#1st person POV

[bladeafterdark]

All the video games that have no third person option as I can no longer play first person it makes me nauseous I hope you're all well I would love you so much If I could just watch the guy doing the thing instead of being the guy doing the thing especially shout out to all the games I bought before this was a problem I had and now I can't play you anymore

Shoutout to the media that comes in forms that are just kind of incompatible with your brain. Shout out to the stories you know you'd love if the format was something you could handle. Shoutout to the tv shows that I can't hold the attention to sit down and watch all the way through, the actual-play podcasts whose improvised chatter slides right off my brain, the roguelike video games whose mechanics kind of frustrate me, the action-based free-to-play browser game-worlds that I forget what I was doing when I come back each day.

I know I would love you if I could handle your medium.

[popipopipopipopipo000]

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

Zoom in for a better look!

Okay last Jason Todd for today. Working w perspective is so fun when u actually know what you’re doing lol

[growth-opportunities]

A girl becomes addicted to her breasts getting bigger, and her second puberty aides her in becoming ginormous (talking hyper-sized, if possible - as big as you desire)

I genuinely don't understand how every girl doesn't get addicted to the feeling of their breasts growing. I was pretty much hooked the morning I outgrew my first bra. There was something... empowering about it. I don't know if I can fully describe it. The actual bra was uncomfortable, sure, but knowing that I was too big for it, subtle bulges around the edges... god. It was the first time in my entire life that I felt sexy. I was literally too sexy for my clothes and, fuck, it felt amazing. That was when I first started fantasizing about being properly huge, waiting until my parents went to bed and awkwardly searching the internet for "what happens when bigger than Z cup". But, as much as I wanted it, genetics had other plans.

It should have been a little bit obvious, in hindsight, but greed had blinded my young eyes. As I learned while snooping through the laundry, my older sister stopped growing at a C. My mom wore D-cup bras, but I'm pretty sure that was mostly from having kids and, while I was willing to do a lot for bigger tits, that seemed a little extreme. I was never going to huge like I had imagined, like I had dreamed, like I had prayed. My growth pretty much petered out at a large B/small C depending on the brand. That was all that genetics had deigned to give me and I can't pretend that I wasn't disappointed. No matter how many of my friends reassured me that I was "the perfect size" and they "fit my frame", that wasn't what I wanted. I wanted big. I wanted huge. I wanted the kind of tits that would make even the most hardened of hentai-consuming perverts (a crowd that I quickly found myself part of) wonder if it wasn't a little much.

But I wasn't about to take it lying down.

I got a job at a cafe to "save money for college", but every last penny I had went to buying supplements online. The unruly guests, making my cheeks hurt with forced smiles, doing everything I could to maintain my customer service voice, all of it was worth it in pursuit of a singular goal. Creams and lotions, pills and supplements, anything that even remotely promised growth was hastily ordered in lust-fueled hazes late at night. Shady sites stole my credit card info, like, three times and I was almost positive most were sugar pills or snake oil, but the joke about a man actually inventing penis-enlarging pills and having no way to market it stuck in my brain. If there was one breast growth supplement out there that was 100% legit then by god I was going to find it.

And, despite the incredible odds, it did work! To an extent. I managed to push my tits to a very swollen DD. Constantly massaging my breasts, kneading various lotions into my skin made them incredibly sensitive. If I hadn't already been obsessed with my tits, that level of sensitivity would have made it so. I could feel them bouncing and sloshing in my bras constantly. As much as I hated them, bras were a must. I didn't care about the 'modesty' or whatever, but feeling my shirt casually rub against my nipples all fucking day drove me insane. There were days where I didn't leave me room, just played with my tits until I came over and over again. Eventually, I'd stagger out at some point in the evening to rehydrate before crawling back into my cave, teasing my nipples and fantasizing about being double, triple, orders of magnitude bigger. I tried my best to come to terms with the fact that this is probably as busty as I'd ever be. Until, one morning, it wasn't.

I can still remember waking up and feeling that weight on my chest. As many times as I had dreamed about it, I didn't know what it was like until I finally felt it, that kind of heft on my chest. My jaw dropped open when I pulled back the covers and saw what had become of my tits. They doubled in size. Overnight. They literally looked inflated, almost unnaturally round, my skin red and covered in a web of veins. The sensitivity was mind-blowing. I could feel the air moving over my skin and it was just... woof. Between the size and the sensitivity, I had to get myself off immediately. Twice. Usually post-nut clarity had never hit me too hard previously, mostly just disappointment at my impossible fantasies, but that day it hit me like a freight train. Something wasn't right.

A few doctor's visits and some blood work later and I had an answer. I never admitted to taking the supplements, though my doctor was skeptical; he had never seen anything like this in someone whose thyroid wasn't full of holes. It turns out that, while the pills didn't really do much, all of the hormones that were in them were just sort of sitting in my system. If I had only taken one or two, they would have been flushed out pretty easily. But I was taking more than a dozen different pills. I was unknowingly adding more and more kindling to the pyre, adding in the hormonal equivalent of gasoline and thermite, just waiting until it reached critical mass and self-ignited. It was enough to trigger what was essentially a second puberty, my body starting to flood with self-made hormones outside of the supplements, but thanks to the variety of topical creams and lotions, it would be contained almost entirely in my breasts.

I was fairly silent on the car ride home, though I did whimper a bit when we hit a pothole. I trudged up to my room, carefully disrobed myself. My eyes were glued to the mirror, unable to take my eyes off of myself. Titflesh overflowed my palms, bulged out between my fingers, there was just so much of it. I could barely come to terms with the fact that all that was me. That thought alone nearly made me cum. The rest of the day was a lust-fueled frenzy. My pussy was largely neglected, focused entirely on my tits to get myself off over and over and over again. It felt incredible. The reality would come later, but I was too busy cumming then.

