#death threats tw

[allswell]

There's so much to explore, Cecil thinks giddily. Just the tail could entertain him for hours, he's sure. But Alarian insists on playing the tease, so Cecil grips them all the tighter, hands trailing up the other's back until they can hug them beneath the shoulder blades.

❛ Aren't my guesses good enough? ❜

❛ Your tongue, for one. Your eyes as well. ❜

Both things that he could see but couldn't touch—at least not yet.

❛ You're under the impression that I want to escape at all, ❜ he adds with a laugh. ❛ If you're enticing enough, then I never have to leave, yes? ❜

He tilts his face upwards, frowning when he can't quite reach. ❛ ...you're too tall. ❜

"you do, don't you?" cooed words accompany a softened hiss, the arachnid's back arching -- folding within the embrace that pulls them in; fastens them to a place they willingly claim as their own. delighted claws rise from their resting place around their preys waist, crawling up along a spine set beneath the adapters touch. it finds a new place to settle, digits curling, hooking in.

chittering, alarian offers a tilted head, their tongue slithering back behind jagged teeth. their smile persists as mandibles take the place of guiding fingers, one such extension curling -- like a finger beneath cecil's chin. tilting, drawing him in.

"does a spider tell its dinner how to escape from its web? you'll get no secrets from me, little monarch."

lowering their head, they accentuate a hooded stare. as if daring the man to explore; find what he wished to know. all the while the mandible beneath cecil's chin lightly trails across the skin, slipping away as it -- and its twin -- retract; hidden away once more.

"you'll have to learn on your own, darling."

[punk-in-docs]

A song of brides and hounds: part III

— Emperor Geta x Reader (Salacia)

— 4.3k words.

— Read all parts here: Part I — Part II — Part III — Part IV

Summary: You were raised outside of this Rome. Born into peace. To know of fathomless deep seas, and skies so big, they wrapped around your whole sight. The way that at night all you can smell are lemon trees kissed by salt. The jasmine plants wound around the white walls of the villa. Salacia. And now you are sent to Rome for your father in the Senate. There you will catch the attention of Geta; in all the wrong and darkest of ways— any reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated 💙💙💙

TW: for this chapter - mainly violence and some gore, also Caracalla being a nasty little bitch -- enjoy!

The servant girls’ hands are kind.

They undress you softly, and handle you with such reverence. Strip from you the ruined stola and tend your wounds.

They wash your feet, ply your cuts with a herbal paste of yarrow and uva ursi, wrap you in bandages. They rub new sweet smelling oil onto your unwounded skin.

Pick off your old jewellery and finery to be discarded. Slip you out your shoes. Lay you bare. Stood before them in naught but your skin as they tend you.

One is wetting, oiling and combing your netted hair to silky serenity again. Another is cleaning the wound on your elbow. All traces of dirt - and your previous life along with it - slowly removed.

Stood you in a shallow golden tub of warm water that laps at your ankles. Milky with oils and soaps. They put rose petals in the water. You watch them swim and dip.

You beg for one of the girls to keep the fibulae broaches that held your now damned dress to your shoulders. Your very last essence of home. Venus was enshrined in those very broaches. They gave you hope. Carrying a small kind piece of goddess with you. Laying your devotion to the majesty of the ocean on your simple shoulders.

They guided you to rooms draped in blue and gold. Stars moulded on the ceiling with the ornate marble that drips from every wall and corner. Giving the false illusion of a night sky. The flat ceiling between them clouded with bursts and puffs of dark blue that indicated churning night clouds. Boundless skies. Endless seas.

It felt like showing all the maps of the world to a caged bird.

Soft feminine blues befit these chambers. Statues and devotion to goddesses crown the walls and doorways. Urns of large stemmed white flowers. One wall holds a table lined with a huge offering of fruits, dried and fresh. Some bread and cured meats and oiled small fish. And an amphora of wine and goblet for after your bathing.

The air in here is scented all floral herb and clean. Too clean. No hint of sea salt or dried weed that tumbles on the shore to bake in the sun. It’s unfamiliar.

The huge slab of the cushioned bed is draped with silks and gauzy canopy curtains the colour of dove feathers. You don’t want to look at it. You dread thinking what will happen in it tonight.

A large maw of balcony gapes at another side of the room. This shows you the wall of rain outside. The violent tumble of thunder that must be shaking the very hills and peoples of Rome.

You feel as if the sea is raging because you’ve been stolen from it. Now it seeks vengeance on the land. Lashing and storming mercilessly until you’re found. Back where you belong.

Unlikely. It will have to rage on.

You stand, undressed, unseeing. Uncaring for the wealth of the room you’ve been pulled into.

The maid behind you, Oriana, a sweet and silent blonde, is scooping your hair back from your neck to comb and ply it with vanilla and orchid oil. Dark sweet musk.

Geta had specifically requested it.

Your head servant is a maid called Aeliana.

She has an accent you can’t place. It’s pretty, her tone husky. She had wonderful raven hair spilling silky and free over her shoulders, eyes dark as cassia bark, almond shaped. Long lashes. The epitome of tranquil beauty.

The colour of her dress is different to the rest of them. Indicating her higher status. Rusty red and it readily compliments the natural darkness of her skin. She wore golden bangles threaded on each wrist, and her touch is cloud soft.

She has a scar that intersects down from the middle of her forehead, across her left eye and cheek and ends there. Skin twisted and healed shiny. An old wound. It makes her striking to look at.

Worse still; She catches you staring.

Lowers her eyes as she tended you. Layering the sticky wet herbal treatment to your wounded elbow.

“Does my appearance displease you, my lady?” She lapses into silence for a moment or two.

“If you’d prefer I could send for another handmaiden to come tend you-“ She asks. Not harshly. There’s a hint of shame to her tone.

You look to her. Fearful of offence.

“I am not displeased. Forgive me. To stare so openly is rude.” You mutter. Eyes falling to your feet again. You watch rose petals sway on the water. You swallow thickly.

If she’s amused at your asking her, a servant, for forgiveness, she doesn’t show it. She calmly counters;

“You are Empress Salacia of Rome. You are allowed to stare at whomever you wish.” She tells you plainly.

Your eyes water. You bite inside your lower lip before you respond.

Not yet I’m not. And I don’t want to be.

“How came you by the scar?” You ask. Knowing full well you won’t like the answer. She gently washed your shoulder with a cloth.

“The Emperor.” She tells frankly.

At your doe eyed expression of horror she elucidates.

“Not Emperor Geta. His brother, Caracalla. Emperor Geta’s temper may be foul and quick to boil. But, Caracalla he is… far crueler.” She explains.

