limenalspaces

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I miss having a friend group. I feel like I’m better now than when I had to leave but I feel like if I tried going back I’d fuck up or get sick again. I just really want to hug some of them. Really, really hard. I haven’t sat here crying in a long time but thinking about how overwhelmingly lonely I feel is sure doin it. I just want to be around people who care and who share funny things with me and can talk to me about their characters and vice versa. I miss so much of the sharing and bonding. I miss feeling human and like there were people that I mattered to. I miss being told I matter, and I miss people enjoying their time spent with me.

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So tired.

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I’m so scared of losing such a big piece of myself and who I am. I’m so scared. I don’t have anyone to fill the void and I know what would be better for certain parts of me, but I’ve put so much of myself and my creativity and my life into this stupid thing and I don’t want to sever myself from all of that love and hard work. I’m so scared and I don’t know what to do

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“I don’t mind being killed, but I don’t want them to touch me.”

— excerpt from Antigone by Jean Anouilh (trans. Lewis Galantiere)

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“we were lovers in a past life” trope but the current incarnations are enemy-to-lovers trope. when. 

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Warning for some mild graphic content

This idea was inspired by whumpropaganda's prompt on tumblr. Alternative box boy au aka BBA but I make it worse. Instead of being shipped at Markus's door, Con's left at a gas station/7-11 with a sign that say "free pet". Here he's shooked cuz Markus's approaching and he can't see very well. In this alt version Connor is nearsighted but didn't know since his owner doesn't care. The mf finds it cute seeing Con bumping into things. Markus shall gets some cute specs for this boy.

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Hhhh

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Is anyone else ever genuinely shocked when you find out you have an impact on someone’s life? A coworker can be like “I’ve missed seeing you” and I’m just like “???? you?? missed me????? My presence has an effect on your daily experience???? I affect things??? W h a t ? ? ?”

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The thing I hate most about depression is that it tricks you into thinking you don’t have depression. It makes you think that nothing is wrong with you, that you just feel this way because you lack value as a person. Whether that’s in your relationships, your academics, or a view of yourself, it makes you think you aren’t good enough for any of that.

“It’s not the illness,” it says, “You feel this way because it’s who you are.”

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Breezeh aka Briscoe Park (American, b. Cary, NC, USA) - Untitled, 2020, Photography

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Whumpee pushed against the wall by the back of their neck, whumper hissing horrible promises and reminders about how they’re never going to get out of here while they grind whumpee’s cheek against the wall.

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Small Town Ohio Gothic

It’s just outside of Columbus, just closed off from the city. You came here because everyone talked about how nice it was, how lovely, how special. How everyone in Columbus wanted to live here. It was costly, but it seemed worth it. Everyone was so welcoming to you, wearing their nice clothes and big smiles. But after a few weeks, it feels strange– why won’t they stop smiling?

Everything is so white here. White people with their white teeth and white pearls and white tile floors and white houses and white picket fences, it’s as though the entire town has been bleached. In fact, everything here kind of smells of bleach.

One man owns the town. His name is plastered on every building. You’ve never seen him leave his mansion, you’ve never seen him at all. No one has. Sometimes you wonder if he’s actually there. 

Every house must be built the same way, every building a similar style, every school the same style. You must follow the rules. You don’t question it– you’re too scared to.

The school kids all wear the same clothes in different colors, bought from the same store, with the same hair, and the same voice, the same face. They are all the same. You begin getting them all mixed-up. You can’t find anyone different. You wonder what happened to them.

The housewives all gather together at a high-end cafe for brunch every friday. They all talk loudly about the same college their children all happen to be going to, and how happy they are. They lean in and whisper quietly and rushed and something about it feels wrong. One of them meets your gaze. It becomes dead silent. They go back to talking loudly about their lovely husbands and lovely children and lovely lives.

A woman stands in front of your house every morning at 9:08 exactly. You mention it to your neighbor who says, “I’ve never seen a woman at your house.” The woman stops coming.

You know it’s safe because they told you the police circle the neighborhood every hour. “It’s so safe here,” they all tell you, “so, so safe.” You see a flicker of something in their eyes– was it fear?

Ever since you moved in you haven’t been able to sleep. You confide to one of your neighbors and they suggest you go to the town’s doctor. He prescribes you medicine and doesn’t tell you the side effects. You take it anyway.

Every neighbor has a dog. Every other night at three am, they bark and bark. Sometimes they get loose. One of them attacks the child from across the street. You don’t see the child or the dog again.

You begin having nightmares you can’t wake up from. A man standing at the end of your bed, staring. An owl hoo-ing at your window; its eyes are dead and remind you of the people in the town. You stop taking the medicine.

