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plaguingpossum.bsky.social
Persephone Possum 🔞🇵🇸
@plaguingpossum.bsky.social
1.5K followers 410 following 1.8K posts
She/Fae/It • faeggot girlthing • horror/weird-fiction writer • furry psy-op • 🔞/18+
Writing: https://newgurlxeno.itch.io
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plaguingpossum.bsky.social
Matías Bergara’s Absolute Wonder Woman, if you’re looking for a wife…
Absolute Wonder Woman Absolute Wonder Woman Absolute Wonder Woman Absolute Wonder Woman
November 25, 2025 at 4:05 AM
plaguingpossum.bsky.social
Holy wasps lay their eggs in the eye of the sun. As it was always meant to be.

Fumata Nera Carousel
A fathomless trench sundered deep in the mud. The throat of the world slit from horizon to horizon. On their knees along the gash, uncountable men, women, and children, bound and blindfolded. Prayers in Uraq, Vindhi, Telmesh, in tongues forgotten and unknown; all tumble from terrified lips down the maw that was made of their world, a throat esurient for all song. Civilizations and centuries reduced to slurry: bile, bloody spittle down cracked lips. A mass grave suckling, cooing for its children to come home. A chorus of combat knives sever every song. Captives gurgle, choking on the only rivers left. In their stead, inquisitors bark like fevered dogs, whoop and screech and beat their breasts like chimpanzees. Iron boots lash against bent backs, crunch and cast twitching bodies down beyond depth, where history goes blind, and even the light of memory cannot reach. Shores curdle into the sea; spirit and flesh the only open border in all the empire. shhh, bold still Radiance arrives first, heralding the inevitable. The molten sunset of a charnel star-vaster than planets— eclipses the last daybreak. Then: Cacophony. Gears the size of cities shriek against each other. Oceans of black ichor surges through lead veins. And howling across the savaged Heavens: the dread-roar of a Leviathan-class Crematorinought. The Jaw of Saint Anthony descends upon the planet, coiling its incorruptible tongue around savage, unsalvageable continents. Mud bakes; bone cracks and spilt blood boils; the very atmosphere ignite. Ancestors wail in shadow, in smudge, caught in the undertow of smokestacks, and blow away; generations of cut tethers clutched in lifeless hands. Conquered and conqueror alike engulfed in the furnace of Rapture. Holy wasps lay their eggs in the eye of the sun. As it was always meant to be.
November 25, 2025 at 2:18 AM
plaguingpossum.bsky.social
I feel like we’re not talking about this enough
Selfies in my nice new red bra Selfies in my nice new red bra
November 24, 2025 at 5:20 AM
plaguingpossum.bsky.social
Fumata Nera Carousel
A fathomless trench sundered deep in the mud. The throat of the world slit from horizon to horizon. On their knees along the gash, uncountable men, women, and children, bound and blindfolded. Prayers in Uraq, Vindhi, Telmesh, in tongues forgotten and unheard; all tumble from terrified lips down the maw that was made of their world, a throat esurient for all song. Civilizations and centuries reduced to slurry: bile, bloody spittle down cracked lips. A mass grave suckling, cooing for its children to come home. A chorus of combat knives sever every song. Captives gurgle, choking on the only rivers left. In their stead, inquisitors bark like fevered dogs, whoop and screech and beat their breasts like chimpanzees. Iron boots lash against bent backs, crunch and cast twitching bodies down beyond depth, where history goes blind and even the light of memory cannot reach. Shores curdle into the sea; spirit and flesh the only open border in all the empire. shhh, bold still
November 23, 2025 at 10:57 PM
plaguingpossum.bsky.social
I’m very seriously considering getting this as a tramp stamp
Trigger warning screen from SH3, but “game” is altered to “girl”
November 23, 2025 at 3:15 AM
plaguingpossum.bsky.social
It’s from a game but I’m very seriously considering getting a slightly altered version of the trigger warning from Silent Hill 3 as a tramp stamp:
Trigger warning screen from SH3, but “game” is altered to “girl”
November 23, 2025 at 3:14 AM
plaguingpossum.bsky.social
Whisky crawled up into my lap and started purring while I was writing 🥰
Girl in a blue and magenta button-up, un-buttoned, one titty out, with a black gold and white cat sitting on her lap in front of her laptop
November 23, 2025 at 3:05 AM
plaguingpossum.bsky.social
Uh-oh! Look out! Danger!
A bitch is beautiful and she knows it!
