#anyway my point was that its like a part in one of their songs that goes in my head into the mario kart theme tune. but this snow on the

[st4rgzer]

now playing…the tortured poet’s department (spencer reid)

summary: spencer left his typewriter in your apartment, maybe he was looking for something else

genre: fluffy fluff

cw!: talking briefly about a case involving children, non specified gender i think!

a/n: i want to make a part two cause it didn’t fit the rest of the song! tell me what you think🫶🏼 ttpd masterlist

you jumped up as three perfectly timed knocks came from your front door. like a puppy waiting for its owner to come home, you ran across your apartment, nearly slipping on the wooden floor. you opened the door hurriedly

“spence!” your eyes lit up at the image of spencer reid in front of you, hair tussled slightly and a soft smile on his lips.

“hi” he spoke quietly, deciding to stare at you for a few more seconds before enveloping you in a hug. the familiar scent of leather and espresso making you melt further into his arms.

you placed a sweet kiss on his cheek before pulling away slightly, he shut the front door with the back of his foot effortlessly.

“what’re you doing here? i mean, its not like i dont want you here, obviously i do ,but, its like 10pm?” you speak quick paced and unorganized, but spencer was, of course, very used to it.

“i left my typewriter here” he said with a smile “and also i really wanted to see you and didn’t want to wait ‘till tomorrow” the last part was said with a softer tone, looking down sheepishly.

you pouted slightly with a smile before planting gentle kisses to the bridge of his nose and his lips, before cradling his face in your hands.

“of course, baby. you can come here whenever” you said, your voice smooth and tender. you grabbed his hand and led him to the living room, where his typewriter sat on the coffee table. the night before, you had asked spencer to bring his typewriter so you could write letters thanking the team for coming to the dinner party you’d organized, and also, it was exciting to use one of those typewriter you had seen in movies. spencer obviously complied, accepting any invitation that served as an excuse to be with you.

“here it is, safe and sound” you said, lavishly pointing to the obvious bulk of a typewriter that rested on the wooden surface.

“thank you for keeping it in one piece honey” he joked, sitting onto the couch and examining the keys. he knew you had kept it secure, it was just a small habit of his. you nodded, sitting back on the couch, observing him attentively as his fingers grazed the sides of the device.

“who uses typewriters anyway?” you laugh, leaning on his shoulder playfully. he shakes his head and chuckles softly in return.

he sits back with you eventually. leaning his head to rest on your chest as you held onto him, sensing something was off.

“you wanna talk about it?” you say softly, treading on sensitive territory. you knew how difficult his job was, and how much he kept to himself. even if you insisted on him talking to you, you never pressured him into giving you any information that he knew you were better off without.

he sighed. you placed his head onto your lap, gently. delicately scratching his head, undoing any knots he had. that seemed to help.

“im sorry honey” “is there anything i can do to make you feel better” you press a kiss to his scalp, continuing to stroke his hair gently, and rubbing his back softly.

“just, be here. this is enough” his voice was tired, fragile. you did as he said, running your fingers through his hair. you felt his breathing slow down, and soon enough, soft snores filled the room. you smiled and pressed a kiss on his head, laying yours back on the sofa, eyes fluttering shut.

#spencer reid fluff #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds fic

[royalarchivist]

Phil: [Looking at art of the Morning Crew] Aww, this is cute. This is so cute. Tallulah: Tio Pac and Fit are so Perfecta by Miranda coded. We can listen to that song rn Phil: [Proceeds to tease Fit and Pac for the entire duration of the song]

Copyrighted music doesn't play in Phil's VODs, but this is one of my favorite songs and I know not everyone caught this funny moment live, so I edited the audio back in! Make sure to show love to the artist who made this fanart.

Bonus:

#Philza #Tallulah #Hideduo #FitPac #QSMP #Could I have made this shorter? Yes #But this is one of my fave songs so no you're getting (almost) the entire thing in its full glory #pwet forgive me for putting your chat message in here but it was VERY #it was a response to ylo but I cut that part out #This is such pretty fanart but it really bums me out that they made Pac's eyes blue... 🥲 #Still linking the art though because I always do that when fanart is featured in a clip for a long time #but man. That really does bum me out #Phil #January 17 2024 #Edited #Anyways when Tallulah mentioned Miranda in chat I was like ''I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE'' #*pointing* Karmaland fan #(Me too Tallulah)

[dallonwrites]

my autistic ass when i would try to explain to my non-autistic writer friends how my ocs don’t just feel like characters/plot devices/narrative tools, they feel like fully fledged people that just live inside my brain who i just have access to for some reason and the stories i write are merely a snapshot into their fully fledged personhood/lives. and that that these feelings don’t mean i’m unaware of my role/agency/responsibility as the writer who has the final say in these characters and how they are written it just means that my writing process feels very intuitive and i can only describe it as “listening” and “getting to know” these people that just live inside my brain in a way that i don’t feel like i can completely elaborate on. and because of this i would actually consider these characters “real” in their own way because the impact and influence they have had on me as a person beyond just my writing is so real and not having them would feel like i’m missing a part of myself 

#DISCLAIMER! when i say autistic i do not mean this is an exclusively autistic experience or that every autistic person will experience this #i mean that its my autism that makes me not just have my characters be my special interest but also feel so intensely about them #and why i have sometimes felt weird talking about my characters with people because i am just experiencing ocs in a different way #to them #also i think one time when i tried to explain this to someone they thought i literally meant that i felt my characters were real #and when i look back on moments like that i am like beloved you need to get yourself some autistic friends #also its 10pm and ive been up since 6am and this was a very emotionally heavy day so im about to post this and log out and we'll see how #tomorrow me feels about that #but anyways the point of this post is i did not realise this was not universal and felt kinda weird about it for a while until i realised #that it is just the autism and i was like wow this is actually very cool of me i think actually #yesterday my bf sent me song links and was like i feel like felix would listen to these #and ive been thinking about this ever since hence the post because that made me so happy bc i was like i feel like you're seeing him as a #real part of me the way i see him as a real part of me

[aria0fgold]

A confession of wishes for a future without you.

Ren sat up from the bed, he couldn't sleep. He's been lying down for hours now, eyes closed even, and yet he still couldn't find his own sleep. Morgana laid beside him, sound asleep. He carefully got up, so as to not disturb him. Making sure to walk quietly in his room while looking for something, anything to help him sleep. A book, a distraction, whatever it is that he can find. So he began his search and not even a minute later, stumbled upon a box. One far too familiar that he froze when he saw it. How many months had it been since he had that box now? He doesn't know, didn't want to keep track of that time, didn't even want to think about anything in regards to it at all.

A small black box with intricate designs painted in red, it wasn't locked, in fact, it can easily be opened. But Ren never did open it. He didn't want to, he didn't want to know what's inside it, didn't want to face the reality that Kaito— that he— that his friend is… He wanted to bathe in the pool of lies he made for himself, that Kaito's sudden disappearance isn't too much of a big deal, that someday, maybe just maybe, he'll come back again. He continued to lie to himself like that, ever since Kaito disappeared.

Perhaps, it's time to face reality once more.

Ren took a deep breath, opening and closing his hand in an effort to steady its trembling, in an effort to gather enough courage to open the box he had been avoiding ever since he first saw it, days after he lost all contact with Kaito. It was hidden underneath the bed, Ren moved it somewhere else, farther from him yet in its own safe place. Just like what he wished and hoped for Kaito as well, far from him yet safe. So he kept wishing, over and over again.

