noticeably defined, and he sported a pair of square glasses that added a touch of charm. Dressed in a casual plaid shirt, his hair styled like a military man. Spotting Jeon, his face lit up with recognition, and he quickly closed the distance between you.

“Kim, I thought you weren't coming to the meeting.” Out of the corner of your eye you caught a glimpse of the man's slight tensing as his friend spoke, but without skipping a beat, his hand gently landed on his friend's shoulder.

"What do you mean?"

"You literally said-"

"No, I didn't. Gosh, give me a break."

Hoseok looked in your direction with a hint of distrust, the creases on his face sharpening with each step you took. You walked closer, his eyes traced your body from head to toe, his initial skepticism fading away the moment he reached your side. Your little shorts and Wham! t-shirt hugged your curves tightly, clinging to your tits like a sculpture of marble.

"What's this?" Hoseok pointed at you and moved his fingers up and down.

"Come, I want to introduce you to my friend. We met in…" Jungkook's smile widened as he tilted his hand. “Well, it doesn't matter. What does matter is that you have to make a place for her in the club, wouldn't you gladly have one of the sweetest pieces of meat of the whole faculty on the team, eh?”

Jungkook looked in your direction again, he knew that the way he spoke caused tremendous disgust in you and he enjoyed it. “This is Hoseok, the president of the archery club. Greet him before he hates you for some reason.”

"Shut up." Hoseok's voice cut through the air as he extended his arm to shake yours, his calloused hand brushing against your skin. His sharp eyes studied your hands intently, examining every detail. "You got weird fingers."

"Is that how you give compliments to pretty girls?"

Hoseok let out a sigh, nonchalantly plucking the cigarette from Jungkook's mouth. With a subtle gesture, he motioned for his friend to approach while bringing the cigarette to his own lips.

“If you want to fuck one of the cheerleaders, find another way, I'm not going to put her in the club, dude.” His failed attempt at whispering, which was clearly intentional, didn't escape your ears.

“Do you think I have to fuck one of you to be part of your Disney Heroe theatre team?”

Hoseok's eyebrow arched, while leaning back against the bar stool. With a confident yet subtle sway, he adjusted his posture, his pelvis shifting ever so slightly, but still managing to catch your eye. A mischievous grin formed on one side of his lips, knowing full well of the effect he had on you. “And why the hell are you looking for me if you don't need me, Barbie?"

"I'm here to let you know that I'll be waiting for you in the green area on Monday at 3, expecting you to hand me a bow and arrow," You declared, a sweet smile playing on your lips like a precious jewel shimmering beneath a cloak of innocence as you deftly snatched the cigarette from between his parted lips. "And I hope you show up with a smile that could outshine the sun and a more decent cologne."

Hoseok scoffed with raised eyebrows, clearly unimpressed by your little rebel talk as you took a drag from his stolen cigarette.

"You do realize you'll be the only woman in the group, right? The guys ain't going to like you, they tend to be very…"

"Terrified of women," Jeon chimed in, leaning against your shoulder.

"Exclusive," Hoseok added.

"They'll probably do a jerk-off circle if they see me in a skirt." You quipped, a sly smile playing on your lips.

The three of you looked at the cubicle where the a few memebers sat, all upper class kids who couldn't get into anything in their lives without Mommy opening the door for them first.

“Whatever, you're not even that hot, they'll live.”

You smiled, turning around on your stool to continue drinking your beer. “See you on Monday, four eyes.”

“Bye, Hobi-Bobby.” Jungkook rested his arm on the bar, his eyes positioned on your profile.

“Do you want to fuck now? I love women who know how to silence men, i'm already hard.”

"Why are you so fucking disgusting?"

"You're the one sitting next to me, you can go now." And he waited. You stayed there, speechless and waiting, too.

"Kim?"

"Who?"

“The dickhead called you Kim.”

“I don't know who that is, sweetheart.”

“Mm.” You nodded. You weren't too sure now. “Are you sure you're the one I talked to that night?”

"I promise you." Jungkook dragged his stool closer to your ear, the smell of nicotine and shaving cream was pleasant, manly. "Are those sugar tits as sweet as that voice of yours?"

“What time did I call you?” You ignored his nutty breath.

“Are you questioning me now?”

"Yeah."

His jaw tensed, biting the inside of his cheeks.

“I'm going to give you some advice, doll. If you want things to go well today, don't question me.”

