#( &&. p: faultless )

[fullofmeihem]

Blood runs thicker than water.

lies of p paring: pinocchio x reader word count: 1159 cw: angst :], mentions of death, blood, beyond canon-typical violence i think, rage frenzy

a/n: welcome to my first real post on this account. i've been obsessed over pinocchio from lies of p since i started the game, then i started listening to chloe ament... you can probably see where this is going. hope you enjoy.

Emotions were not as elusive as they had previously been for the man-made puppet and yet, in this moment, he couldn't identify a singular one he felt. There had been a rush of worry, fright, and terror. But now it was an invasive mess.

His skin reacted to the slight breeze that blew past him, a shiver breaking him from his frozen stance.

Still, he wished for the sight before him to be one of the lies he'd thrown around.

Approaching the scene, Pinocchio would stumble, an imperfection to his typically faultless cadence. The ground below him squelched with wet mud as he did so, a distant sound to his eerily still mind. The loudest noise to him was the rising tempo of his mechanically heart, it rang in his ears, obscuring the sounds of pattering rain and squished mud.

Before him was you, pale as your blood had drained from your face.

You were posed on your knees, arms dangling loosely by your sides as a sword held you up, struck through your chest and into the muddied ground below. Pinocchio's glass eyes trailed the blade of the sword, every few inches was an extended notch of the blade, permitting the relatively upright position you'd been laid to rest in. A wooden sign hung with rope from the hilt of the blade,

Puppet Fucker. It read.

His hurricane of emotions came to an eerie calm.

The dark-haired puppet would take the rest of the paces to you, kneeling by your lifeless form. Pulling the sign from the hilt of the blade and tossing it into the muddied ground below, Pinocchio would do a once-over of your body.

Your shirt was torn, multiple wounds bedded into your skin, signs of struggle ripped across your hands. Your blade was broken in half, a few feet from your person. Your hair was matted and stuck to your face. He watched as the rain paved its path down your skin, some pooling in your stuck-open eyes before sliding down your cheeks. If he had known any better, he'd have guessed you'd been sad.

The puppet would reach forward, silently pressing the pads of his fingers against your top eyelids, pulling them down to finally let you rest your eyes.

A breath escaped him, fogging the air between you and him.

Slowly, Pinocchio would place a hand against your back, then his other between your thighs and calves. Bringing himself to his feet, you'd rest in the bridal position he held you in just a year prior. The tone of that moment was much more pleasant to bask in.

One step at a time, Pinocchio found his way back to the hotel.

He'd kick the door open with a lack of urgency, your fate had been sealed hours before.

Trekking mud, rain water, and dead city grime onto the shiny floors of the hotel, Pinocchio would approach the central Stargazer.

The first to notice him was Sophia, gasping in horror at the large, notched blade sworn through your chest. Antonia, from the other room, would advert her gaze, a solemn expression Pinocchio couldn't read overcoming her face. Eugenie had frozen, leaving Venigni to look around the corner of the wall. Shock was quickly present in his features.

Finally, Pinocchio's eyes would leave your form, his eyes coming into contact with Sophia's, a silent plead shifting his expression. No words were needed in the exchange, a nod coming from her as soon as she saw his face.

Your funeral was small, held in the garden of the hotel. The guest list didn't expand beyond the residents of the safe space, no one of your biological family lived beyond you.

Pinocchio stayed the latest of everyone, knelt by your makeshift headstone, fingers lightly tracing the dirt before it.

The calm of the storm hadn't passed, he'd been near numb to the entirety of it all, earning him a few concerned glances from Gepetto and Sophia. He knew the two of them shared their worries behind his back whenever they could.

He had given the sword to Venigni and Eugenie to inspect, perhaps find its maker, or better yet, who wielded it.

Venigni had an answer two days later. Pinocchio hadn't moved much until given the information he desired. Slowly, and in a fashion that near scared the philanthropist, the puppet rose. His glass eyes trailed the blade Eugenie held behind Venigni. He approached. Carefully, as to not hurt the woman, Pinocchio would take the sword into his palms.

The metal made a horrifying screech as it bent, Pinocchio's Legion Arm doing the majority of the work. When the sword was rendered useless, the puppet would move forward, back into the luxury of Hotel Krat.

He was working out his lack of emotions while he moved, it wasn't a numbness like he had before he began gaining humanity.

It was a silent, simmering rage.

The atmosphere surrounding the puppet was enough to alert Sophia, she started to interject as he approached the Stargazer, but his human-like arm had already reached the glowing center piece.

In a moment he was back to the creepily empty streets of the city, a new mission on his mind.

Pinocchio tore through any puppet trying to attack him on his path, his rapier tearing their arms from their torsos, or their heads from their necks. Oil and Ergo splattered against his clothes and face, nothing the rain couldn't wash away.

Eventually, Pinocchio would kick in the door of a luxurious-looking mansion, the wooden door splintering from its hinges and loudly clattering against marble floors.

Eyes scanning the foyer was nearly enough to send him into a rage. Weapons, all custom made lined themselves against the walls, a list of names under each of them. For some, names were crossed out, for others, the names laid untouched. Though, as Pinocchio entered further into the quiet of the mansion, he'd find his eyes traveling to the central stairs at the back of the main room.

