#inspired by ankles lucy dacus

[fonziqor]

oughh i forgor i drew this… everyone go watch ankles mv rn!!!

[elsvenus]

𝐈𝐌 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐀 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐏 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 (𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘) ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ✷ ㅤ𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐍𝐍 𝐅𝐀𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐘

𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐧 𝐟𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐱 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ✷ prequel to im thinking about breaking your heart someday soon character study draft on lesbian compulsory heterosexuality sophmore quinn fabray. if you read the previous one—here’s the sleepover yearning scene you wanted fleshed out! now loosely inspired by the song ankles by lucy dacus ✷ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.7k ✷ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: religious imagery, internalized homophobia, sexual content (?) and angst

the faint outline of a tattoo emerges just above your ankle, fine-lined and inconspicuous, the kind of whimsy easily hidden by socks. it explains why quinn hadn’t noticed it before—until now, as her gaze catches on the way your feet tangle together in a quiet symphony of childish giggles, smudging the pristine polish of your newly painted nails. her breath hitches, an unguarded gasp, and before you can react, her hand darts out, grasping your leg with the easy authority of someone rearranging a doll—you’re a limbless sock puppet, bending at her will.

“what is this?” she demands, the words slipping out sharp, like she’s caught you in a confession. her fingers tighten just slightly, her touch half-command, half-curiosity.

you glance down, sheepish now, a flush rising to your cheeks at the sudden spotlight, improper in front of a seraphim incarnate. “it’s just… a lily pad,” you admit, your voice soft, hesitant. “something stupid. from a vacation. i thought it’d fade by now.”

her thumb brushes over the ink as if testing its permanence, as though it might flake away under her touch, revealing a cleaner, more polished version of you. but it doesn’t—it stays stubbornly etched into your skin, a quiet rebellion against perfection, and you’re suddenly hyper-aware of how her hand lingers, how her eyes trace the ink like a secret she’s just been allowed to see.

she says nothing at first, but her grip loosens, her fingertips ghosting over the edge of the tattoo in something that feels closer to reverence than judgment. for a fleeting moment, the silence between you seems to hum with unspoken truths, as though that tiny imperfection has opened a door.

“it kind of looks like a q,” she finally murmurs, her voice softer now, an olive branch extended through observation. the words hang in the air between you, unexpected and strangely tender, and you feel yourself bloom under the weight of them.

“right,” you reply, a playful lilt in your voice as you meet her gaze, your smile soft but mischievous. “must’ve been god fating my way to you.” the words are light, almost teasing—it’s a joke after all, just something to make her roll her eyes, but the way quinn freezes—hand still resting on your ankle—gives you pause. for a second, she looks like she might say something, but it never comes. instead, her fingers loosen, brushing against your skin as she pulls away, her gaze dropping like a curtain.

she’s never been this quiet. her nose curls up when she thinks this deeply, crinkles at the top. you find it endearing, fight the urge to smooth it over as you would her deep thought, ushering it away.

“seriously, though,” she says, voice slipping back into its familiar coolness, though with something sharper now, “i don’t understand why you’d get something… like this.”

you smile, the words softening the tension, but there’s an unexpected warmth blooming in your chest, a quiet shift beneath the surface of the playful exchange. “it’s just a vacation thing, okay?” you murmur, trying to make it sound light, to keep the air between you unbroken. “not everything has to make sense.”

quinn’s breath catches in a short, amused snort, and her eyebrow arches, that familiar spark of mischief flashing in her eyes. “yeah, well, i’d expect nothing less from you.” she glances down at the ink on your ankle, her gaze lingering there for just a moment, as if deciding whether to push this further or let it fade into the quiet space between you. when she speaks again, her grin doesn’t quite reach her eyes, but there’s a softness there you can’t quite place. “guess it’s not all bad, though. kinda suits you—chaotic, in a way.”

you laugh—half offended—but it feels a little different this time, a little deeper, more honest. “it’s a lily pad, not a metaphor for my life,” you tease, the words a shield for something you don’t want to name.

quinn rises gracefully, all swift movements and cool detachment, as if the moment itself had never existed at all. “you really should’ve found a better tattoo artist,” she says, voice shifting back into its usual playful smirk, before turning toward the door. “but hey, whatever keeps you entertained.”

you watch her go, the space between you suddenly too wide. the playful mask is back in place, but you can feel it now—how fragile it is, how much she’s holding back. it’s in the way her jaw tightens just before she leaves, in the way she avoids your gaze, as if looking at you might reveal something too painful to face and doesn’t want you to see, locked in the unsaid.

