#non con body modifications

[hangmeandbangme]

Kidnapper!Nikto having Krueger hold you down while he tattoos his name just above your privates, damn near salivating when the ink is all set in place. He wants to kiss it, lick it, bite it, rub his cum all over it. But he doesn’t want it to get infected so he tapes it up and rests a hand on it every night til it’s healed and he can properly show it some love.

[macknus]

Febuwhump: Day One

Prompt: Vocal cords

Febuwhump Master-post

TW: steamy kissing? Not really but just in case, non-con body modification, body modification, non-con vocal chord removal implied, obsessive love

“Dun, dun, reconnaissance mission, baum, baum, we’re sneaking around—”

Rogue tightened her hand on her dagger as they walked.

“Badum, dum, we’re spying on bad guys, bum, bum and we won’t get caught. Because we’re too damn skil—”

“Whumpee!” Rogue hissed, grabbing the youngest member of their team and slammed them against the nearest wall. Her eyes blazing as they stared into Whumpee’s wide eyes. “How many times do I have to tell you? Stop fucking singing on missions!”

Whumpee blinked, blushed and opened their mouth, but closed it again. They sagged under Rogue’s hand. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

“Good.”

*~*~*~*~*

“Well?” Leader asked when Rogue and Whumpee walked back into base. “What did you learn?”

“Supervillain recruited Fire Vigilante to her cause,” Rogue said.

Right hand paled. “What?”

Whumpee grinned, a lollipop hanging from their lips which they popped out to say, “you know, that girl who’s on fire! That girl who’s on fire-re-romf.”

Rogue slammed the lollipop back into Whumpee’s singing lips with a snarl. Leader blinked between the pair. They frowned and lifted their finger to point at the lollipop.

“Did you get them that to—”

“It was the only thing that would shut them the fuck up,” Rogue growled. “How about next time, you don’t send me on a stealth mission with someone who knows a song for every single fucking word in the dictionary.”

Whumpee glanced between the pair with wide eyes. “I don’t know a song with the word dictionary.”

Leader had to physically restrain Rogue from jumping at Whumpee who grinned like a cheshire cat. “Rogue, come on. You know you love me. You and me, me and you, the both of us together!”

“I swear to god, Whumpee, that will be the last lollipop I ever buy you if you don’t leave me alone for two days. That’s all I ask! Two days of silence, and no fucking singing!”

Whumpee paused, considering. “Deal. No singing for two days.”

Right hand nudged Medic who stood in the corner like a ghost. “I bet Whumpee can’t go twelve hours.”

Medic smiled, a cold thing. “I’ll take that bet.”

Whumpee opened their mouth to sing Bet on me, from high school musical, but restrained themselves. They could do this. They could not sing for 48 hours. It would be easy.

So easy.

Whumpee coughed as Rogue turned. Her spine stiffened. “What, Whumpee?”

“Does humming count?”

Rogue didn’t answer before she walked away. Whumpee blinked after her, eyes going to Leader. “Is that a yes or a no?”

*~*~*~*~*

Later, Leader found Rogue in her room, laying on her bed, texting on her phone. “Hey, you okay?”

Rogue slid her eyes to Leader. “Yeah. I’m fine. Whumpee just… they just get under my skin.”

“I know,” Leader said. “I’m sorry. I’ll put you on different assignments from now on.”

Rogue sat up a little. “You don’t have to—”

Leader smiled. “Please, let Whumpee and Right hand talk the ears off each other and leave the rest of us in peace for once.”

Rogue laughed. “Okay. Thank you Leader.”

Leader nodded. They glanced slyly at the phone. “Are you texting Lover?”

Rogue’s face went tulip red. She put a hand to her blushing cheek as if to hide it. “No,” she said a little too quickly. “That’s none of your business!” Leader laughed. Rogue threw a pillow at them which Leader caught and threw back.

“How long has it been now?”

“Almost a year.” Leader smiled.

“Have fun,” they said and were gone. Rogue smiled at the door, then back at her phone when she saw Lover had replied.

*~*~*~*~*

“Why isn’t Rogue coming?” Right Hand asked, folding their arms over their chest.

Leader smiled. “Because, she will be going out with Lover so it’s just the four of us for this mission.”

“What is love?! Baby don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me, no more,” Whumpee sang, and this time Rogue actually smiled and rolled her eyes instead of telling Whumpee to shut up.

“Whatever,” she grumbled, but couldn’t hide her smile very well.

*~*~*~*~*

Lover picked Rogue up from the base who was dressed in a flowing red gown, fancy enough for the dinner and the surprise that Lover had prepared afterwards for her. She thanked Medic for helping her with her hair and smiled at Leader as she left, waving back at her family, her team mates, as she let Lover lead her away.

Her newest member of her family.

Maybe.

If all went well.

Lover stopped outside the fanciest restaurant in the city. Rogue looked at him, eyes wide. Lover was rich, that was no shock to Rogue, he had taken after his father and worked in his father’s business. A legacy with a heart of gold. Truly unique.

“Lover…” she trailed off, unsure about the finery of this place. She was scared she would reveal herself to be too brutish, too muscled, too out for her depth, that it would be written all over her face and body.

Lover leaned over the gearbox and caught her chin between his fingers before pressing a tender kiss to her lips. “You deserve the best, Rogue,” he said kindly, his eyes shining. “You deserve better than the best, and I want to show you how much you mean to me tonight. Let me spoil you.”

Rogue blushed. She would have been happy with McDonald’s, but she nodded. Lover got out of the car and handed the keys to a valet before opening her door. Her phone buzzed in her bag but she ignored as she took his hand and followed him into the restaurant.

They laughed and drank and Rogue had to stifle a few moans of pleasure from how delicious the food was. Lover smiled his perfect smile over the table at Rogue and lifted his glass to her. “To many more years together, Rogue, you truly are something special. Probably the best person I’ve ever known.”

“Lover,” Rogue whispered bashful, hiding her face in her hands.

“You are so precious to me,” Lover whispered back. The love in his eyes was too much and too wonderful to be turned on her. “You are badass, and strong, and beautiful.”

“Lover,” she hissed, glancing around the restaurant to see if anyone heard. Lover grabbed her hand across the table, the heat of his hand going straight to her heart and shortening her breath.

“I love you,” Lover said. “And I want to show you how much after we finish this bottle.”

Rogue’s entire face went red. Her mind went to all the things Lover meant by that, her mind going to his delightful bed and his lips. As if he could read her mind, Lover smirked at her over the rim of his glass.

They got the check and went back to Lover’s car.

Lover drove smoothly, passing through the city that Rogue loved with all of her heart. The city she would happily give her life to defend. But Lover drove past the turn to his apartment. Rogue glanced at him in question and he smiled.

“We’re going to the Manor house tonight,” he told her with a twinkle in his eyes.

Rogue smirked at him. “Is that where my surprise is?”

“Now that would be telling,” Lover told her with a grin. Rogue sat back against the seat and hummed.

“So mysterious,” she murmured with a smile on her face. She could barely contain her curiosity, her excitement at how secret Lover had kept this surprise from her. It made a knot in her stomach that pulsed and pounded pleasantly as they drove from the city to the outskirts.

Millionaire’s Row as Right Hand called it once. Rogue couldn’t help but agree as they pulled along the road. It wasn’t just manors, it was full estates with gates and grounds and long stretches of road between each estate. They didn’t pass one for ten minutes as Lover pulled into the one at the end of a road.

Rogue couldn’t hold in her gasp as they drove another five minutes and finally Lover’s “Manor house” came into view. “What the fuck?” She whispered as they drove up the tree lined avenue and rounded a fountain to park in front of the steps leading up to the— “this is a castle,” Rogue said. “Not a house.”

Lover chuckled. “If you say so.”

Lover was around the car and opening Rogue’s door before she could fully comprehend his speed, the wine making her warm and fuzzy and honest. She smiled at Lover as he leaned down and kissed her again.

“God you’re so beautiful in red,” he muttered against her lips. Then he took her hand and they were giggling up the steps, running up them like teenagers. The moment Lover opened the door Rogue pushed him in and slammed him against the wall, leaning up to slam her mouth against his, lipstick be damned.

Lover laughed, kissed her back just as desperate. Just as passionate. When Rogue trailed her hands down his chest Lover grabbed her wrists with a frustrated smile.

“No, we can’t. You have to let me show you your surprise before we continue to dessert,” he said, biting her lip as he kissed her.

Rogue smiled up at him. “Okay, fine. Quickly.”

“So impatient,” Lover chastised as he took her hand and led her through the double doors into the ballroom.

“Holy—”

“I’ll give you a tour tomorrow,” he said as he turned left and went out a door and a hall that led to a set of steps. Rogue halted them at the top of the stairs. Lover glanced back at her, eyes gleaming.

“What?”

“Downstairs, in these heels?” Rogue shook her head and started to undo the straps, slipping them off and leaving them at the top of the steps as she followed him down.

“Are you taking me to a dungeon?” She joked as he led her down and down and down. Lover chuckled.

“It’s the old wine and food storage. They had to dig down into the earth to keep everything cool before fridges.”

Rogue smile lazily. “Wow, history. So sexy.”

“And here we are,” Lover announced as the stairs opened up into an expansive stone chamber. It was cold down here, which made sense from what Lover said. Noticing her chill, Lover took his suit jacket off and slung it around Rogue’s shoulders. She bundled into the warmth as he left her side. “Ready?” He asked.

Rogue blinked into the darkness then hissed as bright lights burned her eyes. She raised a hand to stop the glare and waited for her eyes to adjust. She only let her senses wander then as her eyes adjusted, she could smell it; blood.

It curdled the pleasant knot in her stomach from the drive here.

She lowered her hand and gasped.

Sitting across the room, chained to the ground with thick metal cuffs sat Whumpee. Blood soaked their hair and stained almost every inch of them. Rogue fell back a step, horror painting her features, sobering her up quickly.

“Wh- whu- Whumpee?” She asked with a gasp and then she was running. She sprinted from the exit to Whumpee who was slumped against the wall. “Whumpee?! WHUMPEE?!”

