#hottest women outside of my wife mind you

[prettyhighforawhiteguyblog]

I get it. I'm quite the catch. I'm flattered, but I'm hopelessly in love with my wife who can't get enough of me. I'm a lost cause. You're gonna have to find your own fucked up White boy and fix him for yourself.

[moonsanoverthinker]

tell me all your thoughts about criminal minds it has fully taken over my entire brain and i have a fat crush on the entire cast

I went into Criminal Minds knowing very little about the actual show, I knew character names and I knew there was one guy that people REALLY seemed to find hot and that was it.

I started it and that show got me in a chokehold for MONTHS (until that hyper-fixation ended towards the end of series 5 and I stopped watching)

Also fun fact I had to write two intro scenes for a crime drama for the scriptwriting portion of my media a-level and let me tell you having an intense hyperfixation on this show helped me so much and it was one of the best things I’d ever written for that class

Also hard agree on crushing on the entire cast, I personally think series 3 was the hottest series in that sense.

But here’s some thoughts on episodes and some other random things mixed in too!

(Also I 100% enjoyed more episodes than I’ve mentioned but I can’t remember the plots for a lot of them so these are the ones I remember clearly enjoying)

Series 1:

Ep 6 L.D.S.K - I recently rewatched this episode and I throughly enjoy the hospital scenes with Hotch and Reid

Ep 10 The Popular Kids - I remember being so shocked by Aaron Paul being in this episode, also lowkey he was hot in it

Ep 14 Riding The Lightning - This is one of my favourite episodes. I hated the husband so much and he made me cringe every time he opened his mouth, and the ending just made me feel sad and the wife broke my heart

Series 2:

Ep 5 The Aftermath - I support women’s rights and women’s wrongs (God I love Elle)

I definitely liked more than one episode of series 2 but I cant recall any major plot points properly. But I do remember Reid gets kidnapped and they started an addiction story with him that never went anywhere which kinda bugs me because I think that would’ve been an interesting thing to properly explore

Series 3:

Ep 5 Seven Seconds - Another one of my favourite episodes. This episode was a ride of emotions that I wasn’t expecting and I wasn’t prepared for the things that they solved outside of the ‘main’ investigation

Ep 8 Lucky - Yeah this one made me feel ill for a little while not going to lie. I mean we did get the horrible line exchange “God is in all of us” // “So is Tracy Lambert” I know it’s not funny in any way but I like to think he was just waiting to use that specific line

Series 4

Ep 7 Memoriam - Another one that just made me feel sad! Also god I love Jane Lynch so much watching her play Reid’s mother after only seeing her as the iconic Sue Sylvester in Glee was a shock

Ep 22 The Big Wheel - I just enjoyed this episode and wasn’t expecting to see the guy who played Steve in Hawaii Five-O playing a murderer (also I was obsessed with Hawaii Five-O at one point)

Ep 23 Roadkill - This is one that I couldn’t remember exact details of but I did remember how it ended and I liked the twist. Fun fact I didn’t know the guy who played Kevin was Xander from Buffy until my mum pointed it out to me when she saw him at the end of this episode. She’s only watched half of this criminal minds episodes and one other, idk why I’m saying this but I think it’s funny.

Series 5

Ep 9 100 - Poor man can’t catch a break :( also they didn’t need to go full emotional damage with Jack hiding but they did and it worked

Ep 13 Risky Business - I don’t know when this episode came out but I remember one specific internet trend that was similar to what goes on in this episode. I like the cyber space based episodes specifically the older ones I’m not fully sure why but they don’t creep me out as much as more recent cyberspace based things.

Here’s the random section

Gideon screaming help me so he can reenact the crime while Morgan looks so confused is one of my favourite moments

There’s a scene in one of Reid’s Vegas episodes and I can’t remember which one exactly but just that one scene where he wins a shit load of money and then gives it to the woman who I think was a prostitute is so silly but I just liked it

I don’t know the full happenings but I do know what happens to Reid girlfriend in series 8 and why cant the they just let him be happy for once

[vvienne]

RANWAN FIC RECS

Absolute Zero by jitterati

Pathologically solitary academic Chu Wanning left behind a life of research to enlist with the Pan-Pacific Defense Corps Jaeger team when giant monsters began to emerge from the Pacific ocean, eager to leave his personal entanglements behind him and join humanity's collective battle against the threat of extinction.

His goal is to build an artificial intelligence that will allow a pilot to operate a Jaeger mech solo - eliminating the need for pilot compatibility and the mortifying ordeal of being totally known by another person, a "neurological handshake" known colloquially as the drift.

He didn't expect his former students to follow him all the way to front line of the war against the kaiju.

Featuring lots of side character interaction, pining, yearning, questions on the nature of personhood, friendship between jerks, people coping badly with loss, snarky AI, and giant robots. Illustrations by Saika & Daru

Husky and his White Kitten Disciple by JustAMoon123

Within a lonely heart, the seeds of hatred start to grow.

-A 2ha Age and Role-Reversal AU.-

NOTE: This Story is Now E Rated!

[Before meeting Chu Wanning, Mo Ran had drawn his power exclusively from the Wood side of his dual Spiritual Root, and his Qi had always glowed green.

Now, only when in battle did it do so, with Bugui’s blade encased in a tyrannical green light.

Outside of battle, like when he set barriers of warmth; or made Crystal Butterflies to tease golden flowers; or cast a small array to keep a box of food warm, his Qi manifested with a gentle red glow.

Mo Ran’s Wood was destructive, while his Fire was protective.

Ah, Mo Weiyu, Mo Weiyu. Even your power betrays you.]

Burn, Pine, and Perish by moonqueenmaia

It’s been two days since Taxian-Jun’s last visit, and Mo Ran hasn’t touched Chu Wanning at all, beyond gentle and fleeting caresses. Chu Wanning decides to take matters into his own hands by surprising Mo Ran when he comes back to their home after a trip down the mountain.

it's no coincidence (it's a kitty-incidence) by lanzhan (gothguk)

There’s a white cat lounging in the middle of Mo Ran's bed.

to touch you with bare hands (even if it burns) by moonqueenmaia

Chu Wanning is a renowned professor of mechanical engineering at Sisheng Peak University. Beautiful, lonely, and talented beyond belief, he has spent his 32 years mostly by himself, silently and secretly yearning for affection and companionship. Yet Chu Wanning has resolved to himself that he will spend the rest of his life alone, no matter his hidden fantasies.

Enter Taxian-jun, an unruly, arrogant, and struggling student, fiery and domineering, who comes in and shatters the calm of Chu Wanning's life. They enter into an agreement, both burying their feelings underneath a storm of lust and lies. Yet amidst it all, something deeper may be helplessly and slowly blooming.

It is up to them to cultivate it, or destroy it for good.

cursed by devilsoupe

Chu Wanning and his disciples are sent to investigate an abandoned village, and Chu Wanning is hit with a curse.

Mo Ran was determined to treat his shizun respectfully in this life, but what choice does he have?

liar liar cock on fire by lofikv

I (32M) walked in on my roommate (23M) masturbating in our living room. Ever since then I couldn't erase the image of his penis in my mind but I found a sex toy online that is almost as big as him, so I bought it and tried it on myself so that I can imagine how he would feel inside me. I have also been romantically attracted to him ever since we started living together. How can I cope with this?

UPDATE: He caught me in the middle of an emergency.

(Absolute) Unit 311 by devilsoupe

Chu Wanning doesn't have a soulmark.

Neither does Mo Ran.

ducks entering highway by Sectionladvivi

Mo Ran finds out his well-respected, MILF-coded, tears-of-angels-tight-ass robotics professor moonlights as an erotic novelist. He immediately leverages this knowledge for an opportunity to play tonsil hockey.

to yearn by devilsoupe

Chu Wanning starts to cough up flowers. Taxian-Jun is angry. Chu Wanning is not allowed to die pining for someone else.

When it starts happening again in his second life, Mo Ran knows enough to worry.

from blossom to blossom to impossible blossom by Wildehack (tyleet)

Taxian Jun is the victim of a flower curse.

sticky fingers by fakeplasticlily

The man tosses the towel unceremoniously back at Mo Ran’s chest, like he’s personally offended by it. And the fact that his hands had just been all over said chest barely minutes earlier, maybe. “Please pack a box of egg tarts with extra custard filling, a box of red bean paste buns with extra syrup, a rice pudding with extra candied fruit garnish, and a box of osmanthus cakes with extra sweet pear jam.” Mo Ran’s eyes grow progressively wider as he lists the items. It’s him. Not the suburban mother of four, not the elderly guy dealing with a midlife crisis, but quite possibly the hottest guy he’s ever seen. Who also happens to have the highest sugar tolerance Mo Ran has seen in a human being in his two years of running this bakery. 

Hard to Love The Lonely Night by bloodsongs

Chu Wanning glares up at him, adjusting his women’s robes. “Still, why couldn’t you have been the wife instead?”

Coughing politely, Mo Ran looks to the side, avoiding his gaze. “Shizun’s skills with the illusion barrier far surpass this humble disciple’s, and, well…”

He doesn’t need to complete his sentence—it’s infuriating, but Mo Ran is now taller than him, broader than him, larger than him. Very much so. The young sapling he raised in Sisheng Peak is now a full-fledged tree, a man built like the mountains Chu Wanning has seen in his travels.

Chu Wanning and Mo Ran pretend to be a married couple visiting a small mountain town to investigate some suspicious disappearances. Mini Canon AU casefic. Contains spoilers up to Chapter 130 or so of the novel.

Purple Ink by jeejaschocolate

Chu Wanning is a robotics engineer who lives a life of isolation and loneliness, only partially due to his chronic illness. Eventually he gets so sick that he requires the help of a full-time medical assistant.

Of course, these days, all those jobs are given to CyberLife androids.

Chu Wanning resents the android they give him. From his fiery eyes to his long black hair, to his incomparable tenderness and consideration for Wanning’s feelings.

He resents him. All the way until he falls in love with him.

Fallen Flowers in Swallows' Nests by bloodsongs

You deserve better—I refuse to disrespect you ever again. I want to be better. I must be better.

But I don’t know how. I don’t know what to do.

I don’t know where Taxian-Jun ends and Mo-Zongshi begins.

I only know now that I cannot lie to myself: I want you so fiercely that I burn with it, I am consumed with the desire to make you mine and mine alone. To become one with you, feeling your fire twine with mine.

Or, Chu Wanning finds letters from Mo-Zongshi that were never shared with him.

These hitherto undiscovered letters cover a range of emotions that weren't present in the book he gifted his Shizun: contrition, yearning, and desire.

Counterpoint by senchafloat

Five years ago, Mo Ran was just a boy who loved playing piano—there were many things he didn't know. He didn't know how capricious and unforgiving the world of classical music could be. He didn't know just how lucky he was to have Chu Wanning as his teacher.

