My anxiety is chronic but my ass is iconic ~Jesus

I'm 22, and 18+ minors please don't interact

[small-dick-energy-tm]

Made my first post on AO3, and of course instead of a proper story it's a crappy love letter to the ocean lmao, but if you want to check it out here it is ^.^

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[norananasblog]

My name is Nwan, I am 21 years old, from Gaza 🇵🇸💔

We once lived in a warm home full of life… we used to dream, laugh, and live like any other human being 😔

But the war took everything from us…

We lost our home 🏚️, we lost our safety, and our lives completely changed 💔

Today, we live in a tent… a tent that cannot protect us from the heat or the cold ⛺😢

But despite everything… hope is still there ✨

And I truly believe you will not leave us alone 🤲

I carry my family on my shoulders, trying to stay strong despite all the pain 😔

But what breaks my heart the most… are the children of my people 💔👶

Children who lost their fathers and mothers, children left alone without shelter or safety 😢

Children who are hungry 🍞, who need milk 🍼, diapers 👶, clothes to keep them warm 👕

Children deprived of the most basic rights… of childhood, of safety, of a normal life 💔

I truly want to help them… I want to be a reason for even a small moment of happiness in their lives 🤍

But the truth is… I cannot do this alone

That’s why I am asking you, please do not leave us alone 🙏

Stand with us, and help me support the children of my people 🤲

Even 1 euro 💶 can make a big difference 💫

It can feed a hungry child 🍽️

It can bring a smile to a sad face 😊

Please… do not leave us alone 💔

Your support is the hope we are holding onto 🌿✨

And if you cannot donate, please share this post 📢

It might reach someone who can help 🙏

Every support, every share, every word… means life to us 💖

Where is our right to live!

WHERE IS OUR RIGHT TO LIVE? 💔

[hodddaad]

Extreme cold

hunger

fear

and a complete lack of security—

[hodddaad]

this is our current situation, mine and my siblings My old grandmother, out in the open '.

[hodddaad]

These feelings are incredibly difficult and painful for us...💔

I hope you can help us by donating what you can and sharing our story with the world so that someone might help us. Thank you all

[hodddaad]

Our campaign has been verified by gazavetters Under number 314

[scramratz]

My least favorite new politically correct term is "unhoused." Like you can just tell it was created to make liberals feel less icky when talking about homeless people.

I was homeless. I was homeless as a child and as an adult. That shit sucks believe it or not.

The uncertainty. The ever-present grimy feeling from lack of access to running water. Having nothing to your name. The shame you feel is asking your fellow man for the bare minimum. Just so much shame, man.

"Unhoused" is so clinical. A technical term. Sure, its not incorrect, but it doesn't properly convey the emotional and psychological impact homelessness has on you.

You say "house", I think of a structure.

You say "home", I think of stability.

[mithartu]

i don't ship them i just think they could get ragebaited into having sex with each other

[waveoftheocean]

whoohoo here's my full piece for @brucewaynepinupzine! this project was such a blast and it was so very fun to see bruce put in so many. Situations 👀

(also leftover sales are open rn if you missed out on preorders and wish to get yourself a delicious meal 😋)

[enbaluka-tokyo-drift]

[enbaluka-tokyo-drift]

[sacredwhores]

Emilie Blichfeldt - The Ugly Stepsister (2025)

[run-of-the-milf]

I highly recommend watching this testimony from Aliya Rahman, the disabled woman who was dragged out of her car and kidnapped by ICE on her way to a doctor appointment in Minneapolis a few weeks ago.

Truly my worst nightmare.

[liitohauki]

Transcript of Aliya Rahman's speech:

Thank you members, for taking the time to be here today, and thank you staff for making this happen.

My name is Aliya Rahman, and I am a resident of South Minneapolis. I am a Bangladeshi American born in Northern Wisconsin. And I’m a disabled person with autism and a traumatic brain injury.

Not all autistic brains do this, but mine fixates on sounds, numbers, and patterns. And while what the world saw happen to me exactly three weeks ago today on video was a terrible violation it is still nothing compared to the horrific practices I saw inside the Whipple center.

So I am here today with a duty to the people who have not had the privilege of coming home, and I offer this data because these practices must end now.

