#which . is so confusing to me like . where does dehumanization come into this ?

[aropride]

also im confused by the like. online culture shift from a couple years ago where tagging something as a trigger started being seen as equivalent to condemnation of it? like someone tagging something "tw blue" doesn't mean they hate the color blue and think no one should like it, it just means they're trigger tagging it for someone who needs it. and tagging something "green tw" doesn't show how smart and correct u are for disliking green.

#text #i started seeing it in 2020 when ppl were like 'you cant tag tw jsch.latt because putting a tw on a real person is dehumanizing' #which . is so confusing to me like . where does dehumanization come into this ? #it's just a warning tag ??? #whatever this doesn't matter offline

[monsterblogging]

So this post I reblogged has got me thinking about humanity loss as a trope and the way it's treated. And just to clear things up for anyone who might be confused, I'm talking about stories that involve some amount of physical transformation (with possibly some amount of mental transformation), not just "losing your humanity" in the moral sense. (Though the idea that compassion = human is itself incredibly flawed, but we're not getting into that right now.)

So like, there is media where portraying loss of humanity as a bad thing actually makes sense - specifically, where it's a metaphor for something that's actually bad. The first example that comes to mind is where turning people into robots or cyborgs is used as a metaphor for the dehumanization of laborers. Rich fucks in real life want to treat workers like machines, so it's kind of a natural step to write fiction where it's presented a bit more literally. Or there's stories like Resident Evil 4, where transformation is an allegory for religious radicalization, because the bummer truth is that people who've been radicalized are more often than not impossible to reason with and either want to make you one of them or kill you. When the major bad guys turn into giant monsters, it's an allegory for wielding corrupt power.

(And for those of you out there going, "but people can be deradicalized???", I am with you! And this is why I think a lot of these narratives need to lighten up on the "oh no once you hit Certain Stage of Change there's no going back!!!" stuff.)

But then there's like... the people who miss the metaphor or have very chauvinist views, and oop - there is no allegory now (or at least, not much of one), and we get stories that effectively inform us that becoming too Other means we're no longer deserving of compassion, respect, autonomy, or even life. Like, you can tell that you're dealing with the kind of person who just doesn't really believe in universal human rights, or in people exercising too much autonomy. And I think it's very natural to have an "oh, fuck you" kind of response to this kind of thing.

And then sometimes there is an allegory, and the author is targeting queer people, communists, foreigners, or anybody the establishment isn't really a fan of. Once you realize that the author is just bullshitting, I think it's only natural to think that there could be another side to this story.

And I think it's also fair to ask ourselves if transformation into Something Else could be an allegory for something that isn't actually bad. Maybe getting in tune with some aspect of nature triggers changes; like you grow gills and fins after hanging out in the water for so long. Maybe this upsets the sensibilities of the people back home, but quite frankly it's none of their business where you choose to spend your time and what you allow to happen to your body. Or maybe the cult leader turned you into their perfect weapon, and maybe that process was traumatic, but what happens when you regain your autonomy? Are the abilities you gained inherently bad, or does it come down to what you choose to do with them? Do you really deserve to die just because your body has a different shape now and there's no way to undo it?

And sometimes transformations brings on various forms of disability, or the experiences the characters go through are very similar to the experience of being disabled in some way, which can make them very relatable to some people. When you see something about yourself in these characters, it's only natural to want them treated as a person who deserves compassion and accommodation, rather than nothing more than a dangerous monster.

Add into this that nonhuman characters in general are constantly given characteristics associated with autism, ADHD, and even trauma. Factor in that the temptation of turning into a creature who isn't expected to act "human" (read: neurotypical) so you can be released from burdening expectations. Factor in the desire to be free from anything considered "human," period. And don't forget the whole otherkin/alterhuman thing. Then of course there's the thrill of the idea of experiencing a novel form, of seeing how it feels to move in a differently-shaped body and exploring what you can do with it. And the temptation of stimming with a tail. And also the fact that people's bodies and minds will change throughout their lives and that's fine, actually. Nobody owes it to you or anyone to be the same forever.

So yeah, works of fiction that depict "losing your humanity," as in changing your physical body and rewiring your brain in a way that people find strange as inherently bad and morally wrong are crap. Change is nature, and if somebody wants try out life as a dragon that should be none of anybody else's fucking business.

#transformation #humanity #losing humanity #media #tropes #monsters #monster

[user-needs-new-hyperfixation]

Hello, can I ask what do you mean "in canon it's impossible for Sherlock to settle down with a woman"? Like, as a fan of Holmes and always read the books since middle school, I'm kinda confuse here, I don't mean anything negative. Sorry, do you think Poirot (from Agatha Christie) is also queer?

Maybe because I grew up with very religious mother and lived in anti-LGBTQ country, I'm kinda slow in picking up subtext. Like until now I'm still kinda confuse with my friend who have ships from any fandoms (but I still love to hear and read her headcanons or fics about those characters)....

I really agree with you, I've seen many Holmes' adaptations (cartoon, tv series, manga) but Yuumori is clearly the closest to Doyle's works. Do you think the mangaka also love to read Holmes' books?

Story time! (Welcome to "Hyper answers asks like an old lady going on an hour long barely-on-topic tangent at the slightest prompting.)

I totally get where you're coming from, I was raised in like...knockoff Southern Baptist churches. Growing up, homosexuality was presented to me as a sexual perversion incapable of involving real love. It's kind of silly, but it's true: a ship was a big part of changing that for me. I read Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicle as a teenager, and Kurogane and Fai had something that was inescapably romantic and beautiful but never strictly sexual (tho the potential is certainly there). Between that and an online community of LGBTQ+ adults who were incredibly patient and kind towards me even when I was suuuuper ignorant, I started to open up towards queer relationships as...well, just relationships. Relationships that can encompass sex and also encompass love and friendship and communication and partnership and all those other things I'd been taught were exclusive to monogamous straight people. And then, even as terrified as I was, I was eventually able to face the fact that I'd always had crushes on girls just as often as crushes on guys. So yeah, there's a reason Kurofai is my ship of all ships, the actual One True Pairing for me. Because it cracked open a door just enough that I could slowly lever it open the rest of the way. There seem to be quite a lot of anecdotes like this: women enjoying BL/mlm ships is often seen as fetishy (which can certainly be part of it) but for some reason I can't fully articulate it also seems to sometimes be a means for girls and women to explore their own not-straightness.

ANYWAY. SHERLOCK HOLMES. Tbh I'm not gonna go too in-depth because I would bet good money that there are a bunch of scholarly articles on Holmes' queerness. People have probably done their doctorate theses on this! Much smarter and more well-read folks than I have already covered the topic. For me, it really boils down to: he never outright expresses sexual or romantic interest in anyone (we must resist the urge to assume his respect for Irene Adler is romantic just because he is a man and she is a woman). He's almost certainly on the asexual spectrum. But when he does exhibit symptoms one might associate with romantic and/or sexual interest (particularly romantic, imo), it's always towards men (usually Watson, of course). For example, notable flirt John Watson saying that Holmes blushes at his compliments the way a girl does is...suggestive.

The whole thing is complicated by Watson being (in my opinion at least) an unreliable and sometimes downright petty narrator. He keeps going on spiels about Holmes being cold and heartless, only to turn around and describe him greeting his friends warmly and being emotionally moved by music and baby-talking puppies and charming old ladies. It makes Watson sometimes come across as one of those allo people who are so unable to conceive of a life without romantic and/or sexual desire that they start dehumanizing those who don't experience it. Alternatively and maybe more charitably, he just has a big ol' crush on Holmes, is understandably alarmed by it given the time period, and gets bitchy and defensive when he feels it might not be reciprocated.

But ultimately...do I think Arthur Conan Doyle sat down at a desk in the late 19th century/early 20th century and was like "I am going to write some ace queer representation for the tumblr girlies (gn)"? Obviously not. 😅 I do think he might have set out to create a character who very deliberately did not need to have the otherwise almost obligatory straight romantic side-plot. Holmes is never in any way set up as having a life headed towards marriage and children, in spite of how typical that was for the time. The companionship he does express a need and desire for comes in the form of another man. He's "lost without [his] Boswell." He sneakily buys Watson's practice out from under him so he'll be free to move back in and go on more adventures with him. He threatens violence when Watson is hurt. Etc etc. I think it's very fair to interpret it all through a queer lens, the quibble would be more in whether that queerness ever manifests sexually.

I definitely think the Yuumori creators have not only read ACD but also other fiction based on the stories, possibly even including some very old pastiches like this one. I love how seemingly nerdy they are about it haha! The series is full of easter eggs and callouts to other Holmesian works.

As for Poirot, I know very little about the character beyond a few episodes of the show I watched as a young'un, but that is not the mustache of a straight man (I'm joking I'm joking I have absolutely no opinion on that one! 🤣)

Thanks for the ask, and for actually reading this ramble if you got this far! 😅

#acd holmes #acd canon #yuukuko no moriarty #kurofai #rambling #asks

[trans-advice]

I'm a newly hatched egg and something I'm struggling with is I had a mom who was very supportive of the lgbtq+ until it came to her own kid. Like she had butch lesbians and femme gays as friends and I could talk to her about Elliot Page and Caitlyn Jenner transitioning. She even constantly told me it was fine if I was a lesbian. But whenever I would express my gender dysphoria to her, she would always shut it down with "it was always my dream to have a daughter" and "i kept having kids until I had a daughter". She put so much pressure on me to be more femme, to wear more makeup, to put on perfume, to wear dresses and skirts.

I also feel dumb for letting it affect me so much because I cut contact with her years ago for other reasons so why am I letting it bother me so much? And idk who to talk to about this and I feel dumb for bringing it up when there are people whose families are way worse than mine. I can't afford therapy.

Idk i'm just so confused.

1: your mother basically told you get entire relationship with you, including pregnancy, (including introducing you to her friends) was a relationship where you were constantly dehumanized & objectified the entire time, like waiting for a candy egg with pink paint to come out of a candy machine.

2: part of your self esteem as a trans person was seeing realistic examples of queerness via your mom's butch lesbian & femme gay friends.

3: the strictness of the gender binary reinforces the boss-worker heirarchy your mother had with you her child. This is why she felt so comfortable telling you that she ordered a girl as if you were a server who gave her a wrong item from the restaurant kitchen. Then, when she sees that doesn't get her anywhere, she does conversion torture on you, basically treating you like a piece of food on a restaurant plate that she has to fix the seasoning herself, whether it's like removing mushrooms or scraping meat or adding sweet 'n low to a stir fry dish. She's never recognizing that you & your body are not a product to consume. She never recognized your right to bodily autonomy. (To say the least of it, I do mean there's probably more bugs under those unturned stones.)

