#TW : mention of blood

[bearw-me]

Post-extermination!Lute x fem reader? Where lute is trying to show that she's still good/strong enough for reader and she can still be independent. Along with reader comforting Lute about how she's still perfect for her. (Details and examples below bc i enjoy rambling sorry)

I imagine that after loosing her arm lute would be very showy about overcompensating for it. And that if reader even tried to treat her bit differently, like being more SLIGHTLY gentle/careful with her, lute would get offended tell her to knock it off.

Lute's a strong woman, pre-extermination her carried reader alllll the time. Post-extermination Lute would most certainly still try too (and surprisingly succeeds somehow) despite the reader's worries of being dropped or being too heavy for 1 arm.

This ranges from trying to hold all the groceries alone to trying to prove she's still good in the bedroom by not allowing the reader to help (like she'd literally tell reader to let her do it alone)

I hope you have a wonderful day!!!

dont apologize for requesting! i adore long requests! they have all the little details for the prompt included that make the story just- *chefs kiss*

𝐈 𝐂𝐚𝐧 𝐒𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐃𝐨 𝐈𝐭 — 𝐋𝐮𝐭𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

𐐒 includes : post-extermination!lute x fem!reader 𐐒 cw : fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, mention of blood/stitches/wounds 𐐒 summary : lute's adjusting to life after extermination day, and as her girlfriend, you hope to make it easier on her 𐐒 note : i don't even know what to call my rambling anymore lol, love it

like we all saw at the end of the season, lute is full or rage- and a little hurt

the loss of her arm, initially, didn't hurt as much as losing her best friend

it takes longer for her to heal and accept the sudden turn of events

she doesn't want it to stop her or hold her back, especially from her relationship with you (especially with the loss of adam) she'd want to hold on tight to you

(like in the ask) Lute isn't one to just be beaten down by this, its a challenge she's going to fking overcome-by herself

likes to do things for YOU instead of the other way around, like if you want a snack or something she won't even let you stand up (let alone THINK) about grabbing it yourself

definitely wouldn't tell you about how she feels unless its too much, but you can see it in her; the way she's sluggish or looking down more often.

(although im not sure atm) I assume Lute is right-handed; without the left, things can get a bit trivial at times

like when you watch her try to balance her long spear with one arm, the weight of the steel trembling between her fingers. the muscles in her arms not used to carrying the entire weight by itself

Lute carrying you with one arm: she tries like how she used to, by putting an arm under your arms to support your back-but stops when she realizes she cant pick you up bridal style

I think she could manage holding you that way, around your back if you also hold onto her by wrapping your arms around her shoulders

(on this note) you being so close to her face is the perfect opportunity for her to kiss you

Hugging her from the back is not happening- her wings and all. . .

If you tried to help her take care of her arm too; bandaging it or cleaning it; she'd refuse all help and lock herself in the bathroom until she's handled it herself

(you can hear a ton of mumbled swearing and things knocking around)

its not a you thing, its a her thing; she needs to prove to herself that she can do it

Lute would hate all the flowers the other exterminators would get her; to the point she wouldn't even acknowledge the roses you placed on her nightstand

she's too stubborn to ever say it, but she's thankful you're still with her: Lute giving you soft kisses when she thinks your asleep, whispering all the 'thank you's' she doesn't think she could ever say to you awake

The loss of her arm pushes her to work harder, especially on the arm she still has in order to compensate for what happened

Technically, the hell-spawn didn't take her arm, but they still took a lot from her- she doesn't want that to mean they could take you from her too

You bet your ass the day will come where she picks up that spear again, better than fucking ever

[ghosty-dsmp]

Animal fun facts of the day cause im bored

Honey Badgers are unaffected by most snake bites, but if the bite is strong enough the badger will literally just ‘sleep’ off the venom for a few hours & will wake up ready to fight (their skin is too thick for some snake venom/bites)

Autumn is sometimes called “hooting season” because owls hoot more frequently during the fall to claim territory or find a mate. (No pictures for this one)

When threatened, horned lizards shoot blood from their eyes as a defense mechanism. Their blood is also toxic from a diet of venomous ants.

