#((by god this was brutal to write))

[words-etched-in-her-skin]

HI, SO.. PERIOD HORNIES STRIKE AGAIN..

This little snippet was absolutely, definitely not inspired by anything irl 👀 Ahem, nope.

.▪︎°•..☆.•

"Uh uh.. not yet, draga."

You let out an arousingly needy whimper. The Lady's voice soft and warm - smooth like whiskey - with such a subtle tone to it that somebody else might have missed the absolute demand behind it. Though, the fact that it cracked ever so slightly when she got to your pet name, only proved that she was just as worked up as you were. But you also knew that Alcina's reserve could far out last yours if she wanted it to.

Another thrust into your aching core and you whimpered again, this time digging your nails into the sheets. The Countess had been edging you for what seemed like hours. A constant ebb and flow of pleasure that had your body absolutely trembling with need.

"P-please."

"Mh.. and deny yourself the honor of coming with your Mistress?"

Alcina smirked as she drove herself into you again, roughly.

"Ah-!" You cried, before letting out a soft sob half whimper. "I'll.. but I can c-come again for you, my lady."

The Countess chuckled at your plea before leaning down, her large frame casting you in a dark shadow.

"You could..." Her breath warm across your ear, a slight hiss to the next words that she gave you. ".. but I told you to wait."

You cursed under your breath and nodded. "Y-yes, Mistress."

"Mh.. that's better."

The large woman hummed in satisfaction before rising to her full height, a flash of crimson and two golden spheres staring down at you. A deliciously wet sound as the length of her cock slowly slid out of you, stretching you around the width of her before it stopped just short, reaching the tip.

"Now..." Her tone almost as dark as the curl across her lips as she readied your hips for impact, the head of her cock throbbing inside your entrance. "Shall we see just how many times I can get you to come for me... my needy little slut."

.▪︎°•..☆.•

OKAY, THAT IS ALL. THANK YOU FOR COMING TO MY THIRST TALK ♡

[i-dreamed-i-had-a-son]

WAIIIIIT WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT HOW DID I JUST NOW LEARN AFTER ALL THIS TIME--

Like, I've known about the religious aspect of Javert's death! Catholic theology taught that suicide was a mortal sin, meaning a sin that would send you to hell--Javert, who is described as exactingly religious (viewing religion as another authoritative structure, in contrast to Valjean's personal faith), was so distraught over the error and failure of his worldview, that he broke what he'd regarded as a sacred rule to punish himself and condemn himself to hell. I've known this! And it's agonizing!!

But then I read a YouTube comment of all things, and maybe this is an old take but it just eviscerated me:

At the time of Javert's death, suicide was a crime in France.

His last act was to break the law.

Mr. Hugo, I'd like to retire now, you're giving me too many emotions to process.

[1sickpuppyybegs]

new brainrot new brainrot new brainrot

imagine being tied face down, no clothing to protect you, and your ler has mentioned feeling sadistic. you’re nervous for whats coming but can generally expect it. probably start with fingers, then work up to more evil tools until either you safeword or they’re done. scary, but you can mentally prepare for it.

then you feel the whisper of a cluster of feathers trickling down your spine, and it’s maybe the one thing you weren’t ready for. you spasm and giggle convulsively, the element of surprise heightening your reactions. it’s not great, but if it’s going to be a sadistic night it shouldn’t last long enough to make it unbearable.

and then they move ever so slightly to the side, targeting that ever-so-sensitive skin where the back and sides meet. then it’s really bad. your reactions are less from shock now and more from the intensity of the sensation, and from the embarrassment of still getting so worked up from tickles so light you didn’t even think to prepare for them. those feelings only get worse as they dust the deathly ticklish skin of your ass, now strong enough to bring out small gasps for mercy and pleas that you can’t take it.

