#tw dehumanising language

[shitcomscriptwriter]

Growing up in and out of psychiatric hospitals and offices really ruins your sense of self.

There was very little I could hide. Every bit of me was picked apart and scrutinised, used as a teaching tool for eager students with no regard for my own feelings or opinions.

I have very few genuine emotions now, because of how many realities were constructed for me and how they presented me like I was their newest accomplishment. No part of my brain was my own.

I am a psychological cyborg.

It feels like they took my humanity and all natural reactions, but I know they didn’t. There is still a human in here, and she is screaming.

[sugusatodyke]

Pillow princesses do nothing in bed except take my strap, look pathetic, and moan like a bitch what is there not not to like about that? They're like a cute fleshlight!

[a-whumped-tea]

"What's wrong?

You think people shouldn't be treated like this?

Well, I have to agree. People shouldn't be treated like this.

But you aren't a person, are you?"

[unforgivenn]

16th HOUR — #5: Marked for sale

Masterlist/ Previous

CW: dehumanization, captivity, non-con medical procedures, implied threats of sexual violence, physical restraint, psychological torment

The room was stark, bathed in harsh white light that bounced off the gleaming surfaces and sterile instruments. The antiseptic smell was overpowering, mingling with the faint, metallic tang of blood that Samuel had begun to associate with his new reality.

Two technicians, masked and gloved, awaited him with cold, clinical efficiency. They moved with practiced precision, their expressions hidden behind masks, their eyes detached and impersonal.

"Strip," one of them ordered, the command devoid of emotion. Samuel hesitated, a flush of humiliation rising in his cheeks.

"W-What..?"

The technician's eyes narrowed, a flicker of impatience crossing his face. "Now."

When Samuel only returned a glare, the technician sighed. He flinched as his hands were seized and his clothes were roughly removed, leaving him exposed and vulnerable. He tried to shield himself with his arms, but the guards were relentless, their hands unyielding as they forced him to the table.

"STOP! LET GO!!" His lips were trembling, his mind going insane with the thoughts of what they were going to do to him. "D-Don't do it please..."

This was it. They were going to do the thing he had been fearing since the moment he got here. He was going to be raped. Or maybe even worse.

The men laughed only adding to Samuel's confusion and his tears. "Hey now. There's no fun in having a used toy y'know. Your owner could do those things you have going on in your dirty little mind later."

"N-No.. I wasn't- I.." Samuel's cheeks flushed in embarrassed and he only continued struggling wishing that would somehow fit the hole of what he was trying to say.

One of the guards were going to smack him on the face, before the other stopped him. Samuel flinched, kind of surprised there was someone with even a tad bit of humanity left in them.

That innocent thinking was gone soon enough though when the other spoke to the guard.

"We need him to be in his best condition. I don't think he'll be looking presentable with a damn bruise on his face." He said with a scowl, which Samuel could make out was half directed towards him. The guard only rolled his eyes before forcing him on the table.

Restraints snapped around his wrists and ankles, pinning him down. He struggled, panic surging through him, but the bonds were unyielding.

The other technician approached with a handheld scanner, its screen flickering to life as it passed over Samuel's body. "Subject 42, S class," he read aloud, his tone monotonous. "Begin prep for auction."

Auction. The word sent a chill down Samuel's spine, a reminder of the dehumanizing fate that awaited him. He would be paraded before the highest bidders, reduced to a mere commodity in a world that saw him as less than human.

He had wanted nothing more than to kick these bastard's faces and ask them what the actual fuck was wrong with them? But now he was the one being asked these questions.

As the technicians began their work, Samuel's mind drifted back to his life before the classification, when he was simply Samuel—a boy with dreams, friends, and a future. The memories felt like fragments of a distant past, slipping through his fingers like sand.

One of the technicians roughly grabbed his arm, inserting an intravenous line with ease. The cool rush of fluids coursing through his veins brought him back to the present, a stark reminder of his reality.

"Hold still," the technician muttered, adjusting the flow. Samuel winced at the sharp sting, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as he fought to suppress the rising panic. He was determined to retain some sense of control, even in the face of overwhelming fear.

The other technician approached with a tray of instruments, their metallic surfaces gleaming ominously under the fluorescent lights. Samuel's breath hitched as he recognized some of the tools—restraints, measuring devices, and branding irons.

"Prepare the restraints," one technician instructed, his voice cutting through Samuel's thoughts. They moved with efficient brutality, securing his limbs to the cold metal frame that dominated the center of the room. Samuel's skin prickled against the unyielding surface, the restraints biting into his flesh.

He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms as he fought to keep his breathing steady. The technicians worked in silence, their actions methodical and detached, their faces masks of indifference.

"Subject 42, ready for inspection," one of them announced, stepping back to assess their work. Samuel lay splayed on the table, his body exposed and vulnerable, a living testament to the cruelty of the system that had condemned him.

