#he's a whumpee now

[whumpasaurus101]

Whumpee just sitting in the corner of there cell, hugging their knees tight to their chest, tears streaming slowly down their face as they battle with themself.

A want tugging at them. The need. They needed warmth. Any kind. The thought of Whumper’s arms wrapping around them, pulling them in toght and just holding them. Holding them where they feel safe and-

No-

Nonono, this was all wrong. They didn’t want Whumper. They didn’t need them.

All they wanted was a hug. They wanted safety.

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Test Track AU (T$$ AU Masterlist)

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@theonewithallthefixations , @violets-whumperflies , @whump-me , @pirefyrelight , @soheavyaburden , @snakebites-and-ink , @whumpsday , @suspicious-whumping-egg , @cryptidwritings , @painsandconfusion , @grizzlie70 , @bloodsweatandpotato , @ladyblogofficialreporter @whumper-soot

[honeycollectswhump]

for the bingo card: human furniture?

-🪷

thank you for sending this ask!! and i hope you don't mind my late reply :)) it was so fun to write <3

the bingo card was made by @gentlelittlehorrors (i hope you enjoy what i did with your prompt)

[masterlist]

CW: dehumanisation, pet whump, burns

“Up!”

It’s the first thing Ashtray hears, the first thing he understands, while laying down under the table, letting the noise of conversations pleasantly wash over him. 

Up means he is needed, Up means he is going to be used and Ashtray is eager to be used. Recognizing a word makes his nerves tingle with happiness. Ashtray rarely gets talked to –of course–, and it's even rarer that he understands.

He gets on his hands and knees, crawling closer to the soft velvet voice of his beloved Mistress. From his point of view, Ashtray can only see her silky smooth dress, a slit revealing her elegantly crossed legs. 

Careful of the leash binding him to the table, he takes his place, kneeling right beside his Mistress. Only like this, he is allowed to look at her, Ashtray has learned. He turns his head towards her, waiting for another cue amidst the pleasant waves of her voice.

Ashtray knows few words, short hints like Up and Down, Good Boy and Punishment, Hands and Back and Tongue, but he is very proud of his collection. It makes him a Good Boy, he thinks, that he has learned to recognise the otherwise strange sounds. Ashtray strives to serve his Mistress, in the way he was made for, and in any way at all. 

“Hand out.” his Mistress says, and Ashtray is thankful he is such an attentive Good Boy to filter out the right words. He tries his best to copy her poise, even though it is so unnatural for a simple thing like him. 

Mistress didn’t say which hand or maybe Ashtray doesn’t know the word yet. He can only guess what the most logical answer would be and sitting at her left side, he has an idea. Everything should always be elegant, so as graceful as possible he lifts his right hand to rest on her thigh, just like she trained him to. 

He can feel the cigarette getting closer, even without seeing it directly, can feel it burning and sizzling against his skin. Despite this, Ashtray doesn’t flinch, just like expected of a Good Boy. His eyes never leave his Mistress’ face, drowning in the pleased smile she gifts him. 

Other owners wouldn’t smile at their Ashtray like that, but his Mistress does. She is gentle, and loving, and so beautiful that Ashtray knows he’d let her hold his hands in a fire just to gain another smile. 

Twisting the cigarette into his skin, his Mistress makes sure it truly is put out. Ashtray marvels at how responsible she is, even as it leaves an angry red crater that will surely leave a mark in the field of raised, almost perfectly round scars that coat his hands. 

After fulfilling his purpose, Ashtray lifts his hand back down again, barely conscious of the way his skin seems to be lit on fire. This is what he was made for anyway. He resumes his position next to his Mistress, both hands in front of his knees, still and Good, bathing in her presence until she will inevitably send him under the table, only to come out when he is needed. Maybe then, she will call him a Good Boy again and Ashtray wants to be a Good Boy so badly. 

If he continues to be a Good Boy, his Mistress will even provide Ashtray with cream so that the fresh wound won’t get infected. Another thing other owners wouldn’t do for their possessions.

Ashtray is so lucky to belong to such a kind Mistress.

[whump-queen]

A whumpee who was only captured because whumper thought they were pretty

Treating their captive like a dress up doll— dressing them up to compliment their outfit and wearing them on their arm like a pretty little accessory.

Whumper dragging them to fancy events with other whumpers and showing them off.

Whumpee is forced to wear a collar that shocks them every time they try to speak, so they’re a perfect little silent thing whenever whumper wants to show them off to their friends or take them to a party.

Maybe whumper let’s their friends fawn over their pet, and even touch the pretty thing’s face—

and whumpee has to stand still and strain to keep their expression pleasant and pliant while the strangers crowd around them, while fingers extend to grip their jaw and tilt their head this way and that, while too many unfamiliar hands run over their face and through their hair.

And the strangers compliment whumper about whumpee’s appearance— ‘how pretty those eyes are,’ and ‘how did they manage to find such a beautiful thing?’

And whumpee’s face is red with embarrassment—at being crowded and poked and prodded and talked about as if they’re not even there—at being treated like some kind of decoration. And whumper and their friends only laugh and coo over how cute they look when they’re blushing.

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

Whumper never hits their face, leaves scars or permanent damage—they want to keep them looking nice after all.

Electricity is their preferred weapon, and the shock collar works wonders for conditioning.

And after weeks and months of getting brutally shocked for every little misstep, every perceived ounce of resistance, for anything other than absolute perfect compliance—

Eventually, whumpee’s will crumbles completely—and they’re plaint, docile, and desperate to obey to avoid the agonizing pain that the voltage brings.

Completely mentally broken— a perfect little decoration.

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

Just dehumanize the hell out of a pretty boy and make him your accessory ✨

The thing that inspired this post

More prompts like this

General whump taglist:

@whumpshaped @whumpsday @emmettnet @a-whump-sideblog @whump-it-like-its-hot @wolfeyedwitch @whumper-soot @unorganisedalienrubbish @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @hidden-dreamland @whumpedydump

Just ask to be added or removed from the taglist <3

[whumpy-wyrms]

Dew and Anton!!!! :)

i drew this to replace the images in the masterlist cuz my art has improved sooo much since then and i thought it was time for a change! i will probably end up changing the background but im sooo eepy rn and wanted to be done with it tonight :) also Anton’s new weird green eyes may or may not have something to do with his lore 🧪🧪🧪🧪 im not gonna snitch on my guy tho

[whumpspicelatte]

New Series

So, anyone interested in a series about a vampire hunter whumper and his pet training? Multiple whumpees, lots of whumper-turned-whumpee, pet whump, conditioning, vampire whumpees, you know, the works.

[echo-goes-mmm]

Moonflower #11

Masterpost

Previous

Next

Warnings: torture

“This Saturday is the monthly dinner and social. You’ll be going with me.” said Mistress, as Kit cut into his steak. His portions had gotten subtly larger, and there was a basket of bread on the table. 

He had a sneaking suspicion that Christine was to blame; either she had taken matters into her own hand after the note, or Maxus had encouraged her. 

