#cw slavery

[mjrtaurus]

So something that caught my attention with the Dragon symbolism stuff with the world nobles vs how it’a used in the RA led me down a rabbit hole that I found interesting enough to share.

So the whole thing stems from two instances of dragon claws being depicted in One Piece.

So! First we have the Celestial Dragon Claw, four clawed, used as branding to mark word noble “property”. Then we have the Dragon Claw Fist, three clawed, a fighting style that we can assume was developed by the RA using the Finger Pistol of the Six Powers as a base.

The difference here is the number of claws, which is what lead me down the rabbit hole in the first place.

The consensus is that the claw number of a depicted dragon is actually a class indicator. Bear in mind that these observations stem from Chinese folklore and its place in Imperial Chinese law, so it might not hold water. And as always do correct me if I’m off in any of these points.

The number of claws and the colorations of dragons in Imperial China was an extremely important thing, and misrepresentations of these could quite literally get you and others executed for acts of treason.

Five clawed yellow or gold (or red during the Ming Dynasty) dragons are a symbol of imperial power for the emperor alone to use. It was illegal for nobles and civilians to wear anything depicting a five-clawed yellow or gold dragon in Imperial China. It was considered- as stated above- an act of treason, and offenders (and their families) could be imprisoned or executed for the crime.

Four clawed dragons are a symbol of nobility. Lesser in the hierarchy than the imperial dragon, but still a mark of high status. It was illegal for civilians to wear depictions of four-clawed dragons. Again, a treasonous act punishable by death or imprisonment under Imperial law.

Civilians could depict dragons with three claws. This was allowed.

So, we can make an assumption here that through these observations, the RA use the three clawed dragon as symbolic of the class warfare that is happening in the One Piece world. But there is another thing!!!

There are these things called Dragon Dance Competitions, where a nine-segmented dragon puppet is manipulated by a team of dancers and musicians to have the dragon chase a pearl- a symbol of wisdom- across the allocated space. These are very interesting to watch, and I highly recommend giving one a watch, since there are plenty of them to see on YouTube. Do take care if you are photosensitive or sound sensitive, as they are bright and loud.

A tradition for these competitions and others (such as lion dances and dragon boat races) is called an “eye dotting ceremony”, which happens at the beginning of the competition. An authorized party comes by to paint the pupils on a dragon to symbolically awaken or- relevant to this post- empower it.

The Celestial Dragon’s Claw is a symbol nobility, and likely has high amounts of regulation on how it can and cannot be used, with infractions on those regulations met with imprisonment at best, and cipher pol or a buster call at worst. It would be highly guarded, and was used to brand people to mark them as property, as we know.

The dragon depicted in the introduction to the Dragon Claw Fist that Sabo utilizes? Three claws, no pupils. It is an unempowered civilian dragon- a weakling by dragon standards- and it is beating the shit out of a World Government official.

Class warfare symbolism. Revolutionary symbolism.

[unforgivenn]

16th HOUR - #6: Under Hammer

Masterlist/ Previous

CW: Violence, Dehumanisation, Slavery, Drugging, Family rejection, Non-con Handling

Samuel’s pulse raced as the curtains parted, revealing a dimly lit room filled with rows of seats. The audience sat in shadows, their faces hidden, yet he could feel their eyes on him—cold, calculating, eager. The auctioneer, a tall man with a slick appearance, stood at the front of the stage, his voice booming as he introduced the event.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to tonight’s auction!! We have a special treat for you—a handsome young man, in excellent condition! Perfect for your collection or personal use.”

Samuel’s heart pounded in his chest. What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck His mind screamed in protest, but his body was paralyzed with fear. What the fuck, what the fuck, Somebody please get me out The room felt like a nightmare, the air thick with anticipation and depravity. What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck Every step he took felt like a march toward doom, his chains clinking softly against the polished floor. What the fu-

“Present the item,” the auctioneer commanded.

A handler pushed Samuel forward, and he stumbled, the chains around his ankles preventing him from catching his balance. He fell to his knees, the rough wood biting into his skin. The audience murmured among themselves excitedly, some even squealing and giggling. Samuel’s face burned with humiliation, but he forced himself to stand, his legs trembling.

“Please... let me go,” he whispered, barely audible. The handler yanked him upright, ignoring his plea. Not like he expected the man to listen to him anyways.

“Head up,” the auctioneer snapped. “Show them what they’re bidding on.”

