#implied punishment

[whumpshaped]

Memories 1: Disdain

Silence Masterlist

trigger warnings: institutionalised/normalised pet whump, it/its used as the default for pets, captivity, victim blaming, conditioning, manipulation, implied torture, past trauma, broken bones, dehumanisation

Sil was lying on the floor of the surprisingly nice basement. Of course, it hadn’t been ecstatic when Master told it that this was where it would spend the next several years of its life, regardless of its behaviour. It was better than nothing, certainly better than what it had expected, but the start was still a little rocky.

There were no windows, no sunlight to get inside. There was a little lamp in the corner of the room, only turning on half the time with the flip of its switch. Sil didn’t know whether the other times Master had done something to disable it and further plague its life, or whether it was simply old and not working properly. It didn’t really matter at the end of the day.

Its pet bed was thrown down the stairs after it - after its own body had been roughly shoved down the steps, resulting in at least one broken rib and a seemingly fractured ankle. Its shoulder had seen better days as well, but the pain was nothing compared to its swollen, throbbing leg. It was agony, every single second was more painful than the last, and it couldn’t walk anywhere. It had brought the pet bed over to where the little lamp was in an attempt to find some comfort in the dim lighting, only for the lamp to randomly turn off just as it had finally settled down in a position that wasn’t so unbearably painful.

There were some toys as well, broken ones like itself. Some dolls with missing limbs, puzzles with torn up pieces, picture books with the pages scribbled on. Sil didn’t touch them. Surely, they weren’t for it. Maybe Master had forgotten that he had been using the basement as his personal garbage disposal, and he was eventually going to come and get all of them to take them to an actual dumpster. It didn’t want to anger him by touching something that was meant to be thrown away.

It was odd to be so focused on a single goal. Something so unattainable at that. Master was always angry whenever it saw him. It was maddening to be so hypervigilant about someone else’s anger when its own had never been taken into consideration. Its anger had never fazed Master, yet it was being taught to fear the slightest signs of his annoyance.

The medicine tasted ghastly. Sil hated every single pill, and every time the bitter exterior touched its tongue it wanted to gag. It never hesitated, though, and never gave in to that urge. It swallowed every last one that it had been given, wallowing in helplessness for the night that followed and waking up with less and less memories of its life before. It had never been given medication for the pain, and the more it had to endure the amnesia pills, the more grateful it felt for that. It didn’t think it would be able to swallow a single other pill aside from the mandatory ones.

Its body slowly mended itself, as much as it had been allowed to. The pain of dragging itself over to the bathroom to take a shower whenever Master got tired of touching its grimy skin faded. Well, that might’ve been a bit of an exaggeration on its part. Master didn’t touch its skin. He never had. He wore gloves to avoid any physical contact, and he used canes and whips to inflict the kind of pain that would make him feel better in the end. Maybe it was just the sight of an unkempt pet in his pristine home that sent him over the edge, yelling at Sil to use the damn shower it had been provided.

Ungrateful, unruly, disgusting pet. Useless. Can’t even clean itself, can’t even do that one single thing so its owner wouldn’t have to look at something so unsightly.

But why would it? Sil was hidden. Sil had been hidden by the very master that now demanded it acted like it was being on display. The same master that had pushed it down the stairs, making it hard to even stand, that had shoved it inside a windowless room with a bathroom barely big enough to fit the shower, was now telling it to get up and get to work on its appearance when it didn’t fucking matter.

Sil lay on the floor of that room, fiddling with the wire of the little lamp. These were dangerous thoughts to have, the ones that criticised him, dissected his irrational behaviour, the ones that outright whispered he shouldn’t walk the same earth as everyone else. They fuelled its anger, and anger wasn’t an emotion associated with any good pet. But Sil wasn’t a good pet. Sil was an ungrateful, unruly, disgusting pet, hidden from the world, the sun, the people and the other pets. Sil was allowed to feel angry when no one was looking, because most of the time, there was no one looking.

The only pair of eyes on it were Master’s, and Master’s eyes were usually busy surveilling his other pets. The good pets. The ones without broken bones and lash marks on their backs. The presentable ones. The ones that were sometimes tasked with bringing it its lunch, so they came downstairs and laughed at its pitiful predicament - but only until Sil pretended to lunge at them and they ran upstairs, crying like the stupid little prissy, spoiled pets that they were. And then Master came downstairs, and Sil took its punishment with those dead eyes fixed on the wall it was turned towards so Master could tear its back open.

