#keep fandom spaces alive!

[ryemiffie]

Let me say right now. I know a lot of people are dealing with some pretty heavy emotions in response to recent news. And that is why we need to flood fandom spaces!

We need fanart, we need fics, we need headcanon posts, analysis posts, breakdowns, rants, AUs, OCs, inserts, edits! A lot of people use fandom spaces for comfort and community, so we need to make these spaces as welcoming and lively as possible right now. Fandom has always been a large form of escapism for a lot of people, and I fear people need that more than ever.

Share your thoughts and feelings, share your ideas, share your opinions, people want and need to see that just because things look low right now, our creativity will not faulter, fandom has always been a safe space for our minds to escape to, and right now people need to feel that.

Keep fandom spaces alive!

Keep fandom spaces positive!

And most importantly,

Keep fandom spaces fun for all!

We need to keep our communities alive!

[anetherealpoetess]

shipping discourse is so crucial because it encourages people to examine and re-examine their perceptions of female characters. when we actively think about why a ship feels comfortable or uncomfortable, we are less likely to be swayed by patriarchal notions of womanhood disguised as progressive ideals within fandoms.

female-dominated spaces, like many fandoms, are growing more conservative in tone, especially around complex female characters, and there is a growing discomfort with heroines attracted to villains. this trend parallels the conservative impulse to judge a person's morality based on their reading preferences. (a bad, bad thing.)

we are seeing a huge shift towards puritanical ideals of female purity (check out the trad-wifers on tiktok), and it is a rot seeping into fandoms. we have to keep shipping discourse alive. we have to keep talking about female characters and their complicated relationships with themselves, but also with other characters, including their attraction to morally-grey or outright villainous characters. keep asking people to examine and re-examine their perceptions of womanhood. keep them thinking.

we cannot let our fandoms reduce complex female characters and their relationships to simple moral statements. this approach creates a pipeline to conservative radicalisation, where the only shipping discourse allowed is through a tiny patriarchal lens. fandoms are spaces were we should explore, brainstorm, and celebrate female complexity, resisting the urge to flatten characters and their relationships into 'good' or 'bad' based on narrow conservative ideas of female purity.

[andromeda-collective]

Could you tell me about slay the princess? It looks really cool, but I can't play it myself and don't really think I could watch another person's playthrough and everything i find just?? Says to go in blind?? (Not something I can do for story driven stuff) /nf

YES I ABSOLUTELY CAN :D :D :D

it definitely is a better experience to go in blind i agree with that but im happy to explain it :D to the best of my abilities that is lol

tw for blood (in a couple pictures) and gruesome imagery (the one after the set of three images, on the right.) but the pictures are at the very very end and i dont say anything after that so you can just not scroll down that far if you think itll bother you!

you play as an unnamed protagonist, with a narrator telling you that you need to slay a princess inside of a small cabin you're walking to. and that if you dont slay her, it will bring about the end of the world. anytime you question the narrator, he gets defensive and refuses to tell you anything, saying that the less you know the better. the voice of the hero (in your head like the narrator) is hesitant, becuase we're supposed to save princesses, not slay them, but the narrator tells you not to listen to him.

when you make it to the cabin, you have the option to pick up the pristine blade to kill her, or to leave it there and enter the basement of the cabin unarmed. when you enter the basement you meet the princess, and can slay her, talk to her, or try and save her. if you slay her, you save the world and get a happy ending. but the "happy ending" the narrator promised is that the cabin is now stuck in an endless timeless void with no way for you to get out. so you kill yourself to escape it. if you do literally anything but kill the princess without a single second of hesitation, she kills you in some way. if you try and save her, the narrator will force your hand to try and kill her, causing the princess to take the blade from you and kill you instead.

when you respawn, you're back where you started with the narrator talking about how you need to kill the princess. but instead of starting in chapter 1 (the princess and the cabin), you're now in chapter 2 (with a different title depending on what actions you took prior). your previous options of questioning the narrator are absent, and instead you mention how it feels familiar, how you've been there before, how you died, call the narrator a bastard, stuff like that. the voice of the hero, similarly to you, remembers the previous life. but now theres A NEW VOICE ADDED TO THE ROSTER!!! who also remembers the previous life despite not actually having been there for it lol. whatever voice you get also depends highly on the actions you took. (if you hesitate when killing her, the voice of the broken appears. if you keep her locked down in the basement without killing her, the voice of the paranoid shows up.) the narrator, however, remembers nothing, and fully believes that this is the first time any of them have been there. when you reach the cabin, the interior is completely different depending on your prior actions. the blade is still there for you to pick up but theres also a mirror on the left wall. one that the narrator cannot see, and that disappears when you try and touch it. similarly to the new voice and the cabin, the princess is also completely different. (killing her leaves her a ghost, saving her without bringing the blade makes her an innocent damsel). similarly to the first run, your actions determine the ending. if you die, you move onto chapter 3, with a new cabin, a new princess, and a BRAND NEW VOICE is added. your head gets very crowded lol.

but if you dont die in chapter 2, or complete chapter 3, the edges of the screen fade to the same brownish void you're trapped in by killing her, the narrator disappears, and the princess remarks that it feels cold. from behind her, several hands appear; her body curling up as they surround her completely, and disappear as quickly as they came. you are left in the void with the other voices, uneasy about the situation, and that mirror standing infront of you. reaching out to the mirror makes them disappear, and shows your reflection. a bird-like creature, shrouded in darkness. its you. the mirror disappears and leaves you alone in the void, which you learn is called the Long Quiet. continuing through it will result in you finding the hill that the cabin normally sits on, with the princess and the hands atop it. the princesses eyes are covered by the many hands, and they seem to puppet her body around, even needing to open her mouth manually in order to speak. she speaks very cryptically, but tells you to bring her "more vessels". meaning: more outcomes involving the princess. she cares not about how you get the outcome, even if it involves being cruel to the princess. she holds no hostility towards you at all. when you're done asking her questions, she will bring you back. the screen goes black, the sound of a mirror breaking rings out, and you're thrust right back into the game where you started at chapter 1. its as if the entire game started over from the beginning, becuase the voice of the hero doesnt remember anything. only you do.

you go through this multiple times, getting more and more endings, until you reach the end of everything. you meet the narrator, or more accuratly, an echo, face to face. he is the mirror. and you are the Long Quiet. he created you to destroy the princess, the imbodiment of Death, and rid the world of such tragedy. when you come face to face with the princess and the hands one final time, she is whole. the Shifting Mound, as she calls herself. there are multiple outcomes when it comes to this.. fight? i guess it kind of counts as a boss fight. but i've only gotten one, and its where we don't try and kill her. a world cannot exist without death, afterall. we take her hand and we get an actual happy ending. the two of us together in infinity.

and once you've beaten the game you can go back and play it again and get even more outcomes! which i still need to do! theres twenty one different versions of the princess you can get to and ive only gotten nine of them theres a lot to this game

speaking of which: theres a gallery where you can look back at every frame you've seen prior so im gonna show you what every princess ive encountered looks like :D :D :D

everything in this game is completely hand-drawn and its SO BEAUTIFUL!!! you can SEE how much love went into this game!! also since im just complimenting it, its also so incredible how all of the voices in your head sound noticibly distinct from eachother despite having the same voice actor! which i think is even more impressive considering as the only other voiced character in the game is the princess (who also sounds phenominal), and the voices only talk to eachother. jonathan sims did such an incredible job :D :D :D

The Princess and the Cabin

The Tower / The Fury

The Spectre / The Wraith

The Nightmare / The Moment of Clarity

The Razor [this is all from the same chapter its a very long one]

The Prisoner / The Cage

The Damsel

The End Of Everything

The Long Quiet (The Player)

theres a much better drawing of this guy but i haven't gotten to that point in the game yet lol so have the mirror shot instead :D

[davehansons]

the sequel we deserved???

