#it's the mentality of 'if you're not with us you're against us'

[dcxdpdabbles]

Hi! I want to start off by saying that I absolutely ADORE your stories!! ❤️💖💖😁😁😁😁💖💖❤️ And I also really hope you make a series out of the de-aged Captain Marvel au! The potential cuteness and absolute chaos is great!

Tim Drake no longer owned Drake Manor.

When his mother died, it had fallen out of his family's assets as his father had been less than prepared to run the company. When he woke that was.

At the time, Tim had been struggling with the loss and the craziness life had become. Moving to the penthouse was a necessary evil because otherwise, Bruce would have noticed that his "uncle" wasn't around as much. He hadn't really missed the manor, but it was a comfrot to see it there, unchaning since his family fell apart.

He always told himself he would repurchase it, making a mental note whenever he was at Wayne Manor, but he never did for one reason or another. The building remained on the market, but it was considered bad luck among the elites to purchase ancestral homes and the regular populance could never afford it.

Tim would sometimes glance at the manor while driving his motorbike to visit the Waynes. Occasionally, he would stop at the gate, staring at the building and reminiscing.

It would help clear his head on some dark nights. He silently promised himself that when he retired from the field, he would come back home and maybe raise his own family here. It was likely a lie because he couldn't imagine a life without being a vigilante, but it was a nice thought anyway.

He did that today, going for a drive to clear his head and aiming to stop in front of his old home to climb over the fence and sit under the same tree when he realized with a start that the yard had been cleaned up and a group of people were moving items into the building. Yanking out his phone, Tim did a quick search, feeling all the blood drain from his face when the listing now read: SOLD

An overwhelming sense of numbness erupted from his chest as he looked back up, watching the moving crew go to and fro with the belonging of the new owners.

Someone had bought his childhood home. Tim had allowed it to slip through his fingers.

He doesn't have time to process that before a child's laughter has him swinging his head to the top of the gate pillars. There, a boy with bright blue eyes is watching him, eating a giant swirl lollipop.

Tim's heart launches when he realizes how close the child is to tilting over as he yells "Hi mister!"

"Hey there." Tim says as calmly as he can speak."Are you okay up there? You can fall."

"I'm fine. It's really easy to climb up here."

Tim knows. He used the same method to follow Bruce and Jason as a kid. Still, it doesn't make it safe so he steps closer, just incase he needs to catch the kid. It helps, having this distraction from the ache of his mistake in not rebuying Drake Manor.

He ignores the empty sign that the child is leaning against, the faded outline of his family name showing where they removed the metal shapes. He can't handle that right now.

"If you're sure. My name is Tim by the way. What's yours?"

"I'm Billy! I'm five years old! " the boy answers, holding up his hand with a cheer. He gives his lollipop two licks before he gestures at Tim with it."Why are you standing in front of my house?"

"I just.....got curious. You have a pretty house." Tim says as evenly as he can.

"It's super pretty inside, too! My Dad bought it for my Mom and Papa," the boy cheerfully tells him. We move next to my uncle because my Dad says we have to stay close to family."

Wait.

"Bruce Wayne is your uncle?" Tim asks, and the boy nods rapidly. He even points down the street to where Wayne Manor can be viewed from a far distance- neighbors, they may be- the two properties were very vast. "He lives over there with my cousins."

Cousins.

"Oh" Tim hears himself say "That would be me."

Billy eyes sparkle "You're a Wayne?"

"Yes, Tim Drake-Wayne."

"I'm Billy Phantom! Heir to throne!" Billy shouts leaping off the pillar cuasing Tim to launch forward with his arms streach out ready to catch. He hits the ground with a oof but a lack of weight in his hands says he failed to caught Billy.

Not that it mattered as Billy floated in the air harmlessly. Tim glances at the workers to see if anyone has noticed that the boy is apparently a meta, but they don't even look over. Maybe the information was disclosed upon hiring?

"Are you Robin?" Billy says in his face, flouting upside down and staring into Tim's round eyes. He still lays in a heap on the floor, position for a catch and it must make quite a sight to any onlooker. "You look to big to be that one."

Before Tim could even think of an excuse, multicolored rose petals started to fall around them in a dazzling down. It appeared like foral confiti falling from the heavens. Billy flips around to see a pale, beautiful woman dressed in a gothic attire walking toward them.

Behind her, plant life blossoms into a wonderful sight. "Mom!"

"Billy, what did we say about Uncle Bruce's secret?" The lady says, voice musical to the ear.

"But Mom! Only the ghosts are around!" Billy whines, pointing at the moving crew further down the driveway, who have yet to pay attention to them. They didn't care that a goth version of Posion Ivy had strutted by.

"That's no excuse. What would your auntie Jazz say?"

"She says I was not being trustworthy with secrets and other peoples' feelings. I'm sorry." Billy slumps, flouting down to pout on the ground.

"Exactly. Hello Timothy," the woman continues, turning her purple eyes towards the down boy.It's lovely to have family over. "I'm Sam, goddess of the Green. Bruce recommended this place to us. We are excited for the next ten year vacation"

Bruce has a lot to tell him, more then just selling his family house without letting Tim know.

[chrisbesitos]

Okay heres another Ballerina!reader x Dealer!chris idea:

Reader is WORN OUT from recital practice, but cant rest until she gets that ONE specific part just right (totally not projecting) so shes working on it for HOURS at home (even with the bloody feet, belive me, its a regualr thing) and REFUSES to stop

idk if that makes any sense but yea

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀you're in love

( warnings: angst (a little bit), mentions of blood, cursing, fluff.

( synopsis: chris helps you when things get harder and you can't stop practicing your choreography for the recital.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ꒰͡⠀🩰 𝅄 💸⠀͡꒱

Perfectionism. You always were a perfectionist, at school, at university and at ballet. You have the urge to be perfect and thus fuck with your head, because you don't think you can stop until your good enough. Sometimes it seems like you never will be enough and this hurts, causes not only mentally bruises, but physically too.

Well, you're accustomed to this, because it's how your brain works. Even though the pain is killing you, consuming your feet and legs like a plague. Take a deep breath and keep going, that's what you always says.

It's been hours since you're trying to do a step of your choreography perfectly, but for some reason, you can't do it right. Well, not the way you want to do. Your phone buzzing on the floor takes your attention, almost making you fall in the middle of a pirouette, you groan as you lower down to grab. It was Chris, calling you for the fifth time.

"Damn, doll. I've been calling ya', where have you been?" Chris asks through the phone, you huffs opening the cap of the bottle, taking a few sips breathing hard. "What ya' doin'? I'm fishin' some deals, wanna eat something?"

"Thank you, baby, but now I can't." You reply, holding the phone with the shoulder against your ear. You shift your feet, feeling your fingers sore, you groan in pain. "Shit." You murmured.

"Ya' good, doll?" He asks, concerned about his girl. You nod, forgetting for a moment he's not seeing you.

"Yeah, I'm just practicing now." You bite your lower lip, you need to go back to your training. "Uh, baby, what about you brought us some food? I'll have finished when you arrive here."

"Fine, doll, mind if I choose?" You deny, so Chris okay it and turned off.

You finally could go back to your practice, now putting your phone on the mute. You can't stop more, not even for calls. Chris takes more than a half hour to arrive at your place, you didn't even notice when he gets in. The smell of fresh burgers makes your stomach groans, it's been hours since your last meal, but you didn't realize you were starving until now.

"You still doin' that shit? You said you'll be ready when I get home." He says, putting the bags on the kitchen table, he looks at the living room. The couch was out of his usual place, the tv paused on the song of your choreography and you.

You were kinda a mess. Your hair is tied in a messy bun, strands of hair sticking in your sweat forehead and your cheeks red.

