Hey, Dacry?
See that hand coming out from the left?
Gets you thinking, right?
I think we need to find ourselves a new friend.
<3, Ivy
Ellen Von Unwerth
stockings
Agh, help.
Tumblr community, I see how you helped Heart with her little date lingerie decision.
Well.
That guy from my frat and I are going out tonight and left to my own devices I’d dress like a second grader (actual quote from a friend). So um help me figure out an outfit and please suggest stuff because I just don’t know.
This message brought to you by my inability to be a functioning adult.
This is the part where one half of you betrays the other. The part where the top’s reticence smells the bottom’s vehement and eager disagreement. The part where you realize that though your brain can will your arms to pull back ad your body to squirm, it can’t seem to will away the wet enthusiasm your cunt is expressing. This is, undoubtedly, their favorite part.
There’s a certain way you do your makeup when you’re aware that you are simply applying it to have it disarrayed. There’s a deliberateness to the lipstick that will later crest the curve of your cheek, the mascara that will later run lines down your face. You realize that things must first be built in order for them to be destroyed.
Last night, a friend made some “special” brownies. (Yeah, yeah, I know the woman in the picture is smoking, but I couldn’t find any pictures of a cutie with brownies.) Although I’ve decided to give up smoking pot this year to do my lungs a favor, I’m not opposed to the occasional brownie.
Well.
I totally forgot I had band practice, mostly because I was just not up to going. However, now full of brownie and weed (seriously, two wonderful things), I managed to actually enjoy myself because I just felt awesome and it totally took my mind off some present circumstances that have been bothering me.
And, even better, although I felt like I was being an obvious mess, apparently I held myself together enough that when I told my friend afterwards that I was high as a kite, she was shocked. So, um, here’s to handling myself in public?
And here’s to special brownies: baked therapy.
I have a tendency to curl my hands into fists when I’m anxious or upset. It’s never really a violent thing, it’s more of a tension and control thing. I regulate the tension in my hands. I feel the squeeze. It’s controlled chaos.
And submitting is like someone taking that fist and pulling it open. It’s a release. It’s a loss of control, but it comes with such an overwhelming freedom. It says, let me play with the tension, let me control your chaos.
Happy Valentine’s Day to my fantastic Tumblr girlfriend, the lovely and eloquent Ivy.
(I’m trying to make her blush, of course.)
And you’ve succeeded, my dear. <3
(Followers, she’s seen me blush before realtime. And made me blush before realtime. It’s a talent.)
“Buy the ticket, take the ride." – Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.
I like buckles. They’re considerably neater. They even feel a little bit institutional. That rubs me the right way.
After I’m played with, I go right to a mirror. I like to hunt for bruises, for burst capillaries, for scratches. I think certain kinds bruises look gorgeous, the way the color manifests itself on the skin. I’ve always thought hickeys looked like fireworks. I like the feeling of being marked and being in some way possessed through this.
I carry myself differently when I’m bruised. I usually make a concerted effort to cover them, but I still recognize they’re there. They make me hyperaware of my body. They make me feel gorgeous and unique.