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kabr0ztrousers · 4 months ago

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could we get a continuation of episode 39? that was unbelievably hot 🫣 ghost possession breeding, her spirit watching helplessly as they whore out her body to anyone that’s even vaguely interested, then she eventually gets her now pregnant body back months later, with a few other modifications (tattoos/piercings that are out of character for her so it’s kinda body horror?) that the ghosts thought better suited the reputation they earned her as being the town slut, a role that she now gets to inherit

Kabr0z Writes episode 94: haunting, part 2

Also Entitled: Release

Find part 1 here! And the rest of the anthology here!

CWs: facefucking; noncon; body modification; pregnancy mention; alcohol mention; possession;

A/N: Squaring the circle between fantasy awfulness and more grounded "real-life" awfulness is tricky. Let's see how well I do!

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You watched helplessly. Since the ghosts took over your body, it was all you could do from the corner of your conscious you'd been sequestered to. Othello and his friends Iago and Brabanzo had ran rampant with your body for months. Under their control, you'd seen yourself go from an anonymous nobody to the most famous slut in your small town.

Your body was in a piss-smelling alley. Hunkered down on your knees, a cock old enough to have fathered you in your mouth. His hands were in your hair, forcing his cock into your throat as he fucked your face. Thrust after thrust shook your body, your pierced tongue rubbing over the tip of his cock, drawing grunts from him. At last he forced you to his hilt, shaking your head over his drooling cock as he emptied his balls into you. He pushed you away from him, toppling you over as he pulled his pants back on and left you on the floor, not even looking at you as he tossed a crumpled banknote next to you.

Your hand took the note, tucking it into the waistband of the tiny skirt they had you wearing, barely long enough to hide your cunt as you walked down the street. One hand idly brushed the bump in your belly. You knew you were pregnant, you hadn't had a period in at least two months and the growing bump was only confirming your theory. You don't know who could be the father, hundreds of men have fucked you since the since that day in the café, and the ghosts hadn't been scrupulous about requiring condoms.

You walked on, towards the high street. Striding down the street wearing just enough to not commit a crime. Men stared at you, young and old. People averted their children's eyes, afraid they'd see you and somehow become polluted by the sight of the town whore.

You knocked on a door. A moment passed and a furtive man pulled it open. You took his hand and he pulled you up the stairs to his flat.

He tossed you onto the bed, and your legs opened. He grinned when he saw you weren't wearing panties, bare cunt glistening wet and glinting with piercings. He unzipped himself, pulling out his member as he pressed himself up against you. He smelled of sweat and beer. If you had your body you'd never say yes to sleeping with a man like this, but the ghosts inhabiting you pulled your arms around his waist, pulling him on top of you. He lined himself up with your entrance, already grunting like a pig as he pushed his semi-hard cock up between your legs.

Acrylic nails traced complex patterns onto the man's skin as he humped against you, grunting and huffing as he got closer to his orgasm. His face pressed against yours, open-mouth kissing you, letting his tongue loll into your mouth as you sucked on it. His grunting got louder and heavier as warmth flowed from him into your cunt. He held you a moment, letting his pumping subside before he rolled over, gesturing to the nightstand where your payment sat in an ashtray. Again, it was picked up and counted before being pushed with the rest.

You showered, then let yourself out.

Onwards you went. To the tattoo studio. You looked in the full-length mirror, turning this way and that. Othello admiring the messgaes he'd had put on your skin. "Free Use" on the small of your back, a stylised image of a uterus on your belly, a pawprint motif on your hips, arrows on the insides of your thighs pointing up towards your cunt.

You wanted to cry, your body was daubed in advertisements promising you to anyone who could pay for you, and the price wasn't high. As your body turned in the mirror you could see the baby bump more clearly. You were at least a few months along. Othello and the others hadn't had you going in for checkups, you wondered if it was a boy or a girl? What would happen to it, being born to you as you are? You didn't want to know.

The tattooist called you over. You sat on the bench as she worked. More text, the words "Condom Optional" on your labia. You didn't make a sound as the needle buzzed the message into your skin. The ghosts decided you shouldn't.

The tattooist looked like you used to, before they took you over. Tall, slim, hair in a pixie cut, you just wished you didn't know what they were planning. The tattoo didn't take long. The lettering went on in about an hour. You watched as your body handed over a sheaf of notes, pulled from your skirt.

Your hands reached behind your neck, fumbling with the locket as her attention was occupied counting the money and getting you your change.

The clasp opened. Your mind was your own again. You looked at the silver heart in your palm, buzzing with the evil spirits it contained. You turned it over and over. They wanted you to leave it here. To save yourself at the cost of the tattooist.

You fastened it back around your neck. Your body fell away from you again. You watched as the tattooist gave you a handful of coins.

Othello's laughter echoed in your head. "Decided you wanted more of us? Very well. We can always have more fun with you"

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#kabr0z writes #original content #textposts #fem!reader #ghost x you #ghost x reader #ghost smut #ghost x human #possession #possessive #cw possession #cw oral sex #pr0stitution #cw pregnancy #preggophilia #preggo kink #pregnancy #tattoos #body piercing

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soyuz-citizen · 4 months ago

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Stalker!Nikto x Lonely!Fem!Reader

CW: NSFW, Noncon body modification (piercing, genital tattoos), Biting, Implied knifeplay, Stalking, Clit torture mention

I love the idea of a Stalker!Nikto zeroing in on you because you’re always alone.

You. Soft, sweet you—all cashmere and coconut oil. Skin butter-smooth compared to his, shiny. Pulled taut over your flesh. Not sloughing and rotting away like that of his face. He’d watch you lounge like a princess through your windows at night, headband keeping your hair from your eyes. You’d scroll mindlessly on your phone to fill the silence. You wouldn’t even feel his presence (his silly kroshka, so naive).

He wouldn’t believe his luck finding you. So pure and untouched, yet begging to be caught. Like a young dove strutting along, preening its pretty feathers. He’d want to poach you.

He’d be like a shadow everywhere you go. Especially that library you frequent. The one with the “secret” top floor and all its sordid pleasures. From classic literature, banned and unbanned, to cheesy bodice-rippers. You’d peek into the steamiest book you could find, cheeks warm from what puffed out the pages, thinking you had privacy. You wouldn’t know about the apparition staring at you from between the bookshelves. Felid eyes narrow. Baby blues pinning.

He’d be jealous, but also a rich man. His only competitor would be those stupid books. He’d design your cage in his mind, treating you as a prized parrot, minding your need for mental stimulus. Do you like pain, lyubov? He’d think you do.

He’d pick his poisons from the trash you read. Infuse it with him. His lips are too gnarled to kiss you, so he’d bite you instead. His palms are too rough to cradle you, so he’d cut you instead. He’d mark you as his own, tattoo you if need be—his name on all his favorite parts of you. And he’d keep you on a tight leash; strangled his cock at the idea of piercing your clit and tugging the chain. He’d get it in ballistic black, just like his mask.

While your mind ripped you at the seams, it’d stitch his together. Seeing you would be enough to make the voices quiet. You’d work better than any pill, than any nodding, sycophantic therapist. You—the ball of fraying nerves wrapped in a bow. The creature of habit. The one who sought body heat from the shower stream.

Unfortunately, you’d be in great company. You just wouldn’t be aware until it was too late.

#nikto x reader #call of duty nikto #cod nikto #dark fic #idk I just love the idea of reader being terrified but kinda conflicted #she gets attention for the first time in so long #but it’s scary attention #the wire crosses in the brain would go crazy #cod x reader #cod x you

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quarterlifekitty · 8 months ago

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Hi! I'm just curious if you have like a list of hard boundaries? Like, things you wouldn't write? I know you said to get crazy in your inbox but I'm kind of afraid that I may send in something that's too icky and I don't want to make you uncomfortable in anyway 🥹

You know, that’s a good question. First and foremost this will always be a judgement free space. I will never publish an ask with the intent to pass shame or judgement. I’m a firm believer that asking should always be free. And I’m pretty open minded. However, there are some things that quite honestly while I would be comfortable talking about in DMs, I probably wouldn’t post on this blog. There are also a lot of kinks I’m just not into (at this time). But I can be convinced. I’ll elaborate more down below

cw: potentially triggering topics. This is a somewhat comprehensive list because I wanted it to be as informative as possible. Please do not read this if you are sensitive to extreme kinks/topics.

Obviously this is not a fully comprehensive list— so if there’s something you want to know that I didn’t cover, lemme know.

Weird things that I will write:

Dub/noncon/CNC

Intox/drugging

Watersports

Ddlg/daddy kink

Fauxcest

Kidnapping

Human trafficking

Scentplay/sweat kink

Hybristophilia

Oviposition

Omegaverse

Hybrids

Coercion

Monster fucking

Somnophilia

Sex pollen

Fuck or die

Micro

Hard no:

Scat

Snuff (involving mortals)

Extensive amputation

Graphic description of pill overdose

Raceplay

Extreme nonconsensual body modification

Pedophilia

Beating up sexual partners (punching, kicking, etc)

Things I’m just not really into (who knows what the future holds)

Human furniture

Prolapse

Hypnosis

Feederism

Vomit

Waxplay/temperature play

Open body cavity

Sounding/urethral play

#not writing #limit list

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redd956 · 21 days ago

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Desensitized (Chapter One)

Content: BBU/Institutionalized Slavery, Living Weapon Whump, Conditioning, Captivity, Soldier Whumpee, Military Whump, Defiant Whumpee, Carewhumper (Maybe), Team Dynamics

CWs: Noncon Body Modifications, Slavery, Dehumanization, Gun Violence, Blood, Broken Bones, TBI/Head Trauma, Opioid Painkillers, Light Gagging

Masterlist: Will go here

Words: 3097

Apathetic

From the outside the building appeared warehouse-like in nature, a great industrial block that towers over the surrounding storefronts and expansive blacktop parking lots. Then there’s the lettering plastered high above the entrance. One Man’s Army.

Piers grimaced at the sight of busy cars populating the asphalt. From armored vehicles to family six-seaters, people walked in and out with excited smiles or satisfied grins. Few were the solemn faces. Piers felt exposed just standing by his car at a place like this.

He didn’t have a choice. The boss demanded it, and in all honest he were correct in the grand scheme of things. It would only be a matter of time until Piers or his team ran into an Embattled themselves.

Close calls of the past made it all the more important. Seeing how quick some of those things can run… Or how easy an entire team of trained mercenaries can become red sludge… Piers shuddered, finally closing his driver side door.

The cash felt heavy inside the rucksack on his back. He kept reminding himself that this was for the sake of everyone’s safety, and he only needed one. Whatever appeases the boss he guessed. Just pick one and you can leave this place A.S.A.P.

Retro video games awaited him back at base. He’ll hurry through this meticulous process, then speed his way out of town. Thinking about those pixelated maps didn’t smother the building guilt though.

Frigid air washed over him as the sliding doors stuttered open. Piers was met with a vast network of rooms, easy to access and even easier to keep watch on, reminding him of that old prison down south. Steel sets of stairs climbed up to various floors. Walls of thick glass separated most cells instead of iron bars. Near the back he spied a few rooms that held great and heavy doors, the only window for interested buyers being the slim rectangular of glass to spy through them.

Most of the ground floor was cluttered by cases of weaponry, armor, and medical equipment. Employees pranced around in various levels of tactical gear. They approached their potential customers with smug expressions, and eager gestures.

“Well well, don’t you look like an experienced man.” An older middle aged individual, hidden behind a military helmet and pair of sunglasses, nearly pounced Piers. “Whatcha looking for then? We’ve assortments of embattled here- The best around as you should know.”

Piercing through the brown tint of his sunglasses, an eager gaze fixated on the tattoos lining Piers’ upper arms. Piers attempted to shut all unnecessary questions down.

“I’m only buying to shut the ol’ boss up. Nothing fancy- And nothing unpredictable.”

Expectant glares located onto him. He heard the man give a low scoff, a semblance of a shit-eating grin pressing against the slick fabric the balaclava underneath the helm.

“Anything for Moors’ boy. C’mon! We’ll find something that suits your needs. Trust me we got something for everybody.” Flamboyant gestures directed Piers to follow. He heaved a sigh, scraping his boots against the entry mat, reluctantly starting after the salesman.

Immediately the man brought Piers up to the second floor. Doing his best to impress him, the employee rambled on explaining.

“I think you’ll find our embattled in sector H up to your standards. They’re of professional expectations; good on battlefields, undercover jobs, and going up against the well prepared enemy- Here’s one of our group containers. They make good watch buddies, get along good with other embattled and don’t require much stimulation. Commonly referred to as Couplets as most buy these guys in a pair or greater.”

On the other side of the glass sat a bunch of bored looking men, armored in moderate gear. Their “container” wasn’t big enough to accommodate the amount crammed into the room.

Most sat on the floor staring into the ceiling, walls, or one-sided glass. A few metal benches found every free spot occupied by a resting Couplet. In the back two mattresses transformed into a dogpile, as they fought for comfortable space to sleep.

The man continued, “Don’t worry about complaints, distracted attention spans, or banter. These guys are far less chatty than their cheaper counterparts.”

Piers stared at the blank stare on a particular sunken eyed Couplet, his head started to bow as the will to stay awake waned. After an annoyed look to the salesman, that was enough for them to move onto the next.

“Sharpshooters. They come in available in all genders.”

There was a string of thin but lengthy cells, similar to hallways, that housed restless embattled. Each anticipated work, practicing with daggers that had grown dull, foam targets that were long since torn to shreds.

One in particular stretched as if she could guess that costumers had moved their sights onto her. She plucked a blade out from underneath her bed, not a hesitation passing by as she succeed the bullseye.

“They are enthusiasts for the job. Crossbows, sniper rifles, pistols, whatever you give them, they’ll show off their precision-”

Piers already begun to walk away, shaking his head. The salesman hustled after him. He advised, “Alrighty sir, I’ll let you lead the way then.”

Each group and subject on sale proved more and more unworth it. He analyzed the hot headed Juggernauts, the efficient but unstable Killmongers, the way too eager Jackpots. Passing by the string of isolated embattled, selling the boss’ case to Piers was dwindling.

Each were either returned for their aggression, unpolished edges, or locked up for an inability to co-exists with the non-commanding staff. In one particular concrete chamber sat a juggernaut that refused to break from a set of push-ups. Piers wondered what kinds lives these people lived before becoming these… things.

“Here. Let’s go to the third floor. They’re expensive, can have quite the harsh modifications, but are worth every penny.”

He wasn’t lying about the mods. These embattled fashioned cybernetic upgrades. Ears were decorated by enhanced hearing implants. Promised technological feats were found in thin metallic markings, and stark ink.

Passing by a wall of glass that served a vibrant warning label, Piers got a knowing wink from the subject inside, the mechanical bladed imp tail attached to them winding in anticipation. He could’ve swore the glass was always one-sided.

