#inkwriter

[kettlequills]

skin-starved

At home with Tiffany, Nica reaffirms her commitment to anger against temptation. On a03.

"Being with Tiffany hurts. It's a relentless, persistent ache, like a sore cavity, a sweet-rotting hole where strength should be. Waking beside her is like trusting her wheels to damp, creaking mulchwood, chewed all the way through by black mould that lingers in her lungs and turns her dreams into strange, paranoid visions. Any second, she feels like she's about to fall through all the sweetnesses of this little life into the blank hole beneath Chucky's subconscious, where senseless and terrified she waits to find how much blood will be on her hands when she wakes up. And yet, Tiffany’s the softest thing Nica knows.

She thinks maybe she hates her for that most of all..."

Read the rest on a03.

[bvbbl3p0p]

Okay umm warning this is literally a torture type thing, can be used as a prompt bc it has no characters but be warned (Drowning, death, saddness yeah)

“B!” A yells, or at least tries to, they aren’t sure if it actually comes out. B is stuck on the other side of the glass where water is rising faster than A can blink.

B is looking around, panicked, as they desperately try to walk towards A. B was never a good swimmer, and the water is up to their shoulders now.

A is frozen, unable to move as sheer and unfiltered panic floods their veins.

“Let them go!!” They yell, aimlessly looking around for something, anything they could change. “Please, take me, kill me, hurt me, anything, just not them!!!”

A finally rushes over to the glass, pounding on it so hard they feel like their fingers are gonna break. That doesn’t matter though, because B is dying, B is dying, and A can see them struggling to swim to the top. It’s a futile attempt anyways, the water is up to the ceiling now.

A bangs on the glass, praying that it somehow works, that maybe there’s still hope. But there’s nothing, no cracks, no lines, nothing.

But B is struggling less and less, and A is yelling more and more. A watches as B, delirious, tries to breathe in, watches as their eyes widen and their lungs are filled with water, watches as they try to cough it up but only succeed in making it worse.

They watch in horror as B’s eyes glaze over, and A falls to their knees, squeezing their eyes shut and telling themself that it’s just a dream, that nothing is real and it isn’t happening.

A continues to bang on the glass as they watch B’s body sink.

They scream, bloody and bruised, and their voice sounds so broken, like there’s no way of ever repairing it.

Their breath hitches, air suddenly becoming harder to breath, and they distantly wonder if this was how B felt, cold and alone and dying—

A’s head snaps up when they hear an odd screeching sound, and they watch with wide eyes as the water is drained out.

The glass goes down and A bolts over to where B is, and they don’t even have the energy to flinch when their knees hit the hard floor.

A clutches B’s body close, looking into the unseeing eyes that used to be so bright.

“No…”

[aldritch-ao3]

you all are doing evil things to me psychologically in my ao3 comments. ive spent all day working on fake dating sim screenshots. shoutout to inkwriter ao3

don't repost / use without permission / etc y'all know the rules

[ao3feed-danganronpa]

The wound of our love... And your arm, please put the knife down..

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/sfZxJ0g

by InkWrites

Whit finds out that Charles isn't at breakfast, which is normal for him, but Charles always tells Whit when he's not coming?

or

 Charles gets a little silly

Words: 2271, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Danganronpa: Despair Time

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories: M/M

Characters: Charles Cuevas (Danganronpa: Despair Time), Whit Young (Danganronpa: Despair Time), Background & Cameo Characters

Relationships: Charles Cuevas/Whit Young (Danganronpa: Despair Time)

Additional Tags: Angst, Graphic depictions of flesh, Suicide Attempt, Mild Gore, Blood and Injury, sorta fluff?, Happy Ending, i know it sounds bad, but the gore isn't even that hardcore, Fangan Ronpa: Danganronpa Despair Time

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/sfZxJ0g

[keyboardink]

“highway to hell”

"Secondly, you know I always want you." His thumb reached over your lips, pulling the bottom one down slightly. The buzz from the weed made his touch electric on your skin, goosebumps raising on your arms. His eyes refocused on yours. "Always."

You kept eye contact with him, feeling the air between your bodies tighten with tension. "Then earn it."

pairing: eddie munson x reader / media: stranger things

genre: smut (safe, consensual, but not entirely sane) / word count: 2.4k / rating: mature / warnings: explicit sexual content, language, use of marijuana, dom and sub tones, (SEE BELOW)

a/n: this is NOT a "first time" or anything. i wrote it from the point of view of a FWB sort of situation, but you can read it as a romantic relationship if you'd like.

