my story ANGELBRIDE is out now, as part of SLAKE HOUSE, a 250+ pg illustrated PDF w/ CYOA paths n hot pics by many talented illustrators ⛪️🦋
✦ religious ero-horror w/ art by @CoeyKuhn
✦ institutionalization, boys, torture, mutilation, ovipositors?
✦ multiple endings + many choices along the way
Cancer opens his lunchbox. There is a nice meal inside, separated by plastic compartments, packed by his foster mother like specialized tools or military ordinance. White bread crushing mayo and green tomato, pressed down by maternal fingers until white goo drips from the edges, and a side of chopped-up hot dogs with banana ketchup. It is one of those special holidays that won’t matter when the sun is obscured by flies and there is a reason for those flies. But for now, consumer electronics.
His scout uniform is a dark flower on the green picnic area, which has a wonderful view of the pink ocean. A path of desire has been worn up the hill.
He takes the durian from his backpack. He eats this fruit to train himself to be around the man, who sweats shamefully with an inner poison.
🪰 more 🪰They went up the big wheel and Cancer tried very hard not to throw up but the wheel went up so high and he didn’t know it stopped at the top so he thought it was broken, and then it lurched and groaned with the weight of itself shaking swinging wasn’t it should it be like that and he and he and it got all over his nice clean lacy white shirt, ruined…
A boy goes to a seaside fun park. He meets his teacher, his scouting instructor, who, gawky and fastidious, seems more suited to this kind of park than the other one.
🎡 more 🎡
✦ Serious Weakness personality quiz
for the first time ever, scientists have discovered a way to analyze your Serious Weakness personality…
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✦ cupbearer to the gods act IV
On that note, Krabat sent me a genuine Veau in the washing machine!!
together we will destroy pederasty through the power of merchandising! ✌️✨
This is part of 18ft Leash: Scout’s Honor but it stands alone too. picture by evan.
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When your parents adopted, you finally had someone to share your secrets with. Two boys whispering in the nooks of a big, sterile house that still seemed like no one lived there, transplanted whole from civilization to this diseased atoll and sealed up with air conditioning.
Cancer wasn’t some piece of snot you grew up with, already tired of you, desensitized to your specialness. He was a brother gift-wrapped and opened on xmas day. Eager as a puppy, so impressed by everything you showed him. He didn’t know how to use a microwave, and it made you feel superior, and you knew he wouldn’t make fun of anything you said because he didn’t know better. But it was the weak stomach that really brought you together.
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We must sacrifice with all our hearts.
Even if others do not know us.
We must fight to save the world.
— unknown man sitting in front of the church at Zitlala
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That blond boy is going to save the world. His birth was preordained. The breakers of hope and the eaters of love, slithering and wet and as long as your intestines are, long as they need to be—they don’t stand a chance. His secret club met after school and devised a plan. And he—the greatest scout of all, with so many badges, kind and intelligent, strong and quick, devoted to God and beloved of angels—put it into action. He did everything right. And he has by God he has the power of friendship.
That blond boy is tied up in a garbage bag.
Only Cancer remains.
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You smell him a mile away, wearing his stomach for lip gloss. In a shaft of atoll sun, merciless except where the trees cut it, bleeding shadows across those slender legs. A tight little backpack throws his back back, leather straps with steel snaps digging into the soft wet clam meat of his armpits.
His ribbon-bound neck sweats from gym class, and the strain of throwing up. Rape whistle sticks to his soaked white shirt, clinging to the nearly-translucent hollow of his sternum. His teeth peek out, pastel braces wrapping his overbite in colored bands of tight rubber. He sees you, and thick dark eyebrows dig into his skull.
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For over countless myriads of aeons
I have been cut, stabbed, burned,
And flayed alive innumerable times
But I have not awakened.
— Bodhisattvacaryāvatār
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🎀🍫 👁️ 🪱🪰200 degrees of boiling water distilled with a concentrate of magnesium sulfate and sodium bicarbonate, ordinator-programmed for exact temperature control, heated in an industrial-class boiler, blasts through a stainless steel metal filter into Riparian’s cup, spurting from the leather and mahogany and rose gold $4000 coffee maker, complete with burr grinder and steam wand.
The dark-haired man dips his nose into the darkness of the cup, and inhales. His heart beats faster, as if the caffeine was already in his bloodstream. His eyes dilate over the ceramic rim, stark and creased as if sleepless from the womb.
☕Rain sweeps cold and black from the sea, palm fronds slithering across the hotel parking lot. It’s the holidays and people sing in a church across the street.
The man is slim and dark-haired and wears a suit under a transparent rain jacket. The boy wears a black poncho covering most of his body, black wet hair plastered over his face so it looks like a ragged fringe of the hood.
“A room for me and my son.” He wraps his arm around the boy with a warm smile, clear insulation over glistening black.
🛎️ READ 🛎️