“How about a Grand Medic? We have a few unique features of them, noted by these symbols here.” The man tapped at a key plastered to the viewing glass.

Modifications guaranteed aspects such as dedicated caretaking, duel-service, multilingual, familial devotion, intense reaction times, and even fearlessness.

The third floor cells were far more expensive, spacious, and… clean. Bunk beds provided enough opportunities to snooze for less crowded containment of extensively conditioned embattled. They had tables, entertainment in the form of puzzle trinkets, and also pillows.

The Grand Medics looked healthy and more right behind the eyes than most Piers had seen today. Their equipment was heavy duty, and each wore a different accent color, large patches on their arms telling onlookers what to expect.

Slips attached described factoids and notes on their behavior, specialties, and feats. They have names?! Piers admitted that they sure do look expensive.

Given no choice, he asked the salesman, “What’s the difference between the common medic and a grand?”

“Grand Medics are the best of both worlds. They can be your avid defender, skilled soldier, observant comrade, and best of all: a field surgeon if push comes to shove. Each are tested for high intelligence when selected to be Grand Medics. Their training is complex, ruthless, and especially strict. Very few make it to this level. We’ve never had a complaint after purchase from these guys though.”

“But I will tell you.” He continued, pointing back to the slips, “They can have some quirks that wealthy buyers might not be all intrigued by.”

Piers took his time reading and locating the corresponding embattled...

Green; Macarius: Endurable, Devout, Advanced Memory, Sharpshooter, Modified Sight.

Languages: English, Portuguese, Spanish, Italian, French, and German.

Quirks: Melancholic. Compulsive. Hungering.

What does that mean? You know what I don’t want to know. Macarius refused to face the viewing glass, hunched over as if trying to hide something. Very obviously his hands cupped a granola bar that he was attempting to choke down...

Blue; Paulinus: Devout, Modified Hearing, Advanced Athleticism, Substance Resistance, Climate Adaptive.

Languages: English, Russian, Ukrainian, Kazakh, and Greek.

Quirks: High Maintenance, Advanced Sweet Tooth, Tactile.

Sweet tooth? It’s got to be bad if they enable it here. Paulinus chewed a large wad of gum. He tapped his foot to the beat of a song that no one else could hear...

Red; Constantine: Advanced Athleticism, Climate Adaptive, Unbothered, Specialized Modification - Medical, Modified Olfactory, Field Practiced.

Languages: English, MSA, ASL, Gulf Arabic, Levantine Arabic, Tagalog, and Spanish.

Quirks: Quiet. Obsessive. Apathetic. Antisocial.

Quiet, I like that. Constantine fidgeted with a fifteen sided puzzle cube. He twisted and turned the almost flimsy seeming contraption, suddenly coming out with a checkered pattern...

Gold: Valentin: Devout, Specialized Modification - Medical, Endurable, Field Practiced, Modified Hearing.

Languages: English, Spanish, French, Dutch, Swedish, and German.

Quirks: Obsessive. Aggressive. (Someone scribbled with a pencil Yandere next to the last word.)

Yeah… No. Valentin pressed a bored fist to the side of his jaw. He seemed to be watching something unfold in the imaginary stage set against the white walls...

“Any pique your interest?” The salesman smiled as if he knew he secured Piers, and there was no going back.

“How much is the red one?”

Returning to his car Piers carried one much lighter rucksack. His parents shunned the embattlement institutions, back when they turned murderers into murderers for hire. To this day he always found their existence evidence of humanity’s failing.

He mulled the entire car ride back to base, entering the establishment with his head hung low. His team and boss greeted him in the kitchen. The deep conversation they were carrying dispersed at the sound of the door clicking. They exchanged serious expressions in return of goody-goody ones.

“What’s the verdict? Hope you got us a reliable little friend.” An impossibly self-satisfied smirk beamed from the boss. He invited the others to listen closely. This would be their new team member and permanent assistant.

“A grand medic. Goes by the name Constantine. The guy at the warehouse said we’re happy to renamed him if we want though.”

“That sounds like a fitting name already.” One of his team mates piped up, leaning their chair back just enough to keep it from toppling over. He followed up, “When do we get to meet Mr. Cons-tan-tine?”

“Sunday.” Piers tossed thick packet of the embattled’s papers on the dining table. There was the sparkle of tears in his eyes, but his managed to hide it from them. He gave an awkward shrug, “There’s everything about him since you guys are so curious. I’m going to bed.”

As he left the group behind, the bossed called after him, “Chin up mate. You’ll be grateful during your next mission. Trust me.”

Haven long forgotten about the video games, Piers marched straight to his bed, plopping over and rolling around in his excessive blanket collection, as if the soft texture could wash away the tingling sensation of sins crawling across his skin.

He shuddered every time his mind wandered back to those barren cells. No one deserved… that. This Constantine fellow could be a serial killer in a past life, or a young boy who vanished from home decades ago.

Did it matter anymore? The rules for what determines if someone can be transformed into an embattled have been getting looser and looser. Piers wondered if he were imprisoned nowadays would he end up in the same boat, with greedy eyes secretly observing him. They’re inhuman now. He lied to himself.

Piers thrashed around until a sleeping position felt comfortable enough, succumbing to his depression fueled exhaustion. When he awoke, late morning sun highlight the dusty air of his bedroom, it was as if an audience focused on him.

He turned towards the paranoid sensation. A reactive scream emitted from him at the armored man standing in his doorway. He bumped himself up against the wall, still trying to scoot backwards for a few moments even as his shock started dying out.

The fear was replaced by red-faced anger. He shouted, “Marin!”, confident he knew who allowed this.

Snickering echoed down the hall, Marin’s voice amongst the hushed chattering. Constantine reacted to none of it. His white armor was more expensive than what he sat around in, still complimented by strays of vibrant red.

Now up so close he looked stronger than remembered, the definitions of his muscles revealing only in the less protective aspects of his gear. His eyes were visible too. Gray, unamused, yet engaged; they stared as if assigned to this task.

Marin cheerily entered Piers’ line of sight, leaning against the sturdy Constantine. He teased, “You’ve got good taste. The boss is impressed with Constantine, and I quite like him.”

“How long has he been watching me?”

“Oh don’t worry.” He gave a good few pats to Constantine’s shoulder, “His presence disturbed you only after a few minutes.”

Frustrated, Piers unraveled himself from bed, pushing past them both. He located the others standing by. With an accusatory point, he lectured, “Constantine is not a toy. Stop playing around, and keep that thing away from me outside of working hours.”

He stomped off, still feeling Constantine’s glare snapped onto him, following him down the hall. Hopefully the watching people while they sleep thing was some stupid gimmick command. Surely, they would’ve noted that down in the quirks at the warehouse. Outside- Piers just needed his fresh air time.

Outdoors, the sunlight was unwavering. The horizon wriggled uncomfortably underneath the aggressive heat. He glanced up too much catching a shot of blinding light to the eyes. What a summer. He took solace that it wasn’t freezing cold. Knowing what waltzed around the base disturbed more than expected by even the boss, and now the unforgiving sun was a positive notion in his day.

That light…

...

Ringing. That’s all that remained in Piers’ senses after the explosion, his body scraping against the rocky earth as if he brittle a tumbleweed caught in the wind.

The pain followed next, stinging and fresh. It enveloped his elbows, his writhing legs. And something hit him. At first he couldn’t feel or understand what it was. His head smacked against the ground too many times to come up with an idea of where he was and what surrounded him. Maybe it were a small rock or a-

He hissed, wincing and curling on himself. His chest shuddered at the sharp pain building within him. Breathing spurred into a wheezing-then-coughing fit, making it worse.

Somewhere the brutal sound of cracking raised up over the diluted ringing. Instantly, he understood that it didn’t originate from the chaotic world engulfing him. Frantic clawing at his chest raised his growing collection of questions.

Piers fell back over, his dizzied head swinging around the sky and ground in a vertigo induced display. He felt the shockwave of a more distance explosion. Familiar voices shouted, drowned by pops of gunfire.

“Cover me. I’m reloading.”

“Where’s Marin?”

“I’m hit. Fuck I think I’m hit.”

Looking down at his hands, Piers discovered them slick with blood. One by one the shooting halted. Next he understood, he was being manhandled, spun around, and a bright light was forced into his face. It swapped to his other eye. As the glaring luminance disappeared, Constantine’s red and white helmet faded into view. His stern irises shifted left and right.

“What the hell!”

Piers recognized that he didn’t like him, trying to free himself from the embattled’s grasp. The medic dragged him back into place. He shoved a warning pointed index finger in Piers’ face.

In a hurry Constantine pried off Piers’ bulletproof vest, a few of its shattered pieces breaking off. The open air stung the bleeding wound, the blood spurting as labored breathing flexed his chest in and out.

To the entire team’s horror, Constantine lowered his face to an almost kissing distance with Piers’ ribcage, sniffing in the iron-ridden scent of blood. Somehow that gave the medic enough knowledge to start rummaging around in the bag hanging off the side of his hip.

He parted the wound open a little more using surgical tools, ignoring how Piers clawed at his arms and begged for rescue. Bringing a magnet to the opening, he waved it about until a shard of metal ejected itself from the bloody slurry.

“Let go of me.” Piers cried, his ears ringing again despite the lack of new explosions. He tried to kick Constantine away.

Limping up to the scene, Marin’s face scrunched up with disgusted sympathy. He loomed over the two. Finally he scrounged up the courage to intrude, and asked, “Is he going to be okay?”

Without glancing away from his work, the embattled shook a small spray bottle, the solution inside sloshing and bubbling. He responded robotically, “Sure.”

“Sure?! Tell me it straight-”

“He has a TBI, a fractured rib, and a shrapnel wound.”

Piers continued to struggle against Constantine’s grip, as he sprayed the fluid inside the wound via generous washing. As if frustrated by squirming, Constantine’s glare begun to lift from the injury, his right eye twitching. Growing worried for Piers, Marin strained to a sit. He pounced on top of his colleague. There was a scramble to get a hold of his arms, but eventually successful, Constantine immediately refocused.

Packing the bleeding opening came next. A cloth was passed around before finding its way between Piers’ gritted teeth. He hissed muffled cries, his muscles straining in his team mate’s hands. Constantine dug his finger into the sliced skin, drawing gauze alongside it.

Much to the dismay of the watching team Piers freed one arm. He latched one hand onto the side of Constantine’s face, making incoherent claims about torture.

For a split-second they all assumed that Constantine was going for Piers’ throat, instead the embattled cupped his hands on the sides of Piers’ face.

He demeaned, “I. Am. Saving. Your. Life.”

Piers released a defeated noise, allowing Constantine to wrap up his chest. A sharp pinch in the unscathed sections of his chest turned the whole world heavy, his eyelids fluttering, warmth coating over him.

He watched the empty morphine injection pass through Constantine’s gloved fingers. Before falling into darkness he swore those gray eyes smiled at him, drinking up his helplessness.

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ohbo-ohno · 2 years ago

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Kinktober Day 18 - Body Modification

Ghost x Soap - 4.9k (on ao3)

summary: Johnny's tattoo artist doesn't give him the design they'd agreed on. (Johnny POV)

cw: noncon!!, trans johnny, kinda mirror sex, implied future kidnapping

“It looks great!” Johnny confirms as he looks down at the design Ghost holds up for him.

It’s the very bottom of what will become a full back piece further down the line, but Ghost had explained that for a piece as large as the one Johnny was looking for he’d have to get it done in sections. He mostly knew that - his sleeves hadn’t been done in one day, after all - but he also hadn’t been expecting to have one full section done with nothing anywhere else. Maybe lining, then color, then shading, but he trusts Ghost’s process.

Johnny’s been going to Ghost’s tattoo parlor - 141 Ink - since he was twenty-two and drunk off his ass, looking for anything fun to do after a night out with Kyle. The two of them had stumbled into the tattoo shop close to midnight, half-way to blacking out already, and gotten themselves a pair of matching tattoos. The owner of the shop, the eternally grouchy John Price, had talked them down from matching rifles on their thighs to a pair of puzzle pieces on their ankles - something to laugh at in the morning, not something to start saving up for a cover-up after seeing.

Johnny had come back a week later to get something done on his kneecap - a skull with an open jaw - and the only artist open for walk-ins had been Ghost. He’d thought the man hated him for most of the process when he didn’t respond to any of Johnny’s attempts at small talk or jokes, so the next time he planned to get something done he’d scheduled an appointment with Price. But when he got there he was told his artists had been switched, and that Ghost would be working on his piece instead. He was almost as quiet as the first time, but the tattoo came out perfectly, and Johnny figured it was a fair trade.

Ghost has done all of Johnny’s ink since - the matching kneecap, both of his full sleeves, and now the start of his back piece. It hasn’t even occured to Johnny to try finding someone else to work on him. He’s working up the nerve to get a tongue piercing done, but the idea of having Ghost so close to his face with his fingers in Johnny’s mouth… he’s got to get his rampant crush under control a bit more before that can happen.

“Good,” Ghost grunts, nodding over to the leather chair set up in the middle of his office. “Shirt off, pants down, chest to the back of the chair.”

Johnny’s already pulling his shirt off before what Ghost said registers, and he pauses halfway to the chair, laughing a little awkwardly. “Sorry- pants down?”

Ghost makes a noise that Johnny interprets as yes, idiot. He’s never had to fully take his pants off for a tattoo before but… well, he’s also never had his lower back tattooed. So he trusts Ghost, kicking off the sweats he’d worn in preparation for a long day.

“Boxers too, Johnny. Come on, we don’t have all day.”

Johnny blushes as he shifts his weight from foot to foot, hesitating with a thumb hooked in the fabric of his underwear.

“Uh, you’re sure-?”

Ghost sighs, raising his head from where he’d been preparing his ink and shooting Johnny an unimpressed look. “Don’t get prudish, MacTavish. You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before.”

That’s not actually reassuring, but Ghost’s dismissive tone makes Johnny feel… well, not more comfortable necessarily, but more like he was the one being weird in this situation. He takes a deep breath and quickly takes his black boxers off, folding them on top of the rest of his clothes and quickly straddling the chair. He hasn’t mentioned his transition to Ghost before, but there’s a pride flag hanging in the shop’s lobby, so he knows he’s at the very least not a bigot.

“I’m not a prude,” he defends, wrinkling his nose as he glances in Ghost’s direction to see if he’s looked at Johnny yet. “I’d bet I’m more than you could handle.”

A snort from Ghost, and Johnny resists the urge to look over again and see if he’s wearing one of those half-smiles. “That’s a good joke, Johnny. You might have a career in comedy.”

Johnny rolls his eyes, smiling. “Yeah, real funny, Ghost.”

