#tw referenced strangulation

[serickswrites]

It Takes Two VIII

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

Warnings: referenced captivity, referenced torture, referenced restraints, referenced hanging, referenced noose, referenced strangulation, referenced asphyxiation, referenced character death, referenced cpr, hospital, hurt/comfort, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery

Smallest Teammate hanging by their neck danced behind Team Leader's eyelids every time they closed their eyes. Smallest Teammate's desperate gasps for air echoed in Team Leader's ears. And the feel of Smallest Teammate's lifeless body beneath their hands as they performed CPR ghosted along Team Leader's fingertips.

It had been that way since Teammate One pulled Smallest Teammate from their arms and placed the on a gurney. Team Leader had essentially stopped functioning as Smallest Teammate was wheeled away.

It was all their fault. Smallest Teammate had been hurt because of them. Whumper had kidnapped Smallest Teammate because of them. Smallest Teammate had stopped breathing because of them. Smallest Teammate had died because of them.

Smallest Teammate had died.

The words still stole all the breath from Team Leader's lungs. And even though they could hear the monitors, could see the lines and numbers on them, that told them Smallest Teammate was still alive now wasn't enough. Smallest Teammate had been dead.

And it was all their fault.

Smallest Teammate hadn't woken yet. The medical team wasn't sure when Smallest Teammate would wake--if Smallest Teammate would wake--no one knew how long they had been without oxygen and what the effects would be. Team Leader hadn't left their side. Hadn't let go of their hand.

The soft whir and hiss of the ventilator should have been a reassurance that Smallest Teammate still breathed. But it wasn't. Team Leader knew that Smallest Teammate could slip away at any moment, that death could steal them once more. And there would be nothing Team Leader could do to stop it.

"I really need you to wake up, Smallest Teammate," Team Leader mumbled softly. "It was supposed to be me. This is should have been me." Team Leader squeezed their eyes shut to stop the tears that were threatening to overwhelm them. "Sweetheart, please. I need you to wake up. I can't go on like this. Not without you.

"I am so sorry it took me so long to find you. I...I should have worked harder. Please," Team Leader sobbed, "sweetheart, please wake up. Stay with me, please."

Smallest Teammate's fingers twitched in theirs. Team Leader's eyes flew open. "Smallest Teammate?"

Smallest Teammate's eyelids fluttered. Once. Twice. And suddenly Team Leader was staring down into Smallest Teammate's eyes. "Sweetheart, you're here. You're here. Please, stay here with me. I need you."

Smallest Teammate's eyes were hazy, but their fingers twitched again.

"You're in the hospital. I'm...I'm sorry it took so long to find you."

Smallest Teammate blinked again, some of the haze clearing from their eyes. Team Leader pushed the call button. "I'm getting them to come help you, sweetheart. But I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to spend the rest of my life making this up to you. I love you. I love you. I love you."

Tags: @whumperfultime@pigeonwhumps@st0rmm@outlawaries@whumppuppeteer@crapimintoeverything@watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees@mousepaw@thelazywitchphotographer@podcast-hoe@katwriteswhump@artisticdemon @acer-gaysimpstuff @alluringleopards

[sunnixsunshine]

Here’s the animatic stills!

I’m so proud of these, I had a lot of fun with the rendering and just drawing Sanji in general. Might repost these without the text but I dunno if anyone would want em :d

[leniisreallycool]

Shoutout to 4-10 year old me who, when asked what my favorite color was, would say, "Purple! Because when I was a baby I was strangled almost to death. My face and neck was bruised purple for like a week afterwards", wait for the horrified expressions, then add, "My umbilical cord was too short and wrapped around my neck when I was born and the midwife saved me"

Like holy fuck how many people did I almost make call CPS on my parents for this stupid bit

[midnightkens]

Paper Doll

TW: Domestic violence, child abuse, referenced alcoholism and strangulation.

The best part of having a window seat on a long flight, Colt thinks, is the direct view of the night sky. Twinkling stars rarely make an appearance in Los Angeles, but thousands of feet off the ground, they shine brightly. It’s one of the very few things he misses about his childhood in Florida. Home was often terrifying and chaotic, but sometimes, Mom and Dad would take him to Everglades National Park where they’d stay until dark, swallowed by stars and a calming quietness. Dad would be sober, Mom would be happy, and he would bask in the attention so rarely offered to him. They could be a happy family, if only for a few hours.

Then he and Mom fled to Los Angeles to be closer to her family. Dad, left in another drunken stupor, was served divorce papers in Florida. The illusion of a happy family had long since shattered, and there was Colt, sad, aching, anxious energy always itching just under his skin.

Always talking too much, always in the way, and for God’s sake, Colt, stay still!

Colt shakes his head and rolls his shoulders. Thinking about his childhood sends him down rabbit holes that take hours to claw out from. The stars are still oddly soothing, somewhat decent company while the plane’s other inhabitants sleep. He blinks blearily, eyes gritty with exhaustion, but sleep won’t come easily tonight. His mind races in circles, each scenario more disastrous than the last, and it takes every ounce of willpower he possesses not to jiggle his legs.

The worry is impossible to turn off. His stomach aches, and he leans his head against the window. He hasn’t felt so anxious since his fall and the horrible recovery that followed. But this feels worse.

Ken is in danger, and he’s on a flight to London for some film he doesn’t even care about anymore.

It’s intuition. Patrick reminds Colt far too much of his father, and Dad always became more dangerous when he sensed that Mom was about to leave. Ken doesn’t talk about Patrick often, and Colt follows his lead. But he does know a few things: Patrick can go on hours-long rants about the smallest perceived slights. He’s possessive. And worst of all? He isn’t afraid to use his fists.

Ken hides it as best he can with coverup, but years of growing up with his father taught Colt what to look for. To an untrained eye, the bruises would be invisible. The grimaces that just barely flash across his face would stay hidden, the hisses of pain barely audible. But Colt knows.

Ken isn’t as invisible as he believes. There are so many people who love him, who see him. Patrick has never even scratched the surface.

Unbidden, memories of his last meeting with Ken flicker before his eyes. He remembers how soft Ken’s lips felt on his, how they’d whispered a quiet I love you, how he’d declared that he was leaving Patrick in part to be with Colt. Colt’s heart had nearly exploded with elation, but any shred of happiness had been rapidly replaced with terror. Colt isn’t afraid of Patrick, but he’s terrified of what Patrick could do to Ken.

Don’t worry about me. I can handle him. I’m gonna pack my stuff before he can even guess what’s happening and dump him in a public place.

Ken had thought it all through. He can be impulsive, but he’d clearly planned all of this out without thinking of his own safety, and the thought terrifies Colt. If Ken is concerned about his own safety, he’d done a fantastic job of hiding it.

Colt shudders against the sudden chill that creeps down his spine. Growing up with an abusive father taught him early to trust his intuition.

And right now, his intuition is screaming at him.

Everything is about to go wrong, and he shouldn’t have left.

***

Colt gingerly lowers himself onto the bed with a groan. He wouldn’t want to work in any other field, but he can’t deny that stunt work takes a bigger toll on him than it used to. If he overdoes it too many days in a row, he spends at least a week paying for it. He’s been in London for a few weeks, and now that his part is done, he can go home.

He knows the drill by now, though. He’d given himself a couple of extra days to do absolutely nothing but relax in bed.

He sighs in relief when the heating pad eases the tension in his aching muscles. He grabs his phone to check his messages. True to his word, Ken has texted him every day so far, keeping him updated on his situation at home. The last text came through hours ago, and Colt’s heart unclenched. Ken’s bags were almost packed. He was almost free.

So far so good! 😊 Love you!

Colt looks at the timestamp and frowns when he double checks the timestamp. It’s 3 PM in Los Angeles. Ken not texting him for hours is strange. Maybe he’s just hyperfocused? He has a lot of stuff, and he gets sidetracked easily…

Everything okay?

He swallows, throat suddenly tight. The text goes through, and he waits for a few minutes for the familiar gray ellipses to make their appearance, but they never come. He’s probably just packing. Colt opens TikTok, but he can’t focus. The minutes pass by agonizingly slowly. The ticking clock is loud in his ears, almost mocking. Colt scowls and barely manages to smother the urge to throw the clock across his room. It wouldn’t do anything but cost him money.

Tick, tock, tick, tock.

He’s watched the same video four times and hasn’t absorbed any of it. He scrolls mindlessly, periodically checking his text thread with Ken again. Radio silence is unusual. He scrolls upward. Maybe Ken had a shoot today and Colt forgot, or maybe he’s out with Barb.

The messages offer no clues. He buries his face in the pillow, begging his racing mind to slow down. He can’t even go for a run without his back aching, so now he’s stuck in a lonely hotel room with no company other than his thoughts.

***

There’s an annoying buzzing sound. Colt scowls and shoves the pillow over his ears, but the noise only gets louder. Colt huffs and sits up.

“What the fuck?” He mutters. He spots his phone on the pillow. It’s lit up, a name that Colt can’t see on the pillow. Who the hell is calling him at 4 AM? He leans closer, breath hitching in his throat as soon as he spots the name.