Unlike my first go 'round, which was painfully slow, my second puberty wasted no time. I was putting on at least an inch of bust every day. Sometimes, if I sat very still and held my breath, I swear I could watch them swelling in front of my eyes. Within a week, they were big enough to reach my bellybutton and, a week after that, they were almost at my hips. I was eating like a glutton, but I had to; my growing udders were taking up every calorie I put into my body. At some point, I started staying in my room not just because I was spending every hour of the day masturbating but because I had outgrown not just all of my clothes, but even our beach towels weren't bit enough to cover my tits. I could feel, every day, as the weight pulled heavier on my shoulders, nearly dragging me off my feet as they slid off my lap. I could feel my mobility slipping away, which would have been more frightening if it wasn't so arousing.

So anyway, that about brings things to now! My breasts are still technically growing, though at this size, it's kind of hard to notice an extra inch or two. I haven't officially measured these things in ages, so I can only guess that I'd have gone around the alphabet a few dozen times by now. I'm big enough that each, individual tit is big enough for me to use as a bed with room left over. Reaching my nipples is a workout, having to gather up so much titflesh in my hands and arms to get to them, though I rarely make it all the way there. I tend to get a little 'distracted'. The irony is that, after all this time, finally experiencing what it's like to be big has actually cooled me a little bit on the enormous fantasies. I mean, I'm already living the dream! Outside of just "bigger", there wasn't much left to explore on that avenue.

I have been taking a recent interest in lactation, though...

[1000roughdrafts]

another request here! could i please request a fic with pregnant!reader (writer's choice for which winchester brother is the dad!) where the three are en route to a new case and are in the middle of nowhere when reader goes into labor and ends up giving birth in the impala? 😊

Warnings: pregnancy, birth, swearing, canon-level arguing between the Winchesters

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: Full disclosure, I've never given birth so please forgive anything that doesn't make sense lmao

Having spent the last few weeks on the road, case after case with no space from each other, I had to admit that the three of us were starting to go a little crazy. Sam and Dean had been at each other's throats over the pettiest things since my six month mark in this pregnancy.

Sam would yell at Dean to get his feet off our bed, and Dean would yell at Sam to lighten up. Or they'd argue about who takes what role in hunts. Tonight, I try to just ignore them to focus on packing, but it proves difficult when my name keeps getting brought into the mix.

"I said no, Dean! We're not taking the case," Sam growls, slamming his book shut. "It's at least a days drive from here, if not two and with Y/N so deep into this pregnancy," he lets out a breath, glancing over at me with wide eyes, as if the realization of my quickly approaching due date has just hit him. "I just don't think it's a good idea."

Dean tries to shake the frustration out of his body by punching a pile of clothes into his bag. He aggressively grips onto the next pile and looks up at Sam, face tight, "so we make a couple of stops along the way to make sure everything is alright," he chides with a shrug, the bag ripping slightly as he shoves that pile into it. "Damn it," he says under his breath.

Sam scoffs with a glare in his eyes, "do you even know how many hospitals we pass to get there? None! Not a damn one!"

Dean shrugs, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, "we'll take the scenic route then."

Frustrated, I raise my voice about theirs, "okay! Can you both please stop talking about me like I'm not here!" I shout, my voice shaking with anxiety. They both spin around, shock in their eyes as they meet mine, as if they completely forgot I was still in the room with them. Dean bows his head, "I should be allowed to have a say in this considering… oh, I don't know," I say, pretending to be amused, then raise my voice, "I'm carrying the baby! And I'll be damned if I spend the next 4 weeks of this fucking pregnancy being treated like I need to be bubble wrapped!"

"I'm just trying to protect you," Sam says sheepishly.

"And I'm telling you I don't need protection," I snap. His eyes widen, and head hangs slightly. He takes a few careful steps my way. Softening my voice, I add, "Sam, I'm tired of all the fighting, and I'm tired of being treated like I can't do anything for myself."

He lets out a long, almost unwilling, sigh of agreement. "I get it," he says softly. "I guess I wasn't thinking… we were… he-" he stutters, letting air bounce between his lips when he knows there's really only one thing he should be saying, "I'm sorry. You're right."

"Thank you," I sigh, ignoring Dean's smug smile.

"Oh, don't act like you're any better, Dean!" Sam sneers.

"Stop!" I say as Dean rolls his eyes. He grabs his bag to head for the door, muttering that he’ll be in the car before slamming the door shut behind him.

Sam scoffs, looking around the room with a blank stare. "He's been such a jerk lately," he says, looking back at me.

"He's probably just scared, Sam," I say, brushing the hair out of his face. "I mean, you know how he is. And our lives are about to drastically change. Who knows what hunting will look like when we have a child to take care of. I mean, life is already so dangerous for us, and now we have to protect something so defenseless. That’s terrifying."

---

The cramping starts a few hours away from our destination when we stopped at a gas station for fuel and food. They were mild at first, going away as soon as they started, giving me a long enough break in between pangs to forget about the last.

"Okay, so apparently the victims all have missing hearts," Sam says in a long sigh, scrolling through news articles on his phone. He looks up with a puzzled expression, "we thinking werewolves?"

I grit my teeth as another pang hits. It's almost like I could feel every groove and line in the road. Clearing my throat, I add, "but it wasn't a full moon, was it?"

"No," Sam says in a soft whisper, "but maybe-" a shout rips through me from a cramp, interrupting Sam and he turns to look at me.

The last thing I see before clenching my eyes shut are Dean's eyes flashing back at me through the rear-view mirror.

"Yeah," I lie, my breathy voice giving me away and I yell out again when Dean drives over a bump. I throw a hand to my belly, rubbing the area that hurts. But it's all hurting now, and then nothing again. I take quick breaths. Anxiety riddles me. Did something happen to my baby? I wonder. My eyes open and my heart just pounds.

Dean pulls the car off to the side of the road with a screech when I yell out again, my hand gripping tight to seat in front of me. The second the car has slowed enough, Sam jumps out to get into the backseat with me.

Dean uses the steering wheel to push from to turn my way, "what's happening? Are you okay?" Dean asks while Sam races to unbuckle my seat belt.

"Of course she's not okay, Dean!" Sam growls, his eyes full of worry. I can hear them bickering with “I told you so” and “yeah well if you’re so smart” in the distance. My ears ring, and I'm too tuned into the frogs croaking in the swaying trees.

A tight ache hits me again and my body jerks forwards as a scream lets itself out of me.