PLEASE READ / WARNING: * this fic includes graphic descriptions of sexual acts, including oral sex (fem receiving) and penetration. this fic also features the inclusion of marijuana, with both eddie and the reader using before and during sex. although the drug is not used to coerce either party into the act — and therefore is a consensual matter — this may make some readers uncomfortable. *

[link to my ao3 account]

"Oh my God, I swear you call that guitar 'sweetheart' more than me." You shook your head and laughed, joking but a little annoyed.

"Okay, so?" He leaned back against the wall, facing where you sat on his bed. "Get back to me when you cost five-hundred dollars." His lip curled into a playful smirk as his eyes scanned you, daring you to match his comeback. He brought the joint to his lips and inhaled. He blew it in your direction, sticking his tongue out with the last bit of smoke.

You held out your hand, silently asking for a hit. Rather than giving it to you, he met you at the edge of the bed, turned the joint around and held it up to you. You leaned forward, taking an inhale while looking up at him. His breath hitched in his throat as your gazes met. You tipped back, letting the end of it fall out of your mouth, and after a moment, you blew out smoke in his face. His lips parted with a small smile, his eyes closed as he inclined into the cloud, stopping just before touching your lips. You pulled away, avoiding his attempt to kiss.

"Aw, c'mon, babe," he whined, cupping your cheek with his free hand. "Don't be like that."

You could feel his breath fanning over your lips, and while it took everything in you not to give in to him, you decided to have a little fun. You brushed your bottom lip against his, tilting your head again before he could seal the kiss.

"Do you really want me?" you whispered, making sure to stay close enough for him to feel the breaths of your words. You kept a huskiness in your voice that you knew was a tried-and-true way to rile him up. "Or do you just feel bad because I called out your affair with the guitar?"

"For the record," his tone dropped as he smiled at you, knowing that he was wrapped around your finger and allowing it regardless, "that guitar and I have never fucked, thank you very much."

"Hmm, are you sure about that?"

He ignored your joke, his hazy gaze too focused on your mouth to react. "Secondly, you know I always want you." His thumb reached over your lips, pulling the bottom one down slightly. The buzz from the weed made his touch electric on your skin, goosebumps raising on your arms. His eyes refocused on yours. "Always."

You kept eye contact with him, feeling the air between your bodies tighten with tension. "Then earn it."

Eddie smiled and met your lips. He had a special way of charging a soft kiss with all of the sexual tension in his body, a gentle but fierce touch that sent shivers through your bones. Your spine arched forward, pushing your chest up, silently asking for more. Your hand skimmed over his arm, finding his fingers and taking the joint from his grip. With his newly freed hand, he pressed lightly against your sternum, pushing you back onto the bed. His other hand, previously holding your chin, slid to the back of your neck and cradled your skull as he lowered you.

His lips began to travel away from yours, dotting your cheek and jawline before dipping to your neck. He left open-mouthed kisses against the muscles on your neck, a familiar sensation which made every nerve in your body ache for him. You brought the drug to your mouth and let the desire intensify as it dissolved into your bloodstream. His fingers at the back of your neck tangled themselves in the hair at your nape, tugging, causing you to gasp in the midst of exhaling smoke. His other hand drifted around your chest, drawing circles around your nipples and gently squeezing one of your breasts every so often. He kept it light, teasing, playful; he obeyed you but had his own fun while doing so. You felt tender spots rising on the skin over your neck and collarbones, knowing that there would be burgundy splotches when you looked in the mirror later.

His mouth abandoned your neck, leaving a cool, empty feeling in its place. He took the joint from you and inhaled as he returned to a standing position. You propped yourself on your elbows and watched as he set it down against the side of the ashtray on his bedside table. There wasn't much left of it — and depending on how long it would take you two to finish, there might not be any remaining when you were done.

Your legs were already dangling off the bed, but he wrapped his arms around your thighs and pulled you forward, keeping just the edge of your ass on his mattress. He pulled your pants off your waist, the movement swift with plenty of experience. You kicked them off your ankles and let them fall to his floor. His gaze swept over your legs like he was mentally licking a plate clean; savoring every inch and leaving nothing untouched. You could see the lust in his dark eyes. He wanted to devour you.

He pushed your pants aside with the base of one foot, giving his knees a clear landing pad as he knelt before you. His hands pressed your thighs apart and he stared, entranced by your body. The curves and corners of your legs as they met in the middle, the way your torso resembled rolling hills and meadows from this angle — this angle that he knew only he got the honor of seeing you from. Your beauty had him hypnotized. He made it so clear that this was one of his favorite things to do.