Samuel lifted his head, meeting the gaze of the audience. The best he could do right now was listen. He wanted to scream and shout as much as he could though that didn't seem like such a good idea in a place filled with strangers, and guards with guns across their chests. Especially if he wanted to avoid pain. The faces he saw were devoid of empathy, their eyes glinting with greed and curiosity. They saw him as a product, an object to be bought and sold. It made his stomach churn with revulsion.

“Look at his build, his complexion,” the auctioneer continued, walking around Samuel, gesturing at him like he was a piece of meat. “Healthy, strong, and obedient. Perfect for any household. We don't get such men much. I'd consider this a special one then.” The auctioneer winked and laughed, though Samuel felt like puking.

Obedient. The word echoed in Samuel’s mind. He wanted to scream, to fight, to break free, but he knew it was futile. The system was designed to crush any semblance of rebellion, to strip away every ounce of humanity.

The bidding started, voices rising from the darkness. Samuel’s thoughts swirled in a chaotic mix of fear, anger, and despair. How had it come to this? How had he gone from being a person with dreams and aspirations to a mere item on a stage?

“Do I hear one million? One million, thank you. One point five? Two million, excellent!!,” the auctioneer’s voice droned on, each number driving a nail deeper into Samuel’s soul.

He remembered his family, the way they looked at him when the classification results came in. The disbelief, the horror, and ultimately, the cold rejection. They couldn’t accept that their son was now livestock, a being stripped of rights and dignity. They didn't care. The memory was a knife to his heart, the pain as fresh as the day it happened.

“Three million, ladies and gentlemen. Three million for this fine specimen. Do I hear three point five?”

A wave of nausea washed over Samuel. He felt like he was drowning, suffocating under the weight of his helplessness. The air seemed to thicken, pressing in on him from all sides. He wanted to disappear, to escape this twisted reality-

“Three point five! Going once, going twice—”

“Four million.”

The voice was cold, authoritative. It sliced through the murmur of the crowd, drawing all attention. The auctioneer paused, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he regained his composure.

“Four million. Do I hear four point five?”

Silence. The room was thick with tension, the bidders hesitant. No one else dared to challenge the new bidder. The auctioneer smiled, a predatory gleam in his eyes.

“Four million, going once, going twice—sold!”

The gavel came down with a resounding thud, sealing Samuel’s fate. He felt a sickening lurch in his stomach, the finality of it crashing over him like a wave. His legs buckled, and he collapsed to the floor, his chains rattling in the oppressive silence.

“Congratulations to the winning bidder,” the auctioneer announced. “You’ve acquired a truly exceptional specimen.”

The handler hauled Samuel to his feet, dragging him off the stage. The curtains closed behind him, cutting off the view of the audience. Samuel’s mind was a whirlpool of emotions—fear, anger, despair—all mixing into a nauseating cocktail that threatened to overwhelm him.

He was led down a dim corridor, the oppressive atmosphere pressing in on him. His thoughts raced, trying to grasp onto any shred of hope, but there was none. He was a prisoner in this twisted system, a pawn in a game he didn’t understand.

The handler shoved him into a small, windowless room. The door slammed shut behind him, the sound echoing in the confined space. Samuel sank to the floor, his body shaking with silent sobs. He was alone, trapped in a nightmare with no end in sight.

As the hours passed, Samuel’s mind wandered. He thought of his family, his friends, the life he had lost. He thought of the government that had condemned him, the society that had turned its back on him. He felt a burning rage, a deep-seated anger at the injustice of it all.

"Why?"

There was no answer, only the cold, unyielding silence. Samuel curled up on the floor, wrapping his arms around himself in a futile attempt to find comfort. "Why why why why why?!!" His thoughts drifted to the future, to the unknown fate that awaited him. "FUCK WHY?!" He tried to steel himself, to prepare for whatever horrors lay ahead, and to just not cry but it seemed impossible now. He was being sold. Like someone who had no life, no thoughts, no family.

The door creaked open, and a figure stepped inside. Samuel looked up, his eyes red and swollen from crying. The man was tall and impeccably dressed. He had expected some fat, old, pervert which this man was definitely not. He could still be a pervert but he wanted to cancel that situation out the most.

“Hello.” he said, his voice smooth and condescending slightly leaning down to see Samuel's face properly.

This fucker. He was talking to him like one would to a cat. Swears were burning up at his throat with tears that unfortunately only heavied when he saw the man. He wanted to punch, kick, swear, kill him but the only thing he managed out was- "G-Get away.."

