#i posted this like 'this shit is so ass' so i appreciate it

[strang3lov3]

Happy Trails

“You always get this wet for strange men, sugar?” Kappa asks as he traces his fingers up and down the seam of your cunt. He’s eager to get a look at it, to see all that soft and swollen, wet flesh. “It’s not safe to talk to strangers. Didn’t your mama tell you?”

Tags - dark, noncon, smut, unprotected piv, creampie, fingering, scaryfucking, stalking, kappa drowns you as he fucks you, creepy and eerie setting, breeding kink talks, hair pulling, orgasms that you dread, murdery shit, idk idk

A/N - hey hey :) we’re gonna have some fun with the various culkin characters in this creepy ass murder cabin. For my dear @cvntoid, who I love so much. I hope this fucking hurts you

Oh, how you love hiking. You love biking more, but apparently this trail isn’t very biker friendly. It’s alright, though. You really don’t mind. Any excuse to get outside is a good one.  

You rub a little sunscreen onto your face before you go, then tie your shoes. You check your phone one last time, trying to see if any texts have gone through, but none have. So you leave it on the table before you leave, then lock the cabin door. 

It’s a little exhilarating, no? Leaving your phone at the cabin, in some place you’re not familiar with at all. But really, what are you gonna do though, right? There’s no service anyway. 

You pull an old, weathered map out of your pocket, the corners of the lamination are bent and peeling to hell. You found it in a little drawer in the kitchenette. There’s this trail that begins not too far from your cabin, and it loops right around the lake. It looks like it’ll spit you out right about where you entered. 

And off you go, with your little backpack and everything, your water bottle looped so nicely around one of the straps. You’re wearing this pretty bandana you stole from a friend - oh, how you love her. She’s always worrying about ticks when you go on your hikes. She won’t mind her bandana being stolen if it’s for this cause, you think. 

You descend a couple of steep steps and head right for the trees. It takes you a moment to find the trail itself, half-buried beneath long grass and other tangled plants. They stopped taking care of this place years ago, when…well. When it happened. Supposedly. Maybe. Maybe not. Some folks will tell you the money ran out is all, that the property as a whole got too expensive to keep up with and maintain for season after season. 

But you don’t think that’s true. A lot of people don’t, really. There are some volunteers that keep this place up and running - well, parts of it. Your cabin, for one. Your special little cabin, the urban legend that it is. Something about some terrible man doing terrible things to women in this cabin, you don’t exactly know. You’ve heard about him drowning them in the lake, heard about him mounting their heads on the fence post outside. There’s so many versions of the story at this point, and who knows which is true? Maybe some strange cryptid hurt those women, if those women even existed. Who knows. 

Rumors, that’s all they are. There’s no proof of much of anything happening here, just the stories told by word of mouth for decades at this point. 

Rumors, but you can’t deny the way your skin bristled when you first entered the cabin. That horrible turn back NOW feeling you got, not unlike the feeling that comes when you open that one closet in your home. It could all be placebo, though. Right? Do you think that it is? 

Finally, you find the start of the trail, though it’s overgrown. Not that you mind at all, you’re an appreciator of nature. It’s a strange temperature outside, sort of humid and chilly at the same time, though not unpleasant. But it is…creepy. All of these plants are lifeless. They’re lifeless, not dead. They’re colorless, their shades of green all muted. And there’s this fog that obstructs your view ahead, and it curls around your feet. Maybe it’s just because it’s overcast, or something. You don’t know.

Isn’t it odd how there’s no sign of life out here? You’ve not heard one bird chirp, and no insects buzz in your ear. The bushes rustle, though. When you look ahead you catch a glimpse of something - a figure, maybe. Something humanoid.

Oh, it makes you feel horrible to see that. Why is that, do you think? It’s normal to see others on hikes, sure. And you’re probably not the only one to stay in the cabins around here. But it’s off season, though. 

You can do this. You’re going to walk right past the figure, and you’re going to grin politely as you always do. Your smile is beautiful, you know. So big, so bright. Lots of people love it. 

…Are you okay, honey? You seem nervous as you approach the figure, with your shaky, trembling hands. What is it, sweetheart? Maybe you’re a little out of your depth here, perhaps? Not as brave as you say you are, huh?

The figure’s image sharpens in the fog - it’s - he is a long, elegant man who moves so smooth and cool, with his long strides. Things come into your view one at a time. His arms first, and then his hair, all long and wavy, curling where it hits his shoulders. He’s broad and slim at the same time, wearing a worn, maroon shirt with a deep V cut that shows off the toned muscles in his chest, tucked into his brown trousers. 

You look down as you walk near him, whispering the softest hi. “Hello,” he says back. Before you can sneak past, though, he turns his foot and catches yours, tripping you. You land with a thud, hissing in pain. The man whips around, “Oh, woah there. Watch where you’re walking, sugar,” he tells you as he crouches down. He takes your hand in his and helps you to your feet, and this is when you see it - his beautiful, beautiful deep set blue eyes, so striking and fucking captivating. They’re sharp in a way that matches the beautiful blade of his jawline, his long nose.

“You okay there?” he asks. 