for now, you let it stay that way, letting the quiet settle into the room like a song in the background that needn’t be played again, mustn’t be put into focus.

her mother looks just like her, in a way that hollows your chest with something nameless. quinn without the fire—an ocean-eyed blonde with a different kind of sad smile. you’ve spent over a year catching glimpses of quinn that mirror her mother too perfectly: the grin that doesn’t reach her eyes, the way light bounces off her irises past her lashes, impenetrable. you’ve tried to pinpoint the cause, as though finding it could save her, keep the diamond twinkle you long for buried deep within the weight of her gaze. but every attempt has left you empty-handed, powerless.

when mrs. fabray opens the door, even she seems startled by the reflection. for a fleeting moment, she sees herself in her daughter who is across the room in incoherent easy closeness with her best friend, and something unspoken passes over her face. that lifeless smile of predator shark teeth appears again, even startles you, before she speaks.

“quinnie,” she calls out to her daughter like a threat, as though you’re not even there “it’s getting late—maybe it’s time you girls go to sleep.”

quinn isn’t a fighter at home, she’s compliant and soft around the edges, so she doesn’t speak, just nods, her movements quick and quiet as she shrinks into herself, like she’s a different person when she’s home. you turn, not wanting to add any more weight to the air, but the sudden distance between you two feels thick, suffocating. the soft creak of the bed under quinn’s weight reminds you she’s still there, and her silence weighs heavier than any words.

you unbutton your jeans slowly, methodical, the motion almost like a private ritual. you strip off the fabric, the cool air of the room kissing your skin as you slip into your soft pink pajamas, the kind that make you feel more like a child than a teenager, but it’s easy to wear the comfort when the space feels so fragile.

behind you, you can feel quinn’s eyes burning into your back like a heatwave. the air shifts—her gaze is a silent thing, lingering. you know she wants to look. you can feel it in the way the room holds its breath, in the way quinn’s shoulders tense like she’s holding herself back, her fingers curling slightly as if she could reach through the space and pull you back toward her. It’s a silent, aching yearning.

there’s a moment where you want to turn, catch her in the act of wanting, of needing—but you don’t. you keep your back to her, the soft fabric of your pajamas rustling as you move. the desire in her gaze is too real, too sharp, and you’re afraid if you look back, you might fall apart from the weight of it.

your pajamas are rosey like the mattress, a quiet merging of body and backdrop. when you lay down, it’s almost seamless—your figure fading softly into the blush fabric like you’re meant to be part of it, some delicate offering to the room. quinn’s gaze flickers, betraying her careful restraint, and she wonders how much audacity it might demand to feign an accident, to reach for you in the guise of thoughtlessness.

she imagines her fingers brushing against your skin as if by mistake, the fabric of your shorts riding snugly up your thighs in the process, revealing more of you than she should allow herself to see. the thought alone ignites a quiet war inside her chest, an ache she can’t quell. she shifts against the mattress, her hand twitching at her side as though the weight of her yearning might spill over, ruin everything. so she talks about boys instead.

“the new boy, sam…” she begins, the words hesitant and uneven, like stepping barefoot over glass. your closeness in the unlit room weighing heavy, unbearable, your warm breath mingling over each other’s faces like a blanket touch “he looks like your type, doesn’t he?”

“you think i’m into blondes?” you ask, your voice soft but teasing, a quiet question laced with light amusement, and her cheeks are immediately shaded like the mattress, pajamas, peonies, blush.

she’s hoping so, suddenly, having not thought it through before. quinn hadn’t prepared for this sudden pivot in her own heart, curses herself stupid for the topic. but now the hope takes root, fierce and unruly, so ardent and consuming that she’s afraid that god himself might strike her down for it, might take it away, might cast her brunette again just to prove a point.

“i don’t know.” quinn’s words come out defeated, in a single dying breath that melts halfway through the air until she composes herself once more. your toes are touching again, and it’s enough to set her nerves alight. she wants to take a bite out of you and keep it beneath her tongue—her brain decides abruptly. the violent imagery of this, in its raw honesty, makes it known she would not be sleeping tonight.