The door to the room opened with a hiss, and a figure entered—a man in a tailored suit, his presence exuding an air of authority. Samuel's pulse quickened as the man's gaze swept over him, appraising him with a calculated detachment.

"Excellent," the man said, a note of satisfaction in his voice. "He'll fetch a high price."

Samuel's stomach churned, bile rising in his throat. He was being evaluated like livestock, his worth determined by the whims of those who saw him as nothing more than property. The indignity of it all burned within him, a simmering rage that threatened to consume him.

The man approached, his fingers brushing over Samuel's branded skin, tracing the letters that marked him as property. Samuel fought the urge to recoil, his muscles tensing under the man's touch.

"Don't worry," the man said, his voice a mockery of reassurance. "You'll find a good home. Someone will take care of you."

Samuel's eyes blazed with defiance, a fire that refused to be extinguished. "I'm not a pet," he spat, the words laced with venom. "I'm a person."

The man chuckled, a low, condescending sound. "Not anymore," he replied, his tone dripping with arrogance. "You're whatever we say you are."

The technician injected something into Samuel's IV line, and a wave of dizziness washed over him. His vision blurred, the edges of the room growing hazy as the sedative took effect. He struggled to hold onto consciousness, to maintain his grip on reality, but it slipped through his grasp like water.

As the world faded to black, Samuel clung to a single, burning thought—a promise to himself and to the others who suffered alongside him. He would survive. He would endure. And one day, he would reclaim his humanity from those who sought to strip it away.

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

Samuel awoke in a dimly lit room, the sterile white replaced by a more subdued, yet equally oppressive, atmosphere. His head throbbed, the remnants of the sedative lingering in his system. He tried to move, but the restraints held him firmly in place.

He was no longer alone. The figures whispered among themselves sending shivers down Samuel's spine.

"Look at this one," one of them said, his voice dripping with curiosity. "Quite a specimen, isn't it?"

Another figure approached, leaning over Samuel with an appraising gaze. "Indeed. It'll be a popular choice."

He didn't know what was more scary. The fact that these people were calling him an 'it' or the fact these people were staring at him like they were ready to tear him apart.

Samuel's heart raced, panic rising in his chest. He was being inspected, evaluated like a piece of merchandise. The reality of his situation settled over him like a suffocating blanket, each breath a struggle against the crushing weight of despair.

The figures moved with unsettling precision, their hands tracing over his body, noting every detail. Samuel clenched his jaw, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing his fear.

"Prepare him for display," one of them ordered, stepping back. "The auction is about to begin."

Samuel's stomach churned at the words. Display. Auction. He was about to be paraded before a crowd of potential buyers, his fate determined by the highest bidder. The thought made him sick, a wave of nausea washing over him.

They worked quickly, removing the restraints and lifting him onto his feet. Samuel's legs wobbled, weakened by the drugs and the strain of his ordeal. He stumbled, but a firm hand caught him, steadying him with a rough grip.

"Stand up straight," the figure commanded, their tone harsh and unforgiving. "You need to make a good impression."

"And if I don't?" The words slipped past his lips before he could realize. The man only leaned in close to his ear, and Samuel couldn't suppress the flinch that went through him.

"Well then, we have some other measures to make you listen as well. Surely you wouldn't like your head to be dipped underwater continuously until you become obedient, would you?" What scared Samuel more was the smile maintained on the man's face while he spoke.

Samuel gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stand tall despite the trembling in his limbs. Just how sadistic were each one of these bastards?

They dressed him in simple, clean clothes and moisturized his skin making it glow. The fabric felt foreign against his skin and the moisturizer only itched him. They groomed him meticulously, every detail attended to with an almost obsessive precision.

His hands were tied behind his back, and his ankles were snapped with cuffs tight enough so that he could walk but wont be able to run.

"It's ready," one of them said, stepping back to admire their handiwork.

"I'm not an 'it'"

"Shush. Now listen. You will keep your head down throughout the auction. You will only speak when spoken to. You will not struggle or fight. You will not be defiant. And you will behave. If we get any trouble because of you, I swear to gods I will make you regret it."

What the lady said basically went through one ear and out the other. Before he could question anymore, he was pushed to a large wooden door.

What was up with these people and their obsession with pushing?

The door opened, and Samuel was led down a corridor lined with ornate decorations that seemed out of place in such a grim setting.

They reached a set of heavy curtains, the barrier between Samuel and his uncertain future. He could hear the murmur of voices beyond, the eager anticipation of those who awaited the auction.

His heart pounded in his chest, and he could feel the blood rush to his ears. He was on the bound of a panic attack. After going through so much, now he was scared?

The man beside him gave a final, appraising look before nodding. "Do as you're told, and you might just survive."

Samuel swallowed hard, his mouth dry with fear. The curtains began to part, revealing the crowd beyond. He took a deep breath, trying to keep his breathing steady steeling himself for what lay ahead.

