Hello! After an unbelievably long time spent lurking, I have finally decided to take the leap and introduce myself into this weird and wonderful community. Please, call me Shaul.
First of all, let me start with this: I love you all. You made me realise this weird I-like-seeing-my-characters-struggle-and-scream definitely wasn’t a me thing only, and for this I am grateful - I am glad I’m not the only one who finds this therapeutic. Secondly, you have delighted my days in allowing me to read your whump, which oh boy *french kiss*.
So, into the substance. I have been lurking for long enough that I know exactly what I like.
Favourite tropes:
• Captivity/slavery whump
• Defiant whumpee
• Non-con (beware the NSFW)
• Angel whump
• Restraints, muzzles, collars
• Angst and anticipation of pain
• Violent whumpee? I don’t know if it’s a category, but all my whumpees would slit their Whumper’s throat if given half a chance.
I have two main stories which I am turning into actual books, slowly but surely and with the power of an iron clad morning routine. You will see here all the non-canon stuff I really really want to put in there but that will never get me published as a first novel. Ah, the market.
1. The Crow and the Dove (Kai & Kyriel)
Whumpee is a winged hero born with a once in a generation power who lost against the villain, but not before causing enough trouble - first of which on how hard he’s been to capture - for the Villain to want to make him pay in addition to make sure he is one of his own now.
Contains captivity, fantasy, angel and royal whump, a proud and defiant and genuinely good whumpee (oh, I love my idiot), corruption arch, a lot of pain and blood, coercion and slavery (what good is a human weapon for if you can’t use them?), NSFW, and angst angst angst. Also emotional whump, brutal public whump and intimate whump behind closed doors. Necromancy and death, and survival in the face of helplessness, are also big themes. Heavy on lore but that’s how we love it.
PLEASE NOTE THIS STORY IS NOT MINORS FRIENDLY! It is dark and explicit. Please beware.
2. The second wave (Eva & the Collector)
Whumpee is a morally grey protagonist turned victim. She was ruthless one time too many and scared the hell out of her own allies and team, and was thus betrayed/sold by them to the antagonist. Watch her get out of this lovely situation and make her former friends pay.
Contains betrayal, angst (starting to noticing a pattern here?), whumpee turned whumper, revenge arch, dehumanisation, very angry main character (oh you won’t blame her).
Masterlist
3. Other writing
Whumpee worked to the ground | Escape attempt, aftermath | Adverse effect | Surrender | Locked up | NSFW drabble | Please | Tomorrow | Whumpee in a box
elgin was so funny for just quietly trying walk out of the diner while the man in yellow's back was turned 😭 it was a respectable attempt we will miss you king
Based off of my SOA magic system that should probably post, because yesterday was my birthday, these are basically my truest fave tropes
When heartbreak/grief affects a character's magic
Magic backfiring often having the same effects as a gun backfiring
When the stress and trauma is genuinely killing the character
The variance of scars caused by magic. Necrotic scars from dark magic. Colorful scars from haphazard spellcasting. Lighting scars that refuse to fade. Leathery skin from overuse of fire magic. Discolored fingertips, foggy eyes, rapidly graying hair, gimme gimme gimme
Nose bleeds from overuse? A class. But what about... tinnitus, blurred vision, dizzying, loss of appetite, weight loss, tingling/numbness, loss of balance, paling skin, weakened immune systems, muscular pain, oh I could go on
Soldiers collapsing mid battle from using their magic too much
Squad mates holding up their comrade so that they can keep casting magic, despite their weakness and inability to stand for themselves
Watching magic trace through someone's veins before it conjures into reality
I don’t mean to be dramatic but I literally have been waiting all day to come home and watch the season finale of FROM just to discover Sky UK decided to delay the release of a week
A week
A WEEK
When it aired in the US days ago!
Idk I want to take a baseball and merrily smash IP rights right now, the internet is the commons, let me WATCH THINGS WHEN I PAY YOU
I don’t mean to be dramatic but I literally have been waiting all day to come home and watch the season finale of FROM just to discover Sky UK decided to delay the release of a week
A week
A WEEK
When it aired in the US days ago!
Idk I want to take a baseball and merrily smash IP rights right now, the internet is the commons, let me WATCH THINGS WHEN I PAY YOU
Does Kyriel ever allow Kai to see Ash after the events of The Crow And The Dove?
Aaaaaaah can you *hear* the different storylines clashing in my head? You summoned them with this question, this is why there are no snippets of Kai and Ashe after the last chapter yet. I don’t know.
Question 1 for the fanfiction writers ask: Do you daydream a lot before you write, or go for it as soon as the ideas strike?
