#neckbeards scare me

[techutones]

Can you guys imagine if neckbeards talked about "girl" peppers like they did actual women 💀💀

"Well you see the female pepper is simply driven by emotions, not logic. Female peppers are only meant to cook, clean and satisfy their male pepper counterparts"

[not-terezi-pyrope]

Being fat is so wild, because the prejudice against your appearance can be so extreme and yet also so normalised that people will get pissed at you for even suggesting that it be viewed as prejudice.

Like I'll be scrolling down a web feed and I'll see multi-thousand note posts of thin girls posing in lingerie and they'll be getting love hearts and onlyfans requests, and then next there'll be a neckbeard wojak meme or one of those terf posts where they collect selfies of fat trans women into collages, with the idea being that we're so ugly that we'll scare people away from trans rights.

But then you express that "hey, I think I might be really, explicitly marginalised in society by the way I look?" And people will ignore you and go back to posting about how X group doesn't know what it means to experience real prejudice.

Like if you're thin I really don't think most of y'all have internalised how bad it is. I guess you wouldn't think about it if "fat folks" are just background stock characters in your life but I will see thin people posting some insane shit like "who wants to see me post bra pics" "going to go out and try to hook up with people at x event" "hey so here's some gym selfies from today", with just full self-assurance that any exposure of their body will be met with approval and desire instead of abject disgust from even their progressive lefty peers.

And I just think. "Wow. We are experiencing entirely different realities, and yours is so good you just think that everything is fine and that everyone is allowed to have a positive relationship between their body and other people."

[bonyassfish]

Four months (almost) on T update:

Ok so perhaps this is TMI but uh, I have a dick? It’s about the size of a small grape. The growth is insane.

My facial hair situation is crazy. My neckbeard is basically full, and doing a lot of the heavy lifting when it comes to me passing (more on that later). The wispy hairs on my mustache, chin, and cheeks is getting a little thicker and darker, but it’s not nearly as full as the neckbeard

I’ve got so much body hair. My chest. My shoulders. My fingers and toes. Places on my body that already had hair, like my belly and legs, have way more hair than before T

My voice cracks all the time I really sound like I’m fourteen lmaoooo. I can’t really sing in the same way I used to, which doesn’t really matter bc I’m not a singer anyway, but it’s funny

I’m working out and getting protein cravings and gaining muscle. I’m not like jacked or anything, but overall I’m happy with what I’ve got

In general, I just feel so confident and free. It never occurred to me how scared I always was of just taking up space in public. I can’t describe it exactly, but it’s sort of like the judgment of strangers matters so much less because I no longer feel like I have to justify my physical body. It felt so wrong that I was certain everyone would perceive it as gross or ugly. And now, regardless of how people actually perceive me, I just feel like I am allowed to take up space and exist.

Passing is a complex subject for most trans people. I don’t mind per se if people know I’m trans, and pretty much everyone in my life knew me before I started transitioning so it’s not like they don’t know. But not getting people calling me ma’am is a BIG relief. And I’ve started to use men’s bathrooms in public. Tbh, I feel better and safer using gender neutral bathrooms but sadly that’s usually not a thing in most public spaces. Either way, I’ve so had it fine in men’s bathrooms, nobody’s said or done anything, but I am often nervous in those spaces. If I’m wearing a binder, I think I probably come across as a man to most people, which is fine by me lol

[thedawningofthehour]

Please, please, please tell me you already read tmnt 40th anniversary. Who knew that 8 pages would give so much to analyze. I had to pirate it due to not being able to access it where I live. I do hope it sells well in the US though, I really want them to bring out another one.

I have not yet, sorry.

I try to be optimistic sometimes, but let's be fucking honest with ourselves-Nickelodeon wrote Rise off the second the pilot dropped and a bunch of butthurt neckbeards review-bombed the show for being diiiiiiiiifferent from what they were used to. (they said the exact same thing in 2012, but corporations have short memories and have gotten way more scared of anything that deviates from the mold) They purposely torpedoed Rise and have done their damnedest to avoid acknowledging the movie's success, because they cannot admit they were wrong about making that call. They're not going to greenlight more Rise. They have just decided that they hate it and don't want to be associated with it anymore.

The only thing I can really hold out hope for is when Nick inevitably sells the franchise the new owners might decide to reboot it. I know that's typically not how TMNT iterations have worked-but the other series' all had real endings. They did what they wanted to do and went home. Rise was murdered before its time.

[fruitcoops]

just re-read the hiking do you did for coops and OMG ITS SO ADORABLE 🥰 made me feel so warm i love it sm your writing is just 😙🤌 *chefs kiss* i would love to read more of coops dates if you have the time to write no pressure ofc

Warm and fuzzy fics on a rainy day here :) Turns out, the cure for writer's block is listening to Country Roads. Coops credit goes to @lumosinlove!

Sirius had wanted to laugh, at first. Cornfields on cornfields on billboards on cornfields—everywhere he looked, splotches of pale yellow stood out amidst seas of dusty green stalks. The road, hot from summer sun, kicked up reddish earth as they trundled down pin-straight roads and wove around potholes the size of a small elephants. But Hope’s kitschy little Camry took them safely through the minefield without protest under Remus’ careful guidance.

His hands squeaked a little on the steering wheel in harmony with the radio. It fizzed and popped as their cell service wavered; Remus’ fingertips kept the rhythm. “Misty taste of moonshine, teardrop in my eye,” he sang under his breath as they followed a curve past yet another billboard with some Bible verse or another stamped proudly across it. Sirius smiled at the rasp of his low baritone and settled back against the soft seat, stretching his legs as far as it would let him.

It was the only time he ever saw Remus not absolutely petrified behind the wheel. Gryffindor was busy and loud and fast, but the outskirts of Madison were a whole other world. A world full of corn, sure, yet unquestionably slower. A hawk wheeled lazily overhead and a hare went skittering into the field next to them—Sirius watched a gust of wind ruffle the tallest tips of the young crop.

“Knee high by the Fourth of July.”

He blinked, turning to Remus. “Quoi?”

“The corn.” Remus inclined his head toward the field on their left, his thumb moving gently over Sirius’ hand where it rested on his thigh. “If it’s knee-height by July, it’s growing right.”

“How do you know that?” Sirius laughed.

“How do you not?”

“Believe it or not, corn isn’t a staple crop of urban Montréal. And we don’t care about the Fourth of July.”

Remus gave the back of his hand a flick, grinning. “Buzzkill Canadians. You’re missing out.”

“Clearly.”

They lapsed back into comfortable silence as the song changed to something equally folksy and acoustic. Sirius stifled a yawn in his hand; he had slept well, always did when they stayed over at the Lupins’, but the rumble of the engine and hiss of the car’s ancient A/C made his limbs heavy, his brain fuzzy. Remus’ quiet humming picked up again.

“You’re not nervous,” Sirius noted when they passed a tractor.

Remus quirked a brow. “Right now? No, not really.”

“You never like driving past trucks.”

“Mmm, yeah. It’s different. I know he saw me and those guys get a ton of practice leaving space on the road. It’s the jacked-up pickups that scare me.”

Sirius nodded, mostly to himself. He supposed he couldn’t judge when Remus had been driving for two full hours without issue. No whiteknuckling was always a good sign. “I’ll be sure not to drive one of those.”

“You’re missing a Bud Lite and a backwards hat,” Remus snorted as he checked his blindspot and switched lanes. “And maybe a neckbeard, if you’re really feeling it.”

Sirius pulled a face, scratching at his neck on instinct, and they gave in to a half-minute of laughter before it died down again and left Joni Mitchell to fill the car. He had never enjoyed road trips as a child—save for roadies, of course—but they had become a lifeline once he got his license. He would lie and say he was going to the rink, then drive through the city just to breathe. For a few months before scouting started, that handful of hours was the only escape.

Road trips were so different with Remus. Not an escape, but an adventure. Not tinged with worry or the knowledge that he had to return to the bear trap of his childhood home, but heavy with the promise of something fascinating at the end of it. Sirius followed the curves of a telephone line with his eyes and let his thoughts drift from the weight of Remus’ hand on his own to the twitching muscles beneath as his foot eased off the accelerator.