You felt a rush cover your back, the beer felt colder on your fingers and you were more aware of his proximity. You were in his territory, you didn't know anyone there, you were screwed.

“Can you answer me just one thing and that's it?”

Jungkook moved closer and nodded, his pupils stabbing at your lips waiting for you to say something out of line so he would have an excuse to destroy you with.

“Why do people think you are weird?”

His sigh collided with your neck, a smile woven little by little; you could see stars in his eyes when he moved back. The raw desire to show you why.

He leaned close to your ear and whispered slowly, the urge to laugh drowned out by his words. Both his hands hiding his lips like a child. You swallowed as you finished listening, a long drink to finish the remaining beer.

He pulled out a new cigarette before your eyes met his again.

“So, in your room or mine?” He mumbled before lightning the tip.

“I'm- I think I'm going home.”

"Isn't your home in the middle of nowhere in Pennsylvania, you silly little bun'?"

The man in front of you pouted, nodding with a dejected face when he saw you stand up, the large mug of beer hitting your trembling anatomy. You wanted to vomit, to shed your own skin to pieces, to vanish, to crawl along the road back home like a mass of nerves and to sleep in your bed until you forgot what this psychopath had just hummed in your ear in the middle of the crowd.

But what did you expect? Wasn't this what you were looking for?

That's why curiosity ends up being the cruelest animal feeling. It takes you to the cheese on top of the trap, it makes you look at the sun and go blind, it makes you run through the grass until you fall at the bottom of nowhere. Voices like Jungkook's end up taking you to a seedy bar, at the mercy of God if he is even allowed in these parts.

“Come on, I'll take the bike down for you, then.”

You grabbed your backpack and walked in front of Jeon, stares like needles digging into your shorts.

Outside, his arms stretched out to take the bicycle, as light as a feather.

“I would've take you to college but-”

“I think this is where our journey ends, Jungkook.” Your voice was firm, elegant. You knew when to say goodbye.

He remained silent, one last smile as a gift. "If you say so." His hands opened dramatically to show you the road.

You raised your leg until you sat down and accelerated down the street, the sun hiding on the horizon. You didn't know if it was the wind hitting your cheeks and eyes, but you felt the cold stream go down to your neck. You wanted the road to get shorter in front of you and suddenly you were crying like a lost child, the sharp exhale stinging your lungs, you took all the alleys you recognized and the ones you didn't and you looked around at the desolate sides of New York.

Hiding from the sun your skin grew cold and the sobs turned to murmurs praying that you would return alive to the arms of Steph or Bobby Joe.

But oh, how angelic you looked with the halo of Jungkook's car headlights on your back. A honk chilled your blood until you couldn't do anything but grip the handlebars until your knuckles turned white.

“I changed my mind, I'll take you.” His breathing was jagged, he was sweating deeply, swallowing hard to hide the psychosis.

“It won't be long now and my boyfriend is waiting for me.”

“Don't worry, just load the bike and I'll drop you off at his house.”

'No' was not an answer and you knew that, no one ever said no to him. And if they did no woman managed to keep her tongue to say it.

"Roger that. Thank you, Jungkook, you are a gentleman.”

“Of course, get off the bike now.” He muttered as he snatched the iron from your hands and threw it behind his vehicle.

The trip was lethargic, the music faltered in the car with each curve until you reached a neighborhood of white houses and yellowish lights, the crickets chirped in the safe silence of a suburb. You thought about getting out when the car stopped and screaming until your lungs vomited.

But of course, when you arrived the garage door was open, the car slid across the smooth concrete without a sound.

“Do you mind if I look for a few things before I take you home?” His voice sounded so carefree that you almost believed you were going back to your dorm room. You shook your head as he went down to close the garage door, the darkness consuming your hope.

Your heart began to beat blood so fast that your hands began to try to open your door, Jungkook tilted his head at the noise until he saw your reflection in the side mirror.

"Why you do that? God, you’re so stupid.” Jungkook took your hair in his hands and without much effort dragged you out of the vehicle and onto the garage floor. His hand covered your mouth, his calloused and sweaty fingers undoing the button on your Levi's until they stuck to your ankles.

“It's only once, you have to reward me for the beer you had, you know?” His voice burned in your ear along with the beating of your heart, a light hum of your soul trying to get away from your dirty body.

