#in/cep/tion

[seongpinkhwa]

YOU! ARE! NOT! THE! EX! CEP! TION! YOU! WILL! NE! VER! LEARN! YOUR! LES! SON!

[just-a-multi-fandom-mess]

hel lo, jon. a pol og ies for the de cep tion but i wan ted

[confession-session]

R O C T !

It’s swallowing us whole!

R O C T ! !

It’s undefinable!

R O C T ! ! !

It’s strangely beautiful!

NO DONT-

FALL

FOR

ITS

DE-CEP-TION

YOUNG MAN

there's no need to look down, i said

YOUNG MAN

really, please don't look down, i said

YOUNG MAN

cast your gaze not upon

t h e d r e a d

R I F T

O F

C O S M I C

T E R R O R S

[justaboutsnapped]

shouldn't have gave in and ventured into the in/cep/tion tags god fucking help me people are making things up again

#there's a collective propping up of him that's wild to me a good majority of this fandom either makes fun of him or straight up loathes him and willfully misinterprets him what "propping up" are u fucking talking about. how is a fandom that's 99% A/E propping up the guy who everyone collectively agrees to be a asshole even by people who enjoy him (me). op the "asshole who willingly endangers others faces consequences" fics are READILY FUCKING AVAILABLE. stop coming into the character tag to complain about a nonexistent problem

[dibbiedabbiedoobie]

Caught Red-Handed

So my brain keeps poking me to put content on this blog, so I figured I'd post some older fics I had written. I thought it wouldn't be that hard to make a post about in/cep/tion vore hcs but alas: ADHD go brr. So here's a little self-insert borrower fic from about a year ago instead, ft. pred!Dom. Enjoy!

Timeline is vaguely post movie, so no edgy Dom. And there's a general hand-waved logic to the safety -- whether or not Dom is fully human is vague but also not super relevant.

------

You consider yourself a pretty smart borrower. you stay out of sight, you only take what you need, and you make sure nothing looks out of place. The humans living in this house haven't noticed a thing. Though part of that might be because the man often is asleep -- something about being hooked up to this strange case. You don't care as much about the particulars as you do the fact that it guarantees times where no one will catch you rummaging. Or it should've, anyways.

Apparently, the human didn't stay under as long as usual, since he walks in as you're trying to wheedle a new toothpick out of its container. For a moment, you're simply frozen, but your survival instincts snap you out of it when he takes a step forward.

You scramble off to the side, easily shimmying down your makeshift rope -- you don't bother taking it with you as you scramble across the floor. You don't have time, and you're not staying here anyways. You can't.

Unfortunately, this human has faster reflexes than you're used to. You can hear him fumbling behind you, entirely too close for comfort. He's telling you to stop running, to relax, but you don't listen. You've had a lot of humans try to convince you that they're safe, and you have the scars to prove them all liars.

You don't stop until you can't run anymore -- because he's caught you. His fingers wrap snugly around your body, lifting you too high too fast.

"L-Let me go!" Pointed ears pinned back, you wriggle as best you can in his grip, but he holds firm.

"Easy there, I'm not gonna hurt you." he replies. He changes his hold, from gripping to cupping, not that it affects your escape plans much. You're too high for a fall not to kill you. "My name's Dom. What's yours?"

You shift uncomfortably. Maybe if you play nice, he'll keep you somewhere you can escape from. Hesitantly, you give him your name.

"Nice to meet you." He pets your head with a huge finger, and his touch is so gentle you have difficulty not leaning into it. "I know the last thing you probably want to do is stay, but I promise you'll be safe here."

You paint a soft smile on your face and wrap you arms around your legs: the picture perfect weak and weary borrower. "T-Thank you.... Most humans don't really like us...."

He gives you a once over, pausing briefly on the scars from the knife you narrowly escaped once, the burn an allegedly "hospitable" human had given you in the name of so-called science. "You don't have to pretend like you like me, either."

You freeze, but he only pets your back with a kind finger.

"I know you're probably wary of all humans after encounters like those," he continues. "I know you don't really trust me."

You stare at him for a moment, then sag as the weak persona leaves you. If he's this aware, there's no point in trying to play anything but yourself. "Then why haven't you let me go yet?"