He appreciated their discretion, but still. 

Kit took a roll anyway.

“It happens every month?” he asked.

“Mhm.” Iris swirled her wine. “Supposedly to encourage good relationships between the lords and the crown.”

The way she said it, and the set of her jaw told him that she thought it was nonsense. Yet another thing that Iris didn’t like about her job.

“I’d prepare yourself for some back-handed compliments,” she advised. “Try not to take it personally.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Kit finished his plate and reached for another roll. Iris didn’t seem to notice anything amiss.

For the first time in over a year, he went to bed almost full and nearly satisfied.

___________________

The stone floor was cold; freezing against his skin. He was completely nude and kneeling, his legs apart, and his forehead pressed to the ground. His arms were stretched out in front of him, and his shoulders ached.

“C-can I pl- please move, sir?” he asked, teeth chattering. He wanted to curl up, to at least be able to lick at the clean water dripping off of his body. He was so thirsty, and he’d been forced to hold his position for hours.

“No,” said the mortal, standing over him. “And I didn’t say you could talk.”

Moonflower whimpered, his arms and legs shaking.

The mortal tossed more icy water on him, and he couldn’t help but shriek. His chest heaved trying to take in air, but the chill made it hard to do much of anything. His muscles screamed with exhaustion.

The mortal crouched next to him. “Are you cold?” he asked with a horrid grin.

Moonflower kept quiet out of trepidation, but the human gripped his hair and yanked his head back. Moonflower whined, his neck far too vulnerable for his liking.

“Answer me.”

“Y-yes, s-sir. I’m c-cold.”

The human tossed the bucket across the room, and it clattered loudly on the floor.

“I guess I should warm you up,” said the human. “I can’t let my prize flower freeze.”

Moonflower hated the nickname, but said nothing. He had already learned that lesson.

The mortal let go of his hair, and disappeared from his field of view, only to come back a minute later. He wore heavy gloves, and held glowing, red-hot-

No. no. nononono-

“Moonflower,” commanded the human, and even his blood seemed to freeze, “stay still.”

The hot iron cuffs wrapped around his wrists, searing into his flesh, and Moonflower wailed-

___________________

Kit woke up screaming, the dream disappearing as fast as it had overtaken him. 

His door burst open, and a knight stormed in. Kit scrambled backwards on the bed, fear and confusion shooting through him. 

What did he do wrong?

The knight grabbed his ankle and yanked. Kit yelped as he tumbled, his spine slamming into the floor.

“Wait- please-” he pleaded, rolling to crawl away, but the knight stomped his boot on his back, forcing him to the ground.

His breath was knocked out of his lungs, and he screwed his eyes shut. He was only wearing boxers; which were so easily torn off, and he could practically feel the fingers slipping under the waistband, roaming over his skin-

“What the hell is going on?” Sir Brennan’s voice filled the room.

There were no hands on him. It was only his fear playing tricks on him.

The knight standing on top of him shifted, and Kit choked back a sob at the pressure. If the night guards wore steel instead of leather, he’d have a boot-sized burn in the middle of his back.

“I heard screaming,” said the knight, defensive.

“So your immediate thought was to attack? Instead of, I don’t know, assessing the situation? Get back to your post.”

“You aren’t my commanding officer, Brennan,” argued the knight. 

Kit opened his eyes and saw Brennan’s boots move closer. He glanced up at him, and his dark eyes were furious.

“You mean Captain Brennan. I outrank you, soldier. And you’re on guard rotation for tonight, so you report to me,” seethed Brennan. “Get back to your post, now.”

The pressure on Kit’s back vanished, and he darted under the bed, shaking as he pressed himself against the wall.

“Yes, sir,” muttered the soldier, and Kit watched his boots move out of sight.

“Jackass,” mumbled Brennan under his breath. “What happened?” he said aloud.

“Nightmare,” said Kit, curling into himself. It was so real, nearly exactly the way it had happened. He was still shaking, the mere memory of the pain making him tremble.

“I see.”

There was silence. “You can come out now. He’s gone.”

Kit hesitated. He wasn’t sure why Brennan wanted him to, and he didn’t want to find out.

“No, thank you,” he whispered.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” said Brennan.

Kit closed his eyes. “You- you said-” he cut himself off with a whimper.

He heard a sigh and the sound of a buckle. He opened his eyes, and Brennan’s sword fell to the floor with a clunk. Brennan’s boot kicked it away, across the room.

It was a nice gesture, but Kit wasn't moving.

“You had a bad dream, Kit. I’m not going to strike you down for that.”

“Okay,” he whispered. “Where- where’s Maxus?”

“Stomach flu. Half the guards are out with it. I borrowed a few soldiers from Captain Blake, but didn’t have time to really train them properly.”

“Oh.”

A pause.

“I’m sorry,” said Brennan. “This shouldn’t have happened. Did he hurt you?”

“I’ll be alright.” It wasn’t an answer, and he knew Brennan knew that. Kit just wasn’t sure how much of the pain was the soldier, and how much was the adrenaline leaving his body.

“Are you sure?”

“Mhm.”

Brennan hesitated, before crossing the room to pick up his sword. “Goodnight,” he said, still soft.

“ ‘Night.”

Kit didn’t fall back asleep.

taglist: @paintedpigeon1 @cupcakes-and-pain @loserwithsyle @cepheusgalaxy @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @virtualbreadtale

[oddsconvert]

How would Felix react to Josh getting stuck in a coma? (Probably from Felix's punishments)

Ohmy, I LOVE this question!!! 👀😍

Pure panic. He'd be stuck in the the in-between of unadulterated terror and crippling denial.

For a day or so, he'd try and nurse Josh back to health. Felix would be perched by Josh's bedside night and day. Tucking him in, holding his hand and whispering sweet nothings, begging him to wake up. Felix wouldn't sleep, wouldn't eat - he'd just watch Josh and try over and over to wake him.

Then desperation would set in. When he realises Josh isn't waking up and that this time, it's deadly serious. He'd call for backup - his goons friends. He'd be left with no option but the hospital, but how could he ever do that? He wouldn't be able to stay with Josh. Eyes would turn to Felix the second he carried Josh in, just skin and bones, littered with bruises and scars. And how could he ever think of abandoning the love of his life?

So, I think either Felix's hubris would get the best of him, and he'd refuse to get Josh medical help and would keep him...no matter what happens. Or maybe he would dump Josh at the hospital, possibly with the intention of snatching him back down the line 👀

[whumpwillow]

Demon's Haven 11

woo!! okay this is the chapter I've been waiting for, I'm so excited to post it 💚💚💚

—  

masterlist

warnings: blood, past torture, description of wounds

—

Dressed and dry, Haven led the demon over to her bed where they could both sit. She’d fetched a collection of bandages and gauze and whatever else she could find from the bathroom, leaving the door open so the demon could still keep her in his sights and wouldn’t launch into a panic. He seemed to find comfort in her presence, or what she thought was more likely, he just didn’t want to be alone. He probably would have taken comfort in anyone’s presence regardless of who it was. She didn’t know why the thought of that filled her with such disappointment.

