#respectfully this is a threat

[killxio]

Eren x caribbean gf headcanons 🙏

wanderlust | e. yaeger

word count: 1,440 [5 min 13 sec read] | ✪ content warnings: facesitting, six nine, handjob, eren using y/n like a face mask, he’s a munch in this (all hail the munches)

eren x reader / eren x black!reader / eren x carribean!reader

✭ drabbles of eren and his pretty beach bound girl. ( ps, sorry for taking so long anon. side note, everyone and their mama is jamaican, so the reader in this is not jamaican. trinidad and tobago i’m side eyeing you too. sorry not sorry, we need representation for other islands. )

eren absolutely gets himself into trouble just to hear you yell at him. he thinks it’s so fucking sexy, especially when you notice his hard-on and yell more.

the way your accent tends to come out when you’re angry just goes straight to his dick, mans can’t help it.

“woooii- ya make mi blood clot, eren! round with ya friends, can’t give nuh call or send mi text den tiptoe in the damn house like a ninja. ya can’t answer when me fa call ya name?”

he’s between your legs and you’re scolding him, finger pushing his big ass head around. he’s been out for a few hours later then he said he would, then came and snuck up behind you in the bathroom as you’re doing your hair.

yet all he can do after he’s put you on the counter is smirk down at you. he grabs you finger, guiding it down his chest and silences your complaints with a kiss.

it’s when he leads your hands low enough that you break it.

“jesus eren. you’re fucking nasty,” you shame, your american tongue coming back.

“no keep yelling,”

“ya fa be ‘shamed a-yaself.” you scold, trying to hide your smirk, brushing your fingers over his buldge.

eren takes u to the most luxurious parts of your home possible, he knows how much you love your families native country.

in college, he works his ass off to take you home atleast twice a year at fancy resorts or luxurious airbnbs.

as he gets older and more successful, the trips get better and more frequent.

your 10 year anniversary gift? him buying you a home at home.

eren finds the way you eat fruit with no fork adorable. he loves your brown doe eyes staring up at him accompanied by your sticky mouth.

“what?” you question, looking up at eren from your beach chair, mango in hand.

“nothing baby,” he smiles, bending down to grab a wet-wipe from your picnic blanket, “you just devour fruit like a bulldozer.”

“do not.” you protest, and despite him wiping your hands down his gaze is still set straight on you. there’s a slight breeze passing by, and his green eyes peer at you though his waving hair.

“stop looking at me like i’m that mango.”

“am not!” you protest again as he moved onto wiping your mouth and cheeks, knowing damn well you’re about to jump his bones in the hotel room later.

he loves your mango, grapefruit and pineapple fed pussy, he swears it makes you taste sweeter. before you, eren never came home craving his girl’s pussy like a meal. but yours? you have to claw him off you.

this time, eren’s taken you to jamaica, one of the carribean islands you actually haven’t been to yet. he pulls the rented jeep into the drive way of your two’s airbnb, coming home to feed you the breakfast you sent him to the market for.

“hi ren baby. did you get it?” your brown eyes and coily hair peek up at him from your book from your place on the couch when he turns the corner into the living room.

“mhm.” he nods simply, holding up the brown paper bag in his hand to show you.

but he’s craving a different meal.

“ohhh good! the utensils and plates here are so so cute, i think the host even left wine. is it too early to day drin- baby?” you question, distracted at the way he pulls at your hips and cuts you off with an absolutely nasty kiss.

“i need to be fed too,” eren says, briefly breaking the kiss, his hands sneaking into your tiny panties and toying with your clit. you know he isn’t talking about his own meal in the bag.

two of his fingers slide up and down your hole, collecting your slick, then slowly penetrates your tight ring.

