#carona vision

[the-californicationist]

The Good Death -- (Rudy/FMC)

Rodolfo Parra x Female OC

Sergeant Major Rodolfo Parra finds himself in the middle of the Caatinga forest of Brazil, looking for a stolen weapons cache. When he comes across a beautiful hitch-hiker wandering alone in the middle of the night, he gets a little more from the village than he wants to.

TW: mentions of rape, dubious consent, femdom, light bondage, edgeplay, kidnapping, canon-typical violence, hauntings

January summers in the Caatinga forest were as brutal as they came. It was an unforgiving landscape, full of cactus and scrub brush, layered with the sharpest shards and rock faces, designed to cut and slice. To make matters worse, the weather was deadly. The Caatinga would climb to almost 37 degrees celsius at the sun’s cruel zenith, and it would drop only ten degrees cooler by midnight. 

Sergeant Major Rodolfo Parra was nothing but sweaty. He could feel it between his toes, under his arms, beneath his balls — he was losing pounds of water a day and struggling to drink enough to rehydrate himself. Training in these conditions was brutal, but he wasn’t here for the Exército Brasileiro; he was on a reconnaissance mission.

According to Los Vaqueros’ intel, the Las Almas cartel had accepted a weapons’ cache from China, shipped through Brazil, and set to arrive at the Port of Houston in just thirty days. Rudy’s mission was to locate and tag the cache, and he was running out of time. 

Being asked to find something lost in the Caatinga was like being tasked with finding it in Hell, although, Rudy thought, Hell may have been milder.

Arial arrays had helped him narrow down his search to a few key hiding places, but it wasn’t just the terrain that was unforgiving. Beneath the forest lay a complex network of caves and tunnels, as dangerous as they were beautiful, and searching through them would be almost impossible. 

But, Rudy wasn’t one to give up so easily. He was heading to the village of Nossa Senhora da Boa Morte. There was a local guide who had seen some unmarked crates near a gorge in the area, and he had agreed to lead Rudy to them. The drive out to the village was long, pitch black, and full of foreign sounds. Rudy missed his well-known mountains of Monterrey, and he was anxious to be back with his team. 

Suddenly, his truck lurched to a stop, and it felt like he had hit something big. 

“A la verga!” Rudy grunted, slamming on the brakes. 

He wrenched open the door with a loud creak and went out to check the damage. He kept one hand on his gun just to be safe. There was nothing in the road. He circled the truck just to be sure. All of his tires were in tact, and they all seemed free of damage, so he got back in the car and shut the door with a loud bang. 

As soon as he did, something flashed, white and sharp, in the road. It was almost like lightning, but there was no rain and no sound. He could only hear the idling of his vehicle. As he stared at the road illuminated by his headlights, Rudy tried to focus his vision. He thought he could see something just in the shadow of where his headlights couldn’t reach. 

He drove forward, slowly, inching his way up to the object, only to discover that it was a human form. A woman. She was facing away from his truck, staring out into the blackness of the Caatinga, unmoving. Her dress was long and white like a bride’s, whipping around her body in the night wind. 

Rudy rolled down his window, trying out what little Brazilian Portuguese he had,

“Ei! Precisa ajuda, senhora?”

She didn’t answer him. He decided to stay in the truck, crossing himself before slowly driving up to her. He kept his window cracked and pulled out his gun, steadying his nerves.

The woman turned to look at him, and she seemed… unnatural, somehow. She was beautiful, that much was certain. In fact, Rudy wasn’t sure he’d ever seen such beauty. 

“Precisa de uma carona? A ride? Do you need help?”

Perhaps she didn’t understand his terrible Portuguese accent. He tried to ask her in English, and she smiled. It was unnerving, but Rudy didn’t feel threatened. He pointed to the other side of the truck and unlocked the door. She walked around the front of the truck, the white of her linen dress blinding him, and she climbed in beside him. He kept his gun in his lap. Rudy may not have felt like he was in danger, but he certainly wasn’t trusting. 

They rode in silence for the rest of the journey. He had tried to ask her things, and he wasn’t sure where he was supposed to be taking her, but he planned to ask his guide to translate when he got to the village. 

It felt like hours had passed, but they finally made it. Rudy pulled into the small ranch where his contact was located, and he stepped out of the truck. He knocked on the small wooden door of the house and waited, angling himself so he could still see the woman in the passenger seat. 

The guide came to the door, and Rudy recognized him from the video calls.

“Boa noite, meu amigo. I’m Rodolfo Parra with Los Vaqueros.”

“Claro. Good evening, Senhor Parra. I’m João. Welcome to our village. Come in, come in.”

João’s English was excellent, so Rudy didn’t continue with his Portuguese, but he did ask for help, 

“Sorry, can you help me translate? I seemed to have picked up a hitch-hiker and —”

“A what?” João seemed confused. 

“A rider. She is in the truck…” Rudy turned around and found no one there. 

She was gone.

“There was a woman…” Rudy ran back to the truck and opened the doors, looking for her. 

“A woman, you said? Was she wearing a white dress?” João asked in a knowing tone.

Rudy turned back to him, his eyes glassy and wide,

“Yes, but…”

“You showed her a kindness, amigo. Perhaps she will show one back to you.”

“Who is she?” Rudy asked, taking his bags into the tiny ranch house.

João shut the door behind him and ushered him inside. They sat at the kitchen table together, and the old wooden chair creaked loudly, complaining about Rudy’s heavy weight, his muscles and bones not meant for small farm chairs. 

João took a bottle of cachaça from the pantry and poured some for himself and his guest, telling Rudy the story,

“She is a bruxa. Long ago, back during the times when there was still conflict, much before either of us could celebrate um dia da Independência, there was a beautiful woman. She was so beautiful, some say she had been blessed by the Virgim Maria herself. She fell in love with a native man, but he was Tupi, not Portuguese. So, thinking she was fair game, a priest raped her on her wedding day in the chapel on the hillside.”

“Madre de Dios…” Rudy drank his wine, only half-believing this ghost story. The woman in his truck had been very real. She had smelled like sweat and dried herbs. She was real; she had to be.

“She died, and her Tupi lover was slain. The next night, the chapel burned to the ground with the priest inside. Ever since then, this village has respected her as an omen. She does not appear often, but when she does, we make sure to heed her warnings.”

“What warning does she have for me, then?” Rudy asked.

“Eu não sei, senhor. But, whatever it is, you’d better listen.”

A week passed like a slow train, long and heavy, the heat and the pressure billowing around Rudy and all of his attempts to locate the cache. He was running out of options. There was one final location he’d not yet checked, but it was nearly inaccessible. Rudy asked João how to traverse the ridge that led to the potential site, but he wouldn’t allow it.

João shook his head,

“No, you cannot go there. It is too dangerous, even for you who knows the mountains well.”

“I have to. This is my last chance,” Rudy insisted.

“You’d be better off coming in from above. Use your expensive drone! I can draw you a map up, but you won’t be able to come back down. The rocks are too brittle. No one has survived.”

“I don’t have a choice, amigo.”

João sighed, but he produced a map anyway. He also loaded Rudy down with supplies and equipment, in hopes that some of it would keep him alive. 

It took Rudy most of the morning to even reach the first flat part of the large ravine. He decided not to make camp, eager to complete the climb. Unfortunately, it was near dark until he made it to the next stopping point, a small cave cut out in the side of the large, gray gorge. 

There was something so beautiful about how haunting it was in the Caatinga, but Rudy couldn’t help but feel like he was being watched the whole time he made his ascent. He camped for the night, and tried to rest as much as he could. 

When he awoke, he was shocked by his surroundings. The daylight revealed that it was not a small cave at all but the opening to a wide, hellish pit. If he had rolled over in the night, he may not have woken up at all. Rudy crossed himself, gathering his gear and heading back to the ridgeline. 

The cache was there, right where he thought it would be, and right where João had spotted it as well. They must have used a helicopter to drop it in, and Rudy saw the large metal clip had been cut instead of detached. How they planned to get it out, he had no idea. They’d dropped it in a hell of a hurry, though.

Rudy planted the tracking devices, hiding them as best he could, and then surveyed his downward climb. He tried to get his footing on the craggy rockface, balancing himself on the sharp shards, but to no avail. Once he started to apply his weight to his foot, the rock would crack and crumble beneath his toes. 

Hours went by, and he’d barely made it fifty yards down the cliff. It would be nightfall soon, and if he was stuck out there climbing in the dark, his chances of survival were low. The climbing anchors were unstable, and he’d needed too many of them, making the cliff unpredictable and unsafe. 

Rudy spotted a shallow, flat ledge just below him. If he could just make it there, he might be able to rest long enough to try again. 

He placed another anchor, and when he released his grip, he fell. The last thing he saw was the carabiner snap as he tumbled into the darkness.

“Ah, you are awake,” a voice called out to him in the darkness. 

Rudy tried to open his eyes. His ears were ringing, and it felt like a hammer was pounding into his head. He was in agony, and for some reason, immobile.

He tried to sit up, his eyes adjusting to the light. But, he was tied down. As he regained more of his consciousness, he realized that he was trapped on a long, wooden table. Above him, old lanterns glowed dimly in the night, and there were wooden beams that arched upwards into a high ceiling. 

Rudy gasped when he felt a cool compress soak down the back of his neck. It was her, he knew it. He could smell her scent; that sage and vanilla. The woman in white… the bruxa.

Her hands traveled up his spine, pressing the wet cloth hard against the base of his head and then around to the scratchy stubble on his jaw. Rudy felt the sting of adrenaline rush through his body as his eyes followed her, wide with anticipation. She’d stripped him bare, and his skin glowed in the low firelight, illuminating shining scars and old tattoos. As she circled him, stalking around him, she traced the outlines of them; his Los Vaqueros tattoo on his arm, the Virgin Mary on his back. She never took her hands off of his body until finally, she came around the front of him so he could see her in full view.

“What’s your name?” Rudy asked, trying to buy himself some time. His captive training kicked into high gear. 

“I have had many names. First, their god named me Eve. Then, his people named me Lilith. Then, their children named me as a demon. What would you like to name me, Rodolfo Parra?”

“Whatever you want. Please, let me go,” he bargained with her, looking around for anything useful.

“You will go…” She grabbed his face roughly, “When I am done with you.”

“Okay,” Rudy breathed in a low whisper, his voice husky and dark, “Okay. Whatever you want.”

She let out a warm hum of approval, seeming to enjoy his surrender. She smiled, kissing him full on the lips, letting him taste coconut and cinnamon and that same familiar sage that haunted him in his truck. 

“You are what I want, Rodolfo… What will you say to that? Can I still have… whatever I want?”

Rudy swallowed, his spit thick in his mouth, tasting her flavor as it slid down his throat. He nodded,

“Y-yes.”

She didn’t respond with her words. Instead, she mounted him on his wooden altar and all around him, hundreds of candles suddenly came alight, dousing the room in an orange, unearthly glow.

He gasped, and she slapped her palm across his mouth, stopping his breath from escaping. His eyes tracked her every movement. Rudy had never been so captivated by a beauty like hers. It had been a while since any woman had even touched him, and he couldn’t deny that he was hungry for whatever she had in store for him — no matter how occult it was. 

“Just a little fun, meu amor. You honored me by taking me back to my village. So many men drive right by, fearful of a woman… or what they may do to one… but not you,” she pet his cheek softly, releasing his mouth, “Were you not afraid?”

Rudy shook his head, following her lips with his, letting her kiss him languidly. He sighed,

“No, I am not afraid of you.”

“Many are,” she moved her mouth down his throat, planting little warm kisses across his jugular vein, over his bulging Adam’s apple, down his chest matted with hair, sweaty and filthy from his climb. 

He tugged at the straps across his wrist, threatening to touch her, his desire building, 

“I don’t scare easy, bella.”

She laughed at him, but there was no malice in it. If anything, she seemed amused. Then, to Rudy’s sudden shock, she began to rub the wetness between her legs back and forth over his nearly-hard cock, smearing herself all over him. She was still in her dress, but because of the candlelight behind her, Rudy was treated to a nearly transparent view through it. 

She dragged her soft folds up and down his dick, slicking his swollen head and sliding back down his generous shaft, pulling and pushing at his velvety, uncut skin. His breathing became more than labored; he was feral. He wanted to touch her so badly. 

“Porfa, bella.” Please, pretty girl. He begged her, “Dejame tocarte.” Let me touch you.

“You are touching me, Rodolfo Parra,” she laughed again, throwing her head back and humping herself across him at a quicker pace, torturing him with her softness, feeling the way he shamelessly bucked his hips up toward her. 

Then, she lifted away from him, leaving him only to feel the cool rush of air as it skated across his sensitive skin.

He gasped,

“No, please…”

“Shh, shh, shh…” She ran her hand down his cheek again and kissed his mouth, letting him explore her tongue with his, tasting each other in sloppy, lurid movements.

“Please, please…” He couldn’t help but beg her. He was so close, and she had yanked him away from the edge. 

One of her hands snaked its way between her legs, reaching for him to jerk him off. The other pulled down the top of her dress, exposing her breasts to him. She wasn’t sure if the face he was making came from her touch or her display, but she didn’t care. She leaned forward just enough for him to barely reach her nipple, taking just the peak into his mouth, straining for more. 

Then, he let his long tongue loll out of his jaws and loop itself around her tight nub, teasing her and making her gasp from her own pleasure. 

