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whump-ventures · 1 year

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Happy Stabmas!!!!

I’m a few days late, but I had so much fun writing this for the ides of march!

A new verse, this write features my sweet little fae and some mean human rejecting her hospitality.

~~~

It’s crude, a long piece of wood sharpened over and over again on rough stone to make some semblance of spear. She doubts it will actually work if she’s caught, but it’s the closest thing she has to a weapon. If she manages to run far enough, fast enough, it might serve as something to protect her.

She’s waited until nightfall- the monster is typically out hunting for her own prey by then- before she tries her escape. The crickets are chirping, and in the distance she can hear the soft babble of a creek. The world is bright underneath the numerous stars. It almost seems like a mockery that such a beautiful and peaceful place has been her prison for so long.

The sound of wings, barely discernible over the other sounds of the night, is her cue. Rhian slowly begins her climb. She’s trapped deep in a stone cave, no exit except for up. The stars and the bright blue sky during the day constantly torment her. She’s spent weeks studying the jagged stone walls, learning and testing a path to climb the treacherous rock, and now it’s time to put it into action. Her spear is tied to her back, and with each pull on stone, each step up, she can taste her freedom coming closer and closer.

Finally her hands reach over the edge of the cave- feeling soft, mossy ground. She pushes off the last foothold and drags herself out of that terrible dark cave, sparing just a moment to look back down on her prison. It’s just a hole in the ground- a deep opening that drops straight down into darkness. A place she will never need to return to if she is successful tonight.

She lays on the soft ground for a moment- panting as she stares up at the night sky. She’s exhausted from the short climb, but she knows she can’t wait around too long- she has to get moving as soon as possible. A few more moments pass by, she’s nearly mesmerized by the night sky. It’s almost like it’s calling for her to stay.

But then a cloud passes by the moon, darkening the world, and it’s enough of a reminder for her to scramble quickly to her feet.

She turns to the woods, grabbing her makeshift weapon off her back and holding it in her hands. She doesn’t know what she will find venturing into the fae wilderness, but it’s best to be prepared. Thee could be other creatures, other monsters–

The flap of wings is her only warning, followed by a soft voice that is almost lost to the wind. “Are you going somewhere?”

In her panic, she doesn’t think. Rhian turns and swings her spear towards the sound. She catches a glimpse of the fae: the red hair and delicate features, and then the sharp tip is caught easily in her taloned grip. Green eyes flicker towards her, curious almost. “It’s a noble effort-” Not her name yet- “But do you really think a measly little stick will kill me?”

Rhian can feel her heart racing, she can hear the blood roaring in her ears. “Just let me go.” Her voice hinges on desperation, tugging at her makeshift spear like she can possibly yank it out of the fae’s grasp. “Haven’t you had your fun?”

The fae tilts her head, lips curling into a smile. Her talons tighten on the stick, splintering it until it cracks down the middle. “Fun? You think I’ve kept you prisoner for fun alone?”

She lets go of her spear as it’s split to become something almost useless, and stumbles backwards, feeling the panic claw at her chest. Rhian knows that look, and it is never followed by something good. Her eyes dart towards the trees that surround them, wondering if she should simply choose a path and run. There isn’t anything else she can say or do in the presence of her cruel captor. Her only choice is to run.

“Rhian.”

The magic washes over her so strongly that it feels like every muscle is locked in place. The fae’s voice sounds almost like a song, soft and melodious. And she can’t ignore it. “You’re not leaving this place.”

“Please stop.”

The fae tosses the sharpened end of the stick towards her. The simplest weapon of all lands at her feet, and Rhian doesn’t know why, but she’s bending down to pick it up. Some unspoken command has control over her body now, over her actions… She has her own voice but what use is that when the fae has her name?

“I don’t want you running anytime soon.” The monster takes a step closer, those green eyes boring into hers and sending a shudder down her spine. “So why don’t we make that happen, Rhian?”

She tries to battle it, her entire arm trembling as she slowly turns the sharpened end towards her thigh. Her muscles are on fire as she fights in vain to get away from the terrible voice, even though history has told her that it’s beyond impossible. “You’ll need more force than that, dear.” And her arm is bending upwards, muscles still tensioned like a bowstring, tears starting to leak from her eyes from the pain- the pain of the command, the pain of her failure, the pain of what is to come…

Her arm stabs down like a bolt of lightning, and pain erupts in her leg. Her attempted please is cut off by a ragged scream as the splintered wood stabs deep into her thigh. Her legs give out as she yanks the weapon free- Rhian isn’t sure if that was a command or done under her own power. The ground is quickly turning red around her as she clutches with two trembling hands at the ragged wound, the fiery pain leeching quickly from the sight of the wound, spreading to every inch of her body.