Point being, part of seeing living, actually existing, realistic, queer adults, is part of building our self esteem. By the way, realistic transition goals is part of building positive self esteem in general. (This is why TDOV in March was developed by trans people, because we didn't trust cis people to help us back then, and we wanted to combat genocidal narratives that lied about our prevalence & life outcomes.) And so your mom's queerbaiting anti-trans conduct hits hard because now you've found out that you need new role models (other than the ones your mom gave you), in order to build your self-esteem with, which will shake some expectations you had for your own life for a while until at least you make more pro-trans lgbtqia+ friends to help you secure your bearings.

Like I'm going to also be blunt here too and I'm going to say that your mom probably would've abused your girlfriends in a similar way she abused you because she would've seen them as yet another candy egg covered in pink paint. So yeah, it's good to keep no-contact with your mom, especially to help protect your new support network including yourself.

Good Luck, Peace & Love,

Eve

#tw discussion of food

[livelaughwhump]

yeah... At least Elliot is with his friends now! I wonder how skittish Elliot was even around Lyra the first few days ���

I've been waiting for an excuse to write some early post-captivity Elliot😈

Masterlist

Content: degradation, self-deprecation, self-hatred, dehumanization, hitting, restraints (mentioned), brief memory loss, nudity (nonsexual), pet whump, recovery whump, hurt/comfort

Continues from the end of chapter 5

-

Pet was absolutely terrified. It didn't know where these people were taking it, but they said they weren't going to hurt it. Pet recognized everyone in the van, which confused it. It couldn't figure out why. It wasn't until the one that Master had called Lyra started introducing Pet to--what Pet assumed was--its new owners that Pet started putting the pieces together.

Lyra, Karine, Yvonne, Landon, Broderick

It knew those names. It was sure it knew those names.

That was when the one called Yvonne said, "Welcome home, Elliot."

Elliot. That's what Miss Lyra called me back at Master's house. Why does that name feel so familiar? I'm just a pet. I don't have a name, so then why-

Pet's Elliot's eyes widened. It all came flooding back in that moment, the countless years he'd spent with Lyra, the team that had been his family since he was eighteen. How could he have forgotten his team? How could he have forgotten Lyra? Even after everything he'd been through, how could he have forgotten his old life?

Stupid dog

Elliot lowered his head, suddenly acutely aware of his lack of clothes, and tried to cover himself.

Bad dogs don't need dignity. You're better this way, open and available to use at any time

Elliot let his arms fall limp at his sides again, leaving his bruised and battered body on display for the whole team to see.

"Wh-Where are you t-taking me?" He mumbled, hunching his shoulders as though preparing for to be hit.

"We're taking you home, of course," Yvonne answered.

Elliot glanced up at her. "H-Home?"

I thought Master's house was my home. Master always said the team didn't care about me, that they would never come for me. Master would never lie to me. Maybe they're angry that Master got to use me for so long. Maybe they took me so that they could have a turn owning me as well

Elliot hoped he was right. He couldn't think of a single other reason why the team would come for him.

. . .

It was a good thing that Elliot was still chained up and collared when the team arrived at their destination. It would save the team the trouble of restraining him and buying him a new collar, but he was very confused when they opened the van door and didn't immediately put a leash on him.

Maybe they're testing me to see if I try to escape. I can do this. I can be a good dog

Elliot waited for the rest of the team to exit the van before he slowly crawled out on his hands and knees, wincing as he landed in the snow. He kneeled, kept his head down, and waited for instructions.

The rest of the team had already made their way into the house before them. Lyra was the only one that seemed to notice that Elliot wasn't following.

"Elliot?" She said. Elliot suppressed the urge to flinch. He was still getting used to being called by that name again. For some odd reason, being called that felt like he was doing something wrong. Elliot whimpered and lowered his head even further, shivering. "What are you doing?"

A whimper escaped Elliot's throat. "I-I'm w-waiting to-to be given an order, M-Master. I-I know my-my place. I can b-be good."

Elliot didn't look at Lyra, but he hoped that he pleased her by showing her how obedient he was.

"What did you call me?" Lyra asked after several long moments of silence.

Elliot risked a glance up. "M-Master?" He whispered. Lyra looked shocked and horrified, her eyes betraying her in her attempt to mask her horror. Elliot gasped and lowered his head again, clamping his eyes shut. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to displease you. I can be good, I promise. I will use whatever title you want."

Lyra knelt in front of him. "You don't have to use titles here, sunshine. I'm not your Master, and neither is anyone else here. You're free."

Elliot shook his head and sniffled, struggling to keep the tears out of his eyes. "I-I know my place. My purpose is to serve my owners, s-so, I will do anything you ask of me. I promise, I'll be good."

Lyra sighed. "What did that horrible man do to you?" They whispered, more to themself than to Elliot. With that, Lyra stood up and motioned for Elliot to do the same, but he didn't move. "Come on, buddy, let's go inside. It's too cold out here for this."

Elliot sniffled again. "Y-Yes, Mas...um, L-Lyra." Lyra looked down at him sadly before turning and making their way into the house. Elliot crawled behind them, careful to keep his head down.

That's right, little dog. Crawl after your new masters. Show them what a good slave you can be and maybe they won't lock you up in the basement

Elliot shuddered at the thought. He hated the basement. It was so cold and dark and so, so lonely. Somedays, Master would keep him upstairs with him, when he was good. Those days were Elliot's favorite. Those were the only days where he didn't feel forgotten.

Once they'd entered the house, Elliot didn't bother looking up from the ground. It wasn't his place to marvel at his masters' home. His place was kneeling silently at his masters' feet, patiently awaiting instructions.

"Elliot?" A gentle hand fell upon Elliot's shoulder, and he released an involuntary gasp and flinched away from the touch. Elliot whimpered. He clamped his eyes shut, preparing to be hit. He knew he deserved it.

Only bad mutts flinch away from their masters.

. . .

Master smacked Pet hard across its face and Pet released a pathetic whimper.

"Stupid dog! You don't flinch when I touch you, do you understand? I own you! You are my property, and you will do as you are told, like a good mutt. Only bad mutts flinch away from their masters. Do you understand?"

Pet sniffled and nodded, tears streaming down its dirt-crusted face. "Y-Yes, Master."

Another smack. "Good! Let's test your obedience then, mutt. Repeat after me. You are a worthless mutt."

Pet sniffled and choked on its tears. "I-I am a w-worthless mutt."

"You're ugly and disgusting and pathetic."

"I'm ugly and-and disgusting and pathetic."

"No one but me could ever love something like you."

"N-No one but M-Master could ever l-love something like me."

"You're a stupid, confused animal, and that's all you'll ever be."

Pet started sobbing. It should've been used to degrading itself by now, but it didn't think it ever would be. "I'm-I'm just a stupid, con-confused animal, and that's a-all I'll ever be."

Pet suppressed another flinch as Master ruffled its hair. "There's my good pet. You just got a bit confused, didn't you."

Pet sniffled. "Y-Yes, M-Master. I'm sorry for being so s-stupid."

"Oh, it's okay, little one. You're just a dumb dog. I don't expect you to always get everything right, but I hope you know that you will be punished when you get things wrong. Regardless of your intention."

Pet nodded. "Yes, Master."

. . .

"Elliot?" The voice was muffled and distant, barely an echo outside of Elliot's mind. His thoughts were frantic and loud and frightening. He didn't know what was happening, but he wanted it to stop. "Elliot, sweetheart, are you okay? What's going on?"

As Elliot's consciousness slowly began returning to his body, he found himself mumbling almost incoherently and shaking like a leaf. No wonder the voice he'd heard sounded so concerned.

"Elliot?"

Elliot lifted his eyes off of the ground and looked at the person kneeling before him. It was Lyra.

"Are you all right?"

Elliot opened his mouth to answer, and the words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them. "Pets don't flinch away from their masters," he mumbled.

Lyra's face twisted with confusion. "You're okay, Elliot. No one is going to hurt you," they promised. Elliot didn't believe them. Lyra forced a smile that was clearly fake. "Why don't we get you settled into your room? We can get you some clothes, a bath, a hot meal. Or you can just take a nap, if you want. It's up to you. You can do whatever you want here."

Elliot couldn't understand their words, but he nodded, regardless. It wasn't his place to say no to anything his masters said to him. Lyra's smile grew, and Elliot knew he'd answered correctly. He visibly relaxed slightly as Lyra led him into a nearly empty room and gently tugged him to his feet.

Elliot swayed uncomfortably. He didn't spend much time on his feet, and he was grateful that Lyra kept a hand on his shoulder to hold him upright. Elliot looked around the room, awestruck.

Lyra cringed. "Sorry it's so empty. We wanted to keep it just the way you left it, but...um...we didn't want to overwhelm you." It was a lie, but Lyra couldn't bear to tell him the truth.

Elliot was slack-jawed, his wide eyes examining every inch of what Lyra said was his room. It wasn't a basement or a cellar. It wasn't cold and dark and dirty. There was a clean, neatly-made bed, a side table with a single lamp, and even a window! Elliot couldn't remember the last time he'd been allowed to look out a window.

"I hope you don't hate it," Lyra said. "If it's too empty, we can go out and buy you some stuff to fill it with. You can hang some new drawings on the walls, or..." Lyra broke off as Elliot stepped forward and ran his skeletal fingers across the bed. Elliot looked absolutely filthy in comparison to the crisp, white bed sheets. There was a fluffy, cream-colored blanket on the end of the bed that Elliot spent some time admiring.

Elliot's lower lip started quivering as tears flooded his eyes. "Is-Is this really all for-for me?" He questioned.

"Yeah," Lyra answered, hesitantly. "But it's okay if you don't like it. We can..."

Lyra paused again when she heard the sound of Elliot crying. Her eyes widened. "El?"

Elliot turned to face her, tears streaming down his face. His deep blue eyes were bloodshot and watery. "You-You mean, I can-I can sleep in a bed?" He questioned.

Lyra's heart simply broke when she heard that. He was excited about sleeping in a bed?

"Of course," Lyra answered. "And your closet is full of your old clothes, we have a bathroom just down the hall, the kitchen is fully stocked with some of your favorite snacks."

Elliot collapsed onto his knees when he heard that, weeping and thanking Lyra profusely, "Th-Thank you, L-Lyra! Thank you so m-much! I-I don't deserve this kindness. I-I am so grateful."

Lyra wanted to respond to the weeping boy at her feet, but her mind was too consumed with a single question.

What happened to you?

-

This was super fun to write, and I know this wasn't technically a drabble request, but I couldn't resist

If anyone else has any drabble requests, drawing suggestions, or questions for me or my characters, please feel free to send them to me!

Taglist:

@l-antre-des-merveilles @pigeonwhumps @nicolepascaline @burningkittypoet @whumpinggrounds @suffering-and-misery @make-them-scream @honeycollectswhump @rabass

If anyone wants to be added to or removed from the taglist, please let me know😊

Or if you only want to be tagged in main chapters

#asks #🐈 #anon #whump #whump blog #whumpee #whump writing #writing #caretaker #whumper #pet whump #pet whumpee #tw degradation #tw dehumanization #hurt/comfort #team whump #emotional whump #Elliot Córdova #Lyra Beckett #Worthless #livelaughwhump

[deathdxnces]

am curious. how would irelia feel about knowing kayn is born noxian?

or in other words, what's her opinion about nature vs nurture.

