drlamp-and-other-polyships

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1) i think demons should purr (ice cold take but still)

2) i think mystery should be a cuddle monster and also a massive shithead to baby specifically

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guys please please please can we call polysaja x polytrix (either all of them or almost all of them with each other) Sajatrix?? please please please im begging

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Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

The final part! It is done!

Fan OCs you might see in the BG: https://docs.google.com/presentation/...

Song: Dear Wormwood by The Oh Hellos Program Used: Storyboard Pro

CONTENT WARNINGS: Canon-typical blood and violence, implied/referenced child abuse, child murder, religious abuse, choking, vomit

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m/m, macro/micro nsft, nonconsensual voyeurism and fearplay but otherwise consensual

Mateo had his phone in one hand and his dick in the other, tugging it lazily to one of his tried-and-true videos. Oral sex, tender shit, lots of hair-petting and vulnerable looks up. The kinda shit he just couldn’t seem to get from the nightclub hook-ups, as much as he tried. And this time around, the video wasn’t even getting him there. He sighed and pushed himself up to get to his dresser. Maybe one of his toys would help.

In the tiny open crack of one of the lower drawers, he caught a flash of movement. “Are you fucking kidding me,” he hissed. He wrenched it open violently and heard a thud and a squeak. No, no, not the pests again, he just had to do a whole move to avoid fucking pests. It must’ve been trying to escape through the hole in the back of the drawer─ that was what he got for buying all of his furniture secondhand─ and then fell into the drawer below when he pulled it back. Mateo closed the upper drawer and opened the lower, just in time to catch a tiny shoe disappearing into the mess of underwear. He lit up. A borrower. A little voyeur. 

Mateo sat down on the carpet and hooked his fingers over the edge of the drawer. “You’re trapped, aren’t you?” he teased. “Hiding in my underwear drawer. Not really helping your case, you think?” He reached in. The little lump dodged around and he heard gasping and swearing. Oh, god, just adorable. His fingers closed in on something a bit harder than its surroundings and he wrapped his digits around it. Trembling little form. No attempts to bite or scratch or stab. The poor dear must’ve been scared to piss him off.

The borrower was a skinny thing, tussled hair ruddy but fading, clothed in all natural tones, obviously handmade. He was a man, Mateo was pretty sure. It was hard to tell when he was so wrapped up in the fetal position. Maybe he wasn’t voyeuring, then─or he was a gay borrower. Well, why couldn’t borrowers be gay? Just about every other animal could be.

Mateo stroked along his arms, trying to gently, gently tug them away from his head, and the borrower fought against him. “Can I just see your face?” No response. “You know, I only panicked because I thought you were a mouse. I don’t mind so much, if you’re not a mouse.”

Slowly, the borrower relented, looking up at him with wide eyes, guarded. He was cute. Adorable, yes, but cute in the way he’d call a human cute too. Round eyes, round lips, eyes and cheeks dark, the start of crow’s feet. Early 40s, maybe. Mateo stroked the side of his head and marveled at him, how soft his hair was, how his flinch away from Mateo’s touch was so barely noticeable. “What’s your name?” he whispered.

The borrower’s breath picked up, and abruptly he heard little squeaks and sobs from the reburied face.

“Oh!” he gasped. “Oh, no, no, hey, you’re okay.” He couldn’t explain it at all, but even if he couldn’t imagine hurting him, something about the poor little guy’s abject terror was exhilarating. Mateo held him in to his chest and stroked his back. When he felt tiny fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt, he had to keep himself from crying too, he was so overwhelmed by intoxicating emotion. Was this why people abused them? For this absolute rush? Where was it even coming from, how was he making Mateo feel like this?

The borrower’s breaths became slow and labored. Somehow, his smothering attempt at comfort had actually worked. Mateo brought him back out and unwrapped his hands. The man looked up at him again, lower half of his face hidden behind his arm. Did he even realize what he was doing to him?

“I’m so sorry,” the borrower choked out. 

“Yeah? What are you sorry for?”

He blushed. So tiny, it seemed to take over his entire body. “For-for watching you.” He curled further in. “Please don’t hurt me.”

