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theyre adding a new piece to the chess board its called the prince and basically he fags it up out there

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He didn't want the hood of his raincoat up so now he is cursed with the soggy ears

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Yeehaw 🐄

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Tag the OC who you genuinely hate. Not as a character, but as a person. OC you'd shoot on sight.

(Hope this hasn't been done before, sorry!)

.

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Long haired character with the hair falling like liquid all over them as they’re hurt and on their knees

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Yappy mutts get muzzled

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"I cannot wait to get my hands on you. Oh, the things I will do to your body...there will be nothing left when I am done. Your sweet little voice won't be any threat once I tear your vocal chords out with my bare hands."

Birdie glanced across the table at Jay, who was watching her with their usual stoic frown. She glanced down into her mug of tea, un-drunk and cold now.

"Did he say anything else?" Jay asked, their tone making her flinch.

"I'm looking forward to the day we meet," Birdie muttered, reciting the rest of the words that had been burned into her mind, "It won't be long now."

She could still hear him - The Man in the Radio - she could hear his terrible, calm baritone coming through the static on her walkie talkie. No matter what channel she switched to, he was there. A shudder went through her.

Jay sighed, and set their coffee cup down a little too hard on the metal table. They'd been sleeping when Birdie got back to the bunker, and they slept so rarely that she didn't want to wake them up.

But she did, because The Man in the Radio had found her, and contacted her directly. Something he'd never done before.

"I knew this job was a bad idea," Jay said, getting up from the table and storming into the kitchen. "Damn it. I knew it -"

"- Okay, it's not as bad as it could be!" Birdie insisted, following after them, "I - I got out of there before anything else happened! I tossed the walkie, so he can't track us - "

"And what about that John in the hotel?" Jay asked, pulling the cannister of powdered coffee from the shelf, "Look at your throat! He choked the hell out of you, you don't call that bad?"

Birdie hesitated, and touched the tender bruises on her neck.

"I - I took care of it," she insisted, though more sheepishly than before, "my songs don't always work right if I'm distracted, or -"

" - Or getting attacked?" Jay finished for her, turning angry yellow eyes in her direction, "That's pretty much always, B, and the villains aren't gonna wait for you to focus up! What are you gonna do next time? Try to sing 'Kumbaya' and get everyone to hug it out?"

"Jay, come on - I'm - I'm doing the best I - !"

" - For fucks sake, Birdie!"

Jay's spark of anger flared with a zap of electricity that made her hair stand on end, and made the lightbulb hanging above the sink blow out. They groaned, annoyed, and leaned their hands on the edge of the counter.

A heavy silence hung in the air between them.

It had only been a few months since she had changed from Brianna the citizen to Songbird, the hero. She trained her powers every day, taking care of her voice, researching and testing song after song.

She could control other people with some songs, change her body with others. She could make herself light as a feather, invisible to the naked eye, or hard as steel.

But the one thing she could never do was get Jay to support her.

Before she got her powers, it was always Jay - always the hero JumpSpark - who was the one getting into dangerous situations. They had a masterful grasp of their powers, and they were even known by the local government and police.

And Birdie was the one watching from the sidelines. Staying out of harm's way. Patching them up when they got hurt.

Just a citizen; a bystander at best and a liability at worst.

"I'm doing my best..." Birdie repeated, her fists clenched at her sides.

Jay didn't respond for a long while. Just stood at the counter with their back to her, staring down into the half-made cup of coffee.

"You're off the job," Jay finally said, "go back to training."

Birdie's heart sank, and she swallowed hard against the ache of tears in her throat.

"What? But - but I got the info, didn't I?" She asked desperately to Jay's back, as they finished preparing their drink, "I - I got in and out of the hotel and no one saw! I fought off that asshole with my powers! I brought the info back for you -!"

She realised she was shouting, and choked back a sob, following Jay out of the kitchen. "I did everything you asked me to! Isn't that enough?!"

When Jay didn't stop, Birdie screamed:

"Will you look at me?!"

Another spark of electricity jumped across Jay's body, betraying their emotions, and flashing brightly in the low light of the den.

Jay turned, slowly, until finally their tired eyes met hers.

"I wish you could sing to me..." they said quietly, "like you used to."

Birdie hesitated, then opened her mouth to respond, but was interrupted by Jay's power meter which beeped a loud alert on their wrist, warning them about the electricity levels in their body.

Their eyes fell away again, checking the meter, and they sighed.

"Gotta top up," they mumbled, and left their coffee mug on the table.

"Jay..." Birdie called after them, "Jay!"

But they didn't stop again; they disappeared around the corner, and Birdie heard the heavy vault doors of the bunker open, and then slam closed.

With a scream of frustration, she smacked the full cup of coffee off the table. It shattered on the floor, splashing coffee, and lay dark and broken at her feet.

[Day 1 // Vocal Chords]

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watch what happens when I find you.

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Nicky Vergi Masterpost

All my characters are autistic and I'm autistic for all my characters. This is my college boy Nicky. cw: may contain nsfw explicit and suggestive material, violence etc.

Blondie 6969's basement

...insert art here. (wip)

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Vesper St. Seren Masterpost

Contents may contain: nsfw smut, suggestive artwork, please read the warnings and or tags before going into the media.

