#Choses Sauvages
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Superstitions - Choses Sauvages
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Merci beaucoup La Sécurité et Wave Punx
Das war ein ganz formidabler Glücksgriff mit La Sécurité aus Montreal sowie auch #WavePunx aus Dresden am Dienstag im #Museumskeller #Erfurt. #LaSécurité
Das war ein ganz formidabler Glücksgriff mit La Sécurité aus Montreal sowie auch Wave Punx aus Dresden. Der gute gute Peter aka sincitypics hatte wieder Knipsdienst und hat ein paar schöne Momente festgehalten. Vielen lieben Dank Peter.
Außerdem natürlich Danke an Isi, Achim & Ramon vom Museumskeller, Martin, alte Keule, für den Ton, Martha & AnnOi! für Awareness sowie Nico für den Einlass. Und…
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#Achim#Annie-Claude Deschênes#art punk#Automatic#Bilder#Choses Sauvages#DATES#Devo#DISTORSION Psych Fest#Dresden#Duchess Says#E.S.G.#Erfurt#FME#Fotos#Juri-Gagrin-Ring#Kalisch#La Sécurité#Laurence-Anne#Le Tigre#Montréal#Mothland#Museumskeller#New Wave#Orchestre Tout Puissant Marcel Duchamp#Phoque OFF#Pressure Pin#Punk#Punkrock#Ramon
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VIdeo Interview: Le Couleur's Steven Chouinard
VIdeo Interview: Le Couleur's Steven Chouinard @le_couleur @LisbonLuxRec @girlieaction @delkin03
Montréal-based pop outfit and JOVM mainstays Le Couleur — currently founding members Laurence Giroux-Do (vocals), Patrick Gosselin (bass) and Steven Chouinard (drums) along with newest members Phillipe Beaudin (percussion, synths), Jean-Cimon Tellier (guitar) and Louis-Joseph Cliche (synths, vocals) — debuted over a decade ago with 2013’s Voyage Love EP. And since then, the Canadian outfit has…
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#Choses Sauvages#electro pop#indie electro pop#indie pop#Le Couleur#Le Couleur Addiction#Le Couleur Autobahn#Le Couleur Comme dans un penthouse#Le Couleur Concorde#Le Couleur Dolce Désir EP#Le Couleur Sentiments nouveaux#Lisbon Lux Records#Ormiston#The Sultan Room#Video Interview#women who kick ass#Zoom
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"Pression" by Choses Sauvages https://ift.tt/wVgxEyC
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SXSW 2022—FREQShots: Day Two [Wednesday, 3/16/2022]
By Mark Isley
Lee Baines III & The Glory Fires @ The Side Bar
Teenage Halloween @ The Side Bar
Choses Sauvages @ The Swan Dive
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July 22: Chambre d'écho - Choses Sauvages
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@thxwxlf liked x for a one liner
— “ Why did they call blue whales , blue whale ? Because they aren’t big enough to be called your mother ! Ha ! ! ! ”
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do you have any recommendations for favorite french-language poetry? esp written by women?
Yes, sure! We might not have the same tastes (I like nature poetry mostly, and good old lavish alexandrine verse—I find the predictability of it very soothing) but here are excerpts of poems by 13 French-language poétesses :)
(I wanted to add a few men at the end but I spent too much time on the women, and the French male poets I enjoy are very well-known ones anyway, e.g. Hugo, Mallarmé, Prévert, Aragon... also André Breton's surrealist poetry)
• Sabine Amable Voïart, known as Amable Tastu (1798-1885)
D’où vient que l’âme humaine est ainsi disposée,
Que jamais ses regards troublés et mécontens
N’ont pu s’accoutumer à la marche du temps?
Sur l’éternel chemin, chaque borne posée
Nous attriste. D’où vient? je ne sais; mais toujours
Le vertige nous prend à voir couler nos jours:
Si vous reparcourez l’enclos où votre enfance
Avez-vous souvenir, à l’âge où tout enchante,
D’une voix qui vous plut, voix timide et touchante,
[…] Que, plus tard, cette voix résonne à votre oreille,
De vos rêves déçus vous raillez la merveille,
Vous prenant en pitié d’avoir si mal jugé…
Elle est la même encor; mais vous avez changé!
