#muzzle whump

Okay I’m a fan of both Villain’s friends and a hero are not okay with this.

I imagine it like the villain squad is trying desperately to get their teammate back and can’t succeed against the heroes. Double angst points because Villain is forced to use their power against their own friends.

And one of the heroes finds Villain afterwards sobbing and struggling to breathe with the muzzle on, and they realize how wrong they’ve been—like maybe it was a joke at first but now it’s too real and there’s a person they’ve been abusing and they have to help.

Cue Hero taking off Villain’s muzzles/restraints/collar, holding them while they cry and reassuring them that they’ll help. Or just letting them free right there, if they can.

"I'm not an animal. no. I'm not a lapdog" is the repeated words kept in Villain's skull as he sulks kneeling in his corner of the 'room' provided to him by handler. By whom he is very appreciative of, sure the room was just a closed off area in the basement. the cold, thick stench of mold and what is hopefully just a rat carcass rotting somewhere. But it was better than being tied out to the post in the training area. The room was empty of all but a decently large dog sized bed- it was a straw woven basket with a thin foam material in it. in the front corner was a food and water bowl, beside it was a small bin of different squeaky toys those of which Villain told himself to never even touch.

It was humiliating enough as it is but he was better now. better than he was before. not perfect or anywhere near as good as hero wants him to be. but better. villain dwelled on the thought of being perfect letting his mind hover in his head without existing before it was suddenly torn back into hypervigilance at the sound of the door.

Handler walked in with hero following after. neither ever looked at villain as anything close to human or even competent. Villain straitened his posture and kept his gaze down. Handler made a click sound which through training villain knew meant 'stand' to which villain stood his knees ached and legs felt numb from the hours spent on them but he refused to dare try ease his muscles.

Hero gave a half nod half head tilt that meant they was pleased enough with his response. Handler then gave a sharp loud whistle then followed by a longer lower whistle. a sharp loud whistle meant 'return to me' and a long low whistle that meant 'circle/asses situation' to which mindlessly Villain obeyed taking measured steps towards Handler and hero before stopping two feet away and circling like a predator.

Hero watched his every step as though he was measuring the exact inches away from each step. after about 10 minutes of different sound and word commands Villain was told to kneel.

Villain obeyed but he knew he was still in trouble for earlier that morning when handler was showing hero a knew command he taught villain which was a new attack that villain wasn't too good at, he had refused to obey. earning dog house once again as well as a fine beating. which is why a pitiful whine escaped him when he saw hero pull out a muzzle and lead from his 'empty space power holder' and handed it to Handler. Handler took the muzzle up to Villains face who was now trying not to start hyperventilating.

The muzzle was always too tight, left his skin red and raw burning but they tried to hide their quickening breath which they can't keep up with. Handler fixed the straps and clips before fastening the straps tight enough to dig in flesh and keep Villain's mouth shut. What got villain to panic worst was when a thick ring of metal was close to being placed to his neck. muffled words ran out his forcibly closed mouth. flinching back away from Handlers hands body tensed to tight for his trembling to be visible. "put it on or your better off being put down." Heroes voice held suck malice and power. Villain knew they weren't' bluffing but he tried. he tried to give a pleading look as his eyes welled up with tears and his body shook with his strangled sobs. Handler hooked their fingers on the straps of the muzzle dragging villain forwards before placing the metal collar on him.

"your so much better than before" the voice was sweat and reassuring but it did nothing to comfort villain's spiraling mind. Villain shook his head in response before glaring up at handler and hero before electricity racked through their bones. A muffled gut wrenching scream escaped him as he crumped lower to the floor heaving for air.

the world cut to black when the electricity didn't stop for minutes- felt like hours despite the known time.

