perfect communication, blood to blood

she/they/it // 21 // hard kink and vent blog // pfp by maxschwartz // monogamous and taken // main is @hazelune

[uselessscreaming]

Meow <3. Welcome to @hazelune’s worse half.

This is where I'm relegating all of my hard kink posts/reblogs, original writing, and, by the nature of the messy relationship I have with sex, stuff that errs on the side of venting (this blog partially exists just so I can work through that mess). CWs and more info below the break.

Be warned for potentially untagged posts (I'll try my best) that may relate to subjects including but not limited to:

Rape/noncon

Kidnapping

Intox

Snuff (likely just implied)

Blood/knives

Manipulation

Grooming

Stalking

Girls loving each other in terrible ways

Otherwise abusive situations

Other lighter kinks (including but not limited to bondage, sadism/masochism, petplay, hypnosis, forcefem, degradation, praise, age gaps (still all adults) and maybe even incest) may be present and not tagged as well, just because these things may fade into the background for me.

Asks are welcome, including friendly flirting, and so is sending me posts, but please don't come on to me, send me explicit pictures of yourself, or ask me to play with you -- I'm in a monogamous relationship and would like this account not to complicate that.

I'll try to update this intro as necessary to include any changes in acceptable behavior towards me or in kinks you may find here. I treat this as essentially a contract for both of our behaviors, and your violating that may make me block you (but I'll be nicies in general :3). If you have any questions, just ask. I like talking to people about sex and kink, so I will just be excited about it. And on that note, feel free to ask for my Discord if we're mutuals. I'm notoriously bad at responding to people, though, so be aware of that. If you read all of this, you're very good and I'm giving you lots of pets <3. Finally, it will be a cold day in hell before there are men in anything I write about here.

[fraternum-momentum]

let her out of the basement plsss (dont. shes right where she wants to be) [bsky]

[uselessscreaming]

You write sooooo fucking well. making me want to be a stalker again... sigh....

awww thank you! and. um. i think also thank you for the latter as well…? what’s proper etiquette around being stalked? am i supposed to leave trails for you to follow or is that seen as poor sportsmanship?

[dogbaitdyke]

you should never ask a woman how many mg are in the edible she’s feeding you. have some fucking manners

[maskdoll]

doing a novel type of torture where after you make the mindbroken hero girl finally admit that she's tired and she doesn't want to be a hero you then immediately make her start playing hero again

[maskdoll]

gallop on, forevermore! keep fighting until you die, little puppet. there is no sweeter agony than knowing you could have been freed from your eternal struggle and having that chance ripped away

[theatredebanalites]

[errored-girlparts]

Opening the task manager and force ending the desktop petgirl's internal functions one by one until all she can do is stare pleadingly and drool as you violently drag her limp body around your screen

[sado-fiend]

You'd planned for months, but had been waiting for three agonizing weeks. You went to the same coffee shop as always, at the same time as always. Medium, hot, oat milk, 2 sugars. Turned the same way exiting, tracing the same route to the same library you visited every weekend.

She was the first girl to really get it. Your last ex left you because you wanted to do a safeword ignoring scene. Well, they said it was for other reasons. But you knew. You knew you really understood kink, and needed people who really understood kink in your life.

So when she steps out from the side alley, knife in hand, you play out the scene as planned. You don't have to work as hard you thought to make the trembling convincing. She's brusque, in person, and the knife is much bigger than you thought. Your heart races as she ratchets the zip cuffs around your wrists, and places the bag over your head. You wrinkle your nose, it stinks.

"Zoe, can you-"

"No talking. Move." She kicks at your calf, and you have to stumble forward, catching yourself by half steps, landing face first in what must be the open trunk. Musty blankets and itchy trunk liner. Hands, groping in your pockets for wallet, phone, keys. Zoe grabs your thighs, and lifts. Grunts. You dolphin a bit, folding yourself into the trunk. Its not accurate, but you don't want the scene to get stuck here.