A pet from the stars~Whumpfic (unfinished)

Lab whump art 1

Pet from the stars art

Vesper injury whump art

Vesper painting (art)

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Hi hello i saw something about some "Koda" oc (?) somewhere and im really curious. Who are they?

I mean are they your oc. Or perhaps im mistaken XD

Yes they are my oc! He's a demi-human snow leapord. He's a whumperee of mine bc I like to whump him and he's a bully as well so. I'll also link the little intro i did for him.

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guy who’s stuck in a timeloop for so long he stops wanting to leave it. guy who started out trying to escape but slowly grew used to and became comforted by the familiarity of the repeating day. guy who is no longer who he was before the timeloop. guy who is offered a way out and violently refuses it because he can’t leave, doesn’t want to leave. guy who escapes the timeloop by chance or force or accident and doesn’t know how to live anymore. guy who keeps going through motions that don’t match the situation and keeps having conversations that aren’t actually occurring. guy who panics every time he realizes he can’t predict the next instant. guy who left the timeloop but still lives with it.

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How does Jackson Boone train his pets, exactly? What process and tactics does he use? And what does he do with the pets he trains once they're considered finished?

so this is basically the process:

acquire the Turned vampire (some are sent to him for training, others he captures himself when he and his Master buddies go on hunting trips)

inject the vamp with a serum to mute them; they won't need their voice for a while

deprive the Turned of blood until they become Feral; this a primal, animalistic mindset that reduces Turned to mindless beasts

reward the Feral Turned with blood and other treats [like blood bites!] for good behavior so they learn Obedience = Feeding

repeat as needed; conditioning is easiest in the Feral mindset, but vamps who are obedient to avoid going Feral should be rewarded for their obedience

gradually establish trust with the vamp; it's not just about forcing them to be dependent on you, they have to want to depend on you because you treat them well [just not like a person]

when vamp shows enough obedience [even if it's still transactional at that point], allow them their voice back and teach them how to speak to a Master [this typically involves a shock collar]

reinforce structure, routine, and a lifestyle that eases the vamp into pethood; socialize and familiarize them with other Masters' pets in the process

continue to treat the vamp to nice things to help soften them to pethood; a Master who spoils his pets a bit is better than one that leaves them wanting and thinking of their former life

when the vamp is conditioned and adjusted to pethood, focus on command training, teaching tricks, and how to attend to their Masters (i.e. household tasks, sexual servicing, comforting, etc.)

for most vampires it typically takes between 1-2 years, with the younger ones and fresh biters adapting much quicker [and those are usually the ones Jackson gets since they cause the most havoc].

trained pets will either:

go back to their intended Masters (i.e. Dirk back to Teddy)

be sold off for anyone to keep as a pet (this is legal in most places)

be sold off to blood rings if they show fighting potential

Alice and Annabelle are exceptions to this, as they are permanent pets / considered part of the Boone Family

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► Logan. Shoot David for real this time.

CW: major character death

It's cold on the Trolltunga, a narrow slope of a cliff that looms about 2,297 feet above Ringedalsvatnet lake. Hikers make the formidable journey in search of the incredible view, standing on the tip of the cliff's 'tongue' to see miles of crisp blue waters and snow-painted mountains, like something straight out of a travel postcard.

David brought his son here for a similar reason. Not just for the view, but for the twelve-hour trek in the snow and steep terrain. He needed the physical strain, the sense of accomplishment that came with completing a difficult task. Mostly, he needed a distraction from Derek's death.

David knew it would destroy him. He knew that Logan would want it to. Let the grief cleave him open, let the rage fester. After hunting down Derek's killer, extracting all of the information he could before their brutal death, there was nobody left to take it out on. Not even a satisfying answer to his questions: all the killer revealed was that they had a personal grudge against La Diavolo.

David made sure of that when he hired them.

Now, they were at the seven-month mark. Logan was starting to show more promise. He still needed David to take the reins, steer him in the right direction, but he was getting better at anticipating what David wanted and do it himself.

Like a dog with a new owner, Logan was adjusting to life at home again. Learning not to bite the hand that feeds him, or touches him, or slaps him across the face when he's bad. Finally, his son was willing to be trained, and this time it would stick.

He clears those thoughts away as they reach the edge of the cliff, their breath coming out in white puffs. Only their faces felt the sting of the frosty air. The rest of their bodies were well insulated, thick sweaters under fleece-lined puffer jackets.

Logan exhales loudly, staring out at the lake.

"Wow," he says.

"Yeah," David agrees, lips curving. "Pretty impressive, right?"

Logan nods. Silence settled between them, like soft snow on the ground. That was another reason people came here, to experience true quietness. The only sound was the air flowing in and out of their lungs, the pull and squeeze of fabric when David raised his arm to rest a hand on his son's shoulder.

Logan sounds far away when he asks, "Erik brought you here?"

David's grip tightens slightly, before relaxing again.

"For my tenth birthday."

Logan hums.

"But you came back on your own?"

"A few times. It's one of the only places that I feel at peace."