As the curtains fully opened, the auctioneer's voice boomed through the room, welcoming the eager bidders. Samuel stepped forward, the weight of a thousand eyes upon him, each one assessing, judging, determining his worth.

One day, he would reclaim his freedom from the chains that bound him. For now, he would play their game, but he would never forget who he truly was.

The auction had begun, and Samuel's fate hung in the balance, but his spirit remained unbroken, a beacon of resilience in the face of overwhelming darkness as bids began storming in.

Next

Reblogs are appreciated

PS- Guys, I'm actually really busy nowadays, and my writing asks have been storming in. Especially for BTBH. Asks are still open, and I will be answering those asks, but I can't confirm that it'll be soon.

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@whumpifi/ @fable-bug-real/ @cheesemctoastnuggets/ @deputydeputyp/ @thelazywitchphotographer/ @isntthisblank/ @noeul-whumpppssssss1234

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[hittingthebrainsfunnybone]

Affrimations for your whumpee! By whumper

inspired by/paraphrased from good old George Orwell 1984

Faced with enough pain, no one is a hero. They'll give you up for relief, and you'll do the exact same.

I'll spend my goodwill by tolerating your struggle or granting you the ocassional moment of solace. Be grateful and choose wisely.

The only proof of your pain is your own perception of it, and your mind is so easily deceived.

You'll never be your old self, because I didn't remold wet clay. You were a cracked pot, already passed through the fire and ruined, so I crushed everything you were to dust and made something nicer to keep on display.

It's not easy becoming sane, but you're a particularly slow learner, and I'm losing patience.

If you're not even strong enough to hold two contradictory beliefs in your mind, you're not strong enough to handle reality.

If you never forget what you are, you'll never be punished for rebelling, and if you never rebel, you'll never forget who you belong to.

The only way you'll be able to hide your obvious secrets and glaring flaws is by lying to yourself so thoroughly that you forget the truth.

Assume I'm always listening, always watching, and you'll never have to be afraid of doing something that demands punishment.

You're your own worst enemy. The nerves, the imperfections, the weaknesses- the very impulses of electricity from your brain to your body guide my hand.

Don't give me a reason to exercise greater control over you. There's no reason I should ever give it up once I have it after all.

If tell you a comforting lie, take it as a gift and make it your comfortable truth, because it's the only comfort I'll waste on you.

Your story isn't a tragedy. A tragedy has an audience and a cartharsis. There's nothing satisfying or sympathetic about watching your same stupid mistakes over and over. And you begged me not to bring an audience.

Never again will you be capable of ordinary human feeling. Everything will be dead inside you. Never again will you be capable of love, or friendship, or joy of living, or laughter, or curiosity, or courage, or integrity. You will be hollow. I will squeeze you empty, and then fill you as I please.

Love,

Whumper

[gryficowa]

This is who you Zionists are defending:

This is the textbook stage of fucking genocide

This phenomenon is called: DEHUMANIZATION

You know who dehumanized? Nazis, all fucking Jews

[vivianquill]

Even when he went home that night, Impulse couldn't stop thinking about the mer he'd found.

It was one thing to find him washed up on the beach just outside, but it was another entirely to try and think about what the next while would look like, taking care of the merdude.

Zedaph was still at the rescue, and would be until either he or Skizz could get back. Impulse didn't want to chance anyone else finding out about the literal merman sitting in one of the recovery pools. They'd have to tell Xisuma eventually, probably sooner than Impulse might like to, but, well.

He didn't know what might happen if the rest of the rescue caught word of this, let alone the internet.

Impulse sighed, running a hand through his hair. Who knew that following Skizz down to the beach that fated dayyears ago would lead to-- well. This.

Either way, he needed to clean up, get some food, and then get some sleep. Zed wasn't a stranger to pulling all-nighters, so it wasn't odd for him to stay at the rescue, but still. Impulse wouldn't quite be able to breathe easy until he could see the mercreature again.

In the morning, Impulse grabbed a green tea for Zedaph on his way back to the rescue, handing it off with a bagel to the man as they 'swapped shifts'.

"Anything change during the night?" Impulse asked, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

"Nope. You should probably bring it some food though. Try fish, maybe? I bet it'd take that." Zedaph shrugged, taking a sip of his tea, "I'd use tongs though, wouldn't want those fangs to take a bite out of you."

"I'll be careful, Zed, don't worry." Impulse shook his head, "You should go get some sleep."

"Yep. Gotta finish up first, then it's off to bed with me."

"You better." Impulse called over his shoulder as he stepped out, going to grab a pair of tongs and some food for the merdude.

When he stepped into the recovery room, what Impulse found made him pause. Well-- it was more what he was hearing. The mer was chirping. It wasn't s loud that it could be heard outside of the room, but it certainly filled it, bouncing off the hard surfaces. To Impulse it sounded like a slurred mix of a dying fire alarm on fast forward and a baby dolphin calling for help.

