#not my dictator

[247hypnoslave]

I'm only going to write this once

This blog's purely for pleasure, but I can't in good conscience just sit here and not say something about the continuing dumpster fire that is my country, North America. Trump is/will continue to destroy democracy, so if you voted for or supported him in any other way, slap yourself in the face, and unfollow me now, because you disgust me. You had all the time in the world to find out why Project 2025 is REALLY bad, for EVERYBODY, but you ignored it. Now, when all the new changes come, you will have no one to blame but yourself.

You're going to lose a lot of family, friends, money, security, safety, rights, sanity, and so much more. And you caused it. I hope it brings you the same amount of pain that you voted for others to have.

[fagcrisis]

ok so after years of yankees on this website yelling at me to vote (in a country i dont live in) i looked up how voting in the US works and this shit is crazy. ur telling me ur not even voting for a guy, ur voting for Some Cunts Who Will Hopefully Vote For That Guy and theres a set amount of said cunts so the results are incredibly fucking skewed?? ur telling me this????? for years and years you assholes pretended your country is so much more democratic than the dictatorship i live in and you cant even actually VOTE?????????

[onionninjasstuff]

carrying each other :з

[04-entj-gryffindor]

[wooshofficial]

Just a reminder for everyone in a few months who are going to thank Trump for doing “random acts of kindness” or whatever the fuck:

Donald Trump started this nonsense.

He was the one who initially wanted TikTok to be banned. He’s the one who said that it was spyware from a foreign adversary. He wanted it gone first. This is not a new argument, this is from 2020. It has been in his plans for the entire Biden administration.

Because what Trump wants is to set up a situation where he looks like the hero. Where he swoops in and solves a problem that looks sudden and garners some good favor, despite him causing the problem in the first place years ago. He knows that the modern attention span is practically zero, focused on the shiny object, so he will do something flashy to distract everyone from the massive overhauls to basic human rights he’s doing in the background. He wants to kill us while we’re not looking, so he has set up a little magic trick to keep our eyes off the real world.

Take your eyes off TikTok. If or when it comes back, do not thank Trump. Do not get so lost in scrolling that you forget the world around you, and how it is about to go belly up. Do not forget about Project 2025, or his plans to raid schools with border control agents, or his planned cabinet. Do not let one pre-planned “good” deed distract you from the fact that this administration is about to do real harm to and outright kill a lot of people. Keep your eyes on him and his administration with extreme scrutiny, because he wants you to look away.

The scariest part about Trump is that he’s smart. We call him stupid, but he’s not. He is incredibly clever when it comes to entertainment, and will play any role if it gets him where he wants to be, and he plays them incredibly well. If we do not scrutinize his every move as some sort of act, we give him more space to do things than he ever deserves to have, and that space will be used to do incredibly cruel things, and the blame will not only be on him, but us for giving him the opportunity.

So yeah. Don’t go thanking Trump for any of this shit. He’s playing a long game and he’s playing a role that he knows you will like. Do not forget.

[sacchiri]

volume 1 sketches part 2

[shadowkira]

Dungeon Meshi Text Posts:

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 || 31-???

[mafuyuakgae]

"After you've finished medical school and you're on your own, then you can do as you please. But until then, you do as I tell you."

[swiggity-swexual-i-am-asexual]

As per usual, it’s DP crossover with (probably) DC, although you could probably adjust it for other fandoms

ANYWAYS

A little kid and his mother are trick or treating in another city, perhaps at some kind of event rather than knocking on doors, and the kid is dressed as Phantom. It’s very adorable, with his little ghost-shaped bucket and clearly homemade and already stained costume—listen, white only works if you can just fly over street grime or phase it out of your clothes—and his slightly I’ll fitting wig. The kid is SO happy to be out and about dressed as his favorite, and maybe even showed it off to Phantom back in Amity Park before his family left.

The hero, insert whoever you wish here, is probably in civvies and just enjoying the event. The kid, meanwhile, is so glad when people ask who he is so he can explain, and so- the hero gets to hear ALL ABOUT the local town hero who is probably pretty small time despite the kid’s clearly exaggerated stories. The hero certainly never heard of him, but the kid’s mom confirms that Phantom really was the town hero, despite some mixed reviews of the poor guy.