What the hell? What… what was going on?! Is this? Is— “Hey, Whumpee,” Rogue sniffled, checking Whumpee’s pulse on their throat immediately. She sobbed as she felt their heart beat under her fingers.

Rogue took in Whumpee’s black, swollen eye and blood caked mouth and chin. Rogue couldn’t stop crying. “L-Lo-lover, we need— we need to call the police, oh god.”

Oh god.

Oh god. She was going to be sick. And Whumpee wasn’t responding.

Lover was by her side in a second, taking her face in his hands. She sobbed, not caring about her makeup running as Lover leaned into kiss her. She recoiled, eyes wide and wild.

“L-Lover… I need, w-we need—”

“They’re fine, Rogue,” Lover said, pressing a kiss to her temple instead. Rogue couldn’t stop shaking. She frowned at Lover.

“N-no, they’re— oh god the blood.”

“I already had them checked over by a doctor. They’re okay. They’re just healing.”

Rogue nodded. Then blinked, weary eyes going back to Lover. To see his happy, love filled gaze fixed on her. “Surprise,” he whispered, leaning in and kissing Rogue’s neck.

Rogue stiffened beneath his lips. It was as if he had dunked her into an ice bath. “W-w-what?”

Lover booped her nose as he pulled back. “This is your surprise, silly,” he cooed. “I know how much Whumpee’s singing and incessant talking got under your skin, so I fixed them.”

Rogue froze under Lover’s touch that only repulsed her. Lover pulled back again and lifted Whumpee’s head to expose the black stitches across Whumpee’s neck like— like fucking Frankenstein’s monster.

“What— what did you do?” Rogue whispered, hands reaching to Whumpee’s neck.

“I hired a doctor to remove their vocal cords. I know how much you love them, but they would be better if they couldn’t annoy you everyday, right?”

Rogue froze in terror. “That’s how much I love you, Rogue,” Lover whispered, his breath hitting off the shell of her ear that would have sent tingles down her spine five minutes ago. Now only filled her blood with lead. “I don’t want anything to inconvenience you. You deserve better than petty annoyances.”

Oh god… oh god… she… she had to— she had to… she had to call Leader, but she didn’t— she glanced at Lover who stared at her with that adoration in his gaze.

“I know it’s a shock,” he said, bringing her into his chest. She let him. “But I wanted it to be a surprise.”

Rogue couldn’t take her eyes off of Whumpee… Whumpee would never sing again, never speak again if she didn’t get them to a healer straight away… oh god.

Whumpee…

She had to be strong for Whumpee.

“I— love it,” she whispered because that’s all she could manage even if the words tasted like ash in her mouth. “I love it,” she repeated turning in Lover’s arms and wrapping her arms around his neck. His eyes widened in happiness.

“Yeah?”

“Of course I do,” she said and kissed him, though it felt like kissing a statue now. As if she was kissing a corpse with how repulsed she was by him, his lips, his touch his words. She pulled back and put on her best performance. “How about we finish this upstairs? It’s so cold down here.”

And there was probably better reception upstairs.

“Of course,” Lover murmured and with strong arms he lifted the pair of them, a hand hooked under her knees and across her shoulders, cradling into him. She let out a startled laugh that sounded rotten and hollow to her ears. Lover didn’t seem to hear.

She looked at Whumpee over her shoulder and vowed she would fix them. That she would make Lover pay.

[sleepyfan-blog]

Hunger and Thirst

Author's note: This is the second part of the Warp-cursed Guillilman fic. Original idea by @men-want-me-fish-fear-me. Masterlist is here.

tagged: @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @wolf-tail @men-want-me-fish-fear-me

If anyone else wants to be tagged, please ask

warnings: male lactation, non-consensual body modification via magic, discussions of medical experimentation, drinking questionable fluids, please ask me to tag something if I've missed it/something bothers you

summary: Four aspirants sniff out something delicious to drink. Afterwards, Asterios updates his gene-sire on the fallout of that.

“Do you smell that?” Mekanilus asked his best friend and Brother, leaning into the other boy’s slightly larger form, his body aching from the most recent surgery that he’d gone through. It was an honor beyond honors to be in training on Maccrage’s Honor, of course.. But still, the young aspirant hoped that one of the Medicae would come by to give them the all-clear so that he and Aklesius and the rest of their squad of Ultramarine-Aspirants would be allowed to go back to their shared barracks room to try and sleep off the worst of the surgery pains. If things followed according to the previous patterns, their physical training would be lighter until their surgical wounds healed…

But that meant that they would be drilled more ruthlessly on the logistical side of being an Ultramarine. How to fill out forms properly, different terms of address to the endlessly different kinds of nobles and other important kinds of officials within the Imperium. How to out-think one’s opponent and of course, how to uphold the honor of the Ultramarines, Ultramar and their Gene-sire.

“The burning-chemical smell? That’s the stuff that they use in order to keep this place clean.” Aklesius answered with a tired yawn, shrugging the shoulder that Mekanilus was leaning on “Oi! Don’t lean on me! I hurt everywhere too, and your additional weight makes me hurt more.”

“I know what that smell is. I’m talking about the new one. The sweet-creamy smell. Can’t you smell it? It smells like food and I’m so hungry…” Mekanilus grumbled, smelling the air again. His mouth was watering and he swallowed down his spit, his stomach grumbling loudly.

“What are yo- oh! I smell it too, now.” Aklesius answered, taking in a deep breath in through his nose. “Maybe it’s what we’re supposed to eat?”

“You mean the chalky tasting nutrient paste? That doesn’t have much of smell at all.” Jupitalin huffs, shaking his head a little. 

“Maybe we’ve graduated to better tasting food rations, since we survived this round of surgeries?” Amik offers, a hopeful expression on his face. 

“Hopefully. I wonder why the medicae suddenly ran off? It’s not like the emergency alarms went off, which would mean that the ship was under attack… and I don’t think anyone was scheduled to come back from a mission today…” Mekanilus sighed, yawning and stretching as much as his surgical wounds would safely allow before he stood up and followed his nose to the source of the wonderful scent, his squad-brothers following close behind him.

The four aspirants found themselves in one of the medical labs of Maccrage’s Honor. The source of the scent was some kind of milk, set on one of the counters in collection jars, for reasons none of the four aspirants could discern. It looked like regular grox-milk. It smelled better, though.

“Well, I dunno about you three, but I’m going to try it.” Mekanilus stated, walking across the lab and up to the collection jars. His hands were shaky from the painful surgery he had been out of for less than half a day, but not so shaky as to spill the bottled milk. It’s scent was even more intensely delicious when the lid of the bottle was off, and it’s sweet and hearty taste is easy for his pain-cramped stomach to hold. He drains half of the bottle before offering it to Amik, who is a step and a half behind him. “Here, try this. It tastes good and I’m already feeling better.” Some of the pain had gone away, and his breathing was already easier.

“... Are you sure that we’re supposed to drink this? It… There’s probably a reason why it’s in one of the medical labs.” Amik asked, staring at the milk in the jar, taking a small and cautious sip. His eyes lit up and he drank several large mouthfuls. “I changed my mind. This is really good!”

Aklesius has grabbed a second container of milk and drains half of it, before handing the rest over to Jupitalin as the other two talked. “Maybe it’s a new formulation of liquid rations? It reminds me of grox-milk.”

“Except Grox-milk tastes grassy. This tastes a lot better.” Jupitalin answered after taking three huge gulps to finish off the container. He put the lid back on and placed it back where Aklesius had taken it from. “Wow, whatever is in that stuff, I’m feeling a lot better. How are you three doing?”

“I’m feeling a lot better.” Amik answers, a broad grin appearing on his face. He over-stretches a little as he places the empty bottle back on the Astartes-sized counter… But finds that his stitches don’t ache in protest of the movement. In fact… His pain has faded almost entirely. “Like… A lot better.” He reaches up to cautiously prod at the surgical bandage, to see how his body would respond.

Before he can do so, however, Mekanilus gently grabbed his hand, stopping him from doing so “Hey, I know that I’m also feeling like no pain, but they told us not to go poking at our wounds while they heal. We should listen to them.”

“So you were listening, at least to part of what I told you. Did you forget that you were also told not to wander off from areas that you were explicitly told you were allowed in?” The Ultramarines chief apothecary rumbled, a small frown on his face. “What are you four doing in this lab?”

“We smelled something delicious, and since enough time passed after our surgeries that it was time for us to eat, and we were all really hungry, we found something to eat. Or… Err, drink, I suppose.” Aklesius answered, pointing to the two empty bottles of milk “We each had half of a container of that milk. It’s really good. The pain is almost gone and I’m full of energy - we all are. Sir!” He remembered to address the older Ultramarine as sir somewhat belatedly. Hopefully he wouldn’t notice.

“... You did what?” The chief apothecary asked, a flash of emotion crossing very quickly across his face before it went to a neutral frown once again. “Why would you drink something you found in a medical lab?”

Oh. Uhm. He kind of had a point there. “Because it looked and smelled like milk, sir? And I had a tiny taste before I drank half of it sir. It didn’t taste bad, nor did it trigger the poison eating gland so I figured it was safe to drink.” Mekanilus answered, shifting uneasily from foot to foot. 

“... And all four of you drank half a container of this?” The chief apothecary asks, looking each of them up and down assessingly, icy gray eyes narrowing a little.

All four Aspirants nod “Yes sir.” They know better than to lie to a superior officer, even as uncertainty and worry begins to gnaw at each of them. 

“Jamis, Meloc. I need you two in here now. Right. The four of you are going to come with me and will submit to a full physical exam. If you are dismissed, you are to report to the medical bay at the beginning of your next waking shift, and will do so every day until I instruct you otherwise.” The chief apothecary ordered, calling in two more of his fellow medical professionals. “The substance you consumed has… Comes from a unique source, but… Could potentially be very beneficial, if what the tests I have run on that substance hold true.”

