#noncon mention

[crowdemoninkinkyboots]

“ciel can’t consent” actually it’s sebastian who can’t consent. ciel has complete control over him

#noncon mention #sebaciel

[purity-in-blood]

On Your Knees For Salvation

Minors don’t interact! This is 18+ and I beg of you to heed the warnings

Notes-I got a very, very carried away but this was such a blast to write! There were so many routes I could go with this particular scene. Either way I really hope you like it! If there’s anything else you’d want me to write based on the shooting don’t hesitate to send it in.

Tate Langdon x female reader

Trigger warnings: Heavy mention of school shooting, mention of religion (derogatory), foul language, forced worship, superiority/God complex, authoritative kink, dacryphilia, degradation, choking, biting, rape/non-con, loss of virginity, voyeurism, blood kink, gun play, slight knife play, throat fucking, boot worship, dumbification

Tate Langdon walked through the halls of Westfield with practically a bounce in his step. He knew all too well the stares he’s currently getting will soon transform into terror once it’s the right time. For the past 6 weeks he’s fantasized about this very moment and played around with every scenario imaginable. In his mind, this will kickstart a revolution that’ll help purify the world plagued with sinners and a controlling government. Today is one Tate wholeheartedly looked forward to—a cool autumn day that’s perfect for hiding a gun under a trenchcoat, worn many times already with this uniform.

He began shooting in one of the hallways closest to the cafeteria so they didn’t have a clear exit from there. With each shot he relished in the way there’s always a different reaction—a scream, cursing, trying to keep running which only prompted a second bullet to enter. Tate deliberately steps on a wounded student while moving through the carnage, he noticed them crawling and thought to place a boot onto their back, keeping them in place. He took aim at their neck before pulling the trigger even as they tried pleading. The blood splatter wasn’t unwelcome in the slightest, he sucked in a breath and continued walking as the sight and smell of crimson threatened to overwhelm him. Pools of blood, binders and parts of flesh were scattered as well in a way that all seemed like a horror movie set. He violently kicked at a binder in his way and send papers all over, laughing at how everything so easy fell into place. This was only the start of his wrath on those he deemed unclean. Tate had this hunch you’d be hiding studying in the library today so that’s his next destination. There’s no rush after all.

Today I was with my one of best friends, Stephanie, studying for some upcoming English test we forgot about last night. The session together went smoothly until there was this strange popping noise. It made studying far more difficult once tension spread throughout the room an hour later.

I heard what was happening before realizing the dire situation as the entire school ran through the hallway. Screaming was soon accompanied by gunshots which immediately sent me into fight or flight as a student burst through the door. Everyone turned their head as he barricaded it with one of the heavy chairs. I recognize him, Kevin, a childhood friend I’m close with to this day.

“Somebody’s shooting up the school! He’s just shooting people.”

It was like the air had been absorbed from my lungs. My first thought is to run toward him and check if he’s been shot. There’s a noticeable amount of blood on his shirt and skin, black hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. But thankfully there didn’t seem to be any visible flesh wounds.

“Do….do you know who it is?”

I fidgeted with the pendant at my neck, the only symbol of my faith that’s on me at all times. I don’t go to services regularly but that didn’t mean I was banned from praying. I’m pleading to our Lord to protect us from the shooter. Silently begging for this nightmare to end as quickly as it started. I hoped against all odds someone heard.

“I-I don’t know. I couldn’t get a good look at his face. He just…shot Mark Kingston right in front of me, blew his brains out.”

The description alone made my stomach churn but it couldn’t compare to what Kevin must’ve seen. He then grabbed my arm as Stephanie joined us behind the very last row of bookshelves. If need be, we might have a chance at scrambling for the tables closest to our current spot.

The three of us held our breath as each shot rang louder and the barricade rattled violently. Over and over the shooter tried to enter. Every kick was with more vigor than the last, making the hair on my neck stand on end. At last, the chair is sent across the room with such force—smashing into the librarian's desk and scattering everything on it to the ground—that everyone cried out before silence settled once more.

The door slowly opens and we get a full view of the shooter. He’s in all black, holding a shotgun in both hands but the thing that chills me to the bone is the cheerful tune he’s whistling. It’s one I’ve heard multiple times in the hallway enough to where I could whistle it myself from memory. I would’ve found it endearing but now it’s as if death taunts us.

He starts from the opposite side of the library but that doesn’t make things any better. Even if we could run for the exit it wasn’t likely we’d make it out alive. He shot Kyle, the lead jock, who curled himself into a ball under a table while begging for his life. Even though I should be looking away my eyes were glued on the horrors unfolding.

There’s another gunshot but clearly the next victim wasn’t dead. Melissa had started crying which only seemed to amuse Tate. He looks down at her with contempt like she was an insect he wished to crush. My hand went to my necklace and I lowered my head in prayer when he finally spoke.

“Quit your bitching! It’s not like I hit a vital organ or anything.”

He then moved onto his new victims, 2 frightened girls who somehow got the same shotgun blast—they were hugging tightly when he fired. The smallest—Cassidy—flew backwards from the impact as the other gasped in pain. He lifted Aileen’s chin with the barrel and her lips parted as if to speak. His other hand went to her cheek to thumb away a tear before lowering close.

“You must understand I’m taking all of you somewhere safe. This isn’t just about revenge. I prepared for this noble war.”

Tate brushed his lips against hers so gently they could be mistaken for lovers despite the circumstances. Luckily for her, the trigger wasn’t pulled and he backed off. Once he’s out of sight Aileen brought her knees up and curled in on herself. Trying to block out everything going on.

Tate resumed whistling as he casually walked among the shelves but we hurried toward the table when he was distracted. Although I was last to move. Stephanie clung to me while I attempted to comfort her and Kevin tried shielding us the best he could.

Somehow, it appears he’s looking for a specific person from how calm he is.

Another crying girl caught his attention and he didn’t hold back—once near her table, Tate kicked a chair and crouched in order to get a direct angle of her. They’re now face to face. Tate’s balancing his weight on the balls of his feet while holding the shotgun level to her heart. She started begging, mentioning a desire to go home as he leaned even closer. Yet again he showed tenderness toward a victim by brushing tears away, cupping her cheek. He’s staring at the girl almost with pity.

“I’m taking you to salvation. Are you ready to be set free?”

She managed to choke out a “Yes”—likely hoping to appease the shooter—which prompted him to lick his lips before firing. There’s a spray of blood and a ragged hole where her heart had been. He cursed under his breath and stepped over her crumpled body, deliberately placing one foot after the other into her open wound. Such a display almost made me gag.

“Oh God. Why is this happening?”

Stephanie whispered close to my ear and I gave her a gentle squeeze. This close, I felt her heart racing against my own chest. There wasn’t an explanation for any of this besides bullying. Or maybe it was something related to his home situation. I knew their household is dysfunctional but I hadn’t once thought of that being the cause of murderous intent.

Simon, the first to be injured, was attempting to call for help. Tate immediately changed direction, leaving bloody footprints as he did so toward the librarian’s desk—nearest to the exit—where the boy lay with his hand crushed underneath a computer.

“Sure. I’ll help you.”

He said it nonchalantly and with a smile like there’s plenty of time to be had. The shotgun is pointed straight at his jaw before the shells rip through him. Blood paints the wall after Simon goes limp and Tate calmly wipes at his face to remove the splatter.

“His face! What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

Aileen was sobbing hysterically now but is paid no mind. He moved back to the rows of bookshelves and started violently knocking books off in an attempt to scare anyone from their hiding place. The few shots were far closer than expected and we huddled together in the cramped space. Expecting to be shot then and there.

“Pathetic bitch. Get up!”

There's a sound of hurried footsteps and struggling, at first I thought he went over and grabbed Aileen. Until the female spoke. It was one of the injured cheerleaders, Melissa, who I didn’t know all that well but I’m aware of the fact she isn’t afraid of speaking her mind. I both admire that courage and fear for her in this moment.

