#branded furniture

[sergle]

I love the little AU that skinny people live in where they have the same problems as fat people and can relate to the Experience. artists references are only for fat bodies, artists that do draw thin bodies are getting DMs from people going like "omg I'm so happy I discovered your art, it's so rare to find an artist who draws small bodies!!!!! for the first time I see people who look like me 😭😭" skinny people going "omggg I finally found a clothing brand that sells nice dresses in XS, I wish they weren't so so overpriced though" skinny people getting home from the doctor's office and collapsing on the couch to tell their roommate that their doc spent the whole appointment quizzing them about their diet and they were told they need to gain 40 pounds. but the doctor didn't want to check out the weird scraping sound they make when they breathe in, just that they should probably gain weight first. skinny celebrities and influencers spending thousands of dollars getting plastic surgery to transfer fat to their stomachs and jawlines. all the main characters in tv shows are fat. when you watch cartoons as a kid, there's one skinny character, and they're really dumb and annoying and get laughed at by the other characters. they're a loser and never get a boyfriend/girlfriend. the same clothes that are stylish when worn by fat people just get you made fun of. desirable romantic leads and manic pixie dream girls twirl their hair and say "yeeah I've just been fat my whole life, I just never lose weight no matter what I eat hehe" and this is an extremely endearing and attractive trait.

[shiftythrifting]

Recent finds from Portland, OR.

Cryptic letterman’s jacket

Awesome toes box? (I had a box like this growing up with marbles in it, sans toes message)

A very blitzed out Timon

The chest of drawers had open slots to add all your loose decorative beans and legumes 😩

[agueforts]

just an appreciation post for the set itself. my GOD have they outdone themselves this time

[lychgate]

baffled by how few products there are for playsets, backdrops, and general furniture for star wars action figures. i freed my dollies from their boxes and they wish to play, on 1/12th scale mind u

[bloodbruise]

James has two brain cells:

Regulus

Regulus in lingerie

bro the dopamine output from those two brain cells is probably off the fucking charts.

but yeah real i think regulus is not above using lingerie to get things he wants out of james... with a red set, a few bats of his eyelashes, and a well timed question he’s got james agreeing to, “yeah, yeah anything love. whatever- fuck. whatever you want i’ll do”

[honeycollectswhump]

Nothing but Art

[masterlist]

CW: pet whump, dehumanization, conditioned whumpee, burns (branding)

A sense of foreboding washes over Ashtray before he can even process what is happening, as his Mistress rips open the door to the room he is kept in, grabs him by his golden collar and drags him through the halls.

Even though he can barely breathe, gasping for air with every intake, he keeps his eyes low on the ground where they belong. It most definitely looks ungraceful, the way he can’t even properly get his legs under him to crawl along with his Mistress’ relentless pace. Instead, he is pulled along like a disobedient dog, and that thought alone makes him try twice as hard to keep up.

The entire time, his Mistress’ is hissing words Ashtray can’t even begin to comprehend, her usually angel-like tone seeps into his bones like poison and makes him shake. Still, he knows –he hopes– she hasn’t called him a Bad Boy yet, so maybe, maybe he still has a chance to make this right. 

Suddenly, there is a jerk and Ashtray’s head collides with the ground. The whole world spins and lurches and for a moment, all he can smell is smoke, yet the familiarity doesn’t bring him any comfort. Desperately, he tries to get his arms under his body to push himself up as quickly as possible. He needs to please her, he needs to be good, and he needs to do it right now. 

Ashtray gets into position, kneeling, eyes on the ground, humble, submissive, and hers. 

Part of him wants to grovel, to offer himself up in the name of his eternal obedience or to read her thoughts and act accordingly. If he could change himself to be an even better Ashtray for her, he would, without hesitation, no matter the price. It is his duty as her Ashtray and beyond that, it is what his soul strives for.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he can see the fireplace, with flames dancing in it. His beautiful Mistress is standing right in front of it, wearing a stunning dress, adorned with gems, red like Ashtray’s blood, a sight which she enjoys occasionally.

