I'm an autistic hobbyist writer and darkshipper who likes splatterpunk and surreal horror fiction, sometimes I write smut. This blog is intended for 18+ audiences. My main fandom is Countryhumans but I do like some other fandoms, however oddly I tend not to consume the original media as much as the fanworks
Favourite kind of ship: Older woman x younger male, especially if the older woman is abusive 😁 My 2 main ships for this are Alcina Dimitrescu/Leon S. Kennedy from Resident Evil, and USSR (older woman) x Greenland (younger man) from Countryhumans. The last one makes little sense to me as they haven't interacted much irl (I don't think) but I like their designs together lol
Here is my AO3 - There is mainly smut on there with some violent works. It is also intended for 18+ audiences. I've only recently started posting there due to exams.
Threats, hate and harassment will not be tolerated and I will block you. If you are severely uncomfortable with darkships and splatterpunk/sadism smut, I encourage you to do the same to me.
I want to share something that I hope will help some people with motivation.
At the beginning of this year, I was in a horrific writer's block and burnout. I had been for a year. I missed the conversations, the kudos emails, you name it. I considered turning to AI, I admit.
A little bit of inspiration hit me, and all I could get out was around 400 words. All of my fic's word counts had been around 2,000, with my last one being 6,000. But those had been for a fandom I was a big name in. This one wasn't.
I posted it anyway.
Next thing I know, I'm getting comments from someone, who even mentions I should write more. That they like my style. They actually ask me questions about the ship.
Next thing I know, my writer's block is gone. I feel like I can write again. I'm in a fandom that no one knows me for, but I have that one commenter, and a few familiar kudos.
So for anyone who feels like they have to use AI to get validation, or uses AI because they fear judgement, or just wants to get the thrill over with quickly:
You can start small. You can restart small. You don't have to post a 5,000 word fic. If all you can manage is 100 words, that's great.
There is an audience for your fic. You will find them, and they will find you. And then you will get the euphoria of being able to say, "That was my work. My heart and soul."
Wow. Sorry for rambling. But I wish you all an ability to take to your keyboard, and just start writing that first sentence. You all deserve it. 🫂
It's been [insert preferred timeline] since Whumpee disappeared when Caretaker gets a call from Whumper. No beating around the bush, no taunting. Whumper says exactly where Whumpee is and that they should hurry if they want to find them alive.
Posters are all over town, with multiple images of him, as well as his mother's phone number. A message at the top that plays into the viewer's emotions, begging for any information.
His mother, Luci, sits by her phone. She's staring at it, eyes refusing to blink, even through the itch and the discomfort. The ringer is on, full volume, in case someone rings.
Nausea cripples through Luci's stomach, her hands clammy against her arms, brushing them gently as a last ditch effort to comfort herself. Isaac is her only child.
The phone rings. It's an unknown number, but Luci picks up anyway, gulping down her breaths.
"Hello?" A low, though feminine voice asks from the other end. "I'm calling regarding a missing poster of a young man. Isaac Williams?" Her voice sounds European, almost Nordic.
"Yes," Luci yells. She doesn't mean to. "Do- do you have any information?!"
"He's at 25 Dale Avenue, just south of town." Luci's eyes narrow. "He's in the basement of the house, in a small dog cage."
"What the fuck?" Luci asks, after a long moment of silence.
"He's at 25 Dale Avenue," the woman repeats. "And if you want to see him alive, you should hurry." She sounds sickeningly smug.
Contains: manhandling, creepy/intimate whumper, blood, drugging, lil bit of conditioning, dehumanizing, pet whump
"Easy, easy.... "
Lazarus barked indignantly as he felt an arm lock underneath his stomach, scooping his bound form up onto the sofa with her. At least, he assumed it was the sofa from the soft but solid feel underneath his hind legs.
His legs. Regular, fuckin-
"...Aurhh!?"
A cold, cloying sensation dripped- no, was poured? Onto his head. He felt it pool, then begin to roll down from the crown of his head in thin trickles. It smelled like...- Glue?? But before Lazarus could try to shake it off, he felt a firm hand on his jaw, holding him still.
"Now now, pup~ Hold still, hmm? This won't take long..."
Kindness purred, her voice both close by and separated from him by thick layers of leather already.
