Vignette - Tumblr Posts - Page 2
I Am From...
(in the style of George Ella Lyon)
I am from the hot cup of tea in the morning
From Barnes&Noble and Stradivarius
I am from the house on a dead end street, isolated, loving, the smell of home Irish and Italian cooking
I am from the rose bush in the garden, that sweet smell and thirst for life
I’m from Thanksgiving dinner and corny jokes
From godfather and godmother
I’m from the late movie nights and game nights
From the monster under the bed and campfire stories
I’m from silent prayers and crushed religion
I’m from New York, Ireland, and Italy
Shortbread cookies and penne
From the old chair swing in her backyard, grieving our losses
The grievance of cancer and heart problems
Walls, window sills, tables filled with pictures of you
“We may not have it all together, but together we have it all.”
He'd always been such a good boy...
Well, not really. He was a Mightyena after all. So that meant flaunting authority when the mood took him, which was most of the time. And hell, you try stopping a huge hound like him from sitting on the couch...
And it also meant flirting. But when it's a beast with a bite that can crush tree trunks, flirting isn't a handful of daisies. It's a flagging tail when he knows you're watching. It's swaying his balls. It's lying on top of you when you're in bed, the distinctive weight of his sheath on your belly...
But that's not even when he really wanted something. No, you'll know when that happens, because you'd feel the claws, and the panting against your neck, and the cold earth against your cheek as he pulls up your rear.
And his paws would hook around your waist, powerfully, indulgently firm. A hold that means you're not going to escape until he's properly tied you down...
Oh, and that's why you have to keep a wary eye out. Because he ain't just doing it on a lazy Saturday afternoon at home. He'll do it half-way through the night if he's woken up from a lustful dream, dragging you out from under your covers. Or he'll grab your arm in his jaws mid-hike, and pull you into the grasses for some wild indulgence. And whether he plants his rear against your crotch or rams his sheath between your cheeks, you have mere seconds to give him what he wants, before he viciously, indulgently takes it...
...Like I said.
He's always been such a good boy <3
Pouncing Shadow
-----
"I'm setting off to see my boyfriend!"
The words taste sweet and spicy on your lips, and you can't help but grin as you climb into the little boat, the cats ready at the oars.
Do others know the full extent of your meaning, you wonder?
The palicoes? Ah, who can tell? They're happy enough to integrate with civilization if it gets them a big fish at the end of the day, and their food is to die for, if you can mind the odd hairball.
The hunters guild... perhaps. There's banter and jokes aplenty around the dango counter, a reduction of your work to casual terms and easy-going euphemisms, to the point that 'boyfriend' could mean anything - but you know that more than a couple take nighttime excursions to the flooded forest only to return supposedly empty-handed, and that's not even considering those that sprint off with their Palamutes after every hunt...
The questgivers? ...They had exotic tastes. You'd given more than one married woman directions to a Khezu in your time...
But - as you step onto the lush grasses of the old shrine, and leave your feline oarsmen behind the dense treeline - you wonder about what he knows...
It's not hard to track the gouges of claws in the earth, the ripped branches from trees. The ground rumbles with an echoing rrrrrrowwwwlll as you clamber over moss-covered walls, half-fallen and swallowed by bushes. So, it's not long before...
SLAM. Your head rings, sparks dancing in your eyes, and you're briefly disorientated until the paw pulls away from your head. The last few moments are missing from your memory, and you're gradually, staccato-like, reaquainted with the mud under your cheek, the warm air rolling from above you, the shaft buried inside your rear, sparking waves of aching, painful pleasure...
Nargacuga are relentless. Territorial. Envious. Proud, too - and you've learnt to lie down, grit your teeth, and let your moans be drowned out by his ground-trembling snarls. You let him indulge in your body, and delight in how he carves tree roots in twain like they were twigs, as he fights to force every inch he can inside your warm walls. The last thing that interrupted him was a Great Izuchi, and the crater-like crack in the nearby cliff is still visible, still stained.