Five years later, Chu Wanning is now a renowned concert pianist, and Mo Ran is an upstart conducting student. When Chu Wanning shows up unannounced at his alma mater, Mo Ran has plenty of questions, along with a desire to prove his worth to his old teacher. But as it turns out, Chu Wanning isn't as invincible as he once seemed. As old secrets come up to the surface, the two of them are forced to reinvent the ways they'll make music together.

impatient to adore you by riverdanceeee

At some heartbreaking point in his life, Mo Ran accepted that Chu Wanning would never reciprocate his feelings, so he dealt with it as any other person would. He'd rid himself of his affection, respect their friendship, and learn to move on. But Mo Ran's affection runs too deep, and when any opportunity to spend time with Chu Wanning knocks on his door, he goes running to answer and accept. Even if it means he has to break up a potentially dangerous dog fighting ring.

To Bow Before A Willow Vine by bloodsongs

“I…” Mo Ran hadn’t thought that far. He shakes his head, lowering his head in deference, resting his forehead against Chu Wanning’s knuckles. "I'll do anything you want of me."

The silence stretches on for a beat too long.

"Anything?" Chu Wanning says eventually, tilting his head.

Written for 2Ha Week, Day 4: Reverse AU for the 0.5 timeline. When Chu Wanning storms Sisheng Peak and crowns himself the cultivation world's new emperor, Mo Ran trades his life for Xue Meng's. Contains spoilers for up to the end of the novel.

Call me by my name by rinsled05

When the man called Taxian-Jun arrives, years later, it’s the coming of a storm.

He sweeps into a dinner appointment between Chu Wanning and a client, clad in black, a smirk tugging at his mouth. Over the spark of irritation, Chu Wanning can’t help but admire his lean frame, the way his hair, cut rebelliously short, falls over smoldering, dark eyes. The way he towers over him, even when Chu Wanning rises to full height.

Chu Wanning’s heart races as Taxian-Jun leans in close, ignoring the shouts and gasps around them.

“Sakaki of Ran,” he purrs in their native tongue. “You’re mine.”

Chu Wanning lifts his chin. “I don’t know you.”

“You will,” Taxian-Jun says, and leaves.

In which Chu Wanning is a courtesan serving Chinese merchants in Nagasaki, Japan, and Taxian-Jun decides to make him his.

荷官牌型 ♠️ The Croupier's Hand by bloodsongs

In deep financial straits after losing his job as a teacher, a desperate Chu Wanning becomes a croupier at Sisheng's new casino.

The once sleepy town of Sisheng Peak grows busier by the day as the casino draws more and more tourists to their mountains. Consumed by his lingering regrets over the worst mistake of his life that destroyed his teaching career, Chu Wanning is too distracted to worry about anything else but his next shift, his next paycheck.

Except that's when Mo Ran, the reason Chu Wanning lost everything, returns to Sisheng Peak.

As the heir to the casino.

White Rabbit Club by minkit

Desperate to rid himself of a few pesky things called virginity and desire, Chu Wanning waltzes into a world he knows little about and right into the embrace of a mysterious stranger who reminds him of the student he's been dreaming about all year. The lust fueled dreams his student stars in are the very reason Chu Wanning applied to the sex club in the first place, and now he's desperate to get rid of these filthy impulses once and for all.

Congratulations, Chu Wanning, on your acceptance into the White Rabbit Club. We hope you enjoy your stay.

Risk and Restraint by purloinedinpetrograd

There is nobody Mo Ran works with who does not love him. He’s worked hard to cultivate this image while he climbs the corporate ladder at Sisheng, and it’s paid off in dividends. He’s in every WeChat group. He can call in favors with any division of any department. He can make even the tightest of deadlines relax their stranglehold on his team.

That is, there is nobody except, of course, Chu Wanning.

A Lingering Sweetness by theherocomplex

Chu Wanning is now all too aware of what he looks like: a dry stick of a man, never handsome, angular and cold and pale. A drab, short-tempered creature, as appealing as a splinter in one's foot. But Mo Ran looks at him as if he will never get his fill, and part of Chu Wanning thinks, What if —?

At the end of the line by PearlAquaBlue 

“So … I reckon someone thought you needed to loosen up a little bit. Now that you’re here, want to try it?”

Chu Wanning hangs up. Throws her phone on her pillow with a disgusted glare after it. Stands up and paces to the kitchen in long, angry strides. Her cheeks are burning. With trembling fingers, she grabs a glass and pours herself some water, gulping it down in one go. It doesn’t help much. She grips the kitchen counter tightly, then marches back into the bedroom to glare at the phone again. Her fingertips itch, and it’s as if some kind of magnetic force draws her closer and closer to her bed until her fingertips are but an inch away from that tempting black mirror. Before she knows it, she’s unlocked it unsteadily and pressed “repeat” on the last call.

“Welcome to Sisheng Peak – ”

“And what would that entail?” she asks, a little too breathless.

Let's Fall in Love for the Night by purloinedinpetrograd

Chu Wanning could only stare in horror as a large cloud of sickeningly yellow pollen rose from the field, blanketing the place where Mo Ran stood in a heavy fog. “Um,” he said lamely.

“Fuck,” Mo Ran cursed, and Chu Wanning didn’t even have the heart to chastise him for his coarse language, because he was too preoccupied wrestling the surge of fear at seeing his disciple disappear behind the haze of that indeterminately threatening dust.

A million terrible possibilities raced through his mind, each one more dramatic and gruesome than the last. His heart hammered against his ribcage, threatening to crack the bones. “Mo Ran,” he said slowly, “I think you should tell me what that does, now.”

Xue Zhengyong sends Chu Wanning and Mo Ran on a mission to find a specific ingredient for some concoction of his wife’s. Chu Wanning is torn between rejoicing at the chance to spend time alone with Mo Ran... and grieving over the very same thing.

But, well, it’s just flowers. What could go wrong, right? (Spoiler alert: it’s sex pollen.)

the day dawns in your hues by localshabba

2ha Week 2020 Day 1 prompt - Haitang

---

Schoolteacher Mo Ran is having an ordinary day until he has an awkward encounter with the notoriously rigid school librarian, which leads to the start of something new.

Also features: flowers, dinosaurs and lots of tenderness and pining.

helping hands by verity

When Mo Ran was but a young, innocent, virtuous grad student—well, one of those things—she built that couch from a flatpack box with her own two hands. Over the years, the smell of polyester and cheap foam padding has given way to an equally aromatic blend of Chu Wanning's haitang blossom perfume, spilled coffee, and white lithium grease. Chu Wanning herself is always perfectly dressed without a stain in sight. Even right now, her head tucked onto one folded arm, the other loosely gripping her tablet, she looks so formal.

Mo Ran gently rests a hand on Chu Wanning's socked ankle where it peeks out of those tailored white trousers. She really should behave herself.

She really should... behave herself...

in plain sight by localshabba

Written for a prompt fill in the 2ha Kink Meme.

---

"I have a surprise," Mo Ran breathed, coming to stand so close behind him that his breath landed on Chu Wanning's nape. Not touching Chu Wanning any other way, because he likes to make Chu Wanning lean back just a little bit, to seek out that contact himself.

"I think Chu-laoshi will enjoy it."

Chu Wanning is sure he agreed to the whole idea; he's just unclear on when. Things got hazy around the point when Mo Ran turned him around by the shoulders, got down on his knees and...well. Apparently he'd skipped breakfast that morning.

When he returned to his senses, his clothes were all neatly tucked into place, not a stain on them, and a charmingly pink sexual aid was nestled comfortably up his--ahem, inside him.

---

Now available in Spanish!

casually acquainted by tagteamme

Chu Wanning knows what he is and what he isn’t. And where he lacks in pleasantries and outward appeal, he makes up for in untouchable grace and dignity.

It threatens to unravel once he meets a familiar face in an unfamiliar city.

“So quick to run away from me, Chu-laoshi,” Mo Ran says, voice gently teasing as Chu Wanning refuses to make eye contact with him. “After you came all the way from…”

He trails off, waiting for Chu Wanning to let him know, but he sees the map open on Chu Wanning’s phone and grins wider. “You want directions?”

Chu Wanning clears his throat, and shakes his head. He should say something— instead, he stays silent as he looks down at his phone and punches in the hotel name again.

Happily, his phone tells him to try again when he has signal.

The Right Hand of Light by gedsparrowhawk (FaceChanger)

Chu Wanning is asleep on the bed, clutching his hands tightly to his chest and curled in on himself. He’s still wearing the same robes he was in in the water prison. On the writing desk, a bowl of water and clean linen for bandages sit untouched, and a tub of bathwater has cooled without being used. Mo Ran sighs to himself. Wanning is truly hopeless.

He sits on the side of the bed and touches Chu Wanning’s shoulder. “Wanning,” he says. “Wanning, wake up.”

---

Rare 0.5 tenderness, after the water prison.

nothing can consume you by tagteamme

Mo Ran’s violent history has never had to catch up to him.

It’s already embedded itself into him as scars on his body, as a tattoo on his forearm, as the lingering taste of blood in his sleep and finally, as the searing brand pressed against his chest before he’s thrown into the sea as punishment. He knows that this is where all his chances come to an end.

But as the deep fathom of the water swallows him up, something else saves him and pulls him to a tiny cove tucked away off the coast of an overlooked port town. When he wakes up under the care of a mythical creature wearing a familiar face, an even older and more distant past finally finds him.

[mafia-nct]

GOT7 Mafia AU: Their S/O Getting Insulted

Genre: mafia au!, angst.

Warning: swearing, violence, mentions of blood.

---

Jaebum:

They’ve been in the meeting room for hours, planning their next mission. Everything needed to be executed perfectly and knowing your boyfriend; no one was getting out of that room until they memorised every detail of the plan.

You knocked on the door and opened it.

“I bare gifts!” You said motioning to the bags of snack you carried in your hands.

A small smile appeared on Jaebum’s face. You placed the bags on the table and made your way to your boyfriend.

He hugged you, hiding his face in your neck. “Thank you,” he whispered, “we needed a little break!”

“Welcome Jae!” You whispered back

“Yo boss,” screamed one of the new recruits, “where did you get a bitch like that? These snacks are dope!”

Every head turned to him, the atmosphere in the room dropped and Jaebum let go of you. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and narrowed his eyes at his new recruit.

“I’m sorry, what did you just call my girlfriend?” Barked Jaebum

The recruit turned white realizing his mistake.

“He called her a bitch Jae!” Answered BamBam.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Your boyfriend turned towards two of his closest crewmembers. “Jackson, Mark I believe you know what to do!”

The two men nodded. Jackson grabbed the recruit by the collar dragging him out of the room as he pleaded mercy.

Mark:

He threw one knife after the other. He didn’t understand why Jaebum wanted him to learn how, but he had to follow orders. He’d been in the practice room for what felt hours. He’d only hit his target once every 20 knifes thrown and even then, he didn’t hit exactly where he wanted. He was getting frustrated.

A group of recruits entered the room, never seeing him due to the fact that he was at the far end. They were loud, he hated that, but it made his job easier. He could eavesdrop on them without paying attention.

“Victoria’s Secret angels are the hottest women on this planet hands down!”

“I agree!”

“Nah bro.”

“Alright then, who do you think is hot?”

“Honestly, Mark’s girl is pretty tight.”

Mark’s head snapped towards the recruit as he continued.

“She’s sexy as hell and I’m sure she can take it. If you know what I mean!”

Mark’s grip on the knife in his hand tightened; his knuckles turning white. He didn’t even think as he aimed and threw the knife hitting the recruit in the shoulder. Exactly where he wanted.