Impulse stepped up to the edge of the pool, setting the pail down as he took in the sight.

The mer was curled up the best he could with all the bandages and the cast on his wrist, warbling. His eyes were glazed over, seemingly staring at nothing. His fins were all pinned tight to his body, like he was trying to hide.

The last thing Impulse wanted to do was startle an injured sea creature with fangs that looked like they could bite someone's finger clean off. So, he grabbed a catch pole from over against the wall, and dipped the end into the water next to the merman, nudging it against his tail.

Impulse was instantly glad that he hadn't stuck his hand into the water.

The mer lunged-- grabbing the pole with a screech and a splash and almost yanking it out of Impulse's hands.

He pulled it from the water a moment later, once the mer let go.

Impulse's jaw just about hit the floor, once he saw the bite marks. This particular brand of pole was made to withstand a bite from a shark. But now it was--

If that had been Impulse's hand, he would have just lost at least a couple fingers.

At least.

He was going to have to show this to Zedaph.

Well then. At least he had gotten the mer's attention, it was practically glaring at him now. Was that-- hissing? It was hard to tell with the distortion from water to air, but the way that tail was coiled--

The mer looked like a snake ready to strike.

Maybe feeding it would help with the situation? Impulse took the tongs and grabbed a fish from his bucket, slowly offering it until the fish touched the surface of the water. The mer's eyes narrowed, watching. It's mouth parted slightly-- was it able to smell it in the water? It wasn't reaching up to grab it.

So, Impulse gave the fish a little shake, before dropping it. And just in time, too.

Again, the mer lunged, snatching up the offending object. Impulse watched as it bit down on the fish, before seeming to realize that it was food.

Impulse let the mer eat for a moment, before dropping another fish into the pool. This was progress, at least. If it was eating, that meant it had a chance.

[deranged-fandom-quotes-archive]

The projectors keep coming out of the woodwork and it never ends. Again, if you are seeing CSEM on television or on social media report it to the police! The FBI and the Police will laugh you out of the office for trying to report fictional objects that don't exist. It's clear some people have zero reading comprehension given that they were responding to my previous post. Antis once again trying to project their sick and twisted interests on to someone pointing out their insanity. They're the masters of gaslighting and manipulation; so much so they need their own category in the olympics. The fact that they think it's acceptable to compare real children to objects is nothing short of horrifying. Imagine going through life thinking children are objects or something that doesn't exist. How dehumanizing, how shameful and inhuman must you be to make a mockery of real human suffering because you need to protect your pixels more so than the well being of actual people. We know for sure, with this kind of response, they would turn a blind eye to the pain and suffering of children.

[sky-daddy-hates-me]

A country that condemns Israel for its genocide is doing this to the indigenous people of the land its colonising.

Please, don't think that being against another genocide absolves them of their own human rights violations.

[serial-serializednovelreader]

Nova’s Notes - Dracula Daily - July 19

In which Seward says no….

Just a heads up: this is where we get into some of Seward’s more ableist language/practices. I’ll try to describe it more than quote from it in those places and I’ll tag this appropriately. I just wanted to give a heads up that this is where it starts to get rough. Please feel free to skip this entry if it’s too much: your mental health is more important. I also made a cut where I start talking about this topic (and yes, it is very soon into the entry).

“We are progressing. My friend has now a whole colony of sparrows, and his flies and spiders are almost obliterated.”

“We”? Who is this “we”?? Are you speaking French? That’s all Renfield! And here Seward goes again with this “my friend” thing. It really makes me uncomfortable when he does that, not least because you can draw a distinct parallel between him and Dracula when he does it (if you want to see more of that, check out @vickyvicarious’s posts about Dracula and Seward: she does amazing analysis about the parallels between them!).

As for Renfield, a COLONY of sparrows??? I can see getting one in and closing the window (yeah, I figured that out), but how did he get all of those? Again, so many questions and if Seward is going to play creepy observing doctor, at least ask some questions about how he opens the window to get more sparrows without letting others out. It’s a valid question!

So, the next part is where we get into ableism — or what I see as such (and we’re only into the third sentence too…). Basically Renfield asks Seward for a favor, but Seward compares him to…a dog. While this isn’t blatantly ableist, I suppose, I still don’t like the way it’s phrased. It’s very dehumanizing. First of all, as a doctor, you are never supposed to talk about your patients that way. Second of all, even if he is “begging” in that way, think about why, Seward. He has to depend on you for everything — he is at your mercy and your whims. If he acts like…that…while asking for something, that is only because you have put him in a demeaning position in the first place!

On to the favor itself:

“‘A kitten, a nice little, sleek playful kitten, that I can play with, and teach, and feed—and feed—and feed!’ I was not unprepared for this request, for I had noticed how his pets went on increasing in size and vivacity, but I did not care that his pretty family of tame sparrows should be wiped out in the same manner as the flies and the spiders; so I said I would see about it, and asked him if he would not rather have a cat than a kitten.”