“Yes sir…” Each of the four aspirants answered with an obedient nod, following after the chief apothecary, uncertainty pulling at their hearts.

~

“My liege, here are the results of the test that we have performed on the… Substance you’ve been able to produce for the past week. Additionally, These are the reports on the four Aspirants who got into the medical laboratory that held the liquid and each drank half a bottle of the substance.” Asterios reported to his Primarch, setting down the reports on the other’s desk. 

Guilliman’s eyes looked up at him, from where he had been studying recent battlefield reports on the eastern front against the Tyranid fleet, along with the reports of Eldar raiders and T’au encroachment. One of his hands had come up to rub absent-mindedly at his aching chest. He was currently out of the Armor of fate - as its additional bulk and weight caused his nipples to constantly weep the warp-cursed substance into his body-glove, and while the recycling system within the armor dealt with the liquid in the same way it dealt with his normal bodily fluids… Guilliman had decided to instead wear more casual clothes. At least, while he was upon Maccrage’s Honor. 

The Ultramarine blue toga was made of reinforced clothing that could withstand small to medium lasgun fire and every kind of bladed weapon available in the Imperium. But the cloth was much lighter against his aching chest, and its removal while he rid himself of the fluid that collected in his pectoral muscles was much, much easier than getting in and out of the chest plates of the armor of fate over a dozen times in a day. 

“Thank you for the reports. I thought that the tentative trials on the effects of this… Substance with others was to start with the captive renegade astartes held in the brig, not with aspirants of the chapter?” Father asked as he set down the report he’d been reading through and reached out for the lab results.

“As I mentioned earlier, sir. Four aspirants snuck into the laboratory that held some of the fluid you’ve been secreting. They apparently could smell the scent of the fluid and were drawn to it, my lord.” Asterios explains, keenly aware of the fact that his gene-sire was juggling much and may not have caught all of what he had said the first time that he had said it. “And as you can see, based on the results so far… The… Ah… Substance has high nourishing factors for Aspirants. Based on not only how the four aspirants were fairing before they consumed the… Substance, and after, along with how they compare to their peers, after they have been taking the substance for several weeks.”

“... I see. Have there been any signs that the substance potentially weakens the mind or will to the effects of Warp or The Arch-Enemy? Do they show any increased risks for potential mutations?” Guilliman asked. He remembered better the… Encounter he had with the entity that had gifted him with the ability to create breast milk in the first place.

Roboute found himself in a light and airy temple. Beautifully painted frescos depicting scenes of life, birth and the creation of such for animals, plants and humans scrolled across the walls. Despite the graphic nature of the artistry, it was surprisingly tasteful. Sunlight, golden and warm shone through the colored glass on the eastern side of the temple.

Flowers of every type and description grew in carefully maintained planters that surrounded the circular antechamber that Roboute found himself on the outer edges of. In the middle of the large room was a tall, radiant figure whose face was obscured by the burning golden sun behind them.

He did not know how he came to this place, and the air had a thick, not-quite-there quality to it that his dreams… And occasional visions of places that never quite were, or once had been did. The being in front of him shone with a lavender-pink light. 

The lord-commander of the Imperium cleared his throat and asked “Where am I? Who are you? Why have I been brought here?”

“Peace, Son of Anathema. I mean you no harm, nor your sons, nor the mortals aiding you. You did me a tremendous kindness, by routing the ever-hungering swarm from the worlds I care for. You work so tirelessly, and have so many children to care for. I cannot do much, but I give you a small gift. The ability to feed the many sons you care for.” The Lavender-pink entity murmured, walking towards Guilliman.

“And if I refuse this gift?” The Regent asked, taking a half-step backwards before viridian vines bound his feet and legs in place, his arms locked behind his body.

“Come now. I can see into your hearts. You dearly, desperately wish to provide for those whom you love. To eventually live a life of peace and prosperity. While I cannot grant you that, I can grant you a measure of ability to nourish and strengthen your many sons.” The being murmured, their voice a sweet-hypnotizing choir of birds and bells. They reach out and touch his forehead in benediction, even as the ever-burning golden sun flares bright and hot, searing some of the outermost plants.

The entity sighs, shaking it’s veiled face “Your Father is quite possessive, Son of Anathema. But as I do not seek to harm or kill you, He cannot reach me in the seat of my power. This blessing I bestow upon you, Roboute Guilliman, Thirteenth son of Neoth. Of Humanity. Go forth and feed your children.”

He had blinked and found himself again in the ruins of the world that he had been fighting with his sons by his side and the astra millitarum supporting them. He had thought it a hallucination, or a brief, waking dream as he had been waiting for a report and had closed his eyes for a couple of moments to center himself as the last of the Tyranids had been killed and burned.

Roboute was… Fairly certain that had actually happened, given the sheer volume of fluid he was creating. While not enough to feed every single Astartes who claimed to be of his gene-line, he had filled enough containers to have roughly three gallons of the fluid available for consumption every day, since the fluid had started to leave his body. The primarch hoped that the fluid volume would not increase, as his chest and nipples already ached quite a bit as it was.

“I see. Please continue to monitor the four aspirants along with the rest of their cohort. If it proves that this… Fluid does continue to have such a marked positive effect upon them. I…” Guilliman sighed. It felt ridiculous to say outside, but if these results held true, he couldn’t ignore how useful the substance would be in lowering the rates of surgical rejection and mortality rates of aspirants “May authorize wider-spread use of the fluid in assisting the Aspirants, at least in the days following their surgeries, to better increase the odds of successful implantation and integration of the new organs and glands into their bodies during the process of becoming an Astartes.”

“... If I may speak frankly, my lord?” Asterios asked, waiting patiently for his lord father’s response.

“Yes, you may.” Father responded with a small wave of his hand.

“I feel that to do a proper study, more aspirants would need to be put on the warp-enhanced breast milk, sire. That way we would have a larger sample size, as four individuals is not nearly a large enough for a proper medical study for a substance like this.” Asterios paused for a couple of moments, steeling himself before charging onwards. Courage and honor. Even as his Primarch watched him with an inscrutable face and Sicarius vibrated silently at his left shoulder “I would also recommend we send samples off to close allied non-Guilliman line Marines for study in how their aspirants respond to the fluid as well, if possible. I would not inform them of… Of the precise origin of the fluid of course. Merely that it is an experimental supplement to be used in testing to see if it is beneficial to aspirants during their transition to Astartes, my lord.”

“... While your suggestion has merit, I am unsure if there will be enough to do a full medical study for multiple chapters of astartes. I am… Also concerned that… As this… Ability to produce breast milk was forced upon me by a Warp Entity, that there may be… Darker or Chaotic long-term effects that off-set the short-term positive benefits that we are currently beginning to see.” Roboute answered after several long moments of contemplation “There is also the fact that none of us are certain how long the breast milk can last before it sours. Or if it is Warp-touched to the point where it cannot be affected by normal bacteria. Which would raise other concerns.”

“As you say, my lord. Do I have your permission to do a study on our own aspirants, my lord? I will ensure that all proper safety protocols will be followed and ensure that they are monitored spiritually by both a chaplain and one of the Librarius.” Asterios asked, waiting patiently for a response.

“... You do.” Guilliman answered, sighing internally. If the warp-milk truly could do what the initial results were saying it could… It would lower the rejection and death rates of Aspirants significantly… At least for those of his own gene-line. 

“Thank you, my lord. I will send you weekly updates on how the participants of the study are doing, until they become full battle brothers. Or their autopsy reports, should they fail the process, my lord.” Asterios murmured, saluting his gense-sire. He paused to pick up the filled containers of warp-milk at the edge of the room before leaving. He would ensure that it would be a double-blind medical study for the aspirants involved, to hopefully not skew the data one way or the other.

[auroragehenna]

How about an ask for your OC soup bingo?

Non-con body mod

with Harmonia and Electra

Would that be something?

Have fun with that!

Non-con Body Modification

OC soup Bingo

Harmonia had never moved much in her sleep. Not when she was still living with her stuck-up family, not during her time working as a hit-woman and not now, being prisoner of a demon. She lay rolled together near the fireplace. Despite the fire burning 24/7 she never seemed to be able to warm up. Goosebumps and stiffness always being a part of her body. Just as now the fresh bruises, cuts and scars from Electra‘s lightning strikes. Her face was the only thing that truly seemed relaxed as she slept. Beautiful brown wings covering her body, trying desperately to warm it. Subconsciously the muscles stretched, reaching for the warmth of the crackling flames. A little further. Just a little more.

A scream tore through the stone cell room as Harmonia jerked out of her sleep and away from the glowing embers. Panting heavily she pressed her burned wing close to her body.

Then she heard footsteps echo across the king‘s blue marble floor outside her cell room door.

Oh no no no no no no! She can‘t see this, no no! I’ve only gotten a few hours of sleep after the last torture!

Quickly she scrambled back stretching her wings out behind her despite the pain. She needed a story. Now!

| Electra sighed as she stopped in front of her newest doll‘s room and unlocked it. She had only just put her to bed a couple hours before. Hoping to encounter nothing more during her patrol. But alas let‘s see what it was. |

Harmonia had started shaking when she heard the sound or the door unlocking. Which was so twisted-she should be happy to be let our of her prison room…

„My dear doll, what‘s going on? I heard a scream.“, the demoness asked sternly.

The angel gulped and straightened her back. Meeting the demon‘s gaze. „I just had a nightmare and got scared, I apologize for screaming.“

Electra cocked an eyebrow. „I also heard metal clanking. You‘re not by any chance lying to me, are you, doll?“, she asked, threat lacing her stern composed words.

Harmonia‘s wings flapped, a nervous tick she couldn’t control as usual. „N-No. I hit my wing on the metal gate of the fireplace in the process but I didn‘t damage it, I promise!“, she explained hastily. Not a complete lie…

As those gorgeous fluffy feathers of her doll rustled the demoness‘s eyes snapped to the wingtips. Completely by accident, instinct. And only for a moment but that was enough. Something was wrong. Determined she stepped forward.

