#cw beating

[schmoes-and-daves]

The fact that I don't have him cornered in an alleyway on his hands and knees trembling while muttering "I HATE YOu I HATE Y0U I H[Ate] YOU" between his clenched teeth with as much vitriol his half conscious mind can muster is devastating.

[whump-in-the-closet]

“What hurts more?” A swing of the crowbar. “This?” Whumper paused, and then another, across the back of Whumpee’s knees. “or that?”

[unforgivenn]

SHACKLED BY ROYALTY

#6: Bruised and broken

Previous/ Masterlist

CW: captivity, slavery, abuse, violence, blood, broken bones, traumaaaa ^^, pet whump, power dynamics, Overall Noah being a sad boy

Andrey threw the weeping boy on the floor as soon as they reached Andrey's room. He raked his hands through his hair in frustration, circling in the room. Rage pulsed through him like a storm, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles turned white.

Noah cowered on the ground, tears mingling with blood on his bruised face. He dared a glance up, but the look in Andrey's eyes sent a shiver down his spine. Fear choked him, but he couldn't stop the small whimper that escaped his lips.

"Not another word out of you if you want to keep all your limbs intact." Andrey's voice was a low growl, filled with barely contained rage.

Noah clamped his mouth shut, his body trembling. He had never seen Andrey this furious. If this was a cartoon, he was sure Andrey's ears would blow steam. The older boy's eyes were wild, his movements erratic as he paced the room like a caged animal. As if Noah wasn't the one who should be frustrated right now.

"Do you have any idea what you've done?" Andrey spat, stopping to glare at Noah. "Talking back to me in front of our parents? Do you enjoy making me look like a fool?"

Noah shook his head vehemently, his heart pounding. He had only wanted to defend himself, to plead for mercy, but it seemed every word he spoke only made things worse.

"You think you're special, don't you?" Andrey continued, his voice rising. "You think you can get away with anything. I can have you replaced within a second y'know?"

"I-I'm sorry," Noah stammered, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I didn't mean to... I was just..."

But before he could finish his sentence, Andrey's hand came crashing across his face with a sharp crack. Pain exploded behind Noah's eyes, and he stumbled backward, his cheek throbbing where Andrey's hand had struck him.

"Pathetic," Andrey sneered. "You can't even take a hit without crying."

He grabbed Noah by the collar, hauling him to his feet. "You're going to learn respect, Noah. You're going to learn your place in this family."

He let Noah fall down again, his burnt shoulder painfully connecting with a ground, making him let out another cry in pain. Noah flinched violently as Andrey's boot connected with his stomach, the pain shooting through him like a bolt of lightning. Pain exploded through Noah's gut, stealing his breath. He doubled over, gasping for air, but there was no respite. Andrey's boot connected with Noah's ribs, each kick driving the air from his lungs.

"S-Sto- Stop-" Noah's eyes widened, his vision blurred with tears as Andrey pulled him up punching him hard , sending his face reeling back.

"Look at you. Still thinking as if you can give me orders." With a sickening thud, Andrey's fist collided with Noah's jaw, snapping his head back with brutal force. Noah tasted blood, hot and metallic on his tongue. He tried to scream, but no sound came out, only a strangled shout.

He was sure that the fucking stitches had opened up again.

"Please," Noah croaked, barely audible through his pain. "Please, stop..."

But his pleas only seemed to fuel Andrey's rage. He grabbed Noah by the hair, yanking him upright and slamming him against the wall. Noah's head cracked against the stone, sending a new wave of dizziness and pain crashing over him. He smashed his head in the wall again, making stars shoot up in his vision.

"You don't get to beg," Andrey snarled, his face inches from Noah's. "You don't get to plead for mercy. You haven't earned it."

He released Noah, letting him crumple to the floor in a heap. Noah's body was a mass of agony, every nerve screaming in protest as he tried to curl into a protective ball. But the bastard wasn't done. He kicked Noah's legs out from under him, sending him sprawling flat on his back. Before Noah could react, Andrey was on him, straddling his chest and raining down blows with mercilessly.

