#we've come to know and love from her!
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thrill-seeker-vn · 1 year ago
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tahir
tahir ⇢ what part of writing do you want to get better at?
To be honest, all of it! Especially, I think, not getting embarrassed at my own writing. I feel like I just need to start learning how to take a more objective view, instead of trying to refine, refine, and refine.
Another thing I would like to work on is my atmosphere! I hope to add more atmospherism into my writing, as some of my favorite authors do (a great example being @anya-dev and @manonamora-if, especially their game DOLOS)!
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airenyah · 1 month ago
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I get you about the hetero vibes of JD. Like there are CPs who act like they have been married for years and I am inclined to believe that and there are CPs who are just happy their job is to flirt with their homies and they lean into it. The latter is JD to me. Like no matter how much they would flirt, I won't believe they are actually together. I can belive they are best friends, even soulmates but not a couple
yep, exactly! i mean, JD also act like they've been married for years in a way, but as i mentioned in my other reply, it just feels like more of an inside joke and feels much more platonic than romantic
and they most definitely have fun flirting with each other. i think it's as entertaining for them as it is for us. especially for joong. i think it's a well known fact that no matter how insane you think you are about JD, you can be sure that joong is more insane about JD than you are. and i fully support him in that <3
#asks#anon#joongdunk#adrm#sometimes i have to think about that one time my bestie and i were at this weekend retreat we've been going to for years#and not everyone that shows up knows each other all that well#so going around in a circle with everyone stating their name is sth we often do on the first night#often it's your name and how many times you've been there is the common info to give#but this one year we were asked to state our favorite ''something'' of our own choice in addition to the above#originally i was gonna name my favorite animal#but then i had a better idea#everyone was listing favorite color/favorite song/favorite food etc#normal stuff you know#and then. after we'd gone through like half the people. then finally it was my turn#and i went#''my name is [airenyah] i've been here [n] times and my favorite person in this room is [bestie]''#cue the entire room awww-ing loudly#was what i said true? hell yeah#does it mean i'm in love with her? no i'm absolutely NOT in love with her#did i say that specifically bc i know she's tired of my sappy shit and i KNEW she'd roll her eyes at that? absolutely and most definitely s#(btw she DID roll her eyes and it filled me with great satisfaction)#(the entire room was going ''awwww'' and all i personally cared about was my bestie's eyeroll dfjkjkdskjd)#anyway sometimes JD's flirting has that sort of energy#where it feels like it comes from a place of truth but they're mostly just saying it bc they're waiting to see a reaction#either from each other or from the audience (or both)#but idk i might also just be projecting you know#(though i HAVE noticed that they and i feel like esp joong?? will often seek approval after saying flirty shit)#(flirty lines will sometimes be followed up with a เป็นไงล่ะ or เป็นไงๆ - ''how is it?''/''how was that?'')#(and often that's directed to the audience or the host)#(which again just kinda reinforces the notion that they are NOT dating for real)
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(from this video)
#not a confession#helluva boss#the fact that they even mentioned Chaz just made me screech mentally#because... you know. if you've read my oneshot you know#but yes exactly. I also tie back to him the fact that Millie was so serious and untrusting during the flashback#(to be fair. being a mercenary is cutthroat business. but even while fighting and killing she seems a lot goofier nowadays)#how the timeline works in my head is#affair in Wrath. Chaz bounces to another ring and breaks her heart. she stays home for a while after that before moving to the city in Prid#she could've had her walls up out of a sense that the city slickers would only betray her#Chillie seems significant to me bc we've SEEN just how MUCH it takes for Millie to snap when it comes to loved ones and their bullshit#let alone turn from loving affection to seething murderous hatred#so you KNOW that whatever happened between her and Chaz WOUNDED her. or at least offended in a huge way idk#someone on AO3 wrote it so he cheated on her with her sister. like yeah that could do the job alright#though that does imply she loved him which is easily the biggest plot hole here. like. look at that thing#what is there to love#about Chazwick Thurman#he's an embarrassing roach with a dick complex#(also my girl Sallie would never have standards that low. please. she's also a lesbian now but that's another thing)#tbf Chaz and Blitzo are quite similar... except Blitzo has way less shallow writing... I wonder if that could be explored#her currently being so close to someone who is in theory strongly reminiscent of her ex. putting up with so much from him too#ah but I shan't keep talking Chillie. we'd be here all night if I tried to explain all my mental lore#isn't it funny how I've thought so much about them despite despising S02e03 and becoming physically ill by Chaz's sceentime#on my first watch#and then never watching it again#it's just the Concept of him alright. like shared ex of M&M who's a conman a loser a former mafia goon & whores himself to survive#who are you and how did you get here#plus the fact that he's a shark bc sharks are so cool. did you know threshers harm and even kill prey by whipping them with their tails#wish we could've seen that#I love it when anthros have their animal traits acknowledged#wow the tags here really derailed from the original screenshot. ignore them please 🙏
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cathymee · 7 months ago
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maybe it's to maintain a sense of tension & turmoil that would eventually reach an explosive peak, a sense of tug-of-war, a back-and-forth to hammer home the ideals they want to deliver and for the viewers to chew on, but although these arguments regarding hiroshi & his stance as a man torn between his loyalty for his country & the loyalty for his Filipino friends and lover is of course important, how they write these scenes & the points they present from this week alone is getting too repetitive...? literally the argument scenes from last night & tonight between adelina & hiroshi is basically the same; the ideas were the same, the dynamics were the same: the aggressive, radical adelina, bristling rage and fear over the injustices she's seen thus far, and the cautious, inspiriting hiroshi, all hopefulness and reassurance one moment as a lover, defensiveness and sternness as a japanese soldier in another. this debate will be ever-present ofc, it is one of the series' biggest conflicts, but it is unfortunately so easy to tell when it is a.) being pulled up as a main topic to move the plot along / be a necessary conflict for character development/introspection / be the conflict to deliver the morals & messages the writers want to send to their viewers, or b.) when it is being pulled up only for the drama and filler to pass the time. like watching the characters sit down to argue for 10 minutes, do other things for the plot for 2 minutes, then sit down again to argue for the next 20 minutes. lol.
