#this is a novel

[poppypoppyxoxo]

Steam fills the room as the hot shower washes away the stresses of your day. The foggy mirror reveals a finger-written message your friend left the other day when she stayed over for a movie night — “ur a bitch lol”. Your pruny hand turns off the water and start to dry off before stepping out and wrapping yourself in the towel. Walking through the house, there is an eerie feeling running down your spine. Music is playing from the bathroom, but it suddenly stops. You shrug it off and switch the bluetooth to the speaker in your bedroom since you’re going there anyway. 

In your room, you drop the towel and start getting your pajamas out. A kinda cute old t shirt and some shorts, that’ll do. Once you are dressed, you head out to the kitchen to fix yourself a quick snack when you hear a car alarm beep locked. You don’t think much of it and continue with your snack.

Music is still playing from your bedroom, lightly muffled by the closed door but you’re still able to hear what song is playing. You sit on the couch a minute and scroll through missed messages and replying to them all before heading back to your room where you find the window slightly open. You don’t remember opening it, but nothing seems out of place or like anyone got in. You’re a little on edge, but that quickly subsides. You head back to the bathroom to brush your teeth. Something weird still lingers down your spine giving you goosebumps, almost as if someone is watching you but you can’t see them. Why do you feel this way tonight? Paranoia starts to kick in and you peek out the bathroom door, seeing if anyone is there. Your roommate is gone for the weekend, so it should just be you. As you look around the dark corner, a hand grabs you by the head and pulls you down, dragging you down the hall. Kicking, screaming, and crying a little you beg the person to let you go. The force in your neck from being dragged by your head is uncomfortable, your heart is beating a million miles a second. Terrified about what is about to happen, you keep pleading with the intruder but I’m not saying anything. Back in your bedroom, he drops your head and slams the door closed. You notice the window is closed, so how did I get in? 

You stand up quickly and try to run for the door, an attempted which is halted by my grip around your arms as I throw you back down to the ground. “Don’t you try a fucking thing…” I demand, yielding a knife in my hand. You sit there blubbering as tears from your eyes and I tell you stand up, waving the knife at you. 

You stand up nervous about what is going to happen next. “Take off your shirt and shorts!” You stop crying, replacing it with pure fear. You obey, removing your shirt first exposing your bra. Quickly after, your shorts.  My hand starts to rub against your body and the knife scratches a bit as I rub it against your skin. 

After a moment, I throw you onto your bed and crouch onto of you. You’re hitting me, fists flying while I try to control your arms. A few punches hit me, barely doing anything, and I slap your face which makes you stop fighting. I take the knife and cut your bra strap to remove your bra exposing your breasts. They flop back quickly and I don’t waste any time fondling them. You continue to whimper and cry in fear and pain.

Sliding my pants off, my cock flops upward and bounces up and down as I maneuver myself to cut your panties off. My dick rubs against your labia which again makes you try to fight back. I grip your body and slap you a couple more times before grabbing the knife again and holding it to your neck.

“If you try anything else, I will cut your fucking throat. Now be a good little girl and take this dick like the little whore you really are.” As the knife rests against your neck, you gulp hard and accept your fate. 

I rub your pussy with the tip of my dick before slowly sliding it in. Your body tenses up and you wince as it enters you. I can feel your pussy tighten up around it which unfortunately for you feels great to me. I let out a soft moan and remove the knife from your throat, laying it close to me and out of reach from you.

I start to thrust into you and watching your titties bounce in sync to my thrusts. I can feel your body betraying you as you get wetter which just makes me thrust faster into you. You start to cry silently and a couple of times you let out a little moan. You’re crying mostly because you hate that it feels good, moreso  than because of the actual rape. 

After a moment of fucking your little cunt, I pull out and start to shove my cock into your mouth. You gag for a second and decide to participate in hopes it’ll make me finish faster so I’ll leave. Your tongue wraps around the shaft and you start to suck me off willingly. While doing so, you start to kind of enjoy it. I moan a little louder and grab the back of your head to start controlling you going down further on me. Slobber starts coming out of your mouth sliding down my balls which are hitting your chin. 

