mermay hair care ✨ (click on image for better quality lol)
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Aeonian | ice
Here’s where Ezra’s present day story begins, with his introduction into Phoenix’s village. It’s where she first sees him, though he doesn’t see her until later (yesterday’s piece) because he had his eyes closed.
Whumpay 2021 Day 4: Ice / Fire
warnings: hypothermia (probably), nonsexual nudity, execution mention (doesn't happen tho)
Phoenix was wandering aimlessly through town when she saw a crowd gathered around the gallows platform. Her heart skipped a beat at the thought of an execution, but she saw no one hanging from a rope and no one chained to a post awaiting one. The proper authorities weren’t anywhere to be found, so Phoenix figured it had to be something else causing a fuss.
She moved closer into the crowd, having to elbow and push her way through to get to the center. There she found a young man, beautiful and cold. He wasn’t bound or chained like a criminal, but soaking wet and shivering. His lips were blue and his skin was tinged the same color, and even in this hot sun he shook so violently it must have been painful.
He was quite good-looking, if Phoenix was going to point out—but she wasn’t, at least not out loud. Long dark hair draped over the man’s shoulders and stuck to his face and neck as shadowy tendrils. His eyes opened and closed slowly, squinted, then shut tight as if the light hurt them. Phoenix saw they held irises nearly as dark as his hair, a deep and haunted blue.
He was about her age, perhaps a few years older, though she couldn’t tell with how emaciated his form was. He was nothing but bone, comprised entirely of sharp angles and harsh ridges. He wrapped his arms around himself and drew his knees into his chest, and Phoenix realized, he was also completely naked.
A small gasp escaped her and she looked away, even though his position so curled in on himself gave away nothing. It just didn’t seem right to stare.
But then again, if he was out here, starving and soaked and freezing cold, why was everyone gaping instead of offering aid? Not even a cloth to cover himself with? She wasn’t so naïve as to think everyone had a pure heart that would help an unfortunate stranger, but usually those sorts just up and walked away. They didn’t linger, motionless, watching. Waiting for something to happen.
“What’s going on?” she whispered to the woman standing next to her.
The woman leaned in and darted a glance from Phoenix to the man and back. “They say some adventurers brought in a block of ice with a body frozen inside, but when it thawed, he just…woke up.”
Phoenix raised a brow. That sounded unlikely. Then again, she didn’t know too much about magic or adventuring. She was just a simple seamstress, never even having left this small village before.
The woman was about to say something more when another interjected before she could.
“I saw it happen! Me and Willy were coming back from the baker’s and saw the adventurers carrying in the ice,” the girl said, eyes wide with excitement. “We stayed to watch and soon enough, it all melted away and just left a body. But not a body.”
The girl’s eyes shifted to the shivering figure on the ground. “He started shaking and coughing and sat up, not dead at all!”
The older woman, the first that had spoken, clucked her tongue. “Unnatural thing. Those adventurers, bringing demons into our town.”
Phoenix regarded the shivering man. He wrapped his arms around his thin shoulders, burying his face close to his chest. Curled into a ball and trembling, he didn’t seem anything like a demon.
Ezra knew the cold. Knew he’d been cold, been freezing, more so than any human would ever be able to stand. But of course he could stand it—at least, his body could. He’d never die from it. His eyelids were stuck together and his limbs wouldn’t cooperate with what he told them to do, he couldn’t move couldn’t think couldn’t see—
But he was alive.
He was alive, again, after having been frozen to death.
Not death, he reminded himself. Never that.
He lay there for an indeterminate length, time a foreign concept to him now. He had no idea where he was or how much of a vulnerable position he was in, considering he was just sprawled out on the ground like a newborn fawn. Worse than that, because he couldn’t even see if there was anyone nearby coming to attack him. It didn’t matter, that, but he would have liked to avoid getting stabbed in the chest or kicked or beaten. Just this once.
He wasn’t, though, and if anyone was there, they left him alone.
He was so cold. He felt himself shaking but couldn’t move beyond that, couldn’t even wrap his arms around himself. He had no clothes by which to cover himself with and was left exposed to the elements, which he couldn’t even discern. What season was it? What year was it?
Hours may have gone by. He wasn’t sure. When he finally regained enough strength to force his eyes open, they crackled with the release of shattered ice crystals. He pitched forward, his body flying upward as he found himself wracked with coughs. The fit rattled his insides and sent an ache through his whole body, but at least nothing was broken and no one had hurt him yet.
He wrapped his arms around himself and drew his knees in close to his chest, trying to make himself as small as possible to generate what little body heat he could. It wasn’t going to help, he knew, because in this cold he didn’t think he’d ever be warm again.
His limbs ached something fierce, his throat raw and ragged, and he could barely move his fingers and toes. Soaked and coughing weakly, all he could do was lie there like a useless wet rag.
After a while, the crowd cleared, having grown bored of watching the undead man shiver and do nothing else but cough and groan. He barely moved, and Phoenix had the feeling he couldn’t, and she had no idea if he heard the commotion around him and was just tuning it out, or if he had no sense of his situation at all. This was all foreign to her, but she found it not as frightening as she would have thought.
The man didn’t look like some ancient evil. He looked like someone wet and shivering and sick. He kept his eyes closed tight, his body wound even tighter. It had to be exhausting on top of the cold, to shake continuously for hours on end.
No one had offered him anything to help warm up.
