Hi :) soooo umm I am a little awkward and shy especially with things like this. I guess I can start off by saying I really am looking for some open minded philosophical individuals. I want to be able to express my darkest,deepest,most eccentric thoughts with someone who is also wanting the same thing. I am a first year in college currently majoring in Psychology, which would be what i changed my major to for the 5th time lol. Im an avid astrology enthusiast and i love all things spiritual and new age. I was diagnosed with BPD and NPD and i just think you should know that because some people really dont know what to do with me?? Despite that I still think im a pretty rad person. If you’re part of the LGBT community i would find that extremely awesome. Although its not necessary it is kind of preferred. Im bi and tired of being misunderstood. Deutsch speakers are also more than welcome, i was in Germany for one year as an exchange student so my German is pretty good but sadly have no one to really talk to. My personality type is INTP and im a capricorn, I’d love for you to be able to tell me what you are. Music is one of the most important elements in my life. Some favorite artists/bands of mine are Nine Inch Nails, Cherub, MGMT, The Gorillaz, Chromatics, Death Cab for Cutie, David Bowie, Dido, XXYYXX, Jamie xx, Kid Cudi, Mac Miller, Logic, Mick Jenkins, Timbaland, Aaliyah, Missy Elliot, The XX, Burial, and Flying Lotus. I have plenty more but those are just the real notable ones for me. My absolute favorite genre is “House” I JUST LOVE IT SO MUCH AHH! Anyways i promise that i can uphold a fairly interesting and intellectual conversation without being all over the place such as i was with this introduction of myself. I look forward to meeting some new penpals! :)
Preferences: I would prefer you be 17+ and possibly part of the LGBT community, but im not silly you dont need to be gay in order to talk to me lol.
Lance took in a deep breath, holding the sink rim in a tight grip, his knuckles white with the effort. He’d been fighting with himself for weeks over whether or not to tell the others about his sexuality.
If there’s one thing I learned through the various risks I take with my appearance (wearing croptops as a fat girl, shaving my head a bunch of times, my piercings) is that you gotta get to a place where you’re aware of what people say you shouldn’t do and recognize that it’s bullshit! This is ALL made up; the rules of gender and gender presentation are arbitrary guys, gals, and nonbinary pals. Paint your nails as a guy, wear what you want.
This is the new and improved masterlist of everything I have ever written (since my old one decided to fail on me) and it will be updated each time I write something new! Listed from oldest to newest, for your convenience :)
Hey! I just wanted to say thank you?! You started following me on Instagram and you put my cosplay on your story?? (I was Kaede with an Amami) and I cannot thank you enough for that! You're my favourite artist and seeing someone I idolise liking my cosplays (I'm still new to cosplaying, that was my first handmade costume) really helped my self esteem. Even if you only liked it for my Amami or the fact that we were Amamatsu, it still made my day. Thank you so much 💖
OMG YOO NO PROBS I RLY LOVE YOUR COSPLAY!! i can’t describe it but like damn it’s pretty and i’m your favorite artist? aaa ashfsdfdsf tHANK YOU!! i’m flattered ww and your cosplays are great pal!! i found it trough the amamatsu tag (if you didn’t put them in the tags i might’ve not seen your cosplays aaaa) and i fell in love with your cosplay!! your handmade cosplay is good™ i’m glad you’re okay with me reposting your cosplays to my story ^^;; i didn’t really think that through and like an hour after putting it on my story i was like “wait is it okay to put it on my story” but IM GLAD YOu’re okay with it!! and you’re doing good with your cosplay pal!! keep it going!!
(sorry it’s too small but i doodled a little something from one of the pic in your instagram!!!)
yall should check @/gay4kaede on instagram too!! i don’t rly check on insta that often but yall should check it out!!!!! ovo
I have a lot of unanswered questions on this Tumblr- they come in fast and furious and I don’t have time to get to them all. (My many thanks for your participation and your patience.)
One question I get quite frequently is “I just moved to a new city/started at a new school/got dumped- how do I make friends as an adult?” and this is a fantastic question, so I thought I’d write a quick primer on making friends as an adult.