Part 2

---ᓚᘏᗢ--ᓚᘏᗢ--ᓚᘏᗢ--ᓚᘏᗢ--ᓚᘏᗢ--ᓚᘏᗢ--ᓚᘏᗢ--ᓚᘏᗢ--ᓚᘏᗢ---

finally got around to writing this. from this prompt, this prompt in question. first time writing AND posting whump so... yeh might be a tad chopy and confusing. OH and when it mentions an 'empty space power holder' I'm trying to describe a power that i kinda just made on the spot where they can sorta collect excess energy from others or living things an uses said energy to transfer it into a multi purpose materializing fabric in the dimensions of reality. in other words they're a power magnet and can hold objects in a space of energy that spaces out an objects molecules to distribute the mass and physical form of said object- invisible and weightless- essentially just dematerializing objects while keeping all the necessary molecules intact simply separated. is this making sense to anyone??? this will have at least2-3 parts so stay tooned.

Dorian knew what fate awaited her as the men dragged her down the dimly lit hallway. She could feel it from the fact that the still healing wounds on her back and arms burned at the thought. Still, she began to wonder again; How long was she even with that bastard? Even worse, How long would she be at the mercy of this woman?

Dorian’s thoughts were brought to a screeching halt as she was thrown down onto a plush carpet with a dulled thud. Hands were on her again before she could push herself onto her arms, pressing her down into the carpet of white fibers that reeked of bitter cigarette smoke, leaving her stifling a cough as the knot on the gag was loosened and the ends of the filthy cloth fell into the edges of her vision. Hands flipped Dorian onto her back and she couldn’t stop the high pitched yelp that left her as the duct tape was swiftly ripped off, leaving a harsh stinging pain in its wake. The employee grabbed her chin in a grip that threatened to bruise, thick fingers slipped past her teeth, fishing for the cloth in her mouth.

Against every fearful, human instinct she still held dear, Dorian bit down. While her canines found purchase on his knuckles, unfortunately she didn’t break skin. Though, she dimly recognized he was screaming.

Good.

She felt a smile etch its way across her face as the hand was swiftly yanked out from her hold, cloth in tow. The slap echoed through the room before Dorian felt the pain bloom in her cheek. Her head fell to the side and she gasped in the scent of the smoke filled carpet again. Her eyes stung with unwanted tears as she licked her teeth. A command reached her, harsh, insistent. Glancing up with a sidelong glare, Dorian’s eyes went wide as she recognized the muzzle held in the employee’s palm.

A hand grabbed her face again, Dorian squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath, pressing her lips taut. Past the pounding echoes of her rapid heartbeat the employee cursed, she bit her tongue to stop herself from throwing his vile words back at him. A hand clamped down tight over her nose, her hands jerked upwards, uselessly attempting to shove the man off. She held her breath even as her lungs burned and muscles twitched and spasmed uselessly. Her ears rang with effort as a headache threatened to crack her skull at the temples. She felt her hands beat against the body above her to no avail.

The weight above Dorian shifted, pressure lessening as the man’s grip loosened for a fraction of a second. Right before the sharp angle of a bent knee was rammed below her ribs. Dorian let out a gasping cough of pain that was stifled as she felt a solid bar press between her teeth. Opening her eyes again she thrashed as the man pushed the wire basket over her face, the straps were fastened and tightened, crushing her tangled hair beneath them.

Humiliation and anger rose in her gut as she was hoisted to her knees and forced to face an ornate wooden door. Delicately carved flora decorated the panels, the shapes swam in the blurred edges of her vision as she traced their swirling path.

How long has it been since she’s seen an actual flower? Dorian wondered dimly, letting her eyes drift to her blood that was soaking into the carpet beneath her. How long will it be until she sees one again?

The thought didn’t last. The door swung with an earsplitting creak of the hinges and the woman stepped through. She was shorter than Dorian expected, a round lady, her curves hugged by the strapless red dress that fell just above her knees. As Dorian tore her gaze away, ducking her head to not give the woman the satisfaction of seeing her clearly, she realized that this vile woman looked… almost… friendly?

“My goodness!” The woman remarked dreamily as the tapping of those damned kitten heels neared Dorian again, “You gentlemen did a splendid job.” Dorian felt the woman’s gaze rake over her and swallowed back the growl building in her chest as a shiver of disgust ran through her. Suddenly a hand was placed on the crown of her head, carding slim fingers through her hair, Dorian couldn’t help curling into herself at the touch, a sob escaping her as she waited for the gentle ministrations to turn harsh. Somehow, it never did, it just released her after a moment.