@3-2-whump
Thanks for the ask! I do daydream a lot and I daydream about a scene before I write it, but not as a conscious writing tool. It’s more like the idea strikes > immediately I start daydreaming > if the urge is strong, it’s enough to simply feel the outlines of the vibe I want to go for in the daydream > then I follow that vibe as I write, with an instinctual feeling for where the final dramatic beat would be. Writing is daydreaming through taste and beat. It’s done well if it makes you daydream too x
Juno did not complain, because he could not. No words to do so.
He would not complain anyway. Slaves did not do such things. Especially slaves that were trying to be bought.
It had been weeks since he had been left at the market. His old master was tired of him, and so here he was.
But his lack of words made him stupid in the eyes of buyers. Slaves were for the work that real people didn’t want to do, so who would want a stupid slave they needed to babysit?
Even though he wasn’t stupid.
If only he could speak, he could tell them. I can cook, I can clean, I can sew and mend. I can play with babies and groom dogs, I can do anything you want-
Except talk. Or read. Or sign.
Stupid. This one is stupid. Cheap.
‘Cheap’ meant ‘defective’.
‘Defective’ meant ‘would need to be replaced soon’.
Waste of money.
Was that why his old master left him? Was he a waste?
He blinked back tears. Crying would not get him a new master to please; a new home to live in.
There was a man in a blue cloak browsing the slaves. There was only a small chance he would buy Juno, but it was still a chance.
He raised his aching wrists to wipe his face clear of tears.
The cloaked man moved down closer, where Juno knew the prices were lower. He did know his numbers, even if the letters were long gone.
“Can I help you find something?”
The saleswoman seemed to appear out of nowhere, and Juno’s heart sank. She always guided customers- his potential masters- away from him.
It wasn’t fair. She never gave him a chance. The commission she would get from selling him wasn’t worth it, but the longer he went unsold, the more likely he’d be left in the woods to die.
Keeping slaves alive cost money.
“I need something cheap for housework. I’m far too busy with research for chores.”
Juno sat up straight. Pick me! Pick me! He pleaded into the ether.
“Oh? What kind of research?”
A flash of annoyance passed over the man’s face. “Look, the sales tactics are all well and good, but I know what I’m looking for. I want an inexpensive slave who won’t bother me when I’m working.”
She pursed her lips. “Right this way, sir.” She gestured in his direction.
Juno’s heart pounded.
“Our most inexpensive slave.” Clearly a dig at the man’s small budget.
The man’s eyes roamed over him. He picked up the sign around Juno’s neck.
“He’s a bit stupid,” the saleswoman went on. “Can’t even talk.”
The man dropped the sign, and the wood fell against Juno’s chest with an uncomfortable thud.
He crouched in front of him, staring.
Juno stared back.
“Are you stupid?” the man asked.
Juno’s eyes flicked to the saleswoman. If he disagreed with her, would he be bought? If not, would he be punished for contradicting?
The truth was obedience. Lies were disobeying.
He looked back at the man, and shook his head.
“I’ll take him.”
___________________
Juno followed his Master with the quietest footfalls he could manage on cobblestone. His wrists were still tied, but the pain of the rope was forgotten in the elation of being owned again.
No more waking up to wonder if he was no longer worth the porridge to keep him alive. No more waiting.
And if Master wanted silence, perhaps he would even be kept.
The walk was long, and the shops and markets disappeared behind them. The cobblestone turned to well-worn dirt, and his feet were getting dusty.
They turned off the path, and Juno was lost in thought imagining a quaint cottage when they suddenly stopped.
He looked up from the road.
A tower, not an incredibly large one, but certainly a tower, stood in front of them.
Master turned a key in the lock, and the odd color of his cloak clicked in Juno’s mind like a puzzle piece in a riddle-box.
Master was a wizard, and Juno was going to be very, very lonely.
___________________
The ground floor was a mess. A complete circle of disaster.
Dirty floor, muddy rugs, smelly dishes piled in the sink. Windows needed wiping, cobwebs cleared, the pantry door was stained with a splat of.. something.
The stove wasn’t even lit, and it was four-ish in the evening. At least there was wood to light it but still.
Juno stared at the work, dumbfounded.
Master cut away his bindings, and Juno rubbed at the burn.
“Clean all this up,” Master instructed. “There’s two more floors to do. My office and bedroom is at the top, potions lab below that, and this floor here.”
Juno’s knees turned to jelly. Were the other two floors just as bad?
“I’ll want dinner at six.” Of course. “Think you can manage it?”
Juno nodded without hesitating. He would have to manage it.
