#tw nonhuman whumpee

[zoe-and-quinn]

Vampire Whumpee

TW; vampire whump, burns, trapped, hunted, gagged

Thanks to everyone who voted, hope you enjoy!

The vampire was sobbing by the time the hunters found them.

The silver trap it had stepped in burned, metal clamping around its ankle and searing deep into the muscle. It had taken only seconds for it to burn deep enough that whumpee couldn't pry it off.

After a few minutes, the silver met bone.

Whumpee jumped at the crack of a stick breaking, head whipping around to see-

A whole group of them, all grinning at them like they were a prize deer they had just shot.

Vampire hunters.

Whumpee scrambled backwards, whimpering as the trap stopped their escape attempt in its tracks. Then, one of the hunters grabbed the chain and yanked.

Whumpee screamed as they were dragged towards the hunters, silver searing through flesh. The hunter dragged them into the center of the group, and there were so many of them.

"Well, well, well... look what we have here." The one who had dragged them reached down and grabbed their hair, forcing them up to their knees. Tears streamed from their eyes as their face twisted in pain.

"Someone get the gag!" the hunter ordered, and whumpee's eyes snapped open in terror.

"No, no wait, you can't-" they were cut off by a metal ring being shoved into their mouth and pulled tight, fitting right behind their fangs. This couldn't be happening, this couldn't be happening-

Someone pulled them up to their feet, and they couldn't muffle their groan as they were forced to put weight on their ankle. "It's a couple miles to the camp, bloodsucker," someone behind them chuckled. "Guess we'll have a bit of entertainment on the way, huh?"

He shoved whumpee forward, and they only barely managed to avoid falling to the ground. They took a shaky breath and another step.

What else could they do?

Next part

[whumpsiedaisy]

Robot Whumpee who's overheating OR dragon/demon/some other fire based mythical creature Whumpee with a fever

Caretaker goes to touch their forehead to check their temperature and their hand literally burns

[ashintheairlikesnow]

She Wasn't Sure She Believed Herself

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

CW: Werewolf whumpee, escaped whumpee with caretakers, referenced abuse, dehumanization by captors, and captivity

-

Anaya swayed lightly as she made her way up the steps. The front door to Vanessa’s house was painted the same deep shade of blue as the underside of the porch ceiling.

Between that and the fact that the porch was painted a flat and blinding white, Anaya felt a little like she was standing upside down in the ocean, a wave breaking beneath her and the depths of the ocean over her head. 

It was deeply disorienting.

Then again, maybe that was the sleep deprivation talking.

Every other house on the block was the same basic set of shades - gray house with black shutters, white house with gray shutters, pale yellow house with black shutters, another gray, a different white, light brown that was nearly beige, actual beige… Vanessa’s house, with all its dancing blues, had stood out like a beacon as soon as they turned onto the street. 

Eden was right behind her, one arm supporting Misae and his own eyes moving over the porch swing that moved gently in the wind. A small black cat sat on the swing, watching them with intense curiosity. Its tail flicked as it took in the sight of Misae. They’d managed to find an old hoodie of Eden’s and some of Anaya’s sweatpants for Misae to wear, and the boy looked absolutely swamped in the hoodie, hood pulled up to cover his face as much as he could and sleeves long enough to completely hide his hands. They couldn’t help his lack of shoes, but Anaya had managed to get some white socks on him and had decided to just hope for the best. He could limp, with support, and Eden had kept an arm around him, taking most of his weight as he slowly struggled up the steps. 

The boy’s face was white with pain, and his eyes kept dancing wildly trying to take in everything at once, but he stayed upright and he didn’t pass out again, so… Anaya called it a win.

“Why don’t you knock?” Anaya asked, nervously picking at her fingernails with her other hand, trying to calm her nerves. “You’re better at talking to people.”

“First off, that’s a gigantic lie. Secondly, she isn’t my friend,” Eden answered easily. This wasn’t the first time they’d had some version of a conversation like this one. She had the distinct sense that if he could, he would have shrugged. As it was, he was holding nearly all of Misae’s weight by now. “She’s your friend. You should knock.”

“I mean, I may have… I may have exaggerated how well I know her, a little bit?” Anaya found a bit of skin sticking out near her cuticle on her thumb and absently picked at it, staring down. “We just talk on the internet. I don’t even know exactly how old she is. I’ve never seen her face, and now I’m showing up with my boyfriend and a werewolf.”

“Hey. Look at me, baby.” She raised her eyes and found Eden smiling at her, weary but warm. She couldn’t help but smile back. “You’ve got a good sense for people, you always have. And you said she agreed to let us crash, right?”

“Yeah, she did. She said no problem, just…” Anaya looked over at Misae. “I might have not mentioned… him.”

The boy was staring at the cat now. The cat met his gaze with slitted pupils, ears slightly back, fur slightly raised. There was a flash of what might have been sharp teeth, the subtle whisper of a warning hiss.

Misae’s lips pulled back from his own teeth in tandem. 

Anaya stared with wide eyes as she realized his canine teeth were longer than they should be. When she looked down at his hands, she saw fingernails that stretched even as she looked at them, hardening into obvious claws even as his fingers started to thicken and turn blunt.

Was he... growing paws?

The cat turned and leaped gracefully up onto the railing and then down to the ground on the other side, disappearing in a flash around the side of the house. 

Anaya's eyes jumped back to Misae's face.

His lips were closed, and his hands had gone back to normal. Maybe she was imagining it?

“Maybe,” Eden suggested, tone irritatingly mild, “Maybe we all just stay calm and don’t bring the werewolf thing right off the bat.”

"... but did you just see-"

"Mmhmm. I know what I think I saw, anyway."

"You cannot possibly still not believe-"

“I didn’t say that I don’t believe it. Just, let’s not like fling that info around willy-nilly, Naya, yeah? And you, Misae, keep a hold on those teeth. We'll keep the wolf thing to ourselves for at least a little while. Besides, I flat out cannot drive anymore until we get some sleep. So…” Eden shifted a little and then gestured at the door. “Knock.”

Anaya took a deep breath, and turned around, stepping up to the door. Beneath her feet, a pale doormat read Welcome, witches and there was a sign hanging right at Anaya’s eye level: Live laugh lobotomize.

Right.

This was Vanessa. She had nothing to worry about.

Not that having nothing to worry about had ever once stopped Anaya from worrying. Camping had always been the only time she ever felt totally calm, and even that was a little ruined now. How many secret homes with hidden people kept like animals were there in the world, and she just didn't know about them?

The thought kept spinning circles when she tried not to think at all.

The door swung open just as Anaya's knuckles touched the door and she jerked her hand back in surprise. Behind her, Misae straightened a little, leaning against Eden while trying to look like he wasn’t hurt. His eyes kept shifting, as if he was trying to look everywhere all at once. 

God, they looked like such a mess. 

The wooden sign clacked as it swung forward and back, and Anaya’s first impression was of a pair of sparkling brown eyes. “I thought I heard voices,” Vanessa smiled. She was a tall, broad woman with a deep, melodic voice, totally unlike Anaya’s mental image of her. Her eyes matched her ponytail and she looked very much like every high school art teacher Anaya had ever imagined. Right down to the paint-splattered tunic and leggings. 

She took in the three of them in a moment, and then her smile widened and she stepped back and to the side. “Well, you’re clearly Anaya,” She continued. “It’s nice to see you in person for the first time. So, if you’re Anaya, then this must be the hottie boyfriend… Evan?”

“Eden,” Anaya corrected absently, still trying to connect this warm and soft woman standing before her with the acerbic, dryly sarcastic online voice she’d been chatting with for years. 

“Oh, right. Sorry, Eden.”

“That’s okay.” Eden shrugged, a shy smile playing around his lips, flushed a little still from hearing hottie probably. He was always weak to compliments. “Evan actually was on my shortlist for names, anyway, actually.”

“Oh, was it?” Vanessa’s eyebrow quirked up. “You’re not just saying that so I feel less like I just face planted into a mud puddle in public, are you?”

Oh, okay. Now that was the Vanessa that Anaya knew so well.

“Ha, no, it really was. But then I thought of Eden, and, well, I just… liked it better than all the others.”

“Well, I like Eden better, too. It fits - you’re clearly paradise on two legs.” Vanessa winked, and Eden turned tomato-red. Anaya felt herself nearly knocked over by a wave of something between her usual full-throated adoration of her awkward boyfriend's struggle to take a compliment and relief that things were going so well when she’d been so scared they wouldn’t. Vanessa laughed, her laugh as mellow as everything else about her appearance. “Seriously, though… come, come on in, all of you.”

Anaya’s pulse jackhammered in her throat and at her wrists as she stepped forward, moving from the sunset light outdoors into the darker house. The first thing she saw was a wall painted a beautiful deep evergreen, a wall of a dozen or so pieces of framed artwork that had every rainbow shade and probably a few colors Anaya had never even heard of. Side lamps were lit everywhere, and a ceiling fan turned lazily overhead. This looked like somebody's perfect cozy escape from the world.

Anaya wondered how it would feel, to have a home like this. Somewhere that you owned outright. She and Eden had always been renters, and half the time these days they lived out of Eden's car.

“So… there’s you two, and there’s also… who is this you have with you?” Vanessa asked, voice lilting just a little in curiosity. “A brother? Cousin? What’s your name, honey?”

Misae didn’t answer. His chin had lowered, even though his eyes were locked on Vanessa now, watching her every movement. 

Anaya cleared her throat. “This is… um, this is Misae. We… met him on the trip.”

