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2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year

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Stranger Things
Sweet Seals For You, Always
Game of Thrones Daily
trying on a metaphor
todays bird
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
Monterey Bay Aquarium

@theartofmadeline
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let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
Not today Justin
Xuebing Du
d e v o n
Keni

Andulka

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One Nice Bug Per Day

Product Placement
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seen from Türkiye
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seen from Malaysia
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@twistedcaretaker
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Nobody
CW: Choking/strangulation, whumper as whumpee, guns, brief dubcon and gore mentions, brief gendered slur towards the end
For @amonthofwhump day 11: Strangulation
You can find more Nanda on Jameson’s masterlist
-
He was stupid, really. Just fucking full-on stupid. No excuse for it, no reason, no understandable explanation for what he’d overlooked. Forgetting to check one single room in the enormous house. Losing track of one person for just a few seconds. Not even his assigned target.
Just one single man in one single room that Nathaniel Benson hadn’t accounted for.
One stupid mistake, and now he’s on his back with heavy hands closed tight around his neck, gasping for a thin thread of air he can just barely pull into his lungs.
This asshole, with a face like a thumb that got delusions of grandeur, is going to kill him and dump his body and Nanda’s brand new house will go to some chump who doesn’t even deserve it.
“Let… go-” He hisses, but honestly, he doesn’t even know if this guy speaks any English. There’s no reason for Thumb Face to know it, they’re deep inside the borders of another nation across the breadth of the world. But he says it anyway.
It’s pure instinct, and just as stupid as forgetting to check that room. Like the guy will just decide to pull back, whoopsie-doodle, guess I’ll stop trying to kill you since you clearly don’t actually want me to…
As it is, the guy only sneers down at him, and leans forward. His weight on Nanda’s stomach keeps him pressed into the floor, just a few feet away from his gun.
He could fix this, if he could only reach that gun. Just a few inches too far away. Just a little too far.
Just far enough.
Bright white bursts like fireworks flash in his vision, his body pleading with him for oxygen he can’t provide. Between those sparking lights, he can see the snarling expression of the man who will soon murder him, his teeth far too white to seem real, sweat beading up on his forehead over a pulsing vein.
I am going to die at the hands of a man who looks like a child drew him while blindfolded.
His fingernails scrape and scrabble along the man’s thick forearms, gaining purchase but no strength to pull him away. He’s already torn long red gashes, but none of it moves the man at all.
If only he could reach his fucking gun-
His vision grows dark at the edges, heart pounding, desperate to force what oxygen he has left to his brain to keep it working for as long as it can.
The darkness is growing…
Who will even miss him? After he’s pitched into some dark river and found by police who see no identification on an anonymous corpse? Who would notice when Nathaniel Benson never comes home?
No one. No-fucking-body.
Keep reading
🍽️ for whoever you want?
(Anon, I wasn't sure if you meant this for the comf asks or for the NSFW asks, so I... sort of combined them! Dinner date + going down on someone)
CW: Dehumanization, dubcon, implied dubcon, NSFW
"Is that Nathaniel Benson?"
Nanda hears her voice from across the room as she spots him and smiles, shifting in his seat as he cuts a bit of steak. Seared perfectly, it still bleeds, so rare it might as well still be mooing. He raises a hand in greeting, a bite speared on his fork. "Monica Niederman, as I live and breathe. I haven't seen you in months! What've you been up to?"
"Oh, nothing much." Monica laughs. "Just spent some time in South Korea for work, actually. Flew back from Seoul two days ago and I'm still fighting jet lag."
"Oh, yeah, I've done that flight a few times. It's a r-..." He hitches in a breath. "... A rough one."
She pauses, looking at him more closely. "Are you feeling all right, Nathaniel?"
"Hm? No, fine. Why do you... ask?"
"Nothing, just... You seem a little... off."
Nanda had to work to keep his voice from going husky. "Oh, I guess just... Just a... strenuous workday."
His other hand, hidden beneath the tablecloth, twists sharply in the hair of his pretty pet. He feels the way the beautiful boy's throat works around him as he tenses and he nearly finishes right then and there.