"Be a good boy and it'll be over before you know it...~"
The leather should be a layer of insulation, but as the substance was brushed over the whole of the bitchsuited vampire's head, it felt as if the whole thing was soaked. It wasn't really, but glue was a bitch of a thing.
The hand disappeared from his jaw, but almost as soon as it did, Laz felt something push its way past the ring gag in his muzzle and down his throat. The vampire bucked, but he felt a hand on his back holding him still.
He felt resistance at his snout as the gag stopped going deeper, but it had already sealed his damn throat, pressing against his collar from the inside. Panic surged for a brief moment before Laz felt himself pull in a small whistling breath.
Before he could think too hard about it, Lazarus felt firm, strong hands stroking out from his snout. Pressing against every inch of his head. Pushing the glue around- pushing something down against the glue. Against the hood already tight on his head. Against his muzzle.
Every stroke held a ghost impression of her hands in the glue. Clinging. He felt her moving his hair and grunted (could she even hear that?) But her hands moved on, pulling and tightening the hood, smoothing it down around his neck.
Kindness kept her hands there, circling her puppy's throat, watching as he stilled under her. Admiring the smooth, featureless head, as blank as his mind should be.
Once she thought it had cured, the larger vampire stroked her pup's head. She heard a small, almost imperceptable wuff in response and grinned.
"That wasn't so bad, was it? Mmm... Do you think you deserve a treat for being so good?"
Good? Did she say good?
Lazarus tried to nose at her hand, forcing another wuff out through the small hole he still had left. Everything was pressing in against his head and it felt heavy.
"Good boy...."
Kindness hummed, drawing her own blood out into a vial. She mixed another vial in- a sedation and psychedelic mixture to ease her puppy into things, then tilted his head up.
His head lolled back dumbly and she almost laughed. Of course her stupid little puppy was a natural at this.
She tipped him closer, emptying the syringe down the small hole in her pup's otherwise smooth snout.
....Was that blood? Lazarus felt a sluggish, lukewarm liquid drip into his throat and almost on instinct, he sucked at the gag. It didn't taste fresh... was it- was that her blood? Lazarus sucked it down faster, grunting and pawing with the effort.
It didn't taste great, but it felt...- it felt tingly, like a warmth spread out to his limbs while electricity shot down his spine. It hit his tail and felt like it was straining, stretching out-
No. His tail was stretching out. Was growing? Laz heard a far off noise of surprise as his tail brushed up against his m- Kindness' leg. All the way up her leg.
Lazarus' head swiveled around blindly, trying to look for his tail. He could feel it swaying in the air, fur rustling- fur? Of course her had fur... Dogs have fur, don't they? No, he...
Laz tilted his head, looking as curious as a featureless thing could, staring back towards his tail.
"Oh....? Wow puppy, look at you~!"
Kindness reached down, affectionately ruffling his twin tails.
"Really embracing your place now, aren't you?"
‐----------------------------
Permanent puppy offshoot is a go! After all, Kindness DID promise to glue on another hood, eh?
She didn't think a little snack would also help her pup grow a proper tail~
"...I did not lie- my allegiances are to arcane study first and foremost. But they are to my House, as well. And the Cult of the Dragon. But I am not here for them."
More drama~!
Had to draw the moment things got serious and Nym realized that he wasn't going to be able to weasel and half-truth his way out THIS particular interrogation....~ Normally, he could pull a fast one and dance around things more, but he got outclassed here and decided it would be best to roll over for now and just bide his time...
(Has this worked out so far? Debatable. But it HAS moved the plot along~)
Villain was waiting at the exit when Thief emerged from the vault. Thief’s eyes widened as he spotted his employer standing nonchalantly in her ghastly green duster coat.
“Thief! I was starting to worry that you weren’t going to make it.”
Thief glanced back at the door to the vault. Did she not hear the alarm that triggered? Was she not freaking out about this too? Who fucking cares?
“We gotta go! There’s guards hot on my tail.”
“Did you get it, gorgeous?” Villain purred as if they had all the time in the world. Thief’s nodded and patted his satchel as he half ran towards her. “Good,” she said as she pointed a revolver straight at Thief’s chest. “Hand it over.”
Thief stared at her and scoffed. “Really?!”