Your name, printed in bold, crossed with a red line, lay under an empty sword mount. Next to your name, under a sword mount with a plain blade, was Pinocchio's, untouched.

A few claps would pull the puppet from his stare, as a man came down the upper level of stairs.

Pinocchio's mechanical heart beat louder, obscuring the words of the man before him, his eyebrows pinching towards each other as he'd throw the sword he'd bent onto the ground between the man and himself. It scraped across the marble floors, leaving a few scratches that would never be repaired.

Whatever the man was saying, Pinocchio couldn't hear. His breathing began to pick up, a trait he'd copied from you, his heart was raising in tempo again.

The man would grab the sword labeled with Pinocchio's name.

An invitation to begin.

Pinnochio found his way back to Hotel Krat, covered in blood that the rain couldn't wash away.

hope you enjoyed my first one-shot ♡

[randomness-is-my-order]

She had thought, quite naïvely, that her own youngest progeny would be the biggest bane of her existence before Naruto had come stumbling into her home with deceptively innocent smiles and too-big faultless eyes.

“Why, in the name of kami, is he dressed like that?!” Tsume hissed the question to the guilty-looking chunin who had been assigned as Naruto’s personal guard for the week.

He was a capable young man–generally less boisterous than the members of her Clan tended to be, with a level head on his shoulders. Yet... somehow, under his careful watch, the blond troublemaking Namikaze had miraculously acquired the standard Aburame coat and their classic pair of glasses and was now adorning them in an imitation of their lovely rivals. “I need an answer, Kazu!”

–Chapter 5, Naruto’s Very Eminent, Very Influential Babysitters.

The fic has been updated, woohoo!! It’s a story about Naruto being raised communally by the various Clans of Konoha on a rotational basis. This chapter covers the Inuzukas and the Aburames. :P

[robo-writing]

Sweet Knowing

Summary: Cid becomes aware of the attention you seem to draw from a certain Rosfield, and uses it to his advantage.

Warnings: implied voyeurism, p in v actions, 18+ MDNI

This is the second part to this, but can be read on its own.

Cid can be called a slew of things; Lord Commander, Dominant of Ramuh, Outlaw—but one thing he cannot be called, is a fool.

When he found the young Rosfield in the wastelands he felt his heart tug at the display; of a man beaten and broken, only to find that his mission was to kill his childhood friend, one he thought dead long ago. He didn’t think twice about recruiting him to the cause, bringing him to The Hideaway and giving him a rundown of his plans to free bearers from their lot in life. He offered the boy a hot meal and a warm bath, or rather his beloved did.

When word got around that there was a newcomer she was ready to accommodate him. Bright-eyed and friendly, you had offered him whatever was needed to make him feel at home.

“Gods, your clothes are filthy!” You gasped, scanning Clive from head to toe, shaking your head at the muddied state of his armor. “I’ll run to the markets tomorrow and get you some more suitable attire, I can’t let you sleep in armor.”

“Thank you ma’am, but there’s no need—“ he began, only to be stopped by your stern gaze.

“Nonsense. You’re a part of our merry band and I won’t have you sleeping in iron and steel. Now, when’s the last time you had a hot meal?”

Despite his protests you wouldn’t take no for an answer, offering Clive a handkerchief to wipe his face as you ran towards the kitchens to make your own stew for the war-weary traveler.

Cid noticed it when you set the plate full of soup in front of him, how Clive had gotten just the slightest bit nervous around you. He was already the quiet type but this was a different kind of quiet, as if he was afraid of saying something he shouldn’t. Subtle to anyone else, but not to him.

Intrigued, Cid didn’t say a word, only watched in amusement as the former Lord ate by the spoonful, thanking you profusely.

That same night you offered to give him a tour of what would be his new home. Clive had initially declined, afraid of taking advantage of your generosity, and it was only with a firm hand on his shoulder and encouragement from Cid that he accepted.

“Come now, the nice lady’s offered, you wouldn’t want to disappoint her now, would you?” He grins, waving a hand at your expectant form. “Promise she won’t bite.”

He finishes with a wink before pushing Clive a step forward, watching as he follows behind her like a lost puppy.

Let’s see how far this schoolyard crush goes.

The answer, he’d find out, is very far. Weeks have gone by and Clive still looks at you entranced, practically jumping at the opportunity to spend time with you. Just a minute ago you had offered for him to accompany you to gather some flowers, Tarja needing them for one reason or another, and Cid had never seen the man so eager to leave.

He watches the interaction from a secluded corner, a cigar between his lips, relishing in the view. Your doe-like eyes fluttering, the young Rosarian struggling to keep eye contact—the boy was a fool for you. Not that he could blame him, just looking at you made Cid’s heart jump in his chest, fondly remembering how nervous he was when he asked you to be his.

You were far too pretty, too humble, practically a walking angel and he was…him. He had his faults, but you, you were faultless, despite how many times you tried to convince him you weren’t. You’d spend the rest of your life trying to convince him because as far as Cid was concerned you were perfection personified, and nothing you’d say would change his mind.

His thoughts are broken when you notice his secluded form, the smallest wink being sent his way before returning to your conversation with Clive.

Well, you did have one fault; You could be a bit of a tease.