Little brat, trying to get him off too fast.
He kicks lightly at the boy's leg. The pet pinches his leg right back.
He'll pay for that later.
"Oh, oh of course. I suppose I should let you-"
The pet coughs, briefly gagging - something Nanda was sure they'd trained out of him. But Monica hears it and frowns, confused.
Around them, the rest of the restaurant goers eat. The tablecloths drape the floor. His pet is firmly hidden. He jerks on his hair again.
"Did you hear that?" Monica says, head tilted to one side. Nanda's heart beats faster with the threat of discovery. It sends whole new thrills of pleasure down his spine.
"Nope. Anyway, Mon, I need to get back to my dinner before it gets cold..."
"Oh! Right. So sorry. Have a good night, Nathaniel. Let's do lunch next week, okay? Just you and me."
"Definitely. Wednesday, 1 pm? I'll text you details."
"It's a date!" She grins, cheeky, and walks away to join the rest of her party at a table across the room.
His pet pulls back and Nanda sighs at the sudden chill against wet, hard skin. There's a snort. Nanda tries not to roll his eyes. "What?" He whispers without moving his lips, taking a bite.
"You have a date." It's a vicious little hiss from the jealous, gorgeous pet under the table. Nanda badly wants to look under just to see his brown eyes sparkling, angry and sullen.
He settles for using the grip on the pet's hair to shove him back where he had been, wet and warm and tightening as Nanda pushes in too far too fast. Teeth graze but never quite hurt.
"Don't worry, pet," He soothes, and shifts his left leg. It presses between the pet's, and - unseen under the table in the middle of a crowded restaurant - the pet begins to grind himself on it, even as he works Nanda with tongue and throat like he'll die if he stops.
Nanda takes a bite of steak, smiling. There are perks to owning a restaurant. Knowing three members of the staff know very well he has his pet under there with his mouth hard at work is at least half the fun.
His pet moans, and the vibration has Nanda rolling his hips, just a little, too.
"Don't worry, pet," He cooks as he cuts another bite of steak. "Date or not, you're the only one I'm fucking."
He makes eye contact with Monica as he comes down his pet's throat.
ash beloved, as a prince of woe and misfortune (a fibromyalgia haver) can i request some jameson on a bad pain day
the current vibe is 'i need to pee but my legs are fucking screaming and i havent even moved them yet and my shoes feel too tight because all my peripheral joints are getting inflamed' and i feel Terrible bc i used to be able to just ,, do stuff and now i cannot because of the evil 'You Have Pain And Doctors Don't Know Why' Disorder™
i am not sure whether i want to revel in shared misery or schadenfreude but i am sure i want to see a guy in pain
Anon, my gift to you and my sympathies for your Whole Body:
CW: Chronic pain, self-harm (brief, self-hitting), self-loathing, aftermath of whump, recovering whumpee
-
"You pushed yourself too hard, that's all." Nat tries for soothing, but when she puts a hand out to touch his shoulder, Jameson shoots her a furious glare and she carefully shifts it back again. "Right. Okay. You have to take things slow, honey, your legs-"
"-are goddamn fucking useless, yeah, I get it. I got it." Jameson's rasping voice is thinned to little more than a whisper as he hunches over himself, sitting sideways on the couch with his legs out on the cushions bent at the knees, refusing to straighten. He slams a fist down on his thigh just to feel a bloom of new pain that's is brighter and new compared to the eternal goddamn throbbing of the old. It's... nice. He tries it again on the other side.
Jesus, how fucked up is this? That this is what helps?
"Hey, hey now," Nat says, and before he can do it again she takes his wrist in her cool hands and holds his arm steady. "Not your best idea. I didn't call any part of you useless, that isn't what I said, honey."
"I wanted to walk to the goddamn gas station." Jameson glares at her hands, but he holds still under her deft, gentle touch. He doesn't pull away, or hit anything, he just... sits here, his knees shifting and muscles twitching in a pointless attempt to escape what's inside of them, what's as much a part of him as his own breath in his lungs now. "It's less than two miles. Less than two! I used to-... to run, on the treadmills in training, for fucking five miles, ten miles, no fucking sweat. My handlers told me I had a record for going so fast. I could run for fucking days on end, if I had to! Now..."