“Contact said you were the best, but somebody has to go down for spilling all the heroes naughty little secrets, darling. I’m sure you understand.” She inclined her head. “Toss it over. Quickly now, or neither of us will get away.”
Thief snarled. “Good. I’d rather you go down with me and don’t get these—” Thief stumbled back. His eyes widened slightly as his lips parted dumbly. He glanced down at his left arm. It was strangely cold and oh… oh… there was a hole… in— he glanced up at Villain and her smoking gun.
Did she shoot him?
A warm sensation crawled up his stomach as Villain approached. “Come on Thiefy, you should know never to trust someone in our line of work.”
“I… I don’t… I didn’t trust… you,” he stammered, his mind moving too slow and yet somehow so fast at the same time. Villain was in front of him now, a wicked smile on her face. She patted his cheek lightly before grabbed the strap of his satchel and gently prying it from his body. His hand instinctively reached out for the strap, but he howled and bit his cheek as the bullet wound gushed.
“You should really get that looked at,” Villain told him with a look of faux concern as she opened the bag. She removed the files of the hero identities and dropped his bag to the floor. “By the way, I have the building set to blow in a minute, so don’t be caught in the blast. Toodle-oo.”
Thief stared after Villain as she walked away. “W-wait! You can’t just…” Thief scooped up his bag from the floor and clamped a hand around his shoulder. “You can’t leave me here!”
“I really hope this won’t sour business relationships between us Thiefy, but if you do get caught be sure to tell that dashing Hero that you worked for me. Tell him to call me too, you know my number.” She checked her watch. “Almost out of time. A pleasure, Thief.”
“Villain!” Thief cried as she grabbed the door to the exit. At the same time the door from the vaults opened and a group of angry looking heroes fixed their gaze on the scene. They looked at Villain, then at Thief. Villain smiled as she pushed the door open and disappeared as the heroes descended.
“Wait! Wait! Wait!” Thief cried. Didn’t Villain say something about—? Thief booked it for the door, racing after Villain but the shutters had started to come down and he cursed. He turned to the Heroes and beckoned them with his good arm back towards the vault. “Run!” He cried, taking off in a sprint. “She set the building to—”
A cacophony of sound drowned out Thief’s warning. Explosives rained like bullets in cloisters above them. Thief stared up at the ceiling, his mouth open as the building shook and groaned around them only barely audible through the high pitched ringing in his ears. Dust sifted above them as a chunk of concrete dislodged and dropped from the roof.
After that piece fell, the rest were like dominoes. Most of the heroes had managed to escape down the stairs towards the vault. Number two Hero grabbed Thief’s shirt and yanked him out of the way of a chunk that would have landed straight on his head.
Number Two Hero was shouting something as he pushed Thief towards the door back to the vault. Thief held onto him and dragged the Hero with him. They would be fine. The stairs were concrete, if they could just go and hide under the stairs they may just—
Hero dragged Thief’s arm down suddenly like an anvil had hit him. Thief recoiled, pulling back, but it didn’t save him and he crashed to the ground with Hero. It was hard to see in the dust but he could feel the ground beneath him, and so he shot his arm out and felt around for Hero, coughing at the dust and soot and stench of gunpowder on the air.
He found Hero’s arm and traced it up, waving smoke out of the way. Then he saw Hero. More importantly he saw the chunk of debris that had caught Hero’s leg, and pinned him under rubble.
“Hero,” he said, though he could barely hear himself. “Hey! Hero! Hero!” He slapped Hero’s face lightly, but the Hero was out cold. Thief looked around for any sort of levy he could use to try and move the concrete from the Hero’s legs. He glanced back at the door that was so close to safety… then back at Hero. At his shirt that Hero had grabbed to drag Thief to safety.
He had to do something! He had to help Hero! He couldn’t just leave him here to be crushed or die. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself.
“Fuck!” Thief exclaimed. He scrambled to his feet. The explosions had died down within the first minute or so, but the building had only stopped rumbling and shaking around them, the dust settled over the rubble, exposing the smoke filled sky to Thief. “What the fuck—” he wheezed as he walked around to Hero’s crushed legs. “—are you doing, you idiot? They’ll let you rot in a cell for this and throw away the key!”
When Thief bent to inspect the damage, he was relieved to see only one of Hero’s legs had born the weight of the roof. It was also levied on other piles of rubble, so hopefully the damage wasn’t too severe.