“surely it’s not that bad,” they coo down at you, drinking in your desperation like fine wine, “you’ve let me brush your feet, bruise your ribs, tickle your neck and collarbones until you couldn’t breathe, and you can’t take this? poor helpless puppy, too ticklish for their own good~”

and that, exactly, is one of the worst parts. you have been through worse. you have been tickled harder, with worse tools. and some of those you could even hold yourself still for, or hold out on begging. it’s not the brush that’s doing this, not the electric toothbrush or even that godforsaken dog toy; it’s one of those stupid ticklers, the ones people keep around as jokes. and it’s currently bringing you to the edge of insanity. the way it’s making deliberate trails across your lower back, to your ass, to the backs of your thighs and knees, with the occasional regular feather teasing your paws- you’ve started to realize that this is the sadism on display.

how long can you take it before you beg to be tickled by literally anything else? how long will they make you take it, using the knowledge that knowing you can be broken like this is sooo embarrassing for the poor little pup 🥺

please let it be forever 🥺

[dennisboobs]

some of you should not speak on dennis until you've rewatched sunny in full instead of just the macden-centric eps.

[magnetic-regent-magneto]

𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄     𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂  ,     𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑     𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍!

bold  whatever  applies  ,  italicize  what  sometimes  applies.

𝐠𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐜  𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫.       /       gaslights.  corsets.  ballrooms.  candlelight.  mist.  starless  nights.  full  moons.  cobbled  streets.  horse-drawn  carriages.  mysterious  strangers.  bogs.  moors.  forests.  mountains.  castles.  velvet.  silver.  brass.  gold.  jewels.  domino  masks.  the  opera.  dangerous  romances.  tragic  romances.  violins.  roses.  lilies.  empty  graves.  crosses.  cemeteries.  snow.  ice.  the  gallows.  crows.  milk-white  skin.  ambiguous  illness.  fangs.  pointed  nails.  something  howling  in  the  night.  capes.  gloves.  top  hats.  straight  razors.  lightning.  pipe  organs.  underground  caverns.  bats.  mice.  rats.  ravens.  cats.  pearls.  attics.  talismans.  axes.  wood.  isolation  in  a  room  full  of  people.  vampires.  werewolves.  ghosts.  coffins.  southern  europe.  western  europe.  eastern  europe.  bones.  churches.  catacombs.  mausoleums.  books.

𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐜  𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫.        /       black  and  white.  powder  puffs.  red  lipstick.  winged  eyeliner.  white  kitten  heels.  black  lace  lingerie.  icy  blue  eyes.  rain.  abandoned  cars.  skeletons.  acid.  poison.  voyeurism.  switchblades.  strangling.  overcoats.  looking  over  your  shoulder.  trans-atlantic  accents.  private  detectives.  dinner  parties.  haunted  mansions.  alcohol  in  glass  decanters.  cobwebs.  perfect  blonde  curls.  kitchen  knives.  shock.  cellars.  dust.  ghosts.  dark  alleys.  empty  streets.  driving  at  night.  horn-rimmed  glasses.  radiation.  zombies.  serial  murder.  suspicion.  paranoia.  the  city.  witches.  the  devil.  cannibalism.  conspiracies. amulets.  abject  terror.  the  american  south.  the  american  northeast.  england.  analog  cameras.

𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬.       /       bloodbaths.  massacres.  wanton  nudity.  newspapers.  leather  jackets.  letterman  jackets.  converse  sneakers.  obscured  faces.  social  unrest.  bonfires.  lakes.  babysitters.  suburbia.  high  school.  lockers.  dead  leaves  in  the  fall.  jack-o’-lanterns.  outdated  television  sets.  nightmares.  psychiatrists.  hospitals.  unstoppable  forces.  gunfire.  police.  landline  telephones.  household  objects  turned  into  improvised  weapons.  halloween.  secrets.  revelations.  character  masks.  scrunchies.  queerness.  wild  curls.  jeering  children.  parties.  fire.  swearing.  revulsion.  california.  the  american  midwest.  ambulances.

