Manila In The Claws Of Light (1975) By Lino Brocka

Anaïs Nin, Trapeze: The Unexpurgated Diary of Anaïs Nin, 1947-1955

My name is Abed.

I’m a survivor from Gaza, holding on to hope in a world that has fallen apart around me. 💔

The life I once knew — my home, my family, my sense of safety — has been shattered by war. Today, I live among the ruins, trying to find a path forward through the rubble and heartbreak. 🏚

Every moment is a battle against fear and uncertainty. What was once ordinary — a safe place to sleep, a future to dream of — now feels like a distant memory. 🕊️

I share my story not to seek pity, but to keep hope alive — to believe that even in the darkest places, kindness can still find a way. 🤍

If my story touches your heart, please consider sharing it or offering support. Every voice, every act of care, brings me one step closer to safety. ✨

Thank you for taking the time to listen. 🙏

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please boost their post — it could be your good deed for today !

ayo, that's SUS 💜

Can we have some top!carol & bottom!therese smut where Therese is playing a song for Carol on the piano and Carol comes up behind her and fucks her right on the piano bench?

“That’s beautiful,” Carol murmured, her hands settling on Therese’s shoulders as she closed her eyes listening to the soft piano melody flowing through the room.

“That’s familiar,” the brunette smiled, proud of herself that Carol’s hands on her shoulders now seemed comfortable and loving, no bolt of sudden shock rippling through her arms and neck like they once had. Now this was a combo occurrence as Therese liked to play for at least a half an hour every day. Carol often liked to watch, leaning against the wall, admiring the younger woman from afar or sitting on the bench beside her, watching the motion of Therese’s fingers. Sometimes, she merely listened. Curling up on the couch with a book or merely sitting in a state of almost-meditation as she let the notes waft through the air, her shoulders gently swaying.

“You’re beautiful,” the blonde whispered, her hands continuing to trail down There’s shoulders and towards her chest, fingers softly dipping behind the fabric of Therese’s sweater.

“I’m nothing compared to you,” Therese chuckled, shaking her head, the notes continuing but growing softer and lighter.

Carol’s hands slid out of her sweater and snaked down her arms, stopping on top of the brunette’s hands, holding them still against the keys, the final notes vibrating in the air, Therese’s body vibrating against her.

“Am I allowed to distract you, dearest?” Carol asked, her lips trailing down down the brunette’s neck, to her shoulder as Therese let out a soft sigh. “You’re being too hard on yourself with this piece. There’s no concerto to prepare for, love. Just your sweet music in the air and you know I already think you are perfection.”

“Carol,” Therese chuckled lightly. “I’ve still got ten more minutes.”

“Who’s keeping tabs?” 

“Me,” Therese grinned.

“Let me finger you now and you can finger those keys all you want while I make dinner.”

“Carol!” Therese, hissed, her hands fumbling as the keys made an awkward, rippled sound as they fell messily across the keys.

“You don’t even have to move,” Carol murmured, one hand slipping from Therese’s own and falling to the brunette’s thigh before sliding up and under her skirt, ghosting towards the cotton of her underwear. She started to rub slow circles against the fabric of the panties, Therese closing her eyes as her head fell back against Carol’s chest. “Doesn’t this feel nice, darling? Don’t you want more of this?”

“I—Carol I—“

“Mm?”

“I’m out of excuses,” Therese squeaked, letting her own hands fall, trying to reach behind her to touch any part of Carol she could grab without seeing her. Hips. Thighs. Belly.

“So wet for me already,” Carol purred, Therese starting to teeter on the piano bench trying to seek more friction, the fabric still in the way of what she really wanted from Carol. “Tell me, dearest. What would you have me do?”

“I—I want you.”

“You have me.”

“I want you,” Therese swallowed. “Inside me.”

“Like this?” Carol hissed, her fingers disappearing behind the fabric of Therese’s underwear completely, dragging along her slit as Therese whined, up and down and up and down, Therese starting to get visibly agitated as she let out a grumble only for Carol to plunge her fingers deep, Therese letting out a moan as Carol pushed inside, starting to pump in and out.

“Oh god, Carol,” Therese exhaled, her hands balling into fists against the bench. “Please, baby. Please. Let me.”

“You’ll be good for me if I let you?” Carol smirked against Therese’s cheek. “You’ll do whatever I ask?”

“Anything, Carol,” Therese gasped. “Please—please let me—Fuck!” Therese gasped, falling over the edge suddenly, Carol’s fingers still inside her as she pulsed around her, her chest falling forward towards the keys.

“You’re so good for me, dearest,” Carol purred. “So beautiful. And as much as I love how you play—this is what’s music to my ears. Those pretty sounds you make for me.”

shes so pretty and kind i might kms i love how she praises me and all that shit i love her sm

feeling this so much lately it’s killing me.

oh to be an esoteric female diarist, spending her days yearning and feeling all and nothing

I don't deserve to be well. I deserve to be sick

If you think I've watched the Bridgertons, then you're absolutely right