#big whumpees | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yet-another-heathen · 3 months

Text

The First Ember - IX

1,921 words. Original work: The Jackal of An Nadr

<< | previous | next | >>

Content Warning | unintentional drug overdose by captors (bad side effects but not life threatening), fever whump, the very first signs of pneumonia, undressing while unconscious (medical reasons), heavy bruising, evidence of past noncon, wound/scar reveal, mention of unsanitary bodily fluids, [Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings]

Tag List | @killtheprotagonist @secretwhumplair @ink-and-salt @kixngiggles @brutal-nemesis @thebewilderer @whumpsical @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @whimperwoods @shydragonrider @pizzasthengym @thecyrulik @ceph-the-ghost-writer @mylifeisonthebookshelf @ohwhumpydays @redwingedwhump @whump-queen @scoundrelwithboba @suspicious-whumping-egg

The human looked like it might not survive the night.

Yeezumon had been cradling it for the last fifteen minutes while Odrai climbed down the side of the ship to gather sand from the dunes. It was already several hours into the night, but below the topmost inch of sand, the dunes were nearly as warm as they had been during the day. He returned to the deck and passed the bags down to Ifyaa. As he did, he cast a somewhat worried glance at the human. "How bad is it?"

"...I don't know yet," Ifyaa admitted, creating a nest on their cot with the bags. "It's running a bad fever, and...." He paused, sharing a worried look with Yeezumon. "And I think we may have overdosed it on the eadh."

The little thing was showing every sign of it there was. Breaths clouded with heavy mist, despite the warmth of the cabin. Excessive tears. Cold sweat. Everything across its body that could produce water was doing so in abundance. On its own it wouldn't have even been that concerning; eadh overdoses weren't fatal. But with the fever already ravaging its system? That changed everything.

Odrai seemed to realize as much. But all he could offer was, "If anyone can save it, it's you."

Ifyaa said quietly, "Thank you, Odrai."

"We'll call on you if we need anything, but you should go," Yeezumon said gently. The human was starting into another fit of incoherent crying. "It isn't safe."

Odrai just nodded, giving the human one last, lingering look. Then he was gone, the trap door shut behind him.

The Husbands shared another look, then turned their attention back to the human. It was clinging onto Yeezumon like a lifeline, face pressed flush against the heat of his chest. Every inch of it was violently shivering against the cold. Its clothes were nearly soaked through with sweat, even to the outermost layer of its robes. Long hair had come loose from its braids and gotten tangled from tossing and turning beneath the sheets. Tear tracks, snot, and saliva smeared parts of its face. It was entirely a mess.

It was crying. Sometimes letting out incoherent jumbles of words as it dreamed, but mostly just crying. Every whine sent waves of glowing, orange pain through their chests like embers being caught by a breeze. It felt like a barb tugging on the wrong side of Ifyaa's sternum, as sharp as it was disturbing.

He sat down on the edge of the cot, wringing out the cloth in warm water. Its eyes barely opened at all, and when they did there was no coherent thought at all behind them. Drifting, unseeing. Wherever it was in its dreams, it was lost there. And still, when Ifyaa brought the cloth to gently dab at its face, it immediately twisted away. Gasping. Taking in deep, clouded breaths like it was struggling to breathe.

There was every chance it was. The only time that an eadh overdose could be dangerous was if the lungs began to fill with fluid. That usually took weeks of constant overuse before it became a problem. But Ifyaa could hear the crackling of its lungs when it breathed too deep. Just because something was safe for the ifrit didn't necessarily mean it was for a human.

It took a while for the wave of crying to pass, the human already so burnt out that it simply couldn't continue. Yeezumon continued murmuring reassurances against its temple, running hands over it to try to give it more warmth.

Both of them were worried. But the look on Yeezumon's face was heartbreaking.

"Habibi, if I've killed it—"

"No. No, love." Ifyaa laid a hand on his cheek. "It won't be because of the eadh. If it doesn't make it, it will be because of the fever. You haven't done anything that can't be fixed with time."

"It might not have time."

All he could do was manage a small smile. "Have you met this thing? Don't give up on it just yet."

That managed to get a huff of air. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

"Here. Help me get it out of its robes."

They moved it to the bed, Yeezumon settling in behind its back. His fingers started on the lacing of its robe. The little thing barely even stirred, boneless aside from the rhythmic strain of its breaths.

They worked its clothes off in effortless tandem. First the burnt sepia-orange of its outer robes. Then the long pants it wore beneath, and finally the soaked-through fabric of its kurta.

Both of them stopped entirely when they saw what was underneath.

Bruises, mottled all across bronze skin. Across its stomach. Its knees. Rope burns spun around its wrists and ankles. A massive, red-purple blotch colored its hip most of the way down one thigh. But they were nothing compared to the dozens of bruises along the inside of its thighs and encircling its upper arms. Many the still-recognizable shape of hands.