“That’s enough Tate! You’re not saving anyone by shooting up the school. Honestly, this is the most obvious cry for help I’ve ever seen. I almost feel sorry for you.”

“You think I’ve done enough? I’m just getting started! Well that’s cute, at least I don’t feel the need to vomit after a big meal. I also know you’re the sluttiest cheerleader we have. I’m doing something that should’ve happened a long time ago. You know, I’d make you pleasure me but I have someone…more pure I’ve had my eye on.”

I could hear the smile in his voice when saying that last sentence and it nearly froze my blood. Surely he didn’t mean who I thought. There’s a thud, a gasp from Melissa that almost sounds like choking and then his boots are the only noise heard.

Suddenly, he turned on his heels and it felt like my heart dropped into my stomach when I saw his bloodstained combat boots appear in front of me. Tate Langdon knelt so we’re eye level, it’s disturbing how slowly he did so and the fact his gun is placed over his thighs. Just from body language it was easy to see the enjoyment he got from this.

“I’ve got one question for you, doll. Do you believe in God?”

That voice, oh that voice is dripping with a type of gentleness Tate rarely shows to anyone. It made bile further rise in my throat when he jabs at my religion. The answer is as clear as day since he asked what rested at my throat during prom. It’s likely he just wanted to see me squirm.

“No. I-I don’t kno—yes. Yes, I—“

I couldn’t understand why I tried appeasing this demon in human form. Though it seemed he waited for me to say “yes” before yanking me—by the throat—from my friends’ arms. Someone grabbed at my legs and monetarily played tug of war as I thrashed. Trying to get myself out of his iron grip but it proved useless. I begged, kicked and screamed as he dragged me to some tables. But it didn’t faze him in the slightest.

“Why huh?”

He dropped me so I’m flat on my ass. I looked up while Tate reloaded his weapon, placing the shells between his teeth and flashing me a smile. This sadistic, dominant side is one I never imagined a boy like him to have. But maybe you can’t truly know someone until moments like these. He’s quick to cock his gun with a smirk, waiting for my answer.

“Because my parents raised me that way…”

“Why don’t you show me then? Start cleaning my boots. Show your devotion.”

My heart beat like a hummingbird and I was afraid it might burst through my chest. However, if it’s my time to die then so be it.

I sank to my knees in front of him once he leaned onto the table and lifted a boot toward my face. My stomach is in knots as I carefully sweep my tongue over the sole, into each crevice there may be drying blood. Even the leather on its entirety got a nice touch up. I didn’t stop until I knew there’s not a speck of blood or dirt left and I repeated this until Tate’s other boot was like the first. By then, all I could taste is blood and whatever filth was on the bottom. I mutter one last prayer under the disguise of wiping my lips, attempting to scoot back.

He grabbed for the collar of my shirt and hauled me up so my feet dangle inches off the ground. Those dark eyes of his are so dilated that the brown is almost nonexistent. I can even see my reflection in them and it confirms my assumption of being caught by the Devil.

“He won’t be able to save you. I’m right here, I am your God. Aren’t good girls supposed to be on their knees for their savior when praying?”

“Shut up Tate! You don’t know anything about religion and you certainly don’t know mine!”

That’s when I moved faster than he’s able to comprehend, my feet shot out and struck between his legs, that certainly got a reaction of cursing and dropping me once again.

I immediately went for the shotgun, trying to tear it from his grasp but he whipped it upward right when I had the advantage. It struck my jaw with such force teeth rattled and I feared some would fall out. Tears filled my eyes but I stayed defiant, rushing toward him again but this time he landed a blow to my head. Before I knew what happened, I’m dizzily lifting my head to see Tate executing yet another classmate then heading my way. Boots thudding with each step.

His attitude is on full display by kicking a chair forward, sitting right in front of me. I’m muttering prayers once the overwhelming dizziness goes down enough to where I form coherent thought. I gasp and try prying the hand pulling me on my knees but soon realize metal at my temple.

“Hey Kevin. Did you know your little girlfriend is a filthy cock slut? She’s given me blowjobs in the bathroom more than once. Hopefully she didn’t kiss you on the lips afterwards.”

I glanced at Kevin who’s staring at Tate with such rage that if looks could kill, he would be dead already. Tate however, appears rather smug at the reaction and to further prove his point starts undoing his belt. My face paled at the realization and I settled my eyes on the man currently leaned over me. The grip on my hair tightened once I turned my face away, trying to get as much distance as possible.

“Oh don’t tell me. You’re shy to suck me off in front of your boyfriend but not when it’s just us? And here I thought an audience would only arouse you more.”

Tate forced my head downward but even then I wouldn’t allow him entrance. His anger surges and he’s off the chair in a second to push his pants further down. Fully revealing his hardened cock in all its glory. Tate found this situation quite amusing, especially since the girl below him proved unwilling. It only turns him on even more knowing she didn’t want this too.

“Open your mouth, slut. Or would you prefer to have it blown off like his?”

The barrel traces the line tears had gone and stopped right under my chin, in the exact spot where Simon was blown away. I really couldn’t say no or else he’d end my life. Reluctantly, I licked my lips to moisten them, opened my mouth and he immediately slipped inside.

His gun returned to my forehead as a constant reminder that at any moment he could pull the trigger. He’s enjoying every second of this and there wasn’t anything we could do to stop him.

Tate bobs my head along his dick in such a way that each thrust makes me gag. It wasn’t much different from our time in the bathroom but at this moment he didn’t make sure I’m comfortable. Sometimes, Tate would ask if I needed a break or if he should slow down. But this is relentless. My already aching jaw felt as if it might snap at any moment but otherwise I relaxed as much as possible. Every movement of Tate’s hips forced me to take every inch of his thick cock. My tongue moved across shaft to tip, hoping to seem genuine in my effort to please. I felt the barrel slide roughly against my hair as he let out a sigh.

“You go down just like Holy Mary but this time I’m not on a cross. And you won’t be a virgin for much longer, little miss Mary.”

From that insulting comment I dug my fingernails into his thighs hard enough until Tate yanked my head back, getting a better angle that allowed him even deeper. His tip continues hitting the back of my throat with every thrust and I traced each vein with my tongue, fighting the urge to bite him. The only noise in the room was of me sucking him off. No matter the humiliation I kept my eyes on him even as tears distort his face.

I could feel the oncoming orgasm from the way his pace became uneven and it wasn’t long until he shot a load down my throat. After swallowing each drop, he pulled me off and it was a relief having air back in my lungs. The first few breaths I managed were coughs, my throat felt sore and uncomfortable from what occurred.

The fight in me hadn’t vanished so easily.

When Tate glanced arrogantly—for a few minutes too long—at Kevin I grabbed the nearest book and slammed it into his face. It seems I caught him entirely off guard and that mistake is all I needed. He threw his gun on the table and was about to lunge forward.

I suddenly had a burst of confidence, practically throwing myself over the table to grab it before Tate could. I avoided his grasp and backed away, my hands shaking while I lifted the heavy firearm and aimed at his heart.

“My patience is wearing thin. Doll.”

He quickly advanced on me and didn’t hesitate to press his heaving chest against his own weapon. His hand went for the middle then to mine upon seeing my confidence quickly waver, my finger soon slipped from the trigger. God damn it, I wouldn’t be any better than Tate if I did this.

I took in his appearance, bloody-faced from a possibly broken nose and those eyes burned into mine. He’s completely different from the boy I met on my first day of school. The person before me is tuned for the hunt.

“Tate please—“

We’re toe to toe but it’s clear he’s using our height difference to intimidate. I’m pinned between him and the wooden table without a way of escaping. It was my fault after all but either way I had no choice.

“It’s Sir to you. It’s Yes Sir for you! Didn’t your parents raise you to respect authority? I surely hope you don’t behave this way in church.”

I could feel the anger radiating off Tate in waves. He twisted my wrist hard enough I thought I heard bones snap and the gun is ripped from my grasp. It’s discarded immediately and his hands were around my throat in a warning squeeze.