Please be safe, please be safe, please be safe.

That's how wishes work, right? To think it three times, say it thrice, and believe with all your heart for it to be real. So he held onto that hope. No matter how small it was, he held onto it like a precious gem nestled within his palm, threatening to shatter at the slightest jolt.

Ren took a few more deep breaths, until finally, he reached for the box and lifted its lid. In it was a letter, white with a blue ribbon, and a monocle beside it. Ren can feel the gears in his brain coming to a halt, slowly… slowly… it'd freeze in time, but not now, not yet. Mechanically, Ren stood up and walked towards the bed, he sat by the edge, near the window to put an arm on, to lean his body on. For support maybe, for a hope perhaps, that once he's finished reading the letter. Kaito would appear in his white suit with his cape flowing in the wind, the magician in the moonlight.

That's what this is, isn't it? A confession of secrets. He had an idea about it, infamous internationally wanted criminal, Kaito KID was Kaito Kuroba's other identity. He had a feeling that was the case but never pursued the thought, it'd be unfair, won't it? For Ren to intrude into Kaito's secret when he has his own secrets to hide. So it'd just be fair, to not know. To pretend to not know anything. To pretend that the thief he saw on the rooftop that day isn't someone he knows even though he's so painfully aware of it. It's only fair that way.

Ren took another deep breath, swallowing hard as he prepared to open the letter, setting aside the box with the monocle still inside by the window sill.

His heart skips a beat at the sight of his name, written by Kaito's hand.

“Dear Renren,” it starts, “How are you? Knowing you, you probably didn't open this letter until months had passed, I bet! ”

Ren quietly chuckled at that, he was right. Kaito was always too good at reading people. “That's alright though, I won't blame you because I'm such a gentleman,” A small face was drawn there, it looked like Kaito smirking at him, how cute. “I'm sure you've already seen the other item in the box, it was right on top of the letter you're reading now after all! ” He drew a monocle then. Ren held his breath as he read through the next passage.

“What I'm about to tell you, is a confession of a secret! You can't tell anyone about this! This is our own little secret.” A winking Kaito was drawn there, adorable. Ren giggled as he whispered to the wind, to himself, and to the Kaito that wrote the letter.

I promise.

“I'm Kaito KID.” Party poppers were drawn on both sides of that phrase, confetti doodled around it, he really was adorable… “Although… I had a feeling you already knew about this.”

He really was good at reading people.

“It's so anti-climactic doing this on paper too. I wish I could tell you in person instead, I'd love to see your reaction.”

Ren's breath hitched then. His mind slowly drawing a blank, please be safe, please be safe, please be safe. He repeated in his head. Like a chant, a good luck charm, filled with the hope burning his chest, threatening to explode.

“Renren… I know this is kinda cliche but by the time you're reading this, I probably didn't make it after all.”

Ren gripped the paper tightly then, and immediately let go. He shouldn't… ruin Kaito's letter. There was… there was still more to read through… A prank, maybe, a mistake perhaps, please let this be a nightmare he can wake up from. Ren took a deep breath, gathering himself to continue reading once more.

“Hey, Renren, I may not be there while you're reading this but I can tell you're sad right now! Come on, turn that frown upside down! You know I don't like seeing you sad, right…?

…I'm sorry.”

Ren inhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose to stop the urge to cry growing deep inside him, like a dam waiting to burst, a pipe waiting to break, a heart waiting to shatter. It took him a moment to continue reading it.

“I know, I know... there's a lot of questions you want to ask right? And I… I don't think I can answer any of it, after all...

Hey, Renren… How about a magic trick? It'd be hard to pull this off in a letter but here! ” In the next part, four cards were drawn face down, or rather, drawings of four small face down cards were partly glued to the paper, a small tape keeping it shut. “Pick one!”

Ren reached for the second card, carefully peeling off the tape, behind it revealed an 'Ace of Hearts'. Ren bit his lip then, to stop it from trembling.

“Hehehe, You chose the second card, didn't you? And no! Before you start thinking, 'it doesn't matter what card I pick, all of them is the same.' Well, then mister! You can open the other cards to double check it! I assure you that they aren't all the same! ”

And so Ren did. He carefully peeled off the tape from the rest of the cards.

The first card revealed an “I”

The third card revealed a “You”

The fourth card revealed a “Forever”

The last card, was stained with a droplet.

The droplet, was accompanied by another then.

Ren couldn't stop himself anymore. He put the letter on the window sill, slowly, carefully, with a trembling hand, he reached for the box, brought it on top the letter as weight. He reached inside it, for the monocle for him to hold, to steady his trembling hands. Ren sobbed, quietly, soundlessly, he cried in silence so as to not disturb anyone.

“…Ren?”

But that was all in vain at the sound of Morgana's voice.

“Are you… crying?! What happened?! What's wrong?!” Morgana shot upright at the realization, immediately running to Ren's side. Ren couldn't really answer him even if he wanted to, so Morgana looked around for answers. He didn't need to look far.

He stared at the box, at the letter, and at the monocle Ren was clutching. It was enough.

“…Oh.” Morgana's ears drooped and twitched, he didn't quite know what to do, Ren's cries makes his heart ache, he wanted to comfort him but how? Grief isn't so easily comforted. After thinking awhile, Morgana settled upon sitting beside Ren. “I'm… I'm here for you, okay?”

Ren couldn't answer still, but he was grateful for it. Grateful for Morgana, grateful that there's someone there for him while his world was breaking. Kaito was so unfair… selfish…

. . .

Seconds passed, and then minutes, Morgana had found where the tissue box is and moved it near Ren, he had found a water bottle nearby too, placing it just beside the tissue box. Minutes passed, and then hours. The empty trash can that Morgana moved near Ren as well now contained tissues, the water bottle that was once full was nearly empty. And the quiet cries that filled the room turned into quiet sobs.

Morgana rubbed Ren's back with his paw, in hopes of comforting him further. Until finally, Ren calmed down. Enough to take deep breaths to compose himself.

“…Thanks…” He whispered, voice hoarse.

“Mn… How are you feeling now?”

“…Tired.” Ren glanced at the letter.

“Why don't you wait until tomorrow to continue reading it?” Worry was evident in Morgana's voice.

He should, he really should just wait a bit before reading again, that fit of crying made him tired enough to want to sleep already but… He wanted to finish reading it tonight.

Ren gazed out the window, he stared at the sky, as dark as it was that faithful night. He stared at the stars flickering on and off, he remembered the split second he saw the stars reflected in the eyes of that magician as he turned to face them. He stared at the moon, peeking through the buildings, it was a full moon, much like that night. The view of the moon behind a mysterious magician donned in a white suit and top hat with a cape flowing behind him. It was a magical sight that Ren will remember no matter how much time has passed.

Ren took a shaky breath. He reached for the letter, the monocle in the other hand.

“I'm sorry…” Ren's eyes stung, “I deserved to be yelled at right now, you can call me unfair, and selfish, and stupid! You can shout it to the sky, I'll be sure to hear it. But Renren…

Ren. I wanted to tell you how I felt, because I doubt I'd have a chance to say it to you if not now. I'm sorry, maybe I should've told you about it before… this. But then I think, I wouldn't be able to forgive myself for hurting you way more than how you're hurting now, all because of me. Just know that, I love you, and I want the best for you, even if I'm not around you anymore, even if I'm not there anymore. I'll always love you forever and ever! All the times we spent together were the most precious memories I have… Well, had.