Your mouth purses into a thin line.

Oriana has finished oiling your hair. Now she was styling it into waves. Decorated with ornaments of netted gold. Geta requested it down as opposed to the normal bridal style. Emperors have what they want.

“What was the reason…” You sought. Fearing the answer.

“I was too slow in bringing his wine one night.” She offers. Plucking a vial of oil from the side table and coming back to rub it into your bare arms.

You squeeze your eyes closed. Ignore the tickle of tears that threaten your scrunched eyelids.

This is the savage world you must inhabit now. Try to navigate with sharper hungrier teeth and deadlier instinct. You don’t feel ready. You must become lionhearted and fierce. Carry knives. Be ruthless.

You hear your mothers reverent voice in your head. Sweet sea child. You were not made that way.

“I am sorry for your pain. Aeliana. But I am grateful for your warning.” You decide.

She nods. “I thank the goddess’ for you. Empress.” She smiles at you.

Before going to the side to fetch your tunica recta, and the belt you’d wear on your waist in a knot of hercules. Which tradition dictated only Geta was allowed to undo.

Your husband.

You wince. Aueliana notices.

“Your majesty?” She seeks. Sensing your unease.

“I am nervous.” You tell her. You confide your worry in this woman with kind eyes and soft hands.

“It is expected of a bride to be nervous.” She awards you.

“I’m not a normal bride.” You confirm fearfully. She can see them shaking in your gaze. Threatening to breach your lash line.

She nods in understanding. You’re sure they all knew. The reason that placed you here. Spread like wildfire on dry plains through the servant halls.

“I know little of managing a husband. Of… starting a family.”

“If I may, your majesty. Your family is a noble one, yes?” She asks.

You nod. You lived in one of the richest houses in Corsica. You were never lacking in money or ribbons and new jewels. But at best you were a senators daughter. Not the ideal stock for an Emperors wife. Not the type to be governing one great nation.

“My grandmother is a well known seer in these parts. A healer. Purveyor of white magic. Many a time she has seen things that have yet to come to pass…” She explains as she wraps the belt around your waist. Speaking as she does.

“She foretold your arrival. Said the future of Rome would be written by rain and storm, when blood spills on the ancient serpent stone.”

Serpent. Synonymous with the Traitor. Two faced and shedding skin. Blood spilling, the death of your Brother. Rain on the rocks- this storm hammering down. You can’t believe it.

“What if Rome is your destiny?” She explains. Her voice kind and brave as the candles flicker and the storm rages on.

“Then I pray the goddess’ convey me the strength to survive it.”

“I will pray too.” She takes your hand. It feels like kinship.

They stepped you out of the tub and began to pat you dry with cloths and then dress you.

With each pass of their hands wiping the water from your skin, it removed you further and further from yourself.

Aeliana rubs a sweet balm like texture onto your pebbled nipples before she robes you. Said it was to increase your fertility. She also lines your eyes with burnt kohl.

They pulled your dress on around you. Let it fall into beautiful waves. You stood sedately and let them manoeuvre you.

Your skin positively draped with as much fragrant oil as it could take. Anointed with your new life as it drips off you in unbearable sweetness. Decorations not of your choosing put into your hair, on your ears, around your neck, on your arms. Strangled by someone else’s finery.

Slid fine golden sandals onto your feet. Aeliana brought a flame red veil and pinned it in place over your head. It floated down to your shoulders. Securing a crown of myrtle flowers over it.

It may have been gauzy fabric; rich and fine. But it felt like iron to you. Iron veil and a crown of thorns.

When they finish readying you, they bow and leave you alone to eat the fresh bread and fruits. Drink the sweet wine. Night closes in around you.

You didn’t ever picture the night before your wedding being like this. Alone and noiseless save for rain. You pictured the noise and gaiety of your sisters, dancing in their fine dresses. How they’d carry golden stalks of wheat to signify your prosperous marriage - how it would bear fruit. Be blessed by gods and fortune.

Your mother would bind your hands to the man you’d marry. To the man you’d love.

And you are here. Miserable in cold indifference. Clothed in perfumed oil and silence. With only your dour thoughts for company.

You pick at your offering of food. Feeling the milky eyes of those female deity marble statues watching you carefully. Judging. Maybe even disappointed.

When the doors next shudder open as the guards outside push them open, a divine older woman comes striding slowly, surely, into the room. Confidence woven into her steps like the very fine lavender purple cloth folded around her shoulders. A beautiful sage green palla. Her hair is dark and braided masterfully on her head. Shot through with bolts of silver.

You recognise her from coins. From statues. The Dowager Empress of Rome. Julia Domna.

She looks wise as Minerva. Goddess of education indeed. All of Rome had heard tale of not only her beauty, but her mind. Sharp as an arrowhead. A gentle mediator between her rabid sons.

Out of sheer politesse and nerves, you bolt out your seat and bow your head to her. Words shrivel on your tongue. Royalty is stood before you. Here you are plucked from the dungeons. You feel unworthy.

“Rise, my child.” She bids you. Holding out a hand laid with jewels on nearly every finger. Standing before you. Close enough to discern some of your beauty through the veil.

She examines you. Not unkindly. The way you’d expect a mother to examine the vessel that will carry her sons legacy. She’s discerning.

“Let me see my sons choice then…” she bids. Hands crossed in front of her, diplomatically, as she lets her deep set, serious eyes become acquainted with all of you.

Choice? Or chattel?

She walks around you. Eyes your hair. Your build. Your hips. The way you’ve been presented like a prized sacrificial swine before the crowds on Saturnalia.

And she doesn’t appear to find you lacking

“Goodness. You really are beautiful.” She says. It sounds mournful. Introspective. As if she didn’t intend on you hearing it.

“He’s made a fine choice.” She lauded

“Corsica, I hear you hail from?”

“Yes, Dowager.”

“I want to know one thing.” She says. Voice hard as newly forged steel. A shiver runs your spine. So she could be terrifying if she wishes.

“Are you a traitor against Rome?” She demands. “There are spies who would conspire to align themselves with this great house, under false guises, to murder my sons.” She speaks, crossly. Eyes aflame.

She has bite after all. Lions teeth and knows full well how to use them.

“I am no spy. I am not a murderer I have no guise. Like you. I only want to protect those whom I love.” You answer calmly. Placid easy waves. Gently now.

She smiles. Though something curious still lurks in her eyes.

“Then we are on the same page.” She awards slyly. You feel as if you’ve passed a test.