Every time he would get close to the edge, he could feel his cock swell with pressure, setting itself up to shoot its heavy load, she would immediately stop everything she was doing. Eventually, he became a grunting, whimpering mess. Everything she did turned him on. She licked down the center of his chest and it made his cock twitch. When she kissed him on the neck, he thought he might come from just that if she didn’t have such a cruel grip around his cockhead. 

Finally, she lowered herself onto him fully, letting his head pop gently into her soaking hole, and then… she just settled herself there. She didn’t rock forward or back; there was nothing but infinite warmth cascading over him like the fires of all of the candles around him. He was burning alive within her core. 

“Mi amor! Porfa!” He whined, his voice high and ragged, steeped in pure desperation. 

Each chance he got to thrust up inside of her, he took, greedily. But, every bit of reprieve was doled out to him by her, his new master. She was in full control of his pleasure, nearly to the point of pain. His balls were tucked so tight up against his body, he thought they would crush themselves into nothing, desperate to be emptied.

“Do you need to come, Rodolfo?”

“Yes! Please!” Rudy thrashed at his bindings, trying in vain to fuck her with what little leverage that he could, making little noises of discomfort and defeat as she held him steady, “Mmgh, ungh… please… ahh…”

“That’s too bad…” She pretended pity with her tone, removing him from her body and laughing at his screaming protests.

“No! No, please! Don’t… don’t leave me. Porfa, bella, it aches…”

“Your complaints are so loud, tsk tsk… Is that any way to treat your bride?” She chided him playfully, showing him a sinister smile before turning her hips and positioning them over his mouth. 

She slowly lowered herself down onto his lips, and he began to eat her with a feral passion. Still, he was begging. By working his jaw against her as fervently as he could, he was making a case for himself, trying to show her that he would be good for her, that he could make her come. He shoved his tongue against her flesh with a furious need, fucking her as best he could with it and tasting himself on her skin. 

Rudy could feel her muscles clenching for him, and her skin warmed. Then, he heard her delicious cries, shouted out in complete abandon, echoing across the high ceilings and reverberating back to him, trapping him in a cycle of her pleasure. It was so overwhelming that he felt himself falling over his edge as well, coming into nothing, heavy ropes of his own fluids pooling onto his chest and belly, settling in his navel, sticking in his hair. 

When he awoke, he did so with a start. He found himself back in the farmhouse, the sun beaming through the filthy windows. João was standing at the foot of his bed in shock. 

Rudy was unsettled by his presence, but could only stare back in confusion. 

“Amigo…” João whispered, “You are alive?”

Rudy swung his legs over the edge of the bed, finding himself completely dressed. He turned to João and asked him, 

“What happened? What day is it?”

“You… well, you were lost. It had been three days, and we thought the worst. Your friend, Colonel Vargas is here now to collect your things.”

Alejandro stood in the doorway, his eyes red and full of a particular sort of fear and relief all at the same time. He pulled Rudy up into his arms,

“Hermano! What happened?”

“There was a woman… she…” Rudy tried to explain, but he couldn’t. He was having a hard time even remembering what had happened to him. 

But then, he could taste her. He could smell her. He could feel her skin as it slid across his. Everything about her surrounded him until he was dizzy.

“Ah! A woman? Well, that explains it. Vamos, you have a fuckin’ mountain of paperwork, pendejo. Haha! A woman… Dios mio…” Alejandro laughed his way out into the hall.

João and Rudy stayed in the small bedroom, staring at each other, knowing the truth yet unable to speak it.  

Reblogs and comments deeply appreciated!

AO3 Link

[weexploreanddiscover]

New release from Lord F to meditate the pandemic away

also my man Jonny collide hooked up the Joe Exotica Fascinator remix for that corona-vision

[all-things-fic]

Quarantine Begins At Home

A/N: Hi everyone, its been a long time since I’ve done one of these authors note thingys.

I know it may sound silly but I wanted to put a bit of a disclaimer in my authors note. This piece of writing is by no means encouraging people to start getting close to each other, please make sure you are social distancing and please wash your bloody hands. This is purely a way to give some of you who are in quarantine (which by now seems to be all of us) some light relief. Everyone stay safe and look after yourselves!

Please enjoy for simple entertainment and of course let me know what you think. Looking forward to hearing what you have to say for yourselves!  I’m not going to hide my phone so I don’t obsess over notifications because I’m rubbish at releasing any of my writing into the wild.

P.S. praise Beauty Papers for bringing out that one picture of Harry where he’s in his undies and socks and TPWK tee. You fed this fic. .x

***

The niggly cough that you’d been showcasing over the last three days was nothing more than annoying. Topping itself off with a fever that had you sweating unattractively the night before, had left you thinking only one thing. 

Quarantine was on the horizon. 

When you’d sat up straight in bed, 3am that morning, sporting a clammy, tackiness to your skin you didn’t even think twice about stripping off your pyjama top before dropping back down into bed. 

It had been hard to push away your husband, his own bare chest finding your back as he pulled you towards him. Hands only stilling their actions when you whined into the darkness about how you were ‘too hot for that’. 

Harry had chuckled into the back of your head and softly shushed you as you’d let yourself doze back to sleep. 

Two nights after, Harry had not so elegantly shook the bed as he kicked the duvet off his body to stop himself from sweating. 

“‘S bloody hot in ‘ere, ‘m sweating,” he grumbled, flipping over his pillow so that the cold side could greet his flushed face and offer some sort of relief. 

He turned to face you, causing you to ask him to flip back to his previous position because you didn’t want him to breathe on you. 

“It’s not you, it’s the carona,” you responded, burrowing down and pulling your blanket over your mouth.

You knew if it wasn’t so dark in the room he would appreciate the cheeky glint in your eye as you stared back at him.

“Yeah, that’s what they all say,” he groaned, rolling over and pushing his face against the pillow. You rolled your lips into your mouth, suppressing your laughter at how miserable he had become, while he huffed and puffed into his fresh bed-linen. 

Lifting your hands from under the confines of your blankets you reached up to gently rub Harry’s back, wanting to provide some form of comfort if you could. 

The two of you lay silent and awake in the dark that night. Both sprightly and in your twenties, you knew you didn’t have much to worry about anything, but you had to do your bit. 

Isolating yourself was going to be interesting.

***

If you had never felt like you were comfortable around your husband before now - the kind of comfortable that meant you’d leave the bathroom door open as you used the toilet - Harry was doing everything in his power during quarantine to reassure you otherwise.

It was in the comments he made, the way he moved. The kind that should have you wrinkling your nose at him and shaking your head, to tell him to stop. However, now you found yourself taking it all in your stride, often clapping back with a comment that had him chuckling to himself.

“I’ve not changed my pants since Monday,” his deep morning voice broke the sleep filled silence as you both lay in bed.

“Makes a change that you’re actually wearing them,” you mumbled back, weirdly not bothered at the filthy habit your husband had just revealled while you entered another day of being cooped up. 

“It’s not usually a problem,” he spoke, dropping his eyes down to look at you, as you pressed your head closer to his lips accepting the fleeting kiss he left in you hair. 

“Surprised you even know what day it is-“

“Been crossing the days off the kitchen calendar.”

He was proud of himself for that one. For helping the two of you not enter that weird period that was usually only experienced during Christmas and New Year. Where no one knows what day of the week it is; AM and PM blending together. 

Naps became scheduled parts of the day, and arguably the most important part to aid avoiding grouchy backbiting comments bubbling simply from being around each other for a little more than was bearable. Everyday was becoming more and more like a Sunday. 

“Wondered why the calendar was a day out?”

“What’d you mean?”

The offence lacing his question caused you to bite away your smile as you continued to aimlessly scroll through Instagram. “Dates have been crossed off one day out, you crossed out Wednesday yesterday when it’s in fact Wednesday today.”

There was a small amount of silence in the room as your words resonated with Harry. 

“Bollocks.”

You muffled your chuckle by pressing your lips into Harry’s forearm that was nestled securely around your shoulder and across your chest. 

“The thought was there, darling. It is appreciated. Thank you,” you whispered after leaving a chaste kiss against his skin once more. You took great delight in feeling the downy hair of his arm pressed to your lips. 

As your eyes remained on the screen of your phone, you watched the 45836 quarantine meme on your timeline cut away from Instagram to an incoming FaceTime from your mother-in-law.

“Harry,” you hummed, hearing him barely respond with his own steady grunt of acknowledgment. “Why’s your Mum FaceTiming me?”

“I dunno-“ he cut off, pressing his face to uncomfortably rest into your hair. “Quick, answer before it cuts off-“

“We’re in bed-“

Moving the fastest he had all day, you couldn’t even comprehend that Harry had accepted the call before a crackle of sound and another environment was heard through your phone speaker.

“He’s alive then,” Anne immediately spoke the minute her FaceTime screen had cleared from a blurry pixelated mess. “Yes, you young man. Trying to hide your face into your wife’s hair, like you know she’ll take your flack for you.”

You found yourself sinking further underneath your duvet as you watched Anne address Harry through the phone. Her tone was clearly abrasive but more so out of worry.

“You know I’ve been calling you,” she continued, pausing. “You needn’t look at me like that from the corner of your eye, Harry. Have you got food in your house?“

“We’re okay for food, Anne,” you acknowledged her, watching the way her eyes looked to your left, her stare holding on her youngest. As she blinked she turned to face you, her face softening. 

“Even better for loo roll,” Harry sarcastically quipped. 

Again, Anne’s eyes hardened as she skimmed them over her son’s less than impressed expression. 

“Put your face straight,” she sharply spoke. “What about protection?”

“‘Fucksake pass me tha’ phone ‘ere,” he groaned, rolling around to sit up in bed and take the phone away from you. You did nothing to fight him, slightly embarrassed at the insinuation and the current place in your house where Anne had caught you both.

Pulling at his joggers that sat low against his hips, Harry held the phone up so that his mother was no longer seeing the sweaty palm of his hand and then a quick glimpse of an unmade bed.

When her image graced his vision he noticed the way she was smiling, her face almost split in two before she sipped at her cup of tea. His eyes took in the garden behind her, one that he knew well and he knew she’d be enjoying her brunch on the nice spring day that awaited those who needed to do a quick top-up shop at their local supermarket, feel brave enough to pop outside.

Shaking his head, he raised his eyebrows at his Mum who seemed awfully pleased with herself. 

“Had yer fun now, I’m up. You’ve succeeded.”

“It’s bloody midday,” she chastised.

“Had a late night, didn’t we?,” he glanced over at you, watching the way your eyes almost popped out at his suggestive comment.

“Tell you what, this quarantine‘s gonna have a lot to answer for,” Anne started, her voice light. “Isn’t that right, Evie?” She spoke, the visual that greeted Harry being one of his mother softly showering his cat with love and affection. “‘S Daddy forgetting about you already? You made him a Daddy first isn’t that right?”

“Mum,” Harry’s tone was set as he stressed how he addressed Anne, willing her to stop her playful jibing at his expense. 

“‘M telling you, sweetheart. Baby boom is impending,” again Anne raised her eyebrows. All Harry could do was chuckle at how invested his Mum appeared to be in wanting to become a Grandmother. 

“Anyway,” she grabbed Harry’s attention again, as he bounced his way down the stairs of his home and padded his socked feet along his wooden floors. “Are you showering?” 

“‘M not a bloody sloth-“

“It’s midday and you’ve only just left your pit.”

He didn’t have a leg to stand on. You smiled as you heard their interaction, having been hot on Harry’s tails. As you relaxed against the doorframe of your kitchen, you heard Anne’s chuckling to herself before she next spoke. 

“Could do with a shave.”

“Anything else I’m not doing right?”

Pushing up off the doorframe, you found yourself drawn to Harry. Hand rubbing up his clothed back and shoulders, you rubbed at them gently and pushed your face into the frame.

“No, the beard can stay,” you turned to Harry, jokingly squeezing at his jaw and cheeks with your right hand solely, before you mischievously tapped his cheek and turned your attention to putting on your kitchen stove.

“The wife says no,” he jutted out his bottom lip in a challenge to his Mum.

“Not just the cat he’s replacing, Anne-“

Anne’s boisterous laugh filled your kitchen at your comment and it warmed you as you caught the way it had Harry softly laughing to. His body relaxing and bending down so his elbow rested against the kitchen counter, chin leaning against his palm. 

“There’s enough of me to go around,” he breathed out, cheekily looking at you from the corner of his eye. You loved the way his cheeks had started to softly glow with an endearing blush.

“You do look healthy, love,”

Just like that, gone was the cheeky smile, the glowing eyes. They were quick to be replaced by a light frown and slightly offended expression, “‘s tha’ s’pose to mean?”

“It’s only quarantine weight, nothing he can’t get rid of,” you said, leaning back into the frame and goadingly patting against Harry's little pot-belly that slightly stuck out against his t-shirt. “Can’t be having anyone else fancying him now, can I Anne?”

Again Anne laughed, eyes glittering through the screen as she watched the way the two of you interacted. It was clear that this conversation was something she definitely needed having been holed up in her abode by herself. 

Harry squinted his eyes suspiciously at you, before sharply looking at his Mum. “Oh, I see how it is,” he started with a soft nod. “The two of you ganging up on me, ‘s fine I’m a big boy.”

“The stretch waistband on your joggers agrees,” you hummed, raising your eyebrows before addressing Anne off screen. “We call this his quarantine outfit.”

“I tell you what, ‘s a good job you haven’t got to pour yourself into those skinny jeans anymore cause that would be a-“

You feel him staring at you, causing your voice to trail off. “No carry on, dares ya,” he drawled. He saw the way you opened your mouth to continue, nostrils flaring as you took a deep breath and looked at him with an amused expression.