He shifts a little in the chair - he’s uncomfortably exposed like this, despite the banter. With one leg on each side of the chair, he’s spread just enough for his cheeks to part and a cool breeze to blow over very sensitive areas. He has to hover a little awkwardly to avoid just pressing his spread folds to the leather. It takes a bit of wiggling for him to lay a bit more comfortably as he speaks, but he isn’t able to quite shake the feeling of being too exposed.

Ghost lays a hand on Johnny’s shoulder as he sits on a stool behind him, and Johnny can’t help but jump a bit at the sudden contact.

“Steady,” Ghost commands. “You’re fine.” He pushes down with just enough force that Johnny is pressed to the chair, and he winces a bit at the shock of cold from the leather

“Easy for you to say,” Johnny snorts, shaking out his shoulders and trying for levity even as goosebumps race down his arms. “You’ve still got your drawers on.”

Ghost laughs a little in response, and Johnny counts it as a win.

“You want me naked too, Johnny? Gotta pay extra for that.”

Johnny’s glad they’re not facing each other so he doesn’t have to fight down the heat rising in his cheeks. “Och, I’m paying you to get me naked here, and I’ve got to give you even more for some reciprocation? Feels unfair, Ghost.”

“You’re paying me to stab hundreds of needles into your skin for a pretty picture,” Ghost corrects, the machine buzzing to life. “Now settle. You know it feels better when you relax.”

The innuendo there has to be intentional, but Johnny chooses - for once - to be mature and swallow all the jokes sitting on the tip of his tongue, instead sinking into the leather and forcing the tension from his muscles. He’s glad he’d shaved before coming, he’s not sure he could handle both of Ghost’s hands cleaning him up like that right now.

Johnny’s always enjoyed getting tattooed - enjoyed it maybe a little too much, honestly. He’d done a few stick and pokes in university (faded from lack of care and easily covered by the black and gray work on his arms) and knew even then that pain felt good in a way very inappropriate for the public eye.

That fact has only been reaffirmed again and again with each tattoo he’s gotten professionally, and Johnny always finds himself trying not to squirm in the leather chair as he grows more and more slick.

He’s pretty sure he’s hidden his clenching thighs and shivery breaths from Ghost, but he tries to tamp it down as much as possible just in case.

But sitting like he is, legs spread and completely nude, it’s a little harder to hide the way his hole starts to drip, the cool air making his t-cock twitch. He goes limp in the chair as soon as Ghost starts working, the pain a comfort despite his impending embarrassment, leaving his cunt pressed awkwardly into the seat.

Usually Johnny would talk endlessly during one of their sessions. Ghost plays at being annoyed by his rambling, but the man also got offended when Johnny mentioned another tattoo parlor across town, so he’s confident there’s at least some affection there. Plus, Johnny’s seen Ghost shut down rowdy customers without any hesitation - if he was really bothered by the endless talking, Johnny would know.

He’s not keen on babbling this time, though. Not when he feels like an exposed nerve, skin and muscle stripped away and leaving him bare. He sits with the pain, lets it sink into him, and just rides the sensation. Ghost never talks much while tattooing, so they’re left with just the sounds of Ghost’s machine buzzing.

He doesn’t bother to ask Johnny if he needs a break when he pulls away to swipe at certain areas of the tattoo. The first time Johnny had asked for one - his first sleeve, and because he needed to use the restroom - Ghost had levelled him with a distinctly annoyed look and gone back to his work without responding. Johnny had nearly pissed himself, but he hasn’t bothered asking for a break since.

It’s not like he does need one. The few seconds Ghost takes to change ink or clear some of his skin is more than enough for him to catch his breath from the pain. On one such break he shifts his legs a little closer together, squeezing the chair between his thighs. It gives his core a little more cover, makes him feel less like he’s just spread wide for Ghost to see.

Ghost grunts when he turns back to Johnny, giving the outside of his thigh a few harsh taps. “Relax again. Can’t have you tensed up like that.”

Johnny glances over his shoulder, eyebrows furrowed. “‘M not tense. Just putting my legs together.”

Ghost scoffs and rolls his eyes above the black surical mask. “What, like a lady? No need for modesty here, Johnny. Spread ‘em.”

Johnny goes crimson at the comparison, burying his head in folded arms while he reluctantly spreads his legs again. The wetness between them feels more obvious now, and he bites his tongue to keep from ignoring Ghost’s command.

“Good boy,” Ghost says, then goes right back to tattooing. Johnny just has to sit there and pretend those two words don’t have him leaving a puddle on the chair below him.

The session passes mostly without incident after that. Johnny’s blush never fully abates as the wetness pooling beneath him becomes more and more obvious, but Ghost doesn’t say a word about it so neither does he. The pain is easy to manage, and they’re done before he’d even expected.

Ghost is, as always, a little harsh as he wipes the fresh ink off. “Alright. Looks prettier than I expected. Wanna take a look?”

Johnny’s a little confused by that - they’d agreed on an epic battle scene for the piece, it certainly shouldn’t be pretty - but he’s excited to see the finished product, so he’s quick to hop up.

“I’m sure it’s great, Ghost,” he compliments, stretching and moving towards the mirror hanging against the wall. Before he can get far, a warm glove wraps around the nape of his neck, pointer finger and thumb squeezing. Johnny freezes, his back arching instinctually.

“You gonna leave that mess on my chair?”

The slight growl to Ghost’s voice is unfairly sexy, and Johnny prays that he doesn’t start dripping down his thigh. He tries to laugh off the humiliation at being caught once the words register. “Sorry, sorry. You got any towels?”

Ghost grunts, then muscles Johnny forward without warning. He can hardly keep track of what’s happening as he’s forced down, bent at the waist with his nose pressed to the leather, hands just barely darting forward to catch him in time.

“Be quick about it.” Ghost’s tone is dismissive, like there’s nothing out of the ordinary here.

Johnny isn’t quick. He stays like that, Ghost’s hand on his neck and hip pressed against his side, and breathes heavily with wide eyes. The puddle right in front of his mouth is tiny, but noticeable, and he feels a little choked up at the notion that Ghost had seen it.

“C’mon,” Ghost pushes his head a little further, until he makes a small noise in his throat from the sharp pressure in his nose.

He feels a little like he’s living in a fever dream, like at some point while getting tattooed he fell into another dimension where it’s socially acceptable to bend over your naked clients without batting an eye. But Ghost’s hold is firm and unrelenting, so tentatively, Johnny sticks out his tongue.

“Good boy,” Ghost rumbles, squeezing the nape of his neck again. Not harshly, like he had before, but almost like a massage. “The rest of it now.”

Johnny shudders at the tone but listens, darting his tongue out in quick little licks to clean up the slick and sweat from the session. It doesn’t take very long, but he feels every second like a heavy weight on his shoulder.

Once he’s done, Ghost pulls his hand away. “There you go, attaboy. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Johnny doesn’t respond as he stands back up, blushing from his hairline to his chest. He can’t quite work up the nerve to glance up and see if Ghost is staring at him, instead focusing on taking a few deep breaths and stomping down the insistent throb between his legs. He probably shouldn’t be okay with what just happened, certainly shouldn’t be aroused, but his clit isn’t on the same page.

“Come have a look now,” Ghost says, laying a hand on Johnny’s shoulder and giving him a slight nudge towards the mirror. He walks over on slightly wobbly legs, heart still beating a little too fast in his chest. His mouth is dry now and he compulsively licks his lips to try and alleviate the sticky feeling on his tongue.

He’s still a bit shaky in front of the mirror, and he has to twist a little awkwardly to see the tattoo, but once he manages to get a good look his heart stops.

There, in two thick lines right over the crack of his ass, is a large bold script reading “PROPERTY OF SIMON RILEY”.

Johnny can’t quite get a breath in. He hadn’t even known Ghost’s real name - if that is Ghost’s name at least - and now… now it’s tattooed onto him. What the fuck?

“What-” he can’t even get the words out, takes a shuddering breath and tries to twist to get a better look as he starts again. “What the hell is this?”

He reaches back to run a hand over the reddened skin, like touching will make it less real, and Ghost - Simon? - catches his wrist mid-air with a tsk.

“No touching fresh ink,” he scolds. “You know better, Johnny.”

He meets Ghost’s eyes in the mirror, confusion painting every inch of his face. Ghost looks calm and collected, cocking an eyebrow just slightly.

“What the fuck?!” Johnny’s voice rises to a near shout, and he tries to yank his hand away from Ghost while throwing himself back. “You- how dare you- why- why would you do this? What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

Ghost follows him when he pushes himself into the mirror, one hand dropping to grip his ass and pull his hips forward so the only part of him touching the glass are his shoulders and head.

“No touching,” he purrs, pressing their chests together and leaning so close they’re nearly nose-to-nose. “Didn’t I just say that? Someone should teach you how to listen.”

Johnny’s breath hitches in his chest and he pushes against Simon’s shoulder with his free hand. “I’m not fucking listening to you, you bastard, you’ve- you fucking mutilated me!”

Ghost scoffs and rolls his eyes, pressing even closer. “Don’t be such a drama queen. My name looks real good on you.” His voice pitches a little lower and he pulls Johnny fully off the mirror, looking over his shoulder and down at the reflection. “Yeah, fits you perfectly. Now everyone will know who you belong to, hm?”

Johnny’s in shock, that must be what this is. He’s fallen into some sort of wormhole and entered an alternate universe, and now he’s in shock. That is the only feasible explanation for his tattoo artist - who he’s only ever seen at scheduled appointments - is making a claim on him via non-consenual tattooing.

He’s pulled even further away from the mirror, left stumbling into Simon’s chest when he can’t catch his balance. Ghost grabs him by the chin and cranes his neck back around, forcing him to stare at the tattoo.

“I don’t-” Johnny cuts himself off when he can’t quite get enough breath in. His voice is almost embarrassingly quiet, but he can’t bring himself to be any louder. “Why the fuck would you do this?”

Ghost hums low in his chest, stroking his hand over the curve of Johnny’s ass and to just below the fresh ink, careful not to touch the reddend skin. “It’s easier this way. Now you and I and everyone else knows who you belong to. No more confusion.”

“There wasn’t any confusion,” Johnny protests, one hand pushing weakly at the arm holding him in place by his shoulder. “I don’t belong to anyone, let alone you. We don’t even really know each other. This isn’t- this isn’t okay.”

Ghost snarls at that, a shockingly loud animalistic noise that sets off every warning bell in Johnny’s head. He’s gone completely stiff as Ghost pulls him closer by the hand on his ass, ducking down to snap in his ear. “You’re covered in my work. You’re mine.”

He doesn’t get a chance to respond as Ghost hauls him away from the mirror, throwing his body over the leather chair in the center of the room. He’s left splayed onto his stomach with the mirror right in front of him, bent over at the waist with his ass facing towards Ghost.

Just as he gets his hands beneath him, complaint already on the tip of his tongue, a hand lands between his shoulder blades and pushes him down with such force that the air is knocked straight out of his lungs. He blinks dumbly at himself in the mirror as Ghost steps behind him, his all-black outfit a sharp contrast to Johnny’s tanned skin.

“Wait-” Johnny starts, some primal part of him (or maybe the part of him that’s watched too much porn) knowing exactly what Ghost wants to do. “Wait, Ghost, you can’t-”

There’s a sudden, stinging pain on Johnny’s ass, and the sound of a smack echoes in his ears. It takes a minute for him to realize that Ghost spanked him.

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare-” he snarls, rearing back as much as he can under Simon’s hold. He gets another harsh slap for that, then several more. Ghost lands blow after blow across his ass, each hit thudding and heavy. Johnny bites out insults he’s never used before, fighting as much as he can to no avail.

Eventually the pain sinks a little too deeply, and he goes limp beneath Ghost’s palms. That gets him a purring rumble, and the hand on his back strokes across his shoulders.

“There you go,” Ghost purrs, leaning his hips into Johnny’s reddened ass and shushing the ensuing whine. “Fight all you want, I’ll beat you into submission as many times as you need, Johnny.” He chuckles a little, pressing a kiss to Johnny’s back. “That’s what good boyfriends do, huh?”

Johnny whines at that, a little choked up. He gets his words a minute later, forcing out, “Not- not my boyfriend. You’re gonna rot in jail for this, jackass.”

“Oh?” Ghost coos, leaning to Johnny’s ear and whispering his words, like they’re just meant for him. “Will you come see me? Maybe a couple of conjugal visits from my sweet cunt on the outside?”

His free hand creeps down Johnny’s body, and he has no time to prepare for the palm suddenly stroking over him. Johnny almost dances on his feet, trying to find any way to get the stimulation off.

“St-stop!”

“Stop? But you’re so wet, baby, why would I stop? I can tell it feels good.”

“No, it doesn’t. I don’t let perverts fuckin’ touch me, get off.” He tries to throw his head back into Ghost’s shoulder, but the hand on his shoulder quickly catches him by the mohawk and yanks him back instead. Ghost’s face - mask now taken off - hovers upside down above him, a smug curl to his lips.

“Really? I think you might be a little pervert yourself. Look at how wet you are.” He delivers a quick slap to Johnny’s folds, and the wet sound is humiliating in the otherwise silent room. “You liked licking your mess up that much? Don’t worry, you’ll be cleaning up all your messes from now on. I’ll teach you how to behave properly once I take you home.”

“Home-?” Johnny blubbers a bit, wriggling around but only managing to shift a few inches in any direction. Simon works insistently at his dick, jacking and rubbing the bundle of nerves in an agonizing pattern that has Johnny dripping.

“Yes, home, Johnny. Did you think I’d give you my ink then leave you wandering the streets?” Ghost snorts as he shifts to stand up more fully, forcing Johnny’s head forward more so he’s staring at the pair of them in the mirror again. “What if you got lost, baby? Then some horrible pervert might just scoop you up all for themselves. No, you’ll come home with me, and stay right there, safe and sound.”

Johnny’s past words - he just sort of gapes at himself in the mirror, mind still stuck thirty minutes ago, when everything still made sense. Ghost doing all this, having him bent over, rubbing his pussy in the perfect way… it doesn’t make sense. He has to bite back the confused noise wanting to escape him, tears welling in his eyes from the restraint.

To his chagrin, Ghost notices.

“Oh, baby,” he hums, condescending tone out in full force. “You’re just so needy, huh? Need fucked so bad you’re crying over it? Don’t you worry, Johnny, will fix that for you. Here - I’ll even skip the prep.”

That hreat along with the sound of a belt being undone jolts Johnny back into his body, and he desperately pushes himself up on his hands. Simon’s grip doesn’t let him fully stand, but he manages a bit more leverage.

“No, no, Ghost, you can’t- you can’t fuck me, please-”

“Why not?” Simon just hums, perfectly at peace as his jeans fall to the floor. “Your cunt’s soaked, Johnny. Might be a bit of a stretch, but I’m sure a slut like you can take it. Price’s out, so no one will hear your cryin’ and beggin’.”