“is your type finn?” you ask then to break the silence but genuinely curious, “the gentle giant, never-as-smart-as-you kind of guy?”

quinn snorts softly, the sound a mix of amusement and frustration as she pushes herself up on one elbow to look at you. “not even close,” she mutters, though her gaze doesn’t quite meet yours. she knows the question is harmless, but it lands somewhere deep inside her, unsettling.

your eyes narrow playfully. “oh, come on, fabray. don’t act like you’re above the high school sweethearts trope, you love it, i know you do! you’ll end up marrying him, even if it ends in hoping at doctor’s offices that the babies get everything from you and nothing from him.”

she shifts uncomfortably, her fingers toying with the edge of the comforter at your future predictions, everything her family could ever want from her. maybe she has been a better actress than she thought, even in your company. “please” she deflects. “you think you could handle someone like finn your whole life? all charm and no brain?”

you laugh, soft and warm, and the sound curls around her chest like a ribbon. “no way. i’d eat him alive.”

“…but maybe he’s good for practice, i guess,” you say suddenly, sending quinn into a spiral.

at first she hums in response, noncommittal, her mind racing. she’s desperate to say the right thing that will steer the conversation back to safe, neutral ground, but her thoughts betray her. every word she might say feels too close to revealing the truth—the way her chest tightens when you smile, the way her gaze lingers too long on the curve of your lips.

she blinks after a moment, like a softer clearing of the throat. “practice?”

you shrug, your cheeks flushing faintly as you avoid her gaze. “you know… for when it matters, when it’s a guy i really care about. so i don’t mess it up. i need someone like that.”

quinn stands there, frozen in the quiet aftermath of your words, the weight of them pressing on her chest like a stone. practice. it’s such an innocuous word to you, so simple, you practically spit it out. but to quinn, it lands with the intensity of a sermon preached in a forgotten cathedral, all holy desperation wrapped in the scent of incense. her jaw tightens, the muscles working beneath the skin, a silent struggle etched in the tense line of her neck.

she looks down, avoiding your gaze, as if the truth in her eyes could betray everything she’s been holding back. a moment passes before she speaks, her voice low, deliberate, she feels burdened with sin cursing through her veins and at any given moment she’ll choke on the blood of her pretend nonchalant.

“i could help you,” she says, the words slipping out almost effortlessly, but with a rawness that catches in the air between you. “doesn’t matter to me.”

the casualness of her tone might fool someone else. might make them believe it’s just another one of quinn’s usual deadpan, indifferent comments. but you can hear the crack beneath the surface, the desperate strain she’s working so hard to hide. her gaze flickers briefly to your lips, and for the briefest second, it’s like she can’t tear her eyes away and your heart stutters in your chest. her voice lingers in your ears, a cold whisper that feels like a heavy cloak being draped over your shoulders, shrouding you in her quiet torment.

“quinn—”

but you don’t get to finish.

in one fluid, predatory motion, quinn leans in, her presence a magnetic force you can't escape. her hand moves with purpose, fingers brushing the side of your face so delicately at first that for a moment, you wonder if it's just a figment of your imagination. but when her lips find yours the world shifts like a sudden storm breaking through a quiet sky. the vague taste of mint toothpaste and cherry lipgloss remnants fills your senses, and though you've never cared for cherries, it feels like the sweetest thing you've ever tasted. your hands, moving of their own accord, find her waist, but by then she's already holding your chin prisoner with an unrelenting grip, a quiet command in her touch. her tongue meets yours, urgent, hungry, like a race to reach some destination you can't name, and by the time you register the way your body feels weightless—like you might collapse into the kiss itself—it’s already too late. your breath comes in shallow, desperate bursts as she consumes you entirely.

you think to yourself you ought to make practice count so you grab a handful of golden hair and tug it gently, her mouth agape from the gasp, tension setting you free to roam her throat in wet trails. you don’t know when her leg found itself lodged between your thighs but it makes itself known with the way her knee arches against your center and everything everywhere aches desperately.

“stop,” she whispers, but it’s more for her sake than yours, a command that echos like a plea. her breath catches, heavy and shallow, like she’s drowning and doesn’t know how to come up for air. she’s not supposed to care like this. she’s not supposed to feel like this. she’s supposed to be your friend. but the sight of you, so close, so oblivious to the storm inside her, makes everything inside her crack.

she breaks everything up just as suddenly as the kiss started, just as violently, stepping back with the same cold mask she’s always worn. her breathing is uneven, ragged.

“guess that’s enough practice for tonight,” she mutters, the words laced with a bitterness she’s only just beginning to taste. quinn turns away from you, her back to you like a door slamming shut, the heavy weight of her unspoken emotions too much to carry in the light of day.

the silence stretches between you, and you’re left standing there, heart pounding in your chest, trying to make sense of everything that just happened. she will never let you in. she’ll never voice what’s breaking her inside. she’ll just keep hiding it all beneath the veneer of indifference, the weight of her love buried deep in the shadows where you can’t see.

the next day quinn fabray fucks noah puckerman searching for one ounce of what you made her feel and with her virginity goes her hope of being normal, too. she whispers the word lesbian in front of the mirror for the first time afterwards, like someone trying on clothes and is desperate over the fact it fits.

she cries herself to sleep.

requested by @caitviers and written motivated by the very lovely @willowcried and @chapqellroan i hope you like this part too !