[oddly-specific-hermit-headcanons]

Everyone thinks that Mumbo is so pale and cold because he’s a vampire

But he’s actually just anemic and forgot to tell anyone

Everyone always thinks the redstone on his hands or face is blood

[fizziepopangel]

No Bad Vibes

“Please, don’t!” I cried as Lute approached me, ripping my weapon from my hands and tossing it aside. I backed up, stumbling over something and falling back into a puddle leaking from the nearby dumpster. “Lute, please don’t do this. Please… You’re my friend!”

Lute looked down at me, scoffing. “You’re just as pathetic as Vaggie.” She spat, raising her spear, not even a hint of remorse in her eyes despite me thinking that we had been friends. “You deserve to rot in this hellhole just like that backstabbing, demon-fucking whore!”

The pain of her spear piercing my skin was so intense that I couldn’t even scream. Blood gushed from the wound across my cheek as I fumbled for my own weapon, my efforts cut short when my friend’s boot slammed down on the back of my hand. I didn’t have time to cry out before I felt her grab a fist full of my hair, tossing me against a wall as if I were a ragdoll.

Blood gushed from wounds, but the pain was too intense to tell where exactly I was hurt; it felt like everywhere. I was struggling to breathe, only barely getting to my hands and knees before I felt it; searing pain around the base of my wings…. Nausea hit me and there was this ripping and suddenly, my vision went dark….

I woke up drenched in sweat, my chest tight as I shot up, clinging to the blanket I had burritoed myself in at some point throughout the night. The scars on my body seemed to ache as if the wounds were new, yet somehow I felt numb as I sat there, eyes focused straight ahead into the darkness of the bedroom.

“You have another nightmare, princess?” I jumped, head snapping toward the doorway where Husk stood, undoing his tie. Although I hadn’t heard the hellcat come in, I couldn’t help the overwhelming sense of relief that flooded me seeing him standing there.  

“I…I..” The words wouldn’t come, so I just sat there, shaking my head and holding onto the blanket, tears slowly beginning to roll down my cheeks.

Husk made a soft sound of sympathy as he crossed the room and took his place in bed beside me. “Aw, princess, don’t cry..” His arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me into his side. “The scars botherin’ you again? You want me to rub ‘em?” He asked, carefully wiping the tears from my eyes.

Nodding hesitantly, I let the demon slip my shirt off and direct me back to the bed. I wait a few moments before feel the cool sensation of the cocoa butter against my back. I couldn’t help but stiffen; despite having done this multiple times since we had been together, I couldn't help but be self conscious at the fact that he could see the deep, jagged scars down my back where my wings once were.

His pressure was gentle as his hands massaged the scars. “They ain’t as sensitive as they were before.” Husk said in a soft, gruff voice. “I guess Vaggie was right about massaging ‘em helpin’.”

Humming in response, I let my eyes slip shut, trying to ignore the thoughts of the day I fell. It was a moot point with Husk working to massage the angry scars down my back. “Thank you…” I mutter softly, though I knew it was probably muffled and hardly audible with my face buried in the bedding as I lay there.

Husk let out a chuckle, placing a kiss between where my wings once were before gently rolling me over and pinning me to the bed. “You ain’t gotta thank me, princess, I may be a grumpy old man, but I’d do anything for you, you know that.” His eyes filled with something I hadn’t really seen before, but something familiar all the same as he leaned down to kiss my forehead. “And I’m never gonna let anyone hurt you like that again.” 

Before I could say anything, Husk had moved, grabbing a fresh set of blankets and a fresh set of pajamas for us each. “Charlie said carrying bad vibes with ya ain’t healthy so come on, let’s get you into somethin’ you ain’t had any nightmares in.”

A giggle bubbled up in my throat as I got up to change. “So you believe in bad vibes now?”

“Nah, I still think it’s a bunch of bullshit.” Husk chuckled as he spread new sheets over our bed. “But I believe in you gettin’ your beauty sleep.” He teased.

Smiling sleepily, I flop onto the bed, nightmares and pain forgotten as I lay on the fresh bedding. “You’re coming to bed too, right?” I ask, giving him my best puppy dog eyes. “I sleep better when you’re next to me.”

The hellcat let out a sigh, running a hand down his face. “It’s poker night, baby….”

“Please?” I pout my lips slightly. “I wanna cuddle.”