"Did you get attacked by a rabid raccoon?" He chuckles, you roll your eyes ignoring him. Chris raised his eyebrows at her sassy behavior, sipping his soda. "Stop that shit, let's eat."

"In a few minutes, I need to finish this." You say, turning the music on again. Chris sits in the corner of the couch, watching you do your choreography. He smiles, he loves to watch you dance, your delicate movements and the way your body moves, drives he crazy. "Fuck!" You scream, visibly frustrated with your dance, Chris frowned his eyebrows, you were perfect for him. He rested his cup on the ground, lifting from the couch to move towards you.

"What's wrong, huh? You were perfect." Chris says, cupping your cheeks with his hands. Tears were pricking in your waterline from the frustration of failure, Chris sighs pulling you closer to his chest, caressing your back with his fingers. "You're doin' great, babydoll."

"I'm not perfect." You sob on his chest, Chris shakes his head moving you to the couch, he sits and puts you on his lap. He holds your chin, making you look at him with your tearing eyes. "If I stop now, I'll not be good enough." You say, trying to get out of his lap, to get back to your practice, but Chris holds your waist, holding you hard.

"You're good enough, doll. You're perfect f'me." Chris said, cleaning your tears with his thumbs. You sniff with a little pouty in the lips, Chris chuckles cupping your cheeks. "You're the best, babydoll." He kisses your nose.

"I don't feel like I am." You whisper, leaning your head to Chris shoulder, he sighs and massages your scalp. "I'm so tired, my feet hurt." You murmured.

"How about you stop for tonight? Tomorrow I can help you with this." He caresses your thighs through the pantyhose.

"You're gonna dance with me?" You ask, lifting your head with a smile on your lips and your eyes sparkling. You always ask Chris to dance with you, but he always denies.

"Of course no, ma." He rolls his eyes, shifting on the couch with you on his legs. You huff, crossing your arms on the chest, Chris laughed undoing the ribbon from the pointe shoe you were wearing. "I said that I'm gonna help you, not dance with you."

"You're so annoying." You say, removing the claw clip of your hair and putting it aside on the couch. Chris tugged off both of your pointe shoes, gently putting on the ground, he rubbed your feet and your fingers.

"I can leave with this." He shakes his shoulders. "Uh, doll? Your feet are bleeding, is that supposed to happen?" Chris asks with a concerned look at you, he frowns his eyebrows when you slightly nod.

"It happens sometimes, it's okay." You say, caressing his shoulder, you offer him a gentle smile, saying that's everything ok. He rubbed your legs, still worrying about your bloody feet.

"Let me take care of this, 'kay?" He kisses your jaw, gently putting you on the couch.

Chris cleaned the blood from your hurt feet, putting curatives on your fingers, he also put ice and massaged until the pain was gone. He didn't let you walk to the kitchen table, he brought the food to the couch and put on tv your favorite show, he makes sure you're comfortable and good. After finishing eating, he ran you a bath with your favorite products — he's favorite also, because he loves how you'll smell after shower — and he didn't let you move a finger, because he does all the work and you don't complain.

In your bedroom, laying on the bed and under the blanket with all of your stuffed animals on the floor, Chris caresses your thighs with his finger, kissing your lips passionately. Your hands resting on his chest, scratching a bit with your nails, a smile grows in your face when he breaks the kiss.

"You're really not gonna dance with me?" You ask, with a little pouty in your lips.

"Not doin' that shit, go to sleep." Chris says, rolling his blue eyes and lifting to turn the nightstand lamp off. The last sound in the room before the silence was the sound of your laugh, before Chris held your waist and pulled you closer.

he's just a boy in love (but he doesn't know lol) ;)

tags ; @lizzymacdonald06 @deliciousluminaryanchor @lushjunkie @sweetreliever @watercolorskyy @ivysturnss @brianna-grace12 @blahbel668 @gabri3la-sturns @strnlxlqve @stvrnzcherries @unknvhx @pvssychicken @all4l0vee @i4longhairchris @sluttybitchformattsturniolo @sophand4n4 @sturniololetstrip2

taglist | masterlist

[victorbutnotreally]

Academic Validation - Lee Minho x Male Reader

A/N: i'm back!! heavily inspired by myself. to all the people struggling with their studies, you got this! your grades only define a part of you, a part of you that can be molded however you want.

warnings: thunderstorms, mental breakdown, mentions of dying, unrealistic expectations from parents, min's parents are horrible in this.

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"You have so much potential, Minho! Where's that little boy who's always eager to learn, huh?? You got an A in maths instead of your usual A*. I can't believe this!!"

"Mom, let me-"

"No!! You're in university, for god's sake! Pull yourself together! Stop hanging out with your friends and you better study, young man-"

"I-"

"Or do you not want to achieve anything? Do you want to be stuck somewhere with part time jobs, barely making a living??"

An A is still a good grade, Mom! he wanted to say, but he didn't dare to. He wanted to scream and shout and defend himself, but he wasn't allowed to. The words were just fading echoes in his ears till the sound of the call ending snapped him back to reality.

His parents see his mistakes, but only that. It wasn't an easy exam, and only one person got an A*. But of course, his parents wouldn't understand that, because he used to get full marks for everything without even studying as a child. And even now, he's mostly relying on his memory and math skills. He doesn't know how to study. Why would you know how to study when you're "gifted"? God, he hated that term. He would beam with pride when he got called that till middle school. Things started going downhill in high school, but he picked it up somehow. Mostly to compete with Mn. And now, in one of the most prestigious universities in the world, he was doing well. Very well, actually. But his parents won't understand. Why would they, when their son is "gifted"?

Sobs wracked his body as he threw his phone onto the bed and slid down against the wall. He wished the wall had arms to hold him, since his parents never did. He wished his wall would come to life, talk to him, kiss his hair and wipe his tears away. He sat with his legs to his chest and his arms on his knees, but that wasn't comforting enough. He curled up into a fetal position on the ground as he sobbed. He didn't have friends. He was always alone growing up, and he was fine, since life wasn't so cruel back then. His comfort was being alone, but he wants to be held right now.

He pulls himself up somehow, going to the bathroom to wash his face. He had an image to maintain. The thunder seemed to rattle the windows and the lightning struck. On any other day, he would've admired thunderstorms, but the sounds and the light overwhelmed him at the moment. He opened the door to his dorm room and walked down the hallway. Mn. The only one who got an A* in the maths test. He wanted Mn. Sure, they wouldn't exactly be termed as 'friends', but he's the closest thing Minho has to one.

Mn heard the knock on his door and wondered who it was at this time of the night. It was 1:03. He went up to the door and and looked through the peephole. Minho? He opened the door, and before he could say anything, Minho threw himself into his arms.

"Min-"

The moment he felt those strong arms wrap around him, Minho lost control. He clung onto Mn like a lifeline, burying his face in the crook of his neck. His sobs echoed in the quiet room, his body shaking from the force of his emotions. And to Mn, the sound of his sobs seemed to pierce him deeper than the lightning. He buried his face into Mn's shirt, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. He's never cried like this before, but something about seeing his calm, collected expression makes the floodgates open. The last time he broke down like this was…well, he didn't remember.

"I-I'm sorry," he chokes out between hiccups, voice muffled against Mn's chest. He's too embarrassed to meet those piercing eyes, but at the same time, he craves his warmth and stability. "Just needed someone…"

He takes a deep breath, trying to regain some composure. When he finally looks up, his dark eyes are puffy and red, and filled with vulnerability rare of him. "Please don't think less of me, Mn."

Mn's expression softened, his hand went up from Minho's back to his face, wiping away his tears.