He groans, dropping back against the arm of the couch, even angrier when hot tears burn against his eyelids, trying to force their way out.
"Jameson-"
"Now... I can't even fucking walk."
"You do have the crutches, and the chair you can use, I know the sidewalk runs all the way past the gas station-"
"I wanted to fucking walk, Nat! I felt really good this morning! This shit didn't start up until I was putting on my fucking clothes! I shouldn't have fucking needed the goddamn fucking crutches or the stupid fucking chair!"
He grabs almost sightlessly for the crutch leaning against the couch, has it in his hand, and pulls his arm back to throw it.
"I hate this fucking shit!"
Whumptober 2023 - Day 8 - Panik Attack
Ash. Please. I’m BEGGING for just a morsel of literally anything with Nanda. All I have to offer you is🐚🍄🪢🧋Por favor mi s’more!!!
CW: EXPLICIT DUBCON, nonconish, BBU, pet whump, box boy, Jameson's Masochism, Nanda is a creep, creepy whumper, intimate whumper
Follows after the events that conclude in Family Business
-
"Fuck me," The pet whines, sliding a hand beneath the waistband of Nanda's pants, sliding closer to him where they lay in bed, pressing himself hot and needy along Nanda's body.
Half-asleep, Nanda grabs the pet's wrist and tightens his grip until the pet hisses in pain and tries to jerk himself free. "Mmmmf. Stop fucking around."
"I'm not. I'm not, you asshole, I am dying here, please, I want your dick so bad-"
"Stop." Nanda finally cracks open one eye.
The pet is so close they're nearly kissing, his black eyes mostly faded, bruising still painting him in gorgeous watercolor shades of yellow and purple everywhere Nanda looks. Between visible injury and the needy edge to that pleading voice, Nanda feels himself stir to arousal.
He sighs. "You know the medic said no sex for six weeks."
Caretaker dotes over their favored whumpee. They cry when they cry and they're happy when they're happy.
Except when whumpee's physically injured. Caretaker turns into a personal stoic doctor who'll do even the worst operation imaginable, whatever it takes to keep them alive, calm through the entire thing.
-Once it's over, then they panic.
Give me an “asshole” whumpee, abandoned by all of their friends. And I mean all of them.
Ever since the whumper started threatening and hurting them, Whumpee, who was already unliked by most, would lash out at people and accuse them of secretly siding with Whumper. Eventually, people just got fed up with checking up on Whumpee. They got tired of making sure that Whumper wasn’t able to get them. They just left.
Caretaker lasted a while. They cared about their friend, the person who was there before all of this. The person who laughed at their jokes and made sure they never went too far with their bad attitude, even on their worst days. So Caretaker stayed for the old Whumpee, the one who didn’t have trust issues or severe anxiety manifesting it’s way into angry outbursts.
But Caretaker eventually realized that their version of Whumpee wasn’t coming back. Caretaker knew that Whumper was still out there, sending threats and ready to attack Whumpee the second they aren’t protected. Actually, they already have. Caretaker is just one person, and they’re only half invested in this whole affair. Whumpee is getting hurt again and Caretaker can’t or won’t do enough to stop it, just make sure Whumpee doesn’t end up captured.
Whumpee is spiraling, they see their last remaining friend slipping away. They know that their actions have pushed Caretaker far beyond their limits.
But they can’t stop themselves. Their unhealthy defense mechanisms have taken control.
“You don’t care about me! You’ve never cared, not since Whumper’s first attack! If you cared, you wouldn’t have let this happen!”
“I’m just one person, Whumpee! It’s not my fault you ran everyone else out of your life.”
“But you never stood up for me! You never convinced them to stay!”
Caretaker sighs angrily. “Look, Whumpee. I can’t do this anymore. I don’t like who you’ve become. I think maybe… maybe you’re a bad person. Maybe Whumper was right to hurt you.”
“Caretaker…”
But Caretaker doesn’t stay to listen. Whumpee sinks to their knees, sobbing. They don’t know how many hours they spend there, crying and pleading with no one in anger and despair and loneliness. But most of all, fear. Now that Caretaker is gone, truly gone, there’s nothing and no one left to protect them.