Barb Hanlder

It’s not that he and Barbara aren’t friends. They are! She’s funny and charming, and Colt enjoys her company. It’s just that they’re both don’t call me unless you’re my partner or it’s an emergency people. The phone continues to buzz, and Colt stares at it, his heart clenching with panic. Something is wrong. The buzzing stops and almost immediately starts up again, and Colt swallows.

He shouldn’t have left. He should have stayed home, stayed with Ken and made sure he was safe. Why didn’t he do it?

He feels floaty. Detached from his body. He watches as he picks up the phone and hears himself ask, “Did that motherfucker kill him?”

Barb chokes on a sob. “Colt, Colt, thank God you picked up, it’s so bad I – Wait. No. No. He didn’t kill him. He – “ Barb sniffles and takes a few shaky breaths. “He tried, though.”

Colt closes his eyes. He knew it. “What did he do?”

And so Colt listens as Barb tells him the story, how she and Gloria came to Ken’s apartment to find him barely conscious on the floor. How he’d been choking for air, how he’d gone limp as soon as Barb walked through the door.

When she describes the bruises on his neck, he swallows bile. He puts Barb on speaker and starts frantically gathering his things, ignoring the sharp pain that runs up his spine. He yanks his suitcase from its home on the closet floor and unceremoniously shoves his clothes into it. He should have stayed. He should have stayed and helped Ken pack his things. Patrick never dared to fuck with Ken whenever Colt was around. Colt takes great pleasure in knowing that the other man is terrified of him. All Colt has to do is flex, and the bravado instantly disappears. If he’d been there, this wouldn’t have happened. Ken would be safe. He needs to see the other man with his own eyes, see the rise and fall of his chest, needs to see his big, blue eyes open and wide with life. “I’m getting on the first flight outta here. I’m coming home.” The words is he okay almost fall from his lips, but he stops himself just in time. What kind of question is that?

“How is he?”

Barb hesitates. “Physically? So far he’s okay. It doesn’t look like there’s any internal damage. He’s awake. Ummm. He can’t really talk. His vocal cords took heavy damage, but his voice should be back in a few weeks.”

Ken’s voice. It’s one of the things Colt loves the most about him. It’s deep and soothing, and when he sings, Colt always stops to listen. His voice is smooth; it never cracks. And his singing voice is one of the very few things he’s confident about. A violent attack stole that from him. Colt grips the edge of his suitcase so tightly that it creaks under his hands. That evil bastard has stolen everything from him.

I’m gonna beat the shit out of him.

“Colt? Are you still there?”

Colt takes a few deep breaths, in through the nose, out through the mouth, just the way the therapist he saw after his injury taught him. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Yeah, sorry. I’m here. You said he’s awake?”

“He’s awake, yes. Gloria and Ryan are in there with him right now. We’re not leaving him alone. He hasn’t really interacted much. He’s in shock, I think. The doctors ran a million tests when he woke up, and then he just…I dunno. He’s staring into space a lot. He doesn’t even seem to realize that we’re here. You’re coming home?”

Even over the phone, Barb’s voice is thick with unshed tears. How long has she been holding it together for? “I’m coming home, yeah. How are you holding up?”

“Oh.” Barb sniffles, and Colt pictures her wiping her eyes. “I don’t know yet. Ask me later. I don’t think it’s really sunk in yet.”

“Fair enough.”

Colt zips his suitcase, not even bothering to give the room his usual final check. Stuff be damned. Clothes and shoes can always be replaced. He and Barb hang up, and the next thing Colt knows, he’s at the airport.

How did he even get here? No matter. Even at 6 AM on a Monday, the line is long, and he groans. Why is this taking so fucking long?

His phone vibrates and he fishes it out of his pocket. God, he’s ready to snap. The irritation ebbs as soon as it appears when he sees who the message is from.

Ken: So Barb told you what happened

It’s not a question. Even over text, he sounds dejected. Resigned. Colt wants to call him, he’s so desperate to hear Ken for himself, but then he remembers the vocal cord damage and sighs. She told me. How are you?????

For five minutes, Colt watches Ken start typing, stop, then start again. His hands start to shake when the next text comes through.

I’m really fucking scared.

Ken isn’t embarrassed to admit when he’s afraid of something. He’ll readily admit to being afraid of bugs, heights, and horror movies. He’s only ever refused to admit fear a few times, and each of those had a common denominator.

Patrick.

It’s the final nail in the coffin. Colt tastes salty tears, but he makes no effort to stop crying. He wants nothing more than to see Ken, to hold him close and to ease his terror, but he can’t. The next available flight is over twenty hours long with two connections. Colt jumps at the chance. If it’s the best they can do, then so be it.

Don’t worry, he texts back. I’m coming.

[toasted-valentine]

Analysis of the song “Choker” by Raincloud Halo

(Note: I do not own any of these characters, I am just very intense about artists I like, and my adhd is very unmedicated right now so I’m on my hyperfixation bullshit. All characters belong to @cynopter / @tobyisave, I am but a humble nerd who needs to let my energy out somehow.)

Cw suicide, strangulation, general violence, OCD, and intrusive thoughts.

Linking to the creator’s post about the characters, I’m just gonna go more in depth and speculate about specifics within the song and what each lyric could be alluding to. Again, send this dude bro all the love, motherfucker deserves it for scratching at the adhd parts of my brain and having such crunchy looking art. Anyways, if their art had a flavor it would be salty and spicy, and that’s my favorite, so go check them out.

Gonna go bit by bit, lyrics in orange, my notes in white.

“Veering off the path

With the devil on my shoulder”

Townsend went as far into the middle of nowhere as they could get to hang themself, they’re going off the already established paths to make sure no one finds them. People who kill themself will sometimes go out of the way to make sure their loved ones don’t find them. This is most likely what Townsend is doing, not realizing that it’ll trap her as a ghost. The devil line is a reference to the fact that their family and community blamed their OCD on the devil, so Townsend’s religious trauma is showing it’s hand.

“A sturdy branch that won't snap

And Baby's jacket dangling at my waist

'Cause he won't miss it when he's older”

First part is just referencing Townsend finding a branch that’ll hold their weight so that they can hang themself, the second bit is what I’m more interested in. Townsend stole her baby brother’s jacket to take with her as a reminder as to why she’s doing this, and I believe the line has a duel meaning. Townsend’s brother won’t miss the jacket when he’s older, sure, but he also won’t miss May. He’s a baby at this point, he hasn’t been hit with the consciousness beam yet, he won’t remember the older sister that died if she does it now.

“It gets really bad

I don't know why they're not scared of that

I only dream of hurting him

Now images of wringing him out”

Townsend is terrified of her intrusive thoughts, she had OCD and is suffering from violent compulsions. She wants someone to hold her accountable, to hurt her, to keep their distance so she doesn’t hurt them. It’s why she commits suicide, in her mind it’s the best possible way to keep her from hurting her brother since she loves him. She’s sort of hyping herself up in this moment, once more reminding herself as to why she’s doing this.

“No one ever tell you not to nurse the wolf pup?

Now I've gone and tied the ends off on this strife

Sorry, that's just what happens when you trust me with my life”

May sees herself as a dangerous creature, therefore is comparing her family keeping her around to keeping a wolf around. In her mind she’s just going to maul someone, so she needs to be put down for the greater good. She finishes tying the noose, apologizes one last time, and dies.

“The city

Good people passing through me everywhere I go”

May wakes up as a ghost, she’s officially the ghost at the towns end, and Townsend is figuratively born. The thing is, since she’s a ghost, no one can see her. Everyone around her seem like “good people”, better than her, and she’s stuck alone having to watch them. It’s like living in hell, seeing “normal” people just living their lives, and none of them seeing the supposed demon standing right by them. It’s why she lives in the edge of town, she can’t stand to see them.

“And I hate that you found mе

Don't want to have to say I told you so”

Enter stage left Phượng, she can see ghosts and finds Townsend. And Townsend fucking hates it, not because she necessarily dislikes Phượng, but because it means she could potentially hurt someone. As much as Phượng reassures Townsend that she’s not dangerous, she doesn’t believe it and is waiting for the “I told you so” moment. She’s anticipating the moment she snaps and hurts Phượng, and is fucking terrified of the thought.

“"Don't touch me, I'll kill you"

The devils will slip through”

Townsend is trying to keep Phượng and her brother as emotionally distant as humanly possible, it’s safer that way after all, at least it is in Townsend’s mind. Along with that she’s trying to get Phượng to lash out and exorcise her, to kill her and get it over with. It’s a fucked up way of trying to protect the two. The devils line is once again referencing Townsend’s religious upbringing and her belief that Satan himself is fucking with her brain and making her want to kill.

“But still you hold me to yourself in bed

Like it’s all in my head”

Phượng has full knowledge of Townsend supposedly being an evil ghost, and in spite of that, she still wants her. She still loves Townsend, she loves May, and still is completely comfortable sleeping next to May. Phượng knows that May would never hurt her, May can’t event stomach the idea of hurting someone, let alone hurting her partner. Phượng keeps telling May that it’s just in her head and that that there’s no way May would hurt her, pulls her close at night so there’s not the kind of distance May thinks is safe for Phượng, is insistent that May isn’t dangerous or evil. Specifically having it be when Phượng is sleeping next to May is something interesting to take note of, because she trusts May at what could be considered a person’s most vulnerable state. People can’t defend themself when sleeping, so it’s a big sign of trust and security in May.