Its chest had been wrapped with a long length of bandaging, nearly covering its entire ribcage. Just beneath its collarbone on the side of its heart, an angry red brand lay scabbed and broken. The symbol was nearly the size of the boy's own palm. It looked like calligraphy, the kind that the Qa'imrani merchants along the east edge of the desert used for trade.

Ifyaa recognized the script before Yeezumon did.

"The boy has been branded a thief."

It took several long moments for the implications to sink in for both of them. The horror of it wasn't even that it was a criminal. They were on a pirate ship, after all. It was so much worse than that.

"So that's why we found it all alone out there." Yeezumon wiped a hand down his face. "Its own people left it out there to die."

Over something that as an ifrit would, at worst, have lost a hand over. The two of them already knew what little regard humans had for each other's lives, but staring down the evidence of it was sickening.

"The mark can't be more than a week or two old."

"No wonder it reacted to the iron as badly as it did. And all this...." He was still staring at the bruises that disappeared all the way up under its innerwear. "It didn't even show other signs that it was hurt."

Ifyaa probed gently over the bandage on its chest. "Help me lift it up a little. I need to see how bad the wounds are."

They readjusted, and Ifyaa began unwinding the linen starting at the bottom of its ribs. He was careful not to press too firmly, no idea what he was going to find.

But with every unwound coil, he found only more unbroken skin beneath. A few mottled bruises, but no cuts. And his gentle probing only produced the faint winces that he'd expect of tender bruising. Nothing that indicated broken ribs.

Ifyaa's eyebrows furrowed. And then with one more undone loop, his face lit up with surprise. "Oh."

The jackal wasn't hurt.

It wasn't a bandage.

Beneath the soft, brown waves of chest hair he'd been expecting, there were breasts. It was clear they'd been intentionally softened and made flatter over time, either by the repeated compression, or by hand. The boy wasn't hurt. He'd been binding. And by the looks of it, he'd been doing so for a very long time.

The Husbands made a flash of eye contact over the top of him. Then after a pause, Ifyaa's hands moved to carefully check over the rest of its ribs. It had a rather spectacular bruise on its shoulder to match the one on its hip, but aside from that he found nothing.

"Well....that's far better than I'd expected to find. At least nothing is broken. Here, lend me your hands."

Yeezumon helped him to work off its innerwear. He'd been planning to do so anyway, it needed as much skin-to-skin contact as possible for warmth. But it was the final confirmation of what they both suspected. While he certainly was a man now, he hadn't been born that way. He was one of the Inan.

And there was even more evidence of what had been done to him all the way up his thighs. Layers of bruises, in addition to scratch marks on his hips. This couldn't all be the work of one man. It was brutal.

"Gods..." Yeezumon whispered. "No wonder it's so terrified. If its own people did this, imagine what it must think is coming for it now."

Its shivering had badly worsened with its skin exposed to the air, and its unconscious sounds of distress were as sad as they were painful. Yeezumon spent a moment working down his own pants, then lay down and drew it closer against his chest.

He was careful to keep it away from his own bandaged shoulder, but was able to position a sandbag between its thighs where the arteries ran beneath. Then he wrapped it up in all his remaining arms, a loose embrace that it sank into immediately. A few more tears raced down its cheek. But its breaths were already coming easier now that the pressure of the binding was gone. And soon what sounds it was making were ones of exhausted, boneless relief.

Ifyaa spent a while longer cleaning the worst of the sweat from its skin, then undressed and joined them. Half his arms braided themselves between his Husband's, while the other set about gently teasing the tangles back out of the boy's hair.

"It's going to be so angry with us in the morning," he said.

Yeezumon chuckled. "Without even the faintest doubt." A moment of quiet. "I'm almost afraid to give it more eadh at all, come tomorrow. Is there anything in the infirmary we can use as an alternative?"

"Nothing with so few side effects. We'll just have to start in much smaller doses, and see how it tolerates it."

"Mm."

He fit his hand into one of Yeezumon's, and gave a small squeeze. They'd been married for three centuries. He knew the sound of his husband's guilt. "He's going to be alright, Habibi. Don't spare your regret on something that hasn't happened yet."

Yeezumon sighed, but gave a small nod.

Softly, "I'll take first watch. Get some sleep."

Another nod. Then as was their way, "I love you always."

"I love you longer still."

They lapsed into silence. Ifyaa spent the time carding gently through the human's hair. He enjoyed the feeling of loose waves that were so different from the curls he was familiar with. And though his mind drifted, he continued to listen as the human's heart evened out and slowed. It was falling into deeper sleep at last.

....but after a while, something caught at the edge of his senses. The rich smell of incense, edged with a coppery tang that made his head start to spin. Pheromones as familiar to him as the number of his hands. His mouth twitched up.

