#Whipping tw

[just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi]

Whumpee shaking in their chains, bracing themself as well as they could muster as the whip fell again and again. Their back was in shreds, engulfed in pain that only seemed to grow and grow.

When whumper came to release their chains whumpee sobbed. Finally, finally, it was over.

But it wasn’t.

Whumper wasn’t taking them down, oh no, they hadn’t earned that yet.

No, whumper was simply adjusting them. Turning them. Preparing the skin on their chest and stomach for the last.

And somehow, that made the next strike even worse.

[susiequaz12]

Whumptober 5- "If My Pain Will Stretch That Far"

CW: Bruises, blood, whipping.

-

"Come on now, you can take more." 

He rolled over onto his side, his body littered with cuts and bruises. Pulling his arms underneath him, he managed to make it onto his hands and knees this time before the whip crashed back down over his skin. 

"Yeah, I- I doubt that." He panted through the pain. 

"You will take as much as I say you will take." 

"Yeah, if my pain will stretch that far." He gasped, falling back onto his chest with a sob. 

A splash of blood crashed over him as the whip came down and he choked out a mangled scream. 

"Haven't I had enough?" He pleaded, curling back into his side. 

The man holding the whip knelt down next to his face, locking a hand around his throat. 

"You will never have enough." He spat. "You will only have enough once you are so broken, that the only words you can speak are 'yes sir.' Once you are so beaten down that you will do anything I ask without a second of hesitation. If I tell you to lick my boot, you do so like it's Thanksgiving Dinner. Until that day, you will take every beating I give you. You will stretch your pain so far like a balloon ready to pop, and then I will take it farther. Do you understand?" 

When the man at his feet remained silent, choking on his air, he let him go and stood up, crashing the whip against the ground.

"I said, do you understand!" He cried.

The man responded with a light cough, his hands coming to rub at his throat as he stared out at the empty room. He didn't respond, didn't utter a single word. Just a light groan torn out of him when the whip crashed over his skin once more.

-

[watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees]

Lessons learnt

masterlist

previous

TW: electrocution, conditioning, whipping (mentioned), captivity tw, pet whump

Alyssa barely had the will to fight Luke's iron grip on her upper arm as he led her downstairs to the basement.

Compared to the one at the old house, the new basement was luxurious and pristine. The floor was covered in slick black tiles, instead of plain concrete, there also was a drain built in the middle of the room. The walls were painted black, giving the illusion to whoever was stuck there that the darkness surrounding them was infinite. The ceiling was high up, level with the ceiling of the ground floor, providing enough space for the metal balcony stretching over one side, if spectators were to watch they comfortably had the space to do so.

The side opposite from the entrance held the display for a wide array of tools, torture instruments. Various chains and hooks were attached to the ground and other walls, if one squinted well enough past the lights, they could make out the place for them on the cross beams that supported the structure, running from the gallery to the wall across.

Alyssa was torn, she knew she wouldn't have to think about the risk of infection caused by the dirt and germs all over the old basement that was impossible to sterilise, the new place was tenfold as horrifying. She was sure she would've gone insane if Luke kept her down here after they moved.

"Sit" he pointed to the floor next to one of the hooks on the ground and pushed her towards it.

"Luke, please, I'm sorry, I won't run off like that ever again" she started, as if she could any sense of humanity in him. A futile attempt to appeal to his nicer side, calling him by name. Please. Don't hurt me.

"I know you won't" he said simply and started tying a rope between her collar and the hook.

"Please, please, please, I'll be good, you don't have to do anything I'll behave" There were tears threatening to spill over her waterline already, as she pleaded frantically for an ounce of mercy, which she wouldn't get.

"Shhh, none of that now" he cupped her face, just for a moment and let her lean into the touch.

"What do you think you should get for embarrassing me yesterday, hm?" he asked, with a deceptively soft and genuine tone.

"Please, don't- just please" he stood up and strolled over to the pegboards and shelves of displayed tools running his hand along them.

"I'm thinking a whip" He ignored her crying and settled his hand on the familiar leather handle "Fifteen lashes sound reasonable, right?" he called over his shoulder before actually taking it off the shelf and walking back to Alyssa.

"I asked you something" he stared down at her.

"Please don't"

"Not up for debate, I'm afraid, fifteen with this and we can forget it" She nodded miserably as a response.

"But first, we need to take care of something else" he crouched down and she picked her head up, locking eyes with him confused.

He reached into his pocket and took a small black rectangular object and dangled it in front of her. Alyssa's eyes widened in fear with the realisation. It was the remote to the electrified box attached to her collar.

"You told me yesterday that I confused you, right? We'll fix that in no time" She nodded, more or less accepting her fate. "Tell me what you called me just a few moments ago"

"What?"

"You called me by my name, love, say it again"

"Luke?"

The shock was instantaneous, piercing through her neck and burning through all her muscles. It was over before she could scream.

"Say it again" he instructed calmly, after she finally caught her breath.

"Luke" he shocked her the same. Her body contorted in agony, and this time she did scream.

"Do you know why I'm doing this?" No. But she wasn't completely clueless either. It was something that had to do with Claire, a woman she knew almost nothing and everything about at the same time, and yet again it was her drawing the short end of the stick. She shook her head, sending a wave of uncomfortable twitches running through her body at the movement, her muscles still spasming from the aftershock.

"I don't want to keep hurting you" he stated and fixed a strand of hair behind her ear. She flinched. He didn't seem to care. "But you keep making me, and I'd like to fix this before I go overboard again. I know you're doing your best, you're doing so much for me, and I want to help you out so we don't have to keep coming back down here, okay?" She couldn't keep her face straight, Aly was falling apart at the seams, and she couldn't hold back her crying. Luke not wanting to torture her was almost laughable, but she didn't have it in her to find it funny. "Say it again" he prompted gently.

"Please, Sir, I get it, I won't- I know not to-"

"Say it!" he was calm as ever on the surface, but the twitch in his thumb hovering over the shock button proved otherwise. She obeyed miserably preparing herself for another shock.

"Alright, alright, there we go" Alyssa ended up on the floor this time. He gently pulled her back up to kneel, ignoring the spasms and twitches that made it infinitely harder for both of them.

"Now, did we say fifteen?"

[breadandbloodybutter]

🎄🎅 Merry Crisis - It's been a hell of a time! 🎁🎄

See you all next year. 😈

[ziptiesnfries]

Persuasion, part 2

Read Part 1 here

CWs: whumper POV, kidnapping, mind control, gaslighting, belting/whipping with a belt, restraints, noncon touch

It only took ten minutes for the shouting to start. Gianna sat placidly on her couch and listened to the muffled curses coming from upstairs. It turned out that Shelby was very creative when pissed off; Gianna was excited to hear what they’d come up with under real duress.

Still, she didn’t rush it—she wanted to make sure her influence was well and truly out of Shelby’s system before she got started. She enjoyed the ebb and flow of their shouts for a while before she finally slipped her silk gloves back on, gathered her supplies, and headed upstairs.