“I’m not gonna fucking cry-”

Johnny immediately proves himself a liar as Ghost pushes the head of his cock into his slick hole. He doesn’t push any further than that, but even just the head has Johnny’s arms giving out and leaving him to slump back to the chair.

Ghost is fucking massive. Johnny’s not sure he can even breathe past the stretch, his hole feeling like it’s on fire. He’s sure he’s bleeding - there’s no way something can hurt this much without blood.

He doesn’t even notice he’s crying until a hand turns his head to the side and wipes at his cheeks. “What was that?” Ghost asks, the smugness palpable in his tone. “What were you not gonna go, Johnny?”

He can’t make any sound past a whine, desperately trying to breathe through the stretch.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Ghost pulls back and rests his hands on Johnny’s hips, fingers stroking soothingly. “You’re not bleeding, so I think you can take a bit more.”

“No, no-” is all Johnny manages to gasp out before Simon moves forward, and everything he just felt is multiplied by ten.

He’s almost certain he blacks out from the first push to the press of hips against his sore ass. He feels split down the middle, like the things shoved inside of him is going to keep going forever, come right up out of his mouth and leave him in two pieces. He can feel the tip of Ghost’s cock at his fucking cervix.

By some mercy, Ghost doesn’t fuck him immediately. He coos and whisperes condescending comforts, little hums that humiliate more than they soothe.

“You’re alright, baby boy, just relax. Deep breaths, relax into it. You know how to relax for me Johnny, seen you do it beneath the machine enough time by now. Your body’s meant to take my cock, you’ll be fine. You really are a little drama queen, huh? All those pretty tears and I haven’t even started fucking you yet. You gonna be my little pillow princess, baby? Lay there and let me do all the work?”

Johnny doesn’t even try to work up the energy to respond.

“Alright,” Ghost eventually says, giving the side of Johnny’s ass a pat. “I think you’re about as comfortable as you’re gonna get. Deep breaths now, Johnny, be good for me.”

Johnny’s so deep into sensory overload, he hardly notices when Ghost pulls out. He definitely notices when he thrusts back in - the sudden punch at his cervix has him crying out, even as drained as he already feels.

Ghost chuckles behind him. “I know the pain feels good, Johnny. Just lean into it, baby, it’ll feel good soon.”

He’s right - it only takes a few well-aimed thrusts for Johnny’s body to turn even further against him. The sharp pain of a too-soon stretch is still present, but the drag of a heavy cock inside of him, the way Ghost rubs at his clit and manages to hit his g-spot, it all leaves Johnny with a slack mouth, drool dripping to the tile.

Each touch to his cervix is a shot of pain directly up his spine, but that pain just sets sparks off in his cock. He’s closest to orgasm at those moments, every press deep inside of him nearly shoving him into a pleasurable abyss.

Ghost keeps him riding the edge for a while, doesn’t give him the rush he wants so badly.

“Want to come, sweet thing?”

Against his own better thought, Johnny can’t help but gasp, “Ye-es, need it, oh god…”

“Yeah? Go on then, Johnny, beg for it.”

“Nooo,” he hiccups, hips jerking back into Ghost’s movements before he’s stilled by a harsh squeeze.

“Yes,” Ghost hisses mockingly. “You can feel good once you start to behave. Now come on, beg for it.”

Johnny bites his lip, determined not to give in.

He barely lasts two more thrusts before he can’t take it any longer, riding the knife’s edge of an orgasm driving all rationality out of his head.

“Alright, okay, please, please, need to come so bad, Ghost. Come on, please let me come? I’m right fucking there, I can’t- I can’t fucking breathe, please, ‘m gonna die, needta come, please, please…”

Another laugh from behind him, and somehow the fucking gets even rougher.

“You’re gonna die? There’s my favorite little performer, you just need it so bad don’t you?”

“Yes! Please, please, please-”

“Alright, alright, I hear you.” If Johnny were anything less than completely cockdrunk, he’d have the wherewithal to be offended by how non-chalant Simon manages to sound. “That was a good start, baby. I’ll teach you how to beg properly once you’re home, okay? You can go ahead and come, c’mon, let your cunt milk me.”

Like his brain is already trained to obey Simon’s every whim, Johnny comes as soon as the words are out of Ghost’s mouth. He feels shattered by his orgasm, his vision whiting out as he screams from the pleasure. He clenches down so strongly on Ghost that the stretch feels like too much again, and the sparks of pain just prolong his orgasm.

“There you go,” Ghost moans, hips pumping slowly into Johnny’s snatch. “Gonna make me come, baby.”

He’s got just enough presence of mind to whine at that. “Not- not inside…”

“Not inside?” Ghost almost sounds offended. “What, you want me to come on your back? Johnny, you just got a tattoo done. You want me to give you an infection? No, no, you’re gonna keep my come nice and safe in your cunt. Say, thank you, Simon.”

Johnny whines at the first spurts of come painting his insides.

“No - not quite,” Ghost leans his weight over Johnny’s back, panting heavily. “Try-try again, baby. Come on, be good for me.”

The words don’t encourage Johnny much, but the series of sharp taps to his sensitive clit do that trick.

“Ow- ow, fuck, th-thank you, Simon…” he gasps out, squriming against the pain and then moaning as Ghost just shifts further into him.

There’s a long, content sigh over him. “Good boy,” Ghost praises, then huffs a laugh at the clench of Soap’s cunt.

They lay there in silence for several long moments, both of them slowly sinking back into their bodies. Johnny stares with half-lidded eyes at the mirror, still partly unable to really grasp what just happened.

Eventually, Simon pulls out, shushing Johnny’s whine and wince at the sensation.

“We’re done now, Johnny, stop your cryin’. You’re gonna be alright.”

Looking at the pair of them in the mirror - Johnny, soaked in sweat, tears, and come, and Ghost, standing tall and proud seemingly without a care in the world - he can’t help but doubt the words.

But he doesn’t have the energy to think about the future right now, it’s all been fucked out of him. So Johnny lets his eyes drift shut, figuring that things surely couldn’t be any worse when he wakes up.

#ghost calls johnny “baby” a LOT in this and i dont really know why. i was trying to avoid “pup” but i probably shouldve said love lmao #ghoap #ghostsoap #ghost x soap #soap x ghost #bo writes #john soap mactavish x simon ghost riley #john mactavish x simon riley #soap mactavish x ghost riley #ghostsoap smut #ghoap smut #kinktober day 18 #kinktober #kinktober 2023

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gabessquishytum · 1 year ago

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Hi, everyone! Gabe/Leo here. Welcome to my new pinned post. You'll find lots of info here, including a new tag library curated by @seiya-starsniper which should help you filter (or follow) particular bits of content. This post will be updated from time to time and will also tell you whether my inbox is open or not <3

For reference, my inbox is currently OPEN.

࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛۶𖹭ৎ࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛

Since you've found yourself on my blog, please note that a lot of my content is not safe for work! I am over 18, and if you're on my blog, you should be too! Content rated over 18 will also be tagged as #nsft

Here on my blog, people like to send me asks with scenarios, prompts or fic ideas that they have had, and I take a bit of time each day to respond with my own “yes, and” - collaborating with the original asker to make a small piece of fandom content. Sometimes other people are inspired by this and write their own fics based on the posts! It's a lovely collaborative space where all are welcome - including those who wish to stay anonymous.

࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛۶𖹭ৎ࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛

I am primarily focused on dreamling! But I also love to write other ships in the fandom. The tags I use for ships are:

#corintheus

#dreamling

#hoblethros

#hobrinthian

#hobrintheus

#hobstruction

#immortal throuple

#hob x everyone

#hob x lucifer

࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛۶𖹭ৎ࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛

The general tags that I use for sandman/writing content are as follows:

#dream of the endless

#ferdinand kingsley

#fic recs

#hob gadling

#horny q

#meowpheus

#my writing

#nsft

#the sandman

࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛۶𖹭ৎ࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛

I also have some specific alternate universes which you can find or filter out with these tags:

#ace dream

#ace hob

#ballet au

#bdsm au

#bratty dream

#bratty hob

#disabled dreamling

#dreamling gender swap

#catboys

#chef hob

#cow hob

#fantasy au

#fat hob

#fem dream

#fem hob

#mafia au

#mob au

#sugar daddy au

#the addams family

#trans dream

#trans hob

#vampire au

#werewolf au

#warprize au

#warprize hob

࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛۶𖹭ৎ࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛

For more of your tag filtering or searching needs, the following is a list of content warning tags that I will strive to use consistently. This list will be updated depending on what comes up in the future:

#dead dove do not eat

#cw age gap

#cw age regression

#cw agrere

#cw alcohol or #cw intox

#cw attempted murder

#cw birth

#cw biting

#cw blackmail

#cw blood

#cw body modification

#cw body mutilation

#cw breeding

#cw child abuse

#cw cheating

#cw choking

#cw christmas

#cw cnc

#cw cucking

#cw daddy kink

#cw dark content

#cw death

#cw dermatillomania

#cw diaper

#cw disordered eating

#cw domestic control

#cw dubcon or #cw dubious consent

#cw drugging or #cw drugs

#cw exhibitionism

#cw feederism or #cw feeding kink

#cw findom or #cw financial domination

#cw food

#cw food issues

#cw free use

#cw genitalia

#cw grief

#cw guns

#cw homelessness

#cw humiliation

#cw hunger

#cw hybrids

#cw infertility

#cw infidelity

#cw internalized homophobia

#cw kidnapping

#cw lactation

#cw major character death

#cw malnourishment

#cw manipulation

#cw medical

#cw memory loss

#cw menstruation

#cw mental health

#cw monsterfucking

#cw mpreg

#cw murder

#cw noncon

#cw object insertion

#cw objectification

#cw omegaverse

#cw omo

#cw overstim

#cw oviposition

#cw parent death or #cw patricide

#cw pain

#cw physical abuse

#cw piss

#cw pregnancy

#cw prostitution

#cw rough kink

#cw rough sex

#cw s&m

#cw scars

#cw scat

#cw self harm

#cw sex addiction

#cw sex pollen

#cw sex work

#cw sexual harassment

#cw sleep paralysis

#cw somnophilia

#cw spiking

#cw stalking

#cw suicide

#cw sui mention

#cw stockholm syndrome

#cw teacher x student or #cw teacher/student

#cw tentacles

#cw threats

#cw toxic relationship

#cw transphobia

#cw violence

#cw vomit

#cw voyeurism

#cw watersports

#cw weight

#cw wetting

#cw yandere

࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛۶𖹭ৎ࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛

Finally, some of my anons like to identify themselves with emojis! This isn't mandatory at all. But here's a list of anons who have emoji-fied themselves (please note this may not be a complete list):

#yan anon

#🐈‍⬛ anon

#🍃 anon

#🦇 anon

#💳 anon

#🦊 anon

#🧀 anon

#🚒 anon

#🔪 anon

#💄 anon

#🌳 anon

#🎮 anon

#💍 anon

#🦒 anon

#🌘 anon

#🎸 anon

#🦎 anon

#🪽anon

#🍓 anon

#🤜 anon

#🐙 anon

#🐉 anon

#💎 anon

#🎭 anon

#🌛 anon

#🌻 anon

#🎉 anon

#❄️ anon

#🍐 anon

#🍭 anon

#🦋 anon

#🤰anon

#🖋 anon

#🏵 anon

#🦩anon

#🪐 anon

#🦄 anon

#💥 anon

#🍰🐲 anon

#☂️ anon

#👠 anon

࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛۶𖹭ৎ࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛

Thank you for reading, I hope you have a lovely day! ❤️

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bucketsofmonsters · 10 months ago

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Where the Light Enters - Part 10

cw: unreliable narrator, hurt/comfort, slow burn, eventual sex, enemies to lovers, past childhood sexual assault, past sex trafficking, referenced noncon, past nonconsensual body modification, happy ending, the tags look scary but this is mainly a story about recovery

Cole/Female Inquisitor

word count: 4k

ao3 link

Masterlist

Rosemary woke, as she often did, pinned against Bull’s chest, his arms wrapped around her, holding her to him.

She also woke to the sight of Cole standing in front of her, staring down at her and Bull sleeping.

Before she could communicate anything to him, like the fact that he shouldn’t be here or that he needed to leave, he loudly announced, “I’ve been having nightmares.”

Bull woke with a start, muttering out a disoriented, “Cole, I swear-” after nearly hitting him in the head with the broadsword sitting by his bed.

Cole just stared at it on the floor for a second, seeming undisturbed by the weapon being launched at him, before turning back to them and stating again, “I had a nightmare.”

“I heard,” Rosemary said, squirming out from under Bull’s arm and rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Would you like to talk about it?”

“No,” he said. “I don’t think they’re really nightmares because I don’t sleep but I see them and they make me feel like nightmares make both of you feel.”

She didn’t know why, but the mention of Bull having nightmares upset her, like he shouldn’t be allowed to when he resided in so many of hers.

“So you’re hallucinating?” she asked, still not quite understanding what was happening.

“Listen, Cole,” Bull said, and she could already tell he was about to shut him down and send him away. She was also already furious about it, but there was nothing she could do. “There are better people you could talk to about this. Go ask Varric or Solas. You can’t just follow Rosemary everywhere.”

Cole didn’t look upset like she wanted him to. He just nodded, face blank, and disappeared.

It killed her not to go to him, to be stuck with Bull for the rest of the night.

She didn’t see him for the rest of the morning either, everyone at Skyhold seemingly needing something from her.

As she delegated her thirtieth problem of the day, fixing none of them, she saw Solas approaching and decided if he brought her a problem, she would kill him.

Instead of a hissed ‘what do you want,’ she managed a civilized, “Can I help you with something?”

He was not quite as courteous in return, responding with a stilted, “I doubt it, but for some reason Cole seems to trust you so I thought you should know that Cole has come to me and asked me to bind him.”

Her eyes narrowed, trying to suss out any ill intent. “He what?”

“I think he is frightened. I refused and he became incredibly distressed. He kept attempting to make me promise to kill him if he ever began to change. You may want to speak with him.”

“Yes, I will. Thank you for telling me.” She was quietly grateful that Solas hadn’t just bound him and run off with the spirit. With the way the elf seemed endlessly fascinated by him, it was a minor miracle.

She rushed off the attic, their silently agreed upon meeting place. She’d never gone there and not found him before, suspecting he appeared each time just as she began to climb the stairs.

“He wasn’t supposed to tell you,” Cole said as she rushed into the attic. “He worries about me too much.”

“I don’t think he does. First I will say, no one will be killing you. I will make sure of that.”

That seemed to aggravate him more than anything. “You have to! I can’t let it happen to me, I will never become a demon.”

“Come on, we can fix this before it ever gets to that. What’s happening? What did you have nightmares about?”

