This grabbed me by the throat and I had to exorcise it last night
TWs: captivity, murder, muzzling, the feeling of watching someone walk up to a very clearly pissed off moose and knowing they're about to find out what herbivore rage is
silenced / stalking / regret
There were some truths that one could reliably count on. The sun and moon would continue their dance. Dragons would glitter in the light. The Prince of the Plains was polite and mild.
The man before The Negotiator wasn't either of those things. Dark eyes glowered in the torchlight, pupils ringed in glowing white. He wanted her dead, every line and curve of his body screamed it. His biceps tensed, straining against the tears in his shirts. His hands had never unclenched from the fists they'd balled themselves into when he was tied up, kicking and fighting.
He'd given three of her guards concussions and broken a fourth's arm.
"Prince Mariano." She started. "This is quite unbecoming of you."
The muzzled prince in front of her, bloody and bruised, hair wild and frizzy, couldn't answer. He looked closer to a wild animal than a royal in line for the throne. The unforgiving leather wrapped around his face sold the image.
The Negotiator held up a crystal, shimmering and ready to capture the moment, then adjusted her cherry-red mask. "Though, I suppose this will at least get your parents' attention." Those dark, burning suns never left her. She felt the pact rings boring into her neck, like he could flay her apart just like that.
The muzzle was warded to her exact specifications. If it wasn't, he would've burned her to death before the beatings ever happened. He was secure.
Everyone knew the Prince of the Plains was a moderately strong mage. His flames barely licked into blue, dancing the line between simply useful in day to day life and useful in a fight. An expected level of power for a prince who'd never need to fight a day in his life.
Surely, she was safe.
She swallowed. She held the crystal out. Just as her finger tapped its glimmering surface, the pop of a ward breaking filled the room. With a roar of fire--of plasma, gods above, that was pure sunlight--his hands relaxed and he yanked them free.
The muzzle burned away like it was nothing.
Like a snake that was coiled in shadow with neurotoxin in its fangs, like a demon springing free from the earth to drag her to hell, like the very force that ended the world Before in all of her cherished texts, he pounced. The last thing the Negotiator saw, the last thing the crystal would capture, was sun-cloaked teeth lunging towards her as twin eclipses followed.
Pure, painless agony consumed her, and then the Negotiator was no more.
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A scold’s bridle, also known as a witch’s bridle, brank’s bridle, or just branks, was a medieval form of corporal punishment and public humiliation.
It’s an iron muzzle/mask that encircled the head, sometimes with faces on them.
Past here, I have some more detailed descriptions and pictures. Nothing too explicit or graphic but just beware.
The “scold” part of the name comes from the derogatory term “scold” for a gossip or a nag. The “bridle” is because it worked much like a horse’s bit or bridle.
(The above picture is a modern one, likely used for kink purposes and without the extra iron around the head and mouth. This one is probably not made out of iron but some sort of lighter material. However, it illustrates the bridle/bit allegory quite well)
It had a flat, iron, bridle-bit, or curb-plate that either forced the tongue down or pressed it against the roof of the mouth to painfully prevent speaking. It also caused excessive salivation and fatigue in the mouth.
If you’re interested in specifics, it was about 2 in x 1 in (5.1 cm x 2.5cm).
Occasionally, the bit was spiked and would puncture the tongue if the wearer attempted speech. Others had sharp edges that would lacerate the tongue/inside of the mouth if the mouth moved at all.
(It’s a bit pixelated but you can see the little knob things on the above picture. Those were sharper and crueler but time has aged/worn down the pictured bridle)
It was usually used on women and traditionally, after a woman was condemned of slander, excessive gossip, or excessive scolding, her husband would place the bridle upon her face. While wearing it, the victim would be unable to speak, eat, or drink.
Generally, the wearer was then marched through the town to be humiliated and punished. Husbands could attach leashes to the bridle and take their wives on literal walks of shame, often encouraging the townspeople to beat, verbally berate, spin upon, etc.
Violence was encouraged and wearers could be beaten or shaken by the head. I’m sure it comes as no surprise that this often resulted in broken teeth and jaws, bleeding, and vomiting.
Some bridles additionally held bells to draw more attention to this walk of shame
Sometimes, instead of being led about town, the victim was attached to a hook or a wall and left there. Sometimes these places were public, other times a husband might leave his wife by the fireplace.