On January 13th on the way to my 39th appointment at Hennepin County’s traumatic brain injury center, I encountered a traffic jam caused by ICE vehicles and no signs indicating how to get around it. I had not wanted to pull in to a blocked, chaotic intersection, but verbally agreed to do so and rolled down my window after an agent yelled, “Move! I will break your f-ing window!”

His first instruction.

Agents on all sides of my vehicle yelled conflicting threats and instructions that I could not process while watching for pedestrians.

Then, the glass of the passenger side window flew across my face.

I yelled, “I’m disabled!” at the hands grabbing at me and an agent said, “Too late.”

I felt immersed in a pattern, and I thought of Jenoah Donald, an autistic black man killed by the police during a traffic stop in 2021.

I remembered mister Silverio Villegas González, who was killed by ICE in his vehicle last year.

An agent pulled a large combat knife in front of my face, which I thought was for cutting me, and later learned was used to cut off my seat belt. Shooting pain went through my head, neck, and wrists when I hit the ground face first and people leaned on my back.

I felt the pattern, and I thought of mister George Floyd, who was killed four blocks away.

I was carried face down through the street by my cuffed arms and legs while yelling that I had a brain injury and was disabled. I now cannot lift my arms normally.

I was never asked for ID.

Never told I was under arrest.

Never read my rights.

And never charged with a crime.

Approaching the Whipple center, I saw black and brown bodies shackled together, chained together, being marched by yelling agents outdoors. I continued to hear the word “bodies”, because that is how agents referred to us:

“We’re bringing in a body.”

“They’re bringing in bodies 7, 8 at a time, where do I put ‘em?”

“We can’t use that room, there’s already a body in there.”

You have no reason to believe you will make it out alive if you’re already being called a body.

Agents repeatedly had to stop and ask how to do tasks. I received no medical screening, phone call, or access to a lawyer. I was denied a communication navigator when my speech began to slur. Agents laughed as I tried to immobilize my own neck. I asked for my cane and was told no, pulled up by my arms and prodded forward in leg irons by agents laughing and saying, “Walk! You can do it, walk.”

Agents did not know if the facility had a wheelchair.

When I was finally placed in one to be taken to interrogation an agent taunted, “You were driving, right? So your legs do work.”

I pleaded for emergency medical care for over an hour after my vision had become blurry, my heart rate went through the roof, and the pain in my neck and head became unbearable.

It was denied.

When I became unable to speak my cellmate pleaded for me.

The last sounds I remember before I blacked out on the cell floor were my cellmate banging on the door, pleading for a medic, and a voice outside saying, “We don’t wanna step on ICE’s toes.”

When I opened my eyes at Hennepin County’s emergency room, I learned I was brought there to be treated for assault.

The impacts of DHS detention on my physical, mental and financial well-being and safety have been very severe, but I do not deserve more humane treatment than anyone else, US citizen or not. And I am here today with a strong spirit and a duty to the many people who haven’t had the privilege to tell their stories or see their loved ones come home. I am extremely distressed by the pattern that violence from law enforcement has been happening to black and indigenous communities for centuries, and to DHS survivors for over 20 years.

We call ourselves a civilized nation, but we lack rules and accountability around what a person claiming to be law enforcement is permitted to do to another human being.

I am not afraid, and I’m not afraid to keep working on this problem even after ICE is gone. Thank you for your time.

[familyromantic]

[wan-cables]

[pink-zombies]

pale pt 3

(I need a better title for this series lmfao)

hereeeee you go you little freaks I love you all sm :3

part 1 part 2

pale man x gender neutral reader, 4.7k words, nsft, this one is a little rougher than the last two but. everything is very very very consensual!!!!! these pieces are all in the same universe/same relationship. reblogs and comments fuel me forever

____

There are fingers that are long enough to reach around your entire neck wrapped around your throat—his grip is hard, harder than it’s ever been, and there are tears spilling from your eyes, your skin flushed and body screaming at you to get the fuck away.

You’ve never begged for something more in your life.