"You're clearly exhausted, and I can't let you run off and get yourself hurt because you refused to rest after I walked in on you." His face is soft, kind, caring. "If you still want to leave after a good rest, I'll let you, but I don't want you hurt because you're out of it."

He raises his hands higher, up to his face, and you tense. "Dom... what are you doing?"

"Giving you somewhere to rest," he replies. "You'll be safe, trust me." With that, he opens his mouth wide.

You're frozen for a moment, looking down at the dark pulsing throat, the tongue covering sharp, white boulders.

And then his hand starts to tilt.

"H-hey!" Desperately, you scramble for purchase. "What the hell are you doing?!"

Your question is rhetorical, because it's very clear what he's doing: he's eating you. Out of everything you expected from him, you didn't expect to be fighting to stay out of his jaws. You twist as your body slides past his lips, now trying to claw your way upwards. "Stop! Let me go! I'm not food!"

Dom, of course, only moves faster. What else could you expect from a human but cruelty? You've never had one turn on you that fast; if you weren't so busy fighting for your life, you'd suppose hunger can only be ignored so long.

He coats your legs in saliva, pulling you in deeper with his tongue. A pleased hum rolls through your bones while you slide in up to the bottom of your rib cage. Then, he clams his lips down firmly, and his hand retracts, leaves you half dangling in open air.

You realize very quickly how helpless you are, particularly when he tilts his head back and loosens his jaw. "D-Dom, please! " you beg. "Please, let me go!"

Dom swallows.

It drags you fast past his lips and mostly into his throat, and another forces you down entirely. With a huff, he levels his head. You were a little tricky to get down -- bigger than expected, and squirming all the while.

As you work past his collarbone and through his chest, he pads back to his bedroom. He'll need privacy to comfort you; he feels absolutely awful about how frightened you were. You had been scrabbling against his palm, begging him to let you go. It had torn his heart in two, how terrified you'd sounded.

Really, he didn't mean you harm. Despite the low grumbles of his tummy for breakfast, you weren't actually food. Just... a tenant, more like. He only wants to make sure you actually rest and don't spend your time trying to escape. His belly is warm, soft, and dark -- perfect for a little borrower to catch shut eye. Getting a hearty little snack is just a bonus.

Abruptly, a pressure in his abdomen catches his attention. It only lasts a moment, though; afterwards, you squeeze into his gut in a rush. It welcomes you with a pleased gurgle, eagerly squeezing at your form. It's snug, the ceiling not far above your head and the walls massaging at your sides.

Of course, you care less about comfort and more about escaping at the moment. You begin thrashing, throwing elbows and stubbornly stretching out the flesh around you. "Spit me out! C'mon!"

"Oh… d-don't squirm so much," coos Dom. "I said you were safe, and I meant it."

Snarling, you continue to writhe. As if you'll believe that. Either you die sooner, kicking and fighting, or you die slightly later, having given up. You have no intent of being easy prey, no matter what this human may think.

He, in turn, insists on trying to comfort you -- kind words about your safety, gentle pets. If he wants to assuage his guilt, you're not quite sure why he doesn't just cough you up. Maybe he's only guilty enough to try to make you feel better, not to actually give up his meal.

Eventually, though, your limbs are too weak to continue fighting the pushes and pulls of the muscular walls. It forces you to curl up loosely, and you're too tired to so much as twitch.

"...Are you okay in there?" Dom's voice rumbles. It's the upward lilt of a question that catches you attention.

You squirm weakly. You're okay enough. By this point, you should've run out of air with all your fighting, should've been massaging acids from the walls, but you're fine. Wet and exhausted, but otherwise fine.

"Just rest, alright?" he croons softly. "I'll let you out when you wake up."

Barely, you find the will to turn onto your side and settle more comfortably. Dom clearly isn't going to let you out, but he also seems… caring. He's trying his best to coax you to sleep, much like a father would (which makes sense, given that he has children). It's about as far from predatory behavior as it gets.

Your eyes flutter shut, drowsiness wrapping your mind like a snug blanket. It's warm and soft and Dom's fingers are so insistent on trying ease your tension. In just a few moments, you're dozing peacefully.

