shout out to the man who used to come to my work who looked like mile. you were lovely. glad we dated for a while but now my image of a celebrity is ruined bc u like to be pissed on.
i’m very curious about this since theaters have been closed most of the year so, reblog and put in the tags the last movie you watched in a cinema this year.
Portuguese Men o’ War are best known for being those super, duper poisonous jellyfish. Except you’ve been lied to, they aren’t jellyfish. They aren’t even really animals! They’re like, colonies of animals. They’re called siphonophores, and honestly unless you made a life choice to study biology or sea creatures or some shit you don’t even WANT to know what that means in science terms. Put simply, siphonophores are like Voltrons. Like the arms and the legs and the body, they’re all their own guys, but they work together as one. Except I think Voltron breaks up into space ships, and if you break up a siphonophore they all die. To be honest I’ve never seen Voltron. I shouldn’t be talking about it like I’m an expert.
Yes, yes that is Patrick Swayze, Rob Lowe, Tom Cruise, Matt Dillon, Emilio Estevez, Ralf Macchio and Harry Styles. Wait..Harry Styles? No no sorry, it’s C Thomas Howell in The Outsiders by Francis Ford Coppola 1983
You make me nervous, she said, and it made my mind race.
There’s a sort of residual guilt in the concept that there’s the slightest hint of capture when talking to a girl, but it’s unavoidable when I deal with it from the psychological viewpoint that I do. I’m walking on a tightrope, constantly, and it’s getting thinner and thinner the further I walk, until that one moment, that fulcrum, and things suddenly get pleasantly wide.
I have so many things to say. So many things that would make you go running for the hills, that would terrify and appall, an inner monologue of filth and perversion that makes even me baulk sometimes. They’re not really realities that I want to manifest, or even ideas I want to entertain, but the problem is that some of them are, and the idea of giving away too much too soon puts a little of the fear in me.
What amuses me is that this isn’t even remotely unique to D/s. There are always secrets, lies of omission, things that you don’t want to reveal too early. The bad habits, the questionable tastes in music and film, the fuck ups that you haven’t quite managed to reconcile with yourself. But with kink there’s always the feeling that you might go from the man who is excitingly different, a little dangerous, into the predator she was always worried you were.
You make me nervous, she said, and I winced a little.
Because what if I have overstepped? What if that last thing was that step too far, the one to actually make her shake her head for a moment, realise that this illusion I’ve been slowly constructing around her is quite as delicate as it is, and she decides to tear the whole thing down? What if it’s not even that dramatic, just the seed of doubt that turns into the sudden, apologetic admission two months down the line that she really isn’t ready for all this, and that this was all a terrible mistake.
You make me nervous, she said, and then she smiled.
No, actually, nervous isn’t quite right. You make me excited.