He still remembers what you told him days ago before he had to leave for an excursion. You kissed him goodbye before his mission, words as sweet as honey, only to whisper pure filth in his ears when no one was watching.

“Come back safe and I might give you a reward.”

He did not miss how your fingers wandered down his shirt for the briefest of moments, before pulling away enticingly.

He doesn’t think he’s ever completed a mission that fast before, or so effectively. Tarja was stunned to find not so much as a hair out of place considering his reputation for getting hurt, but Cid was too busy thinking about just how you would reward him for his efforts. The thought of it made him impatient, made him want to drag you away and keep you all to himself, but he could wait a while longer. You��d be back by tonight, and then he’d have you all to himself.

“Always so eager…” He murmurs against your lips, keeping you pressed into the sheets. Slow, sensual, he holds you close as he fucks you, taking his time to watch your eyes roll back and your jaw go slack.

Your legs close around his waist, pulling him ever further into your wet heat—he could never get used to how good you feel, how quickly you surrender yourself to him. He grinds himself harder against you, listening with pride when you whine his name.

“I missed you so much,” he sighs. “Missed me too, didn’t you?”

You nod shakily, unable to speak. He breathes you in, his hands touching every expanse of your skin from your hips to your breasts, unable to stop himself. His fingers hold firm against your pliant body, the smallest tremble moving through you when he presses himself deeper into your heat.

You cast a spell on him, a lust that borders on insanity. You clench against him so tightly like you never want him to leave, nails leaving angry lines against his back that he’ll be sure to be proud of in the morning. The slight sting only motivates him further, teeth grazing against the sensitive skin of your neck.

“That’s it,” he groans into your ear. “Don’t think, just feel, feel what you do to me.”

It’s in that moment that he hears the soft tapping of someone outside his door. Footsteps? This late into the night?

Stopping doesn’t so much as cross his mind—whatever it is cannot be more important than you.

His assault against your senses continues, hitting that soft spot that has you arch your back and moan his name like a whore.

“Gods, Cid…”

He unravels you, he keeps you whole, he takes your sanity and brings you to new heights all at the same time. The whiplash is dizzying, not sure if you should cry or beg for more.

“Good fucking girl,” he rasps, pride in his voice. “Lay back and take it, just like that—“

His heart beats faster when you let out an even louder noise, squirming against his length. So good, so fucking perfect, you’re a dream, one he never wishes to wake from.

He moves with a practiced ease, focused on your pleasure, but also towards the door, distinctly aware of his midnight visitor. There were footsteps coming towards the door but none leaving it—whoever’s there is still listening.

An idea springs forth, feeling just the slightest bit mischievous.

Might as well give them a show.

His brings his thumb to your clit, circling it ever so slightly, teasing the hard nub and watching as you’re reduced to a mess before his very eyes. Mouth open and eyes lidded, you whimper under his commanding touch, begging for more.

“So good, so good, oh gods—please don’t stop—“ You cry, shaking against him. Your legs are barely able to hold onto him, a brutal pace being set and yet you beg him for more.

How could he resist when you ask him so nicely?

So he indulges you, and this time you really can’t keep up, trying and failing to match his rhythm but your poor abused body just can’t, no matter how badly you want to. Cid grabs you by the hips with both hands and presses you flush to him, practically breathing each other’s air. Between the scrape of the bed and the slap of skin against skin, Cid can faintly make out a muffled groan.

The tone is strikingly familiar.

He can’t help the wicked grin painted on his face.

He slows down, just enough to bring your attention back to him as he whispers against your neck.

“Do you hear that? We have an audience.”

Eyes glazed, you slowly gather your bearings before looking at him in confusion. “What are you—“

“Shhh,” he silences you, pressing a quick kiss to your lips. “It seems like a certain Rosarian has come to visit us.”

He grinds himself against you, your own sound of pleasure being followed by the softest grunt from outside the door. Your head turns, finally realizing with wide eyes.

“Is that—“

“It is,” he moves slowly against you, making sure to keep you pleasured but coherent. “I could tell him to leave, if that’s what you wish.”

He knows you better than you know yourself, so it’s no surprise to him when you shake your head.

“Keep going, please.”

The moment you give him permission he’s back to fucking you, thumb moving against your sensitive nub once more. You keen for him, louder and louder as he chases your lips impatiently, swallowing your moans with his tongue. When he pulls away he growls against your lips, eyes pinning you on the spot.

“Like being listened to? Like the idea of him knowing how desperate you are?”

You shake your head, but the way you tighten up tells another tale.

“Don’t lie to me, I know you do, it’s okay,” He coos, his own high slowly approaching. “You don’t think I see how he looks at you? How you’re so eager to let him follow you around?”

You shake your head ready to deny the accusation. The moment you do Cid’s movements slow to a crawl, holding you right on the edge, tantalizingly close to falling apart.

“Don’t, please move—“ He refuses when you beg, tears welling in your eyes as your pussy throbs for release, a release Cid holds you back from.

“What did I say my dear?” He breathes. “Don’t lie to me.”

You whimper, begging for mercy once again. “I promise, just, please don’t stop, need you to fuck me—”

Cid’s grin is nothing short of sinful. “Need me, or need us?”