[arithmonym]

mark my words. one day i WILL write a campal fic inspired by this song

[anthroarctosa]

Wine tasting <3

word count ! ; 3,322

A/n This is purely inspired by the song ankles by Lucy Dacus fully aware that’s a gay GAY song but I have Harvey brain rot and this lowk reminds me of him sorry y’all this is also not proof read at all fuck proof reading , i haven't written anything in a very uber long time (my last post on here being almost 3 years ago) but what better than old man smut to bring me back out of it who knows maybe i'll post again in another three years

Warnings(?) : SEX!!! WHAT!!! Unprotected too please be safe guys, dom Harvey but soft dom as it makes me go loopy!! Not rot dubious consent but they are tipsy from wine, this may be a horrible mischaracterisation of Harvey to you guys but I like to imagine sex Harvey and non sex Harvey are like two different people , this is written with female readers in mind , very badly written first pov I hate first pov, take a shot every time I put “I” or “he” at the start of a sentence ,

Pull me by the ankles to the edge of the bed

And take me like you do in your dreams

I'm not gonna stop you

I'm not gonna stop you this time, baby

I want you to show me what you mean

Then help me with thе crossword in the mornings

You are gonna make mе tea

gonna ask me how did i sleep

I feel a strong , heavy arm wrap around me it awakens me from my slumber and sudden flashes of the night before flood back to me.

I had only moved to pelican town under the pretence of easy farming and a free house , spending many summers here as a child it felt integral to keep such a large part of my childhood alive and running even if I didn’t know the first thing about farming. It was hard work but it proved fruitful with end of first autumns harvest being a huge success and allowing me to have an easy winter making my jams and brewing wine.

Now the wine making definitely had ulterior motives, never being much of a romantic back in zuzu city but having met the town doctor my first spring here after (embarrassingly enough) passing out in the mines we ended up striking a rather lovely unexpected friendship. Harvey was similar to me a fish out of water in a small town but making the best of it we spent most town celebrations together and found we have surprising amount in common. With similar films and agreement in how things always taste better once pickled I’d even managed to coax him out to the farm a few times to act as a vet almost if I ever had a sick cow or chicken which I always repaid in wine.

But recently I’ve been feeling a shift in our dynamic , as the seasons go on and the more time I spend with him wether it’s all evenings talking over wine and watching shitty taped movies I had found in a box in my grandpas attic or just a brief hello to drop him off some coffee on my way to the mines our eyes seem to linger more. I feel more weight in his words especially his pleads to make me be more careful in the mines.

“I’m just saying, every time I have to patch up some horrible gash you got doing yoba knows what down there I get worried! I think I’m warranted to being a little bit worried about you from time to time-“ he says exasperated with how much he’s being having to drill this into me recently but what else can I do in winter than mine? I roll my eyes half dismissing him with a wave of my hand “it’s really not that serious Harv, I’ve never been seriously injured—“ “yet! You’ve never been seriously injured yet!” He cuts me off his gaze looked so soft and heart struck it felt like sad begging puppy dog eyes almost full of worry, it gave me a pang in my heart he knew how to get his way with those big brown eyes of his.

“I’ll try to be more careful okay? I just- I wish I had something else to put all this pent up energy into now! I’ve never just not done anything before I mean all summer I- I just don’t know Harv but I’ll try okay” this brought a smile back to his face as he nods , clearly appreciative , he has good intentions of course he does there is not a mean bone in that poor man’s body he couldn’t be mean even if he tried but there’s nothing wrong with that I’ve learned.

“Now drink up I still need to get your opinion on this crystalfruit wine!” ushering my hand up to insinuate he has to finish his drink which he hastily does as he puts up a thumbs up grinning his lips stained a gentle purple it was a nice look on him being so relaxed I had gotten use to seeing him like this. Flushed cheeks from the wine his green pressed jack hung loosely on the back of the rickety kitchen chairs that had been in this house for yoba knows how long his shirt sleeves gently folded up to his forearms. That was something that surprised me when I first got to know him ; how BUFF our town doctor actually is! not to sound callous but it was really something he always seems so much smaller in memory to in practice but I think that’s more so to how he try’s to make himself seem smaller usually hunching or sitting down the few times I get to see him for the beast of the man that he is , (6’2 but let’s be real people that’s big) is when I get to force him into manual labour on the farm.