He’s pouring opaque black drool from his widening mouth, it pools from his bottom lip as it drips down across your lower stomach, up to your abdomen, all over your chest—there’s even a trail of it across your living room carpet that begins where he… it… licked across the pane of your window from your porch, broke into your home and pounced down on all fours, crawling towards you. Jerky and inhuman, limbs twisting every which way. Both pupils black and pointed entirely opposite of one another. A corpse wearing skin, a monster wearing a human, he slithers his way to you, lithe fingers find a vulnerable throat, ripe for the taking.

Oh, how you need this—need him to throw you around, toss you about like you are some human scum, some worthless garbage that festers and spreads its disease. You need to feel the power lurking there, just beneath gray skin and thin shoulders, be reminded of how privileged you are to even cast your gaze upon him so closely. You need him to wreck you for everything he is, everything you are—you want there to be nothing left, and you want him to recreate you as he sees fit. You have never been more sure of anything.

Let me in, little one. Let me in—of course. I will always let you in.

He begins by quite literally throwing you into your hallway that leads to your front door. Your back hits the ground hard and you choke out a strained noise, the wind knocked out of you. He snarls and growls like a fucking dog, a dog that hasn’t feasted in days, and you swear the sound vibrates your entire house, you feel it deep within the marrow of your bones as you start shaking. When he crawls to you, his bones cracking and folding, your entire body and soul beckons him, your legs naturally falling to the side to allow him to slide his body up between them, your face turned to the side.

You will never get used to how horrific he looks up close, especially like this—wet saliva slobbers from his hanging jaw, graying skin taught over a body that never seems like his own, eyes poised and bright in excitement from the stench of your fear, your human panic. It’s not like you think that you’re afraid of him, it’s more like your body takes over and is afraid of him for you. You want to reach out for him, sink your hands into his greasy black hair, you want to kiss him, cuddle him, love him, but the way he’s staring at you, the way he’s crouched over you, he’s like a feral animal just waiting for you to fuck up and let your guard down.

You do, eventually, let your guard down. It doesn’t take much these days.

A palm that covers your entire face and then some, slams your head down face-first into your carpet, the polyester burning as he rubs your cheek into your floor. Long overgrown, dirty nails scratch into your skin, leaving reddened divots where he presses. It hurts, more startling than anything, but when you hear him panting, breathing through his nose like a grunting, rooting animal, it sends the most pleasant chills down your spine that relocate right in between your legs. You attempt to sob like you’re terrified, but in reality, you’re painfully aroused. He knows this, of course—mocking you with a high tone, fingers splayed over your head almost tenderly as he holds you down. Does this turn you on, little human? I can smell it. So pathetic. Such a dog.

At that, he maneuvers you around, snatching you by your ankles and dragging you into your living room, sliding his hand around your throat once he situates you on your back. It seems like he is glued to you, his hand pushing harder and harder—til there’s literal spots dotting your vision, little black dots waving in and out of your line of sight. They remind you of the dark lines that stretch over his skin, the reddened whites of his eyes—tiny worm-like things that wave and map out places not of this Earth, and you see it. You see your end, right there on the horizon, almost out of your sight completely. You see your home, decrepit and abandoned, but at the same time, full and bustling with people coming and going. Some faces familiar, some not—but he is a constant, always there, lurking in the trees beyond your backyard, where you used to play as a young child, the field you explored as a teenager, the neighborhood you walked through to get to your first job, all of those years ago.

His smile is all you can see in this reality, white teeth bright in the darkness of your home, and he looks absolutely evil, and absolutely beautiful—when the blood in your body starts to slow down, and you begin to feel dimmer, your limbs cease thrashing, the life beginning to shake itself from your vessel, that’s when he decides to have a little mercy and unleash your throat. You know your face is flushed as hell, and you choke like a dying fish when oxygen is plentiful in your lungs yet again. He is staring down at you like you are the most divine thing in the entire universe.

“Oh, how precious, precious, perfect little thing you are,” he drawls, covering your body with his, dragging his teeth up the side of your neck. A gigantic hand reaches in between your thighs, promptly rips your underwear off—you hear the fabric tear before he throws it across the room—sinks two supernaturally long fingers inside of you, hitching them upwards immediately. Rough, with no warning—it makes you yelp, and he fixes that by slapping his free hand over your slack jaw. “Desperation controls you, yes? You are reeking with it,” a black tongue licks up your cheek, lapping at your tears, his eyes rolled back entirely. “You neeeeeed this, hm? You like getting ravaged by Visitor-kind, don’t you? Your own kind isn’t good enough for you so you seek your gratification elsewhere, traitor.”