After a minute of silent staring, you thought he might've been too captivated to function. "Are you just going to stare?" you asked, bringing him back to Earth. "Or are you going to rise to the challenge?"

He giggled, clearly enraptured by you and the high and the tension in the room. "Remind me of that challenge again? I don't remember you posing much of a threat."

You couldn't help but smile back. Your own intoxicated emotions made sparks shoot under your skin at his response. "If you want to fuck me so bad, you need to earn it, Munson."

His breath caught in his throat at your words. His pupils had dilated beyond what you thought was humanly possible. Every cell in his body was screaming you, you, you, and he dove in with a smile.

His fingers hooked around the hem of your underwear and pulled them down to your ankles, not bothering to take them off completely. He wrapped his arms around your thighs again, keeping them apart and steady as his fingertips pressed into the soft skin at the inside of your legs. He couldn't stop himself from grinning as his lips traveled along your inner thighs, leaving a trail of gentle kisses behind him.

His mouth hovered over your bare center. His warm breaths against you were tantalizing, and you were certain he could see you becoming wetter by the second. He leaned forward, his tongue instantly finding the right spot. Practice made perfect and he knew exactly how to please you, falling into that familiar rhythm with ease. The pressure, the speed, the placement of his mouth against you was just right; you felt like Goldilocks. It was too perfect, he was so skilled, and he knew your body like the back of his hand.

The high running through your veins only intensified this pleasure. You felt his tongue press an electric current into you, circling through your body and putting every nerve on edge. His grip on your thighs tightened as your back arched. You pushed against him and rode his tongue as his pace quickened. Your hands found their way to his hair, gripping fistfuls of his messy curls — partially to help clear his path to your skin, and somewhat for your own lust. He moaned as you pulled, the vibration rumbling through your body, and you swore you could feel him grin against you. Your breaths became shallow and fast as you felt pure bliss building in your core, soon enough spreading up your stomach, through your chest, and overflowing in every extremity. Your feet, your fingers, your head felt like they were dissolving into light, a beautiful, cosmic ecstasy unlike any sober sensation.

Eddie stayed between your legs for a moment, delicately licking up the mess you had made, careful to avoid your oversensitive clit. When he departed, his chin and lips were slick. He met your eyes and smiled wide, proud of what he caused.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in, kissing him and tasting yourself on his lips. With his body over yours, you could feel his dick straining against the tight denim of his jeans. Your tongue slid over his lips and into his parted mouth, cleaning him as he had done for you just moments earlier. Your hands wandered down his back and curved around the sides of his torso, finding his belt. With a slight struggle — considering you still felt like your body was made of thousands of tiny stars and your fingers were practically static — you unclasped the belt and unbuttoned his jeans.

He pulled away just enough to whisper, "So it's safe to say I earned it?"

You smiled and resisted the urge to roll your eyes. "Yes, Eddie," your dilated pupils met his own, both blackened with desire and drugs, "now, please, fuck me."

"As you wish," he replied, resembling the Cheshire Cat with his cheeky grin. His pants were at his ankles in a second, his underwear soon following. You reached down below his stomach, finding the tip, and began to smear pre-cum over his head with your thumb. His breath quivered, his head suddenly too heavy for his neck to hold as it fell forward in pleasure.

"You see what you do to me?" His voice was barely above a breath as he pulled his head up, connecting with your gaze.

"I know, babe." You couldn't hide the smug confidence in your voice; seeing him disheveled and desperate was an honor to behold. "Just one touch and you're already a mess for me."

"God, fuck," he breathed, his hips twitching under your fingertips. "Can I please...?"

You nodded, and he reached over to his shelf to find a condom. Once he had one, he picked up the joint as well, which was almost completely burnt out.

"Probably about one last hit on here," he said, analyzing it between his fingers. "Wanna share?"

You propped yourself up on your elbows as he inhaled the last of it. He leaned forward and kissed you, exhaling into your mouth. You breathed it in, a tingling sensation running down your throat and through your lungs as it worked its magic. You both shared a smile before he put it out on the ashtray.

Eddie returned between your thighs and you let your hands wrap around his back again, gripping the hem of his shirt. He lined his cock up with your entrance, still soaking from your orgasm and his spit. He pushed his tip inside you once, twice, and again just to tease you before sliding in slowly, allowing you to adjust for a moment before pulling out almost completely then slamming back in. You gasped, fingernails digging into the muscles flexing on his back, looking up at him with open eyes and open lips.