Bonus:

Dom relaxes with a pleased hum as the little borrower finally falls asleep. He much prefers them settled and cozy. While their squirms only made his belly gurgle occasional discontents, it made his heart hurt that they weren't listening when he said they were safe. They'd looked so small in his hands, probably felt helpless inching down his throat. He's glad they finally realized that he meant no harm.

He isn't stupid. He can guess where those scars came from, and it fills him with righteous fury. Not everyone who looks at them will be filled with such an overwhelming protective instinct, he knows, but the least they could do is respect them.

Just a little, he presses in at his occupant as he pets them. They wriggle in turn, weakly pressing against his fingers, and he smiles softly. He hopes quite badly that they don't leave. He's more than happy to house them, and it would ease his mind to know they aren't out on the streets, fighting off stray animals or having to run from not-so-kind humans. (That, and they taste phenomenal, and who can blame him for wanting more of it?)

[betweenpartandmeet]

when i find myself in times of trouble

my subconscious comes to me

speaking words of wisdom:

“parody”

[idanushayden]

Old trolls who claim to know no-thing a-bout gen-der. |

Are gen-er-a-lly peo-ple who have been as-su-ming for a long time that their per-cep-tion of the con-cept is how e-ver-y-one ex-per-i-en-ces it. |

This means that they are ei-ther: |

1. Some-one who has ne-ver had the en-vi-ron-ment to rea-lize they are not cis. |

2. The most un-bear-a-bly cis per-son a-live. ||

[entoman-created-by-the-tallgreys]

Per-cep-tion

if you Went threw all that i Went threw, n Saw all that i saw, you would of Said all that i said ( in a Diffrent way, and maybe may not of Gave all the Detail's ) 

and then you’d be the Crazy fuck no one would want to Listen to ! 

[yes-bernie-stuff]

SAMEDI 27 MARS

LA PAIX ET LA PROSPÉRITÉ

« ACCORDE-TOI DONC AVEC DIEU, ET TU AURAS LA PAIX ; PAR LÀ, CE QUI TE REVIENDRA SERA BON » JOB 22.21

Aujour­d’hui, en plus du stress ordi­naire, on souf­fre de cyber­stress. On croule sous les cour­ri­ers élec­tron­iques. Il suf­fit d’éteindre son portable à peine quelques heures, et lorsqu’on le ral­lume, il pèse deux fois plus lourd par l’af­flux de mes­sages vocaux récents. Ensuite, il y a l’hyperstress. L’employé(e) à la caisse du super­marché ne vous adresse que rarement la parole, occupée à pass­er le plus vite pos­si­ble les codes-bar­res au scan­ner, car son effi­cac­ité et son ren­de­ment sont suiv­is à chaque instant par ordi­na­teur. Dans une étude de cinq ans por­tant sur trois mille salariés horaires, 88 % ont déclaré tra­vailler très dur, 68 % avoir tra­vail­lé très vite, 60 % n’avoir pas tou­jours fini leur tra­vail. Et 71 % ont déclaré qu’ils se sen­taient épuisés. Même les pas­teurs ne sont pas immu­nisés dans ce domaine. Près de la moitié finis­sent par démis­sion­ner, et lorsqu’on leur demande pourquoi, 80 % citent l’ef­fet négatif du min­istère pas­toral sur leur vie de famille. Alors, quel est le remède pour vain­cre le stress ? La paix ! Et où trou­ver la paix ? La Bible dit: « Accorde-toi donc avec Dieu, et tu auras la paix ; par là, ce qui te revien­dra sera bon ». Voici la clé : si vous savez que Dieu vous aime et vous accepte incon­di­tion­nelle­ment, vous êtes libre de faire de même pour vous. Par con­séquent, vous n’êtes plus obsédé(e) par un besoin d’ac­cep­ta­tion, d’ac­qui­si­tion et de réus­site. Oui, lorsque vous vivez selon les principes claire­ment énon­cés dans la Bible, vous pou­vez avoir la paix et la prospérité.

B365 — Plan de lecture

Deutéronome 19-21, Marc 13.21-37

Prière du jour

Merci Seigneur pour la paix que je peux puiser dans ta Parole.