Curly girlie with a blue and magenta stripe button-up over a crop top with screaming possums on it Curly girlie with a blue and magenta stripe button-up over a crop top with screaming possums on it, but this time she’s smiling, eyes closed, tongue sticking out thru her teeth
November 22, 2025 at 10:04 PM
plaguingpossum.bsky.social
A glock is a sword in a ghost dog kind of way
Glock 17C You have the gun from Half-Life and you paid sticker price for it. You are the Glock 17C Gay, and it's not your friends' fault they sometimes worry you're a cop. If you stick it out for another decade or two, your surviving friends will grow into their fogeydom - which you came into young - and value you as a pillar of stability. In the meanwhile, don't be afraid to throw down a lot of money on a good time. Share Result
November 22, 2025 at 6:41 PM
plaguingpossum.bsky.social
Seeing Cook/Thief/Wife/Lover on the big screen was one of the most special theatrical experiences I’ve ever had
#LastFourWatched
#LetterBoxdFriday
The Most Terrible Time In My Life (3.5 stars), The Naked Kiss (3.5 stars), Cook/Thief/Wife/Lover (rewatch, 5 stars), Danger: Diabolik (rewatch, 5 stars)
November 21, 2025 at 11:02 PM
plaguingpossum.bsky.social
No Child Soldier Left Behind, & Other Unfathomable Cruelties, in-progress table of contents.

Any publisher looking for a hideous weird-horror short story collection?
Table Of Contents 1. Bottom-Eyes The Barrel Of The Future, Pulp Princess! 2. Fumata Nera Carousel 3. The Last Kangaroo Funeral 4. Touch Me Terror Complex 5. You Are Breaking My Heart With The Bluntest Instrument Imaginable 6. It's All In The Execution 7. Iron Lung Liquid 1: White Phosphorous Psychonova 8. Charles McLaughton Was Radicalized By Pain 9. Stood By Herself Against The Hills 10. Hard Times At The Apostle Ranch
November 19, 2025 at 11:18 PM
plaguingpossum.bsky.social
Happy Absolute Martian Manhunter Day to all who celebrate. For my money, the best monthly and maybe THE comic of the year.
A big boobed baddie in a green dress holding up a copy of Martian Manhunter volume 1 A big boobed baddie in a green dress holding up a copy of Martian Manhunter volume 1 but closer up and a different pose
November 18, 2025 at 10:23 PM
plaguingpossum.bsky.social
We love seeing hot girls in dresses

qtp with you being a hot girl in a dress 🔥💃🏻
red titty dress At cape and cowl con with my red titty dress and black leather jacket
November 17, 2025 at 1:08 AM
plaguingpossum.bsky.social
He’s just like him fr
Whiskey the cat in the backyard Wander In The Fog by Caspar David Friedrich
November 16, 2025 at 6:26 PM
plaguingpossum.bsky.social
Trump when he hears that Bill Clinton just rolled up to the Epstein party
November 15, 2025 at 8:40 PM
plaguingpossum.bsky.social
me when Kentaro Miura won’t let me beat my shit stupid style because I have to be “redeemed” like a fucking Protestant
Farnese sad and swallowed by the rose garden
November 15, 2025 at 7:27 AM
plaguingpossum.bsky.social
The Last Kangaroo Funeral (202(1?))
A kangaroo hops across the sand with its intestines trailing behind it. The gash in its belly whistles in the arid wind. Wound and kangaroo alike don't miss a beat as the bile-streaked sand glows a sickly violet in the sun. It's not every day you see the last kangaroo funeral. A kangaroo, last of its kind, hops along the end of the road its ancestors laid in bones long, long ago, back when the sun didn't bleed. Where all the kangaroo came to roam in funeral processions a hundred-thousand strong, bloody garlands snaking in their wake. In the end of days of all kangaroo kind, they will be waiting there to join their final kin to the knot they've tied of their innards. Conjoined at the hernia, they will dance in a circle as wide as centuries. Ceaseless until the day, turned inside-out in orbit, they are Revealed. Organ and soul bared before Ged in the seeping golden sun. Burned pure by Its return. This is what the last kangaroo dreams as it lay necrotic in the sand. Worming my beak through its belly, I eat the last dream from the inside. Burnt meat never tasted so sweet.