You nod pitifully under his hand, will yourself to look into his face as you shake under his touch—he is finger-fucking you so hard you think you’re bleeding, or maybe you’re just that turned on, you’re unsure. The noises from between your legs are almost vulgar, and it makes him laugh down at you, chuckling at your humanity, your weakness. “So sensitive, tiny human. I barely touch you and here you are, giving it up so easily. You wanted to let me in. Didn’t take but only a couple of nights to convince you entirely, hm?

“I think you want me to eat you. When was the last time you locked your door, little songbird?”

You crane your neck back, and he takes his chance willingly, wrapping his teeth around the middle of your throat. He is dangerously close to your jugular, and he tongues it through your skin, squeezes your neck with his jaws. This time, he speaks to you, though his mouth is quite busy—you hear him through your atoms, your brain cells, he is whispering to you. Harsh things, mean things, but there’s an evident sense of reverence in his crackly voice, an almost loving air mixed with the cruelty. You are already overwhelmed, his fingers so deep inside of you you swear you can feel them creeping up the back of your throat.

There is a beat, a moment of silence between you; at this point you are outright crying, rocking your hips up into his hand to desperately chase some sort of friction, the bliss as intense as the pain he dealt. You claw your fingers into one of his shoulders, grab uselessly at the hair at the nape of his neck. Pristine teeth are beginning to slice into your throat, not to cause any real damage, no—but to break skin just enough to trick your brain into thinking you’re about to bleed out, right here in your living room, wrapped up in your lover’s embrace. Your final breath doesn’t come, though; not yet anyways.

It seems colder than usual in your home—you always preferred it cooler, especially considering the issues with the temperatures outside nowadays, but this… this was freeze like you’d never known. With every drag and push of his fingers inside of you, it’s as if he was stealing your body heat, slurping it down like coffee from a steaming mug. He is generous and lets you come on his hand, and you take it greedily, moaning and yowling under the palm that continues to cover your mouth. He laughs at you meanly as he retracts his hand, amused by your orgasm, how easy it had been for him to get you to this point—this time, and every time he’d fucked you before, too. You have to admit, when it comes to the pale man, you don’t have much of a moral backbone. He does what he wants to you, and you cry and cry and cry for more, regardless of anything that he’s done, or is doing, or will do. You’re nothing but his pet.

No regular human will ever be enough for you again.

He is everywhere, all at once—his body eclipses yours fully, he wraps his arms around your legs and situates them to fold around his thin waist, leans forward again to cover you entirely. All you can see is him, outlined by mossy light, teeth bared, taught skin rubbing against your own—he smells of bloody earth and dirt that comes from deep within the ground, like potting soil from a rotting plant. It’s addicting, you inhale him like it’s the only source of air in the room. His body is sturdy, powerful, it’s a ball of blazing energy that slams itself against you—you can feel him between your legs, too, a hard line that presses to your core and you instinctively grind your hips needily against him, your previous climax entirely forgotten. He’s told you before that his kind isn’t built for sexual desire, doesn’t necessarily feel pleasure in the way humans do—however, there are exceptions, and you’ve found out very happily that you are one of them. 

Given how hard his cock is, you deduce that he’s feeling something.

The blood drooling from your neck is lapped up by his tongue, he grunts harshly at the taste of you. He allows you to grind into his crotch as he mouths and bites open wounds into your collarbones and shoulders, drinking you down and gnawing at your sensitive skin. You’re losing it, whining and writhing underneath him, he’s still keeping a hand across your mouth, silencing you—shaking fingers wrap around his wrist, unsure of whether to try and push him away, or pull him even closer. He obliges you just a little, giving you crumbs by rocking his own hips down into yours, effectively scissoring against you and you swear to everything holy, you can come from it if he allows it (he doesn’t allow it. He moves his hips for mere seconds at time, then ceasing, then starting again—you’re dying, you think.)

