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the-whumpening · 3 months

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The Caged Tiger | Part 8

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CW: dehumanization, noncon body mod, gaslighting, mild body horror (mostly for tigers, I guess?), Ozmund doing what he does best

Rather than leading Ash to the laboratory as he always does, Ozmund instead leads him through labyrinthine hallways and passages. Though he’s been cleaned and healed with a quick flourish of magic, his clothes hadn’t been returned; even so, he’s past the point of caring.

Finally, they reach an ornate oak door. With a snap of Ozmund’s fingers, symbols etched into the doorframe shine green with magic, and the door swings open to a chaotic, overflowing study. Ash recognizes an anatomical sketch on a chalkboard—it’s his body. In a far corner, shoved beneath piles of books, he also catches a glimpse of his traveling bag. At one time, he would have yearned for the contents of that bag, but now . . . he barely registers its existence.

“I’ve been saving this for just the right occasion,” Ozmund says to Owen as he rummages through his belongings to retrieve a bronze box. He opens it for Owen to admire, but Ash can’t see inside. “Go fetch a chair, Bubbles.”

“What? Why me?” Owen whines. “And quit calling me that.”

Ozmund waves him off as he rolls up his sleeves. “I had to reassign Faye somewhere else for now. She was getting too . . . attached. It seems she thinks of him like a pet. So, congratulations.” He claps Owen on the back. “You’ve been promoted to my assistant—temporarily, at least. The chair, if you please.”

Scoffing, Owen retreats from the study. Ash stands still just inside the doorway, his eyes fixed on the floor. The rumble of noise usually present in his mind has fallen silent, replaced now with only Ozmund’s cheerful hum as he flits about the room. It’s strange to see Ozmund like this—nearly every interaction he and Ash have ever had was marred with anger and tension; Ash has never seen him in his normal, natural state. Is this the Ozmund Evius fell in love with?

As Ozmund buzzes from bookshelf to bookshelf, stopping only to remove a thick disheveled journal, Owen returns. He drags a hard-backed wooden chair behind him, parking it in the middle of the room directly under the exquisite chandelier.

“Perfect,” Ozmund says, chuckling slightly to himself. “Maybe you’re not so useless after all.” He steers Ash by the shoulder, sitting him down backwards in the chair. Ash can hear the scraping of Ozmund’s chair settling behind him; the journal is cracked open and laid out on a table to their side, the open bronze box set neatly beside it.

“Think of this as a gift, Ash,” Ozmund continues, his hand now pressed on Ash’s back. “This magic is rare, expensive, and difficult—and I’m giving it to you. A reward, for your loyalty.”

For me? Did I really earn this—whatever it is? Should I be grateful? The thoughts tumble around Ash’s mind, folding and unfolding on one another in a lethargic dance.

Ash can feel something cold and sharp against his skin, followed by a tingling of energy from Ozmund’s magic. “This will not be pleasant, though,” he warns Ash, pressing the needle into Ash’s flesh.

In a matter of seconds, thousands of pinpricks erupt across his body. Like a line of fire ants marching across his skin, every inch of his back begins to burn. The pain is intense, flowing from his spine to his limbs and back again, but he doesn’t react. It hurts, but he’s been through worse. It hurts, but what’s the point in fighting it? It hurts, but is that just part of the reward?

For the several hours it takes to finish the spell, Ash slumps still and stoic against the back of the chair. No chains, no restraints; his will to fight is broken beyond repair. From his vantage point in the middle of the room, he can easily see his bag. His sending stone should be in there. His clothes, his books, the cloak Evius gave him . . . He waits for these thoughts to stir any feelings, but he’s just too empty.

When Ozmund is finally finished, he helps Ash to his feet and leads him to a full-length mirror in the parlor adjoining his study. For the first time in what he assumes have been months, Ash sees himself. He struggles to process the image before him—is this really me? His hand instinctively runs through his hair, now so much shorter than he’s ever kept it. Dozens of new scars criss-cross his skin: a slash down his face; burns on his arms, legs, and neck; and gashes of every shape and size scattered throughout. His figure seems different, too, in more subtle ways. Perhaps his muscles are more pronounced than before, or perhaps his posture has changed from months of cramped conditions and humiliation. He’s not sure, but his body no longer feels quite like it belongs to him anymore. Most striking of all, however, is Ozmund’s gift.

“I always liked you better with stripes,” Ozmund muses.

Tattooed all over Ash’s body is a brand new pelt of stripes. It’s a crude caricature of the ones he was born with, made from bits and pieces of other tigers’ markings mangled and stitched together. He recognizes many of these portions—Kitara’s face, Nino’s legs, Gregor’s back. Melding the three are nonsensical patterns Ozmund must have made himself. Sure, to the untrained eye, he does look an awful lot like a tiger, but to him . . . He truly is an abomination now.

“You don’t have to thank me.” Ozmund disrupts his trance, and he is suddenly pulled back into reality. And the reality is: this gift is truly generous. Evius’ magical tattoo makes him nearly untouchable, and it did indeed cost him a small fortune. To be given such a boon, for free? Ash’s cheeks twitch into a strained smile, and he ducks his head in a gesture of appreciation. “Now there’s a good lad,” Oz praises, replacing the metal collar back on his neck. “I think things shall be a bit different around here from now on, don’t you?”

That night, his dinner is back to its usual contents of meat and stew rather than just broth. He’s even given a mug to scoop his water out of the trough.

#gregor is ash's father btw #whump #whump writing #dnd whump #male whumpee #male whumper #broken whumpee #mute whumpee #tw noncon body mod #tw needles #the caged tiger #whumpblr #rublewriting #tigerverse

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bellumtenetur · 2 years

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Swindle is exhausted.

The gestalt bond is more active. Never a good sign especially after the ghost of recharge he had. He's vaguely aware of excitement (brawl), and a sickly joy (Tex most likely) but its the last two.

Blast Off and Onslaught-

It's like they're keeping a palm pressed on the block. Watching.

Waiting...

He adds the equivalent of another padlock. Cueing up more firewall protocols with vicious determination. It mutes them further. Let's him sink into a seat. Pushing up one of the luridly purple optic covers. Revealing the more lavender shade of his optics, rubbing under the curve slowly.

Hes still aware he got lucky.

He took a messy risk to escape.

It won't work a second time. Onslaught will be looking for the same tricks. His helm tips back and for one second he entertains the idea. Why did he keep running? What was all the shanix in the world worth versus the sheer fixation of Ons.

Because he'd never let go.

Swindle was wanted in a twisted way. After everything he'd done to get the other four killed they kept trying to drag his kicking frame into the dark with them. Even without the war, a pack of trained Kaonite pit Hounds with the lone Ophalios forced to follow after.

He remembers asking Onslaught desperately why thwy didn't just kill him. Get Shockwave to engineer a replacement. Stripped to nothing in Vortex's "work room" under Ons gaze. Remembers flinching as the servos gripped his jaw. Pinning his helm back to hold him still as Tex painstakingly carved a mark in the protomesh of his arm. The way his thumb stroked his cheek.

" Because. You were given to me."

Ons had held his gaze through his visor as he panted through the pain of the scalpel. Through the acid rubbed over it then the addition of color. The only answer and Swindle hadn't dug any further.

He rubs his right arm. Peeling away the armor to stare at the scar tattoo.

' One of Us, Forever ' in rich red ink laid over the raised scar. Tex had a steady looping script. He could cut it out. Could replace it... He covers it again. Arm aching as he pulls up his waiting transaction logs.

