#tw: naked bodies

[go6jo]

childhood friend karasu who throughout the years you've witnessed jump from one relationship to another despite the obvious feelings that are left unaddressed between the two of you. there is this tangible tension, one that grows substantial with time, with each relationship you watch him get into. and you're somewhat aware of your feelings towards each other yet neither of you own up to it.

you will often show up to his front door on a short notice, to hang out on the occasions that you were coincidentally driving past his house after work. more often than not, however, he'll open the door with his shirt slung over his shoulder, and if you took a peak inside you'd notice some girl, one that looks nothing like you, whose features couldn't be more distinct from your own, sprawled on the couch of his living room, her hair a mess, lipstick smeared all over her lips down to her chest, smudges of red disappearing under the collar of her shirt that's riding dangerously up her stomach. more often than not, too, he'll smirk at the way you look away from the scene in front of you, trying to act unfazed, how you try, to no avail, to conceal the frustration that shows in the furrow of your brows. jealousy, it reads on your face - it's written all over it, even a blind man could see it. "wanna join?" but you've already started walking away and tabito thinks he knows the answer, anyways. (you've never been one for sharing, not ever since you were a child and as he watches you leave there’s a certain tenderness that settles in his chest, that softens the smirk on his face into a subtle smile, one of affection upon realising that, when it comes to him, you never really stopped behaving like the little girl he knew and grew up with, the little girl who had always wanted him all to herself.)

you watch as girls grind up against him at the club everytime go out together. he’s grown handsome, you reckon, (more handsome now at 20 than 14 year old you would ever thought he’d turn out to be.), drawing some attention, girls naturally flocking to him - something you’re still not used to. him being the object of other people’s affection. you having to share. your eyes meet across the room - you stare at him in silent revulsion, as an affront when he lets them cling onto him, smirking at you over the girl's shoulder as she starts kissing up his neck, feeling him up, her manicured nails grazing down his chest. what are you gonna do about it, he mouths at you in defiance. like clockwork, you pretend that you didn't take notice of his disappearance, that you didn't feel a knot in your stomach as you watched some girl drag him into the bathroom with her and when it's time to leave, you pretend you don't notice that the buttons at the top of his shirt are undone - that he's breathless and his pupils are blown wide. you get in his car and he drives you both home - to his place - then you get inside and you both pretend like there is nothing to be said. you slip out of your heels and you curse him quietly when he walks past you into the living room. "you're an asshole, tabito" but there isn't any malice to it, it's meek in a way. sad and hopeless. he just scoffs in fake amusement, discarding of his shirt and throwing it in the couch. all of his witty qualities, any energy he might've had to retort with a cheeky remark began to fade as soon as he had walked through the front door. he always found it harder to play pretend in the silence of his home, away from all the buzz, where the feelings you've both been negleting for way too long begin to weigh heavy in the athmosphere. there's a certain bitterness hanging in the air as he adjusts himself on the couch to settle for the night, as you walk into his room and lock the door behind you. neither of you have the energy to argue anymore. you used to fight on nights like these, “does it bother you that much?”, he'd ask once the dust begins to settle with his forehead touching yours, holding your chin so you couldn’t avert your gaze away from him. “could be you, you know?”. he tells you as he kisses your cheek, left then right, on each corner of your mouth, dangerously close to your lips then holds your head against his chest. he could be so sweet, so convincing. you used to fight but that was before, when you still thought it was worth a shot, that this was worth fighting for - whatever this was. "just say the word and i’m yours, baby.”

liar. he’s pretending to care when he squeezes your hand a little tighter in his as soon as he begins to feel you grow restless as you struggle to engage in conversation with his friends, too afraid to intrude yet too scared of looking bored as they talk football tactics (you had just wanted to spend some time with him after a whole week of being too busy to hang out). faking the kindness in his smile, too, as he tries his best to put you at ease. they like, you know, he tells you once you leave, eita’s told me you should give him a call if you’re ever done being friends with me. he’s only feigning sympathy when he offers to rub your feet after a long day, when he kneads your calves as your legs rest over his on the couch. he’s pretending to be attentive when he rubs up and down your arms as you stand in line together to keep you cosy on a particular chilly day, lwhen he tells cashier your coffee order that he has memorized by heart, when he brings your hands up to his lips and blows some warmth into them, sharing some of his heat after your coffees run cold in your grasp, definitely only acting suave when he presses his lips ever so softly against the skin of your forehead to check your temperature when, on the following day, you tell him you might be getting sick.