The trunk slams shut. You're left in hot, scratchy silence. Short breaths. Musky might be the right word for the smell.

The car kicks to life. Your knees press uncomfortably against the trunk edge as Zoe accelerates. A sharp turn - your head smacks into the side wall. She's not a very good driver. You try to count the turns, the time between jerks of acceleration. How you would if this was real. But your focus is drawn away by what comes next, and it all blends into an uneven gait beneath you.

This is what your idiot former partners never understood. Light bondage here and there, oh, yea, indulge the idiot pervert girl in her damsel fantasies. None of them had been willing to do this for you. Zoe had never failed. She texted every morning, and remembered every detail.

Finally, the car rolls to full stop, and rumbles off. And you wait. And wait. This is it. The climactic scene where she stops "on the side of the road" and forces you to service her at gunpoint. Really, her backyard. With takeout after.

The trunk clicks open.

"Out."

You unfold sore limbs, helped not too kindly by Zoe's yanking. You stumble, catching the ground, and let her lead you by the wrists. She stops.

"There's three steps down in front of you. Right foot first."

There were no steps, in the plan. Your heart races. Zoe added something extra, just for you. You tentatively reach down, and hear the hollow metal clank of a steel stair. Two. Three. She has her hand on your neck, and ducks you through what must be a inner short door of a bulkhead entrance. Shuffle forward on stone.

A metal clasp bites around your exposed ankle. The hood comes off, and even the gloom is blinding for a moment.

Every post you've ever written. Some you didn't write, where you added long and rambling tags. DMs to her. Messages in public servers. Posts from accounts you never told her about, Instagram and LinkedIn. Photos rendered in flat, laser-printer color. Taped together in a sprawling mosaic across the concrete wall of a small room of her basement. You turn back to see the stairwell you'd descended. Heavy interior door, open to the stairs up to the storm door.

And the shackle, unplanned, padlocked onto your leg, a thick, short chain anchored to the corner, where a dog bed sat.

"Zoe, uh. Wow, this is amazing. You really added to the scene. Can. Can I get a check in before we keep going?"

Zoe looked at you with a pitying stare, and a lazy grin. She turns back to the stairs.

"I've got to go tie up some loose ends. Quit your job, send some mean texts to the friends you have left, dump your phone at a bus station. Hard to wait when I'm so close but, it's just a few more hours. I'll be back to talk about our new life together, sweetheart."

She closes the inner door of the storm stairs with a solid thump, plunging you into true darkness.

[uselessscreaming]

it must be good as fuck to be a three day old corpse discovered by someone who’s going to put your lifeless body to good use before it decomposes

[uselessscreaming]

a clear plastic sheet lets in the sickly white glow from an LED lantern. she trudges around the forest floor in cargo pants and thick steel-toed boots that kick up dead leaves as she goes. sticks and twigs crunch under each footstep. with a cleanly-sawed log in one hand, she hammers in metal stakes through grommets in the tarp until all corners are pinned to the ground, though it still folds around her feet as she steps onto it, soiling the once-pristine sheet with mud and detritus.

she rests on one knee as she gently lowers a toolbox to the ground. it comes unlatched with two decisive clicks and she unloads an array of tools. some you’ve used before — pliers, saws, knives, scissors — others seem more specialized, even handcrafted; all have grown dull, weathered, and rusty. a second fabric bag holds empty vials, mason jars, and nitrile gloves. from a third, she removes a dated camcorder and flicks open its display. a beep follows, then the faint, rhythmic flicker of red light.

these several implements are strewn out ritualistically around your body, which was hauled from the side of the road to the back of her car, south for 45 miles on I-81, down an unending, narrow, barely-trodden path, to this tarp, embedded in a dense wood that grows around it like skin around shards of glass, full of reaching, grasping, empty trees that blot out the sky above you and resemble ones you grew alongside in your short life.