“But it gets so bad

I don't know why you're not scared of that

I'm thinking of your broken body

Reaching in and squeezing softly”

Townsend’s worst night has started pulling itself out of the hellscape that is her OCD, the intrusive thoughts and homicidal compulsions have transferred onto Phượng. She’s started thinking about killing Phượng, and it’s hell. What’s worse is that the compulsions have gotten more gorey and violent, which scares Townsend. Even still, after presumably telling Phượng about her compulsions, Phượng remains a devoted partner and isn’t scared of May. It confuses the hell out of May, Phượng knows damn well what May is thinking about, and she still loves May.

“No one ever tell you not to play with fire?

Somehow got to hang me higher than your knife”

(Going to be so for real, I’ve got no clue what the knife line is referring to, so gonna focus on the other one. )

The line about fire has a larger meaning, May is comparing herself to fire, something dangerous and deadly. Thing is, Phượng isn’t scared of fire, she burns stuff often as offerings to her sister. May saying she’s deadly, that Phượng is playing with fire, but it’s a double meaning that helps show why Phượng isn’t scared of Townsend. Phượng can see the good in fire, the good it can do for her sister, and is completely fine around it. Townsend is fire to Phượng, but in the sense of the warmth and safety it brings, and more importantly the love.

“I swear to god

Stop saying that you trust me with your life!”

Phượng keeps trying to reassure May, tell her that she trust her, but it’s just cold comfort to May. May couldn’t even be trusted with her own life, how is she expected to be trusted with her partner’s? It’s the racing thoughts of not being able to keep a loved one safe, and all their reassurances not making May feel better. Sometimes loved ones say the wrong thing and can cause people suffering from a mental illness to spiral or lash out, being told this just makes May feel like she got handed a loaded weapon with a hair trigger on it.

“ "Choke her" Fuck Him" "Devil"

Why would I do that?

Why would I do that?

Why would I do that?

"Choke her" Fuck Him" "Devil"

Why would I do that?

Why would I do that?

Why would I do that?”

May is full in her own mind at this point, she’s scaring the every loving hell out of herself, and questioning why she’d even want to choke her loved ones to death. It’s scary, and she just is repeating the question over and over again in her mind. The three most common intrusive thoughts she has are full swing, the thought of choking Phượng, the thought of harming her brother, and the thought that keeps calling herself the devil due to her religious trauma. It’s bouncing back and forth between the compulsions and questioning why she’d ever even think of doing that. The bridge is basically just one extended panic attack May is having in her mind.

“Choker!”

Roll credits.

But seriously, this is just May calling herself choker, and the compulsion of “choke her” morphing into an insult in her mind due to the stress and similarity of pronunciation. Townsend has managed to find a way to turn her compulsion into a title/self loathing term by meshing the two words together.

“I lover her

And I love my baby brother

Love her (Devil)

Love her (Devil)

Lover (Devil)”

May is reaffirming her love for her brother and for Phượng in her mind, along with accepting the fact she is in love with Phượng. She accepts Phượng as her lover and is willing to have that vulnerability, even tho her own low self esteem keeps causing thoughts that call her the devil. She’s trying to comfort herself with continued remembrance that these are the two people she loves most in the world.

“I’d never do that

(Choke her)”

I think this line can be read two ways,

•May accepting that she’d never actually hurt Phượng because she loves Phượng, even if the compulsions are still ringing in the back of her mind.

•Townsend having a crisis of conscious and desperately trying to cling onto the last bit of self soothing she can find when she feels like the intrusive thoughts and OCD are consuming her.

Personally I like the first one more because it leaves the door open for hope and the possibility of May being able to life a happy life with her lover. The mental illness may never go away, but she still knows that she loves Phượng and her little brother, and at the end of the day she’d never hurt them.

Moral of the story, intrusive thoughts don’t make you a bad person, there is no such thing as thought crime, and the Catholic Church should never be trusted with mental health issues.

This is just my own interpretation and analysis, I could be completely off the mark with this one, I just am having fun.

Again, please go check out the original creator, his work is amazing and he deserves more love for it. Their work really resonates with me, especially Choker with the fears of how intrusive thoughts could harm loved ones, and I think there’s a lot of good to be had in someone making stuff like this. Plus, the dude is just generally really skilled, and you can see the amount of effort it took to get to this point in his various artistic endeavors. I pray for that man’s wrist, the carpel tunnel must be so bad.

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

tw: abuse, obsession, possessive behaviour, self hate, self harm, referenced murder, referenced strangulation, referenced torture, very unreliable narrator.

also dsmp spoilers lol

“you're free,” he says, and it hurts you like an arrow to the head because it’s not true.

it's not true, because it was never those fucking discs that meant anything. not to dream. oh, sure, they were useful. they were tools. but if he found anything better to constrict you with, he'd have taken it, and let them burn happily. he saw the look on your face as your brother threatened death and let them burn happily.

you cared, because of course you do. you care too much. dreams voice rings in your head, naive stupid little child, let me do the thinking for you, and it takes everything not to drive your skull into the wall again and again and again until it stops. deep breaths. you thumb over the familiar grooves that hold songs you have memorised.

no, you are not free. you've accepted that. you've got a chain around your neck as long as dream lives. sometimes it doesn’t feel like a metaphor, because you can still feel the hands around your neck squeezing the life out of you, battered and broken and unable to even try and claw free anymore. you suppose you'll get used to it. after all, the fact he will kill you again is undebatable. it’s how many hundreds of times you'll experience the agony, how many creative tortures you'll be put through, that’s in question.

this changes nothing. you will grow to care again, like you always do not matter how much you deny it, no matter how much people try to beat it out of you. and dream will use that then, and nothing will have changed. if you don’t, he'll just use your friends. and then he'll get his hooks into you again and insist you’re friends until you doubt your own objections because you don't want to be hurt anymore. and there you'll stay, forever. the masterpiece of a madman who plays with people's minds.

your brother smiles at you softly, though, so you force a smile back. “thank you.”

you're a worse-than-dead man walking anyway, so if you can at least make others lives better, maybe it'll be worth it.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Fuck thought of another prompt, idk if you’re still taking them ?

“There we go, nice and slow. You’re such a good boy for me aren’t you?”

From Anon: Wait did I hear you’re doing Nate strangling or Nate spice? Must be my birthday!

CW: I modified the prompt a little to fit! Intimate whumper, noncon touch, choking, noncon kiss, implied/non-explicit noncon

Bram's thumbs press in on his windpipe, cool even as Nate's body is bathed in sweat. He leans in, as close as he can, rolling his hips until they press flush to the backs of Nate's thighs.

"There we go," Bram whispers, full of love and adoration. His thumbs press in, his hands tightening, the grip of his fingers inexorably closing off Nate's only way to breathe.

He jerks, unconsciously, at the rope that ties his hands above him to the headboard, mouth open, mouthing pleas he can't vocalize.

Stop, please, don't do this

"Now, now, it's you or the puppy," Bram says, and rolls his hips again. Under the pain of those tightening hands, there's a spark of pleasure up Nate's spine, and he whines.

It's not quite a moan.

It's close enough.

"See, there's my prince, so good for me..." Bram's hands loosen all at once, and he rocks and rocks deeper and deeper into Nate, as if he'll somehow merge entirely with him, and everything of himself Nate has held so tightly onto will finally be gone. "Take a deep breath, baby."

Nate does what he'd told - what other choice is there? His throat rasps and wheezes and his lungs burn, but he pulls in every bit of air he can.

Bram grins down at him, colorless glacier eyes bright and brilliant, and his thumbs rub over Nate's throat, back and forth, back and forth.

"Let's see how tight you get for me," Bram whispers, and then his hands close back around Nate's neck and he leans all his weight into it, thrusting forward in quick rough snaps of his hips.

Black spots dance in Nate's vision, pleasure rockets through him alongside a panic that Bram won't let go this time. It builds and builds, the rush of heat growing and growing fed by fear.

"Come on, you can breathe when you finish, there we go, there we go, I love you, Nate, I love you, you were always meant for me-"

Nate whimpers, reedy and high-pitched, it hurts and he's helpless. His wrists burn from the ropes, his thighs ache from being forced so far apart. He is pain and pleasure fighting each other. There's nothing but this.

Nothing but lungs screaming for air and a body shuddering for more.

Out in the living room, Danny sleeps, curled on his mat with the thin little blanket for warmth.

It's worth this, to give Danny one night of peace.

It's worth this-

It's worth-

Bram groans, coming to a shuddering stop, and Nate's vision goes dark as he feels his own body tense and still, the rush of heat on his belly, the new warmth inside him.

The black spots get larger until they take everything over, like rot that overwhelms him.

He's unconscious before Bram lets go.

[redstainedsocks]

Human Again

For @amonthofwhump’s March Madness for the whump trope: choking

Here’s my whumpee Zach having a very bad wake up call. I know the previous four Zach pieces have been post-escape but, and hear me out here, he was just in need of some whumping. So have some out of context, out of order, pain. (Read more high up the piece for vaguely referenced thoughts of noncon)

Warnings: Forced nudity, implied torture, implied past noncon, choking, noncon kissing, shotgunning cigarette smoke, smoking, cigarette burns, manhandling, antagonistic language, blindfolds, captive whumpee, nausea mention, food mention, prisoner denied food

Zach woke up naked. He woke up stiff and sore, and though he knew he was on the thin mattress that was granted as his bed—he could smell the musty stink of it—he had no idea how or when he got there. 