The recruit screamed in pain as his friends looked in the direction of where the knife was thrown.

Mark got out of the shadows. “Next time, I’ll aim for your head. Now, go tell Youngjae how you got injured.”

Jackson:

“Where the hell is Yugyeom?” He wondered out loud.

Jaebum just assigned him a new mission and he needed the youngest to be his getaway driver. He looked everywhere but he couldn’t find Yugyeom anywhere. He decided to go to the headquarters’ recruits’ training center. Maybe Yugyeom was teaching something to the recruits.

“Yo,” he heard somebody say on the other side of the door, “Jackson’s girl is so fine. I’d do her anytime any day, if you know what I mean!”

He recognized that voice immediately. It was that stupid new recruit who thought he was better than everybody else.

Jackson didn’t waste anytime after hearing that comment. He threw the door opened and spotted the recruit. He marched towards him and grabbed him, with one hand, by the neck only to slam him in a wall.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Spat Jackson

The recruit couldn’t answer; Jackson was, after all, strangling him. The recruit was turning red. He grabbed Jackson’s arm but Jackson’s grip only tightened.

“Jackson let him go.” Said Jinyoung who was only in the room because he heard the commotion.

Jackson leaned towards the recruit’s ear. “I’m going to make your life a living hell.” He whispered before dropping the recruit on the ground.

Jinyoung:

“So, apparently, my wife looks like a nice fuck toy.” Said Jinyoung sitting in his chair behind his desk.

“No, no, no that’s not what I meant!” Panicked the recruit on the other side of the desk.

Jinyoung raised his hand stopping him. “No need to explain yourself buddy. Mark heard everything. And not to be that guy, but I trust Mark way more than I trust your dumbass.”

The recruit’s head dropped.

“Here’s what’s going to happened.” Started Jinyoung. “You and I are going to take a trip to the station and I’m going to put you behind the bars.”

“What for? I didn’t do anything!”

Jinyoung raised a file in the air. “That’s not what this file says. It says that you were spotted selling drugs and weapons on the streets. What an amateur! Not only do I have evidence that you did, I, also, have witnesses.”

“But I never did!” Screamed the recruit.

Jinyoung got up and grabbed the recruit pulling him up. He put the recruit’s hands behind his back and handcuffed them.

“Between you and me, who do you think they’re going to believe pal? The sergeant of the organized crime division or some random crook who’s already been arrested once for drug possession?”

A silence felt the room.

Jinyoung leaned towards the recruit. “Check mate bitch.”

Youngjae:

He was removing a bullet in a recruit’s leg. You were by his side, helping him. He needed the extra set of hands when it came to those situations; the last time he needed someone he asked Jackson, but he almost fainted.

“Could you pass me the stitching needle love?” Asked Youngjae

You grabbed it and handed it to him.

“It must be nice to have her around here Laughter!” Said the recruit

“What do you mean?” Replied your boyfriend

“Well, she does whatever you say and doesn’t say a word. She’s like your slave, your own little bitch.”

You mouth hanged open; you couldn’t believe the audacity of that guy.

Youngjae stopped what he was doing. He looked at the recruit for a good minute before he stuck his index finger in his wound. The recruit screamed in agony.

“Listen to me you fucktard,” spat Youngjae, “If I catch you calling my girl a bitch one more time, I’ll make sure you end up dying in pure agony. I might even let you bleed on the floor for all I care about. Am I clear?”

The recruit nodded biting his lip.

“Good, now leave. I don’t even want to stitch you up anymore!”

BamBam:

He was used to it really. He should probably stop feeling like this every time it happened. It should roll off his back, but he just couldn’t. You were his girl. He thought that was obvious when you entered the club with him.

He watched you, politely turn down another random dude, from the second floor of the club. He rolled his eyes, but when he stared back at you. The situation was worrying. The guy was being very aggressive towards you, grabbing your arm and trying to pull you in his direction.

BamBam ran down the stairs, almost breaking his leg in the process. This was not happening, especially not under his watch.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed out when he was finally next to you, “I’m pretty sure she doesn’t want to go with you buddy.”

BamBam placed his hand on your back reassuring you.

“Mind your own fucking business skinny and let my girl and I settle this!” Barked the guy

BamBam made a disapproving sound. “Oh man, you just said something that was super incorrect!”

In choc, the guy let go of your arm. BamBam slowly raised your left hand in front of the guy and did the same with his. “See dumbass, we have matching rings. She’s my wife. And this,” he raised his hands in the air, “is my club.”

Your husband looked at two of his bodyguards and with one look they understood. They dragged the guy outside, this guy wasn’t leaving without a few bruises. 

Yugyeom:

He loved to bring you to his races; you brought him some peace on those hectic nights.

He held your hand tightly; he didn’t want to lose you in the crowd, as you two walked to where his car was parked.

“I just want to check something real quick baby.” He said unlocking the car. “Then we’ll go see the other races.”

“Alright.” You replied.

He opened the driver’s door and sat in the seat. He wanted to make sure that their mechanic team did what he asked. He could not afford to lose because some idiot didn’t do their job.

As he was checking his dashboard, he heard someone talk to you.

“Hey pretty ass, what is a beautiful girl like you doing here?”

“Ew,” Yugyeom heard you reply. A small smile appeared on his lips, he loved how straight forward you were, “leave asshole. I don’t want anything to do with you!”

Every thing seemed fine in his dashboard, so he popped the hood of the car to go check if everything was fine there too.

“Listen up you bitch!” The stranger barked. “You’re not going to tell me what to do or I’ll have my guys take care of you!”

That struck a cord in Yugyeom. Who was this guy threatening you with no actual reason? He grabbed his gun from the inside of his jacket and got out of the car.

He pointed his gun at the stranger. “Say that again fucker!”

You slammed your hand on Yugyeom’s chest. “I’ll take care of it”

He looked at you questionably.

“Alright sweetheart!” You yelled. “Bring your guys, I’m so scared of them I’m shaking in my pants. Anyway what do…”

As Yugyeom watched you tell the guy off, he lowered his gun and smiled. He couldn’t believe he was in love with a badass.

[jackawhacker]

A Little Roleplay

Contains breast expansion, ass expansion, and giantess growth

I locked my front door with a sigh of relief. This was possibly the longest work week of my life, and now it was finally over. Exhausted, I shuffled into my living room, tossing my backpack on the couch and flopping down right next to it.

I sat there, bathing in my relaxation, before I realized something was wrong. Right around now my wife usually would swoop in with a cold beer and ask about my day. She had the uncanny ability to make me forget about all of the stress I’d been balling up inside.

I shrugged. She must have gone to bed early. I might as well grab a beer myself.

I groaned coming up off the couch and made my way to the kitchen. As I turned to the fridge I noticed a folded up piece of paper taped to the handle, signed “Alice” in flawless cursive on the outside. I stared quizzically at my wife’s handwriting and unfolded the paper.

“Dear Daniel,

I know it’s been hard lately at work, and I want to make you feel better. I wanted to treat you to something special.

I saw your search history. I know about everything you’ve been jerking off to, and frankly I totally get it. It’s hot. I actually got off to it a couple times myself. So I thought we’d try a bit of roleplay. For the rest of the night, you belong to me. Meet me in the bedroom. Don’t keep me waiting little man.

With love,

Alice”

My hands were shaking as I set down the note on the counter. She’d found my porn? I had been afraid to tell her of all the things I found arousing, I thought she’d find it weird and embarrassing. Ever since I was a teenager all I could think about was watching women grow bigger and bigger in all the right places. The thought of a girl dominating me with her ever expanding size was the hottest thing imaginable to me. And not only was my wife willing to indulge in my fantasies, she also found it as hot as I did? I felt like the luckiest man alive.

I practically sprinted to the bedroom, and stopped dead in my tracks as I flung open the door.

If you looked at Alice it was no surprise that I liked bigger women. She stood in the middle of the room at a dominating six feet tall, just barely shorter than me. She was clad in dark red, lacy lingerie. Her sizable E cups pressed against a barely-too-tight bra, her curvaceous hips and ass on full display under a thin thong, and her long, powerful legs were wrapped in fishnet stockings. Her curly blonde hair cascaded down her shoulders, perfectly framing her soft features and kissable lips. She looked like she jumped straight out of the pages of a smut novel.

I scanned the rest of the room. Against the back wall was a long tape measure pinned up, and tucked behind the closet door I could see several pairs of heels, each a little higher than the previous. I could see where this night was going. My dick tented in my pants as I began to imagine what lay ahead of me.

She stared me down, her gaze unflinching. “Strip. Now.”

Her voice was commanding, demanding to be obeyed. This was the complete opposite of her usual bubbly personality. I couldn’t deny her if I wanted to. Quickly I started undressing, sliding out of my slacks and boxers and slipping off my top in what felt like nanoseconds.

The corner of her mouth turned up in a small smirk. “That’s a good little man,” she praised, “Now get in bed. Hurry.”

I climbed onto our mattress, pushing the sheets aside. She sashayed after me, putting extra effort to swing her hips as alluringly as possible. She reached out and placed her hand on my bare chest, pushing me down so I laid on my back. She dragged her manicured black nails down my stomach, stopping just short of my throbbing erection. Quickly she pulled her hand back.

For a moment she disappeared in the closet, and came back out carrying a set of chains in one hand and something I couldn’t see clenched tight in the other. She made her way back to the bed and began gently, but firmly, guiding my arms and legs to the corners of the bedposts. Without wasting any time she began to bind my wrists and ankles, the cold metal pressed against my skin. I had never seen her move with such confidence. I couldn’t take it anymore. “Alice, I-“

“Shhhh,” she interrupted, leaning in close. Her breasts pushed into my chest, and I could feel her warm breath on my neck as she whispered. “Don’t worry. Your goddess is going to take care of everything.”

All I could do was whimper in reply. She climbed on top of me, straddling my legs. She opened her other hand and produced a small black ring. I gulped as I realized the implications.

She smiled wickedly. “I’ve got a secret, Daniel. This right here,” she waved the cock ring back and forth, “is a little piece of magic. After I slip this on you, you’ll have no choice but to be as hard as possible. And everytime you cum, I’m going to get bigger. And bigger. And I plan on making you cum as many times as I can.”

This was almost too much. I’ve had this fantasy for the longest time; being forced to orgasm, watching helplessly as someone grew in front of me. Somehow she knew just how to push all of the right buttons for me. She must have spent a long time scouring through my porn collection to get this just right. I wondered how she planned on making me cum over and over. Had she planned on giving me denied orgasms? Edging? I began to shake in anticipation.

Slowly she slid the ring down my shaft, nestling it at the base of my penis. It hugged just tight enough, and I could practically feel the blood flow in my dick pump up. My erection had gone from raging to as hard as diamonds. Alice quietly giggled to herself, satisfied with my reaction. “And now, little one, your goddess is going to make you feel sooooo good.”

She scooted herself further down my legs, and dramatically leaned forwards, giving me a full view of her deep cleavage. She brought herself down to my dick, hovering her mouth just above my head. I could feel her breath exciting every nerve on my cock as I began bucking under her at the teasing. After an eternity of this pleasuring torture, she brought her full lips down to meet my dick. Moving at a painfully slow pace, she began to bob up and down, masterfully stimulating me, moving further and further down my shaft.

