#it feels to cliché for something such significant in my life

[lenskij]

Don't need to sit in front of the mirror to feel like I'm already practicing in front of one. I used to wear my hair like that when I was this model's age :')

This is from the 3rd Suzuki book :) Rumors have it that the first decade of cello playing is the hardest one, but I'm already 1/10 through it 💪

[thatfandomslut]

Idiot

Regina George x Reader

Word Count: 1k

Trigger Warnings: descriptions of an injury & cussing

Request:

Valentine's / Celebration Request; Regina George w/ quote 17 and piece of chocolate number 3. Or: “I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.” w/ injury

Valentine's / Followers celebration requests are closed.

Regina stared at (Y/n), her jaw slackening open in shock. There her girlfriend was road rash covering her chin and ripping through her hoodie and jeans, successfully causing her knees and arm to bleed along with her chin. In (Y/n)'s hands, Regina eyed the skateboard that (Y/n) had made but let Regina design three months ago when they started dating. Eventually, Regina began to process what was going on. "Please tell me that you didn't ride here for twelve miles and cross a highway when you could've just called." She stated, knowing that was exactly what (Y/n) did.

(Y/n) opened her mouth to speak, her words wanting to spill out urgently. Instead, Regina tugged her inside and to the bathroom where she was forced to dig around for the first aid kit. "Regina, please, I have to tell you something. It's important." (Y/n) said, her adrenaline still high enough to not feel the pain until Regina promptly poured hydrogen peroxide on her knees, the chemical compound bubbling up on her skin. "Fuck, babe! There was absolutely no warning with that pour." (Y/n) whined as the sizzling continued as Regina began to provide aid to her knees.

"Yeah, well, if you're going to ride to my house at midnight on your skateboard like an idiot, you're not going to get a warning." Regina huffed as she shook her head. There were two reasons that she found herself growing frustrated. The first one was that her significant other decided it was okay to ride to her place at a late hour. She would say that (Y/n) could've gotten hurt but she did. The second reason, it was incredibly hard to clean up her wounds away from the jeans. She could only imagine how it was going to be when she got to her hoodie. "Take off your hoodie because I'm going to need to clean your arm too."

(Y/n) looked at her arm, realizing she had injured herself there. Suddenly, the pain became known as she rubbed at the drying blood on her chin. "Aw, man," she instantly complained, pulling off the hoodie. Not only was it torn but it was now stained with blood, along with the shirt she had under the jacket. "This was my favorite hoodie." (Y/n) sighed as she began to fold the hoodie, not hearing the short 'it was mine, too,' from her annoyed girlfriend.

Regina continued to work, snapping at (Y/n) anytime she tried to speak. "I'm sorry, but I'm kind of upset with you. Just let me clean up and we'll talk." She eventually said, knowing that (Y/n) speaking wasn't helping her aid any of the injuries that (Y/n) had procured during her late-night excursion. If she wanted to come over, she always could've called. Instead, (Y/n) put herself in danger. Whatever reason she had better be a good one since Regina found herself growing more frustrated by the second. Especially when she got to (Y/n)'s chin and wanted to kiss her girlfriend's incredibly kissable lips. "Okay, I'm done. Now, please tell me why you thought it was okay to ride to my house at midnight." Regina began throwing away the supplies, looking over (Y/n) to make sure there were no unmissed injuries.

"Oh, right," (Y/n) cleared her throat, a bit lost in Regina's eyes. As cliché as it sounded Regina did look very beautiful when she was mad. Only, that wasn't the reason (Y/n) made her way over twelve miles on a skateboard and through a highway. Though, in her defense, the highway was almost desolate due to the time. “I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible. I love you, Regina.”

Regina's eyes widened for a moment before she practically facepalmed. As cute as everything (Y/n) said was, she still didn't understand why this couldn't wait until the morning. "(Y/n)…" She trailed off as she tried to place her words carefully. "I love you, too, but… If you ever come to my house, twelve miles away on your damn skateboard, I'm going to kill you. You could've definitely not experienced the rest of your life with me because you decided to do something incredibly dangerous and stupid. You're an idiot… You're also my idiot." Regina finished, her eyes softening as she couldn't stay mad at (Y/n).

(Y/n)'s eyes lit up as Regina bent over as she pressed a kiss onto (Y/n)'s lips. (Y/n) automatically kissed back as she cupped Regina's cheeks. Eventually, Regina pulled away and (Y/n) stood up. "I guess I should go back home then." (Y/n) said, getting her skateboard ready. Regina almost rolled her eyes over the lesson that had not been learned. Of course, that was what it was like having a golden retriever girlfriend sometimes.

Grabbing the back of (Y/n)'s shirt as she tried to pass her, Regina stopped her with narrowed eyes. "Absolutely not. You're staying here. Get yourself upstairs and change into those pajamas I bought you last week for our impromptu sleepovers." Regina instructed causing (Y/n) to grin as she bounded upstairs and made her way to Regina's room. The action caused the blonde to smile slightly and shake her head over how excited her girlfriend could get over the smallest things at times. "God, she's so fucking cute but such an idiot," Regina muttered to herself as she followed at a slower pace.

Once Regina finally made her way up the stairs, she lay in bed with (Y/n). Automatically, she felt herself get wrapped into (Y/n)'s arms. The action made her smile as she leaned into her girlfriend happily. Internally, she was also excited over the fact that 'I love you, Regina.' replayed in her head over and over again as she fell asleep. (Y/n) was just as excited, kissing the back of Regina's head. She needed to tell Regina as soon as she realized she was in love with her. That was just important to her. The fact that Regina felt the same lulled her into a content state of sleep.

[corrupte3d-mindz]

Cost of Fame

(37)Cillian Murphy x F! (23)Famous Reader

Summary: You are currently in a presscon for your new album, an interviewer asked you about your relationship with Cillian.

Wordcount: 5.6k

Warnings:

Switch! Cillian, unsafe sex, m! overstimulating, m! & f! oral receiving and giving, handjobs, fingering, p in v, soft/dirty talk, aftercare, younger reader, like by 14 years. So she’s 23 lolz.

She smiled at the interviewer, the question about your relationship with Cillian Murphy one she’d faced many times before. She took a moment to gather her thoughts, knowing that her answer will be scrutinized and analyzed by both fans and critics alike.

After several questions about your music and upcoming projects, the interviewer stood up, his expression sharp and confrontational. She recognized him immediately as someone who thrived on controversy.

“Do you think Cillian is having a mid-life crisis by dating someone your age?"

The interviewer’s question hangs in the air, charged with insinuation. She took a moment, maintaining her composure, and then meet their gaze with a calm, confident smile.

“Cillian and I have a relationship built on mutual respect and genuine affection,” she begin. “It’s disappointing that people might reduce our connection to a cliché like a mid-life crisis. Cillian is an incredible person with a deep understanding of life, and he values me for who I am, not just my age.”

"Do you think Cillian sees you as more of a trophy girlfriend because of your age and beauty?"

The fuck is with this interviewer man..Jesus Christ

Maintaining her composure despite the intrusive nature of the question, takes a moment before responding. Her expression is calm but resolute, reflecting both her confidence and the depth of her feelings for Cillian.

"I understand why some people might think that way," she begins, her voice steady and measured. "But those who know Cillian and our relationship understand that it goes far beyond superficial attributes like age or appearance."

She takes a deep breath, her gaze unwavering. "To suggest that he sees me as a 'trophy girlfriend' is to undermine the very essence of what we share. We challenge each other, support each other, and grow together.”

Her eyes soften as she continues. "Cillian has always made me feel valued and respected for who I am as a person, not just for how I look or my age. That's something I deeply cherish about our relationship."

She finishes with a confident smile. "So, to answer your question: No, I don't believe Cillian sees me as a trophy. He sees me as his partner, his equal, and someone he truly loves."

She had walked into this interview feeling ready for any kind of questions they might throw at you but for god’s sake she wasn’t prepared for any of these questions.

"Given your significant age difference with Cillian Murphy, do you think you’re being taken advantage of in your relationship? Or do you believe it’s just a phase you'll grow out of once you mature a bit more?" he asked, his tone dripping with insinuation.

The room fell silent, the question hanging in the air like a dark cloud. She felt a rush of heat flood her face, a mix of anger and hurt. The insinuation was clear, and the disrespect stung deeply.

She took a deep breath, trying to compose herself, but the anger was too raw. "Excuse me?" She said, her voice steady but laced with a cold edge. The interviewer didn't back down, his eyes gleaming with the anticipation of a reaction.

"Do you think your relationship is genuine, or is it just a means for publicity?" he pressed on, clearly sensing he had struck a nerve.

She stood up abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. The room collectively held its breath. "I don’t have to justify my personal life to you or anyone else," she said, her voice firm. "This interview is over."

Without another word, she turned on her heel and walked out, the silence behind her was deafening. The press conference, with its blinding lights and probing questions, had left her drained. The whispers of the journalists faded as she made her way down the elegant staircase of the venue, the heels of her shoes clicking rhythmically on the marble steps.

She pulled out her phone, her fingers trembling slightly as she navigated to Cillian’s number. The screen seemed to blur momentarily as the fatigue from the day caught up with her. Taking a deep breath, she pressed the call button and held the phone to her ear, listening to the steady ring. She loved Cillian, but sometimes he was a bit slow to pick up the phone.

Finally, the call connected, and you heard his familiar, comforting voice. "Ey’ love, how’d it go?"

Her breath shook a bit as she responded, "Cill, definitely not a fun interview."

"Do you want to talk about it when you get home?" His concern was evident, and it warmed your heart.

"Yes, it would be nice," she replied softly.

"I love you," she said before hanging up. The weight of the day seemed to lift slightly with those three words. She slipped her free hand into her purse, pulling out her favorite pair of bulky Louis Vuitton sunglasses. They were perfect for hiding from the paparazzi, who were most definitely outside waiting for her.

With a sigh, she put on the sunglasses. As she stepped out into the waiting throng of photographers and reporters, she felt a rush of flashes and shouts. The cameras were relentless, capturing every moment of her exit. But she held her head high, knowing that she had someone waiting for her at home who loved her unconditionally. The drive home was filled with a mixture of relief and anticipation. She couldn't wait to see Cillian, to feel his arms around her and hear his comforting words. The scrutiny and judgment from the public seemed to melt away when she was with him, replaced by a profound sense of peace and understanding.

As she pulled into the driveway of her shared home, she saw Cillian waiting on the porch, a soft smile on his face. He stood up as she approached, his eyes filled with concern and love. She stepped out of the car after bringing it to park and he opened his arms, enveloping her in a great big hug.

She buried her face in his shoulder, feeling the tension of the day melt away. "I'm glad you're home," he whispered, his Irish accent a soothing balm to her frayed nerves.

Cillian pulled her out of the gentle hug and looked into her eyes, his gaze full of warmth and affection. With a tender smile, he brushed aside some strands of hair from her face, his fingers lingering softly against her skin. Cupping her cheeks, he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to her soft lips, savoring the moment.

"Even though it's a day, I can't stand to be without you," he murmured, his Irish accent adding a charming lilt to his words.

She smiled against his lips, her heart swelling with the love she felt for him. "It's the same feeling over here, y'know," she replied, her voice filled with emotion as she leaned back in for another kiss, not wanting the moment to end.

As they stood there, wrapped in each other's arms, the world outside faded away. In that moment, it was just the two of them, their hearts beating in unison, their souls intertwined. The future was uncertain, but as long as they had each other, they knew they could face anything that came their way.

With a soft sigh, she rested her head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. "I love you, Cillian," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He tightened his hold on her, his lips brushing against her forehead. "I love you too, more than words can say," he replied, his voice filled with sincerity and devotion.

Together, they stood there, wrapped in a cocoon of love and contentment, knowing that no matter what challenges lay ahead, they would always have each other to lean on.

Some days had passed, and now her and Cillian were in the kitchen together, a comfortable routine having settled between them. The midday sun streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow over the room as she busied herself making lunch. The aroma of fresh ingredients filled the air, mingling with the sound of a soft melody playing from the TV.

Cillian leaned against the countertop, his eyes following her every move. He watched as her hips swayed gently to the rhythm of the song, a small, contented smile playing on his lips. There was something mesmerizing about the way she moved, a natural grace that seemed to come effortlessly to her.

"You know, you have a knack for making even the simplest tasks look enchanting," he remarked, his Irish accent adding a melodic charm to his words

She glanced over her shoulder, catching his gaze with a playful glint in her eyes. "Is that so?" she replied, her voice light with amusement. "Maybe it's just the company I'm keeping."

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Flatterer."

Turning back to her work, she couldn't help but feel a warm flush of happiness. The kitchen had always been a place of comfort for her, but having Cillian there, sharing these simple moments, made it even more special. She reached for a spoon, stirring the pot with a rhythm that matched the music.

Cillian took a step closer, his presence a comforting weight behind her. "What are we having today, chef?" he asked, peering over her shoulder.

"Just something simple," she replied, smiling as she looked up at him. "A bit of pasta with fresh vegetables. Nothing too fancy."

He nodded appreciatively. "Sounds perfect to me."

She returned to her task, feeling his gaze still on her. It was moments like these that made her realize how deeply she cherished their time together. Despite their busy schedules and the constant demands of their careers, they always found a way to make these everyday moments feel extraordinary. As she plated the food, she turned to him with a satisfied smile. "Lunch is ready. Hope you're hungry."