Says a lot about Seward that he only mildly cares about animal life when we get to the cats. And that he seems to be fine with him having an adult cat, but not an adorable kitten…hm. Also, Renfield is a bit concerning on the “feed feed feed” part but eh, I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about! (I’m totally not foreshadowing I don’t know what you’re talking about /s).

“‘Oh, yes, I would like a cat! I only asked for a kitten lest you should refuse me a cat. No one would refuse me a kitten, would they?’ I shook my head, and said that at present I feared it would not be possible, but that I would see about it.”

LOL he’s so right, it would be hard to refuse someone a kitten, I mean just whip out the puppy dog eyes again, right? For real though, I don’t know how to feel about this because I know what Renfield is doing to these animals — and I can’t really condone it. On the other hand, if this were just someone in an asylum who wanted a pet to take care of, why should they be refused? Because of ableist stereotypes? It’s tough because Seward hasn’t refused him up to this point, so he probably assumed he would get to also have a cat. Was it right for Seward to set a boundary at this point (making him feel strung along), or should he have just never let him have any pets in the first place?

I think the problem with Seward is that he doesn’t explain why he can’t have a cat. He just says no. Also, he hasn’t been giving Renfield these animals and insects with good intentions — it’s all been to run an experiment for his own distraction. So yeah, I don’t like what Seward’s doing here or how he just shuts him down. If you’re going to refuse, at least give a valid reason why.

This is where Seward really loses his credibility with me — and is why I put a warning in the first place. Renfield then gives him a fierce look that Seward doesn’t like. Oh, I’m sorry, are people not allowed to be angry you refused them something they wanted??? Then he refers to this look as something verging on a murderous look — uh-oh. It gets worse. Again, I promised not to quote what he says here, and I’m going to stick to that, but let’s just say he thinks that Renfield is dangerous to him and shouldn’t be trusted not to attack him…or worse.

It’s telling that he gets all of that from one look. Where was your rational assessment of him from so long ago, Seward? Is that just out the window because he’s more upset at your refusal to give him a cat? This isn’t surprising, though. I would say most people in Renfield’s position are considered “fine” by society unless they show any kind of emotion at all; then, all of a sudden, they’re “dangerous” and need to be locked away from society for “safety reasons.” This is so harmful on so many levels.

“I shall test him with his present craving and see how it will work out; then I shall know more.”

If Seward was a cat, this is where I’d spray him with water from a spray bottle. Bad Seward, bad!!! Stop using Renfield’s emotions and cravings for your own nefarious purposes. If you want to give him the cat, fine. If you don’t, don’t. But stop playing with him and dehumanizing him this way. It’s horrible.

Later, Seward goes to visit him and Renfield is (understandably) brooding. He again asks for a cat and says his salvation depends upon it (note that for later, by the way). Seward again tells him no and Renfield goes back to his corner, gnawing on his fingers. The gnawing on the fingers reminds me very much of stimming (for the uninformed, stimming is a repetitive action, often used by neurodivergent individuals, to gather focus or gain emotional regulation. Examples include chewing fingernails, playing with a fidget toy, bouncing your leg, etc.) and I can’t help but see him trying to calm himself down a bit here. I think it’s rather cruel of Seward to give Renfield false hope by visiting him and then still saying no. :(

“I shall see him in the morning early.”

Why, so you can continue to get his hopes up? UGH, hate this!!

I know I’m really hard on Seward in this one, but I think it’s deserved. He’s being cruel to Renfield and I hate it. Very unsatisfying entry, unfortunately.

[spirit-of-a-kiger]

Caaaine! >:( Don't you know that when getting a new pet, you should learn how to take care of it properly?

Does this look like proper pet care to you?

[sugusatodyke]

You weren't made for work, my sweet doe. You are supposed to be a fleshlight that sits pretty and looks cute because everyone knows that's the only reason why someone as pathetic as you would be put on this world. Any other job would be too much for my little baby, so you should stick to being a free hole instead of getting an education or getting a job since being a sex toy is what you're good at

[nomsfaultau]

Case files (as edited by Tommy and Tubbo)

Special guest appearance by the ‘‘‘lovely’’’ Dr. Blake. Additionally, this is only what the Foundation is aware of, which is a rather important distinction.

Fic is Fault by CookieNomNomCrunch on AO3

[i-eat-worlds]

The Subject Part 3

B127 is confused by basic human decency. Hope you enjoy! If you find grammar or spelling mistakes, pls tell me.

CW: pet whump and medical whump, hospital settting, small needle mention, dehumanization, scars and injuries, caretaker new master, doctor caretaker, dubcon touch (non-sexual)

“I’m going to touch you now.” Dr. Brenner warned. “It’s not going to hurt, I’m just going to look.” B127’s eyes had adjusted to the light, and its brain had nally started working. If it wasn’t going to be restrained, the doctor would surely use pain meds for the dissection. That wouldn’t be too bad, B127 decided.