Phoenix heard the town officials would be coming shortly after having received the reports of the adventurers, and she didn’t want to interfere in their business, but she also couldn’t just leave like him this. The man clearly needed help. Undead ancient being or not, he’d just woken up after having been frozen in solid ice. Hopefully the town officials would give him some proper aid once they came, but for now, Phoenix was all the man had.
She left and came back to the gallows. The man was sitting in the same spot on the wooden platform he’d been unceremoniously abandoned on, so she settled a blanket over his shoulders. His eyes remained closed the entire time and didn’t open, but Phoenix was okay with that as long as she could help a little.
Ezra heard voices in the distance, but they felt like they came from underwater. Technically, with all the water in his ears, they kind of did.
Demon, they called him. He wanted to smile and bite, telling them how wrong they were, how right they were, but all he could do was curl up and quiver. He hated this weakness, hated how pathetic he was in this state where he couldn’t run from the crowds and only suffer their stares and their jeers. He closed his eyes and kept them closed, blocking out the sounds and everything else.
He just had to heal. Then he could run away…somewhere. He just had to stop being so damnably cold.
After what seemed like an eternity later, even to an immortal like him, something soft and warm was draped over his shoulders and wrapped around his body and finally, he was able to breathe and be still.
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happy mermay everyone, have some lesbian mermaids
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If you're still doing these, how about alamort from the prompt list?
alamort (adj) : half- dead of exhaustion
CW: Blood, trauma response, memory loss/traumatic memory recovery, callous talk of murder, nonsexual nudity, pet whump references, guilt, referenced stabbing
Jake Gets Fucking Stabbed: One Two Three Four Five
The water went cold a while ago, but Antoni hasn’t moved. The chill of the porcelain along his lower back soothes the itching, aching burn scars underneath, the icy blast of the shower raining down on his locks his muscles into a constant teeth-chattering shiver, but it feels good.
It feels so good
It feels like what he deserves.
“How did you fuck up this badly?” Artyom asks, snapping the words in Russian as he cleans the wounds down his little brother’s arm. Misha won’t look at him, all gangly teenage elbows and knees. “Huh? What am I supposed to tell Mama if this happens again?”
“It won’t,” Misha mumbles, sullen, looking off to the side and not anywhere near him. “I’ll figure it out. Anyway, he’s not going to tell anyone, so it doesn’t matter, does it?”
“Doesn’t it?” Artyom reaches up, gripping Misha’s chin, leaving a smear of red blood along the line of his jaw as he forces his brother’s eyes to meet his own. “Did you wear gloves, Misha? At least did you do that?”
Misha doesn’t answer, but Artyom knows what the lack of answer really means, and groans, letting go and sort of throwing Misha’s head to the side at the same moment with his frustration. “Misha! We talked about this!”
“Well, it’s not like I’ve done it before,” Misha says, still in that sulky mutter. “And i was by myself, you didn’t exactly help.”
“I’m not going to help you kill people!” Artyom wraps the bandages over Misha’s arm so viciously his little brother hisses at the pain. “I am no killer, Misha. And I’m not going to be one just for you.”
“Fine. We’ll see how Mama feels when I’m in prison and you have to tell her it’s because you wouldn’t help me.”
Artyom takes a breath, lets it out. Closes his eyes. There’s already a headache throbbing in his temples. “Misha... fine. Where did you leave the body?”
Maybe they can find it before the police do.
There’s red on his palms, even as the rest of his skin is clammy and pale from the water. Red on his palms and in the burns he is covered with, beginning at his wrists and covering every inch of his torso and back. Burns he earned, burns he took to make up for the crimes he was a part of.
Antoni shudders, scrubbing at the inside of his left hand, but the red gets worse, if anything. So much blood on his hands, and it won’t come off. It just stays there, a stubborn stain a decade old or more. All of the others, those were only the avalanche, but the first body is the shout that brought down the snow.
Antoni is a collection of rotted bodies and hidden bones, he is all the things he did not stop, he is all the ways he helped hide evil from the light.
Jake’s blood had run from him first, when the shower water was still hot, when it scalded his skin until he could barely breathe for the pain. Jake’s blood had swirled pinkish in the water, gone down the drain and disappeared. Jake’s blood had been worthwhile to carry, to wear on himself. That had been saving a life, but the bloodstains left everywhere else are from lives taken.
He stares at the scar on the inside of his left wrist, where he and Chris had their barcodes removed together. It’s pale, a shimmer of skin that isn’t quite the same as the skin that surrounds it. No burns, but he is struck with a sudden urge to find Mr. Davies and ask for one.
Mark me this way, how you marked all my other sins.
He shudders, lets out a choked-off sob that even he can barely hear over the water.
He was a pet for a reason, he was a pet because of what he’d done, but he hadn’t known. He hadn’t known what he did to deserve it. He had suspected but he hadn’t known, he hadn’t-
He knows now.
He could fall asleep here, the unlocking of a whole life inside his mind leaves him half-dead from the exhaustion and guilt, but he can’t sleep. He can’t stop. Not until the blood is gone.
It won’t come out.
“Tyoma!” Misha catches him in a hug, and the two of them laugh. “I missed you!”
“Missed you, too, Misha.” The airport is a busy hum around them, but Artyom has eyes only for his little brother, as always. ‘Mama is waiting at home. How was everyone?”
“Good!” Misha glances side to side, and then leans in to whisper against Artyom’s ear. “I did one there, in Russia, Tyoma. Just one.”
