raigash

[raigash]

chatgpt is the coward's way out. if you have a paper due in 40 minutes you should be chugging six energy drinks, blasting frantic circus music so loud you shatter an eardrum, and typing the most dogshit essay mankind has ever seen with your own carpel tunnel laden hands

[raigash]

Full illustrations ($80+):

-fully rendered style -headshot portraits (ex. the deer-dog skull above) $80 base price -full body illustrations (ex. the hare) $100+ base price -simple backgrounds +$5 to $15 -complex backgrounds +$25 to $35 -extra large backgrounds/settings, e.g. the forest header with the ghost dog, +$40 and up

painted sketches ($25-$35):

-simple painted style -headshot/portrait $25 base price -full body sketches $30 base price -simple background +$5

shaded sketches ($10-$20):

-visible sketch/lines -simple shading -headshot/portraits $10 base price -full body $15 base price -simple background +$5

All prices and add-ons are in USD.

If you want a commission from me, you can reach out in any of the following ways (or free to reach out with any questions you might have!)

-DM me on discord: @tormentum_ab_intra -DM me here on tumblr -shoot me an email: tormentumabintra@gmail.com

Once you've reached out about a commission, I'll give you a price estimate, and then we can discuss any further details before I give you a final price! Payment is upfront in full via paypal invoice or venmo in USD. From there you'll get occasional screenshot updates so we can touch base and make sure the commission is matching with your vision for the piece. Once it's complete and you've approved the final screenshot, I'll send you the final artwork as a jpg and as a png! You may not use my artwork for AI or NFTs. I'm sure that goes without saying, but just in case. These commissions are for personal use only; you may print out your commission if you like, but you may not sell prints of your commission or use it for other business/profit purposes. You can post your commission online as long as you credit me.

Estimated turnaround: 2 weeks

[raigash]

Some of you have never been forcefully injected into a simulation where you have to relive the most horrible moments in your past, and it shows

Some of you have never been host to a Goa’uld and it shows

[raigash]

Hewwo meow meow meow :3

Hi bee!!! I made u some bees

[raigash]

[raigash]

Prince Mariano and Prince Bastian had to meet somehow in the royal au c:

TWs: okay so like Mariano is very worried that he'll be raped so everything that goes in with that, feelings of powerlessness, references to sex, arranged marriage, thoughts about "Marital Duties", hand holding

The Prince of the Central Dragonlands was...huge. Mariano wasn't a small man. He filled doorways, he could hold his own against his guard staff, he knew his own strength and presence. Somehow, Prince Bastian made him feel tiny.

Seven feet of dark smooth skin, scales that glittered like diamonds, and sharp teeth greeted Mariano as his new betrothed stepped down from his carriage. He bowed, low and lingering, before straightening up. The flowing black silks and layered fabrics he wore only accentuated every curve and soft plane of his body--the hip slits were especially tantalizing, Mariano had to admit.

"My prince." Bastian said, a rumbling baritone rolling through the air. His voice was just barely deeper than Mariano's. "Thank you for having me. It's my honor to visit your home and get to know my future family."

Silver eyes bored into Mariano's own near-black ones.

Mariano bowed in return, the weight of the dragon's gaze making him hold the bow for a moment longer. When he rose again, he offered his hand out to Bastian, who took it in his own. Scaled, clawed fingertips cradled his gloved palm, dwarfing it as Bastian brought it to his lips to kiss his knuckles.

"Please, the honor is ours. Allow me to show you around." Mariano said once he was released. Goosebumps still raced up and down his arms, blessedly hidden by his long sleeves. "The announcement banquet isn't until tomorrow night, so you have time to settle in."

Bastian hummed, walking at his side. His tail, long and muscular and barbed by spines like a flail, hissed as it slid along the stone walkway that led inside. He had to duck when Mariano held the door for him, his crystalline-looking horns threatening to scrape the doorway.

Their crystaltech lamps made him glitter and shimmer like some otherworldly spirit as they walked through the halls. Ever-grinning, he greeted the staff that roamed the castle halls without fail. Maids and butlers alike were greeted warmly, with respect for their personal space.