"I think the baby is coming," Sam whispers to Dean with wide eyes.

"No shit," Dean mutters, throwing his door open to come to the backseat. He opens the door, using it to prop up his arm as he looks in.

"No, no, no," I cry, shaking my head. "It's gotta be Braxton-Hicks, it has to be-" I plead, tears streaming down my face. "It's too soon," I say anxious as all hell until another wave of pain takes over, and Sam grabs my hands in his.

"It's gonna be okay, Y/N," Sam says, gently squeezing my hands. His eyes pan up to Dean, getting his attention, "we gotta get her pants off her," Sam says quietly, and I groan.

Dean rushes into action, taking my back in his arms to lay me down on the seat. Sam works fast to get my clothes removed, but slows when the ache hits again.

Sam’s eyes widen when he realizes how close we are to holding our baby, and he rushes to remove his jacket, placing it on the seat between my legs. I prop myself up on my elbows, bringing my feet onto the seat to bend my knees and open my legs. Never in my twenty-nine years of life did I expect to be pregnant, let alone give birth in Dean’s car with the damn Winchester brothers delivering my baby, but here we are.

The cold hair nips at my naked skin, but it’s easy to push past the discomfort of that when it feels like a fucking fire was started on my lower half. Sam holds his hands on my thighs as he encourages me, reminding me to breathe and push. The irritability in me adds to the fire, and I want to tell him to shut up, but I don’t. I can’t see Dean, but I know he’s probably as scared as I feel right now, given how out in the open we are. He keeps a firm, but comforting hand on my shoulder as I push, offering words of encouragement here and there, his focus more on the world around us, scanning for danger. 

Dropping my head against Dean’s arm, I let out a groan as I push, the pain almost unbearable now. I could feel the pressure and burning of each one, and after what feels like hours the pressure increases to the worst pain I’ve felt yet.

I squeeze Dean’s hand probably harder than I should have, but suddenly a weight feels like it’s been lifted from me, and I’m washed with relief of the sweet sound of my baby crying. My arms fail to hold me any longer and I fall back against Dean. 

Sam chuckles as he holds our baby, wrapped up in his jacket, close to his chest. With Dean's help I'm able to sit up, still using him as a back rest.

"It's a girl," Sam says with a big smile, tears welling in his eyes. He hands her to me, and I'm overwhelmed with love, joy and exhaustion.

"Shh, shh," I coo before kissing her on her small forehead. "It's okay, we've got you," I whisper. Tears fill my eyes and I can't help but to sob as I look down at her beautiful face. I rock her in my arms, and her cries quickly calm, turning into whimpers. Tracing the features on her soft face I'm mesmerized at how beautiful she is.

Looking up at Sam, my tears continue to fall, but I wear a smile, "we just had a baby!" I say, almost in disbelief. I continue to rock her for a while, as if it were just me and her. Then I feel Dean's hand tap my arm.

I turn to look at his red eyes, then back at my baby, "do you wanna meet your uncle?" I say in a baby voice before looking up at Sam with a silent request to help me hand Dean our baby.

