#nonsexual touch

[ashintheairlikesnow]

🧤 Invasive/Uncomfortable exam for Rafael

CW: BBU, medical whump, medical setting, dubcon touching (nonsexual), discussions of dubcon/noncon, BBU, pet whump

-

"What seems to be the nature of the problem?" The doctor isn't asking him. No one ever asks Rafael questions - he's just a pet, after all, barely human.

A human-shaped sex toy. Like a vibrator that needs to be fed three times a day. He hums, a sound like a flat vibration, and then smiles, a little dreamily, at the internal joke.

Everyone ignores him.

"Someone went rough on him last night," Boscoe says with a shrug. His master's favorite and highest-level servant, paid a small fortune to handle these sorts of things in his absence, pretending that it wasn't him who went so rough, that he isn't the reason Rafael is here right now.

Rafael slept alone in the big bed last night, once Boscoe was done with him, and he barely slept at all. The ache still throbbing and spiking through his lower half has as much to do with that as the loneliness.

The clinician looks at Boscoe with eyebrows raised above her glasses, waits a beat, and then primpts, "Any more detail than that?"

"Nope." Boscoe shrugs again, gives a half-cocked grin. "Sorry, I'm just the household manager. Mr. and Mrs. Isbell went on vacation in Europe."

They had kissed him, each of them, and then left him lying in the bed, trying not to cry. Boscoe had come in an hour later, and told him to make noise, as much as he wanted.

So he did.

He never tells his masters about Boscoe hurting him when they're gone, because only with Boscoe is Rafael ever allowed to scream.

"Fine." The doctor looks Rafael over, without distaste or judgement but with absolutely no feeling at all. It's almost nice, to have someone who doesn't need to tell him he's pretty, or that he looks like a good slut, or any of the things the people around his masters seem to believe are compliments. "All right, you, lay down on your back for me and just scoot those hips right to the edge."

"Yes, ma'am," He responds, laying back on the padded exam table easily, even allowing his back to arch with graceful, perfectly feigned thoughtless seduction as he slips his heels into the leather stirrups and moves his arms slowly over his head, shifting until his ass nearly hangs off the edge.

"Good boy," The doctor says absently. Rafael shivers a little with pleasure at the praise, keeping his eyes closed and biting down on his lower lip. It's a trained reaction, one that's thoughtless by now, but it's never really instinct.

The nurse, an older woman, doesn't even look at him as she takes her place at the end of the table. The doctor grunts as she puts on blue latex gloves and smears clear lubricant on her fingers. "Hold steady, pet. This might cause some discomfort."

Rafael wants to ask her if there is anything you can do to him that doesn't.

He keeps his mouth shut, though.

Boscoe is still watching him with his arms crossed where he stands against the wall. Rafael chances only the slightest glance, looking away when he sees Boscoe's eyes trailing over the welts left along Rafael's ribs from the night before, the bite marks so deep they've bruised in the shape of teeth on one hip.

"His owner signed off on the use of his body?" The doctor asks as she slides the first finger inside. Rafael bites his lower lip harder to keep himself quiet, because it doesn't feel uncomfortable - it stings, torn skin protesting yet another invasion.

"Yes," Boscoe lies easily. Then, to add a kernel of truth, "They often allow their friends or business partners to use him."

Not their employees, though, but that's never stopped Boscoe. And Rafael knows how to keep secrets, knows how to trade his silence in front of the masters for the ability to weep when they're gone.

One finger becomes two, then three, the pain rising, and Rafael can't hold back the softest whimper no matter how hard he tries. "Ma'am-... Ma'am, I-"

"Sssshhh," The doctor shushes him harshly, and Rafael swallows back any thin, weak protest against her touch he might have been able to manage. "I know. I can tell this is hurting you."

She doesn't stop, though. She gets a small silver tool out, rubs it over in the same lubricant, and then forces that inside, too.

When Rafael cries out, the nurse slaps a hand over his mouth to muffle him, glaring down at him at his vision blurs with tears. His chest heaves, panting with the need for this to stop, to stop hurting, just to give him a minute to prepare himself for it.

But no one listens to him.

It's not like he's a person, anyway.

#rafael is no one's saint #bbu #wru #pet whump #noncon touch #nonsexual touch #dubcon #medical whump

[hold-him-down]

A prompt: Ivan has Leo strung up and is doing something unpleasant to him

tw: forced to fight, electrocution, restraints, nonsexual nudity, noncon touch

notes: somewhere early in ivan days

Strung Up

“It’s different from the collar,” Ivan says, somewhere just outside of Leo’s line of sight. He tries to crane his neck, to twist his body, to get eyes on what's to come. He can't pinpoint what exactly it will be, but he knows it won't be good. He's been in this room for what could be hours, what feels like hours, his wrists bound tightly above his head, his body hanging.

From above the door, the red light promises as much.

He isn't made to wait long. Without warning, Ivan materializes in front of him, his fingers digging into Leo's chin to lift his head.

“You know it fucking frustrates me that you make me take these measures, Leo,” he says, peering up at him through narrowed eyes. 

Leo can feel himself shaking, with every movement sending shooting pain through his shoulders. He doesn’t look away, though.

He can’t, however, form the words he knows he needs to form. The, 'I’m sorry, sir,' that he knows Ivan craves. His throat is raw, and even if he wanted to say it, he doesn't think any sound would come. He can't apologize, and he can't promise it won't happen again, because he's not sorry, and it will, he thinks. It will happen again, and again, and again. Because something in him is broken, and he's almost positive he won't make his way out of this contract, and at night, when that becomes its most obvious, his resolve gets stronger and stronger.

He's drawn back to the moment by an unexpected blow and his vision swims, and almost mercifully his head drops, and the world goes dark.

✥ ✥ ✥ 

“Come back to me,” Ivan is saying, almost lovingly. And then, as Leo forces his eyes open, Ivan says, “There you are.”

Leo's stomach turns over, and the inescapable pain momentarily overcomes him. Through dried, cracked lips, Leo whispers a nearly-silent, “Please,” and Ivan steps back.

It’s in that moment that Leo sees the long, almost definitely electrified baton, come toward his stomach, and a moment later, the world is engulfed in a fiery pain that consumes every part of him.

He can’t quite tell when Ivan stops, but he knows that it happens, because eventually he becomes aware of parts of himself. The screams that pull from deep within his chest, sending fresh flames through his already raw throat. Each thrash against the restraints that lights his shoulders ablaze. The sweat that drips from his hair, down his face and neck, onto somewhere below him.