“mmmm,” you let out a cat-like purr as his fingers slide deeper into you, moving up and down, riding, and he knows the perfect balance of thrusting to please you.

he’s swallowing all of your pretty moans, tasting the chapstick off your lips as he’s attacking at your lips, then your jaw. your neck. your collarbones. until he’s laid you down and pulling your cropped cami top up to get at the valley between your breasts.

he’s humming out appreciatively against your skin, tasting the soft reminants of your shea butter from a shower the night before. he travels, just a little, but cruelly ignores your hard nipples pointing up for him. he disconnects from your breasts with a squelch, sitting back up to pull off your panties and lay down beneath you.

“what’s gotten into you, rennie?” you ask, a little breathless between movements.

“nothing sweetheart. now sit,” he demands, pulling you up onto his chest.

“wait. let me touch you?” he doesn’t object and you go straight for it, sliding down his sweats and eagerly pulling out his coated dick. there’s two beads of pre still going down his shaft when you lean down to lick and start to suck on him, he slaps your ass.

“i’m eating. if you’re going to touch and distract me, hands only.”

and you do. scooting back more so your cunt hovers over his face, wrapping your fist around his cock. he pulls you down and begins licking at your cunt.

eren shakes his head lightly, pressing his tongue into you and passing over your clit a few times so deliciously, the downright nasty sounds of him slurping at your cunt making you clench around nothing. while his tongue travels back up to your leaking hole, he closes his lips around your cunt too, sucking.

“s-so good baby,” you praise, then get caught off guard by him prodding his tongue at your entrance and penetrating you.

and eren’s tounge is thick. not absolutely abnormal, but definitely matches his 6’4 height.

the repeated feeling of his muscle penetrating you sends you spiraling, tightening your grip around his shaft trying to ground yourself. with every in and out motion, more of your slick is pushed out and down his throat.

eren is addicted to feeling you come on his tongue instead of his dick, something about you creaming on his face? does it for him.

you’d think it’d be the way your hands swivel around his shaft that’d send him spurting sticky while liquid up around your hands but instead, it’s the way your hips jerk in their up and down motion while you cum, your ass jiggling on his face.

“ima.. ima cum eren.. i’m cummin’” hence the stuttering of your hips and your breathy, choked out moans. he wraps his arms around your thighs, burying his face further into your cunt.

“yeah princess?” he asks rhetorically, softly slapping at and jiggling your thighs, “do it baby. keep cumming on my face.”

“hah- fuckkk rennn..” you’re mewling, riding out your orgasm on your mans unfaltering tongue, drinking in the vibration of his words against your cunt.

“you’re such a sweet girl. my sweet girl.” he says, gazing up at you as you’ve now scooted down and are sitting on his chest. he doesn’t protest at way you leak down his abs.

“am i?” you return a dopey smile, flopping over ontop of him.

one of his arms wrap around you waist, rubbing soothingly at your bare ass while the other softly rubs at your scalp.

he doesn’t reply, instead you’re left to listen to the beat of his heart and rise and fall of his chest as you two share radiated body heat. you’re close enough to the ocean to hear the waves in the distance.

“.. okay, now can we eat?” you ask, breaking the silence, gazing at the forgotten food on the side table.

eren loves traveling with you, you grabbing him by the hand and leading the way. he’ll follow you anywhere.

“it’s a type of spanish lime but TECHNICALLY, but it’s more like a grape. it’s called kenip.” you inform him, tapping his shoulder indicating he could put you down now.

he puts you back down on the sand, having previously had you on his shoulder so you could pick the fruit from a tree growing on the beach.

he just stares up at you with the biggest eyes of admiration as you peel and hand feed him a handful.

“you like it?”

“yeah. i like you.”

“the stupid limes that are actually grapes, big head.”

“those too.”

he does like you. he loves you. his little caribbean girlfriend who’s smile glows the brightest when she’s taken to the beach. who cries in disdain when he gets fruit from the supermarket and not the farmers market. who’s vibrant dark skin, which he’s in awe by, enhances in the summer.

he loves you.

