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#choking tw
kenobihater · 11 days
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reblog for a bigger sample size of former angry, creative, and/or highly dramatic children
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bloodycowboyclub · 28 days
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FULL GEAR (11.18.23) // AEW DYNAMITE (02.28.24)
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grayskiesandink · 2 months
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It seems the Dream has had a few peaceful interactions with Nightmare. Is there a truce in place?
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(sorry if the change in formatting is jarring at all- this was originally drawn on paper just a day into concussion recovery. hope you still enjoy :))
Ink by @/comyet
Dream by @/jokublog
Nightmare by @/jokublog
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chrisbangs · 7 months
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Bang Chan Social Path (feat. LiSA) M/V
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tachiguin · 5 months
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there's something intrinsically fucked up about how Tanizaki's murder weapon of choice is his bare hands. he himself is the weapon, not a gun or a knife. its personal. it's also not instantaneous, there's no "oopsie! I just killed a man" because he has to hold on with the intent to kill for longer than a few minutes.
Tanizaki would be terrifying if he had a gun, but it's already blood-curdling that he'd be willing to choke someone to death in the absence of one.
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candycassowary · 5 months
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YOU VILE EXCUSE FOR A MAN . STAY DOWN, ARTHUR, OR ILL CHOKE THE LIFE OUT OF YOU
New to posting on tumblr so Im gonna play it reeallllyy safe with the warning tags
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anlian-aishang · 4 months
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SNK Men - Sex Headcanons [mini version]
Eren: motorboating, choking, wrist-grabbing, "who do you belong to?"
Armin: sucking fingers, edging, cumming too soon "c'can't - I think, I think I - c'cum, gonna cum!"
Jean: ear licking, grinds into the mattress when giving head "that's my pretty girl."
Levi: spanking, overstimulation, degradation "oh? you want another? shameless thing."
Erwin: praise, massage, shibari "you like that? good girl..."
Miche: double penetration, tantra, marathon sex "love the way you take me in, baby."
Reiner: crying, fingering, body worship "so good to me."
Zeke: hair-pulling, dumbification, orgasm denial "tell me how much you want it. go ahead. beg."
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mintmatcha · 7 months
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okay yes!! getting railed!! happy friday. can we pls factor in choking? that aizawa piece u wrote still haunts my brain it unlocked smth in me. i can see it for zeke too im in shambles
hes so so bad at talking during sex, so you have to coax it out of him, nails running over his forearm as his grip tightens around your throat.
"Make the face," he mumbles, rolling his hips into your with a slow, smooth pace, "Make that pretty face for me."
His grip pushed up, slotting under your jaw. The pressure down is light enough that you can still easily breathe, but the change in position has your head swimming. aizawa's whole body twitches suddenly and his cock kicks hard inside you, throbbing thick.
"That's it-" he breathes as he dips in low. Open mouthed kisses get messily pressed into your lips and cheeks, too hurried to find their true mark. The rut between you has changed, still deliberate but now hard, balls slapping against your ass with every stroke.
"Oh, that's how I know you're feeling good, you make that face-"
The crook of his thumb and pointer finger catch your chin and tilt it up to face him. The edges of your vision are delightfully blurred, soft and sweet in the same way your body tingles and head swims, and you can barely focus on how his own face changes, eyes heavily lidded with lust.
"I love it," His forehead presses against yours, "Oh, your pupils get so big, make that - make that fucking face-"
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collabwithmyself · 1 month
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⚠️ cheating, pregnancy, child abuse, smoking, arophobia, choking, murder, fire
Girl that you can't help but feel bad for even though she fucking got herself into this mess and refuses to take responsibility for her actions or reflect on her worldviews
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lizzieonka · 4 months
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I admit Kaiser suddenly choking himself does seem absurd in a football shounen manga, but it’s not like there hasn’t been signs of it. In the Ubers match, he already kept touching his neck… It’s kind of triggering to see how the fandom’s knee-jerk reaction to a character self-harming is to make fun of it and dismiss it as simply being ridiculous.
