#CW dehumanization

[qin-qin16]

[Cw: Killer x Color, bad coping mechanism, dehumanization (not from Color), hurt/comfort, stage one Killer (?)…]

“Please, don’t go…” Killer presses his face deeper into Color’s lap, his black tears soaking through Color’s shorts, falling more heavily by the moment. “Don’t leave me…” he continues to whimper, his voice trembling with sobs.

Killer doesn’t dare look up at Color’s face, fearing he might find disdain, a glimmer of satisfaction at his desperate state — and even the gentle hand of Color, soothingly stroking his head, doesn’t ease his fears.

“I promise I’ll behave…” he murmurs, perhaps more to himself than to the other, “I won’t disobey, I promise…” His claws dig into Color’s bones, his mind too clouded with insecurities to hear his partner’s soft hissing.

“I’ll be a good pet, please…” And then the hand — so warm, so comforting — stops suddenly, freezing above his head.

Why did he stop? Killer didn’t understand; his former owners took pleasure in his self-proclamation as a domesticated pet. Nothing more than a dog on a metal leash, dragging his body to follow whoever owned him.

“You don’t need to promise me anything.” The certainty in Color’s voice almost convinced him.

Almost.

“I won’t abandon you. Never.” And Killer couldn’t believe it when Color — so confident, so impassive — choked on his words.

He felt the warm flames of the skeleton enveloping his head, while his own skull gently nuzzled it.

“You don’t need to promise anything.” Killer could feel the top of his head getting wet.

Color's tears streamed down his temple, mingling with his own.

And despite his efforts to disbelieve those words — so many voices overshadowing them, so clear in his mind — Killer accepted them. In that moment, they would be his refuge, along with the desperate embrace of his savior.

@howlsofbloodhounds

[amelia-sun]

— Comparison and Contrast

cw! dehumanization, blood, dead bodies, all that jazz

Damn, did no one ever teach childe its rude to project on strangers

[titaniium999]

imagine being always seen as a derivative of someone else rather than vice versa. imagine being programmed to destroy the person you were designed after, programmed to see yourself as the better one of the two, yet you can never defeat the 'inferior' one. you're supposed to be the better one, yet you can never live up to that. you're supposed to be his greatest creation, yet you constantly fail him. you're given a powerful intelligence and even the ability to feel some emotions, yet you're treated like an object and only wanted when you can do something productive and relied on because you're a robot, a machine, you're supposed to be perfect, infallible, you're supposed to do this, do that, and if you make one tiny mistake, if you fail, if you're wrong, if you rebel, show independence, something is horribly wrong with you because machines aren't supposed to be like that and you need to be reprogrammed. you'll never get to be a person. not even close. and you know it. you can't even get infected with the metal virus like the rest of them. you'll never get to be who you wish you were.

[nekropsii]

Not to be that guy but the amount and frequency in which Mituna employs slurs is so vastly overstated in fanon that it's kind of hilarious. I've seen people assert him as being a bigot as well when we genuinely don't have evidence for that. Just because he's a 4Channer doesn't mean he's a /pol/ dweller. We know for a fact that he isn't a /pol/ dweller, because he's literally based on /co/.

Just to fact check a little: We have seen Mituna say One (1) slur, once. Not only was it a fictional slur, but it is literally just the troll equivalent of "cracker". This is made painfully obvious by... Kankri's entire explanation of the word "Wader".

"Wader" is a slur against people who have the most systemic power in Beforan society- the Violets and Fuchsias- and lower caste Trolls who contribute heavily to furthering this oppressive power structure. Higher caste Trolls on Beforus see themselves as genuinely higher beings and more human than the lower castes, mutants, and the disabled. They essentially "adopt" them the way one would adopt a pet, and forcibly strip all autonomy and humanity away from them, reducing them to simultaneously a helpless child, a trainable pet, and a trophy signifying their own good will and status. This is how their Culling system works- those Trolls that are "adopted" by an able-bodied higher caste Troll have absolutely zero say in the process. It's forced upon them against their will. It's a fucking nightmare.

Like... You know what? I think the canonical mutant disabled lowblood has every right to say that, actually. I think the guy at the absolute bottom of the food chain as far as Culling goes has every right to employ a slur specifically against the same people that want to reduce him to something less than human, if not less than an animal.

[highwaywhump]

remember this piece?

unnamed guard dog is still unnamed.

TW/CW: pet whump, (former and current) dehumanization/animalization, distraught whumpee, whumpee idealizes death mentions of scars and injuries, long term whump situation, tbh not much is happening here but two old men are having a moment ig

---

The flames weren’t real. 

They were the first thing the guard dog saw when he was pulled from the abyss. Orange LED lights scattering through lenses and refractors, creating the illusion of a pile of embers that would never go out. 

And still, he noticed he wasn’t particularly cold. It wasn’t slick linoleum or cold metal against his skin, it was… fur?

He blinked and looked around, trying to get his eyes to refocus. He was on his side on a cream fur rug, facing a fake fireplace with neverending little fake flames dancing along the edges of fake logs. He turned over, biting his teeth together as his shoulders protested the movement. He was getting too old to be laying on floors, even if they were covered by plush fur rugs. 

Then again, that wasn’t up to him. 

