#tw dehumanizing language

[purple-tello]

Early morning angst because this was how I wanted the Agent Bishop blog run but I don't have an Agent Bishop blog so we have this ✌

Trigger warnings: Implied experimentation, and dehumanizing language, use of drugs, blood mention, phantom pains.

Report 08: Trial Extraction.

Filed by Agent Bishop in Facility 92.

At 8:00 in the morning, Subjects Three and Four were ethically sedated with a moderate dose of phosphine, and delivered to the in-building laboratory for testing. It has been recommended that a form of anesthesia is used to keep both incapacitated during the extraction of the biological mutagen. Subject Two was brought into the lab, though was visibly aggravated by the unconscious mutants. The following interaction was observed.

Two: What is this? This was not part of our deal!

B: You offered to replicate the mutagen used to create this species, but it has come to our attention that some of the requirements for that substance are not at our disposal. Specifically the radioactive components that seemed to be the source of the mutation.

Two: You have that. Imperium, the blood from the alien you had in your possession a few months ago! Not once did I give you permission to knock out the boys!

B: Your permission is not required. Your cooperation is the only thing we need from you.

Two: ... Then wake them up.

B: Both subjects have proven themselves to be dangerous when awake. I cannot authorize you to speak to them.

Two: They'll be more, "cooperative," if they know it's me. Why do you insist on them? The rat was mutated with the exact same mutagen!

B: Subject One has proven a legal citizenship in the United States of America and refuses to consent to any tests or extractions.

Two: I guarantee you he will when he leaves you've got his sons on anesthesia!

B: If you're not going to cooperate, you will be escorted back to your cell.

Two: Wait! Wake them up, and I will extract the mutagen. I will recreate it with the elements you provide to me, but I want them to be awake.

It was then authorized by my supervisor to allow subjects Three and Four to come into consciousness, though we heavily restrained them beforehand. Two waited patiently for them, until Three was the first one to wake. The following conversation was observed.

Three: No way.

Two: Leonardo, are you alright?

Three: Yeah, because I love waking up tied to a bed with you standing menacingly over me. What's going on? Is that Raph?!

Two: Do not become alarmed, Leonardo. This was the only way I could convince them not to hurt you.

Three: Dude, what the guck? What did you do?

Two: They want the mutagen I used to create you and our - your family. If I'm not the one to extract it or create it, they'll do it themselves.

Three: Oh my god you're just as evil as I thought you were. You're selling us out?!

Two: If that were the case, you wouldn't be awake for this.

Two: Because I'm so grateful for that. Can't you get us out of here?

Three: That's what I'm trying to do. The mutagen for our freedom, that was the offer.

Two: You know that's gotta be a trap, right?

Three: Then we will, as you would say, "burn that bridge when we get to it."

Two: When have I ever said that? Raph?!

Four: Draxum? What are you doing here?

Two: Trying to help you.

Three: Daddy Draxum has decided since he loves us so much, he's going to experiment on us himself instead of letting the scientists do it.

Four: What?!

Two: That's hardly being fair. I'm doing this to get you out of here. A small blood sample from you both, that is all I'll require, and then we can move on.

Three: Until they need another sample to verify you got it right, then another after that to create more mutagen, and then again because they somehow lost the first vial. You seriously think they're letting us out that easy?!

Two: Well unless you want them to find a reason to put you both back under and send me back to my cell to tell your father I couldn't save you, I suggest we all start getting along.

The animosity between Two and Three seems to be largely on Three's side, though Two seems more easily aggravated. Trial extractions began under intense supervision from myself, several guards and a few scientists observing the process for future reference. Two's confirmation of a biological connection between One, Three and Four has been noted in One's personal file, and should be used as motivation for its consent to DNA testing. The DNA extracted from Three and Four will go through a process of separation similar to that of plasma before the blood will be returned back to the bodies of Three and Four, as to prevent a significant amount of blood loss.

It should also be noted that at one point during this process, Three began to exhibit symptoms of what can be described as, "Phantom Pains." This became intense enough to warrant a morphine drip for it, as well as a break from the extraction process, though it expressed a desire to stay in the laboratory. Two requested the presence of One as a, "comfort," for Three, but was denied due to One's behavioral issues. Further investigation should be done to conclude how Three came to lose their limb, due to the intensity of the Phantom Pains.

[nakajima-lgm]

📼

VCR rewinding...

<<<<<<<<<<

"See, I told you. It's basically a human in here."

The following memory has been automatically translated from Kantonian to Galarian.

( This time, you really can't see anything. But you can feel something. That's all you can feel. Ripping? Searing pain, all across your chest, down your stomach. You can feel the IV in your arm. You can feel the scalpel in your skin. There's two men, you think. Did you hear a third voice? )

"What the hell kind of humans are you looking at that something like this?"

( The surgeon pokes you somewhere. It's not your skin. You can't feel your skin anymore. Do you have skin? What are you? You don't remember. )

"What are yo- by Ho-oh's wings, Sasaki, you can't just poke it like that! I question how you even got a degree sometimes."

( You tried screaming. There's something over your mouth. They're holding your eyes shut. They're holding your limbs down. )

"What, did you think we just opened it up to take a gaze?"

"Uhm... Mr. Iwasaki?"

( It's a woman. She sounds desperate. )

"Not now. Can't you see we're busy? Anyway, I don't care how much you want to see it squirm. We can not risk this one expiring!"

"M-Mr. Iwasaki, please, if I may-"

"For the love of... Cram it, woman! Look, this thing is not normal. This has to relate to the E-"

"IWASAKI. I THINK IT'S AWAKE."

"Shit! Don't scare me like that, Mayumi! I almost stabbed the damn thing! How on Earth can it be awake? It hasn't moved an inch!"

"Sir, please, just look at the brain scans."

( Silence. You feel like vomiting. You can't remember how. Did your heart always beat from that part of your body? )

"...Fuck. Fuck. Sasaki, up the anesthesia. Now."

( They're yelling at each other. You don't remember anything more. Are you falling asleep? Or are you dying? It's hard to tell. )

[rosemaidenvixen]

The Pinned Moth

Chapter 3: Venom

Ao3

Content warning: torture, dehumanization

“Ready for another loop de loop King!”

“You bet I am!” King gave him a thumbs up from his seat beside him.

The Collector pulled the edge of their star, laughing as it spun upside down in the sky. It was so good to finally be free! Out of that stupid disk, free to fly and play wherever they wanted. 

A giddy feeling bubbled up inside him.

And he had a new best friend to share it all with.

They couldn’t wait to start playing Owl House with King, but for now they were having a blast just flying around exploring the Boiling Isles. So much had changed since they were locked up, a whole new world to play in and explore–

“Hey wait stop!”

More surprised than anything else, the Collector jerked their star to a halt “What is it?”

“Go down there!” King pointed at the ground.

The Collector peered over the edge of the star. They were flying over a city, with King pointing down at the balcony of one of the buildings.

Why did King want to stop here? Nothing about this building looked any more fun or interesting than the dozens of other buildings they’d flown over. But King knew a lot more about the Boiling Isles than they did so maybe…

The Collector lowered the star to the ground and dematerialized it, King landing on all fours and immediately scurrying inside. They followed after him, entering the building and going through twisting hallways until they came to a big room. King ran straight towards a set of bunk beds in the corner and immediately dove underneath them. 

The sounds of claws scuffling against wood and fabric echoed out from the small space as King scampered around before he crawled out holding something. 

It was a stuffed animal, with long floppy ears and a single button eye.

King grabbed it with both arms and squeezed it tight to his chest. 

Oh, that was it, King just wanted to get his toy.

He stepped up close “If you wanted a toy we have plenty at the Archive House,”

King jumped a bit before he looked back over at them “I know we do, but this is François, he’s…special,”

“Special? How?”

“Well…someone special helped me get him on the first day I met her, she even broke into the Bonesborough precinct to get him back for me,”

The Collector felt the smile drop off their face, something about the way King said ‘Someone special’ made him feel queasy inside.

“Someone special?” they plunked down on the edge of the bunk bed “Who?”

“Oh, well…you remember when I first let you out, there were those witches and that human there,”

“The ones who ran off cause they didn’t want to play?”

“Uh, yeah, the human was Luz, she was the one who helped get François, she’s…she’s like a big sister to me,”

The Collector froze where they were sitting, the queasy feeling inside him twisting.

King was his best friend, he didn’t want some human sister coming and stealing him away. 

They leaned back, swinging their feet back and forth in the air “Soooo..…when is Luz coming back?”

King slumped, arms falling to his sides, François dangling limply from his paw “She….she’s not, the only portal was destroyed, and besides, the human realm is her home,”

Cool relief washed through him but he tried not to show it. They weren’t really happy that this human Luz was gone forever. That made King sad, and he didn’t want King to be sad. But he did feel a little better now that he knew she wasn’t coming back.

He didn’t feel good that King was sad, but at least this way Luz wouldn’t be around to get between him and King. 

“Well we can have lots more fun without some boring old human slowing us down,” they materialized a new star inside the building and jumped on top of it “Come on, let’s take François back to the Archive House,”

Brightness burned from behind their eyelids. The Collector groaned, rubbing an arm across his face, sleeve doing little to block out the light, the heavy fuzziness pressing in all around them. Sounds joining the brightness dragged him fully from his sleep, the events of yesterday flooding back to him.

The humans, hide and seek, the bubble, the fuzziness blocking his magic, the boring gray room. 

The Collector pushed themself upright from where they had curled up to sleep on the floor of the bubble. Spotting a group of humans stepping in through the door all clad in matching white cloaks and strange black goggles. He glared at them, scowling as they approached.