Putting it from his processor.

The pressure on his block never eases.

#opportunity knocks swindle #tw unhealthy relationship #tw noncon body mod

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whump-ghoul · 1 year

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I thought of a very angsty HC when it comes to the ghouls and biting.

Back in the day, maybe when Nihil was still fronting the band, a ghoul was startled (maybe on accident, maybe it was a prank) and they lashed out. They bit someone.

The injury was minor, barely drawing blood but the repercussions for the ghoul were severe. I’m thinking they were declawed/had their fangs removed and locked in solitary confinement. (Solitary confinement is terrible for ghouls, they thrive in pack dynamics.)

This ghoul wasn’t Returned, no, instead they’re kept around. Muzzled. They’re to be a reminder to the new ghouls to stay in line.

All of the ghouls are terrified of this solitary ghoul. and maybe this ghoul is terrified of them - of other people. So they keep to themselves, barely being seen in the dining hall/communal areas.

#tw: defanging #tw: declawing #tw: noncon body mods #the band ghost #ghoul headcanons

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whumppmuhw · 8 months

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Whumptober Day 16: Amputation

tw: amputation, restraints, implied drugging, noncon body mod

... Whumpee woke up feeling imbalanced. They were in chains, keeping them upright while suspending them off of the ground, so the imbalance didn't matter, but it was there. Two chains around each ankle going into the ground, one around their right wrist and one around their neck going into the ceil- Wait. That's not right. Whumpee had never had chains around their neck. It was a little suffocating, and Whumpee had to take deeper breaths to get enough air. As the grogginess wore off, Whumpee's head felt clearer and their vision sharpened. The dark, formless blob in front of them turned into Whumper. They were laughing in that way they did when they made a cruel joke at Whumpee's expense. Whumpee felt pain in their left side, and they let out a deep moan. Whumper realized they were awake and spoke slowly. "Hey, Whumpee, how are you?...You might realize things are a bit different now..." Whumpee looked around as best they could and tried to move around, forgetting for a moment their restraints. All of the other chains jingled, except for the one on their left. No sound, and when Whumpee looked over, no arm. They finally processed what it meant and started hyperventilating, panicking. Whumper laughed again. "You kept complaining about it so much, I was doing you a favor. It was getting pretty mangled, there wouldn't have been anything left soon anyway." Whumpee was in shock and didn't have the capacity to get angry in that moment. They barely had the capacity to respond. "What-wh-why-no-I d-didn't-please-" "-I believe the words you're looking for is 'thank you.' You'll be fine, trust me, and now no one will have to hear your stupid whining." Whumpee was at a loss for words, so they went along with Whumper. "Thank you...?" "You're welcome." Whumper smirked. "Enjoy life with one less limb- oops, problem." Whumper walked away, leaving Whumpee with their panicked thoughts.

#mine #ailesswhumptober2023 #whumptober #whump #amputation #amputation tw #restraints tw #implied drugging tw #noncon body mod tw

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whumpwillow · 2 years

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This is my first time doing this but what if the whumpee was a conditioned villain that had a communication device? His former association impaired his speech rict his freedom and make him more compliant. The hero team finds out about this and surgically repaired his throat adn removes the device. After the surgery, the whumpee is terrified and a hero tries her best to comfort him. Thanks!

oh wow! that's a new one

#noncon body modification #noncon body mod tw #throat whump #conditioned whumpee

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3-2-whump · 3 months

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Whumpee Intro: The Auction Floor

next>

Thanks @dresden-syndrome for helping me bounce ideas off you! We talked about how pet stores display the fish in glass tanks, especially how some of the good stores display their betta fish in individual glass tanks. And I was like, "why not for pet whumpees?" Inspiration comes from the unlikeliest of places.

TW/CW: institutionalized slavery, pet whump, nonconsensual nudity (nonsexual), minor whump (at time of story), noncon body mod (briefly mentioned), light gore (briefly mentioned). I also have little to no idea how auctions like this would work, so I'm skipping over some details. Enjoy, regardless.

The boy backed up as far as his glass prison would allow, but the hungry eyes of the bidders outside never left him. He hoped and prayed nobody would buy him, but his hope diminished with every scrutinizing stare and comment muffled through the glass. He slumped into the corner of his cell and curled into a ball, ignoring the handlers’ threats they drilled into each prospective asset before the auction began. He shut his eyes and buried his head into his folded-up knees. If he was just boring enough to look at, maybe the people outside would move on and buy somebody else.

The floor was cold. The glass walls of his cell were cold. He was bare, completely naked in the empty glass container. The back of his left ear was itchy, but he made no move to scratch at it. If he interfered with the tattoo as it was healing, they promised to pull out his fingernails. It had already happened to one girl; he had seen it. He dug his nails into his shins until the unbearable itching subsided enough to ignore it once again.

The murmurs outside died down, accompanied by the sound of retreating footsteps. The boy dared to peek out from his hiding place. He locked eyes with a man standing right in front of his cell, staring at him with a glass of whiskey in hand. He was a big man, broad shouldered and solidly built underneath that crisply pressed suit. He was easily two heads taller than his father, and up until that point, the boy thought his father was pretty tall. The man had short, dirty-blonde hair and sharp, steel-gray eyes. His mouth was downturned into a frown, the only indication of what he may truly feel behind the blank expression he bore.

Two more men –presumably his friends- materialized alongside him, jovially poking at him and gesturing inside the boy’s cell. It was next to impossible to make out the words they were saying from within the cell, but the boy got a sinking feeling in his stomach. The whole time, the man’s eyes never left his.

---

The auction part of the night had ended, their area of the black market had been closed off, and he (among many others) was retrieved from the glass box. The handler who fetched him threw him a pair of pants and a shirt. “Put those on, and follow me.”

So, I did get sold, the boy realized. He dressed quickly and followed the handler silently, dread weighing down each footstep. He mentally ran through the faces he dared to look at while he wondered who among the crowd had bought him. His mind circled back to the tall man with the scowl. Please, God, please, not him, he begged.

He stopped in his tracks when they came to the exit. The very same tall man turned around to meet him. The handler quietly disappeared from his side. Those steel eyes looked far colder and sharper up close. The boy averted his eyes, staring at his bare feet while keeping his hands folded in front of him.

“What’s your name, kid?”

The boy looked up briefly. Faint freckles danced across the man’s pale cheeks, and an old scar grazing across his left temple disappeared into his hairline. Those sharp steely eyes continued to flay him. He was so scared he nearly forgot his new owner had asked him a question. My name? He dropped his gaze back to his feet. “Khaled,” he all but whispered. “But you may call me whatever you want, sir,” he added, remembering the ‘correct’ answer.

The man above him murmured his name a couple times to himself as the boy stood ready to accept a new name, if his new master so wished it. “Luckily for you, I like your name,” he said decisively.

Before Khaled could breathe a sigh of relief, the man placed a broad hand on his shoulder. The boy tensed; his palm covered his whole shoulder blade. “Come with me, Khaled.” Not like he had a choice, when his master’s hand pushed him out the door into a future of unknowns and uncertainties.

#whump writing #oc intro #viridian oc #whumpee #pet whumpee #tw minor whump #tw slight gore #tw noncon nudity #tw noncon bodymod #slavery tw #slavery whump

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yandere-fics · 3 months

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Runa's NSFW Alphabet

(kinda gore and noncon tw.)