[uselessscreaming]

awawa thank you i intend to. i’m kind of researching for an overall narrative but once i kind of figure out where im going with it ill probably post stuff as i write :3

[uselessscreaming]

itsvery regal when thhe princness is crossed i hear. v

[uselessscreaming]

kneeevl and like ummm ummm ummm. sics my guards on u

[uselessscreaming]

itsvery regal when thhe princness is crossed i hear. v

[pupgrrrlriot]

this one might be pushing it but I just couldn't get the idea of getting repeatedly kicked in the stomach out of my head

[kitsuneojousama-deactivated2026]

brainwashed/broken into marrying your rival bad end has been bouncing around in my head for a few days atp

[kitsuneojousama-deactivated2026]

empty eyed boyish housewife in a plain dress and an apron who doesn't seem like she's all there when she talks to you

[kitsuneojousama-deactivated2026]

she doesn't really speak much but when she does her voice is the softest thing you've ever heard. she's got a lot of scars covering her body but dresses to cover them and says she doesn't know how she got them. she can't remember much of anything anymore. she spends her days mostly wandering the house and doing chores but occasionally you'll see her walking to the market. one time you got a glimpse down her shirt and she was flat chested with no bra and her nipples were kind of puffy

[kitsuneojousama-deactivated2026]

she got harassed by a group of people on her walk today. they kept calling the name of an unfamiliar boy. one of them forced a sword into her hands and told her to try swinging it, that it might help her remember. it felt awkward and heavy in her hands, and when she tried swinging it it tipped out of her grasp and landed in the dirt. she was on the verge of tears and just kept telling them she just wanted to leave, but they continued trying to lead her away. she was lucky her wife had been close by and heard the commotion, rushing over and embracing her. the group seemed scared of her, for some reason. when they got home she was told she wouldn't be allowed to leave the house alone again for a while, in case they came back. she didn't argue it at all.

[soldier-exclipse]

halo overstimulation

[uselessscreaming]

scrolling hypnokink tag and mistress robinhood joins in with unsolicited and untagged spirals. spams common triggers in DMs. ooooooo you wanna start gambling for mommy…… be a good finsub and mistress will use her invisible hand……

[the-demon-cat]

If you've never seen one of those videos of a leopard (or some other large cat) interacting with an antelope calf or some other similarly juvenile prey item, do yourself a favor and rectify that. It's a delightful dance. Often times the panther will just kill the calf, of course, but sometimes you get this incredibly interesting interaction of instincts.

First, the calf.

You don't know much of anything. New to the world. Feeble, slow. Archetypal victim, really, I am not even going to pretend to try to obscure this. The only disadvantage to choosing you as the prey is that the panther gets less meat out of it. Since the calf knows very little of the world, much of what you are running off of is the instinct to treat any nearby large, warm body as a mother.

Something happens you don't understand. You end up beside a large warm body that isn't the same as the last one. It looks different, smells different. Something is wrong, but you don't really know any better. The unfamiliarity might distress you, but many things are unfamiliar. There's probably no need to run, right?

On to the panther.

Hunts like this are routine. I have to eat regularly, after all. There's much instinct involved, albeit informed by experience. One of these instincts is the one to chase something that runs away. If it runs away, it is likely food. If it doesn't run away, is it food? If it doesn't run away, even if it is food, do I need to kill it? Certainly not immediately. Only if (when) you try too hard to get away, or stop being entertaining. You are not capable of needing my prudence. You are food I can play with.

Maybe you try, though. Simple enough to snag you with a claw, drag you back. Claws function as lessons. Run and it hurts. Don't run and it does not hurt. Running will not grant safety, so why would you bother? Stay close. It hurts less.

Put together, these behavior patterns can result in the hunter and hunted just sitting together for some time. There will be bursts of activity, then it will be stifled, then sitting together again. Only for so many cycles, of course. There's an inevitable end, but neither party rushes towards it.

[ace-and-interested]

I think switches should wear their collars even if they are domming

[uselessscreaming]

crazy how men are only good for one thing and they’re even bad at that