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[coyotehusk]

Sorry i wasn’t cutie enough uwu

[coyotehusk]

oc asks: not-so-nice edition

alone: How does your OC deal with loneliness? Have they ever been completely alone before? How do they act when there's no one around to see them?

betrayal: Has your OC ever been betrayed by someone they thought they could trust? Has your OC ever betrayed someone who trusted them?

bound: Has your OC ever been imprisoned or captured? What happened? How did they get out? Did the experience leave any scars?

break: What would cause your OC to break down completely? What do they look like when that happens? Has anyone ever seen them at their lowest?

desire: What's one thing your OC wants more than anything in the world? Are they open with that desire? Why or why not? What would they do to fulfill it?

failure: What's your OC's greatest failure? Have they been able to move past it? Does anyone else know about it?

fear: What is your OC's greatest fear? What do they do when confronted with it? Are they open with their fear, or do they hide it away?

future: What's the worst possible future for your OC? Are they taking steps to avoid that outcome? Are they even aware it's a possibility?

ghost: Who or what haunts your OC? What happened? How do they live with their ghosts?

guilt: What is your OC guilty about? How do they handle their guilt? Do they try to avoid guilt, or do they accept it?

hate: What does your OC hate? Why? How do they act towards the object of their hatred?

heartbreak: Have they ever had a relationship that ended badly? Experienced some other kind of heartbreak? What happened?

hide: What does your OC hide? Why do they hide it?

hunt: Who or what is your OC hunted by? A person, a feeling, a past mistake? Is your OC able to let their guard down, or are they constantly alert?

mask: Does your OC wear a mask, literally or figuratively? What goes on beneath it? Is there anyone in their life who gets to see who they are under the mask?

midnight: What keeps your OC up at night? Do they have nightmares? Fears? Anxieties? What do they do in the small hours of the morning when they should be sleeping?

mistake: What's the worst mistake your OC ever made? What led to them making it? Have they been able to fix it? How have they moved on?

monster: Is your OC monstrous in any way? Is there something that makes them monstrous? Are they aware of their own monstrosity? Do they accept it or reject it?

nightmare: What does your OC have nightmares about? How do they deal with their nightmares? Do they tell people, or keep it to themself?

pain: What's the worst pain your OC has ever felt? Do they have a high pain tolerance?

secret: What's one secret your OC never wants anyone to know about them?

skin: How comfortable is your OC in their skin? Do they grapple with anything that lives inside them—a beast, a curse, a failure, a monster? How do they face the smallest, weakest, most horrible version of themself? Are they able to acknowledge it at all?

torture: Has your OC ever been tortured? Would your OC ever torture someone else?

wound: How does your OC handle being wounded? Are their wounds mostly physical? Mental? Emotional? What's the worst wound your OC has ever experienced?

[coyotehusk]

the house on pine street

file one: the room 

2,609 words | Check Tags Before Reading

Addison hated the creak of the floorboards above—the slow, heavy foot falls moving across the house before pausing just above his head. It would soon be followed by a heavy click and the squeal of old hinges swinging open. He felt a weight on his chest, mouth already dry with anticipation. 

The dim light peeking through the tiny basement window told him it was late evening. Joseph must have just gotten off work early. Addison rolled on his old mattress, curling up tighter under his ratted quilt. He hated the smell—a mix of body odor and piss—but the need to fight off the chill was overwhelming. He closed his eyes tight, counting the steps as Joseph descended into the basement. Addison was almost out of breath when he heard the soft squeak of the door handle. There was a long pause before he felt something pushing at his spine. 

“Still sleeping?” 

Play along.

Addison finally took a breath and opened his eyes. He pushed himself up slowly, as if rising out of a tar pit. Their eyes met and Joseph smiled. He was still dressed in his work clothes—a cool dress shirt and black slacks. A chain hung coiled in his hand. 

“Hungry?” 

Addison felt his stomach clench. The last meal had left him hovering over a toilet for hours, but he could also feel the achy burn of an empty stomach. Finally, he nodded. 

“Good.”

Joseph squatted next to the bed. He pulled away the blanket and grabbed Addison’s chained leg. His palms felt like fire against his shin. Addison jerked back before he could stop himself, his fight or flight response engaged. Joseph followed the movement. The sudden grip of his hand around Addison’s calf was followed by a hard set lips. Dread coiled inside Addison’s throat. 

“Gotta behave if you wanna eat,” Joseph scolded quietly. 