Monstrous hands are flipping you, moving your pliant body once more so you’re face down in your carpet again—he blankets your back, hips flush to yours, and he continues to grind into you, making sure you can feel him. You gasp and curl upwards into him, desperate for as much contact as you can get, and he gently clicks his tongue at you, relinquishing all of his weight onto you to press you down even further. The floor is cool against your hot skin, he remains splayed atop of you for a few long moments, whispering into your ears—so weak. So easy, hm?—threats to bite even harder, to eat, rip out chunks of flesh, consume you whole—I could just swallow you down. Tear this sweet little throat out. Leave nothing behind. No one will remember you, no one will care but me. I’ll take care of you. You don’t need anyone else anymore, do you? Only need me. Only me.—licking up the back of your shoulders, your neck, bracketing your hips and letting you rock back into him. You mewl like a struck cat as he finally wraps a hand around your throat from behind, pulling you up so you’re sitting back, your spine squished right into his frontside.

When you feel him move to unbutton his loose slacks, your eyes roll and you snort out a gasp, almost like a command. He laughs right into your ear, his face right next to yours, “Need it that bad? Tell me, little thing, what can I do for you, hm?” 

You used to be above begging. Long before this, long before the end of the world, you asked for nothing from anyone, always getting what you needed from yourself and yourself only. Now, you fucking grovel.

“Oh, God, please,” tears of frustration form in your glassy eyes, threatening to pour down your overheated face. He’s staring down at you, face full of smile, bent over top of your form, tall enough to completely shield you from everything. He is everything to you, at this moment. There is nothing else that exists, or will exist, and that is exactly how he wants it. “Please, I—Fill me up, please fill me up, I need it—I—I need you,” 

Babbling, nonsensical, you’re losing your mind with every passing second, the pale man’s spit drips across your face leaving black rivulets streaking down your cheeks. He finally has some semblance of mercy on you and fluidly pulls your hips down to sink his cock into you, a lot slower than you would expect. He makes you feel every inch, bit by bit, dragging across your over-sensitive insides. Your eyes roll back, you choke against the hand that’s clasped over your throat—it’s mesmerizing, it’s the best goddamn thing you have ever felt, ever, and you think he shares that feeling given the sharp inhale he takes through his nose. Now you’re drooling, too, spider fingers slip into your slack mouth to rub over your human teeth—toying with your gums, fingering around your molars, caressing your incisors. The way he feels, sunk inside of you so deep, you honestly cannot tell if his anatomy is even human, or if it resembles a human, you’re unsure. You have never seen him naked, or at least without his pants, so you don’t exactly know what’s he’s got going on down there, but you do know whatever he has for genitalia is molding to your body fucking perfectly. Every nook and cranny is caressed, slid against, explored.

He does not harbor any more mercy for you, now that he is fully inside, he fucks you like a goddamn animal, rutting into you like a feral dog. The hand that’s feeling up your teeth moves to cover your entire face, preventing you from seeing or speaking properly, gray fingertips rest directly over your eyelids, you chant curses and pleas like rituals into his palm, fully sobbing out into the darkness, now. If you look the way you sound, pathetic, howling, then you look entirely destroyed, entirely wrecked. The pale man doesn’t allow you to sink down into the floor, either, his body a column keeping you upright, keeping you steady with his free hand gripping your waist as he pushes inside of you over and over and over—his stamina and his energy as inhuman as his power over you. 

There are shadows dancing throughout your living room, green and gray, strung from his form that tower over you-–they are horrifying, terrible looking things, completely inhuman, full with monstrous faces and teeth and claws, and you are unable to properly make out what shapes they even make in the dark lighting, the tiny slivers of sight he allows through his fingers holding your face. At first, the shadows resemble him, then something larger, deadlier-–dark and bleak and not something meant for your knowledge, for any human’s knowledge. Just like the visions the pale man is forcing into your eyes now, as he slams his hips into yours, obscene wet sloshing from in-between your legs and the constant slapping of your skin as he takes, takes, takes everything he wants from your pliant body. You see him, standing alone amongst death, bodies and limbs and sloughed-off heads litter the blood-soaked earth, people you recognize and some you don’t, his smile like rotting shingles on an abandoned house. He stares forward, directly into your soul, and you know you’re hallucinating when he reaches out in your vision, presses his thumbs into your eyes, squeezes them out of their sockets like ripe blackberries. His expression turns almost loving as he tears apart your face, piece by piece, and you do nothing but allow it to happen—his cock thrusts right into that perfect, perfect spot so deep inside of you, you don’t know which reality is actual reality anymore.