As the doctor studied it, it studied him. Dr. Brenner looked almost like the exact opposite of Dr. Glassener. Where she had been thin and lithe, he was tall and muscular, his scrubs were deep red compared to her pale blue. The most striking difference was in their faces. His mouth was pressed into a thin line, his eyes almost mournful, miles away from Dr. Glassener’s too-sweet smile and the poisonous glint in her eyes. For some reason it didn’t understand, it found itself trusting the doctor as he surveyed the subject's number of wounds.

Dr. Brenner’s eyes widened in horror at the state of B127. Scars ran across its body, each telling a painful story. Several ran from under its breastbone to its belly button, more from hip-bone to hip-bone. Thick bruising covered the sides of its ribs. All of it must have hurt, but the thing that worried the doctor the most was the angry, festering wound on the subject’s left side, tucked right under its rib cage. It looked frighteningly recent like it hadn’t even been a full day since the injury. Taking out his penlight, Dr. Brenner took a closer look at the wound. It was half-stitched, poorly done, some had torn, while the others were in too deep to be of any help. That would be priority number one after the examination was complete.

B127 watched warily as the doctor moved on from its torso and abdomen to its head. The look on his face was not good, the sorrow in his eyes was replaced by anger. Maybe he would pull his teeth. That would make sense. “I’m going to look inside your mouth now. It might be a bit uncomfortable, but it won’t hurt.” Dr. Brenner, still holding the penlight, picked up a tongue depressor. Instead of shoving the stick into its mouth, he waited until B127 compliantly opened it.

The stick pressed against its tongue as the doctor shined his light in. His facial expression improved. “That’s good.” He said as he removed the stick from its mouth. “Your vocal cords haven’t been severed.” It was a common thing with subjects he had seen from Hemlock Labs, but this one appeared to have been spared. “Can you say something for me?’

B127 paled. Was it being asked to talk? “Yes, doctor, it can talk.” Its voice was hoarse and raspy from not being used for so long, barely audible.

“That’s good.” Dr. Brenner smiled softly as B127 nodded. “You can speak freely here, okay? If something hurts, I want you to tell me. If something I do scares you or makes you uncomfortable, I need you to tell me, yeah?”

“Yes, doctor,” B127 said again, still getting used to speaking.

“I need to ask you some questions, okay?” Dr. Brenner said as he grabbed something else from the instrument table. “There aren’t any wrong answers, and it’s okay if you don't know. You understand?”

“It understands, doctor.” B127’s voice was starting to lose its hoarseness, but it was still so quiet. The pit in Dr. Brenner’s stomach was deepened by B127’s perfect, trained responses as he redirected his attention back to the nasty wound on its left side.

First things first, pain meds. B127 had suffered long enough, and Dr. Brenner would be damned if he caused any more pain. “Do you remember when you got this?” He said as he got ready to start an IV. “This might sting a little.”

“It got it this morning, doctor.” It inched as he pushed the needle into the crook of its elbow. “Dr. Glassener wanted to see the results for herself, doctor” Its tone sounded pleasant on the surface, but it hid notes of fear and worry.

“Do you know what she was looking for, exactly?” Dr. Brenner tried to keep the anger from showing on his face. B127 would assume that it was directed at him when it wasn’t, and he was already terried. “It’s okay if you don’t.”

“Dr. Glassener wanted to make sure its stomach had healed properly, doctor,” B127 stated plainly as if it was talking about the weather. It wouldn’t know about the weather though, it hadn’t properly been outside in years Dr. Brenner silently cursed everyone at Hemlock labs. Judging by the poor attempt at wound closing, this “Dr. Glassener” wasn’t a real doctor. The fact that she had been permitted to muck around inside B127 whenever and however she fancied was very concerning. Who knew the internal injuries that the poor thing could have? He would need to get them scanned in the morning. “Hey, can you tell me if you can feel this? Does it hurt?” He gently poked the area around the wound.

“No, doctor.” B127 was confused. Why would Dr. Brenner care if it hurts? It’s supposed to be in pain, that’s how it knows it’s being good.

“If it starts to hurt again, tell me, okay? I’ll get you some more painkillers.” Dr. Brenner said as he picked up a shiny metal instrument from the tray. “I’m going to have to remove the old stitches, clean it out, then put new ones in. It shouldn’t take too long. Any questions, buddy?”

“Uhhh-Ummm.” B127 stuttered. If Dr. Brenner wanted it to ask questions, it should ask a question. “Why…why are you giving it painkillers? It was trained not to feel pain. You don’t need to waste them on it.”

Dr. Brenner cursed again in his mind. Even with the screwed-up laws of the Subject system, they required that subjects receive pain medication. “I don’t want you to be in pain, okay? You don’t deserve to be hurt.” B127 just gave him a quizzical lock and shook it’s-no, his-head.