• Louise-Victorine Ackermann (1813-1890)
(A la comète de 1861)
[…] Ah ! quand tu reviendras, peut-être de la terre
L'homme aura disparu. Du fond de ce séjour
Si son œil ne doit pas contempler ton retour,
Si ce globe épuisé s'est éteint solitaire,
Dans l'espace infini poursuivant ton chemin,
Du moins jette au passage, astre errant et rapide,
Un regard de pitié sur le théâtre vide
De tant de maux soufferts et du labeur humain.
• Marie Dauguet (1860-1942)
Mon coeur est né sauvage et seul comme un merle,
Que berça la chanson du vent, subtil orchestre,
Ivre des noirs myrtils dont la forêt s'emperle,
Grisé d'odeur de source et d'haleine sylvestre. […]
Et d'abord très souvent j'étouffe dans moi-même,
Tout m'y semble étriqué, trop étroit et mesquin,
Et je fuis l'infini pour l'infini que j'aime,
Parmi le ciel, les eaux, les circuits des chemins.
• Alice de Chambrier (1861-1882) (she is Swiss)
J’ai vu comme l’on voit quelquefois dans un rêve,
Une immense Cité près d’une immense grève,
Avec des dômes d’or et des palais géants,
Des temples incrustés de mille diamants […]
Plus tard j’ai repassé devant cette cité,
Et voulant la revoir, je m’y suis arrêtée;
Mais à peine mes pas ont foulé sa poussière
Que devant mes regards elle s’est tout entière
Écroulée—et n’est plus qu’une ruine immense
Dont le cri des Vautours trouble seul le silence.
• Lucie Delarue-Mardrus (1868-1949)
1. Humanité sans force, endurante moitié
Du monde, ô camarade éternelle, ô moi-même !
Femme, femme, qui donc te dira que je t’aime
D’un cœur si gros d’amour et si lourd de pitié ?
2. J’aime, en quelque lieu que ce soit,
L’heure où l’existence, pour moi,
Redevient nocturne et muette.
L’heure sans lois et sans humains,
Sans hiers et sans lendemains,
Où je ne suis plus que poète.
La seule heure d’esprit total,
Celle où, jusqu’oublier mon mal
Je sens se fermer toute plaie,
Car je ne fus moi-même, vraie,
Car je ne fus ce que suis,
— Passionnément — que les nuits.
• Anna de Noailles (1876-1933)
Nature au cœur profond sur qui les cieux reposent,
Nul n’aura comme moi si chaudement aimé
La lumière des jours et la douceur des choses,
L’eau luisante et la terre où la vie a germé.
La forêt, les étangs et les plaines fécondes
Ont plus touché mes yeux que les regards humains,
Je me suis appuyée à la beauté du monde
Et j’ai tenu l’odeur des saisons dans mes mains.
• Renée Vivien (1877-1911) (English, mainly wrote in French)
Dans l’azur de l’avril et dans l’air de l’automne,
Les arbres ont un charme inquiet et mouvant.
Le peuplier se ploie et se tord sous le vent,
Pareil aux corps de femme où le désir frissonne.
[…] Vêtu de clair de lune et de reflets d’argent,
Le bouleau virginal à l’ivoire changeant
Projette avec pudeur ses blancheurs incertaines.
Les tilleuls ont l’odeur des âpres cheveux bruns,
Et des acacias aux verdures lointaines
Tombe divinement la neige des parfums.
• Valentine Penrose (1898-1978)
Notre Père qui êtes aux cieux
des doux matins bercés aux fleurs des laitues bleues,
[…] que votre nom soit sanctifié !
O Brume d’or dans les vergers,
que votre volonté soit faite !
