#Violence Threat CW

[dyspunktional-leviathan]

I think my disability benefits should include the legal right to beat up with my mobility aids anyone who thinks that dependency should mean giving up autonomy.

Signed, a dependent, currently abused, really fucking needing a non-abusive caregiver but not knowing if I can ever have them, disabled person.

[myperfectvictim]

Sweetheart, you are getting raped. Conscious or not. You're going to want these drugs.

[aannonn]

I FINALLY FINISHED ITT LETS GOOO

(to anyone who wanna read it on ao3 instead! ><)

not-actually-so-funfact; my computer started to burn in the middle of the translation :D (im brazilian so i write my fics in brazilian before translating them to english- xd)

anyways!! hope u enjoy the read just as much as I did while writing it! <3

- , "Ruined. All Ruined."

(updated/fixed) Tags ;

Rating : Teen and Up Audiences Warning : Graphic Depictions of Violence Tags#1 : rated t mainly because of the swears // violent thoughts // threats of violence // whump // self hatred // self depreciation // self esteem // self esteem issues // angst // angst and feels // heavy angst // hurt no comfort // emotional hurt // crying // selective mutism // talking in musical notes Tags#2 : hurt/comfort // comfort // emotional hurt/comfort // emotional // inner dialogue // minecraft mechanics // neurodivergent // {not exactly the focus but y'k- its there} // author is projecting

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Ruined.

All ruined.

   Green sat on his bed, the tie tied carefully around his neck crumpling from the tightness of his knees being hugged close to his chest. A crumpled tie was certainly not something he would take lightly, and he would quickly fix his posture so he could tidy it up and leave it the way it was before, perfect as it should be. But- honestly? Green felt no motivation to do so right now.

   He doesn't understand what he did wrong. Did he prepare too much? Did he create a lot of expectations? Did he let his anger and arrogance get the best of him again?

   Everything seemed perfect, everything was perfect, but then that silverfish suddenly emerged and, in the blink of an eye, everything around him seemed to be shattering; All the months of planning and preparation and so, so many songs he wrote and scratched because none of them felt perfect enough felt like they had been stepped on, crushed and thrown into lava, slowly burning right before his eyes.

   Is not fair. None of this was fair. He worked so hard to get to this moment, to improve his musical skills and impress an entire audience with his music, his passion. His friends, friendly acquaintances - everyone he knew was there - even Orange was there! They were all there for the concert, for the performance, for him.

   He felt like he was on cloud nine, happily boasting about the praise and applause floating around him like birthday confetti, roses being thrown at him as a sign of love and admiration - His friends and family were congratulating him and looking at him with so much admiration and love and affection for his amazing and so well-planned, so well-done, so perfect performance.

   He felt so adored, like the celebrities he saw on YouTube, being praised and complimented and talked about by many, many people, with so much admiration and adoration in their voices when talking about them. He felt so envied, as if several people adored him so much that they wanted to have his talents, they wanted to be him. He felt so loved, friends and family being so proud of him that he felt himself laughing happily, smiling so big that his cheeks hurt.

   ...Then a silverfish rised onto the stage, stepped on his noteblock, and the adoring, gazing eyes of the crowd - of his friends - were on the mob, and suddenly it seemed like it wasn't his concert anymore, but rather a random silverfish who just invaded the stage and stole his place, his audience, his moment.

   Green clenched his fists, bringing his knees even closer and crumpling his tie even more; Is not fair. None of this is fucking fair. He worked so hard for this, he worked so long for this, and now it's all ruined. Everything is ruined.

   The audience applauded and the show was a success, but the silverfish was the one in the spotlight; It was what was being boasted about, congratulated, adored, happily applauded for its' incredible performances.

   Meanwhile, Green was collapsing in pain in the middle of the stage and suffering from a horrible concussion.

   He felt humiliated, awfully humiliated. Shame, disappointment, and anger flooded his entire being, and the moment he woke up in his room, in his bed, with an ice pack on his head and a potions kit right on his desk, the only thing he did was have a staring contest with the ceiling with hazy eyes, his mind was a complete fog as he felt himself swinging his leg from side to side, jiggling it repeatedly distractedly.

   They cheered, the audience cheered, his friends cheered, but none of the cheers and joyful whistles were directed at him, as if the show had never even belonged to him in the first place.

   Green clenched his fists so tightly that he felt the faintest hint of blood coming from his palms, tears stinging his eyes distressingly, falling and spilling and wetting the mattress like rainfalls.

   Small bubbles appeared in his throat and made him let out soft sobs while small melodic notes came out of his mouth, making unbearably unpleasant and hostile noises, seeming as if a million instruments were being played at the same time, forming a loud and unpleasant noise for the ears. Fortunately the canorous notes that came out were small and therefore you wouldn't be able to hear them properly if you weren't close enough to his face.