“I-“

Harry darted at you as your voice caught in your throat, the loudest squeal leaving your lips as your phone clattered face down to the marble of you kitchen counter and gave Anne nothing more than the visual of a black screen framed by gleeful noises of a blissfully newlywed couple.

***

Quarantine is all fun and games until your husband of sixty-seven days decides he wants to put together the coffee table that you’d been gifted from a member of your wedding party. 

You knew Harry was becoming ansty as you entered day nine of your self-isolation. His fingers and thumbs too twitchy for his own good. You felt the same but by giving yourself a little list of tasks such as changing your bedding every couple of days, you’d managed to find a way to keep yourself busy enough. Between that, reading and scrolling mindlessly through social media, you were doing okay. Or so you thought. 

There was something about men and DIY. They all liked to think they were good at it. Especially when they’re looking for something to do. And while they groan when asked about doing the jobs around the house, there was surely an element of pleasure found in the most menial of tasks (more so in the current climate) and a smugness in being needed. 

Everything had started out well. Harry had made you snort your laughter at how he’d flamboyantly pulled open the box of the flat-pack furniture in the middle of your living room. 

Everything had been neatly wrapped in plastic, and while not ideal for the planet it was ideal for your pleasure of having everything organised. 

Sat cross-legged on the floor, in nothing more than a pair of underpants, socks and a t-shirt, Harry eagerly flipped through the white paper instructions.  

You smiled to yourself when you saw him trying to decipher the Italian instructions, knowing just how adamant he was about ensuring he kept his mind active during quarantine and that he made it so he had used the time wisely and learned a new skill.

“Think an awful lot of yourself, don’t you?” you teased, watching his gaze slowly lift and look at you through the hair that had fallen into his eyes. “Just read the English instructions, Harry.”

He smirked, dropping his eyes back down to the Italian instructions and ignoring your plea. 

“Thought you were supportive of my challenge of becoming a bilingual king,” he spoke sarcastically, tone set as he set his brow and really tried to concentrate on the drawings.

“But then that means I have to become a bilingual queen, and we all know that wouldn’t be a pretty sight.”

Harry laughed, reaching forward for one of the items he was looking for, scrutinising it by moving it around in his hands before placing it back down onto the floor.

“Could always just look at the pictures, love?”

“Pardon,” you spoke, rolling your head to look at him from where you lay along the couch, with eyes wider than usual at his brazen cheek. He didn’t reply, instead he shook his head while wearing the most amused expression you’d seen since the start of your quarantine.

Before you could stop yourself, you reached for a throw cushion from the sofa and threw it at him, the item hitting Harry not so elegantly against the shoulder as he leaned over to check he had the other parts required to complete the furniture assembly. 

He, of course, took it in his stride, grabbing at the cushion and sitting on it. “Thanks for that, darling. Arse would go numb otherwise.”

“You’re squishing my favourite throw pillow-“

“Took the name quite literally then,” he spoke with a tight voice as he raised himself up onto his knees and crawled across the rug underneath him. “If you don’t mind, I’m doing manly things over ‘ere.”

Instead of responding you turned on your side and buried your left cheek into another cushion. Seeing Harry so concentrated but messy had been one of the things you’d enjoyed the most about your time being holed up together. 

He had absolutely let himself go but loved every minute of doing so. His hair hadn’t been styled once since the two of you had shut up shop to recuperate. His clothes, of which he appeared to be wearing less and less as the days went by, were more high street special than couture runway. 

He’d never looked more attractive. Honestly. 

“Are you going to lie there and watch me, or are yer gonna help?”

Again his question was concentrated, his hands and eyes preoccupied. 

“Thought you liked being in control, doin’ all the work-“

He side-eyed you, his lips twitching up into a sly smile. “Need reminding, ‘s tha’ it?” 

“What I need is,” you paused, watching the way he kept his eyes on you. “What I need is for you to put up our coffee table.”

“What’s it look like I’m doing?”

“Like you’re staring at a bunch of parts-“

“‘S the instructions, not me!”

You stared at him as he laughed around his exclaimed words. Swinging your legs, you forced yourself to sit up and saw the way Harry moved slightly back to give you more space. “That’s it, gimme the bloody instructions, let’s have a look at these pictures.”

Somewhere amongst the friendly bickering you managed to help him sort out all the parts and count out all the screws just to make sure he had everything he needed. 

When you’d seen that he had laid everything out that he required, you pushed yourself up from the floor where you had placed yourself opposite Harry.

“Fancy a cuppa for your efforts?”

Scratching at the back of his head, he looked at you. “Not done much,” he scrunched his nose. “Could you grab me a water?”

You nodded, leaning down to press your lips to his. He hummed, happy, as you pulled away and offered him a series of soft pecks. “‘S nice,” he whispered.

“I am nice,” you confirmed. “I’ll grab a screwdriver or two from the garage, in case the allen keys don’t cut it.”

His laugh was a knowing one as you walked away and heard the first expletive leave Harry’s lips when he reached for the first part of the furniture to piece together. “‘S not lining up wi’the hole,” he shouted through from the lounge to the kitchen at you. 

You chuckled under your breath shaking your head before he shouted again, “‘s not what it sounds like!”

That caused you to bark a laugh. It was going to be a long afternoon. 

***

You weren’t quite sure where it had all gone wrong. From laughing about awful innuendo, to aggravatedly sighing at each other. Yet, you were there in the thick of it and seemingly very happy to ride the wave.

“This is your fault,” he muttered under his breath, the crackle of the paper as he snatched up the instructions to flick through them one more time bringing nothing more than frustration. You saw the way he slowly retraced his steps and try and figure out where it had gone wrong. 

“All I’ve done is pass you things,” you snapped back. “And if you’re gonna blame me at least put some conviction behind it and say it with your whole chest. Don’t be a wuss.” 

He grunted at that and if you hadn’t got your head buried into your phone, looking at work emails this time via the Outlook app, you would’ve seen the way he was mocking you and mouthing the words you had just said to him with a less than pleased look on his face. 

Harry sat with one coffee table leg to complete, however if his counting was correct he was a screw missing. Probably in more ways than one after this quarantine was over; the same going for you. 

“Wanted the coffee table up, continues to sit around and not help,” he spoke his words louder than he had envisaged them in his head, seeing the way your figure shifted on the couch as you heard him loud and clear.

“Thought I told you to stop mumbling under your breath,” you cut your eyes over to him, watching the way he waggled the screwdriver he was using in between his thumb and forefinger lightly.

The item shook and you were about to tell him off like he was your son, rather than your partner, if that screwdriver so much as softly scratched, never mind dented, the oak top of your coffee table.

What was annoying you more was how he was just sitting there. Not so much as moving a muscle and letting his eyes frantically move along the wooden flooring and lounge rugs, just expecting a screw to shine up at him like he was a magpie. 

With irrational anger bubbling inside of you, that wouldn’t have existed if you’d decided to sit outside in the garden to do your work rather than watching Harry, you sighed. 

“Shift your fat arse,” you said with more bite than you intended. 

Harry glared at you, his sharp stare meeting yours dead on in a silent question of ‘what did you just say to me?’

“You heard me,” you answered. “Move yourself!” 

The torment in his features as to whether he should remain stubborn and not move, or see where you were going with your harsh vagueness, played across his face.

Ultimately however, he wanted to finish this fucking thing. The one thing he wished he hadn’t started. 

Annoyed, he shuffled around so he found himself on his knees. He watched as you pushed yourself off the couch, and peered around his body to take in the space which he had just freed up. 

“There. You’re sitting on it!” 

Harry’s eyes dropped down at the space behind him, green gaze spotting the tiny silver, bane of his existence, almost instantly. He snatched up the tiny screw that has been underneath his thigh and looked at you with a pointed glare.

“Don’t know why you’re looking at me like that, mate.”

“Don’t ‘mate’ me,” he growled, snatching up the last coffee table leg this time and using the recently found screw to secure it to the table. 

Part of you wanted to laugh at the scene in front of you, the two of you facing off but neither of you able to look at the other.

“I’m waiting for my apology,” you said, soft smile hurting your lips, as he continued to fix into place the last piece. You thought your tone was light, as you found humour at how the two of you were easily beginning to get sick of each other now.

“Well, you’re gonna be waiting a long fucking time.”

And just like that he’d sucked away all the humour you’d felt towards the argument, faster than a vacuum cleaner.

“There’s no need to be an arsehole, I was joking-“

“Could’ve fucking fooled me,” he looked up at you, while you watched the way his arm began to tense as he got closer to the end of the screw becoming tight enough.

He was just as tight; a coil ready to spring and pop. 

“I can’t reason with you when you’re like this,” you stared at him, as you watched him chuckle with a shake of his head. He didn’t respond, happy to shoulder the blame if it meant he would get you out of his hair and give him a moment of peace.

Instead his eyes were trained on your feet as he watched you walk away. A sense of freedom washing over you both as you did so. 

***

You frowned down at the hob of your cooker and watched the way it sparkled up at you. Snatching up the cleaning detergent, you squeezed at the pump and watched the white foamy spray squirt unnecessarily against the already very clean surface.

This was your distraction, while Harry’s was continuing to push his nose into the novel of his choosing as he lay along your couch. You never were really much of a cleaner but quarantine meant that you were living in the same four walls for so long than you’d found even more of a sense of pride over your abode. 

Pressing your hands into the kitchen counter, you felt the front of your hair fall messily into your eyes as you took deep breaths. You were more sad than angry now. This weird feeling sitting in your chest that was overriding your sense of thinking rationally.

Why should you apologise? Really. Why?

Why shouldn’t he apologise? Be the bigger person in this whole thing? 

Breathing deeply in through your nose, you lifted your eyes up to look at the kettle that sat to you right. Before you even thought about it you flicked your wrist and pressed at the lever of the kettle.

The amber light signified that it was about to boil, the usual crackle following not too long after. 

Raising up, you rolled your neck and shoulders, feeling the tension beneath them that would only be alleviated by a massage of some sort. Foot steps heavy as they trudged over to the opposite side of your kitchen to the sink draining rack, your preferred mug was easy to grab.

You hand stilled as you reached for his mug, the sound of a dry cough pushing its way through the tense air from the other room. From the sound of it you knew he hadn’t approached and that he was still in his own brooding state, having taken root along the couch. 

Medical professionals had told both you and Harry via telephone that while you were experiencing symptoms of the virus, you were leaning more so to a common cold given the bout of sneezing that had so gracefully taken over you both on day five of being cooped up.

Regardless of not being considered vulnerable the time was still a scary one, and the thought of losing loved ones very much at the front of your mind.

Which is why you should apologise.

You huffed at your conscience, snatching up Harry’s mug and sitting it next to yours. Two tea bags later,steaming hot water and a dash of milk, you took solace in the tinker of the spoon against the ceramic.

Cleaning products tossed aside, hands washed for at least the thirtieth time that day, you curled your fingers around the handles and tip-toed carefully towards your living room 

Halting at the edge of the room, you took in Harry’s figure as he lay along the couch. Dressed in nothing more than a t-shirt that read the infamous slogan he was known for, a pair of y-front pants that should be nothing more than repulsive to you and sports socks; he looked comforting even though sulky. 

Soft frown etched in between his brows, Harry’s eyes were frantically moving over the pages of the book that had him incredibly engrossed. You watched the way he licked at the middle finger of his right hand and turned the page.

Before you could stop yourself, a tut escaped your lips. He shouldn’t be putting his hands anywhere near his face. When was the last time he’d washed them? 

The noise caused Harry to sharply cut his eyes to you, abruptly pulling them from the pages of the paperback and onto your figure. You stood, awkward under his gaze, watching his eyes drop to the two mugs you held.

“Shouldn’t be doing that,” you lazily commented on him licking his fingers. “When did you last sanitise?”

“Please get off my arse,” he deadpanned. 

You swallowed harshly, continuing to feel heavier from your previous bicker. You didn’t want this unnecessary animosity to continue at all. He must’ve known that from the way his face softened slightly as he dropped his eyes, that were now not as harsh with their gaze as when he previously looked at you, to the steaming mugs.

“‘S all this,” he hummed. “‘S my mug.”

“It is,” you croaked, acknowledging his obvious statement. “‘S me bringing you a peace offering.”

“Brought any biscuits wi’yer?”

Your lips twitched at his question, offering nothing more than a shake of your head in response.

“‘S no good,” he hummed, eyes turning back to his book as he nudged his body over slightly to create a bigger gap next to him. A gap that looked awfully big enough to hold you.

Feeling brave from his light conversation, you walked closer. The dull thud of the heavy, tea-filled mugs hitting the coffee table that had just three hours earlier caused world war three in the four walls of your home, nervously brought you attention back to the sole reason you weren’t talking.

Over an inanimate object. 

Not wanting to push your luck, you slowly let the remaining part of the large couch above Harry’s head swallow you. Mind now no longer engulfed by the worry of confrontation, your senses tuned in to the soft hum of a record playing in the top corner of your lounge and the partially agitated sigh that left Harry’s lips.

You didn’t acknowledge it, choosing to instead blow gently at the warm mug held securely between both your hands. You knew it would be too hot for you to even consider drinking just yet.

Legs curled up underneath and to the side of you, you dropped your neck back slightly to rest against the marshmallow-like cushions and relax.