Artyom felt a bit of ice in his heart, lodged there unmelting, a pain he can’t dig out. “Misha, you promised-”
“I couldn’t help it. What are they going to do, Tyoma, track me from thousands of miles?” Misha laughs, and pulls away, and Tyoma follows him, taller and older but endlessly lost in the circle of Misha’s life, endlessly bound to the results of his choices, endlessly putting his small, once-sickly little brother first.
Artyom spends the next few months waiting for a call that never comes.
Antoni hears voices outside the bathroom door, muffled but shouting, and he puts his hands over his ears to block them out. Maybe this is it, the end of the life he worked so hard to build, the end of the life of caring for one family because the ghosts of the other will no longer allow him to rest.
He has to turn the water off eventually.
His hand shakes almost too badly to manage it.
Even after it stops, he sits, shivering and dripping and naked in the bathtub. He can’t remember how to stand up to go get a towel. He can’t remember where the towels are. He can’t remember where he is, only the list of deaths that linger on his back, in his mind.
He tastes bitter and salt on his tongue, and starts to cry, holding himself in the tub. Every inch of his skin is burning, every round circle a brand new flame pressed there, Mr. Davies’s voice impassive and soft against his ear.
You deserve this, love.
“I kn-know,” Antoni chokes out, his voice low and broken. “I know, I know, I know...”
You deserve to suffer for what you’ve done, and everyone you ever touch will suffer, too.
Antoni thinks of Jake, bleeding out onto the kitchen floor, screaming as Antoni packed his wound, crying out for his mother.
They always cry for their mothers, while Misha-
Antoni can’t let the thought finish.
Desperate for something that will hurt him the way he deserves to be hurt, he lets Mr. Davies back into his heart, his mind, his body, and remembers his heavy hands in Antoni’s hair, the loathing in his British lilt.
You deserve this, my pretty little ashtray, this and far, far, far worse than I could ever give you.
Antoni rubs at his hands but the red stain there won’t ever come out. He sobs over the blood on his hands and whispers, to the voice in his mind, “I know.”
@astrobly @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @whump-tr0pes @raigash @moose-teeth @orchidscript @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @eatyourdamnpears @boxboysandotherwhump @whumptywhumpdump @whumpfigure @outofangband @downriver914 @justabitofwhump @thehopelessopus @butwhatifyouwrite @yet-another-heathen @nonsensical-whump @newandfiguringitout @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whumpiary @endless-whump
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E&T Atonement AU-Let’s Have A Look
Hee hoo I’m a cruel bitch
Erebus & Terror Masterlist
Ingredients (hoo fucking boy): noncon stripping/nudity (unsexy and not really described), muzzled, manhandling, noncon touching (unsexy but there is A Lot), Big dehumanization/objectification, needles/blood draw, mentions of human trafficking (holy FUCK I hope I got everything)
They pulled him out of bed while he was sleeping, ripping off all of his clothes before he had even fully woken up. A strip of cloth was tied around his eyes, a muzzle forced between his teeth, and away they went. Their tight grip on his arms meant he couldn’t even try to cover himself as he was dragged through the halls. When they stopped, his wrists were chained to something on either side of him, arms pulled taunt, leaving him completely exposed for who knows how many pairs of eyes. His ankles were chained down too, and a leash attached to his collar was anchored to some point above his head, forcing him to stand up straight.
And then came the hands.
So, so many hands descended on him, touching him all over simultaneously. He could feel fingers tracing along every one of his scars, pulling and poking at every part of his exposed body. He clenched his teeth around the bit of the muzzle, eyes screwed shut behind the blindfold. They were talking, talking about him, but just as a physical thing, as an object, as a test subject. They remarked on his arm, his brand, on the prominent vivisection scar, on things they’d like to do to him.
And Neteri, oh she was there, she was letting this happen. Before, she’d hardly allowed anyone to even touch him, but now she was showing him off, letting them put their hands wherever they wanted, as long as they were gentle. She answered their questions, she pointed things out on him, and he shuddered at the jab of her finger. One of them asked for a sample of his hair, and she agreed, letting them grab a fistful and chop it off. Another asked for blood, and she drew it, jabbing him with a needle without warning. A third asked to buy him, going so far as to name a price, but she said he wasn’t for sale.
Though perhaps, someday, he could be rented out.
He was endlessly grateful when they finally left, and he was taken away and left alone in his cell again. He ripped off the tear-soaked blindfold with shaking hands and stumbled into the bathroom, sitting down under the spray of the little rainstorm before the water had even gotten warm. He curled up and tried his best to forget the feeling of hands touching him everywhere, the humiliation of being completely naked in front of them save for a collar and muzzle, the sheer objectification of being discussed like he was just something for them to study and run tests on. His hands curled in his hair, the random patch that had been cut off all too apparent.
At least now, the water was warm enough that he couldn’t tell it apart from his tears.
Tags: @dramaticcollapse @thehopelessopus @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @galaxywhump @as-a-matter-of-whump @mnmlover2002 @tears-and-lilies @yet-another-heathen @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @starnight-whump @unicornscotty @thebewilderer @kixngiggles @itallstartedwithharry
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hey sexy *mauls you*
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wip dont rt ! transmasc lesbian franziska <3
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Those Sunday Evenings
c.w. post-whipping, non-sexual nudity, being cuffed to a bed post, military whump, intimidation and abuse of power
It took a slim ray of sun striking between Emir’s eyes to wake him.