The man’s gaze remained impassive, his eyes cold and calculating as he took in Samuel’s defiant posture. “Oh, come now,” he said, his tone patronizing yet unbothered by the hostility. “I’m here to finalize the details of your new life. You’ll find it’s quite different from the one you’ve left behind.”

Samuel’s heart raced faster, the blood pounding in his ears. The man’s words seemed to echo in the empty room, mingling with the remnants of Samuel’s fading hope. He could barely focus on the man’s features, his mind a tumult of panic and resignation.

The man continued, unperturbed by Samuel’s pleas. “You should be grateful. Not many get to experience such... exclusive treatment. Rather, you would've already been beaten down for not giving proper respect to your owner.” He gestured dismissively towards the door. “Now, we'll discuss the rules when we reach home.”

Grateful? How could he be grateful for being bought like an object, for having his humanity stripped away? How could anyone be grateful when being treated like this? His hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms as he tried to hold back the torrent of emotions threatening to overwhelm him.

“Who... who are you?” Samuel managed to choke out, his voice trembling.

The man straightened, a smile playing on his lips. “My name is Marcus Caldwell. And you, Samuel, are now my property.”

Samuel’s stomach turned at the word. He wasn’t a person anymore, just a possession, a thing to be owned. His mind raced, desperately and he almost didn't even notice the needle now in the man's hand.

"No no no no no noo get away!" The man was on him in seconds with the needle stabbed into his arm. Samuel screeched, his back arching at the rough treatment.

"Shhh.. It's for your safety, love. Just until we reach home."

That wasn't his home. His home was- oh.. he didn't have a home.. Tears filled his eyes with black spots forming in front of them.

Just how many times was he going to be drugged in this life?

Next

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@vampiresprite/ @lucas--43

[thelunarsystemwrites]

do you know who Killer and Dust are, Sans?

do you realize how merciful Muffet is to have enslaved you?

you should be.

You should be fortunate it was her who got to you first.

Textbox: ..Yeah. could be worse.. Still, wish it wasn't happening at all.

my silly little depressed man... reblog to give him some love 🥺

[antianakin]

I just saw this meme. I disagree with the sentiment because a), “border dispute” can mean full-on war, and b), Padmé’s a Senator and probably has more power to send Jedi places and she’s just pulling a Knight away from other duties to play bodyguard.

What do you think?

I think it's the stupidest meme I've ever seen given that we never ONCE see Padme do a single thing about slavery herself, Padme didn't even realize that slavery was still a PROBLEM not that long ago, and TCW explicitly has an entire arc that shows not just the Jedi dealing with slavery but the slavers hating the Jedi specifically because the Jedi dealt with them already a while back (the only reason they're still doing shit is because Dooku/the Sith and the Separatists are putting them back in power, but they're still clearly much diminished from what they used to be).

It's also massively minimizing "the slavery problem" to something that can be easily and simply solved rather than a humongous proposition that takes a lot of time and effort to handle.

So whoever made this meme can just fuck off.

(I will say that Padme herself is NOT pulling away Obi-Wan and/or Anakin to be her bodyguard, she specifically doesn't WANT a bodyguard but Palpatine and the Jedi both insist on it for her own safety.)

[flowerbetweenfangs]

Caged

(This is a longer one and will be put under read more. CW: There is slavery, but the reader is looking to free/dismantle the system in their own way)

You came across the caged people in the middle of the day. There were no code words or secret passages to get to the displays. It was like any other booth at the bazaar.

Most of the cages were filled with beastmen. Unlike the creatures who roamed the forest, they would walk on two legs. Some could even speak.

Lionmen, Tigerladies, Avian Sapiens, "Not Deer", Chimera, and even a few Phoenixes all stared at you as you walked. Some grabbed the bars and strained their faces to look at you. A small flicker of danced across your eyes. Maybe a spark of hope that they would be freed.

"How long has this been going on?" You asked your companion.

"What do you mean?"

"The slaves?"

"Ah. Well, my dear blue blood..." Their voice trailed off as they stared at the cages. "Surely you heard about the market for this? They're not slaves..." They wiggled their fingers, brows furrowed as they attempted to come up with an explanation. "Merely.... Indentured servants."

"Why not put an offer up on the boards in town?" You raised a skeptical brow and ventured closer to the cages.