What had even happened to land him here? It was a living room with high windows stretching up and up and up towards even higher ceilings. An luxurious-looking leather sofa, complete with a matching pair of chairs, made up the seating arrangement. There were bookshelves along the walls, a huge blue-hued painting of foggy hills on another. Everything looked needlessly expensive. 

Who had put him here? Why?

He tried to sit up, only to groan and rub his face with his palms as a sharp pain shot through his head. He hadn’t just been sleeping, he figured. He was always groggy after naps, but never like this. Somebody must have … given him … something- 

The guard dog lurched forwards, doubling over on himself and gagging violently as the memories flooded back to him, filling all his senses. The cold examination table, the clammy blue gloved hands, the bright light, the syringe… He would have thrown up, had he had anything to eat the last seven days. His pulse was racing, his hands were shaking as he grabbed onto the fur of the rug, trying to ground himself. What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck…

“Oh, good. You’re awake.”

The voice pierced through the blood rushing in his ears. 

“Thought I lost you there for a second. Again.” 

The voice was more familiar to him than the ache in his bones, the taste of blood in his mouth, the tight skin of his scars. 

He didn’t have to turn around and face the source of the voice to know who it belonged to. More importantly, he didn’t want to turn around. He didn’t want to believe it could be real. 

That he was back with him again. 

It took him several long, grueling seconds to find his voice. He realized he hadn’t used it for weeks, and when it finally came out of his mouth, it was gravelly and rough, nearly impossible to shape into words. For a moment there was only bare sound, akin to that of a wounded predator. 

Then, finally, did the words come. 

“I… I was supposed to feel better.” 

The voice of the man he did not want to face, scoffed, caught off guard. “What?” 

The guard dog keeled over, his scarred, wide hands digging into the rug as he yelled into its plush fur. 

“I was supposed to feel better!” 

“I fucking hope you do!” the voice snapped harshly, and a pair of fine leather shoes trod across the dark hardwood, into the guard dog’s line of sight. 

“You better feel fucking great! They were going to kill you!” 

“Yes!” the guard dog moaned, hiding his face in his hands. His shoulders shuddered, the scars there dancing. “That was the point.” His voice took on a sore quality, like he was straining to control it, to keep it together. He didn’t look like the mighty guard dog he once was, hunched over on the plush rug, stifling his sobs. 

“That was the point, so why didn’t you let them.” 

The other man was silent for a beat. The guard dog could, between his fingers and through the tears fogging up his eyes, catch a glimpse of the black Oxfords he wore, perfectly shined as always. 

Derbies are for doormen and loafers are for geriatrics. If you forget everything else, remember that, pup. 

The man sighed and went down on one knee, steadying himself with a hand on the floor. He wore the same ring he always had. The red garnet shone in the fake firelight, reminding the guard dog of all the times that hand had struck him, the ring often slicing the skin of his cheek. 

 “Don’t tell me I should have let them murder you. I don’t want to hear it.” His voice was resigned, but nevertheless cold, not leaving it up for discussion. Some years ago, that voice would have been enough for the guard dog to forget even the mere thought of disobedience. 

“Why did you bring me back here? Why-” The guard dog hunched in on himself, caught in a coughing fit brought on by the sudden and harsh use of his gravelly voice. He wouldn’t be surprised if he coughed up blood on the fine fur rug. 

The man, now behind his back, did not react to the sharp onslaught. He remained silent until the guard dog’s wide shoulders had stopped their rhythmic contractions. His voice was still unwavering. “I am only reclaiming what is mine.”

“Yours?” The guard dog barked out, then groaned as his sore lungs protested. “You sold me! You didn’t want me anymore. You sent me away to the first caller!” 

“I sold you only because I had no other choice. You do not understand these things. You never did.”

The man reached out as he said this, hand folded, and slid his knuckles down the column of the guard dog’s neck. 

His touch was like an electric shock, his warm and gentle hand such a contrast to the guard dog’s cold surroundings that he flinched like he had been hit, his spine jerking away on its own accord. The skin contact was enough to wrench another violent sob from his body. 

“And I let Louie take you only because I couldn’t bear the thought of having to see you go any further. It was better to do it quickly. It wouldn’t have been healthy for either of us to wait around for the right person.” 

“There was nothing healthy about him!” groaned the guard dog. “He put me in the fights! I made his fortune when I knocked out Bruiser! And six months later he sold me on again, and after that….” His voice broke. His anger seemed to have dissipated now, replaced by violent sobs that caused his whole body to heave and lurch in between his words. 

“Oh, pup. What did they do to you…” The man’s fingers ghosted across his spine, following one particularly nasty scar, too jagged to come from a blade. “I never should have let you go, should I.” 

“I wish you never got me back.” Despite the words, the guard dog’s voice was not resentful, only fatigued and spent. 

“Don’t you like me anymore? You used to love me.” 

He was quiet for a while. The man wondered idly if he had passed out, but did not check.  

“It wasn’t love,” came the rough voice eventually. “It wasn’t about that.” 

“Then what was it about?” 

“Loyalty.” The answer came before he could even think of it. Loyalty was the fundament for everything he was, everything he would ever be. Everything he had ever done. “I will always be loyal to you. No matter what you do to me.” He recalled the very last beating they had shared, the evening before his new owner had retrieved him and brought him to the fighting rings. 

