#angstFEST

[bucknastysbabe]

Rating: Explicit

Tags: TW//Dubcon, learned helplessness, slut shaming, manipulation, obsession, This is not a nice pookie he’s very disturbed, pnv!sex, forced orgasm, he does touch the clit, overstimulation, drooling, dacryphilia, angst, Criston stop mentioning her family challenge

A/N: I was feeling evil. Anyways word to @starogeorgina for the chain in mouth idea

Taglist: @arcielee @aemonds-holy-milk @bambitas @elaratyrell @jamespotterismydaddy @lovelykhaleesiii @peachysunrize @starogeorgina @towriteloveontheirarms @zaldritzosrose

The gold hands kept your mouth open, drool dripping from your stretched lips. The Lord Commander was in a dark mood. He’d been taking it out on you, one of the ladies-in-waiting…truly a political hostage. His calloused hands hiked up your dress to expose your ass and cunt. You squirmed under his heat and touch.

The worst part of it all. He knew you. Your elder brother Alan trained with him at Blackhaven, they fought off the Dornish together in the wilds. You’d danced with a younger Criston Cole as a girl. He was much kinder then, almost shy, nothing like what this monster was.

You’d been reduced to a fuck toy.

A gloved hand pressed you down, your elbows painfully hitting his desk, spilling some ink across the table. Ser Criston snapped, smacking your ass, “Be godsdamn still.” You whimpered softly, teeth painfully biting into his chain. He sucked a dark mark on your neck, then another, biting down. The knight left marks no dress of yours could hide.

He was possessive, it wasn’t a well-kept secret around the keep that Lord Commander Cole was fucking Lord Tarly’s daughter. Court whispers assumed it was a sort of revenge for Alan Tarly flying black banners. He would shrug in public, sneering and declaring you a whore like the Queen your brother rallied for. He’d jest he wouldn’t touch you with a lance, dark eyes shining with mirth.

Criston’s hands ran up your trembling thighs, one of his thick boots kicking your feet apart. You remained still as the sounds of him jerking his sword belt off, pulling apart the bottom half of his white gambeson filled your ears. You whined, tears dripping with your drool onto the desk.

You cried because he still made you aroused, even after all of his mean mind games and brutal fucking. Some nights he would finish off and wipe you clean, petting your hair and talking about the Marches. His dark eyes would gaze at you…then slowly Criston would become so aggravated he would kick you out in a frenzy, your clothes barely back on.

Criston huffed, sliding the blunt tip of his prick against your swollen folds. One of his hands reached for your waist, gripping at the soft flesh there. Cole breathed, “You’re always so wet for me. What would your late father think? His sweet ‘maiden’ daughter taking cock like a whore. At least Sam and Sansara have a sense of aligning with the correct house.”

Only a mournful noise fell out from behind the golden hands, more tears falling down your cheek at the mention of your elder sisters. Criston sheathed his cock, grunting at the immediate feeling of velvet walls and hot slick. He gripped your chin, dark eyes peering at your tears. The man dropped your face, lips turned downward in annoyance.

He began to fuck you in earnest, hips clapping against your ass. Criston hissed, “You’re always crying, if it wasn’t so pretty I’d ask if you get tired of it, Lady Tarly.” You moaned softly, scrunching your eyes shut. He made your head spin— desire and disgust always at war.

Criston began to wind your bouncing braid around his hand. The Lord Commander growled as you cried out, “Hush— keep the damn chain in your mouth.” You miserably nodded, whimpering as his prick dragged against your sensitive walls. Criston groaned, fingers digging into your waist, hand tugging at your braid as he drove himself into you with abandon.

The sound of your wet cunt squelching around his cock could make you sick. He loved it, purring, “Hear how needy you are for me? You can’t deny it, your slut cunny sops for my cock.” You sobbed in frustration, heaving under him, pressing your forehead to the cold desk.

Criston panted against the back of your neck, biting once again, lapping afterward in a rare act of kindness. He nosed down your shoulder, leaving sore marks. Occasionally it felt like he left a kiss— but he’d never do that. Ser Cole told you he wasn’t going to be some soft-hearted lover, you were a body for him.