“Did you manage to show him your costume?” the hero asks.

“Yeah! We went down to the cemetery to leave flowers and I got to show him my costume.”

Wait. Cemetery? Maybe it was part of theme, because Phantom had to be named that for a reason, but… it sounded like…

The kid ignores the suddenly VERY still hero and instead turns to his mom. “Momma, do you think we should bring him candy? He doesn’t get to trick or treat like we do, and I can work super hard to get him a bunch!”

The kid’s mom just smiles. “We could, but maybe we should bring him something homemade. I bet he’d like something more filling, teen boys like him have a hollow leg.”

The kid wrinkles his nose. “Like Vernie with the pizza bagels?”

“Like your cousin, yes. We can make some cinnamon rolls and take them to his memorial, maybe bring some of the apples from your grandpa’s garden…”

The hero is pretty much forgotten as the two-part family wanders off, not quite intentionally forgetting the hero is there so much as the hero somewhat accidentally ended the conversation when they just froze and didn’t ask anything further.

Not that the hero didn’t want to. But they’d learn something very serious.

One—there was a small town hero they’d never heard of. Two—that hero was apparently a teen. Third—most pressingly, the teen hero was both beloved enough to have kids dressing up as him and dead enough to have a grave.

This… might require some phone calls.

[your-senpaaaai]

“caitvi is toxic” im gonna hold your hand when i tell you about CATRADORA

[blixndbunny]

Thank you kui for the dungeon lord laios concepts my life is forever changed🫶🏾

[sweetpupii]

So um just a thought

Caitlyn going to a brothel in the undercity becuse she wants to find a person deserving of a hate fuck so she can get her anger out. Que very nice reader who hasn't been working as a sex worker very long and is kinda intimidated by Caitlyn. Caitlyn fucks you good and proper, a little too much degration compared to what your used to and maybe a bit too much choking but... It was still a good fuck. Now you don't expect her to stay but to be honest your in tears by the time your both done. It was so intense and angry on her side that you feel weirdly emotional and subspace-y. Caitlyn feels really guilty because you didn't deserve her being so rough and mean so she stays and takes care of you a bit.

cw - hair pulling, choking, degradation, slapping once, oral sex ( r! giving ), reader swallows sorry not sorry, awfully written comfort at the end, mean sex !! 2.5k words, damn.

the brothel was busy as usual

smoke, sometimes shimmer, giggles, and moans in every corner. the typical sounds could be heard from the rooms with curtain doors nearest the entrance—the cheapest and most accessible option.

near the entrance it was, unsurprisingly, louder. a man was being dragged out by two burly security guards, his drunken protests echoing through the main hall. “I paid for my time!” he slurred, struggling against their grip. the guards didn’t falter, one muttering sharp threats while the other shoved him toward the door.

he didn't, in fact, pay for his time.

It was loud, messy, and entirely ordinary. scenes like this played out almost nightly, barely earning a glance from anyone else in the building.

clients tended to go with the more well-known workers, the ones with reputations built on experience and reliability. there was comfort in familiarity, a kind of assurance that the night would go as planned. the rookies, on the other hand, rarely drew such attention unless they had something particularly striking to offer.

so, it wasn’t a surprise that you found yourself at the edge of the room, sitting on one of the couches apart from the ‘seasoned’ workers. hands brushing over your skimpy outfit as you tried to get rid of boredom, fixing the mask that covered most of your face.

another quiet night it seemed.

it shouldn't be so shocking to find an enforcer uniform with a gas mask entering the brothel, it was quite common actually, but the fact it was a way fancier uniform and she seemed more tense than most was kinda off…

it was almost scary to see her without the mask; furrowed eyebrows, cold gaze, dark blue hair framing her face as she walked in.

“how much?”

your train of thought interrupted by her sudden words, blinking a bit to look back at her, getting up from the couch to greet her with a smile.

