#shitty caretaker

[kitandfelix]

The Beginning

Content: Conditioning, Explicit Dubcon, Shitty Caretaker, Pet Whump, Whumpee’s Recovery Progress is Damaged, Nudity, Conditioning is Taken Advantage Of

Felix sighed, frustrated. Work wasn't going his way; he was on the verge of losing his job, and he couldn't afford that. He had bills to pay, and, more importantly, he had to take care of Kit.

Poor Kit. They'd been friends, close friends, before he'd been kidnapped. When they'd found him, it was obvious that he'd been through horrible, horrible abuse. Now that Kit was free again, but with nowhere to go, no one else to turn to, and no help in sight, Felix took him in. It was challenging, at first; the torture had fractured Kit's mind, leaving him a grovelling mess, who'd thought of Felix as his master. Felix had almost enjoyed it, at first, before realising how fucked up that was. Slowly, and with caution, so as to avoid triggering him again, Felix managed to coax Kit, the real Kit, his closest friend, back to the surface.

He still had to tread lightly, of course. He didn't want to-

"Felix?" Kit called out, tentatively.

Felix shifted his body, turning toward Kit. "What's up, Kit?"

Kit stepped forward, hesitantly. "Are you-are you okay?"

Sighing again, Felix shook his head. "I'm fine, just stressed. Work's been rough. Real rough."

Kit slid onto the couch, sitting next to Felix. "I'm sorry, Felix. Do you want me to help?"

Felix frowned, looking over at Kit. Hesitantly, he said "...Sure. I need to relieve some stress. What've you got in m-"

Before Felix could even finish his sentence, Kit hopped off the couch and kneeled in front of Felix, hands deftly undoing his jeans' button and zipper before Felix even realised what he was doing. Panicked, if not aroused, Felix grabbed one of Kit's hands, shouting.

"Woah, woah! Kit, what the hell are you doing?"

Kit looked up, eyes wide, yet glazed over. "Felix, you said you wanted help relieving your stress. I'm helping you relieve stress."

Oh. Fuck. Felix realised his mistake, far too late. When he said he needed help with his stress, he didn't even consider Kit might take that as an order. He looked down at Kit, who's wide-eyed, pleading gaze stared back at him, almost as if he were begging Felix to let him do this.

"I-Ah, I didn't mean like-like that, Kit. I-" Felix trailed off, stammering. He hadn't meant for this. He didn't want Kit to fall back into his conditioning. But...

"Master, please?"

Oh. Master. That sounded good, when Kit said it. And the pleading. Oh, the pleading. How could he resist?

"O-okay, Kit. But," Felix swallowed, "just this once." Yeah. Just this once. He'd let this happen once. After all, how badly could it hurt Kit? Only one time.

Kit beamed up at him, before wriggling Felix's jeans around his hips and down his legs, dropping them around his ankles. As Kit pulled Felix's underwear off, he was visibly aroused, but not enough for what Kit wanted to do. Leaning forward, he wrapped one of his hands around Felix's partially erect cock, before sliding it into his mouth. As his tongue worked along Felix's hardening length, eliciting a quiet moan, Kit slipped his hands down to undo and pull off his own pants and underclothes. Felix's hand found Kit's head, tangling into his long, soft hair. Kit gagged softly as Felix pushed his head down, his now fully erect cock deep into Kit's throat as he shook his underwear off, before sliding it back out of his throat, strings of saliva webbed between his lips and the head. He smiled as he licked the tip, tasting Felix's precum.

Kit leaned back, away from Felix's glistening cock, and pulled his shirt off, before rising from where he kneeled, and straddled Felix. His nude body pressed against Felix's own, Kit smiled up at him, pressing a kiss into Felix's chest. Felix kissed his forehead, as Kit wiggled his hips, feeling the wetness of his own saliva as Felix's cock rubbed against him. As he raised his hips, he reached back and guided Felix's cock against his entrance, before lowering himself, slowly, taking part of it into himself. He moaned as his length was slowly pushed into him, gasping as Master's hands grabbed his ass, slowly lifting him up then easing him down, sliding Felix a bit further into him with each downward motion. His moans grew louder, as did Felix's grunts of pleasure, as Kit bounced up and down on Felix's cock.