It put down the wire when it heard the basement door open. Heavy, purposeful steps signalled Master’s arrival. He was always angry when he came downstairs, and he never wasted a moment justifying the abuse he was about to inflict upon it. Same as ever, he reached the bottom of the stairs and gestured for Sil to get up and crawl over to the wall. He already had his chosen whip in his hand.

Sil glanced at him briefly before looking back up at the ceiling. It was tired that day, so awfully exhausted. It didn’t even want to think about getting up and moving its body in any way. Besides, its anger overpowered the anxiety that came with being disobedient.

“Come here, mutt.” Its owner was giving it a second chance with the verbal command. He knew that Sil knew damn well what he wanted from it, but still, he was merciful enough to just say it out loud, as a warning.

“I don’t think a disgusting person like you is fit to care for a pet, Master,” it said in response, without even looking at him, fully ignoring the command.

The silence that followed was threatening to suffocate it. It weighed heavy on its chest, making its breaths come shallower and shallower. It expected an instantaneous reaction, Master blowing up and shouting at it to apologise immediately, and when that didn’t happen, it was forced to actually turn its head and look at him to see what was going on. That was the first battle it had lost.

“Good. Now you’re listening,” he said coolly, sending shivers down its spine.

“Master’s voice even echoes in such a small room. It’s impossible not to.” Its own voice got quieter, a little shaky towards the end. That was the second battle it had lost.

“Tell me why you’re insulting your owner.”

Sil could’ve backed down from this third battle. It should’ve. It should’ve told him, ‘I don’t know, I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking’. Crawl over, kiss his shoes, apologise again. It didn’t. “Is the truth insulting to you, Master?”

“It isn’t. I’m wondering why you’re not telling the truth. I’m wondering why you’re resorting to childish insults in an attempt to get under my skin.”

He didn’t move from his place in the middle of the little room. He didn’t make an attempt to drag Sil to its feet or even knees, and he didn’t force it to kneel where he wanted it to kneel. Still, Sil felt that pull in its body, the conditioned response. The right response. It tried to ignore it, but in the end, it justified itself sitting up, figuring it was better to be in a seated position when he inevitably decided to stomp right on over to it and punch it in the face.

In reality, it knew Master wasn’t going to take a single extra step to punish it. He was waiting for Sil to present itself for punishment.

“Do you think this is the way to take care of pets?” it asked, increasingly agitated by his nonchalance and its own sense of helplessness. “Do they teach this somewhere? ‘Grab a whole pack of pets, buy the entire shelter worth, then single out one of them and lock it in a dark basement.’ Do they? Do they say that? Is this the proper way, the right way, the merciful way to take care of me? Do you have cats, Master? Or dogs? Is one of them isolated somewhere?”

“I do think this is the way to take care of you.” He didn’t even hesitate to say it. He didn’t even… try to lie. “My approach to pets is rather individualistic, and your faulty self should be more than happy that I even decided to give you any sort of space in my home.” Sil opened its mouth to argue, but Master went on, silencing it entirely. “I would never treat another pet the way I treat you. I would never raise my hand at a pet who was able to be trained any other way, and who understood a single method other than pure violence. I would never isolate a pet who wasn’t hellbent on wreaking havoc in my home and scaring my good pets. But I don’t expect you to remember any of your previous misbehaviour, of course, or to understand the first thing about me as a person or owner. I don’t, because it’s very clear that you’re incapable of even understanding the simplest of commands. I treat you the way you deserve to be treated, because as an owner, I treat all my pets that way.”

Sil couldn’t respond. It… expected something else. It didn’t know what exactly, but it was different to what it had been given. Master didn’t stumble over his words, he didn’t even really raise his voice. He spoke with such confidence that it was impossible to think he could’ve been wrong. Sil was missing many memories. All of its clear memories were of Master hurting it and the other pets being scared of it, almost nothing from before.

It deserved to be hurt like this? Did anyone deserve to be hurt like this?

The defiance slowly drained from its body as it looked into Master’s unwavering, cold eyes, finding no solace, no sign of him regretting or rethinking any of what had been said.

It deserved to be hurt. It deserved to be locked away and beat on.

It slowly crawled over to where Master wanted it, ruined shoulder aching as it pulled its shirt over its head to present its barely healing back. “I understand, Master.”