He got to his feet and stomped to the edge of the bubble, banging a fist on the glass “Hey! Let me out you fibbers!”

The humans ignored him, again, stepping up towards the nearby metal boxes, mumbling with each other. One of the humans, with long pale-yellow hair tied behind their head, stepped past the boxes, coming close to the bubble.

Finally, one of the humans was paying attention to them.

He stood at the edge of the bubble, as close as he could get to the human, folding his arms across his chest “About time, do you know how boring it is in here? Just tell me what spell you want already,”

The human didn’t respond for a few seconds, just kept calmly looking at them, then the human spoke.

“You all have the training and the clearance that qualify you for your positions, so I won’t waste any breath reciting protocol. Just know that this specimen could very well be the proverbial golden goose, and as project director I am directly responsible for all the results we get. So if any of you fail that will reflect on me, and I do not tolerate failures on my record,”

They spun on their heel and strode briskly back towards the others “This specimen is more valuable than every other specimen and piece of equipment at this facility combined, and I expect you all to act like it,”

The other humans all stood up straight and coursed with “Yes ma’am,”

The Collector felt heat surge into their face as the human walked away. Oh sure, the humans wouldn’t talk to him but they would talk at him. And what were they even talking about? What was a specimen?

“You know, I can’t do any spells for you if you don’t tell me what you want,”

None of the humans reacted, just kept fiddling with the buttons and switches on the boxes. 

Ignoring him, like always.

Their hands balled into fists at their side, crackling with red sparks. He wanted to completely let loose with his magic, blast this stupid bubble with everything they had and make those humans pay attention to him, make them sorry that they ever put him in here.

But he didn’t, he’d done that yesterday and all it did was make him so tired they fell asleep. Instead he plunked down on the floor of the bubble on the side closest to the humans, folding his arms and glaring over at them.

If these humans wanted to be mean jerks and keep him stuck in here and ignore him, fine. The Collector had gotten out of the Titan’s disk, he would get out of this to, no matter how long it took.

And he could wait for the perfect chance to get back at the humans.

So he kept his eyes on them, watching and listening closely.

“Above all else we can’t risk burn out on either end,” ‘Ma’am’ spoke up “So we’re going to cap the harvest capacity at ten percent today. We’ll start with a ten second run and see what that gets us, then we’ll go from there,”

“Understood,” one of the other white coated humans replied “I’ll initiate start up procedures while Johnson and Warrick take measurements,”

The Collector frowned, what were these humans talking about? It didn’t make any sense. They understood some of the words but had no idea what they all meant togeth–

A sudden humming noise startled them out of their thoughts, they pressed a palm against the glass, trembling under his hand. The entire bubble was vibrating with the humming sound, combined with the fuzziness it made everything seem wavery.

Glancing around, it seemed like the humming was coming from above them, from the cables and pipes connected to the top of the bubble. Leaning into the curve of the glass, the Collector craned their neck to try and see above him.

Up above, where they could barely see thanks to the roof of the bubble, it kind of looked like there were lights up there turning on to.

“Start up complete, shall I go ahead and initiate at ten percent?”

“All clear, proceed,”

“Alright let’s fire it up,”

One of the humans pulled a lever on a metal box, the humming growing louder and deeper, a rumbling now “Initiating in five…four…”

Giving up on looking outside, the Collector stepped away from the edge of the bubble, moving towards the center, still staring up above them. The rumbling was even louder now, thundering through the bubble, nearly drowning out the humans’ voices.

“...three…two…”

What was happeni–

“One.”

The rumble broke into a thundering roar, shimmery black roof of the bubble blazing with light, the thick fuzziness turning sharp as knives.

He couldn’t move, there was a shout in his throat but he couldn’t open his jaw to let it out. It was too bright to see anything, too loud to hear anything, all they could feel was the pain crackling though their entire body. It felt like thousands and thousands of tiny white hot stars were shooting through every inch of him, stabbing through him again and again and aga–

Everything stopped. Light vanishing and roar softening into a low growl before going silent, the sharp pain fading back into fuzziness. The Collector sank limply to their knees, breath coming in deep, heavy pants. The pain was gone, but there was still a faint prickling in his hands and feet, an echo of that awful agony...

As their heartbeat slowed the voices of the humans outside the bubble came back into focus.

“--unbelievable, was this really the output at just ten percent?”

“You bet it was, check the read out yourself if you don’t believe me,” 

Raising his head, the Collector saw that all the humans were clustered together around one of the screens.

“This is amazing! If this is the output at just ten percent we could be looking at an indefinite energy source,”

“Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves,” Ma’am’s voice this time “We’ll proceed as planned today, remain at ten percent for steady increments. We’ll go over our data tonight and then make a plan for subsequent testing. Now we’re still in the green, so let’s go ahead with fifteen seconds.”

“Yes ma’am,” multiple voices said at once.

As the Collector watched the humans moved away from each other and went back to hovering around the metal boxes, jerking as the humming started again.

“Initializing in five…four…”

The Collector slowly backed away until their back hit the edge of the bubble, heartbeat pounding as the hum deepened into a rumble, anxiously glancing back and forth between the roof and the humans.

“Three…two…”

“H– hey wai–”

“One.”

The rumble pitched into a roar, blazing light filling the bubble, the fuzziness sprouting teeth and tearing into him. This time he managed to let out a shout before being pinned down by it, but couldn’t stop, shrieking and shrieking as the white hot pain went on and on and o–

It stopped, the Collector slumped back against the side up the bubble, sliding to the ground, shriek dying off into a raw croak, arms and legs tingling, heartbeat booming in their ears.

 What was going on? What was happening to him? Why were these humans doing this?

The humans were talking more, he struggled to focus on their voices.

“--s the specimen stable?” 

“Yes, the levels have dipped but the vitals signs are holding steady,”

“And is the Lamp still in the green?”

“Yes Ma’am,”

“Excellent, let’s go again, twenty seconds now,”

More fiddling, switches flipped and levers pulled, and then the humming. 

The Collector struggled to their feet, wobbling on trembling legs, shaking arms bracing him against the side of the bubble “H– hey, wait, that really hurts!”

The humans kept on ignoring him, pressing buttons and pulling levers. The hum deepened into a rumble, soon it would be a roar.

“Five…four…”

Their breath hitched, heartbeat speeding up. They frantically pounded on the glass “Stop it! That really hu–”

“One.”

Roaring light crashed down all around them, thousands of needle sharp fangs tearing into him. He couldn’t move, couldn’t scream, couldn’t even blink, just wait for it to be over.

When it finally stopped the Collector found themselves lying on the floor of the bubble. Their entire body felt numb all over, head spinning. They could still feel, twitch their fingers and toes, but when they tried to move nothing happened.

The garbled sounds of the human’s voices came from outside the bubble, his head felt so fuzzy it took everything he had just to try and listen to the words.

“--cool off period for the Lamp?”

“I don’t think so, at least not yet, so far it’s handling the drainings alright,”

“Then let’s proceed with 25 seconds and then see where we’re at,”

The Collector tried to sit up, their head made it an inch off the ground before plunking back down, the fuzziness and numbness combining into an unbearable weight. Even their mind felt thick and heavy, words jumbling around together in a confusing mix, but there was one that bubbled to the surface, even as the machine hummed back to life.

Drainings.

“Five…four…”

The humans were using these machines to drain his magic, and taking more and more each time.

“Three…two…”

The hum pitched into a low rumble, thrumming through their bones. The numbness was creeping away, leaving an unpleasant prickling in its place, but not fast enough, they could wiggle their hands and feet, work their jaw open and shut, but still couldn’t move, couldn’t speak.

“One.”

He squeezed his eyes shut as the rumble broke into a roar, bright light and searing pain crashing down all around him.

[sugusatodyke]

Pillow princesses do nothing in bed except take my strap, look pathetic, and moan like a bitch what is there not not to like about that? They're like a cute fleshlight!

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Big Brave Man

Bleeding in Moonlight: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven |

CW: Creepy whumper, reluctant whumper, dehumanization, werewolf whump, hunting runaway whumpee

-

The last half-mile of the hike back home was always the worst part. The woods were at their thickest, which helped to hide the scattered buildings hidden down a dirt road from prying eyes, but it also meant it would be so easy to get lost, drift off the hidden path, and simply never be seen again. 

Austin had been taught the signs to watch for since he first learned how to walk, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a little worried every single time that he’d miss just enough of them to end up miles off course. He’d been taught to hold on to that worry, that it was people who were cautious who made it home.

Still, he was so damn tired now.

His legs were shaking from exertion, from the miles and miles he’d spent the day walking, clambering, and climbing. Exhaustion had his eyelids feeling heavier with every blink, but Austin knew better than to think he could head off to his own small room to sleep off the last twenty four straight hours of trying to find that little shitstain Rusty. 

He wasn’t even grown - how had a juvenile been able to get away so fast? The blood trail had made it clear that he’d been hit by one of the silver bullets… how had he managed to keep running? 

He was going to be in such deep shit with Bill about this.

Distracted, Austin tripped over a tree root and swore when he nearly dropped his rifle, scrambling not to let it touch the ground. His father would have something to say about that, too. You never put down your gun, he knew that rule better than any other. 

Especially not on a full moon, when werewolves wouldn't hesitate. When they would bite and tear and claw and shred in mindless violence until their sadistic desires were satisfied. Werewolves were at their worst during the full moon.

It was the first thing Austin had learned in homeschooling, how to recognize werewolves even in human form, what to watch for, and when they were most dangerous.

Reading, writing, math, history... the rest all came once Austin knew what to be afraid of. And how to do the wolves harm before they could harm him.