November 14, 2025 at 6:29 PM
plaguingpossum.bsky.social
This is who Olivia Nuzzi “did it for” btw
Leland Palmer from Twin Peaks The Return
November 14, 2025 at 5:54 PM
plaguingpossum.bsky.social
#LetterboxdFriday
#LastFourWatched
Faster Pussycat Kill Kill (3.5 stars), The Descent (rewatch, 4 stars), The Killing Of A Chinese Bookie Director’s Cut (4 stars), Chinatown (4.5 stars)
November 14, 2025 at 5:49 PM
plaguingpossum.bsky.social
Thank you to @akapen.bsky.social for the first official fanart of Hyena-Man from my book HARD TIMES AT THE APROSTATE CRATER! 💜

APROSTATE CRATER is serialized psychotic-erotic weird-horror story for the neverending end times. Wile E Coyote’s Disco Elysium.
newgurlxeno.itch.io/aprostatecra...
Rainbow hyena swirled into a spiral against a violent hot pink background. The title of the book, “Hard times at the Aprostate Crater” is centered, with the author name, “Persephone Possum”, below it Akapen’s lovely art of Hyena-Man about to press down on an ACNE TNT crate
November 13, 2025 at 9:08 PM
plaguingpossum.bsky.social
My insides after the colonoscopy prep
Dark Souls 3 ashes at the end of time
November 11, 2025 at 1:12 AM
plaguingpossum.bsky.social
oh she’s got big tits and the poet’s spirit
Big tittied and cute in my room, in front of all my comics on the wall Home is a Pink Trumpet Tree, every bloom a kiss upon the cheek of the sun. Home is a soursop, carefully cracked; naranjilla juice down the chin, tongue prickled with fuzz. Home is howling with laughter as the hummingbats once again suckle milky latex leaking from the rubber trees, spit and screech at their mistake, forget within heartbeats. Home is a bushel of pink bananas dragged home in the rain. Home is drifting off to the lullaby of the temple horses, singing raucous old ghosts to sleep. Home is a game of shelled and sigiled tagua nut with the bonobos. Home is a monsoon come and a monsoon gone. Home is a kapok sky, filled with thunder and butterflies. This is Cacajao's home, and it is on fire.
November 10, 2025 at 4:50 AM
plaguingpossum.bsky.social
Goes without saying:
Leatherface swinging his chainsaw against the sunset Cher Moonstruck
November 8, 2025 at 8:17 PM
plaguingpossum.bsky.social
gender is a performance and I’m
The Wife pointing her gun at The Thief
November 8, 2025 at 8:12 PM
plaguingpossum.bsky.social
Fumata Nera Carousel Pt 1
Stained-glass refractions in the hyperbleed. A great gaping Heresy shorn in the grand tapestry of all Creation. Starfall velocity flays marble skin from iron bone, hydraulic muscle dancing to the cacophonous hymn of Heaven's agony. A hundred-thousand HAIL MARENOCH! explode within his eyes, shattering the planet of his sclera, scattering color. Rainbow runs sickly like holy oil and runoff. Plumes of fumata nera thick as jungles pour from the catastrophe juggling its own hot entrails and any hope of coming out of this shit alive. If Starwarden EvangeLion— the first and the last Holy Imperial Cathedral-Mech to pierce this infant reality from an adjacent aeon—survives the impact, if extraction is ordained a miracle and not its own Heresy, Emperor Apocraphax will crucify him, limp and cold, upon the firmament. God-willing, he will emerge alive from the crash with bones merely broken, or the immolations of eternity, spirit cradled. By Empire's grace, he will heal, repair, and, in time, spread the Gospel in exile. Freefall is just the controlled descent of God's design. By faith, he is in the hands of fate already writ. Shrapnel-flares tongue the chassis. Joint grinding jagged against joint, titanic body shredding against atmosphere, church against the liquid state of churn; the wretched, wrenching squeals of pigs caught in the gears of the crematorium. Smoke and color smear. Bubbles, bleeds. Pulp and pus boiled to seafoam, corroding the shores of possibility. Starwarden EvangeLion's death spiral a howling carousel spun taut into a spear piercing deeper than wounds. Something unfathomable dances at the edges of afterimage. For a moment, he remembers. For a moment, a crisis of faith. For a moment: Despair. Suddenly: a sky, an earth. Impact imminent. A man piloting a haunted house crashes to an unknown planet. The verdant jungle below swallows the impact. The cathedral, and the pilot-inquisitor, buckle and break against it. The captain eats shit with his ship; a fresco of pain. Shattered, but alive. Fumata nera and scarlet pour from their wounds, seep into the soil; curse the fruits that will one day grow here to fall from their trees and crack open in imitation. No matter. By faith, the Empire conquers even death. By faith, he will once again scourge the stars into obedience. And even the fallen may yet spread the seed of civilization.
November 8, 2025 at 7:01 PM