She spread out her collection on the multicolored blankets, then sat down beside the demon and inspected his wounds once more. They’d begun to bleed again, especially the fresh lashes. Blood seeped from them in a steady current, creating ribbons that trailed down his back. Still, it was much better than it had been when he’d been filthy with grime and dried blood so that Haven couldn’t tell how bad the damage really was. Clean, the wounds weren’t any less grotesque, but more manageable.

Haven pressed a cloth to the demon’s back to try and stem the bleeding. She waited a few minutes like that, feeling the demon’s heat under her fingers even through the cloth. She removed her hand yet the cloth stayed firmly in place, and began unwrapping a roll of gauze. Peeling away the cloth from the demon’s skin elicited a sharp intake of breath that caused him to scrunch his face in pain.

“Sorry,” Haven said.

“S’alright,” the demon replied, voice slurred from exhaustion.

She wanted to finish this quickly so he could rest—was tempted to lie down right now as well—but she didn’t want to do anything haphazardly. He’d been through enough. She could at least take proper care of him because if she was going to invite a demon into her home, she was going to commit to it and treat him as she would any guest.

Except she’d never had a guest who’d been tortured in Hell before. Semantics.

Haven began wrapping the bandages around the demon’s midsection, working her way through covering those ghastly stripes. She found herself sighing, looking at them. Silver, the demon had said. Silver made them permanent.

“Are you okay?”

The demon’s voice was quiet, slow, careful. Nothing like the high and desperate pitch of the past few days where he’d begged her not to hurt him, words spilling out of his mouth in stuttered gasps like he couldn’t get them out quick enough. Haven felt herself exhaling a dry and humorless laugh.

“You’re asking me if I’m okay?”

 “You’re sighing.”

Haven shook her head. If she hadn’t summoned the man herself, she would have had a hard time believing he was truly a demon. Here he was, exhausted and in what she could only imagine must be terrible pain, weakened to the point where he couldn’t even walk without her assistance. After being tortured. In Hell.

And he was asking her if she was okay.

A smile crept onto her face, unbidden. “Yes, I’m fine.”

“Ah.”

It was silent for a beat. Haven continued her work, covering up too many lashes to count on his back, then wrapping his bruised shoulders and tying the whole thing off. She’d already used up an entire roll of gauze.

She began to work on the smaller wounds on the demon’s arms, deciding she’d skip his fingers for now and wait until she had something better suited than wide strips of cloth. She’d been pondering what to do about his bruised wrists when he spoke again.

“Are you upset?”

He didn’t look at her as he asked the question. Instead, he elected for staring straight ahead, gaze softened to the point where Haven had to wonder if he was really seeing her room at all.

“Of course I am.”

His head snapped to the side. Gaze sharpening, focusing. He was back in the room now, in the present, fearful, ever fearful.

“I—”

“Not at you,” Haven said, interrupting him before his thoughts could spiral. Before he could start begging for mercy and leniency for having done nothing at all. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

The demon blinked at her a few times, processing. He tilted his head to the side a bit in a way that Haven felt was far too cute an action to belong to a creature borne from Hell, then opened his mouth as if he were going to speak. He didn’t though, and closed it. Opened it again. Finally turned his head away from her and resumed staring intently at her bedroom door. Haven finished wrapping one arm and moved onto the next, having decided to use extra padding around his wrists given how deep the bruises went. They’d be there for a long time.

“Why are you sad?” the demon asked after a while.

Haven passed her thumb over a deep purple bruise on his bicep and he flinched, to which she apologized and tried to wrap as delicately as she could. A large gash intercepted it. She couldn’t leave the wound unattended, though it was hard to maneuver the bandage around his arm without holding onto the bruised skin that surrounded the gash.  

“Because you were hurt,” she replied.

The demon turned his head just slightly to the side so that Haven could see only a slanted angle of his face, still shadowed by his wet black locks.

“You don’t know me.”

“Does that matter?”

A gasp. He turned fully to face her, his body twisting in such a way that the gauze fell out of Haven’s grasp and unwound. Before she could even feel annoyed at him for it, she saw the look on his face. His eyes were wide and wet, tears already beginning to pool in their depths. He swallowed once, twice. Blinked.

That was his downfall, that one. He’d been clearly trying not to cry, but the single blink had released the built up tears so that they spilled down his cheeks. He looked at Haven with some unrecognizable expression, something so tragic that she had to take him into her arms.

Haven drew him close and wrapped her arms around him. She threaded one hand through his still-damp hair and laid his head to rest on her shoulder.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she murmured, repeating the phrase just for the sound of her voice and hoping that it would be enough to soothe him.

The demon didn’t try to hold back anymore and sobbed openly. Broken cries tore from his throat, all pitchy sounds and half-drawn breaths. Haven rubbed her thumb back and forth through his hair, trying to ground him in the moment. His body shook something fierce, tremors rioting through him.

They stayed like that for an indiscernible amount of time, as if the very concept were water flowing through their fingers. The two of them, in their tired state, fell back onto the bed in a tangle of limbs. Haven kept an arm around the demon and a hand in his hair, and he rested his head on her shoulder. The rolls of bandages lay around them.

“I need to finish wrapping your wounds.”

“Mmnh.”

The demon’s eyes had closed. Haven again felt a pang of jealousy at how beautifully his lashes overlaid on his cheeks.

Neither of them moved.

“I don’t want you to bleed out.”

“Can’t.”

Haven sighed at his response. The demon nuzzled further into the crook of her neck. She canted her head so that it touched his.

A thought occurred to her.

“You never told me your name.”

A flinch. The demon’s body tensed against hers enough for her to realize just how much she had gotten him to relax previously. Seemed a shame that all that progress would go to waste.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Haven added. “I just thought it would be nice to have something to call you. I’m Haven by the way.”

“Haven…” the demon whispered, so soft that she wouldn’t have heard it if they hadn’t been pressed together. He said her name with such reverence that it almost made her shiver. He said it like a blessing. Like a prayer.

The irony wasn’t lost on her.

The demon sighed and untangled himself from her. He sat up, though it was a poor imitation of the pose. He practically bent double, his back curved with his head hanging low, arms limp with hands clasped loosely in his lap. Haven watched him while propped up on her elbows, waiting for him. He seemed to be gathering his nerve, or perhaps, coming up with a clever lie.

No, that was ridiculous. Why would he ever need to lie about who he was? Not unless he was—

“Envy.”

The demon said his name the way a man would when confessing to a sin on the gallows. Haven drew her head back in shock.

Envy. One of the seven deadly sins.

A demon prince of Hell.

—

next

(taglist in reblogs)

[boxboysandotherwhump]

Paxton.