He knew exactly what his husband was thinking about—because he'd been thinking it, too. "Don't get too tempted," he said, not bothering to hide the amusement in his voice. "I know full well how you get when you're around them."

Yeezumon didn't open his eyes, but his mouth twitched. "You're just as guilty as me."

A chuckle. Yes, that he was. “We're still selling him.”

“Wouldn't even dream otherwise.”

next | >>

Like this chapter? Please remember it can only be seen by other people if you reblog!

33 notes · View notes

befuddled-calico-whump · 8 months

Text

squish the man

#like a bug #the sfw version #i never thought id be big on gt but i like the helplessness #g/t whump #tiny whump #whumper turned whumpee #uriah fox #blood #he's not dead dw #they wont let him off so easy :)

51 notes · View notes

heartinthehospital · 5 months

Note

idea of lara threatening to skin Elijah like he's a deer she shot, trailing the knife where she'd slice :) he's a fellow hunter so maybe it's time he understood the prey's perspective

deer in headlights

hunting season masterlist

content: male whumpee, female whumper, big whumpee, small whumper, defiant whumpee, intimate whumper, captivity, threats of violence

Lara glides her hunting knife down Elijah’s throat to his sternum. “I’d start here.”

Maybe if she hadn’t pulled his shirt up, Elijah’s reaction wouldn’t be so obvious. As it is, every single contraction of his lungs is visible in the movement of his chest. When she taps the tip of the knife lightly against his sternum, his taut muscles reveal the silhouette of his ribcage, and the transparency of his emotions leaves him feeling more naked than if he had been stripped completely.

Elijah can’t see the expression on Lara’s face when she’s standing behind him, but he can hear the smile in her voice. “If you want me to kill you so bad, it’s only fair you know how I’d do it. You can’t get shy now.”

“You’d slit my throat and leave me to bleed out. I get it,” he says through gritted teeth.

Lara pauses. “Aren’t you a hunter?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“You should know that you’re supposed to use every part of the animal. Why would I slit your throat when there’s so much of you to cut into?” This time, when Elijah breathes, Lara finds the indentations of his ribcage with her knife and presses the flat of the blade to his abdomen. In the few seconds that pass, he tries to find something to say, but between the throbbing wound in his thigh and the path of Lara’s knife against his skin, he isn’t able to focus on much else. He keeps his mouth shut.

“Have you ever skinned a deer?” Lara’s fingers fall to his side opposite where her knife is, and his body involuntarily shudders at the freezing touch. Elijah thought any cold would be welcomed, considering he’s been covered in a thin sheen of sweat since he woke up, but his entire abdomen tenses when she wraps her hand around him. “I haven’t, but I think it’d be similar to what I’d do with you. It’s satisfying to tear through muscle. And you have a lot of it.”

Lara brings her knife up to where his shirt is rolled, then back down to his waist, the same way you lazily pet a dog by stroking its fur, and when Elijah squirms, he wonders if he’s always been this ticklish or if Lara’s knife brings it out of him.

“I wouldn’t touch your face,” she continues. “Not until the end. I’ve cut out tongues when I didn’t want to hear screaming, but not yours. I want to see if you can shatter a couple of teeth clenching your jaw hard enough to not make a sound.” She uses the knife to swipe away a few strands of Elijah’s hair in his eyes. “The rest of your face speaks for itself.”

“So you think I’m handsome.” Lara laughs. Elijah feels a twinge of satisfaction, then an immediate wave of disgust.

“I’m not the only one. Do you know the things they ask me?” Lara still hasn’t explained who they are, even though it’s been days, but Elijah doesn’t have to ask. Finally, he acknowledges the camera, with nothing more than a glare.

“To skin me alive, I guess.” There’s no humor in his voice this time. That’s what Lara means to do if she kills him. There’s nothing Elijah can laugh at about that.

“More than that,” she replies. “It’s what you sound like when you scream.” Lara drops her hand from his abdomen to the fresh stitches on his thigh, and his face twists in pain even as she lets go. “What you sound like when you cry. What you sound like when you come.” She tilts her head with a thoughtful expression, twirling her knife incredibly close to his face. “What you sound like when you don’t.”

There’s no question about whether or not Elijah’s disgust is visible, because Lara continues with a renewed liveliness. “It’s not that they don’t want to see your insides. I want to see your insides. It’s that you’d be wasted if that’s all I did with you. You’re the type to go down kicking and screaming, Eli.”

Lara tosses her knife haphazardly to the floor, and walks around Elijah so she stands in front of him. The rise and fall of his chest is unmistakable as she leans in towards him.

“I want to see how long it takes you to go down.”

Elijah blinks beneath his dark lashes, his voice unsteady. “And if I don’t?”

“I told you.” Lara smiles, and taps his sternum.

