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[worsethandeath]

Day 58

Part of Fifty-Eight Days. This is it. Elijah & Grayson, and the day it all comes to a head. 

Picks up directly after Day 57.

BIG WARNINGS FOR: NONCON, blood, gun violence, failed escape attempt, starvation, captivity, death & lots of thoughts of death. This is a heavy one. Their last day with Myles is not a pleasant one. 

Elijah ran.

Flashes of dusk-painted greenery blurred past him, his labored breathing and the steady thud of his footfalls driving him forward.  Adrenaline drowned out the physical pain of his exertion until he was flying. Movement without direction, speed without shape.

Beyond the trees was a gate, and beyond the gate were more trees, and further beyond that was the camp he had fled from fifty seven days–fifty seven scratches on the wall–prior. It was a singular vision in his head: if he could just make it to the other side of that gate, he could…

He could…

He didn’t know what. Couldn’t think about it. Didn’t have time.

Elijah had never tried to run from Myles before; had never been brave or stupid or opportunistic enough. He knew what it meant if he tried to escape. He knew what it meant the second he removed that padlock from the door and took off toward the dark tree line at the edge of the property.

But he also knew what it meant if he stayed.

It was a sure death versus a likely retaliation.

They would never make it out alive. Not on their own, not after all this time. If there was any chance of getting Grayson out, of surviving himself, he had to find help. That was the only mantra drumming through his head as he tore through the woods:

Get help. Get him out. Get them home.

The air was hot and damp on his naked skin. Sweat poured off of him, collecting at the waistband of his threadbare briefs. The soles of his feet caught and tore on jagged edges along the forest floor, but he didn’t slow down.

Get help. Get him out. Get them home.

Get help. Get him out. Get them home.

Get—

A sharp weight landed across the back of his skull.

He was out before he hit the dirt.

___

Keep reading

[worsethandeath]

Devil's Playground Masterlist

"Rich people are a different breed."

There's a price for everything, and in the Northeast United States, the Jaguars make that price. Having a large influence in the crime world for decades, the Jaguars have controlled drug, weapon, and even human trafficking without being exposed. Despite their power, there are still brave souls who wish to bring them to justice and end their reign of terror.

Read this before reading!

CW: captivity, pet whump, gangs, crime organizations, corrupt police/government officials, lady whump, multiple whumpees, multiple whumpers, graphic depictions of torture, noncon elements (not explicit)

So We Meet Again

Do As I Say, Not As I Do

Welcome To Hell

This Is Where The Fun Begins

Waiting And Waiting, To No Avail

When You Turn Your Back, She Pulls Put A Flask, And Forgets His Infidelity

Together, Forever (noncon)

The Morning After

How To Be A Good Housewife

Missed Opportunities

First Meetings And Exposition

Burn Together, Friends Forever

Let's Try This One On For Size (noncon)

The (Ex) Detective And The Secretary

Luther's Brilliant Fucking Plan

The End Of The Beginning

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The diver coughed and sputtered for a full minute, gasping for air as the sharp rocks digged into her palms.

"Aww poor human, I forgot how much your kind needs air." The melodic voice didn't sound sorry at all, and the moment she caught her breath, the diver looked at the fantastical and terrifying creature that pulled her down into the murky depths.

A mermaid. Of course, it was common knowledge that they existed, but sightings were rare. She never expected to come face to face with one during what was a normal dive.

"Why...what is this place?" She asked, voice still raspy from the salt water. Looking around, she could see she was in a cavern of some sort. An underwater cave with some chambers of air? Sunlight shone in from a crack high overhead, so she must be above sea level, but water lapped all around her feet.

The creature spoke again, and she could decided that she could put the voice and appearance of the mer as vaguely female.

"This is your new home, silly!" She looked her in the face now, noticing her inhuman appearance. She was beautiful, of course, but the diver didn't miss the sharp teeth, and the flash of a third eyelid when she blinked. She felt herself shudder.

"What do you mean? I don't understand," She sat up, moving the clinging wet hair from her face. "Why did you pull me down?"

The mermaid inched closer, pulling herself up on the bank, and the diver's eyes looked down the long expanse of her tale, noting her scales and sharp looking spines and fins. This was a dangerous creature.

"I always wanted a pet human. Your species is so fascinating! But I couldn't take just any human," She speaks with such enthusiasm, and if it wasn't for her appearance and strange lilt of her voice, the diver could almost mistake her for one of the upbeat girls she went to school with. "I saw you swimming, and you looked so pretty that it had to be you!" She finishes with a flourish, tail smacking against the water.

"I can't be a pet! I need to go back." She demands, voice desperate. "I'll just swim out of this cave."