It takes you a moment to snap out of it and gather yourself. “S-sorry,” you stutter. “I’m fine - new to these trails. And uh, thank you. You didn’t have to - fuck.” You wince in pain as you shift your weight, realizing you must’ve twisted your ankle on the way down, or something. 

“I insist,” the man replies, still holding onto you. He’s got these long, spindly veins in his forearms, you notice. His fingers drag up and down your skin, tickling you a little. “New to the trail, huh?”

“Yeah, I’m, uh–” 

Why’d you stop? Kappa wonders the same thing, tilting his head, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. 

“Just new here.” 

Smart. Very smart, sugar. It’s good that it’s occurred to you that you’re giving a little too much information to this strange man. Before it’s too late or you say too much, right? Withholding will keep you safe. It’s never a bad idea, of course. 

“Hi, just new here. I’m Kappa,” he says, touching his chest. Kappa smiles in a way that doesn’t reach his eyes, and he’s still holding your arm. He’s pressing his fingernails into your skin just so, not enough to pinch or to hurt but it feels bad that they’re there, in some awful way. It makes your stomach twist. “I know the trail. I’ll walk with you.” 

Fingernails. There’s something so unbearably intimate about Kappa’s fingernails, pressing into your skin, gently scratching up and down your spine. They scare you too, though. What unsettles you most is feeling your own heartbeat pulse against him - a steady, involuntary throb against his fingertips. You hate that.

“No, thank you,” you tell him softly, tugging on your arm. Kappa still won’t drop it. Not yet.

“Why not?” he asks. 

Why not? No means no. It should end here, but it doesn’t. No, Kappa’s looking you in the eyes, his icy stare unblinking as he traces the tendons in your wrist with his middle two fingers. That horrible tickle it causes - don’t you hate it? Is your skin starting to crawl yet? 

He smiles a little, but not with any sort of kindness. “These woods can be dangerous, you know. I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors,” Kappa says, voice low and measured. “Do you think they’re real?” he asks, “Do you think someone might hurt you here?”

“I…” 

You close your mouth, words evaporating under his stare. You hate the way he looks at you with his terrible, gorgeous eyes. Like oleander in boom, so beautiful and so toxic, every bit of it. There’s something so very dark about this man. Kappa. It penetrates deep into his guts and flows through his bloodstream like poison, and perhaps it is. 

“You’re very pretty, you know. What’s your name?” 

You give him your name - unsure why you do. Kappa repeats it and hums eerily, smiling. “Oh, my friend. It’d be so easy to hurt you,” he purrs softly, tilting his head. “Do you think anyone would hear you scream ? Do you think anyone heard - heard them scream?”

“I - I don’t know,” you stutter. “But I’d like to get back to my walk now, if you don’t mind.”

There’s a pause that hangs heavily, and then he lets go. “Sure, of course,” Kappa says with a slow blink, like nothing happened. “I don’t mind at all.”

He steps back, hands in his pockets now. “Maybe we’ll bump into each other again or something,” Kappa says with that same soft lilt, already turning, already vanishing. “Happy trails, my friend.”

With that, he drops your hand and walks away, leaving you feeling charmed and sort of disgusted all at once. The first step you take has you gasping in pain, your poor, throbbing ankle. You look over your shoulder briefly, and Kappa’s there. Watching you. 

Kappa thinks you move in an interesting way, even without your little limp. But oh, how he likes that. It’s important to him that you’re hurt, even if it’s not so bad. Even if you pretend you’re alright. It’s gonna make this whole process that much easier. You’re not gonna be walking for too much longer, he reckons, and he thinks it’d be best to follow you, watch you carefully. He doesn’t want you hurt, of course. 

…Maybe he does. Kappa bets you bleed so pretty, just like they all did. He can still feel your soft skin under his fingertips and it has his cock twitching in his trousers. You’re so soft, you know. All that woman. Kappa thinks you’d take his seed nicely, and he imagines it - you so beautiful, swollen with his child. There’s nothing wrong with Kappa thinking this. It’s not perverse or unnatural or creepy. He’d just be doing his part, biologically speaking, and what’s so terrible about that? 

When you look over your shoulder a couple more times as you continue your walk, are you bothered to see that he’s still there, following you? Kappa would assume as much, even though he maintains his distance. Oh, you. You’re unnerved, certainly. Kappa can see by the way that you pull your shoulders back and stand up a little straighter that you’re trying to look and feel confident. That’s good, darling. Fake it til you make it, or whatever the fuck. 

It was inevitable that at some point your curious nature would get you into trouble. It got those other girls into trouble, too, and you’re not all that dissimilar from them. Not in the slightest. They too were drawn to dangerous things, dangerous men, and look where it landed them. 

Kappa watches you stop to drink some water. Good, that’s good. You’re a healthy girl, very smart, pausing to look at that fucked up ankle of yours. Kappa’s sure it’s swollen now, all bruised and stiff. The added stress of hiking is likely making it worse. And he watches you continue on, smirking when you approach the fork in the trail. No, it’s not marked on the map. You confused, poor little lamb. Where are you going to go, sugar? 

To the left, okay. Sure. And that’s going to take you right toward the little lake - it’s deceptively shallow looking, but Kappa knows how deep those dark waters go. You’re walking down the hill - Kappa’s still a good distance behind you - and you’re sitting on the dock. He likes that spot, too. It’s a good spot for, well…

That wood’s so rotten, sweetheart. Careful, now. You’re taking off your shoe and putting your foot in the cold water, probably hoping to ease the swelling. That’ll help, absolutely. Very good.