“Hey, I’m just teasing.” Mateo snaked his fingertip down his chin to push his face back up. “You’re a cute mouse.” The borrower squeaked and he giggled. “What’s your name?”

“Farrow.”

“Farrow.” He tasted the name on his tongue. Farrow squirmed. “Little king. Do you watch me a lot?”

Averting his eyes, he nodded. 

His heart swelled, working up the courage for his next sentence. “Not very fair, is it? If I never get to watch you.”

Farrow’s head shot up. He shook again, his chest thrumming under Mateo’s fingers, but was it fear or desire? Could he even make the distinction? “You-you want me─“ He cut himself off with a yelp as Mateo’s thumb snuck along his torso.

“What do you do? When you’re watching.”

Farrow stared him head-on for a moment, like he was trying to figure out if this was some cruel joke. Without breaking eye contact (and God that made it all the sexier) he reached down and undid the frantic knot of his drawstring waistband. He slipped his hand underneath and began tugging cautiously at his dick. 

“Hey.” Mateo pinched his waistband. “I get to see, don’t I?”

Farrow pulled his hand out of his pants and shoved away his fingertips. “I don’t get it!” he snapped. “I’m sorry! I-I’ll stop, I promise, just-just whatever you’re trying to do, I don’t get it, please just let me go.” His voice threatened to break into sobs again.

“Why don’t you believe me?” 

“Because why!?” He gestured to himself broadly, the implications too obvious to even state. Tiny. Aging. Perv. 

“Farrow…” Mateo’s thumb came back into his personal space and nudged up his shirt. The muscles underneath spasmed and shook with breath. Mateo gasped. “Just looking at you is driving me crazy,” he muttered. “I’ve never met a borrower. You-you’re so tiny, like I can do anything to you, and─” Farrow’s eyes flashed with genuine terror. Mateo stiffened. “Not like that,” he insisted. “Like feeling you, in my hands… your little shaking body. So responsive to everything I do. It’s getting me so, so horny.” Farrow looked down and rubbed his hands together. Dammit. “I’ll let you leave,” he conceded. 

“No,” Farrow blurted out. “If-if you mean it. I mean, I don’t─” he gulped. “Please be gentle.”

Mateo slowly smiled, a little breathless. If the reaction didn’t seem so genuine, he would’ve assumed that Farrow was acting that bashful to turn him on even more. Mateo inched down his pants and growled a little, watching his tiny eager cock slip out, while Farrow looked pointedly away. “Show me your eyes,” Mateo commanded. To his delight, the poor little thing obeyed. His expression was disbelieving, vulnerable, like he still expected Mateo to turn cold and cruel at any second, mock him for daring to think a human would ever lust after a little creature like him. Mateo fought the urge to squeeze him.

He pinched Farrow’s wrist and guided it down to his legs, like he was posing a doll. Farrow’s first strokes were hesitant and robotic. The massive thumb sliding up under his shirt and making delicate circles around a nipple sent him over the edge. “Oh, fuck,” he whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut. Borrower swearing. Adorable. 

“Look at me,” Mateo snapped. 

Opening his eyes seemed to be agony. 

Mateo took his spare hand to his own cock and beamed as he saw Farrow sneaking glances. “You’re just so cute. Will you do whatever I say? Squeak for me, mouse.”

He obeyed. Sparks went flying in Mateo’s chest. Was this humiliating for him? Was he living out a fantasy he’d had ever since Mateo first moved in?

“Tell me to do something,” Mateo ordered.

“Fuck, fuck,” he hissed. “Please let me see your cock.”

He was disappointed, almost. He hoped for a moment of real boldness, for him to tell Mateo to suck him off or humiliate himself instead or praise him, worship his little body, but Mateo believed him, this was definitely what Farrow wanted more than anything. He would, though, he realized. He would happily bark like a dog or kiss the soles of those delicate feet, if it made the man tucked within his fingers shudder.

He brought his hand down near the floor so that his shaft loomed above Farrow, hiding him from view. Whimpers emanated from below. After a moment, he felt something almost like pinpricks. Tiny fingertips, on the very edge of sensation, trailed down his shaft, exploring his veins. The little hands pushed his skin around, creating a very gentle sort of pleasure, and they were finally joined by a spot of wetness and a quiet little pop. 

