I have long grappled with a belief of mine that is uncomfortable, even to me. Try as I might, I find myself unable to disprove it, my hands tied in a logical knot of my own design. That being that sadists have a divine right to violate as they do. It disturbs me deeply but I accept it nonetheless.

Today I can present to you all my first collab since forever. The lovely @reignboughs.bsky.social worked together with me to bring this story to live <3 youtu.be/ljFdDZrk3BM?...

Innocxnce - Unceasing Storm (ft. Reign)

YouTube video by Lilith Olivia, The Angelic Hound

youtu.be

Innocxnce@innocxnce.bsky.social · 3mo ago

"Iris, I'm worried about you. Can you let me in now?" Chloe rapped a rhythm with her knuckles against the bedroom door of her flatmate. She had seen neither hide nor hair of Iris for what must have been a week. "Go away, Chloe." A voice, barely above a whisper, spoke beyond the flimsy plywood door.

RAPTURE. The state that exists beyond the insurmountable wall of pain. When it all fades away into the void, and leaves divinity in its place. When you've been beaten bloody what purpose does further violence serve? Laugh, disciple. In seeking to destroy you, they have taught you true freedom.

What a cruel fate it is that the most beautiful kind and loving people I know are devoured from within by the whispers of their own minds. I wish I could but lend my strength; share some of my divine willpower, show them what the world sees, free of their rotted perceptions. But this is real life.

Beauty standards are inherently unattainable. They are the platonic ideal of that which they seek to embody — the human form, devoid of humanity. To those who seek to impose such ideals onto the world, I say this; you worship false idols. Look beyond the shadows on the cave-wall. They are illusory.

@innocxnce.bsky.social & @atriathewitch.bsky.social working together to weave a story post by post And the subject utilizes one of my favorite psych.an. tools - the objet petit a in the context of beauty; that's the context I like to use when explaining how it works youtu.be/tEU6zP49kEY?...

Innocxnce & Atria the Witch - Beauty Standards

YouTube video by Lilith Olivia, The Angelic Hound

youtu.be

Innocxnce@innocxnce.bsky.social · 2mo ago

Your gaze bores holes through the sculpture in the mirror. Much as an artist can look upon beauty and see only flaws, you scan your reflection for any imperfections. There must be something, you reason. But no — your eyelashes are finely curled, your brows plucked. Not a hair is out of place.

I cannot describe what an honour this is. Words fail me — certainly, a rare occurrence. Lilith does a fantastic job bringing Berry to life.

Lilith Olivia, The Angelic Hound@liliththefirst.bsky.social · 2w ago

youtu.be/S8U5kvSogwo A little surprise :> Combat Dolls! I think we didn't cover them before? But they're important!

A delightful tale of the encircling dance between prey and predator. A sweet burst of toxicity in under one thousand words. I adore it.

Vassal Princess Vickbee 🏳️‍⚧️🐝@sluttybee.crypticvic.ca · 3w ago

I had impure thoughts about age gaps... archiveofourown.org/works/88647151

I love nightmarishly abusive queer relationships…

You can cave that faggot's head in. Who's going to stop you? Crunch, crunch, crunch. Blood splatters outwards from the site of the impact, beautiful artwork, wholly unique. A cause to kill and die for.

Just as killing is a gender role, so too is victimhood. As gender it is expressed in thought and motion, even subconsciously. For those with the proficiency to read the signs, those born under the sign of suffering are clear. A baggy hoodie offers no respite. Gender can be stifled, never killed.

Mira, Violation Incarnate@mechsplotunes.bsky.social · 4w ago

Oh, there we go. This feels like the thesis statement of the entire piece, tbh. I've had entire semester-long courses on gender in conflict that were less poignant than this.

"I have blood on my hands.", the woman before me explains. A slight smile forms on her beautiful lips as she watches the red liquid dripping from her fingers stain every single memory of us. She delights in seeing me watch every threat I had played off as baseless become actionable. Become real.

Hand in hand sit sister and sister. Both hurt, both made monument to the cruelty of man. Their marks are their most prominent features. Their scars form gorgeous patterns as their fingers interlock, their bodies entwine to a desperate hug. Anything to stave off the cold that was left behind in them.

Control. It has appealed, always. There's safety in it, surety in knowing that nothing happens that is not Your design. When You are the centre of the universe, that is when You can truly relax. Not in a kinky way, of course. Never in a kinky way. This is wholly unrelated. You're not like them.