Fuck, you’re so nervous. You’ve been avoiding checking behind yourself for Kappa, because you don’t know if it would make you feel better or worse knowing that he’s gone or still there, still following you. You wish you didn’t meet him at all, honestly. Now you’ve got this ugly, awful, nagging feeling deep in your gut and it all goes back to him. You try so hard to tell yourself that you’re not afraid, and even if you are, you try to tell yourself that you like it. It’s what you asked for, anyway. 

But it’s different when you’re actually confronted with it, right? This fantasy or whatever you could call it has lived in your head for so long and it’s been largely unchallenged up until now. It’s scary when it becomes realized, at least partially, and it’s scary when you lose control. Because it’s not just yours anymore. It might be Kappa’s too. 

Speak of the devil. The dock rocks as Kappa steps onto it, buckling with his weight. You jump and whip around, and quickly pull your foot out of the icy water. 

“You’re uh–” Kappa says, “You’re not supposed to be down here, are you?”

“Oh, shit. Sorry. I didn’t realize it was private property. I’m going.” 

Kappa laughs, taking a seat next to you. Shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh. “No, it’s just…nothing, sugar.” He loves the lake, and he thinks about drowning you in it. All that endless, black water, so dark he can’t even see his reflection. “Are you lost?” he asks.

“No, I’m not lost. I just needed a break, that’s all.” 

Kappa nods. “It’s your foot, isn’t it? Is it hurting? Can I take a look?”

You’re silent as you turn and adjust, showing your swollen ankle to him. You’re not sure why you do such a thing. Kappa takes it in both of his hands, inspecting it with his brow pinched together, two gorgeous little lines appearing between them. He twists your ankle, rolls it in a circle. He bends it back enough to hurt you, and how pretty is that sound, you whimpering and struggling against him. Yeah, sweetheart? It’s hurting you? You know what Kappa would like to do to you, right now, is dangle you upside down with your poor, injured ankle in his hand. He’d dip you in the water, and he’d chuckle at the way you splash him as you squirm and fight for air. 

“It’s just a sprain, is all,” Kappa murmurs, placing your foot on his lap. You take it back promptly and put your sock on, your sneaker following. You stand up quickly, wobbling when you put too much weight on your hurt ankle. “Woah there, friend. Where are you off to?” Kappa stands up quickly, again grabbing your wrist. You hate that, truly. His hands are so warm, and that should be nice, but it’s…it’s just not.

“I’d like to get back, now.” 

“Then I’ll walk you there,” he says, leading you back toward the trail. He’s squeezing you just a little too hard, any harder and you’ll start to bruise. That’d be a sight, Kappa thinks. He loves bruises. Loves to dig his thumbs into them, then tenderly kiss them after. Kappa turns to look at you, making an amused face at your terrified expression. “And you’re not gonna say no to me this time, yeah? No, of course not. Because - I mean, think about it, right? Anything could happen to you,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s just not safe, sweet pea.”

Kappa’s glad you’re not fighting him on this. Smart move. He’s glad you’re not trying to run, either, as that’d be even more stress on that ankle of yours. He wouldn’t mind it so much, though. Kappa lives for the chase, honestly. Sometimes he gets lucky and one of you girls will try to run from him. He’ll give her a few seconds of a head start before he catches up, and Jesus fuck. You should see the look on her face when she realizes she’s backed into a corner. Real horrorshow sort of thing.

It’s not that you’re too trusting or too naive. Or, maybe you are. Nevertheless, you are enchanted by Kappa, enchanted by the way he scares you in his special way that penetrates deep into your bones. You’re an odd one, you know. You really are. And it’s going to get you into trouble sooner or later, though likely the former. 

Kappa walks you back the way you came. “Which cabin, sugar?” You point in its direction, and Kappa chuckles. “Ohh, this cabin,” he drawls. “You’re a brave one, aren’t you?”

You shrug. “I guess.”

He worries about you, you know. He does. You’re so beautiful and all alone out here. What if you end up like the others? You’d be powerless to stop it, so vulnerable and fragile. It’d be a terrible thing 

Kappa watches you reach into your pocket to pull out the little silver key that opens the front door, and he likes the tree-shaped keychain attached to it. “Thanks for chaperoning me, I guess. I’m just gonna go upstairs and sleep off my foot - ankle. Whatever. You’ve been really kind,” you tell Kappa, avoiding eye contact as you unlock the door and push it open. You hop inside and quickly close it, but Kappa places a palm on the door, stopping you before you can shut it completely. 

“How’re you gonna get up the stairs?” he asks. 

“I’ll just–”

Kappa pushes the door open and invites himself inside. His eyes are wide and he inhales deeply, like he can still smell the iron, all the blood…

He helps you up the stairs, his wide palm guiding your lower back the entire time. He knows his way around the cabin, these tight walls and low ceilings. He’ll take you to the bedroom, the same bedroom he took those other girls, and he’ll–

“The bathroom, actually. I want to take a bath first.” 