Finding comfort wasn’t easy, as your space had gotten smaller and smaller as the day went by. Part of you didn’t want it to get bigger though. Being in a bubble could be very pleasing, very pleasing. 

Lips twitched up at your thoughts, only deepening when you felt the soft grip of fingertips gently pinching at your calves. The same fingertips then flattened out, smoothing down and around your muscle to lightly tug.

Heavy head slowly lifting up, you took in the sight beneath you. Harry had reached behind him, his right elbow lifted awkwardly into the air as his left arm held his book above his head. His eyes remained trained to his book, as he flipped it slightly in his grip to read onto the next page.

You sighed as you watched the way his index and middle finger gently rubbed the soft fabric of your fluffy socks between his fingers, like some self soothing mechanism. 

The blissful noise alerted your husband, his head tilted back so he was looking at you from upside down. “Why’re all the way over there?” He asked softly.

You chuckled against your mug. “You’re touching me, I’m hardly in safe social distance according to advice.”

“Not touching you enough,” he spoke deeply. “Come an’ love me.”

Nose scrunching up at his tone, you reached forward as you rolled your lips into your mouth. 

“Have I got to?” You playfully questioned, feeling the tug of his hand become more forceful.

“If yer know what’s good for yer, yer will,” he groused. 

Fighting your smile, you ran your tongue against your teeth and tried to remember if you’d brushed them that morning. As disgusting as it sounded, everything was beginning to blur. Days into nights into days. 

You slipped off the couch and felt Harry watching you as he manoeuvred to his side. Laying down next to him in such a small space was in some silly way, exhilarating. The idea of being able to feel him against you; the shudder of his stomach as he laughed and the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, was everything you needed to get you through quarantine. 

The softest smile hit your face as you watched the way he wordlessly lifted his arm to welcome you to him. Sinking into the couch, while it was easy before, definitely felt easier this second time around. 

You nestled into his strong chest, feeling his shuffle underneath you and immediately begin to play with the hem of your short sleeve, his fingers lightly grazing against your skin.

Nudging your nose underneath his jawline, you enjoyed the way his stubbled gently tickled you. Harry was always warm and comforting, the right kind of strong and equally the right kind of soft. He had this way of making you feel small but in the tallest of ways. 

“Thank you,” you gently whispered when you felt him draw you close to him and saw the way he lifted his book up even high above the two of you so you could see the pages too. 

Your hand sat resting just above his belly, and you felt the way it slightly jiggled as he cleared his throat. 

He read to you, parts of a book that were realistically intimate that you found now more than anything that making up was the only option. 

“Talking to me properly now,” you mouthed against his skin after he stopped reading aloud. 

“‘S not me, it’s Bethan Roberts,” he replied, turning the book slightly in his hands so you could see the cover. 

“Well tell her I said thanks, managed to get my sulky hubby to produce more than a grunt-“

You heard him groan at your words, “Please don’t call me that.”

“What? Sulky?”

Harry turned his head slightly as he looked down his nose at you, the softest double chin forming. “No. I mean, hubby.” 

You gigged. Yes, giggled. Unattractively too. “How about my favourite handy man?”

“Darling,” he warned, not wanting you to pick the scab off a barely healing wound from the much earlier interaction. 

Lifting up, you nudged your nose against his cheek, softly sweeping against his facial hair before you located the corner of his mouth. “Not the only one who is good with their hands, you know?”

“‘S tha’ right,” he replied, fighting the laughter itching at his throat. “Think you’re talking shit.” 

“But you know I’m not,” you softly rasped, free hand bunching up at the front of Harry’s t-shirt, nails catching against the hairy trail on his stomach. “‘M trying to say I’m sorry.” 

“‘M listening, keep going,” he hummed, eyes closed and face blissfully aware he had gotten his own way. You scrunched your nose at his interjection, knowing how much he was thriving at the way you were skirting around your apology. 

“You’re such a wanker-“

The breathy laugh that left his mouth had you melting into him, the softest nudge of your lips to his accompanied by a gasped intake of breath as Harry opened his mouth wider. 

Hand pressed against his face, you enjoyed feeling the way his jaw extended as he gave you more of him. A satisfied hum lulled your kissing to an erotic stroking of tongues that had him chasing you when you lips parted.

You tilted your head back as he tried to catch your lips with his again, body jostling in the close confinement when he fallen short of his prize. 

“Darling,” he drawled, nosing along the center of your neck, your fingers clawing through the hair on the back of his head. You enjoyed the feeling of his face squashed against your skin as he muffled his protests at you not letting him have your lips and have his way. 

His playful growl when he broke free of your vice grip to his hair caused you to gleefully squeal, still thrashing to create a cat and mouse game over the sharing of kisses. 

By pressing his feet against the arm of the couch, Harry managed to create a leverage over your body. He rolled slightly, face pressed heavily into your cheek as he caught his breath.

“Darling, why’re you being like tha’? I’m trying to show I’m sorry too,” he heavily breathed. “Put it back.”

“Ask nicely,” you panted in return, hand toying above his aching buldge. 

“‘M always nice-“ you shook your head at his words. “No? ‘M sorry, sorry darlin’-“

His apology fell away from his lips as you grazed at his heavy bulge, a breathy chuckle bouncing against your already wet and messy lips. 

“Can a bloke not read a book while in quarantine in peace?”

“He can if he wants,” you spoke light, hands playing at the waistband of his underwear before sliding down and gently gripping at his bum cheek.

“Wha’ ya doin’?” 

“‘S it look like?”

“Like you’re gonna give me a handy.” 

“Harry,” you stressed his name as he chucked at his pathetic attempt at a joke. 

“Jus’ go with it,” he smiled, eyes closed and content, as he rested his head back slightly.

“Only if you help,” you started, you hand stroking gently back around to his lower abdomen. “Look at me.”

“Look at you, takin’ charge. Want me to wank in front of yer?”

“Do you want me to play with you or not?”

Harry cupped the back of your neck, letting the question die against his lips as he eagerly coaxed your mouth to open up again. Yes, he would like that very much. 

Your hand fell still at the top of his underpants as the two of you necked on, lying along the sofa like teens that had their parents house free for a whole weekend; all choked groans and light sighs as neither of you wanted to part.

When you finally came to your senses, you dropped your hand and slid it over the cotton of Harry’s underwear. He felt heavy and warm, his arousal present but you still had enough of a chance to toy with him. 

Massaging him through the cotton of his briefs, the sinful groans leaving his lips had you eager to get started. Your hand, ahead of your brain, pushed underneath the waistband as Harry choked at you to slow down.

“‘M too dry,” he mumbled, looking down at you, all soft double chin and stubble. He seemed conflicted, knowing it was a necessary step but just as eager. “Hang on-“

The shuffle of his body caused you to frown as you tried to anchor yourself to him and not fall off the side of the couch. The two of you chuckled as he felt the way you almost slid out from underneath his grip, his whispered “I‘ve got yer” almost lost against the sound of your creaking couch.

His hand slid down against the top of yours and gently squeezed against both his aching cock and your much more nimble fingers.

“You always feel so heavy in my hand, H,” you whispered sultrily. “Let me have it.”

Harry breathed deeply through his nose as you felt the way he circled his hand around your wrist and gently tugged upwards. 

You couldn’t take your eyes off him as he pressed the softest of wet kisses to the inside of your palm, his tongue, as pink as his lips, gently licked at your skin. His eyes were closed, a dip to his brows as he embodied a high level of erotic passion. 

Lips puckered and skimming up against your fingers, you felt the way Harry opened his mouth wider, soft tongue now lapping gently at the fingertips of your middle and third finger.

With half a smirk gracing your lips, you slowly lifted your eyes from his mouth, vision tracing up his features before you found his awaiting hazy stare, strong on yours. 

You were enjoying the lewd gesture and his commitment to holding your gaze, as you felty yourself flush with unnecessary embarrassment at the visual of your sodden fingers softly slipping from his lips.

The string of saliva left behind by his ardent sucking, coupled with the soft bounce of his bottom lips as you playfully pull at it with the tips of your fingers, had you incessantly mesmerised and craving to kiss.

Harry less than gracefully pushed down at your hand, as the digits of his right palm loosely became woven into the hair on the back of your head. 

Jolting forward and breathing heavily against each other’s mouths, Harry licked gently into your mouth and pushed down at his underwear using your fingers.

You giggled at his desperate movements and enjoyed the way his mouth went slack against yours as you grasped at his cock, with ease this time. Trembling breath bouncing against your lips, so satisfying for you. 

Harry was always vocal, but there was something about him as he lay squashed against you in the dimming evening light that brought out a wildness unmatched. 

The slide of your hand along his shaft eased a coiled tension within Harry as he heavily breathed against the corner of your mouth incoherent praise and subconsciously raised his hips upwards into your enclosed grip as you dared to loosen your fingers around him. 

He was greedy for it. His hand once more pulling against the back of your shirt, so the hem now no longer covered your backside but instead sat awkwardly against your lower back.

His moans became muffled as he rolled his lips into his mouth, and caused your vision to blur from the way he heavily pressed his face into yours.

“Fuck me, ‘m gonna come,” he spoke, voice deeper than before, his words lazier as they omitted from him before he gulped. “Unugh, pull me out.”’

Left hand free, Harry beat you to his request. With briefs now bunched against his thighs he tried his hardest to get them down his body, with a rub of his thighs as he gripped firmly at your thigh.

His hand slid up your smooth skin, fingers finding your bare arse cheek and slapping against your taught skin as he encouraged you to wrap your thigh over his hip.

“Gonna leave some cracking marks all over this body by the time I’m done with you,” he spoke firmly into the column of your throat. “Leaning back from me wi’out me ‘aving to tell you an’all- giving me the space I need to shag you just right.” 

He took his time to see the way you’d arched for him, head somewhat hanging over the side of the couch as he tried to figure out how to line himself up and please you the only way he knew how. 

“Where’d you want me?” he groused, eyes looking down to the pull of your hips towards each other, “Hm? Here okay? With your fingers or mine?” 

You wetly whimpered at him, scratching your nails against the skin of his naval before you pressed the palm he had previously licked flat against your centre. Grinding down against your skin, the heel of your palm bumped salaciously against your clit. 

“Dirty girl, knows what she wants,” he reached between you, the heat of your core attracting his aching cock that easily as it aligned itself to you. “Sit back on me, gently… Gentle.” 

Your fingers could feel the way his cock sunk into you, disappearing inch by inch until your hand was awkwardly squashed between the both of your pelvises. 

Somehow you managed to slide your hand around to Harry’s soft hips where you dipped your fingertips into his skin. His mouth sucked at your sternum, revelling in the feel of you having taken him all. 

“Giving me your belly,” he confirmed, “Took me all the way, doll. Want all of me, all of my apology eh.”

“God, Harry,” you keened. “Do something.”

He rocked his hips, pressing his feet into the arm of the couch to create a nice leverage and force that tensed his thighs and started a rustling sound against the couch material. 

“I am,” he stressed, softly gritting his teeth and seeing you watch him through hooded eyelids. “Don’t just lay there and take me,” he mouthed against your lips. “Give me as good as you get, yeah,” he chuckled as he felt the pressure of your pushing into him, stepping up to his request. 

“You’re my favourite lover,” he gasped.

“I better be your only lover,” you breathlessly threatened, tilting your head back. He hummed as he burrowed his head deeper into your jaw. 

“You’re the only one I shag like this,” he replied, hand sliding down when he felt your thighs start to give way. “Thighs up or ‘m stopping.”

You whined feeling a burning sensation forming in the crease of your thigh as you tried to keep yourself as closely connected to Harry as possible. “You wouldn’t,” you goaded him, the heel of your foot running against the back of his hairy thigh.

“Wouldn’t I?” He questioned, brushing back your hair that was starting to get sweaty. When you thought about it, the whole of your body was. 

The warmth radiating from each tilt and rock of your hips a little easier with formed sweat and arousal, while the feel of Harry’s hand splayed out against arse cheek, made you feel owned. 

He held you tight as he slowly moved against you, rocking back and forth as you self-soothed egos and bruised hearts. Heavy breaths mingled between kisses as he admitted his love for you and you for him. 

“Missed you today,” he murmured against your cheekbone.

“I’ve been here-“

He nudged his nose against you now, as he shook his head. “Been different, sick of me and these four walls. Beginning to climb ‘em, ain’t we? Have’ta tell me, so I can ‘ave a go at fixing it.”

“Isn’t that why we are argued to begin with, cause of your fixing-“

His lips quirked at your quickness, “Smart arse.”

Humming, you brushed his hair away, scratching by his ear and hearing his pleased purrs at your shower of affections. 

“We’re good, show me we’re good-“ you dipped your head back as he pulled you tighter against him, thrusting and creating the first clapping sound of your skin that evening. “Yes, show me we’re better than good.” 

Harry felt the way your skin was tacky against his, his hand peeling away from your bum to your thigh. A weird humidity had  clouded the lounge not usually felt in the British Spring Time, woven with the heady smell of your sex and unadulterated love.

All space was eliminated between both of your bodies as he knocked up into you, skin rubbing from the force. 

“Why didn’t you take off this bloody shirt?” You groaned, scratching your nails against the fabric, as you clung to him. 

“Cause someone could wait to have her way wi’me,” he chimed, voice light and singing. “God you want it don’t you?”

He could feel the way you were squeezing at him, releasing a guttural gasp at his questioning of you. You pulled him deeper than anyone has ever been able to do and that made him proud. Proud to call you his. His lover, his wife. His lifetime. 