At the sound of her approach, the shouts in the guest bathroom abruptly went quiet—only to explode when she opened the door. “What the fuck?!” Shelby demanded, twisting around as best they could in their restraints. With their hands cuffed to the towel bar, they had to crane their neck in order to face her. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Gianna hummed as she deposited her supplies on the counter next to the sink. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You know exactly what I mean,” they hissed. The handcuffs rattled against the bar as they gestured. “What the fuck is this?”

It was so tempting to take off her gloves and soothe them again, but at the same time, her body thrummed with excitement at their anger. She could definitely get used to this—their defiant scowl, the hint of fear in their eyes … “We’re just having a little fun, that’s all.” She smiled and tilted her head. “Besides, I don’t remember forcing you to be here.”

She stepped back just in time to avoid their lunge, and the cuffs rattled and scraped against the towel bar. “I don’t want to be here!” they shouted. “I don’t know what the fuck you did to me, but—”

“How could I have done anything to you?” she asked innocently, hands clasped behind her back. “You didn’t even take the drink I offered you. You agreed to come here, didn’t you?”

Uncertainty flashed in their eyes, but it was quickly replaced by rage. “I agreed to spend the night, not—whatever this is.” They swallowed as they spotted the supplies on the counter. They took a deep, measured breath. “Just—just let me go. I won’t tell anyone.”

“Oh, I’m not worried about that. Now turn around.”

They backed up against the wall, still facing her with their arms twisted awkwardly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She picked up the kitchen scissors from the counter. “Turn around, or this is going to hurt much more than necessary.”

Their eyes widened, their breaths becoming shallow. “You wouldn’t—”

Without warning, she jabbed the scissors into their arm. They yelped and sucked in a breath. She smiled as she leaned forward. “I said, turn around, beautiful.”

Slowly, they complied, taking shaky breaths as they gripped the bar in front of them. In a way, Gianna did find it beautiful: the way their shoulders trembled, their knuckles turning white, their head bowing in anticipation. The bathroom mirror hung just across from them, so even with their back turned, she could see their eyes wrinkling around the edges as they squeezed them shut.

She snipped the scissors, delighting in the way Shelby flinched at the noise. “Now, stay still,” she said in a low voice. “I don’t want to cut you.”

She teased the blade against their exposed lower back before slicing up their thin, skimpy shirt. As they realized what was happening, they let out a gasp, but they stayed still, stiff and trembling. Gianna smiled; they were a quick learner.

Just for fun, she ran the scissors down the dip of their spine. This time, they flinched, arching their back away. “Careful,” Gianna murmured. She drew the scissors away and admired the expanse of their back, a blank canvas. Reverently, she ran her gloved hand over their bare skin.

They jerked away, pressing into the wall. For a moment, it startled her; she was used to being leaned into, not pulled away from. “Don’t touch me, you fucking creep!” Shelby snapped.

She just smiled. By the end of this, they’d be begging for her touch. She put down the scissors and picked up the belt, folding it over. “Well, if you really don’t want me touching you …”

They caught a glimpse of her in the mirror, and the blood drained from their face. “No. No, no, no—”

“Just relax. It’ll be over before you know it.”

The hard smack of leather against skin startled her, but the cry it drew from their lips was divine. She paused to admire the mark across their shoulder blade. Their muscles rippled as they panted, squeezing the bar tight. “Don’t—”

She hit them again, and again, and again. Power rushed through her—a more raw, exhilarating kind of power than anything her persuasion could give her. By the seventh strike, Shelby was crying. By the twelfth, their legs shook with the effort of keeping upright. Every whine and whimper and cut-off plea gave her chills; it was absolutely gorgeous.

Still, she couldn’t have fun forever, not if she wanted to keep her toy. She stopped precisely after the fifteenth strike, resting the belt in her hand. A thin sheen of sweat glistened over the welts on Shelby’s back. Gianna couldn’t help it; she put down the belt and ran her hand over their shoulder blades. They cried out, trembling as they arched away.

A thrill ran through her, and she grinned. “Shh, it’s okay, I’m about to make this so much better.” She pulled off her gloves and laid them on the counter.

Shelby cowered away. “Don’t.” Their voice was thick with tears. “Don’t touch me.” They flinched as her hand reached for their shoulder.

As soon as her skin made contact, they went limp—knees thudding against the ground, wrists yanking painfully upwards. A pitiful moan escaped their lips as their big, teary eyes gazed up at her.

A surprised laugh burst from her lips; she hadn’t expected it to work quite that well. “That feels good, doesn’t it?” They nodded eagerly, distressed and desperately leaning into her touch. She cupped their face with her other hand, and they melted against her, eyes slipping shut as she thumbed tears from their cheek. “Oh, you poor thing.” She laughed again, feeling giddy. The rude, defiant person she’d met back at the club was nowhere to be found. Shelby was like putty in her hands.

She let go long enough to unlock the handcuffs, and Shelby whined the whole time, as if they’d rather stay locked up for an eternity if it meant she’d never let them go. Their arms fell limply to their sides, and they winced at the pain, their chafed wrists twitching. The remains of their skimpy top slid down their arms, and they didn’t even seem to notice, still chasing Gianna’s touch. She grabbed the spare t-shirt off the counter and helped them into it. Each brush of her fingers against their skin made them sigh.

Seeing them like this was intoxicating. Of course, Gianna was used to people adoring her, wanting to be near her, but this was something else entirely. Shelby followed her movements like a moth drawn to a flame, desperate for her touch. It was incredible; she could easily get addicted to this.

“Come on, sweet thing, time for bed.” She helped them to their feet, and they clung to her side all the way to the bed. They flopped down like a ragdoll on top of the covers, head lolling on the pillow. God, they were just helpless—maybe she should have held her powers back a little … She caressed their cheek, restraining the flow of her powers as she did so. “God, you’re so stupid like this,” she murmured

To her surprise, there was a flicker of something in their eyes, a downward twitch of their mouth. “’M not …” They shook their head, then paused, as if worried Gianna would disapprove.

“Oh, of course not, beautiful.” She smiled as she climbed onto the bed next to them, sitting up against the headboard. She kept petting their hair. “You’re just so good for me.”

Again, there was that twitch in their face, like they were struggling to form a scowl. Their cheek nuzzled into her palm, muffling their words. “Fuck off.”

Gianna’s eyebrows shot up, and she paused in her caresses. “What did you just say to me, love?” she asked, wondering if she could get them to say it again—wondering how far her powers really extended into their psyche.

They sighed against her skin as their hands balled into fists. “I said, fuck off.”

And yet they curled closer to her, their cheek pressed into her hand. A slow grin spread across Gianna’s face. “Interesting,” she murmured. “Tell me, what does this feel like for you? If you have the capacity to explain, that is.”

Their eyes narrowed, and they finally seemed to break out of their stupor. “Asshole.”

She started petting their hair again, and their eyes fluttered shut with a sigh. “Answer my question, sweet thing.”

They exhaled deeply. “It’s like drugs,” they finally mumbled. A pause. “It’s better than drugs. No pain, just … bliss.”

She hummed thoughtfully. Few people knew about her powers, so she didn’t get many opportunities to experiment like this. “So when I take my hand away …”

She dragged her long, manicured fingernails across their back. “Fuck!” They recoiled, shuddering. “Stop!” As soon as she touched their forehead, they went limp again, swearing under their breath.