   He felt so pathetic, so ridiculous. It wasn't even that bad; Everyone in the audience loved and genuinely enjoyed the show, his friends even formed a band and Orange finally played the electric guitar he had after years of not even touching it! So why was he so sad? Why did he feel like his entire world had just collapsed? Why did he feel so angry at the silverfish that only wanted to play with him?

   Because he was so selfish. So selfish and arrogant the little musician.

   He wanted to pull his head off, his stupid head with a stupid brain that only knew how to think about itself - He wanted to find that stupid silverfish and sink the tip of the diamond sword at its' stomach, jab it and stab it and all over again until all that was left of the mindless mob were little white clouds signaling its permanent death.

   He wanted to punch himself, spank himself - He wanted to be vengeful, he wanted to scream - He was so angry at himself, so angry at the silverfish, so angry at his brain, so angry at his feelings, so angry at his friends who didn't even try to help him get the silverfish off the stage and bring everyone's attention back to him, so angry at the world that was never merciful to him, hurting him again and again and again and again and again and again like a fucking punching bag.

   He wanted to isolate himself from everything and everyone to show the world how fucking angry and tired he is right now. He wanted his friends to invade his room to shower him with love and affection, hugs and apologies and promises that they would take better care of him, that they would never try to hurt him again, that they would never let the world hurt him again.

   He wants the world to burn, he wants the world to hold him like a baby.

   He's so selfish. Selfish and arrogant little adorable musician.

   His mind was a fog full of thoughts as his emotions took control, his body swayed slightly from side to side like a mantra, all of this making his brain unable to register the sound of footsteps approaching his position on the bed or even extra weight being added to the green mattress.

   Green jumped when he felt a hand holding his arm gently, rocking his body serenely and distracting his mind from thoughts for a few brief moments. He still didn't take his face off his knees, but he didn't take the hand off his arm either.

   Faint sobs and small musical notes echoed through the spacious house, the fog of dark thoughts in his mind gradually fading until all that was left were just faint sobs and dry tears gracing his face, a few tears still running down his chin towards the bed, small drops of water, some already old, wetting the mattress.

   He didn't register and didn't want to register how long it had been since he and the familiar but currently unknown stickfigure had been sitting on the bed. The stickfigure just rocked him calmly and slowly, distracting him from his thoughts that only got darker and darker, while also giving him time to calm down at his own pace, which Green deeply appreciates.

   Eventually, his breathing seemed to have finally eased and he opened his eyes, raising his head slowly and groggily, somewhat destabilized after the horrible mental breakdown he had just had.

   Yellow's composed and slightly worried face greeted him, the gentle movement of his head cooled off the nervous spasms he felt in his body after his brain had correctly registered the pathetic and disappointing scene he had just made, right in front of one of the last people he wanted for to see him in this state.

   Yellow remained quiet, his hand still on Green's arm as he continued to rock him gently, his movements filled with nothing but pure affection and concern for him. For Green.

   Green raised his head groggily, feeling light bubbles rising in his throat again and a new spiral of crying emerging before he pushed it back by force, several carefully chosen words in his head ready to start a conversation and break the suffocating silence, even though none of them had any actual desire to actually produce real sounds.

   He coughed, a hoarse, noisy wet cough, taking a deep breath - with some difficulty - before merely forcing a sound out of his throat, words in his mind all jumbled together - he just wanted to break the silence, a silence so quiet and still and suffocating.

   - W.. what." His voice was hoarse from crying and small musical notes were muddled with the words, making the words that came out of his mouth a confusing cacophony of sounds and verbs without a correct direction.

   Yellow patted his free hand on his knee nervously, whispering softly; - I just wanted to check up on you."

   Green no longer felt any motivation to actually form words and say them out loud, so he just shook his head sharply and pushed Yellow's hand away from his arm, a small musical note faintly leaving his mouth; a twisted, angry, broken sound.

   Go away.

   Yellow quickly understood the message the older one wanted to convey and tapped his hand on his knee nervously again, a slight, almost imperceptible movement of his shoulders lowering in defeat before he stood up and walked to the door, his steps light, but steady, echoing in the now empty space; where a single green stickfigure sat on his own bed of the same color, hugging and consoling himself from the world that only knew how to hurt. The only sounds that could be heard were his own whimpers and small melodic notes that the form curled up like a ball of the arrogant little musician emanated.

   It's so quiet. The world seemed so much lonelier and more dangerous when it was quiet.

   It's just him, and the world that hates him.

.

.

.

.

   At some point in his breakdown; round two(2), Green fell asleep; spilled tears still dripping onto the mattress while light, dry remnants clung to his cheeks. Honestly, Green isn't sure if he actually fell asleep, all he remembers is that his perception of his surroundings was momentarily desensitized and he found himself lying in his bed, a pair of hands on his shoulder shaking him with enthusiasm to side to side, presumably being the reason why his brain seemed to have regained awareness of his surroundings when he felt a sudden and unexpected physical contact stirring him impatiently.

