Your gateway to endless inspiration
nsfw, poll and slutposting under the cut.
i wonder what color they’d like…
i have dark red, light red, baby pink, black…
baby pink and black are practically just scraps of lace, they don’t cover much..
dark red has a little opening in the front, like a tit window, almost but for…yeah.
and the light red has this little heart chain that goes across the back..
i have this pretty black top, too! i just wonder what color they’d like… won’t you help me choose?
it’s my account and i can do what i want with it. TW.
the taste of copper in my own mouth is overwhelming.
what i wouldn’t give to live normally. live without the consistent craving of the intimacy and abuse cocktail.
i want to be hurt just as i want to be loved.
the difference is, i deserve to be hurt.
and it pains me, knowing that i could just as easily be thrown away. i’m nothing special. i know that. we can pretend that i am all we want, but i know.
i know that, if i were being auctioned off, no one would try. “next up, it’s captain grant curly! starting of at a hundred, anyone?….anyone?….”
i know. i know i’m damaged beyond repair, i know i’m worthless. everything is so heavy right now, and that’s quite alright. i was made to carry burdens. the weight of holding everyone’s secrets weigh me down, and as i fall behind, the growing ache in my chest throbs.
what i wouldn’t give to lay my head down in your lap, let your fingers run through my hair, and let the world go quiet. even then, i wouldn’t be worth a penny. but maybe, just maybe, i would bring you the barest hint of happiness.
i need to clean my room. i need to pack my bag. i need to do my laundry. i’ve been living here for almost two werks, and i barely packed enough clothes to last me three days.
what i really need to do is shut up. because no one gives a damn. i keep telling myself, “get it together, grant.” and then i continue messing things up. i need to be guided.
i need to eat. i can’t remember the last time i ate.
the sleeves of my hoodie are tear-stained. i’m shaking like a leaf. i’m a grown man, dammit. it has been 2 minutes. and yet…
nothing but a stupid, pathetic dog, who whines when they get kicked, then loyally wait at the door for the next.
good god, how terrible of a person must i be?
how twisted, how sick, how depraved and pathetic must i be to be chasing, begging, dare i say even lusting after someone who’s entire line of communication, who’s entire relationship, stems from something specifically platonic.
he’s right. as unfortunate as it may be, he’s right. i’m nothing, nothing if not a loyal mutt. i bite any other hand that dares feed me, save for my master. the kind of mutt who you pick off the street, so loyal that you could push it down the stairs and it would simply trot back up and sit in front of you, protective and possessive.
it’s almost amusing, this illusion of choice i had. you’ve always been a part of my life. we’ve been friends forever. it would be impossible, or near impossible, to have not taken you up on your offer.
where is the line drawn, between my source memories/relations and yours.
what i wouldn’t give for you to feel the same deep-rooted infatuation, the same fuzzy, cloudy feelings, the same soft, gentle warmth.
don’t you know that I’M the only one who can satisfy you in this way? the only one who could quench that deep, growing need to take control? the only one you let close, the only one you let lie in your bed at night?
i’m the only one.
won’t you love me in the most vile way possible? . . . won’t you hurt me in the most saccharine way possible?
my head feels like it’s been filled with cotton, and my vision is swimming in the most subtle way. i feel floaty and gentle and pliable and fragile. it’s quite an odd feeling.
i’m a sick, sick man, aren’t i.
sick for wanting the duality of life itself, sick for wanting you. sick for wanting you at your worst, the screaming and manipulation and threat. sick for wanting you at your best, even if your best is feral and violent and obsessive.
i will bow before your alter, for forever, if it means i get to be near you for forever.
i want him at the red crescent-moon-shaped indents that bubble up blood as i beg and plead and cry, and i want him at the soft, soothing, big brown eyes as we both gently whisper murmurings of forgiveness.
i am but a sick man.
he may be this..this manipulative, god-status-having figure. but i am nothing if not a willing devotee, offering up my heart, body, mind and soul.
a sorrowful source memory…? [tw]
i distinctly remember the aftermath of a particularly rough argument.
he accused me of never caring, of planning to leave. the jimmy i knew was quick to emotion, in every sense of the word: he was quick to fall in love as he was quick to anger. as this argument progressed, our voices were raised higher and higher. it got to the point where my own throat was sore, just from trying to be heard over his frantic yelling. once the end of the argument came about, we both took off to different rooms of the apartment we were sharing at the time. the apartment wasn’t anything too special, just somewhere we could crash when we weren’t doing shipments. he ended up in his (our shared) bedroom, and i ended up pacing the kitchen. about an hour later, he sulked out from the bedroom, and came to me in the kitchen. about 30 minutes into the wait, i decided that food could be a good peace offering, so i was cooking. nothing too extreme, just eggs, as we didn’t have much else in the apartment. i could hear him creep up behind me, wrapping his arms around my middle and laying his forehead on the back of my shoulder.
it was those tender moments that reminded me why i stuck around, why i adore/d him, why i was the sole devotee.