[pigeonwhumps]

Tour

Immortal Cannon Fodder masterlist

Taglist: @painful-pooch @i-eat-worlds @a-funeral-romance @extrabitterbrain @wolfeyedwitch @whumpinggrounds

This is a crossover with Alex & Friends by @i-eat-worlds, who Joseph belongs to!

Aaron takes Phoenix on a tour of Hero Alliance London HQ, and they end up at the cafeteria, where things don't quite go to plan.

4.7k

CWs: immortal whumpee, hero whumpee, abuse, panic attack, ableism, low self-esteem, past starvation, denial of food, fear of punishment, expected punishment, asking to be punished, begging, conditioning, losing control of superpowers, consideration of self-punishment, guilt, flashback, traumatised whumpee, food-related trauma, traumatised caretaker, threats, insults, punch, shove, fear, intimidation

"And this is the cafeteria."

Phoenix stops dead in their tracks in the doorway, looking around.

"It's, um, it's big."

'Big' was an understatement. The place was huge, and always busy, full of noisy heroes, some laughing and joking, some sombre. Some have clearly very recently come off shift.

Unfortunately, Phoenix has been recognised as the hero who got Abbie suspended (even if they're so abused they didn't see anything wrong with her behaviour – but then, so many have swallowed her lies about accessing their medical records to look after them better, why wouldn't Phoenix). The room doesn't quiet, though some of the conversations become more stilted, and there's a few glares. A bit of intimidation tactics from those heroes who can use their powers with any subtlety.

"Come on," mutters Aaron, putting an arm around Phoenix's shoulder in an obvious show of solidarity, "let's fetch some food. You'll love the cinnamon buns."

Phoenix nods, but they're distracted, and for good reason. It's good manners, good practice, good safety, not to use your powers against people in here. It's just one of those things you don't do. If you have a problem with someone, you solve it mundanely. So for that to happen, suddenly... it's a big show of strength against Phoenix and they know it.

"Don't let them win. Don't let the others make you think you don't deserve to be here. You show them something later. If this is going to turn into a contest, you're way more powerful."

"I don't think I am," they murmur, but let Aaron steer them towards the serving counter, grabbing a couple of trays on the way.

"Hey. None of that. You'll be fine. They're fickle, trust me. Ignore them. You've got allies anyway."

Phoenix nods. They still look very small, pressed up against his side. He squeezes them tight.

Aaron's honestly relieved. He'd thought the reactions of the other heroes in disagreement might be worse than that, judging by their behaviour in the medbay lately. It's a shame they recognised them, but hey. Can't have everything.

He tries not to think about how that might be partially his fault.

Phoenix squints at the chalkboard menu. "What, um, sort of chips are they? Fries or chunky ones or... I don't mean to be fussy, sorry. I'll eat them, whatever they're like, please let me still eat." The last sentence is added hurriedly, as if that's a regular problem. And maybe it is.

"Hey. I brought you here to have something you like, it doesn't matter how fussy you are. And if you're worried about the price, don't be, it's free."

That's not completely true. There's some posh things that're just reduced. But Aaron made an agreement yesterday, so if Phoenix wants them he won't have to pay in front of them.

Phoenix nods, visibly trying to absorb that.

"Chunky, like a chip shop."

Phoenix's eyes light up at that. "Can I, can I? Please?"

"Yeah, of course. Do you want to go and order? You can have something with it, if you like."

Phoenix looks very confused, but follows Aaron over to the food counter. Aaron pushes them gently ahead of him. Just in case.

The serving lady smiles at Aaron. "Hello, you. How are you keeping? You've made another friend?"

Aaron scowls at her. She's not supposed to reveal how few friends they have.

"This is Phoenix. Phoenix, Mary. She'll probably try and fatten you up."

Phoenix waves a little, and Mary frowns at them in concern.

"Hey love. You new here? I haven't seen you around before."

Phoenix shakes their head. "No. I just, I, um, haven't been here before. Can I have, um, chips and beans please? It's okay if I can't, I just–"

"Of course you can. We've got some left, haven't we? It's not reserved or anything." She plates it up, then turns to Aaron. "Fish, chips and peas, as usual?"

"Yep." Once it's plated and on his plate, Aaron gives her a winning smile. "So... any chance of the biggest cinnamon bun you have?"

"You can't just use charm to get whatever you want, you know." But she winks and plates a massive cinnamon bun.

Phoenix's eyes are like saucers, and they only widen as the serving lady serves them an extra portion of chips and beans.

"Ketchup and other condiments are over there, love," she points out. Phoenix nods.

"Thank you, sir."

Mary watches them go with a slight frown.

"Polite kid."

"Maybe too much so," murmurs Aaron. "They're getting better though."

"Who's on their team? Bit negligent to not show them this place. And they seem off."

"The Spark, Tempest and Nightkeeper."

"Poor kid. Here, take some onion rings to share, they do need fattening up. You'd better go and help them." She nods to the condiments table, where Phoenix is standing, looking lost.

"Yeah. Cheers."

They manouvres their way over to them.

"Hey kid. What's up?"

"Am I really allowed all this too?"

"Yes, of course. And these two," he points at the onion rings and cinnamon bun, "are to share."

"But... that's, um, that's a main dish, and a side and another side and a dessert. I can't take seasonings as well, that'd be, um, greedy!"

"Is it greedy if I take some?" Phoenix shakes their head. "Then why would it be for you?"

"Abbie says that I don't need so much to eat. I don't. Do I? I'm fine."

"I... Phoenix. You nearly passed out from hunger."

"And?"

Aaron splutters a little. "And? Do you not see how that's a bad thing?"

Phoenix shrugs. "I nearly died from it once. Only one person ever saw a problem then, and he was a villain. So it's not a bad thing if I don't eat much. Why do you– I don't understand."

It takes an enormous amount of effort for Aaron to control himself. Sparks don't literally fly, but it's close.

"Your team. I assume they're the only other people you saw then. What did they say?"

Phoenix shrugs, almost overbalancing their tray. "That I was weak. And Abbie said that it wasn't serious because it, um, wouldn't kill me permanently. And then she punished me for accepting outside help. I don't, um, understand why she let me accept your help, though."

"She has to, I'm your team medic and Kai was on your team. And you did say she'd been getting worse shortly before her suspension."

The lights flicker this time as Phoenix looks so damn confused that Abbie might be hurting them.

"That can't be right. She's my mentor, she must have my best interests at heart."

Maybe at the very centre of her heart, surrounded by unbreakable stone. He doesn't say that though.

"Come on. Let's eat."

Aaron drowns their chips in salt and vinegar, while Phoenix hesitantly picks up the ketchup, looking around. When nobody stops them they squirt out a small pile.

"Thank you."

"'s no problem." Phoenix follows Aaron over to a small square table, Aaron glaring at anyone who so much as dares look at Phoenix wrong. They drag another table over to ensure there's enough space for all the food.

"It's a lot of food. Are you sure it's, um, not too much for someone like me? I don't mean to be ungrateful, I just, um, I'm not worth it, and– I'm sorry."