“Mm-” You groaned as you felt the fabric of his jeans mold between your ass. Moving was in vain, fighting a mere fantasy.

“Just a quickie and then I'll drop you off, don't be so rigid.”

Your body was puppeteered to the living room with dim lights, curved and modern furniture that someone paid great attention to match with the upholstery and the carpet that decorated the floor.

And your body was thrown to the edge of the pink couch, the metal underneath the cloth digging into your stomach, your ass in the air as you felt cold hands remove your underwear. Why weren't you moving? Why did you let this happen to you? What was your mom doing right now? You thought of her chubby body moving around her room while organizing her dresses, folding the flowery pieces and tucking in it away in her closet. Peacefully humming gospel songs.

Warm spit fell onto your pussy and you closed your eyes, the last tear creating a shadow on the corrugated carpet as Jungkook slid his cock around the entrance to wet the entire area. The phone rang five, six, ten times next to you. Beep.

Hello, you are calling the sweet home of Bee, Dr. Kim and Taehyung. We are on vacation in Florida, but when we arrive we will take your message. Bye bye!

Who were the animated voices humming on the phone and why was Jungkook's voice there? You looked at the stranger loosening his grip on the sudden crackling laughter coming from the small speaker on the phone.

"Fuck." The now stranger mumbled, holding your neck with his forearm.

"You got the wrong kid, callgirl." And your eyes opened like a full moon, you looked at the closed windows of the room. “Taehyung, you have ten to hide.”

"Shit." Taehyung whimpered behind you pushing your body to the ground, instinctively you grabbed his leg causing his body to fall to the ground next to yours.

If you were going to die today, you wouldn't do it alone.

"Five, six…"

“What the fuck are you doing, you fucking whore?! I will die if he finds me.” His reddened face dragged trying to take your sudden weight and strength off of him. It was useless. Black Sabbath began to play above the house, reverberating, like thousands of wasps between the walls. “I'm sorry, I won't do it again, please. Let me go."

Taehyung's head reached the kitchen when a worn military boot stopped his movements. The muddy sole of the boot collided with Taehyung's head, making it bounce again and again and again against the wood of the kitchen. It was a hollow, wet sound, more forceful with each blow.

You leaned your body back until you collided with the sofa, your nails anchored in the carpet.

"Sorry. I'm sorry, ple-” Taehyung tried to speak until the boot took the last hit and his jaw hung from his mouth like a toy. His eyes looked back with mercy. Run, he shouted to you with his bleeding eyes, run until you die but run. A broomstick passed through his mouth until his body bounced once more. And then...

So still.

Drool was falling from the corners from having your mouth open for so long. Why didn't you run? Is it that the boot you were looking for so long? Was the cruelty of being curious true?

An excessively tall figure passed through the kitchen frame, avoiding Taehyung's lifeless body. Black was the first thing you saw: the dirty jeans, the leather jacket tied around his waist, the Motley Crue tank top pressing against his chest and shoulders. Sweat dripped from his mullet to his tattoos.

His face, soft and covered in red. His oval nose and thin lips, eyes like a dead deer. Metal surrounding the room like the choir of fallen angels.

It was him, it was Jungkook.

“Poor little thing.” He licked his lips as he held your chin so you were looking at him. “Look at you, so afraid of that fucking-” he growled under his breath, getting down to your level.

"Please don't kill me." You cried, the air was thick, like sulfur around him.

“I didn't promise you that in the call, baby. Did you forget already?"

His hands were delicate under your armpits until he lifted you up and took your body to the furniture sitting you on top of his wide thighs. Your body looking at the turned off television, the curved reflection showed the difference in size. You were a doll on top of that beast.

“Put your foot up.” He ordered as he grabbed your knee to help you put on your Levi's with the softness of a creature in feather hands. "Stop crying."

“I can't, I'm too scared, I want to go home.”

"Pity." Jungkook sighed, taking your underwear from his jeans, wet with some chemical. His tattooed fingers took the flimsy cotton to your nose. Bitter at first and then it burned in your lungs. “Don't try to fight it, it'll be worse for you, baby. Atta girl, just let go, inhale.” His voice was serious, unharmed, like an anesthetic just like the clorophorm. There was no harm in closing your eyes if you were in the great hands of a beast, a mammoth.

"I like you girls manageable, stupid." Was the last thing you heard, a smile grazing your neck.

Your body rose without permission, abrupt. The pain was immeasurable.