#lots of things i wish they would soon improve but this 1 bothered me tonight..stopped watching halfway thru#these scenes would be like excellent breaks for when we need to take a breather to digest what's been going on#but at the slow pace they've set it it's just...nothing's been going on since like...4 days ago#except for eduardo's plot#it's just arguments..everywhere....all the time....over the same repetitive things#no progress nothing new to chew on despite there being drastic changes to their situation...? same vibes from the time they weren't occupie#yet lol. same dynamics mostly#only new points of debate is regarding hiroshi & his country vs friends conflict#& carmela being desperate to go back to comfort & luxury vs her family standing as firm as they could against the occupation#ahhh i am sooo not eloquent enough to express my full thoughts but like!!! fellow viewers if y'all r here u understand me right lmfoskadhsg#finding it hard to criticize bc i'm trying to make sense of where they r coming from#a.) seeing as unlike mcai this is a complete original story it's hard to see what direction they'd like to take it to#b.) fil shows really find it hard to break away from their normal formulas of family dramas & bastard children & love triangles :'))))#god the opportunity to tell a refreshing diff story but this is like gma show 67627627th but set in the japanese era....then mixed with 50%#of the mcai show feel#the editing the visuals the acting = good. 60% of the story line = can be compared to the hundreds of gma shows we've seen be4#anywy going off on a tangent...#c.) i can understand the slow pacing as them trying to establish the settings & the feel of that era so that the more intense tragedies-#later on would hit harder#but again. few scenes feel like they're dragging on for too long. some scenes & themes r too repetitive#need to see something differenttt something fresh something developing. something moving & feeling & connecting w/the audience#need to see more of the Philippines & the Filipino people in the 40s!! not the same afternoon prime drama shot in intramuros#need to see their messages staring into our souls instead of just being words uttered in tears#all this to say....flop era this week tbh sorry#EXCEPT FOR MAX COLLINS & HER LIKE. 3 MINS SCREEN TIME. MAX COLLINS I LOVE U QUEEN#rambles#pulang araw#putting this in the main tag i KNOW some ppl out there would feel the same & can explain this better lol i swear????
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sylustra · 14 days ago
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I should be asleep but I'm thinking about Sylus' "you can talk"...
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tragedia · 5 months ago
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i swear, my grandma's true calling in life would be a mourn watcher if such a thing was possible in real life.
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skaruresonic · 6 months ago
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no fear
"Bloober remaking Silent Hill 3, which has far fewer defenders because the game gets classified either as 'cult crap' or 'women's horror,' ignoring its psychological elements"
one fear
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natjennie · 6 months ago
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grrrrrrr
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confines · 1 year ago
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me and my cousin i'm barely on speaking terms with (but in a relatively casual way) repotted her deceased grandmother's pothos today. this was our first time actually properly repotting it bc last summer it was in such a fragile state and we were so scared to hurt it that we just lifted it out of its pot and placed it in a bigger one but this go round we basically dismantled it entirely. we got eight discrete plants and placed it into four different pots!! in nine months it went from the edge of death to that many plants and like ninety leaves altogether. so if you're bad with plants but still wanna fool with them, i guess you should get a pothos.