Even if those warnings didn't really match the captive pack that Bill kept for his search for a cure. Even if the wolves in the kennels had never acted the way he'd been taught they should.

Bill had always claimed it was because captivity made them safer to be around, made their viciousness weaker. But... sometimes Austin wondered.

Last night had been a full moon, and Rusty had run through a camp and then found his way to a car with campers and Austin had found an empty parking spot marked with only Rusty's blood. No bodies. No bones. No vicious monster growling and snarling with red-tinged foam around his fangs.

The moon was supposed to turn them into killers.

So why hadn't Rusty killed the campers?

He was too tired to think about this.

Once he finally eased out of the woods into the first of the compound’s small cleared spaces, what hit hardest was the silence.

The moon had begun to rise, and normally the wolves would have been restless in their kennels, human and canine forms shifting back and forth in sickening ways, desperate to run out the energy that coiled through their wiry wasted muscles. He’d have heard the scraping of accidental brushes against the silver-lined fencing, the little whimpers from the younger ones, the older shushing them. He’d have heard the whispers as he walked past, the growls, the whining pleas to be allowed to hunt.

They want to hunt you, Bill had always told him. You're the prey. They play at sounding weak and scared, but they'd rip your throat out if we let them.

Still. He'd always searched for that mindless rage in their eyes, and Austin had never seen it.

Now there was nothing to see at all.

The kennels were emptied out and silent. Nothing moved in the shadows. There was no soft pattering of paws in the dirt, no yellowed eyes gleaming in the dark. 

Austin turned away before he could acknowledge the guilt that still tugged at him, a sickening pull at his insides. 

The kennels were silent, because all of the wolves were now on the other side of the barn, far enough away where hopefully the smell wouldn’t be too overpowering. The wolves were all in the pit they’d spent days digging, just to shoot the creatures they’d kept as long as Austin had been alive or longer.

That’s where the last of the gleaming yellow eyes had gone.

He wondered if any of their eyes were still open, under the dirt they'd piled on top of the bodies, and shivered. 

All his father’s hard work had faltered. There was only so much to learn, and every attempt at a cure had been fruitless. But at least, Austin thought, there wouldn’t be any more mournful howls in the darkness when they took the puppies from their mothers. At least he wouldn’t have to watch his father’s tests any longer, holding the creatures down in human or wolf form so blood could be drawn or bits cut off for Bill’s experiments. He wouldn't have to hear their screams of pain.

At least there was that.

Really, what they had done was a mercy, right? The werewolves had been miserable, and frightened, and now they were neither. It had been a mercy to give them death.

Keep telling yourself that, Austin. Whatever keeps the look on Rusty’s stupid wolf face when he dug out of the pit out of your mind, right?

Whatever helps you sleep at night.

Coward.

Not that he'd be sleeping any time soon, considering he still had to give his debrief to Bill, and he was starving hungry, too. Needed a shower. Needed to work out the nervous, jittery energy that still coiled underneath the fatigue that made each step drag a little more with every foot of distance he covered. 

Austin’s feet were barely moving by the time he made it to the house, fingers fumbling at the handle to the screen door, his boots scraping along the concrete steps. “Mom?” He called, voice heavy and husky. The moon hung full above him, and it felt absurdly like it was watching him - just one big white eyeball in the sky, all pissed off.

He cut off a half-hysterical giggle that threatened to erupt, like a volcano. God, he was so tired. He needed sleep so badly.

Wherever Rusty was, he was probably enjoying the moonlight. Gone rabid and torn out the campers' throats and rolled in their blood. Then again, maybe he’d bled out and died somewhere after he’d found those damn campers to treat him like a shelter dog.

That would make things easier, if they could just find the body.

But first they had to find the people he’d caught a ride with.

“Austin!” His mother appeared, looking as tired as he did, her hair a frizzy mess still drying from her nightly shower, already wearing her quilted flower-print robe over her nightdress. She moved to him, then wrinkled her nose and stopped, still a good couple feet away. “Oh, honey. You are absolutely filthy.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” Running on pure muscle memory, he unloaded the rest of the silver bullets from the rifle, then set it into the empty spot on the racks mounted along the wall just inside the door. Next step was putting the bullets back in the special wooden box full of them, listening to the click as each one dropped back in. Minus the one he'd lodged, he thought, pretty deep in Rusty's leg.

Only then could he lean over to untie the laces to his boots. A new wave of exhaustion hit like a wall of bricks and he found himself listing to one side, knocking a shoulder into the wall. “Shit.”

“Language,” Sandra scolded automatically, without much feeling. Austin had hit adulthood years ago, and by now it was mostly just an instinct because of the younger kids. Not that any of them were still awake, not this late. “Did you find Rusty?”

Austin exhaled. 

Sandra read the answer in his face, and she sighed. “Oh, honey. Your father’s not going to like that.”

“Yeah, Mom, I know. Bill hates everything I do, though, so it shouldn’t be too different from any other day for me.” The first pulses of a headache threatened, his growing fatigue was rapidly becoming a heavy weight alongside the beat of his heart. He left his muddy boots on the mat and made his way to the fridge. He’d downed half the beer before he even thought to take a breath, rubbing a hand over the shadow of stubble that had already started to grow. “To answer your question, though… I actually did find him. Sort of.”

“Sort of?” Her eyebrows furrowed in concern and more than a little disapproval. “What does that mean, ‘sort of’? Don’t tell me you let Rusty go.”

“I’m not stupid, Mom.” Austin let his forehead drop against the cool stainless steel of the fridge, closing his eyes. If he could just sleep, this would go so much better. If he had time to plan what he would say, to think it through. “I didn’t let him go.”

“Then-”

His father’s voice came booming from another room. “Sandra? Is that Austin come back?”

“Yes!” Austin’s mother took in a breath, and gave Austin a slight smile. “Just a minute and he’ll be right in there.” She patted Austin on the arm and walked past him, heading for Bill’s office. Austin followed, a little helplessly, the pit of dread in his stomach growing step by step.

He should’ve been moved out and married by now. Why was he still here, following his father’s orders? Why did he still get worried when his dad was disappointed in him? Why had he let his father tell him none of the girls from their meetups had been right for him?

Why hadn't he just gotten into a car and driven until he ran out of gas years ago, set up a new life wherever he found himself? He used to dream about it. Join a construction crew or something, where they could pay him under the table. Get an apartment with some roommates and learn how to take care of himself.

He used to dream about it.

Now, he thought, he'd just dream about dead wolves in the dark.

He took the beer with him, and he ignored Bill’s disapproving stare when he stepped into the doorway. It was his own beer, and just because his father had stopped drinking a few years ago thanks to some revelation about God’s will or other, didn’t mean that Austin thought the same way. 

So brave, a mocking inner voice whispered. Such a big brave man, defying your father about beer while killing a dozen werewolves on his orders.

Bill’s office was all wood paneling and dim lamps, giving it the feeling of some barely-explored cave covered in piles of paper - including seemingly every receipt for every purchase he'd ever made. Alongside the boxes of paper were old leatherbound books and the mounted heads of elk, deer, regular wolves, and more lining the walls. 

Bill sat in an overstuffed leather easy chair he kept in here - Austin was pretty sure half his time spent ‘working’ in his office was actually spent napping in that damn chair. The older man’s hair and beard had long since gone mostly gray, and unlike Sandra, he wasn’t ready for bed, not yet. He was still wearing his flannel and jeans. His right hand rested on the head of the placid, pathetic creature that sat obediently next to him. Koko, a half-grown wolf with mostly gray fur tinged at the edges with the same rust-red that made up most of Rusty’s coat, was always like that - drugged to complacency, his blue human's eyes dull and barely aware of anything around him. 

He'd come from the same litter of pups as Rusty had, Austin thought. Same mother. It was hard to remember who'd been born when, it was just the wolves, after all.

Vicious fuckers. 

Are they, Austin? Or are you the monster hiding under their bed?

In this moment, it was Bill's stare that seemed far more likely to be followed up by violence.

Bill’s expression shifted into a deep frown. “I can tell just looking at you that you didn’t take care of Rusty.”

The disappointment burned - it always did - but Austin shoved it to the side. He wasn’t a little kid any longer, and he was too damn old to still feel like a boy chided for not doing the dishes after dinner. “I followed him as long as I could,” He said, keeping his voice low. He leaned against the doorway, refusing to come any closer than that, taking another drink of beer. He watched his father’s narrow eyes follow the movement of the bottle. “But then he left.”

"He what." His father's voice dropped to a depth Austin had only rarely heard before. 

Austin's fingertips burned cold, suddenly, as if he'd plunged his hand into a bucket of ice and held it until frostbite took hold. An answering chill took up heavy space in his ribs, just behind his heart. 

This is the strong brave man your father built, that inner voice mocked again. You’re as tame as Koko, just how he wants it. Even his own kids are just kept in a different kind of kennel.

"He-" Austin's voice broke, and he stopped, clearing his throat as best he could. He tried to tell himself strength impressed his father far more than kissing ass ever had. “He left with some campers. He got in a car with them. I lost the trail."

"Some campers," Bill repeated, voice flat now, stuck just one step above a growl. "You couldn’t get a shot in? What was all that training for, then? Are you so useless you can't hit the broad side of a-"

"I did!" Austin met his father’s eyes - and saw how Bill sat up a little. Austin rarely refused to lower his gaze. He almost never argued back. Hell, now that he thought about it, this might be the first time. 

But he couldn’t get the memory of the whining, howling, crying wolves out of his mind. The way they sounded, the way they moved, writhing as they died, trying to clamber over or hide under the dead bodies of the others. 