Cillian pushed himself off the counter and moved to help her, his hands gentle as he took the plates. "Always am when you're cooking," he said, a hint of teasing in his tone.

They sat down at the table, the soft music providing a backdrop to their conversation. They talked about their days, their plans, and shared laughter over little jokes. It was in these simple exchanges that they found their strongest connection, a bond that went beyond the glamour of their public lives.

At one point, she reached across the table, her fingers brushing against his hand. "I'm really glad you're here," she said softly, her eyes reflecting the sincerity of her words.

He squeezed her hand gently, his eyes meeting hers with an intensity that took her breath away. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be," he replied, his voice low and earnest.

They finished their meal, the afternoon light casting long shadows across the room. As they cleared the table, Cillian wrapped his arms around her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder. "You know," he murmured, "I’m glad you’re mine..”

After a long day, Cillian and she had just finished a relaxing shower, the warm water soothing their tired muscles. They stood in front of the mirror, drying off and getting dressed, a comfortable silence enveloping them.

Once they were both dressed, they retreated to their bedroom, the soft glow of the lamp casting a warm light over the room. They crawled into bed, the sheets cool against their warm skin, and snuggled under the covers, a sense of contentment settling over them. They turned on the TV and started a movie, the sound filling the room with a comforting background noise. Cillian wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close, her head resting against his chest. They lay there in comfortable silence, the only sounds the gentle hum of the movie and the steady rhythm of their breathing.

As the movie played, Cillian occasionally brushed his fingers through her hair, his touch sending a shiver down her spine. She tilted her head up to look at him, a soft smile playing on her lips. He met her gaze, his eyes warm and full of love. She shifted slightly, feeling the warmth of the sheets against her skin as she moved to sit on Cillian's lap. His cock wrapped in the thin layer of a soft polyester pressed against her inner thighs, his body radiating a comforting heat that enveloped her as she settled into his embrace.

Cillian's breath caught in his throat as her thighs applied just enough pressure to elicit a response from his now throbbing cock. He shifted uncomfortably under her, his body betraying him in the most deliciously agonizing way.

"Cill..." she murmured softly, her voice a gentle whisper that sent a shiver down his spine. "I can feel you throbbing..."

His face flushed bright red, embarrassment and desire warring within him. "I know," he admitted, his voice strained with restraint. "I can't help it... but it's fuckin’ hard not to be hard when you're on top of me like this..."

Feeling his discomfort, she slid off his lap, her movements careful and deliberate. He grunted softly, the loss of her weight leaving him feeling strangely empty. She pulled back the covers, her eyes drawn to his predicament, his cock pitching a tent in his boxer briefs. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight, arousal pooling low in her belly at the thought of him, so achingly hard and desperate for her attention. She could see the head twitching, a damp stain where his pre-come was dripping from, evidence of his arousal and need.

"It fucking hurts," he confessed, his voice strained as he bit down on his lip, trying to hold back the overwhelming sensations coursing through him.

Without a word, she reached out, her fingers trailing lightly over the fabric of his boxer briefs, feeling the heat radiating from his straining cock. She could feel his pulse racing beneath her touch, his need palpable in the air between them. His hips were bucking up towards her hands.

“You’re a needy lil’ thang aren’t yah?”

Gently, she tugged down his boxer briefs, freeing his throbbing cock from its confines. He hissed softly at the sudden exposure, his arousal on full display for her to see. Without hesitation, she leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of his cock, her tongue darting out to taste the salty sweetness of his pre-cum.

Cillian's breath caught in his throat, his hands gripping the sheets tightly as pleasure washed over him in waves. "God, please," he pleaded, his voice hoarse with need. "I need you, love... please..."

Her tongue danced around the tip of his cock, teasing and testing, exploring every sensitive nerve. She took her time, savoring the salty taste of his pre-come, her touch both gentle and deliberate. Today, she wanted to hear him pant, beg, whine, and break. This side of her emerged on certain days, a side that reveled in having Cillian at her mercy. Cillian's hands were pressed against his face, trying to maintain some semblance of control. But it was a losing battle. He couldn't help the soft, desperate sounds escaping his lips as her tongue worked its magic on him.

"God, love, please..." he whispered, his voice trembling with need.

Ignoring his pleas for now, she continued her slow, torturous ministrations. She flicked her tongue over the sensitive slit, then swirled it around the head, before taking him just an inch into her mouth. The sensation was overwhelming, and Cillian's hips bucked involuntarily. She let out a soft, pleased hum as she felt him twitch against her tongue, and it vibrated around him, sending a shiver through his entire body. Slowly, she began to take more of him into her mouth, inch by inch, until her lips were stretched around him, and he was pressing against the back of her throat.

Cillian's hands moved to her hair, threading his fingers through it and holding on for dear life. His breaths came in short, ragged gasps, his chest heaving as he fought to keep from thrusting up into her mouth. The feeling of her hot, wet mouth around him was almost too much to bear.

"Oh, fuck," he groaned, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're so fuckin’ good at this."

She took him even deeper, relaxing her throat to accommodate him, her nose brushing against the coarse hair at the base of his cock. She could feel his body tensing, his muscles straining as he fought to hold back his climax. She pulled back slightly, her tongue still swirling around him, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked him hard. Cillian let out a strangled cry, his grip tightening in her hair. He was close, so close, and she knew it.

Determined to push him over the edge, she increased her pace, bobbing her head up and down, taking him as deep as she could with each movement. The room was filled with the lewd sounds of her mouth working on him, and his increasingly desperate gasps and groans.

"Please, love, I can't... I'm gonna..." he panted, his voice breaking.

And then he was there, his body tensing, his hips bucking as he came hard, spilling into her mouth. She swallowed every drop, her tongue still working to prolong his pleasure, to milk every last bit of his orgasm. Cillian's hands fell from her hair, his body collapsing back against the bed, utterly spent. She released him gently, pressing a soft kiss to the head of his cock before crawling back up to lie beside him, her own arousal thrumming through her veins.

Turning to look at his flushed face and listening to his panting breaths, she felt a renewed wave of desire wash over her. She wanted more, but would he be able to survive it? There was only one way to find out.

“You’re so good for me, Cill, so good for me,” she murmured, her voice a husky whisper in the quiet room.

Her hand moved slowly to his semi-soft cock, which lay against his abdomen. Her thumb traced circles around the head, collecting the beads of cum and spreading them along his length. He let out a soft She began rubbing her thumb against his slit once again, watching his every move with an almost predatory intensity.

Cillian groaned, his eyes fluttering closed as he buried his face in the soft nape of her neck. "B-baby... you’re gonna kill me if you do that again," he groaned, his voice laced with both exhaustion and undeniable arousal.

Cillian threw his head back as her thumb continued its slow, deliberate movements on his already weak, fragile, and sensitive cock head. His body trembled under her touch, each gentle stroke sending waves of electricity through him. He buried his face into her chest, his soft and begging moans filling the air, creating a symphony of desperation and need.

"Please," he whispered, his voice muffled against her skin. "I can't... I can't take much more."

Her hand started to move slowly up and down his shaft, each stroke a tantalizing mix of pleasure and pain. She chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through her chest as she hummed a tune, the melody wrapping around them both in the intimate setting.

“You’re already a mess,” she teased, her voice a sultry whisper. “Come on, make a bigger one for me, eh?”

His body shuddered at her words, the raw need in her tone making his cock twitch in her grasp. “I-I can’t... it’s too much,” he gasped, his voice a broken plea. She smiled, a wicked glint in her eye as she continued her slow torture, her hand squeezing gently at the base before gliding up to the sensitive head again. His hands clutched at her back, his nails digging into her skin as he tried to hold on, tried to control the overwhelming sensations coursing through him. But her touch was relentless, each stroke, each caress pushing him closer to the edge.

“You’re going to come for me again,” she whispered, her voice a command wrapped in velvet. “And you’re going to love it.”

Cillian’s breath hitched, his body trembling with the effort of holding back. But he couldn’t deny her, couldn’t resist the pull of her words, the promise of cumming in her hand. “Please,” he moaned, his voice barely a whisper. “Please, make me come.”

Her hand moved faster, her strokes more insistent, driving him towards the brink with a skill that left him breathless. “That’s it, love,” she encouraged, her lips brushing against his ear. “Cum in my hand, yeah…that’s it you slut.”

With a final, desperate cry, Cillian’s body convulsed, his cock pulsing in her hand as he came hard, his cum painting her hand and his abdomen in a white, hot, and sticky spurts. He buried his face deeper into her chest, his moans muffled but no less intense. She continued to stroke him through his orgasm, milking every last drop from him until he was a shaking, trembling mess in her arms. “Good boy,” she murmured, her voice a soothing balm to his frayed nerves. “You did so well~…”

His breathing was erratic, chest heaving as he tried to regain control, but it didn't matter. She clearly wanted more. Her intentions were unmistakable, and the desire in her eyes left him both helpless and exhilarated. His mouth hung open, a desperate gasp escaping his lips as he practically drooled on her chest, the dampness seeping through her thin shirt and onto her skin. It was a sight that drove her wild, seeing him so utterly undone by her touch.

"Honey, I'm-ima old man... you can't ju-"

She cut him off mid-sentence, her hand wrapping around his sensitive cock again. This time, her strokes were slow and deliberate, each movement designed to drive him insane. His protests died on his lips, replaced by a low, guttural moan that seemed to come from the depths of his soul.

“Yeah..but you’re also a fuckin’ slut whose begging for more”

His eyes fluttered shut, his body trembling under her touch. "Fuck... you're killin' me," he groaned, his accent thick with desire and exhaustion. He tried to hold on, tried to resist the overwhelming sensations, but it was futile. She had him completely at her mercy.

Her hand continued its slow, torturous rhythm, the slick sound of her strokes filling the air. She watched his face intently, relishing every twitch, every gasp, every whimper that escaped his lips. "You're so good for me," she murmured, her thumb brushing over his leaking slit, making him shudder. "Just one more time, love. You can do it."

His head fell back, mouth open wide as he panted and moaned. He could feel his release building again, the pleasure almost too intense to bear. "I... I can't... it's too much," he choked out, his voice barely a whisper.

"Yes, you can," she insisted, her strokes becoming a fraction faster, her grip just a bit tighter. "Come for me again”

His eyes flew open, locking onto hers as his release approached. With a strangled cry, he came, his cum spilling over her hand in hot, sticky ropes. She continued to stroke him through his orgasm, drawing out every last drop until he was a quivering, whimpering mess.

"That's it, love," she soothed, her voice like honey. "You're perfect."

He collapsed against her, completely spent. His breathing was ragged, his body slick with sweat.

She leaned in close, her breath warm against his ear as she whispered, "Baby... I'm so fuckin' wet from watchin' you come so much..."

Cillian's mind raced, her words sending a jolt of electricity through his body. Despite the exhaustion from his recent climax, his cock began to stir again, the thought of her arousal igniting a primal hunger within him. He glanced down at her, his eyes darkening with renewed desire. He could practically taste her, the anticipation making his mouth water.

"Fuck," he muttered, his voice rough and low. "You don't know what you do to me."

With a sudden burst of energy, he flipped her onto her back, his body hovering over hers. His eyes locked onto hers, a mix of lust and adoration swirling in their depths. "I need to taste you," he growled, his Irish accent adding a delicious edge to his words. "Like it's my last meal."

She shivered with anticipation, her body responding to his intensity. He kissed his way down her body, each touch of his lips a promise of what was to come. When he reached her hips, he paused, looking up at her with a smoldering gaze before hooking his fingers into the waistband of her panties and sliding them down. Her wetness caused her cunt to practically glisten under the light. Cillian settled between her legs, his breath hot against her inner thighs. He inhaled deeply, the scent of her arousal driving him wild. With a groan of pure need, he finally dipped his head, his tongue darting out to taste her. She gasped, her hands gripping the sheets as his tongue explored her folds, savoring every drop of her essence.

His movements were slow and deliberate at first, savoring her taste and the way she writhed beneath him. But as her moans grew louder and her hips began to buck, he increased his pace, his tongue moving with a fervent intensity. He latched onto her clit, sucking gently before flicking it with his tongue, driving her closer to the edge. Cillian didn't want to let up. With a determined glint in his eyes, he gently pulled her legs over his shoulders, angling her hips to grant him even deeper access. He wanted to taste every inch of her, to savor every drop. The sheer pleasure of it had his cock throbbing with need, the hardness almost painful. He couldn't resist the urge any longer.

With his left hand, he moved to grasp his twitching cock, the contact sending shivers down his spine. He began to stroke himself in time with the rhythm of his tongue on her, his moans mingling with hers, creating a symphony of shared pleasure. His mouth worked diligently, his tongue exploring her depths with fervent hunger. The taste of her arousal was intoxicating, driving him to delve deeper, to lick harder. He groaned softly against her, the vibrations causing her to gasp and arch her back. Drool mixed with her juices as he devoured her, his need for her evident in every lick and suck. He stroked his cock faster, the slick sounds of his hand moving over his shaft adding to the erotic atmosphere. His breaths came in hot, heavy pants, each exhale fanning over her sensitive skin and sending tremors through her body.

She writhed beneath him, her hands gripping the sheets tightly, her moans growing louder with each passing second. "Cillian... please..." she whimpered, her voice thick with desire.

He responded by increasing his efforts, his tongue moving with a relentless pace as his hand continued to work his cock. The dual sensations were driving him to the brink of madness, his own moans becoming more desperate as he chased his release.