And Whumper is aware of this.
“Aww, Whumpee, are you all alone? I guess not even Caretaker could put up with how annoying you are. But don’t worry. If there’s one thing I can promise you, it’s this. I will never, ever leave your side until the day you die.”
Hey I’ve been struggling with developing a character’s inferiority complex. Do you have any tips on ways to show not tell this?
How to write an inferiority complex
An inferiority complex can be described as a chronic low self-esteem, a consistent feeling of inadequacy.
Causes:
a low status in the social hierarchy
specific aspects about themself (physical or something else) that are looked down upon in society
being talked down on a lot
a lack of parental acceptance
failing to live up to high expectations put upon them
not reaching a goal they decided on themself
How to show a character's inferiority complex:
People act differently with this diagnosis, sometimes also depending on the situation and the person they are with. Here are some ideas.
show them focussing on negative aspects a lot
not being able to see it when something did work out well for them
talking badly about themself
withdrawing from friends and family
not being able to take a compliment or criticism
demeaning other's as a way to make other's feel as bad as they do
trying to get attention and even pity
can be shown through perfectionism
and not being able to cope well if something does not fit into the standard they have
I hope this helps you out!
- Jana
30 angsty dialogue prompts
"Why don't you ever listen to me?"
"I fucked up."
"They told me you left."
"I'm sorry I'm not who you thought I was."
"Where did you go?"
"Don't touch me."
"They're lying to you."
"Are you hurt?"
"I don't know where we are."
"Why are you still here?"
"Don't listen to them."
"Look at me."
"Why would you say that?"
"I'm not going to hurt you."
"You heard that?"
"I didn't mean it."
"This can only end one way."
"You look like hell." "I feel like it."
"You don't remember me?"
"I don't know who you are anymore."
"This isn't what it looks like."
"Do you trust me?" "I don't know."
"Just a little longer."
"Swear it to me."
"This isn't right."
"I don't know how much longer I can do this."
"I can't protect you."
"I can't believe I didn't see that coming."
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."
"You can't tell anyone."
If you enjoyed these, please consider leaving me a tip!
WEIRDLY SPECIFIC BUT HELPFUL CHARACTER BUILDING QUESTIONS
What’s the lie your character says most often?
How loosely or strictly do they use the word ‘friend’?
How often do they show their genuine emotions to others versus just the audience knowing?
What’s a hobby they used to have that they miss?
Can they cry on command? If so, what do they think about to make it happen?
What’s their favorite [insert anything] that they’ve never recommended to anyone before?
What would you (mun) yell in the middle of a crowd to find them? What would their best friend and/or romantic partner yell?
How loose is their use of the phrase ‘I love you’?
Do they give tough love or gentle love most often? Which do they prefer to receive?
What fact do they excitedly tell everyone about at every opportunity?
If someone was impersonating them, what would friends / family ask or do to tell the difference?
What’s something that makes them laugh every single time? Be specific!
When do they fake a smile? How often?
How do they put out a candle?
What’s the most obvious difference between their behavior at home, at work, at school, with friends, and when they’re alone?
What kinds of people do they have arguments with in their head?
What do they notice first in the mirror versus what most people first notice looking at them?
Who do they love truly, 100% unconditionally (if anyone)?
What would they do if stuck in a room with the person they’ve been avoiding?
Who do they like as a person but hate their work? Vice versa, whose work do they like but don’t like the person?
What common etiquette do they disagree with? Do they still follow it?
What simple activity that most people do / can do scares your character?
What do they feel guilty for that the other person(s) doesn’t / don’t even remember?
Did they take a cookie from the cookie jar? What kind of cookie was it?
What subject / topic do they know a lot about that’s completely useless to the direct plot?
How would they respond to being fired by a good boss?
What’s the worst gift they ever received? How did they respond?
What do they tell people they want? What do they actually want?
How do they respond when someone doesn’t believe them?
When they make a mistake and feel bad, does the guilt differ when it’s personal versus when it’s professional?