The two things combined were enough to turn his stomach, and bile crawled up his throat. There were fuzzy memories, blurred indistinct ones of beatings and being bent over a table… but was that the last thing that had happened? Or was there more? Was that even yesterday, or two days ago? It all mixed up together, and he couldn’t work out what had happened when, or which thing it was that had made him lose consciousness. Was it drugs again? An electric shock? Or just the accumulation of pain and fatigue and he’d passed out naturally?

He only knew he must have been out a while to have been brought back to his cell. Not knowing if anything more had happened while he was unawares he shivered and curled up, wishing for a blanket to cover himself with. As he moved he felt the protest in his bruised ribs and moaned as he clutched his side. 

“Ah, he lives,” came a smarmy, grunt of a voice. 

Great, Mack, of all people, was here. 

Zach opened his eyes to better defend himself against whatever Mack had in mind and found something still blocked his sight. He groped for his face, arm numb from his own dead weight crushing it. 

“Leave that,” Mack said. “Don’t you fucking dare touch it, that’s your first rule of the day.”

Zach swallowed, groaned again and pushed himself to sit up, hyper aware of every inch of skin on display. He smelled Mack’s cigarettes before he heard the man move, felt the stale smoke waft over his face and another roil of nausea that it brought with it. He lifted a hand to rub his nose and coughed onto the back of his hand to try and rid the smell and the almost-taste of it from his body.

Mack’s hand—probably, unless someone else was here too—caught his wrist and squeezed painfully. “You deaf today or some shit, I said don’t touch your fucking face.” Mack twisted his hand until the skin pinched beneath his grip, and the joint protested. Zach hissed in pain and lurched into action to try and grapple his hand free, digging nails into the back of Mack’s hand.

Mack held on for a few more long moments before he shoved Zach, freeing his wrist, and he scooted further away from where he thought Mack was crouching.

“Actually you said not to touch the blindfold,” he replied tersely. “Try thinking before you speak it might help you get your point across.”

Mack grabbed the back of his neck, fingers curling into the ends of his hair and yanked his head back. Zach hadn’t known to brace for it and the jerk sent a wave of pain that ricocheted down his neck and jarred something in his aching hip. “Far too mouthy you little shit. If it were up to me I’d sew that mouth of yours shut.”

“But then how would we have these little chats I know you love so much?”

Another puff of smoke rolled over his face and he wrinkled his nose, stomach churning. He needed food, water... he needed proper rest, not just to pass out after some torment or other and wake up bruised and sore. Resigned to not getting enough of any of those things he focused on the slight sense of satisfaction of irritating Mack instead.

He heard the hiss of the cigarette being dragged on and hoped it was nearly gone. It was fruitless hoping when fingers gripped his jaw until his lips puckered, the heat of the cigarette sizzling far too close to his skin, held in the fingers that gripped him. Then Mack’s lips were on his and he sucked in a breath of surprise only to inhale a mouthful of smoke.

He sucked it down, drawing it into his lungs in surprise, hoping and hoping for clean air to come on the back of it. Mack’s lips were a seal over his own that breathed the filthy, cloying stuff from his own mouth—expelled it forcefully right to the back of Zach’s throat. 

Zach’s lungs grew tight and full and he needed to exhale but Mack’s mouth was still smacked over his own and his tongue was in Zach’s mouth too, invading and claiming and bitterly acrid. Zach grew dizzy, swayed forward as his lungs tried to force the shotgunned smoke back out, he coughed and wheezed and batted at Mack weakly. Over the sound of his own hacking coughs he heard Mack’s laughter. Why was it always funny to these pricks? Why did they have to delight in making him suffer or making him ill? 

The weight of it all was enough to drive him flat back onto the mattress, gasping for breath, aware he wasn’t going to catch a break here. Not even given a moment to try and process and remember the previous day’s horrors before the current day’s began.

“Your mouth has other uses too, I guess. Wouldn’t want to miss out on those,” Mack’s shoe nudged him.

He was about to respond when Mack’s heavy weight descended on top of him, driving more air from his lungs. The hand was back and it caressed his jaw as he grew tight as a bow string, muscles locked like he could fight this, change whatever was about to happen by being ready. Mack’s calloused hand slipped lower and closed around his throat... and squeezed. 

It trapped the air in his lungs, stopped the coughing in its tracks and he arched up, kicking his legs looking for the pressure to lessen. Mack held him on the knife edge of breathlessness until he went limp, allowed him a precious few wheezing breaths and then closed his hand again while he blew another round of smoke into Zach’s gasping mouth. 

Zach squirmed as his chest failed to expand and his lungs didn’t fill, the black behind the blindfold going haywire with flashes of light and colour and then fading to grey. There wasn’t room for breathing or thinking, he was only animal—desperate, hungry and directionless with the fear that came hot on the heels of being pinned down and choked out.

He clawed and kicked, begged with soundless words as he tried to make the shapes and couldn’t find enough air to give them voice.

Mack pressed tighter one more time and then released. Just as Zach thought it was over a burning, blinding pain sparked to life on his shoulder. He writhed, still sputtering inhaled smoke while a scream—half surprise as well as pain—was forced out of his throat. He smelled his singed flesh as well as the ashes of a cigarette on his shoulder. With a heavy hand he blindly flicked the hot ash from his skin, feeling it smear on his fingers with intense heat. He knew the scent would linger on his hands for a while, like some sick sort of reminder of the mornings activities.

“I’d miss that scream too, oooh man, you’re like a little girl sometimes. Can’t handle a little ciggy?”

Zach grit his teeth while tears swelled hotly behind his eyes and he only hoped to keep them at bay. He felt sluggish, no idea if it was from whatever knocked him out, or the lack of breath in his body, or just the general exhaustion and constant suffering. He almost began to laugh, and caught it before it turned into a pitiful whine. Drawing more attention to himself for being strange wouldn’t help him now.

“Think fast,” Mack said and a thud of something heavy landed on his chest with a slosh and a thud. “Drink up. Boss wants you in the training rooms today.”

Grateful for the fresh bottle of water, and hating that he was, Zach fumbled to screw the cap loose. The water soothed his abused throat, settled his stomach a little. Made him feel, briefly, more human. 

Mack pulled him off the mattress and to his feet and shoved a pair of loose trousers into his hands, holding him steady with a thumb pressed firmly on the spot Zach had just been burned. Zach steeled himself and ignored the sharp pain. He stepped one foot and then the other into the trouser legs, leaning on Mack for balance while he couldn’t see.

“Now you’ve got your modesty let’s fuckin’ get on with it, step to it Griffin, time to go see what else you’re good for today.”

With tired, heavy feet Zach followed where Mack steered him. Whatever dregs of human decency he was given were always taken away sooner or later. He wondered if today would be a day he remembered, or if it would fade and be lost to some indescribable pain like the day before. He shuddered, unsettled by the idea that maybe it was kinder if he forgot; if the memory was choked out of him into oblivion so he could sleep deeply and soundlessly. If all the days bled into one, would he really be living them? Or could he float through them like the moments he drifted, lacking in oxygen, somewhere between consciousness and sleep. 

He hated that that seemed appealing and wrapped a tentative hand around the bruises forming on his throat and pressed down, just because he could, just to feel the pain because he chose to for once; just to remind himself he was still very much alive, awake, and human, and that was worth fighting for.

[serickswrites]

Make Me Your Villain master list

Hiraethian is a city guarded by the greatest superhero of the day, Jude, and his young apprentice, Liam. But when Liam learns of the reality of Jude and how he manages the city, he makes a decision that changes the trajectory of his life and the lives of other civilians, including Henry and Nova.

This series is, as of right now (eleventh of May, 2024) plotted out for 28 chapters. We will see if more get added. But please feel free to drop asks/requests/dms about the story. I will put tags next to each chapter, but know that there will be some whumpy and not whumpy chapters.

Here are links to character bios and I will link each chapter here after the post (starting twelfth of May, 2024).