"Fuck, you're so good," he groaned against her, his words muffled by her flesh. His own pleasure built to a crescendo, the sensation of her wetness on his tongue combined with the tight grip of his hand on his cock pushing him closer to the edge.

Her body tensed beneath him, her moans reaching a fever pitch as she approached her climax. The taste of her arousal became more potent, spurring him on. With a final, deep suck on her clit, she came undone, her orgasm crashing over her in powerful waves. He growled against her, the vibrations sending her over the edge. Cillian didn't stop, his tongue continuing to lap up every drop of her juices, prolonging her pleasure until she was a trembling, gasping mess.

Her cries of ecstasy were music to his ears, the sight of her in the throes of pleasure pushing him over the edge. He groaned loudly, his own release spilling over his hand as he continued to stroke himself through the aftershocks. Cillian's body trembled with the force of his orgasm, his mouth never leaving her, savoring the final moments of their shared bliss. As the waves of pleasure subsided, he finally pulled back, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He moved up to lie beside her, their bodies slick with sweat and arousal.

Cillian looked at her while panting heavily, his chest rising and falling with each breath. He had already come four times by this point, each release more intense than the last. God, she knew exactly how to touch him, how to unravel him in ways he never thought possible. But now, it was his turn. His turn to make her the moaning mess, to make her forget everything but the pleasure he could give.

"Yet here you are, a moanin’ mess," he murmured, his voice low and rough with desire. He brushed a strand of hair from her face, his touch gentle despite the intensity in his eyes. "You know how to make me crumble, but only temporarily. However, I can fuck you 'til you forget you know your name, love."

His Irish accent, thick with arousal, sent a shiver down her spine. The promise in his words was clear, and she felt a surge of anticipation wash over her. Cillian leaned in, capturing her lips in a searing kiss that left her breathless. With a swift, practiced motion, he flipped her onto her back, positioning himself above her. The look in his eyes was one of pure dominance, a primal hunger that made her heart race. He paused for a moment, letting the anticipation build, before sliding his hand down to her messy and sticky cunt. She was already a mess from his feast a minute ago but her body was eager for more.

Cillian's fingers teased her clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that made her hips buck. He watched her face, the way her eyes fluttered shut, her mouth falling open in a silent moan. "You like that, don’t you?" he whispered, his voice a husky murmur in her ear.

His fingers brushed lightly against her folds, eliciting a soft gasp from her lips. He marveled at the slickness of her arousal, his own desire growing with each passing moment. His fingers knowing exactly where to go to drive her wild with need. He circled her clit with feather-light touches, teasing her with the promise of pleasure to come. Her hips bucked against his hand, seeking more contact, more friction. He increased the pressure of his touch as he began to stroke her clit in earnest. His movements were slow and deliberate, each stroke sending a jolt of electricity through her body. He could feel her muscles tensing beneath his touch, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

But Cillian wasn't satisfied with just teasing her clit. He wanted to explore every inch of her, to drive her to the brink of ecstasy and beyond. With practiced skill, he slid one finger inside her, feeling her walls clench around him as he began to move. He set a relentless pace, his finger plunging in and out of her with a rhythm that matched the pounding of her heart. Her moans filled the air, a symphony of pleasure that drove him wild with desire. He added a second finger, stretching her to accommodate his girth, and she cried out in ecstasy as he filled her completely. His thumb continued to stroke her clit, adding an extra layer of sensation that pushed her ever closer to the edge.

Cillian could feel her climax building, her body trembling with the effort of holding back. But he wasn't about to let her off that easily. With a wicked grin, he curled his fingers inside her, hitting that sweet spot that sent her careening over the edge. She came with a scream, her body convulsing with the force of her release. Cillian didn't let up, his fingers continuing to pump in and out of her until she was a trembling, quivering mess. Only then did he withdraw his hand, his own arousal burning hot and fierce. Cillian watched her, a satisfied smirk on his lips, as he slowly withdrew his fingers and brought them to his mouth, tasting her essence.

But he wasn’t done. Not by a long shot. He positioned himself between her legs, his cock hard and throbbing with need. He guided himself to her entrance, pausing for a moment to look into her eyes. "Ready for more?" he asked, his voice a low growl.

Her answer was a breathless yes, and with that, he thrust into her, filling her completely. She gasped, her hands clutching at the sheets as he began to move, each thrust deep and deliberate. The pace was slow at first, teasing, but he quickly picked up speed, driving into her with a force that made her cry out. Cillian's hands gripped her hips, pulling her closer with each thrust. He could feel her tightening around him, her second orgasm building rapidly. He leaned down, capturing her lips in a bruising kiss as he drove her higher and higher.

When she finally came, it was with a scream that echoed through the room, her body shaking with the force of her climax. Cillian followed soon after, his own release hitting him like a freight train. He groaned her name, his body tensing as he spilled into her, the pleasure overwhelming him. They collapsed together, panting and spent, their bodies tangled in the aftermath of their passion. He pressed soft kisses to her forehead, her temples, her cheeks, savoring the intimacy of the moment. He whispered sweet nothings in her ear, telling her how much he loved her, how she was his everything. She melted into his embrace, feeling safe and cherished in his arms.

He ran his fingers gently through her hair, his touch tender and loving. "You were amazing," he whispered, his voice husky with emotion. "I love you so much."

She smiled up at him, her eyes filled with love and contentment. "I love you too," she replied, her voice soft and filled with warmth. "That was... incredible."

Cillian leaned down to kiss her forehead, his lips lingering against her skin. He wanted to stay like this forever, wrapped in her arms, lost in the moment. But he knew that they couldn't stay like this forever. Reluctantly, he began to move, untangling their bodies and sitting up. He reached for the blanket, pulling it over their bodies to ward off the chill that had settled over them. He then turned his attention to her, his gaze soft and affectionate.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice filled with concern. "Did I hurt you?"

She shook her head, a smile playing at her lips. "No, I'm fine," she reassured him. "You were perfect."

Cillian's relief was palpable, and he leaned down to kiss her again, his lips lingering against hers. They stayed like that for a long moment, lost in each other's embrace, before finally settling back against the pillows, their bodies still entwined. As they lay there, Cillian ran his fingers gently over her skin, tracing patterns along her arm and across her back. She sighed contentedly, her eyes fluttering closed as she savored the sensation of his touch.

"I could stay like this forever," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Cillian smiled, his heart swelling with love for this woman who meant everything to him. "Me too," he replied, his voice filled with tenderness. "Me too."

Author’s Notes:

I got this idea from a lovely character AI user, which is shurilix. Yes it’s just main message you get from a character that sparked the idea of a series by itself. But it’s really all their idea. I don’t think they have a tumblr but I still wanted to mention it. Also I originally wasn’t going to do smut for this part but fuck it why not.

Credit for the little sparkle smol divider: strangergraphics-archive

[belladonnadawn]

But Daddy I Love Him

“Say they want what’s best for me. Sanctimoniously performing soliloquies I’ll never see. Thinking it can change the beat of my heart when he touches me.”

A day off with Andrew made you think about your domestic life and life before it. CW: mentions of sex 

It's been years after the incident, yet your heart still aches whenever your mind drifts towards it. To say that it was hell was an understatement; you've been isolated, called every name under the sun, and met with condescension from the people who ‘want to save you’. The crowd was torn between dragging you to the mud and lifting you up in their arms. It was a painful, overwhelming, and disturbing experience. But all their noises fall deaf on your ears once you're with him.

Between bated breaths and heated touches, a scandalous tryst– not unheard of; you both found something deeper, something beyond lust and desire. Your nights of passion muted any screams from the world, drowning you in him and him only. In his bed– and yours, you were two lovers lost in paradise. 

All the men you've been with pales in comparison to him. Andrew was sweet, caring, passionate, and teasing. A true gentleman. It was painfully cliché, but it's true– no one knows him like you do. And if others did, they'd understand why you loved him like you did. 

Dusk crept in, it was peaceful as both of you had your day offs. You sat on his lap, mindlessly playing with his hair as he read his book. He looks good focused, handsome as ever. Smile crept into your face as butterflies went wild in your stomach. 

“Darling?” Andrew's soft voice dragged you back to reality. You hummed in response, wearing that same love struck smile. “What do you want for dinner?” His hands gently caressed your back in a gentle manner. Even after being with him for years, you were still electrified by his touches.

“I found this new recipe on the internet. Do you wanna try?” You suggested.

“Of course, darling.” He leaned closer, sealing it with a kiss. It was as sweet and loving as always, you had to fight the urge to pull him closer, wrap your arms around him for a full on make out session. “Do you want me to cook it for you?”

“No, I want us to cook together. I want to spend as much time with you while we have our day off.” 

He chuckles, closing the book and placing it on the table. “You’re quite needy today.”

“Is it bad that I want to spend time with my boyfriend?” The title rolls off your tongue smoothly, it feels nice knowing he’s the one holding it. 

“I understand, our time together these past few days was scarce. I missed being with you too.” Andrew pulled you closer, trailing small kisses on your jaw and neck. He pulled away with a grin, “We shall prepare then so we can go to bed early.”

You were disappointed as you both pulled away as you both walked towards the kitchen, wanting more of his physical affection; but you understand that that can wait. 

The apartment was small and cozy, enough for the two of you. Life with him so far was domestic and comfortable. You remembered your parents’ faces when they knew about your relations with him. And once you announced that you’re ready to move out, they immediately protested; screaming how he might be manipulative, dangerous, and what you and Andrew had was nothing but fleeting desire.

But you were firm, almost petulant, laying all the proofs that you had. It felt like a court case, justifying everything that you could to assure them. At last, they finally conceded after you told them that once there’s a problem you’ll immediately move out. They were still suspicious, you can’t blame them, but over time you could see how they were starting to accept him as a significant part of your life– your significant other.

“What’s on your mind, darling?” Andrew wrapped his arms around your waist. “Mind sharing it with me?” 

You gave him a small smile, knowing that you can’t lie to him due to how observant he is. “It’s just things… about us.”

His brow furrowed as his face became filled with concern, “What about us?” He asked gently, caressing your cheek with his thumb.

“Like what happened…” 

He nodded, but you could see a glimpse of sadness in his face. “I understand, sometimes our mind wanders in places we never expect to be in. But that’s all we do, we wander not stay” 

“I know, Andrew, I just think that it still feels surreal. Living this life with you domestically was something that I never thought we could achieve, back then I thought we’ll be apart after they almost tore us to shreds. I’m happy we’re not.” You gave him a soft smile, giving his lips a small peck.. 

As you pulled away, you looked at him, blush evident on his cheeks, “I am happy too, darling.” He responded softly. You could see his eyes glance at your lips, blood rushed to your cheek as you closed your eyes and leaned closer. 

A sigh escaped your lips as you felt your lips touched. It was magical and passionate as you expected. His arms around you tightened, you ran his fingers through his hair. Andrew leaned closer, deepening the kiss causing you to let out a sound of satisfaction. You were both insatiable, drunk on each other.

You both catch your breath as you pull away from each other. His hands on your cheek, the other on your thigh. “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you, darling.” Andrew’s eyes half lidded, filled with desire and love as he looked at you.

For a moment you were just two lovers in the kitchen, doting on each other endlessly. The past was far enough to reach you as you both ran away to your own world– the one you never wanted to escape from. 

Pattern banner from Cafekitsune

[nohoperadio]

I was kind of irritable and low-mood at work today, to the point where--well I don't think I was a dick to anyone, but I was putting noticeably less effort into being positive and agreeable with people than I normally would. I was also putting less effort into being positive in my own, like, internal monologue I guess?

I feel like maybe that sounds tautologous, being less positive inside your head is just what low-mood means right, but I don't think it is actually. In normal circumstances, if there's an unpleasant task to do or some piece of annoying bad luck has occurred or something of that general nature is happening, I'm devoting some portion of my mental energies towards making myself see the situation in a constructive light: try to focus on what can be done instead of dwelling on bad shit that can't be undone, and if I catch myself going over in my mind how this is totally so-and-so's fault and why are they such a dick etc. then I'll tell myself to knock it off and try to move on to a more pleasant train of thought; also tons of smaller mental motions than that, too small to describe. All these pat clichés everyone knows, serenity prayer stuff. It works a good amount of the time, I think I may be uncommonly good at it actually (possibly too good at it in some situations, maybe that's a different selfpost), being calm is usually a thing I can pull off without much trouble, outside of certain (admittedly pretty significant) specific anxiety triggers.

But today I felt like I lacked the emotional energy to do that, and I made an almost conscious decision that I just wasn't going to bother with any of it, so like if I'm doing an unpleasant task I'll just let the thought "ugh this sucks" have the floor for as long as it wants, if someone's being annoying I'll just let myself hate them and not bother reminding myself how they're actually a lovely person most of the time, and so on. And like--this didn't result in a dramatically different day from normal, to be clear. Largely because there wasn't actually that much bad stuff happening, it was a pretty chill day objectively, it's not like I'm constantly having to repress a flood of negative thoughts in my daily life (not lately anyhow!). But it's interesting to me how--when I made that decision, that I wasn't going to try to think positively for the day, I could feel the mental muscles that would normally be in charge of that relaxing. Like there was a certain vigilance that's usually being kept up in my head constantly that was given explicit permission to take a day off, and there was (ironically!) a different kind of calm feeling that came with that, which I don't think I feel very often. There was a peaceful feeling in there, co-existing with the overall bad mood, that was comparable to unclenching a muscle you hadn't noticed you'd been holding tight for a long time.