As he drew in his first full breath, his eyelashes fluttered, giving the mattress in front of him shape. Only a moment later did he become aware of the raw ache in his bare back and he gasped, breathing in the rough fibres of the blanket all at once. His body shook with a sneeze and as his hands went to shield the blanket, there only came an awful jerk and click.
Emir tugged again as his heart sank. Another click, reassuring that both his wrists were cuffed in place to the bedpost.
A rough voice pierced from behind. “Awake already I see.”
Emir jerked up and tried his best to turn around but could only manage to crane his neck far enough back to see what he assumed to be the General’s coat - a dull blue, almost entirely washed out. Is this what they think dresses the higher ranks well? The sardonic thought passed in a flash and he turned almost immediately, wary that the General may have read the insult in his eyes.
“Not even good morning?” Levkin leaned and set a hand on Emir’s shoulder, laughing deep in his throat when he tensed and shifted against the cuffs on cue. “Do not worry, I am not here to hurt you again. Only to let you out for now.”
The For now brought Emir’s fear rushing back as soon as it settled.
Levkin could have noticed the change in breathing, and if he did it would have only delighted him further. Keeping his promise, he grabbed Emir’s cuffs and unlocked them with two, three frustrated tugs when the gadget didn’t give immediately. Emir thought he heard him mutter “Piece of shit” under his breath as he undid them and threw them aside.
Emir could have laughed and quipped about Soviet equipment if his position wasn’t nearly as precarious.
“... If-... if I may be so bold, General,” Emir started, taking a second to gingerly rub over the red marks settled in his wrists, and cautious with his tone, “how long am I to?-”
A snapping interruption from the man came as if second nature. “Did you have your ears plugged when I told you? I said the barracks, boy.”
Emir gulped, regretting he hadn’t thought over the question before going ahead. It had always been a weakness, his mouth. Unless he wanted a repeat of the previous night where the whip had done away for close to half a merciless hour, skin bruised and hurting in stripes where each one felt like dull fire even now, he felt the ever increasing need to be cautious, cautious, cautious. The General had a temper, and one that he wouldn’t be able to tell from his face.
His face never changed.
“My apologies, sir,” he returned.
He kept his eyes down as he stood and it was then that he fully realized just how bare he was, with his shirt gone and his pants only hanging off his hips. His face ignited with humiliation as he spun away. the resounding chuckles from the General making him want to sink further into the floor more than he had ever wanted to before.
Uncharacteristically, Levkin seemed to pity him for his state and grunted before handing him back a crumpled jacket that hung loosely from his thumb. Emir close to snatched it and slipped it on all at once, fumbling with the buttons and belt rapidly. That was when he noticed that two uniformed men were peaking through the door of the bedroom, one of whom had his arms tucked into the small of his back.
Pinned between all three, Emir’s breathing went shallower.
Levkin looked over to the corner that had caught Emir’s eye. “These two will be escorting you to the barracks. You will be issued your uniforms and then given further instructions.” He paused for a moment, letting Emir compose himself after the embarrassment and absorb the information again. “And once again, soldier…”
Emir glanced up, suddenly unsettled by how his voice sunk.
“You are under the Red Star. Krasnaya Zvezda. Is this understood?” He stepped forward, that same icy look swallowing his face whole so totally that Emir’s answer was spelled out before him. Each letter clear as day in those furrowed brows and icicle eyes tucked beneath them that held him in place. The General’s voice was thick with pride and order. “I want no problems from you, soldier, if you are even dignified of that title.”
Emir tensed at that final hiss. “Yes, sir. Yes-... I- I understand.” He couldn’t tell if Levkin had beckoned in the men standing at the door already but they were entering and heading for him, both a good foot taller than himself-both with batons. His fingers curled into his fists, catching sight of them and a phantom pain shot through his ribs at the crawling memory of the guard with the hunch.
“Don’t think they will ever save you.” That guard had told him and he hadn’t believed it at first.
He was led out of the bedroom, through the home, and outside where snow lightly drifted through the sky, the soundless kind he liked to watch sometimes with a sahlab on the window sill from which he would take little spoonfuls. His sisters in the background would often quarrel over who’s had more seeds. It would always be early evening, similar to this one.
Similar and not at all the same. Those Sunday evenings.
Emir ducked his head to climb into the backseat of the car with one of the men, not caring to make a distinction as they looked close to identical. They didn’t speak for much of the drive and for that, he was deeply grateful. He could watch the snow in silence, ignoring the quiet rumble of the engine.
Somewhere halfway through the trip, he felt that one of the men’s breathing had changed direction and particularly in his own. Though each second that he compelled himself to ignore it, his nerves ground together more and more until he eventually glanced back and met the man.
He was curiously peeking down through the shadow of the black ushanka and his eyes didn’t seem… as hard anymore. Although granted, he hadn’t looked at them even in Levkin’s house. Neither of them.
“A soldier in that house personally invited by Stas, no less?” he asked with a hint of a smirk. His voice was modulated albeit heavy with an accent and in an undertone, as if he didn’t want the driver to hear. “How did that happen, huh soldier?”
Emir looked from his fur hat to the window behind him, the passing trees and how they blurred together so familiarly on the path, just as they had on those Sunday evenings. Almost forgot to answer the question, lost in the trance of the rushing trees.