His heart fluttered. “Was that a kiss?”

“Is-is that okay?”

He brought his other hand down and felt for Farrow’s head to pet his hair. “Of course it is. Of course.”

Evidently, this was encouraging, because he felt licks a moment later. Farrow gripped around his glans to tug him down. Lips closed around his frenulum and he felt light sucking. Mateo hummed in pleasant surprise. Maybe this guy was more confident than he thought. Or at least very horny. 

“Sweet thing…” Mateo whispered. “That feels wonderful.” A shaky breath from underneath. Mateo took his spare hand to the base of his shaft and rubbed himself slow. He only really let the borrower at his cock to indulge him. He hadn’t expected it to be this good. Mateo’s pleasure mounted in steady, even waves, and he moaned low and quiet as it bubbled over. The tiny sucks and licks at his ridge felt incredible as he came. God, what delicacy. Farrow kept going after the fact, dragging his tongue wide along his head, moving to his slit and dancing his tongue around the entrance. Mateo gasped sharply and tried to control his hips. With this size difference, if he just thrusted a little too fast, he could easily injure him.

A bit of post-nut clarity, maybe, but Farrow’s movements at his tip triggered a flash of recognition. The little circles of his tongue, the fingers sliding in along the bottom, the sucking on the top of his hole… those were cunnilingus techniques. The tiny man was eating out his urethra, instinctively honing in on a nonexistent clit. Not that it mattered much, but was he… bisexual?

Whatever, it felt way too good to be asking questions. He sat on his carpet, eyes closed, silent but for the occasional shaky moan and the wet squelches and smacks of Farrow’s mouth against his cum-wet passage. “Okay,” he finally blurted out. “O-okay, yeah, that’s good. I’m good.”

The stimulation retreated. Mateo cupped Farrow in both hands and held him at chest level. He gasped. A tiny splatter of cum dotted Farrow’s belly and his head was soaked completely. His hair was matted, his face covered, he’d evidently wiped away the gunk from his eyes and mouth best he could. His shirt had been abandoned to the floor, and Mateo’s seed rolled down onto his naked shoulders as well. Farrow met Mateo’s eyes, and then dodged his head away. Mateo choked down a laugh. He tried to wipe off Farrow’s hair. “Oh my God, I am so sorry, you poor thing.”

“It’s─it’s okay,” he muttered. 

“I’m cleaning you up. Let’s go.” He tucked his dick back in and walked to his bathroom, letting the sink water warm to a nice temperature at a light trickle. When he went to tug off those little shoes and pants, Farrow was so cooperative. Much more trusting than he had any logical reason to be. Especially with how badly Mateo wanted to just… keep him. If he slipped him into his coat pocket and drove straight to the pet store, would Farrow put up a fight? Would he look up at him through the glass walls of a cage with that same terror from when Mateo first grabbed him? The mental image drove him crazy.

He took his time running his thumbs over Farrow’s skin. Farrow slumped back against his fingers. What a privilege it was to see someone so vulnerable this relaxed. 

He muttered something. Mateo smiled. “Speak up a little?”

“I don’t wanna wake up,” he repeated.

He laughed. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”

Slowly, Farrow’s face fell. “Oh no,” he muttered. He suddenly sounded a lot less like some delicate ethereal creature and a lot more like a grown man. “I gotta go home. I gotta─ I gotta go.” He sat up, and when Mateo held him back down he panicked and fought against him, almost on instinct.

“Woah, woah, settle down. Your hair’s not even clean yet.”

Farrow gulped. “You… you’ll let me leave, right?”

God, he wanted to say no. “Of course I will.” He leaned down to the sink’s level, holding Farrow out in front of him. “Please don’t let this be the last time I see you. If I let you go, can you promise me that?”

The little man searched his eyes through the curtain of water trickling down his face. Still, he didn’t seem to trust what he was hearing, and Mateo was getting desperate to know what could get through to him. I want you desperately, little thing, and I still haven’t figured out why. Please at least give me a chance to figure out why. Was that too forward?

Farrow bit his fingernail and looked away. “Okay.”

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Gwen isn't even mad because she knows how it is when you give Merlin a lil' smooch on reflex.