“I’ll start right here.”

#incorporated this into the main story because i liked the idea #not sure if i did it justice #but there’ll be plenty of time for elijah to get hurt either way #don’t worry #male whumpee #female whumper #big whumpee #small whumper #defiant whumpee #intimate whumper #long term captivity #whump stuff #whump fic #elijah king #lara callaway

30 notes · View notes

honeycollectswhump · 10 months

Text

Warmth

[masterlist]

it doesn't look like it but this is a comfy drabble, i promise!! the inspo (and wish for some comfort) is from @whumpcloud. you've read this already but here <3

CW: dehumanisation, abandonment issues, pet whump, self-loathing

It is still dark outside when Mutt wakes up, drenched in sweat, panting from memories that haunt his brain. A moment later, he realises what woke him up, as the night sky is lit up by a flash of lightning, a growling thunder following only moments later. Mutt can feel the rumbling deep down in his bones, making him shiver.

He had been locked outside once during a thunderstorm, the punishment still fresh in his mind. Bound and gagged, of course, so he couldn’t draw attention to himself with his pathetic whimpering and keening.

There had been rain and hail, soaking him to the bone, making the Mutt even more susceptible to the unforgiving cold seeping into his joints. He had wanted nothing more than a shred of his old Master’s mercy, as the thunder rolled over him.

Mutt shakes his head to rid himself of the memories, his fingers twitching. He won’t be able to fall back asleep, he knows, but he needs to be fit enough to serve his Master in the morning!

Almost on auto-pilot, Mutt gets out of bed. He has to be careful when standing up, his mangled legs still struggling to hold him up. When he walks to his door, he no longer avoids stepping on the rug.

Aimlessly, he wanders onto the dim corridor, the old wood creaking under his irregular and heavy steps. Mutt tries not to be too loud, lest he wakes Master up. Fatigue tugs at his eyelids, making them droop, and his stroll does little to clear his muddy mind. He stumbles around, losing time.

Suddenly, he feels something cold and hard and when his eyes focus again, he is holding the handle to his Master’s bedroom in his ruined hand, the door already opened a crack. Just barely, he can see the sleeping form of his Master, curled up under the covers, her hands loosely clasped together in front of her face and oh–

He is Atlas now, isn’t he?

As if in a trance, Atlas enters her room, still not quite here, not quite there. Something pulls him forwards, a pressure getting stronger with each step, like a moth fluttering towards the light. He forces himself to stop a couple of steps away from her, ignoring how empty it makes him feel.

Hasn’t she given enough for him? Must he now also take her sleep? Her rest?

Atlas forces his mind to blank and himself to stop, to turn around as silently as possible. She needs her rest for all the troubles he’ll inevitably bring her in the morning, when he can’t get a hold of himself, can’t do the things a human is supposed to do. He can’t keep taking and taking and taking from her, but some part of him craves her presence so much and he despises himself for it. Maybe he will never be anything but a Pet but for some reason he can’t place, that seems so intrinsically connected to his very being, he only feels whole when he’s with her.

For a moment, he is outside again, chained and gagged in the freezing rain, thoroughly unwanted. This time, it is Atlas who holds the key, dangling it just out of reach from his desperate self. He understands his old Master now, he thinks, understands why he locked a creature like him out. It is only right.

Before he can take another step, he hears a sleepy groan right behind him, freezing up. Atlas fears looking around, fears seeing Master’s hateful gaze, even though he can’t conjure up a fitting image, no matter how hard he tries. He still does –of course he does– his breath catching in his throat.

With her eyes still closed, Aveline has lifted one arm to hold her blanket up, as if inviting him in. Like a man dying of thirst discovering a miracle oasis, Atlas stumbles closer. It seems too good to be true and if there is one thing he has learned, it’s that no good ever befalls a Pet like him. Still, he wants to hope.

“For me?” Atlas croaks into the dark, as hushed as his damaged vocal cords allow him.

Her response is nothing more than a drowsy mhm and a light, lazy gesture with her hand. Hesitantly, Atlas steps closer. He shouldn’t know how this goes, should be overwhelmed with the very real possibility of doing this wrong and subsequently being thrown out. But he isn’t.

The movements feel like second nature, even as he navigates his bulky frame first onto her bed and then into the embrace of the much smaller woman. Atlas doesn’t have to think, his body moves on its own, which is undoubtedly a good thing because if he allowed himself to process what he was doing, he’d surely panic.

As he lays down on his side, Aveline lowers her arm to cover him with the blanket too, then settles it over the side of his chest. It should be the worst crime a Pet like him could commit, to lay his head on her soft pillow, to curl up against her warm body, to feel her snuggle up against his marred back. But for some reason, it doesn’t feel like a crime. It just feels like home.