“You don’t,” he said with as much disdain as was humanly possible. “But you will.”

~

taglist: @whumpsday @whump-queen @whump-blog @alexkolax @ha-ha-one @hidden-dreamland @looptheloup @batfacedliar-yetagain @oddsconvert @pinkraindropsfell @project-xiii @whumplr-reader @a-crumb-of-whump @cyborg0109 @dizzyteasroses @the-scrapegoat @whumpinthepot @dustypinetree @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @dokidokisadness

[skittles-the-whumpee]

Cris' First Party in Hell

TW: scars, skimpy clothing, implied past punishment, pet whump, creepy/intimate/cruel/possessive/demon whumper, conditioned/loyal/human whumpee, implied abuse, mature themes, mention of dubcon use of cannabis

Daelan's friend, the lord of Pride, had thrown one of his famous parties and Daelan wanted to show off his newest acquisition, his beloved pet human.

After getting Cris all dolled up, lightly stoned to keep him calm, and adorned in heavy gold, Daelan attached a small, spiked chain under each foot to secure the adornments on his pet's feet that forced the boy to walk on the balls of his feet or suffer having his soles punctured. He knew, for a fact, that his friend enjoyed blood and that the heavy gold would eventually make Cris step on the chains.

After arriving by limo, Daelan led Cris into the luxurious palace in Pride, passing through the massive double doors with his pet in tow on a leash and on his arm. Cris kept his head low and his loosely chained hands on his Master's arm as trained...pretty little arm candy.

The demons they passed by hungrily looked the boy up and down, wanting at least some time alone with him. When Cris realized this after a lustful growl caught his attention, he tightened his grip on Daelan's arm with a soft whimper. His Master glanced down at him with a cruel grin on his lips.

"Do not embarrass me tonight, pet. Need I remind you of what will happen if you do?" He asked in a low, hushed tone, making Cris tense up more. The boy knew, full well, what would happen should he embarrass his Master, a heavy beating and a week in the Icebox, Lord Daelan's almost-freezing personal punishment dungeon.

"No, Master...I'll behave, Master..." Cris managed to squeak out, too scared of Daelan to speak any louder in public for fear of saying the wrong thing, even if he was only acknowledging his Master...it didn't help that the weed was wearing off. He couldn't help but tremble a little on Daelan's arm, this was all so new and frightening to him...the weight of his gold adornments already taking a toll on his ability to walk on the balls of his feet.

With a sadistic chuckle, Daelan's golden eyes began to glow as they began to approach the lord of Pride and he uttered two words that would normally make his pet feel good but now made his blood run cold in fear.

"Good boy~"

[DM me for the NSFW version <3] [The first piece was testing the waters of digital art, this one was the first serious attempt at testing my skills, it was a lot of fun. ^^]

BCWYWF Taglist:

@whumpshaped @whumper-soot @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @dragonfireridge @whumpofdory @astrowhump @batfacedliar @the-scrapegoat @livoftheparty @thebejeweledwatercat

[call-me-strega]

Dc x Dp Prompt #21: Petition to the King

I haven’t done one of these in a while so here we go:

AU where Thomas and Martha Wayne live in the Ghost Zone version of Gotham and have been collecting signatures from the other ghosts there for a few years now. Since the Ghost Prince Phantom has finally come of age and is now able to hold court/assemblies they approach him with their official petition and beseech him: Please allow them avenge their grandson and countless other souls, who’ve signed agreeing to the petition, to haunt and torment the Joker for the rest of his living days. May he never find peace even in sleep, even in death.

Danny being the gracious prince he is agrees. Even going as far as to take the names of literally everyone on the list and create a haunting rotation, for who gets to torment the Joker on which days, with Thomas and Martha having first dibs.

The grandson in question is a revenant and thus also eligible to be put on the haunting rotation so Danny decides to reach out and go to Gotham himself and ask if he wants to haunt the Joker with his grandparents. Thomas and Martha tag along bc they wanna visit their grand-babies, their son, and their partner who raised him.

Jason isn’t sure what to make of his doting ghostly grandparents, the beautiful interdimensional king, or the apparent laundry list of people ready to mess with the Joker’s mind, but hey! If he can’t kill the Joker, eternal torment isn’t a bad deal to swing!

[traumasurvivors]

Children deserve patience.

