#drool tw

[viscera-doodles]

Ko-Fi

A friend shared this meme so naturally I had to do something about it.

ANYWAY HAPPY PRIDE MONTH EVERYBODY !!!!

[submissivefeminist]

cock goes in, mind goes out

[realmackross]

PARTIES: @loftylockjaw, @realmackross TIMING: Mid-February outside of Hallow Eats SUMMARY: When Wyatt decides to try and take care of a bug problem, with Mack offering him a helping hand, the two are caught in the crossfire of some very strong pollen. CONTENT WARNINGS: Drug manipulation tw (Bumblekára pollen), drool tw (very brief mention)

“Okay, seriously, how does no one else hear that?” His coworkers just looked at each other and shrugged, and Wyatt huffed. Obviously none of them had his fantastic sense of hearing, which was only working overtime right now because he was partially shifted. He worked among other supernatural townsfolk and a handful of humans that were quite aware, but cool about it. His golden eyes flashed as he moved away from his workstation in the kitchen, slitted pupils searching for the heat signature to accompany the buzzing, scratching sound he was hearing. Moving out of the kitchen and into the main dining room (they hadn’t yet opened), Wyatt felt a tiny vibration start to kick up. He moved along the interior walls of the building, but it was proving fruitless. Also it kind of sounded like it was coming from… higher up? 

Heading outside, Wyatt circled the building, his reptilian gaze turned toward the awning above him. Ah! There. A mass of warmth up higher on the structure, just beyond the fire escape that came down from the second floor. The lamia took a running jump at the ladder to grab it and drag it down, nearly losing his grip as it jerked to a sudden stop far sooner than it should’ve. 

Dangling there, the lamia squinted up at the ladder and growled, thrashing his body around to try and knock it loose. That’s when he heard footsteps and felt eyes on him—quickly blinking his eyes back to their more human blue and hoping that whatever scales had been peeking out from beneath his hairline weren’t noticed (probably not, from this distance), he twisted around to look at the person standing at the mouth of the alleyway. 

“Salutations,” he laughed. “Don’t, uh… don’t suppose you’d be willin’ to give the ol’ feet there a tug n’ help me get this ladder down, wouldja?”

—

There had been a lot running through Mackenzie’s mind lately. Situations that continued to replay over and over again haunting her, but also frustrating her. It had been around two months since she had lost control and raged through town, and it seemed like ever since, she had been living in a whirlwind of emotions. Her attempts to move forward and get on with her life was like an ebb and flow and some days were better than others. And of course, the best thing being her new relationship that was forming with Elora. But there were still moments when she felt as though she just wanted to let go. Let loose and not worry. And today was one of those days.

Venturing out earlier than normal, Mackenzie decided that maybe rising with the sun, would lift her spirits some, especially with the days getting shorter. It had been a while since she had made the choice to go eat at a restaurant for breakfast. Most mornings consisted of staying at home and having a smoothie of various body parts (unless it was brain day) followed by a few pancakes doused in cinnamon as a treat. But today, she had decided to go for something different.

As she made her way down the quiet sidewalks of the small town with the few early risers that were already out and about, she had almost made it to her destination when she heard a voice from…up above?

Mackenzie, with one half-raised eyebrow in confusion, cocked her head to the side as she looked up to see a man hanging from a ladder, “Uh…salutations? I’m sorry, the last time I heard that word was when I was like eight after watching Charlotte’s Web…” Blinking a few times, she sighed and walked towards him, “How did you get up there anyways? And what are you doing?” Reaching up, she grabbed onto his shoes and began to tug as hard as she could.

—

“Guess I’m old fashioned like that,” Wyatt mused, adjusting his grip on the ladder with a grunt. “Oh, well, I jumped! I was tryin’ to get the escape ladder down, so I can get up there and see what the heck is livin’ in our wall. But it uh, got stuck.” Feeling her pulling on his feet, he adjusted his grip again and squinted his eyes up at the ladder, willing it to release. Something started to grind, and he could have sworn he was moving very slowly. “Ah! Yeah! Just like that! C’mon, nearly there—” The ladder gave and they were suddenly falling very rapidly, and without much thought, Wyatt let go of the ladder with one arm to instead grab onto the stranger and stop her from cracking her head on the pavement from the sudden inertia of the not-so-little man dangling above her. They hung there for a moment before Wyatt heaved her up so she could regain her footing, then let her go and grabbed the ladder with both hands to start hauling himself up it to get his feet on the first rung. “Many thanks!” he called down to her, a bit out of breath by the time he got his feet on the ladder and could take a short break. 

