painofhumanity - Tumblr blog

[painofhumanity]

The werecoyote let herself be soothed by the fingers running through her hair, nuzzling into the boy's chest; only his hand tamed the wild animal in her. Malia stood on her toes a little and nipped at his neck before kissing his skin softly. "I want to cuddle," she informed him, pecking his jaw. "We could watch that show you've been talking about."

❝Together.❞ He echoed softly, his eyes warm with reassurance. He pulled her close against, fingers running through gently her hair. ❝I know you will.❞ His voice carrying a blend of confidence and encouragement. There was no rush, no pressure from him, just a genuine willingness to support her. He knew her, not just the surface but the intricacies of her being, the wild and the wounded parts alike. And she seemed to get him in a way that no one else did too. She let him see her more vulnerable side, and her sweeter side. Sometimes.

[painofhumanity]

literary sexts vol. 1 poetry meme

Literary Sexts is a modern day anthology of short love poems with subtle erotic undertones edited by Amanda Oaks & Caitlyn Siehl. Hovering around 50 contributors & 124 poems, this book reads is like one long & very intense conversation between two lovers. It’s absolutely breathtaking. These are poems that you would text to your lover. Poems that you would slip into a back pocket, suitcase, wallet or purse on the sly. Poems that you would write on slips of paper & stick under your crush’s windshield wiper. Poems that you would write on a Post-it note & leave on the bathroom mirror. Treat yourself, a crush or a lover with this lush gift!

source and amazon buy link.  

I will be providing select short, sometimes edited, poems for a texting/”sexting” meme, but not the whole book itself.  If you enjoy the poems provided, please support the collection whether it’s the first volume or the second.   Or look into the works of the various contributors and see if anything else they’ve written is to your liking!  

Feel free to add to and/or edit these sentences to better suit your needs—but remember, many of these work best in the context of texts and/or love notes instead of spoken dialogue.    —Lizzy.  

Mark me like a passage from your favorite book, then open me there again and again.

My skin is full of flowerbeds and you know every way to make them bloom.

I am tracing the knobs of your spine like the map of my favorite continent. You are all the places I haven’t visited yet and I mark each one off with my teeth.

Your hands unzip me one breath at a time; there is not room beneath my skin for all of you and I spill over the edges with a sigh.

You take apart my heart in pieces with your mouth, but the splash of your tongue against mine feeds it back to me. It tastes sweeter coming from you.

You opened your mouth and spoke the language in my blood.

You kiss me and there aren’t sparks. There’s an entire orchestra in my chest, playing staccato on my heart strings.

My hands are nomads, my dear desert. May they never find rest.

Being small things, we understand this as our humble attempt at thunder, at setting the world to shake.

Delicate work. Like peeling kiwis. My tongue across your skin. Mellow flesh against my lips. Your taste always in my mouth.

How a storms needs to feel the earth how the earth wakes to the pelt of rain how the ground is quenched is how I need you… 

My hands were glaciers I never dared to move freely, my fingers icicles. Your touch thawed me to excavation. I want to dig into your warmth.

Kiss me like white bread, stick to my teeth even after the whiskey. I want memories of your mouth lodged beneath my tongue to wake me at two in the morning, hungry.

I want you next to me, in my bed, your clothes making friends with my floor. Love me hard enough so we wake up the neighbors.

Your hands peeling that onion, thumbs and forefingers pulling skin from skin—they are sacred. Let me kiss them. Let them bless my sinning chest, let them peel my lips apart.

I don’t want to be your harmonies anymore; I want to be the melody you scream when your heart is starving for love. I want to satisfy your hunger.

Show me the parts of you that nobody else ever wanted to sleep with. Show me it all with the lights on.

You, darling, are Vesuvius. I won’t see you coming. Erupt. Wreck me. Leave me ashes leave me Pompeii, leave me outlined into your history forever.

It’s not so much that I want to kiss you. I want to relearn vocabulary words from the shape of your mouth. All my poems are yours first.