"Of course not…not for this. Come inside," he says, pulling Minho inside the room once he realized they were still in the doorway. The door clicks shut behind them, loud thunder accompanying the sharp sound.

"What happened, Minho?"

The soft gaze, the gentle tone of someone who's supposed to be his rival, opened the floodgates once more. Years worth of bottled up emotions came out at once as he broke down in his rival's arms. Mn could do nothing but rub his back and hold him close. Minho didn't need anything else. He just wanted to be held. Minho's arms squeezed him tighter as his sobs grew louder. He buried his face in his chest so deep as if he wanted to be lodged in his ribcage, right next to his heart.

"They- they think I'm so smart…I'm not…I'm not smart or anything.."

More sobs.

"I can't do this anymore, Mn, I can't…I'll die at this rate. I just wanna disappear and stop worrying about all this."

"Oh, Minho.." Mn felt a strange protectiveness over the boy nestled so comfortably in his arms. His heart felt warm knowing that Minho came to him out of all people, but at the same time, he felt sad, knowing that Minho didn't really have anyone else.

"What if I don't get a job? What if adulting is harder than I thought? What if…what if I don't graduate?"

The last question was followed by hysterical sobs. If it weren't for the thunderstorm, Mn was sure he would've woken up the whole floor with his cries.

"I-I c-can't do this anymore, Mnie…I can't..p-please.."

"Okay..okay..we'll take a break for a while, yeah?"

"C-Can't…have to..study..I have to-"

"Minho."

Minho looked up from Mn's chest, eyes teary and red.

"How long has it been since you slept?"

"I- I don't know, Mn.." He said Mn's name with such softness, such…vulnerability.

Mn reached to wipe away Minho's tears and reached out to grab some tissues for him.

"Here."

Minho shakily took the tissues, mumbling a small 'thank you' as he wiped his face. He slowly got up, his feet somehow being able to carry his weight now as he went to the bathroom and washed his face. He came out of the bathroom to see Mn making tea.

"Y-You don't have to," Minho said, his voice sore and shaky from all the crying.

"Sit down, Min. Talk to me, okay?"

He obediently sat down, quite unusual for him. But right now, he just wants to hand everything to someone else. And he didn't think he'd be so open with Mn.

"I just..I got an A instead of an A*. I wasn't disappointed with it because it was a super tough exam, but my mom called and said a lot of things. Like I'm wasting my potential. I didn't hear the rest, I was so tired. Don't…pity me. Please."

"I won't. I don't. And you're not wasting your potential, okay?," Mn started, handing Minho a cup of tea. "You're one of the best students here. And one slight drop in your grade doesn't make you stupid. Besides, A is such a good grade."

Minho sips his tea, the warmth of the teacup a comfort to his cold hands. He listened intently to Mn's words, as if memorising them. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up, a small smile finding its way to his lips.

"You're good enough. I'm proud of you."

"You're good enough." The words rang in Minho's head, louder than the thunderstorm outside. He felt safe. He felt like he could admire it again. He sets down the teacup and hugged him again, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder.

"Thank you."

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taglist:

@forever-atiny

[shuenkio]

That basketball player | Lhs.

Paring: Heeseung X M!reader | Genre: SMUT

Synopsis: Since when did heeseung get that big glow up? Back in the junior year he was just a guy with his bang covering his forehead but now? You can't help but to stare at him every time he is playing basketball, jingling.

Cw: masturbate in the bathroom, bigger cock Heeseung, drunk, public explicit scenes, cursing, no plot Ig, alone time, mentioned of cum, stained etc. [18+] mdni

Non proof read | Eng is not my 1st.

This is a work of fanfiction, do not throw unnecessary tantrums on this nsfw/sfw blog. ©Shuenkio

A#N: Yo what! I feel pity to leave y'all alone with my no update so here a smut hardcore, before I vanish once again. (Yes this is me, a bit freaky than usual ಥ⁠‿⁠ಥ

Being friends with a sports guy like Heeseung is not an easy job, nor is it for your mental, freaky mind. Every time you were there, watching him practice for the competition. You can't find but to stare at a little distracted place, like a weirdo. However, it's not one fault side; since Heeseung does have his own package ever since then, it'd be a jingle bell at every instance.

Not to mention, back in the junior year, Heeseung is just a guy who just hit puberty, freshly adult, bang cover all his forehead like a nerd. In the meantime, all that matters transformed into this: a hot guy with a huge beard that could squeeze a lemon, a slender yet masculine frame from head to toes, and the most glow-up part was probably his middle part.

Which you can't help but to wonder while nosebleed; imagine how'd it look like to be sight. And so on, wondering turns into reality when it's happening during the party of one of your classmates. Walking in the bathroom, as you thought nobody was there with no light on, until when the lights flickered, you were stunned, your hearts just doing a back flip once you saw the tipsy Heeseung who's jerking off on the toilet.

Omfg, is this for real? Think to yourself. Can't hide the red blush that was painted on your face, you immediately apologize and leave; however, before you could, a large hand appeared and pinged you against the door, allowing you to escape this awkward situation.

"Hmm... M/n? What a surprise to see you here during my alone time," said the half-drunk guy, looking down to see his cock peeking through his zipper, naked. In front of you, but did he care? No. You swallow down, feel like a stone stuck in your breath—this is just a dream wake-up.

Your reaction was funny enough to make Heeseung chuckle out; you seem to be nervous, shy, and lately a bit of a turn-on.

"We're alone, aren't we? Now don't hide your true colors, bud; I know you've always wanted this, isn't that right?" Heeseung claim, pointed out right through you. No way he caught you in act, but where? Yet there's no use right now to wonder about it; a big gigantic cock is staring at you right now; he was so hard his cum is leaking out, desperate for some way out of those balls.

Out of surprise, you snapped as Heeseung let out a moan, in contact with his skin too close to yours. Cover your face with your palm to evade your crazy mess face; his pre-cum began to stain on your pants!

"Fuck m/n, take a hold of it. Before I change my mind, I'm not sober," panicking Sprint free in your vein as you shudder to his words, Should you or shouldn't? This once-in-a-lifetime opportunity is so rare, you wouldn't want to go to waste.

Seeing you froze in the spot, back pressed against the door too much, Heeseung snatched one of your hands and wrapped them around his shaft. Lord, have mercy.

"Ahh, so good, m/n, euuu, that's right," biting his lip, his back arching forward, thrusting inside of your palm in rhythm. Both of his hands are pinning you in between, while he endures in pleasure. No word to say; you seem to enjoy what you're doing. His foreskin moved up and down, his tip peeking in every stroke.

Heeseung's freaky side was not what you expected; he was far more wild. Your surroundings are no longer your priority; you didn't care if anyone might hear. Continue to please the man of your dreams; no, this is a dream to be able to touch him, your friend.

A few more strokes, his hip bucking more and more needy, his balls later slipped out of his underwear, come out before slapping against the friction of his own pant. As a result, the fire in him turned on even better. Both of you can't think straight, locked in this bathroom, just the two, enjoying times together.

"Cum... I need to cum m/n!! I'm going to piss Ahh Ahh FUCK." He's knees weaken. The hands that are pinning you in find their way to belt around your waist, despairing for support, before a load of hot cum splashes out on both clothes. Heeseung is indeed sensitive; that might as well be one of his weaknesses for your dictionary.

He then falls down on the floor on his knees finally, as he leans against the wall nearby in this tight space. Draining out and overwhelmed by the masturbation. Little did you know, there's also a stain in your pants too, not only from Heeseung's cum stained. Ugh, he got you in anyway possible.

"Shit..." A couple of minutes passed, his brows furrowing while his eyes shut, before he pissed out for real.

"I—damn it." 