Her smile crooks on one side. Relieved.

She turns to the doors. The great sway of her earrings are big as chandeliers as she moves. Stunning gold. Bands of gold also cross her well formed upper arms. Every inch a woman of gentility and riches. She is perfumed with lavender. Oil made from dried plants fetched all the way from purple fields in Aquitania.

“My son grows impatient to see his bride. Come. Salacia. It is time.” She offers her arm to you.

Apparently your destiny lays in wait.

~

The wedding was a short and simple affair. The Dowager Empress led you to the grand rooms where they were to be held.

Grand, just like the rest of this humongous sprawling palace.

When you see Geta, he is clad in so much gold and armour. A blinding white cloak draped off his form. Armour golden. Carved with gods and victorious hero’s of battle. Golden laurel crown adorns his head. His smile at the sight of you makes you blush with attention.

You are suddenly grateful for the veil. It manages to hide you from every stranger in this room. You can make out Caracalla. Some other senators. Other guests you’ve no idea who.

The celebrant, a rather portly priest, ordered the evil spirits away. Asked for the fire spirits to bless you. He invoked Janus to watch over you from single people to a joined couple. New beginnings.

When it is time, he takes your hand and carefully threads an engagement ring on your finger. It is weighty, pure gold. An imitation of two dog heads joined together. A round sapphire cradled between their mouths. As if they’re fighting for it.

Remus and Romulus. It reminds you of him already.

You dare to meet his eyes as he does it. He looks ravenous. Umbra catching you where you stand. Swallows you whole. You don’t think you can get used to it yet.

“Wherever you go, there also go I, as your wife.” You speak.

The dowager Empress binds your hands together with blood red linen as the rest of the vows are read. The way his fingers turn and grip the inside of your forearm - firm pressing, hot like a brand - it makes you shiver.

Then comes the time for the marriage to be sealed with a kiss. Hands freed.

Your stomach is squirming unpleasantly as your stranger of a groom steps forwards to lift your veil. When he lifts the red gauze from your vision, you keep your eyes lowered until the last moment.

You feel the urging of his eyes. You could hear the fierce nature of his words as if he’d spoken.

Look at me. Salacia.

He looks entirely too boastful. His perfect little nymph. Caught and landed at last.

Hepulled you in by your waist. Locked his hand around your back. Gave you a kiss that was certainly gentler than before. Softness of his lips was maddening when the rest of him was all armour and metal. But you still felt the edge of his teeth on your lower lip. Bursting new pain from where it had split.

It was official. You had been dragged out a golden net cast in the sea. And now property of the Emperor of Rome.

You had no time to let your thoughts wander. There’s been quite the celebration planned for after. He walks beside you as congratulations ripple around you from nobles, senators, generals and high officials of the courts.

You ignore the way Caracalla sneers a particularly vile look your way when you pass him. Plotting.

You are lead to an opulent triclinium. Open to one huge side, guarded by pillars, which overlooked a garden where fountains trickled and plants bloom even in the storm that’s still brewing. Spitting rain on the landscape.

There are torches at the sides of the rooms, huge bowls boasting orange flames that lick at the walls, and freshly plucked flowers, still green branches and fronds sit in urns to the side. Filling the room with petals and heady nectar scent.

There’s a huge swarm of lectus’ in the centre of the room. Bronze laid with cushions. All pointing towards a huge table were bread and wine goblets awaited. You’re not used to how the room echoes. Unused to the sheer amount of people and formality that fills it.

The wine is poured freely by silent servants who sweep in and out. Some of them carrying plates as huge as carriage wheels. A whole roasted boar with grapes spilling out its mouth is brought in. Trays upon trays of cooked moray eels, cod and oiled anchovies. A whole platter of stewed nightingale birds, arranged around stalks of herbs and plums.

There’s fruit and bread the like of which you’ve not seen before. White bowls filled with cut purple figs and waxy oranges. Apples and yellow golden pears on tiered stands. Grapes and dried apricots heaped in dishes. It’s dazzling. So much wealth thrust before you.

You have a cup of sweet honey wine and take some of the unleavened bread. Watching as others around you gorge and toast with their goblets. Drinking strong wine and telling jokes and bawdy stories.

You feel disjointed from it all. You feel the Emperors eyes pass over you. The dowagers too. You are a source of mystery and intrigue.

Plucked from misfortune and placed here at the feet of gods.

You do feel when your new husband slides some pieces of fruit, or fresh breads onto your plate. A small bunch of sweet red grapes. His head may be cocked to conversation in this room. But his attention remains somewhat on you.

“Eat. Wife. I do not wish to force you.” He commands you. Prodding food and more wine in your direction.

Nursing his own cup and barking at the servants when he wanted more. You know his tongue must be stained with the taste by now. Sour purple. You wonder if you’ll taste it later in another of his animalistic kisses.

It feels like there is a boulder in your stomach. You swallow. You sip. You try to breathe. It all feels too restricted.

“Refill my wife’s cup.” Geta demands of the nearest servant. You flinch at his cutting commands.

You meet the servants eyes for a second and flicker them a smile. They look to the ground as they fill your cup. Their poor hands shake. You thank them. They don’t respond.

You’ve a feeling his plying you with wine has more than one ulterior motive. To make you loosen. Make you pliant. Make you slip down easier in his crushing grip.

“I have no appetite.” You admit weakly.

You can’t stomach the way the fat on the meat before you glistens. These poor stewed birds with clipped wings. The gutted boar. Glistening fat and dead meat. Same as the way of those poor flayed men in the coliseum.

Butchered animals. One and the same. The way blood sprayed out on the biscuit brown dirt under the sun. The way viscera glistened bright when spilled free from once living flesh. How these animals looked served on a platter. There’s no difference.

You take some grapes. Pick them from the vine. Bite into some apricots. The fruit rots on your palate. Fine sugary flesh and it bursts on your tongue like ripe putrefaction. You place it gently back on your plate.

“Do they not have fruit in Corsica?” He asks. It’s vaguely mocking.

“We had lemon trees in the gardens. An olive tree in the courtyard. Over 200 years old.” You state quietly. Not taking your eyes off the plate in front of you. You picked and prodded at it.

“You have more now. You are Empress. You have anything you want.” He impressed on you.

“I miss the ocean. The sun on the shoreline. My sisters.” You mutter.

“Don’t risk sounding ungrateful.” He threatens.

Geta followed the path of your reluctant hand with his eyes. He then scans across all of his guests. People of the senate. Rich merchants. Fellow royalty.

They come to snipe and drink wine and watch this new wedded spectacle.