Your fingers start to rub your clit while you suck on your rapists cock and you’re enjoying it now. Maybe it’s a way to cope with the trauma you’re going through, maybe it is awakening something within you. You slide off my cock and let out a little giggle before sucking on my balls. I look down at you and flash a smile “You’re such a pretty girl when you suck on my balls”. You smile back and continue, moaning on them from the clit stimulation. I feel myself get start to get close, so I tell you to stop and lay back down. You do willingly and I start to eat you out. My tongue rubbing against the inside of your pussy, flicking the tip against your clit as you grab a lock of my hair and pull me in the direction to hit just the right spot. I continue to eat you out for a few minutes, nibbling on your lips a little, sometimes sucking on them. Your muff tastes so good, probably the best I’ve ever tasted. 

While I taste your strawberry lips, you lay there moaning and telling me to keep going, don’t stop. You can feel the scratchiness of my beard stubble against your inner thighs as your legs close up around my face gripping it. A wave of pleasure quickly builds, feeling tight in your stomach and hollow in your chest but in the best possible way. Your heartbeat is pounding as your hand grips my hair, pulling a bit harder. I continue vigorously sucking on your pussy and blowing cold air onto the sensitive spots I’ve been abusing for a while now. I can feel your heartbeat against my tongue when suddenly that pressure is at its max. Your face is flushed as you let out a breathy moan that turns into a mild yell. You don’t know how much more you can hold it back when suddenly I stop. Annoyed that I didn’t let you finish, you think to yourself “of course not, just like any other man.” I look up at you and say “you’re such a dirty little whore… and it’s so fucking cute.” You slap my face and beg me to keep going. I continue to eat you out. My tongue flicking more, applying more pressure to your ultra-sensitive clit. After another moment, the pressure is back to its highest and your legs start to shake involuntarily followed by a loud moan from deep within your core. As you cum on my face, I continue munching until I feel your orgasm settle, in which I remove my face and look back up at you. Your face is very red and your eyes are closed as you try to catch your breath. 

At that moment, I sit up and lay back so you can get on top and slide my cock inside of you. You feel the large vein rub tightly against your walls. The rugae feels amazing against my bare dick, I can’t help but to growl a bit. You spot the knife on the bed and grab it, holding it against my face. “You’re my bitch now,” you say as you bounce up and down my shaft. Quickly, I can feel pressure around the head and I know I am going to cum soon. You bounce faster and faster, your titties jumping in my face. I grab one of your breasts and suck on it, flicking my tongue against the nipple while you continue to hold the knife against me.

You rub the tip of the knife down my cheek to my chest before letting it go. I stop sucking on your titty and bite the base of your neck where your shoulder meets. My breathing more labored now as I am almost finished. I am holding it in as long as possible, but I can’t hold it much longer. 

Leaving a bite mark on you, I let go and moan very loud as I shoot a huge load deep inside you. Your eyes widen as I nut in you, and smile as it fills you immediately. The warmth feels wonderful and gooey to you, and when you slide off my cock, a bunch of cum drips out. From this moment on, you’re a changed woman. Your rape branded onto your neck, and the chills following the warm flow dripping out of you will stay in your mind forever, and you don’t even mind it. 

You really are such a good little pretty princess.

just thought i’d share this with the people

[moonshine-nightlight]

I hope this doesn't come across the wrong way but evwr since I discovered nothing's wrong with dale I decided I would NOT end up hung up waiting for updates of ANOTHER fic (I've lost count of how many I've hoarded so far) so I was going to wait until it was finished.

I'm still standing by that I hope you know I'm here frothing at the mouth every time I see updates and it seems like there's no end sight! It infuriates me because I don't want to read through all the chapters just to end up waiting for more like I promised I wouldn't but I WANT TO READ IT GODDAMMIT and I did this to myself!

(none of this is criticism of your fic length or updating schedule, I just need to scream for a bit about the consequences of my own actions)

lol i'm always happy to host screaming about my stories in my askbox

i completely get wanting to wait, i do that sometimes, but yeah - its rough when you see the updates going up

while things can always change, according to my current outline and posting schedule (again, with the caveat that Life Happens) there will be 35 chapters and the last chapter will go up in October 2023 so like, less than a year? lol

but yeah, good luck with ur patience!

[regulusrab]

Location: the Library of Number 12 Grimmauld Place Time: March 20th, about 10 days before the Black Ball. Status: Self Para. TLDR: “That time Tom Riddle came to ask Regulus for a favour and borrow his house elf but was super weird and creepy about it.”