“Oh, okay. I knew you were camping this weekend in Idaho, so… oh, that’s why you texted me for somewhere to stay? Because of meeting him?” 

“Yeah.” Anaya tried to keep her voice casual, unruffled. “He just needs a safe place, he, uh… He r-ran away from home.” It was close enough to true. Really it was true, she just… left out a few minor details. He was being hunted by a man with a gun and oh, hey, he also turns into a wolf. That’s not a problem, right? “I know I didn’t mention he was with us, and I'm so sorry. We will completely understand if you don’t want to deal with-”

“Hey, I didn’t say that.” Vanessa raised her hands, as though showing she was harmless. Or thought they were. “It’s definitely not a problem. I just wasn’t thinking about you needing more than bed. Seriously, it is no problem, I can blow up the air mattress for an extra bed.” 

“Okay, okay, thank you so much, Vanessa. We’ll just get settled, and if you could tell us where the shower is-“

“Oh, honey,” Vanessa interrupted. “Are you hurt?”

Anaya opened her mouth to reply, but realized Vanessa wasn't looking at her at all. Vanessa moved towards Misae, hands out.

To Anaya's horror, Misae recoiled, snarling with lips pulled back from his teeth, before he lost his balance, trying to catch himself and accidentally putting too much weight on his injured leg.

His knee buckled, and he went down hard, losing his balance with a high-pitched cry, somehow ending up turned around and falling right off the steps onto the stone path that led up to the porch.

He desperately grabbed at Eden's arm to try and catch himself and instead pulled Eden down with him.

Eden grunted when he landed hard on his left elbow, but he had the good luck of falling a little to the side and landing in the grass. Misae smacked down into concrete, catching himself with his hands but Anaya watched his ankle twist in the process.

His whine turned to whimpers, deeply canine. He hunched his shoulders and curled up, still snarling and making a sound somewhere between whimper and growl, and Anaya wondered if everything she hadn’t said about this strange boy was about to spill out anyway, whether she liked it or not.

When Vanessa took one more step forward, Misae snapped at her from where he lay, teeth clicking together sharply. His canines were growing again.

Anaya tried to think of an explanation - something logical that didn't involve breaking the news that at least one totally mythological creature had turned out to be absolutely real - but nothing came.

She only stared with her eyes and mouth both wide.

“Oh, shit,” Vanessa whispered. She didn't seem to have noticed Misae's teeth changing, and Anaya was hit with relief that cut as sharp as any knife. “Oh. I am so fucking sorry, I didn’t-... I didn’t mean-” She moved again, and Anaya caught her by one arm. Tears welled up in her eyes as she turned. “I swear, Anaya, I didn’t mean to scare him!”

“No, I know, he’s just… really jumpy about people who move too fast,” Anaya soothed, watching as Eden moved to Misae and murmured to him. The boy's expression gradually changed and he shook his head, eyes down and hair covering as much of his face as he could manage. At least he stopped making that face. Eden nodded, murmured something not quite audible in reply, and very slowly reached out. 

Misae sat back, holding his hands palms-up, letting Eden take them in his own hands to look them over. Blood welled where skin had been scraped away by catching himself when he fell. 

Misae looked up through the curtain of his messy hair, watching Eden's face. Anaya swallowed hard as she saw a spot of red where she knew the bandage was on Misae’s leg. Was that damn wound ever going to stop bleeding?

“He got used to getting hurt where he lived before,” Anaya said in a low voice, keeping her hand on Vanessa to keep her from potentially scaring the poor kid all over again. She told herself she wasn’t lying - those scars Misae was covered with, hidden thanks to Eden’s shirt and Anaya’s sweatpants, proved that pain had definitely been something Misae understood very well indeed. Maybe the only thing he seemed to understand. “It’s made him jumpy. Let’s, um, let’s go inside and then Eden and Misae can come in after us?”

Vanessa slowly nodded, reluctantly turning away. “Okay. I really am so sorry.”

“It’s totally fine,” Anaya said. She had no idea if it was fine or not. The words just came out automatically, an instinctive reply to try and soothe the unsettled air around them. “He’ll be okay. We’re just trying to get him far enough away that he feels safer.”

“Yeah. I can… I can see why.” Vanessa seemed to remember this was her house and straightened up a little. She shot one more hesitant glance over her shoulder, and then led Anaya through a small living room stuffed with too many hand-me-down couches draped in deep brick-red covers and throw pillows and blankets, into a small hallway with four doors. “So, we have… a linen closet, towels are in there-” She pointed at the first door. Then, across the hall, the bathroom with a tiny shower-bathtub, a toilet, and a sink and mirror. “My water heater isn’t great, but if your showers are fast they can be hot. Otherwise, you might have to settle for more or less warm. And here, right here-” She opened the last door on the left. “This is the guest bed. I’m sorry there isn’t more space-”

“It’s perfect,” Anaya said, forcing her voice to brighten up. Her mind wandered back to the boys outside. “We’ll get settled and get clean and then, if you don’t mind, we might just want to like… nap for a while.”

“Not a problem. I have some work to finish up, anyway.” Vanessa smiled, even as she still looked a little worried and guilty. “Any requests for supper? I’m afraid delivery in this neighborhood isn’t happening, but I’ve got some frozen pizzas and garlic bread, or I could make pasta and sauce, or… if anybody’s low carb, uh, I could run to the store for steak or something…”

Anaya thought of Misae’s thin face, wiry arms, knobby knees, the way his stomach pulled in too much, how he swam in clothes that shouldn't have been oversized. The way his eyes seemed to sink a little into his face. “Um… No, carbs are definitely a good idea. Pizzas?”

“Okay. I’ll get the oven preheating. You three just… you get settled. Let me know if there's anything you need or you can't find.” Vanessa disappeared back out the door and Anaya stepped further into the little room.

There was a side table with a little lamp and she switched it on, absently. It gave the little room, walls painted blue, a cozy glow. She dropped her backpack onto the fluffy oversized comforter - clearly made for a king-sized mattress but laid out over the queen-sized bed - and sat down, slowly leaning over with her hands over her face.

She was so tired.

At least Vanessa had been a lot less bothered by the sudden appearance of two disheveled adults and one teenager than Anaya had expected, but the last bit had clearly thrown that initial lack of bother away. Now they not only had a teenage runaway with them, he was visibly injured and he’d reacted to Vanessa attempting to touch him in a way that made it equally clear he hadn’t come from anywhere good. Plus, the noises he'd made, the way he snarled and snapped like an animal... If Vanessa got too curious, or decided to call the fucking cops... Anaya didn't know why exactly, but she knew that would end badly.

A throat cleared in the doorway and Anaya looked up. Eden stood there, smiling a little, Misae leaning against him again. The boy’s eyes darted around, never landing on any one place for long. He’d been limping before - now he was flat out hopping on one leg, using Eden to keep himself upright. His injured leg was pulled slightly up. 

“He’s okay,” Eden said, in a tone that said he was soothing them both. “Just a little scrape on the hands. I’ll get my kit from the car, we’ll get him a good shower and then I can bandage him up again.”

“Good.” Anaya breathed the word out. Even that felt like it took more energy than she really had left. She hadn’t realized how hard she was working to hold herself together until she didn’t really have to any longer. 

She wanted to sleep for a week.

Maybe a month.

But she’d settle for patting the bed next to her. “Misae, why don’t you just come over here and lay down for a minute with me, okay?”

Misae’s eyebrows briefly furrowed. He licked at his lips - something Anaya was realizing he did almost compulsively when nervous - and then slowly shook his head. “Not allowed,” He said, voice low. He sounded a little confused.

“What? Why? Because you’re bleeding?” 

Misae stared at her for a few long seconds, then shook his head again. “No. We're... not allowed on the furniture.”

Eden’s eyes closed, tightly, for just a second. Anaya watched a vague flush of anger move over his face and be just as quickly pressed down and done away with. She knew what she was seeing, though, and knew Eden would smile soft and sweet even as he turned that over and over in his mind all night long. The same way Anaya would.

Not allowed on the furniture because he's been treated like he’s a dog.

“Well, here you are allowed on the furniture, and I’m saying you should lay down on the bed and get the weight off that leg. Okay?” She patted the bed again. This time, Misae hesitantly nodded and let Eden support his slightly absurd little bunny-hops forward until they made it close enough for him to more collapse than lay down. Misae curled himself up as tightly as he could, arms tucked against his body and only his injured leg out straight, the other one curled with his knee nearly to his chest.

"Oh," He whispered, eyes wide.

Anaya blinked at the look of surprise on his face, and tilted her own head as she looked down at him, slipping a firm pillow beneath his head only for his eyes to widen even further. She fought back a faint smile, worried he might think she was mocking him. “What’s that look for?”

Misae swallowed, those strange golden-brown eyes shifting to meet hers. He returned her smile. “I didn’t know beds were so soft,” He explained. “I’ve never been in one.”

Anaya couldn’t think of a single thing she could possibly say to that.

Eden backed away from them. “I’ll go get our things from the car and then I’m just going to get right into the shower,” He said, voice tight and hard, and turned away, closing the door a little too hard behind him as he went. 

Misae winced when the door shut with a loud thunk, shifting until the top of his head just brushed against the side of Anaya’s leg. She let her hand drift down to run fingers through his hair like she had while Eden stitched him up in the car - oh god, that was less than twelve hours ago, somehow it felt like so much more time had passed than that - and the boy breathed out in something that seemed like pure pleasure, eyes fluttering shut. 

“He’s angry,” Misae said, voice low. Just above a whisper, a little hoarse. "At me."

