#eons ago

[unwrapping]

"Theme #1: Minimalist" by Tumblr founder David Karp — @david — still ranks as a free, popular blog theme. Minimalist was "created eons ago," which translates to about 19 years ago.

[hope-to-hell]

The bedbug. Originally posted on ao3 waaaaay back in 2020. August Walker x Reader. Smut, noncon, blood, gore, dead dove do not eat, knives, restraints. August learns about the mating habits of bedbugs. He’s going to have a great time, but you? Not so much.

———

He comes out of a Wikipedia black hole with a brilliant fucking idea. Fucking brilliant? Either way it’s the same and it starts with knives and ends with his seed spattered in the ruins of your abdominal cavity.

And it’s just, he looks at you where you’re tied down, spread open and still sticky; he looks from the knife in his hand to his dick to your belly and back the other way. Lines the blade up alongside himself and sighs, twitches, the jerk and pulse of blood reflected in the knife. It’s sharp, so fucking sharp; he cares so for his toys. And he’ll care for you as well, if you survive this. Might not, though. It’s a process.

He’s working out the logistics, you can see it; he tells you all about the bedbug and its penis, how it stabs straight into its mate’s belly. And he can do some real damage with his, he has in fact; he’s left you bruised and bloody, left you aching, but even this is beyond him. For all his awful hardness, he still can’t stab into you. Not really. Hence the knife.

He holds himself parallel to the blade, presses himself right up along the flat of it and lucky for him, he’s big but the blade is bigger. And there’s fear coiling in your gut because he’s serious, he’s really fucking serious about this. He presses the tip of the knife to your belly, walks it just a little farther past the end of his cock, a little dead space between penetration and fucking.

He’s got a two-handed grip, keeping himself absolutely steady along the flat of the blade, guiding the entire fiendish apparatus to the softness inside your hipbone. The fourth and fifth fingers of his right hand come up to steady himself against your skin, considering. And then he shifts to a sharp and sudden angle and stabs inside.

The first thrust is sharp agony, and he cannot quite get inside that slender slit left by the end of the knife so he withdraws, shifts a little, cock pulsing in time to your screams. He adjusts the angle and tries again, making a line that intersects the first cut and now he’s inside you, now his hands are slippery with blood where they hold his cock against the knife, where his fingertips too disappear into the wound.

His hands slip; the knife twists wetly in his grip and he nearly loses his cock to it but lucky for him it’s only you who’s cut, the wound growing wider and more ragged by the moment. And he throws the knife away because he is wanton but he is not stupid; now he plants one hand on your belly and the other wraps around himself to line up, to guide himself back into the meaty mess of you.

And he is silent, so perfectly silent, teeth bared and eyes narrowed, not watching the twist of agony on your face even though he loves it so; he’s watching himself disappear inside you by inches, smearing blood all around the hole, leaving handprints and cock prints and unidentifiable smears all over your skin. He’s torn something inside, whatever keeps your organs in their proper places, and he has the freedom to slide slickly wherever he pleases. He goes shallow to see the outline of himself through your skin; he curls over you and thrusts deeply to feel your guts part around him. And all the while your kittenish moans and mewls are weak and growing weaker; they fuel him to drive in harder with every decrease in your own strength.

And you can’t feel it when he comes, there’s just too much other sensation between the tearing and cold-burning pain and the plain and pure fear of it, but you can’t miss the way he stills all of a sudden. You can’t miss the drips and spatters that fall back into the hole when he withdraws, or the self-satisfied look on his face as he sits back on his heels to watch you live or die. It’s much the same to him.

[withoneheadlight]

and then billy pops out of nowhere, scaring the shit out of him. leaning his elbows on the edge of the window. letting his eyes roam, up and down steve. and he's grinning, one of those i'm-chewing-on-something-and-i-wish-it-was-you, grins of his. licking his lips and 'my, my, pretty boy. are you wearing it for me? my favorite color?' and steve snorts and rolls his eyes and says 'yeah, in another of those dreams of yours' and billy gets serious, his eyes a killer kind of blue, fixed and heavy. says 'in my dreams. you let me have this dance'. says it holding out his hand, for steve, and steve— can't help but bite, at the side of his lower lip, try to trap the smile sneaking out of him. 'cause c'mon, isn't that just smug. but he likes it. suddenly. violently. he likes it. even more so when billy bats those dark, dark lashes at him and, when steve lets it go, billy's eyes cut down to that lip, as if, in another dream, he would just lean in, and catch it. so steve says, 'well. guess tonight's the perfect night to make a dream come true' reaching for the handle.

and so they slow-dance. wrapped in the blue-silver glow coming down from the high windows. wrapped in time after time and that way it has of making you feel like something, something is gonna happen.

(and maybe, just maybe, billy tries his luck at getting another dream come true that night)

(and maybe steve lets him)

[ladytp]

Journey down the memory lane - STILL my favourite ASOIAF related video ever... 😁👍

[boardboxes]

once I got too competitive and accidentally gave somebody a bloody nose

[steverogersnotebook]

A mighty look. 11 year old me.

[princecoolkid]

hey so i just possibly realized something crazy

[kittithekat]

How'd you two meet?

If we want to get technical, tumblr at the height of the pony blog craze.