“Ugh… Fuck…” He sighs again as he laid down beside me, pulling me into his chest. “You know this may be the first time I’ve ever skipped a poker night for a chick?”

“I love you too, Husk.” I yawned, already snuggling into the hellion’s soft, warm fur, feeling safer than I had in a long while as I listened to him grumble about missing his poker game while he continued to stroke my back gently. Nothing mattered in that moment, not my past, not my scars or how I got them… In that moment, it was just us.

[leoneedincorrectquotes]

Saki: *spits mouthful of blood onto floor* You’ve become far more powerful since we last crossed paths. Dentist: Please stop, there’s literally a sink right next to you.

[sleepy-bi666]

Oh SHIT-

Vox, to be frank, had gotten used to being in between Valentino’s temper tantrums and fits of blind rage.

But this time, maybe, he had gotten a bit too close, he thinks, currently having a wooden hairbrush stuck in his screen- now that he thinks of it, why does Valentino even have one? He’s bald!

Vox knew Valentino hadn’t meant to (probably), he had been aiming for the wall and Valentino’s vision is shit, so this could’ve easily been an accident.

Vox winces as Valentino tries to remove the brush from his screen, cyan colored blood dripping from the wound as he does so.

“D-don’t.” Vox warns, knowing Valentino could absolutely fuck this up and put him in more pain than he already is.

“Sorry, amor,” Valentino croons, sounding remorseful for once in his life. “Just trying to help.”

Vox huffs at that. “You’re the one who threw it at my fucking head.”

Valentino huffs right back. “I didn’t do it on purpose!”

“Mm. Still.” 

Valentino rolls his eyes. His brow suddenly furrows with worry when he notices how shaky Vox has become. “Come, amicito, let's get you sitting down..” 

Vox complies, not wanting to risk fainting and breaking his screen more than it already is, though he would absolutely die if someone saw him gripping onto Val’s arm the way he did.

Valentino eases him into sitting on a plush armchair, going to get something- Vox hadn’t been paying enough attention to know what, exactly. Sue him for being tired and in pain.

He dims his screen- essentially his version of resting his eyes- trying to ease the lightheadedness building up.

He can hear the sharp clicking of Valentino’s heels against the floor, announcing that Valentino has come back.

“Are you awake, Voxxy?” He hears Valentino say, and he hears a hint of worry in his tone- he wouldn’t dare point it out, lest he wanted something else smashed in his screen.

It takes Vox a moment. “Mm. Kind of.” 

Valentino sighs. “Good enough, I suppose.”

Vox drifts off to the hum of Valentino’s voice as Valentino holds him, carefully cleaning away the blood around the cracks in Vox’s screen.

[hisnamesdylan]

Okay, so, I can’t find it, but I came across this meme where someone drew Astarion as expectation vs reality of him drinking blood. The expectation is him looking sauve and sexy with only a small line of blood running from the corner of his mouth. Whereas the reality was him with a zoned out look with blood all over his mouth like clown makeup.

I thought maybe it was an exaggeration because I don’t play Baldur’s Gate 3, but then I found a picture. And I’m like, yeah, he’s lost in the sauce.

For reference:

[sh4rming]

Heyho guys :^ Drarry fic just released🙌 Hope you'll somehow enjoy🥸

HANDS OF GLASSES

Summary :

- Does it hurts ?

- Not really... Be careful! If you give them a blow, other cuts can re-open or even form! Potter what are you doing?

Delicately, gently, the man with the emerald eyes kissed the cold and livid hands of the one with the metallic gray eyes.

- They are as fragile as glass... Aren't they?

[xionandpluto14]

Whump prompt:

Character A has been the target of numerous assassination attempts, from arrows barely missing them, to waking up in the middle of the night to see someone standing over them with a knife.

Every attempt has failed thus far- their work is sloppy, at best.

And then one day they see a signal flare not too far off from their team. Not one to ignore a potential cry for help, they head over to see what the situation is.

When they arrive, they find Character B there, inspecting the place as if they feel something is off.

Now that Character A thinks about it, something definitely is off. There’s no one here besides the two of them, so who could have possibly set off the flare?

A feels a sense of dread, and only then do they look to one side and see the raging flames engulfing the distant forest, blocking any hope of retreat.

“A, look out, it’s—“

The swift sound of a weapon, being brought down on someone with the full force and intent to kill.