He leaned back, staring up at the spot where the sound was coming from, blinking again and shifting his eyes back to their reptilian state. The heat signature was there, clear as day, and it looked… yeah, this was a bug problem. What kind of bugs was the question, but whatever they were, they had to go. Wyatt just wanted to know what to tell the exterminator. He was… going to have to get into the wall, probably. Something he’d not considered until now. Damnit. Shifting back to blue and looking down at the girl, his gaze then scanned the alley. Ah. 

“Uh… one more favor, if you don’t mind? Can you hand me that cinderblock over there by the dumpster, ma chérie?” He squatted back down and held a hand out toward her. “I’m Wyatt, by the by. So you know who to warn your friends away from,” he added with a chuckle.

—

Mackenzie listened as she continued to tug, until she felt a slight shift. Her mind had been on not getting squished by the man hanging just above her head, but when the ladder started to drop, the zombie realized she needed to move. However, down they went together — her, the ladder, and the man casually hanging from it. Luckily, like a true southern gentleman, she felt her fall being broken by him, before he was helping her back up. It had all happened so fast that Mackenzie didn’t have time to think, but once she had regained her composure, she was watching him attempt to move up the ladder once again, “You’re welcome…I think. But you said there was something living in your walls? Any idea what it might be?”

Stepping back, she looked upwards with a squint as the sun peered down into her eyes, “Is it even safe to be climbing up there? I mean you are going in without any ideas of what might be lurking.” And with this town, it could have been anything. “I’d just be cautious if I were you.” Letting her eyes fall from the brightness and the pain it was causing, Mackenzie heard him ask for the cinderblock. Now, what is this man up to?

“I don’t know what you’ve got in mind, but sure. Hold on.” Going over to the dumpster, she picked up the cement block and carried it back over to the man still standing on the ladder, “Mackenzie. And honestly, right now, it feels like friends are few and far between, so I don’t think you have anything to worry about.” Raising the block up with both hands, she passed it off to him, “What do you plan on doing with that?”

—

“Pests, probably. As for what I’m gonna do with this…” he took it from her, grinning at it in his own hands for a beat. “Why, gonna put a hole in the wall with it, what else!” Wyatt answered Mack as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He approached the spot and, rearing his hand back, prepared to strike with the cinderblock, hoping to break through whatever cheap siding this place had been built with.

What the shifter couldn’t know was that these were no ordinary bugs. In fact, they weren’t bugs at all. They were bees, but not your average honeymakers. And they weren’t supposed to be here, of all places, noticed only thanks to the lamia’s heat vision, since they had been otherwise dormant. It was getting colder out, so that made sense. But dormant or not, the moment the wall came exploding inward right next to their hive, they were awake. And mad. 

The raucous buzzing could be heard even from where Mackenzie stood as the hive thrummed to life, slipping out of their hibernation to defend their home. Residual pollen from the springtime feeding still clung to the Bumblekára’s little fuzzy bodies, and as they flapped their tiny wings an an angry, threatening sort of way, a cloud of that pollen came billowing out of the hole Wyatt had made. The hole he was now pressing his face up to to try and see if it was wasps or what. (No one ever said he had a healthy sense of self-preservation—he was a ring fighter, after all.) 

He coughed, pulling back from the cloud, eyes wide. “What the fuck?” The coughing continued, the pollen irritating his lungs and making him feel dizzy as he stumbled back from the wall, grabbing onto the railing of the fire escape to steady himself.

The cloud sank low into the alley, engulfing the whole area in a thick, colorful, dizzying haze. 

—

“Right? So you’re gonna break a wall and anger whatever’s in there. This should be interesting.” Mackenzie wasn’t worried. She was dead after all. If anything had decided to come out of the hole she watched the man now busting into the siding of the older building, it wasn’t like it could hurt her right? So she stood by with her face aimed upwards watching as he made an effort to beat an opening. It was only then, when he was successful, that Mackenzie could hear what sounded like buzzing. Her ears hadn’t been the absolute best, but she knew bees buzzing, and it was only confirmed when she watched them zip out of the hole bringing a cloud of dust with them.

With the plume of pollen surrounding Wyatt, Mackenzie watched as he stumbled, reacting on instinct ready to catch him if he were to fall, but there was some relief when she noticed him catch the ledge and hang on. However, it wasn’t pleasant seeing the haze seeping downward soon to engulf her in it, only to leave her coughing and trying to fan it away. Great. Something that apparently could affect her. Pollen. But it didn’t take long for her to stumble forward looking for something to grip while the world started to spin around her, “What the fuck?”

Closing her eyes and trying to steady herself was proving to be unsuccessful, “Wyatt! What did you unleash!?! She had been waiting for the stings, but they never came. Instead her mind started to race as if she were under the influence of something unpleasant at first, but oddly turning into something more enjoyable. At least for the moment in time while she leaned up again the building the man had just knocked a hole into.