It was quiet for a while.

“I know you don’t believe me, but I will always be loyal to you, too,” the man said eventually. 

He looked up, suddenly face to face with the man he had been made for, all those years ago. Now older, rougher, gray around the edges, but still the same brown eyes, framed by the same perpetually upturned eyelids. The guard dog’s own eyes were bloodshot, tear tracks creating shiny trails down his cheeks. They were only a few inches apart, the man having knelt down to his level. 

It wasn’t the first time they had been this close, but the guard dog watched him with fresh eyes this time. Nigh on two decades of life away from his master had forever changed the curious atmospheric aura they once used to share. 

“You’re right. I will never believe you again.” 

The familiar brown gaze studied him for a second, jumping down and back up, roaming the litany of scars and blemishes on his skin, several stretching into his hairline. His lips made a peculiar twitch before he suddenly sat back up and got to his feet, limber and flexible despite his age. 

“In any case, you’re getting a hosedown before dinner. You smell like shit.”

---

tags:

@maracujatangerine (were there more of you? lmk, also lmk if you don't want me to tag you)

[frenchfrywrites]

You know once I start I cannot stop myself

MINORS DNI

Warnings: switch male amab reader, switch Leona Kingscholar, drug usage (weed), sex while high, ruined orgasm, premature orgasm, (implied/very light) internalized homophobia, scent kink, slight dehumanization, blowjob, not very canon compliant

very loosely inspired by this, continuation of this fic, thank you to @pulpbeing for giving me the littlest nudge to write this :)

"I think I saw somewhere,” Leona begins as he blows smoke in your direction like the asshole he is, before he passes the blunt back to you, “someone said that the bible says it’s okay to be gay, if you’re high or some shit.”

You’re both on Leona’s bed, tangled in the mess of blankets, and buried in the mountain of pillows that smells like the beastman before you in a way that's intoxicating. The two of you started smoking a bit ago, and it’s just starting to hit right now, which makes it all the more difficult to figure out what the fuck he’s saying to you. You squint at him, like seeing him more clearly will make what he said any more understandable, before giving up and taking another deep hit. 

As you exhale, you notice he’s closer to you than he was before. “Are you even listening to me?” he growls, irritated with you, but not by much. His tail curls into a question-mark like shape. Cute.

“Yeah,” you pause to laugh at nothing in particular. Leona frowns, getting more irritated with you.

“Don’t laugh, I was saying something important,” he huffs. 

“Sorry, sorry,” you apologize, but you can’t stop grinning at him, “I just don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” you end the sentence with another long drag. This time, as you exhale, you reach over and snag a hand around Leona’s waist, tugging him into your lap. He falls into you easily crossing his arms on your chest and laying his head on them as he gazes up at you. 

“Didn’t you stop looking for excuses a while ago?” you ask, passing him the blunt back so you can let your hands wander to Leona’s ass. Instead of addressing you, he takes a hit, then cups your face with his free hand. You get the message and part your lips so he can shotgun it to you. 

“Can I tell you something,” he sighs softly, licking into your mouth just as soon as you exhale the smoke. “I don’t even remember what it is I said to you,” he mumbles against your lips. He sighs out a weak laugh that dies quickly once you press your lips against his. 

Leona moans softly, clutching at your face as he sloppily deepens the kiss, then moans again as you grope at his ass. You can feel his cock harden against your stomach, and your own dick is similarly twitching and filling within your pants. 

He lets you lick into his mouth, lets you suck on his tongue and lips, and whines when he feels your teeth scrape against him. Cottonmouth is no longer an issue with Leona’s drool and spit pooling into your mouth. Yes, of course he’s normally lazy, but when he’s high he’s borderline dead weight, letting you touch him all over while his hands stay grasping onto you for support. It’s like he puts all his energy into not falling asleep, falling over, or drooling on you (things that happen a lot when he’s really stoned), and forgets that he can touch you too. 

“Wait, wait,” he gasps, pulling away from your mouth. Instinctively, you chase after him with a whine, but he stops you by pressing his hand hard against your face. “I said fucking wait, let me put this,” he leans over, delicately putting out the blunt in the ashtray on his bedside table. You’d honestly forgotten entirely about it with Leona in your lap. “Don’t want my bed to fucking catch on fire,” he mutters, then laughs as he readjusts himself on your body. 

He settles so that his cock is pressed nicely against yours, and shoves his nose into your neck. Your hands fly from his ass to his head, scratching behind his ears. He inhales deeply, before letting his tongue lick the skin there, moaning at the taste (smell?) of you.

Leona stays there for a while, or maybe only a few seconds; you’re sinking further and further into your high, losing track of time and space around you. The only thing you’re focused on is the man in your lap. He licks and sucks at your neck, his tail swishing back and forth, purring so loud you can barely hear your own thoughts. In fact, your brain feels foggy and sticky with thoughts, except, you think that the inside of your pants must be far more sticky than your brain is. You laugh at that thought, and Leona unlatches from your skin, glaring at you. 

“Sorry kitty,” you coo. He whines loudly at the pet name, jerking his hips against you. You figure that means he forgives you.

Quickly, his hands are under your shirt tugging it up so he has access to your chest. He pushes your pecs together, rubbing his thumbs over your nipples slowly, like he’s mapping every inch of your skin in his mind.