Each punch was a thunderclap. His vision blurred, blood and tears mingling as he fought to stay conscious. He could feel his body breaking under Andrey's assault, could hear the sickening crunch of bone and the wet smack of flesh meeting flesh. With the amount of pain he was feeling right now, he was damn sure that Andrey had broken a few of his ribs.

In his mind, Noah's thoughts were a chaotic jumble of pain and despair. Why? Why was this happening? What had he done to deserve such cruelty? He had only wanted to be heard, to stand up for himself, and now he was paying the price in blood.

"S-St'hp.. St'hp.. 'm sorry.." Noah sobbed uncontrollably. He didn't know how much longer he could take it. He just wanted the sweet mercy of unconsciousness to be taken over him.

But Andrey showed no signs of stopping. His fists continued to pummel Noah's face, his body, each blow driving Noah further into the depths of agony. Noah's world was shrinking, narrowing down to the relentless rhythm of pain and the overwhelming fear that this would never end.

As Andrey's fists finally slowed, Noah lay there, broken and beaten, his body a canvas of bruises and blood. The room around him was a blur, the pain in his body a constant, throbbing reminder of his place in the world. He could barely think, could barely breathe, every breath a struggle, every movement a fresh wave of torment.

Andrey stood over him, breathing heavily, his knuckles bloodied from the assault. "You are going to learn your place, pet. And if I need to beat it into you, so be it."

Noah didn't respond. He couldn't. He squinted his eyes as if to clear out his vision. He tried speaking but only incohorent mumbling of 'sorry's' came out of him. He just lay there, eyes closed, tears streaming down his face, his body trembling with the aftershocks of the beating. He could barely register Andrey calling the guards. He could barely register the sound of footsteps coming towards him. What was happening?

Noah let out a small whimper when someone held him. Kindly. He couldn't help but lean into the touch desperate for warmth. Damian looked down at young boy with wide pitiful eyes.

"W-What did you do to him..?" He looked at Andrey.

"He needed to know discipline. You should just focus on your work of patching him up."

Damian was... traumatized to say the least. This boy. This boy who was shivering and crying in his arms. This boy who was fucking practically covered in blood was too young to go through this. Fuck it, no one should go through this but Damian knew better than to refuse the heir to Russia. Damian looked back down at Noah, when he made a feeble attempt to speak, his voice was so quiet that Damian had to lean in close just to listen what he was trying to say.

"'m s-so sorry.. 'm srry.. i'm sorry.. i'm sorry.. p-please.. 'm sorry"

Next

Taglist: @miireux134 @nuriiz134 @ash-reh @noeul-whumpsss @morning-star-whump

@parasitebunny @anutz1234 @whatwasmyprevioususername @whumped-by-glitter @lordcatwich

@someoneoninternettt @natthebatt @noeul-whumpppssssss1234(let me know if you want to be added or removed :D)

[nana2009]

nana im sick please show karkat suffering thank you

you're in luck dear, karkat suffering is my favorite thing ever! ^u^

[athoth-from-athoth]

Day 8.

[whump-card]

Sunless Lives Part 33: I Need to Survive

~2840 words

CW: negative self-talk, beating, broken bones, attempted murder, torture, vampire whump, gunshots, vampire feeding, vomit, mouth whump, non-sexual throat fuck with a foreign object??? fellas…

Also NO main character death!

First, Previous, Next, Masterlist

~~~

“Mr Bowers, where are we going?”

Bowers glanced at Simon in the rearview.

“You’ll see.”

Simon huddled in the back seat as Bowers drove. He swore, he was never getting into the backseat of a car ever again. But he’d had no choice in this case; Bowers was a grade B vampire, and could easily snap Simon in half if he wanted to. Running was not an option on his ruined feet. Simon had let the vampire tuck him into the backseat and buckle him in like a child, and could only hope that cooperating would make whatever was about to happen as painless as possible.

He was doing his best to not think about what might be coming, but with Bowers refusing to answer his questions Simon had nothing to do but think as he shivered in the backseat. The rain had turned the May night cold, and Simon’s thin pajamas did little to keep him warm.

What if he’s taking you to an initiation.

Simon watched Bowers carefully, and waited until he was looking away while making a turn to feel the item Nora had dropped into his pocket.

What if they’re going to pin you down and -

It was a small metal and glass square. An MP3 player? A smartwatch? Simon didn’t want to take it out and look.

He’s not preybonded to you and Lara’s rules are gone, he can kill you. He can kill you.

“Please,” His voice was steadier than he expected, “Tell me what’s happening.”

“I would,” Bowers replied flatly, “But you wouldn’t like it.”

Yeah, no shit.

Matthew wouldn’t have let this happen.

Simon screwed his eyes shut, flinching from the pang of guilt.

Matthew-the-vampire wouldn’t have let this happen. He’s human now, and that’s a good thing. Whatever happens is worth it. Him being human and alive is worth it.

You’re not.

You’re not worth it.

Simon stared out the window and hoped against hope that the square meant help was coming.