Kiss me blossoms in the summer, lover. I want to taste the succulent sweet of your peach tree smile. This time let Adam take the fruit from the garden.

Surge into me as a downpour, as the pounding waterfall which makes swollen rivers flood, as the sea.

The happy ending to this night: you tug my hair and lightly brush your hand across my lap. Don’t forget how resilient I am and how I would bend for you.

Even my lungs are in love as we breathe together.

I don’t just want to take your breath away. I want to rip it from your mouth and keep it locked away between my teeth. You can only have it back if you kiss me again.

The gentle friction of your hand on my thigh is enough to strike a match inside me. I lean into your lips and the fire blooms and spreads.

You are an undiscovered continent. I trail my fingers down your mountainsides. Ten explorers digging for buried treasure, I want to take it all.

My body is a gospel and you are my first quivering hallelujah. Your breath leaves your mouth like a prayer and washes over me like faith.

My hands are hungry for your flesh, desperate in the way that rivers empty themselves over waterfalls.

I peel back your skin to see if we have the same scars. I follow the map of your veins back to your heart and press my palm against yours to tangle our lifelines.

I hope to breathe in you. I hope my body will be the blood your roots drink.

We commit sins in holy places, fold ourselves between pews like dirty pictures tucked into a bible. Pant each other’s names until they sound like scripture.

My tongue collides with your collarbone like a meteor careening across the cosmos, and I taste the stars you are made of.

You kiss me with your mouth wide open like you’re not afraid of swallowing poison. I taste the good and bad in you and want them both. We call this bravery.

You, benevolent god, legs splayed like instruments of creation. I, blank slate of the universe, kneel in wait for you to fill me with your hot, honeyed light.

My hands are suntanned tourists without a map whose desire compels them onward to explore your golden cities by the light of the stars.

The moment between your thighs where I become a devout follower of your existence. That hour which passes in slow seconds of soft skin, as I lay my head against you, drifting, drowsy with love.

Your grin is a flash of primal fire in the dark. Somewhere deep inside me, something hungry wakens and shifts, uncurls its insatiable tongue.

I have been thinking of how I want to be touched by you, with hands that will play me like piano keys, with fingers that will make a symphony out of me.

You till the soil of my need, my lips a blood-red flower bursting open with the first wet flush of your heat.

When it comes right down to it, all that nonsense about hearts syncing up feels like a hallelujah with our bodies pressed together like praying hands.

Every time, you peel back my skin, pry open my ribs, and feast on my insides. Every time, you make a meal of my heart, and every time, I let you.

You’re not one for poetry or sentimentality, so I’ll just say that I’ve dreamt of being the motor oil trapped in the grooves of your weathered hands.

I ache for your hum between my legs, the purring of motorcycles on winding highways: wind in my hair, and romance in losing myself to the sweet, revving vibration of the engine again and again.

You smile and it’s like sunrise. Something inside me Wakes up, stretching.

I float away in cool sheets against my burning skin, and you are the sea guiding me beyond the realm of earthly things.

My lipstick spills over your mouth and trickles down to your chin, your neck, pooling into your collarbones. We love like crushed grapes in wine country.

You’re kissing a wildfire up my thigh and I am tracing the landscape of your jawbone like a sculptor. My hands were made for this.

The rush you give me: The way a blade of grass must feel when splashed with a cloud’s cry after days of screaming for rain.

We are the fall of Rome, all fire and fighting. We collapse into each other like the pieces of the Parthenon, kissing like gladiators, loving like rebuilding.

You creep into my head like a river rushing for the sea & a cosmic digit of fingertips flash over me.

You are pressing against me like I press flowers against the pages in my book. You are kissing my neck and it feels like the start of forever. I want to touch you until my palms burn.

The wet of your mouth rains down my neck like frame, the soft heat of your tongue burns the apple in my throat. We are practiced at this love that asks angels to cover their eyes and turns devils shy.