The mermaid flashes her another sharp toothed grin. "You can try, but these caves are dark and twisty. You might run out of air before you can."

The divers frown deepens. She knows the statistics for underwater caving. She hasn't even been trained for it yet, never having thought she'd need it. Her breathing apparatus was gone too, ripped away by the mermaid as she dragged her down.

"I'll starve here," She tries reasoning, "What good of a pet am I if I'm dead?"

The mermaid brought her sharp claws up as she rested her own head in her hands. She watched as her gills fluttered. "I'll bring you food. I know you humans can eat fish, and I'm a good hunter." She says this with pride, as if trying to impress.

"Okay, but I need water. Humans will die without water." She tries countering, heart racing as the situation starts to set in.

"You're silly. There's water all around us." The mermaid giggles, her expression playful.

"Humans can't drink salt water. We need fresh water." She deadpans, trying to make this mermaid see logic.

Her lip juts out, as if this doesn't make a lick of sense. "I don't believe that. This water is perfectly fine! I live in it, and others live in it, and you humans swim in it."

She leans closer, her cold and clammy hand going to toy with a strand of the human diver's hair, and her heart jumps to her throat at the close proximity of those claws that could tear her to pieces within seconds.

"Don't worry, I'll take good care of you. We'll have so much fun together."

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Whump March Madness

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"And don't you forget it boy."

I need to practice faces again so uhhh have a sketch made whumpy lol

I will do the art tag for this. For funsies ya know? I've been quiet too long.

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

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They are still lying on the floor, barely alive. They are shaking and wheezing, all covered in blood and dirt. The only thing that keeps them alive is the sheer determination not to die in that cold, dark, miserable place.

There’s a dull noise and the usually locked door is opened.

They lift their arm, trying to shield their tired eyes from the light coming from the door, but suddenly that light disappears and a shadow looms over them, menacingly. 

They gasp as they see a figure on the doorstep, so they try to crawl back, but their arms are too weak. The figure enters the cell, walking slowly towards them. 

“No! Please….. p-please…. i-i-i… d-don’t…. i-i…. dunno…. w-where….. t-they are…. p-please…..” They beg, sobbing. They don’t want to be hurt again, never again. 

The figure, cloaked in shadow, crouches down next to them, and passes a hand on their cheek. They close their eyes and flinch, trembling, afraid of the pain that touch is gonna bring. 

But no pain comes. This hand seems attentive and caring. 

They open their eyes as a soft, quiet voice fills the air. "My god, what have they done to you…“

[worsethandeath]

Rope bondage. A little bit of kinktober bonus drawing

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The whumper would taunt the whumpee, constantly holding food just out of reach, pouring water on the floor, or purposefully lowering the cell’s temperature just to torment them. They just liked the little things, the things that made the whumpee slowly lose hope of ever being free again.

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cw: aftermath of whump, implied abuse, fantasy slavery, violence, manhandling.

based on this prompt by @howls-ghost

"Trite details bore me. I'll leave it to you to complete, and complete quickly," said Prince Acacius.

"I've had enough of your dimwitted blathering. See yourself to the door," said Prince Acacius.

"Remember your place," said Prince Acacius.

Laith was sick of it. Sick of the arrogant little brat prancing around the palace like he was already king. They hated Acacius and his cold, dismissive attitude. The spoiled twat didn't know a thing about running a kingdom, and wouldn't know humility if it bit him on the nose.

The only reason the country wasn't already in ruins was due to the competence of Laith and the rest of the high council. Even the regent, as good a man he was, was taken out of commission by Acacius, forced to keep the aloof young man at his side at all hours for supposed education. Not that Laith believed Acacius absorbed any of it. He was a horrid prince, and he'd make a horrid king.

And Laith intended to do something about it.

It started as something small and reasonable; a daydream about teaching the prince a lesson, of having him whipped for insolence, or beaten in the streets, or simply pushed off the balcony.

But none of those were realistic dreams, and none of those were enough. Acacius needed a punishment that would stick, something scarring, something humiliating.

The thoughts danced across Laith's mind through all their waking hours, turning sharper and more creative with every insult from the rotten prince.

But then, they thought, why bother with a mere punishment? Why not be rid of the arrogant heir for good? Death was too quick for his poisoned heart, but there were alternatives. Slavers in the West and enemies in the North, and either faction would jump at the chance to own the pretty prince. Should Laith's goal be realized, it would do more than sate their need for justice; it would spare the kingdom from a heartless ruler.

They'd lock him in a cell with no sunlight for a year. They'd remove his acrid tongue, put out his disdainful eyes, somehow they'd hurt him in a way that mattered.