A hand cupped Dorian’s face, fingers brushing against the wire and metal of the muzzle as she gently tilted her face up to meet her gaze. Dorian snarled through the gag, swallowing back a cough at her overwhelmingly sweet perfume as she glared into the woman’s blue eyes that shone with adoration and…pity?

“Hello there, darling.” The woman cooed, soft and coy. Dorian cursed at her, the woman raised an eyebrow and blinked in surprise, so it was clearly somewhat legible despite the gag. “Oh my!” She laughed, pulling her fur coat higher over her freckled shoulders before raising her hand to Dorian’s brow. Dorian couldn’t help flinching away as an instinctive wave of fear set her nerves alight.

“Ah, now, there's no need for that.” the woman chided, leaning in and cupping Dorian’s canine ear with a small smile, “You’re safe with me, dear.” She whispered, low, saddened, but still so idiotically cheery, Dorian would have laughed if she could. Before she could entertain the idea, the woman tapped the nose of the muzzle with her index finger letting out yet another wistful giggle.

Nausea and humiliation rose in Dorian’s throat in tandem, her shoulders were released from their bruising grips as the woman swiftly grabbed Dorian from under her arms, hauling her to stand with gentle encouragement despite the muffled cries of protest that accompanied it.

Being steered towards the exit, Dorian felt her face grow warm and slick with unwanted tears. She couldn’t fight, not with the woman directly behind her, chest pressed to her back with one hand on her shoulder, the other resting just above her hip. The warmth the woman—who introduced herself as Ms. Stratfield—radiated was sickeningly comforting. Dorian caught herself leaning into it on more than one occasion, she hated herself for it. It was obviously a trap. Still, warmth was warmth, and she was oh so cold.

Soon they neared the exit sign, the red fluorescent glow flickering dully over them, as Ms. Stratfield stopped and turned to the employees, questioning why they were being followed. As one man explained that it was protocol for such purchases, Dorian felt disgust making a home beneath her skin again, but she simply ducked her head. She was only a hand-me-down, being seen as an object was exhaustedly aggravating.

Dorian heard Ms. Stratfield argue something about her privacy, worry-tinged frustration laced beneath her sweetened tone. Swiftly, the pressure of the stern gazes on Dorian’s back lessened as footsteps receded, she shivered as the exit door was pushed open with a metallic whine before the frigid night air embraced her.

Wind lazily whipped at Dorian's face, carrying the scent of old petrol and weathered asphalt as the woman steered her through the darkened expanse outside of the multi-storey car park. Breathing in the crisp air through the wire of the muzzle, Dorian savored the differences it carried from the stench of the abandoned building she had been held in. With a hollow feeling Dorian realized she didn't truly remember the last time she’d been outside.

Looking up to find only a vast fog where stars should be, Dorian shivered suddenly, bones shaking as bitter cold nipped at exposed skin. There was a shift and Ms. Stratfield gave an unintelligible murmur before a soft coat was draped over Dorian’s shoulders. “There we go,” Ms. Stratfield hushed, fastening the top button of the fur coat with deft fingers, “that’s better, hm?”

Relaxing her shoulders, Dorian savored the newfound warmth seeping into her skin. So, she nodded, a slight duck of the head and a muffled hum. An acknowledgement that her captor’s coat was at least better than nothing. Dorian closed her eyes briefly, almost letting herself lean into Ms. Stratfield’s touch once more before a light chuckle startled her awake. The fingers on her hip found their way to grasp her cuffed hand, the soft touch sending a chill down Dorian’s spine. “Let’s get to the car, dearest.” She offered. Dorian had no choice but to follow.

Dorian stared at the flannel blanket draped across the backseat of the car, she let her tail swish against the soft material, disbelief and gratefulness battling within her as Ms. Stratfield buckled the seatbelt over her lap. After a moment she stood swiftly, her gaze settling on the muzzle after a moment.