“He's angry, but not at you," Anaya replied, shifting until her back was against the headboard, keeping her fingers sifting through soft strands. Her own eyes closed and she could feel her exhaustion weighing down every corner of her mind. “Definitely not at you. Just at… what it seems like life has been for you. It’s not going to be like that for you anymore, okay? We’ll figure out how to find some place better for you.”

Misae didn’t reply.

Anaya knew that he was silent, this time, not because he had nothing to say in response, but because he didn’t believe her. 

She wasn’t sure she believed herself.

-

@finder-of-rings @burtlederp @deluxewhump @scoundrelwithboba @shrimpwritings @yassifiedinformation @wildfaewhump @whatwhump @honeycollectswhump @tundra-tiger @dont-look-me-in-the-eye @there-will-always-be-blood

[toyybox]

It’s everyone’s favourite angel, Onyx from The Winged Servant by @rainbowsandwhumperflies 💝 He’s so cute I love him, go read TWS now!!

[fallenwhumpee]

I got a prompt I wanna see!

A whumpee who can shapeshift but it's moreso based on their emotions and mental state. I've been dying to see a caretaker walking in on poor whumpee mentally going through it in a monster like form. Does the caretaker know this about whumpee and calm them? Or get scared seeing a monster in whumpees room?

Hope this is entertaining for you to write! :D

Human

• Masterlist •

Warnings: Transformation, nonhuman whumpee, broken bones, unintentional self harm.

One would think Leader was born without emotions. Be it in a normal day or one spent fighting, that face eerily stayed still, and there was nothing, nothing on that face. Not even a twitch.

It drove Caretaker mad.

But now, Caretaker was ashamed. They had thrown up their anger on Leader when Leader was the only reason they were still alive. But Caretaker had been too focused on the people to realise that they were spitting insults at Leader. Insults that made their face red as they thought about.

And Leader looked hurt, the stone face cracking for the first time in ever.

Caretaker felt more and more guilty as they thought about it. They wanted to believe that Leader knew Caretaker wasn't at the best state of mind when they told about those. Leader would understand Caretaker didn't mean any of it.

It took Caretaker a good while to build up courage and get to Leader's door.

"Leader?" Caretaker asked, muttering curses to their meek tone. They leaned closer to the door, not hearing anything. "Leader." They called again. They didn't want to intrude, but they had to get the guilt out of their chest. It sounded too selfish like that, but Caretaker ignored the thought and turned the round doorknob. It was kind of hard to open and different from the rest of the base.

Caretaker was surprised to meet with the pitch black room, their eyes tricking them to see a monster in the room due to not adjusting yet. They reached the switch blindly, turning on the light and... freezing.

The monster wasn't a trick their eyes played.

Now that there a sent any wall blocking the sounds, Caretaker could hear bones breaking.

"Get away," a growl disturbed the sounds, coming out more like a murter than actual words. The pain in the voice shook Caretaker, but Caretaker couldn't answer. Not when they could see Leader on the floor, their hands holding their neck as claws threatened to grow from their hands and digging into their skin.

Caretaker opened their mouth to speak but a weak stutter was all they could get out.

Leader’s body shuddered, muscles expanding with sounds of rubber bands snapping and a thick, white fur growing and disappearing as their skin resisted the change. The growls filled wkth pain were primal, each one causing Caretaker to flinch. They couldn’t move, their legs rooted to the spot by pure fear. The scene was surreal, like something out of a nightmare.

Caretaker now understood why Leader always took the enemy alone.

“Get away!” Leader’s voice was a desperate cry. Their eyes, usually so cold and reserved, now flashed with a mix of fear and anger.

Caretaker forced themselves to breathe, to think. They knew they couldn’t just stand there. Finding logic among their thoughts, they forced themselves to think how they could help. But what could they do against... this?

But Caretaker couldn't back down. “I’m not leaving you,” they said, voice trembling, not even convincing themselves.

The air got thick with the scent of blood and sweat as Leader tried to resist. Their eyes, now a fierce, glowing amber, locked onto Caretaker’s.

“Leave,” Leader howled through gritted teeth, fighting to retain a sliver of humanity. “I can’t…control…”

"No. You won't hurt me," Caretaker muttered as they stepped closer.

Leader's breath hitched, tensing. "It was so close. I could've lost the team."

"But you didn't," Caretaker said as they kneeled in front of Leader. They reached to the big claws and gently removed them from Leader's neck.

"I... I was going to lose the only thing that kept me sane. That kept me... human. You... you were right. I-"

"No, I was wrong, and you did your best."

Leader shuddered, bones beginning to break again as their form began to get more humanoid. "But it was so close. They could have died there and I was useles, weak!" Leader breathed, each word a struggle as they fought against themselves. The raw

“Listen to me, Leader,” Caretaker said, their voice steadier now, despite the fear throttling them. “You’re stronger than this. You’re the reason we’re all still here. And we need you to calm down.”

Leader’s amber eyes blinked, the human behind the beast slowly crawling up to the resurface. “I’m… I’m a danger,” Leader rasped. “I can’t… not after... I'll lose it once I see Whumper."

“Yes, you can,” Caretaker insisted. They tightened their grip on Leader’s clawed hands, refusing to let go. “You won't give them the satisfaction.”

Leader’s growls softened, and the monstrous form slowly gave way to the human figure Caretaker knew so well. Leader’s body trembled violently with the effort, but Caretaker stayed where they were.

Minutes felt like hours, but finally, Leader slowly slumped against the wall, drenched in sweat, entirely human again. Their eyes were closed, their face contorted in pain and exhaustion. Blood was dripping slowly from their neck, but the claw mark was small, as if it was from a cat.

Caretaker let out a breath they hadn’t realized they were holding. They gently brushed the damp hair from Leader’s forehead. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

Leader’s eyes fluttered open, the usual stoic mask shattered and replaced by vulnerability. “I’m… sorry,” they whispered, voice hoarse. “I never wanted you to see this. Pain is usually enough to anchor me, but this time, I lost my control.”

"Usually?" Caretaker almost shouted.

"Just... just not now, Caretaker," Leader sighed and closed their eyes again.

Caretaker had to bite their lips to stop themselves from asking. "Okay. Okay, not now. But... but I'm having you in infirmary as motivation to the team, and you are going to give me a lecture about insulting a higher up and acting too emotional. I was scared, and I took my anger out of you. It was wrong and this... is my fault, in a sense."

Leader stood up slowly, their every joint popping. "I'm sure I can do something about that," they said and offered a small smile.

Caretaker decided that they would give world's just to see that smile again.

[mintflavouredwhump]

A non-human whumpee who drinks blood/eats human flesh controlling their hunger, either as a promise to their loved ones or because they treasure their morality more than their life and health. It leads to a variety of physical and psychological issues but they're determined to hold out for as long as they can... which is until the caretaker finds out.

[kabie-whump]

How about another request, if you're up for it? 👀

Whumpee being kidnapped and used as bait for Caretaker. The kicker? Whumpee thinks it's not gonna work, since they and Caretaker got into a big argument before Whumpee was taken, to which Whumper reassures/taunts that Caretaker will come for Whumpee no matter what.

Then, to Whumpee's surprise and horror, Caretaker did come... and fell right into Whumper's trap trying to free Whumpee. 😈

-- @whumperofworlds

Of course pookie! :3 I'm just gonna continue what I wrote for u last time if u don't mind <3 (Just ignore the part where I said Ventis shows up on his own after a week lol)