Yet again I tested my diminishing boundaries even as I courted death. Each time my religion is mocked it’s like a physical slap to the face.

“You haven’t the right to be called as such! You’re just acting out in an attempt to gain control of your life when your childhood had none.”

This had been the wrong thing to say.

His free hand went to his belt to produce a switchblade that sliced through my panties. I certainly regret my choice to wear a skirt today, my thighs clenched together in a feeble effort to cover myself from him. I felt fingers trailing up my shaking legs that stopped at the hip. At that, I pressed myself into the table to avoid his icy touch which seemed colder than normal.

“I’m warning you bitch. After I’m finished with you, you’ll wish I had blown your brains out. Why don’t you beg for it? Beg for me to pop your cherry. I mean…I doubt someone like you has experience when it comes to sex.”

Tate’s voice had dropped to a threatening tone and there’s a sudden pulling sensation at my throat. He managed to yank my necklace off and toss it aside even when I caught hold of it momentarily. I couldn’t help the sob that came upon having my religion physically stripped by the Devil. I looked straight at him and said what’s expected past the lump in my throat.

“Ta—Sir. P-please take my virginity. Fuck me like the slut you say I am. I’ll even worship you as…my..my God.”

He slicked his fingers with spit and his own blood and brought them to my cunt after forcing my legs apart. Trying to provide enough wetness. Tate knew it took great effort for those words to slip past my lips so it’s why he entered without hesitation. I cried out from his first thrust that forced my body further into the table, arching my back when a hand slipped under my shirt to harshly fondle my breasts.

“Mmm…am I exciting you already doll? You know, I’ve heard virgins get wet the fastest. It would be terrible for your boyfriend if you’re a lying whore.”

The twisted smile on his face only widened once I truly started to cry. He showed no mercy in taking something we both knew I wished to keep until marriage. I wrapped my arms around his back, clawing at the fabric while my insides ripped at his invasion. It only provided more lubrication as even more blood coats his dick with each harsh snap of his hips. The pace is bruising as Tate buries himself balls deep and soon enough there’s a fire burning in my core. A sensation I tried denying even as this started feeling really good. The hand still at my throat tightened to where I couldn’t get enough air, my vision wavered but his laughter was distinct.

“Tell me, did you ever finger yourself to the thought of me after our sessions? I thought of fucking you like this for quite some time.”

His voice lowers to almost a whisper that’s a strange contrast from the dominant behavior earlier. I managed a nod, tears continue rolling down my cheeks when a moan gave my arousal away quicker than intended.

The pressure momentarily vanished to allow an opportunity to answer.

“Yes Sir. I’ve also imagined what you’d feel like inside me. I often fantasized about it.”

I ran my fingers through his slicked back hair once our foreheads came together in a show of mock intimacy. The sound of skin against skin is so disgustingly exciting, laughter rings in my ears as does the gunshots while he choked the life out of me. His intense, soulless eyes captured my gaze and I knew then he saw everything. My legs shook despite not fully standing which promoted him to slip an arm under my waist. Making it so there’s no distance between us.

Before this situation happened the few of us alive had stifled any noise that might have attracted the shooter. Now I can hear sobbing and prayers all around us. For Tate, this only made him want to fuck her harder and force her to show everyone she’s actually enjoying it.

Tate groaned when my walls clenched around his cock but he didn’t let up on chasing his own orgasm. Unfortunately my first time is mixed with pain and pleasure as my eyes rolled into my head. It feels as if I’m floating when my body suddenly jerks forward but my only thought is to feel him cum. My legs came around his waist when Tate hits a spot that nearly unraveled me.

“Please Sir…”

“Please what? You’ve got to use your words sweetheart.”

His voice is sickeningly gentle. His breath further heats my skin when he laughs into my neck at my desperate tone. Tate shifts our weight so I’m sitting further in his lap, yet another moan escaped at the change of position. The lack of oxygen clouded my mind and to his delight I’m bouncing on his cock like a whore. He’s stretching me to my limit with each thrust that forced his thickness deeper than I thought imaginable. I sharply pulled at Tate’s hair in an attempt to encourage him to speed up the pace.

“Please, please allow me to cum. I need to, Sir. I’m just a vessel to be used by a God such as you.”

“That’s right. Fuck, you’re so tight. You really are a slut after all and an unfaithful Christian. I’ll show you who’s God.”

Those words muttered into my skin are like poison though my body told a different story entirely. Each spot he touched felt ablaze. I felt awful for subtlety moving my hips against the very person who took the lives of our classmates just a few feet away. Tate is by no means a God though continues to act as such. The only authority he has is due to the uniform and gun.

I couldn’t help but consider how good he feels inside, his dick hitting a sweet spot that makes me fasten my legs tighter around him, coaxing him to go even harder.

“I want you to say it. Say ‘You own me Sir. You are my God.’”

Tate’s fully aware he’s being watched fuck her senseless and the fact she’s submitting is almost too good to be true. Another sadistic grin spread across his lips at the thought of what’s to occur when she’s swept to the hospital. At night, he often fantasized about this very moment, raping a girl such as this one before committing suicide. The crying and praying—hers and their classmates—only made him harder. And that she fought back. Tate’s looking into her eyes while she straddles him, her face is flushed and eyes half-lidded with arousal.

“Ah…you..you own me Sir. You are my God.”

My fate was sealed then and there. A few sharp movements were all it took before Tate fully buried himself, blowing his load.

There was only so much he could handle, their foreheads pressed together as her walls started to constrict as if trying to keep him sheathed. Tate admired her briefly, the tear stained face, parted lips, her breath on his tongue and tickling him. She looked absolutely ruined in the most beautiful way.

His cock throbbed and I’m filled to the brim with hot cum that goes deeper than he’s able. I pressed my face into Tate’s neck, nuzzling into him. Whimpering once I felt his blade kiss my flesh. He leaned down and bit my throat hard enough to leave teeth imprints. Soon enough my head lulled onto his shoulder as my consciousness quickly faded.

Tate groaned while pulling out of her before lowering the girl on the floor. She’s already dripping which prompted him to stuff her pussy with the underwear previously cut. Trying to keep as much in so there’s a higher chance of pregnancy. He carefully placed his trenchcoat—revealing his military coat underneath—over her body, then fixed his pants, grabbed his shotgun and headed for the exit. All the while whistling that very tune he had before starting the massacre.

Tate headed for the cafeteria—and shot the few remaining students under tables who were foolish enough to stay put. He picked up a discarded water bottle, drank what’s left and threw it to the floor when finished. By the time he arrived it was already 12:30 pm and it’s only a matter of time before SWAT ruined his fun. He jogged to the library for one last survey of his work. The girl under his coat remained blissfully ignorant of his looming form above her. He licked his lips slowly, admiring her delicate body he just defiled. She looked so fragile. If he really wanted to, he could strangle her or put a bullet in that pretty head right now. Although that wasn’t the plan.

Tate put 6 feet of distance between them, going onto his knees but facing her. He raised the gun to his left temple and pulled the trigger. Hoping to be confined at Westfield instead of that damn house.

The few in the library watched their shooter kill himself less than 10 feet from them. A few screamed out—from relief or shock it wasn't known—and immediately ran for the exit. Except Kevin, Aileen and Stephanie.

Aileen was the first to move toward y/n while Kevin grabbed the broken pendant he cradled in his palm. A part of him was relieved Tate had killed himself while the other wished he’d been the one to do it.

The two knelt beside y/n, each holding one hand. They didn’t need to look under the trenchcoat to imagine how she appeared since they were forced to watch. But for now she’s peaceful which is why they didn’t wake her. All they could do is wait until SWAT assisted everyone outside.