Rusty’s eyes had been ringed all in white before he’d taken off into the woods. Mad with terror, wearing blood from his pack, fleeing into the wood with the evil hunter on his heels.

That’s you, Austin. You’re the bad guy in the fairy tale. You're the monster. Big brave man chasing a frightened teenager through the woods. They make true crime shows about bastards like you.

Austin cleared his throat. Rusty wasn't human, he told himself. It wasn't the same.

It was.

It wasn't.

It was-

"I definitely shot him, Dad. Silver bullet, blood everywhere. But they bundled him into their car before I could track him all the way and the trail ended at the parking lot."

"Goddamn typical," Bill muttered. As if Austin failing was exactly what he had expected. As if he never did anything else.

“Language,” Sandra chided automatically.

Austin flushed dark with shame and a guilty anger of his own. “Dad-”

"No, Austin.” Bill sighed. His hand began to move, petting absently over Koko’s head. The wolf didn’t seem to even notice. Those clouded blue eyes weren’t seeing anything but whatever was inside Koko’s empty little head. “Don’t bother. This really is absolutely typical. I should've sent your mother, you were always a poor shadow of her skills."

"Bill, be nice," Sandra cut in, nervous herself, but Austin felt warmth at the sight of her squaring up her rounded shoulders on his behalf. "Austin’s just tired. Considering everything he'd had to do before he had to take off after Rusty-"

"Woman-" Bill tensed, as if ready to push himself out of his recliner.

When Sandra turned on him, though, he fell back, looking up at her, vaguely startled. "Oh, don't you dare 'woman' at me, or my cast iron and I will have something to say," Sandra snapped back. She stood like she was made of iron, too, arms crossed in front of her. "When have I ever let you call me 'woman', Bill, huh?"

Bill was silent for a long moment before looking uncomfortably away from her. "Never."

"Damn straight."

“Language,” Austin teased, and was rewarded with his mother’s tired smile and his father’s irritated scowl. 

“Fine. Austin... worked hard last night.” It sounded like he was confessing to a sin, just admitting his oldest son had done anything right. Austin tried to take the compliment for what it was, but still resentment festered. He was the oldest of the twelve children, and he’d spent his whole life working to help his father build the compound into what it had become. 

And yet he was always the one who fell short of his father’s expectations - not because they were too high, but because of something inside of Austin his father had simply never liked. 

Maybe he's just mad that you're only a killer against your will.

“Still,” Bill continued, voice heavy. “Still, we lost one of our wolves.”

“But only one,” Austin countered. “The rest of them are handled, Dad. We made sure. Rusty was the only survivor. Well, except for Koko.”

Koko's ear twitched, once, and those hazy blue eyes focused briefly on Austin. Austin had a thought - just the slightest impression - that there was a fathomless loathing for him in those human eyes trapped inside a canine face. A hatred that ran so deep Austin couldn't see into its depths, could never begin to understand it.

Then Koko laid heavily down on the floor, resting his chin on his paws, looking like he'd drift off at any moment. The bulky prong-collar he wore clearly pinched a little, as he winced and shifted. The hate faded into cloudy nothing again.

Bill glanced down, the first time he'd looked at the young wolf so far. "Koko barely counts. He’s a good boy.”

Where Bill couldn’t quite see, Koko’s lip lifted on one side, briefly showing fang, before his eyes drifted shut. 

Austin opened his mouth to mention to Bill that Koko maybe wasn’t quite as docile as he seemed, but Bill spoke before he could. “And we can't start fresh if one of them's out there hurting people because of you.”

“Start fresh?” The cold dread returned, but for a totally different reason now. The kennels full of crying puppies taken from their mothers, the wolves pacing and shifting and howling and whining... He couldn't do that again. Not when the silence already weighed heavier than lead. “Dad… you said this was it, that we were done.”

“Yeah, with this group. But they aren’t the only monsters out there. And we’ll figure out how to cure them eventually. I’m going to take in a new pack and start in on some new ideas I’ve had about silver particles in blood transfusions-”

“... Dad.. No.” Austin thought about having to fire on the wolves, one by one. Watching the light leave their eyes, watching their frantic fight to live. The years of his life he'd spent holding them down while his mother or father tested things on them, feeling their chests rise and fall in frantic terror while they were restrained into stillness. His stomach flipped. He had to fight bile that threatened to rise in his throat, tensing all his aching muscles to try and distract himself with the pain. “Dad, you can’t. I… I can’t do all that shit again.”

“Austin, language-”

“No, Mom! I-I’m done. I’m so… I’m so done. I can’t do this any longer.”

Bill sighed, shaking his head. But he didn’t burst out in rage, like Austin expected. It was so much worse - he just looked profoundly, deeply, painfully disappointed. “You let them get too close to you. Started seeing them as people and not what they are. I should’ve expected it. Your little brother can take over your duties, but not until we bring Rusty home or get rid of the threat.”

Austin closed his eyes. One last thing, and then he could stop having to be a part of this? That… sounded like his father throwing him a lifeline.

Big brave man doing what Daddy says because then he'll let you quit.

If he lets you quit.

He grabbed onto it with white knuckles and took a deep breath. “Fine. Okay. So, we got off track. I... I told you I tracked him to the parking lot by the trails.”

“Right.” Bill nodded, thoughtfully. “But you lost him after that."

“He clearly got into a car with some campers, probably the ones whose camp he ran through. In any case, I, uh, I called the park ranger, said we'd had some poachers on our land." Austin's voice was a little breathier than he meant it to be. 

Bill's eyebrows raised, and he gestured with one hand for Austin to keep talking. 

"He wouldn't show me the security camera, some kind of regulation, but… but he said he got a record of the license plate.”

“He gave that to you?”

“After I gave him a hundred dollars, he did. I wrote it down, so... so we can do something with that, right?"

"Did he tell you what state it was from?"

"He did. Iowa."

Bill's expression finally cracked into a rare smile. Even Sandra relaxed, and Austin felt his own aching muscles soothing, too. "Well. That we can work with. We’ll finish things with Rusty and call that your resignation from the family business. I'll give you some cash to get you started, after that. And you'll promise to call your mother once a week."

"Once a week at least," Sandra added. "I'd like a few times a week, really. Oh, and maybe you'll meet a nice girl-"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Sandra," Bill said, but he'd softened, and Austin felt hope for the first time. He tried not to acknowledge it, afraid Bill would see the way his expression changed and feel the need to smash him back down again.

He cleared his throat. "I want to go live in a city somewhere.”

“Your mother and I fled that life for a reason, but I suppose every generation has to learn about the evils of cities all on their own.” Bill sighed, shaking his head. But Austin could tell this meeting was finally about to end. His bed waited, and Austin knew he'd barely make it upstairs to collapse into it.

Bill hummed. “Have a good night’s sleep, get yourself rested, and when you wake up you should pack your things for a trip. You and me are going to go track Rusty down before anyone else gets hurt."

Austin didn’t point out that the only ones who’d gotten hurt in this were the wolves. “Fine. Just the two of us?”

“You, me… and Koko.”

Koko's eyes opened again. They rested on Austin, briefly focused with an intensity that Austin had never seen in the young wolf's face before.

It occurred to Austin that maybe Rusty wasn't the wolf who wanted to rip his throat out the most.

-

@finder-of-rings  @burtlederp @deluxewhump @scoundrelwithboba @shrimpwritings 

@yassifiedinformation @wildfaewhump @whatwhump @honeycollectswhump @tundra-tiger

@dont-look-me-in-the-eye @there-will-always-be-blood @fangedcinnamonroll @pigeonwhumps @yassifiedinformation

[a-whumped-tea]

"What's wrong?

You think people shouldn't be treated like this?

Well, I have to agree. People shouldn't be treated like this.

But you aren't a person, are you?"

[transmasccofee]

[ TW for implied/referenced suicide, dehumanization, and temporary character death ]

this is why you dont talk to kusuke

[unforgivenn]

16th HOUR — #5: Marked for sale

Masterlist/ Previous

CW: dehumanization, captivity, non-con medical procedures, implied threats of sexual violence, physical restraint, psychological torment

The room was stark, bathed in harsh white light that bounced off the gleaming surfaces and sterile instruments. The antiseptic smell was overpowering, mingling with the faint, metallic tang of blood that Samuel had begun to associate with his new reality.

Two technicians, masked and gloved, awaited him with cold, clinical efficiency. They moved with practiced precision, their expressions hidden behind masks, their eyes detached and impersonal.

"Strip," one of them ordered, the command devoid of emotion. Samuel hesitated, a flush of humiliation rising in his cheeks.

"W-What..?"

The technician's eyes narrowed, a flicker of impatience crossing his face. "Now."

When Samuel only returned a glare, the technician sighed. He flinched as his hands were seized and his clothes were roughly removed, leaving him exposed and vulnerable. He tried to shield himself with his arms, but the guards were relentless, their hands unyielding as they forced him to the table.

"STOP! LET GO!!" His lips were trembling, his mind going insane with the thoughts of what they were going to do to him. "D-Don't do it please..."

This was it. They were going to do the thing he had been fearing since the moment he got here. He was going to be raped. Or maybe even worse.

The men laughed only adding to Samuel's confusion and his tears. "Hey now. There's no fun in having a used toy y'know. Your owner could do those things you have going on in your dirty little mind later."

"N-No.. I wasn't- I.." Samuel's cheeks flushed in embarrassed and he only continued struggling wishing that would somehow fit the hole of what he was trying to say.

One of the guards were going to smack him on the face, before the other stopped him. Samuel flinched, kind of surprised there was someone with even a tad bit of humanity left in them.

That innocent thinking was gone soon enough though when the other spoke to the guard.