“They are all dull.” Geta decided.

You wonder if the only source of amusement he could delight at was seeing people being beaten to black and blue paste in the coliseum. To have to see the spray of blood to feel something.

“They are intrigued. Their Emperor has placed a traitor in his marriage bed.” You comment.

Geta turned to you. “That sounds like treason to my ears.” A warning.

“Perhaps.” You answered. Boldly.

“But is it inaccurate? It is what they are all thinking.” You add. “You’ve wedded yourself to someone disloyal. Someone who is not their kind. They are curious.”

Geta scans his eyes over everyone again. Their laughter. The flow of wine. The way they stab and cut into food and fruit like they’re half starved. None of them quite meet your eyes.

Perhaps they don’t wish too.

His hand finds the meat of your thigh. Flesh firm and warm.

“They will believe what I tell them too. Wife. You only need worry about your loyal duty to me. Nothing else.” He makes clear.

You go back to pushing bits of fruit around your plate. Taking no more sustenance.

“No doubt you are unused to such finery.” Caracalla pipes up. Seeing you toy with your food. “I wonder what they eat in Corsica. Peasants sea food?”

You meet Caracalla’s eyes across the tables and mountains of rich food.

Getas eyes were dark. Fired by lust for you. That’s what you saw in them when he looked at you.

The same could not be said for Caracalla.

You saw nothing. Just darkness and his love of cruelty. Geta unnerved you. But it was Caracalla who scared you most. It was like gazing into a tomb. A bare skull eye socket. You’re certain nothing but darkness refracted back. Splintered twisted darkness. The purest distilled form of malice.

“Perhaps you are jealous, brother. The fact that I will have heirs meant for the future of the empire. And you will… not.” He snaps. Petulant.

“If she makes it that far.” Caracalla sneers. Daggering a smile right at you. A sneer that make you feel cold. He’s twirling a dagger in his other hand. Eyeing you with sick lustful interest.

He wants your goodness too. He wants it so he can spoil you for himself and ruin Getas legitimacy. By whatever means necessary. Geta has cruelly inserted you into this feud.

“And who’s to say the heir will be yours… who knows where her eyes will stray.” He jabs. Eyes widening as he leers.

Geta stabs into his food. Glaring at his smaller twin all the while. Eyes dark as shadow cloaked black jewels.

When some servants near you move from pouring wine, the sight of the persons impeded by them, slowed your world to a halt, ringing gongs in your ears when you caught sight of someone you recognized.

Macrinus.

The food in your mouth turns to ash which you can hardly stomach swallowing. Your gaze locked on the man as he lays content at your wedding feast. Drinking wine and roaring laughter with Caracalla. Garbed in robes of rich Aquarian blue trimmed with gold pattern.

Exactly the gracious easy way he had been when he dined with you and your father in his home.

His smile remains as he locks eyes with you. And raises his glass in a toast in your direction. You hear him drink to your new name with a blazing smirk aimed your way. “Empress.”

You mumble a pithy excuse. You don’t know if anyone hears you or if they’ll even look up from their plates when you get up and rush to leave.

Caracalla snorts as you race from the room on the verge of tears.

“She’s a flighty one. Your Empress. So full of tears.” Caracalla comments loudly. Cruelly. Turning his head to meet the acid stare of his brother - and the Dowager Empress as she lowers her goblet from her lips. Eyes cool as metal.

“Maybe if you shoved your cock into your broodmare, brother, as you doubtless plan to do this night. Maybe that would settle her down? Or maybe a good beating from the guards will see her right, make her see her place… maybe let a few of the guards bend her over a lectus and see to her first? Loosen her up a little for your uses.”

“Caracalla. Enough.” The dowager snaps. Lightning power in her voice. Tone fashioned from a fury storms could envy. Her dark eyes glow with it.

She turns to Geta and lays a gentle pacifying hand to his arm. “See to your bride, dear. She looked unwell.”

Geta sighs a snarl. Glaring at his brother as he does as mother suggested.

She watches him leave. Turns to her other son with barely concealed ire.

Caracalla snorts into his wine with the other guests. Making sneering, high handed remarks.

“Such marital bliss.” He mocks to the guests. Twirling his favourite silver dagger in his other hand. Laughing as he played with the dead meats on his plate with a sneer. His tooth winked golden in the light.

~

Tagging in the hopes this finds its way to the right people- thank you--

@ceriseheaven @lurkingprincess @ramona-thorns @joequinnswhore @iliveforotps @eddiesskittle @roosterisdaddy36 @rose-tinted @lluviamg06 @ravensfromvalhalla @fujiihime @youaremyfamiliar @captain-tch @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @svenyves @sammararaven @feralgoblinbabe @groupie-love-71 @andromeda-andromeda @gvtosbith @munsonswhoresposts2 @shenevertricks1831 @hazzaismyreligion @anaisweird @cinnamoncunt @red-lipstick-bisexual @wheels-of-despair @tvserie-s-world @callmeloverr @ho-for-joequinn-fics @bettyfrommars @rip-quizilla @songforeddiemunson @usedtobecooler @peachesandfiends @littlelioncub43 @heyndrix @babybluebex @blueywrites @joejoequinnquinn @cool-nick-miller @sheneedsrocknroll92 @rehfan @pedgito @dracomaledicte @gamingaquarius @mypoisonedvine @sharp-and-swift @chaptersleftunwritten

[whumpinthepot]

Hamster Interactive Story

Chapter 16. Rescue

Prev - Masterlist

Content: giant/tiny, cages, pet trope, power dynamic, home invasion, guns, death threat, fear of heights, being mocked

Pov: Soap Scrub

Poll Winner: Pet liberation rescue

Note: The last chapter ended up being over 7000 words so I decided to split it into two parts so there will be another chapter after this one :)

Special thanks to @alittlewhump for helping me edit <3 thank you

ART, WRITING, AND POLL UNDER THE CUT!

—

The weeks blur together with no chances to escape. You’ve almost stopped trying. Ashley doesn’t leave any cracks or openings to even think about slipping past her. You’ve stopped looking for them, too tired to keep up with being constantly alert. 

The days are mostly the same. Ashley spends a lot of her time at work, and when she gets home she usually coddles Hamster and leaves you alone. Thankfully. Maybe she’s gotten bored of you, only using you for her photoshoots. You’re just another prop to her.

Sometimes she brings friends over who all coo over Hamster, and often torment you. None of them will help you either. They don’t seem to like your bitter attitude. That’s not how pets are supposed to act apparently. 