Logan laughs. David hasn't heard him laugh in months. It sounds faded, like an old photo losing color. It disturbs the calm waters of David's mind, until something lost in the depths resurfaces.

Guilt.

He lets go of Logan's shoulder.

"It's funny," Logan says, even though nothing is. "I used to think a lot about how I wanted to die, and eventually I settled on falling to my death. Preferably from a mountain or a cliff, but I wasn't picky. All I knew was that when I go, I wanted to know what it was like to fly."

The past tense does little to reassure David.

"Logan," he says, gently. "Let's start heading back."

Logan doesn't argue. He leaves David standing there as he turns around, boots crushing snow.

David allows himself a small sigh of relief before taking one last look at the lake spilling into the horizon, splitting the Earth apart. Clouds sailed in the pale blue sky like massive ships, sliding over mountains.

Erik used to say they were close to Heaven here. A part of David, small and praying for salvation, still believed him.

The sound of a gun cocking cuts through the silence. David turns quickly, assuming Logan spotted a potential threat. That was the reason for them being armed; you could never be too careful out in nature. He starts to regret that decision when he sees that Logan's gun is aimed at him.

They were doing so well.

"Arms above your head," Logan orders. "Now."

He could try pulling his own gun out. But it was tucked away in his back pocket, and Logan's finger was on the trigger. He could shoot David faster than David could shoot him.

David slowly raises his arms above his head. He becomes hyperaware of the strain on his fatigued muscles, the spike in his heartrate, and the waves of heat that course through his body in an adrenaline-fueled panic.

The calm of his surroundings is offset by the unsettling look on Logan's face, his eyes cold and barren. Nothing like Lilian's.

"I know you hired the killer," Logan says, right to the point.

This comes as a shock to David. He did everything to make sure Logan would never find out. What could have gone wrong? What loose end did he forget to tie up?

It didn't matter. What mattered was talking his son down.

"Listen to me, Logan."

He stops, expecting Logan to interrupt him. That's how these confrontations go. Logan manages to get one step ahead of him and feel like he's in control, like he can finally break the cycle. But like a child throwing a tantrum, all he really needs is an outlet. A chance to cry and scream and wreck things without fear of punishment.

This time, Logan does not interrupt him. Just gestures with his gun for David to continue when the silence goes on too long.

David struggles to find the right words.

"He was a liability. Cassius' allies would have gone through you to get to him, and you were becoming too dependent on him to defend yourself. Logan, you lost the will to live after losing him."

"And yet here I am. Living. Why is that, Father?" Logan's head tilts to one side. "Is it because the only person you want me to depend on is you? Because you took advantage of my suffering to suck me right back into--"

He waves his gun.

"--whatever this sick thing is between us?"

He spits the word out like it's poison.

"You wanted it," David says, turning to old tricks. "You needed it. You need me, Logan, and the longer you keep lying to yourself, the harder your life is going to be."

"Because you make it hard."

"No. Because all I've ever done is look out for you, and you just can't accept that. You'd rather blame everything on me instead of taking responsibility for your own actions."

The corner of Logan's mouth twitches. "Look out for you," he repeats, dangerously soft. "Is that what you call raping your son and calling it love? That's hardly original, Father. Your dad did it first."

David's jaw tightens. "I made my mistakes, but so did you."

"You're right," Logan agrees. All at once, emotion floods his voice and drowns his eyes, like a dam bursting. "I made the mistake of trusting you, and forgiving you, and loving you."

It hurt to hear. Even after all the times Logan said he hated him, David always knew that it was out of love. That the one thing he could count on was Lilian's love and compassion passed down to her son, keeping her memory alive.

"I made the mistake of thinking you could change. That you could accept Derek in my life and move on." Logan's hand trembles, the gun wavering in his grip. "That we could finally be father and son."

He could work with this. Logan had reached his breaking point, and once he realized there was no hope, all of the fight would drain out of him. He could be persuaded to drop the gun, and David would kick it far out of reach, and hold his son tight until the tears stopped.

There are no tears on Logan's face now. Not as his face cuts into a smile, anguish spilling into his voice.

"But do you know what my biggest mistake was, David?"

He steadies the gun in his hand.

"Not doing this sooner."

The gunshot rips through the air, echoing in the vast stretch of space around them. David's body jerks back, arms still raised, as the bullet goes through his clothing and into his shoulder, a sharp sting followed by a sudden numbness in the area.

David looks at his son in shock.

"That's for lying to me," Logan says, voice brittle.

He aims lower. This time, when the gun fires, the pain is instant, forcing out a scream as his nerves burn from the shot taken directly to his groin. David's arms drop reflexively, his hands covering what was now a steadily growing patch of blood in his trousers.

"That's for killing my husband."

"Stop," David wheezes, chest tightening.

Tears pricked his eyes. David Helterson couldn't remember the last time he cried, but his body was reacting to the bullet wounds and this was getting out of control too fast. This wasn't supposed to happen.

He never thought Logan would turn on him.

He drops to his knees with gasp, disturbing the snow. Before he can curl in on himself, attempt to protect his vitals from being damaged, the gun goes off a third time. A bullet lodges itself in his chest.