— @axewhirl

GOOD QUESTION, IT LIVES IN MY HEAD RENT FREE THANKS FOR GIVING ME AN EXCUSE TO SHARE MY THOUGHTS ILY REY

so. irelia's feelings about noxus and noxians are very simple, of course — they deserve to die. i've spoken before about the dehumanization of the enemy and how it was also a coping mechanism to her, but when it comes to long-term effects, it definitely impacted her ability (and willingness, perhaps more importantly) to show them any sympathy. they're not people. she's content to look at them as barely human, in a way. of course it's not that easy, but she had no reason to challenge that notion so far (except, perhaps, during the sentinels event with riven but... bleh i don't like how anything about irelia and being a sentinel was handled).

which is an overly rambly prologue to get to the real question. how would she feel about learning kayn is noxian? i think there's no ultimate answer for that, because to a point it depends on her relationship with kayn. were she to see him as an enemy, wouldn't it be simple to blame how awful he is on his noxian birth? but i personally don't think an enemy is ever what she sees in him; she doesn't look down on the yanlei as much as many other ionians, because she is well aware their origin as an order and her own path aren't that unlike. they chose to fight. they did things considered extreme. so did she — even if not to the same extent, and even if there are things she disagrees with them greatly, such as the matter of wild magic.

in game, her interaction with kayn is the same as for other 'ionian villains' (zed, syndra and jhin iirc). she wants to believe there's good in him, as she wants to believe there's good in any of the others. would she still be as hopeful if she knew he was noxian? honestly, without a personal connection, maybe not. but i'm inclined to say regardless of having any sort of relationship with him, knowing he's noxian by birth wouldn't ultimately result on her regarding him as a lost cause. because despite everything, kayn is ionian in every way that matters. he was raised as ionian for a good portion of his life, he fights for ionia too. he hates noxians as much as she does. how can she possibly just throw him along the rest of them?

so, yes, i think despite her views on noxus as a whole, she wouldn't think he's fated to be just like the other noxians because he's noxian by birth. of course, that might force her to question some of her other stances towards noxians, who she'd have dismissed as all being the same (because if he is not, others may be different too — and he wasn't even raised as ionian from early infancy, so when does one draw the line? when do they become irredeemable?). it's something else to consider whether or not she'd want to make that distinction for other cases. personally i think she'd be content to just make him an exception (because that's easy, and comfortable, and she would have seen him as ionian well before she saw him as noxian; it's easier to ignore the other implications), rather than truly let that change her outlook on things more broadly.

i think the moment she learned about it, it'd be a shock (because, like i said, her view of noxians is really black and white; they're evil, they're monstrous, they deserve to die). immediately, there's no way it wouldn't have an impact because i don't think irelia would know how to feel about it (but the extent of that impact depends on how much she cares about him, too; like with cyn's kayn, where there is a relationship, then she obviously cares more, and in turn it is more of a shock to learn that he was born noxian than in a situation like canon, where they haven't really interacted). still, i don't think the confusion would manifest as aggression or rejection, and that it'd be pretty short-lived (both in the sense of an immediate reaction and in any lingering, posterior doubt). kayn may have been born noxian, and he may have spent the first years of his life a noxian, but he has long since left that behind. zed took him in and kayn embraced his new life, a life he leads as an ionian. if she accepted him as that before, knowing he was born noxian wouldn't change she accepts him as that still. knowing he was born in noxus doesn't change what he is or what he does now.

#» out of character — ⌜main sup irl.⌟ #i smooch you rey for giving me this tasty question and i hope there's something of understandable in all that rant #i did my best #sanfaskdjfnasdkfn #but yeah honestly i think #she'd never throw kayn with the rest of the noxians #there's a stark contrast the way she sees it #but i also don't think that's entirely hmmm indicative of her stance on the nature vs. nurture debate because #ultimately i do think she'd still think the rest of Them is what it is bc noxians #although that's deeply impacted by the Us vs Them mentality related to the war too #(and how can she possibly think of kayn as one of them when he too suffered bc of the war?) #i'm rambling again i'll stop #ksfnjaskfn #but yeah no kayn is safe from being judged by irelia as noxian even if/when she learns about it #» character study — ⌜both the tranquil sea and the tempest.⌟

[bonesandthebees]

Im a lil late but i wanted to say that i was so?? Confused?? At those comments LMAO

Bro i was cheering when tommy found out wilbur's name LMAO, i thought that was super clever and yeah?? They arent perfect ppl?? You can tell Wilbur had an extremely fucked up upbringing with the Pythia n stuff and there's a Lot of dehumanization there. And Tommy can see that and he's trying his best to get Wilbur to see that, which obviously is not going to be an easy task. Is Tommy going about it in a super nice way?? No but also like-- You can see where he's coming from. Wilbur has literally done nothing to gain his trust LMAO and yeah Tommy doing this is nowhere near as bad as attempted murder pfft.

I really liked that plot point and Im srsly on Tommy's side in this fic dawg. Idk who's rooting for u glass!tommy, but you can count on me !!!

I really loved the chapter and I really love the fic!!! You're doing a wonderful job w it and ive said this before but, just the way you write the characters feel so real. Like it doesn't matter what au it is, the story will always feel like something that i can easily picture just because the way you write characters is so realistic and dynamic and unique. Every au character feels different from the same character from a diff au. If that makes sense... Like okay lemme rephrase this. Glass!tommy and clinic!tommy are Incredibly different from each other, and yet you can still tell they're Tommy. And I just love that so so much. Every reaction, every decision, feels like you have put so much thought into it and it feels so *real*. God i just !!! I love ur writing sm !!!!

My brain is kinda dead rn so i hope you dont mind this mess of an ask but yeeee!!! Point is. Glass divine is fooking amazing and you are one of the best writers out there <3

YEAHHHH so glad some people were cheering when the name reveal happened! tommy isn't the most sensible or nicest person in this fic and that's okay. he's not meant to be a perfect person. but he does have good intentions at heart.

aaaa that means so much to hear!! I always try to make my characters as realistic as possible, and also I never want it to feel like my characters are all just carbon copies of each other. like obviously they're all variations on the same characters, but I don't want it to get repetitive to read. so hearing that glass!tommy and clinic!tommy are both obviously tommy but feel very different means so much because that's exactly what i'm going for.

you're so sweet thank you so much!!!

#ask #icyfox17 #through a glass divine

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Closed Casket.

Commissioned by the very lovely @99shadowcat99.

Pairing: Yandere!Demon Brothers/Reader (Obey Me).

Word Count: 2.4k.

TW: Toxic Relationships, Dehumanization, Codependence, Threats of Violence, Mentions of Death, Implied Imprisonment.

It was a closed-casket funeral.

For such a small detail, it bothered you more than it had any right to. You hadn’t been the one to arrange it, the one to speak to the undertaker and evaluate the damage – that was a responsibility that fell to her fiancé rather than you, a distant cousin, only brought up in conversations about postponed friendships and quickly thinning family trees. You’d done what you could to help, what a last living relative should do to help - paying for flower arrangements, speaking to financial advisors, sorting through her belongs and trying to guess at what might’ve held some sentimental value to someone more present in her life, but you never saw the body. No one ever offered, and you hadn’t known how to ask. She was gone, now, dead and buried, and you'd never gotten to see her, even if everyone who had said that it was probably for the best.

And it probably was. They were probably right. You wouldn’t feel any better, if you had.

And yet, you found it difficult to believe you could feel any worse than you did now, either.

Belphegor was curled around your arm. He had been since you came back from the Human World, slotted against your side, draped over your shoulders, and currently, splayed out on top of you, his face buried in the flesh just above your shoulder blade, his body forcibly tangled with yours in a way that was too awkward to be comfortable for both of you, a sacrifice he seemed more than willing to make on your behalf. You’d tried to shrug him off earlier, when he first decided there was enough space on the smallest loveseat in the common room for his strange, daily ritual, and when that failed, you’d tried to talk him into letting go, into loosening his grip enough for you to slip away when he fell asleep, into relocating to somewhere else, somewhere softer, somewhere with a pillow that could easily replace you when he was too busy tossing and turning to care, but Belphegor had always been so frustratingly picky when it came to where, how, and when he chose to sleep.

He’d chosen you, and he’d chosen like this, and he’d chosen now. There was little you could do to change his mind, after he’d already made it up.

Still, you tried. He wasn’t asleep yet, caught somewhere between permanently half-conscious state and a sleep deep enough to warrant medical concern for most living creatures, supernaturally inclined or otherwise. “Belphie,” You called, gently, pushing the temptation to try more forceful methods into the back of your mind. “Think you pick another spot? Just for today?”

“Can’t.” It was a simple response, his voice heavy with sourceless exhaustion, just as short and just as blunt as it had been the last time you asked. You weren’t sure what you’d expected, honestly. “You were gone. I can’t.”

Your frown deepened. You’d left for a week – nine days, at most. And Belphegor couldn’t have been awake for more than half of that. “That’s not--”

“He was lonely, sweetheart.” It was Asmodeus, this time, as he perched himself on the loveseat’s arm. He wasn’t any better than Belphie, nimble fingertips soon tracing aimless patterns over the side of your neck, the dip of your shoulder, taking up the space he could occupy since the space he’d like to was already in-use. “He’ll get better, in a few days. Once it sinks in that you won't be leaving again.”

You were out of practice. A month ago, you would’ve known better than to respond, than to ask questions to someone who took as much delight in festering doubts as Asmodeus did. A month ago, you would’ve brushed him off and found your way to Purgatory Hall for the rest of the night. But, it wasn’t a month ago, and you were tired. You were still thinking about that casket, and you couldn’t seem to think of much else. “What do you mean?”

“Oh?” There was a pause, a laugh, light and melodic and fluttering. You’d always liked his laugh. You could bring yourself to enjoy it, though, not right now. “No one’s told you, yet?”

“Don’t tease ‘em.” You hadn’t noticed how full the common room had gotten, not until Mammon spoke and you reflexively turned to face the sofa opposite to yours. He was standing, leaning against the back, his hands clasped in a way that’d put his anxiety on display far more transparently than his voice ever could. Beelzebub, too, his arms crossed over his chest as his attention shifted idly between you, the console in Leviathan’s hands, and the book splayed out in Satan's lap, his scowl serving as evidence of his annoyance. It always bothered you, how easily he grew frustrated by situations he chose to put himself in. It bothered you a little more, today. “Might as well spit it out, if you’re going to bring it up,” Mammon went on, shifting his weight, letting his eyes fall to the floor, then rise to the ceiling, then drift back to you. “There’s no point putting it off.”