[delicate-sketch]

I just want to say that i did not vibe with tsats and thats fine i am not the devil for this there is another pjo books that i dont vibe with too i like solangelo i like will solace and nico di angelo i just didnt like the writing and the story I did not have a good time and thats fine i am happy that other ppl have a good time i can see how this book can be positive for queer kids nothing is black and white there is positive and negative cool cool

[delusionalbitchinthehouse]

Murder ghoul Dew ! Plus Dewther fluff, kinda ? 

Cw : blood, like, a lot of blood, description of a kinda gruesome dead body (not in heavy details but still there), murder.

Dew doesn’t know who the person is. Was.  Anyway. He really doesn’t, and that is where lies the whole problem.

If quintessence ghouls are known to be protective, fire ghouls are said to be territorial beings. And, look. Dew doesn’t like stereotypes, but this one…well. This one rings like truth. 

The mangled body at his feet certainly looks like a proof.

There’s blood everywhere ; pooling around what’s left of the corpse, soaking through Dewdrop’s clothes, painting the skin of his arms up to his elbows a dark shade of red, dripping from the fire ghoul’s mouth. He’s sure his hair wasn’t left untainted either, light strands probably turned a rusty color. 

The coppery taste on his tongue, though, brings a smile to Dewdrop’s lips. He picked the person’s scent up from the well on the east side of Primo’s rose garden. He had been aimlessly wandering, lost in thought and peaceful, when this foreign smell had hit his nostrils. 

Now, Dew’s nose might not be as keen as Mountain’s, but he knows an unknown scent when he smells one. It immediately raised his hackles, alarms ringing in his head as only two instincts took over : defend and protect. This place, and the people in it, are his.

His to keep hidden from those who aren’t supposed to find them. His to keep cloaked in protective mystery. His responsablility. Of course, deep down, Dew knows that he isn’t carrying the Church’s safety on his shoulders all by himself. There are plenty of people, ghouls and humans alike, who ensure each day that danger is kept away.

But in that moment, Dewdrop was running on instinct alone. The only thing he knew was that whoever this person was, they had no business being here, on the Ministry’s ground at this hour - early evening, the sun beginning to start its slow descent toward the horizon.

He knew this person wasn’t supposed to be there. Dew, as well as most ghouls, always make a point of discreetly scenting every new member of the Church, to know every smell that belongs to it. It doesn’t take that much brainpower : scents are stored in that primitive, instinctive part of their brain, and anyway, after a week of so, everyone belonging to the Church ends up smelling faintly of encens and old wood.

But this person did not smell like anything Dewdrop knew. Sure, there sometimes are visitors, but their presence is strictly scheduled and monitored. Because the Clergy knows better than to let strangers roam the place unaccompanied at any hour of the day ; they aim, that way, to avoid precisely what situation Dew just manslaughtered his way in.

For now, though, blood-drunk, knowing the Church is safe, Dew cannot bring himself to care about the consequences of his actions. 

That is until he catches another scent, this one terribly familiar.

« Dew, where were you- »

Aether abruptly cuts himself off the second he catches sight of the scene : Dew, drenched in blood and euphoric, while at his feet, what’s left of a person who really shouldn’t have been there lays broken and torn open like a gory piñata.

«…what happened ? »

Dew blinks, slow and lazy, something primal in him sated, for now.

« …stranger danger ? » he offers, small smile curling his lips.

Aether raises an unimpressed eyebrow.

« You’re ten times the danger this poor bastard ever dreamt to be. »

This statement doesn’t stop the quint from cupping Dew’s cheek with one big, calloused hand, uncaring of the blood. It is such a Aether thing to do, holding Dew with all the delicacy one would reserve to a particularly expensive piece of art, even as the fire ghoul stands smiling above the evidence of the murder he just committed.

It makes Dew’s stomach flip pleasantly everytime, and encourages him to nuzzle Aether’s palm with a purr, shooting him a coy look from under pale eyelashes.