“Not a soldier,” he responded honestly and upon seeing the curious prick of his eyebrows, probably at his own accent, added in a softer tone. “Just an-... an addition.”
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The darkest fic I've ever read, but it was a good read and has a happy ending. I usually avoid angst but this was done really well.
The Longest Night - P_Artsypants
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some ren hang studies while i work on other ren hang inspired stuff
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when was the last time i dropped art here again?
here, look at this boring study i did for uni
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Around the Fur
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1.5 - Report
I took a break from tumblr for over a month, but I’m back now! I wrote the next chapter, where we see Coral get whumped 😊 Note: Even though I’m calling Coral a girl, she’s also an adult.
Content Warnings: Conditioned whumpee’s previous self harm referenced in detail, nonsexual partial top nudity (bra is still on), cuts and blood, institutionalized slavery, whumper pov
@lektricwhump @comfy-whumpee @cupcakes-and-pain @twothirdswoke @getyourwhumphere @simplygrimly
Io practically melted in satisfaction.
“Mmmmm. Coral, you just made the best french toast I’ve ever eaten.”
Coral tucked her hair behind her ear and looked down, smiling shyly.
“Thank you, Master.”
“Where did you learn how to make this?” Io asked before they could catch themself.
Coral’s smile vanished. Her eyes took on that faraway look that Io had become familiar with, because Io had lived with Coral for a few days now.
“I-I learned from when I was with my previous master, another one of his pets was, was the cook, and they taught me how to make meals.”
“Cool. Again, you did an amazing job.”
Coral smiled and nodded, bobbing away from the countertop where Io sat on a stool. Coral turned to the sink, tidying up the kitchen. Again.
The entire place was spotless. Dishes didn’t pile up in the sink anymore. The floors were polished, the carpets were cleaned and vacuumed. Io’s entire apartment had a fresh, clean feel.
And Io didn’t have to lift a finger or pay for anything!
They felt guilty, but they kind of liked it.
After Io finished their breakfast and got ready for work, they gave Coral an I-need-to-leave-now-and-I-want-you-to-know-that-you-are-loved hug. This was the third day of Io having Coral in their apartment. Io had to leave for work yesterday, and felt bad about leaving her behind with nothing to do besides clean. Io knew that pets were supposed to enjoy cleaning, but they still felt bad about leaving Coral alone all day.
“While I’m at work,” Io said when they pulled away about a minute later, “I want you to go out on the balcony again. Sit outside for at least an hour. Or stand if you want, just as long as you’re outside looking at the city and breathing in the fresh air. Don’t clean the entire time, feel free to relax!”
Coral smiled at them, and they smiled back.
Io left for work.
The front door opened while Coral was dusting the dustless TV. She jumped, then headed for the door. Had Master come back already?
Coral knelt in respect when she saw the newcomer.
Miss Nicole closed the door behind her and locked the deadbolt. She looked down at the pet, gaze sharp and accessing.
“You were right Miss Nicole, Master is inexperienced with owning a pet.” Coral felt bad about using a negative word like “inexperienced” to describe Master. Miss Nicole said that it was ok to bypass pet rules in this scenario, because Miss Nicole’s plan would only benefit Master in the end. “On the first day, they said they didn’t want to do my punishment… so I did it myself.”
Miss Nicole hummed, pleased.
“How did you do it?”
Coral rolled up her sleeves and showed Miss Nicole her arms.
“Master wanted to,” Coral faltered, “return me, on the first day because I- wasn’t good enough, so I cut myself for my punishment.”
Miss Nicole’s jaw dropped.
“Hold up. Io actually considered getting rid of you? Tell me why they wanted that, and why they changed their mind.”
“I- I was behaving ma’am, I had my head in their lap while they watched TV and they played with my hair. I did everything they asked me to. But then they said having a pet is weird, they didn’t want to be a part of it and they were going to-” her breath hitched- “return me.”
“Huh,” Miss Nicole mused. “I know that Io and their immediate family never had a pet before, but I didn’t expect this. Why didn’t they return you?”
Coral thought for a second.
“I’m not sure, Miss Nicole,” she began. “But maybe it has something to do with my scars? Master asked about them and I told them your story about me having a former male master. Then they hugged me, and said that I was staying.”
Miss Nicole’s eyes widened, and understanding crossed her face. She didn’t share her revelation with Coral, and Coral didn’t ask.
“Have you taught them how to punish you yet?”
“I’m sorry, Miss Nicole. I haven’t been able to. I offer to teach Master once a day, but they say no every time.” Coral shifted uneasily, growing nervous. “A-and they told me that I’m not allowed to puh-punish myself anymore. But I still need to be punished, because I’ve messed up since then.”
“Do you need me to carry out your punishments?” Miss Nicole asked.
It wasn’t a question.
“Yes, Miss Nicole.”
“Good girl. Where did you put your master’s toys?”
“In the guest bedroom, ma’am.”
Miss Nicole motioned for Coral to get up and follow her. Coral obeyed, walking at her heels until they enter the bedroom.
“I put them in the bureau’s top two drawers,” Coral said softly.
Miss Nicole smiled, admiring the small array of toys. But she didn’t feel like using the whip or the shock baton then, she wanted the blade. Nicole frowned.
“Where did you put the switchblade?” She asked lightly, but there was a warning in her voice.
“I’m so sorry, Miss Nicole. Master saw me with it when I punished myself, and, and they threw it away.”