There were some nights that Regulus just wanted to scream. It was a sensation that could build in his chest for weeks at a time. He daydreamed about climbing out onto the roof of 12 Grimmauld Place and unleashing every ounce of rage and fear that festered inside of him. He wanted to make the world quake at the sound of his voice. He never did it. He swallowed down the sensation instead, pressed the scream down until it was something hard and unflinching inside of him, a rock that could sit at the pit of his stomach.

Regulus feels vindicated. He has spent the last decade teaching himself to be cold, teaching himself to stay detatched. He has spent the last decade learning to lock parts of himself away in little boxes. Some people acted like that instinct was a problem, a symptom of some greater issues that were going on inside his mind and inside his chest. He wishes he could point and laugh in their faces now, because he’s probably been training just for this moment.

Tom Riddle is standing in the library.

Regulus doesn’t flinch at the sight of him. He locks away the boy who might, the boy who feels fear. From one side of the entryway to the other, Regulus shifts. The boy who steps into the room is a weaker one, a worshipful thing, a boy who worries about the opinions of society and pleasing his mother more than he worries about anything else. The book he had been reading in the sitting room down the hall is cradled against his own side.

“My lord,” He greets, because it seems the proper thing to do. “No one mentioned that we would have callers today. I do apologise for keeping you wating.”

“Oh, I haven’t been waiting long.” Riddle replies, in a slow drawl. He looks almost bored. Regulus has seen enough predators to know that bored is a very dangerous feeling for them to have. Bored beasts lash out, they bite and claw the second they smell fear in the air.

Regulus takes another step into the room, hesitant. The action is a preformative one. “I’m afraid my father isn’t home today. He had some business to attend to with my Uncle Cygnus.” He lets the words waver, preformative as well, as if he is scared to disappoint the man in front of him.

“It isn’t your father I came to see.” A statement, bland as well.

“My brother is also out for the day. Would you like me to try and fetch him for you?” The words of a boy who assumes himself too unremarkable to be wanted by a man such as Tom Riddle.

“Regulus.” The word is sharp, it commands attention. It sparks something like genuine fear in Regulus, because he doesn’t know why Tom is here, because it is an unexpected factor in his day, because he has been thrown off of his own axis. He has to force himself to look at the man, to coyly avoid his eyes, to play at something meek. He swallows around a lump in his own throat and nods his head.

“Kreacher.” He commands, his voice still slightly quivering, though it sounds more awed than scared. “Bring tea for the Minister. Now.”

Tom Riddle smiles, a dark and savage thing, and situates himself at one of the ornate chairs next to a table, now suddenly laid out with tea for too. “Very good, Regulus.”

So Regulus sits as well, stiff backed. He places his book on the table, off to the side. Riddle arches a brow and flips it so he can read the cover. “The Untold Histories of the Darkest Arts.” He reads, in the cold voice of his. “Some light afternoon reading?”

Regulus swallows, licks his lips, suddenly dry. “I’ve always had a particular interest in the origins of certain dark spells. My father recomended this book for me to study. To sate my curiosity in a controlled environment. I’ve never had the finest control––” A lie, “–– and my father would hate to see me hurt myself.”

“Curiosity killed the cat, isn’t that the saying?” Riddle sounds almost amused by it, the annecdote.  

“But satisfaction brought it back.” Regulus finishes for him, and regrets it. It’s just a touch too snide, and he can feel the gentle brushing of Tom Riddle’s mind against his own. He thanks the gods for the fact that no member of the Black Family would let their children be raised without learning to protect their minds.

What did Riddle want to see? The truth. It was all that anybody wanted. Riddle wanted to find the faultlines in a boy that hadn’t done enough for the cause yet. Regulus had no mark, and had not begged for one. Regulus did not chase after power the way people imagined he should. Regulus will show him the truth, then. Enough of it that he won’t look any deeper. He shows Riddle flashes of want, bruising kisses and a mans chest pressed against his own. He shows Riddle flashes of anger, the way he hates his brother sometimes, the way he hates everyone sometimes. He shows Riddle his slowly simmering hunger for greatness, and his fear that he will never be good enough. He keeps his friends, and the Orpheus Society, carefully locked away.

Riddle quirks an eyebrow at him, amused smile on his face. “Tell me, Regulus Black. Are you satisfied?”

“Not by my reading, my lord.” He replies, and allows the shake to remain in his voice. He presses his own lips together, and glances down at his tea.