The smell of smoke.

The feeling of one’s own heart picking up speed as the situation gradually becomes clearer.

The sight of B, bleeding out on the ground in front of them.

It was a trap all along. The obvious attacks, the failed attempts to assassinate Character A…. They were all a diversion.

Even the signal flare— probably stolen for this very moment.

All of it… to get the ever-vigilant Character B to finally let their guard down, and put an end to their life.

[orangeleftyotherblog]

I am a very simple person. I get the urge to pick my skin. I pick at my skin. It starts to hurt/bleed, but the urge is gone. I get the urge to pick my skin. I pick at my skin. It starts to hurt/bleed, but the urge is gone. I-

[morally-ambiguous-bird]

OOC POST

Ok to basic tw to start us off, Angel has officially started her crashout arc and while some post will be normal she is incredibly unwell. I’m gonna outline some general stuff beneath the cut to give you an idea of what we’re talkin.

Self harming/destructive behavior

This means: Not eating, intentional sleep deprivation, hitting her head with her hands or against things when severely overwhelmed, (fun fact, I did this as a kid) personal neglect, etc.

Descriptions of Panic Attacks and other mental health issues, unsure what exactly that’s going to entail yet, but likely some sort of assumed psychosis (it’s not) and hallucinations (they’re not)

Mentions of drug use, nothing major but prescription medication.

This one is big!!!! Gore. I have been very liberal in my depictions of gore and even blood so far but if you wanna see babygirl experience the horrors *she will experience the horrors*

Anyway I’ll add more if they come up. Tread carefully folks ;3

[inventor-in-purple]

me after going to a Christmas party with my adopted brother ( @the-one-true-tello ) then randomally starting to bleed out of my knuckles for no apparent reason while making everyone hot chocolate then waking up with bruises all over my body (I still think it beat me up while i was asleep)

[greendest1ny]

something one of my mutuals said just reminded me that revived garmadon had a gaping wound in his chest. he might even still have it, but he's just wearing proper armour now

there's no way it was a normal wound, since it didn't show any signs of healing the entire time we saw it, and two moon tea didn't seem to heal it either. maybe it was a result of the ritual getting stopped early? so a part of him wasn't fully brought back?

do you think it ever got infected? or that he ever got annoyed by all of the blood that was constantly leaking from it?? do you think that he was more susceptible to respiratory infections because of it??? do you think it hurt him?? do you think he might've ever put his hand in it?

[detective-kamian]

Case.. logs. Uh trigger warning..? Blood?

EVERYTHING is covered in blood. Hypnosis equipment... Everything

God

People are so

Messed up

My chest hurts checking this crime scene

holy crap.

I'm not numbering this. I will post an actual case log soon

Fucking

Rui i cant breathe

I dont think i like the smell of blood

[lucent-roase]

In your opinion/headcanon, why did the possession give Hunter such extreme scarring?

GOOD QUESTION!!!

to answer this, i first want to mention that Belos’ goop has been cooking for a while. i headcanon that what causes the scarring in the first place is because the palismen that have kept Belos alive so long causes skin that comes in contact with it to instantly heal itself after whatever damage is does.

obviously, the Belos goop can travel within fluids like blood, so i think i can safely assume it was protruding out of Hunter’s skin from the blood vessels, i’m not sure how else it would come out. kind of gross honestly, but i feel like that could cause enough damage to ruin the skin.

i’m very very sleepy while writing this, but that’s basically what i’m assuming happened. i hope this makes sense!!

[the-whumpening]

The Pet Tiger, #11 [nsfwhump AU]

Prev | Masterpost | Next

CW: Dehumanization, pet whump, brainwashing/magical hypnosis, gaslighting and manipulation, noncon bathing, victim blaming, reference to past whump and SA, forced nudity, noncon kissing, mention of injuries and bodily fluids, mild body horror for dream sequence

-

11: Rested

“Good morning, sweetie.”

Gentle fingers brush Ash’s cheek, sweeping his sweaty hair behind his ear. Their scent is sweet and light—just like their voice. Who . . . ? Ash cracks his eyes open against the bright morning light and winces at the headache it spurs.

Faye rubs his temple with her thumb, cooing sympathetically. “Oh, you poor thing. Still hungover a bit, aren’t you? That’s okay, pet—come with me, and I’ll get you feeling better in no time.”