Be his guest, why not. Kappa helps you into the bathroom, then leans against the doorframe as he watches you kneel at the tub. You plug the drain with a stopper and turn on the water, then pause. He’s still here. 

“You’ve been a big help. Thank you, Kappa.”

“Of course, sugar.” 

You smile, awkward and tight-lipped, and Kappa smiles back, arms crossed over his chest. You give him a little wave - not unfriendly, just a subtle cue. A polite dismissal. Thanks again, you can go now, Kappa. Really, you’ve overstayed your welcome. 

Kappa chuckles, low and amused, then reaches back and locks the door with a click. 

Your blood runs cold. 

“Kappa,” you say, voice as firm as it can be, though it still wavers more than you’d like.

“You could slip, honey,” Kappa replies. “And I don’t want that.” 

“You need to leave. Now.” 

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuuuuck. There’s nowhere to run, no way out but through Kappa, who’s now approaching you at the tub. You tense instinctively, squeezing the ledge of the tub. “Let’s get those clothes off,” he says. 

You don’t move. Kappa leans over you and takes your jaw in his big palm, sniffs, and rolls his head from shoulder to shoulder, cracking every joint in his neck. “Don’t make me ask twice now. Won’t be good.” 

You have to surrender yourself to it, to Kappa. You know this. Complying usually works out better than fighting, or so you think.  

You breathe shakily as you pull off your shirt, bandana coming off with it, and Kappa takes care to undo your bra himself. He crouches behind you with his strong, long nose pressed against your head, and he inhales your scent deeply as his hands slide along the curves of your sides and belly. Your stomach flips as he unbuttons your pants, and you watch in disbelief as his hand finds that zipper, and pulls it down, down.

Kappa shoves the waistband of your pants and panties down your plump hips and thighs, letting out a hum as he sees you for what you are. You’re a beautiful thing, you, with your soft curves and gorgeous skin. Kappa especially loves that when he runs his long, spindly fingers down your spine, your skin erupts in goosebumps. Is that because you’re cold, darling, or because you’re scared? Maybe terrified, even? Your breaths are getting sharper now, heart pounding so hard you can feel it in your throat. If Kappa were to wrap his hands around his neck, he’d feel your pulse as well. 

Kappa slides his fingers up the back of your neck and into your hair, where he grabs a fistful of it. He shuts off the water, and it’s eerily silent as you hear him unzipping his pants, the fabric rustling as he shoves them down his slim hips. “Some of them say,” Kappa begins, “That this is how he did it, you know. Drowned each of those poor girls in the bathtub, one by one by…one.” 

The steam rising from the tub feels like a foreshadowing of what’s to come. Tears quickly build and then fall down your cheeks, splashing into the water below. Kappa laughs silently, then asks, “How do you think it felt, baby?”

He’s still got you held by your scalp, but now his other hand is sliding down your back, middle two fingers tracing over your ass, traveling over your tight hole until he finds your cunt and oh, would you look at that. You’re wet. Not just wet, darling, you’re fucking soaked. 

“You always get this wet for strange men, sugar?” Kappa asks as he traces his fingers up and down the seam of your cunt. He’s eager to get a look at it, to see all that soft and swollen, wet flesh. “It’s not safe to talk to strangers. Didn’t your mama tell you?”

You squirm against Kappa, pushing on the bathtub to try and force him away from you. Kappa’s all muscle and mass, though, and so much stronger than you could ever convince yourself that you are. “Oh, no, no, no, no, baby,” he murmurs, pushing himself closer to you. Kappa tightens his grip on your hair and continues rubbing your cunt, pushing two fingers right into your dripping entrance. “You are not going fucking anywhere.” 

He pumps his fingers in and out of you steadily, sometimes doing a little twist before he curls them repeatedly, searching for that spot that makes you tick. “Kappa,” you sob, “Please fucking stop. I didn’t ask for this.”

“I think you did ask for it, actually. It’s okay. They did too.” 

You moan despite yourself, gushing onto Kappa’s fingers. He pulls them out of you and sucks them clean, humming at the taste of your arousal. Girls taste better when they’re scared. He pulls out his cock, letting it bounce between your thighs as he brings his palm to your face. “Spit,” he tells you, and you’ve no choice but to comply. 

“You’re gonna stay right here,” Kappa says. “And if you fight me, you are going under. Do you understand, my friend? Be good for me.”

You’re barely processing his words by the time he’s parting your folds with the thick, blunt head of his cock. No, you’re not thinking at all. Not listening. And that’s why you squirm and twist and wriggle, and it’s also why Kappa forces your head under the water, just as he promised he would. 

You didn’t even have time to take a breath. 

You scream underwater as he enters you in one swift thrust, splitting you in two. Even with his workup you’re still in pain, cunt throbbing and stinging at Kappa’s violent intrusion. He pulls you up by your hair, laughing at that big gasp of air you suck in. That’s it, attagirl. And with all your might, you fight him again. Back under you go, darling. 

Kappa’s got one hand on the back of your head, holding you deep under the water, and the other on your ass as he rolls his slim hips against you. He watches himself draw in and out of you, long cock coated in creamy ribbons of your arousal. And you, you’re moaning. Even underwater, Kappa can hear it. They come out in these silly gurgling noises, but he knows exactly what they are. It’s sort of pathetic and almost disturbing to him the way you take him so well, but he has to hand it to you, honestly. They didn’t take his cock like you’re doing now.