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐥  𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫.       /         malevolent  spirits.  seances.  spells.  missing  bodies.  curses.  hidden  graves.  white  noise.  static.  flickering  lights.  rings  of  salt.  demons.  poltergeists.  dark  histories.  old  buildings.  cold  air.  mausoleums.  wells.  urban  exploration.  a  dog  barking  at  something  you  can’t  see.  black  ooze.  old  photographs.  faces  you  can  swear  you’ve  seen  before  but  can’t  for  the  life  of  you  figure  out  where.  dark  bodies  of  water.  crucifixes.  priests.  possession.  exorcisms.  dolls.

𝐜𝐫𝐲𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐝  &  𝐮𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐧  𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐝  𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫.       /       aliens.  blinding  light.  dark  woods.  driving  at  night. claw-marks.  bite-marks.  men  in  black.  memory  loss.  dismembered  bodies.  sewers.  flashlights.  cell  phones.  video  cameras.  cars  with  tinted  windows.  unlabelled  cassette  tapes.  bugs.  big  cities.  urban  crimes.  clowns.  something  rustling  outside  your  window.  glowing  light.  unsolved  mysteries.  suburbia.  mirrors.  the  american  pacific  northwest.  the  american  midwest.  hiking  /  backpacking.  

𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐬.        /        daylight.  fluorescent  lighting.  morgues.  asylums.  unwavering  eye  contact.  tension.  lit  rooms  with  no  one  inside  them.  a  dog  digging  in  the  newly-planted  flower  bed.  steely  gazes.  paperwork.  anagrams.  codes.  convicted  killers.  missing  persons.  law  enforcement.  federal  agents.  small  towns.  suspicion.  paranoia.  subdued  terror.  dimly-lit  parking  lots.

tagged by: @roquish <3

tagging: @witchkillr, @hexsreality, @onlyarogue, @alwaysxinxtrouble, @abovedivinity, @belayadeaths and anyone else that wants!! steal it!

[snowshinobi]

story that grows its characters until the time is right to butcher them. story that is indifferent to its characters' suffering because it knows this is inevitable. story that would exist with other characters in a different time with new but no less horrifying stakes. story with blood in its mouth and a calm stare in its eyes. story that tells you it gets worse. keep going.

[itspileofgoodthings]

Taylor returning over and over to the falling through the ice accident in the Bolter—everything to me

[lilyharvord]

When is your harbor bay fic coming out. I am DYING to read it

Please understand as I write the harbor bay fic that the lyrics are definitely not “Heaven is nothing to her” at the closing chorus; but in my HEART, in MY heart, they are. And it works so much better considering I am lying on my floor looking at the ceiling and thinking about how the music slows to just the beat in the back and those words are so clear and it feels like falling when you listen to it, and I just imagine Cal stumbling down the beach to Mare, barely able to make out her outline, before reaching through the sparks bursting off of her like solar flares and taking her hand in his, and her whipping to face who she thinks is Tyton, or Ella, or Rafe, only for Cal to brave the worst of her lightning and cup her face as the wind from the storm she created whips her hair around, and the moment slows until they only see each other’s eyes, and only feel each others skin, and only hear each other’s breaths (Cal’s still recovering rattle, and Mare’s heavy panting as she comes down) and the sky slowly bleeds from dark to watery grey and then it starts to drizzle because Mare let go of the storm and it opens like a little curtain of relief over a bay that has literally been ravaged by Mare Barrow’s vengeance. 

I swear to god, I don’t not support woman’s wrongs, but I do support their right to tear the world apart over the man they love dying. Like yes girly, kill all the sea life in the bay, sink Iris’s battleship, and literally turn the beach to glass so no one can ever walk on it again. Let them know that your heart has literally shattered and you will tear the world apart over the pain of it. 