She unhooks Ash from his bindings and helps him sit up in the bed. Ash glances anxiously to the other side—right, Ozmund made me sleep in his bed—finding only barely-disturbed bedding where Ozmund would have been. Although he’s certainly glad for the moment apart, something about his absence almost . . . stings.

Ash shoves away that confusing pang, too distracted with the much more present pain radiating through his body. The throbbing in his head, the stiff ache of his joints, the bruise in his ribs—his frayed nerves scream in protest as he’s forced to his knees to crawl behind Faye. Each “step” of his hands tugs at the bright weal of Ozmund's mark across his heart, and he struggles to keep up his pace.

Once they reach the steamy, oversized bathroom, she’s kind enough with her gentle cleaning of his ruined body. She winces sympathetically at his blooming bruises and treats his wounds—not all the way, not magically; he guesses Ozmund wants to see them as they slowly heal and develop into scars. But at least her touches are soft and careful, nothing like the rough hands of the previous night.

He lets his mind wander elsewhere during it all. If he allows himself to remember, to catalog each injury and its source, to slip into the pit of his memory . . . he fears he might never claw his way back out.

Before long, Ash is startled back to attention by the cool dampness of a washcloth over his stinging entrance. A gasping whine slips from his control, and Faye tuts in disappointment.

“Oh, pet. Look at this—you’re a mess! What am I going to do with you?” She carefully scrubs the dried blood and cum from his skin; the sensation awakens the constellation of tiny cuts and abrasions inside him, reigniting the inflamed nerves. His breath hitches at the pain, but he stays silent. “I heard you were naughty last night. I expected better of you, kitty. What happened? Hm?”

He can’t find his voice to respond. Instead, his face simply flushes with shame. Does she know? Does everyone? He’d screamed till his voice was hoarse—surely the whole manor had heard. As he stares unfocused at the ceiling, Faye leans into his field of view. She looms over him, her soft hand curling to cradle his bruised cheek. His stomach turns; all he can think of is Ozmund’s face above him as he—

Ash shunts the memory as far back in his mind as it will go, slamming the door behind it. He can only hope it holds.

“Pet,” Faye murmurs, still stroking his face. “He wouldn’t have to be so rough if you’d only be a good boy. You know that, right?”

It’s the same thing Ozmund had repeated all night: Ash made the wrong choices. He acted out. He disobeyed. He forced Ozmund’s hand. It’s his fault it had to be this way. It could’ve been nice, gentle—Ozmund could have made him feel good. They had a deal, remember? If Ash could only behave, if he could only keep up his end of the bargain . . . But he couldn’t. It didn’t matter how fair or unfair the deal was to start—Ash agreed to it, and he fell through.

He did this to himself.

Faye’s persistent touch pulls him out of his spiraling thoughts. “I don’t want to see you like this again, sweet pet. Don’t make him hurt you, okay? Be good. For me?” Her thumb grazes over his lip, split in the violence of the previous night, before she closes the distance between them. She sneaks a soft kiss, humming contentedly as she pulls away. “Maybe if you’re good enough, he’ll let me play with you, too. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

He nods absently, but she’s already moved on to resume cleaning his body. Protests form in his throat and fall away as quickly as they came; no one here cares what he has to say, anyway. No one is listening.

Once he’s clean, Faye leads him by the leash to Ozmund’s chambers again. He’s still gone—Ash sighs internally with relief—but a tray of food has been delivered. Faye commands him to sit and open his mouth; he follows her orders silently, thoughtlessly. If she’s willing to feed him, he’ll ignore the rolling nausea in his stomach and the indignity of his position—after so long subsiding on nearly nothing, he can’t shun the opportunity when it arises.

“There we go, dear.” Faye replaces the fork on the nearly-emptied plate. “I think that’s enough for now. Any more and you might get sick. Have a little water, then we’ll be done.” She tips a goblet of water into his mouth, and he greedily accepts; giggling, she cleans the dribbles on his chin that escaped his reach. “Isn’t that better?”

Finally satisfied in her tasks, Faye returns him to his crate. He can’t help but feel a wave of relief as she locks the door—at least for now, for a moment, he’s safe. How long can that last? he wonders through a hazy fog of drowsiness. How long before Ozmund changes his mind or finds some new loophole to his own rules, some new way to use this one safe place to torture Ash?