The notion makes your heart stop, a shocked expression painting your face. And yet he can feel your velvety walls spasm around him, answer clear as day.

He laughs, breath heaving. “You do, don’t you? Want us to fuck you, treat you like the needy little whore you are—“

He’s moving again, even faster now. This time you can’t even bring yourself to lie, a broken mess below him. Half-uttered sentences and broken moans, too far gone to care about anything except how fucking good you feel.

You scream, and Cid hears a thump outside the door.

Hope he’s enjoying himself.

He wraps his arms around you, unwilling to let you go for even a second. “Fuck—say it, say you want us, fucking say it—“

“Yes—I want it, please—!”

Your cunt is so welcoming, he feels like he’s going to go mad. He gives his all and then some, relishes in how fucking tight you hold onto him, gushing around him.

“There’s my girl, come on, let go for me—“ He grunts into your skin, shuddering as his own release takes hold of him.

You look glorious, spread out before him. Even when you look fucked within an inch of your life he can’t help but admire what a fucking sight you are. He doesn’t stop, keeps going even though he’s so sensitive it’s downright painful, if only to squeeze out a few more seconds of your orgasm. Your sobs threaten to wake the entire Hideaway but he just can’t bring himself to stop.

“Yesyesyes, so good, I can’t—fuck—I can’t—“

“Yes you fucking can,” Cid interrupts in awe. “Be good and let me see you stain the sheets love.”

[instruth]

THE HORSE WHISPERERS…

Prelude to Epilogue 5, Season 1.

The New Celestial Series continues…

——————————————————————

WHISPERERS AND HEALERS

A million years or more,

before Man came on the scene,

there existed a special angel

a ruler, a friend of the earth,

grazing on the vast prairies.

The faultless plains,

living by voices, in and around

their expanse of peaceful habitat

These gallopers first came to know man

as the hunted would know the hunters.

Hunted, killed by Man for their meat

As fear struck in their throbbing hearts,

in such troubled times—alliance with man

would always remain fragile, cautious

—-and threatening.

Fate decided to intervene

It took a long time, through centuries,

before Man saw and appreciated

the beauty, gracefulness, charms,

and surviving nature of the horses.

(…to be continued…)

——-

Mutual Secrets Shared

Whispered into troubled ears

To heal Ancient Wounds

Humanly…Patiently—Be

Healers, as Horse Whisperers.

——-

©Johnny J P Lee

26 June 2025

HAIBUN Modified:

Gogyoshiren Story + Tanka 5-7-5-7-7

IMAGES, courtesy of Unsplash

[derschleierfallt]

U & P for the ask game please :3c

P - Invent a random AU for any fandom

this is going to sound insane but honest to god. modern au for elisabeth. it is hilarious to me on so many levels. think hamilton miku binder type of thing. i don’t want it to be that insane, but that’s layer number 1. layer number 2, keep the dynamics basically the same. tod is still this weird ambiguous figure. doom scrolls with you or something. the only thing is… it cannot be a cutesy modern au. everyone’s lives need to suck shit and it needs to be funny. crack fic territory is what i’m getting at

U - Three favorite characters from three different fandoms, and why they’re your favorites

ohhhh… difficult. difficult.

elisabeth (elisabeth) - it’s a tough choice between her and tod, but lestat is coming up next on this list and i don’t want too much blonde bob evil man representation. to me, elisabeth’s struggles with identity, life, death, and so on, have been the most accurate i’ve ever seen. she’s tragic, complex, at fault, and faultless. self sabotaging and a victim of circumstance. these aren’t always concrete things, there are many nuances to it, but that’s the intrigue for me. she’s perpetually depressed, not even her greatest triumphs can shake that. everything is a facade. part of what i hate about tod becoming more of a separate entity from her, is it waters her down just as much as it does him, rudolf, and the story at large. this is not a love story (not a traditional one anyways, and not an untraditional one in the same way as phantom, which is the angle they seem to be going for), it’s a surreal look into the mind and life of a complex woman. it’s about elisabeth, it’s the title, tell me about elisabeth!

lestat (interview with the vampire) - evil blonde man. i love it. catnip 4 me. what i really love about lestat is the conversation he seems to create. people are very opinionated about him, no matter where on the spectrum you fall between loving and hating him. i think that’s some really great character work, he’s hard to just shrug off. what i love as well are the intense emotions he himself has, that he cannot just shrug off. he can’t shrug off anything! me too girl! it’s thrilling, it’s scary, it’s heartbreaking, it’s romantic. i just love it

laura palmer (twin peaks) - y’all i can’t even think about this character too hard without crying so im gonna keep this VERY short. fire walk with me was probably the most impactful film i’ve ever watched. i’ve had DREAMS about laura palmer and how i wish i could save her. she’s unfortunately a very real character that’s so deeply connected to many universal experiences and many personal ones. i can’t believe it. brb gonna cry

[thatscarletflycatcher]

Hi! I watched the 2003 pride and prejudice and it was so cute!!! I love that Wickham gets arrested (though he runs away too lol). I thought for a moment that Elizabeth actually did throw water on Darcy's face 💀. Both of them were very cute and I loved how their first meeting was them arguing over books. Bingley was so funny though 🤣🤣 I can watch another hour of him 😂

Hi!