( because everyone needs a gal-pal to paint their nails – and the town – red with, and they’ve just found theirs. )
01. let’s be friends // emily osment. 02. this is what makes us girls // lana del rey. 03. glory and gore // lorde. 04. jenny // studio killers. 05. flawless // beyonce. 06. ribs (let’s have a sleepover remix) // lorde. 07. serial killer // lana del rey. 08. problem // natalia kills. 09. dark horse // katy perry. 10. controversy // natalia kills. 11. run the world ( girls ) // beyonce.
uweh tomorrow is our school’s annual picnic which would’ve been nice if i could stay the whole time but the master is making me leave halfway through and drive 3 towns over to teach my saturday lessons… like just this once why couldnt we have cancelled those…
Imagine you are Chibs’ Old Lady and the guys tease him about the age gap between the two of you but he shows you he is not an ‘old man’. *Smut*
Warnings: smut, language.
“Shut up,” Chibs grumbles, folding his arms across his chest defensively. The guys laughed.
“I mean,” Tig said, “I get that she likes older guys, but you’re old enough to be her grandfather!”
You knew it was an exaggeration, but you knew it pissed Chibs off nonetheless. The guys loved to make fun of the age gap between you and your Old Man and while you knew it was just fun, Chibs took it personally. You suspected it had something to do with him having already been married once but you never asked in case it caused problems.
“Yeah, how’d you land someone as young as her anyway?” Jam chimed in, “She’s, like, my age.”
You heard Chibs huff and decided now was as good a time as any to butt in.
“Chibs, we really get going, don’t you think? I still have to make us dinner and it’s getting late.” You said, placing a hand on his arm to get his attention and show your support.
He gave you a look, one eyebrow raised, that told you he knew exactly what you were trying to do. Still, he didn’t object. The two of you bid your goodbyes and rode home on your Old Man’s Harley.
“You know they’re only joking, right? They don’t really think you’re too old for me.” You told Chibs as you put a pot of water on the stove to boil. Chibs was leaning on an island bench, watching you from the other side of the kitchen.
He only hummed in response, too busy watching you bend over as you searched the refrigerator.
You were dicing up a carrot when you felt hands on your hips, followed by soft lips and scratchy stubble on your neck. You shivered and set the knife down.
“I could’ve chopped my fingers off, you know?” You said, but it came out halfhearted due to the lust that was quickly making you feel lightheaded.
“I wouldn’t let you get hurt.” Chibs mumbled into your neck.
This time it was you who hummed as you tilted your neck and leaned back on your husband. You could feel the bruise forming where your Old Man was sucking and biting at your neck. You let out a soft moan and, in return, Chibs growled lowly and spun you in his arms to smash your lips together in a fierce kiss. You gripped the back of his neck, pulling him in closer and letting his tongue slide into your mouth.
He stepped closer to you, trapping you between his hips and the bench. The felt the bench digging into your lower back but paid it no mind as you could also feel the tent in Chibs’ jeans pressing against your front. Your hands found their way into Chibs’ grey locks, tugging lightly. He reached behind you and shoved the chopping board aside, the carrots scattered, forgotten on the floor. He grasped your hips roughly, lifting you onto the bench. You spread your legs so that Chibs could come to stand between them as he kissed and nipped your neck and chest, pulling on the collar of your shirt to gain more access. (As he kissed you, you reached over to the stove and turned it off so not to burn the house down).
“I don’t care what they say,” he muttered between kisses, “I’m not too old to make you feel good.”
His hands gripped the collar of your shirt and before you could protest he pulled, buttons went flying and your shirt was ruined but you could care less; you’d worry about it tomorrow. Rough, calloused fingers toyed with your bra. He was rubbing and massaging your tits through the thin material, occasionally letting a digit or two slip in to tease your nipples.
You pushed him back (with a whine at the loss) only to push his kutte off his shoulders and pull his shirt over his head. The moment you had rid him of his kutte and shirt, you ran your hands over his chest, the small hairs tickling your pals, and then raked your nails lightly back down his pecs and stomach, stopping at the button of his jeans. Then, you removed your hands to undo the button on your own jeans instead.
“Come on then, old man,” you teased as you undid your jeans at a slow, tantalising pace, “show me what you’ve got left in you.”
Chibs gripped your wrists hard and removed them from your jeans so that he could undo them himself. He dropped to his knees in front of you. You lifted your hips up to help him drag the denim down your legs. He planted kisses along your inner thighs as the smooth skin was revealed. When he had finally rid you of your pants, he went for your underwear next. The bench was cold under you and you couldn’t help but feel slightly exposed from your position, but those thoughts left your mind the moment Chibs stood up and pushed down his own jeans, letting them pool at his ankles.
“Fuck me, old man.” You teased, tugging him closer to you and shuffling further towards him.