The angel scrambled further back as her captor stepped forth and pulled her wings back, framing her body, to seem more intimidating. Ready to fight. But by doing so she also revealed the charred feathers. Realizing it far too late.

The demon‘s silvery blue eyes grew even colder as far as that was even possible. „So you did lie to me…I’m too tired to be mad, but I am disappointed.“

Ouch! Why did that hurt? Maybe because it sounded like my mother. My entire family for that matter. Disappointed. And now she was gonna get hurt again. Harmonia dropped her head, gaze getting fixed onto the stone floor.

„Now let‘s take care of those burned feathers.“, Electra spoke again. Very much noticing her angels hurt behaviour. It was good progress.

Harmonia‘s head snapped up. What!? „It‘s alright, I can take care of them they‘re only a bit charred. And I don‘t want to keep you up!“ I don‘t want you near my wings!!

„Nonsense it‘ll heal a lot nicer if I’m doing it. You don‘t have magic.“

As if I needed a reminder of that. But she submitted to her fate and relaxed her wings, laying them bare for Electra.

„Don‘t worry, I‘ll be gentle.“ She smiled at Harmonia as she sat down next to her on the stone floor. Legs splayed out legerly, as if this was some elegant couch and not bare, dusty stone. Carefully she let her fingers dance over the injured wing tips, as if she was playing a harp.

Slowly but surely the char residue on them started to disappear and the burn in the muscles and the thin skin over them relaxed and cooled down.

The angel couldn’t help it when a groan of relief escaped her lips.

Electra chuckled. „Feels good, doesn‘t it, my dear doll? It could be like this a lot more, you know? If you would just..let me.“, she explained. Purposely underlining her words by stroking some of the sensitive, uninjured feathers on the side. A checking side glance told her that her doll had closed her eyes.

The wings were healing well and Electra would have no issue healing them completely-making them appear the exact same as they had looked before. But where would be the profit in that. So she purposely healed them so it would leave messy-ugly scars. When she was done she pulled her girl closer into her lap and hugged her, being gracious with warmth and gentleness. It would surely go a long way. „I can‘t fully heal it in a way that would leave no scars unfortunately. But I do know a way to take care of the scars that would make them less bad. Less of a reminder for both of us, don‘t you think?“, the demoness asked her angel. Nodding down at her.

Harmonia still had her eyes closed. Pressed close by now actually. She didn‘t want to see-didn‘t want to acknowledge that the one giving out this gentle touch and taking care of her was the same one that had tortured her only hours prior. She didn‘t want anything done to her wings. Angel wings aren‘t meant to be toyed with, ever! But she didn‘t want to argue, didn‘t want to lose this gentle touch and warmth. She was so exhausted. It would probably really be better for both of them. So still with closed eyes she nodded.

„Use your words, my doll. I don‘t want to accidentally hurt you because you were unclear.“, Electra gently warned her. Voice by no means matching the sadistic grin that adorned her lips as she looked down at her doll. It‘s not like she had to hide it right now.

Harmonia wanted to die inside. Maybe she already had. „Can you please. take care of the scars on my wings…?“

„Of course I can, my dearest.“, Electra agreed delighted. Giving Harmonia a kiss on her pink wild hair. Then she went back to dancing her fingertips over Harmonia‘s wings. Making it feel oh so good as she itched the pattern into the wings. Gold markings, lines and stains seemingly randomly stretching out over the whole wing-both of them. Covering up the scars and turning the beautifully unique wings into an even bigger art piece. As if somebody poured gold into the cracks. The same way she had done with her floors whenever they had cracked. So Harmonia knew she never had to be worried about imperfections as long as she tried to avoid them. As long as she came to her to let her help. And admit that she wanted her help.

Eventually after she had already been done with marking the wings and had just continued petting them her doll had fallen back asleep in her lap. This was so much progress that the demoness decided not to wake her. She called for a maid to bring her pillows and blankets and so they both stayed like that for the rest of the night…

In the morning Harmonia slowly awoken to somebody touching her hair. Groggily she jerked away and tried to scramble out of reach but a gentle but firm arm wrapped around her waist and pinned her where she was. „Now now, no need to panic it‘s only me“ Electra‘s voice sneaked itself though her ears and Harmonia shivered upon hearing it. As if that‘s in any way reassuring! The demoness informed her that she had stayed with her after fixing her wings, as she had fallen asleep. Right. My wings. How are the-She had pulled her wings fourth to look at them and her breath caught in her throat. The brown, HER brown was laced with gold specks and lines! It was so..different!

„Do you like it?“, Electra asked, smiling down at her doll sweetly.

I HATE it. She thought. Take it away, take it away, get it off of me. Those are my wings, mine. What did you do to them!? But she couldn‘t show her emotions, she‘d only get in trouble again. So she gulped down the vomit and tears. All the hurt and how violated she felt. „It‘s beautiful and I can‘t see the scars anymore. Thank you.“, she managed to coax out. Voice rough from sleep and emotions.

Electra wound a hand through her dolls hair and cupped her cheek. „You very welcome, my dearest. Now you should get ready and so must I. I shall tend to you later.“, she said as she stood up. Leaving the room to see after her other dolls.

Harmonia kept sitting. She had nowhere to go until the maid came for her. She couldn’t cry, didn‘t feel that she had the right to either. After all she agreed to it! But it didn‘t change how it felt inside, didn‘t change that she hated it more than she would have hated the scars. That she wanted to tear the markings off her wings. Her wings HER wings. That didn‘t feel like her wings anymore. That she wanted to tear them off her back. She felt sick.

[disaster-fruit]

For the ship asks, songxiao and chengqing?

Tragic mood today I see

ChengQing

Ship It!

1. What made you ship it?

I only watched The Untamed (so far) so at first I found them cute with their little tension and yearning around each other, but what got me was the marriage proposal scene

2. What are your favorite things about the ship?

The “one that got away” energy all over them, the way they were what each other wanted but could not the person the other needed. I don’t remember exactly how the dialogue goes, but when JC asks her why she asked for WWX’s help instead of his, and she answers by questioning if he would’ve done what WWX did? Yeah. Yeah that.

3. Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship?

Funny enough, I don’t much care about the whole golden core transfer thing. Not story-wise or character-wise, but as “the intimacy of being under your surgery knife” doesn’t really captivate me as much as it does other people.

Songxiao

Ship It!

1. What made you ship it?

THE scene of all time, the moment xingchen feels fuxue and grabs it until his hand bleeds and is struck by grief so desperate he immediately kills himself. It was the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen and I am NOT kidding

Also the visuals of the two swords on song lan’s back really sold it for me it destroys me every time.

2. What are your favorite things about the ship?

Imagine love and devotion so strong it dooms you both for eternity? So much of their tragedy was caused because they loved each other more than all else. If they loved each other any less they might have both survived.

I’m also weak for “special two” kinda of ships, pair so close and in-sync they can’t and shouldn’t be understood separately, and yet… they separate, and it’s tragic. They thought they would spend the rest of their lives together, and how cruel, how sad, to know how wrong they were. At the end, there’s nothing left of their dreams and legend. And song lan needs to carry that pain and grief for an immortal life, which just makes it so much more tragic than if he had just died. They’re SO tragic and that makes me wanna eat fix-it’s for breakfast

3. Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship?

I feel like we moved on too fast from the absolute HORROR that the eye-gift thing is. It’s….. it’s such an immense violation to do to someone??? Xingchen did something inconceivably cruel to song lan out of LOVE, out of his endless boundless love, and it just makes it all insane and I’m CRAZY for it, and I feel the horror and hurt is honestly played down in most fics. Maybe because Song Lan himself doesn’t conceptualize it as a cruelty… because… he’s absolutely in love with xingchen as well… Which I think just proves my point and we should be going more feral about it (affectionated)

Send me a Ship

[cyberrat]

89th Batch Of Fics: 20th Fill

Tim Drake/OC – Milky Verse – Gotham Timeline – Part 82 – noncon/dubcon; dark verse; forced body modification – Milk Man finally makes an appearance but Tim would rather he stay far, far away from him.

---

Tim is trying to fight it but his own body is betraying him. Try as he might, he just can’t shake himself out of the odd cotton-y sensation that has enveloped him. He’s not even thinking any thoughts; not really. All that does happen is he is feeling things, all of them unpleasant, and all of them centering around the fact that he’s getting his mouth held closed while it is filled with the slime.

The ache has subsided almost immediately, replaced with an odd hypersensitive tingling that has his cock lifting like the stupid, brainless thing that it is.

He doesn’t want to swallow the slime. It tastes just like it smells: sweet and overwhelmingly fruity. His stomach roils, clenching hard enough that some of the goop actually is dribbling out from his nose and starting to choke him.

Tim lifts his hands, intent on clawing at Ned’s arm to rip his hand off his mouth but all that he manages is to vaguely hold on to it.

“...What is happening here?”

Ned’s hand vanishes. Tim leans forward and opens his mouth. He does not puke; the whole mess just simply falls out of him as he starts to catch his breath. Then the voice registers and his eyes flick up to stare at the Milk Man.

He’s an odd little man. Short and skinny in a way that Ned is huge and hulking. He has a mild-mannered, kind of sharp face that reminds Tim of a rodent because he does not want to admit that the bastard is handsome. He does not want to admit any positive qualities. Like that he looks very put together and his dark eyes have a way of looking sympathetic as if it wasn’t him specifically that put Tim and the other calves through this ordeal.

He doesn’t want to admit that his words have a habit of getting under his skin. That he’s effortlessly charming and that it doesn’t surprise him that a fucking idiot like Ned would follow him into this whole mess. (Nevermind that he must be paying his idiot goon cold, hard cash.)

Tim tries to say something but his mouth still isn’t operating quite like it should be and his body is actively struggling against him trying to pull himself out of this odd headspace.

Ned is gesturing a bit helplessly at him with one of his large hands. He gives off the air of a child trying to tell their parent that they weren’t the one responsible for whatever fuck-up happened.

“I put him in the new machine and he got himself so worked up, he started bitin’ his tongue off.”