You grab pawfuls of grass, warm pre running like a river down the inside of your thighs. And the thought once again rises to the top of the blurred mix of pleasure and pain in your head.
How much does he know...?
He no longer attempts to fight you. You don't need a stinkmink to lure him where you want him, nor a kunai on hand in case his hungers drift...
But does he know what a boyfriend even is? Does he know you as a hunter, see this is a rare reaching across a battleline? Does he see you as a mate, and desires to claim you as such? Or is he merely a beast, a monster - indulging in a warm, fluffy body he can throw to the ground and use...
And honestly...
You're not sure which you find hottest.
A Tribute to the Rock Art of Valcamonica
Life has been so much better since they showed up...
The months of the sun-season are over, and the days are getting colder. Your tribe came down from the higher peaks to seek out the caves you return to each snow. And there, you found them again - the dogs.
Your tribe's and them - you've been running on hunts more and more, as the cooler northern winds blow over the white slopes. You started cautious, many seasons past, but each seems to have learned to trust the other. Two legs and four legs, spear and fang - such hunts have proven bountiful...
But that's not what's making life better for you, is it?
The scent of cooking meat drew them to your fires, to your camps even outside of the hunts. But your offerings kept them, and now they come and go as they please. Even now, to the tribe's celebration of the sun-season's end, to the indulgence of pleasure...
And what pleasure...
Kwōn-cwēn, they're calling you now; the hound-woman. It's a quaint name, even a friendly jab. Not many in the tribe share your tastes, and those that do don't tend to eschew their fellow tribesmen as you do. But they accept you, of course - they even dedicated a part of their wall-murals to you, an appreciation of your curious nature. And curious you may be - but you wear it all with happiness, with pride.
For how can you deny what you love? Their beauty, the earnestness of their gaze. Their eager, indulgent tongues... Your spirit yearns during the flowers-season, when the dogs are away tending to their cubs. And at the site of the packs dancing across the snows as the days lengthen, your soul dances in your chest. For soon your lovers will come again.
And so, the celebration continues, the fires burning under a gaze of the sky-spirits. Under their watch, you indulge in the world they weave, and everything in it. For the others, that means each other, olive-skinned bodies rolling in the firelight. For you...
The touch of fur on skin is like no other.
Oh, what a tribe you may make one day, two legs living with four! What a pack you'll live in, eat in, and sleep in. Maybe one day, every tribesman could have the chance to share in the love of such beautiful beasts. Man's greatest friend, be it on the mountain slopes, on the sun-blanched plains...
Or in the caves, echoing with gasps and moans, as the fire burns on-
Both without, and within.
Modern Bedroom in Sunshine Coast
#CassaveCake #instafood #foodporn #igpinoy #vignette (at Hacienda Manzo)
He's holding out on us
Sean, my son.
He asks a lot of questions.
"Daddy," he asked me, "are cemeteries frightening places?"
I never know exactly where his questions are leading to but I certainly know his mother is afraid of cemeteries so I said,
"Yah.." and waited.
"Then why," he asked, "do people cry instead of getting scared?"
"Good question." I laughed and looked for a piece of paper to write it down on.
Later he came up to me and asked,
"Daddy, why did God even think it was a good idea to create mosquitos?"
We live in the Philippines.
"I have no idea why God created mosquitos." I answered him honesty, "In fact," I said, "I bet even God doesn't know why he created mosquitos."
We both started laughing and he said, "I bet if you asked God why he created mosquitos he'd be like, 'Gosh, why DID I create mosquitos?'"
Sean was playing Roblox while we talked and laughed. He can do that. His little fingers ran over his iPad screen directing characters while he spoke. Kid energy. Then he looked up and asked,
"Daddy, who created God?"
I kid you not.
That is a question I've been waiting for without any plans for a good answer.
"Sean," I started, "That's a very big question. No one really knows the answer."
"What?" he was astonished. "Can you look it up on the internet?"
"Nah," I said, "it won't even be on the internet. Nobody knows who created God."
"Nobody?" he asked in disbelief.