When do they feel the most guilt? How do they respond to it?
If they committed one petty crime / misdemeanor, what would it be? Why?
How do they greet someone they dislike / hate?
How do they greet someone they like / love?
What is the smallest, morally questionable choice they’ve made?
Who do they keep in their life for professional gain? Is it for malicious intent?
What’s a secret they haven’t told serious romantic partners and don’t plan to tell?
What hobby are they good at in private, but bad at in front of others? Why?
Would they rather be invited to an event to feel included or be excluded from an event if they were not genuinely wanted there?
How do they respond to a loose handshake? What goes through their head?
What phrases, pronunciations, or mannerisms did they pick up from someone / somewhere else?
If invited to a TED Talk, what topic would they present on? What would the title of their presentation be?
What do they commonly misinterpret because of their own upbringing / environment / biases? How do they respond when realizing the misunderstanding?
What language would be easiest for them to learn? Why?
What’s something unimportant / frivolous that they hate passionately?
Are they a listener or a talker? If they’re a listener, what makes them talk? If they’re a talker, what makes them listen?
Who have they forgotten about that remembers them very well?
Who would they say ‘yes’ to if invited to do something they abhorred / strongly didn’t want to do?
Would they eat something they find gross to be polite?
What belief / moral / personality trait do they stand by that you (mun) personally don’t agree with?
What’s a phrase they say a lot?
Do they act on their immediate emotions, or do they wait for the facts before acting?
Who would / do they believe without question?
What’s their instinct in a fight / flight / freeze / fawn situation?
What’s something they’re expected to enjoy based on their hobbies / profession that they actually dislike / hate?
If they’re scared, who do they want comfort from? Does this answer change depending on the type of fear?
What’s a simple daily activity / motion that they mess up often?
How many hobbies have they attempted to have over their lifetime? Is there a common theme?
“Do you think you’re the first one I’ve kept, whumpee?” Whumper kneels in front of them. Whumpee makes a small noise, scrambling back against the wall, but Whumper only snatches them by the collar, hooking a few fingers underneath the leather to keep them there. “You think this little thing makes you special? Keeps you safe?”
“No, sir,” Whumpee answers quickly, shaking their head. And of course they hadn’t. The collar had never kept them safe from Whumper—not truly. But it had kept them alive.
Pet Safety
Written for @bbu-on-the-side Day 13 of the BBU Community Days, “Safety”; posted early, because impatience. Refers to multiple conversations I’ve had with @redwingedwhump , especially regarding the Chewtoy concept. Thank you so much!
A WRU inspector confiscates a pet.
Content: BBU, heavily leaning in the institutional aspects of it; conditioning, witnessed and discussed noncon (not explicit), feverish whumpee, dehumanisation, derogatory language, overall this is an 18+ piece for sure.
Sometimes, Adrian wondered how his job would’ve been different in other parts of the country. Rich assholes would be rich assholes everywhere, sure. But maybe a New England professor or a Californian tech billionaire would tone it down a bit.
Rich assholes in Texas would never back down from laying it all out openly.
He was greeted by a Guard Dog at the front gate of the estate already. The man was build like a brick house, shoulders wider than Adrian’s, thick black collar around his neck, with a polished gun on his hip that seemed to have been chosen for looks, not function.
In any other state, this would’ve been the rich asshole’s first offense. Here in Texas, though, pets were allowed to be armed. Adrian didn’t like it one bit. But then again, he didn’t like a lot about the pet system.
He lifted the badge he wore around the neck. “WRU. Pet Safety Inspection. Name’s Adrian Delgado.”
It was chilling how the scowl on the Guard Dog’s face softened into fear and submission. He wondered what it was. Was the mere sound of the company name enough? Was it the way his badge looked eerily similar to the handlers’ badges in the facilities?
Somehow, many pets feared these three letters more than they did their masters. This one seemed to be torn somewhere in between. “Mr Donnell is not expecting any visitors,” he said, as he straightened his back, gaze flickering between Adrian’s badge and his face. “Sir.”
“By possessing four or more pets, Mr Donnell is obliged to accept unannounced inspections,” Adrian said. “He does not have to let me in, but it might result in his owner’s permit to be withdrawn.”