I melt into the gentleness of your fingertips. Your tongue presses me open like the summer fresh flesh of a perfectly ripe fig, all juice, seeds and pulp.

The small of your back is refuge, is veldt, is summer heat. And I am predatory snarl.

I can’t brush out the taste of you; coffee breath, cigarette smoke, and all. Mouth to mouth; Our shared vices linger on each other. Your salt still lives in my tongue.

I’ll take you quiet as the bones in your closet, love as softly as a whisper. Holding your tongue like a secret.

You smiled and lit up like the dusk. I sank to your lips like the sun against the horizon. We made the day stand still.

I want to kiss you until you melt into me, ice turning to water. I want to drink you deep, and warm you from the inside.

[painofhumanity]

@cruelprincae continued from here

". . . Ah." Zanna wasn't stupid. She'd grown up being told 'Just say no', and watched all sorts of videos of people with lung cancer talking about the dangers of smoking. She knew smoking wasn't good for her. And yet. . . And yet. Her dad often smoked, her grandpa, too, and it was something that had just always been normalized for her. She'd only smoked a few times before the accident, and after. . .

Smoking had become a sort of crutch, something familiar and comforting, something she did when she was nervous and needed something to steady herself. She knew it wasn't good for her, but there were so few things she felt she had a say in after losing her sight, and this was one of them. That said, Zanna suddenly felt shame for holding a packet of cigarettes in her hand.

"So. . . Does that just mean that you don't want one, or that I should just put these away altogether?" She wasn't stupid, and she wasn't inconsiderate; Zanna didn't smoke around people who hated it.

[painofhumanity]

"Interestin' thing to specialize in," she commented with a clear tone of intrigue. Maggie almost asked him what he was, why she'd felt drawn in, but she closed her mouth before she could make a fool out of herself. He obviously wasn't human, judging by the color of his aura, but that didn't mean that she could just come out and ask him what he was. "Thank you," she said instead. "Can I ask--? What sort of deals do people make with you, usually?"

"I specialise in impossible." He's not going to push beyond that comment; this person seemed to be less of someone in immediate need of help, and more .. guided by something else. It's not the first time this has happened; he has a certain knack of drawing people in. "Well, you're welcome here; this place is open to the public." He leans back, motioning around them. There's some people in the club (which was more acting as if it's just a bar this afternoon). "Grab a hot drink, stay as long as you'd like."

[painofhumanity]

[ PLAY ]:          the sender begins to play with the receiver’s hair while the receiver lies in their lap. - Ellie for Morgan

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐑 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒.

His shift had been terrible, full of clients who were more demeaning than usual, and the only thing that had gotten him through it was knowing that he was seeing Ellie after. He was just being dramatic when he tipped over onto her lap before he started talking; he would have sat up, except she started gently running her fingers through his hair, and Morgan melted.

"I-I. . . I. . had a thought," he mumbled, staring up at her with wonder. "Now I kinda just wanna lay here and forget about everything but you. . . Is that okay?"

[painofhumanity]

Maggie laughed softly, surprised by the question. "Nothing that anyone can give me, unfortunately," she replied with a sad sort of smile. Then again, the man's aura was absolutely dazzling, like nothing Maggie had seen before. "I'm sorry, I'm really not sure why I came in here, I just. . . felt like I was supposed to. Not that that makes any bit of sense."

@painofhumanity continued from here

It's immediately obvious to him that a) there was no outward awareness of who he was and b) if there was a reason that she was here, it wasn't strong conscious determination that had lead her here, as it had been with others he had helped. He takes a second to observe her, then allows a smile, "That depends, is there something you need?"

[painofhumanity]

“Do you mind if I sit with you?” /Morgan or Miranda

Dissociation Starters

She didn't know how long Miko had been crying before Yuki came home. She just knew that she didn't trust herself to pick up their daughter right now. Yuki must have gone to calm the baby first, because she didn't hear the shrill, desperate cries anymore, and he wouldn't be with her if Sumiko was still in distress.

