I actually had a draft for this I never posted, adapted it a little. It’s early Haru, he can’t sign nor speak :)
CW: Bedwetting; dehumanization; pet whump; drowning; self-deprecation; fear of punishment; pet whump; it as a pronoun; conditioned mindset; mentioned punishments (whipping/drowning); mentioned alcohol/cigarretes/nsfw
The world is a vast open ocean, and he is lost on it. No matter where he looks, there is no way for him to escape the fate of drowning. Still he tries to stay on the surface, swimming with strength he does not have, until his muscles are sore and tired, and the futility of his effort brings him down.
And then he sinks. Slowly at first, but as he finds strength to struggle for one last breath, something wraps around his ankle and pulls him down into the unseen. He screams soundlessly into the water, and sees the air floating up in little bubbles, as he is pulled into deeper darkness than he has ever seen.
He wakes up with a silent scream, and he is no longer in the darkness. He can breathe, there is air, as sparse and rare as it feels… but he is wet.
He almost wished he was back in the nightmare.
Master will kill him.
He dirtied his blankets, his clothes - clothes he should not be wearing, clothes he stole because they made him feel safer. And he fucking peed on them. If they weren’t ilthy enough just for him wearing them… Well, now they are. His heart goes to his throat, as his tears fall on the sheets. Bad pet. Bad pet ugly stupid dumb useless useless, useless fucking slave worthless, worthless, worthless-
He kicks himself up and the poorness of his breath makes his vision dark for a second. He recovers balance, and drags the filthy cloth downstairs, shoving it on the washing machine. Stupid. Stupid, stupid. What are you doing? Do you think you can hide this? Stupid fucking pet. You should’ve stopped wetting your bed years ago. Stupid fucking pet can’t even be trusted with it’s bladder.
...He squeaks and falls on his knees as the door opens. Master smells awful, like nicotin, like sex, like alcohol and cologne. Dangerous fucking smells that take his panic over the edge. He puts it’s head to the floor, and tries, so, so hard to speak, but nothing comes of it. He turns the lights on, and Haru wishes he didn’t. At least in the darkness… At least Master won’t see how pitiful he is. And hell - hell hell hell, Master will find out he has been stealing clothes, he will see his stupid pet wearing his hoodie. For the longest time his sobs are only accompanied by a distant, screaming cicada and a choir of crickets.
“What happened, baby?” Master asks, a deep low voice that sounds like honey. It doesn’t matter, even sweet sounds can conceal traps. He crouches, and the pet tries to lower itself even more, struggling to hold the awful, gross sobbing. It did enough filthy messes for a night.
He takes a look at the stupid fucking dumb useless worthless slave, and at the clothes on the washing machine he didn’t manage to turn on. A choked scream escapes it’s lips as it’s face goes red with shame. It wasn’t even aware it could still feel humiliated, after all this time.
“I… I see. It’s okay”
It’s okay. It’s okay and Master will find a suitable punishment, will shove it’s face on the washing machine with the filth, will whip it’s back raw, will take the nails- no, no, no please not the nails….
“Haru, Haru, listen” Master says, and it sobs. It missed what Master said? No, no, no, no- “It’s fine. I promise it’s fine. We’ll just clean that up, and get you cleaned up too… It’s okay. I’m not angry. You were scared, sometimes it happens”
It shakes it’s head, desperate, sobbing grossly. Master… Waits. Touches his back softly, and rubs soft circles, doesn’t get mad when Pet flinches. Just… waits, till the sobs are slowly, slowly calming down.
“...Not mad. No punishment, hear me? No punishment. Let’s get you cleaned up, let’s make you another blanket nest. If you want, I can sleep near you, so no nightmares can reach you”
It slowly, slowly moves closer, expecting to be hit at any second, but isn’t. Master waits again, until eventually the pet leans onto him, and allows him to carry it upstairs.
Whumpee who’s Whumper is trying out a new, much more powerful shock collar. Not everything is calibrated correctly but Whumper wants to test the highest shock setting. This little test leaves Whumpee curled in the floor, shaking with uneven breaths in a puddle of their own urine, fresh electrical burns on the back and side of their neck.
if you could talk to animals for 24 hours, what would your question be?