#neither of us are corny enough to say it or interested in tearjerker moments but i think we both felt the presence of her grandmother HEAVY#this was the only potted plant of hers still living since she died back in 16 & it was. god. it was no longer variegated from lack of light#it actually had more leaves than i remembered. it had like 20. but for every leaf there were 4 places there should've been and wasn't.#water that touched the soil came back yellow which i've never researched to see what the cause is#but i associate it with like. bogs. and stagnation#like if it was still in that dark corner of my other cousin's living room it fr might be dead now#but in nine months thanks to my other cousin asking for help and thanks to us repotting it and taking our turns with it#it has more than quadrupled in size and is variegated af#i don't know what we'll do in like six months when it wants to do it again...#i'm keeping mine somewhat contained tbh i don't even like pothos i just love it bc it's a piece of my aunt#and it is like objectively so fucking sweet that we've rehabbed it like that#adam yaps#like two weeks ago i asked my other cousin if she'd want a pot of it when we repotted and she once again emphasised#that she didn't want it or any cuttings off it leaving the family or being handed out willy nilly#and i once again tried to explain that it's a pothos. it wants to be split up and thrown all over.#that's a pothos' favourite thing#plus her mom probably gave an ungodly amount of people cuttings off it like come on now#but anyway maybe she'll understand now when she sees and fully comprehends that in 9mos we turned half a plant into 4#at this rate we'll either be giving bits away or throwing bits away. those are the options we will eventually face.#because you can't just repot infinitely. eventually your whole house will be one massive pothos in a hundred pots.
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silentalltheseyearsnomore · 2 years ago
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Ehhhh session went okay with S I think. Better than what I dreaded, which was her having her wall up still and not being able to reach her and it staying like that until we end in a matter of weeks. But she was still her. I didn't get to confront her about what happened and the things we know aren't okay. But we did connect a little, talked a little about how to use these sessions, she said she wants to still be around to help after we end, wants to help us get the right therapy etc, but she is just being very careful knowing our history with therapists and she wants it to be healthy and different and okay for us both. Which we appreciate obviously even if the unknown is terrifying. Talked about the referral for specialist therapy, she is still trying to make that happen for us. But we likely will have no therapy for a while. It is not what either of us planned for but I am glad she is navigating it the best way possible to make sure circumstances dont implode our relationship. We both agreed none of this is about me, her, or our relationship, but simply circumstances and we both want that not to ruin what we built. And to do that she needs to know her limits and hold them and we need less pressure on our relationship. I mean even just the fact we don't live in a safe environment yet again makes therapy almost impossible. It's not her fault or our fault. It just is. And I'm proud of our system for managing any of it tbh, considering the extent of triggers, I am proud of us for talking about any of it, for even trying, even being alive honestly.
The most helpful bit was her talking about trust. And reenactments. And being in the present. I don't remember it as it was a mush of child parts but I do remember the sense of 💡 moments they had, and a sense of the trust being directed back inwards and in to the present rather than more outwards and in to the future. They panic so much about the future, about who still stay, what will happen, things no one can know. And something clicked today where they realised that it is them that is always questioning, not her. She just trusts. And that their constant questioning can actually make others start questioning things they're sure about in the relationship or elsewhere, and end in self fulfilling circles. So our aim is to just hold on to the transitional thing of hers that represents this trust, and try and forget all the noise and questions. She said it represents her trust in us too, it shows she believes we are worthy of this trust, and that we never see it that way around. She said we often torture ourselves with things we feel she must feel when she doesn't at all. So. Trust. Trust that even though every part of our life is in limbo and scary that each day we face what we can and then the next and things will change. Trust that right in this moment she is there, still wants to get us the right help, still wants to be around. Trust that we can still get better and have a future. Trust that things will work out and that questioning actually has the opposite effect of what we want. Trust in how people feel and their actions rather than questioning. (We can tell when someone cares deep down, we just don't believe it.) Trust in ourselves that we are trusting for good reason. Trust just today and the next day and that we will face the end of therapy when it comes and then the next thing. Jeeeeeeze. Change is hard. Trusting in the present moment is hard. I feel relieved and scared and brave and shaky all at once.
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muntitled · 4 months ago
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Tic-Tac-Toe
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Pairing: The Salesman x Fem!reader
Summary: Every Wednesday your schedule consisted of attending classes during the day, and satisfying the needs of a sadist through the night.
Warning: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Violence, Kidnapping, Isolation, SociallyAnxious!Reader, Blindfolds, Stalking, Knives, Blood, Gore, Stockholm Syndrome, Smut (+18) mdni, Degradation Kink, Praise Kink, Insertion, Fingering, Rough Sex, Erotophonophilia, Dom!Salesman, Sub!Reader, Dacryphillia, Sadomasochism, Gunplay, Deepthroating, Breeding Kink, Unprotected sex
A/N: Hell is empty
4k Words
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You're strapped in a chair, like always, and you are blindfolded because he doesn't trust easily.
It's terribly annoying.
At any point of during and after your little 'arrangement' you could have called the cops. Doesn't he understand that?
Every Wednesday, you're taken from the warmth of your apartment, and you're delivered right back at 00:00 on the dot, every Thursday with barely an inch of life left in your bones. You'd either always come back wet, with semen sliding between your thighs, or with mysterious marks- old and new- crawling underneath your sweater. Whatever mood he was in, he'd always leave you feeling sore.
It should have bothered you.
The thought of seeing this large, domineering shadow-in-a-suit every Wednesday should not overwhelm you with all these feelings of excitement. Instead, you should do like all the mentally ill girls do and just get some fucking help.