I remember all the times growing up that I’d get in trouble for something I said or did, and I’d get in more trouble when I asked for an explanation. I was told I was “talking back” or being a “smart ass” when I literally was just trying to understand.

I also find that I’d get punished for being emotional. Even if I didn’t handle them in the right way, that was an opportunity to teach me how to handle them better. Instead I got in trouble and it just taught me to suppress my emotions. And honestly? Adults have bad days and difficulty handling their emotions. But somehow as a child, I was punished for not being perfect.

I think, for my parents at least, they’d get upset and ask why I was disrespecting them or doing something to them. And I think that’s the problem. They took my actions to mean I was maliciously trying to upset them when that was never the case. Instead of sitting back and trying to figure out why a child might be doing what they’re doing, they took it personally and that’s what made them so angry. If you think someone is intentionally trying to upset you, it’s going to likely upset you. And that wasn’t a fair assumption to make.

Children deserve patience and the benefit of the doubt.

[joannasteez]

shameful

pairing: roman reigns x reader warning: explicit content. minors pls dni. not degradation or praise, but a secret third thing i have yet to figure out. infidelity! post summerslam return! authors note: i don't know what this is and i wrote it.. so yeah. enjoy?! let me know what you think. love to hear thoughts/opinions etc word count: 1100 tagging: @333creolelady @harmshake @kill-the-artiste @theninthwonder @thesamoanqueen @empressdede @southerngirl41 @sortudademais @2-muchsauce

that 'not enough" feeling. a fullness not quite reached. forever on the edge. the heat over his skin, vicious and damp as it breaks. rough grunts and the sure stroke of his hips. like torture resting in his belly. twisted and holding. waiting to burst, to release. almost. palpable enough to taste. throbbing down his spine. needy little moans breathing against his tongue and the delicious pull of your pussy. an encore. from cheery, fevered cries to the play of these little delicate ones, sweetening his ears, his blood. almost. belly tight. burning. fingers curling the sheets. digging. groaning. 

a hot, terrible breath bursts into your neck. frustration unruly. 

you thumb away those loose hairs sticking to him. dizzy, pretty eyes pulling away from their pleasure for a moment to take him in. your lips hot against him. kiss swollen and dangerous. "whats wrong?" sweeping over his cheek. 

his tongue feels dirty. folds over as he speaks with a griminess not yet recognized. "none of this bother's you, does it?" words trying against the air. 

you laugh. head tipping against the sheets. devious and full. moaning into that richness of amusement. kissing his lips and curling your hips into him. a shift that pulls him in deeper. urges him to nestle and groan. almost. rattled enough with pleasure but never enough for that faithful breaking. "m'being serious", he roughs. feeding in gently, a tender little go that steeps him in and keeps him clutched tightly. your body trembling and receiving. always so easy to receive him.

you smile. mouth faint over his skin. over his beard and the apple of his cheek. along his neck, skimming and breathy. fingers in his hair and a whimper delighting just where his pulse living. your tongue warm, peaking to lick and curl. playful. taunting. "would you fuck me harder if i gave you a little resistance?" your palms smooth, at his nape, over his back. slipping against damp, hot skin. smiling into his neck. "i play up the guilt, cry about how we shouldn't do this and how awful i feel, leaving my man all alone to lick his little wounds while you fuck me. that'll make you give me more huh?" an urge to shift his hips, rutting short and sloppy. cock stirring up at your words. 

his thumb hooks under the bend in your leg. settling his knees to nail into the bed a little better, taut and strong and holding you hostage under him. open and easy. neck craning to chase your lips. to cease that awful flow of truth better felt when it goes unsaid. because he did love it. that damning streak of possession that comes with a chase. a cat and his deceptive little mouse. your tone disgustingly sweet, lips wet, charming. "you want it a little more wrong baby?" you purr. rolling your hips to grind at his dick. "it's only a win if you're the only one smiling right? nobody gets their fun but you..." 

roman's fingers fill with fire. an ache he can't stand that blooms fierce. uneven breaths and that almost ready to burst coil in his belly. your neck warm as he squeezes. a tremble rippling thereafter. like your body was made to follow him. 

"...thats how it works huh?, that's why you got your hotel room so close to his..."

"...you love the idea of this shit..."

tighter. thumb pressing in to restrict your throat. a sloppy dazed go of wet strokes. the messy noise of it burning his ears red. a bright heat that flushes his face. 