“i mean, i don’t know, i’ve already asked them a lot. back when my best friends and i used to get high constantly, i believed that i could talk to cats and shit. i was high during a school trip once and tried to talk to a lemur at the zoo, because to me lemurs looked basically like slightly different cats. (i googled them and they are nothing like cats. in my defense, i was baked.) it peed on a kid from another class. i ran as fast as i could. i guess i’d ask what the lemur was attempting to communicate, if it’s still alive. i read that lemurs communicate via pee... but i’d talk to it with no one near its cage, so no one gets peed on this time.”
Actually, I'm very sorry, but I've changed my mind. Could I please instead have Pidge with "Standing Cuffs"? Thank you, I hope it's okay that I changed my request. XD
Thank you very much for this request and for your first message, which was lovely - I’m glad you enjoyed “Deep Dark Sea”. It’s totally fine to change your request seeing as you did it so quickly!
I’m so sorry that this took so long! I’d also like to apologise because I’m still in a bit of a funk so I’m not that happy with this one - so I’m sorry for the quality and the insanely long time it took. Hopefully you enjoy it anyway! :)
Crosses are posted. I’m still taking requests for both Voltron and the Batfamily if anyone else wants to request something! :)
Reach For The Sky
Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Prompt: Standing Cuffs
Characters: Pidge, Shiro, Hunk, Lance, Keith
Warnings: Torture, Stress Positions, Blood and Injury, Urination
Summary: It’s impossible to ignore the pain completely, but a sort of numbness seems to crawl through her as she hangs in the darkness. It starts in her arms, creeping from her bloodless fingertips, through her muscles, until all she can feel is the bright point of pain at her wrists.
Read it on AO3 here!
***
The bounty hunter isn’t gentle as he forces Pidge into the cuffs. The gauntlets that usually protect the delicate skin of her wrists are gone, and the thick metal pinches as he snaps them tight. She fights, but her head is spinning from the earlier blow, her jaw aching as she clenches it tight to keep the little wounded sound trying to escape between her teeth, and the alien’s six limbs hold her still with frightening ease.
“My friends will come for me,” she snaps. But the bounty hunter doesn’t seem overly concerned, just steps back, letting Pidge drop against the cuffs. This time she can’t hold back her surprised yelp of pain. The sharp edge of the metal bites into her wrists as her weight falls against it. She struggles, trying to get her feet under her, but only her toes can actually reach and she has to strain to hold herself upright.
The bounty hunter smirks. “I hope so.” One of his hands reaches up to clasp her chin. “The Green Paladin is a pretty prize, but I always prefer a full set.”
Pidge snarls at that. She might have been stupid enough to let herself get captured, but there’s no way a bounty hunter in a little smuggler’s ship will stand a chance against the others. Still, if he’s stupid enough to believe that, it’s probably in Pidge’s favour.
He smirks again. Lets his hand drop so she can tuck her chin back against her chest, glaring. Pidge would happily claw that expression right off his face if her hands were free. Instead she just shifts, trying to settle more steadily on her toes.
“You just hang out here for now.”
Then he laughs, as if that was actually funny.
***
Pidge isn’t sure how much time passes before the bounty hunter returns, but her whole body is aching by the time the door slides open again.
Her wrists hurt the worst. It’s impossible to keep her weight off of them. For a while she had balanced on her toes, stretching as far as she could to try to protect the delicate skin, but it hadn’t been long before her legs had been trembling with the effort. Now she hangs against the cuffs until breathing becomes too difficult and she has to struggle back onto her toes before her lungs feel like they might collapse completely. Then, when she can’t hold the position any longer, she slumps as carefully as she can against the cuffs, worried that dropping too quickly will yank her shoulders right out of their sockets.
It feels as though she’s been doing it for hours, but most likely it’s been much less time than that before the bounty hunter reappears. There’s a woosh of air as the door slides open, then he’s stalking towards her, a plastic water bottle gripped in one hand, another outstretched. That smug smile is still plastered on his face.
As soon as he gets close, Pidge strikes. It hurts to shift so much of her weight to her wrists, and the strain of dragging her body up is agony on her shoulders and arms. But she grits her teeth against the pain and kicks out. Lands a solid blow on the outstretched arm. The bounty hunter jerks back with a hiss. The smile is wiped from his face and he clutches at the injured limb in pained surprise, but it’s paltry compensation for the burn of her ribs, the sharp tearing ache in her wrists. A trickle of something warm and wet slides down her arm. Blood. Oozing from underneath the cuffs.
Still, there’s vicious satisfaction in knowing she’s hurt him.
