#its written for me

[disproportionatelysculpting]

I have many memories flooding in me, nostalgia has it's grip around my neck.

From that summer days lying on the floor with my cousin and falling asleep, to going to my favorite park, traffic park in Nagpur with dad and trying to reach the sky on swing to playing with a girl who became my bestie in a day or two who told me that when plane crosses from your house, don't go on roof or they will give you a rose and kidnap you and so many more insane lies, to visiting my neighbors house and watching om shanti om for first time on that bhaiya's pc to going to restaurant, Rasoighar, the name of the place, as a prize on getting good marks. I remember being enchanted by the lights there and the simple decoration that felt like wonderland to me back them. I remember feeling happy.

From sitting in train on summer vacation waiting to reach my nani's house, playing silly games with my sisters, sacrificing my eyebrows to be done with a rubber band because my sister learned that from her friend, to sharing lotte choco pie chopped into little quadrants in whole family because it was new to market and dad bought one pack with family of 9 kids and many more adults, to the time I slipped and wounded my pinky toe because me and my sister thought it would be nice idea to slip on soap floor while bathing and the cows my nani took care of, the garden was green for most times, my nana's hobby. I remember feeling home.

From watching the carpet of Parijat each morning of springs with dad while I waited to be picked up for school, to that embarrassing memory of me running in school during lunch because my parents visited school and I wanted to look cool, to all the didis and friends in my auto and that one time driver uncle treated us with popsticks, and I stained all of my shirt and skirt with it, to the colony where we waited for other students and the koyal's voices singing early morning, to the boy I danced with for school programs, to playing with all those forgotten faces and nameless humans with crayon shreds and sharpeners. But I remember I was smiling noticing things.

From chopping my hair and throwing out of balcony, front side of the apartment that too, to visiting the house beside ours that looked like a mansion to me back then, to that aunty putting mishri mala around me on Holi to stealing unripe mangoes from the trees from a neighbor's house, to going to my mausi's apartment and all those unfamiliar alleys and roads.

From the weird chaos on my birthdays to the times my dad fed me each day and how I threw a hand on dad and one on mum while sleeping to show I loved them equally while sleeping, to being recorded dancing by my dad while my mum singed the songs and I danced around and sitting on the walls watching Ganesh visharjan with nani and eating ice cream because I got my teeth removed that day from by a dentist and to the time I was left at my dad's friend house and all the fun I had with his daughters.

There are so many more I didn't wrote but those times were so nice, some were not, but most were, or they seemed. Because

From being beaten by my mother over something silly and told to sit out of house on stairs for hours until I said sorry, to my dad putting pencils in between my fingers each time I made mistake in maths, to getting scolded because I couldn't cycle properly when I was learning it to that friend's father death, I saw his dead body in coffin and people crying, I was crying in my room later, I didn't know why back then , I was a kid, death was a foreign concept, to the countless time I fell and broke my knees and lips and burnt my hand, to that night my dad was watching a robbery documentary and I had a nightmare of being kidnapped while I was sleeping in same way, to being told how house was more peaceful when I wasn't there, and that feeling of jealousy for my unborn sibling because I was scared I will lose the love I had. I remember feeling ridiculed by my mother over simple things I thought was love.

Now that I think everything seems made up, or just unreal. Do other people remember it all? was all of this only special to me? were the smiles other gave me real? because I remember it all, the happiness I felt as a kid in this little things, how life was just simply colored and some things have left such a deep memory in me, they resurface once in a while drowning me in memories I want to relive. Those 2 and a half year of my life seems the only happy period I had in constant, ever since then I have had happy moments but not a happy period of life. I wish it didn't lose it colors and every feeling stayed the same. But is that past even same as I remember? would it have been different if we never moved here, if I didn't turn out like this? If my family didn't got more problems added? would things be different if my life like the memories never changed? I am mourning the life I lives and grieving the lost potential, but is there any way that went back and stayed same?