“You’re safe, dear,” Ms. Stratfield hushed, reaching her hand forward, Dorian swiftly leaned away before hesitantly straightening, “so there’s no need to make a racket.” she warned, as careful fingers undid the straps and pulled the gag from Dorian’s mouth. Gasping a fresh breath of air, Dorian stifled a coughing fit that lasted several seconds before she could speak.

“Let me go home.” Dorian rasped, trying to keep her voice steady and demanding.

“I’ll get you home, dear.” She smiled, sending a wave of warm relief rippling through Dorian that brought fresh tears to her eyes.

“Uncuff me,” Dorian started, struggling with her cuffed hands, “just, please get these off me.” she begged, choking back a sob.

“I’m sorry, I can’t take them off for good.” Ms. Stratfield hushed, placing a gentle hand on Dorian’s wrist, Dorian felt her skin writhe as doubt crept in again.

“I’m not going to run,” Dorian argued, feeling herself grow disoriented as Ms. Stratfield nodded in agreement, “So, just fucking uncuff me.” The air stood still for a moment as Dorian heard Ms. Stratfield sigh.

“It’s for your own safety.” she explained, her patience clearly thinning.

“How?” Dorian demanded, voice low. Ms. Stratfield gave no answer and anger boiled up from Dorian’s stomach. “How? How is it for my safety?”

“I know what I’m doing, my darling-” Ms. Stratfield started as Dorian clenched her jaw at the pet-name.

“Don’t fucking call me that!” Dorian yelled, “you kidnapped me you sick bitch, you don’t get to call me that!” she yelled before nearly doubling over with coughing as pain shot up her throat.

“Trust me.” Ms. Stratfield demanded, something like pleading creeping in at the edge of her voice

“No.” Dorian rasped, the woman simply sighed through clenched teeth before she reached down and held up a pair of leather cuffs attached by a longer chain.

“I’m going to help you. Just let me.” she hissed before taking a deep breath “I can’t take them off now. But these are looser, more comfortable.” The chain rattled as she shook the handcuffs to punctuate the idea, “I’ve done this before, so listen to me; This is for your own safety.” Ms. Stratfield explained with a knowing glance towards the parking lot behind her.

Dorian stared at the metal of the chain as it glistened in the dim light, something akin to relief flooding her again as she realized; It’s pretend, an act to get out.

After a moment, Dorian hummed and nodded in a hesitant assent. It was probably best to keep up appearances, who knows what some sick buyer would do if they found out this woman was helping her. So, Dorian held her wrists out and willingly let the woman uncuff her then slip the new chains on.

“I swear, if you try anything.” Dorian hissed, letting her weak threat hang in the air, satin lining pressing against her bruised skin as Ms. Stratfield tightened them.

“I won’t,” She smiled, cold blue eyes shining in the dim light as she locked the cuffs and placed the key in her coat pocket, her grin only deepening the crow’s feet rooted at the corners of her eyes as she stood. Obviously noticing the hesitation that Dorian felt through her entire aching body, Ms. Stratfield walked back to the boot of the car, leaving Dorian to stare out into the vast expanse of the car lot before shifting against her new, thankfully looser, bindings. She uselessly licked her lips before flinching as the boot of the car opened with a creak. Dorian turned her head toward the noise, straining her neck only to see a solid wall behind her.

There was a crack of plastic, movement and a muffled cough, before the clicking footsteps neared her again. Ms. Stratfield stood in front of her again, an opened water bottle clasped in her hand, which she swiftly handed to Dorian with a request to drink. Dorian took it, holding the lukewarm water in her palm, the chains rattling with the movement sending a chill up her spine. Dorian smiled, reminding herself that it was just a disguise. Dorian lifted the water to her cracked lips and chugged half of it with trembling hands, far too fast apparently, as it left her coughing and choking.

“Thank you,” she sputtered, feeling tears on her cheeks as the woman helped her pull the bottle back from her lips, “thank you so much.”

“Of course,” She smiled, placing a gentle hand on Dorian’s back, “Drink the rest.” Dorian nodded with a wavering grin, feeling her tail give a hesitant wag as the woman rubbed small, gentle circles between her shoulder blades before she shut the car door, climbing in the driver's seat not long after.