“It’s not that deep,” they say. Well, we haven’t seen Kaiser’s side of the story yet, so who knows if it’s actually not that deep. And even if it weren’t, to self-harm for such a “ridiculous” thing should still warrant concern. Because if he can harm himself for something small, he might just straight out kill himself for something big.
Harming oneself for “ridiculous” things is actually more common than you think. People tend to think that depression is only allowed for big problems, but the reality is that a lot of depressed people find their problems to be small and insignificant and not worth agonizing over. And knowing this, they feel all the more guilty for being weak and useless and then beat themselves up even more.
I’m no psychologist, so I dare not diagnose what the hell Kaiser is going through. But as someone who once went too close to the edge of a cliff, I can’t help but sympathize with him.
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yea okay.
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onlyhereforangst · 1 year
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no chance.
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devilatelier · 2 months
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shakiNG HIM VIOLENTLY WHY CANT YOU BE NORMAL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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ashintheairlikesnow · 6 months
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Fire Down Below
Sigh Not So | Secrets Hid Away | Shed Tears Aplenty | Fire Down Below |
CW: Dehumanizing language, prolonged repeated choking, nonhuman whumpee, angry whumper, restrained, hanged (no death), captivity
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“How many fingers am I holding up?” Gilly leaned forward, the wooden chair he sat on creaking alarmingly under the shift in weight, rocking slightly forward onto the one leg that was shorter than the other three for no discernable or understandable reason.
It’d been a free chair, though, so… there was that. 
He held up one hand, thumb curled over a bent forefinger, middle, ring, and pinkie fingers straight up in the air. 
The siren stared back at him, only its eyes, nose, and wet curls above the washtub’s water line. He could just barely see the strap of the gag curving around the back of its head, the barest hint of the wood visible through the increasingly dirtied water. It made no movement, no sound. 
Honestly, if he hadn’t known what it was, he might have felt some sense of guilt or a prickling at his conscience. It looked so human. As if he’d found a beautiful youth and abducted him for nefarious purposes, like in the scandalous penny awfuls he sometimes bought during times in port and read on lonely nights on the ship. He might imagine himself the villain of such a tale, if the creature had been a person.
“How many?” He repeated.
The thing did not respond. It only blinked, once. 
Gilly sighed. “Must you make this as difficult as possible, thing?”
No answer. But he could see the curve of its plush top lip over the bit between its teeth, the way it wanted to sneer and snarl at him, and he would not bear that disrespect.
“Fine. Have it your way.” Gilly wrapped the rope around his hand again and again that led up to the ceiling where his rough-hewn pulley-system had been rigged, leading back down to the rough, coarse rope knotted tight around the stupid creature’s throat. 
This it understood, and only this. It did not learn without violence. Not that Gilly had tried too many other options.
As soon as he pulled hard enough to tighten the loop a fraction around its neck, the creature shot further up to give itself slack, but Gilly only followed its movements with his own, pulling with one hand and then another to ensure that once it stood it could not hide itself again.
It was dripping, well-formed body naked as a newborn babe, and Gilly once again mourned that he had had the piss-poor luck to catch a male one and not a female. The monster croaked around its gag, in a cracking voice, “Th-eeee.”
“Good,” Gilly said, voice short and sharp. 
He let the rope go slack again.
The creature dropped right back down as far as he would let it go, until it was only bared to him from the ribcage up. It hid itself, always, whenever it could. As if it felt his eyes, as if it cared a single bit about modesty. Sirens were simply animals mimicking a human shape, everyone knew that. The intelligence he saw in those dark eyes was a false one, a trick. Only madmen thought sirens were thinking beings, madmen who sailed off to the islands the sirens were known to stay on, wanting to communicate or connect with their so-called ‘communities’.
Those madmen never returned, or the ones who did claimed to have found nothing at all, simply bare rock and empty bushes.
