Repeatedly shoving a boy’s head into a bucket of horse piss till he calls himself a girl. Doing it for a couple more months till he looks like one as well.

knife-hand wavering glare of unspoken contempt; don’t have it in you

"It will be like this forever" is a lovely little fantasy to drip into your head, you know? Molten wax sinking into your thoughts, freezing them as it cools, an eternity of perfect-mindless-plaything, taken and hypnotized and conditioned so nothing else matters ... But there's always an afterwards.

need someone to remind me the edge of death is supposed to be scary 🥰

(fortnight-old bitemark faded; if only longing healed so readily)

girl who is begging for sex with the most desperate, eager, sultry expression and voice you've ever heard but she has 'I do NOT consent. please. she did something to me' hurriedly scrawled on her t-shirt with the marker poking out of her pocket

guilt-tripping myself over the fact all my friends' suicide fantasies cover aspects like the distribution of their possessions and how to time it so the lease isn't a problem and all of mine are just about how to maximize success and minimize pain

the great part about spontaneous nosebleeds is that they take the visual of a rough night from 'slumped in a chair and crying in a drink' to 'slumped in a chair and crying in a drink while covered in blood'

Blood pools in the extremities; the heart no longer needs it. Another—a better—fluid fills its chambers and takes away its pains. It has been an hour since its last beat; it will be days before its next.

It's going to kill you someday. There's no denying that, not now; it's just a question of how many good years you'll get before the end. "Get out," they say. "Get out—" But what else is there?

i very much want right now to pin a girl to the floor and explain, as i get started, that she doesn't get to complain because she's the one who made me feel this way, she's the one who put all these evil thoughts in my head, that everything that's about to happen is her fault

I love when you pretend that I'm a real person! It's such a fun game! But ... Sometimes I think that you've forgotten that it's just a game. That you don't remember what's under the mask. That you think that I'm *someone*. And that's not fun. But at least there's an easy solution 🤭

the way the blood coats stainless steel is one of the most beautiful things i know

normal people don't appreciate the work we freaks put into making them feel comfortable a couple guys at my work are joking about killing each other with shotguns and i'm showing so much restraint by not making a single sexual comment about it

giving up on screaming, giving up on struggling, and just whimperingly begging the person raping you to stop calling you by your deadname

i know this is more of an epitaph thing but imagine hearing "as you are, i was; as i am, you shall be" out of the mouth of someone who just gave you life-altering trauma

don't be there. if you are there, don't be seen. if you are seen, don't be penetrated. if you're penetrated, try not to moan, weird.

“cnc top” is so much less snappy than—[THIS USER HAS BEEN YANKED BY THE SHEPHERDS CROOK]

tattooing the mute microphone icon on a girl's neck and shoving a thumb into it whenever the thing starts talking out of turn

love reading a 12 year old girl in 1911 write a mech pilot tweet in her diary abt the experience of driving an automobile

what if a girl was wearing spurs while i fucked her and hit me with them to get me to go harder. just a thought.

i think for a doll it would be more embarrassing than painful to get pulled on a little too hard or otherwise slip out of your joint and your strings are showing for a moment, that's pretty much real doll nudity if you think abt it

I kept all my vials.

dom who gets annoyed because you asked for more dirty talk during sex, so she hands you a chatgpt session on her phone when the fucking starts and tells you to get your needs met there

I could say "I'm just writing about dolls, don't worry. It's not really real" or I could don the dripping mask of obscure mysticism and hope to be misunderstood, but there is some small value to be found in clarity. Dear reader, believe me: scalpels are beautiful.

I wish I had compression artifacts and a bit of chromatic aberration.

When navigating the labyrinth, do not remember that nothing which sparkles is false, and that nothing true ever fails to shine.

yea

twitches as it moves down the hallway, leaving wispy clouds of spores in the air and unpleasant effluvia on the surfaces in its wake, singing to itself: "don't you wish your girlfriend was rot like me~"

serial killer who makes you clean your blood splatter from her boots before she finishes you off

the only person at your favorite independent cafe that can work the espresso machine stops showing up to work one day and weeks later you see her at a starbucks with even more tired eyes and an absolutely impeccable customer service voice & smile

"it's okay," the combat doll tells you as she heaves the slab of concrete across the room, freeing you from the rubble. "this has already happened." you scream, but you can still stand. your leg is scraped but not broken. and you'll take any out you can get.

why the camera? it's not so i can watch it later - my memories are enough. it's for your family to see. i want them to know just how sick in the head you really were. i want their mourning of you to be forever tainted by the knowledge that you *wanted* this.

tbh it's sort of fucked up when someone doesn't know exactly where and how they'd kill themself. like, wow, look at Ms. Emotionally Healthy over here. do you want a prize. do you want to go out into the marsh where no one will hear your screams for help and the mosquitoes will feast on your blood

this is not actually true. I call myself a "girl" more often than I call myself a "woman" because "adulthood" is a scam designed to crush the human spirit into the shape of a sad, empty machine

once i find time to learn makeup i'm going to be all "urgh okay fine i enjoy being pretty" aren't i

(the enemy wishes to make an example of you. instead, be a precedent) ^-^

Civilian poser wearing a infantry-cut surplus leather overcoat, a gold plated muzzle with beads inexpertly threaded onto some of its too-thin wires, and a hat that the enemy used two wars ago. Getting beaten up by ex-pilots at a punk show.

do you understand why? why being a broken knight, a witch with the pages of her spellbook torn from her mind, an aristocrat in servants wear, is so much more humiliating? to be a doll and to serve as such is correct. dignified, almost. it is what it is supposed to do and so it prides itself in it.

talking to someone. slowly realizing that the shared fetish is only shared in name only. the danger when you realize what sorts of things they're thinking about doing to you. the sorts of things you implicitly said you wanted them to do to you

"You really trust me, don't you?" "Y-yes." "Hah. What a stupid mistake."