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#tw; kidnapping
boxes182 · 2 months
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Arcadekitten: "I don't like problematic ships!" Also Arcadekitten with Mareggie:
(Context for the following images is that Reginald is depicted on numerous occasions committing: kidnapping, attempted assault with a physical object[which in this case was a fucking printer he chucked at her from the top of a stairway that would've probably killed her under normal circumstances], stealing items from Mary's home, clippings of her hair, photos of her without her consent or knowledge[with one of them being of her sleeping], cutting her tongue out in one ending where she caught him after he had murdered Twyla, trying to fake her death in Blackout Hospital so he could kidnap her again, attempting to kill her or Vasilis with a shovel, etc. The list is really, really long.)
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Ah yes, truly a not at all problematic ship that has nothing wrong with it at all, no siree!
Update Note: I'm starting to get the feeling that the people faving this post aren't actually getting the point I tried to make here, so allow me to clarify. This post was made specifically to point out Arcadekitten's hypocrisy in enforcing a "no problematic ships in my fanbase" policy when one of her biggest ships, Mareggie, is filled with problematic content(there's also Witchywool but I decided to focus on Mareggie specifically here since it is more relevant). If we cannot ship problematic content, then why is she herself allowed to do it without her personal fancops attacking her? What, because she's the creator? To that I say, bullshit!
If you wanna ship whatever you wanna ship, do it. It's the internet. Don't let the creator and their fancops choke you out of being creative by being a bunch of hypocritical assfuckers.
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terrence-silver · 9 months
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"Now i get tò ravish you" please for old Terry, he gives me the impression he would say that after finally kidnapping his beloved after she's popped from him countless times.
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His abductions were always the most amicable things in the world.
Blink and you'll miss it, for someone looking in from the outside, they might not even appear like a basic case of kidnapping; Being led inside by his smartly attired waiting staff after dropped of by an equally uniformed chauffeur addressing you with honorifics, welcomed back with open arms and all smiles, given a change of clothes and the opportunity to freshen up at your own leisure, sitting down with the host of the manor for a good vintage from his private collection and a cooled, tall glass already waiting for you methodically and patiently on your old spot, sharing a supper specifically prepared by his chefs followed up by dessert surrounded by candlelit splendor. Having a chat, like old friends afterwards while all the Michelin star delicacies settle into your gut and his hand sneaks a string of pearls around your neck as a gift, presented to you from a velvet embedded jewelry box commissioned just for you, clasping it at the back, welcoming you home.
Home.
For someone who wouldn't know any better and lacked explicit context, these occurrences had every marker of a classical date. A meeting between lovers. A quaint evening spent with a quaint man. Even if you regaled someone of the events of every time Terry Silver took you (not that anyone would ever believe any force or coercive measures were ever involved in the first place) it was you who would appear insane. Paranoid. Delusional. Mentally ill. An unstable fortune seeker looking to profit by bringing someone's pristine reputation down. Oddly ungrateful. You were wined, dined and wooed? How could you say it was a kidnapping? That you were being trespassed upon in any shape, way or form? Didn't you know making false allegations against an upstanding member of the community was morally repugnant? How could you throw around such dire accusations when you treated so finely? Most people would sell their own front teeth to be treated so well.
You understood it was elaborate gaslighting.
Oh, he was sly. So sly.
He knew exactly what he was doing and he did it so well.
That every time you were packed and cornered into a tinted glass vehicle in the middle of the day with a tone never raised above a kindly suggestion bearing an undercurrent of threats and driven out here, to his mansion Terry made sure he never gave you any reason to complain, bemoan your circumstances or possess any notable ammunition against him that could compromise him in the present or the future. Ever. That he made sure never to be anything but a perfect gentleman. That he made sure every evening was always equally immaculate as well. Every meal. Every drink. Every gesture. Every word directed your way. Every renewed tour of his property to covertly drill point the fact that there's no way off of the premises, just in case you've forgotten and needed reminders. Everything. To the point there were moments where you genuinely doubted your own sanity and perceptions of reality and believed that this was some old Hollywood movie before the invention of Technicolor and cynicism.
That you belonged here, and yet stubbornly kept running away.
Stubbornly kept running away from this infinitely patient man.
Who infinitely kept bringing you back because he loved you infinitely.
Troubled as you were.