"Oh, Master, yes!" Kit cried, as Felix slid himself further into Kit.

His own cock, small and hard, quivered as Felix pushed into him, precum leaking from the tip. Kit looped his arms around Master's neck, hands clasped behind his head, and he pulled himself closer to Master, face pressed into his chest. As the pleasure began to overwhelm him, Kit began to drool, his saliva staining Master's white shirt.

Suddenly, he cried out, back arching in overwhelming pleasure, as Felix's hands grabbed his hips and slammed Kit down onto his full length. He whimpered and moaned, strings of cum shooting out of his cock, covering Master's shirt. He cried out again as he felt Master's fingers dig into his hips and his hot, sticky seed pour into Kit's ass. He moaned and babbled wordlessly, slumped against Felix's chest, his mind blank with pleasure. Felix groaned as he came, pumping Kit with his seed. He felt Kit slump against his chest and wrapped his arms around him. Oh, God. That felt so good. He glanced down, seeing Kit, slumped against his chest, drooling.

He'd really need to wash this shirt, fast, or Kit's cum would stain it, but Felix wasn't worried about that. He was worried about whether he still meant that this would be a one-time thing. He wasn't sure anymore, not after experiencing just how good Kit felt. But Kit had seemed so happy riding his cock, so content lying here in his arms. If Kit really had fallen back into his conditioning, was that entirely a bad thing? He's just so happy, like this.

@sleepyiswhumping @rottingwhump

[stuck-in-jelly]

Cant stop thinking about how apparently Season 7 is going to be Ezran’s season and the slow and steady build up to a breaking point for him.

Ezran is in a weird delicate balance, walking across the tightrope of being a child and being a king. We see both sides equally, we see Ezran’s barely clinging childlike mannerisms and we also see him command and lead both with love and with force.

And he is equally regarded in this manner by the people around him, some addressing him more as a child then king and others more king then child.

“Who is this child?” “Such childish dreams.” “You deserve time to do kid things” “the whining child king.” vs “He is a King!” “Because you know-you’re the King.” “That is what King Ezran decided.” “I serve the true King.”

That is already a lot to try and balance, his wants versus his duty as a king but now that balance is being tested.

The weight of everything is starting to crash down. His stressful rule as a king in a time of insurrection and war, his own people pushing back against his ideals and attempts at progress, his citizens and home decimated by a dragon, his father’s murderer being freed by his own brother, and now the releasing of an ancient evil.

No one told him his father was dead, too worried to tell a child horrible news, and no one had told him the plan to bring Runaan back, hardly giving him a second thought.

The more I think about it the more my brain drifts to this section from the season 2 novelization:

“No. No, no no!!” Ezran shouted. He didn’t care if he sounded like a two-year old.

“Ezran. It’s going to be okay,” Rayla started to say.

That was about the dumbest thing anyone could possibly say, Ezran thought. Nothing was ever going to be okay again.

Just the moment Ezran fully reverts to being a small kid again, when he stops caring that he is acting like a child because he is a child because he is mad because its all hitting him at once and it isn’t fair.

I want to see how he takes it all

[uncanny-tranny]

I promise you can speak about and denounce undesirable behaviour without attributing it to some in-born, immutable, unchanging trait that you must "civilize" away.

In this specific instance that inspired this, you really don't need to attribute bad behaviour that's done by a man with unchanging character traits. This isn't even solely about men, because doing this affects everyone, men included.

"Men needed to be civilized out of behaving this way!" Who are you expecting to be doing the civilizing and why? This is just defending the idea that women are responsible for training up men - the millenia-old idea that a man's failings are actually a woman's fault, not his.

As a man, I am responsible for my actions. You don't need to dehumanize me in order to preserve your misogyny and your need to hate a group of men. Don't get me wrong, this rhetoric absolutely is not good for men to face. It especially targets men who have experiences with marginalized identities. If you're on my page, you know that this is something I deal with personally, have personal stakes in that affect my life daily. I just also think we really need to remember that this issue exists in a context where women and other folks will inevitably be punished as a direct result of these ideas as well.