In her hands, she is gripping a strange metal rod. There should be a word for it in his mind, yet nothing but a grave emptiness comes up. 

His Mistress silently stares down into the fire as if she could get it to burst and devour everything in her path with her gaze alone. Ashtray scrambles to come up with a reason, with anything that might have caused this. But then again he wasn’t made to think, he was made to obey.

He can only hope that he didn’t cause her displeasure and that maybe, he can be useful for her now, in any way she desires, hope that he can make her happy again. There is a chance this might not be a Punishment, considering she hasn’t even used Ashtray today. 

But when his Mistress’ gaze falls on him, it is cold, devoid of any of the adoration it usually holds for her Ashtray.

“Back.” she seethes. 

Despite the underlying, prickling fear that still hasn’t left him, Ashtray beams at the familiar word and the chance to make himself useful, even though he can’t yet see a cigarette. He will be used and he will be Good.

Ashtray complies immediately –of course. At this point, it is barely a conscious thought, his body just moves on its own, the way it is supposed to. Ashtray straightens and turns around, pulling off the loose shirt he is wearing with all of the gratefulness he can muster. Each movement is exceptionally trained, from the way his thin fingers grasp the fabric of the shirt, to the way his muscles work when his back is bared. 

It’s how he was designed, ingrained into his very being to make the perfect product for his Mistress.

Ashtray does his best, as he always does for his Mistress, but it’s not enough. She doesn’t even look at him for more than a moment, doesn’t stop to appreciate the display she spent so much money on. 

With every second, Ashtray’s hope of doing something right, of earning her mercy dwindles and instead leaves him with the harrowing knowledge that he is failing at the single purpose of his life. 

But no matter his already insignificant feelings, no matter the fear that this is a Punishment, he has to behave. Obedience is his first and second nature. It doesn’t depend on rewards or Punishment or any of his Mistress’ graces. It just is. 

A good Ashtray is used but not noticed; a good Ashtray is still and silent. A good Ashtray doesn’t move even though he knows his Mistress is holding the metal rod into the fire. A good Ashtray doesn’t twitch in anticipation when his Mistress lays a hand on his bare shoulder to bend him over slightly for easier access. 

A good Ashtray doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even think when burning hot metal touches his skin for the first time, when his Mistress presses the edge into his skin and drags it down in a straight line and the fire follows–

He is a good Ashtray. He is a good Ashtray. He is a good Ashtray. He is a good Ashtray.

Really, this shouldn’t be too different from the cigarettes he was made for. But no matter how hard he tries, he cannot find the same comfort in the sizzling burning. It might not be a Punishment, his Mistress’ effort and care are too great for that, but it’s too close to one, with the cold glint in his Mistress’ eyes and her cutting voice.

Even now, one of her hands rests on his shoulder, maybe to keep him perfectly still, even though Ashtray would never move away from her, no matter if it's affection or a Punishment. With the other, she carves a design into Ashtray’s back, which is already full of perfect, round scars.

Mistress’ nails dig into his skin. Ashtray finds joy in whatever makes his Mistress happy, but somehow he thinks this isn’t an act of pleasure, not how it is supposed to be. Nevertheless, he wishes using him this way pleases her. 

There’s only a brief pause, in which his Mistress lifts the burning rod from his back and he dares to hope it may be over. But then it starts all over again.

This time, his Mistress takes her sweet time, tracing a circle on his back with precision, and Ashtray tries to cling to the underlying message that he has become her art piece. He still fulfils a purpose and that is more than he could ever wish for.

Yet, it is nearly impossible to form thoughts beyond the pain and the sizzling smell of his own burning flesh. Ashtray wonders if his Mistress smells it too, if it disgusts her or if she doesn’t care.

By the third time she lifts and brings down the fire again, Ashtray is barely here or there, stuck in his own body and trying to stop it from twitching or shivering. His back is burning, but his limbs feel deathly cold, and beads of sweat cover his forehead. 

His Mistress is drawing something, making her Ashtray into her canvas, each stroke filled with intention. He isn’t made for this but maybe it will make him pretty nonetheless. If he is pretty, he is worth more and that is half of his function. 