~~~

“We can’t just run off without authorization!” Amber yelled.

“Bowers could discover they’re being tracked any second!” Matthew bellowed, “We’re leaving now!”

He and Gina burst out of the stairwell and into the parking garage, Amber chasing after them.

“You’re going to get yourselves killed!” she shrieked.

“What if they get on a plane, huh?” Matthew snapped at her, “What if they go somewhere we can’t follow?”

“We will figure it out!”

They reached Gina’s car and Gina opened the passenger side.

“We can’t wait for Dune to decide that Simon’s worth it,” Matthew kept arguing while Gina searched through her glove box, “I’m not letting him be taken again.”

“Neither am I.” Gina rejoined him, loading a pistol.

“But Bowers is a grade B, he…” Amber’s outrage melted into fear. “With only the two of you against him… He’ll kill you.”

“You could make it three.”

“I…” Amber slowly shook her head.

“You’re a fucking coward, Amber,” Gina spat.

“No, I’m not!” Amber’s voice echoed through the garage, louder and angrier than they had ever heard. “You think anyone will come after you if I go with you? I need to be here, to convince them to send you guys backup!”

Gina and Matthew exchanged a glance. Amber was right - she was the only one in a position to sway the VIU.

“Here.” Amber unstrapped her holster from around her waist and handed it and the gun it held to Matthew.

“Thanks,” he said, softening.

“Just… Survive as long as you can, and I will send backup ASAP.”

Amber stepped out of the way and watched as Gina’s car pulled out of the parking garage.