"Yes." Phoenix frowns. "Yes, you're worth it. Everyone is worth food, Phoenix." Phoenix has a look of confusion on their face, tears welling in their eyes. "What's wrong?"

Phoenix's eyes snap up to theirs for a second before darting away.

"It's, um, it's more than I've eaten since Kai went back to his team. That's all."

Aaron's alarmed by this. Sure, this is a big meal, but not overly. And if they're going on solo missions and healing themself they need bigger meals. They need the energy.

Abbie must worry about him finding out during their weekly check-ups now. Just how little proper food did she feed them before anyone found out?

What did he miss during that first weigh-in in five years? Did they start feeding Phoenix with Kai on the team, to make themselves look like heroes who aren't abusive? Phoenix seemed to know then that they needed to eat more, what's changed? Did they just say what they thought they wanted to hear?

How much of that has there been?

"You know it's not normal to eat so little so regularly, right? If it was by choice we'd call it an eating disorder."

Phoenix frowns. "Abbie's teaching me how to survive. It's, um, part of my training. I have to learn because I, um, I'm a bit pathetic and keep being captured. I'm her apprentice, she, um, she knows what she's doing."

Oh, Aaron bets she does. Keep Phoenix weak, reliant on her, with low self-esteem and terrified of their own shadow some days.

Except they're not weak. Not by a long shot. And sparks do crackle from the end of his fingers this time.

Phoenix shoots back from the table, chair hitting the wall, eyes wide.

"No, what are you– please, don't hurt me, don't punish me, I didn't mean to! I understand that I deserve punishment but please, please, let me eat first before locking me away! Please, sir, I'm, um, I'm begging you!"

Aaron holds up his hands and, with great effort, wills the sparks away. Phoenix's sleeves are rolled up and their forearms are changing colour seemingly at random, parts of their face growing fake scales and illusory feathers and all sorts that keep appearing and disappearing. They're terrified and Aaron needs to deal with this before they end up almost invisible again. That would certainly get back to their team.

"Hey. Easy, Phoenix, where do you think you are?"

"In, um, in the flat, I know that, sir. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I shouldn't show my powers like this, please don't hurt me, please, um, I know I deserve punishment but please."

Aaron glances around quickly. Luckily no-one seems to have noticed or cared. They lower their voice anyway.

"You're not in the flat. You're in the cafeteria. And you're certainly not in any kind of trouble. In fact, I don't even know what you've done that you think warrants whatever 'punishment' you were about to get."

"But you– I– I don't– Aaron?"

"Yeah. It's me. No punishment, and no pain, I promise. Shall we eat?" They're guessing from Phoenix's pleas that Abbie sometimes denied them meals as a punishment, and Aaron's hoping being clearly offered one might help them calm down.

Phoenix nods, arms wrapped around themself. "'m sorry. I fucked it up."

"No, you didn't. Less than five minutes out of a good day? Let me give you a hug."

They nod again, and Aaron crosses to the other side of the table, pulling them in as they lean on him.

"The food won't even be cold."

"Is there, um, someone with powers in the kitchen or something?"

"Yes," says Aaron simply. He knows they're joking but it's true.

"Oh." There's silence for a minute, before they say, tentatively, "I think, um, I would've liked that job. If I had the right sort of powers. I can't save the world that way, but still. It would be fun. And I could, um, make food for people who've been rescued. It'd be a waste of my immortality but I wouldn't be immortal in this scenario. What, um, what other jobs are there here that aren't on the, um, front line?"

Aaron recognises it as a tentative attempt at an olive branch they mistakenly think they need, and leads them gently back to their seat. He takes a bite of his fish.

"Well, there's plenty in medical, for starters. Nursing's a big one. And liaisons. I think you'd be good at that."

"Liaison? What, um, what do they do?"

"Well, first of all, it's not like a medical liaison job on the outside, if you know what that is, so put that thought aside. They're called medical advocates, or patient liaisons. A medical advocate works with patients who are struggling, usually psychologically. Patient advocacy, helping them through trauma, explaining things in their terms, informing us of things we might need to know. Like your sensitivity to general anaesthetic and healing. Long-lasting trauma. A lot of it's in the word liaison, to be honest. And we never have enough of them."

He's trying to think of a way to ask them if they'd like to help with that while Indigo and Segun won't let them in the flat and all they can do is solo missions until Abbie returns, when they hear footsteps behind them. Aaron thinks hopes that they'll just go past, but no such luck.

"Can I sit here?"

Aaron snarls and whirls around, before noticing who it is. "Oh! Hi Joseph."

"Hello there. Still as protective as ever. Phoenix? Mind if I sit here?"

"Yes, sir. I mean, you can, sir," they murmur, going quiet. As Joseph smiles and takes the seat next to Phoenix, carefully blocking their view of one of the heroes whose gaze is boring into them, Aaron notices them curl over their meal, ever so slightly.

One of these days he is going to hack Abbie into a hundred pieces. Without knocking her unconscious first.

"Thanks." He picks up a chip and pops it in his mouth. "So, what were you discussing before I interrupted?"

"Non-frontline jobs here. For example, Phoenix, Joseph works as... what exactly do you do? You're medical, I know that much, but what specifically?"

Joseph shrugs. "Frontline Paramedic. Found out the title recently."

"Okay, maybe not the best example of a non-frontline job, but we're still better than you."

"Not true."

"Oh, come on. Your only decent output is your cinnamon buns and you know it. And we don't even need you to make them anymore, not now we have the recipe."

Phoenix snorts, taking a hurried mouthful of beans to cover it up. "Sorry, sirs."

"'s okay," shrugs Joseph. "How's your injury?"

"It's healed, sir. Completely."

"Good." Aaron can tell he's a little surprised at the speed – it was a large gash, after all, and Aaron's not sure if he knew about Phoenix's healing abilities. It's refreshing to meet someone else who actually cares about their health, especially for non-work purposes. "While I'm here, can I have your phone number? Just for the purpose of sending cat memes, I promise. Nothing nefarious."

"I'll kill him if he does," says Aaron helpfully, when Phoenix hesitates. "And you can always block him if he gets annoying. No-one would blame you."

"O-okay." Phoenix takes Joseph's phone and enters it in. Then he looks between them calculatingly. "If you, um, don't mind my asking, how long have you known each other?"

"Since med school," replies Aaron easily. "We took the same international elective on helping patients with psychological trauma." Like Phoenix. At least... well, at least all this is good practice.

Phoenix nods. Aaron thinks they were right. Phoenix would make a great liaison, especially if they were a little more confident.

"Aand now I'm stuck with you," sighs Joseph theatrically.

Phoenix giggles. Actually giggles, and Aaron wasn't expecting that. "This food is amazing," they say between bites. "It's been a long time since I had chips and, um, beans or onion rings. I don't understand though. My team always complain about my cooking. If it's so bad, why don't they, um, order me to fetch food from here instead?"

"I don't know," lies Aaron sadly. In reality, he can make a pretty good guess. He's just not sure Phoenix is ready to accept it yet. "Go on. Eat up. I want you to try part of this cinnamon bun."