If Thief worked quickly then he could probably make sure Hero was safe as a thank you for saving him, and escape before there was even a distant wail of—
Thief blanched. In the distance he could hear them; sirens.
Son of a bitch! Fucking, stupid, stupid, stupid—
He frowned at the unnerving silence of the building. Shouldn’t the other heroes be up here by now? Did they make it to the vault? Hide under the stairs? Did they somehow collapse and they were stranded in a pit with no exit?
Thief grabbed a chunk of the roof in his hands and heaved it up and off of Hero’s leg. The only part that was actually pinning Hero to the ground. Only he didn’t expect Hero to wake up screaming, crying, cursing and wailing somehow all at once.
“It’s okay!” Thief said, running back around to Hero’s face. “It’s okay! You’re okay.”
Hero’s pain filled gaze turned incredulous, then suspicious. “You— you… you’re the thief…”
Thief offered a watery smile. “Guilty. Look, I think we should prop you up against something.”
Hero heaved his words out through exhausted lips. “You… you’re… didn’t— run.”
“You saved me,” Thief said quietly. “I couldn’t leave you to die.”
Hero put a hand flat on the ground and started to push himself up, groaning and wincing as he went. Thief’s eyes widened, alarmed. “Hey! Maybe you should—”
Hero grunted with the effort until he was sitting upright beside Thief. He coughed out smoke, wheezing a little with his inhale. “You sh— you should go,” Hero told him.
Thief’s eyes widened. “What?”
Hero groaned, pulling his leg straight to assess the damage. “Go,” he ground out through clenched teeth. “Who has the list?”
Thief slackened. “Villain…”
“Fuck…” Hero said. He ran his hands through his hair. “Okay. Thanks. Now go, you won’t get another chance.”
“But I—”
“I will arrest you in five seconds,” Hero suggested. “How bout that? Ready? Five.”
Thief got to his feet, bag in his hands. He threw the strap over his shoulder and went for the gap in the wall that would let him escape out the back way of the vault. Into the trees, to safety.
(This was supposed to be so much shorter. I swear 0_0)
CW: female whumpee/ carewhumper, living weapon whumpee, defiant/ conditioned whumpee, whumper turned whumpee?, mentioned multiple carewhumpers, forced textbook femininity, noncon touch, intimate/ creepy whumper, forced ‘comfort’, touch adverse whumpee, carewhumpers trying to ‘fix’ her, restraints, mentioned past violence against character, implied past death of unimportant character, bruises, implied past abuse, emotional whump, dehumanization, cursing, nicknames
〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️
Whumpee’s wrist burned painfully behind her from how hard she twisted in the cuffs. The circulation in her legs stopped it's tour long ago, leaving dull pins spiking relentlessly under her skin.
Those dumb fucks couldn't keep her tied up like this forever. Eventually she wouldn't be able to walk let alone move her arms, and she's certain that would ping some compliance officer’s radar. Or did these asshole’s just not give a shit? With her locked up in this basement cellar hell den they could probably do whatever they’d like and it not reach any higher than a couple floors.
The only cameras there presumably connected to the room on the other side of the glass; the same handful of faces greeted her each time. There was a slim chance anyone else actually knew she was there. No rules or limitations kept them from anything. She was their unrestricted punching bag for as long as they wanted.
She forced a shiver off her spine.
The turned click of a door handle preceded heavy boots. Carewhumper slipped through the door with a wide smirk painting her lips, hefty figure thudding into the room with the comfortability of a successful thief, the black of her tactical wear a gross contrast to the sickening baby blue canvassing the walls; cartoon clouds hanging in the landscape, dumb cotton candy pink birds, rabbits, and unicorns assaulting every place Whumpee looked.
Whumpee snarled at the sight of her. Her roaming gaze somehow made the room colder, made the stupid short ruffle skirt and strapped crop top they put her in seem impossibly smaller. Her smile only grew as she walked over the equally stupid fluffy rugs to her curled up figure on the bed.
Whumpee’s struggling didn't matter, never did, as the other wordlessly slid off her shoes and climbed into bed with her. Her hands lazy as they extended down the path of endless cuts and bruises. Somehow ghosting over every patch of scorched flesh, every brand and scar that used to mean a job done right.
