#MASOCHIST MUCH?

[the-travelling-witch]

HOLLY NO ARE U OK? Do u have a heat pack or anything to sooth the cramps

i’m fine, cramps are always the worst at the beginning (at least for me); so sad they ruined the last half of my breakfast though ㅠㅠ

(i meant to post this yesterday, wdym it’s still in my drafts)

[licorishh]

double ?? upload ???? yeaaaahh i've gotten FASTERRrr for whatever that's worth so complementary blyla because guess what i miss them too (nobody was surprised by that)

[blue-willow-tree]

Ugh I want to have a shy masochist underneath me.

"Don't push my head down. My face is already between your thighs, what more do you want? Stop being greedy, angel, or I'll have to spank that pretty little thing between your legs til it's all pink and sore :( Ohhhhh wait, look at that blush! Is that what you want? You want me to hurt you? Yeah? Fuck you're even getting wetter just from me talking to you like this. Have you been a sweet little painslut all along? Aww she just twitched around my fingers at that! Why didn't you tell me sooner, hm? Don't worry, I'll have you crying for me real soon baby <33 I've been dreaming of having you like this."

[froggerland]

Is somebody gonna match my freak (basically freestyling the beechey island gloves based on vibes alone. You can't really see it just trust the little heart is there)

[tklsh-love]

this past weekend was an absolute whirlwind of perversion, friends, drinks, and laughs. and I’m sitting on my couch trying to recount every amazingly sick experience. and so far I’m at: 

✧.* getting tied and tickled next to another lee (twice~) (honorable mention to my emotional support lee @nyxtickled)

✧.* getting cuffed to a door spontaneously and gang tickled

✧.* getting tied up and gang tickled by MORE THAN 6 people at once (and being teased for loving it and having your freak fantasy come true GEVEJDKDPTL)

✧.* getting tied up and tickled by a hot couple who just kiss and banter while tickling and take all of their aggression out on you (TWICE AND FUCK ITS HOT) (honorable mention to @ticklishadventure for obvious reasonsssss~)

✧.* random tickle wresting and getting pinned down to be the common room’s entertainment (asvdndlxu too many times)

✧.* getting lured into bondage by lers who promised shots and a chance to let YOU LER, but they’re stinky and LIE (@yourlittlettoy never forget)

✧.* and singing the meow meow billie eilish song to definitely NOT encourage severe tickle punishment @twordish !!!!

i hope to share more, the more I process and RECOVER. but all of this to say that I love you freaking pervs so much, and I am always counting down the days until I get to see and hug every single one of you again <3

[shalomniscient]

every day, once a year, yelan takes a day off.

this is written directly into her contract with the tianquan. there are no exceptions, no special arrangements. on this singular day, yelan does not belong to the qixing; on this singular day, her leash and collar are abandoned, and she has free reign to do as she pleases.

what does she do? well, prepare for your anniversary, of course.

she hops out of bed, cleans up, tugs her jacket on and then slips out the door with the clink of her jade bracelet. it’s a clear day, and yelan tilts her head to the sky briefly, letting the golden sunrays warm her face almost like an embrace. you were never really a morning person, but the sun on your skin always suited you. she’d have to drag you out of bed to see it, but it was always well worth your grumbling in the end when you finally cave and offer her a smile which she would then steal with a kiss.

“ugh, yelan—“ you giggled, your hands on her chest gently pushing her back. your bracelet was cool against her skin, and the matching one on her own wrist hummed. she nosed along your jaw, pressing more and more kisses until she reached your neck. playfulness turned into something a little more heated, and her blood sang at the sigh she pulled from your lips. emerald eyes flicked up to you, teasing, challenging, and you managed a wry huff before tangling your fingers in her hair and tugging her back to properly kiss her again. it stung, beautifully, but yelan grinned all the way."

she shakes herself out of the memory, and steps into the busy street. liyue’s morning scene has always been crowded, and she blends into the throng with practiced ease. she follows the flow of the crowd down the wharf until she reaches the shop she’s looking for—a florist, tucked snugly between two other stores on the higher levels of the shopping district.

the owner, a midde-aged woman, looks up from tending to her orchids to smile at her. her eyes crease with familiarity at the sight of yelan as the spy steps into her store, fingers brushing the petals of a few flowers. the woman rounds the counter, and rummages in the storage for a few moments.