Kappa pulls you up again, still fucking you as he lets you catch your breath. “Easy, sugar, easy,” he coos. “Breathe, sweet pea.”  

“Kappa,” you cry, sobbing when he kisses your cervix so brutally. Your nose is stinging, your throat burning with the water forced up it. “Please.” 

“You’re going under again,” Kappa tells you. 

“No, don’t. Don’t, don’t don’t, please. I’m being good for you, don’t you see? Kappa–”

Last time, he promises. And Kappa agrees, honestly. You are being good, but that doesn’t inherently save you from his torture. Anyone can be good, and it can mean fuck all. And right now, it does. Sometimes, sweet pea, bad things just fucking happen to good people like you. Sorry. Life’s not fair, is it?

Kappa grunts as he fucks you, loving the way your underwater moans come out when he hits that special spot deep inside you. He lifts your head up a little, hovering it over the water. Your back aches and so do your knees, holy fuck. The raw, naked brutality of it all. 

There’s a certain point in which your muscles relax, and you quit squeezing his cock so fucking hard. There’s a quiet before the storm, and there’s a quiet after it, too. Quiet except for those whimpering sobs and little uh uh uh’s you make, fuck. 

“You wanna look at me, baby? You wanna watch it happen?”

“No, Kappa,” you beg. “Please, just - just finish.” 

Kappa ignores you and pulls out of you, then forces you onto your back on the cold, wet tile of the bathroom floor. He peels off his shirt and you get a better look at him here - all of his toned, pale skin. He reaches for your wrist and pulls off your hair tie, then ties all of his curls and waves back into a messy, tangled bun. His erection is so long and thick, the tip of his cock resting just below his belly button. He’s got the most gorgeous happy trail leading into a thick patch of hair that surrounds the base of his cock, and his eyes - oh, his beautiful eyes. His pupils eat into the ocean of his irises, signaling how fucking hungry he is for this. For you. 

“Yeah, look at me. Eyes on me, my friend, and watch it happen. Watch.” 

Kappa forces you to look as he enters you again, burying himself to the hilt. You let out a loud sob as he bottoms out, and Kappa wipes your cheeks with his palm. “It’s okay,” he coos, rocking into you. He pins your hands above your head and finds a steady roll and rhythm that has you moaning and sobbing his name at the way his cock drags against your g-spot. For all of his violence, he rapes you rather kindly here. Long, deep thrusts that have your toes curling, your hands squeezing his. 

You feel disgusting on this floor, and you feel disgusting because it feels so fucking good. Oh, you poor, sweet little lamb. You’re going to cum on Kappa’s cock, and there is not one goddamn thing that you can do about it. You’re probably gonna be killed after, too. Probably…probably gonna be stabbed to death, or something like that.  

Your stomach and your thighs burn with that awful pleasure, and there it is. You moan loudly as you cum, pulsing around Kappa’s length. It coaxes along his own orgasm, and Kappa grunts and moans loudly with his release, pumping you full of his seed, fucking it into you so deeply. 

He pulls out of you and leaves you there sobbing on the tile, then tests the temperature of the water. “In the tub,” he demands, and you feel sick. He’s gonna slice you open here, cut you from one set of lips to the other and let you bleed out. 

He’s not, actually. When you’re in the tub, Kappa washes you clean with a bar of soap and his bare hands, bare hands that slide over your breasts and your aching, raw cunt. It’s a short bath, and then he’s drying you off and tucking you into the same bed he raped those other girls in. 

Kappa rifles through your bag for some toiletries and finds a bottle of pills - just some ibuprofen he hands to you and makes you drink. “For the swelling,” he adds, taking a pillow and putting it at the end of your bed. “You keep that elevated, now. See you around, my friend.”

-

reblogs would be nice :) or asks, or whateve. get weird, perverts. thank you for reading.

[ya-killin-me-smalls]

short little drabble based off the corset post because that idea still has my brain in a chokehold. polycombat below the cut

-

It's… It isn't the worst. It's definitely not the worst.

More comfortable than he expected it to be, even with as tight as he has it laced. Mostly black, which is a godsend.

But the glittery gold trim seems so fucking gaudy and… attention seeking. It makes his waist look tiny; not that he's massive without it, but his jacket does a far better job of hiding it than this. And the way it accentuates his chest is just… Maker, kill him now.

Corsets, are bullshit.

"Remind me why I'm stuck wearing this shit again?" he yells to the other side of the bathroom door. The side profile is actually worse somehow. It's muscle. He knows it's muscle. He's packed on a metric ton of the shit over the last several years, but that doesn't make the tight slacks or the juxtaposition of his rear with his midsection any less ridiculous. Somewhere in the back of his mind, 'Baby Got Back' is playing loud and clear. Fuck.

"Because the joint hires pretty boytoys and you're the only one who fits the bill!" Sanford yells back, a snicker from someone else following.

God, fuck, this is stupid.

Reluctantly and with 'bullshit' on his tongue, he steps out of the bathroom where the other three have been waiting for the better part of an hour. No one says anything, which means they're looking, which means they're seeing, and thinking. Deimos crosses his arms over his chest and leans back against the closed door with a scowl.