“Interesting.” She scratched their scalp absently. She never knew her powers could have a pain relieving effect … This could be interesting—in the future, of course. For now, her little toy needed a break. “You’ve been very good, pet.”

“I’m not—” They shivered with pleasure, leaning into her touch, their voice a low growl. “I’m not your pet. I’m gonna call the fucking cops on you.”

Gianna just hummed doubtfully. “And you really think they’ll believe you? You came here willingly. I didn’t force you to do anything.”

They lifted their head, starting to pull away. “You handcuffed me in your bathroom!”

She grabbed their hair and dragged their head back down against her leg. “You let me do that, pet.” She added just a smidge more persuasion as she massaged her fingers against their scalp. “You could leave, if you wanted to, but you’re lying here with me. You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“I’m not.” They didn’t budge an inch.

“You have such a hard time getting along with people, don’t you?” She kept her tone light, but from the way they flinched, she could tell she’d hit a nerve. “But it’s so nice that you’ve warmed up to me like this. Now you have someone aside from that awful sister of yours.”

Her persuasion didn’t linger for long after an encounter. In the long-term, she couldn’t convince someone of something they didn’t already believe. But if Shelby already believed they were unlikeable, if they felt deep down that no one would take their side in this … Well, if they thought that, then it wasn’t Gianna’s fault, was it?

Shelby shifted against her leg, but they didn’t respond. Gianna kept running her fingers through their hair. Their bangs were fried from bleach; maybe at some point she could help with their hair. After all, she couldn’t have her toy looking like they didn’t take care of themself. But that was a problem for later. “Well, you’ve had a long night,” she murmured. “Get some sleep, beautiful.”

They shook their head. “Don’t want to …” A yawn slipped out, and their eyelids drooped. Before long, their breathing grew deep and even. Gianna smiled and kept petting them, dreaming about what else she might do with her new plaything.

~

Tag list: @whumpshaped @paperprinxe @suspicious-whumping-egg @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @toyybox @mommymarichatfurever @cardboardarsonist

[hurtthemgently]

Demon tail whump ideas-

Cold, always fun. Force their tail under freezing water, or hold ice cubes against it. See how long it takes for it to go numb.

Shock collar, but small, meant to go around the tail

Put heavy jewelry on their tail and make them hold it up. After a while the strain will be agony

Restraining them by something pierced through their tail, such as a knife or doornail. Or put a piercing through the fin and attach it to a chain.

Bite it. Bite their tail.

Tie a cute little bow next to the fin

Get a whip, cane, or riding crop and mark up their back and tail.

Have a bunch of sewing needles and don’t know where to put them? Your demons tail makes an excellent pincushion.

Holy water has plenty of fun possibilities

Grab their tail and tug sharply. Pull around them by it.

[livestosave]

@ein-schnee-sturm asked: "Comforting" from Wilhelmine to Alfred

send me    ‘ comforting ‘    for my muse’s reaction to yours gently wiping their tears away after they’ve been caught crying (Accepting)

The pain was all-encompassing.

Alfred had been hit before, many times. He'd been left bruised and aching from picking fights he couldn't win with people he shouldn't challenge, and he'd won most of them. At least, in his view he had. Spitting and biting and clawing, giving as good as he got. He was used to the pain of it, used to being left with his 'lessons'. All it seemed to make him was more fierce when a fight did break out. He was a Goodkind, and if they thought to bully him, to make him lesser, he would see they regretted it. With his head held high, even if it meant a bit of blood or bruising.

What was some pain when weighed against his pride? His family name?

This time, though...the boy flinched at the touch. A half-hearted baring of bloodied fangs that screamed of fear and pain.

In the noonday moon of a Solitasian winter, his hair was almost glowingly white...or would have been, had it not been slick with sweat. Small, rounded ears poked out of the too-flat hair, though both were pinned flat to his skull, leaving his hair messy around their bases. There were spatters of pink and red in it, too, only a few drops nearer the front - though there were a few crimson droplets on his face - but more once one looked towards the back of his head.

The smell of blood filled his nose as it slithered down his back, soaking his shirt until it dripped from the fabric to the fine marble floor of the Manor's library. A small patch of marble before a fireplace...a refuge for a boy driven by fear and pain. A bit of blood settled at the corner of his mouth as he swallowed, tongue darting out between thin lips and painting them a light pink with blood.

Gods, there was so much blood.

The agony in his back prompted what could have been a whimper, as Alfred grit his teeth and tried to turn his too-dark eyes away from Wilhelmine. Tears blurred his vision, ran down his cheeks, but he refused to cry like a child. Even as he clicked his sharp teeth in stress, and bared his fangs in a grimace.

"...I didn't even...mean to, this time," he finally choked out, voice ragged and raw. He'd screamed himself hoarse. "She came at me and I just..." Put her in the hospital. Saw red, and next thing he knew...her father wanted satisfaction. His mother had sighed, exasperated...had agreed. Teach him a lesson, Roderick, she'd said. We can't have him overreacting so. He's a Goodkind...he should act like it.

A fresh wave of tears slipped past his defenses, and he shook his head. It made the throbbing ache in his back so much worse, drew a hiss from between his teeth...

"...you shouldn't be here." They might get mad at her. Not like they did him, but. It couldn't be a good look for her, going after the Goodkind Bastard. The biting, feral little brat.

If he didn't know any better, he'd think maybe they were right to be afraid of him and his temper. If he didn't know better, he might think he was a monster. But he did know better. Of course he knew better.

Right?

[whumpflash]

Penumbra: Uncertain

for Angstpril, Day 24: Trauma (alt)

cw: whump aftermath, wound cleaning, mentioned weight loss, non-sexual nudity, discussed death wish/suicide attempts

prev ///// masterlist ///// next

note: please mind the warnings. If you'd like to read a version of this chapter without a specific element, feel free to PM me and I'll send you an edited version. Stay safe, everyone!

•§•§•

It was a mile's trek back to their great-uncle's house, made all the longer with the pelt of the rain on their back and the weight of the injured man in their arms. Cerus had begun the journey upright, stumbling along with a thin arm wrapped around Tansy's shoulders, but it had soon become apparent that he was in no condition to walk. They'd lifted his shaking form, trying not to think about how light he was, how his flesh radiated heat even through the wet clothing. How the shipwrights had him working out in the cold anyway.

Neither of them spoke a word throughout, and when Tansy spared a glance down to check on Cerus, his eyes were closed. For his own sake, they hoped he was unconscious.

Aldon was still not home when they opened the door, but that was perhaps for the better. They weren't certain he'd be all too happy at the idea of sheltering the former tyrant. For now, Cerus would have to be their secret.

Tansy carried him upstairs, to the sparse room their uncle had set aside for them, and lay Cerus on the bed. Their shoulders burned from the effort of getting him here, but now was not the time to rest. They discarded their waterlogged cloak, and began to cut away Cerus's soaked rags. The man seemed to be awake now; half-lidded eyes above hollow cheeks, staring dully at the ceiling. He made no move to struggle, or even speak.