Chapter 1--TW: emotional manipulation, threat of destruction

Chapter 2--TW: referenced emotional manipulation, referenced death, referenced murder, grief, isolation

Chapter 3--TW: destruction, loss, devastation, fire, burns, threat of death, physical violence

Chapter 4--TW: cuts, blood, wounds, injury, head injury, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery

Chapter 5--TW: stabbing, blood, explosions, presumed dead, guilt

Chapter 6--TW: threat of death, power exhaustion, blood, stabbing, character brought to brink of death, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery

Chapter 7--TW: threat of death

Chapter 8--TW: broken bones, threat of injury, threat of death, asphyxiation, choking, strangulation, hurt/recovery, hurt/aftermath, hurt/comfort

Chapter 9--TW: violence, threat of violence, abduction, threat of drowning, hypothermia, water inhalation, lacerations, exhaustion, power exhaustion, fire, threat of death

Chapter 10--fluff chapter

Chapter 11--TW: violence, threat of death, self sacrifice, falling from a great height, broken bones, crush injuries, blood, injury, gore, character death, unconsciousness, power exhaustion, heart break, shock

Chapter 12--TW: referenced heart break, referenced near death experience, pain

Chapter 13--TW: physical violence, unconsciousness, drowning, near drowning, cpr, temporary character death, hurt/comfort, hurt/recovery; nsfw, consensual sexual activities, idk how to tag this lol

Chapter 14--fluff chapter

Chapter 15--fluff chapter

Chapter 16--TW: threat of violence

Chapter 17--TW: fire, left for dead, burns, attempted murder, power suppression, implied murder

Chapter 18--TW: destruction, violence, kidnapping, drugging, burns

Chapter 19--TW: captivity, restraints, torture, electrocution, drugging, self sacrifice, rescue attempt, blood

Chapter 20--TW: captivity, restraints, torture, blood, wounds, electrocution, cuts, unconsciousness, forced to watch, physical violence

Chapter 21--TW: captivity, restraints, torture, blood, wounds, injury, unconsciousness

Chapter 22--TW: captivity, torture, restraints, blood, wounds, injury, self sacrifice, gore, blood from the mouth, character death, potential mcd, temporary character death

Chapter 23--TW: captivity, rescue attempt, failed rescue, blood, wounds, mcd, potential temporary character death, grief, heartbreak, cruel whumper, public display

Chapter 24--TW: captivity, restraints, torture, referenced character death, rescue

Chapter 25--TW: referenced character death, threat of death, physical violence, broken bones

Chapter 26--TW: unconsciousness, restraints, blood, wounds, gore, cpr, mcd, grief

Chapter 27--TW: death, blood, gore (brief mention), broken bones, grief, mcd, funeral, grief rituals, heart break

Epilogue--TW: referenced death, referenced grief

Asks: 1, 2

[painsandconfusion]

How Long Has It Been?

Febuwhump Tenth

(tw: very very very very very very very bad caretaking, language, domestic violence referenced, strangulation, manhandling, kidnapping, caretaker turned whumper, maybe masochistic whumpee (its not but same triggers apply), degradation, gaslighting)

.

Caretaker stared, barely leaning around the doorway as Whumpee trailed their fingertips across their own throat, staring into the mirror.

Whumpee jolted as Caretaker stepped into sight. “You’re seeing them again”

Whumpee spun, facing them with wide eyes. They let their turtleneck snap back into its place, covering the flashes of black, green, and yellow.

“Who?” They said. It was innocent enough. Their face was wide and open. Their eyes seemed genuine; but their fingertips twisted in and out of the hem of their shirt, fidgeting.

As if Caretaker hadn’t already seen the bruises.

An old, but familiar, rage bloomed deep in their chest. The embers that had long cooled danced back up to burning. “Dont play stupid,” they spat. “How long has it been?”

Whumpee gave them a small, shaky smile. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Caretaker stepped closer. The flames bloomed in them, making their blood race hotter and faster.

The motherfucker. His hands. On them.

They’d thought this was over. They thought they had taken care of this.

But no.

No of course not.

Of course Whumpee had to be be so fucking pathetic and stupid that they ran back. Again.

They ground their teeth, stepping closer again. They were almost vibrating. They struggled to keep the words soft. “Don’t you dare lie to me, Whumpee. Don’t you fucking dare.”

Whumpee faltered, opening and closing their mouth several times. They took a shaky step back.

Oh, how Whumpee was acting scared. Scared of them. So fucking manipulative. As if any of this were their fault. As if it were their handprints on Whumpee’s neck. As if they’d ever laid a finger on the little freak.

The words spat from their mouth like venom. “Don’t do that - you can’t just cry and think I’m going to forget this happened.”

Whumpee quickly scrubbed away a falling tear with shaking fingers. They looked down at the ground, twitchy, then started to push past Caretaker toward the door. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking ab- Aahk!” They squealed as Caretaker’s fingers bit into their arm, spinning and slamming them against the wall.

They ground their fingers into Whumpee’s shoulders, clamping down as Whumpee tried to squirm away.

“Pl-nngh! P-please! Caretaker - youu- you’re hurting me!”

Caretaker’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, and that’s suddenly such a huge fucking problem to you? I was starting to think you just liked getting hurt.”

“Caretaker ple-” Whumpee’s words cut short as Caretaker’s palm cracked across their cheek. They swayed to the side, but Caretaker’s grip kept them in place.

They stared up at Caretaker, eyes wide.

Caretaker leaned closer. “I think maybe that’s it. You’re just some sick little masochist. You get off on it.”

Whumpee snapped back from the shock, clawing afresh. “No- no please, Caretaker - let me go! Let me GO!”

They were kicking now. Great.

“Would you - fuck - would you just calm down for a second?” They were so squirmy. So wriggly in Caretaker’s hands.

“Wh-wha-what are you doing?!?!? Let me go! Le-let me go!”

“What? So you can go back there? Get beaten to a pulp again?”

They clawed and fought, but Caretaker pinned them in place.

“N-no! No you don’t underst- let go of me!”

But they were still fucking fighting.

Caretaker wrapped a hand around Whumpee’s throat and watched as their resistance immediately died. Their little fingers wrapped around Caretaker’s wrist, stilling the rest of their actions.

Caretaker slid their thumb up, looping it under the soft fabric. Whumpee squirmed back slightly as Caretaker pulled the cloth down, but they didn’t fight it. They just squeezed their eyes shut.

Caretaker’s heart was beating faster by the second. They let their hands fall into place over Whumper’s handprints. Skin to skin. They could feel Whumpee’s pulse fluttering under their fingertips. They were excited too. Caretaker didn’t know why that pissed them off so much. Their lip curled as they stared at the bruising under their fingers. So many colors.

Their voice was quieter than they expected. “These are overlapping. How long have you been lying to me??”

Whumpee started struggling afresh, nails digging into Caretaker’s skin. “P-pleas…please C-caart- L-l-l-le’ggo-”

They were squeezing. Caretaker hadn’t realized they were squeezing.

They gripped harder, digging their nails into Whumpee’s hammering pulse.

“Why? So you can go back there? To them? Get beaten to a bloody pulp again!?”

Whumpee didn’t respond, they just choked under Caretaker’s grip. It was an oddly nice sound. Desperate. Gentle. Soft. It vibrated across their fingertips.

They knew they weren’t the first. Not the first to hold this throat. Not the first to hear those sounds. Whumper had been here. And they’d be back. Whumpee would never know peace if they were left to their own devices.

Whumpee grew heavy, legs buckling under them. Their eyes lost focus, tears falling as an afterthought.

Caretaker let go, letting them slump to the ground, choking on clods of air. They were Wheezing at Caretaker’s feet.

This little thing was too weak and pathetic to be left alone.

Caretaker had to do everything. Every fucking time.

Fine.

They gripped Whumpee by the elbow, jerking to their feet and dragging them out the door. Whumpee barely stumbled behind them as they strode down the hallway toward the basement.

Their voice was hoarse. Raspy. “W-hat are you - you doing-?”

Caretaker set their eyes ahead, locking on the door. “If you want to bleed so bad, you don’t have to leave the house to do it.”

“Wai…what?”

Whumpee started thrashing afresh as Caretaker opened the basement door.

“Wha- no! No no no! No le-let me go!”

Caretaker jerked them toward the door. “Sto- would you stop fighting me!?”

Whumpee clawed at their fingers, but Caretaker wouldn’t let go. “You..you can’t jus-”

“Oh yes I can. No one else gets to touch you. Got it?”

Caretaker twisted their arm, craning them toward the steps.

Caretaker slammed the door shut on them, listening to their body tumbling down as they locked the door.

.

Thanks @febuwhump for putting together this event!!!

(tags: @prisonerwhump @whumpawink @mabledonut @paleassprince @distinctlywhumpthing @tropes-for-my-md-daydreams @batfacedliar-yetagain @suspicious-whumping-egg @wormwriting @jadeocean46910 @villainsvictim @thecitythatdoesntsleep @heathenwhump @cryptidhongo @rainbows-and-whumperflies @bookish-anon @whumpy-catfish @whumpworld )

lmk if you want to be added or removed from any tag lists!

[thesunicarusfellfor]

Hello!! Do you think you could do a part 2 of my request? An maybe a lil bit of angst with fluff where the reader comes to the mansion crying because someone hurt them?( Maybe techno or dream? Possibly jack manifold? 👀) Hopefully that's ok I just love the way you write it's so good plus it makes my day whever I read :D hopefully your day or evening is going good

<3

imhereforfan-fic : Omg can you do another yandere tubbo x reader x yandere ranboo romantic relationship please? Maybe where they get kidnapped by the dream team? Oh and adding on to my request can it also have some cuddling towards the end haha I’m touch starved and crap lol but can it a full length fic Okay okay okay. So. I'm so damn happy people loved this fic and I got two requests that I can easily add together. I hope neither of you minds too much having your requests mixed together ^^ I deadass wanna cry from how many positive reviews I've received from Too Sweet. ALSO. I'm a little wary of making romantic fics for characters Ranboo and Tubbo so I'm gonna play with the platonic marriage, just making it really fluffy and affectionate. PS: THIS ISNT AS FLUFFY AS I WANTED IT TO BE SOOOO OOOOPS. AAAAND. TOMMY ONLY TOOK ONE OF DREAM'S LIVES IN THE FINAL DISC WAR

LIKELY TO HAVE MANY ERRORS DUE TO BAD WIFI AND LACK OF SLEEP TW: Knives (+injuries that come from knives), kidnapping, taking of canon lives, Dream being power-hungry, minor panic attack, referenced strangulation.