[skellowmare]

ofmd isn't getting a third season. i feel ill

[franeridan]

btw in marineford it's mentioned in passing that ace learnt how to weave straw hats in wano and I actually had to put down the manga for a sec there because !!!! tama........!!!!!!!!!!! ｡⁠:ﾟ⁠(⁠;⁠´⁠∩⁠`⁠;⁠)ﾟ⁠:⁠｡

[heavensenteden]

✎ the art of submission | nsfw fic 🔞

☆彡

ahh hello hello everyone!! i have another work to bestow upon you all!

this one was based off a request from @1heartsubm1ssivemen and is fully dedicated to them <3 (biggest brain ever fr)

we have subby sol crying and being edged while the mc paints him, what more could you ask for?

i will singlehandedly keep tkatb fandom alive with my submissive sol agenda

anyways enjoy all ;D

link to ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/63701095

word count: 2409

pls minors dni and dnr ⭐

cw: vibrators, orgasm control/denial, crying, sub!sol, overstimulation

🍀˖ ִֶָ 𓂃⭒

"Thanks for coming over at the last minute, Sol."

You flash him a small smile as you step aside, letting him into your humble studio apartment. The air inside is warm, carrying the faint scent of paint and something a little sweeter, maybe the remnants of the earl grey tea you had earlier.

Solivan steps in hesitantly, hands stuffed deep in his hoodie pockets, eyes flickering over the scattered art supplies and the half-finished canvases leaning against the walls. His usual guarded expression softens slightly, at being in such a comfortable place.

"It’s no problem," he mutters, shifting his weight from foot to foot. 

"You said you needed help with a project?" 

You hum in confirmation, closing the door behind him with a click. "Mhm. I’m working on a new piece, but I need a muse."

His brows knit together in confusion. "A muse?"

"Yep." You grab his wrist gently, tugging him deeper into the room. 

"You’d be perfect for it. Just trust me."

He hesitates, shifting uncomfortably as you lead him toward the seemingly innocent chair positioned in the center of the studio space.

"I... I dunno if I’m really the ‘muse’ type," he mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

You tilt your head, studying him with a slow, knowing smile.

"Oh, I think you’ll do just fine."

His throat bobs in a nervous swallow.

You squeeze his wrist, thumb brushing over his skin in a way that’s almost soothing.

Almost.

"You trust me, don’t you, Sol?"

A pause. A breath. His fingers twitch slightly at his sides.

"...Yeah. I do."

Your smile widens.

"Good. Then sit down."

He obeys.

-

"Stay still."

Your voice is firm, carrying the weight of an order rather than a request. Solivan shudders, his knuckles turning white where they grip the arms of the chair. His lips part like he wants to speak, to protest, but he knows better. He swallows hard instead, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he fights to regulate his breathing.

The soft hum of the speaker playing classical music in your studio is the only sound aside from his sharp, shaky breaths and whimpers.

The canvas before you is barely touched, only primed, your brush hovering in the air as you study him, the way his body trembles, the way his thighs quiver from restraint. 

He’s so desperate already, and you haven’t even started painting yet.

The dildo beneath him is merciless, pressing deep into his ass as it vibrates, and with every tiny movement and shift of his hips it brushes right against his sweet spot. You can tell he’s trying his best to stay still, to obey you, but the tension in his muscles betrays him.

 

His cock is achingly hard, flushed red, twitching against the tight grip of the cock ring. His nipples, adorned with delicate metal clamps, are stiff and oversensitive.

You dip your brush into a little bit of paint and drag it lazily across the canvas. The sound of the bristles gliding against the surface fills the air, mingling with Sol’s hitched gasps.

"You're tensing up again, Sol," you chide, not even looking at him. 

"A good muse wouldn’t move so much."

A sharp whimper escapes him, and his nails dig into the chair as the vibrations make all his thoughts disappear. His body wants to arch, wants to grind down, wants friction, wants release, but he knows he can’t. Not without permission from you.

"P-please..." His voice is fragile, barely more than a whisper, laced with need, frustration, desperation.

You finally glance up from the canvas, eyes dragging over his trembling form, over the glistening precum pooling at the tip of his neglected cock. You smile.

"Oh, sweetheart... you’re already making such a mess."

His breath shudders, eyes hazy, clouded with a mix of shame and unbearable pleasure.

"But we’re not done yet."

You tap your brush against the rim of your paint cup, tilting your head as you study him.

Solivan’s breath comes in sharp, uneven gasps, his chest rising and falling like he’s run a marathon. He’s trying so desperately to obey, to be the good little muse you expect him to be. But his body betrays him, twitching, trembling, leaking, his restraint hanging on by a fragile thread.

You continue painting, calm, unaffected, letting him sit before you desperately. The wet slide of the brush against the canvas fills the air, a reminder of your current task.

Solivan shifts just slightly, and the dildo beneath him sinks deeper into him.

A choked moan tears from his throat, his body jerking before he catches himself, barely holding still. His fingers dig into the chair, thighs trembling so violently they might give out at any moment. His cock twitches, drooling against the unrelenting grip of the cock ring.

You set the brush down.

His breath hitches, like he knows what’s coming.

Your feet, in quick smooth steps, carry you toward him. He refuses to meet your eyes, his head tilted forward, jaw clenched so tight it’s a wonder he hasn’t cracked his teeth.

You tut softly, reaching out to trace a single finger down his chest, dragging across his stomach, then circling one of the sensitive clamps on his nipple. You want on the chain that connects them, ever so slightly, and Sol bows forward, a moan, a loud cry escaping his lips. 

You let go, your hands trailing along his neck, his shoulders, and finally along his face, cupping his cheeks in your hands as you lift his chin up.

Sol shudders, a pathetic little whimper spilling from his lips.

"Look at you," you murmur, admiring the way his skin is burning, the way his body is vibrating under your touch. "I’ve barely done anything, and you’re already falling apart."

He whimpers again, hips twitching forward on instinct, as if hoping for just the tiniest bit of friction. 

"Do you want something, Sol?" you ask, your tone deceptively sweet.

He nods frantically, but it’s not enough. You grip his chin, tilting his face up to yours, forcing him to meet your gaze. His pupils are blown wide, his lips swollen from how hard he’s been biting them, and his cheeks have lines of stray tears from how long he’d been edged by you.

"Use your words, sweetheart."

His breath stutters.