But now looking at him like this I didn’t know if it was the wine talking but I felt almost flushed myself , I didn’t realise how long I must’ve been quiet just staring at him till he laughs an almost nervous laugh waving a hand jokingly in front of my face “earth to (y/n) ? Helllooooo—“ he trailed off but I cut him off with a small giggle shaking my head “sorry i just got lost in thought didn’t mean to stare—“ standing up quickly trying to play it off which only caught his attention more , it’s no surprise I’ve been feeling it all brew up especially over the last few weeks he just seems different every time I’ve seen him he gets more confident around me and it feels like it ignites some strange kindling inside of me making me realise oh shit I like Harvey.

Spending the first few weeks of finding out this deliberation I wanted to tell my best friend but having that also be Harvey was a bit of a struggle so I settled on spilling my heart out to the town poet who I assumed was a fellow romantic. Elliot helped a lot surprisingly with helping me be able to summarise my feelings and how perfectly natural this all was and how he probably likes me too and blah blah blah but this was different from all my other flings and crushes I’d had been involved in before this wasn’t just carnal it was something that was real with feelings something that made me feel almost nauseous with how much I actually enjoyed his time and presence.

“We’ve still got the rest of the bottle to get through— I also think I have some jam and crackers that would go nice with this make it like a little meal cause I don’t know bout’ you but I am definitely feeling it go to my head already”

Making my way to my kitchenette pouring another two glasses , I could hear Harvey approaching me it made the hairs on my neck stand. Glancing to look back at him he was leaning himself back on his hands against the sink just watching me, this made me noticeably feel the shift between us I could feel his eyes staring at my lips which only made the heat rise to my face.

“I don’t say this enough (y/n) but I’m really glad you moved here, to pelican town. You make places good” it was such a simple sentence but it made my stomach flip almost, it wasn’t even out of the ordinary for Harvey to compliment me but like this? Here? It made me flush a noticeable flush only drowned out by the dim lights of my cabin had it already gotten dark outside? He was usually gone by now but tonight I didn’t want him to leave.

Looking over at the glasses of wine on my counter I felt some primal urge flip in me almost if I was going to make a move it would be tonight grabbing one and chugging it I could see the confusion arise in his face before I pulled him into a hasty kiss. He practically melted into it which definitely upped my confidence wrapping my arms around his neck pulling him flush against me his hands finding a quick quiet comfort on my hips the taste of crystal fruit wine both stain our mouths but I didn’t care it tasted better on him anyways.

Pulling away for small breaths before going into another hasty kiss he half hazardly leads me to my sofa he knows my floor plan by heart now pushing me gently against it pulling away from the kiss “oh yoba— you’ve no idea how many times I’ve imagined this” he muttered in between rough kisses against my neck feeling his moustache against the sensitive skin I could only imagine what that would feel like between my thighs. I let out an embarrassing whine almost gently bucking my hips up against nothing which brought out a small chuckle from Harvey.

I had never pictured him being like this so confident in such a situation but it must be the buzz from the wine and me initiating it that seems to have given him such a boost it was a nice change of pace “you look so good like this, so beautiful” a soft murmur as his kisses grow more frantic tugging at my colour to go lower making me instinctively move my arms to hastily pull up my thick knit jumper happy I’ve had the fireplace roaring all night the cold didn’t shock me. He takes this as his opportunity to move one hand from my hip to my chest rolling his thumb over my nipple shallowly poking through the thin (rather flimsily made) bra his kisses going further leaving darker marks.

“Please— please Harvey-“ whining out he lifts his head getting close to my face again “please what huh? What do you need me to do? Use your words” I could tell he was getting off on the rather submissiveness of my attitude I’m usually so confident I don’t know what this man had done to me but I know he’s gonna take care of me “touch me need you to touch me so— so bad-“ bucking my hips up his hand leaves my chest going back down to my hips helping tug down my jeans hooking his fingers in my belt loops to give him more control flinging them across the living room. “Wrap your legs around me” he says quickly and I don’t hesitate to think otherwise doing so.