There have been five suicides in the little you’ve lived there. You try to read about them in the town papers, but they aren’t there. No one talks about them. No one acknowledges them. Everyone just smiles.

You haven’t left the town since you got there. Something tells you to, but every time you try the car breaks down. You call a mechanic and he asks you why you’d want to leave. “Everything you need is right here.”

A neighbor invites you to their party. You go. A lady with diamond earrings begins talking to you. You notice a stain on the edge of her high heels. It’s the first time you’ve seen a stain in this town. It It looks like blood.

They don’t like you here. One woman says “it seems you aren’t assimilating well.” She says it with a smile, but the words give you chills. You don’t know why, but it scares you.

Your neighbors maid stops by your house. “Get out,” she says. It’s not a threat, it’s a warning. But she’s too late. You can’t.

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Whumptober 2020 No.6

“Get it out!” - “No more” - “Stop, please!”

Mega warnings for noncon, vore, and gore. The monster’s hungry.

His name was Clover, but It? It didn’t have a name. It lived inside of him and chose to come out when it was hungry, purpose to wreak it’s havok and make sure the forest wouldn’t forget who kept its primordial roots watered in blood. 

It prowled like a large, emaciated dog, frame of a deer but mind of a predator. Drool and inky black ichor dragging low and heavy from the skull that made up it’s maw. It had antlers that tore through Clover’s skull, pushing back all human flesh and forming a deer’s skinless skull. Long, fanged teeth betrayed the herbivorous nature of what it should have been, if it hadn’t been bastardized by some aeons-old entity. It sported a long, prehensile tongue covered in slime, and a shaggy black mane framed it’s ‘face’. Eyeless sockets reflected moonlight. It could smell fresh meat. Some poor guy on a night hike.  The loping predator began to quicken, trotting, then kicking up leaves as it lunged towards it’s prey through the thick dark of the woods. Front legs ended in long claws and it’s back two ended in hooves, the odd sound of it’s raspy, human-like breathing and the thundering of it’s gallop a cursed sound in these trees. “What the fuck-!” He didn’t have time to grab bear spray. Not that it would have helped. It’s teeth sank into the tough fabric of his backpack and yanked to the side, sending the man sprawling in the pine needles and the dirt. He scrabbled and screamed. Like a cat, those long, sharp digits dragged over the side of his body and flipped him over, slicing him open in the process, as if he were a curious toy. Its body loomed over him, panting, looking at the glisten of the moon against the blood it’s claws had started to draw out. Gashes all over, from head to toe. One thick hiking boot was across the clearing, and flesh peeked out through every slice it’d made through fabric with its cruel hands. Huffing in the scent of meat that still squirmed, and drooling tar-like ichor from it’s mouth, the weight of its own meat began to comply with gravity, slickened cock slithering from it’s sheath.  The hunt was too short, too easy. Usually it’d go after more than one in a night, wear itself out, but this time? It had been too long since a good breeding. Bloodlust amounted to true, carnal lust, prehensile dick identical to the tentacle that hung out of its mouth. It sank its claws into his back, grasping at his ribs by making a fist, and the man’s body arched as he shrieked. His open mouth, head craned back, was quickly filled with the thick, wet push of a hot tongue.  Back knees bent, allowing it to hunch over and bring its groin closer to the hiker. Like a snake it’s cock slithered, sought out one of the many rips in clothing, forcing itself against flesh. It took its time in finding somewhere to dive, the tongue occupied enough that it didn’t bother creating a new hole to fuck. Strangled sounds of struggled breathing and wet, sloppy smacks announced how the creature inquisitively throat-fucked tonight’s prey, forcing his throat to bulge against that squirming tongue. Its mouth opened wide with his head inside of it, a crocodile you couldn’t trust not to crunch down. ‘Clover’ liked to hear their screams, though. So it waited. It was even polite enough to withdraw its tongue when it felt the heat of an entrance, spearing its cock into that opening with the same wet sound its tongue made. Beneath it, the hiker sputtered and gasped, hacking up the monster’s own thick spit and choking on it, too. “Oh god, oh god,” shaking, bloodied knuckles grabbed at the dirt, the man laying prone. He tried to drag himself even an inch across the leaf litter. Clover didn’t stop him- it helped. It rammed it’s writhing cock in five, six, eight, ten inches, rocking the man across the ground. Shoving him forward in a bloody skid against all of the leaves.  “Get it out!” His scream was blood-curdling. “GET IT OUT! GET IT OUT! OH GOD, PLEASE,” Clover’s head cocked. They always did something strange when it got to this point, always curious and always different. This one, when Clover fucked a good fifteen inches into his guts, choked and gagged on his own spit, calling out names that meant nothing to the creature. It understood just one, ‘mom’. Something had absolutely torn from the inside, blood seeping against its cock, and it dug its claws in, both hands, each one gripping securely to the hiker’s sides as it began to rut. Each fuck forward made blood spurt from the wounds claws had made, pleas drowned out by the gurgle of blood that began to well in his throat. Clover made similar sounds, but of different cause, it’s own hot pants and shrieks of delight. Wet smacks of blood and its own fluids sounded between their bodies. Close to climax, it did what it always liked- to lift it’s prey by the nape with it’s teeth and feel the victim’s stomach with one of it’s palms. Prehensile, writhing dick pushed against intestines and invaded them, coating them in that same black slime that it drooled into the human’s mouth. Clover bucked harder, harder-- it dropped him from it’s maw, opened wide, and crunched skull between it’s teeth, tongue pushing down the wet cavern of throat. Tongue and cock pushed together from opposite ends, winding intestines like spaghetti to the tines of a fork. They met in the middle and the monster took a deep, hearty slurp, dragging innards up, up out of tattered, mangled head, while it’s cock tore out from the belly, ejaculating viscous fluid that steamed against the ground.