"God, you look so gorgeous underneath me, sweetheart," he groaned as he continued, gradually increasing his pace. His hands, placed on either side of your shoulders, curled around the bedsheets.

The nickname caused you to tighten around him for a moment, surprised but completely turned-on. "Say that again."

"What? Sweetheart?" A smirk painted his lips. He felt the way you tensed around him and basked in the glory of how his words and actions affected you.

"Fuck, yes," you murmured, bringing him down to you. His lips brushed against the bottom of your ear with every thrust, his breath warming your neck.

"You like that, sweetheart?" He asked between pants, between the rhythm of your bodies. "You like how good I fuck you?"

You could only moan in response as his hips tilted further into you, a new angle that hit the perfect spot. It felt like your bodies had never been apart; they were connected, molded into one, and this was exactly how it was supposed to be. His thrusts slowly lost their elegance, overwhelmed by desperate desire. He knew you well enough to know that your pleasure was rebuilding as well, and he snaked one of his hands between your legs to rub your clit as he continued to push into you. The electric buzz from earlier circulated through you and him and together you moved like the tide against a beach, perfectly crashing together until that blinding bliss crept into your body again. He brought his head up to watch you, keeping your gaze as his hips stuttered against you and you felt new warmth under the thin barrier of the condom. His moans were musical, enough to bring you to a second climax while he continued to fuck you as he finished, and you came over him.

Eddie used one hand to hold your hips steady as he pulled out of you. He slipped off the condom and tied it up before tossing it in the trash can. He grabbed two tissues and handed one to you, using the other to clean up the remaining mess on himself. You wiped yourself clean and threw the tissue into the garbage.

"That was a good shot," Eddie said, dropping his own tissue into the trash. "Maybe you should've tried out for the basketball team."

"You just like the thought of me in a uniform," you replied, sitting up and gathering your underwear from the floor.

He grinned and handed you your pants, which had been just a bit too far for you to reach. "Hmm, I can't deny that." He circled an arm around you and kissed your temple before going to pick up his own bottoms. "Now, how about we roll another one and find a place in town to eat? I'm starving."

"Only if you promise to call me sweetheart again," you reply with a sly smile, blush creeping over your cheeks at the memory.

He pressed another kiss to your forehead and buttoned up his jeans. "Anything for you, sweetheart."

[boomerangmoments-blog]

Everyone gets jealous of a successful man or woman. But they never look the hard work they have done to achieve this success. For more quotes follow me @aslam_is_me . . . . #iamauthoria #iampositive #successstories #motivation💪 #motivation💯 #motivationeveryday #motivationalpic #motivationforlife #motivationiskey #mondaymotivation #motivationalwriter #motivasidiri #motivationalwords #entrepreneurmotivation #motivationalthoughts #greatexperience #experiment #lifeexperience #inkwriting #inkwriter (at Dibrugarh, Assam) https://www.instagram.com/p/CA7HDUvhWrY/?igshid=1xnotc3us7jo

[brushdecor]

#japanese #japanesecalligraphy #brushdecor #muralsart #mural #handwritting #ink #inkwriter https://www.instagram.com/p/BbVfeOdgX2p/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1bd8g31l4h8p8

[kettlequills]

fic: fixing it

Tiffany has everything she wants; Nica loves her, and Chucky won't hurt her. Only... it's come at a steep price. ---- What if Tiffany did the ritual spell she did on the doll of her prison guard in season 3, on Nica!Chucky, in season 1?

- tags: love spell, mind manipulation, nsft, CD as of S1 finale. Read it all on A03 -

... "You been screwin' around with my head, toots,” says Chucky, one afternoon. "Know how I know? I can't even get that mad at ya for it. The fuck did I do, what, I forgot your birthday or somethin’? Went for a younger chick? But maybe - that's your thing, huh. Fucking Nica, Tiff, really?" ...