By the time the beautiful evening was over and the inevitable came to pass --- bed time --- his bed --- sharing it with him, part of you was almost convinced that that's the way things should be in the great social exchange of things. Nothing was for free, after all. You wanted it. Or did you? Maybe. Yes. No. Not like this. Perhaps precisely like this. You weren't certain anymore. Of what you wanted or why. You were fed, you were lavished with gifts, you were treated enviably well, you were romanced and now you'd get fucked. You always were, whenever he'd bring you here, to him. With a smooth set of hands on your shoulders, caressing you tenderly, up and down, up and down, he beams down at you, close enough to smell, looming over you, brows furrowed in contentment as he guides you were the dragon usually slept, halting at the doorway of his master bedroom. You knew he'd cease being quite so gallant once you'd step over its threshold together. That's when his acting would stop. -"Now, I get to ravish you."- Terry Silver practically purrs, sounding humored. Yes, you supposed he would.
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bprdmyers · 1 year
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@thenightmareofyourdrems (jack)
chaos. everything had devolved into complete and utter chaos. agents moving in, voices on the screens, a horsemen hijacked show hijacked from the horsemen themselves. dylan exposed. spotlight upon jack, georgie standing next to him. she shouldn’t have been there, her quest to repair that which had been broken overriding any sense she may have held within her to refrain from such a blatant disregard for the so called law and order she should have stood for. she had once stood in her bedroom declaring to jack that her path had been set the moment she’d met him. perhaps, her words were truer than she had even realized, georgie finding herself in the worst possible spot, attention toward her just as much as him. though, there was the chance it could have been brushed off as her having been in the wrong place at the wrong time, if only jack hadn’t gripped her arm and pulled her along with him, toward the escape route, up the stairs, down the latter, to the shoot on the side of the building. at least it hadn’t been recorded, it will perhaps be the youngest myers’ only hope to remain in the shadows, to save her father embarrassment, to save her from becoming doomed to the same fate jack had always wanted to spare her from, turning her into a criminal like him. 
sounds. words. flashing. sleep. georgie’s experience is not the same as the horseman. she does not wake up with them in the kitchen of a restaurant in china. no, she had woken much earlier into her own distinct horror show.
‘it’s a pleasure to be working with you.’ mabry says, presenting himself to the horsemen like some kind of sick joke. he’s supposed to be dead, of this much henley recalls from their research, of this much jack points out after their group is shoved out of the elevator into walter mabry’s penthouse. mabry speaks of a world of surveillance where the only true freedom is not being seen. he speaks of his magic being technology and uses it as a launching pad to bring up real magic. ‘of course you, mr. wilder, would know all that about that wouldn’t you?’ he questions, transitioning away and leaving the comment held within the air. he begins to tell them how he got them there, shows them a video of pictures of which georgie remains unsettling out of. henley shifts uncomfortably when mabry sits between her and danny. and then, finally their lost companion is brought up, mabry circling back to jack as he rises from his seat and faces them. ‘i imagine you’re all wondering what happened to your agent friend, yes? and no, i don’t mean mr. rhodes whom, i’m fairly certain is having his own struggles back in the states. oh, that’s right. i don’t imagine mr. wilder told you he’s been sleeping with the enemy. let’s see. where’s the remote. ah, yes, here.’ he clicks a button and an image of georgie’s f.b.i. credentials display on the screen. danny emitting a rather loud expletive. ‘an fbi agent right under your noses this whole time. except-- she’s not an fbi agent at all, is she mr. wilder?’ the screen changes, showing her bprd badge and walter launches into a rather animated, yet short, speech about how the horsemen do tricks but there were things that go bump in the night. he tells them what the bprd stands for, says it’s remarkable what you can find on the internet if you knew what you were looking for. danny retorts that he’s crazy if he thinks they are going to believe what he’s saying is true, at least in respect to magic, danny’s fairly certain he believes they were lied to about georgie’s identity. it only seems to bring a smirk to walter mabry’s features. ‘ah yes, i didn’t think you’d believe. so lets see what your friend’s been up to while you lot were sleeping. yes?’