Then she sprinted back into the building, determined to do what she could.

~~~

Simon slammed into the ground, bruising his knees and scraping his palms raw on the wet asphalt.

“Get up,” Bowers ordered, closing the car door.

“I can’t!” Simon gasped. Bowers grabbed his arm and hauled him upright. He was done playing games. Simon cried out when his feet were forced to touch the ground, but no one was around to hear him.

They were in some sort of warehouse district; massive buildings loomed out of the dark around them, and Simon hadn’t seen a soul on their way in. Whatever Bowers needed this level of privacy for couldn’t be good. Simon’s earlier shocked calm, necessitated to keep Nora alive, had worn off and now he was truly terrified, trembling in Bowers’ grip.

Bowers half dragged, half walked Simon to the door of the warehouse he’d pulled his car up in front of. He threw open the unlocked door and shoved Simon through. Simon fell into the dark, bruising his limbs a second time as he tried to brace his landing. A moment later lights flickered on above him; he was surrounded by sky-high shelves full of plastic-wrapped boxes. He rolled over to look at Bowers, still posed by the light switch. Simon’s heart pounded and his breath came fast.

“Here’s where I come clean.” Bowers reached down and plucked up a length of pipe from where it leaned against the wall, as if waiting for him. It was about three feet long and two inches in diameter, and made of aged dark metal. The ends glinted bright where they were sawn off. 

Bowers started to take leisurely steps towards Simon, who began to pull himself backward along the floor, eyes glued to the pipe.

No.

“Everyone’s noticed by now, since the humans got the cure, and our man Yarl is out, the vampires being caught the fastest are the ex-clients of one Miss Lara Everett.” He twirled the pipe around. “That’s no good for us. No good for business.”

Simon rolled over onto his hands and knees, desperate to get away, to get away faster.

“But of course, none of them can kill you… Not directly, anyway. But I can. So I’m cleaning up, Simon. I took care of Isles and… You’re next.”

Simon froze, petrified.

Christian… dead?

YOU’RE NEXT.

Charged with adrenaline, Simon dug his feet into the floor and ran. The pain ripped a cry out of his throat. He made it two steps before the pain in his feet and his overworked legs made him stumble. His skinned palms crashed into the concrete floor yet again, then his elbow when his right wrist collapsed. But Simon moved through the pain, pushing himself up onto his left hand and his battered knees with a gasp. He could still move, he could still -

Bowers’ shoe stomped into his back, flattening him back to the floor. Simon twisted his head to look up, one cheek pressed against the concrete. Bowers leaned down, putting more weight on Simon’s back and ribcage.

“And since I have to do it anyway,” he smiled, “I may as well enjoy it.” He stepped off of Simon and raised the pipe. Simon twisted his body to the side.

“Please, don’t-!”

The vampire brought the pipe down with a tremendous clang onto Simon’s left hip and a crack shot through Simon’s pelvis. Simon shrieked as the pain lanced up his spine and down his legs like white hot fire. He had no time to process the hit before the pipe came down again, smashing into his femur with a crunch. Simon tried to curl up, to hide from the excruciating pain, to expel it through his mouth, but the next hit shattered his left shoulder blade. His existence felt like one unending screech of agony as he writhed on the concrete under Bowers’ merciless gaze. Bile rose in his throat and he gagged, desperate to fall unconscious, desperate for it to end. He couldn’t even form the words to beg. He could only breathe, scream, breathe, scream.

I don’t want to die.

I don’t want to die.

I don’t want to die.

“Fuck, you’re loud!” Bowers shouted over Simon’s ceaseless wailing, “Let’s see what we can do about that!”

He seized Simon by the neck and dragged him upright, his back against Bowers’ legs. This sent new waves of pain through Simon’s body as displaced nerves jostled against bone crushed against muscle. Bowers shifted his grip to Simon’s jaw, pulling his already screaming mouth open wider. He lifted the metal rod and shoved the end of it into Simon’s mouth, and pushed, the sharp metal edges tearing, ripping, scraping at the delicate tissue of Simon’s cheeks, his tongue, his throat, as Bowers forced the rod in further, not caring what damage he caused. Simon choked, on the rod, on the blood, on bits of flesh. His screams were finally stifled as he struggled to breathe. His arms flopped uselessly. His eyes rolled.

“Better,” Bowers grunted, “Much better.” He yanked the rod out, splattering blood, and dropped Simon back to the floor where he heaved and choked and spat out blood and chunks of his own throat. Gone was the screaming; now Simon could only agonizingly gag and wheeze.

Bowers raised the rod once more and brought it down on Simon’s right shoulder. Simon’s whole body jerked, but the only sound he made was a horrifying gurgle. He shouldn’t still be awake. He shouldn’t still be alive. It wasn’t fair, wasn’t fair, wasn’t fair. His brain reverted to primeval instincts: The danger is behind you. Crawl.

Simon dug his fingernails into the concrete and dragged himself, inch by inch, forward. It was the only thing he could do. Maybe, somehow, he could crawl away from the pain. Leave it behind.

Bowers stood back and watched Simon struggle, clawing at the floor until his fingernails broke. Going nowhere.

He laughed, and it echoed throughout the building.

BANG!

Matthew fired from where he stood by the door, gun raised and eyes full of fire. Bowers spun, his hand flying to his shoulder where blood burst from a bullet wound. He crouched and sprang back, taking shelter in an isle of shelves as another shot rang out. Matthew cursed and lowered his weapon, running forward towards Simon. Gina hung back, watching the room like a hawk. Matthew fell to his knees at Simon’s side.

Simon was lying face-down on the ground, silent and still. Blood seeped out of his mouth and bandages around his feet were stained red. Horribly dark and discolored blotches of skin peeked out from his t-shirt. His left leg lay at a sickening angle. Bruises littered his arms; his nails were cracked and bleeding.