"P-please... I c-can’t... I need—"

You hum, letting your fingers trail lower, ghosting over his cock, not touching, just hovering. His body jerks, his legs spread wider in pure instinct, desperate for more, desperate for anything.

"You need what?" you press, enjoying the way he trembles, so close to breaking.

"Need to c-cum," he whispers, voice wrecked, ruined.

Your smirk is merciless.

"And what happens to bad little muses who don’t follow directions?"

His breath catches. His thighs squeeze together. A whine spills from his throat, because he knows.

You lean in, lips brushing the shell of his ear, voice a hushed purr,

"They don’t get to cum at all."

And just like that, the last of his composure shatters.

A sob wracks through him, his body jerking violently, hips rolling down onto the dildo despite himself, his cock twitching helplessly, but the ring keeps him trapped in unbearable agony, unable to release.

"Ah-ah," you tease, pulling back to admire his wrecked, ruined, pitiful state. His skin is flushed, his entire body shaking, his mouth open in a silent cry of frustration.

"Tsk," you sigh, dragging your fingers down his trembling thigh. "I was going to be nice and let you have your reward soon, but now? I think I’ll take my time."

He whimpers again, desperate, frantic, pleading— but he belongs to you. And you decide when this ends.

Not him.

Never him.

Solivan whimpers, his breath coming in shaky, broken gasps. His body is twitching, every muscle screaming with exhaustion, pleasure sharp and unbearable, but you’re not done yet.

Not even close.

"Oh, sweetheart," you coo, tilting your head as you trace a lazy finger down his flushed, heaving chest. "I thought you wanted to cum?"

His thighs clench at the words, his whole body recoiling with need, but that cock ring? It won’t let him. He physically can’t, no matter how much his body begs for it.

And that’s the best part.

You drag a chair closer, settling in right between his trembling legs, your gaze fixated on how pitifully his cock is twitching, leaking, throbbing, desperate for anything, any kind of friction.

"I guess I could be kind," you muse, reaching for a small pink vibrator on the table. "But I think I’d rather see how much more you can take."

Sol’s eyes go wide.

He barely has time to whimper out a plea before you press the vibrator flush against the head of his cock.

He screams.

Not a loud, sharp scream, but one of pure, strangled, wrecked pleasure, the kind that forces his body to convulse, his hands clenched into fists, his hips jolting upward as if trying to run from the sensation while also chasing it.

But he can’t run.

Not from you at least.

He’s trapped between the cock ring, the dildo pressing deeper inside him as it softly vibrates, and the relentless buzzing against his swollen, overstimulated tip.

His entire body is shaking.

"N-No—! I c-can’t—!" His voice is hoarse, whiny, cracking on every syllable, his eyes glassy with unshed tears.

You just smile.

"Can’t?" You tilt your head, pressing the vibrator harder against him.

His back arches violently.

"You were so eager to cum a moment ago," you tease, watching the way his thighs twitch uncontrollably. "What happened?"

A helpless sob tears from his throat. His whole body convulses, hips bucking in jerky, uncontrollable movements, but it’s not enough. He’s aching, pulsing, so close he could die.

"P-Please—!" he chokes out, voice completely wrecked, barely even coherent.

"Please what?" you murmur, dragging the vibrator down, tracing it along his shaft, watching the way his legs shake, his breath hitched in desperate, pleading sobs.

"P-Please—! Let me—! I can’t— I can’t—!"

His head falls back, mouth hanging open, drool pooling at the corners of his lips. His entire body is trembling, so fucked out, so completely destroyed by the pleasure that he can’t even speak properly.

"Awww," you coo, watching him fall apart. "You're crying, sweetheart."

And he is.

Tears are streaming down his flushed cheeks, his body helplessly shaking, his cock throbbing violently under the relentless vibration. His legs twitch, spasming from pure overstimulation, every nerve in his body burning with unbearable pleasure.

"You look so pretty like this," you sigh, finally reaching out to stroke a gentle hand through his damp, and dark, sweat-matted hair. "My perfect little muse."

And then, with an almost bored tone, you whisper to him sweetly,

"Cum for me."

The moment you slip the cock ring off,

Solivan shatters.

His entire body convulses, hips bucking wildly, a loud, wrecked moan tearing from his throat as he finally, finally spills over himself.

It’s messy, violent, overwhelming, his orgasm crashing into him like a tidal wave, his breath hitching between sobs and broken moans, his legs twitching, body completely wrung out as he just keeps cumming and cumming, his overstimulated nerves on fire.

And you?

You watch in awe.

Completely composed, calm, tilting your head in mock curiosity as he loses himself completely.

His thighs are still twitching long after the last of his release dribbles down his spent cock, and his chest is rising and falling in frantic, exhausted gasps.

You hum softly, dipping your brush into the mess of cum on his stomach, swirling it lazily before turning back to the canvas.

"I think I’ll call this piece… 'Ruined.'"

Solivan whimpers, his body utterly wrecked, his breath shaky, weak, and you know…

He’s never going to be the same again.

His body is still twitching from the aftershocks, his chest rising and falling in uneven, gasping breaths. His legs feel boneless, limp, completely useless beneath him, and his arms have long since given up on holding himself up. He slumps back in the chair, head lolling to the side, eyes glassy, unfocused, barely present.

A few stray tears still cling to his lashes, his lips parted in breathless exhaustion, his skin warm and damp with sweat.

And you?

You finally set the brush down, stepping back to admire your work, not just the painting, but him.

Absolutely wrecked, ruined, beautiful in his undoing.

But now? Now it's time to put him back together.

"You did so well, sweetheart," you murmur, your voice softer now, soothing as you cup his cheek, wiping away a stray tear with your thumb.

Solivan whimpers, his eyes fluttering shut at the touch, his body instinctively leaning into your warmth, like he’s seeking comfort, craving the tenderness he was denied for so long.

"Shhh… it's okay. I’ve got you," you whisper, pressing a kiss to his temple before carefully undoing the clamps on his overstimulated, sensitive nipples.

A small hiss escapes him, his body flinching at the sensation, but you’re quick to soothe him, rubbing soft circles against his chest, murmuring quiet praises into his skin.

"You were perfect for me," you hum, tracing your fingers down his trembling stomach, over the sticky mess still clinging to his skin.

His cheeks flush, and he tries to shift, squirming weakly, embarrassed, but his body is too drained, too exhausted to even move properly.

"Don’t move, baby," you chide gently, leaning down to press a soft kiss against his jaw. "Let me take care of you."

He lets out a small, whimpering sound, but he nods. He trusts you.

You grab a warm, damp towel, carefully wiping away the mess, your touch gentle, precise, never rushing.

Every time he flinches, you slow down. Every time he whimpers, you whisper sweet reassurances

"You did so good for me, love."

"You're so beautiful when you let go like that."

"I’ve got you. I’ll always take care of you."

By the time you finish cleaning him up, Solivan is half-asleep, completely pliant in your hands, his head resting against your shoulder.

You smile, pressing a final kiss to his forehead before wrapping him in a soft, warm blanket, pulling him close to cradle him against your chest.

He sighs, content, safe, loved.

And in the quiet hum of the studio, with the scent of paint still lingering in the air, you simply hold him, the masterpiece you created, now resting in your arms.