They had left just past sunrise, stopping at a diner in town for their early bird special and easily the best hashbrowns Sirius had ever eaten. He dozed while Remus drove, then woke just past nine when Remus gave his knee a squeeze to point out a river cutting along the side of the road. Ducks flapped their wings in greeting as they drove past, never above 45 miles an hour.

The car might combust if I try, Remus had joked when Sirius began to lovingly chirp him for his featherlight foot. His smile was golden in the high sun. The slowness was sweeter than the syrup on his pancakes.

A tire caught the edge of a pothole and they both winced; Sirius heard the basket in the backseat rattle and glanced over his shoulder to make sure it was still secure. “All good?” Remus checked.

“Parfait.”

“Nah, we didn’t bring any of those.”

“Perfect,” Sirius repeated with a poor imitation of Remus’ accent and a light smack to his outer thigh. “Rien que pour ça, je ne parlerai pas en anglaise pour la journée.”

Remus lifted his hand and kissed the back, sparing a quick glance away from the road to catch his eye with a playful look. “Desolée, mon amour.”

Sirius scoffed around the happy, warm thing blooming in his chest. “Are we there yet?”

“Cinq minute.”

“Look at you go!”

“I’m trying,” Remus laughed, settling their hands back on his thigh (where they belonged, in Sirius’ personal opinion). “Almost there, baby.”

He expected a highway to open up ahead, or perhaps a paved road. Hell, even gravel wouldn’t have been too surprising.

But Remus kept driving, the only car on the road, then turned off onto an even narrower dirt path with deep grooves from dozens of cars before it. Broken glass littered the cracked, dry mud in some spots; beer tabs were scattered like confetti in some spots. “Re?” he began. “Do you need a map?”

“Nope.”

The cornstalks grew higher and denser around them. “Are you planning on murdering me?”

“Not today.”

“Sacrificing me to aliens?”

“It was on the list, but no.”

“Leaving me out here to die among the corn?”

Remus pulled to a stop in a small clearing, where dead husks had flattened out the ground and someone had dragged a few rickety two-by-four benches in. A hill tumbled down ahead, opening into a vast expanse of fields and a busy road at least a mile away. He gave a satisfied nod and turned the ignition off, then leaned over to kiss Sirius’ cheek. “I’m not going to abandon you in a corn maze. Grab the basket?”

“Why do you know this place?” Sirius asked, biting back a groan of relief when he could finally stand and stretch his legs.

Remus braced against the car to crack his back before opening the trunk and hauling their blanket out. “This is the designated spot for drunken teenagers.”

“…you brought me to a hotbed of underage drinking for a date?”

“I brought you to the most secluded area I know for a romantic picnic,” Remus corrected, taking him by the hand. “The teenagers won’t start coming by until six at the earliest. And don’t act like you didn’t drink with your teammates, too.”

Sirius raised a skeptical brow. “Think about that for a moment.”

Remus paused with one foot on the edge of the blanket, then wrinkled his nose. “Not even once?”

“I had curfew.”

“Man, my cousins would have a blast corrupting you.”

“Corrupting me?” Sirius set the blanket down and knelt next to Remus, winding both arms around him to drag him in for a kiss. “I’ve already been corrupted by one Lupin. What more could they do, hmm?”

Remus smiled into his mouth. His fingertips toyed with the curls at the nape of Sirius’ neck and made him shiver in the summer heat when they fell back onto the blanket. “They would love you,” he said quietly, stretching out catlike until his knees bracketed Sirius’ hips. “Almost as much as I do. They would think you were wonderful.”

“They would think I have excellent taste.” He pressed a kiss to Remus’ lower lip and watched it bounce back, petal-pink against his light tan, before moving down to his neck. “They would think you’re crazy for bringing me to an abandoned field…covered in trash…with a history of illegal activity…”

He felt every vibration of Remus’ laugh against his mouth and smiled into the curve of his throat. “Covered in trash,” Remus scoffed, though his hand traced down Sirius’ spine and drew him closer. “Illegal activity. You make me sound like a delinquent.”

“You are,” Sirius mumbled into his collarbone before giving it a nice bite that made Remus jump.

“Well, yeah, but you already knew that.” A gentle tug on his hair guided him back up to Remus’ mouth and he melted into it, savoring every chaste kiss and teasing flicker of tongue. There was impishness written in every freckle when they parted to breathe. Remus tilted his head to the side, all shades of sepia against the checkered fabric. “You look good here.”

“Here?”

“Home.” Remus scratched between his shoulder blades and Sirius rested his head on his sternum, feeling his heart beat beneath. He felt Remus’ long sigh, too, and watched the jut of his chin become softer when he looked up to the sky. “I forget you weren’t here with me, sometimes. It feels like you’ve been in my life forever.”

Sirius hummed, fitting his hands in the divot of Remus’ waist. He had thought the same many times before.

A hand pet absently through his hair. “I love Gryff,” Remus started, then fell quiet. Sirius turned to kiss the inside of his wrist and watched the edges of his smile spread. “I love Gryff, but I miss this when I’m gone. The quiet. The roads. I know where everything is. People aren’t strangers.”

“Je sais, mon coeur.” Sirius didn’t ache for his childhood by any means, but Montréal would always be home, in a way. He missed hearing his own language spoken quick and comfortable on any street and the reflexive check for icicles as soon as Halloween hit. Like any northern city, Gryffindor grew cold in the winter, but it was always missing that certain something that made Sirius itch to breathe the crisp air crashing against the windows.

Remus huffed a laugh and ran a hand down his face before returning it to the back of Sirius’ head. “God, sorry, I’m getting all nostalgic and we still have sandwiches to eat.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Sirius protested, shuffling up his body until he could brace his arms on either side of Remus’ head. A fond, lopsided smile made his heart swell. “I was thinking about how I miss the snow back home. I get it.”

“The snow,” Remus groaned, covering his face with both hands. “It’s just wrong in Gryff.”

“It is! Too icy.”

“Too shallow.”

“It doesn’t even get near the windowsills.”

Remus laughed and pulled Sirius down on top of him, then planted a sloppy kiss on his cheek. “Those southerners don’t do anything right, eh?”

“Not a thing.”

It was several minutes before they managed to separate and open the picnic basket, and several more before Sirius could tear his eyes away from Remus to actually eat despite his rumbling stomach. The wind ruffled his hair into a mess of caramel while the sun highlighted each freckle and hint of rosiness on his cheeks. There was a deep calmness in his body, all the way from his comfortable slouch to his skewed legs, dusted with the loose dirt that blew over the hillside. He was the closest thing to ethereal Sirius had ever seen.

Picturing him as a teenager running rampant through the sleepy county with its endless fields and far-reaching skies was too easy—he was lankier then, if Hope’s pictures were accurate, all moonlit mischief. Sirius never thought of his teenage self as particularly intelligent, perceptive, or anything but a bottled-up mess, but that loose cannon would have gone head over heels for Remus in this place. They would have been a terror together. He could imagine them being happy tucked away in a town where everyone knew each other. He could imagine them being happy in any lifetime.

[thecondimentgal]

Okay, good to know you’re still down for this! Let’s see here, what do I not like about my current appearance…? Ugh, maybe a LOT, now that I’m really thinking about it. For starters, I remember Paintbrush said something about wanting to dye their hair pink, so… can we try doing something like that? I’m thinking maybe… a nice vibrant red that turns yellow near the sideburns, if that’s possible? Also I SWEAR a neckbeard is slowly starting to grow on me, and I know all the stereotypes associated with people who have one of those, so I want to get rid of that as soon as possible. I don’t like how I need to wear glasses, but I can probably go out and get some contacts myself to take care of that, I think it’d be pretty nice to try some eyeliner, and as I said before… utter rat’s nest up here. When you’re taking care of that, try not to chop down the birds, heh… yeah, I guess that’s pretty much all I can think of right now. I COULD probably take care of some of those things myself, but if I’m being honest, I’m a little too… scared to touch a razor. I’m just worried I’m going to, um, cut myself or something. -🪭

.. you have way more than I bargained for, Internet geek.