Dean strolls around the Impala to stand next to Sam, taking my daughter in his arms so carefully. He holds her tightly against his chest, eyes crinkling at the corners as he sways with her. He holds his hand over her head to protect her from the wind, bringing his lips down and plants a kiss on the top of her head. "Well, aren't you just a little cutie," he says, then looks over at Sam, "must not take after your daddy," he jokes. "Ha, ha, very funny," Sam says flatly, but smiles. Dean clears his throat after a pause, "do you know what you're gonna name her yet?" Dean asks, and I glance at Sam hesitantly. "Well, I was thinking Mary Y/M/N?" I suggest, and their jaws drop, but their faces light up. Sam takes a few steps towards me to kiss me hard. "It's perfect," Sam says.

~~~ A/N: Y/M/N = either your mom's name or whatever name you want to put here :)

If you liked my story, please remember to heart, comment or reblog. Or if you'd like, you can add yourself to a tag list here if you wish :) Thank you for reading!! :)

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[astarioffsimpmain]

I'm sick, I feel terrible, and I'm having Halsin thoughts.

This is self indulgent, don't look at me.

○ I want to curl up against this man's chest and purr like a cat. I feel like death warmed over so maybe, just maybe, being so close to his strong and consistent heartbeat will make me feel a little bit closer to life

○ I just know he'd play with my hair, even just absent-mindedly. Braid it, un-braid it, braid it again, run his fingers through it, pet it (I'm gonna purr again, just you wait), etc. Honestly, if Halsin playing with my hair for hours didn't put me to sleep, I don't DESERVE to sleep

○ He'd find healing herbs to reduce my symptoms and help me get through my sickness a little easier. "Here you are, my heart. Do not drink it quickly, the effects will last much longer if you sip. Good, my dove."

○ If I felt a little better one day, he'd convince me to take a walk with him in the woods because "nature can heal all ailments." But he'd feel guilty for taking me out so soon when, by nightfall, I was wheezing again, my head aching so badly I couldn't keep my eyes open. "It's alright," I'd tell him. "Nature is just taking its time with me." He would still feel responsible, but he would know I didn't blame him, and that would ease his mind

○ In the evenings, he would insist on cradling me to his chest as he slipped into trance, not wanting to delve too deep and possibly miss something I might need upon waking. I would try to tell him I'd be alright for a few hours without monitoring, but he wouldn't have it, gathering me up against his bare chest. I wouldn't complain either, curling closer to his warmth as his strong arms surrounded me and protected me

○ When the fever struck and no amount of layers could warm me, he would wildshape into a bear and wrap his furry body around me like a living heated blanket, and only then would the ice in my bones abate enough to stop shivering and rest. When he sensed that my fever had broken, and I had started sweating into his fur, he would nudge me gently with his snout until I awoke, then would transform back into an Elf to pat down my glistening skin with a cloth

○ Once I showed improvement over the course of several days, we would step outside once again. I'd be able to tell how much he'd missed being amongst the trees, and I'd feel guilty for keeping him from it. But he would see it in my eyes and admonish me tenderly. "I chose to be beside you, my heart, and I do not regret it. Nature will always be there when I return, but I may not always be lucky enough to have your beautiful eyes looking upon me. I cherish every moment that they are."

○ I would promise him quietly, later on that evening when all was quiet and still, and we were wrapped up in each other with myself on the mend, that I would always do the same for him should anything - even something as seemingly trivial as a cold - should ever befall him. He would hum against the flushed skin of my chest and pull me closer, his lips pressing his answer straight into my heart.

[writing-oof]

Mouthwashing Drabbles - What If #A

CW: mentioned Jimmy, past/implied sexual assault, pregnancy mention

------

You don't know what comes over you. Maybe it's the look on his face, soft and eager and so desperate for the approval of everyone on the ship. It's a weeping wound of vulnerability you recognize, and it's one Jimmy can smell like a shark.

You don't think he would do anything to Daisuke. Or, at least, you don't think he would do what he did to you to Daisuke. It wouldn't really make sense. Jimmy went for you specifically, because you're beneath him and because you're a woman. Hell, you're beneath him because you're a woman.

But, Daisuke's beneath Jimmy too.

You've gotten a pretty good feel for the hierarchy of the ship, over the past few weeks. Swansea's a beast Jimmy's too afraid to touch, and for good reason. The man isn't friendly with anyone, but making an enemy out of him isn't something anyone wants to do, not even Jimmy.

Curly…the Captain is Jimmy's friend--he's made that clear--and he's the Captain. He's at the very top of the pecking order, and you're at the very bottom. Still, Daisuke is only just above you, and he's decidedly below Jimmy.

You don't know what comes over you. Maybe it's the fact that even thinking of Jimmy alone in a room with someone who can't see what he could do makes your gut twist with nausea. You don't know what Jimmy could do; you never know what Jimmy could do.

It doesn't really matter why you do it. The fact is, Daisuke tells you Jimmy's going to teach him a bit of piloting, looking like he thinks the man hung every star in the sky, and the truth puddles on the floor by your feet like blood.

This isn't the first time you've been here, crying in the medbay with the truth on display. It isn't even the second.

"Anya," Daisuke says, stricken. He's visibly shaken and almost…enraged, on your behalf. "You have to tell the Captain."

Just like that, all the air rushes from your lungs. Daisuke; sweet, stupid Daisuke. He sounds so sure of himself, is the worst of it. He sounds as if every wrong in the world can be set to rights if only the Captain is made aware.

You swallow the bitterness like a pill, rough and painful as it slides down your throat.

"Anya?" Daisuke tries. Your hands twist the sides of your shirt in a white-knuckle grip. Your uniform wrinkles beneath your fingers, but creases are easier to wash out than other things.

"...Anya?" Daisuke asks, his voice as quiet as the air blowing through the vents. Your pulse beats in your throat, a steady reminder of life. Thump, thump, thump. If you're still, you swear you can feel it in your gut.

"I did," you say, your voice even quieter than his. You're barely a whisper on this ship. "He knows."

Daisuke's face twists. 'No,' you can see he's thinking, the truth incompatible with the image he's built in his head, 'No, that can't be true.'

You wish it weren't.

[blackrosesandwhump]

Augusnippets Day 7: Choking

CW: 1st person pov, Gothic whump, chains, choking, breath whump

Bound in chains and nearly speechless with terror, I knelt on the stone floor and peered desperately into the shadows. My tormenter hid there; in the dim light I caught a glimpse of deeper blackness, the suggestion of a face, the movement of a hand. But I couldn’t see him. I saw only a length of chain stretching back into the dark.

“What…what do you want with me?” I managed to whisper.

In answer, the chain jerked taut, tightening around my neck. I choked and dropped to my knees. I couldn’t breathe. My useless throat spasmed. My pinioned body tensed and struggled, fighting for air.

“If you must ask, you don’t deserve my mercy,” came the voice from the shadow. Familiar. Something about it felt familiar. For a moment, I froze, stilled by the horrible realization that this voice was one I had heard before.