They took their time making the arrangements; letters delivered in secret, coded messages, quiet plans and plots to cover the prince's upcoming disappearance. At last, the hour was drawing near. At last, Acacius would get all that he deserved.

But of course, Laith would have their fun with him first.

They came upon the royal in the dead of night. Laith had been making note of Acacius's movements, and by now they knew to expect the young man's midnight journey to the library. Too good to be seen there in daylight hours, when servants were dusting and lesser lords were reading. Too good to even peruse the shelves alongside those he deemed as unworthy.

Laith fell upon the prince as soon as he reached the library doors, wrapping their arm tight around a torso clad in a loose silk shirt, their other hand clamped over Acacius's mouth to dampen his startled cry. The prince made fearful noises beneath their hand, but there was no time to savor the sound. Laith knew they must move swiftly or risk alerting the night watch.

They slammed the prince's head into the heavy oak door behind him. Once, twice, and then their royal prisoner's struggling lessened. Laith forced him to the ground, stuffing a wad of cloth into his mouth and tying it in place with a cord. That same cord trailed down from the prince's head to wind around his wrists, then back up again to circle his throat, forming a makeshift collar and leash to better Laith's control of him. He tugged harshly at the rope, and the dazed prince stumbled to his feet, whimpering softly from behind the gag.

There was no haughtiness in his eyes, only something meek and fearful. It was nearly enough to make Laith second-guess their plans, but their memories of the man they knew Acacius to be strengthened their resolve.

They would not fall for this docile ruse. They knew the truth.

Laith delved deeper into the castle, making for one of the secret passages in the stone that would lead them outside the keep. There was a cottage at the edge of the woods, overlooking the river that ran alongside the castle's walls. A peasant girl had sighted it after Laith offered her a penny to find a covert location. It was perfect; well away from anyone who could hear them, and the river would make an easy path for the slavers' skiff.

They hauled Acacius into the cottage, unable to resist giving the prince a sharp kick in the back that sent him tumbling to the ground. The slavers weren't set to arrive until just before sunrise. Laith had nearly an hour to get revenge for every petty insult that had ever been flung their way.

Laith dropped a knee into the prince's chest, holding his head in place while he removed the gag.

Acacius's eyes were teary and pleading, but Laith refused to let the act sway them. If anything, it only fueled their fire. How dare this impudent brat act like this was unearned? Now safe behind a closed door, Laith let their fury burn, raining fists and kicks down on the prince's helpless form, relishing every muffled cry. No, they shouldn't be muffled. They wanted to hear Acacius plead for mercy.

"N-nnh please... Please don't," the shaky words left Acacius's throat with the balled-up cloth. Laith answered him with another blow, and the prince squeezed his eyes shut. When they opened again, there was a distant look to them, tears trickling from the corners.

No matter. Soon they'd be rid of him for good.

Small whimpers and gasps left Acacius's throat as Laith continued the beating, but aside from a few weak pleas, the prince didn't speak, or even look their way. Like he was only waiting for it to end. Their blows slowed, the enjoyment fading as the royal seemed to detach himself from the moment. Laith huffed. Even bound and beaten, Acacius was still ruining their day.

Ignoring the blank look on the prince's face, Laith drew their knife, cutting away Acacius's clothing. Even if that didn't get a reaction, it served the practical purpose of making things a shade easier on the slavers.

The prince lay very still, his breaths small and shaky as Laith removed the ruined clothing. And underneath the silk... Laith was unprepared for what was underneath the silk.

Old bruises covered Acacius's torso, scars layered beneath, some fresher than others. The wounds didn't stop there; more scars scattered the prince's legs, some framed in a sickly yellow-green.

"What is this?" Laith whispered, the question half-directed at themselves. Acacius didn't answer, staring up at the ceiling with eyes that looked glazed over.

Seeing another wound on their prisoner's shoulder, this one oddly shaped, Laith grabbed Acacius's upper arm and rolled him onto his stomach. The prince answered the action with a startled cry.

"N-no, please, please don't---"

"Shut up," Laith hissed, taking in the prince's back. It seemed the brat had been whipped before, and on more than one occasion by the looks of it. They couldn't say whether the dark feeling welling up in them was more akin to pity, or bitterness that they hadn't been able to witness the lashings themselves.

Starker than the whip scars was the image burned into Acacius's back. An intricate pattern, asymmetrical and varied in color, like its artist had begun months or even years ago and was still perfecting it. The newest mark was still a bright, skinless red, as if it had been smouldering mere hours ago.