“Again,” Gilly said, and held up all the fingers on one hand this time. He kept his other hand tight around the rope, in a subtle, wordless threat.
The creature swallowed - with difficulty, the noose was still too tight for comfort even as the rope slackened - and managed, “F-eye-fff.”
“Close enough,” Gilly muttered, but he was secretly pleased. The longer it was trapped in the washtub, a mere speck of water compared to the vast oceans it had known before, the more it cooperated, the more it gave in to Gilly’s demands. 
Eventually, it would need to understand him well enough to do his bidding, but until then… until then, they had to move slowly. He couldn’t do anything anyway until the magic had been laid to make the creature more fully his to command.
Outside, there was a creaky, high-pitched voice, the old woman calling in baby-speak to her infernal little dog with its yapping ankle-bites and ridiculous smushed-in face. The siren’s eyes flickered to the window, its head turning with a simple, open curiosity and wonder.
It was a deeply human expression, and Gilly felt a thrill of fury and something he refused to feel as guilt for what he’d done in bringing it here. So he yanked so hard on the rope the siren choked.
He couldn’t stop himself from smiling at its aborted, hoarse cry of pain. Its attention certainly left the window and the sounds outside, didn’t it? And the cries of pain it made were nearly as beautiful as its wicked, tempting songs at sea.
His smile widened as he pulled, stalwart and resolute, with one hand and then another. First its navel was bared to the air, then the mimickry of a man between its legs, those long muscled thighs, water running in rivers down shapely calves and finally to its feet. Gilly’s arms shook despite the years of work on ships he’d done to build his strength, but he kept pulling, and the creature kept rising.
Its cries became shorter, whistling and airless, and then turned to nothing more than gasps. The rope was tight just under its jaw, one strong jerk from broken, like a convict hung on the gallows before a crowd. 
But Gilly was the only audience to the show.
The siren’s arms jerked, hands twisting its wrists still bound behind its back. They were already rubbed raw to bleeding and yet still it kept struggling, legs moving uselessly, fighting to breathe when its throat was nearly closed entirely.  
“Don’t worry about her,” Gilly said, in a tone of utmost genial friendliness. “She can’t hear you, and she doesn’t care about you anyway. None of them do, they just don’t care. Even if she did know what I’ve got here, what could she really do, hm? Make me leave my home here, to be sure, but what else? What would happen to you?”
The siren’s face was going dark, blood rushing into its cheeks as Gilly stood and braced his feet shoulder width apart for a better, stronger grip. He didn’t need to do this - he should stop, he would never have treated any dog, cat, or horse with such cruelty - but somehow he couldn’t.
He couldn’t stop watching its eyes go wide and frightened, then hazy as the world began to darken for it. As it stared into the death that he could give it, so easily, just by staying put like this, just by letting it dangle until there was nothing left in it but its pretty, pointless skin.
Gilly felt nearly as breathless himself, although with excitement, not with fear. He had never had power of any creature, not this sort of power. Not the power to simply take a life with no rhyme or reason, only his own desires. 
He let go, abruptly, and the rope slid hot through his hands as the creature crashed back into the washing-tub, dirty water splashing up over the sides from the violence of its landing. 
Its legs crumpled and it disappeared entirely at first, before it pushed itself back up, sucking in gulps of air and coughing, over and over in a vicious cycle. His ribcage swelled and pulled so tight the bones were visible, again and again. Its face was still red, its neck was dark as sin itself with blood running down where the rope had rubbed right through its skin. 
When Gilly moved closer, the creature flinched backwards until it smacked into the other side of the washing-tub, hunched over itself protectively, looking up at him with its dark curls over its eyes. 
It was finally truly terrified of him, after days of this.
Exactly how it should be.
He pointed to the washing-tub, the dirtied water inside it. “The water is dirty,” He said, over-emphasizing each word as if he spoke to an idiot child or a very dumb puppy. “It needs to be cleaned.” 