   Red's excited and unbearably happy face was what greeted him this time, determination and enthusiasm adorning his movements as he continued to shake him the way he normally would when he had done something cool and desperately wanted to show to someone.

   Noticing the slight movement of Green's head moving towards him, Red let go of the shorter stick's right shoulder and jumped back, his arms bobbing up and down happily before grabbing Green's hands and pulling him in a way so that he was now sitting on the bed, relinquishing him and quickly rushing to the door, giving him one last look (still jumping up and down and waving his arms happily) before jumping out of the house, his steps happy and hurried resonating even outside the household.

   Green just stared at the door now open to him, not moving a single inch to follow Red to wherever the latter wanted to show him, an internal debate in his head with the decisions he could make.

   Getting out of bed, let alone walking to the door, seemed like a challenge. His body had little to no motivation to exercise and his head was still a fog that momentarily distracted him from his surroundings. He really didn't want to get up.

   But there would be no more silence if he did. The world would no longer seem so dangerous and immense for him if he went outside.

. . .

   Green sighed, staring at the floor for several long moments before merely forcing his body to stand, stumbling a bit in disorientation after sitting for so long, before practically dragging himself to the door, his slow, sloppy steps echoing through the silent residence.

   The entire time he walked towards the open door, Green stared at the ground, absentmindedly counting the pixel particles of the blocks he passed in his mind.

   He really had no desire to do anything... But the silence he was in was too suffocating and oppressive for him to bear.

   As he walked, Green quickly noticed that the light gradually dimmed with each new block, getting darker and darker until he couldn't even see the color of the staircase.

   Green took his eyes off the floor and raised his head, noticing how the computer's lighting seemed to have suddenly faded, enveloping both him and the programs and the PC's characteristic background in immense darkness - Much like when he himself removed the brightness of the computer to blast his latest music at that time.

   Green straightened up, feeling goosebumps all over his body as he took his cell phone out of his pocket and turned on the flashlight, quickly taking out his diamond sword from his inventory and holding it tightly, keeping his guard up for any possible mobs or whatever it was that could suddenly jump on him.

   He slowly descended the steps, his steps light and careful as he illuminated the darkness around him and kept his ears open for any sign of movement or noise.

   He wonders where his friends are...

   Suddenly, red and orange and yellow and green and blue lights illuminated the computer and momentarily blinded him, causing him to stagger back in fright and throw his sword and cell phone into the air before quickly grabbing the sword in alarm, pointing the sharp tip towards the light source as he vaguely registered the sound of his cell phone falling to the ground with the flashlight still on.

   A stage - his stage - his concert stage - greeted him back, colorful lights enthusiastically illuminating the center of the stage, where stood his dearest friends that he had known for as long as he could remember.

   Friends who also just watched as his concert was ruined by a fucking silverfish.

   Green shook his head sharply to dispel that thought, slowly lowering his sword as he quickly settled down, no longer feeling the impending danger scratching the back of his neck, though that also didn't mean his irritation had disappeared.

   He simply stared at the four(4) stickfigures on the stage, irritation was obvious in his movements as he gave them the silent treatment.

   Blue clasped his hands together nervously, Red dragged his feet on the floor without looking at him while Orange shifted uncomfortably; The only one who seemed more balanced and stressless of all was Yellow, although Green could detect a slight touch of nervousness in the movement of his shoulders.

   None of them said or made any movement as an indication that they were going to break the silence, Green just stared at them demanding an explanation while the others just moved and looked at each other nervously.

   Blue turned to Red, grabbing his shoulder before pushing him forward. Red stumbled before immediately shaking his head roughly and pushing Blue forward, to which Blue grabbing Orange's hand and pulling the shortest one in front of him, pushing him nervously to be in Green's gaze. Orange looked back and forth between Blue, Red and then Green, staring at the ground while rubbing his arms nervously, before finally taking a single step forward before Yellow suddenly stopped him by grabbing his shoulder and pointing at himself, to which the youngest nodded in thanks and quickly went to Red's side.

   Yellow took a deep breath, only taking three steps forward before finally breaking the silence, his voice a soft whisper with varying degrees of guilt and apologetic tone emanating from it.

   - We're sorry."

   Green bounced in surprise, confusion adorning his movements.

   At the sound of Yellow's voice, the other three(3) seemed to find courage and quickly echoed their own apologies with equal degrees of guilt and apologetic tones, a cacophony of voices over one another as they made several sudden and clumsy movements.

   - We had fun but you didn't have fun and that wasn't- It wasn't what- It was not cool. Nothing cool."