He was considerably thinner than he'd been at his trial, the sharp outline of ribs and hip bones jutting against pale skin. Scars and bruises, old and new, covered his body, and when they rolled him onto his side to check his back, they were met with a horrific number of whip marks, some still oozing blood, darkening the bedsheets.

Though his eyes were open, Cerus responded to Tansy's examination as if he were unconscious, offering neither remark nor resistance, and Tansy was left wondering if it was the fever that had left him numbed to the world around, or if it was simply how the man protected himself from the constant maltreatment.

"I'm going to clean your wounds," they said, watching for a response. To their surprise, Cerus's eyes sharpened.

"And wh—" He let out a cough that shook his body. "Why would you do s-something like that?"

Why indeed? Wanting to help the suffering was human nature, but when the sufferer himself was the cause of so much misery, what was one to do? They did not reply, rolling Cerus onto his stomach.

"Wait here," they said, though they doubted he was capable of doing otherwise, and walked down the stairs, toward the kitchen.

Why indeed. The strangeness of the situation was starting to take hold of them. How could they do something like this? Saving the very person they'd sworn to depose, bringing him into their home, tending to him. Would anyone else in the village, in all of Feyadel, do the same, or was Tansy mad for making such a choice? What would their comrades in the battalion think of their decision, were they here to see it?

More than why they'd done it, another question was heavy in their thoughts; what were they going to do, now that they'd chosen to help? Cerus was under sentence. He lawfully belonged to the shipyard, regardless of the abuse he'd suffer there. Even if they could grant him a reprieve from the rain, he couldn't very well stay here; eventually someone would come looking for him. Still, they couldn't in good conscience just hand him back over to the docks, not when he was clearly ill, not when he could barely stand.

For now, they'd try and curb their worries, and think only of tonight. Whatever tomorrow brought, they'd handle it in the morning.

They gathered linen cloth and water from the kitchen, tucking a small bottle of brandy under their arm as well. Tansy was a soldier, not a medic, but they'd still treated their fair share of wounds. The parcel of clams watched them forlornly from the wooden counter, and Tansy cast a glance back at it as they climbed the stairs. First they'd tend to Cerus, then get a start on dinner before their uncle returned. And hopefully, he wouldn't notice if they cooked for three.

Cerus flinched when they opened the door, as if startled from sleep, and Tansy knelt by the bed, depositing their supplies beside them.

"This will sting," they warned, as they wetted a cloth with brandy, then wondered why they bothered. Couldn't they at least find catharsis in the necessary pain that came with cleaning his wounds?

Cerus inhaled through clenched teeth as Tansy touched the cloth to his back, his next breath turning into a whimper when they began to gently scrub the torn, feverish skin. As much as they wished they could, Tansy found no solace in his pain. They finished cleaning and binding the cuts without another word, then covered Cerus with a blanket, trying to ignore the way he stared at them.

"You're not a priest," he said bluntly. "Nor a healer."

Tansy lifted their chin. "I'm a soldier," they replied. "I fought to end your reign."

He showed no reaction. "And you did. So why?"

Tansy turned away. They didn't need to have this conversation with him, of all people.

"Y-you should've left me."

That halted them in place. "To die?"

Cerus let out a bitter laugh that rapidly degraded into a coughing fit. "Do you think I don't desire an end? Do you think I fear death enough to cling to a life such as this one?"

Tansy frowned. "If that were so… would you not have found your own end?"

 "If I throw myself into the sea, they haul me out. If I cut a vein, they hold me down and send for a healer. I am not allowed to escape. All I can do is wait for my body to fail."

"You'd rather I'd left you to be beaten, then."

"I have received more beatings than a man can count. What's one that goes unfinished?" His words dissolved into another vicious cough. "You were a soldier. Certainly, you saw friends felled by my troops. Family."

"You'd have difficulty finding a soldier who hasn't," Tansy answered, their tone flat. Why would he bring up such a thing now? Did he wish to turn them against him, to drive them to throw him back out into the rain?

"Then you have as much reason to hate me as everyone else," Cerus said. "Why bring me here? Why not leave me to die, or even end me by your own hand?" He tried to push himself up with shaking arms, but fell back onto the bed with a cry. "Y–ghnn—you've lost family by my hand. This very village burned by my hand. Why let me draw another breath? Why not strike me down?"

Tansy shook their head. It seemed that Cerus was trying to goad them into anger, but why? Whatever the reason, they would not allow themselves to be persuaded by him.

"I've seen enough bloodshed for one lifetime," they answered.

"And I am at fault for that," Cerus protested.

They closed their eyes against his words, reaching for the door. "Rest."

"I felt no remorse, no regret," Cerus called after them, voice rising, shaking. "Will you not take vengeance?"

Tansy closed their fingers around the door's handle, clenching it tightly. They almost wished they could, and certainly wished they didn't feel this odd, misplaced pity. But it wouldn't be vengeance anymore, it would be simple cruelty. An honorable execution was seven months too late, and they could never bring themselves to raise a hand against someone as weak and sick and hurt as Cerus was right now, especially not at his behest.

When they glanced backwards, the former tyrant was wearing an expression they couldn't quite place. Was it anger? Fear? Simple disbelief that Tansy would dare tend to him?

"Will you not take vengeance?" he repeated, his voice now barely above a whisper, and Tansy shook their head.

"What vengeance is left to take?" they murmured, and finally opened the door, stepped through, and pulled it closed behind them.

§•§•§

@whumpwillow @rabbitdrabbles @kixngiggles @honeycollectswhump

[whumpy-writings]

Obedience

Febuwhump 2024 Day 4

The Dhampir Files Masterlist

CW: Abusive parents (whumpees are adults), referenced lab whump, whipping, carewhumper, lady whumper, conditioned whumpee

Cal sat on the ground, Renn resting his head on his lap as he slept. It had been a couple weeks since the sun experiment. They had been allowed to heal, but Cal was under no illusions that that was the last experiment their parents would conduct.

The waiting was the worst part. He didn't know what the next horror would be, or when it would happen. All he and Renn could do was wait. Renn whimpered in his sleep.

"You're okay, I've got you," Cal whispered as he stroked his brother's hair. Renn hadn't had nightmares in years. But now it seemed like he had them every time he closed his eyes.

The door at the top of the stairs creaked open and Cal tensed. But the footsteps down the stairs sounded different. Uneven. A man appeared at the bottom of the stairs. He had brown hair and was dressed in simple clothes. He crossed the room with a pronounced limp. This was the first person Cal had seen besides Renn and their parents since he was thrown into this hell-hole.

The man moved to the tables and shuffled things around, like he was looking for something. Cal squinted. It almost looked like. . .

"Miles?" A surge of relief went through Cal as his human half-brother turned to look at him. "Miles! Oh my gods, it's you. Hurry, let us out of here."

Miles flinched. "I can't do that," he said. Cal swallowed down his frustration.

"Why not? They're not here right now. There must be an extra key somewhere."

Miles approached the cage with his eyes on the floor. When he stood outside the door, Cal caught sight of the collar, which sat atop a mess of scars from bites. He hadn't had those before. He hadn't had the limp either.

"I'm sorry," Miles whispered. "I'm not allowed to."