His hips stuttered as his gloved fingers felt around your mouth, feeling your swollen lips and wet chin. Criston groaned something unintelligible, digging his sharp hips into your giving flesh. His breath quickened, feeling your pussy pull and squeeze at his cock.

You whined and shivered again, his cock rubbing your walls, building hot friction. So good. Filled you perfectly. It made you want to heave. More pathetic noises fell from your lips as he got back to driving into your slippery cunt. Criston huffed, “Needy little whore loves my prick huh? Alan would be disgusted if he found out.”

You sobbed softly between helpless cries, Criston fucking you deep and rough. He panted in your ear, the hand in your hair dropping, shoving under your dress. His fingers slipped through the mess of your folds— slick with your juices and Criston’s copious leaking.

It was foreign and strange, the man had never put anything but his cock between your legs. He remained suspiciously quiet, leather-clad digits rubbing the neglected nub that made you whimper and shake down to your thighs. Criston laughed as you trembled and sniveled, drooling more.

“Am I the only one to have touched your pearl? Gods, ruined you all by myself. No one will marry you. No one wants a used and stained lady from a disgraced house. Shitty excuse for a marcher house, suckling the Tyrell’s teat,” he seethed, spittle flying from his clenched teeth.

You sucked in a heavy breath, deeply upset yet unable to think with the way he was pulling and thumbing your sensitive little nub. Criston moaned, dark hair tickling your cheek, “Fuck, keep squeezing me like that.” His nose brushed your skin, mouth dangerously close to your own.

You began to feel the sparks of a peak building fast in your lower belly. He was much too warm, too close, fingers too insistent. Crying out sharply, bucking under Criston, you sobbed in overstimulation. The knight only moved faster, hissing for you to shut up.

You garbled out a weak ‘no’, Criston laughing as he dug his cock deep inside of you, bumping against your cervix. The man had to hold you down, grinning in excitement as you whimpered and cried, the orgasm shoved through a wall of pain-pleasure. He gasped hotly against your wet cheeks. Another noise drew deep from his chest, almost pained.

Your cunt fluttered as you gushed around his cock, sight going fuzzy as you sobbed through the forced orgasm. Criston moaned in ecstasy, his hand dug so hard into your waist it would bruise. His legs trembled against yours, the knight drawing out with a low whine.

He didn’t stain your dress for once. You slumped against the desk— ashamed and disgusted. Your chest felt hollow, your stomach a pit of swirling emotions. Criston threw something to the side as he panted. He took the chain from your teeth, chuckling in amusement. Your jaw ached as you worked it, wiping your wet chin, stomach twisting further in knots.

The Lord Commander had tucked himself in and strolled to the grand chair across the desk. He sat down, eyes on you, frustratingly imperceptible emotion in the dark orbs. Pushing yourself up, you wiped the wet spot from your drool and tears with your dress. You knew you looked a mess and felt like one.

You gave him obeisance, hoping to leave quickly and lick your wounds, “L-Lord Commander.”

Criston absently shined his chain, a strange look upon his face. He grumbled, “No, you stay Tarly.” Your confusion was evident as he huffed, face twisting in annoyance. The knight snapped, “Get over here and stop sobbing…it is…grating.”

He was in one of those odd moods. You came around his desk, praying he wouldn’t make your sore jaw work again by warming his soft cock with your mouth. Criston wouldn’t make eye contact, absently staring at his chain while his gloved hand patted his lap.

You had no other choice but to obey, holding your sobs in with shuddery breath. Criston snatched you onto his thighs, your body facing his. He wouldn’t look at you, lips curled downward, face heated. You gingerly laid against him, closing your eyes and pretending it was a lover’s embrace. He smelled too familiar for the fantasy to work.

He stiffened when your arms wrapped around his neck, head pressed into his warm neck. Criston returned to shining his chain, arms on either side of you. His breathing was deep and rhythmic, yet his heart thudded rapidly. You were angry at yourself, livid, but the soft touch he allowed was pleasing.

Of course it felt pleasing— you ached for kind gestures, starved for love. Criston murmured, “You felt good…you are good.” You felt his head tilting to nuzzle your own. The Lord Commander sighed, one of his hands dropping to rub your trembling back. He seemed on edge, left leg tapping.