♡ A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex) ♡

Runa tries her best, she's very anxious for you to tell her she did a very good job and that you don't hate her even though she just degraded you for five hours(and possibly cut you but that's for later), she knows you love her since you two are soulmates but she does feel like even if you could love every other part of her what if you don't love this part? She's looked up everything she could possibly do for aftercare and tries her best to do it all if she's not too tired to do it, most of the time she does everything she can though there are the times she's too tired to do it and she always feels bad she didn't do it all when she wakes up.

♡ B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) ♡

If she had to pick a part of herself that she likes then it would be ears, they're very sensitive and a lot of people have called them cute, she could care less what other garbage people say however if they think the ears are cute then surely you might find hers cute too, which is why she keeps them extremely clean and tries to keep them visible whenever she's with you.

Mouth, she has a massive spit kink and well that's where your spit comes from. She watches your lips very closely at all time when you're asleep, hoping you'll drool just a bit in your sleep for her to lick it up and if you don't she might stick her tongue in your mouth anyways in your sleep. Also if you bite her really hard and take a bit of skin with you then that's also a huge turn on and she thinks about it constantly.

♡ C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically) ♡

If she's using a strap on you then she likes to pretend that she's cumming inside because she really enjoys the idea of mingling her fluids inside of you. In omegaverse if you're an omega she'll try to pretend she's an alpha knotting you, if you're an alpha she'll try to force herself to be an omega, if you're a beta like her she'll probably try to omegize you since you'd look cute that way anyways. Also while Miriel's tastes healthy as an elf, Runa's tastes like it's terrible for you. Almost like poison since she is unconnected to nature like she should be.

♡ D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) ♡

Lick her ears, please god lick her ears, not only does it indulge her spit kink, her ears are just so sensitive how could you not want to play with them, please her sounds aren't as pretty as the ones some of the others make normally but if you play with her ears you'll still get some really nice sounds from her.

♡ E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?) ♡

Haha no. Seriously does the serial killer discord mod looking ass elf look like she would have ANY experience in the slightest? No everything she knows is from porn and hentai though she's not as bad with it as Ellie, she may try to recreate some of it but not to the extreme that Ellie likes to recreate things.

♡ F = Favorite position (this goes without saying) ♡

Anything where you're in a humiliating position or she's in a humiliating position, she's more likely to humiliate you but she's equally willing to get humiliating. She especially likes you on your back so she can run her knife across you but she doesn't mind either way. She also very much enjoys doing it with you in front of her victims if you'll allow it, usually only if said victim was a threat to your relationship but she might do it for no reason at all. Runa is not flexible in the slightest and cries like a whiny baby when you try to bend her too much but will get poutier if you stop bending her even though she was just crying in pain.

♡ G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.) ♡

She has to be very serious, carving into you in a very serious matter and she would never want to harm you in a way that you couldn't recover so she has to make sure she's entirely focused with every cut, despite being such a subpar killer, she seems to get very skilled with a knife when it comes to her precious darling. Though she's not being serious when she degrades you since she doesn't actually mean this stuff.

♡ H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.) ♡

She's got little ingrown prickly hairs everywhere, her body hair grows wrong and so does her normal hair, she works very hard to keep her head hair from becoming a matted mess. Miriel has smooth silky hair with no work, Runa has thin dry hair and that's WITH her putting in a great deal of effort.

♡ I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect) ♡

It's not very intimate which is why she tries to make the aftercare as intimate as she possibly can, bandaging everything she did to you and giving the marks soft kisses as a good luck charm so that way they'll scar up properly and look really pretty once they've healed.

♡ J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon) ♡

She does frequently and she likes to use her knife when she does, imagining all the places she wants you to drag it along her body or thinking about how good you'll look when you finally allow her to cut into you, it really doesn't have to be that much even, just a little is enough for her pleaseeeee!

♡ K = Kink (one or more of their kinks) ♡

She likes to degrade you and call you gross for the things she is doing to you probably slightly forcefully(she's kidnapped you how consensual can it really be unless you were cool with it from the very start.) She also likes petplay, she wants likes the idea of you being her cute kitten who allows her to hurt you a little bit, though if you prefer puppy or bunny she'll go with that too. She has a massive spit kink which finds it's way into everything she does and she likes having her ears played with but the biggest one is wanting to carve into you and leave mark everywhere, she would also like to stick her finger in the marks she left on you as she's fucking you. She'll let you also use her knives on her as long as she trusts you won't actually seriously try to wound her.

♡ L = Location (favorite places to do the do) ♡

In her apartment since she never lets you outside, it could happen anywhere in the apartment though and her favorite place is on the floor after she's killed someone was a threat to the relationship, she simply can't help herself, she has to celebrate this, she'll even threaten you by pretending she might slit your throat if you won't have sex with her in front of a victim if she particularly thinks that person was damaging to your love(probably an ex lmao.)

♡ M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going) ♡

Killing gets her worked up, she'll come back to you after a killing(if she didn't bring the victim back to the apartment that is), super worked up and at least want to fondle you a lot. She also gets worked up if she's trying to fondle you and you're squirming away from her too much. She also gets worked up seeing you sleeping sometimes.

♡ N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs) ♡

Share you, she may let the victims see your passionate lovemaking before their deaths but that still doesn't mean they can ever put their hands on you. Surprisingly she won't do choking, sure she can be delicate with the knife but she knows she's not as graceful with choking and things of that nature so she might hurt you, you can choke her though, just don't go too hard or she might think you actually want heer dead and then she'd have to hurt you really bad.

♡ O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.) ♡

She loves to give, it's so cute how you always tense up when she threatens to mark your genitalia with her knife if you aren't a good girl and stop squirming but she can tell you're aroused by it so clearly it's not as big of a scare as you pretend it is, she likes to make you feel it on your inner thighs as she eats you out so you're scared if your legs shake too much during an orgasm then you'll get wounded.

♡ P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.) ♡

She's slow and rough, she goes very slow to make sure she's not too damaging to you though she might get faster if you've seriously irritated her on that particular day.

♡ Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.) ♡

She doesn't like quickies, there's not enough time to get to play with you and taunt you properly and she'll get mad if you try to make it quick, she'll force you to go past what you'd normally be able to handle if you keep it up with all the quickie nonsense.

♡ R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.) ♡

Not really, she knows what she likes with you and she sticks to it, anything more than that is just too much, she might try a new thing for you but chances are if she's willing to try it she was already into it before and hadn't brought it up to you.

♡ S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?) ♡

Surprisingly although she fails compared to Miriel in a lot of ways since she lacks her connection to the foest, her stamina is great and her will to keep going even when she should probably stop and give it a rest are exceptional. She doesn't cum for a long time unless you hit a trigger but it's really easy to hit a trigger if you even try slightly so it does seem like she cums quickly.

♡ T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?) ♡

She'd have to really really hurt you if you got a sex toy and she wouldn't want to do that, love, so just don't, not like you could leave her apartment to go buy one anyways! There is ONE strap in the apartment which she keeps locked up and a harness for both of you in case you want to top her and she wants to top you. That doesn't get brought out very often though.

♡ U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) ♡

She likes to call you gross for stuff she forced you to do or for enjoying the things she's doing to you but at least she also allows you to mock her back and call her gross and disgusting for the things you're forcing her to do. She likes to stick her finger in the knife marks she left when you're about to cum so that way she can laugh at you for getting off on her sticking her finger in there, ignoring how she would cum instantly if you did the same thing even if she wasn't close at the time.