“Weren’t you supposed to tell them, Mammon?” Beelzebub chimed in, absent-mindedly. If it'd been Satan, if it'd been Lucifer, it would’ve been pointed, malicious, purposeful. Beelzebub just sounded like he was trying to remind his older brother of something he’d forgotten. “You said you should be the one to do it, since you met them first. Then, when Lucifer said you wouldn’t be able to do it, you said that if the human threw a tantrum, you could just--”

“I didn’t say shit.” Mammon cut him off, his tone hostile, but it was a half-hearted anger, more petty than vengeful. “I said I could, not that I would, and Lucifer shot me down. If he hadn’t, there’d already be a deadbolt on every fucking door in the house. We wouldn’t be sitting around, talkin’ about it.”

“Every door?” Beelzebub looked confused. Then, he looked concerned. “I thought we agreed to just seal the exits.”

“I still think we should just use their bedroom,” Leviathan chimed in, never looking up from his hand-held. Something tightened in the back of your throat. Experimentally, you tried to pull yourself out of Belphegor’s arms, but he only held you tighter, and Asmodeus’ nails dug into your shoulder, rooting you back into place without a single word. “It’d be cool, kinda like a permanent save-point. We wouldn’t have to worry about baby-proofing the entire house, either.”

“We could use a leash,” Asmodeus suggested, never breaking his stare. He didn’t look away. You wished he would. You wished they’d, if nothing else, have the courtesy to wait until you’d left the room to start talking about things you didn’t know and didn’t want to know. “So we can make sure they’re always close by! Or, we could have Lucifer enchant a collar – having to hold a tether might get in way when I have to--”

“He’d never do it.” It was the first time Satan had cut in, but it was clear he’d been listening. His book was still open, his expression still concentrated, but he was tapping his foot, the disruption soundless against the thick carpeting, and you couldn’t remember the last time he thought to pretend to turn a page. He was listening, but he didn’t want to be. He was a part of this, but you doubted he’d every say as much out loud. You doubted he’d ever let himself admit he’d stooped to that level. “And if he did, we’d never hear the end of it. In a week, there’d probably be a new kennel in the catacombs, right next to Ceberus’.” He stopped, for a moment, shaking his head. For your own sake, your chose to believe the envy lingering behind his voice was his attempt at a bad joke. “You would prefer a bedroom, wouldn’t you, (Y/n)?”

He asked you a question. He was talking to you, now, directly, which was more than you could say for any of his brothers. It should’ve been an improvement. An opportunity, if nothing else, a chance to ask why Asmodeus was looking at you like that, why you could feel Belphegor’s careless smile pressing into your skin, but you hesitated, something catching in your chest. It felt too solid, too heavy, too rough and too jagged. It felt like it’d hurt to swallow down, later on, once the unease passed and you got over whatever scheme they’d planned out, while you were gone.

“I… What?” You weren’t sure what you wanted to say, but it came out as a question regardless, your reluctance blending messily with your confusion. “This isn’t funny. If you’re going to act like this every time I visit the Human World, I might have to stop coming back.”

Finally, Satan glanced up from his book. If you didn’t know better, you might’ve said he was smiling. “Right. Because you still think you're allowed to leave.”

The rest of the room fell silent. Or, maybe it didn’t, maybe it was louder than it'd ever been. You didn’t know. You couldn't hear anything, not over the sudden ringing in your ears. “I’ll have to, eventually. It’s not up to me.”

Beelzebub shifted in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable. “It’d be safer if you stayed in the Devildom. We can’t protect you in the Human World.”

Leviathan’s grip tightened around his console. In the background, you could hear the plastic shell start to crack. “We wouldn’t be able to see you. Not all the time. Not for more than a few weeks at a time.” He was quiet, for a moment. Then, he added, “It wouldn’t be the same. It wouldn’t… It wouldn’t feel like it does when you’re here.”

Mammon looked away, letting his head lull to the side. “You belong here, with us. You’re supposed to be here. We’re just doin’ you a favor. No one wants to watch you figure out how fucked you’d be on your own.”

And, finally, Belphegor groaned, exhaustion heavy in the gravely sound. He untangled himself from you, but the freedom was temporary, fleeting, his arms snaking around your waist, instead, his face soon gracelessly buried in your chest. His eyes flickered open, but barely, just enough to let him stare up at you through his eyelashes, a thoughtless grin pulling at the corners of his lips. He wasn’t divided, not like his brothers were. He didn’t try to pretend he was above holding you against your will. “You're not leaving again.” It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even a threat. It was just a fact, to him. It was something that wouldn’t happen, that couldn’t happen, if only because his older brothers were willing to work so hard to make sure it didn’t. “We’re not gonna share you, anymore. We’re not gonna have to.”

You didn’t want to hear anything else. You didn’t want to be here, anymore, not if this was what it meant, not if it was going to feel like standing in front of that closed casket all over again, the urge to run and sob and scream silencing every reasonable thought you’d ever had. You didn’t bother trying to talk to Asmodeus and Belphegor, you didn’t bother trying to coo and edge and skirt around their anger, their unspoken threats, not anymore, not when your body was already standing on its own, shoving at Belphegor’s body and swatting at Asmodeus’ hand as he reached out, aiming to cup your cheek and tell you so gently to sit down and shut up. Beelzebub leaned forward, Mammon flinched, and you could’ve sworn you caught a row of long, pointed fangs flash across Satan’s sneer, but you didn’t care. You wanted to hit something. You wanted to yell. You’d wanted to ever since you came back to this damned house and its overly affectionate occupants.

“You don’t get to share me.” You couldn’t be shared. You weren’t theirs to share, even if they already seemed geared against the idea. You weren’t theirs to trap, either. You never would be. “I don’t need your protection, and you don’t need to see me, and the only place I’m supposed to be is the Human World. I don’t know what got into your fucked-up heads while I was gone, but you can’t just--”

“Sit down, (Y/n).”

You stopped mid-sentence.

Right. You’d almost forgotten Lucifer hadn't gotten a chance say his piece, yet.

He didn’t give you time to cooperate. There was already a fist curled around the back of your collar, dragging you back into your seat, the action so much more aggressive than Belphegor’s oppressive dead-weight or Amsodeus’ sweet, sickly temptation. You couldn’t see him, but you could feel Lucifer looming over you, standing tall, towering above his younger brothers as he took control of the room. You wondered if he’d been here the entire time, if he’d heard everything, rather than just your sudden outburst. You wondered if you should hope that he had.

“We missed you, while you were gone.” He didn’t sound mad. He didn’t sound mad, but none of them did, none of them sounded like they were plotting to keep you away from your home, your friends, the life you had outside of demons and angels and magic. None of them sounded dangerous, either, save for Lucifer. He’d always been easier to trust when he wasn’t pretending to be kind. “We’ve all been alive for centuries, and yet, you went and made a week feel like a small eternity. Do you know how difficult it is for a human to inflict that kind of suffering onto a demon?”

You didn’t answer. Across the room, Mammon laughed and Satan bristled. Belphegor melted back into your side, more than happy just to have his resting place scared into immobility.

“You’ll stay.” It was an order, this time. Not a suggestion, not a passing concern, but a command, something you would be expected to obey. He had the nerve to use that low, calm cadence, measured and pre-meditated. He didn’t want to let you convince yourself he was as prone to bluffing as his brothers were. “You’ll stay because we want you to. We’re willing to use force, but there’s no need for that. Is there, love?”

You nodded, your body tense and your eyes glassy, and Lucifer rewarded you with a breathy chuckle, a row of knuckles delicately pressed to your cheek. A miserable reward for such an unwilling sacrifice, but Lucifer didn’t seem to mind. It certainly didn’t stop him from leaning in, his lips brushing against the top of your head, his voice falling just low enough to make something sharp and cold shot down your spine, as he went on.

“It’s not like you have anything to go back to, anymore.”

#yandere #yandere love #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere prompts #yandere imagines #yandere oneshots #yandere scenarios #commission #obey me #yandere obey me #obey me imagines #obey me x reader #lucifer x reader #mammon x reader #satan x reader #leviathan x reader #asmo x reader #beel x reader #belphie x reader #yandere lucifer #yandere mammon #yandere satan #yandere levi #yandere asmo #yandere beel #yandere belphie #yanderecore #yancore

[cinnamonest]