Faye kneels down to his level, petting his hair through the bars of the cage. “Rest for now, kitty-cat. The Master will call for you later today when he’s ready to see you. For now, you should sleep.”

Ash isn’t sure he can muster any more dread at this point. Instead, he simply nods and curls up to fall into an unwelcoming dream.

-

It was a thunderous night on the ship heading north. Ash clung tightly to the slender body in his bed—storms always made it hard for him to sleep. Half-awake, he nuzzled into his partner’s hair, breathing in the scent to calm his racing heart.

Evius smelled as lovely as he remembered: bergamot, herbs, and the faintest whiff of smoke. Ash pressed a kiss into his silvery curls. But as his lips came away, another scent lingered in the air.

Leather and boot polish.

He struggled to open his eyes, fighting against the cinching grasp Evius had around his waist.

“Where are you going, love?” Evius murmured, somehow forcing Ash onto his his back and straddling his lap. He pinned Ash’s hands on either side of his head; his silky lips traced feather-light kisses along Ash’s jaw. “I’m not done with you yet.”

His teeth sank down into the firm flesh of Ash’ neck as a flash of lightning illuminated the room. As the thunder rose to meet it, Evius lifted his head, finally allowing Ash to see him.

Except, it wasn’t quite him.

Evius’ features morphed and shifted with each flicker of light. Devilish, then Elven. A halo of shaggy curls, then a river of dark silk. Warm golden eyes, then . . .

Ozmund’s.

“I said,” he repeated, this time in the voice of his captor, “I’m not finished with you, pet.”

As the lighting crackled once again, a shadow formed on the wall opposite the window. A tree branch? No, not this far out at sea. Then, is it—? Yes, it has to be:

Antlers.

-

A thin sheen of cold sweat covers Ash’s bare skin as he awakens in his cage. Although he can’t recall much of his dream, both the image of the antlers and the deep sense of unease in his gut still linger. I’m sure I’ve seen those antlers before . . . but where? What could this mean—what is my brain trying to tell me? He rubs at his still-aching head and shifts to a more upright position.

He barely has time to shake off the stupor when the matching oak doors of Ozmund’s chambers glide open and Faye arrives to retrieve him. Soon, he finds himself kneeling on the ornate Elven rug covering Ozmund’s study; the rough fabric digs into his knees and calves, and he shifts fruitlessly to find any relief.

“Master Greenthorn with be with you soon,” Faye reminds him. She pinches his cheek teasingly, but he doesn’t miss the threat in her voice as she warns him, “Be a good kitty for me.”

For a moment, as Faye closes the door behind her and leaves him unsupervised, Ash has a fleeting thought of escape. He’s alone in an unlocked room—surely he can break free of these chains and brute force his way out of the manor, right? But his resolve sinks in the next breath. They caught him before, didn’t they? And now he has no equipment or allies to aid him, no money to get back home, and no idea how much powerful magic protects this place. He pulls against the manacles, noting the faint green shimmer and a scent like a lightning strike. His head drops; it’s useless. There’s nothing he can do against Ozmund’s magic.

A flicker of movement catches Ash’s eye from the far corner of the room: a bookshelf shudders, swinging inward on hinges like a door. Ozmund steps through the opening and seals the passage behind him. Without even a glance to Ash, he takes his seat at his writing desk, immediately sorting through a jumble of letters and notebooks. Ash realizes something about this room in particular he hadn’t noticed throughout the rest of the estate—unlike every other room, this one is disorganized and chaotic. Yes, the furniture is tastefully arranged and clearly well-made, but Ozmund’s stacks of research and books are haphazardly strewn about in what appear to be arbitrary piles. The shelves overflow with trinkets and papers, and framed paintings lay propped against the wall rather than hung on display. Looking closer, Ash is almost certain one portrait has silvery-white curls and copper skin—

At the creak of Ozmund’s chair turning to face him, Ash jolts back to his stiff, submissive posture. A wall forces itself into place in his mind, blocking back the memories that threaten to push to the surface. As it shutters closed, numbness washes over him once more.

Survive. Just survive, he chants to himself.