In the end. Tate knew what he did was for a war he hoped others took note of. Their school needed cleansing as does this filthy world they live in. His act of committing suicide wasn’t one of cowardliness but of self sacrifice. He saved his classmates from the truly harsh realities of life. They’re taken somewhere safe, somewhere clean. Perhaps some would understand his actions and regard him a hero. A soldier even. In times of tragedy people looked to God. Right? Wherever Tate ends up he’ll always find a way to make sure people saw him as such. Especially y/n.

#finished letter #under the sheets #dead dove do not eat #tw school shooting #school shooting tw #noncon mention #tw noncon #Tate Langdon smut #Tate Langdon x Reader #ahs smut #dark content #proship #🥀 anon #proship writing blog #proship writing

[illithiddies]

i wanted to see what would happen if you talked to the drow twins as astarion, and needless to say im absolutely devastated over every single dialogue choice here

i cant remember how many of these options are standard and how many are unique but still. the level of concern in a bunch of the first set of options is just so especially heartbreaking with his context. god.

#i knew he'd probably have dialogue about it but i didn't think itd be that direct #and so concerned about their own autonomy. but of course he would. #even as much as he tries not to care about random people of course for this topic he'd be concerned #i literally had to just like get up and take a break after this it was just a little too. much to deal with #but god. thank you larian for this character #astarion #bg3 #noncon mention #just to be safe? #ask to tag #questlog

[tired-fandom-ndn]

Sometimes I see antis who are huge fans of certain characters and I want so desperately to just be like

"Your fave is a canon rapist and sex trafficker."

"Your fave is a canon serial killer who specifically targeted very young children."

"Your fave canonly destroys entire planets for fun."

#noncon mention

[pyrepostings]

Thinking about a whumper who just loves making whumpee look at him while he does horrible things to him.

"Oh, you can't bare to look at me? Well I have something to help us through this. Just a drop of this in your eyes and you won't have to see anything at all! Don't worry, it's not permanent. And in the meantime your pupils will constrict ever so nicely so I'm told. Keep those beautiful green eyes open for me, pet."

The rising heart rate as whumpee's vision fades out, the relief when it blurs back in.

Also thinking about the eyedrops being addictive. It has a nicotine like effect where the user feels calmer and more focused when blinded, but really they're just more anxious the rest of the time.

Thinking about whumpee searching for the eyedrops after they're rescued, because no amount of dark rooms and blindfolds make them as calm as when they are so totally blind in whumper's control.

#PyrePrompts #fictional drugs #noncon mention #drugging mention #intimate whumper #creepy whumper #whump writing #creepy/intimate whumper #whump ideas #whump prompt #whump scenario #whumpee #whump community #whump prompts #whumper

[just-horrible-things]

On The Amnestic Issue

The issue of strong amnestic drugs is not a highly publicized one. It is not a polarizing topic of debate like immigration, reproductive rights, or the human pet industry. Most people do not even have a strong opinion on amnestics. They are not front and center in the public view. The pharmaceutical industry and its supporters have done an excellent job of suppressing debate.

This is not an issue to take up lightly as a bit of collegiate activism to soothe the soul. Even to write about the topic is to invite lawsuit, defamation, and harassment. You probably haven’t heard much about anti-amnestic activists, not because we don’t exist but because that is how effectively we are silenced. I have friends who have been jailed for speaking out, and many more who have been publicly targeted, harassed, accused, and made into laughing stocks.

This is not an issue to take up unless you truly feel passionately about it.

But I am passionate, and I think you should be too. I think we all should be. 

Detractors will attempt to paint anti-amnestic discourse as radical left wing pet-lib propaganda. They will attempt to paint us as far right anti-vaxxer paranoids lashing out against the medical industry. But the amnestic issue ought to concern you regardless of your political alignment.#

Whatever your stance on the human pet industry, whatever your stance on pharmacological reform, the amnestic issue goes far further than either of those. This is not about criminals or contractees, although they form part of the picture. This is primarily about the effects of strong amnestic drugs in the general population, the failure of our government and regulators to protect us from unregulated use, and the complete lack of unbiased, verifiable information about amnestic safety even in a medical context.

Use of prescription amnestics has more than doubled in just the last three years, despite the complete lack of any independent studies demonstrating benefits in the vast majority of use cases. Un-monitored, un-reported “home use” is estimated at anywhere between half as many people again, and three times as many, and in many cases these unprescribed drugs are being used to “medicate” entirely non-medical issues such as domestic quarrels.

Crime involving the forced administration of strong amnestics to unconsenting victims is estimated to have increased twenty-fold since these substances were first approved for prescription. The volume of illegal amnestics circulating in the black market is completely unknown, and the lack of separation between the markets for aggressive criminal use and for unregulated “self-medication” is bringing naive would-be patients into contact with hardened drug dealers and organized crime.

In the context of our progressively failing criminal justice system, some victims are even administering the “cover up pills” to themselves rather than face the traumatic experience of trying to push a report through to court. In a recent survey, 20% of university students said that if they were victims of “date rape” they would rather take a pill and forget, than take the issue to the police. Cited reasons included shame, fear of stigmatization, fear that the police would do nothing, and, conversely, fear that the police would respond with excessive force.

Perhaps most troubling of all, the second most popular reason given was simply that taking an amnestic would be “less effort”. The same attitude is reflected in a growing media trend towards portraying drug-induced forgetting as the “easy option” : a quick, effortless, and effective solution to any and all of life’s problems. 

Needless to say there is no evidence to support the idea that amnestic abuse actually improves happiness, health, or any other measure of wellbeing. And it should be beyond obvious that choosing to forget certain problems such as unpaid bills, unsettled debts, or an angry spouse will not actually cause these problems to go away.

Even industry giants such as Santex Pharma and WRU have recently put out statements advising against unregulated, unsupervised home use. These statements describe the medical applications and the use in the pet industry (respectively) as highly controlled, carefully monitored use cases and not comparable to the growing trend of unlicensed use. Santex state, both in their recent statement and elsewhere, that every approved use of their strong amnestics has been rigorously safety tested and found both safe and effective. They cite a number of published studies, in addition to an undisclosed quantity of private, internal investigation.

Every single published study involving strong amnestics was either conducted or funded by a manufacturer of strong amnestics, a business that uses strong amnestics as a core part of their business model (i.e. the human pet industry), or a subsidiary of one of these businesses.

There are no published independent studies. All attempts at independent studies have been heavily suppressed by the above industries, or else taken over by these business interests long before completion. It has long been well known – if rarely successfully prosecuted – that pharmaceutical companies regularly misuse statistics, massage data, and even outright fabricate results to produce conclusions that are favorable to their bottom line.

Even those few independent investigators who have resisted the pressure exerted by the industry have found that no reputable publication – scientific or otherwise – will take on the risk of publishing their results if they fail to corroborate the claims of safety. When such studies are made publically available on the internet they are invariably taken down within weeks or even days, and the authors – if remotely identifiable – can expect a slew of life-ruining lawsuits. In many cases even criminal charges have been leveled against such investigators.

Consequently it is extremely difficult to form an accurate picture of the extent and form of the risks posed by the use of strong amnestics. However, certain themes come up over and over in these vanished studies. The use of strong amnestics, especially but not exclusively long term or at high doses, has been associated with any or all of the following:

cognitive decline or impairment

anterograde amnesia (loss of the ability to reliably form new long term memories)

anxiety and depression

emotional instability and dysregulation

intrusive thoughts

increased rates of suicide

increased mortality (all causes)

false recall (remembering fictive events as if they were real, or events that happened to other people as if they happened to oneself)

nightmares, night terrors, insomnia and other sleep disturbances

migraines, cluster headaches, and other forms of headache

increased impulsivity

increases vulnerability to addiction

impaired executive function (difficulty making and adhering to plans, reduced decision-making ability)

While none of the above symptoms have been conclusively linked to amnestics on account of the industry stranglehold on data, it is worth noting that the incidence of all of the above problems in the general population has increased sharply over the last few years, with no other obvious explanation for the increase.