//extra toxic fuckboy behaviors especially at the end, impreg, slutshaming, blackmail, mildly sexist But anyway instead of Childe drugging post have Childe drunk sex post Childe with a cute fem subordinate darling. The thing is, he doesn't actually drug you, per se. It's a little more deceptive than that -- you're certainly under the influence, though. Like Kaeya, he's only doing this if he's reached a point where he's desperate. You've turned him down over and over, he's tried everything he can to get you to fuck him and you won't. He's frustrated and blueballed and that's a very unfortunate combination for poor darling, because he's considerably less nice when he's frustrated. But that's what you deserve. If you were good and just let him fuck you all those times he tried before -- and believe him, he tried a LOT -- then this wouldn't have to happen. He tried so many times, and he tried everything he knows! All the lines he rehearsed in his head didn't work, and he came on pretty heavy, leaving him just feeling sad and bitter. Obviously you want him, how could you not, so he’s just doing something wrong. He's your superior, he could just, dunno, demand it? But that would feel kinda emasculating, to be honest, at least, more so than the plan he does settle on. And that's why you won't be knocked out, not all the way. He's very particular about it. He doesn't have anything against this morally, no, it's normalized to him, and it's not like he'd get in trouble. Granted, he has plenty of drugs available. It's pretty well known that the Fatui guys do this kind of thing pretty frequently, the men go in groups to taverns in Mondstadt and pick through girls and even some young guys to find the most naive and gullible to spike and lure away when they start swaying. Luckily for those, at least, it's a one time ordeal they can forget and move on from, but you aren't going to be so lucky. Nor does he need to drug you to get what he wants. He thinks you're a little stupid, really. You accept his invitation so quickly. Camped out in the wilderness with nothing but liquor and your own two selves. For a moment, it occurs to him he doesn't even need to put you under the influence, he could just force you right here and you couldn't do a thing. Still, he did have to pay a bit to get this nice stuff, so he might as well, and he can't afford you screaming and drawing attention from a potential passerby. So he watches you take the cup designated as yours, and before you can even take a moment to question or doubt, he challenges you. You can't outdrink him, he says. Bet you're a lightweight. You'd probably get sick a few shots in. Where he's from, people actually know how to hold their alcohol, unlike you weak-livered people. And of course, you scoff, you fold your arms, you insist he's wrong, just as he knew you would, just as he hoped you would. And he just smiles at you. Ok, prove it then. You glare back and say you're on. You don't question that he's pouring out of two separate flasks. You can't see the color difference between the liquids in the darkness of the night sky, nor the grimace on his face as he drinks -- maybe he should have brought water from the town rather than filling his flask out of the river, yuck. Your determined face is so cute. Your eyelids start to get heavy. You scrunch your face as your blink and try to stay alert. You drop one of your shots on the ground and he smiles and says maybe you should just accept defeat. You shake your head and keep going. Admittedly, he's actually a bit impressed, you got more than he thought you would by the time you finally drop the glass for good and slump on the ground. Whew. About time, he was starting to get sick of drinking so much water. And you do twitch a bit, open your eyes and stumble around and mutter something about not accepting defeat, you'll prove him wrong, but he just laughs and picks you up and drags you into the tent with ease. He likes it when you're not blacked out all the way. That's why drugging you would have been no fun. This way, your eyes open just a bit, heavily lidded and blinking, you mumble out incoherent words. You protest just a bit when you feel your clothes slide off -- what are you... but you don't finish the question. He's a good guy, really, he cares about you, which is why he does a quick check and feels your skin to make sure you're not actually under any alcohol poisoning or something, but your skin is warm and dry, not clammy. Good, now you can get to the good part. He thinks about how grateful you should be. His friends and subordinates even have teased him for the longest time because he won't just go out with them to try to get lucky somewhere or participate in their drugging of randoms, no, he's whipped, they snicker, obsessed with this one little bitch that just won't put out. He can't say they're wrong, and that irritates him even more that you humiliated him like that. Which is why this isn't just a one time thing, no, this is part of the plan. He talks to you while he fucks you, maybe you'll remember some of it, maybe not. Actually, hopefully not everything, since he more or less admits how desperate he is in his lust-hazed rambling, how much it's irritated him that you wouldn't just be his and let him fuck you. Why can't you just admit you like him? Why do you have to play hard to get? He rambles about how soft your body is. How good pussy really does feel, holy shit, those guys were right, it's so warm and grips his dick so nicely. Not that he'd limit himself to that, while he's got you like this he might as well put his dick in your limp mouth, but admittedly he imagines that would feel a lot better if you were awake and actually sucking on it. Your mouth moves just a bit, and in your nearly-blacked-out state your tongue runs over the intrusion and you let out the softest confused little sound, but that's all you do. But he makes sure to breed you, cumming several times, all deep deep deep inside of your tight cunt. Again, part of the plan. Just not the most important part of the plan. The most important part is the kamera. It captures moment after moment. The first round he just leaves it aside, takes time to really just live in this sweet, precious moment... and then he breaks the kamera out. Gets all the nice shots with his dick in your holes. Gets a few full body ones, makes sure it's unmistakable as you. Captures your cute drunk face, with your eyes open just a bit, it looks like you're just awake but eyes lidded from arousal. You look awake. Willing. And so, when he finally goes to sleep, he does so very very happily and confident. And when you wake up, he was so rough that there's absolutely no doubt as to what transpired. Your throat and pussy are sore as hell, you're both naked in bed and his cum is still leaking out of you. The regret and shame comes crashing down, holy shit, you slept with your boss that's been trying to fuck you for ages now and your life is over. You'll have to transfer or something. But then... you know you drank on your own choice, but something feels... wrong. He's heavily snoring away, so in morning light you spot the flasks from last night. Your head is pounding, but you make your way over to the first one, and take a swig and spit it back out, yeah, that's the stuff you had... and then take a swig from the other... and when you taste water it all clicks. Bastard. You shake him awake in fury and immediately start telling him off, cursing and snarling. He was half expecting that, to be honest. Sure, obviously you want him, but he gets that you'd be a little mad over the way you got what you wanted, and you’re just embarrassed because you were so dumb, you're just hysterical like that. And you’re just naturally ashamed after fucking, like most girls apparently are, he gets that. But he just smiles and laughs in your face. It cuts deep, it's like a knife in your stomach, because you know why. He's untouchable, even if people believed you, nothing will happen to him, and he knows that. He has nothing to fear. You grit your teeth and your eyes tear up and your lip quivers and you finally drop your head and sniffle, asking him to just take me back. You'll quit, transfer to another department, and then, you tell him bitterly, I'll never have to see you again, at least. And that's what makes his smile drop. You're not gonna do that, he says. Your eyes widen with some new horror when you see the pictures. He talks to you like a child, in that dumb oversimplified way of speech, it's degrading and dehumanizing. Explains that this is how it's gonna go. You're gonna keep being his little subordinate. You're gonna be his girlfriend, publicly. And you're gonna fuck him whenever he wants. If you decide you don't like that, the entire branch, hell, the entire organization sees these photos. You have a very easy, simple choice. It's up to you to decide what happens. Oh, and you're probably pregnant, by the way, he timed this whole thing based on that calendar you keep that he snuck a look at. Would hate for you to have to deal with that on your own, right? People do envy you, down the line. How easy your job must be, since you're nothing more than an assistant now. Everyone knows you're just fucking the boss, that's probably how you got that position in the first place, right? And it's not like he doesn't make it obvious. Whenever he gets with the group of guys at his own level, when they all start saying horrendous things about the women they work with and sharing over-embellished tales as men do, he has plenty of very detailed stories to brag about the cute girlfriend he has. How she drops to her knees at any given moment, and how good and tight she is, and how eager she is, how much she loves fucking him, worships him, he's not like the pathetic bastards that have to go drug some poor unsuspecting thing once a month or so, no, he can get all the sweet, devoted pussy he wants at any time. He has the pictures to prove it! They roll their eyes because they've seen the pictures a hundred times now, everyone has, he shows every guy he works with, and they all know not to tell her that they've seen them. Even if they did, it wouldn't matter, she'd be dumb to leave him this late into pregnancy anyway.

#yan.txt #.ch #this fuckboy i s2g

[wolfeyedwitch]

The Heart and the Hunger, Part 12

We're back in the vampire's POV for this one! I wanted to show off her lovely headspace and the convoluted thought processes she's got going on in regards to why exactly this bounty hunter is acting like this. I intended to get farther along with the plot, but then the image of the vampire in an accidental, inescapable blanket prison came to mind, and that became a major focus. Hope it brings you as much joy as it does me!

CW for: female conditioned vampire whumpee, fear of punishment, internalized dehumanization, referenced dissociation, and implied/referenced non-con (very minor mention).

Let me know if I missed any tags, or if you want to be added to the taglist!

Masterlist

-------------------

The vampire woke to a knock on the door. For a moment, it didn’t know where it was. Had it been sold to a new owner? It didn’t recognize this place, this small nook it had slept in…

And then the memories clicked into place. The bounty hunter. He had brought it to his home, had gone out of his way to clean it and bandage its wounds. He had given it new clothes—well, more or less, considering it was swimming in the fabric of his oversized shirt—and allowed it to sleep in a bed.

It, of course, hadn’t been able to sleep in the bed despite the permission. It was too soft, too smothering. Too many memories. So it had pulled the blankets and pillows off and created a nest underneath the bed instead.

Which was where it was now.

The knock came again. “Kid? I’m coming in.”

It tried to get out, to kneel at the hunter’s feet and greet him as a proper pet should, but it was stuck. It seemed to have wrapped itself in the blankets as efficiently as a spider wrapping its prey while it slept, and now it couldn’t get out.

Fabric had no right to be this confining!

The door creaked open, and it heard footsteps coming closer. Feet came into view, clad in heavy work boots. “Kid?”

It struggled against the blankets again. How had it even managed this in its sleep!?

The bounty hunter bent down.

No, no no no, it wasn’t ready! It didn’t mean to disobey, it tried to greet him, it was just stuck!

The hunter’s face came into view in the small strip it could see from under the bed. He seemed… confused, but not angry.

“Why are you under the bed?” he asked.

It stilled, taking on the statue-stillness that only the undead could achieve. Its eyes were almost painfully wide.

“Sorry, forgot,” the hunter said with a grimace. “The muzzle.”

He hadn’t taken it off yet, nor had he punished it for doing so. Yet. It knew the punishment was coming; there was always punishment for breaking the rules, and it had broken so many the night it closed the hunter’s wounds. Taking off its muzzle, moving without permission, drinking blood, human blood, without permission… It was due for a punishment, and a severe one.

For now, though, it was still wearing its muzzle. Which in this case, meant it didn’t have to answer the hunter’s question—couldn’t answer his question.

He looked it over. “Are you… stuck?”

If it still could, it would be blushing. Behold, the mighty vampire, brought low by a blanket.

The hunter smiled, and… was he stifling a giggle?

He held up his hands like he was surrendering. “Sorry, sorry, I shouldn’t laugh. It’s just- Look, I know you're a fearsome vampire, top of the food chain, apex predator, but it's really hard to think you're scary when you're tangled up in a sheet like a particularly troublesome kitten.”

It isn't like wrapping myself up like a spider's dinner was intentional, it thought. It didn’t know where the boldness for such disrespect, even if it was just internal, came from.

“Can I help?” he asked.

It blinked at him, unsure what he was asking. Offering.

“I could… pull you out?” he suggested. “Help get you unwrapped?”

It hesitated a moment before nodding. The hunter had kept his word so far, had done what he said he would and only what he said he would. It didn’t think he would take liberties with it.

And if he did? Well, it was still better to learn what he would do now, rather than getting any more comfortable first.

He reached out for it, and it held itself perfectly still. It couldn’t lash out, couldn’t retaliate, no matter what he did. The consequences would only be worse then.

But all he did was grab a handhold to pull it out. He didn’t even grab it; he grabbed the blanket instead. And he was gentle enough that the trip out from under the bed didn’t even hurt.

Once it was out, the bounty hunter looked it over, appraising its makeshift bonds. “You did this in your sleep?” he asked.

It nodded and ducked its head.

Of all the responses it thought it might get, laughter wasn’t one of them. He let out a chuckle and said, “That’s some kind of talent you’ve got, kid. I’m not sure I could have done this on purpose, much less accidentally.”

It peered at him from under its lashes. He… wasn’t angry? No, not angry at all. He was smiling.

What.

“Give me a minute; I’ll get you unwrapped,” he said with a lopsided grin.

Once done with the task of freeing his new pet from its accidental imprisonment, he said, “Alright. So yesterday, we didn’t quite finish the task of getting you cleaned up.”

It held back a wince at that. It had been stupid, had been careless and just reacted without thought to the consequences. He was its owner; it was just a pet. He could do whatever he wanted with it, and it knew that. It knew its place.

But what its mind knew and what its body knew were two different things. Its mind knew not to flinch away from its owner; its body knew such touch as it had flinched from as a precursor to pain. Its body had just… taken over, momentarily, doing the little it could to protect itself.

The bounty hunter had yet to punish it for that, too.

“So, like I said, we’ll finish up today,” he said. “I’ve got a bath ready for you. Can I carry you there?”

He offered a hand.

Why was he doing that? It wasn’t the first time, either. He had done the same the day before. He kept asking it questions, giving it choices! Why was he acting like what it wanted mattered!? They had to be a trick, a trap; there had to be an answer he was looking for, a correct choice that it was supposed to make.

Well, this one was an easy choice, at least. It could crawl its way to the bathroom, but its new owner seemed to prefer the efficiency of carrying it. It knew the correct answer to this question.

It put its hand in his and let him carry it away.