“hi, that depends on what you're looking for. we got the bubble baths, the massages, the lap—”

“just me and you for a few hours.” her tone firm as she dropped a bag of money on the glass coffee table. It looked pretty full and definitely heavy. maybe enough to get through a week without having to see any other client…

anywho.

there wasn't much time to respond because she was already making her way towards the other rooms, looking around to not get lost and find an empty one; not even bothered to see if you were following.

clients were meant to follow the workers so they wouldn't do anything dumb and dangerous. your quick steps could be heard across the corridor as you approached her, walking a bit faster to stay ahead before knocking on one of the doors.

available.

you barely had time to process as caitlyn shoved the door shut with her heel, the sound echoing in the cramped, dimly lit room. the faint glow of a red bulb overhead cast harsh shadows across her sharp features. her intensity was palpable, an oppressive force pressing against your chest before her hands ever made contact.

she didn’t ask. she took.

her gloved hand found your throat—not enough to choke, not yet, but enough to make your breath hitch. the cold material of the wooden door contrasted sharply with the warmth blooming beneath your skin. sadly, you weren’t new to rough clients, but this was different. It wasn’t playful, and it wasn’t calculated. It was raw and brimming with something darker than lust.

“wait, wait—we gotta talk first!” you managed to say while trying ( and failing ) to push her face away.

you see, you can't just come into a brothel and immediately fuck a girl; there are rules to follow:

⠀1. you gotta talk with babbette or any worker ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ available. be polite.

⠀2. you choose one ( or a few if you're feeling fancy ) of ⠀ ⠀ the services.

⠀3. talk about your boundaries as well as the ⠀ ⠀⠀ worker's.

⠀4. you pick a time limit.

⠀5. you talk with the worker you chose and see if ⠀⠀ it's going to be a fun time or just awkward.

⠀6. you pay.

⠀7. in some cases, depending on the girl, kissing is ⠀ not allowed since…well, it feels way too ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ intimate.

⠀8. the worker's mask has to stay on.

⠀9. etc, etc, etc...

caitlyn has only followed two rules so far.

“I do not care about your name,” her free hand is already discarding your mask and throwing it somewhere else. “or whatever it is that you want to talk about.”

she seemed way too serious and…pissed? it's not like you in particular had done anything to her but feels like she's capable of slapping your mouth shut if you tried something.

so better safe than sorry, I guess?

“take it off,” she demanded, nodding toward the thin excuse for a top you wore. her voice was cold steel, no room for negotiation. her eyes bore into yours, daring you to disobey.

with trembling hands, you obeyed, peeling the fabric away to expose yourself to her. she watched every movement, unblinking.

when you finally freed yourself from the skimpy uniform, she wasted no time. her hands—one bare, one gloved—gripped your waist with bruising intensity and pushed you back against the nearest surface. the table behind you creaked under the sudden weight, the edge digging uncomfortably into the back of your thighs.

caitlyn's breath hot against your neck as her knee forced its way between your legs. you gasped, unprepared for the firm pressure against your cunt, even through the thin cover of your underwear. her lips were on your neck now, trailing rough kisses up to your jawline. there was no tenderness, only a desperate, consuming need.

her hand returned to your throat, this time squeezing just enough to send your vision blurring at the edges. “you are here just to take it, aren’t you?” she murmured, her voice low and biting. “it’s all you are good for.”

the words hit harder than her grip.

shame mingled with a strange, reluctant heat that spread through your body, leaving you unsure whether to protest or submit. her knee pressed harder, grinding against you in a rhythm that stole your breath, and your body betrayed you with a faint, uncontrollable whimper.