Hesitantly, Addison extended his leg once again. Joseph smiled, his hand slowly stroking down Addison’s shin to the weighty metal shackle clasped around his ankle. Goosebumps flared from the point of contact. They crawled up his legs and down his arms. Addison watched as the padlock came free for a brief moment before being hooked to the chain in Joseph’s hand. He couldn’t bear to watch anymore, flinching at the sound of another lock opening and closing. Ankles chained together, he allowed himself to be helped up before following Joseph through the basement and up the stairs. 

Addison could already smell the food—a warm, homey stew that had probably been simmering for a few hours now. His stomach gurgled in desperation. 

Joseph led him to the bathroom first. Stripped bare and forced into the tub, Addison shivered. He hated the lukewarm water and Joseph’s wandering hands, but at least it meant a fresh shirt and shorts. He  even brushed and braided Addison’s long blonde hair. His fingers slide easily through the strands, loosely overlapping them over and over again until it was all woven together. 

“Depending on how the night goes, maybe you can sleep upstairs tonight.” 

Addison glanced up, meeting Joseph’s dark gaze in the mirror. The promise of a clean bed did not make him feel better. It always came with a price. Still, Addison nodded obediently. Joseph seemed pleased by the response. He gave him a kiss on the side of his head. 

“Good. Let’s eat.”

It was, in fact, stew that Joseph had made from dinner. There were even some dinner rolls to go with it. Addison sat on his hands, patiently waiting as Joseph filled his bowl. He fought back the wave of nausea. Hunger or fear, Addison couldn’t tell. 

“Would you like something to drink?” Joseph asked. 

“Yes, sir,” Addison replied meekly. 

He could hear Joseph move away for a moment before returning with a wine bottle and two glasses. Joseph was generous with his pour, filling Addison’s glass almost to the brim with a deep red liquid. Addison bit at the insides of his cheeks. He moved his hands, setting them on the edge of the table. 

“Eager?” There was a humor to Joseph’s voice. He finally sat down next to Addison, pouring himself a glass. 

Addison’s ears went hot. He dropped his hands to his lap, fingers clutching at his shorts. The fabric was soft against his fingertips. They had been full sweatpants once, judging on the raw cut. Had they always belonged to Joseph? Or maybe an old partner? Addison’s eyes flickered up to meet Joseph's gaze. 

Be obedient. Play along.

“Yes, sir.”

His response seemed to please Joseph, as he was met with a pleasant smile. It was the smile that had taken Addison’s heart the first time they had met—soft and friendly and warm. Addison waited. He watched as Joseph took his first bite before hesitantly taking his own. 

They ate in silence. The dining room was filled only with the sound of spoons clinking against the ceramic bowls. After a handful of bites, Addison finally took his first sip of wine. It was bitter and dry. 

Addison had never liked alcohol. It made him think of his father, a man with a quick temper and hard knuckles. He’d found the bitter taste too hard to swallow. But by the way Joseph watched him, he knew he was expected to finish it. So he started sipping it between bites of stew. The food helped ease the taste. It took everything in him to not scarf it down. 

It wasn’t until he was halfway through his bowl of stew that he realized something was wrong. His head felt strangely floaty—eyes heavy.

“You look tired,” Joseph commented softly. 

Addison blinked, looking up at Joseph. There was something smug in his expression. Joseph tipped his drink back, polishing off the last bit of wine. Addison glanced at his own half empty glass. 

“No-” Addison managed to choke out. A hot sweat collected on the back of his neck. 

“We should get you to the room.”

Joseph was suddenly at his side. Addison tried to push him away, but his arms felt flimsy. Instead, he fell to the floor—legs tangled in the chains that bound him. The room seemed to spin for a second. 

“God, you’re so clumsy-” 

Addison felt himself being lifted. Joseph’s arms were strong. Arms he had felt comforted by once. Addison tried to pull away, but Joseph's grip was firm. He pulled Addison in tight to his side and guided him out of the kitchen. The laminate became carpet. Long walls trapping them in as they made their way to Joseph’s bedroom. 

“Joseph, please—” Addison mumbled softly. 

“Shhhh. Relax. Why don’t you rest for a bit, hm?”

Addison was suddenly being dumped onto a bed. Much softer than the one he’d been forced to sleep on for months now. Joseph’s cologne was thick—permanently stitched into the bedsheets. Addison wanted to cry. God, how he wanted to sob and scream and hit. But his limbs felt like bags of sand. Tired. The most he could do was shiver at the feeling of Joseph’s hand sliding down his body. 

More touching. Hands softly rearranging him. Addison came in and out of focus—sometimes alone, sometimes feeling Joseph. The darkness was almost comforting. 

And then he felt something pressing at his backside.

Addison’s eyes flickered open. He could barely keep his eyes open before he felt it again. No. Something stiff was nestled snugly inside his ass, shifting around just slightly. Addison blinked, trying to roll onto his back. 