Faster now. She began to speed up, ratcheting up my arousal. I could only moan in pleasure, my mind was overcome with the rising feeling of my impending orgasm. I looked down at her, her ruby lips easily swallowing my length. And still she went faster. Was she going to stop? I would be pretty physically spent after cumming, and I was quickly reaching the point of no return.

I could feel the peak of my orgasm coming, and grunted out in ecstasy. Finally, I released into her mouth. I was riding the feeling of my earth shattering orgasm as I pumped more and more cum than I thought possible down her throat.

After swallowing it all, she slid off of me and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Good boy, Daniel. You pleased your goddess. Now comes the fun.”

She hopped off the bed, brushing my dick as she went by. It was still hard somehow, as if I hadn’t cum at all. The lingering feeling of arousal and need for release still danced within me. This must have been some cock ring to keep me ready like this.

I pried my eyes away from my cock to look at my wife. She paid me no mind, mindlessly rubbing her body with a grin stretched across her face. She grunted, her knees shaking beneath her. Slowly she stretched out, reaching towards the ceiling and shifted a couple inches up. She must be standing on her tippy toes, it made for a very convincing illusion.

Except she stretched out again, rising a little higher than before. The tops of her breasts began to push against the cups of her bra, beginning to spill out. Did she have a pair of heels under the bed that she slipped into? A low moan came from her lips as she seemed to rise even higher than before.

Satisfied, she turned to look at me. “Do you like? This is only the beginning, little one. Let’s see how much taller I am now, hm?”

She sauntered over to the tape measure on the wall. I tried my hardest to keep my eyes on her upper half to keep this amazing illusion up, but my curiosity got the better of me. I had to know how she slipped into those heels.

I followed the slope of her neck down to the creamy flesh of her breasts, following the curve of her tight stomach down to the stretched thong on her bubble butt, and further still down the pillars of her thighs. I gasped.

She wasn’t wearing any heels.

Incredulously my eyes flew back up to Alice’s face. She was holding her hand atop her head, pressed against the wall. She left it there as she turned around to face the tape measure, and smiled to herself. “Seven foot, two inches. That’s quite an improvement.” She turned to look at me, a devilish smile dancing across her lips. “But not nearly enough for a goddess.”

Before I could reply she leapt back onto the bed, landing on top of me like a predator catching its prey. She reached down to her thong, grabbing it from both sides as she ripped it from her hips, tossing the ruined fabric to the side. She looked down on me. “Now, little one. Cum.”

She plunged herself onto me, her pussy slick with arousal, warmly enveloping me. With renewed fervor, she began to ride me, her hips pounding down on me over and over again. I could only gasp and grunt as I felt another orgasm quickly approaching. I couldn’t believe I was already going to cum. I burst inside her. The room was filled with my cries of pleasure as my hips thrusted up to meet her, bucking wildly as my body tensed. All the while she hadn’t stopped riding me, keeping her pace consistent.

I could feel her weight bear down on me more and more as the bedroom light slowly became eclipsed by her growing form. Her tits began to stretch the fabric of her bra, spilling out from all sides. The stockings she wore began to rip, the knots of the fishnet coming undone by the burgeoning thighs beneath them.

All of it was insanely terrifying. And insanely hot. I couldn’t help myself as I was pushed over the edge once more, releasing torrents of cum that leaked out of her. I shuddered, unable to form any thought except “bigger. Bigger. Bigger.”

Alice slowed her rolling hips as she screamed in her mutual orgasm. Her form rapidly raced toward the ceiling. Her once tightly fitting lingerie finally broke free, her bra tumbling to the floor as her breasts ballooned in front of her. She grabbed her tits, overflowing her arms as their growth pressed on, pushing the laws of nature further and further. Her form was massive, dominating. The bed creaked and cried out under us until it could handle no more, and cracked, the wood splintering across the room. I hardly paid attention. I could feel my dick throbbing inside of her, my hips growing numb under her increasing weight as her ass grew across my thighs.

Slowly her growth came to an end. Alice was breathing hard, her trembling form filling my vision. She peered over the tops of her titanic tits to look down on me. I had never been so overwhelmed by the sight of my wife as the breath left my lungs, stunned by her pure beauty. “Very good little one,” she panted, “You’ve made your goddess very, very happy.” She gracefully swung over me, planting her legs on the carpet, and stood up. Her head brushed the ceiling as she walked over to the tape measure.

I could only manage to stare slack jawed as my mind reeled from the impossibly intense pleasure I was feeling. But if I could speak what was there to say? Her tits hung past her ribs, each indescribably perfect, and probably weighed as much as I did combined. Her ass ballooned behind her in perfect pert bubbles. She was becoming everything she said she was. A goddess.

Alice had finished her measuring by the time I regained my senses. She let loose a deep, intimidating and intensely sexual laugh. “10 feet even.” She held her tits in her arms, unable to reach around to even her nipples. “I’m so big now. And you’re so small compared to me. You’ve done your goddess a great deed, little one.”

She took slow, deliberate steps toward me, each footfall thumping hard against the floor. “But you know what, Daniel?” She continued. “I don’t think it’s enough. I don’t think it’s nearly enough for a goddess. Don’t you agree?”

I muttered something unintelligible, overtaken by the perfect form of my wife. I weakly nodded.

She nodded back with a sly grin. “I’m glad you think so too, little one.” She had reached the bed now. “Because I plan to make you cum.” Her hand grasped my still pounding dick, completely engulfing it. “Again.” She pumped. “And again.” She pumped again. “And again.” And kept pumping, up and down. I could feel yet another building pressure inside of me. “And you know what that means. I’ll get bigger...”

Her hand deftly pleasured me, relentless.

“And bigger...”

She stroked faster now, bringing me right to the edge.

“And bigger...”

I came, releasing another huge load into her hand. I could see her body shudder and stretch higher.

“And bigger.”

[pink-imagines]

badass woman

request: Prompt 29 and 40 with Bakugou? 👉👈

a/n: .I hope you like this! I just wanted to show off some badass women!

warnings: sexual harrassment, swearing

prompts: (29) “How is my wife more badass than me?” (40) “Sorry isn’t going to help when I kICK YOUR ASS!”

You didn’t have many moments like this. Where you could go out with your husband and have a normal night out. A new club had opened up in town, only a few people were invited, the rest had to wait outside in a line.

You felt kind of bad for those people as yoou drove past the long line to get to the entrance. Bakugo got out first, went around the car and opened it for you. There were fucking paparazzi where ever he went, weren’t there?

Hoping that your dress wouldn’t fail you in front of all these people, you got out of the car.

“You look really good tonight...”, Bakugo commented, acting as if he didn’t see the flashing light of cameras when he kissed you softly.

“You’re the one that bought me the dress, bubba.”, you reminded him before taking his hand in yours.

“I guess I have good taste then.”, he smiled and led you to the entrance of the fancy club.

Bakugo gave the security one look before he let them pass. He was a friend of the new owner, that’s how he got the VIP tickets.

“Hey, Bakugo! You came after all!”, the owner walked up to him and gave him a hug, “And I see you’ve brought the wife!”

“I managed to get a free day, it’s good to see you.”, Bakugo’s voice had changed from loving husband to “business only”, you could tell. You let go of his hand and greated the owner the same way that Bakugo had.

“You look as beautful as ever, Y/N.”, he commented with a bright smile.

“Thank you.”, you smiled back at him. Bakugo wrapped an arm around your waist, you could feel how he tensed up. He was usually a bit overprotective, but you didn’t mind it as long as he didn’t tell you what to do.

“Why don’t we go have a drink? My treat.”, he smiled and the three of you walked up to the bar.

You all ordered and sat down on the bar stools, you in between the two men. Bakugo’s hand left your waist as he leaned on the counter with his elbow, turning to face you.

After a few drinks you were ready to head home. Clubs weren’t your scene, you mostly went for reputation.

“Hey, Bakugo...”, you put your hand on his bicep and he stopped talking.

“What is it, honey?”, he asked softly, if anyone could hear him right now they wouldn’t believe their ears.

“I’m getting a bit tired... could we go home?”, you asked and he nodded.

“Let’s go.”, he took your hand again.

The owner had already left to talk with other guests, so Bakugo said he would just text him when the two of you were in the car.

When you were about to reach the exit you felt someone smack your ass. People around you gasped, as they saw who you were with, and the whole club went silent. Bakugo turned around to find the owner standing there, clearly shitfaced. His grin faded when he realized what he had just done.

“Shit! Bakugo! Y/N! Sorry, I thought you were someone else!”, he looked around nervously.

“Sorry isn’t going to help when I kICK YOUR ASS!”, Bakugo shouted as sparks started flying from the palms of his hands. You held him back, your touch seemed to calm him down.

“It’s fine, honey. I can handle it.”, you said and walked up to the owner.

“Look, Y/N. I’m sorry, I-”, you sent a slap across his face.

“You’re a dick.”, you told him, “What would your mother say if she was here right now? Do you think she’d be proud?”

“I-”

“No, don’t speak until I’ve finished.”, you stopped him mid-sentance, “You’re a sick pervert who thinks that if he has all this money it’s okay for him to harrass other women. Just because it was me you’re sorry, but if it had been any other woman you’d fucking laugh, wouldn’t you? You’re fucking sick.”

You turned your heel and walked out the door, Bakugo following you close behind. He stared anyone down who even looked at you the wrong way. The car was already outside waiting, since Bakugo had told the driver to pick you up.

When you got in the car, Bakugo was awfully quiet.

“Is there something wrong, Bakugo?”, you asked him, putting your hand on his shoulder.

“No it’s just... I can’t help but think how is my wife more badass than me?”, he grinned and pulled you closer to him.

“Well, maybe you’ve changed me.”, you chuckled.

“I don’t know about that...”, he chuckled and leaned in closer, “But I do know that what you did in there was the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

[likecastle]

Witcher Noir AU, pt 2

More Witcher noir AU, following on from the first part. This is the song Jaskier is singing in this scene, in case anyone is wondering.

If you have prompts or suggestions for scenes you’d like to see incorporated here, please send them my way! I got a couple of excellent suggestions from a friend that I’m excited to incorporate in future installments. 

CW for mentions of canonical character death.

Geralt stands on the sidewalk where Calanthe met her end. There’s no trace left of what happened here only a few days ago. The city has a short memory—its concrete washed clean by rain, the newsboy on the corner already hawking some new tragedy.

He peers up at the building, trying to think past his hangover and the pain in his ribs. Above street level, it’s a luxury hotel, one of the finest in town, with all the grandeur of a royal residence—which is fitting, considering it’s called the Palace. Geralt doubts he would find Calanthe’s name on any of the paperwork for the hotel, if he bothered to look, but it’s common knowledge that she was the money behind the business, and behind the nightclub that occupies the hotel’s basement levels, the Last Rose.

Squinting against the sun, he tries to guess which window Calanthe might’ve fallen from. The twelfth floor is the top floor, save for the garden bar on the roof. But just like the sidewalk, the building’s façade offers no clue about Calanthe’s last moments.

The newsboy on the corner is shouting about some new corruption scandal—as if anyone cares about bribery and graft anymore. Geralt turns to watch as he regales some passersby with the shocking details of the front-page story.

“Hey, kid,” he calls.