“the usual, i take it?” she asks, and yelan nods, leaning against the counter and tapping her fingers over the grainy wood. the shop hasn’t changed much, if at all, since she last came here with you.

you leaned down by a bouquet of white chrysanthemums, lips curving upward into a smile as you breathed in the soft, floral scent. yelan looked curiously over your shoulder, a hand casually resting on your hip. she asked if it was your favorite flower—you nodded, your other hand rising to just as casually cup her face from over your shoulder. “they’re quite pretty, aren’t they?” you hummed, and yelan took a moment to ponder the question. in the end, she said they were nowhere near as pretty as you, and took the light smack you delivered to her shoulder with an easy laugh.

the florist clears her throat, coaxing her out of the memory. yelan recieves the bouquet—white chrysanthemums—with a smile, settling it in the crook of her arm. the woman’s expression is measured, but there’s a slight waver to her tone when she speaks. if yelan really had to name it, it sounds close to… pity.

“yelan—“ she begins, but she only flashes the woman a signature grin, before slipping out the door as quickly as she came. she has other things to get, after all, and the clock is always ticking.

(or maybe her clock stopped ticking a long time ago and all this is just extra. maybe it cracked when the rocks fell and the earth buried—)

she dissolves back into the crowd as she heads to her next destination: wanmin restaurant. she can smell the chili in the air as she makes her way down the street again, a sharpness only wanmin seems to be able to make. when she gets there, xiangling is boisterously calling out orders while her father toils away in the kitchen, with guoba tirelessly maintaining the roaring fire for his wok. when she sees her, xiangling’s grin only widens, and she waves her over enthusiastically.

“miss yelan! welcome, welcome,” the young chef says cheerily. “here for another batch of dried chillies?”

yelan chuckles, shaking her head. “no, not this time. i’m here for a few rice buns. with a sweet filling, preferably.”

“ooh,” xiangling coos, nodding. “are you planning to go on an expedition? rice buns are both portable and satiating.”

“you could say that,” yelan says vaguely. the little chef is right, in a way, since she’ll have to hike a little to get to your spot—but really, it’s because rice buns have always been a comfort food of sorts for you.

“how can you not like them?” you asked defensively as you trudged along with her behind the group. there was a slight smear of filling on the corner of your lip, and your expression scrunched up a little more as she wiped it off. her jade bracelet was cool against your heated cheeks. yelan only shook her head, teasingly remarking that spice was a much greater wake-up call than sweets. you huffed at that, taking another bite of your rice bun. “not all of us are masochists, lan’er,” you grumbled, and yelan laughed softly. her nimble fingers encircled your wrist, tugging you closer so she could take a quick bite of your bun. it was sweet, sweeter than she’d like, but maybe that was because you were there. and somehow, that made it good.

yelan pulls herself out of yet another memory when xiangling deposits the bag of warm rice buns into her hands. they’re freshly steamed, and the scent of warm buns fill her senses. she thanks the chef, and disappears much the same way she came before the young lady can get even so much as a word in. in the back of her mind, she can almost hear you chastise her for it.

(she always hears you in the back of her mind. if not, where else—)

there’s only one thing left on her list, and it’s incense. it’s late in the morning now, so the crowds have thinned out—and without her cover, yelan takes to back alleys and rooftops instead. she sighs, relieved almost, as she slips into the shimmering, reflective cover of hydro, darting like a minnow between buildings like rocks, barely a blur in the eyes of anyone nearby. the secrecy isn’t strictly necessary for what she’s doing now, but she’s been so used to being unseen that being in the open feels… unsafe.

it doesn’t take her that long to reach wangsheng funeral parlor. the young lady running the parlor isn’t in today—instead, it’s her ‘assistant’, the elegant man shrouded in such thick mystery that neither her nor ningguang has been able to pierce. he greets her with a solemn expression, no doubt because director hu has told him the reason for her visit. “incense?” he asks again anyway to confirm, his voice low and soft. yelan nods absently, her nose stinging slightly from the intense scent permeating the parlor.

she watches as the man disappears into the back of the parlor for a moment, before he reappears with a delicately wrapped packet of incense sticks. she slides a pouch of mora his way, which he takes wordlessly. she tucks the packet into her little pocket dimension, then turns on her heel to leave. just as she exits the door, he calls out to her.