Then my terrified struggle resumed. I felt myself fading, strangled into unconsciousness. Whether I would wake from it, I didn’t know.

“It should be obvious,” came the voice slowly, dimly. “I want you to suffer. I want to torture you until you beg for death but find only terrible, excruciating life.”

@augusnippets

[tildeathiwillwrite]

Whumptober Day 27

27 VOICELESS | Laboratory | Muzzled | “I have no mouth and I must scream.”

Whumptober Prompts List | Masterpost

Fandom: Original Work

Words: 700

Tag List: @fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds @pigeonwhumps @mr-orion @scaewolf

@the-ellia-west

CW: lab whump, ptsd, magic suppression, muzzled

----------

I don't remember a lot from that period of my life. My body remembers more than my mind, which tried its best to block out the horrors of those weeks and months spent trapped inside that sterile prison. 

Many a dream has ended with screaming, clutching at my mouth and throat for a muzzle that is no longer there. Most of the dreams fade within moments of waking. And for that, I am grateful.

Silence was preferred. Forced. The muzzle was to keep me from speaking, from pleading with my captors for freedom, respite, comfort. For compassion.

I almost forgot how to use my voice. Even after my escape from that wretched place, I would rarely speak aloud, preferring hand signs, gestures, and written words. I am told I was stealthy too, although I'm not sure when that particular response came about.

I don't doubt your surprise. But I will remind you it has been many years since my time there. That is one of the reasons I chose to speak about it now. Another reason is because it's you, and my history, no matter how… horrific… needs to be told to those who deserve to know.

Those who are in danger of suffering the same thing.

Interesting, how once you become the victim of a home invasion, nowhere ever feels truly safe. Not even a coffin buried in the ground will soothe my paranoia that they will find me and bring me back to that horrible, horrible place. It was night when they came for me. I’m not sure how they found out about me, my mother, ever the worried sort as was common in that era, drilled into me at an early age to hide my true self.

Hiding wasn’t difficult, I was allowed to express myself freely within the safety of home, so I was never as careful as I should have been. Because of the measures my mother took to keep me safe, I never felt as though the danger actually existed. So I must have slipped up.

That night is a blur in my memory. Honestly I couldn’t even tell you when it even happened, my sense of time got so fucked up I only have an estimation of my age. I remember a loud crash, and yelling. I rarely heard my mother raise her voice, so her shouts stuck with me even as most other details faded away.

After that was the facility. I was kept in a cell, with metal bracelets around both wrists and the muzzle over my mouth. The bracelets always quietly hummed with some sort of energy that I am now certain suppressed my abilities. The first weeks were incredibly disorienting as I got used to the loss of something that I had possessed all my life. It was difficult to think, let alone focus on all the fucked up tests they ran on me.

I suppose, in a twisted, bitter way, I am grateful for that.

The stink of rubbing alcohol is always prevalent in my dreams, so I assume it accompanied much of my waking moments. The taste of the leather muzzle, and the blood in my mouth were also constants. Bruises on my arms, my legs, my face…

To this day I can’t stand the sight of needles. Can’t stand the touch of any fabrics that remind me too much of the simple loose clothing forced upon me. You can see the scars from the bracelets. I… I can’t sleep in silence, or in darkness.

And I couldn’t even speak.

I got away, yes, but it took months, and I cannot pretend that I escaped on my own. I do not know what happened to the guard who pitied me enough to let me out. I can only hope that he was able to slip away as well. Insubordination within their own ranks was sure to be met with severe consequences.

I hope you understand the severity of what I am trying to convey. I do not know how I have gone for so long without being found a second time. This is why we hide. This is why we must remain the world’s little secret. Some humans may accept us yet. But for now, the danger is too great.

You understand?

We’ll see.

[pinkyqily]

A fic can be so good but it is written in first person which automatically makes it bad

[whumpsmith-participates]

AI-less Whumptober 2024

Day 29 - Ownership, Branding

Tags/CW: female whumper, intimate whumper, 1st person, whumper POV,

How do you make sure that the people you care about never leave you?

It's quite simple.

You give them a permanent reminder of where they belong.

It took a lot of planning and effort on my part to get him back to where I wanted after he was taken from me, and kept from me. Moving to New York, then Massachusetts, and back again... Restraining orders, no social media, lying to his so-called friends about me.

How ungrateful could a person get?

That ungratefulness was one of the first things I was forced to beat out of him. I didn't want to hurt him, that was never part of the plan, but his attitude and actions gave me no choice.

Did I like to club him over the head in a dark alley and drag his unconscious body into my car?

Me?

Of course not! But he gave me no other choice... he knows better now, though. He hasn't tried to run for a couple of days. Though that probably also has to do with me finally finding the balance between keeping him exhausted enough to not fight, yet fit enough to still be able to dance.

After all, if he can't dance, I can't exactly call him my Star anymore, can I?

And I've been calling him that for years, ever since I first noticed his talent. I spent hours upon hours training him, teaching him, making sure he maintained the proper weight and physique, and my Star delivered time and time again.

He had such a bright future ahead of him...until his parents decided I was pushing him too hard and they took him away from me. I thought that was the end of it, but imagine my delight when I found out he continued to dance.

Even without me there, he still delivered. And I longed to be a part of that.

I deserved to be a part of that.

So I planned, and I prepared, and I performed, and I prevailed. I took back what was rightfully mine, and I trained him, and I tested him, and I taught him. I made him my Star again.

But it wasn't enough.

I couldn't help but to feel that there would still be a chance that he would want to get away from me again. Perhaps even succeed. So I had to make sure, that no matter what happened, he would never forget where he truly belonged.

I entered the studio where I was letting him stay, turning on the—admittedly—horrid lights, illuminating the dirty and drap interior. I'm sure it might have been a decent dance school once, but now the only echoes that remained of that past were the grand, floor to ceiling mirrors, and a barre so sturdy it put modern manufacturers to shame.

It was sturdy enough to hold my Star even, seated on the floor, his back resting against the mirror as his hands were cuffed to the barre above him. He stirred slowly as the harsh light roused him from his sleep, though he seemed fully alert by the time I stood before him.

I looked him over as I placed down my bag of carefully selected items, watching as he quickly straightened his back and sat up properly, looking up at me in case I had any instruction to give.

"Good," I said.

Praise should be given where it is due, after all.

"T-thank you..." he quietly responding, glancing away for a second.