“Easy, easy,” Ivan is saying, his voice close. “Take a breath, Leo,” he whispers. Leo sucks in as much air as he can, and Ivan laughs softly, his lips touching Leo’s forehead. “My boy,” he says, pulling back enough to see his whole face. "You are doing fine."

He’s distantly aware that it’s no longer just Ivan and him in the room, but further back, a man stands next to Ivan’s doctor.

Ivan is speaking to the man, who walks over to Leo with a hunger in his eyes.

He’s young, maybe no older than Leo himself. He rolls the sleeves up on his crisp white shirt and puts his hand out. Leo flinches as the man makes contact, first cupping the back of his neck, then running the same hand down his chest.

He holds Leo’s gaze for a moment then smiles, taking a step back.

“You think more?” Ivan asks, and the man nods.

Ivan looks at Leo then, and says, “You lost him a shit ton of money tonight.” Ivan sucks in a sharp breath, and continues, “Granted, it was fucking stupid to bet on you, wasn’t it? You are not ready for all that. Yet.”

Leo swallows, steeling himself against the pain that he knows is coming.

“I have been brainstorming with some of my guests, what to do with you.” He clicks his tongue. “A consolation prize would be interesting, I think. We have to keep the clientele happy, don’t we?” This part, he says softly; a secret between the two of them.

“I’m sorry,” Leo finally chokes out, his voice teetering on the edge of desperation.

“You say that a lot,” Ivan whispers back, with bite behind the words. He retreats and hands the tool to the other man, winking at Leo as he does. “Enjoy your time with him,” Ivan says, louder now, more a message to Leo than to anyone else. “I don’t prefer to share my boys in this way, but sometimes, it is justified.” Ivan gives Leo a once-over and Leo wonders, briefly, what he sees. How bruised he’s become, just in the two weeks he’s spent here. How thin he is, how desperate for any kind of reprieve. If he can see how he shakes, if he knows how bad it hurts. He blinks slowly, on the edge of losing consciousness and simply drifting away. He knows Ivan won’t allow it. If he knows nothing else, of that much he’s sure. Breaths come harder and slower, and he hears, distantly, “If you feel that he is dying, send Mikhail a text message. He is prepared to deal with it.”

Through heavy, salt-burned eyes, Leo watches Ivan retreat, and the doctor follows. Without warning, the man turns to him, and as instantly as a thought of mercy crosses his mind, it vanishes, and the world is once more engulfed in flames.

✥ ✥ ✥ 

When Leo awakens, he’s being carried through the maze-like halls of the basement. He tries to lift his head, to give some indication that he’s conscious, but no part of his body will cooperate. He doesn’t have the strength to hope that the man carrying him is not the same man who did this to him; he doesn’t have the strength to hope for anything.

“It’s alright,” he hears, but the sounds are warbled, the voice unfamiliar. “Almost there.”

He’s carried into one of the bathrooms and placed carefully into the shower stall. Through blurred vision, he can see that the light is yellow, and he lets himself drift away.

He's distantly aware of time passing, of being moved, of being spoken not to, but about. When he opens his eyes again, it's another worker, familiar only to him in passing, who leans over him, washing away the evidence of what was done. Leo begins the agonizing process of trying to speak, but before he can, the man says, “Don’t.” He moves the rag down Leo’s side, his touch light but not light enough to avoid reigniting the dulling pain. Leo flinches.

“Sorry,” the man says, his voice devoid of any real emotion. “Petrov won’t tolerate camaraderie.” The worker repositions Leo, rinsing away more blood and exposing more of the damage to his body. “I’d be lying if I said I knew what exactly he wanted me to do to you here.” Leo isn’t sure if the man is talking to him or not, so he stays silent. “Mikhail, the doctor, will see you once you’re cleaned up,” he continues. “You’re Leo, right?”

Leo urges himself to focus on the man, nodding.

“I’m Dante,” he says. There's silence as the worker, Dante, continues dutifully washing Leo's wrecked body. Several minutes pass in this way, before Dante says, “I’ve been here for almost two years." Dante keeps his eyes off of Leo's face, but keeps speaking. "I saw your fight tonight, if that’s what you want to call it.” He pushes Leo forward, letting the water flow down his back. Leo cries out softly, the pain in his ribs electric, and squeezes his hands into fists.

There's another silence as Leo catches his breath, longer this time.

“My best guess is Petrov wants me to talk sense into you,” Dante eventually continues, running the rag down Leo’s spine. Leo hisses in a breath, automatically pulling away. Dante pauses in his movements, briefly this time, before taking some unspoken signal that Leo is ready to continue. He moves to sit back on his heels, taking Leo’s hands in his. He turns them over, running soap over each finger, under each nail, and rinsing away all remaining evidence.

“You can’t survive this way,” he finally says, his tone colder now. “Being under a contract like this… it could kill you. He’s killed more than a few workers since I’ve been here, but he always finds a way to get new contracts. You don’t have to fight every night, but when you do… you have to at least try... or, if not try, pretend. Even if you have no intention of winning. Even if you have full intention of sticking it to him. If you want to survive, you have to figure out what you're okay with.”

Leo nods. Dante drops his hands, standing abruptly.

“He’ll make you fight again tomorrow,” Dante says. “The doctor will tell him not to, but he won’t care. He’ll do it over and over until he thinks you’ve figured things out.”

“What if I don’t–” Leo chokes out, swallowing back a new wave of agony. “If I don’t figure things out?” He closes his eyes in a desperate bid to compartmentalize the pain.

“If you don’t tomorrow, you will the next day. Or the day after that. Or the day after that, maybe. There’s no long term opt-out. There’s only participate, or go through this, night after night, until you do.”

Dante opens the door, then turns to look back at Leo. “We’re not friends now, we’re not coworkers, and we’re not allies. I am doing what I can to survive, and if you get in the way of that, if it comes down to my safety versus yours, I’ll choose mine.” His face, and his voice, soften almost imperceptibly, as he says, “Just pretend. That's all he wants right now."

He leaves then, letting the door close behind him.

#the fighter #peachy and i sent each other this prompt after we watched that movie #forced to fight #nonsexual nudity #noncon touch #torture

[livingforthewhump]

Whumper let out a long sigh as he stretched back on the couch, back cracking against the cushions. Whumpee was curled in the corner, his own back aching, but the protective instinct to make himself as small as possible won over any kind of pain he felt.

Unfortunately, that didn’t stop Whumper from looking over at him. Nothing he did ever seemed to stop Whumper. He leaned forward, propping his elbows on his long legs, and surveyed Whumpee.