"We need him to be in his best condition. I don't think he'll be looking presentable with a damn bruise on his face." He said with a scowl, which Samuel could make out was half directed towards him. The guard only rolled his eyes before forcing him on the table.

Restraints snapped around his wrists and ankles, pinning him down. He struggled, panic surging through him, but the bonds were unyielding.

The other technician approached with a handheld scanner, its screen flickering to life as it passed over Samuel's body. "Subject 42, S class," he read aloud, his tone monotonous. "Begin prep for auction."

Auction. The word sent a chill down Samuel's spine, a reminder of the dehumanizing fate that awaited him. He would be paraded before the highest bidders, reduced to a mere commodity in a world that saw him as less than human.

He had wanted nothing more than to kick these bastard's faces and ask them what the actual fuck was wrong with them? But now he was the one being asked these questions.

As the technicians began their work, Samuel's mind drifted back to his life before the classification, when he was simply Samuel—a boy with dreams, friends, and a future. The memories felt like fragments of a distant past, slipping through his fingers like sand.

One of the technicians roughly grabbed his arm, inserting an intravenous line with ease. The cool rush of fluids coursing through his veins brought him back to the present, a stark reminder of his reality.

"Hold still," the technician muttered, adjusting the flow. Samuel winced at the sharp sting, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as he fought to suppress the rising panic. He was determined to retain some sense of control, even in the face of overwhelming fear.

The other technician approached with a tray of instruments, their metallic surfaces gleaming ominously under the fluorescent lights. Samuel's breath hitched as he recognized some of the tools—restraints, measuring devices, and branding irons.

"Prepare the restraints," one technician instructed, his voice cutting through Samuel's thoughts. They moved with efficient brutality, securing his limbs to the cold metal frame that dominated the center of the room. Samuel's skin prickled against the unyielding surface, the restraints biting into his flesh.

He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms as he fought to keep his breathing steady. The technicians worked in silence, their actions methodical and detached, their faces masks of indifference.

"Subject 42, ready for inspection," one of them announced, stepping back to assess their work. Samuel lay splayed on the table, his body exposed and vulnerable, a living testament to the cruelty of the system that had condemned him.

The door to the room opened with a hiss, and a figure entered—a man in a tailored suit, his presence exuding an air of authority. Samuel's pulse quickened as the man's gaze swept over him, appraising him with a calculated detachment.

"Excellent," the man said, a note of satisfaction in his voice. "He'll fetch a high price."

Samuel's stomach churned, bile rising in his throat. He was being evaluated like livestock, his worth determined by the whims of those who saw him as nothing more than property. The indignity of it all burned within him, a simmering rage that threatened to consume him.

The man approached, his fingers brushing over Samuel's branded skin, tracing the letters that marked him as property. Samuel fought the urge to recoil, his muscles tensing under the man's touch.

"Don't worry," the man said, his voice a mockery of reassurance. "You'll find a good home. Someone will take care of you."

Samuel's eyes blazed with defiance, a fire that refused to be extinguished. "I'm not a pet," he spat, the words laced with venom. "I'm a person."

The man chuckled, a low, condescending sound. "Not anymore," he replied, his tone dripping with arrogance. "You're whatever we say you are."

The technician injected something into Samuel's IV line, and a wave of dizziness washed over him. His vision blurred, the edges of the room growing hazy as the sedative took effect. He struggled to hold onto consciousness, to maintain his grip on reality, but it slipped through his grasp like water.

As the world faded to black, Samuel clung to a single, burning thought—a promise to himself and to the others who suffered alongside him. He would survive. He would endure. And one day, he would reclaim his humanity from those who sought to strip it away.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Samuel awoke in a dimly lit room, the sterile white replaced by a more subdued, yet equally oppressive, atmosphere. His head throbbed, the remnants of the sedative lingering in his system. He tried to move, but the restraints held him firmly in place.

He was no longer alone. The figures whispered among themselves sending shivers down Samuel's spine.

"Look at this one," one of them said, his voice dripping with curiosity. "Quite a specimen, isn't it?"

Another figure approached, leaning over Samuel with an appraising gaze. "Indeed. It'll be a popular choice."

He didn't know what was more scary. The fact that these people were calling him an 'it' or the fact these people were staring at him like they were ready to tear him apart.

Samuel's heart raced, panic rising in his chest. He was being inspected, evaluated like a piece of merchandise. The reality of his situation settled over him like a suffocating blanket, each breath a struggle against the crushing weight of despair.

The figures moved with unsettling precision, their hands tracing over his body, noting every detail. Samuel clenched his jaw, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing his fear.

"Prepare him for display," one of them ordered, stepping back. "The auction is about to begin."

Samuel's stomach churned at the words. Display. Auction. He was about to be paraded before a crowd of potential buyers, his fate determined by the highest bidder. The thought made him sick, a wave of nausea washing over him.

They worked quickly, removing the restraints and lifting him onto his feet. Samuel's legs wobbled, weakened by the drugs and the strain of his ordeal. He stumbled, but a firm hand caught him, steadying him with a rough grip.

"Stand up straight," the figure commanded, their tone harsh and unforgiving. "You need to make a good impression."

"And if I don't?" The words slipped past his lips before he could realize. The man only leaned in close to his ear, and Samuel couldn't suppress the flinch that went through him.

"Well then, we have some other measures to make you listen as well. Surely you wouldn't like your head to be dipped underwater continuously until you become obedient, would you?" What scared Samuel more was the smile maintained on the man's face while he spoke.

Samuel gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stand tall despite the trembling in his limbs. Just how sadistic were each one of these bastards?

They dressed him in simple, clean clothes and moisturized his skin making it glow. The fabric felt foreign against his skin and the moisturizer only itched him. They groomed him meticulously, every detail attended to with an almost obsessive precision.

His hands were tied behind his back, and his ankles were snapped with cuffs tight enough so that he could walk but wont be able to run.

"It's ready," one of them said, stepping back to admire their handiwork.

"I'm not an 'it'"

"Shush. Now listen. You will keep your head down throughout the auction. You will only speak when spoken to. You will not struggle or fight. You will not be defiant. And you will behave. If we get any trouble because of you, I swear to gods I will make you regret it."

What the lady said basically went through one ear and out the other. Before he could question anymore, he was pushed to a large wooden door.

What was up with these people and their obsession with pushing?

The door opened, and Samuel was led down a corridor lined with ornate decorations that seemed out of place in such a grim setting.

They reached a set of heavy curtains, the barrier between Samuel and his uncertain future. He could hear the murmur of voices beyond, the eager anticipation of those who awaited the auction.

His heart pounded in his chest, and he could feel the blood rush to his ears. He was on the bound of a panic attack. After going through so much, now he was scared?

The man beside him gave a final, appraising look before nodding. "Do as you're told, and you might just survive."

Samuel swallowed hard, his mouth dry with fear. The curtains began to part, revealing the crowd beyond. He took a deep breath, trying to keep his breathing steady steeling himself for what lay ahead.

As the curtains fully opened, the auctioneer's voice boomed through the room, welcoming the eager bidders. Samuel stepped forward, the weight of a thousand eyes upon him, each one assessing, judging, determining his worth.

One day, he would reclaim his freedom from the chains that bound him. For now, he would play their game, but he would never forget who he truly was.

The auction had begun, and Samuel's fate hung in the balance, but his spirit remained unbroken, a beacon of resilience in the face of overwhelming darkness as bids began storming in.

Next

Reblogs are appreciated

PS- Guys, I'm actually really busy nowadays, and my writing asks have been storming in. Especially for BTBH. Asks are still open, and I will be answering those asks, but I can't confirm that it'll be soon.

Taglist: @electrons2006/ @anutz1234/ @ash-reh/ @whumped-by-glitter/ @catnykit/ @morning-star-whump/ @paperprinxe/ @octopus-reactivated/ @whumpdemonium/ @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees/ @noeul-whumpppss

@whumpifi/ @fable-bug-real/ @cheesemctoastnuggets/ @deputydeputyp/ @thelazywitchphotographer/ @isntthisblank/ @noeul-whumpppssssss1234

@nuriiz134/ @fox-fox234/ @carosbee/ @writingphoenix @carolinethedragon/ @possumhoe/ @evagran/ @somebody327/ @someoneoninternettt/ @classyanchorlove/ @kiratheperson/ @boahamcock/ @pyromaiow/ @imarandomgamer/ @edward-mybeloved/ @skribl/ @aleki-lives-here/ @roskarovio/ @pentagramstars/ @ossknsma/ @abbyreader23/ @cluelesscameraman/ @alphabet-egg/ @cheesemctoastnuggets/ @deputydeputyp/ @thelazywitchphotographer/ @isntthisblank/@demetercabingreen-thumb/ @noeul-whumpppssssss1234/ @electrons2006/ @demetercabingreen-thumb/ @vampiresprite

(let me know if you want to be added or removed <3)

[purple-tello]

Another special delivery of angst! These files are from the most recent updates to Facility 92's database by none other thaaaan, you guessed it, AGENT BISHOP!

Trigger warnings are implied experimentation and dehumanizing language

Subject Three - "Leonardo"

Filed by Agent Bishop in Facility 96.

After the ambush today, we were able to capture two of our assailants. The first of these is a mutated turtle, likely one of the, "children," referred to by One. There are no legal records of Three's birth, therefore its consent to DNA testing is not required.

From a quick glance, we have been able to identify Three as a species of Red Eared Slider, its human DNA matching that of Hamato Yoshi. Three's metabolism is also extremely high, as the drugs used to sedate them wore off extreme fast. Likely due to the mutagen. Extracting a sample will be necessary.