The kid has rich brown skin and a cap pulled down so low on his head it covers the tops of his ears. “Paper, mister?”

“You work around here a lot?”

The kid shrugs.

“Just wondering if you know anything about the woman who fell from the hotel window the other day. Maybe you saw her?”

The kid narrows his eyes, then says cautiously, “Maybe.”

Geralt considers the newsboy. He’s a little older than Geralt first thought, maybe fourteen or fifteen, and thin, with nervy bearing, like he’s ready to bolt at any moment. “I’ll buy all the copies you’ve got left of today’s edition if you can tell me anything about her I couldn’t read in the papers.”

The kid glances over Geralt’s shoulder at the hotel, then down the street in both directions. Geralt wonders who he’s looking out for. “She had a lot of meetings in the hotel, always showing up with a bunch of important-looking men in expensive suits. She’d stay the night with some guy, sometimes.”

“This guy,” Geralt says, “what’d he look like?”

“Tall, kinda stocky, black hair,” the boy recalls. “About the same age as her. I’d see them leaving together in the mornings. I figured, you know, she was stepping out, but her chauffeur would be waiting, and they always left together.”

Geralt nods. Calanthe was married, as he recalls. He’ll have to track down her husband, see what he makes of his wife’s death. Maybe this was a simple case of marital discord, and Yennefer’s theory about an underworld power struggle will come to nothing. “You know which room she fell out of?”

The kid shakes his head. “I’m not here nights. But she landed right over there.” He gestures to a spot at the far end of the block, almost at the edge of the sidewalk. To land there, she must’ve fallen from the corner room. “There was still blood the next morning. They tried to wash it off, but you could still tell. It upset s—some guests, I guess.” He shifts his feet like he’s anxious to get away. “Anyway, they sent somebody out later to scrub it again.”

“Thanks, kid.” Geralt offers him a five, enough to buy the papers in his arms several times over. “That cover it?”

The newsboy tucks the bill away in his vest pocket. “You actually want all these?”

“Keep ‘em,” he says, and heads in the direction of the steep steps that lead to the underground entrance of the Last Rose. When he glances over his shoulder, he notices the newsboy has chucked the rest of his papers into a trash can, and is ducking inside an automat across the street—not that Geralt can blame him for cutting out of work early, after a tip like that.

The dim, cavernous interior of the basement club is a relief after the bright sunlight outside. The guy watching the door tries to stop him, but when Geralt explains he’s a friend of Yennefer’s, the bouncer lets him pass. Yennefer’s name opens a surprising number of doors in this town, and Geralt isn’t above leaning on their connection if it makes his work a little easier. He doesn’t let himself linger on the thought that “friends” was never a word to describe what he and Yennefer are to one another.

He’s been inside the Last Rose a few times, but only on business, since its fine dining and elaborate floorshows are beyond his price range for ordinary entertaining. Its lavish interior looks strange empty of patrons. On the stage, a cluster of women in casual rehearsal clothes are standing around, being lectured by a lean man in soft slacks and a fitted turtleneck.

“Ladies,” the man is saying, “you know that I love each and every one of you dearly, but if you don’t get the timing of this entrance right, we might as well not do it at all. If we can’t wow them right from the start, we’ve already lost them. Now, let’s try it again, shall we?”

Geralt leans against a gilded column and watches as the women retreat offstage. The man steps to the center of the stage, wrapping one hand around the microphone stand, and the change in his posture as he takes up this position leaves no doubt in Geralt’s mind that this is the man he’s looking for. A moment ago, he might’ve been any young performer, but now, he’s every inch the irresistible emcee of the hottest nightclub in town.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he says in a voice like silk, “welcome to the Last Rose. I’m your host for evening, Jaskier, and I can already tell we’ve got a beautiful crowd here tonight. In fact, I’ve got a feeling I’m already falling for all of you . . .”

With a flirtatious smirk, he counts off the rhythm, and when he starts to sing, he’s singing directly to Geralt, and the twinge Geralt feels in his chest is definitely because of his bruised ribs and nothing else. “I’m flying high, but I’ve got a feeling I’m falling,” Jaskier croons, and the heat of that sultry gaze is so entrancing Geralt doesn’t even notice when the dancers appear, until Jaskier cuts off abruptly.

“Not bad, ladies,” he says brightly, though Geralt can still feel the other man’s attention on him. “I think we’ve just about got it. Why don’t you take ten and then we’ll go through it one last time?”

With a collective sigh, the dancers disperse. Jaskier, meanwhile, heads straight for Geralt, jogging gracefully down the stage stairs and crossing the dancefloor to where Geralt is leaning.

“Normally, I prefer people pay the cover charge before I show them I’ve got,” Jaskier says, “but in your case I think I might make an exception.”

Geralt’s been flirted with plenty of times—by other men, even—but something about Jaskier’s smoldering attention still manages to wrong-foot him. Flustered, Geralt clears his throat.

“Are you looking for someone?” Jaskier asks blithely, as if he can possibly be ignorant of the effect he’s having on Geralt. “If you’re dating one of the dancers, I definitely haven’t slept with her, no matter what you’ve heard.”

“I’m looking for you, actually,” Geralt manages. “I was hoping to ask you a few questions.”

“Oh, well, in that case,” he says, giving Geralt a wicked little grin, “why don’t we go somewhere a little more private so we can . . .  talk?”

Jaskier leads the way toward the back of house, and Geralt, wondering what he’s gotten himself into, falls into step behind him.

*

Part three

[ashortermeffect]

Let It Enfold You

Either peace or happiness, let it enfold you

when I was a young man I felt these things were dumb, unsophisticated. I had bad blood, a twisted mind, a precarious upbringing.

I was hard as granite, I leered at the sun. I trusted no man and especially no woman.

I was living a hell in small rooms, I broke things, smashed things, walked through glass, cursed. I challenged everything, was continually being evicted, jailed, in and out of fights, in and out of my mind. women were something to screw and rail at, I had no male friends,

I changed jobs and cities, I hated holidays, babies, history, newspapers, museums, grandmothers, marriage, movies, spiders, garbagemen, english accents, spain, france, italy, walnuts and the color orange. algebra angered me, opera sickened me, charlie chaplin was a fake and flowers were for pansies.

peace and happiness to me were signs of inferiority, tenants of the weak and addled mind.

but as I went on with my alley fights, my suicidal years, my passage through any number of women-it gradually began to occur to me that I wasn’t different

from the others, I was the same,

they were all fulsome with hatred, glossed over with petty grievances, the men I fought in alleys had hearts of stone. everybody was nudging, inching, cheating for some insignificant advantage, the lie was the weapon and the plot was empty, darkness was the dictator.

cautiously, I allowed myself to feel good at times. I found moments of peace in cheap rooms just staring at the knobs of some dresser or listening to the rain in the dark. the less I needed the better I felt.

maybe the other life had worn me down. I no longer found glamour in topping somebody in conversation. or in mounting the body of some poor drunken female whose life had slipped away into sorrow.

I could never accept life as it was, i could never gobble down all its poisons but there were parts, tenuous magic parts open for the asking.

I re formulated I don’t know when, date, time, all that but the change occurred. something in me relaxed, smoothed out. i no longer had to prove that I was a man,

I didn’t have to prove anything.

I began to see things: coffee cups lined up behind a counter in a cafe. or a dog walking along a sidewalk. or the way the mouse on my dresser top stopped there with its body, its ears, its nose, it was fixed, a bit of life caught within itself and its eyes looked at me and they were beautiful. then- it was gone.

I began to feel good, I began to feel good in the worst situations and there were plenty of those. like say, the boss behind his desk, he is going to have to fire me.

I’ve missed too many days. he is dressed in a suit, necktie, glasses, he says, ‘I am going to have to let you go’

‘it’s all right’ I tell him.

He must do what he must do, he has a wife, a house, children, expenses, most probably a girlfriend.

I am sorry for him he is caught.

I walk onto the blazing sunshine. the whole day is mine temporarily, anyhow.

(the whole world is at the throat of the world, everybody feels angry, short-changed, cheated, everybody is despondent, disillusioned)

I welcomed shots of peace, tattered shards of happiness.

I embraced that stuff like the hottest number, like high heels, breasts, singing,the works.

(don’t get me wrong, there is such a thing as cockeyed optimism that overlooks all basic problems just for the sake of itself- this is a shield and a sickness.)

The knife got near my throat again, I almost turned on the gas again but when the good moments arrived again I didn’t fight them off like an alley adversary. I let them take me, I luxuriated in them, I made them welcome home. I even looked into the mirror once having thought myself to be ugly, I now liked what I saw, almost handsome, yes, a bit ripped and ragged, scares, lumps, odd turns, but all in all, not too bad, almost handsome, better at least than some of those movie star faces like the cheeks of a baby’s butt.

and finally I discovered real feelings of others, unheralded, like lately, like this morning, as I was leaving, for the track, i saw my wife in bed, just the shape of her head there (not forgetting centuries of the living and the dead and the dying, the pyramids, Mozart dead but his music still there in the room, weeds growing, the earth turning, the tote board waiting for me) I saw the shape of my wife’s head, she so still, I ached for her life, just being there under the covers.

I kissed her in the forehead, got down the stairway, got outside, got into my marvelous car, fixed the seatbelt, backed out the drive. feeling warm to the fingertips, down to my foot on the gas pedal, I entered the world once more, drove down the hill past the houses full and empty of people, I saw the mailman, honked, he waved back at me.

[life-just-as-it-is]