“No, Simon…” Matthew reached out to touch him.

“Matthew, look out!” Gina shouted.

Matthew looked up and saw the vampire charging towards him, pipe raised, moving at an unnaturally fast pace. Matthew had just enough time to duck, and he felt the rush of air and heard a faint whistle as the pipe whizzed over his head. A second later and his brains would have been bashed in. Bowers kept sprinting past him, and shots rang out as Gina tried to hit him before he disappeared back into the stacks of boxes.

“Shit, he’s too fast, I can’t hit him!” she yelled.

Matthew stood, staring at the isle Bowers had disappeared into. He pulled his phone out of his pocket with a shaking hand.

“I need to call an ambulance now or it might not arrive in time - Gina!”

Gina turned in time to see Bowers making a run at her out of the stacks. She stood her ground, aiming and firing as he approached. Her shot landed in his chest, but he was unphased, and swung the pipe as he passed her. With no time left to dodge, Gina was hit squarely in the stomach and knocked to the ground. Her body convulsed as she dry heaved and gasped for the air that had been knocked out of her.

“Gina!” If she was down, Bowers would make his next blow a killing one. Matthew started to sprint over to her, but he heard inhumanly quick footsteps behind him. He started to turn but was hit squarely in the right arm.

“Ahhg!”

Pain erupted as his humerus snapped. His arm spasmed and his gun clattered to the floor. He stumbled and only caught a glimpse of Bowers as he vanished back into the maze of warehouse shelves. Matthew looked around wildly, at Gina, struggling to stand, at Simon, a mangled mess on the floor. He couldn’t protect both of them - he couldn’t protect either of them

Bowers was too fast.

Too powerful.

He was going to kill them.

Breathing hard through the pain, Matthew stuffed his phone back into his pocket and scooped up the gun in his left hand. Amber’s gun.

She wasn’t going to get there in time.

He heard Gina scream - a shriek of true fear, something he’d never heard from her before that poured ice down his spine - and he could only watch as Bowers flitted past her and knocked her from where she had just started to stand up back to the concrete with a horrible clang. She lay frighteningly still, a red gash at her temple. Bowers was already gone.

Matthew raised his weapon and spun around, frantically searching for Bowers. His right arm dangled, useless and excruciating. He heard footsteps, but in the large echoing building he had no way of pinpointing their location. They grew louder, faster, and Matthew pivoted to see Bowers rushing towards him, his eyes full of bloodlust and his knuckles white where they gripped the pipe. Matthew fired haphazardly, the first shot flying over Bowers’ shoulder and the second one hitting home in the center of his chest. Bowers finally stumbled, and instead of hitting Matthew with the pipe the vampire tackled him, pressing the pipe down over his throat. Matthew caught it with the heel of his good hand, still holding the gun, but was only able to resist the downward pressure for a moment before the vampire’s superior strength won out and the pipe pressed down on Matthew’s throat. Bowers held the pipe down with one hand and easily plucked the gun away from Matthew with the other, tossing it aside.

Matthew couldn’t breathe. He wheezed and reached up to claw fruitlessly at Bowers’ face. Bowers only smiled, baring his fangs, and bore down on the pipe harder.

“Not so tough now that you’ve been cured, huh?”

Matthew’s legs kicked uselessly against the floor. Bowers held him pinned there for what felt like an eternity. Matthew felt the air in his blood running out as his raised arm wavered and collapsed and his legs stopped moving. Spots filled his vision.

Suddenly the pressure lifted, and Matthew was able to suck in a stinging lungful of air. The relief lasted less than seconds, though, as the pipe was replaced by fangs. They sank into Matthew’s neck, and his chestful of air rushed out of him in a strangled cry. He was able to breath a little now, and movement returned to his limbs, but he could only wriggle and push at the vampire to no effect as Bowers fed, holding Matthew’s neck still with his teeth and his hands on Matthew’s shoulders.

Matthew had never been bitten before. It was expected to happen eventually in his line of work, but senior agents had always warned him: there’s no way of preparing for it.

There’s no way it won’t stick with you.

It’s slower than you think.

As Bowers leeched his vitality from him, Matthew found he could turn his head, ever so slightly, and look around. First to Gina, still motionless on the floor. Then over to Simon, his head in a pool of blood.

He could only be grateful he was dying among friends.

He began to feel cold, and dizzy. He lifted his hand to look at it: pale white and shaking. He could only hold it up for a second before it slumped to the floor. He refocused, as best as he was able, on Simon, who now looked very far away.

I’m so sorry. He couldn’t tell if he was thinking, or speaking, or just mouthing the words.

It shouldn’t have ended like this.

Not for you.

You deserved better.

I love you.

Bowers lifted away from him, and Matthew felt the blood run down his neck.

He must be done.

I must be dead.

Then he heard a horrible hacking cough. With great effort, Matthew rolled his head to look at Bowers.

The vampire was doubled over, clutching his chest, gagging and sputtering.

“No,” Bowers cried out, “No, no!”

He spasmed, and vomited up blood. He turned and screamed wordlessly at Matthew, spattering red. He heaved in a breath, and his own blood leaked out around his fingers where he pressed them to his chest.

“You poisoned me!” he wailed at Matthew, “Fucking turncoat!”

A smile crept over Matthew’s lips.

The cure.

It was in his blood.

It was turning Bowers human - and humans can’t survive two shots to the chest.

At least Matthew could die knowing the three of them had been avenged.

That Simon had been avenged.

His eyes drifted closed as sirens approached in the distance.