“Harry, I’m gonna come,” you panted, high-pitched and positively annoying to anyone outside your shared lust. Nails again irritatingly scratched against his back, this time he was thankful he kept his t-shirt on, not wanting to deal with any stinging skin in the shower later on.

With each forceful thrust, he pressed at your arse forcing your hips into his as he pulled you into him. He knew you were fast approaching your release, a change in the way you writhed against him and produced keening whines that pulled a smugness like no other from his chest. 

Hair falling against his forehead, sweaty and unforgiving, Harry rested his forehead against yours and sucked passionately at your bruise lips and lapped at your saltiness. His focus zoned in on only you, your hitching breath on his face and tired body heavier in arms.

He knew you were spent but he was grateful for your trying. Eyes halfway shut but lips managing to entice him by forming his name faintly and loud enough for him to hear. The erotic murmur easily made a mess of him faster than your loudest moans only moments earlier.

This was yours. This was his.

No one saw you like this but him. No one saw him like this but you.

“‘M so in love wi’you,” he admitted, watching your eyes roll back into your head, body trembling as you got closer to your peak. “Giving me a good one, tha’ I don’t deserve.”

He smiled as he watched the way you rubbed against him, as he felt you squeeze around him, pulling a choked moan from him as he squeezed at the back of your neck with his right hand, and quickened the motion of his hips.

“Don’t stop,” you panted heavily, body tightening as your mouth fell open, silently. Eyes fluttering shut as you babbled his name and he changed the roll of his hips to deep nudges to get him what he wanted from your sensitivity. 

Your body went slack against him as he bottomed out inside of you, he mouthed into your skin, “Know you're tired but don’t go still on me. Love me back.”

Mewling at his breathy request, you tried to match his deep thrusts as best you could, feeling his hand against your clit. “Harry,” you whispered in a warning.

“Okay, okay, I won’t- had enough?”

“Want some more,” you hummed, even though you knew you shouldn’t, already feeling faintly sore. 

He growled, through his closed mouth, bum cheeks clenched as he felt the way you took him. Selfless and affectionate. In that moment, he knew he would never find another like you. 

And that was enough for him to give you everything he had.

And you took it all. Fingers woven through the back of his head, clinging to his head as he burrowed down into your neck. Fierce grunts muffled and chest tight, gasping for air. 

Your come down was bittersweet. The feel of Harry softening between your legs, before resting between them in a way that was wet and spent. A familiar moment. 

Harry took his time admiring you, gaze looking at your flushed out cheeks and sparkling eyes. 

The two of you lay in silence, Harry brushing back your hair before pushing himself up and leaning on his hand. Looking up at him, you swore you’d never seen anyone more handsome and comfortable within themselves.

The crack of an elastic waistband caused you to look down your bodies as you watched the way he fidgeted with his underpants that he had just pulled back on.

“Why’ve you done that. Take ‘em back off,” you poured, looking up at him wide eyed. He chuckled down at you and your demanding words. 

“‘S gone cold, y’know,” he hummed. “Won’t do so much for my ego, if you see wha’ it’s like down there when ‘m cold.”

“Does the job alright for me,” you said, pulling him down to you. 

With a chuckle, he pecked you’re lips to try and satiate you, before he pulled away. Eyes falling onto your two mugs of tea that sat within arms reach on your coffee table. 

“‘M fuckin’ parched,” he said. “Hold onto me a sec.”

Before you could think, Harry was rolling his body over yours, doing his best to keep his weight off you completely. You clenched your fingers into his shirt, watching him with wide eyes as he scooped up his mug and took a sip.

“‘S gone cold,” he murmured, before he swigged at the drink again. You looked up at him in all your double chin glory.

“No change there then. Gonna have to start rationing the tea bags cause you’re taking the piss not drinking the teas I make you.”

He dropped his gaze, eyes looking at yours. “D’ya need some tissue to clean up?”

You hummed, not wanting to make a move. 

“Gonna have to start rationing the toilet roll cause you're taking the piss-“ he didn’t get to finish his sentence before you covered his mouth with your hand.

And if he knew what was good for him he wouldn’t finish it either.

***

Shout out to my usual suspects who always put up with my bullshit @waitingfortwilight, @harryfeatgaga, @huccimermaidshirts, @haute-romance-quotidienne, @majorharry and @for-fucks-sake-h. Also, @harrysonlyangelsss and @sweetcreatureinthedark, because why not?

Big up @waitingfortwilight for the title <3

[mememydid]

The Questions:

What is one thing you wish everyone understood about DID?

That everyone’s experience is different. I talk a lot about how diagnosis is a privilege, and how people’s definitions of trauma are different, but I also want people to remember their ideas of recovering are different. Some people might want functional multiplicity, some people might want to work towards integrations. Some people might want to face their triggers head-on, and some people might want to stay away from them. Your definition of healing is not wrong because someone else doesn’t use/do/like it.

Are you in therapy? What is your experience with therapy like?

I was in therapy before Carona, but it was not because of my DID. I am only out to a selective few friends, and one of my teachers and my three guidance counselors. An alter once attempted to out us to my parents, but that did not go well so we covered for it. 

Do you have an inner world? If you do, what is it like?

We do! Our inner world has gone through three stages of being as our system continued to grow. I will answer this further in a sperate post.

What is communication like between you and the others? Do you have any particular systems set up to help with communication?

We try using journals but that does not always work as some alters just don’t think to write in them. We are working on using them more, because at the moment they are one of the few things documenting the timeline of changes for our system. And of course, I hear the alters I am close with’s thoughts. This is not always a good thing though.

Has any conventional advice for DID ever not worked for you (journaling is unhelpful, can’t visualize an inner world, etc)?

Yes! Like I said, the journaling bit is hard. Our system has an issue with just sucking it up and dealing when things go missing. Even if those things are very important, like my inhaler (Which we found) and two different book series that a lot of the alters enjoyed. (Still looking....)

What does “safety” mean for you?

Right now in our situation, safety is the closed off comfort of a closet with books and blankets, and the isolation of a basement that no one else goes into. We like enclosed spaces.

Do you have any introjects? How do you feel about their source? How do they feel about their source?

We have quite a few! I think for the most part they all love/respect/are interested in their source! We only have one that delves quite far from “canon” and we don’t let him front much.

Do you have any non-human alters?

We do! We have animal alters, and monster alters that all have their own lives within the system. Two of our littles, Skippy and Honey, are also considered non-human, because Skippy is half-wolf, and Honey is a centaur.

Is there anything that makes you feel like your experience with DID is “different” than what you see other people with DID talk about?

I don’t know...I don’t think so.

Who is the most likely to get into a fight (physical or verbal?) Who’s the most likely to try to patch things up afterward?

Almost certainly Melanthea would get into a fight if she was allowed. She’s very physical and has some anger issues to deal with. Our caretakers, Sally and Trudy will often front to take care of the body if we get into scrapes, or are just in general hurt.

Does anyone wish they could make big changes to your body’s appearance?

Almost everyone! We have, for the most part, elected to ignore mirrors, as we are too scared of surgeries to get anything changed.

Choose some parts/alters and describe each in 5 words or less.

I suppose we’ll do our primary protector, Evan! Let’s see...Goofy, loud, fidgety, sweet, and comfortable describe him well!

What does dissociation feel like for you?

We slowly stop hearing words in a conversation, and our vision blurs when we slip into dissociation. Then what happens next depends on what type of dissociation it is. One thing we know for certain, is when we are dissociated, we don’t like anyone to touch our face. Someone did once, as a rude joke, and it somehow messed up our vision for about an hour, so all we could see was green and blue. (The grass and sky.)

How often do you think you switch?

Now that’s a hard question, and of course it depends on the day/alter/situation. When we are with our cat, almost all the littles blend together regularly, because he is a positive trigger for them. I wouldn’t say that we switch more in public, I think we just acknowledge it more then.

Do any of you experience body dysphoria or dysmorphia?

So many of us! Again, mirrors.

How many parts/alters do you think you have at this time?

It was over 150+ the last I checked, I need to better update our lists and such.

If you have younger parts/alters, what makes them happy or excited?

Our cat, stuffed animals and candy, typical little things. Our little Lulu is often brought out when we are talking to one of our partners, as she thinks they are best friends. : )

Do you consider yourselves to be covert or overt about having DID?

We are incredibly overt! That’s why it’s so strange our parents can’t imagine us having DID. We have had littles, animal alters, male alters, the whole likes front in front of our parents! They question non of it, even when we ask them to call us different names all the time. It frustrates me. We have even had littles front at school, both on accident and purpose.

Do you experience denial often? How do you react when you experience it?

I only experience it rarely, because I am not the original Host, and I remember my forming. But whenever I do have the fleeting worry, I remind myself if I was faking it would be a conscious decision, and I wouldn’t be worried if I was.

What grounding methods or skills work best for you? Do different skills work better for different parts/alters?

When I am panicked Sally will sometimes run her fingers on the body’s arms and face, and she taps to make me focus. Some of our alters have less...Healthy options.

What does “recovery” mean for you?

Recovery means functional multiplicity, with a nice big house and kids and animals, and plenty of warm blankets arranged to make nests. : )

[our1dpreferencesbr]

My amores, essa é a continuação do imagine do Zayn que postei ontem.

Para quem quiser ler a primeira parte está aqui X

ALGUM TEMPO ATRÁS...

S/N Vision

        Depois dessa noite acho que nunca mais vou conseguir ser a mesma pessoa, mas a minha mente só foca em alguém que não é o meu ex-namorado e nem a minha ex melhor amiga e sim no Zayn.

           Joguei-me na cama e peguei o meu celular nas mãos e olhei as mensagens, mas não havia nenhuma apenas uma da minha mãe. Tentei não criar expectativas em relação ao meu mais novo crush, mas é impossível, e eu não sei se estou sendo carente demais ou sonhando muito, mas nunca senti algo tão forte nem mesmo pelo o Carter que eu tinha a plena certeza que eu iria me casar.

           Suspirei fundo e bloqueei meu celular. Um banho quente iria resolver tudo isso.

 Zayn Vision

           Talvez apenas fosse um beijo para ela, não quero que S/n pense que eu estou louco ou pense que eu apenas quero transar. Tenho medo de está sendo rápido demais, afinal foi apenas um encontro após um show, mas do fundo do meu coração espero que ela não tenha achando isso também, por outro lado ela acabou de sair de um relacionamento muito conturbado.

           Peguei meu celular e abri o aplicativo de mensagens.

                                                                      A noite foi ótima, espero que tenha gostado.

           Bloqueei meu celular e fui até o banheiro.

          TEMPO ATUAL...

S/n Vision

           Assim que pus os pés dentro de casa peguei a correspondência e fui passando para o lado até que eu vi um convite de casamento, olhei animada para saber quem iria se casar, assim que virei o convite toda àquela felicidade que estava sentindo desapareceu em um só segundo. Por um minuto senti minhas pernas bambas e aquela memória guardada bem no fundo da minha mente voltou à tona, aquela imagem horrível do Carter e a Beatrice transando atingiu-me como um raio. Algumas lagrimas caíram, ainda não sei o porque disso eu não amo mais ele e nem mesmo sinto nada, mas Beatrice era a pessoa que eu mais confiava em toda a minha vida, nunca senti-me tão traída.

- Amor...  – Senti a barba mal feita de Zayn tocando o meu pescoço e fazendo cosegas, ele beijou minha bochecha. – Está tudo bem?

           Não disse nada apenas mostrei o convite para ele. Ouve um silencio. – Nós vamos. – Zayn disse de uma vez. – Claro, se você se sentir confortável com isso, mas eu acho que nós deveríamos ir.

           Olhei assustada para Zayn. – Eu não sei... E como se isso tivesse acontecido ontem. – Levantei-me do sofá e aproximei-me de Zayn. – Ela foi a minha melhor amiga.

- Quero ir para mostra-la que estamos felizes e nada e nem ninguém pode atingir você.

           Zayn abraçou-me delicadamente e eu senti sua respiração calma perto do meu pescoço. E em pensar que esse namoro começou com uma carona até a minha casa. Às vezes fico pensando em que se nada disso tivesse acontecido na minha vida e eu e o Zayn não estaríamos juntos agora, e agora percebo como eu sou grata por essa traição, conheci o melhor homem.

 DIAS DEPOIS...

        Assim que terminei o ultimo detalhe do meu cabelo e pus meus saltos Zayn apareceu atrás de mim. Ele estava com o seu terno preto e os cabelos raspados, ele conseguia ficar lindo de qualquer maneira. Olhei para ele e sorri então ele segurou a minha mão e sorriu.

- Já disse o quanto eu amo você hoje?

           Fiz cara de pensativa e sorri. – Já, mas pode falar de novo porque eu amo quando você diz isso.

- Eu amo você. – Zayn beijou meus lábios. – Eu iria esperar para fazer isso em outro dia, mas hoje é o dia exato para isso.

           Zayn se ajoelhou na minha frente e o meu coração disparou, levei as mãos até a minha boca e tentei controlar as minhas lagrimas, não queria estragar a minha maquiagem. – Não acredito.

           Ele tirou uma caixinha vermelha do seu bolso e olhou para mim. – Aceita casar comigo?

- Sim, sim, sim. – Dizia sem parar. – Pensei que esse dia nunca iria chegar. – O abracei com todas as minhas forças e o beijei. – Você poderia pedir depois do casamento, vou chegar lá toda borrada.