Laith let out a disgusted sigh, turning their back on the sniveling prince. It seemed Acacius had been getting what he'd deserved for some time now, but it had done little to improve his attitude. Who had done this to him? Could it have been the regent? Why was pity seeping into them, like poison from a soured wound?

Acacius didn't deserve their pity. Wounded or not, he still paraded the palace ground like a bejeweled goose, hissing and biting at anyone he seemed lesser.

But why? came a small voice inside them. Why put on such an arrogant mask?

It didn't matter. Wounded or not, the prince should have better respected Laith and their peers.

There was a sharp rap on the door, and Laith pushed it open an inch to peer out into the darkness. A pale woman with a shaved head stood on the other side, wearing clothing that was clearly foreign, despite its simplicity.

"Here to collect your gift?" they said, and the woman smiled.

"Aye. The North'll pay a pretty penny for your little heir."

"Wonderful," Laith said, but the word felt insincere. They couldn't let themselves doubt their plans now, the deed was nearly done. They opened the door further. "Take him then. Let's have this over with."

Acacius lay still on the ground, though his hands were trembling. He'd ceased his begging and was now crying softly and hells, Laith couldn't stand to hear it.

They bent over the prince, grabbing a fistful of his hair and roughly stuffing the gag back into his mouth to muffle that damned pathetic noise.

"Take him," they said again, more insistently. "Take him and be gone."

"S'wrong with his back?"

"I don't know." Laith shook their head. "Take him."

"Not a word of me," they said. "You'll make a fortune off him, all I ask is my name and face remain unknown."

"Alright, alright." The woman seized the rope, the leash Laith had formed, and tugged on it, forcing the prince to his feet. Acacius's eyes were teary and pleading, but Laith turned their back on him.

"Your wish is my command," the woman chuckled, leading the prince towards the rocky shore, where her boat lay waiting. A sob escaped Acacius as he passed the threshold.

"Wait." Hells, what were they saying? They wanted nothing more to do with the royal. They needed him gone, but when the prince turned back to look at them, the flash of hope in his eyes wrenched in their gut.

Those damned eyes. Those haughty, arrogant, judging eyes.

"Remember your place," said Prince Acacius.

"Nevermind," Laith said quickly. "Go. Get him out of here."

The woman tugged on the leash, nearly causing the bound royal to stumble. Fresh tears wet Acacius's cheeks, but Laith looked away, pretended not to see.

They could pretend a lot of things. Surprise at the prince's sudden disappearance, sorrow and outrage at his captivity in the enemy North. For themselves, they'd pretend they were satisfied, that they'd never seen Acacius's scars.

And as they watched the skiff disappear on the dark waters of the river, they pretended they had no regrets.

[worsethandeath]

𝕭̸͓͙͔̟̍̓̿͜͠ͅ𝖔̷̝̦̞̺̙͓̠̱͉̙̬̪͐𝖙̵̨̛̛͇͔̘͉̮̱̣̯̪̓͊͒͌̂͋̃̾𝖙̶̞͆̔̅͗͑̌̓͋͊̈́̋𝖔̸̛̠̗̂͊͊̇͋̀̎̀́̈́̀̀͝͝𝖒̴͖̱̺͖͒̿̔̅͜ ̸̳̝͖̻̤̈̉̎̂̈́͑̊́̚̕̕𝕱̸͎̱̱̣̻̻̈́̂̃̐͊̉̑̓̀͋̓͛͋̚𝖊̶̢̡͔͎̩͉͙̯͓̬̯͋͌͠𝖊̸̫͍̮̳̬̤̳̦̐͋̊̾̋̕͜𝖉̴̬̩͓͕͓͕̔̉͌̓͑͗̔͋̽̽̄̚͠͝𝖊̸̻̥̙͓̣̓̎̓̀͐͌̊̅̚͜𝖗̶̣͌̈́̾͊͗̆͆͝

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i love this image

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— David Cronenberg, Consumed

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tw captivity, conditioning, prison setting, manipulation, isolation, restraints, dehumanisation, threats of gore and death

"This is your idea of a punishment?" Whumper leaned back against the glass wall of their cell, smirking. "You have no idea about the shit I've done to others, do you?"

Caretaker looked wholly unimpressed by their nonchalant facade. "I'm quite familiar, actually."

"No, you can't be. Otherwise you would've set up something way worse. Something that could actually be called a punishment. This is ridiculous. You really think something like round the clock surveillance will get to me? Or 'loneliness'? Come on, now."

"I'll be back in a week," they said calmly, without addressing any of Whumper's nonsense.

Whumper scoffed. "Yeah, sure. As if you had the restraint to stay away from me for a whole week."