Miss Nicole pulled out a switchblade from her sweatshirt pocket.
“Good thing I have another one,” she said with a grin.
Nicole moved the pet to the living room, where there was enough space for her to circle a kneeling Coral like a predator circling its downed prey.
“Now tell me, what did you do to deserve your punishment?”
Coral dropped her head down to look at her hands in her lap.
“I’m sorry, I dropped a plate and it shattered,” she replied sadly.
Nicole tsked, disappointed.
“Don’t forget your place. Are you a person, or are you property?”
“And is property supposed to break property?”
“No Miss Nicole, I’m so sorry.” Coral looked up as she pleaded with her. “I didn’t mean to break the plate, I want to be a good pet please-”
Nicole silenced her with a hand gesture.
“Your punishment will make you good. Now tell me, what else did you do?”
“I uh, I forgot to add the water when I baked cookies so I ruined them.” Coral’s hands began to tremble. “And I’m so so sorry that Master’s not as happy as you wan-wanted them to be when they’re around me, I’m sorry.”
Nicole tilted her head to the side, thinking.
“Elaborate on Io’s happiness for me.”
Coral’s lip trembled slightly.
“I’m a pet, so my master is supposed have playtime with me.”
Nicole nodded. It was a well known secret between pet owners that they play with their pets. Playtime was similar to punishment, because it involved the pet getting tortured while the owner relieved their stress.
The difference was that no matter how good or bad a pet behaved, their owner would still play with them whenever they felt like it. Those were just pets, after all.
Nicole absolutely loved playtime, it was her favorite kind of entertainment. She wanted Io to hurt Coral, and realize that they enjoyed playtime too.
Coral looked like she was about to cry.
“I’m supposed to please Master when they play with me, but, but they don’t think I’m good enough to be played with,” her voice wobbled, and a tear quietly ran down her cheek. “I need to be hurt, please, please teach me to be good and punish me.”
Nicole descended almost to Coral’s level, but remained higher than her. The two were both on their knees, the difference was that Coral was sitting on her ankles while Nicole was not.
Nicole placed her hand against Coral’s cheek, and the pet absolutely melted into the touch.
“Aww, you poor baby,” Nicole cooed. “It’s not your fault that Io won’t play with you.”
Coral tensed, but made herself relax a second later.
“What do you mean, Miss Nicole?” She asked, voice small. Nicole could feel more tears running down Coral’s face, and falling into her hand.
“Your master’s still new to this, they’re still learning.” Nicole was still cooing, because Coral looked so adorable, so small and crying. “Io doesn’t yet understand that playtime is a good thing, you’re not in trouble this time.”
Coral squeezed her eyes shut and quietly nodded.
“Thank you, Miss Nicole,” she whispered.
Nicole was pretending to give mercy to the pet, but in reality, she was only lenient to avoid suspicion. If she hurt Coral too harshly, Io would notice. She didn’t want her partner to realize that Nicole had a key to their apartment, and was punishing Coral for them.
Nicole pulled her hand away from Coral and stood back up. Coral fell forward due to the abrupt lack of support she was leaning on. She collapsed to the ground, but quickly brought herself back into her previous kneeling position.
“Keep telling Io to play with you, dear, and I’ll do the same. No matter how many times Io says no, keep asking them, twice a day.” Nicole’s light tone dissipated. “You still need to be punished. Take your shirt off.”
Coral slipped her pink shirt off without question, leaving her torso bare save for her plain black bra. Nicole then had Coral toss her shirt to the side, extend her left arm in front of her, and turn it so the underside was exposed.
Nicole ran her blade along her arm, relishing Coral’s gasps as the blade skimmed over the healing shallow cuts.
She pressed the blade in.
Nicole traced each of Coral’s healing wounds, blood blooming in her wake. Her blade reopened the cuts, making them be deeper this time. Nicole savored the small gasps and whimpers from Coral as red flowed across both arms, but the worst was yet to come.
Nicole rose to her feet.
“Stay where you are,” she called, striding over to the kitchen. She opened various drawers, trying to find the one with all the spices.
Where was the salt?
When Nicole returned triumphantly, Coral noticed the clear container and the blood drained from her face. Coral looked up at her with fearful wide eyes, knowing what was about to come.
Nicole descended to her knees again in front of the girl, keeping the grin off her face only because punishment was supposed to be serious. (She was grinning on the inside.)
“Coral, we’re no longer in my basement or in my mansion, so I need you to be quiet. Can you hold in your screams, or do I need to muzzle you and punish you further?”
“I-I can be quiet for you, Miss Nicole.”
“That’s my girl.”
She shook salt into the wounds near Coral’s left wrists, watching the pet’s face contort as the cuts began to sting and burn. She whimpered as more salt was added across her arms, the whimpers became louder and more frequent.
Nicole covered both arms with salt, leaving no cuts uncovered. She then grabbed onto each arm and pushed down, pressing salt deeper into the wounds.
Coral cried out in pain, sobbing quietly as Nicole ground the salt into her arms. Nicole stood up, placed her foot on Coral’s chest, and pushed her backward. Coral fell down onto the carpet, still sobbing.
Nicole towered over her.
“Fifteen minutes after I leave, I want you to wash your wounds,” Nicole ordered. “You’d better get each bit of salt out of them. If Io finds even a single speck, I’ll make you wish you were never born.”