“They’re not tits,” you remind him, holding your shirt up so he can continue to play with your chest all the same. 

“Yeah,” he grins while squeezing and tugging at them, “they are.” You nearly roll your eyes, but he’s leaning down and taking one of your nipples into his mouth before you get to it. 

“Oh,” you hum softly, more than pleased at the feeling of his tongue and teeth sucking and grazing along your nipples. You try not to think about how many girls' chests he’s littered with bite marks and hickey’s in the past. He’s yours now. 

Leona nuzzles his face against your chest, letting his fingers comb through the hair there. “Did I ever tell you how good you smell?” he asks, looking up at you. 

“Nuh,” you mumble, moaning when he sinks his teeth into the flesh of your pec. He hasn’t told you, but he doesn’t really need to. He doesn’t really do a good job of hiding how aroused he is by your scent.

“You smell,” and now it's his turn to moan, licking his way down from your chest to the waistband of your pants– your pants which are now uncomfortably tight with how hard you are. 

“Let me suck you off?” he asks, voice raw and thick with need. 

“Please,” and with permission granted, Leona pulls your pants down and takes your cock into his hand. You’re too far gone to think about grabbing a condom. Leona doesn’t seem to mind. It’s not like either of you are fucking anyone else these days. 

He kisses the tip sweetly, before descending along your length. Leona’s gotten much better at sucking cock since the first time he gave you head in the locker room. He takes you down his throat with ease, especially in the state he’s in now.

“You’re like a fleshlight,” and you didn’t really mean to say that out loud, but it’s true. When he’s high his throat is perfect for fucking. He’s so relaxed he’ll take anything you give him. Leona moans like a whore, swallowing and sucking around you. He pulls off after a moment, but it seems like it takes every ounce of energy within him to do so. 

“Fuck off, that was so hot,” he groans, stroking your length, “tell me more, keep talking,” he tries to command it, but it's him begging though and through. He's quick to suck you back into his mouth, missing the weight of you on his tongue.

“You’ve gotten so much better at this,” you grind your hips gently against his face as Leona deep throats you. “Learning what makes me feel good, ah, letting me use your mouth. Letting me fuck your ass and your mouth all the same, shit, just like that sweetheart, taking it like the bottom bitch you are.” He gurgles around your length, drooling and moaning as you slowly and shallowly fuck his throat.

“Can’t even imagine you topping, can’t imagine you were doing anything but getting your pretty ass railed,” Leona pulls off for a second time, in a rush, getting drool and pre all along his chin. 

“No, I can,” he protests, “I can fuck you, I can top.” You laugh, loud and hard.

“Yeah right,” Leona bristles, bearing his teeth at you. You hum, a spurt of pre leaking from your tip at the sight of him. “Okay, go get the lube then.” 

It takes longer than usual, both of you moving like you’re stuck in molasses, getting distracted with kissing and touching one another, but finally Leona is seated between your legs, naked and fingers coated with lube. He presses two against your rim and shoves them in roughly, making you gasp. 

“Fuck, start with one, asshole,” you hiss. Leona furrows his brows giving you a confused look. “It’s not a pussy, babe, you gotta be slow with me,” you remind him. He bites his bottom lip, looking apologetic, “just–” you shift slowly but surely adjusting to the intrusion that his fingers make. “Think about how I do it,” he nods at that, slowly moving and working his fingers into your ass. It’s majorly uncomfortable for the first few seconds– or minutes?– but then he wiggles his fingers against your prostate and you sigh, sinking into the bed beneath you. “There we go,” you moan. Leona purrs at the subtle praise, leaning in to press his lips against yours as he slowly works you open. 

“Can you take me soon?” he asks against your lips, doing his best to scissor you open.

“Add another finger, and more lube,” you instruct. He does as he’s told, easing out of you, and lathering his fingers before stuffing you full again. Your cock is leaking and twitching against your stomach, begging to be touched, but you hold off because you want him inside you before you cum. 

He might’ve fingered you for a whole hour, and you wouldn’t have realized. Every moment feels stretched, you feel like you’re drifting, and only the curl of his fingers and the press of his lips against your skin brings you back to what you’re doing. 

“Fuck me,” you finally gasp, squeezing around his fingers. It catches up to you quickly, the wave of your pleasure nearly crescendoing, crashing into an orgasm.  

Leona kisses you slow and deep as he gently pulls his fingers out of your hole once again. You take deep, shuddering breaths, trying to ground yourself, to keep yourself from cumming as he drenches his cock with lube. He presses himself against your entrance, and you wrap your arms around his neck, holding him close as he pushes into your ass. 

“Oh fuck,” he practically growls, feeling your tight heat squeeze and twitch around him. “Oh my god, hah, you’re so tight,” he whines. You beam at the praise, grinning from ear to ear, and then you’re giggling. Leona ignores your laughter, pressing his face into your neck and inhaling deeply as he sinks inch by blessed inch deeper into you. 

He doesn’t wait much for you to adjust, which is fine because yeah, he probably did finger you for an hour (it felt that way at least).

Leona snaps his hips into you, fucking you hard and deep, it feels like he’s in your stomach, hitting all the right spots, it’s so good you can’t focus too hard on any one sensation, simply bathing in the overwhelming pleasure that you’re feeling. And then it’s over.