David's breath gets stuck in his throat. Wide-eyed, he looks up at his son, who silently walks closer with the gun still drawn, and looks down at David with pure, unfiltered hatred.

Is that what Erik saw, before his own daughter shot him?

The edge of the cliff feels closer, bitter winds lashing the back of his head. David didn't realize, didn't have a chance to get farther away before Logan pulled a gun on him. Now, he understands why, and the fear of his inevitable death sinks into his blood, spreading like ice.

Tears run down his cold cheeks. "S-Son," he pleads, reaching out with a shaking hand, blood fresh on his gloves. "P-Please...I'm s-so--"

Logan puts his boot on David's chest.

"And this is for my mother."

He pushes down.

There is no resistance. David is shoved back by the force of his foot and his body tumbles off the ledge, legs straight in the air. Too fast, the world passes him in a blur of white and blue, the wind tearing into him like a sharpened blade.

It doesn't feel like flying.

The last thing David sees is Lilian, beautiful and perfect. Her eyes are warm when she looks at him, her smile brighter than he remembers. He squeezes his eyes shut, feeling her arms wrap around him before plunging into a world of cold.

The last thing David thinks:

Is this what you wanted, my love?

---

Logan watches his father's body hit the water with a dull smack. He steps back from the ledge, shoving the barrel of his gun against the bottom of his chin. It's still warm.

Without hesitation, he presses down on the trigger.

Nothing happens.

With a harsh laugh, he tosses the gun into the snow. Misfire. Of course. Because why would things ever be that easy for him?

But it's fine. Derek would want him to keep living. And now that the Red Wolf was gone, the King was going to have more subjects to rule when he got back to New York, merging the Heltersons with the Garders. It would be hard work, but nothing he couldn't handle.

Logan stands for a moment, looking at a world without David Helterson in it. Nothing had changed. The ripples in the water slowly faded, returning to a peaceful stillness. The clouds still meandered across the sky, unbothered by anything happening down below. The wind still licked his cheeks, like an overenthusiastic puppy.

Everything was fine.

Logan stooped down to pick up his gun. Reeling back, he chucked it at the lake with all of his strength, watching it disappear.

Everything was fine.

It was hard to start walking. His body felt chained to the ground, at risk of being left behind if he went back. The thought made no sense, but neither did the irrational fear that David would resurface at any moment, gasping and sputtering.

David did not resurface.

Everything was fine.

Finally, he forced his feet to move. One in front of the other.

His breath came out in short, uneven bursts, heart still pounding from the adrenaline. But it was fine. He would come down from it during his hike back, and when people asked where his father was, he would clearly be in a state of shock when he told them about the accident.

Nobody could blame him for not crying.

It happened so fast.

He didn't have time to process.

He picked up their packs of supplies. David had set them down away from the cliff, so that they could enjoy the view unincumbered. They were heavy, but Logan could manage. Nothing he couldn't handle.

Everything was fine.

It was finally over.

---

(send my ocs a command)

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Lab!au Koda and egg therapy and/or Laelius Slavery Whump (2024)!!!

So a big part of this ask game is to motivate myself to post art on here. Sooo~~~

Laelius, Adult, (He/him) Oc intro~ (cw: Sexual slavery, noncon, dehumanization, exploitation)

He was born with albinism so his pearlescent skin is sensitive to sunlight. Laelius was always kept inside for his own safety. The people of his village feared him, believing he was a ghost or a demon based on his appearance. So his mother raised him on her own, keeping him safe at least until their village gets raided by slave traders.

Then he gets put into sex-work, a prized trophy and concubine. Draped in silks and dripping with jewelry, as depicted here, lying on the many velvet cushions. He never guessed he would end up here, plagued by prophetic dreams and gagging on an emperor's dick. I have some more art of him~

The butterfly tattoo was a form of branding from one of his owners. He's always thinking, whether it's an idle daydream, or debating if he'd get in trouble for retaliating against his captors. Despite not having a formal education, he's very witty and perceptive, a fast learner but he tends to be overly cautious more than anything.

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Thanks to @thewhumpywitch for giving me this idea.

Laelius Slavery Whump (2024)

Charlie and Arthur Royal!au portrait (2024)

More Charlie Morgantide lore.

Deer Charlie Mutation!au. (2025)

Canon!Charlie the unreleased sitcom pilot

Lab!au Koda and egg therapy.

Canon!Koda origins.

Vocalchords-febuwhump

@echo-goes-mmm, @starryybrained,@whumpspicelatte @carolinethedragon, @thewhumpywitch, @kabie-whump,@stuffbybean...

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Whumpuary 2025

Day 1 Sacrifice

Day 19 "Let them go!"

CW: abduction, self sacrifice, dragon whumpee, lady whumper, sadistic whumper, caretaker turned whumpee, hostage situation, threats of harm and death to minors, past child abuse, broken bones, magical whump, dragged behind a wagon, collars, muzzles

Gahvon (they/he)

Scarlet (she/her)

Static prickled over the back of his neck and Gahvonedwiin froze where he stood, the sensation biting deeper than any of the snow choked wind. His magic flared, a warning screaming over the back of his mind.

Intruder! Intruder! Intruder!