“Hold still, Addie. You’re almost ready.” Joseph’s breath was hot on his ear. 

Addison’s head hurt. It was then he realized his wrists had been zipped tied to one of the metal bars on the headboard of the bed. He grunted, weakly squirming against Joseph's grip. “What are you doing?” He asked dumbly. 

“What does it feel like I’m doing?” Joseph chuckled. His scruff tickled the side of Addison’s face. Suddenly, whatever was moving inside him started to pull out. Addison immediately tightened. The stretch was unpleasant. He whimpered softly. 

“Are you gonna be good for me?” Joseph then asked. 

A thick feeling filled Addison’s throat. His stomach was already souring from dinner. 

Obey. 

Addison barely managed a nod. He felt Joseph's nose nuzzle against the shell of his ear. “Good boy—-” Joseph breathed like a gentle promise. Another tug and the object popped free. Addison’s rim ached, but the emptiness gave him a sense of relief. 

“Biggest one yet.” 

Something landed next to him. Addison glanced down, eyes barely focusing in on the large black plug before he felt something new pressing at his hole. A new thickness slammed into him. Addison cried out, grasping at the headboard.  

“See how easy it can be?” Joseph gasped before wrapping his arm around Addison. Another thrust had him fully hilted into Addison’s ass, touching far deeper than any plug could. Joseph let out a soft moan, lips grazing across the back of Addison’s ear.

Too much. He was gonna be sick. 

It took Joseph forever to build up a pace. He seemed to enjoy a slow rut. He kissed Addison's neck and shoulders and whispered softly in his ear. Sweet things. Things that a lover would say. 

Addison bit back a sob, though he couldn’t stop the few tears that collected at the corners of his eyes. Joseph had been far more intrusive before, but this somehow seemed worse. He tried to struggle, but his body still felt weak and sluggish. Instead, he had to bear the slow grind of Joseph’s cock in his guts before he finally started to pull back, the head catching on his rim.

“Fuck, you’re wet—”

Joseph finally pulled out and rolled Addison onto his back. The sudden movement made the zip tie bite into the skin on his wrist. Addison hissed, trying to adjust, but Joseph was on him. He loomed over Addison, damp cock already nudging its way back in. Only the angle wasn’t right, and Addison felt the bluntness catch painfully at the entrance. He hissed, trying to kick Joseph away. 

“Hurts—” Addison managed to whimper. 

Joseph grabbed his jaw, squeezing tightly. “Hurts?” There was something mocking in his tone. He thrust hard, forcing himself deeper, cock slamming against a tenderness that made the soles of Addison’s burn. He squirmed, but Joseph put his full weight on him. The heels of his hands pinned his thighs down and split him open like a specimen. 

He was not so soft and tender then. His hips smashing into Addison over and over again with a brutal force. Addison grit his teeth and closed his eyes. It was obvious to him now that he had made a mistake. Complaining about the pain. He had broken the illusion. 

“Look at me.”

Addison bit the inside of his cheek. Swallowing hard, he opened his eyes. Joseph’s face was bright red, veins popped at the temple. A tremor started at the core of Addison’s body before rippling out to his limbs. His gaze flickered for a moment until he felt an iron grip on his jaw. He met Joseph’s black eyes with a new sense of dread. 

“Look. At. Me.”

So Addison peered back into the eyes that demanded. He tried to think of their first date. Lunch at that little café on the corner by his apartment. He could hardly eat, his throat tight and hands shaking. But Joseph had been good with words. Better with his tongue. A quick fuck in the bathroom had left his head spinning. Addison usually wasn’t impulsive, but maybe he had just been that desperate to be touched. 

Loved. 

Joseph’s hand was suddenly on his throat. He pressed hard, squeezing just under Addison’s jaw. The air went immediately. Addison tried to yank his arms free, only remembering they were bound when he felt the skin splitting. He then tried to get purchase with his foot, but the blankets just slid beneath his heels. Joseph did not look pleased. If anything, he seemed more angry. His thrusts had stopped, his full weight focused on Addison's throat. 

Addison was going to die. 

It made sense that he would go out this way. It was maybe even a little deserving. His father had always claimed that he would amount to nothing. He was just another cocksucking faggot—a shit stain down a dark alley. If Addison could weep, he would. Instead, his vision started to blur, surrounded by a dark vignette closing in. 

Gasping. 

.

.

.

Addison woke to something yanking roughly at his hair. He coughed as fresh air filled his lungs. He was no longer facing Joseph. Instead, his eyes began to focus on the headboard. His ass was empty,  but he could feel the warmth of Joseph’s cock resting against his thigh. 