Even though you don’t have the best concept of time, you know that was fast. His cum paints your insides, and he rides out his orgasm without care. 

“Sorry,” he moans once his hips still. 

“That was quick,” is what you say instead of “what the fuck” because, what the fuck. He whines, 

“I’m sorry alright?” he huffs, “you just felt too good.” 

You suppose you’ll take the compliment, but you’re a little pissed because you’re hard and denied what you know what would’ve been a killer orgasm. Leona pulls out his flaccid cock, and falls beside you on his stomach, shoving his face into a pillow.

“I’m gonna use you to get off,” you tell him before he can doze off. Leona moans, lifting his ass and wiggling it enticingly. It takes some time to convince your body to follow your brain’s demands, but then you’re pressed up behind him, rubbing your cock against his hole. You squirt lube directly onto his entrance, and show him how to properly prep someone. 

Leona’s back to purring now that you’ve got your fingers deep in his ass. His cock is only half hard, swaying between his legs as he grinds himself against your hand. 

“Fuckin’ needy,” you groan, draping yourself over his body– being careful of his tail– to kiss his neck lovingly. 

“Don’t you wanna cum?” he asks, which definitely translates to “fuck me please,” in whatever tsundere language Leona communicates in. 

“I wanted to cum with you balls deep inside of me,” you complain, pressing your fingers in roughly to punctuate your point. 

“Said I’m sorry,” he growls. You kiss his skin again,

“S’okay baby, I’ll give you another chance when you’re sober,” he mewls at that, clenching around your fingers. “But right now I’m gonna fuck you ‘til you’re fat and full with my cum,” it’s a threat and a promise. Leona arches his back further as your fingers leave him, his hole twitching and clenching around nothing while he waits for you to slather yourself with lube. 

Your name falls from his mouth in a long drawn out moan as you slide inside of him. He purrs loudly, reaching a hand behind himself, blindly reaching for you. You cage him in, sliding an arm around his front so he can cling to you as you start to fuck him deep and slow. 

It’s an honest to god relief to be fucking him. His insides are hot, sticky, and tight around your cock, sending waves of pleasure from your loins to your gut. Being denied an orgasm worked you up more than you’d admitted to yourself, and you can’t stop yourself from increasing the tempo of your thrusts, chasing your pleasure. Leona doesn’t seem to mind.

His moans are punched out of him, all high pitched and wanton, with each time that your cock fucks into him and brushes his prostate. His purring is loud, nearly covering up the wet sounds the lube makes and the sticky skin slapping against skin that comes from each thrust. 

You’re not going to last long, but you will last longer than Leona did inside of you. Reaching your arm lower, you take hold of his fully hard and leaking cock. He keens, jerking himself into your fist.

“Fuh-uck, please, make me cum,” he begs, his voice wrecked and weak. You wonder if you’re starting to come down as you stroke his cock with newfound control over your body. The sloppy, desperate movement of your hips sharpens, and you hit Leona’s prostate dead on with each thrust. His moans border on screams now, and you’re just as close. 

“Cum with me,” you mumble, quiet but you know he’s clinging on to every sound you’re making. He hears you, nodding and fluttering around you. 

A couple more thrusts and you’re thrown over the edge, finally finding the climax that you’d been chasing. Leona follows a millisecond later, dirtying his stomach and the sheets beneath him. You follow through on your promise, pumping his insides with your cum, filling him up. Leona babbles something incoherently, his nails digging into where he’d been holding onto your arm. 

“Shit,” he gasps once you’re both soft and tired to the bone now that the adrenaline has worn off. “Shit,” he drags out the word when you ease out of him slowly, and flop onto the bed next to him. 

“I might fall asleep before you, for once,” you admit, feeling like you’ve run a marathon. Leona snorts, 

“Doubt that,” he says as he rolls over to cuddle into your body. “If you fall asleep, then who’ll clean us up?” he bats his lashes at you, like that’ll work. 

“We’re both just gonna have to be filthy, until one of us can carry the other to the bathroom.” Leona shrugs at your words, 

“S’not gonna be me,” he whispers, closing his eyes as his breathing slows and evens out. 

You know you’ll be the one to care for him, and that doesn’t bother you one bit. And you know he doesn’t mind the drying cum and lube that’s smeared along your bodies as you regain your energy.

[entomolog-t]

Bite Me - Chapter 3

Not so fun conversation topics for two total strangers; Can June put two and two together?

We have officially passed the og comic so this is all uncharted water (though I would love to draw this out eventually!)

Taglist: @smallsday @ratcatcher0325 @not-a-space-alien @bittykimmy13

- - - -

Previous Chapter: Chapter 2

Next Chapter: Chapter 4

Word count: 1116

CW: Mentions of blood, Adult language, Dehumanization

Aedes stared up at the looming woman before him, her apology- no- her admission hanging heavy in the air. Her answer hit him like ice; both chilling him to the bone and freezing him in place. She admitted it. He was trapped, the weight of her admission holding him in place... and yet there he stood, cornered, but still free from her grasp. 

"Then what?" He growls. The sound of his own voice grates on him; for all the raw anger in his voice, he hates that he can still hear his own desperation slipping through. 