"Miles, please, you can come with us. They're torturing me and Renn, I don't know how much longer we can survive this."

"I can't."

"Why the fuck-"

"Miles! I told you not to talk to them!" Cal whipped his head up to see Mother striding toward them, her face furious. Miles went pale. He spun around and fell to his knees, bowing to the floor with his hands on either side of his head.

"I'm sorry ma'am, I'm sorry, it won't happen again." Miles was shaking. Mother stood in front of him with her arms crossed. She shot Cal a glare.

"He hasn't disobeyed in months," she said. "And now I'll have to punish him. This is your fault, Callum." Renn stirred from Cal's lap.

"What's going on? Miles?" Renn's voice was thick with sleep.

"I was just about to discipline him," Mother said. "He was explicitly told that he was not to speak to you two, and he did anyway."

Miles shoulders hitched and Cal realized he was crying. "Please ma'am, please I'll be good please I don't need a punishment."

"That's not for you to decide, human." Mother grabbed Miles's hair and hauled him to his feet.

"Let him go!" Renn yelled. "Don't hurt him!" He grabbed onto the bars. "Please, don't hurt him."

Mother ignored him. "Take off your shirt, hands against the wall."

Miles sobbed as he undressed. Cal gasped. His back was criss-crossed in scars. There were dozens of them. He definitely hadn't had those when Cal and Renn left.

"How many lashes do you deserve, Miles?"

Mother crossed to a bench and picked up a whip.

"No! Please Mother, don't hurt him, it was my fault." Cal's eyes burned with tears. Fuck, he hadn't wanted to get Miles hurt.

"T-ten ma'am," Miles said. "Ten for my disobedience. His hands were pressed against the wall, his back bared. Tears rolled down his face and he was shaking.

"Only ten?" Mother said. She cracked the whip and Miles jumped. "You disobeyed a direct order. You'll get twenty-five lashes. And then you will clean up whatever blood gets on the floor. Understood?"

"Yes ma'am," Miles whispered.

"Good."

She got behind him with the whip. Renn buried his face in Cal's shoulder. Cal wrapped his arm around him. The whip cracked through the air and Miles cried out. Cal hugged Renn even tighter and put his hands over his brother's ears to try to dampen the sound.

The lashes were hard and fast and soon enough Miles's knees gave out. He knelt on the ground, sobbing as lash after lash bit through his ruined back. It seemed to go on forever.

Finally, the lashes stopped. Miles collapsed to the ground with a sob. "I'm sorry ma'am, I'm sorry, thank you for teaching me to be good." Disgust rose in Cal's throat. Miles was thanking her for torture.

Mother knelt down next to Miles and smoothed his sweaty hair back from his forehead. "There's my good boy. You won't make the same mistake again, will you?" Miles shook his head.

"No, never."

"Good."

Mother met eyes with Cal. "I hope this was a lesson for you too. You are not to talk to him. I would hate for him to be tempted and have to be punished again." Miles whimpered. "He's just a human, after all. His body isn't as strong as mine or yours." She turned back to Miles. "Now clean up this mess. Once you're finished I'll bandage the wounds."

"Yes ma'am." Miles scrambled to his feet and set about cleaning up the blood that splattered the floor. Mother pulled out a chair and sat down just outside the cage.

"Miles is a good boy, usually. Of course, at the beginning he was very disobedient. He tried to escape too, you know. Right after you two left. Isn't that right, Miles?"

"Yes ma'am," Miles said from where he scrubbed at the floor. "It was very stupid of me."

"That's right, it was very stupid, wasn't it?" She smiled icily as she looked at Cal and Renn. "You know he can't see very well, so he didn't get far. We broke his leg when we caught him. We couldn't risk him running again, you see. Then it was just a matter of training. He became the perfect human within six months."

"You tortured him," Cal said flatly.

"No," Mother corrected. "We trained him. There is a difference. He needed to learn which behaviors were acceptable and which were not. We used a combination of negative and positive feedback to help him learn his place. And he's happy now that he understands that we're in charge. Isn't that right, Miles?" Miles knelt down next to her, the floor spotless behind him.

"Yes ma'am, I'm very happy now. I live to serve you."

"You're so sweet," Mother said with a smile. She placed her hand on Miles's head, like he was a favored dog. Cal felt ill. They had broken Miles. His spirit, his personality, was gone. He was a shell of the person he used to be. Obedient because that was the only choice he had. They were going to do the same thing to him and Renn. It might take longer, but one day he would be the one kneeling next to Mother in submission. Cal shuddered.

Taglist: @dragonqueenslayer6 @whumpsday

[entiish]

𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐗𝐔𝐒  𝐚𝐧𝐝  𝐍𝐀𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐀,  i  will  find  you. 𝐒𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐮𝐬:  𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝  𝐚𝐧𝐝  𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐝.  S02E12 ,  “Revelations.”

  ( my spartacus series. )

[another-whump-sideblog]

Jane's Pets Chapter 91: Training

TWs in the tags

Previous

Masterlist

Next

Kitty is having a bad time.

Is this about the conversation they had with Bunny yesterday? They knew they shouldn't have talked like that when Jane could be listening. Now she knows they have hope for the future and she'll try to torture it out of them! Stupid fucking pills, they weren't thinking, they never would've done that if they weren't drugged! The drugs are supposed to make being compliant easier!

At least it's just them being hurt? She must have something planned for Bunny, though, she's been shockingly easy on him despite the murder attempts… But for now, at least, it's just Kitty in the basement. That's good. They try to focus on that instead of the pain from being thrown down the stairs and the possibility of being put in sensory deprivation.

"Kitty. You know how Puppy has those phrases that make her do certain things? How I can make her pass out or go limp with a few words?"

She pauses, and it takes Kitty a second to realize she's waiting for a response. "Yes, master." They do not like where this is headed.

"I want to do that with you. The medicine has made you really good, much better than before at least. But not enough." She smiles wickedly. "Don't worry. This is more of a long-term project. You won't be down here long today- you'll just be down here again tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that, until you're conditioned how I want. How does that sound?" She pauses again.

"...I don't know what you want me to say to that." 

Even if she puts them in sensory deprivation, it won't be longer than a day. No matter what she does, it won't be longer than a day before they get a break.

Jane laughs. "That's fair. Good Kitty, trying to figure out what I want you to say instead of just saying the first thing that comes to your mind. Look at how much you’ve changed… it’s going to be so much fun to take more of your autonomy from you, more of yourself from you.”

They recoil. Fuck, that might be worse than being constantly drugged! Their breathing quickens.

“I want to see if I can make you feel pain with just a phrase. So-“ she holds a cattle prod. “Bad Kitty.”

She shocks them, and they don’t bother to hold back their screams. They have no one to try and look strong for, and the screams are a good cue for Puppy and Bunny to know Jane is focused on Kitty anyway.

“Bad Kitty.” Another shock. Their entire body convulses painfully.

"Bad Kitty." ZAP! They bite their tongue and blood fills their mouth- fuck, what are they going to do if they bite their tongue off? They try to clench their teeth together, it would be better for a convulsion to break a tooth than for it to bite off their tongue.