The silence was heavy. Addison sucked in air, tears finally spilling down his cheeks. Part of him was grateful for the sharp pull at his scalp. It was a reminder of life. However, the feeling was fleeting. Joseph grabbed onto his hips, yanking him as far back as possible. The zip ties dug further into his wrist bones. 

Addison heard a click. 

Bile crept up his throat, the acidic taste flooding the back of his tongue. He barely managed out a whimper before he felt something sharp pressing at his back. Dragging so slowly across the plane of his shoulder. Addison let out a strangled cry. 

“You belong to me.”

It felt deeper than the previous cuts. He could feel the skin splitting open wider with the slightest shift. 

“I’m sorry—”

A fingernail dug into the cut. Addison clenched his teeth, desperately holding back a scream. 

“No need to be sorry. I’m just disappointed, that's all.”

Something hot and thick filled the back of Addison’s throat, but he managed to swallow it down. “I-I didn’t mean it. It didn’t hurt—”

Joseph didn’t respond. There was a wet sound. Almost like Joseph was sucking something off his thumb. The bed shifted slightly, followed by the slick sound of palm against cock. Addison waited for Joseph to penetrate him again, but it never came. Instead, he heard the hitch in his breath—a lukewarm splatter of wetness hitting his backside. 

Joseph didn’t speak as he cut Addison’s wrists free and yanked him from the bed. Addison stumbled. He tried to keep pace as he was dragged down the hall and to the basement. But his limbs still felt heavy and sluggish. Multiple times, Joseph had to pull him up by his hair, forcing him to his feet. Addison hadn’t even realized Joseph had removed the chain from his ankle until he nearly fell halfway down the stairs. He fell on his hands and knees, a jolt of pain sending a quake up his limbs. Addison grimaced and glanced back at Joseph.  

Wait—

There was a pause for just a moment. Joseph’s silhouette stood on the bottom step, the switchblade was still in his hand. Addison could barely make out his expression in the darkness. 

“Joseph, I—” 

He finally moved, grabbing Addison by the ankles and pulling him roughly—back to that suffocating, cold room with the pissed stained mattress and tiny window. Addison grabbed at the door frame, but there was no strength in his arms. He gave easy, allowing himself to be tossed like a rag doll onto the bed. Joseph shackled his ankle once again. 

“I don’t have to offer you any meals, you know.”

He didn’t wait for Addison to respond. The door slammed behind him, followed by the sound of the lock clicking. Addison lay still for a long time, slowly breathing in. It wasn’t until he heard Joseph stomping across the kitchen floor did he finally break. 

[coyotehusk]

bff 👯

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Grey belongs to Ev | Nico belongs to Me

├┬┴┬|•⊖•) ├┬┴┬| art tag: @demondamage @firewheeesky @jayghore @lonesome--hunter @softmutt444

@sunshiline-writes @suspicious-whumping-egg @whump-captain @whumpsday @whumplr-reader

@yet-another-heathen

[coyotehusk]

Big Media’s lobbyists have been running a smear campaign trying to paint the Internet Archive as a greedy big tech operation bent on stealing books—which is totally absurd. If you’ve ever used the WayBack Machine, listened to their wonderful archives of live music, or checked out one of their 37 million texts, it’s time to speak up. On March 20, everyone is showing their support for the Internet Archive during oral arguments.

Here's how you can help:

The Internet Archive is our library, a massive collection of knowledge and culture accessible to anyone with an internet connection. Don't let greedy publishers burn down the next Library of Alexandria!

And if you're absolutely certain you don't use or need the Internet Archive, take a look at their projects first, you might be surprised. Those are all at risk too.

[coyotehusk]

Hunger ❣️

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Rex | @cyberwhumper

├┬┴┬|•⊖•) ├┬┴┬| art tag: @demondamage @firewheeesky @jayghore @lonesome--hunter @softmutt444

@sunshiline-writes @suspicious-whumping-egg @whump-captain @whumpsday @whumplr-reader

@yet-another-heathen

[coyotehusk]

A Rose Amidst Thorns | Solomon | @sunshiline-writes

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├┬┴┬|•⊖•) ├┬┴┬| art tag: @demondamage @firewheeesky @jayghore @lonesome--hunter @softmutt444

@sunshiline-writes @suspicious-whumping-egg @whump-captain @whumpsday @whumplr-reader

@yet-another-heathen

[coyotehusk]

.blushing_bride. .

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├┬┴┬|•⊖•) ├┬┴┬| art tag: @demondamage @firewheeesky @jayghore @lonesome--hunter @softmutt444

@sunshiline-writes @suspicious-whumping-egg @whump-captain @whumpsday @whumplr-reader

@yet-another-heathen

[coyotehusk]

Bottled

2,904 words | Check Tags Before Reading

Beta’d by Ev

Cyrus stood at the barn doors, staring into the darkness. The spill of yellow light only penetrated far enough for him to see the start of the horse pens. 