« I have no idea what you’re talking about, » he hums with a smirk. Aether swipes his thumb along Dew’s cheekbone, huffing fondly.

« I’m sure you don’t. Seriously, though. You’re okay, right ? »

Dewdrop shrugs, letting Aether tug him closer until he can wrap his arms around the fire ghoul’s frame.

« Sure am. That’s not my blood. »

Aether’s scent - familiar, soothing, safe - surrounds Dew until it’s the only thing he can smell.

« I’ll take care of my mess, just give me a minute, yeah ? » the fire ghoul mumbles against Aether’s chest.

« Nah. You’re going to sneak back to your room and take a shower. No one can see you that way. I’ll deal with the body- send Mount my way, yeah ? He’s been saying he needed some fertilizer, looks like today’s his lucky day. »

Dew’s about to protest : after all, as he just pointed out, that’s his mess they’re talking about, but Aether doesn’t give him the opportunity. His hand finds the back of the fire ghoul’s neck, guiding him into a kiss that turns heated surprisingly quick.

Okay, so what if Dew is a bit easy for Aether ? So what if he let himself get distracted, mouth opening up to welcome Aether’s tongue, hands finding the quint’s love handles and anchoring themselves there, fingers digging into the flesh with what Dew hopes is bruising strength ? He hopes it’ll leave pretty marks. Anyone would cave with the way Aether pours his everything in each of his kisses.

When they pull away, disheveled and out of breath, Dew notes with satisfaction that some of the blood transferred on Aether as well, just another tangible proof of Dew’s claim on the quint. 

The fire ghoul is ready to dive back into another kiss, maybe even let Aether fuck him right here right now in the blood-soaked dirt, but the quint grabs him firmly by the jaw, stopping him dead in his tracks.

« Later, » Aether chuckles, « just wait for me in my room once you’ve showered, if you’re still so eager by the time you’re done. »

Dew flashes him a grin that could rival Swiss’, wide and feral as can be.

« Oh you bet I’ll be. »

Aether laughs again, joyful sound so at odds with the rest of the scenery, spins Dew around to make him face the Church’s looming buildings, and sends the fire ghoul on his merry way with a slap on his ass. 

Dew’s never showered as quickly as he does tonight.

[daisychainsandbowties]

i love the gay little patches that they have in alien

like why are the planets kissing

[thesovereignsequelart]

Tumblr ate the quality on these a bit but like. My OKS MC ft Adrian.

[krytus]

i need to become a famous author just so i can tell gerrm martin to kill himself. badly.

[kiraziwrites]

List 10 songs with 10 names in the titles that I like, and then tag 10 people.

thanks to @eponymiad for the tag, this was a fun one! I specifically forbade myself from including Jolene because it is probably the no. 1 answer to this prompt but for the record it was still the first song that came to mind.

in no particular order (but these have all seen a fair amount of play on my spotify over the years):

1. Jenny by The Mountain Goats

2. Brimful of Asha by Cornershop

3. Marlon Brando by Zeynep Bastık

4. MONTERO (Call Me By Your Name) by Lil Nas X

5. Django Jane by Janelle Monaé

6. Leyla Mecnun by Burak Bulut, Kurtuluş Kuş, and Mustafa Ceceli

7. Lake Marie by John Prine

8. Jackie’s Strength by Tori Amos

9. Abdo by Mashrou’ Leila

10. Athandwe (Hamba Wena). This is a viral gwijo song so idk who to credit, but I am losing my mind about this locker room video of the SA women’s football team singing it before their match with Sweden this week. If I’m understanding various translations correctly, Athandwe is the person the singer is addressing and half the internet is calling the song that, so I’m going to say it counts even if most of versions I have downloaded actually use the title Hamba Wena.

tagging: @auntieclimactic @mattatouile @enumchase @naomignome @banthacakes @kormantic @laiqualaurelote @leupagus @pretty-thief @nire-the-mithridatist