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In case you're wondering what raising a kid in a polyamorous family looks like, our kid just has. Zero concept of monogamy. Like we've explained it to her many times but she just like. Forgets it's a thing and the assumed cultural norm. We're showing her Lord of the a Rings and she was very confused when Aragon rejected Eowyn.

"Wait, I thought they liked each other??"

"She likes him but he's already with Arwen."

"So?? He could just be with both??"

Anyway enjoy this meme I found about it

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I know who I want to be

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here's how weatherkaard can still win

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I have thoughts

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Baby In A Basket

A short ficlet where Glinda finds a baby in a basket in their doorway and wonders if her lovers gave birth without her.

Glinda huffed as she got out of the taxi, briefly thanking the driver. She had gone to survey the construction of an office building in Emerald City with that insufferably detail-lacking stand-in for her client, who kept asking why there needed to be ramps in all the ground-floor facilities and why the spacings had to be quite exact so a wheelchair could fit in. She couldn’t figure out if it was from genuine ignorance or cruelty, but once they’d suggested to remove the braille on the signs, as he assured her, no blind person would ever work for this company. Oz knows how close she was to banging his head with her clipboard, or perhaps making him slip and fall down a floor or two, she could make it look like an accident, or better yet, set an example. She wouldn’t be above being known for a workplace incident that involved the hospital.

But she also wouldn’t want to be convicted, and that’d be horrendible for her company, but maybe they deserved it.

Nonetheless, she was home, and her Fiyero and Elphie were waiting for her, no doubt with dinner being prepared as she walked to the street of their two-story home. She was very proud of being the head of renovation when they moved in, and she was still leading the garden’s existence, white against her beautiful pink tulips. She’s become rather fond of plants, or flowers, more of. Boq and Nessarose ran a flower shop together, and they were to thank for the rare potted plant in her home office that had green flowers. How they grew, Glinda didn’t know; she was simply thankful for their existence.

She walked over the path from the fence of the front yard to the door, littered with broken ceramic pieces. Ah, she remembered the day they all came together and smashed those ceramic pieces. Avaric had been devastated the day before it, sobbing over the ceramic set he won at a fair that Milla had said he only had for an hour. She was briefly terrified by Nessa’s fervor in smashing the plates, which Boq assured her was normal.

She was in the middle of removing her heels when she spotted a basket in front of their door. She looked around, but couldn’t recall noticing anyone running off and dropping a gift at their doorstep. It was off-season as well, and it was a plain basket, not even with a ribbon. Nessa always sent hers with ribbons, and she’s the only one who sends these things. She leaned down to pull off one of the many covers of the basket, noting it was too large before executing the action.

A sleeping blonde baby greeted her, a contented smile on its face.

Slowly processing this information, she called to her lovers, leaning on the doorframe, heels in hand. “Elphie, Fifi, did either of you give birth while I was gone?” Humor has a way to deal with hardships, including the sudden stress of a child at her doorstep, and a coping mechanism she was sure her lovers would appreciate.

“No,” came Elphaba’s voice, looking up at her from the kitchen and now the living room couch, gray in color simply because it matched the carpets they had already received from Fiyero’s family.. “Did you, Yero?” She asked, looking over her shoulder. Galinda took a sniff and found that the night’s stew had already finished brewing, and her Elphie was waiting for her blondes to come to the dinner table. 

“Did I what?” Fiyero’s voice was fainter, probably from upstairs, reorganizing Oz knows what. She had asked him to fix one of the guest bedrooms, so he’d have a room to himself during the day, which he could decorate. She sometimes regrets letting him spend so much time around Crope, Tibett, and Avaric during their college years.

“Give birth,” Glinda yells, staring at the baby in the basket, whose blankets had an odd lion motif. She had to appreciate the parents’ commitment to the theme, even if they dropped their flesh and blood at her doorstep with not a note in sight.

“No,” thundering footsteps came her way, with her boyfriend in a tank top, fresh from a day’s work and a hundred percent ready for a bath, in her opinion. “Why?” He asked, rubbing his hands with wet wipes, covered in dust.

“Because there’s a baby in a basket on our doorstep.”

“A what?!” Her darlings cried in chorus.

MENTIONS!!!