-

Even on the stairs leading down to Whumper's cell, Caretaker could already hear the yelling. They arrived to see Whumper pacing around inside the room like an agitated rat, and as soon as they spotted them, they rushed to the wall and started banging on it.

"I will fucking kill you once I get out!" they screamed. It had only been a month since capture, and clearly, the 'loneliness' was getting to them. "Hear me? I will fucking kill you!"

"That's not very polite."

"I will rip you apart bit by bit and I will send each fucking piece to one of your friends! Hell, I will kidnap those friends and lock them up with your corpse! I'll set up some cameras so I can fucking–" They turned to look up at the cameras, placed safely outside of their cell. "Fucking watch them go mad! Have you ever been locked in a room with a rotting corpse before?"

Caretaker didn't pay much attention to the baseless threats. "Some of my employees are telling me you're raising quite the ruckus in there. Tell me, do I need to restrain you?"

"As if I could actually harm anything in this empty fucking cell."

"That wasn't a 'no'." For the first time, fear seemed to cut through the walls of anger Whumper had built around themself as a shield against humiliation. "I can get you a nice straightjacket. Nice and secure. Safe."

"There's no fucking reason to restrain me in here," they growled. "None."

"So tell me you'll behave yourself. Convince me."

Whumper gave them the most disgusted look they'd ever seen. "Fuck yourself."

-

Caretaker couldn't hear any noises from downstairs as they walked over to the cell. Whumper was lying in the back of the room, apparently trying to rub against the floor. When they spotted Caretaker, they couldn't hold back a choked sob.

"Get me out of this," they asked in a broken little voice. "Please. I have– I have an itch, I can't even– I can't– I can't deal with it, I can't do anything, I feel like a fucking dog."

"That's unfortunate."

"I asked nicely!" They rolled over with some effort, like a lucky bug, and slowly crawled over to the wall where Caretaker stood. They couldn't use their hands, of course, so it must've been a bit of a hassle. "You told me to ask nicely. To convince you. Here I am! I'm telling you, I won't do anything!"

"Tell me, how are you coping with the loneliness?"

Whumper banged their head against the glass wall once. "I'm bored. That's it. I'm just bored."

"That's understandable." Caretaker dragged over a chair from the corner to sit in front of Whumper's special cell. "Would you like me to keep you company?"

"What?"

"Would you like to talk for a while?"

Whumper looked up, suspicion evident in their eyes. "Why?"

"You've been pretty well-behaved lately. I'm offering a reward, if you want it."

"What's the condition?"

"You just have to be polite. That's all. If you make a single comment I don't like, I'm leaving."

Whumper looked like they wanted to protest. To say it was unfair. But in the end, they were too much of a coward to risk losing their company. "How long will you stay?"

"An hour. Maybe two. If you make no mistakes, I might come back tomorrow."

It was precious, the way Whumper's eyes lit up, and the way they tried to hide it immediately. "Okay."

"That's not what you say when someone gives you a reward."

Whumper swallowed and looked away again, their hands twisting and twitching uselessly in their restraints. "Thank you."

-

"I want out," Whumper said pleadingly. "I just want– just an hour. A single hour. I haven't had another human touch me in months. I'm not even sure I exist anymore."

"Nobody touches you because you're dangerous."

"I'm not," they insisted quietly, very quietly, having learned their lesson about lashing out a hundred times over. "I'm not. Half an hour? Ten minutes? Would you be willing to let me out for ten minutes? Put me back in the straightjacket if you want. Just– I don't know, let me lie down next to your feet or something. Since you love–" They cut themself off, probably deeming their comment too risky. They didn't want another week alone.

"Five minutes."

"Five! Perfect!" They held their hands out. "I'd prefer regular handcuffs, but I'll take the straightjacket."

Caretaker took them up on the offer. Whumper was put back into the straightjacket with the help of a couple guards, then Caretaker grabbed their chair and carried it into the cell.

"I'm sure you understand that we can't actually let you out." They sat down and waited for Whumper to make their move. "For obvious reasons."

Whumper seemed... hesitant. If Caretaker had to guess, it was either some last, hidden shred of dignity that was holding them back, or a fear of being perceived as a threat. Or at the very least a rule-breaker.

"So?"

"This isn't a trap, is it?"

"No. And the clock's ticking."

Whumper cautiously moved over, coming to kneel right next to Caretaker's chair. Clearly, their first attempt wasn't going to be lying down at their feet. Not if they could get away with more. They carefully put their head in Caretaker's lap, letting out a content little sigh when they did nothing to stop them.

Caretaker looked at their watch. Four minutes left. "We'll take off the restraints again once the time is up."