Hey, Renren… Promise me you'll find someone else to make you happy, alright? Someone, something, anything! I want you to be happy. You better be looking up at the night sky with a smile! I'll be sure to see it.

I love you, Ren.”

#ariawrites #persona 5 #magic kaito #jokid #mkp5 #ren amamiya #kaito kuroba #morgana #angst #no tw here i thiiiiiink? its just pain. #okay so like-- smth i didnt get to include here cuz it messed up me and akiren tbf #basically so like that part with the cards. i originally wanted it to just have the normal suits on it #but while i was writing that. and well with sirius' heart in the bg fueling me. the song got to be morse code part #and i was like: hmm i love you-- and it was like a lightbulb went off above my head #sooooo brightly it practically shattered cuz i realized theres 4 cards suits so i was like #ouuouoghhghghhh?????? so yea the card suits got changed to say i ❤ you forever #and basically during my initial idea before i changed it. kaito was supposed to #proudly say that akiren always chooses the 2nd options when faced with 4 options #so like-- hc in this au is that whenever akiren and kaito is tgt and akiren is faced with 4 options #for practically anything. he always chooses the 2nd one cuz for him thats kaito #like-- the 1st and 4th are like walls keeping them safe from danger and the 2nd is kaito and 3rd is akiren #considering the fact that theyre both wanted criminals. kaito esp being more worldwide #and at that point akiren only has speculations but doesnt rlly stop him from thinkin bout 4 options like that #cuz he feels the safest with kaito and want kaito to feel safe with him too so its like-- #theyre each others safe place. kaito doesnt know that reason know. mr so observant esp to akiren #only knows that akiren chooses the 2nd option so like i was supposed to write bout #akiren thinkin bout the cute lil reasoning he has as to Why he does it but well the reveal #of the i love you forever hurts so much and hits harder you cant just think at that point anyway

[doctorwhoisadhd]

there's a certain quality the harmonies of like... early to mid 2000s alt rock has. which i am obsessed with... like i wanna do that. i NEED to figure out how to write harmonies that sound like that

#ari opinion hour #i sort of understand it but not necessarily well enough to do it on command #i think i sort of achieved the sound of it with my blaseball winter exchange song i did for snow but specifically only in the very last bit #like only with the 'im not alive anymore' part #(which sidenote i wish id had the second half faster + w more drive but its not like that was like a full recording which i could do) #i think i just need my music to have more teeth in general cause it scratches an itch that i think i must have developed due to some aspect #of music school. its probably my dissatisfaction with the attitudes in the classical world #<- which understand i say that in the same way that like my jazz prof does. the classical world doesnt have enough teeth nor enough #understanding of the way in which music is like. another art. and art needs to be able to have teeth and use elements normally regarded as #''undesirable'' on purpose because art is there to make you feel emotions and not just the positive ones and not just sadness or anger in #terms of the negative ones #art is there to make u feel ALL extant emotions and that includes boredom disgust fear jealousy pity cowardice apathy overwhelmedness etc #also the classical world i find often forgets what the word ''play'' means #i am of the opinion that perfection is a waste of time if i wanted perfect i'd ask a computer to do it for me. i want real #anyway. i forgot what this post was even about lol point is i need to figure out how to write harmonies that have that soaring quality that #like. you can hear it in like helena by mcr and wake me up by evanescence and stuff. and frankly most of the songs on three cheers for swee #revenge which i am listening to now for the first time. i need to learn more about this stuff maybe ill listen to the evanescence album tha #song is from next. #or something i should really be working on my essay but theres no way i wont have it done in time which is good i think i just mostly have #to worry about sources and stuff but even that should be relatively easy i think

[magentagalaxies]

in an unexpected turn of events i'm having to edit down the content in my aubrey monologues so that i can actually fit all four of them in my final performance for my standup class and on the one hand it sucks bc i really love some of the jokes i have to cut but on the other hand someday i'll be able to write more monologues and possibly expand upon this cut material so i can get a whole monologue on a topic that would've just been an aside

#the actual standups in my class who have only ever done a tight five having to stretch their new material to fit the 20 minute final #vs me‚ an extremely extra fag who's used to writing full-length scripts‚ realizing the 3 monologues i've timed already add up to 20 min #and i'm working on a fourth one that works better as an opener than any of the existing pieces so it has to get in #(it'll be short tho i'm making sure of it. it's just like ''here's some material about aubrey's relationship to zir mom!'') #(then immediate segue into the uncle reg bit) #got the catcalling monologue down to 5 minutes and 30 seconds when the first draft was nine minutes #(tbh i'm fine with most of those cuts i think they were mostly filler) #(there's a bit about androgyny that i liked that i cut but tbh it doesn't work as just one paragraph it needs more nuance) #the uncle reg monologue is having the ''dumped at the pride parade'' thing trimmed down which is funny bc that was the original premise #tbh i could probably stretch my toronto pride material ft. uncle reg to a full 20 minutes bc the first stream of consciousness was so long #i wrote it right after i myself got back from toronto pride and tbh i actually wrote it as the outline for a sitcom episode #so the monologue version is very reduced down bc there were so many details that didn't fit in #and i'm realizing the material about the person who dumped aubrey should be its own monologue that i'll do another time #and maybe even add in the rest of the sitcom-style story at some point bc tbh that's some of my favorite aubrey material i've come up with #and the cishetman monologue is getting the intro part about facetime trimmed a bit bc it meanders #and the ''sugar and spice and everything nice'' joke is being cut even tho i like it bc i actually have a ton more material in my notebook #that's just me riffing on how weird those expressions are. and the material isn't polished but i could make it something later #the song isn't being trimmed bc it has a very specific run time and imo is the strongest. so that's my closer #anyway thank you to everyone reading my aubrey updates i'll be sure to post the final 20-minute-special on youtube #and i hope i get to do more monologues soon so i can put the other ideas mentioned here (as well as some i haven't) out into the world

[astranauticus]

oh i absolutely gave myself way too much of a workload this semester but holy shit i finally have like... about 80% of that orv changgwi animatic down in concept and i am. cartoon villain cackling