Sur la Terre comme au Ciel ;
sur la terre élançant ses arbres au soleil,
sur les labours luisants chevauchés de noyers,
sur le sol des jardins de chaleur tout vrillés […].
Donnez-nous aujourd’hui notre Pain quotidien.
Dans la fraîche cuisine où bourdonne une guêpe,
où les fourmis montent leur noir petit chemin […]
Et pardonnez-nous nos offenses… […]
• Louise de Vilmorin (1902-1969)
Pois de senteur en ma demeure
Et sur mon cœur poids de cent heures
Je t’enlacerai, tu t’en lasseras
Étonnamment monotone et lasse,
Est ton âme en mon automne, hélas !
• Andrée Chedid (1920-2011)
Échappant à l'enclume du temps
L'Univers sème ses formes
Véhicule ses songes
S'invente des tumultes
[…] Enserrée dans son globe
Empoignant son noyau
La Terre emporte l'histoire
Vers son immense dérive.
• Anne Perrier (1922-2017) (also Swiss)
1. Ô rompre les amarres
Partir partir
Je ne suis pas de ceux qui restent
La maison le jardin tant aimés
Ne sont jamais derrière mais devant
Dans la splendide brume
Inconnue
2. Lorsque la mort viendra
Je voudrais que ce soit comme aujourd'hui
Un grand soir droit laiteux et immobile
Et surtout je voudrais
Que tout se tienne bien tranquille
Pour que j'entende
Une dernière fois respirer cette terre
Pendant que doucement s'écarteront de moi
Les mains aimées
Qui m'attachent au monde
• Marie-Claire Bancquart (1932-2019)
1. Un tremble
c'est le nom
du peuplier blanc : luisance furtive.
Éclair des feuilles
leur vie scintille
instant après instant
elles chuchotent
que nous avons aussi des moments miroitants
minuscules, étincelantes traces de nous sur le monde.
2. Je suis l’encolure d’un pays vêtu de toile et d’eau, longtemps ténébreux, maintenant étalé sur la nuit,
croisé une fois pour toutes par le crépuscule, et qui entend les soleils célébrer leur courbe.
Je suis son oreille,
et, dans son oreille, ce qui, bruissant, permet le bruit.
[…] Mais suis-je enclave, ou bien ce pays serait le creux nécessaire au violon, l’autour-de-moi facilitant mémoire?
• Hélène Dorion (1958 - ) (she's from Québec)
Autour de moi les notes
lumineuses d'une feuille
venue jusqu'à la branche
pour remuer avec le souffle
danse et boit
l'eau qui la sauve
au matin quand recommence
son chemin vers le soir
et je marche aussi
d'un pas qui repose dans l'infini
j'écoute le monde qui bruit
à travers les arbres seuls
comme des êtres occupés
à devenir leur forme singulière
#tumblr's garbage new post editor keeps randomly un-italicising my italics :l#anyway i really like anna de noailles and renée vivien in particular#also marie-claire bancquart whom i discovered more recently!
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i trust you to know this. what is the context behind that photo where alex has his head on top miles's? it's clearly an open reference to the john and paul photo, but for what? why does it look like it was in the middle of the humbug era? was it for a magazine, an award show, like what is the story there
x
tbh i never questioned why there’s a professional photoshoot of them from 2010 when they obviously weren’t promoting tlsp or anything…good question lol. i went digging for the answer, but mostly found a lot of broken links :/
what i do know is that the photo is by the designer and photographer adrien sauvage. his instagram is private now and his website doesn’t work anymore, which makes things difficult lol. he seems to be friends with am and miles tho. he’s photographed them multiple times, and he’s been photographed with alex and miles (separately) at events throughout the years. so maybe it’s from some event he met them at? it also seems possible that it could’ve been part of his 2010 project ‘this is not a suit,’ “an ongoing series of portraits shot by Adrien himself, where individuals select garments from A. Sauvage’s first collection, and are free to express themselves with little directorial guidance.” i’m not sure tho, because the website for that project is, of course, also broken lmao. if it is from that project, it’s funny that they chose to express their individuality by copying john and paul lol
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Un peu bohème, un brin sauvage, mais aussi un peu fou… Une chose est sûre, le bouquet champêtre est plein de vie et de caractère.