so you refused to yield. you've loved him for as long as you can remember yet still you never wavered in your decision to refuse to surrender to him. he's all you've ever known, for the longest time you watched him jump from one relationship to another thinking that someday when he grew older, more mature, he'd stop playing these games with you. so you waited, you waited until you realised that maybe you'd never see the end of it, that maybe he just enjoyed being chased, enjoyed how suscetible you were to his provocations, thrived on your silent jealosy — he must have thought it was flattering. he's always loved to pick on those weaker than him, to feel like he has the upper hand while picking on their weaknesses and yours just so happens to be him. you don't think he ever means it when he says he'd be yours, that he'll drop his current girlfriend if you ask him to, if only you tell him you want him. to admit such a thing, however, you think, would be to akin to handing him the gun with which you he’ll make you meet your demise. it is a scary thing to have someone hold that power over you, the power to destroy you if they so desire. so you won't surrender, it hurts enough already as it is.

but he has needs, he tells you, (teases you), and if you won’t indulge him he will have someone else tend to them. and karasu does try to enjoy their company to a certain extent - pretends to make love to you through them. pretends it's your tongue he's sucking on, your whines, your scent, your touch. and even though he purposefully chooses girls that look nothing like you, he manages to get into it so long as he keeps his eyes shut. his relationships never go past the three month mark, though. Karasu does just enough to keep the entertained, kisses them nice and slow so they feel cared for, feels and gropes them over their clothes while whispering all kinds of dirty things into their ears, all the things he will do to them (all the things he’d like to do to you) and for a while those empty promises are enough to keep them around. he knows what women want and knows how to keep them on their toes. it never goes past that, though. it never lasts much longer once he begins rejecting their every advance because as soon as they start kissing down his chest, their fingers sneaking past the waistband of his underwear, he is grabbing their wrists while glancing down at them with a dangerous look on his face. it’s not long before they start whining at him, telling him he’s no fun and leave through the front door, never to be seen again. then he’s left to think of you. it was fun for a while, to introduce you to all of these different girls and watch you act friendly with them only for you to let your frustrations out on him as soon as the two of you were alone. it sort of amused him, really. for quite some time, your jealousy had been enough for Tabito, it'd been enough reassurance of the feelings you still harboured for him after all these years. it was proof that you desired him and maybe if your desire was strong enough, maybe you wouldn’t notice that he’s not that special after all. that there is nothing exceptional about him, not a secret quirk or any hidden talent or passion besides football - not much to give, not much to love. he had relied on all these girls who blindly craved him so hopefully you, too, would find him worthy of love, your love. but it's been too long now and you’re both adults and he's tired of playing this game of cat and mouse and you might probably think he's the worst person alive by now so it's no use trying to convince you of his feelings for you either. and how could he blame you for it, really? for not trusting him when all he has done for the past years is deceive you.

then he goes off to paris and he begins to take his relationships more seriously, as a way to actively work towards getting over you. he’s sparking all kind of dating rumours when he’s seen leaving practice with a french model under his arm. you haven’t heard of him for over a year and you see the pictures all over social media. on the first picture of the sequence you can tell he’s just left practice because his skin is covered in a wet sheen of sweat. he's smiling and his jersey is clinging to his torso almost a bit too provocatively (you're sure he'd bask in the praise of the people on the comment section complimenting his physique) and you can’t help but notice the way the sleeves are a little too tight around his arms, he has put on some muscle since the last time you saw him - he looks so handsome and hes a lot stronger and you miss him so much. you smile fondly at your screen but your smile begins to falter as you scroll through the pictures and theres an image of a blonde handing him a bottle of water while he noses at her cheek affectionately, in gratitude you think, another picture capturing a more intimate moment where he’s holding her head to his chest as he drinks from the bottle and you don't think you've ever seen him be this genuinely gentle towards anyone before, anyone but you. there is an uncomfortable feeling in your stomach, you feel sick — it’s the first time you’re truly scared of losing him. you call him almost instantly - instinctively. you don’t know what to say if he picks up, you don’t even know if you want him to pick up, you don't even know why you’re calling him but you feel nauseous and your vision is blurry from all the tears that are threating to spill and its taking him way too long to pick up. you have half a mind to hang up when you hear his voice on the other end and you start sobbing, unable to form any cohesive sentences, apologizing to him instead, over and over again.