"Bad Kitty." ZAP! This is so stupid. They hate that this works, that they know they won't be able to hear that phrase without feeling fear because Jane has done it before with their name. It's so stupid.

"Bad Kitty." ZAP! They're trying to shield their head with their arms as much as possible, but it still gets slammed against the floor a few times. Just what they need, another concussion. They wonder if they'd even notice if it resulted in permanent brain damage, or if they'd just assume it was a symptom of the drugs.

Jane eventually gets bored of the cattle prod and takes out a whip.

"Bad Kitty." CRACK! Kitty can't decide what they prefer- obviously the shocks can lead to damage from the convulsions, but if they were tied down and had something to bite on…

"Bad Kitty." CRACK! They're not looking forward to having to deal with the wounds on their back, but at least the pain's localized to just their back while the shocks burn all over…

"Bad Kitty." CRACK! 

It goes on and on and on. Their world is pain. They don't try to fight it, distract themself from it, or beg for mercy. There's no point. 

They can feel as their most recent pill wears off, and the world grows sharper, more in focus. The pain grows too. They're not sure if they'd rather the torture continue or be drugged. Both take away their ability to think and function like normal, but… they feel more themself while being tortured. Which is really fucking sad.

But it's not their choice. It's never their choice. 

Like always, it eventually ends. It could've gone on a lot longer, but Jane sticks to her word- they weren't down here for long today. She puts the collar back on them, makes them swallow a pill, and sends them upstairs.

~~

Puppy and Bunny immediately jump into action when Kitty gets up the stairs, cleaning the wounds and bandaging them up. It's… not as bad as it could be. Not as bad as Puppy expected it to be. That worries Puppy a little, but Kitty explains that they'll be in the basement a few hours every day until Master is satisfied, and that makes more sense.

She looks forward to being able to take care of them every day, to making the time in between the torture pleasant. That's usually not an option, at least not on this smaller scale. Obviously, she does her best to make the times in between big tortures pleasant as well.

Kitty's body twitches every once in a while, making them wince. It'll wear off before the next torture session though, so that's… better than it could be.

She can't comfort Kitty through touch and she can't comfort them through humming, so she finds other ways to help them feel nice. She wraps them in blankets and makes them a grilled cheese sandwich for lunch (their favorite food). Bunny comforts them verbally, promising this will end soon and they'll be safe, that they're strong and they'll get through this, and that they'll still be themself no matter what. It seems to help even though Kitty doesn't really believe him.

This is alright. Everything is warm and cozy and nice for now. Puppy finishes her chores while Bunny soothes Kitty, and when she comes back Kitty is asleep. That's good. Hopefully they have nice dreams.

She's trying not to think about her conversation with Bunny. She technically didn't do anything against the rules, but that wouldn't matter if Master was watching. She probably wasn't, Puppy doubts Kitty would scream like that if she wasn't there the whole time, but the possibility never leaves Puppy's mind. Master could've seen. Master could be planning a punishment right now-

But she's probably not. It's probably all fine. And she would do anything for Bunny, even if it tears her up inside thinking of how much danger he's putting himself in by not giving up on murdering Master.

Would you do anything for me, Puppy?

Master has asked her that before. It felt so wrong, hearing it come from Bunny… but she would. She would do anything for him, or for Kitty. She just… would do anything for Master too. So when those things contradict…

"Puppy? Do you wanna sit down?" Bunny pats on a spot next to him on the couch.

Puppy has been pacing around the living room, trying to stay awake and keep an eye on Kitty. She shakes her head. If Bunny asks her to sit anyway, she will, she would do anything for him, but she doesn't want to. It's so much harder to avoid sleep sitting down, and she's much better trained than the others, she knows better than to risk things like that if she doesn't have to.

"Gotcha." Bunny doesn't push. She appreciates that. He's not like Master. He's just… desperate. Which she understands.

He's going to need to be trained soon too, she's sure. Master's going to rip him apart, remove any scrap of hope, and put him back together how she likes. But for now, at least, Master seems to find his defiance entertaining, and Puppy can do her best to make the time before he gets tortured pleasant. It's all she can do.

~~

Peyton thrashes and cries in her sleep. She can act as calm as she wants around me, but I know she's afraid of me - there's nothing else in her life that could possibly cause nightmares like that!

She gasps awake and looks around her room. She doesn't see me, of course, I'm in my void. She closes her eyes and breathes deeply- in for 4, hold for 7, out for 8, like she tells me to do- then picks up her phone and calls someone.

"Chris?"

I can hear their voice from my void as if I was right next to Peyton with my ear pressed to the other side of her phone. They sound tired. "What's wrong?"

"I, um… I'm- I had a nightmare about- about one of my clients dying, and I can't get the images out of my head- can you stay on the phone with me until I calm down? It- it's okay if you can't, I just can't be alone right now, I can find someone else to call or something if you can't-"

"No, that's fine. I can stay on the phone with you. Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

"Okay, okay. I'll just tell you about my plans for tomorrow then. I don't have work, so I'm going to vacuum my room-"

The conversation is boring from there, but I stay until Peyton's more composed. I never get to see her like this, what a treat! I wonder how she'd feel if I killed Chris…

She has nightmares about my threats, which is very good. She takes them seriously, even if she pretends she doesn't. I wonder how much she'd cry if I did kill her client. Would she be able to hold it in until she thought I was gone? Or would she let herself look weak in front of me? Would she lash out, or get self-destructive? So many possibilities…

I control her, even if she likes to pretend I don't. That's what's important. It's nice to know! She's just as well-trained as my pets, but she doesn't know it yet, which makes it even better. It's going to be so fun to destroy her life!

But not yet. I'll know when the time is right, when I can cause maximum damage, and we're not there yet.

A/N: Let me know if I should tag anything else, or if you want to be added to or removed from the tag list!

Tag list: @eatyourdamnpears @whump-in-the-closet @scp-1296 @thecosmicmap @quins-whump-stuff

@fuckcapitalismasshole

[turn-the-tables-on-them]

Another brilliant commission from @albino-whumpee, of Joey finding Slipknot.

[dreadpiratejones]

Killian has a lot of scars. His stump is a poorly healed mess from the crude cauterisation used to stem the bleeding. He has several scars from cuts, stabs, burns and the odd bullet wound acquired during his pirating days and his time in Neverland, a few of them from his own hook when he was still adjusting to it. His oldest and most prominent scars, except the stump, are on his back, a vast number of crisscrossing lines stretching from his shoulders to his lower back from being flogged with the cat-o'-nine tails during his teenage years as a slave.

[doyouevermakeasound]

Whumptober Day 3: "Make it stop."

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Is It Enough? (Tower: Day 99)

for Angstpril, Day 19: Breaking Down

cw: imprisonment, beating, strangulation, vague noncon implications

prev ///// masterlist ///// next

•×•×•

"See to it he never does this again."

The command, spat at the guards, was the last thing Alexei heard before they threw him back into his cell, ears still ringing from the punch he'd taken. The door locked, and for a while it was quiet. In the cell, in the hall. Quiet everywhere but in his head.

The dread building inside him was so potent he was sure he'd be sick, and try as he might, he couldn't direct his thoughts away from it.