With a swift motion he sweeps me up feeling sturdy in his arms I can’t imagine the amount of times he’s had to drag me unconscious to the clinic but this is different , I felt so small being carried so easily. He gently pushes the door to my room open and making a beeline to the bed placing me near the edge, my legs still wrapped around his waist thighs shaking in anticipation he quickly strips himself of his dress shirt practically popping the buttons tugging off his tie throwing that elsewhere. His chest was broad and littered in dark brown chest hair trailing down my eyes couldn’t help eyeing up where it leads a very obvious tent in his dress pants. He looked good , so good , practically looking at him with star eyes only being brought back to reality when his hands wrapped around my ankles pulling me back towards him . I hadn’t even noticed my legs had dropped but moaning at the sudden sensation of him flush up against me I could feel him even more now through his dress pants as he grinned hard against me the two of us letting out desperate small moans.

I wanted to whine , wanted to beg , wanted to flip him over and take control being able to take him fully in me now but I could tell that wasn’t his plan and something about the way he was moving me himself taking so much control had me almost brain dead. He pulled away rather harshly making an instinctive whimper fall past my lips which he gently shushed falling to his knees at the foot of the bed pulling me even closer I felt my face flush with embarrassment “oh you- you don’t have to-“ I called out, in all my past hookups I’d never let a man eat me out , I didnt see the appeal of someone pretending to make out with me down there but all my thoughts rushed quickly out my head as he pressed a firm kiss to my clit making me almost jump out of my skin.

Of course he knows the anatomy down there ! He’s a doctor for yobas sake a firm hand on my thigh as the other hooks his fingers in the waist band of my underwear “I want too, huge difference”

Pulling them down quickly tossing them with the other pile of clothes he feverishly went back down his tongue found its home kissing and licking at my clit made me quickly arch my back practically letting out a howl ever so thankful the farm was so far out from people now his free hand lathering itself up in my wetness I had no idea where this all came from with Harvey. Harvey who got embarrassed teaching the safe sex seminar to the youngsters in town , Harvey who covers his eyes at sex scenes in movies , Harvey who started his very own swear jar for me. yoba knows what I did different with this wine but I am ever so thankful for it as I moaned and mewled at his lewd actions.

I felt short of breath my stomach felt tight I was clasping at his lose brown curls which only encourages him speeding up curling his thick digits against that beautiful sweet spot my thighs clasp around his head as I reach my climax which he happily coaxes out of me his fingers still fucking me through it my head felt dizzy I could barely think as I see him gently pull away a small smug grin on his face his moustache wet pushing his now rather messed up hair back he pressed a gentle kiss to my thigh letting me calm down a little “you did so good, we can stop if you’re too tired to continue” he says his palms gently massaging my thighs I carefully sat up to look at him shaking my head slowly “no I- I want to well- I want you please I can take it-“ gasping out as he gently nods in understanding slowly standing up from the floor “we can stop at any point okay? Your comfort is my top priority” he speaks as his hands unbuckle his belt finally sliding his dress pants off leaving him in his forest green boxers , if I was in a more coherent state of mind I would’ve made a witty comment about the leaf pattern that covers them making them seem almost juvenile but all I could focus on now was the bulge ever so prominent in them. My hand immediately finding home palming him through them making him let out a groan, I wanted to slide them off him take him down my throat I’m no expert but I’ve never heard any complaints but there would be other times for that right now I needed him in me, his hands hastily pull down his boxers throwing them in the same pile the rest of my clothes have been tossed to he was a lot more impressive than I was expecting even at his large stature.

He gently grinned against my entrance helping slick himself up, I was still embarrassingly wet from my previous orgasm I still felt the light headed thrill from it as he gently pushed in filling me to my hilt in one swift motion practically knocking the wind out of me. Peppering my neck in kisses as he started off with gentle thrusts moaning against my neck this was better than I could’ve ever imagined “so perfect” he muttered being practically drowned out by my own embarrassingly loud cries and moans feeling so vulnerable and exposed had never been so good.

All the build up seemed to have gotten to Harvey too whose now using one arm to hold himself up as he thrusts another rubbing my already abused clit to help coax another orgasm out of me “I know you’ve got another—another one for me darling cmon— cum on me want to feel you” groaning against me as he said this my legs locked around his legs tightened as I came him yet again fucking me through it this felt like a religious experience I knew the universe was right for sending me here in the first place now after this as this was so right brought out of my spaced out thoughts by the feeling of him pulling out finishing on my stomach his face flushed his chest rises and falls as he tries to catch his breath and his thoughts, glasses practically fogged up. He sat on the edge of the bed pushing his hair back again the hair on his back (scratch that his whole body) coated in a thin layer of sweat from the excursion he had just put out . Slowly catching himself he fished his boxers off the floor sliding them back on “ill— I’ll go grab something to clean you up with give me a second” he says I do a small nod too out of it to make the proper movement.