I'm so glad you liked it! It has so many funny and clever bits. Wagner for the Vicious and the Las Vegas chase scene always gets me in stitches. Mr. Collins being The WorstTM in the ways he's supposed to be The WorstTM. His ending with Mary. Lydia's ending is actually good and makes sense in the context of the whole movie rather than being a hanging modernization. This movie came out before both Bride & Prejudice and Pride & Prejudice (2005). It's mesmerizing to me, faultless in spite of all its faults XD

I also saw you really liked B&P!!!! MY BELOVED. I was (and still am to a degree) obsessed with that movie. I have watched the different extras and such many times. People often criticize Martin Henderson as Darcy for being bland (but I think the whole point is that he's playing White Guy in a Non-White-Guy Movie. It'd be like calling Ian from My Big Fat Greek Wedding bland), or the fact that Darcy and Lalita have this sort of enchanted dating period before the proposal (which I think is a legitimate change to make) or that the movie reproduces the same sort of "taming" of India to make it palatable that it denounces (this one I feel is pretty legitimate).

The OST has so many songs in English because the movie was a British-Indian production (the director, Gurinder Chadha, had already made a hugely successful movie the same way, Bend it Like Beckham --which I suppose would only ring a bell now to millennials around my age and a bit older and say nothing to you unless you are a Keira Knightley stan sdfsfa).

Originally the movie was supposed to open with Marriage Into Town, which was a long (over 10 minutes) sequence that included character introductions and such, but they decided in the end it would give audiences the impression that the movie was an opera musical, so they reorganized the whole thing (it was released on DVD extras).

Martin Henderson did actually sing for this movie, but his pieces were cut; he sung a duet with Aishwarya called Arrogance, Pride, and Vanity that was meant to go after the argument they had in Goa, but it was cut out of the movie because it felt like it was overcrowding with the Ashanti number that follows almost immediately. As much as I understand Ashanti was a big hook for the movie, I think it does date the movie a lot, and I would have much preferred that the cut had gone the other way around. Alas. Still it was also made available as DVD extra and it is great. Because they did cut that song, they also decided to cut both their verses in the Take Me To Love reprise that goes through the dating montage. Again, another loss (and again another thing we were mercifully given, this time in the OST album).

What else... ah, Naveen Andrews is my favorite Bingley ever (the only valid to me with 1980, despite how hilarious I think Mormon!Bingley is in his own movie) XD

Of the song numbers, most people I know seem to love No Life Without Wife the most, but to me it's... the other way around XD it's so difficult to pick favourites. Cobra Dance is hilarious. Take Me To Love is touching. Balle Balle is a riot. The whole thing is so energetic and so mid 2000s and so so so so so nostalgia to me, very beloved.

[kuriipi]

I need you guys to stop lying and pretending like all Lanthimos' movies are some form of high art.

The guy is literally every greek film bro that went to cinema school.

I do believe he genuinely believes he is revolutionising and combining the greek mythos with modern philosophical ideas. A harsh critic of the fickle and contradictory human nature. But that's where the problem mostly lies. He's not in the slightest bit subtle.

His earlier stuff is seriously just a bunch of pretentious one liners masked as some big profound truth.

"oh you don't like a killing of a sacred deer bcs you don't get the original myth" like no. I get it. And I also know that the greek myth wasn't really a much about divine punishment as it was about facing the reality of your actions. Agamemnon didn't want to sacrifice his daughter to stop the punishment that fell upon them all, after he had killed the sacred deer. He is forced to do it after outside pressure, forced to move past his denial and recognize that it is his only way of atonement. And then the gods still ultimately decide to save Ifigenia because after all she was faultless in all this.

Making "the killing" a medical malpractice is honestly brilliant. Agamemnon hadn't known it was Artemis' sacred deer that he had killed. He only found out after his punishment had already begun. Colin's character hadn't meant to kill the man either, hadn't known of his identity either. But this is as far as the briliance goes.

It is a deeply dark story about a man's desperate attempt to escape fate, to find a loophole, but ultimately it falls flat cause there is not an ounce of sympathy for the characters. You can't feel anything for them or their struggle because they are , intentionally, written so uncannily. Most if not all of Lanthimos' characters really lack the human element.

And although I get the thought and it really does work for a story on human connections like 'the lobster ". The unnatural and completely "un-human" way the characters are portrait adds more layer, a greater punch. Honestly it's extremely well fitted and executed. But for "the killing of a sacred deer" a story whose point really is about the despair, the cruelty of actions and events one is far too powerless to prevent it's...well I think it's a pretty terrible execution.

"you don't like the lobster because you simply can't see the point" Yes it's about society, everything is, it's about forced intimacy, the fear of loneliness, societal pressure and they way we would rather lie to ourselves and our potential partner if it meant we won't be alone. It's about dating for the sake of dating, about children being reduced to nothing more that accessories. About the reactionary solitude, the loners being just as cruel as the hotel enforcing the same strict rules but at the opposite direction. (It doesn't even matter if that is the actual point of the movie because if I talk long enough with enough buzzwords, throw enough ideas at the wall, you'll believe I know exactly what I'm taking about.)

And it's still not really that good.