Milk Man frowns. He looks thoughtful, not moving an inch from his space right inside the door. He has his hands folded behind his back and while Tim is reasonably sure he does not have a weapon back there, he still feels threatened. He can’t help it.

“I see. He acts very… odd right now, though, doesn’t he?” Milk Man says with that gentle cadence. He looks like he is worried and Tim feels sick. He gathers more of his saliva and spits it out on the ground because it still tastes like that slick. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to eat fruity treats again – but the ache in his mouth has miraculously vanished.

“Yeah,” Ned confirms, scratching the back of his head. “He just kinda stopped all of a sudden? Got all… uh… soft.”

That for some reason makes Milk Man’s face light up. His mouth stretches into a wide grin, dark eyes flicking from Ned to Tim who shies away before he can force himself to stay still and stoic.

He frowns, annoyed with his own treacherous body.

Milk Man finally takes a step forward. He pulls his arms from behind him and gestures in the air, clearly excited by the development as he says: “Is that so? Fascinating. Wonderful! Did you use any of the trigger phrases?”

“Uh no. Kinda didn’t have much time to implement ‘em yet? Don’t think he’d react to ‘em much.”

The ratty face lights up in excitement, dark eyes glittering as he rushes forward, his arms outstretched like he wants to pull Tim into a hug.

Tim, despite the softness that has enveloped the edges of his brain, recoils, his arms coming up in defense. Still, Milk Man grasps him by the shoulders, his hands overly warm on his skin as he affectionately squeezes him and leans down until Tim can see that there are goddamn freckles on his nose.

He hates them. He hates them and he hates this goddamn asshole that looks so excited it makes him twenty years younger.

“You wonderful, wonderful cow-to-be! You are exactly what I am talking about here! This ease with which your body complies to its natural conclusion! It is yearning for its ideal state of being; so much so that it puts you into a subspace simply for finally getting offered what it needs to change. No-” he corrects himself, frowning as his gaze slides away from Tim and up above his head. He’s staring into the middle distance as he slowly rights himself back up, his hands still grasping a hold of Tim’s shoulders. “It’s not a change. It is a… it is a development. You and all those other wonderful calves. You all already have inside you what you need to become more. To become whole.”

Tim presses his lips into a tight line. He wants to jerk his arms up and knock the disgusting hands off of himself, but his body is too sluggish for anything so grandiose. Instead he just weakly pushes Milk Man off and the other, too caught up in his own fantasy, lets it happen.

“You are insane.” His voice is more steady than he thought it would be. The words sound so garbled in his head that he does not think they will even be understandable, but the serene expression on Milk Man’s face shifts a little and he finally glances at Tim’s eyes instead of just his general… everything.

“Pardon?”

Tim swallows. He pushes himself into a bit more of an upright position from the slump he had been in, though that very distractingly rubs his ass against the hard bench he’s on. His hole feels perversely swollen, the puffy rim and insides prickling still from the slick clinging to him.

“You are holding us all against our will. You are doing something wrong and you don’t even realize it. So you are insane. And, like every other insane, evil fuck, you’ll get what’s coming to you. Sooner or later. Batman-” now it is his turn to bite his lips and shut the fuck up, a sick feeling of shame curling through his abdomen and settling up high in his chest.

Milk Man looks intrigued. “I am not hurting anybody. The only people hurting here are you calves. You hurt yourself. Both literally-” he gestures at Tim’s current position and the blood still caked to his chest and chin, “-as well as simply by being born this way and not getting the needed help to realize your full potential.”

He looks sympathetic then. Honestly sad.

“Batman sees it, too. The work I am doing. Or else he would be here right now, right? Yes. Just… relax and accept.”

Tim, stewing in anger, would never.

[writing-and-art]

#8

context: chuuya is captured by the evil government and surgically fused with hunks of metal to form a vaguely humanoid robot. dazai attempts a rescue mission but arrives too late -

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m so so so sorry.”

Slurred words broken by hiccups. Voices cracked from tears cleaning the dirt marks off his face.

This is what heartbreak feels like:

A tearing, a shattering. You’re there and then you’re not.

Cracked brown and blue eyes made of glass stare blankly up at him, a poor attempt to mimic what had once been so achingly bright and full of life.

Humans are hardwired to be cautious and unnerved by humanoid figures. Most feel a visceral feeling of discomfort comes from looking at a perceived fake. 

Chuuya is wrong (wrong, wrong, wrong) His eyes are cracked and made of glass, one blue and one brown. His fingertips have been rid of any prints, replaced by a disgusting rubbery material instead.

What is considered a human? A basic level of empathy? A moral compass? Or something else altogether. Whatever it is, Dazai isn’t quite sure Chuuya possesses it anymore.

Hands covered with sticky red blood, he sits there, numb, eyes wide and face frozen in an almost comical look of horror.

This is what heartbreak is:

Disbelief, grief, and then nothing at all.

[overlyenthusiasticfictionreader]

Breaking Groundbreaker

I've really enjoyed playing Techtonica, it's really kind of relaxing and satisfying, not scary at all. But one day I got to thinking about how the Groundbreaker is stuck in their suit, and they can't touch anyone, and they can't talk to anyone, and I started having existential-crisis-feelings. So I wrote a little thing!

The link in the title goes to AO3, but you can read it here too!

Summary: You are the Groundbreaker. You are now in a situation that seems designed to break you.

Story below the read-more!

When you first wake, Sparks is the first thing you hear, cheerfully determined to set you up for success so that you can go rescue the mission’s team members together. She walks you through placing your first machines, gathering resources… She is a constant, friendly presence.

When you find her deceased body (still in her suit), you despair. Is she gone already? But there is a perfect golden cube next to the body, and her voice is still in your ear: she is still here (alive?), and you are not alone. You take her with you everywhere you go. ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- As you traverse the caverns of Calyx, Sparks shares her memories, triggered every time you come upon equipment or locations or campsites. She shares names of coworkers and work details.

You don’t remember any of these things. Nothing triggers a flashback or a moment of déjà vu. It’s like you were frozen the entirety of the Calyx mission, and you were never part of the team. ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- After you learn that you can’t remove your suit without the code from someone higher up in the bureaucracy, you start to absently test the connection points of your suit, gently rubbing at the locations that should part to allow you to remove the suit. It only happens when you have time to think, which is not often at the beginning of things. ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- You don’t feel much inside your suit. It is designed to protect you, and it does its job admirably. If you bump into something as you go about your day, you notice because your trajectory changes or you stop moving, not because you felt the contact.

You squeeze the arm of your suit with one hand as hard as you can, to see if you can feel anything. Maybe… you squeeze the leg of your suit with both hands, and convince yourself that you felt the difference in pressure. ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- You have very limited options for communication with Sparks. Your radio only allows you to hear her, you can’t speak back. Your suit is bulky and dense, only the most rough and obvious pantomimes can convey information. If you knew a sign language you would not be able to use it as the fingers of the gloves you wear are too thick to bend much. You both make do. ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- Food and water is a concern early on. If you can’t remove your suit, eventually you must die. But you are never thirsty, and hunger does not bother you. You never feel the need to eliminate (do you even need to?)

It’s fine though. The one who locked you in this suit must have planned for this (why would anyone plan for this? why would they do this to you). You must be getting liquid nutrients from an IV in the suit, and a catheter must take care of the liquid waste. ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- Finding Paladin is a mixed blessing.

On one hand, finding anyone else on Calyx is amazing. Considering how far afield you have wandered without any evidence that anyone is still alive (still embodied? uncubed?) is doubly amazing. Finding someone high enough up in the hierarchy to have relevant codes and knowledge of emergency procedures is frankly improbable.

On the other hand… Paladin is focused on the mission objectives more than the people sent to Calyx to accomplish the mission. His perspective is important, the people on Earth are important. But you alone cannot fulfill the mission objective that thousands of people came here to accomplish (you are only human).

In the beginning, when you were alone, when you only had Sparks, there was some joy and satisfaction in completing a production circuit or increasing efficiency or straightening out a snag in the production line. Simple things that don’t require introspection.

There is less joy in the work now, and satisfaction gives way to monotony. ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- You’ve never seen a human before. You wonder how you know what a human should be like, when your memory is gone and the closest you’ve been to a human body is the corpses of your companions inside their own suits.

You think you are human, but you’ve never seen your own body, stuck in the suit as you are. The polarized glass of your helmet doesn’t let you view yourself in a reflective surface. You’ve tried to use the inside of the helmet to catch a reflection, but the light is never quite right.

Maybe you are a type of highly compressed plant matter! Your attempt at humor fails to elicit a laugh from yourself. Plants are the only other living things you have seen on Calyx (are your companion cubes alive?) ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- Sparks and Paladin as cubes provide an interesting conundrum. Obviously they have no hands to use for tasks and no feet to carry them to another location. You are their hands and their feet, their arms and legs.

But Sparks was able to speak to you from her underground location. She knew you were there to talk to at all. That speaks to some kind of external awareness, and possibly the ability to use radio waves to communicate or sense their surroundings? Possibly only in proximity to radio equipment (her body, her suit was right next to her)?

Paladin was not able to reach out to you from his location, and was farther from equipment (his suit, his body) when you found him, but once you picked him up Paladin had no issues speaking his mind and directing your path forward.

You carry both Sparks and Paladin with you now, wherever you go, always. They have no trouble talking to you or to each other.

You are glad that Sparks and Paladin are not the strong and silent types, that they will voice their thoughts and concerns to you. It fills the silence. You can hear yourself talk inside the suit, but your colleagues can’t hear you and you don’t want to miss anything they might have to say: you are mostly silent inside your suit. ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- Statistically speaking, you are probably human. The only sentient and sapient beings you have encountered so far were once human (are they still human now?), why would you doubt that you are human? ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- The higher up the tech tree you get, the more complicated the equipment you can fabricate. It is necessary to meet the production quotas left behind by the original mission parameters, but it does slow down your progress. Making 500 of a small component to fabricate one of a larger component is definitely a hurdle.