Slowly, gradually, Mariano's guard started to lower. Bastian spoke to their staff the same way he spoke to Mariano. He bowed to the king and queen, he even spoke briefly with Luis, laughing over shared experiences in the Dragonlands. At the very least, Mariano began to hope that their marriage would be friendly, if not necessarily loving.

That was fine. That was more than Mariano could've hoped for, even. His parents promised him to Bastian, and he was obligated to make it work.

"So this is your room?" Bastian asked at the end of the tour, watching Mariano retrieve his ring of keys.

"Yes, these are my private chambers." Mariano slid one of the identical keys into the lock, turned it, and led his dragon inside. "No staff is allowed in, barring an emergency. Only...family."

"I'm honored, then." Bastian closed the door behind them. He slid the lock closed. "I've always heard you value your privacy." He said, a low purr starting to roll through the air as he looked around.

Mariano swallowed and nodded. Silver eyes drifted from his clean desk top, to the ancient stuffed orange cat that sat atop it, to the bookshelves packed full of romance novels, to his four-poster bed, neatly made with plain green blankets. A smile played on Bastian's lips.

"Huh. You all aren't as fancy as I thought you'd be." Bastian moved to the bed, taking a seat and sliding his fingers over the blankets. "There's not even any embroidery here."

Mariano hesitantly moved to sit beside Bastian, anxiety flaring hot all over gain. Was this how he liked to initiate? Would he give Mariano time to adjust once he was inside, or would he seek his own satisfaction immediately? His own bed had never felt more like a terrible omen. "I don't like how easily embroidery gets dirty, or how it feels on my skin." He kept his voice steady. "Day-to-day cloth tends to be more plain here, to keep our staff less bogged down with unnecessary worries."

Bastian laughed, and Mariano couldn't decide if it was terrible or charming.

"Smart. Our silks tear more than we like, but then we turn them into scarves and patches and decorations." Bastian's smile lingered. His eyes roamed over Mariano, openly settling at his hips.

Mariano's breath caught when Bastian leaned closer, only for him to pause. A frown slid onto his face. "Hey." He started, voice lowering. "Breathe, Mariano."

Mariano swallowed, realizing he'd gone just about breathless with the surge of panic. "I--I apologize." He managed, barely able to keep his voice steady.

"Talk to me." Bastian said. "Did I scare you?"

"I--" Mariano tried, forcing his breathing to slow. "It doesn't matter." He was to be Bastian's soul-bonded mage. He had to ensure the relationship went smoothly, both for his safety and his people's well-being.

Bastian frowned, leaning back. "It does, though. I'm going to be your husband, I don't want to scare you."

He glanced around them, as though suddenly realizing that he was leaning closer while sitting on Mariano's bed, in his locked room. "Oh--shit." He whispered, leaning back further, face paling. "Hey, no, no, I--I'm not gonna force you into anything like that. Never."

Mariano blinked, watching the massive man in front of him realize what he'd been thinking. "Oh...Bastian, it..." He struggled to find the words he wanted as his initial panic settled down. "Thank you." He settled on.

Cautiously, Mariano offered out a hand. "I was...very nervous about that, yes. I...would like to wait a bit before we become intimate." He watched Bastian hesitate before taking Mariano's hand and offered him a small, brief smile. "We can talk, though, and get to know each other."

Bastian breathed deeper as their fingers twined together. He didn't hold Mariano too tightly, fingers only using enough pressure to keep contact. "Yeah, yeah. I think I'd like that a lot." Bastian said, smiling back. Somehow, it was more inviting this time. "So...you ride lesser dragons, huh?"

Mariano nodded, shoulders relaxing as he started to explain.

Perhaps keeping the relationship smooth wouldn't be quite as harrowing as he thought.

@whump-captain @whumpr @whumperofworlds @lektricwhump @cyberwhumper

@bxtterflystxtches @inscrutable-shadow @whumpbees @painful-pooch @raigash

[raigash]

— requested by manbunjon

[raigash]

I am spoiling the live action Lilo & Stitch. And I am doing it up front and plainly.

Do not fucking see this movie. Do not waste your money on this. Period.