He is a good Ashtray, he is a great Ashtray, and he is burning.

Just as abruptly, his Mistress stops, or at least Ashtray thinks she does. Still, the fire lingers, eating itself down to his bones.

She stands up, leaving her Ashtray kneeling on the ground; The sound of her heels echoing through the hall. Only when the door closes behind her does Ashtray allow himself to gasp for air, shivering and trembling with exhaustion and pain.

Eventually, one of his Mistress’ servants comes to collect him. They know not to speak with him, it has no use, even though they sometimes try. He never understands them. Now, Ashtray can’t even muster up the strength to listen to the servant's hushed voice, as they pull him up and examine his back. 

He isn’t being used. No one but his Mistress and those with her explicit permission are allowed to use him. So –for once– it’s okay when he disappears into his own body for a while and into the numbness in which his consciousness is already being pulled.

Ashtray is nothing if not obedient. Ashtray is nothing.

And for a while, everything is muffled…

Halls, halls, then The Room. Alone then not. Bandages, but no cream. He must not have been good enough art then.

The disappointment that should be intertwined with that thought barely registers in Ashtray’s mind. He’s Art, he’s Ashtray and he is Nothing…

Eventually, as the pain dulls and melts into the background, Ashtray comes back. It is a relief to be a part of his own body again, to be conscious not only of pain but of his emotions. 

He checks his body but the bandages have already been taken off. Some part of him is thankful for the mindfulness of the servants, keeping his Mistress’ objects clean for her use.

The other part of him starts to feel curious about his Mistress’ artwork, the design she needed her Ashtray to portray for the rest of his existence. 

There is a mirror in The Room, where all of the precious objects are kept, to make sure they are presentable. Now, far removed from any person’s view, Ashtray dares to use it for his own little purpose.

He stretches, uncaring about how it pulls on the new burns, to get a good look. It must be beautiful if it was hand-drawn by his Mistress, and that alone is worth all of the pain. But to his dismay, the only thing he can see are letters. Three of them. 

Even though he recognises the letters, the word is another one of those mysteries that are unsolvable for mere objects like him, or maybe just him, and not for the first time does Ashtray wish he could understand. 

Nevertheless, he knows the word must be special if his Mistress deemed him worthy of it.

T.O.Y.

Whatever it means.

taglist: @whumpsday, @2in1whump let me know if you want to be added or removed

[cicadaknight]

Huh. Wonder who put holes in my couch in the first place?

[ikishima]

My #1 advice for people moving out is to NOT buy nonstick cookware... not only is the lifespan of nonstick a MAXIMUM of 7 years (usually more like 2-5 years) but teflon, aka Polytetrafluoroethylene-- the plastic coating that makes the cookware nonstick, infuses microplastics into your food.

New cookware sets can cost hundreds of dollars so my advice is to look for 100% stainless steel cookware in thrift stores. Safer, cheaper, & instead of needing to replace every 2-7 years they can potentially last you the entire rest of your life AND they won't start shedding plastic into your food

[lokh]

slowly. but surely. cleaning out. my fucking room.

[cherriesandcharms]

..

[artecoobj]

[padmatt]

its silly how easy cats are to bribe.

fancy big cat tree hammock > ignored for the first few months > i put catnip into it once > its been his favourite sleeping spot for the last 3 years now

fancy top-of-shelf house i built > ignored for 6 months > i put catnip into it once > its been his favourite hang-out spot for the last week

cats. easier to bribe than a CDU politician.

[seraphtrevs]

Going to try to put nail caps on my cat. I got a "grooming bag" to zip him up in but after trying to get him in, I think he's too big 😭

[possamble]

seconding that anon abt the worldbuilding accuracy, i wouldnt have given it a second thought myself lol. personally im more of a character dynamics guy so its v much "source: dude trust me" meme situation except its me as a reader trusting u as the author abt that stuff -- tunnel anon

you guys are so nice to me. but you cannot trust me like that i am too stupid. it used to be "a three hour walk" until i actually double-checked and was like ooohhhhh that is geographically impossible. okay. cool.

[woodbine-in]

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