There are images flashing through your mind’s eye that should horrify you, but the way he’s holding you back against him, the way he feels as he’s railing you, you find yourself only wanting more and more of it. The end of times, the cold, the heat-death of it all. Gore, bloodshed, galaxies and stars swirling and exploding, Creation itself crawls out of muddied dirt, caking earth into gray fingertips. He shows you himself crawling out of holes in the ground, backwards-–his hair pressed to the ground as his spine bends unnaturally and body grows into itself, his long arms pull from underground, he slithers like a dying worm as he shifts to his full height. Everything is dead around him, even the leaves shrivel like fruit in the summer sun.

You can barely make any noise at all, at this point you have lost count of how many orgasms he’s wrung from your already-spent body, your face soaking wet from drool and tears. You choke out pathetic uh-uh-uh’s as he moves the hand on your waist around to your frontside, shoving his fingers between your thighs to abuse your center even more, rough circles find your sex and you wail into his palm, for him to ease up, or go even harder, you’re not sure. You sob, and he wipes away your tears so gently, both of your own hands now reach and grab onto the arm that’s holding you across your stomach, relishing in how his bony joints feel under your touch as he brutalizes your core.

“Come on, now—be good. Give in like a good little human,” the pale man whispers, and it sounds like his voice is coming from every direction, even under your knees, from deep within your organs, from above your home across the star-streaked sky. As he speaks, his hips slow for a few long, long moments; his thrusts are now deep and particular, deliberate—a beautiful push and pull of his dick finding its home sheathed into you, you swear something inhuman squirms inside of you, caressing every single little inch—like he’s fucking breeding you. His face is right next to yours once again, and he is so tender, so loving as he turns his head to press kisses and licks all along your temple, your quivering cheek, your sweat-matted hair, the back of your neck, his tongue as freezing as ever. He coos at you, and the sticky-sweet cadence of his speech sends you spiralling once again as you silent-scream and throb around his cock, his fingers between your legs suddenly gentle and slow. “There you are. There you are. Good human. My good little human. I can feeeeeel you losing it, hm? Let go for me.”

At that, fresh tears pool in your eyes, openly breaking down in his sick embrace—please, please, please, give it to me—your body going slack against his chest like a dead corpse. You sniffle like a beaten dog, and he continues his onslaught for moments that stretch like the oceans over the planet. He fucks you through it all, fingers and cock working in tandem to bring you to completion so many times it feels like one, long climax, never-beginning and never-ending. He fucks you stupid entirely, cockdrunk and delusional and brain factory-reset—wiped clean of everything but him. All you want is to be his. Nothing else, just his.

He makes you feel things humans weren’t built to feel, and he holds you through it all.

When you jerk your hips back into his, fuck yourself back onto his cock (somehow you want more more more), his teeth dip down to close around the top of your shoulder and he bites, hard, blood and black spit bubbling and flowing down your chest. His mouth stays there, slurping and licking up your lifeblood, one hand comes up to find his hair, pull and tug at the slick strands. Suddenly he pushes you forward roughly, removing his grip from your face, his fingers from your sex, and presses both hands to your upper back to slam you into the carpet. Your hips remain flush to his, and he pounds into you, frenetic and desperate, the new angle awakens your body yet again and you can do nothing but cry out and wail into the floor as he plunges into you. You wish you could see his face but you can imagine how his lopsided eyes are rolling back into his head, his lips part to expose bared teeth as he pants like a crazed animal, his hair sticks to his forehead with sweat, his arms flex to hold you down.