Cold blue of a clear sky—

(What are they going to do?)

Flaking rust, crumbled iron—

(What are they going to do to me?)

Clear, cheer, deer, fear, gear, hear—

(What are they going to do to me?)

He'd been stupid. He wasn't going to pretend otherwise. The city council had been invited on a tour of the prison, something about securing funding, or acquiring votes for a new bill. Wade had told Lex about it beforehand as he hosed him down, forced a comb through his hair, a toothbrush into his mouth.

"Even the mayor will be there. Be good, or else."

They'd unchained him from the wall and had him stand in the doorway, flanked by two guards. The warden had thought he was helpless. Half-starved and wearing power dampeners and missing his fucking arms. His mistake.

When one of the council members had reached out to touch him, like a child on a double dare, Lex had fought past the dampeners, focusing until he thought his very blood would boil, and set her expensive silk blazer on fire.

 And now he was about to find out exactly what 'or else' meant.

The cell door opened before long, guard after guard pouring into the small space. Lex knew what was coming; he curled into a ball and ignored them, waiting for the blows to start flying. And when they inevitably did, he tried to find a poem, or even a rhyme to cling to, make it all more bearable, but every boot in the gut only served to scatter his thoughts, and in the end, he was resolved to simply waiting for it to end.

The beating was the worst one he'd taken since coming here, leaving his body shuddering, blood oozing from his lips, breath coming in short wheezes—he'd felt several ribs crack during the assault.

The voices above him were fuzzy. He didn't care. He didn't need to know what the guards were going on about—

"But is it enough?"

That pulled his attention, shoving him into a cold-blooded clarity, words sharp enough to cut into his skull.

"What do you mean, 'is it enough'? Look at him."

"They get beaten all the fucking time. Lopez said—"

"What do you suggest? We're not supposed to do permanent damage."

"That's what the healer's for."

The conversation was quickly turning to argument, and the words were bleeding together. He could only catch scraps.

"...strung up." (Shut up)

"Nothing to tie on…" (Bygone)

"...in the break room." (Doom, plume)

An arm curled around his torso, pressure on newly-cracked ribs, and he bit back a whimper as more hands latched onto him and lifted his body. His instincts screamed at him to fight back, but it hurt to move. He could only hang there limply as they carried him out of the cell and down the hall. Going where? Why? (Cry, pie, lie, die.)

Movement stopped, a switch was flicked on, and Lex squinted as bright light flooded his vision. He could hear garbled words from a TV, music coming faintly from a radio, the slight squeak of boots on the floor.

Break room.

"Stand him up!" one of the guards called. Lex blinked away the spots in his vision, letting his eyes adjust to the fluorescent lights. As he did, he saw that the guard's number had dwindled down to three.

"I don't know if he can—"

"Well he'll remember to really fucking fast."

Hands held him up on either side, and something was looped around his throat, pulled tight against flesh and knotted. (Spotted, clotted, dotted, no no no—)

He was vaguely aware of the other end of the thing around his neck being tossed high, over a metal ceiling beam, and caught, yanked.

Lex's body jerked as it cinched on his throat, and he choked, trying to take in air, finding he couldn't unless he stood perfectly straight, and even then it was only barely. All his body wanted to do was curl in on itself, and his ribs throbbed as he tried to hold position, closing his eyes against the harsh lights. 

"Fucking hell man, this is gonna kill him."

"He passes out, you let him down. Hand me the whip."

"You sure we're allowed to touch it? Rentals—"

"Rentals won't give a shit as long as we return it clean."

A whistling sound pierced the air, followed by a sharp slap across his back. Lex arched forward reflexively, cutting off his own air with the movement.

"Dude. That was weak as shit, let me try."

Lex braced himself, but it wasn't enough. The whip cracked as it hit the air this time, striking him on the shoulders. Another was right on its heels, lighting a line of fire that ran parallel to his spine.

With every blow, it was getting harder to hold himself up, to keep breathing. It was only the fear that kept him awake, that animal terror that struck him when he couldn't reach the air.

A strike cut across several marks at once, and Lex cried out, his knees buckling.

"Maybe we should stop—"

"He's fine."

He managed to get to his feet, gasping, tears streaming down his cheeks. Wasn't it enough? How could this not be enough?

The next lash pulled a scream from him, cut off rapidly as he stumbled and the rope closed his throat. He didn't even have the energy to hold back a strangled sob. How could this not be fucking enough?

Another strike, and he lost his footing, the pressure on his windpipe crushing, legs shaking and useless and failing.

"For God's sake."

The rope suddenly went slack, and he crumpled, gasping, unable to choke down the whimpers that came crawling up his throat.

"Jeez, David. Buzzkill much?"

"I'm not losing my fucking job for your entertainment."

The linoleum floor was cool on his face, and Lex clung to the feeling, trying to focus on anything other than how much it all hurt.

"He literally tried to kill Senator Collins. He should count himself lucky right now."

"Lucky? He's practically dying at your feet."

"Yeah, we're supposed to ensure this never happens again. Gotta make sure he never forgets." Lex heard fabric shuffling above him, the faint click of metal on metal.

"Fucking hell, dude,"

"No one's making you stay and watch."

"He's already had the shit beat outta him."

Another sob escaped Lex. They were done now, right? Fuck, he'd hoped they were done, they had to be done—

"But is it enough?"

•×•×•

@whumpacabra @enteredin2eternity @kixngiggles @whumpsday @kiichu @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @shywhumpauthor @distinctlywhumpthing

[actress4him]

Whumptober 2023 - Day 15 - The Shadow and The Brute

This is the latest Brumaria AU, a Hero/Villain story! Bruno aka The Brute belongs to Izzy, and bits of his dialogue in this were written by her.

Taglist: @painful-pooch , @sssunshinebreeze

The Shadow of Death Masterlist

No. 15: “I don't need you to help me I can handle things myself.” | Suppressed Suffering

Contains: lady whump, touch aversion, strangulation, referenced whipping, referenced stress position, corporal punishment, hidden injuries

.

.

Kamaria doesn’t feel like being here. Not that there’s anything new about that, being in good physical condition is a foreign concept and most of her missions aren’t anything she’s personally invested in, anyway. There are often a hundred other places she’d rather be than where she’s sent, in bed usually being one of them. 

But today is particularly bad. She usually at least gets a night to recover after a punishment before she’s sent out again, but no, Roderick had to get ticked at her for whatever reason this morning. And absolutely nobody cares that she has fresh whip marks on her back, chafing underneath her clothes, and they definitely don’t care that her throat is so bruised she can barely even speak. They only care about her taking out some low-level criminal that’s interfering with their plans for the city.

Which she’d be doing, no problem, except that The Brute showed up. Nothing new about that, either, and normally an encounter with him doesn’t exactly dampen her mood. But today, she really wishes that for once, he wouldn’t be so annoyingly good at his job. Why can’t he just leave her alone today? She just wants to kill the stupid criminal and go back to headquarters to lick her wounds in private, but she’s stuck here in one of their half-hearted fights, listening to his one-sided banter. 

“Looks like somebody didn’t get enough sleep last night.” Brute dodges yet another of her knife swipes easily, returning it with a punch that she just barely manages to miss herself. “You’re slow today.”