I need to make that last part emphatically clear: even if this rhetoric (somehow) only hurt men, it would still be wrong. It would still be wrong! I want to - as a man - remind people (especially those who already have decided to dehumanize entire groups of people) that nobody is safe from being exempt from punishment due to this rhetoric.

[ickypuppi3]

something about the way people seem to look at max and billy’s dynamic as that of a parent and child rather than step siblings, something about how people see his behaviour towards her in this light and it skews the whole narrative, something about people thinking there’s a massive power dynamic between them for this reason, something about people comparing billy’s behaviour towards max and neil’s behaviour towards billy, something about how siblings do fight and do argue and do break each other’s possessions but because billy has been pretty much parentified by not only neil and susan but also the audience, people don’t look at their behaviour as that of siblings, something about how this adds to people not seeing billy as his actual age but rather a fully grown adult

[p2ii]

I feel like there's something to be said about the way fandom will treat characters who's trauma they can personally relate to Vs characters who they cant

[bigtopcheezborger]

dni if you consider everywhere at the end of time a spooky analog horror song instead of a beautifully horrifying art tribute to memory loss victims

[seleneprince]

Reminder that Senju was raised mainly by Haruchiyo and he knows her enough to predict her movements:

Still not over the fact that for all his mockery and his condescendent behaviour with Senju, he acknowledges how strong she is and even expresses his "dissapointment" when she doesn't meet his expectations.

[godgavemenoname]

i fucking did it. i finally managed to walk to the kitchen and get myself food. jesus christ

[sevenangrybees]

When mithrun finally hits the anime I'm gonna have to write up that essay I've been brewing about elf gender and the intersections of ableism and misogyny, aren't I

[gardenstateofmind]

it see a lot of awful shit at work, but something that always gets to me is just how neglected elderly people are in this society.

i remember seeing a post on here that was like "we need to abolish the family" and my immediate response was what the fuck bc it was like purposely worded in an instigative way, but then the op explained they meant that your blood/legal relatives are expected to be your only social support system and how that inevitably leads to abuse

and like i get it now, bc even when it's not malicious, just not being a priority in someone's life can mean you end up with nothing and no one. i mean this is an issue all around. i guess it just hits me extra hard bc i see people with dementia being literally abandoned at our doors all the time.

[rainbowsandwhumperflies]

whump drabble!! in which caretaker is trying to take care of a sick whumpee who is an absolute stranger to them

cws: fever, brief mention of vomit (it does not actually happen), whumpee is pretty disoriented, vague wound care, lmk if I missed anything

~~

"Hey, buddy. How are you feeling?"

He doesn't answer, staring at the ceiling without really seeing it.

"Yeah, that's kind of what I figured. I've got a little bit of medicine to help that fever and then some broth. You've got to be just about starving by now. And I've got to keep fresh bandages on that wound."

By now, I've propped his head up, lifting the cup of medicine to his lips. "Alright, honey, we're gonna try to drink this now, okay?" I know he isn't really hearing me, but somehow, it still surprises me when he coughs and sputters on the drink.

"Breathe, it's okay," I murmur, lifting him up more to pat his back. "Everything is going to be fine, just breathe."

He's gasping for air as soon as he's done coughing, and I think he's more awake, but no more aware of his surroundings than before. "That's it, you're doing great," I tell him, and it doesn't matter that he doesn't really listen. I think he's reacting more to the tone of my voice than what I'm saying, which is okay as long as my tone stays calm and gentle.

I dab the spilled liquid off of his face, and I think he would slap my hands away from him if he were stronger. As it is, he's crying silently, though I can't quite tell if it's from pain, confusion, humiliation, or a combination of the three.

I wipe his tears away gently and shush him. "I know, honey. I know. I'm sorry. But we've got to get this down. Do you think you can try again for me?" At least he's sitting up. He's miserable, but he's sitting up, and this is my best chance of getting liquids in him without any choking since he got here. So I keep a careful hand on the back of his throat when I tip the cup into his throat.

He makes a small noise. It’s close to a whimper, and the tears never stopped in the first place. But he's not choking. I move a careful thumb to rest on his throat, and I can feel his muscles working to swallow. I imagine it's probably hurting him to do so, especially with how thick the medicine is, but he's getting it down. "You're doing so good for me, bud," I say quietly, moving a hand to his forehead. His fever is still bad, but maybe not as bad as yesterday.