But that's great, the more the better, am I right?

I think eyeliner would totally look cute — it would make your eyes pop, like, for real. Contacts, sure. Those would totally suit you, in my opinion.

Your hair.. I can cut it to a suitable length, and also dye it how you want — like, I'm a master at makeovers. Don't even think about denying it, cause its true.

We NEED to get rid of the split ends anyway.

And razors can be scary, but I'm sure I can like, teach you the basics. Self-care is so important.

[gummy-axolotl]

I'm actually gonna cry.

I can't stand what the Internet has turned into

There's so much that has changed, and now my safe place is becoming more and more scary.

People are being doxxed, censored, banned, bullied, polarized, misinformed.

AI is stealing artwork. And people think it's okay to do this. Companies and basement-dwelling neckbeards are stealing what me and so many other people have worked on for years.

I am so scared.

I am scared of the hate that is being amplified over the Internet. I am scared that technology might steal the one job that only humans can do. The job that I am setting my life up around.

I don't want to leave, I don't want to leave my friends. I love it here, but I.... I don't know.

[cumbunnywitch]

I personally think all minorities and queers should learn how to use a firearm.

I have a few reasons for this. Hear me out.

Firstly, I know a lot of people who are scared of guns. Like, really scared of them. And like a lot of phobias, the best way to get over your fear of guns is to learn about how they work and what they can actually do. How does it go together? What's a bullet look like? Why is it shaped like that, what are all these things?

Everything has its own answer. Personally, I haver an AR-15. In like 4 days I'm gonna paint it to look like a trans flag because I can. A civilian AR-15 is something that's fun and easy to shoot without needing to get all technical and thinking about sights and scopes and carry weight, fuck that. It's just an easy to use rifle, safe to handle, and reliable. The gun itself isn't evil. Don't let fuckbois neckbeards and bootlickers evilize another inanimate object.

Secondly, knowing what a gun can and can't do can be important. Yes, they are deadly. Yes, they are dangerous. But knowing how fast you can change from one target to another can help you understand how someone else could. Protest goes south? You wanna know how long that reload is gonna be so you can get the fuck out at the best time. Another fuckboi shoots up a place people are at? Same thing, you wanna know what you can reasonably hide behind.

And lastly, the least likely thing. Like, there's almost no way this is going to happen, but fuck is it a scary thought that weighs heavily on my mind. The thought that someone is going to wish harm on you specifically and invade your home. Having a home defense weapon isn't inherently safe, and knowing how to safely and securely store your firearm and how to use it in the (again, extremely) unlikely event that someone invades your home is a prerequisite to having said firearm anywhere near your home.

TL;DR: Everyone should learn the ins and outs of how to use a gun, shoot a few of them if they can, and own one if they think it's in their own best interests. If you think it isn't, then don't own a gun. Many ranges will offer gun rentals for shooting at the range, or safety courses will often include a rental with the class.

[limbobilbo]

Born to be a catboy

Forced to lie awake at night wondering if anyone actually likes me, if I deserve to even be happy or if I’m allowed to be sad. Constantly hating my body because of my weight and the fact my facial hair grows only on the underside of my neck and I don’t want to look like a ‘neckbeard’. Making myself remain friends with a person who is straight up mean to me at times because Im scared of conflict.

[illiteratethekid]

I had to cataloge this. reddit post from r/offmychest

u/BigBingus1337

I (27F) have been struggling with an extremely disgusting problem for 14 years, and I need help.

nsfw

(CW)

Content warning:

Strong depiction of bodily fluids (excrement, urine)

Suicide attempts

Depression

Physical/Sexual/Emotional Abuse

Sexual discussion

Self harm

Just a lot of awful stuff

(CW)

Please be warned, this is an extremely gross, explicit, and hard to handle post. I'm not making this up. This isn't a joke. I'm in a lot of pain. I've tried a lot and I don't know what to do anymore.

I feel helpless, ashamed, disgusted, and sub-human.

It's only now after 14 years of this cycle that I've become so, *so* tired of hiding my shame that I can talk about it publicly and reach out for more help, or at least get this off my chest.

If I seem distant or use wack-ass language, it's because I've lived this way for too long to get hung up on making any of this fit "acceptable" language.

It's impossible.

I'm also well aware that this might get memed into oblivion, shared around like "look at this lmao gross", and laughed at.

I get it. I can sort of see how in a sick, fucked-up kind of way this could be funny from an outside perspective.

Comedy helps people cope, ridiculing others is a maladaptive way of comforting oneself.

What I worry about is people not reading this with empathy or a desire to understand, and would rather trash on me and reinforce the hatred I already have for myself and my behaviors.

So just fuckin... be cool.

Please.

For the past 14 years, I haven't been able to stop fingering my ass, defacating on towels/toiletpaper and urinating in bottles/towels/tp/etc.

It has caused me to live in unsanitary, isolating, shameful, and disgusting conditions.

It has cost me my health, happiness, safety, relationships, living situations, and on several occasions, it's caused me to attempt suicide.

I am scared of being somehow shamed more than I shame myself by posting this. I've sought professional help, and it hasn't worked regardless of if its my fault or the help.

About me:

I'm 27, I have a decent job, a good group of friends, recent-ish-ly single, handful of great and awful partners, etc.

I'm trans, she/her. (Please don't be weird. I struggled with this problem well before I had any inkling of gender stuff. That's not how it works)

I've been diagnosed with ADHD, ASD, and Clinical Depression.

I have taken pretty standard adhd medication for the last 8 years

I have tried 5 different SSRIs with at best, no effect, and at worst, full blown serotonin syndrome, mild psychosis, and seizures.

Over the years, I've seen 4 therapists for a couple years at a time.

All of which were actually wonderful help for understanding and coping with trauma, depression, ADHD, ASD, and sexual/physical/emotional abuse.

I haven't been able to mend this specific problem, even with their help.

The formatting of this post is really choppy mainly because it's comprised of notes I've taken on this issue in notepad++

Some of it might seem detached or "clinical" because of this.

I use these notes to help analyze the behaviors that are happening and the different emotions and motivators at play.

I have always struggled on-and-off with keeping my personal spaces clean due to whatever cocktail of adhd, depression, asd, whatever.

Trash, rotting food, disorganization, dirty bed, etc.

I'd say it would be 70% as bad as a typical "neckbeard-nest" image you would see.

Never piles so high I couldn't see or leave my space, but, certainly enough to be playing hop-scotch to get around.

Both the depression messes and the defecating problem have gone through cycles of getting slightly better, getting much worse, better again ,etc.

Potential reasons for being Motivated/compelled/habitual fingering my ass for a combination of 2 reasons:

ASD Stimming/comfort/sexual stimulation from prostate when feeling... *something*

Attempts to identify that something lead to maybe these?

- Potentially feeling bored/understimulated

- An emptiness emotionally

2. ASD Sensory issues around feeling unclean after shitting, e.g. still feeling shit inside me and disgust/frustration with how that interferes with #1?

Earliest possible memory/origin of behavior:

Exploring my body/masturbating with anal stimulation around age 12-13.

As with anyone who's done anal, "shit happens", especially when you don't know about cleaning yourself out.

I would end up coming into contact with shit, not knowing what to do, and just wiping it on toilet paper or towels.

I would hide the evidence because I was ashamed and embarrassed.

An unfortunate part of this habit is that fingering your ass causes a feeling of need to urinate.

Whenever I finger my ass, I urinate into toilet paper, a bottle, a container.

This affects my living space by making it unsanitary, extremely unpleasant, and isolating.

This leads to even more unsanitary conditions, more avoidance, procrastination, and shame.