Dorian stumbled through her tears to remember her address for a moment, sniffling as Ms. Stratfield nodded before typing an address into the SatNav. Wiping her tears, Dorian took a breath as the woman pulled out into the street, she let herself relax into the cool leather of the car seat beneath her, glancing out the tinted window watching the world scroll on as she melted into the rumbling purr of the car beneath her. Dorian felt a small smile creep across her face as the slow melodies of classical music filled the car.

She was finally going home.

Dorian allowed herself to rest in that fact, halfheartedly trying to respond to Ms. Stratfield’s attempt at conversation despite the buzzing of exhaustion beneath her skin. Sudden dizziness rolled through her in waves as she forced herself to sit upright, and breathe deeply in hope of fighting the sudden faint feeling in her head.

“Excuse me, Miss,” she sputtered after a moment, “can you pull over, I don’t-” Dorian forcing a deep breath, her heart catching on her ribs, “I don’t feel well.” Ms. Stratfield’s eyes flitted to her in the rearview mirror.

“Drink some water dear, It’ll pass in a bit.” She smiled. Dorian shuddered as she looked back towards the front of the car, “you want to get home soon, don’t you?” She asked.

Dorian nodded and nursed the rest of the water deliberately trying to soothe the sudden dryness in her mouth. Resting her cheek on the soft faux fur of the coat she watched the haze of the lights outside the tinted window. That probably wasn’t legal, but the rich break so many laws anyway Dorian didn’t particularly give it much thought.

Gradually, the world drifted away, dulled panic growing in Dorian’s chest as it did so. She didn’t remember why she felt like this. What did Ms. Stratfield do to her? Dorian heard herself ask, a laugh and a comment to relax was the only response. So, Dorian allowed herself to rest back into the seat vaguely wondering why it felt like she was thinking through cement. Dorian didn’t like cement much, it meant construction. Construction sites were deafening with their jackhammers and bulldozers and cranes, lights and the blaring tones of reversing trucks.

After thinking for an exhaustingly long moment Dorian could recall the last time she passed one, when she was going to Ayla’s house after school. Ayla’s house was only three blocks away from her apartment, Dorian remembered with a grin. Oh, she couldn’t wait to be home, she felt an exhausted giddiness at the notion of it.

Home, her heart sang in her chest, she was going home.

Words floated above her, light and jovial, definitely not her mum’s voice, or her aunt’s. Oh, Ms. Stratfield was talking to her again. The faint tones of disjointed words flowing into Dorian’s ears caused her to stir and writhe against the seatbelt that forced her back against the burning cold leather. She was being held down. Why was she being held down? She’d behaved, hadn’t she? Why was she so tired? Why wasn’t she home yet?

Dorian’s skull seemed to press in at the temples, the faux fur of the coat weighing down on her shoulders threatened to drag her into the seat. Shit, Dorian thought past the sudden bout of nausea, oh shit not now, this can’t happen now. Dorian focused, her eyes locking onto a white circular disk that rolled weakly between the grooves of the car mat.

The cap of a pill bottle, Dorian realized with a tilt of her head. She focused what little energy she had left on watching the cap roll with each turn of the car. Between silently scolding herself to not pass out, Dorian found herself thinking how strangely nice it was that Ms. Stratfield kept medication in her car. What was it for?

The headache worsened with a vengeance as black spots danced at the edge of her vision. Do not pass out, Dorian willed herself. You absolutely cannot pass out, not in a strangers car. You can’t pass out.

“Don’t.” Dorian hissed under her breath, feeling tears sting at the corner of her eyes. “Don’t, Don’t, Don’t.” she pleaded to nothing and no one, her begging falling into sobbing as the world grew staticy around the edge of her vision.

Dorian was hushed again, her weak sobbing quieted with soft words as the car stopped. The car door swung open and Ms. Stratfield leaned over her, unbuckling the seatbelt and catching Dorian when she threw herself forward.