[ford-between-dimensions]

So Ford.

Gonna put it all on the table. One stream of consciousness done as neatly as one can at 11pm after a distressing day of my own.

To start,

You are a traumatized man. Plain and simple.

From familial trauma to making a deal with a literal demon to familial trauma AGAIN, mentally speaking you are not well.

I don't care how much you deny it. It's the truth.

You're a golden child, someone who could supposedly do no wrong, put on a pedestal ever since you were a child.

And that causes a disconnect between yourself and others in terms of empathy and understanding.

Now, to Portal Incident #1.

As you've said, you were in the wrong. Fiddleford warned you against testing/using it several times and you dismissed him on every occasion. You didn't even ask him if he was okay when you pulled him away from the portal after he almost got sucked in. Yes, you were not the one who put the memory gun to his head and made him use it over and over until he lost his sanity, but you still inadvertently gave this man intense trauma for the sake of your hubris.

Also, I may be misremembering, and please correct me if I am, but the portal was for Bill, yes? He's the reason you were building it in the first place. That adds another layer of complexity and nuance into the situation given how you were heavily manipulated into doing so.

You were in the wrong. And while an apology is a bandaid on a beheading, it is certainly a start.

Whether you realize it or not, you are incredibly selfish and vain as a result of your upbringing, and while it does not excuse your actions whatsoever, it does explain it to an extent. You are a broken person, one who needs to relearn empathy and actually thinking about other people. You think so highly of yourself yet you're incredibly lonely and that, for lack of a better word, fucks a person up.

This isn't even touching on everything with your brother. Because frankly the current topic isn't about that. But oh boy do I have thoughts on how fucked up that all was for BOTH of you.

Now.

With all that being said.

Why the fuck do you keep shooting children? Like?? You do realize that's WRONG???

(Ooc did any of that make any fucking sense omg I just did so much word vomit I am so sorry)

…I’d…rather not discuss this any more.

[but-a-humble-goon]

"You are not normal for dedicating a truly unfathomable amount of your time and mental energy to being extremely angry that a pair of fictional women fell in love."

I see male RWBY fans still can't go five minutes without hiding behind one of the most milqetoast 2013 time capsule sapphic relationships since the Rise of Skywalker lesbians as a shield for their offensively mediocre product. You're more predictable as a brand than Minecraft Youtubers and Google Docs.

What's it like, being a mark for rainbow capitalism stuck balls deep in a parasocial relationship with a show that will never return your love?

Just because you disingenuously drape a tissue thin veil of progressivism over it doesn't make you not someone dedicating a truly unfathomable amount of your time and mental energy to being extremely angry that a pair of fictional women fell in love. I'm not gonna bother arguing the merits of Blake and Yang's relationship with you. It's a gloriously angsty, wholesome slowburn sapphic love story years in the making about two awesome women overcoming abuse & trauma and healing together, it's obviously great and speaks for itself. Neither I nor the show have to justify shit. Instead just ask yourself this question: do you hold all straight ships (which are produced by the same shitty, cynical capitalist system) to this standard? Do you get this angry, if at all, at them for being milquetoast and mediocre? Because if not, if it's just queer media you reserve this rabid contempt for, then the word for what you are doing is queerphobia. Oh and you do not get to play the "male RWBY fan" card. One of us here is siding with the hordes of angry entitled homophobic straight men against a whole bunch of mostly queer women, and it sure as shit ain't me.

[merwgue]

"Rhysand hasn't done anything wrong"

Here’s a breakdown of the actual legal crimes Rhysand could be charged with, based on real-world laws:

A Court of Thorns and Roses (Book 1)

1. Sexual Assault – Rhysand forces Feyre into non-consensual situations, including touching her and kissing her while under the influence of drugs.

2. Drugging/Administration of a Controlled Substance – He forces Feyre to drink faerie wine (a mind-altering substance), which removes her ability to consent and control her actions.

3. Kidnapping/False Imprisonment – Under the Mountain, Rhysand traps Feyre into a bargain that forces her to spend time with him, effectively limiting her freedom.

A Court of Mist and Fury (Book 2)

1. Sexual Harassment – Rhysand frequently engages in unwanted physical contact with Feyre, coercing her in various ways under the pretext of their bargain.

2. Psychological Abuse/Coercion – The manipulation and psychological control Rhysand exerts over Feyre could be classified as emotional abuse, which can carry legal ramifications depending on the jurisdiction.

A Court of Wings and Ruin (Book 3)

1. Trespassing – Rhysand repeatedly enters Tamlin’s lands without permission, which would be considered trespassing by legal standards.

2. Incitement to Violence/Sabotage – Rhysand knowingly encourages Feyre to sabotage the Spring Court while she’s undercover, which could lead to charges of inciting criminal behavior.

3. Attempted Murder (by Suggestion) – While not directly responsible, suggesting that someone (Tamlin) should kill themselves could be viewed as reckless endangerment or incitement to self-harm, which is illegal in many places.

A Court of Frost and Starlight (Novella)

1. Harassment – Rhysand's continued psychological harassment of Tamlin could potentially be charged as harassment, particularly given its persistent nature.

General Crimes Throughout the Series you can face up to a life sentence with :

1. Assault – Rhysand has a history of using his powers to physically and mentally harm others, especially when he forces Feyre into certain situations or physically manipulates her.

2. Torture – His treatment of the people in the Court of Nightmares, particularly through physical and psychological intimidation, could be considered torture or cruel and inhumane treatment under international human rights law.

3. Abuse of Power/Authority – Rhysand frequently abuses his position as High Lord, using his powers to manipulate, control, and coerce others, which could be considered an abuse of authority. (Hm hm, remember what happend to saddam Hussain?)

4. Kidnapping/False Imprisonment – By forcibly keeping Nesta in the House of Wind without her consent, Rhysand is restricting her freedom and movement. This can be legally classified as kidnapping or false imprisonment.

5. Endangerment of a Mentally Ill Person – Nesta is clearly dealing with severe trauma, depression, and possibly PTSD. Locking her up without proper care or therapy can be considered neglect and endangerment of someone with a mental illness, especially since she was using alcohol to cope. (Those teen-help programs.)

6. Illegal Detainment Without Licensing – The Night Court is not a rehabilitation facility, and Rhysand has no legal authority or medical qualifications to keep Nesta there against her will. This would violate laws that protect individuals with mental health issues from being detained in non-medical facilities by non-professionals.

4. Emotional and Psychological Abuse – Forcing Nesta into isolation and removing her autonomy could be seen as a form of emotional and psychological abuse, which has legal ramifications in many jurisdictions.

In a real-world legal system, these actions could be prosecuted as criminal offenses, including sexual assault, kidnapping, drugging, trespassing, harassment, and psychological abuse.

So yea, you're dear old boy would be in JAIL by now.

Now let's calculate The charges against Rhysand, if brought to a real-world court system, could lead to significant legal consequences. Let’s break down the potential sentences for each crime, based on common legal standards in many countries:

Possible Sentence: 5 to 20 years in prison, depending on the severity and jurisdiction.

1. Sexual Assault

Sexual assault is a serious crime, and the penalties are harsh, especially if the victim is incapacitated (e.g., under the influence of drugs, as Feyre was).

2. Drugging/Administration of a Controlled Substance

Possible Sentence: 2 to 10 years in prison.

Administering drugs to someone without their knowledge or consent is considered a felony in many places and carries a substantial sentence, especially when done to facilitate control or assault.

3. Kidnapping/False Imprisonment (Feyre and Nesta)

Possible Sentence: 10 to 30 years in prison.

Kidnapping, especially when it involves controlling someone’s freedom against their will (like forcing Feyre and Nesta into his control), carries one of the longest prison terms.

