#maybe i'd look into using a different brand. the knuckles are really good though it'd suck giving them up

[irbcallmefynn]

nothing like spending all of the money you have on steam on a replacement controller for your vr headset because the stick is busted!

yeah I've been wanting to play more vr for a long time but I've never wanted to deal with the stick drift and stick... twist? idk what you'd call it but the stick on the left controller of my index twists which is not correct. the replacement left controllers only got back in stock recently so i seized the opportunity and now ill be able to do vr again in like 3-5 days i think maybe.

yaaaayyyyy :333

[whumpingwithaquestionableauthor]

Speak- Lost Their Voice From Screaming

Set a few months before the start of To Soar With Vultures, about 14 years into Captivity. Rayla is 19, Jvar is 52

Cw: dehumanization, collars , possessive whumper, long term captivity, non con touching (not sexual), gendered slur, whumper providing comfort with bad intentions, mouth whump, burns

Entire story here

Taglist: @lave-whump

"I never got why you won't say a word to me." Jvar mused, speaking mostly to himself. It wasn't like Rayla had ever answered him, or even planned to.

He had her in his office again, resting against his desk as he wrote out Gods knew what. Her knees pressed against the cold tile, bruises comforted by the temperate. Rayla leaned the rest of her body sideways, pressing against the side of the desk. The shiny mahogany stood sturdy, not a single scratch or stain allowed to remain in the wood.

"I know your vocal chords aren't damaged. I know it isn't a language barrier." Jvar chuckled, and Rayla didn't even bother to look at him. Her left temple rested firmly against the desk, as if the wood would be enough to keep her frail, broken form upright. "A good dog is a well trained dog. One who listens."

A soft exhale fell from Rayla's lips. Had she not listened? Had she not obeyed enough yet? It'd been fourteen years of perfect silence and no resistance, how could he want more?

The smile came next. Her lips curled ever so slightly, the motion hidden by the curtain of dark hair that fell over her head, obscuring her face in scraggly strands. Rayla's hands curled, pads of her fingers pressing into the tile. She'd been listening. When he threatened her brother. When bragged about how much he had broken her. Oh how little he had known then. Oh how little he knew now.

Jvar reached over the side of his desk, grabbing onto the metal ring of Rayla's collar and pulling upward. She whined, pressure digging into her throat. Finally she gave in, head tilting up to look at him, even as her eyes stayed downwards focused on the grain of the wood. The empty eyed face was a comfortable mask to wear, slipping over her with the same familiarity as the muzzle often strapped over her jaw settled into the indentations on her face.

"I'm not asking for a lot, you stupid bitch." His brow furrowed, lip curling. Did her face disgust him? Did the monster he made disgust his majesty?

Why don't you fucking bite his face off?

The Akkator cackled, the old God filling her head with more useless ideas as always. What good would something like that even do? She was still locked up, still in chains. He still had her brother.

Jvar released his grip on her collar, and Rayla just gave into exhaustion, head falling into his desk. She winced, a new bruise surely forming on her forehead where she'd cracked it against the would. Of course, Jvar snorted, following it up with a sharp cackle.

"You stupid, stupid bitch." He rested his free hand in her head, petting her hair. Rayla whimpered, shuddering even as she pressed up into his hand. It wasn't possible to hate anyone more than she hated this man but...still the touch was soft. When did he ever touch her like this?

He's right then, if you're really going to enjoy this you are a stupid bitch.

Rayla bristled, biting down on a growl to not set Jvar off. Just because the voice in her head was one of a god, that didn't entitle him to say anything. To comment. He wasn't the one who'd had his family killed, he wasn't the one who'd been tortured.

Oh fucking calm yourself. I'm just teasing, you make this so damn boring.

Jvar's stroked the back of her neck, fingers unusually calloused for such a wealthy man. Rayla almost laughed at that. Based on his dress and jewelry, he'd never worked a day in his life. Whipping and beating weren't considered work.

"I could do this more often if you obeyed. Good dogs get rewarded." He laughed at his own words. "Ask me to reward you."

Rayla didn't reply. What had started as the defense for a scared child taken from her home had evolved over the years. He would hear her voice one day, of course. He'd get what he wanted.

Jvar would hear her speak on the day he died, the day she killed him as brutal and slow as he'd hurt her all these years.

"You should thank me." He continued to touch her as he spoke. "I made you strong. I made you a weapon. Something useful." He curled some of her hair around his finger, tugging gently.

Gently. That was an interesting word. A rarity. Rayla smiled against the desk, chapped lips pressed to the wood so he couldn't see. He wasn't a man to do things gently. He wanted something. He needed something from her.