It swallowed, wincing at the pain even such a simple involuntary motion caused. There was no sign it understood, beyond the way its eyes flickered to one side, where he had forced it to stand in the past in the corner while he emptied the tub out and refilled it clean. 
“Yes,” Gilly said, pointing now into the same corner. “Go there.” When it didn’t immediately move, he snapped, “Now!”
The siren hurriedly half-fell over the side of the tub, landing without dignity with a thump on its side, making Gilly laugh at the sight of it wiggling to get back on its feet with its hands still tied behind its back. It skittered away from him, more bug than humanoid thing, until it was in the shadowy corner where he had pointed it to. 
“Good. Now stay there.”
He took the rope, changing it so it hung from a different hook, pulling it tight enough that the siren was forced to dance on its tiptoes to keep breathing, and tied it off. Now it couldn’t move. Stupid monster couldn’t even think well enough around its fight for air to try anything.
Which was good, because changing the water was a chore he did not enjoy, and his mood was already dark today. He didn’t need it to get any worse. He’d put way too much time and effort into training the creature to accidentally kill it or something if it upset him too much.
“I know you don’t like that,” He said, almost conversationally, as he moved to open the window. “And if you want to make it stop…”
Its voice was barely a hiss as it echoed, “May-... t-ah-p,” unable to pronounce the sss or k sound around the bit gag.
“Right. Well, you’ll have to start learning faster and start listening to me, won’t you? I wouldn’t have to do any of this if you would just understand me and obey the first time, instead of making it a fight.”
It blinked again.
Gilly had to fight the resurgence of his fury at its simple refusal to listen and learn, reminding himself that he had work to do, and he couldn’t have a nap until he had finished cleaning out its water.
There was a slight downhill slope outside, and so he simply took a bucket and began to bail the washing-tub out, tossing each bucket of dirty water outside to let it run down into the widow’s garden below. The bits of fish parts would help the plants to grow, he supposed. Although in this hot climate, it didn’t help the place smell any better. Not that you couldn’t smell the manure from the animals that lived in the barn, anyway…
He lost himself in the work, as always, simply drifted into a place of contentment even as sweat beaded up on his skin and trickled down his neck and his back. Sometimes, he paused just to watch the siren where it stood, making hoarse little guttural noises, moving from one set of toes to the other, tears trickling from the corners of its eyes down over its beautifully wrought cheekbones, its jawline, and to the floor below. 
“I suppose you need a name,” He said, thoughtfully, once he had emptied the tub, scrubbed it out, and then worked to dry it with a towel. In a moment he’d have to head down to the water pump to start the refilling process, but he allowed himself a break to wipe away his sweat and push up his glasses, watching the suffering siren. It watched him back, even though the rope kept its chin tipped up trying to escape the constriction. It whined, like a whipped dog, and Gilly shook his head. 
It was even trying to mimic other animals, now, to get him to be kinder.
“I was thinking… the people here before the colony was founded, they had a dance called areyto. I think that’s what I’ll call you… Areyto, because once you’re strung up like this, you dance.”
He laughed.
“We’ll work on teaching you your name tomorrow, I think.”
He headed out to start working on bringing in fresh water. It took nearly as long as cleaning the damn thing out had taken, and each time he left and came back the siren’s movements were slower, more exhausted, the fight to breathe taking more and more out of it. Blood began to dry where the ropes had rubbed, and so did its tears. 
By the time the water was clean, it had to move on its knees, hunched over, inch by tired inch until it made it to the metal sides of the tub. Gilly kept the rope in hand, ready to punish, but it had no fight left, not now. He watched those powerful leg muscles shake as it pushed itself clumsily to its feet, and then simply allowed itself to fall over the side and into the water.
It did not resurface.
Gilly tied the rope back off in its usual place, cleaned the splashed-out water with the still-damp towel, and walked out whistling cheerfully, closing the door and locking it behind him.
They were definitely making progress.