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Vous devez quitter la cité du confort pour vous aventurer dans les terres sauvages de votre intuition...
Vous découvrirez quelque chose de merveilleux : Vous-même...
Alan Alda
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Conseil solaire - Choses Sauvages
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Hier, j’ai parcouru Paris en voiture. Quelle catastrophe. Travaux innombrables, trous béants, chicanes étroites, caméras fliqueuses, vélos anarchiques, trotinettes sans freins, bus seuls au monde, bobos vindicatifs, livreurs azimutés, coursiers suicidaires, SDF en grappes, campements erratiques, engeances répugnantes... D’arrondissements en quartiers, le Paris qui fut n’est plus. Un esprit avisé me dira : “vous auriez pu dire la même chose au XIXème siècle, lorsque Haussmann... etc.” Mais non ! Bien sûr que non ! Il ne s’agit pas d’évolution, ni même de révolution, mais de destruction totale, d’annihilation identitaire. Ce qui faisait Paris, sa vie, son quotidien et sa renommée – n’est plus. Sa beauté est fanée, sa langue n’est plus parlée, ses jurons sont muets, jusqu’à ses odeurs, même mauvaises, qui se sont évaporées. Sa population a été auschwitzée par la marée africaine, exilée, effacée, supprimée. Plus de sperme fécond ni d’ovules gouailleurs. Plus de Parisiens le mégot collé à la lèvre, de Parisienne élégante, de gamins rieurs, de landaus insouciants, de jardins publics tranquilles et parfumés, L’enfantement de Paris pour Paris a cessé.
Paris, c’est le portrait de Dorian Gray de la France, cette France qui s’enlaidit et s’envulgarise à chaque minute qui passe. Cette France dépossédée d’elle-même, cette France qui ne sait plus, qui n’en puis mais, condamnée à l’impuissance par une république corrompue, complice d’une oligarchie chemsexée, déjantée, vampiresque. Baisée et rebaisée par des sauvages et des barbares. Une France confetti, une France Netflix, la France “Emily in Paris” made in USA, la France-province made in Ursula. Tout se rejoint, se recoupe, se complète. Bientôt les crétin.e.s assexué.e.s commanderont leur bouffe en wolof et négocieront une autorisation de découvert en berbère. Le méchant tour sera joué. Et Paris sera Alger, Yamoussoukro, Islamabad et Davos enfin réunies.
J.-M. M.
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New Video: Le Couleur Shares Icy, Retro-Futuristic Visual for Glittery and Hook-Driven "Addiction"
New Video: Le Couleur Shares Icy, Retro-Futuristic Visual for Glittery and Hook-Driven "Addiction" @le_couleur @LisbonLuxRec @girlieaction @delkin03
Montréal-based pop outfit Le Couleur — currently founding members Laurence Giroux-Do (vocals), Patrick Gosselin (bass) and Steven Chouinard (drums) along with newest members Phillipe Beaudin (percussion, synths), Jean-Cimon Tellier (guitar) and Louis-Joseph Cliche (synths, vocals) — debuted over a decade ago with 2013’s Voyage Love EP. And since then, the Canadian outfit has released 2015’s Dolce…
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#Choses Sauvages#electro pop#indie electro pop#Le Couleur#Le Couleur Addiction#Le Couleur Autobahn#Le Couleur Comme dans un penthouse#Le Couleur Concorde#Le Couleur P.O.P.#Le Couleur Sentiments nouveaux#Le Coulier Dolce Désir EP#Lisbon Lux Records#Montréal QC#music#music video#New Video#video#Video Review#Video Review: Addiction#Video Review: Le Couleur Addiction#women who kick ass#world music
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"Je sens me brûler une soif sauvage de sensations violentes, une fureur contre cette existence neutre, plate, réglée et stérilisée, un désir forcené de saccager quelque chose, un grand magasin ou une cathédrale, ou moi-même, de faire des sottises enragées, d’arracher leur perruque à quelques idoles respectées, d’aider des écoliers en révolte à s’embarquer sur un paquebot, de séduire une petite fille, ou de tordre le cou à un quelconque représentant de l’ordre bourgeois. Car c’est cela que je hais, que je maudis et que j’abomine du plus profond de mon cœur : cette béatitude, cette santé, ce confort, cet optimisme soigné, ce gras et ce prospère élevage du moyen, du médiocre et de l’ordinaire."
