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[mothpawbs]

every time i feel myself becoming baffled at the idea of shifters i just remind myself of snapewives and think you know shifting isn't that insane really

[muninnhuginn]

I do think though that it'd be so satisfying if by the end of season three both Crowley and Aziraphale have broken from their traditional clothing patterns of dark vs light. They literally had a discussion in s2 about varying shades of grey (shh.) and how Crowley'd prefer a darker one and Aziraphale would like a lighter one. Swapping then to wearing greys rather than the pure dark/light contrasts they are would make it so much clearer that they're their own side and *not* just heaven or hell's people.

If not grey clothing by the end though I'd also be satisfied by 'mostly dark with a key spot of light' and 'mostly light with a key spot of dark' for the yin and yang of it all. "Just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" and all that.

[toffins]

mfw when i wanna give bnha another chance but the author is a sleezy bastard who is gross with how he writes/draws minors and that purple fucker is in it too

[yeyinde]

ghoapxreader in the baby trapping series IM BEGGING 🧎‍♀️

i think i've exhausted the whole "tampering with contraceptives" thing to death by now so i would probably do something different with them. like a surrogate situation or something, but awful lmao

maybe down on her luck reader is in desperate need of cash, and these two men swoop in to save you from this horrible pit you've fallen into.

you need money. they need a baby.

simple, right?

except the simplicity falls apart when they blatantly tell you they want a natural insemination—as in, a threesome.

multiple, the pretty Scot tells you. after all, it has tae take, hen.

(and this is the part where you should have run. the moment when you'd be screaming at the television at the hapless protagonist as they walk mindlessly into danger despite the warning signs hanging overhead. but like the oblivious hero, you're too blinded by pretty, gleaming white to realise that the thing you're marveling over is a maw. cracked open wide and full of jagged, deadly teeth rearing up to sink inside of you.

but the problem with making shady deals when you're desperate is that no one really bothers to read the fine print, do they? and by the time you see past their crooked charm, you're waving your child off as they skip up the stairs to school, standing like a prisoner between them as they lean down and ask if you're ready for another—)

but that comes later.

what comes first is message on Craiglist.

one that you spend less time considering it than you should have. desperation, you find, clouds your judgement. blots out common sense. makes you susceptible to manipulation. and oh, how susceptible you are. despite priding yourself on your common sense and keen self-awareness, the overarching issues hanging over your head like an idling guillotine seem to erase that instructive need for self-preservation.

so, when the message itself pops up, you're already primed for making bad choices. ones out of malformed desperation. the barrage of texts from your landlord demanding rent, the ones sent to your family in moments of dire need asking for fruitless aid that will never come in time if the read receipts mean anything at all. the package from HR apologising for the inconvenience, but this was, regrettably, the only feasible option for the company at present, and too bad you didn't sign up for that union, huh? student loans. credit cards.

the measureable calamity of your life manifests itself in the shape of a black cloud hanging onto your aching shoulder, wrapping long, inkstained fingers around your jugular as it hisses the insurmountable figure needed to climb out of this pit in your ear.

sleepless, of course, hasn't helped.

and in that bog you can't swim through, their offer sounds far more appealing than it should.

let's meet up somewhere, comes the next message at half past three in the morning as you talk yourself in (and out) of this mess. talk about things more.

what else are you supposed to do?

job hunting sites mock you with their generic emails, thanking you for applying, and saying they'll reach out within a few business days for an interview if you're a good fit. ones sent off weeks ago. hundreds of them to no avail. it's almost like you're being plagued. blacklisted from the city.

even the fast food chain down the street refused your application when you sent it in, and the help wanted sign has been taped on the drive-thru window since you were sixteen.

it all pushes you closer and closer to making stupid choices, like replying with a simple (nervous, shaky, bile-tinged) sure to the message they sent. i'm down—

(—and drowning)

but you're smart enough to know better, so you act like it, too.

ping your location to your friends. tell them where you're going. clutch your keys so tightly in your fist that your knuckles just out through thin skin. layers upon layers of safety measures glimpsed through the various articles about how to stay alive.

but all the tremulous air is siphoned from your lungs when you see them for the first time.

something magnetic thrums through your chest. copper sutures running lines from their skin to yours until touching just seems like the most natural thing in the world. and you suppose it is when the pretty Scot folds you into a tight hug, cinching you close to his chest as if he's known you his whole life instead of just several seconds.

he's a thing of beauty. chiselled from marble, almost; David made human when he runs his tanned hand through the tumble of uneven hair along his crown. eyes the same varicoloured palette of a boscage in autumn framed in the setting sun's golden halo.

there's a distinct ruggedness about his beauty, too. one that reminds of you a lion's mane. the sleek fur of a stallion. pretty in a wild way. and as his eyes list towards you again and again, like he can't quite manage his fill of staring at you, taking you in, you think about that wildness again. the hunger in his eyes so similiar to the desperation of a predator fattening up for the encroaching chill of winter. it makes you shiver, but you can't look away

(because you know what's waiting for you when you do)

and when you finally pluck up the courage to glance at the shape devouring the light with his intimidating bulk, you come to quick realisation that if Johnny is the personification of an autumn evening, then the man standing next to him is the tried and true testament that bad things happen after dark.

he's a strange figure, one who veers almost comically into the uncanny valley with his hood pulled over the plain, black ballcap hanging low over his brow. a balaclava covering every inch of his face with the exception of a small, ovaled hole for his eyes. remnants of something ashy smear into the corners, running up the crooked bend of his nose.

he doesn't look like a real man—not with those liquid, haunting eyes—but at the same time, there's something preternaturally human about him. a stereotypical sense of masculinity—just one warped around the edges.

with his worn jeans pulled tight over thick, bulging thighs, and the silver zipper of his hoodie resting at the base of his throat, you could easily think he was just another man in the crowd, but it's off. a glitch. a skip.

like mistaking a coat rack for a man in the dead of night.

eerie.

dangerous.

if the man beside him is playfully carnivorous, a basking lion rolling onto his belly at the zoo, separated by thick glass, then he (Simon, Johnny supplies readily when the silence lingers; Simon Riley), Simon, is what it feels like to be followed home at night.

but—

there's something about fear and desire that are almost inseparable when broken down into a physiological response.

and when he steps up behind you, close enough that you can feel the heat of his body soaking into the drying sweat on your back, you liken the way your heart climbs up your throat to same as it would seeing a dorsal fin cutting above the waves in open water.

desire, you think, and then catching the white-hot burn of the stare, you add, in a thin whisper: fear.

when they sit you down, and begin to spin a story about how they just want a baby—no strings attached—you stay seated in the chair even as an itch in the back of your head starts, nails scraping at your skull.

their reluctance toward traditional methods makes sense when they explain that with their lifestyle, it's impossible—or the Scottish man does; the other one with a marbled skin of thick, ugly scars on his hands just stares, pinning you down with the weight of his gaze—and this arrangement is the only way they'll get the baby they've been hoping for.

and even though the scratching in your head sounds suspiciously like why you and run, you eat the food they bought for you in the fancy restaurant where appetisers start at $30, and a glass of water is priced at $6. volcanic spring water, the waiter explains as he pours it from a marbled glass pitcher.

you haven't eaten a real meal that wasn't microwavable or cup noodles in weeks.

maybe that's why you find yourself thinking why not instead of no.

they're attractive men. it's not the worst situation you could have found yourself in, even if the idea of parenthood—however brief it's supposed to be—has bile clawing up the back of your throat, and the bones housing your trembling heart feeling laden, heavy like iron, and starts to cinch your chest shut each day, squeezing tighter, and tighter, and—

they drop off the first the installment to you the moment your doctor starts to talk about boerhaave syndrome, as if they know the doubts that plague your head when they leave your apartment and the silence starts to mock you.

and that leads you here.

guilt for their situation. desperation over your own. an overarching need to please. it's all a dangerous cocktail that douses over rationality until you're nodding along, accepting their words as gospel until sleeping with them—multiple times—doesn't seem like such a bad thing.

until it happens. until you have Johnny and Simon actively working to knock you up. a marathon of intense sex with the single-minded goal of putting their baby in you.

Johnny drooling all over you as he ruts between your thighs, mindlessly driving himself into a frenzy as he slurres out his desires in an incomprehensible mess of English and Gaelic and animalistic grunts. barely pulling out in time before Simon is pressing your knee down to the mattress, cooing mockingly at the mess his boy made of you. cruelly taking bets as he slides into your sore, aching cunt about who will take first. his or Johnny's? and who do you want, birdie? who's baby do you want first?

fingers always shoving inside to cap the overflow when they exhaust themselves in a liquid-limbed stupor, barely conscious as you tapped out some three, four rounds ago. unable to keep your eyes open any longer as they both came to the same conclusion that cumming inside of you at the same time was the quickest way to knock you up together. ain't he a romantic, birdie?

and it's probably for the best that you passed out before it happened, drooling on Simon's scarred shoulder as he gripped the cheeks of your ass, pulling you wide open as Johnny shuffled forward between his spread legs, eyes riveted to the spot where Simon's cock split you open. the ache you felt the next morning, coming to on a broad chest with fingers stuffed inside of you—shush, shush, just keeping you nice an' plugged, sweetheart—was almost unbearable.

you expected them to clear out after getting what they want, but they stay. tend to you carefully like you're made of fine china.

or—Johnny does. bundles you up in his arms before setting off towards the bath, finally letting you wash the sticky, flaking grime from your skin, some awful mixture of drying cum, spit, and sweat, groaning in your ear as he pulls you to his damp, hairy chest about how sweet you are for them. how they're going to take care of you.