The unsanitary conditions cause a rolling chain of dependency/vicious cycle

For example:

- An area gets gross or unpleasant (typically the bathroom first)

- That area is now more difficult to reach both physically and emotionally

- Procrastination/avoidance/shame/refusal to clean the area

- I am unable to use that area, leading to shitting and pissing in a pile elsewhere

- Causing more spread out messes

- repeat until harsh physical/social consequences or suicidality take hold

- then clean everything top to bottom and try to not get in the cycle again

I always end up back in the cycle.

The anxiety & helplessness around my struggles with this make it impossible to have anyone over

I am too ashamed to ask for help, or accept it when offered.

Friends know I'm depressed and struggle with keeping my spaces clean, but I never tell them the full story. Usually a half-truth.

I often tell my friends they can't come over because "my place is like a wreck, like unsanitary bad".

Which isn't *exactly* wrong, but isn't representative of how bad things actually are.

I feel like the 2 people in my life I've told the real, full details of this to, don't actually understand how bad it really is. They know I've had a *history* of issues with it.

I can't bring myself to tell them that its something I'm still struggling with *now*

The above is driven by shame.

I've done property damage. I've let wet piss soaked towels sit for weeks on beautiful wooden floors, bleaching them and stripping them of their varnish.

I've ruined and thrown out dozens of towels, sheets, carpets.

I've had to cut dried shit out of my own clothing or throw them away.

I've had to throw away wonderful gifts loving family and friends have given me because they were destroyed when I knocked over a months old piss bottle.

I had to steam clean my own shit stains out of carpet when moving out of an old apartment.

I remember sitting there, breaking down at seeing the damage I've caused.

I was so overwhelmed by my own disgust and hatred for my existence.

I got my handgun, put a magazine in, and put it in my mouth, and without a second of hesitation, pulled the trigger.

It sounds kinda dramatic, but I don't remember if I forgot to rack the slide on purpose or by mistake.

Somehow I'm glad I didn't, but there are many times I have regretted not doing it.

When I was in my teens my parents would discover/"catch" me living this way a couple times.

My parents did not handle finding out in a safe or loving way.

Shocker, I know.

They screamed at me that I'll lose all my housing opportunities, friends, and safety net if someone finds out.

And they aren't wrong about the consequences, but all they did was punish me, beat me, strip me of my privacy by removing my door from it's hinges, my healthy hobbies, shame me, and held no space for understanding or help.

They called it a fetish.

It was not.

However in the past year I've explored scat videos. I don't even like it. It's like a sick desperation for understanding what's wrong with me.

I've never in my 14 year history enjoyed living in my own filth.

I think my short exploration of scat as a porn category was just coping with trauma and uncertainty through a sexual lens.

Just fantasizing that I could convince myself its as simple as a fetish or desire, and because of that, it would be okay.

It's not.

It's not a fetish.

I don't enjoy this. I hate this.

This is extremely debilitating, and I don't deserve to go through this, but I can't seem to find a way to stop.

I feel deep shame and unsafety in regards to people finding out, telling them, or anyone helping because they won't understand.

It's hard to put into words how impossible it feels to break this habit.

It feels like when someone tells you the only way to get better is to "love yourself".

Like... what the fuck does that even mean? How? How can you do that if you don't value your own love? Monopoly money has more value than that.

Therapy has helped me cope with those nagging feelings for things like depression, abuse, self-worth, etc.

But changing this behavior feels as impossible as changing the laws of physics.

How do you sit with yourself, the 14th year of trying to outwit your own habits that try to kill you, remove you from society, and ruin everything you love, and say "Well this attempt it's gonna work!" and feel any sort of actual hope? Sure it's writing a fatalistic narrative for myself, and sure it sounds like I've resigned myself to this. What the fuck do I do?

The really sad thing is that I'm not the only one out there who struggles with this weird compulsive fingering and defecation issue.

A quick google search of the behavior leads to a couple forums/quora-like sites of people talking about this behavior and how they can't stop and don't know what it is.

They're desperately trying to find a reason or help. As far as I can tell, they never do.

So its like... what the hell are my chances if dozens of other people are struggling too?

I know my physical safety might concern people reading this. I'm at a point in therapy where suicide really just isn't on the menu for me anymore. I just want to assure readers that I'm not suicidal. I'm gonna keep living. I can't be certain whether or not I'll be living well.

Edit:

To all of you sending me private messages, saying this is hot, asking me to piss on them, getting turned on by this:

I hope you fucking rot. I really do.

As someone in the kink community, I don't shame others for what they like. But you REALLY think its appropriate to come into my DMs from a post where I detail a behavior that drove me to attempt suicide, and start waving your dick around?

There are no words that describe my sheer contempt for you. Rot.

To everyone else: I really appreciate the support and understanding you have provided. The responses have given me a lot to think about, and a lot of potential new paths to go down. Thank you, and I wish you the same care, kindness, and affirmation of humanity you all have provided to me.

[v1ckyv1c10us]

I told an ai bot that I was scared of female genitalia, it gave this picture and called me a neckbeard. :p

I am a woman btw

[readjthompson]

Happy Halloween, people. Here’s an all-new short story (© me, now), free to read.

Bayou Ma’am

by Jeremy Thompson

“Those bitches!” Claude exclaims. “Those lyin’, stinkin’, blue ballin’ whores! Makin’ us the butts of their jokes! Gettin’ us laughed at by everyone! We oughta find ’em and stomp their fuckin’ skulls in!”

“And how would we even do that?” I respond, focusin’ on my composure, compactin’ the shame and heartbreak I now feel into a teeny, tiny ball that I’ll soon entomb in my mind’s deeper recesses. “They said they’re flyin’ back to New York City tonight, to that precious little SoHo loft they wouldn’t stop braggin’ about. They wouldn’t have done what they did if they thought we might see ’em again.”

Andre says nothin’, unable to take his eyes from the iPhone he manipulates, alternatin’ between the Instagram profiles of two hipster sisters, to better appraise our debasement.

#bayoumen is the hashtag they affixed to photos they’d taken with us just a coupla hours prior, at the one bar this town possesses, which we fellas have yet to leave. They’d flirted and led us on, allowin’ me to buy ’em drink after drink and believe that maybe, just maybe, one or more of us would be blessed with a bit of rich girl pussy for a few minutes…or twenty. They’ve got relatives in the area, they claimed, and had just attended one’s funeral. Some black sheep aunt of theirs. A real nobody.

Finally, Andre breaks his silence. “Look at this, right here. They used some kinda special effect to give me yellow snaggleteeth. I go to the dentist religiously. Look at these veneers.”

Barin’ his teeth, he reveals a mouthful of perfect, blindin’-white dental porcelain.

“Yeah, and they made Claude’s eyes way closer together than they really are and gave ’im a unibrow,” I say. “And they gave me a neckbeard and a fiddle. Look pretty real, don’t they?”

“Look at all the likes they’re gettin’. Thousands already. Everyone’s crackin’ jokes on us, callin’ us inbreds and Victor Crowleys, whatever that means. Look, that bitch Marissa just replied to someone’s comment. ‘Those bayou gumps were so cringe, we’re lucky we didn’t end up in their gumbo,’ she wrote. Fuck this. I’mma give ’er a piece of my mind.” A few minutes later, after much furious typin’, Andre adds, “Well, now she’s blocked me. Probably never woulda told us their real names if they knew that we’re on social media.”

Indeed, outlanders often make offensive assumptions when learnin’ of our bayou lifestyles. Hearin’ of our tarpaper shacks, they assume that we do naught but wallow in our own filth every day and smoke pounds of meth. Earnin’ a livin’ catchin’ shrimps, crabs, and crawfishes doesn’t appeal to ’em. They’d rather work indoors, if they even work at all. Solitude brings ’em no peace whatsoever. They care nothin’ for lullabies sung by frogs and crickets. Ya know, maybe they’re soulless.

I wave the bartender over and pay our tab. Nearly three days’ earnings down the drain. “Let’s get outta here, fellas,” I say. “It’s time for somethin’ stronger. There’s blueberry moonshine I’ve been savin’ at my place. It’ll drown our sorrows in no time.”

“Your place, huh,” says Claude. “We ain’t partied there in a minute.”