" I.. I don't know.” She bit her lip. His skin bristled at the sight of the woman's teeth. He watches as she grows uncomfortable. Good. “It's not like I planned what to do…” 

He snorted. She didn't even know what she wanted to do with him? Catching for the sake of what?? Just wanting?? Was he that fucking insignificant? Was this some sort of sick fun? Just a game of cat and mouse? She couldn't even just be bothered to reach out and grab him- instead just prolonging the inevitable. His hands shook, claws digging into the meat of his palms as he clenched his fists. Her nonchalant attitude fed into his growing nausea. He could feel the blood he'd so recently drank rising up in his throat. Her answers terrified him. 

"And if you catch me," despite being cornered, he made sure to emphasize the word if, "would you ever let me go?"

Genuine shock seemed to dash across her features at his words. Her expression softened, as did her voice,

"O-Of course!" It was strange. She sounded… almost remorseful. "Look, I'm not…I'm sorry, I'm not trying to hold you hostage- like that’s obviously wrong- it's just… this is weird, okay? You're in my house- my bed!” 

It takes all of his willpower and probably some years off of his life to restrain himself from rolling his eyes. If you know it's wrong, why apologize ?? Just stop!?   He grits his teeth. If she didn't care enough not to hold him prisoner in this stupid corner then why would she care enough to let him go?

“Of course?” He didn’t believe her, but he played along, counting his blessings that he remained out of her grasp for now,  "So… if I let you quell your curiosity," He says, unable to keep the snide tone from his voice, "would I no longer be your hostage? Would you let me go?" 

"I admit, that wasn't really the best wording-"

"Would you?" His voice, though fearful, is firm. 

To his shock, she seems to shrink back at his tone. She nods. 

"I… I'd just like answers…" She states quietly, her voice nearly a whisper. He narrows his eyes. Fuck. What was he supposed to say?? The moment she puts two and two together she’ll- He shook his head, frustrated. He needed a plan. An idea. Anything. His chest tightened as his mind spun. What was he supposed to do? Why did he have to tell her anything in the first place? Did she just expect him to act like a dog and sit and speak on command? The thought grated against his pride. He grit his teeth. She’d already told him to stay. 

“And what?” He spits, “I’m just supposed to talk because you tell me "speak" ? Am I a pet or a person to you??" He winces at the bitter venom he tastes in his words. She holds all the cards. He shouldn’t outright try to provoke her, but his mind is spinning in desperation. What was he supposed to say?? She wanted answers he desperately did not want to give. The thought sends a shiver down his spin. Yet, to his surprise, his words didn't seem to anger her. He watched as she looked away- for a moment he was almost tempted to run, but surprise had him glued in place. She looked conflicted- or ashamed? He swallowed dryly, heart pounding in his chest Did she actually… could she actually see him as a person? After a long pause, she spoke.

"A person... I think?" His brief sense of hope seems to decay in his grasp- a sickening feeling of foreboding taking its place.   

"You think?”  He yells, voice growing louder with each syllable, "How can you not know?? Am I, or am I not a person to you!?” As he spat the question at her as he struggled to hold her gaze, his heart begging for her to see him… To his dismay, instead he saw himself; Reflected by the dim light from the moonlit window he saw his reflection in those too large fern green eyes. The sight disgusted him; A scared and pitiful creature trapped in the stare of being that was just so much… more. As much as he hated it, he refused to look away. However, she did. 

"I- " she pauses, her gaze turning back to him- eyes pleading… for what?? Why did she look like she was pleading to him??  "I don't know. I mean, I know you're not a… pet. You're a talking, thinking being." 

Oh?

Maybe there was hope… maybe she truly could see him…

"-but,"

Ah. There it was.

"I’m going to be honest… This feels different. I wouldn't contemplate catching a person... or you know, force them into a conversation with me. I-” She bites her lip, struggling to pick her words. “I don't want to lie to you. I promise you, I don’t see you as a pet, but honestly" She swallowed, seeming almost.. nervous? "I don't really see you as a person either."

Of course she didn't. What else did he expect? He wasn't a person to her- but then again, he wasn't a person at all. He wasn’t human- he was a parasite. The word tasted like poison on his tongue. He knew what he was, but if not a person or something to be had, what was he to her? Why was he still cornered? 

“Then what am I?” He hears an angry desperation in his voice he hadn't known was there. Had she figured it out? If not a person or a pet, did she know he was a pest?  She starts to answer and abruptly stops, reconsidering. After a moment, she continues;

"You tell me. What are you?"

He wanted to lie. To say he was nothing more than a man, just… a small one, but she had caught him in the act. How could he explain away… feeding. He grimaced. Why did it matter what he was? He was a thinking, speaking being-  just the same as her! 

“My name,” he sneered, “is Aedes.”

[whump-in-the-closet]

dehumanization prompts for defiant whumpees

whumper take away all of their possessions. in their eyes, only a human needs basic necessities like blankets and bandages

whumper hoses them down with water set at jet spray— making sure to get water in their face and eyes. They don’t stop until whumpee begs them to.

whumper gives them a haircut that makes them feel least like themselves. They dye, change, and otherwise alter whumpees appearance

“this can’t be happening.” “oh? but it is.”

whumper refuses to give whumpee utensils. So if they want to eat, whumpee has to get on their hands and knees and lick it up from the floor

whumpee dialogue:

“i’m not doing that.”