He shrugged. “We fight things that were spirits every day. That could be me, fighting, faltering, failing. Friend against friend, a familiar knife in their neck. They could turn me against me. I can’t let that happen.”

“And your fix is to give yourself over to Solas?”

“He was the only one I knew who might help. He can always help, surely he can. If not him then who? Everyone asks, he never answers. Long asleep, waiting, waiting, waiting.”

She normally at least had a vague grasp on what Cole was saying but now she was drawing a complete blank. “What are you talking about?” she asked, hoping she didn’t get more vague ramblings in response but knowing she probably would.

“He can help me. I don’t know if he will. I don’t know if he remembers how.”

“Who? Solas?”

Cole nodded, adamant in something she was not privy to. “He said he will not bind me, but he said he will try.”

“Try? Try what?”

“He will tell you,” Cole said, and then disappeared.

The second he did, she turned on her heels and she ran, getting to Solas’s room as quickly as she could. Cole was waiting there for her alongside the elf.

He did little to hide his distaste for her as she entered. “Hello, Inquisitor. Glad you could join us.”

She couldn’t snap at him that she’d gotten here literally as fast as she could, so instead she asked, “What's going on? Cole said you might be able to do something for him, but I will say, I really don’t think binding him is a good choice.”

“I won’t be binding him. I heard years ago of ancient elven ruins that had a ritual to ensure benevolent spirits remained friendly. I put in a request to visit there almost a year ago,” he said, glaring at Rosemary. “If I had been allowed, maybe I would be more helpful.”

She wasn’t sure what he wanted from her? Grovelling, maybe; for her to apologize profusely that during this war their best use of resources wasn’t poking around every set of elven ruins Solas had ever heard of. “I apologize, it all gets very overwhelming sometimes, it must have slipped my mind. We can go now, of course.”

Solas’s head ticked to the side a little at the word ‘we,’ like some part of him had been hoping he’d be allowed to scoop Cole up and take him himself.

And then Varric came sauntering into the room. “Where are we going? Bull said I should stop by.”

Her whole body tightened at that, already planning excuses for why she had to go on this outing.

She walked out past him towards the exit. “We’re going to elven ruins, Solas will fill you in. I’ll be right back, don’t go anywhere without me!”

She sprinted through the castle once she got out the door, half convinced Solas would take off with Cole the second she was out of sight.

She ran straight into Bull’s chest as she turned a corner, almost falling back before he managed to catch her, holding her to him.

“You should slow down, you’re gonna hurt yourself,” he said with a chuckle.

“I was looking for you,” she said, heaving in breath after her run.

“I’m glad, I was worried you’d be off with that spirit already.”

She fought to keep her face neutral. “About that. I really think I should go.”

“Why?” he asked. “Let the Solas and Varric handle it. They’ll be fine.”

“It’s my job to help him, it’s not personal.”

“Do you remember what you said to me in the tent? About giving Dorian false hope? I think you’re leading him on, it’s not fair to the guy.”

She brushed him aside, trying her best to make it seem like it wasn’t a big deal, like he was reading too much into it. “Listen, he needs me. I’m not going to abandon him. He’s scared, Bull. He needs all the help he can get.”

He sighed. “You’re a good leader, you know that?”

“I try my best,” she said shyly, willing the blush up to her cheeks with embarrassing memories and, irritatingly enough, thoughts of Cole.

He planted a kiss square on her lips and gestured for her to head out, giving her a solid smack on the ass as she walked out the door.

She wiped her sleeve across her mouth as soon as she was out of eyeshot, feeling incredibly childish as she did.

It just didn’t feel right.

They left as soon as she returned, with no desire to linger any longer. The faster she could get out of there, the better.

Solas seemed in just as much of a hurry, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he’d tried to leave while she was gone.

It turned out the elven ruins were not far from Skyhold, and Rosemary honestly didn’t understand why Solas felt the need to put in a formal request to visit them at all. Surely he could take a day trip out without someone having to sign off on it.

Solas seemed entranced by everything as they entered the crumbling ruins, blathering about elven gods and tradition and dozens of other things that she tuned out as she looked around at the building. It seemed held together by vines more than anything. She almost missed it when he started speaking about important things with no change of tone at all, warned only by a nudge from Varric.

“It’s fascinating,” he said, staring down at something on the floor. “The spell circle must be protected somehow. I thought I’d have to do a crude recreation but it should still be usable.”

She looked down at the crumbling floor and saw he was right. The circle carved into the stone was in impeccable shape, a shiny, well maintained spot in an otherwise almost completely decrepit building.

Solas was staring down at the circle, heading tilting as he tried to read the runes around the edge.

She could tell it wasn’t good news.

He stiffed, his head jerking up before he’d even finished reading. “I apologize, this was not what I thought it was. It is unusable.”

“What does it say?” she prompted. “Maybe we can make another one if this one is broken.”

“It is not broken, it simply would not be helpful to Cole. I will look elsewhere to find a solution for him.”

Varric seemed to be mistrustful alongside her. “Well, don’t keep us in suspense, what does it do?”

“It doesn’t matter, it won't work for Cole,” he insisted, sounding even more suspicious than he’d been before.

She didn’t even get the chance to interrogate him before Cole was speaking.

“There are so few. We cannot lose another, not when the rifts are tearing them apart, spirit to demon, over and over again,” Cole said, presumably plucked from Solas’s head.

“Lose another, what does that mean?” she asked, turning to Cole and completely ignoring Solas now as he sputtered in protest beside her. “What would it turn you into?”

“He’s not sure,” Cole said, the focus evident on his face. “Something more real, more solid. Not a spirit of compassion anymore. Something new.”

Varric chuckled. “Do you mean this thing will turn him human?”

Human seemed like a bit of a jump, to be honest. Either way, it was something.

“Would it?” she asked, turning back towards Solas.

“I don’t know. It’s hard to tell. All I know is it landlocks spirits, makes it harder for them to travel, between worlds and within ours. It would leave them stuck in physical bodies. It is cruel.”

“Not really,” she insisted. “We’re all locked into our bodies and we’re fine.”

“It was used on unwilling spirits,” Solas insisted. “Shoved in, turned mortal and stripped of what they were.”

“Cole wouldn’t be unwilling, though,” she said, feeling out the thought. “As long as he wants to go in, what would the problem be? Would it hurt him?”

Solas scoffed. “It would change him.”

“That isn’t what I asked,” she spat back, harsher than she meant it to be.

“We shouldn’t even be discussing this. It is unacceptable,” Solas declared. “Compassion spirits are incredibly rare, we cannot just throw one out. We don’t need to do this anyways, I can simply bind him properly and safely to someone he trusts and then none of this has to occur.”

The man obsessed with spirits wanted Cole to stay a spirit, she was shocked.

She couldn’t help but wonder why Solas was only mentioning this trust based binding now instead of when Cole was worrying about the dangers ahead. She also couldn’t help but wonder which trusted person Solas imagined Cole picking, envisioned the shock and upset that might come if he picked Rosemary, or honestly anyone other than the irritating elf.

“No,” Varric cut in. “He needs to change. He has to become more human, that’s what he’d been striving towards all this time. He’s not just a spirit anymore. I don't think he should go back to being one.”

It felt reductive, to act like all the progress Cole had made was him become more human instead of just coming into his own

Varric spoke about becoming human like it was the only thing that mattered. It almost seemed like he didn’t fully understand what was going on, like he thought the ritual might make Cole a real boy instead of some new hybrid creature, something completely unknown. She wanted to announce to Solas that as rare as his compassion spirits were, whatever Cole would become was rarer, but somehow she doubted he would care.

But it didn’t really matter.

“I think,” she said, cutting off the inane argument going on between the two of them, “That neither of your opinions matter. Cole, what do you want to do?”

He’d been wistfully looking down at the old, engraved ritual circle on the floor, but as soon as she’d begun talking, his head jerked up to look at her.

“I don’t know,” he said, his voice low and vulnerable. “I have to do something.”

“Well, you have to figure it out. No one else can know for you. Not for this, not now.”

And then he reached into his jacket, pulling out a familiar, small dagger.

“What do you think?” he asked, turning it over in his hand, eyes still locked onto hers.

“I think it’s up to you. It can’t be up to anyone else. And whatever you pick will be you, not because of any ritual, but because you chose it.”

He stared at her, almost as if he was memorizing the features of her face.

And then he stepped into the ancient circle and everything went white.

The flash of light blinded her for several seconds, the after image of the lights blocking most of her vision.

She stumbled forwards before remembering the explosion of light that had occurred when Cole had entered the circle and stepped carefully back to where she had been.

As the lingering effects of the bright light faded, she saw Cole kneeling in the center of the circle, staring down at his hands.

“I don’t feel any different,” he said. “Or maybe I do. It’s hard to tell. I just feel like me, and I was me before.”

“I told you you’d be fine,” Rosemary said with a smile, not sure if she had but hoping something like reassurance had come from her. She wasn’t any good at this, comforting people, helping them. Not when they knew her like he did. “Now come on, let’s get you back.”

He stood on shaky legs, like a newborn deer taking its first steps, and smiled at her. “I’m in the gray now too, not stuck helping and helping and helping without time to be me. We can be there together.”

She could feel Solas glaring daggers at her and wondered what he would have done had Cole given any warning for what he’d been about to do.

Varric chuckled. “Only been human for a minute and he’d already given up helping. I daresay he’s got the hang of it.”

“I’m not human,” Cole said, staring right through Varric. “And I’m not giving up helping. She was bright like the sun, smiles and tricks, both real to you. It should hurt when she leaves but it makes it easier, can’t sour an image. Love from afar can be romantic without being real.”

Varric’s jaw tightened a little, almost imperceptibly. “Well, at least we know he can still read minds.”

“It’s harder,” Cole said, with a little wrinkle forming between his brows. “They don’t come for me anymore, I have to coax them out. What if I forget how?”

“Then we’ll figure it out,” she reassured him.

Their walk back to Skyhold was slow, Cole wandering off their path more, investigating trees and creeks and rocks.

He huffed as she pulled him back on track for the third time. “You normally don’t mind, I slip away and come back before you look.”

“What, and you can’t do that anymore?”

He shook his head. “The ground ties me down, feet not flighty but firm. The air can’t blow through me like it wants to.”

That was inconvenient, she liked the way he disappeared and reappeared, it was awfully convenient when she wanted him to grab something for her or when she wanted to have someone killed.

Eventually, they did manage to make it back to Skyhold.

People’s eyes didn’t glance past Cole like they had, sticking a little more instead of just noticing the others.

He shifted nervously under their gaze, unused to being seen. Now, she supposed, at least he understood why people sometimes got flighty under his stare.

“I didn’t think mine counted like theirs did,” he said in an attempt at a whisper that was still far too loud.

Varric waved them off, already dragging a clearly upset Solas away. “Go on, have fun, give him a crash course in being human.”

She wanted to roll her eyes but contented herself with grabbing his hand and running off to get him food. It seemed as good of a first step as any and honestly, she wasn’t sure if he’d ever eaten. She’d certainly never seen him do it. Either way, it was for the best for him to try now. She’d rather not he find out he needed to because of sharp hunger pains from the lack of any sustenance inside of him.

He followed her, tailing just behind her until they found their way to the kitchens, accidentally stepping on her heels every few steps.

She knew he was familiar with the place because she always heard the serving girls talk about mysteriously delivered kittens or flowers left behind for them. He did seem newly uncomfortable in the space, although she supposed it was no more uncomfortable than he’d been in the courtyard.

She lifted a piece of bread and none of the cooks commented on it, inevitably recognizing her as the Inquisitor and figuring it wasn’t worth the hassle.

“Here,” she said, presenting it to him. “Eat it.”

He scrunched up his nose. “No. I don’t want to.”

“You’re more physical now, you really should eat.”

“I’m not human.”

“I know. I didn’t say you are. But you’re something new and we don’t know if that something new needs food. I’d rather have you eat and be wrong than the other way around.”

He reluctantly took the piece of bread, ripping a tiny piece off sticking it in his mouth.

He chewed for minutes, far longer than he needed to, seemingly trying to either work out what the next step was or to force himself to swallow it.

Eventually, he forced it down and then set the bread back on the table.

She picked it up again, thrusting it at him. “You need more than that.”

He shook his head. “I don’t like it. It makes me feel heavy.”

She sighed and reluctantly gave in. “Fine, but the second you feel hungry you have to tell me.”

He nodded, already starting to walk away from the kitchens and leaving her to trail behind him this time, clearly eager to get away from the topic entirely.

“Do you think I’ll need to sleep?” he asked as he walked. He was lifting his feet higher than normal and she wondered if perhaps he’s just been phasing them through debris on the floor before. Or perhaps he’d lost the instincts telling him what parts of the ground wanted his feet to step there, allowing him to move softly over friendly ground.

Either way, she found his stomping deeply endearing. It was better than the stumbling he’d been doing before.

They made it all the way up to the attic, his heavy steps on the stairs echoing through the tavern.

He turned to her as they reached the top of the stairs and a look of distress passed over his face, saying slowly and apprehensively, “My stomach feels empty.”

#dai cole #cole dai #cole dragon age #dragon age cole #dragon age inquisition #dai #colemance #where the light enters #I love Solas and Britches interacting #two fake ass bitches

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whumped-by-glitter · 9 months ago

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Chapter 2 Part 3: A Short Reprieve

⚠️CW: Institutionalized slavery, Dehumanization, Noncon Body Modification (mentioned), Torture Aftermath. This is the calm before the storm, I think its pretty tame, but let me know if I missed anything.

✨️thank you as always to my beta readers @3-2-whump and @generic-whumperz.✨️

I figured people could use a bit of distraction tonight, its not my best installment, but its something to break up the feed.

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Zan immediately straightened himself from the embarrassment of being used as a bench by that giant child of a man. He watched the other slave, dog, whatever he was supposed to be considered, fall back on the soft grass. So much drama over some damn trash…. It, he, whatever you wanted to call him, it didn’t seem to matter, people just called him whatever they wanted….

He stormed into the slave quarters, empty at the moment, and flopped onto his mat. Now that he had time to process things, his lips hurt, his knees were bruised, Zan was humiliated, injured, and above all, though he hated to admit it, scared. His lips were pierced together, he couldn’t talk or even eat much like this. Panic began to set in as he realized he was cut off from communicating, just like the damn Mutt.

A low growl escaped his throat as he thought about it, the metal running through his top and bottom lip was unnecessary. He could have been silenced with a simple order, the jewelry only served as a physical representation, a physical humiliation, of the control that was exerted over him.

The metal door clanked, and The Mongrel limped in, eerily calm, that stupid void look plastered on its face. It never fucking smiled, or cried, or looked scared…. Nothing. It was unnatural. He wasn’t even sure it knew what anyone’s face looked like. All he could say was that The Mutt was no Drar, just a beast. Zan wished it would leave again….