[pendoorausa-blog]

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[starbluecm]

Merry Christmas Everyone! Hope you all have a wonderful and Blessed Holidays! <3

[ao3feed-danganronpa]

The Preface of Love

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/ELNM7eO

by InkWrites

This is a test sooooo yes

Words: 17, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Super Dangan Ronpa 2, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing, Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/F, F/M, M/M

Characters: Soda Kazuichi, Hinata Hajime, Tanaka Gundham, Nanami Chiaki, Sonia Nevermind, Mioda Ibuki, Tsumiki Mikan, Kuzuryu Fuyuhiko, Pekoyama Peko

Relationships: Soda Kazuichi/Tanaka Gundham, Hinata Hajime/Komaeda Nagito, Nanami Chiaki/Sonia Nevermind, Mioda Ibuki/Tsumiki Mikan, Kuzuryu Fuyuhiko/Pekoyama Peko

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/ELNM7eO

[venoms-ink]

I’m sorry(Pause)

to those. (Drop head) Souls who ...

crost paths

with (Head lifted)

thee foresaken

Namelessness

[keyboardink]

angry sex with valk?

oh hell yes

—————

the bed creaks, rhythmically thumping loud enough to cause a noise complaint that you're sure you'll have to deal with tomorrow.

but right now, the only thing on your mind is her fingers inside you, pushing your ass into the sheets as you lay before her. she hovers over you, panting in time with you. your breaths mingle in the small space between your faces.

"you are impossible," she growls, voice rumbling like tires on gravel. her eyes are dark with blown pupils. you can feel the fierce, furious passion coursing through her veins, the same feeling making your own heart thump behind your ribcage.

"if i didn't know any better, i'd think you hate me," you say with a smirk, knowing that your shit-eating grin only pisses her off more.

"you know, sometimes i do," she replies as her thumb finds your clit, rubbing messy circles as her fingers curl inside of you.

you moan, hips tense and legs shaking as a familiar feeling builds in your stomach. you can feel the bliss creeping up like approaching headlights, bound to blind you soon enough.

"i hate you, too," you breathe as the white-hot euphoria washes over you.

[nissa-lis]

Wonderful dreams are desired by stars

For them, the night is the beginning of the day

After all, in the dark you can see

And in the light only the clouds grow white

[inksplatterslikeblood-blog]

You said,

"In the darkness,

I think of you."

I struggled to interpret your words.

Did you think of me,

Like I do you?

Like a flashlight,

Piercing the cold fear in your soul?

Or a familiar fence,

That you could lay your hand upon,

And follow home?

Like the little dipper,

Pointing north,

Bright and true?

Or as I used to be,

Running my fingers through your tangled hair,

Shielding you from the nightmares of the world,

With only my love?

Or did you see me as the black itself?

A trickster,

Who would leave you stranded,

As I did that night,

So long ago?

Was I,

In your mind and heart,

An unlovable monster,

That broke all your parts,

And filled you with loneliness and loss?

But you only hung your head,

In love-filled defeat,

And your eyes burned with the wish,

That you could hate me,

For the pain of the past,

As you softly said,

"Darling,

You are still my comfort."

[kettlequills]

On a03

Faralda stands, a statue at the end of the timeworn bridge, her hands laced behind her back and her eyes staring on into the drifting white of a light snowfall. Mirabelle can just see her from the window-seat where she likes to take her tea, if she cranes her neck.

The window is mazed and ice distorts the view into a wavering mirror of Mirabelle’s own drawn cheek and sleeplessly-bruised eyes. Faralda, far below, is a colourful blotted blur of auburn hair and ash-grey robes against frigid stone and white-frozen walls.

Mirabelle draws a rune on the window with a fingertip, the intense cold shocking after cradling the heat of her cup. A misted breath of magicka and Faralda comes into sharp focus like a spriggan's taproot still oozing sap beneath the microscope, or perhaps a soft-winged moth, furred yellow and pink, made of naught but conjured granite.

Mirabelle sips. The tea sits in her mouth a snowberry-flavoured coal, sinks into her gut and warms her to her bones. Yet, a sympathetic chill steals across her tightening skin as she watches that implacable figure, sturdy and solid against the snowfall, unmoving and patient in only the way a destruction master who has learnt how to take all the stillness of a glacier inside herself may be.

The snow doesn't melt where it caps the points of her ears like silver bells, settles on her hair and her shoulders like a cape, clings to her robes as the wispy fingers of ghosts do. She does not shiver as her robes whip around her ankles from a stray scream of wind. 

Mirabelle crosses her legs at the ankles and tucks a stray lock of dark hair behind her ear. She sets her cup down, careful, precise, and takes up her quill. The scratching of nib on parchment is reassuring, like knuckles into the tense knots of her shoulders. Mirabelle adds three lines to her to do list; Restock reagents in A’s quarters - v.dust?, Answer for Synod?, and Invite Faralda to tea.