Aaron is the first to finish, and he carefully cuts up the genuinely massive sharing-size dessert.

Phoenix eats slowly, but their eyes pop out of their head as the scent wafts across the table.

"Wow."

"Mary must love you."

Aaron shrugs with one shoulder, feeling a bit awkward. "I saved her son. Physically. You remember after they closed the schools? Some people... didn't do too well. Even six years after the event, when I started, he wasn't doing well."

That's the understatement of the century. Joseph flinches minutely, dropping his fork.

"That's when the medical advocacy role was created. After the abolition. But a token apology and a new role in which there aren't enough employees does not reparations make. It certainly doesn't help enough." They sigh, then turns to Joseph, whose eyes have turned glassy, and taps him on the shoulder. "Hey. Breathe. You've got a cinnamon bun to eat, remember? No blood on your hands."

"There is a lot of blood on my hands," he breathes, but takes a bite of the bun anyway. "These really are delicious. Does Mary save them for you or something?"

Aaron smiles. "Yep."

Phoenix bites their lip, looking up for a second before locking their gaze on their bun like it's the most fascinating thing they've ever seen. "You– you said– well, um, you won't let me go back to living in the cupboard and, um, you won't let me pay you back, I'm sure I could but you won't let me and I still don't understand why, and you've done so much, and... and... and I... I, um, I... never mind. Sorry. Doesn't matter, it's stupid."

"Go on, spit it out," says Aaron gently.

"I– I– I, um, I– yousaidyoudonthaveenoughpeopleandindigowonttakemebackyetandiknowidonthaveanytraumaorexperienceanditsastupidideabutmaybeicouldhelp." They flush bright red after speaking all in a rush, and as Aaron tries to process the words he's heard, Phoenix says quietly, "I told you it was a useless idea. I'm sorry. You can punish me for it if you like."

Aaron shakes his head. He's understood the words now. Did Phoenix just make a suggestion? Not just a punishment one, and not pushed, one of their own accord.

But he needs to respond, or it might be the last suggestion Phoenix ever makes.

"It's not useless. Not in the slightest. I'd love to have you work in the medbay, even if it's only for a few months. And I'd never, never punish you for making a suggestion."

"Oh." Phoenix's eyes flicker upwards, and they must see the sincerity on Aaron's face because they smile. "Really?"

"Absolutely."

"I know it's a lot to ask but, um, will you not tell Indigo or Segun? Please? I don't, um, they might give me something else to do and, um, I'd be better helping you if you, um, think I'd be good at it, even though, um, I'm not sure, and I'm not supposed to– please don't tell them, please, please, sirs."

"I won't, I promise. Joseph?"

"Never."

Phoenix doesn't look much more relaxed, but they glance at Joseph with what appears to be a fraction less fear than before. They finish up their chips and take a bite of the bun, eyes going wide.

"Thank you, sirs."

"It's absolutely no problem. Really. You like the bun then?"

Phoenix nods enthusiastically, almost forgetting about their fear in their excitement. Aaron's heart aches. Over five years without even knowing they exist.

Their left cheek starts to turn the colour of the wall behind them in their enthusiasm. They haven't noticed, and when Joseph opens his mouth to potentially mention it, Aaron catches his eye and shakes their head. That would be a very, very bad idea.

He waits until Phoenix has finished before saying, "Do you want me to fetch you a leaflet on medical advocacy jobs once we've finished here? So that you know exactly what the job entails before you decide for certain whether or not to take it."

"I, um, I'm sure I do. But I'll, um, take a look at it if you, um, think it's best. Are you sure I, um, would be any good?"

"Hey. Stop putting yourself down. I love you, kid, but that has nothing to do with how good I think you'll be. I wouldn't have offered out of pity, would I?"

Phoenix shakes their head. "I'll, um, I'll take the trays up," they say thickly, gathering up the plates and clearly not about to take no for an answer. Joseph looks about to object but Aaron shakes his head.

"Let them gather themself," they murmur, once Phoenix is out of earshot, heading towards the furthest deposit point.

"I am going to murder that team of theirs."

"Just... do it cleanly? I don't want to have to heal them."

"Noted."

They watch as Phoenix deposits the trays, then just stands there for a minute. They raise a hand to their cheek quickly.

"Oh, kid," Aaron murmurs. Then they frown as one of the heroes who was glaring and intimidating the most earlier approaches Phoenix with intent. "I think we might need to intervene."

The other hero – Gorgeous Warrior, Aaron thinks his pseudonym is, and that's a bit much, even for someone of his ego, the name Kevin certainly not enough for him – gets into a conversation with Phoenix, and at first Aaron thinks hopes it might not be too bad, that he might be wrong.

Then Phoenix takes a stumbling step back, and Kevin takes one forward, pressing them against the trolley.

Fortunately, it has wheels, so they're not trapped for long. Unfortunately, all the trays are on the upper levels.

Aaron sees what's about to happen before it does, but he's too late to do anything about it as the trolley topples over with an almighty crash.

The cafeteria falls deathly silent. As Aaron approaches he can hear Phoenix's whispered pleas. White smoke rises around them, and Aaron is forcibly reminded of Morticia Addams, although this isn't relaxed smoke. It's their terrified friend, hiding behind their illusion powers because they can't do anything else.

Aaron doesn't know why their powers are so prevalent today of all days, not when they must've generally been more controlled with Abbie to avoid 'punishment' and permanent damage, but that doesn't really matter. What matters is that they're terrified and the man doing it is supporting Abbie, their abuser, with a smirk on his face.

Even what she's done publicly, accessing Phoenix's encrypted medical files without their permission, is bad enough, and he's smirking.

"Please. I'll do anything, please don't."

Aaron plants himself firmly behind Phoenix, Joseph on their other side. He's a bit unsure about interfering but... right now, Phoenix needs obvious allies, not to deal with this themself. Right?

"Hey. Back off."

Kevin sneers. "What? Can't handle me on your own? Powers too weak to do anything except hide, like a fucking coward?"

Phoenix flinches. "I– I– just leave me, um, leave me alone."

"Coward. You can't expect anyone to take you seriously with that stutter. Abbie's doing her best with you, despite all your issues, and you got her suspended. You should've been grateful for her to take you despite the damage to her reputation. Should've been grateful to all of us for taking in someone so weak and keeping you alive when we didn't need to."

Aaron feels a rush of anger and the lights in the cafeteria burst, sparks flying, the only illumination now except for the setting sun. Before he can do anything direct to Kevin, though, he becomes aware of Joseph moving beside him, shoving at Kevin.

"Don't you dare. Don't you dare put Phoenix down like that. And you are way out of line with those comments. What makes you think they're okay?"

"What the hell?"

Kevin looks genuinely confused, like he doesn't understand why they'd care for Phoenix, and that just makes Aaron angrier. He pulls his arm back and lunges for Kevin's face. Their fist hits the area around his eye with a crack.