Simon caters to other things. packs your bags as Johnny scrubs thick fingers over your shoulders, pausing to grasp a sore, tender breast in his palm, hefting the weight up as he feverishly mutters about how hot it'll be to watch you feed their baby. an' maybe you'll let him have a little taste, too—

and when you finally emerge from the bath, sorer between the thighs than you were when you woke up, another mess pooling in the gusset of the panties he pulled up your legs, Simon's waiting, eyes riveted to your belly. staring at it with so much hunger, a cold sweat breaks out along the nape of your neck.

in the grand scheme of things, the threesome is the easy part. the hard part comes when they turn the arrangement into a prison, locking the shackles around your wrists when the pregnancy test comes back positive a few weeks later.

they're only doing what's best for their baby, they say, when they move you out of your apartment and into theirs. the cut lease was the only way to do it, Johnny says, shrugging. why make you pay for something you aren't using anymore?

and maybe if your head was thickened with a fog, you'd have questioned the phrasing, but as it stands, pregnancy, even as early as this one, adles you. leaves you a syrupy mess of emotions that they take turns exploiting. aren't you so lonely all by yourself, hen? don' ye want a family?

aren't they good enough for you?

it's less subliminal messaging and more overt coersion. what are you going to do after this? where will you go with your lease cut? and when the funds run dry? what then?

gonna find another couple to knock you up? Simon hisses, mangled hands mauling your belly, pinching and squeezing the flesh as if he could feel the fragile box their happiness is housed inside. should jus' stay with us if that's the case, birdie.

but it's all so sweet, in its own way—

(—sweet like a parasite nesting inside of it's host.

but at least you'll never be lonely.)

they stand by the fact that they're looking out for you. that they care. that they can't do much else but idle and watch your body evolve into something new (an' magnificent, Johnny breathes, kissing this unfamiliar shape you call home) and it grates at them because they're not used to feeling so useless, so can't you just let them do this for you? take care of you in all the ways they see fit? like cutting your lease and giving you a better place to stay. handing in your resignation from that shitty nine to five that wore you down to the bone. culling out the annoyances in your life—the friends and family—who kick up needless fits over your wellbeing, and just stress you out more than you need to be.

they're not good enough for you, is what Simon says when you ask why he blocked them from your phone, Johnny hovering by the doorway with his arms folded over his chest. barring the exits, you'll realise later. but what comes first is fear, is anger, is—

happiness. maybe. or some broken, fragile facsimile of it. a subpar humuliculus masquerading around as if it was realised flesh and bone.

"oh," you say, and think you should be touched by his care, his concern, and so you are. shape this emotion from the sludge that pools at the bottom of your chest, running fingers through the muck to find pieces of gold. and then: "thank you, Simon."

it's sweet. or it could have been if it didn't spiral out of your control when they systematically dismantle your entire life until all you're left with is loose sediment slipping through your fingers. the foundation itself soften clay they shape into the image they've been after with the whole time: you.

(or more specifically, a momma for their baby.)

and when they ask you, at the end of this thin, fraying tether, if you want to be with them—an equal, a mother—and be a mother again for them, there's nothing else you could say except yes.

nothing because they made it so.

[innerfare]

Captain Kid Relationship Headcanons 

Summary: A collection of headcanons about being in a relationship with Eustass Kid

Genre: Fluff

CW: None // SFW

———

Definitely started as friends with benefits, probably with you as a member of his crew. Whether you joined by choice or because the Kid Pirates raided your village and decided you would make a nice addition to their ranks is up to you. 

Showed up at your door one night with a bottle of whiskey, a raging hard on, and a wicked grin on his face, a man on a mission. Waited a few days after you joined up so you didn’t think that was the only reason he asked you to join, but didn’t make it the full week he had told himself he had to wait before coming on to you. 

If you had a boyfriend or even husband before you met him, he would not have cared less. Kid does not respect a relationship if it’s standing between him and what he wants, and he wants you. He doesn’t respect much of anything, to be honest, but he quickly begins to respect you. There’s just something about you- your manner, your attitude, your voice- that makes him want to protect rather than destroy you. 

That being said, Kid’s idea of playing nice is making fun of you, roughhousing with you, cornering you in a hallway to steal some kisses, etc. He isn’t above using his size against you, though if anyone else ever tries to do the same, he won’t hesitate to knock them out. 

Kid knocking people out causes a lot of fights between the two of you. He gets into a fight in pretty much every bar he walks into, and you often end up patching him up, dealing with little wounds that he wouldn’t have if he could just control his temper. He decides he wants to marry you when he realizes your lectures after these fights are not about the fact that he started a fight, but about how poor his form was. 

Doesn’t really have any notion of PDA. He shows affection when he wants to, and he doesn’t when he doesn’t want to. Sometimes it’s in public, sometimes it’s not. You often have to remind him to keep it in his pants until you can get somewhere private, though this doesn’t always work. What Captain Kid wants, Captain Kid gets. 

The definition of ride or die, basically invented it. Would help you bury a body, would lie to the marines for you- hell, he’d fight the marines for you. And he has on several occasions. Also has bad blood with countless pirates due to their behavior toward you. Even if a pirate propositions you in a way that’s not creepy (they simply don’t know you’re with Kid), that pirate ends up Kid’s blacklist. 

His love language is fixing things for you. You don’t even have to ask, you just mention something isn’t working quite right and he’s pulling it apart to see what’s wrong with it. 

Also makes you things, such as jewelry. Lays claim to some of the shiniest jewels they loot and fashions them into pieces for you to wear. He claims to have sourced the materials himself (technically the truth since he did steal them). Grins like a mad man if you wear a necklace or bracelet he made for you. Made you a bouquet of little metal flowers, too, that he’s very proud of, would be crushed if you ever got rid of them. 

Rarely wraps his arm around your waist. Rather, he drapes it over your shoulder and loops it lazily around your neck, sometimes tightening it when try to pull away. It makes more sense due to the height difference (Kid is a behemoth) but even if you were the same height, he’d probably prefer your neck to your waist. 

Steels the covers. If you want a blanket, you’re going to have to sleep on top of or underneath him. It’s typically not a problem though because he runs so warm that sleeping in the same bed as him is like sharing a bed with a space heater. 

Really enjoys shopping with you. Always picks out outfits for you to wear, has strong opinions on fashion. Also enjoys buying you records, books, whatever it is you’re into. Loves taking you to concerts, will even go to pop concerts if that’s what you’re into. 

More than happy to share his makeup with you, will paint your nails for you if you ask. 

Gets drunk and gives you slobbery kisses, grinning like a fool. 

You’re basically in a throuple with Killer. When Kid gets in that sort of mood where he’s communicating solely by grunting at you, Killer is always there to translate, and when Killer has some extra time on his hands, he’ll make you some food to bring to Kid in his workshop. 

Loves nicknames, but never uses the traditional ones. Calls you things like spider (neither of you know why, he just thinks it sounds right/cute), rice ball (again, makes no sense, but he likes it and that’s that), tulip (when he’s feeling especially soft on you). His favorite thing to call you, though? His.  

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Predetermined.

Written for the very lovely @mars-syndrome.

Pairing: Yandere!Azul x Reader (Twisted Wonderland).

Word Count: 3.0k.

TW: AFAB!Reader, Non///Con, Tentacle Sex, Unprotected Sex, Nonconsensual Drug Use, Implied Long-Term Stalking, and Unhealthy Relationships.

For everyone except you, the Monsto Lounge closed at ten.

It was an unofficial rule. Octavinelle freshmen would try to turn you away, but it was a mistake the Leech twins made sure to correct by the next morning, and everyone who’d ever worked more than a shift at the lounge knew better than to kick you out at the end of the night. That was why you were allowed to get away with something Azul would usually blacklist a customer for – staying balled up in the corner of a booth until midnight, your attention either on your nearly-dead phone or the untouched milkshake Floyd had wordlessly put in front of you when he came down to make one for himself, like a zookeeper offering a pound of meat to a caged animal. Riddle was absolutely going to kill you for staying out after curfew, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care about how many sugar cubes you’d have to add to your lemonade tomorrow or how many roses you’d have to paint. You were tempted to spend the night here, to beg Azul to let you use one of the unoccupied rooms and just sleep your misery away, but you’d end up collared for the next week if you didn’t come back at all. The price of being in the best dorm in NRC – you were at the mercy of the strictest dorm leader on campus.

Sometimes, when you couldn’t help yourself, you wished you’d been placed in Azul’s dorm instead. He’d let you get away with anything.

 With a heavy sigh, you pulled your legs into your chest and buried your face in your knees. You felt the bench shift under someone else’s weight and raised your head just enough to see Azul sitting in front of you. He’d already discarded his jacket and scarf, his glasses propped low on the nose of his bridge and his shirt more unbuttoned than he usually cared to keep it. He’d probably just wrapped up his own work for the night. You thought you remembered him mentioning a study guide, but it was hard to tell with Azul. He always had something up his sleeve – it was hard to keep track of which scheme he was on, today.

Silently, he slid a mug of something dark and murky in front of you, steam still rising from the top. Although Floyd’s offering went neglected, you took Azul’s up without protest, letting the warmth seep into your hands. You’d been through this a thousand times. You knew better than to ignore his little remedies, by now.

After you’d taken a healthy sip, he spoke. “Who is it now?”

“Muscle-tee guy, from Savanaclaw.” You groaned, shutting your eyes. “He promised we’d be exclusive, but apparently, he thought that included his roommate, and a girl from Pomefiore, and some idiot from Royal Swords. A boy from his class had to tell me – he had pictures and everything.”

Azul offered a skeptical look. “You’re crying over him?”

“I’m not crying!” You hadn’t cried over anyone since middle school. He should know that – he’d been there then, too, to watch you sob your eyes out when your newest crush tore up your confession letter before so much as opening it. You were a third-year, now. If you were going to cry, you were going to do it alone in your closet where no one would be able to judge you.

You were more tired than anything. You could already feel today starting to weigh on you, your shoulders held at an odd slant and your remaining energy dwindling further by the second. Reluctantly, you uncurled, letting your legs fall over Azul’s lap and taking another drink before going on. “I’m just so exhausted. It feels like it always ends like this. I let my guard down, meet a guy I really like, get him to really like me, and then I find out that that he’s an asshole and somehow, I’m the only one who didn’t know.” You groaned, shaking your head. “I don’t know how this keeps happening. Are all men this bad, or just the ones I choose to date?”

“Unfortunately, your taste is the only common factor.” You let out a dry laugh, shooting Azul a narrow glare. He only shrugged, as composed and as disinterested as always. “Honestly, it’s your own fault. How can you expect to find a quality product when you’re latching onto items you’ve only known for a few days?”

Another groan, this one louder than the first.  You really were tired – it was a struggle just to keep your eyes open. “I don’t sulk in your restaurant ‘cause I want to be lectured, y’know.”