"...love the idea of him hearing me, finding me..."

"...that shit makes you feel so good..."

a moan with the strike of words. talking yourself to the brink of that beautiful great bursting. whimpers clear and pitchy. that sticky slick of arousal easing him in, easing him to bury deep. a tingle in the heels of his toes, rushing to the crown of his head. 

you smile. eyes dim and dazed still. fingers quick to rub your swollen clit. the lewd song of it good to him. his eyes casting against it. to watch you flutter and perform desperate for release. 

"you want me to pretend for you?" 

"fuck", roman cuts. setting his hips to give a delicious little grind against your walls. the thick tip of him nudging, filling you to the hilt. deep enough that your body attempts to curl. attempts to close in from too much pleasure. a drawl of trembly little moan leaving him. stuttered and overworked. cock stiff and throbbing and digging for something beyond that almost feeling. 

"does that make my pussy feel better? if i feel a little more shameful, a little less eager?" 

he lowers. laps his tongue against yours. slips into a kiss. lips meshing to pull apart slow. 

"you puttin words in my mouth", he rumbles. 

"...but its what you want. punishment. you want him broken..."

a flare in his chest. eagerness. blinding and resolute. his pace focusing. deft and steady. a method found after the burning pour out of a truth left unsaid. because it felt better to claim you like this. to war and win against the convictions of a sobered morality. drunk now off the pleasure seeping from your body. your legs spread and your pussy wet for him. split open to take him deep. his body thick and consuming. but he needed you to play the game. to give in slowly. be coy and pretty and delicate for him. because the challenge, the chase of it made that burn, that release, a delight better than anything ever felt. better than the beautiful onslaught of a cheering crowd, or the feel of the belt about his waist. 

"call him".

his breath hitching. hips stuttering. surprise binding to his bones. 

"what?", his fair falling everywhere. sticking to the confusion along his face. 

"get my phone".

he shifts without notice. snatches your phone off the hotel night stand. your breaths heavy, fingers slipping with a shake against the screen. 

you set it down. a call to his cousin that twists his gut mean. a terrible excitement. the call clicking short, proving an answer on the other end.

you push. nudge his heavy body over till he's laying out along the sheets. his fingers gripping your skin to rough you along. stirring to throb again. slotting against the soft wet take of your body. skin damp and sticky and smacking lewd as he makes to shift your hips to fuck against him. his palm, a short whip through the air till it lays at your thigh. "roman...", you give. gasping and wispy and delicate. face done up with a horribly sweet show of guilt. lips bitten by your teeth and your eyes prickling wet. a performance that settles him into a renewed eagerness. pleasure rife and coursing about him well. moving fast away from that almost feeling...

"louder baby", he roughs. "let him hear you". 

[wife-beam]

a lot of people act like sqq’s main character trait is obliviousness and i could not disagree more

[worstloki]

there is a difference between being born to a throne, maliciously vying for a throne, stealing a throne, and having a throne thrust upon you when you are already in the midst of an identity crisis. And I fear Loki's place in the line of succession has people unable to differentiate between any of these

[birdsong-warriors]

The claws are here! Plus some friends. uwu

Some random trivia: BloodClan uses hot tar to seal the talons onto their paws. Sunflower here is carrying an old rag soaked in vegetable oil, which breaks down the excess tar and keeps the medical damage to a minimum.

Firefall belongs to @zeekitties , and Sunflower belongs to @talkingtalltales !

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Part 1: Friend and Family

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[puppygirl-slimegirl]

"mutt..." said sternly 🤝 "young lady..." said sternly

making me go absolutely emptyheaded and pliant

[whumpshaped]

Drabble #3

inspo masterlist

trigger warnings: enslaved domestic whumpee, left behind, implied tortures/punishments, beating, lady whumper

“It’s all alone now.”

“Even that damned kid left.”

“How did he even escape?”

“Why didn’t he take it with him?”

“That’s so horrible.”

Andrina didn’t pay attention to any of the whispering voices behind its back. It kept its head low, its pace even, its voice quiet when answering its master. It had taken blow after blow, lash after lash, shocks, drowning, burns, every single thing in the book when Ora found out about Pacey’s escape. It was assumed an accomplice, his partner in crime, the little helper who aided him in the ultimate form of betrayal and disrespect.

