#bad trip

[davidvnun]

makeitstop

[urtopia]

Jack Stauber's OPAL

for [adult swim]

[tickle-terato-filth]

I want to get buried alive in the same coffin as a lee. We hear the dirt shoveled on top of the lid, and it gets quieter and quieter until we know we're totally trapped underground. During this, the lsd + shrooms + pot edible we each took fully ramp up. We are both naked and we both have low-power vibrators secured against our genitals, set to go on and off randomly. It's pitch black. Of course, there's no way for the lee to get away from my tickling hands. Maybe their arms are straight "up" towards the end of the coffin, and they aren't restrained, but there's just no room to bend their arms so they can lower them to protect themself. But my hands are free to explore their upper body.

The plan is that our friends will dig us up in about 6 hours, but there's no way to tell how long it's been. There are no distractions, and I have nothing else to do besides make this a living hell for them. 6 hours of ecstasy for me and 6 hours of inescapable nightmare for my lee. No one else can hear them whimper or laugh or scream or cry or beg.

The intensity of the hallucinogens and the deprivation of all sight has me forget that I'm even a full person. I'm just my tickling hands slipping over sweaty ticklish flesh and digging in between ticklish bones. The screams of joy-suffering become not something I consciously hear but a condition of my reality. The vibrator probably has me cum many times, but since I'm just hands, it feels like my hands cum from the ecstasy of nonstop tickling.

And as for my lee, I can't imagine what this is like for them. Probably some mixture of confusing, scary, and violating. Probably they forget they're a person too, reduced to just helpless tickle parts. Maybe the claustrophobia and torture completely breaks them. Oh well, no way out now.

[meywit]

Manic psychosis

[haveyouseenthismovie-poll]

Have you seen Bad Trip (2021)?

Yes

No

Haven’t even heard of this movie

Voting ended onApr 29

[amberandonyx]

I wrote a thing! I'm tossing my hat in the ring for Murderbot Major and Minor Maladies 2026! This is for the Day 3 prompt.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/85593216/chapters/226144681

[forestdemon76]

[vexxedoutt]

Denji ♰ CSM

☼I’d like to start by saying that I don’t encourage drug use, at all. I’m writing my fics loosely based on my experiences (tho some unfortunate. Not my scene anymore, just a pothead now). Drugs are bad hmkay, be smart about it☼

….

The swirly orange and yellow tab left a slight bitter taste in Denji’s mouth. He swears it weighed 5kgs on his tongue, enough to leave an imprint, or so he thought.

The room was alive. Too alive. Music throbbed in his chest like it was trying to tear him open. Laughter bounced off the walls, and the lights were moving like they had a heartbeat of their own, pulsing too fast—melting shapes across the ceiling. His tongue noticeably uncomfortable in his mouth, unsure where to lay it.

He blinked and the people around him shifted. Faces stretched, bent, some splitting into too many eyes and mouths and hands, all writhing together. Power’s laugh became a shriek that echoed from somewhere above, somewhere under, everywhere.

Denji’s stomach lurched. He swallowed. His throat felt thick, like swallowing glue.

Aki was talking to someone, but his words were wrong. The syllables looped back on themselves. His face elongated. Denji tried to move, tried to step away, but the floor was tilting, sliding like liquid under his feet. The walls were breathing. The ceiling was breathing. He was breathing too fast. Way too fast.

He pressed a hand to his chest. His pulse was a drum that no one else could hear, except that maybe they could. The air was hot and sticky, moving in waves, folding around his body. Everything in the room was bending. Twisting. He didn’t know what was real.

And then he looked at you.

The crowd bent away from you, warped and twisted as it might, but your outline stayed steady. Your hair caught the light and shimmered like fire, your eyes too calm, too solid. You were the only thing that didn’t shatter.

Denji’s chest heaved. His hands shook. He wanted to run. He wanted to scream. He wanted… he didn’t know what he wanted.

“Denji?”

Your voice cut through the chaos. Soft. Calm. Impossible.

He turned toward it, and everything else twisted harder. Figures lunged out of the corners of his eyes, grotesque and laughing and melting into the walls. He could feel them pressing on him, crowding in, and the room tilted again.

His legs nearly gave out.

“Denji,” you repeated, quieter this time, closer.

Your hand touched his, just the pads of your fingers brushing his palm. The connection was small. Minimal. But it anchored him.

He froze, felt it — really felt it — and the room tilted less. Shapes still swayed, colors still bled into each other, but it was… quieter now. Less sharp. Your hand was warm. Your voice was real.

He tried to breathe, and it was ragged. Shallow. His lungs refused. You didn’t push. You just stayed there, steady, letting him catch up to the world again.

“Look at me,” you said, almost a whisper, but your words didn’t match your lips.

Denji’s vision swam. He blinked. He tried. He focused. Your face came into sharp relief. Your eyes held him. Your fingers didn’t move. Your touch was gentle, insistent, grounding.

And somehow, the chaos didn’t matter so much. The figures in the crowd still twisted and stretched, but he could ignore them. He could stand here and exist, anchored to you, feeling the beat of your calm against the storm inside him.

He wanted to apologise—to explain. To tell you how everything was spinning and he couldn’t stop it. But he couldn’t get the words out.

He could only stare.

And you smiled at him, just a little, soft and steady.

Denji’s pulse slowed. Not all the way. Not enough to stop the drumming in his ears. But enough that he could breathe again.

He looked at you one more time. Really looked. The colors, the noises, the shifting figures… they all existed somewhere else. Here, now, there was only you.

And for a second, maybe the first second all night, he thought he might be okay.