A walking stick slapped your chest. The impact smarted. Wincing, you stepped away to rub the sore spot.

"You shouldn't question this so much." Your companion hissed next to your ear.

"How much are the contracts?" You asked. There wasn't much left in your purse, but surely you could at least free one.

"Sorry?"

"We offer a wide variety of specimens and creatures." A well dressed figure stepped out from behind one of the cages. He ran a walking stick of his own across the bars, causing many who had come forward to retreat and whimper.

"We've broken them in ahead of time," His smile made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. "So they should already be obedient."

"Broken in?" Your brows raised more. So they had beaten or tortured these creatures into compliance?

"Don't worry, little Blue Blood." The man bowed. "We would not want a client to be harmed by the merchandise. If one does harm you or run away, we will send in our own parties to capture and return them, and give you a new one."

Your companion must have seen your scheming expression. The waling stick slammed down on the top of your foot and a quick throat clear was all the warning they could offer while being discreet.

Your eyes went to the Lionman again. They'd shorn his mane. Nicks and a few notches in his ear and surrounding fur showed how gentle they'd been. Dried blood and dirt clung to his body.

Your stomach churned at the fetid stench and sight. The sign declaring his price seemed insultingly low for another life. But considering how much the sellers had damaged the "merchandise", perhaps that was why.

You put down the coins.

The merchant slid over papers. The sloppily applied seal at the bottom hinted at their legitimacy, or lack thereof. Clenching your jaw, your eyes flicked to the top of the page. The spot next to "Name" was blank.

"He's your property, so you get to call him what you want."

"I'll... Think about it."

***

When you arrived home, the newcomer's nose wrinkled, sniffing his new environment.

Setting the papers down, you waved over one of the notaries, who came over with blank pieces of papers and writing tools. While you could read and write, the palace preferred the people they paid to be the ones who crossed the Ts and dotted the Is, along with minding the Ps and Qs.

"What is your name?" You asked the creature once your companion left to the servants' quarters. Laughter and cheers erupted shortly after.

The sudden noise had the Lionman's eyes wide, what little fur he had standing on end.

"They're always off by the seventeenth mark." You explained.

His eyes remained focused on the door. A chalice fell over as his thrashing tail struck it. As red wine sloshed across the table, the notary screeched, trying to save the paper.

Fabric tore and in a golden blur, the Lionman's fist slammed down on the table in front of you.

A filthy rag was clutched in his hand. And he was wearing less clothing than before.

"Forgive me." His hand trembled as he attempted to wipe up he rest of the wine.

"It's okay." You tried to keep your tone gentle as your heart became a battering ram against your chest. He'd moved so fast. Tore off his clothes, just to keep some wine off yours.

"And what is the name of my savior?" You tried again, now that you had his attention.

"I... Do not have one."

You inhaled sharply. Perhaps releasing him back into the wild wasn't the best option, just yet.

"Well... I paid a gold piece for you. You have golden fur. And you clearly are showing you will be worth every piece." You looked to the notary.

"What's another word for gold?"

"Well, an old word for gold piece was "Aureus."" The notary explained as they spread the papers across the tables.

You turned back to the Lionman.

"Is that acceptable?"

He dropped to one knee, arm across his abdomen.

"Of course, Master."

[stheresya]

Daenerys' storyline in ADWD is a good way to complexify heroic narratives without invalidating the idealism of the savior. What is in question isn't the morality of freeing slaves (because that's already indisputable), but how to integrate them in society in a effective way when that goes against ancient traditions of subjugation. It offers an honest portrayal of power struggle, how the oppressing class does not give up their power easily, and in order to make a revolution stick you must give the oppressed the necessary tools to keep themselves empowered, the oppressed must be able and willing to reign fire on those who seek to put them in chains again. With heroic narratives there's always an extraordinary someone saving people from certain doom and everyone is happy. the end. But with Dany there's an exploration of the aftermath. Her storyline explores her struggle of wanting to do good, on trying to keep her people safe while dealing with powerful people who seek to maintain their hierarchies. It's an exploration of what power can mean to different groups. Power can be about subjugation but it can also be a way to prevent yourself from being subjugated. The great masters would not have behaved differently if Dany had proposed gradual and peaceful reforms on slavery, because they cared first and foremost about their status as a ruling class, and that status was only possible through the exploitation of other people, because for a group to be above requires all others to be below, stepped on by those above.