* * *

The roar of my airboat’s engine—as I navigate brackish water, ever grippin’ the control lever, passin’ between Spanish moss-bedecked cypresses that loom impassively, fog-rooted—makes conversation a chore. Still, seated before me, Andre and Claude shout back and forth.

“Bayou men aren’t fuckin’ rapists!” hollers Claude. “We’re not cannibals neither! I can whip up a crawfish boil better than anything those stuck-up cunts’ve ever tasted!”

“Damn straight!” responds Andre. “Bayou men are hard-workin’, God-fearin’, free folk! If they should be scared of anyone around these parts, it’s Bayou Ma’am!”

“Bayou Ma’am?!” I shout, as if that moniker is new to my ears. “Who the hell’s that…some kinda hooker?!”

“Hooker, nah!” attests Claude. “She’s a…whaddaya call it…hybrid! Half human, half alligator, mean as Satan his own self!”

“I heard that a gator was attackin’ a woman one night!” adds Andre. “Then a flyin’ saucer swooped down from the sky and grabbed ’em both wit’ its tractor beam! Somehow, the beam melded the gator and his meal together all grotesque-like! The aliens saw what they’d done and wanted none of it, so they abandoned Bayou Ma’am and flew elsewhere!”

“I heard toxic chemicals got spilt somewhere around here and some poor teenager swam right through ’em!” Claude contests. “She was pregnant at the time! A few months later, Bayou Ma’am chewed her way right on outta her!”

“Damn, that’s fucked up!” I shout, well aware of the grim reality lurkin’ behind their tall tales.

* * *

Bayou Ma’am is my cousin, you see. As a matter of fact, she was born just seven months after I was, in a shack half a mile down the river from mine. Her mom, my Aunt Emma, died in childbirth—couldn’t stop bleedin’, I heard. Maybe if they’d visited an obstetrician, things would’ve gone otherwise.

My aunt and uncle were reclusive sorts, and no one but them and my parents had known of her pregnancy. There aren’t many residences this far from town, and none are close together. It’s easy to disappear from the world, to eschew supermarkets and restaurants and consume local wildlife exclusively. Uncle Enoch buried Aunt Emma in a private ceremony and kept their daughter’s existence a secret from everyone but my mom and dad. Even I didn’t meet her until we were both four.

One day, a pair of strangers shuffled into my shack—which, of course, belonged to my parents in those days, up ’til they moved to Juneau, Alaska when I was sixteen, for no good reason I could see.

“This is your Uncle Enoch,” my dad told me, indicatin’ a goateed, scrawny scowler. “And that’s his daughter, your cousin Lea.”

Though itchy and bedraggled, though dressed in one of Uncle Enoch’s old t-shirts that had been refashioned into a crude dress, Lea sure was a cutie. Her eyes were the best shade of sky blue I’ve ever seen and her hair was all golden ringlets. Shyly, she waved to me with the hand she wasn’t usin’ to scratch her neck.

The two of ’em soon became our regular visitors. I never took to my perpetually pinch-faced Uncle Enoch, with his persecution complex and conspiracy theories shapin’ his every voiced syllable. Lea, on the other hand, I couldn’t help but be charmed by. She had such a sunny disposition, such full-hearted character, that I was always carried away by the games her inquisitive, inventive mind conjured. Leavin’ our parents to their serious, sunless discussions, we hurled ourselves into the vibrant outdoors and surrendered to our impish natures.

“I’m a hawk, you’re a squirrel!” declared Lea. Outstretchin’ her arms, she voiced ear-shreddin’ screeches, and chased me around ’til we both collapsed, gigglin’. “Whoever collects the most spider lilies wins!” she next decided. “The loser becomes a spider! A great, big, gooey one! Yuck!”

We skipped stones and spied on animals, learned to dance, cartwheel and swim. We played hide-and-seek often, with whichever one of us was “it” allowed to forfeit the game by whistlin’ a special tune we’d improvised. It was durin’ one such game that Lea made a friend.

“I’m comin’ to get you!” I shouted, after closin’ my eyes and countin’ to fifty. Our environs bein’ so rich in hiding spots, expectin’ a lengthy hunt, I was most disappointed to find my cousin within just a few minutes. There she was, at the river’s edge. Behind her, towerin’ cypress trees seemed to sprout from their inverted, ripplin’ doppelgangers. So, too, did Lea seem unnaturally bound to her watery reflection, until I stepped a bit closer and exclaimed, “Get away from there, quickly! That’s a gator you’re pettin’!”

Indeed, we’d both been warned, many times, to avoid the bayou’s more dangerous critters. Black bears and bobcats were said to roam about these parts, though we’d seen neither hide nor hair of ’em. Snakes flitted about the periphery, never lingerin’ long in our sights. We’d seen plenty of gators swimmin’ and lazin’ about, though. As long as we kept our distance and avoided feedin’ ’em, they’d leave us alone, we’d been told.

“Oh, it’s just a little one!” Lea argued, scoopin’ the creature into her arms and plantin’ a smooch on his head. “A cutie-patootie, friendly boy. I’m gonna call ’im Mr. Kissy Kiss.”

I studied the fella. Nearly a foot in length, he was armored in scales, dark with yellow stripes. Fascinated by his eyes, with their vertical pupils and autumn-shaded irises, I stepped a bit closer. Mr. Kissy Kiss’ mouth opened and closed, displayin’ dozens of pointy teeth, as Lea stroked him.

“Well, I guess he does seem kinda nice,” I admitted. “I wonder where his parents are.”

“Maybe his mommy and daddy went to heaven, and are singin’ with the angels,” said Lea.

“Maybe, maybe, maybe,” I mockingly singsonged.

Suddenly, a strident shout met our ears: my mother callin’ us in for lunch. Carefully, Lea deposited Mr. Kissy Kiss onto the shoreline. He then crawled into the water—never to return, I assumed.

Boy, was I wrong. A few days later, I found Lea again riverside, feedin’ the little gator a dozen snails she’d collected—crunch, crunch, crunch. A week after that, he strutted up to my cousin with a bouquet of purple petunias in his clenched teeth.

“Ooh, are these for me?” Lea cooed, retrievin’ the flowers and tuckin’ one behind her ear. “I love you so much, little dearie,” she added, strokin’ her beloved until his tail began waggin’.

Their visits continued for a coupla months, until mean ol’ Uncle Enoch caught us at the riverside as we attempted to teach Mr. Kissy Kiss to fetch. Oh, how the man pitched a fit then.

“No daughter of mine’ll be gator meat!” he shouted. “Sure, he’s nice enough now, but these bastards grow a foot every year! By the time he’s eleven feet long and weighs half a ton, you’re be nothin’ but a big mound of shit he left behind.” Seizing Lea by the arm, my uncle then dragged her away.

When next we did meet, a few days later, my cousin wasted no time in leadin’ me back to the riverside. “Where are you, Mr. Kissy Kiss?” she wailed, until the little gator swam from the shadows to greet her. Sweepin’ him into her arms, she said. “Let’s run away together, right this minute, so that we’ll never be apart.”

“Oh, that’s not such a great idea,” a buzzin’ voice contested. “Little girls go missin’ all the time and their fates are far from enviable.”

“Who said that?” I demanded, draggin’ my gaze all ’cross the bayou.

“’Tis I, Lord Mosquito,” was the answer that accompanied the alightin’ of the largest bloodsucker I’ve ever seen. Its legs were longer than my arms were back then. Iridescent were its cerulean scales, glimmerin’ in the sun.

“Mosquitos don’t talk,” I protested.

“They do when they were the Muck Witch’s familiar. Now she’s dead and I’m free to fly where I might.”

“I ain’t never hearda no Muck Witch.”

“And she never heard of you. That’s the way of southern recluses. Still, such is the great woman’s power that she grants wishes even now, from the other side of death. The Muck Witch’ll ensure that you never part with your precious pet, little Lea, just so long as you follow me to her grave and ask her with proper courtesy.”