“safe travels.”

she doesn’t deign him with a response.

her feet take her out and away from the city, down the familiar path to the bleeding wound in the earth—the chasm. the land goes from valleys to large, curling momuments of rock, carved by the force of a falling star. she feels that familiar tug in her chest, the voice that calls to her, that tells her to forsake the surface as her ancestor once did. she listened to it, once. and—

“go,” you whispered, pushing her away. half of you was buried under rock, and she could only see one of your eyes; the other was forced shut by the blood that trickled down your face. yelan nearly screamed herself hoarse, but you grabbed her face and kissed her. it tasted like salt, and her heart lurched at the wrongness. your kisses had always been sweet. you slipped your bracelet onto her wrist, then pushed her again, and then the earth heaved and groaned, and it was the last she ever saw of you—

she turns her head and rips herself out of the memory and the temptation; she has other, more important places to be today. she has other days to chase down her demons. she skirts the side of the chasm, slowly ascending to the top. she passes by the memorial to the millelith, and leaves a rice bun and a few sticks of incense as an offering. they too, deserve to be remembered after all.

(she wonders if anyone else comes out here to remember them. she wonders who will come when she’s gone for—)

it takes her a while, but eventually, she reaches the highest point in the chasm. the sun has traveled across the sky by this point, the afternoon heat mellowing out into a slightly cooler evening warmth. the sky is alive with shades of gold when she finally stops, drawing to a halt right before a smooth stone, standing upright from the earth like a silent vigil. she kneels before it, producing three sticks on incense and inserting them into the censer before the stone and lighting them. she sets a rice bun on the plate by the stone, and saves one for herself. the bouquet of white chrysanthemums, she lays on top of the stone.

yelan takes a bite of her rice bun, letting the sweetness settle on her tongue, as the floral scent mixes with the incense, filling her lungs and settling on her shoulders. she tilts her head to the sun, and the warmth feels almost like an embrace. and when she closes her eyes, the wind in her hair feels almost like a caress. when she opens them again, she lets them rest on the stone—the headstone, and she offers it a smile.

sitting on the edge of the cliff, your legs swinging, you smiled at her, nearly blindingly bright like the golden hour. your pinkies were twined together, your shoulders flush with hers. there was a bouquet of white chrysanthemums on your lap, and just a few crumbs on the corner of your lips. your voice carried in the wind when you spoke.

“happy anniversary, yelan.”

“happy anniversary, sweetheart,” she whispers. the wind carries her voice as well, and she hopes you hear it, wherever you are now. one day, she’ll join you, but for now she takes another bite of her rice bun and breathes in the scent of incense and chrysanthemums.

[rosurie]

"oh well. hopefully god will be more merciful to you than Noé will."

I just wanted to draw biblically accurate pissed off Noé lol. Noé doesn't take too well to his sister being harmed (ˆᵕ ˆ˶) [at least - when she's harmed in a way she doesn't approve of]

[aishien-the-aishien]

Some doodles of One Piece characters as kittens :> I hope I can make some more in the future!!

Reference pictures undercut:

Zoro

And Nami/Vivi

[the-travelling-witch]

it’s me vs the last 80 followers to the milestone /lh

can i finish setting up the event before we reach it? experts say it’s potentially possible

[everytimewetouch-dot-mp3]

i love shang qinghua so much. i love when he is afraid and shrinking back from everyone in pain, and i love when he is badass and competent and running the entire sect and mbj’s court and palace. and i love love love when he is so painfully, achingly alone; when he’s overwhelmed with guilt and shame for writing misery into all the lives around him, and he can’t share his guilt with anyone at all because they’ll take him for a madman.

he can’t tell anyone how afraid he is of dying, every day, every moment. every time his king raises his hand, every time that glare burning with ice-cold fury turns on him, every time his king shows up unannounced—he just doesn’t want to die. he’s done it before and it was awful. and it hurt so fucking badly. he is so afraid to die, and he doesn’t have anyone he can ask for help, and he knows down to his bones that it’s all his own fault. if he hadn’t given everyone such miserable lives, he’d be safe.

i love when he is afraid okay. i love it i love it i love it. such a whump sponge, that qinghua

[mellosdrawings]

OOOOOO CAN I ASK HOW WOULD THE N2 SQUAD REACT TO EACH OF THEM DYING?