The words didn't set in right away, and when they did, Miranda just shook her head slowly. She put her head on his shoulder once he was sat down beside her. Tears were starting to fall, but her face remained blank. "She-- She started crying, and it just. . . It sounded like him. And it was like it was happening all over again, the panic, the- the helplessness. . . Then I didn't feel anything at all, and that seemed worse, so I just. . .sat here. . . I didn't want to hurt her."

[painofhumanity]

"I don't know. . . Should I be?" Maggie had been led there, but she wasn't sure why.

"You here to make a deal?"

[painofhumanity]

[painofhumanity]

[painofhumanity]

Morgan might be built like a beanpole, but he's the kinda beanpole that's gonna work out if he's dating a chubby girl, because he will not be letting his woman have a subpar sexual experience simply because he's TOO SCRAWNY.

[painofhumanity]

CHERYL BLOSSOM & TONI TOPAZ — Riverdale, 7.08 “Hoop Dreams”

[painofhumanity]

[painofhumanity]

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐑 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒.

i had a super SUPER productive morning and i was treating myself to the fancy shampoo (u know the shampoo u got as a gift that’s kinda expensive and v v Nice so u only use it when ur going out or have a social event going on?) and i came back to find a bunch of my mutuals reblogging the same post about hair, and i’ll be damned if i didn’t see that combination of events as some sort of sign! so here u go my dudes! another addition to the group! feel free to add “+ REVERSE” to switch the roles of this meme!

as always, DO NOT ADD TO THIS LIST! i’ll add to it as time passes! and i really hope you all enjoy this one bc i had a lot of fun making it! 

[ WASH ]:          sender begins to wash the receiver’s hair.

[ TUG ]:          sender grabs the receiver’s hair and pulls at it. ( SPECIFY A REASON! CONTEXT IS KEY! )

[ BRAID ]:          sender, sitting behind the receiver’s back, begins to braid their hair.

[ SNIP ]:          having discussed the matter, the sender gives the receiver a haircut.

[ BACK ]:          sender, noticing a strand of hair fall from the receiver’s hairdo, carefully tucks the strand back behind the receiver’s ear.

[ BURY ]:          sender buries their hand deep in the receiver’s hair.

[ BRUSH ]:          with a hairbrush, comb, or their hand, the sender begins to gently brush the receiver’s hair.

[ GLIDE ]:          sender runs their fingers through the length of the receiver’s hair.

[ BLOOM ]:          sender weaves a number of flowers through the receiver’s hair.

[ STYLE ]:          sender begins to arrange the receiver’s hair into an elaborate hairstyle to an unspecified degree of success (or failure).

[ CROWN ]:          having created a flower crown, the sender carefully places it atop the receiver’s head.

[ INHALE ]:          while embracing or in close proximity to the receiver, the sender inhales slowly, smelling their hair in the process.

[ TICKLE ]:          the sender uses the ends of the receiver’s hair to playfully tickle them.

[ PLAY ]:          the sender begins to play with the receiver’s hair while the receiver lies in their lap.

[ LAY ]:           the sender lays down in the receiver’s lap to let them play with the sender’s hair.

[ TOUCH ]:           just for the sake of the contact, the sender reaches out and gently touches the strands of the receiver’s hair.

[ MASSAGE ]:          with their hands buried in the receiver’s hair, the sender begins to gently massage their scalp.

[ ROYAL ]:          as part of a coronation ceremony, the sender places a crown atop the receiver’s hair, maintaining eye contact as they do so.

[ KISS ]:          the sender places a tender kiss on the receiver’s hair.

[ AWAY ]:          the sender, using their fingertips, tenderly sweeps a few strands of hair out of the receiver’s face so as to see them more clearly.

[ TOWEL ]:          the sender uses a towel to carefully dry the receiver’s hair.

[ DRY ]:          the sender uses a hairdryer to dry the receiver’s hair.