[skele-bunny]

Memories. (CW) Phantom/Dew

CW: Talk of past slavery and abuse

Characters: Phantom, Dewdrop/Sodo

I wanted to do more with this, but brain dead tbh. Also trying out new formatting! Might not keep it but eh.

Read it under the cut or on AO3!

Dew turned his head as he stepped outside, eyes scanning the area before spotting his target sitting on the river dock, wings drooped. Sodo pushed himself forwards, hands in his pockets as he approached Phantom–tilting some to try and get a glimpse.

“Tommy?” He mumbled, watching as Phantom turned to meet his gaze.

He gave a slight smile. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

Phantom turned back out to the water, fingers holding a small, heart-shaped rose quartz Aether had gifted him. Their mate had come back from town with bags of gifts for his pack, specifically giving Phantom a decorative bag full of crystals. Sodo didn't know much about quintessence purposes with crystals, but knew it was something sacred to their element. Something Phantom and Aether shared appreciations for. But when Phantom had gotten to the bottom where that heart laid, curled in wire to be a necklace– Phantom instantly seemed off. He played it off well, thanking Aether for the gift before excusing himself outside. Dew was simply sent to retrieve him for dinner.

“Got something on your mind?” Dew asked, moving to sit down next to his mate.

The bat simply shrugged, eyeing the gift again. “I guess, just…Memories, is all.”

Dew nodded, looking out at the water. “You know I'm here to talk if you ever need, right?”

“I know.”

A strange silence sat over them, Dew occasionally passing glances to his mate before going back to the shimmer of the water. It took a while longer before Phantom opened his mouth again.

“You know how I told you about my pit life, right?” He questioned, refusing eye contact and his ears turning red from shame.

“Yeah…” Dew's gut twisted. “You've told me.”

Phantom laughed at himself, shaking his head before tearing his eyes away from the heart. “My master, Albus, was weird as fuck. Besides the whole–you know, sex slave-forced mate thing…There were these times that I'd gaslight myself so hard that he actually loved me. That I wasn't just some…Prize and property.”

The fire ghoul kept himself quiet, looking over as his mate talked, his own expression holding sadness.

“Every month, he'd leave for a day while he went to our trading posts. He was always looked up at for casting knowledge, he was like a fucked up version of Special. Always knew how to alter the mind, conjure things others tried for years to do. He was so smart on ancient magick…But, anyways, he'd come back and always would have a little gift for me. Usually it was treats and more jewelry for me to wear, but every now and then he'd bring me crystals and wind chimes.”

He continued, “I think it was two years in when he gave me my first rose quartz. A-And I just remember looking at him with such a different view for the first time. I convinced myself so hard that he honestly did love me. I mean, the crystal should've proven that, right? I was just lost in my own delusion and-”

Tears started flowing, Phantom covering his mouth as he openly began to sob, shaking his head. Dew moved closer, placing his hand on Phantom's back and the other resting over the other that stayed on his lap. The pack leader gently pushed a comforting smell, Phantom inhaling sharply as he tried to calm himself.

“I-I mean fuck! That's how you court people in our culture, and he'd just…” Phantom lowered his head, his ears drooped. “I thought I loved him, too…In reality I just had stockholm and was so trauma bonded to this asshole. I'm just an idiot.”

The newly summon moved, leaning into Dewdrop's hold, being hugged tightly. They whined as Sodo began to gently brush down his back, trying to wipe his eyes and gather himself better. Sodo nuzzled closer, exhaling.

“I know how that feels. Being so lost in your abuse you think it's normal–you deserve it and they're doing it for a purpose. Doing it because they love you. Any type of affection was better than anything.” Dew mumbled, stroking more down Phantom's back. “You're not an idiot, bug. You were trying to survive.”

“Does it ever get better?” Phantom looked up, his eyes glossy and just pleading for answers.

For once, Dew was unsure. He simply held Phantom tighter, linking their tails together.

“I think it does. I still struggle a lot, I mean–Shit, Aether reminds me too much of my own tormentor sometimes. Sometimes I have to double take him especially when it's dark. It doesn't help that he and Mountain were around near the end of my abuse. Kept me on my toes that they'd been influenced to follow what ‘they’ did.”

“But I thought Aether was the one to help you out?”

“He was and still is.” Sodo shrugged. “Doesn't change that my mind still associates his entire body with what I experienced. Trauma is a really, really confusing thing. Aether pushed it in my head so many times that healing isn't linear. Even after eight years, I still have night terrors sometimes.”