I pull the empty cup away, and he leans into my hand on his forehead. He looks like he’s struggling to stay sitting up, eyes half-lidded and unfocused. I remember when he showed up, thinking that a loud noise or sudden movement might scare him away. Honestly, it probably still would. It took him falling unconscious for me to get close enough to help in the first place.

He looks upset when I pull my hand away. I look away to grab the broth, because I'm not sure I can stand seeing that expression much longer. "The broth should help soothe your throat," I say. I don't say that I'm not sure how much good it can do at this point, especially if he refuses it again. I don't say that, because I don't know what else I can do besides offer it.

He doesn't refuse it. He coughs once, but he finishes the entire bowl.

He doesn't have the strength to get to the bathroom, or remember where it is. The broth might come back up later, or he might piss himself, and I'll likely have to clean it up either way. But when he catches my hand, clinging as tightly as he can manage and not letting it go, I can't bring myself to care.

"I'm gonna help you lay back down, honey, alright?" I shake his hand off mine, putting my hands on his shoulders and back instead. "Just lay back for me. I've got you." I'm not sure he's listening, but he lets me push him into the bedroll. "There you go, that's it. I'm just gonna put new bandages on you now."

He won't like me touching his torso while he's awake, I don't think, considering how he acted last time he was awake. But this is the only way I know how to help him, so I peel his shirt up despite the small noise of protest.

He sucks in a gasp as I unwrap the bandages. The cold air can't feel good on the wound, which is hot to the touch, but he doesn't move, so I continue. The infection looked better. The skin around the wound still looks red and angry, but less so. There's no colors that shouldn't be there, and it's not bleeding. I suppose that's why he was able to wake up tonight, even if he's not all here while awake.

I am not an apothecary, and I can't afford to be sloppy, so I run a wet washcloth across the gash on his torso, even though I'm not entirely sure if I need to keep cleaning it or not. I murmur an apology as he tries to twist away, but I don't even have to hold him down, he has so little strength. The water that the washcloth was dipped in was boiled, so I know it's clean, but it was an hour ago, so I know it's cold and uncomfortable.

I wrap his torso in a new set of bandages. If we're lucky, whatever hit him missed his internal organs. If we're lucky, there's no internal bleeding. If we're lucky, it will be able to heal without stitches, because I don't know how to stitch things. If we're lucky, the apothecary might return soon and tell me what to do.

If we're lucky, he might survive.

I'm not sure if anyone has quite that much luck, but all I can do is hope.

I squeeze his hand softly and move to stand up, but he surprises me by clinging to my hand again.

"Stay," he croaks, and if the rest of the house wasn't deadly quiet, I might have missed the tiny sound.

He's speaking, giving requests. That has to be a good sign.

I'm pretty sure it's not a request he'd give if he were lucid, which might not be a good sign.

But he's scared. And it's such an easy request to fill. So I sit right back down on the floor next to him and brush a lock of hair out of his face. "Okay," I whisper back. "I'll stay, but you have to get some rest. Deal?"

His eyes slide shut. Maybe it's my imagination, but he looks a fraction less miserable than before. I think I'd waste all my time sitting next to him if it meant that he might be slightly more comfortable than before.

[arundolyn]

not to be a complete ungrateful terrible horrible brat for a minute but like having a terminally ill parent who is also terminally fucking shitty really sucks because not only do you personally have to cope with your parent actively dying but also said parent will get mad at you for wanting time to yourself and not wanting to be their live in nurse 24/7 and also like completely forget about who you are and what you're like as a person especially in terms of like . energy level. because it's not convenient to them right now so anytime you try to think of yourself it always feels like you're Choosing Wrong

[dirt-str1der]

just wanna say im obsessed with your mind and i read your posts about kiryu like the morning paper. thank you for your service

(Sweats) e-even the ones about him laying eggs ?

[redheadedfailgirl]

So my favorite manager came back and I thought things would start to chill out and become more sensible and straightforward. But APPARENTLY the other managers who DO NOT INTERACT WITH ME OR MY COWORKERS OR ANYONE AT THE HOUSE I WORK AT (Other than the nepo baby who's a manager's son) are not happy with me for some unstated reason.