The Word for Today écrit par Bob et Debby Gass © UCB UK 2021

Publication

Parole du jour

© PHARE MEDIA 2021

[thetaoofbetty]

 (@rosiexxvi tumblr be eating again)

Hello you hot muffin of love! 

We are so proud of our little Jack McPhee! 

If Riverdale does nothing else, at least it pokes our nostalgia by bringing back the teen stars of our youth to remind us how old we’ve gotten! 

I’ve decided to be delighted they’re taking the plight of under employed teen heartthrobs from back in the day seriously. Which sounds mean, I know, but I am only being partially facetious. It’s pretty well known by now that only so many actually “make it” out of the CW/early 2000′s teen show/90′s movie sphere and if they’re going to keep bringing them back as a tribute to those who came before them, that’s fine by me. 

Besides, I mean, uh, did I know Skeet aged that well until he was a Riverdale dad? No. No I did not and I am, for one, am thankful someone showed me because I didn’t see that coming at all. 

Thanks for the ask, lovely, and I hope you have an ex-cep-tion-al day! 

[ukuleled]

Too Much Too Young - The Specials

Verse 1:

      D        G     C        D You've done too much, much too young,           D              G Now you're married with a kid,         C                       (D) When you could be having fun with me. D          G                  A Oh no, no gimme no more pick-ni.

Verse 2:

      D        G     C        D You've done too much, much too young,           D              G Now you're married with a kid,         C                       (D) When you could be having fun with me.   D                             G                       A We don't want, we don't want, we don't want no more pick-ni.

Chorus 1:

D      C# C    C# Ain't he cute? D   C# C     C# No he ain't,     D      C#     C He's just a-nother burden, C#      D   C#   C     C# On the wel-fare state.

Verse 3:

      D        G     C        D You've done too much, much too young,           D              G Now you're married with a kid,         C                       (D) When you could be having fun with me.   D                   G                  A No gimme, no gimme, no gimme no more pick-ni.

Chorus 2:

D        C#   C    C# Call me imma-ture, D     C#   C  C# Call me a po-ser,    D       C#         C I'd love to spread man-ure, C#       D   C# C  C# In your bed of ro-ses.

D      C#      C  C# Don't want to be rich, D      C#      C  C# Don't want to be famous; D        C#     C       C#       D But I'd really hate to have the same, name as you...

Interlude:

D  A (x8)

Verse 4:

      D        G     C        D You've done too much, much too young,           D              G Now you're married with a kid,         C                       (D) When you could be having fun with me. D                   G                        A Gi we de birth con-trol; we no want no pick-ni.

Verse 5:

      D        G     C        D You've done too much, much too young,           D              G Now you're chained to the cooker,       C               (D) Making currant buns for tea. D          G                  A Oh no, no gimme no more pick-ni.

Chorus 3:

D      C#  C     C#     D    C#   C   C# Ain't you heard of the star-ving mil-lions? D      C#  C     C# D   C#  C   C# Ain't you heard of con-tra-cep-tion?

      D      C#     C       C# D     C# C  C# Do you really want a program of steri-li-za-tion? D     C#  C    C#     D   C# C  C# Take con-trol of the pop-u -la-tion...

Outro:

D     A Boom. D                    A It's in your living room. D                  A Keep a generation gap; D              A Try wearing a cap!

Chords Credit

more ukulele chords here<3

[iamthethunder]

Of course, these tac­tics are not always suf­fi­cient to pre­vent inspi­ra­tion porn, and whether to coop­er­ate with a giv­en sto­ry is always a judge­ment call. Peo­ple who are look­ing for inspi­ra­tion porn will some­times find ways to read it into the most dig­ni­fied cov­er­age of a dis­abled per­son achiev­ing some­thing worth­while. Adding con­text on social media, speak­ing out about the prob­lems with low­er-qual­i­ty cov­er­age, enter­ing into dia­logue with peo­ple who want to dis­cuss the sto­ry, and oth­er­wise try­ing to get some mod­icum of con­trol of the nar­ra­tive, as Haley Moss has on Twit­ter in recent days, all help to reduce the harm and increase the odds that a sto­ry will change per­cep­tions. Ulti­mate­ly, there are parts of the process of media cov­er­age and a story’s flow through social media net­works that are out­side of the con­trol of its sub­jects, but Autis­tic adults can exer­cise some agency before and after con­tent is cre­at­ed.