—

“I dunno…! Bees?!” The lamia tried to take a deep breath to settle the dizziness in his head, but breathing was hard in this damned cloud. He ought to get out, really, but… he was distracted by the way he realized his hands were changing. The fingers grew longer, the skin began to turn a sickly green, and… and… oh. Oh. 

Wyatt gave a small start as he realized he was slipping into an involuntary shift, alligator scales sprouting on his arms, neck, and face, his pupils thinning into slits while the irises turned a golden yellow. But even worse than that, there was something going on with the girl—something weird. Weirder than him? Hard to say. He leaned over the railing, his concern for dropping from such a height gone as the hallucinogenic rampaged through his system. The girl, Mackenzie, was growing horns. Or was it antlers? He didn’t know, didn’t care, except that it was fuckin’ wild and he wanted a closer look. 

Allowing the shift to continue, putting an unfortunate strain on his clothes, the lamia scampered down the steps to the landing where the ladder was connected, staring at her. 

“What’s with the head decorations?” he called, not realizing that he was fully imagining all of it. He climbed up onto the railing, heaving a sigh as the shift rapidly accelerated and left no trace of a human behind, just a reptilian monster that resembled a bipedal alligator, draped in what had once been Wyatt’s work attire. He dropped from the fire escape, landing in the alley with a thud that rattled the nearby windows before standing upright again and reaching for her imagined antlers that were sprouting higher and higher from her head. A quick glance down also revealed to him (or so he thought) that her face was… growing fur? Like his scales, but very much not like his scales.

Wait a minute. Was she like, a deer person? What the fuck?

It was then that the lamia felt his stomach growl.

—

Mackenzie closed her eyes trying to find balance, but the smells…Oh mylanta, the smells of fresh cooked meat had her mouth watering. And as she opened her eyes again, she let her gaze shift until she noticed the alligator plopping down to the ground with a hard thud. Mackenzie startled at first, but suddenly more curious than anything. And as he moved in closer to her, his large gatory arm extending out towards her, she couldn’t help but see it as something battered and deep fried, the tiniest bit of drool seeping from the side of her mouth, until he said something about head decorations, “What? I don’t have anything on my head. Do you always walk around looking like a snack?”

The young zombie had managed to push herself off of the wall as she inched closer, her eyes glazing over to pure white nothingness, but her brain and ability to talk still there. If she had caught sight of herself in a mirror, she would have seen nothing but rot and decay, but apparently her gator friend was seeing something else, “Hey! We should go get hot sauce. Like the hottest sauce known to man. Some of that Carolina Reaper shit that everyone talks about. That long, freshly battered tail you’re sportin’ right now isn’t going to marinate itself.” She wandered over to it and slowly leaned down to lift it up and observe it, “You know…this would totes make a super cute purse too and boots…You could make a lot of money, man.”

—

“I mean… nice of you to notice, but I think I’d count myself as a whole damn meal. Five courses n’ all,” Wyatt countered with a laugh. The deer-girl’s interest in his tail was, mm… hard to describe. Not threatening, because he was big and had lots of teeth, and she was small. And had… probably flat teeth, or whatever deer have. Not a threat. Not a problem. Kinda weird, though. She would make a decent meal…

Pulled from his thoughts as Mackenzie picked his tail up from the ground, the lamia let out a crocodilian hiss of breath, then followed it with a snort. “Yeah, well, I need that tail for things. Things that don’t involve purses, boots, or hot sauce. Ain’t you like a vegetarian, anyway? I know gator is the most scrumptious of the meats, but I never seen a deer eat meat before.” He turned to face her, pulling his tail free of her grip. “Me though… I eat lots of meat. Hell, I live on it. N’ you…” He dropped down onto all fours, ready to lunge at her with massive, gaping jaws. “You’re the one lookin’ mighty tasty right about now.” He recoiled and then sprang, far more agile than a real alligator would’ve been on land, and therefore, far more deadly. Not that he realized his chosen prey was already dead—might not have been interested, if he knew that.

— 

“I bet you would.” Mackenzie licked her lips. Forget the tail, there was a lot Mack could feed on. From his hind quarters to his cute little prehistoric looking arms and of course that funny little brain that kept telling him she was a deer. But her trance was broken, when he ripped his tail away from her and out of her grip. Instead of dwelling, she shook her head a little and looked back at the gator man as a whole, “Too bad, you’re a walking high end designer bag that could fetch a lot of money.” She shrugged.