The premise falls flat. The macabre aspect of being turned into an animal, if you fail at forming a connection, the horrifying depersonalisation, dehumanising the characters is hardly explored.

Ok fine, it was just the premise, just to set the scene (arguably it's the most interesting part of the story, but I digress.)

It's all about human nature. Yes, but it's nothing more than a cynics caricature of it.

But you see the loners are treated like animals but we see how they function and enjoy mundane things like shampoo and going to the mall, and are actually human. Yes me playing with my barbies at 10 had more depth than that. On other news water is wet.

The humans are complex, and actually human and also just as bad as the other humans isn't deep enough of a point to make me watch 2 hours of a stagnant film, and endure like five separate dialogs about ass fucking and masturbation. And how you need a partner to protect you from being sexualy assaulted (like from whom, if that's the case why not just simply turn the entire male population into animals, they seem to have ways of procuring children out of thin air so that doesn't seem to be a problem)

"You can't ask things like that. It's about philosophy and human nature not mechanics plot holes" yes but they're still part of a rather drawn out movie.. if he didn't want me to comment on the plot wholes he should've made the film one hour shorter and avoided them all together.

Like I'll be honest what annoys me the most in his films is the way he forces you to watch these scenes that can only be described as pretentious if not outright bad, that are so meticulously woven into the story. How deep how profound all sex is rape, humanity is cruel and uncaring, detachment is the bain of our modern society. I'm going to add 50 one liners about ass fucking because then it's just about sex, depersonalised. It's really not deep at all.

Like I'm so sorry that not wanting to watch Colin Farrel fuck a woman cosplaying as a corpse multiple times in a movie makes me unappreciative of high cinema. But I guess it is what it is.

(That said, his newer stuff is getting better at keeping up the engagement and evoking more sympathy for the characters. There is far more space to connect to them. The ending of "The favourite" let me feel the despair, the hopeless and absolutely miserable situation the characters found themselves in at the end of the movie.)

[spectrien]

[ PICK A SONG FOR EACH LETTER OF YOUR URL. ] //

S- RADIOHEAD, SPECTRE // i'm lost / i'm a ghost / dispossessed / taken host

P- LINKIN PARK, P5HNG ME A*WY // there's nothing left but to turn and face you / when i look into your eyes / there's nothing there to see

E- GOJIRA, L'ENFANT SAUVAGE // the pain is gone / the denial / i ran away from institutions / i owe myself life

C- A PERFECT CIRCLE, COUNTING BODIES LIKE SHEEP TO THE RHYTHM OF THE WAR DRUMS // go to sleep / go back to sleep / counting bodies like sheep

T- MESHUGGAH, THE FAULTLESS // of all the wounds i expected / heartbreak, bereavement && despair / i never saw these coming / the gashes of your betrayal

R- SLEEP TOKEN, RAIN // you cast the dust into nothing / and wash out the salt from my hands / so touch me again / i feel my shadow dissolving

I- I WISH (AURA VORTEX REMIX), INFECTED MUSHROOM // i am playing the game / the one that will take me to my end / i am waiting for the rain / to wash who i am

E- CLIPPING., ENLACING // things you seen since last you saw yourself would turn a man to dust / the things you dreamed in lieu of all the hells / were just imagination cause / you couldn't bear to see the limit of yourself for what it was

N- NIGHT PROWLER, CARPENTER BRUT // x.

tagged by: stolen from the dash tagging: steal it and say i tagged you!

[danses-with-dogmeat]

Day 20 -- Pickman

The (nsfw) details for Kinktober 2023, Day 20 are just below the cut!

Minors, please don’t interact.

Body Modification with Pickman x g/n!Sole

Ohhhhh, Pickman. What a strange, intriguing character. His dialogue makes for very fun writing, though. Definitely a killer aesthetic to go with the homicidal tendencies, lol.

Anyways, I hope you all enjoy!

Here is the link to my  Kinktober 2023 Event List so you can stay up-to-date, or re-visit these works as you please.

Included: Body Modification, knifeplay, non-explicit gore, blood, cutting, marking, masochism, painplay, scarring, all very consensual, just kinky, restraints, dirty talk? kind of? (mostly very flowery), oral sex, cum eating.

Words: 1.9k

--

“This one, I’m liking, darling. How much bigger were you thinking?” 

He spoke to them softly, in that painfully honeyed tone of his– the one where you could practically hear the smile on his face, whether or not he actually wore one.

Pickman wasn’t now.

He rarely smiled in the midst of his work; no, he was concentrating. Especially when it came to the canvas of his beloved. The myriad of scars upon them was faultless, due to the level of focus he always maintained throughout their carving. Despite his unwavering attention, those certainly furrowed brows he looked upon them with, Sole knew the way that this undertaking of his, it… excited him. The unmistakable bulge forming in the front of his worn, beige dress slacks told that tale of yearning. Loudly and with urgency.

Their gaze remained at his waist, as Pickman’s knife moved in small, careful increments over their collarbone and down to the left side of their chest. Sole was restrained. Their wrists, chest and forehead all held down against the firm table beneath them– it made it less likely for them to flinch away and perhaps ruin the intricate scrawl of their partner's blade over their once-smooth flesh. 

And it was more thrilling this way. 