The Lanark Burgh Records record a typical example of the punishment being used:
"Iff evir the said Elizabeth salbe fund [shall be found] scolding or railling… scho salbe sett [she shall sit] upone the trone in the brankis and be banishit [banished of] the toun thaireftir [thereafter]" (1653 Lanark B. Rec. 151).
Rewriting this post, thanks tumblr mobile deleting the original.
Lately I don't have much zoo content to share because I've been in the commissary, but I did want to discuss dog stuff. Specifically I wanted to discuss muzzling. There are often a lot of assumptions made about dogs that are muzzled. I want to discuss how muzzling has helped me and how my experience may paint a different picture for muzzling.
Tifa is my first dog I've adopted without the help of my parents. She is super sweet and has never bitten out of malice since we got her this July (only puppy play biting). We truly lucked out with her lack of aggression. So why would we muzzle her?
If you've been following my puppy posting you'll know I've been having awful struggles with her stool. The vet and I eventually decided on a "food trial" so the only food she gets right now is a special hydrolyzed protein kibble. It's been producing great results 💩 We have also been able to very slowly reintroduce some treats and chews to see how it affects her. I now feel like I own a normal dog from all this.
However she has a very bad habit: scavenging. At home I keep it tidy and on walks I'm watching her like a hawk so it's not normally an issue. It's another story at my grandma's place. My grandma has a bad habit of overdoing it with treats for her own dog which results in the apartment becoming a land mine of food that's not on Tifa's "ok to eat" list. Last visit I tried my best to pick everything up, but since I have to watch my disabled grandma I could not be looking at Tifa at all times.
The result was a week of chocolate pudding-covered misery. I had to wash her bedding three times and her crate even more. I lost sleep from constantly letting her out to hershey squirt. She was miserable and I was miserable. I stressed out trying to think of options. Even if I did teach her "drop it," as previously mentioned I could not watch her at all times. It was impossible to get my grandma to drop old habits. I would need to pull all furniture every day to make sure every scrap of food was picked up. I could simply avoid bringing her to my grandma's, but she was an invaluable source of emotional support for me and I wanted her to be able to play with my grandma's dog.
I cried out to a subreddit I frequent, r/puppy101. A user there suggested muzzling. Muzzling was something I never considered for her, but it was a quick fix and I ran to the pet store and got her a fabric one that shuts her mouth.
It worked so long as I made it tight enough for her not to take off, but I did a little more digging into muzzling and learned those are not good muzzles for the long term. While they are soft they leave the dog unable to pant or drink. I only used it for the remainder of my stay at grandma's and made sure she got lots of breaks. If she was crated, going on a walk, or snoozing next to me, she didn't have to wear it.
For this visit, I purchased a basket muzzle. Basket muzzles look uncomfortable since they are hard material but they are actually better since they give her room to pant and drink. I would say overall this visit has been much easier on me mentally with this. I do have to keep an eye on her that she does not take the muzzle off since it's a little big, but otherwise it's impossible for her to eat with it on. I find my grandma's dogs food scattered but uneaten. She isn't fond of the muzzle but tolerant and only tries to slip it off for a snack. She can drink water whenever she wants.
I only got here last night but I'm actually pretty excited to pick up a nice, healthy stool tonight. Muzzling has saved us both a lot of misery.
Whumper using different gags/muzzles on Whumpee. Whumper makes whumpee think they'll take it off but only exchanges them
Whumper walked in, lazily swinging something in his hand. Whumpee looked up as far as they could, stuck in a kneeling position with their head bowed. A chain connected to the painful muzzle on their face was looped around a hook on the floor, causing them to be unable to lift their head.
They whined softly, the bit heavy and intrusive against their mouth. The edges of their mouth had been cut up, droplets of blood running down their face. They struggled for air, the thick and unyielding leather flush against their face.
Whumper knelt down in front of them with a grin, running a hand through their hair. "How's my precious pet doing today, hm?" they asked jovially.
Whumpee whined again, low in the back of their throat. They leaned into the gentle touch, mouth aching.
Whumper withdrew their hand. "Well, I have a special surprise for you," they said, setting down the object in their hand. "Hold still."