"None of that, come here," Doc says, beckoning him forward and then circling around him, looking the outfit up and down. He fixes the dress shirt collar, then tugs at the corset itself. "Hank, adjust this for me. It needs to be tighter."

"Aw, c'mon!" Deimos protests as Hank moves behind him, heat rushing to his face as the laces are untied and then pulled hard, the corset now tight enough that breathing is just short of easy.

"You have to look the part, Deimos. You'd be fired on the spot if we left it as is," Doc tells him, and it sounds like bullshit but Deimos doesn't know enough about bougie rich asshole culture to argue.

Sanford is staring at him with something akin to a smirk and it has a low growl rumbling in his chest even as Hank's hands linger at his hips.

"What, a guy can't appreciate his buddy cleaning up nice?" Sanford teases as he stands, sauntering over to rest his hands just above Hank's.

"Har-dee-fucking-har, man. I'd sock you if I didn't think it'd rip this thing."

"You're being a baby. It looks good." Sanford's laugh is good-natured and his hands are warm, and it's the only thing protecting him at the moment.

"One second," Doc interjects, cupping Deimos's face and tilting it towards himself so he can rub gold powder into his cheeks with his thumbs.

It feels nice but he's certain it looks ridiculous, but his growl tapers off into a purr all the same.

"There's a good boy, now you look the part."

"Real pretty, ain't he, Hank?" Sanford says, leaning in to ghost lips over the side of Deimos's neck as Hank hums his agreement, hands sliding up to sit at his chest.

The corset suddenly feels smothering. So does the rest of the outfit, but that's besides the point. Deimos tips his head back to welcome the slow kisses that are dotted from the corner of his jaw down to his barely-exposed collarbone, leaning back into Hank as his eyes flutter shut. The outfit just might be worth it. Deimos is about ready to back out of the mission entirely and stay home when Sanford's hands drift down to his ass, Deimos startling with a yelp when those hands grope him hard. And then Doc is shooing Sanford and Hank away before readjusting the shirt collar again.

"After the mission," Doc tells them sternly, effectively pulling Deimos's mind back out of the gutter. "Christ, you're acting like you've never seen him dressed up before."

"Yeah, what he said," Deimos mocks, going to rub at his red face but Doc grabs his wrists to stop him.

"You'll smudge the makeup."

"My bad."

"You gotta make him dress up more often, Doc. He even shaved for once."

"Soft…"

Deimos swats at Hank's hand reaching for his face. "Yeah, yeah, go load the fucking car, why don't ya? Couple'a fuckin' animals."

Sanford makes a talking gesture at him with his hand and rolls his eyes, following Hank out towards the garage. "Whatever you say, fun-size."

He can't help but huff over the nickname, and as soon as the other two men are out of sight, it's Doc's turn to invade his space.

"You do look awfully nice," Doc says, running a finger down one of the pieces of gold trim at the center of his chest, Deimos swallowing hard. "Come back in one piece?"

"Uhuh…" is all that comes to mind, and then even that is gone when Doc leans down to kiss him gently, all the heat from earlier rushing back to his cheeks.

"I expect the corset to still be on when you get back, understood?" he says next, voice much deeper, dangerous, sending a shiver down his spine.

Deimos can only nod, mouth gone dry.

Doc lets him stew in it for a few more moments, and then he straightens up like nothing just happened. "Good boy. Go make me proud," he says, smacking Deimos's ass as he walks past.

"Uhuhyupwilldogottago—" Deimos stammers out, rushing out the door.

This mission can't be over fast enough.

[banjothreeie]

WOWWW thank you so much!! im still a little shy about this stuff but im trying to put myself out there more haha, i appreciate the compliments! jamjars has gone through a couple of designs over the past 5 years but i'm pretty happy with this one and i think it'll stick around :)

as for your questions, aaahhh i actually have So Much lore for these two and i do want to do like a comic and/or fanfic someday but i'm adhd as hell and not super confident in my art so who knows when that'll happen, i may as well just infodump about 'em now lmao

jamjars sounds kinda like snap from chalkzone! it's not a perfect 1-to-1 to what they sound like in my head but it's close enough. maybe not the most pleasant voice to listen to long-term but it's what first came to mind and it just feels so them i can't change it now lol. they're kind of annoying anyway :P

so strong bad is actually the first person jamjars meets in fcusa when their truck breaks down! he points them in the direction of bubs pretty much immediately, and they admittedly don't really interact much for the first week or so that jj is in town (novelty wears off quick in the homestar runner universe). but one day as sb happens to be walking past their truck (they're still running their baklava business while the truck is out of commission, they're just, you know. limited to a very specific locale) he overhears them playing limozeen and singing along, and he's like woah you like limozeen? and jamjars is like totally dude they're my favorite band! and strong bad is like WOAH so he actually sticks around to chat with them a bit, turns out jj likes video games too and the two of them end up talking for basically the rest of the day. strong bad starts coming back to the truck basically every day after that just to hang out and shoot the shit; jamjars is cool as hell and slips him free pastries and genuinely laughs at his jokes and he's just. over the moon!! it's hard for him to admit (and he'd obviously never actually say it out loud) but he's never really HAD THIS before? like sure he has millions of adoring internet fans but let's be real everyone in his town kinda hates his ass LOL

they definitely have a lot of romantic tension for a WHILE before either acts on their feelings, definitely one of those situations where all the other characters are like "can those two just kiss already this is ridiculous 🙄" but they're both terrified of vulnerability and rejection so it takes a long time to really get to the point where they can be open with each other about their feelings. they're both insecure in different ways; jamjars has their own traumatic backstory to work through and tends to undervalue themself as a person and desperately needs to feel like they're being useful/aren't a burden, and strong bad is like extremely macho and masculinity poisoned and never wants to seem weak or uncool in any way, and the two of them help each other feel more comfortable in their own skin but in opposite directions if that makes sense :)