Turning around, not paying any attention to him down and ready to lunge, Mackenzie started to walk forward and just in time too, because if she had stayed in the same spot, she surely would have been gator food. It was the Bumblekára pollen that had her so carefree and nonchalant about things. So much so that it almost gave her an air of coolness that she only turned on when she was acting for the camera, “And why do you keep calling me a deer?” She narrowed her eyes thinking about the question, before turning back around, “I guess if you like your meat dead and rotting. I mean, I would say I’m more roadkill than Bambi.” She started laughing at her own joke as she turned back around to face him.

—

His jaws snapped shut and caught nothing but air, and he grumbled. That should’ve been… a lot easier. He felt weird. Confused, almost. Obviously it was affecting his ability to hunt. “Because you are a deer—what you mean, dead and rotting? You don’t look dead to me.” Wyatt paused, narrowing his eyes at her and craning his neck forward to give her a good, long sniff. 

Okay, so she didn’t smell like the dead things he normally came across in the woods, but she definitely had some kind of… aura about her. The lamia stopped for a moment, thinking hard about what Owen had said. There were more than just vampires. And—duh! Caleb was dead, too! And he didn’t smell dead. Was this deer girl like—

Oh, wait. She wasn’t a deer. The fur and the antlers were suddenly gone, leaving in their place one very normal looking girl. The lamia huffed out a breath and lifted his head again, rising up onto two feet. “You’re… not a deer. And you’re dead, like my—like a guy I know. Okay. I’m—” God, stringing together a coherent sentence was hard. He glanced up at the hole in the wall where the bees had retreated, and the sky still glittered and sparkled with the haze of pollen they’d blasted out at him. “I think… maybe… we shouldn’t be in this cloud,” he thought aloud. “But… um. I can’t… someone might see.” And if he shifted back, he’d be naked. And he really didn’t want this random person seeing him naked.

—

“No, I am not a deer. And yes, I am dead.” Normally Mackenzie wasn’t so carefree with who she revealed her true identity with, but this guy was a huge humanoid alligator that looked like he came straight out of the Peter Pan cartoon that she had seen many, many years ago as a child. “And you’re a walking-talking alligator.” Mack looked him over once more, until he mentioned the pollen cloud. Letting her eyes glance up, she noticed it was still lingering.

Mackenzie had only ever been high once in her life, and it had been enough for her. Not something she had ever desired to feel again, but here she was, except this time, it was totally different, “I think you’re right.” With the realization of what was causing their hallucinations, life seemed to suddenly start to cut back through and… “Oh…uh. Yeah, I mean, I can offer you my hoodie, but that’s about it.” She looked over to see his other clothes in shreds on the ground. Man this guy must have had a closet full of clothes. And then some.

Quickly glancing around, she spotted a small souvenir shop across the street. Why anyone would want Wicked Rest souvenir’s she’d never know. It seemed like leaving with the scars of what this town could do to you was enough, “I have an idea! Go hide somewhere…like over there in the shadows. And don’t breathe.” Easier said than done, at least for a walking dead person. “I’ll be right back!”

—

“Don’t breathe? You—” But she was off, and Wyatt was left to mutter to himself, hunkering down and hoping he was low enough to keep his head clear before scurrying off to the darkest corner of the alley, side pressed against a smelly dumpster. Clawed hands reached out to cover his nostrils and he begged the woman to hurry, growing antsier by the second. 

His eyes were tightly clamped shut when she returned, afraid of what he might see and how he might react if he opened them. He felt something soft dumped onto his snout and he peeked with one yellow, slitted eye. 

This was far and away from his first choice when it came to fashion, but what other alternative was there? Ugh. The lamia lifted his head and gathered the clothing in his reptilian hands, offering Mack a nod in thanks. “Turn around,” he huffed, wasting no more time in reversing the shift and hurriedly pulling the clothes on—the sweatpants and sweatshirt were ugly as sin, but at least they were comfortable and fit okay. The sandals, while not right for the season, were probably the only footwear available in that place, so he tried not to complain too much about the horrific combination of Wicked’s Rest socks and sandals adorning his human feet as he slipped them on and stood up. As he moved past Mack, he urged her forward with a touch to her shoulder, and the pair quickly left the alley and rounded the front of the building. Along the way, he bent down to snatch up his phone that’d clattered to the pavement after his gator body had ripped through his clothes, annoyed but not surprised to see that the screen had cracked.

Calling up the coworkers he’d abandoned in the building to finish prep on their own, he informed them he was actually taking the day off as something unexpected had come up. Not really caring if that was about to cost him his job, he hung up and looked down at Mack again. 

“Well… thanks for the help, even though that all went to shit.” He paused, considering the girl’s undeadness. “Hey, you like spicy food? I hear that’s the closest folk like you can get to tastin’ anythin’. Got a few recipes I’ve tried out on my undead friend, n’ he seemed to enjoy ‘em. Can make you some, as proper thanks for the…” He glanced down at himself, letting out a laugh. “... incredible ensemble you threw together for me.”