You can’t tell if you’re successfully talking Hamster into freeing you, or if she enjoys keeping you locked up as much as Ashley does. Every time you mention anything Hamster shakes her head and stares at you with that stupid love struck smile on her face. You would think you could use her crush to your advantage, but so far it just makes her more reluctant to let you go. Being mean to her doesn’t work either because it puts you on Ashley’s bad side, and you end up being isolated. So you opt with trying to get Hamster to side with you. 

You’re afraid the plan is a lost cause, but all you can do is keep working on getting Hamster to help you. She’s interested in meeting more people your size, so that's what you usually tell her about in hopes she’ll get curious enough to go with you someday. 

Tonight is like any other. Ashley has Hamster cuddled up to her on the couch while they watch a sappy romance movie. You’re as hidden as you can be inside the cage, but admittedly you’re also watching the screen from an angle since the t.v. is in view from the kitchen counter. 

The movie is interrupted when there’s a knock on the door. Ashley gets up to put Hamster away in her cage, walking over to answer it.

The door flies open, almost hitting her as she springs backwards. Three masked strangers rush into the house, surrounding her. One of them grabs her from behind with a gun pointed to her head, clamping a hand over her mouth. “Scream and we’ll shoot,” they hiss into her ear. 

Shit. Shit. Shit! 

You nestle down further into the bedding, but you have nowhere to go if they want to grab you. It's hot and suffocating. You feel like you can’t breathe under the weight of it smothering you. 

Looking through the haze of the fluff you see Hamster staring openly with no cover. Making herself an easy target with her mouth gaped open in shock. She doesn’t move. She makes no attempt to hide herself at all. 

Stupid girl! 

She takes a breath to scream and your whole body clenches, trying to ready yourself to be noticed.

When Hamster shrieks, Ashley struggles and begs them to leave Hamster alone. Ashley is immediately shoved out of sight by two of the humans while the third looks to see where the source of the shrill scream came from. 

The intruder walks up to Hamster’s cage, and when they see her they pull their mask down to reveal a pale freckled face. Concern written all over it. “Hey. Shh, it's okay. We’re not here to hurt you. I’m here to take you somewhere safe.”

Hamster scrambles back, tripping over fluff. She reaches her arm out towards the room Ashley was forced into, and looks back to the human while bawling. The message is as clear as usual, that Hamster wants Ashley. 

“She’ll be okay. I’m sorry you can’t see her, but they won’t hurt her. I need to know where the other boy your size is.” The human makes no moves to give Hamster what she wants. 

Hamster’s wide eyes flick towards your cage, and she shakes her head. It’s too late, the human already knows that’s where you’re hidden and peers through the bars to try to find you. Their brown eyes search every corner of the cage as their voice overwhelms you. “Hey. I’m here to help you. Are you in there?”

They must see you shaking because their gaze is concerningly close to where you’re hiding underneath the bedding. You don’t believe them for a second and refuse to move from the spot to let them know where you are. 

One of the other humans pokes their head out from the hallway, and says, “They’re in the cages. Just the two.” 

You’re a fool to think you could go unnoticed at this point. Dread trickles throughout your body, and you have nothing to grab onto to steady yourself. Nothing but white fluff between your fists. 

The human next to you nods once, just a flick of their chin, then picks up both of your cages by the handles at the top. Your stomach churns from the sudden shift of gravity. You cover your mouth with your hands to stay quiet, but Hamster has other ideas. She’s wailing pitifully and the human’s words of reassurance do nothing to stop her. 

You’re both royally fucked. 

Ashley scares you, sure, but you know how much worse it could be. So, so, so much worse. Ashley can be cruel, but she’s not sadistic. Horror stories flash through your mind of humans who inflict pain for fun, and a rush of dizziness has you seeing stars. Suddenly the thought of staying with Ashley doesn’t seem so bad compared to what could be. 

The human takes both of you into the back of a van and places the cages down gently onto one of the leather side seats. They sit on the floor with their legs crossed, eye level with you and Hamster. They take their toque off, and underneath they have a curly blonde mohawk. ”My name is Ratty. I’m here to take you somewhere safe,” they repeat those words: Safe. 

It’s grounding in a way, being promised safety, but your skepticism has your heart pounding. There’s no way what this human is saying is true.

The van starts rumbling, and you’re being driven away that moment. The other two people are in the front seats behind protective glass, so its just Ratty in the back with you. 

The human in front of you already knows you’re in the cage, so you decide to face your fears and show yourself. You throw fluff away from you, and come out with the most defiant glare you can muster while your heart hammers against your chest painfully. “Let us go!” You growl, “You have to let us go, let me out of this cage!” 

“I promise I will. Hold on. Let me take a look at this.” To your surprise, they grab the lock that's on the cage door, looking at it lazily. “Are either of you hurt anywhere?” 

You shake your head instantly, in fear that this human might want to touch you with prodding fingers. You look over to Hamster to see if she answers the same, but she doesn’t answer at all. Instead she just stares in horror, stuck in place by fear. It’s that same look that made you protect her from that mouse. The same look that got you into this mess in the first place. 

You’re trembling, but seeing her even more terrified face prompts the next question. You ask it for her, to ease some of that panic, but you’re curious enough yourself to want to know. “W-what did you do to Ashley? Is she uh… Okay?” 

“She’ll be fine. No one hurt her,” Ratty says, almost sounding bored. 

“Why did you do that?! Are you the pet liberation?” You draw your hands into fists to stop them from shaking, “How did you find us?”

Ratty stops fidgeting with the lock and sits back to talk. “Yeah, we’re basically pet lib. Something like that. I saw your picture on her blog. It was hard to miss.” 

“Are you actually going to let us go?” A lump forms in your throat and you find it hard to swallow. 

“If that’s what you want, I promise I will. We can drop you off somewhere if you have a place to go. Or we can take you to a shelter if you don’t, but you can’t go back to Ashley, or you shouldn't anyway.” 

You frown slightly, testing. “What if we did go back?” 

Ratty shrugs, staying frustratingly vague. “I wouldn’t suggest it. Why? Do you want to?” 

“No,” you say flatly, “but she might.” 

Ratty looks to Hamster who’s now curled up weeping in the corner. “I understand,” Ratty says, “Are you two close? You and Hamster?”

Hamster nods just as you’re about to say no, and you realize there's a possibility of the two of you being separated. You don’t trust this human enough to take Hamster anywhere by herself, and you have no idea what they would do with her. “Yeah, she’s with me. So you can let us go together and I’ll take care of her. We’re not going back to Ashley.”

“Alright. Is there a place you want to go?” 