"Nobody," I replied.
"Not even God?"
"Well," I said, "I suppose God knows who created himself."
"He should tell people!" Sean demanded.
That one made my sit back in my chair and look up for a moment. Not gonna lie, I had to agree.
"He probably should tell people." I said, "But he's holding out on us."
"Humph." Sean said with no small amount of displeasure.
And then he went back to his Roblox,
Calbayog City 2023
Phacochère
~ Vignettes animeaux ~ encre de chine ~ 9 x 11 cm ~ Baldo ~
Modern Bedroom - Bedroom
Three Words of Consequence
I’m stroking his sleeping form, my hand tracing the idlest of circles with the deepest concentration. This is the one I have chosen, he who is mine. I sit now, watching the soft rise and fall of his shoulder blades under his slowing breathing. The slumber is deepening under my coaxing, and I feel content. My fingers are widespread, and gently skip across the thick waves of his back, exploring each crest and trough. It responds, resilient in some places, pliant and soft in others. I brush close to the edge of the quilt, under which his lower half is covered, and feel goose pimples rise. Are they from cold, or tremors of the sensation? His face is turned away from me. How does he always, even after the fall into unconsciousness, know where the glints of my eyes will be? I brush my hand through his hair, thick and coarse; always in need of a brush. He can’t hide it anymore. He said it, he said it tonight. I think back, to blissful foray past, when moon put her ear to the gap in the curtains to listen to the night time radio, turned up just a little too loud for furtiveness, while we moved in the dark. I could not see him then either, the ghost light cast his features in shadow, but as I lay back, feeling, I heard it on the rim of his lips. I saw the syllables, darker than the gloom, work their way through his gaping breath and around his ragged tongue. They emerged, and they were quiet. It was almost as if he was ignorant of their import, or unaware of what it was that, as if it had slipped out and escaped. A whisper and we were bound. Inextricable. The moments of our passion passed, and yet he remained. It was I who slipped out from under, not quite knowing why, many minutes after and though, heavy with echo. “I love you.”
June held up the camera and pressed record just in time, but the device didn’t start to capture until she had already gained three cup sizes, her tits bulging out from the pitiful looking B cup bra on all sides and spilling out of her shirt she had started filling.
The little red light blinked, and she became more and more top heavy each second as her boobs rose beneath her shirt. Her neckline plunged, pulled down and out by the demanding cleavage, which seemed to long for the spotlight.
She tried to maintain composure, having spent several hours putting on makeup before she had come here to shoot the video, but her soft moans echoed across the quiet peer. She had downed the beans as soon as she’d got out of her car, and as she stared at the rapidly inflating orbs she wondered if she would be able to fit back into the Smart that awaited her by the roadside.
The pleasure she felt as her bra snapped was indescribable. As she bust forth the soft, wet feeling of her boobs slipping up size after size sent her over the edge, and it was all she could do to hold the camera up as she experienced a nipplegasm as her teets tented against the tight, rough wool of her sweater.
Soon, they were bigger even than her football player ex’s hands could have held, and the shirt lifted, tightening and rubbing against her skin. She rubbed her free hand against her chest, willing them to grow, yes, to get bigger and bigger. This was what, was who she wanted, desired, no, needed to be!
Her boobs continued to fatten and she her nipples increasing in diameter and length too through her asphyxiating shirt. She guessed she must be approaching G cups when they suddenly ripped right through the shirt, leaving it mostly hanging on to her tight, firm flesh.
They bulged further. She ran her hand to feel them all over. They started just beneath her collar bone, and while retaining all their natural perkiness, were so vast that they were rapidly descending below her ribcage and over her smooth belly. Each one was far larger than her head now, and could easily have been seen from behind, her rack easily surpassing her shoulders in breadth. The cool sea breeze fluttered the tiny pink sweater over the leviathan mammaries, and the two-euro size nipples perked further, coating her thighs once more with glistening love juice.