“I wouldn’t try that again,” he snaps, but Pidge notices that he’s staying back, well clear of the range of her feet. “And here I was trying to be nice.”
He rattles the bottle in his hand and the water sloshes invitingly with the movement. Pidge hadn’t even realised how thirsty she was until this moment. Suddenly her mouth is dry as a desert, dehydration rubbing her throat raw, pounding a headache behind her eye. Or maybe that’s the punch she’d taken earlier, it’s difficult to tell.
All she knows is that suddenly she’s desperate for a drink.
“If you really wanted to be nice, you’d let me out of these cuffs.” It’s breathless, choked by her sore throat and the pressure of her own ribs against her lungs. That infuriating smile is back and the bounty hunter moves closer, apparently deciding it’s worth the risk. Pidge lets him - she doesn’t have the strength to try that again.
“I’m not that stupid Paladin, and neither are you. Now behave, and I’ll make sure you don’t die of thirst.”
Pidge flashes teeth. Snarls. When he steps close she presses her lips together, refusing to open them even as he forces the bottle against her mouth. There’s no way to know it’s really water and her mind can’t help supplying all of the awful things he could have done to it - drugs, poison, nanotech even, although even she can admit that’s unlikely.
But she’s not going to let him put anything in her mouth. Trickles of liquid slip over her chin, carve cool lines through the sweat and grime on her neck. Then the bounty hunter presses one big hand over her face, blocking off her nose, and suddenly Pidge can’t breathe. She thrashes, even though it hurts, even though it’s not just water trickling over her skin. She knows exactly what he’s doing, and she won’t let him win, but she can’t breathe. She can’t breathe.
Finally she peels her lips apart. Opens her mouth wide to try to drag in oxygen. There’s no air though, only a steady stream of water, filling her mouth insistently, forcing her to choke and swallow in a desperate attempt to clear her airways.
Eventually the bounty hunter pulls away and Pidge can take a huge, whooping breath. She coughs automatically, struggling not to vomit up all of the water she had just inhaled. It sits heavily in her stomach, more solid than liquid has any right to feel. Feels like it’s dragging her down to the ground, tearing yet more skin from her wrists.
At the same time, it’s heaven on her throat. Not that she’ll let the bounty hunter know that.
Maybe he does though, because his grin is wide and white..
***
For a while, Pidge cries. At first silent, bitter tears that stream down her cheeks. Frustration swells in her chest, a hot lump at the base of her throat, and then the tears are no longer silent. She sobs, wet, awful noises choking out of her. For a long time, she shudders alone in the darkness, the pain in her arms and her own helpless anger fuelling her tears. Until, finally, the pressure in her chest hurts too badly to keep going. When her sobs eventually stop, she feels wrung out, loose and soggy, and twisted around in her body, like a wet cloth left out to dry.
They’ll come, she thinks, a little desperately. But she has no idea if they know where she is. No idea how long it will take them. She doesn’t know if she can stand this much longer.
Pidge does though, because she has to. It’s impossible to ignore the pain completely, but a sort of numbness seems to crawl through her as she hangs in the darkness. It starts in her arms, creeping from her bloodless fingertips, through her muscles, until all she can feel is the bright point of pain at her wrists. The numbness creeps through her shoulders, steals over the shallow rise and fall of her chest. Turns her legs to jelly. More blood wells beneath the cuffs as she slumps, but she’s too tired and boneless to hold herself up anymore. She doesn’t care. She doesn’t care that she can only drag in shallow sips of air, or that her shoulders are groaning against the pain. She doesn’t care about the hot lines carving their way down her arms. It’s not something Pidge has ever been particularly good at – turning off her brain – but she almost manages it now. At least until the dull ache in her pelvis turns into an insistent pressure. The water she had almost been grateful for earlier settling heavily in her bladder.
Damn. This is the last thing she needs.
“Hey,” she shouts and her voice echoes back at her, sounding small and rough. “Hey, you need to let me down. I need the bathroom!”
There’s no reply. Pidge can’t say she was really expecting one, but the silence still swells that spark of frustration in her chest. She grinds her teeth against the sensation, and the insistent press of her bladder. Part of her kind of wants to cry again, and she can’t help the wet prickle at the back of her eyes, or the heat burning across her cheeks.