   - We're really, really sorry- The show was horrible- It was horrible to you- It was scary, wasn't it? It was terrifying... We laughed but- And- We didn't even think how hurt would you be..."

   - We didn't try to help you when you needed it most, and we completely understand if you- How angry you might- How angry you are and we won't force you to forgive us or anything-"

   Sincere. Genuine. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Don't forgive us. You don't need to forgive us. We are really sorry. We will take better care of you.

   Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry-

   - So we thought about- Ah. To repair. Give you the concert you truly deserve."

The firm tone emanating from Yellow's voice quickly interrupted the fog that was beginning to form in Green's head, turning his head towards him to realize that the taller one had raised his hand and stopped everyone from continuing with the cacophony of voices. Of I'm sorrys. Of apologies-

   Oh wait.

   Oh. Oh.

   The stage was for him?

   - I know nothing will fix the damage that silverfish caused- The damage we didn't even try to cease- But." Yellow paused, clasping his hands and fidgeting nervously in his seat before taking a deep breath and continuing; - That's- The concert really mattered to you, so. We wanted to- Give you a chance to- A second chance to. Show to the world-

   - The world being us."

   Yellow elbowed Red. - Your performance. And just your performance only. No silverfish to take your place."

   The stage was practically the same as the show, although it was significantly reduced to fit the computer and not cover the entire space to the point of being almost claustrophobic.

   The instruments from before - from the villagers who agreed to help him with the concert - were not there, just the blocks and noteblocks that had been used previously in the concert. On his concert.

   It was his show. It is his show.

   The stage is his. The performance is his. The audience is his.

   Green just stared at the stage, then at the instruments, then at his friends.

   Millions of emotions flowed like musical notes, the fog in his head forming like fluffy, adorable clouds, and suddenly he felt an immense urge to jump and bounce and play and scream and stim and-

   A single musical note, so small and confused and twisted and broken - yet joyful and hopeful and excited and free - floated from his mouth, the harp-like sound echoing so low that Green is sure none of them would have heard it if the room was not in a complete silent.

   For me?

   Yellow tilted his head gently, Blue touched his hands like he always does when he's excited, while Orange nodded and Red happily waved his arms up and down, encouragingly signaling the older one to come on stage.

   For you.

   Green timidly walked to the stage, Blue and Red quickly helped him by grabbing his hands and pulling him up, Orange walked towards him and gently pushed him to the center where the noteblocks were carefully placed in a way that formed a piano, patting his back in encouragement before going to join Red and Blue on the chairs in front of the stage, sitting right next to Red who was resting his parrots on his shoulders.

   Yellow had the staff in hand, placing his hands on his hips in a sign of lighthearted annoyance, confusing Green momentarily before realizing that the taller stick was looking at the crumpled tie with small traces of dried tears.

Oh.

   Green looked down at his shabby tie, dismay filling him at how careless he had been with his beautiful tie, before perking up when yellow hands suddenly grabbed his tie by the ends and stretched it, trying to straighten it back to the way it was before. Finishing, Yellow walked away and placed his hands on his hips as a sign of pride, while Green just stared at his tie, now even more messy and shabby than before.

   Such a mistake like that would freak him out, reprimand the causer and quickly fix the damage done.

   Now, somehow, he found no reason to care.

   It was perfect. It is perfect.

   Green took the staff extended to him with such delicacy and care, as if the staff would break with a single sloppy touch, holding it close to his chest like a plush.

   Yellow patted his head, touching his forehead to Green's in a tender and gentle manner, before retreating and getting off the stage, sitting right next to Blue and putting all his attention on Green, on the show. On Green. On the performance. On Green.

   All eyes and heads were on him, all attention was on him and him alone.

  Playing his slightly altered melody as he now played solo, he felt on cloud nine. Gloatingly boasting of the enthusiastic applause and whistles of his beloved audience, who adored every performance he performed no matter how imperfect they seemed to him. Of his friends, who would always be there welcoming him with open arms and would help him in any way they could. Of his family, who adore him and love him so, so much.

   It was perfect. It is perfect.

   He is adored. He is accepted. He is loved.

   He always was. And he always will be.

.

.

.

.

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[altschmerzes]

🌹- can you give us some Frank's shenanigans from drive the wedge please? 🥺I'm sorry I'm a bit obsessed with this fic of yours

aaaabsolutely and dont be sorry, im also obsessed and i appreciate nothing more than being given excuses to talk about it and share clips XD the thing is 20k now if you can believe that

this is from chapter 1, some of his very earliest shenanigans and some of the mildest. but it does uh. set the stage. we also get some of river being a brat at the worst possible opportunity for him to do so

“So, have you worked out who I am yet?” There’s an air of smugness around the question. River glares Frank and thinks about how satisfying it would be to watch him keel over dead of a fucking aneurysm right now, right in three… two… one… Ah. Fuck. Guess not, then.