“Jimin, she's up!” You heard a small voice in the corner of a familiar room, the sheets rough and thick.

The silhouette of Jimin's younger brother ran to the kitchen. The other two brothers approached the door, their blond heads peeking out. Jimin pushed them until he reached you.

“Hyung-”

“Shut the door, JP. I’m sick of you, just eat your fucking breakfast and get out of the house.” Jimin shouted, looking at his brothers out of the corner of his eye.

The slow footsteps receded and Jimin turned his attention to you.

“Love, no, don't cry. I'm here.”

His name fell from your lips desperately as you squeezed his face, consuming every detail so your body knew it was real and wouldn't squirm like a worm.

“Breathe with me, come on.”

You closed your eyes hugging your boyfriend's neck.

“Come on, I've prepared a hot bath for you in the twins' room.” You shook your head frantically without breaking away. “It's just to get the mud off your body, then we'll go back to bed.”

"Mud?"

“Minjun found you outside this morning, do you know where you were last night, who did this to you?”

You grabbed the sheets and uncovered your body, bruises covering your legs and stomach. The dried mud covering the sheets of Jimin's bed. A scream choked in your throat.

“Its okay, I can change the sheets. Don’t worry about that. Let's go champ, up.” Jimin patted your injured thigh so you would chain your legs around his abdomen. With a grunt, Jimin lifted you up and carried you to a makeshift tub of hot water.

The little beds were together on one side of the small room, a metal tub emanating sweet steam covering the walls of the room in a thin web of drops.

“Raise your arms.” Jimin kissed your neck gently, the nausea returning little by little but you just let your body melt in the arms of the only person who mattered. His eyes shone with the concern of a father, he undressed you as quickly as possible so that the bruises didn't have time to hurt. Reaching your shorts, he knelt in front of you and stared at your tired face.

“I shouldn't have gone to the bar last night.” He wavered his speech for a second as he slowly lowered the zipper.

“Shh.” Your hand fell into his messy hair, he was still wearing his pajamas, what time did Jungkook throw you in front of Jimin's trailer?

The silence became strange, different. You didn't understand Jimin's sudden furrowed eyebrows when he took off your Levi's.

“Minnie?”

“Motherf-” Jimin stood up and hit the wall hard. His body turned around until he was looking at the jeans on the floor again. “That's it, I'm calling Yoongi.”

"What? Yoongi, what for? Minnie, don't leave, please."

"Don't move!"

Your boyfriend disappeared from the room before you asked him what was happening. You sighed with a heavy heart as you walked in pain to the mirror on the wall: a wide, slimy stain extended from front to back of your panties, hickies covered your stomach. The pants fell to the floor and you went to the mirror on the wall.

Your trembling finger curved until you felt the hole between your legs, the whitish and salty cum thread stretched from your entrance to your shocked face.

You don't remember Taehyung penetrating you. Was Jungkook such an animal that he came inside while you were passed out? How could he?

Tears gathered in your eyes as you laughed silently, the pain was unbearable around your waist and legs, pussy still numb and you could only remember the patterns on the carpet.

Cruel curiosity.

[teddy06writes]

Lost Words

Alfie Solomons x gn!autistic!reader

Warnings: I guess the way I describe readers feelings/emotions? (all based on personal experience)

Prompt: I had a bad day at work, and this is a coping mechanism

Premise: After a long day at work stress you out to the point of shutting down, Alfie helps you calm down.

{I swear I'm gonna write hurt comfort for Alfie with the roles reversed I just need more motivation}

{also I'm thinking of doing an Alfie fic based on Much Ado About Nothing if anyones interested in that}

From where you were hiding inside your blanket cocoon, you heard the door to the house creak open, and Alfie calling to you that he was home. Cyril, who had been leaning against you, let out a whine, and shuffled to all but slide off the bed, before trotting off to greet his other owner.

You sighed, squeezing your eyes shut and trying to burrough further into the blankets. What only seemed to be a moment later, you heard Alfie entering the room, still cooing at Cyril.

"You alright my dove?" His voice was surprisingly gentle, coming from somewhere near the foot of the bed.

You couldn't find it in yourself to respond, and you heard him move closer, before he was gently pulling the comforter away from your head, humming worriedly, "Dove?"