Then he reached out a hand. “Come here.”

Whumpee hesitated, but the decision had already been made for him. Whenever Whumper spoke, Whumpee never had any choice but to obey, never mind his feelings on the matter. Shakily, he peeled himself up from the floor and walked over to Whumper. It felt weird to be standing over him. Whumper was so much bigger, so much taller, and Whumpee wasn’t usually on his feet a lot anyway. Still, Whumper’s gaze was as much a prison as anything else, and there was no question as to who had the power there.

Whumper looked Whumpee over, humming in thought. “You don’t have your collar on right now. But I don’t particularly want to go get it…” Whumpee’s heart jolted and he took a half step back. The collar was never a good sign. Whumper’s hand shot out, grabbing his wrist and pulling him back in with an iron grip. “See, that’s exactly why you need it, dumb thing,” he chided.

After a moment’s pause, he reached up and slid his tie off over his head, keeping it knotted. Using the hand holding Whumpee’s wrist, he tugged Whumpee down, successfully pulling the tie over the other man’s head and securing it at his neck.

“There we go,” Whumper murmured, using the tie to tug Whumpee in closer. Whumpee's throat bobbed in a swallow. The tie was pulled too tight by Whumper’s hand, digging into his adam’s apple and all but choking him. The tension tugged him into an odd angle, leaning over Whumper on the edge of his balance, centimeters away from collapsing on top of him, leaving his shaky core to work overtime to keep him upright.

It certainly didn’t help when Whumper’s hand left his wrist and started moving up his side, ridiculously warm through the thin fabric of his shirt.

“Stop—” Whumpee tried, but it ended in a grunting cough when Whumper jerked the tie, sending Whumpee toppling forward.

His arms flew out to catch him, landing on the back of the couch on either side of Whumper’s head, caging him in in an odd imitation of the pose Whumper was so fond of taking with Whumpee. Still so obvious to them both that an imitation was all it was. All the power lay with Whumper—not in the circumstances Whumper had forced them into or the resources Whumper had, as Whumpee had tried to convince himself at first. It lay within who Whumper was, and who Whumpee was before him. Nothing more than clay to be molded. A game to be played.

Whumper’s arm was looped around Whumpee’s waist now, stopping him from pulling away. His arms were shaking from the effort of holding himself up like this.

“You look scared, Whumpee…are you?” Whumper murmured, eyes sparkling. His voice dipped down low. “Answer me, boy.”

Whumpee swallowed thickly. “Y-yes.”

“Yes…?” The word was a warning, as was the slight tightening of the hand around his waist.

“Yes sir.” His eyes screwed shut as he spoke. A mistake. Whumper tugged him forward further, bending his elbows more and making him tremor from the strain.

“You think you don’t deserve this. Is that right? You think you deserve to be free of me?” There wasn’t any of the anger Whumpee expected in his voice, mere curiosity and amusement.

Whumpee opened and closed his mouth, entirely unsure how to respond. Whether to be honest and give the wrong answer or to face the punishment for lying.

Whumper seemed to take his hesitation as its own answer. “That’s okay, I’m not mad.” His hand left his waist—other still firmly grabbing the tie—and slid up his chest to take hold of his chin while Whumpee arched away from the touch. “I understand where you’re at. Up until now I’ve only ever hurt you, haven’t I? And you can’t understand why, so you assumed I was being unjust. Does that sound right?”

Whumpee’s heart clambered in his chest. Nothing Whumper had just said was wrong, exactly…but it also didn’t sound right.

“Whumpee?”

“Mm—yes sir,” he whispered.

“Good.” His voice was silky and gentle and it terrified Whumpee more than anything else he’d done. “Relax, now, boy, I’m just talking to you. You can let go, I���m not going to let you fall.” His arms wrapped around Whumpee’s middle, bracing around him as he obeyed and let his arms fall limp under his weight. Whumper supported him, maneuvering him to sit on the couch beside him with his knees tucked underneath him.

Then he grabbed onto the tie again, making Whumpee to lean over his lap, shoulder pressed against Whumper’s chest.

“You fought me so much in the beginning. Do you remember? It wasn’t that you were afraid of being hurt—that’s only natural. Your defiance was against me. You didn’t want me anywhere near you, no matter what I was going to do.” As he spoke, Whumper traced his hand across Whumpee’s curved back, his shoulders, slipping into his hair. Whumpee held back his very breath for fear of attracting even more attention.

He leaned forward suddenly, lips brushing up against Whumpee’s ear as he murmured, “You were very bad to me, Whumpee.” And then he relaxed again, and eyes roving over Whumpee’s half-cowering form. “But I’m sure we’ll make up for that later. In the meantime, I’ve had to give you a form of exposure therapy, if you will.”

Whumpee shuddered at the term, sucking a breath in through his teeth when Whumper’s hand found his face, cupping his cheek and turning it up to look at him. From the way he was leaning against Whumper, they were very, very close together.

“I had to hand-feed you the worst possible scenario, little thing. You were rebellious no matter what I planned to do, so I worked with you until you were okay with whatever I wanted to do by helping you not fight against the most scary things. And just look at you now.” His thumb stroked over Whumpee’s face for emphasis, then he wrapped both arms around the poor boy’s shoulders and pulled him fully into his chest. “You still don’t understand yet, all the way. But it’s helped. Hasn’t it helped you feel better, Whumpee?”

His throat burned. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to cry. More than anything he just wanted to not be here anymore. “…yes sir.”

Whumper’s arms squeezed tight for a moment before relaxing, sinking Whumpee into his lap to lay down. “It has, I can tell. And we’re not done yet. We’ll keep working until you’re willing to let me do anything, so long as it’s me who wants it.”

Whumpee’s bottom lip wobbled. He hated the way Whumper looked down at him, like he was a sacrificial lamb on an altar, just waiting to be destroyed for the sake of his own sins. Whumper’s hand pet over him absently before grabbing ahold of the tie and wrenching it tight, cutting off Whumpee’s air completely.

“Don’t worry, boy. I’ll make sure to keep you needy in the meantime. After all, what’s the real joy of receiving something if you don’t want for it first?”