The downtime gives you plenty of space to think. The connection points of your suit begin to show some scratches and shiny spots. ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- If things had gone as planned, would you have ever met Sparks or Paladin? The thought pains you, but also you know these are extreme circumstances and maybe all of you are not building the healthiest relationships at the moment.

Would you have returned to Earth without ever stepping foot on Calyx (why would you agree to that?)? Are you part of some sort of contingency plan? ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- You feel like you’ve been on Calyx for millennia. You’re not sure if that’s because you may actually have been here for millennia (you remember the boulder that slowly crushed the hab that should have been sheltered by its Protection Zone) or if you simply don’t have enough memories for the time you’ve been awake to scale correctly.

The fact that you can’t have nuanced conversations with your companions doesn’t help. You find your mind drifting, allowing Paladin and Sparks to direct your work. You are the body, they are the impetus. It’s disturbing, but you can’t just put them down and walk away (you can’t escape), that would be inhumane.

But everyday begins to feel the same, and there is little to keep you mind engaged. The production quotas are endless, and it is monotonous. That is probably why it feels like you have been here an eternity.

[samanddean76]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Supernatural (TV 2005) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Gabriel/Lucifer (Supernatural), Gabriel & Sam Winchester Characters: Gabriel (Supernatural), Lucifer (Supernatural), Sam Winchester Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Gabriel (Supernatural), Alpha Lucifer (Supernatural), Alpha Sam Winchester, Revenge, Or Justice, Omega Dominates Alpha, Body Modification, Cock Cages, Hitchhiking, Top Gabriel (Supernatural), Bottom Lucifer (Supernatural), Non-Graphic Violence, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con Series: Part 4 of OmegaVerse Week 2024 Summary:

Omega Gabriel found himself with a once in a lifetime opportunity presented to him and he decides to make Alpha Lucifer pay for every wrong he had ever committed against the Omega.

@spnkinkevents @spnrareships

[starppleb]

Why are there 0 Non-Consensual Body Modification fics for Barbie fandom?

(if I get the Non-Con-Body-Modif tag wrong as a story base, I'm so sorry)

[walks-the-ages]

If anyone is wondering, the-cybersmith, aka the infamous "human pet guy" made a post where he graphically described body modifications done to an imagined "human pet" which include surgical hobbling so they are forced to crawl "not by choice", the removal of vocal cords, ""neutering"" with that specific word choice, and a variety of other things, while arguing that bringing such a sex slave to a public restaurant with his wife and family should be normal and not an issue.

There's screenshots of the post in the notes of this one, but its a horrifying read especially with this man still trying to justify it as a real life scenario he wants to pull in 2024.

He's also pretty insistent on putting it on all of these joke posts (like OP of this post) and trying to get people to genuinely interact with his premise as though it is something deadly serious and genuinely a debate -- and *not* in the way that everyone is rightfully horrified by his insisting this is something he should be able to publicly do and if you don't like that "you're a prude".

EDIT: he's also a huge Trump supporter, a really weird gross transmisogynist fetishist, is pro-ai, and a whole bunch of other vile shit. If you haven't blocked him already, do so, and make sure you filter his URL under blog settings.

so ur at the party right and there’s this girl in the corner with another girl on a leash with the puppy ears on standard stuff and u start talking to her and she introduces the girl on the leash and says “this is my little puppy, Emily. say hi Emily” and the leash girl does a little bark at u and u say “oh that’s nice” and ur looking for a way to avoid the awkward silence during a 4 second period that feels like a half hour so u ask “does she know any tricks?” so the girl says “come on girl, show ‘em” and the puppy girl gets up pulls out a skateboard and starts doing the sickest kick flips u ever saw

[brightestorangedawn]

fuck it, Vader's getting brought back wrong

Chapters: 1/?

Rating: E

Characters: Sidious, Darth Vader, Padmé Amidala, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Luke Skywalker

Relationships: Sidious & Vader, Vader/Padmé, Luke & Vader

Warnings: violence, body-horror, non-consensual body modification

Summary: Vader dies on Mustafar. Sidious brings him back to life. Things go very badly after that.

[ilium-ilia]

john price x fem!reader | word vomit | drabble | dub-con/non-con | smut | unhinged price | unreliable narrator | unedited | don't poke the bear, love

You should've known better.

Strange men with debauched desires lurk in all rancid corners of the internet waiting for the right moment to prey on something as sweet as you. You—all soft smiles and head tilts, eyes shining as you listen to him ramble about all the work he's put into all while beaming about how well he did and how it will make the perfect commuter car for work. He can't help but think how stupid it is of you to come here to meet him alone, at his house, dressed like this. Shorts that expose enough skin to beat the heat and a tank top to match—body glistening with perspiration.

John realizes that you're smart. You know well enough to talk him up about all modifications that were made, and remember the milage for this model off the top of your head. You speak eloquently. Well educated. When he asks you where you work, you're not smart enough to give him a fake answer.

You're not smart enough to deny him when he offers you a drink of water inside of his house, either.

(Just to cool you down, love).

Beads of water on delicious lips, he leans against the counter as he listens to you ramble. Never once does he ask for you to open up, but you split yourself anyway. Tender flesh peeling back like the skin of an orange. It rolls. Flakes off. Advertises your juicy insides to a man who's dying of thirst.

He'll teach you to be better. That's what he tells himself, anyway. He'll show you how to push someone away when their fingers brush against your bare shoulder, not lean into the warmth like you are now. Mindlessly, you look up at him. Your lips are still wet enough for him to lick them and be satiated—hydrated fully well off of mere dew alone. Your eyes lock onto him, and your lips grow tighter.

Don't you know any better? Don't you know that you're advertising ripe meat in front of a very hungry creature?

No—maybe you do.

Maybe that's why you don't put up much of a fight when he presses your hips into the counter and snakes his thumbs beneath the waistband of your shorts. Maybe that's why your whining is quiet and pitchy as he yanks them down, arse fully exposed. Maybe it's why your tears fall silently as he grinds against your cunt.

(Stupid girl. Don't you know that you shouldn't play with wild animals?)

As he feeds his cock into you—inch by aching inch—he grunts about the rules. His rules. The ones you're going to follow from here on out. No being alone with strange men. Only show your teeth when you're ready to bite or be bitten (really, a smile is nothing more than a poorly hidden growl, after all). Most importantly be smart—smarter than this.

Fingers curling into your hips, he chuckles as you reach behind yourself, nails scraping poorly against his stomach, unable to break any skin through the cotton of his shirt. How cute you are. Little rabbit wandering into the bear's den and wondering why she's being bitten.

Then, hips stilling, he spills into you. Cock pulsing inside of you, your pules only grow stronger as he keeps himself buried deep inside of you. Warm, frothy cum spills out of you, seeping around where he plugs you full. He tells himself he'll teach you better than to allow that to happen, too.

"You know love..." He's tracing your spine. Bear-claw finger raking down your skin, one step away from a razor sharp enough to cut your clothes from your body. You quiver, rabbit-flesh sobbing beneath his touch. "If you wanted me, all you had to do was ask."

[just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi]

What would you do with Erebus and Castys idc what state they're in when i come back to pick them up bye

Erebus gets a good old fashioned beating!!! Because why not he can’t stop me!! Not anything that is sharp enough to break the skin like a whip but something just leaves bruises of all colors all over his skin. Makes him weak and sore and still. So cute.

Castys gets a bath some horrifying implants of some kind. Like a shock collar attached to his spine that would be awesome.

[yandere-daydreams]

file #4: the body mod fic.

part of the FREAK SHIT MARCH evidence packet.

pairing: yandere!wriothesley x reader (genshin).

length: 3.1k.

warnings: non/con touching + groping, nonconsensual piecing, dubiously consensual tattoos, permanent body modification, intimidation, needles, obsessive behavior, and unbalanced power dynamics.

“Just one?”

The question had been hushed, meek, directed more towards your lap than the man sitting across from you. The warden – Wriothesley, you chided yourself, biting the inside of your cheek and attempting to remember what he’d asked you to call him, Wriothesley – broke into a wry smile, but nodded, leaning back in his armchair. “Just one,” he reassured. “And you’ll taken care of until your release date.”

You didn’t respond, but he must’ve seen the way you paled at the suggestion. “Having second thoughts?”

“No, it’s just—” You grit your teeth. Your eyes flitted up momentarily, but fell back to your legs just as quickly. “I… I’ve never really liked needles, I guess.”

You could see his eyes light up, his grin broadening as he tried to stifle his laughter. You scowled, but couldn’t blame him. He was used to dealing with hardened criminals, the scum of Teyvat, thieves and spies and murderers, and here you were – on the verge of fainting because he asked you to get a tattoo. “I promise, you don’t have anything to worry about.” At least he was trying to sound comforting, even if it was clearly a half-hearted effort. “I’ll make sure you’re in good hands.”

And he had, in a way.

You just wished he would’ve mentioned that those hands would be his own.

Calloused fingertips dug into your bicep as a scarred palm pressed into your skin, keeping one of your arms loosely secured against the mattress of the cot while the other was pinned between the bedframe and his chest (the placement unintentional, or so you hoped). You’d been shaking when he brought out that terrible machine – a vial of dark ink trapped inside of a cage of copper and steel; a single, silver needle protruding out of one end and a leather grip wrapped around the other – but it’d only taken an hour for fear to fade into boredom, another for boredom to drag on into a rotting, discolored sort of exhaustion. For as much as you’d been dreading it, there was more pressure than pain. It was repetitive, if anything – a monotonous pierce, stab, pierce, stab that you could only try your best not to focus on. You could already feel an ache settling below the skin of your shoulder, already knew that you wouldn’t be able to lift your arm for days, but you tried not to—

His needle stabbed into the thin skin over your shoulder blade, and you couldn’t stop yourself – letting out a low hiss as you flinched into the cot’s thin mattress. You expected Wriothesley to laugh, to drag a damp cloth over the affected area and mutter something like ‘bear with me’ or ‘my bad, love, my bad’ like he had a dozen times before, but instead, there was a muffled click as he switched off his awful machine, a dull clatter as he dropped it onto a bedside table already crowded with bottles of disinfectant and the nurse’s bizarre tools. “We’ll stop here. It’ll take another session, but I think you’ve been through enough for one day. For a virgin, especially.”