🍀˖ ִֶָ 𓂃⭒

[aegis-noctua]

Allow me to finally break and enter this fandom with my humble offering!

I just wanted to do something with them all being good friends. Love, love, love their group dynamic! Also I have like 20+ pages worth of silly little dialogs that I want to turn into equally silly little comics, so hopefully I'll be sticking around.

Aaand a lot of rambling under the cut.

I'm an avid reader, you see. I generally don't watch things (sometimes not in literal years), it's just not something I do. So when at the beginning of fall tumblr exploded with outrage over the Dead Boy Detectives cancellation, my first thought genuinely was "what a stupid f*cking name" and then immediately "people are overreacting, it's just a series, nothing is worth that much of a fuss". But after observing for some time from a safe distance I eventually grew curious. I thought I knew what I was getting into.

(I had no bloody idea)

Well. Here I am now, almost four months of obsession later, eating my words with shards of glass and no sign of reaching the bottom of this cursed rabbit hole. I've been drawing more than ever and for the first time seriously thinking about honing my artistic skills. I have some drafts for at least two stories, and even though I'm a little hesitant to write (not being a native and all), I'm pretty determined to give it a go anyway. I tend to avoid social media and digital public spaces in general, but #SaveDeadBoyDetectives campaign changed that as well. To my great regret, there is not much I can do or participate in, so I settled for trying to be supportive of all the lovely people who created probably the safest and most comfortable online space I've ever encountered. I'm not as good as Charles at keeping spirits up, but damn I wanna try.

It honestly feels like if I had something like dbda growing up, I'd turn out at least 40% less traumatized as a person. It grew to mean so much so quickly. It's like some moments were plucked right out of my life and then embedded in the show. I felt (and still feel) so seen, and understood, and reassured, and safe, and hopeful, and accepted when watching (pretty much everybody's but especially) Edwin's side of the story. It's so much more than "just a series", and these Dead Boys deserve every good word that's being said about them.

Okay, I'm wrapping it up now, and the only thing left to say is thank you to all the people who put their effort into keeping this wonderful story alive and making the fandom so friendly and welcoming.

(right now I'm working on a big Christmas comic that I definitely won't be able to finish in time, but it will appear here at some point)

[hermitcraftx]

the only reason dream everrrr had a platform or was popular is bc everyone made thirst traps of. his blond fake sona for years (he has fucking BROWN HAIR???) and then when he revealed he was a pedophile creepy weirdo right after he revealed his face everyone that made a career making daddy dream manhunt NSFW didn't stop blogging because some people would fuck steaming piles of human garbage if it was white and had abs. like every dream stan I've ever met is perpetually living in 2021 and dream is too and if that's not the biggest sign of the world's most colossal fumble I don't know what is. genuinely the only talent dream has is being uncannily manipulative and vague to try and get away with everything and play the victim later on after he says genuine rancid dogshit but he's not even the best at that. genuinely he's the definition of a career made by other people and if he thinks for a second his little white suburban fake redneck yuppy mr beast wannabe that he's going to successfully be a right wing grifter after being known as the gogy wogy uwu yaoi queerbait streamer (and yes I do think he's genuinely the ONLY real person that word applies to) then he's fucking insane. ain't nobody fucks with him. he's a footnote in Minecraft history. the worst people alive in the community don't fuck with him. tommyinnit is having tea with jacksepticeye and doing comedy shows and having fun with all the remaining good internet ogs and regularly pulling lots of views meanwhile the only way dream stays relevant out of his cesspool wretch infested pedophile apologist echo chamber that is his fanbase is regularly triggering dsmp drama to feel sorry for himself. can't do manhunt without cheating and it wasn't even an original idea another abuser took that from him can't do an smp tommyinnit made that for him it really seems to me on a psychological level that to a degree some of that cdream shit wasn't roleplay because dream knew the most memorable part of the biggest part of his career would be tommyinnit forever and always. and now he has to fight for tommyinnit beef scraps saying slurs and shit when he's not even involved getting way too comfortable after Trump gets elected when tommy barely pays him more mind than he paid Logan Paul when he WORKED with dream for YEARS. tommyinnit gets to be known as the man who fostered love and care for his fan base, an all around good person and joy to be around and a ray of light in the dark space that is the mcyt space, and a guy never backed down on his morals and ethics whereas dreams only claim to fame now are being a cheating bigoted ableist creepy pedophile-esque freak with no concept of proper boss/employee conduct or creator/fan conduct with a Republican bastard and a sexual assaulter as friends who was seen as mildly hot by teenagers in 2021 without y'know being able to comprehend you're not supposed to reciprocate. and I know it keeps him up at night because otherwise he wouldn't try and regain relevancy by starting shit with Tommy every 6 months. is it because tommy is an adult now, clay??? when people look back on fond memories of fandom in 20-30 years not a single person will be able to look at anything dream has been apart of without grimacing not even his fans because I know all those arguments on behalf of a nasty ass pervert will not be fond memories. the only original thing he's done is say the r slur- oh wait. I mean groom minors- oh wait. I mean be a bigoted racist- oh wait. I mean have gross misconduct with a fan- oh wait. I mean start drama a lot in hopes of getting attention- oh wait. genuinely the most pathetic shadow nothingburger ass of a man I've ever seen in my life may dogs eat his face off in the middle of the night.

[katboykirby]

If you want to be really technical and pedantic about it, modern fandom (yes, including large-scale organised public gatherings, and including the creation of fanfiction) goes all the way back to the 1800s

And still, the creation of these fan spaces and transformative works were all the invention of adult fans.

The "foundation of fandom" has always been the work of adults, fandom has always been for adults, and while minors are certainly welcome within fandom spaces (to the extent where their presence is appropriate) they are absolutely not the ones who created fandom NOR the reason fandom exists.

#5796

"All are ignorant of the idea that minors are the foundation to fandom. Fandom would not exist if it wasn't for minors being interested in it and starting groups for people to join."

What are you even talking about? That is so wrong I don't even know if I should laugh or cry about that amount of misinformation

Modern Fandom was created in the 60s by middle aged and even older women, way before the internet was a thing. Because no way that minors could have ever been able to create the classic fanzines, filled with fanfics and fanarts, that they printed off, turned into a magazine, and then send off to other fans via mail, all without the internet. Because where the hell would they have had the money from to do that? Same as hosting cons or other fandom meetups. Do you think a bunch of minors would even have the legal ability let alone the funds to do so?

Same as the modern websites like AO3 were made by adults with adults in mind

Also all the way to the 2010s it was still widely known that fandom is majorly an adult space and that minors were expected to behave accordingly and expect to see adults and adult content, and to be respectful about it and curate their own content that they want to see. It is only a fairly recent development that minors suddenly claim that fandom is a space for minors and constantly try to push adults out. They even do that for fandoms where the source material is literally 18+

Posting as a response to a previous problem.