In reality, Andrina had no idea that Pacey was planning that. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, even behind closed doors, between the two of them. Pacey was his usual, gloomy self, mostly just sulking and letting Andrina pet his hair and sing him lullabies. He certainly didn’t look like someone who was planning something elaborate like that.

Which made it think. What if Pacey was kidnapped? What if Pacey never escaped, what if he was snatched up somewhere, by one of the guards or maids, what if Ora had a traitor in the house and she had no idea? It brought up the possibility, to which its master beat it even worse.

“A traitor in my house?” Ora screamed, kicking its fragile, curled up body again. “You’ve got some nerve suggesting that when you know damn well what actually happened! Outrageous!”

Andrina never suggested it again, tucking the thought away in the back of its mind instead. If it was being honest, it was worried sick for its only friend. That was precisely why when the whispering voices started lamenting about Pacey’s new, happy life, and how he didn’t think to bring his friend along for the ride, it could only sigh with relief. It kept its head low, hoping to hide its grin, kept its pace even, trying its best not to start jumping around with pure glee, and kept its voice quiet when answering its master, so she wouldn’t be able to hear the excitement lacing every word.

Pacey was out, and he was happy. Andrina couldn’t have been happier for him.

~

@ashh-ed @whumpsday  @whump-queen @rainbows-and-whumperflies

[canichangemyblogname]

I’d personally like to know what fandom they’re in because every third day since May of this year, I have been subjected to takes that include statements like:

Tommy will cheat on Buck because gay men cheat.

Tommy will give Buck an STI because gay men sleep around.

I hope Tommy dies of AIDS.

Tommy is homophobic for dating Buck instead of a “femme twink bottom.”

If I were Buck, I’d have killed Tommy for flirting with me.

If you like Buck x Tommy, you’re just a fetishizer. Even if you’re a queer man. I said what I said.

We should stone Tommy.

M/M romantic relationships have always centered women.

Temu is a predator for dating a grown man who’s younger then him.

Jakey only wants Buck for his body and youth because gay men are shallow and superficial.

Which crime makes you want to execute Tteokbokki the most? Cutting a date short or calling a man by his given name?

Gay men are never actually gay; they just think they are. They actually like women, but don’t realize it or are lying.

Men like T*mmy should be beheaded for flirting with men the way he has with Buck.

Tommy is such a typical gay man, forcing himself on Buck in his loft and turning him gay.

Gay men are all liars, so I don’t expect Buck to put up with Tommy long.

Stereotypes about gay men obvi come from somewhere, and that’s real life! I have good cause to think Tommy will be bad for Buck as a gay man!

Buck’s not actually into men; Tommy is your typical man and pressured/coerced Buck into a relationship.

Tommy and Buck dating makes light of women’s relationship trauma.

Someone needs to tell Buck that he’s actually in love with his best friend!

The gayest thing to ever happen to Buck isn’t kissing a man or the implication he’s had sex with that man, but the one time he told his best friend he’d beat him up.

Buck x Tommy is problematic because they’re both men.

Tommy is a pedo because queer people prey on children and a teen in the show called him “cool” off-screen.

Any number of takes calling fans of 911’s recent decision to expand queer representation by including a same-sex male couple “bummies” or “bummers” << UK queer people have told y’all to knock it off. It’s a slur.

Also any number of takes saying that Buck & Tommy’s relationship feels “off-putting,” “creepy,” “gross,” “weird,” “nauseating,” or “obscene”

If you flirt with men like Tommy, you’re a predator. Simple.

Tommy is a freak and a fetishizer.

Relationships are only meaningful and worthwhile if it’s a slow burn and you more friends for the better part of a decade first.

I think this queer guy is secretly in love with and pining for his (straight) best friend.

Queer guys and straight guys can’t be friends; the attraction gets in the way.

Buck is going to cheat on Tommy because Tommy’s old and has a low libido and Buck’s a bisexual slut.

Tommy is grooming Buck!

So, yeah, I’d like to know what fandom you’re in where people are being homophobic to real queer people for *not* liking Tommy, because all I’ve seen is people literally sending death threats and CSAM fics to queer people—often specifically targeting queer men—who support 911’s newest canon queer couple. It has been MONTHS of targeted harassment. Months. I’d like to know WHO these people are who are harassing queer people in the name of defending a “homophobic queer character,” and then I’d like to know how that character is homophobic.