“And I didn’t open a restaurant because I wanted people with pathetic love-lives to sulk in it.” It was his turn to sigh, now, to settle closer to you. A hand came to rest on your back, rubbing small circles into the space between your shoulder blades. He was never especially touchy – you’d caught him cringing after shaking hands with a business partner or being nudged by another clumsy student in an overcrowded hallway more than once – but you could tell he tried to an exception, for you. You appreciated the effort, no matter how much it apparently hurt him. “I know you don’t want to hear it, but it wouldn’t hurt you if stopped rushing into relationships with people you barely know. Taking your time might save you a little heartache.” He paused. You weren’t looking at him, but you could picture the thin frown playing over his lips, the way his eyes narrowed in concentration rather than anger (because when Azul was angry, hr only ever smiled). He was smart, but predictable. Maybe it was just because of how long you’d known each other, how long you’d spent standing at Azul’s side while he looked down on everyone else, but either way, you could read him like the back of your hand. You didn’t have to see him to know exactly what he was thinking. “Or, if you really have to rush into something, you could try starting a relationship with someone you actually know. It might not be as much fun, but it couldn’t be worse than—” He gestured to you, your hunched posture, your wrinkled uniform. “—this.”

You perked up, letting out an airy laugh. It was rare for Azul to hand out advice without asking for a healthy fee, so you tried to nod, to smile, to look like you weren’t on the verge of passing out and forcing him to carry you back to your dorm. “I… I’ll think about it. I’ll try.” And you would. You’d try, at least, like you always did when Azul pulled you aside and told you to stop embarrassing him with your week-long flings. “If I wait long enough, I might even be able to find someone like you, Azul.”

There was a long, silent lapse.

Then, Azul’s hand fell to the small of his back, and you felt your strength snap and give out. You thought, distantly, about batting his hand away, about teasing him for how uncharacteristically affectionate he was being tonight, but you just couldn’t seem to make yourself move, to keep yourself upright. You felt your body slump against Azul’s side, and without missing a beat, he caught you, wrapping an arm around your waist and letting out a shallow sigh.

“Right,” he muttered, as your eyes finally fell shut. You felt like you’d been hollowed out, sapped of something warm and vital and left to gently float into an unwelcome unconsciousness. You tried to scream, but your mouth wouldn’t open, your lips sealed and your tongue useless. You tried to wake up, but that only seemed to drag you down farther, to pull you that much deeper into that awful, exhausting fog.

“Maybe one day, love.”

~

You woke up to the feeling of something inside of you and cold water lapping against your skin.

In your drugged daze, the latter somehow seemed to take priority over the former. It wasn’t just cold, it was freezing, worse than the Coral Sea in the dead of winter, when the ice drifts blotted out the sun and a stray current alone could send you into hypothermic shock. It only came up to your waist, but you felt the chill run up your spine, spreading through your veins and turning your blood to ice. If you’d been able to move, you would’ve been shivering. If you’d been able to think clearly, you would’ve been more afraid.

But you could move, even if you couldn’t think. You managed to lift your hand, bringing it into your line of sight only to find a slick, pitch-black tentacle wrapped around your end, its suckers latched onto your skin and its dull point tangled around your fingers. You recognized it in an instant – Azul’s, down to the lilac-grey underside and the permeant compression marks etched into the tip, earned through countless hours of writing up contracts. You hadn’t him in his true form since you enrolled in NRC. You wondered what would be important enough for him to break his streak now.

Another wave of frigid water broke against your midriff, and you felt something quirk inside of you. It was a tight, bad feeling – a string of tension wound tight enough to coil in on itself, to ache and throb as your cunt stretched around something thick and awful and a soft, blunt head rubbed and flicked against your inner walls. Wait, that was right – something was inside of you, thrusting as it curled and twisted and thrashed. You felt it curve in on itself, the base rising to grind against your clit as it moved, and you bolted upward, taking a gasping breath. It didn’t stop you. The tentacles wrapped around both your wrists and draped over your legs weighed you down but offered no resistance as you straighten your back, as you panted and blinked and ran your hand over your stomach, half-expecting to feel a bump where it was stabbing into you. You didn’t find what you were looking for, though, or maybe you did, you couldn’t tell, your attention already moving on to the wading pool you were laying in, shallow but wide and full enough for the water to spill over the sides, and then the thing on top of you, your eyes eventually land on–

On Azul.

Azul.

Your mouth fell open, a plea for him to help you dying in your throat. He looked as strung-out as you felt; his hair pushed away from his face, giving you a perfect view of his half-lidded eyes, his parted lips, the dark blush painted across his cheeks. His hands were braced on either side of you, edging too near to your hips for comfort, and you were suddenly aware of just how close he was to you, his chest a breath from pressing into yours. Even that distance was a temporary luxury, gone as soon as your eyes met and he let out a hitched groan, falling forward until his face was buried in your neck and you couldn’t so much as imagine getting away from him.

Your hands flew to his shoulders, your legs thrashing weakly as you attempted to push him away, but now, now he chose to restrain you, his spare arms dragging yours down until they were pinned to your sides. Your legs were caught up in his tentacles, too; a pair wrapping around your thighs and spreading them apart, dragging you deeper into the water and leaving you unable to hold yourself up. His breath was as cold as the water, fanning over your skin and making the heat beginning to drip down the inside of your thighs that much more unbearable. You heard him whine, the noise pitchy and desperate, going on for seconds before he seemed to find the will to actually speak. You weren’t sure which would’ve been worse – hearing his voice in a place like this, or watching him abuse your body without so much as an apology.

“You’re tight.” There was a stilted inhale, a trembling groan. “I— Fuck, I knew you would be, but it’s like your body’s been waiting for this as long as I have. It’s like—” His voice gave out, a manic smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “It’s like we were made for each other.”

He sounded so happy. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d seen him excited about something other than schemes and contracts and profit margins measured down to the last stray cent. Usually, the closest you got was a sense of smug condescension – a certain light in his eyes and a manic zeal in his grin. This was different. This was so, so much worse.

You felt his mouth latch onto your throat, pointed teeth nipping at the skin just above your jugular before burrowing into you, drawing enough blood to drip down your chest and tint the water pink. He wasn’t satisfied with a single mark, either; his attention falling lower, to the curve of your shoulder, then the vulnerable flesh just above your collarbone. As his concentration wavered, you were allowed to slump forward, but yet another tentacle found its way to your neck, wrapping loosely around your throat, applying just enough pressure to keep you upright. It reminded you of how Azul would correct your posture when he caught you hunching over your desk, or how he’d tell you to stand just a little closer to his side while he was talking to the other dorm leaders, to sit next to him rather than across the room while he was meeting with a student who spared anything more than a stray glance in your direction. He’d never been afraid to pose you. This was just an extension of that, really – a more honest version of the same bad habit.

The rough underside of the tentacle inside of you rubbed against the walls of your pussy, and you imagined digging your nails into his cheek, clawing at his eyes, kicking and thrashing and yelling until someone heard you, until Azul decided the risk wasn’t worth the reward, but you couldn’t bring yourself to so much as attempt to move, to fight against his bondage. It was all you could do to watch him from a distance, to force yourself to be vaguely aware of what he was doing to you. The tentacle inside of you fell into a steady rhythm, and Azul’s hand fell to your clit, clumsily circling the hypersensitive bundle of nerves. His inexperience was apparent, his usual air of confidence discarded in favor of seeking his pleasure and forcing the same misplaced bliss onto you. You didn’t resist, but you jerked away from his touch. If he noticed that you were trying to get away from him, though, if he could see your pained expression or grit teeth, he didn’t seem to care, to think of it as anything other than you bucking into his hand. He tilted his head back, his pale eyes flickering towards your face, a wide smile plastering itself across his lips. Slowly, joltingly, he pulled himself back to your height and before you could brace yourself, his lips were crashing into yours. Teeth scraped against teeth, his tongue pressed into yours, and you thought, through the daze, that this might’ve been his first kiss. You couldn’t remember him mentioning anything, ever telling you about a pretty girl or cute boy who’d caught his eye. In fact, you couldn’t remember him ever mentioning anything about love or romance at all.

Huh.

It made sense, once you took a step back.

You didn’t kiss back. Obviously, you didn’t kiss back. Azul didn’t seem to care. He was panting by the time he pulled away from you, his blush darker and his pupils blown out with lust. You felt the tentacle inside of you twitch, and thought for the first time that it might not be a tentacle at all but something too terrible to name. You were almost thankful when the tentacle around your neck slipped past your lips and forced your teeth apart, giving you something to think about aside from that awful, slick thing inside of you, aside from the revolting heat slowly beginning to curl and flicker in your core. The tapered tip brushed against the back of your throat and you gagged violently, the air hitching in your throat and your body lurching against his. Azul’s grin grew broader, his pace rougher. “You’re going to cum.” It wasn’t an order or a question, just an assessment, an observation. A prediction you could only hope wouldn’t come true. “That’s alright. That’s perfect. I want you to. I’ve waited so long to—”

His voice cut out with an airy groan. He pressed himself closer to you, his stare boring into skin and his lips ghosting over yours. You tried to turn away, to clench your eyes shut, but his hands came up, cupping your face and pulling you back to him. The tentacle assaulting your mouth jutted deeper, forcing you to open your eyes, to meet his. He was crying – you could see the tear tracks running down his cheeks, carving trails across his pale skin. He was smiling, wider than you’d ever seen him smile before.

“I tried to give you a chance.” He was muttering, now, the words barely audible and entirely deafening all at once. “I tried, but this is what you drove me to.” He rested his forehead against yours, drove his nails into your jaw. “This was the only way I could show you that we were made for each other.”

Made for each other. Made for each other.

The conviction in his voice was so steadfast that, maybe, in another scenario, you probably would’ve believed him.

A tight, searing heat washed over you. Your body went rigid, tensing up as your vision burnt white and your cunt clenched around his tentacle. At the same time, something burst open inside of you, filling you with something hot and horrible and so much worse than the water you were still submerged in, the water you wished would’ve drowned you minutes ago. Rather than pull back, you felt Azul draw closer, wind around you tighter, but you didn’t care. You couldn’t.

Going limp, you leaned against the edge of the pool and closed your eyes, letting your mind drift far, far away. Azul let you, his hands falling away but his tentacles persisting with their grinding and groping and invading. It didn’t matter. It was like Azul said – you were made for each other, right?

You could only wonder how long ago he’d decided that.