Why do I find this interesting? Well just on the most abstract level it's an example of how stuff like "mood" isn't one-dimensional: in this example I was experiencing a negative mood, and that meant I couldn't be bothered to maintain a particular way of thinking, and turning off that way of thinking had (among other effects!) an effect that felt positive. A positive feeling that's causally downstream of a negative feeling and wouldn't have emerged without the negativity: there's probably all kinds of counterintuitive little interactions like that going down in our psyches all the time, and probably a much broader variety of different non-overlapping axes along which we can feel good or bad, which we tend to smush all together into an "average" mood that's maybe more of an abstraction than we realize.

On a more concrete, personal level: I don't know, there might be some stuff about how I'm too scared of negativity and could stand to let the impatient disagreeable bitch inside me have a little more air. Maybe some shit like that is something that's true. Yeah idk this is the part of self-analysis where I usually start to get bored.

[starastrologyy]

Astrology Observations🤍

Please do not repost my work on any other social media platforms.🤍

In synastry, if you have no ‘typical’ attraction indicators, but you still feel a strong attraction towards someone, you want to look at the rulers of your 5th and 8th houses (7th can apply too). If the rulers of your 5th, 7th, or 8th houses are making significant aspects to the other persons personal planets, you will likely feel an attraction towards them. I have also found that the asteroids Juno, Eros, & Lilith can also account for an attraction between two people who don’t seem to have major Venus & Mars contacts in synastry.

It’s not uncommon to move homes in a year in which your solar return Ascendant is the same as your natal 4th house cusp. For example, let’s say you have Taurus on your natal 4th house cusp, and your upcoming solar return ascendant is in Taurus: a move may be in store for you, or perhaps you will be spending more time at home or with family.

Speaking of family, if you have the ruler of your 4th house placed in your 10th, you may come from a family that is well-known. Alternatively, there may be an event that occurs in your family life that becomes public knowledge or highly publicized. With this placement, your home, family-life, career & reputation are closely intertwined.

It’s so interesting because every time I have met a significant romantic partner, I had planets transiting my 5th and 7th houses. The Sun & Venus were the most significant when it came to meeting a potential partner. I am a heterosexual female, and thus the Sun transiting my 7th house represented a significant male (with romantic potential since it is the 7th house) entering my life. We All know Venus represents love, values, finances, and relationships in general.

People with Saturn in the 3rd, tend to have really good memory. These people are extremely observant and they often remember small details about people, places, and things.

Venus square Saturn or Uranus in a composite chart often points to an “on &off-again” relationship. Although these relationships tend to go on for years, I have ultimately found that many of them are not “meant to be”. This is often the relationship/person that took you a while to move on from.

A Leo rising in a composite chart can indicate that you and your partner met whilst participating in a hobby or in an atmosphere that values creativity, art & fun. Alternatively, you two may be well-known as a couple or most people know that you are in a relationship with each other.

Gemini On the 5th house cusp often points to a person who has many different interests and hobbies. This is a person who enjoys singing, working out, designing clothes etc… they truly enjoy it all.

Leo midheavens liked to be admired. It sounds “cliché” but it’s true. They want to be widely known as successful and competent. Although, Leo is a sign that’s associated with fame, having a Leo midheaven doesn’t guarantee fame. Nevertheless, as a Leo midheaven you want to leave this earth knowing that you did something significant with your life.

Transit squares from Pluto or Saturn to your Natal Sun or Moon, are probably going to be the most difficult times in your life (emotionally & identity wise). I’ve said this before, but these transits are not easy at all, and they cause you to reflect on your relationships, YOURSELF, and where you intend to go with your life. This transit is exacerbated if transit Pluto or Saturn is squaring your Sun or Moon from your 6th, 8th, or 12th house.

People who have Scorpio in the 1st house or on the 6th house cusp are more likely to experience “extreme” changes in their weight/physical appearance as they navigate through life. This is not necessarily something that should be feared as it can manifest in many different ways. For instance, someone who has Scorpio on the 6th may have been overweight their entire life, but decide they want to start going to the gym. 2 years down the line they’ve fallen in love with working out, and look completely different to how they did when they first started exercising. For others, a health situation may cause sudden or extreme weight/physical changes. This is because the 6th house represents our physical health & Scorpio is a sign that symbolizes transformation, healing & crises.

If you travel a lot, you would benefit from looking at your relocation chart for the location you travelled to. This is more suitable for people who will be in that location for an extended period of time. For example, let’s say you go & study abroad. This is different to astrocartography as the relocated chart will show you how you will behave in that new location & how you will be perceived by others. Whereas, I personally believe that astrocartography shows us how external influences will shape our experiences in that particular location.

Mars is currently in retrograde in Gemini, and it will stay there until January 12th 2023. (Please note that it will then go direct and only leave Gemini in March of 2023). Sagittarius risings you have Mars retrograde transiting your 7th house. Be careful of the potential tendency to become quarrelsome with your romantic or business partner! Mars retrograde can indicate where you will be devoting a lot of your energy & drive. However, it can also represent the area of life in which conflicts are likely to arise. For Aquarius Risings, old flings are likely to reappear at this time. You’re also going to want to focus a lot of your hobbies and interests. If you have children, they may be more difficult or energetic than usual during this time. Virgo risings, your career will be your focus over the next few months. Be careful as coming across as too “pushy” or aggressive in the public eye. Advancement is great, but be careful of stepping on too many toes on your way to the top. Gemini Risings, you are likely feeling very energetic at this moment. Many of you may resist restlessness or stagnation right now. Starting a new exercise regimen is also a possibility. Be careful of the potential tendency to let your temper get the better of you during this transit. (I will do the remaining zodiac signs in my next post).

[seokka0o]

𝑩𝒐𝒅𝒚 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒚 | 𝑲𝒊𝒎 𝑱𝒖𝒏𝒈𝒔𝒖

Jungsu ♡ Afab!reader

Contain: smut; unprotect sex; breasts/ nipple play; makeout; needy jungsu; multiple orgasms; cumshot ; fingering;

Request? Yes

3.2k

Author: Hope enjoy ♡

this is +18 content and purely fictional, not intended to offend anyone. read with descriptions. Minors do not interact.

When Jungsu arrived it was already early evening. 

The twilight sky made the atmosphere of a Saturday night very comfortable.  You were alone, your roommate had left on Friday to spend the weekend with her boyfriend in another city. 

the feeling was muggy, rain running everywhere made you and jungsu change plans to go out for the night, finding things to do, watching movies and complaining about the life you've been leading since high school;  it was always like that, certain things tended to never change if they always came up with a feeling of nostalgia and that ranged from the soda you drink that has always been the same, to the same cliché movie that made you see the colors of the world. 

the definition of comfort, jungsu was someone important enough to you to call him lime that.

 inside the room depended on the same climate,with the windows closed so as not to splash rain inside.  the blankets piled up on top of the bed, like a kind of divider between the bodies. 

deposited unconsciously, your eyes attentive to the film, and the smell of strong jelly candy; you were inert, your mind empty, the silhouette of jungsu in your peripheral vision in the dimmed light conveys the idea that he felt the same way, however much how restless you were sure it was because of the bed that always seemed too small to offer comfort to his big body;

you still didn't say anything, jungsu was always very communicative with his own ideals, you knew that at the right moment he would speak which made him so restless, also because there wasn't much to do since every time you looked up at him , he deviated somewhat uncomfortable with the closeness you were; how you always seemed to be, close, but that for some reason now seemed to sound so different to him. 

Time passed in the blink of an eye. maybe you had dozed off without realizing it in the middle of the process because you woke up suddenly with the television turning off, the movie was over, you didn't even notice. 

Jungsu was adjusting to the bed when he noticed that you looked a little disoriented, laughing conveniently.

 "You were sleeping soundly, I didn't want to disturb you" said Jungsu getting rid of those packages, throwing them onto the desk that you have beside your bed.

  You shook your head, removing that blanket that was between the bodies, giving a significant space for jungsu to snuggle

"I think I got too absorbed, sleep was stronger than me" the air-filled laughter sounded from both lips after returning to that silence "are you ok jungsu?"

 You asked abruptly, making Jungsu shiver, looking at you through the half light your lamp provides.

 "Yes…why the question out of nowhere?"  He acted like a criminal, avoiding airing his filth, feeling even a little overwhelmed by how well you seemed to know him.

 "You're a little weird, I thought something had happened" you shrugged, stretching lazily on the bed, looking a little unconcerned despite the weight your friend was carrying the conversation "we're friends, already a long time, you know you can trust me"

  He trembled a little bewildered before lying down beside you, with a sigh that he had been keeping for some time, at that moment he ended up falling into reality, there were no dangers, there were no secrets and much less dissimulation, jungsu was never able to lie to you and that wouldn't change at all.

 "I don't know, it's been a long time since my last relationship, I'm thinking too much about the need I'm feeling lately" Jungsu felt the twinge of shame hit him like a whip, almost without any strength in his speech, a little embarrassed

 "Need? So you want to fuck me?"  Your neutrality was genuine, despite always making a point of pointing out how much your friend seemed to have grown in recent years, becoming bulky, big enough to barely pass through your room, even though it was something that seemed to live in your mind 24/7 , you struggled to keep yourself in your place, but was inevitable feel this way.

"What?"  Jungsu raised his head from the pillow to look at you again, carefully analyzing your face in search of any tone of sarcasm in order to make fun of him

 "I said. We've been friends for a long time" you started, suggestive, but without going on "I can give you a good fuck, I know you well, we're close enough"

Silence ensued.  Not a single noise passed through the room for what seemed like an eternity, the dark room topped, as if there was something about to happen, trapped in Jungsu's unconscious.  He was looking at you when you finished talking. confused, you can see his cheeks starting to blush, telling you even if silently, what the problem really was.  Jungsu wasn't the most subtle, he's so desperate for sex that he couldn't even avoid looking at you without feeling extremely attracted; tempted to move your very faithful friendship, demoralize all that little prank of sleeping together every Saturday night to just watch a movie in the same bed because they are so close.  You just seemed to wait for the opportunity, just like Jungsu.

"Y/n I…" jungsu wanted to justify himself, more than anything, but there weren't any decent words to describe the despair that ran through jungsu's body, making his hands tingle, his body in fever desperate for the correct answer, but at the same time at the same time wanting not to say nothing , because if you seem so naturalized why should he be so desperate in search of something that clearly had no explanation.

 It was like a beam of light.  You didn't even say anything, you didn't want to, you took your fingers so subtly to Jungsu's face, shutting him up in moments, in an almost heroic act You kissed him, making the first sound through the room, a noisy seal, by urgency.

 You could feel Jungsu's heavy breathing close to your face, his heart racing, surprised by your courage and feeling motivated.

Jungsu cursed and advanced.  Taking your lips desperately to the kiss, opening your mouth to pull your lips against his and letting go of any kindness;

You felt the twinge in the pit of your stomach, kissing your friend like it was no big deal, treating him like someone you could occasionally exchange some contact with sounds very out of touch.

Despite the comforting way in which jungsu simply silences his own murmurs, kissing , contouring his lips to your, bringing you closer and closer to touch your body, using all the air in God's lungs to be able to give you five more minutes at that.

 His lips were soft, well-adorned, experienced, jungsu hardly missed a beat, bringing you closer and closer to kiss him, mouth open, smacking and snarling, limpid, fluid.  You thought for a moment, when was the last time you kissed someone so hard; turning your head and moving gently, feeling a longing you didn't know you had to finally have you kissing him. 

He spilled without pain, pausing for a mere second to look at you with those sly eyes adorned; jungsu was truly changed.  He got up, propping himself up on his elbows and hovered above you, but without being fully over your body, jungsu took your swollen lips again, sliding his tongue over the subtle lips, flaming your mouth after having the right permission. 

You moaned low when you felt the touch of the tongues and trembled below jungsu, turning your tongue in his, rubbing, promiscuously, feeling the salivas mix, dirty and deep, jungsu despite the heavy breathing remained passive, sucking your tongue for his own pleasure and return with open-mouthed kisses, biting your  lower lip and tugging as you reddens it as a sign. 

Jungsu took a deep breath, lowered his mouth to your neck, scraping the fleshy area of ​​your skin, tickling, remembering how good that was.  You smiled and lifted your jaw when you felt the tip of his tongue pass along the base of your neck, a shiver ran down your spine and you sighed heavily, so hard that you thought that could be your last breath of all life.

Jungsu moved on top of you, now placing himself between your legs.  It would be a lie if you said you were surprised to feel the already hard member covered by casual clothes pressed against you. 

The heat rose fast, you never really thought of it that way, but the feeling of Jungsu's huge cock touching you made you shiver, remembering what you were dealing with. the soft moan, you had to bite your bottom lip to not let out too much.

Jungsu bit your neck in the process, accompanying with the moan just as sly.  He kept the strength in his arm, attacking in every direction of your region, scraping with the rush, licking and keeping openmouthed kisses all over your neck, forcing his own hip against yours, feeling his leg give way with pain because of the dick so neglected, desperate after so long without a single masturbation.

 You sighed with the touch, raised your hands to be able to touch the jungsu's blond strands, leaving a delicate caress to your friend's leather, encouraging him to continue what he were doing, even missing the contact of his lips, making your own lip tingle with longing for his. 

Jungsu leans on one arm and rests his index finger on the collar of your pajamas, pulling down, loosening the buttons one up to the chest area.  He didn't take time for anything, his hand invaded the slit without thinking and grabbed your breast, squeezing between large and icy fingers, you moaned with the touch of the thumb rubbing against your nipple.