It was sometime after midnight, yet he’d already been kicked out of two bars, chin scraped and cheek bruised. He paused for a moment, taking a long swig of his Corona before sauntering in. One of the horses whinnied softly as he passed by. 

“Shut up,” he growled. The sudden rustle of hay told him that Ryker was awake. Cyrus felt a smirk tug at the corners of his lips. He finally came to a stop, peering into the pen where Ryker lay. Cyrus could just barely make out the younger man’s form huddled in the corner. It was hard to read his expression, but it couldn’t be anything other than a scowl. “Look at you. You really are just a mutt,” he slurred, eyes slowly starting to adjust to the darkness. 

“You want something?” Ryker muttered.

“Maybe I do. You gonna give it to me?” Cyrus asked. 

“What the hell could you possibly want?” Ryker snapped, shifting himself upright. He was always defiant, even with a battered face. Cyrus rolled his beer bottle between his palms for a moment before clambering over the gate. The dirt was soft beneath his boots. Cyrus took another drink of his beer, slowly stepping into Ryker’s space. He was past the buzz, head swimming with a wonderfully light feeling. 

Ryker stiffened, pressing his body as far back as he could into the wall. He looked irritated and uneasy. Cyrus reached for his belt buckle.

Ryker let out a snort. “No goddamn way.”

Cyrus got the clasp free and yanked the leather strip from his jeans. He let it drop to the dirt. “You think yer gonna get anything better? I thought you liked suckin’ dick,” Cyrus teased. 

“I wouldn’t touch it if it was the last one on earth.”

“Well, I ain’t fuckin’ asking—” Cyrus fumbled with the button and zipper on his jeans. They felt slippery beneath his dumb fingers, but finally, the bronze metal came free of the denim loop. 

“I thought you weren’t a faggot,” Ryker gritted. 

“A mouth’s a mouth. Better do a good fuckin’ job, though, or I’ll take yer other pinky.” 

“You’re fucking drunk—”

Cyrus grabbed Ryker by the hair and yanked him forward. He pushed the bruised face against his crotch. Ryker hissed, struggling against the hold. “You just don’t stop runnin’ your fuckin’ mouth, do ya? You think you got any position to argue?” Cyrus set his beer down before reaching into his boxers and pulling his dick out. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”

“If you put that anywhere near me, I will bite it off—”

Cyrus reached into his back pocket, pulling out his switchblade and clicking it open. Ryker immediately went quiet, body stiffening. Cyrus could see his eyes widen in the dark. 

“See this here? Brand new. Freshly sharpened. Pretty, innit?” Cyrus turned it over in his hands. He then pressed it into Ryker’s face, slowly dragging it across the hollow of his cheek. The skin split open, small beads of blood blooming across the thin line. Ryker hissed. Cyrus pulled away before pressing the tip of the blade at Ryker’s cracked lips. 

“Now open up like a good lil’ bitch.” 

There was a moment of hesitation before Ryker obeyed. Cyrus pushed the blade into his mouth. The metal clicked against his teeth. “Not so chatty now, are ya?” Cyrus asked, pressing the point against Ryker’s tongue. The muscle was soft, pillowing around the silver. Ryker let out a quiet whimper. He dropped his jaw open further, trying to avoid the edge of the switchblade. 

Cyrus hummed with amusement. He pulled the blade from Ryker’s mouth. Abandoning his switchblade in the dirt, Cyrus then grasped his cock and stuffed it into the open space. The sensation of hot and wet made his toes curl. Ryker tried to recoil, but Cyrus yanked him forward, enjoying the slight choking sound that tickled the head of his dick. A drunk giggle escaped his lips as Cyrus started to gently rut against Ryker’s tongue.

Cyrus had dated once in high school. A chubby girl named Irene who had lived just down the road from him. She’d given him a handy in the back seat of the school bus on their way home one day. He’d never really liked her, but no other girl had even given him the slightest glance, so he said yes when she asked him. 

They dated for a while. It was mostly just them fucking in the back of her daddy’s truck. It was like she wanted them to get caught. And they did, one spring night after a school dance. Her daddy beat the shit out of Cyrus with his belt. He ran home with his tail between his legs, dick still throbbing. 

His sister, Sara, caught him trying to run to his room. “What in the hell, Cy!” She made him sit in the kitchen, eye swelling and cheeks bleeding. Her hands were soft and gentle as she cleaned him up. Scolding him, too. 

Sara never meant any harm. She had always been too kind for her own good. 