He tried to open his mouth to yell and was met with a sharp pain in his lips. The jolt made him exhale sharply through his nose.

‘Just go away!’ Zan inwardly screamed. He was sore and humiliated and the last thing he wanted to be around was The Dog. The slave that reminded him of how precarious his situation was, that he could even be deprived of his very personhood. It also seemed to be a lightning rod for the attention of the master and his son.

The thing walked silently past Zan. Much to his relief it beelined straight to the washroom without glancing in his direction. However, much to his disappointment, walked back out barely a minute later with a damp rag.

Zan bristled as that Mutt, Beast, Trash, whatever the fuck they call him, it… drew closer. He backed away desperately trying to separate himself from his nightmare. The other slave in equal parts creeped him out and reminded him that it could just as easily be him.

The Mutt held up the rag then pointed at its own lips. Zan’s sharp amber eyes glanced down at him. He audibly snarled when his gaze fell on the two pale dots that decorated its top and bottom lip. It made Zan want to laugh, of course The Mutt would have it… He was honestly starting to suspect there wasn’t a single punishment that hadn’t been tested on it first.

The realization made Zan shiver, as a cool autumn breeze blew through the barred windows. He flinched as the sudden intrusion of the cool rough washcloth met his face. His eyes widened.

‘Here you are attending to my wound that will heal in a few hours while you’re standing here bleeding out through the thighs.’ The thought was incredulous.

This was definitely not a Drar standing in front of him. This was barely an animal, an insect really… like one of those ants that are used to close wounds, useful even past death. He didn’t think self-interest crossed its mind at all until just witnessing what just happened.

The Mutt gently blotted and held the rag to the new piercings, it did make it feel better. Zan could not believe that after everything, it was helping him, especially since it had its own wounds, that were much worse. It was just stupid. He saw it do crap like this for Boy, but why him? Did this runty, cowardly piece of shit think HE was weak? The thought made Zan growl again. The Mongrel must have taken this as protest. It lowered the rag and pressed it into his palm. Zan watched as it walked away almost dejectedly, trying to hide its limp. ‘What a stupid creature.’

***

Zan’s growling and huffing told The Mutt well enough that he was still not wanted. He had at least hoped being in a similar situation and helping him would win Zan over slightly. He just wanted to be friends with the other slaves, but once again, all he brought was discomfort to them. He could smell Zan’s apprehension and fear. He wasn’t one of them. Zan had no idea how lucky he was to just have the piercing. Being ordered to be silent means you are punished for any sound you make, even setting something down too hard, or walking too loud.

He made his way to the bathroom to bandage and clean his own wounds. The trickle of water from the spring fed basin echoed against the small stone washroom. The sound was soothing. He silently sobbed to himself, sinking to the floor. He had lost the little bit he had that made life bearable. His life was just poisons, both figuratively and literally.

The Mutt grimaced as he poured the cold water over the deep cuts, inflamed from being dug around in. He watched, entranced as the pink swirls flowed across the cold stone floor and down the drain. Upon examining the wounds, he noted most would probably need stitches. This filled him with dread, the thought of having to ask for such supplies from Balor was nerve shaking. It would likely take days, if not weeks for these to stop bleeding on their own though, thanks to the poisons. All he could do is wrap them for now and hope when Balor summoned them this evening, he would be in a better mood.

The Mutt clenched his jaw against the pain as he slowly began to wrap his thighs in the gauze bandaging the slave building was stocked with. He knew, still being under orders to be quiet, that any noise he made would make his bands react.

Once finished with bandaging, he quickly pulled himself together. He fixed his dark shaggy hair in the dingy mirror and wiped the sweat, dirt and tears from his face. Once he was sure he had returned to his usual blank self, he exited the washroom and headed directly around the corner to his left to the corner of the floor where he slept. He saw that Zan was already sprawled out on his mat, from the sound of his breathing, already asleep.

The mongrel tried his best to get comfortable too, curling up on the bare, damp stone. The bumps pressed on his tender thighs. He wished he got a mat too but hasn’t had one since that day ten years ago, maybe longer, he didn’t know for sure, but he had been a long time since he’d been given even a comfort as simple as a straw sleeping pad or a blanket.

He closed his eyes, trying to visualize napping under the warm sun in soft grass, free of the constant pain, sickness, and fear that followed him like a shadow. He knew to always sleep when he could, because there was often no telling when the next opportunity to rest would come.

Finally, he found some amount of peace and dozed off.

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@whumpsandbumps, @whumperofworlds, @skittles-the-whumpee, @wounds-seen-and-unseen, @emptycalories-splitlip

@pigeonwhumps, @i-eat-worlds, @starfields08000, @onlywhump, @snakebites-and-ink

@aloafofbreadwithanxiety, @turvuren, @whumps-and-bumps, @paingoes, @spectral-whumpy-writer

@vampiresprite, @whumping-in-the-dark, @saffitaffi, @ichortwine

If you want to be added or removed, please just let me know!

I welcome interaction, comments, predictions, questions, all of it any of it, don't be afraid to shoot me a message!

#whump community #whump #whump writing #devros #torure aftermath #my writing #tw institutional slavery

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copics-and-renegades · 9 months ago

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Whumptober 2024 Masterpost

Despite my overall mental state (which is. bad. lol) I'm still very glad I participated like every year. I would have been so sad not to have done it. :')

Biggest thanks to all the organizers, all the volunteers, all the participants, the tumblr whump community, everyone who liked, reblogged and commented... You are all making this be a very special event. Thank you. (Hey, I'm FEELING something right now, and it's this warm fuzzy feeling of love and gratefulness. That's so nice.)

Fandom is, as always, Tales of Symphonia. Whumpees are, as always, Yuan and Botta of the Renegades. Whumpers vary lol. Will be tagging, as usual, with cw, possibly tropes, characters, if ship, if nsfwhump... If I personally feel it's particularly fucked-up, I'll be dead-doving, too, but still view everything at your own discretion. Lots of warnings for creepy whumper and invading of personal space this year, because "I want to vomit and also crawl out of my skin" is one of the main emotions I currently have access to. ^^"

Thank you all. <3

Whumptober 2022 Masterpost

Whumptober 2023 Masterpost

---

Whumptober 2024 - The Complete List

Day 01: Race Against The Clock

Characters: Botta

Content: forced nudity, drowning, death threat, restraints, claustrophobia

Day 02: Trust Issues

Characters: Yuan Ka-Fai, Mithos Yggdrasill

Content: creepy whumper, noncon touching

Day 03: Set Up For Failure

Characters: Botta, Desian Grand Cardinal LORD Magnius

Content: creepy whumper, intimate whumper, pet whump, restraints, torture, humiliation, sexual harassment, burns, collars

nsfwhump

Day 04: Sensory Deprivation

Characters: Yuan Ka-Fai

Content: forced nudity, restraints, claustrophobia

Day 05: "If My Pain Will Stretch That Far"

Characters: Yuan Ka-Fai

Content: restraints, torture

Day 06: Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms

Characters: Botta

Content: autassassinophilia, blood, knives, self-harm, sexual themes

nsfwhump

Day 07: Only For Emergencies

Characters: Yuan Ka-Fai

Content: living weapon whumpee, blood, wings

Day 08: Used As Bait

Characters: Botta

Content: restraints, overly literal interpretation of the prompt lol

Day 09: “Frame me up on the wall, just to keep me out of trouble.”

Characters: Yuan Ka-Fai

Content: restraints, humiliation, hostile work environment

Day 10: Blow To The Head

Characters: Yuan Ka-Fai

Content: restraints

Day 11: Convenience Store

Characters: Botta

Content: blood

Day 12: Cannibalism

Characters: Botta

Content: knives, blood, unhygienic

Day 13: Multiple Whumpees

Characters: Yuan Ka-Fai, Botta, Mithos Yggdrasill

Ship: Yuan x Botta

Content: creepy whumper, noncon touching, noncon kissing, humiliation, restraints, collars

Day 14: “I wear my camo to your favourite club, ‘cause I want you to know what it feels like to be haunted and helpless with no control.”

Characters: Botta, Mithos Yggdrasill

Ship: Yuan x Botta, Yuan x Martel

Content: homophobia, queerbashing, choking

Day 15: Painful Hug

Characters: Yuan Ka-Fai, Botta

Ship: Yuan x Botta

Content: forced nudity, noncon touching, humiliation, restraints, strangulation

Day 16: Vermin

Characters: Botta, Desian Grand Cardinal LORD Magnius

Content: creepy whumper, pet whump, solitary confinement, noncon touching, captivity, humiliation, muzzles, restraints

Day 17: Venom

Characters: Yuan Ka-Fai, Mithos Yggdrasill

Content: creepy whumper, intimate whumper, noncon touching, biting

Day 18: Communication Barrier

Characters: Botta

Content: guns, choking, sexual assault themes, vomit

nsfwhump

Day 19: Blood Trail

Characters: Yuan Ka-Fai, Botta

Ship: Yuan x Botta

Content: blood

Day 20: Emotional Angst

Characters: Yuan Ka-Fai, Botta

Content: sexual assault themes, sexual assault aftermath, trauma, fractured jaw, lashing out

Day 21: Body Horror

Characters: Yuan Ka-Fai

Content: living weapon whumpee, restraints, body modification, transformation, wings, collars

Day 22: Reopening Wounds

Characters: Yuan Ka-Fai, Mithos Yggdrasill

Content: creepy whumper, sadistic whumper, forced nudity, corporal punishment, humilation, whipping

Day 23: Public Display

Characters: Botta

Content: forced nudity, restraints, humiliation, collars

Day 24: No Light, No Light In Those Bright Blue Eyes (I Never Knew Daylight Could Be So Violent)

Characters: Botta

Content: pre-whump

Day 25: Permanent Smile (Surgery)

Characters: Yuan Ka-Fai, Mithos Yggdrasill

Content: knives, threats, hostile work environment

Day 26: Breakfast Table

Characters: Botta

Content: forced nudity, torture, humilation, captivity, collars

Day 27: Voiceless

Characters: Yuan Ka-Fai

Content: medical whump, living weapon whumpee, dehumanization, forced nudity, noncon touching, restraints, muzzles

Day 28: Denial

Characters: Botta

Ship: Yuan x Botta (implied)

Content: Modern!AU, defiant whumpee, police brutality, torture, interrogation, restraints

Day 29: Fatigue

Characters: Yuan Ka-Fai

Content: exhaustion

Day 30: No-Holds-Barred Beatdown

Characters: Botta, Desian Grand Cardinal LORD Magnius

Content: blood, choking, broken bones

Day 31: "I'm Alive, I'm Just Not Well"

Characters: Yuan Ka-Fai

Content: despair

#whumptober2024 #masterpost #completionist #tales of symphonia #yuan ka-fai #botta #desian grand cardinals #magnius #mithos yggdrasill #yuan x botta #fanart #whump #whumptober masterposts

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bamber344 · 2 months ago

Text

Sins Of The Father

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masterlist

you know how i mentioned making the first scene of the final chapter into its own lil thing? well here it is :)

Good luck

CWs: broken bones, noncon body modification, drugging, improper usage of a drill, muzzles, mind control, living weapon whump, Andreas™

Sins Of The Father

Awareness returned to me slowly; my senses awakening one by one.

The first thing that registered was the pain. A low, steady throb in my head, and a sharper twang in my arm and hand. There was pressure on my shoulders and wrists, too; uncomfortably similar to the feeling of hanging my weight from them back in the penalization room. The back of my neck stung, radiating with the familiar burn of a fresh cut.

I groaned, opening my eyes, finding myself in a strange, concrete room, across from a wall of computers, displaying what I recognised as surveillance of the city. Three clones stood across from me, watching me closely. Where was I? How did I get here?

I tried to move, only to cry out as lightning shot through my arm. Looking up, I found my wrists shackled above my head. My ankles were in a similar predicament when I glanced down, leaving my body in the shape of a giant X.

Oh, god. Oh, god. Andreas.

It all came back to me. Nine showing up, leading me away. My fight with Ten and Eight. This was bad. This was so bad.

I tried calling out to the shadows; tried raising the temperature. Nothing worked. Whatever they injected me with was still coursing through my system, preventing me from using my powers.

If Vivienne hadn’t found me yet from the message I sent her, it meant Andreas probably hid me well. I couldn’t rely on her coming to save me. The clones. They were my only hope now.

Visually, it was difficult to tell them apart, but I was pretty sure I could tell who was who based on their personalities. Nine, at least, was easy to pick out. She was staring at the ground, refusing to look at me. Ten, on the other hand, was openly glaring. Andreas must’ve gotten his claws deep into her. That meant that the last one must’ve been Eight; fiddling with her weird, goopy fingers.

“Hey,” I said, coughing the roughness from my throat. My voice sounded pitiful, even to my own ears. “C’mon, guys. You don’t have to do this. Just let me go.”

They said nothing. Ten continued to glare like it was her life’s mission.

“He’s lying to you, you know. You can’t trust anything that he says.”

“Funny,” Ten said. “He said the same about you.”

I clenched my good fist. She responded. That had to be a good sign. “He told you that you were his daughters, right? It’s a lie. He created us by stealing another woman’s genetic material. We’re not his children, we’re clones. The only reason he told us we were was so that we would trust him and do what he said.”

Nine looked up. I was getting through to them. “Is… Is that why our names are just numbers?”

I nodded. “Yes. But they don’t have to be. Let me go, and I’ll take you to the Heroes’ Union. They helped me escape, and because of them, I get to live the life I want. You’ll be able to choose your own names. Live how you want. Not by his orders.”

“A valiant effort, Jordyn, but ultimately fruitless.”

A shiver travelled down my spine, raising goosebumps across my skin. Oh no.

He walked into the room through a door to my right, wiping something red off of his hands on a cloth. “See, even if you did – by some miracle – convince them to undo your shackles, I assure you, you wouldn’t be going anywhere.”

I glared, gritting my teeth, trying to hide the fear with anger. “Andreas.”

He smiled. As usual, it never reached his eyes. “Hello, daughter. I’ve missed you.”

A concoction of rage, terror, and relief all swarmed together inside of me. I couldn’t figure out how to feel. I should be angry, right? Of course! And yet, there was a part of me that was just so happy to see him again after all this time. It wasn’t fair. Why couldn’t I just hate him like Maggie did? Why did he have to… corrupt me?

“You look like shit,” I spat, forcing the anger to the top. It was the truth, too. His eyes were underlined with heavy bags, and a scruffy beard had formed on his jaw. Being a fugitive didn’t suit him.

“I could say the same for you,” he returned. “Look at you. My creation. I trained you to be the perfect soldier. Sure, you were always a little… uncommitted, but you were still a force of nature. Now, though?” He stepped towards me, and I instinctively tried to back away, but there was nothing I could do to stop him from grabbing and squeezing a bit of pudge on my stomach. “You’re so… regular. You were beaten by three half-trained children. This is what happens when you stray from my influence.”