Atlas deflates in her arms, sighing. Her touch is tender, not restricting, tethering Atlas to this world, as sobs start to build up in his chest against his will. If he cries now, he will surely ruin the best thing his life has ever allowed him.

Maybe this is a dream and tomorrow he will wake up alone in his own bed but none of that matters in this moment. Unconsciously, his crooked hand searches for hers, clinging to it. Aveline squeezes it back, as a couple of stray silent tears start to escape his eyes.

Her body is warm and she holds him tight. Atlas can feel her resting her head softly against the nape of his neck, whispering that Everything is going to be alright.

Atlas sniffles, his tears soaking into the pillow. They lay like that for a while, Aveline’s thumb stroking soothingly over the back of his hand, careful with the raised scar tissue.

Pets like him aren’t made for this kind of comfort, this all-encompassing warmth; her kindness feels like an unbelievable gift. He’d do anything for her, Atlas decides, as his eyes grow heavy and start to slip close. He can’t hear the harsh thunder anymore, can’t feel the cold rain.

Atlas knows he doesn’t deserve it, even as he falls asleep, but–

He wishes someone had been this kind to him before.

58 notes · View notes

lumpsbumpsandwhumps · 5 months

Text

your new bank robber boyfriend kidnapper btw. if you even care.

#whump #my art #whump community #whump scenario #whumper #whump ideas #intimate whumper #creepy whumper #masked whumper #yandere #male yandere #implied whump #guns #yeah of course he's gotta be scarred up he HAS to be it is the LAW..........#i want him big n strong...#whumpee insert

85 notes · View notes

promptsforyourwhumpfic · 1 year

Text

Whump Prompt #1130

Submitted by @dollopheadedmerlin - thanks!

Whumpee is put under some sort of obedience spell (potion, curse, drug, etc.) And is used against their team to do horrible things. When rescued, they are unable to undo the effects, having them remain obedient to every command. After undoing commands that hinder the whumpee ("you are to sleep when you please" to counter "you shall only sleep when I tell you to" for example) the whumpee still drones around like they have tasks to keep track of.

When asked why they don't feel more free, whumpee admits that even neutral commands meant to fee them of obedience plague their mind, as they are just as obligated to follow them as they are harmless ones, leaving them in a dazed state most of the time, unable to think normally.

#I LIKE IT #i just love the idea of them going to face the Big Bad to undo the spell but the whumpee has to wear headphones to avoid #someone telling him what to do #poor guy cant even go on a mission as he'd be a liability #magic whump #obedience spells #potions #drugs #curses #tw: drugged #tw: drugging #rescue #forced to comply #psychological whump #emotional whump

108 notes · View notes

brutal-nemesis · 11 months

Text

An All Organ-ic Buffet

Okay well. This is in one of @galaxywhump and I’s 120 AUs I gutted (hehe) the context you don’t need it besides the fact that this Castys hasn’t ever really been tortured before so he’s not as used to all of this as he would be in canon <3 sucks to suck, dumbass

Castys Masterlist

Ingredients: gore. so much gore. also Castys gets eaten (but it’s a monster so not really cannibalism), a little noncon touching, there is a snake, the rib crowbar shit that i was born to write (❁´◡`❁)

This was going to suck absolute balls, wasn’t it? It was going to be worth it, it was, but it was still going to suck balls.

The phaitenri lived pretty far from, well, anything, which was probably for the best given its…unique diet. Which was really the only thing that made Castys certain he could strike a good deal with it at all, honestly.

Having arrived at the caves where the phaitenri made its home, Castys ran through the list of things to say and not say in his head before steeling himself and knocking on the door. A few tense moments passed before it opened, and Castys did his best not to flinch at the sight of the phaitenri. They were annoyingly tall, towering over Castys, bleached-white skin webbed with black cracks, their red eyes boring into him. Most notable, though, were the golden antlers sprouting from their head. What Castys had come for.

“I’ve come here to make a contract with you,” Castys blurted, the promise of a contract protecting him from being outright attacked. The phaitenri’s eyes narrowed, slitted pupils contracting in their different-colored irises.

“Fine,” they growled, their clawed hand curling around the doorframe, “which organs are you willing to part with?”

“Uh…all of them? As many as you want for six inches of antler.”

They cocked their head. “All…you can’t form a contract for anyone but yourself, human. Do you intend to die for this?”

“Well, see, that’s the thing, I am, uh, what the kids call…immortal. So if you kill me everything’ll just grow back. Seriously, you can have as many organs as you want from me.” The trade was starting to sound more and more horrific as Castys talked, actually saying it out loud, but what could he do? This was the only way to save Berkeley. He had to do this.

The phaitenri crossed their arms, tapping their fingers as they leaned against the doorframe. “How do I know you’re not lying? Give me a demonstration.”

