aphanon_meme | part 361 jumping junebugs

part 361 jumping junebugs

It's ~~gonna be~~ already May! Have you done your spring cleaning yet? I can't believe the year is almost half over already, it seems like it's going so fast, too fast... ah! And we're only a few months away from a new season and hopefully a certain someone will finish up certain storylines they haven't finish coughcoughcough.

Enjoy part 361!

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[~~Don't surprise if he sends Luxembourg a photo of him and America bungee jumping off the Eiffel Tower.~~]

[No, the meme's dream would be multiple naked Germanies - oh wait, that's an eyes.gif dream.]

's fine then. Nah, sometimes a lil' sun can be bad fer 'ya. [Chuckles.]
Oh? Somethin' goin' on Saturday? A birthday or somethin'?

[Smiles when seeing how red the other is getting.]

Oi, maybe 'ya should a more important place first. [Slowly brings Lux's hand to his chest.]

~~[Somehow he already knows that Australia likes to jump from great heights. The true origin of the drop bear.]~~

[Maybe there's a compromise somewhere. More naked, horny nations than at any event sounds not too bad either.]

None isn't too good either... but I really just miss the warmth of summer. It's also much more nicer to relax outside.
What? The Eurovision final, of course, I thought you wanted to see that?
Or did you get the times mixed up with the different time zones? [reaches up to playfully poke his nose a bit]

[And that's just from holding hands with an almost naked man.]

[He looks a little surprised at first but then smiles sheepishly, starting to gently stroke the other's chest.] So,
are you feeling cold there or do you just want to make sure that'll I check you properly.

[That is embarrassing. He is action bracket embarrassed for you. He is [embarrassed]. Real men threaten blood only when they mean it.]

'the hell--is that an order? Disgusting. You sound just like Vater when you start to hiss and talk like this, now THAT'S unbecoming, someone as scrawny, as pathetic a man as you are, don't deserve to resemble him in anyw--[He's not expecting the blow to land before he's even properly back in place, and so he crashes inelegantly against the hay, jolting foremost with the force of the blow slamming against him. Processing the strength behind the stroke first, then the sound next, absolutely startled by it, for a moment believing it to truly be a gunshot, the pain initially begining as a searing white pain that makes the tender skin of his upper thighs feel as if he's indeed bleeding.

It has him frozen, unbreathing with shock, before his heart begins to beat again and the burn spreads, a fiery, pulsing throbbing sting that he realizes with a gasping wince that he will feel whenever he sits. Fuck. He's writing against the hay in the moment you take to wipe your boots off and collect yourself, his knuckles white as his fingers claw into the hay to brace himself. A vision of shifting, recalcitrant legs, the lines made by his buttocks seesawing rather attractively as he clenches and adjusts his weight fruitlessly in an attempt to ease the pain. Tense beyond tense, the underlying muscles visible in his legs, buttocks. Breathing heavily now, panting. That'll be enough riling you for the night he thinks.]

I thought that was six--[Growling in an undertone he doesn't quite dare say loud enough for you to hear clearly as you lean heavily on him. Feeling a chill run through his body that sparks a warm, delicious electricity to course through him, feeling excitement himself riding the coat tails of his trepidation. He is not ready, not at all, but the blows come, and he melts against the hay as they do with a curse that's disguised as a prayer and masking a moan. Spread properly, a proper, perfect target for that crop. Obediently still and quiet at first, but as that crop travels across his ass and legs, burning him with heat, pain and color, he starts to flag, starts to squirm.

His fingers are the first to betray him, nearly losing control and having them jerk backwards twice to attempt to shield himself from the relentless assault igniting a fire across his ass. He manages to prevent humiliating himself both times however, forcibly redirecting the first lapse of control to abandon his modesty, pulling his shirt above his shoulders to be clenched in his fists, revealing the muscles working at his back, the sweat glistening on his skin, exposing his growing excitement standing at attention between his legs. Preventing the second lapse and any more by forcing his fingers of his remaining hand into his mouth to be pressed between his teeth to stifle the soft cries threatening to spill from his lips.