--------

Taglist:

@kim-poce @cupcakes-and-pain @nonbinary-disaster @onlybadendings @neverthelass @its-mysweetlittlesecret-blog @appleejuice @someonesnamesblog @rainbows-and-whumperflies

#the heart and the hunger #tobias the bounty hunter #celeste the vampire #vampire whumpee #pet whump #pet whumpee #female whumpee #lady whump #the vampire is female #dissociation #implied non-con #implied past non-con #dehumanization #internalized dehumanization #it as a pronoun #fear of punishment #caretaker new master #caretaker new owner #conditioned whumpee

[aceofwhump]

Hi, Ace..... I needed to talk to someone and figure you were a good person to message.

There have been a handful posts going around the past months about how torture has become the current big whump community thing. ..... And how everyone isn't okay with it...... I'm starting to feel like I'm becoming more alienated from this community because I love torture. I love the traumatic ramifications of torture. That has always been my most-searched-for fanfiction type: "[charcter] tortured fanfic". I feel like this trope is the only ones that get bad-talked while none of the others do. I know and understand that everyone is entitled to their opinion, but.... I feel like I'm being told I can't write about/post/reblog things I actually enjoy ie torture and conditioning tropes.

My current hyperfixation is anime so I'm spending more time on my Anime blog versus my whump one, but I'm starting to feel like deleting my whump blog because clearly what I enjoy isn't "okay" in the community anymore.

Help me, Ace-wan Kenobi. You're my only hope.

~youralienatedwhumper

First of all I want to give you a massive hug so here!!

I'm so so sorry this all has made you feel so alienated and unwelcome to the point where you're thinking about deleted your whump blog. That's awful and I am so sorry. If you feel that's what you need to do then you should do whatever will make you the most happy and comfortable. But I promise you, you are welcome! I know it may not feel like it at times especially when these kinds of discussions start up again, but you absolutely belong here!

I have seen a lot of those discussions as well and I was afraid of this. Of people feeling just like how you feel. I've been trying to decide how I feel and if I should join in on them or not. Here is my perspective on the whole thing and maybe this will help.

A lot of what I'm getting from those discussions is that some members of the community see tons and tons of torture and dark stuff with no comfort and they then think that comfort has no place in the community because they don't see it. You, and others like you, see these discussions and now think you're not welcome because you like little to no comfort and enjoy lots of torture.

The community tends to go through times where certain tropes seem to be more popular than others but that doesn't make them any better or worse than other tropes nor does it mean that it's the only thing allowed.

I think a lot of people in the community lately have gotten confused and concerned that they don't belong here because of what they like. People are trying to settle on a definitive answer on what qualifies as "whump" and that discussion seems to happen all the time here. But there is not set "this is whump" "this is not whump" and there will never be.

I also think that people feel that things like torture, slavery, dehumanization and bbu, because they're so present, are overshadowing other things like environmental whump, accidents, sickfics, emotional comfort etc. People are concerned that the genre of whump is narrowing too far into becoming solely those types of fics and pushing out all the others to the point thst mew members think that's all thst whump is.

I'm not saying anyone is right or wrong. I'm just saying this seems to be how people are feeling based on the discussions I'm reading.

So I think it's less of "we hate these things and they should go away!" And more of a "okay this isn't my thing but I can't find content for the tropes I like and it makes me sad." Which has then turned into "oh no what I like isn't welcome here?"

Whump is so many things. So, so so SO many things. And they are ALL welcome. We all like different things and it comes down to curating your dashboard to fit the things you like. If you like torture, then fill your dash with blogs who post torture. If you like more comfort, find those we post more comfort. Everyone is allowed to post and talk about the things they enjoy.

I also want to say to everyone that if you want that content then people need to make it and support those who do create it. Write the stuff you love. Reblog the stuff you love.

For example, I tend to not be the biggest fan of bbu or hardcore conditioning so I just don't follow those who post a lot of it. Simple. But that doesn't mean it isn't amazing and a part of this community! Because it is and there are so many wonderful bloggers who post such great content for it!

My dear nonny, you are WELCOME in this community!!! What you feel is valid! What you love is valid and 100% a huge part of this community!! We love torture! We love the emotional ramifications of torture! Me personally, it's one of my favorites!!! I too spend tons of time searching for torture fics on AO3.

YOU. ARE. NOT. ALONE.

I am here to tell you and everyone else that reads that BOTH SIDES ARE WELCOME!!!! BOTH ARE CONSIDERED WHUMP AND ARE WELCOMED IN THE COMMUNITY!!!!

Those who love dark stuff!! Those who love lots of comfort!! And everyone in between!!

YOU ARE ALL A PART OF THIS COMMUNITY AND WE LOVE YOU!!!!

I will continue to say this until my face turns blue if I have to.

EVERYONE IS WELCOME IN THE WHUMP COMMUNITY

ALL TROPES ARE WELCOME IN THE WHUMP COMMUNITY

IF YOU THINK IT'S WHUMP,  IT'S WHUMP

Curate your dashboard to reflect what you love. Block tags that make you uncomfortable. Support the creators who makes things you like by reblogging their work for others to see. Be kind to those who like what you don't. Create and write whatever makes you happy. And remember that whump is a wide genre full of so many things and all are welcome.

#whump #whump community #mod post #mod replies #ask #anon

[distinctlywhumpthing]

Unintentional 5

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CW: Institutionalized slavery, dehumanization, scars, surgical/medical whump implied, let’s just go with “side effects” for now, explicit language.

The kid was all knees and elbows. He was tripping even walking across bare, flat sub-flooring, and would have fallen if Leo hadn’t been holding him. Each time the kid stumbled he tried to pull away from Leo, only to falter more so Leo had to reach to catch him. Their path across the house was curving and for every one step in the right direction, there were two in the opposite.

Leo finally got him to just sit down on the staircase and wrapped him up in a few of the drop cloth blankets. The little thing looked like he’d fall to pieces shivering so hard. Leo offered him the bread again to nibble on, mostly just so he could get some hot coffee in him next.

Once he’d eaten enough to start on the coffee, told him, “I have to get back to work. My partner called earlier and his kid has a snow day so he won’t be coming.”

Wide eyes blinked up at him.

“You finish that coffee while I work, okay?”

The kid nodded, one jerky dip of his head.

Leo hesitated for a moment. The kid was still shaking. He wondered if he had misjudged how long they’d been lying in that snowbank. The house wasn’t particularly warm since it was empty, not to mention the kid wasn’t wearing warm clothes. He clung to the blankets, keeping them tucked tightly around himself and curling smaller to hide under them. He kept the lip of the open thermos against his chin so that all the steam hit him in the face. His eyes never left Leo’s hands, from the moment he’d stood in front of him.

Leo thought it was like the kid had never felt warmth in his life. He dug through his bag and pulled out a beanie. “Here,” he said, moving to pull it over the kid’s head.

As soon as he got within touching distance, the kid realized what he was doing and scrambled backward. Half climbing the stairs in a crab crawl, half flattening to lie against them. The insulated water bottle clanged down the steps, splashing coffee onto Leo’s white coveralls.

The kid didn’t know where to look, still eyeing the hat—and more importantly, Leo’s hands—but also staring at the coffee everywhere.

Leo pulled back and held his hands up. “Easy, easy. You’re okay, I just thought you might be warmer with a hat on,” he explained.

The kid looked like he was on the verge of crying again.

Leo could have kicked himself. Of course, the kid wouldn’t want him anywhere near all of those scars. In fact, when he had gotten close, he was pretty sure one of the incisions still had stitches in it. He didn’t want to imagine the pain, although side effects from drugs could explain the kid’s wobbliness and general confusion.

“Don’t worry about the coffee. It’s no big deal,” he said, trying to catch the kid’s gaze.

His eyes were fixed on Leo’s left sneaker which was now stained with coffee but it was like he wasn’t really seeing what was right in front of him. It reminded Leo of how he reacted when he’d grabbed his wrist in the back of the van.

“Hey, look at me.”

It took a minute but, eventually, shaking as much as ever, the kid raised his eyes.

“They’re painting clothes, they’re meant to get messy. Hell, they’re already messy.”

It was true. There was a collage of different splatters, flecks, full-on spills, and sprays in various neutral shades with the occasional color from top to bottom of the coveralls. His slip-on Vans looked like the by-product of a YouTube tutorial but with the wrong palette to be trendy.

The kid looked him over again, chewing his lip. Leo waited until those wide eyes returned to his. Rather, directly below, he realized. The kid was staring at his cheekbones—only feigning eye contact.

“Does your head still hurt anywhere?”

Now he did raise his eyes to Leo’s. The kid shook his head emphatically, shrinking backward, and tugging at the blankets but they’d been pinned in the scrambling and weren’t budging to provide the cover the kid was seeking.

“Will you put on the hat yourself? I really think you will feel warmer.” Leo stayed back and held the hat out.

The kid slowly reached to take it with two hands and fumbled a few times trying to pull it on. Leo didn’t miss the wince as the knit acrylic finally pulled down over the freshest of the incisions. It probably needed to still be bandaged but it seemed unlikely he would let Leo get that close. What was he going to do with this kid? There was no way he could just send him away again.

“Do you know where you came from?” Leo asked.

The kid furrowed his eyebrows, eyes flicking around Leo’s face. “You…mmm…” His chin wobbled a little and he started gesturing with his hands.

It looked like he was solving a Rubik’s cube but Leo didn’t say that out loud.

“Boy…mmm…here…” The kid let out a shaky breath, punctuated by an almost-inaudible whimper.

“Okay, okay. Not that one.” Leo wanted to stop him from getting upset. “How about we try for a name again? What should I call you?”

“No…mmm…only…mmm…boy…” He swiped the tears running down his face and fruitlessly tugged at the blankets he was still sitting on.

Leo reached out to help, slowly, pointing to the blankets, and the kid still flinched violently against the wall. He continued to quake as Leo wrapped the blankets around his shoulders again. His fingers came out from the inside to grip the edges and he tucked his knees up against his chest. All Leo could see were the shoes, the tips of the kid’s fingers, and his face from his chin to where the hat hit his eyebrows. It made something knot in his chest when the kid immediately returned to closely watching his hands.

Leo stepped back and tried to cover his shaky exhale with a cough. What had this kid been through? Who could have been party to any of this? Why wasn’t someone taking care of him? Leo had no idea what he should do but this had immediately become so much more complicated than giving someone his coffee on a snowy day.

He softened his voice a little more. “I can’t just call you ‘boy’, that’s worse than ‘kid’.”

The kid didn’t look up but his forehead creased. “Before…mmm—” and then he started spouting numbers again. His eyes grew wider as he went on and he looked into Leo’s face. He started pressing himself back against the steps like he was leaning back to lounge, but there was nothing relaxed about the way his face was tightening.

Leo was sure his expression was blank, if not confused, but whatever the kid saw there must have set him off because he stopped speaking and tucked his chin into the blankets, not just shrinking back but cowering.