“Sure have,” River says, his words clipped and dripping with loathing that he doesn’t make even the slightest effort to hold back. “You’re a fucking psycho.”

Frank doesn’t react, not obviously. He doesn’t say anything and his face doesn’t change, he just keeps that faintly smug look, leaning back in his chair and watching River with hard eyes. The silence starts to grow heavy after several long seconds and it continues to grow heavier as it drags on after that. It’s a threatening kind of silence, which feels insane to think, except that this whole situation is insane, so maybe that’s relative.

It must have been at least a full minute that passes without a single word from either of the other men in the room when River starts to really regret what he’d said. Maybe it was a bad idea, he thinks with that voice from before echoing in his head again, to antagonize the people who were holding him prisoner. But nothing happens. Nothing happens except that Patrice stands unmovingly by and Frank stares with those unflinching eyes and River doesn’t feel any better for it.

“I’ll let that one slide, since you’ve had a very big day and are probably dealing with a lot of shock and some pretty massive changes in your life,” is what he eventually says. His voice is calm but there is no give to it. “But make no mistake, River, this is your one and only free pass. It won’t happen again. The next time you mouth off to me, you will pay for it, just like any of my sons would.”

Nausea takes River’s gut in a fist and twists. He regrets the psycho jab for a different reason now than just the violence consequence it has been made so clear to him that he has narrowly avoided in response to it. No, it had cost him something — River can never go back and be the first the acknowledge what he has known since looking at those postcards to be true. This is his father. This man, who had looped a plastic-coated steel cord around his neck and tightened it until it bit into his skin, is his father, and River had wanted to be the first one to say it, to take that one tiny, meaningless piece of power. And now Frank has taken it instead, because River decided to shoot off his mouth.

[stories-of-the-multiverse]

"Not a valid forma currency," he said, placing a fist on his hips as he leaned slightly forward.

Despite being blase about it, he did take the threat seriously. And he was planning to bolt.

Because no, he will not make it easy. If she wants to strangle him, she's gotta work for it-

@stories-of-the-multiverse continued from x

"Jax," she really was trying not to look as pulissed off as she felt, she knew it was only fueling him, but, like always, Angelette's temper was her own worst enemy, "why don't ya do everyone a favor, and shut the f@#k up?"

[madeofvoid]

Convinced a long time friend of mine to stop waiting and get her HRT. She took her first dose today and noticed a change in her mood instantly.

It may take months or years for you to notice the effects, but don't use that as an excuse. Its never too late. Sunken cost is a fallacy for a reason.

If you often find yourself contemplating "being the girl" in any situation, idc if its smutty or sfw, its because you probably are. Cis people don't do that. Don't wait, being a bystander to your own pain and discomfort is violence unto oneself. Go fucking get it. Just do it, I swear it makes a difference. It's hard, yes, but it'd be no easier to live in pain.

Also, generally ignore the TERFs. I've seen them honestly debate if Joanne Kathleen Rowling is cis herself. They're unreliable narrators at best and delusional by default. (Protip: Dissenters may floss with razor wire at earliest opportunity.)

Odds are you won't regret it. More people regret knee replacement or cancer removal surgeries than starting hrt. Trans-trenderism is a fallacy rooted in selection bias. Inertia was a real phenomenon before it had a name.

Don't want top surgery? Aight dont get it. Don't want bottom surgery? Aight dont get it. Gender euphoria is about you and what makes you happy. (Protip: cis chasers are for one night stands only. Wear gloves.)

Family doesn't agree? Forget about them, they only care about the idea of you in their minds. Make friends, form bonds of choice because those will always be stronger than bonds of force. (Protip: the full quote reads "The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.")

Religion in the way? You should probably second guess that, anyway. Any doctrine which boils down to "bro just trust me" should be discarded. There are plenty more gods you can worship who view you as sacred. (Protip: There are explicit records of the sumerian deity Ishtar having transfem priestesses dating back to c~ 2000 B.C.E. Look it up.)

Too expensive/cant get an appt? r/DiYHRT exists. If not there, then there are comprehensive guides on 4chan's /lgbt/ board.

In a state where it's banned? See above. Move if you're able. If not, just fucking lie on your medical documentation. Get a P.O. box somewhere as an address and use that on medical records. With telehealth appointments and the proliferation of MyChart, it's stupidly easy to get treatment from a doctor and never have to see them. (Protip: this is legal and will likely remain that way for corporate interests. Abuse the system.)

Tl;DR - GET THE FUCKING HRT STOP WAITING TRANSFEM OR TRANSMASC OR TRANS NON BINARY JUST GO FOR IT THIS IS YOUR SIGN FFFUCKING DO IT.

p.s. any terfs found on the premises will be dealt with in accordance with the second ammendment. you've been warned. goodnight.