[thedeerman]

the funniest shit i write always comes out when i’m a lil high and completely forget about it until several days later 😭 like what the fuck is wrong with me sometimes i stg

[ef-1]

I, Carrion [Icarian] | Hozier

[psalmsofpsychosis]

funny side of self medicating with the Shameless US subreddit tho; i realised that apparently i'm quite a minority for adoring Ian's S7-S8 gay jesus story arc and apparently most people really hated that plotline?? which is honestly hilarious because Ian's gay jesus story is one of the most significant and complex and intellectually charged parts of Shameless for me, it actually felt so congruent and coherent as a story, was executed in a very sincere and honest fashion, and the van blowup scene had me screaming at the top of my lungs. Every bit of that plotline is the least politically censored Shameless has ever been while not becoming too phony and preachy about it, and every bit of it is so incessantly and dearly Ian ❤️❤️❤️ like, he has so many many stellar insane (affectionate) moments in the show but if i have to only remember him for three my top choices are the moment he ties Fiona in a knot over how the family made an easy scapegoat of him with bipolar disorder as their excuse, the moment he defends Lip in his university reconsideration hearing, and the moment he blows up the van. Like, those moments are how i see him; emotionally honest, courageous (bordering on utter recklessness) and an iconoclast.

[hylianengineer]

Sometimes I think I just need to set someone else loose in my WIP documents and let them decide what's publishable. I'm terrible at this (the publishing. not the writing.)

[cookinguptales]

I will say, though, people used to be way meaner about fic online when I was a kid. Readers can still be shitty, don't get me wrong, but it was the wild fucking west when I was young and new to fandom.

Sporking communities (communities dedicated to going through fic line-by-line to make fun of it to an audience), homophobic death threats, "constructive criticism" that was really just designed to hurt young writers' feelings... Like this was all considered not just acceptable but fun and fairly normalized. You were considered "butthurt" if this stuff really affected you.

But damn, it was so mean. Like so unnecessarily mean. People were practically hunting fan writers for sport just because they wrote fic/meta/roleplays/etc. that they didn't enjoy. I cannot overemphasize that making fun of writers was considered a viable fandom path at a certain point. Some people got very big followings for sporkings, takedowns, particularly creative flames, etc.

What I'm telling you is that making fun of others' writing was considered a kind of fanwork in and of itself.

Like... I remember writing something online when I was about fourteen and -- I don't even remember what it was, being honest with you. It probably wasn't very good, given my age. But I do remember that someone just replied to it with a link for a website "how to write" and nothing else, and it hurt my feelings so badly that I didn't even want to keep going. That was considered concrit back then, even though it was really just a thinly veiled insult. Pretty sure whoever wrote that comment thought it was hilarious, and others would have agreed with them. I definitely would've been mocked if I'd complained.

And... that was just what you had to put up with if you posted your writing publicly. Some of those old warnings like "flames will be used to make s'mores!" come off as kind of cringe these days, but it really was a coping mechanism that you had to develop if you wanted to get through it at all. It was saying "your words won't hurt me, so don't bother."

Like... I like to believe that I'm a pretty good writer these days, and I can guarantee that not one of those assholes who made fun of me or mocked my work or talked shit about my ideas actually helped to make me what I am today. It was the people who encouraged me to play with a lot of different ideas and forms of writing who really helped me grow. Nothing worked better than just writing and writing and writing without fear that I would be punished for doing so.

So even if you're a garbage person who likes to hurt people because it makes you feel big and strong and important, think about all this pragmatically. Be totally fucking selfish for a minute. Think about all of the good writing you will never, ever get to read if you destroy the writer's self-esteem when they're still learning. Think about all the people who will never grow. All the beautiful flowers that are being nipped in the bud every day by assholes like you.

And even if someone never gets good, even if they just splash around in stupid ideas and awful prose and incoherent characterization... so fucking what? No one owes you beauty. Sometimes the beauty is just in having fun with what you're doing, and sometimes that's enough.