You think of a known landmark that's close enough to some people you know, and request that. An apartment building in town that you know the name of. 

“That sounds great,” Ratty says, distractedly, “Are you sure you’ll be okay? I want to get you some supplies first, maybe some clothes. You’re both half naked, and from what I'm guessing she’s never been outside before…” 

You ask again with a frown, “How do you know all this?” 

Ratty shrugs. “Ashley posts a lot on her blog. Look, I really don’t feel comfortable dropping you two off on the side of the road with no supplies. I’m sorry, you’ll have to hang tight for a bit while I get you some from the store. We’ll be quick. Anything you want?” 

You glare at Ratty, but they’re right. Especially if Hamster decides to be difficult during the commute to your group of people. “I want a knife,” you start off with, testing. 

“Sure.” Ratty types that into their phone and looks at you expectantly, waiting for the rest of the list. 

You’re stunned at how seemingly compliant this human is, still feeling skeptical. You throw out a few more suggestions, wondering if there would be a catch to the request. “Hair ties, this size.” You hold out your hands to demonstrate. “Fabric, thread, plastic wrap, matches.” You list a few things from the top of your head, then add, “doll clothes.” 

“Gotcha.” Ratty types the rest up, and knocks on the safety glass to the front seat, asking them to stop at a store.

“Can you let me out already?” You ask impatiently. Ratty hadn’t made a move to take the lock off, and you are still trapped in the cage. 

“Uhh… I’m gonna be real with you, champ. If I let you out now I don’t trust that you won’t take off right away and get yourself killed somewhere in this van. I don’t want that on my conscience.”  

Your face grows hot, and you retort, “Do you think I’m stupid?” 

Ratty chuckles, which just adds to your anger. “No. I think you’re scared. Which is worse. I’ll be right back.” They change their shirt and put on a pair of glasses, altering their appearance well enough to not be recognized as the home invader from earlier. 

Light floods the room of the van as the human exits, then the door closes again leaving you still trapped with nothing but Hamster’s blubbering cries. 

You scoff loudly, “Well aren’t they a fucking delight.” You crawl over to Hamster. Her cage is right beside you, but you don’t know what to say. Your nerves are shot, and comforting people makes your skin itch. “You’re not alone, Hamster. Ashley didn’t get shot, she’s fine. So… Take a deep breath. I’m not gonna ditch you.” 

Staring into her cage, you wonder if you can get her busy. “You see that hammock? Take it down and roll it up with some food in it. We’ll need it if that human is telling the truth.” 

When Hamster doesn’t move you start snapping your fingers to get her attention. She startles, then moves sluggishly as if both your lives aren’t at stake right now. You sigh. This is going to be a long week of travel, especially if she slows you down.

Ratty’s back before long with a small bag of goods. “Anything I can help you do?” They ask as they show you everything. The clothes are a cheap brand- a little flashy for trying to hide in- but good enough for now. 

“Give me my knife,” you demand. 

Ratty slips a needle in the cage for you. It will have to do… They also break an exacto blade into manageable pieces for you to use.

The human helps you get all of your supplies ready, and you help Hamster with her clothes through the bars, wrapping her arms and legs in floral tape to keep them protected. You tie her hair back into a fluffy ponytail, and wrap fabric and plastic around her feet for makeshift shoes. The hammock is tied around her like a sash. 

You do the same for yourself and wrap as many of the supplies as you can fit into your own sash to bring with you. Ratty also gives you a tiny glass jar with water in it that you tie around your hip. It's heavy, but needed. 

You’re as ready as you can be and look for the human’s approval to let you go. With the way the human is smugly staring down at you with a soft smile you’d say they were pretty pleased with the way you both look. 

The van stops at your destination, and Ratty asks one more time, “You sure you’ll be okay?” 

“If you let me out of this cage, yes,” you huff. 

“Okay��� Hold on. I’ll stand watch for a minute to make sure you’re safe too,” they assure you, and lift the cages out of the van. You have seconds to find your bearings, and watch to see what side of the building you’re on when Ratty sets the cages down next to some bushes. 

Ratty then flips the latches on the bottom of the cages to remove the whole top part of them. “I didn’t need to break the lock after all,” they chuckle. You were so caught up with the lock you forgot how these stupid cages even work. Fear really did cloud your judgement. 

It makes you uneasy how the human is treating this like a joke, but that doesn’t matter. You can practically taste the freedom. Ratty lifts the bars off the cage and you’re free.

You’re free!

You make a break for it. The wind hitting your face like cold water. You Sprint as fast as possible to Hamster, grabbing her by the wrist, running for the first cover in sight. 

Turning the corner you dive under some rubbish. Pulling Hamster against you. Covering her mouth to stop her from screaming. “Shh, don’t make a sound. Stay still,” you whisper, breathing quickly.

The human has their back to you as promised, and you only pray that this isn’t all a plan to use you as bait to find more tinies.

After an agonizing minute, the human leaves, taking both of the cages with them. You warn Hamster again not to make a sound as you take your hand off of her mouth.

She’s shaken but you don’t give her time to recover. You tell her to hold a leaf over her head so you two can run for further cover without being seen by anything that might see you as prey. 

You do the same, grabbing a leaf, and check if the coast is clear before running against the hard concrete along the side of the building. Your thoughts are racing but there’s no time to reflect on them. Right now you can only focus on getting somewhere safer. Your energy is being used to survive this trek. 

It's not long before Hamster starts to slow, and at this point you’re practically dragging her. She’s not used to physical labour, and admittedly you’re quite out of shape yourself from being locked up. You both end up kneeling over panting for breath behind a garbage can. You feel as if you’re about to throw up. “Fuck!” You swear under your breath. “We have to make it inside. It’s too dangerous out here.” 

There are still tears in Hamster’s eyes, which you don’t have time for. You assume this is going to be a constant with her. You wait for her to catch her breath, and continue running until you find a vent that leads to the inside of the building. You pull her in, and find a hole that’s been made to lead into the walls. 

Once you’re inside you collapse against the wall, sliding down against it until you’re on the ground. Your leg is throbbing, and your lungs are on fire, but you’re free. Hamster’s hand is still in yours, and she’s panting beside you. It's a good reminder that you’re both alive. 

Your nerves catch up to you, and you start to laugh. You can’t believe you made it out of that cage. You made it out finally. It’s unbelievably exhilarating.

You give yourself and Hamster a minute to calm down. Catch your breath. Let the shock wear off from everything that just happened before getting up again to continue on inside the building. 