#asto speaks #when (yes WHEN not IF) i get it done its gonna hurt so bad #i mean i dont think it'll get done *soon* cuz god my workload this semester is. something #but if my math isnt wrong the webtoon is only gonna get to chapter 188 (where i plan to cover up to in the animatic) in like june so #ive got time?? kinda?? anyway i literally *cannot* stop thinking about this fucking idea so mark my words i will get it done #also yes its going to hurt me to make too because i havent ever done an animatic for a full song yet #changgwi is one of those songs thats kinda impossible to split up idk #also because my BEST ideas are at exactly the beginning and ending of the song. convenient. #the ending was like my one major concern when i first thought of this idea actually cuz the part of the song that #originally made me think of orv was that second (third?) verse of like the spirit telling the story of its own death that felt very yjh idk #but i just had. no idea what to do with the second half of the song #but then i read the novel and chapter 188 hit me in the back of the head with a baseball bat #and now that ending might be my favourite part of the whole project #>:) #big massive sorry to all my rwd mutuals btw i know there was a bit where i kept talking about making another rwd animatic #i do still have that sitting in my brain just cuz ive already animated a few segments of the song #i just dont reaaally have a full plan for the whole thing exactly so #by this point im just seeing if we get any DX-TR lore in s5 that might inspire me idk #project 2 electric boogaloo #stay tuned idk i have a bit of a proof of concept i plan to make this/next week #its funny actually cuz i got introduced to this song through an arknights animatic i saw on bb and i spent #honestly an embarrassing amount of time worrying if some of the ideas i have in my plan were just like. subconsciously stolen from that one #but i was like procrastinating schoolwork today and trying to plan out some stuff and just #went and looked up every changgwi animatic on bilibili i could find #and turns out the stuff i was worried id been stealing are honestly just like. common among *all* the stuff ive seen that use that song? #like cuz the official lyric video for the song is just so. stylistically *striking* a lot of genetic material from that just makes its way #into everything people make using that song like at this point the monochrome red colour scheme and like #ending on a backwards timelapse (?) through the vid is basically like scenes a faire for any changgwi animatic LMAO

[verycoolsnails]

YAYYY MISHA THEME!!!

MISHA 💖💓🩷❤️💕💖💓🩷💖❤️💖💓💓💖🩷💓

#i loevev them so much did you know that #currently saving up for him and it is HELL after spending it all on sparkel .so many quests and not enough timw ......... #and . ouhhh havent had the chance to talk abt . shit what is it called . lemme go see real quick . #A CHILDS DREAM . yknow that one map with the text on the walls and the melted clocks and stuff . #that was done . SO incredibly well it makes me INSANE........... #so like . im 100.1% sure the speaker (who talks abt mikhail a lot) in that room is misha. #like that IS her voice right . im not going insane #its just . auuh... the dreams (or at least golden hour) in peacony are so childlike .... like . some of the puzzles are jigsaw puzzle ; #turn into a small cartoon character ; and help the cartoon character find his cartoon gears . #and then you get to clockie . who can only be seen by someone w a childs innoence (or smth around those lines) #and that misha can see clockie . which like . cool right ? yeab. UNTIL YOU GET TO A CHILDS DREAM .. #where theres something just ... sososo off . #and its ... its just gotta be misha . its gotta be . idk if theres anything outside of main story im missing (there probably is) #BUT . augh . auf even . #childs dream still has these childlike qualities to it (the paper birds; walking on walls) but just ... more warped #(the general atmosphere of the place; the monsters even .) #the music having a music box to make the tone of the song more distressing ... how its so much more smaller than golden hour .. #aughhhhhh ... its just such a good parallel..... i could talk abt it all day really . #anyways . i WAS going to tell u abt my misha theory (which may or may not be confirmed) bu t i got DISTRACTED. #uhh anyways . my theory is that misha is somehow trapped in peacony . #when misha goes onto the parlor car they mention that theyve never been outside of peacony before and that she can t stay for long . #which i imagine is very normal! BUT its this combined w her lock motif (pupils; most of the doors in childs dream) thag make me suspicious #i mentioned before that golden hour has a very childish quality to it. and that misha has that childish quality. #okay well . what if mishas being kept there so that golden hour can keep on being a dream for other people? #and so that would make golden hour mishas dream. (or part of his dream? could be more people the familys keeping) #and that would imply that childs dream is . well . mishas nightmare . #uhm . i think thats it ..? if i come up w anything else ill . ramble abt it somewhere . definitely not the most eloquent but #i hope i got the point across <33 #i think its an understatement to say i love misha . i LOVE MISHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

[caruliaa]

need to clean up my room so one last listen to speak now og version

#honestly not at all a big deal since its the same songs but still want to. rip the baby singing voice #(she was older than whe she recorded this album wtf do i mean baby singing voice. i j mean its noticably younger than her current voice😭) #also tht still the same songs comment one exception i honestly think there might be a chance shell change tht one btr line #didnt at first nd i dont rly wnat it but i saw ppl bring up tht she said tht part of this project is to reclaim the work that shes proud of #nd she has apparently stepped away from even rly acknowledging btr over the years so maybe ? idk #if she does its kinda eh i feel like the point of this is tht its rerecording the songs as they were but also like. #if she wants to change that line now for her own reasons i kinda get tht nd she shld do what she wants #w the extra three secs apparently added i def prefer the option tht she brought back the leave a message make it hot at the start tho #tht luce brought up when we were talking abt this on call the other day #anyway. speak now aggh. and i need to go actually clean my room now omg #flappy rambles

[mariska]

i am awake (due to. Unfortunate Health Related Circumstances Yesterday Evening. i am fine now i think but was having some very sudden weird flareup of pain symptoms and had to try to get myself to bed so i did not licherally pass out on the floor. mission success at least lol) at 6:30 am and i am currently alone in the living room and letting my morning meditations kick in so i can go brush my teeth and i've got the tv on for background noise/light as per usual when im just kinda sittin down here and like.

maybe its the Crisp Cold New England Winds Of Winter or maybe its the Not Usually Awake This Early Under Circumstances Where I Am Not Rushing To Get Ready For Something And Can Actually Just Contemplate My Thoughts. but something about sitting down here as the sun slowly peeks out from the curtains feeling exhausted and fatigued with cartoons and toy ads playing on tv is really envoking the feeling of being a kid before my public school system forcibly ejected me from completing my standard education because i am disabled (😕) when i still had some kind of slight excitement or anticipation of going somewhere that had other kids my age that i could occasionally hang out with during recess or looking forward to learning from one of the teachers who were kind and compassionate and patient with me instead of cold and dismissive....

like... its not necessarily Nostalgia because school in general was genuinely such a traumatizing experience for me as a disabled kid from a "non-traditional" lesbian family in the early 00's-early 2010's, and the fact that i can even contemplate on any of this stuff this early in the morning is very much because i actually have medication treatment for the adhd i've struggled with my whole life that i did not have until abt 3 yrs ago into my 20's. but. idk. its a bittersweet sort of feeling im not entirely sure how to describe but i havent felt it this strong in so many years?? like its kind of making me tear up right now and i dont fully understand why lol. something about my inner child im sure etc etc. its cuz ur always trying 2 heal that damn inner child (my brain says 2 myself)

#maybe i should like. try to write a song or a poem or something abt this. #thats kind of my go-to for any sensation that i cannot fully understand/comprehend #i actually wrote another new song in one of my song notepads i keep around in my bedroom right after i woke up earlier at like 5 am-ish #that had nothing to do with this it was based on an entirely different feeling/situation #but. man. i really do have this like. gigantic pile of songs that i keep crossing my fingers i will be able to make even basic demo #recordings of soon. the chronic pain and fatigue makes it very difficult to actually turn words and concepts into music and art #but there are so many at this point. idk an exact number but i keep saying its gotta be like #in the 200s of separate songs and wip lyrics/concepts/title ideas album ideas etc at this point whenever someone asks or it gets brought up #in conversation #maybe i will see if i can just like. do some first draft rapid fire demos of stuff today since i woke up so early #anyways!! this ramble sponsored by Adderall. my dear good friend. also sponsored in part by Soma. my other dear good friend #im gonna make a new tag for when i just ramble about whatever like this i think so i can look back at em for reference in the future #this has been a mariska ramble production #yeah thats a fun one. like that tag. new ramble tag tell ur friends #long post