“hi, bab-“ it should've felt comforting to know that even after all this time his voice is still gentle when talking to you, that he'll never stop calling you baby - that you're still his baby.

“sorry.” you say in between hiccups “im sorry. please, tabito. im so sorry. dont do this, please.”

he wants to say he has no idea what you're talking about, that he's happy now, happy with her that he never once wondered how you'd react once the news reached you on the other side of the globe. he pretends he can't feel his heart aching in his chest at your crying fit because he'd dreamed of a moment like this - where you'd call him crying, begging for him. you'd always been so tough that he thought it'd be somewhat sweet to watch you finally break - he didn't foresee this though. feeling this gutted, this miserable at the weak sound of your voice, hating himself this much. he never thought things would reach such dimensions, could never imagine the depths of your feelings for him, that you'd hurt so much for him. its breaks his heart. he aches for you yet he finds you ache for him just as much.

"hey." he hushes. “i won’t, baby. i won’t, okay?”

his words seem to soothe you and he lets you cry for a little longer until your sobs gradually begin to fade on the other side of the line until it's mostly quiet. he runs a hand through his hair, unsure of what to tell you, of what to do.

“you have got to give me something here, pretty.” he can feel you grow agitated again as he listens to your quivering breath. “i need to know what you want.”

it's silent again until you begin to sob quietly, trying to get the words out. “i need you, please. don’t do this.”

“you’re hurting me, tabito.”

you sound so small, childish almost and he loathes it. he loves you and he doesn't want to see you hurt anymore, not for him. he loves you so much, so much, but he’d been so worried you’d see through him, that you'd deem him insignificant - so focused on making you love him. all this time he forgot about making you feel loved in return, cared for.

"your address still the same?" he wants to hold you, he thinks. to kiss your face while whispering sweet nothings onto your ear, again, again and again until you believe it when he tells you he loves you. he hears a sound of confirmation coming from you and he adjusts himself on the couch, a arm folding behind his neck for support, waiting for your breaths to even out and he tells you he’ll stay with you until you fall asleep. he stays and he completely forgets about the blonde sleeping in his bed next door.

a few days go by and you feel stupid for thinking that maybe he’d come to visit you, that he'd come to kiss away your tears and tell you that he wants to be with you, he’ll stay in japan just to be with you (you'd innocently dreamed of it. that his love for you would make him stay, your councious mind tells you that you'd never overcome that guilt, though. you'd never want to stall him, to ruin the bright future he has ahead of him. so instead, you choose to dream of a love that's enough to bind you two together despite however many miles might stand between the two of you.) you watch him on television and he shines on the field and you engrave that same image into the back of your mind because you think that’s the last you’ll ever see of him. but one day, two weeks after the call, when you’ve come to terms with the fact that maybe he’s not coming, he shows up at your doorstep and all you can do is drop your head onto his chest — surrendering, to him, in the sweetest submission. something so docile, so earnest it has his chest aching in adoration. there are no ulterior motives to your touches as you run your hands down the expanse of his arms only to finally link your fingers with his when you reach his hands. no other reason besides the fact that you want to touch him, feel him. he’s here and that’s enough. he’d been gone for so long that, for now, you won’t demand anything more of him except for his touch. it feels innocent again, mellow like when you were kids — uncomplicated. it feels overly sweet when you look up at him with honeyed eyes and hold his face in the palms of your hands getting on the tip of your toes to place a lingering kiss in the corner of his mouth, both of you with your eyes softly closed. then you move with uncertainty to brush your lips against his. it’s only then that he reacts, that he snaps out oh his reverie and grabs your face in his hands to put some distance between you. just enough so that he can look you in the eye, just enough to gain back his composure.