“Please,” she tries, even though it’s useless. Who knows if the bounty hunter is close enough to hear her? And if he is, he isn’t likely to give in to her demands. Still, Pidge squirms, rubbing her wrists raw as she jerks against the cuffs. Dragging in shallow breaths, desperately trying not to put any strain on her pelvis. It works for a little bit. Although she shivers with the strain, cold sweat breaking out across her forehead, sliding down her back. It hurts, almost eclipsing her numb arms and strained chest. A sharp, deep, ache.
Finally, she can’t hold it in any longer. Wet heat spreads across her legs. Pidge jerks, curling her legs up underneath her as warm liquid tickles down her thighs. There’s a burst of sharp ammonia and Pidge almost sobs again. Something cold and dark snarling into life in her stomach. It’s awful. Humiliating. But there isn’t exactly anything she can do about it. At least the ache disappears. Now there’s only all of her other pains to worry about again. And a very long time to worry about them.
***
In the end, Pidge doesn’t see the bounty hunter again. There’s a thud, rocking the little ship wildly, and throwing her against the cuffs. It’s so loud that it seems to reverberate through the entire room around her. Pidge holds her breath, fighting against a gasp, trying to figure out exactly what happened. If she’s lucky, this is a rescue – if not, then she might be in even more trouble. Cold horror slides through her veins – if this is the Galra…
Pidge tries to drag herself up onto her toes, tries to be ready for whatever is coming for her. But her legs feel too weak, shaking beneath her, the balls of her feet sore and bruised from the repeated pressure. Urine has dried on her skin, sticking her flight suit to her legs with a horrible heavy, itchy sensation that Pidge longs to tear away. Her arms are so numb now that she barely even notices the release of pressure.
Then the ship rocks again and Pidge’s feet slide out from beneath her. She falls more heavily than she had expected, landing hard on her wrists. There’s a pop, deafening in her ear, but for a moment, no pain to accompany it, just a sharp burst of adrenaline, tingling across her numb skin. It doesn’t last. Agony screams through her shoulder, burning hot through her arm and the side of her chest. She chokes on a scream. She needs to get her feet back under her. Needs to steady herself. If she can just release the pressure, maybe the pain will stop.
But she’s dizzy. Weak. Her head is spinning with the pain and the hours of standing without anything to focus on. At least, she thinks it’s been hours, in her state it’s really impossible to tell. She hangs against the cuffs, fighting for breath, trying to suppress the hurt little whimpers bubbling out of her throat. It’s agony on her dislocated shoulder, but she doesn’t have the strength to drag herself upright again, and another fall could be even worse.
Finally, after what feels like another eternity, waiting suspended in the darkness, she hears movement outside of the little room she’s been held captive in. There’s a series of dull thuds that raise all of the little hairs on the back of her neck, and then the door slides open, and Pidge has to blink against the sudden light. A dark shadow stands silhouetted in the doorway. Tall and broad and – Hunk. It’s Hunk standing there and, honestly, Pidge isn’t sure if she’s ever been so glad to see him before in her life. He must recognise her at the same time because suddenly he’s moving quickly towards her, striding across the room quicker than Pidge expects.
“Pidge!” He stops, and even with though Pidge is stretched high on her toes, she still has to look up to meet his gaze. Wide eyes flicker over her. “Hey, hey, Pidge are you OK?” Then, before she can answer, “Guys, in here – I found her.”
The volume has her head spinning again and she has to blink hard before she can focus back on the Yellow Paladin’s face. Hands flutter over her arms, her chest, seeming hesitant to touch. When they skim past her dislocated shoulder she can’t help flinching.
Sorry,” Hunk mutters with a grimace. “I’m so sorry Pidge. We’ll get you down, don’t worry.”
“It’s fine,” she tries, squeezing it out of her crushed chest. But Hunk’s grimace only deepens.
“The others are just coming.” A brush against the cuffs, too light to coax any pain from her numb skin, not beneath the throbbing agony of her shoulder. “Shiro will be able to get these off.”
There’s a clatter of sound. Hunk’s face draws tight. Then the others are right there, piling into the room behind Hunk. Keith clutching his bayard tight, Shiro’s Galra hand still lit up, shining brilliant purple in the dim light. Lance follows last, his own bayard pointing back into the hallway. His eyes bug when he catches sight of Pidge, dangling against the wall, and a horrible flicker of pity works across his face. Keith and Shiro both control their own reactions better, although Keith’s lips press into a thin white line. Shiro steps up beside Hunk, and Pidge has to crane her head even higher.