But you want him to trust you, for some reason.
Which was utterly ridiculous considering the fact that to him, you were something akin to a porcelain wind up toy for his amusement. You had no business requesting he remove the blindfold aspect but still, you asked anyway. Toy's couldn't be trusted, could they?
"I'd really appreciate it if I didn't have to wear one of these everytime I visit your place." He removes the blindfold, and in a second, your vision is filled with nothing but him. One moment you were in the cozy warmth of your dorm room. Curled up on the couch while your roommate spends her youth effectively- out with boyfriends and friends and everything you didn't have. You answered the front door when you heard his special knock, like you always do. You walked with him to the cab. You let him put on the blindfold. You said 'I'm fine’ when the taxi driver got a little too nosy and you let him lead you away from your boring life.
If only for a few hours.
You'd let him do whatever he wanted for those few hours because such surrender was almost sacred. You forfeited your safety in his hands, to do with it whatever he pleased and in that, you found rest. Whatever happens, happens.
Forget this room- what was essentially his personal dungeon, windowless, red and boasting various torture objects- your eyes are only on him.
"I'd appreciate it if you didn't feel the need to kidnap me anymore? We do this every Wednesday," You become more childish around him and he lets you. Like you forgot you are a fully autonomous university student. There was power in that too. "Surely we've established some sort of trust?” He doesn't respond to you immediately. You crane your head up at him, hungry to lock eyes with his cold, empty slits that enchanted you body and soul.
You are in love with him, perhaps.
That's a logical response isn't it?
You laugh almost.
Listening to yourself try to rationalize your fondness for such a horrible man.
Said horrible man is silent. All you hear is the clicking of his dress shoes as he moves to the leather seat directly across from yours. Your eyes scan over all his movements.
The right corner of his lip quirks up. A small coffee table creates the only distance between you and he bends over to pour you both a generous glass of Brandy on the rocks. You don't drink it. Ever since he's been bringing you here, you never do. He knows this, yet still he pours.
"This relationship isn't about trust." He says finally. Something inside you, that is perhaps a little broken, actually purrs at the sound of his voice. You're hyperaware of your thighs squeezing together on the leather seat. They're spilling out of the sundress you purposely wore today.
Lots of your clothes were for the function of comfort. Your body was full and curvy and not always something to be advertised, unless you wished it to. Tonight, you wanted to show off as much as possible.
A thick leather band is keeping both your wrists locked to the armrests, while he sits back, free and so irrevocably in charge it should scare you. It should. But the sick and incredibly deranged thing is that it doesn't.
Outside, the rain is beating down on whatever building you're in, casting a thick veneer of grey all across the city.
But inside this velvet room... your heart is hammering inside its cage as you watch him undo the buttons of his crisp suit. A black one today. Jet black like his hair.
Although-
"You've got more grey in your hair than last week." You can't help but say.
He tilts his head in inquisition. "Are you insulting me or complimenting me?"
"I'll leave that up to you to decide," you shrug your shoulders as much as you can under these limited restraints. At least he hasn't restrained your ankles this time. Progress. "In here, you're the boss. Right?"
He takes a sip of his drink until finally, you've finally locked eyes. Your bare toes curl and your back arches slightly as you sit a bit straighter in your seat. Like you're in a lecture hall, although he is far more interesting than any of your professors.
"I'm not as young as I used to be," he finally says as he takes one more sip of his drink before bringing his briefcase onto the coffee table. Its presence is ominous and so horribly loud for an inanimate object. It kickstarts all your dormant nerves, revving up all the rest of your senses that have yet to catch up to the fact that you were facing the man of both your desires and nightmares once again.
"Who have you told about our arrangement?" The question causes you to roll your eyes. He watches the petulant movement with that same, silent smile and blank eyes. He unclicks the briefcase. Your stomach lurches and your thighs squeeze together. Pavlov's dog.
"Every time you ask me-" an object clinks onto the table. A butcher knife.
You try to pull your eyes away from the objects he's placing on the table, one by one. "Everytime you ask me if I've told anyone about our arrangement-" another object. A wooden spoon beside the knife. "Everytime I tell you the same thing."
Your throat closes when he uncovers a dildo. Bright pink and fucking menacing. "Carry on talking." He says, snapping your gaze away from the objects lining the table.
"I don't have any friends." Your voice is wobblier. You try to deny the sight of the rabbit vibrator, "It's the reason you picked me." You clear your throat as you hoped to clear all the nerves beginning to fog your mind. "Someone could've followed me here. B-But I don't really know anyone enough to care." The final object that clunks onto the glass coffee table and this time, you're unable to look away.
"Are we ready to begin?"
The metal revolver laying quiet and undisturbed beside the rabbit vibrator makes everything else on the table look like children's toys. Even the butcher knife.
You pull at the restraints, your legs quivering slightly as you shift and writhe in the seat. He studies you as closely as you were once studying him. You can see the excitement begin to flood his eyes at the physical manifestation of your discomfort.