It was just the two of them back then. Their dad drove truck and their mom was probably drunk in a bar somewhere. She’d always taken care of him for as long as he could remember. He could still remember what she was wearing that day—that stupid thin white shirt with the flowers on it, nipples poking out against the fabric. “I ought to go over there and put my foot up his ass—” 

Ryker started to choke. Cyrus pulled back, giving him a moment to breathe. He lessened his hold, carding his fingers through Ryker’s unkempt hair. There was something a little feminine about him. Maybe it was the softness of his face or dark, long lashes. Boys couldn’t be pretty, but somehow it felt like the right word. He might even like Ryker, if he’d been a woman. 

But he wasn’t.

Cyrus shoved Ryker back. He hit the ground hard. Ryker looked up, startled, and tried to squirm away. But Cyrus was ready this time. There was no butcher to get in his way. No dull knife. He grabbed Ryker by his ankles and rolled him onto his belly. His pants came off easy, sliding down his warm colored thighs. 

“Fuck you, you piece of shit—” Ryker yelped. He immediately started kicking, managing to catch Cyrus in the shin and then knee. Cyrus winced, nearly toppling over. 

“Cocksucker—” Cyrus growled, grabbing his belt and wrestling with Ryker’s legs for a minute before belting them together. 

“Yee haw! Just like roping a calf,” Cyrus hollered. He then grabbed his bottle and took another swig. “You’re a little shit, you know that?” Cyrus sneered before giving Ryker a swift kick to the side. The younger man yelped, curling into himself. Cyrus chuckled. He stepped onto Ryker’s hip, grinding his boot into the exposed flesh. “Wanna know a little secret?”  he drawled, pressing his index finger against his lips. “It’s just you and me, mutt.”

Ryker was quiet, eyes wide and mouth slack. He looked like he was about to piss himself. “Y-you’re fucking lying—” Cyrus couldn’t help but smile. He kicked Ryker again, this time connecting with his nose. His head snapped back and blood flew, splattering darkly against the hay. Cyrus whooped again. He felt a rush, ears going hot. 

“Scream as loud as you want, mutt! Everyone else is away for the weekend!” Cyrus shouted. He cupped his hands around his mouth, letting out another whoop. Then, using the heel of his boot, he forced Ryker back onto his belly. He straddled his legs, tapping his beer bottle against Ryker’s ass. “You know, you actually have a kind of nice ass for a guy. Perky—” 

He noticed the bandages wrapped around Ryker’s leg. Cyrus slipped the switchblade beneath the bindings, slicing to free. The cuts had been stitched up. Blood scabbed among the sealed wounds. “Look at that. Left a mark, huh? Should I add a few more?” 

“Prick—” Ryker coughed. 

“Ms. Delaney’s a real sweet lady. You know, she took me under her wing after—” Cyrus paused. “Well, after my sister was fuckin’ slaughtered. Bet ya didn’t know that, did ya?” Cyrus gently dragged his switchblade across the stitching. “The fucked her up real bad before leaving her to die.” He turned the blade, pressing the sharp edge into the old wounds. Ryker’s leg began to tremble. “Ms. Delaney was suffering, too. They slaughtered yer daddy as well. Killed quite a few people, in fact.” He pushed farther, the blade slowly disappearing into Ryker’s leg. “She’s willing to show you a little mercy. Me, though?” Cyrus began to twist the blade. 

Ryker screamed.

Cyrus had felt this feeling before. The hot sensation that flooded his lower abdomen and made his cock twitch with interest. He ripped the blade back, watching as blood began to flow freely from the fresh wound. It looked black in the darkness. He swiped at it, smearing it along Ryker’s leg. 

“Cyrus, please stop—” 

Cyrus jabbed the switchblade into his leg again. Ryker’s screams melted into an ugly sob, legs quivering beneath Cyrus’ weight. “You beggin’, mutt?” Cyrus snorted. “That’s real fuckin’ cute.” He went to finish off the last of his beer but stopped, an idea striking him. 

Cyrus pulled Ryker’s ass cheeks apart, eyeing the puckered ring. “Guess I can’t just stick it in, can I? What kind of gentleman would I be if I did that?” Cyrus tipped his bottle, pouring the rest of his beer on Ryker’s backside. The smell of alcohol seemed almost sweet compared to the stench of horse and old sweat. He then pressed the mouth of the bottle to the rim of Ryker’s asshole. Ryker began babbling, but Cyrus wasn’t really listening, too busy watching how the glass looked against the puckered flesh. It took a little effort, Ryker sobbing and squirming under him, but finally the tip of the bottle sunk in. The neck, fully swallowed by the orifice. 

His sister had begged too. 