[momentsofamberclarity]

"they're just pixels on a screen" when i see a picture of a cute puppy i do not think "oh cute pixels", i think "oh cute puppy"

those "pixels" are depictions of children being raped, they are depictions of siblings dating, they are depictions of serious fucking crimes portrayed positively.

stay away from kids, if you told someone who has never been in any fandom you liked fanfiction where kids are raped they would want to stay the fuck away from you

Is it really that hard for you to accept that there are people who aren't proshippers for the sake of porn? Because if you can't grasp that from me quite literally telling you last night that I am a sex repulsed ace, you are proving exactly what's wrong with the anti community; the assumption that fans can't consume fictional content for non-sexual reasons and/or believing that proshippers condone what they consume in fiction in real life.

Fiction is fantasy for a reason. So if you ship all of your ships sexually and purely for the sake of reading smut about them or seeing sexy pics of them, that is a you problem, not a me problem.

[pajorko]

So... A goalkeeper... With a sword... 😳

🎥 Berenice Guillis via Instastory

[psalmsofpsychosis]

Yeah but the most hilarious thing a friend said about me was— I used to have a very dear friend who was hella intimidating to me, and i dont get easily intimidated. She was loud and outspoken and provocative, she loved a good fight and sought it, she was the only friend i had who i could happily challenge and provoke and get into her head because i knew she was absolutely secure in her own skin and rarely lost her ground, she loved being challenged. We were a formidable duo together, and there was this one time a guy jokingly asked her which one of us is scarier— she pointed to me without a second thought. It was so out of the blue and everyone, including me, turned around and was like ?????

because i assure you, i dont look scary, far from it in fact, and i can be loud, but it doesn't happen often. Most of my life i've been sitting in silence in a corner just listening. And i remember my friend laughing and saying that yes, she's loud and fiesty and she throws a fight and wrestles men every other Tuesday for the fuck of it, but really it's me people should be afraid of, because at the end of the day she plays along. She knows the rules, and she adapts to societal conventions, she works with people and she adheres to the implicit boundaries of different contexts (while screaming about how fucking stupid they are.) and sure, i dont look like much on the surface, and i'm mostly quiet and soft, but i don't negotiate. I dont play along and if i dont like something i'll flip the table on the game. She told the guy, "all things considered, i work with you and adapt one way or another; she doesn't adapt, she breaks through your thresholds."

And it's been 8 years and i still think about this remark. One of the most intimidating women i knew thought i'm the intimidating one because i'm a nonconformist, and so little has changed on that front. For the longest time she was resentful of me because she felt like i exist outside the rules and i think i'm exempt from them while she was stuck knee deep in societal conventions and "this is how things are done around here". I never really got it in my 20s, but now i think i do, which is to say; i pay my own price for willingly existing outside the thresholds of common protocols and societal codes of conduct, but that's just what i do. I never really learnt how to play along, and i guess i didn't want to, wasn't worth the effort. This isn't to say that i pick a fight with every single person i meet; quite the contrary, i dont respond to 98% of people i come in contact with, it's sort of a somewhat eternal state of "i dont care". I have very limited amount of energy, always did, so response is a privilege i only gift the people i absolutely love. The rest of the times i just leave, or if i decide to do something, i do it anyway, i throw myself into the thing without bothering to correct anyone or infouence their point of view.

But also, during the years i have met a select few people like me, and what always catches me offguard is, people dont tell you how much courage it takes to flip the table and go down the path everyone else is scared of. And i know this because i have met many cowards along the way too. People think that courage and bravery is the absence of fear. They think you must be so fearless in order to be an iconoclast, which is absolutely not the case; i have been afraid and vulnurable everyday of my life, i hear my bones rattle in my ears everytime i do the simplest tasks and i have always been thin-skinned, i get hurt very easily. And i always seem to pick up fights other people find impossible; it's not because i'm not terrified. Courage is not the absence of fear, it's the presence of purpose. You either have something that's important to you, something you want to accomplish, or you dont. Something either matters to you, or it doesn't, you cannot negotiate it. Everytime i flipped the table on things and said "i wont do that" "i will not become that" "this doesn't fucking sit with me" "i will not compromise" i was crying and i did it anyway, because my integrity as a person comes above societal conventions on any given day, and i dont fucking negotiate.

