#sorry nemi the branding would be later in this alternate scenario but i just wanted some carved mark action

[my-whumpy-little-heart]

▶Hey there Floyd why don'tcha burn yourself and ruin that lovely brand Percival gave you. I'm *sure* he won't give you another one. Yeah :)

Ohh boy, thank you so much for this ask Nemi. The response got out of hand, as always, but it was a ton of fun to write. This is completely non-canon, but linking the masterlist for the rest of Persistence for context.

Content warnings: forced self-harm and general discussion of/brief loss of autonomy due to outside forces, burning/branding, creepy/intimate whumper, mild gore (some description of blood, cuts, burns), and the narrator is played as a character in the story.

Specific warning that you are in the point of view of the person who gave the command here. They are remorseless and actively help the whumper for a brief period. Proceed with caution if that could be upsetting to you. ————————————

Floyd’s eyes go wider with every word you say.

“Nhh- no. No. That’s- you’re…” He looks down at you in complete disbelief and denial. The mere thought of doing what you commanded sends his heart racing with immeasurable fear, intense hatred, and the tiniest shred of forbidden desire.

���You can’t possibly mean that. Please, you don’t-” You cut him off, knowing he’ll keep prattling on if you don’t, and insist that you do very much mean what you said. Every single word of it. Floyd doesn’t listen- can’t listen to you.

“You don’t know how he is. What he would do if I- if I- I can’t,” he throws his hands down resolutely, but his voice is shaking and his expression is uncertain. Floyd feels the immense power radiating from you. The air is thick with it, making it difficult to breathe with the command incessantly weighing on him. On some level, he understands the luxury of declining an order and knows he will not have it here. 

He’s silent for a few seconds, held back as your words take root in him and control wiggles another inch out of his grasp. Floyd moves as the command urges him to, if only out of the desire to maintain some desperate authority over his own actions. He reaches up to the collar with his shackled hands first, feeling along the back of it in hopes that the locking mechanism has come undone and he’ll simply be able to slip it off. It’s... not. 

A few tugs on the leather does nothing but chafe against constantly irritated sores: a sharp pain dulled by repetition. Floyd looks to you as if he’s going to make some half-hearted comment about how he can’t do this with the magic restrictor on, or ask what you think he should do, but his mind has already plotted out his options for him, is already gathering magic within him that makes the collar buzz in anticipation. 

He’s staring at the metal shackles, now. The length of chain between them that stretches just far enough to reach both sides of his chest. He recognizes their untapped potential, as much as he wishes he didn’t. A bare hand of fire could surely do the trick, but a flame on its own is far too unwieldy. He’d have to hold it longer, reign in flickering tendrils, potentially move it across the brand…

As excruciating as the metal branding had been, replicating that scenario would be the easiest choice. 

“What did I ever do to you?” Floyd’s voice cracks as he pushes against Percival’s seal, letting the heat of his magic spill and flow to his hands, clutching the chain between the shackles. “I- I’ve never even met you, you aren’t a member of his crew… why are you doing this to me? I can’t usually sense magic but I feel your power, it’s- it’s incredible, I’m sure you could choose to do anything with it. So why this? Why- aAAH-!” He doubles over, unable to speak as a scream forces its way out.

You stand silently, watching the magic restrictor finally kick in at full force. Floyd tenses up, muscles in his arms and shoulders twitching as he rides out waves of uncontrollable pain, still pouring magic into the shackles which are now glowing a faint red. It’s a vicious cycle, but eventually the pain stagnates and Floyd peels his eyes back open to glare at you. They’re crazed and glassy. They’re beautiful.

“Well?! Please, if you won’t let me stop, if you’re really going to let this happen to me, just tell me why!” Every word shakes, wet with tears in his throat. A sheen of sweat coats his skin. The metal is almost orange, and you can feel the heat from where you’re standing only a few feet away.

You shrug and grin, thoroughly enjoying yourself by this point. You may not be affiliated with Percival, you explain, but you admire his work. And it’s not your fault that Floyd happens to be such a perfect subject to display it on.

“You, you’re… hhhhnnh- you’re sick,” Floyd spits, crying out again when the pain ramps up. 

Yeah, you nod, holding back a laugh. That just about sums it up. 