Some of the most striking evidence has come from the study of parents who made the choice to forget a child when that child entered into the human pet industry. The fact that WRU discontinued this as an official service after only a year and a half speaks volumes. But small numbers of parents (and an unknown number of other friends and relatives of new human pets) continue to seek out this option either under the supervision of a medical professional or independently “at home” with illicitly procured amnestics.

While the desire to forget is perhaps an understandable response to the loss of a child or loved one, the outcomes of such a choice are rarely happy. Suicide rates in this group are extremely high, as are rates of anxiety, depression, and other mental illnesses. 

Testimonials can be found on parenting boards across the web urging other parents not to make the same decision. They describe intense feelings of guilt, crushing anxiety, dread and/or a sense of “impending doom”, and a constant, gnawing awareness of the period of “lost time”. Feelings of hopelessness, futility and lack of purpose or fulfillment are extremely common.

One mother described the feeling as not only having lost her now-unremembered child, but also having lost herself.

The wider societal impact of amnestic abuse is also making itself felt as the prevalence rises year on year. Courts have already agreed that forgetting a crime or other offense does not absolve the perpetrator of any guilt or responsibility, but how exactly to handle such cases is far from settled. 

Detractors of pharmacological reform are quick to point out the double standard here. Amnesia can be enforced by the state in the name of correcting entrenched behavioral patterns and preventing reoffense, but those who have already self-administered this treatment are still considered just as guilty and just as likely to reoffend as if they had not forgotten.

Neither is it clear how to help or compensate victims of amnestic-related crimes. The use of amnestics to cover up crimes – most commonly date rape – is nothing new. Even prior to the invention of the modern drug class, weak amnestics such as alcohol and benzodiazepines have long been used for this purpose. However, the rise of the strong amnestic has both expanded the criminal’s toolkit for cover-ups and opened entire new spheres of crime.

Every month it seems that allegations of a new kind of crime hit the courts, from corporate espionage cases in which corporate agents are accused of using amnestics to wipe ideas, trade secrets, or experience in the field from their competitors, to domestic abuse allegations involving the long term use of amnestics to keep the victim ignorant of their own abuse. While some of these cases are clearly less plausible than others, there can be no doubt that criminal elements are hard at work finding new ways to abuse these substances.

If you follow the mainstream news cycle, you are also doubtless already aware of the rise of “perpetual amnesiacs” – a small but highly visible minority of amnestic “addicts” who take the drugs repeatedly in high doses to forget practically everything. 

(While strong amnestics are not physiologically addictive drugs like heroin or cocaine, phenomena such as gambling addiction and pornography addiction have long taught us that people can become addicted to all manner of things that are not physiologically addictive drugs.)

These “perpetual amnesiacs” usually have substantial problems before the amnestic abuse. They may be homeless, in debt, stuck in abusive relationships, or addicted to other substances. They begin taking the amnestics to forget their very real troubles. What separates the addict from other “home users” is the very high doses involved, and the taking of additional doses as soon as further difficulties arise. 

These afflicted individuals become increasingly disengaged from life, drifting from one short term pleasure (often other substances of abuse) to another, and taking additional amnestics whenever consequences threaten to disrupt their existence in the moment.

Most become homeless if they were not already, and over time almost all develop severe symptoms from the list above. Reporting has focused particularly on impulsivity, cognitive decline, and anterograde amnesia. We hear of the violent deaths of addicts killed attempting the wildly ill-conceived crimes that their impulsivity leads them into.

Eventually the “perpetual amnesiac” needs no further doses of the amnestics, because their ability to form new memories has been completely destroyed. 

Despite industry insistence that these sobering results are only a result of the extremely high doses taken by the addicts, the recent news coverage has awoken public fears regarding the safety of strong amnestics. 

However, reporting of these concerns has been notably muted and seems to have almost ceased as I write these words. All major news agencies seem to now prefer to parrot the company line that it is the quantity and the frequency that is the problem, not the drugs themselves. One can only imagine that money or favors have changed hands to facilitate this shift in focus.

One can only hope that the public will remember nonetheless, and that the plight of these most severely affected “perpetual amnesiacs” will prompt at least a few to look into the effect that amnestic drugs are having on us as individuals and as a society, and that we might start to look beyond the horizon of the company line.

-- A. Correspondent

#my writing #verse: bbu #(ish) #noncon mention

[toushindai]

Hello, it is me again with a question for you regarding your Ganrauru series 😁

I was just thinking about how you have framed Rauru's relationship to power, that there is a part of him that does seek the sort of friendship and genuine connection it brings while also bristling at the idea of someone opposing him and discarding his attempts at making said peace and friendship. That being said I was wondering, given Rauru's very complex feelings and mental gymnastics around Ganondorf and his refusal to submit, in your opinion what would have Rauru felt compelled to do had Ganondorf refused his advances? What if he had continued to refuse his invitations to Hyrule? How about in the case where Ganondorf does give his false vow of fealty, but refuses Rauru's more sexual advances, seeing them for what they are? How do you think Rauru would handle this situation, and how would he justify himself in the sort of framework he has set for himself as a just king? (For the record I don't think for a second that Ganondorf would have refused, just because I see him as an opportunist and he would absolutely take the opportunity to exercise some form of power over this so-called king in his mind, even if he is deluding himself in the process and choosing to forget that Rauru is essentially keeping him like a prisoner and objectifying him. But, it is something I do think about, even in the context of canon itself. What would Rauru do if Ganondorf and the Gerudo dug their heels in and refused allegiance with Hyrule?)

Ooooh this is such a great question. Consent issues ahoy, let's get into it

I was thinking about something similar the other day from a slightly different angle; if I argue that the Gerudo's previous chieftain was leading Rauru on, maintaining diplomatic relations and humoring his overtures, what would have happened if she had eventually said "No, actually"? And I think with either negotiating partner, Rauru's first emotional response is a petty, confused indignation. Excuse me I am benevolent and my rule is beneficial, why are you not responding to me accordingly?. We see this kind of pettiness canonically, I think--Zelda introduces herself and his response can be interpreted as "No, I'm king here, you want to try that again?"; Mineru tells him he can't defeat the Demon King alone and he gives her such a look. My guy, what is going on with you.

How this plays out with Ganondorf and a protracted refusal from the Gerudo to join up is of course a slightly different question of course, and I can't really see any answer to it other than that Rauru just... will not hear a no. Hyrule just keeps pushing the boundaries of what they can get away with. The shrines are already in place on Gerudo land but what if there were, you know, a military outpost or two as well. How much control over trade does Hyrule have, and how do they exercise it? Is there eventually an attitude of, well, if the Gerudo want nothing to do with Hyrule, then Hylians shouldn't be marrying Gerudo? I'm spitballing here, but a lot of this has an air of punishment to it, yknow? Retaliating against the Gerudo for not responding positively to Hyrule's invitations/incursions, for not playing into Rauru's self-conception and thus revealing the ways in which it's not fully true. Wow, so benevolent.

I don't see any world in which Rauru escalates to armed conflict first but I see many, many worlds in which he escalates to a point that armed conflict is an understandable response from the Gerudo. I mean. Is not "I have decided I'm gonna be king of this new kingdom I just made up :) You're invited!" already pretty close to that point? If we're being honest? I do feel like it is. (And I wonder if there's any world in which he loses the support of the allied tribes, if this pressure ever could have been perceived as the imperialism it was.)

How does Rauru justify this to himself, this refusal to acknowledge the Gerudo's no, this inch-by-inch encroachment? By conflating, I think, his personal sense of injury with the threat of harm. Ganondorf does not want the Gerudo to become part of Hyrule is shrunk down to the petty, personal terms of Ganondorf thinks of me as an enemy and then expanded again into Ganondorf is an enemy of Hyrule. He's right about that last one because Nintendo is so very boring about this, but he's making a series of logical fallacies without realizing it. I don't see a lot of propensity towards self-reflection in Rauru. Not without Very Bad Things Happening to Him first. So he trusts his own feelings without questioning them.