Definitely ended up way longer than I intended teehee

Content: kidnapping, stress position + bondage, used as bait, child neglect mention, drug addiction + forced relapse, choking, blood, force feeding (not w food though cause ew)

~~~

Ventis takes stock of his condition. A cloth blindfold stretches across his eyes. His shoulders ache; unsurprising considering his hands are tied with a chain that stretches above him, forcing him to stand on his tip-toes to avoid putting too much pressure on his joints. Being unconscious in this position has probably fucked them up already. He much prefers when kidnappers tie him to chairs or leave him lying on the floor.

The next thing Ventis checks for is his magic. Sometimes he gets lucky and his kidnappers will forget to do anything to suppress it. Others will rely on the old-fashioned gag + blindfold + thoroughly bound hands method. And then there was his least favorite: anti-magic enchantments.

He's blindfolded but not gagged. That leaves two options. There's only one way to find out which situation he has found himself in.

Ventis steels himself, then tries to summon a simple lightning spell. As soon as the first draconic word leaves his mouth, pain shoots from the cuffs through his whole body. He cries out and his knees buckle, putting agonizing pressure on his shoulders until he recovers and goes back to balancing on his toes.

Definitely enchanted. Shit.

"Oh, you're awake." It's a woman's voice, coming from somewhere off to his left.

Ventis gasps for air as he takes note of the way her voice echoes. It sounds like they're inside, and it's far cooler than any building should be in the heat wave the city's been experiencing. He's either been taken somewhere very far away, or he's in a basement. Hopefully the latter.

"If it is ransom you seek, you took the wrong Riinturuth. Father will not pay for me."

Ventis has said those words so many times now that he wonders if there's some list of kidnappable nobles somewhere that he needs to get his name removed from. Just because he's the first son does not mean he's the favorite.

"Oh, I know. Don't worry. That's not what this is about."

That's... odd. "What do you mean?"

"Simple. You're going to help me capture the Ventura boy."

Onthyes. Fuck.

That's the thing about having an important father and being close with someone who also has an important father. Double the kidnapping risk. This scenario has only happened once before, and Onthyes appeared in no time and easily overpowered Ventis's captors.

It was kind of hot, if Ventis is being honest.

But that's not going to happen this time. Not after the argument they'd just had. Especially since Ventis had stated very clearly that he didn't want Onthyes protecting him from everything all the time. Oops.

"I will do no such thing."

"But you're already doing it." The woman's voice is just in front of him now. Ventis flinches away from her. "He knows where you are, and when he comes for you he'll be all mine."

"He will not come for me," Ventis assures her. "This is a waste of your time and mine."

Ventis yelps as an open hand strikes his cheek.

"Don't lie," the woman hisses. "I've been watching him. He's protective of you to a fault. He'll come."

"I did not- '' Ventis's words are cut off by a strong hand gripping his throat, making him squeak and choke, barely able to keep his weight on his toes. Claws prick at the delicate skin.

"He'll come," she says again. "And when he does I'm going to make you watch as I tear open his throat."

"No," Ventis chokes out. "Please. Don't hurt him."

The clawed hand releases its hold and Ventis gasps and coughs. His legs shake from the effort to stay up on his toes.

"Here, open your mouth. This'll make you shut up."

Something is pressed to Ventis's lips and he recognizes it immediately by the smooth texture and faintly sweet smell alone. Nightspill. The very same drug he had just fought to free himself from.

He seals his lips tightly, trying to turn his head away despite the urge to open up and accept his return to the blissful numbness the pill offered. He had worked so hard to get sober. Onthyes and Shayah had worked so hard to help him. He can't go back now.

The woman growls, "Stop being difficult," and digs her claws into Ventis's side. He can't help but scream, and she pushes the pill into his mouth and then covers it with her other hand so he can't spit it out. "Swallow," she demands.

Ventis sobs and shakes his head, trying to twist away from her but only succeeding at making his shoulders burn unbearably from the pull of the chains. She digs her claws deeper and pulls, slicing slowly through his skin.

The blindfold soaks up Ventis's tears as he continues to scream and sob and struggle while still doing everything in his power to resist the urge to swallow. The taste is familiar on his tongue. It's so tempting - it would definitely help to dull the pain he's in.

That one stray thought is all it takes. Ventis swallows before he even realizes what he's doing.

The claws retreat from is side and he can feel hot blood streaming down from the wound. The woman pries his teeth apart, searching his mouth with metallic tasting fingers to make sure the pill is really gone. Ventis tries to bite, but he's too slow and winds up snapping his jaw on nothing.

"There." Ventis's captor sounds entirely unbothered as she steps away. "Maybe that will help you calm down."

Ventis feels panic waking up somewhere deep in his stomach and struggling to fight its way to the surface, but it dies out before his heart rate can even begin to pick up. He's left feeling fuzzy and peaceful and devastated all at the same time.

"Now all we have to do is wait."

They wait for a long time. Ventis's legs shake uncontrollably. His hands go cold and tingly and then numb. The nightspill wants nothing more than to lull him to sleep but every time he starts to doze off he loses concentration on standing on his toes and a blinding pain in his shoulders rips him back to consciousness.

Onthyes isn't coming. Ventis wonders how long it'll take for his captor to realize that and just kill him.

Then- "Let him go!"

Ventis jolts. "Onthyes?" He croaks. That absolute idiot. Does he not know a setup when he sees one? "What are you doing? Get out of here!"

Armor clunks loudly as Onthyes runs up to him. A gloved hand touches his cheek, then pulls off the blindfold.

Ventis blinks spots out of his vision, everything slowly coming into focus as Onthyes fusses over him. "Run," he insists weakly. "Please."

Onthyes ignores him, his brow furrowed as he examines the chains. "I need to find the key. Hang in there."

An involuntary laugh bubbles out of Ventis. "Hah, hang? That is all I can do, my friend."

Onthyes just sighs and shakes his head as he turns away.

That's when Ventis's captor strikes. She emerges from a shadowy corner and pounces on Onthyes, all sharp claws and jagged teeth that barely fit behind her red lips.

Onthyes yelps and staggers backwards as she clings to his back, her claws searching for any holes in his armor. After finding nothing she turns her attention to pulling his hair so hard his head hits a nearby stone wall and he falls to one knee.

Pounding footfalls, followed by a battlecry and the appearance of a hulking half-orc woman - Shayah. "I told you to fucking wait for me," she yells as she rips Onthyes's attacker from his back and throws her across the room. She hits the opposite wall hard and goes still.

Onthyes rushes over to Ventis as Shayah retrieves the key to the cuffs. She barely has to reach to unlock them.

Even nightspill can't dull the pain that follows as Ventis finally lowers his arms and lands on flat feet for the first time in hours.

Sensation rushes back into his limbs and he screams. Onthyes is there to catch him when his knees buckle, holding him and whispering something along the lines of, "It's okay. You're okay. I've got you. I'm so sorry. Just breathe. You're okay."

When the pain finally recedes some Ventis is left gasping and trembling. He lets Onthyes lower him to the floor, too exhausted to support his own weight anymore. Shayah begins to check him over, using some scraps of fabric to stem the bleeding from the claw marks in his side.

She makes eye contact with Ventis, then pauses, a look of concern crossing her face. "Are you on something?" she asks softly, cupping his cheek.

Ventis gives a tired nod. "Nightspill. I'm sorry," he sobs. "I-I didn't want to. She made me."

"Shit," Shayah and Onthyes mutter at the same time.

"I'm sorry," Ventis repeats. "I tried. I really tried."

Onthyes brushes Ventis's hair from his sweaty forehead. "It's alright. We're not upset with you. We'll take care of you."

Onthyes's kind words don't help, not when the echoes of their argument from last night still haunt Ventis. "I-I thought you wouldn't come. After last night-"

"Last night's not important. I'll always come for you. Always. I..." Onthyes looks away, shaking his head. "I should've walked with you. I'm so sorry."

"Alright, boys." Shayah claps her hands, getting both of their attention. "You can wallow in guilt and pretend not to be in love with each other later. Let's get out of here."

"Right." Onthyes takes Ventis into his arms carefully and lifts him up, and Ventis finally nods off with his head lolling against Onthyes's shoulder.

~~~

Next Part

Ventisposting taglist: @scp-1296 @sapphicccici @acer-gaysimpstuff @morning-star-whump @yeetmyskeet @rainydaywhump

@unicornbeck @whumperofworlds

[justletmereadmywhump]

Drabble One

They cowered away from Whumper, watching in terror as Caretaker’s feathers were plucked off one by one. They couldn’t stand hearing their friend scream, tears running down their face with each sob Whumper pried from Caretaker’s throat.

“Whumper, please!” They cried. “Leave them alone! You want me, not Caretaker!”

Whumper paid them no heed, continuing to rip the plumage from Caretakers once beautiful wings. ”I’ll give you anything, Whumper! I’ll do anything, please just stop!” They sobbed. Whumper froze, a feather half way pulled off and stretched in a way that made Caretaker whine. “Is that so? You’d do anything in the world...” Whumper harshly tore the feather off, prompting a strangled gasp from Caretaker. “For this pathetic little bird?” Caretaker looked at Whumpee with pleading eyes, silently begging them not to go on.

Whumpee hesitated, seeing the look on Caretakers face. They new Whumper, they knew what Whumper would do if they were really given the chance for it. But it wasn’t worth seeing Caretaker like this.

They nodded, scared for their life. “How tempting.” Whumper chuckled. “Perhaps I’ll take you up on your... deal.” They knew that tone. They knew it too well.

[whumpberry-cookie]

(tw: noncon touch)

Imagine Whumpee being magically so beautiful and breathtaking that all mortals are just falling on their knees before them.

Whumper treated them as their pretty bird in a cage. Kisses, compliments, unwanted pets and affection.

After the rescue, Caretaker... without a second thought decides to never mention how captivated they feel. Because they think it's unfair that Whumpee can't have any true relations with mortals for who they actually are.

(C:) "I never told you this, but..."

(W:) "I knew you loved me, Caretaker. Because you never told me"

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

(Also that's what I found after searching for pretty man in gifs)

(Ah, yes. My primary school crush)

(Of course Taehyung's here)

[the-whumpening]

The Pet Tiger, #10 [nsfwhump AU]

Prev | Masterpost | Next

CW: nsfwhump, emetophobia, drunk/hungover against will, choking till passing out, medical inaccuracies, GRAPHIC EXPLICIT NON-CON, explicit scene of and reference to r*pe and uncensored use of the word, victim blaming, dehumanization, gags, restraints, branding, treated as a pet/sex slave, violence and threats, pet whump, forced use of buttplug, forced (ruined?) orgasm, forced chastity device, blood, magic whump, AGAIN: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

(Another extremely long chapter, around 4.5k! This is EXTREMELY GRAPHIC. Please heed this warning: if you do not want to read a scene mostly focused on a detailed description of an assault, close this and move on. The next chapter won't be nearly as brutal but there will likely be similar chapters in the future, so I understand if anyone wants to drop off reading this series. No hard feelings! If I've missed tagging something important, please let me know so I can fix it.)

-

10: His

As the heavy doors of Ozmund’s chambers slam closed behind Ash, his knees thud to the hard wooden floor. His head spins—he’s not sure he’s ever been this drunk before, and certainly never so fast. He tries to steady himself on his hands and catch his breath, but Ozmund yanks him by his leash back to attention.

During the silent march away from the party, Ash had imagined Ozmund was fuming, just waiting to be alone before lashing out at him. But now, as he drunkenly dodges Ozmund’s scowl, it seems Ozmund has once again composed himself. He slips a finger through Ash’s collar and bends to meet his face, his breath cool on Ash’s flushed cheeks.