@havebruises

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Whumptober 2020 No.5

On The Run/Failed Escape/Rescue CW: Nonconsensual touching, impalement(?)/gore, torture, violence, implied amputation.  

All he knew was that every part of him hurt. Arms, legs, the brand- all of the burns. His eyes... Nearly naked save for the cloak the man had given him, Jason clung tight to it and held it to his body. The man hadn’t even given him a name yet, but Jason was sure he worked for his father. One of the rangers that scouted the wilds and patrolled their borders. He smelled like one, cloak saturated with the scents of fresh earth and pine. Branches whipped past them and smacked flesh, leaving it red and raw, irritated. They both would rather the sting of poison ivy than the hands and wrath of the men shouting after them in their wake. “You’re going to have to run.” The gruff, breathless voice of his ‘hero’ panted. Jason’s response was a jagged, pitiful croak. A protest. How could he expect him to run? he’d been stuck to a table for days, chained, wounded horribly- he could barely see, and one of his arms....He only had one hand, now. Even if he could run, he certainly couldn’t fight. He swore he felt the man swallow.  “...to hide, then,” He rasped. “I can’t outrun them.” They’d made quick work of his horse. That’d been one of the first things he made sure Jason knew. Arrows had made the poor thing useless, scoring holes through the bones nd ligaments of delicate legs. “I can’t,” Jason croaked back at him in a whimper. “You’re going to have to.” They’d been on the run for two days. His sight was barely beginning to return, and the wounds he bore were all still fresh. How they’d managed to go undetected even for that long was a feat, but it was over now. The baying of hunting hounds carried with the shouts and thundering of hooves through the woods behind them. Jason shouted and clutched tight to the man when he felt him stumble, scratchy foliage dragging against them both. Sunlight diffused under thicker branches. “I’m- it’s a ravine,” He told him quietly. “I’m going to try my best. Don’t move. Please, don’t....” Jason had nothing to say. He curled up in the fetal position and felt that cloak drape over him, then heard the rustle of branches. He was tossing a few over the boy’s prone frame. Blinded, even Jason knew it wouldn’t be enough. His savior did, too. The man hissed expletives and prayers one after the other, the sound of unsheathing metal ringing in their ears. Then the fading of heavy bootsteps. Jason trembled. The dogs and horses. The bandits. Everything sounded closer, closer, and closer, until he was sure they were on top of him. Then came the shout of his savior. Then clangs, metallic and loud. More shouting. Fighting in the clearing while Jason prayed, too. And then someone’s fist wrapped around one of the hiding boy’s antlers, a victorious laugh in his ears as he was hoisted into the air, trying to balance on the toes of one foot and struggle at the same time. The sounds of the fighting off just a small distance still carried on, but it faded as everything else happened up close. The man that had a glove around an antler put his other hand around the front of his throat, Jason’s back to a chest that stank like blood. He thrashed, teeth grit and bared, and he tossed his head- someone grabbed his kicking legs, but it didn’t stop one of his antlers from sinking into the hot squish of an eye socket. The man holding onto his head shouted and stumbled back empty-handed, leaving Jason to land hard on his back with his ankles in some other bandit’s grasp. Blood ran down the bone of an antler and down his hair, down his forehead. It seeped into already-blinded eyes.  He screamed for them to let go, to get off, but there was no way he could do more than push himself up onto one of his elbows, being dragged through the dirt by his legs.  “He won’t get to try that again,” Came the same voice that’d found him, the same voice that’d shouted when he’d lost an eye moments ago. He sounded labored, pained-- but so, so angry. That dangerous, quiet fury that made many a man capable of anything. Jason wanted to vomit. He started to scream and thrash again when he found out what he’d planned on doing, something rough and sharp bit into the root of the offending antler, digging into his scalp. The sawing motions rattled his brain, and more blood, this time his own, ran down his face as he screeched.  The weight of that one antler was lost as the bone landed on the forest floor, Jason a sobbing mess that choked and hiccupped on his own tears. He couldn’t even hear the fighting of the man that’d found him. They would take him back to camp, surely, hand him right back to Tarsun or execute him in the middle of their stronghold. Send his head back to his father. Misery and pain swallowed him up, so much so that it caught him by surprise when the sound of a blade cut through the air and through the midsection of the man at his legs. The one that’d just made the young faun an antler lighter dropped his hold on his head, leaving him in bloody dirt and mud. His reaction time wasn’t enough to save him. Jason heard the blade sink into meat, heard the angry, startled gurgle of a man that didn’t get a chance to properly defend himself. Jason didn’t know what was happening. He just knew he was dropped- again, bleeding- again, and that the woods had gone silent. Turning his head up at who’d killed his attackers, and hoping it was the man from before, the voice that answered his silent, desperate questions left him at least some degree soothed.  “Aye, I’m...” Not okay. Not fine. “Alive,” The man answered, but he didn’t sound well.