"Get the hell out of here," they growl. "Before we make that look like a bloody picnic."

Kevin turns away, walking maybe (hopefully) a little faster than normal. Aaron glares until he's out of sight, then turns to Phoenix, touching them gently on the shoulder. They jump a foot in the air.

"Want to help me clear that up?"

Phoenix nods, bending down with Aaron to clear up plates (Aaron stops them touching the sharp shards). Joseph doesn't help, "keeping watch" instead, and Aaron suspects that he, too, saw the terror in Phoenix's eyes when they looked at him.

"You're not a coward, Phoenix. And you're not weak. I, personally, think your powers are amazing."

"But, but, um, they're not useful. Not like yours. Sorry, I, um, I can't stop that. Stutter. Tried."

"You don't need to stop it. I like you. All of you. Hmm? Don't apologise for yourself. There's someone I need to introduce you to when we get a chance."

Phoenix continues gathering trays, not looking at Aaron. After a minute they whisper, "Abbie used to use him for, um, for medical procedures. Because I, um, couldn't go to medbay."

Aaron's jaw tightens. He knows exactly what Phoenix is hinting at, even if they can't say it. But the fog is slowly dropping, even if their camouflage is nowhere close to it, and he pulls them into a careful hug.

"Shall we get out of here, kid? All the people, and the lights and the noise... it's too much for you, isn't it? I should've seen that, I'm sorry."

"'s okay. But, please, if you, um, don't mind."

"Of course. You okay with Joseph coming?" Phoenix nods, and Aaron helps them to stand on wobbly legs. "We're going somewhere more private. Do you want to come with us?"

Joseph glances at Phoenix quickly before nodding. "Sure. Where are we heading?"

"My room. If you're okay with that, Phoenix?" Phoenix nods, clinging on to Aaron tightly. They're really not hiding their fear of Joseph but Aaron doesn't know what else to do. He can't deal with this alone.

Phoenix walks with them robotically, Aaron's arm the only reason they don't fall, and doesn't seem to even notice as Aaron steers them into their room, sitting them down on their bed.

"Abbie's going to kill me," they whisper. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't, um, I didn't mean to stand up to him, but I did and Abbie's going to, um, she'll be so angry when she finds out. Please don't tell her." They look up at Joseph, back to themself suddenly. "Please don't tell her, sir, please don't, um, don't tell anyone, except you can but please."

"I won't," says Joseph, handing them a mug of hot chocolate and wrapping their hands around it when they don't move, "I promise."

Phoenix sniffles. "I can't control my powers. I need to. I can't, um, I need to but I can't learn, please, help me."

"Phoenix..."

"Please!" they cry. "I can't... it looks, um, it looks terrible and it's useless and what's the point if I, um, I can't even control it?"

"I'm not putting the cuffs on you, and the only reason I'd ever even consider it would be if you were putting someone in imminent danger. Which you're not."

He is, though. His powers are getting seriously out of control when he's angry. And he needs to get them under control, by any means necessary.

Joseph squeezes their shoulder, sort-of threateningly. "I know what you're thinking. Don't you dare."

Phoenix buries their head in their hands. "I don't, um, want to be useless," they say, voice muffled and choked, "I want to be good."

"You are. Stop putting yourself down. I like all of you. All of you is amazing, because you are. If you like, we can start your training soon, as a medical advocate and with more advanced first aid, because I think you'll be fantastic at the former and you desperately need the latter." Phoenix nods. "Great. Just promise me one thing?"

"What? I mean, anything, sir."

"Stop promising you'll do anything for people. You have no idea what they'll ask."

[pixelatedraindrops]

sickly sopping wet cat trainee

🌡️💊😷

[honeycollectswhump]

The Main Attraction

[masterlist]

oh look the guy that was supposed to be a one-off character is back <3 you can blame @whumpcloud for influencing me so much and also forcing me to give him a recovery arc (eventually...)

CW: pet whump, dehumanization, conditioned whumpee, cigarette burns, sexual harassement / non-con touch (not explicitly sexual)

Mistress has visitors over, Ashtray knows. He can tell from the waves of noises spilling through the cracks of the closed door. They will get a house tour, as usual, through his Mistress’ extravagant rooms, adorned by only the finest decor. His mistress likes to make a show out of it, heightening the suspense of beauty until they’d reach the final room, the one where she displays her most beautiful possessions. 

Ashtray is so, so lucky to be counted as one of those.

Today, he is strung up by his wrists with golden chains, his torso bare and exposed, tangling in the middle of the room. Of course, Mistress hasn’t explicitly stated that he is the main attraction, and surely Ashtray is never the main anything, but he knows he was expensive and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out the reason behind his placement.

If his Mistress were here, it would be different but left alone like this, Ashtray can’t help but focus on the pain. It disappears whenever she is near, floating away as if carried by a cloud. 

But she isn’t, so without anything to dampen the pain, Ashtray can feel his shoulders scream against the strain. The many round scars that litter his arms stretch and pull into a somewhat oval shape. It burns, in an almost nonsensical way. Ashtray knows what true burns feel like, yet his mind supplies no better term. 

Objects shouldn’t feel pain, Ashtray has been taught over and over and over. Still, some part of him feels like that should be a lie, even though an object like him has no right to discern between truth and untruth. Of course, he feels pain; denying that seems silly, he must because that's what he was made for, that’s part of what made his price so high. 

Distantly, he can hear the footsteps getting louder and louder, until finally, the big door is opened and his beloved Mistress steps inside. Ashtray isn’t allowed to look up, not unless he has been used, but he knows how this goes. There is a gasp as the visitor takes in the beauty of the hall, gold and jewels shimmering everywhere. And in the middle–

In the middle there is Ashtray.

He keeps his gaze dutifully turned downwards, even as the stranger approaches. He talks with Ashtray’s Mistress in a rough and scratchy voice that seems to swallow each vowel. It's not worth mentioning, compared to the clear and articulated gentleness of his Mistress. 

The stranger lifts Ashtray's head to meet his eyes, his index finger and thumb hard against Ashtray’s chin. Ashtray unfocuses his vision, makes sure he is carefully empty. He doesn’t need to hide any curiosity when he is just an object. 

He doesn’t need to understand the words to know they are talking about him. The man lets go of Ashtray's chin, instead opting to run his hand through Ashtray’s soft hair, curling golden locks around his coarse fingers. Ashtray doesn’t have to suppress a shiver, he doesn’t, as the man rests the other hand on his hip and then calculatedly starts to slip lower. 

He is just an Ashtray. The man knows that, right?

Eventually, his Mistress clears her throat and the man lets go. Even though the touch has disappeared, Ashtray can feel the hands stick to his skin like goo, leaving marks on him only he can see.

He’s supposed to be clean and pure and pretty, each mark a proof of how Good he is. But somehow he feels dirty. Ruined. 