SORRY FOR RAMBLING i'm sure you didn't expect this when you reblogged my original post i've just been turning these two over in my brain for years and i really really love them 😭 thank you so much for asking! i always want to talk about these guys if there's anything else anybody wants know lol

i deleted my selfship blog but uh. hi

[moongothic]

Seen a few people too many discuss the concept of Dragodile Baby 2 and my hot take is that there's no way in hell Crocodile would ever detransition just to go through nine months of horrible dysphoria again, let alone go through pregnancy ever again (or allow Ivankov to even touch him, what if they died and weren't able to trans Croc's gender again afterwards? Hell naw, ain't worth the risk)

But this leaves an opportunity for a Funnier Option:

Dragon wants another baby? Sure, but it's his turn to carry it >:)

[sakitenmaenjoyer]

this made me giggle bc i do kill rui when im angry at him. he never comes home ever so think of this as my revenge for those times and eventual future times

The knights of white work closely with the four maidens of war. The maidens were not severe people; they were dressed in cloth of teal and berry, wore brown leather boots, and rode brightly on their chestnut spotted horses. They had long swords that were thin enough to be mistaken for epee, and quivers that held cream colored arrows. They should have been a contradiction to the austere nature of the knights of white; but the individuals were beautiful, charming, and very human. Who could deny humanity?

Shiho was glad that Shizuku had made a new name for herself. Her sister could smile, unpressured, free of the way her brow pinched in their squire days. She had no idea the pressure the imperial army had on her, but she could guess.

With her quiver at her back, Shizuku had hugged her sister tightly when Shiho had voiced her pride. Shiho really tried to squirm away, but accepted the hug after a sigh. They worked together, a knight of white and a maiden, but her sister really had been trying hard not to coddle her while they were working. A hug she could do, even if the white arrows in the quiver pushed at her cheek.

She had to remind her sister not to push it; sputtering as she was pushed anyways, dragged to make dinner together, only swayed by the promise of rabbit shaped wagashi.

The warmth of that hug and that dinner is the first thing she thinks of when she sees the cream colored arrow sticking out of Kamishiro-san’s chest. The corpse is grueling to look at. His eyes wide and desperate and dead, hand loosely holding the arrow as if to yank it out.

As she walks around, she sees his other hand was drawing a healing spell with his blood.

A near instant death, she thinks. He wasn’t prepared for it.

The knights of white work closely with the four maidens of war, and Shiho has to wonder if they were blind to do so.

[ohsweetflips]

my neutral dragon age trait is that 50% of the time i'm like "the more i critique the games, the more i love them. i can appreciate each game for what they are but my criticism and frustration over what they could be are a sign of love" and the other 50% is like "this is the writing of the dragon age series. sure. why not. this may as well happen."

[yutamayo]

Y'all just cool with clicking kudos on darkfics? Nah bro I'm not ab to out myself like that ima close the tab giving the 20min experience of reading that a silent thas crazy and thank u tho

Fr I see the list of kudos accs names and I'm like..... Should I make a second acc for reading vs my one for writing cus. I won't lie I'm not THAT honest 😂

[tenebrous-dream]

the first style boutique/savvy game really didnt do anything to get as much love as it does

[c6jpg]

i should have paid more attention to the first part of the little saurian world quest bc i am now fully invested

[toxicroyjamie]

vent ⬇️

[the-acid-pear-art]

Doodles from today's entry. These pens are so fucking bad. But gay love stays winning. <- white knuckling at the sink

[mayordeas-clone]

saw a take that peeved me in the vocaloid feed on bluesky but i don’t wanna be confrontational there + my thoughts are too powerful for a 300 character per post thread so im making it tumblr’s problem

due to my intense vsynth brainworms this is going to sound incredibly pedantic and annoying which is why i am posting it here okay here we go

the post was sort of a ‘callout’ of a creator who uses synthv for covers of fnf songs or whatever. the general body was like “they write their own lyrics but they make the vocals using ai with a program called synthesizer v” (the implication being, “this person is an ai-using fraud, don’t support them”)

if ur in the community or like have a little bit of an idea of how ai is associated with synthv specifically this is a nonsense uninformed take (the ‘ai’ training is used for autotuning/cross language synthesis/some other shit idk but the point is it’s not the type of ai that like, writes the melody/lyrics for you and is voiced from random samples from unknowing providers but i’ll get back to this later)

ai is mentioned on synthv’s website (also vocaloid’s much to the detriment of news articles that report on hatsune miku) so it’s a common misunderstanding, whatever. it would be nice if people actually looked into the ways ai works in vsynth at least a little bit but in an age where artists are on the defense against the ai boogeyman i guess i sorta understand the knee jerk reaction to assume the ai in vsynth software like synthv is the Bad kind. annoying, but nothing new.