Jungsu started to go down now without urgency, tracing the path with saliva, kisses still with his mouth open, now taking his other hand inside he found the other breast, which he held between his fingers and ran the tip of his tongue through the rigid region of the nipple, sucking, making it wet. 

You felt the twinge reach your center, your eyes closed, concentrating on the feeling of Jungsu playing with your body.  He dedicates himself to sucking, biting almost the entire breast right after, moaning with the sensation, the delicacy that was to be your breasts enveloped by his mouth. 

The other hand did the job of leaving the other breast well stimulated, squeezing it between agile fingers. Jungsu deliberated a certain effort in that region, too excited to say a word, grunting and moaning to the sound of your noises, with your body soft, hot.  You had already lost your mind, your intimacy dripping sensitive, you despaired every time you had the feeling of jungsu's hardened cock touching your hips with subtlety.

 "Jungsu baby, please" you pleaded with heavy breathing, holding the bigger one by the shoulder, insinuating that he should get rid of that accumulated boner as soon as possible. 

He murmured in response and just continued what he was doing, sucking on your delicate breast, not intending to heed your orders for the time being. 

You mumbled, squirmed, desperate, so little patient for jungsu's banter, he acted like he had all the time in the world and really, it wasn't like he was going anywhere, the night was just beginning to consume and you were already on the verge of an outbreak. 

Merciful jungsu let go of your breast, feeling the lack immediately, entering his hand into your pajama pants, with his entire hand consuming all the space of your pussy without much effort, he explored the region well, forcing some fingers into your entrance; you shuddered , as if an icy current of air passed through your body, your pajamas all out of reach, half open.  You lifted your hips at his stimulation, moaning softly with your eyes still closed.

"Look at me , please" jungsu pleaded, amazed at the sight of you, imagining that nowhere in the world would he ever find the perfect place to be, which at that moment was between your legs.

The index finger rose like a feather, stroking your vulva superficially. you froze, grabbing the blankets, jungsu smiled when you finally had your eyes open in his direction, with that he slid the digit around your clit and began to circle, moving everything inside you.

Your legs trembled involuntarily, almost closing up. Jungsu smiled again and began to maintain the frequency, pressed his thumb against the button and moved his face down towards your lips again, devouring them. You gasped desperately and laid your hands on his face, resting them there, Jungsu sucked your lip and invaded with his tongue, now as an infiltrator, he didn't ask for permission and attacked you, his fingers speeding up with each take and you moaned more and more desperately against his mouth.

Jungsu wanted to feel you as soon as possible, to make you burn in flames, to put an end to his own appetite. The first finger was the middle one, Jungsu forced the tip, when he felt swallowed he entered you completely, moving, looking for the spongy flesh, but without success to find it, soon after was the index finger, forming already perfect scissors that opened and closed inside you.

You gasp against his mouth, biting his lip to relieve the tension, your hands freely began to unbutton his pajamas that you always wore matching, exposing Jungsu's torso, which you could explore with your fingers, feeling each crease, each rise, the prominent chest, Jungsu shuddered with the touch of your hands, but stood firm, fucking you with his fingers at that time without any mercy.

"Hmm...j-jungsu...I'm going" you were being smothered by mouth, now without any chance to finish the sentence your body burned, shaking from the hip down you desperately reached for jungsu's hand which controlled the pace, you teased him before you could say you wanted him inside first of all. It didn't seem fair, and it definitely wasn't, he played with your body as he saw fit, leaving you without many options, but with a thirst that seemed never ending "fuck".

 You said after parting your lips, panting, watching Jungsu withdraw his hand from inside your pajamas, licking the sticky liquid like it was the tastiest of banquets. You assumed, if you had the strength you would have groaned at the sight of him with his bare torso tasting you this good, but you settled for laughing and laying your head on the pillow.

It was only a matter of time, you felt his treacherous hands pull down your clothes, undressing you in seconds. You finish unbuttoning your top and completely rid yourself of any clothing on your body.

"God, you're so hot" he said and you laughed, propping yourself up on your elbows and saying nothing, it seemed too inviting, at that point nothing else was in your way, with that jungsu removed his own clothes, giving you the glimpse of what would be a perfect man. Jungsu is big, and besides being tall he was well filled out and this made him more attractive, with or without clothes, he was beautiful.

Jungsu held the neglected cock, groaning almost desperately, he jerked before rubbing the cock against your wetness, losing his senses for a while.

You moaned again, the sensitive intimacy beginning to contract, begging to have him inside at any cost. Jungsu blinked, demonstrating the tic that came when he pushed the tip against your entrance. The moans echoing painfully from both lips, you fell back onto the soft bed, feeling graced by the opportunity, you could feel jungsu snapping you in half trying to fit, fit inside you without any warning, you bit your own lip and whimpered, the big cock making relief in your lower abdomen and soon began to move.

The hands of jungsu again rested on your breasts, kneading them between his fingers as comfort you sought, determining he begins to fuck you, walking unmercifully, slamming into a suitable rhythm on your hips, the sound echoing through the muffled room.

"Yes baby like that" you twisting your spine detaching yourself from the mattress, squirming, already completely sensitive, you moaned like there was no tomorrow.

"You like that huh?" Despite the loaded speech jungsu was smooth, like silk he was fucking you; driving moans adorned your plump lips as he watched his cock mark your belly every time he slid inside, your legs wide open for him and big hands squeezing your breasts like anti-stress toys "I could break you in two"

It sounded like a plea for a moment, you looked so small compared to him that it was inevitable not to voice this idea out loud

"Hmmm...destroy me then, I'm ready" you said, jungs moaned at the speech, he finally looks at you, watching you destroyed, losing control without even realizing it, jungsu sped up, slamming the tip against the spongy flesh that started to swell with each nudge, you countered and screamed for your friend, maddened.

Jungsu was struggling as he began to feel the first waves. You were incommunicado, losing your breath, your strength; he led, coming out inside you , ripping a painful moan from your lips and without saying anything he turned you over on the bed, putting you on all fours for him. 

  Jungsu held your hips and lifted you up, and it took you a while to adjust, bringing the pillow to support yourself, then he entered again, using pink the strength he had, you in a promiscuous sequence, singing each other's names, Jungsu felt dizzy as well as you, Flooded in the vastness, you exchanged a few good swears and compliments as jungsu started pounding, his hand came down against your ass and held it, your head spun a thousand more times and you couldn't contain it, teasing, shaking, screaming, begging him to give you more than you could really handle.

Jungsu came soon after, pounding at an overwhelming speed and then out of nowhere removed his cock from inside you, jerking the limit, his chest burning breathless, red and sweaty, cumming all over your ass, marking your flesh with his hot liquid, squealing, moaning and losing yourself in delirium.

  Falling on the bed it took you about ten minutes before you recognized each other, falling into laughter for a mere second, feeling ignorant for taking yourselves to the desire of the flesh, of exacerbated desperation.

"Are you okay?" Jungsu was the first to speak, a little bewildered 

"It was the best fuck of my life, obviously I'm fine" you complete by climbing up the blanket to cover your own body "if you were after sex you should have said so before"

"How was I to imagine that you were after that kind of partner too, y/n, I was caught off guard" you both laughed without any concern, you felt you had to accept your fate, clearly taking each other to the bathroom, where you could clean yourself and as fate would have it, have sex again.

[tbhimnoteasyonmyself]

9 Fandom Peeps to Get to Know You Better

First of all, thank you Mickey (@thisautistic) for tagging me <3. Super thrilled that you thought of me for this!!

Now...

3 Ships You Like

1. Kimchay (Kinnporsche)

My babies. I want to protect them both. They're precious and perfect to be put in situations. A force strong enough to have me cooking a longfic after years of not writing a single one. Do I need to same more?? Absolutely obsessed 💜💜💜.

2. Pangwave (The Gifted)

Obligatory mention to my special little ADHD x Autism duo. Don't even argue that they're not canon, if you think that it's bc you missed very significant subtext, I suggest you rewatch this series. Pls and thank you. I will NOT take any criticism.

3. Sandray (Only Friends)

I knew from their 1st sex scene that I was down bad but their trailer sex scene just completely rewired my brain. Is their dynamic fucked up? Yes. Will they hurt each other along the way? Absolutely. But they're on their path to something better and I believe in them. Bc if Ray is deserving of love even after everything that went down then so are all of us. And there's that.

First Ship Ever

Larry Stylinson! (from One Direction)

Straight back from when I was 13, going strong! kskskskssksk I'm not so much there actively in the fandom anymore, but know that I'm there in spirit. sksksksksks Could never abandon the reason for so much change in my life! Good memories!!

Last Song Heard

Nooit Meer Spijt by S10

It's such a good song! I'm not Dutch or Dutch-adjacent but I was introduced to S10 by a friend of mine who's Belgian and I fell in love with her music ever since!

Favorite Childhood Book

A Fada Oriana (The Fairy Oriana) by Sophia de Mello Breyner Andresen.

It's about a fairy named Oriana that has to take care of a forest but one day, while looking at the river, meets a fish who talks her into neglecting the forest, which causes a lot of trouble. Then, Oriana, has to learn how to repair the damage she made.

It's a book about responsibility, consequeses, the importance of individual action and learning from one's mistakes.

Currently Reading

Património Cultural: Realidade Viva (Cultural Patrimony: Live Reality) by Guilherme d'Oliveira Martins.

It's a book about the preservation of patrimony in Portugal under the context of belonging in the European Union in the 21st century.

It's not a very interesting book nor scientific, just a summary of Portuguese and European laws for people who don't wanna read the laws (?). I wouldn't read it on my own but it's a mandatory read for one of my classes in my Master's so I gotta ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.

Currently Watching

23.5

I didn't know if I was going to but since GMM seems to be finally trying out more for the GLs, I feel like I need to show my support in this direction so I made the moral choice of watching as it airs to make it clear to them the audience for this is here and we want more of it!

So far ep.1 was super cliché and silly but I liked it a lot!! I want all the clichés for the girls too! Tired of seeing queer women suffer and die on screen...

2. 3 Will Be Free

It had been sitting on my watchlist for a while but I never gotten around to it for some reason... Nevertheless, my latest Wheel Decide™ for what to watch next landed on it, so... I'm watching it now!

2 episodes in only but I'm loving it a lot!! The plot's super interesting so far, really like the way they're going about it. Let's see where it goes!!

Currently Consuming

I'm gonna opt to mention the game I'm currently playing (besides Bloons TD 6, but I'm always playing Bloons, so... not news), which is Heaven's Vault by Inkle!

It's an extremely niche game, focused on figuring out an ancient language and, with it, the history of the world it's set in. It envolves robots, space travelling, discussions on xenophobia and religious intolerence and a lot more. I haven't finished yet but I'm loving the experience so far!

I understand it's not for everyone but I'm loving it!! <3 (not a Mickey D's reference, fuck Mickey D's)

Currently Craving

You know, I could go with bibimbap bc I really want some rn but I'm gonna go a bit deeper and say: after the terribleness of my last 2 relationships, all I really want is one that's not enirely chatastrophic. kskssksksksk That'd be pretty neat. kssksksk

So yeah... This was a lot of fun, actually!! I love to share stuff about media I like!!

Tagging @jukain4216 @lost-my-sanity1 @anthrotmnt @shannankle @defomin @aiyui @fiddlepickdouglas @tinysandwichstudent @sicknsadsicknrad @itsamzz28 @whomanist and any other of my lovely moots that hasn't directly been tagged but comes accross this <3.

All the love! 💜💜💜

[karatekels]

TIGmas Day #3 – Clear As Mud

Hello and happy third day of TIGmas, everyone – and sorry I’m late! Today’s story is dedicated to @senka-mesecine (aka @terrence-silver), whose stories are always among my favourites! This is actually an idea that I initially wanted to explore during Dark Desires October that I couldn’t get to in time. I’ll admit that the idea was heavily inspired by senka’s deliciously dark writing, so when she asked for this to be her TIGmas story I was over the moon! I hope you this story was worth the wait!

All that being said, this story is very dark and in no way full of Christmas cheer.

Summary: You’ve tried to get Terry to open up about his time in Vietnam on more than one occasion, and while he’s been doing his best to help you understand, he ultimately decides that the best way to help you is to put you through something similar, hunting you in the middle of a forest at sunset.

TW: Discussions of PTSD, stalking (more like hunting), horror, rough sex, graphic sex, outdoor sex, dubcon/(consensual) non-consent (it’s really hard to tell how much say anyone has when it comes to being involved with Terry Silver, after all – regardless, it’s not something I condone irl)

Note: Sections in italics are flashbacks to previous conversations about the war.

---

Clear as Mud

---

This was hell.

“War is hell,” he had told you countless times before – he’d made use of the cliched saying on numerous occasions, but it had always rung hollow, an expression rendered meaningless from general overuse.

But now, trudging through the thick, muddy woods surrounding Terry’s chateau in the mountains in the hot, humid night, you think you’re beginning to understand that the saying was in no way hyperbole.

“How many times do we have to have this discussion, Y/N!? I told you, I don’t want to have this conversation,” Terry had growled, his body visibly thrumming with tension as he tried to keep himself under control. You give him a pitying expression, your heart going out to him, but you’re resolute in your pursuit to get him to talk about his trauma.

“Vietnam was such a significant time in your life, Terry. I know you’ve got a lot of repressed to protect yourself, but if you’re not willing to see a therapist about it, you have to at least try to let me in,” you beg, trying to deescalate and keep him calm, reaching for his hand. He moves out of your reach in a quick, jarring movement, his eyes wild and angry, and you try not to let it upset you too much.