[little-flame-prince]

POV: This is your third school in as many years. At least you aren't homeless anymore. You haven't slept most of the night because you woke up to find a strange and terrible god staring at you, and besides, you had homework to do. You cover the dark circles around your eyes with cosmetic dark circles - cheap burgundy eyeshadow and thick black eyeliner. You got beat up in the locker room at least once a week, but it's whatever. People also keep touching your hair because it's "so long" or something, and you're starting to be an asshole to them about it. You think you might have some Severe Mental Health Issues, and also you're pretty sure you're a man, but those are things to wait until college to worry about. You subsist entirely on carrot sticks, celery, grapefruit juice, Russian Caravan, and hot sauce. You got into several Ivy-Leagues but you can't afford to go so you've already resigned yourself to community college. You once fell through the kitchen floor and sprained your ankle and had to walk several miles to the doctor on it. You only take cold showers and boil water over the stove to wash dishes because your house hasn't had heat in years. More popular girls in your history class are surprised and impressed to discover you're more sexually experienced than they are, and the boys like that you've got the proportions of Jessica Rabbit. You're either a teachers pet or the teachers cannot stand you, there is no in between. You have a tenuous grip on reality and are starting to suspect you're a changeling, or something else inhuman. You pull out a battered second-hand iPod and listen to these songs on the long walk home from Chess Club. AKA "Songs Arin Was Really Weird About In High School"

#arinposting #obviously there was a lot more music arin listened to back then too but these are the ones that were Always On Repeat #i'm not putting this in my music tag though because i dont listen to most of this shit hahaha #theres some local files on here that wont play for anyone else sorry about that #but some of the Most Important arin songs arent on spotify #i feel like i should note. about the chess club bit #arin was president of the chess club and tutored chemistry in the same room at the same time #because the chemistry teacher was the chess club sponsor and one fo arins Favorites #and i think that all says a lot about arin but i'm not sure if i know What it says #also i guess its good arin never went to one of those ivy leagues #it'd probably be a lot more embarassing to drop out of like. Brown that it was to drop out of UVa #though i guess UVa is still considered a 'public ivy' so still embarassing i guess #but arin really started embracing the less palatable parts of self by that point anyway so i guess it didnt matter #a truly rotten personality

[arolesbianism]

I am slowly drip feeding unit swap vbs more songs they have a whole 5 (ish) now wow good for them

#rat rambles #sekai posting #random card au #now tbf 3 are for an and the other 2 are for kohane so the character balance isn't. great. #but to tbf part 2 ena is literally the main protag of unit swap 25ji and she only recently got 1 song to herself #but hey she had a presence in serveral other songs so she wasnt completely absent #unlike akito and toya who very much are currently lol #the problem is that toya is underdeveloped and akito has the ena problem where most of his stuff is watching his fucked up friends like wtf #ok ok ena is way more proactive in her perceiving of the fucked up friends than akito is but still point stands #but yeah I wouldnt be surprised if the girls collectively got like 10 songs before any of the boys got one #hashtag feminism <3 #it's also just easier to find songs for them since they had their whole doomed toxic yuri thing going on #+ a whole load of other issues that I actually have fleshed out lol #girlie who fantasizes about murdering someone and girlie that fantasizes abt being murdered #<- not in a romantic way they just have issues 😔 #also fun fact the biggest red flag song on the unit swap au playlist and devatably any of my au playlists period belongs to kohane good job #tbf to kohane its not abt anything she ever acted upon just the fantasies of a fucked up 14 year old who has been on the internet since she #was like 9 and as such has a bit of a. skewed perception of how relationships are supposed to work. #anyways the song is gallery piece by of montreal I was not even slightly exaggerating when I said they were doomed toxic yuri #again obligatory reminder that these two never got left alone long enough to truly dive off the deep end so dw too much #basically a lot of the follow up to their unit story is the two going oh hot damn we were absolutely so fucked up thank god we drifted apart #less so oh we were in an abusive relationship and more so we were almost in an abusive relationship and we dodged a bullet #kohane eventually gets sleep meds and realizes that she wasn't in fact a husk of a person she just had been dealing with chronic insomnia #and an eventually gets the emotional support shes been desperately needing for the past like what 5 years #both still have issues ofc but they manage to stop actively spiraling and enabling eachother as they do it #get my girlies some anxiety meds they're both trembling chihuahuas and they dont even have someone to carry them in their handbag smh

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (part 8)

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7

-

Now a nocturnal animal emerges into the daylight hours.

A week becomes two and your shoulders untense. It’s not something you notice at first because you’re used to an ever present strain between your shoulder blades and an ache in your jaw from grinding your teeth at night. Then a fortnight goes by without so much as a missive with your name on it floating across John’s desk or a stranger appearing in town after tracking you down, and you wonder if maybe the world really is big enough to hide in. 

It sure feels that way at times. The woods beyond the bounds of John’s property stretch out farther than the eye can see and even walking it feels like you could disappear into another realm. Old spruces shoot up high into the clouds, and deeper into the woods, huge rock formations grow more and more prominent as you near the mountains. John takes you through the woods on horseback, following the rough trails carved into the dirt by a century of wagons and carts using the same path. The footprints of a different time. 

Up in the trees, birds warble and chirp, talking to one another in songs that you’ve never heard before. A woodpecker drills into the side of a tree. Pinecones snap out of the upper branches and drop to the forest floor. 

There is only a single trail and it’s easy to lose. You grow a bit nervous when John takes you off the trail and deeper into the woods, but he does so with the confidence of a man that knows these woods like the back of his hand. You go quiet when he stops Buttercup to let a herd of deer wander by, the stragglers hurrying to catch up with the group, throwing the two of you nervous glances before they disappear into the thicket. 

“Should we be out this far?” you ask in a whisper, reluctant to disturb the silence. Though the woods are full of animals that bleat, chirp, chatter, and hoot, the sound of your own voice feels preternaturally loud and shrill. 

“We won’t get lost, darlin’. I know my way around,” John reassures you, curling an arm around your waist to hold you to him. These days, you hardly worry about tumbling off the horse. Not with him at your back anyway. 

“That wasn’t really my worry,” you mumble, trailing off.

“Then what’re you getting all worked up about?”

“Aren’t there wolves out here? Or bears?”

He snorts, the sound making you jolt. You don’t topple over because he has such a firm hold around your waist. “They don’t usually come this close to town. They’re more scared of you than you are of them.”

“That sounds like something mothers tell their children to stop them crying,” you say flatly. You draw your legs up automatically when John directs Buttercup through a shallow basin, a shortcut back home. It makes you anxious for a moment, but the water barely goes up to her ankles, so you relax when you realize that you’re in no danger of being swept away by the current.

“That doesn’t mean a bear or wolf can’t wander by, but it’s rare.”

“And there it is.”

You can feel the heat of his glower on the back of your head. “We could spend the night out here if you want to see for yourself.”

At that, you shut your mouth. Even if he were to prove his point, you have no interest in camping out in the woods now that you’ve become accustomed to the luxury of a soft bed. Granted that you’re forced to share that same bed, still you’ve never slept half as well as you do these days. You wake up rested after nine hours of blissful shut eye, a sleep so deep that your dreams only come in half-remembered flashes. Often they involve the man you wake up wrapped around, and for that you’re grateful that they remain submerged. 