"Thanks," they muttered.

It was so natural to pet their hair a little. Whumper even leaned into it, pushing their head against Caretaker's hand. "Does that feel good?"

"Mhm..."

"You can have more than five minutes next time if you continue to behave."

"I can do that. I've been good for ages."

"You've been good for exactly thirteen days."

"That was a minor offence." Caretaker stopped petting them, immediately causing Whumper to panic. "I'm sorry about it all the same! I regret it! I'm just saying– I'm saying it was easily fixable!"

"Calm down," they soothed, returning to what they'd been doing before. Whumper relaxed almost instantly.

When the time was up, Caretaker gently pushed them away and left the cell, even when Whumper cried and pleaded with them not to go. All they did was remind them that making demands and a whole scene was bad behaviour. Whumper shut up quickly after that.

All in all, the progress was very impressive. Whumper was well on their way to becoming a perfect, dependent little thing. A far cry from the cruel beast they'd brought in months ago.

~

general drabbles taglist: @ashh-ed @whumpsday @whump-queen @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland @rosewriteswhump @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @whumpkinpie @delicateprincepaper @whumppmuhw @whump-em @cyborg0109 @morning-star-whump

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thinkin about the chosen one story told from the pov of the person standing next to them again. thinkin about the one who has to stand by and watch the chosen one become a weapon, a sacrifice, an offering to the machinations of plot and can do nothing but make sure they’re fed and rested and soothe them when they wake up screaming from nightmares. thinkin about the fierce devotion that has to exist to follow someone to the end of the world just so they don’t have to die alone. thinkin about the terror they’d feel every step of the journey knowing it’s not their place to change how the story plays out. thinkin thinkin thinkin.

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Finder - Vol.10 Ch.3,4 (ch 83,84)

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WHUMPTOBER 2022 - 1: A Little Out of the Ordinary

"Unconventional Restraints" Whumptober Navigation Post

[(WHUMPY) IMAGE DESCRIPTION]: A young man/mer, Pete, lays in a dark alley with blue backlighting. Dim though warm light streams onto his front, while the same blue comes from behind. He has Caucasian skin, auburn hair, a scar on his left jaw, white and orange scales, webbed hands, and long, pointed ears.

He's been shot with a dart containing a special, glowing pink serum, different than the one hunters normally use. The serum forces shifters to shift, Pete is a mer shifter, and so he collapsed in an alley and is effectively rendered immobile.

He is still half dressed in human clothes-- a tan coat, light green sweater, and white collard shirt that pokes through at the bottom as well. He has propped himself up on one arm, and his red, diamond textured scarf and pale jeans are discarded before him

Since it's not natural, it is an incredibly painful process. Coupled with Pete's damaged fin, it is blinding agony. His whole body is shaking and shuddering, lined with tension. His orange fins are all flared as far as they'll go (and appear spiky), his tail, though it lacks coordination, is taut and curled, and his eyes are closed and face is twisted in a scream.

With his free hand, he reaches for the dart but he can't pull it out because it's barbed and embedded deep within his shoulder.

In the background, there are two silhouettes, hunters approaching their catch. There is also a random parked van.

Edit: uh, it might or might not've been after 0130 that i posted this, but i forgot to mention that this type of dart administers contintual doses that can last up to 48 hours :) it feels like acid in his veins :)), his shift might be finished but his body will keep pushing and hurting him until the dart is out and the serum wears off ^-^

[END DESCRIPTION] (Timelapse below the cut)

Background Image | The Hands I Stole | I forgot to keep the link of the pants lmao they're mine now *evil laughter*

I'll just pretend i remembered his boots/socks and cane and they're just behind him lmao

A timelapse, as a treat for making it through the description lmao :D

(it was brought to my attention that there is a built in timelapse function in csp :eBlurryEyes:)

[VIDEO DESCRIPTION]: A digital art timelapse of the previous image. [END DESCRIPTION]

[worsethandeath]

🪢 and 🦷

For anyone you want

Medical restraints + bite down on this

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CW: Fantasy creature, restrained, gagged, intimate whumper, nonsexual nudity, dehumanizing language, use of 'boy' but only because the Captain's in his forties and thinks everyone younger than 25 is a boy

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"Well, how is he?" The ship's captain stuck his head into the small room that was more or less what passed for a surgery. The smell as always made him wrinkle his nose, but a little blood and viscera never hurt anyone. Well, unless it was coming out of them. Still.

He stopped short in the doorway, staring with shock at the sight that awaited him.