♡ V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.) ♡

Whereas Miriel's voice sounds beautiful and elvish, Runa's sounds like a distortion of that, like if you stabbed an elf in the throat a million times and then let it heal but it never healed enough so now it's just fucked up and wheezy, she tries to do that stupid fake sexy discord voice but it's really cringey and doesn't sound like that. She also giggles alot, she'll say something heinous to degrade you and then giggle cause it's so silly since you know she actually adores you.

♡ W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character) ♡

She can't handle much weight on her ears, while other elves commonly wear jewelry on their ears and decorate them, her sense of balance might get thrown off, she does enjoy you sucking on her ears and tugging them but just make sure you know her balance will be off for a bit after you do it, it makes her super clumsy for a bit after it's happened so it might be fun to do it regularly then she becomes a massive clutz all the time.

♡ X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes) ♡

She's got nothing to look at up top which makes her very sad, sure elves in general are on the smaller side but why did she have to be given absolutely nottthiinggg! This is bogus in her opinion, if she had them she would use them like her own stress balls to quell her anxiety which is exactly what she'll do if you have any at all.

♡ Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?) ♡

Her drive is a bit lower than you might expect from a massive pervert. Sure she'll make you wear cat ears and fondle you for hours on end making fun of all the cute sounds you make but you start to realize she's mostly content with this and rarely takes it any further than this unless you're fighting back against her too much.

♡ Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) ♡

Runa is a forest elf who has lived in the city her entire life and as such it's really fucked with the way her body functions and her sleeping schedule, she often stays awake for days on end and then collapses into a deep heavy sleep for a full day, when she knows this is going to happen she makes sure you have everything you need being as you are locked in her apartment, this also means after sex if she is going to sleep she avoids cuddling you because she gets worried you might get trapped in her arms or under her when she's going into her coma like sleep. It's not a peaceful sleep either, you can often hear her whining and crying in her sleep until you stroke her hair or just hold her hand to soothe her. On nights when she does need to sleep though she does lay with you in bed and try to pretend like she's sleeping.

#yandere oc #yandere lesbian #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #my oc runa

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prpfs · 11 months

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🗡️ 20nb looking for 18+ rpers interested in a scum villain's self-saving system [svsss] rp on discord. i'm interested in a bingyuan rp with me musing original luo binghe [bingge] against shen yuan.

tw for dead dove elements; non/dubcon, noncon body mods, kidnapping + obsessive behavior, etc.

i'd love to explore any sort of plot related to bingge meeting shen yuan, either in his original body or as shen qingqiu, or anything else, and being obsessed with the idea of someone who has the potential of loving him for himself. this could take place any time during the novel, be it post-bingge vs. bingmei or canon divergence anytime within proud immortal demon's way storyline, i don't have anything in mind beyond just looking into their dynamic and having fun with bingge's unhinged ass, so let's brainstorm together!

literate rpers only. i'm also slow with replies since i'm busy irl with work so pls expect that i'll take my time.

(mods, if possible, please tag with svsss rp since it's more popularly used, ty!)

give a like and anon will get back to you

#scum villain's self-saving system rp #scum villain's self-saving system roleplay #fandom roleplay #fandom rp #dead dove

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mothmxwhump · 2 years

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Bastet

Tw: deaf whumpee, reference to mobility aides being destroyed, beating, nonhuman whumpee, lab/medical whump, systemic inequalities, homeless whumpee, trans male whumpee, gore, noncon stripping and bathing (nonsexual), magic whump, noncon body mod, noncon surgery, surgery without anesthesia

A/N: when Bastet/Alexi’s speech is italicized, it’s to indicate him speaking verbally, rather than in sign language

Alexis huffs as the wind is knocked out of him. The guard standing above him delivers a few more swift kicks to his stomach. Their boss, a redhead wearing mage’s robes and a sharp grin, suddenly holds up his hand to call them off.

“Ready to talk, kitty?” He purrs, and Lexi only snarls, ears flat on his head. His hearing aids were smashed up in the proceeding struggle. “Hm. I see, then.”

“I’m deaf, ya bloody idiot! I can’t hear you after your cronies broke my aids, asshole--”

The man actually laughs. “Ah, that’s the issue?” he asked, signing along with his words.

Lexi growls. “S’Not fucking funny.”

“Guards, release his arms.” the man commands. “Now, tell me, love, was this all your own work, or is there a little group of pathetic thieves like you running around?”

Lexi frowns. Something is wrong now, his hands seem to move of their own accord. “Solo job. Might wanna upgrade your security.”

“I see. What were you after?”

“Anything. I--I was just looking to get stuff to sell, I didn’t even know this was a lab or anything, I swear--- And what did you do to me?”

“Truth spell. Now, why not go for an easier target?”

“Houses with high security have better stuff. People don’t get tons of guards if there’s not something they want to protect.”

“Hm. And… How much have you seen?”

Lexi flinches. Not a good sign. “Not much, I swear. I only saw some of the magic stuff, and the cells. I don’t know anything else, I couldn’t rat you out for this if I wanted to!”

“I’ll give you a choice, darling. Either I press charges for the burglary of a nobleman… or you can stay here and… assist me with my experiments.”

Lexi stares at him. “You’re offering me a job?”

“No. I’m offering you an opportunity to avoid jail.”

Lexi nods. He’d heard horror stories about prison. And prison was the best scenario. He could be sold as a slave or pet, or even killed. “I… I’ll do whatever you want. I won’t tell anyone.”

The man nods. “Good. My name is Virgil, but you’ll call me Master. You’ll get started tomorrow morning.”

Lexi was taken to a tiny cell in the labyrinth of Virgil’s lab, had one hand cuffed to the side of his flimsy cot and given a tiny bit of chicken and plain rice to eat. If he’s honest, the living situation is better than his home, a small structure of discarded wood, boxes, and plastic tarp in tiny elven territory. Food’s scarce there, he rarely gets meat and when he does, it was something he’d killed himself. His bed is an old rug and he rarely avoided getting soaked in a rainstorm. Really, the cell was luxury in comparison.

Morning came far too soon, he decides as he’s dragged by his hair out of the small room and into a bathroom. The guard who was holding him strips him of his clothes and shoves him under icey-cold water from the shower. Lexi grunts in pain and shock, his head banging against the temperature knob.

The woman pays him no mind, wetting his hair and roughly scrubbing shampoo in. After his hair and ears are cleaned to her satisfaction, she turns up the water pressure to help in scrubbing his skin clean.

When she finally determines he’s clean enough, she shoves a white tee-shirt and gray shorts into his hands. Once he’s dressed, his hands are cuffed again and he’s led to what looks like an operating room.

…

“Hm. What was your name again?” Virgil’s question catches him off guard.

“Lexi.” He manages. “…How exactly am I helping you…?”

“Lay down on the table. Stay still and this’ll be quick and easy.”

“Wh-“

“Get on the table.”

There’s a dangerous look in Virgil’s eyes. Lexi decides to do as he’s told. Straps are quickly placed across Lexi’s arms, legs, and chest, making it near impossible to move.

Virgil wheels over a stool and tray, various artifacts scattered amongst his surgical tools.

“I’d recommend against squirming, Lexi.” Virgil’s expression is cold. “Now… Lexi just won’t do for a name. Hm… no, it’s far to human. How about Bastet?”

Lexi stares at him, unable to respond with more than an unintelligible noise of discontent.

“Yes, that will do nicely. Bastet.”

Lexi can’t help the tears that spring to his eyes.

“Now, I’m not going to waste anestesia on you, so don’t move. If you make me screw this up, I’ll just have to start over again. If you survive, that is.” He takes out a needle, though, filling it with a strange fluid and injecting it into Lexi’s neck.