@havebruises

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Whumptober 2020 no.3

Charlie thought he could get away. The night before had been... He’d never expected it. When do you expect it? Daniel was supposed to be his best friend. He’d always looked out for him. He thought that when Danny had said he was ‘fine’ with them just being friends, he’d meant it. He hadn’t, and it’s so hard to stop someone when they’re nearly a foot taller and they’ve got pounds of hardened muscle on you. Charlie didn’t think he’d ever be able to go to another football game again.  Daniel hadn’t even been angry, or rough. It had been kind and it had been gentle and that had to have been the worst part. No amount of prep or ‘care’ could make the knot of disgust go away. Even though Daniel had  smiled and stroked his hair this morning, made him breakfast, even though he’d let him shower and let him go home--  Charlie knew he’d never feel safe again.  He showered again when he got home, after hours spent sitting on the couch and staring blindly. Dissociating. For some reason, when he got out, his skin crawled. It prickled with the chill of goosebumps on wet skin. He hugged himself tight in the confines of the too-big towel and dressed quickly in warm clothes, sweat pants and a hoodie, despite the fact it was almost nine at night and still about a hundred degrees outside.  A total of five times, the young man made rounds of his house. Made sure he was alone. He didn’t get why he didn’t feel alone. Or rather, he did, and he hated it, and he wished he could settle down after pacing for the fifth time because there was NOBODY here, and could he please just stop still feeling traumatized?!

The answer, apparently, was no. He could not. It was dissociate into numbness or feel terror.  The poor thing, hair fading from it’s lavender dye job back to ashy blonde, made himself pop a Xanax. He hated feeling like he needed it, but how else was he going to sleep tonight? Windows, doors - locked. Windows, doors - locked. Then he checked a third time. Then the meds kicked in and he stopped worrying about checking a fourth.  Charlie fell asleep face-down in his bed, still in those clothes that should have been too warm. 

It wouldn’t even have mattered if he’d checked the doors again. Four times, ten hundred. Didn’t matter. He was going to find out that Daniel had copied his key. The first thing that hit him was that detergent. He’d always been jealous, and grateful, of Daniel, clean clothes smelling more like a stereotypical ‘man smell’ than the flowery scent of cleaned clothes. It was something he’d always liked, sitting close to him and catching a whiff of the fabric he was dressed in. Inside, Charlie even knew it wasn’t fair of him to have told Daniel ‘no’. It wasn’t fair of him to be surprised that things had unfolded so horribly. The blonde boy was always overly affectionate, physically. Cuddling, hand-holding. Those were mixed messages....right? Maybe if he’d made things clearer- “Mnmph! Mmmmph!”  “Shh, sh, shh. Baby, it’s fine, it’s me. Baby, it’s me,” Daniel was over him. On top of him. Looming in the dark and whispering in his ear as if he was supposed to be there, and one of his hands-- god, Charlie still felt them squirming inside of him-- one of his hands was plastered over his mouth. Immediately he stilled, silent but heart beating like a rabbit. “I had to come tell you goodnight,” Daniel murmured. He slipped his fingers from the smaller young man’s mouth. Charlie was still frozen. His breath shuddered out and shook his frame, eyes wide and staring off in front of him. At his closet. He wasn’t actually looking anywhere, not actually seeing. He was too busy trying to figure out how this had happened. “Daniel-” His voice cracked. He swallowed and tried again. “Danny, you’re, you’re in my house,”