He turned to see if Master had any other instructions, but the tail end of his cloak was already disappearing up the stairs.
___________________
The first thing he did was light the stove and do the dishes, and by the time the last cup was clean, the clock was chiming five and it was time to make dinner.
Juno checked the pantry.
It was full, but not pleasantly.
Vegetables were old and wilted, the flour reserve was sad, and only some of the meat looked good.
Master had enough time to shop, or perhaps had arranged deliveries, but didn’t have enough time to cook what he had before it went sour.
Juno wrinkled his nose.
No time to toss the rot. Master wanted a meal.
Soup would have to do. It would disguise the poor quality of the ingredients at least a little.
___________________
At six, he carefully ladled out a bowl, set it on a tray, and started up the stairs.
The many, many stairs.
He took breaks between flights. At least he wasn’t dizzy from the circular stairs, but the occasional window reminded him how high up he was.
Why, oh why did wizards like towers so much?
His legs shook when he reached the topmost floor. Juno shifted the tray over to knock on the heavy oak door.
“Come in.”
Master was hunched over a desk in front of a window, papers and inkpots covering the wood.
Master didn’t look up, pointing instead to a small table against a stone wall. “Put it there.”
Juno obeyed, and took the opportunity to look around.
The circular room was well-lit with tall windows. Built-in shelves from floor-to-ceiling held mystery scrolls and books, quills, even more inkpots, boxes of chalk.
It was messy, but a more organized messy. Not dirty.
There was no rug, and the center of the floor was incredibly clean. A door off to the side probably led to Master’s bedroom.
Master finally looked up, glancing over at the food.
“Soup?”
Juno nodded, unsure if he was pleased or not.
“You can go back to work.”
No way to know.
Juno turned to go back down the terrible stairs.
___________________
The first floor became Juno’s bedroom as well as the kitchen, living room, pantry, storage, and seemingly everything else.
He slept on the (now clean) rug in front of the fireplace. He’d sewn a pillow from fabric that Master didn’t seem to know existed, and therefore didn’t miss.
Once everything was scrubbed and wiped and polished- which took four days of backbreaking work- it wasn’t half bad.
Master did indeed get groceries delivered, and the pantry was now beautiful. Stocked with fresh food that actually got used, and flour that made lovely bread. It was a treat to be able to cook such nice meals.
Master ate quickly, like a starving wolf, so Juno wasn’t sure if he actually liked them.
Wizards were busy people. Juno kept himself busy, too. He grew berry bushes out front to make jam. Used forgotten fabric to make plush toys. Dried flowers over the fireplace and used them to decorate.
Master didn’t notice. Master didn’t pay attention to what he did.
Master didn’t talk to him much at all, except to yell his name down the stairs.
___________________
“JUNO!” called Master from the upper floor.
Juno took the stairs two at a time, panting in the doorway.
Master tossed a small bag over his shoulder at him, and Juno scrambled to catch it. It clinked in his hands, and it felt like coins.
“Get me two pots of ink, one blue, one green, and three boxes of ninety-eight percent chalk.”
Juno blinked. Two pots of ink, blue, green, 9-8 chalk.
Where would he get 98% chalk?
But Master seemed finished talking, and was once again reading his papers and scratching out notes.
Juno shifted, thinking, and the floor creaked.
Master looked up. His brow furrowed.
“Come here,” he sighed, and Juno cautiously obeyed.
Master pulled open a drawer with matches and pots with different labels. He got out a small jar and unscrewed the lid to reveal a dark brown… ink?
He grabbed a quill. “Give me your hand.”
Master dipped the quill and scratched out a sigil on the back of Juno’s hand. He lit a match.
Juno watched in horror as Master held the match to the ink. It burst into flame, he jerked away on instinct, but Master’s grip tightened and-
It didn’t… hurt, but it tingled uncomfortably. The fire died out and the brown was turned to a shimmery gold.
“So you don’t get lost,” Master said dryly. He let go. “Hurry up with that.”
He waved Juno off without further guidance.
___________________
It was hard to figure out what the sigil did at first, but soon Juno found himself… tugged towards a certain direction when he got into town.
He fiddled with the leather shoulder bag. He’d never been sent on an errand like this before, and he felt distinctly out of place.
The sigil pulled him along, down the streets, which looked more and more off-putting the further he went on.
The road grew narrow, and the alleys increasingly frequent. The buildings cast long shadows.
It was quiet here.
Two men stepped out of the dimness, blocking his path. One held a knife.
“Hand over the bag,” one smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile, with yellow teeth and sneering lips.