Lexi whimpers, eyes wide as Virgil picks up a tool to measure him with. He gently pulls up the shirt Lexi’s wearing, muttering to himself. Lexi squirms at that, not wanting Virgil to see his bare chest.

“I said to hold still.” Virgil glares at him. He takes a quick measurement of the area above Lexi’s heart, and then spins around on his stool, taking a note of it in a little lab journal.

When he moves back, he’s holding a scalpel. The tip presses down on Lexi’s chest and he whines, trying not to move and cut himself even more.

Virgil huffs at that and grabs a roll of duct tape, smoothing a piece over his victim’s lips.

“Mmph!” Lexi protests, to no avail. Virgil’s attention is already back to making the incision on Lexi’s chest, pressing the scalpel deep and cutting a line.

Lexi screams at that, the pain mingling with the wrongness of the cold laboratory air on his insides. He thrashes impulsively, and Virgil presses a hand on his shoulders to stop him.

Finally, the cut seems deep enough to satisfy Virgil, and he wheels away, returning again with the caliper and a softly glowing gold gemstone. Lexi sobs, the pain and chill of the instrument pressing against his heart overwhelming him. He should be passed out by now, he’s fairly certain of that, but whatever Virgil pumped into his veins seems to be keeping him painfully aware.

Virgil jots that measurement down too, then grabs what looks like a power tool. A new wave of panic seizes Lexi, but Virgil only chuckles and uses it to trim down the gemstone.

Then, he picks the scalpel back up. Slowly, agonizingly, he uses the device to cut through the arteries and veins and muscle keeping Lexi’s heart in his body. There’s a horrible moment where Lexi’s staring at his own organ, his heart, clutched in Virgil’s hands. He screams louder than ever before, feeling the blood gush and the empty cavity where the essential organ is meant to be. Virgil presses the cold stone into the spot, and says something Lexi’s too panicked to decipher.

Finally, mercifully, he passes out, going limp in his restraints.

#whump #whump writing #pet whump #lab whump #tw gore #gore cw #tw surgery #tw noncon surgery #tw abuse #catboy whumpee #Bastet #Virgil

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psychoticwillgraham · 10 months

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welcome to an impromptu hannigram fic rec list with the goriest and most disgusting (affectionate) erotic gore that im definitely going to hell for liking

it’s all under the read more bc of a shitload of triggers and if ur easily disturbed by or can’t handle this level of descriptive gore, turn away now

the aforementioned venom au that’s inspiring me for my current fic im doing. it’s real, real nasty in the best way possible and yes there’s brain licking involved. you can decide if that’s a deal breaker or not, but if ur looking for a venom au, it shouldn’t be an issue. this is also my fave hannigram fic period rn

TW: vore, extreme blood and gore, whatever trigger brain licking requires, blood play, tentacle sex, cannibalism, come inflation, knotting, triple penetration, organ fucking and organ stuff in general, and vomiting (not even a trigger list just letting you know what ur getting into)

a witch Will au that i rlly dig bc of the concept and I just adore when ppl write him as a witch. that’s the good shit

TW: monsterfucking, graphic descriptions of body horror, possession, dub con bc of possession, blood and gore, cannibalism, branding, amputation, and brief mention of mpreg

ok, this one. hoo boy lmao first of all, this is tied for my fave fic with the first one, and this one goes out to all my fellow monsterfucking/alien fucker/oviposition folk out there. it actually made me rlly tense once it started getting to the good shit, which the vast majority of media fails to do with me. do not even touch this if you have a weak stomach or can’t handle extreme body horror.

TW (hoo boy): straight up noncon (egg laying and everything), monsterfucking, extreme body horror, mpreg, oviposition, non consensual body mods, alien fucking, graphic transformation sequence, tentacle dick, EXTREME deepthroating (no I’m not joking), and gaslighting

last one for now (until I finish the other ones im reading), and it’s my third fave, an extreme d/s and consensual but NOT safe or sane fic. this one just, bro. BRO. made me realize a certain kink has a name and I uh. really enjoyed this.

TW: death kink (legitimately), extreme erotic asphyxiation, sadism and masochism, blood kink, desanguination (draining all of the blood out or nearly), kinky waterboarding (not telling u how), choking, and dub con

#pls don’t judge me for some of the noncon stuff i only read it for this ship #ur welcome for the awakenings u might have

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mylostyume · 1 year

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Heyo, I'm Yume. I'm 24 and a girl. This is a blog where I plan to post my kink writings.

TW: EVERYTHING. THIS ISN'T A JOKE. EXCEPTIONALLY VILE CONTENT AHEAD.

All writing here is completely fiction. You are able to stop reading and even block me if you are uncomfortable with anything that you see on this blog. Nothing here is intended to be disrespectful.

Themes here are primarily noncon. I like a weird endless variety of kinks though: maledom / misogyny, femdom, body mod, ageplay, diapers, guro, extreme bondage, humiliation, all sortsssss.

I'm in a monogamous relationship and I do not flirt or RP. I love to hear fanmail and story ideas / comments though!

Have a lovely day!

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3-2-whump · 2 months

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Escape Attempt Last

As in, there were plenty in between this attempt and First Escape Attempt, but I won't enumerate them (unless you ask nicely, I guess)

Set one year after The Auction Floor

TW/CW: minor whump, slavery, pet whump, noncon body mod (tattoos, piercings), threats of permanent injury (not followed through), burning, inappropriate use of a clothes iron

The first thing he heard that morning was “Happy anniversary,” whispered softly over him as he stirred awake.

Khaled blinked. The blond man leaned over his bed, not a trace of a frown on his stern face. Khaled groggily rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He had no idea what his master just said, though that might’ve just been because he was never much of a morning person. “What was that?” Khaled yawned.

“It’s our anniversary,” the man explained patiently as he helped him sit up. Those broad arms and bruising hands that once (and occasionally still) struck fear into Khaled’s heart now supported him as he climbed out of bed. “I brought you home a year ago, and so I wanted to give you something special today, if you’d let me…” he trailed off with a smile.

Khaled shuffled toward his wardrobe and began picking out a pair of boxers, denim pants, and a shirt. “A year, huh?” Though he was still in the process of waking up, having never been an early riser in his life, his muddy brain was slowly piecing it together.

It was well into midday when Khaled finally let its implications sink in.

One year of his life in slavery. One whole year of his life spent in servitude. His head swam in an unsettling mix of shock, anger, and grief, emotions that traveled down to his gut and twisted it into knots. A lot had happened in a year; the sixteen-year-old shot up a few inches in height, his voice had deepened, and his body hair (everywhere) had grown in enough to prompt his owner to teach him about shaving and ‘hygienic practices.’ That was an embarrassing talk, and one that he deeply wished his father could’ve given him instead.

It had been more than a year since he had seen his family; were they thinking of him? Did they notice he was gone? He brought home one of their main sources of income; how was his mother coping, providing for his siblings all on her own? They didn’t hate him for abandoning them, did they? Khaled blinked back the mist in his eyes at the thought.

The car lulled to a stop. “We’re here,” the Boss announced, taking Khaled out of his head. He looked down at the small box resting in his hands. Twin diamonds set in white gold rested inside the velvety interior. At first, Khaled thought it was a mistake, since his ears weren’t pierced. The man only grinned as he simply replied “not yet.”

They got out at the now-familiar tattoo parlor, entering soon after they opened. This was where the boy got his second and third tattoos, the initials and the skull and snake, respectively. The bearded, bespectacled man known only as Leo spotted them immediately and approached them with a welcoming grin. He made small talk with Khaled’s master as he led them to the back.