Hermann Hesse, Le loup des steppes, trad. Juliette Pary, 1927.
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La Belle Fluer Sauvage - afab reader first time with Edward Nashton? *puppy dog eyes*
this man will be the death of me i swear </3
Author’s Note | lmao, thank you for this one, anon. we're ending the milestone posts off with a bang (literally).
Warnings | smut (MDNI), unprotected sex, Eddie is a little bit nervy, a bit of his religious trauma is present, and this man is a little bit insecure over his body, nothing else I can think of!
There's about a million different ways that he sees this going. None of them end well. What if he doesn't get hard enough? What if he finishes too early? What if he doesn't make you come? Every worry piles up in his head as you kiss him slowly.
He should be enjoying this. Or is him not enjoying it a good sign? The nuns and priests of his youth had always warned against the sins of lust. Back at the orphanage, he'd never had enough privacy to try anything. And even now, as a grown man, he still feels the sting of eyes on him as he only just begins to savor the taste of your lips. Sooner or later, he always does. They seem to be molded just for him. And the idea of that scares him; how he could so quickly lose control of himself and get lost.
You feel him start to writhe beneath you and you pull away, immediately searching his eyes. You catch the indecision swimming in the murky depths behind his foggy lenses. Edward blinks a few times, clearing it away in seconds.
Thumb brushing over his bottom lip, you ask with a giggle, "Are you okay, Eddie? The lights are on but I don't think anyone's home."
He's so used to simply disappearing into the background. But with your soft gaze trained on him, he can never conceal anything.
He chews on the inside of his cheek, "I-I've never done this before."
"Oh..." you trail off and Eddie curses himself for his need for transparency. It only complicates things unnecessarily. You continue quickly as soon as he visibly winces, "That's completely fine! In fact, I don't have much experience either!"
"Still better than no experience at all," Eddie grumbles.
"Hey," you coo, grabbing his chin gently so you can gaze into his foggy eyes. "No experience and some experience are on the same level of validity. Everyone has to start somewhere, right? What kind of awful person would I be for making you feel awful for being a virgin? And you don't think I'm awful, do you?"
Eddie shakes his head hesitantly.
"Exactly!" you exclaim, pressing a kiss onto the tip of his nose. "Besides...I don't think you being a virgin is any fault of your own."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean," you take a deep breath. "I mean that you are so handsome that I can't imagine anyone deciding to pass you up."
"Handsome?" he mumbles against your lips.
"Yeah, I think that everyone else had to have been dumb or something."
Dumb. For some reason, he likes the sound of that. Sure, he may have been a little standoffish before meeting you...but he likes the validation of his internal monologue. That maybe there wasn't something entirely wrong with him. Because you were looking at him with big, pleading eyes, trusting him to give you something that you could easily get somewhere else. Yet, you chose him. And that is as close to sacred as he thinks his being may ever get.
It turns him mad within moments; makes his lips press against yours with a newfound confidence that he didn't know he'd had inside of him.
"But you're not dumb," he mutters under his breath between frantic kisses, "You're not dumb."
He's met with you breathlessly giggling at him and pushing him back from you. "Let's slow it down a little. I want you to really enjoy all of this. I want your first time to be special, Eddie."
Every word leaving your lips has him hooked onto you badly. He's flopping around at the end of your line, practically at your mercy as you dismount from his lap and lay on your back on his bed. And that's another thing that still has him reeling. It's his bed that you're in. You lay upon sheets that he's so used to being tangled in alone; sheets that have soaked up your scent and your warmth.