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the screen changes again, this time to a video of a room where georgie appears to be waking up, stumbling as if she’s unbalanced. two armed men followed by a man in a lab coat appear to enter and georgie can be seen reaching out, the men thrust backward with an unseen force only for her to grip her head a moment later in pain. ‘i imagine he didn’t tell you about that either. quite disappointing really, dr. wang was supposed to be the best in his field here and yet he couldn’t get his drug cocktail right the first time. after all, couldn’t have your little girlfriend attacking my men, or me with her spooky powers now could i mr. wilder? as you can see, she very much had access to them though i imagine she felt a rather killer headache.’ it’s clear from the video that her attempt to use her powers again was hindered by the pain that she was feeling, the two men she’d thrown into the wall now coming toward her again and gripping her arms while the doctor moved about the room. a physical struggle is shown for georgie might usually use her powers in a fight but she was fully capable of defending herself the human way too. the struggle takes her and the men out of the frame for a moment, her sluggishly brought back into it a moment later as if she’d been struck or stunned before she’s given a shot of something that seemingly forces her to stop moving. he shuts off the screen and motions to his armed men. ‘as you can see, that was quickly remedied by a new cocktail. don’t ask me what’s in it, i’d rather not know.’ a pause as if for effect. then he speaks again. ‘i see no issue with allowing a little reunion. of course, if you refuse my preposition i can just as easily have her and you killed.’ he doesn’t tell them what his preposition is yet, instead seems to take enjoyment in watching as things play out in front of him. for the other horsemen’s part, they appear too stunned by what they’ve seen to be outwardly expressing outrage toward jack for secrets revealed, all attention turning toward the doors as georgie’s brought in, two men’s grips on her arms too tight for how sluggish she’s appearing. 
her skin is a shade too pale, sweat clinging to her features and a bruise appears on the side of her face from the fight she’d gotten into, in the same place she’d had one before after her fight with the spiked monster so many months ago. the lights are too bright for her and she squints, unfocused until she’s brought to a halt and shoved forward, stumbling. ‘speak of the agent and she shall appear.’ a play on words from mabry and georgie’s gaze shoots upward, anger, no, not quite anger but rage upon her features. her entire body feels as if it’s in a war with itself, the very fabric of it’s nature, the power within her cells being attacked from the inside out. her power unable to be reached and her body rebelling against it. she makes a move forward and it’s almost primal how angry she is, as if she’d be able to cross the distance and attack him right there where he stood, however, she’s forced down onto a knee a moment later by the same men that had brought her in, both of which look worse for ware, she’d gotten a few good moves in before she’d been subdued. she’d fought. she was anything if not a survivor. it’s then, she seems to become aware of the others in the room who stand up from the couch and she can see merritt’s hand grip onto jack’s arm as if he’s ready to stop him from taking some kind of action. jack. jack was there. her eyes trail upward, gaze connecting with his in relief, concern, fear, and something else, something not quite readable. she forces the men to let her stand up though she’s strained. it takes her more effort than it should. however, she stops fighting after a look is shared with mabry because she knows, even if she could manage to attempt some sort of action when they were surrounded by armed men, he has the power to hurt jack. and hurt the others. ‘you can let her go.’ mabry states, the men release their hold, shoving her forward again so she’s being propelled toward jack. and while mabry will give them a moment, he’s bored with this whole thing, so his preposition will not be far behind. 
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stillgrxwing · 1 year
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🧥 (finney & donna)
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“You shouldn’t...” Donna insisted, instantly moving to take the coat off. The dungeon was chilled, and the air blowing in everytime that creep opened the door was not making things any better. She was shivering, teeth chattering, and she hdn’t even noticed Finney had REALIZED until his jacket had been wrapped around her arms. “I don’t want you to get cold.” She insisted, because... at the end of the day, everything she had done had been for Finney. It was why she had been so willing to help him look for Gwen, so much so that it had ended up with her locked away in the same dungeon. But, at least, she was here with him. She sighed softly. “It is warm though.” She hummed, settling onto the rough bed. “You can take this tonight, I think I’m going to stay up, I don’t want to risk him coming in here.” She insisted. 
@bcssbitchs​
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transcowgirlslut · 1 month
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it's kind of bullshit that people will react with horror to me discussing my fantasies/kinks until i clarify I'm the sub in them. like even my therapist was all like "ohhh it's ok to want to hold power so long as it's consensual" and then clearly relaxed when I clarified I wanted to be the sub.
i love you everyone and with rape kinks, those who want to roleplay kidnapping and abusing someone, i love you i love you i love you. this ain't me fishing for a dom/me to be clear---you are VALUED as a person, outside of your sexual fantasies. I care about you and appreciate you, and there is nothing wrong or bad about you!!!!