[yandere-wishes]

｡༺ 𝓨𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓮! 𝓣𝓲𝓶 𝓓𝓻𝓪𝓴𝓮 𝔁 𝓒𝓪𝓽𝓰𝓲𝓻𝓵!𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻༻｡

｡༺ 𝓑.𝓞.𝓐.𝓣 𝓫𝔂  𝓔𝓵𝓲𝔃𝓪 𝓡𝓸𝓼𝓮 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓘𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓹𝓵𝓪𝓷𝓮𝓽𝓪𝓻𝔂 𝓒𝓻𝓲𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓪𝓵 ༻｡

Okay, so we've given all the Yandere batboys a "Cat Darling" except Tim.

[And like, could someone explain to me why people seem to hate Tim Drake?? He's literally the LOVE of my life]

Thinking her burglar name could be either StarCat or Kitten, your choice.

Anyway, his darling is probably the chronically online one. Literally iPad child. Her civilian personality is that of a semi-popular internet star, mostly in smaller niche circles like cosplay/fandom spaces/a few tech DIY spaces.

Also, this is going to sound so self-serving, but like, what if the reader had a Tumblr/AO3 where she posts  Red Robin x reader content? But after meeting him, she kinda gets stuck in a love-hate relationship with the guy...but her fics get progressively more detailed and specific. Cause like she hates him but the crush is still so obviously there!!😆😆

ฅ≽(•⩊ •マ≼ฅ≽(•⩊ •マ≼ฅ≽(•⩊ •マ≼ฅ≽(•⩊ •マ≼ฅ≽(•⩊ •マ≼•ฅ≽(•⩊ •マ≼

He's never been good at managing his obsessions. They always seem to fester fiercely within him, like tree roots feeding on hollow bones, bubbling over and spilling out from every crevice. He can't keep them inside, can't tame the infatuation, sadiate the fixation. Can't ignore the siren's calls or celestial pulls. 

No...

Tim's never been good at managing his obsessions. 

Especially this new one.

The stars seem so much brighter in your eyes. You lay spiraled out on the rooftop, leg dangling off the edge with your tablet held at an odd angle overhead. You mutter into your com-link "5 more seconds before security is down". As you chew on the end of your leather tail. 

You're the ace up Catwoman's sleeve. Her new protegee. The two of you have been hitting bank after bank. Licking up the precious gems the Gotham elite keep hidden. 

Tim's been sent to deal with you, while Batman takes out Catwoman downstairs. But he can't help but be mesmerized by your playful giggles, and sparking eyes. It's all a game to you, like playing Barbie's past bedtime. He can't help but find that almost endearing. 

You turn on your stomach, half crouched, half lying down. Like a kitten about to pounce on a toy mouse. "You're Red Robin" you squeal and Tim has to do a doubletake, knees weak at the sudden burst of attention. 

You jump, he readies his staff but the blows never come. Instead, you stand before him so close he can practically feel the heat from your body. "I'm your biggest fan!", for a second Tim thinks you're going to reach for his hand, his heart reverberates in his throat. You're cute, too cute.

"Any way I could convince you to give up your crime spree? You know since you're such a big fan and all..." You laugh, a light-hearted airy sound, and give him a clumsy twirl as you return to your edge. "Not a chance, I'm finally living my dream life!" 

You jump onto the edge eyes gleaming as they stare a him. No not him, Tim notes, the moment. You're entranced by this moment. 

The moon, the dark, the city lights, the masked man standing before you. For a second he almost sees his reflection cascading across your essence. You're him, little kid with dreams so big it's started to eat you alive. 

You tilt your head and pout your lips. Tim thinks you'd make one hell of an actress or an idol. Your clawed finger clicks your com, "All set boss!" you meow. You offer Tim a final bow before throwing yourself into the dark abyss below. Tim rushes to grab you but it's too late.

You're gone. 

His obsession only grows from there, raw and primal. He can taste nostalgia in the back of his throat every time he sees your picture. Thick and sticky like molten caramel. 

You're so much like him, so precious in your own right. Little girl playing superheroes, dancing across the night's sequence, basking in the ethereal of having the world below your feet. Disappearing into the dark, merging with the stars, high off the nectar-coated ideals behind your teeth. Savoring their melt upon your tongue. 

You'd have been best friends in the sandbox. Tim thinks. 

He's scouring the Batcomputer.

Ripping apart every inkling he finds. 

Who is this new Kitten? 

He sees you again in a sugar-spun ensemble stitched from lace and longing, draped in cascading frills and ribbons. Equal parts candygram and popcorn but ever only purple in shade. He recognizes the playful tilt of your head and the way you stare to the side when you're too deep in thought. Every move is woven in porcelain elegance. Little doll playing dress up. 

His hunch is proven right when he hears your voice.

"Do you think Red Robin would like this outfit?" you ask an invisible audience who answer hours later in the comment section, dedicating little hearts and kisses in agreeance.

His name spills from between your lips and Tim swears he sees stars. Your delicate cadence flutters through his veins pricking his heart till it dedicates every pump to you. 

Tim doesn't notice how hard he's biting his thumb. 

Doesn't notice the scarlet droplets marring the keyboard below. 

He's trying to keep you out of the Gotham National Bank's system, he can recognize your pattern anywhere. The little kitty cat errors that keep popping up. The stars that litter the screen forcing it to bluescreen. He's almost there, you're almost gone. 

Bruce, hollars commands into his ears. 

But Tim is too enthralled by the screen to notice

A single message glitches and gleams.

'It Was Fun Red Robin~♡'  

He has you caged beneath him. Fingers digging into your shoulders. You look so cute struggling to break free. So adorable that he just can't help himself. 

He presses his lips to your neck, pulling down the leather with his teeth and suckling on the ripe flesh. Stardust sprinkles into his mouth as his tongue traverses the length of your neck. Before ensnaring your plump perfect lips. His hands feel down your body memorizing every curve. He can feel you struggling. Kicking trying to break free. 

But he just can't let you get away. He needs you wholly, desperately. More than he's ever needed anything.

But he can't let you go. You taste like heaven on his tongue. Your claws melt into his back, tearing fabric and flesh. But the bloodletting feels like holy bliss from your hands, he'd gladly lick the blood from your claws and call it ichor. 

Your ethos haunts him.

He writes you love letters to you penned in his blood. 

Every quaver of his bones he dedicates to you. 

He's sprawled out on his bed reading your latest story. It's about him, as they always tend to be.  You call him such mean words all laced with a saccharinee undertone of idolization. You have him call you 'darling' and 'kitten'. Have him treat so roughly yet so lovingly. Is that how you want him to act? 

Did you really mean it when you said you're his biggest fan? 

ฅ≽(•⩊ •マ≼ฅ≽(•⩊ •マ≼ฅ≽(•⩊ •マ≼ฅ≽(•⩊ •マ≼ฅ≽(•⩊ •マ≼•ฅ≽(•⩊ •マ≼

There's also another delicious little inkling I want to leave you guys with. Imagine reader starts receiving PR from Janus Cosmetics. Imagine Roman starts to take note of the cute little kitten showcasing his company's newest products. Starts to relish in your babydoll act, enjoying you twirling around in your cute skirts and curling your hair around your finger. Imagine Roman Sionis falling for catgirl! reader as well. Imagine poor little reader trapped between Yandere Tim Drake and Yandere Roman Sionis...Poor little kitty cat, whatever will you do? 