Please—I beg—tell me how Tommy is a “homophobic” gay man. How is he anything like the self-proclaimed “homophobic gay men” of buddieblr? Do tell. Without relying on any tropes about gay men being predatory. Because the only reason y’all think he is and can and would “groom” or “prey upon” a grown man is based in very popular irl queerphobic stereotypes about queer men. Y’all have spent the last five months essentially saying: “I want to subject this fictional character to violence because of real life false conceptions about men like him.”

[feedingicetothedog]

i'm gonna be honest. i don't fully understand ppl saying that armand suicide baited louis into running into the sun bc he sounds genuinely distressed when he says louis' name on the tape and why would he be performing distress when 1) he clearly wasn't planning on letting those tapes see the light of day, 2) the only other person in the room was unconscious and someone he was planning to kill anyway, and 3) you could only hear the fight after using 21st century audio enhancement technology? like was he trying to wound louis w what he said absolutely. it's what louis was also doing in that fight, they were throwing each other's trauma back in the other's face. but i really don't think he wanted louis to hurt himself bc part of the emotional abuse later is armand being upset that louis tried to "leave him for death"

[chocobosdungeon2]

this is hands down the worst thing ive ever made but their similarities (and differences) have been rattling around in my head

[ofswordsandpens]

honestly I'm cool with the show amping up the derision towards the gods, but still, I can't help but wonder why exactly we're speed running the entirety of annabeth's disillusionment of the gods and her mommy issues over the entire series in the very first season...

[bigusbossus]

he's sending this to whoever you think he's sending it to (bb)

[echoingalaxies]

Content: self-punishment/injury, conditioned whumpee, trauma

Whumpee got up before dawn to prepare breakfast. For so long now, it had been their routine, something they'd gotten used to doing no matter their condition, no matter the amount of pain or exhaustion weighing them down. Coffee with two sugars, and three fried eggs, would have to be ready to be served precisely at 6, and Whumpee would carry them to Whumper's room where he would still be sleeping, wake him up, and stand there, head bowed, wait until he finished his meal and then take the dirty dishes to the sink.

The few times Whumpee had missed the 6 am mark, even by a couple of minutes, hadn't ended well. Whumpee ran their fingers over the scars they'd received for those mistakes, wide and raised under their shirt, as they waited for the food to cook. They kept glancing at the clock, anxiously, shivering at the thought of being late, but they also couldn't hurry too much because the punishment for undercooked eggs would be just as cruel.

At 5:58, Whumpee had everything set up, and taking the plate and the large mug of coffee in their hands, they started to head toward the stairs, moving slowly for their aching body. Whumpee had become really good at counting in their head, so they knew they were right on time, as they balanced the mug on the plate for a second to knock on Whumper's door.

They pushed the door open, flicked on the lights - so much brighter than Whumpee remembered... He hadn't changed the lightbulb, so had Whumper had to do it himself? How come hadn't he told Whumpee to do it? - and went next to his bed.

"Your breakfast, sir," they said, trying to sound chipper but gentle, humble and happy to be there. "Good morning, sir," they added quickly after, almost having forgotten the proper way of greeting. What has wrong with them today?

Whumper, usually waking up to their voice and demanding to have the food immediately, just pulled the duvet to his chin, face deep buried into pillows. He grunted something inaudible, and Whumpee was left standing there, unsure what to do.

"S-sir? It's morning, sir, time to rise. Are you feeling ill?"

"Shut up," Whumper growled, and his voice was odd, but Whumpee pressed their lips together tightly, afraid to make a sound. "What the fuck are you doing, it's so damn early..."

The plate and the mug were shaking in Whumpee's hands as they began to breathe heavily, panicking. They'd been on time, but they'd made a mistake. They'd made some kind of mistake. Whumper was upset, and oh, when he'd wake up, hell was awaiting for them...

"Please," Whumpee whispered. "I- I'm so sorry. So sorry, sir..."

After a few mess-ups, Whumper had introduced Whumpee to an alternative option when it came to punishments of slipping off schedule or not completing their tasks just as Whumper had told them to. Quicker, easier, and for Whumper, even more fun than getting to carve marks on Whumpee's skin.

He'd love to watch Whumpee be humiliated.

"I don't want to waste my time on you when I have better things to do," Whumper had once said. "Make it simpler for the both of us. You know when you mess up. Why not get the consequenses out of the way? Use whatever's available, as long as you clean up the blood."