They made Nani give Lilo up to the American government. They made Nani LEAVE Hawaii and pursue being a marine biologist. They made a native Hawaiian character give up her sibling to pursue a dream that she originally did not have. This is imperialist propaganda at its FINEST.

The original fucking movie is about family staying together. It's about indigenous people being able to stay with each other and stay in their home and be together! That's the whole fucking point! Nani is Lilo's last living relative on her homeland—it is jarring, it is disgusting and disturbing that Nani would not only leave her last blood relative alone, give her up to the very government that is harming native Hawaiians TODAY, but also travel to the "mainland" for her dream!

Not to mention, Nani's actress isn't fucking Hawaiian. She's much paler in photos and real life. They fucking darkened her for this movie.

Don't even get me started on the transgender subtext of Pleakley's "human" disguise from the original movie being completely erased in favor of him being played by a regular ass white man. Jumba doesn't have his accent, they made him more villainous, and his "human" disguise is a non-fat white man—which part of his original joke, I know, is that he was bigger and was more clumsy in the movie because of his size, but to have the main shape of his character completely removed is also fucking weird.

This live action movie is a desecration to the original. I encourage you to not see it, please. Don't give Disney any of your money on this one. Just watch the original. Please just watch the original.

The new message in the live action movie is disturbing and gross.

This is one of the most disrespectful live actions I've seen and heard of. I implore you to not watch it.

[raigash]

the more i hear abt that lilo n stitch remake the more im like oh this isn’t just like. a bad remake it’s actually deeply deeply evil in a way that i hope reaps some sort of cosmic punishment

[raigash]

Glass

Masterpost | Read on Ao3

Vesper is at home among the heat and flame.

Contains: Allusions to chronic pain, allusions to constraints around royalty

~~~

Vesper didn’t get to spend time in the furnace room nearly as often as they would like. The obligations of a prince kept their days busy, and the demands of their body further constrained their freedom. So the rare opportunity for them to surround themselves with heat and fire and molten glass was a blessing they would not take for granted.

Rarely, even in the course of their princely duties, did they ever get so focused as they did when they were gently coaxing glass into its destined form. There was something peaceful, almost meditative about it. They could spend hours with the furnaces, sweat rolling down their brow, pulling from the ether anything their mind could dream of.

They never had anything specific they needed to make; the royal family had artisans to make custom glassware, and Vesper’s glassblowing was seen as a hobby more than a practical skill. But that only gave them the freedom to experiment, to follow the whims to inspiration, to stretch the limits of their capabilities far beyond what their mentor had taught them. Figurines and mosaics and abstractions came to life under their careful coaxing, each new creation stoking the pride in their heart.

So little of their life was truly theirs. Not their time, not their body, not their magic. Inside the small furnace room, surrounded by heat and flame, was one of the only times they felt truly free. Glassblowing was a pastime they had chosen, and even if it left them exhausted and aching after every session, at least it was an ache they chose.

All they wished was for the chance to use their magic in their work. They could feel it, humming under their skin, resonating with the heat of the flames and the morphing of the glass. They could create such wonders if given the chance, if they were able to put all of themself into their work. But they were forbidden from doing so. And they would not risk burning away this one bastion of independence they had.

People always said that glass was fragile. And there was something to that. But under the right conditions, it was so much more—malleable, dangerous, beautiful. It glowed like supernovas and glittered like constellations. Was it any wonder that Vesper was entranced by it?

[raigash]

:) Have a sequel to my final Whumptober piece where Star has to face reality.

TWs: Broken bones, aftermath of torture, uncomfortable healing magic, hostage situation, kidnapping, knives, death threats

"Felix, what the fuck is this?" Star's voice was low and trembled on the last word. She towered over both of them, lit by the sun streaming in through the windows. She didn't take her eyes away from Mariano.

"I said--I told you what I was going to do today!" They snapped. They couldn't quite take their hand away from Mariano's chest. The fluttering heartbeat was the only thing keeping them calm since he'd stopped moving.

"I thought you were joking!" Her voice broke as something seemed to click into place. "Oh my god Felix, I can't--you hunted him down?"

Felix watched as she dropped to Mariano's side, hands slapping theirs aside. "I--what else was I supposed to do? He killed like--like so many people in my family."

"And now you're gonna go to fucking jail, Felix." Star grimaced, yanking Mariano's shirt up and tugging his binder up with it. "For forever if I can't fix his ribs." She pressed healing magic into him and Felix felt something ease in his own chest as it pulled a low groan from the man before him.

"Star--Star, c'mon, you're a nurse." They pleaded. She kept working. "I don't gotta--we don't have to call the police, like. Not if he lives."

Felix had never seen Star look so serious.

"Yes we do." She glared, and they watched another rib clunk back into place. "You, god, I can't just. Feels, you know I can't just let something like this go."

Felix swallowed. They gripped the bat tighter as Mariano's bicep began to fix itself, aided by the unrelenting chill of her magic. They were going to go to jail for attempted murder.

They were going to go to jail. They would never be free again. Mariano only got out so early because he tried to stop it. He was under threat of death when he killed people. He hadn't even tried to fight back--there weren't any wounds on Felix to claim self-defense.

Star wouldn't back them up either, not if she could get in real actual trouble for lying. She'd grown up wanting to be a nurse. She'd finally been promoted.

There was no going back.

"Then...I can't let you go." Felix said, voice low and calm. They watched her magic fizzle out. Her shoulders tensed.

She glanced up at him as Mariano began to breathe easier. "...What did you just say?"

"I can't let you go." They reached for their pocket and pulled out Mariano's stupid little box cutter. It clicked open easily, the fresh razor gleaming as the light caught it.

They held it out, pressing the blade to the back of Star's neck.

"C'mon." They said. "Give me your phone and help me get him into your car. We're going to go home and everything will be okay."

Star took a deep breath. She adjusted Mariano's clothes. She pulled her phone from her back and handed it over to Felix.

Together, they both got him piled into the back of her shitty little blue sedan.

Together, they drove home.

@whump-captain @whumpr @whumperofworlds @lektricwhump @cyberwhumper

@bxtterflystxtches @inscrutable-shadow @whumpbees @painful-pooch

[raigash]

Withdraw

Masterpost | Read on Ao3

Lord Denholm attempts to coach Altair in the ways of celestials.

Contains: Intimate whump, captivity, magic, wing whump (kinda), nonconsensual touching, crying