[untangling-my-headphones]

"klance is trending in 2025?? wtf?? this show is almost a decade old? voltron is trending???"

yes. and it will continue to trend because since this show aired I have not been without new fan content of it EVER. the batons may have been passed around but by god is there enough people still sprinting that this is basically a very alive fandom. I can not describe the depth of interesting and cool elements the show had and then entirely ignored which basically created a breeding ground of head canons and fic concepts that can keep us going until the end of time. Disappointment morphing seemlessly into passion. It's a perfect perfect balance of great characters that got almost no development and a huge wide open setting (of space!) with basically no rules that's created this foggy grey area of what is in-character and what is not because the show itself didn't really know, which just results in utmost freedom to fan creators which means there is some little niche for everyone in this bottomless pit we call voltron legendary defender

and I say this with love

[everyandanything]

I love you outsiders fandom. I love you artists who draw the musical cast so beautifully and capture the joy they radiate. I love you artists who draw book accurate characters and remind me how dorky dally truly is. I love you writers who write those fics that break my heart. I love you writers who write those fics I keep going back to when I need a pick me up. I love you update accounts that tell me all the fun tidbits about the musical I'll never get to see. I love you musical fans who come out of the show covered in gravel and blood like you just rumbled yourself. I love you book fans who underline the text and have quotes written on your walls. I love you movie fans who fell in love with a silly little movie and all its 80s glory. I love you tv show fans who suffer through the VHS copy uploaded on youtube.

I love you fans who were forced to read the book over a decade ago, only to discover a character that made you feel understood in a way you didn't know was possible. I love you fans who stumbled upon a musical that had lyrics that spoke to a part of you that you thought life had snuffed out. I love this book that has been around longer than most of us have been alive, and yet we get to exist in this space together, writing stories and creating art and analyzing lyrics and watching performances that make us cry. I love being here with all of you.

I love you, outsiders fandom.

[inkivaari]

𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚡 𝚒𝚗𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎'𝚜 𝚐𝚏! 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

a/n: this won the poll, so i'm writing it first hehe. im becoming a conquest blog accidentally... y'all, if you like my stuff and have other characters in mind, my request box is open. got a list in my pinned intro post of fandoms i'm involved in, peruse at thy leisure. disclaimers: somnophilia, conquest is his own warning atp, dubcon warning, sexual content, double penetration, cockwarming, breeding mentioned, f! reader, wet dreamzzzzzzzzzzz, we're assuming conquest gets away + doesn't get beat into slushie in s3 e8, and that mark is a crazy deep sleeper lol

you lie beside your precious puppy of a boyfriend when he comes over to hang out: he's been busy, recovering from that big fight. it's funny that 'that big fight' could refer to so many over the last few weeks. still, he's been needing some tlc from his favourite girl, and you give him just that. sweet, slow lovemaking to celebrate him finally being able to take those casts off! yay! but... well, unfortunately for him, your mind is elsewhere.

this is something you're ashamed of. after all, you love mark. love him more than any man on earth. ever since that giant came down to earth, beat your baby boy senseless, and flew off again... you'd watched the recordings over and over. at first, horrified. the second time, shocked. the third... the fourth... the fifth... the size of this man... the strength... how he teased before delivering a potent blow... he was so big and mean and nasty, all things mark wasn't. so why did watching him beat down your boyfriend make you so unbearably horny?

the dreams came soon afterwards. you'd dream of being manhandled by that brute you didn't know, of having your soft small body manipulated and used in ways you could only wish mark would. he was just so big, his body enveloping yours like the warmest weighted blanket, the wiry tufts of white hair rubbing against your sensitive body as he prone boned you... pulling your leg up effortlessly to fuck you from the side... bearing down on top of you so you couldn't move an inch, his big nasty dick making you feel soooooooo good...

...sure, it didn't help that this was all happening in real life while you slept. every night, those vivid dreams would come, as would conquest himself, through your window you'd carelessly left unlocked. he'd come in and help himself to your yummy little body. he'd been doing his surveillance, see. he knew that you were that halfbreed brat's mate. no wonder he'd gotten no work done towards his mission, he was too busy chasing this little kitten's tail.

once he's recovered, once he kills the boy and takes Earth for Viltrum himself, he'll keep you alive and at his side. his beautiful little creature, the finest specimen humanity had to offer, the perfect concubine for his young. who cares if thraxans were all the rage nowadays for producing spawn? he wanted you. and he takes what he wants. it's what he was born to do.

but his nightly visit to his sleeping angel is thwarted when he finds mark in bed with you. he practically tastes bile at the sight of him, taking up his space in your bed, spooning you with that idiotic smile on his face even as he snored beside you... he could kill him here and now, but conquest was no coward. the day would come where he would brutalise that worm in a fight, and force his sweetheart to watch.

his plans would not be ruined by this. he could see his kitten's soft furrowed brow, how she hummed and mumbled in her dreamless sleep... don't worry, little one, soon you'll be playing in dreamland like every night, with big, mean conquest keeping that sweet little body nice and full...

his cock throbbed hungrily beneath his loincloth as he considered the logistics of this. you were a heavy sleeper, usually he could do all kinds of things to you and you'd be none the wiser. but the worm was an obstacle he'd have to overcome. you were going to have to stay on your side, and he was going to have to do this slow.

he eased onto the bed so that he was lying facing you on the edge of the bed, that creaked under his weight but thankfully did only that. he watched you as he always did. those little lips. that gorgeous nose. sometimes, he'd be lucky and catch you drooling while you slept, and he'd lick it from the corner of your mouth like honey from the comb.

you were nude tonight, which made things easier. he loved to unwrap you from your cutesy pyjamas when you slept alone, like you were a little present... he'd dress you back up like you were a doll after cleaning the drool and cum from between your thighs, you being nonethewiser when you awoke. he gently eased the covers away from you, bites down hard to prevent a grumble of approval from rumbling out of him when he sees your perfect little body... and a growl when he sees those inferior arms around your waist.

he'd never leave his sweetheart waiting, despite that. he scents your little pussy now that it's been uncovered. you've came a few times consecutively, judging by the sweetness. at least the worm could do something effectively.

if he was in a better mood, he would nuzzle between your thighs and eat your tasty little cunt for at least an hour before he'd dare put his cock inside you, but being in the presence of that maggot made his blood boil and his cock throb with demand, the dominant desire to fuck and rut and claim boiling beneath conquest's skin.

upon closer inspection of your adorable little pussy, he realised something that made his rage run over. his favourite little hole in all the universe was being occupied by that inferior halfbreed's prick. if he thought he could claim his kitten, during their dream time together? he was sorely mistaken. and yet... a wicked idea crossed conquest's mind. his little kitten was so agreeable in her sleepies, after all... she was the kind of slut to enjoy this sort of thing, he imagined... not that she'd notice beyond the thicker, fuller feeling in her pussy, which would only lull her deeper into dirty dreamland...

he was resolute. he would get his cock inside you. even if it meant... making space.

he leans to croon softly beside your ear. 'sorry, little one. big stretch today. you'll like it, though. gonna fill you real good today, lucky girl.'