“You make me so…so,” the knight paused, “Nevermind, just be quiet and still.”

⋆---–---⋆ ⋆ ---––——––------––——––--- ⋆ ⋆ ---–--- ⋆

It was a shame you were a traitor by family. Criston’s mind warped between obsession and revulsion. He wanted to choke the life out of your pretty neck. He never did. That would mean being alone. The Lord Commander couldn’t stand to be alone and you were the sweetest thing, even back in the day visiting Horn Hill.

He felt your tears as he pressed a soft kiss to the crown of your head. Maybe one day you’d see him and smile.

[lexosaurus]

All I’m saying is that now that I’ve read the graphic novel, y’all are gonna FLIP when you see the overarching theme for Danny Phantom Angstfest this year (Aug 1–Aug 10th) 👀

[waterthatsmoe]

"Do you regret it?"

"It's for the best."

"Do you miss them?"

"I'll never forget this ache for the rest of my life."

Part 4 [end] | Part 3 [prev]

[doesephs]

i draw lesbians because i h8 men, not because i support the homosexual agenda.

[shalomniscient]

woke up having mavu thoughts....................... i hate this fucking game (aq spoilers utc)

she sacrificed herself 500 years ago to power the sacred flame and got resurrected like AT LEAST under 20ish years ago……….. god what must it have been like waking up so many years into the future? did she immediately start searching for scraps of her family? records, accounts, fuck; maybe even descendants? imagine finding nothing, no proof the people you loved most in this world beyond anything even existed. i'd end it all. there was barely any info on her sister which is why whenever she talks about her it's always "i think" or "with reasonable confidence".......... IM SO………………… I HATE THIS STUPID BAKA GAME ACTUALLY ??? doesn't help the fact that she had to BURN that picture like what if i sobbed. like what if i tore my hair out lay on the floor and sobbed

[loupy-mongoose]

You'd think Jamie would be right at home in the wild setting of Hisui.

Maybe if she went back at a younger age... she would be.

But if it were to happen to present day Jamie... she would barely hold herself together at the start. Her one driving force would be the desire to get home. Her Pokemon help, somewhat--especially Wisp the Zorua.

If nothing else, they're a distraction from her heartbreak...

Lumine the Cyndaquil/Quilava is caring, but quiet. As in, he doesn't talk. At all. He'll share his affection through touch and other means, but he's not good for reassuring conversation. At least Jamie knows what to expect with a Cyndaquil... right...?

Cooper the Umbreon is much more reserved, keeping to himself. Jamie took him on as an Eevee when she found him watching some others eat from a distance. He was clearly hungry, verging on starving, but he was often bullied away from meals by his siblings and had to wait for the slim pickings. So, Jamie offered for him to come with her, battle participation not necessary. After a short while with her, he realized he was finally free of the suffering his siblings had put him through, and was having a good time. Feeling a wave of thanks and affection for his new trainer, he evolved into Umbreon.

Wisp the Zorua is the most comfort Jamie receives early on. She's older than her evo stage would imply, being the team mom and doing her best to be just that for Jamie. Being the type to care rather than fight, she would often run from opponents, ending up staying a dangerously low level and being rejected by her clan for her unwillingness to fight. She wandered her way through Hisui, surviving against the odds to make her way to the Obsidian Fieldlands where she and Jamie met. Jamie offered to either help her work past her fears, or just be company for her. So, the Zorua joined her team.

Note that this was the team when I started the picture. I've since caught two more in my playthrough.

[expectiations]

There was no doubt, between “killing someone stone dead” and “mildly inconveniencing Ms. Dowling,” which Silva considered the bigger sin.

Lighting the Fire by Sarah Rees Brennan

silrah crumbs from the book

[youling-the-ghost]

After Johnny's future dreams being an allegory for mental health we have: Peter Steven's height being an allegory for physical disabilities.

Peter wasn't chosen to be born tall, he had no control over it. And yet he has to walk on his knees and pretend like he's normal just because his mum is embarrassed of him. He's sorry he was born this way, but why does he have to suffer because of it? Why is he being punished for something out of his control and why is he being forced to hide an integral part of who he is? Is there something wrong with him? There must be something wrong with him, why else would mum look at him with shame in her eyes? The guilt is suffocating, but Peter did nothing wrong. He was just born with something out of his control.