I am actually extremely relieved that fandom isn't quite as cruel as it was when I was a kid, but I won't pretend that things are perfect now. People still have this weird entitlement to them, like other people in fandom only exist to create things that they enjoy. Like other people only have worth, only matter, if their presence gives you exactly what you want when you want it.

You don't have to like everything that other people make! You don't even have to like them. But come on, now. Let people have fun. And don't act like other people's fun is only valid if it's of use to you.

[timeskip]

It was really funny that I started Umineko episode 2 (where they start talking about Halloween) the day after Halloween

->

ROSA WHEN I FUCKING GET YOU

[theha1rarch]

@hidefire liked for a lyrical starter!

you belong with me - taylor swift

"she's going off about something that you said."

[jaeyongdx]

⎯ ✂ ⎯ real ⎯

lately, he's starting to understand how daeyong feels.

today, the experiments lasted well into the night.

usually they tell him what they're planning to do, to give him some illusion of choice. sometimes jaeyong considers saying i don't want to, just to see what happens, but he figures it's not worth the risk. besides, so far, none of it has been worse than what he's already endured in his life. some sick part of him shares the same curiosity he's sure the researchers have, too: how much can he take? how much can he bend before he breaks?

today they didn't tell him. they just came with a big syringe, and said this is going to make you unconscious. you'll be safe. he wonders if they think he's stupid – if they think he hasn't seen his brother's memories, and leafed through the fragments of reality and whatever they planted in his head. he'll be safe? he doesn't trust them. he hates them. sometimes he considers killing them all. the lead researcher has a nice scar on his neck, and on his arm. he isn't sure if he could bleed him out by himself. maybe.

but they injected him with whatever shit they had in the syringe, and he blacked out within seconds.

he caught on quickly, after a few startlingly realistic and detailed dreams – memories, but slightly off-kilter, something always a little wrong. they weren't him. of course he could tell he didn't conjure the images himself – at least not entirely. they wanted to see how precise his power detection was.

he probably should've pretended he didn't notice, but jaeyong's pride will surely be the death of him one day, because instead, he pointed it out, over and over: that's not real. i see you. you'll have to do better than that.

( cw: body horror, gore )

and they did. first it was even smaller changes to his memories – some he's sure he didn't notice in their entirety. and then they switched the approach, disrupting pleasant memories with horrific imagery: teenage daeyong's body splitting in half from his smile, cockroaches crawling out. one of his nephews he held in his arms exploding, covering him in chunks of their flesh. seoyun laying beside him smiling at him in one moment, then covered in blood and missing his eyes in the next.

not real, he said, despite the churning of his stomach. this isn't real, he said, despite the tightness in his throat and the prickling threat of tears in his eyes.

when he woke up – actually woke up, he didn't know where he was for several long moments. he just knew it felt different. he looked around wildly, searching for something unnatural to call out, and slowly reality sunk back in. the scientist in the chair beside him jotted something down on a clipboard, then said, thank you jaeyong. that's enough for today.

he doesn't get home until past midnight. he leaves his car in the parking lot at nepa hq and walks. he needs air. he needs time – to steel his defenses, to blink the vacant look out of his eyes and face his brother, who is not a pile of blood and guts. hopefully.

their apartment is dark when he arrives, and jaeyong takes his phone out of his pocket and uses the flashlight to make his way forward without tripping on anything. he shines it toward the couch, unsurprised to see daeyong there – more surprised that his eyes are open, staring blankly up at the ceiling.

"hey," he says, voice low, as if there's someone else he might wake up in the apartment. "what's up?" he's stopped asking are you okay? because daeyong is never okay. they broke him in there, leaving a mentally mangled version of his brother behind for jaeyong to drag out. none of this is okay.

but it also is. daeyong is here. daeyong is free – physically, at least. he is not a pile of blood and guts. he can eat real food and see the sunlight and sleep under a blanket when he gets cold. they can't hurt him anymore. jaeyong will do whatever it takes to make sure they can't hurt him anymore.

⎯ ✂ ⎯ @daeyongdx ⎯