“I will not. At least, not until the contract’s formed.” The phaitenri glared at him. “What? Dying leaves me basically defenseless, I’m not just gonna let you kill me and then take me prisoner, ya know? Look,” he sighed, “if I’m lying, and I enter the contract with you, I’d just die, yeah? The contract would be dissolved, and you wouldn’t be out anything. There’s no reason to refuse.”

After considering it for a moment, the phaitenri straightened, gesturing for him to enter. “Alright, human, I’ll form a contract with you, so let’s negotiate.” Castys followed them inside, slightly relieved that they weren’t just going to dismiss him outright. “I’m Aleph, by the way.” That was a good sign, too, that they told him their name, since it meant that they were very interested in forming a contract with him.

“Castys,” he replied, showing his interest right back. They smiled at him, displaying their wicked-sharp teeth, teeth that would soon be…mmphf, don’t think about that right now. Think about Berkeley. He was doing this for Berkeley.

Aleph sat down at a mostly-empty desk, gesturing for Castys to sit across from them. He did, and it felt…weird, like he was getting ready to discuss a bank loan or something stupid and not, like, having his organs eaten by a monster so he could get a potion ingredient to save his best friend’s life. After thinking a bit, Aleph spoke up, “For six inches of antler, I’ll have you for…two weeks. I can eat as much as I want during that time.”

“Two wee-I don’t have that kind of time! I need to-” Castys stopped, sighing. “One week. That’s the longest I’ll give you.”

Aleph hummed, rocking their head back and forth. “How about…one week, and I can eat as much as I want as well as taking extras and storing them.”

That hardly seemed fair, but…Castys didn’t want to negotiate much more. Typically, the longer talks went on, the greedier phaitenris got. It was usually best to take the second option offered, so… “Alright. One week of unlimited access for six inches of antler.”

“Deal!” Aleph clapped their hands together, grabbing a sheet of parchment and writing down the terms. They signed their name before pricking their thumb and stamping on a thumbprint of their black blood, handing it to Castys when they were done. He took it, reading it over thoroughly, making sure they didn’t sneak in any fine print, before preparing to do the same. “Wait!” Aleph stopped him just as he was about to sign. “Take off your shirt.”

“Huh? Why-”

“The moment you sign that, magic chains are going to appear on your wrists until you’ve served your part of the contract, and even I won’t be able to get them off without dissolving it entirely. And since I’m going to need access to your torso…either take it off now or I’ll have to cut it off later.”

“Oh. Good call.” Castys was glad Aleph had spoken up since he was wearing one of Berkeley’s shirts, and he’d feel bad if it got destroyed. He pulled it off, Aleph’s hungry gaze sending a slight chill up his spine. “Thanks.” Taking a deep breath, Castys picked up the contract again, signing his name and pricking his thumb. The moment his thumb stamped on the parchment, iron manacles appeared on his wrists, just as Aleph had said. The chain between them was long enough that it wouldn’t be a huge inconvenience, but he was still chained, the inescapable reality of the contract heavy around his wrists.

“Well, let’s get started!” Aleph said, giddy as they took the contract from Castys and put it away. Once that was done, they reached out and hooked their finger around the chain between his wrists, dragging him along behind them. They pulled him into a room that was, well…it was pretty clear what kind of things happened here.

The walls were dark, definitely covered with bloodstains, because of course, and the floor was too, even though there was a drain in the middle of it, so clearly things could be cleaned up if Aleph wanted to. There was a table to one side, also bloodstained, with restraints, which wasn’t surprising in the slightest, but the sight of it still made Castys’s stomach turn. Aleph half-pulled him towards it, but then stopped and half-pulled him towards a comfortable-looking and somehow not bloodstained armchair, but then stopped again, rocking back and forth on their heels.

“Oh mannn, I just don’t know,” they whined, looking down at Castys. After a few more seconds, they bent and scooped him off of his feet faster than he could react, holding him in a bridal carry. “I just don’t know where I want to start with you, you know? There’s so many options…” They were looking him up and down, hugging him close to their chest, their bare skin freezing against his. Castys was tempted to make a suggestion so they’d put him down, but he didn’t really know if there was anywhere he wanted them to, ah, start more than somewhere else.

“Oh, I think I’ll start with your tummy. It’s been a while since I’ve had intestines!” Aleph carried him over to the armchair, settling into it comfortably, shifting their hold on Castys so he was sitting on their lap with his back against their chest, and he couldn’t help but shiver despite his efforts to stay still. Sure, he absolutely didn’t want to be sitting on their lap like this, but he was under a contract now, and he was going to serve his side of it as well as he could so this whole nightmare could proceed as smoothly as something like this ever could.