Well, I’d been warned about witches and the deceitfulness of their favors, so I attempted to drag Lea back to my shack, away from the bizarre insect. But the girl fought me most ferociously, clawin’ flesh from my face, so I ran for my parents and uncle instead.

By the time the four of us returned to the riverside, neither girl nor gator nor mosquito could be sighted. We searched the bayou for hours, shriekin’ Lea’s name, to no avail.

A few weeks later, after we hadn’t seen the fella for a while, my parents dragged me to my uncle’s shack, so that we might suss out his state of mind and offer him a bit of comfort.

“I found her,” Uncle Enoch attested, usherin’ us into his livin’ room, which was now occupied by a large, transparent tank.

Atop its screen lid, facin’ downward, were dome lamps that emanated heat and UVB lightin’ from their specialized bulbs. Silica sand and rocks spanned its bottom, beneath a bathtub’s wortha water. At one end of the tank, boulders protruded from the agua. Upon ’em rested a terrible figure. If not for the recognizable t-shirt she wore, I’d never have surmised her identity.

“Luh…Lea?” I gasped. “What in the world has become of ya?”

Indeed, though Lea had wished to always be with her beloved gator, I doubt that she’d desired for the creature to be merged with her, to be incorporated into Lea’s very physicality. Patches of scales were distributed here and there across her exposed flesh. Her beautiful blue eyes remained, but her nose and mouth had stretched into an alligator’s wide snout, filled with many conical teeth. And let’s not forget her long, brawny tail.

After our initial shock abated and dozens of unanswerable questions were voiced, my parents took me home. Never again did they return to my uncle’s shack, but a dim sense of familial obligation had me comin’ back every coupla weeks, to feed Lea local muskrats and opossums I’d captured, and help my uncle change her tank’s shitty water.

The years went by, and Lea moved into a succession of larger tanks. Eventually, she grew big enough to wear her mother’s old dresses, seemin’ to favor those with floral patterns.

Finally, just a coupla months ago, I arrived at the shack to find Lea’s tank shattered. Torn clothin’ and scattered bloodstains were all that remained of Uncle Enoch, and my cousin was nowhere to be seen.

Not long after that, the Bayou Ma’am sightings began, which vitalized increasingly outlandish rumors and the occasional drunken search party. Luckily, no one has managed to photograph or film Lea yet, as far as I know.

* * *

At any rate, back in the present, I cut the airboat’s engine, leavin’ us driftin’ along our twilight current. It takes a moment for our arrested momentum to register with Claude and Andre, then both are bellowin’, askin’ me what the fuck’s goin’ on.

Rather than voice bullshit answers, I whistle the special tune my cousin and I improvised all those years ago, again and again, to ensure that I’m heard.

Moments later, Lea bursts up from the water, wearin’ a floral dress that had once been red-with-white-lilies, before the bayou muck spoiled it. In the fadin’ light, blurred by her own velocity, she could be mistaken for a primeval relic, a time-lost dinosaur of a species hitherto unknown. But, as her nickname had been so freshly upon their lips, both of my passengers, nearly synchronized, cry out, “Bayou Ma’am!”

Whatever the fellas might’ve said next is swallowed by their shrieks, as Lea tackles Andre out of his passenger seat while simultaneously swattin’ Claude across the face with her tail. The latter’s nose and mouth implode, spillin’ gore down his shirt.

Attemptin’ to gouge out Lea’s eyes as she and he roll across the deck, Andre instead loses both of his hands to her snappin’ teeth. Blood fountains from his new wrist stumps as he falls unconscious.

Claude tries to dive off the side of my airboat, but Lea’s powerful mouth has already seized him by the leg, its grip nigh unbreakable. She begins shakin’ her head—left to right, right to left—until Claude’s entire right calf muscle is torn away and swallowed.

“Ah, God, that hurts!” he shouts. His eyes meet mine and he begs, “Help me! Kill the bitch!”

“Sorry,” I respond, comfortably perched in the driver seat, an audience of one, watchin’ Lea’s teeth tear through the fella’s arm, as his free hand slaps her snout.

After Lea’s mouth closes around Claude’s skull, my friend’s struggles finally cease. Not much is left of him now. All of his thoughts and feelings have surely evanesced.

Groggily, Andre returns to consciousness, only to find himself helpless as Lea tears away his pants and consumes his right leg, then his left. She takes special delight in dinin’ on his genitals, as is evidenced by her waggin’ tail.

Blood loss carries Claude’s soul away, even as Lea moves onto his abdomen.

* * *

I’ll miss Claude and Andre. Friends aren’t easily attained in the bayou and they were the best ones I’ve ever had. All of the memories we made together will be carried only by me now. When I’m gone, it’ll be as if those events never happened.

Perhaps I should say a prayer as I push what little is left of their corpses into the dark river, but all I can think to say is, “Farewell, cousin,” as Lea swims away, glutted. Does she even care that I sacrificed chummy companionship to help keep her existence unknown?

It’s tough as hell to fight a rumor, but I’m sure gonna try. I’ll say that Claude and Andre hitchhiked to Tijuana, cravin’ a bit of prostituta. No need to further enflame the Bayou Ma’am seekers. If many more of ’em disappear, it’s sure to spell trouble for Lea.

Perhaps my cousin’ll be captured one day, for display or dissection. Or maybe I’ll discover the Muck Witch’s grave and attempt to wish Lea back to normal. Is Lord Mosquito still alive? If so, can it be persuaded to help?

Whatever the case, I wasn’t lyin’ about that blueberry moonshine earlier. Lickety-split, I’ll be drinkin’ my way into slumberland, and therein escape familial obligation for a while.

[call-me-lemon]

I had a weird dream at first. First it was pokemon, then it was about this family with like 10 kids and a tiny house and some weird magic shit going on? The eldest daughter was wearing a flying squirrel onesie and the oldest brother took her to a dinosaur theme park but she didnt like it so she tried to run away from him, but no matter how fast she ran the brother was always faster. Then when they got to the parking lot she got scared by a neckbeard pedo leaning out of his car to try and hit on her and like kidnap her so she hid behind the brother instead. Then the brother took her to their car and it turned into a car chase and the brother was a shit driver and crashed the car several times and when they got home they stood in like a classroom because apparently they were homeschooled and talked about it with some of the younger children while they scraped patches of magic stickers of off of the inside of a box. Then I woke up and went back to sleep and it was a dream where I was in a boat trying to fish but the boat wouldnt slow down to let me fish. Then it turned into a dream where I was at a reptile show holding a HUGE retidulated python named DEEZ NUTS (You HAVE to scream it for the snake to respond)

[uncanny-tranny]

that specific form of fetishisation is misogyny n transphobia. unfortunately ppl still view us as women in some manner and treat us accordingly :/

That's what the post was mostly about, but I think it's important to also remember that different trans men/transmasc people or those presumed as transmasc or trans men will have different relationships to this phenomenon.

For instance, as it was pointed out, the narrative shifts after one transitions - especially medically. The narrative shifts to demonizing the effects of testosterone, such as calling a trans person's facial hair "neckbeards" or mocking the way hormones change our bodies, voices, bodily hair growth, our reproductive abilities, and so many other things. A lot of the fetishization which transmasculine people are subject to seems to be at least partially done to scare them away from (medical) transition if that's something they'd like ("you don't want to be an ugly man, don't you?"). There are many reasons, ranging from the disdain of men, to us being viewed as baby-making factories, to us being seen as incapable of making decisions because we're viewed as women, and likely a lot of other things.

Pre-medical transition, I was scared of how testosterone might make me undesirable and ugly and gross, and this was because the fetishization of transmasculine people relies on convincing transmasc people that we're desirable, good, and ultimately more attractive when we don't transition. Being told over and over how ugly men on testosterone became made me upset, because the only thing that mattered was my consumability. My body was the product, and others could take what they wanted from me. It seems I'm not the only one who felt this way, either.

I'm adding this here as this anon made me think more about how I felt about this, as well as other ways I think the fetishization of transmasculine bodies and experiences manifests. Transmasculine people still experience misogyny, but it's entangled with the transphobia of other people not respecting us and trying to force their views of us onto us.