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justxangelxthings · 5 months
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I have this fantasy where a group of men that I trust a lot (friends, coworkers, etc) get me a little tipsy at an otherwise boring party or gathering and convince me to play the "Who is touching you?" game, except they neglect to tell me the rest of the rules until I'm already blindfolded with my hands tied around my back. The rules being, each man will take turns "touching" (kissing, groping, stripping...as far as they want to go), and I must guess who it is while blindfolded. If I guess correctly, they must stop immediately, and pass me to the next person. If I guess incorrectly, they get to continue until they cum, however they want to use me to get off. I am then passed to the next person and they will rejoin the que to go again.
Between the sting of betrayal of abused trust and humiliation of what is happening to me I would have to quickly guess whose turn it was to prevent myself from being raped and abused, but after a wrong guess here that leads to a violent blowjob until I'm choking on cock and sobs and a wrong guess there that has my nipples dripping in cum after a forced tit-fuck, it's so hard to focus and concentrate and answer quickly before things go too far that I make another mistake and there's nothing I can do to stop the mystery predator from putting himself inside me and shoving me full, moving my body up and down with his thrusts as the party watches, finishing his turn deep in my womb before passing me on to the next, woozy and mortified and trembled and in no shape to make any more correct guesses. . .
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ghost-dada · 28 days
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nerdpoe · 2 months
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While Tim was setting up the final touches to rig Ra's base to blow, he finds someone that could be his carbon copy in the dungeons. The guy is unconscious, chained to the wall with multiple chains, and branded.
Tim, obviously, grabs Pru for a last minute extraction and gets the prisoner the hell out of there.
He knows this isn't a clone, because the earlobes are different, as is the brow shape and hair thickness. This is just...someone that apparently looked enough like Tim that Ra's, unconfirmed but APPARENTLY, decided to use to take out his aggression. Probably whenever Tim didn't listen.
They get the doppleganger out, get him treated, and he still isn't waking up. Tim takes him back to Gotham. The dude doesn't wake up. Gets him secured in the Bunker with Alfred. Alfred reports that the under-fed teen isn't waking up.
They get Bruce back.
Bruce goes to take a look at the ex-prisoner once he's recovered. Bruce gets Zatanna.
Zatanna tells them that the brand is acting as a seal, and the only way to get the kid to wake up is to disrupt the seal. But warns them that said seal only works on Beings from the Realm between Realms, and that to unleash one that had been abused would surely lead to the destruction of their own.
Tim calls bullshit.
Or; Danny was tricked and trapped by Ra's, who was siphoning blood out of him to add to the Pits and increase their efficacy. Tim finds Danny, misreads the situation, and rescues him. Now, even though Danny would probably just roll over and go back to sleep, JLD is telling the Bats that if they break the seal then he'll destroy the world. Tim disagrees.
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terrence-silver · 10 months
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❝  please stop—  this is scaring me. ❞ with terry silver. It can be about anything !
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Romance books would say 'I love you' and horror would say 'I want to crawl inside of your skin' and Terry Silver knew it was beautiful and in part hilarious how those two were the same things, really, only re-packed and re-phrased, depending of the genre.
The ultimate Yin and the Yang.