That was the power in being underestimated. Not once had she seen him touch another prisoner like this, let his guard down enough to admit, even indirectly, that there was something his torture wasn't giving him. That there was a blind spot in the well oiled machine that brought pain.

"Your life could be so much better." His grip tightened, a subtle warning for her to give in. The ultimatum never changed- start begging and the pain would stop.

But did it ever stop? No. It didn't. It wouldn't.

Not until Jvar was dead and buried.

"I said your life could be so much better." Jvar repeated himself, as if the issue was that she couldn't hear. For someone so arrogant, he was one stupid fucker.

In a way he was right about her life. He'd left a letter opener out on his desk. She was faster than him, and it'd only take a second to reach out, grab the ornate, golden blade, and jam it right into his eye socket. A few twists and he'd never see again. Another stab through the throat and he'd never breathe again.

If it weren't for Rhyan chained up in some gods forsaken place, left to starve if jvar died, she'd have done it a million times over already.

"If there's anything left in your little skull, listen. I know I broke you, I know you're mostly empty, I know it's hard for you to think anymore. But I'm offering you mercy." Jvar's hand traveled higher, gently patting the crown of her head. "You've suffered, you've been remade by my brilliant hand, I can give you mercy now."

That bridge had already been burnt. Where was mercy when Jvar's men had brutalized her mother's body and left it hanging from a tree? Where was mercy every time she'd screamed and bled?

It'd shriveled up and died. No mercy for her, no mercy for Jvar.

Jvar kept scratching her head, almost like how one would scratch behind a dog's ear. "I'd allow you upstairs. Maybe a real bed. You'd be chained to it, I can't let you just roam around. And I'd feed you every day."

Rayla closed her eyes, feeling herself melting into Jvar's hand. It'd be so nice to live like that, and all she had to do was ask, probably with a please and sir thrown in for extra submission.

"That's it, my stupid little bitch." Jvar laughed, rubbing her head more. Of course he could tell how good this felt. "Ask me to reward you." With a hand under her chin, Jvar lifted up Rayla's head, offering out his other hand. "Kiss the ring and ask for mercy."

Slowly, Rayla leaned forward, pressing her lips to the band of gold around his ring finger, right above his knuckle. Hopefully it'd be enough, that the humiliation of the gesture would fulfill his quota for control. The ache in her bones and the emptiness in her stomach was more than enough of a reminder of how long she'd gone without the luxuries Jvar taunted her with.

"Do you have anything to say?" A dark chuckle floated off of Jvar's tongue. Rayla met him with the same wall of silence as always. He'd taken her body, he'd taken her freedom, he'd taken her humanity.

Not her mind. Was it that much to ask that there was one bit of her that he didn't get to take?

The bed would feel so nice though. Rayla swallowed a wistful sigh, letting her body tense, forcing away the comfort. Weapons didn't need beds and food and kindness. Weapons didn't want such luxuries.

There we go, I was waiting for you to come back to reality

"Fine then. Open your mouth and lift your head. Bad dogs get fucking punished." Jvar yanked her head up, reaching for a bottle of liquor before she could comply. There it was again, the truth, the pain that was always lurking.

Pain is pain is pain. Pain is pain is pain.

Whatever he did, she would endure. Even as she shook, body already anticipating the agony, she would endure.

Rayla flinched, jerking back at the first splash of whiskey down her throat. It burnt, not like a brand but different. Rayla didn't dare swallow. That was one of the things she'd learnt from all her years of listening-he didn't like being resisted.

"I gave you a fucking chance for mercy. But, you're always going to be a stupid fucking bitch." Rayla was so captured by the rage seepening from Jvar's face that she missed the reach of his hand out of her sight, and then the flick of the wrist that followed.

It was impossible to miss the candle flame pressed to the alcohol on her tongue.

In an instant he dropped her, leaving Rayla to writhe on the ground in burning agony. Flesh bubbled up in her mouth, tongue melting to the roof.

Pain is pain is pain. Fresh tears gushed from her eyes, soaking her face in salt. She tried to scream, tried to force anything from her throat but nothing more than hoarse rasps escaped.

Pain is pain is pain.

That didn't cover the taste of her charred flesh.

Pain is pain is pain.

Or the salt of the tears she drank in her frantic rush to scream.

Pain is pain is pain.

Or Jvar's smug grin as he pressed a foot down on her back, forcing her even lower.

Maybe she should've abandoned her brother and just grabbed the letter opener.

You should've