Part One

Too Sweet (For This World) Yandere!C!Ranboo x F!Reader x Yandere!C!Tubbo Part 2

A few months had passed since you had moved into the mansion and some... How ended up involved in Ranboo and Tubbo's marriage, as well as being Michael's mother. At first, you were quite unsure about being a wife or a mother, but you saw how happy you had made the three boys and realized how happy they made you in return. In the beginning, neither of them wanted you leaving the mansion much without either of them, but then Ranboo started to notice small and minor declines in your physical and mental health. This caused him to panic and study your symptoms for a few days straight, to the point where you didn't see him once and you were genuinely scared he had lost his canon lives to the point where you kept checking your right wrist constantly for the message confirming Ranboo's death. But thankfully you never got it. When he had figured out what was causing your health to be less than absolutely perfect, he had spoken to Tubbo about letting you out of your room more often and getting you the sunlight you needed. It took a little bit to convince him, but once the goat hybrid learned that you could, or even would, become a lot sicker, he decided to allow you to go outside without them, as long as you stayed within Snowchester. You met a man the first few days you were out, who wore white glasses with blue and red lenses, and a headset with a mic, although he ran away from you the second you introduced yourself as Ranboo and Tubbo's (platonic) wife. Foolish had quickly become your friend around the same time though, which caused Tubbo and Ranboo to be a little unsure because of how he made you laugh and smile, but they noticed how you always kept him at arm's length with friendship and almost physically. Sure you didn't mind too much when he gave you a friendly side hug or pat on the head etc, but you were never really the one to initiate the contact unless you had to. Thankfully he didn't mind your awkwardness around strangers, trust issues, or lack of social exposure, so Ranboo and Tubbo didn't have to threaten a literal god. After saying goodbye to Michael for the day and putting him down for his nap, you got dressed into something more appropriate for travelling the snowy lands that Tubbo owned. Ranboo had to go to a Syndicate meeting, and Tubbo was working more on some buildings around Snowchester, saying something about prepping things to attack Dream who apparently escaped from prison? Not sure could've been rumoured or could be true? You had no clue honestly. You trusted Ranboo and Tubbo to protect you. The crackling of a few pine branches caused you to lift your eyes from the icy water below to turn your head. Walking out of the bushes were three men and one woman, pushing their way through the branches decorated with freshly fallen snow. One of the men was your crown-wearing platonic husband, although dressed up in an outfit you had never seen before, although not too far off from his normal get-up. Ranboo had a long black cape with golden edges and a high collar, held up together by a golden chain. His vest was now a deep royal purple with an eye of ender pin clasped on his tie, and his pants were half purple half black with golden designs sewn in. Beside him was a short female with shoulder-length pink hair and nicely done dark purple and black makeup. Her outfit consisted of a thick and warm lavender sweater with dark purple pants. On her hip was an enchanted netherite sword with a diamond-encrusted handle. You were quick to recognize her as Niki Nihachu, the baker who had lived in L'Manberg, but you hadn't heard much of her since the Pogtopia war. Off to the side, was a man you recognized easily as you had only seen him a few days ago when Ranboo invited him to see Michael, Philza Minecraft. His outfit wasn't too different from what he used to wear when he was a resident in the country, except for the black and gold cape and a black mask covering the bottom of his face. Then... The sight of the final male was the one to make you visibly react. A tall and buff male with a golden encrusted netherite

chest plate and a velvet red cape with gold accents as well. There was a rather majestic crown on top of his long braided pink hair and his dark eyes were narrowed behind a set of cracked glasses... His gaze pointing directly at you. Technoblade. Giving a shaky gasp, you stood up from your spot on the edge of the dock and turned to face the visitors. "Where's Tubbo," Techno growled softly, watching as you visibly trembled under his gaze. "Techno, mate. You're scarin' the hell outta her." Phil put his hand on his middle son's shoulder before stepping in front of him, blocking him from your gaze. "Hey, (Y/n), can you tell us where Tubbo is? We just have to ask him some things." "I'm here." An almost unfamiliar voice came from beside you before a hand was placed on your shoulder. When you looked over, you saw the goat hybrid with the coldest look you had seen him wear yet. "(Y/n), please, head into the mansion." Without another glance at the piglin hybrid, you quickly scurried towards the wooden mansion, faintly hearing the worried buzzing noises of your enderman husband in the distance before you slammed the large door shut. You almost ran towards your's or Michael's room in the basement, but then realized if any of them saw you heading down there, Michael's safety could be compromised. So, you quietly sat down in the living room and curled up on the couch, trying to keep your breathing stable as you fought to keep your mind off of the fact that the man who had almost killed you was standing a few feet outside the door of your home. You pinched your eyes shut and wrapped your arms around yourself, trying your best to simulate the hugs you would usually receive from your platonic husbands after a nightmare or a panic attack. ".../n)." "../n)!" "...(Y/n)!" With a terrified gasp, you flung your arms above your head to shield yourself from any oncoming attacker but only felt a gentle touch on your knee. It took a few seconds to muster up your courage, but you slowly brought your arms down and opened your eyes to come face to face with Tubbo, who immediately sat beside you and wrapped his arms around your shaking frame. After an hour or so with your face buried into Tubbo's shoulder, you felt another pair of arms wrap around you, causing you to look up and see Ranboo burying his face into your hair, "I'm so sorry... So sorry... I didn't think they would come to Snowchester..." You murmured a small, "it's okay," to him as you sat up a bit to return the hug for a few moments. Tubbo got up, murmuring something about going to get you a snack and a glass of water, knowing you must've been hungry or thirsty from panicking. After a few moments, Ranboo let go of you and briefly explained that Phil had given him some potions to help Michael adapt to the overworld, and he needed to give them to him. He rested his forehead against yours affectionately for a few seconds before turning towards the bookshelf and walking down the set of hidden stairs after opening the secret door. Once he shut it, you shuddered and rubbed your arms to get rid of the cold chill that had suddenly washed over you. Frowning slightly, you looked around for the source of the sudden cold, only to freeze as you saw the door cracked open, allowing the snow and cold wind to slip in. Ranboo wouldn't have left the door open... "Sorry kid." A deep and growly voice came from behind you, causing you to spin around and come face to face with Technoblade. The tall tusked male watched your expression go from confusion to horror in less than seconds, "It's nothing personal. Really. I just got a favour to pay off." A scream of terror escaped your lips before everything went black. "Hey, Michael!" Ranboo crouched down to greet the small zombie piglin child as he held a few potions of varying colours in his long arms, he set them and a thermos filled with a hot drink down on the table. "I got some new drinks for you to try today! Philza made them a little extra sweeter than last time." The small child squealed and made small tippy tap noises with his

hooves against the quartz flooring before he sat on the chair. He watched as his tall father sorted through the bottles carefully before uncorking one of the light red ones. Before he could pick up the small pipette, there was an almost unearthly shriek that came from the top of the stairs. "(Y/n)!" Ranboo screamed, unintentionally startling Michael, but that wasn't his main concern as he sprinted out the door then teleporting up the stairs and pushing the bookshelf door with his sword drawn and gleaming with enchantments. In his peripheral vision, he saw Tubbo dash out of the kitchen with his axe drawn and bloodlust in his eyes. Glancing around, the only thing the two men spotted was moonlight and snow spilling through the open door. Tubbo ran out without a second thought and screamed your name at the top of his lungs as he spun around, searching for any sort of sign that would give away your location. Ranboo decided to start looking around the mansion, even though part of him grasped that you wouldn't have screamed without reason. "She's gone..." Tubbo whispered, standing in the doorway, the moonlight creating a dark shadow over his wide eyes. "Footprints are leading to and away from the house, but they disappear on the docks..." Ranboo stayed still, a violent growling noise bubbling up in his throat before escaping past his lips as both his eyes turned purple. He threw his head back and took a breath to scream all his anger out, but froze upon hearing sad whimpering. He turned his head and saw Michael standing at the top of the hidden stairs, whimpering and shaking quite violently. There was part of Ranboo that refused to move, but his brain seemed to flick onto autopilot as he walked over to the child and picked him up. "Sorry... Michael... Something happened..." "Mama?" "...Mama... Won't be home for a while..." "Wake up!" A voice growled before something sharply came in contact with your cheek, shaking you awake. Your eyes shot open and came into contact with... A smiley face? "Aha... Sleeping Beauty graces us with her gaze. It's about damn time." A harsh grip landed on your jaw, making you realize there was a dull throbbing pain in your head. "Huh... Dre... Dream..?" You whispered, barely recognizing the white mask that helped destroy your home and turn it into nothing but a crater. "W-What?" His mask was lifted up enough to the point where you could see his mouth curved up into a sadistic smile. "You, my darling pawn, are just the piece I needed to make life easier for me... I just need to raise the stakes enough for them to be... Well... Stakes. I'm sure you understand." You went to move your hand to slap the gloved hand away from your face, only to give a small whine of pain as you felt a tight pinching on your wrists, making you realize that they were shackled together and likely chained to a wall. "What are you talking about you psychop- Ah!" He tightened his grip on your face to the point where you knew there would eventually be dark bruising. "I don't think you're in a position to be calling the king any names, pawn." Screams and shrieks of pain bounced off of the blank stone walls as the two people standing outside of the door put their heads down with their eyes closed. "You still sure he's doing the right thing, George? Are you still sure... He's the good guy in this story?" "You know better than to question him, Nick." "Don't call me that."