“Hello there, pet,” Ozmund purrs. He crosses his legs and leans languidly in his chair—unbothered, unconcerned. “I do apologize for leaving you alone in bed this morning. It’s quite unlike me, but alas”—he shrugs with a knowing smile—“I am a busy man. But don’t fret, my love; you have my undivided attention now.”

Ash holds his expression steady and still—Ozmund’s attention is the last thing he wants. His muscles shake with effort as Ozmund leans forward and gently lifts his chin.

“No need to tremble, darling; your punishments were finished last night. All is forgiven.” For all the warmth in Ozmund’s smile, Ash only feels the cold creep of ice up his spine. “I’ve only called you here to talk. In light of last night’s events, I think it’s time to explain things more clearly to you: what your role here is, what’s expected of you, what you can expect in return for your obedience—or lack thereof. I’d write it down for you, but”—he laughs darkly to himself—“a pet has no need for reading and writing, do they? I’m sure you’ll learn best from experience.”

Hatred and relief battle in Ash’s core; as much as he seethes at the insult to his intelligence, he’s equally grateful to at least be told how to avoid more pain and indignity. Rules, he can work with. He might scream and thrash inside his mind at the thought, but a clear path is better than wandering aimlessly.

“I’m not a monster, you know.” Ozmund’s quip pulls Ash’s attention back, and he fights a scoff in response. “As much as I love to see you off-kilter and squirming, I am a fair master. Look at me, pet.” He holds Ash’s face—still, so strangely gentle—and forces him to make eye contact. A sick, dizzy swirl builds in Ash’s gut, but the sensation is quickly replaced with a warm, comfortable tingling. “Have I ever lied to you, my love? Have I ever broken a promise to you?”

Of course he has, Ash’s lethargic mind immediately retorts. But as he stares deeper and deeper into Ozmund’s hypnotic eyes, his thoughts become foggy and distant. Or, has he? I can’t . . . remember.

“That’s right, darling,” Ozmund murmurs. The hairs on Ash’s neck raise at the sound of his voice and the soft breeze of his breath. It’s sweet, like mint and honey and—lightning, again? “I would never lie to you. I would never lead you astray. You remember yesterday, don’t you, love?”

Yesterday . . . They made a deal. If Ash was good and did as he was told, everything would be . . . easy. Gentle. And if he was bad . . . Ash shakes his head, tiny beads of wetness forming in the corners of his eyes. No, that’s not how it happened. Ozmund threatened him—he didn’t have a choice. He didn’t want any of it, gentle or not.

“Have you forgotten already, kitten? I told you exactly what to do: obey.” The sweet concoction of his breath makes Ash’s head spin; maybe he just remembered wrong? He was drunk last night, after all. Maybe I'm confused.

Ozmund traces a finger over his emblem burned into Ash's chest, a flicker of pride quickly replaced with something almost akin to sympathy. “You didn’t obey, and that’s why I had to punish you. I never lied—I did exactly as I promised. But look at you now: fed and clean and rested. I told you I would care for all your needs, my love. You need only let me.”

Ash tries to shake off the numbness in his brain. This can’t be right. Something’s wrong with this—all of this. But try as he might, the fog remains. How can he pay attention and remember all the rules like this? Is this part of the game for Ozmund?

No, of course not. He wouldn’t lie. He hasn’t lied so far.

“Good boy,” Ozmund purrs, one last wave of blissful fog rolling over Ash as he pulls away. “Now, come with me, pet. I’ll explain more on the way.”

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Taglist: @whumped-by-glitter @lumpofsand @corbytheking @scoundrelwithboba

@tired-human09 @darke-phoenix515

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Author's notes: I'm back! After a hellish couple months! I've already got most of Chapter 12 done as well so that should be on track for next week. I'm hoping to stick to this 2-2.5k word count each chapter because I feel like those are the most easily readable, but of course there's bound to be variability. Regarding the taglist, I seem to be having some trouble with a couple names not linking? I'm not sure if I'm doing it wrong, but if you're on the list but not getting notifications, please let me know so I can try to fix it.

Oh, also! I know with the content of this story and my naming scheme, the use of an R word in the title might be a bit ominous, but I promise that none of the words I have in mind are triggering or NSFW. Just like the last chapter, I will always tag and warn if I intend to use that word so no one will stumble on it accidentally.