That won't do at all.

"Thank you, who?" I asked.

"....t-thank you, M-mistress Joy..."

"That's better," I said, "but I can't help but feel disappointed that you still need a reminder."

"I-I'm sorry, Mistress," he quickly said.

I could tell he was desperate to please me, probably fearing punishment. Either way I couldn't blame him.

"I know you are, dear." I said, "You always needed a little extra help. Dancing has always been your strong suit. Thinking, however..."

He looked down again. He knew I was right. But as I'd already told him years ago: There was nothing wrong with him. And it was okay to simply...leave the thinking to the better able.

We worked best that way. With me doing all the planning and choreographing, and he just had to keep up with the pace. Count his steps, watch his lines, smile, and make it all look effortless.

"Don't worry, though. I thought of the perfect way to always remind you, even when I'm not around to do so," I said, crouching down to open the bag.

My Star stayed quiet. He knew better than to question me. Besides, he would find out very soon. I pulled a box from the bag, only the shipping label mentioning in a small section that it contained a "custom hot stamp."

It was an electric leather-working tool that allowed one to mark their work with their own logo, or in my case, initials. A self-heating pen with a little metal plate at the end with my custom design etched in. All I had to do was plug it in and wait for it to heat up. Luckily I had remembered to bring an extension cord.

The nearest plug was on the other side of the floor, by the window. The extension cord easily reached far enough, and whilst I fiddled with the electric logistics and tried to figure out how I was supposed to know it was hot enough, my Star could no longer contain his curiosity.

"M-mistress?" he piped up, "w-what do you have there?"

"You'll see," I replied, "don't you like surprises~?"

He didn't reply, allowing me to focus back on the manual and find I just had to wait ten minutes, give or take, for the device to reach the correct heat.

While I waited, I looked at the mirrored design on the plate at the end. It was a little star shape with my initials in it. It really couldn't be more perfect. Surely this would forever remind him where he belonged.

With me, as my Star.

When the stamp had finally heated up and I turned around to get it over with, my precious dumb little start seemed to finally catch up with what I was planning. His eyes widened, his face paled, and he began feverishly shaking his head, pressing further back against the mirror, while his feet slipped and squeaked uselessly over the floor in an attempt to get away, even if the he cuffs and the barre itself would never move an inch unless I wanted it to.

"P-please, wait..." he said breathlessly, "M-mistress please— No! Mistress Joy, please! Don't do it, please! Please! Please please please please please!"

As much as it pained me to hear him beg so desperately, I knew I had to go through with it. I knelt down, sitting down on his legs to stop him from kicking. My free hand weaved into his hair, grabbing a tight hold to stop him from wildly shaking his head. He wasn't perfectly still, but it would have to do.

"Please Mistress!" he sobbed, "Please no— AAAAAGH!!!"

The resulting scream when I pressed the stamp against his shoulder rattled my eardrums painfully, but I was willing to tough it out. This was for his own good. I wanted only the best for him.

"Hush..."

I pulled the stamp away, making sure to turn it off so it wouldn't burn too much of a hole in the floor. I stroked his face as he took deep, gulping breaths, still sobbing as I wiped the tears off of his cheek.

"It's over," I assured him, "you did so great."

He couldn't bring himself to reply, still gasping for air between sobs and coughs. I let it slide, just this once. I knew the mark hurt him. I could tell he was trembling from the way his cuffs rattled against the barre. The poor thing was so upset.

"Come."

I shifted my position, sitting on the floor next to him and guiding him to rest his head on my shoulder, but holding him to keep his shoulder straight. If he smudged the mark before it could heal, I would have to go through all of that again.

"I'm so sorry I had to do that," I said.

I really was. To see him so upset brought me no pleasure whatsoever, but unfortunately a permanent reminder was necessary. At least the worst was over now.

"Since it hurt so much, why don't we skip practice tonight?" I suggested, "You get some well-deserved rest for doing so well. We'll dance again tomorrow."

He didn't respond with words, but instead he just muffled another sob in my shoulder as he turned his head to bury his face against me. I could only gently stroke his hair in an attempt to comfort him.

"That's it...that's my Star..."

@ailesswhumptober

Masterlist Main account

Joy Adair is Xander's old and abusive dance teacher, as you can hopefully tell she's incredibly entitled and very desperate to regain control.

[mrs-adabarba]

FANFICTION PREVIEW! I'm writing a Liam x Female!Cadet story with @thestarseternaal & I wanted to share what I've written so far with you guys!

I usually write in 3rd person so this has been a change for me, writing in 1st person! We tried both and after taking the advice of thestarseternaal tried 1st person and it worked so much better!

Let me know what you think, do you think its good? Bad? Needs work? Want more?

If you wanna be tagged when I upload the story just let me know! As a reference I'm using Maia Mitchell as a face claim for Seraphina Aetos (my oc) and Evan Roderick as Liam Mairi!

Climbing up to the Parapet with Dain trailing in front of me wasn't exactly something that I'd wanted for conscription day, especially as he holds his hand out for me at the top - I couldn't afford to look weak. I ignored his hand and placed my hands firmly on the stone floor. I heaved myself up onto the tower, biting back a moan of discomfort as I did so. Training could only prepare you so much, the real thing was a killer.

As I steadied myself I shook my head slightly, I couldn't afford to be thinking like that. This was only the climb to the tover for fucks sake, I had to be stronger than that to live through Parapet - let alone everything that came after. A steadying few breaths later and I turned to look at Dain who stood almost…impatiently? I didn't say anything, he wasn't worth wasting my energy and instead I did the mature thing and pulled him to a hug, giving him a quick goodbye before turning away and walking off.

I, of course, snuck a look over my shoulder and my heart fell slightly to be met by his back walking away from me. Another few steadying breaths, maybe I needed more oxygen? My chest felt tight and it almost hurt to take a deep enough breath. My hands flew up to my chest, clawing as I realised I couldn't breathe. They quickly dropped to my knees as the heavy feeling spread and the top half of my body crumpled forward slightly.

My eyes looked up and I was met by a pair of blue ones from a man crouched in front of me. My brows furrowed as my eyes moved down towards his lips, realising they were moving and he was talking to me. It took me a moment but I managed to calm the thumping that had taken over my ears enough to hear him talking in a soothing voice. Damn, he had a nice voice.

“Hey, you good? Talk to me, breathe.”

I took a deep breath, finally able to constrict my chest and take in the oxygen. I snapped back up to full height quickly, eyes following the blonde man as he stood back to his full height. My Gods he was tall, at least 6ft tall and a head full of floppy blind hair. His eyes. Oh his eyes I could get lost in and his lips-