You peeled your eyes open to find him peering down at you, concerned etched onto his face. Alfie's hand reached out to brush hair from your face, almost automatically before he caught himself, muttering, "RIght- sorry, love, sorry..."

He ran a hand over his beard, "You're havin' a quiet day then? Lost all your words cause of work, hm?"

Slowly you nodded, and he hummed again, muttering something to himself before disappearing from your field of vision. When he reappeared a moment or two later he'd stripped down to his shorts and undershirt, and began to gingerly climb into bed beside you, careful not to touch you.

"You just take your time then, love, and when you get all your words back you can tell your Alfie what's going on, yeah, dove?"

Alfie waited patiently, looking at you, not quite expectantly, but with some sort of reverence you couldn't place. Slowly, one of your hands snuck out from where it had been tucked firmly under your chin, to grab his hand where it rested on the mattress.

When you looked back up at him in aprehension, he seemed to understand, nodding, "'s alright, love."

You squeezed his hand tightly, and he squeezed back, albeit a bit more gently. It was times like this that you felt you could never truly express how grateful you were to have Alfie, who seemed to be the only person who ever truly understood you complex feelings, and never misunderstood what you meant just because you were 'wired different'.

Slowly you worked your way closer to Alfie, until he was able to wrap his arms around you, squeezing you just tightly enough to provide relief from the itch that had worked its way under your skin. You buried your face in his chest, absently running your fingers over the soft fabric of his undershirt.

"That's it love," He murmured, his chest rumbling, "You just take your time, my dove. Aflie's got ya."

Eventually, when you would find your voice returning, you would tell Alfie about your day, rambling on about the good and the bad about how it all became to much, and he would listen. But for now, you were content with laying in comfortable silence, the two of you lost in your own little world.

[usafphantom2]

Blackbird pilot recalls when his SR-71 Flew so Fast that he and his RSO Landed at Beale AFB almost a Day Before They Took Off from Kadena AB

SR-71 Pilot tells the story of when his Blackbird flew So Fast that He and his RSO arrived at Beale AFB almost a Day Before They Left Kadena AB

The SR-71 Blackbird

The SR-71, the most advanced member of the Blackbird family that included the A-12 and YF-12, was designed by a team of Lockheed personnel led by Clarence “Kelly” Johnson, then vice president of Lockheed’s Advanced Development Company Projects, commonly known as the “Skunk Works” and now a part of Lockheed Martin.

SR-71 T-Shirts

CLICK HERE to see The Aviation Geek Club contributor Linda Sheffield’s T-shirt designs! Linda has a personal relationship with the SR-71 because her father Butch Sheffield flew the Blackbird from test flight in 1965 until 1973. Butch’s Granddaughter’s Lisa Burroughs and Susan Miller are graphic designers. They designed most of the merchandise that is for sale on Threadless. A percentage of the profits go to Flight Test Museum at Edwards Air Force Base. This nonprofit charity is personal to the Sheffield family because they are raising money to house SR-71, #955. This was the first Blackbird that Butch Sheffield flew on Oct. 4, 1965.

The Blackbird design originated in secrecy during the late 1950s with the A-12 reconnaissance aircraft that first flew in April 1962 and remained classified until 1976. President Lyndon Johnson publicly announced the existence of the YF-12A interceptor variant on Feb. 29, 1964, more than half a year after its maiden flight. The SR-71 completed its first flight on Dec. 22, 1964.

The Blackbird was designed to cruise at “Mach 3+,” just over three times the speed of sound or more than 2,200 miles per hour and at altitudes up to 85,000 feet.

Blackbird pilot recalls when his SR-71 Flew so Fast that he and his RSO Landed at Beale AFB almost a Day Before They Took Off from Kadena AB

David Peters in SR-71’s cockpit

The incredible speed of the SR-71 Blackbird

So, it comes as no surprise if, thanks to its astonishing flight characteristics, the aircraft has set numerous speed and altitude records throughout its career.

To give a real perspective of the incredible speed the iconic Blackbird could attain, SR-71 pilot David Peters tells the following, fabulous story.

‘We were TDY to Det. 1 at Kadena AB, Okinawa. One of the birds was scheduled for swap out and my back seater, Ed Bethart, and I were to fly it home. The replacement came in on Friday and we were to leave Saturday morning. So, in true Habu tradition we welcomed the incoming crew and went to happy hour Friday evening at the officers’ club.