There's pink fluffy insulation along the walls that has been pushed to the side to make an open hallway when you turn the corner. “Don’t touch that stuff,” you tell Hamster without an explanation. 

Hamster leans away from it and keeps holding onto your hand while you take her down the hallway. Eventually you reach a makeshift ladder that goes to the second floor of the building, with little ramps along the way to take breaks on. You never thought you would miss such a shoddily made structure. It's made out of various things: nails, wood, string. “We have to climb up this,” you tell her.

As soon as Hamster looks up to see how high it is she shakes her head and slowly backs away from it. Your jaw clenches in frustration. “I know you’re scared of falling but you have to.” Hamster doesn’t move, and her face crumples while she shakes her head harder. You can’t believe this is where she draws the line. 

Pinching your nose, you take a deep breath. You’ll have to wait this out until she’s ready. It’s probably the best time to take a break anyway- a proper break that is- now that you’ve at least made it inside. You sit down and do an inventory check while talking to her. “We can’t stay here all day, got it? You’ll be fine, just don’t look down and keep one hand on the bars at all times. Get ready to do that soon.”

Hamster curls up and begins crying again. Deep heartbroken sobs that wrack her whole body into uncontrollable tremors. 

If she really won’t do it, you’ll have to leave her for a night or two, and go get help. You would rather not though, it still isn’t entirely safe here. Especially with someone as naive to this world as she is.

When her sobbing doesn’t clear up you squeeze your eyes shut, really not wanting to be in this position. You’re not left with a lot of options, so eventually you sit down beside her and put an arm around her. “It’s okay Hamster. Really.” You hate this. 

Hamster looks at you, glasses fogged up on her tear stained face, then she grabs you into a hug. She pulls you against her and cries into your shoulder. You freeze, then slowly hug her back, tighter than you expected. You’re still shaken up from the whole experience, but you would never admit that you’re glad she’s with you. 

If you can calm her down, then you can convince her to follow you up that height. You wait for as long as you can, then get up. “Are you coming with me? At least try. If you really can’t do it you’ll have to wait here. Alone. If a rat comes by you’ll be screwed, so make your choice,” you tell her and give her one of the needles to defend herself with.

You don’t wait for her to hum and haw on a decision, and instead start to climb the ladder by yourself. Halfway up you look down to see her standing at the bottom, jumping from foot to foot as if trying to convince herself to follow you. 

To your astonishment, she slowly- one step at a time- starts to climb up the ladder after you. Thank god. 

It does take a lot longer than you had hoped. There's a lot of crying and freezing up, but she eventually climbs up with some coaxing. Once she’s at the top, you pull her onto the platform that leads to the second floor of the building. She hugs you tightly, trembling like a leaf, but you can tell she’s relieved to have made it. 

After a few more hours of slow travel you finally make it to a fenced in area that has a door with a latch to keep it closed. The area is large enough for a few people your size to camp out in with a roof over it. 

“We can sleep here tonight. It’s built to keep rats and stuff out of it so we’ll be safe,” you explain and drop your sash, grateful to have the extra weight off your leg. “Let’s see your hammock.” You help Hamster untie it and roll it out, collecting the food from it to put in a pile for dinner.

You feel uneasy being in a cage for the night after finally escaping one, but realistically you know the difference. Maybe it’ll calm Hamster down by being familiar to her. You’re both exhausted and don’t make much conversation while chewing on some dried seeds. Both of you are thankful to be sitting down, and done travelling for the night. 

—

Tag list: @frogkingdom @verkja @whumpsday @octopus-reactivated @marvel-gt @rsitb-second-account @fallen-grace-smd @winged-wolf-s-collection-of-arts @kyp-the-spacekiwi @ilasknives @hollowgast1 @redd956 @zobodahobo @alittlewhump @blackrosesandwhump @angst-after-dark @sandygarnelle @coppercoyoti @kim-poce @mayisreallygay @smoll-stace @demondamage @vickytokio @whump-in-the-closet @shadowsnowdapple @whumpy-wyrms @re-whump @cypresscove @whumpninja @highlighterwhump @taters169 @voraciousvore

[crystalsandbubbletea]

This blog, along with all my other blogs (the-official-legacies-blog, crystals-clangen-corner, crystalsandbubbletea-art, etc.), supports aroacesafeplaceforall and other aroaces that are being harassed for not liking certain medias.

Sex-repulsed people aren't entitled to listen to songs about sex, and they aren't entitled to consume any media about sex. And just because some of those people don't like rap DOES NOT MEAN THAT THEY ARE RACIST.

And fuck you especially for sending death threats.

[lynxscircushell]

sock opera if i wrote it /j

[qtubbo]

You know that crow anon that told tubblings to all kill themselves and tubbo to quit the server, so well someone reposted that to twitter and Tubbo saw it. So tumblr reputation goes even father down the drain, we are literally infamous on qsmptwt for ableist tubbo takes, and just being unnecessarily horrible to Tubbo. The post tubbo saw btw undercut warning for death threats

[narcissisticpdcultureis]

reminder that sending death threats is in fact against tumblr tos and i will be reporting you if you send them lmao

[ivysturnss]

kys

saying this is just crazy I have spoke to @deareststurns and apologised aswell as deleting the fic wishing this upon anyone is just disgraceful

[lovenpeace-pkmn]

Unionizing isn't enough I need a guillotine

[angst-after-dark]

CW: LADY WHUMP, BBU/BBU-ADJACENT SETTING, BROKEN BONES, DEATH THREATS, DEHUMANIZATION, RECORDED TORTURE, RANSOM VIDEO

Taglist/General Writing Taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy @oddsconvert @siren-of-agony @gottawhump @winedark-whump

The click of boots against damp concrete, the sound metallic, was the first noise to pierce her consciousness, quiet but out of place and therefore startling. Her eyes didn't want to open, heavy like lead. The pounding in her head certainly didn't make the idea of moving appealing. She swallowed, throat impressively dry and clicking. Her tongue sand papery and limp in her mouth, feeling out of place.

“Smile for the camera!” Shorty chirped. 

Kestrel blinked, head swimming once more, and pulled against the ropes that secured her to the chair. The restraint had grown too tight to move, but the shield could still shake her head – for the time being. They responded to her struggle by tightening further.

“No, no, no,” the torturer chided, in the tone of talking to a child. “You have to keep still, or it’ll come out blurry.”

“Smile, Ms. Diaz."

Even immobilized, she could still scowl – there was nothing her captor could do about that – but Shorty seemed to have decided that this was as good as it would get. He’d walked back to slip under the cloth that shielded the back of the camera. 