“I won’t fail you, ma’am,” Coral choked out.
“When Io returns, I want you to fall to your knees and show them what I’ve done. Take credit for me, tell them that you must be punished so you did it yourself. Don’t ever let them know that I came over without their permission, got it?”
“Understood, Miss Nicole,” Coral replied, pain embedded in her voice. “Ma-master told me to never punish myself again, I’m sup-posed to follow your orders though, right?”
“That’s right,” Nicole confirmed.
“Oh, and you’ll need to put the salt container away and clean the carpet. I’ll be back tomorrow to check on how Io is doing.”
“See you to-tomorrow, Miss Nicole.”
Nicole turned her back on the sobbing pet, and left the apartment with a smile.
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Hi! I love your blog! Do you have any video recs with some really good male desperation that don’t have any (or very little) nudity?
Thank you! I was just looking in my bookmarks for something that isn’t random youtube stuff and...I’m pretty sure they all got deleted in the p0rn purge 😅
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Faebruary/Febuwhump Day 21
(Warning for implied non-sexual nudity below the cut)
There are a lot of things people get wrong about the fae. The aversion to salt (In reality just preserved food in general), assuming they’re immortal (Just significantly longer-lived than humans) and possibly most confusingly thinking they actually have pointed ears below glamours and asking to see them.
But one thing humans definitely haven’t gotten wrong about the fae is their allergy to iron.
On days like today, Robin really wishes that was another one of the mixed-up human urban legends.
No matter how much he swipes at his skin, he can’t get all the tiny iron filings off. They burn, a cold burn like tiny fragments of ice adhered to his skin, but unlike ice they don’t eventually warm up and melt away. They’ve dug into his hands, which are swollen and almost numb now from trying to brush them away.
He huddles on the floor of the cell where he’s been dumped, torn between curling up tighter to stay warmer and the fact that if he does he’ll drive more of the tiny fragments deeper into his skin.
No one has come back in here since they stripped him and dumped the pail of shavings over him. He wonders if they’re waiting for him to snap, to beg for relief or help or something.
If so, they’ve got another thing coming. He can deal with pain.
At least for a while longer.
He jumps when the door slams open, expecting another round of misery or at the very least a demand for information he can’t give up and quite possibly never even had to begin with.
The soft, shocked “Robin?” has him looking up to see John’s worried face.
“What did they do to you?” Robin can imagine where John’s mind has gone, seeing him stripped and shivering in the corner of the room. He’s about to explain that it’s not what John thinks when he feels a jacket spread over his shoulders gently.
Under normal circumstances, that would feel amazing. But now it just drives the remaining tiny splinters on his back and the tops of his shoulders in deeper.
He jumps with a cut-off shriek and pushes the cloth away from him.
John holds up his hands placatingly. “Okay, I won’t touch you. Just talk to me, kid. If you can.”
“Iron,” Robin manages to bite out, nodding to the small heap of shavings sitting in the opposite corner. “All over.” He shivers, wanting to brush at the awful feeling on his skin but knowing that will only make this worse.
“Damn, kiddo.” John shakes his head. “We gotta get that offa you.”
“How?” Robin whimpers. He can’t imagine taking tweezers to every single bit of this that’s stuck in his skin. It’ll take forever and it’ll be humiliating on top of that.
Not that he isn’t already feeling pretty awful.
“I used to get metal shavings all over my skin grinding engine parts with Momma,” John says. “Sometimes I forgot to grab a long sleeve shirt before I started. First time I made that mistake it looked like my arms were what I took the grinder to.” He shakes his head. “Momma got most everything out with some glue and magnetizing a pair of tweezers.” He sighs. “It’s gonna suck, I won’t lie, but...it’ll be better than this.”
Robin nods. There’s no way around it, he’s going to need help, and John is his best bet.
“I just want to go home, get this off me, and forget it ever happened,” He mumbles miserably, struggling to his feet and wincing when the tiny fragments drive into the soles of them as well.
“Okay. We can do that.”
Taglist: @nade2308 @telltaleclerk @the-one-and-only-valkyrie @catwingsathena @asloudasalone @anguishmacgyver @flowingriver24 @myhusbandsasemni @floh673 @teddythecat1234 @bkworm4life4 @viawrites-andacts @amarilloskies @teamimprov @febuwhump
If you want to be added to or removed from my taglist for Magic & Silver stuff, just let me know!
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trans is magical!
commission for @/Alexthecasual on twitter!
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!!! ~ YOUR FLESH IS SACRED ~ !!!
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Oh boy I finally have the follow up to Kassian’s first drabble :D
First off though, thank y’all for all the love and support regarding the first part, and thanks to @brutal-nemesis for letting me ramble about this boy and work out some details on this part >:3c
CW: (Nonsexual) Nudity, forcibly stripped, (nonsexual) noncon touching, forced bathing, drowning, pet whump, dehumanization, manhandling
Kassian reluctantly followed the king through the halls, being pulled along as a tight grip was held on the chain shackling his wrists in front of him. He’d already tried to resist, but he was exhausted and weak, he hadn’t eaten in days and he was beginning to sway on his feet. At some point he was passed to a few servants, the king addressing them as he finally freed his wrists of the shackles.
“He’s completely filthy, I’d like him cleaned up. I want him looking at least somewhat presentable when you’re done.” He said, shoving Kassian toward them “Oh- and leave the muzzle on him unless you want to lose a finger.” He warned. Before Kassian could try and run or fight, his wrists were painfully grabbed, the servant who had gotten ahold of him was stronger than he was, easily dragging him into a room, followed by the others who were there to help.