[takesuhigher]

EX. CEP. TION. AL 🙌

[dibbiedabbiedoobie]

Mint

Another one based on a voretober prompt -- 2021 this time, Mint. Set in the same ‘verse as Caught Red-Handed, but like... nebulously after that fic. So not a direct sequel, more just placed vaguely in that world. I’ll probably work on a proper sequel at some point, but rn I’m just off loading a bunch of stuff lol. This is also based on a real dream I had! It was wild but very comfy and nice. I think I woke up before the actual vore, sadly, but I do remember waking up feeling very comfy and loved so I suppose it wasn’t all bad.

Word Count: 891 Fandom: In/cep/tion Tags: safe vore, willing prey, willing pred, small bit of foodplay, fluff, pred!arthur Summary: Arthur wakes you up for a midnight snack.

You're still not quite sure how you ended up here. Arthur woke you up at some ungodly hour in the morning, asking something about mint that you don't remember. You'd been barely awake and had just nodded so he'd let you go back to sleep. In hindsight, that was probably intentional. You shift, just a bit. There's no comfortable way to lay on the jello you've found yourself on. It's a bright blue, translucent. You suppose the fact that it's broke up into cubes beneath you don't help with comfort. You aren't sure of the flavor, but you're half-tempted to try. You're considering it until Arthur walks back into the room, catching your attention. He has a spoon in hand and a shit-eating smirk on his face. You glare at him, but it's half-hearted at best. You generally can't bring yourself to care that much about these things anymore. It's far too early, and you want to sleep. His stomach seems softer and comfier than laying on blocks of jello. "Are you alright?" he asks, in the way he always does. It's a genuine question, making sure you're okay. He always makes sure to ask regularly, especially before he swallows you. It's the polite part of "polite little shit" shining through, and you really do appreciate it. "'m fine," you interrupt yourself with a yawn. You'd thought you were a little more awake now, but maybe not. "Just... hurry up. Sleepy." Arthur snorts. "Well then. I was going to try the jello, but if you're so insistent..." He sets the spoon aside, then gently picks you up by your sides with his index finger and thumb. "Wait!" you shout, and he pauses, concern written all over his face. "I'm fine," you assure him. "Just... lemme taste it." His expression eases, going from worry to amusement. He carefully turns you over, holds you close enough to grab a small piece from a corner. As you put it in your mouth, he turns you back over. "Any good?" "It tastes like shit." You stick your tongue out, nose wrinkled. "Mint? Really?" "I didn't chose it," chuckles Arthur. "Dom bought the wrong one. I figured I might as well get some use from it." "If you'd wanted a taste tester, there were easier ways to get them." "Maybe, but very few can be a stand-in treat." He lifts you closer to his face, then pauses; waiting for confirmation. Biting back another yawn, you just nod. Arthur opens his mouth, tipping his head a bit, before he carefully begins to lower you inside. Hot and muggy rises up your legs, and his tongue rises up to cushion you. It's firm, but slimy, and wraps around your body as he pushes you further inside. It's all a familiar song and dance, and you relax into it. His lips close gently around your chest, his fingers carefully supporting your back as he gets a good taste of you. He hums, contented, but doesn't dwaddle. Flicking his head back properly, he loosens his jaw and swallows thickly. It drags you down quickly, sends you squishing into his throat up to your hips. Scrunching his face, he gulps again, pulling you properly into his gullet. You're a little bigger than he expects sometimes. He brushes his fingers against his neck, feeling the bulge you make as you trudge deeper into his core. He always did like that, being able to track you through his body. Knowing where you were, even inside him, makes him feel more comfortable about your safety; granted, there weren't very many places for you to be in his body, but he likes it anyways. Once you're beneath his collarbone, he wipes his mouth of drool. He'd liked your flavor, but the hint of mint had been a delectable improvement. If he thought he could get away with it, he'd try to do it a bit more often. There's a pressure in his chest, and then you squeeze down into his stomach. It gurgles a greeting, churning at you eagerly. You suppose it has been a bit since dinner. "Are you okay?" Arthur's voice rumbles around you, low but clear. "Fine, Arthur," you reply. You squirm, settling into the gentle curve of his belly. "Good. Let me know if that changes, okay?" "Mhm." You don't expect him to hear you, but that's okay. This is part of the song and dance, too: making sure that you're okay, that you know you can leave any time. It's familiar and appreciated, but common enough that you both know that there's no real problem. Arthur's stomach churns at you more, soaking you in even more spit and fluid. You don't mind, though. It's warm in his tummy, and soft. A better bed than the one outside. You're used to it trying to process you by now, and you know it won't hurt you. You can feel Arthur stroking at you gently outside. He probably isn't trying to coax you to sleep, but that's the effect. With everything so soothing, your body is quite aware that it's Too Damn Early in the morning, and there's a lot of sleep to be had. You settle, then give a soft pet to the nearest wall. "G'night," you murmur, far too quiet to hear. You let your eyes close, and then you're asleep.