Bratty heir to a multi-billion dollar robotics conglomerate, never seen without his four gun-toting bodyguards. Tall, leggy, beautiful combat dolls all identical with their masks. It took his parents a lot of tries to get a boy, but they found a good use for the failed attempts.

The sun performs a year-long dance through the heavens. From season to season, it oscillates, growing ever higher, before beginning a gradual descent. For those scant hours when it is at its apex, its radiance is beyond parallel. To challenge a force of nature is little more than elaborate suicide.

"Red. Red. I'm sorry. I can't do this." Tommi blurted out, reflexively drawing her arms into herself and rocking back and forth. Maria's expression darkened. Damn. Just when it was getting good. She took a deep breath, only now realising how tightly she had been gripping the handle of her knife.

taking a girl I love ❤️❤️ and putting distance between ❤️❤️ subtly at first ❤️ ❤️ affection becomes infrequent ❤️ ❤️ watching as concern grows ❤️ ❤️ but she doesn’t leave ❤️ ❤️ no matter how much I push ❤️ ❤️ even when she no longer feels love ❤️

FLOWERBLOOM CH. 8 - NEW TRICKS A soldier is a very bad dog. A farm girl gets another taste of power.

Power is water. It fills any space provided to it. The boundaries that once held fast become gradually eroded; they soften with each gentle insistence, ceding further ground to the deluge. It swells and surges, never content, only emboldened by its new container. What fool tells the ocean "no"?

pretty-boys whose violence-surviving beauty is nothing but furthered into a deftly-crafted damaged-purity, a fallen-from-grace spectacle, to be then, finally, held by the warm eyes of its maker, along with the latter's quiet embrace and tenderance, united in a complicit respite;

pretty-boys are meant to be cut and sliced, their soft parts scraped and extremities singed, their organs culled and eaten—their entry wounds tongued and gauged by wider limbs; to have their malnourished waists grasped and pinned down, their thighs roughly kicked wide-open;

If you follow me, you likely know the struggle to find posts that really hit that specific mix of despair, tragedy, and loss. Lightning striking once? That happens. But twice? Vivian is clearly an exceptional writer, mastering this niche. Read this, and tell your loved ones what they mean to you.

Vivian Burning 🏳️‍⚧️/🐉/😇🪽@vivianburning.bsky.social · last mo.

(CWs hard gore, rape, body/mind destruction) It's so, so hard to trust a dom. You've lived for nearly five years on broken promises and fleeting relationships. Shuffled from bed to cage, unicorn to play partner, gofundme to close an LDR and another to for the next. Barely keeping off the street

This is one of my favourite pieces of microfiction that I've ever had the pleasure of reading. Delightful and harrowing in equal measure.

Vivian Burning 🏳️‍⚧️/🐉/😇🪽@vivianburning.bsky.social · last mo.

I miss her still, I think I always will. It’s something She can’t take from me. I think it’s the only thing I have left.

In any healthy relationship, it's important to communicate with "I" statements! Here, let me start: "I" feel hurt when you're on your phone during our date nights "I" feel unappreciated like when you vent about me to your friends "I" wish you would put more effort into your makeup

I tap the papers on my desk twice before picking them up to read. My sharp eyes flick the dossier, picking out the most important scraps of information. Her name is Daisy. She's 24 years old. She has a history of trying to run away. And her loving owners think it best that she gets put down.

Mira, Violation Incarnate@mechsplotunes.bsky.social · last mo.

yea sure I love a good bandwagon, quote this with your impression of a @mechsplotunes.bsky.social post

I have spoken no end of praise for text as a medium. Yet it is only recently that I have pondered what it is that draws me so to text. It is whole. Everything one seeks to express is made present and accessible. Similes can hold subtle but distinct meanings, and words left unsaid convey yet more.

When a sculptor creates a masterpiece they start with a smooth block of stone. It is sacred, inviolate. They hit it with a hammer: an inherently destructive and violent action. It adds nothing. It can only take away. What is left is less than what came before by any metric. But isn't it beautiful?

the obedience and the power i have over your mind brings me joy, yes. but it does so much for me to know that I dont even need it. its all window dressing, a game we play. at the root of it all is the knowledge that I can and will just overpower you. the game doesnt matter when you can't breathe.