[kwanisms]

Kinkuary 26 Minho — angry/hate sex // impact play

➥ hard dom!Minho x sub!Reader summary: Sometimes, Minho gets really annoyed. Sometimes he gets really frustrated. The rest of Stray Kids know he gets frustrated, but what they don’t know is that he channels that anger and frustration in his sex with his girlfriend. wc: 1.7k warnings: afab reader, adult dialogue, established relationship, sexual content (minors dni!): unprotected sex (pls use protection!), rough sex, angry sex (Minho takes all his frustration out on the reader but the aftercare is top tier), impact play (spanking, face slapping, choking, mention of reader slapping Minho once), use of pet names (mainly baby, honey, angel at the end, etc), reader is a bit of a pain slut, moderate degradation (he calls her slut & whore mainly and bitch one time), spitting, and I think that’s all of them. If I missed anything let me know! a/n: TW: THERE IS MORE THAN SPANKING IN THIS PART. IF THAT BOTHERS YOU, PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS!!! I couldn’t imagine anyone else in this part other than Minho. I know he’s not a violent person, he just seems the most likely to be into impact play. Thank you for reading, I hope you like it, and as always, this is a work of fiction and all characters are not reflective of their respective irl counterparts. for entertainment purposes only. banner made by me. I do not allow reposts or translations of my works. All my works are ©️ kwanisms. Permanent taglist: @yoonguurt @candidupped @dejavernon Kinkuary full taglist: @baldi-2 @wonderfulshinee @lacie220900 @sup-dallyboy @drunk-on-dk @violagoth @mixling-blog @kosmoreads @yourfavoritefreakyhan Stray Kids taglist: @niktwazny303 @g4m3girl @rapmonie2047 @indigo35 @witherednotes @cixrosie @fay-ebrahim @imseungminsgf @yeosayang @leeautumn @katsukis1wife @flowerboykun @beomgyusbabygirl Strikethrough means I cannot tag you. MINORS WILL BE BLACKLISTED & BLOCKED. Taglist closed!

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“You know I don’t actually hate you, right?” Minho said softly as he ran the warm wet washcloth over your skin, red marks and bruises forming from his tight grip and heavy handedness.

You smiled at him warmly. “I know, babe,” you answered.

True, it wasn’t like Minho to be so rough with you.

At least, he didn’t make a habit out of it.

Sometimes he just needed to let his frustrations out and you were more than willing to let him fuck his frustration out with you.

It didn’t stop him from feeling slightly guilty when bruises showed up the next day from his manhandling, despite you reassuring him that you liked it.

You were truly a masochist.

It started when Minho came home angrier than you’d ever seen him before. Practice had gone extremely poorly and all of the guys were mad. Nothing seemed to be going well for them today.

You knew you were in for a rough time from the moment Minho slammed the front door shut, dropping his bag and making a beeline for you sitting innocently on the sofa, watching TV.

“Min?” You asked, looking up at your boyfriend as he towered over you. “Get up,” he said in a dangerously low voice. It sent shivers up your spin. “W-what?”

Minho grabbed your arm roughly, pulling you up from the cushion and dragged you away from the living room, slamming your back against the wall. Your wide eyes made him hesitate. “I’ve had a… really shitty day,” he started softly, dropping his head so you couldn’t see his eyes.

“I’m just so… fucking angry.”

A warm smile crossed your features as you reached up to cup his cheek tenderly.

“Let it out,” you encouraged softly.

The simple command was enough for Minho to slip into his own form of domspace. One where he almost lost himself entirely. Almost.

You knew from the second he looked up with that unreadable expression and those dark eyes, things were about to get very, very interesting.

It didn’t take much to set Minho off once he was in his domspace, a few shoves and a well timed slap had him dragging you to the bedroom, practically tearing your clothes off before knocking you back onto the bed.

He was on you in seconds, pulling his own shirt off as he knelt between your thighs. The two of you hesitated for just a moment, breathing heavily as you stared at one another. His eyes were dark, pupils blown with lust while yours were shining with excitement for what was to come.

Minho grabbed your leg, rolling your over onto your back before settling on your thighs. You knew better than to ask because sooner or later, he’d act.

And act he did, delivering a quick blow to your ass, making your body jump and a moan to escape your lips. Not giving you a chance to recover, he continued, landing slap after slap to your ass, alternating sides until your ass was red and sore. Not that you were complaining.

You loved the pain almost as much as you loved the pleasure.

By the time he’d finished marking your ass, you were practically dripping, something your boyfriend took notice of.

“Fucking typical,” he growled, untying his pants and pushing them down along with his underwear. “Of course a whore like you gets off on being used and abused.” You whined as he roughly pulled your thong down your thighs.

The tear of fabric had you groaning. ‘Aww and those were my favorite pair.’

Minho tossed your ruined panties away, taking your sore ass cheeks in his hands and spreading them to see your soaked cunt. “I bet I’d slide right in,” he whispered, moving his thumb down to brush over your glistening slit.

“On your back,” he barked suddenly, getting off you and kicking off his pants as you rolled onto your back as ordered. Minho was back on the bed in moments, forcing your legs apart and kneeling between your thighs.

“Look at you, so fucking pathetic,” Minho scoffed. He took his cock in his hand, giving himself a few strokes as he glared down at you. “You know, I really hate sluts like you,” he growled.

You narrowed your eyes up at him. “Oh fuck you,” you answered.

The slap to your cheek wasn’t hard. It was less about strength and more about the shock of it.

Minho didn’t give you a chance to recover as he lined the tip of his cock with your slit and pushed into you quickly, bottoming out almost instantly as he slid in with ease. “Fuck,” he groaned, eyes fluttering shut.

“For a whore, you sure have a tight cunt.”

You clenched around him, as if further solidifying his comment.

Minho let out a moan, grabbing your thighs harshly, nails digging into your skin.

“Tell me to fuck off again,” he ordered, opening his eyes to meet your gaze.

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do,” you hissed, earning another slap. The pain was a welcomed addition to the pleasure of Minho’s cock splitting you open. You felt his fingers close around your throat.

“I’ll do whatever the fuck I want, insolent bitch,” he growled, hips snapping against yours roughly as he set a slow but intense pace, each thrust driving his cock deep inside your pussy.

“I’ll call you whatever the fuck I want; fuck you however I want,” he growled, fingers around your throat squeezing lightly. “And you’ll just lay there and take it.”

You moaned as his hips pounded against your ass, ramming his cock into your wet cunt repeatedly. “You’ll take it like the fucking whore you are.”

Every time he used that word, your walls gripped him even tighter, moans tumbling from your lips as he fucked you hard.

“Shit, you’re so fucking tight I might blow right now,” he grunted, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple, his bangs sticking to his forehead. “Would you like that? Want me to cum all over your stomach?” He asked.

“Or better yet,” he continued with a smirk.

“Cum inside this tight little cunt and make you mine? You want that, baby?” You moaned loudly.

Minho chuckled darkly, his grip on your throat tightening slightly. “Of course you would. You’re my little cumslut, aren’t you? You just love it when I fill you up.”

Another moan and a hard thrust had you tumbling towards the edge but not quite falling over it. “Minho,” you whimpered, voice hoarse from your incessant moaning. Minho leaned over slightly, his thrusts aiming for that soft spongy spot inside your cunt that always managed to drive you over the cliff.

“You must be thirsty,” he commented, looking down at you. “From all that moaning and back talking.” You nodded in response. Your throat was definitely dry.

“Open your mouth,” he commanded.

Not wanting to be told twice, you obeyed him, opening your mouth. Without word or warning, Minho spit into your mouth, using his thumb to push your chin up, closing your mouth.

“Swallow it.”

You obliged, swallowing his spit. “God,” he groaned, hips stuttering for a moment. “You really just do whatever I tell you, don’t you?”

It was enough to push you over the edge, your walls convulsed around your boyfriend's cock as you came, moaning his name and back arching off the bed.

Minho wasn’t far behind, groaning and gasping as his hips stilled, cock buried balls deep as he came inside you, painting your cunt with his hot load. A few more thrusts for good measure and your boyfriend finally pulled out of you, rolling off the bed and disappearing into the bathroom.

You tried to regain control of your breathing as you heard the water running in the other room. A couple minutes later and Minho returned, carefully helping you to your feet and guiding you to the bathroom.

He’d started the bath and helped you into the tub, holding your hands as you slowly lowered yourself into the running water. Once you were situated, Minho disappeared again for a moment, returning with clean towels and a washcloth.

He joined you in the bath tub, turning off the water and dipping the cloth into the hot water before bringing it up to your face and pressing it against your cheek.

The bath was nice. He always took exceptional care of you after a rough session and this time was no different.

“I’m really sorry, angel,” he murmured as he wiped your face gently with the cloth, making sure to get your cheeks, nose, forehead, and chin. Minho wasn't one to get too into his feelings but after sex, it always jumped out and he got a lot more affectionate than usual.

“It’s okay, babe,” you answered as he continued to carefully wipe your body. He shook his head, clicking his tongue. "No, honey, it's not." You smiled at him, taking his hand and kissing his knuckles.

"It is," you insisted. "We go over this every time, Minho. I want you to do this to me. I want you to hurt me."

He shook his head again. "You aren't supposed to hurt the ones you love," he answered, a slight break in his voice. "It only hurts for a little while," you murmured, pressing the back of his hand against your cheek. "But the pleasure overshadows the pain any day."

Minho turned his hand over in yours, cupping your cheek and caressing the skin with his thumb tenderly. "I'll make it up to you," he said softly. "People will think I'm abusive," he added, noticing the red mark on your cheek.

"No more slapping. I don't think I can keep doing it."

You nodded, turning your head to press a kiss to his palm. "Okay," you answered. "But spanking?" You asked, your voice hopeful. Minho nodded. "I can do that," he admitted.

"Sometimes you can be a real brat."

You laughed as Minho gently pulled you forward, turning your body and pressing your back against his chest as you both relaxed in the hot water. He pressed a few short kisses to your neck and shoulder.

“I love you,” he whispered in your ear. "So, so much."

You leaned back further, resting your head on his shoulder as your eyes shut, a soft sigh escaping your lips.

"I love you, too, baby."

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for backing out of an art exchange because the person who pulled my name has an art style I really don't like?

In the fandom based Discord I'm in we had a small art exchange last month. Everyone got randomly paired with someone else to exchange art based on their prompts.

I'm a big believer in all art having value and that people enjoy different art styles, but unfortunately the person I was paired with has a really specific art style that I just.

Honestly, I hate it.

Our fandom is soft-anime style, think something like Genshin or similar art. Anime but more rounded off, 3D style.

However this artist has a really sharp, angular, honestly a little strange kind of art style that makes the final result look nothing like the original character design at all except for features like their clothing being the most obvious clue as to who they are.

If you ever read the really old Roald Dahl books with the super pointy, triangular art style, its kind of like that. Huge, super sharp pointy chins and noses, super long faces, all of the eyes drawn in the same long, sideways triangle style.