As for what would have happened if Ganondorf had turned down his sexual advances... oh that would just be awkward for everyone, wouldn't it? In the sense that: I think that part of what keeps Ganondorf from pushing back when Rauru is being petty and imperious is Ganondorf's own recognition--conscious or not--that Rauru will not necessarily listen to a no. This is his experience of Rauru thus far, of someone who receives an implicit no and rather than respect it simply keeps asking and thinks himself right to do so (canonicallyyyyyyy). And so there is a risk for Ganondorf in saying "no": that of winding up in a situation where he has drawn a line in the sand that he cannot defend. One that Rauru will coldly step over. Rauru doesn't want to be in this situation, either: he doesn't want to see that he is a person who will only accept a "no" if he thinks it's justified. His mind squirms around admitting how coercive he's being, even to himself. But on some level he does know what sort of position he's putting Ganondorf in. He knows that Ganondorf is not in a position to say no, and that's a balm on the ego-wound that Ganondorf's political refusals have inflicted. One that reveals that the true nature of the ego-wound is not he does not think I am good but he does not acknowledge my power. (Again I gesture towards "I'm the only king Hyrule's got, who r u" and "excuse u, wat do u mean I can't defeat the Demon King")

So if Ganondorf did actually say no? In ACNOC, after that first kiss, a cold, "I don't want this, Your Majesty"? There is a part of Rauru that flares with the desire to take anyway, to say have you not come to offer me your submission?, but so early in the situationship maybe he is able to recognize that desire for the cruelty it is. ...Maybe. But god, can he afford to? Can he afford to apologize to Ganondorf for overreaching? Mm, absolutely not. Even if he ceases to try to goad Ganondorf into a sexual relationship, I think the answering dialogue is along the lines of "Then what makes you think you have the right to invade my personal space like this? Your actions belie your claim that you have come to offer submission to Hyrule." There's still very much a need to put Ganondorf in his place--an increased need, even, having just lost a bit of face by allowing Ganondorf to refuse him something.

(consent issues get louder)

At the end of UAWTATR, though, hhhhhhhh. Many times I have turned this thought over in my head. At that point. I think there might be some phrasing of the sentiment I don't want this that would stop Rauru in his tracks with the realization that hey this is WAY rape-ier than I wanna be, but I'll be honest. I haven't figured out yet what phrasing would do it. I think most protests that Ganondorf could have offered would have been met with something that boiled down to I know you don't want this, but your position relative to mine means you're going to do it anyway.

How he justifies that to himself later, I don't know. Ganondorf did try to assault him just the night before so that comes into it, probably. That Ganondorf immediately tries really hard to kill him keeps him from having to look to closely at it, either. He's still left with a feeling of nauseated shame and horror but he's got other things on his mind.

God. Nintendo cannot possibly have meant to make Rauru like this but then why did they make Rauru sO CONSISTENTLY LIKE THIS. I know I am expanding things. But I am expanding things that DO exist. Why is he like this.

#thanks for the ask! #bloobluebloo #repeated invitations ლ(¯ロ¯“ლ) ლ(¯ロ¯”ლ) ლ(¯ロ¯“ლ) #bad and imperialist zonai get put in the goat wiggler #rauru (lozbotwtotk) #ganondorf (lozbotwtotk) #long post #noncon mention #tou and the tearful kingdom #and we were both kings 😳

[scientistservant]

As someone with a noncon thing it's still supremely inappropriate to frame Angel's abuse like that. I've written a bit of sexy noncon and also serious rape scenes

Addict feels serious to me, mainly because the exact action isn't on scene and the lasting trauma isn't pretty

The scenes in Hazbin hotel feel like sexy noncon, they make it look pretty

Addict portrayed Angel's abuse seriously, they did it well. Episode 4 was ridiculous and in bad taste.

I'm not gonna stop being friends with those who still watch/enjoy the show, I'm just really upset about this. Especially because there was NO warning before the episode. To me, this whole thing wasn't done well at all.

#vivziepop critical #hazbin hotel critical #hazbin critical #sa mention #noncon mention #rape mention

[squishablesunbeam]

curious question: did the captain ever prefer to keep Quinn’s appearance a certain way and did it effect Quinn mentally? Like hair or body wise?

Great question, Anon!!

Even though I absolutely adore forced haircuts, sadly, the Captain never did this to Quinn. He would have, given a bit more time, but he very much enjoyed keeping Quinn as humiliated as possible and that included not allowing him to clean himself up.

The Captain deeply resented how attractive he found Quinn, and as a result of that resentment, he took a lot of pleasure in debasing him physically.

Keeping him naked and not allowing him to clean himself up was a part of that. He made sure the crew knew to just toss him back into the cage after they were done with him. He was left to sit with whatever filth they did to him for hours and hours; covered in blood and sweat and cum matted in his hair and drying stickily across in body.

The Captain, and most of the crew, would hose him off with cold water before they took him to their quarters but he always looked like a beaten and broken mess of a human. He was literally only ever somewhat clean when he was being taken to one of their rooms again and that certainly messed with his head a bit.

The one thing the Captain did do was shave him. As much as he loved to watch this beautiful thing turn to ruin, he couldn't pass up the opportunity to fuck Quinn as he looked before the mutiny.

He did it a few times, put Quinn on his knees and took his knife to Quinn's face for a very close shave. It was slow and methodical and dehumanizing. Quinn does not like thinking about those days at all. The Captain was- painfully intimate about it. (I'm being slightly vague because now I want to write a snippet about this so I'm adding it to my list)

--

After the rescue, the most notable thing Quinn carries with him is his need to shower, often at least twice a day. On bad days, it's more. He struggles a lot on the days when they need to ration water and really can't stand to be touched if he doesn't feel clean.

He uses an electric razor to shave now and that sensation is different enough that the act doesn't trigger him too much. He does leave a tiny bit of scruff so he doesn't have that smooth babyface that the Captain seemed to just revel in so much. He can't stand that almost dewy soft way his skin feels when it's freshly shaven anymore and he very likely will never be so cleanly shaven ever again. Collins has even followed suit and has actually broken military regulations by growing a short, perfectly kept beard that Quinn finds very handsome 😏

The only other thing I can think of to mention is that the Captain so severely limited Quinn's physical movements that he lost a fair amount of muscle tone. He loved to feel how weak Quinn was, with his muscles trembling and his hunger and exhaustion making him so easy to overpower and maneuver however he saw fit. Quinn has been very surprised at how long it has taken him to feel even a fraction of the strength he used to have before the mutiny and that lingering weakness and fatigue has been really difficult for him to cope with.

He's finally started running again though! Only a few miles at a time so far but he's getting stronger every day ❤

#you tapped in on one of my favorite things!! #forcibly cutting hair is just SO GOOD #I wish the Captain did more of it but shaving is close! #i feel like there were a lot of pieces here so just ask if you'd like anything expanded on! #thank you for the ask anon! #whump #noncon mention #captive whumpee #anon asks #Quinn asks #the captain asks #coa asks

[this-world-of-beautiful-monsters]

prompt: i am BEGGING on my knees for more recom!paz, maybe the moment that she and spider met? does he recognise her? he was only a baby when she died, but he kept her picture

(tw past csa, past torture, trauma, violent thoughts)

ao3

It's the hair that grabs his attention first--most recoms don't have curly hair, or if they do they don't grow it out long enough to see. She's got it pulled back, though, not like in the--

in the--

but the sight makes his guts twist anyway. He recognizes the outline of those curls, the same ways he sees in the mirror whenever he takes his braids out. He doesn't take his braids out a whole lot.

She steps into the clearing, gun hanging loosely at her side (shouldn't she be in the sky? is he wrong? let him be wrong). The grass crinkles under her boots the way Quaritch's used to and Spider flinches, pressing his back against the tree.

He tries to tell himself, firmly, that history isn't repeating--he's got a gun now, he's fought in battles, he's faced torture and worse, he's dangerous. He tries to tell himself that, but his hands still hang limp at his sides and he can't breathe right.