I growled and thrashed until he let go of me, trying my best to keep my bad arm still. “What the hell do you even want? You said it yourself – I’m useless to you now. You’ve got three trained, obedient clones right there, eager to do your bidding. Why do you still need me?!”

“Oh, they’re trained and obedient, sure. But against the full might of the Union, without the element of surprise? They would be hopeless. Madeline alone would be able to crush them in an instant with that ice of hers. With your unique powers, however, we would stand a much better chance. They’ll hesitate to attack you, and in that moment, we strike them down. I’ve seen your shadows rip a dozen men apart in the blink of an eye. Even rusty as you are, with my guidance, the Godling will be ours for the taking.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Was he serious? “Why would I ever help you?!”

“I think you’ll find you won’t have a choice.”

He walked over to the other side of the room and pressed a button on one of the computers. Suddenly, the shackles holding my limbs up released, and I collapsed to the floor with a cry as my arm jarred.

“Stand.”

Something at the back of my neck tingled, like a tiny electric shock under my skin. The tingle then flowed through the rest of my body, causing my muscles to contract and relax against my will. My arms pushed against the floor until my legs were back underneath me – my broken humerus screaming at me throughout the movement. My legs pushed upwards, and I was back on my feet, teetering a little as the pain made me lightheaded. It was just like being controlled by that strange force that captured me back at the cabin, only this time, there was no love there. Just cold, uncaring calculation.

“Wh-what… what the fuck?!” I exclaimed.

“Kneel,” Andreas commanded.

My body obeyed, no matter how much I tried to resist. I sank to my knees.

“How… How are you doing this?!”

Andreas huffed. “With a handy little thing I installed in the back of your neck while you were unconscious, just a little deeper than the old chip. Thanks to your programming, your brain interprets any command of mine as an instinct, and moves to follow it. Of course, you can easily overcome that instinct yourself. However, this chip records that instinct and effectively overrides your brain’s signals to your muscles, replacing them with the signals created from the command. In layman’s terms, it means I can control you with a simple phrase. Quite an ingenious creation, don’t you think? I’m almost glad you broke free; it gives me a reason to try it out.”

The concept was so terrible I could barely comprehend it. There was nothing I could do now. He’d won.

“No, no no no, Andreas- Father, please. W-we can talk about this. You don’t have to do this!” I started sobbing as I spoke; the true horror of the situation dawning on me.

He shook his head. “There’s nothing left to talk about, Jordyn. If you’d just been a good girl and did as you were told, the Godling’s power would already be in my hands, and none of this would have happened. I was more than willing to let you and your friends live in peace after your role was done. Now, though? After you scorned and humiliated me?”

Andreas walked up to me, taking my chin between his fingers and tilting my head up. “These are the consequences of your actions, Jordyn. You and I are going to tear the Union down together, one body at a time. All of your friends will die, and it will be no one’s fault but yours.”

“No… No!”

I desperately reached out, calling for something, anything. But my powers were still inactive. Vivienne wasn’t coming to save me. I had nothing.

This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t actually be happening. We were happy. We’d won! It wasn’t fair!

He stepped back. “Stand up and take your clothes off. It’s time to get ready.”

I could do nothing but sob as my body acted on its own, following his command. Each movement of my arm was like fire inside my muscles, and I couldn’t stop myself from crying out at every little jolt as I stripped down.

Andreas left the room for a moment, returning with a very familiar sight clutched in his hands. My old armour. He threw it at my feet.

“Luckily for you, the boys in the lab finished repairing it before your little stunt with the news. Put it on.

“Please!” I begged. But it was no use. Once again I was forced into an inescapable loop of agony as my arm bent back and forth, fitting the pieces onto my body. In no time at all, I was back in my old waking prison, like I’d never even left.

Funny. It was a little tight around the midsection now. Despite forcibly dragging me back to the worst place of my life, Andreas couldn’t take away the last few months. He could not take that away from me. I had to hold onto that idea. It was all I had left now.

Andreas’ lip turned down into a frown. “Hm. All that crying and whimpering is going to get annoying fast. Ten, fetch me the drill.”

“Yes, sir!” she said, running out of the room. I’d all-but forgotten about the other clones’ presence, in the face of everything.

…Wait, drill?!

“No no no, wait, what do you need a drill for?!”

“You’ll find out,” was all he said in response.

He rifled around in a drawer until he found what he was looking for. Even when he held it up, I couldn’t make out what it was.

“This was going to be your punishment once I got you back. The main cause of all of this strife was that you were able to take off your mask whenever you wanted, and say whatever you wanted. This is a remedy to that.”

I could see it better now. It was shaped like the bottom half of my old helmet, with loosened screws sticking out of it at major stress points. They dotted the jawline, the cheekbones, and the bridge of the nose.

The drill.

“No. No. Father, please! I don’t need that! I’ll be good! I won’t talk! Please! Please please please don’t!”

“It’s far too late for begging, Jordyn. You’ve known since the day you were born that every action had a consequence. This is just the consequence of your disobedience.”

He approached, and I remained rooted to the spot, unable to do anything to resist thanks to that damned chip in my neck. He fitted the muzzle – for that’s what it truly was – over my face. It forced my jaw closed, keeping my teeth clenched tightly together. Ten arrived, holding a power drill. She handed it to Andreas and he gave it a few test whirls.

No no no no no please no

“Try to stay still, Jordyn. I must warn you; this is going to be painful.”

He slotted the drill bit against the first of the screws; one at the right hinge of my jaw. My mind screamed to get away, but my body refused to listen; following his command unflinchingly. I squeezed my eyes shut, left with no other option but to brace myself.

As the drill turned on and the agony began, I thought of Vivienne, and felt the phantom of an embrace around my body. A warm comfort from my only companion; the woman from the cabin. Even now she was still with me.

I was grateful. The night was still young, and Andreas was just getting started. I would need all the comfort I could get.

Taglist: @steelandblood @sapphicwhump @urnumber1star @alsolucakairomi @thataquaticwhumper

@iamheretohurt @anoyedartist @dontyoubleedoutonme @seastarblue @lettherebepain

@bacillusinfection @sorcererfen @art3m1zz

this could very well just be me worrying too much about how long the final chapter of this arc's gonna end up being, but given that this one scene ballooned to 2k words all on its own, i feel like my worry is justified lol

stay tuned for the final chapter of the escape arc: Last Stand of the Heroes' Union

cya!

#project genesis whump series #whump series #whumpblr #whump #writeblr #creative writing #writing #whump writing #living weapon whump #muzzle whump #restrained whump #mind control whump

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bucketsofmonsters · 11 months ago

Text

Where the Light Enters - Part 6

Cole/Female Inquisitor

word count: 3k

ao3 link

Masterlist

She hated that she still had nightmares. She could tamp down every other emotion she’d ever had, but in the throes of unconsciousness there was nothing to be done.

She never even had nightmares about anything interesting, nothing particularly unique or horrifying.

It was usually just days. Random days from her past that she hardly remembered, completely and entirely unimportant.

She wished there were elaborate, horrific nightmares. At least then she’d have an excuse for why she bolted awake in the middle of the night in a cold sweat.

This time, when she woke, she was pinned under Iron Bull’s arm.

Of all the partners she’d ever had, he was by far the most irritating to sneak away from.

He always clung to her in his sleep, like he was a child and she was his favorite toy. He had massive arms and even if he hadn’t been holding onto her for dear life, it would have been hard to sneak off. As it stood, it was near impossible to get out of his grip.

She’d developed a system, over the past months, as he insisted she fall asleep in his bed more and more often. She’d wiggle and wiggle as much as she could, slowly slipping a pillow into his grip alongside her. And then she’d slide out against the pillow, leaving it in his grasp.

It took forever, and by the time she had managed it most of the panic from her nightmare had settled into her usual numbness, but she figured as long as she was out she might as well get some air.

And then there was the matter of leaving his room.

Bull’s door was incessantly squeaky. He said he’d chosen this room for that reason specifically, so no one could sneak up on him. It made her feel like she was in prison.

So, the first time she’d been set on escaping, she’d done the only thing she could think to do. She climbed out the window.

It was a room on such a high level that she would never risk climbing down, she wasn’t nearly graceful enough for that.

But the roof was fairly flat and he was on the top floor, so sometimes she scrambled up there, kicking her feet against the wall to help her with the pull up she needed to do that her arms couldn’t quite manage on their own, when she couldn’t stomach being in his room all night.

Tonight was one of those nights. She jumped up, grabbing the ledge and kicking off the wall until she managed to heave herself onto the roof.

And as she crawled the last bit of the way up, looking for some peace, she found something else. She found Cole.

She wasn’t even surprised to see Cole sitting up there, waiting for her.

“You couldn’t have helped me up?” she asked with a huff, embarrassed that she was a little out of breath from her climb.

“It’s good for you. If you want to be an archer you need strong arms.”

“Be careful with that,” she warned him playfully. “If I get too strong, maybe I’ll stop missing.”

He shook his head. “I can move faster than you can think to shoot.”

“Just have to stop thinking then,” she said, settling down beside him as they talked. No matter how irritating he was, this was better than being down there with Bull.

The view from the roof was beautiful. They could see mountains sprawling around them, miles and miles of rock. She knew below them lay a river but it was out of sight, blocked by the walls that kept them safe.

More importantly than that, they could see the stars.

She laid back as Cole stared down at her, catching his curious face out of the corner of her eye.

“What?” she asked. “You don’t like the stars?”

“I don’t think about them. You don’t like the stars,” he informed her, as if she didn’t already know.

“I don’t, but they’re something to look at. Better than nothing.”

He did not move to join her, content to just stare down at her as she looked up.

She didn’t chastise him for it. She’d complained enough about his staring and he could see in her mind, he knew it was off putting. If he was doing it still, he had decided to do it regardless of what she thought.

“I don’t understand why it’s bad to look at you,” he said.

“It’s not bad to look, it’s just bad to stare.”

“Whenever I look, people think I’m staring. I don’t know how to stop.”

“It’s those big owl eyes you’ve got,” she said, widening her own eyes for purely demonstrational purposes. “It makes you scary.”

“I don’t want to be scary.”

She shrugged. “Should’ve reconsidered being a spirit then. What’re you doing out here anyways? Don’t you have important spirit duties to attend to? Have you drugged all the people you needed to drug for the night?”

He ignored her teasing, as he often did. She supposed it lost some of its bite when you could see right into someone’s head and pluck out the idea that they didn’t really mean it. “You dream loud,” he said. “I don’t like watching you hurt but you need to sleep.”

“How long have you been up here?”

“Since it started. Just in case.”

“How considerate,” she said, half meaning it.

“Do you remember what Vivienne said?” he blurted out. “About me?”

She nodded. “I think she’s wrong about you, just for the record. Not that it matters.”

He pushed past everything she’d said, instead announcing, “I did that.”

“What, hurt mages? That’s fine, you know me, that’s not something I care about. I’m sure you meant well. I don’t think you know how not to mean well.”

“No, put people down. Like she wanted to do to me.”

Rosemary sat up with a jolt. “What?”

“I didn’t know the hurt could stop. I thought I was helping. And then I knew better but I killed people who hurt others. Now I know you and I think maybe I was wrong again.”

“You weren’t,” she insisted. “Nothing wrong with hurting people who hurt people. I mean, not me of course, but others.”

“But you hurt people and you’re a person,” he insisted. “Sometimes you help but mostly you just are. I don’t know if it’s your fault and I think I don’t care. I didn’t know I could do that.”

“I think I’m confusing you,” she said quietly. “I think once you get away from me for a while, you’ll be right back to your weird little spirit ways.”

“I don’t want to go back,” he insisted. “I remember things now, I care instead of just do. Sometimes I hurt. I thought only they could do that but I feel it in me and I don’t want to stop feeling it because then I can’t understand it right anymore.”

She wanted to understand him, she realized. She was trying to puzzle the words together, to figure out what emotion he could possibly be feeling.

Maybe they were both becoming used to caring.

He nodded, whether to himself or at her thought, she wasn’t sure. And then he asked, “Can you say something honest?”

She froze up. “No,” she said, and she hated the bit of regret that sat inside her as she said it. “I won’t.”

He nodded and dropped the topic, looking off at the mountain range.

She hated how the way he didn’t push calmed her and tried to fight the way she relaxed into his company so easily after.

“You want to kiss me,” he said, still looking out at the mountains as he spoke. “It’s very distracting.”

She reeled back. “No I don’t.”

She considered his words. Did she? He wasn’t one to lie, especially about things he saw in people’s heads, but surely this wasn’t true. She would know if she wanted to kiss someone.

She’d imagined it, of course. But she’d imagined kissing a lot of people. She’d never actually wanted to do it before.

She imagined it for practical reasons. She imagined how people would want to be kissed, what they wanted from her. It was all to prepare herself, not out of any desire.

But then, kissing Cole wouldn’t get her anything. He couldn’t be tricked like that. She’d known that as long as she’d known him. So why did she imagine kissing him?

And then she thought about it even more, turning the thought over in her mind.

With other people, it was about what they wanted. She’d never thought that far with Cole, never imagined what kind of performance he’d enjoy.

All she’d considered had been how it might feel, how awkward and stumbling he would be, how his lips would probably be chapped, how he wouldn’t know where to put his hands, how even without words he’d be able to understand her the whole way through.

Oh god, maybe she did want to kiss Cole. She’d never actually wanted to kiss anyone before.

It was out of some sick curiosity about the spirit, she was sure, but want was want.

“Do I?” she asked, desperately attempting to puzzle it out.

“You do.” He stated it so matter of factly and she believed him.

“Sorry I’ve been distracting you.”

“It’s fine. No one’s ever wanted to kiss me before. I keep wondering what it’s like.”

It certainly wasn’t an expression of real romantic interest, but then again, neither was her desire. Maybe their wants were rooted in the same thing, in a mutual vague curiosity. There was nothing wrong with that.

“We could try,” she said, trying desperately to sound casual.

He nodded and moved towards her, not one to sit and discuss when a decision had been made.

His lips were softer than she thought they’d be. She’d been convinced they’d be chapped.

And he was warmer than he had been, she realized, remembering how inhumanly cool his skin had felt when they’d first met. It was a warm night, maybe he was like a lizard, changing his body temperature with the days.

And as they kissed, he stayed absolutely still.

It was like kissing a statue, he was completely frozen against her.

She pulled back, taking him in, the way he seemed completely frozen. “You alright?” she asked, poking his cheek and half expecting him to topple over as she did.

That seemed to shake him out of it. “I didn’t do good.”

She laughed. “You did fine, relax.”

“I want to try again,” he insisted. “I thought something in me would take over like in Varric’s books but it didn’t. I have to do things on purpose or I don’t do anything.”