“I'm upset over a stupid crystal-”

Dew cut him off. “Hey. You can't control triggers and flashbacks, as much as it sucks. You being upset is very justified. Your trigger isn't something that should be overlooked.”

Phantom looked down again, his thumb running over the silver wire wrapped around the heart. “I just… I wish I could associate it with something better. Aether gave this to me out of love and kindness.”

“Stop beating yourself up over this, bug. Associations take a while to change, and I'm sure if you give yourself just a little bit more time, you'll be able to accept it.” Dew pulled Phantom closer. “But, I really do think it gets better. I mean look how far you've come! You went from hiding under the tables to sneaking into our beds, dork…You're able to laugh, you're able to live. I think that's impressive with everything you've gone through.”

A gentle whine and purrs erupted, Phantom squeezing his mate tightly before moving up to butt their horns together. Dew cupped his cheeks, smiling and leaning forwards to kiss at his cheeks, scenting against his neck before lightly nipping his bond.

“This thing right here?” His tongue carefully went over the bond. “This is my promise to you, Tom'. The entire packs promise–That we'll never let you be hurt again…Do you believe that?”

“I do…” Phantom moved back a bit, looking down at the crystal before handing it over to Sodo. “Will you hold onto it for me until I'm ready?”

“Yeah…Yeah, I can do that.”

Taking the necklace, Sodo pocketed the item, and in return Phantom went right back into his arms. They sat quiet for a moment as their rumbles passed back and forth, Sodo poking his muzzle against Phantom's jawline.

“By the way, Mountain is making both pork and chicken empanadas.”

Phantom shot up, scrambling to his feet – almost knocking Dew into the water which earned an aggravated hiss.

“Why didn't you tell me that?! Come on! You know Swiss’ fat ass takes all of them!!” Phantom squealed more, grabbing Dew's wrist and dragging him to his feet.

“Alright, alright! Fuck!” Still, he couldn't help but laugh as he let Phantom drag him back towards the abbey.

[loderlied]

so i’ve been talking about my hcs for gort’s fucked up slave village right. how the children born there are immediately his slaves as well. so this ties into my ‘he’s extremely ableist because he only sees people as tool so if they aren’t as useful they will be discarded & destroyed like one broken beyond repair’ hc for him—i’ve been having a vision of horrors in my head… there’d probably be mandatory check-ups right after birth of a child, right? but a parent (most likely someone new, or at least new to parenthood, or else this would not happen) just refuses to let anyone see the child, and especially fears that inevitable check-up when gortash returns. when he’s there they sit with their back turned to him, hiding the child. he sits down and holds them, their shaking form, and asks if he ever did anything that wasn’t ultimately for what is right. for them, for the entire world, he only ever does what’s best, and they surely know that. they obviously albeit tearfully agree and move over to let him hold their sick child, but he presses a syringe into their hand before they can do so, it’s quick and it’s painless, and they want to, they really do know better, but they simply can’t. gortash once again asks if they know that he only ever does what’s right, what’s best for them, and they nod before gortash shoots two bullets.

awfulness. sorry for my visions i am like a plagued oracle i do not want this

[cepheusgalaxy]

We all love the "whumpee thinks caretaker is their new master" trope, right? Let's go a little further

Whumpee is whumper's pet. We know this

Whumper also has this friend, Whumper 2

Whumper really wants to impress their friend, or whatever, so they give whumpee to whumper 2

Whumpee is prepared beforehand. Whumper dress them up; They tell them to obey whumper 2. Tell them that they'll be their new master.

While that, Caretaker and Team find this out. Whumpee will be transported from Whumper's to Whumper 2's house

It's the perfect chance for rescuing them.

Ok, now, for the aesthetic, maybe whumpee is in a truck. No windows. No sounds. Whumpee is locked inside during the way, they're only allowed to move or get out once they reach their destiny

The team works fast

They capture the truck and manage to drive it to their base

While that, whumpee is bracing themselves for the terror they know whumper 2 will be.

Imagine the scene when the team unlock whumpee on the truck, and they are obedient, terrifird, they think Caretaker is whumper 2

They do not manage to think they're finally free

[ttrpg-smash-pass-vs]

Imagine the fucking nightmare that could have been Sibriex vs Neogi. A real Personality vs Appearance kind of deal honestly. And neither have much of either.

oh that would've been horrible! Sadly I did use standard tournament seeding. But I've got a few minutes while I wait for my cupcakes to bake, we can do a sort of unofficial back alley match!