Juno stepped back. The other man flipped the knife between his fingers, also smiling. “You can go home, or you can be target practice. Your choice.”
He gripped the satchel strap nervously. It was Master’s money, not his to give up, but he really didn’t want to die.
The taller man’s smile fell from his face. He stared at Juno’s hand. He whispered into the knife-holder’s ear, whose gaze also fell to the sigil.
The hand holding the knife dropped.
“Never mind,” the man said. “Have a nice day.” They disappeared into another alley.
Juno wasn’t going to correct them that it was just a locator spell.
___________________
The shop the spell took him to was even more messy than Master’s office. Jars upon jars of strange substances, liquids that swirled on their own, vials of hairs and plants, a bin of teeth Juno hoped weren’t human, and scrolls scrolls scrolls.
It took a while for him to find the inks in the maze of shelves.
The chalks were easy to spot, however, and all labeled with numbers.
But there were only two boxes with “98%” stamped on them.
Master didn’t say what to get instead if they were out.
Juno stared at the empty bin on the shelf, the last two boxes in hand.
“99%” on the bin to the left. “96%” on the bin to the right.
99% was twice as expensive as 96%.
Juno bit his lip, and took a box of 96%.
___________________
“Don’t waste my money, moron. Go find something to clean.”
Master was not happy when he went through the supplies.
“This,” he snarled, shaking the box of 96% in Juno’s face, “is useless for alchemical circles.”
Juno stared down at his feet, trembling. Master hadn’t hit him yet, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t.
He didn’t know what alchemical summoning was, or why the chalk needed to be more pure, but he should have known better.
Juno descended down the stairs slowly and sniffling.
He nodded, eyes wet and vision blurry.
It wasn’t the first time he’d been yelled at. It was the first time this Master had insulted his intelligence, and that somehow hurt more than just the scolding.
“What? What could possibly be so important that you’re disturbing my studies?”
___________________
Guests did not come to the tower.
When a knock sounded against the oak door, Juno had thought he must have forgotten it was delivery day.
Instead, he opened the door to a woman with a small crying child in her arms. The baby was flushed and pale all at once, and her little wails sounded muffled even though her mouth was open.
“Is the wizard here?”
Her voice was full of breathiness and fear.
Juno escorted her in, practically pushing her to sit at the fireplace.
He would get Master; she did not need to go up all those stairs.
Juno fetched her a cold cup of water and took on the steps two at a time.
He wasn’t supposed to disturb Master now, and he ducked at a spoon flung at him in anger when he entered the potions lab.
“What?” Master growled at him, hunched over his bubbling glass beakers and green-flame stove. “And hand me back my spoon.”
Juno handed it over, and tugged at Master’s sleeve for his attention.
Master turned on him, face damp with sweat and hair wild from running his hand through it.
“Show me,” he demanded.
Juno made a coughing sound, holding his throat and pointing downstairs.
For all his gruffness, Master had tried to understand his wordlessness so far.
Juno nodded. What else could he say?
___________________
“She’s sick,” the woman explained, bouncing her baby in an effort to soothe her. The little girl’s crying hiccuped. “Nothing seems to help. The apothecary doesn’t have anything else.”
Master felt the baby’s forehead, his brow furrowed like when he was working on one of his foot-long equations.
“Juno, go make some sugar water,” he ordered. “I’ll be right back.”
He went upstairs, and the woman turned to Juno. “Is he going to fix her?”
Her eyes were rimmed with red and hollow shadows.
___________________
Master returned with two tiny identical vials of shimmering silver liquids.
“This will cure her sickness,” he told the woman. She reached for the vials, and he stepped back. “Let me dose her. Ten millitres. It will taste like shit. Juno, where is that sugar water?”
She looked at him suspiciously, pausing at his hesitation to let her handle the liquid. “Is it safe? She’s only two.”
He sighed as Juno hurried to his side with the still slightly-warm simple syrup.
“Juno, drink this.”
He gave Juno one of the vials of magic.
Juno didn’t dare disobey when he was clearly meant to demonstrate.
He uncorked the vial and drank the whole thing.
It tasted awful. Like dirt and the bitterness of the white part of a lemon peel. He swallowed, gagging.
She watched, eyes wide. The baby wailed in her arms.
Nothing happened.
The woman let Master feed the toddler a spoonful of medicine, then sugar water. Then repeat.
The little girl was unhappy, and Juno let the woman soak a clean cloth in the syrup so her baby could suck on the sweetness.
“Thank you,” she breathed, her shoulders slumped in relief now that her baby was quiet. The flush seemed to drain away like water out of a glass.