“You’ve read Varric’s books?”

He shook his head. “He thinks loud when he writes.” And then, a little softer, he added, “He thinks we should kiss.”

“Who, Varric?”

Cole nodded and they were still so close that the brim of his had tapped her on the head as he did. “Yes. He thought it before you did.”

She considered taking the hat off before they kissed again but it felt wrong, like taking one of his limbs.

“So we are kissing again?” Cole asked, perking up.

“If you’d like to.”

He leaned a little closer, as if about to kiss her, before pulling back again and asking. “Should I close my eyes?”

She giggled at that, at the thought that he’d been staring at her with those big eyes, even while they kissed. There really was no escaping them.

“Yeah,” she admitted, as funny as she found the idea. “You probably should.”

This time, when their lips pressed together, he melted into the kiss, leaning into her as his lips opened slightly to welcome her own.

He kissed her back in what she was sure was an imitation of all her half-forgotten memories of kissing. He stumbled his way through it, like he had trouble translating the memories to his own body. He got bolder the longer it went on, exploring a little as she kissed him, soft and slow.

And then he stiffened and pulled back, eyes wide.

“You’re with the Iron Bull,” he said, like he’d somehow forgotten. “You hate it but he doesn’t and he doesn’t know. You’ve made me hurt him too.”

She scrunched up her nose. “I didn’t make you do anything. Besides, I don’t think he’d even care much. He doesn’t seem one for committed long-term relationships.”

“I don’t like secrets. I need to tell him.”

“If you tell him, I will never forgive you,” she said, and she meant every word of it.

He stared at her, and for the first time in a long time, she squirmed under his gaze.

Finally, he asked, “Are we friends?”

“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I’m not sure I’d be able to tell.”

He nodded. “You wouldn’t. And you told me something honest. I won’t tell him.”

“Thank you,” she said, reaching over and giving his hand a squeeze.

“I liked kissing you,” he said

“That’s good. Maybe you should try kissing someone you won’t feel horribly guilty about kissing next time,” she suggested.

He shook his head. “I don’t think I want to if it’s not you.”

She tried not to think about that, about what that could mean.

Because to be honest, it felt dangerously close to her typical relationships with men, leveraging the affection she’d tricked them into to keep her safe. She’d thought Cole was different, that he was the one person she could not pull into that trap. But if he wanted to kiss her…

“Not like that,” he said, something almost akin to panic washing over his face. “Never like that. I’d never let it be like that.”

And she knew that. She’d figured it out, it wasn’t an instinct borne of pure emotion. She wouldn’t trust it if it was.

Cole, factually, wasn’t like that. For better or for worse.

And she’d kissed him anyway.

“I need to go back in,” she said, knowing Cole was reading her disappointment off her and hating him for it. “Bull’s going to wake up soon.”

He nodded. “He sleeps light, the Qun makes sure of it. Sneaking in the night, the sound of a floorboard, sword unsheathing. Another attack, always another attack. No sleep over enemy lines.”

“Yeah, that.” She looked down at the balcony forlornly. No matter how gently she tried to let herself down, she always hurt her ankle.

“Could you lend me a hand?” she asked as she turned back to Cole, but instead found an empty roof behind her, the spirit gone once more.

She rolled her eyes and dropped down, holding on to the ledge for several seconds before working up the nerve to drop that last little bit.

Her knees buckled as she fell, a familiar soreness blooming in her ankle.

She tucked herself in bed beside Bull and he pulled her towards him again, none the wiser to her little escapade.

She waited, unable to sleep, until he woke behind her.

She pretended to be asleep, as she always did in the mornings, waiting for him to wake her.

He didn’t for a while, instead just staring down at her, observing quietly.

She was good at pretending to be asleep, had gotten a lot of practice in it over the years. There was nothing that displayed vulnerability better to people, nothing that fostered protectiveness more than the peaceful face of a sleeping girl.

Eventually, Bull did wake her, poking her gently in the side.

“Can’t sleep all day,” he said, his voice low and rumbly.

She pretended to ease herself awake, arching into him with a little stretch. “I really wish I could. I can’t believe I have to head out a little past sunrise to go close some stupid rifts." She had no idea what time it actually was but took a best guess, trying to get herself out of there as quickly as she could.

Bull froze next to her and she cheered internally. He had an absurdly good sense of time and she assumed she was right on the mark. “You should have told me. You’re running late.”

She jolted out of bed. “Am I? Oh my god.”

She gave Bull a kiss and got ready in a flurry, bolting down the stairs with a lightness in her step.

She almost ran square into Cole as she did, him appearing right in front of her.

“Are we leaving?” he asked, and she nodded excitedly.

“We are, go find someone to take with us and let’s get out of here. Preferably someone who doesn’t like Bull.”

He nodded and then faded out of existence once more.

She ran off to grab Dorian, figuring he was a safe bet. Dorian wouldn’t tell Bull because he hates Qunari. He pretended sometimes that he didn’t but it was flimsy at best. She could see the disgust painted across his face when they spoke.

She wasn’t sure who Cole would bring, her bets being on Varric or Solas. Honestly, anyone would be fine, so long as they weren’t someone who would go tattling to Bull if her and Cole were a little closer than they should be on this mission.

Inexplicably, Cole returned with a furious Vivienne in tow. “I have someone,” he announced. “Can we leave?”

She buried her head in her hands. “Why would you do this?”

“Inquisitor,” Vivienne said, a thinly veiled anger present under the fake niceness dripping from her voice. “Why is your spirit stealing me away from my work saying you need me for something?”

Dorian laughed a good natured laugh. “I think the Inquisitor expected him to return with a companion less virulently opposed to him.”

Her smile failed to hide a grimace. “The spirit has taken a liking to me then. Oh, joy.”

Vivienne wasn’t technically a bad choice, she supposed. She wouldn’t say anything to Bull because she knew well enough to keep secrets to herself unless pushed, and Rosemary would never push her. She might tell the chantry that she was befriending a demon but Rosemary suspected she’d already told them that and nothing had happened so far.

It would be a long trip, but it would be a long trip without Bull. “Alright,” she said. “I guess you’re coming with us. And who knows, Madame de Fer, maybe you’ll take a liking to him. He has a way of surprising people.”

#dai cole #cole dai #cole dragon age #dragon age cole #dragon age inquisition #dai #colemance #where the light enters #love Cole communicating Rosie's emotions to the audience better than she can #she is The unreliable narrator she doesn't even know what's true anymore #so sorry this is late I was at a conference all day yesterday

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whump-in-progress · 10 months ago

Text

a splendid whumptober to you all! 🖤🦇🔪🩸⛓️ here's a little treat i've been brewing up in my cauldron for a while, just for you...

The Enneagram Types in Whump

cw: pet whump, noncon drugging, noncon body modification, tooth whump

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Type 1

Whumpee - completely and totally brainwashed. they love their whumper to the ends of the earth; without them, how would they know to be good? they were bad before, wicked and cold and selfish, but whumper so kindly took them in and awoke them from their backwards ways. could they ever repay their savior enough?

Whumper - some kind of authority; a mentor, commander, or head of a household, who mercilessly trains whumpee to behave in the "proper" manner befitting their position. they do not tolerate any flaws, backtalk, or weaknesses, no excuses, no exceptions. any disobedience earns whumpee a swift and lasting consequence.

Caretaker - fastidious in every single detail, their poor whumpee can rest assured knowing that they will only recieve the highest quality care possible, at the most efficient pace possible. hell, it's already perfectly laid out in this comprehensive five-year recovery plan spreadsheet, take a look!

Type 2

Whumpee - they were rescued, and come hell or high water, they're gonna make themselves worth the effort spent. caretaker has to all but beg them to stay in bed. they're still healing, for god's sakes! they need to stop trying to sweep when they have a raging fever and seven cracked ribs!

Whumper - everyone calls them a saint, and they'd have to agree. after all, it takes a special kind of person to look after poor whumpee day and night, with their mysterious "illness" that renders them incapable of caring for themselves. they do wish the "cure" wasn't so painful, but it's the only way they can ever make whumpee better. whumpee does want to get better, don't they?

Caretaker - the platonic ideal of a caretaker, they devote every waking minute into doing right by their charge. seemingly always at the ready with whatever whumpee needs; warm soup, pain meds, cold water, a hand to hold. no, they're not running themselves ragged at all, why do you ask? *barely able to keep their eyes open*

Type 3

Whumpee - the jester, the dancer, the show cat; whatever the position, whumpee is the star jewel of whumper's living collection. and they have earned their place, oh yes; approval is never given lightly. they work and sacrifice all that they are to keep it. only the worthy may stay.

Whumper - as the superhero of Big City, they perform an invaluable service to society. each low-life criminal who meets their end at whumper's hands makes the world a safer place for the good folks, and they bask in the adoration they recieve. sure, it gets stressful being the only dividing line between a peaceful city and a dirty shithole - but that's why it's so important for them to take their nightly rage out on sidekick! the city depends on it!

Caretaker - it is abhorrent that society is condoning slavery in 20XX, so caretaker has devoted their career to ending the human pet trade! they're the founder of the Pet Industry Victim Liberation League (PIVLL), and they work tirelessly, day and night, providing escape and support to survivors all across the globe.

Type 4

Whumpee - they used to be someone, they know they used to be someone. it's been so long since someone said their name, it's on the tip of their tongue, what is it? they're out, they're safe, they're home. the ordeal is over. but they can't remember the person they were before all this. is it even worth recovering if they can never truly find their way back to themselves?

Whumper - it's not "torture"! oh, no, darling, it's much grander than simple, pedestrian torture! do you see how i'm laying these burns in spirals? how i pull my needle through their skin in the most intricate, winding patterns? the pain they're feeling is simply the cherry on top of my coup de grâce. no, my sweet child, this isn't torture. this is art.

Caretaker - they've taken whumpee to traditional therapy with several practitioners, and none of it has helped, so caretaker takes matters into their own hands. they help their friend explore unique ways to let their feelings out, be it art, music, nature, or even exercise. after all, they know better than anyone that what's best for the crowd isn't always best for the individual.

Type 5

Whumpee - they keep their head down and their voice stashed away, leaning on stoicism to see them through the torture. silently collecting every detail around them; this vent leads to there, whumper always goes here, etc. someday, they'll put the puzzle pieces together, and find their own way out of this hell.

Whumper - the scientist, viewing their whumpee with cold, detatched eyes. cherishing and maintaining their perfect lab rat as a valuable resource and a font of future scientific discovery, but not even close to respecting them as a fellow human being. at least, not enough to warrant the use of anaesthesia.

Caretaker - someone with actual medical expertise, thank god. the doctor or nurse who first looks whumpee over after their rescue, bloodied and broken. are they comforting to their traumatized new patient, or gruff and stone-faced because they're annoyed they got paged to come into work at 2am?

Type 6

Whumpee - the stray dog, thrown out onto the street as soon as their owner got bored. entirely unprepared and left to their own devices in a hostile world; either beating themselves up for squandering whumper's favor, or thinking good riddance, but nevertheless fretting over who (or what) will find them next.

Whumper - a hired grunt for the boss of a larger organization. their conscience stays clear because they're not the one at the helm. all they're doing is going to work, following instructions, getting paid, and going home. so what if their job entirely consists of breaking bones and disposing of bodies? it's not their place to question direct orders!

Caretaker - calling their friends in every other hour for advice, fretting over every tiny little thing whumpee does. they didn't finish their dinner, what if it's because they have stomach ulcers? oh god, now they're crying, i don't know what to do, what the hell do i do? how can i possibly make them feel better??

Type 7

Whumpee - whumper keeps them in complete sensory deprivation; no sight, no sound, no smells, barely any tastes, and only one touch sensation - agony. they'll want nothing more than to reconnect with the world when they're rescued, but it'll be a long, long time before they're able to readjust.

Whumper - the spoiled young royal who is granted access to a constant rotation of servants, who supervise and care for them while they're exploring abroad. whumper treats all of them like dirt, spouting unfiltered mockery between demands and canings. why, to them, chaperones exist to be used and disposed of! it's the most normal thing in the world!

Caretaker - a caretaker-of-caretakers, if you will. they can't have someone in their house to look after 24/7, but they're here to help the people who do! they keep in contact with multiple caretakers, and make sure none of them want for anything. need some ace bandages? how about groceries? don't worry, they'll be on your doorstep in half an hour!

Type 8

Whumpee - this feral thing is not going down without a fight. every chance they get to snarl in defiance at their captors is one they take, delivering bloody bitten fingers and black eyes whenever the opportunity surfaces. so brave, so resilient... that is, until whumper shows them into their brand new muzzle!

Whumper - a self-proclaimed "master interrogator", with the long and grisly record to prove it. sure, people might say their methods are "barbaric" and "violate international law", but do they give a rat's ass? no! using boltcutters on some poor sap's teeth may not be a nice thing to do, but it sure as hell gets them the intel they need. that's why they get called in to crack the tough cases, and not any of their stupid coworkers.

Caretaker - finally, they've made it home. it pains them to see whumpee like this, all wounded and fragile and terrified. once their dear heart is cleaned up and sleeping soundly, they grab their scariest weapon and hop right back in the car. may hell have mercy on you, whumper, after the bloodshed you have wrought from me.

Type 9

Whumper - it stresses them out beyond belief to deal with a squirming, complaining toy. it's much easier to keep their playthings inebriated on a constant cocktail of drugs and other environmental tricks! when their minds are sludge, you don't have to tell them what you want them to do, because you can just move their bodies for them.

Whumpee - they slip outside under the cover of night, hands raised in surrender. whumper demanded their return, and whumpee decides that this is the only way to keep the team safe. 'don't go', they'd all say, 'we need you!' but oh, don't be silly, whumpee thinks, wrists now bound behind their back. nobody could possibly need me. let me be worth at least this.

Caretaker - they forever hover just nearby, leaving warm food and water out, but never touching. they're demonstrating through their actions, not words, that they're a safe person to be around, the same way you would coax a stray cat. we can do this at your pace, they try to convey. i'm here for you no matter how long it takes.

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the enneagram is a personality test that focuses on a person's internal motivations, rather than their external behavior. there are nine types in total, each defined by a core desire, fear, challenge, and longing. i thought it'd be fun to look at whump through these 27 lenses - each type in each archetypical role. if you know your type, let me know if your prompts resonated with you! if you don't know your type, i'll leave some resources here:

the test is a good starting point to ask yourself the right kinds of questions, but since a website can never truly know a person, research is the best way to determine your true number. the name of the game here is to look inwards and be honest with yourself. if you have questions or want to go through the process with some help, feel free to shoot me a dm. (and check out abbey howe. she RULES.)

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#whump #whumptober #whump prompts #whump writing #enneagram #and you know i had to sneak the TAD reference into my own type's prompts 🥴🧡

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