Whumper leaned forward and slowly undid the straps of the muzzle, letting it fall away from Whumpee's face. Whumpee breathed in a deep lungful of air, their mouth able to close for the first time in, they didn't know how long.
"I knew you'd like that," Whumper said smiling. They held up the other object. Now you get your very own muzzle, without a bit!"
Whumpee froze, unable to help the whimper that escaped them at the mention of another muzzle. Yet they did nothing to stop Whumper as they buckled the new one on their face.
As Whumper stood to go, Whumpee had to admit, it was, at least, better than the other one.
OCs: Asta/Damien Ravenelle, Katarina Laurier-Bancroft, Zero
Content: Pet Whump, Food Mention, Muzzling
Zero kept his head down as he knelt on the kitchen tiles, bruised knees burning in an all too familiar way. Off to his side, Asta — that’s what Katarina had called him — was getting some sleep.
But Zero knew it wasn’t voluntary. Being unconscious wasn’t the same as being asleep.
She cooked, humming to herself as she put together breakfast, dancing across the kitchen to the radio — knee length skirt flaring out with every movement.
Zero just looked down. Traced the blurry tiles with his gaze. Only able to distinguish between the most contrasted of the patterns. The true delicacy was lost on him.
Two bowls clattered to the floor. Zero’s own ceramic one, carefully engraved with his name, and Asta’s. Stainless steel. Scratched and dented.
Both were filled with oatmeal. Boring. But safe. Edible.
Katarina must have passed him — Zero hadn’t seen — and shaken Asta awake. The initial quiet protest. The immediate flurry of motion. Asta crashing backwards into the wall as he stumbled away. Sobbing from behind a muzzle as he conceded.
They always conceded. And he was right to. Katarina peeled the muzzle away from his face, leaving it on the couch.
Zero was rigid as Asta came past him. As Katarina instructed him to eat, told him he’d be hungry if he didn’t. Softly spoken coercion veiled as concern.
Zero too.
It was all the encouragement Zero needed to crawl across, pressing grazed palms against cold tile. Beside him, he felt Asta’s form. Frozen in fear, a jerking flinch at every movement made.
And Zero wished, more than anything, he could be of comfort. He could help Asta adjust. But with Katarina looming over them to ensure Asta’s behaviour, it was too much of a risk.
Asta knelt beside him, shaking with violent, uncontrollable tears. Deep rooted panic as Katarina went about her day behind them.
“Eat,” Zero’s voice was beyond hoarse when he finally spoke.
No recognition from Asta. Only a gentle flinch. If Zero could see him clearly, he would understand.
“Eat,” he repeated, putting out a hand to rest on Asta’s shoulder.
Even the gentlest of contact elicited a violent flinch, before Asta sat still. Before he allowed Zero to touch him. Before he gave in.
There was so much that Zero wanted to explain. To save Asta from the same learning curve he himself had endured. Ease the fear. Give him a chance.
Zero broke the contact when Asta finally leant forward. Moments later, Zero heard him eat.
It was only when Zero truly focused did he realise Asta’s hands were forced behind his back. Zip tied, Zero thought. But he wasn’t sure.
He was told to eat again. Told he’d go hungry if he didn’t. The threats were strikingly familiar. Came around like clockwork at every meal.
He took a bite of his own food, if only to appease Katarina. Oatmeal sprinkled with sugar and finely chopped banana. No more. Despite the hunger — how he was painfully aware of it in the pit of his stomach — he didn’t eat.
Zero waited agonising minutes while Asta ate beside him. Awkward, jerky movements as he tried to keep his balance. Tried not to choke.
Asta sat back, and Zero made a quick, clumsy movement. He pushed his own bowl across. Scraping it against the floor, lying it to rest vaguely in front of Asta.
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im a big fan of muzzles, gags, sowing whumpee's mouth shut, and other similar ways of blocking whumpee's mouth, but i cant stop myself from overthinking one thing,,,,
how does the whumpee eat or drink?
i'd love to have a whumpee be restrained in this way for long periods, but how do i get around the need to eat? please, im desperate here!
any other conversation of muzzing etc is of course welcome
The whumpee is muzzled when they’re captured. Is it to keep them quiet? Keep them from lashing out and biting someone? Humiliation? Dehumanization? Or if the whumpee has magic, to prevent them from saying any spells or charm anyone?