Gingerly, Ms. Stratfield slid an arm under Dorian’s knees, her other arm resting on her lower back. Dorian bit back a yelp as the woman drew her close and lifted up in a bridal carry before immediately sputtering a cough at the overwhelming floral scent from Ms. Stratfield’s perfume.

Ms. Stratfield turned, shutting the car door, humming softly and began to walk up the driveway. Lifting her eyes up from her lap Dorian felt her breath catch as she found herself staring at the picturesque cottage in front of her, dread filling her stomach.

“Welcome home, my darling.” The woman laughed, sending a fresh wave of nausea up through Dorian’s aching body. Fear dug a pit in her stomach as she took in the unfamiliar sight of the perfectly painted white picket fence.

This was not her home.

•

.

Broken room after broken room, Caretaker was left no choice but to swallow their fear, the last place they could search being what ever lied down in the darkness through the open basement door. With the door left barely on its hinges, the dark abyss inside was interrupted by the dimmest light known to man, the dull lumens engulfing the bottom of the stairs. Caretaker gulped.

Their knees hobbled downstairs. The old steps shuddered and creaked at Caretaker’s weight. They jumped before they even made it to the end, a hand instinctively clutching to their collarbone. Some large shape traipsed through the darkness. Unable to understand the depth of its shadowed form, Caretaker’s gaze still sensed it to be all too close.

“Whumpee?”

They quickly fixated the flashlight’s direction onto the movement. In the corner of the damp stone space Caretaker failed to recognize what they were looking at, noting only that some form of monstrous once humanoid creature limped over to some form of “nest”.

It slumped down onto the cold hard floor. Stanced up, their arched back tried to hide a few glimpses of Whumpee behind them. Yellow eyes glared up at Caretaker, a jurassic growl rumbling out of the creature’s pulsating throat.

Caretaker found themselves subconsciously stepping backwards, the pieces of the Whumper’s gnarled appearance falling into place.

Their coat torn to accommodate for a larger size. Their winter hat still fastened tightly to their face, complimented by a muzzle forced on and over it. Some sort of sharp tail trailed behind them, curling around their darkened legs, their new markings allowing their limbs to easily camouflage underneath the lightless guise of the basement.

The changed Whumper let out a half-snarl half-growl, somewhat raising to their feet.

Caretaker pleaded, backing upstairs, “Whum-Whumper?! I’m not here to hurt you-”

Their shaky hold on the flashlight illuminated fresh spots of blood on the concrete flooring. They tried to sneak their sight onto Whumpee, their limp form snuggled in a tattered padding of blankets and towels. Whumper forced their focus to snap back onto them, when they slinked across the space, reaching the stairs faster than leaping would’ve landed them.

Caretaker broke into a sprint. They shouted hysterically into their walkie-talkie, losing the flashlight as heavy weight pounced onto their back, pressing them into the living room’s hardwood.

Tech garbled voices vied to get a response from Caretaker. Their panic only agitated Whumper. A strange noise now so loud that it vibrated all throughout Caretaker’s pinned body overtook them. Large claws scraped the floorboards besides their head.

Trying to twist around, Caretaker let out a pained gasp. Applying more weight, Whumper’s guttural sound increased, reverberating throughout the vacant mansion. Caretaker could hear some sort of instrument clicking from inside Whumper’s chest.

The creature crushed the rescuer as they located the walkie-talkie through the team’s panicked questions. Without hesitation Whumper caught the device within their claws, the rubber cord snapping loudly as they flicked it away from Caretaker.

Silence.

“Please.” Caretaker mouthed, seeing only Whumper’s hands, the skin blackened, joints enlarged, and what looked like the remnants of oven mitts pierced through by their clawed fingers. 

A faint cough sounded from the basement. Whumper perked up, the slit-pupils of their eyes enlarging. They snuck off of Caretaker, turning around and keeping themselves low to the ground. Caretaker scooted their stomach against the floor. They hissed an adrenaline fueled gasp as they managed to scamper a few feet away.

Now only Whumper’s tail loomed over them, the sharp point as distracted as Whumper’s gaze.