Apparently I'm not doing good at the duties they never fucking gave me training for and I'm not communicating things they never told me they needed to be looped into. And they've just been staring in this for the past two months my favorite manager was gone for, WITHOUT SAYING A DAMN WORD. And now it sounds like they're seriously pissed.

And I don't know what the fuck to do with that. Like how am I supposed to do things no one explains or even articulates as my responsibility? Why are most of these things even my responsibility to begin with?!? WHY IS IT THAT MY COWORKERS HAVE BEEN HAVING A STICKY NOTE WAR ON A BLENDER AND IM THE ONE THEYRE PISSED OFF AT?

I'm just so sick of having so many things suddenly get dropped on my lap, and being micromanaged by the nepo baby at work, and being silently judged for how I do fucking everything. I would love this job if not for who I have to work with and the hours I have to work and I have no control over either of those. And I fucking want to stab.

[arlo-venn]

Guess what! I got food stamps back!

Literally the only way we were able to make this happen is by finding out that one of Tyrell’s friends works for job and family services– so she was able to arrange some phone calls for us and got me through! So food for Remy is now covered for a while :’) 🥳

But we could really use some help with a bag of Arlo food ($15-$40ish size depending), and I’m 6 days late on my $80 monthly doctor bill. Arlo’s held over for now but it’s running low.

It’ll still be a couple of weeks before this litter of rats is ready to be homed. Tyrell’s been out of work herself this week healing from an injury so it’s a little harder for her to help this month. If you can spare any, ... 🙏🏼 Venmo: @remywolfe CashApp: $remywolfe PayPal: wolfstephollow@gmail.com or paypal.me/wolfstephollow ApplePay: 4805199559 kofi: ko-fi.com/remywolfe

[the-whumpening]

Dance Music [Son of Bat | Oneshot]

Masterpost

No specific time frame for this piece, just a random happenstance after a random gig.

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

"So this is what the volume knob's for . . . "

CW: family trauma, panic attack, reference to stalking, threats of violence

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

Eddie was wiped after the show, but the exhaustion was comfortable—satisfying. He imagined this was how James felt after a heavy workout. Backstage, he stripped his sweaty shirt and ruffed the dry parts through his damp hair. As the cloth covered his face, he heard a voice call his name over the clamor.

“What’s up?” he replied without looking. He wiped the sweat from his face and finally opened his eyes.

His stomach dropped.

“What are you doing here?” Eddie managed to stammer out, his jaw setting firmly in place.

The man laughed. “Is that any way to greet your old man? I have to admit, I wasn’t all that sure I had the right person at first—but look at you! You look just like your mom. But I take it you and Deb aren’t Bakers anymore.”

Eddie’s hands shook, and he could feel his face getting hot. It was his father; of that he was certain. Twenty years older and grayer than the pictures his mom had shown him, but he still had the same sleazy smirk and freckled complexion. Eddie tried to maintain his composure, to hide the fear rising in his throat. After all this time . . . this is what he’d dreaded most of all.

He turned to hide his face, pretending to busy himself with his backpack. “We never were. We’re Glenns. What do you want, Chris? How’d you know I’d be here?”

Seemingly oblivious to Eddie’s hostility, Chris edged closer. “Well, there’s no need for that—you can just call me dad, you know.” He reached to pick up Eddie’s bag, forcing Eddie to turn his attention. “Here, lemme help. I just wanted to see my kid, that’s all. Is that too much to ask?”

An avalanche of thoughts crashed through Eddie’s mind. The more he looked at Chris, the more furious he became, and the louder the thoughts clamored for attention. His stomach lurched and ached with the mounting anxiety.

“How? How did you find me?” he repeated.

“Eddie, does that really matter? I wanted to see you—why can’t we just talk?” Still smirking. Still unfazed. “What’s gotten into you?”

If Chris knew where to find Eddie—at a random show, in a random venue, with a different last name—there was every chance he already knew where to find Debby as well. This wasn’t just a violation of his privacy, of the safety he’d spent years building; it was a violation of his mom’s, too. For the first time in years, Eddie felt completely out of control.

“How?!” he roared, his face boiling hot with rage. “How did you find us?! Tell me!”