4. Endangerment of a Mentally Ill Person (Nesta)

Possible Sentence: 5 to 15 years in prison.

This charge involves negligence and the failure to provide proper care for someone in a vulnerable state. In this case, Rhysand locking Nesta up without professional help can result in significant legal consequences.

5. Harassment/Emotional and Psychological Abuse (Tamlin and Nesta)

Possible Sentence: 1 to 5 years in prison (for each offense).

Emotional abuse and psychological harassment can carry prison sentences if they lead to significant harm, especially if Rhysand’s actions contributed to worsening their mental states.

6. Trespassing (Spring Court)

Possible Sentence: 1 year or fines.

Trespassing, while a less severe crime, can result in fines or a brief prison sentence, depending on how frequently and aggressively it’s done.

7. Torture/Abuse of Power (Hewn City)

Possible Sentence: 10 to 25 years in prison.

Torturing or inflicting severe harm, even in a ruling capacity, could result in lengthy imprisonment under human rights laws.

8. Failure to Prevent Mutilation (Wing Clipping in Illyria):

Crime: Complicity in Mutilation/Assault – In many countries, allowing or failing to prevent acts of bodily harm, especially when in a position of power, can lead to charges of complicity or negligence. Clipping wings is comparable to physical mutilation.

Potential Sentence: 10 to 20 years per incident, depending on the severity of harm. Rhysand, as High Lord, could be held accountable for allowing this to continue in the military camps he oversees.

9. Endangerment of Women’s Rights:

Crime: Neglect and Discrimination – The continued allowance of these practices in Illyria could be viewed as a form of systemic discrimination and neglect. Failure to protect women from harm, despite having the power to intervene, would likely result in charges related to discrimination and endangerment.

Potential Sentence: Civil penalties and lawsuits from the affected women, alongside possible criminal charges leading to fines and 5 to 10 years imprisonment per case of systemic abuse.

10. Complicity in Abuse and Torture (Hewn City):

Crime: Torture/Degrading Treatment – As the ruler of the Night Court, Rhysand maintains direct control over the Hewn City but allows its brutal social system to continue, particularly against women. Even though he doesn't directly participate in the abuse, turning a blind eye to it could result in complicity in human rights abuses or crimes akin to torture, especially since Hewn City is described as being "hell for women."

Potential Sentence: 10 to 25 years in prison for each case of torture or degrading treatment, with possible civil lawsuits and heavy fines.

11. Denial of Safe Haven and Equal Rights:

Crime: Violation of Human Rights – Women from Hewn City are barred from escaping their abusive environments, and Rhysand’s refusal to allow them into Velaris essentially traps them in dangerous situations. In the real world, denying refuge or asylum to those in danger can be classified as a violation of human rights.

Potential Sentence: 5 to 10 years for human rights violations, with additional civil penalties from lawsuits if women can prove they were harmed as a result of being denied safety.

Crimes Against Humanity – While not on the same scale as mass genocide or war crimes, the endangerment of entire groups of women through neglect, allowing mutilation, or complicity in torture can still fall under human rights violations. Such crimes are serious, and while they may not lead to a death sentence, they would likely result in long-term imprisonment, potential international condemnation, and severe civil penalties.

Maximum Sentence: If these charges were to be tried separately and consecutively, Rhysand could face up to 80 to 100+ years in prison

Likely Sentence: In a real-world legal system, some of these sentences may be served concurrently (at the same time), leading to a likely total sentence of 25 to 40 years in prison, depending on how the crimes are classified and judged.

Additionally, he would likely face civil penalties, lawsuits from the victims (e.g., Feyre and Nesta), and substantial fines.

Thank you for reading, if you want me to do any other character just say in the comments!❤️ (this took me over 2 days to research but I had my amazing dad helping me!♥️)

[tragedy-of-commons]

Heyo Gwen!! Congrats on 200 followers once more!!!!!

If you don't mind, allow me to drop in a request too hehe, no pressure of course!

"Wanna make a bet?" + Kamisato Ayato

I'm excited to see what you write for the event (>u<)!!!

– sincerely,

Maple

"Wanna make a bet?"

Ayato's lips curl at the question. Why not bite?

"Such a trap you're laying out for me," he tilts his head, sun reflecting off his pastel blue tufts, right directly into your corneas. You squint, grimacing at his sly expression. "Please, inform me of the stakes."

The Yashiro Commissioner knows which cards to play and when to play them to ensure victory, but he also knows better than to count his chickens before they hatch. You're clever and get your way more than he intends - which is precisely why he's letting you hold his hand in the privacy of the Estate's gardens.

You compliment one another perfectly. It seems like such a childish sentiment to any onlookers (those who dare to look), but even they can't deny this wonderful synergy that you two share, really two halves of a whole--

"I bet you a kiss that you can't remember our first date."

Sometimes, you can be cheekier than him.

"The art of subtlety is lost on you," Ayato tuts, already resigned. "Setting me up to fail like this... one would think you're a sadist."

It's almost comical to utter the words whispered about him by all sorts of political figures to your unassuming character. Even so, he probably won't be winning this bet. Robbed blind of another kiss - how tragic.

Kamisato Ayato is used to this being the way things go, usually nestled between sparring (where he's only lost to you twice), and hushed nights of mulling over poetry (where he still constantly watches the clock). If this routine is at all like the others that came before it, you're about to start gloating about your checkmate.

"I'm not hearing an answer," you singsong, admiring the various flora and painstakingly spoiled greenery.

He sighs, squeezing your hand. "I'd have to give you my best guess."

His memory isn't all what it used to be. Too many precious moments have been lost to the tumultuous sea of work and his constantly occupied mind; it's hard enough to keep it sharp, and even harder to fall into your arms after a long day, given the fact that there's still a lingering worry you may try to assassinate him in his sleep.

Your impish nature softens, grin shrinking into a sweet smile.

"That's all I want from you, Ayato."

Ah. Nevermind.

Before he answers incorrectly, he brings your knuckles up to his lips and kisses each one reverently, maintaining breathless eye contact. He's inclined to savor this while it lasts, after all.

"It had to have been when I first saw you. Mentally, I was already preparing to deal with the eventual public backlash of our marriage," he delivers, smirking against your skin--

You wrench your hand back to presumably elbow him, but Ayato is prepared, capturing your wrist with a gentle flair.

"I am ready for my kiss, as per your terms."

You heave a world-weary sigh, and Ayato has won.

🏷️: @akutasoda, @aviiarie, @lowkeyren

a/n: MAPLE 💗 thank you for your well-wishes n support thus far! you're so silly and fun, hope u like what i did with ayato. i know it's short, but ehhhhhhh i think i did an okay job at characterizing him.

event post here

[kinascum]

STUPID LAMB ⋆ ˚｡⋆

feyd-rautha x captive!reader

wc: 4.9k | summary: each brutal encounter leaves you craving more, trapped in his twisted game of dominance. | nav ♡ taglist

18+ MDNI. DEAD DOVE. noncon/dubcon. captivity/imprisonment. weapon use. substance use/drugging (not described but come on, it's the harkonnens, babe). murder/death (mentions "the attack," which is just an attack on the hkns, where most are defeated resulting in their death). blood/gore. mental health issues (or just a warning for feyd atp). sexual exploitation. forced nudity. BDSM (non-consensual).

A/N: first fic kinda nervous >.<

You're sitting in a cold, dimly lit room, the stench of fear thick in the air. The walls seem to close in around you as the echoes of distant screams reach your ears. Your heart races as you await the inevitable. The door creaks open, and in strides a figure that sends shivers down your spine—Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, his bald head gleaming under the flickering light, his eyes piercing into the depths of your soul. The very essence of his presence is a declaration of malice and dominance.