“pathetic,” she spat, “look at you. barely touched, and already falling apart.”

every touch was firm, calculated to remind you of her control. her bare fingers found the skin of your chest, teasing and tugging at the sensitive nipple in a way that drew sharp breaths from you despite yourself.

you should say something—maybe beg her to slow down or remind her of the brothel's rules—but the words wouldn’t come. your throat felt raw, constricted not only by her hand but by the intensity of the moment. It was overwhelming, in every sense of the word.

she moved faster, her gloved hand sliding down to your hips, yanking the last barrier of fabric away with little care. there was no hesitation, no checking to see if you were ready. she just... took. the rough friction left you breathless, your body caught in a relentless rhythm that gave you no time to adjust.

her lips found yours briefly—rough and unyielding—but she pulled back just as quickly, her blue eyes boring into yours. “don’t think you’re special,” she muttered, her voice harsh but faltering slightly, as though she didn’t entirely believe her own words. her hand returned to your throat, squeezing harder this time, enough to make your head spin.

she took ( dragged ) you to the bed surrounded by fake plants and cheap, kind of intoxicating scents of the candles placed on each nightstand.

your back met the mattress as she took off her own uniform, giving you a brief moment to breathe and just stare at the ceiling. it’s gonna be a looooong night, that's for sure.

she forced your legs open to spit right on your pussy as if it wasn't already soaked—index and middle finger smearing the cool, viscous liquid across your warm, sticky skin.

the way cait pushed your knees up to your chest was rough, absolutely unbothered by the possibility that the position might be uncomfortable for you. all she cared about was the feeling of sitting on you, rubbing—no, thrusting her hips against yours in a rather aggressive pace.

poor bed, poor wall...

you didn't mean to get so loud, you really didn't, but the movements practically forced the sounds out of you! like being punched in the gut hard and holding back the painful whimper, it wasn't humanly possible.

a scoff could be heard from her as one of her hands moved from your ankle to your face, giving it a firm slap to stop you from looking away. “stop acting all shy, pretending like you aren't a strumpet.”

so what if your legs were numb, chin glistening with your own drool, bed sheets soaked and your makeup ruined by tears? you can handle another orgasm. caitlyn is not leaving this brothel until she's fully satisfied.

it was too much, and yet somehow not enough. her anger was palpable, pouring into every touch, every thrust, every bruising grip on your skin. she wasn’t just using you to satiate her lust; she was pouring her frustration, her bitterness, her everything into you, leaving you trembling under the weight of it.

when she does stop her torturing thrusts it feels like you've reached heaven for a second—not in the happy way, more in the questioning-if-i’m-alive way—your body trembled, boneless and heavy. chest rising and falling in uneven rhythm, feeling like a dog in the middle of a heat wave. trying to close your legs was painful.

“open.”

jesus, this woman has stamina for days. ( total show-off by the way )

the thought flickers and dies as quickly as it came because she’s already there—knees on each side of your head, her fingers tangling in your hair, tugging just hard enough to send a shiver down your spine. you don’t even have the energy to complain or ask for a break; you just obey, your lips parting instinctively as she guides you closer.

it's so messy: wet, slurping sounds echoing with every movement, muffled whimpers vibrating against her sensitive clit. the sharp sting of her grip on your hair pulls you deeper, forcing you to follow the rhythm of her grinding hips. everything about her—her scent, her taste, her intensity—is overwhelming.

It’s a blur of sensations. your jaw aches, there's not enough room to breathe something other than her, all you can hear are her groans and your own movements, your tongue is slowing down, and your body feels like it’s on fire, but you can’t stop. heavy-lidded eyes threaten to close completely, tears slipping down your flushed cheeks.

her movements become erratic, her breath hitching with each thrust of her hips. she doesn’t stop until your lips and tongue are coated in a creamy, milky white stickiness. she pulls back only enough to press her hand under your chin, forcing your mouth shut, her other fingers trailing to your throat as she murmurs, “swallow.”

you do. every single drop.

by the time she finally slowed, deciding four rounds was enough, your body was an oversensitive mess. tears streaked your cheeks, hot and silent, and your breath came in ragged panting.

for a moment, neither of you spoke. her chest rose and fell as she caught her breath, her hands trembling slightly as she adjusted her disheveled hair. her gaze flicked to you, lingering on the tears and makeup staining your face.

the silence after everything was deafening. you couldn’t stop shaking, your chest rising and falling in uneven bursts as tears streaked down your face. the mattress beneath you felt too soft, like it would swallow you whole if you sank any further.

caitlyn sat on the edge of the bed, her back to you at first, her head in her hands. her breathing had steadied, but her hands trembled faintly, betraying the storm raging in her mind.

she hadn’t meant for it to go this far. the anger, the heat of the moment—it had consumed her, driven her to treat you like a target for her rage instead of a person. she knew better. she wasn’t supposed to let her emotions control her.

and yet, here you were.

when she finally turned to look at you, the sight of your tear-streaked face and trembling frame hit her like a physical blow. you weren’t just a distraction or an outlet—you were human, and she’d crossed every line imaginable.