“Either peace or happiness, let it enfold you. When I was a young man I felt these things were dumb, unsophisticated. I had bad blood, a twisted mind, a precarious upbringing. I was hard as granite, I leered at the sun. I trusted no man and especially no woman. I was living a hell in small rooms, I broke things, smashed things, walked through glass, cursed. I challenged everything, was continually being evicted, jailed, in and out of fights, in and out of my mind. Women were something to screw and rail at, I had no male friends, I changed jobs and cities, I hated holidays, babies, history, newspapers, museums, grandmothers, marriage, movies, spiders, garbagemen, english accents, Spain, France, Italy, walnuts and the color orange. Algebra angred me, opera sickened me, Charlie Chaplin was a fake and flowers were for pansies. Peace and happiness were to me signs of inferiority, tenants of the weak and addled mind. But as I went on with my alley fights, my suicidal years, my passage through any number of women... it gradually began to occur to me that I wasn't different from the others, I was the same. They were all fulsome with hatred, glossed over with petty grievances, the men I fought in alleys had hearts of stone. Everybody was nudging, inching, cheating for some insignificant advantage, the lie was the weapon and the plot was empty, darkness was the dictator. Cautiously, I allowed myself to feel good at times. I found moments of peace in cheap rooms just staring at the knobs of some dresser or listening to the rain in the dark. The less I needed, the better I felt. Maybe the other life had worn me down. I no longer found glamour in topping somebody in conversation. Or in mounting the body of some poor drunken female whose life had slipped away into sorrow. I could never accept life as it was, I could never gobble down all its poisons but there were parts, tenuous magic parts open for the asking. I reformulated, I don't know when, date, time, all that but, the change occurred. Something in me relaxed, smoothed out. I no longer had to prove that I was a man, I didn't have to prove anything. I began to see things: coffee cups lined up behind a counter in a cafe. Or a dog walking along a sidewalk. Or the way the mouse on my dresser top stopped there, really stopped there with its body, its ears, its nose, it was fixed, a bit of life caught within itself and its eyes looked at me and they were beautiful. Then... it was gone. I began to feel good, I began to feel good in the worst situations and there were plenty of those. Like say... the boss behind his desk, he is going to have to fire me. I've missed too many days. He is dressed in a suit, necktie, glasses, he says: 'I am going to have to let you go'. 'It's all right' I tell him. He must do what he must do, he has a wife, a house, children, expenses, most probably a girlfriend. I am sorry for him, he is caught. I walk onto the blazing sunshine. The whole day is mine temporarily, anyhow. The whole world is at the throat of the world, everybody feels angry, short-changed, cheated, everybody is despondent, disillusioned. I welcomed shots of peace, tattered shards of happiness. I embraced that stuff like the hottest number, like high heels, breasts, singing, the works. Don't get me wrong, there is such a thing as cockeyed optimism that overlooks all basic problems just for the sake of itself... this is a shield and a sickness. The knife got near my throat again, I almost turned on the gas again but when the good moments arrived again I didn't fight them off like an alley adversary. I let them take me, I luxuriated in them, I made them welcome home. I even looked into the mirror once having thought myself to be... ugly, I now liked what I saw, almost handsome, yes, a bit ripped and ragged, scares, lumps, odd turns, but all in all, not too bad, almost handsome, better at least than some of those movie star faces like the cheeks of a baby's butt. And finally I discovered real feelings of others, unheralded, like lately, like this morning, as I was leaving, for the track, I saw my wife in bed, just the shape of her head there. Covers pulled high, just the shape of her head there. Not forgetting centuries of the living and the dead and the dying, the pyramids, Mozart dead but his music still there in the room, weeds growing, the earth turning, the tote board waiting for me. I saw the shape of my wife's head, she so still, I ached for her life, just being there under the covers. I kissed her on the forehead, got down the stairway, got outside, got into my marvelous car, fixed the seatbelt, backed out the drive. Feeling warm to the fingertips, down to my foot on the gas pedal, I entered the world once more, drove down the hill past the houses full and empty of people, I saw the mailman, honked, he waved back at me.”

Charles Bukowski | Beautiful Boy (2018)

[appleheadblog]

When I was a young man, I felt that these things were dumb, unsophisticated. I had bad blood, a twisted mind, a precarious upbringing. I was hard as granite, I leered at the sun. I trusted no man and especially no woman. I was living a hell in small rooms, I broke things, smashed things, walked through the glass, cursed. I challenged everything, was continually being evicted, jailed. In and out fights, in and out my mind.

Women were something to screw and rail at. I had no male friends. I changed jobs and cities, I hated holidays, babies, history, newspapers, museums, grandmothers, marriage, movies, spiders, garbagemen, English accents, Spain, France, Italy, walnuts, and the color orange. Algebra angered me, opera sickened me, Charlie Chaplin was a fake and flowers were for pansies. Peace and happiness were to me sign of inferiority. Tenants of the weak and addled mind.

But as I went on with my alley fights, my suicidal years, my passage through any number of women, it gradually begun to occur to me that I wasn’t different from the others, I was the same. They were all fullsome with hatred, glossed over with petty grievances . the man I fought in alleys had hearts of stone. Everybody was nudging, inching, cheating from some insignificant advantage. The lie was the weapon and the plot was empty, darkness was the dictator.

Cautiously, I allowed myself to feel good at times, I found moments of peace in cheap rooms just staring at the knobs of some dresser or listening to the rain in the dark. The less I needed, the better I felt. Maybe the other life had worn me down, I no longer found glamour in topping somebody in conversation or in mounting the body of some poor, drunken female whose life had slipped way into sorrow. I could never accept life as it was. I could never gobble down all its poisons.

But there were parts, tenuous magic parts open for the asking. I reformulated. I don’t know when, date, time, all that. But the change occured, something in me relaxed, smoothed out, I no longer had to prove that I was a man. I didn’t have to prove anything, I begun to see things. Coffee cups lined up behind a counter in a café or a dog walking along a sidewalk or the way the mouse on my dresser top stopped there, really stopped there with its body, its ears, its nose, it was fixed, a bit of life caught within itself, and its eyes were looked at me and they were beautiful.

Then it was gone. I began to feel good, I began to feel good in worst situations and there were plenty of those, like say, the boss behind his desk, he is going to have to fire me, I’ve missed too many days, he’s dressed in a suit, necktie, glasses, he says “I’m going to have to let you go”, “it’s alright” I tell him. He must do what he must do, he has a wife, a house, children, expenses, most probably a girlfriend. I’m sorry for him. He’s caught.

I walked out into the blazing sushine, the whole day is mine, temporarily anyhow. The whole world is at the throat of the world, everybody feels angry ,short-changed, cheated. Everybody is despondent, disillusioned. I welcomed shots of piece, tattered shards of happines, I embraced that stuff like the hottest number, like high heels, breasts, singing, the works.

Don’t get me wrong, there is such a thing as cockeyed optimism that overlook all basic problems just for the sake itself. This is a shield, a sickness.

The knife got near my throat again, I almost turned on the gas again, but when the good moments arrived again, I didn’t fight them off like an alley adversary, I let them take me, I luxuriated them, I bade them welcome home, I even looked into the mirror once having thought myself to be ugly, I now liked what I saw. almost handsome, yet a bit ripped and ragged, scars, lumps, odd turns, but all in all, not too bad, almost handsome. Better at least than some of those movie star faces like the cheeks of a baby’s butt.

And finally I discovered real feelings for others, unheralded, like lately like this morning, as I was leaving for the track, I saw my wife in bed, just the shape of her head there covers pulled high, just the shape of her head there, not forgetting centuries of the living and the dead and the dying, and pyramids, mozart dead but his music still there in the room, weeds growing, the earth turning, the tote board waiting for me. I saw the shape of my wife’s head, she so still, I ached for her life just being there under covers, I kissed her on the forehead, got down the stairway, got outside, got into my marvelous car, fixed the seat belt,backed out the drive, feeling warm to the finger tips, down to my foot on the gas pedal, I entered the world once more, drove down the hill pass the houses full and empty of people. I saw the mailman, honked, he waved back at me.

-(via @appleheadblog)

[litteratured]

Either peace or happiness, let it enfold you when I was a young man I felt these things were dumb, unsophisticated. I had bad blood, a twisted mind, a precarious upbringing. I was hard as granite, I leered at the sun. I trusted no man and especially no woman. I was living a hell in small rooms, I broke things, smashed things, walked through glass, cursed. I challenged everything, was continually being evicted, jailed, in and out of fights, in and out of my mind. women were something to screw and rail at, I had no male friends, I changed jobs and cities, I hated holidays, babies, history, newspapers, museums, grandmothers, marriage, movies, spiders, garbagemen, english accents,spain, france,italy,walnuts and the color orange. algebra angred me, opera sickened me, charlie chaplin was a fake and flowers were for pansies. peace and happiness to me were signs of inferiority, tenants of the weak and addled mind. but as I went on with my alley fights, my suicidal years, my passage through any number of women-it gradually began to occur to me that I wasn't different from the others, I was the same, they were all fulsome with hatred, glossed over with petty grievances, the men I fought in alleys had hearts of stone. everybody was nudging, inching, cheating for some insignificant advantage, the lie was the weapon and the plot was empty, darkness was the dictator. cautiously, I allowed myself to feel good at times. I found moments of peace in cheap rooms just staring at the knobs of some dresser or listening to the rain in the dark. the less I needed the better I felt. maybe the other life had worn me down. I no longer found glamour in topping somebody in conversation. or in mounting the body of some poor drunken female whose life had slipped away into sorrow. I could never accept life as it was, i could never gobble down all its poisons but there were parts, tenuous magic parts open for the asking. I re formulated I don't know when, date, time, all that but the change occurred. something in me relaxed, smoothed out. i no longer had to prove that I was a man, I didn't have to prove anything. I began to see things: coffee cups lined up behind a counter in a cafe. or a dog walking along a sidewalk. or the way the mouse on my dresser top stopped there with its body, its ears, its nose, it was fixed, a bit of life caught within itself and its eyes looked at me and they were beautiful. then- it was gone. I began to feel good, I began to feel good in the worst situations and there were plenty of those. like say, the boss behind his desk, he is going to have to fire me. I've missed too many days. he is dressed in a suit, necktie, glasses, he says, 'I am going to have to let you go' 'it's all right' I tell him. He must do what he must do, he has a wife, a house, children, expenses, most probably a girlfriend. I am sorry for him he is caught. I walk onto the blazing sunshine. the whole day is mine temporarily, anyhow. (the whole world is at the throat of the world, everybody feels angry, short-changed, cheated, everybody is despondent, disillusioned)   I welcomed shots of peace, tattered shards of happiness. I embraced that stuff like the hottest number, like high heels, breasts, singing,the works. (don't get me wrong, there is such a thing as cockeyed optimism that overlooks all basic problems just for the sake of itself- this is a shield and a sickness.)   The knife got near my throat again, I almost turned on the gas again but when the good moments arrived again I didn't fight them off like an alley adversary. I let them take me, I luxuriated in them, I made them welcome home. I even looked into the mirror once having thought myself to be ugly, I now liked what I saw, almost handsome, yes, a bit ripped and ragged, scares, lumps, odd turns, but all in all, not too bad, almost handsome, better at least than some of those movie star faces like the cheeks of a baby's butt. and finally I discovered real feelings of others, unheralded, like lately, like this morning, as I was leaving, for the track, i saw my wife in bed, just the shape of her head there (not forgetting centuries of the living and the dead and the dying, the pyramids, Mozart dead but his music still there in the room, weeds growing, the earth turning, the tote board waiting for me)   I saw the shape of my wife's head, she so still, I ached for her life, just being there under the covers. I kissed her in the forehead, got down the stairway, got outside, got into my marvelous car, fixed the seatbelt, backed out the drive. feeling warm to the fingertips, down to my foot on the gas pedal, I entered the world once more, drove down the hill past the houses full and empty of people, I saw the mailman, honked, he waved back at me.

by Charles Bukowski

[monicadeola]

Either peace or happiness, let it enfold you

When I was a young man I felt these things were dumb, unsophisticated. I had bad blood, a twisted mind, a precarious upbringing. I was hard as granite, I leered at the sun. I trusted no man and especially no woman. I was living a hell in small rooms, I broke things, smashed things, walked through glass, cursed. I challenged everything, was continually being evicted, jailed, in and out of fights, in and out of my mind. Women were something to screw and rail at, I had no male freinds, I changed jobs and cities, I hated holidays, babies, history, newspapers, museums, grandmothers, marriage, movies, spiders, garbagemen, english accents, spain, france ,italy, walnuts and the color orange. Algebra angred me, opera sickened me, charlie chaplin was a fake and flowers were for pansies. Peace an happiness to me were signs of inferiority, tenants of the weak an addled mind. But as I went on with my alley fights, my suicidal years, my passage through any number of women - it gradually began to occur to me that I wasn’t different from the others, I was the same, they were all fulsome with hatred, glossed over with petty greivances, the men I fought in alleys had hearts of stone. everybody was nudging, inching, cheating for some insignificant advantage, the lie was the weapon and the plot was empty, darkness was the dictator. Cautiously, I allowed myself to feel good at times. I found moments of peace in cheap rooms just staring at the knobs of some dresser or listening to the rain in the dark. the less I needed the better I felt. Maybe the other life had worn me down. I no longer found glamour in topping somebody in conversation. or in mounting the body of some poor drunken female whose life had slipped away into sorrow. I could never accept life as it was, i could never gobble down all its poisons but there were parts, tenous magic parts open for the asking. I re formulated I don’t know when, date, time, all that but the change occured. something in me relaxed, smoothed out. i no longer had to prove that I was a man, I did'nt have to prove anything. I began to see things: coffee cups lined up behind a counter in a cafe. or a dog walking along a sidewalk. or the way the mouse on my dresser top stopped there with its body, its ears, its nose, it was fixed, a bit of life caught within itself and its eyes looked at me and they were beautiful. then- it was gone. I began to feel good, I began to feel good in the worst situations and there were plenty of those. like say, the boss behind his desk, he is going to have to fire me. I’ve missed too many days. he is dressed in a suit, necktie, glasses, he says, ‘I am going to have to let you go’ ‘it’s all right’ I tell him. He must do what he must do, he has a wife, a house, children. expenses, most probably a girlfreind. I am sorry for him he is caught. I walk onto the blazing sunshine. the whole day is mine temporailiy, anyhow. (the whole world is at the throat of the world, everybody feels angry, short-changed, cheated, everybody is despondent, dissillusioned) I welcomed shots of peace, tattered shards of happiness. I embraced that stuff like the hottest number, like high heels, breasts, singing, the works.