The axe dropped from his hands, chopped firewood forgotten.

The children were playing in the yard. Bundled in wools and tossing packed balls of snow at each other.

No one had screamed yet.

Powerful wings lifted him to the air as bones shifted, muscles enlarged, scales replaced skin and more teeth filled his jaws. Treetops sped past below as the dragon raced above, the force of his tailwind clearing their branches of white. The little cabin they all called home wasn't far, a shape in the pale mist that hung over. Whoever dared to trespass upon their sanctuary, Gahvon intended to make them pay.

The house came into view, and their eyes immediately found the kids. They crowded together by the front door, Zvonko and Ashryn a defensive barricade protecting the younger ones. All twelve accounted for.

Why weren't they inside? The door should've be open.

There's a stranger standing in the yard, the woman's red hair a splash of blood against the white snow.

As Gahvon approached, her head turned slightly to face them.

Most people who've faced the dragon’s anger had run screaming. Others reached for weapons, a fear-laced curse leaving their mouths.

This woman grinned. Sharp and calculated. She was alone, and no weapons laid in her hands.

With that simple gesture, Gahvon knew they could not let her leave here alive.

When the children noticed him, their relief wrote itself onto their faces. 

“See? Tío Gahvon is here!”

“Yeah, if you don't leave, he's gonna kick your butt!”

Their faith in him was nice, but he needed them to get back inside.

The beat of his wings kicked up snowdrifts, small clouds of powder whirling into the air as his talons dug into the earth. With small quakes shaking the ground with each step, Gahvon positioned himself between the children and this… this…

What was she? The woman looked Elven, but her scent wasn't right. It was something completely different and unfamiliar. Changeling? No, not that either, Gahvon didn't sense any trace of fae.

She did, however, smell of potent magic. 

“Who are you?” The storm of metal in their chest laced a grate into their voice. The emeralds in their eyes flared, an aura howling with intent to overwhelm. “These are my lands, and you were not invited.”

There should've been at least some reaction to the threat display. A twitch of an eye. A shift in posture. 

The challenge in this woman's gaze was unyielding. “So you're the one who's been hoarding stolen kids around this region.”

Clearly, she didn't feel obligated to answer their question. But her own made their spines bristle. Another hired hunter. “They were not stolen.”

“Yeah! Ujak Gahvon's been taking care of us!” That was Zvonko who shouted.

Twisting their head around, Gahvon turned to address the children. “All of you go inside. I will take care of this.”

“We can't, the door won't open!” Ashryn yanked on the handle to prove her point, and sure enough, it wouldn't budge. They couldn't see the runes of the arcane lock bespelled upon it like the dragon could. 

His glare shot back to the woman, her matching magic signature incriminating her. “Cancel your spell.”

“You wonder why I'm here, dragon? Surely you can take a guess. Even a creature like you cannot kidnap several children and get away with it.”

“I've done no such thing! They sought me out under their own will, and they are under my protection.”

“They do not belong to you, however. You're keeping them from their real families.”

“If a family to you is people who hurt or abandon their young, then they are not deserving.”

She scoffed, as if it was something funny. Like it was trivial that her kin treated their offspring with such contempt. “Is that the story they've been telling you? Come now, I thought dragons were smarter than that.” Oh he really didn't like this one. “Children lie all the time to try and escape discipline. Your little band of misfits are playing you for a fool.”

“Don't be presumptuous, mortal! I've walked this planet for centuries, I am well acquainted with how heinous your people can be to their own.”

“As am I. And by the look of your little hovel, you haven't been doing this for long.” She shot a disapproving look towards their stone house, the one he built himself. The stone a timetable of the original structure and recent additions for each new child he took under his wing. “Do you even have the slightest idea how to properly raise offspring not covered in scales or gorging themselves on small beasts?”

“Insult my intelligence again, mortal, and perhaps I'll gorge myself on a small beast.”

It wasn't normal for those just threatened with becoming food to laugh. “Oh you can certainly try. We could argue differing philosophies and child rearing until the sun rises next week. But I'd like to not waste anymore time. The children are coming with me.”

The magic surrounding her was too potent. The scent emanating from her too stagnant. The faint heartbeat in her chest too uniform. Nothing tugged at his mind to alert him to the song of a metal blade. Not once has she blinked or shifted her expression away from arrogance. Too much of the same. Like an automation attempting to act sapient.

Gahvon snarled. “Then you should show your true face and not some illusion, coward!” 

And as they anticipated, their jaws snapped onto empty air.

The red filling their vision, they did not expect. A burst of ruby dust, carried by crackling energy that enclosed upon the dragon like a translucent net. They pulled away from the fading spell, the torn visage of the woman's face still grinning, and their wings hit solidified force. Red-tinged barriers surround them, dust becoming script, magic materializing into a trap. A confinement. 

A cage.

Shit, if this was what they thought it was.

Their talons raked uselessly across the wards, their tail slammed into unrelenting walls, spikes leaving not even a single rune out of place. 

“Tío!”

The children were yelling, confidence having faltered. Hands pressed up and banging against the forcecage. 

“Get back!” he warned them, and the desperation in his voice must've been enough to make them understand the seriousness of the situation. 