“shit,” she muttered, rubbing a hand down her face before hesitantly moving closer. her shadow fell over you as she sat next to you. “hey...” she said softly, the word awkward and unfamiliar on her tongue.

you didn’t respond, barely blinking as you stared up at the dim ceiling light. more vulnerable, and fragile than what you had been prepared for.

caitlyn’s chest tightened as she watched you. she didn’t know how to fix this—her guilt felt too big, her own emotions still tangled—but she had to try.

slowly, carefully, she reached for your hand, her touch tentative, as if you might flinch away. when you didn’t, she wrapped her fingers around yours, her grip firm but gentle. “I shouldn’t have been that rough,” she said, her voice low but steady. “it was not about you. it was about me, and you didn’t deserve that.”

tears welled up again, spilling silently as you tried to focus on the sensation of her hand in yours rather than everything else. never in a million years you would've expected to be comforted by a client.

“I’ll make it right,” caitlyn murmured, almost to herself. she shifted, sitting on the bed beside you, and pulled the sheet up to clean your body a little, her touch deliberate and careful.

her fingers moved to brush damp strands of hair from your face, her thumb lingering on your temple in slow, soothing circles. “you are trembling like a leaf,” she sighed gently, her blue eyes softening as they met yours.

your vision blurry, but the tenderness in her voice and touch started to anchor you. your breathing slowed, chest rising and falling in time with her quiet encouragement.

the idea of taking a week long nap seemed really good right now.

when your trembling eased slightly, caitlyn leaned closer, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry. for everything.” she paused, her throat tightening. “you are more than... whatever I treated you as tonight. not a punching bag.”

god, she was the head of the nobel house kiramman but took care of her rage like a teenager out of control.

“you don’t have to stay...”

no one does because that's the whole point of paying for sex; quick with no strings attached. touch-and-go.

but the shaky tone in your feels like a stab to the heart for cait. “yes, I do. you shouldn’t be alone right now.”

she adjusted her position, pulling you gently closer against her bare chest. as careful as if she was approaching a scared cat. the warmth of her embrace was startling after the coldness of her earlier actions. “I will stay, alright?” she promised quietly, her hand running soothingly along your back.

and she did.

leaving a tip that would definitely make the other workers gossip about how good your service might be.

( even if cait did most of the job. )

masterlist

[jasondamien93]

❌🖕

[kg-day]

I'm so tired of people telling those of us who are upset about the LA atla remake that we are "being too dramatic" or are just "finding things to be upset about". We are allowed to be upset that something that we love so dearly has been butchered, AGAIN. If you liked it, then that's your personal opinion, but don't sit here and tell those of us who didn't that we're the problem.

I personally think the CGI, costumes, and sets all look terrible. None of it is immersive. Sure, it LOOKS like atla, but it doesn't FEEL like atla. The heart of the og is gone, and people are allowed to be upset about this. They've altered characters to the point that they aren't the character anymore (looking at you Aang and Katara), which is a huge upset for me personally because Katara is one of my favorite characters ever. So watching her be turned into someone meek and docile is more than a slap to the face. Not to mention them removing her as the narrator as if Bryke themselves didn't state that Katara is the person the story is being told through. And before you start telling me that Aang is the same. No, he isn't. Major parts of his development through season 1 (him coming to terms with the fact that he's the avatar and embracing that role, and him also accepting the fact that he RAN AWAY and how he is never going to do that again, which is also pivotal to his character later on) are completely removed. And don't even get me started on what they did to Kataang. Regardless of whether you ship them or not, those 2 are deeply connected to one another from the start, and their relationship is a big part of the show, so to see that butchered is heartbreaking for me.