-nora

[syscultureis]

Friends with *presumably* not raised in an abusive household people plural culture is asking “doesn’t your parents threaten you with violence?” And them responding “I think you should see a therapist… I’m not a professional…” and saying the most ridiculous shit my parents did and asking if that’s not normal when they looks at me weird. Like what do you mean threatening me with violence if I don’t do smth is abuse? (/coping) and now every damn alter is staring to each other wondering how we’re alive

-Alfred

We mention something offhand we thought was normal and our coworkers just freeze and ask us if we're alright and it's such an odd experience

[dyspunktional-leviathan]

I think the next time I see someone using “abled” to mean “ableist”, or otherwise present “disabled” and “ableist” as non-overlapping categories, I’ll fucking teleport to them to beat them up with my cane about which my mother, who is apparently so ✨abled✨ she needs disability aids to survive every hour she’s not in bed, just pulled an entire fucking performance about me not actually needing it, got offended about me being hurt by that and told me not to pay attention.

[fictionkinfessions]

i love you and i wish i didnt. youre mean to me but i like when youre mean to me. i want to kiss you on the mouth. i say i wish i didnt love you but we both know thats not true. youre amazing, youre beautiful. youre graceful too. there is just something about you that makes my world full of something. where yes i want to beat you to death with hammers. but i also want to love you. i want to hold you, i want to kiss you slowly.

i dont know. im just a stupid homo. im so stupid.

-Josuke 💎 #🔥

x

[tierra-paldeana]

// well. i just feared for me and my mom's lives. i can't remember the last time i felt so fucking scared. the TLDR is that one of our neighbours is fucking nuts and he forced himself into our house and started yelling and screaming and just the sight of my mom trying to calm down this fucking lunatic made me start to cry and holy shit i can't. i've been trembling for almost 2 hours now,, luckily he didn't do anything to us and he walked out and we could close and lock the door but to say i feared for my life and my mom's is an understatement. he also threatened to stab anyone who stepped outside which is something i LOVE to hear //s

i can't with this, everytime i think about it ii just cry and. if any moots need me i'll be on discord. today really wasn't my day holy fucking shit

[nubsoftherat]

Barry Allen I will put you in Bat-Jail swear to fucking GOD , mother fucker.

If you change the timeline. Ever again. I will destroy you. I will sacrifice you to the Marvel No-Returns hole. And you will be replaced by Wally.

Ps. Say hi to Sherloque for me.

~ Regards, B.

[castielsprostate]

Not to tell you how to post, but someone who reblogged your don’t look to influencers post posted a death threat @ misha. you’re-only-gay-once

hi anon, thank you for letting me know!

while i HEAVILY disagree with most of misha's take on the genocide performed by isreal towards palestine, threatening death and/or violence against another human being for their opinion on a very nuanced and complicated topic is NOT something i'm okay with.

if you want to educate someone, telling them to commit suicide is NOT helpful and it will actively turn someone against you, no matter their want to be educated on said topic. besides that, it's an abhorrent thing to say to another human being. adults should know better than to say any of that shit, and so should misha collins have to even open his gob about the topic at all, but that is NOT an excuse for others to tell him to end his life or to "kill him with hammers".

please stop giving attention to celebrities when it comes to these topics in general, and instead focus your attention and effort in getting legislators and world leaders to call for a ceasefire. THAT is the most important thing right now.

[pokeblr-confessions]

i want to hold a honedge and stab someone with a honedge

Confession #524

[loganslowdown4]

✩ Part 4 ✩

*at the party*

Logan: *panicking* First I think Roman’s peculiar but it turns out I like him? Possibly have a crush on him?! Why am I the last to know?? What do I do?

Remus: Ask him to dance.

Logan: Right dance… wait no.

Remus: What’s the matter, nerd?

Logan: I can’t dance.

Remus: *sighs* Then talk! Make eye contact. And remember if you hurt him, I’ll beat you to death with a shovel.

Logan: Wha—

Remus: A vague disclaimer is nobody’s friend. Have fun!

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Begin

[devilisinthedeinos]

[A video is attached.] [Warning for body horror, a generally tense situation between mother and son, and a little bit of violence and threats. There is no death in this video.]

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[Watch it?]

The video opens in a dark room- a bedroom! Eris's bedroom. There's various posters on the wall, plushies up on shelves, and a trans flag hanging above a bed. Sitting on the bed is Eris. He's sitting in the dark, quietly fidgeting with the plush joltik he was given.

A car door can be heard somewhere else, Eris looks up, and from the angle of the camera it's now easy to tell how unnaturally long his neck has become in comparison to his body. In fact- most of his proportions are just a little off in some way. He stands, and walks towards the door, but stops, hesitating at the doorknob as a woman calls out into the house,

"Eris, honey? I'm home. Are you still up? I know you were awfully tired this morning." As she speaks, the voice of Eris's mother comes closer.