“I know, baby. I told you, I had to come and tell you goodnight,” Another kiss pressed to his temple. The warm breath from Daniel’s nose rustling his hair only made him colder. “But how are you in my house-” “Charlie, baby boy,” He heard him tsk. “I had to get a copy of your key at some point. You know, in case of emergencies,” Charlie couldn’t handle it. He couldn’t fight back the first time, immobilized by whatever he’d been drugged with, but now? He rolled from his side onto his stomach, hands clutching the sheets. A sandwich of blankets, traumatized boy, and the football player he’d known since sophomore year. “Get out.” “...What?” Like a kicked puppy. His rapist, one of his best friends-- he had no right to sound like that.  “Get- get out of my house!” Charlie’s voice rose and crackled in it’s high, panicked pitch, his body coiling and trying to shoot out of bed, to slide his legs over the side of his mattress and bolt, vault, the fuck out of there. Daniel was already on top of him, so he didn’t know why he thought that it would work. The heat coming off of Daniel’s body even when he was clothed made Charlie feel like he was dying. Suffocating. Stifled. He never should have gotten this close. “Get- get out! Let go of me, get off of me, get out, get out, get out!” Charlie screamed and screeched, only to feel one of those hands grabbing at his wrists and pinning those narrow, bid-like bones together. Pushing them into the bed. The other hand slid down his hoodie, pressed close enough that they went over every bump of his ribs through thick cotton. Then they dragged back up. The entire time, Daniel was trying to soothe him. Hushing like you’d try and kennel train a dog.  That strong frame kept him caged and still, even as Charlie put his elbows hard to the bed and pushed up, feeling his shoulders knock against firm pectorals. The squeeze of a bicep, the flex of a forearm- Daniel only had to use one hand. He even tried letting go of Charlie’s wrists to tangle the fingers of one dainty hand with his own. What it got the both of them was pain.  Charlie ripped his freed hand back and up, slapping it to a stubbled cheek and curling with his fingers. Fingernails dragged skin underneath them and Daniel shouted out in a cry of pain and shock. Immediately, Charlie was pushing himself back to sitting up. Trying, anyways. The bigger young man had momentarily shifted focus and he was trying to take advantage. It was met with a meaty palm to the back of his head, shoving down hard. The force of it and the hurt voice Daniel had just didn’t go together. “Why would you hurt me?!” He asked. It was rhetorical. Charlie couldn’t have answered, his mouth full of blankets. He continued to thrash until he was tired, heaving and near-suffocating, having to turn to the side to gasp lungfuls of air instead of sheets and thick comforter. “I just had to- I had to come check on you, after how last night...I needed to make sure you were okay, that you were safe,” Continued the man currently keeping him pinned to his bed with his body. Daniel sounded distraught and so lost, so authentically offended, that it really did make Charlie hurt. It twisted the knife of confusion, guilt, and trauma even deeper into his belly. “Sorry,” he finally managed to rasp, weak and out of breath. Still panting. They lay like that for what felt like hours. Eventually Daniel sighed, withdrawn and apprehensive, and he sat up. Leaned back on his knees. Sitting up behind prone, pretty Charlie. “I didn’t mean t-...if you really wanted to, Charlie, I...we could...You can...” And then Charlie was gone. He was sliding on the wooden floor of his bedroom, recovering from a fawn-like sprawl and clutching at the wall of the hallway, his socks slippery and his legs forgetting how to work. He tripped hard with his front door in his sight, and his teeth clacked hard as his chin smacked against the floor. It was a loud, painful crack. Behind him, he heard Daniel’s...quiet mumble, things about how Charlie was ‘only going to get himself hurt.’ Hyperventilating, the blonde scrabbled and tried to get himself up. He made it onto his knees and palms before strong forearms were wrapped around his waist and pulling him up off the ground like some tantruming, petulant child.  “Baby, baby...come on, calm...shh, sh, just calm down, let’s-- hey! Hey, hey hey hey. Come on...” He didn’t really cry the night before. He’d been too out of it. Now, though? Charlie felt tears running down his cheeks, hot and fresh while Daniel stroked his hair and began pulling him back down the hall, back towards the room that he’d always felt safe in up until now. “Daniel, Danny, no, please just, please-” “Let’s just go back to bed.” @havebruises