—

Mackenzie had tried to pick out something resembling a decent outfit, but it was no avail, and the frustration that lingered with the options made her want to have a talk with the owner, but she didn’t have time. Besides, it’s not like she had to shop for a naked gator man on a regular basis. Well that was a thought I never imagined would pop into my head. Which led to “3 AM” by Eminem cycling through her brain and was stuck there until she returned to Wyatt, where she successfully dumped the clothes on him.

Doing as he requested, Mackenzie turned her back to him while he got dressed, and by the time she turned back around, what she saw made her burst out into a somewhat ugly laugh, “Oh shit…that’s worse than I thought it would be!” Stifling her continued laughter, she followed him quietly as he retrieved his phone and the pair left the cloud of pollen once and for all. She had felt bad he was going to miss a day's work over this, but it wasn’t often you were in the presence of hallucinogenic bee butt dust. Besides, Mack was also pretty sure he didn’t want to be caught coming back to work dressed like Wicked’s Rest’s biggest fan. How would that conversation go?

“Uh, yeah. No problem. And thanks for not eating me. I don’t think I’d taste very good.” She laughed softly, but her ears perked at the mention of spicy food. “You have spoken the magic words. I, unfortunately, love spicy food!” Mack looked up at him with a grin, “I would very much appreciate that, and uh, you can keep the clothes. Maybe use it as a Halloween costume sometime if the overgrown Alligator costume bit gets old.” She resumed walking, “You been in Wicked’s Rest long?”

—

“Wow, thanks, your generosity astounds,” he laughed in turn, always able to find the humor in a situation… he just hoped he didn’t run into anyone he knew looking like this. “But no… just a few months. Was in Boston for some years before that, though, so it’s not that different… just smaller. And with more… dead people.” He glanced at her. “No offense. Some of my favorite people are dead!” 

The trip to his waiting car wasn’t an especially long one, and once they’d reached it, Wyatt asked Mack to hold there for a second while he reached into his glove box and pulled out a scrap of paper.

“Here,” he said, writing down his name and phone number. “Hit me up when you got a hankerin’, girl. I’ll make sure you can taste your dinner. And… hey, I’ll even cook it up usin’ that offal I hear your kind needs to stay limber, eh? Wouldn’t want you goin’ hungry.” Leaning over the car door to hand it to her, Wyatt offered a charming smile. “Now I gotta get the fuck outta here before someone I know sees me. Thanks again for the assist. Be hearin’ from you soon!”

[total-television-productions-act]

mindless

[ladyautie]

I feel like I’m spending at least the third of my day unfocused, looking nowhere, with a blank expression on my face. And, sometimes, drooling a little bit...

I think that’s a pretty accurate gif of what I’m looking like from the outside :

[gif of a vintage white woman with blonde hair. She has her hand against her cheek, a blank facial expression and her eyes blinking slowly]

[cowboy-anon]

Apple in another style ‘cause why not :)

[cowboy-anon]

Whumpmas in July - Day 15

Prompt - “Stop”

Yes, this is ages late lol but BEHOLD. THE FIRST INSTALLMENT OF  “Bust Your Kneecaps” WHUMP. I think this story is more so going to be an excuse to write my favorite whump tropes than anything, but honestly I’m cool with that. XDD The Wilsons do go through a lot of whumpees after all, so. It works. :)

Anyway, welcome to my first crack at mouth whump, This piece doesn’t have too much of that in it, not like the second piece will, but it’s definitely whumpy. :) These two pieces can definitely read as a standalone, because Austin, our recently kidnapped whumpee, is just one of the dozens of victims the Wilsons have accumulated so. Yeah.

I don’t think this piece is as bad as the huge CW makes it seem, BUT please note this is one of the darker pieces I’ve written. Please proceed with caution.

CW: Amputation mention, begging, beginnings of mouth whump, blood, brief nausea (no actual emeto), broken bones, crying, cursing, death mention (no one actually dies), drool, gag, gangrene caused by infection (mentioned smell of rot), gore (?), food mention, hand whump (mentioned pulling fingernails, smashed, stabbed with fork), implied kidnapping, knife, mentioned unconsciousness, mutilation (hand),  !!non-con kiss with a minor (minor is 17 and is the one doing the kissing)!!, non-con touching (non-sexual), referenced past torture, sadistic whumpers, tied with rope, torture

Tagging: @whump-it​, @abitefullofwhump​ (Let me know if you’d like to be added or removed from the taglist!)