He shook his head at Leo. A sob hitched out of his chest, a bitter sound that was painful to hear. He fixed his eyes on Leo’s hands again but had pulled the blankets even over his nose. Leo was sure he would have been completely buried inside them if it weren’t for the threat standing right in front of him.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he said quietly, knowing his words were useless.

The boy started softly again, face screwed up, “Eight, ten—” he stopped and shook his head.

Leo swallowed the lump in his throat. He wasn’t sure if the kid had misunderstood his question but that had been the second time he’d asked for a name. If it hadn’t surfaced by now, there must be a good—

“Oh!” Leo forgot to control his voice and the kid jumped at his exclamation. He was pressing himself against the wall now, too. Leo made sure to take it down a notch. He considered holding his hands behind his back if they were causing the boy so much anxiety but thought that might be worse. He kept them where they were, held out a little from his sides, fingers extended just slightly. “Did you say Aiden? Is your name Aiden?”

The kid tilted his head and raised his eyes to search Leo's face. He nodded slowly, biting his lip, forehead creased. His eyes never stopped moving as they traced Leo’s expression.

“Aiden,” Leo repeated, smiling.

The kid nodded even more.

Leo remembered his mom always saying eyes are the windows of the soul. Aiden’s were like trying to see into a window whose curtains were drawn. Leo could only see his own reflection in the glass. It was impossible to tell if there was someone looking back at him from the other side but at least now it looked like there might be a light on.

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Taglist: @octopus-reactivated @maracujatangerine @nicolepascaline @mazeish @whumpy-writings @in-patient-princess @meetmeinhellcroutons

#bbu #box boy #box boy whump #box boy universe #pet whump #pet whumpee #bbu whump #box boy rescue #wru #conditioned whumpee #surgical whump cw #lab whump cw #scars cw #neuro whump cw #hospital whump cw #aphasia cw #alright baby boy has a name #sponsored by drinking cold brew way too late in the day #cant stop wont stop #its still iced coffee season #go away psl #its always iced coffee season

[bestworstcase]

I really like your RWBY analysis posts. Especially the (really long) Penny one. Additional thoughts: The argument that Penny is literally a part of Winter and that she can be separated from her again (and share the maiden power or sth.) sounds, to me, like Winter doesn't actually deserve the maiden-powers 2.0, so she should rip out a part of herself and give them back ;). Also, Penny dying is deeply unfair, and how Ruby comes to terms with that (or not) would also be a nice foil to Salem again.

One more because word limits: I also really like your Winter analysis. Comparisons of Winter to Jadis felt kind of dehumanizing to read, to me. I really like you pointing out that she is Kai, because it feels like it acknowledges a kind of innocence that Winter had and still can have. And that the way to approach her is not hard rules, violence or some moral better telling her to stop, but compassion and affirming humanity. Idk if this makes sense. Thank you for your hard (analysis) work.

thanks!

with the penny 3.0 theorizing i've found there's often this underlying and perhaps subconscious mindset that penny is somehow special, that she is for some reason an exception to the patterns rwby has established vis a vis character death. and i can see where that mindset comes from—penny by dint of being a robot did manage to cheat the death-is-permanent rule twice—but. like, the reason penny has unique death mechanics is because she's a robot, but i think in penny 3.0 circles this has been kind of overgeneralized to penny being special on, like, a cosmic scale? which is how we get to the presumption that rwby+jnor and ruby in particular will respond to her loss in a fundamentally different way than they responded to pyrrha's and penny's deaths in v3, or the sometimes-implied and sometimes-stated-out-loud stance that penny just matters more than winter.

(what really kills me about the penny-in-winter's-head idea is that the prevailing thought seems to be "penny pulled some sort of magical trickery with jaune's help and tethered her soul to winter's so she's going to be in winter's head now a la ozpin and oscar" and--folks. in what universe does that sound like something penny would do to anyone, let alone to winter, her closest friend?! and if it's accidental, if it's just some weird side effect of penny dying in the void or jaune's semblance reacting to his horror and doing something fucky to penny's soul or whatever, then in what universe would penny not be absolutely horrified and devastated to find herself in this situation? rwby has been beating us over the head with "having two souls trapped in one body is miserable and traumatic for everyone involved and also fundamentally wrong" since volume fucking three, and y'all want penny to suffer that with her best friend?!)

and wrt winter i'm. honestly fascinated by the line of thinking that has her needing to be taught morality, because... the problem was never that winter didn't realize ironwood was doing bad things! "no, you have sacrificed everyone else—you closed the borders, you squeezed mantle until it broke!"—when winter calls ironwood out, she starts with things he did all the way back in volume four! she traces his failings all the way back to that first misstep after the fall of beacon because she understands that isolating atlas from the other remaining kingdoms was wrong and laid the groundwork for everything bad that came after.

the problem was that winter had been so abused and ground down by authoritarian conditioning that she completely lost her trust in her own ability to make decisions. she believed that her life and feelings and thoughts did not matter--believed that so thoroughly that she was confused and upset when penny chose to save her life instead of continuing to fight cinder!--so she fought her own conscience tooth and nail for the sake of being a good soldier. like, volume seven has this recurring thread of penny acting as the voice of winter's conscience--challenging her on her loyalty to ironwood--but that largely takes the form of penny validating the instinctive emotional reactions winter beats herself up for having. penny and winter are morally on the same page throughout all of volume seven; the difference between them is winter is mired in self-loathing so deep that she tears herself apart for it. ghskgh

so ultimately what she needed and what she will continue to need is not moral teaching but, like you said, compassion and affirmation of her humanity, reassurance that trusting her own conscience is okay. that her feelings matter, that her moral instincts are good, that she's allowed to act on what she feels is right instead of doing what her abusive father/father figure tells her to do.

aaand as for salem if ruby losing penny gets paralleled to salem losing ozma, which seems at least plausible at this point, i'm really hoping that that point of comparison will lead to somebody anybody on team oz finally getting it through their heads that salem's problem isn't "didn't get a fairytale ending," it's "gods have been torturing her personally for thousands if not millions of years" like i understand why the characters have the perception of salem that they do but the sheer absurdity of it is KILLING ME she has exponentially bigger problems than not being able to cope with ozma dying mgjkjhgsdnb

#rwby

[iamnmbr3]

I saw the ask about having the person feeling like that the Loki show is objectively bad. I liked the show, here is why.

I love Loki, and I love the MCU, but I don’t go into any of it expecting consistency. Tony and Loki are my favourite.

Tony goes through character development in his own movies, IM3 especially that main canon just kinda ignores. So I didn’t go into work he Loki show expecting them to get him consistent or right. I just went in prepared to enjoy the show for what it is in isolation. I also know that no one looks at the stories they write for the MCU critically, so I try and turn off that for a first time watch.

I really like the show, that doesn’t mean I think they made it consistent or in character for Loki. I get why people don’t like it.

I really like the TVA and all the concepts it introduced. I really liked seeing Tom acting his heart out. And I really like Loki/Sylvie because I find something very compelling about a character who hates themselves, meeting another version of themselves and being able to love them. It is not a ship I’m going to write fic about but I like them within the show.

Basically what I am saying is that I go into MCU media with the expectation they will mess up at least one character or plot point badly every time. I like the media for what it is, and I appreciate whatever it brings to the table that I can then cannibalise into da works.

Yeah that's fair. Everyone has a right to their own opinion. Fandom is better when there are a diversity of opinions and we can all respect each other and engage in open and good faith discussion rather than attacking people for having the "wrong" views or trying to harass them out of fandom.

For me personally I feel like the show fails on 3 fronts.

1) To me it fails as a Loki show. I really enjoy Loki as a character and I wanted a show about him. And I didn't personally see him in the show at all. I saw a completely different character who does not behave, speak, act, respond, react, stand, emote, or make choices like Loki does. He doesn't even LOOK like Loki because they did his hair and makeup wrong. And that's really what I wanted. I didn't want Larry (as I call the show character). I wanted Loki. That was what was advertised and to me he was so ooc that he was unrecognizable. If I just saw a clip out of context and didn't know what it was from I would have assumed I was seeing Tom in a totally different role.

Thor Ragnarok felt like a different take on Loki that definitely retconned some of his personality and history, but still felt like an alternate interpretation of the same character in the sense that I could recognize the character as Loki (albeit a different version of him); some people liked that, other didn't. But here it wasn't that. It just felt like a completely new (and to me far less interesting and compelling) character. And beyond that it felt like the show went out of its way to make a mockery of the character played by Tom and by extension anyone who ever cared about Loki's character. Like it felt like a mean spirited caricatured parody. Loki is also extremely sidelined in what is supposed to be his own show. And it most certainly didn't feel like a show about Loki, which is what I wanted. So for me the show didn't provide what I was looking for.

2) To me it also fails on its own merits. If I view it in isolation without comparing it to previous canon and just view it as its own thing it also fails. The quality of the dialogue felt very poor. None of the humor made me laugh and it all felt very juvenile and forced. The plotting and characterization seemed nonsensical and all over the place. Like Sylvie sets off those charges and the episode ends on a cliffhanger with that but then it's never addressed later.

The reason that Loki and Syvie allegedly falling in love breaks the timeline didn't really make sense. Sylvie is going around murdering timekeepers and yet Mobius somehow immediately like and trusts her and says he prefers her to Loki. Loki and Sylvie are simultaneously presented as the same person and also totally different people. Loki allegedly learns self love but we never see that - we see him call himself degrading things like pathetic. And we see him think that Sylvie is better than him. That doesn't seem like self love. The romance feels extremely rushed and unrealistic and awkward and we aren't given a compelling reason for why they are in love or what they even have in common. Sylvie doesn't really have much of a character. Mobius and Loki don't interact much and Mobius consistently mistreats him but Loki somehow thinks of him as a friend. Mobius is portrayed as a good guy for cheerfully carrying out the TVA's ends but Kang is a villain for creating the TVA. The TVA seems to be all made up of humans even though it's in charge of all reality.

If Loki did bad things, then the TVA did worse things and thus are not moral authorities. If the TVA’s actions are acceptable then so are Loki’s. If Loki was wrong to violently impose his will on a planet (let’s forget about the context with Thanos for a minute) then the TVA is wrong to violently impose its will on all of reality in order to eliminate free will. If Loki was wrong to kill a few people, then the TVA was certainly wrong to kill trillions. And thus neither Mobius nor the TVA are moral authorities when it comes to Loki because they are infinitely worse. If the actions that Mobius and the TVA took are acceptable, then there is no reason to criticize Loki because he did far less than them. Etc etc etc.

The cinematography is also very poor and unprofessional and the costumes look extremely cheap and unprofessional. The whole story feels confused and disjointed. The directing is bad because the actors are all very capable but the performances often feel wooden and forced and fake. And the pacing is terrible. A lot of it drags and then plot twists come out of nowhere with no setup so it just makes them feel jarring rather than earned or entertaining. 

3) To me it also fails on a moral front. The show contains a lot of problematic depictions and messages and promotes messages that are offensive or even downright harmful.