Blood trickled out from the warm inside of Whumper’s winter trenchcoat, blotting below them. The creature let out an labored huff.

It forgot Caretaker, staggering for a moment as it started towards the source of the couch, one animalistic back leg curling up, hovering before receding back to the ground. Another pathetic cough, and Whumper released some sort of exhausted whine, forcing themselves to abandon the first floor.

Only the stair steps made another sound, the large creature testing their patience.

Caretaker steadied to a stand. They watched Whumper from the comfort of the doorway. The monster curled over the scrawny form of Whumpee, burying them, and Whumpee didn’t understand at all.

Their limbs twitched, when one of Whumper’s hands flattened to their forehead. It was sickly hot. Whumper was going to do everything in their power though to protect Whumpee, to protect their friend. No one will ever hurt them again.

Exhausted, the creature glared upstairs. Caretaker nodded, backing off from the old steps, searching the destroyed mansion for answers while breaking into a contemplative pace.

They encircled through the uncluttered path paved throughout the living room. Giving one last glance at the pieces of their walk-talkie, they wondered if the team showing up would do more harm than good. Whumper’s animalistic behaviour was all that Caretaker could base their next move off of.

Caretaker halted, feeling something bounce away from their shoe. They bent down to witness the little piece of a metal, bullet casings.

Next, they discovered the kitchen was cleaned out completely. No cans aside from the punctured shells decorating the counter, no boxes of mix except for few powdered grains, no sugar or flour, not even a scrap of bone. Caretaker plucked a woven basket up off the floor, a grand bite fraying the wooden materials, the jagged edges mimicking the sharp teeth that chomped through it.

Caretaker rummaged through the pockets of their cargo pants, fumbling out a protein-based granola bar. Before venturing back into the basement, they crouched over it, pressing the plastic packaging to the core of their abdomen, doing their best to soften the crinkling. Once open, they peeled the wrapper back and snuck to the middle of the stairs.

At the first wooden creak, Whumper enlivened, that guttural growl starting again.

“Hey now… It’s okay. It’s okay.” Caretaker extended out the snack. “I’m not going to hurt you. Are you- Are you hungry?”

There was a curious croon from Whumper as the inhuman sound fizzled out. Their head titled to the side, as if they were attempting to comprehend the words leaving Caretaker’s mouth. Caretaker agreed to the body language, nodding frantically out of habit, they waved the granola bar before them.

“Hungry?” Caretaker slowly dropped to the bottom of the stairs. They continued, “It’s okay. Here… You can have it.”

When Whumper refused to budge, Caretaker took it as an opportunity to sneak closer. Holding the treat, they started to shiver. The monster’s eyes were now glued to the bar.

Pondering aloud, Caretaker asked meekly, afraid to make too loud of noise, “How long has this muzzle been on? You must’ve been already so hungry before this, huh?”

Whumper lowered their head, submitting, their tail fixating itself between their legs. Caretaker maneuvered the snack between the gaps in the muzzle. They expected Whumper to snatch it up immediately, but instead the creature made anxious small bites. Low rumbling of a desperate stomach made its entrance. Caretaker tried to imagine what kind of person could reduce the powerful Whumper to… this?

They soothed, “Go on. You can have it.”

Craning their neck, Caretaker achieved a better view of Whumpee. Their face blanched by fever, they pressed stuffy snores through their nose and rested almost comfortably within Whumper’s haphazard nest. They seemed untouched, at least as of recent. No open wounds, no multicolored bruises. Instead sweat drenched the underside of their oversized clothes. A defined collarbone answered any idea Caretaker had on Whumpee’s health.

“Are you hurt?” Caretaker returned their attention to Whumper. The creature seemed indifferent now to whatever they had to say, their nervous demeanor still waiting for something.

They allowed Caretaker to investigate them. No idea what else to do, Caretaker cased their hands through Whumper’s coat, the monster flinching as they prodded soaked through bandages.

Caretaker sensed the size by following their textured surface up and down Whumper’s side. Sections had turned crusty and dried. Pulling out their hand, there was a light coating of red outlining the ridges of their fingerprints.