No. 12 What Could Go Wrong?
“Mayday, Mayday!” | Cave In | Rusty Nail
CW: hero whumpee, villain whumper, intimate whumper, victim-blaming, manipulative whumper, failed escape attempt, hand gore (stabbed through the palm with nail), a lil sensory deprivation at the end, as a treat
The hero found it laying under a corner of their bed, hidden in the shadows. They wouldn’t have even noticed it if they hadn’t been curled up on the floor next to the bed, refusing the comfort the villain offered them, attached to far too many strings.
The small, rusty nail was less than an inch long, but it wasn’t too dulled, the hero noted as they gently pressed the tip into the pad of their finger.
Slipping the nail into their closed fist, the hero knew what they had to do. How they could get free.
The next time the villain came sauntering in, all insufferable smiles and haughty looks, the hero waited until they were less than an arm’s length away before lunging towards them, sharp end of the nail aiming right for the villain’s eye.
However, the villain was too quick and easily dodged the hero’s attack, moving swiftly enough to the side that the nail ended up only scratching their cheek, not even hard enough to break the skin. The hero’s momentum had them still stumbling forward, and they were unable to stop themself as the villain stuck out a foot in front of them.
The hero came tumbling to the ground, their head slamming against the hard floor, immediately sending stars across their vision. Blinking slowly, the next thing the hero knew, their arm was in a vice grip as the villain dragged them along, out of their cell and back towards their torture chamber.
Somewhere along the way, the hero must’ve dropped their nail because, as their head was still reeling and thoughts still fractured, they cried and pulled uselessly at the villain’s grip with empty hands.
The villain threw them into a high-backed wooden chair. Not even letting them recover from the additional impact to their skull, the villain set to work tightening straps to keep the hero immobilized, restraining their ankles, knees, waist, chest, elbows, wrists, and even a strap across their neck, pulled so tight the hero choked.
Pulling up a small stool, the villain settled in front of the hero, with a small tray next to them with items on it that the hero couldn’t make their blurry vision focus on.
The hero slowly dragged their gaze back to the villain’s face as the villain moved their head with a gentle hand on their chin.
“Oh, love,” they sighed. “I don’t know why you keep fighting me. You know it can only cause you more pain.”
The hero couldn’t seem to summon more than a couple words at a time, to string together a coherent sentence. Definitely a concussion, then, they noted mentally, somewhat detached from their current reality.
The villain reached to grab a few things and, as the cold metal lightly touched the top of their hand, the hero understood with sickening clarity.
Immediately thrashing in the chair, the hero couldn’t control the tears streaking down their face. “Please!” they sobbed. “I’m sorry! I-I’ll never do it again! Don’t do this, please! I’m begging you!”
The villain lightly rested a finger over the hero’s lips, instantly silencing them. Sighing, they stood up for a moment before returning with another item in hand. “I wish I didn’t have to do this, my darling,” they said regretfully. “I do quite love the sound of you begging me. However, now is simply not the time for it. Open up.”
Their nails dug into the hero’s cheeks, forcing their lips to part. The hero could only whine in defeat, eyes squeezed shut and head flushed in humiliation as the villain forced the ball gag behind their teeth and fastened it behind their head, the edges already digging into their cheeks painfully.
Then, the villain picked up the hammer and nail again, making eye contact with the hero. In a soft and deadly serious voice, they said, “Don’t look away. If you do, I will put a nail into every single one of your fingers then hang you by them and whip you till you’re unconscious.”
The hero whimpered, nodding their head minutely in understanding. The villain smiled, before turning their gaze downward, the hero’s following suit.
It wasn’t too bad, the hero mused, at least between the concussion and the tears, I can barely see anything at all.
They may not have been able to see, but they still felt as the metal pierced their hand, sliding against bone and muscle and sinew. It took several swings of the hammer to get the nail all the way through the hero’s hand and secured firmly in the arm of the chair.
The hero was sobbing freely now, each fall of the hammer wrenching another bloodcurdling scream from their throat. Their vision was dotted with black by the time the villain started on their other hand, but the villain lightly slapped the side of their face several times, not even offering them the relief of unconsciousness.
“Remember, my little hero,” the villain commanded gently. “Keep your eyes on me.”
Somehow, the hero ended up making it through their second hand, although most of their coherence was long gone. Their head swung from where it was strapped to the chair, unable to hold itself up any longer, and the hero was only able to make small, weak mewling whimpers as wave after wave of pain swept over them.
The villain stood up, towering over them. One hand rested on their cheek, the hero flinching slightly at the contact. “I didn’t like this any more than you did, my dear,” they said sadly. “But this seems to be the only way you can learn.”
Then, they were slipping a blindfold over the hero’s eyes, completely blocking out any light or movement. The hero yelped softly, head shaking in panic.
“I’m going to give you a little alone time, love,” the villain continued, “so you can think about your choices.”
Then the heavy metal door clanged shut and the hero was alone with only the pain and darkness for company.
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