He towers over you, his booted footsteps echoing ominously on the metal floor. His handsome yet twisted face contorts into a sneer as he takes in your trembling form. You're a mere pawn in his grand scheme, a piece of information to be squeezed until you burst. But there's something else in his gaze—a hunger, a craving that makes your stomach churn and your nether regions clench in a mix of dread and unwelcome arousal.

Feyd leans in, his breath hot and minty against your face. "So, you're the one they say survived the attack," he rasps, his voice a deadly caress. His eyes rove over your body, noting every detail, every tremble. "I've got a few questions for you, and I expect answers," he says, the edge of his mouth curling into a smirk. "But I'm sure we can find... other ways to make this conversation more enjoyable."

You feel a surge of panic rising in your chest. You know nothing about the attack, nothing that could be of use to him. But as you try to protest, his hand clamps down on your throat, not hard enough to cut off your air, but enough to make your words come out in a squeak. His grip tightens, and his eyes bore into yours, demanding truth. "You will tell me everything," he growls, his thumb tracing a line down to your collarbone. "And if you don't, I'll just have to make you talk another way."

The room spins as his free hand reaches for the hem of your shirt, tugging it up roughly. You try to resist, but his strength is overwhelming. He slaps you—once, twice, three times—each blow sending shockwaves through your body. "Stay still," he hisses, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure. "You don't get to enjoy this." But you can't help the way your breath hitches, the way your skin burns where he's touched you.

Feyd's hand moves to the button of your pants, popping it open with a cruel flick of his thumb. He shoves them down your legs, leaving you exposed and vulnerable. He takes a step back, his eyes raking over you with a possessive glint. "On your knees," he commands, his voice thick with desire. You hesitate, but the pressure on your throat increases. You have no choice but to comply.

As you kneel before him, you can't help but notice the bulge in his pants. You know what's coming next, and your body reacts despite yourself. He grabs a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back to look up at him. "Open," he says, his voice a low growl. You obey, feeling his spit hit your tongue. The taste is salty and metallic, and you want to gag, but instead, you swallow, the action making your eyes water.

He smirks, pleased with your submission. "Good," he whispers, his voice low and seductive. He releases your hair, and you feel his hand move to his belt. The sound of it unbuckling echoes in the room, and you know you're in for a world of pain. But deep down, amidst the fear, there's a spark of something else—desire. You know it's wrong, you know you should be terrified, but there's a part of you that craves this depravity.

When his cock springs free, it's massive, thick and veiny. You can't help but stare, your mouth watering despite the situation. He grips it in his hand, stroking it slowly as a drop of his own spit falls on the glistening head. "you're not challenged, are you?" he asks, his voice taunting as he watches you do essentially nothing. "You want me to fuck your pretty little mouth until you can't think straight." You shake your head, trying to deny it, but the wetness between your legs gives you away.

He grabs your chin, tilting your head up. "Look at me," he says, his eyes burning into yours. "Beg for it." You want to resist, but the pressure in your throat is unbearable. "P-please," you whimper, hating the way the word sounds, you convince yourself you're pleading for him to stop. "Please,"

Feyd laughs, a cold, cruel sound that sends chills down your spine. "That's more like it," he says, and then he's pushing into your mouth, his cock filling you until you gag. You try to pull away, but his hand is tight on the back of your head, holding you in place. "Take it," he snarls, and you have no choice but to do as he says.

The feeling of his cock in your mouth is overwhelming, a mix of revulsion and arousal that makes your head spin. You can feel his hands in your hair, guiding you, forcing you to take more and more of him in. He's so rough, so violent, and it's terrifying and exhilarating all at once. You know you shouldn't enjoy this, but the way he uses you, the way he makes you feel so utterly powerless—it's intoxicating.

He pulls out, and you're left gasping for air, tears streaming down your face. But he's not done with you yet. "You're going to beg for me to fuck you," he says, his voice a sinister promise. "You're going to beg like the little peasant you are." His hand moves to his cock again, stroking it slowly as he watches you.

You shake your head, trying to deny the words that are forced out of you. "N-no," you stammer, your voice hoarse from his rough treatment. But the look in his eyes, the way he smirks, tells you that he's going to get what he wants. And deep down, you know you want it too.

He grabs your hair again, tilting your head back so you're staring up at the ceiling. His other hand fists in the fabric of your shirt, ripping it open to expose your breasts. He leans in, his teeth grazing your neck as he whispers, "Go on,"

You feel his hot breath against your skin, and your body responds in ways you never thought possible. "P-please," you start, your voice shaking. "Please, My Lord, take me." It's the first time you've adressed him, and it feels like a betrayal, like you're giving him a piece of yourself that you can never take back.

He chuckles, a dark sound that sends a shiver down your spine. "That's better," he says, and then his mouth is on your breast, biting down hard. You cry out, the pain mingling with the pleasure that's building in your core. His tongue flicks over the sensitive flesh, soothing the ache before he bites again, harder this time.

His hand releases your throat, and you gasp for air, your chest heaving. He notices your reaction and takes it as a sign of encouragement. "Hm," he hums satisfied, his voice a dark purr. "Keep begging."

Your mouth opens, and the words tumble out, a desperate plea for him to take you. "Please, Na-Baron, I need it. I need you to ruin me." The words are barely coherent, but he understands. He steps closer, his cock brushing against your cheek, leaving a trail of precum.

He takes your face in his hand, forcing you to look at him. "You're mine now," he says, his eyes full of lust and possession. "Mine to use, mine to fuck, mine to ruin." And with that, he pushes you onto the cold, hard table, your wrists and ankles strapped down with leather cuffs that bite into your skin.

Your heart races as you feel the head of his cock nudge against your wet, swollen pussy. You can't believe you're about to let this monster inside you, but your body seems to have a mind of its own. You arch your back, silently begging for it.

He teases you, sliding the tip along your slit before pushing in just a little. "Beg for it," he says again, his voice a demand. And so, you do. "Please, please, just spare me," you whimper, the need in your voice undeniable, but in reality you're begging for it to stop, or for him to just kill you, you can't tell anymore.

With a triumphant smile, he thrusts deep, filling you completely. You scream, the pain indistinguishable. His grip on your hips is like iron, holding you in place as he starts to move, each thrust sending a jolt of agony through your body. But it's a sweet agony, a delicious torment that you never knew existed.

You can feel your orgasm building, and you know it's going to be powerful. You try to hold it back, not wanting to give him the satisfaction, but it's no use. You're at his mercy, a toy for his sadistic games. "Cum for me," he orders, his voice harsh. "Cum on my cock."

You feel your body tighten, your muscles clenching around him. You're so close, so close to the edge. And then, with one final, brutal thrust, you're over the edge, your body convulsing with the force of your climax. He grunts, his own release following shortly after, filling you with his warm seed.

As he pulls out, you can't help but feel a sense of loss, as if a part of you has been claimed by this monster. Your vision blurs with the mix of pain and pleasure, and you realize that the line between the two has been obliterated. You lay there, panting, your body still trembling from the intensity of the experience. Feyd stands over you, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes gleaming with victory.

He grabs a fistful of your hair, forcing you to look at him. "You liked that, didn't you?" he asks, his voice dripping with satisfaction. You shake your head, trying to deny it, but your body betrays you. You can feel your pussy still pulsing around his cum, the evidence of your climax a stark reminder of what just happened. "Don't lie," he says, his grip tightening. "I can smell it."

The tears stream down your face, mixing with the spit and sweat. You want to hate him, to despise him for what he's done, but you can't. Some twisted part of you craves the pain, the degradation. He leans in, his mouth hovering just above yours. "Say it," he demands. "Tell me you liked it."