but i think what made this post rotate in my mind to the point of crystallizing into unnecessary rage is an add-on that was like “i just prefer my music to be sung by real people!” followed by “by the way, vocaloid isn’t ai, so no you’re not bad if you like hatsune miku music”

ohhh man this actually did piss me off a little cuz wow way to really shout to the heavens that you have no damn clue what you’re talking about

firstly, i COMPLETELYYYY understand that the premise and general sound of vocal synth music is not for everyone. the computerized words, the unrealism, or even the fact that it’s not an actual person singing, like whatever that’s fine i get it. but like you can’t go around and be like “by the way vocaloid [aka hatsune miku] is chill don’t worryyyy” bc that line of thinking from my understanding doesn’t really make sense? miku isn’t a real person either 😭😭 her latest release even uses ai! (at least i think it does cuz vocaloid 6 has ai support but idk i guess that doesn’t matter) does she just get a free pass cuz she’s an internet darling?

miku is a piece of software where you write the midi for her vocals and input the lyrics so a slurry of samples recorded by saki fujita can be played back in an in-character singing voice. synthv is a piece of software with similar character voice databases where you do the same thing, write a midi and input lyrics so a database’s voice samples put it all together to sing back. the inclusion of ai in this process is to streamline the workflow for the user to automatically work out the pitch transitions between notes to save on time manually tuning, creating a more realistic playback. this ai, perhaps merely the inclusion of these two letters in the proximity of synthv’s marketing, is what makes synthv both Significantly Different and Inferior to miku.

the lack of ai with vocaloid (as far as op knew, cuz need i remind you vocaloid as of its 6th installment uses similar ai to synthv lol) making it Better than synthv sent the implication, TO ME, that op thinks that the ai used in synthv is the type that like, takes samples from other people without their permission to create the voices (then leading to the “i just want my songs sung by REAL people” aka not sung by dubiously gathered samples). i recognize this means of creating ai voices to impersonate other people and make them say things they should not without their knowledge or permission is CERTAINLY bad but like that’s not how any of this works if we’re talking synthv (you could argue this applies to those utau banks that make voicebanks for like sonic the hedgehog and shit but those usually sound like ass and are about as convincing as a sentence mixed youtube poop). maybe that’s not what they meant (i don’t wanna dig up the post cuz i don’t wanna be bothered and it’s probably gonna piss me off to the point of starting something which i don’t want) but based on my understanding of their point this is like. wholly untrue. in fact synthv voicebanks (particularly those from eclipsed sounds whose terms of service are free to read on their website) have special terms specifically designed to protect the voice providers of their databases BECAUSE of the extra realism in their voices (terms such as, “you can’t credit any voice work done with Solaria to Emma Rowley [her voice provider] or anyone else besides the software itself” in the case Solaria is used to say something objectionable and cast it on Rowley, that would be a breach of the terms and might even get your license revoked). shit like that is likely what people who are afraid of ai voices expect to happen but there were contracts signed to protect and inform the voice providers of what their vocal likeness is being used for + compensation paid to them for their work providing vocal samples SPECIFICALLY for this product. and ofc miku is the same. ITS THE SAME. BUT MIKU IS A FUNNY INTERNET MEME SO SHES FINE. GRRRRR!!!!!!

[arashi-no-saxlphone]

There are people in the YT comments of Axl vods who are starting to like, ACTUALLY see the fucking problem (unable to force reliable risk/reward, unable to consistently convert, no pressure reset no routing). I've even seen people start lamenting the fact that games are just not as interesting anymore like YES! THANK YOU! The game was already very simple and watered down; this wasn't necessarily a flaw, but further streamlining characters that are ALREADY streamlined just further exacerbates the lack of depth that people have been complaining about since day 1 of Strive because this game isn't xrd (which I disagree with but I also understand the complaint). Furthermore, you "increased defense across the board" and then BUFFED THE MOVES OF CHARACTERS WHO HAVE BEEN DOING WAY TOO MUCH DAMAGE FOR 3 YEARS!! MAKING LOWER DAMAGE CHARACTERS HAVE TO WIN MORE INTERACTIONS AND TAKE MORE RISKS TO WIN GAMES! WHICH IS THEIR WHOLE ISSUE AND WHY THEY WEREN'T GOOD! AND YOU ALSO TOOK TOOLS AWAY FROM THEM! ARE YOU STUPID? YOU'VE ESSENTIALLY DONE NOTHING! Ugh.

[gregmarriage]

i should probably stop trying so hard to have a best friend, and face facts; that my baby brother is already my best friend

[digitaldollsworld]

When have I ever given my mom the impression that I’m a Christian. Seriously. In what about the way that I talk about things and the way that I live my life ever gave her that impression of me

[tenebrous-dream]

this is the worst thing thats ever happened for me

(for context the pic on the top left, and other image in this post, is a pic of mine and i came across a twitter post including it when i was looking to see if any of my personal screenshots had been reposted elsewhere because. idk i was curious)