On the left, Sibriex, the flesh-warping demons as old as the Abyss, and the source of many demon types. They can break your intelligence down to that of an animal, they can dominate a monster's mind, and it can warp your body into something new! Claws, height change, extra limbs, tusks or tails or wings, wreck your body into a feeble mess or just change your hair color, sky's the limit! So just warning you, you likely won't leave that encounter the same.

On the right, Neogi! 3 ft (0.9 m) venoumous spider-dicks with a hairy sack. They're xenophobic ruthless slavers whose only ability is being able to mentally enslave people in a fraction of a second. Seriously, this isn't a "culturally they're slavers," it's apparently just hard-wired that they consider EVERYTHING as descending tiers of slaves and owners. They think it as fundamental a part of the universe as...well, thier ability to enslave creatures at a glance. There has been a single god-forged exception in decades of writing, to everyone else the world is either prey, slave, or both. It's why every creature in the multiverse hates them.

[gabessquishytum]

Have we done an "Ancient Rome" AU?

E.g., Winning Gladiator!Hob & Senator!Dream Senator Dream rewards his winning Gladiator Hob by allowing him to d*ck Dream down.

Dream is never happier than when he has his Gladiator walking around his domus mostly naked - so he can sketch the play of his muscles and admire the scars that prove Hob's superiority.

It will be a shame when Hob buys his freedom and leaves Dream (like everyone else.)

Yes yes YES we love an ancient rome au <3 dreamling is my roman empire etcetc.

Pater familias Dream is kinda sexy ngl. He's got his lovely villa in Rome and then maybe some vineyards and other properties in the provinces. But above all else, Hob is his prized possession. And Hob is kind of unique in that he lives in Dream’s main residence, doesn't have to rough it out with any other gladiators, and basically does his own training. He's been doing it for about a decade so it's not like he needs anyone telling him how to fight. And he has plenty of motivation when Dream comes out into the training yard to watch him. Performing well for Dream, winning all his fights and basically impressing his master are his main goals.

Hob is getting close to earning enough to buy his freedom, but he does also worry because he isn't getting any younger and there's always a chance that Dream might sell him on. He doesn't want that because 1) it'll probably be a more uncomfortable situation and 2) Hob actually really likes Dream and is desperately attracted to him and he really wants to stay with him.

Dream has his own extensive private baths because he's really not very social, but also because it's his favourite excuse to hang out with Hob (naked). Hob was shy at first, but now he's happy to dismiss the household slaves and massage Dream himself. He'll even gently tease Dream for being so tense! Dream doesn't dare to massage Hob in return because he knows that he'll end up hard, hell if he gets his hands on Hob’s impressive chest he might even cum all over himself.

It's probably only a matter of time before something happens between them but in the meantime, Dream will continue to get incredibly jealous whenever he sees someone touching Hob, and Hob will continue to rub one out thinking about Dream before every single fight. No wonder he's on a winning streak...

[plxtypusbearr73]

history assignment 😍

[unforgivenn]

Masterlist

Noah shuddered, the tears welling in his eyes mixing with the blood and sweat on his face. He tried to pull away, but the strings only tightened, biting deeper into his flesh. Andrey laughed softly, a sound that sent shivers down Noah's spine.

"Struggle all you want, slave.," Andrey murmured, his lips brushing against Noah's ear. "You'll only hurt yourself more. Accept your fate, and perhaps, just perhaps, I'll show you a mercy."

But Noah knew there would be no mercy. Not from Andrey. The prince's touch was as cold and unyielding as the chains that bound him. Nevertheless, he was too ensnared in his thoughts to make out Andrey's words. He felt as if he was teetering on the brink of insanity. There was just pain, pain, and more pain.

Every moment in this hellish place was a relentless assault on his mind and body. The constant pain, the fear, the humiliation—it was all too much. Noah's thoughts raced, a chaotic whirl of memories and nightmares. He remembered his life before this, the freedom he had taken for granted, now a distant, cruel dream. He remembered his mother making rhubarb pie for him. His sister running around the house lighting it up with her talkative nature.

Why is this happening to me? What did I do to deserve this? The questions had been echoing in his mind ever since he came here but now he heard them ring in his ears louder than before. He felt his grip on reality slipping, the edges of his sanity fraying with each passing second.

Noah's heart pounded in his chest, each beat a drum of panic. He tried to focus on something, anything to ground himself, but all he could see were the s, the blood, the darkness.