~~~

“Shh. It’s okay, my little ruin. Just take a deep breath, and focus.”

Sweat rolled down Altair’s face, but the hand that gently stroked his spine made him feel cold. His every muscle was tense, both from exertion and fear, and he was sure Lord Denholm could feel him shaking. The soft blankets of the bed beneath him were barely a comfort, as much as he wanted to let his exhausted body relax into them. He was already too vulnerable without that unnecessary show of submission.

Embers of strain flickered across the tips of his wings. It wasn’t enough to hurt, not quite, but it made him feel restless in a way that he was entirely unaccustomed to. His wings wanted to spread, to extend, to catch the air and soar, not…

Not what Lord Denholm was trying to have him do.

“Your wings are a part of you. They are you. You can control them.” The soft, smooth purr of Lord Denholm’s voice made his skin crawl. “You held them in for so long, little ruin. You can pull them in once again. I know you can.”

Twin instincts warred within him—the urge to fight back, not to yield to the man who had only ever hurt him; and the desire to understand this part of himself he had never been allowed, even if it was at the guidance of a monster. Surely there was a way to begin to comprehend the fabric of his soul without unraveling it completely, to avoid sacrificing even more of himself just to grasp understanding that always should have been his.

Or maybe he would fail in this, too, just like he had failed in so much else.

“I can’t,” he groaned, voice dripping with desperation, almost thick enough to choke on. “I can’t, I won’t, I—“

“You can,” Lord Denholm murmured in a tone that would have been soothing from anyone else. “I know you can, my ruinous little angel. It only seems hard because you’ve never known to try. But I’m here to help. All you need to do is focus, and tuck them away again.”

Altair shook his head. “I don’t want to try. I—just leave me alone, please—!”

The steady cadence of the fingers stroking between his shoulder blades didn’t cease. Those fingers only trailed slightly, catching his feathers and his breath as they forged their path. “Don’t you? Aren’t you the least bit curious if you could, my ruinous little angel?”