Three shows an intelligence that should not be underestimated. It waited until a guard's back was turned before drawing a sword out of nowhere to attack. All items have been apprehended from its possession as to keep it from using anything as a weapon. It has asked to see subjects One, Two, and Four. We have permitted it to see Four, though through bars. We cannot allow these subjects to escape, they are our only access to the mutagen.

It should also be noted that Three should not be left without supervision for long. Several escape attempts have already been attempted, and we cannot risk another. Three is extremely observant and should not be underestimated.

It is suggested that Three can be used to better contain Four. If either escapes, nonlethal methods are recommended, but should it become necessary, kill on sight.

Subject Four - "Raphael"

Filed by Agent Bishop in Facility 92.

Subject Four was quickly apprehended with Three, though it took much longer to sedate it. It was noticeably much easier to apprehend it when threatened with Three's safety. Due to the lack of citizenship or record of Four being a legal citizen of the United States, consent is not required for DNA testing of any kind.

Four seems to he a mutated form of Alligator Snapping turtle with the shared DNA of Hamato Yoshi. This connection between Three and Four suggests that despite their differing species, they are related. It is recommended that we push further for One's consent to its DNA to see if that connection extends to it as well.

Upon speaking to Three, this conversation was recorded.

Three: You okay?

Four: Yeah... Fine. What about you, you okay?

Three: Other than getting needles in my arm? Fantastic. It's always been my dream to be a guinea pig in a lab against my will.

Four: Leo stop, that's not funny. Did you see if the others got out?

Three: Don't ask that. They're fine, but don't give anyone an inch to investigate it again.

Four: You don't think -

Three: Shush. They're probably listening right now.

Four: Have you thought of a way out?

Three: God do you not hear me? Shush! And really? You wanna listen to my plans now?

Four: |after hesitation| You're probably right... I'm sorry...

Three: Oh I can tell.

Four: Leo I'm sorry.

Three: I believe you.

Four: LEO I AM SORRY. |Four was then observed panicking with its hands on its head| I'm sorry, okay? You were right, we shouldn't have done this! We should have just waited to get dad back and - you were right...

|several moments of silence|

Four: Please talk to me...

Three: You weren't listening before... Why would you now?

Four: Because... I don't have a good reason.. But I'm sorry. I was scared, I ran in when I shouldn't have, I put us all in danger, and now you're paying for it.

|more silence|

Four: I knew you were right, but I... I didn't want to listen. I was so scared I'd lose them, like how we lost you. I wasn't ready to face that again.

Three: I know.

Four: You do?

Three: Dude I literally did this same thing when you got taken by the - |Three cut itself off here and glanced towards the camera, as if afraid to reveal information. Note for later|

Four: You... Did?

Three: I got us all hurt trying to get you back. It took... God it took him talking to me to really sink in how dangerous this all is... I didn't think death applied to us before. I do now.

Four: Yeah... Because of what happened to you.

Three: No, because of what could have happened to you.

Four: What?

Three: Not here... But I get it. I just don't get why... You were always lecturing me for acting like that, why did you?

|silence|

Three: Raph?

Four: Because it's what you would have done, before.

Three: Huh?

Four: You're our leader. Doesn't matter that you gave that title to me when you got hurt, deep down we all know you're the one we follow. Even when we were kids, Leo, you always had the plans, the ideas. You got us out of trouble or figured out the answers to our problems. You gave me the chance to prove myself again, and I didn't wanna waste it.

Three: So you thought making the same mistakes I did would help?

Four: I dunno what I thought... Just that that was how we used to do things. Go in, get it done, get out. You and I would fight like we always did but we'd get the job done.

Three: Keep talking like that and the people here are going to think we're assassins.

Four: Oh... Right.

|more silence|

Three: ... Raph what are they gonna do to us?

Raph: Well... We know they didn't hurt dad...

Three: Dad has rights. We don't.

Four: What?

Three: They can prove dad is a US citizen. Us? We have no legal proof of existence anywhere. Nobody knows about us... They can do whatever they want to us...

Four: I won't let them. Not to you.

Three: ... We really gucked this one up, huh?

Four: Yeah... We did. I'm sorry, Leo.

Three: I know... And I forgive you... Hey, I have an idea.

After this both subjects refused to acknowledge or speak to each other. There was no indication of any communication between them other than their facial expressions. As ridiculous as it sounds, I suggest a mental connection of some kind.

It seems that Three is the only true motivation to keep Four calm and resistant to escape. It has not attempted to escape so much as see Three face to face. This could be utilized in their containment. Should Four escape, it's size is too big to kept alive. Do not engage, and kill on sight.

[hittingthebrainsfunnybone]

Affrimations for your whumpee! By whumper

inspired by/paraphrased from good old George Orwell 1984

Faced with enough pain, no one is a hero. They'll give you up for relief, and you'll do the exact same.

I'll spend my goodwill by tolerating your struggle or granting you the ocassional moment of solace. Be grateful and choose wisely.

The only proof of your pain is your own perception of it, and your mind is so easily deceived.

You'll never be your old self, because I didn't remold wet clay. You were a cracked pot, already passed through the fire and ruined, so I crushed everything you were to dust and made something nicer to keep on display.

It's not easy becoming sane, but you're a particularly slow learner, and I'm losing patience.

If you're not even strong enough to hold two contradictory beliefs in your mind, you're not strong enough to handle reality.

If you never forget what you are, you'll never be punished for rebelling, and if you never rebel, you'll never forget who you belong to.

The only way you'll be able to hide your obvious secrets and glaring flaws is by lying to yourself so thoroughly that you forget the truth.

Assume I'm always listening, always watching, and you'll never have to be afraid of doing something that demands punishment.

You're your own worst enemy. The nerves, the imperfections, the weaknesses- the very impulses of electricity from your brain to your body guide my hand.

Don't give me a reason to exercise greater control over you. There's no reason I should ever give it up once I have it after all.

If tell you a comforting lie, take it as a gift and make it your comfortable truth, because it's the only comfort I'll waste on you.

Your story isn't a tragedy. A tragedy has an audience and a cartharsis. There's nothing satisfying or sympathetic about watching your same stupid mistakes over and over. And you begged me not to bring an audience.

Never again will you be capable of ordinary human feeling. Everything will be dead inside you. Never again will you be capable of love, or friendship, or joy of living, or laughter, or curiosity, or courage, or integrity. You will be hollow. I will squeeze you empty, and then fill you as I please.

Love,

Whumper

[gryficowa]

This is who you Zionists are defending:

This is the textbook stage of fucking genocide

This phenomenon is called: DEHUMANIZATION

You know who dehumanized? Nazis, all fucking Jews

[batneko]

Zombieman's doing totally fine. Nothing to worry about.

[prev]

[next]

[sugusatodyke]

You weren't made for work, my sweet doe. You are supposed to be a fleshlight that sits pretty and looks cute because everyone knows that's the only reason why someone as pathetic as you would be put on this world. Any other job would be too much for my little baby, so you should stick to being a free hole instead of getting an education or getting a job since being a sex toy is what you're good at

[andthespidersfrommars]

you might not think it’s hard to be a soc fan artist on tumblr, but let me tell you about the time I called someone out for drawing inej with light skin, so they blocked me and then wrote a long post about me that I couldn’t see, along with colour samples taken from my art as examples of how inej is “too dark” in them, and then they end the post with “I’m disappointed in you” 💀

[ashintheairlikesnow]

The Only One Alive

Bleeding in Moonlight: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three |

CW: Buried alive, digging out of grave, referenced mass murder, werewolves, nonhuman whumpee, captivity, escape, dehumanizing language, my boy is a survivor

-

Earlier

Misae hadn't known what was happening, at first. 

He’d been locked up alone in a cage in the barn for a week straight after accidentally nipping at Ada’s hand the last time the humans had cut him to take blood. He’d been able to hear the noise of the packs in the kennels, at least, and had sometimes howled just to hear their answering howls in return - until Bill or somebody else came out and yelled and they all went silent again. 

All day, there had been the grumbling roar of machinery somewhere off in the big clearing behind Bill’s house, where the humans lived. All day, things had driven close and then far, close and then far. When Bill’s younger son Aaron had brought Misae his midday meal, he’d dropped the bowl through the bars in a hurry so he could rush back outside, to help or to watch. He’d ignored Misae’s hesitant questions - until the moon rose, he’d been human in shape, curled up in the cage with a blanket over his lap. 

The real humans always ignored them, or hurt them, when they tried to speak. Misae mostly didn’t talk anymore. He had been whipped too many times to keep trying.

It was only after the moon rose, and the shift had taken hold and the voices of Misae’s family had switched from soft human speech to rumbling growls and howling, that the machinery stopped its cacophony.

Shortly after that, the dying began.

At first, the sounds he could hear didn't make any sense. Misae had flattened his own ears against his head to muffle the shouting of the real humans, but it still hurt. Even here, forgotten inside the barn, all the yelling and ordering and threats had been deafeningly loud to his canine ears. 

He’d ended up trying to press his paws up and over them, but even that wasn’t enough.

The sounds the packs made were even more confusing. He could hear the cries of them all, young and old. One of those howls might be his mother, or a deeper pleading for mercy could have been from his father, but the children born in the kennels were never told who had borne them. 

The humans didn’t think werewolves should remember their children, who Bill called ‘puppies’, so they took them after 12 weeks and washed their parents’ smells off them and then handed them off to be raised in the kennels by all the shifters together. 

Misae had never know which voice singing a lullaby might have been the first. Everyone was his mother or father, and no one was. 

For a while, lying in that cage in the barn, he’d heard the pleading and the shouting, fear and rage, uncertainty and maybe even occasional hope that this might be freedom.