“you can’t make me”

“you’re out of your fucking mind!”

“you’ll regret this. you’re going to regret this so much.”

“fine. fine— I said fine. I’ll do it.”

whumper dialogue:

“ah ah ah, you didn’t think i’d notice? The middle finger was a bit much. I’m afraid it will have to go.”

“You did not just speak to me without permission. Did you? Because that would mean a very bad time for you.”

“You will apologize. On your knees. Head down.”

“And stay down!”

“You always were Caretaker’s lapdog.”

“That’s how everyone sees you. That’s what you are. Less than human, despised by all.”

[howtoliveasahumanbeing]

How do people know if they’re human…? Do I even count anymore…? I feel like after your insides get pulled out enough times while you’re awake and you live, you don’t count… I don’t even know if all them are still in me…

I wonder if jumping in the river near by could end me… it’s only cuts and missing organs I can survive, but I don’t know if drowning works… I might try to… maybe it’ll make all the gross feelings end…

[beatingtheouijaboardallegations]

yeah I’m sure “All of this vast group of people have these specific expereiences including magic powers” is statement that will make us feel like you support us

ID: an excerpt cut from a Facebook post which starts at: Communicate (S2C). What these parents learn when they can finally have conversations with their kids is mind blowing! The kids all taught themselves how to read at 4 years old , know way more than anyone gave them credit for, and……they can hear thoughts! They communicate with each other telepathically, see angels, heaven and relatives they never met…..I’m not kidding! And this is not one kid…..they say it’s ALL the non-speakers!

[qin-qin16]

[BloodMoon, toxic relationship (is this a relationship at all?), dehumanization, angst…]

The emptiness that he had been cursed to endure was a luxury compared to his new confinement; Geno could at least walk, panting, limping toward the saving screen, but now? His ankle was shackled to a heavy metal chain, restricting any movement within the cramped cubicle that was his cage.

And no matter how soft the sheets and blankets were beneath him, Geno could feel his bones aching for the cold void, uncomfortable beneath so many layers and different fabrics. It was agonizing; there was no comfort to be found, even though his cell was adorned with trivial decorations, gifts from his captor.

What was supposed to be beautiful appeared grotesque to Geno.

“I see you’re awake, little bird.” Voices overlapped, merging into a low chorus that tore through his skull; a reminiscent of the knife that had once slid across his ribs. “Let me hear your beautiful song.”

There was no voice left to sing. What were once pearly vertebrae, unmarked by injury, were now marred by black burns, forever stained by the tar that dripped from Nightmare — the new master of his consciousness.

Something coiled around his throat — it was gentle, exploratory, as if it were careful not to further injure his fragile bones. Whatever it was, it dripped down his body and clothes like oil.

“Please, little bird.” The sight of Nightmare’s condescending smile was enough for Geno to realize this wasn’t a request. His owner didn’t make requests.

The only warning came from the slow tightening of the black appendage, wrapping tighter like a viper around his neck. And as always, Geno complied with the command of the creature that had imprisoned him, humming hoarsely and softly, his voice resonating against Nightmare’s tentacle.

For now, that was enough to soothe the guardian; so possessive of their little bird that they were the only one allowed to hear his beautiful chirping — until only Nightmare remembers how divine his voice was.

Until even Geno no longer recalls how tormented his screams were when he dared to challenge Nightmare in the past.

[just-an-enby-lemon]

I'm a firm defender of Arkham being terrible. The worst place on Earth. This place is clearly making everyone worse.

Give me Jonathan Crane loving how cruel and lax one could get with the "patients" at Arkham as he tested his toxin only for him to realize that the same "treatment" would be gave to him as he is finally caught by Batman. Jonathan who was one of the doctors who signed authorizing eletroshock "therapy" because he didn't care either way only for years later see himself being dragged to the eletroconvoulsive room.

Give me Harvey Dent trying to use his lawyer knowledge to protect himself and his friends by mentioning how solitary confinament against mentally ill people is not allowed on the state of New Jersey only for the guards/doctors to smile cruely and say "oh but this isn't solitary confinament it is *insert buzzword for solitary confinament that makes it legal*"(and yes prisons do that irl).

Harley painfully trying to explain both as doctor and as patient that inhumane treatment of inmates was scietifically proven to only make them more violent only to be ignored because "don't the guards deserve revenge" or some similar bullshit.

Ivvy who just wants her plants. Who gets physically sick when she can't get close to the green. But she can't have even sunshine because they specially discriminate against metahumans. And what if she uses her powers? Same for Music Maister except is worse because it is his voice! They even take Freezes suit away the first times but when they realize he will just die he just gets an special room that is basically temperature zero solitary but don't worry is for his own good.

All while doing human experimentation with Clayface because he is a meta anyway and honestly does he even count as human? And of course let's not forget Killer Croc that gets to be arrested in a cell on the fucking sewers. Yes it does not have basic sanitation whatsoever and yes Waylon deserves better.

Jervis who gets punished for daring saying they have no respect for the human mind. And King Tut who is mocked for his delusions instead of helped in any way.

Joker who spends more time in solitary than with actual people to the point is very likely that he was actually sane before Arkham and just an evil clown.