“I am,” Altair breathed, a confession. “But I—“

But he wanted to learn for himself. Wanted Lord Denholm to be far away when he figured this out. Wanted to learn to fly before he learned to hide this part of himself that he barely knew.

Wanted Elze’ith, one of the few people who actually saw him, to be with him when he did.

“Shhh.” Once more, Lord Denholm’s soft voice washed over him. “You’re strong, my ruinous little angel. Strong enough to do this. You can try once, can’t you? Just once. That’s all I ask.”

Altair screwed his eyes shut, but that didn’t stop the tears from flowing. He almost wanted the fangs and the shadows again. Violence he knew how to deal with. This unrelenting gentleness, though, was much harder to resist.

There was no drowning out Lord Denholm’s presence, but Altair did his best as he reached back within himself. The small bundle of warmth he knew to be Elze’ith pulsed ever so slightly, and Altair tried to respond with a wave of reassurance he didn’t feel himself. In a way, Elze’ith was here with him for this, though the thought held little comfort.

It was near that part of him, where his connection to Elze’ith lay, that Altair felt… an openness. The openness of a cloudless sky, or a freshly plowed field, or arms awaiting a hug. Empty, but not wanting—just able to accommodate.

He knew, instinctively, that this is what Lord Denholm meant. That he could pull his wings back inside, and this was where they would go. All he had to do was—

For a moment, a single moment, his sense of equilibrium shifted. A shimmer went down his spine and up his wings, and the weight above him grew less distinct. His awareness of the physicality of his wings began to shrink and fade, slowly but undeniably. Some emotion ran through him, and he wasn’t sure if it was accomplishment or mourning, but it didn’t make him stop.

Lord Denholm’s hand coming to a reverent stop just at the base of his neck, though, jolted him right back to reality. Sparks flew as his wings fully materialized once again, extending for a moment before settling back down on the bed. Altair was left somewhere between panting and sobbing, too exhausted to stop the tears from falling freely.

He’d given in. He’d done what Lord Denholm had asked. And it didn’t even work.

“Wonderful. You felt it, didn’t you? You were close. So very close. A little more time and focus is all you need.” Lord Denholm began to stroke him once again, and Altair barely had the energy to flinch. “And that I am more than happy to provide.”

“Why,” Altair choked out between sobs, “do you care?”

“Because I want you to be the best that you can be, my little ruin,” Lord Denholm said, the simplicity of the truth making it all the more repugnant. “One day, you’ll understand.”

He didn’t want to. He never wanted to understand his tormentor. But laying there on the bed, Altair was starting to think that he might never get what he wanted, and that it might be best to settle for what was tolerable.

[raigash]

Whumpril 2025 - Day 3

Okay something softer for today, perhaps

TWs: references to captivity (the prison kind), needles are referenced Prompt: Sore

"Here," Bastian had said before he left Mariano to get settled. "This is your room. The mattress is brand new, so are the sheets and stuff."

It felt impossible.

He'd unpacked his two bags, hanging up his new shirts and pants in the cozy closet. His tiny laptop sat on the desk, alone on the surface. His underclothes and pajamas filled the chest of drawers on the wall opposite his new bed. The bed that filled the room, that was made neatly, that was almost intimidating in how inviting it was.

Just the month before, Mariano was settling in to sleep on a wafer-thin mattress pad on top of a slab of concrete. Three weeks ago, it was a mattress pad on the floor in a rubber smock. A few days ago it was a hotel bed, the softest thing he'd felt in almost a decade.

Now it was a king sized bed, as soft and plush as he'd dreamed of on his most selfish, self-indulgent nights. There were four pillows, and sheets, and a comforter, and a throw blanket. They all matched. Mariano didn't want to think about what they'd cost.

He crawled onto the bed, then, steeling himself against the idea that this wasn't allowed. That somehow, in the universe's eyes, this was still more than he deserved. It was, and he knew it, but his hands and knees sank into the bed as it took his weight. It was plush, and the blankets were deliciously smooth and soft.