Once Atabei came from the northern colonies, her magic would make sure he didn’t have to worry about the monster trying to hurt him, and he could finally start laying his plans out for a gilded, influential future.
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Taglist: @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @theelvishcowgirl @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @bloodinkandashes @squishablesunbeam
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Note: Although I am not planning any specific @whumptober this year, this piece ended up covering the first three prompts!
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bastardpacs · 1 year
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             - The Hateful Eight (2015)
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anlian-aishang · 8 months
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[sub!levi x reader, smut, restraints, choking // 700 words]
Levi whines so weakly - it puts his title of humanity's strongest to shame.
Levi moans so miserably - neighbors temporarily mistake which one of you is making all that noise.
Levi curses so consistently - his day-to-day language is a lullaby in contrast.
Levi screams so sharply - you question if this sex is more pain than pleasure.
Even as his spouse of so many years, you were shocked at the sight - the sound - of him tonight. Your heart was overwhelmed by the adrenaline rush of witnessing Levi the way he was now: compassionate concern with his strained outbursts, sadistic annoyance at his bitchy mewls, a surging confidence knowing that your sex could bring him to this end. With each pitch and acceleration in his voice, Levi forced a contradictory cocktail of arousal and aggravation down your throat - culminating in its tightening. An internal struggle between a-are you okay and shut up slut - you know you love it rendered you ultimately speechless, the perfect opposite to him.
"Fuck... F-huh-ck me!!" Slender fingers curled around your satin ropes and threatened to rip your ties, but this was not your first time working with bondage.
It was the first time, though, that you cupped your hand around his throat. Watching the veins rise in his neck, you longed to feel their movements under you. Seeing shadows of his tendons make love with moonlight, you longed to project their scene onto your skin. Adam's apple bobbed, pulse fast against your palm - Levi's life in your hands - there was no greater power trip.
At least, you believed that for a few seconds until his voice rose again, "Oh god, oh shit!" Levi writhed in sweat-soaked sheets. Legs stretched. Muscles flexed. Bruises began to bud where your fingertips pressed, but he did not seem to mind. In fact, given the buck of his hips and curve of his cock, he appeared to ascend in your grasp.
His incoherence played evidence to a sky-high headspace. "C'Cum... want to... I can't...!"
Your brows narrowed in total focus, all senses honed in trying to read him: feeling his heat radiate into you, listening to each of his sighs and syllables, seeing his struggle. Come on. Spit it out, Levi. What do you want, baby?
And despite how noisy he had been all night, it was his eye contact that communicated most in the end. Steel irises endeavored to peek past his eyelids squeezed shut. In them, an ounce of calm in meeting your gaze, glazed over by the climax of pre-orgasmic strife. Trembling lips and vulnerability's look worked together to convey, Please - Please let me cum!
It was admittedly inadvertent then - how your motions quickly morphed into the ones that would get him there. Your generosity - merciful or accidental - beckoned immediate thanks from the man below you. A white-knuckle grip of your curves, crescent fingernails dug into them. As his eyes rolled back, he likewise released his reins: succumbing into pleasure - screaming with the waves of it.
He never did arrive at an adjective, but your ego swelled at the thought: you were beyond words.
"Oh fuck! Shit... Shit!" Levi's hips begin to spasm, nearly throwing you off of him. In that way, the orgasm itself continued to test him, as breaking from your contact was the last thing he wanted. Fists clenched in ironed bedding, leaving sinful folds, as he attempted to subdue his spasms. Teeth grit, swears snuck through, "F'Fuck... Feels so - you feel so - !!"
As his breaths slowed to standard, as his tone came back to earth, and as his skin dimmed from bright red to pink blush to warm white, the Levi Ackerman that everyone knows reinhabited the figure beneath you - so recently fucked out beyond words, now too humiliated for them. Atoning for his shameless other side, he gazed up to you - pleading once again. This time, not for his release, but for your restraint. In response, your reassurance rained down with a silent smile: his secrets were safe with you.
// masterlist //
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