Your voice is barely a whisper when you finally give in. "I liked it," you murmur, the words leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. His smile widens, and he releases your hair, letting your head fall back onto the table. He grabs a handful of your spit-slicked hair again, jerking your head to the side. "Good," he says, his voice low and predatory. "Now, let's see if you can handle more."

You feel his hand move between your legs, his fingers pushing into your still-throbbing cunt. He's rough, almost painful, but you can't help the moan that escapes your lips. He chuckles, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. "You're going to take it all," he says, his voice a dark promise. "Every inch of me, until you're screaming for mercy."

He flips you over, so you're face down on the table, your ass in the air. He slaps it, hard, and you jump. "Spread your legs," he orders, and you do, feeling his hands on your thighs, pushing them apart. His cock nudges against your entrance, and you tense, not sure if you can handle another round. But he's relentless, pushing into you without warning, filling you up once again.

His thrusts are deep and hard, each one sending a shock of pain through your body. You try to scream, but his hand clamps over your mouth, muffling the sound. "You take what i give you," he grunts, his voice strained with his own need. "Ungrateful slut"

The room is a blur of pain and pleasure, his slaps and grunts the only sounds in your world. You can feel yourself losing control, your body responding to his every demand. Your mind screams for it to stop, but your body arches back, begging for more.

His hand moves to your throat, squeezing just enough to make you gasp. "You're mine," he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. "Mine, mine, mine." The chant sends a shiver down your spine, and you know it's true. You're lost in the depravity, a willing participant in his twisted games.

And then, just when you think you can't take anymore, he pulls out, leaving you feeling empty and used. He steps back, his cock glistening with your juices. "Get dressed," he says, his voice cold and detached. "You're not done yet."

You struggle to sit up, your body aching and sore. You pull your pants up, wincing as the fabric scrapes against your sensitive skin. You know that the bruises will form soon, a constant reminder of what happened here. But as you look up at him, you can't help but feel a strange sense of anticipation. You're not sure what's coming next, but you know it's going to be just as terrifying and exhilarating as what's already occurred.

Feyd watches you, his eyes never leaving your body. "You'll be back," he says, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down your spine. "And next time, you'll be ready to tell me everything."

You nod, too scared to speak, too overwhelmed by the experience to do anything but obey. He steps closer, his hand reaching out to stroke your cheek. His touch is surprisingly gentle, almost tender. "Good mutt," he murmurs, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. "I'll be looking forward to our next meeting."

The door slams shut behind him, leaving you alone in the cold, silent room. You take a shaky breath, trying to compose yourself. Your body feels used, above abused, but there's a part of you that craves more. You know it's wrong, that you should be disgusted by what just happened, but you can't ignore the heat that still pools in your core.

You finish dressing, wincing as the fabric of your shirt brushes against your bruised skin. You can still feel his cum inside you, a constant reminder of his dominance. You try to stand, but your legs wobble, and you sit back down on the edge of the table. You're not sure how long you stay there, trying to process what's happened. But eventually, you force yourself to move.

You walk out of the room, your head held high despite the pain and the tears that threaten to spill over. You know you're not going anywhere—not until Feyd says so. But for now, you're free. Or as free as you can be in this prison of his making.

As you stumble through the hallways, you can't help but feel changed. The fear that once consumed you has been replaced by something else—a need, a hunger. You know he'll be watching you, waiting for you to slip up, waiting for the next time he can take you apart. And you know, deep down, that you'll be eagerly awaiting it.

You find yourself back in your cell, the cold, hard bed a stark contrast to the warmth of Feyd's body. You lie down, feeling the ache between your legs, the stickiness on your skin. You touch yourself, tentatively at first, then with more urgency. You can't get the feel of him out of your head, his cruel words echoing in your ears.

You moan, the sound barely audible as your fingers work you closer and closer to another orgasm. It's not the same without him, but it's something. Something to hold onto until the next time he decides to play his twisted games with you. And as you finally come, you whisper his name into the darkness, a silent declaration of your newfound submission.

The days that follow are a blur of pain and pleasure, fear and desire. You're subjected to his whims, his every demand met with a mix of dread and anticipation. Each time he enters your cell, you know what's to come—the slaps, the choking, the brutal fucking that leaves you trembling and begging for more.

You're not sure how long it's been, but it feels like an eternity. Time has lost all meaning in this place. All you know is Feyd, his touch, his voice, his cock. He's become your world, the center of your existence. And as much as you hate it, as much as you know you should fight, you find yourself craving the next time he'll come for you.

One evening, the door opens, and there he is again. His eyes lock onto yours, and you feel a thrill of terror and excitement. "Ready to talk?" he asks, his voice a low purr. But you know that's not what he really wants. You shake your head, your eyes wide with fear and longing. "No," you murmur, your voice trembling. "I—I can't."

He smiles, a cold, calculating smile that makes your stomach drop. "That's what I thought," he says, moving towards you. "But don't worry, I have other ways of making you speak." And with that, he grabs you, pulling you onto the bed, his hands rough as he strips you bare.

This time, he's slower, more deliberate. He takes his time, savoring every inch of your trembling body. He kisses you, his mouth bruising your lips, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth. You taste yourself on him, and it only makes you wetter. His hand moves down to your pussy, his fingers sliding through your slickness. You can't help but whimper, your body betraying you once again.

He pulls away, his eyes gleaming with a dark excitement. "so wet for me," he says, his voice a soft growl. "A pet so eager to be used." His thumb circles your clit, sending sparks of pleasure through your body. You try to push his hand away, but he's too strong. Instead, you find yourself arching into his touch, silently begging for more.

Feyd's smile widens, and he leans in, his breath hot against your skin. "You're going to worship my name," he whispers, his words a promise of pain and pleasure. He slides two fingers inside you, curling them to hit that spot that makes your toes curl. You bite your lip, trying to hold back the moan that threatens to escape. But it's no use. You're his to do with as he pleases, and your body knows it.

He adds a third finger, stretching you wider, preparing you for what's to come. You whimper, your hips bucking involuntarily. He chuckles, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. "You're going to shut up" he says, his voice a dark purr. "And you're going to take my cum"

He pulls his hand away, leaving you feeling empty. You whine, your body craving his touch. But before you can protest, he's pushing into you again, his cock thick and hard. You feel yourself stretching around him, the sensation both agonizing and exquisite. He moves slowly at first, savoring the feel of your tight pussy clenching around him. But soon, the need takes over, and he starts to pound into you, each thrust sending waves of pleasure and pain through your body.

You can't hold back anymore. You scream, his name ripped from your throat in a ragged cry. He loves it, his eyes lighting up with sadistic glee. "That's it," he says, his voice a harsh grunt as you dig into his skin, dark blood staining your fingertips and dead skin finding solace under your nails. "Make me bleed"

As he fucks you, you can feel yourself losing control, your thoughts spiraling into a haze of sensation. You don't know if you're begging for him to stop or to go harder. All you know is that you need this, that you're addicted to the way he makes you feel.

And then, with one final, brutal thrust, he reaches his peak, filling you up with his cum. You feel it spurt deep inside you, the heat of it making your toes curl. Your own orgasm follows, a powerful wave that crashes over you, leaving you gasping for air.

When he pulls out, you collapse onto the thin mattress, your body spent and trembling. He stands over you, stroking his cock, watching the mixture of his seed and your blood dribble out of you. "Lord," he says, his voice a low growl. "A sight for sore eyes, huh?"

You look up at him, tears in your eyes. You know you should be disgusted, should be fighting back. But instead, all you can do is nod. You're his, in every way that matters.