“She got you drunk, didn’t she? Stupid little cat,” he snarls, his low voice warping in the fun-house-mirror of Ash’s intoxicated brain. It takes all Ash’s concentration to nod, though the movement only makes his dizziness worse. Ozmund sighs through his nose and narrows his eyes. With a blink, they begin to glow a rich emerald green, and he jams his palm to Ash’s forehead.

Ash shivers and gasps; shock startles his system as if a bucket of ice-cold water was suddenly dumped over him. His drowsy eyes snap open, and he can suddenly think clearly and control his body once more—he’s immediately sober again. A spike of pain pierces his head, though, and his senses are quickly overwhelmed. Each lamp and candle flame burns his eyes; every slight rustle of his clothes and shift of his body pounds in his eardrums; Ozmund’s heavy fragrance stings his nose and swirls his stomach until—

He retches, spitting up wine-stained bile onto the polished floors.

Ozmund takes half a step back to avoid the mess, dropping Ash’s leash and muttering, “Pathetic.” He nudges Ash’s chest with his boot, pushing him off balance and forcing his gaze upward as he falls onto his back. “And I suppose you want me to clean you up, too, don’t you? Ungrateful beast.” With a wave of his hand, Ash’s sick disappears from the floor and his own face; even his mouth feels clean, though exceptionally dry.

Is this a hangover? Ash wonders as his head continues to throb. He’s never had a hangover before—he’d only ever seen Kane get them, but they’re such a lightweight that it takes very little to send them stumbling and slurring in the first place.

He doesn’t have time to linger on the thought; before he can right himself once more, Ozmund drops his shoe down on Ash’s chest. His heel grinds into Ash’s bruised ribs, pressing a breathless howl of pain out of his lungs.

“Quiet,” Ozmund commands, and Ash’s throat cinches closed against his will. He strains to breathe fully, silent whimpers gasping through his lips against the tightness in his throat and the pressure on his chest. “Three times tonight, you’ve failed to uphold your end of our bargain. Three times, you’ve disobeyed or humiliated me.” His foot shifts forward, sliding to lodge the toe of his boot beneath Ash’s chin and hovering just barely above his neck. “I gave you every opportunity to comply. I instructed you perfectly—I even let your poor manners slide earlier today. But clearly, you haven’t learned.”

Ozmund squeezes his fist. As he does, the thin collar around Ash’s neck shrinks tighter and tighter, nearly burrowing itself into his skin. His vision flickers, black flecks of blindness fluttering around his peripherals before blotting out entirely; his hearing, too, fades into a high-pitched ring, soon replaced only with silence. In the dark and silent void, all Ash can take in is the scent of boot polish and leather, before even that disappears as well.

As he slips into the dizzy embrace, an errant thought creeps into his mind: Am I . . . dead?

-

Ash reawakens with a coughing gasp. His arms and shoulders ache, but his hands catch with a metallic clinking when he tries to lower them.

He blinks against the blurriness in his vision and struggles uselessly to move. What—?

“Be still, pet.” Ozmund’s voice startles him, closer than he expects. “You’ll only hurt yourself if you struggle.”

Ash turns his head to the side, relieved to find the collar has once again loosened to its normal size. But as his eyes focus, that relief evaporates as quickly as it came. Finally, he can see his predicament and make sense of the aching in his limbs.

Ozmund stands beside him, securing a length of chain to the headboard of his bed—the same headboard Ash’s manacles have been looped around. Ash tries to feel his surroundings with his body, though every slight twist causes the thin chains to dig into his wrists. Beneath him is soft, plush bedding, propping his hips up in an obscene display. He clenches his legs to cover himself—even the scant, nearly-translucent loincloth is gone—but the chain Ozmund just lashed keeps them lifted and spread around the knee.

He kicks out with his lower legs, trying and failing to wrest himself free of the bindings; his efforts only return an ache in his muscles and dizzy pain in his head. Panic bubbles in his chest and escapes his throat in babbling whimpers. “N-no! No, Ozmund—please! Please!” Sobs shake his wrecked shoulders; his whole body trembles as Ozmund casually disrobes, ignoring his disjointed begging. “I tried! I-I tried to be good! I’m sorry—please don’t do this. Please!”

Ash’s desperation only seems to stoke Ozmund’s desire even further.

In another life—in some strange parallel world—Ash might have found Ozmund handsome. Much like Evius, Ozmund is tall and well-built, with refined elvish features and piercing eyes. His elegant, lithe form moves with perfect grace, his dark silky hair falling over his pale shoulder as he joins Ash on the bed. He settles beside Ash’s head and strokes Ash’s cheek with his long fingers.

“Sweet boy,” he croons, his fingertips dancing over Ash’s cheekbones. “Stupid boy.” He pulls his hand back and slaps Ash hard across the face, pinning his cheeks in his hand to keep his gaze. “As I said before, you disobeyed me. I’ve been lenient and kind to you so far—I know a brainless kitten like you needs more instruction than most. But I grow tired of waiting and tired of your insolence.”

Tears slip easily from Ash’s eyes. Between Ozmund’s fingers, he can only whisper a chant: “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please, please, please.”

Ozmund’s eyes narrow. “You won’t be truly repentant until you’re punished. For three infractions, that’s three punishments.” He directs Ash’s face forward to look at his own exposed and strung-up body. In his blind panic, Ash had barely registered what Ozmund had done; surrounding his cock is a snug metal cage, latched with a small padlock and secured behind his scrotum with a solid metal ring. “First, you rebuffed my gift of blissful forgetfulness. You begged me to let you be awake and alert. You could’ve had been so sweet and pliable tonight and forgotten all about those drunken fools—but you threw it away.” He palms Ash’s caged cock roughly, the heavy contraption tugging at his delicate skin. “So you forfeit your right to pleasure tonight, and every night until I decide you deserve it again.”

Ash whimpers, confused and frightened. He doesn’t want Ozmund’s pleasure; how could this cage be a punishment? Will it shrink or shock him like the collar?

He doesn’t get an answer from Ozmund. Instead, Ash’s head is turned again to face him.

“Second,” Ozmund continues, prodding his thumb into Ash’s mouth and working his jaw open, “you disobeyed and disrespected my guests. We had an agreement, little cat. Do you remember? Do you recall what would happen if you weren’t good for my guests?” His voice is harsh and hard; Ash squeezes his eyes shut against the renewed flow of tears.

“No,” he wails around Ozmund’s thumb—more a protest than a response. “Pleash!”

“You should learn to strike that word from your vocabulary, pet. But I’ll remind you one last time: I promised to be exactly as kind and gentle as you deserved. After tonight’s display”—he pinches Ash’s jaw and gives it a sharp shake—“I should think you don’t deserve it at all.”

Ash jerks his head away from Ozmund’s grasp, scrambling to speak before he’s subdued once more. “You can’t do this!” he yelps, the hoarseness in his voice giving way to desperation. “I am a human being, Ozmund—I am a person, just like you!”

An appeal to Ozmund’s humanity, or whatever may be left of it; Ash knows it’s probably futile, but he has to try. If Ozmund could only see how insane this all was, if only he could see Ash as something other than subhuman, an object to be used and molded to his desires . . . then surely he would make this all stop. Right? Ash holds his breath for a moment as he awaits Ozmund’s response.

For a second, Ozmund’s eyes seem to soften. He smooths Ash’s hair, gently brushing it behind his ear as he murmurs sympathetically, “Oh, Ash . . .” But as Ash traces his face for any hint of remorse—any shred of empathy—Ozmund instead clicks his tongue in disapproval. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken. You’re not a human—just look at yourself. Would a human have those silly little ears and tail? Would a human be passed around as a party favor? Would a human need restraints to stay human? No. But you do. You do, because you’re just a pathetic. Disobedient. Pet.” His hand on Ash’s hair cinches into a vice-like grip, and his sharp features morph once again into hungry malice. He jerks Ash’s head back by his hair, punctuating each word with stinging pain to Ash’s scalp. “And I am your Master. I can do whatever I want. Right now, I want you to suffer.”

Ash’s heart sinks deep into his gut. There’s nothing he can do to stop this—nothing he can do to make it less awful. Ozmund wants it, and it is so. His desire is law.

A faint, animalistic snarl slips from Ozmund’s hostile smile. “Now, you’re going to take my cock in your mouth and get it nice and wet. That and my cum will be your only lubrication tonight. Be grateful you even get this.”

A wall of protests scream in Ash’s mind, but he nods shakily against Ozmund’s grip on his hair. He sneaks a glance at Ozmund’s lap as he brings it closer to Ash’s lips; like before at the party, Ash convinces himself it will be better to know what to expect. And just like before, he’s wrong.

Ozmund’s cock is long—much longer than his own—and thicker than his as well. Although he’s not quite as big as Evius, it’s still more than Ash has ever taken. The broad head presses against the tight line of Ash’s closed lips.

No! Nonononononono!

Ozmund’s fingers wrap locks of Ash’s hair into snug curls as he offers a last, growled warning. “Open up, pet, or it’s going in dry.”

As his head throbs and his heart squeezes painfully, Ash reluctantly opens his mouth, allowing Ozmund’s thickness to slip in.

“Mmn, that’s it,” Ozmund grunts. “Watch your teeth, little cat—don’t make me pull them out.”