(Y/n) (L/n) was slain by Dream using Nightmare. Life: 2/3 (Y/n) (L/n) suffocated while trying to fend off Dream. Life: 1/3

"He just took two of an innocent woman's three lives. Just to use her as a hostage to make Tubbo hand over the nukes and to force Ranboo to follow his orders... He's a stranger, George. This isn't Dream anymore... Don't be stupid." Sapnap lowered his right arm that he read the messages off of and looked in the direction of his former best friend. The screams of agony were almost haunting as they echoed through Snowchester as silence fell down upon the entire Dream SMP. Shock slipped through the veins of everyone who read the message that appeared on their right wrists. - "I'm gonna kill him..." "I'm going to activate the nukes..." - "Techno... What did you do." "I owed him a favour. What he does after that is none of my business." - "...Isn't that Tubbo and Ranboo's wife?" "Yeah... She was my friend..." - "Tubbo's definitely not happy about this..." - "Ah... Atta girl..." Dream murmured in a mock soothing voice as he gently dragged his knife threateningly along your cheek. "Y'know... You would look better... With a smile." He leaned closer to you, the drawn-on eyes of his mask staring into your dull and tear-filled eyes as a stinging pain came from the corner of your lips. "Sh, sh, Relax... They're just shallow cuts, they won't even leave a scar. I'm not a monster." Time had passed quickly, but also excruciatingly slowly. You had no clue how long you had been down here, or how long you had been dead in between respawns. Dream just didn't seem to be leaving you alone. "Now..." He flipped the switchblade closed and threw it in his pocket before tremours shook the earth below and around you. "What the fUCK?!" He growled deeply before the door slammed open. "How did they even find this place!?" The door was blown off its hinges with a loud bang, causing Dream to duck out of the way of the flying piece of scrap. Light flooded into the room as you shut your eyes tightly, your ears ringing from the explosion. Once your eyes got a little bit adjusted, you opened them and saw five figures in the newly widened doorway. "Let's just say... It was an anonymous tip." "Sapnap?! You dare betray me?!" The black-haired male fell silent as he turned around and walked out, putting his hand on the shoulder of the tallest silhouette in the doorway as he walked by. Once you got completely used to the new light, you began to recognize the figures. Tommy, Tubbo, Foolish, and Ranboo. Tommy, Tubbo and Ranboo immediately ran forward and started a barrage of attacks on the masked psychopath while Foolish ran over and began to work on the chains binding you to the chair. After getting them off of you, he silently picked you up as you turned your head to look at the blond, brunet and monochrome boys. Dream's mask got knocked off and was thrown across the room as he was pinned below a growling Ranboo, whose skin looked almost purely black from your angle. Tommy was off to the side, rummaging through Dream's equipment, he already got his revenge when Dream was put into prison, this was Ranboo and Tubbo's revenge now.

"̷̛̲̪͝Ỳ̵̧̖͒̉o̸̟̔̆u��̩̟̂̍͊'̸̧̺̎̉ṟ̷̰͘ế̴͍̰̎ ̶̤͆̎̒g̶̭̋̇o̸͍̐͑i̸̼̟̾ņ̷͊̈́̈́ĝ̷̰̤̈́ ̵̘̉t̵͖͠ȯ̸͎ ̴͎̐̈́r̸̰͙̾̑͝e̸͚͌͑g̴̛̗̦͑ř̷̳̳̱e̵̲̿̕ṫ̶̨͓͗ ̷̢͊E̷̬̪͒͊͂V̷̟̒͝Ë̸̜R̷͐̄̏ͅ ̶̲̟̤͗͋t̴̝̎o̵̖̐ư̴̞̾̇c̶̡̙̐h̵̹̜̣̒͂̂į̴̙̤͠n̴̤̼̻̅̚ǧ̵̹̙̌͜ ̵̥̞̏m̶̱̳̦͗̌y̴̱̮͒̒̄ ̶̮̈͑͆f̸͉̽̄à̵̹͠m̵͕̓̅͋í̸͇̩͔̿l̷̰̫̳͗͑y̸̡͌̊́.̶͓̇͝"̸̡͆ ("You're going to regret EVER touching my family.") Ranboo hissed lowly before he and Tubbo began applying weight to the sword pressed against the speedrunner's chest. You shut your eyes tightly for a moment before you felt a bottle press into your hands, causing you to re-open your eyes to see Foolish trying to hand you a healing potion. You eagerly took a small sip from it, feeling the small slices on your cheeks form back together and the pain from the bruises around your neck vanishing completely.

Dream was slain by Ranboo and Tubbo using Ranord

There was a clattering noise before two sets of footsteps running in your direction. Slowly tilting your head in their direction, you saw Tubbo with dark bags under his eyes and Ranboo with plenty more scars on his cheeks from tears. You were pulled from Foolish's arms and brought down to sitting on Tubbo's and Ranboo's laps, their arms completely wrapped around you. The goat hybrid was nuzzled under your chin while the enderman's face was buried in your hair. "We should have come sooner..." "We shouldn't have even left you alone in the mansion..." "I'm sorry... I should have never left the manor..."

[israfelart]

possession. wips.

[whumpqin]

14. Slowly suffocating, please

Hello there! I hope this is what you wanted hehe >:3c

Ask game here! (feel free to send me one of these)

Characters: Elisha/Caleb and Jeremiah

TW: DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT, intimate/creepy whumper, nonhuman whumpee, choking/strangulation, noncon touch/kiss, manipulation, referenced suicide attempt, creepy comfort, fucky dubcon thoughts by whumpee

Content under the cut!

Fingers wrapped around his throat, rough and gentle thumbs criss-crossing over Elisha’s windpipe. They did not press at first, but instead slowly pushed him into the soft bed sheets and pillows, weighing him down alongside the body straddling him. His fingers gripped against Jeremiah’s wrists, mouth parted open with fangs peeking out from behind his lips. Elisha’s feet slowly ground the lower sheets of the bed, pushing his claws in bit by bit as his tail writhed. A steady thrum of his heart announced his panic.

“Does this scare you, Caleb?” Jeremiah asked with a steady voice. Calm ripples of hungry water that lapped against Elisha’s terrified thrashing.

“Y-yes, Sir,” Elisha breathed. He swallowed heavily and felt how Jeremiah’s thumb moved to feel his Adam’s apple.

“I’m barely pressing, pet. I haven’t even started.” His eyes half-lidded as he readjusted his grip on Elisha’s throat. “Maybe it’s just you panicking again. Take deep breaths for me.”

Struggling to press down his urge to scratch at Jeremiah, he nodded. He didn’t want to hurt him - he knew what the consequences of it would be. Depending on how hard Elisha was sure that he would rip out his nails or put his hands back in those horrible mittens with the buckles on them. So he took in a deep, slow breath.

As his breath reached its shaky limit, Jeremiah pressed just a fraction more against his throat. Elisha let out a shrill whimper and tears line the bottom of his eyelids. Without realizing he gripped tightly against Jeremiah’s wrists in a hesitant attempt to push him away. He didn’t want to hurt him. He didn’t want to suffocate.

“Deep breaths, pet,” Jeremiah reminded.

Elisha took another breath. Jeremiah’s grip tightened and his breath hitched, catching partway in a manner that was choking him.

His ruddy green eyes were alight with pleasure, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. Farmer tanned arms shifted as Jeremiah’s muscles worked at holding him so firmly. Even he seemed to be doing his own breath work, with slow and even inhales and exhales vividly contrasting the amount of effort he was putting in. Was this really worth it, to hurt Elisha like he was? Wasn’t it tiring?

There was a click of his teeth as Elisha snapped up a terrible plea behind them. Don’t speak unless spoken to. Instead he let tears fall down the corners of his eyes and stain the pillow underneath him. 

“You should relax, Caleb. Crying is going to make this worse for you,” Jeremiah said. 

Again Elisha swallowed, trying to compose himself so the lump in his throat wouldn’t provide a further barrier for air. He took in a deep breath like Jeremiah told him to, but as he did and felt the fingers grip against him that much tighter, he let out a breathy sob, beginning to scratch at his Sir’s hands while he struggled for air. Jeremiah huffed a laugh.

“You’re not trying hard enough. It’s honestly pathetic.” Jeremiah’s grip tightened again as Elisha took a sharp, hitched breath in. This time it was beginning to make Elisha lightheaded. Darkness danced in the edges of his vision. “There are days I wonder if it could be considered putting you out of your misery. That’s something you’d like, wouldn’t you, Caleb?” His voice was sweet as honey. Stuck against Elisha and not letting go.

A hazy eye looked up to their Sir. His closeness. It was plain to see Elisha wanted anything but this. With the gentle touches of Jeremiah, leading him to bed with a smile, something completely different was what he thought was going to happen. Finally pulling on the bait and hook he’d laid out since Elisha hurt himself in the basement.

