Destroyer - Marks
(Masterlist)
girl help i can't stop making bonus content
this is set right around Part XIII, in regard to the “I should probably give you more visible marks.” comment.
(Content: living weapon whumpee, obedient whumpee, somewhat reluctant whumper, dehumanization, power imbalances, physical abuse, minor blood, brief drug mention, death mention)
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He got approximately ten million fucking emails calling him an arsonist, or telling him that the experiment is an accident waiting to happen, or asking why he was letting the A-bomb walk around off-leash, why he was letting the bomb walk at all. Accusations he wouldn’t dare repeat. It was all so stupid. Delta was good. Paris never worried about him fragging. But the appearance of insubordination was damning all on its own. It was not a good situation.
Unfortunately, the messages kept coming. From staff he actually respected, too. People he needed. He didn’t even know how word reached them that quickly. He sometimes forgot just how scared they were of Delta. It had never been a popular project. That night, he received many requests for him to be killed outright. Not fucking happening.
Fucking Nezu telling him what to do with his fucking psychic. He was more mad about that than he ever could have been at Delta. That was why he’d gone easy on him. It gave him serious pause whenever his wants overlapped with Nezu’s — sometimes enough to evaporate them completely. He really wasn’t in the mood.
Something had to be done though, by the time the next meeting rolled around. They had to know that Delta had been punished for it, that Paris didn’t just let him get away with everything.
Delta didn’t fight him on it — not that he’d expected him too. He kneeled in front of the desk like he’d been asked. Paris leaned back against it, hitting the pen a few more times than he needed to.
Delta looked bad. That day had been the only time Paris had ever seen him cry — even weeks later, he hadn’t seemed to recover from it. His eyes were still so pleading, in a way they’d never been before. It was unsettling.
Paris readjusted the only ring he wore on his right hand. It was sapphire — and it was clean. There wasn’t any reason to drag it out. He tilted Delta’s face up a little, tucking the slick hair back behind the webbed fin of his ear.
“Hold still.” He didn’t want to hit his eye by accident. The jewel was sharp.
He backhanded him hard across the face. Harder than he would have normally. It needed to bruise.
Delta’s head was forced sharply to one side. His hair fell back in his face, totally obscuring it when he looked down at the floor. He didn’t outwardly react, but his next breaths came out shallow and shaky. Yeah, that hurt.
Paris cupped his face again, moving it back up to examine the injury. It’d landed where he wanted it to — a thin cut right along his cheekbone. He could see the spot where the bruise would form over the next couple hours. Delta winced. Paris gently smoothed over the flushed skin with his thumb.
“I’m sorry.” Delta’s voice was quiet. It was all he would say recently.
“I know.”
It was hard to be mad at him when he was so clearly repentant. When he was being this good about it. Paris released him. He’d planned on hitting him across the other side of his face as well, in the interest of covering all his angles. It didn’t feel worth it anymore.
“Hand.”
Delta placed his hand gingerly into Paris’s own. Paris tightened his grip around it, supporting the palm beneath so that it’d absorb the full force of it. Knuckles facing up. Paris reached back for the ruler left out on the desk.
It cracked down hard against his knuckles, fast enough that he didn’t really have time to flinch. His injured hand reflexively tightened around Paris’s in the aftermath; it was the only real physical reaction he’d had. His claws dug painfully into Paris’s hand, not yet breaking the skin.
Paris released his grip on the hand. Delta’s hand relaxed and the claws withdrew, but he didn’t pull it back like he’d expected. He just left it resting there in his grasp.
“Other one.”
He offered it without resistance. Same routine. Paris brought the ruler back down over his other hand, watching as the first signs of bruising appeared upon them. He placed the ruler back down and released his grip on Delta’s hand.
“Done.”
There wasn’t much else to do, really. Delta was always dressed in long sleeves and ceremonial garb. For the most part, only his face and hands were exposed on vanguard days. It was enough, though. His expression alone was enough. If he just stayed like that, he’d be fine.
Delta folded both of his hands back into his lap, bright purple and blue against the pale white of clothes. His hair fell messily in his face, but parts of his eyes were still visible. He was still looking at Paris in that desperate, shell-shocked way.
“…Easy. You’re fine.” Paris didn’t know what to say to make him normal again. “The sting will be gone in a few minutes.”
For the hands, anyway, though the numbness would remain. The mark on his face would hurt a lot longer.
Delta nodded slowly. A small amount of blood appeared by the cut.
Paris gestured for him to lean forward again. Delta did so, cringing a little. Paris pressed a tissue against his cheek to stop the bleeding. He sighed as it bled straight through.
“…You want a bandaid?” He offered. The bruise would still be visible beneath it.
“Yeah.” His voice was barely audible. He took the tissue from Paris, keeping the pressure there.
Paris disappeared for a moment, loudly knocking shit over in the overfilled medicine cabinet. He came back with the split bandage. Delta held still as he applied it over the cut, smoothing it out against his cheek. It was pale white, the same color as his clothes, standing out sharply against the dark blue of his skin.
“…Thank you,” Delta said quietly. Sweetly. It fucking killed him sometimes.
Paris felt something strange in the pit of his stomach. He ignored it. He made a small, noncommittal noise as he discarded the paper into the trash.
Delta touched the side of his face gently with the newly discolored fingers. Bruises on bruises. He put his hand abruptly back into his lap when Paris looked at him, as if he’d gotten caught.
“We’re done.” Paris waved him off, sliding the ruler back into the drawer. The pen was starting to kick in. He was getting lightheaded.
Delta rose slowly, giving something like a curtsy before he left. Or maybe his legs were just unsteady. Paris didn’t really care.
The door closed quietly. Paris slid the lock shut. He pressed his forehead against the wood grain. Definitely lightheaded.
……
tags:
@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @vivulapom @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump
@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire
@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety
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AND ANOTHER THING WHILE IM ON THE TOPIC
I feel like Knuckles the series is another one of those times that Tails was right there, and what I mean by this, is Wade should not have been in the focus of the show, sorry don't care lol. He's a fine side character, incompetent white man who doesn't do anything well and never gets consequences for it is fine, but we didn't need another show centered around that topic.
Now, I may be biased bc Tails is my favorite but if we needed to give Knuckles a journey about learning to find home and we needed to give him a powerful sidekick who also learns a lesson, Tails is right there. Tails, who grew up without a family entirely/a family who hated him is learning to accept a new family, and Knuckles, who had an entire family but lost them all is accepting that it's okay to find a new one. That literally could've been the plot and we could've kept all the shenanigans that happened, minus the Wade Whipple bowling tournament plot, and the copaganda.
The elder guardians would've loved for Tails (or even Sonic, or ffs MADDIE) to be the newest successors of their tribe, and he would've been perfect for it. A young, hopeful, bright mind, still malleable to learn the ways of the tribe and no ego to get in the way, and an overall good kid.
Plus I feel like what most of us want is to see the boys interact, not some random white guy.
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