Eris's eyes drift to a photo next to his doorway. Of Eris and his mother. He grits his teeth and clicks the lock on his door.

"Eris?" His mother is close, just outside the door. The knob jiggles a couple times, and Eris lets out a sharp breath.

"..please go away mom." His voice is low, and gravelly. almost a growl, but it somehow manages to be pitiable.

"Are you sick honey? You don't sound too good-"

Eris grits his teeth, cutting her off his voice a bit louder, "No- I really think you should go. I.. I don't want you to see me!"

There's silence from the other side of the door, before his mom clears her throat. "Eris... I know I was loud yesterday but I- I'm not angry with you I promise honey! You know I support you. I was just scared. You can open the door." There's a tinge of worry in his mother's voice.

"You really don't want me to..." He whispers, hand moving towards the lock again.

"What was that?"

Eris looks at the doorknob. He clicks the lock open, but keeps a hand on the doorknob. Just in case she tries to open it before he's ready.

"...Eris honey say something please."

"...mom you know how you said you'd love me no matter what?"

"...W-why are you bringing that up now?" The knob of the door jiggles, Eris keeps a tight grip on it, turning it the opposite way. "Eris?"

"Mom I don't.. want you.. to remember me like I am right now." He fights with the doorknob, but his grip is slipping.

"Honey that makes no sense- what are you talking about of course I'd love youu-"

The door is open very suddenly- his mother who had been leaning on the door comes in with it, she smacks into Eris who's just a little taller than her. She stares at him wide eyed. At the skin flaking away to reveal blue scales. At the once sandy brown hair turned dark. At his hands and feet- slowly turning to that of a dragon's.

She shrieks.

As his mother stumbles back away from him, Eris reaches for her.

"no- mom- Mom!"

"WHO ARE YOU? YOU'RE NOT MY SON-"

"n-no mom it's me!" Eris says, voice desperate as he tries to get close and help his mother to her feet again.

"AH! GET AWAY FROM ME!" She reaches for anything close. A tchotchke from a nearby shelf finds its way into her hand and she throws it at him. It smacks into his jaw and he lets out a roar like a deino's, he brings a hand to his face and holds it to the swelling bruise, trying to protect from any further attacks. Tears well in his eyes.

His mother takes off down the hall, heading for another room. Eris starts to follow but then shakes his head, looking back to his bedroom. He should've expected this. He hastily grabs a backpack and begins shoving belongings into it. Plushies off the shelf, his phone charger. A spare change of clothes. The picture off the wall. In the background of the chaos of the room his mother's panicked voice can be heard.

"Hello yes? Officer Jenny? There's some kind of of- Monster in my home-"

Eris winces.

"It's- it's trying to pretend it's my son- My address is..." she continues. Eris grabs the recording phone off of whatever it was sitting on.

The video continues shakily down a hallway, though it stops for a moment in a wider area, and focuses on something.

Eris's mother, cowering behind a counter, holding a knife and a phone. She points the knife at Eris.

"H-Hey! what are you doing with his stuff! Y-you leave that here! Its not yours! Not yours you hear!!"

Eris doesn't say anything, he just continues towards the door.

"I called the police! They'll catch you you- Thief! Murderer! Where's my son! GIVE ME BACK MY SON!"

The mother's anguished cries become quieter as Eris exits the house. In the distance, police sirens can be heard. He goes down a sidewalk at a brisk walk. Then a jog. Then a run. Sniffling, and the sobs of something inhuman can be heard. He keeps running. Sidewalks and paved roads turn to dirt. Dirt turns to grass.

The video ends.

[campgender]

“Interlude 3” from The New Topping Book (2003) by Dossie Easton & Janet W. Hardy

A role-play scene, played by "Akasha, " a novice top friend.

I woke up with great difficulty and realized my mind was full of thoughts of domination, weird fantasies about devices that I did not own but wished I did. I thought of my friend Richard, and a wonderful night we had shared many months before.

I called him and found him still in bed. I said, "God, I am really having a problem today."

He shifted in his sheets, I could hear it, and said, "Hungry?"

I was doodling, cracking pencil leads and then throwing them away.

"Yes," I said, and I was sort of half shaking, just wanting to make him beg on the phone, make him get out of his warm bed and kneel down, make him whimper, do anything. But I wanted more, so I held back and asked him to see me.

He half moaned and sighed, yawned again, and told me he had class that night. I told him to meet me afterward. He paused, and I felt like I was going to die.

"Richard, please. I'm going crazy. Do this for me, OK?"

"You want to hurt me?" he said softly, making me face it. This was back when it was still hard for me to accept that I enjoyed making men suffer.