Suddenly she feels ashamed. She’s horribly aware of her vulnerable position, of the blood, tacky on her arms and the urine staining her legs. Can they smell that awful stale waft of ammonia when she shifts? Heat floods across her cheeks. They must know.
“Sorry we took so long.” There’s a soft expression on Shiro’s face that’s not quite pity, but his eyes are cold when she meets his gaze, as if he’s reigning back some other emotion. “Hold still, I’ll get you out of these.”
And Pidge trusts Shiro – with her life if it came to that – but she can’t help jerking away when his arm lights up. Something dark flits across his face - for less than a second, but it’s there. It smooths out almost immediately after, back into that soft, blank mask, but Pidge’s chest clenches guiltily. Shiro doesn’t deserve that. And yet, that barely contained power, so close to her damaged wrists, her numb and aching arms, still scares her.
“I’m going to cut the cuffs, OK?” And because it’s Shiro, he waits for her nod before he brings the glowing fingers of his hand towards her. He pauses, looking expectantly at Hunk, and the Yellow Paladin wraps his solid arms around Pidge’s chest. Immediately, the pressure on Pidge’s arms, the desperate tension in her legs, eases, and she can’t help the soft groan she lets loose at the relief. It eclipses almost every other sensation. Eclipses her worry about the fact that, so close Hunk can’t miss the fact that she’s wet herself. Eclipses the pain in her ribs when Hink’s arms tighten to hold her in place. Even when Shiro lifts his arm, pressing the heat of his prosthetic against the cuffs, slicing them apart with surprising ease, Pidge can only loll limp in Hunk’s grip.
She does let out a pained whimper when Shiro carefully lays her arm down at her side. The sudden rush of blood is like fire, licking along her veins. She turns her face against Hunk’s chest but it doesn’t muffle her second cry when the other arm is released, jarring the dislocated socket.
“Sorry,” Shiro murmurs. When she glances up at him, his face is tight. Gentle hands probe her arm, light over the abused flesh. “Dislocated I think.”
There’s a hiss from somewhere near the door. A muttered Jesus. Shiro ignores both.
“I don’t want to try anything here. Can you stand it until we’re back at the castle?” Pidge manages a weak nod. Shiro folds her arm carefully against her chest, wincing when she grits her teeth against the pain. Then she’s lifted into Hunk’s arms as easily as breathing. It’s nice - to be held, to not have to strain and fight and hurt anymore. They had come for her.
△ Blue, how does it feel to pee? Do you feel like a baby when you pee your pants after trying to avoid the inevitably?
10000000000000/10
“WH-WHY DO YOU, YOU A-A-ALWAYS MAKE THIS, THIS TYPE OF QUESTION?” Blue shouts, pulling at it’s hair and whimpering loudly “It’s p-private! It is…” Blue curls up. Pet’s don’t deserve privacy, and it knows it. Still it feels humiliated and ashamed "It hurts a-a bit. It feels weird. P-panthom pains it thinks. Its... the e-emotions are the worse"
it takes a moment to breathe before continuing.
“B-b--blue s-sits okay? It just sits on the toilet. AND IT O-ONLY DID IT ON THE PANTS A FEW TIMES, IT-IT’s NOT INEVITABLE” Blue hides its face, gross sobbing. It feels so, so fucking ashamed “I-it’s just b-because Blue holds it in as much as it can. Blue, is… Is not a baby”
Blue curls up with Bonnie on it’s hands. It feels small and pathetic.
> to blue and orfeu, Dont you think it would be easier to just put blue in adult diapers? It would help him with the pee thing and it could be useful in emergencies
Cw: urination,
"I'm not sure if you mean this with good or bad intentions, but regardless, the answer is no. Blue's problem isn't physiological, it's emotional. If i treat him like he is unable to get better or work on it and just use the easy solution, It would be dehumanizing. Especially since it's not something that happens a lot, only occasionally. If he is interested on having something like this for when we are out of home and such, fine, but it has to come from him, i won't push it onto him"
Blue doesn't answer. He is just crying in the corner, sobbing grossly, feeling shamed and disgusting.
CW: Descriptive torture; mentions of body fluids; finger whump; whipping; branding; deshumanization; conditioning; pet/slave whump; creepy whumper; mentioned human trafficking; stress position; restraints; panic attacks; mentioning death/wishing for death.
It’s probably the goriest one I’ve written yet, so viewer discretion is advised and read content warning(?)