A new desire has started to burrow its way into the back of your mind in recent days. It starts out as a thought so brief that you hardly notice it before it skitters away. 

And then it lingers. 

You wake up in the middle of the night hot, sweat dripping down the nape of your neck and a fire burning in your loins, a red-hot coil wound around itself, fit to burst. Pulsating. At some point throughout the night, you must have thrown a leg around John’s waist because it rests there now, your hand planted in the middle of his chest and your sex all but rubbing up against his thigh. Under your hand, you can feel his heart pump strong and steady.

You hold very, very still, waiting for him to wake. But John sleeps on, his palm loose where it rests along the curve of your hip, fingers curling into the flesh of your backside. 

You can hardly look at him these days without shaking. You’ve come to fixate on the sway of his hips when he walks and the flecks of silver in his beard. The grooves in his weathered hands. The way your head fits in the palm of his hand when he cradles it to his chest. The fond glimmer in his eyes that shines the brightest when he puts his hat on your head and it slips past your eyes, too big for your head. 

When you tip it up in order to see, the folds around his eyes become more pronounced with the force of his smile.

“There you are, bug,” he says, taking the hat off your head to set it back on his and reeling you in for a kiss. 

Bug, love, honey, darling. The constant flux of endearments makes your head spin. John never calls you by the name on your marriage license. It’s like that name means nothing to him, cast away at the first opportunity and replaced by an endless stream of pet names.  

He hasn’t touched your sex since making you come on the porch swing the week before. He pulls you into a chaste embrace at night, the only evidence of his own desire being the stiff shaft nestled against the small of your back in the early morning hours, which he takes care of on his own in the bathroom downstairs after pressing a kiss to your cheek. You feel robbed of something, though you don’t know quite what. 

You’re tempted to offer your help, but you don’t know exactly what that would entail. Inexperience and fear of rejection hold you back, stay your tongue. In the two weeks you’ve been married, he hasn’t once tried to pin you down and rut between your thighs like you expected and dreaded that very first night. 

Now that that time has passed, you don’t know how to initiate that moment again. 

John promises to teach you how to ride a horse. You can’t see a reason to protest, much to your chagrin. Despite your apprehensions, even you can’t deny that it would be a helpful skill. A train only goes one way after all, confined to a single track. A horse has no such laws to obey.

The thought stays nestled at the back of your mind as the days continue on.

You flounder around in the kitchen on the day that John invites his deputies over for supper. You’ve met the big one—Simon—now a small handful of times, each encounter marked by a silence that sucks the air out of the room when he turns his gaze on you and holds it. Perhaps you’ve simply ascribed too much importance to his person, given that every time you’ve seen him, your life has changed irrevocably. His presence is always followed by revelation it seems. The archangel of vicissitude. A harbinger of uncertain times.

The other two are new. John introduces you to them when you bring out the cutlery and crockery to set the table, and you nearly go cross-eyed when they reach across the table at the same time to offer their hands. You go to meet them halfway, but flinch when John brings his hand down on the table with enough force to make the silverware jump.

“Sorry, darlin’,” he apologizes to you first before turning his glare on the other two. “That ain’t proper, boys. You wait for the lady to offer her hand first—you don’t treat a woman like she’s a mutt you’re teaching to shake.”

“Ah, sorry, hen,” the one on the left says, his voice a thick Scottish brogue like a purr. He’s possibly the handsomest man you’ve ever met, but there’s something dangerous and wild in his eyes. When he smiles, it curls up in a roguish sort of way that makes you falter, like he’s in on a joke that you aren’t. “Dinnae mean to offend. No’ often we get ta meet such a pretty lady.” 

“Sorry—” the one on the right apologizes in a voice far more earnest than his counterpart’s. “And sorry for him. We think he was raised by wolves.”

“What’s yer excuse then?” the Scot sneers, knocking his knee into the other man’s under the table. “Dinnae see ye waitin’ for her fuckin’ hand like a gentleman—apologies, hen.”

“Christ,” John sighs, leaning back in his chair and staring up at the ceiling. 

Simon stays silent at the other end of the table, but the whole table jumps when he aims a kick at the Scott’s leg. He hisses and blurts out a word in a language you’ve never heard before, the word unmistakably vitriolic. He clutches at his shin and shoots a nasty look at Simon, though he doesn’t make a move to retaliate. 

“Name’s Kyle. Kyle Garrick,” the other introduces himself, and you finally reach across the table to offer your hand. His hand is warm against yours when he takes it, dark skin burnished in the candlelight. There’s something inviting about him; something about his eyes, so dark that you almost fall into them. Thick lips curl up into a smile. “And this here is Soap.”

You frown. “Soap?”

The man in question runs a hand down his front, emphasizing the cut of his shirt and the way it clings to the muscle of his chest. “‘Cause of how well I clean up.”

Simon barks out a laugh at that. The sound comes so sudden and sharp that it startles you. “You got it ‘cause your mum had to wash out your mouth with soap.”

It’s the most you’ve ever heard out of him and you can only stare wide-eyed at the lot of them as they dissolve into bickering and squabbling after that. It’s almost a relief to head back into the kitchen to finish cooking. 

Dinner is a similar messy affair, punctuated by the sound of Soap practically gnawing the meat off the bone. He only apologizes when John barks at him for making a mess, more food on the floor around him than on his plate, but his table manners don’t last very long. John doesn’t seem so much embarrassed on their behalf as annoyed, but it’s an annoyance that comes with an aftertaste of warmth. You can tell without asking that they’ve known each other for years. 

There’s room enough in you for food and envy. Back home you had friends. Never close friends, but acquaintances at least. Maids you could recognize by face. Small talk while ascending single-file up the servants’ staircase. Perhaps little more than that. You’d never been particularly close to any of them, but how could you? You worked from morning ‘till night, up and down the stairs, moving in the shadows. Never making too much noise lest your employers take notice of you. 

Like he did.

You shake it off. That’s no matter now. You’re hundreds of miles away and living under a new name. A married woman, to the county sheriff no less. It only sometimes hurts your heart to think of how lonely you’d been. 

When they leave, you stand at the window and watch as they disappear into the black of the night, Simon at the front of the pack, his torchlight leading the way. The sound of horse hooves beating against the dirt recedes the farther they get. 

His hands warm your shoulders. You don’t know how long he’s been there, standing behind you while you stared out the window after the boys. All you know is that his hands are warm, and the kiss he presses to the back of your head makes you arch back into him, unconsciously gravitating closer to him. Needing to be near. 

In bed, you curl your fingers against his chest. On a rough exhale, you wake. You dream still of something terrible that happens somewhere else, in another city, in an old life. His heartbeat lulls you back to sleep.

John takes you to the local seamstress to have you fitted for a pair of pants and suddenly you’re out of excuses. They fit you comfortably, like a second skin, and you find yourself pulling at the legs at your final fitting as if to stretch out the material. The seamstress nearly jabs you with a pin and glares up at you until you stop fidgeting. 

You come to terms with it when he brings you into the stables and makes you fetch the saddle from where it rests on its stand. It’s heavier than you expected. You stumble back over to where John now has Buttercup standing in the middle of the stable, holding her by the lead fixed to her bridle. 

“I don’t know if—” you start, trepidation climbing up your chest until it grips you by the throat. For as many times as you’ve ridden her, you’ve never done it alone. 