“So, we’re doing a set of piercings today?” he asked, pulling out a pair of single-use gloves.

Master nodded. “Ears, just one pair for now, unless we want more.”

Khaled let out an unbidden scoff. His master threw him a reproachful glare. There is no we, there never was, he wanted to scream. He didn’t consent to any of his tattoos, what made the man think he’d be okay with piercings? Yet his owner initialed him like an object and drew the symbol of his crime family on his skin, and he could just do that –he bought him, after all.

“Well, let’s get to it, then!” Leo said.

“Wait. I’ve gotta use the bathroom,” Khaled murmured. Master glanced at Leo, who merely shrugged. He silently pushed past the two men and made his way to the front of the store to the bathroom, where he locked the door and slumped against it as he settled onto the floor. He allowed himself a deep, shuddering breath behind the closed door, resting his head back against it with a dull thunk.

One year… he thought morosely. A streaky bathroom mirror bordered with stickers glared back at him under artificial light. Curious, Khaled got up from the floor and leaned over the sink to look at himself, to physically see how much he had changed in only a year. How much of these changes were within his control?

None of them, he realized sadly. He turned his newly shaved head side to side to look at his ears, taking in the sight of the unpierced lobes as much as he could. These would change too, and that was also out of his control.

Or was it? Out of the corner of his eye, Khaled spotted a slit of natural light seeping in from above. He turned; there, above the toilet, was a small window, vented open to let in fresh air. He assessed the window immediately, judging that he was still skinny and flexible enough that he could climb through, and without much else besides a desire to just be in control of something, he did exactly that.

With exception to the mall incident (which shouldn’t even count, he genuinely got lost), this had to be the worst escape yet. He was recaptured within two hours, tied up and thrown into the back of a car yet again, and now lay on his back on a large table, hands and feet bound to each corner as two unfamiliar goons stood on each side. Beside him, Master stood solemnly ironing a dress shirt on an ironing board. His resting bitch face was back, and he was re-ironing the same sleeve for the third time. Khaled gulped, only sensing a fraction of how fucked he was.

“I really thought we had made some progress this past year,” the man growled. A puff of steam escaped the iron as he set it aside and hung up the crisp white shirt. He then moved on to ironing a pair of slacks. “I trusted you, I provided for you, I gave you everything you could ever need, and what do you do? You run away the second I loosen your leash,” he continued, straightening out a seam with a bit more force than necessary.

Khaled cleared his throat and tried to look up from his awkward position on the table. “I’m sorry, Master, I just freaked out- “

“Quiet! Let me finish.”

Khaled shut his mouth immediately. He sunk back down, fixed his eyes on the dim ceiling lamp above him, and awaited his punishment with dread.

Master continued talking. “You know, the last time this happened, a friend of mine advised me to cut your tendons.” Beneath the quickening pounding of his anxious heart, Khaled heard the faint hiss of the iron. “I don’t want to permanently cripple you though, mostly because it would be even more of a hassle to care for you, but I will cripple you temporarily, at the very least...”

Khaled tore his eyes from the ceiling and looked over his outstretched toes. His master settled in front of his feet, the steaming hot iron in hand. Moist tendrils of heat lapped at his exposed bare soles. Dense as he may be, it didn’t take a genius to realize what was about to happen. Khaled trembled, then began struggling in earnest. The mob members held him firmly by the legs and shoulders as he thrashed frantically in his restraints, fearfully begging. “No, no, no, please, no, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry – “

“You’re only sorry you got caught,” Boss snapped. “Now hold still.”

Searing hot pain erupted in the soles of his feet as Khaled screamed himself hoarse.

After what felt like too much time and yet not much time at all, the goons above him let him go and started working on the knots tying him to the table. That must mean he’s done, Khaled thought, but why does it feel like my feet are still burning?

“Get up.”

The now untied boy paused rubbing his chafed wrists to look up at him in shock. His master glared down at him coldly. “I said get up!” he shouted.

He can’t be serious. With horror, he realized the man was completely serious. “I-I can’t,” Khaled whimpered, “I -you wouldn’t -I can’t!” He caught his trembling lip between his teeth before a small sob could escape.

“I’m not going to repeat myself again, brat,” the Boss gritted out. “Get. Up.”

Khaled hung his head and nodded. He stiffly swung his legs over the table and gingerly lowered his burnt feet to the floor. The freshly blistered flesh barely touched the ground before an effusion of pain shot up his legs. He gasped in agony. His owner, meanwhile, stood in front of him in silence, waiting. Khaled sniffled, grit his teeth, and, with legs quivering and tears streaming down his cheeks, he stood up straight and tall.

“Walk,” Thomas said.

No. Khaled shook his head, completely unable to get a word out through the pain.

“Walk.”

Please, no, he wanted to say. He hung his head and shakily took a step forward, not making it even two steps before he collapsed. The strong arms of the Boss’ cronies caught him just before his knees could hit the floor. They scooped him back onto the table before one ran off to find the first aid kit, and the other ran off to get a basin of cool water. Khaled thankfully slipped into unconsciousness and took refuge in the nothingness.

A hesitant knock at the door brought Khaled’s attention back to the present, three hours after the Iron Incident. “Khaled, it’s me.” His master entered his bedroom soon after.

Facing away from the door in a fetal position on top of the bed, Khaled curled up even tighter. His heart picked up pace as he heard the man settle to his knees in front of his bed. “Your bandages need changing.” He flinched away when he felt the man’s fingers graze his injured feet, but ultimately he relented, letting his master unwind the soiled bandages as he winced and whimpered. Not all of the gauze was peeling off neatly. He heard a faint click of a tube opening, then felt cooling salve on his burned soles. Then, with a level of tenderness he did not think the Boss capable of, the man wrapped his feet up in clean gauze and taped the bandages in place. “One more thing,” he murmured softly, reaching into the first aid bag he brought with him.

Khaled had raised his head from his pillow, his red-rimmed eyes trailing down to his feet as curiosity overcame his pain and apprehension. His owner procured a pair of socks, gingerly slipping them over each gauze-wrapped foot. “There are plenty more of these, so if this pair gets dirty, you can just ask me for more,” he told him. “Comfortable, right?”

Khaled reached over and brushed his fingers against the soft fabric. His eyes misted with tears again at the act of kindness. “…They’re nice,” he sniffled. “Thank you, sir.”

The man replied with a pleased grunt before he lifted himself from the floor and stood, ready to leave. “Now then, is there anything else you need before I go to bed, Khaled?”

A hesitant silence. “No, but I-I’m sorry. Really.”

“I know,” he answered, his tone sincere. “Goodnight, Khaled.” Khaled flopped back onto the bed, face to the wall as he heard the door close gently behind him. What was that? He wondered. In the whole year that I’ve been here, he’s never been that gentle with me. Was that even the same man?He didn’t hear the faint click of the lock this time. In any other circumstance, this would give him hope, but at this point, the hope had been burnt out of him through the soles of his feet.

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter

#throwing in a bit of carewhumper in the end #whump #whump writing #whumpee #whumper #tw minor whump #slavery whump #tw noncon bodymod #tw burning #carewhumper #failed escape attempt #no beta we die like my protestant upbringing

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whump-tr0pes · 3 years

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Honor Bound 6 - 9

This is a series. Start here. Continued from here.

This is a sequel to Honor Bound, Honor Bound 2, Honor Bound 3, Honor Bound 4, Honor Bound 5, and the prequel Vera.