You come, almost painfully so, around his cock for the upteenth time, and the fluttering of your body around him has him reaching his own peak—or, the mimicry of his peak. He doesn’t necessarily have orgasms, per se, wasn’t equipped to procreate in that way, but he can impersonate anything—and he does so happily, with a sharp noise from his throat, a clenching of his fingers. When the pale man comes, you feel it too—bleeding into your veins, blossoming into the bottom of your stomach and out through every limb, every aching part of your overworked body is taken over by his climax. You whine out hoarsely as he pumps you to the brim, his mouth finding the earlier wound on your shoulder once more, further crushing your skin between his teeth. You holler out into the floor in pain, but you don’t move to stop him from chewing a hole into your flesh as he rides out the last few shocks of his orgasm. It’s bliss to you in your sick brain, the fact that your human body can make him react in this way, make him lose his own mind as he makes you lose yours. He is not the only holder of power here, and that is solidified by his near pathetic panting and whining in the juncture of your neck. He’s never had a reason to mimic this kind of pleasure in his long, strange existence, but now, he cannot get enough of it—cannot get enough of you.

It takes you both a handful of minutes to get yourselves back together. You lay in a weak, trembling heap on the carpet, the pale man still on top of you, breathing into your hair. Cosmic dots swirl in your vision, the edges of your sight are fluorescent and spotty, but you finally come to, and make to pull yourself up, lean back into him and rest your head on his shoulder. There is blood, your blood, coating his lips, his mouth, and he licks his chops like a big cat would after a meal—he is so much calmer, the desperation and need vanquished (for now), and he pokes at your cheek with his nose, laps up the tearstreaks that paint down your face with his dark tongue. Using his big hands on your collarbones to keep you steady, he starts licking all across your face, your neck, taking extra gentle attention to the gaping wound that graces your shoulder where he sank his teeth into. You gasp in a harsh breath when he sucks at it carefully, cleaning up any excess blood that remains. He doesn’t speak but you know he is apologetic—only slightly.

The pale man continues to groom you and you relish in it like you’re sunbathing in some tropical paradise, enjoying the beam of warmth and light from the sun—or in this case, his mouth. His path follows down and he slips his hands underneath you to cradle your back, gently ushering you to lay down again, but there is no frantic rush or jolt of desire, just calm, quiet harmony as he cleans you of his ministrations. It takes nearly half an hour for him to soothe you down to an acceptable level, not an inch of your body off-limits to his tongue, not even your armpits—this inhuman behavior akin to aftercare—and it’s quite literally the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for you. He laps up over your stomach, your pubic hair, inner thighs, down in between your legs—as careful as a mother bird, such a parallel to his earlier abuse of your body. You shake and stutter when he licks up the mess there, his mess, his cold tongue as soft and gentle as he can manage. It’s over sensitive, it’s sore, but you relax deeper into the floor, limp and pliable until he’s finished.

When he comes back up, he ruffles your hair with a large hand, eyes dark and sparkling in the viridescent lighting in your home. The stark contrast of him just under an hour or so ago—rough, animalistic, horrifying—to now, makes your heart thump in affection, his near goofy smile that adorns his face is wide and bright and you just want to curl up in your bed with him and take a damn nap after all the physical activity you just participated in.

“Well. That was… fun. Really fun,” you break the calm silence of your living room. Your voice is hoarse and tattered at the edges from all your screaming, you grin over to him as he sits cross-legged on the floor, your own knees drawn up in your arms. There’s a mischievous sparkle in his eyes as you reach your hand over to him, cup his face in your palm, let him nuzzle into your touch. He really is like a gigantic evil cat, you muse. “Mine.” he states plainly, his own voice a little rough, too, you pick up on.

“Mine,” you repeat to him, because duh, he belongs to you as much as you to him, and his eyes close as he relaxes further into your hand. Eventually, the hard floor gets a little too uncomfortable for you (and him too) so you get up to move to your couch—your knees are still wobbly from being fucked so hard and he’s nothing but a gentleman and helps you stand. The crack of his bones and tendons pop as he stretches into his full, towering height—he shakes his body out like a dog as he settles back into himself. You basically throw yourself onto the sofa, mindful of the aching wound on your shoulder (you decide to wrap it tomorrow morning after you get some sleep), exhausted and worn-out, and he follows suit, curling up in between your open legs to rest his face on your lower stomach—your usual cuddle routine. You card your fingers through his hair, hum quietly in appreciation as he snuggles deeper into your belly, like he’s trying to literally fit inside of you, slip into your skin. You wouldn’t mind being that close to him, you think to yourself, your mind trails off in the silence of the evening. It’s late, the blackness outside of your window tells this.