“no.” he locks eyes with you, holding you firmly in place. he kisses the furrow of your brows in a soothing manner, in reassurance at the look of betrayal on your face. “say it, baby.”

he looks down to traces a finger over the collar of your night dress and there a certain eagerness to his words, to the way he leans his forehead against yours and his chest is heaving in antecipation. he wanted to kiss you, too. and it fills you with courage.

“just make me your girlfriend, tabito,” you sigh “please.”

and it feels good to surrender. to be held in his arms as he kisses you slow, longingly. i have very little to offer you. the hands that roam your body and slide up your thighs under the fabric of your dress want to say. it’s enough, the hands that hold him closer to you whisper. you’re enough.

“you say it, now.” you pull away from him, breathless. “say it’s only ever been me.”

“yeah, baby. yeah.” he closes his eyes as he chuckles lovingly at the determination in your eyes and holds your head to his chest, close to his heart. (still not quite close enough.) “you’re my girl. you’ve always been my girl.”

[nightkit92]

Ee! Here's day 2 of goretober!! Heres the ref sheet

TW!! KNIVES, BLOOD, STARING(?)

[lettucefather]

O, Gabriel. Now dawns thy reckoning, and thy gore shall glisten before the temples of man.

is this anything...

[connortheconceded]

3 easy steps to become a cool werewolf

step one: dubiously consent to some experimental procedures.

step two: inhale a mix of wolfs-bane, dried belladonna and other components with just a little cocaine mixed in for good measure.

step three: wait 5 to 20 minutes for the body to painfully transform itself.

And its as easy as that, now go out have fun!

[terrence-silver]

Could we please have Terry body worshiping or just worshiping Beloved in general. Thanks :)

---

Nyotaimori. (女体盛)

He observed the practice in Japan back in the 80's and beforehand too, as far back as the 70's, in Korea; From Onsens to corporate company afterparties behind closed doors he frequented in high end Tokyo afterhours before the turn of the millennia. The act of being on display and the nude form being used as an artistic canvas for serving food presented on sanitized leaves on sufficiently flat areas of the physique while the subject lay perfectly still, not interacting with any of the patrons under the strictest traditional decorum. It translated to body sushi. Nantaimori (男体盛り) its male equivalent. Terry hums in contentment at the etymology as he observes the fish rolls and seaweed covering your nipples, forming an immaculate pattern. A handful of supple fruit, berries and black grapes in the crevice where your tights touched, forming a v-shape. Bamboo leaves and rose petals covering your legs riddled with circles of lined up fresh fruit, a colorful mosaic of Julienned Daikon raddish and thinly cut stripes of salted Anago eel and yellow melons. A fragrant, tiny, softly cooked, partially caramelized peach in your mouth, balanced carefully between two lips, serving as a makeshift, edible gag in a room filled with lit candles and a red tinted hue. A single red cherry adorning your bellybutton like a shimmering ruby. He never allowed any of his chefs to arrange this. His waiting staff. No catering service under the sun he could pay for in The Valley and beyond. They never laid a hand on you. Never saw you like this. He did this, all of it, personally. Laying you down. Undressing you. Decorating you. Washing you beforehand, not missing a single nook or cranny on your skin.

Doing so for himself. By himself. For his eyes only. For his taste buds.

Terry was both the artist and the consumer tonight.