Gold was exchanged, and Master went back upstairs.
Juno watched his cloak swish up the stone while he handed the woman a muffin to nibble on.
His stomach hurt.
Juno couldn’t move anyway, white lights bursting in his eyes when he twitched.
Master made his money by selling magic.
Juno made his Master happy by drinking strange things and not crying when his Master needed blood samples.
“On a scale from one to ten, how much does it hurt?”
Juno twitched on the bed, vision fuzzy. He shakily pointed to the crying face on the chart.
“Where?”
Juno moaned when Master massaged his upper stomach, where the agony had spread from.
“Hm.”
Master muttered under his breath. Thinking out loud, he called it.
Master pricked Juno with another blood collection device, the hot red dripping over his skin and into the little cup.
“Wait here.”
He was just happy it was over.
___________________
After a few more tries that Juno hated, Master declared the blood type changing potion a success.
“Of course, it only works on humans,” he rambled, pleased. “I won’t risk trying to morph other species’ blood into human blood on such a small sample size.”
Juno has learned over the past six months that most smart people considered a single test subject not enough for big discoveries.
His head still knocked against the floor clumsily.
___________________
There were other experiments. Potions went down his throat. Sigils and runes drawn on his skin and burned to activate. Sometimes Master misdrew them, and the activation did burn instead of harmlessly become magic.
He never apologized.
More customers came, sometimes with new projects and requests that would take a long time, and Master never refused to try.
Juno didn’t want to.
He wanted to cook and clean and sew stuffed animals and garden.
He didn’t want to be dizzy and knock-kneed and throw up and crash into things when a sigil made his body move too fast to keep up with.
“I thought for sure your work would be done quicker,” Master complained after the second week of trials. “I suppose the physics are unrealistic for that. Are you sure you can’t just get used to the speed?”
Juno shook his head and regretted it, neck aching with whiplash.
He panted for air, and his heart was almost thrumming out of his chest. Is this what a heart attack was?
“Oh well.”
Juno laid down, moving as slowly as he could.
___________________
___________________
It was after a new fire-resistant potion experiment, in which Juno was made to make roasted chicken and potatoes in the oven without protection, that he noticed.
The potion was a success, even better than the previous version, and he was cleaning up.
Master didn’t like potato skins, but the garden compost pile did.
It had been snowing for three days. The compost pile was outside, but not far, so Juno didn’t bother putting on more than his shoes before taking the bowl of skins out.
The wind howled and he should feel freezing and regretful, but he didn’t.
The snow fell on his skin. It was as warm as raindrops.
He brushed the white beauty off the compost pile so the skins wouldn’t lie useless on top.
His hand didn’t notice the iciness.
Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was just after effects of the potion. It was supposed to have worn off half an hour ago. Master was precise like that.
Maybe he should have told the wizard.
He didn’t.
It was just… warm.
Things got weirder.
Dirty dishes seemed to disappear when he looked away, and reappeared clean and put away when he searched for them.
Linens unstained themselves.
Flour never clumped; never needed sifting.
His bread rose quicker and lasted longer in the pantry. Butter and cheese were cold in the spring thaw, even when the dairy accidentally got too warm one surprising afternoon.
Juno looked for new sigils and runes, but there were none.
He was stumped.
Master’s magic was made from careful calculations and precise measurements and theory books. Sigils and potions and a staff.
He did magic by following instructions and making new ones, like how a cook followed a chef’s recipe and made adjustments.
Master wasn’t a sorcerer; wasn’t magic himself.
After a few years of watching Master do wizardry, Juno was certain this was not how wizardry worked.
Juno reached for the fire poker to shift the logs. He paused.
He turned to look into the gentle flames of the fireplace.
Fire was hot. It wasn’t something to be learned.
He could still feel the heat. See the flames dance. The logs glow.
Juno’s hand darted in and out of the fire.
Nothing?
He did it again, slowly.
No burn. None.
He checked his palm, his sleeve.
No singed fibers, no reddened skin.
Well. Sorcerers were born. Not made.
___________________
Sorcerers were born, not made.
Wizardry was built on a foundation of hard work, study, and harnessing existing magic to break the rules of the universe.
What Kieran wouldn’t give to be born a sorcerer. To be able to bend the universe simply with will, without tools, and study it. To create and refine the very laws and techniques that wizards had to copy to even do half of it. To do by instinct and explain later instead of trial and error and careful experiments-
Inherently, a mediocre educated sorcerer would know magic far better than a wizard, who had to look at magic through so many limiting lenses to even grasp-
The plates lay in pieces, ceramic shards scattered.
___________________
Juno was magic.