Cyrus had been home the day it had happened. Ankle broken on the job. He'd been stuck in a cast for weeks at that point, itching to get back to work. Cyrus had heard the trucks pull up, gravel crunching under the tires. He hadn’t thought much about it at the time. Honestly, he’d assumed it was his sister’s boyfriend finally showing up for dinner. Cyrus had grabbed his crutches, hobbling over to the window. He peeked out the curtain, noting the Delaney barn, before seeing several big, black trucks that had parked in front of their trailer. 

Death had arrived at their doorstep. 

Most of that night was a blur. He’d gotten knocked around a bit before waking up in a pool of his own saliva and blood. Cyrus would never know why they hadn’t killed him. But he had heard her in the other room. Begging for them to stop. Cyrus was forced to listen as she screamed and screamed, until suddenly she was silent. He waited until Death left before dragging himself down the hall where he found her in the living room. 

Cyrus finally pulled the bottle free. He tossed it aside, staring down at a whimpering Ryker. The switchblade was still snugly tucked into the thick of his thigh. Cyrus pulled the blade out, tossing it aside.

“On all fours, mutt,” he growled, yanking at Ryker’s hips, the younger man’s face dragging along the ground. “Oh, I guess you can’t,” Cyrus grabbed at the twine tied around his wrists. Chuckling, he lined his cock up with Ryker’s hole and pushed. 

The bottle had hardly done any work. Ryker’s asshole was still too tight. Cyrus felt his flush bleed into his neck. He pulled back before forcing the head of his dick past the muscle. Finally, the heat seemed to grab at him, sucking his cock in. Cyrus let out a shaky breath. “Fuckin’ a, mutt. Greedy, huh?” he mumbled. 

“Go fuck yourself,” Ryker spat, though the quiver in his voice betrayed him. 

Cyrus cackled. He thrust hard, getting an awful grunt out of Ryker. “That’s what I got you here for!” Cyrus leaned back, pulling at Ryker’s arms. Ryker cried out from the strain. He could feel his cock sink deeper.  “Fuck—” Cyrus grunted. He started to rock his hips, enjoying the hot embrace. 

He’d only fucked a handful of women after Irene and him broke up. Usually lonely women who had either never seen the hands of a man or had just lost them. Cyrus almost always jumped on the chance. After all, most women didn’t like to look at him, face marred by a bright red birthmark. He’d be lucky if a woman touched his arm, let alone suck him off in the parking lot. 

But fucking Ryker didn’t feel like that—a desperate lay to be forgotten in the morning. His cock throbbed at the sound of Ryker moaning and sobbing—screaming when Cyrus thrust with an unrelenting force. A smirk tugged at the corner of Cyrus’ lips, sweat streaming down the back of his neck. 

He released Ryker’s arms just so he could shove his face back into the dirt—pressing the heel of his hand hard into his cheekbone. Ryker’s face was soaked in tears and blood, eyes burning with hatred. 

“Feels good, don’t it? You like getting fucked like a filthy bitch?” Cyrus growled. Ryker didn’t answer. He cast his eyes away, his jaw flexing under Cyrus’ palm. Gritting his teeth, Cyrus drilled his hips faster. “I asked you a fuckin’ question, mutt.” 

“You got what you wanted. What the fuck does it matter?” Ryker finally gasped. 

Cyrus stopped thrusting. He grabbed at Ryker’s dirty curls, smashing his head into the ground. Once. Twice. Three times. Ryker’s eyes rolled back, and his body began to relax. 

His sister had been pretty. Wavy auburn hair and hazel. Sara always smelled like fresh cotton and peach perfume. She’d gotten their mother’s looks, aka, blessed with the good genes. Cyrus wasn’t surprised by the men that tried to court her, though none of them deserved her love. Not even Cyrus had deserved that. 

She was supposed to go to community college, but stayed at home to help take care of Cyrus while he was a teen. Mr. Delaney had hired her on as a ranch hand when their father never returned from one of his trips and the money dried up. Cyrus could always find her working with the horses, skin sweetly tanned by the sun. 

Sara had been the one to teach him how to drive, rope cattle, and even how to shoot a gun. She’d always flick his forehead when she was mad, and kiss the top of his head before leaving for work. When the nightmares came, she let him crawl into bed next to her. Sometimes he could still feel the soft caress of her hands at the back of his head, her voice faintly singing the old country songs they had been raised on. 

He’d loved her. Frankly, Sara was the only person he’d ever loved. 

Cyrus grit his teeth, fighting back tears. “If you and your shit stain brother hadn't taken off with all that shit—” he huffed. He pulled out, rolling Ryker into his back. Ryker was still for a moment before his eye finally fluttered. Cyrus grabbed his switchblade from the dirt and pressed it up against Ryker’s throat. “If you’d just left with the clothes on your back—”

Ryker blinked up at him, lips parted as he wheezed softly for air. Cyrus pressed the blade harder against his throat. He could feel the blade sinking into the skin there. 