His legs are the next traitors to his dignity, kicking and nearly buckling as blows land too close to already existing welts, and soon he loses count even with your ringing announcements of the number. His mind disorientated with pain blended with mounting arousal, he is only aware of the steady slap of the crop against him, the intensifying sting spreading from buttocks to his thighs, the pleasurable throb of his hardness growing shamefully with each strike, and the oppressive heat of the barn that seems to grow as the sky darkens and the storm worsens. There's a clap of thunder as the storm breaks and he follows suit, crying out sharply at a blow that by passes a moving leg, and wraps around his inner thigh, too close to sensitive bits for comfort.]

ACH--FUCKIN' CHRIST--[unable to control himself anymore, a hand slipping between his legs to cover where that blow landed too close to intimate spaces. Brushing against his own erection as he does so, groaning in both frustration and embarrassment as he does and wincing, squirming in a way that suggests more than pain. DESPERATE for a reprieve without admitting that he has had enough punishment, knowing they are not quite at fifty. Time for a game of petty diverting, his voice not quite as steady as he'd like it to be, cursing the tremor of unshed tears present within it, the hint of pleading.]

Y-You--A-Aren't you--Aren't you hot, hah?! D-Don't you want to take off that stupid woman's coat or something?!

What era would it be?

Like a specific decade or just era

If just era, 18th century

if decade... 1780s!

I like late 1900s/early 1910s dresses

Civil War-ish era??

dime for your dreams

late night edition

I dislike it when historical myths get soooooo circulated online that there's no way to dispel them.

Victorian post-mortem photos do not have bodies posed with stands. Stands were used for living people (they could *not* hold up a body!) because movement made the photographs blurry and sometimes unusable. They're particularly popular in children's photos.

Victorian post-mortem photos have people laying down. In coffins, on couches, in beds. Sometimes, there are living people with them. But it is always plainly obvious that the person is dead.

Just because someone has painted on eyes or a blank stare doesn't mean they're dead. Eyes were often painted on because of how long it took to take the picture--photographers certainly weren't going to retake the shot, so they would draw on the eyes.

1800s

I wish Henry VIII had dragons

i ate too much today

well!

y'all need Jesus

just one
just
one

I miss MAD TV

I spend way too much when I'm online at night

Yes. Oddly enough, it's a little easier if it's work/school-related because the correspondence is usually straightforward about what they ask of me and don't expect me to be chatty or anything more than polite and professional. I've been fortunate enough that I haven't experienced any of the foolishness that I know most people do get from their work/school-related messages.

Messages from friends though, are a completely different animal altogether. They are often conversations rather than requests or inquiries, so I struggle to keep them comfortable and pleasant, especially for the other person, but at the same time I desperately try to veer away from topics that make me uncomfortable or those on which I know we disagree on. Also, I much prefer to lend an ear to others and listen, and am very uncomfortable in speaking of myself, my opinions, and my affairs at length, in detail, or both (ironic, considering my verbosity). This becomes a challenge when others ask after such matters. I want to be personable and give an answer that will satisfy their curiosity, but at the same time, I don't want to give up information that I'd rather keep to myself.

...I spend an inordinate amount of time composing replies. My verbosity makes it difficult to keep messages succinct (or at the very least, within character limits) yet genuine. My obsession with appropriate word choice and phrasing pose significant challenges. It's rather distressing.

;_; i took my lunch out of the oven and found one of those tiny little flies on it

i threw out the bit of the food it landed on but omg i feel so sorry for the fly I'M SORRY WHY DID YOU FLY INTO MY OVEN WHEN I'D JUST TURNED IT ON LITTLE FLY

My dad once brought home burger and fries from Burger King. As I was blindly munching on my fries, I noticed one of them having someone dark on it out of the corners of my eyes. So I actually looked at it... and it was a WHOLE FRIED FLY whose legs were fused to the fry. It was amazing. To this day, I somewhat regret not thinking of snapping a photo.
I guess the little fly flew on the fries just before they were dipped into the oil. I can only assume that death was instantaneous.

Victorian era. Fuck yeah frilly dresses.

gkjkjgskjshk ;A; poor little fly

...anon, look at it this way, it probably would have been dead in minutes no matter where it went?

okay

http://hetascanlations.tumblr.com/post/119518341035/blog-update-sticking-out

blog update! Iceland doll!

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part 361 jumping junebugs

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if you had to dress in the clothing from any era prior to the 1920s for the rest of your days

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itt: penny for your thoughts

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TL;DR

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