The tall, lithe young man they had found floating on a bit of broken wood lay stretched out on the large table the captain had had bolted down to the floor when he took over the ship. Tanned skin was a handsome warm brown, the lad well-enough-formed, if your tastes ran that way. A blanket had been draped over him started at the waist, offering some small modesty. His hair had dried into unruly black curls, crusted with salt.

His face was stunning. To the captain it seemed too lovely, almost womanly, softness instead of hard angles. Had a man ever been so beautiful?

But what stopped him was not the young man's beauty, but the ropes tied tightly keeping the young man's hands behind his back, and the bit of polished wood forced between his teeth and tied behind his head. The young man gnawed in it, yanking at his bonds.

When he saw the captain, he froze - and then his eyes went wide and startled, sweetly soft and pleading. The brown of them was darker than his skin, not quite black. Eyes made to drown in. The young man hummed, trying to form words.

"My God, Wentworth, what have you done?"

"What I had to, for my own safety. Oi, stop that!" The ship's surgeon - who acted also as a barber and butcher the times they caught or bought anything of decent size - smacked the lad hard enough to bounce the boy's head off the table. The captain blinked, feeling suddenly as if cold water had washed down his spine. The lad grunted, twisting to glare up at Wentworth, hissing around the wooden bar between his teeth.

"Better. Stay silent or I'll cut out your tongue."

"Wentworth!"

"May need to, captain." The surgeon looked up, pushing a small pair of wire-rimmed glasses further up his nose. He wore a heavy apron like a blacksmith, although his was stained and smeared with blood old and new, not with soot. "For starters, Captain, it's not a he."

"What? When my men picked him up, he was naked as the dawn itself and they were quite certain as to his sex organs, Wentworth. They were indeed the focus of quite a bit of conversation and... gesturing, during their reports."

"Mmmn. You've got a point. I guess I should say, it's not a human he." The surgeon sighed, patting the lad on his flank through the blanket. The boy jerked away from the touch. "Captain, we didn't find a shipwreck survivor, sir, we found what caused the ship to wreck."

The captain paused. He took in the sight of the lad all over again - his unearthly beauty, twisted with inhuman rage, the way his teeth around the gag seemed just a little too sharply pointed. "... what are you saying, Wentworth?"

The surgeon turned away, rummaging through a large bag he kept off to one side, next to a dried brownish stain that had been in the wood since long before Wentworth had even taken the job. He turned back, holding a length of cord in his hands. He made quick work of the knots he needed. "I'll show you. And you'll see why I had to gag it."

When he slid the loop in the cord over the lad's head, the boy struggled with sudden ferocity, fighting his bonds. The rope creaked, but it held. The lad hissed again, and earned himself a hard crack upside the head from Wentworth's hand. Once the loop had settled around his neck, there was a long silence, the lad's deep brown eyes focused on the surgeon with seething hate.

The lad didn't seem to understand the cord or what purpose it served - once it hadn't caused immediate pain, he settled down, although his teeth still gnawed with fury at the gag that kept them from biting. Confusion flickered, a terribly human expression. Wentworth began to undo the knot tying the gag on behind the lad's head.

"You'll want to be out of arm's reach, Captain, sir," Wentworth said, and the captain indeed moved back just outside the doorway. Wentworth was never a man to exaggerate the danger of a thing. If he said space was needed, the captain believed him.

Wentworth, too, took a sudden shift back away as soon as the gag fell from the young man's mouth. The lad hesitated, eyes darting from one to the other, then began to struggle with his bonds again. The knots were too well done for freedom - Wentworth had been quite the expert on them during his time with the Royal Navy - and all they did was tighten further, until the lad hissed in pain and the captain saw bright red blood smearing the boy's wrists, soaking into the coarse fibers.

"Wentworth-" He started, but his surgeon shook his head, holding up one finger. Wait.

The boy swallowed, thinking. The corners of his mouth were reddened from the gag. He looked almost debauched, this way, laid out naked and bound. He was like a creature from myth, Ganymede abducted by Zeus, and it only enhanced his beauty. The boy hummed, softly. As if testing the sound.

To the captain's surprise, the lad began, in a voice soft and mournful, to sing.

"Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more... men were deceivers ever... one foot in sea and one on shore, to one thing constant, never..."

It was the most beautiful sound that the Captain had ever heard. The boy's voice was high and clear, twining tenor notes into a sweet sorrow that wrenched at the captain's heart and made him think of the ladies he had loved, in his life, two dead and one left behind.

No boy who could sing like this should ever be so bound.

He took a step closer, watching the young man's face. Everything else in the world was a haze by comparison. Those brown eyes met his, no longer flashing fire and fury but instead soft and warm, promising kisses and adoration beyond compare.