Its amazing that they have a style they like, but its 100% not my style and I really didn't want to have to fawn over it and share it across my socials when it is clearly the opposite of the art style I like.

I wound up pretending I had an unexpected work trip which meant I had to back out of the exchange (which actually wound up being true, but the trip was only 3 days so it wasn't like I wouldn't have had the 3 other whole weeks to work on my side of the exchange.) I was super polite about it, because again, its not my style but its theirs and I'd never deliberately make someone feel bad about their art.

Well, turns out some genius in our server forgot we all follow each other on Tumblr too and made a post basically laughing about how I had the balls to get out of it and how funny and smart they found it.

The mods sent a screenshot of it into the server and said bullying would not be tolerated and I got a warning for bullying. I pointed out I hadn't lied about the trip and I wasn't even the one who made the post, but they blacklisted talking about it further and made a new rule that if you fail to participate in future exchanges for anything less than like, someone dying or whatever, you get removed from the server completely.

All around nobody is happy about any of it, and there's talks about voting to just veto exchanges completely both because nobody wants to single people out and nobody wants to be forced to fawn over art they don't like.

I'm mostly angry with the person who poked their nose in because before they said anything it was completely fine with me and the other artist. They understood completely, we joked about how shit work is, and they were just going to do an art piece for the server as a whole which I thought was a really cute outcome, but now both of them have gone silent in the server and won't reply to anyone.

What are these acronyms?

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

I have a little bit of an interesting question! I know you stated you like writing horror and NSFW, or at least you do not mind dabbling in them, so I'm curious to your opinion:

(Please, very important onto this, keep in mind that, when I ask about 'Yandere', while yes, I mean this lovesick, obsessed character who goes to kidnapping/harming others/threatening/killing etc extremes to get the object of their affection/obsession, there's many yandere types. I PERSONALLY like only a handful of them because I am very careful with TW (I do not like toxic relationships where the 'darling' is deprived of privacy, is mistreated, forced to do things, has hands laid on them, has their emotional well being messed up by demeaning words, etc, and I do not enjoy abuse depictions of the trope either, so I cherry-pick a lot (due to personal trauma). Yanderes are often portrayed as straight up abusive when they needn't be, there's delusional ones, lucid ones who do not want to feel the way they do, others who rather give themselves to the object of obsession/affection and would rather hurt themselves than ever upset them, others who lean more towards manipulation, etc.). I say this because TW are important and while this is 'just a question in a blog' I want to inform you that there is NO EXPECTATION for you to write abuse, toxicity or anything of the sort. While being WELL AWARE that yandere relationships WILL be unhealthy in nature, it is that kind of 'unhealthy possessive' vibe you can enjoy IN FICTION, and should NEVER allow in real life. Take care of yourselves ❤️)

Obviously, none of the characters are canonically yandere, but do you have any opinions on who could fit the bill? And how/what way/what category they'd fit into?

Please ignore this if it makes you uncomfortable in any way and even if you simply respond without any headcanons/just a little ramble, remember to put TW so people who blacklist yandere stuff or feel trigger by any of it continue having a safe space here! Love your blog and what you do! Keep up the amazing work, and congratulations on such endless artistic talent!!

I haven't done a whole lot with the Yandere trope. I have one unpublished fan fiction for another fandom entirely that involves a yandere character in an antagonistic role. I don't tend to romanticize it because of how problematic it can be.

So needless to say, ⚠️ trigger warnings ⚠️ ahead for this topic, some more than others (lookin' at you, Doffy).

I feel like Sanji could fit the bill of being the lucid, regretful yandere. He knows that his obsession with you could be problematic, but he just can't help it. He gets insecure and jealous easily, and may be inclined to threaten any other men that happen to get to close to his beloved, platonically or romantically. He wants you completely to himself. Would be apologetic about his behavior and feel sincerely guilty for it, but just unable to keep himself from doing so. He also feels his behavior is protecting you in a way from being taken advantage of, and that's the only justification he can make for it—even to himself.

Mihawk, while his confidence and ego mean he's not really the jealous type, would still be a worthy candidate. He wants you aware that you are his in every sense of the word. You, your love, your mind, your body, all belong to him. No one else. He may very well be violent about it, though not toward you—just toward anyone who dares challenge his ownership over you. Toward his lover, he would be particularly doting and gentle, treating you like a fragile and priceless work of art. He would be incredibly disinclined to allow you to go anywhere without him; and if he finds out anyone else is attempting to court your affections or, heaven forbid, hurt you, then their days are going to be numbered.

Next would be Crocodile. Getting more ⚠️triggery⚠️ here. Prime candidate for a possessive yandere. Even if he doesn't have much time for you, you're still his property. He'll expect you to have time for him, to adhere to his schedule and his whims. He'll have a list of rules that you have to follow—no speaking with other men without him present, no going out in public without him or a guard that he has personally assigned to you; this is as much for the sake of keeping you safe as it is to ensure that you don't do anything he would disapprove of. In exchange, he'll shower you with lavish gifts, and treat you like a princess when he is with you...but if you break the rules, there will be consequences.

And lastly, and by far the most triggery, Doflamingo. Congratulations, you've caught the attention of an absolutely sadistic and manipulative yandere! He values total control over all aspects of your life. But he's going to make you think you have some freedom at first. He'll pout a little if you want to go somewhere without him, but he'll allow it...on the surface, at least. Then he'll hire some thug or other criminal deviant to scare you right back into his arms, whether with idle threats or physical force. He'll make you feel like he's your only source of safety and comfort. Make you defend him to your concerned friends and family of your own volition, until you have absolutely no one left but him to turn to. He'll justify it by saying it absolutely is for your own safety, and he sincerely believes that to be true; even if he wasn't hiring people to frighten you, there's still every chance that you could be hurt or enticed to leave if you stray too far from his side, and he can't allow that. Whether he views you as a lover or just a plaything, no one else is allowed to touch you but him.

[hotvintagepoll]

Marjorie Main (The Women, Summer Stock)—a world weary dame who wore her midwestern accent on her sleeve. marjorie main kills it as a reno ranch owner in "the women" (1939) and as warm mother hens <3 she was no shabby actor either! this scene with her and humphrey bogart fucking haunts me [link]

Zero Mostel (A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum, The Producers)—Archetypal. Comedian of all time. The worst combover in cinematic history, probably. Could make more laughter with one muscle in a singular eyebrow than 98% of all men across the face of the earth. Hardcore Committer to the Bit. Man of all time, and also told HUAC directly where they could shove it, which is a primally appealing and scrungly quality.

This is round 1 of the contest. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. If you're confused on what a scrungle is, or any of the rules of the contest, click here.

[additional submitted propaganda + scrungly videos under the cut]

Marjorie Main:

Zero Mostel:

"The chase scene in FORUM is just. it's fucking iconic. It's one of the funniest pieces of cinema I've ever seen in any context, everything about it is genius, and the heart and soul of it is Zero Mostel as Pseudolus. Casting him alongside a young Michael Crawford (of later Phantom of the Opera fame) really highlights the differences between the young romantic lead and the older, sensible, and yet entirely scrungly middle aged man (Mostel was 55 at the time) somehow manages to come off as even more desirable. He has no shit together, not very good plans, is panicked for most of the story, and the charisma of a champ. His flailing, helpless attempts at fighting the gladiator is so... he's so scrungly. "

"He's not fancy, he's not pretty, he's not good at much of anything, but he is Genius despite that."

"There is a magic to Zero Mostel that he manages to bring to roles where he is simultaneously the worst person ever, and also, compelling in every possible way. He had his biggest period of fame in middle age after he got taken off the Hollywood blacklist, and being a fat middle aged man with thinning hair is what gives every single bit of his characters power. As the original Max Bialystock he would eat the entirety of The Producers except that Gene Wilder as Leo Bloom is a genius casting decision, as Mostel's intensity against Wilder's deep discomfort ends up being the right chemistry. In many ways he reminds me of Buster Keaton, the pinnacle of hot scrungly little guy—a unique and expressive face, an instinctive understanding of comedy, active at the same time, and also they were both in FORUM together. Mostel came from an Orthodox Jewish family, was a trained painter with a degree in art, spoke four languages, and when he was blacklisted during the Red Scare and brought before the HUAC, he didn't just refuse to name names, he made fun of the senators. He was disabled after an accident, and still did dancing in movies and things like stunts in FORUM. He did a ton of work on Broadway too, including originating Tevye in Fiddler on the Roof, making the musical more Jewish as he did so. Frankly, I don't think any of those roles (or the eventual later film versions of Fiddler/musical version of the Producers) would work with anyone else. It had to be a fat balding middle aged leftist Jew from Brooklyn. The scrungly is essential.

"the scrungle factor of max in every version of the producers is through the roof but nathan lane does it as suave scrungle. zero mostel does not do suave scrungle. he does old jewish man getting into an argument with the rabbi at the full synagogue passover seder about how much wine has to be in the glass for it to count as "one cup" scrungle; he does old jewish man whose entire fridge is full of pickled herring scrungle. it's offputting in all the ways that make it genius."

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Excessive Force : Tom Ludlow x Fem Nurse Reader (COLLAB W/ THE INCREDIBLE @johnwickb1tsch) - Chapter Map Twenty-Seven

TW: medical stuff, talk of dying, nsfw

The next time you go to see Detective Washington Linda is there. She’s always there, bless, and you think that maybe she could use a change of scenery. “Would you like to get a coffee with me?”

She blinks up at you, as though the thought of being anywhere but by her husband’s side never even occurred to her. You sympathize, maybe even more now than a few days ago. You know that if Tom was in that bed…you would be losing your fucking mind. You try not to think about how real a possibility it could be, with the dangers of Tom’s job. Of how it could be not if, but when.

You need caffeine.

You go to the little café, Linda following a step behind you. You order a super sweet frappe drink that barely masquerades as coffee. She gets a latte.

“So…how is he doing?”

“Better,” she answers, looking into the frothed milk atop her coffee. “Stable, now, thank god. But…when he wakes up, we’re still going to have a long road ahead of us.”

“Yeah,” you acknowledge, understanding all too well. “But he’s strong. And you are too. I can tell. You’re going to make it.”

“We were going to leave LA, you know? That money they found in the car? We sold our house. We were going to start over in the Bahamas.”

“Well, maybe you can still do that? After he recovers? I’ve seen people recover from gunshots really well.” You hope you’re soothing her, instead of breaking her psyche down even more, but in truth you’ve never really thought you were good at this human connection stuff. 