"Now you're getting it." He nods sardonically, taking another sip from his glass before placing the briefcase on the floor beside him. "You were a little too happy to see me," he joked, letting out an airy exhale of laughter.
"You wanna hazard a guess as to what we'll be playing today?" He's smiling, genuinely. With that look in his eyes you can tell he's hovering in the clouds. Meanwhile you've begun to feel real fear. No matter how regular these visits might become you'd never get used to him. It's impossible. Not when he found new and daring ways to torture and pleasure you every single week. You couldn't get used to something as brash and unconventional as him. Like the conditions of a child in a broken home, he kept his tactics inconsistent so that every week is a new hell or perhaps- depending on his mood- heaven.
"If I guess wrong?" You swallow thickly and something dark in him settles. He spreads his legs more, there's a twitch inside his lips before he smiles again.
"Well, guessing isn't the game, so you'll be fine."
You nod your head... assessing the objects. There's menacing objects and household objects. Even just looking at them you can tell what they all have in common.
"Am I going to have to insert-"
"You're not guessing." His voice booms. He rests his elbow on the armrests, his hands corded with veins seem itching to do something, you're not sure what. "I said guess." He commands.
"Hide and seek?"
He snickers, "A favourite-"
"More like your favourite." You snip back, "I couldn't sit down the whole week." You frown at the memory. That week he'd brought you to an abandoned warehouse, letting you run the entire perimeter full.
"It's in your best interest to keep coming to our sessions-" he reminds you, snapping you back into the present.
"You're paying my university fees, I'm not complaining." You nod, before plastering a thin smile on your face, "All I have to do every week is prostitute myself to a literal sadist-"
"Have you given up on guessing today's game?" He didn't like you making him hyper aware of the fact that this dynamic, whatever it is, is considered objectively bad. And so you're not surprised when he swiftly moves past the topic.
He leans forward. His large hand disappears under his chair before uncovering a small whiteboard. Four lines- 2 horizontals are running across 2 verticals, creating 9 blocks. He stands up, while your eye is still focusing on the board. From your point of view it sits underneath the row of objects on the table. You don't even realize your right wrist strap is being untied.
"Colour?" He asks, pushing a crate of whiteboard markers towards you. With your now free hand you pick the pink one.
He snickers. "Predictable." He whispers before placing a large, domineering hand on your head. He presses down your braids, patting you like a stray he's rescued from the cold. You stare aimlessly ahead, fearing you won't be able to contain everything you've begun to feel for him if you lock eyes now.
"We're playing tic-tac-toe," he relents. His hand lingers on your head a bit longer before he's stepping away.
"With a twist, I presume?"
"Clever girl," he nods, walking back to his seat. "So you're aware of the objects."
"Place a gun in front of a girl and she's going to notice."
"Paranoid girl." He tsks before leaning forward.
"You want to start or should I?"
"Wait-" you swallow, "What happens if I win?"
He smiles that dazzling, debonair smile.
"You pick which one goes inside you."
Lightning cracks across the sky. A chorus of thunder roars all at once like some kind of phenomenon and your lips stutter open.
"Th-That's insane I-"
"I shouldn't have to remind you that you came here out of your own volition. "
"What happens if you win?"
"Then I choose." He says.
Your eyes skate over the object. It doesn't take an ivy league graduate to hazard a guess as to which of the objects he's itching to stick inside you.
"There's a fucking knife here-" You're trembling. Tears are pooling in your eyes. It doesn't even matter that you're a somewhat decent tic tac toe player. It doesn't matter that you're confident in this game. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters.
"And there's also a spoon," he nods, neutrally, "And a vibrator, and a dildo. Etcetera. Etcetera." He leans forward, unclicking his whiteboard pen, "your words are just words, Darling. You're just listing things. Start," he says, with a deadly lilt in his voice. "Or I will."
You scramble to uncap your marker with one hand, all while he watches with dead and black eyes. You knew that whoever starts the game was placed at a big advantage and so you're nearly scrambling to place that dignified X in the center block.
"Clever girl." He says once again, drawing his blue 'O' directly beside your pink 'X'. You aim for the block above him. He blocks it. You aim for the block beside the center. He blocks that too.
Your victory comes too quickly. You barely feel it as you strike a line vertically through the blocks. 3 X's.
Relief washes over you but it's overcast with doubt. Like you're celebrating in trepidation as you watch him stand up.
"Congratulations! Which do you choose?"
"I can pick anything?" You ask, staring up at him, bright eyes wild with the adrenaline that comes with wanting to preserve your organs.
"Anything you want, my little winner."
You begin to lean over. His eyebrows quirk up when you wrap a small hand around his wrist.
"I pick that." You say breathlessly. Your eyes zeroed in on his hands at his side. And you watch as he walks towards you, as if compelled by an unforeseen force. His palms are calloused underneath yours and you blow out several unstable breaths as he stands above you. So imposing it's breathtaking.