[chongoblog]

WAIT

I JUST REMEMBERED HEARING AN ELON MUSK QUOTE WHERE HE TALKS ABOUT HOW HE BELIEVES CHESS IS "TOO SIMPLE" OR WHATEVER AND HE SAID HIS FAVORITE GAME WAS A GAME CALLED "POLYTOPIA"

I JUST REMEMBERED THAT IVE PLAYED POLYTOPIA

It being Elon's favorite game (or at least one so important to him that his biographer dedicates a lot of time to it) is.....really really funny.

Basically, imagine Civilization, but as a mobile game. So like if Civilization Revolution was even more dumbed down (that's a Civilization insult. That's devastating. It's devastated right now). For what it's worth, it's not a bad game. On the contrary, from what I could tell in the little bit of time I played it, it's a perfectly competent game with good design. But it's not a deep game by any means. I played through it once, won easily on my first go, then saw that the other playable characters had barely any differences between them.

Like, not to imply you can judge a book by its cover, but here's what it looks like

I came across an article by Dave Karpf discussing this exact thing, and I think it describes it wonderfully

[arkhambug]

you were staring. very unabashedly so, too. just… oogling your boyfriend, watching as he lounged on your couch, his black shirt fitted around bulging arms, the hem riding up around his tummy to reveal that line of thick black hair that dipped below his plaid pants.

oh my god, those stupid plaid pants. they made you wonder what the hell the hype was about grey sweats, when those existed.

and it’s not like you had anything to be ashamed about, either. he was your boyfriend, all six foot something of him, for fucks sake. all the thick muscles, and short cropped hair, and scars, and fuck, those eyes. you could look if you damn well wanted to.

you’d tried very hard to convince yourself all morning that you were fine, and definitely not ovulating, and fine.

but in that moment, watching your boyfriend literally just sit there, eyes shut and head tipped back, this was not you. it was some evil entity, possessing you and in full swing. you were ready to jump him, and it wasn’t even ten in the morning yet.

your gaze kept dropping lower, toward those pecs, all soft and plush beneath the fabric of his tee, and you could feel yourself start to salivate.

it wasn’t even anything provocative either, but the sight of his tits in a black shirt, tight over the unflexed muscle, was driving you up a god damned wall.

you curled your legs up beneath you, arm perching you against the back of the couch, the other pressed between the low of your thighs to physically retrain yourself from grabbing him like a deranged person.

because, no matter what you did, it was almost impossible to stop imagining just throwing yourself at him, and doing some entirely unspeakable things. things you know you’d never do unless it was this god forsaken time of month.

“you good, ma?” Jason asked, finally breaking the tense silence, and drawing your attention away from his torso. he was staring back now, one brow raised quizzically, and his scared lip curled up in questioning.

“your eyes are dilatin’ and shit.”

yeah. you got up, wordlessly, and walked toward the kitchen.

[lemongogo]

life of regret

[rooniearts]

Knight and Poet Espilver but it's that one Princess Mononoke scene because I'm not normal about them

[megneato]

Post canon jayvik yearning in a hot spring, inspired by the lovely fic The Line is Covered in Jellyfish by @yunuen

[storytellering]

I dunno guys, I think he did nothing wrong ever

[hungharrington]

thinking about getting fingered by Steve in the backseat of his car and being crowded against the door and sitting at an awkward angle but not moving because the thought of his fingers losing that spot is a million times worse than the sore neck… just UGHHH 😩

a hungharrington fic? in 2025? i'm just as surprised as you <3 1.3k, fem!reader, what the prompt says hehe MDNI this entire blog is 18+

The numbers on the dashboard blink in the night, reflecting the late night hour.

From the outside, Steve's car looks unassuming, parked in between the trees out by Skull Rock.

You're given away only by the faint fogging of the windows, though you have little doubt of how steamy they'll be soon enough. With the hot heat of Steve's mouth against the skin of your neck and the surety of his fingers, curling closer between your thighs, it's not an if, it's a when.

"God, I missed you s'much," He murmurs heavily. His words get smothered beneath his own fervent kisses, your skin tingling beneath the attention. He can't bring himself to break away from you for more than a moment.