@katluver458 @lovesparklingwater @servo-1991 @aphandgflover @houseofkintsugikid @vikdikdraws @theghostofmolls @bluerunawayzombie @gelphiewenclairlover @transient-and-incendiary @apollosdreams @polyarmy

@nether2010 @kekescalope @spinelesscacti @filofandomfrenzy @thestorytellingfool @mulder-its-me-223 @soundofcomets @rainbow-tomato-draws @moonpheus @gemasivi @nooby1332c @r-rk @erikhet @havocandcchaos @dorkishasshairs

@lukewhiterock @sirazaroff @juztice @the-patchwork-girl-of-oz

@ajfbgkdjfg @law-of-nines @i-choose-you-cyndaquil @writers-amusing-muses (New!!)

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Happy Pride Month! Here's a commission I got from V.sallart!

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Hi tumblr EPISODE 8 REDRAW IS HERE :)))!!!!

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Janus has some issues with how snakes are portrayed in media...

Janus: Lissten you little blue linguine! You are not going to be a twist bad guy! You are going to be a decent and good snake character!

Or i will persssonally make you into sssoup!

Remus : so then are you gonna start being a decent and good snake?

Janus: ....yes....

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Periodic rent-lowering-gunshots:

Fiction is not reality.

You can enjoy things in fiction that would be awful in the real world. Like playing a murderhobo in a game! In the real world, being or supporting a murderer-thief would be pretty damn awful, while in the game it's just good fun. Same with anything else you choose to do with the pixels on the screen, like kinks that don't affect anyone real, so they're okay in fiction, but would be pretty damn bad in real life.

No one else is responsible for your online experience. They are required not to harass you, but they are not and never will be obligated to not post about ships, kinks, or tropes you dislike just to avoid you seeing them. It's up to you to blacklist words or phrases, block tags, or even block users as needed to avoid seeing content that upsets you.

No one can force you to read anything against your consent. Any content you don't like seeing can be instantly avoided by closing out of the offending post/fic.

You are not owed an online experience free of discomfort.

Nothing that happens in your imagination can ever make you a bad person. Words you write or read about fictional characters will never make you a bad person.

The claim that media consumption influences real-life behavior is intellectually dishonest and serves only to excuse the behavior of real offenders.

Fiction is a safe way to explore horrifying or confusing concepts. Therapists agree that fiction, even (or especially) about taboo topics is a good coping mechanism, especially, but not exclusively, for trauma survivors. Fiction is to adults what play therapy is to children. This doesn't stop being true if the work in question is of a sexual nature.

Sex isn't an inherently worse or better motivation than anything else. A work written to create feelings of arousal isn't dirty, shameful, or in any way less pure than works written to entertain, provoke moral questions, or for other reasons. And worth noting is that multiple purposes can exist in the same story, especially fanfiction.

You aren't entitled to an explanation for why someone reads, writes, or otherwise enjoys certain works, kinks, tropes, ships, etc.

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Oh! Yeah, tags don't reblog, but I did get the notification ^^ If you want to show someone's tags, you can copy them into your own tags or screenshot them ^^

I FORGOT I WAS WRITING A SICFIC MAYBE ILL FINISH THIS TODAY LMAO

“Elphaba,” Galinda moaned. “I’m dying.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You're sick.”

“Fiyero,” Galinda whined, turning to their boyfriend for sympathy. “Our girlfriend isn't invited to my funeral.”

“Don't look at me,” Fiyero said, putting his hands up defensively. “I’m not getting between you two.”

“This is it,” Galinda sighed, flopping back on one of her many pink pillows dramatically. “I will now dictate my last will and testament.”

Elphaba snorted.

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I FORGOT I WAS WRITING A SICFIC MAYBE ILL FINISH THIS TODAY LMAO

“Elphaba,” Galinda moaned. “I’m dying.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You're sick.”

“Fiyero,” Galinda whined, turning to their boyfriend for sympathy. “Our girlfriend isn't invited to my funeral.”

“Don't look at me,” Fiyero said, putting his hands up defensively. “I’m not getting between you two.”

“This is it,” Galinda sighed, flopping back on one of her many pink pillows dramatically. “I will now dictate my last will and testament.”

Elphaba snorted.