You open your legs and motion for him to come to you. Keeping his eyes on yours, he does as he's told and kneels motionless before you. All you give him is a roll of your eyes as you laugh, "Come here, you dork. Just like when we cuddle, okay?"
Edward takes a deep breath. See, it's like cuddling. You can do this. He knows exactly what this act entails. He's seen enough porn and read enough articles to know about positions and so-called techniques. He'd never had the real life experience to actually get a grasp on how they worked.
But he knew the basics. He had one element and you had another and hopefully...they would...just...mesh together. Simple.
Suddenly the idea overwhelmed him again. He couldn't even begin to fathom what the inside of you would feel like. That was something he imagined would be far too good to feel. Planting his forearms on either side of your body, he makes sure he's not crushing you underneath him.
"Do you wanna undress me? Just to see what I look like?"
Eddie utters a small sure, trying not to seem too eager, lest you think less of him. This is normal. People get undressed all the time. You just happen to be in the same room as her...and you happen to be doing the work...yeah...normal. His hands go to the hem of your shirt, pulling it up only a little bit before he's transfixed by your soft belly. As the shirt rises up your body and he sees more expanses of bare skin, Edward realizes just how unfamiliar this territory is to him. How he'd kept so much of himself hidden away out of pure shame. Yet here you were in front of him, baring it all.
But when he spots the underside of your breasts, he's gone; he's pulling that shirt fully over your head and dropping it beside his bed, hoping that if he keeps your clothes centralized to one place, you'll be able to leave quickly if you need to. He always embarrasses himself...he wouldn't put it past himself to put you in a situation where you'd need the convenient getaway.
In the moment, once your chest is exposed, he simply stares while chewing on the inside of his cheek. Then you make that light, airy giggle, "You know you can touch me, right?"
"Oh, uh, right. Sorry," Edward quickly mutters before reaching a hand forward and simply cupping one of your breasts.
You gasp, "Don't be sorry, Eddie. Just keep exploring, please?"
And that little pleading syllable rejuvenates his boldness. Before you know it, he's burying his face between your breasts and kissing your chest. He pays no special attention to one particular part but still seems precise in where his lips land on your upper body.
By the time he attaches himself to your pulse on your neck, you feel as though he's giving you life with his immense urgency and conviction. But put simply, Edward needs to leave at least one mark of his own on you before the end of this. He needed to see it in the morning and be reminded that he wasn't alone anymore.
"Do you think you want to start getting undressed too?" you suggest hesitantly, hoping that the request doesn't take him by too much surprise.
In fact, you're surprised when he pulls his own shirt off and balls it up before discarding it and getting to his khaki pants. He chuckles nervously when the zipper gets stuck briefly but manages to get them off with relative ease. The impulsive actions leave him feeling stripped down to his barest instincts. And that first instinct is shame.
You grab his hands before he can go to cover his own chest, startling him until you bring his hands to your lips and lay a kiss over each of his knuckles.
"Please don't be afraid of me," you say shakily. "I'm not afraid of what you think about me. You don't have to worry about me judging you either. I just want to see you. All of you."
Edward nods and lets his arms go limp. Considering he'd never been with anyone, you can't imagine him having been this naked for anyone else. And for about the hundredth time since you'd met him, you make a vow to yourself that you'll protect him and make sure nothing ever hurts him again. Though you'd never be able to control the world and completely protect him, you'd do anything to ensure that he'd have that small smile forming on his lips there forever.
"You don't think I'm ugly or anything, do you? You can say it if–"
"Edward, you're beautiful. God, I–" you laugh softly, "I love everything about you."
And with every fiber of your being, you mean it. Your longing eyes drink up every inch of his body. From his plump thighs and the dirty blonde legs hairs scattered over them to the gentle curve of his soft stomach all the way up to his pink nipples, pebbled from being exposed to the open air, your Edward is angelic. And you express your elation as you pull him back down on top of you, humming happily when your chest squishes against his. Together, your bodies just make sense.