Mobius gleefully subjects Loki to physical torture by leaving him to be repeatedly beaten in the genital area. This is a very clearcut and straight forward example of physical torture. And Mobius feels no compassion for Loki or remorse over what he has done to him. If anything he seems to find it amusing. And certainly the audience is supposed to find it amusing (which is gross and harmful messaging on Disney’s part). He also subjects Loki to psychological torture. This is a fact. There are multiple instances in the show where the TVA and Mobius subject Loki to treatment that would meet the legal definition of torture under both US law and international law. Furthermore, Mobius and the TVA are holding Loki against his will and forcing him to labor without compensation or any hope of release because they view him as belonging to a group of people (Variants) that they view as inferior and not really people. That’s a pretty textbook case of slavery. So objectively Mobius is Loki’s jailer, torturer, captor, and enslaver. And yet Mobius is presented as justified in what he does to Loki. The writer and director have even called it therapy. And a result many people have parroted this which is very harmful.

The queer “representation” feels straight out of bigoted propaganda. Loki’s personality traits have been retconned to map onto harmful stereotypes about queer men. He is overly expressive, makes grand gestures, is flamboyant, cowardly, dishonest, weak, bad at fighting, lazy, spineless, meek, unused to exercise etc. Now a person could be all these things and also happen to be queer. However, Loki was never like this before. His character was retconned to be this way only in this series where he is confirmed to be queer.

Furthermore, the entire premise of the series seems to be that it is funny and entertaining and justified when Loki is dehumanized, mocked, humiliated, hurt, tortured, beaten, assaulted, and/or robbed of his dignity. That’s the premise. That’s the whole show.

In addition to pro torture and pro authoritarianism and pro victim blaming messaging the show also has problematic depictions of black characters  (see here and here), Asian people (see here) and also has a lot of fludphobia and transphobia issues. And much more.

@nikkoliferous has put together a great compendium here of various posts explaining the various issues with the show if you're curious about why some people disliked it.

#asks #loki tv series #loki series #loki 2021 #loki show #loki tv show #Marvel #MCU

[outofangband]

I did Morgoth and his guests of honor but why not Sauron too! I didn’t have the time to work in Gorlim yet because I don’t have a clear characterization but maybe next time. I might also do a post with other Angband captives such as Gwindor and Rog who didn’t necessarily fit into this or the previous one. 

This is my second time writing Celebrimbor and my first time writing Finrod (second if you count the Returns from the Isle of Wolves piece) so I hope this is ok! I’m actually quite happy with my writing in Finrod’s part 

referenced torture and injury, captivity, creepiness and some dehumanization 

My Sauron Masterlist  Masterlist 

Maedhros

“Settle, little elf,” the Maia crooned into his ear as Maitimo thrashed against the newly replaced bindings, “My Lord has gone now. It is only me. I will not hurt you.” This lie seems to bring Sauron much amusement for his laughter tickles the elf’s skin, his struggles are interrupted by a shiver. Sauron enjoys adding to this, letting a finger run casually down the prisoner’s bare back, tracing over dried blood from a recent whipping. His touch was warm and likely a relief upon the injuries though with the ever present threat that the gentle touch could turn to pain and the growing confusion as Maitimo struggled to know which was worse. 

It was the dual nature of the Maia’s role here that so unsettled Maitimo. He was it seemed one of the Moringotto’s most trusted torturers yet often would be the one to oversee the reversal of the damage it caused. There were some who said he was a necromancer, that he could seal the fëar of the prisoners here within their own bodies. 

“Foul as thy master you are!” Maitimo finally snarls once the momentary shock has lifted. Maitimo never quite knows when his insults and raging will be met with mockery at the futile defiance or genuine anger. This is true with both the Lieutenant and his lord. This time it is to be the former though the elf knows by now that lack of anger did not mean his words would be taken without punishment. 

Finrod Felagund 

Blood dried in a sticky line on the elf’s forehead where his hair started. Sauron stared down at the crumpled form at his feet, prodding it with the tip of his boot. 

“Thy coverings have faded now,” he murmurs, “Thy trickery hast failed. Bare and naked thou art before me.” This was not altogether true, the Maia muses to himself. Naked indeed the elf lay but not all was yet revealed. Still he did not know the name or identity of this foolish leader though they were likely of the exiled Noldor. But that was no matter. 

“It is over now, brave one,” Gorthaur says softly, “Tell me thy purpose here and thou shall be met with mercy.” 

There is a silence as the elf twitches slightly upon the black stone. Gorthaur does not feel particularly patient today but knows too that he could stand here until the next moonrise and the Noldo would not speak a word. 

“Very well.” The anger is barely concealed, “I will start now with thy men.” He waves a hand and two of his servants come forward to drag the elf to his feet, “Throw him with his friends and bring me the weakest.”   As he watches the captive lie limply in the grip of his servants, Gorthaur smiles when defiance on the broken face cracks and fear shines through those noble eyes. 

Celebrimbor

The smith hung limply in the silver chains as Sauron approached him, eyeing his half healed wounds with a critical gaze.  “This one still bleeds,” he remarks lightly, poking his captive’s side, the corners of his thin mouth twitching up into a cruel smile when Celebrimbor stirs, dark eyes opening slowly. One of them can only open halfway. The Maia runs a finger over the dried, cracked lips, managing to elicit the tiniest utterance of discomfort. 

“You would like water, would you not?” he asks coaxingly. After a pause, Celebrimbor shakes his head, clearly with difficulty. Sauron laughs, the sound clear and ringing in the dim chambers.  “What a pathetic lie,” he declares, now trailing a nail down the prisoner’s chest, digging into the darkened splotches where bruises have formed. Sauron shakes his head in mock pondering, looking him over before saying cheerfully, “Still, I suppose you must have some if we are to resume our conversation from yesterday. I hope it will be more fruitful, yes?”

(author’s note: feel free to look through my Sauron or Angband tag for my way too many headcanons about how the fortress is run, for example when I mention that Sauron oversees a lot of the healing, it’s a reference to my pots about elven healers in Angband. None of it is required to read or anything of course I just thought I’d mention)

#Mairon #Finrod #Maedhros #Celebrimbor #The Silmarillion #Sauron #short writings #In the Iron Hell #subtle be my blade

[sideblogformindtrash]

Trying a different approach with SP cause love isn’t working -

CW: Pet whump; dehumanization;  kidnapping; implying going back to whumper;

He is… actually surprised that Orfeu comes to visit him. Even more shocked that Farlan, his Master’s son - his fukcing kidnapper - is there, too.

He genuinely thought they had just abandoned him. Stolen him, then dropped him off to be someone else’s problem. But since they are back… And since Farlan is here… He quickly hides that shock, and runs towards him.

“T-take me back” His attempt at sounding demanding fails so bad that he stutters “Take me back to my Master, take me back, take me back now”

“You could at least say Hi…” Farlan says, fitting his glasses. He only glances briefly at Orfeu, his face as impassive as always.

“NO. Master must be so worried. I want to go back. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be bad” he feels the knot forming on his throat “I’ve been - I’ve been bad. I need Master to correct me. I need to be made better. But I never stopped wanting to be back, I never stopped thinking of Master”

By this point, he is in tears. He hates that he is crying, let alone in front of these people. He sees Chad peeking over the hallway, the entire frat house just behind him. Orfeu follows his gaze, but all the boys hush to hide before he can see them. 

“Sweet Pea… Deep breaths okay?” Orfeu tries.

“NO! I - I need Master. I’ve been kidnapped, this is wrong, is bad, is bad. Master must be so distressed-”

“Sweet Pea… My father… Is not a good man” Young Master says. He sounds awfully tired “You only will be hurt if-”

“I don’t care! He is my Master-”

“He is looking for you” Orfeu speaks, Farlan gives him a questioning look, that he just ignores “He got the police to raid my home”

Sweet Pea looks at him, smiling through his tears. Master does care. He is looking…

“Do you really want to go with him, Sweet Pea?” Orfeu stares at him, same blank face “Chad told me how things are going around here. He said you seem to be… Having fun, for once”

….Now he feels trapped. Chad told him of his shitty behavior? That he enjoyed it???

“If he gets you again, it’s game over” Farlan says, taking  a seat on the bed “...I stole you. It’s true. And I won’t be able to do it a second time. And… We can’t keep you locked up forever”

“S-so… I’ll be able to go back?” He feels… confused. Relieved too. And… scared. He swings on his heels.

“Eventually. But I wish you’d give us a chance” Orfeu says bluntly “I wish you’d give yourself a chance” 

He wants to pick up the toy. He fucking likes that stupid plush. He still doesn’t want this man to know he does so.

“Why should I? You guys kidnapped me. You - you are trying to corrupt… Oh god, it’s a test, isn’t it?” he trembles, backing up. None of the men move or even shift from that serious expression.

“...It’s not” Orfeu leans against the doorway, carefully studying Sweet Pea’s expression “Is just… Things are not as simple as they seem. And trust me - I know we sound scary. What we are proposing is… the opposite of everything you have ever known. We’re not asking you to dip your toes, just to jump on a fucking river which you can’t even see the bottom of - but we will be there to catch you”

“Or you can stay on the shore forever” Farlan says, trying to get into the little metaphor the other man build “And things will never change”

“You paced around my room a billion times didn't you? You were counting the cracks on the wall, the little trees outside… Everything. You did the same with your Master, didnt you? And before, in the training rooms” he tilts his head and smiles “You must be really fucking bored”

“You could… you know, dance for yourself, for once” Farlan says. And that is tempting. He enjoyed the days when the Master was off for long. Days where he could practice and dance to his own rhythm “And learn new songs and new styles, things that have been kept from you”

Orfeu nods in agreement.

“Haru told me about it. They censor most of the material that reaches the facility. To keep ‘bad ideas’ away. He is a phenomenal musician - one that didn’t even know rap was a thing. Fun isn’t it?” he waves his hand “There is a lot they kept from you. A whole fucking world. And you’ll never see it, if you go back”

Sweet Pea stares at them for a moment, then, he turns around, and sits on the corner, covering his ears. He doesn’t want to hear this. Doesn’t want them to be here.

Farlan gets up and goes to the door. Orfeu lingers, until he turns to face him.

“I know I’ve kept things from you as well, keeping you locked up on the bedroom. The truth is: I’m not sure how to help you when you don’t want me to. But, if you decide to give it a shot, I’ll take you out. Me and the boys, we’ll let you just… See things, for once. Own your own fucking body. That, if you want to”

With that, he shrugs and walks away, closing the door, leaving Sweet Pea trembling. He reaches for his plush. So, he just needs to endure this for some more time and… And they’ll let him go back to Master?

He buries his face on the sucklet’s fur. He hopes Master lets him keep it.

@kim-poce​ @kittysselfships​,

#Sweet Pea the whumpee #orfeu and haru #whorfeu #Farlan B) #Orfeu's himbo boyfriend #pet whump