John fixes her lead to a post and walks over to you, taking the saddle from your hands and letting it drop to the ground. He cups your face in both hands to tilt your head up. “Hey, honey. We’re not doing much of anything today, alright? Just a walk around the paddock so you get used to sitting on Buttercup on your own. I’m not gonna smack her ass and send you down the trail at full tilt..”

That gets a laugh out of you. “You promise?”

He smiles. “Promise, darlin’.”

And he keeps it. The only thing you do that day is learn how to tack a horse and how to properly mount and dismount her. The latter part of the lesson is devoted to you trying to find your balance while John leads the two of you around the pen at a leisurely pace. He calms you down when he sees you grow too stiff, stopping to coo and rub your thigh until you gradually relax. It’s heartwarming until Buttercup begins to tense up too for a reason unbeknownst to you and you watch in righteous fury as John calms her down the same way.

John gets you a hat to keep the sun from beating down on you, but there’s little he can do about the soreness between your thighs and the stiffness in your legs the next day. All you can do is hiss and moan in pain, hobbling around the house until he forces you down into a chair and hikes up your dress in order to apply an arnica salve to your inner thighs. 

It’s a relief and an affront at the same time. The duality of man. The salve soothes much of the ache, but you twitch nervously around John for the rest of the day, the memory of him pinning you to the chair and forcibly spreading your thighs haunting you. The lingering ache in your core is just the salt in the wound. 

It rains another day. A light drizzle while the sun is still out.

Every day you sit and you think, will it be today? And then the wash basins are emptied out in the field, the horses are taken out to the paddock, you pin the laundry up on the line to dry, and John presses a farewell kiss to your forehead when he leaves you with Kate and nothing happens. Every inch of you waits for more, anticipates more. Throbs when he leaves you wanting, only a chaste kiss and a squeeze around your waist before he’s off. 

You can feel it coming to a head. An itch you can’t shake. 

That day comes with another ache you can’t shake. 

“Please,” you beg, clasping your hands in front of you. “One day of rest. That’s all I’m asking. I can’t do this anymore, John.”

John snaps the lead in his hands. “Let’s get a move on. We’re burning daylight.”

You hang your head low on the march over to the stables, John taking up the rear like he expects you to bolt. An executioner’s walk. The thought of escape has never seemed further away—not even because of its feasibility, but because all you want to do is lie down and rest.

“You can quit your moping,” he says as you tack up Buttercup, a pout on your lips. “Got something special for you today.”

That makes you perk up, regardless of the fact that he doesn’t specify what that is. Anticipation mounts in you when he helps you up onto Buttercup and then climbs up behind you himself. He steers her away from the paddock and towards the trail leading into the woods, the sun at its zenith now, illuminating everything as far as the eye can see.

You’ve ridden this trail before. A week ago, with John at your back as he is now. Through the fields and over the hills until the trees start to number in the tens and then the hundreds, no clear delineation between plain and forest. Simply there and then everywhere.

By now, after hours of sun beating down on the path, the trail is mostly dry, yesterday’s rain long since having sunk into the earth. You think it’d still be a tough hike on foot, but on horseback you cover acres of land at a brisk pace, Buttercup hardly breaking a sweat. You cross paths with a small group traveling by horse and wagon, but John breaks off from the path not too long after that, steering Buttercup deeper into the wilderness, where the only gullies are the ones carved out by years and years of rainfall. 

You only see it when the land begins to dip and you’re forced to hold onto the horn and tighten your thighs around the fenders to keep steady. At the bottom of a hill, a small stream opens up into a larger river, narrowing out at the other end where the land rises again and the water can only trickle over the pebbly riverbed. On the other side, a rocky outcropping cuts the stream off from view.

“Is this where you used to come to bathe?” you ask, recalling an earlier conversation.

John sighs. “Thought I’d take you for a swim as a treat, but if you’d rather just tease me—”

“Well now, let’s not be hasty,” you say, already trying to dismount on your own, eyes glued on the stream glimmering in the sunlight. John chuckles, keeping you pressed to him until he guides Buttercup under a tree for shade and dismounts first, helping you down after him. 

All you want to do is wade in the stream up to your ankles, so that’s what you do. Boots kicked off, Buttercup relaxing in the shade of a tree, John standing by the water’s edge with his hands on his hips and watching you tiptoe over the smooth rocks below. You roll up your pant legs, but eventually you feel the ends grow damp as you venture farther out. At its deepest, you would probably sink up to your waist.

“Don’t you want to swim?” John asks from somewhere behind you.

You splash around a bit, kicking your feet through the water. “Hard to do that with clothes—”

When you turn back around to face him, your eyes dart down momentarily at the sight of skin before you squeak and whirl back around, sending up an arc of water. Twice now you’ve seen him naked. 

“You’ve no clothes on,” you state, bluntly enough that it almost sounds stupid. 

You hear the water splash and ripple when he takes his first step in. “Right—you better think about doing the same if you don’t want to ride home soaking wet.”

“I was perfectly fine just getting my feet wet,” you say indignantly.  

“We came out here to swim, not get your feet wet,” John laughs. You stiffen when his hand comes down on your shoulder, conscious of the fact that your husband is standing right behind you, entirely divested of his clothes. “So best get to steppin’.”

“You can’t make me.”

“Oh, honey,” he says pityingly. “Yes, I can.”

You squeeze your eyes shut as you make your way back to shore, careful not to allow yourself a glimpse of him. Your boots are stacked beneath the shade of another tree, John’s clothes folded neatly beside them. You strip slowly, attentive to the world around you; though unlikely, it’s not impossible that someone might wander by. Your only consolation is that John is still within sight, though you keep your back to him because in recent days, you’ve developed a hunger for him that even now makes your stomach hurt.  

Though the air is warm, you shiver. When you turn around with your arms crossed over your breasts to hide them from sight, you find John wading in the river up to his waist. You’ve seen him like this once before, the hearty body of a man in his prime. Sturdy and strong. The hair on his chest is darker than that on his head, wet too from the dip he must have taken when your back was turned. His hair is slicked back too, a wet hand combing it back. 

“Come on, darlin’,” he calls, beckoning you forward with his hand.

The water is a cold shock when you step in past your ankles. Ice cold tendrils wrap up your legs, sucking the warmth from you. 

You suck in a soft breath when he pulls you into his arms and heaves you up, big hands gripping under your thighs. Your breasts press against the wet skin of his chest, nipples already pebbled. The river is deeper than you assumed; John pulls you deeper in until it pools around your waist and then your chest. Cold enough that you shiver until John dips his head down and the kiss he presses to your lips melts you from the inside out. 

You can’t escape the intimacy of water-slick skin. When John drags you up his chest, your nipples brush over his and the shudder that passes through you is violent, toe-curling. You know that he can feel the heat of your core even underwater. With your legs wound around his waist, every inch of you is plastered to his front. Even your fingers play with the ends of his hair, arms draped over his shoulders. You can’t look away.

“C’mon,” he murmurs, breath hot on your face. “Eyes on me.”

As if you could look anywhere else. 

He reaches down under the water to readjust himself and you gasp when his shaft is suddenly right there, trapped between his belly and your heat. It’s the closest you’ve ever gotten to coitus, his glans nestled between your folds. You’d only have to shift slightly for him to slip right in. The thought makes your breath quicken. 