~~~

First, Previous, Next, Masterlist

Taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy, @pigeonwhumps, @sunshiline-writes, @seasaltandcopper, @pirefyrelight

[bittyfromquotev]

I genuinely wanna know what the members of sons family are actually like in that au (at least before they were held prisoner in their heads and forced to watch this whole show)

OH MY GOSH YES. THIS IS GONNA BE GOOD.

They were all pretty rude and condescending.

Earth was nice, but nice to Sun in a “oh you poor stupid child” derogatory kind of way.

Eclipse, Lunar, and Moon were just outright RUDE. Eclipse and Lunar would pull pranks on Sun that were just barely on the prank side of the scale of harm. Lunar and Moon would call him stupid and shut him down constantly even when he had good ideas. Moon and Eclipse would hurt and beat him a lot.

Solar wasn’t there back then.

[a-painful-ordeal]

3. Don’t Push Me, I’ll Fight

CW: Branding aftermath. Descriptions of third degree burns. References to Slavery. Beatings. Manhandling.

 A haze of pain swamps Evan and his surroundings. At some point, the hulking knight enters, and the boy’s limbs are released. There’s shouting, but Evan can’t make out what is being said. The whooshing of blood is still too loud to hear through.

Itchy clothes are dumped in front of him, and he’s ordered to get dressed.

Pulling the clothes on is agony and movement jars the skin around the burn. However, he quickly finds that the burn itself seems… numb. The new breeches sit over the bleeding wound, but only the surrounding area cries out in pain. Not where the metal made contact with his flesh.

Cold horror slices through Evan, as he realizes that the large patch of charred flesh on his hip, which should incapacitate him with pain is numb. The pain itself is coming from the singed area around. He pulls his focus through the haze to look to his hip. His eyes focus on the fabric covering it, which blood seems to be weeping through. His finger trembles as it goes to poke at the actual burn. Rather than the searing, excruciating pain that he expects, there’s nothing…

His jaw quivers slightly. It’s just the shock…right? It’ll heal back… please. He prays silently to the god of luck and thieves, that it’ll be fine and will heal back. A god, who up till now had been his only religious alliance. A god who might have just damned him.

 Orders are given, but he doesn’t seem to hear.

Finally, he is dragged by the collar of his shirt out of the room and past the other cells. Walking stretches and pulls at the skin surrounding the burn. Tighten and ripping at the wound, making him bite his lip to stop himself from crying out. Both from the pain and panic. 

 Evan is dragged out of the building into the blinding sunlight of the outside. He squints as his head screams. It takes a few moments for the boy’s eyes to adjust to the light, as a stone courtyard flickers into view. In the centre of the courtyard stands a large wooden stage not dissimilar to the stages used at a farmer’s market.

 His eyes are slowly drawn to two wagons. Both have cages attached to the back of them, however, the one on the left remains empty, with a small handful of hay scattered across the ground. The right-hand cage is larger and has a group of people inside, huddled together away from the door. Evan swallows before a jerky yank is given to the collar of his shirt as he’s dragged to the empty cage.