—

General Whump Taglist: @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @twistedcaretaker @lonesome--hunter @poppys-writing @endless-whump @multifandoms-multishipper @shadowylemon @utopian819 @whumpkitty @journey-the-panda @freefallingup13 @prettyboysinpain @1becky1 @temporary-whump-sideblog @chartreusephoenix @thelazywitchphotographer @mylifeisonthebookshelf @badluck990 @lockedupuniverse @luna-rein @broadwaybabe18 @pinescales-whumps @silverwhisperer1 @embersalive @the-bloody-sadist @batfacedliar-yetagain @nicolepascaline @whump-angst-fluff-repeat @susanshinning @didieatyourdog @corvid-voidbur @insane-writing-things @thebaffledtiewriter @morning-star-whump

#whump drabble #intimate whumper #creepy whumper #noncon touching #nonsexual noncon touch #scared whumpee #whumper #whumpee

[meirimerens]

thinking about how mishandled the herb brides are because like. The Text tells us they're not sexual beings (P1 mentions them being virgins, engaged to the Earth, and not to be touched even by their husbands, almost, for a lack of a better word and to conjure an image more than anything, priestess-types) and that their dances are nonsexual and sacred (all all true and correct) WHILE. giving them detailed / 3D modeled nipples. topless. clothes very conveniently torn [in ways that would be unrealistic for actual dancing like in the fucking moshpit]. all pretty thin hairless white-passing blemishless 20-something women. being already sexualized as white-passing asian women, but if they looked more like other NPC models/members of the Kin like the Kayura models (which to me would make more sense because they are never mentioned to be mixed in the way Artemy, an indigenous man who's blonde blue eyes due to being mixed, is [while still very much being indigenous and it being a central part of his story]), it would be even more obvious and would steer even more into Very Blatant fetishization of asian women. and then one asks, are they white-passing because they're sexualized? are they sexualized because they're white-passing? was it an admission of guilt to not make them look like Kayura model, because it would be too obvious then? or is it an admission of lust for women more white-passing? is it about beauty in the eye of the beholder?

then there's bewildering and dehumanizing lore of members of the Kin being non-humans, through the existence of the Worms (literally half-soil), them being a (more or less literal) hivemind, and that being "less human"/closer to the earth (nice_dichotomy_what_lies_outside_of_it png but also... the game touches on that...) immunizes them to the Earth's disease... and yet the Brides look like women... pretty thin hairless white-passing blemishless 20-something women who someone found wise to give 3d modeled nipples to, still good for the ritual cutting... do you hear how i'm going mad yet...

edit to add because while i was so mad and it WAS in my mind i just didn't have the strength to add it when i first wrote:

and they're bought and traded between the odonghs they pair with (again, closer to cattle or things) ... ladies there's so much. there's too much.

#werewolf tearing shirt off again #ah well. [lets myself drift away in the images i've made of the brides and my constant quest to humanize them and respect them and #make them diverse and full of life. which i might never manage to and yet i try.] #also i was thinking like. their celibacy + virginity + central spiritual place in the kin do be reminding me a lot of priestesses #[really sorry for boxing them in like that but if there is stuff of the same thing just with another name imagine i used it here #i just don't know any other] #and priestesshood famously was an option for women to avoid marriage; and often domestic/sexual servitude to their husbands #same for nuns who are also said to be like. ''engaged to christ'' in their own way (again only making tangentially similar patterns; #not calling the Brides nuns of course) #so having them be Said to be nonsexual [until they're said to be etc] while being Shown as sexualized it's like. oooh the misery #neigh (blabbers) #disclaimer i'm white & i'm sure Many indigenous women regardless of origins have touched on this in more direct and deeper ways i ever coul #oh there's also the fact that the kin is said in design document to mirror in ways 19th century native americans #and the herb brides going to sexualize themselves in the B.H. ''for outsiders'' (p1 dialogues) #mirrors native american women being pushed in brothels from the crushing roller of colonization stripping them of land #pushing them into poverty and homelessness #in ways that i um. raised eyebrow emoji to say the least. find deeply uncomfortable.

[moranabean]

For all my aces out there here’s the unofficial list I made of non sexual forms of affection <3

- Dancing together

- Acts of service

- going on dates.

- sharing drinks.

- talking.

- phone calls.

- Skype/facetime calls.

- sharing personal details.

- touching noses.

- deep talks.

- sharing smiles.

- laying your head on their shoulder.

- linking arms.

- tickling.

- sharing smiles.

- playing with hair.

- tracing designs on backs/arms.

- handwritten notes.

- laying your head on their chest to hear their heartbeat.

- singing/playing instruments together.

- sharing food.

- brushing their hair.

- drawing/writing on one another.

- cooking together.

- reading together.

- beauty treatments like makeup or face masks or manicures.

- taking care of them when they're sick.

- head-scratches.

- sleeping next to each other. butterfly kisses.

- nuzzling.

- sharing stories.

- seeing each other completely comfortable and relaxed.

- moral support.

- crying or being emotionally vulnerable with each other.

- sleepovers.

- going on trips together.

- sharing clothes or other personal items.

- going with them to appointments.

- making art together.

- talking about the future and what you want in life.

- play games together.

- respecting boundaries and communicating.

- complimenting.

- inside jokes.

- going out to eat.

- just accepting and loving that person completely.

- Holding hands

- hugging

- crying together

- laughing

- calling instead of texting

- saying I love you

- remembering the little things

- "I've been thinking about you”

- watching tv/movies together.

#ace pride #asexual #notes #lgbtqia #physical touch #non sexually #a sign of affection #nonsexual intimacy #platonic affection

[linecrosser]

shakkau drugged and kidnapped and kidnappers get handsy with him cuz he pretty till he gets rescued?

Changed it up a bit, didn't include the drugged-part, but someone is getting handsy allright.

But they are just confirming and double-checking that his skin is purely grey, no blemish or marks or taint or anything. It's for his own good!

(or so they claim)

#achaar djaanib #shakkau #whump art #whump #captured #unwanted physical touch #handsy #nonsexual nudity

[tswwwit]

dip 🤝 bill

both liking their hair pulled/played with

👍

#answers #Bill ruffles Dipper's hair all the time. But that's condescending and generally leads to an argument #Playing with Dipper's hair is only available when Bill thinks he can get away with it. Can't look *too* sentimental in public #They've still been caught multiple times. Dipper just never commented on it #Dipper has more chances. Mostly when Bill's dropped his head in Dipper's lap and smacking him in the face inevitably leads to more touching #It's also one of the few ways he doesn't feel awkward about initiating gentle touch. Since Bill's basically offering there. #The Cuddling™ is still a recent development and he's not sure where the boundaries are #If these two were better at communicating he would learn that Bill's full-on dived into the decision that nonsexual touch actually rules #Hug that demon Dipper. He'll let you cling to him and nuzzle up against his neck and giggle about it #semi-nsfw: Bill really had to egg Dipper on to full-on pull his hair when he goes down on him #A little pain adds spice!! Yank away sapling it's encouraging AND really hot #Dipper prefers a much lighter touch himself but hey! If Bill's into it he'll go ahead and tug like hell #Bonus fact: Dipper watching Bill bend over to get something under a table or low drawer #Raising an eyebrow at the presented rear end #Then the sudden realization: Wait Bill does this to *him* all the time. They're married. He doesn't just have to stare #He can actually- #The ensuing butt slap made Bill jolt up and smack his head against something. Swearing and surprised. #And Dipper made his escape while Bill was still too engulfed with confusion/amusement/annoyance to take quick revenge #Mission: Success