And the thing is, the older i get the less respect i have for cowards. I find value in fear, in uncertainty, in vulnurability, in grief, in pain, but nothing makes me lose faith in a person faster than "i want to do X, but i'm scared, so i'm not doing it." Lack of courage and resolve immediately makes me go "that's nice, good for you. You're lovely, and do take your time and go at your pace while you're detangling this yarn of yours, i know you got this, i believe in you even when you dont believe in yourself. But i dont have to be here while you do this, i dont have to exist besides people who choose their own manifactured comfortzone over change. " Because at the end of the day, i'm a noncomformist and i value change; not in pretty socially acceptable "oh i love change! let's have a discourse!" talks, but in action. Values are not pretty words, they're something that inherently translate into your behavior, you uphold them. And i think that's what makes me very scary to the average person; i dont talk about changing status quo, i bring it. And i dont care for standing besides people who dont really want anything to change after all because "that's scary and uncomfortable". Everything was scary and uncomfortable too when you were a toddler Jennifer, the difference was, back then you had courage.

[lesboriptide]

I wouldn’t necessarily consider myself a radfem since that label’s been overtaken by braindead and fascist terfs, but man, the ending of Toni/Mariah/Mina is really making me wanna break out the Dworkin

[sttoru]

clan leader!satoru, whose smile isn’t actually a. . . smile. it serves as a gentle (yet not-so-gentle) threat to whomever it is dedicated to. a lot of the gojo clan members, as well as members from other noble clans, have heard of that infamous smile and know of its true meaning.

ever since marrying you, that smile often finds its way onto his lips. it’s not because of you, but rather because of the ones interacting with you. satoru didn’t ever expect to feel so possessive about someone he initially didn’t care for.

a marriage of convenience is all that your relationship was for. it purely existed for the sake of a connection between two famous families. your first weeks together have been awkward. any form of affection - any touches or loving words - were for the sake of his image.

however that all was fated to change: satoru eventually found himself falling for his wife.

your kind personality, your subtle smiles, the embarrassed expression on your face whenever he teased you in front of others even if it was all a faux display- an act of being all lovey-dovey. your inner and outer beauty was slowly becoming more apparent to the white-haired man.

you don’t know when it started. you can’t recall why satoru is suddenly acting affectionate even behind closed doors. usually, he’d drop the act the second you’re in your chambers. now he continues to compliment you, pepper you with chaste kisses as long as you allowed him to… even refer to you as his ‘dear’, ‘pretty girl’ or ‘sweetheart’ to your face like it’s nothing.

you shrug off your own guards and maids when they curiously inform you about their lord’s sudden change of personality, which was supposedly all because of you.

“ah, my wife,” satoru’s voice echoes above the loud chatter in the main hall. you turn your head and find your heart racing for some reason as he addresses you in that gentle tone.

he makes his way through the crowd, eyes never leaving your face, even as other important figures try to catch his attention to talk business. “i was greatly worried about you,” your husband sighs.

a gloved hand cups your face and satoru leans in, his glossy lips inches from yours. you’d think this was part of the fake arrangement, but there’s this genuine hint of adoration behind his cerulean eyes that you cannot ignore.

“i— my apologies,” you murmur softly, eyes darting around the room while you try to ignore the loud thumping of your heart. “i was simply talking to one of the guards,” you explain and nod your head to the bulky man standing next to you.

the guard respectfully bows to satoru the second you introduce him. your husband doesn’t respond for a single second, his fingers twitching lightly at his side. he can’t stand the thought of you talking to another man while he isn’t around.

is it for your own safety? or is it because he’s jealous and immediately wants to get rid of any man who dares speak to his precious wife? perhaps it’s a mixture of both.