[geezerwench]

So by not letting teachers groom kids for pedos is making America become a shit hole? Nah, liberals are turning America into a shit hole. Nice thing about rope though? It’s cheap and reusable.

Marvin Milktoast, or one of his little circle-jerk friends, came back!

Or is it Percival Pencilneck? Quincy Qanonymous? Nickie Neckbeard? Ivan Incel?

Not too scared to flap your gums, but too afraid and fearful to sign your name.

Wow. What. A. Man.

Toast those tiny testes yet? Bare-skin wrestle any of your bros?

Anyhow, we certainly cannot allow teachers to groom kids! The conservative "christian" right and elected Republican officials are doing a marvelous job all on their own.

(Where anon got his "teacher" propaganda from X)

GOP: Gang of Pedophiles

700 and counting: Republican Sexual Predators, Abusers, and Enablers

You could even call it The 700 Club!

Where, oh where, are the people who cry and wail about protecting the children? Where are the QAnons who seek out the groomers and pedos? Why have they not done something about this? Oh, woe. WOE!

Wait. Was that a threat there at the end? Either Percy Poppinpubes threatened me, or ...

Suicide bait?

By the way, good rope is NOT cheap.

[seiyasabi]

Ugly Bastard

(This is a Yandere Milluki Zoldyck x Rabbit Female Darling :))

I’m really sorry if this wasn’t what you wanted, but this is my interpretation of his character, and my interpretation is that he’s considered the ugly bastard and a neckbeard :/ I hope you enjoy this. 

TW: Aged up!!, Forced heat!, !technically noncon!, !dubcon!, He’s rlly gross!, daddy kink!, objectification!!, breeding kink!, typical neckbeard behaviour, mate literally doesn’t wash himself (I’m so sorry) or clean his room!, he fucks you while you hold a comfort object, etc.. 

I don’t normally say this, but please, please proceed with caution! This got really dark and disgusting :/) 

-

Giggling to himself, the short haired man holds a glass vial up to the light, the amber liquid inside sloshing violently. A grotesque smile paints his chubby face, thick fingers holding it so tightly that his knuckles are turning white, “Thank you, Illu-nii! She surely can’t resist me now!” 

The oldest Zoldyck looks down at his younger brother with disgust, wondering how exactly he became this way, “Of course… But, if she was giving you so much trouble, why not take her-?” 

Milluki shakes his head, holding the vial close to his breast, “No! I can’t do that, are you crazy?” Illumi raises a perfectly shaped brow, unimpressed by his grease ball of a brother, “I’m not the ugly bastard in this story! I’m her handsome prince-” 

Illumi tunes him out, rolling his eyes. Of course his brother doesn’t have morals, he just wants you to bow to his every whim. 

Although the eldest brother couldn’t critique the younger too much, he still couldn’t shake the overwhelming repugnance he feels towards him. 

He’s seen the room you’re trapped in, seen the harsh way Milluki tugs on your ears and tail, seen the- he shivers at the memory of the short haired man forcing you to feed him. The excessive way he chews with his mouth open, trying to get a reaction out of you, makes the tall man’s blood boil. He has no idea how you’re able to keep calm, but he can applaud you for it. 

“-So this is my last resort! Thanks to you, Illu-nii, we can now continue to Zoldyck like!” Illumi can’t help but shiver in disgust at the idea of Milluki reproducing. 

“Yes, yes, of course. You go do that,” With quick feet, the slim man hurries away, hoping to escape this conversation as quickly as possible. 

Glancing at the vial in his hand, Milluki squeals in delight, a gross smile on his greasy face. 

Tonight is going to be a night to remember. 

-

Hearing the door open, you immediately look up from your clean spot on the bed. In your arms you hold your stuffed rabbit, cradling it to your black bodysuit clad breast. 

Seeing your captor waddling into the room, you jump to your feet to greet him. Putting on a fake happy smile, lifting your ears, and shaking your tail, you start to gush over him, “Daddy, welcome back! I’m so happy to see you!” You hop over empty Mountain Dew Liters filled with piss, wrappers of empty food containers, broken games that disappointed Milluki, and his dirty clothes. You try to clean up, you really do, but Milluki is one of the sloppiest people to ever live.

His ugly face grins at your beautiful form, your pretty face, and cute voice, “What a good bunny, coming to greet her Daddy!” He opens his arms for a hug, making you breathe through your mouth. Landing on his large stomach, you lay your head against his breast, trying your best to block out his grease, musk, and food stains. 

This bastard fills you with so much disgust and anger. He tells you that you need to lose weight, dress up pretty, put on a lot of makeup, keep clean, and be well shaven. Yet, here he is, looking like a goddamn catastrophe. 

“I missed you so much! Me and Hoppy,” You raise their stuffed animal, “Were waiting for you all day!” 

He rubs a sweaty hand over your exposed shoulders, “You’re so cute, Bun. Daddy has a special present for you today,” He uses the hand that once rubbed your shoulders to reach into his pocket, withdrawing a certain amber filled vial, “Be a good girl, and drink this all. You’ll do that for me, right?” 

You pull away from him to look at what he’s offering, feeling dread weigh down on your heart, “What is it, Daddy?” 

He tuts condescendingly at your question, releasing you from the awkward side hug you were in. His thumb and forefinger grip your chin, a suddenly serious look on his face. Fuck, you forgot that rule, “Bun, you know how Daddy feels when you question him! Good girls don’t question their Daddies, we always know what’s best for them.” 

You want to scream ‘no’ at him, but unfortunately, you’d rather not receive a brutal punishment tonight. Nodding your head, you smile up at him, “Okay! I’m sorry for questioning you, Daddy.” 

He squeezes your tail, before grabbing your hand, and forcefully placing the vial into it, “Good, Bun Bun! Now, drink this!” 

Rolling the warm glass in your hand, you scrunch your nose slightly at the weird smell of the contents inside. But, feeling his warning glare on your figure, you quickly uncap it, and throw it back like a shot. 

It tastes horrible! 

You can’t help but gag at its vomit esque taste. Covering your mouth with a hand, you stare down at the vial in both shock and disgust. Luckily, you’re able to choke it down, but you’re only barely able to. 

“Good Bunny, I’m proud of you,” He runs a moist hand through your hair, making your stomach lurch. 

“Thank you, Daddy,” Milluki drags you to his bed, disregarding the trash you have to step on with your bare feet. Once at the bed, he tries to push you onto his side. You don’t allow yourself to fall forward, instead opting for your designated sliver of the bed. No matter what you try, no matter how many times you change your sheets, Milluki’s side always ends up absolutely filthy! His grease, food stains and…… unspecified stains discolour any colour of sheets, even black ones! So, you only stay on your side, trying not to get a skin infection. 

He makes a noise of disapproval behind you, but quickly flops down on his side, his arms squeezing your middle tightly. His right hand lays over your tummy, squeezing slightly. Thinking that he was going to critique your looks, you whimper slightly, “I’m sorry, Daddy, am I gaining weight? I can go on another diet-“ 

“No! No! You’re doing great, Bun! If anything, I think you’ll need to be a little bigger…” He trails off, increasing your nerves. Is that why you’re sweating? It’s suddenly very hot in here. 

“Daddy, is the heater on?” You lay your free hand on your forehead, the other gripping Hoppy in an ironclad grip. Are you getting sick? That could be a problem. Your diet since getting here has changed drastically, along with your sleeping pattern, cleanliness or your environment, and your stress level. Hopefully he’ll cast you into a separate room, leaving you to your own devices. 

“No, why?” He removed your hand from your forehead, and replaced it with his own. Is this supposed to happen? He isn’t too sure how heats are supposed to happen. 

“I-I think I’m getting sick, Daddy. Should I go take a cold bath?” 

“No! I mean, uhm, no, that won’t be necessary. Just stay right here,” He tightens his hold even more, you can feel your ribs creak underneath his fingertips. 

You say nothing, starting to curl into yourself at the feeling of cramps in your abdomen. Could you be starting your period? 