Carefully, Mariano lowered himself down onto the pillows. He sighed, slowly relaxing stiff limbs. The bed supported him perfectly.

A breathless sort of pain started to worm its way into his joints. At the very center of each one, as though a needle had forced its way into every nerve to inject a sorely-needed medicine, unbearable relief began to sear through Mariano's body. It still wasn't enough to keep him awake.

Mariano opened his eyes again, blinking hard in the light. He hadn't turned the overhead lamp off, and there was no window. He almost thought he hadn't even slept.

When he tried to sit up, every part of his body seemed to creak in protest. He groaned before he could stop it, just barely managing to raise his shoulders. He dropped back down into the cushion of the mattress and pillows, though, a sigh of relief escaping when he stopped trying.

Mariano had hauled his body through more scenarios than he could even count, in pain much worse than this, but...he couldn't bring himself to move now. It was a matter of survival before. He didn't have the choice to rest if he wanted to live.

Now, though...all it meant was that breakfast would be a little bit late.

Lost in the haze of full body aches and the feeling of lying on the very clouds in the sky, still in his clothes from the day before and with the overhead light still on, Mariano dozed again.

@whump-captain @whumpr @whumperofworlds @lektricwhump @cyberwhumper

@bxtterflystxtches @inscrutable-shadow @whumpbees @painful-pooch

[raigash]

Shame

Masterpost | Read on Ao3

After so long, Elze'ith has learned how to take care of himself, though that doesn't make it easy.