Another step, eyes flicking over him--once, a threat assessment, second, a look of confusion. Third, and she stops dead, eyes going wide.

You got your mama's eyes, Quaritch used to pant over and over again as he fucked Spider senseless. That's how I knew you. And...and he's not quite right, not anymore. The pupils are different, the irises, dark brown switched out for searing yellow.

But the shape is the same. And every time he's glimpsed himself shocked, stunned, thrown off his axes and spinning in the dark--he sees it again, in her.

She stumbles forward, like she's about to collapse, a lock of hair swaying from her ponytail, and Eywa, she looks even more like that stupid photo now. Propping herself on a tree, jaw working, more stunned than Quaritch had been, maybe.

"Miles?" she gasps.

And--and. Miles knows what she is, he knows (even if he took her name, even if he got her picture, and learned Spanish along with English to speak her first language, even if he spent his whole fucking childhood telling himself that she hadn't been at Kelutral, that it wasn't anyone's fault she got caught in the Soul Tree crossfire but that doesn't mean she would have done anything, fantasizing about her turning her guns on the enemy and going down a hero like Trudy Chacon had just to trick himself into thinking his family tree wasn't completely fucking rotten).

But he can't go for his gun. Not even now, with her off balance like this. And he can't snarl nobody calls me that, like he had with Quaritch in the woods, when it was so easy to reject his father, before Quaritch sunk his hands so deep into Spider's brain and body it might never come out.

She could do that, Spider knows. She could do worse, if he let her, if he stands in this burning fucking house and refuses to listen to his instincts, refuses to run or fight.

He knows this, and his hands still twitch at his sides, desperate to reach up. Like he's a little kid who's broken his arm again, screaming for his mommy the way the Sully kids always did when they were hurt or scared, even though he's over that, he is, he--

"Mom," he chokes out, like a good son. Like a good boy, his daddy's good boy, his mama's.

"Oh--" Paz Socorro crashes to her knees in the dirt, throws her arms around him before he has a chance to react. "Oh, dios mio." Pulling him close, muscled arms digging into his back, she smells like Quaritch had in the woods, blood and polish, sweat and dirt, gunmetal and smoke--but instead of Quaritch's sharp cologne there's a softer smell of conditioner, shampoo.

"Baby." She pulls him back to look him over and tears well in her eyes--because of the scar or the tewng, he can't be sure. "Oh, baby. My baby.” Pulling close again as she sobs in his ear, her tears dampening his hair and washing down his back like rain.

"It's okay," Spider says, arms wrapped around her sides instead of going for a knife or a gun like he should. "It's okay, Mom." It's a lie, and it's the only truth left in his fucked-up world. "I'm here."

#avatar #avatar au #mutuals #avatar series #avatar the way of water #spider socorro #trauma #noncon mention #paz socorro #reunion #recom paz #past noncon #csa mention #past csa #darkfic #miles socorro #miles spider socorro #avatar spider #mommy issues #daddy issues #dysfunctional family #violent thoughts #post canon #atwow #avatar twow #avatar movies #spideritch #we're nothing to each other #recom squad #I wish you would write a fic where

[crash-bump-bring-the-whump]

Day 12 - Self Harm

Hehehe a little bit of a twist on the prompt, but Mariano is indeed harming himself, along with like 95% of the other people in this building :)

Ping list: @ailesswhumptober, @whumperofworlds, @whump-captain

TWs: blink-and-you-miss-it reference to the threat of noncon, blood, self-harm, hand whump, dislocated fingers, captivity (the moment of escape), death, murder, burns, starvation mention, self-sacrifice, Dimitri being himself about pain

Mariano stood steadfast as alarms blared, the only one of the war mages who'd managed to slip his restraints. Laredo watched as he trembled, knees threatening to give out as more and more people continued to try to take him down. Mariano's magic gathered at his teeth, broken wards no longer keeping the plasma contained. It sparked at his fingers and palms, spitting and hissing in fury and exhaustion.

Laredo didn't remember Mariano fighting like this when he was younger. He was always efficient, and terrifying to see. Luis had picked him for a reason--Mariano could wipe a town off the face of the earth with no hesitation or change in his posture. He'd seen him do it; mechanically tackling every structure, killing every living person inside before he did so that they weren't trapped and waiting for an even worse death. That Mariano was a lot.

But this Mariano put that one to shame.

This Mariano, with scars and eyes that burned with more than just fear, moved like a predator. Laredo realized that it was almost too easy to think that he was some fragile little waif when they usually saw him next to his seven-foot-tall dragon, curled up on the couch to cuddle, or standing as one of the smaller members of their group. This Mariano burned holes through guards' heads without blinking, without missing a shot. This Mariano loomed and leaped, hands wreathed in blinding magic. He pinned the lead guard with little more than just his weight.

They'd seen how that guy had been looking at Manuel, at Mariano. Had heard whispers about what he wanted to do. Laredo glanced at Manuel, and saw the same fury and joy and catharsis in his eyes.

Mariano wrapped his fingers around the lead guards' throat. Mariano didn't let go until the man stopped screaming. He wasn't dead. Mariano didn't seem to care that much.

He didn't seem to care when his magic flickered, either. It shorted out, suddenly dimming before cutting off completley. Laredo's heart dropped. There were still more men to deal with--but they'd been held here for weeks, and hadn't even gotten to free Bastian yet. The starvation seemed like it had taken too heavy of a toll on the youngest war mage.

"Mariano!" Laredo called. Mariano didn't look at him, never looking away from the hallway that the threats had been pouring into. "Cut us free! Let us take over!"

Mariano didn't even seem to hear him.

More men appeared at the end of the hallway. They raised their guns. Suddenly, the hallway was lit by that same brilliant sunlight. For a moment, Laredo thought one of the others had broken free. Mariano's silhouette stood alone, though.

The men fell. They kept appearing. They kept falling.

Mariano was still casting. Laredo saw how horribly his palms were burned. They hung at his sides, loose and swaying as Mariano lurched forward, firing more magic from his teeth.

"Laredo." Dimitri said, drawing Laredo's attention away from Mariano. "Help me out. I'm almost free. I'm not as flexible as I used to be." Dimitri met his eyes, some grim determination filling his expression. His hands were almost free from the cuffs. He just needed a little help to dislocate his thumb. "His nose is already bleeding."

Laredo's stomach dropped. Mariano had already pushed himself too far. Mariano intended to keep going.

Laredo realized how horribly they were outnumbered. This whole place was meant to hold them for as long as necessary. Every single person here had a vested interest in keeping them under control. Many of them would be willing to die for it.

Laredo hooked his shoe up under the chain keeping Dimitri's cuffs linked. "I won't count you down." He saw how the metal bit into Dimitri's hands, into his skin, how it threatened to draw blood.

"Good. You know I like surprises." Dimitri shot him a grin as he leaned forward to give Laredo the straightest shot possible. He didn't scream when Laredo yanked his foot towards himself.

"Mm," Dimitri groaned, and Laredo couldn't quite tell how Dimitri felt about his newly dislocated thumbs. "Yes, I see why he didn't come unlock us after doing that to himself."

Dimitri staggered to his feet, grimacing as he sparked his magic and started slicing through the metal keeping Laredo bound. One cuff fell, and then the other. Laredo's skin smarted from how hot they'd gotten during the removal process.

Mariano was still casting, and people were still coming. His magic started to flicker and short out again. "Rookie, stand down!" Laredo tried as he began slicing through Manuel's restraints.

"He's not able to hear us right now." Manuel muttered, shaking his hands as he and Izan were freed next.

Just as Mariano managed to get his magic back at his teeth, Laredo grabbed him by the back of his collar and yanked him off of his feet. The cast fizzled and he stumbled, only avoiding dropping to the floor because of Laredo's arms around his waist.

Mariano blinked hard as Laredo pulled him away from the opening of the hallway, letting Izan, Manuel, and Dimitri take over the attack. "Laredo...?" Confusion was clear on his face.