 Evan makes eye contact with a woman, whose hair is knotted, and her face is filthy. He squints at her, wishing he could fire rapid questions asking what the fuck is going on. But instead, he is roughly pushed into the cage. His hands scrap painfully along the floor, and he stumbles into a pile of stinking hay.

The pain in his hip flares up again, as the abused skin is fallen on. Evan gasps and quickly scrambles to his other side. The fog on his brain clouds as his world throbs in agony. He curls into a ball, fighting back tears, as he tries to protect himself.

 His eyes drift to the large grey fortress that he was just inside. It seems to stretch up into the sky. The light of the sun highlights each individual brick, all so uniform and pressed tightly together. 

The gate to the cage is locked, and with a jolt, they begin to move. Evan wishes he had the strength to lunge at the door and try to leave, but right now, his body feels too heavy. The exhaustion from everything seeps into his body and begins to take over. He just lies there, his eyes drifting shut as he wills himself into an unconscious escape.

 ***

Evan is jarred awake, as the wagon transitions to cobblestone. He looks around, trying to make sense of where the fuck he is, as the wagon enters a sprawling city.

 Evan’s skin crawls as people stare through the bars of the cage at him. He sits up slightly more, hugging his knees slightly. His breathing increases as he feels the gaze of random people piercing through him. Humiliation fills his stomach. He does what he can to shoot back dirty expressions. These fuckers can fuck off. Pieces of shit. He’s done fuck all and yet they are staring at him as though he’s the criminal?!

 He is paraded in front of strangers as they move through the city until they arrive at what seems like a large manor house near the sea. It's surrounded by a huge stone wall, too high to climb. Large, beautifully carved ornate gates swing open allowing the wagon to pass through. Evan doesn't need to look back to know once they've closed, as the loud thud echoes around.

 Inside the walls, stretches a large well-kept garden. There are perfectly cut grass and flower beds with precisely placed plants, creating beautiful patterns in the earth. Hedges are cut so not even a leaf sticks out of place. Despite how well-maintained everything seems to be, the area seems devoid of people. A long cobble driveway leads up to the entrance of a large manor.

 The hulking knight dismounts from the horse and wanders over to the cage. He squints at Evan before gesturing to a couple of guards to open the cage door. He looks to Evan waiting expectantly for the boy to come out.

 Evan responds by glaring back, and not moving. Like hell was he going to do what this bastard told him to. This man treated him like cattle and had Evan branded with the fucking initials of a name. The agony from earlier remains as the fear and pain burn into anger as he holds his ground.

 The knight stands there, he snaps his fingers as if signalling a dog to come. Waiting.

 A small, satisfied feeling of spite fills Evan, as he does… nothing. Who does he think he is, trying to order people around with a fucking pretentious finger snap. This man can go and eat shit. As the boy takes the moment to check his nails, pretending he is completely oblivious to the situation. He forces a pout as he picks a bit of dirt out from under his nail and flicks it in the direction of the knight.

 A surge of blood rushes into the knight's face. “Get out here now.” His voice is low and in a furious growl.

 Evan looks back at him, taking the time to scan the man with a scowl, fuelled by pain, fear, and humiliation. “Suck. A. Dick.” He mimics the lowness of the knight's voice and his accent.

 The knight gives a sharp gesture to one of the guards, who climbs into the cage and approaches Evan. 

The boy’s bravado drops, as he pushes himself into the corner of the cage. His arm is wrenched with the strength that only a trained soldier could muster as he is dragged out of the cage. Another guard grabs his other arm, as he is restrained. Being held completely at the mercy of the hulking man in front of him.

 The knight stares at him with a venomous look. He raises a fist and strikes him once across his already bruised cheek. 

Evan’s head snaps to the side. His lip splits on impact. However, instead of falling over, the guards tighten the grip on his arms, keeping him upright.

 The hulking knight then takes the opportunity to bring his fist down into the boy’s gut. Once. Then twice. Then a third time. He then takes two more swings at Evan’s face. Each one is more full of rage than the last.