- Não podia esperar mais, eu não conseguia. – Zayn pegou-me no colo e girou-me no ar. – Acho que antes podemos treinar para a nossa lua de mel.

[caiosilvabrasil]

Caoa Chery Tiggo 8 virá com motor de 187 cv e preço de Jeep Compass

O Caoa Chery Tiggo 8 terá motor de 187 cv começa a ser vendido no dia 12 de agosto com preço na faixa do Jeep Compass. A potência e a configuração do motor TGDi, turbo com injeção direta de combustível, foram confirmados pela empresa. Na noite deste domingo (2), a Caoa Chery veiculou anúncio no intervalo do programa Fantástico, da TV Globo, com detalhes do novo SUV. O preço, ainda não confirmado pela empresa, partirá de cerca de R$ 150 mil.

Esse preço é próximo ao da versão Limited do Compass. Nessa configuração, o modelo a Jeep, que é feito em Goiana (PE), parte de R$ 153.990. A mais barata é a Sport, cuja linha 2020/20, parte de R$ 113.990. Esse valor inclui o bônus de R$ 8 mil para desovar os estoques. A linha 2020/21 chega na segunda quinzena.

Diferentemente do Compass, que leva cinco pessoas, o Tiggo 8 terá sete lugares. O modelo feito pela Caoa Chery em Anápolis (GO) é o primeiro SUV para sete ocupantes produzido no Brasil. Sua apresentação para a imprensa está marcada para o dia 12/8. As vendas começam em seguida.

Câmbio automatizado virá de série

O Compass é o líder de vendas do segmento no País. Na versão Limited, o Jeep tem motor 2.0 flexível de 170 cv. O câmbio é automático convencional de seis marchas. No anúncio do Tiggo 8, a Caoa Chery confirmou que o câmbio será DCT. A marca informa que a alavanca é similar a um joystick de videogame.

O câmbio DCT é automatizado com duas embreagens e sete velocidades. Segundo fontes da empresa, essa caixa é a mais moderna disponível em carros feitos no Brasil. Com lubrificação a óleo, garante mudanças de marcha mais rápidas e sem trancos, informam as mesmas fontes.

O motor do novo Caoa Chery Tiggo 8 será 1.6. Disponível inicialmente apenas em versão a gasolina, o quatro-cilindros gera torque máximo de 28 mkg. Essa força fica disponível a partir das 2.000 rpm. Outros detalhes confirmados no anúncio são os faróis full-LEDs e o tamanho do porta-malas.

Com cinco pessoas a bordo, o bagageiro do Tiggo 8 tem 889 litros de capacidade. Com a segunda fileira de bancos recolhida, a área sobre para 1.930 l. Já com os sete assentos em uso o espaço disponível no porta-malas é de 193 l. Isso é um pouco menos que o bagageiro de um Fiat Mobi, por exemplo.

Veja também

Jeep Renegade e Compass 2021 ganham mais equipamentos

Carro elétrico Sony Vision S entra em testes em vias públicas

Novo Volkswagen Golf vai mal no teste do alce

Tiggo 8 é maior que o Compass

O Tiggo 8 tem 4,7 metros de comprimento, 1,86 m de largura, 1,75 m de altura e 2,71 m de distância entre os eixos. Com esses números, o novo SUV da Caoa Chery oferece amplo espaço a bordo. Para comparação, no Compass as dimensões são de, respectivamente, 4,42 m, 1,82 m, 1,64 m e 2,64 m. O Tiggo 8 é 28 cm mais comprido e tem 7 cm a mais de distância entre os eixos que o modelo da Jeep.

E, assim como os demais carros da Caoa Chery, o Tiggo 8 virá recheado de equipamentos de série. Dois itens voltados ao conforto, haverá sistema de som com oito alto-falantes e ar-condicionado com duas zonas de resfriamento, além de saídas para a segunda fila de bancos.

Outro destaque da cabine é o painel virtual com tela de 12,3 polegadas, também confirmada no anúncio para a TV. A da central multimídia, por sua vez, terá 10,25″. O sistema será compatível com as plataformas Android Auto e Apple Car Play. Abaixo, outro mostrador digital serve para controlar as funções do sistema de ar-condicionado. A disposição é semelhante à adotada por Audi e Land Rover em seus modelos mais recentes, com poucos botões físicos.

Tiggo 8 será muito bem equipado

O Caoa Chery Tiggo 8 também terá bancos revestidos de couro. O do motorista virá com ajuste elétrico em seis posições. Para o carona dianteiro, haverá regulagem manual em quatro posições. Carregador de celular sem fio, teto solar panorâmico, iluminação dos pedais acionada automaticamente quando alguém entra no carro, chave presencial (libera as travas das portas automaticamente) e partida do motor por botão também fazem parte do pacote.

Em relação à segurança, o Tiggo 8 trará sensores de obstáculos e câmeras na dianteira e na traseira. O freio de estacionamento terá acionamento eletrônico e o conjunto de faróis terá luzes de LEDs de uso diurno.

Distribuição eletrônica das forças de frenagem, controles eletrônicos de tração e estabilidade e frenagem automática de emergência também virão de fábrica. Além disso, haverá auxílio de arranque em rampa, que evita que o carro volte para trás nas saídas em ladeiras, por exemplo.

Caoa Chery tem 5 anos de garantia

Outros mimos serão as rodas de liga leve de 18 polegadas e o monitoramento interno da pressão dos pneus. O novo Caoa Chery trará ainda abertura do porta-malas acionada por meio de sensores de presença. As fileiras de bancos terão várias opções de rebatimento. A segunda, por exemplo, poderá ser rebatida na proporção 40/60 e a terceira, na proporção 50/50.

Em linha com os demais modelos da Caoa Chery, o Tiggo 8 terá garantia de até 5 anos no Brasil. Para ter direito à cobertura é preciso fazer as revisões periódicas a cada 10 mil km rodados ou 2 meses – o que ocorrer primeiro.

Para referência, a primeira revisão de um Tiggo 7 custa R$ 478,23 e pode ser paga em até três parcelas. O serviço deve ser feito quando o SUV atingir 10 mil km ou após 12 meses da compra. Inclui troca dos filtros de combustível e do óleo do motor, do lubrificante e da arruela do bujão de cárter, além de inspeção de 44 itens do carro.

Inscreva-se no canal do Jornal do Carro no YouTube

Veja vídeos de testes de carros e motos, lançamentos, panoramas, análises, entrevistas e o que acontece no mundo automotivo em outros países!

Inscrever-se

Caoa Chery Tiggo 8 virá com motor de 187 cv e preço de Jeep Compass apareceu primeiro em: https://jornaldocarro.estadao.com.br

[renatosampaio101]

Caoa Chery Tiggo 8 virá com motor de 187 cv e preço de Jeep Compass

O Caoa Chery Tiggo 8 terá motor de 187 cv começa a ser vendido no dia 12 de agosto com preço na faixa do Jeep Compass. A potência e a configuração do motor TGDi, turbo com injeção direta de combustível, foram confirmados pela empresa. Na noite deste domingo (2), a Caoa Chery veiculou anúncio no intervalo do programa Fantástico, da TV Globo, com detalhes do novo SUV. O preço, ainda não confirmado pela empresa, partirá de cerca de R$ 150 mil.

Esse preço é próximo ao da versão Limited do Compass. Nessa configuração, o modelo a Jeep, que é feito em Goiana (PE), parte de R$ 153.990. A mais barata é a Sport, cuja linha 2020/20, parte de R$ 113.990. Esse valor inclui o bônus de R$ 8 mil para desovar os estoques. A linha 2020/21 chega na segunda quinzena.

Diferentemente do Compass, que leva cinco pessoas, o Tiggo 8 terá sete lugares. O modelo feito pela Caoa Chery em Anápolis (GO) é o primeiro SUV para sete ocupantes produzido no Brasil. Sua apresentação para a imprensa está marcada para o dia 12/8. As vendas começam em seguida.

Câmbio automatizado virá de série

O Compass é o líder de vendas do segmento no País. Na versão Limited, o Jeep tem motor 2.0 flexível de 170 cv. O câmbio é automático convencional de seis marchas. No anúncio do Tiggo 8, a Caoa Chery confirmou que o câmbio será DCT. A marca informa que a alavanca é similar a um joystick de videogame.

O câmbio DCT é automatizado com duas embreagens e sete velocidades. Segundo fontes da empresa, essa caixa é a mais moderna disponível em carros feitos no Brasil. Com lubrificação a óleo, garante mudanças de marcha mais rápidas e sem trancos, informam as mesmas fontes.

O motor do novo Caoa Chery Tiggo 8 será 1.6. Disponível inicialmente apenas em versão a gasolina, o quatro-cilindros gera torque máximo de 28 mkg. Essa força fica disponível a partir das 2.000 rpm. Outros detalhes confirmados no anúncio são os faróis full-LEDs e o tamanho do porta-malas.

Com cinco pessoas a bordo, o bagageiro do Tiggo 8 tem 889 litros de capacidade. Com a segunda fileira de bancos recolhida, a área sobre para 1.930 l. Já com os sete assentos em uso o espaço disponível no porta-malas é de 193 l. Isso é um pouco menos que o bagageiro de um Fiat Mobi, por exemplo.

Veja também

Jeep Renegade e Compass 2021 ganham mais equipamentos

Carro elétrico Sony Vision S entra em testes em vias públicas

Novo Volkswagen Golf vai mal no teste do alce

Tiggo 8 é maior que o Compass

O Tiggo 8 tem 4,7 metros de comprimento, 1,86 m de largura, 1,75 m de altura e 2,71 m de distância entre os eixos. Com esses números, o novo SUV da Caoa Chery oferece amplo espaço a bordo. Para comparação, no Compass as dimensões são de, respectivamente, 4,42 m, 1,82 m, 1,64 m e 2,64 m. O Tiggo 8 é 28 cm mais comprido e tem 7 cm a mais de distância entre os eixos que o modelo da Jeep.

E, assim como os demais carros da Caoa Chery, o Tiggo 8 virá recheado de equipamentos de série. Dois itens voltados ao conforto, haverá sistema de som com oito alto-falantes e ar-condicionado com duas zonas de resfriamento, além de saídas para a segunda fila de bancos.

Outro destaque da cabine é o painel virtual com tela de 12,3 polegadas, também confirmada no anúncio para a TV. A da central multimídia, por sua vez, terá 10,25″. O sistema será compatível com as plataformas Android Auto e Apple Car Play. Abaixo, outro mostrador digital serve para controlar as funções do sistema de ar-condicionado. A disposição é semelhante à adotada por Audi e Land Rover em seus modelos mais recentes, com poucos botões físicos.

Tiggo 8 será muito bem equipado

O Caoa Chery Tiggo 8 também terá bancos revestidos de couro. O do motorista virá com ajuste elétrico em seis posições. Para o carona dianteiro, haverá regulagem manual em quatro posições. Carregador de celular sem fio, teto solar panorâmico, iluminação dos pedais acionada automaticamente quando alguém entra no carro, chave presencial (libera as travas das portas automaticamente) e partida do motor por botão também fazem parte do pacote.

Em relação à segurança, o Tiggo 8 trará sensores de obstáculos e câmeras na dianteira e na traseira. O freio de estacionamento terá acionamento eletrônico e o conjunto de faróis terá luzes de LEDs de uso diurno.

Distribuição eletrônica das forças de frenagem, controles eletrônicos de tração e estabilidade e frenagem automática de emergência também virão de fábrica. Além disso, haverá auxílio de arranque em rampa, que evita que o carro volte para trás nas saídas em ladeiras, por exemplo.

Caoa Chery tem 5 anos de garantia

Outros mimos serão as rodas de liga leve de 18 polegadas e o monitoramento interno da pressão dos pneus. O novo Caoa Chery trará ainda abertura do porta-malas acionada por meio de sensores de presença. As fileiras de bancos terão várias opções de rebatimento. A segunda, por exemplo, poderá ser rebatida na proporção 40/60 e a terceira, na proporção 50/50.

Em linha com os demais modelos da Caoa Chery, o Tiggo 8 terá garantia de até 5 anos no Brasil. Para ter direito à cobertura é preciso fazer as revisões periódicas a cada 10 mil km rodados ou 2 meses – o que ocorrer primeiro.

Para referência, a primeira revisão de um Tiggo 7 custa R$ 478,23 e pode ser paga em até três parcelas. O serviço deve ser feito quando o SUV atingir 10 mil km ou após 12 meses da compra. Inclui troca dos filtros de combustível e do óleo do motor, do lubrificante e da arruela do bujão de cárter, além de inspeção de 44 itens do carro.

Inscreva-se no canal do Jornal do Carro no YouTube

Veja vídeos de testes de carros e motos, lançamentos, panoramas, análises, entrevistas e o que acontece no mundo automotivo em outros países!

Inscrever-se

https://jornaldocarro.estadao.com.br/carros/caoa-chery-tiggo-8-motor-187-cv-preco-compass/ visto pela primeira vez em https://jornaldocarro.estadao.com.br

[tesaonews]

Abertura de capital da Uber segue em frente com registro de documentos pela SEC

Com a expectativa de que a Uber iria fazer uma oferta pública de ações (IPO), o mercado de ações estava à espera de uma notícia que oficializasse o feito e, nesta quinta (11), a Comissão de Títulos e Câmbio dos Estados Unidos (SEC) disponibilizou os documentos regulatórios em seu site oficial, dando o sinal verde para abertura de capital na NASDAQ, prevista para maio.

