Books, Books, And More Books!

dean prone boning sam with his huge bicep wrapped around his neck. his entire weight is resting on sam’s body, and his erection is driving into that tight hole with his pelvis rhythmically slapping against sam’s plush ass.

and it’s just too good on sam’s end, the constant thrusts of dean’s cock jabbing at his prostate and him being suffocated by dean’s muscular arm has his brain turning into mush and his own cock leaking on the mattress. there is not a single coherent word that is slipping past his mouth besides the little mewls and high-pitched moans.

sam can’t squirm away either; with the very little strength that he has, he takes every deep stroke dean is giving him. and he doesn’t realize that he’s starting to drool on his bicep till dean lifts his head with his other hand, where he sees a string of saliva connected from his mouth to dean’s arm. the room may have spun on a tilted axis, but his brother was the only pull sam needed. dropping his chin into the meat of dean’s bicep, sam clamped down. and dean just stares down at the messy, slobber-soaked display, chuckling as he tightens his hold. it wasn't a malicious bite, but a dull gnawing.

It started with someone listing "places with uncanny energy," like gas stations on a road trip, empty movie theaters, etc.

Then someone reblogged it and said those are called "liminal spaces," defining liminal as in-between, neither one thing nor another.

Tomorrow (July 4th, 2026) is the 10 year anniversary of the-crepes-of-wrath's comment, which:

Predates the 2020 spike in interest by four years

Predates the original backrooms post, and the the creation of r/liminalspaces by three years

Predates the earliest mention that KnowYourMeme attributes to Twitter by two years

I'm pretty sure this is the moment the term "liminal spaces" was attached to this sort of imagery, and it's TEN YEARS OLD TOMORROW!

I wasn’t enough

I set him off again

Was it my fault?

Slit my wrists. I can do it

Perhaps if I hit myself in the stomach

I can deaden the pain twisting at my guts

Kill myself

…

Agnes smiled sweetly and kissed him on the cheek. “We’ve only had one date. Three is a mystical number, it has nice roundness, and a special amount of literary significance,” he grinned. Icarus couldn’t help smiling back. “After three dates, I’ll come live with you,” Agnes promised, kissing Icarus on the cheek again. “Can’t have people thinking I’m a libertine, that label should stay yours,” he added. “Hey!” Icarus protested. Agnes shut him up with another kiss.

Aggy smirked. “Careful, Icarus,” He breathed.

Icarus leaned in. “Oh, believe me... if you were the sun, I’d gladly burn up.”

“Down, boy.”

“I’m not a pet.”