If Dr. Brenner's heart wasn’t already in a million pieces, it would’ve shattered.

Taglist: @stabby-nunchucks @rainbows-and-whumperflies

[iveeaten3humanorganz]

Just played a game with a subtle undertones of dehumanization & the trauma around it. And I want to talk about dehumanization.

Dehumanization is rough. It’s so rough. It can be obvious to everyone let’s say through posters or TV and saying “*Insert group of people* should be killed, they are monsters and dangers.” to your parents saying “You can’t act that way, you should be more like *insert person*.” or not recognizing you may need breaks like other humans.

I have faced both. Both are abuse and dangerous. When you place someone on a pedestal, especially a child and get disappointed/upset when they make a human mistake, you’re inadvertently teaching that child/person that their worth is in the value of the things they do, instead of being valued for being themselves naturally. On the other hand if you treat someone less than you, and get happy when they prove you right and you have a reason to continue to treat someone badly that person will just learn it’s better to be a bad person.

When you faced both, it’s hard. Really hard. You constantly think you’re better than everyone, like a God and when you do something that you yourself deem bad, your view of yourself can come crashing down to the point that you view yourself as an inhuman monster who’s only purpose is to destroy.

It’s hard because when you’ve faced that stuff it’s so much easier for you to do it to other people. Words, fiction or reality can have an effect. Even if the words you speak are lies it can hurt. And in life you will face backlash for your actions. However existing & bringing no harm to others should not mean you are put on a pedestal for so. Nor should you be looked down upon for the same reason.

[rosemaidenvixen]

The Pinned Moth

Chapter 5: Gnashing teeth

Content warning: non graphic torture, dehumanization

Ao3

The Collector let out a whoop and jumped down from the tree, landing into a fresh, powdery pile of snow. Playing pretend was fun, but he liked to shake things up every once and a while with a new game. And King was right, going to the knee to play in the snow was tons of fun to!

He popped his head out of the drift and shook off the powder “Hey King, let’s make a snow-demon!”

No reply.

They glanced around at the snow covered rocks and trees surrounding them, more flakes drifting down from the sky, but King was nowhere to be seen. Grin dropping off their face, the Collector floated up into the air and glanced around “King?”

There, from his higher view, he saw King was sitting on a rock on the other side of the hill, hugging his knees and staring at the Archive house in the distance.

He looked…sad. 

Drifting over, the Collector touched down on the ground just behind the rock “King, what’s wrong?”

King stiffened, tail going puffy “Oh– it’s, it’s nothing,”

They frowned “It’s not nothing, you’re sad,”

“No– I– it’s just–” King let out a deep sigh, raised fur lowering, and lifted a claw to point towards the far off Archive house “You knew….my dad, right?”

Oh. 

King hadn’t been looking at the house, he’d been looking at the skull.

“Yeah,” the Collector jumped up and floated down to sit on the rock next to King “He put me in that stupid disk, big bully,”

“So I guess my dad was a big jerk,” King let out a small laugh, but the noise didn’t sound happy.

Hearing King sound so miserable made the Collector’s insides feel all twisty. He didn’t want to make King even sadder, he was his best friend, he had to make this better.

“Don’t worry, you’re not like that!” he turned towards King, pushing himself up onto his hands and needs “Like, all the other Collectors were jerks, but I’m not like that,”

King was quiet for a moment before slowly turning to look at him “What were the….other Collectors like?”

“Pshh, boring,” the Collector flopped back on the rock and held up a hand, on the ground a mound of snow rose up in the shape of a tall, cloaked figure, wagging its finger in time with the Collector waving their hand “To be a Collector is a privilege and a duty, stop this foolishness and take your status seriously, blah blah blah,” 

Their hand fell back to their side, the snow figure collapsing into a shapeless pile on the ground “I wasn’t really alone when they were still around, but it felt a lot like it,”

King let out a weak chuckle, but a more happy sounding one now “Heh, you can be surrounded by people and still be lonely,”

The Collector blinked “Hey…yeah, that’s right,”

“Hey Collector…were you there when the Collectors and the Titans started…fighting?”

They froze, going completely still on the snowy rock “I don’t want to talk about that.”

“Ok…” King said slowly “But that’s when my dad locked you up, right?”

The Collector sat up and folded their legs underneath them “Yeah, he snuck up on me and trapped me when I wasn’t looking, he was all ‘A pup has no place in war’ but then stuck me in his skull until Philip found me, and Philip was almost as bad as being alone,”

King didn’t say anything for a long time, the two of them sitting on the boulder while snow fell silently all around them. 

“I just wish…” King’s voice was tight and small “I wish I could have known my dad, or met some of the other Titans, and that I wasn’t the last–” choked off, hugging himself and burying his skull into his knees.

The Collector felt their jaw drop open, chilled to the bone in a way that had nothing to do with the snow. Before they knew what they were doing the Collector found themselves stretching out their arms and leaning towards King, only remembering to stop at the last second.