“You know, I thought you were going to actually eat me, there for a second. Not that I minded at all,” you laugh gently. You feel his lips curl into a grin pressed into your abdomen, there’s a soft beat of silence.

“Hm… Not all the way. Not yet.”

At that, you smile, ruffle his hair, and God only knows how easily you drift off to sleep.

[lambyboyyy]

Lamby got super drunk and snuck a wolf into his pasture to fuck 🥵

They made me suck them off at first and then I got pushed to the floor and pinned. They fucked me on the floor and hurt me and degraded me it was so so so hottttt

They came on me but had threatened to knock me up and abandon me bwahhhhhh🐏

[luke-shywalker]

hey it’s ok if you lost your ai virginity back when you were uneducated. a lot of posts go like “reblog if you have never ever used generative ai and never ever will!!!” but it’s ok if you have used gen ai before and it’s even ok if you used to think it was cool, back before you understood what it really was and how it worked, either because no one had taught you about it and you discovered it on your own or because the only education you had received about it was from the tech bros. you’re not a burger with a bite out of it for having used ai. ok

[dnealians-nemesis]

It is 100 percent okay to stop using it today and join the "boo AI" club.

This isn't a purity thing. This is a "everyone stand with us against destroying the environment and giving asthma to poor people" thing.

Did you know that when one community says no to an AI data center, they specifically search out communities with fewer resources? Communities that can't defend themselves? And the pollution 100 percent affects their health and wellbeing, in addition to burning through our already scarce drinking water.

You can stop using character.ai today. You can say "I listened to the facts and stopped." And another thing: don't you think it's a bit more impactful to have used it, stopped, and then you're in a position to say how little it helped? How doing things for yourself improved your life?

[yeahwrite]

also posts in the spirit of "if you've used AI even ONCE your soul is tainted!!!!" can't be great to those with OCD

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

So true. People Gold Star Lesbianning ai makes me so tired.

[luoniiel]

playbite vol. 9 💙

[luoniiel]

what if we were two girls who had the same sire and worked in the same office and lived in the same apartment building. and we hatefucked. what then

[kisseswitharsenic]

For our first meeting, put a bluetooth toy in/on and share your location with me then let me track you down in the middle of a busy city.

You won't know what my face looks like, only know my body from the pictures and videos I've made you touch yourself to. Every woman you see with the vaguest comparison to my silhouette will be a suspect and I'll ensure I melt into the crowds to drive up the paranoia.

And then I'll start to play with you.

Just a low thrum of the toy at first, but you'd have forgotten about it while you scour faces. You'll jump, try to muffle any noises and wonder if the woman giggling into her phone a short distance away is just me trying to avoid suspicion.

I'd hike the vibrations up to max randomly. Make you jolt and squeak and try excuse yourself as people give you funny looks. Is one of them me putting on a show? Can't be. The vibrations are pulsing, moving up and down the dial on a rhythmic pattern. If one of them were me, you'd see the movements of my finger on a phone screen, making you writhe in public and humiliate yourself.

Hell, I might not even be around right now. I could be hiding around a corner, sneaking glimpses of you when you're turned in another direction. I could be blocks away, just letting you know I'm on my way and not to forget about me. I could be set up in a coffee shop nowhere near you and just revelling in your jitters.

It's a game of cat and mouse and I have all the advantages and patience to spare. Drinking in your paranoid arousal is going to be so much fun.

[grippyanddrippy]

i’ve had a fantasy for a while

a group of friends jumps in a discord call, all of the subs with remote control toys. when you join the call, you do so with the agreement that you wont cum without the permission of a dom within the group and that you will be handing over control of your toy. one by one each sub gets put in the hot seat. each person will of course have different limits. some might want to be called degrading names. some might want to be gently guided towards their peak. some might want to be asked to show themselves off before they’re allowed to cum. some might want to be edged into oblivion. some may want to never be allowed to cum. but all of us are horny, depraved, and truly good friends