Her skin itched like a healing wound, mind trying to scrape off the sticky memory while the thought of clawing this woman's eyes out sounded more and more inviting, “Was wondering when you'd come back,” she said instead, “And so soon too! Can't get fucked anywhere else so you gotta get off to me?”
Something was churning inside her chest; anger, resentment, a safe guard of herself shredded though her collar bone, claws insistent on ripping her in two just to get to Carewhumper. Hopeless in their pursuit.
Carewhumper huffed a laugh as she finally settled beside Whumpee’s shrimp curled spine, “Well I couldn't leave my favorite girl down here all alone, now could I?”
“Aww and here I thought you didn't care. But unfortunately you’re wasting your time, I’m not about to tell your ugly ass you're the prettiest in the land,” Whumpee quipped with mock sincerity.
Another regrettable thing she now knew about from being stuck in this miserable basement.
The woman made a show of lingering eyes as she stared at the low v-neck of Whumpee’s shirt, slowly raising them to meet her gaze, “You look pretty,” she said without a care of previous conversation.
Whumpee grimaced at the ‘complement’, fighting back the urge to unconsciously shrink in on herself. She wasn't ashamed of anything. Nor was she going to hide like a fucking cowered from this creep.
She's a trained soldier, not some shy teenage girl embarrassed cause of her new found bust.
Carewhumper just nuzzled into her, hands still wandering and body completely dwarfing her in a way Whumpee’s only seen in combat, yet this was much worse than a couple fractures and the smell of a rotting corpse. No matter how many times she couldn't get used to this; she didn't know how to situate herself to make this less agonizing. Didn't know where to hide that small part of her somewhere that wouldn't be touched.
“You dipshits have to let me go eventually, you can't keep me here,” Whumpee said to break the silence, “Besides, isn't that like against your hero code or something? ‘All things deserve life and freedom’—”
A grip around her thigh cut her off, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise while another gripped her jaw, keeping her still to stare back at a wolf’s glare. Her voice full of vitriol before it broke through her lips, “After what you did to Team Leader, you'll be lucky we don't let you rot down here.”
The name made her heart plummet straight to her stomach. Actions she wished she could undo—orders she wished she didn't have to follow gripped her conscience like it wanted her dead.
“You don't deserve shit. You are nothing in any human being's eyes, you have no right to want or ask for anything, especially freedom. You are nothing more than dog—hell, less than that. You're a tool. And right now your a puppet we get to pull around by it's strings.”
She pulled back in disgust, releasing her chin but leaving the hook in the fishes mouth, “Don't act like this is anything new for you. You never amounted to anything and that doesn't change now that you've swapped hands.”
The hand on her thigh traveled up her back, hot breath fanned her ear as Carewhumper whispered nauseatingly close, pulling the strap of her shirt up for it to snap back down sharply, Whumpee shuddered, “So just sit pretty and quiet when we tell you to and you get to continue doing what you were bred to do: obey.”
Whumpee just stared dumbfounded. It was too much to process, too much regret clouding her thoughts as the woman settled again. Part of her didn't want to listen, the other hogging the words for themselves, not letting anyone touch it, letting the virus grow and fester because she felt it had a right to. Everything it touched and diminished in it’s wake was simply recompense.
She was paying for the sins of the past. She should be grateful she got the chance.
Whumpee didn't say anything else—didn't utter another word—she just accepted the poisoned fruit. Biting into it with sorrowful thanks dripping from her fangs. Even she knew she's earned far worse for the things she's done.
a very normal businesswoman with no history of dabbling in anything illegal or otherwise unethical/controversial and no plot relevance to anything ever
aka the worlds laziest doodle that I forgot to post when I finished it and now ive low-key high-key forgotten how to draw at all
And how quickly that would tangle. How fast Whumpee's hair would knot. How quickly would it become matted and untameable?
If they're not restrained, maybe their hair would get to them. Would they try to desperately run a few fingers through it, smooth it out? Cry when it gets tangled and tight around their fingers? Or would they find the first sharp object and try to chop it off?
When rescued, would Caretaker try their best to clean their hair? Cut out the worst, unsalvageable chunks and the rest is spent in the tub. Gently washing through whumpee's hair, careful on their scarred scalp. Trying their best to be gentle as whumpee cries.