Sole’s heart pounded in their chest, they felt sweat lingering on the surface, felt a heat of their own pooling low in their belly, with each spike of pain, it made their eyes roll back and their breath come out in increasingly fevered pants. 

They didn’t even need to hear Pickman’s smile, to know the way he wore one now, as he pulled the knife away to admire his work. 

He delighted in their delight. Relished their love of the pain he gifts them, and the art he makes of them.

“We were made for each other, you know.” He put their thoughts to words, almost as if he could hear into their mind. 

“And this… This is a reflection of that.” 

Their names, penned together with the keen blade and combined in an ornate, calligraphic inscription barely legible, but to the artist himself… It was a masterpiece. 

“In all my art pieces, we have never seen the like of this. None compare.” 

He etched another line, and Sole’s breath came out a whimper. 

“Shh, shh, my love. Nearly there. Don’t worry.” 

A sweet kiss planted on their forehead, and Sole leaned into it. 

“M’not.” They managed, despite the delectably overwhelming pain. 

“Hmm?” 

“Not worried. Take as long as you need.” 

They wished they could reach out and touch him, then. Reassure him that this was undoubtedly what they wanted, but that would be counterintuitive. They didn’t want to ruin his work by moving. 

Pickman pulled the knife away, grabbed the soft, thin rag off the table beside him, and wiped clean the blade, before dabbing the cloth on their skin, absorbing the excess scarlet so he could see what lay beneath.

“My, it’s… breathtaking, my dear.” 

“I’m sure it is.” They said with a small grin, “You are a fine artist, my love.” 

He hmm-ed happily at that, before they felt the cold metal against their hot skin again. 

He made a few more carvings, the sting of which shot up their whole arm, protesting within the survival portion of their brain, urging them to shy away, to stop the wounding in its tracks, but Sole closed their eyes and ignored it. Their mind went foggy, the pain all that they could focus on, and the last thing they could focus on, all at once.

A particularly deep cut made them shudder unwittingly, releasing a moan at the same such time. Between their legs, they felt a distinct reaction, and Pickman let loose another knowing hum. 

“Shall we take a break, then? Don’t want to… overwhelm you, dearest.” 

“Do we have to?” They croaked, and Pickman chuckled in response, letting the flat of his blade tap down their bare body in increments, before it clattered onto the steel table just out of their peripheral vision. 

“No, we don’t have to. But oh… it should be fun. I guarantee you’ll enjoy it.” 

Another kiss had Sole opening their eyes, straining to look down at his shining hair as Pickman set his lips over their neck, down their collarbone, and achingly close to the open wounds on their chest. 

“Would you like to stay tied?” He whispered between presses of his mouth over them. 

“Let me touch you.” Sole pleaded, adrenaline still coursing through them from the stinging in their chest, from that building heat within. 

“As you wish.” He kissed them square in the middle of his newest art piece, and Sole’s shoulder tensed. 

He licked his reddened lips as he pulled away.

Pickman then moved out of their sights, and soon the rope over one wrist was being cut. It snapped, and the pressure released. Pickman moved to the other as Sole twisted their wrist, flexed their fingers, feeling the blood return to their hand. 

He always secured them just a tinge too tight, knowing how that pain acted as an appetizer for what was to come. 

Another snap of rope released the pressure over their collarbones, which had been effectively holding their chest in place, and Sole looked down to see marks there too. Just the reddened rashes and imprints of the rope, but now with their forehead being set free of its bounds against the hard table, they let their head raise up to admire those, as well as the new scar-work over their heart.

“Beautiful.” They agreed, and saw the way their partner grinned, the appreciation for them shining honestly in their stark, grey depths.  

“Ah, like you.” He pulled a hand to his lips then, pressing another kiss there as he released the last of their bounds. “A masterpiece to match a masterpiece.” 

A blush heated their skin, and Sole looked away shyly, like Pickman didn’t spoil them with his poetic dictation on a daily basis. 

“Now, you wanted to–”

“Touch you.” Sole said easily, quick enough to interrupt as they shifted upwards and slid off the end of the table. 

Dark air surrounded them both outside the ring that illuminated Pickman’s work area. Crimson brick walls looked in from every side, and without preference, Sole chose one to push their partner into. 

Pickman yielded to their touch instantly, until his back rested against the bricks, and Sole had both arms wrapped firmly about his shoulders. His kisses were magnetic, as they pressed forward into him; they felt they could never pull away, not without another catalyst to force their lips away. His skin was soft, his lips no exception, and Sole– as they often did– asked themself how, in a world such as this, Pickman managed to keep himself so tidy. 

His hair was slicked just a certain way, that when they combed their fingers over it, it remained in place. He smelled of aftershave and starch powder, and tasted like spearmint toothpaste. 

It brought Sole back. 

How they’ve changed since then, they thought, as their hands explored him, as their fingers brushed over their own marked, scarred forearms– forever changed, by the man pressed against them. 

“My love,” Pickman mumbled into their mouth, before gently pushing them away. “I’m meant to console you. Remember?” 

Sole looked away again, like a dog being reprimanded for going after a food scrap they know they’re not meant to have. 

He tutted at them, drawing their gaze back to his. 

“Here, let us switch, dearest.” 