He thrusts slowly in and out of Ash’s dry mouth, holding Ash’s hair to control his every movement. It doesn’t take long for his insistent length to press the back of Ash’s throat, blocking his airway and triggering heaving spasms as Ash gags.

I can’t, I can’t—!

Ash’s empty lungs burn; he gasps and coughs when Ozmund finally retreats from his throat.

“Not very wet, is it?” Ozmund traces his tip against Ash’s swollen lips. It’s true, though. He’s still quite dry, and Ash realizes what that means: if he doesn’t want to suffer, he has to work for it.

Ozmund wants him to be complicit in his own rape.

Lips warbling and throat tightening, Ash opens his mouth once more, working up as much saliva as he can and presenting his tongue. Ozmund smirks.

“Oh, look at you. Such a quick learner. Do you want another try? Is that it?” His voice and smile drop. “Beg for it, pet.”

Sobs crawl up Ash’s chest, swelling his sinuses and stinging his eyes with tears that refuse to overflow. He forces himself to contort his expression into some approximation of desire, his eyes wide and prey-like.

“Please,” he whispers, his voice catching in his throat. “Please let, let me try again . . . Master.”

Ozmund chuckles cruelly, loosing his grip on Ash’s hair to instead cradle his head. “See? Isn’t that easy? Doesn’t that feel right—begging for permission to serve me? Go ahead, pet. I’ll give you till the count of ten to drool over me as much as you’d like. And when you’re done, I’ll fuck you with your own juices.” He snickers sharply through his nose and readjusts, lining himself up with Ash’s mouth once again. “Maybe I’ll even add my own spit to your pitiful ass if you do well enough. Ready?”

Without waiting for Ash to reply, he shoves himself past Ash’s lips.

“One.”

Ash bobs his neck frantically, hollowing his cheeks and summoning as much saliva as his dry mouth will allow.

“Two.”

He sends the spit down his tongue, slavering along Ozmund’s length.

“Three.”

His tongue swirls and swishes. No thoughts can bubble to the surface of Ash’s foggy, aching mind.

“Four.”

He won’t allow it—he can’t. He can’t focus on how he wishes the weight on his tongue was someone else—

“Five.”

Ozmund enters Ash’s throat again; Ash’s panicked breaths come in humiliating snorts and gulps as both his nose and mouth are blocked.

“Six.”

His gag reflex twitches, but he’s held too firmly in place to fight it.

“Seven.”

It doesn’t matter—his tongue keeps working, and his lips push and pull with desperation.

“Eight.”

Allowed to move again, Ash’s jaw burns and his throat is raw.

“Nine.”

Still, he spreads his meager wetness and ignores the salty musk of Ozmund’s skin and dribbling pre-cum. He only hopes it’s enough—

“Ten. Off, pet.”

And then it’s over.

Ozmund pushes Ash’s head away from his lap, patting his cheek in some quasi-affectionate gesture. He strokes his stiff length as he moves from Ash’s side; Ash is both relieved and disgusted to hear the squelching wetness in his hand.

“Mm, what a view,” Ozmund purrs, kneeling between Ash’s suspended and splayed legs. “Such lovely little cheeks. If only they were bright red and bruised . . . Perhaps next time.” With his free hand, Ozmund pokes and tugs at the plug still firmly lodged in Ash’s tight ass.

Ash’s tail limply swishes to cover himself, but the fading magic only allows it to flick anxiously. Renewed panic seizes Ash’s will; in broken, tearful whispers, he continues his chant of, “please, please, please, please—”

Ozmund pulls the plug out, slowly fucking Ash in and out dryly with it. “’Please?’ You want it that badly? Well, then, I shouldn’t hear any complaining, should I?”

He tosses the plug aside and spits on Ash’s exposed asshole. And then, in one smooth motion, he sinks himself firmly into Ash.

Hot, fiery pain pierces Ash as Ozmund’s tip invades his body, pressing an anguished shriek from his chest.

Even with the plug having kept him loosened all day, Ozmund is still far too thick to go in so quickly, so unprepared, and so desperately unwanted. Each inch pushes deeper into Ash, stretching his tight ass to its breaking point; his head shoves past Ash’s defenses, grating like sandpaper past each ridge and ring until it slams into the bend of his colon. Pain radiates through Ash’s belly, and he struggles against his chains.

“No!” he screams hoarsely. “It-it hurts!”

He bucks his hips back, trying and failing to pull himself away from Ozmund’s firm presence inside him. Ozmund merely groans in response, almost laughing at Ash’s protests.

“Oh, please,” Ozmund grunts as he sinks Ash’s hips back down onto his cock, forcing more agonized wails with each thrust. “You’ve taken Evius; you can take me.”

Taken Evius? The most he’d taken of Evius was two of his nimble, slender fingers—nowhere near enough to fit Evius’ enormous cock, much less anyone else’s. Evius wanted to wait until he was sure Ash was ready and able to take him comfortably. He always said it wasn’t supposed to hurt; he said he wanted the first time to be special, and he’d take care of Ash.

“I-I-I,” Ash stammers through rising sobs, “I never have! He n-n-never . . . We didn’t—” Tears choke Ash’s voice before he can continue.

Ozmund stops his hard thrusts for a moment, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “No,” he gasps, his excitement barely contained. He looms over Ash, letting his hands wander and fondle Ash’s body as he teases him. “Am I the first to take this tight, exquisite little ass? Hm? You should’ve told me, darling. That makes tonight so much more special.”

He nearly pulls out of Ash, leaving only the faint curve of his tip inside. The emptiness almost brings tears of relief to Ash’s eyes. But before he has a moment to catch his shuddering breath, Ozmund slams back fully inside him even deeper than before.

“Now, forever and always, I will be your first,” he growls low in Ash’s ear. “You are mine now. Even if you should ever leave, your body will never forget how I molded it, how I trained it. Even if you return to Evius, you will only ever think of me while he’s deep inside of you. Isn’t that special, my love? You will never truly be apart from me.”

It’s not supposed to be like this. It’s not supposed to hurt like this. It’s not supposed to be against his will, trussed and tied like a butchered animal. It’s not supposed to wrench his heart into pieces. And it’s absolutely not supposed to be with Ozmund.

Ozmund resumes his relentless pace, scraping against Ash’s walls and colliding against his furthest reaches over and over again. It never stops hurting—it never gets easier to take. Even as Ash’s body stretches to accommodate the intrusion, he’s already so bruised and damaged that the slightest movement sends shockwaves of pain up his spine and forces whimpers and screams from his lungs.

If anything, the pain only worsens the longer Ozmund fucks him. What little moisture he was able to conjure has long dried up, replaced only with dribbles of his own blood and Ozmund’s pre-cum. His body chafes against Ozmund’s, sweat meeting sweat and skin meeting skin. Before long, the pain becomes overwhelming, and Ash can only let out broken, groaning sobs.

“Yes,” Ozmund purrs in response, “keep crying for me, pet. It makes you clench so—tight—!”

Ash wants to slip away, to let his mind wander to something—anything—other than what’s happening between his legs, but he can’t. The pain pulls him back to his body with every stroke, along with something he didn’t expect. As Ozmund sinks in and out of him with what must be practiced precision, he begins to feel a strange, familiar pressure.

His . . . prostrate? Is that what Evius called it? The tender gland in his ass swells against his will, rubbed and prodded by Ozmund’s cock. It coils tightly in his belly, forcing his own cock to stiffen against the hard metal of his cage. As it grows, the pieces all start to come together: he’s locked in. His cock will outpace the cage, pressing painfully against the tight entrapment until either he begs for mercy . . . or Ozmund forces an orgasm out of him by fucking his sensitive spot over and over.

Ash’s sobbing and begging begins anew; he doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want any of this. He doesn’t want Ozmund to make him cum. He doesn’t want this pain to continue. He doesn’t want this memory burned in his mind forever.

“Oh, is it too much, little cat? Are you getting hard from this?” Ozmund slows his rhythm slightly, still pressing perfectly into Ash. He won’t stop, not even for a second, and pressure continues to build in Ash’s body. “That’s too bad, pet. I’m not quite done.”

As Ozmund picks back up to a breathtaking speed, the coil finally snaps in Ash. He spasms and cries out, dribbles of milky liquid spilling from his strained cock. It doesn’t feel good—there’s no relief or pleasure, only a half-hearted physical reaction. At the same time, his ass becomes even more sensitive, and he wails from the overstimulation of Ozmund’s continued thrusts.

Ozmund laughs at his twitching, sensitive body, pounding harder to force rasping groans from Ash’s throat. Again, Ash tries to pull his hips away—to keep Ozmund’s insistent cock from grinding into that aching, throbbing gland—but Ozmund only sinks deeper to meet him.

“That’s it, pet. The more you struggle—ah, fuck—the better it feels.” He hisses, his movements quickly become jerky and frantic. “I wonder if males of your species can get pregnant; I suppose we’ll find out.”

He reaches out to slap Ash’s softening cock, then shoves the fingers of one hand deep down Ash’s throat.

“Suck them while I cum inside you, little cat,” he commands, his hips snapping brutally against Ash’s pelvis. Ash does as instructed, though his body still aches and tears still paint his cheeks.

Hot, thick seed spills unprotected into Ash.

Ozmund groans with feral delight as he softens within Ash and finally pulls out; the relief sends a shudder throughout Ash’s exhausted body. Coming down from his high, Ozmund scoops up a dab of his and Ash’s combined cum and fucks it back into Ash’s mouth.

“Now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” he teases. “Looks like you enjoyed yourself after all, didn’t you?”