The din of the crew quieted below his hoarse screams. Suddenly, dozens of eyes were on their conversation.

“You need to calm down—you’re making a scene,” Chris half-whispered, his smirk dropping just a fraction despite the intensity of his glare.

Hands thudded on both of Eddie’s shoulders, but he was too far gone to stop. “TELL ME! HOW DID YOU FIND US?!”

James emerged from the crowd, blocking Eddie from Chris’ view with his imposing form.

“You need to leave,” James said, dropping his voice to its deepest register. He towered over Chris, his massive arms folded tightly across his chest.

Chris threw his hands up defensively. “You got this all wrong—I’m Eddie’s dad. I was just trying to talk to him. That’s all!”

Eddie’s body vibrated; Molly and Vince held him back as he attempted to charge forward. “Leave us alone! Get out of here! GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT—”

He thrashed against the arms holding him in place, squirming so fiercely that his friends had to hoist him off the ground to keep him from breaking free. All the while, he continued screaming frantically until his voice ran ragged and his desperate pleas were reduced to a faint mumble.

James loomed over Chris, daring him to make a move. Although he hated to see Eddie so distraught, James couldn't deny his pleasure at getting to threaten his deadbeat father.

“Eddie doesn't need an assault charge, but I'm not afraid of prison. If you want to keep your bones inside your body,” he warned, “I suggest you leave. Now.”

Chris’ eyes bulged, and he took a step backwards. “That's–that's a threat, you know? I could get you arrested for that.”

“And I could get you arrested for trespassing.” Cassandra appeared from behind him, a security guard in tow. “Now kindly leave my band alone, and these two large gentlemen will be happy to escort you off the premises.”

James flashed a toothy, cryptic grin and placed a heavy hand on Chris’ shoulder. The guard mirrored him on the other side, steering Chris out through the crowd.

Between Molly and Vince, Eddie grew limp and weak. When they loosened their grasp, he sank to his knees on the ground, still feebly protesting under his breath. His hands trembled, and he balled them up into tight fists.

Cass dropped down to his level, her face scrunched in concern. “I am so sorry, Eddie. I promise you, I will find out who let him in, and I’ll make sure nothing like this ever happens again.” She shot a stern look at the nearby stage crew. “It never should have happened in the first place.” After Vince helped her to her feet, she ushered the crew away. “Some privacy, please! Meet me in the green room to have your asses handed to you!”

When James returned through the stage doors, he made a beeline to Eddie’s side, wrapping his arms protectively around Eddie’s shoulders. “He’s gone, Ed,” he whispered. “It’s okay.”

Whatever desperate part of Eddie’s mind was holding him together finally broke; his shoulders shook with sobs, twenty years of hurt erupting from his body. Molly and James sat with him, holding his hand and stroking his hair, murmuring quiet words of comfort in between his gasps and whimpers.

“You’re okay, hun.” Molly pressed her forehead to his. “Let it out.”

Vince kept watch over them, shooing away anyone wandering too close. He brought Eddie his bag and a cold drink. “Have a drink, bud. You’re gonna get dehydrated.”

Eddie’s heart ached; sometimes he forgot just how much love he had in his life now. For so long, it had just been him and his mom . . . Mom. As he chugged the drink and his mind began to clear, a fresh wave of panic welled up in his gut.

He nearly choked as he sputtered, “M-mom! I n-need to call her!” Squirming from James’ grasp, he scrambled to dig his phone out of his bag. “She—he might, might . . .” His mouth couldn’t keep up with the words tumbling out.

“It’s already taken care of,” James assured him. “I called her while I was outside. She’s gonna stay with a neighbor tonight. Anything else can be handled tomorrow.”

Eddie nodded, the last of his energy leaving his body. He slumped into James’ shoulder, his eyes drooping and the exhaustion from the show hitting him full force. “Can we . . . go home?” he asked.

The drive home was longer than usual, taking extra twists and turns to ensure they weren’t followed. By the time they arrived, Eddie was dead on his feet. Rather than trek upstairs to his usual bed or couch, he insisted on sleeping in James’ room; beyond his exhaustion, he felt safer with James nearby. And though James valued his privacy, he obliged without protesting. For Eddie . . . he wouldn’t give it a second thought.