He figured it out after a few more cautious tries.
He had to think about wanting to avoid burns, or wishing the floor clean when he woke up.
It didn’t work when he recklessly tried to pick up an iron pan without thinking about it. But the blisters did go away when he willed it. It just made him tired.
He was trying to float dishes back to their shelves when a sudden thud made him lose concentration.
The dishes crashed against the floor. He flinched.
Master stood at the bottom of the stairs, heavy book on the floor, his eyes wide.
Juno froze.
___________________
Keiren had made a sorcerer.
It must have been sheer exposure, or maybe Juno had always had a propensity for sorcery, or both.
He had questioned the slave for hours, tried every test of magic ability he could think of.
The boy was a damn sorcerer.
Keiren was going to be the most famous wizard in the world when the order found out.
…If they found out.
He’d never been under that level of scrutiny. His past thesis evaluation would be nothing compared to the rigor of something like this.
Juno looked up at him, tired and probably annoyed, and Keiren was struck with a thought.
If Juno was revealed to be a sorcerer, the order would educate him. He’d outclass Keiren in every way in no time at all. He might even be talented.
Who was to say that wouldn’t end badly?
Who was to say that Juno didn’t want revenge if it was within his reach?
“Well,” he said carefully. “I suppose you may do a little magic at home if you’re quiet about it. Don’t make my customers anxious.”
Juno nodded, relieved to be dismissed.
Keiren turned back to his desk, letting out a shaky breath. Beaded sweat ran down his back, and he shivered.
No more experiments with Juno as a test subject.
He’d have to be nice, now.
And hopefully Juno wouldn’t find out what he could really do.
whumper who always accepts whumpee's negotiations. who mostly listens when whumpee begs. whose rules are very explicit and strictly enforced but outside of that? whumpee's free.
not enough whump where whumper acts like they have all the time in the world to do what they want with whumpee. what is not hurting whumpee for one day in the face of decades of doing whatever you want to them? do you need violence to break someone or do you think decades of captivity will suffice ?
Tommy remembered the first time Caius had kissed him. He was strung up, naked and bloody, bound to a cross for Caius’s cane. His limbs sagged limp in his bindings, in too much pain to speak. When Caius approached him and lifted his head to look at him, Tommy saw fire in his eyes, and he thought he was going to die.
There was something ferocious in his expression, an intensity so urgent it frightened him. Suddenly Caius was close, too close, pressing his forehead to Tommy’s and boring holes in his skull with the look in those grey eyes. Then lips pressed against his, and he was so surprised he gasped. Caius used the opportunity to lick into his mouth, lingering there as Tommy’s brain raced to try to catch up and respond. Cauis pressed his mouth over his once more, hard, hungry, and Tommy could feel his desire, intruding in on his thoughts like a knife between the eyes.
Caius wanted to devour him.
Just as suddenly as it happened, it ended, and Caius pulled away. Tommy gaped, gasping, like Caius had stolen his breath away. His whole body ached and stung, and it overwhelmed the rest of his senses.
“Good boy Tommy, good boy,” Caius reassured him quietly, his hands trailing manicured nails down Tommy’s chest to rest on his hips, thumbing the shallow divots there.
“You’ll understand someday. I’ll teach you.” Those hands strayed lower, and Caius took his limp cock in his hand and stroked it gently.
“No,” Tommy whispered, and with his free hand, Caius stroked the hair out of his face.
“The pain doesn’t have to lessen the pleasure. I’m going to teach you both. Try to enjoy it,” he murmured, and looked down at Tommy’s penis in his hand.
“I know I will.”
-
Tommy sat in his room, feeling insignificant. Caius hadn’t visited him in three days. The only sign he was still alive was delivered in the form of meals through Tommy’s dumbwaiter. Once in the morning and once in the evening, with nothing else to break the monotony.
He killed time in all the ways he knew how. Mostly thinking, imagining a different life outside his cell. He made up a tattoo design competition show to compete in and drew for a while, orating his talking head segments to Bunny as he imagined them, and defended his artwork to an invisible row of judges. He spoke only in whispers, muttering bits and pieces under his breath to his stuffed animal. Then he paced around his room for a while, talking with an imaginary interviewer about his imaginary experience on the imaginary show. He made up an arch nemesis competitor that tried to sabotage him, until he got a bit upset with his imaginary disagreements and abandoned the idea.
He checked his bathroom to see if it was dirty. Nope, spotless. He cleaned it anyways, making a face at the smell of the vinegar solution he was allowed to use. No chemicals, of course, in case he tried drinking them for an easy way out.