No, I didn’t! I didn’t, I didn’t, I didn’t. Ash whines beneath him, pleading with his eyes as he fights against the salty taste in his mouth—is it over? Is it finally over?

It’s only a moment before Ozmund collects himself; with a sigh, he smooths his hair with his free hand and resumes his graceful, domineering posture. He scowls in concentration, removing his fingers from Ash’s lips. “Before I forget, there’s one last thing—your third punishment.”

There’s more? Ash struggles against the chains as much as his worn out body will allow, the thin metal biting painfully into his flesh. He pleads and begs, but Ozmund ignores him, instead busying himself with something on the bedside table.

“Calm yourself, pet,” he chastises Ash. “I told you explicitly earlier: three transgressions, three punishments. You’ve only had two so far. Now, for the third: you allowed Lady Nandaar to violate my rules and try to claim my property. This punishment will ensure that never happens again.” He turns back to Ash, wielding a metal object he can’t quite make out. The smell is familiar, though—dangerously familiar. Something Ash knows on instinct he should avoid.

“It seems I must mark you as mine in a more ostentatious way, so there can be no doubt who owns you.” His hand hovers over Ash’s chest, the object finally coming into view. “Now, stay still.”

The silver stamp presses into Ash’s skin, singeing his hair and raising a puffy, red welt above his heart. He yelps and thrashes against the chains; with only a quick, firm touch, the metal brands him as if it were a hot iron. Ozmund, smug with satisfaction, returns the stamper and admires his handiwork.

“There it is,” he murmurs contentedly, stroking the bright pink flesh to follow its shape. A circle, then a zig-zag line within it: OZ. His personal emblem. “Isn’t that better? Don’t you feel good knowing you’ve taken all your punishments? Have you learned your lessons?”

Everything hurts. Ash’s body is sore and tired; not a single inch is without an ache or burn or pin-prick numbness. His eyes struggle to stay open, overflowing at all times with either tears or exhaustion. None of this feels good—least of which his broken, defeated mind.

He nods limply, his eyes stinging with tears both shed and unshed, begging to slip closed. Just let me sleep, he pleads internally. Put me back in the cage. Please.

Finally—finally?—Ozmund strokes Ash’s cheek. Gently. Tenderly. The touch makes Ash’s lip quiver uncontrollably; he leans into the kindness while it lasts, ignoring the shame screeching in his head.

“Yes, that’s a good boy.” Even with the condescending tone, Ash still melts at the praise. The punishments are done—he’s good again. He’ll get soft, pleasant touches again. Maybe he’ll even get real food again. Maybe—

Ash feels Ozmund’s renewed hardness against his leg, brushing up and down the curve of his ass. At the same time, Ozmund lifts Ash’s neck to his lips, sucking and biting greedily at the sensitive flesh.

“W-wait!” Ash whimpers. “I thought—I had all my punishments?”

The caressing hand on Ash’s cheek pulls back and slaps him, hard. “You’re not here to think, pet,” Ozmund replies darkly. “You’re here to be my plaything. Is it a punishment to serve your Master, or is it your purpose? If anything”—he grips Ash’s face tightly and forces him to meet his piercing glare—“you should consider it a privilege, especially now that the only interesting thing about you has worn off.”

With a snap of Ozmund’s fingers, the chains securing Ash shift and morph, tugging him onto his knees and pressing his ass high in the air. Ozmund settles behind him, lubricating himself with the remaining cum dripping from Ash’s hole. Ash tries in vain to use his tail to do something—anything—to push him away, but like Ozmund said . . . It’s gone. The magic has finally faded. And Ash, once again, suddenly feels very alone.

Ozmund holds Ash’s hips close to him, scratching his nails down Ash’s belly. “Did you really think one quick fuck would satisfy me? We’re not done until I say we’re done, little cat. But”—he lifts Ash’s head by his hair—“as fun as your sniveling and sobbing can be, I’m growing tired of hearing it.” Another swirl of magic, and he shoves a wad of fabric into Ash’s mouth, securing it in place with another strip tied behind his head. “Much better. Now I can fuck you in peace.”

By the time Ozmund finally finishes—several hours and loads later—Ash’s screams have long died behind the gag.

-

Taglist:

@scoundrelwithboba @corbytheking @lumpofsand @tired-human09 (I thought you might want to be tagged, lemme know if not and I'll remove you!)

-

A/N: I'm back babey! Well, hopefully. Still slogging through moving, but I have a bit more free time to write at the moment so hopefully I can start getting a chapter a week out again and gradually pick up from there. It's been . . . a lot lately. Thanks for being patient <3

[zoe-and-quinn]

Vampire Whumpee P.2

Part 1

TW: Burning, captivity, sadistic whumper, nailed to a tree, gagged, restrained, dehumanization

The walk back to the hunters' camp felt like it took days. Whumpee's ankle was on fire, nerves refusing to die as their body tried to heal.

It wouldn't heal, not with the silver still clamping onto their bone. They tried to be thankful that their bones were immune to the burning agony, but it was hard when every step brought tears to their eyes.

They managed to make it to the camp with only a few stumbles, only a few shallow scrapes that were already healing. The sight of the clearing ahead brought a sense of relief.

Finally, no more walking.

The relief fled when they felt a hand in their hair, yanking their head back once more. "How about we get you nice and comfy, leech? Gotta make sure you won't be making any escape attempts when we're all asleep."

Whumpee whimpered, wanting so badly to beg for some form of mercy. But the sound only made the hunter grin, tightening his grip. "I think I have just the thing."

Suddenly, they felt the ropes around their wrists being cut, and their hands immediately went to the gag. If they could get just a few words in, they could make them understand.

The hunter grabbed their wrists tightly. "Oh no you don't," he growled. "I've got plans for these. Oi, someone get me one of those nails."

Whumpee's heart sank. They started pulling against the hunter frantically, trying to get away, away, away-

The hunter spun them around and slammed their back into a nearby tree, forcing all the air out of them. For a few moments, they just floundered, struggling to breathe, to see straight.

Then, they caught sight of a hammer, and the grin worn by its bearer.

Aaaand they were thrashing again.

"I'll hold its hands," said the hunter pushing them against the tree. "Make sure you get in between the bones, don't want it to rip its wrists in two."

Whumpee was sobbing, shaking their head as their hands were pushed up against the wood. The one with the hammer pulled a single nail out of their pocket, a long one with a wide head.

And then the point was resting on their pinned wrists, stacked on top of each other on that cursed tree, and they were crying, shaking, screaming, bleeding-

It went through their wrists easily, like a knife through butter. The tree was tougher. It took a few hits before the nail was deep enough to trap them like a pinned bug.

The hunter who had held them still was grinning as he pulled down lightly on their arm. "There you go, bloodsucker," he murmured, grabbing their chin and forcing their gaze upwards, forcing them to look him in his cruel, delighted eyes.

"Trapped and tamed. Just what monsters like you deserve."

Thank you to @scoundrelwithboba who requested a second part! Hope you like it!

[sorrowful-hyacinth]

What The Tide Brought In

[Next]

Contents: TW Restraints, TW Choking/ Strangling, TW Venomous Injury, TW Threats, Siren Whump, Pirate Whump, Sadistic Whumper, Defiant/ Stoic Whumpee

+++

“Captain, we’re going to need to make a port stop sooner than we expected. Our food supply is a little low.”

Looking off towards the distance of the endless sea, Malik was leaning against the wooden railing along the side of the vast ship. A deep internal sigh escaping him from the calmness of the morning. The waves were docile today, clear skies, and perfect winds. Glancing over his shoulder to acknowledge his first mate, Jovey. His signature side smirk that was as charming as ever.

“Means the lads are all eating well. Maybe too well, but we’ll tackle that later.” The deep rumble in his chest resonates through his chuckle, coming out a bit course from the early morning air. “Set a course for Port Royal, should be the nearest one to us.” 

Rising from his hunched position, his arms reach to the amber sky and soft huff escapes him. It had been a long month on the waters of the Atlantic, but shifting to the warmer tides of the Caribbean always reminded him where home was. It wouldn’t be more than a day now when he’d be able to collapse in a bed that doesn’t sway with the waves, in a warm tavern with a bottle of rum all to himself, and a bowl of stew from anything that wasn’t pescado. Possibly partaking in a little stealing, sabotaging, or cheating just to pass the time. Not having to be a captain for at least a week was a break he couldn’t wait for. The crew he inherited only knew how to follow orders when his voice was harsh as the winds, otherwise they’d slack off or get too comfortable. Not that he minded putting them in their place, it boosted his ego and there was a satisfaction in seeing the yielding in their eyes as they adjusted their tone and fixed their posture. Intimidation and strength. The qualities he believed was required of a captain, especially one as successful as he was. 

Unfortunately for him, because of his imposing presence on both the waters and the shores, it was now a rare occurrence for his ship to be attempted to be commandeered or attacked by other occupants of the sea. Even on land, most steered clear of him or were careful with their words. It made his exhibitions boring to say the least, no challenges, no competition. There hasn't even been ruthless storms as of late, the type to make experienced sailors soil themselves, the ones that threaten to sink you with your ship until you come out victorious. Even now as he turns to grip the wheel in his hands and his eyes scan the deck a flight below him where his men work, he doesn’t feel that thrill of adventure that used to drive him. He didn’t know if he would anytime soon with his reputation being as strong as it is.

His luck was akin to that of being at the mercy of a coin toss at times, whether today was a virtuous luck sent by the gods or a vicious one, he couldn’t care when his wishes were granted. Of course they were, he always got everything he wanted eventually.

“Captain! We caught something!”