For @whumpril Day 3: Shame

Contains: Aftermath of noncon, captivity/gilded cage, dissociation/depersonalization, isolation, briefly mentioned desire to self-harm

~~~

It always happened the same way. Lord Denholm would take him to bed. He would stay for a while. And then he would leave, and Elze’ith would try to bind the fragments of his soul back together.

It never seemed to work. It always felt like there was something missing, every single time. Something he could never get back, no matter how hard he tried. Pieces of him lost to the ether, and ultimately he wasn’t sure if anything resembling himself would remain.

Occasionally, Lord Denholm would take him to the bath himself. Even more rarely still, they would bathe together. Elze’ith found himself craving those moments, where he wouldn’t have to think, where he wouldn’t have to force his attention onto his wretched body. But more often than not, Lord Denholm departed straight from his bedroom, or his study, or wherever he had decided they would be coupling that day, and Elze’ith would have to painstakingly gather his strength and carry himself to the bath all on his own. It was never easy. But the idea of lingering in the sweat and blood and other remnants of Lord Denholm’s ministrations was far, far worse. And if he went early enough, the distance his mind tended to keep could carry through to his time in the water, and he could get himself washed without his thoughts dwelling on why.

Not that it was always easy. Just the mere act of being in the bath, no matter how scalding he made the water, could be enough to send chills down his spine. Even when he was alone he could sometimes feel Lord Denholm’s hands on him, sickeningly gentle, mapping out every inch of his skin. Those times were the hardest, when not even the quiet fog in his mind was enough to keep him safe, and he had to hurry to finish and get back to his room before the urge to claw into his own skin grew overwhelming.

Though there was a linen closet not far from his chambers, he started keeping a fresh set of bedding in the bottom drawer of his dresser. As much as he rarely wanted to go through the effort of actually changing his linens, of being faced with the aftermath of his encounters with Lord Denholm, he wanted even less for that evidence to remain. So he kept fresh sets close as hand, to accommodate for the frequency at which he couldn’t muster the willpower to venture back out into the castle halls to fetch something. Sometimes even that wasn’t enough; sometimes his sense of mortification and disgust and the fog that clouded his mind left him feeling immobilized for ages, and he would sleep in one of the chairs in his room rather than face what he and Lord Denholm had done together. But sometimes he could collapse onto a bed that felt cleaner than he ever would, and he knew to appreciate that.

As he appreciated the fact that he could set his laundry outside his door, and one of the servants would take care of it for him. At times like this, he didn’t even care that no one would talk to him, that he couldn’t speak to anyone even if he wanted to, that the halls were always achingly empty when he picked himself up from what he could not refuse. He didn’t want anyone else looking at him, talking to him, knowing him, out of some thorny mix of fear and shame and other emotions he dare not name. It didn’t matter how much part of him yearned for comfort, how much he didn’t want to deal with this alone, how the brambles in his heart felt like they were going to cut him open every time this happened. No, best that he be left alone. There was no helping him anyway.

It was all he could do to help himself. Go through the motions. Heal any outstanding wounds, the pain both grounding and disorienting but never pleasant. Put on clean clothes, so that he might feel more like a person and less like some monstrous, wretched thing. Brush his hair; it always seemed to get tangled. The routine of it was almost soothing in its own right, simple tasks he had completed thousands of times before and that he knew by heart. It was almost enough for him to forget what had just happened, to pretend that he was anywhere else. He never could, but maybe someday that blissful ignorance would come.

But now even what scraps of comfort he tried to stitch together were warped by how much of himself he had traded away. He drifted through a home that wasn’t his, dressed in clothes he would never choose and sleeping on a too-soft bed. There was no solace to be found in these frigid halls, no matter where he looked, and whatever he tried to cobble together was inevitably tainted. He felt like a ghost in his own body, haunting a life that was no longer his. He found himself glad that Lord Denholm had forbidden him access to a mirror. He didn’t think he could look at himself. Not anymore.

And yet he kept living. Day after day. He simply had no other choice. Such luxuries had been taken from him long, long ago.

[raigash]

dopesick puppy

[raigash]

Whumptober Day 23

No. 23: FORCED CHOICE

Public Display | Broken Pedestal | "I'm doing this for you."

A late post for yesterday's whumptober! I don't know that I'll do any more but this was fun! Featuring @crash-bump-bring-the-whump's ocs Mariano and Bastian, thank you for letting me use this little interaction with them for a post :D

Arrogant fucking bastards, thinking they can string him up like this, like he’s some helpless puppet. If they weren’t siphoning away his blood like a bunch of goddamn vampires he’d have already broken loose and blown a path straight back home with his magic, but no, he’s stuck. His weakened limbs refuse to respond, and his magic is completely out of reach no matter how hard he tries, leaving him dangling here for all the asshole nobles to gawk at.

Castor had just been minding his own business when he was snatched up by a goddamn dragon and flown off here, and now they’ve strung him up in the middle of the ballroom like a fucked-up marionette, showing off their newly captured mage. Golden wires wrap around his limbs and pose him like he’s dancing, put up on display for everyone to stare at as the thorns on the wires dig into his flesh, blood loss causing his head to feel foggier and foggier the longer the party goes on.

As time drags on, however, his anger starts to wane, slowly being overwhelmed by exhaustion. How long has he been stuck here? His eyelids feel like lead, he can’t even keep them open anymore. The sounds of people talking around him have faded to a dull murmur, until a familiar voice finally cuts through the chatter.

“We should think about this, my Bastian. I’d love to see this more.”

Mariano? It certainly sounds like him, but not something he would normally say at all… it must be some sort of coded language, but he can’t think clearly enough to piece together what he really meant. All that matters right now is that they’re here, they found him, he’s going to be safe.

It’s not long before everything fades back into background noise, his eyes falling shut again once he manages to catch a blurry glimpse of his friends, once more just barely aware of his surroundings. He can sort of hear Bastian arguing with the dragon who kidnapped him, riling his abductor up and drawing him away, then everything goes quiet for a while until he finally drifts off into unconsciousness.

He’s jolted awake later by the sudden sensation of falling, then being caught by strong, armored arms and shouts surrounding him as he’s carried by whoever is running off with him now. He just barely manages to open his eyes again long enough to catch a glimpse of his rescuer’s face before blacking out again, but now he knows he'll be safe now that he’s in Sirius’ arms.

[raigash]

previous // T$$ AU Masterlist

(tagging the general T$$ list:)

@theonewithallthefixations , @violets-whumperflies , @whump-me , @pirefyrelight , @soheavyaburden , @snakebites-and-ink , @whumpsday , @kixngiggles , @echo-goes-aaa , @whumpcateyes , @clickerflight , @sodacreampuff , @starfields08000 , @neverthelass , @melpomenelamusa , @what-if-i-just-did