that little purr from you could kill him.

he begins to coat his thick cock in your juices, your well-pleasured pussy happy to yield to his ministrations. his pudgy tip catches your hole, pushing mark's cock to the side, pressing it against your inner walls and up against your g-spot while conquest cautiously stretches out your pretty cunt with his big thick dick.

he begins to rock you gently, oh so gently, the pressure inside you thanks to two cocks shifting within you, mark unconsciously grinding in his sleep as his own extra sweet dreams took hold, making you pant and mewl like a spoiled kitten, all full and happily snoozing away while you were defiled.

he couldn't deny that the feeling of another cock against his as he rutted into his little darling accentuated his pleasure. the worm had a decent sized cock, long and thin, veins in all the right places. a poor substitute for his own rod when you couldn't reach him, he thought. yet it made you all the tighter, so he could not bring himself to complain.

usually, he'd allow himself to go for hours, rocking into your little cunt and whispering to your dreamy little body. but he knows such indulgences will compromise him tonight. he is in no shape for a confrontation right now, still needs time to recuperate. so, when he hears your breathless whimper against his ear, how your breaths become pants as your walls quiver happily, knowing your release is coming up fast, he lets himself go, making you cum when he himself plunges deep inside you and releases his potent load inside you. the new warmth and the spasming of your walls brings mark to his own nighttime emission too, both cocks twitching beside each other as they pumped you full.

for conquest, pulling out of your heavenly hole is one of few things that bring him true sorrow nowadays. he envies mark, who can now sleep beside you, nestled until the morning. though, he was doing some good, keeping all of conquest's seed plugged up inside your womb. wouldn't it be hilarious if you became pregnant from this? you'd be nonethewiser. you'd birth a viltrumite baby, assuming it's your inferior boyfriend's, without ever knowing the child's true blood father... what a thrill. but at the same time, this anonymity was beginning to grate on conquest. he should be able to take what he wanted in the light too, not just the dark. but he retreated from you, whispering you a sweet farewell, before leaving from the window he arrived from, to return tomorrow. he half hoped mark would be there again, if only for the immense pleasure of defiling his mate while he slept gormlessly beside her...

he'd always dream of the day that you would be HIS mate instead.

rumbling around with this in my head at 2am... guhhhhhhhh need to get fucked to sleep by a pervy old man who loves me to death... WHO SAID THAAAAAAAAT

[marshemillow]

For the millionth time, you do not have to call yourself "proship," but if you refuse to stand in solidarity with proshippers, then you are excusing harassment. Sorry if you don't like hearing that.

"I don't like sexists OR feminists, because they BOTH just keep making discourse about insular bullshit that doesn't really matter! I think we should have equality, but I also think SOME women should be subjected to misogyny, but only if they're bad obviously!!! Why can't these two groups just agree to a compromise and stop fighting???" Like you have to be joking, right? Please tell me you are joking.

"But fascism is a real problem that can't be encompassed by fandom labels-" I NEVER WANTED TO BE AN ACTIVIST!!! I LITERALLY JUST WANT TO BE ABLE TO HAVE THIS FUCKING HOBBY BACK!!! STOP TRYING TO FORCE ME TO BE A REAL ACTIVIST AGAINST MY FUCKING WILL!!! I'M IN DANGER HERE TOO!!! IT'S NOT THAT CRAZY FOR ME TO WANT AN ESCAPE FROM REAL PROBLEMS!!! NOT EVERY SPACE HAS TO BE FULL OF REAL POLITICS HOLY SHIT YOU ARE THE REASON WHY EVERYONE HAS ACTIVIST BURNOUT BECAUSE YOU CAN'T JUST LET PEOPLE HAVE A FUCKING BREAK!!!

Proshippers are kind to me and like to write fiction. Antis want to skin me alive with a vegetable peeler and then rape my dead body. Do you seriously want to "both sides" this bullshit??? You really think it's both groups' fault that this wank won't end???

"But these labels are meaningless because nobody can agree on a definition!" Literally every proshipper gives the exact same definition. Seriously, proshippers outnumber antis in fandom more than 10 to 1, if a thousand people inside the group give the same definition and ten people outside the group give conflicting definitions, how can you seriously just throw up your hands and say "nobody can agree on a definition!!!" like yes we do, I don't know what you're talking about.

"But proshippers harass people too!" And I am against that, but you can't deny that the foundation of the anti mindset is built upon the idea that people who write bad fanfiction deserve to be harassed. They literally CELEBRATE when people kill themselves. They've fed needles to people before!!! Yes there are good antis and there are bad proshippers, but to act like that means both sides are just as bad is fucking absurd and I genuinely don't know how people can't see it.

"But there's nuance!!!" Please tell me what nuance there is between harassing people for their ships and not doing that. Please tell me what nuance there is between censoring "gross" fiction and not doing that. Have you ever heard of the Civil War in the United States? You can't just crowbar a middle ground into an issue where no middle ground exists! Some harassment is still harassment! Some censorship is still censorship!

"But I don't like underage/incest/whatever bad fiction!" Cool! Neither do I! I still think it shouldn't be censored!

"But we have to draw a line somewhere!" Yes, and that line is whatever hurts real people. Any fiction that doesn't require hurting real people to write should be allowed. If Game of Thrones can't normalize incest, then NOTHING CAN.

"But lolicon is pedophilia!" Do you know how hard it is for CSA survivors in real life to hear that the worst thing that ever happened to them is just as bad as watching cartoons? They're already subjected to feelings of being "ruined" because of purity culture, don't insult them on top of that!

"But-" IF YOU REFUSE TO STAND IN SOLIDARITY WITH PROSHIPPERS, THEN YOU ARE EXCUSING HARASSMENT.

The least you could do is stop fucking talking about it. You know, the same thing you do with everything else you don't understand? You clearly don't understand the issue, so just drop it!!!

[lokischocolatefountain]

Savior

Fandom: The Last of Us (HBO) Pairing: dark!Joel Miller x captive reader Rating: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat Warnings: I repeat, DDDNE. Kidnapping, non-con, dub-con, face fucking, bondage, objectification, dehumanisation, captivity, drug and alcohol abuse, boot licking (literally), boot kissing, master/slave dynamics, name calling (bitch), loss of identity, Stockholm syndrome, really messed up dynamics, mention of spitting, mention of boot fucking, mention of watersports but not performed. Word count: 1.7k words Summary: Joel saves you from the horrors of the world only to inflict another horror on you. A/N: *slaps roof of this fic* This fic has everything (again, heed the warnings) I’ve been away for a while now and I’ll probably taken long to post my next fic. But I hope this is a fun read 🥺

The world was a big place and you knew nothing about it. You wanted to. You wanted to go beyond the walls of the QZ and inside those buildings people said were tall enough to touch the sky. You wanted to see the remains of museums. You wanted to see trees and sit on the grass and eat fresh fruits.

In a mockery of this daydream, the universe decided that not only would you never step outside but that you will be confined in a space smaller than the QZ.