He fought against the man’s grasp, struggling to escape him, struggling to escape the hands on his body, trying to get him out of his clothes. Another servant prepared the bath for him, and while he liked the idea of getting clean, he absolutely did not want to be surrounded by people, he didn’t want to be forcibly undressed but ultimately he wasn’t able to fight them off, his clothes were ripped off him and he was roughly dragged to the tub, easily lifted up and dropped in, splashing soapy water over the sides.
He hissed through the muzzle, the water was hot and the soap poured into it only added to the stinging pain, open wounds around his wrists and up his arms flaring up with pain. He thought that would be the end of it, he couldn’t stand being touched right now but his wrists were grabbed again, holding him in place as he was treated as though he somehow couldn’t wash himself. His face was red with embarrassment, he couldn’t believe anyone would treat him like this, much less somebody’s servants. He tried to slip out of their grasp, pushing hands away and shouting unheard protests when they tried to touch his hair.
“I didn’t expect him to struggle this much.” One of the men said, looking irritated as Kassian splashed more water at them.
“I don’t think his majesty has ever had one this stubborn.” Another commented, and Kassian jerked away from the hand running through his hair, shouting muffled insults through the muzzle. “It won’t be long before he’s sick of him I’m sure.”
“Well I’m already sick of him.” Another said, and suddenly he found himself being shoved under the water, his head held down even as he panicked and struggled, the others helping to hold him down. It burned as the water rushed up his nose and and the soap stung his eyes. He wasn’t held down for long, he was grabbed by the hair and dragged back up, struggling to breathe with the muzzle still clinging to his face. Despite his best efforts, tears welled up in his burning eyes, he furiously tried to blink them back though. He was vaguely aware of the fact that another servant had entered the bathroom, but as he tried to pull away from them again he was suddenly shoved back under the water, a brutal punishment for his misbehavior.
This one didn’t last as long as the first time, he wasn’t being held down any longer so he was quick to sit up, his hands coming up to frantically try and get the muzzle off his face so he could actually breathe.
“Are you trying to kill him?!” This new stranger snapped at the others, who didn’t seem to feel particularly bad about their actions. He snapped at them that he would handle Kassian from there, and they didn’t seem eager to argue, one of them snickering and saying “good luck” before they left the two of them alone. He tried to jerk away when he felt hands on the back of his head again, but this man spoke to him much more gently. “Hold on, I’m going to get this thing off you.” He told him. Finally, the leather was pulled away and Kassian took a deep breath, one that was cut short as he struggled to cough up water. The man rested his hand on Kassian’s bare shoulder, only for him to shove his hand away.
“Don’t-Don’t touch me!” He snapped, and the servant backed off, his hands held up defensively.
“Listen, I was told to-”
“I don’t care what you were told.” He said stubbornly. “Just- don’t touch me, don’t even look at me, turn around!” He snapped, and the man rolled his eyes but he did turn away from him.
“You’re awfully demanding for a newly bought pet.” He said.
“I’m not a pet, I’m a person- I’m a prince.” He told him. Now that he wasn’t being grabbed and touched he was able to actually take care of himself, washing away the dirt and grime the others hadn’t gotten to, taking the time to wash his hair and try to work through the tangles as best he could. He’d always been particularly meticulous about caring for his hair, he couldn’t believe it had gotten this bad and that just made him more angry.
The servant passed him a towel once he was done, still keeping his eyes averted, much to Kassian’s appreciation, and he took his time drying off, if only to prolong the amount of time he spent away from his new “owner”. Once he was done he was passed a new set of clothes, nothing fancy or elaborate, but at least better than the rags he’d been wearing before.
“Will you let me help you with your hair or are you going to snap at me some more?” The servant asked bluntly.
“I can do it myself, just give me a hair brush.” He told him, ordering him around as though he were one of his own servants. He wasn’t usually this abrasive with them but after the treatment he’d experienced from the others, he refused to let them think they were at all above him in any way. He was handed a brush and directed to a mirror, though he tried to avoid looking at his reflection more than he had to, angrily working the brush through his damp, tangled hair.
He wasn’t given much time to finish up, told that he needed to be brought to the king sooner rather than later. He wasn’t even allowed to tie his hair back, just another inconvenience in this already miserable situation. He flinched when the servant took him by the wrist, disturbing the bruises and open wounds from being shackled for so long, but he wasn’t rough as he led him from the room to deliver him to his “owner”.
By now Kassian had buried his fear. He wasn’t scared, he was angry. He shouldn’t be subjected to this, nobody should, and if he was going to be made a pet, then he was going to do everything in his power to be the most irritating, disobedient pet there ever was, if only to keep himself sane.
Tag List: @unicornscotty , @whumpcolored-glasses , @whumpasaurus101 , @legallylibra , @tears-and-lilies , @just-a-lil-bit-psycho , @as-a-matter-of-whump , @lonesome--hunter , @misspelledwitch , @renkocchi , @my-dump-of-whump
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swamp nymph doodle that I ended up coloring
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fanart for The Hound, the Healer, and the Hunt! aka huntfic, aka that fic detailing the burgeoning relationship between two of jonah magnus’s beaus in an au where one’s a werewolf and one’s a hunter and i’m a gay
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