“Go back home, Rhian.” The voice is almost soothing now. And once more, her body is reacting, even as her cries fill the night with every movement. Every grasp of the ground to drag herself forward, towards the opening that leads to her little cave. She’s crawling, pathetically, and she can’t stop. Not when the fae has her name. “Go home, and never try this again.”

#stabmas #escape attempt #mind control #name stealing #imprisonment #stabbing #screaming #bleeding #crawling #all the fun stuff #Eleonora #Rhian

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chenziee · 1 year

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Rage

Last of my pieced for the @yamabrozine! Some Momo & Yamato with a liberal sprinkle of murder and a dash of blood... or is it the other way around?

Shout out to my beta once again for their immense help and support <3

!! WARNING: BLOOD, GORE, MURDER, DEATH, TORTURE, BLOOD KINK WORSHIP !!

[ Read on AO3 | Yamato zine fics ]

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I’m leaving Wano with Luffy and his friends tomorrow. I can’t believe the day is finally here! I’ve dreamt of leaving Onigashima, leaving this country, and seeing the world for so many years and now it’s finally happening!

I’m so excited but so nervous. My first real adventure… I can’t wait to see what the outside world has in store for me——————

BOOM!!

“What happened?!”

“Where’s Momonosuke-sama?!”

Yamato looked up from his journal at the noise outside, ignoring the ugly smear his brush had made. He could hear people shouting and running all over the castle and he frowned. Did something happen to Momonosuke?

Quickly getting up from his seat, Yamato grabbed his kanabo and ran out of his room in search of some answers.

“What’s going on?!” he asked the first samurai who attempted to run past him, catching the man’s arm to stop him in his tracks.

The samurai looked at him, his face twisted with panic. “Some remnants of the Beast Pirates attacked! We don’t know where Momonosuke-sama is!!”

At those words, Yamato’s grip on the samurai’s elbow loosened, his arm falling limply to his side as dread ran through him. If they caught the boy now, when he was exhausted after everything that happened during the battle, after he carried the whole of Onigashima to the ground, after the long post-battle celebrations…. He didn’t want to even think about it.

He didn’t want to think about it but even so, the images were flashing through his mind and the longer he stood there, the more his face twisted in anger—fury was licking at his insides, threatening to break out of his body; to burst through his skin and tear his flesh to shreds.

If anything happened to Momonosuke, there was going to be hell to pay.

—————

Yamato’s steps faltered until he froze completely at the entrance to the dimly lit Oden Shrine.

His vision went black as he stared at the body on the ground—unmoving. The face was hard to see in the shadows cast by the flickering light of the lanterns… but Yamato would recognise those deceivingly mature features anywhere.

There were several Beast Pirates surrounding Momonosuke’s adult body, breathing heavily with weapons in hands.

There was the scent of blood in the air.

A scent which was calling to the deepest parts of Yamato’s soul, the parts that had long become one with his devil fruit. The parts that were making him thirsty.

Yamato closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He savoured the smell, let it swirl in his lungs and kindle the fire of anger burning brightly in his chest.

He exhaled slowly.

And his eyes snapped open.

Before he so much as moved, two of the Beast Pirates dropped to the ground, unconscious. Unable to stand up to his Supreme King haki. Pathetic. They wouldn’t even be worth fighting but they had touched what they shouldn’t have—whom they shouldn’t have. Tainted him, broke him right in front of Yamato’s eyes.

It didn’t matter if Momonosuke ended up being alright.

It didn’t matter if they didn’t hurt him past knocking him out.

None of it mattered.

Yamato wasn’t letting them walk out of there.

Another growl echoed around the shrine; this time louder, more menacing… but Yamato’s ears could barely make it out. It was his voice but it seemed foreign, coming from so far away… and he didn’t care. He only cared about the way his arms grew, the bones cracking and breaking before mending again and again, moving just below his skin; making the flesh rise and fall while the bones underneath grew larger, longer, stronger.

Yamato barely noticed the pain of the transformation; he ignored the rapidly healing fractures, the prickling of his skin as fur grew out, the ache from his teeth shifting and becoming sharper.

He could smell the blood even clearer now. It was making his mouth water.

His kanabo slipped out of his hand… and he let it fall. The heavy clang that resounded around the room when it hit the floor was the only cue he needed; he shot forward, towards the group of pirates frozen in fear at the sight of Yamato’s hybrid form.

It was so funny.

Did they really think they could get away with harming the Shogun of Wano? Did they really think they could do it quietly and then leave before anyone was the wiser, before anyone learned anything about it? Hilarious.

They should have known.

They should have known that Yamato would find them.

“Young master, wait!!” one of them cried.

Hah. Yamato’s lips curled into a sneer. How nice of this guy to volunteer.