“It’s okay, Terry. I’m not upset, and I’m not scared of you. I know that you’ve killed people, a–”

Terry interrupts you with a guttural noise, pushing you against the wall roughly. You stay perfectly still.

“See, that’s where you’re wrong, baby girl. You don’t know,” he murmurs quietly, pressing his body tightly against yours, overwhelming your senses. “We didn’t ‘kill people’; we eliminated obstacles,” he says flatly, stroking your hair absent-mindedly while he glares at something off in some imagined distance.

“Some with weapons pointed at you, many without. Men, women, children, we tried not to pay that much attention. It’s when you see them as people that you start to think, so we were trained to use our trigger fingers, not our brains.”

Despite being sandwiched between the wall and Terry’s chest, your body still finds a way to tremble with fear, though you try to suppress it.

“War is hell, Y/N,” he says, smiling sardonically at the cliché, his grip on your hip and your throat tightening; you don’t even remember him starting to choke you, but you find the edges of your vision getting blurry. “Not because you’re being shot at constantly, watching your brothers die, losing your will to live, but because you find yourself doing the same thing right back to somebody else.”

Terry reaches between your bodies to his belt, and you feel yourself tense minutely, knowing he would notice. He always needed to fuck you after talking about the War; he said that you helped him forget, even though what you desperately wanted was for him to remember, to work through it, to ease his conscience.

Sure enough, he’s got you slid up the wall, your legs around him as he fucks you deep and rough like he’s trying to crawl into your body. You do your best to hold on, every noise that passes your lips indistinguishable as either a moan or a whimper, Terry whispering nonsense into your hair as he chases after his orgasm like a man possessed.

“Makes you wonder if you’re the damned or the Devil,” he pants in your ear, licking up the single tear that trails down your cheek.

A branch snaps somewhere close by and you attempt to stifle the cry of pure, primal fear that bursts forth from your lips. Your body aches from the tension of holding still, freezing as every part of you strains to hear him, to see any hint of movement through the thick foliage.

He had proposed to you three nights ago, the heavy ring now safely on your bedside table – he’d suggestedthat you remove it during tonight’s… activities. Terry has always been mercurial, but this sudden turn from lavishing you with extravagant gifts and his love as you celebrated your engagement to outright hunting you through the forest for sport is demented, not to mention terrifying.

You aren’t sure what his goal is, what the end point will be, how you’ll know that it’s finally over. Does he mean to hunt you forever?

Can you even be considered ‘prey’ if you’ve willingly walked into the trap he set for you, and continue to stay in with full awareness and knowledge?

The sun continues to set, bathing the woods in bloodred light.

“You could be hiding in the muck, in a hole in the ground blown open by landmines for hours, days even,” Terry had told you, his gaze hardening as he looked off into nothing. “You’re scared to breathe, scared to feel sunlight on your skin – it leaves you exposed. Then you watch your friends get picked off like flies, bullets in their brains or landmines turning them into mulch.”

You try to force yourself to breathe slowly, deeply, regularly, but quietly; Terry would pick up on the slightest hint of noise on the wind. The small part of you that wants to just stand out in the open and let him find you – to end this – is drowned out by the thudding of your own heartbeat in your ears. You know there’s no reasoning with him; you can’t even reason with yourself.

You hear a piercing whistle from Terry’s lips, a chilling tune that echoes through the mountains that make your hair stands on end; at least, the hair not plastered to your skin by the thick mud smattered across your body. Unable to help yourself, you flee from your hiding spot, aimlessly sprinting, your sense of direction narrowing to just away.

“Fear keeps you alert, keeps you sharp. Keeps you alive.”

You hear his pounding footsteps coming after you, crunching leaves and twigs underfoot. You know how silently he can move; he’s stomping around just to scare you.

It’s working.

Your shirt snags, caught on another branch, and this time you just tear it off, leaving the tattered scrap of fabric behind you, dangling like a flag at half-mast. Your torso now bare, the cuts from your previous run-ins with the foliage are exposed to the air, stinging faintly. You wonder if he can taste your blood in the air, like a shark; it wouldn’t surprise you at this point. Nothing could.

“They were chameleons, blending into the jungle to lie in wait. We couldn’t see ‘em even five feet in front of us, sometimes. I learned to be a ghost, but in the end it still wasn’t enough – none of it mattered. Except I had John.”

You wonder if John had ever stalked his significant other – or anyone, for that matter – through the forest for his own amusement. Somehow, you doubted it. And while you’d always had a healthy dose of fear for the only man who could keep Terry Silver in line, at this moment you wish more than anything that it was Kreese hunting you instead. At least he could be reasoned with.

As if to prove your point, Terry lets out a maniacal cackle that scares off the remaining birds, and you dive behind a fallen log, pressing yourself against it in the hopes of avoiding detection. The thick mud is chilly on your bare skin yet you find you want to burrow deeper into the puddle to conceal yourself, and would if the noise wouldn’t attract his attention.

Terry enters your line of sight, so silently you wouldn’t have known he was there unless you were looking right at him, and you narrow your eyes into slits, not wanting so much as a glimmer of light reflecting off of them to give you away. Watching the fluid, controlled way that his massive body moves through the trees as he hunts you, you’re reminded of the xenomorph; something so big shouldn’t be able to move so smoothly, so silently.

He finally moves out of your field of view, but you wait a good minute or two before daring to breathe normally. You shakily get to your feet, looking around you for Terry and for any indication of which way the house is; you’re completely disoriented on the side of this godforsaken mountain. You have to squint due to the fading sunlight, and that’s when you see him, calmly surveying you from the distance while leaned up against a tree, his mouth twisted into a smile. Despite the low light, his eyes seem to glint at you from across the clearing.

“T-Terry!” you exclaim, your voice an octave higher than normal. He makes no move towards you or to answer your question, his head still cocked to the side as he observes you with interest.

“Terry, please stop this!” you beg, your arms wrapped around yourself. He chuckles quietly in response, the low sound creeping across the space between you and sending shivers down your spine.

“Oh, doll, that’s not how this works!” he tells you with a cold laugh. “There is no surrender.”

“What do you want from me, Terry?!” you exclaim, your voice hoarse with fear. “I just want this to be over!”

“It’ll be over when there’s only one man left standing,” he explains patiently, as though it was obvious. “When there’s a winner and a loser and the spoils of war are taken.”

You have no idea what that means, but you’re certain it’s nothing good.

“You either hunt or you are the hunted, Y/N,” he leers at you, finally moving to crouch into a runner’s stance that has you immediately stumbling back and away from him. “Get back to the house and I may show you some mercy.”

You cling to the likely empty promise like a lifeline, turning away and sprinting as fast as you can. You’re not even sure if you’re running in the right direction; he could be herding you somewhere else. Still, you have no choice but to keep moving forward, sensing him rapidly closing the distance between you.

But in the end, it doesn’t matter. You step down and feel something tighten around your ankle, the snare trap set off and lifting you into the air with a sickening crack of your ankle that has you screaming out in pain. Terry stops running, leisurely walking up to your dangling form and howling in victory; the hunt is over.

“I was so hoping you would run into one of these,” he confesses breathlessly, eyes bright as he takes you in, crouching down to be closer to your eye level. “You know what it does to me to see you helpless, Y/N,” he adds with a feral expression, his tone suggesting that you were intentionally tempting him.

“Terry, please!” you whimper up at him, tears blurring your vision as they slide around your eyes to drip off of your forehead and onto the forest floor. “I think my ankle is broken!”

“I’ll take care of it,” he says dismissively, but you do believe him. “For now, let me take you in.”

You do your best to ignore the pain and keep quiet as you hang by one leg, your body rotating slowly like it knew that Terry wanted to stare at you. As you slowly swing back around to face him again, you see he has pulled out his cock, pumping his shaft with a gloved hand. Seeing you watching, he closes the distance between you, reaching up above your ankle to steady the rope and keep you from spinning.

“Open,” he demands with a firm tap to your cheek, his hips level with your face. You suspect he had measured it out in advance for the express purpose of having you blow him while caught in a boobytrap.

“Terry, it hurts!” you manage to get out before he’s thrust himself inside your mouth. You reflexively stop trying to speak and relax your throat; he has trained you well.

“Spoils of war, doll. Gonna need you to earn your freedom,” he jokes, thrusting himself fully into you until you’re choking around his cock before releasing you, allowing you to catch your breath for a brief moment. “Now suck.”

You obey, just trying to focus on getting free before all the blood rushes to your head, the forest silent save for the lewd, wet noises coming from your mouth around his dick and Terry’s occasional grunt of pleasure.

“It’s not the same, you know,” he murmurs quietly after a prolonged silence. “You’ll never understand what it was like being there, no matter how many times I try to tell you, try to show you.”

So that’s what this was all about, you realize with equal parts pity and dread. He had grown weary of trying to explain his time during the War to you, and was trying to show you instead.

Christ, he was fucked up.

Somehow, in spite of everything, it only strengthens your resolve to help him.

“You’ll never know what it’s like, to be faced with someone and not know if they’re with you or against you, and only having a fucking second to decide!” he snarls while fucking your face, his large hands holding your body steady, fingernails digging in past the mud and into your flesh.

Next thing you know, he’s lifting your body up, cradling you against his chest, one hand reaching up and yanking the trap free from the branch in one sharp pull, lowering you both to the ground and crawling on top of you.

“But you don’t need to know it, baby,” he continues, though you’re unsure how much he’s really talking to you at this point. His hands tear at your pants, pushing them and your underwear down to your knees, pointedly not exacerbating your ankle. He wasn’t completely out of his mind, then. Why couldn’t he just talk about his issues? This perverse simulation is just creating issues of your own.

“You don’t need to know it,” he repeats, looking down at you, muddy and scratched and hurting, like you were his salvation. He pushes your knees to either side, working his length inside of you and pushing you further into the ground. You feel tree roots press into your back, bound to give you bruises.

“I’m gonna keep you from all of that shit; gonna keep you safe, babygirl,” he pants, breath hot against your neck as he ruts into you. You find yourself clinging to him desperately, nails digging into his broad shoulders as you cry out into the night – for yourself, for him, for your pleasure.

“You’re my saving grace, baby, my own little Lady Liberty,” he coos, baring his teeth all the while. “Flip over for me.”

You roll onto your belly, gritting your teeth against the pain radiating from your ankle as you do so, and push your ass up towards him. Terry is immediately on you again, his arms bracing himself on either side of you as he presses against you, fucking you into the mud with an animalistic growl.

“You save me just how you are, just like this,” he hisses, punctuating each word with a brutal thrust that has you groaning into the soft earth against your lips. “And you’re gonna stay just like this, sweet and warm and mine, my little haven, my little sweet spot, isn’t that right baby?”

“YES!” you howl, throwing your head back as you dig your nails into the dirt, bracing yourself as he pounds into you. “Let it out, let me take it for you!”

Your words seem to make Terry snap; he pushes your face down into the mud, hips hammering against yours hard and fast and deep until he’s coming hard inside you with a guttural snarl.

Fisting your hair, he pulls your head up and turns it to the side to let you breathe, even as he collapses on top of you. You gasp for breath, trying to wipe the mud off of your face, but it’s hopeless and you give up after a moment, stroking Terry’s arm where it’s wrapped around you.

Eventually Terry sits up, tucking himself back into his pants, somehow still barely muddy, and looks around the forest floor. He finds a thick branch, snapping it into pieces, and sets about making a splint for your ankle, not saying a word. You observe him quietly, the odd wince escaping you as he secures the splint to your foot. Satisfied with his work for the time being, he shrugs off his jacket, wrapping your naked body with it to get you warm before lifting you into his arms, mindful of your injured leg.

“Thank you,” you offer quietly, looking down at your foot instead of up at him as he carries you back home. You’re nearly embarrassed at how close you were this whole time. Terry adjusts you, his gaze never faltering as he moves you to look him in the eye.

“Thank you, my love,” he returns with a sly grin. “For helping me talk things out,” he clarifies, letting out a laugh at his twisted euphemism.

You don’t see the humour in the situation, but won’t be pushing him to open up about the War again for the foreseeable future.

---

This is far and away the darkest thing you can expect from me this month, I promise! That said, I can’t say I’d mind something in this vein as a Christmas present… 🥵

[emmersreads]

Cleopatra and Frankenstein by Coco Mellors - 2/5

I glimpsed, for a moment, a reality in which I loved this book.

I picked up this book not because I had any particular reason to expect to like it, but because in terms of publicity, it has everything going for it. Cleopatra and Frankenstein is all over Instagram thanks to its memorable title and compelling cover design. Its author looks like the secret fifth member of ABBA with a name like an early 00s tabloid star. Seriously, I spent a long time googling her trying to uncover a previous career as a less evil Perez Hilton that I was certain I half remembered from 2004.

Anyway. What a disappointment.

Cleopatra and Frankenstein is fine, but that’s about it. A big influence I felt while reading this book was A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara (which, controversially, I liked). This is a much more optimistic take on the same high-flying New Yorkers with artistic careers and mental health disorders. The appeal is both the human drama of unhappy people with the kind of eccentricities that you really only seem to get in New York (can you imagine some of this stuff happening to a person from Ohio? I can’t), and the voyeuristic literary tourism of the New York setting. Unfortunately, Coco Mellors is no Hanya Yanagihara. Yanagihara was a travel writer before becoming a novelist and you can absolutely tell. Her New York is illustrated with lush descriptions of expensive meals, humid parties, champagne-scented art shows. The book’s deep tragedy is juxtaposed with the greatest delights of a world class city. It’s something Mellors can’t match.