"Now, when you push in, I want you to go slow? And if you get overwhelmed, you pull out, promise?"
"I swear, I will." Edward answers softly.
"Good...I'm ready whenever you are."
"Okay...okay..." Edward's hand trembles when he pulls his cock out of his boxers and grasps the base, starting to guide it towards your entrance.
He pokes the head in and relishes how your cunt seems to swallow just that little bit of him whole in warmth. Edward only pauses momentarily to groan before continuing the plunge. You plead for him to go further, insisting that he fill you all the way.
He can't bury himself completely at this angle, but even just this is more than enough to him. Surrounded entirely by wet heat, his hips buck involuntarily just from needing to throw a little bit of friction into the mix, causing you to let out a low moan. The combination of sensations render him suddenly motionless and speechless as he tries not to get too overwhelmed. No matter how much he wants to give in to the way his hips threaten to buckle against the pressure, Edward paces himself.
Once he acclimates to the new climate, he allows himself the luxury of movement. He moves barely an inch in and out, yet just the sight of your cunt taking him and gripping him tightly has him rethinking his entire view of this ritual.
This transaction is so strangely intimate. He gives a little bit of himself and you give a little bit of yourself. And here, he can fully trust you to treat the bits of him that you have with care.
"Fuck, Eddie, I need you to move, please."
Once more, your words overflow his cup and he's gone. His thrusts follow no particular rhythm, he just tries to focus on his breathing and match the timing of the two. With each inhale, he's out and with each exhale, he's in again, drowning in the safety that the blanket of your walls create for him.
The peak begins to form in your abdomen, but you don't hang onto it. Judging by the way Eddie's hips stutter, you know that he won't last long enough to see your climax fully blossom and you'd accepted long ago that this night would be just for him. So you prioritize squeezing down on him, taking him hungrily as he moves sloppily.
"You're close, aren't you?"
Edward is his own symphony of groans and moans that he tries to suffocate. He manages to force out a long and desperate, mmhhmmmm.
"I want you to cum on my chest, okay? Can you do that for me?"
For me. Those words bounce around his skull, shattering him completely.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Eddie's soft voice gets progressively whinier before he sputters a few curses and frantically pulls himself out, gripping his nearly bursting cock and giving himself some quick pulls before he shoots his warm load over your body.
He closes his eyes for the release, not wanting to see his spend land on your skin. Part of him feels that type of deposit is such a waste. But that's no matter for him to worry about now. The most pressing thought on his mind is the fact that he'd finally lost his virginity. He couldn't remember how many times he'd felt like he couldn't do a single thing right.
But being able to figure this little bit of life out, he feels the rush of serotonin that he normally would get from figuring out a riddle or some other puzzle.
Though his first urge is to flop down in exhaustion, the second he opens his eyes and spots his cum glistening on your stomach, he grimaces. Then he leans over the side of his bed, picking up his wrinkled shirt from earlier and using it to carefully clear away the little pools of seed from your skin.
"Did you...did you cum too?" he wonders aloud as he wipes you down.
You just laugh like he's told the funniest joke in the world, but he struggles to grasp the punchline. You just pull him back to your chest and let him lay there, nuzzled into your sweaty side as you breath heavily and stroke his hair.
He wraps his arms around your midsection and curls into you, practically claiming you as his new sun to orbit around. And as intense as his hold is...you can't help but be just as enamored as he is with you.
You reply softly, "Don't worry, we'll work on that bit later, Eddie." And already, the cogs in Edward's head begin to turn, figuring out ways to solve the latest puzzle before him.
#strange trails milestone✨#paul dano#danonation#danocel#the batman 2022#the batman#edward nashton#dano!riddler#the riddler#edward nashton x reader#edward nashton x you#edward nashton x y/n#dano!riddler x you#dano!riddler x reader#dano!riddler x y/n#edward nashton smut#dano!riddler smut#riddler smut#˚ʚ meda writes ɞ˚
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