Should he tell them to run and scatter? The mage appeared to be alone, but he didn't trust that assumption. If more were lying in wait outside the wards, dividing the kids may put them in more danger. He couldn't run to their aid while trapped. They had to stay where he could see them.

They sent their awareness seeking, senses honed to narrow in on the threat. Hearing. Smell. A real heartbeat. A real scent. The real sound of quiet footfalls coming from across the clearing. There!

A figure identical to the fake stepped out from the treeline.

They tugged at the weave of magic laid over the sanctuary. An extension of their own, seeping deep into the natural terrain and making it bend to their will. They invoked their intention. The space surrounding the woman thawed, snow melting into wet slush. The magic roiling frozen ground beneath like churned butter. Digging deep enough for the mud to swallow.

Then Gahvon roared.

A pulse of ferric matter erupted from the maelstrom of his ventriculus. A rolling mass of airborne iron particles that has sculpted each previous statue of foolish hunters. The mud stole their ability to evade and the particles would leech into their skin until they were nothing but a metallic meal. The forcecage would hold a while, but not forever. Gahvon would ensure nothing came to release the woman from the petrification, and once he could freely roam again, the metal that was once a body would satiate his hunger.

Her form emerged from the cloud.

For a brief moment, Gahvon thought his mind was playing a trick on him. Or perhaps another illusion. But no. The woman approached unhindered. Shiny black boots unblemished stepping over muck that should've buried her to the waist. Iron particles brushing off her clothing and skin as if they were but a harmless whorl of flower petals. 

What was this person?

Well fine. A fire began to build at the back of their throat. Even if they couldn't turn this mage into a metallic statue, they could certainly incinerate her with a shower of superheated sparks.

“You really think so?” she questioned

They paused. What did she mean? They hadn't said that thought out loud.

A flash of red and she vanished again and-

A scream.

Gahvon's head snapped to the side.

The children scrambled back as the woman apparated within their midst. A gloved hand snatching up little Xènia. Another levying a sleek dagger against the young girl’s neck.

The cage shook with the force of its captive throwing themself against it. The air shook with their bellow. “Get your hands off her!”

The others froze, flinching, so unused to hearing their caretaker raise his voice in such anger (Gahvon mentally cursed himself for frightening them). But the woman's smile grew, a knife splitting her face, a flash of fangs puny compared to his own but wielding all the power here.

“These little ones are important to you, aren't they.”

She backed him to a ledge and whatever laid below promised that death would be a mercy next to what it planned for him.

“Tio?” He'd never heard Xènia sound so small. “I'm scared.”

They couldn't do anything. 

“Here's what's going to happen,” the mage began, her audience captive. “If you wish for this girl to survive to see tomorrow, you will obey.”

Their talons and teeth were trapped in this cage with them. They could not use their breath weapon without Xènia getting caught in as well. Their youngest charge, how quickly she grew in her first five years of life. No way to fight or escape without jeopardizing her life. The others stood frozen in terror, their earlier defiance all but forgotten. 

“You will not kill her,” they said slowly. “Her family wouldn't allow you.”

The bluff didn't work. “You and I both know she's orphaned.”

They had no other options. 

“What do you want?”

Crimson eyes sang. “Return to your humanoid form.”

She allowed him a few short moments of hesitation, though whether it was a taunt or a sliver of mercy, he didn't know. Wouldn't bother asking. His body shrunk back into its skin, green eyes seething, claws threatening to cut into the palms of his hands.

Even in this form, he towered over the woman, and he would've allowed himself that small satisfaction if she looked any bit intimidated. But she didn't, and the satisfaction went to her for forcing the dragon to obey. If she thought he'd be weak in this body, she'll find herself sorely mistaken. Gahvon stretched out his wings, the walls of the forcecage no longer closing in.

Despite this smaller form, they were still a dragon. Still a being made of powerful magic. Still a threat not to be underestimated. They were not weak-

An object materialized into the air before the. and dropped to their feet.

“Put that on.”

His boiling blood froze, dread clutching as his eyes roved over the straps and metal piece of the device. His senses immediately detected the averse magic laced within. Scraping at his aura like leaves of cinder nettle, he had to force himself not to retreat back to relieve the sting of its proximity. 

Reinviidost. Roar poison. Or Drake Scourge he's heard some humans call it. The surface of the chains and bars swirled with the tell-tale pattern of nullifying energy that's plagued dragonkind since its discovery. 

In the ancient eras of war between dragon and fae, countless weapons grown from that ore felled many great ancestors. Just as weapons of cold iron helped them slew wing and chitin. Death tainted its very nature, stained into the primal energy it produced.

What lay before him was worse than any weapon.

Dragons were not weak, but this substance denied fact.

“Are you hesitating, dragon?” the woman spoke in warning, and Xènia whimpered in her grip.

Gahvon snatched up the muzzle. 

Gods, even just touching the damn thing sent a wave of revulsion surging through them. An ancient wrongness leaching into their very soul. Instincts screamed for them to let go, to get as far away from it as possible. 

A dozen terrified pairs of eyes stared, and one waiting. 

They couldn't. 