They twisted the chain attached to his wrists in one hand, pulling up and holding his arms off to the side and out of the way, their other hand teasing the surface of his bare stomach, claws scraping his skin lightly. Just as he was about to yell at them to just do it already, to stop driving up the anticipation, their claws turned inward, plunging into his flesh. Castys screamed at the sudden pain, head arching back against Aleph’s shoulder, eyes wide. They grabbed ahold of something and pulled, tearing the gash in his stomach open wider, and, no, no, he couldn’t look, didn’t want to look, he was already stuck feeling the awful pull at his insides, something sliding out of him through the hole in his abdomen, and the noises, the wet slipping, tearing, sucking, biting, swallowing, Aleph’s hums of pleasure, and their hand just kept going back in, pulling out more and more and more, and he didn’t know how much was left, how much he’d had at the start, but his ears were ringing now, vision fading, t-there was so much blood, it was so hot on his stomach and got colder as it dripped down, leaving him shivering and shuddering against Aleph, their tight grip on him never relaxing, pressing him into their chest, feeling his every twitch, and he couldn’t take it, he wanted to worm out of their grasp and run away, escape this awful, awful moment, but he had to be still, he had to let this happen, had to endure this for Berkeley’s sake, he couldn’t give up now, not when they’d just started, he had to do this, even as something squirted out and landed on his face, even as the ringing got so loud it drowned out the sounds of Aleph eating, even as he got so dizzy he wasn’t sure if they were even holding him anymore, e-even as-as…he was empty inside now, wasn’t he? So that was it then. It was.

It was.

When Castys came to, he was still on Aleph’s lap, still covered in blood, but his stomach was…no, something felt…wrong. Aleph was giving him a look that he could only call concerningly fascinated. Henceforth, he was very concerned as he looked down to see…ah. Well that was. That was new. That sure was new.

His whole torso was all bloody, and that was expected. Aleph’s hand was resting on his chest, arm drenched in red, little strings of ripped flesh clinging to the surface of their skin, and that was expected. What wasn’t expected were the twisted ropes of intestine erupting from the unbroken skin of his stomach. There wasn’t any pain, everything healed up after he’d died, just the strange, disturbing sensation of…this.

“This is so fun, look at you!” They grabbed the coils of his intestines, tugging at them gently as they examined them, causing him to wince. “You came back to life just like you said you would, and this makes it so much more interesting. I wasn’t planning on eating any more quite yet, but I feel like just leaving this out here would be a waste…If I kill you again, will that fix it?”

Castys gulped. “I, uh, I think so? This has never happened before, so I think as long as everything’s, um, inside when I die, it should be okay.”

“Alright. I’ll try to be more careful in the future.” Aleph ruffled his hair with their bloody, gore streaked hand, much to Castys’s dismay. He didn’t mind getting dirty, but having his own blood and guts in his hair was a bit much, even for him. “Sorry, I sorta did that without thinking. I’ll let you get cleaned up after I finish here.” They grabbed the intestines hanging out of his stomach, and Castys winced, looking away as they began eating once more, thankfully not with as much voracity as before, but them going slower was almost…worse, in a way. He wasn’t as distracted by the chaos and the pain and the blood, and he could tell just how much Aleph was…enjoying this.

But it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter how he felt, what he was going through. It only mattered that he was going to save Berkeley. That made all of this worth it. It was just one week. He could handle it. For Berkeley.

He grew used to it soon enough, or at least as used to having your organs ripped out and eaten as a guy could get. Aleph had two large meals a day, one midmorning and one early evening, but they took plenty in between to save for later, so he spent most of the day sliced open and bleeding. Really, it took so much scrubbing to get the layers of dried blood caked onto his skin off each night, but Aleph insisted he wash off, and, honestly, he felt gross enough that he actually wanted to, which was saying something. Wearing his red swim trunks here had been the best decision he’d ever made, since they cleaned off pretty well. He probably wouldn’t be too traumatized by all this to wear them again. Probably.

Probably.

He was lying on the table this time, the chain on his wrists secured to some hook or something above his head. His ankles and hips were strapped down, too, but the worst was the one around his fucking neck.

“Sorry, it’s just that I can’t exactly strap down your chest, so this is the best way to keep you still. Try not to choke?”

“I’ll do my best,” Castys sighed, wincing slightly as he swallowed under the tight leather strap.

Aleph giggled. “Before we get started, I think we’re going to need my friend’s help with this one.” They stepped away for a moment, and when they returned they were holding…a snake? A big, shiny, purple snake. They held it up proudly. “This is my familiar, Ileum! She’s a real sweetheart, but her venom makes blood clot more quickly, so she’s going to give you a little bite so you don’t die before I’m done with this, okay?”

Castys swallowed, glad this was happening to him, who liked snakes, and not Berkeley. “Uh, okay.” He really didn’t like where this was going if whatever bullshit they were gonna do required him to stay alive longer than a person should, but what could he do?