He wipes his cock clean on your thigh, a final act of dominance. "Now, tell me," he says, his voice cold and calculating. "What do you know about the attack?"

And for the first time, you realize that the interrogation isn't over. The fear comes rushing back, but it's tinged with something else—a strange, twisted excitement. You know that no matter what you say, he'll always find a reason to take you again. And a part of you wonders if, deep down, you want him to.

The door opens, and two guards enter the room. "Take her away," Feyd says, his voice bored. "I'm done here."

You're dragged out of the room, your body bruised and sore. But as you're thrown back into your cell, you can't help but think about the next time he'll come for you. And a shiver of anticipation runs through you, a promise of what's to come.

This is your new reality, a cycle of pain and pleasure, fear and desire. And as much as you hate it, you can't help but crave it. Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen has claimed you, and there's no escape from his sadistic games.

As you lie on the cold, hard bed, you can still feel him inside you, his cum leaking out of you. You touch yourself, the ache between your legs a reminder of what happened. And you know that no matter what, you'll never truly be free of him. You're his now, his plaything, his whore. And as you drift off into an uneasy sleep, you whisper his name, a silent promise to submit to his every whim.

[girlcalledwhatsername]

This shouldn't even be need to be said but don't fucking report people who express being suicidal. I don't care how much you think you're doing it for someone's own good, it does NOT help us it only harms further

READ that AGAIN

You are ACTIVELY harming those people when you try to be a goody two-shoes and tell on them when they get suicidal

Don't fucking report them to social media app features that have the report for self harm option. Don't fucking call a suicide hotline on them. Don't fucking report them to therapists, paychiatrists, cops, controlling parents or partners

It does not matter how uncomfortable it makes you - this isn't ABOUT you - it doesn't matter how much it goes against your cute little saviour complex thinking you're being oh such a wonderful kind heroic person by "saving" someone from themself.

When you report a person to any of those places it heavily risks hospitalisation and incarceration. Where I live it's technically still a crime to attempt suicide, they never overturned the law. And if you think being in a ward might help them - do everyone a favour and go check out the actual conditions in the wards and talk to psych survivors about how they actually are. Otherwise shut up about things you have no experience with.

Everyone should have a right to autonomy, especially bodily autonomy, and you don't have to like what they do with their own body for you to know not to take that away from someone. It's not your place to judge, it's not okay to be moralistic about bodily autonomy suddenly because you can't handle the reality of mentally ill people.

And it's not fucking okay to lock us in and remove us from society just because our disorders are too fucking ugly for you to look at.

If you absolutely have to help just talk to a suicidal person if they're up to it, just ask them what will help, and if you can't do that then leave us the fuck alone you snitches

And don't come at me with the law, if you had to be an ally to mentally ill people, to queer people, to women, to any kind of marginalised people, historically a lot of it has always included standing against the law and with us.

STOP REPORTING US

[uncanny-tranny]

I've talked before about how the way people treat suicide can be unintentionally devastating to the suicidal person, but I don't think I really ever said how to avoid that.

Speaking about suicide in how selfish it "is" ("think about how you'll transfer your pain to your loved ones!") might seem like a way to put logical sense into the suicidal person, but, honestly? It runs the risk of massively increasing their shame and guilt about being suicidal. Suicide is not inherently a revenge fantasy or a way to "get back" at someone's loved ones, so when the suicidal person is treated like a criminal of a "crime" they haven't even committed yet, you can imagine how unhelpful that can become.

Instead, if you want to point out how cherished your person is, frame their relationships as something they can keep fostering.

"Your cat will miss you :(!!!!" becomes "you and your cat seem close, right? I'm sure it's beautiful having a close friend like that!" and maybe include ways that they and their cat are close and meaningful to each other, tailored to that relationship.

That's only one example, but when you shift the focus away from why that person should repent and feel guilty for being suicidal, you can instead focus on why they would live for that reason. See how you can frame that as a positive? Whatever is keeping that person tethered should never be used as a bludgeon, I think, because then you're taking away why they're living, the positivity of why they are here. Whatever they are here for should be remembered often and honoured.

[beanghostprincess]

Usopp's constant negativity and anxiety are something useful and "positive" at the end of the day (eg: fight against Perona) because he doesn't necessarily need to change his views, he just needs to trust himself and his abilities more and he just uses what he has at the moment which is, you know, negativity. It is not something positive but it does keep him safe from danger and he will end up being proud of himself and stronger than he could ever imagine, but that doesn't mean he'll stop being negative. It's just another personality trait a lot of people have, and Usopp using it for his advantage is something great, I feel. He takes pride in being like that. He's loud and shameless about it.

Unlike Sanji, who dwells on his negativity on his own. Quietly. And lets it consume him without having any power over it. His self-sabotaging and self-sacrificing behavior often comes from a place of giving up out of fear of others getting hurt to save him because that's pretty much his core fear. Being a burden/Not being able to save the people he cares about from himself and his past. It's not something the manga shows that much in comparison to Usopp's negativity, but Sanji's pessimistic views are pretty much one of the reasons why WCI happens and why he puts himself in the worst situation in Wano.

And I think (this is why I'm writing all of this) that they're perfect for each other because Usopp could show him that being afraid and negative isn't something so bad. After all, at least Usopp is aware that if he can't do something, the crew will help him out no matter what. Usopp's negative, yes, but it's alright because he doesn't go through it on his own. Even if he does look shameless and "selfish" when desperately asking for help (he isn't, by the way. It's actually pretty reasonable to act like that). Sanji needs to learn to ask for help shamelessly too and he needs to stop putting all the weight of the world's negativity on his shoulders. They need to carry it together.

Like- There's just something so personal in Usopp going "Yes! I am scared. Frightened even. Please, help!" because he might not like that part of him and he's trying to be stronger and more independent every day, but he acknowledges that things can go south and his reaction is very fight or flight but pretty mostly flight to be safe. While Sanji's response is always to fight because he refuses to let others know he needs help in case something happens to them (and also because he feels ashamed of feeling weak). Usopp shares the responsibility and accepts that he's kind of a loser sometimes but Sanji refuses to do so.

This is just a thought about Sanji learning that being a coward and asking for help isn't bad because they're meant to do stuff like that, and Usopp growing to be stronger and independent but not necessarily stop being pessimistic because sometimes you just... Are like that. Sometimes you're scared. Sometimes you have anxiety. And that's alright. You can be strong anyway.

[hannibalismos-jaaneman]

if you think i won't scramble for the loumand content in s3 at the sight of these fuckers in the same room, well, you're in for a nasty surprise.

[francy-sketches]

Nothing lamer than a fictional character going to therapy and working through their issues in a healthy way. Bitch go kill someone

[agnesandhilda]

I could treat ness better than kaiser does. and I don't even like boys

[weareuniqueandimportant]

YOU SHOULD JUST COMMIT SSSSCIDE... YOU'RE WORTHLESS... YOU VIEW US THIS WAY YOU'RE AN ABUSER A KILLER A MURDERER... TRULY... YOU WOULDN'T EVEN LISTEN TO US YOUR HANDS THEY'RE ON OUR THROAT... YOU'RE WORTHLESS AS RESULT... GO AHEAD... YOUR VALUE IS COMPLETE 0...

THIS POST IS ABOUT LESBIAN FOOD... NOTHING MATURE ABOUT THAT... I LOVE EATING SSSSIDE... THAT IS A TYPE OF FISH WE WOMAN TEND TO EAT TOGETHER... WHY DO THIS TO US 😢...

DAMN... I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS COMPLETELY SHADOWBANNED POST WAS CHECKED BY THE SITE... THAT'S CRAZY... WHO EVEN FOUND THIS...? OH WHATEVER... HA.