I turned and walked away briskly, throwing a half assed thank you over my shoulder as my cheeks heated rapidly. I'd just had a panic attack and the gods sent their most attractive man to find me in such a position. I needed to focus on the parapet because if that didn't kill me, whatever was waiting on the other side most definitely could and I wasn't dying today.

[cherrychiplip]

@illarian-rambling @mysticstarlightduck @mysticstarlightduck @cedar-sunshine @ray-writes-n-shit

[1000roughdrafts]

Fic request!: Dean and Reader have been engaged for a long time and are waiting for the perfect time to finally get married. On what should have been an easy hunt with the brothers and Cas, reader is mortally wounded and in their last moments together, Cas marries them (I mean, angels should have that authority right? lol) as Reader dies in Dean's arms?

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: slight violence, dying!reader, blood, slight gore, angst

Dean X FemReader

We round the corner of an abandoned building, and not even this fierce wind could break the dark, thick fog of tension that sits among the three of us. Neither I nor the Winchesters have a clue what we're up against, or if they do, they haven't filled me in. I just know it's demonic and killing innocent people.

We haven't exactly been getting along lately, and if not for the danger that constantly looms around us, I'd have made a joke to Dean about acting like a married couple before we could even tie the knot. But the worst part about the frustration that we feel is the impulsivity that comes with it. The pissing contest of heading into hunts we know we're not prepared for, but are too damn prideful to say so. And somehow the anger leads us to believe we're stronger than we actually are.

I want to convince them to turn around and leave, but I realize that it's too late when Dean kicks down the door, his gun aiming every which way before his foot could even land back on the ground. Leaves rustle under Sam's quick steps as he follows behind Dean like a dutiful soldier. I'm told to stay close, but I'm immediately distracted by the smell of something rotting and the graffiti on the wilting walls. There are words like 'kill', 'die' and 'run' written in red and the hair on the back of my neck stands.

“Y/N!" Dean quietly shouts.

I jolt to look in his direction. He motions with furrowed brows and two fingers for me to move in, and I reflexively roll my eyes. I realize I'd been absentmindedly twisting my engagement ring around my finger.

We shouldn't be here. I know it, so why don't they? Or do they and they just don't care? I stare at Sam internally begging him to turn my way, for him to see the fear in my eyes and help me convince Dean that we should leave, tell him that something just doesn't feel right, but when he does look my way he only shoots a sympathetic smile. I roll my eyes again.

Anxiety clouds me. My chest feels tight, and air feels thin. My vision gets blurry, and I can feel the anger inside of me trying to claw it's way to the top, but all the while I can feel myself weaken, my guard down. I carry on, walking towards where the brothers are and I can smell my threat before I see it. Sulfur. I quickly turn to attack, but feel a piercingly sharp pain in my side.

With a yelp, I instinctively place my hand over the area that burns to hold pressure on it, but it scares me how wet my hand feels, and when I pull my it up I can see that it's drenched in blood.

I manage to croak out Dean's name before I fall to my knees, collapsing on the ground. The last thing I see before my world goes black is Dean kneeling down next to me, repeatedly and terrifyingly shouting my name as Sam fights off whatever it was that attacked me.

Laughter echoed in the halls of the bunker as Dean chased after me. We ended the game in our room, and trapped between Dean and the wall I had no choice but to succumb to him. Roping me in his arms, he tickled me until I begged through tears and a smile to be let go.

When I could catch my breath, my eyes met his gaze, and the whole world stopped around me. I took a few steps back to drop onto the bed, watching Dean as he plopped down next to me. I felt warmth throughout my entire body as he leaned to kiss me.

I could just explode I was so overwhelmed with love for him and for this moment, that when he pulled away I couldn't control my voice. "Marry me, Winchester." And my eyes widened when he quickly sat up.

He propped himself up on his arm, "what?" he said with one eyebrow raised.

"I'm serious, Dean," I chuckled, sitting up to turn my body towards him. I placed my hand on his leg, feeling him relax under it, "I have never felt the way that I do about you, for anyone. We have no idea when our last days are going to be, and in this line of work it could be tomorrow for all we know. I can't bear the thought of dying without you as my husband."

---

I hear my name in Dean's voice from a distance, but I'm surrounded by total darkness. I try so hard with all of my might to tell him I'm here, that it's okay, but the words don't come. It takes all of my strength to open my eyes, but they burn. Everything burns. I don't even try to suppress the scream that bellows out of me.

Taking as deep of a breath as I can, I'm scared for myself when it sounds and feels like I'm breathing a water and air mixture. "What's happening?" I manage to say, but Dean puts a finger to my lips.

"No, no," he soothes, "no, don't talk. It's okay," he says so gently, and as he maneuvers me into his lap I cry out in agonizing pain. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he says, then his voice switches into a shaky, fear filled command at Sam to call 911 followed by a yell for Castiel that hurts my heart almost as much as my wound hurts.

I feel myself slipping in and out of consciousness, but I'm brought back every time by Dean shaking my body in his arms, "hey, no! Stay with me, Y/N!" I feel his arms twitch around me, and I know he's frantically trying to figure out his next move. "Hey, stay with me," he pleads.

"Maybe we should get her talking," Sam's voice suggests from the other side of me. I keep my eyes shut. "So we know she's still here," he says.

Dean's hot breath hits my face as he lets out a heavy sigh, and I sway with him in his arms as he shakes his head no.

"Cas! Finally," Dean's voice is excited, but hesitant as Cas remains quiet. "Cas! Heal her!" Dean grunts, and what follows is more silence. "Cas!"

"Dean, you know I can't do that," Cas says somberly, a cold brush of air hitting me as Cas walks over to our side.

"Why the hell not?" Dean shouts with enough force to rattle me in his arms. I grunt from the jolt of pain it sends through my body, but he ignores me.

"I'm limited on my powers," Cas whispers. “Heaven, they-“ but he’s cut off by a scoff from Dean.

I feel myself weaken more and more with every second that they bicker around me, and I don't even have the strength to contest it. They're voices grow distant, and my muscles relax as I'm brought back to unconsciousness.

"I know you're not the marrying type, Dean, but-" I said, losing confidence in myself, and as if he realized this, Dean quickly straightened himself out to hold his palms up at me.

"No, no, it's not that. I'm just... I'm just a little surprised is all." Without letting me respond, he walks to his dresser and the drawer creaks as he opens it, the smell of old wood filled my nose as he rummaged around in it.

He turned to face me, and in his hands was a small, black box. His eyes softened, and he knelt down to one knee, "Y/N, I have been wanting to ask you this, maybe since the day we met," he chuckled. "And I had a whole speech prepared, but I think you got me beat," he laughed again, "and left me nearly speechless. So, Y/N, yes, I will marry you," he said.

--

The terrified shouts of the men around me brings me back to them, and thank God for that. My eyes still burn, and I clench them even tighter, forcing a tear I didn't know was there down and over the bridge of my nose.