He returns a few moments later with a large plastic bowl and a wash cloth , the water was warm as he dipped it in wringing it out using it to gently wash the spilled cum on my stomach and down my thighs to at least make me slightly less sticky . His touch was so gentle now compared to the rough fucking my brains out attitude he just had this was the Harvey I was used to, attentive and sweet , he seemed almost to be catching up with himself now his face flushed “I’m so sorry if I was too rough I just— I’ve thought about how this would go if it would even happen so many times and I just lost myself I’m so—“ cutting him off before he can apologise I place my hand on his face shakily sitting up as I shushed him softly shaking my head “that was— that was so incredible Harvey I don’t even know what to say, just perfect”

This settled his nerves slightly as he nodded continued to wipe me down whilst admiring his handiwork marking up your neck. Hickies were such a juvenile thing to do but he just lost himself in the moment thank yoba it’s winter. He placed the rag back inside the bowl placing it on the bedside he lifted the duvet up and over me helping tuck me in pressing a kiss to my forehead “you’re not leaving are you?” I ask trying to hide the desperation in my voice , I didn’t want him to leave after that. He seems surprised but shakes his head “no no I’m just— I’m tucking you in, I’m just gonna go get you some water and join you” and he did just that placing the fresh glass on my bed stand and gently climbing in the other side I cuddle up to him like it’s second nature which he gladly accepted. This all felt so natural and it didn’t take long for me to drift off only being awoken at the crack of dawn by my chickens and cows stumbling around outside the pros of a free range farm. Feeling the heavy arm around my waist and the gentle snores I turn around to face a sleeping Harvey . He looks so gentle even more so than normal, it was nice seeing him without his glasses so at peace in his sleep, my movement (along with my loud animals) gentle wakes him, he smiles a bashful smile as he asks “how did you sleep?”

Ya girl idk what this was I was supposed to wash my work uniform but Harvey brain rot has cursed me!!!!!

[between-myself-and-me]

It seemed only a matter of time before Julien Baker would combust. Monday at the first of a sold-out three-night residency at Thalia Hall, the singer-songwriter performed with the kind of extreme intensity that can be difficult to watch and feels both thrilling and draining to witness. She made it impossible for anyone to look away, and matched the fervor of her lyrics with spontaneous body language and unfiltered banter that underlined her tightly wound passion.

Raw and unscripted, the 90-minute concert marked a memorable way to start a tour, Baker’s first headline outing in two years. Aside from sticking to an apparent setlist, the 28-year-old approached the show by refusing to trade in predictability or artifice. Backed by a five-piece band amid a spartan stage setup, and venturing deep into her catalog, she stood as the antithesis of most peers and predecessors with her degree of success.

Nervous, excited, jittery, sincere and occasionally unable to keep her focus, Baker operated on a wavelength that brought her to an eye-to-eye level with fans and established her as a relatable person rather than an untouchable, unknowable celebrity. That didn’t mean she didn’t take her craft seriously. Indeed, Baker’s recurrent concerns about getting everything right, her admitted apprehension over remembering words and playing tunes alone, demonstrated a heightened conscientiousness and unguarded honesty few entertainers openly share.

Yes, Baker and company erred at several points, though her worries about the hoarseness of her voice — she said she overtaxed it in rehearsals — largely proved unfounded when she opened her mouth to sing. The various missteps and imperfections felt as if they belonged and, oddly enough, enhanced the fearlessness and courage with which Baker addressed harrowing topics ranging from mental illness and violent abuse to debilitating doubt and loneliness.

For all the pain and anguish in her songs, Baker continues to enjoy an ascent that a majority of burgeoning musicians would envy. Her still-developing career is evidence that listeners can still suss out singular talent even in a pop-culture landscape overstuffed with countless options and here-today-gone-tomorrow hypes vying for attention.

A decade ago, using studio time given to her by a friend, Baker recorded what became her debut in just three days while studying to be a teacher at Middle Tennessee State University. Though she didn’t expect many people outside her immediate orbit to hear them, the songs became a word-of-mouth sensation. After an indie imprint signed her and formally released the material as the “Sprained Ankle” LP, Baker landed on record-label radars and major media outlets’ best-of-year lists.

Virtually overnight, the Tennessee native went from pursuing a college education to headlining a national tour. She shared a compelling backstory that included candid details about her evangelical upbringing, battles with addictions and decision as a teenager to come out as queer to her parents. Baker’s critically acclaimed sophomore album (“Turn Out the Lights,” 2017) further expanded her profile and, the following year, she formed Boygenius with Lucy Dacus and Phoebe Bridgers.