He imagined, and paced, and made his bed, and unmade it again. He tried to make a little fort with his pillow and blanket, but he didn’t have enough bedding to make much of anything with. He laid down and stared at the ceiling for a while, and then laid the opposite way just to change it up. He picked at the threads coming loose in the corner of his blanket, and when he successfully pulled three strings out, he made a tiny braid. Drew for a while, tried to invent the ultimate paper airplane. Watched television, but nothing good was on, so he settled for a vacuum infomercial.
His heart sank when he heard the dumbwaiter activate again. While the food and drugs it brought were welcome, it confirmed he would not see Caius today. Again.
Caius wasn’t exactly the best company, but it was all Tommy could get, and he found himself missing his handler, just to talk with another human being again. If he was being punished, he couldn’t think of what for, no matter how he racked his brain. He missed having his hair brushed and hearing about the outside world. He was overdue for his time outside, and he was going stir-crazy without it. He couldn’t see anything through the basement’s glass brick, but he saw the tantalizing glow of sunlight beyond it.
Everyone else gets to go outside, and I’m stuck in here forever.
It was a difficult thought to sit with, and one he’d had many times before. If there was a cure for it, he didn’t know. Instead, he felt overwhelmed by the unfairness of it all, and how he could want something so bad he could taste it, yet still be denied.
He sat in front of the TV and turned it up as loud as he could to drown out the bad thoughts, numbing his brain until the meds kicked in, and zoned out.
~
Caius came slowly down the stairs, feeling a little nervous, a little high. Today would be a momentous occasion, one he’d been putting off for five whole years. Part of him wanted to keep it going, keep Tommy’s innocence forever, but another part of him said that it was time. He’d had his fun. Now he wanted it to be real, and the gravity of it was not lost on him. The idea was exciting, and his body thrummed with energy, his heart pounding. Down the stairs, into the dollhouse. This time, he was playing for keeps.
He hesitated at the door, savoring the anticipation. He’d let Tommy stew in his room for a few days, ignoring him while he let his loneliness grow ripe and sweet. He would not want to turn Caius away tonight.
The thick door muffled the sounds of the television inside, but it was blaring when he opened the door, finding Tommy cross-legged on the floor. He looked tired, like he’d been nodding off, but he turned his face to Caius when he entered.
“Caius?” He croaked, his voice hoarse from disuse. The only light came from the television, a neon blue reflected in Tommy’s pale face, giving him an ethereal glow. Caius memorized the moment before flicking on the lights, making Tommy flinch and hide his face in his hands with a groan.
“Don’t you know it’s not good for your eyes to sit close to the television?” He had to raise his voice to cut through the noise, and Tommy scrambled forwards to turn the volume down. “Sorry!”
The boy was excited to see him, and it brought a smile to his lips. Tommy shuffled onto his knees and stood, a little shaky on his legs before stabilizing. Caius had made sure he wasn’t on anything too strong tonight – just the right level of high to make him more docile. Caius was careful that he was just the right level of high to do this the right way.
“Are-are you here for a visit? For a little bit?” Tommy tried to keep his desperation from his voice, but Caius knew him too well. He remembered then, the first time Tommy had actually asked him to stay - begged him, even, and the way it made his heart seize in his chest. So pathetic. So adorable. How could he say no?
Caius looked around the room, chewing his lip like he was thinking about it before finally answering, “I suppose I could stay a few minutes.” He did not miss how Tommy’s shoulders slumped in relief. He sat on the edge of Tommy’s bed and patted the mattress beside him. “How about you come sit here with me?”
Tommy dutifully joined him, his legs dangling over the edge as he sat half-turned towards his handler.
“How was your day? What-what have you been up to? Anything fun?” He asked eagerly, and Caius chuckled, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “I suppose it’s been a while since we caught up. Well, a while for us.” Tommy was receptive to his touch, snuggling closer with a rare eagerness. He always became more appreciative of Caius after an isolation punishment, needy for his attention after going without.
“Well,” he started, rubbing Tommy’s shoulder. “I went to the opening of a new art gallery in town, but it wasn’t what I thought it would be. The venue was much smaller than what I was expecting, and was more than a bit overdressed for the occasion.”
“Oh no! What did you do?”
“Loosened my tie and lost the cufflinks. Then I was just well dressed enough to make other people feel bad about themselves.” He chuckled, and Tommy giggled, too.
“Did you buy any art?”
“No, it was amateur hour in there. But I suppose there were a few pieces that were alright.” Caius took his phone out and scrolled through his pictures, hugging Tommy close to his side as he leaned over eagerly to watch. He paused momentarily on a selfie, and Tommy pointed to it. He was wearing a blue suit, the jacket open over a white button-up with a black tie.