Linda gives you the tiniest of smiles, and it warms you up more than the steaming cup in her hands. “You could be doing anything with your break…Why are you coming to see me?” 

“I don’t take breaks,” you say, leaning over with a smile like this is top secret highschool drama stuff. “Well, not usually.” 

She laughs in a huff. “Well, thank you.”

“I wanna be there for you,” you tell her truthfully, toying with the plastic, icy cup in your hands. “I think you could use a friend if I’m not mistaken?” 

“You’re right,” she nods, looking down into her own brew. “Although I’m sensing you need the company, too? After all, the only person I’ve seen you around here with is Ludlow.” 

Oh….Oh. 

Yeah, you suppose it makes sense that everyone knows by now. Tom is a little hard to miss, and you’ve been pinned to his side since the grocery store shootout. Every piece of you wants to defend him again—from the venomous way Linda says his name—dust off his badge and put him on the pedestal he deserves, but this isn’t about Tom…or you right now. “I’m… sorry,” you say, unsure of what else to provide. You bow to her grief, her anger, her pain, because sometimes that’s just what you have to do.

“Can you just tell me something?” She asks, her sorrow suddenly forefront.

“Of course, anything.”

“Tom…didn’t try and hurt him? Did he? He didn’t help the shooters?”

“Linda… No. Jesus, no. Tom, he…” you rub a hand over your face, forgetting that you’re wearing mascara to work because you feel this new sense of pride and confidence and beauty thanks to the subject of your current conversation. “He tried to help him, just like me. He did what he could. I swear to you.”

“And if he didn’t? Would you still be with him?”

For some reason, and it’s a reason you’ll have to do some soul searching about later on, you hesitate to answer that question. Because you’re not sure. Not sure if you would have blacklisted Ludlow for being involved with Washington’s near death, or comforted him about it—“you did what you had to.”

It’s scary, to give all of yourself when you…fuck it, when you love someone. Push morals and decencies and laws aside for a person. Lose yourself trying to justify their behaviors. You’ve been here, what? A dozen times? With friends, family, lovers. Thinking that if you could just see something in them, some redeemable quality, maybe that would erase all their copious horrible ones. 

So, would you? Defend Tom if he had tried to kill Linda’s husband? You answer with what you truly believe: 

“He wouldn’t. Maybe he would try and fight him. Break something, even. But he wouldn’t kill him, Linda. I know he wouldn’t.” 

She appraises you with something in her eyes that resembles trust, and it makes you wonder what you did to deserve it. “I believe you,” she says, confirming your suspicions about her expression. 

“Look. I know…our boys have had their differences. I know I don’t know the details. What I do know, is that Tom is determined to find the guys who shot your husband. He’s…all in on that.”

You’re surprised when Linda frowns at hearing this. “And what does the almighty Captain Wander think about that?”

Now you’re frowning too, because her skepticism maybe puts some things into perspective for you. You remember what Tom told you, about going around the official channels to get things done. “Honestly? I’m not sure it’s official. I just know Tom is on it like a missile. He’s not going to give up.”

Linda sighs, looking down into her coffee. “There’s a part of me that just wants to sweep all this under the rug and start over. But the other part of me?” She looks up at you, a fierce fire in her honey-brown eyes that makes you feel like you just stumbled on a lioness on the prowl. “The other part of me hopes Ludlow kills them all.” 

***

It’s a long, hard day. The weather is getting colder, although it’s hard to call outside cold right now, especially considering where you’re from, but dropping temps, no matter how insignificant Kansians think they may be, still come with colds and sepsis and lung troubles, even here in sweltering LA. 

It’s easier to get through the shift, though, because you’ve made a new friend, and she’s pretty damn cool. Linda is fierce, loyal, beautiful; you would envy her if it wasn’t for admiration getting in the way. Even better, you just seem to click with her so naturally, the vibes between you are immaculate—you feel like you’ve known her your whole life, and that’s really rare to have with someone. 

You chart with a smile for once, because you really hate charting more than anything else on God’s green earth, but take a pause when your phone vibrates in your pocket. 

Hey, baby, am I still picking you up at 1930, or you gonna be late? 

Your smile sharpens and spreads, warmth flaring up your bones like freshly plugged Christmas lights, at Tom’s message.

I can do seven thirty if you stop distracting me.

But I miss you :(

Oh my god. Now you’re blushing and giggling.

C’mon, you know you’ve been thinking about me all day.

Nope. Forgot your name, actually. Who is this, anyway? 

I think it’s time we give you that spanking.

I can take the bus home….

You know I will stop that bus with my lights and sirens on. 

Fuck u, handsome.

Maybe after I turn that little ass red. 

You roll your eyes, scoffing just as hard as clenching. This man is going to kill you. He’s so goddamn sexy it should be illegal. And he’s making all your dirty little fantasies come true while simultaneously making your heart melt. You shove your phone back into your pocket, determined to go back to work so you can actually get out at the time you’re supposed to, but it vibrates again. 

I’m very serious about pulling that bus over. Don’t even try it. 

Yes, officer. 

Good girl. 

What a dick. You’re absolutely head over heels for him. Asshole.

How the hell are you going to betray his trust and let Julian have his way with you? How are you not going to feel crippling guilt every time you look into those coffee brown eyes? How. Furthermore, is Julian going to want to keep doing this with you? Training you like you’re some sideshow pony? You grimace at the thought. 

It’s wonderful, how when you see Tom all those bad feelings seem to go away—especially since he picks you up in full uniform, those delicious glinting handcuffs strung proud to his belt. You bite your lip when you see him, and he kisses the sting away. 

“Working late?” You ask, shimmying your thumbs into his belt loops and pulling him closer. It’s been long, hard hours without him, and you missed him more than you want to admit. 

He presses you up against the wall, just like you want, and tucks stray, wild hairs behind your ears. “Had a residential disturbance,” he says, “let me make you dinner.” It’s beautiful, how such mundane things sound so sinfully promising through his voice. 

“You are dinner, Officer Ludlow.” Because God, you really have just been aching to lean into this cops and robbers fantasy that he started on that dark highway. All you’ve been able to think about is getting on your knees and undoing this uniform and sucking him empty.  

Fuck Julian, and your job, and everything else when he kisses you with a growl, hands cupping the back of your head and threading through your hair so he can get you closer. He either really likes this feral beast you’ve become, or really doesn’t like it judging by this lip splitting dance of tongue and teeth that leaves you gasping for breath. “Careful, baby, might have to lock you up and keep you all to myself.” 

You do love the sound of that. 

***

You ask Tom to take you somewhere…somewhere high and airy where you can look down on the city of Angels. The city you both protect, with shining colorful lights that fight valiantly against the dark night. Tom holds you in his arms, chin on your head, and you don’t mind that all the shiny bobbles on his uniform poke at you. You feel so safe, right here, even though you’re alone in the woodsy hills of LA, and it’s because he has you securely tucked between his biceps. 

“Something’s going on with you,” he says, kissing the top of your head. “I can tell, you know that?” 

The fine hairs along your spine lift, and you hide your face in his arm, trying with all your might not to start crying like a baby. 

“I’m just scared, of those guys trying to get rid of me…” it’s not a total lie, although it, surprisingly, between Julian’s clutches and Tom’s freedom, is the least of your worries. 

He pulls you closer. “Listen, baby, I’m gonna protect you. I know you’re not used to that, to someone having your back, but I do. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere…not even if you want me too.” 

You chuckle. “Yeah, I know.” 

“I think I should probably ask you out properly, but I’ve been a little nervous.”

Your chuckle turns to confused laughter, and you look up at his sheepish smile. “The unbreakable Tom Ludlow, nervous?” 

“Yeah, that you’re gonna tell me to go pound salt…again.” He tries to smile his way out of that statement, but his eyes droop and the corners of his mouth twitch with the effort of nonchalance. And you are a fucking asshole for trusting Julian and snubbing Tom—that’s all you really know for sure. 

“Will you go out with me?” 

His grin turns authentic, and it scares you how much lighter you feel now that he’s genuinely happy again. 

“Yeah,” he agrees on the soft crown of your hair.

[indig0trolls]

BIRTHDAY ADOPTS GIVEAWAY RAFFLE!

Wow! I haven't done one of these in a long long time, so bear with me, but I've just felt incredibly lucky and grateful that so many of you have been so supportive, in general but especially since the start of the year, that I wanted to give a little something back as a thank you!

And what better occasion than my upcoming birthday!

So without further ado... onto the important parts!

RAFFLE RULES

This is a TOTALLY FREE TO ENTER raffle!

The only requirement to enter? You MUST be following me! (This is a thing to say thank you for all the support and kindness, after all!)

HOW TO ENTER!

Fill Out these forms! -> Warm Dusk -> Just a Little Squirrely

You MAY enter for both designs, but you can only WIN one!

One entry per person! If I catch you entering multiple times, or having someone enter for you... it's the blacklist for you, sorry kid thems the breaks.

On that note. NO! You cannot enter for someone else to give as a gift! I just see that getting really messy and don't want to have to sort that out.

You CANNOT resell/Trade these designs, PERIOD! Why? Well, I made them with the intention of giving them away! It just doesn't feel in the spirit of them if someone tacks on a bunch of art and upsells it later.

If. IF you get to a point where you have the design and you don't want it anymore... Give it away again! Host another raffle or gift it to a friend (with respects to my blacklist ofc).

RAFFLE ENDS ON MY BIRTHDAY,, WHICH IS JULY 23RD, AT 4:00PM EDT.

SO YOU HAVE 3 ISH DAYS TO ENTER!

And will be rolled shortly thereafter! (Probably around 5:30pm edt if we're being honest!)

FULL TOS UNDER CUT

TOS

By entering you will be agreeing to follow these terms as follows. PLEASE make sure you read them in full to understand them.

You MAY change the design/species of any design i’ve made after youve bought it, but you must leave credit with INDIG0TEA for the design, and the design itself must be recognizable.

Gender/sex/etc is ultimately up to the buyer.

You may not resell or trade these designs PERIOD. You did not pay for them, so you may not be paid for them! If you happen to get more art and want to be rid of them... Give them away! Host another raffle! That's it, sorry!

You may not include my designs in resale bundles. Period.

You may not EVER feed ANY of my art into an AI interface of ANY kind.​​​​​​​​

If gift this design, please inform me that it has been gifted so that I may update the TOS to reflect that and so future owners cannot be scammed.

You may not give this design (or any of my designs) to anyone on my blacklist, which is linked below for your convenience. Doing so will result in immediate blacklisting/blocking of your accounts.