"Yeah, it's me." He lowered them both to the floor, supporting Mariano's weight on the way down. "Dimitri dislocated his thumbs like a weirdo and slipped his cuffs. You don't have to hurt yourself anymore. We have you."

Mariano rested his cheek against Laredo's shoulder and nodded. "I...okay." He settled on, closing his eyes. His hands rested on his lap, skin burned and bleeding. "Okay." Laredo reached up to smooth some of Mariano's hair back and wipe some of the blood from his face.

Laredo held Mariano there against the wall until Dimitri's triumphant call heralded their victory.

#ailesswhumptober2023 #Ailesswhumptoberday12 #Day 12 #Whump #Self harm #self sacrifice #Blood #magical exhaustion #Noncon mention #But so briefly and it never actually happened #It was just a possibility and the guy dies painfully #dislocation #Hand whump #Finger whump #Murder #Death #Fire #Yk usual war mage stuff #Escape #Mage of violence #Dragon of diamond #Laredo #Izan #Manuel #Dimitri #Starvation ment

[tired-fandom-ndn]

One of the only valas.tor shippers and an artist I was following is an anti. Lmao. I don't wanna be mean but like. Your fave moth creep is a canon rapist.

#not tagging fandom shit but man this sucks #like literally how are you stanning a guy who violently beats and sexually assaults someone on screen #and then turning around to say that noncon in fiction is disgusting and evil #noncon mention

[thedeafprophet]

Monsterfucking situations be like ajdkfkfkgg

#twitter repost #noncon mention

[dogboymanbirddogman]

kinda meandering, but i had these thoughts in my friends’ discord server the other day, and i think they might be better appreciated here. this was part of me sharing some fanart i really like, so theres some references to hrokkall’s excellent comic

#ultrakill #guro mention #kidnapping mention #noncon mention #dogboy discussion

[whumpshaped]

i know you just posted it but i’m loving it so much, can you write a continuation of the whumpee falling back to take the feel-good drugs with their friend making sure they’re okay? i‘d love some hurt/comfort with the whumpee after the high has passed or with the high just passing? and now realising that they can’t keep the relapse hidden?

prev

tw drugs, relapse, addiction whump, past noncon drugging, past trauma, noncon mention/it’s kind of implied

The crash was always bad. Whumpee woke up groggy and thirsty, so very thirsty, and for a moment they didn’t even know where they were.

Was this the living room floor? Did they pass out in the living room?

“Alive?” someone asked from nearby, and Whumpee flinched. Fuck. They were supposed to be alone. “Sorry, did I startle you?”

As they kept talking, Whumpee realised it was just Caretaker. Just Caretaker. They didn’t even know whether that was better or worse than the complete strangers they had lured into their bed over the past couple of weeks. At least the strangers never asked any questions, or not any they could remember. And they definitely didn’t know Whumpee was supposed to be sober and recovering.

“It’s fine,” they muttered.

“I was gonna bring you back to bed, but you got fussy whenever I tried to touch you. It felt pretty understandable, so I just left you there.”

Fucking embarrassing.

“Thanks.”

Whumpee wondered how many more minutes would pass before Caretaker addressed the elephant in the room — or whether they could avoid it forever if they just stayed down, like a good dog. Whumper had many faults, but punishing a good dog wasn’t one of them.

“Would you like some water?” Caretaker asked, and Whumpee almost wanted to laugh. They would’ve done anything for a glass of water, but drinking meant sitting up, and sitting up meant facing the world. It was quite clever, really. Cunning.

Why were they trying to outsmart their only friend? What the fuck were they thinking?

“Please.”

They jolted a little at the sound of a chair being pushed back, but otherwise didn’t move while Caretaker filled a glass and brought it over, careful not to step on any limbs.

Well… There it was. The moment of judgement. They had to sit up now, and then they had to answer any and all questions Caretaker had. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ ‘Where did you even get it?’ ‘Are you fucking stupid?’

‘Why do I even bother with you?’

They wished they’d known the answer.

They slowly pushed themself up and took the glass, gulping it down all in one breath. Maybe they could get in one of their own questions before the barrage started. “Can I have more?”

Caretaker nodded and went to refill it, and Whumpee gulped down the second round just as quickly as the first. They should’ve been sipping it, they realised. That would’ve given them something to do while they were being yelled at.

But the yelling didn’t come, and Caretaker was surprisingly gentle as they took back the glass a second time and placed it on the coffee table. They sat down next to them, cross-legged and harmless, and took a deep breath.

“I was worried about you,” they said softly. “You’ve been out cold for hours.”

“I’m sorry,” Whumpee said instinctively, and Caretaker shook their head.

“No, it’s… I don’t want an apology. You don’t need to apologise. I just wanted you to know.”

Whumpee stayed silent, this time. They didn’t have anything else to offer other than apologies.

“It’s funny. I spent those hours trying to figure out what I’d say when you woke up, and now I just…” They shrugged, and Whumpee found they could relate to that quite a bit. “I don’t want you to think I’m mad. But I don’t want you to think I’m encouraging it. I don’t want to come across like I’m your mother, either. But I’m afraid I’m also not the cool best friend who’s gonna join in and have fun with you.”

“It’s not very fun,” Whumpee said quietly. “Or if it is, I can’t remember.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I know.”

Caretaker sighed. “Can I do anything to help?”

Whumpee didn’t really understand. They didn’t know whether the yelling was supposed to come before or after this question, because this question shouldn’t have come up at all. It was too nice for someone like them. Too valuable.

They didn’t know the answer either, that was another issue. What Caretaker had done… They didn’t exactly know what they had done, but it was probably good, because they were home, they barely felt nauseous, and they were fully clothed. So whatever they had done, it was honestly the best Whumpee could’ve wished for.

But were they really about to ask them to keep doing this?

“I don’t know,” they said slowly, and Caretaker nodded.

“Do you want to stop with the drug?”

“Yeah.”

“No, like… Really. Honestly.”

Whumpee paused, and they thought if they’d had more energy, they would’ve started yelling. Of course they wanted to stop. All it did was remind them of Whumper. All it did was get them into more disgusting situations. All it did was make them lose more time, steal more of their life, make them absolutely unable to even consider recovery and a future.

On the other hand, they didn’t really know what a clean future would’ve looked like anyway. It was a terrifying unknown, a world in which they had no excuse not to do anything and everything. A world in which there wasn’t an immediate, obvious problem to fix was an uncertain one; because what if it was still bad? What were they going to point to?

What would their dreams look like?

“I don’t know,” they said eventually. “I think…” I think I like having problems I can’t remember. They couldn’t say that to someone who felt responsible for trying to keep their life together. “I don’t know.”

Caretaker gave them a sad little look, and they wanted to kick themself for making them feel that way. “Why?”

“I’m scared,” they admitted reluctantly, as a clumsy sort of compensation. “I’m scared that it won’t change a thing. That it’ll still… be bad. That it’ll be worse. That always happens, doesn’t it? People point and tell you you’re supposed to be happy now, and… and then you’re just not. So many people have congratulated me on my ‘amazing journey’ and my ‘recovery’. My ‘sobriety’. It sucks.”

Caretaker considered their words carefully, and Whumpee couldn’t even imagine what conclusions a confession like this would lead to. But after a while, Caretaker placed a hand on top of theirs, looking into their eyes like they were about to make a very sincere pinky promise.

“Sounds to me you just want the amazing life you’ve been told you’d have without the drug, yeah?” Whumpee timidly nodded, and Caretaker squeezed their hand. “Alright. We’ll make your life so fucking amazing that you won’t wanna forget about it.”

#asks #whump #whump drabble #drugs #relapse #addiction whump #past noncon drugging #past trauma #noncon mention #recovery fic #comfort

[majiil]

yeah he’s still horrible

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #maj oc brainrot #oc #bg3 gortash #enver gortash #bg3 fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #wip fanfiction #noncon mention #dubcon #snippet