Immediately, Yamato changed his course, leaping at the man who had spoken. Calling him his ‘young master’. As if Yamato had ever cared about that title, or any of his father’s men. He was glad to have this opportunity. Maybe he should thank them for their stupidity.

Yamato’s mouth fell open, exposing his razor sharp teeth. Teeth that were itching; tingling, aching, begging to sink into something. To sate this hunger, this thirst.

He didn’t fight the craving.

The man stumbled back at the impact, crashing to the ground under the weight of Yamato’s body but Yamato didn’t stop. The second his teeth closed around the poor bastard’s throat—

He bit down.

Thick, bitter liquid poured into his mouth at the same time as screams filled his ears. Delicious. Yamato gulped down the blood, savouring the rich taste on his tongue; he let the terrified voices envelop him like a sweet accompaniment to his feast.

The perfect setting.

He bit down harder, the body in his grasp going limp as consciousness slowly left his body. How weak Kaido’s men were. It didn’t even take two seconds. Oh, well.

Not easing his bite, Yamato put one of his beastly hands on the bastard’s face and pulled back—ripping his throat out.

Closing his eyes, he took a moment to relish in the feeling; in the warm, warm blood sliding down his throat, in the screams quieting down to pathetic whimpers. A music to his ears.

Only when a soft thump interrupted the beautiful, bloodcurdling melody did he crack his eyes open again. Slowly, his gaze slid towards the rest of the group of attackers, impassively looking at them one by one, his stare cold.

Finally spitting out the flesh between his teeth, Yamato slowly licked his mouth, his canine tongue reaching all the way up to his cheek. He could taste blood on his fur; warm, tasty, red blood.

He wondered what he looked like now. His fur stained with crimson, haki radiating off of him, freezing fury in his eyes. When he exhaled, he could see his breath; he was sure his horns were covered in frost by then too.

Did he look like a demon right now?

Did he finally fit the ‘Ogre Princess’ title?

He hoped so.

He hoped they were shaking in fear at the very sight of him, regretting ever daring to even think about touching Momonosuke.

Who was going to be next? The first one had died too quickly; it was no fun. Yamato was going to take his time with the rest of them. He couldn’t wait to sink his teeth into their flesh, to shred their skin with his claws. Was it possible to scrape the meat off of a bone, tendon by tendon, fibre by fibre, vein by vein… while the person was conscious?

He was going to find out.

“Which bones do you think the dogs in Okobore Town like best?” Yamato asked, the humidity in the air turning into ice crystals under his breath.

None of them answered his question.

Not that Yamato cared; he was going to take one bone out of each of them and ask the dogs himself. But first…

“No running away, you boring maggots.” Yamato’s voice echoed around the shine, a deep rumble that promised nothing but pain.

THe maggots in question stopped their scrambling as tears glistened in their eyes, pathetic whimpers on their lips. Three were sitting on the ground after their legs had given out, two were still standing, all five trembling as they stared back at Yamato, frozen.

…funny thought, that one.

Yamato bared his teeth, a canine smile with no warmth or amusement. He took a deep breath, holding the air in his lungs for a moment before letting it go, freezing the ground of the entire shrine—except the area where Momonosuke was lying, unconscious—effectively keeping the poor bastards in place.

A dark smirk pulled on Yamato’s lips as they started shouting, screaming, panicking, tugging at their legs to try and get free of the thick layer of ice. As if they could.

As if Yamato would let them.

After all, there was nowhere to run without legs, right?

Yamato leaped forward, appearing right next to the closest pirate. Without hesitation, he pulled his arm back… then thrust down.

For a moment, there was silence; silence that was only interrupted by the cracking of ice—chipping, breaking, shattering. More and more, into tiny little pieces; glittering beautifully like fairy dust.

Red, deep red fairy dust.

And then, a scream tore through the shrine.

“My leg!! My leg’s fucking gone!!”

“Save me, please!!”

“I’m sorry, young master! Forgive me!!”

Ignoring the disgraceful crying, Yamato carefully studied the larger ice crystals on the floor. What a beautiful colour they were, like rubies or strawberry hard candy. He wondered; did it taste as delicious as it looked? Would it be as refreshing as a slice of watermelon on a hot summer day, the ice melting on his tongue while leaving behind chilly liquid? Or would it still be rich and smooth? Only one way to find out.

Yamato licked his mouth slowly. He reached out with his long arm, carefully picking up one of the fragments—then let his jaws fall open. Gently, almost gingerly, he placed the ice on his tongue, closing his eyes.

For a moment, he tasted nothing. The cold was numbing his tongue, making a shiver run down his spine. But after a moment, the heat of his mouth started chipping at the ice; bit by bit, drop by drop, atom by atom, it melted on his tongue, bursting with flavour.