Austin’s First Tooth - Part 1

Austin has been stuck sitting in his own blood and filth for three days. He knows this because he’s watched those days go by through the drawn living room curtains in the form of golden sunlight and milky moonlight. It’s been wildly helpful in determining how long he’d been passed out from the pain.

Of course, the cheery “Good morning!” the Wilsons always start their days with is a pretty solid indicator.  

His wrist gives an involuntary twitch against the rope binding his wrists, and Austin lets out a muffled wail—way too loud for the early dawn sunlight filtering into the room. His hand, his completely smashed, mutilated hand. He can’t see it, but he remembers it. 

He gags at the memory, tastes burning bile on the back of his throat. Behind his eyes he sees his hand last night on the kitchen table, oozing blood and what can only be described as looking of macerated strawberries. They started in on his nails after that. 

All for refusing a second helping of Valerie Wilson’s casserole.

Austin turns his head against the memories, like looking away will help, when he’s met with something far worse. A smell. A horrible one, like something well and truly died beside him. 

Truthfully, he wouldn’t be surprised if something did, but the smell of rot is so pungent he can taste it. He wishes the horrible whirl of rose pink stepping down the stairs is shocking enough to take his mind off of it. Instead, Austin settles on breathing small, shallow breaths around the gag over his mouth. 

“Good morning, Austin!” Valerie coos when she reaches the bottom of the stairs, sickly sweet.

Austin doesn’t look at her straight on. He keeps his eyes on the too-perfect living room in front of him, knowing full well Valerie spins around the banister and steps into the kitchen. 

 “Well, a bit of an earlier morning than usual.” From the corner of his eye, Austin sees Valerie dip into the cupboards beneath the countertop and come up with a bowl. In the sink behind her is a rolling pin. The rolling pin. “You did wake us up with your crying, darling.”

Before he can think, Austin spits back “If you hadn’t smashed my fucking hand...” into his gag.

He hears the barely audible venom, too muffled to make out the words, and still he whips around to face Valerie and freezes. His breath catches. Did she hear him? She couldn’t have. His eyes widen on their own accord when she turns to look at him. 

But all she does is smile. “What do you think, Austin? Pancakes or French toast?”

Austin stares and slowly, oxygen snakes its way back into his lungs. “F-French toast,” he mutters weakly into his gag. Valerie points to the loaf of white bread on the counter and he nods. 

Valerie’s heels click against the tile as she sweeps through the kitchen, pulling eggs from the fridge and vanilla from a cupboard, never spending a moment too long in one place. And her dress. Coming down from his fear-fueled adrenaline high, Austin finds himself entranced by the way the bottom of her pink skirts brush against her calves and spin when she turns to the stove. She's fluid right now—in her element. Beautiful really. 

Then again, she held that same gorgeous air when she and Jude went to work on his hand. Like she was a blood-spattered, murderous ballerina.

There’s a heavy creak at the top of the stairs, and Austin finds himself staring at Lillian, Sunny, and Jude himself. Just like that, his stomach drops.

Lillian skips cheerfully down the steps, adjusting the sweet lavender bow in her hair when she reaches the bottom. She turns to Austin and flashes him a perfect smile. “Good morning, Austin!”

Austin doesn’t take his eyes off her until she reaches the far end of the kitchen. 

Today, she’s a total sweetheart. Last night, she tortured him. “Quiet, Austin,” she’d whispered to him, and then she dug her fingers into the bloody pulp of his hand. Just to see how he bleeds, she said. 

Austin had whined and tried to pull away, but she was behind him and so were his hands, and when she tugged at his ring finger, his whining turned to frantic, barely thought out pleas. “Nonono, stop, stop, stop it!” Lillian could hear him, not his words but those incoherent, desperate sounds the gag created. The way she continued, more enthusiastically shoving splintered bones apart, Austin could tell she loved to hear them.

Against his will, the pleas turned to cries. Lillian hummed to herself and dug her nails particularly deep into the skin around his thumb. Getting a grip, Austin realized helplessly. 

Without warning, she wrenched his finger, and pulling his thumb farther than it was ever meant to go, he screamed. He could barely feel the rush of fresh blood down his digits over the tearing of his own flesh.

Lillian slapped a blood-slick hand over his covered mouth and his nose and hissed at him again, “Quiet, Austin.” His scream withered back into whimpers when she added, “You don’t want to wake Daddy. If he comes down here, he’ll hurt you worse.” So Austin swallowed his cries—for the most part, because when your bones and the horrible tendons attached to them move in ways they shouldn’t, can you really stay silent? 

Which is why Austin is staring at her, even though he knows full well that she’s only barely worse than the others. 

Sunny comes stepping down the stairs after her. Austin watches his delicate hands dance over the banister. The two meet eyes, and when Sunny reaches the ground floor, he offers Austin a polite, “Good morning, Austin.” Austin turns back to the living room and flushes pink. 