Steve had headed out of Hawkins for the better part of a week, dragged by his parents who wouldn't take no for an answer. He'd returned just tonight, maroon car glinting the last of the evening sun up at your window.

You'd slipped down and taken the passenger seat always reserved for you.

And then, somewhere between there and now, Steve had cajoled you into the backseat, his hazel eyes bright with an adoring lust as he nipped at your neck.

"Missed you too," You gasp breathily.

Tilting back, your head gently hits the glass of the car window behind you. Your hair wipes some of the fog off and Steve nibbles a soft lovebite under your ear, soothing it with his tongue. His hands paw hungrily at your waist and you grapple to find purchase on his shoulders.

"Not as much as me, baby," Steve pants.

He finally pulls himself back from his affectionate attack on your neck, eyes darker, face flushed. His hand on your waist slides forward, following the line of your hips forward, down, til he's cupping your cunt. You think you get a little lightheaded from the way your blood rushes south, gloriously hot at the touch.

He kisses you, his groan seeping into your mouth. It fills your head, heavy and sticky with lewd thoughts.

"Thought of you every," He rubs you through the denim softly. "Damn," Another rub, more pressure this time. "Day."

You keen, hips canting forward, searching for more of that delicious friction. Steve gives you what you want; he always does. You reward him, your hands on his shoulders shifting. You twine your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, just how he likes it.

The inside of the car feels much, much warmer now. The windows can't be seen through anymore and it seems to cast the red light of the dashboard clock much further. Steve's heavy breath fanning across your face is the loudest thing in the car.

You should've worn a skirt, you think— right as Steve asks, "Can I?" his hand now up, thumbing at the button of your jeans.

His check-in douses the ember within you with gasoline, burning hotter, brighter, in an instant. You know what he's asking for, know exactly how well Steve knows how to use his fingers. The thought of them buried in you, crooked just right, suddenly has you aching for it.

Nodding, you murmur out your yes' as you shuffle about, working to kick off your shoes quickly. Steve pulls back to not be in the way, jumping back in time to help you peel the denim off from your legs.

You manage to get your fingertips beneath the elastic of your panties before you're interrupted.

"Keep them on," Steve says, knocking your hand aside. He surges back in, his fervour undulled, and his large hands find your hips, tugging forward.

You end up slightly perched in his lap, slightly pressed into the back corner against the window and the seat. It's an awkward position but when the warmth of Steve's fingers pet your cunt again, cotton stickier now, you can forgive it. You sling your arms around his neck to get closer.

"That's it," Steve murmurs lowly. He ducks his head to reignite every lovebite left on your neck as his fingers get bolder, pressing firmer. Your breath gets thinner, chest heaving more and more.

"God, my girl," He breathes, fingers spreading the wetness up and over your clit tantalizingly. You mewl at his too-soft motions, needing more.

"Steve," You urge.

He doesn't make you wait. Pinching the edge, he pulls your panties to the side and then dips his fingers into the well of slick wet waiting eagerly for him.

You make matching groans; Steve moaning at heat of your inviting cunt, wrapped around him, and you sighing at the way his long digit sinks into you, slow and so sweet.

"Steve," You say his name again, this time a honey, lusty thing.

Steve breaks his kiss to moan against your neck, feeding on the obvious salacious eagerness in you. His finger draws back and then he sinks it back in, beginning slowly to fuck it in and out.

"Missed you," He whispers. A second finger prods at your entrance and eases in gently, sending a streak of something white hot down your spine. Your arms around his neck tighten.

"Missed this," He continues, still a whisper. He's picking up the pace now, having found a lazy rhythm, fingers sliding in and out of your cunt so perfectly that it makes your clit twitch, envious and missing out.

You whine into the crook of his neck. "Me too."

Then, just as you think the angle of your back might be just a tad too uncomfortable, Steve curls his fingers.

A gaspy noise escapes your throat. Desire pulses wildly and you can feel the way you flutter around his fingers. Steve's other hand on your waist tightens, gripping you tightly.

"Fuuuck," He groans. "I missed that too."