You may not ever edit the original artwork(s).

You may not repost the original artwork to deviantart, instagram, or other social media/portfolio sites.

You may not use this design for the creation of license-able media such as (but is not limited to): books, animated shorts/shows, Vtuber/twitch streamer sonas, comics/webcomics, and video games (free or otherwise). If you would like to use this design in anything like this, we can negotiate a one time licensing fee which covers use in all of the above. This can be anywhere form an additional 150-500$ depending on your intended use.

You MAY use your design for any other purpose, so long as you are not profiting financially off of my work nor passing it off as your own.

You are allowed to store it in your deviantart sta.sh, post it to tumblr profiles, or upload it to websites like toyhou.se with proper credit.

However, you may not reupload to toyhou.se, to keep the ownership log intact, and to keep the original tos consistent.

For my personal comfort, you may not delete original listings from toyhou.seand resell it separately. This is again to keep the ownership log intact, and to keep the original tos consistent. If the person you wish to resell it to does not have a toyhou.se, I have plenty of invite codes I can give out as necessary.

Please credit to INDIG0TEA the first time you post art of them to websites other than toyhou.se

Violation of many of these terms will result in permanent blacklisting/banning from buying or owning designs by me in the future.

BLACKLIST

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Silver Lining 3

Warnings: non/dubcon, speech impediment, bullying and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: silverfox!Bucky Barnes

Summary: You have an unpleasant encounter with an older man.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

"So your sister will be coming by next week with the little ones," your mother declares as you stand at the sink, scrubbing away the remnants of roast beef and potato. "You'll get to play auntie for the day."

"Mhmm," you nod, "what about Justin?"

"Oh, your brother's down visiting with his fiance's family. He said he'd try to make if for Christmas Eve but you know how her family is."

You sniff and pretend to know. You really don't. It's all hearsay to you. You don't hear much from either siblings; they have lives, you just happen to be related.

"S-sounds great," you utter as you put another plate in the rack.

"Oh, honey, you should just use the dishwasher," she says.

"It's f-f-fine, this works," you insist.

"Well, what about you? What are you up to?" She leans on the counter.

"I..." you don't know what to say. You need a lie, anything to appease her. Your brother's engaged, your sister has the white picket fence and you have nothing, "oh, I h-have a job interview."

"You do?" She sounds thoroughly disbelieving.

"Uh, yeah, w-well," you stammer through, trying not to give away your deceit, "since n-no one wants to h-hire me in my f-field, I f-found something new."

"That's exciting," she chimes, "what is it?"

"Uh, I w-want to see i-if it turns out b-before I say," you give a tight-lipped smile, "don't want to d-disappoint you again."

"Sweetie, you're not a disappointment," she hums, "I'm always happy to see you trying."

You look down at the sink and shrug. Behind that comment is the inference that you weren't trying before. That you haven't been. The long nights with vivid nightmares don't exactly motivate you and you've been all but blacklisted as an executive assistant. Even admin roles aren't responding. Even if you do get a bite, the job market is drawn out and tedious.

"Thanks, mom."

"Just... try not to mope around the kids," she chides, "it's Christmas."

You flutter your lashes, "sure, mom."

That's what you are to everyone; weak, pathetic, useless. No, don't do that. You'll make another appointment with Lisa, she always knows what to do.

☕️

Well, this is it. A last resort. One of those freelancing websites that pays pennies. It's better than nothing and will keep you from having too big a gap on your resume. You could easily do the writing gigs, easy money for transcription. You apply to a few of those and scroll on.

You sit up as you see a particular posting that interest you. Oddly enough, the pay isn't half bad. It's also labeled as 'may lead to ongoing work'. Well, well, well, now that's something.

You click into the posting for 'Podcast Script Writer' and review the details. A sample is required for application and lucky enough, you have lots of those hanging around. If it wasn't for your stammer, you'd have an episode done by now. You deleted enough recordings to the point of giving up. Well, this is a solution. You can get your work out there without having to embarrass yourself.

You go through the application, putting in your info and editing a draft before attaching it to the application. You just hope it's thorough enough. You never really let anyone else see and hitting submit makes your stomach flip. With the final click, you close your laptop and quickly get up. Alright, you're not going to dwell on it. If you hear anything, you'll worry then.

You try to read but can't focus. It just makes you think of the posting and your application. Oh jeez, imagine you're rejected but worse, they tell you you've done everything wrong.

Appointment! You can't forget that. You login to the app and put in a request for a Zoom appointment that week. Alright, you're getting things done, you can't say you've done nothing.

You put a video on your phone and lean it on the pop out grip, propping it up on your mattress to watch the compilation of sitcom moments cut together on Youtube. Your mind wanders and your eyes begin to sag as the day shrouds you in fatigue. You slip into a shallow doze as the glare of the screen flickers over you.

The distant clack of keyboards and clicking of mouses needles behind your ears. It's as if you're trapped in a bubble of silence, all colours and noised dampened by the unseen wall. You shudder as you hear his voice, the only thing that's clear. Your name crawls up behind the shell of your ear with his breath as his hands settle on your hips. Your body aches as every muscles tightens and your bones lock in place. Please, no, not again...

"Sir..." you try to speak but nothing comes out. He's always tugging your skirt up, his hand is around your throat. You close your eyes as tears stain your cheeks.

You wake with a start, your phone black as the battery's drained from neglect. You sit up and pant, looking around your dark bedroom, the moonlight limning shadows sinisterly. You gulp and fall back, watching the ceiling as the tears rise in reality and sting your eyes.

If you'd just said no. A simple word. Even you can manage that.

You lay for a while until your restlessness boils over. You get up and plug in your phone. The screen lights up as you rub your eye socket and yawn. There's an email notification in the taskbar. Probably more ads for things you can't afford.

You pull down the menu but find ‘Application Update’ emblazoned across the notification. Oh wow, that was fast. You keep yourself from tapping on the email.

You don't know if you can handle another rejection. You'd rather languish in the uncertainty. You've been doing so for so long, it almost feels safe.

[impactrueno]

It's kinda interesting to see your writing on beetlebabes, altho I'm definitely not going to bother sinking too many braincells into it. I only got into the cartoon something like 12 years ago? By then I was already an adult, so I didn't have any romantic projection onto it, and yeah, I recall finding any non-ship content in the cartoon tag almost impossible (but not 100%!!). To me, this always bled into bigger problems with cartoon porn that was especially common in the 90s (or with 90s audiences & cartoons) and not a beetlejuice specific thing. I will say, after dipping my toes in post-musical, I'm much, much happier than people are now reliably tagging and I can just blacklist. I did wind up putting DNI stuff on a couple or so pieces of art some years back, but that's because tumblr crawls things horribly in search engines (which is why there's so many pornbots). I hated HATED the mistake I made of posting some bj cartoon art with a url of my actual name on tumblr because for a while that meant if you googled my name + beetlejuice, the image results were very liable to show up with cartoon porn, because of shippers reblogging it and that being enough for google to associate your posts with anything else on their blogs. Tumblr is suchhh a shit site in how it's coded. But I doubt anyone ever worried about that but me.

i hear you with that 90s cartoon porn and its fans thing oh my god. i know exactly what you're talking about, i've always hated it lmao

i'm glad you were able to find a more comfortable space once the musical came out. the fandom expanded greatly with it and i think the elder fans are annoyed by that. don't listen to them lol they're a very loud minority. most people tag stuff and keep out of each other's hair, as it should be.

also that google search thing; yeah i think you're the only one who worried about that. i don't know you, but i think the chances of someone googling someone's real name + a fandom are very low unless you use it to sign your art or for your portfolio or something. regardless, if they DO do that and cartoon porn shows up in the search, i'm sure they wouldn't think absolutely anything of it or that it has anything to do with you. it's really hard to google fanart for anything and NOT have porn show up at some point lol. so you're good!

[imptwins]

ALRIGHT, no more messing around I suppose.

Over the last twelve months my close friend @kimberlyeab and myself have been the targets of sustained harassment by a series of "anti-ship" accounts, that may or may not be the same person, that I am not going to name up here because I do not want to give them any more traffic than necessary. This is over some of the content we make, 18+ fiction revolving around Undertale and Deltarune, and sometimes involving dark kinks. I'm going to ask you to put aside whether you think this is immoral for the moment.

Under the break below is what I wrote a few hours ago. Things have since escalated. Both myself and Kim have been targeted by email bombs on our business emails, services/bots that spam your email address with garbage signups, rendering your email address completely unusable. At worst, this can overwhelm your email service so much that your account is unable to process new emails and is eventually disabled by the provider. I'm still getting bursts of activity after over 200 emails, so I'm not sure if it's dying down, or if it's so backlogged that this is what's happening.

This is literally a crime, by the way. It's classified as cyber abuse.

On top of this, whoever has done this has access to personal information. A full legal name, first and last, was used in several of the signups, so they are either implicitly threatening to doxx us, or simply flexing that they could. Likewise a crime.

Additionally, this seems well coordinated, but there are no suspicious recent results for us in The Usual Places. This makes me believe this person is probably using some foul back-alley site like KF to organize this. I don't think the legal name in question could have been acquired by one person, it's extremely difficult to trace back.

tl;dr: whoever is doing this knows their way around the internet and is actively dangerous, they are severely impeding our lives and have the potential to become incredibly, incredibly dangerous.

Why am I posting this? Not really to get those accounts in trouble (although you should absolutely stay the hell away from them, and severely scrutinize anything they leave a mark on). I don't think they'll be punished, nor would it help since they constantly block evade, and at this point I don't think this recent online abuse crap is actually them, just someone attaching themself to their crusade. Though I'm not sure.

What I want to illustrate is how these kind of callout posts feed into targeted harassment of minorities. This is just another reason why things that make you uncomfortable should be dealt with by curating your experience using tags and blacklists and blocks, rather than trying to assign moral value to what people make. If my content makes you that uncomfortable I *actively encourage* you to block me.

It doesn't matter whether you personally dislike minorities or not, or whether you're subconsciously targeting them, or whatever. Someone else who does will latch on. That person who writes nothing but callout posts, yet they're always for small trans creators who make some 'icky stuff' and never for big-name bigots who parade their bigotry out in the open; is it because they're a sock puppet of an overt reactionary, or just because they want to feel some control over their life so they subconsciously focus on vulnerable people?

Simple: you can't know.