Last night, Sunny kissed him.

In the dead of night, not too long after Lillian had finished with him, Sunny came creeping down the stairs, his fingers doing that same dance over the stair’s wooden guard rail. Austin watched him approach through teary eyes. His breathing was still shaky, hitching with every twitch of his fingers.

Without warning, Sunny rushed over to him, ripped his gag off his mouth, and sealed their lips in a passionate one-sided kiss. 

Austin’s eyes blew wide, and he pushed back against the back of his chair, trying to get away. That is, until he felt the edge of a blade pressing into his neck.

Austin froze, and Sunny deepened the kiss. Finally, after what felt like hours, Sunny pulled away and the pressure on his throat lessened. He must’ve figured the threat was clear enough. It was. 

Sunny brought the hand holding the blade around the back of Austin’s neck and pulled him close, careful not to nick him as he pressed Austin’s sweaty forehead to his. 

Austin shuddered being so close to him. His stomach flipped when he realized, worse still, that Sunny simply sat back and watched as his parents tortured him, Whatever display this was, it certainly couldn’t have been real.

Of course, it certainly felt real. Austin had never seen him as anything but quiet and polite, and now, well...

“I’ll be eighteen next year,” Sunny whispered breathlessly against Austin’s ear. “Until then I’ll keep you here, with me.”  He smiled a genuine smile and pressed their lips together again, in small pecks thankfully more chaste than the first. 

In that moment, feeling that shift in his mood, Austin dared to whimper against their joined lips, “P-please stop.”

Sunny froze at that, and then pulled back to look at Austin’s face fully for what felt like the first time. 

There was disappointment on his face, yes, but no definite signs of anger Austin realized. Still, the silence hanging in the air was thick and heavy. Austin couldn’t breathe. 

“I’ll be back tomorrow to fix you up,” Sunny said abruptly. He grabbed the cloth hanging around Austin’s neck and pulled it back into his mouth. “ You’ll need me.” 

Sunny started back up the steps. Austin finally breathed, and then the dread came back two fold as he pondered exactly what he meant by that. 

Now, the look Sunny gives him on his way to the kitchen is back as it usually is; well-mannered, almost respectful. Not the slightest bit worried. Somehow that doesn’t do anything to ease Austin’s nerves. 

Because last night, Sunny looked like none of those things, and after a visit from both him and Lillian, Austin had stared at the stairwell until he could barely keep his eyes open anymore. He needed to know who would be coming down those steps next. He needed to know why he’d ever need Sunny to fix him up and why he couldn’t just do it now. But no one came down those stairs, and he eventually fell into a light, dreamless sleep. 

Now there is someone at the top of those stairs. Jude, the last Wilson, and there’s something about his manner today that says this is what Sunny was talking about. Austin watches wide-eyed as Jude steps down the stairs, so horribly slow—at least that’s how it feels to him, because while Valerie is elegant and Lillian is sadistic and Sunny is apathetically passionate, he’s come to realize that Jude is raw. He’s made that very clear.  

Last night at dinner, with his legs still tied to the chair, Austin had sat at their table and eaten what he was offered. But after the casserole and the veggies and the sheer terror that stole his appetite away the moment his chair was sat down between Lillian and Jude, he wasn’t hungry when seconds started going around. 

“Oh, please reconsider, Austin,” Valerie said, holding the casserole dish in the crook of her arm. She walked around Austin and served Lillian with a small smile. 

“N-no, really, I’m fine.” Austin nervously fiddled with the fork by his empty plate but managed to shoot Valerie a scared polite smile. 

These people were acting so casual, like having your kidnapping victim at your table was normal. News flash, it was not normal. 

“Well, that’s quite alright.” Valerie served Sunny and then turned to Jude. “I suppose he just hasn’t been taught too much about etiquette, has he, Jude?” 

Jude smiled up at her from his chair, stood, and gave her a soft kiss on the head. Then he’d turned to Austin and taken his glasses off, a seemingly strange thing to do in the moment. But after that, all Austin remembers is blood and pain and panic. 

Somewhere along the line, his fork was wrenched from his hand, and Jude returned holding Valerie’s heavy wooden rolling pin. 

“Hand flat on the table, dear.” Valerie flashed Austin a winning smile. 

Austin looked between them, at Valerie’s smile and Jude’s unadorned face and finally the rolling pin he was holding like a baseball bat. Like hell was he about to do that. He decidedly shook his head and clenched his fingers tight together, clutching his hands to his chest. 

Valerie’s smile never faltered as she pulled his right fist from his grasp, spread his fingers wide, and splayed them out on the table, his palm against the tablecloth. Stronger than she looked. Jude pulled his arm back. 