[idanushayden]

❗ That's not an answer. He talks about murder so casually. He's destroyed entire worlds and enjoyed it. You can't say ALL of them deserved to die like that. Are you really okay with it?

I don’t think a-ny-one de-serves to die, i-dea-lly. |

And I think ve-ry few don’t de-serve a hap-py life. |

Gold-wave is no-where near that line, for me. |

I re-fuse to hold a helm re-spon-si-ble for what was forced of them. |

And once we’re be-yond that. |

Is he rea-lly... u-ni-que-ly re-pre-hen-si-ble, at all? |

I’m not o-kay with what he’s done. |

But I’m not e-ven ma-king much of an ex-cep-tion. ||

[sirtwobittoyou]

TWO-BIT MATHEWS: MONOLOGUE SUBMISSION FOR DRAMA CLUB

It's the way people think of my family in this town. It's the way they think of me. Just one of those low life Chambers-kids.Oh it is. No one even asked me if I took the milk money that time.  I just got a three-day vacation.Yeah I took it. You knew I took it. Teddy knew I took it. Everyone knew I took it. Even Vern knew it I think. Maybe I was sorry and I tried to give it back.Maybe, just maybe. And maybe I took it to Old Lady Simons and told her. And the money was all there. But I still got a three-day vacation because it never showed up. And maybe the next week Old lady Simons had that brand new skirt on when she came to school.Yeah. So let's just say that I stole the milk money but Old Lady Simons stole it back from me. Just suppose that I told the story. Me, Chris Chambers, kid brother of the Eyeball Chambers. You think that anybody would have believed it?And d'you think that that bitch would have dared try something like that if it would have been one of those doosh bags from up on The View if they had taken the money? Oh no! But with me! I'm sure she had her eyes on thatskirt for a long time. Anyway she saw her chance and she took it. I was the stupid one for even trying to give it back. I never thought - I never thought that a teacher-- Oh who gives a damn anyway? I just wish I could go to some place where nobody knows me.

I ain’t gunna post’a video ta go with tha submission ‘cause it’s got kids innit an’ I ain’t gunna post tha here. But I’m doin’ tha Milk Money monologue from Stand By Me fer my monologue fer Drama Club. I wanted ta choose somethin’ tha I can really relate ta, an’ tha has meanin’ ta me while still havin’ meanin’ an’ a message fer every’un else. This was tha per-eeee-fect scene fer tha. In tha scene, one’a tha kids from tha rough side’a tha tracks is talkin’ ‘bout a injustice he faced jus cause’a who his family is. I’cn relate ta tha ‘cause tha’s how me an’ my family are looked at where we’re from. I been judged an’ blamed fer a lotta things tha weren’t my fault jus cause I ain’t come from money. Even been real judged by some’a tha people here too fer tha same. I like this cause it really shows how tha cycle of injustice jus continues. An’ how people wanna blame certain folx fer stuff cause they got certain pre-cep-tions of people based off’a shit tha ain’t matter, an’ then they get mad when people live up’ta those expectations, even tho they’re tha expectations they made ‘em stay in in tha firs place. Ain’t hard ta get ta tha bottom. But it’s ‘mostly imposs-eeee-ble ta get outta it.