"You sure?" It's the way he asks it that has you second guessing. And perhaps he sees the caution seeping into your eyes because there's excitement lurking in his. Before you're even able to formulate a response, his hand is locked tightly around your esophagus, vacuuming all pathways shut until you're writhing for air.
"A fine, fine choice," He's becoming more and more riled up the more you writhe in your seat, trying to scrounge for a single breath of air. He doesn't let you. Instead he moves behind you, before leaning down.
If you could breathe, you would shiver at the feeling of his lips behind your ear. "Here we go-" he whispers, before reaching around your torso with his free hand before forcing your legs open. The second he lets his three digits stab into your cunt, he uncurls the grip on your throat as you make a horrid sound somewhere between a moan, a scream, and a haggard gasp. "FUCK- Sl-Slowdown-" you knew better than to request something like that. All you hear is a snicker from behind you as pain blossoms all across your nether regions. He's not gentle. He's not kind. He doesn't allow you to adjust to his fingers before he's scissoring them inside you, causing a blood-curdling scream to rip itself out of your throat. Your back is arched and you're trying to get away from him but the fucking persists.
"You've been wet like this for me the entire time?" He sounds absolutely demented, behind you, "You wanted this didn't you?" He bites at your ear as the first tears begin to pool at your eyes, "My little winner."
"P-Please stop-" His fingers are restless inside you. Curling and uncurling. Scissoring and stabbing as if wanting to open you up and split you all the way in half.
"What a pretty little pussy, huh? Look at what a mess you're making."
"When-" you can't form words. "When- Stop?" It's all you're able to say as your nails dig into the material of his suit.
"The sooner you cum the sooner it stops."
You doubted your ability to cum under these circumstances. He's setting an ungodly pace and it's all so hurried and in a frenzy, it's like your brain does not have time to understand if you even like what's currently being done to you.
"What- Do you want you want my help?" you begin to shake your head. "I'll help you, baby-"
His other hand reaches over and pinches your clit.
Your eyes roll to the back of your head as your orgasm is quite literally forced out of you. Your hips writhe and your ass tries to leave the seat as the first feelings of pleasure rip through you by force. "That's it, Clever girl," he coos, still curling his fingers inside you, "That's my Clever girl." He says once more before stilling his movements. For a second you just sit there, trying to collect your breath while he's still inside you. All at once, his hands are removed from your body.
He grabs a handkerchief from his breast pocket and you watch him clinically wipe his hands before erasing the marks on the board with the same cloth. A very clear boner pushes against his black slacks yet still his face is calm.
"Alright, My turn to start-"
"WHAT!? B-But I won." You scream, absolutely seething with desperation.
"You know everyone who plays 'X' has a significantly higher chance at winning-" You say with your eyes narrowed. He nods.
"And you know that too, which means we each should be granted alternating times to play ‘X’. Regardless if you won or not." You slump in your seat, suddenly far too aware that your bare cunt is exposed.
"Don't mope." He says, "It's not cute." Before drawing his 'X' in the center.
You close your legs, sitting upright with a new zeal of self preservation as you grab ahold of your marker.
You draw your pink 'O' underneath his.
You both play many more rounds. All ending in ties. This is how you play- with a frazzled grip and closed legs. A shiver every now and then overcomes you with the gravity of your aftershocks. His snickers bring your eyes up to his. He speaks as he makes his move.
"You're so focused on blocking," he sighs, "You're not even trying to win anymore-"
"I'm not letting you stick a knife in my cunt." You nod in finality before blocking another move.
"Not even if I say please?" He asks, making a faux pout.
"Fuck off."
"In that case, I have to win."
Your heart kickstarts as he pushes his pen to the board. Images flash across your mind. Blood splattered across his gorgeous face. Your blood as he fucks the sharp end of a knife inside you. You nearly vomit while he speaks. “Easy as-" you block him.
"Tic-" you block him again.
"Tac-" you block him some more
"Toe- I Win."
A victory that somehow escaped your vision. He strikes a line diagonally through the squares and your stomach sinks. He stares at you from across the room. His eyes so deeply satisfied you can feel it radiating off of him in waves.
You lower your teeth to the other restraint, violently trying to free your left wrist from its oppressive hold. And you watch as the devil slowly rises.
Your heart aches. Your brain is sent into complete alarm as your flight or fight kicks in and your sympathetic nervous system fires.
"Now, which one would look pretty inside you?" He drags his fingers along the objects, undoubtedly an act of taunting. You stomp your feet on the ground. You try to push the chair underneath you but it's plastered to the floor.
"Please!" Tears are running thickly. They cloud your vision. You don't even see the way his smile falls enough for him to rub over the bulge in his slacks.
"Fuck," he says gravelly as he relents and picks up the gun. "You're so fucking pretty when you're scared out of your fucking mind. You know that?"
You shake your head as he nears, wondering if this might really be the end. Has your body become too worn out by his games? Has the time for him to discard his toy finally dawned on you both? Is he all grown up with no need for such things as toys?