He doesn’t make a move to take you though, even knowing that he could. How easy it would be. How it’s due to him. Your husband that’s waited a fortnight to take you as his own. John kisses you until each slick pass of his lips grows sloppier, clumsier—his lips barely parting from yours before they’re on you again, rendering you a creature of base needs. 

But his hands don’t shift from your backside where he holds you in place. His fingers dig into the flesh hard enough to bruise, but they don’t move to part your folds to make room for his manhood. You expect him to—practically yearn for it and squeeze him around the neck all the harder when he subverts your expectations, doing no more than letting you grind your heat against the base of his shaft. 

“John—John, please,” you beg, mindless for what. You don’t know what you’re asking for. 

“What d’ya need, darlin’?” he asks into your mouth, stealing your answer with another kiss. 

You fall under the swell of another wave. When the root of his cock glides over your clit, your core clenches on nothing, a sob half-bitten off in your mouth, ripped from your chest. 

It doesn’t matter how close to him you get—he gives you nothing. The heat could very well burn you from the inside out. Cold water caresses your skin as it flows past, but the center of you runs so hot that you hardly notice it. 

When he hikes you higher up against his chest, you clench your fingers in his hair, whining when he takes your nipple into his mouth. Your gasp comes out sharp and hurt when the coarse bristles of his beard rub rough against your breast. He sucks at your breast tender at first, gentle, eyes half-lidded like his mind has gone somewhere else, but there’s a glint in his eye that grows wild and dark, that turns him rough. You don’t know what to do except shake and let him use you how he wants. 

Desperation nips at your heels, urging you up the length of him. If you had more nerve, you’d reach down and grasp him under the water, notch the head of his member against your sex and sink right down on him. You need him like you've never needed anything before. Every part of you aflame, searing hot under the sun at its highest point; right overhead, right on top of you. 

His teeth sink delicately into your areola, tongue lapping over your nipple to soothe the hurt, and suddenly, you break.

“Please—” you gasp, wrenching his mouth away from your breast and whimpering when he resists at first, glaring up at you like he might bite. “Please, John—I can’t take it. I need you.”

His eyes darken, the pupil swallowing everything up. “Need me where, wife? Here?”

A hand dips between your thighs, pointer finger gliding over your sex, plump with blood. So tender that your mouth hangs open on a whine when he touches you. 

“Y-yes,” you whimper, gaze swimming. 

John’s breath comes out in a harsh, ragged pant. Completely undone in a way you’ve never seen before. “Get out, darlin’. I’m taking you home. Gonna give you what you need.”

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #price/reader #john price/reader #price x reader #price x you #john price x reader #john price

[grapelights]

imma say something controversial but i feel like harry’s shows are getting more and more boring 🕺

#don’t get me wrong i think he is a GREAT performer and i loved esp his first tour #but idk it feels like they’re so rushed and it’s taken for granted that ppl will come anyway so no one really puts an effort?? #like i already thought european shows were short but it turns out they’re even shorter now? #and the set list is EXACTLY the same every show he only changed it when he started the na leg #and the show always follows the same scenario if that makes sense??? #like idk probably if i wasn’t interested in harry and went to only one show not even knowing what he does on tour in general i would think #its an amazing concert you get me?? #and they still are and i loved my show as well!!! #idk i dont really know how to put it into words i feel like the fact theyre so rushed is the worst part #like come on man you’re in your 20s you really can’t do more than 18 songs 💀 it feels like a festival setlist at this point #i went to concerts of musicians 15 years older than harry who played 20+ songs and it was ok when he had only 1 album out but now #he has plenty of songs to choose from and yet every show is exactly the same??? #like i genuinely thought the whole point of residency shows was that each concert is going to be slightly different

[libraford]

The company I work for went through an entire song and dance about how we're not allowed to used gendered nicknames for any of the kids we photograph because it might upset them. My boss laid out the instructions for how to handle a name change for the yearbook because "well now a kid might say their name is 'Jimmy' when it used to be-"

"James," I interrupted, sensing that she was going to be flippant about the next name.

"Jenny," she says, correcting me and giving me a stare as if I'm not taking this seriously enough.

But I am. See... cis people should be able to go through the process of altering their yearbook names as well. James goes by Jimmy now. Its no different from Jenny going by Jimmy. Name changes benefit people across the board, if they want one.

And when she said 'Jenny,' I could tell it was with this sense of obligation and that she didnt take it seriously. But I have had a lot of kids ask me to change their name in the files because that's what their friends call them. And they should be called what their friends call them. Because that's their name. It doesn't matter if their gender has changed. Its a matter of general agency that we should allow to people of any age.

I'm required to fill out a form for a background check. They want information which includes my driving record because there are days that I'm driving 200 miles to get to an action point.

It asks for my gender 'as stated on birth certificate.' Not as stated on driver's license, but on my birth certificate. It isn't any different between the two documents, but it seems so odd to decide that the birth certificate should matter more than the drivers license when the history in question is my driving history.

Last year, my boss told me that she 'didn't understand all this transgender stuff.' Out of the blue, I think maybe there was an ad on the TV in our hotel room on an away job. I told her that she didn't have to understand it, just accept that this is part of the world- the way that you might not understand Diwali or wooden shoes or chicken foot soup, but they are part of the world that she lives in.

She shook her head. This wasn't the right time to tell her and it was none of her business anyway.

But now we have all these rules about how to navigate one of those pesky transgenders if we encounter them and it feels so empty. It doesn't seem like safety. It seems like fear and it feels like a crowbar.

[lettuce-seize-the-day]

my cat is so fucking cute i miss him so much

#shut up hanna #im gonna return next year #as a student #and im gonna get pet friendly housing 😭 #bc this is unbearable #we have such severe separation anxiety #my roommates said he is doing good but hes rlly fussy esp if he wants attention #im like yeahhhh sounds about right #i know they are taking good care of him and i did pay them so its fair to ask that they do take good care #but they arent gonna give him a hundred kisses every day:( they arent gonna sing him stupid little songs abt his paws:( #they arent gonna point out every body part and tell him what it is like 'this is your wittle noooosssseee and these are ur wittle earssss #and this is ur taily waily and this is your wittle pawww and u are so cute and handsome' #they arent gonna do that while singing to him and giving him intermittent kisses :((((( #I KNOW IT SOUNDS LIKE IM TORTURING HIM #but like i never hold him down or anything he just lets me do it and looks at me like 😒 #BUT THEN HE SOMETIMES GETS FUSSY IF I STOP 🙄🙄 #anyway. i miss him so fucking much literally no one understands #itll be better for both of us next year even if i am busy and its a single room #bc this past year he was stuck in my 13x9 room all the time. for the school year. and i was very busy #class all day then rehearsal some days..and like he would be a lil antsy and id have to play w him for at least 30 mins when id get home #but he was fine yk? like we managed. we could do that again esp for a month long program #idk they dont give me regular updates like my mom would. like when i would ask her how he is she would tell me what hes been up to #like where he slept and if he was fussy and if he bullied his sisters and if he let her pet him. etc. and the thing is like #hes a totally different cat when im away from him. like my roommates dont give me big updates but from what my mom would tell me #hes better off being with me !! we both have severe separation anxiety from each other:( and id rather him endure some new place anxiety #than both of us endure such severe separation anxiety like its actually crippling i cry from missing him so much:///