“The best people never are.” And then, as if he’s just had the thought. “I may be able to assist you with that. I’m something of an expert when it comes to dark magic. It’s always been a particular interest of mine too. I would be glad to tutor you in the subject, but I’m afraid I must ask you for a favour first.”

“A favour?”

Riddle reaches out, across the small table, and touches Regulus’s face. His fingers are ice cold. It is a struggle not to flinch away. Regulus keeps his mental sheilds strong, only letting those small glimpses out. “Yes, a favour. A test of your loyalty. I can see a lot of myself in you, Regulus Black, but you must prove that you can serve me well before I teach you any of my secrets. Would you like to do that for me?”

A favour. It must have been why Tom Riddle had come here in the first place. To ask for something. But this was all a pretense, to make it seem like he was doing something for Regulus in turn. It made his skin crawl, but he didn’t pull away. He looked Riddle in the eye instead. “Of course I would, my lord. Anything you wish is yours.”

Tom Riddle smiles. “Wonderful. It’s a simple thing, really. I need to borrow your house elf.”

And that was that. The question asked, the favour granted. Tom Riddle collected Kreacher the very next morning to do a dark and evil task, and Regulus will regret allowing it for the rest of his life.

[lucidloving]

@roach-works // Melissa Broder, "Problem Area" // Mary Oliver, "The Return" // @annavonsyfert // Koyoharu Gotouge, Demon Slayer // Haruki Murakami, Dance Dance Dance // David Levithan, How They Met and Other Stories // Tennessee Williams, Notebooks

[newlevant]

Preview of Sam Long’s story, drawn by the amazing Cynthia Yuan Cheng! (@cynthiaycheng, cynthiaycheng.com)

Becoming Who We Are Kickstarter ends Dec 14! Preorder now to help us fund the book!

bit.ly/becomingkickstarter

[flowerytale]

Celeste Ng, Little Fires Everywhere

[jordanbolton]

To The Person In The Newspaper - Jordan Bolton

Pre-order my new book ‘Blue Sky Through the Window of a Moving Car’ here - https://smarturl.it/BlueSky

[oxytocinatrocities]

"The House," a parable I drew about leaving the Mormon church.

I've come to think this metaphor also applies pretty well to constitutional originalism and the absurd idolization by both U.S. political parties of a document written hundreds of years ago by men who didn't know about the carbon cycle and owned human slaves.

I want to include some altered version of this in the graphic novel I'm working on, as well :)

[tomcruisingthroughlife]

[mactiir]

obsessed with mass market paperbacks. their pleasing rectangular proportions. how they fit badly in a hoodie pocket so you can drag them around everywhere with you like a temporary little buddy. the way they fit in your hand because they're MADE for human hands and not as bookshelf decoration. the way the pages feel when you riffle them gently with your thumb. How pristine and crisp they look when you get them and how creased and folded they look when you're done, even if you try to be nice to them. how that wear is okay, how that's correct actually, because they're made with the philosophy that books aren't meant to be PRETTY, they're meant to be read. that little ripple new ones get on the left side from where you hold them when you're reading, the way the ripple only goes as far as you've read, because u change stories by reading as they are changing you. how you can find thousands of these creased and folded and loved little dudes in every thrift store and used book shop and neighborhood library and you can instantly see the ones that someone carried around in a backpack for weeks or read to pieces or gave up on halfway through because they wear being read like fresh snow wears footprints. I love these poorly made, subpar little rectangles so much. truly the people's books.

[runawaymarbles]

Reading Mockingjay as an adult is extra devastating because. Of course the plucky teenager and her ragtag friends aren't going to sneak into a government building to kill the president with a bow and arrow. That's absolutely ridiculous. It's the kind of thing that's only possible in the kind of propaganda that Coin developed. But she's so good at it that in some ways she tricks the reader into thinking that's the kind of story this is, too--even after 3 books reminding us that pretty much everything that Katniss does the second she volunteers is manipulated by adults pulling strings to make propaganda in some form or another.

[eric-bogosian]

Re-sharing this post I found on Twitter for people looking for alternatives to NaNo. I haven't tried any of these sites but they might be worth looking into.

[the-bar-sinister]

I just think people write out of obligation too often.

"How do I motivate myself to write through the boring part of my story?"

"How do I make this boring scene not boring?"

Don't write it.

Don't write boring things just because you think the structure of the story demands it. I promise it doesn't need to be there.

If your characters need to have gone shopping for a later part of the story to make sense you can just have a sentence about how they went shopping and move on.