They did as he asked, moving like dancers as he grasped their hands and twirled them about until their back was resting against the cold brick. A shiver ran through them, but soon enough, Pickman became a distraction from that as well. 

He ran his hands, ripe with scars of their own, up and down their form, like he was trying to smooth out wrinkles. His touch was firm, but light enough not to ruffle.

One hand smoothed right down to their center on its journey, palming over their heat, feeling their pleasure, so evident against his touch. 

“Darling, you are perfection.” He kissed their lips again, savoring the sighs they released at his undulating contact over them. “To have my work displayed on you… it’s the greatest honor I can fathom.” 

All his words were heady whispers against them, as his hand increased its movement, as the other drew lines with his fingers over the path of raised scars he was responsible for. 

“The most perfect gallery.” 

Any words they wished to speak in return paled in comparison. Pickman’s natural pomp, his archaic charm had them swooning and leaning into his every touch, his every word. The feel of his hand over them, over the most sensitive of spots, just firm enough to thread the needle between intense and overwhelming. 

“I hope you can forgive my absence, here.” He said, a despondent look in his eyes, and Sole blinked as a question in their mind made their brows furrow together. “I’m needed elsewhere.”

With that and a distinct clench of Pickman's hand between their legs, his lips were descending their body. He paused only once, to press a handful of kisses over their newest linework, and then he was on his knees before them, lifting one thigh up to rest on his suit’s shoulder pad. 

Sole’s hands dove down to his hair, to the back of his neck, writhing their fingers over the skin there, until they could all but feel the goosebumps their touch, their gasps of pleasure, inspired upon him. The contact only seemed to encourage the artist, as he mouthed fervently over their heat, as though this were the only sustenance that could sate him. 

His noises became more carnal the further he buried himself between their legs, the more slick skin rubbing together, moans catching in his throat, breaths rattling in his chest as he opted to breathe them rather than the air. 

Sole’s fingers clung to him, nails digging into his skin as the back of their head dug into the brick wall behind them. Their muscles tensed, sweat stung their open wounds, and a moan escaped their straining throat as their partner relished in their pleasure, tasting all they had to offer him, and pleading for more with every lave of his tongue, every hollow of his pronounced cheeks. 

“Seems you needed this break just as I did.” Sole chuckled, and Pickman hummed out his agreement. 

“More so, even.” He pulled away to answer in a flash, before his lips were firmly back upon them. 

He tilted his head this way and that, dove forward and then released the pressure in rapid movements that gave Sole no time at all to recover. Their pleasure could only build as his teeth entered the equation, nipping over those sensitive places between their legs, scraping over the skin there until jolts of pain-infused bliss ran up through their veins. 

Pickman gave an answering moan as their hands clenched him all the tighter, as their leg tensed from its place on his shoulder and their hips thrust their heat against his mouth with each passing second. 

He carried on though, always one to see his work through to the end, Pickman ran a hand over them as his lips refused to relent, as he nearly bit into his tongue in the euphoric turmoil of their combined actions. 

Then, Sole was crying out their release, bursting onto his asking tongue as he pressed further into them, crazed and wanting for all they could give. 

It’s what he craved most about them. The way they gave themself over to him, his work, his craft. Let him mark them in every way possible, both physically and mentally, and let him love them in every way Pickman wished to display it. 

He was right, they both decided in tandem. 

They really were made for each other. 

[hell-aint-half-full]

"The shadow of an eagle that had set forth from those high and craggy fastnesses crossed the line of riders below and they looked up to mark where it rode in that brittle and faultless void. … In the evening they came out upon a mesa that overlooked all the country to the north. The sun to the west lay in a holocaust where there rose a steady column of small desert bats and to the north along the trembling perimeter of the world dust was blowing down the void like the smoke of distant armies" - Blood Meridian (McCarthy, 2001: p.106).

[leynaeithnea]

Vocabulary Captive Prince taught me

#34

impeccable

(of behavior, performance, or appearance) in accordance with the highest standards of propriety; faultless

p. 1

[veradragonjedi]

Last Line tag!!!

Fresh from a chapter of Ink On My Faultless Frame that won't be released for another [REDACTED], this!!! .

Din was certain that if he'd killed the loving feeling when he'd had the chance, there'd have been no guilt, no pain, within him then.

But he hadn't, and there was.

TWO lines!! Thank you @babygirlbridger (I was thinking about tagging you next time!!!)

No pressure tags! <3 @airlocksandaviaries (👀)

@materassassino @insertmeaningfulusername <- p sure that babygirlbridger tagged you, but hiiiii nonetheless, @funkyphonophorae @athelstan-anglecyning @darlin-djarin @emilianadarling and idk who else to tag!!! Kil me!!

[exclusivemodularkitchens]

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[instruth]

SENRYU & HAIKU

faultless dilemma

luxury principles none

only boundless air

solemn morticians

utmost best save some not all

big leap for small gain

crops condemned to hell

husked seeds stray on rocky ground

even locusts starved

mother nature serves

cruelest eviction notice

patriots of free land

fallen braves by thirst

secret pleas by arrows fly

new hope untested

©Johnny Lee

19 January 2024

5-7-5 (humor / nature)

Photos: J. P. Lee

[quietwarriorcollector]

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