Floyd is panting audibly now, his efforts exhausting him completely. You see his own magical power draining, only supported by the sheer willpower and necessity of your command. The metal was hot enough long ago, which both Floyd and you had recognized, but he hadn’t been able to press it against his own skin. With nowhere else to go, the magic heated it more and more.

Two feet separate Floyd’s brand and the bright orange shackles trying to singe his hands as he lets go of his magic, the restrictor finally settling as well. Any pain left is a penetrating soreness, but far more pleasant than what he’d endured for the better part of a few minutes. 

You tease him, ask him what he’s waiting for now, and are seriously considering just burning him yourself when someone else bursts into the room. It’s sudden and loud, and Floyd startles, losing his focus on resistance for just long enough that the command takes a secure hold, shoving his hands against his chest, stretching the chain across the brand, and keeping it there. 

Floyd wails, crashing down to his knees. Percival is standing by the door, disbelief quickly melting away in favor of rage. He stalks over, tears Floyd’s hands away from the brand as he only screams louder, and shoves him down on his front. Percival either can’t see you or didn’t care to take note of your presence, and you continue to watch as he berates his captive.

“What the hell was that?! Hm? Care to fucking explain yourself, Benedict?”

Floyd writhes under him, trying to get heavy pressure off of the fresh burn as Percival’s heel grinds him into the ground. He can’t even seem to form words yet, so soon after the burn. Hysterical laughter bubbles up in Percival’s throat, not quite quashed by the fury still radiating off of him. 

“You had better have a damn good reason for this,” he says, flipping Floyd to lay on his back and straddling his waist instead. One arm pins Floyd’s wrists above his head, keeping the hot metal far away from the rest of his vulnerable body, and exposing the damage done.Torn skin is already beginning to welt up, and the original brand is almost completely ruined. 

“Not only did you use your magic, but you used it to put yourself in danger and mutilate the mark I so lovingly bestowed upon you,” he sneers, tracing fingers over the pale, irritated skin. Floyd jerks away at every touch, shaking his head and sobbing.

“No, p-please- AAAAH! Please! I didn’t ha-ave a choice! I promise I didn’t- I didn’t want this, I would never want this!” Tears spill down his cheeks and he can’t bear to look Percival in the eye as he pleads, squeezing his shut instead. 

“You can’t lie to me, Benedict. I see how you look at my mark. How you cover it, try to pretend it’s not even there... It was only a matter of time before you tried to get rid of it, wasn’t it?” 

“Not like this…” Floyd pants, “It hu-urts, it hurts so much, I- I can’t, I couldn’t-”

“But you did. You’re just regretting it, as you should.” Percival shrugs and Floyd shakes his head again, sobbing harder. “No sense in crying over it now, darling; you’ll need to save a few tears for when I can fix this proper.”

Floyd’s eyes fly open wide. He’d expected it, of course. He should have been ready to hear those words and brace for that pain all over again. But he wasn’t.

“Nhh…” He can’t even force out a word before Percival presses especially hard on the burn and he shrieks. 

“Yes. But I think you’ve done quite enough damage yourself for one day, don’t you agree?” Percival sits back as Floyd nods, reaching into his pocket. 

“You there,” Percival says without turning his head, and it takes you a moment to realize he’s talking to you. You swallow hard, greeting him when Percival finally looks you over. “Hold him down.”

You nod and do so gladly as he draws a small, sturdy knife from his boot. The wooden handle is beautifully engraved, and you can’t help but admire it as you settle your hands on Floyd’s shoulders, leaning your weight against his frantic struggles. He’s trembling and breathing hard as the tip of the knife approaches his skin. 

“What- what are you- please don’t, please please please...” Floyd’s voice fades to a reedy whisper.

“This is just a temporary solution,” Percival says as he dips the knife into the middle of his marred insignia, carving out along the figure eight. 

Floyd screams, voice breaking off in intervals, and he pulls against you in a weak effort to get away. Blood drips down from the wound, only serving to dirty his chest further. Percival is efficient, carving beautiful curves through ruined skin, and when he drags the finishing lines down Floyd’s chest, the man finally goes limp. 

With the command finally fulfilled, you fade away, saluting Percival and smiling wide as you go.