Riddler who spends most of his stay just drugged out of his mind because he talks to much and both the nurses and the guards find him annoying and isn't the silence best for everyone? And if him (or anyone who is reciving too much medication or the wrong meds) gets an addiction, well is not their problem.

And of course the more important part: Bruce who has no clue what is happening until Joan Leland enters the picture and contacts him for help because it doesn't matter if they are all criminals they are people and she is going to do her job (and Bruce Wayne is the only donor that cares). Cue to an horrifyied Bruce questioning his former stance on crime and getting ready to help make Gotham a place were rehabilitation is truly possible.

[taskforcedistortion]

The son he adopted did it to save them both you idiot.

His monster of a brother would have killed them both with the stunts he was trying to pull.

OH SO HIS FREAK OF A SON DID IT?

THE CREATURE THAT WAS DESIGNED TO KILL HIS WIFE?

I SHOULD HAVE GOTTEN RID OF HIM WHEN I HAD THE CHANCE

DEATH WOULD BE NICER THAN THIS YOU

[User EROSION disconnected... please wait.]

[writingphoenix]

WoW Birthday Whump Day 5

Here's day 5 of the WoW Birthday Whump event! I finally put together a masterlist that can be found here. It's a short one but that's honestly all I have the energy for right now.

Prompt: Scream / Captivity

The man had brought him back down to the closet in the basement after he had eaten. He had finally released Nathan’s hands from the cuffs. His wrists were raw after wearing the handcuffs for however many days he had spent in captivity. He still had the shock collar on and he had a feeling that would be a more permanent thing. He also had a large jug of water now and the man had said it would be refilled every day. Nathan was thankful for that.

A few hours later, the man came again. 

“Follow me,” he ordered. Nathan looked at him and slowly began to get up. Again he felt the shock from his collar course through his body. It wasn’t quite as strong this time but he still screamed and found himself on his hands and knees trying to catch his breath.

“When I give a command, I expect immediate obedience. Get up and follow me,” the man snapped. Nathan scrambled to his feet and followed the man out of the room and back upstairs.

He spent the afternoon and evening on his hands and knees scrubbing at the floor with a rag and a bucket of soapy water. Any time he tried to stop to rest, he was shocked. His arms ached and he was sure the bruises on his knees would never fade but he had to keep going. He didn’t have any other choice.

Finally, the man snapped his fingers and ordered Nathan to stand. He scrambled to his feet as quickly as his abused knees would allow and desperately prayed his swaying body wouldn’t give out.

He somehow made it back downstairs to his room and passed out as soon as he lay down.

[heljay]

Envy.

A comic script popped into my brain yesterday and it took me the whole weekend to sketch out; I'm pretty happy with the result, though!

Content warning for blood and talk of dehumanization.

- 2 SLOTS OPEN FOR COMMISSIONS, COMM. INFO IN PINNED

[suddenly-carrying-pokemon]

What's next, you try containing the folks that got turned into pokemon against thire will?

...excuse me?

Right, okay. Okay. Let's talk through this one.

First thing's first, "against [their] will" is a red herring. An anomaly's desires and intent don't matter; its capabilities and status do.

Secondly, to answer the question. It would have to depend on circumstance. More specifically, these questions:

Is the method used to transform the person anomalous?

Is the status of the transformed person anomalous? (e.g.: a "hybrid" in a world where no such thing exists, a non-existent Pokemon species, etc.)

Are any other anomalies present? (e.g. an abnormal Typing, enhanced capabilities / intelligence, etc.)

If the answer to any of the above questions is yes, then the transformed person may be classified as an anomaly and contained. I only say "may" because there is no Foundation in this world yet, and therefore there are not yet rigid guidelines for classification nor for what constitutes an anomaly.

Thirdly, however, is the very blatant accusatory tone in which this anonymous question is posed. I assume you hail from a world where such pragmatism is not required?

Imagine, for example, that a person is transformed into a Pokemon, "against thire [sic] will", through means not yet discovered and not easily replicable. If the public learns about this, the reactions are predictable. Panic, ostracization, and morbid fascination are all expected to be directed towards this person. In addition, certain bad actors (which I am informed do, in fact, exist in this world, often in the form of "evil teams") would certainly attempt to obtain the person in an attempt to reverse engineer the process to levy it against their enemies. Containment is the simplest way to prevent all of this.

It is not "nice", it is not "pretty". It may not even be fair. It is, simply, necessary in order to preserve the standard of life that you, clearly, take for granted.

The last time I mentioned this here, I was essentially told "oh, don't worry about that, some child will inevitably come by and fix everything." Really? Is this really what you think a kind world looks like? People are put into harms way, threatened, life thrown into disarray for hundreds, possibly thousands of people in an instant. And a teenager comes to save the day, surely making it out unscathed and mentally healthy. Why not try to prevent that? Why villainize someone for suggesting we do?

Well, I suspect it's because you don't understand what I do. That this world is just as real as the one I came from, which is just as real as any other. Any other.

The happy slime? It's real. The unkillable lizard? Real. Scarlet King, Shy Guy, ..-.....-..-.? All real, and all more dangerous than is even remotely reasonable. They're just stories to you, I'm just a story to you, aren't I? I'm not.

Don't respond to this. I'm going to bed, and I'm going to think very deeply on whether your hangups against Exclusion are as unwarranted as they are against the Foundation. I'm beginning to think they must be.