They brought the loop of metal, the collar, up to their neck, the snap of its closure sealing their fate. A killing bite to prey's throat.

Gahvon's heard the stories, the tales of caution told by flight elders. They've dealt with egotistical monster hunters wielding those weapons, thinking just waving around that poison like a wyrmling’s flailing tail would be enough to make them drop dead. It wasn't until now they've ever truly felt the effects of Reinviidost. 

A choked gasp escaped his throat and he lost his bearings, dropping to his knees in the snow. A few of the children called out to him in alarm, but he could not answer over the agonizing cacophony of his magic being ravaged. It felt akin to acid in his bloodstream, a force tearing into each cell and ripping the fabric of his being apart. A crushing, consuming grip on the starfire that made his vitality. Like rupturing organs. The essence that had seeped from him into the surrounding lands tore asunder, severing him from the territory he'd made his home. The wards shattered and fizzled into nothing, the cloaking mist disappeared.

The collar sat tight, snug against their throat, a seamless transition from inorganic chain to their gunmetal scars. An unspoken threat. They could swear it was just waiting to squeeze, to crush. To coil, and constrict, and bite, and strangle, and crush, crush, crush.

(They shoved the memory away.)

He understood now the degree of danger he was in. Locked out of his magic, his senses dulled, not permitted to return to his true body. A gust of frigid wind crashed over his skin and he shivered against it.

“You're not done yet.”

He nearly snarled at her, but bit back the display when he laid eyes on the children again. 

Xènia, Leone, Estela, Justiñe, Irene, Tomé, Amílcar, Zvonko, Yasmine, Ashryn, Myrrh, Inkee.

They didn't look at the woman, only their kids. They hoped their expression conveyed how sorry they were. That they failed. That they couldn't prevent this from happening. 

But if giving themself up to this mage would keep the children, their children, from getting hurt, then so be it.

It was a collar and muzzle. If she intended to kill them, it would've been a weapon she brought and made them bloody their hands with their own. If she meant to weaken them before dealing the killing blow herself, a pair of manacles would've been sufficient. 

Collars denoted ownership.

Going after the children was a ploy. He'd been her true target. 

While his hands shook from the poison, he secured the rest of the straps around he head. Tight. The metal stinging against his face, digging into trapped jaws. Voice and breath now useless.

The forcecage dissipated around him. The woman stepped forward, still not releasing Xènia. Gahvon tried to stand, to regain some dignity, to avoid being looked down upon like a lowly animal. But her quick command made him pause, and then relent. Pride was not worth giving her an excuse to harm her hostage.

But oh how he hated how she looked at him. Like a prize. A trophy. A shiny trinket to add to a hoard.

“Hold out your hands,” she ordered. 

And he obeyed.

Mages were usually supposed to have a verbal or somatic component to their spellcasting. But Gahvon did not see her fingers or lips move before two twin glyphs encircled their presented wrists. Runes writing restraint and control.

They should've been able to feel its magic. To read arcane energy and intention in their very blood, sense its alteration of reality as easy as looking at a person's face. But beyond the runes, they picked up nothing.

“From this point on, dragon,” - the arcane cuffs pulse with each word - “you belong to me.”

So their intuition was correct. She meant to keep them alive for some purpose. That…that was fine. That was manageable. They would endure. They'd just bide their time. Certainly the mage will slip up at some point, underestimate them, have her hubris get the best of her. They'd find an opportunity at some point to-

The woman flung her hostage aside, the young girl falling hard into the snow with a yelp. Estela and Irene were close and rushed to her, holding Xènia close as she sobbed.

There was one moment, one fraction of a second, the woman's eyes left the dragon before her. One moment where he saw nothing but red. Muscles poised to attack, claws itching to rip.

Gahvon lunged.

He hated killing in front of the children, afraid of exposing them to such violent gore. They were not wyrmlings who needed to hunt or fight to survive. But this woman was dangerous and she needed to-

Mere centimeters from her face, an expression unchanged, the glyphs began to glow. An unseen force wrenched Gahvon back by his wrists, dragging him away. His back hit the ground, knocking the air from his lungs, wings splayed, arms pinned above him.

With the muzzle muffling their words, they did not hold back the slew of Draconic curses.

The glyphs locked in place, frozen in space and time, trapping the dragon's hands. No matter their struggles - as they were made to watch two masked figures lead a large carriage into the clearing (at least they were right about that), as the children were rounded up - they could not break the bindings.

“Where-. . .where are you taking us?” Leone stuttered, the young boy clinging onto the hand of his older sister. Her thin tail curled around his waist.

“You two are Leone and Irene Gismondi, is that right? Your father has been worried sick looking for you.” The siblings paled, and Gahvon recalled the vivid bruises both of them sported the day he found them. Their fear went disregarded. “Those of you stolen from your rightful homes will be returned of course. I'm sure your families will be very happy to have you back.”

“No!” Myrrh shouted, their ears folding downward. “No, I don't wanna go back! I wanna stay with Uncle!”

“Please! Let them go, they didn't kidnap anyone!”

“You hurt Tío and Xènia! Why should we listen to you?”