“I think I started my period,” You don’t see him look at you in disgust, but you can feel it. 

“Then get up, I don’t want you dirtying the sheets,” You had to stop yourself from laughing. You? Dirtying the sheets? Says the man who has turned them rancid! You set your bunny stuffie on your clean pillow, trying to keep it away from any dirt. 

Hurrying to your feet, you move quickly towards the bathroom. Once inside, you flick on the light, showing its pristine condition. He almost never comes in here, leaving it clean. 

Unzipping your outfit, you pull your tail out of its hold, and shuck it down your legs. Once bare to the room, you open the toilet seat lid, and sit. 

Once done with your business, you wipe, expecting something to be different, but not what you see. The piece of toilet paper is absolutely drenched, and not in what you think. 

You slick is practically drenching your entire hand, scaring the shit out of you. What on Earth is happening to you?! And why did the feeling of your wiping feel so good?!

Grabbing baby wipes, you wipe down your pussy and ass, cleaning yourself up as much as possible. You stand up on shaky legs, closing the lid, flushing the toilet, washing your hands, but the pain becomes too much.  Tears bead your eyes as your fear and pain take over, causing you to curl into a ball on the marble floor.

A burning feeling of arousal pools in your belly, making the urge to touch yourself grow exponentially. What the hell did Milluki give you? And aphrodisiac? You’ve never had a heat in your life! 

Milluki knocks on the door after a long period of silence, the only thing he hears is your crying, “What’s wrong, Bunny? Is everything alright in there?” 

You whimper in response, prompting him to open the door. The sight of your naked body made him do a double take. And, upon seeing a growing puddle of arousal around your hips, he can’t help but salivate. 

“Is my little one in heat? How precious! Cute little bunnies need their Daddy, and if you ask nicely, I’ll be happy to assist you!” Milluki bends down to grab you, but finds difficulty when his large stomach stops him halfway. Grunting slightly, he crouched down, finally able to grab one of your arms and heft you into his own. Once secure, he stands to his feet, stumbling to your bed. 

He tosses you in the middle, much to your disgust, and flips you onto your back. He gazes down at your perfect body, practically salivating at the sight of you. 

Your pussy is drooling onto the dirty sheets, cleaning away his dirt in its midst. Perfect teats are pebbled, chest heaving in deep breaths. Your ears hang high above your head, curling slightly, looking adorable. Your little tail above your cute butt looks so nice to pull. A thin sheen of sweat is present on your skin, and as much as he wants to be disgusted, he can’t. You’re just too perfect like this. 

“Do you need Daddy’s help? Come on, you need to beg for him,” Your body locks up in revulsion. You don’t want his nasty cock anywhere near you! For all you know, he’ll give you a bacterial infection! 

“Nu-no, Daddy. I just-I just need to sleep, I think!” Looking over your shoulder, you see a dark present on his face. 

“Are you disgusted by me?” His voice comes out deeper than normal, anger slowly starting to become apparent. 

“No! No! Nothing like that, Daddy!” You force your aching body up, crawling towards him. You’re on your knees before him, holding onto his dress shirt pathetically within your pretty hands, “I just-you know I want to wait until we’re married,” You look down in an attempt to be bashful. Telling him that lie at the beginning really saved your ass, but right now, it seems that he’s tired of waiting, “I promise that that’s all! Because what if I get pregnant? I want to ensure my baby is taken care of-“ 

He grabs your hands, yanking you towards him, your naked chest smashing into his fat. He cups your face with gross hands, gaging your reaction. When all he sees is anxiety, he sighs overdramatically, “There’s no need to worry about all of that. Mama said I can marry you, so we can make a baby now!” His words make you gush with unwanted arousal, the last thing you want is him to fuck you, “See?” He releases your face with one hand, using the other to scoop up some of your arousal, “Why are you stopping yourself? Daddy’s cock is more than sufficient to fill you up.”

Try as you might, the smell of his arousal and your heat clouded mind are starting to drive you wild. He’s the closest fertile male, making your instincts go into overdrive to mate. 

A pathetic whine leaves your throat, making him giggle horribly, “Even all teary eyed, you still look so cute. Good thing all of your makeup is water-proof, because if they weren’t, you’d look so ugly right now.”

You’re so aroused, that his words don’t make you furious like you usually would be. 

“Now, take out my cock, Bunny. Suck me well, and I’ll breed your pretty pussy well,” In your mind, you don’t want to. You don’t even want to touch him with a ten foot pole. But, instinctually, you’re ready to jump his bones. 

With shaking hands, you grab his belt, unlooping it with ease. Sliding it off, you move to his button and fly. Unbuttoning his pants is a bit difficult, due to it barely containing his large body, but you manage. Once done, you move on to his drawers, gross, white stains cover the front of them in a crusty topcoat. 

Shivering in disgust, you pull them down, revealing his decent sized cock. Milluki smiles down at you, and grabs your ears in a makeshift ponytail, egging you on. 

Deciding not to look to close at his repulsively unwashed cock, you close your eyes, and suck on his precum coated tip. It tastes awful. If you thought that heat inducing elixir was awful, this is 100 times worse. 

Withholding your gags, you take him further down your throat, praying you don’t get strep throat. Using your tongue, you rub the vein on the bottom of his shaft. Hollowing out your cheeks, you suck him hard, bobbing your head quickly in the hopes of him finishing. 

Gripping your ears even harder, he groans and pants as he bucks into your mouth. Milluki can’t believe it! His waifu is sucking his cock willingly! 

That thought has him busting a fat, chunky load down your throat, causing you to almost throw up for real this time. He quickly pulls you off by your ears, looking down at you in awe. 

The puddle around your cunt only grew bigger, and your fucked out expression is so endearing! 

“Good girl for making Daddy cum! Do you want him to cum in that cunny? To make the hurt go away?” You nod eagerly, making a piggish smirk cross his features, “Beg for me, Bun Bun, beg for me nicely, and I’ll do it.”

 You grasp his cloth covered hips in a tight grip, resting your chin on his large stomach, “Please, Daddy! Please make it stop! Please fill me!” 

“Hmm, I’m not sure if I’m convinced,” Whining at his words, you turn around in his hold, pressing your slick cunt against his already hardening cock. Rubbing lightly, you keen at the pressure. 

“Please, Daddy, I’m begging you! Please fuck me!” Milluki can’t hold back anymore, immediately forcing his cock inside your soaked pussy. Screaming in pleasure, you push yourself harder against him, tail tickling the underside of his tummy. 

“Shit, you feel amazing,” He bucks his hips into yours hard and fast, not caring about your pleasure, “Don’t you see? This is your purpose; a little Bun like you is meant to be my cock sleeve, my little baby maker.”

You can’t bring yourself to respond, only pathetically fucking yourelf into his thrusts. He groans at your tight and wet walls, loving the way your cute, bunny body clings to him. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” He lifts one of your ears to whisper into it, “You want my babies? You want me to cum inside?”

You nod your head rapidly, disregarding the slight pain of his tugging, “Uh-huh, please fill me up, Daddy! Make me your house wife! Make me have your baby!” 

Your words send him over the edge. Slamming himself deep inside you, he releases his disgusting cum inside your womb, bloating your tummy slightly. 

The large man leans on your smaller form, smushing your face into the dirty sheets. Within moments, the burning feeling and pain is gone, leaving you disturbed and revolted. 

“Wha-what do good girls say to their Daddies?” You wanted to throw yourself out of a thirty floor window. 

“Thank you, Daddy. Thank you for giving me a baby,” He pets your head with a moist hand, rolling out and off of you, in favour of lying behind you. He wraps an arm around you, pulling you close to his soft body. 

Milluki falls asleep quickly, allowing you to cry quietly to yourself. 

Outside the door, Illumi stands motionless. He can hear your crying, and for the first time in his life, he truly pities someone. 

He can only hope his father will reject you as Milluki’s spouse. 

Otherwise, you’ll be stuck with the ugly bastard for life. 

Requester: @milluki-simp--i-guess