 Evan finds himself gasping for breath, hanging limply from his arms as a mixture of blood and saliva drops from his mouth. 

 “I am in charge here.” The hulking knight broadens his shoulders, showing off his full size. The glints of chain mail catch the light, like the carapace of a beetle. As he speaks, little flecks of spit fly from his mouth, hitting Evan’s face. “And there will be consequences for your behaviour.”

The knight takes two clanking steps forwards, and grabs the boy by his jaw, forcing eye contact to be made. “I know brats like you like to cause trouble. Well let me tell you, that the Lord won’t let that fly, and neither will I.” His grip painfully tightens, fingers digging into the bruises on Evan’s cheek provoking a wince. “Now. This,” another punch, this time into the ribs. “Was a warning. Cross me again and I won't be as lenient.” He lets go of Evan’s chin. 

 The guards seem to take a hint and allow Evan to sink to the floor, gasping. Evan resists the temptation to look up and spit a wade of blood at this cunt. No. He must save his fight for another day.

 The hulking knight looks over to the half-orc who seems to have materialized during the beating. “Take him to the kitchens and show him what to do.”

The half-orc nods “Yes Master.”

 He orders, dusting his hands. Off before looking at Evan. “Let’s try this again, shall we? Get. Up.” He makes a hand gesture as if directing a dog.

 Evan stares at the ground, discreetly pulling a face before wiping the expression off. He’s gotten into his fair share of fights in the past. From Geldod and his boys, down by the docks to that summer where everyone put aside their differences to attack a particularly dickish city guard. One thing he’d learnt is: sometimes giving up early can allow you to get a hit in when they don’t expect it. Let them drop their guard. 

 Slowly he gets to his feet and looks at the half-orc.

 The half-orc bows his head to the knight, before pausing to wait for Evan, before continuing to a side entrance, rather than the grand doors.

 Evan grits his teeth, trying to ignore the pain that seems to encompass his entire body, and follows.

 The orc quietly takes him through a scullery and a long thin servant’s corridor. Once they move out of earshot of the guards and the knight, he looks over to Evan. The passive look in his eyes vanishes, replaced with a look of genuine concern. “How are you feeling?? I’m gonna focus on getting you cleaned up… alright?”

 “Or what? You and the others‘ll give me another beating?” Evan spits before clenching his jaw.

 The half-orc blinks as he slowly registers what’s happened. “Wait… no… I’m- like you…” he puts a hand and taps the side of his own hip.

 Evan pauses and the tension seems to melt away “Oh…” he just about manages a nod, as the adrenaline drains from him.

 The half-orc leads him to a small room off the side. It seems to not be much more than the cupboard with a stool in it. “You sit here… I’ll be back in a moment.”

 Evan sits down before his legs collapse. He brings his uninjured leg up onto the stool and hugs it, breathing slowly. A small lump moves into his throat and sits there. He hugs his knee as tight as he dares and forces the threat of tears back again. He wonders what M and Meg are doing. Have they noticed he’s gone? Do they think he’d left them? He must get back to them. To his friends. He takes a shaky breath in, despite the pain and slowly releases it. They are all he has in the world. He will not leave them to think he abandoned them.

 The orc returns not long after, with a bucket of cool water. “Lift up your shirt. I can try to help with the burn. And here.” He passes a cool, damp cloth. “It will help with the bruising.”

 Evan takes the cloth, internally debating whether to let the man touch his burn, before slowly shifting his shirt and breeches so the wound is exposed. He winces at the sight. The fabric is peeled away from the skin; however, Evan’s blood had clotted with the fabric embedded.

 The orc breathes, in sharp sympathy. “Here. Let me.” He gently begins to wash and dab away the clumps of blood, giving cool relief to the intact skin, however, Evan still cannot feel the actual burn.

“What’s your name?” the orc asks as he works. He is patient and methodical about his work. 

 “…Evan…” Evan responds cautiously “Tyrnearth…You...?”

 “I’m Trygve.” His accent has a soft Vuchguian twang to it as he gives Evan a small attempt at a smile, before continuing to clean the burn.

 Evan nods slowly before leaning back a little, letting this man begin to tend to his wounds.

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