Whumper was still under the covers, perhaps falling back to sleep. Whumpee was still confused by the situation, but it seemed like he should've somehow known to not bother him this morning, oh no, they'd done gravely wrong, and there was only two ways out...

And they'd made their choice which route to take.

Whumpee set the plate on the nightstand, and closed their eyes, when with trembling hands, they took the mug of still steaming coffee above their head and spilled it all over themselves. Even as cried out in agony, they kept reminding themselves whatever Whumper would have done to them would've been worse, and with any luck, this would be enough.

Whumper was once again woken up by Whumpee's cries, and bolted up from the bed like he'd been electrocuted. Whumpee felt a sting in their heart. Of course they'd want to watch. Why would they miss the show? Maybe they'd be unsatisfied with their pain and make Whumpee throw themselves down the stairs for good measure.

Whumper cursed loudly and grabbed Whumpee's arm, pulling them out of the room and to the nearest bathroom. He shoved Whumpee under the shower and turned it on, turning the temperature cold. He squeezed Whumpee's arms, shaking them lightly.

"Oh god, Whumpee, why would you do that? What were you thinking?"

Whumpee coughed, the water getting into their mouth. They shivered, from cold and from fear.

Another mistake.

Nothing made sense.

Why was whumper helping him? What was all of this?

Whumpee tried to pry themselves away from Whumper's grip and out of the shower, but Whumper held them still.

"I'm sorry, sir, I'm sorry -"

"Wait," he said, sounding concerned rather than angry now. "Oh shit, Whumpee, no, stop that. Look at me. I'm not him."

Whumpee did as they were told and raised their gaze to meet the eyes they expected to be gray and cruel, and was shocked to see hazel, and nothing but kindness.

"I'm not him," he repeated, and Whumpee blinked a few times, letting their eyes take in the rest of the person's face. "Everything is okay. You're home, remember? Safe."

The person had dark circles under their eyes. They had a friendly face, although right now, they wore a worried expression. Whumpee wiped water from their face to see better... their eyes must've been lying to them...

"I..." Whumpee begun, stammering. "S-sorry... I should've let you sleep... I didn't know... I'm sorry..."

"Whumpee, shh." The person reached to turn off the shower and then let go of them to grab a large, thick towel they spread on Whumpee's shoulders. "Don't, I'm sorry, okay? I didn't realise it was you. You shouldn't even be walking! I thought it was Teammate just annoying me, I was barely awake, I didn't mean to be harsh towards you."

Whumpee pulled the towel around them, turning their head to look around. They knew this bathroom. They'd been patched up here many times before, years earlier. It was Caretaker's.

They looked at the person in front of them. They knew them. It was coming to them slowly, but they knew them better than anyone.

"Caretaker?"

They smiled. "Yeah. It's me. It's okay. You've been home for a few days now, remember?"

"I... guess."

Caretaker helped Whumpee out of their wet clothes and let them shower privately, washing the coffee off their hair and ease the pain in the burns on their scalp, their face, their shoulders.

When whumpee was ready, they opened the door to let Caretaker in once again. Caretaker sat them down on a little stool and started to treat their injuries, talking in a calming matter throughout the process. Whumpee was still feeling lost, his brain struggling to understand what was real and what was not.

"I'm still so sorry, Whumpee," Caretaker said, spreading something soothing over his burns. "I never should've allowed things to go so far that you'd do this to yourself."

"I didn't want you to hurt me," Whumpee said quietly. Caretaker stilled for a second, then continued rubbing the lotion on Whumpee's skin. Whumpee bit their cheeks. Caretaker, and everybody else, didn't know much about what he'd been through with Whumper. They hadn't had many opportunities to talk that much yet.

"I would never do that." Caretaker leaned in and pressed an unexpected kiss on Whumpee's forehead. Whumpee blushed, though they were grateful it probably was hidden by their already reddened face. No one had done that for... Whumpee didn't even know how long. "No one will ever hurt you here. And you never have to hurt yourself, okay?"

Whumpee wished they could keep that promise. But who was to say what happened this morning wouldn't happen again?

"Yeah," they said. Caretaker's touch was gentle and comforting, and Whumpee remembered them as a trustworthy person.

Only it all wasn't up to Caretaker.

And it wasn't up to Whumpee. They didn't decide to forget they were not living in that nightmare anymore.

But if things were to be like this, would they ever truly get out?