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let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open

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@luciswan

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highkey forgot to post this on tumblr and it already got reposted in the meantime uhh anyways i love gay people!
Just a couple of unicorns
YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
for context:
“Beep Beep Bitch, You’re Gay!”
Updated the lesbian flag and added nonbinary, pan, ace, and aro for all your tacky LBGTQ+ barcode needs.
Hope yall like my abomination
That last one is fucking moving istg
at last. the gaydar

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angry reminder that "fujos are gross and they fetishize gay men" is terf shit
"but we talking about cishet women--"
no you're not, since the beginning this rethoric has been used in western fandom spaces to degrade, demonize and invalidate gay trans men
the end of that sentence in quotations at the top is "...and they fetishize them so bad they start wanting to be men so they can force and trick cis gay men into fucking pussy"
that idea is only ever used to hurt cis queer women who are passionate about erotic art and fiction, closeted individuals who try to explore their sexuality and gender in a safe space, children who definitely should not be in these spaces but no one knows how to keep them out so obv they have no idea how to react to the inappropriate content they consume and out mlm and nblm trans individuals who want to create art representing them
If Lan Wangji came to Lotus Pier during their youth, this would have happened:
Thanks to @epistemologys for giving an idea❤️
Based off of this tiktok sound. I was watching a lot of analog horror and I heard this on tiktok and immediately thought of geto lolol. I'll definitely make this into a full fic once I have time! The reader def lives tho. Please comment and reblog! It helps to keep me motivated.
Geto (Kenjaku) x Gn Reader
Trigger warnings: grief, psychological horror, body horror, teeth imagery, derealization, unsettling audio distortion, corrupted reality, stalking, home invasion themes, manipulation, mentions of death, unreality, possession implications.
The kettle clicked off behind you.
You didn’t remember putting it on.
The house was quiet, in that awful way grief makes the walls hum like they’re too hollow. Every creak, every faint rattle of the pipes settled heavy in your chest. You poured tea with shaking hands, steam curling off the surface like thin, ghostly fingers.
It wasn’t supposed to be this quiet.
Not after him.
Not after—
Your phone buzzed against the counter, a faint vibration like a heartbeat. You didn’t remember setting an alarm. You didn’t remember—
You turned.
And saw him.
Geto.
Sitting on your couch like he’d never left. Like his funeral hadn’t been six months ago. Like you hadn’t shoveled dirt into the earth and collapsed under the weight of losing him.
The ceramic mug slipped from your hands, shattering at your feet. Tea bled into the floorboards, creeping along the cracks like old blood.
You staggered backward, throat tightening.
"Geto…?”
His eyes glinted under the faint light of the living room, head tilting slightly. His smile stretched… off. Too wide. His lips peeling back a little too far, teeth glinting unnaturally white in the dim apartment glow.
There was something behind those teeth.
More teeth.
You blinked, heart pounding, vision blurring as the impossible image fractured logic right down the center of your ribs.
Your voice cracked:
“No… you’re… not…”
His grin didn’t falter. His teeth… shifted. A faint click, wet and rhythmic, like bones popping quietly into place behind his lips.
“Do I look like your boyfriend?”
It was his voice. Exactly.
But it dragged—half a second behind the motion of his mouth, glitching like corrupted audio from an old tape.
You clenched your fists. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think.
You shook your head, words falling out of your mouth without permission:
“…No… my late… husband.”
It didn’t make sense. You knew it didn’t. But your brain—your heart—refused to catch up. Denial pressed hot behind your eyes as the ache in your chest strangled reason.
His smile widened—too wide now, more teeth folding behind the front row like jagged glass crowding in endless spirals down his throat.
Your knees nearly buckled.
"I can’t believe it… you could be twins…”
His head tilted, skin around his mouth stretching at odd angles. The seams of his jaw cracked faintly, like old stitches pulling apart. The rows of teeth shifted again, multiplying—perfect, sharp, endless.
You couldn’t look away.
"Your face… your voice… just your hair… your clothes…”
Your pulse screamed in your ears. You backed into the counter, tea pooling around your feet, soaking your socks.
His smile rippled wider, jaw clicking open in tiny, grotesque increments.
“My name…” he breathed, voice layered, glitching like a corrupted broadcast,
“…is Kenjaku.”
The television buzzed to life behind you, screen flashing with static, words warping across the display:
> "IF THEY SMILE TOO WIDE—RUN."
> "IF THEY HAVE TOO MANY TEETH—RUN."
Your throat closed up.
You turned toward the screen, hands trembling—
It showed your living room.
A live feed.
You standing frozen by the counter.
Except—
In the reflection—
Kenjaku was right behind you.
Grinning.
Mouth splitting open unnaturally wide.
Teeth folding out, rows upon rows spiraling endlessly down into darkness.
You spun around—
Nothing.
But his voice—everywhere now, leaking through the walls, the static, the hum of dead appliances:
"You let me in.”
Your phone buzzed again—answering itself—your own voice whispered from the speaker:
“Don’t run.”
You bolted.
The hallway stretched unnaturally long, doors multiplying like reflections fracturing in a funhouse mirror. The walls pulsed, breathing like living arteries beneath cracked paint.
Photos lined the hallway.
Your wedding photo.
Your face.
His face.
But as you passed, the smiles widened.
Teeth multiplying.
Too many.
Everywhere.
The doors warped at the edges, the frames bending, the hallway curling back in on itself like a snake swallowing its own tail.
Kenjaku’s voice leaked from every speaker, every vent, the cracks in the floorboards:
“You missed him so much…”
"You opened the door…”
"You let me wear his face…”
You tripped—fell—
The floor split beneath you, yawning wide, spiraling rows of teeth stretching up from the cracks, gnashing and grinding as you plunged into the darkness.
The walls screamed.
The last thing you saw before the void swallowed you:
Kenjaku’s face.
Mouth unhinged, teeth folding outward like a blooming, flesh-colored flower.
His voice slicing into your skull:
"I don’t look like a ghost… do I?”
And as the teeth closed over you,
You realized:
He never left.
He never died.
You just opened the door wide enough for something else to crawl in.
grieving your former self

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Yiling Patriarch era Wangxian is so fucking funny like.
Wei Wuxian: Lan Zhan always looks so angry and disturbed whenever people accuse me of stealing away virgins and fucking them in my evil cave. He must hate to think me so far gone and depraved
Lan Zhan: it should be me in that cave
in another lifetime...🤍🖤
i blame the fact youtube recommended jujutsu 0 clips and the sad danmei i read last week lmfao
Shane: Sit down, i'm gonna torture you now
Ilya, smirking: Kinky.
Shane: I think you're sweet and beautiful.
Ilya: What-
Shane: You deserve to be cared for.
Ilya: Stop, now-
Shane: Your feelings are valid and deserve to be heard.
Ilya: I NEED A SAFE WORD!!!
This is me every time someone tries to talk about Kirara's gender
Why is always a white cis hetero dude?! (╥﹏╥)
Heated Rivalry x The Untamed anyone?
Rivals, yearning, pining, and not communicating - that's so wangxian! ✨👏✨🩵🖤❤️🏒⛸️❄️
BRO.

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
The strongest 🐇
let’s hang out with mama