The flash flared bright magnesium, startling and blinding her. She jerked, instinctively wrenching her head away. Pain shot down her neck. The light from the camera temporarily blinded her with splotches of black, white and red.

Lanky was less than pleased. The bat scraped across the floor as he crossed the room towards her. She stiffened, knowing he was close.

Something hard and merciless connected with her kneecap. She jumped, startled at the noise. It echoed in the wine cellar as loud as a gunshot and for a moment she had half a mind to check if she’d been wounded. She didn't have the chance. Her body flashed hot. 

Cold. Ice filled her veins. Everything froze. 

Her brain, her body, even the air she'd taken to scream seemed to hang suspended in between the shock and the inevitable pain she was going to feel. 

The world spun around her, the concrete floor beneath her feet shifting, and Kestrel strained against the restraints that held her firmly against the chair as she doubled over. What little she’d eaten for breakfast leapt into her throat, threatening to evict itself from her lurching stomach. 

The chair dug into her back, a minute annoyance compared to the searing pain in her knee. She breathed hard, still looking at the concrete floor. 

Lanky’s unoccupied hand shot out and grasped his hair, twisting it painfully before wrenching his head back, forcing her to look directly into the camera.

She flinched.She swallowed and shuddered at the strain on her throat, bracing herself for what would come next.

The red light of a flashing video camera appeared through the curtain of curls that’s fallen over her face. She stared at it for a moment, panting. The sting of tears as they leapt to her eyes and made a trail down her cheeks. 

“Come now, Ms. Diaz. You’re going to have to do a bit better than that. How will your masters know you need rescuing if you keep quiet?”

“I told you,” she rasped. She couldn't bite back a groan. The tears hadn't stopped. Malcolm would be pissed she’d cried. What happened to die quietly? She was supposed to be the best of the best. “They won't pay. We're meant to die.”

We're replaceable. She thought. Expensive, but replaceable.

There was a long, painful moment of anticipation. 

“I fractured your knee cap, “ he said, lifting his foot up and pressing on the aforementioned injury with the toe of his shoe. 

She finally gave him what he wanted. 

A ragged scream escaped her lips.

She closed her eyes when the screams morphed out into sobs and those sobs finally petered out. 

Lanky glared at her. She watched him carefully, the pain filling her brain with a heavy haze. He chewed on the inside of his lip and swallowed hard. “If they don’t pay, I’m going to kill you.”

He hurried out of the basement, slamming the door closed. Kestrel listened to his footsteps as he climbed the stairs outside. With every breath entering and leaving her lungs, she waited for death. 

The little red dot of light bored holes into her skull. Recording every second for later use. Wick would watch this. He'd be discouraged but he'd insist on watching.

When she settled again, she stared long and hard at the camera, trying to think of something more to say. Maybe tell a joke or two, to lighten the mood. Get a grin out of him while she still could.

“......it's okay,” she whispered and then, louder, pushing past the pain. She forced a smile, choked out a laugh. Her voice stayed light - as if she were coaxing him to sleep, as if they were discussing a missed shot in basketball. That's all this was, “It's okay, Mx. It's okay to turn it off.”

Shorty hadn't left yet. 

His grin was sadistic as he picked up where Lanky had left off. He swung the bat, catching her in the ribs, a loud snapping echoing throughout the musty air, accompanied by her strangled, pathetic squeak. Her breath came out in sharp, quick, shallow inhales. It took her almost forty seconds to suck in enough air to begin talking again.

Turning back to face the camera, the man crouched down so Kestrel was in full view. Once again, she fell back on a prayer. One Therese Diaz knew by heart, had memorized in her youth on her grandmother’s knee. One the training program had tried to bury when remaking her into Leigh Kestrel.

She couldn’t move, couldn’t free or even protect herself, but she could do this, she could pray.

Santa María, Madre de Dios,

ruega por nosotros pecadores,

ahora y en la hora de nuestra muerte.

Pray for us sinners, now and in the hour of our death.

[lesslie-sass]

Lmfao- all because I openly hate nuzi- I'm both amused and sick-

Nice md comminity what can I say, yet I know no one will care like last time

Also heres some that were written few months ago, most likely by the same person

At first they were just a nuisance that was just saying cryptic shit I could've easily forget, so I didn't block them (I didn't know you could do this with anons until today), but now, yeah, they will get deserved block and report

I'm curious who tf is this though, either it's that lizard user from different acc or someone else

[wings-of-fire-confessions]

Oh, so we're talking about Kingdarkstalker now? What about the fact that they're a Darkstalker apologist who kins him... not a good look. ALSO, they BLAME CLEARSIGHT for his actions. Doesn't look too good to kin a genocidal maniac and blame the VICTIM OF HIS ABUSE (because Darkstalker was literally based on Tui's abuse EX) for his behavior.

And yet, they like to say they stand for victims of abuse. Man.

And wait. There's more. They literally said they'd choke Tui to death. So it's just their talk on immaterial things that's shitty, they also like giving death threats.

Anon PMed me some evidence so I'll put it below:

Darkstalker Apologism/Victim Blaming on Behalf of Him

Death Threats

Combo

Once again, I encourage people to come to their own conclusions given this information.

[aholotte]

i don't care if you think you're "punching up" or "it's just a joke" whatever, saying you want to kill an entire demographic of people will always be fucked up

there's this post going around saying "bomb that kills all transmascs" that's not a funny joke, you're just being an asshole.

this site is awful. i'm only still here because of the people I follow, who thankfully don't do/say shit like this. i think I'll just stay in my own circle

[compassionatereminders]

mostly just a need to scream into the void so feel free to ignore (but thank you for whatever time you spend reading this). My brother who threw a table at me/hit me multiple times and threatened to kill my dad and a few other people at his school has become incredibly red pilled (ultra conservative) lately and has been complaining about how certain companies are “no longer sticking to their own values” and “going woke” and I don’t know how to get through to him about it. The part of me that’s his sibling (I’m nonbinary, he does NOT know because I’m reckless but not THAT reckless) wants to help but the other part of me that is queer is just…so very tired. Anyways, thanks for listening.

Your brother is clearly a violent, bigoted abuser and I'm so sorry you have to deal with that, but it's not your responsibility to somehow fix it. Just try to stay as safe as you can ❤️

[battle-subway-ghost]

People have been bullying and harassing a ghesis in the notes of a post an alternate timeline of my younger self made, and all I have to say is:

Good. Keep going.

[dark-type-appreciator]

if someone's death results in someone else being ultimately healthier and happier I really don't see the issue here.

Maybe you should die.