The pet raised his chin and nodded curtly, before he turned aside to speak into his radio. There’d been a hint of fear flickering in his eyes. Adrian got it. According to the files, Donnell owned eleven pets. Eleven humans stripped off of their humanity to serve the whims of one oil billionaire in cowboy boots. This was the world they lived in.
Eleven pets, that would be boxed up and sent back to the company, if Donnell wouldn’t pass the inspection.
Keep reading
Oh, oh, you know what I'd love to see some time? Kauri getting an electric shock from a domestic appliance or something. It doesn't need to be serious, we just know how much he hates getting shocked 👀
"You need a new toaster."
Jake looks up, rubbing a hand over his face, blinking where he sits on his bed in a pair of pajamas pants. Things are blurred and bleary, it's too early for this on one of the few days he doesn't have class. Still, though - he can't help but feel a little... happy, maybe, to hear Kauri's voice. "What...?"
"Your toaster's fucked up." Kauri has it in his hands, gripped white-knuckle tight. Jake reads in his appearance the story of his night - his hair is a mess of black curls, there's dark circles under the bright blue eyes, he's still wearing clothing he had on two days ago, the last time Jake saw him.
His shirt is on inside out. Whose cologne will be smell like if Jake gets close?
There's a twist of something odd and sharp in Jake's chest. "... Our toaster is fucked up?"
"Yeah. It... It's broken. It shocked me. When I plugged it in." Kauri dumps the toaster on the floor in Jake's room, and Jake winces as he watches ancient crumbs scatter everywhere as it tips on its side.
"... And you brought it up here because..."
"Because it's broken. You should get a new one. I wanted to tell you." Kauri's voice is short and sharp, Jake can see his eyes are a little too wide. He crosses his arms and Jake thinks it looks like he's hugging himself, trying not to be obvious about it. "It's a stupid toaster. It hurt me. It-... It shocked me, and-"
"Yeah. I'll handle it, I will. But, are you okay?"
"What?" Kauri looks... uncomfortable and surprised. "I'm fine."
"Yeah, but. You said it shocked you?" God, he's too tired to think. Jake leans into instinct instead. "Like electric shock?"
"Yeah. Just. A little one, but..."
Silence draws out between them. Jake rakes a hand back through his hair, and then pushes himself to his feet. If Kauri's eyes drop to Jake's bare chest down to his stomach and the waistband of his pants, Jake doesn't notice. Or he pretends not to, anyway. There's a Tshirt on the floor, and he pulls it on over his head. "Yeah, but... Still. Are you okay?"
"I'm not hurt-"
"That's not what I'm asking. Kaur, you used to be shocked, before. Even if you're not hurt..." He looks back down at Kauri. "That doesn't mean you're okay."
Kauri's smile fades for just a second - then it's back, but brittle this time. "I'm always okay."
"No, you're not. Kauri, I just wanted to know if you need to talk-"
"Absolutely the fuck not. I just came here to get some breakfast, not get trauma interrogations at six in the morning."
"I'm not interrogating you-"
"Then take 'i'm fine' for an answer for once."
Jake's mouth opens and then closes again.
Kauri's smile is small and vicious. "Like I said. Buy a new toaster."
"Kauri, just-"
Kauri disappears from the doorway and is halfway down the stairs before Jake can get out of his room.
"Kauri, wait-"
The front door closes and Kauri is gone.
"I'd rather die than submit to you."
The whumpee, fairly new and fairly defiant, spits up at the whumper from the ground where they're kneeling. They half-expect to be hit, mocked, threatened or punished further for their declaration; instead the whumper looks pensive for a moment.
"Okay."
With nonchalant ease they pull out a gun. It stops inches away from the whumpee's quickly paling face, and as the safety clicks off the whumper relishes in silence their suddenly frantic backtracking.
Just thinking about single, powerful, open-hand 💥SLAPS💥 the send poor Whumpee to the floor😈😈😈
thinking about forcing a whumpee to say they deserve it while they're being tortured
…And the whumpee thinking that maybe, as much as they hate to admit it, they do.