Kill him. Just kill him. 

She was almost unrecognizable, eyes empty and body left haphazardly strewn across the carpet. They had beaten her bad—face swollen and purple. Her stupid white shirt had been ripped open, exposing her breasts. He couldn’t remember much after that, too busy vomiting Doritos and bile. 

One of his cousins had found them. He’d said he’d thought they were both dead until he heard the weak rattle of Cyrus’ breath. They buried her in the Delaney family cemetery while he was in the hospital. Sara never got a proper service. After, Cyrus would often wake up, face in the dirt, clutching at the small wooden cross they had planted for her. 

Her clothes would lose their smell only a few months later. 

“She’d be here. She’d be here with me.”

Cyrus pulled the switchblade away, pressing his face into the crook of his arm. His stomach turned, acid crawling up into his throat. He fought it down. 

“I’m sorry,” Ryker wheezed softly. 

Sorry?

Cyrus let his arm fall for a moment before striking Ryker across the face. His cheekbone was hard against the back of Cyrus’ knuckles. Then, without another word, Cyrus stood, stuffing his sticky cock back into his pants. He stumbled over to the gate, legs shaking as he clambered over the slick mental poles. He didn’t make it too far before he doubled over, spewing the contents of his stomach in the dirt. 

He was no better than Death himself. 

[coyotehusk]

Giddy up cowboy!

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├┬┴┬|•⊖•) ├┬┴┬| art tag: @demondamage @firewheeesky @jayghore @lonesome--hunter @softmutt444 @sunshiline-writes @suspicious-whumping-egg @whump-captain @whumpsday @whumplr-reader @yet-another-heathen

[coyotehusk]

Queuing stuff up to post ✌️

[coyotehusk]

Take a look at all of the incredible entries for our Zine Mascot Contest! Make sure to vote for your favorites below!

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[coyotehusk]

The Butcher

Art trade with the lovely @coyotehusk !!!!

[OC INDEX]

Tag list: @whumpsday // @demondamage // @squidlife-crisis // @whumpedydump // @cyborg0109 // @whumpfish // @astrowhump // @the-scrapegoat // @whatwhumpcomments // @dustbunnywhump // @why-not-ask-me-a-better-question // @dokidokisadness // @moss-tombstone // @lambofmine // @maracujatangerine // @pinkraindropsfell // @writereleaserepeat // @blood-and-regrets // @littlespacecastle // @snakebites-and-ink // @unforgiven235 // @lonesome--hunter // @atomicsandwichprince // @writereleaserepeat // @whatamidoingherehelpme // @skittles-the-whumpee // @the-blind-one-speaks // @i-eat-worlds // @devourerofcheesecake // @theauthorintraining // @otterfrost // @mommymarichatfurever // @whumpifi // @catnykit // @bitchaknso // @softmutt444 // @yet-another-heathen // @blackbirdsinatrenchcoat // @burnticedlatte // @violent-ultraviolet // @limitlesstrash17 // @inspiral-rl // @coyotehusk // @mis-graves //

If you’re interested in being added to the tag list, please let me know!

[coyotehusk]

The Mascot Contest is officially CLOSED! Thank you to everyone who submitted!

Make sure to pick your top 4 favorite designs in our poll below before April 20th!

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[coyotehusk]

I is for Incision . . . My piece for the ABCs of Whump Zine.

├┬┴┬|•⊖•) ├┬┴┬| art tag: @demondamage @firewheeesky @jayghore @lonesome--hunter @softmutt444 @sunshiline-writes @suspicious-whumping-egg @whump-captain @whumpsday @whumplr-reader @yet-another-heathen

[coyotehusk]

Yeah @coyotehusk 's Mica could turn me into a bloodstain against the wall ANY day

Art Tag: @whump-tr0pes @whump-queen @whumpsday @kixngiggles @onlywhumpcomments @project-xiii @ka1imba @suspicious-whumping-egg @cyborg0109 @whatwhumpcomments @whumpcomica @i-eat-worlds @blood-and-regrets @dont-look-me-in-the-eye @burnticedlatte @lonesome--hunter @whumpifi @oddsconvert @painsandconfusion @whumpasaurus101 @sadcatjae @kiratheperson @studyofwhump @sunshiline-writes @just-a-silly-little-whumper @chaotic---calm @ladyjaye13 @befuddled-calico-whump @safetypinflavouredgrass @mottinthemainpot @to-be-a-bee .

[coyotehusk]

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