You are not obligated to write the boring parts. No matter what those parts are.

You are not obligated to make the parts of your story that you're not excited to write interesting somehow.

You can just write the fun and interesting parts and gloss over and summarize boring things.

Your audience will thank you and you will thank yourself.

[kth1]

Sometimes relationships aren't worth it. Your mental health is more important than anything in this world and you deserve to love yourself more than anything. You should build yourself to find happiness and learn how to love yourself, relationships will only break what you've been working hard on. Give yourself the love that you would give to someone else that was too blind to appreciate you and your love. I know you can find that path. BTS showed me how to love myself and find happiness after terrible breakups I went through and I hope you find the same path too. 💜

my dear, i know you sent this on the 10th. i am so sorry but didn't really process your words until recently. i know i wanted to respond, but it was hard at first. i do agree, sometimes relationships aren't made to be. selfishly, we do have to think of ourselves in the mix of things as well. i want to say i'm wise enough to know my worth (being here on this planet for 30 years does help me gain some wisdom) but i know i will be forever learning! and that's ok. as a tmi, i've only been in a handful of real, effort based, relationships. i also don't go around (this day and age is SCARY) and just mess with people and emotions. so when i commit, i devote. when i devote, i see potential and willing to work with that person. this is me - not everyone. and i truly understand that, even if it hurts me.

in regard to my recent relationship, he and i broke up. i don't fear saying that to the tumblr world at all. we both have things we need to work on in our own perspectives, and frankly some things aren't fully accepted with another. it happens. not one person is the same as another, no matter how much compatibility you have. it's the willingness of wanting to work on yourself, work with that person, and grow together that matters. and sometimes it's not there. sadly, on my exes behalf, he has got to a point that feelings he once felt has diminished. multiple factors cause this, and its understandable. i can think, try to understand, and hypothesis as much as i can - but none of that would matter. because we can't fully control emotions and feelings. now, i own up to my problems. my patterns of things. i can apologize sincerely and say i will work on them, which i do, but working won't completely 180 something that i am. it takes time. and same for him. he wishes those feelings were there again, he wants them back but the harder he tries the more they push away. again, we can't force things to happen in an instant. (let's also mention that ever since these problems came to the surface, he felt like the relationship felt more like a job now instead of relaxing)

so in a safe way, we are saving another from a harder hardship if we stuck together and tried and tried. where he doesn't fully know where to begin. it is ok.

so i gave you a bit of taste of my current status, i could go on for hours but it won't mean anything in the end. it could be a funk he is in and just fears stuff, it fuels him to pull away. it's possible but i can't dwell on those thoughts. i know i deserve love, and currently he cannot fulfill that. no matter how much i also wish he could feel again. only time could tell.

but coming back around, because now i wrote SO much lmao -- i agree. it is very important to love yourself. know what you want and be surrounded by things you enjoy. even if it's not as "enjoyable" at first, it can still be things you like. for example, me and giffing or writing. i enjoy them, but i've been so preoccupied and down on myself that those feel like tasks to me. (reflecting to the above statement of how our relationship begun feeling like a job) i know i enjoy those things but they don't satisfy me much currently. and this is probably the type of feeling he feels. and it's okay. i do know, deep down, i love those things but sometimes my feelings toward it fluctuate.

i will make sure to take my days, appreciate who i have and what i have, and know there is still a future ahead for me. i know focusing on myself is better for myself, and i don't need anyone to fill that besides myself. i truly appreciate you reaching out and giving me such kind, thoughtful words. and i am so sorry for going on a tangent and typing so much. i made this very "me" based and i am very sorry. i do know one day i'll find another excitement and fuels me, maybe it will be bts again haha. but -- wrapping this up -- i thank you so much for being so kind and soft with me. you are amazing, and i hope you know that! please enjoy yourself and the things in your life! it was great to hear from you <3

[lucidloving]

Franz Kafka, Letters to Milena // Alain de Botton, Essays in Love // Eden Robinson, "Writing Prompts for the Broken-Hearted" // Chloe Liese, Always Only You // Anne Carson and Euripides, An Oresteia // Two—Sleeping At Last // Studio Bones, SK8 the Infinity // Trista Mateer, "is it okay to say this?" // @moodylilac // D. H. Lawrence, "The Rainbow"

[rlaehrwk21]

they are canceling me for the way i deal with grief. also, for the infinite number of destroyed universes