What have you unleashed?

(WARNING: Angst, allusions to death, all that fun stuff. Nothing graphic tho, don't worry)

Jamil

He shouldn’t be surprised.

Well… He isn't surprised. Jamil Viper doesn't get nice things. Not for more than a few months, anyway.

Every once in a while, life takes pity on him and throws some nice, agreeable news his way. Just enough so that he lets his guard down. Just enough so that he allows himself to think maybe things will get better. Just enough so that he can pretend he isn't chained to a fate he will never escape.

A letter to NRC, a plan that goes a little too well, a couple of upperclassmen who seem to genuinely love him for who he is and not who he pretends to be.

So of course it doesn't last. Life gives and life takes.

Kalim follows, Octavinelle gets involved, Leona and Vil-

Well…

He isn't surprised.

Jamil Viper doesn't get nice things.

Vil

They look at him like they expect something from him. Horror, anger, ugly tears maybe. Just a reaction. Anything. Anything at all.

Vil doesn't give them that. Doesn't give them an opportunity to pity him. Doesn't give them food for gossip. Doesn't give them any material to make this topic last for any longer than it has to.

He knows how it works. Someone snaps a pic of him at his lowest, someone records his voice breaking during an interview, someone catches his lips tremble for but a second, and everybody will start talking about it again. And again. And again. For as long as there is a reaction from him. For as long as the topic attracts views.

Suffering brings more views than success.

So Vil doesn't react. Doesn't say a thing. Doesn't acknowledge the topic.

Better to be a cold asshole for a few weeks than to hear about it for years.

And in the darkness of his own room, where there is no camera, no eyes, and no ears to witness his grief-

Vil cries himself to sleep.

Leona

It’s just sand.

Only sand.

For miles and miles, further than the eye can see, nothing but sand.

Ruggie had the clever foresight to send all of Savanaclaw packing when Leona got the news. They would be sand too otherwise.

Who cares.

Who fucking cares.

He could turn the whole world to sand and it wouldn't be enough.

He might as well turn his own heart into sand.

It would hurt less.

[bunnytwigg]

i want someone to test the limits of my own body..

wanna get cross faded and made to keep smoking until i can hardly function.. and then be used purely for entertainment. stretch all my holes further than i ever have.. slap and bruise me worse than i've ever felt. just push me as far as i can go until im unconscious and broken :(

[lambmotifz]

speaking of hell trauma….it’s canon that post hell dean was still able to get boners (proof? 4.10 & 5.06!) but post hell sam apparently wasn’t because he stopped having sex after the wall was broken, at least for a while

[starleska]

might be telling on myself a bit here, but. was anyone else more than a little bit affected by Orin Scrivello in Little Shop of Horrors? 😳

[gaywarcriminals]

I think a PIDW-native Shen Yuan would have a much easier time with domming or pain play. His two main hangups are is perception of Binghe as the Protagonist and the sexual role Shen Qingqiu assumes stems from that, and Shen Qingqiu's fear of hurting Binghe post-canon. If you take away the first issue, then Binghe just has to get Shen Yuan on board with the fact that he's basically invulnerable to lasting physical harm, and he really really likes it.

[feyd-meowtha]

I am baffled by the person who just left an anon comment on my Feydpaul fic saying they "can't believe" I would write sadist!Feyd without tagging for OOC based on 2024 FILM CANON.

My brother in Christ, that nasty bald freak makes his brother kiss his shoe under threat of death and then cooks a POW to death with a flame thrower.

What part of that is not giving sadist to you?