"Then sigh not so," The boy sang, watching the captain as he took one step closer and then another. "But let them go, and be you blithe and bonny... converting all your sounds of woe into hey, nonny nonny... sing no more ditties, sing no more, no dumps so dull and heavy..."

If he would only untie the lad and set him free, the captain knew with perfect certainty, the boy would cover him with kisses and they could swim together in the sea.

"The fraud of men was ever so since summer first was leavy... then sigh not so, but let them go..."

He was nearly close enough. He reached a hand out to touch the young man's face, inhaling sharply at the perfect smooth warmth of his skin.

The boy turned his face to press his mouth against the captain's hand, sending shivers up his spine as the final notes were slightly muffled, but still sure and true.

"And be you blithe and bonny... converting all your sounds of woe..."

The captain leaned over, reaching for the knots that kept the boy's hands tied so tightly. His fingertips just brushed one.

"Into hey nonny, non-"

The creature jerked backwards and away all at once with a sudden undignified squawk, yanked off the table. He fell with a sickening thud to the floor below, gasping and choking as the surgeon pulled the slipknot tight enough around his neck to steal his air.

The haze around the captain faded, and he blinked as the last firm notes seemed still to ring inside his mind. Then he shuddered, backing with terror up to the doorway. "Wentworth!"

"Aye, Captain." The surgeon held onto the cord, shoving one booted foot against the boy's - the thing's - side to hold him down and keeping the cord pulled right so the thing could not breathe enough to sing again. Wentworth pulled earplugs out of one side and then the other. "Sorry. Easier for you to hear it than to just believe what'd sound like a madman's ravings. I doubt we even hear it sing the same song. This is magic, is what this is. Real magic and true, like in the tales of serpents and mermaids. But you see now, aye, Captain? It isn't human. And no mermaid, either."

"I believe you, Wentworth. I dare say not human in the least." The captain's fingers twitched in an old urge to cross himself, but he had left the priesthood and the Catholic faith behind a long, long time ago. "It is a demon!"

"A siren, more like."

The captain frowned. "We are nowhere near the Sirenum Scopuli."

"Men wander through the world, why not sirens?"

He had no argument against that. "Fair enough, Wentworth."

"Besides, I think we ain't the first to pick him up. Bettin' the wreckage we saw came about because this one-" He yanked on the cord again, and the thing on the floor gasped, flopping like a fish out of water indeed. "-played sad some survivor and sang a ship onto rocks to get himself and his friends some dinner. And he planned the same for us."

"... aye." The captain watched Wentworth jam the wooden gag back between the creature's teeth as it fought him, twisting like a wild animal... which of course it was. And it would have had him free it, no doubt spelled the whole ship with its wretched-

Beautiful, perfect, lovely-

-voice, and led them to their deaths as well. The thing was forced back up onto the table, naked now as the blanket had fallen away. It was perfectly formed to echo a man from head to toe, with shapely muscles, hard angles and soft curves in equal measure.

A lie from the Devil to tempt the less than innocent to damnation.

The captain swallowed and raised his chin, looking at the thing as it glared with baleful loathing right back at him. All softness gone, if indeed it had ever had any to begin with.

The captain's lip pulled back in a sneer. "Kill it, Wentworth. We are near to shore."

He turned and left without waiting for the order to be acknowledged.

Wentworth exhaled once the captain had left, running a hand up and down the siren's side. It hissed, but when it tried to get away from him, he jerked on the cord until it choked. Over and over, until it finally went still, shaking beneath his touch. Fear finally overcoming its animal hate.

"Ssssshhhh," Wentworth whispered, leaning down so his lips moved against its salt-tipped hair. "Ssssshhhh. Don't you worry, beautiful thing. No death for you, not today. We are going on shore together."

The thing understood nothing, he knew that. It echoed and mimiced men but knew nothing of the meaning behind the sounds. But that didn't matter.

"I will take you to shore, and take you home. Quit the work here, set up in the city." He tickled his fingers idly over its ribs until it shuddered in disgust and twisted away. Then he choked it again, this time waiting and waiting, watching its face redden and then pale, eyes wide and bright, gnashing with helpless terror against the gag. After a while, its eyes fluttered closed, and it went limp, slumping back against his chest.

He sighed happily, letting the loop go slack now.

"There we go. Let's pack you in a box." He patted the unconscious creature on the head, tying the cord to a hook in the wall he usually hung his tool bag on. If it woke, it couldn't move without choking again.

He stopped in the doorway to look back at the beautiful creature that had nearly killed them all. He smiled, fondly.

"You," he announced, "are going to make me filthy rich."