[i-eat-deodorant]

furiously writing my blorbos hugging to make up for the fact that nobody hugs me

#paviscreams #delete later #every time i write nonsexual physical touch i'm like wow wish that were me #drawing too lmfao

[whump-card]

Sunless Lives Part 25: I Will Wait

~1580 words

CW: drugging, noncon undressing, nonsexual nudity, noncon touch, medical whump, forced institutionalization, ED mention, negative self-talk

First, Previous, Next, Masterlist

~~~

DR MANDAL: I’d like to know how you like the staff and faculty here so far.

M BECK: Oh, they’re great. Everyone’s been wonderful.

DR MANDAL: No trouble at all?

M BECK: None.

DR MANDAL: That’s good to hear. What about the other patients, do you like your roommates?

M BECK: Sure, they’re alright.

DR MANDAL: No issues?

M BECK: We all wake up with nightmares, so it’s not like it’s fair to complain about that.

DR MANDAL: So no issues, but do you like them?

M BECK: I think so. I think everyone here hates themselves so much, it’s hard to connect with other people.

DR MANDAL: That’s very observant. Would you include yourself in that?

[0:26]

M BECK: Yeah.

~~~

The intake process was terrifying. Whatever drugs he’d been given had worn off enough for Simon to be awake, but not enough for him to resist as he was manhandled by orderlies out of the car and into a hulking rock of a building - the title of Fort wasn’t just for show. He didn’t have much time to look before he was inside, lifted onto a gurney and wheeled through a dizzying maze of hallways and into a cold room. Broad-shouldered orderlies leaned over him, and started taking off his clothes. One unzipped his coat, while another sat him up. The coat was jerked over his shoulders and off, and dropped unceremoniously on the floor. Then his turtleneck was peeled off, his arms gripped and guided by strong hands. He whimpered and flinched when they touched his skin directly for the first time, and he distantly registered a laugh. His upper half was dropped back onto the gurney and they set to work on his lower half. Someone pulled off his boots and socks while someone else started unbuttoning his jeans. This sent a shock of panic through Simon, he wanted to tell them to stop, but he couldn’t form the words. He couldn’t form coherent thoughts either, instead his head was overtaken by wordless waves of fear and shame and embarrassment as they pulled his pants and underwear down. A hand briefly grabbed his ass but Simon couldn’t tell if it was on purpose or not. Tears slipped out and ran down his temple and into his ear. He couldn’t even move to brush them away, much less stop anything that was happening. Someone whistled when his thighs were revealed.

“Bloodbag.”

“Yup.”

“Fuckin’ idiot.”

A vague figure ran a hand over his ribs.

“ED watch?”

“Probably.”

“I’ll be deciding that.”

The orderlies backed off, and a gray-haired man in a doctor’s coat took over, briskly taking Simon’s vitals and shining lights in his eyes, ears, and mouth. He manually pulled at Simon’s eyelids and jaw himself, and didn’t address Simon as he worked. Then, Simon could only lie there and watch as the worst happened: the doctor received a camera from an orderly and started taking pictures. His face. His scars. The bites. The flash of the camera left Simon blinded and dazed. The doctor barked at the orderlies to flip him over and Simon heard the camera click as he captured his backside as well. Then he was dropped onto his back again, a sheet was thrown over his lower half, and the room was suddenly quiet and empty.

His head flopped to the side on the thin padding of the gurney, mouth agape. Tears and drool slowly leaked out, out of his control. He felt disgusting. Violated. Scared. This had to be some sort of mistake. There was no way Chris would send him to someplace like this. Your boss and your friends were so very worried, Kelly had said - Gina, Amber, and Devon had had a hand in this as well. He needed to talk to Chris. This all had to be some horrible misunderstanding. It had to be.

He wanted Matthew.

He wanted to go home.

Maybe you made a mistake.

Simon drifted in and out of consciousness for a while, but was finally brought back by his stomach growling loudly. He’d lost a lot of his appetite over the last month, but even he could only go so long without eating. He found he could move his arms, and legs, and even slowly sit up. He discovered some thin, scratchy clothes folded at his feet: a long sleeved t-shirt and elastic-waisted pants, both a sickly shade of green, and started the laborious process of putting them on. He felt sick, dizzy, cold, and hungry, and his limbs moved half a second slower than he wanted them to. He had just pulled up the pants and was standing unsteadily against the gurney when the door opened. He flinched back, grabbing the gurney for support. The large redheaded orderly that entered looked him up and down.

“McKenna?”

“Yes?” Simon breathed.

“With me.” He stepped aside and held the door open. Simon tentatively scooted through under his gaze.

“Where-?”

“Left,” the man ordered.

Simon started walking to the left down the hall, but his legs wobbled under him and he staggered into the wall. The large man caught his upper arm, gripping it hard enough to bruise, and dragged him along.

“That hurts, you’re hurting me,” Simon pleaded. No response. “Where are we going?” Nothing. They passed by more doors and under more fluorescent lights, as well as beady-eyed cameras mounted in high corners. The surveillance reminded Simon of Lara’s house, and his heart pounded. He stumbled to keep up. “I haven’t had anything to eat since yesterday, can -”

The orderly abruptly stopped and slammed Simon into the wall, pinning him there with an arm across his chest that knocked all the air out of Simon’s lungs.

“Don’t ask me for shit,” he growled, “Don’t ask anyone for shit, just do what you’re told, and shut the fuck up.”

Simon nodded, gasping for air. The orderly held him there for a long, threatening moment, clearly enjoying the power trip. Then it was back to being dragged.

After a few more confusing turns, they passed through a heavy security door and into an open room with round tables and scattered chairs, occupied by a handful of other people in the same green outfits as Simon. Orderlies were dotted around the room, observing as patients drew in coloring books and played checkers. It reeked of mildew and sick. Cameras stared from every corner.