You were only half-listening; the phantom of his machine still buzzing in your ears. “Are you sure?” You asked, trying to hide how desperate you were not to spend another night in the empty infirmary with a man you barely knew. “It’s not that bad, I can go for another—”

“I’m sure. Sit up, I’ll let you have a look.”

You pursed your lips, but didn’t protest. You could see how Wriothesley had gotten into such an authoritative position. The way he spoke, his constant undertone of stern stability – it was hard to so much as imagine talking back to him, let alone breaking one of the rules that’d been meticulously and painstakingly drilled into you when you’d arrived at the Fortress of Meropide a little under a week ago. Still, you’d been terrified – too scared to so much as speak to another prisoner for the first two days. You weren’t dangerous. You couldn’t hold your own in a fight, or protect yourself if someone else, someone stronger decided they had a problem with you. You could barely even call yourself a criminal, but apparently, the Iudex hadn’t agreed. You’d been on your way to the fortress before he could finish reading out your sentence, and now, you were trapped in the darkest, deepest place in all of Fontaine, alone and so, so painfully vulnerable. If it hadn’t been for Wriothesley, you probably would’ve requested to forgo your imprisonment entirely and be sent straight to the gallows.

A hand on your shoulder, a softened lull to his voice. “You can sit up, can’t you? I’ll have to call Sigewinne, if you’re in that much pain.”

“Right, I— uh, sorry,” You stammered as you shook your head and pushed yourself up, careful to keep the thick, overly starched cot sheet pressed to your chest. The infirmary was empty, the door locked and sealed, and while Wriothesley hadn’t seemed to think much of ordering you to take off your shirt and lay face-down, you couldn’t bring yourself to brush off the stark, damp chill that came with any amount of exposure in the fortress so easily. You guessed that, after enough time, you’d get used to it. You guessed that, when you did, the thought of not being so cold so constantly wouldn’t make you feel so sick. “I…  I think I’m still getting used to this,” you went on, with a strained smile. “Still a little out of it, I guess.”

“That’s alright, love. We all take a few months to find a way to cope.” When you glanced over your shoulder, there was already a mirror in his hand – a compact, small enough to fit in his palm. You had to crane your neck to see it, but Wriothesley knew how to strike the right angle, and soon enough, the sprawling, spiraling pattern stretching from the lower curve of your shoulder blade to the ball of your shoulder came into view. It took you a moment to make out the pattern, but relief accompanied the delayed realization. Lumidouce bells, all blossoming and linked together by a single vine. He’d finished the linework, and there was a smattering of color in the bottom corner – only, oh, he’d gotten the shade wrong. Rather than deep violet, he’d used a light blue, more similar to ice than the water nearly everything in Fontaine stole its palette from. Judging by his expression, though, all beaming pride and low-brewing mirth, he hadn’t caught the mistake. “What do you think? Don’t keep me in suspense, now.”

“It’s… nice,” you said, the sentiment sincere despite your hesitance. And then, laughing, “I was—Well, it feels a little silly now, but I was terrified you’d leave me with, I don’t know, a sea monster or a giant wolf or something.”

“Maybe next time. Not a wolf, though - you don’t strike me as that vicious.” You bit your tongue, forcing yourself not to tell him there wouldn’t be a next time and opting to focus on the soreness starting to knot in your shoulder, instead. You swung your legs over the side of the cot, moving towards where you’d left your shirt draped over an unopened crate, but Wriothesley caught your wrist, tugging you gently back onto the thin mattress. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, his playfulness suddenly more irritating than it had been, a few second ago. “I don’t think we’re finished, yet.”

Not for the first time, your smile wavered. “I… I thought we only agreed to one, sir.”

“Of course.” He squeezed your wrist teasingly. “One of each.”

Something heavy and spiked dropped into the pit of your stomach. This time, you couldn’t help the way your expression dropped. “Sir, that’s really not what I—”

“It’ll be worse the longer you put it off.” You weren’t dangerous. You weren’t a criminal. You weren’t strong, but Wriothesley was. Before you could so much as push yourself to your feet, his arm was around your waist and he was perched on the edge of the cot, one leg tucked underneath him to make more room for your body, soon pulled between his thighs. The back of your shoulder screamed where it pressed into his chest, but you managed to swallow the little, pitiful sound threatening to bubble past your lips and clung to your sheet – suddenly so much thinner than it’d seemed, seconds prior. If Wriothesley noticed your apparent panic, the distress of his prisoners was an inconvenience he was willing to endure. Only half-consciously, you tried to shove yourself away from him, but his muscle-bound arm was snaked around your waist before you could gain any distance, keeping you flush against his broad chest. He was so much bigger than you’d realized, when he was on the other side of that desk, when he was engraving something intrusive and permanent into the very fabric of your being. This had been a bad idea. Trusting anyone here had been a bad idea. You should never have—

Your elbow slammed into his diaphragm, and Wriothesley let out a slow grunt, his fingers burrowing into the plush of your side. “Easy now, love,” he half-muttered, half-breathed, bowing his head to speak into the side of your throat. “We had a deal, remember? Can you tell me what it was?”

“You—you said I wouldn’t get hurt if—” You forced yourself to stop, to swallow, to breathe. “But, I only agreed to get one tattoo, and you—”

“I said I’d take care of you. Get you a nice, cushy job with the fortress administrator, keep you out of any over-crowded bunks, make sure the other prisoners don’t cause you any trouble – that kind of thing. I’m really not supposed to play favorites, so even doing that much is going to take more than a little discretion on my part.”

“But, you offered to—”

“I said I’d take care of you, and I’m going to.” You could see him fishing something off of the bedside table with his free hand, but you forced yourself not to look, not to make the ever-growing pit in your stomach feel that much more hollow. “You’ve heard a few stories about what it’s like in the underworld, right? I try to keep all of you nice n’ safe, but a few are bound to fall through the cracks. Rehabilitation can only do so much and—well, I’m sure you know all about how bloodthirsty desperation can make someone.” There was a pause, an ebbing lull to the tenderness in his voice. “I’m just trying to keep you safe, sweetheart. Are you going to help me get a little practice in, while I do that?”

Practice. If he wanted practice, you were sure there were another hundred prisoners who’d willingly lay down and let him carve a hole through whatever he wanted to. Still, you did your best to calm yourself down, to stop thrashing, to shut your eyes and try to ignore the large, pulsing thing you could feel pressing into your ass. You didn’t nod, didn’t give him permission, but when his fist balled around the infirmary sheet and tugged it away from you, the only resistance you managed to scrape up was a slight frown and a wary glance in his direction. “You’re already in for a rough night,” he explained, as if that was any excuse. “Might as well get the hardest one out of the way first, right?”

You refused to let yourself linger on the implication that this wasn’t going to be the last, too.

You clenched your eyes shut as his large hand pawed at the right side of your chest, kneading into the softened flesh with an almost delicate sort of care. “It’s easier after a little stimulation,” he murmured, as if that meant he had to spend so long circling your nipple with a calloused thumb, occasionally swiping over the sensitive bud in a way that made your thighs twitch and your face burn. When your nipple was stiff and pebbled, he pulled away, but it was a momentary reprieve – torn away from you with a splash of freezing disinfectant. It dripped down your chest and filled the stagnant air with a thick, chemical haze as Wriothesley caught your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pinching tightly. You felt the long, curved tip of his piercing needle against your skin, and braced yourself for the pain. Wriothesley wasn’t kind enough not to drag it out, though. “Wanna count me down?”

You shook your head, pushing yourself that much closer to his chest, desperate for any kind of stability. You’d hoped that Wriothesley would take your clear obstinance as a sign not to drag it out any longer, but he seemed to savor it – the agony of the wait, the way the dread seemed to multiply tenfold every time you forced yourself to suck in a ragged inhale. Seconds seemed to pass like frozen honey, only just beginning to drip. You’d started to think he wouldn’t do it, that he’d just laugh and admit this was all part of some bizarre, invasive hazing ritual when Wriothesley let out an airy chuckle and plunged his needle into you.

Oh, archons.

You really thought the tattoo would’ve been worse.

It was faster, at least; a bright shock of pain followed immediately by a steady, throbbing sort of ache that seemed to drown out every other sensation and fill your mind with a buzzing, numbing static. You didn’t realize your eyes had shot open on reflex until tears blurred your vision, until you glanced down just in time to watch as he dragged the needle through and replaced it with a small, silver stud – a barbell, as wrong as it felt to think of yourself having something so vulgar attached to you. You were crying unabashedly by the time he finished, pain and humiliation dripping down your cheeks in hot, wet streams, but Wriothesley’s shallow pool of sympathy must’ve run dry. “Ah, don’t make that face, sweetheart – we’re only halfway done.” You felt him panting into the crook of your neck as his hand found the other side of your chest. The last threads of his veil of composure frayed and broke apart as he groped unabashedly at your chest, toying with your nipple as your sobs echoed off of the clinic walls. You felt something thick and hot and wet crash against your collarbone and drip down the curve of your chest, and forced yourself to believe it was only disinfectant. That there was nothing it could’ve been except disinfectant.

Wriothesley’s hips rocked against your ass, the rigid outline of his cock pressing into you, incinerating any lingering delusions you might’ve had of helpful prison wardens exchanging one favor for another. Five fingers bit into the plush of your chest as he brought his needle to your unmutilated nipple, his hand surprisingly steady despite the airy, drawling moans he was pouring into your throat. “P-please don’t,” you managed, fighting to speak above the pathetic cries and choking fear doing their best to strangle out your voice. “Please, I can’t—I don’t want to—”

But, Wriothesley wasn’t listening. It wasn’t a spark, this time, but a red-hot knife, stabbed deep into your chest and twisted as far as it could go. You heard Wriothesley let out a rough groan, felt something warm and damp against your ass, and then, you were gone.