AO3

Content warning: post-rescue, referenced starvation, scars, referenced attempted murder, noncon body mod, referenced nonsexual noncon nudity, PTSD, referenced noncon (that didn’t happen), self-blame, flashbacks, hallucinations, unsure of reality

For those of you who pointed out I forgot about Zelda in the last chapter with Vera... thank you!!

There was a sense of warmth to the light in the bathroom. Gavin could almost feel it on his skin like the brush of a breath, like the sun on his face. It was nothing like the cold light in the basement. Nothing. Even as his head felt both too heavy and too light at the same time, even as his stomach adjusted to the feeling of being full, he felt the light pressing into his eyes and felt real.

He felt safe.

He could still taste what he’d eaten for dinner, savory and sweet and sour, peanut sauce and chicken and noodles swirling together in what may have been the best thing he’d ever tasted. He’d only been able to finish half before he’d sat back, feeling almost too full to move. But Gray said that might happen. Gray said it might take some time for his stomach to get used to eating enough.

He met his own eyes in the mirror. There were dark circles marking the skin beneath them, and the shadow of a bruise on his left cheek where Schiester had struck him as he dragged him to the gallows. His lip was split at the corner of his mouth. He pressed his tongue to the spot and winced at the burst of pain and the coppery taste. The scars on his face were carved deep, now, puckering the skin around them on the bridge of his nose, across his left cheek, and from the corner of his left eye to the hairline at his temple. The lines were reddish, almost purple, like they had been when they were fresh. It had taken three surgeries with the best surgeons in his parents’ region to make the skin lay flat, before. His face would look like this forever now. He was marked like this forever.

His gaze dropped to his neck, to the ring of worn, weeping skin where the collar had rested. There were spots where the skin had been rubbed raw from the constant pressure, from Schiester dragging him into place and holding him down while he hurt him. Gavin bit down hard on his lip as he tried to look away from the marks there. As he did, his fingers brushed the scars on his right forearm.

Stormbeck.

He shivered.

“You ready?” Vera croaked behind him. He jumped.

“Y-yeah,” he murmured, turning to look at her. She was staring off to the side, her eyes unfocused – as if she couldn’t make herself look right at him. His throat tightened, and he raised one hand to run through his hair. It still smelled like the family’s shampoo. He let the scent wash over him, calming the rapid thrum of his heart. “Yeah, Vera.”

“Good,” she rasped. She stepped forward and plugged the sink, then grabbed the electric trimmer from the counter. “Um. Are you good to, um…” She blinked, and her throat bobbed. “You good if…”

“I can bend over the sink,” Gavin said softly. “That’s… th-that’s fine.”

Vera raised her eyes to his for the first time since…

She’s not a monster. She’s not going to hurt me.

“O-okay,” she whispered, nodding jerkily. “Good.”

“Vera,” Gavin murmured, and reached out to take her wrist. Her gaze flicked down to the scars on his forearm. She shivered and looked away. “I’m not… Whatever it is you’re thinking right now, I… I didn’t have to… He never…” Gavin blew out a shaking breath.

Schiester never bent me over anything. Even though I—

Gavin winced at the thought that followed: even though I deserved it.

But he did. Every moment of what happened was recompense, come too late to save any of the twenty-three lives he’d ended before he ever met Isaac.

Vera chewed the inside of her cheek and nodded again. “M’kay,” she murmured, her gaze faraway. “Good.”

She reached for a spacer and slid it onto the blade. Her hands were shaking. Gavin closed his eyes and leaned over the sink, bracing his elbows on the counter. He shivered at the cold ceramic against his forearms. Bent over like this, the collar of his shirt brushed against his face, and he caught Isaac’s scent with his next breath. The trimmer switched on.

“You still sure you’re okay with this?” Vera said, her voice oddly distant. “I mean…”

“Yeah,” Gavin murmured against the counter. “I don’t… I don’t want to look like… him.”

There was a long silence. The only sound in the bathroom was the sound of the trimmer, and the sound of Gavin’s breaths against the counter. Then, a cool hand settled on the back of his neck, and the spacer touched down a moment later.

Gavin jerked. There was an electric razor against the back of his head, his hands were tied behind him, he was naked and on his knees on the linoleum washroom in Schiester’s basement. One of Schiester’s men was holding the razor to his head – “he used to cut hair, in his previous life,” Schiester would say, “back before your family destroyed everything good about the world” – and every now and then Alvarado would look at the picture Schiester was holding up for reference, a picture that Schiester would force Gavin to look at while whispering in his ear, “that’s your father, that’s the man who destroyed my life, that’s the man you are, and you’re going to die when I’m finished with you, you’re going to die, you’re going to die, Stormbeck—”

“Gavin?”

Vera’s voice.

Gavin sobbed weakly, trembling, his knees pressing against the tiles of the bathroom. His wrists burned like they were tied. He shuddered and wrapped his arms around himself, blinking tears out of his eyes. Vera’s gentle hands settled on either side of his face and eased his head up so she could look at him.

“Gavin,” she said again. “Gavin Uriah. You’re okay.”

Gavin’s heart pounded against his ribs and his lungs burned with every inhale. He reached out and grabbed at her wrists. She released him but his grip tightened, and she hesitantly cupped his face again. Gavin’s gaze darted around the small bathroom as he gasped.

“V-Vera…”

“Do you need me to get Isaac?” she said evenly.

Yes.

No.

Gavin wet his lips and forced himself to take a breath. “N-no,” he wheezed. “I don’t…” He swallowed hard. His neck felt so strange without the collar. “I d-don’t want him… seeing this. Please, Vera, don’t… I c-can’t hurt him, he… he hurts when, um, wh-when I hurt.”

Vera sat back on her heels and brushed Gavin’s tears away with her thumbs. “Yeah,” she croaked. “He does.”

“I…” Gavin dragged in another slow breath. The room wobbled around him and his eyes darted around the bathroom. No hose in the corner. No cold white light above him. No rope on his wrists, no knife at his throat, no men holding him down, no collar on his neck, no icy blue gaze on him.

Safe, like Isaac said. Safe.

Gavin cleared his throat. “Um…” He gripped the counter and dragged himself to his feet. His legs were shaking so hard he could barely stand. Vera staggered to her feet beside him. “M-makes me think of, um… of… him… cutting my hair, and…”

“Shit,” Vera breathed. “I mean, I can… I can try and do it with scissors, I’m shit at it, I mean… you’ve seen Sam’s hair when we’re on the run…” She huffed out a laugh. It sounded forced.

Gavin shook his head. “N-no,” he murmured. “I… I mean, that’s going to… feel similar, too. And I can’t…” He shook his head. “I can’t just… n-not have a haircut ever again, I…” He raised his gaze and met Vera’s eyes. “Please,” he whispered. She blurred with his tears. “Please. I don’t want to l-look like him.”

Vera’s mouth twisted. “Yeah,” she said heavily. “I don’t particularly want you to look like him, either.”

It felt so unreal, the half-hearted laugh that bubbled in Gavin’s chest. Everything felt real, and unreal, a dream and a memory and a thing that was actually happening, all at once. Shaking, he pushed out a breath and bent over the sink once again.

“Just talk to me,” he murmured. “Just… just t-talk to me. I want to hear you.”

“Yeah,” Vera said gently. “Can do, Uriah.”

Heat bloomed in Gavin’s chest at the name. The trimmer switched on again. He drew in a deep breath through his nose.