I think I’ll stop hurting poor baby Haru for a while after this, I’m almost feeling bad about it. And honestly mr. generic whumper here is so evil it’s boring;
He was curled up against a white, familiar wall, waiting for hell to break loose.
He had spent the night walking around the city, cold, hungry and lost. People stared at him weird, because he was disgusting and worthless.
And the more he walked the more he got lost, and all he wanted as to go back… Back to before he had done what he did.. He had run away… One of the worst offenses he could have ever committed. Useless, stupid, stupid.
It was already early morning when he saw one of the Black Coats, tall and scary, all dressed in the uniform of people he remembered so well. People who worked with… With taming and selling… those like him, who should never, ever be considered people.
He ran up to the scary person, and instinctively grabbed the side of their coat, wide eyed and desperate, pleading blue eyes. They took one look at him and looked at his collar with the contact for his owners.
The person thought he was lost and led him to the facility. Well he… He was a runaway. But telling that to the handler wouldn’t help him on any way, it would only make that handler treat him worse... And look at him with disappointment.
He knew he deserved every bit of it… But he wasn’t even sure he would survive what was planned as his punishment once he was............... home. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to survive.
He missed being in the facility. It was… familiar. It was also safer than he had ever felt at that mansion. He would never have dared escape the facility, he wouldn’t even want to. Where would he even go?
So he crawled up to the corner, hugging his knees, tired and scared. He tried to sleep, but the anxiety was too much. All he could do was cry, bracing against the comforting familiarity of those walls.
…But soon they came to take him back.
The same handler opened the cell, grabbed him by the collar and dragged him into the main hallway. He lifted his pale blue eyes just for a moment, just to see Young Master’s face. He was… calm, and smiling.
He lowered his head immediately, as the handler threw him to his knees and removed the muzzle. Master gave him a deadly glance, while he signed off the papers and paid the retrieval fee.
Part of him had prayed Young Master decided to give up on him and just… Let him be sold again.
But he knew he wouldn’t get off this one so easily.
…It was raining outside. He went for the trunk, but Master held his arm and pointed.
“…Go on the passenger’s sit” That calm, gentle tone was unfamiliar and dangerous. He shivered, but obeyed. He couldn’t be stupid and do things worse for himself. He looked upwards, trying to prevent the tears from falling, almost choking to swallow the sobs. He wished he had been kept muzzled.
Young Master turned the radio on, cheerfully humming the tune. He curled up on the car sit, not even interested in looking outside. He just wanted so bad to disappear. He was expecting Young Master to be screaming, furious, like he always was… But seeing him smiling like that was more terrifying than anything.
“You want to speak, little bird?” He was looking at the pet with the corner of his eyes “Well, you won’t. I’ve been wanting some really some good reason to hurt you for some time now, you know? I have some different things that I would like to try, but normally, it would make dad angry. He likes you more than you deserve…. Well, now I have a reason. Isn’t that wonderful, little bird?”
His eyes widened. Breathe. Breathe. A sob escaped. He quickly hid his face on his palms… Master kept humming the tune, driving idly trough the city.
“Oh, little one. Don’t look so sad now. If only you weren’t so stupid…” he laughed “I was just messing with you yesterday. I wasn’t really going to cut you open. Just make some markings, here and there, the usual. But today… I’ll make sure to cut off your little wings so you never dare to cross that door again.”
Young Master savored the sheer panic on his face, as he struggled so much not to beg, his heart beating like a drum, the air seeming so scarce he couldn’t breathe. Safe for his sobs and the song, the rest of the car-ride was silent.
The servants gave him some pitiful, pale looks as he was guided to the basement. Young Master wasn’t being rough with him. He was just… gently pushing him, a hand on his back, still cheerfully humming… and that terrified him far more than he would if he had just been dragged. Young Master was never kind. Kindness wasn’t free. His kindness was poison.
He closed the heavy door behind them, guiding him to the center of the room, where he fell on his knees. He had to be good. He couldn’t be dumb and make things worse.
The basement was always a bit dark, walls made of wood and a floor of stone. A lot of scary things hanging from the walls and shelves, and large hooks they could be chained to, a fireplace and old carcasses of cars.
“Hands”
He raised them as fast as he could, despite how much effort that took… they were shaking so much… So pale and so weak, against the heavy metal shackles master locked them with. Young Master lifted him without any difficulty and hang the chain on one of the hooks, leaving him hanging on his tip-toes.