Usually she’d throw a barb right back at him, but just the thought of speaking makes her throat burn. She throws a knife, instead, which sticks in the brick wall just beside his ear.

“Ooh, not enough sleep makes you grumpy, too, I guess. Or should I say…even grumpier than usual? Going for the ‘silent and deadly’ style today.” He yanks the small knife out of the mortar and inspects it. “Doesn’t really bode well for me.”

Yes, she’s grumpy. She’d like to growl at him to shut up, she’s not in the right headspace to make light of this situation. Their fights barely qualify as such, since neither of them really want to harm the other, a fact that she absolutely refuses to examine and adamantly pretends isn’t true. She even sometimes enjoys getting to battle it out with the hero, even on days when her pain level is worse than usual. 

Maybe it’s because she can’t snark back at him and get into the mood of the fight. For whatever reason, she just wants to get this over with, but unfortunately just because he seems to kind of like her doesn’t mean he’s willing to back off and let her do her job. She’s going to have to somehow give him the slip if she wants to avoid even more punishment when she gets back.

“Seriously? Nothing to say at all?”

I have plenty to say. I’d like to say go away. Leave me alone. I need to do this so I don’t get beaten to a pulp tonight. 

I’d kind of like to ask how the only gentleman I’ve ever met ended up fighting on the side of the people I hate the most. Or why you seem to give a flip about me, a villain, at all.

I’d like to tell you that it feels like someone lit my back on fire, because I get the feeling you’d be the only person in the world that somehow actually cared.

She swings at him again, just nicking his arm with the tip of the blade. He doesn’t seem to notice, pushing closer and grabbing onto that wrist. Anyone else, she’d bring her left hand up and stab them directly in the chest. But it’s Brute. She can’t kill him, no matter how aggravated she might be with him. So she allows him to get close and doesn’t fight back yet, unaware of just how uncomfortable it’s going to be until he grabs her other arm, too, and spins her around to press her back into the bricks.

Her breath hitches in her throat, but her mind is only partially on the pain coursing through her back. He’s never pinned her before, she doesn’t usually let him. Being pinned means being hurt. 

But this is Brute. He never hurts her, not badly, at least. 

But he is hurting her. 

But he doesn’t mean to. 

Still, no matter how logical she tries to force herself to be about it, her instincts and memories are stronger. She struggles against him, face carefully blank but heart pounding too fast. 

Let go let go let go let go 

“Hey, calm down, Shadow. I’m not gonna hurt you!” He doesn’t let up, his grip strong but not bruising. “What is your deal today? Are you mad at me or something?”

Again, if he was anyone else, she’d be using the little bit of movement she has in her left arm to reach for another knife. Instead, she kicks at his shins, hoping to dissuade him. 

“Ow.” He still doesn’t let go. She might have to go for the knife after all. The longer she’s trapped, the less she’s able to think straight to see the problem with just stabbing him. 

“Shadow. Look, I’ll let you go in a second, but can you just tell me what’s -” He cuts off abruptly, leaning his face in closer. “Crap. What happened to you?”

She realizes suddenly that this close, he can see the bruises peeking out from underneath her hood. That’s not what she wanted at all, now he’ll start asking questions and she’ll have to try to explain, if not now then some other day because he’s Brute and he doesn’t give up. Forget not hurting him or her own split-open skin, she needs to get away. She shoves hard and kicks out again, reaching for the knife at the same time.

Thankfully, he lets her go this time, backing away with his hands spread in front of him. She still bolts away from the wall, adjusting her grip on the handle and holding out the blade as if he’ll attack.

“Who did that to you?”

Her back is even worse than before, thanks to scraping it up against the bricks. Now she needs to use her voice, too. “Doesn’t matter.” It sounds exactly as horrendous as she imagined it would, and feels like she’s swallowing nails. 

“Yes, it does.” He sounds so deadly serious about it. Is he offended that she’s faced off against someone besides him? If he knew it was her own handler he wouldn’t be. He’d probably laugh in her face about how pathetic she is.

“We’re in the same line of work. You know these things happen.”

Brute sighs, shaking his head. “I can barely get a hit on you…most days other than today. I know there’s more to this, Shadow.”

Kamaria forces a smirk. “Maybe you’re just not as good as the other heroes.” 

He rolls his eyes. “Or maybe there’s a villain that’s been picking a fight with you.” Crossing his arms, he looks her up and down. “So who is it? Asking for a friend.”

“Can’t stand for someone else to be the one beating me up?” He needs to drop the subject so that she can stop talking. Maybe she can pretend to lose her voice altogether.

“I don’t think that counts as beating you up.”

“Not everyone is as reluctant to dirty their hands as you are.”

“Are you sure it was their hands they were dirtying?” He’s walking closer again, and she resists the urge to skitter backwards until he reaches out like he’s going to lift her chin with his fingers and inspect the bruises again. His hands go back up in surrender when she jerks away before he can touch. “I’m sorry! I won’t touch. But Shadow…” He sucks in a deep breath, jaw clenching and unclenching. “Is that a boot print?”

She can feel it almost as clearly as if it’s happening right now and not a few hours ago. Her lying on the floor where she’d been struck down, Roderick looming over her. The tread of his boot pressing, pressing, pressing into her throat. The delighted smile on his face. Her body jerking without her permission, desperate to get away even as her mind tells her she’s not allowed to fight back. Realizing with sudden dread that he may actually completely crush her throat, either killing her or taking away her voice for good. The darkness slowly taking over her vision as her oxygen supply dwindles.

Kamaria inhales sharply as if to prove to herself that she still can and focuses back in on Brute’s face. “I still think you’re jealous.”

“No, I’m not jealous because I have no desire to do such a thing to you.” He sighs again, running a hand through his hair. “You’re just as stubborn as always. Would you actually tell me if something was wrong?”

No. “Nothing’s wrong.” She smiles a little, trying to reassure him. Nothing’s wrong, this is just how my life is.

He grumbles a little under his breath. “Fine. Can we at least call this done and go home, since you clearly don’t feel like being here? You can just nod, you don’t have to speak.”

Grateful but trying to seem nonchalant, she gives a distinct nod. 

“Good. I’ll see you around, Shadow. Take care of yourself.”

He turns to leave, and Kamaria begins walking in the direction she was heading before, toward the criminal’s place of work. 

“Excuse me, I’m fairly certain that’s not the way you should be going right now.” Brute is glaring at her, arms crossed. Again, being annoyingly good at his job when she really needs him to just let her be.

She gives him her best innocent stare, but he just points toward where she came from. “I won this fight. That means you go home and don’t cause any more trouble today.”

Giving up any pretense, she glares daggers at him and turns on her heel, marching away. She can hear him chuckling behind her, completely oblivious to the trouble he is causing for her. She won’t give up yet, though. Being late on a mission still means punishment - and a longer time until she can properly care for her wounds - but it’s far worse to fail the mission altogether. She’ll bide her time, take the long way around, and try her best to take out her mark without any of the heroes catching her this time. Maybe she’ll get lucky for the first time today and only get stress positions instead of a beating or another whipping.