[ SOFTEN ]:          the sender rubs oils/conditioner into their hands, and begins to slowly massage it into the receiver’s hair.

[painofhumanity]

Dissociation Starters

FROM THE EMPTY

“No… I’m not hurt.”

“I don’t…”

“… Sorry. Say that again?”

“Sometimes I just … do this. It’s fine.” 

“No, it’s bad, but I’m. Like. I’m fine. Just give me like, ten minutes.”

“I don’t - I don’t remember.”

“You waited how long?”

“… I don’t like [trigger].”

“Will you walk me home?”

“I love you, I just… I can’t… I’m dissociating.”

“I.. don’t know how I got here.”

“I didn’t feel that. At all.”

“Did I zone out?”

“Don’t touch me.”

“My name is [name]. I’m [age]. I live in [place]. My name is [name] -”

“I can’t think of anything to do that isn’t stupid, canyouhelpme?” 

“How did you find me?”

“I think I’m in [different State]. Will you come?”

FROM THE FULL

“Hey. [Name]? Look at me.” 

“I’m right here.” 

“How long have you been sitting here?”

“What happened?”

“Your shirt is on backwards.” 

“Is it okay if I touch you?”

“It’s windy today. This bench has a nice texture, don’t you think?”

“Do you mind if I sit with you?” 

“Okay, I’ll be here.”

“Hey - come in. Don’t worry about it. I’m glad you came.”

“Drink some water. It has ice.”

“I’ll run a shower.”

“Let me wash it for you.” 

“I can’t clean you up if I can’t touch you. Will you give me your hand?”

“We’ll ride it out. You’re safe here.”

“I’ll put on a movie.”

[painofhumanity]

Nia's head perked up at the question, and she had to restrain herself so she didn't get overexcited. "Powerbar? I'm insulted." She grabbed a menu and set it on the counter in front of the woman. "I didn't just call this place Alphabet Soup because I'm a quirky lesbian, you know. It's a staple of the establishment, and comes in chicken or tomato. I'd personally go with the chicken soup, but that's just because tomato soup makes me feel like I'm drinking ketchup. . ."

Nia had put a lot of effort into making her club a place for people to not only have fun and freely be themselves, but somewhere they could feel at home.

Sage advice, indeed. Maybe it was just a part of being in the industry; bartenders, hair stylists, didn't they all have to offer an ear and a kind word for the weary? Molly takes what she says with a grain of salt, because it does partially sound like something she might've seen on a throw pillow at one point. But there's something earnest about the way the woman says it, too, that has her lingering a moment longer. She's curious, in spite of herself.

"If I said I wanted to eat something, what would you say?" She asked, tilting her head slightly. "You got a powerbar back there I don't know about?"

[painofhumanity]

Morgan closed his eyes and shivered a little as she gently brushed her fingers along his face; he was never going to get used to the way she touched him. I just want you. He laughed breathlessly as he opened his eyes to look at her. "Thank god."

Hesitation gone, he grabbed her waist and pulled her onto his lap with a cheeky grin. "I can work with that." Morgan kissed her again and felt the world slipping away. He'd thought about this for a long time, but never imagined Ellie would feel the same way about him. To be able to kiss her now was more than he'd ever let himself hope for.

"Um..." Ellie gives her head a small shake, as though she could have any better luck clearing her mind that way. It was difficult, being so close to him and feeling like she had what she wanted, literally within arms reach. But did that mean he wanted the same thing? He might not have meant to use her, but would he also just do what he thought she wanted, just to try and make amends? Ellie didn't want that, either.

The longer she considers it, the longer he lingers close to her, Ellie knows there can only be one answer for her. She'd already shown her hand in more ways than one...there was no use pretending in anything else. Morgan made her feel seen. She was so desperate for him to see her.

"I just..." She started, barely a breath as she brushed fingertips along his cheek, his jaw. Over his lips. "I just want you."