~

You startled awake hours later; bolting upright as you heaved in jolting, uneven inhales. Immediately, pain knocked you out of your panicked daze – sharp and piercing, imbedded into the back of your shoulder and either side of your chest, strong enough to remind you to measure out your breathing and calm down before you blindly threw yourself back into a seething pit of violent criminals. It took you a second to realize that you weren’t on an undersized infirmary cot, anymore, and another to piece together where he’d taken you – a bedroom nearly triple the size of your bunk. The warden’s chambers, you figured, as you scanned over the limited decoration and piles of dust-coated paperwork stacked onto every possible surface. Wriothesley’s room.

Wriothesley’s bed, at that. A cold chill ran down your spine as you realized that he’d taken the time to strip you out of your ill-fitting coveralls and redress you in a shirt sizes too big to be one of yours – the bleached, threadbare material a stark contrast to the satin sheets draped over your legs. You started to push them away and move towards the edge of the mattress, but froze as a door on the far side of the room creaked open – Wriothesley slipping inside and letting the door shut behind him. He moved away from it quickly, but as it closed, you could’ve sworn you heard the muffled, deafening click of a lock sliding into place and cutting you off from the rest of the world – or, the rest of the underworld, rather. As if there was anyone out there who would bother to save you, even if they could try.

“There’s my sleeping beauty.” He grinned as he lowered himself on the side of the bed, positioning himself closer to you than he absolutely had to. He reached out, moving to cup your face, but quickly let his hand fall back to his side when you flinched away. His smile dimmed, but didn’t fall away. “Get a chance to see the improvements, yet?”

After a second of hesitation, you shook your head, and he nodded to your chest - the gesture more of an order than a suggestion. Reluctantly, you pinched your collar between two fingers and peeled away from your skin. Through the narrow sliver, you could see his handiwork: a pair of twin rings hanging from either nipple, connected by a thin, lax, silver chain – so light, you could barely feel it brushing your diaphragm as the air caught in your chest.

You dropped the collar before you could give in to the nausea beginning to coil in the pit of your stomach. You couldn’t bear to look at Wriothesley, so you kept your eyes on the sheets, kneading at the fabric half-consciously as you struggled to find your voice. “That wasn’t what we agreed to,” you muttered, mostly under your breath. “Can I go back to my bunk, now?”

His smile took on an almost apologetic note. You tried again. “Am I... Am I going to be able to leave?”

This time, when he reached out, flinching away wasn’t enough to stop him – his hand catching your chin and drawing you that much closer to him. You tried to lurch away, but it was too late, his lips were already crashing into yours, his tongue already slipping past your teeth and raking over your own. While your eyes widened in shock, his went half-lidded, closing just a second too late. Abruptly, it occurred to you that you’d never really noticed the color of his eyes – a pale, faded blue. The color of the half-formed flowers currently stretching across your back.

Wriothesley’s hand slipped to the nape of your neck. You let your eyes fall shut, and did your best not to think at all.

[patchworkcuddlebug]

Strung Along

[This story contains body modification, identity overriding and implied erasure, and elements of non-con, including coercion and gaslighting.]

"Good morning, sleepyhead~"

You open heavy, groggy eyes to see her enter her bedroom with a single cup of freshly-made coffee. She holds it out to you, expecting you to take it. "You've been out for a while. I figured you'd need a little pick-me-up."

You take her offering, and thank her.

...speaking feels strange. It's as if there's something caught in your throat, something that makes it just a little bit harder. You can breathe just fine, there's nothing literally there, but you can still feel that difficulty when you speak.

As you sit up, taking a sip before setting your drink aside, she takes her place opposite to you. She drapes herself over the bedsheets, giving you a hungry and impatient look. "Everything okay? You seem a little surprised. I wasn't that bad, was I?" She laughs to herself.

You tell her she was lovely. You feel that strange wrongness again. Did you say something you weren't supposed to? If so, she doesn't seem upset. If you were to guess, she's more excited than she was last night.

"Oh, of course, how could I forget." Her words are seeped in a sickly teasing tone as she begins to crawl forward. "It's silly to expect you to be comfortable right now. I need to make you sing for me, don't I~?"

Her arms wrap around you, her face achingly close to yours. Her lips are close enough that you can feel her smile. She trails her hands down your back — and you feel it.

It's a ring. It hangs off of your body, dangling freely from a single point of contact on your mid-back.

You ask her what it is. She grins.

The pulling makes you recoil, your back arching in shock from the sensation. It's like warm, tender hands massage their way into your nerves, the sharpness of their nails just barely scraping deep inside your very ability to feel. You cover your mouth after you accidentally moan. There's a strange, visceral satisfaction as something is yanked out of you, something filling you being released and exposed.

"Why do you have a pullstring, little doll?"

She lets go. And the string starts to retract.

At first you only twitch. Then, a barely-restrained shaky exhale. There's a pressure building up as something you don't recognize whirs inside you, spinning your pullstring around a spool. It's getting tighter, pulled tighter, woven so tight. Let it out.

You want to speak. You need to respond to her. You feel the need to unclench your face and let yourself talk, strengthening by the second. It builds itself bigger, wider, demanding attention inside of you as you feel the pressure build and build until-

"It's what lets this one speak, Miss!" Your eyes widen in terror. You try to bring a hand to your mouth, making it stop, but it finds itself resting mincingly at your chest. "This one is a good doll, and good dolls only speak when they're made to!"

Only now, as the ring of the pullstring finally rests against your back, can you cover your mouth. The words flowed out so naturally, like you wanted it more than anything, and you could barely contain the fire of excitement lit within you.

"Oh, baby, I had no idea you felt this way!" She sighs dreamily, interrupting your explanations of how you really feel. "You should have known not to keep secrets from me, silly. You've wanted this for a while, haven't you, you poor little thing?"

You feel her finger slip through the ring, and give just enough pressure to cause resistance without pulling it out of you again. She gives you a moment of freedom, just a moment to ask her to wait as you grovel at her predatory stare.

It stretches, unwinding you. All you can do is gasp, ready to speak for your witch. You try to hold it back, like a cough, but it simply raises higher in your throat until there's nowhere to hold it except for your words. "Oh, this one's wanted to be a doll for so long, Miss! Just a pretty little thing, something to be played with and treasured, something to be used!"

No, no, you'd never want something so humiliating, so bizarre and... vulnerable. Sure, maybe you've explored feelings of being cared for or... played with, but nothing this extreme, nothing this involved!

"Hmm? Why do you look so scared, little doll?" Miss lords over you, feeling so much taller and so much more powerful than she ever did before. She holds herself with such grace, every movement meant to make you feel like she's rightfully in charge. Like you never stood a chance.

"There's nothing to be afraid of." She coos, like your hesitation is the most adorable thing in the world. She's right, there's nothing to be afraid of. "Sometimes, when people are lost and confused, they magically start to change into exactly what they want to be."

No, please, that's not possible. How could you just... change like this? You've always been a good doll. She's lying, she has to be, you know she has to be responsible, but you don't know why Miss would ever lie to you.

You're a person. You don't want to be a doll. It feels good, it feels so right to give in, but there's too much you'd lose. You need to be independent, you need to be yourself, you can't just throw everything away to be a good little dolly for Miss.

You ask her what she's doing to you. What's happening to your thoughts. Why it feels so wrong to speak without the string.

"What I've done?" She asks, putting enough audacious emphasis on herself to make you shudder. You feel so silly. She lessens her voice, giving it a soft and saccharine quality. Like you're cute for not understanding something so simple. "Sweetie, I have no idea what you could be talking about. Witches can't do something as bold as changing free will. If you want this, then it's all your fault~"

She trails another finger across your back. Her nails sting against your skin. It feels so good when she touches you. "Here... why don't I prove it."

Her fingers find your ring. She plays with it, toys with it, turning it over in her hands without giving it the pressure you want. But it feels so right when Miss plays with you. You never want this to end, but you want to feel her pull you out and make you sing for her.

"Do you want me to make you nothing but my good little dolly?"

Wait, no, please, please Miss, please!

Yes, release! Thank you! Oh golly, it feels so good to be your doll!

"Please get rid of my people thoughts, Miss! This one wants to feel like this all the time!" Behind the doll's wide eyes and yearning smile, a pang of terror resounds through your mind. You're helpless, panicking, with the quickened breath and shaking hands giving you away as the doll's string becomes inert.

You try to stop her, to reason with her. You explain that a doll's string makes it talk. You tell her that it makes you act like a good doll. You're scared, good dolls shouldn't be scared of their Miss. Despite your desperate please, you still feel her hand gently glow as it soothingly caresses your cheek.

"There's nothing to be scared of. You want this, remember?" Her smile, her beautiful dominant smile, makes you shudder as you start to relax. Of course, Miss is right, it feels so good to be a doll. This one needs to be a good doll for Miss.

The glow becomes just a bit brighter. The doll slips further, closer and closer, deeper down for Her. I don't want to be a doll, but dolls don't get to chose. Miss does. Besides, it's too late now, isn't it? This one is already you.

Wait, not yet, you don't want to be a doll, you-

The doll smiles, docile and obedient.

It looks to the witch, its Miss, its owner and its caretaker. It does nothing, silently and politely waiting for Her to finish basking in her creation. Her doll.

"Oh, don't you just look perfect?" She cups the doll's cheek in Her hands, cooing in adoration. "A perfect, pretty little dolly for me. Are you ready for your first order, you precious little thing? I promise, you'll love it."

The doll is still, patient, empty, as Miss reaches around it for another tug of its chord. If it could still think, it would be drowning in eager anticipation, feeling chills through its body as pulses of pleasure flow out of every inch of string.

It doesn't think. It responds as it's been made to.

"Yes Miss, please! This one will love it, it knows it will! Thank you so much for telling it how to feel, Miss."

She smiles, gracing it with the beauty of Her radiant joy, as She speaks the words that give the doll's existence purpose.

"Good doll."