Aleph lowered Ileum until she was next to his upper arm, which was also very close to his face. They tapped his bicep. “Right here, girl!” Ileum stared at him for a moment, unblinking, before striking, fangs sinking in and out of his arm so fast it might as well have been an injection. He still flinched, his arm throbbing like he’d been stabbed with a nail. “Good girl,” Aleph cooed, stroking their snake’s head before setting her down on the ground. Shit, had Ileum just been wandering around the whole time he’d been here? He was surprised he’d never seen her. But whatever, he had more important things to focus on right now. Like the fact that he was probably about to get ripped open and gutted like a fish.

Aleph placed a hand on his chest, taking a moment to feel his heartbeat. While Castys didn’t exactly enjoy the feeling of them touching him, he savored his last few moments of not really being in pain before-ah, uh huh, there it was, claws digging into his flesh, tearing away the layer of skin and muscle over the left half of his rib cage. Castys had seen his ribs a lot in the past few days. They looked how you would expect them to look. Rib-y. Aleph wormed a motherfucking crowbar under one of them, and at that moment Castys decided to stare at the bloodstains on the ceiling. Given where he was lying, it was pretty easy to imagine how those got there, all humans ever did in this room was bleed and scream and-

CRACK

The sound was short, loud, sharp, piercing, nestled in his ears, stabbing through his skull, the nonexistent echoes nearly drowning out the sound of the cries humming in his throat, the leather tight over his neck making him all-too aware of them.

There was pain, too, of course there was pain, sharp and bright and suffocating, and now there was pressure again, the next rib being strained until it snapped, causing him to jerk against the straps, and it was all he could do to keep breathing as his vision started to darken, but unconsciousness wasn’t coming for him, no, just a haze of dizziness punctuated by the loud snap of his bones breaking, all the pain blending together until it was all unrecognizable and painful and awful and very very painful-

“Aw, come on, Castys, look at this!” Aleph’s hand curled in his hair, jerking his head up, pressing his throat into the strap over it so hard he could barely breathe. They tore through a thin film over his organs with a claw like they were unwrapping a Christmas present before carefully pawing his lung aside, better exposing his beating heart. Castys had never seen his heart before, or planned on seeing it, or wanted to see it, but there it was, stupidly still beating even after all of this. “It’s so cool to see it going like that, huh?” Castys let out a choked gasp in response, and that seemed to be enough for Aleph, who let go of his hair, his head thunking back against the table. “I’m gonna drink from it!”

Castys didn’t really register what that meant until they were on top of him, straddling his waist, tossing away the last few pieces of splintered bone before lowering their mouth to his heart, giggling as its frantic beats brushed against their lips.

And then gently, tenderly, they bit down.

Thump thump

Their teeth only went in a little, not enough to kill, as much as Castys wished they would.

Thump thump thump thump

They sat like that for a moment, the throbbing muscle massaging their tongue, fresh, hot blood gushing directly into their mouth.

Thump thump thumpthump

Castys only now started screaming, but not because he could feel anything.

Thumpthumpthumpthumpthu-

He didn’t notice the pain anymore, really.

ThumptHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUM-

There was only the figure crouched on top of him, their face in his chest cavity.

ThUMPthUMPThuMptHumPthUMPTHuMpTHUmpTHuptH-

He was so, so grateful when they bit down harder and everything cut to black.

Somehow, he woke up without any noticeable fuckery going on with his ribs, which was cool. Aleph was sitting up now, a mass of…oh, it was the remnants of his heart still in their hand. They must have torn it out before his chest closed up, meaning the one beating inside him now was…not the one he’d been born with. A drop of fresh blood fell from the ceiling and landed on his face, and he switched to gazing at the new constellations he’d added up there while Aleph finished eating.

That had definitely been one of the worst Anythings of his life, but if he had to do it again for Berkeley’s sake, he would.

In a heartbeat.

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

#whump #whump writing #castys #aleph #immortal whumpee #gore #snake bite #noncon touching #not many cw huh. because they're all just GORE #cannibalism #to be safe #i have a picrew or two of aleph if anyone wants #they were named after one of the uniliteral hieroglyphs and it's represented by a vulture #which now that i think about it is sort of fitting that was not intentional i just thought aleph would make a good name #they eating his intestines like popcorn while watching a film #fun fact i wrote the section where they eat his heart at a starbucks on public wifi #so that would have been fun for a hacker to see lmao #ive just always loved prying ribs off with crowbars im glad i got to do it finally #big snappy :)#disease where i edit this like once and ship it off to the press #tbf i wrote like the first half of this a year ago so some of it has been stewing for a WHILE #so fuck it we ball #this also has the longest sentence ive ever written at 245 words! unless im forgetting one #tfw it's getting all telltale heart over here #uh yeah hope those of you who can stomach it enjoyed

71 notes · View notes