I felt this most acutely in the scene in which Frank and Cleo meet Cleo’s parents at a seafood restaurant in Grand Central Station (also, what’s the deal with this restaurant? The characters visit the same one for a tense family reunion in The Nest by Cynthia D’Aprix Sweeney. Surely y’all have more than one restaurant). The food arrives, interrupting the mortifyingly awkward conversation with this flaccid description:

The ruby-red lobsters sat at the center, their shells cracked open to reveal the plump flesh within. Nestled around them were freshly shucked oysters, chubby pink prawns, green-lipped mussels, and clams the size of a human palm. Flimsy white paper cups of tartar sauce and thick slices of lemon finished the impressive display.

It’s clearly meant to evoke the glittering decadence of New York’s overpriced tourist traps, but the paragraph falls flat. Perhaps it’s the clichés of the ‘ruby-red lobsters’, ‘plump flesh’, and ‘chubby pink prawns’, or the tell-don’t-show of the ‘impressive display.’ I was underwhelmed before I’d even finished the paragraph. I still remember Yanagihara’s “JB snored juicily” because that adjective surprised me. The seafood is a microcosm of the whole book, which just isn’t written well enough to support its loose plot construction. When the subject matter is otherwise so mundane and naturalistic, I expect the writing to provide something more of interest.

The actual plot was fine. Whatever. It didn’t exactly blow my skirt right off. I preferred the young artist looking for direction in Sirens & Muses by Antonia Angress. If we want to look at the young artiste involved with an older man who isn’t good for her, I liked it better in My Dark Vanessa, My Last Innocent Year, and Green Dot. I don’t really feel like Cleopatra and Frankenstein’s more neutral and ambivalent take on the relationship dynamic is really adding anything super significant. Sometimes people can just be bad for each other and being twice as old as your girlfriend isn’t actually that predatory — okay? I guess? I can watch a forty plus year old guy being an ill-suited date to a twenty-something in any romcom. I didn’t find Frank particularly charming and it felt like his flaws were mostly raised just to remind the reader that he isn’t necessarily malicious. Cleo’s problems didn’t hit any more effectively. After reading The Guest by Emma Cline, My Year of Rest and Relaxation by Ottessa Moshfegh, and three quarters the of books by Taylor Jenkins Reid, I was starting to get exhausted by books about women who are dazzlingly attractive but also sad. There’s a limit to how much an ugly bitch such as myself can empathized with the experience of being suffocated by men throwing themselves at the hollow projection they’ve made of a beautiful woman. Believe it or not some of us go through our lives without men every throwing themselves at us in any way. This exhaustion was underlined by Cleopatra and Frankenstein’s one blindingly great scene.

I glimpsed, for a moment, a reality in which I loved this book.

Like A Little Life and Sirens & Muses, Cleopatra and Frankenstein bounces between narrators within Cleo and Frank’s social circle. One of these is Eleanor, a former screenwriter, who at thirty-seven, finds herself living back in her mother’s house, with a job she hates, no friends, no romantic prospects, and a father slowly dying of Parkinson’s. Unlike other narrators, Eleanor’s sections are told through extremely short vignettes, dramatically limiting Mellors’ usual ruminations, forcing her into dialogue and action. In one scene Eleanor and her mother go shopping on Black Friday, where, surrounded by pajama-ed customers, Eleanor breaks down.

“All men leave you!” I scream. “I still have a chance!” “What exactly are you saying to me?” yells my mother. “YOU CANNOT BE THE LOVE OF MY LIFE!” A man wheeling an overflowing shopping cart appears at the end of the aisle, gives me a terrified look, and heads the opposite way. I hold on to the display towel rack and bow my head. “I want more, Ma,” I say. “Wouldn’t you?”

After this tiff, her mother ignores her until they are both coerced into a massage chair demonstration by an enthusiastic salesperson

“Eleanor!” she calls over the vibrations of the chair. “Ma!” “I never wanted you to have less!” she says.

This scene reached down my throat and into my lungs to grab my heart. I cried reading it. I’m tearing up now just from copying it down.

It was like a keyhole into a book exploring the crushing existential weight of disappointment, of the relationship between two people, neither of whom understand why their life just somehow didn’t work out. I’m way deeper in my feels about this theoretical story of wasted potential than I am about yet another book about a girl who is so beautiful she can have whatever she wants if she could only want things that are good for her. Disappointment and underachievement aren’t easy to explore in fiction because they defy narrative and are inherently unsatisfying. Narratively it is more satisfying for Eleanor to eventually get together with Frank and live happily ever after, fulfilling her need for partnership and demonstrating his emotional maturity. But existentially it is disappointing that Eleanor’s answer is to just keep waiting, fulfillment will come along, eventually. Just keep waiting.

Cleopatra and Frankenstein wants quite badly to be a grounded book about emotionally ambivalent characters. A key theme is characters that are unhappy and unfulfilled even when they feel like they should be. Apparently good things — a rich patron, a beautiful younger wife — have unexpected consequences. Frank and Anders, the emotional immaturity brothers, have both been acting like nothing is wrong unless they acknowledge it for so long that they’ve become entirely incapable of self-reflection. Oops! All Manic Pixie Dream Girls. The various happy endings feel therefore trite and vaguely embarrassing. The only one that hits right for me is Cleo’s, which is by far the most ambiguous. If a few more of the characters had been invited to reflect on why the want the things they want, rather than just getting them, it might even have turned the story around for me. What doesn’t hit right is that the book’s only queer character, self-identified Gay Best Friend (yikes) Quentin, is the only character to get a truly bad ending. His narrative is set up for him to battle shame, embrace a more feminine presentation, and become less codependent on shitty boyfriends and expensive drugs. Instead, Cleo loses contact with him when he becomes addicted to meth. It’s by far the darkest fate in the book and feels particularly out of place since everyone else gets a happily ever after. Even serial philanderer Anders gets a long-term girlfriend and a dog. The optics of Quentin’s fate are deeply unflattering in a book that otherwise seems to take the criticism that Friends has too many white people in it as a personal challenge.

Considering all the hype it has received, I was hoping that Cleopatra and Frankenstein would be really good, but it isn’t really anything at all. There are some good ideas, but frankly I just don’t get why the novel went in the direction it did. Why invest so heavily in the ambivalent emotional crises of a bunch of characters just to pair them off with their one true love at the end? Why invoke so many iconic sights and sounds of New York if you have little to offer but clichés? Why carefully construct a diverse social group if you’re going to end with your only gay character dropping out to drug addiction? If all you see in this novel is an easy way to fill up an Instagram graphic then, genuinely, I get it, but beyond that this book barely holds up to the most cursory read.

[skarletterambles]

Just got back from Twisters!

I know the first thing everyone does it compare it to the first film, but I honestly feel they're a little like apples and oranges. Both are juicy, sweet fruit that's good for you. One's red and had an odd shape, while one is orange and round. That is, they share a lot of qualities, and the differences between them aren't inherently bad or good.

Do I like the original better? Definitely. But that doesn't mean I didn't really enjoy the second one, too.

Spoilers below.

Pros:

Glen Powell is super easy on the eyes.

The words "suck zone" were uttered.

Chickens are the new cows.

The mention of the Fujiwara Effect warmed my weather geek heart.

Excellent CGI.

Romance was less a focus in this than it was in the original, which surprised me, considering the marketing. There's a difference between rekindling a dying relationship and sparking a new one, of course, but the second movie focused more on bonds forged through emotional support than romantic vibes.

I watch enough YouTube storm chasers to get a kick out of the way the movie lovingly roasted them and that culture.

El Reno: a name that will live in tornadic infamy, even if the storm it's most known for didn't hit the town itself (thank goodness). I'm glad they used that location instead of destroying Wakita again or some other random town.

They didn't take the cliché way out and make Javi a bad guy. It would have been so easy to turn him into a money-hungry bastard who saw the other guy was winning over the girl and went off the deep end. The fact that he swerved back into wholesomeness was definitely the better way to take the story.

The tornadoes didn't growl like lions.

The characters were likable enough that I cared if they lived or died. (Which may seem like a low bar, but in an action/disaster movie, it's far from a given.)

Kate's grief and trauma were portrayed realistically, not as a joke or something she should just toughen up and get over.

The wind turbines being wrecked by a twister must have seemed a bit over the top when the scenes were being shot, but after the ones that got knocked over, twisted, and even set aflame by the Greenfield, Iowa, tornado earlier this year, the ones in the movie actually fared better! Life imitates art, I guess!

Cons:

I'm not a fan of country music so the songs didn't appeal to me much. The background soundtrack was kind of forgettable, too. Nothing like the epic "We're on the hunt for a tornado" theme from the first movie (the d-duh-duh DUDDA DUH DUH" one).

Some parts were really predictable, especially the very beginning and the end.

Ben grew on me, but I think Melissa was a better example of "character from outside the storm chasing world who's terrified and confused and just wants to survive the craziness."

We learned all about Kate's past but very little about Tyler's. I would have liked more insight into what made him tick and how he got into his line of work. I know we got a little at the rodeo, but considering how much of the movie was spent going over Katie's history it felt a little unbalanced.

Kate and Tyler's banter was fine, but didn't approach the chemistry that Jo and Bill had.

Having said that, I also felt the movie was a tiny bit longer than it needed to be.

A movie theater is a terrible place to ride out a tornado. Any large room like that is. Without the support of walls, collapses are a huge risk. (Not to mention the way the Xenia F5 dropped a school bus on the stage in the high school auditorium.) You want as many walls between you and the tornado as you can get. I understand there wouldn't be room in the bathrooms and back hallways for everyone, but having Plan A be to hide between/under theater seats made me shake my head.

At least as far as I could see (and I did sit through the credits) Reed Timmer didn't get any kind of shoutout. As a significant inspiration for one of the main characters, I felt he deserved that.

Mixed:

The stormchasing sidekick characters were more diverse, ethnically, but I didn't feel they had the variety of characterization that the originals did. They all had the "grungy truck stop" aesthetic but not that much individual personality. That might be just an effect of a first viewing when it's hard to concentrate on details, though. I liked the guy usually riding shotgun with Tyler, and the drone pilot, but they're no Dusty. (Then again, who is?)

Decent humor. Not as prominent or quotable as in the first, but still worth some chuckles.

There weren't as many in-jokes and callbacks to the first movie or storm chasing culture in general as I had hoped. The ones that were there (like Kate using dandelions to do what Bill did with a handful of dirt) were nice, though.

Was the firenado realistic? No. Was it cool looking? Yeah. Was the cool factor worth stretching credulity that much? Meh. I guess.

They did point out that sheltering under an overpass is a horrible idea, which was good as that's a widespread myth that has gotten people killed, but at the same time...the characters still did it. And then proceeded to prove why it's a terrible idea by getting sucked out by the wind tunnel effect. I get that they were panicking, but if you know an underpass is a bad place to be, why not do what experts actually recommend and get down in a ditch? In a storm as strong as the one they faced, they were still screwed, I guess, but I still would have liked to see the characters act like they knew what they were "supposed" to do.

It was definitely less cheesy than the first film. As a Wisconsin girl, I like cheese, though.

I always find nitpicks to ramble about, but overall, I enjoyed it a lot. I had tried not to get my hopes up, and this movie exceeded my expectations. I don't know that I'll rewatch it every few years like I do Twister, but I wouldn't mind seeing it again at some point.

[firespirited]

Silo is great TV. Well written, well acted, well designed, decent pacing and stakes, a few clichés and odd accent choices here and there but a solid thrilling story.

I'm just a little burnt out on sci-fi noir, especially with a cliffhanger. Noir and the dystopia are the main sci fi types that get adapted or even get big and I've been reading or watching it for thirty years now. I just don't enjoy the catharsis of finding the truth at great cost unless there's a significant arc of character growth involved at this point and that's not something the descriptions or reviews mention.

That's the nugget of gold I'm looking for: it was present in the final episodes of Station Eleven, it was in Altered Carbon s2 Takeshi encountering his clone at a different stage in life, to cite recent examples. Sometimes the premise is the compelling factor which is why I'll probably watch Foundation and hope it isn't another noir but in the future =p.

I just don't care about the world building or sets anymore. Last year I watched a show set in some garage with styrofoam and hardware store props made to look like a futuristic prison cell and and it was compelling anyway. The noir is built on grief then some satisfaction at finding out why, how and maybe fixing it for the future. Ok, well I've done that a hundred times at least so it needs to end properly and have serious character growth. Hopefully the next season or more will complete the arc and story. I reserve my judgement for now, it's a solid story but it's just a noir like too many others.

I feel like we need a descriptor for sci fi stories stories so people like me, with dystopia 'survival' or dystopia 'noir' fatigue, can tell from a word that this one is different.

I actively avoid the survival genre but made an exception for Station Eleven because of the deliberate subversion (almost gave up on it too), I would like to know when to make exceptions or just strap in for a noir story because I don't hate them, I just need to be in the right head space.

I'm thinking the larger problem is might be a problem of reviewers: long term viewers of genre TV that are less focused on the mechanics/aesthetics of the worlds and quality of the acting/writing and a big picture view: is this character study satisfying? Is this a novel way of exploring social dynamics or are we rehashing class struggle but with different terms.