“I’m gonna talk about my puppy, because I’m fucking obsessed with her,” Vera said. Gavin could hear the smile in her voice. This time, when the spacer touched the back of his head, he latched onto her voice, let it pull him out of the memories that threatened to suck him in. He kept his eyes open, staring into the sink. The white porcelain reflected the warm light above him. His fingers gripped the counter like he would go tumbling off a cliff if he let go.

“So her name is Zelda,” Vera said, her voice sounding a little stronger. She drew the trimmer up the back of Gavin’s head. He shivered with the sound, the sensation. He clenched his jaw and forced himself to hold still.

“Y-yeah?” he croaked. His fingers ached from clutching the counter.

“Yeah,” she said. “She’s a German shepherd. I got her from someone east of the farmhouse in this place called Eden. This lady breeds shepherds as like… her job.” Another pass of the trimmer across the back of his head. “She breeds them specifically to avoid their hip problems, and for temperament. I told her I wanted a chill dog, but I’ll probably still train her to guard the place.”

“That sounds nice,” Gavin said. His throat still felt raw from screaming, even after—

He wasn’t entirely sure how long it had been since he’d been dragged from the basement.

If I’m not still there—

NO.

“Yeah,” Vera said with a chuckle. “She’s at home right now. I figured dinner might be a little much for you, and I didn’t want to add to that with a crazy puppy.”

“Dinner was good,” Gavin said weakly. “It was… it was good to see everyone.”

“Everyone was glad to see you, too,” Vera murmured. “I mean…”

“Edrissa doesn’t have to be happy to see me,” Gavin said. The trimmer paused in its path across the top of his head. Locks of his dark brown hair lay in the sink. “She doesn’t.”

Vera drew in a deep breath and let it out. The trimmer moved slowly across his hairline. He lifted his head to give Vera easier access. As he did, he felt the cold press of her teeth against his neck, the white-hot agony as she tore through his throat, the pulse of blood on his skin as he fed on his flesh. He shuddered and whined softly.

“I’m… I’m sorry she couldn’t make it tonight,” Vera said. “She—”

“It’s… not that,” Gavin gasped. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “Ahh…” Sharp teeth flashed at him in the dark and his eyes flew open.

“Hey,” Vera said, placing a hand on his shoulder and gently pushing him up. “We can—”

“I just want to finish this,” Gavin rasped. He stayed bent over the sink. His breath riffled the short, single bits of hair on the porcelain. “Please, Vera.”

Please.

Everything he was feeling, felt like memories. They didn’t feel like hallucinations. There were no cold blue eyes watching him.

This was real. It had to be real, or else…

There was a long pause. Then, the gentle touch of the trimmer against his temple again. “Alright,” Vera murmured. “I’m almost done anyway.” She drew the trimmer across his forehead, down the other temple, around his ear. Back and forth across his head, sending showers of tiny bits of hair into the sink. Gavin scratched at an itch behind his ear. Vera did one more pass with the trimmer and then shut it off. Gavin looked into the sink, breathing slowly.

“Gavin?” Vera murmured. “You… you still with me?”

“Yeah,” Gavin murmured. “I’m… I’m here.” He half-stood, until Vera placed a hand on his shoulder again.

“Hang on,” she murmured. She gathered the clumps of Gavin’s hair from the sink and pitched them in the trash can. “Just a second. You don’t want bits of hair all over you, believe me.”

“I know,” Gavin mumbled. He remembered all too well the incessant itching after the first haircut, how Schiester had laughed – and how Schiester had decided that from now on he’d have Gavin’s hair cut in the room where he was washed, naked and freezing and ready for the hose when he was done. Gavin shivered as Vera turned on the tap and guided him closer to the sink until his head was level with the stream of water.

“Just real quick,” Vera murmured. “Just to get all the hair off.” She poured a handful of water over the back of Gavin’s head and gently scrubbed. “Yeah, there was still quite a bit left.”

Gavin forced himself to stop gripping the counter. He reached up, too, and scrubbed his head under the tap. He flinched when a stream of water rolled from his forehead and down his nose.

“I think that’s probably good,” Vera said, and shut the tap off. She gently eased him up. “Here…” As he stood upright, she wrapped his head in a towel and scrubbed at his short, wet hair. She pulled the towel away and dropped it to the floor.

Gavin felt a wrenching sensation in his chest as he looked at himself in the mirror. He looked so… young. He looked years younger than when he’d been taken, even with the bags under his eyes, with the sallow tone of his skin. He reached up and ran his fingers through the short, soft hair. His gaze wandered over himself and he took a deep breath.

“I… d-don’t look like him anymore,” he murmured. His eyes smarted.

“Nope,” Vera said, popping, the p. She shivered and rubbed his shoulder. “No. You don’t.” Her lips quirked a bitter smile. “Now I can look at you. Thank god for that.”

Gavin nodded absentmindedly as he ran his hand through his hair, short enough to almost be fuzz. The scar on his forearm caught his eye and he dropped his arm. He shifted his eyes down and swallowed hard.

“Ready to go join the others?” Vera said gently. “I know they’ll want to see the new haircut, too.” This time, when she smiled, it was easier, brighter. Her shoulders weren’t so tense and pulled up to her ears. Her hands weren’t shaking as much.

Gavin chewed his lip and sank down, sitting on the edge of the bathtub. “Not, um…” He cleared his throat. His skin ached for Isaac’s touch, and the thought of seeing Gray and Sam made his eyes brim with tears, but… he just needed a moment.

He needed to look at himself and see someone who wasn’t his father. He raised his gaze to the mirror again. He could only see his face; the rest of his body was cut off by the bottom of the mirror. His throat tightened.

“Okay,” Vera murmured. “Well… okay.” She turned towards the doorway, then paused, turning back. “You… you want the door open, or closed?”

“Open is fine,” Gavin murmured, his hand drifting up to feel the divots of the scars on his face. The scars Schiester had torn open again – after Isaac put them there, more than a year ago now.

Vera nodded once. “Okay. Come join us when you’re ready. We’re all…” Her eyes swam with tears. She pressed her hand to her chest as she swallowed hard once, twice. “We’re all really happy to see you.” Her voice was ragged.

Gavin wrapped his arms around his chest and nodded. “Th-thanks, Vera.”

Vera chewed her lip, then turned to go. She went around the corner to the living room at the front of the house, where Gavin could hear quiet conversation, the occasional burst of tight, tense laughter.

Gavin slumped forward and pressed his face into his hands. His eyes burned with tears that would not fall. He scratched at the needle marks on the inside of his elbow, his other hand pressing into his eyes, smearing his tears across his face. It felt real.

It all felt real.

Gavin drew in a deep breath and raised his head. Standing in the doorway to the bathroom was a figure – something that looked just like Edrissa.

Slowly, he sat up straight, understanding crashing bright and powerful through his blood. Her clear, ice-blue eyes bored into him, her mouth twisted in hate. Her pale blond hair was pulled back away from her ghostly-white face. His gaze flicked to the knife held tight in her hand.

He couldn’t catch the sob before it made its way out of his chest. The tears finally fell, streaming down his cheeks like blood.

I knew it. I knew it.

Gavin reached up to pull at his hair, clenching his teeth so hard his jaw hurt. The short strands slipped through his fingers. Dread slid into his heart, dull and slippery. Right on its heels was despair. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, never taking his eyes off the specter in the doorway that peered at him with cold blue eyes.

“H-hey, Schiester,” he croaked. “You… you really had me going on this one.” This time, he couldn’t muffle his sob as the specter stepped fully into the bathroom and closed the door behind it.

Continued here

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