"PLEASE-NO-"
"Open your mouth." He's standing in front of you, your head directly in front of his raging bulge.
You shake your head, trying to move away but he rips your face towards him. "Listening to me is the only choice you have to make it out alive, Baby. You wanna live, don't you?" He's nothing but a tall figure, with the overhead lights shining around his head like a halo. Your face right by his bulge.
"Little girl needs to go to school." He nods, eyes fluttering shut, "She needs to complete her studies and get a good job so she wouldn't have to meet with scary men like me- Fuck-" it riled him up to no end to have you scared of him. You suppose it triggered a part of him that craved attention. He needed to feel like he existed and if that was reeped from fear then so be it.
"Stick the barrel in your mouth," the bottom of his hand coaxed open your jaw, and, as if on autopilot, you listen. Perhaps there is a way out of this. Perhaps you should just listen.
"That's it... Fuck," he brings your free hand up to rub his erection "That's it, Baby, stick it inside your mouth." Cold metal hits your lower teeth, "Stick it in like you would a cock." He says, looking down at you intently as your tongue unfurls and you suck the barrel in. "Shit-" he places his other hand on the back of your head before forcing you to take the gun deeper down your throat. He's trembling. Far too badly. And so is his finger on the trigger.
"Fuck, you're such a fucking whore, you know that?"
You're gagging and flailing around the barrel, saliva slides down.
So desperate to please him.
In your hast you don't even realize your left hand that had been restrained is now free. Your eyes are closed.
Please him.
Just please him and you'll live.
"That's my brainless girl..." he praises and that rouses something in you. It has your hips bucking against nothing.
"Such a stupid girl..." he continues, "You're gonna ride me, aren't you? You're gonna fuck me so good-" You're not about to tell him that sex wasn't supposed to be apart of this game. You're not stupid.
You faintly hear the sound of a belt unlooping. A zipper siding down. "You're making me so happy, baby." He admits before effortlessly lifting you from the chair until you're straddling him.
You're free.
When did that happen?
"F-Fuck, I need you to ride me." His head is leaning back against the chair. His tie hangs messily from his shirt that has two buttons undone.
You're free.
"Don't try anything," he warns, as he lifts you enough to pull his cock out of his pants. "Matter of fact. Keep it in your mouth while you ride me-" He slams you down onto his cock the very second those words leave his mouth. He's fucking into you with recklessness and fury and violence. His hair falls in his face but the gun is too heavy, without a hand there, it nearly slips from your mouth.
He's careful to catch it, forcing the barrel back in your mouth as he places a hand on your ass, controlling how your ass bounces on his lap. The gun offers motivation like no other. It has you arching your back and swirling your hips as you tighten your cunt around him.
He sticks the gun down too far and you gag. "You trying to get me to cum, huh? You little slut-" you nod, the tears still spilling as pleasure begins to stream through your brain. It has you excited by the prospect of being held at gunpoint. You realize with grave certainty that you've arrived at the point of no return.
"What a good girl- fuck-" he's ramming up into you, his hand on the gun twitching like his cock does. "I'm gonna fucking cum- FUCK-" he does and your orgasm immediately barrels into you at the exact same time. You try to ride him, to milk it as much as you can, to continue to make him happy.
"Such a stupid fucking slut-" he whispers, eyes hooded as his hips still spurt cum into you.
Your ears perk. You see his finger on the trigger move. You squeeze your eyes shut as you hear a click.
"Such a silly girl." You hear him say. "Don't worry, Baby, it isn't loaded." You're still in your body. You're still alive, on his lap, your sundress unfurling around you both.
"Not yet anyway."
© to @muntitled on tumblr; do not repost
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youremyonlyhope · 5 months ago
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#help i want to skip ahead to 2 weeks from now. well really 3 weeks-ish from now.#because i have an audition coming up and i already want it to be done and over already and just know if i'm in the show or not#because i know the competition will be FIERCE and i haven't taken a singing lesson in 2.5 years#so my singing is not THAT great and usually i rely on the fact that i'm a dancer who can sing but this is not a dance heavy show#like i can sing but i'm not a singer and i'm not a better singer than the billion people who want to come out for this little audition#and i have to hope that nepotism and favoritism comes into play since i've worked with the director and choreographer before#but in costumes not in a performing way though i have auditioned for this director before too (never got a callback though)#and like even if i'm not cast i'll still help with costumes because i LOVE this show and just want to be involved#but also. like. i'd die to be in this show. it's one of my ultimate dream shows.#and also i have a teeny tiny crush on a guy who i know is very likely auditioning and i know the director will want to cast him#considering she told him about the show before it was announced#and then he told me about the convo but not the name but i guessed correctly because i knew what show would make him as excited as i am#so that's also part of it but really the show itself is the real draw (spending time with the guy would just be a bonus)#and that tells me a lot about how the director already is kind of casting in her head before auditions even happen if she told him#which i HOPE is good for me too because we've worked together so many times (but not me performing) and she likes me#but yeah ahhhhhhh i want to blink and have the audition be done and cast announced so i can stop internally freaking out#and instead either get in the mindset of finally performing again for the first time in 5 years (scary) or helping with costumes (safe)
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protagonistscum · 9 months ago
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lmao after watching the last stand yeah i see why they took the timeline out back and shot it
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invega-sustenna · 10 months ago
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Today was a good day.