The Expanse did all that great but lost me once we moved away from character growth and other forms of sentience and the mess of season 3 which was ye olde lord of the flies with adults, army surplus props and probably in Vancouver. Do you have any idea how many times that's been done since the late 90s? You have any idea what kind of intense character study it would take to get me to watch Yellowjackets? It would have to be all bottle episodes, no mystery, no strategic withholding to keep you hooked, just full truth then psychological deep dives.

Anyway good TV, probably fantastic books.

I enjoyed Childhoods End so much more despite stupid pacing, surface level farm dude,a 'bad' end, and Charles Dance in a ridiculous modern-Satan-lore rubber costume because it made me wonder and ponder ethics at mass scale. (here's hoping Foundation tackles that) That felt fresh.

8/10 - gripping, really enjoyed the engine repair, the glimpses into smaller character's lives. There's a brief shot of a wheelchair user being carried up stairs so I'm guessing folks like me just live on their level and don't travel. Obviously I knew it was noir from the first episode and it was good enough for me to stick with it and probably get the books from the library (I really hope season 2 gives us more growth for Juliette and her people and I'd like more sci fi that expands the mind with wild concepts and brave hopes. ) .

[arthurdrakoni]

Hover Car Racer might be aimed at kids, but don’t let that dissuade you. It is a high-octane thrill ride that can be enjoyed by all ages. This is my review.

Hover Car Racer takes place in the not too distant future where transportation has been revolutionized thanks to magneto hover drives which draw power from the Earth’s magnetic field. The sports of racing has also been revolutionized by hover technology, and hover car racing draws millions of viewers and captivates countless nations. The book follows a fourteen-year-old hover car racer from Australia named Jason Chaser. Jason has just lost one of the biggest races of his life, but he’s also attracted the attention of former racing champion Scott Syracuse. Before long Jason and his little brother Bug are whisked away to the International Race School in Hobart, Tasmania. Jason and Bug are about to be in for the ride of their lives.

Yeah, if you’re thinking that this book kind of sounds like Harry Potter meets Speed Racer, you wouldn’t be too far off. That having been said, it doesn’t make the book any less enjoyable. What makes Matthew Reilly such a talented writer is the way that he is takes concepts that seem cliché and manages to make them feel fresh and exciting. He may write books that are primarily intended to be fun and entertaining, but it’s clear that he puts a lot of hard work and effort into his books.

This book had been on my to-read list for a while, and I’m certainly glad that I finally got around to it. If you’re sick of books that spend too much time on filler, padding and introspection then you’ll enjoy this book. Everything that happens has some significance in advancing the plot. The plot and action moved by like a speeding hover car, but it never felt rushed or poorly paced. This was a really fun book, pure and uncut fun. Blame it on all of the Mario Cart I used to play, but I’ve always had a soft spot for racing stories.

What I liked about Jason wasn’t so much what he was as what he wasn’t. A lot of people’s complaint with Speed Racer is that Speed is a boring invincible hero who is guaranteed to win no matter what, but that’s not the case with Jason. He has to actually work for his victories, and there are just as many times that he fails as when he succeeds. This makes all of the races genuinely suspenseful sense there’s no guarantee that Jason will come out on top. It also makes his hard work and victories feel genuinely satisfying.

There’s a ton of references to classical works scattered throughout the novel. For example, we’ve got a hero named Jason who pilots The Argonaut, flies through two clashing icebergs and towards the end of the novel he retrieves a Golden Fleece as part of the final race. Jason falls in love with a girl named Dido who ultimately proves to be a distraction on his quest. Later we see a Greek racer who pilots a car called the Arion, after the horse of Heracles, and there’s a few other references as well. You don’t have to catch any of these references to enjoy the novel, but it gives you a little something extra.

There is an audiobook version narrated by Sean Mangan. Initially I wasn’t quite sure if it would work out, since Sean is American and Jason is Australian. However, I’m happy to report that Sean more than delivers. He really does a great job bringing all of the characters to life. I guess it makes sense that the producers didn’t go with an Australian, given that Jason and his family are pretty much the only Australians in the entire book.

All in all, Hover Car Racer is a high-octane thrill ride powered by Rule of Fun and Rule of Cool. If you’re looking for a science fiction take on racing, this novel can’t be beat.

Have you read Hover Car Racer? If so, what did you think?

Link to the full review on my blog: https://drakoniandgriffalco.blogspot.com/2017/02/book-review-hover-car-racer-by-mathew.html?m=1

[anxiouslyrunningaway]

How not to start

Every time (okay, there were maybe 7 attempts) I started, I was guilty of one of these mistakes I would start running as soon as I left the house. I did not know or realise that there is something called the warm-up phase, which is crucial for your body to warm up the muscles and ligaments. And I immediately started at what I thought was the right pace (almost my maximum capacity). As a child and teenager I was a very slow runner (simply put, I hated PE and despised all sports that required training and speed). I could run for a few minutes at a steady pace, but at the same time I was slow, I could not run as fast as my more athletic and stronger peers. I did not stretch (mistake!) or I stretched only a little (few static stretches). I went running with my partner at the time (who was a regular runner and a bit of an overachiever, so our pace was quite deadly with a significant difference in elevation - resulting in shortness of breath, body sores and general dizziness and shakiness after the run). I started without thinking too much about the warm-up, the ideal pace for me as a non-runner. I just focused on how many miles I could run and not on how I would actually feel in my own body while running. I didn't do my research. I mean, what research? Just running. But how not to get injured. How to not get exhausted after one run and never run again (or maybe two more to realise I can't keep up with my breathing and my legs are sore and my lungs are burning). Unfortunately for me, someone who loses motivation in the blink of an eye, it takes a bit more than just closing the door to my room and going for a run. When it comes to doing things, impatience goes hand in hand with restlessness and anxiety. So if I am ready now, why do I need to prepare? What about the whole romanticised cliché of manic pixie dream girl-level of impulsiveness? When it comes to actually getting things done, I have to trick my brain and act on impulse to get things done. So the idea of stretching, warming up and then running seemed like too much work. But it gets better. I get dressed, drink a glass of water, grab my watch and leave the house as fast as I can. Outside the building, I do my hair, stretch and synchronise the watch. It doesn't look too glamorous, but it helps to establish a routine. And just on impulse, I'd like to go for a run, but ..... (When I'm trying to get dressed quickly, I don't think too much about the one stitch that touches my arm the wrong way and how non-cottony it is and all...but about sensory hells of sports clothes later.) Oh, I could go for a run! So if I don t put my clothes on right away and start thinking about it too much, I would just stay at home and doomscroll for the next 3 hours. Why do I want or need to run? What is my motivation? What is my goal? When and where are the best conditions? Or maybe this is just me thinking too much. The point is - what outcome was I hoping for? To get healthier? Get that extra molecule of serotonin? Lose weight? Get in shape? Be able to stick to a diet? Run a marathon? I think my past self did not ask any of these questions, I was just craving for a change. A change in my life, or in the course of my life, without really thinking about what it really meant. In the end, it was always about running from not running to.

[ansixilus]

what do you think the goblin and the zombie find pleasurable? Can be both non-intimate and intimate.

Hm... I'm guessing you refer specifically to together things, not things they might like in isolation (certainly the goblin would enjoy some good soup even when alone). And... I suppose I hadn't thought of it. The dreamlike, storyteller nature of it has had me floating gently in the now, where thinking of the future was unneeded. But to put in the thought now and try to answer, let's see...

Cliché as it may sound, I do think the most important for them both is the companionship. There seems a certain lonely note to each, a small but significant hollow that too much wind blows through when there's no one nearby. For the goblin, I think anyone's company could shelter that space, but he's content enough in his own life and his own place that he doesn't really want to seek anyone out. He can live alone, but it's just nicer, in a subtle but profound way, to have someone there. For the zombie, I don't write think it would trust anyone else enough for them to be a comfort. There's something about what it has with the goblin that's special, a certain peace that he brings, that lets the zombie try to smooth out the wrinkles of existence in that way one can only do at home and at rest.

Separate from the above, I think the goblin likes having someone to care for. I think he likes being able to offer meals, and safety, and small kindnesses. And I think the bond he's forging with his undead guest is making each of those small things worth a bit more.

I think the zombie enjoys observing the goblin. There's something of an alienness, and a distance, to the zombie's perspective, as though all of existence is distinctly foreign to it. Everything is a little bit new and a lot a bit strange, and that all makes it... fascinating seems too strong a word, its emotions seem very distant, very little-consuming, as though everything within is shades of gray, with only the reflected color from outside to change it... but still, the newness of everything is as close to fascinating as the zombie's mind gets. And the goblin isn't just new, he's actually interesting. There's a sort of allure from the sheer complexity of a person to look at rather than just a thing or a process, but that isn't all of it either. There's something about him that catches and holds the zombie's eye. What is this mysterious allure? I don't know, and suspect the zombie doesn't either, maybe never will. Also doesn't need to. It's enough that the goblin could hold its attention for ever, if the world didn't need to interrupt.

As to more physical elements, that's much harder to speculate for me. Much of what I'd need to speculate for the mechanics of it would depend heavily on the state of the zombie's body, and... I find myself disinclined to try. Something about the atmosphere, with all the details blurry as a Gaussian Girl shot from the original Star Trek, it makes me want to value the mood instead of the details. It's almost like I don't quite want to know, because whatever reality it settles into would pop the illusion of the dream.

And yet, speculation on the physical elements requires knowledge of the physical details. I don't quite remember the entire list of stated zombie traits off hand, and I don't want to base it off my own mental image, which I've already noted doesn't quite match yours. So... I'm left a bit in a tough spot. Does the zombie's body function in a way that would feel carnal desire? Does it have the right bits of flesh to engage in relevant acts? Is there enough of the lips there to kiss in more than symbol? The texture of its flesh, is it hardened and dry, like (un)living wood? Eerily soft, squishy as if it were halted at a certain decomposition stage? Firmly yielding and claylike with rigor mortis? By some miracle of balanced humors, almost like the flesh of the living? Are the hands as I imagined them, worn so that the tips of finger bones sit hard and almost sharp at the end? Or is there still flesh there, wide and solid and a little bit strange, but flesh and fingertips no less, their only hardness the nails?

So much of physical intimacy is shaped around the bodies of those being intimate, it's hard to guess without that. Even for the goblin, whose body plan I can extrapolate, erogenous zones vary wildly from person to person. Would he enjoy having his ears nibbled, or kisses at wrist and elbow, or tickling of his feet, or are these nothing to him? Would the feeling of being bitten bring him pleasure, or only pain? I'm too distant to quite know such things.

What guesses I have, though... I'm pretty sure the goblin enjoys physical proximity, once he's certain he's onboard for the physical touch. Cuddling is best because there's just so much of it, but rubs and petting and brushing up one against another are lovely all. For the zombie, touching and exploring with the hands seems to bring it some delight; the last part touched upon some sense the zombie has for... something, some kind of warmth that's other than physical. Exploring that seems like a pleasurable goal in itself.

And, I'm not sure I have it in me to try for beyond that at the moment (I'm afraid it's just before my bed). But there's extrapolation that can come from this. I can imagine the goblin walking past the zombie, perhaps returning from some physically intensive chore, and taking a moment to pause and just rest his head against the zombie's shoulder, taking a moment to soak up the proximity of his... whatever the zombie might be to him at that time.

[passports-and-pinot]

and then she started journaling

Hi.

As painfully cliché as it feels, I have decided to begin journaling (and sharing it). I’ve often been referred to as wordy, verbose even. I hope that expressing my feelings with this multitude of words will be healing for me. Bear with me, as I’m coming to realize I’m not as adept at writing as I once thought I was. Isn’t the hubris of youth adorable? (A bit cringe to say, sure, but fitting) Nevertheless, I am trying. Putting in some real effort to make my life finally feel at peace.

Coming up on 29 years old, I feel as though I am in a period of great inner transformation. I feel completely unrelated to the version of myself I was from around 19 to 26 years old. I know her, I deeply feel for her, but it’s hard to imagine actually being myself back in those early years of my adulthood. ‘Traumatic’ may seem a rather dramatic word to some, but to me it felt personal. I suppose my aim with this journaling is to further my growth as a person. Some evidence that I genuinely am trying to get better and process my darker days.

Depression has been such a massive part of my life. I have this persistent image in my head of being the token ‘shit show’ friend of pretty much anybody that knows me. The friend who is always in a pitiful state. You see her and you wince. ‘Shit, I’m glad I’m not her’ you think. But at the same time, I’m starting to get some distance between me and my messier years. Starting to be able to look at younger me with sympathy and love rather than hatred and shame. It’s all part of the healing process… or at least that’s what my litany of mental health providers tell me.

At the same time, there are massive amounts of ennui sloshing through my veins. I’m uninspired. Well, I’ve been uninspired. I suppose my journaling is a way of putting in some effort and self-motivation. So I will henceforth be self-inspiring, doing something each day that will motivate me to live - and appreciate doing so. It is the bare minimum I owe myself. I simply cannot rot my one precious life away, no matter if my brain may operate a bit differently than other, more ‘well-adjusted’ people.

It can be nearly breathtaking how significant one day can be. And while I know these feelings may not last forever, I am grateful to have experienced them nonetheless. Practicing self-care, accountability, and vulnerability are nothing short of essential to my happiness.

Thank you so much for reading this if you’ve made it this far. Proud of you and me. Let’s heal together.

I’ve had a good day, and I want to end it on a high note.

Goodnight,

Ash