“i see,” satoru replies. his eyes darken for a second before he catches himself. the corners of his lips curl upwards, though the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

that familiar sight makes you nervous. you’ve seen it before, when your husband would subtly threaten others for whatever reason, while hiding his true feelings behind that smile.

“well,” satoru continues, his arm wrapping around your waist. he pulls you against his side and places a kiss on top of your head while glaring at the guard through his white eyelashes.

“thank you for keeping my wife safe,” the clan leader says through that tight smile, trying to keep it as ‘genuine’ looking as possible. he has a reputation and image to uphold after all.

you’re about to say something, but are cut off as satoru adds another comment. “i’m here now, so you can return to your post.”

it isn’t a suggestion. it is an order— a command. a disguised threat.

the guard immediately picks up on the subtle hint and nods without saying a word before walking back to his spot at the doors. you can hear the faint whispers from others as they also seem to recognise that change in satoru’s demeanour.

it’s not like you’re totally oblivious to what’s happening either. you look up at satoru and place a hand on his chest, trying to catch his attention. “satoru,” you whisper his name.

the white-haired man immediately snaps out of it and excitedly shoots you that boyish smile of his instead of the fake, cold one he wore on his face just a second ago.

“you called, my dear?” satoru tilts his head, bringing a hand to rest over yours on his chest. your eyes widen a bit at the way he seems to relax and look at you with that same devoted gaze.

you don’t think it’s an act anymore. the words die on your tongue and you can’t recall what you wanted to say anymore. those sparkling blue eyes and charming smile have you rendered speechless.

“…it’s nothing,” you mutter under your breath. you have no clue how you’ve managed to turn that once, cocky, overly confident and cold-hearted ruler into a total softie for you. it’s something you still need to process yourself.

satoru doesn’t leave your side for the rest of the night, glaring at the men who pass by, shooting them that fake, threatening smile if they looked like they desired to converse with you.

you’re his wife, and that’s that. he silently wonders when you’ll realise that he actually fell for you. perhaps you are already aware of it, but hide it from him on purpose.

whatever the case is, satoru will make sure that you know his true feelings for you. one day he will tell you those three words explicitly— if it wasn’t obvious enough through his sudden change of behavior.

[currentlymissing]

Hey, universe, can you send me love and attention in the form of several fluffy friendly cats, please, and thank you 😊

[wyxan]

The Financial Times 🤝 stats that make me furious.

[faerieyuri]

i've had so many conversations with people in fandom/creators' circles who are genuinely afraid to make the stories or art they want because they fear (often with good reason!) that their friends might kick them out of their circles, or worse, launch a public harassment campaign against them.

as someone recovering from this fear-based mindset, i want to affirm:

- friends who use implicit or explicit threats to maintain social control are not your friends

- communities that monitor your social media and ao3 to surveil you for perceived transgressive content are not safe communities

- the vast majority of people are NOT going to hate you if you make the art you want

- if you find yourself in a friend group that makes you feel afraid to speak your mind, it's in your interest to disentangle yourself from that group as quickly as possible

- real, honest disagreements between friends can be solved respectfully without the use of public shaming

- if you're feeling afraid in a community, it's likely that others are feeling afraid too. support your friends who may be struggling to leave an abusive fan or creative community, and let them know you're a safe person to voice doubts and disagreement to.

- if you're feeling like you'll never find a safer community of people, i promise there are others who feel that way too. it may take some time, but you'll find people who treat you and your ideas with respect. a good place to start is the people who make the type of art that you admire but that you're too afraid to make yourself.

ok that's all, take care of each other and be nice 💜

[leezuhh]

what was that post about how people are getting afraid to ask stuff especially to popular bloggers because all of that person's followers will dogpile on them for something mostly innocuous,,,,