His heads whips over towards port side, his men hoisting up large net that swung and twisted violently. Setting Jovey to steady the wheel, he quickly glides down the railing of the stairs before hopping to his feet on the deck. Trotting over to the commotion as his crew surround the catch. They part away to forge a path for him as he approaches and what he see’s makes his whole world light up in flurry of excitement. A siren. 

“Captain... is that the creature from the legends?”

Malik can’t help but let out a hearty laugh, not just at the question, but also out of astonishment at his luck. His eyes glued to the young male siren thrashing about in the thick rope, hissing and growling like a wild animal.

“That’s right lads! Look what the tide brought us, a siren from the tales of the sea.”

He gets down on one knee beside the tangled fishy creature. The strong scent of seawater mixed with an all too familiar rotten fish odor. Reaching down to grab the main rope line and tugging on it, the net tightens around the specimen and constricts its movements. A protesting growl leaving the siren as it glares through the rope straight at him. He can’t help grin a little maddeningly. Realizing just how amazing this turn of events was. Seeing this sirens unwavering aggression and defiance even from only being on board a few minutes sparked a fire in Malik.

“You’re far from home, aren’t you bilge rat? These aren't your waters.”

The siren, seemingly frantic and panicked from its predicament squirms in the net. Its tail thudding against the boards of the deck. Maliks chuckles overpowering the sirens protesting sounds. The crew that surrounded them watching in a mix of curiosity and caution. Taking the time to admire such rare creature in their waters. Its contrasting palette of blue hues and white accents. His finned tail pointed at the ends, three appendages along each side of his fish body with cerata extended out from each. His upper body resembling that of a normal young man, but scattered with a light blue vitiligo-esque pattern along his skin. Medium length dark blue hair damp and cascading over his shoulders. His fingers pointed like claws and his fangs baring. And those, oh so, captivating golden eyes.

“Alright lads, quit gawking. Why don’t we make our guest more... comfortable?”

Malik stands up as his crew get to work, knowing the protocol underlining his words. A few of the men dragging the siren towards the largest mast in the middle of the top deck. When they start to extract him from the net, he proves to be nothing if not aggressive and hostile. Using his sharpened nails to dig into the crews arms and legs, making them bleed. Biting hands and forearms when they try to lift him up. It took 5 sizable men just to get him up off the floor, but nobody was ready when one of the men got hit with one of the large appendages flapping around erratically through his struggle. The man stumbling back and falling down onto the wooden boards with a hard thud as he grips his chest. The crew managing to tie the siren up against the mast and restrain him. Everyone turns to look to their crew mate on the floor, struggling to breath. Malik rushes to his side and crouches down, inspecting the man and tugging his shirt down to see a hue of red amongst the inflammation quickly building on his chest. 

“Hey… hey, lad, keep your eyes on me, alright? You better fucking stay awake, you hear me?”

Malik slapping the mans cheek a few times to keep his attention when he notices his eyes lolling around with no intention. He looked sick, almost nauseous. His hands clawing at his own chest as if there was a pain that he fruitlessly attempted to dig out of himself. Malik having to grab the mans hands to keep him from hurting himself.

“Get this boy below deck! Don’t let him fall asleep and keep a bucket near in case he vomits.” When his crew just stare at the both of them with nervous and distant expressions after what they witnessed, Malik let go of the mans hands and stood up with a threatening posture. “NOW!” That woke the crew from their paralysis as they quickly made their way to the injured man and helped carry him below deck to be treated and supervised.

Malik turning towards the mast where the siren was left restrained and desperately fighting at the thick rope. His hands clenching at his sides, a fury in his eyes that would make most crumble at his feet. He walks over to the creature with steady strides until he’s standing before him. The siren glaring right back up at him, a smirk twitching onto his face, expressing his satisfaction.

“Whoops, sorry cap. Didn’t realize how weak your me—”

The siren chokes on his words as Maliks hand wraps completely around his throat. An iron grip, unyielding as he leans down closer to the sirens face. A cold fury brewing behind his gaze while the creature flails and gasps for air. His tail beating against the mast frantically. 

“If you dare to speak another word with that vile tongue fo yours, I will personally slice it out and force it down your throat. If that’s not enough to shut you up, I’ll cut off that tail of yours and feed you to the sharks. Got it, caviar?”

His voice was almost hushed, but didn’t lack the venom behind every word. Naturally making the siren tense as his glare falters from the combined threat and lack of oxygen. Maliks hand tightening around his neck hard enough to cause him to see stars and he reluctantly relented with a subtle nod. Enough for the hand to quickly retract and allow him to cough violently and heave for air. Maliks foreboding stance towering the fish creature while he watched with a sense of triumph that blossomed into pride as his grin plastered onto his face one more. For the first time in a long time, Malik found a thrill, something that made his heart race, something that made him tick. This siren, who had just backed down not even a few seconds ago, now scowling at him with a passion that was contagious.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for something like you to come along, little sea dragon.”

+++

Date: September 16, 2024

[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

[befuddled-calico-whump]

masterlist

Due to their unique, eye-catching appearances and general durability, Dryads are considered the ideal pet.

Easy to capture (all you have to do is threaten them with a torch), and easy to keep (dirt, sunlight, and water are all you really need), a Dryad is sure to make a dazzling addition to any collection. And the best part is, there's no guilt attached. After all, they're not people, they're plants.

Tree Dryads are the most common species. Though nearly indistinguishable from a regular tree while in their plant form, they sure do stand out in their humanoid form!

The complexion of most Tree Dryads is green, but they'll also tend to take on traits of their species of tree, making each subset look wholly unique.

While rarer and more expensive than Tree Dryads, Flower Dryads are worth every cent. Their tiny, delicate appearance is sure to delight anyone, and they come in a variety of gorgeous colors.

Another close relative to the Dryad is the elusive and dangerous Naiad. While a Dryad can be found in the home of any self-respecting lord, a Naiad will rarely be seen outside of a cirque or private menagerie.

The beauty of Naiads and rare Dryads is undeniable, but most experts will agree that a common Tree Dryad makes the best pet for beginners.

[mintflavouredwhump]

TW dehumanisation, cannibalism of a humanoid species

//

A world where merfolk are nothing but exotic delicacies to humans. Of course, such an elusive species would only be served to the richest and most influential of people but that doesn't mean that the demand is any less.

A merperson unlucky enough to be targeted for such a reason would either be lured into a netted trap or even be hunted down in their own habitat. Then they would be mercilessly butchered- their killers' ears plugged to avoid listening to their chillingly human-like screams- before ending up as on a fancy, garnished plate. The humanoid torsos remain untouched, eventually being dumped into the ocean in their hundreds, where thousands of living merfolk can witness the gruesome fate of their kin.

There are movements and organisations against this as mermaids are too similar to humans to be regarded as 'just another meat-giving animal' but such a pleasure isn't going to be given up any time soon, especially when there are so many merfolk left.

[kabie-whump]

WoW Birthday Whump Day 12

Prompt: Magic exhaustion / Collapsed / “So tired…” Content: fantasy whump, killing monsters, blood

“There’s too many of them!”

It’s almost impossible to hear Shayah’s words over the roar of wind and screeching of monsters. Onthyes looks over at her and is smacked in the face by a leathery wing. He’s not quite sure what these things are - bats from hell, maybe. Each one about the length of his arm, equipped with sharp fangs and claws and huge wings. 

He cuts the bat out of the air with a swing of his sword, just in time to catch sight of Shayah going down under a pile of them. He rushes towards her, only to be blocked off by three more, crowding him and gnashing their teeth. 

“Cover your ears!”

Onthyes has fought by Ventis’s side long enough to do so without asking questions. He freezes, dropping his sword, clamping his hands over his ears, and getting low to the ground. He hopes Shayah is able to do the same.

Even with his ears covered, the sound is deafening. Onthyes opens his eyes, squinting against blinding purple light as a storm explodes from Ventis’s body. Lightning arches out from him at all angles, leaping from bat to bat as they scramble, slamming into each other blindly and clawing at their own ears. There’s a series of thawcks as they fall to the ground, and then silence. 

Onthyes stands and collects his sword, his ears ringing. He goes to Shayah first, praying that Ventis had been able to intervene before the bats tore her throat out. 

She’s already sitting up, and Onthyes lets out a sigh of relief. She’s covered head to toe in scratches and her ears are bleeding, but nothing seems leathal. 

“I’m alright,” she says before Onthyes can even ask. “Nice one, breezy. Didn’t know you had that in you.”

“Me neither…”

Onthyes turns sharply, concerned at the weakness in Ventis’s voice, just in time to watch him fall to the ground.

Shayah curses in orcish as Onthyes dashes to his side, collecting his limp body from the pile of bodies he had landed on and holding him in his lap. 

Ventis’s face is pale, his eyes fluttering and barely open, his nose starting to leak blood. 

“Ventis.” Onthyes cups his cheek, rubbing it gently with his thumb. “Can you hear me?”

His brow scrunches and he lets out a low groan. “So tired…” 

Onthyes would rather see him exhausted than injured any day. “I’m sure you are, my friend. That was impressive.”

“Mmm. Thanks.” His eyes fall closed completely.

Onthyes presses his fingers to Ventis’s pulse, just to be sure. It’s weak but still there. 

“Just sleep,” he says softly, using the already red sleeve of his shirt to wipe blood from under Ventis’s nose. “We’ve got you.”

@scp-1296 @sapphicccici @acer-gaysimpstuff @morning-star-whump @yeetmyskeet @rainydaywhump

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