The same way he knew that in certain cultures kidnapping was a rite of courtship observed over centuries --- he's travelled enough to observe that crap himself. Turns out, people out on the Caucasus had the right idea about something. In the States, in Los Angeles, back home, it was a felony charge that could get a person anywhere from three, five or eight years depending on severity of the crime, though. Well, not for him, it wasn't. Not when you knew a guy who knew a guy and not when you had the habit of inviting regional attorney judges and his cabinet to dinners on the regular. But, in the moral and ethical sense once someone outgrew the law as a concept, which he did, and relied solely on their own senses as a compass and a guideline where rules and regulations meant for ordinary people couldn't do jackshit for him, it was bad. What he was doing was bad, he realized --- he wasn't delusional, no --- whatever bad even meant and he was as far removed from someone courting as can be in this moment, even though that was never the intent. This was all bad, but very much necessary, ends justifying the means. He knew that based off of your reaction. Packed into a private jet staffed with a smaller microcosm of luxury and comforts, flown back to his mansion, you still seemed displeased, Terry noted. Your drinks poured for you, fluffed and puffed, tended to, treated like the most precious someone on this flight and you still appeared distressed and shaken. The only crime he figured was broken here was the crime against your mood which he wanted --- no --- needed to fix. In any other genre, flying off together, like an alternative, happier ending to Casablanca, it could almost be elating and triumphant of a conclusion, but in this one ---
-"Please, stop ---"-
You mutter drily, your pleading subdued, stumbling over your words, seated opposite of him and strapped into your seat, not having touched the entrée you were brought at all. Disappointing. Seeing as how it was prepared especially with your tastes in mind. -"Terry, this is scaring me."- And then, there's an added urgency to your voice that shakes only slightly. Like you were frightened and didn't quite want to show it once you peek up at him from stubbornly staring at your own lap. The plane was somewhere over the Pacific Ocean right about now and you wouldn't look at him since you boarded. Why were you scared? Were you scared by the fact that his love wasn't of the passive variety and that he'd quite literally do the unthinkable for what he wanted, was that it? That he wasn't a bullshitter? That when Terry said extreme situations require extreme measures, it wasn't just fancy talk, him playing tough or a figure of speech and that he really, genuinely meant that crap --- was that it? What did you take him for? A wimp who wouldn't take what he wanted? A quitter!? Actually, scratch everything; you were meant to be scared. Maybe that would ensure you take him seriously next time.
-"I want to remind you walked inside of this plane of your own accord."-
Terry reminds, not unkindly, chuckling into his own chin, amused at your antics, setting his champagne glass to the side --- and it was the truth and nothing but the truth, for once. And oh, the plot twist! How he adored a good plot twist. He never pushed you. Never grabbed you. Never physically hauled you in. There was no infamous chloroform rag involved and no pushing or shoving. He wasn't a savage that threw you over a metaphorical stallion and rode off with you by force. No. He was ever the gentleman. He merely landed and opened the door and you instinctively knew what was expected of you. You came with him, because deep down, you wanted to and the tenacity of your own desires frightened you because it bypassed all reason. Because no option seemed better than that. Not even running, apparently. He scared you, yes, but you loved him. There was actually a wonderful proverb that fit the situation perfectly; A man is free the instant the wants to be. Voltaire said that. And clearly, you didn't want to be free. Not really. Not enough. You wanted him far more. That pleased him. Seemed like you desired this regardless what genre this thing was.
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sibmakesart · 3 months
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triggered from having his face covered
part 2
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sluttyiris · 24 days
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i want to be corrupted. send me any p0rn, the more debased the better, and i will rub my cunt to it. ill rub to anything and everything that gets sent to me no matter how ashamed and disgusting it makes me feel.
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sentient-stove · 3 months
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"Hey, um, is this Miranda?"
"It is. Who am I talking with?"
Oh thank god, he was worried he saved the wrong number for a moment there. Danny hit his wrist against the side of the pipe again, the motion doing nothing to break the dampener off. "Cool, um. God. I feel so awkward calling you. It's Danny- um Daniel Fenton? I'm part of the Launchpad Program going on this summer with Wayne Industries? The, um, the like twenty or so high school interns and whatever?"
"Daniel," There was the click of typing and then a hum of recognition from Miranda. "I do remember you, you were the kid that tripped in the lobby and got a bloody nose his first day. Is there something wrong?"
"I, ah, how do I say this without sounding stupid-"
"Daniel, I had an intern call me the other day because she accidentally ended up locked in a custodial closet alone. Nothing phases me."
"Oh, okay. Um, I kinda got kidnapped. Just a little bit." This time, when he tried to bash the dampener off, there was a crack from the bone, followed by blossoming pain when his powers couldn't flood in to heal it. "Also, I think I'm in shock."
"…Previous point withdrawn."
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justxangelxthings · 5 months
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Being overpowered is so hot. Feeling small and fragile is so hot. Fear and vulnerability and helplessness are so hot. Humiliation is so hot. Shame is so hot. Corruption is so hot. Being degraded is so hot. Being soft and feminine is so hot. Being degraded for being soft and feminine is so hot. Praise is so hot. Filthy talk is so
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fycoren · 18 days
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wuh oh-
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one-time-i-dreamt · 9 months
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I was getting kidnapped. Only thing I remember seeing was a billboard that just said: "Breastfeeding 👍".
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