He picked up a whip, first.
“Now… This one is for vomiting over my shoes” Master walked behind him. He ran his fingers over the scarred back, where bruises and marks from other beatings hadn’t healed yet, throwing the long hair over his shoulder so it wouldn’t get on his way “…Twenty. Keep count. Don’t speak, but keep count, or we start over.”
…The whip stroke hard. He whimpered, but otherwise managed to keep composure. Twenty wasn’t so bad. He could take twenty. The second one was worse than the first, and the one after that made him sob. Then again, and again, blood rushing to his back, warm, stinging.
“How many?” Master stopped hitting, he walked closer and led the whip over his back slowly, just, letting it slide over the wounds.
“F-five”
“Good” Master whispered, stepped back and hit again “You are allowed to scream, birdie”
He felt dizzy, he wasn’t strong enough to keep balance. His wrists hurt. The next hits were drawing blood. He wanted to scream but… He didn’t had the strength to do it. He let his head hang low and allowed himself to whimper.
“How many?”
“..A-a…S-six..teen..” words were hard “P-plea”
“A-ah” Master said, grabbing his cheeks, his nails digging on his skin “We barely begun. You’ll be allowed to beg later. Now you can only scream and cry. I want to hear your pain.”
Master was so close to his face now, entangling his fingers on the white hair.
“Did you understand me?” he nodded “Good. Sixteen, is that your answer?”
He lifted his head slightly. Master had a mocking, dangerous smile… he… He was sure it was sixteen. He had been counting. Had he missed one? Was Master giving him a chance? Was this so he would get it wrong?
He couldn’t begin again. Not when this was just the start. He couldn’t he-
A hard slap, turning his head to the side. Fingers marked on his face.
“I made you a question, mutt” …anger. This was familiar. He nodded quickly. He wasn’t sure but… What else could he do? There was no time to think. Master smiled again “…You are correct. Four left.”
He sighed, relieved. It was a taunt after all… The relief was gone with the next hit, more vicious than the other ones, crossing so many of the other marks. He gasped, closing his eyes shut. Three more and he was sobbing once it ended.
He… Should be able to endure more than that. He had before. Was it the fear that was making it worse? Or… the fact that he really deserved it this time? He deserved every one of the hits – and more. He hated himself for being bad, and stupid and dumb, just like Young Master said he was. He deserved it, and all that would come later too.
Young Master walked around him, admiring his work. He was still smiling, still calm, hiding… It wasn’t anger. It was excitement. Master hang the whip back on the wall. He dragged… an arm chair to the center of the room, before letting him off the hook and onto it. A chair that belonged to the dinner set upstairs, he recognized it. Young Master must have brought it to the basement before going to pick him up.
He dry swallowed, wondering how much thought had been put into this punishment.
“Now, stay still for me, will you?”
He made his best to, only slightly shivering as the handcuffs were removed and replaced by rope, so tight it dug into his skin. There was no room to move, except for his head. He let the hair fall over his face, trying to hide… But that prompted Master to pull his head back.
“Smile for the camera dear…” Camera? Was there one? He didn’t knew and it didn’t matter, really. Master pulled his hair, dragging his neck backwards so much it hurt. He whimpered, but didn’t resist. He wanted to be good. He deserved this.
He deserved this. It would help him. It would make him better.
He didn’t like pain if it wasn’t to make him better, to correct his mistakes… But this one was. It was pain he deserved. He needed to be grateful.
He swallowed hard, and tried to be grateful.
But it was too scary, and now he couldn’t really see, as tears and panic where clouding his vision. So when Master approached again, he wasn’t very sure what was he was holding. A gentle touch over his hand caught him off guard. He almost relaxed a bit as Young Master rubbed gentle circles on his hand… And then excruciating pain.
…He passed out.
…A second, equally terrifying pain brought him back to reality a few seconds later.
“Don’t you go passing out on me, darling. You know how angry that makes me”
Dizzy… Hurting. Hurting so much it made the lashes on his back seem like nothing. Trembling, he looked down, the world swirling around him, almost incomprehensible… Red.
Young Master lifted something to his field of vision. A pair of bloodied fingernails. His… His fingernails.
Master took the pliers to the next one. He wanted to beg, he tried to lean forward… He finally screamed.
Blood. Red. Pain. No air. No air no air no air. Red. Pain.