O documento, tão aguardado pelos acionistas, foi arquivado em dezembro do ano passado e demonstra a visão de investimentos da Uber, bem como os seus planos de crescimento futuro nos ramos de carona, entrega de comida, direção autônoma, veículos voadores e mais.

De acordo com o Business Insider, a empresa de caronas será listada na bolsa de Nova Iorque sob a sigla UBER e, no momento, os bancos Morgan Stanley, o Goldman Sachs, Bank of America, Merrill Lynch, Barclays, Citigroup e Allen & Company, entre outros, estão subscrevendo a oferta. Apesar de a empresa não revelar o valor da venda que pretende disponibilizar, informações anteriores indicam que ela venderá cerca de US$ 10 bilhões (R$ 38,2 bilhões) em ações, o que tornará seu IPO o maior de todos os tempos na indústria de tecnologia.

– Podcast Porta 101: a equipe do Canaltech discute quinzenalmente assuntos relevantes, curiosos, e muitas vezes polêmicos, relacionados ao mundo da tecnologia, internet e inovação. Não deixe de acompanhar. –

O impacto que esse IPO irá trazer aparenta ser bastante interessante, visto que o co-fundador da Uber, Travis Kalanick, que se demitiu da empresa em 2017, também acabará faturando valores na casa dos bilhões. Sendo um dos principais acionistas da empresa, Kalanick detém 8,6% das ações pré-IPO, que estão avaliadas em cerca de US$ 9 bilhões. Outros dos grandes acionistas são o SoftBank Vision Fund (16,3%), Benchmark (11%), Expa (6%), o Fundo de Investimento da Arábia Saudita (5,3%) e a Alphabet (5,2%).

Vale destacar que a Uber arrecadou quase US$ 20 bilhões em uma combinação de financiamento de dívida e capital, tornando-se o negócio pré-IPO mais bem capitalizado de todos os tempos.

Uma das páginas do documento da Uber (Imagem: SEC) 

Antes do começo das negociações, no entanto, os executivos e banqueiros da Uber iniciarão um roadshow para aumentar a demanda em todo o país. De acordo com a Bloomberg, isso deve começar ainda neste mês, visando disponibilizar as ações em maio. Vale lembrar que o roadshow é similar a um workshop, mas que percorre várias localidades.

Apresentando um crescimento notável e recebendo vários investimentos, o banco Morgan Stanley havia indicado, em outubro do ano passado, que a empresa de transportes estaria avaliada em US$ 120 bilhões, posicionando-a num lugar de destaque entre a operadora ferroviária Union Pacific e a Salesforce, gigante do ramo da tecnologia.

Com expectativas extremamente altas quanto ao poder de lucro da Uber, a empresa recebeu grandes quantidades de investimentos, permitindo a ela que pudesse englobar a maioria das cidades presentes em mais de 60 países, apresentando uma abrangência muito maior no quesito de disponibilidade de serviço quando comparada à sua maior rival, a Lyft.

Através do IPO, o crescimento da empresa pode ser notado ao observar que o fluxo de caixa foi positivo em 2018, com um lucro líquido de US$ 997 milhões. Isso é um aumento maciço em relação à perda de mais de US$ 4 milhões em 2017. Ao mesmo tempo, a receita da Uber também demonstrou grande crescimento, apresentando um valor dez vezes maior desde 2014.

Apesar de o nome “Uber” estar fixado na mente das pessoas como um aplicativo de caronas, vale destacar que a empresa atua também em outros ramos, tais como o de veículos autônomos e de entrega de comida, sendo esse último o segmento que mais cresce dentro da empresa. De acordo com o Business Insider, executivos da Uber teriam afirmado que o Eats será o primeiro de muitos serviços que demonstrarão uma grande ascendência através do nome “Uber”. Um exemplo de “outro serviço” seria o de entrega de produtos de mercados e mercearias, que estaria sendo projetado no escritório de Toronto para ser lançado em um futuro próximo.

Mesmo com grandes expectativas quanto ao desempenho do IPO, a empresa parece querer manter certa cautela após acompanhar o caso da sua concorrente, a Lyft. Ela abriu seu capital em março, com um início bastante animador, e foi seguida por um declínio de mais de 20% das ações durante as duas primeiras semanas de negociação. Daniel Ives, analista da Wedbush, diz que as ações da Lyft continuam fracas pelo fato de os investidores terem se preocupado com o iminente IPO e roadshow da Uber, o que poderia ser “uma sombra sobre as ações da Lyft no curto prazo”.

Leia a matéria no Canaltech.

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Novo Porsche 911 parte de R$ 679.000 – Confira impressões ao dirigir

No Internationale Automobil-Ausstellung de 1963, a Alemanha e o mundo viram nascer um novo carro esportivo, o icônico Porsche 911. Sucessor do não menos lendário 356, o bólido de Zuffenhausen apareceu com o peculiar DNA dos carros de Ferdinand Porsche, que logicamente passou sua essência ao neto de nome quase homônimo, mas apelidado Butzi.

É essa essência que agora se mantém viva no Novo Porsche 911, a geração 992, tão aguardada no mercado mundial. O superesportivo germânico finalmente chega ao Brasil com preços a partir de R$ 679.000 em sua Carrera S, que ainda vem com opção de tração nas quatro rodas (4S) e Cabriolet nas duas opções.

Com encomendas já iniciadas na rede Porsche, o Novo 911 desembarca ostentando as mudanças que dão ao 992 um passo importante rumo aos novos tempos automotivos, onde a eletrificação avança tão rápido quanto o ponteiro do conta-giros. A Porsche ainda não diz nada sobre um 911 Hybrid, mas a plataforma desta geração já suporta a tecnologia, que deve chegar ao carro até 2025, data que a empresa apontou toda sua gama eletrificada.

Mas antes que isso aconteça, o Novo Porsche 911 quer se manter purista pelo máximo de tempo possível. Assim, ele chega com toda uma engenharia voltada para performance e dirigibilidade, ampliadas no 992 com a introdução de mais cavalos no boxer de seis cilindros, refrigerado a água, 3.0 com dois turbocompressores e nada menos que 450 cavalos a 6.500 rpm e 53,8 kgfm entre 2.300 e 5.000 rpm.

Com um câmbio automatizado de dupla embreagem PDK de oito velocidades, o Porsche 911 992 acelera de 0 a 100 km/h em 3,7 segundos (3,6 no Carrera 4S) e baixando o tempo para 3,5/3,4 segundos, respectivamente, com o pacote Sport Chrono. No final, a máxima é de 308 km/h (306 no 4S). O consumo médio é de 11,2 km/l no primeiro e 11,1 km/l no segundo.

Tais números são apoiados por uma plataforma mais leve e rígida, que possui mais aços de alta e ultra resistência, assim como 32% de alumínio em sua estrutura. Pesando 1.585 kg, o 911 2020 recebeu diversos melhoramentos, como dois turbos simétricos para reduzir consumo, melhorar o fluxo de ar e reduzir o tempo de resposta.

Os intercoolers do boxer 3.0 Biturbo foram posicionados quase sobre o motor, permitindo maior volume de ar para refrigeração, que foi ampliada em 14%, bem como curso do fluxo de ar reduzido em 50%. As válvulas agora abrem de forma assimétrica, garantindo turbilhonamento da mistura ar-combustível, que tem novo injeto Piezo. A câmara agora tem maior compressão.

Com tudo isso, a cavalaria do Novo 911 subiu 30 cavalos em relação ao 991 II. A caixa PDK também recebeu modificações, que tornaram a primeira mais curta e a oitava mais longa, feita para cruzeiro, já que a máxima é alcançada somente na sexta marcha. Além disso, as mudanças nos modos Manual e Sport Plus ficaram mais rápidas, reagindo em menor tempo diante de alterações no desempenho.

Outro ponto que foi modificado na geração 992 é a fixação do boxer 3.0, o que reduziu oscilações ao chassi, assim como melhora na dinâmica de condução em asfalto e em pisos irregulares, onde oferece mais conforto. A direção agora ficou mais direta, adotando um novo sistema de gerenciamento e barra de torção modificada.

Novo Porsche 911 – Estilo e conteúdo

Seguindo fielmente o princípio de que forma segue a função, nascida na Staatliches-Bauhaus e que rege o design alemão até os dias de hoje, o Porsche 911 2020 preserva as linhas básica e mesma disposição mecânica que o clássico de 1963. Em busca de mais eficiência energética e ao mesmo tempo redução em aerodinâmica, o desenho do novo carro inova em algumas coisas.

Com 4,519 m de comprimento, 2,204 m de largura, 1,300 m de altura e 2,450 m de entre eixos, o Porsche 992 adota linhas mais fluídas, tendo novos faróis full LED com luzes diurnas em LED em quatro pontos. Eles são projetados para fora e com capô rebaixado na parte central, inspirando-se no 911 Model G de 1974. Além disso, o bólido alemão ganha área para fixação de radar e sensores ativos de assistência à condução.

Novidade também são as aletas móveis nas entradas de ar laterais, que são totalmente variáveis, dependendo da velocidade e modo de condução, permitindo assim melhorar o fluxo de ar e reduzir arrasto. Na traseira, o aerofólio embutido na carroceria também tem atuação igual, visto que antes era pré-programado.

Falando em traseira, as novas lanternas em LED do 911 2020 dão um aspecto mais largo ao carro, que chama atenção pelo nome Porsche em alto relevo e 3D, assim como o badge 911 inspirado em gerações antigas. O para-choque ficou mais liso e envolvente, enquanto o defletor de ar também adotou um desenho novo.

As saídas de ar em preto brilhante possuem barras largas e luz auxiliar de freio em LED. Ela abre para que se possa inserir sobre o compartimento do motor (fechado), itens como água e óleo lubrificante, assim como expor os dois coolers do sistema de resfriamento ar-água da admissão.

Os dois escapes foram distanciados entre si e refletores agora estão no corpo inferior do protetor, que adiciona pequenas saídas de ar laterais. Além disso, o 992 passa a dispor de maçanetas retráteis, que projetam ao se aproximar com a chave eletrônica ou com o toque nas mesmas. Os retrovisores são mais angulares e aerodinâmicos. O 911 2020 recebeu caimento mais íngreme na traseira e corpo largo.

Entretanto, o que não deixa de chamar atenção é o conjunto de rodas e pneus. O Novo Porsche 911 utiliza rodas de tamanho diferente na dianteira e na traseira, sendo aro 20 com pneus 245/35 R20 na frente e aro 21 polegadas com pneus 305/30 R21 atrás (tem estepe inflável). O novo conjunto foi introduzido para melhorar o equilíbrio em curvas e a dirigibilidade.

Tendo 132 litros no diminuto porta-malas dianteiro, o Porsche 911 992 mantém a configuração 2+2, sendo na realidade um carro para duas pessoas apenas, com apenas dois espaços para caronas eventuais, compras extras ou itens de esporte, como tacos de golfe.

Por dentro, o Novo 911 ganhou um interior completamente alterado, mantendo, é claro, o botão giratório da partida na esquerda, mas agora com cluster análogo-digital com conta-giros analógico ao centro e duas telas digitais de alta resolução, que não comportam máscaras para simular os outros quatro mostradores circulares clássicos, como faz o Panamera.

Além disso, o console do túnel é mais alto e volumoso, tendo um discreto botão de marchas sem posição P, que fica em botão separado, assim como o modo Manual e o Start&Stop. Os comandos físicos são touchscreen e similares aos do Panamera, enquanto a multimídia PCM (com Apple Car Play) passa a ter tela full HD touch de 10,9 polegadas.

O novo volante de três raios tem botão dos modos de condução e paddle shifts, assim como os pedais foram atualizados. Teclas adicionais foram inseridas no painel. Este, por sua vez, se inspirou no 911 clássico e no 991 II para criar um visual tanto horizontalizado quanto verticalizado no 992. O relógio cronômetro no alto do painel também é destaque.

O pacote de equipamentos de série inclui o Porsche Torque Vectoring Plus (PTV Plus) com travamento central mecânico do diferencial traseiro (controlado eletronicamente), bem como pacote Sport Chrono, suspensão adaptativa com nova calibragem Porsche Active Suspension Management (PASM), bancos esportivos em couro com ajustes elétricos e memória, entrada e partida sem chave e Chassi 4D.

O Porsche 911 2020 vem ainda com retrovisores dotados de rebatimento elétrico e espelhos eletrocrômicos, ar condicionado dual zone, sistema de som Bose, entrada e partida sem chave, Park Assist, câmera de ré, sensores dianteiros e traseiros, entre outros.

Em termos de segurança ativa, o bólido ganhou o sistema de frenagem de emergência Porsche Warn and Brake, que freia e para o carro diante da ausência de resposta do condutor.

No entanto, a novidade em segurança, que foi destaque na apresentação do Porsche 992 no Brasil é o modo de condução para chuva Porsche Wet Mode, que detecta água por meio de sensores acústicos nas caixas de rodas, reprogramando o carro e alertando o condutor, que ativa a função manualmente.

O Novo 911 tem 150 opcionais, mas os principais são eixo traseiro direcional, elevação automática do eixo dianteiro (para evitar depressões como rampas, por exemplo) e o Porsche Dynamic Chassi control (PDCC).

Como já dito, o Sport Chrono é de série e tem 22 configurações, além de controle de largada, cronômetro e o Sport Response, um botão no seletor de modos de condução, que entrega força extra por 20 segundos.