This isn't just about them "making some changes" or it not being a 1:1 adaptation. I'm fine with adaptations that aren't 1:1. What I'm upset about is that the changes they are making are VITAL changes to characters and dynamics between characters. They're rushing through the plot and condensing the story (and I will scream if I hear one more person say that it's because they couldn't fit it all in with their runtime. The runtime is an HOUR LONGER than the og, so yes, they did have the time). The changes they are making make it evident that they do not understand the og show, and if you don't feel like that, fine, once again, that's YOUR opinion, just as this is MY opinion. So stop telling us we have no right to be upset and that we just want to hate everything. That's not true. What is true is that we are expressing valid complaints about another bad adaptation of something dear to us.

Edit: If you also come at people who are upset bc they were expecting a faithful adaptation and didn't get it bc "its not supposed to be the cartoon," you're missing the whole point. An adaptation is ADAPTING SOMETHING from one medium to the other, not rewriting it. "Yall expected it to be just like the cartoon." No, I expected a FAITHFUL ADAPTATION and was met with poorly written fanfiction.

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 266

Back on my Danny & Ras frienemies/rivals/maybe-lovers-nobody-can-tell-their-signals-are-very-mixed train. 

See, Danny has gone through time a lot. Often. It comes with being Clockwork’s charge-son-thing and honestly he finds it fun. And several times he’s used this time travelling to get some training in. Enter Ras, stage left, also a teen at the time and also learning swordsmanship from the same person. 

And they… utterly despise each other. They would kill the other for an apple slice, if the other one would die! But also, only they can kill the other, as it is obviously their right! 

And well, they keep running into each other. It has been a hundred years, surely the other would die by now? But of course their rival would live through utter spite. Probably to spite them specifically. 

The amount of times they have ended up sparring- trying to kill each other or not- the moment they see the other is actually ridiculous. But time is also passing. And… Danny understands, not having another to talk about things people are forgetting, or have already forgotten. 

How they ended up actually talking without a murder attempt was a long story that included a demon, a dragon, a pair of fae, some bandits, and a lot of alcohol, but it happened. And then it happens again. And again, and now it’s just kind of normal to share a drink after their spars, talking about things that no longer exist, and things they miss. 

Sure Danny can go back in time again, but he knows better than to do it willy nilly. He’s matured, he’s been an adult for a hundred years now, he knows there’s consequences for messing with time, even with Clockwork’s blessings. 

The first time they got married was technically for an undercover assassination. Well, Ras was there to assassinate someone, Danny was there to grab an artifact that should Not be in the realm of the living. And they got divorced after, it was fine. 

They just, also got married again when they met a few years later, for another job. And… okay, so maybe they have gotten married over a dozen times now and only divorced like half of those times. Half of those were for the bit or while drunk! 

And even if technically they’re married or shared a bed, it’s not like they're exclusive! As Ras’ daughters’ existences attest to (adopted in one case or not). They don’t exactly have a label for their relationship, despite others asking for one or trying to put a name to it themselves. 

Now Danny knows Ras isn’t exactly a good dude, or at least on the side of ‘good’ as he’s a literal assassin. But he also knows that good? Bad? Rather relative. He had gotten labeled as a villain when he was just trying to help all that time ago after all, and really who was he to tell someone else how to live their life? 

Which brings him to now, where he’s run into his old frienemy-rival and his youngest daughter. Who has a braindead teenager and a small toddler. Which is fine, really- but also, Talia dear, why are you using a brain dead teenager to guard your three year old son? 

…

Okay, Talia dear, Ras (Derogatory), why are you using your brain dead son and grandson to guard your younger son and grandson? Do you not have the Pits, which you were soo proud about Ras? Yes, he will spar with you, but for Realms’ sake, heal, what’s his name? Ah yes, go heal Jason and he’ll actually stick around for a few years, deal? Good. 

[poorlemons]

theyre hanging out- michael looks more normal bc he's scaring the public with reflections, as one does. shitty handwriting transcription: Gerry: You're a headache to talk to, you know that? Michael: Mhm!