The conversation passes by him without making a dent in his consciousness, even as the first cigarettes are lit and the familiar smell of smoke fills the room. His Mistress elegantly grabs one of the chains, pulling Ashtray closer to herself with a sort of purr that would normally fill him with ecstasy. Not even her pressing her cigarette end against his rib makes him stir.

Only when the man turns towards Ashtray does he snap to attention. He feels hyperaware of every fibre on his body as the man’s eyes scan over him. 

Ashtray freezes, his entire being tense and rigid, as the knowledge pools over him that he can’t run, he can’t escape and that thought makes everything worse. 

Escape??

Ashtrays don’t run away, they don’t escape, they don’t even think about it. Ashtray can’t remember ever having such thoughts with his Mistress before. But he knows for certain that this makes him Bad. He needs punishment and he needs it right now.

He bites his tongue until the stinging pain joins the aching waves rolling over him and the thought of escape is buried deep down with all the other Bad thoughts Ashtray sometimes has but never admits. 

Without sitting up, the man takes his cigarette and presses it into Ashtray’s pelvic region, letting it sizzle away at the skin. Something crawls under his skin like worms and Ashtray has to fight to stay unmoving. 

He has to be a Good Boy. He needs to be a Good Boy. But somehow this strange man is taking all of his training and ripping it to shreds and Ashtray can do nothing but watch as his very being frays at the seams.

Muffled, as if through cotton, he hears his Mistress giggle, but the sound doesn’t lift his pain, doesn’t make him pure again as it should. Instead, it makes Ashtray want to scream 

He was made for her! For his Mistress! Not this stranger man with his ugly voice and rough, uncaring hands and touches that make the butterflies in his stomach turn into maggots. 

The man kisses his cheek, kisses a single tear escaping Ashtray’s eye, rolling down his face and betraying his silent act. He doesn’t need words to convey it.

You are even prettier when you cry.

[brutal-nemesis]

Goretober V: Intes-tangled

GUTS BABY IT'S ALL ABOUT GUTS THEY WANT ME TO DO IT FUJIMOTO WANTS ME TO DO IT @coyotehusk WANTS ME TO DO IT GORETOBER IS POWER

←Previous - Castys Masterlist - Goretober Masterlist - Next→

Ingredients: GORE, body horror, somethin nasty in the mouth

As much as Castys hated the feeling of Kuro touching his bare stomach, he’d take it over what he knew was coming next. Her hand was cold because she was just always cold, which he guessed came with the whole whatever-she-was package, so it was a little added discomfort on top of the person touching him discomfort and the person touching an area he really didn’t like being touched in discomfort. And even then, this was way better than what that knife was about to do.

A quick slice, and then in went Kuro’s hand, digging around in his gut as he whined a little bit because he couldn’t fucking help it it hurt and it was uncomfortable and now she was ripping out his intestines and just sort of draping them haphazardly over his torso all wet and slick and sticky with blood and he would very much rather they stayed inside him but no one had ever cared what he wanted especially concerning his own damn body so whatever hooray here comes the knife towards his throat-

Coming back to life was…yeah.

He’d expected this, but it was still one of his least favorites. Whenever he died and his intestines were outside of him they’d just…stay out there. Kuro’d pulled a lot of them out, more than he’d ever had stuck outside of him before. He’d always thought they looked funny, like sausages with yellowish ribbon things attached to them, but that didn’t mean he was happy to see them or anything.

Kuro, however, was. “I’m glad this worked,” she said as she ran a hand along his guts. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” Castys sighed, glad for that one positive. “It just feels…weird. Really, really weird.” 

Of course, the most logical thing to do next was make it even weirder. She released the straps over his wrists and tied them together with, you guessed it, his own guts, which sure was a feeling. They were warm and rubbery and thick and he could probably wiggle out of them given some time, but he doubted he was going to get that chance any time soon. But, hey, Kuro was letting him up off the table completely now, so that was nice, even if she was pulling him up by tugging on the intestines tied to his wrists.

Kuro hummed as she looked him over. Castys was just standing in front of her like a good little boy because this whole experience was already horrific enough without his struggles yanking on the worms coming out of his stomach. “I feel like you need a little something more.”

“I could go for a candy stick.”

That got a laugh out of Kuro, but he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing. “That does give me an idea.” Okay, nope, not a good thing at all, he took it back, he did not want his intestines looped around his neck like the worst collar ever, and he especially didn’t want- “Come on now, open up, Castys! You wanted something tasty, right?” Castys shook his head. Organs were not tasty, especially not his own. As usual, though, it was an unwinnable battle, as Kuro’s hands pried his jaw open before long and shoved a section of intestine in. He bit down on it a little on accident in his efforts to keep his mouth closed, so now his mouth was full of the taste of blood and acrid nastiness unlike anything he’d experienced before. Coupled with the sensation of soft, rubbery flesh on his tongue, it was most definitely the worst thing he’d had in his mouth ever, which was saying a lot.

“Aww, don’t cry, Castys,” Kuro hummed as she stroked his face. He wasn’t crying he-he’d just teared up a bit because of the awful taste and texture. “I think you look cute like this, all tied up and gagged with your own intestines.” She tugged on the ones wrapped around his wrists, forcing to stumble forward towards her. All he could really do was glare in annoyance and try not to focus on what was in his mouth or the pressure around his neck or the slight pain in his stomach as she tugged on his guts and instead focus on…on…he couldn’t really think of anything good to focus on. 

Ultimately, he decided to just let his mind go completely blank for the remainder of however long this hell was going to last.

Next→

Castys Cult: @as-a-matter-of-whump​ @blackrosesandwhump @fanmanga1357-blog​​ @thehopelessopus​ @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @hearse-song​ @muddy-swamp-bitch @whumpasaurus101 @yet-another-heathen​​ @galaxywhump​ @starnight-whump​ @his-unspoken-words​ @misspelledwitch​ @suspicious-whumping-egg​ @pumpkin-spice-whump​ @painsandconfusion​ @i-can-even-burn-salad​​ @befuddled-calico-whump​ @whumpinggrounds​ @whump-queen​ @whumpedydump​

[whumpy-wyrms]

Dew’s birthday was 10 days ago so i’m super late but i spent a lot of time on this (for some reason? it was supposed to be a small doodle but i went a bit overboard) and i didn’t wanna wait until i write the birthday chapter to post this sooo i’m posting it now :3

when the. when the whumper is super fucked up and fine with experimenting on the unwilling human test subject he keeps captive, but draws the line at ignoring said test subject’s birthday:

happy birthday Dew! i’m super late but whatever hehehe oops who cares

Anton’s silliness in this moment causes him to be completely unaware of Dew’s sadness distress and extreme homesickness and how much he misses his friends and wants to be celebrating with them :( but Anton at least gave him a chocolate cake so it’s fine actually :3 and lots and lots of cookies

also Dew’s hair is longer here because he’s spent like 2 and a half months in captivity without a haircut unfortunately

the snake’s name is Sasha and they will be introduced next chapter

what’s in the present? you’ll have to wait and seeee

[re-whump]

@figuwhump Day 5 Bonus Image