I'm finally losing it. I'm losing my mind. The thought was like a dagger to his heart. A part of him wanted to laugh at himself, at this whole shitty situation while the other wanted to just sob at his helplessness. The fear of what he was becoming was almost worse than the pain itself. He was no longer just a captive; he was a broken man, teetering on the edge of madness.

Andrey's voice broke through the fog of his thoughts, a chilling voice in his head that repeated again and again. "You're mine, Noah. Mind, body, and soul. There's no escape for you. No hope. No mercy." He wanted to help him to shut up but it felt as if he couldn't open his mouth anymore.

Wait.. What was he doing here again..?

Noah's vision blurred with tears, his body trembling. He wanted to scream, to beg for release, but he knew it would only bring more torment. He was trapped, not just physically, but mentally, emotionally. The shackles that held him were more than just physical restraints; they were the bonds of his shattered will, the chains of his despair.

I can't do this. I can't keep going. The thought was a desperate plea, a cry into the void. But there was no one to hear it, no one to save him.

The room seemed to close in around him, the walls pressing in, the air growing thin. He was suffocating, drowning in his own fear and pain.

Help me. Someone, please, help me. Please help me please help me- The plea repeated in his mind like a chant thought it went unanswered, lost in the abyss of his despair.

He was just a puppet, and Andrey was the puppeteer. And in this twisted game, there were no strings that could be cut to set him free.

(THIS WAS NOT A PART OF THE MAIN SERIES)

Taglist: @miireux134 @nuriiz134 @ash-reh @noeul-whumpppss @morning-star-whump

@parasitebunny @anutz1234 @whatwasmyprevioususername @whumped-by-glitter @someoneoninternettt(let me know if you want to be added or removed :D)

[somfte]

Content warning: execution, hangings, one scene of enslaved people in a cage.

[video description: a Black Sails fanvid set to a rewritten rendition by Chumbawamba of the folk song Bella Ciao. The song is sung a cappella. The video consists of scenes of Charles Vane. His procession to the gallows is interspersed with moments of resistance against England and defense of his principles and the people he cares about. Throughout the video, excerpts of his speech on the gallows are heard over the music:

These men who brought me here today do not fear me. They brought me here today because they fear you. […] They brought me here today to show you death, and use it to frighten you. […] But know this. We are many. They are few. To fear death is a choice. And they can't hang us all.

The video ends as Vane slowly strangles on the end of his noose.

/end description]

[mjrtaurus]

As a vice-admiral’s son, Dragon was subject to a good bit of ribbing from his peers when he joined the marines, this Urpi knew. It was in the nature of the young to be playful and foolish, this was universal. But this? This was neither.

Dragon had been hazed, to put it plainly. Peer-pressured into a few too many drinks, the primary feathers of his wings crudely clipped while he was too intoxicated to protest, and his person unceremoniously dumped on their doorstep for his parents to find.

She was furious.

To the Shandia, wing-clipping was considered a vile act. Something not to be done even to your very worst enemy. When her people were still widespread across the blue seas, a Shandian- or any Sky Islander for that matter- with clipped wings was often also the bearer of a World Noble’s four clawed brand. To willingly recreate that humiliation was nothing short of a war crime.

His feathers would molt out and grow back in whole with time, but the intangible damage was still done. Her son had been shamed, plain and simple. Worse still, he blamed himself for it.

[anghraine]

rubynye replied to this post:

Olaudah Equiano: enslaved as a child, bought his own freedom, campaigned eloquently for abolition, his memoir went through nine printings at least. An erudite Black man from before many people think Black people were invented. I can't adequately express how happy seeing him in your list made me.

Equiano is a truly fascinating, compelling figure. His memoir was assigned in a grad school seminar I took on 18th-century British literature focused on various forms of resistance and dialogue among/between/about the oppressed, and it was really intriguing to read abolitionist poetry and tracts mainly by white English people across the political spectrum of their era and then Equiano's Interesting Narrative. The contrast is incredible.

He's in my dissertation for basically one passage—the account of his capture and lifelong separation from his sister. But it's a hell of a passage.

(Now that I'm thinking about it, he was also in the curriculum I designed when I took over my advisor's upper-division 18th-century class for a semester, and my undergrad students loved the Interesting Narrative, way more than the grad students in my own seminar had. Most of my students had no idea he'd even existed and they just really got into it.)