Then the first shots rang out.

The loud, horrible sounds of the special gun with its huge silver bullets had gone on and on and on. There had been high-pitched squeals and canine screams. Maybe they were being moved, and needed to be herded onto trailers. They’d moved once, a long time ago when Misae was still carried on someone’s hip. They’d been pushed into trailers in sweltering summer heat and driven from Bill’s last house to this new one, built far away from everyone and everything. 

A few from the packs had protested and tried to fight back. The guns had come out, then - the first time Misae had ever heard them. A couple of the wolves had been shot to show all the others how serious Bill was, and they’d all been good then.

So, for a while, Misae thought they were just herding the wolves, and shooting stragglers or fighters.

But… the shots didn’t stop.

They went on and on and on, with the humans only pausing long enough to reload before firing again. 

The howls of pain built, voices layering over each other. Something was happening that had never happened before, in Misae’s memory. They weren’t culling, killing the rebels and fighters to leave behind the softer, sadder, obedient wolves to be studied. 

Misae was listening to them die.

All of them.

It was Austin who eventually remembered Misae, alone in the barn. Austin came in with a white face and white-rimmed walleyes to unlock Misae’s cage. He tossed a loop of heavy rope over his head, jerking it tight enough to choke him as he slowly dragged him out. Misae [pressed himself against the back of the cage and dug his paws into the dirt, but he wasn’t strong enough. His nails left marks in the dirt. 

Tail tucked under his body, he was forced inch by inch towards the barn door and the squeals and whines and whimpers. They were begging not to die, asking why. The packs had been so good when studied. They had been obedient animals and they cried in confusion and terror when it wasn’t enough, asking the humans over and over why this was happening, what they had done wrong.

The humans couldn’t hear any of it. They didn’t have the right kind of ears.

But Misae did.

Later, he would see that Bill’s family shot the werewolves with silver under the light of the full moon because it was easier to kill them as wolves rather than face murdering them as men. At the time, though, he understood nothing but his own fear. His only awareness was of the pounding beat of his heart being maybe the last thing he would ever feel other than pain, the darkness that would follow it, and finally the promised, inevitable fires of Hell.

Monsters only had one afterlife, after all. Bill always said so. 

“Come on, Rusty, you stupid fucker,” Austin snarled, but his heart wasn’t in the anger he put into his voice. Misae dimly realized Austin was scared, too. “Dad will blow a gasket if he realizes I forgot you were in here-... come on!”

Misae whined. Austin jerked the noose tight again to cut the sounds off, but he wouldn’t look right at Misae as he pulled him along. Austin looked like he’d seen a ghost. No, he looked like what he was - someone not much older than Misae was, forced to make ghosts. He’d probably made three dozen of them by now as Misae listened-

Misae tossed his head back and howled.

No one answered the call.

No one was left with enough breath to do it.

There was a big hole dug in the clearing.

That’s what the machinery had been doing all day, dragging huge piles of earth up and out, depositing it into a big pile off to one side. A hole like a wound in the grass had been left, nearly filled now by blood and fur and open, unseeing eyes. The sight loomed so large in Misae’s mind that he didn’t really see it at all.

His mind instead simply let horror wash over him even as it refused to accept the images his eyes tried to share. He would never be able to clearly recall the sight. He owed it to them, his pack, his family, to remember their deaths but his eyes and his brain would never allow it. Instead, he heard the sounds.

Some of them were still whimpering, when Misae was pushed up to the edge of the hole. Some of them were still whining. Some of them were only breathing, loud, heavy gasps that held too much blood in struggling lungs. He heard them all.

He would hear them all in his sleep, when he slept, for the rest of his life.

When Misae turned his head away from the horror of the pit, his eyes met the depthless black of the barrel of Austin’s gun instead. Austin’s hands were shaking, and the barrel kept dancing too far to the right or the left, unable to settle on its aim. 

Misae dropped his head slightly. He let out a soft, plaintive whine.

“Shut the fuck up,” Austin hissed. He looked like he was going to be sick any second, throw up all over the dead wolves behind Misae or all over himself. “Don’t do that. I have to-... I have to.”

Misae looked away again. He made himself take one step, and then another, hovering just at the edge of the pit, looking down into a dozen open eyes, some wide with fear, and some seeing nothing at all any longer.

“Look… I’m sorry, Rusty,” Austin said, voice low. “I really am sorry. But I have to.”

BOOM.

Misae’s heart stopped.

His body toppled forward and he fell gracelessly into the pit.

Misae landed heavily on top of warm bodies, smeared in blood. It smelled like his family, and like metal and fire, and death. He knew what silver felt like in his body, how badly the agony would overtake everything else. It confused him when he realized he didn’t feel that pain. How could he be dead without hurting first? Had it been instantaneous, a shot to the head? Was he going to drift here in a corpse-body until Hell came for him? 

He stretched one paw and then another. He took the deepest breath he could. His heart was still beating. He was alive.

Austin had missed.

The relief was overwhelming. One of the others was trying to move, Nina he thought, and her huge paw pushed against Misae’s snout, forcing his head to turn painfully to one side. He nearly bit his own tongue to keep from making any noise. Her huge body settled over his, jerking reflexively as she kept trying to move. Nina whined, low in her throat, again and again.

Someone else rolled, and pressed against him on another side.  

He heard Austin above him, sounding farther away than he really was. There was another shot. Nina jolted and went still. “Okay… okay, got him that time. I’m sure I did… I’m sure.” Austin didn’t sound sure. His voice trembled. He retched, and Misae listened to him and wondered why he was losing his supper over the murders he had been the one to commit.

“Oh, baby, it’s okay, you’re okay,” Someone else soothed. Sandra, Misae thought, maybe. Bill’s wife. “Remember, not ‘him’... ‘It’. Don’t act like they’re people. Doesn’t matter if you hit it, it’ll suffocate once we get the dirt back in, anyway.” Her voice softened. Misae could imagine she hugged Austin, her precious son. What was having a mother like? “You did a good job, Aussie. It was a cleansing. The versipellis is washed clean and clear, and we can begin again. Your dad will figure out a cure one day, I know he will. He’d been led… this is his calling.��

“I hope not,” Austin replied. “I hope we’re… I hope we’re done, Mom.”

Nina, on top of him, was going limp, turning to dead weight. Misae could barely breathe.

“Dad will stop trying to figure out werewolves now, right?” Austin sounded… young. And softer, maybe further away. They were leaving. “We won’t have to do this again?” There wasn’t a reply, not one that traveled to Misae at least. After a pause, Austin made a noise of despair that made Misae want to laugh, with hysterical loathing and panic. “Please, Mom, tell me he’s going to stop now. Tell me he won’t just go find another group to run his tests on. Please tell me he’s done!”

The roar of the big machinery began again, and Misae didn’t know what Sandra might have said next. 

Would there be other wolves in the kennels, soon enough? Other puppies born in the shed and then taken away to be blood-tested for the sickness? Would the new wolves smell the deaths of the last ones, and know that they would probably end up here, too, once all these bodies had turned to bones?

The first heap of earth fell.

All of those still alive began a new and frantic struggle. Their howls were more like screams, now, so loud that Misae’s whole head throbbed with them. He knew he was making sounds, too, but he couldn’t really hear them over his own heartbeat and the sound of static inside his head. He couldn’t even begin to stop himself. He could feel the vibration in his throat.

Another of his pack - Den, lying beside him and who was probably a littermate, even though nobody was supposed to know who their litter-siblings were - had gone still, too. Misae tried to wriggle out from under Nina, but her weight felt impossible, and with every passing minute more and more dirt fell. Covering the wolves, cutting them off from the moonlight. Misae went blind, except for a little sliver he could see when he dared open his eyes, before he had to clench them shut against the dirt that kept trying to work its way in.

For a while, he was surrounded by the whines, the whimpers, the pain and fear. His pack still begging for mercy, even now, even as they were buried. Wriggling, hot fur and the smell of blood overran every other scent in the world. Blood and silver, burning them from the inside out.  

Each of their voices went silent, one by one.

Eventually, finally, he could hear his own whimpering.

Misae was the only one left making any sound. 

Still, he could see a hint of the moonlight against the back of his closed eyes. The dirt was heavier on one side of the hole than the other, it hadn’t been evenly filled in. They might come back and push it over, though, make it solid and impenetrable, rob Misae of the air he still had to breathe. Hide the grave, cover it in new grass or clover or flowers. 

He couldn’t hear the machine any longer.

He couldn’t hear people, either.

How long Misae laid there, he didn’t know. The bodies around him were becoming more solid with every passing minute, weighing on him more heavily. His own heart kept pounding, but he thought he was the only one. He would die here, under the dirt, surrounded by the corpses of his family. It was the longest he had ever been allowed to be here with all of them, and it would be forever. There was something… nice about that.

Misae was so scared of being alone.

But he was more afraid to die.

He began to wriggle his smaller body, as carefully as he could. He shifted, moved inch by slow inch out from under Nina’s body until even his tail finally pulled free of her, smeared in bloody mud. Dirt was ground into his fur, stuffed up his ears, found its way into his mouth and down his throat. He had to keep his eyes closed, and sometimes snorted out air to try and clear out his snout only to breathe more in.

He could taste their deaths on his tongue.

Alone.

He shifted his paw, slowly, carefully. Dug it into the dirt and then crooked a joint, pulled himself forwards using the catch of his nails to help him balance. He could smell a little bit of fresh air, and sense a little moonlight. He knew which way to go, if he focused on the moon. The moon always led the wolves, it meant for them to shift to run, not to be locked up in kennels pacing with endless restlessness until they were whipped by the humans for misbehaving.