SR-71 Pilot tells the story of when his Blackbird flew So Fast that He and his RSO arrived at Beale AFB 17 1/2 Hours Before They Left Kadena AB

David Peters and Ed Bethart

A true story

‘We got up Saturday morning and got ready to go home. Departure was scheduled for 1000. Everything went well and we departed right on time. Headed out to do a pass through the Korean DMZ then into the tankers in the Sea of Japan. Good refueling and climb out headed for the Sea of Okhotsk and the Kamchatka peninsula of Russia and from there to more tankers off of Adak in the Aleutian Islands. Another good refueling and on to Beale AFB California.

‘We arrived with a low approach pulled up into a closed pattern and landed. Following de-suiting and debrief we deposited our classified flight documents jumped in a car and arrived at the officers club for Friday night happy hour at 1630 17 1/2 hours before we left Kadena.

SR-71 print

This print is available in multiple sizes from AircraftProfilePrints.com – CLICK HERE TO GET YOURS. SR-71A Blackbird 61-7972 “Skunkworks”

‘Try that in any aircraft other than the SR-71. Besides this is actually a true story.’

Be sure to check out Linda Sheffield Miller (Col Richard (Butch) Sheffield’s daughter, Col. Sheffield was an SR-71 Reconnaissance Systems Officer) Twitter Page Habubrats SR-71 and Facebook Page Born into the Wilde Blue Yonder for awesome Blackbird’s photos and stories.

Photo credit: David Peters and U.S. Air Force

@Habubrats71 via X

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

THE BRONZE AGE OF AMERICAN SCI-FI FANTASY -- IN THE MIGHTY MARVEL MANNER!

PIC INFO: Spotlight on a dual Marvel "STAR WARS" #1 + "Tarzan" and "John Carter of Mars" house advertisement, c. 1977. Marvel Comics Group.

OVERVIEW: "The first issue of the Marvel Comics adaptation of “the great new space-fantasy film by George Lucas” hit the newsstands about six weeks before the movie itself hit the big screen in the U.S.A. Lucasfilm originally approached Marvel about doing an adaptation, but movie tie-in comics didn’t sell in those days and publisher Stan Lee passed until Roy Thomas talked him into it.

The sales of the six-issue adaptation by Thomas and Howard Chaykin and the subsequent 107-issue run of "STAR WARS" (and a few dozen issues of spin-off titles) would, according to later editor-in-chief Jim Shooter, literally save Marvel’s financial bacon in 1977-78. Their "Tarzan" and "John Carter of Mars" adaptations, on the other hand, not so much."

-- THE 13TH DIMENSION, "My 13 Favorite 1970s MARVEL COMICS House Ads," by Dan Greenfield, published on Aug 26, 2023

Source: https://13thdimension.com/paul-kupperberg-my-13-favorite-1970s-marvel-comics-house-ads.

[girlmostlikely]

My Goodreads

The Stillwater Girls by Minka Kent

The Half of It: A Memoir by Madison Beer

A Certain Hunger by Chelsea G. Summers

At Certain Points We Touch by Lauren John Joseph

On the Savage Side by Tiffany McDaniel

They’re Going to Love You by Meg Howrey

The Force of Such Beauty by Barbara Bourland

History Keeps Me Awake at Night by Christy Edwall

Thrust by Lidia Yuknavitch

River Sings Me Home by Eleanor Shearer

Wandering Souls by Cecile Pin

The Day I Disappeared by Brandi Reeds

Maame by Jessica George

I’m a Fan by Sheena Patel

Horse by Geraldine Brooks

A Spell of Good Things by Ayobámi Adébáyò

The Quarry Girls by Jess Lourey

Demon Copperhead by Barbara Kingsolver

Woman, Eating by Claire Kohda

Penance by Eliza Clark

Brutes by Dizz Tate

I Who Have Never Known Men by Jacqueline Harpman

Big Swiss by Jen Beagin

Lapvona by Ottessa Moshfegh

Before I Fall by Lauren Oliver

The Candy House by Jennifer Egan

Forbidden by Tabitha Suzuma

Josie and Jack by Kelly Braffet

The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls

Running with Scissors by Augusten Burroughs

A Stolen Life by Jaycee Dugard

Lessons from a Dead Girl by Jo Knowles

The V Girl: a Coming of Age Story by Mya Roberts

Little Peach by Peggy Kern

In the Dream House by Carmen Maria Machado