Chopsticks long since forgotten and entirely discarded, Terry deliberately chooses to proceed ahead with a silver fork at his own leisure as he's seated in front of his very own spread on a table that is both the place of dining and your bed and he eats, savoring the Shizoake and the spiced rice served on your thigh, a single tiny round ceramic dish of soy sauce to dip his rounds into on your knee. Was there ever a better plate? -"In 2005, China outlawed this. Can you believe it?"- Custom demands that he don't speak to you but he supposes he can't resist, even though he knows you can't and shouldn't respond, the peach in your mouth standing as hindrance. He has to chuckle into his own chin, amused at the anecdote he was about to regale. -"It never ceases to amaze me how some people just don't know how to live."- He proceeds, shaking his head with a smile, the tip of the fork carefully impaling itself on a handful of Sashimi, making contact with your skin enough to pinch as he places the bite into his mouth, chewing. Content. Watching your body still. He washes the residual food down with a quick shot of Whisky. -"Not like us."- He adds tenderly, looking at you even though your gaze was firmly pinned to the ceiling from the position you were laying down in, your head resting on other end of the table, feet facing his torso. Each toe adorned with a ring of pineapples. You could hear him. Oh, you could hear him, even though you couldn't exactly see. -"We're so good together. So perfect."- He coos, leaning down, until his mouth was brushing against your smallest finger alongside his tongue, devouring the fruit crowning your toe, leaving the slickness of his saliva behind.

Kissing the aftermath.

You were delicious.

The most delectably delicious morsel Terry Silver's ever tried.

[simptasia]

in 2 months i've gone from my average being around 71 kilos (record 73) to my new record: 83 kilos. whoa

[nightkit92]

Goretober day 9 & 10!!

Yup that's right. I decided to mix them since they were quite similar lol also cause I'm lazy

Here's the sheet!

TW!! BLOOD, SCARS

Yes I know the hand is wonky but idc

[hairtusk]

florence pugh is doing the lord's work by being a healthy weight in hollywood

[the-smallest-star]

"..."

[bingobongobonko]

in the grasp of the maw

[wickedthiswaycomes]

location: big shot casino

“Nah, I’ve got to quit while I’m ahead,” Cas shook his head, pushing himself with some reluctance away from the game he’d been immersed in for the last hour. “Somehow I’ve got to get home and I don’t think my Uber driver would accept an IOU. Unless you’re offering to buy me in and a ride home?” he offered the other a roguish grin. 

[koyato]

Kaleesh week

Day 7

Oben

@tuberculosis-bot-9000

To be honest initially I wanted to draw simply sith meme, but in last moment change my mind to draw something more special. So this is why theme from previous days...

So well yes, I was inspired by the fact that an unnamed woman came to Kaleesh exhausted by war and bombardment, and maybe it's Ronderu. Illustration is more iconic variation on a theme. She's canonically and naked not in sexy way, she just healthy and newborn strong Khagan, hope for her "people". And absolutely saint, she don't need hide her flesh until the moment of death. She already dead as all here, but reborn, and everyone will reborn.

They can be killed, but not destroyed.

[solunest]

Is there art of sleuth y/n in their uh...final moments? Idk what you call it but I'm talking about when they tore up Sun and Moon. I'm curious to know what they looked like

In short, they looked like a frankenstein mess.

TW Gore, a lot of it, like I'm not joking-

According to Moon, he could see them incline them with a metal digit dressed in flesh. Others' POV state that they could see their sutures coming undone, exposing the metal endoskeleton that had been surgically implanted into their body. Of all the optic choices they picked, it had to be red? Not that it mattered, seeing as the caveat was bleeding into their every being. Sun and Moon fought very hard, for being feral and struggling against the curse, themselves.

Alas, like the chapter said, they fought in vain.

[bobapplesimblr]

\ This was supposed to be a vent edit but I ended up having a lot of fun with it <3 \

[cybernexus]

Raj - Reference

[munsonsduchess]

Sometimes I wonder why I have issues with my body image. Why I always hate the way I look. Change my outfits seventeen times before going out bc I look “too fat”

Then I remember watching Bridget Jones’ Diary when everyone including the protagonist constantly spoke about how ‘fat’ she was. Renee Zellweger was 126lbs / 57kg while filming that movie.

Or when my mother jumped from diet to diet. Weight Watchers, Atkins, Slimming World. Or when she taped a picture of a pound of fat onto our fridge to remind her what would happen if she overate.

Or the whole ‘fitspo’ trend that was all over the internet in my formative teen years. Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels right? Would I rather have cake or collar bones? What do I mean I don’t have a thigh gap?

But hey, it’s all in my head right?