Then he does it again, fingers crooked to hit that perfect spot that makes you feel like you might cry if he rubbed it too much. Your noises sound much louder now, jagged and pitching up.

"You're such a tease, honey," Steve accuses, his motions not slowing. "Keeping me from this. Keeping all your cute noises to yourself."

And, as if he'll know what it'll do, he stretches his hand, veins bulging in his forearm, and plants his thumb on your clit. You jolt against the new stimulation, another cute gaspy noise, and Steve moans against your neck.

His hand keeps moving, fingers still plunging into your sopping cunt, thumb rubbing tight, small circles on your clit. You cling to him, hips rolling to meet his strokes, the heat in you building, suddenly desperately fast. Your breathing comes out heavy and if it's not a moan, it's his name that slips from between your lips.

"Feelin' good? M' making my girl feel good?" He says raspily. "You deserve it, being left alone. So mean of me."

Something fiery swells within you and you inhale sharply, squeaking out Steve's name in warning. His hand, which must be cramping much like your poor back, still rocks into you, unfaltering.

"C'mon, let me have it. Please," He pleads. "Let me see you cum f'me, honey."

The sincere thread in his voice, the genuine plead, is what unravels your last ties. You tremble, lusty and quivering sounds that you bury away in his neck, as you ride his fingers through a dazzlingly hot high. It drags on, nerves glittering with a fresh coat of pleasure that have you whining Steve's name pitifully.

When your breath starts to settle, Steve eases his fingers out, already beginning to pepper little kisses along the side of your head.

"That was big, huh?" He says. It's mostly care in his voice but there, in the back, is a smidgen of smugness.

"Shhhh," You shush him, still gathering yourself, eyes closed. You body gives a volatile twitch when Steve politely moves your panties back to their original position. "I'm deciding if that was worth fucking up my back a little bit for."

Steve makes a wounded noise, realising that he'd had you crowded up in an uncomfortable position the whole time. He's a worrier. That's enough to make you lift your head off his shoulder, eyes lidded low.

"Mmm, decided." You hum, the pleased smile of post-bliss on your face. Steve softens at the sight of it, at your easy happiness. "Worth it."

[mithrun-house-of-kerensil]

It made me so emotional the kindness the party treated Thistle with again and again throughout the story. Laios never wanted to hurt him even though he, in a way, took Laios's sister from him. Marcille wanted to talk to Thistle about magic even as he attacked them. Laios could have killed him but he chose to reason with him even as Thostle resisted. The party didn't abandon his body when he got eaten, they tucked him into bed like he was just sleeping. Yaad went back for his body so he wasn't left in the rumble. Laios, in the middle of the celebrations, went to check on him in hopes he would get his desires back the way Mithrun discovered he could. Oh the love in the world!!! The narrative that anyone can be taken advantage when alone and the only way to help is kindness and care!!!

To eat is to live but to eat together is to be loved.

[ryvols]

fuuuuuuck who invited the robots rights activist to the orgy

[papanowo]

i think dan should get to be a little weird too. as a treat

[raisinchallah]

why isnt anybody properly repressed in modern fiction like repression has been a staple of human creativity since the dawn of time but tbh i think we have been seeing a steep decrease in severely repressed fictional characters since the 80s not sure what we are going to do about it are we suddenly all too good for repression or something personally i love repression

[incoming-wormhole]

Girls be like "it's my comfort episode" but what it really is is their favourite character having a horrific time

[aerequets]

Setting aside his food, Twilight slowly knelt on the floor, ignoring the pain of his injuries, and wrapped his arms around the large dog. Bond held still as his master buried his face in his fur, his heartbeat strong and steady in contrast with the sudden trembling that had overtaken the man’s form.

this is from chapter 4 of @cantareincminor 's amazing fic Orpheus! I feel like with autumn approaching (on my side of the world at least lol) the weather is getting perfect for reading, so you can tuck yourself in all nice and cozy and read this fic because it's nice and long >:) Thank you for the commission and happy belated birthday, Cantare!

[yomi-art]

oughhg ted and paul :)

[wild-flowerhoney]

jegulus might not be canon but have you considered that canon sucks