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esyra · 2 years ago
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After the hospital bombing, I finally heard back from my grandmother and confirmed that several of my relatives were murdered by Israeli bombing. Seven of them, to be precise. Three are still going, including her. We've been talking constantly ever since.
Asked if it was possible to head south, and was told they did but were also bombed there. So they decided to go back home, in Zeitoun. Their home was bombed and they were pulled out of the rumble, then driven by ambulances to the al-Ahli Arab Hospital. There were people in every corner. Gazans sheltering, sleeping on the floor. Gazans dying on the floor, waiting for beds.
Four were declared dead on arrival, three were in need of surgery and other three were just bandaged. Then, a bomb was dropped in the parking lot that made parts of the ceiling collapse, like Dr. Ghassan Abu Sittah reported in that horrific conference/interview. Those in need of surgery died.
By the way, just in case you didn't know: the Church of Saint Porphyrius, the third oldest in history, bombed by Israel a few days back, was located near the hospital.
When looking for new shelter, they saw schools with signs hanging outside, "We can't take any more families." They met families, sympathetic but already sheltering too many people. They're now staying in an apartment building they found empty. Sleeping in the corner of the living room. If the family comes back, they'll apologize and leave.
Told me she was saving her phone battery for when the bombing stopped, and she had to ask for help to rebuilt the neighborhood. But she doesn't think it's gonna stop anymore. The ones still with her are mute most of the time, like they're saving energy, but she feels lonely and wanted to talk. There's no internet and to connect to WhatsApp, people are buying "a card from the supermarket, there's a password and username." Not sure what she meant. Still, the internet is inconsistent and won't load neither videos or images nor pages, so she doesn't know what's happening on the outside world.
Told her there were a lot of people protesting to stop the genocide, she replied, "The bombings are getting worse by the day." The bombing yesterday was the worst she ever witnessed. The entire neighborhood is infested with the smell of death, of decomposing bodies. Bodies are piling up in the streets and she's not sure if it's because they ran out of places to store them, but most of them are in bags. The smoke of the bombings hide the blue sky—she hasn't seen the clouds for a while.
Asked if I could share their pictures, names and dreams with people and was told, of which I partly agree, "they're not entertainment." If anyone genuinely cared, they would be alive—I'd argue there are people who do care, but I'm not gonna lecture her pain. And they don't deserve to be used to fulfill someone's sick fantasy. Told me to remember what some Israelis do with pictures of dead Palestinians. And I do.
For those of you who are not familiar, many times before settlers got together to celebrate the murder of Palestinians. For one, in 2015, Israeli settlers set a house in Duma, West Bank on fire. An 18-month old baby, Ali Dawbsheh, was burnt alive. Both parents later died of wounds and only a 5-year-old, Ahmad, survived, although severely injured.
Two celebrations of their murder are widely known, one at a wedding and others outside the court in which two were indicted for the terrorist attack. In the wedding, guests stabbed a photo of the toddler, Ali, while others waved guns, knives and Molotov cocktails. Israel's Minister of National Security, Itamar Ben-Gvir, was present.
That's what happens in an apartheid. Palestinians are so abused by authorities that their "innocent civilians" come to accept the brutality as necessary or are desensitized by our suffering. After all, it's been 75 years—get used to it!
So I won't risk the image of my loved ones, in fear they are used in these kinds of depravity. I will say, though, the world lost a young footballer. Lost a female writer and an aspiring ballerina. Lost a kind father, who was also a great cook, and a loving mother that enjoyed sewing and other types of handicraft art. Lost a math teacher and a child that wanted to become one.
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People think Israel is testing new weapons on them. There's civilians arriving at the hospital with severe burns, which they thought was from white phosphorus, but apparently the pattern is different from the one caused by white phosphorus. It's widely believed Israel tests weapons in Palestinians.
Jeff Halper, author of War Against the People, a book on Israel's arms and surveillance technology industries, said: "Israel has kept the occupation because it's a laboratory for weapons."
They've ran out of drinkable water and the "aid" Biden sent was only for the South of Gaza and no fuel, for hospitals, was allowed in. Many shelves in the supermarket are empty. She said many are convinced that if they don't die from the bombing, they'll die from starvation or dehydration, or whatever disease will develop from the dirty water they're drinking.
Told me all people do now is pray, cry and die. Told me she hopes West Bank is spared. Told her Israel bombed a mosque in West Bank and dozens of Palestinians in West Bank are being murdered by settlers, so she bided me goodbye.
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labwebs · 1 year ago
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🕸i try not to generalize based on age but like............... having a young 20something as a store manager really is just as bad as i'd feared 🙃
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