“Don’t make any friends,” the redhead whispered in his ear, and released his arm. Simon staggered a couple steps forward, clutching at his aching bicep. Some of the other patients turned in their seats to watch him with languid curiosity.

Simon hugged himself tightly, breathing fast. He didn’t know what the orderly’s warning meant. He didn’t know what to do. He looked around the room in desperation and his heart leapt when he saw the back of someone in pink scrubs - a nurse, not a patient or orderly. The pink reminded him of Tammy at the clinic, and how kind she’d been. He wove through the tables to where she was talking to another patient.

“Excuse me,” Simon tapped her on the shoulder, “I just got here, I don’t know what’s going on, can you help me?”

She turned around slowly, her thin eyebrows high.

“Okay, number one, do not touch the faculty or staff,” she lectured.

“Oh, sorry, I -”

She snapped her hand closed in front of his face.

“Ah-ah! I don’t want to hear it. Who did your intake?”

“I didn’t - I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? Do you know your room number?”

“N-no.”

 She huffed.

“Fine, I’ll look everything up for you. What’s your name, do you at least know that?”

“Simon. McKenna.”

“Thank you.” She strode away, ponytail bouncing, and exited through a security door that she opened with a keycard. Simon watched her go, pressing his knuckles to his mouth.

“That’s Linda,” said the patient she had been talking with - a very tall, very skinny man hunched over a hand of cards. Two others sat opposite him, an older man with a significant tremor and a boy younger than Simon, barely an adult.

“You don’t want to mess with her. I’m Chett, you wanna play cards with us?” the skinny man twanged, and grinned black and yellow teeth in an eerily familiar way that made Simon shrink back.

“S-sorry, no thank you,” he stammered.

“C’mon, sweet little thing like you needs friends!” Chett cajoled, but Simon was already backing away. He found a mercifully empty table and slouched down in the slippery plastic chair to wait for Linda. His heart thrummed and his eyes darted around the room at the other patients still giving him sidelong glances. None of them looked particularly friendly. The orderlies, on the other hand, looked downright hostile. They were all large men, some even larger than Matthew, and they glowered down over the patients like a bank of storm clouds.

Matthew. Simon felt tears spring to his eyes again. Hopefully wherever Matthew was sent was better than this. He put his head down on the table, sheltering under his arms. His mind replayed his last moments with Matthew. Their last kiss.

I’ll come get you.

Only a little while.

It’ll be okay.

You fucking idiot.

Regret started to bubble up in his stomach.

Shouldn’t have gone to the clinic.

He winced at the thought. Matthew, the real Matthew, was back and alive, and he was regretting that?

Worthless.