[whumblr]

Jaybird screaming in the dead of night

Home is where the hurt is: Part 1

-

“Hey Jay,” Zayne sang, slowly, menacingly, butchering ‘Hey Jude’, while swirling himself around the corner into the kitchen startling Jay. “Don’t be afraid.”

Jay, at the first notes of his name in rhyme, turned away from the counter and his dinner prep, his eyebrows raising in surprise and the hairs on his arms in alarm. Just hearing his name in song gave him many reasons to be afraid. He raised his chopping knife in an automatic response, just holding it out in front of him.

“Drop the knife,” Zayne said, now stepping forward and emphasizing his words with the click of his own knife, flicking it up, “Unless you want to compare which one is sharper.”

His kitchen knife might not be as sharp, but it was coated in onion juices. Not an experiment Jay wanted to engage in. With a loud clank, he dropped it in the sink, falling another step back.

Zayne kept advancing on him, slowly, backing him into the dark corner of the kitchen, talking and waving his knife about with every step. “So, I just bumped into your neighbour, downstairs. Or well, he almost fully crashed into me, really. So I shouted after him, holding the door open for him, ‘Hey, what’s the hurry?!’ And you know what he shouted back?”

Probably, yeah, Jay had an inkling of where this was going. And how it was now going to bite – stab – him in the arse. But he kept his mouth shut, dread stealing his voice and knowing Zayne would continue his terrorizing monologue anyway.

Which he did. “He said, ‘Sorry, I’m late!’. So I asked, ‘Late for what?!’” The conversational tone fell away as he leaned forward against Jay, one hand brushing against his, pinning him to the kitchen counter. “Work,” he breathed in Jay’s face. “He was late for work.”

Jay leaned back as far as he could, hands on the edge of the counter, arms bending. He tried to make a soft hum in feigned surprise, but it turned to a soft but sharp inhale as the knife was brought up in his face.

“You never told me he works night shifts,” Zayne crooned, brushing the flat of the knife over Jay’s jawline.

“I mean, it never really came u—”

“But then it all started making sense, you know. How you always tried to hold back on your screaming in the afternoon. And here I was, making an effort to keep the noise down at night…”

The knife fell away from Jay’s clenched jaw, dropped against his clavicle and disappeared under his collar. The cold sensation turned sharper, gradually pressing into his skin.

“Well, no need to worry about that now, you don’t have to hold back. He just left. You can scream as much as you want.”

~

~Bonus~

Zayne leaned back and pulled the kitchen knife from the sink.

“What were you chopping?” he asked, turning the knife back and forth as if he could analyse what was on it (instead of, you know, looking back).

“Onions...”

“Hm.” He swiped his own blade over the knife as if sharpening it, making them sing a threatening tune together. “Do you think it stings in more than just your eyes?”

“You don't need onions to make me cry,” Jay tried to goad him into dropping the knife. He didn’t need a dual-wielding Zayne.

Zayne merely stared at him, eyes softening to a fond expression as he was mulling it over and the stupidity of Jay’s words hit him.

“You’re right,” he said, to Jay’s short-lived relieve. Then his tone shifted and he merely whispered: “I don't.”

-

Tag list:

Tag list: @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @burtlederp @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @hurtmebeautifully @rougenoirofthepurpleterror @susiequaz12 @whump-me-all-night-long @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @im-just-here-for-the-whump @restrainthenmaime @freefallingup13 @whatwasmyprevioususername @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @firewheeesky @redstainedsocks @hold-back-on-the-comfort @whumpawink @break-so-beautifully @approach-me-and-ill-cry @painsandconfusion @afabulousmrtake @wormwriting @soopytime @whumpedydump @pickleking8 @itsmyworld98 @whumpifi @painless-and-colourful @withdrawingramen

[arcanegifs]

damn one of the gifs i made got 14k likes on twitter. crazy.

thanks to the reposter for crediting back the blog too. defo the least u can do if you want to support this blog.