“No, no, please, I’m sorry!” He didn’t know what he was sorry for, but he’d say anything to get these sadists away. It didn’t work.

“Don’t, don’t, DON’T—!”

Jude brought the pin down on Austin’s hand with a distinct crack! That’s all it took to get him screaming. 

“STOP! NONONO—” Jude hit him again. And again. And again. 

And Austin screamed again and again and again. They tore from Austin’s mouth, guttal, animalistic, growing more frantic as the blows quickened their pace. Until Austin wasn’t screaming anymore because he was passing out. 

Only whatever sick sense of humor this universe has, its jokes were at his expense. As soon as he was on the edge of numb unconsciousness, he jolted back awake, and the pain in his hand shot back worse. 

But he wasn’t bleeding yet, no, even though his hand was a crushed nightmare to look at. That didn’t happen until Jude brought out the fork.   

Staring at Jude now, coming down those steps, Austin feels the fork pierce his hand like it’s happening right now. He feels the resistance of his skin against the prongs, then the give of flesh and finally the white hot agony of blunt metal on bone. Again. And again. And again. 

Austin gasps when his bound hand twitches again, and that horrible stench of rot overtakes him again. 

His hand, Austin realizes, and he chokes. That smell of decay is his hand. The horror sets in sharp and fast, and he has to fight back tears. If he ever gets out of this place—when, he reminds himself harshly, when he gets out of this—they’ll have to cut it off.  

They’ll have to cut off his hand.  

Jude Wilson’s bleary form reaches the bottom of the stairs, and the first place he goes is the kitchen, where all the other Wilsons are. He gives Valerie a soft kiss on the head, and then Lillian and Sunny. And then he opens a drawer. 

Austin hears it, the scrape of kitchen utensils skidding on wood. Jude must find what he’s looking for because the drawer then shuts with a bang. 

“Good morning, Austin,” Jude says finally.

Austin blinks back the tears, stowing away his grief for another time, because Jude’s approaching him, and there’s something in his hands. 

Tongs? Austin guesses experimentally. Maybe scissors. But as the tears clear his eyes, he realizes—it’s a pair of pliers. Bloody pliers.  

“W-What are you doing?” Austin doesn’t take his eyes off the tool. 

“We haven’t finished your punishment for last night’s behavior, Austin.” Like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

But it’s not, and Austin’s eyes widen watching Jude come closer. What they did to his hand wasn’t enough? Now they’re going to add whatever the hell those pliers are for into the mix?

Jude crouches down beside his chair. Austin sends another glance at the tool in his hand and squirms against the ropes binding his wrists and legs. “What are you doing?” he asks warily again.

Jude ignores him and gives the pliers a click. 

“Open your mouth, Austin.”

Austin isn’t sure he’s heard him right, but there’s no room for interpretation when Jude digs his fingers into Austin’s jaw and grits out, slower, “Open your mouth, Austin.”

“N-no.” Austin tries to turn his head away against Jude’s bruising grip and presses his lips together. 

Jude doesn’t sigh or let out any other sounds of frustration. His fingers just dig deeper into his face and hold him steady, and the other ones, the ones holding the pliers, wriggle between his lips and pry his mouth open. 

“Be good and this’ll go fast, Austin. We’ll only take a few.”

A few?! A few teeth? Austin’s eyes sting with fresh tears. 

Jude presses the tool into Austin’s mouth. “Stawh,” Austin pleads, trembling. He tries to shake the intrusion from his mouth but Jude holds him fast. His tongue hits the pliers in his mouth and he tastes cold salty metal. “‘Lease.  ‘Lease stawh.”

Jude ignores him and the way his drool and tears leak onto his hand. Austin feels Jude’s hand push further into the side of his mouth, and the pliers knock between his molars with a small click. 

There’s no way to close his mouth now, not with that tool between his teeth. Satisfied, Jude turns to Valerie in the kitchen with a smile, then to Sunny and Lillian. “Come on now, don’t be shy. Valerie, are you alright to push breakfast back a bit?”

“Of course, darling.” Valerie herds Sunny and Lillian into the living room, and they gather around the bound captive in their living room. 

Austin eyes them all with squirrel-like skittishness. 

Jude pushes his glasses up on his nose and turns to Austin. He looks excited.

He turns back to his family, his hand still hanging from Austin’s mouth.

“What do you guys think? Should we start with a molar?”

To be continued...

[shslghostchildren]

“and if you’re still breathing you’re the lucky ones.... Cause most of us are heaving through corrupted lungs.”

I’m mostly uploading this b/c i think i forgot to on Tumblr??? and even after like 6 months or something i still like this?