You deserve to be here.

~~~

First, Previous, Next, Masterlist

Taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy, @pigeonwhumps, @sunshiline-writes, @seasaltandcopper

#whump #whump fic #whump writing #sunless lives #sunless lives arc 3 #cw drugging #cw noncon undressing #cw nonsexual nudity #cw noncon touch #medical whump #cw forced institutionalization #cw ED mention #cw negative self-talk #my writing

[altschmerzes]

🌹

thank youuuuu after the encouragement to commit on this scene and others like it in the first place, a bit from The Cuddling Part in the qpr two aces fic -

Then Dani’s hand moves, settling on Jamie’s side. He leaves it there, his thumb moving in slow strokes over the ridge of bone at the bottom of Jamie’s ribcage. There are callouses on his palm that Jamie can feel, slightly rough against his skin. It’s beyond frightening but he doesn’t want it to stop. He thinks he might die if it stopped, actually, if that gentle touch was gone and he was left to lay here, cold enough to shiver without it. It doesn’t leave. It stays, pressing a little harder after a while, like the way that Jamie has relaxed and leaned back into Dani’s chest, not flinching again since that first time, has given him permission to settle in too.

#gav gab #fic: loneliness into loneliness #writing liveblog #gav answers #ask box games #this is from a scene that's about a few things i.e. changing they way they're sleeping #now that dani's shoulder has healed enough to be like. id like to hold YOU this time if that's okay. #and there's a thing about like. direct skin-to-skin contact #it's a fully and intentionally nonsexual scene for the record but dani's hand is like #on jamie's side under his shirt #i don't totally have a justification for that except that it popped into my mind and now it Has to be here #something something intimacy and proximity and touch and hands etc #looking at this still like i truly don't know why this scene happened this way #but it came into my mind like #dani's hand is under jamie's shirt on his side #and it's Just That #it's just about touch it's not about anything else #and even though that's maybe weird? idk? #it HAD to be like that. there's no other way for the scene to go #i'm like. still so anxious that's a Weird thing to write but also who cares #maybe it is #maybe i want it that way anyway

[whumpacabra]

23. Daymare

Nightmare, comfort, fear for others’ safety, referenced gunshot wound, referenced head injury, referenced nonsexual nudity, referenced needle use [IV], vaguely implied past noncon and anticipated violence

AU Masterpost / Previous / Next

The Wolf could hear him whimpering in his sleep. Harrison was nearby - to his right, closer to the ground (he was on a bed?). The Wolf pulled himself into his elbows, ignoring the pulsing pain from the gunshot wound in his right arm.

With his enhanced hearing, the Wolf had been listening to the man’s unsteady breathing; gasps and winces of pain betrayed by the smallest of sounds. Looking down at him (the Wolf's right eye still smothered in gauze) he was clearly still asleep.

Dreaming.

The Wolf couldn’t remember the last time he dreamed. (The was probably for the best, given how upset Harrison looked.)

The room was empty, save for them. He could hear movement and words nearby - the clatter of ceramic on wood (a table?). The voices were talking about him.

The Wolf shied from his own name, sitting up and taking inventory of his body. He still had no clothes (very bad) but the itch and sting of his injuries had faded. The blood bag attached it his IV line had been bled dry.

He removed the needle cautiously, hands steady. He didn’t want the IV stand rattling as he moved around. There was a second bag on the stand - clear fluids running down a line to Harrison’s right hand. It seemed, even in spite of his dreaming, Harrison didn’t toss or turn in his sleep.

The Wolf waited a moment for his fuzzy vision to clear after he sat up, legs swung over the side of the bed. He needed clothes. Rummaging through the dresses found him fresh pants and trousers and an oversized shirt that wasn’t too painful to fit his injured arm into.

Harrison’s breathing was turning labored, sweat beading on his forehead. The voices outside - talking about him, about Harrison - would hear his whines soon enough. The Wolf’s chest clenched at the thought.

His sleeping quarters had always been safe, had been predictably his own space - had been. Until they weren’t.

Would it be the same here?

Were they just lulling the pair into complacency, into false security?

All so they could smile and laugh as they ripped it away again - ?

Harrison needed to be quiet. He needed to wake up.

The Wolf crouched next to Harrison’s cot in a half kneel, putting his body between him and the door. His left hand hovered, fingers shaking. Did Harrison want to be woken? Did he care if their saviors (captors?) invaded this room?

The Wolf wanted him awake. The Wolf cared deeply about keeping the voices on the other side of the door out.

He laid his left hand on Harrison’s shoulder and gently squeezed. The sleeping man tensed, breathing short and pained.

“Wake up. You’re dreaming.” His hoarse whisper didn’t stir Harrison, who only whimpered, eyes twitching behind his eyelids. “Harrison, wake up.”

Shaking his shoulder a little harder, the Wolf flinched away as Harrison gasped awake, grasping at his arm. Harrison’s eyes were wide, tears threatening to spill as he looked between the Wolf and the bed and the late afternoon sunlight filtering between the window shades.

“Oh god I thought - he was - ” Harrison’s whispers shuddered in his chest. The Wolf settled, Harrison’s grip on his arm firm but not bruising. Harrison leaned forward, resting his head against the Wolf’s shoulder as his breathing evened.

And the Wolf let him.

He should have been scared of that, knowing how even gentle touches could wound as deep as any knife. Was it bad that he wasn’t frightened of Harrison’s trembling fingers? Harrison hadn’t hurt him - not even when he was stripped and beaten and weak.

Maybe he had just wanted the Wolf clean. But Harrison had brought him his clothes and hadn’t asked him to take them off. If he had wanted the Wolf dead, it would have been efficient to abandon him after finding the vehicle bay. Why had he come back? What did he want?

At the moment, it seemed he just wanted the Wolf to stay beside him, something steady to cling to. The Wolf would give it to him. He leaned against Harrison’s weight, the embrace alien in its painlessness. He wasn’t scared of giving Harrison this moment of peace and security.

He should have been scared, but he wasn’t.

Harrison was soft. He was gentle and warm and even when his voice had venom it was a balm compared to the vitriol the Wolf’s handler had for him. The Wolf wasn’t made to hold soft things, he wasn’t worthy to sap that warmth and accept that gentleness in turn.

(What creature carved from such violence could be? What rebirth was without blood?)

There were others he had seen, crafted to be sheep in appearance and behavior until their teeth were needed. He hadn’t qualified for that program. His teeth and claws couldn’t be tucked away in cottony wool long enough for that kind of assignment.

Looking back, the Wolf had been envious of those projects. Even when he saw them break apart, shattered and liquidated, he envied their brief performances. How he had wished he was still enough of a person to remember the mask, to be anything but a blunt instrument meant to inflict pain. He had resigned himself to his collar and leash, until -

Until his handler gave him a mask and told him to play the part of a person. The Wolf was cast in the role of human cruelty, a role he knew well as its victim in an earlier production. (His handler was not a person of soft things and gentle eyes, but he was a person nonetheless.)

Maybe the Wolf could play that part a bit longer. He would wait and see if the wool stuck around his sharp edges long enough to let Harrison sleep.

AU Masterpost / Previous / Next

(An AU of my Freelancers series)

Taglist: @i-eat-worlds

#whump #comfort #nightmare #fear for others safety #referenced gunshot wound #referenced head injury #referenced nonsexual nudity #needle use #past noncon #anticipated violence #Wolf has trust issues but he’s trying #freelancers au #wolf may be touch averse but hes also hella touch starved so hes got complicated feelings on hugs (from Harrison only) #i know its not quite a hug ashen but eh close enough?

[painonthebrain]

my friend said this sounded like prose so you know what. some whumpy rantings about saul for you

CWs: lab whump, experiment whumpee, noncon body modification, sedation/drugging, noncon touch (nonsexual), whumpee being watched, self harm mention/mention of the desire to self harm, body horror, unreality, just a general sense of whumpee being absolutely violated from the inside out

thinking about. sauls experimentation

like. wowee it must be so silly being drugged and paralyzed and touched over and over again whether or not you can feel it it must be so fun having your insides opened up and revealed and touched and changed. imagine not being yourself anymore imagine waking up and something is different and people could have done anything to you.

imagine not being coordinated enough to say stop. imagine not being able to do anything about it either. imagine no matter your level of consciousness, it happens anyway, and so many more people are watching and documenting you. theyre watching you theyre seeing your organs theyre touching you theyre watching please please just one moment of privacy please-