Outro opcional é o Night Vision Assist, um visor térmico noturno. Já o controle de cruzeiro adaptativo tem função Stop-Go e frenagem automática de emergência. O 911 2020 tem também preparação para colisão.

Novo Porsche 911 – Preços e versões

911 Carrera S – R$ 679.000

911 Carrera S Cabriolet – R$ 729.000

911 Carrera 4S – R$ 719.000

911 Carrera 4S Cabriolet – R$ 769.000

Novo Porsche 911 – Impressões gerais e ao dirigir

Mogi Guaçu-SP – A Porsche reuniu parte da imprensa especializada no circuito Velo Cittá, no interior de São Paulo, para o lançamento do Novo 911. No evento, onde foram apresentadas todas as gerações anteriores, o bólido alemão pôde ser experimentado tanto na pista quanto num exercício de atuação do Wet Mode.

Antes de andarmos, foi possível conhecer melhor essa geração 992, que chega com um visual realmente arrebatador, embora suas formas sejam mais funcionais e sóbrias do que rivais italianos, por exemplo, mais agressivos e emocionais. A frente com os faróis saltados com os 4 LEDs diurnos, lembrando o modelo clássico, impressionam.

As aletas aerodinâmicas não impactam tanto no desenho do 911 2020. As rodas de alumínio aros 20 e 21 polegadas têm desenho expressivo e pinças de freio bem robustas, devidamente vermelhas. A traseira com o defletor abaixo é mais harmoniosa.

A nova grade superior é interessante por ter abertura para os coolers. As lanternas contínuas e estreitas, assim como o nome Porsche que salta aos olhos, também impressionam. As maçanetas que saem sozinhas são um toque de modernidade desnecessária.

Por dentro, o ambiente é apenas cômodo para duas pessoas. Esqueça qualquer conforto para quem se espreme atrás. Os bancos em couro têm formato esportivo, mas estranhamente eles não parecem tão envolventes. Aliás, não incomodam ao entrar, como em outros do segmento, onde os encostos são abruptamente ressaltados. Ainda assim, dirigindo, o corpo não desliza de jeito algum.

O painel continua minimalista e funcional. O volante novo, por exemplo, não tem adornos. Ele seria uma versão “standard”, digamos assim, daqueles que geralmente brilham a bordo de Panamera e Cayenne, etc. Preto, básico e pronto. Tem paddle shifts (sem alumínio) e controles multifuncionais, assim como seletor de modos e a cereja do bolo, o Sport Response.

Mesmo com essa aparência, a coluna de direção é ajustável eletricamente, com refrigeração e aquecimento. Luxo para um purista, que ainda bem bancos com 14 ajustes elétricos e mais memória. Também tem teto solar de fácil abertura e boa área. O cluster dispensou as molduras do Panamera e joga na cara as duas telas nos lados do conta-giros, bonito, por sinal.

Se no 911 GTS o PCM era diminuto, no 992 a tela é grande e sensível ao toque. A interface é intuitiva, fácil de usar. O ar condicionado dual zone é mais do que necessário. Já o console novo com teclas sensíveis ao toque como no Panamera, mas a alavanca de câmbio é apenas um botão discreto, que nem cabe três dedos.

Estranho mesmo é o modo Manual ser perigosamente perto do P (Parking). Na pista, você tem de olhar de for mudar de modo. Com excelente posição de dirigir e visão suficiente, ainda mais com os retrovisores mais afastados, o Porsche 911 2020 não é feito para impressionar visualmente em seu habitáculo, como um Mercedes-AMG GT, por exemplo.

A ideia é andar rápido, muito rápido. Nisso, o Novo 911 Carrera S tem a habilidade de ser tão prático ao volante e também muito agressivo quando se exige isso dele. Com um handling realmente agradável, o Porsche mais recente permite mergulhar nas curvas e botar pé no acelerador sem medo de uma escapada de traseira.

Isso não é só devido ao novo conjunto mais equilibrado, mas também por causa da eletrônica, que mesmo no modo Sport Plus, dá ao condutor uma sensação de controle realmente muito boa. Mesmo se a tendência seria sair de traseira quando se tenta fechar com mais vigor, o Porsche 911 2020 se mantém incrivelmente neutro.

A frente é bem controlável e assim o condutor pode frear bem mais em cima, deixando o 992 rolar rapidamente na curva, como num trilho, acelerando-se novamente sem dó. O boxer 3.0 Biturbo ronca de forma empolgante logo atrás, trabalhando em harmonia com o PDK, sempre rápido nas trocas e retomadas.

Os freios seguram o 911 de forma exemplar e apenas chegam ao ABS em frenagens fortes, que podem assustar alguns, mas totalmente seguras a bordo deste Porsche. A direção bem direta é gostosa de manusear, assim como as trocas em modo Manual, que seguram as marchas até o limite eletrônico.

No circuito, com giros entre 5.000 e 6.500 rpm, o Porsche 911 2020 está nervosamente despejando sua carga de cavalaria, com ginetes bem treinados para o combate. Andando forte, mesmo em um carro sem preparação, ele se comporta de forma excelente.

No modo Normal, a condução é quase um passeio quando você já está acostumado com o Sport Plus. No botão Sport Response, 20 segundos de energia total fazem o corpo grudar quando usado de forma certa.

No Carrera 4S, as forças distribuídas de forma integral dão uma sensação diferente ao volante, mas não tanto quanto se esperava, pois o 992 tem uma dinâmica de condução que impressiona, quando se considera que motor, câmbio, diferencial e quase tudo mecânico está atrás do eixo traseiro.

Num exercício com o Wet Mode, cuja pista foi molhada para avaliação, o 911 sobre a superfície encharcada ainda tenta manter-se bem à mão até o modo Sport. No Sport Plus, qualquer tocada mais forte e pronto, você gira. Com a função de chuva, previamente acionada, o 992 permite curvar com tudo e ainda manter-se na linha, revelando que a tecnologia pode ser bem explorada durante umas voltas na pista fechada.

Em resumo, o Porsche 911 2020 não é um carro estúpido na pista e não exige que se trabalhe como numa prova para valer, apenas para dar algumas voltas. Ele é bem equilibrado, gostoso de guiar e até podemos dizer que é confortável na pista. Isso reflete exatamente o que a marca sempre defendeu, um carro de alta performance que pode ser usado normalmente. Pena que não pegamos estradas. Quem sabe logo mais…

Porsche 911 2020 – Galeria de fotos

Evento a convite da Porsche.

© Noticias Automotivas. A notícia Novo Porsche 911 parte de R$ 679.000 – Confira impressões ao dirigir é um conteúdo original do site Notícias Automotivas.

Novo Porsche 911 parte de R$ 679.000 – Confira impressões ao dirigir publicado primeiro em https://www.noticiasautomotivas.com.br

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Visões de Gideon.

Visions of Gideon. E aqui estamos. Mais um final de ano. Mais um dia 31 de dezembro. Sinto que já escrevi tudo que precisava pra mim mesma em minha carta pra abrir no final do ano que vem. Três folhas frente e verso. Foi lindo. Mas agora eu tô aqui. Parada novamente na frente do computador após escutar duas das três músicas que não paro de escutar na última semana. É noite e, apesar de ter dormido muito no dia de hoje, estou com sono. Minha irmã irá viajar amanha cedinho. Ficarei eu, deus e minha vó na laje do meu tio comemorando o ano novo que chegou. Eu agradeço tudo que aconteceu na minha vida, de fato. Tudo o que tenho e todos que até agora, apesar do erro que no caso sou eu, ainda estarem por perto. Mas o peso de estar vivo é imenso. E olha que nem cheguei na parte da vida onde pessoas esperam algo de mim. Onde responsabilidades estão ali, na frente da tua cara. Eu não quero mais falar sobre isso, de verdade. É a única coisa que tá passando pela minha cabeça ultimamente. É oficial: estou mais assustada que estava em dezembro do ano passado. 

Eu vou lembrar de ti, da primeira pessoa que falou comigo na faculdade nova. Eu, assustada e atrasada. Conhecia alguém porém não valia a pena. A moça tinha mexas azuis e gostava de that 70′s show e penny dreadful: a conexão foi quase automática. Quem diria que, 9 meses depois estaríamos viajando de ônibus, sozinhas, para nossa primeira viajem sem os pais, e primeira vez na capital. Eu agradeço por tudo. Pelos dias que íamos pra faculdade quando tinha aula apenas pra tirar fotos ou caminhar e beber vinho. Obrigada por ser uma das razões que 2017 valeu a pena pra mim. 

Vou lembrar de ti como já tinha uma leve memória antes. A neta da cabeleireira, que, se não estou totalmente enganada, lia um livro uma vez quando tinha 13 anos no salão de sua avó, um livro que eu gostava. A moça fotógrafa que já tinha volta e meia dado uma olhada nas fotos. Guria com a camiseta de senhor dos anéis e o cabelo cinza escuro: baita estilo. Eu não tenho muita certeza de como começou, mas no dia do teu aniversário saímos comprar bebida e conversar, talvez começou aí. Ou no dia que um cara estranho me abordou na frente da faculdade - weirdo-. Caronas e músicas, a cada dia que passava era como se eu sentisse que estava no lugar certo, aquele lugar que tu deveria estar desde sempre, onde o destino te levou àquilo por alguma razão. Com as duas, é assim que sinto. 

Em qualquer lugar ou situação, bebendo um copo de vinho no morro perto da faculdade, comendo fritas no bar ou lá atrás meio tristonhas, apenas ali pra outra saber que tu pode contar com ela. Eu não sei o que seria de mim sem os amigos. E deixo dito isso aqui. Sei que tiveram várias outras, como giseles e annes, que também mudaram muita coisa, e proporcionaram nosso primeiro pequeno longo curta real. Mas a convivência do dia a dia ajuda, e tem valido a pena até hoje, apesar dos pesares. Eu peço desculpa por mim, que me afasto as vezes e sumo. Não é culpa de ninguém, sou eu ok? Mas tá tudo bem, eu prometo tentar me abrir mais e falar. Pois amigos são exatamente pra isso.

Eu vou lembrar de ti. Quando eu achava que não iria foi. O famoso menino do fresno de alguns anos atrás. Mesmo sendo algo meio estranho, nada concreto, meio incerto que em alguma hora pode voltar a ser nada, eu curto. Eu gosto do jeito dele, meio estranho meio. estranho. Depende qual a razão. Me faz bem, de um jeito torto. As vezes, me tira daquela caixa que eu vivo todo dia presa dentro da minha cabeça, como meus amigos também tiram. Vou lembrar de ti pelas piadocas e referências que não entendi. Pelo livro e pela frase escrita que foi inesperado. Pelos filmes e pela polícia, não podemos esquecer isso. Por fazer parte da minha vida nesse ano, e, por muitas vezes, dar aquele frio na barriga antes de te encontrar. 

Tu acredita eu destino? As vezes eu acredito, as vezes não. Depende do dia e do filme que assisti na semana. Eu quero acreditar. Que por trás de tudo existe alguma razão pras coisas acontecerem do jeito que acontecem. Pras pessoas passarem na tua vida e logo irem embora, ou ficarem por algum tempo e esse tempo ficar preso na tua memória pra sempre. Eu quero acreditar que têm algo maior. Que tudo isso que acontece agora irá levar todos a onde deveríamos estar. Que sua ação hoje irá mudar a vida de alguém amanhã. Mas talvez tudo seja random, só estamos aqui pra ver o dia terminar e ver outro nascer no dia seguinte. A falta de certeza me corrói por dentro aos poucos, até me enlouquecer de vez. Porém algumas coisas precisam ficar unknow. Eu só quero ir vivendo, e ser mútuo, seja lá o que for. Que a vida mude e que eu possa aguentar tudo. Que eu não morra antes da hora como meus medos me contam. Nem eu, ninguém. por enquanto at least. Que a vida seja gentil e te leve por caminhos onde tenham pessoas boas, apesar da dificuldade de tal lugar. Saúde pra todo mundo, sempre foi e sempre será o essencial nos “pedidos” de fim de ano. Sempre. Acho que me enrolei aqui.

Pessoas novas foram comentadas, mas minhas duas gurias e meu amigo também, importantíssimos pra tudo. Ele, inclusive, tá pensando em vir pra cá?? Se será real eu não sei, manterei informados do que acontecerá. Não esqueci de vocês, pumpkins.

Acho que hoje chorei pela última vez no ano. Quatro anos depois e sempre lembro de ti. we can be heroes, right?. De alguma forma ainda me sinto lá. E de alguma forma sinto que lá, eu já estava aqui. Permaneçam na minha vida, todos vocês. Não saiu um texto bonito, mas saiu algo. Sinto pois é igual sendo diferente. E outra vez tropeço nos próprios caminhos. Desculpa por tudo e, 7 anos. Completo 7 anos de amizade com muitas pessoas ano que vem hein. 4 no total. quatro. Sinto que tinha que escrever mais, mas não tá saindo mais nada. Nem palavras bonitas, nem rimas e prosas, não é meu primeiro livro e muito menos uma carta de amor. Sou eu, sem nenhum talento aparente transcrevendo aquilo que fica preso aqui, bem guardado. Um dia, não serei apenas uma expectadora. Um dia. 

For the love, for laughter i flew up to your arms.

Is it a video? 

Te espero sã e salva em 2018. ???? o mundo realmente não acabou em 2012. Your life is yours and no one can live it for you. 

be yourself and be safe. save yourself from yourself. 

31/12/2017. 03:03 a.m. - mudou agora damn it. 04.