(dont get me wrong, there is such a thing as cockeyed optimism that overlooks all basic problems just for the sake of itself- this is a shield and a sickness.)

The knife got near my throat again, I almost turned on the gas again but when the good moments arrived again I did'nt fight them off like an alley adversary. I let them take me, i luxuriated in them, I bade them welcome home. I even looked into the mirror once having thought myself to be ugly, I now liked what I saw,almost handsome, yes, a bit ripped and ragged, scares, lumps, odd turns, but all in all, not too bad, almost handsome, better at least than some of those movie star faces like the cheeks of a baby’s butt.

And finally I discovered real feelings of others, unheralded, like lately, like this morning, as I was leaving, for the track, i saw my wife in bed, just the shape of her head there (not forgetting centuries of the living and the dead and the dying, the pyramids, Mozart dead but his music still there in the room, weeds growing, the earth turning, the toteboard waiting for me) I saw the shape of my wife’s head, she so still, I ached for her life, just being there under the covers.

I kissed her in the forehead, got down the stairway, got outside, got into my marvelous car, fixed the seatbelt, backed out the drive. Feeling warm to the fingertips, down to my foot on the gas pedal, I entered the world once more, drove down the hill past the houses full and empty of people, I saw the mailman, honked, he waved back at me.

[isa6697]

Either peace or happiness, let it enfold you when I was a young man I felt these things were dumb, unsophisticated. I had bad blood, a twisted mind, a precarious upbringing. I was hard as granite, I leered at the sun. I trusted no man and especially no woman. I was living a hell in small rooms, I broke things, smashed things, walked through glass, cursed. I challenged everything, was continually being evicted, jailed, in and out of fights, in and out of my mind. women were something to screw and rail at, I had no male friends, I changed jobs and cities, I hated holidays, babies, history, newspapers, museums, grandmothers, marriage, movies, spiders, garbagemen, english accents,spain, france,italy,walnuts and the color orange. algebra angred me, opera sickened me, charlie chaplin was a fake and flowers were for pansies. peace and happiness to me were signs of inferiority, tenants of the weak and addled mind. but as I went on with my alley fights, my suicidal years, my passage through any number of women-it gradually began to occur to me that I wasn’t different from the others, I was the same, they were all fulsome with hatred, glossed over with petty grievances, the men I fought in alleys had hearts of stone. everybody was nudging, inching, cheating for some insignificant advantage, the lie was the weapon and the plot was empty, darkness was the dictator. cautiously, I allowed myself to feel good at times. I found moments of peace in cheap rooms just staring at the knobs of some dresser or listening to the rain in the dark. the less I needed the better I felt. maybe the other life had worn me down. I no longer found glamour in topping somebody in conversation. or in mounting the body of some poor drunken female whose life had slipped away into sorrow. I could never accept life as it was, i could never gobble down all its poisons but there were parts, tenuous magic parts open for the asking. I re formulated I don’t know when, date, time, all that but the change occurred. something in me relaxed, smoothed out. i no longer had to prove that I was a man, I didn’t have to prove anything. I began to see things: coffee cups lined up behind a counter in a cafe. or a dog walking along a sidewalk. or the way the mouse on my dresser top stopped there with its body, its ears, its nose, it was fixed, a bit of life caught within itself and its eyes looked at me and they were beautiful. then- it was gone. I began to feel good, I began to feel good in the worst situations and there were plenty of those. like say, the boss behind his desk, he is going to have to fire me. I’ve missed too many days. he is dressed in a suit, necktie, glasses, he says, ‘I am going to have to let you go’ ‘it’s all right’ I tell him. He must do what he must do, he has a wife, a house, children, expenses, most probably a girlfriend. I am sorry for him he is caught. I walk onto the blazing sunshine. the whole day is mine temporarily, anyhow. (the whole world is at the throat of the world, everybody feels angry, short-changed, cheated, everybody is despondent, disillusioned) I welcomed shots of peace, tattered shards of happiness. I embraced that stuff like the hottest number, like high heels, breasts, singing,the works. (don’t get me wrong, there is such a thing as cockeyed optimism that overlooks all basic problems just for the sake of itself- this is a shield and a sickness.) The knife got near my throat again, I almost turned on the gas again but when the good moments arrived again I didn’t fight them off like an alley adversary. I let them take me, I luxuriated in them, I made them welcome home. I even looked into the mirror once having thought myself to be ugly, I now liked what I saw, almost handsome, yes, a bit ripped and ragged, scares, lumps, odd turns, but all in all, not too bad, almost handsome, better at least than some of those movie star faces like the cheeks of a baby’s butt. and finally I discovered real feelings of others, unheralded, like lately, like this morning, as I was leaving, for the track, i saw my wife in bed, just the shape of her head there (not forgetting centuries of the living and the dead and the dying, the pyramids, Mozart dead but his music still there in the room, weeds growing, the earth turning, the tote board waiting for me) I saw the shape of my wife’s head, she so still, I ached for her life, just being there under the covers. I kissed her in the forehead, got down the stairway, got outside, got into my marvelous car, fixed the seatbelt, backed out the drive. feeling warm to the fingertips, down to my foot on the gas pedal, I entered the world once more, drove down the hill past the houses full and empty of people, I saw the mailman, honked, he waved back at me. Read more: http://bukowskiquotes.com/2018/11/charles-bukowski-poem-let-it-enfold-you-featured-in-movie-beautiful-boy/#ixzz5bv49vcP3

Charles Bukowski Poem “Let It Enfold You”

[egheneto]

BEAUTIFUL BOY

There are moments that I look at him, this kid that I raised, who I thought I knew inside and out, and I wonder who he is. He’s been doing all sorts of drugs, but he’s addicted to crystal meth, which seems, uh, to be the worst of all of them. And I guess I’m here because I just want to know all that I can about all of it. Know your enemies, right? So, my two big questions are, what is it doing to him, and what can I do to help him?

Vedere soffrire le persone a cui si vuole bene è terribile. Sapere di non poter fare nulla per aiutarle è ancora peggio.

Do you know how much I love you? If you could take all the words in the language, it still wouldn't describe how much I love you. And if you could gather all those words together, it still wouldn't describe what I feel for you. What I feel for you is everything. I love you more than everything.

Beautiful boy è un film delicato. Si costruisce attorno al rapporto profondo tra David e il figlio Nicolas. Senza troppe pretese, dipinge la storia di un padre che osserva la vita del proprio figlio disgregarsi giorno dopo giorno, oppresso dal demone della dipendenza da metanfetamine.

Soffrire insieme al padre è inevitabile: la dura e cruda descrizione del presente si contrappone alle rievocazioni di immagini felici di infanzia, permeate di tranquillità, amore e felicità. Nicolas era un bambino felice, bello, con una grande passione per la lettura e grande talento per la scrittura. Rifugiarsi nei ricordi diventa, per David, l’unico modo per trovare la forza di andare avanti e non mollare; guardare indietro ai giorni felici è seguire a ritroso il percorso del loro rapporto per cercare di capire dove ha potuto sbagliare come padre, per trovare delle risposte.

I know now I need to find a way to fill this big black hole in me

La storia è quella di Nicolas, ma è una storia che lo vede assente. Nic soffre per la quotidianità, per una vita che fa fatica a sopportare, che non vuole più sopportare. Si nasconde nelle droghe che lo accendono, lo elevano al di sopra di una realtà nella quale si sente intrappolato. Si sente finalmente vivo, ma finisce per non esistere affatto. 

Al suo posto subentra, in primo piano, la sofferenza di chi gli è vicino, di chi lo ama e cerca di aiutarlo. Beautiful boy mostra un lato differente della dipendenza, il lato di chi, dall'esterno, osserva impotente una persona ridursi al niente. La caduta, la disintossicazione, le brevi illusioni di miglioramento e di nuovo la ricaduta: si trattiene il fiato per tutto il film, insieme ai familiari di Nicolas, nella speranza di poter assistere a una risoluzione positiva, nella speranza che quella sia la volta buona. Perché, d'altronde, per chi si ama davvero si farebbe di tutto. 

David Sheff: Nicolas called. He sounds desperate. He’s going to die if we don’t do anything. Vicki Sheff: Well, he’s going to die even if we do. Nothing we do has any effect on him. I failed. I know you feel ashamed, okay? So do I. But you’ve done great, David. And Karen too, so thank you for that. You were up for it when I wasn’t, and I’m not giving up now. Never. But I can’t do it alone. I need your help. David Sheff: I don’t think you can save people, Vicki. Vicki Sheff: You can be there for them, can’t you? David Sheff: I’m done.

Ma al tutto c'è un limite, ed è un limite difficile da accettare. È difficile riuscire a mollare, a lasciarsi andare, riuscire ad ammettere la propria impotenza di fronte a qualcosa di così grande. Perchè l’amore è più forte di tutto ma, a volte, l’unica scelta è lasciar perdere. 

Non puoi salvare qualcuno se, per primo, lui non si vuole salvare.

Nicole C.

________________________________________________

Bukowski, Let it enfold you.

Either peace or happiness, let it enfold you

when I was a young man I felt these things were dumb, unsophisticated. I had bad blood, a twisted mind, a precarious upbringing.

I was hard as granite, I leered at the sun. I trusted no man and especially no woman.