Metallic, powerful flavour; smooth and deliciously chilly with pieces of meat like the pulp in freshly squeezed orange juice, and Yamato didn’t fíght the satisfied moan rumbling in his chest. It was better than he had imagined. He eagerly let it melt more and more, filling his mouth with the sweet taste of meat and blood.

He could smell it all around him now, the aroma that made his mouth water even more while he sucked on the frozen treat, letting it roll on his long tongue, savouring it. He tried to gulp down the liquid quickly gathering inside his mouth but some of it dribbled down from the corner of his lips, running down to his chin; a delicious contrast between his pristine white fur and the deep red trail sparkling in the flickering light.

Slowly opening his eyes, Yamato looked at the pirates lazily, one terrified face to the other. They looked so pathetic and Yamato almost felt bad about the slow, hungry smirk that pulled on his lips at the sight.

He wanted to tear them to shreds, to pieces so tiny no one would be able to tell they used to be human at some point—hearts crushed, eyes clawed out, throats bitten apart, vocal cords ripped out, wrists chewed through, legs shattered.

Blood licked up, sating Yamato’s thirst.

Six lives snuffed out—by now, for no reason other than Yamato’s own amusement.

Was it wrong? Maybe.

Would Momonosuke hate him if he saw him like this? Definitely.

Did he care right then?

No.

These men’s lives were forfeit the moment they set foot in this sacred shrine of Oden. Whatever game Yamato played—it didn’t make a difference.

Momonosuke was still on the ground, his breathing shallow.

They had to pay for that.

Yamato took a step forward, his grin growing even more vicious.

Who should he break next?

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turnleftaticela · 1 year

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Producer guy is busy this week so idk what 2 do w myself

#He put bass on Spectator & it sounds really good #Next thing I’m doing is going in to put guitar + keyboards + backing vocals + percussion #All the fun stuff #post

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bitchofthewest · 1 year

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hands are kicking my ass man but i swear... i swear im working on this cus i love them

#warrior nun #avatrice #ava silva #sister beatrice #its sister beatrice protector and ava silva pawn of destiny #all the fun stuff #and hands #and the divinium sword in the center bc that bitch *glowed* when ava came back and #in the dead center OK #im fine today

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wandering-aloneo-o · 2 years

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i don't know what's wrong with me but something is definitely wrong

#want to smash my head on a brick #fighting the urge to stab everyone #my mental state is very questionable at the moment #constantly shifting between the mentality and the mentality #anyways #mental health #mentaly unstable #mental breakdown #all the fun stuff

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msviolacea · 2 years

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Devoured a novel tonight for the first time in a while - the latest in Tracy Grant’s Rannoch Regency mystery series, which I can highly recommend if you want Regency spy adventure and mystery with a bunch of romance and incredibly implausible but satisfying found family, and some very inaccurate but fun takes on European history around the end of the Napoleonic Wars. It’s A Lot, but I love it all the same, it’s like a crazy historical soap opera, and if that phrase intrigues you instead of horrifies you, then this is definitely the series for you.

But anyway. There’s a lot of father issues and questions of the influence of biological parentage versus who raised you, and since I was just talking about that sort of thing with my therapist last night, it’s got me thinking a lot about stuff.

(This got a little heavier than I intended, so cutting here.)

Like how hard it is to reconcile your feelings when your parent is neither a Very Good parent or a Very Bad parent - when you didn’t have an idyllic upbringing, but you were certainly never abused, you just for one reason or another had a very human parent who tried to do good based on what they knew and who they are, but screwed up in ways that they never saw or acknowledged and left scars on you they’d probably be horrified to know about, if they would even acknowledge they made them at all.

I’ll never be a parent myself, for many and varied reasons, but one of them is because of the emotional scars I bear from the grief he never recovered from. And at some point I hope to forgive him for that, but to forgive him I first have to let myself be truly angry, which is what the therapist is working on with me. That I’m allowed to be angry, even if he tried his best and loved me with all of his heart. And that I’m allowed to feel relief that I can move on to the next stage of my life without his grief hanging over me like a cloud.

(... you know, a ridiculous little video game side quest featuring a living stuffed chicken and and alien bug robot is still hanging over me a week later and factoring into this whole thought process. Damn whoever is writing that storyline for wielding that particular knife, which I mean in the most affectionate way possible.)

Anyway. Emotions are complicated and I’ve been sitting on unresolved bullshit for at least the last 15 years, and much of it for like 35 years. And I’m only really feeling like I can make sense of it now that everyone involved is gone. Maybe that makes me cold, just like he accused me of once, but whatever it means, it’s time to accept who I am and how I function. So that’s what we’re working on.

#jaime rambles #cw grief #and father issues #and parent issues in general #you know #all the fun stuff

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