theres only an endless cycle of nothing and everything its all too much you cant give in you cant break you need to leave it hurts you want to rip the stitches open and tear your skin apart yourself for once—

time is nonlinear. its a cycle. unreal. no knowing how long you’ve been here. have you lost yourself? are you becoming something wrong? is your perception correct? is your perception correct? is your perception correct? is your perception correct?

you dont care who you hurt. you dont want to hurt anyone. you need to destroy everything.

everyone hates you. you’re valuable. youre worthless. people study your every move. you are an amalgamation of integral scientific discoveries. you are not yourself. dont lose yourself. people need you. people want you. people study everything about you. your anatomy is plastered on their notes forever. your body immortalized in data.

forever a spectacle

#lab whump #laboratory whump #lab rat whumpee #experiment whumpee #noncon touch #(nonsexual) #noncon body modification #drugging #drugged whumpee #body horror #self harm mention #unreality #my writing #saul oc

[crocodilenjoyer]

the straw hats should platonically kiss more often. just lean over and give each other a lil smooch on the forehead every now and then yknow. for their health

#riko.txt #straw hat pirates #they’re all damaged and various levels of touch starved. luckily they have luffy (mr 0 regard for physical boundaries himself) #they should fall asleep against each other and in a tangle of limbs that Will get numb in minutes #i believe in casual nonsexual intimacy supremacy

[nightfallsystem]

No, it is not ok to touch someone without their consent. Anywhere. "But you're my family-" ok and? I don't care, it startles me. It's not ok to break anyone's boundaries.

Ask before you touch.

#touch #yeah this is about my parents who fucking touch me without any consent (nonsexual) #consent #boundaries #healthy relationships #relationships

[whumpinggrounds]

Hard to Recognize

CW: male whumpee, female whumper, creepy whumper, possessive whumper, little whumper, big whumpee, emeto, brainwashing, manipulation, threats of violence, nonsexual noncon touch

Delilah is sitting in Liam’s lap. She’s in his lap, and a book is in hers, and she’s paging through it with that intense, absolute focus she gets when she’s reading. While one hand turns pages, the other arm is wrapped around Liam’s shoulders. Both of his arms are wrapped around her waist. The wispy lighter hairs on the top of her head tickle his nose.

They’re picture-perfect. Well, Liam sitting there zoning out isn’t exactly right, but he’s the strong, silent type anyway, right? He doesn’t need to be reading for this to work. He can just stare manfully at the wall. Without thinking about it much, Liam presses a kiss to Delilah’s temple. She hums, a happy sound, and he watches the corner of her eye crinkle up in a smile he can’t quite see. She’s pretty like this. Even beautiful.

Liam almost smiles. Then he freezes.

What the fuck is he doing?

There’s no cuff on his ankle, no drugs in his system. Delilah isn’t holding a shovel, or a Taser, or even a knife. Liam is just – doing this. Like it’s normal. Like he wants to. He’s thinking absently about how good they look together, how pretty Delilah is, how focused on her book. He’s thinking that this is a nice moment for them.

None of that is who Liam is. None of it is how he feels...right? When he thinks about Delilah, his skin crawls. His breathing picks up, his heart rate goes through the roof, and his stomach lurches like he’s on the deck of a ship in a hurricane. He’s afraid of her. He dreads her touch.

Yet here he is cradling her in his arms, and he isn’t even in danger.

All at once it’s too much. All at once, Liam feels like he’s going to throw up. Delilah must feel something, maybe the stiffening of every muscle in his body, because she glances up at him, her face all innocent confusion.

“My love?” She lifts a hand to his cheek, and her fingertips against Liam’s skin makes him want to cringe. It takes all of his will to hold himself in place. “Is something wrong?”

No, darling. I was just…thinking about how perfect you are. And how I almost lost you.

Sweet prince. You shouldn’t think of such things.

Sometimes, I think I need to remember it. So that nothing like that ever happens again.

That’s what Liam should say. That’s how the conversation should go. Fine, he doesn’t know exactly what Delilah would say, but he knows the shape of the exchange. He knows how to make her smile, how to make her swoon. After these long, terrifying weeks in her cabin in the woods, he might know her better than anyone else in his life. That scares the shit out of him, and it also regularly saves him from harm.

As he tries to force the words out, Liam finds that he can’t do it. He’s reached some inner limit, and when he opens his mouth, nothing comes out. His throat works and his lips move but he just can’t make himself lie to her. Deep in himself, he knows that this lie, right now, is too much to ask. He says those words he doesn’t feel, acts them like he’s someone he’s not, and he’ll lose another essential little piece of who he is. He’ll become that much more unrecognizable. Less Liam, and more of whoever she wants him to be.

She sees the distraught look in his eye and frowns, still more curious than anything. He needs her off of him. He needs her off of him now, needs to feel himself in control of his body and what happens to it for just one precious minute. He needs to pretend he’s a real person, his own person, instead of her overgrown plaything.

“I need some air,” he tells her, and her face darkens. It’s not good enough, not a reason to shift her from his lap. If he doesn’t want to get hurt, he needs to come up with something, fast. If he doesn’t want to get hurt, or worse, his brain reminds him darkly. “I…Princess, I don’t feel…”

There must be something concerning in his face because she stands from his lap, taking her time, every move embodying grace. He lurches to his feet and throws himself toward the door, not needing to fake any urgency. Crashing through, the chill outside hits him like a slap to the skin, and he welcomes the early spring sting. Hanging himself over the porch rail, he makes a few convincing retching sounds, spits up some bile. As he stares at the ground and pictures his lips pressed to Delilah’s cheek, the nausea he’s faking churns to genuine life in his gut.

“Sweetheart?”

Her voice chimes out behind him, and he winces. She isn’t pleased. A puking prince isn’t exactly part of her fantasy. Dread coils in his stomach as he thinks about how he’ll have to appease her.

“I’m so sorry, darling.” He fixes his eyes on the ground as he grinds out the words. It’s the only way he can get through them. “I don’t know what’s…what’s happened to me. I don’t…I just didn’t feel well. Perhaps it was the, um, the injury? Perhaps I caught something?”

The dull throb in his arch grows to a piercing stab - probably from the running, his foot pounding on the floorboards. In his head, it feels more like an answer to his desperate search for an explanation.

“Hmm.”

Hearing her expectant tone, Liam lets his eyes fall shut, and gives her the words he knows she wants to hear.

“I feel, um, weak. Would you…tend to me?”

Days, shut in Delilah’s bedroom. Drinking only hot water and broth that’s basically just more hot water. Endless boredom, little to no movement, and worst of all, her touch. On his brow, his chest, his arms. Everywhere. Her hands all over him, her fingers feeling, testing. For illness, she says, but he knows it’s more than that. She just loves to be in control.

“Oh, my sweet prince.” She sounds overjoyed now. “Of course!”

There’s no way out, is there? There’s no right move. One small moment for himself, that’s all Liam wanted, and now he’s paying for it, as he follows Delilah back into that cursed cabin, back into her bedroom. Liam had his moment away from her, his moment to breathe clean air and feel like himself.

Now he’s hers again.

Was it worth it?

He doesn’t know.

@whumptober, @whumptober-archive, @stab-the-son-of-a, @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, @lonesome–hunter, @diyalogues, @deluxewhump, @hearse-song, @pumpkin-spice-whump, @whumpy-writings, @warm-my-whumpee-heart @brutal-nemesis​

#whumptober #whumptober2022 #no.17 #breaking point #oc #fic #male whumpee #female whumper #creepy whumper #possessive whumper #nonsexual noncon touch #long term captivity #emeto #brainwashing #manipulation #angst #threats of violence #liam and delilah

[lyriumsings]

karlach, halsin, and astarion are literally all i care about rn and yes in that order. you would think i could actually play the game lmaooooo

#karlach beloved #what do you MEAN she hasn’t been touching in over a decade in a gentle way #WHAT DO YOU MEAANNN SHE ESCAPED AND STILL CANT TOUCH BC SHE COULD HURT THE PPL SHE CARES ABOUT WHAT DO YOU MEAAANNN #spoilers #not really but still jic #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #astarion too tho like!! what do you MEAN he’s been touched TOO much that he needs nonsexual intimacy when he decides he does care #how can you say these things to me and expect me NOT to go feral PLEASE #ngl i don’t know much about halsins arc he’s just hot and dtf??? as far as i know SJSJSJSJS #but that’s all i need to know to allow lailani to get railed by him tbqh #she deserves mount halsin #lyriumsings txt