Friends didn’t just grab each other, they needed to ask nicely.

“Hey King, is it ok if I hug you?”

“Oh– uh, sure,”

The Collector pulled King onto their lap and held him close, fur tickling his arms and chin brushing against the top of his skull. The silence stretched out longer, the Collector wracking their brain for the right words, before they finally spoke.

“I’m…sorry about the Titans, I…wish I could change what happened to them. But I promise I’ll always be here for you and you’ll never be alone ever again,”

“Y– yeah, right,”

“Yeah!” the Collector felt a smile spread across their face “I promise, even when we’re both grown-ups a hundred thousand years from now, we’ll still be playing and making snow-demons together!”

King went stiff for a second, then slowly leaned back into the Collector’s hug “I’d…I’d like that,” 

Satisfied that he’d successfully cheered his friend up, the Collector nuzzled his chin on the top of King’s skull “Yep, the two of us are gonna be best friends forever,” he held up a hand and lifted his finger “Pinky swear,”

After a few seconds King lifted his own paw, extending his smallest claw to touch their pinky.

The Collector grinned, wrapping his pinky around King’s while giving him a squeeze with his other arm “Don’t worry, neither of us is gonna be lonely every again,”

The Collector jerked awake, the room filling with bright lights. They snapped their head upright, jerking when they saw that two humans were already in the brightly lit room, fiddling with the control panel.

Their already galloping heartbeat sped up even further, their entire body starting to shake. 

Not now, not so soon, they didn’t even get any time to rest–

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, maybe the humans were only going to drain them a little today. Maybe they were just doing ‘Maintenance work’ right now and weren’t going to drain them at all.

Trembling dying down but not going away completely, the Collector sat fully upright and turned to face the humans, listening closely to every word.

“--still can’t believe that the intel came from Hopkins of all people, for crying out loud the man’s a certified member of the flat earth society,”

“Hey a broken clock is still right twice a day, I’m just disappointed that the specimen got away,”

“Don’t worry, the entire city is on lockdown, it’s only a matter of time before the Security team tracks it down,”

The Collector felt their insides twisting in on themselves even while their heartbeat kept booming in their ears. None of what the humans were saying made any kind of sense? Were they doing something new? Or were they talking about something that had nothing to do with the bubble and the machines? Whatever it was they didn't dare drop their guard for a second. Keeping all of their focus on the humans.

The humans kept talking about nonsense while flipping switches and pressing buttons on the control panels. A sharp whine escaped their throat when they heard the machine above them hum to life.

“This is a pretty significant jump in percentage, are you sure about this?”

The Collector snapped his head up at the sound of the familiar word.

“Positive,” the other human spoke up “The specimen shows no sign of their baseline dropping and the Lamp has proven to be remarkably resilient. If we do a few runs at eighty five percent this morning we’ll be able to fully charge all the batteries for your team’s Warp Gate prototype before noon, and still have time for a cool off before the afternoon testing,”

The Collector’s heart stopped, their entire body turning cold.

…..eighty….five….

Before he knew what he was doing he was scrambling to  the edge of the bubble towards the humans, banging on the glass with both fists “N– no, please!”

The humans didn’t even look up from the control panels. Like they didn’t even see him, didn’t hear him–

No one heard him, no one saw him, it was like he didn’t even exist.

The Collector pounded on the side of the bubble, desperate to get the humans’ attention. But deep down he knew it wouldn’t do anything, no matter what they said or did the humans acted like he wasn’t even there. But he had to try, sixty percent was so bad already he couldn’t do eighty he just couldn’t! Had to do something, try to get them to stop, maybe, just maybe, this time– 

“Please please don’t! I’ll do whatever you want!” their voice hitched with a hiccup, eyes stinging “Magic or spells or anything! Just please do– don’t–”

“Alright let’s give it a shot,”

The hum turned into a rumble, the Collector’s heartbeat booming in their ears, entire body quivering so badly they could barely move.

“Please!” he banged his fists against the glass “P– please a– a– at least do a lower percent! Just please don’t–”

The humans just stood there, uncaring as always, one was still focused on tinkering with the control panel while the other held a notebook with a pen at the ready while watching the bubble, the only thing on their face cool curiosity.

You can be surrounded by people and still be lonely

“I’m right here!” they screamed, banging both fists on the glass in an explosion of red sparks “J– just see me! Hear me!” they choked off with a cry, sinking to his knees, tears breaking free and rolling down their cheeks “P– please…”

The humans didn’t react, they never did. 

His begging choked off into a sob, slumping against the side of the bubble and sliding to the floor, all the fight leaving his body, sobbing in a crumpled heap on the floor even as the rumbling grew louder.

It didn’t matter how much he screamed and shouted and cried, nothing ever changed, no one listened. 

No one cared.

The rumble broke into a deafening roar, a tsunami of searing pain crashing into him, stretching his sobs into a scream.