He moved his other paw, echoing the motions of the first. 

He had to dig his slow way up through the bodies of his family, shoving them aside when he could, when there was room. He climbed on top of them, moved his ears in apologies when he had to dig nails into their bellies or press paws against their heads, when he knew he was being watched by sightless eyes. Every member of his pack he moved past, he named their smells - Nina, Den, Hanwi, Nayi, Koya, Ka, Bliss. He repeated their names to himself, because no one else would ever say them. The humans had given them all other names, dog-names that sat like insults on human tongues. The wolves had had their own names for each other, and he thought them now, every single one.

Sometimes he felt the rough press of a tongue against him and hope would rise, small and soft, only to drop back to despair when Misae realized what he felt was a dead tongue lolling out of an unmoving mouth.

His stomach clenched, and heaved, but he fought it back down.

Eventually, though, one paw found the edge of the pit, and then the other. He felt the breeze against the softer fur there and whimpered, desperate to have that air on every part of his body, desperate for the knowledge that he’d made it out.

He pushed down on both front paws as hard as he could, his wasted muscles protesting as he pulled himself up and out, back paws scrabbling in the loose dirt, shoving himself up using Tate’s shoulder for balance. He panted, tongue out, opening his eyes finally to see the bright shine of moonlight as his head popped up over the pit, his ears up and swiveling immediately, checking for sounds, for any humans nearby.

He heard nothing.

Nothing but the sound of his own breathing.

But… there was a smell other than blood, finally, a smell that wasn’t death. The wind blew cool against his face. He smelled pine trees and birds hidden behind leaves. He felt the moon on his fur the way he imagined it might feel to have a mother hold you, and finally with one last push he stood on all four legs in the grass once again. 

He shook himself, dirt falling from his fur in what felt like waves. Spread his toes, let his paws really sink into the soft earth. Took in a huge breath and then let it out in something like a sigh. 

He was alive.

He was the only one alive.

Then, from close to the big house, he heard Aaron’s soft high child’s voice ask, edged with exhaustion, “Hey, Austin? Is that one of the werewolves over by the, um, the hole?”

Austin cursed. Misae turned to look just as Austin, with a red face and teary eyes, aimed and fired. He was too far away to even hope to hit, but a tree close by Misae suddenly burst apart in an explosion of pine needles and bark.

Misae let himself take one last look at the sight of someone’s paw sticking up above the loose dirt.

Kola's, he thought. There was a white spot on Kola's black paw.

Austin took aim again, and Misae ran.

-

Tag list: @finder-of-rings @burtlederp @scoundrelwithboba @shrimpwritings @deluxewhump @yassifiedinformation @whatwhump @dont-look-me-in-the-eye @tundra-tiger

[we-were-so-beautiful]

4. shower

wow look it's another chapter!!! like... not that long after the last one, even! honestly I had the first 3 sections of this basically entirely written not long after finishing the last one, but eventually I decided I should probably do literally anything else for a while (hyperfocus is a real dick lol), and so I'm just now getting back to it. I thought this was gonna be on the shorter side, but it's about the same as the last one, around 1.3k! there's a pretty important reveal in this one...

Content warnings for this chapter: box boy universe, pet whump, dehumanization, conditioning, infected wounds, (severe) illness. As always, please let me know if there's anything else I need to tag.

[masterlist] [chapter three]

Vanessa’s never been particularly sensitive to scents—it’s a saving grace, in a mind where too much light or sound or texture can make her feel like she’s dying. But by the time the guy lying shaking on the seats behind her practically falls out of the taxi in front of her stoop, even she’s having a hard time with the smell coming off of him. Given how the driver peels away with all his windows down the second she pulls the last scrap of soiled newspaper from his backseat, it probably isn’t just her.

She turns back to the guy, for the first time finally alone with him. She’s too short to be used to talking down to people, but he’s hunched himself into that weird curled-up position again, so when she speaks it's aimed vaguely toward the top of his head. “Okay. First things first, we’re getting your ass in the shower,” she tells him. “And then we can deal with the effects of my questionable life decisions.” She pauses for a moment, considers. “Well. This one, anyway.”

There’s no way she’s getting him in through the front like this. Too many stairs, and too much dirt. The garden door will have to cut it. She motions for him to follow her down the alley, and he unfurls himself just enough to shuffle after her.

As soon as the shadows close in around them, she looks back over her shoulder. When she’s satisfied that no one can see them, she unclasps the collar from around his neck and tosses it, leash and all, into the garbage.

—

Vanessa can’t say she’s ever been grateful for the fact that her parents are insane enough to have a swimming pool in the basement of their New York fucking brownstone. Quite frankly, she still isn’t; they got the fucker installed when she was a kid and she screamed for so many days they finally packed her off to a hotel with her nanny of the week just to shut her up. Which they probably should have done in the first place, given that she was nine and there was a jackhammer in her fucking basement.

What she is grateful for now, though, is that the part of this floor that isn’t taken up by the pool—or the hot tub, or the weirdly redundant multi-person bathtub—is a shower stall the size of her literal bedroom. Complete with benches, and removable showerheads, and, she’s hoping, everything else she could possibly need right now.

“In here,” she motions, and he drags himself onto the tiles. “I’d offer you the weirdly redundant multi-person bathtub, but you’ve barely been able to keep your head up all day and the last thing I need is to fucking drown a guy in my basement. Also no offense but you’re literally so dirty right now I’d have to drain the fucker the second you got in. After this you can have a bath whenever you want, if you’re into that sorta thing, but for right now you’re getting a damn rinse.”

��

Once he’s more or less situated on the built-in shower bench, propped up in the corner in hopes it’ll keep him from falling ass over, Vanessa gets to work, still fully clothed down to her chucks on the marble tile. She unhooks a showerhead and aims it at the drain while it warms up. “Is this okay?” she asks, pointing it at his feet, and he flinches sluggishly but doesn’t respond either way.

“I don’t know what that means, guy.” She tests the water again with her hand. “It can’t be that bad, can it?” she muses out loud. “It’s the same temperature I’d use for me, and fuck knows I’m… y’know, picky. So if you want it different you gotta tell me, okay.”

He doesn’t tell her shit. But he doesn’t flinch too much harder when she moves the stream of water up toward his knees, either, and she figures that’s the best she’s gonna get.

She leans over him and focuses the showerhead on his hair. It’s matted stiff as tree bark, the water barely able to permeate through the layers of filth. “Shit, I dunno man, your hair’s got so much crap in it. Not to mention it wouldn’t surprise me if that shelter gave you goddamn lice.” She shudders. “Might be better off just cutting it short.”

There’s a noise she barely registers as a gasp before his ice-pale eyes fly open and he clutches her arm, quicker than she’s seen him move by fucking light years. She jerks automatically out of his grip, dropping the showerhead in her alarm, but he fixes her with a lidless, panicky stare and the eye contact is so startling she’s frozen to the spot. “Please…” he wheezes, “don’t.”

“You fuckin’ what, dude?”

“Don’t… cut… my hair.”

She blinks, astonished. “That’s the first thing you’ve said all fucking day, isn’t it?” He doesn’t offer another. “Christ. Typical fuckin’ me not to notice.” She huffs quietly. “Well shit, dude, I guess if you give enough of a fuck to speak up about it it can stay. But so help me if I find a single fucking nit in there.”

He whimpers quietly, squeezing his eyes shut, but he doesn’t say another word.

—

Vanessa gingerly retrieves the showerhead from where it’s spattering up at the ceiling, along with an oversized lace bath pouf and a mostly-full bottle of body wash she’s pretty sure is fucking designer. If you could see me now, Mom, she thinks, squirting the gel at his left shoulder, the one closest to her. You… well, you probably still wouldn’t give a shit. 

She touches the pouf to his sullied skin as gently as she can, and she knows she’s not well-coordinated at the best of times but she really doesn’t feel like she deserves the choked-off sound he makes or the way he shrinks away from her when she makes contact. “Oh cmon, guy, look I know but you gotta let me get this shit off you, there’s no way it’s not fucking your shit up worse than it already is,” she cajoles, and whatever she’s said it makes something in his posture go slack and he rolls back toward her, opening himself to her touch. “Thanks, uh, I think,” she hedges, and begins to lather him up with slow, concentrative strokes. She flicks the shower back on, sluicing suds and dirt from his skin in equal measure.

"Ohhh, fucking yiiiiikes," Vanessa says softly.

With the first layer of filth washed away, Vanessa can see the far grimmer reality that’s been hidden underneath. Rows of jagged, infected gashes streak their way across his shoulder to his chest. The skin around them burns an angry red, the wounds themselves all but smothered in sickly whitish-yellow. What narrow swathes of skin remain intact are mottled purple, and now that she’s touching him, she can tell he’s just… way too much hotter than any person should ever be.

She lowers the temperature of the water and keeps washing him, afraid to look but needing to see. Each stroke only reveals more of the same. His chest and left shoulder seem to have gotten most of the worst of it, but there are stripes across his arm, his back, his stomach, deep gouges in his legs. She hasn’t tried to touch his face yet, but now that she knows what to look for she thinks she can even see a scratch or several across his cheek, trailing up into his hairline. Jesus fuck.

It all makes a sinister sort of sense now, she thinks: the shallow breathing, the shivers, the near-total lack of response. And here she thought he just had regular rescuee trauma.

“Fuck,” she breathes out quietly, as the realization creeps over her like ice.

There’s something really, really wrong with this guy.

-

taglist: @maracujatangerine @pigeonwhumps @tragedyinblue @marchtothefuckingsea @octopus-reactivated @briars7