These people are the dangerous ones. Not people who just make content, properly tag it, and mind their own business. But these people, obsessed with ruining other people, with finding 'evil' in the world so that they can purge it? You can find their name below if you really want, and literally their entire blog is just constant callouts, broadcasting people doing callouts, trying to network with other people who do callouts. This is why these people were originally called 'antifans', their entire fandom presence is centered around tearing other people to shreds.

Do your due diligence and fact-check, before you broadcast that someone in your fandom did something awful. Make sure they actually hurt someone. I know mega-bastards will use 'you can't prove it' as an excuse, but actually analyze it a bit. It's almost always painfully obvious, I know, I spent years doing antifascism. And more than anything else, neither entertain, nor broadcast, nor embolden the kind of people who dedicate their entire existences on the internet to lateral abuse. Not just these particular ones, but ANYONE who dedicates their life to this online torch-waving garbage over fictional content. Whether they're a reactionary or just projecting trauma, whether they actually hate x y or z minority or they just happen to always go for the most vulnerable people, whether the person they're targeting makes content that makes you feel very icky and gross or not, these self-ordained Crusaders are consistently, unquestionably, dangerous.

That's one page out of 4. Also some of them have between 10 and 80 updates in the one email from the same address. There's about 300 emails all up. And there's zero reason they can't do this again.

===

Anyway. The accounts in question are @snowcollecter/@brieffamilycat/@krispy-chicken-shipping/@bonniehbunny. First two are definitely them, I highly suspect the latter two are their main, or at the very least someone who constantly signal boosts them. We have endured over 12 months of:

calling for brigades against us, and at least 4 other people

block dodging to constantly screenshot and reference our posts

literal libel by accusing us of grooming a child despite screenshots, as well as both statements and direct requests to stop by both the supposed groomed child and their actual friends who witnessed all interactions we had

spamming anon asks to literally every single person that they can find who we ever interact with

using tiktok cen)sor)ship nonsense to get past peoples' blacklists and force this stuff in front of them

using no less than 3 confirmed alts with about 5 more extremely suspicious accounts in attempts to artificially broadcast themself and again evade blocks (when the original account itself is transparently an alt too)

joining multiple random discords to try to shove this stuff in peoples' faces

now spamming Kim's business email at signup services

probably being behind the attempts to doxx and raid us last year on a certain hate-monger website, since the signup spam demonstrates they're cool with bog standard channer troll tactics

They also pretty tellingly refused to even talk to this minor we supposedly groomed, who attempted to tell them personally that we hadn't done the shit they claim we did. You'd think someone who is this caught up about the safety of minors in fandom spaces would jump at the chance to help this kid, to tell them not to talk to us and get them away from us, to convince them to stay away? No, they said 'I don't talk to minors' (this is demonstrably untrue: their discord accounts are in many all-ages spaces) and immediately blocked them.

Of course. Because this was never about the safety of minors. Flip a coin; if it's heads, they're a far-right sock puppet who just knows they can use the 'think of the children' angle to drive a wedge into queer communities. If it's tails, they're just a routine runt who's projecting their lack of ability to do anything about the ACTUAL assholes of this world onto other queer people, wailing and flailing and doing anything they can to have some influence despite getting 3 notes on almost everything they ever post. Hence the anon asks, and Discord spam, and blacklist/block evading. If they can't have a platform - because anyone who looks at their garbage for more than a month at most sees how absolutely deranged they are - they'll just force people to see it.

Do they ever attack actual transphobes, which this fandom is not at all short on? Well, sort of! They did one or two callout posts about a TERF who used to run in these spaces... But didn't say anything about the TERF shit. Just the porn. The porn constantly put behind age confirmations and thorough tags/content warnings. This person spouted generic 'all-powerful trans lobby' 'social contagion' 'please look at this study about desistance I found on a hard-right website' bullshit, but no, it was them drawing aged-up highschoolers (REMINDER: NOT EVEN CANONICALLY UNDERAGE, JUST VAGUE HIGHSCHOOLERS, *AND* THEY WERE EXPLICITLY OLDER IN THEIR CONTENT!) that was apparently the greater evil.

I'm not even really sharing this to call them specifically out or draw attention to them. Regardless of whether they're a chud in a mask or just someone who severely, *severely* needs psychological help about their obsession, they're not going to stop. They've made that plainly obvious. At this point I've basically just accepted I'm going to have this deranged stalker until I leave the fandom, which I don't plan to do anytime soon so buckle up I guess.

No, I just want people to see what these people are like. How they ignore the people they claim are victims. How they employ the same tactics as doxxing websites and old channer trolls, or even outright enlist them. How they only EVER put sustained effort into taking down queer people with small platforms because going after the in-plain-sight actual bigots and scumbags would just be too much effort, a reflection of how this is about feeling righteous and powerful, not actually making the world better. They create nothing, they contribute nothing, they bring nothing but arguing and drama and isolation to the spaces they inhabit.

These kind of people are blights on the fandoms they cling to. And any time you act like their *miserable* Hays Code, Jack Thompson With A Rainbow Flag, no kink at pride, BDSM is abuse, drag queens are indecent, cover those ankles *garbage* warrants any notice at all, you deal another blow to the fandom you are in, because nobody wants to be around these little goddamn nightmares. edit: I know how red-flag any grooming allegations are, if you want the full story to that I already addressed it here. tl;dr, no, we did not let a child look at our porn let alone show it to them, we in fact stopped them from doing so. We are not in some secret private 18+ server with them, we actively ensured they STOPPED making themself unsafe, and have strained extremely, extremely hard to keep our very limited interactions with them transparent, scrutinizable, and appropriate. The only reason we even stuck around was because it became rapidly apparent they were in an abusive living situation which we occasionally gave them advice to manage, eg helping them look up boarding options, unlike the torch-waving dipshits who did NOTHING to reach out to them or help them in any way. They're doing much better, both in their home life and in terms of not following or privately palling around with 18+ creators anymore, thanks to us, and at the expense of both our mental health and reputations. You're fucken' welcome.

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

Are we thinking MM will be Misan’s plus one for the Oscars? She has been love bombing him for ages now and surely his poor quality photos of her are not all she is after.

If he takes her instead of his wife, it would be a new level of low.

So I've been thinking about this, and I don't think Meghan actually wants to go to the Oscars, the Grammys, the Golden Globes, etc.

I think she loves being associated with that A-List crowd and she loves the idea of us (her adoring public *and* her critical public) thinking she's that popular, influential, famous, wealthy, connected to be "in" with that crowd. But I think she's actually terrified to be physically there with that crowd.

If you look at every public 'engagement' Meghan does, there's always a couple of things in common:

She controls every single thing - how she looks, who she speaks to, who approaches her, what they say to her, how she's photographed, where she's photographed, who's with her, who's next to her, who's taking her picture, so on.

She's the main attraction, the big kahuna - everyone is there to see her, they want to listen to her, they want to shake her hand, they want to hug her, they want to write only about her.

Neither of these are possible when she's in an auditorium full of much more famous, much wealthier, much more connected, much more desirable celebrities than her. She wants to sit front and center like William and Kate do at the BAFTAs but that's not possible; front and center at the Oscars is reserved for the people that the rest of us tune in to watch - the Meryl Streeps, the Colman Domingos, the Lily Gladstones, the Cilian Murphys. If being in the overflow room on the 8th row in an enormous ballgown is humiliating, just wait till she's stuck at the back of the auditorium with the film editors, the foreign language nominees, and the plus-ones of everyone not famous enough to sit at the front on camera.

Something else to remember about these kind of events is that they're giant parties for the Hollywood industry. Meaning everyone knows everyone, they're all there for a good time. they're not there to promote anything or talk business -- they're not going to talk to someone they don't know, who doesn't really work in the industry, and who's made headlines for blabbing about other people's private/personal business. In other words, Meghan is going to be the one going up to these people to talk to them. She's going to be the one climbing over the chairs to give hugs and say hello and she's going to be the one catering to other people's egos. That's not what she wants. She wants people to come to her, to be in awe of her, to be flattering her ego.

And because everyone knows everyone at these events, it's probably a very safe assumption that if Meghan and Harry have misbehaved/done things to certain people as alleged, then those people have told their friends/staff, who've told their friends, so a whole bunch of people are on their guard about Meghan being in their space.

(Some of those rumors: Harry taking drugs at Courtney Cox's house party and writing about it in Spare, Christian Bales's family having concerns about what Meghan wheedling Gloria Steinem, Meghan using Oprah for headlines while Oprah was at her dying father's bedside, all the shit that went down with Tyler Perry, whatever went down with David Foster and Kat McPhee, Meghan hitting on Serena's husband, whatever Melissa McCarthy and Tracee Ellis Ross know about 40x40, whatever went down with the fertility doctor/OBGYN who closed up shop right after Lili was born, whatever she did to piss off Edward Enniful, everything that happened with Netflix and Spotify (which Netflix hinted at in last week's article), and Meghan's "fuck off" to Anna Wintour about the Met Gala that got her blacklisted.)

Another thing is the fashion at these events. It is a 100% total merchfest. 9 out of 10 celebs you see on the red carpet (including the men) have partnered with designers and are wearing their clothes/jewelry for free. Who the celebs wear usually correlates to one of three things: their fame/popularity, personal relationships between designer/stylist and celebrity, and the likelihood of the celeb getting on camera. Meghan isn't going to get the elite designers to dress her for these events. She doesn't want to wear Carolina Herrera or Hermes readywear when everyone else is wearing hot-off-the-runway Dior, Versace, Prada, etc. She doesn't want to wear Birks when everyone else is dripping in Harry Winston, Cartier, Tiffany's.

And finally, these events are filmed/streamed live. Meghan doesn't like being recorded when she isn't in control. And these are 3-hour, 4-hour long events. She can't keep her mask on for that long, especially when she's being snubbed and ignored by people she thinks should be falling down at her feet. That's why she always hypes up going to the after-parties instead, and why the only events she actually *does* attend are red carpets for private events - there are no cameras at the actual events so she can more easily keep up the "I'm all that and still unbroken!" facade she so desperately wants us to believe.

I mean, she bailed on the Travolta awards at the last minute for a reason.

And if she can't handle being third fiddle to William and Kate, she absolutely can't handle being third fiddle to an entire auditorium of Williams and Kates.

So she might be lovebombing Misan to be his plus-one to the Oscars. But I don't think she would actually go. She'll probably pull out last minute. If anything, I think she's probably lovebombing for tickets to Netflix's after-party. She may also be trying to get Misan to be her "personal" photographer the way Kate "has" Matt Porteous and Chris Jackson.