Her knees quaked as she continued to increase, cup after glorious cup, but it was far from over. Her butt began to stir, stretching out the skirt that sat over it, as her legs parted to give her a killer pair of hips. Her thighs made her groan as they expanded, in time with her ass, to match these proportions, and the hot trickle ran still further down her legs.
Then she dropped the camera. Later she would be relieved to see that by some miracle the thing had not only survivde but was still recording. From below her tits obliterated all view of her face, and her panties could be seen stretching into a tight thong of a wedgie over her engorging hips, ass, and thighs. Her skirt was so tight she would have trouble moving in it, and by the time she reached the car she would have ripped the hem twice.
At last, her beautiful, brobdingagian bounty stopped bloating, when her boobs were so big that they hung below her waist and over her nethers, massive and taut. Her pelvic region, while still considerably smaller than the juggernauts above, was still a sight to behold. Smooth, creamy thighs descended from an enormous velvet ass, all tight and muscular. Her hips would never allow her to walk again without a swaying sashay powerful enough to arouse persons within the radius of at least two blocks, such was their fantastic width and contouring. The thighs and the load they bore, descended on to equally powerful calves, round and muscular, with that same layer of healthy fat just above, allowing the muscles to be seen shifting just beneath the surface.
June looked at her reflection in the water, then picked up the camera, and headed walked away from the peer. How she fit into the car, got home without crashing or being arrested, or whether she remembered to clean herself up before sitting in the driver’s seat, we will never know.
Ted adjusted his camera again. Damn it, he had messed up the lighting... again! He scowled, suppressing a mutter, and once more focused his lens on the beautiful woman before him.
The light reflected perfectly over the bronze discs of her perfect backside. He gently moved forward, and the gentle clicking of the dials on the settings could be heard as he moved his fingers.
He shifted to the side, and bent lower once again. Why did he keep having to move? He just could not seem to get it right. She was standing perfectly still, right in the same place as she had been. He wondered if the gate had always been that low. It must be the shoes, he concluded.
He took another step back, so as to take in the perfect glory of this curvaceous delight, then another... and another. His hands shifted the camera, and his gaze, upwards, following the tightening line of Gloria’s bathing costume. A slight crunching sound was emitted as she lent back, decimating the black high heels. She bent far enough for him to see her face, her lengthening blonde hair trailing well past her waist now. Her eyes were closed, and she let out a slight murmur of contentment as her feet were freed. The costume would soon follow.
Ted would regret his having been too stunned to switch the camera to record mode. He would not regret, however, sticking around for her. He heard the wood crunch as her fingers dug into the gate, now lowering below waist height, and she loosed a wail of pleasure as her costume exploded off her, catapulting right past Ted and almost knocking him out. She would be glad of his, or perhaps her luck soon, when she turned to find him staring up at her, open mouthed in awe. As she would bend down, an action made lengthier by her still increasing proportions, they would catch the arousal in one another’s eyes.
Gloria made him set up the camera for what came next.
Just giving this a reblog... 😊
It is set in the autumn, on the Yorkshire Moors, so it has a bit of a Wuthering Heights atmospheric vibe that sets well in this season. ❤️🍂
"This Love" is a poignant Downton Abbey-esque vignette focused on Elsie Hughes Carson. ❤️
If you read it, I hope you enjoy it. 💕
So…I did a thing. I have written a little fan fic item. Professionally, I am a writer, but I have never written fan fiction before and am quite intimidated. All of you Downton fan fic writers are truly and utterly remarkable. I am in awe of your extraordinary writing, creativity, passion, and story-telling gifts. I feel like I am intruding, and treading on hallowed ground, by attempting to contribute something of my own. It really isn't a story but rather an atmospheric vignette, entitled "This Love". I was inspired yesterday to craft it, and my agent would have an aneurysm (and then issue an ultimatum), if she knew I was taking time away from editing my novel to work on something else. 😂 When inspiration beckons however… 😉 If you read it, I hope you like it. And I thank you for allowing me to (briefly) trespass into your amazing and creative world. My deepest respect and admiration to all fan fic writers. Love. ❤️