An uproar of protests sounded, the children voicing their pleas. Even those who weren't runaways, who never knew a family before here, who didn't have anywhere to return to. No one wanted to go, but their captors never had any intention of listening to them.

The two masked strangers spoke nothing but moved in sync.

Dark shapes peeled like skin off of the taller one, rising like lumbering undead into shadowy duplicates. The wisps of their bodies dissolved and reformed flanking the group, armed with pitch black blades. The shorter one muttered an incantation in a language Gahvon hadn't heard in centuries. Threads of white tied themselves around the children's hands, entwining, weaving, snaring them all into an arcane web. Their unanimous uproar broke into discordant quarrels, as the threads tugged everyone into each other, shoving and pulling. When the shadows advanced, an army of darkness in the minds of a frightened child, the flightful ones tried to run and forced everyone else to follow. 

Herded right to the perceived shelter of inside the carriage. 

“You will listen because you are children, and good children do as they're told.”

One by one, all twelve were packed into the vehicle. Squeezed in like a squirrel's hoard of nuts. Sniffles and quiet sobs, none made any further move to resist. Tear-filled eyes, hands reaching with silent pleas, were the final glimpses of them Gahvon saw before the door shut and locked.

He thrashed, pulling at his arms until the restraints cut his wrists, wings beating the ground whisking away snow, feet clawing up frozen dirt. Poison against his throat leeched away energy until his vision swam and muscles turned to lead. The spell had to have a limit. It had to have some weakness and he would find it. Reinviidost be damed. He would. He had to.

A shadow fell over him just as two more bands of magic locked around his ankles, forcing them still. Looming red eyes that reveled without words. Drinking in his fruitless struggles. 

Her smile hadn't dropped even a little since she got here.

Nothing but the same snide, condescending, enraging arrogance that made him yearn to rip her head off.

A strange pressure coiled around his leg, disregarding flesh and going straight for the bone. Each second it pulled tighter, a garrote, a heaviness that gnawed like a farm dog with its favorite hollowed cattle shin. He tried to pull away, the growing pain setting off all the warning bells. The glyphs held no sympathy for their prisoners. 

Crack!

Something sharp and hot shot up Gahvon's spine, but they forced themself to remain silent. Just a twitch of an eye and jaws clenched behind the muzzle. It was a minor break, it'd heal. They refused to give this woman the satisfaction of-.

Her hand moved, and the fibula joined the tibia in matching fractures.

They cut off the groan a fraction too late and a curse begged to leave their lips. They couldn't stop from squeezing their eyes shut, and that's likely why they didn't notice-.

A pressure took root in their upper thigh and crunched.

This time the wall wasn't strong enough to stand against the agony. It overtook. The woman was only satisfied with his screams after she broke his leg in three more places. When splintered ivory shards threatened to poke through skin. When the ringing in his ears was louder than the alarmed cries of worried children. 

“Are we going to have anymore problems, or do I need to move to the other leg?”

There was no chance she planned to give him space inside the wagon. No chance she'd planned to offer him room on the saddle of a horse he was taller than (not that the animals would even allow him close). There was only one way she expected him to follow. 

Gahvon shook his head.

The glyphs around his ankles vanished, but those around his wrists yanked again. They wrangled him until his bloody hands were trapped before the woman's boots, and the jostling to his leg made another cry break loose.

A hand grasped one of their horns to lift up their head, but the pain was too much a distraction for them to even register the insult. “I'm going to talk about some rules now, so I suggest you pay attention.” When the focus and clarity in their eyes was up to her standards, she continued. “You will be coming with me to my manor, where I will be giving orders you will definitely not enjoy. But you are going to obey, for should you not, both you and one of those little ones will face the consequences.”

They could not speak, but the glare they leveled at her must've spoken for itself, for she added. “The stolen ones are off limits of course, but mark my words when I say this; it is remarkably easy to make orphans disappear.” How could people be this callous? Any dragon would be shunned by their flight if they spoke that way about their child. “Now, have I made myself clear, or should I expect to make your newfound empty nest more literal?”

Why did she want them so much? What sort of plans did she have that would make her stoop this low?

Gahvon could not speak, so instead he lowered his head and the woman accepted the gesture of submission.

He will rescue his family someday. He will put these people in the ground so deep, even their awakened skeletons wouldn't be able to climb their way out.

Someday. 

But until then.

The shorter masked one waved a hand across the back of the carriage, and another glyph appeared. This one a dark green in contrast to the red encircling the dragon's wrists. Its runes wrote tether, and for a brief moment, he saw one flash between it and his restraints. 

The three hunters boarded, and with a snap of reins, the carriage lumbered back the way it came. Leaving Gahvon kneeling in the snow, unable to stand or walk, bracing for the inevitable. 

They knew what would happen. That didn't mean it hurt any less when the glyphs glowed and the tether pulled. Ice, dirt, and gravel scraped down their body, their leg throbbing with every divet in the ground it caught on. The tether dragged them all the way up to the carriage then let up. A few seconds of false mercy. Then doing it again. Over and over. An endless, cruel fishing line.

Gahvon did not gaze back on their home. They could not bear to watch it fade away in the distance, uncertain if when they'll see it again.