Isn’t that what Jeremiah wanted? Elisha wondered, briefly while he gasped, if he could be good like that. In the moment, he preferred to think of the soft kisses and gentle touches, the act of peeling clothes off of skin to hold one another in an embrace.

He didn’t want to be here.

With another breath Jeremiah’s hands finally cut off his air. Elisha let out a few choked cries, sliding his hands up his Sir’s arms to tug and pull. His legs weakly thrashed and kicked while his tail writhed as he struggled helplessly under the stronger man on top of him. Darkness swam in his vision like he had dove into the ocean. Soon Elisha’s eyes rolled back and his eyelids fluttered-

Then a release. His airways suddenly open, Elisha took in a desperate gulp of air and heaved empty coughs. Jeremiah withdrew his hands to either side of Elisha, trapping him here still as he turned away to sob into the pillow. He felt the brush of fingertips hook pieces of his brown hair, tucking them behind his pitch black horns.

“You look beautiful when you’re dying. So fragile and desperate.” Jeremiah leaned down and kissed against his cheek. “It’s only a shame I can’t do this too often. Even now you're bruised and swelling." A thumb drew itself across his throat, and it took everything in him not to scream.

Elisha had nothing to say or anything he could. No prompting from his Sir, beyond the worship of his pain. But Jeremiah didn’t seem to care, as he moved to touch against the ridges of Elisha’s horns, sending a soothing tingle down his spine.

"You were so good for me. So quiet and as still as you could be. I don't think these scratches are even going to last," he said, looking down to his forearms. Jeremiah slid his hand up to Elisha's cheek. His eyes scanned over Elisha's pale green skin with adoration and obsession. "I'm going to get some ice. Then we can get some rest for the night." Jeremiah pressed their foreheads together. "Don't get up, or I'll break your legs again."

His Sir got up easily from the bed and walked out the door, allowing Elisha the space to sob into the pillow as he gasped for air.

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

"There's no shame in asking for help" for c prime boys!!

TW: This is from c!Dream's POV so like SUPER unreliable narrator, referenced murder and strangulation, abuse, manipulation, obsession, possessive behaviour, this doesn’t get super dehumanisation-y but c!Dream still basically treats c!Tommy's existence as a science project.

Tommy paced the cell aimlessly, footsteps heavy on the obsidian and echoing endlessly.

“Can't sleep?” Dream asked, already knowing the answer.

“Not since you.” The reply was quiet. Strained, as if he still had hands around his neck. Dream wondered idly if Tommy could still feel their phantom touch, a permanent reminder of the debt he now owed Dream. “There's nothing in my life you won’t fucking ruin, is there?”

“Is that what you still think I'm trying to do with our games, Tommy?” Dream raised an eyebrow. “C'mon, you're smarter than that. Sometimes you just need to knock things down to fix them, y’know?”

Tommy crossed his arms, glaring. “I'm not broken. I don’t need to be fuckin- fixed, or something. I'm not an object, I’m a person.”

“Of course you are, but that doesn’t mean you're not… struggling.” Dream shrugged. “There’s nothing wrong with that, y’know. There's no shame in asking for help, no shame in needing a bit of a guiding hand onto the right track, and if you wouldn’t be so stubborn I wouldn’t have to go to such measures, would I? It's really your fault I have to go to such measures.”

“You killed me.”

“And I brought you back, good as new, right?” Better, Dream would say, the mottled blue and black against his skin fascinating, skin closer to marble in it's colour and coldness, a brittle white streak in his curls drawing the eye, death had made Tommy look more like a sculpture than a person.

“You killed me.” Tommy simply repeated dumbly. “It-it hurt so much, and- and-“ He took a deep breath, clearly fighting back tears, and Dream let his expression fall to one of pity.

“Oh, Tommy. Come here.” Dream left his tone light, sympathetic, but left no room for interpretation in the order. And like he always did, though reluctantly, slowly, he obeyed, sitting next to Dream with a wild, terrified expression, as if expecting some horrible punishment. Perhaps, if Dream wasn't feeling so generous today, he'd have received one. After all, he didn’t have the strength to even attempt to fight back, not after revival. That’s certainly have to be something to experiment with in the future, but not today.

Today, Dream would just let Tommy cry on his shoulder until he could no longer keep his eyes open, and observe with rapt attention how his face twisted in fear even as he slept.

[purple-heart-x]

The Test

Inspired by this post :) --- Tags: @awfulwhumpsideblog ---

Things to Know i guess -[help me think of a name]= Leader -[no but pls i need name ideas]= Hero -River = Leader's Sidekick -Sierra = Heroes' physical trainer -Grey = Whumpee = Hero's new sidekick -To be clear, Interrogator is not an actual whumper! He was hired by the heroes to assist them with their first-year tests. As a person, he is an employee of the heroes and would not hurt nor whump anyone. --- TWs: heavily referenced past trauma, past whump, physical violence (a slap), threat of violence, knife, weapon, kidnapping, ambush, past starvation, past captivity, gun, needle, syringe, drugs, noncon drugging, staged interrogation, choking, strangulation, restraints, defiant whumpee, but also kind of compliant whumpee, head injury, amnesia, more may be added later. ---------------------------------- Chapter 1: River <><><> "How do you think he'll handle it?" Leader asked. "I don't know. He's a bit of a wildcard, isn't he?" Hero responded, staring at the screen. All of them were watching that screen. River, Hero, and Leader. It was time for the year's test- only a week ago marked thirteen months of Grey being part of their team. The boy had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, in the middle of a bad fight with a rough gang, and after River had brought him back to get bandaged up at the medbay, ended up as a sidekick to Hero. It seemed like only yesterday he'd been brought in, gritting his teeth to mask the pain, yet failing to conceal the way his dreadfully thin body was shaking. Only yesterday that his eyes had flickered, showing the slightest bit of hope, when Hero had sat him down and given him the offer: train with the heroes and he'd have a safe bed and good food every day. It hadn't been easy, of course. Grey refused to talk unless asked of something, and never talked about his past. Hero had struggled to connect with him for the longest time, until Grey's guard slipped slightly. Now, Hero and Grey had a silent alliance. Not much was said, given that they were the quietest hero and sidekick, respectively, on the team, but they seemed to understand each other well... Leader gave the command, drawing River out of the past. "Start." Five masked men entered Grey's room. Grey <><><> His senses awoke moments before he did. Something was off, something irregular about River's footsteps passing through the connecting door that linked their rooms. He slitted his eyes open. Heart in his throat, he flew into action as he spotted the heavily armed intruders that were filing through the door. He didn't have a weapon, not yet, but he knew to use whatever he had. He grabbed his bag from the chair beside his table, swinging it at the closest figure's face. The figure ducked and missed the blow, but that falter was enough time for Grey to grab the chair and swing it over his head. He tried to grab the figure's gun, but the others went on the offensive, swinging out with knives and ends of guns. He threw his blanket, catching one in the face, and threw a pillow at another. He finally found his pen once he was thrown to the floor, and ignoring his aching ribs, propelled himself forward from the wall, stabbing out with the tiny, useless point. When one brought their hand out he bit out, forcing them to withdraw it quickly. But despite the adrenaline rushing through his veins, five heavily armed, heavily armored attackers were too much. One landed a good punch to his head, stunning him. He flailed, knowing lack of effort was the easiest way to allow himself to be taken. But the attackers knew he no longer had a plan, and each grabbed a limb, forcing them behind him. The last thing he remembered was the fifth attacker shoving something sharp into his neck. Then he remembered nothing at all.

---

Part 2 is out here!

[ao3feed-hitoshi-shinsou]

I Don't Want to Wake Up (Lightning Fields of Love)

I Don't Want to Wake Up (Lightning Fields of Love) by Jazbel760

"Tell me, If a person falls apart alone in the dark, does it make a sound? And if it does make a sound, is it as loud and devastating as a decaying broken heart when it is finally found? Or is it the sound of soft strangulation that we miss all the time behind words like 'I'm fine'" - Nikita Gill, Your Heart is the Sea Or: Kaminari is coping with Shinsou's death. Dreams are a blessing and a curse. Sequel to Come Back, I Still Need You. Based on Lightning Fields by The Killers TW: Death, Car Crash, Brief mention of exposed bones, falling, mild gore????

Words: 1096, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 3 of Kaminari Angst

Fandoms: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Major Character Death

Categories: M/M

Characters: Kaminari Denki, Shinsou Hitoshi, Kirishima Eijirou, Kaminari Denki's Mother

Relationships: Kaminari Denki/Shinsou Hitoshi, Kaminari Denki & Shinsou Hitoshi, Kaminari Denki & Kirishima Eijirou (mentioned)

Additional Tags: Mentioned Kaminari's Mom, Mentioned Kirishima Eijirou, Dreams, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Past Character Death, Coping, Grief/Mourning, Kaminari Denki Angst, Kaminari Denki Needs a Hug, Angst, Heavy Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Tragedy, Car Accidents, The Author Regrets Nothing, I Made Myself Cry, I'm Sorry, i'm actually not, dreams are weird, Sequel, Not Beta Read We Die Like Shinsou Did in the Last Oneshot, Based on Lightning Fields (The Killers)

Read Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31686290