It's difficult to describe what a day like that feels like, waiting for the hours to go by, trying to concentrate on work, going one step at a time.

When I am in that mindframe I can smell everything in the air, I can feel mist against my face in the cold air. The moon is more illuminated, the sound of my feet in puddles as I walk somehow thrills me with a feeling of authority.

I arrived at the cafe a few minutes early and waited in the lobby. Richard arrived a few minutes late. When I stood up and hugged him he laughed softly into my ear, "How're you doing?" I just moaned and started fingering his hair, tugging at it a little. We parted and I looked at him again, blinking. I felt weak, numb. I wanted to take him by the hair and force him to his knees. Instead I said weakly, "You probably haven't eaten yet. Can I buy you dinner?"

When his food arrived I stole his silverware and he laughed. "I'm serious," I told him in a low voice. "I am feeding you this entire meal." His eyes searched around the room and he lowered his voice, "Come on, people will see. We can take care of you when we get home. Let me eat."

Any other night I wouldn't think twice about him eating dinner across from me. But in that mood, on that night, I wanted to be the one feeding him. I wanted to make him part his lips each time I lifted the spoon. I wanted to make him beg with his eyes for more, or look at me longingly. Or I wanted to force him to do it.

I leaned over the table and we argued a bit about it, finally compromising in that I would feed him the first few bites and then let him finish. Knowing that he hated doing it but would submit to it for a few minutes was enough for now.

When we got into my room he sat on the edge of my bed then finally lay down, spreading his arms out and sighing tiredly. I slid down and moved on top of him, moving my hands up to his wrists and holding them down there. His eyes flickered open and he stared at me expressionlessly, waiting.

I consider it true, deep headspace when I am capable, without hesitation, of exercising acts of cruelty or power as if they were second nature. These are things that I would never do in a normal state of mind. On that night I slipped into it relatively easily, maybe because I had been lingering around the edges of it for so long.

I set up a series of short scenes, because my appetite was varied and I wanted to satisfy it all. Sometimes I want total resistance, sometimes I want fear, sometimes I want pathetic, eager submission. That night I wanted them all.

I used every single restraint device on him that I had, in every position I could imagine. I kept a hand over his mouth most of the night and wrestled him to the ground three or four different times, ordering him to feign resistance until I hurt him into submitting.

I roleplayed kidnapping him, interrogating him, seducing him, and fucking him. I had an orgasm just from the way he felt against me as I took him against his will, one hand holding his head back by a fistful of hair and the other over his mouth to muffle his protests.

For the grand finale I put him in my chair and handcuffed his wrists behind his back, taking my wall mirror down and putting it behind him ,so I could see his wrists and enjoy the way they looked while still facing him. "I put water in his hair to simulate sweat and messed it up, tied his ankles together, and told him I was going to kill him.

He put his head down solemnly and I walked around a bit, touching his skin gently, telling him how pretty and helpless he looked. He shifted, and struggled uselessly, then lifted his head to me and looked at me with his teeth clenched, saying "You have to let me go. Don't do this to me."

I leaned down and held his face in my hands, putting my lips close to his, licking them gently. "Kiss me goodbye, my tortured slave." He shut his eyes and leaned forward to kiss me, hungry, passionate, as if to seduce me with his mouth and tongue. This kiss was long, desperate, and when I broke from it he was breathing hard.

His eyes were pleading, yet strong. "I'm not afraid to die," he said softly.

He always knew the things to say. He was begging, yet he was strong. He was submitting, but he was still powerful. He amazed me.

We had played these execution scenes before so I didn't need to give him any instruction. He was to pretend he had about three minutes left to live, locked in some airtight chamber or given some poisonous gas, and he was to struggle yet remain brave until the moment I came to save him from his fate.

And he really knew how to play it. Perfectly, yet differently every time. The way he pulled at the handcuffs, letting them cut into his wrists as if it didn't matter,. The way he threw his head back to breathe with such pained difficulty, the way he looked at me through wet bangs with desperation, his lashes damp with tears.

I felt so close to orgasm, but it was a different sort of satisfaction. I just watched, emotionless, as his struggles became weaker and his breathing more labored.

Then it hit me, at once, it was like a sensual overload, like an orgasm but of the mind. I shivered, I felt a cold sweat on my body and suddenly I wanted to cry, I thought, "God, what am I doing to him?" I unfastened him quickly and slid into his arms, shaking, telling him I was sorry. He laughed softly into my ear and told me it was okay, that he was acting, and that I needn't feel bad.

But feeling bad makes me feel better, so I spent some time crying, letting him reassure me. We lay down in the bed together and eventually fell asleep after I had sufficient reassurance.

Waking up the next morning I felt a different kind of exhaustion. It's impossible to explain how much dom headspace rips the energy right out of you. Sometimes it takes me days to recover.