“please”
A slap. He doesn’t care, it feels like nothing compared to what just happened. His eyes are wide, teary and shocked.
“Ah-a. No begging yet. I haven’t allowed it.”
“Mercy. P—lease. Mercy? I-it will-”
Another slap, and his head was pulled backwards. Young Master runs his thumb over his face, cleaning tears and sweat while the other hand is firmly tugging his hair.
“Now now, you crossed every single limit yesterday, dear little bird. You disrespected me. And I’ll make sure you never dare to do it again”
He lets his head go, taking some time to admire his pet’s face. He moves to the next nail, an almost childlike smile.
He is fully aware this time. No shock and no adrenaline rush to coat a bit of the pain. No feelings of being lost, just the pain of flesh tearing. He feels sick. He can’t choke his screams anymore, not when they are being pulled, exposing the tender, bloodied skin underneath. Master praises him, but it’s mocking. It doesn’t really matter; his voice is distant behind a wall of pain.
Time seems to slow down. All he has now is agony, his body trembling, pulling hard against the ropes.
“Last one now, baby” Master says “Then we move to your little feet.”
…A strangled whimper is all he can manage. At some point, his bladder gives out, much to Master’s amusement. He is mocked for it but can barely understand the words.
He stares into nothing, wide eyed, as the minutes drag themselves. Everything is red. Everything is pain. Everything is blood.
And at some point a hand… full of bloodied nails is placed in front of his eyes. He has no strength to react… No voice to scream anymore. He stares, wide blue eyes, drenched in sweat and tears, shaking so much his teeth clank.
“I should start collecting those” Master says… returning to the table. Sounds of metal. He shivers, trying so hard to just… breathe. It’s not over yet? What is it going to be now? How will he survive?
He can’t breathe, he feels like he will die, he wishes he would die.
Master comes back without anything. He holds the pets chin, gently pulling the hair off his face, using his sleeves to clean the tears, sweat and snot. He smiles.
“This was… very fun. You look so pretty now little bird. I think I can finally understand why father thinks you are beautiful” he laughs “…Now you think you have learned your lesson?”
He needs a moment to realize he has to… to answer.
“y-ye-s I-“ he sobs “P-please I, I … It will neve-r, nev-er, i-it it is… Mas-master, p-pleas-“
Master places a hand over his lips, shushing him. He tried to lean closer to Master, but is held back by the ropes. The burn they cause seems so minor in comparison to the sheer agony right now, he barely notices.
“There there, pet” Master smiles “Just one more thing, and we will be done. “
He whimpers.
“N-no…m-more…no…” His voice is broken. He mouths please, over and over and over even if his voice has given out.
“Shush, don’t discuss with me now, bird. I need to make sure you know your place” He smiles, the pet follows him with his eyes, terrified to even blink “It will be quick.”
Master moves away. He has no strength to hold his head up when Master lets his chin, but looking down is bad, he sees the bloodied fingers. Thankfully there is nothing on his stomach to throw up. Red. Blood. Pain.
“Tell me little bird” Master appears back in his vision field “You’ll never run again, will you?”
…blazing iron, held so close to his face he can feel the heat.
“i-iit w-wil n-ev-er run f-from… mas-master…ple-ase” so, so hard to speak. So hard to breathe. Nothing in the whole world exists anymore. Just Master, burning iron, the bloodied fingers and the pain. “it-is is is yo—rs f-for-e-vv-ver. M-mer-mercy…”
He can’t anymore. Teeth clank as he shivers. His tears have stopped, even. Master smiles, contempt with the answer.
“Good boy. Now let’s make sure you don’t forget”
…He presses the iron against the sole of his feet. His vision goes black, and then covered with spots of red pain. And he feels cold. A terrible shiver runs down his spine, as the heat seems to be drained from his whole body, except that one, awful burn. The smell is nauseating.
It’s just a few seconds, but it feels like hours. It’s only removed to be placed on the other one.
Everything seems to fade again, and he wishes… He wishes he was dead.
It’s all… Red. Burning. Blood. Pain.
…Cold water on his lips brings him to tears again. He barely realizes as the ropes are cut off. Young Master is speaking a lot, but he can’t make sense of it.
He is lifted from the chair, scooped by Master’s arms. He wants to grab Master’s shirt, but the bloody fingers hurt too badly. He lets his body limp, his head resting over Master’s shoulder, and the world goes dark again.