I try to clear my throat to speak, but it's like it gets caught on something, and I cough to get it out. Dean quickly raises me up to a sitting position, which is excruciatingly painful.

"Y/N," Dean's voice shakes.

I take a few deep breaths in to clear my airway, and fight to open my eyes. They only open to a squint, but I take what I can get. I glance at Sam, then Cas who keep their eyes on the floor in front of them. My head tilts back as I look up at Dean. His eyes are trained to mine, his eyebrows pressed tightly together, as are his lips.

"Marry me, Winchester," I squeak, and I can see his face instantly relax.

"What?" he says, then the corners of his lips curl down. He nods gently and the tears he had been holding back come pouring down. He looks up at Cas, who immediately understand and kneels down next to us.

"Allow me," he offers, placing his hand under my cold fingers, and his other on Dean's shoulder. "Y/N, do you take this man to be your husband, to live together in holy matrimony," Cas begins, and my lips quiver at the words 'live together' because it finally hits me that this is the end of that.

Cas continues, voice a little louder to overshadow the sobs that break through Dean's chest. "To love him, to honor him, to comfort him, and to keep him in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?"

"And even longer," I say, my eyes, even blurry, moving to Dean's in time to see tears slip down his cheek.

Cas turns his attention to my other half, "Dean, do you take-"

"I do," Dean eagerly states when he notices my breathing has slowed exponentially. "Skip to the end," Dean pleads.

"By the virtue of the authority vested in me under the laws of the Lord, I now pronounce you husband and wife". Cas sucks in a breath, and lets it out slowly. "You may kiss the bride."

Dean brings me closer to him, and his lips are hot and quivering against mine. I pucker to kiss him, but I know my lips don't move by the way his press deeper into mine to accommodate it. My breaths are even slower now, and I can feel myself slipping away again, no matter how hard I try to fight it.

I draw in a long, cold breath, trying to hold on as long as I can. "I love you, Dean," I say and as the breath escapes me, so does my light.

"I love you, t-"

----

If you liked my story, please remember to heart, comment or reblog. Or if you'd like, you can add yourself to a tag list here if you wish :) Thank you for reading!! :)

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[starrynightsky15]

I posted another fanfic.

summary(sorta):

You've grown so much.

You were just a young girl looking for a fantasy romance.

Now, you're a hero.

How does that feel?

[blackrosesandwhump]

Sword of the Half-Human, Part 5

June of Doom Day 5: “It’s not as bad as it looks.” | Bite | Swelling | Disfiguration

Part 4

CW: blood, wounded whumpee, gothic whump

As the dungeon door closed with a heavy, resounding thud, I pressed a hand over my left shoulder. The wound was still oozing blood, though the flow had thankfully slowed. Bandages would soon be necessary. But not yet. I had experienced much, much worse, after all.

The men, panting a little after wrestling the monster into its cell (his cell, I corrected myself; he was partly human), glanced at me with something like fear.

“His Lordship will be pleased,” one of them said, not bothering to stop as he spoke.

“That’s good,” I said, as a wave of pain radiated down my arm. The grooves dug by the creature’s claws burned hot and cold, one moment nearly numb, the next moment alive with agony. Further words failed me, and I followed the others in silence, teeth clenched. Another scar to add to my growing collection, and this one would be particularly disfiguring.

Master, that wound needs attention, the sword urged.

“It’s not as bad as it looks.”

That is a lie. You know you cannot lie to me.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” We passed through the door leading down to the dungeons and back into the brightly-lit hall. I squinted against the sudden glare. “Perhaps we should return to the—”

“Sir,” gasped a serving boy, appearing suddenly at my elbow, “His Lordship has summoned you. Immediately.”

Now? I was covered in blood, damp with melted snow, and half my shoulder had been torn open. I said as much, but the boy only shook his head.

“He’s insisting, sir.” He produced a pocket handkerchief and dabbed at my clothing in an attempt to be helpful. I appreciated the gesture. The handkerchief didn’t and instantly turned red with absorbed blood.

The serving boy sighed in defeat. “He will be very disappointed if you refuse.”

By disappointed, he meant angry. I copied his sigh (for reasons of my own, of course) and rested a bloodstained hand on my sword hilt.

Do we have to do this?

Yes, master. Sadly, we do.

“Then lead me to him.” I addressed the serving boy with feigned goodwill. The truth was, my goodwill was rapidly seeping out through the claw marks in my shoulder. “And please, if you could, find some bandages.”

“Yes, sir,” he said. He pulled something that looked useful from his coat pocket. “My apologies, sir, but if you would please blindfold yourself.” He thrust the object into my hand.

Blindfold myself? I hesitated, considering my options. There were none. I had to obey. But as I tied the blindfold around my eyes, plunging myself into abrupt darkness, unease niggled at my gut, worming its way into my mind. What did his lordship want to hide? And why?

Something is not right, master.

No, it’s not. But the serving boy was already taking my hand, bloody though it was, and leading me somewhere unknown. I followed, stumbling slightly. My shoulder throbbed.

As the noise of the masquerade grew distant then vanished entirely and our footsteps continued, a new sensation crawled over me. One I hadn’t felt in a long time. I was blinded, deeply injured, and reliant solely on a strange boy to take me where I was supposed to go.

I was vulnerable.

@juneofdoom @forthetaintedsorrow-whump @whumping-to-conclusions @whumping-out-of-time @tildeathiwillwrite

[gabrielsuppressedthoughts]

Why, oh why?

(hint of suicide, self harm and most likely horrible grammar)

The door creaks as I push my contused hand against the wood material, pushing it with a small force. Just enough to get it open, the room eerily quiet just as if something is waiting for me to notice it.

My eyes dart around the lowly lit room before realisation hit me like ice cold water on a frosty, gloomy night, I hesitate before moving my sore eyelids up to what was causing the petrifying shadow, for a few moments the world seemed to stop. the silence was thick, it was so loud, yet so quiet.

Choking over my own words, coming out as frantic sobs as my guilt seemingly starting to form a hollow, deep pit in my stomach

There he laid, stiff like a chopping board, his wrists red and dripping just like after you would cut up a tomato.

I finally managed to choke out my words, spewing them out like vomit almost

Why, oh why did I speak such crude words?

It looked as if there was a subtle gust of wind in the room, though that was unlikely, since when did such words spoken without a thought make such an impact upon him?

No note, nothing left to cherish his mere existence that was such short lived.

the words I was thinking of all seemed to just gush out of my mouth

Oh my dear friend, I apologise with all my sorrow, such words that I spoke were mere mistakes.

I sit there, on his cold, yet so warm floor weeping over him. Why had he come to the decision to cut his very own life short, did the words that spilt out my mouth sound like poison and thorns to him?

I could now only wish to see him once more, to cherish his touch or to be engulfed in the warmness he always shared with others.