You knew nothing about the world, but you knew everything about him. Many people passed by the doors of his apartment throughout the day. But you identified his strides. The heaviness of his boot against the floor, the speed at which he walked, how big his strides were. When you heard the grating sound of metal against metal, you knew he’d slotted his key in the door. You began trembling just at the sound of the door opening, your body fearing everything he would inflict on you.

Yet your cunt throbbed with anticipation. Your heart fluttered with joy. He was cruel, yes. But you knew he cared about you. He shared his food, traded to get you a few clothes, even got your medicines when you were ill. He was violent with you, but that was only because of the hard work he had to do all day.

As he walked in, you took in his appearance. Hands stained black, a thin sheen of sweat on his face and arms. He was tired again. He downed some of the brownish liquor he brought back a week ago and popped in a few pills. Sometimes he even shared them with you.

He put the bottle down and walked towards you. It was summer and you didn’t need to wear clothes. So you didn’t. He said he wasn’t going to waste time washing them when you didn’t have to wear them. With your ankle chained to the radiator, there was nowhere for you to go.

You smelled the tasks of his day on his boot as he stood in front of you, his boot dangerously close to your face. You willed yourself to not throw up. Not again, not again, please no, not again. They were dirty, too dirty. You did everything he asked you to, but you couldn’t bear when he made you fuck yourself on his boot until you came. And you did, every single time.

A sharp sting pulled at every nerve ending on your face as his boot made contact with it.

“Thought you’d died,” he said, unbuckling his jeans. You pressed your palms on the floor and sat up on your knees.

“Still breathing? Let me check,” he said, pinching your nose between his fingers. You gasped when he cut your access to air, breathing through your fuckhole to keep yourself alive. “There’s my bitch… Still alive.”

He took his cock out of his pants, large and intimidating, just like him. You opened your mouth instinctively. Happened when you got the shit kicked out of you when you didn’t keep your holes accessible. Happened when food and water were conditional upon how satisfactory you were as his stress toy. Nose still pinched, he unzipped himself and plunged his cock inside you. Your legs kicked around as his thickness restricted your breath, your cunt tightening around nothing as he let you struggle for a few moments more.

Finally, he let go of your nose, allowing you to see another day. You looked up at him, gratitude filling your heart that he would allow you air. It wasn’t always like that. In the initial days of your captivity, all you wanted was death. But eventually he taught you to be grateful for everything he did. Grateful he gave you a purpose, grateful he grabbed you from the street, that he fed you his scraps and trained your fuckholes to be useful.

You moaned uselessly as your throat burned from his size. Thankfully, he didn’t mind your noises. He was good, merciful. So kind to let you make any sound at all though you were forbidden from talking. He’d fucked that notion out of you long ago. Called your mouth a fuckhole as he did your cunt and ass.

A mouth was for talking and eating. He reminded you often that you didn’t have one. The hole on your face was a hole to fuck, a pit for his cum and spit and piss. When you’d accepted that, you found you had no need to speak.

The small room filled with Master’s grunts and groans, punctuated by the involuntary moans from your fuckhole. You always hated blowjobs, finding the act demeaning and avoiding it until whatever boy you were dating annoyed you into sucking him off. But this wasn’t a blowjob. You didn’t suck cock, you simply complied as he fucked a hole he owned. Still, you tried to be as worthy as you could with the little freedom you had.

He bottomed out inside you, your nose pressed against his belly. Your hair was in a tight grip in his fist, a handle to make you more convenient. But you tried with the little space you had, licking his balls. He moaned and thrusted though he’d fed you all that he had. An animalistic need to seek sexual gratification no matter how. One hand in your hair became two and he began his brutal pace that would leave your fuckhole bruised and out of use for a few days until he deemed it fit to fuck again.

Your face hit his soft belly over and over and his balls slapped against your chin. Your cunt thrusted up into the air, begging for something, anything. It didn’t have to be Master’s cock. His hand, a kick from his boot you so hated, his pistol. It needed to be used, just as the rest of your body.

It didn’t take long for his cock to leave your fuckhole, ropes of sticky white fluid coating your face. Your hole gasped for air and Master, generous as he was, let you have air and water.

No, not water, you realized as the strong taste attacked your senses. The glass bottle you took from was an old beer bottle, the label worn off but a hint of color reminding you of the brand. But it wasn’t beer. Something that they brewed in the QZ that he was kind enough to share to keep your nightmares at bay. You kept the final sip in your mouth and looked up, your throat straight to accept the pills he threw in. You swallowed, tears flowing down your cheeks. You would sleep well tonight, untainted by images of your loved ones turning, of your gun putting a bullet in their heads before they could rip you into pieces.

You bent forward and pressed your lips to his filthy boots, silent tears growing into sobs. You kissed and licked the filth, hoping he knew how grateful you were for this one night of mercy. For thinking about you, noticing how you suffered when night came and the memories of a past life flooded in. With each second of worship, you showed him how grateful you were for the freedom he gave you by chaining you up in his room.

When his boots were clean, you gave it one final kiss and hugged his legs. You rested your cheek on his boots, shivering when he bent down and petted you.

“I know, I know,” he said quietly, his voice soft and kind. He let you weep at his feet for what felt like hours but you knew was only a few minutes. Eventually your sobs died down and he pried you off of him gently. He placed a bowl of slop in front of you and filled the other bowl with water. Sustenance. And you didn’t even have to work for it. You were hungry, god you were so hungry it hurt. But you waited. You were just a useless bitch with nothing left but the base needs of your belly and cunt. But you still had manners. You didn’t take anything Master gave for granted. He placed food and water in front of you, but it wasn’t permission to take them.

He deserved your respect, your obedience. You knew he suffered at night just like you did. Outside, he did backbreaking labor so you didn’t have to. And he always kept you fed, took care of you. You couldn’t give him as much as he gave you from where he kept you so you showed absolute deference.

“Eat.”

And that was when you began.

“My name’s Joel.” He said out of nowhere from his place in his bed. He didn’t look at you for a response. Just spoke it into the air. You left your food and water behind and crawled to the foot of his bed, nuzzling your head against his boots with no other way to show gratitude.

You never knew his name until then. You didn’t know if he knew yours, but he called you Bitch. Useless bitch, stupid bitch, ungrateful little bitch. Good bitch. You responded to Bitch. And soon enough, you were Bitch even in your innermost thoughts. But now you had a name for the man who rescued you, showed you mercy though you were so difficult in the beginning. Because of him, you were no longer a zombie walking the QZ and laboring night and day just for food and clothing. He freed you from the burdens of choice, from the efforts of survival, the agony of humanity.

You didn’t have to throw bodies in the fire, didn’t have to clean officers’ floor on your hands and knees as they leered at you. You didn’t have to fear the FEDRA officers who’d put you in jail just to fuck you. Being human was the worst fate in this world and Master saved you from it. With him, you were safe. Nothing was under your control, so you were now free from self-blame. You didn’t have to fight to keep living a life not worthy of living. You didn’t have to watch others with their children and parents and friends and feel the agony of not having yours anymore.

Here, he’d given you a place at his feet. He reduced you to Bitch, freed you from the humanity that came with the name people used to call you. The world wasn’t such a scary place anymore. After all, you were only his bitch and the world was your benevolent Master.