Ik twitter has a way bigger reach but im still gonna stay in this hellsite though lmao.

[del-stars]

the maggots are telling me to write divorced wolfstar again

[burins]

have been trying to put a good face on it for eight months at this point but chronic pain is so deeply and profoundly boring! I'm sick of it!

[ursafootprints]

Title: Perpetual Motion Chapter Wordcount: 3,663 Rating: E Work Tags: noncon, Vulture/Peter, Liz/Peter, Starker endgame, canon divergence, blackmail

"That's great, Pete," Toomes said, and the sound of his zipper was louder than any gunshot. "It's good you've already learned that, but you also need to learn what happens when you get yourself involved with real criminals, kid. You get in over your head, and this is what happens. You get hurt." When Toomes finds a stronger argument to keep Peter from meddling in his plans at Homecoming, he figures the Vulture isn't the only thing he can get Peter to keep quiet about— leaving Peter to juggle his relationship with Liz, his abuse at her father's hands, and his lingering hurt over how things ended with Mr. Stark.

Mind the tags and please enjoy 💖

[peachyyjellie]

the road to hell is often paved with good intentions

don't tag as a ship or else

[ge]

im really into that cliche trope of 'character is subjugated to a curse/magic item/talisman/etc that shows them an immersive vision of their most deepest desires/longed for dreams'....

apply that to chung myung where hes thrust into a fantasy where the war never took place, he never died, and mount hua is in perfect condition and he comes across this dreams versions of chung mun and chung jin, alive and well and so so happy to see him, and tang bo, who hes married to (a thought that had only ever crossed his mind when he was feeling enamoured and vulnerable), as well as their daughter who never even had a chance to exist in his previous life before everything started falling apart..

chung myung lets himself sink into the dream, lets this perverse illusion of everything hes ever wanted take hold of him, embrace him, until it starts fading and cracking at the edges, his loved ones telling him its time to go as he desperately tries to dig his claws in and never let go.. and then he wakes up, devastatingly alone and longing for something utterly out of reach

[freneticfloetry]

I am so not ready for the weekend to end. Also, life is just a lot right now. In protest, we've got snippets squared. Thanks to @im-overstimulated-and-im-sad, @lemonlyman-dotcom, and @tellmegoodbye for the tags today.

First, a taste of Tarlos from the upcoming chapter of esta noche es de alegría:

But beyond that, selfishly, he had imagined watching the man himself. Sitting beside him while he slipped from planner to participant, and finally let himself enjoy the company. He loves the way Carlos consumes food whenever he’s with his whole family — he eats with his hands, in big bites and mouthfuls he takes tongue first, and he licks his fingers after, like he’s reverted to a time in his childhood before all his practiced, proper manners. It’s casual, and comfortable, and in it, TK can see a glimpse of the boy he must have been: youngest and only, all big eyes and shy smiles, precious enough to indulge him this way just long enough for it to stick. The first time Carlos had forgone a napkin in favor of sticking his whole thumb in his mouth and sucking stray salsa from his skin, TK had figured it was flirty innuendo. Now, the fact that Carlos lets him see that side is not just hot, it’s humbling.

And another little look at the FirstPrince that won't leave me alone:

All of Henry is in its perfect place, from every shoe and soft sweater in his small closet to every book in his floor-to-ceiling shelves, every straight tooth in his wide smile to every strand of his stupid swoopy hair. Alex has a head full of curls that cannot be fully tamed and a room trailed with testaments to object permanence, everything left exactly where it first landed until the next time he needs it again. He stays up too late and sleeps through alarms, then tries not to wreak havoc on Henry's set schedule. And somehow it works. Has worked. Until now. And it hurts, but Alex isn't surprised. It was only a matter of time, to be honest — he could only mess up Henry's life for so long.

Tagging in @never-blooms, @liminalmemories21 @paperstorm @heartstringsduet @reyesstrand @rmd-writes @herefortarlos @walkinginland @three-drink-amy @ladytessa74 @strandnreyes @whatsintheboxmh @carlos-in-glasses @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @nancys-braids @orchidscript @carlos-tk @alrightbuckaroo @bonheur-cafe and @welcometololaland .