Despite releasing just two EPs and one full-length to date, Boygenius has won three Grammy Awards and cultivated enough interest that it finished touring last fall with a capacity show at the Hollywood Bowl.

Who knows, Baker’s own material might work in such settings, but its personal intimacy and intricate architecture — moody violins, atmospheric keyboards, spare guitars, chamber-inspired orchestrations — are better-suited for halls and theaters. Her three solo turns on Monday, which included the disarming “Guthrie” and a searing rendition of “Something” during which every utterance of the titular word registered as a self-inflicted gutpunch, benefited from the coziness of the mid-sized venue.

Wearing a white button-down shirt and jeans, with her hair pulled into a ponytail bun, Baker, too, appeared comfortable in an environment in which she could forge a close bond with the audience. Having previously dealt with stage fright, she revealed she no longer enjoys playing without a support band and encouraged anyone who knew the words to sing along. With rare exception, the latter request went unheeded. The hushed crowd treated Baker’s emotional outpourings with reverence of scripture.

During the faintest moments, the faint hum of amplifiers framed Baker’s delicate vocals. Expressed as whispers, asides, exhales and shudders, her gentle singing confirmed quiet moments can have as much volume as full-throated cries. Well-placed screams and howls also figured in Baker’s repertoire. She frequently delivered loud passages when standing feet away from the microphone stand or shifting her stance.

The movements altered her words’ pitch, and instilled the sensation that she was either trying to flee a bad situation, engaged in a heated confrontation or yelling into an abyss. Even with a guitar or keyboard shielding her rail-thin physique, Baker couldn’t disguise the physical impact the songs registered on her body or the anxiety they triggered in her mind.

Pointing at her temple, running her hands through her hair, covering her mouth with her forearm, shaking her head, squeezing her eyes shut, unconsciously transferring the weight from one leg to another: Baker looked as if she’d pull the bones out from beneath her skin as she chronicled traumas, faults and hurts with unsparing conviction. Far more dynamic live than on the studio recordings, the taut rhythmic structures of the songs accentuated the struggles with faith, forgiveness and optimism the singer explored via bruised, bloodied narratives.

Baker’s music is not generally fun or always easy to digest, particularly given the explicit references to suicidal thoughts, toxic relapses, self-destructive behaviors and all manner of failures. Yet it often sounded momentous and freeing — the balladic frameworks of fare such as “Crying Wolf” and “Funeral Pyre” beautiful and melodic, the crashing urgency of “Tokyo” and “Hardline” effervescent and cathartic — and spoke to vital issues without coming across as self-serving.

“I’m so (expletive) happy, you just can’t (expletive) tell,” Baker announced, typically subdued and aware of the irony, as she explained how much playing matters to her. She later gave a few clearer signs of her temperament. Baker climbed atop the drum riser to bash out punk-style chords on her electric guitar; stomped around and double-over her instrument during another explosive sequence and, ultimately, let her hair fall over her shoulders.

That, and led the band through two live premieres (the obscure seven-inch B-side “Conversation Piece,” the brand-new and unreleased “Middle Children”) and waged a conflicted war for snatching some semblance of goodness out of the jaws of despair. In the fractured episodes of “Ziptie,” “Appointments” and “Ringside,” Baker didn’t identify fixed solutions or guaranteed redemption. Still, the songs hit on the potential of mercy and hope, and of trying against all odds to conquer sensations of dread, sadness and emptiness.

For Baker, and everyone now struggling to reconcile the notions of kindness and decency against the evils that humans continue to do to one another and the planet, it’s a start to a long-overdue conversation.

[ladypinku]

[January 18, 2025]

I thought I might try something new where I make weekly recap of my uni life because I got a bit inspired by other blogs here (and I can't seem to pull off uploading everyday here). I was going to do one last week but I got really sick in the first week of uni, so I didn't really have the motivation or interest to do it. Anyway, this week was still worse, I'm not good in my classes as I've been procrastinating and I legit just submitted an assignment today. But I guess because tik toks gone early (for some reason) my attention to school will probably be better.

I've already gotten used to where my classes are. I think the class I dread the most is physics lab, it's too fast for me and when I thought I understood what we're doing in the experiment, I'm wrong. I thought I understood velocity, acceleration and position but I guess not. Legit haven't started my lab report lol. I'm probably going to do it tomorrow. I think the only reason my productiveness is a bit slow is because my new notion board isn't done and I've been going off of canvas XD.