I was living a hell in small rooms, I broke things, smashed things, walked through glass, cursed. I challenged everything, was continually being evicted, jailed, in and out of fights, in and out of my mind. women were something to screw and rail at, I had no male friends,

I changed jobs and cities, I hated holidays, babies, history, newspapers, museums, grandmothers, marriage, movies, spiders, garbagemen, english accents, spain, france, italy, walnuts and the color orange. algebra angered me, opera sickened me, charlie chaplin was a fake and flowers were for pansies.

peace and happiness to me were signs of inferiority, tenants of the weak and addled mind.

but as I went on with my alley fights, my suicidal years, my passage through any number of women-it gradually began to occur to me that I wasn’t different

from the others, I was the same,

they were all fulsome with hatred, glossed over with petty grievances, the men I fought in alleys had hearts of stone. everybody was nudging, inching, cheating for some insignificant advantage, the lie was the weapon and the plot was empty, darkness was the dictator.

cautiously, I allowed myself to feel good at times. I found moments of peace in cheap rooms just staring at the knobs of some dresser or listening to the rain in the dark. the less I needed the better I felt.

maybe the other life had worn me down. I no longer found glamour in topping somebody in conversation. or in mounting the body of some poor drunken female whose life had slipped away into sorrow.

I could never accept life as it was, i could never gobble down all its poisons but there were parts, tenuous magic parts open for the asking.

I re formulated I don’t know when, date, time, all that but the change occurred. something in me relaxed, smoothed out. i no longer had to prove that I was a man,

I didn’t have to prove anything.

I began to see things: coffee cups lined up behind a counter in a cafe. or a dog walking along a sidewalk. or the way the mouse on my dresser top stopped there with its body, its ears, its nose, it was fixed, a bit of life caught within itself and its eyes looked at me and they were beautiful. then- it was gone.

I began to feel good, I began to feel good in the worst situations and there were plenty of those. like say, the boss behind his desk, he is going to have to fire me.

I’ve missed too many days. he is dressed in a suit, necktie, glasses, he says, ‘I am going to have to let you go’

‘it’s all right’ I tell him.

He must do what he must do, he has a wife, a house, children, expenses, most probably a girlfriend.

I am sorry for him he is caught.

I walk onto the blazing sunshine. the whole day is mine temporarily, anyhow.

(the whole world is at the throat of the world, everybody feels angry, short-changed, cheated, everybody is despondent, disillusioned)

I welcomed shots of peace, tattered shards of happiness.

I embraced that stuff like the hottest number, like high heels, breasts, singing,the works.

(don’t get me wrong, there is such a thing as cockeyed optimism that overlooks all basic problems just for the sake of itself- this is a shield and a sickness.)

The knife got near my throat again, I almost turned on the gas again but when the good moments arrived again I didn’t fight them off like an alley adversary. I let them take me, I luxuriated in them, I made them welcome home. I even looked into the mirror once having thought myself to be ugly, I now liked what I saw, almost handsome, yes, a bit ripped and ragged, scares, lumps, odd turns, but all in all, not too bad, almost handsome, better at least than some of those movie star faces like the cheeks of a baby’s butt.

and finally I discovered real feelings of others, unheralded, like lately, like this morning, as I was leaving, for the track, i saw my wife in bed, just the shape of her head there (not forgetting centuries of the living and the dead and the dying, the pyramids, Mozart dead but his music still there in the room, weeds growing, the earth turning, the tote board waiting for me) I saw the shape of my wife’s head, she so still, I ached for her life, just being there under the covers.

I kissed her in the forehead, got down the stairway, got outside, got into my marvelous car, fixed the seatbelt, backed out the drive. feeling warm to the fingertips, down to my foot on the gas pedal, I entered the world once more, drove down the hill past the houses full and empty of people, I saw the mailman, honked, he waved back at me.

[thehippygipsy]

either peace or happiness, let it enfold you when I was a young man I felt these things were dumb, unsophisticated. I had bad blood, a twisted mind, a precarious upbringing. I was hard as granite, I leered at the sun. I trusted no man and especially no woman. I was living a hell in small rooms, I broke things, smashed things, walked through glass, cursed. I challenged everything, was continually being evicted, jailed,in and out of fights, in and out of my mind. women were something to screw and rail at, I had no male freinds, I changed jobs and cities, I hated holidays, babies, history, newspapers, museums, grandmothers, marriage, movies, spiders, garbagemen, english accents,spain, france,italy,walnuts and the color orange. algebra angred me, opera sickened me, charlie chaplin was a fake and flowers were for pansies. peace an happiness to me were signs of inferiority, tenants of the weak an addled mind. but as I went on with my alley fights, my suicidal years, my passage through any number of women-it gradually began to occur to me that I wasn't different from the others, I was the same, they were all fulsome with hatred, glossed over with petty greivances, the men I fought in alleys had hearts of stone. everybody was nudging, inching, cheating for some insignificant advantage, the lie was the weapon and the plot was empty, darkness was the dictator. cautiously, I allowed myself to feel good at times. I found moments of peace in cheap rooms just staring at the knobs of some dresser or listening to the rain in the dark. the less I needed the better I felt. maybe the other life had worn me down. I no longer found glamour in topping somebody in conversation. or in mounting the body of some poor drunken female whose life had slipped away into sorrow. I could never accept life as it was, i could never gobble down all its poisons but there were parts, tenous magic parts open for the asking. I re formulated I don't know when, date, time, all that but the change occured. something in me relaxed, smoothed out. i no longer had to prove that I was a man, I did'nt have to prove anything. I began to see things: coffee cups lined up behind a counter in a cafe. or a dog walking along a sidewalk. or the way the mouse on my dresser top stopped there with its body, its ears, its nose, it was fixed, a bit of life caught within itself and its eyes looked at me and they were beautiful. then- it was gone. I began to feel good, I began to feel good in the worst situations and there were plenty of those. like say, the boss behind his desk, he is going to have to fire me. I've missed too many days. he is dressed in a suit, necktie, glasses, he says, 'I am going to have to let you go' 'it's all right' I tell him. He must do what he must do, he has a wife, a house, children. expenses, most probably a girlfreind. I am sorry for him he is caught. I walk onto the blazing sunshine. the whole day is mine temporailiy, anyhow. (the whole world is at the throat of the world, everybody feels angry, short-changed, cheated, everybody is despondent, dissillusioned) I welcomed shots of peace, tattered shards of happiness. I embraced that stuff like the hottest number, like high heels, breasts, singing,the works. (dont get me wrong, there is such a thing as cockeyed optimism that overlooks all basic problems just for the sake of itself- this is a shield and a sickness.) The knife got near my throat again, I almost turned on the gas again but when the good moments arrived again I did'nt fight them off like an alley adversary. I let them take me, i luxuriated in them, I bade them welcome home. I even looked into the mirror once having thought myself to be ugly, I now liked what I saw,almost handsome, yes, a bit ripped and ragged, scares, lumps, odd turns, but all in all, not too bad, almost handsome, better at least than some of those movie star faces like the cheeks of a baby's butt. and finally I discovered real feelings of others, unheralded, like lately, like this morning, as I was leaving, for the track, i saw my wife in bed, just the shape of her head there (not forgetting centuries of the living and the dead and the dying, the pyramids, Mozart dead but his music still there in the room, weeds growing, the earth turning, the toteboard waiting for me) I saw the shape of my wife's head, she so still, I ached for her life, just being there under the covers. I kissed her in the, forehead, got down the stairway, got outside, got into my marvelous car, fixed the seatbelt, backed out the drive. feeling warm to the fingertips, down to my foot on the gas pedal, I entered the world once more, drove down the hill past the houses full and empty of people, I saw the mailman, honked, he waved back at me.

Charles Bukowski, Let It Enfold You

[autumnblood]

Either peace or happiness, let it enfold you. when I was a young man I felt these things were dumb, unsophisticated. I had bad blood, a twisted mind, a precarious upbringing. I was hard as granite, I leered at the sun. I trusted no man and especially no woman. I was living a hell in small rooms, I broke things, smashed things, walked through glass, cursed. I challenged everything, was continually being evicted, jailed, in and out of fights, in and out of my mind. women were something to screw and rail at, I had no male friends.I changed jobs and cities, I hated holidays, babies, history, newspapers, museums, grandmothers, marriage, movies, spiders, garbagemen, english accents, spain, france, italy, walnuts and the color orange. algebra angred me, opera sickened me, charlie chaplin was a fake and flowers were for pansies. peace and happiness to me were signs of inferiority, tenants of the weak and addled mind. but as I went on with my alley fights, my suicidal years, my passage through any number of women-it gradually began to occur to me that I wasn't different from the others, I was the same, they were all fulsome with hatred, glossed over with petty grievances, the men I fought in alleys had hearts of stone. everybody was nudging, inching, cheating for some insignificant advantage, the lie was the weapon and the plot was empty, darkness was the dictator. cautiously, I allowed myself to feel good at times. I found moments of peace in cheap rooms just staring at the knobs of some dresser or listening to the rain in the dark. the less I needed the better I felt. maybe the other life had worn me down. I no longer found glamour in topping somebody in conversation. or in mounting the body of some poor drunken female whose life had slipped away into sorrow. I could never accept life as it was, i could never gobble down all its poisons but there were parts, tenuous magic parts open for the asking. I re formulated I don't know when, date, time, all that but the change occurred. something in me relaxed, smoothed out. i no longer had to prove that I was a man, I didn't have to prove anything. I began to see things: coffee cups lined up behind a counter in a cafe. or a dog walking along a sidewalk. or the way the mouse on my dresser top stopped there with its body, its ears, its nose, it was fixed, a bit of life caught within itself and its eyes looked at me and they were beautiful. then - it was gone. I began to feel good, I began to feel good in the worst situations and there were plenty of those. like say, the boss behind his desk, he is going to have to fire me. I've missed too many days. he is dressed in a suit, necktie, glasses, he says, 'I am going to have to let you go' 'it's all right' I tell him. He must do what he must do, he has a wife, a house, children, expenses, most probably a girlfriend. I am sorry for him he is caught. I walk onto the blazing sunshine. the whole day is mine temporarily, anyhow. (the whole world is at the throat of the world, everybody feels angry, short-changed, cheated, everybody is despondent, disillusioned) I welcomed shots of peace, tattered shards of happiness. I embraced that stuff like the hottest number, like high heels, breasts, singing,the works. (don't get me wrong, there is such a thing as cockeyed optimism that overlooks all basic problems just for the sake of itself- this is a shield and a sickness.) The knife got near my throat again, I almost turned on the gas again but when the good moments arrived again I didn't fight them off like an alley adversary. I let them take me, I luxuriated in them, I made them welcome home. I even looked into the mirror once having thought myself to be ugly, I now liked what I saw, almost handsome, yes, a bit ripped and ragged, scars, lumps, odd turns, but all in all, not too bad, almost handsome, better at least than some of those movie star faces like the cheeks of a baby's butt. and finally I discovered real feelings of others, unheralded, like lately, like this morning, as I was leaving, for the track, i saw my wife in bed, just the shape of her head there (not forgetting centuries of the living and the dead and the dying, the pyramids, Mozart dead but his music still there in the room, weeds growing, the earth turning, the tote board waiting for me) I saw the shape of my wife's head, she so still, I ached for her life, just being there under the covers. I kissed her on the forehead, got down the stairway, got outside, got into my marvellous car, fixed the seatbelt, backed out the drive, feeling warm to the fingertips down to my foot on the gas pedal, I entered the world once more, drove down the hill, past the houses full and empty of people, i saw the mailman, honked, he waved back at me.