“I,” he said, lining his leaking tip to your entrance. He pushed in and you couldn’t contain the cry that spilled from your lips at the feeling of being so full. “Am not old.”
You didn’t get a chance to say anything more before your old man was pounding into you with all that he had. You threw your head back with a particularly loud moan and you felt yourself shudder. You felt like your whole body was on fire; his hips slapping against your thighs, your fingers tangled in his hair, his lips all over your body, every time he touched you felt hotter than the last.
“Do you like it when I take you like this?” He asked.
“God, Chibs, yes!” You moaned out but gasped when he hit your g-spot hard.
You felt your stomach tighten and you knew you were close to finishing. The way Chibs’ thrusts were losing rhythm told you he was too.
“Kiss me,” you ordered and he happily obliged.
The kiss was lazy and hard but passionate; your teeth were clashing but your tongues danced in perfect timing.
“Oh my- Chibs, I’m gonna come!” You whispered into his mouth.
He looked down at you through thick lashes, eyes clouded in desire.
“Good.” His voice was deep and rough, his accent thick. That alone was enough to send you over the edge. Your body shook as you came and you clenched around him. He kept thrusting as you rode out your orgasm, and soon he followed suit as he came inside you with a cry of your name.
He slumped and let his head rest on your shoulder as the two of you caught your breath. You hopped off the bench and put your hands on Chibs’ shoulders to steady yourself, your legs still shaky. Chibs, ever the gentleman, bent down to pick up your panties and his shirt. You thanked him when he passed them to you and slipped them on while he pulled up his own jeans.
“Sorry about your shirt, sweetheart.” He said, although he didn’t sound sorry at all.
You stood on your toes to kiss him deeply. “Do not apologise for that. That was amazing, and I, for one, will never call you old again.”
You didn’t miss the smug smile that made it’s way onto his face.
Just as I shot Willie’s pal down, another Me nailed me from behind. He got me right in the belly of the Spit. A chunk of cannon shell smashed into my right heel. Another went between my left arm and body, nicking me in the elbow and ribs. Shrapnel spattered into my left leg. The controls were blasted to bits.
The throttle was jammed wide open and there I was in a full-power spin, on my way down from somewhere around 18,000 feet. I threw the hood away and tried to get out, but the spin was forcing me back into the seat.
“This is it,” I said to myself. “This is what it’s like when you know you’re going to die.”
I didn’t panic.
If anything, I was resigned to it.
It had been a good show, all things added up. I’d proved my point, here over Malta. I’d lived. I could die if I had to. What the hell! This was the way I’d always wanted to go, when the time came. Looking back from here it seems as if there was a definite space, spinning in that cockpit, in which I had completely resigned myself to the big smack that was just a matter of instants ahead.
Then I snapped out of it and began to struggle again.
The engine was streaming flame by this time, but somehow I managed to wriggle my way out of the cockpit and out onto the port wing, from which I could bale into the inside of the spin. By the time I got out onto the wing I was down to 2,000 feet. At about 1,000 I managed to slip off. Before I dared pull the ripcord I must have been around 500.
The chute opened with a crack like a cannon shell and I found myself floating gently down in the breeze, the damnedest experience in contrasts I shall ever have in this life.
Malta Spitfire: The Diary of an Ace Pilot, by George Beurling
Among the river rats and the leaves.
For example. I was huge among the lichen,
and the waterfall couldn’t get enough
of me. And the gravestones?
I was hugely popular with the gravestones.
Also with the meat liquefying
beneath. I’d say to the carrion birds,
I’d say, “Are you an eagle? I can’t see
so well.” That made them laugh until we
were screaming. Eagle. Imagine.
The vultures loved me so much they’d
me the first morsel. From their delicate
talons, which is what I called them:
such delicate talons. They loved me so deeply
they’d visit in pairs. One to feed me.
One to cover my eyes with its velvety wings.
Which were heavy as theater curtains. Which I was
sure to remark on. “Why can’t I see what I’m eating?”
I’d say. And the wings would pull me into
the great bird’s chest. And I’d feel the nail
inside my mouth.
What pals I was with all the scavengers!
And the dead things too. What pals.
As for the living, the fox would not be outdone.
We’d sit on the cliff’s edge and watch the river
like a movie and I’d say, “I think last night…”
and the fox would put his paw on top of mine
and say, “Forget it. It’s done.” I mean,
we had fun. You haven’t lived until a fox
has whispered something the ferns told him
in your one good ear. I mean truly.
You have not lived.