“You look good there! How were the other people dressed?”
“Business casual at best. Some were even wearing shorts.”
Tommy gasped and put a hand over his mouth as if scandalized, breaking into a big grin when he lowered it again. A thought occurred to him then, and his eyes widened.
“Oh! I um, I have a bunch of new art, can I show you?”
“Sure.”
Tommy sorted through a loose stack on his bookshelf, pulling the best few out to bring back to Caius. He held them out shyly, waiting for him to take them before crawling back onto the bed with him. Caius tilted the first page to hold it up to the light, squinting at the crayon drawings.
“What is it, a swan?”
“A heron,” Tommy offered, slightly deflated.
“Oh yes, I see it now. Hmm…good use of shading here in the wing. And I like the subversion of expectations with having a green bird and purple cattails.”
“It’s a green heron!”
“It certainly is.”
Tommy opened his mouth to tell him that was the name of the species, but caught himself and held his tongue. It was okay to let Caius think he was a ditz. Advantageous, even. But it still didn’t feel good to let his best friend/arch nemesis think he was stupid. Well, more stupid.
Caius had some critiques for all of the pieces, but Tommy was just glad to share them with someone.
They talked for a while. Mostly Caius, telling Tommy about his days, his nights, the weather, the guys. Tommy was hungry for attention and paid it in turn, asking follow-up questions and prompting for details. He didn’t have much of anything to offer for his own whereabouts the last few days, but he told Caius about the vacuum cleaner he saw in an ad.
“They said it’s cordless. How is that possible?”
“Well, you probably have to charge it, like anything else.”
“Oh…well…maybe next time you’re um, looking for a new vacuum.”
Caius chuckled. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
When there was a lull in the conversation, Caius cleared his throat. “You know uh, when I was at that art gallery, I was approached by a photographer who asked me to model for her.”
Tommy’s eyes went wide. “Oh wow! Are you going to do it?”
Caius made a noncommittal noise. “See, the thing is, she wants me to model…nude.”
Tommy hid his smile behind his hand. “She asked you for nudes?!”
“She said it was purely for her artistic vision.”
“Yeah, sure,” and they both laughed. Caius nudged him.
“You’ve posed nude. How does it feel?”
Tommy’s smile faded and he had to look away, rubbing his arm self-consciously. “That’s…different, I think.”
Caius frowned for effect. “I don’t think so, so…how is it?”
Tommy chewed on his thumbnail. Caius grabbed his elbow and forced his arm down to stop him.
“Well?”
“It’s…humiliating,” Tommy murmured. He couldn’t look at Caius. “Everyone else is dressed. You just feel…” he grasped for words, letting out a small sigh when he failed to gather them. “Ashamed,” he concluded.
“Oh, little one,” Caius said, voice sympathetic. He turned to Tommy and took his shoulders in his broad hands, pushing him back to lay him on the bed. One hand held him down while the other caught the hem of his shirt, pulling it up almost to his neck to expose his belly to him.
“What do you have to be ashamed of?”
He splayed his hands over Tommy’s chest, using his thumbs to rub and flick at the small pink nipples on his chest. Tommy looked up at him, flushed and wide-eyed, his pupils dilated with fear and helpless arousal. Caius liked playing with him, teasing him until he was squirming under his hands and there was a little tent in his pants.
“You’re so sweet like this… maybe I should have her photograph you,” Caius murmured, Tommy shook his head, making him chuckle. “Don’t be so bashful.”
He tugged on Tommy, positioning him on the bed and pulling his butt up into his lap. He massaged his hips while he rolled his own up, rubbing against his ass with a soft, contented sigh. Tommy started to look uncomfortable, his eyes darting around as if looking for a distraction. When Caius ground against him, his face went red.
“What–what are you doing?”
“What do you think I’m doing?” Caius asked easily, leaning over to press kisses up Tommy’s throat. He started to struggle, weakly, testing the bonds of Caius’s pin on him.
“W-wait, I’ll– let me get–get on my, on my knees,” he asked, but his voice was squeaky and nervous. He would rather do that than whatever this was.
“That’s not what I want from you right now.”
“Please, please, I can make you feel good….” Tommy hesitated when Caius said it at the same time as he did. What was that?
“I’ll suck it, please Caius, please let me, please?” He tried to roll off of him, intending to get to his knees, but Caius’s hands became shackles around his wrists, pinning him in place. He caged Tommy in with his body, pressing and rutting against him. Cruel teeth found his shoulder and Tommy cried out, writhing beneath as he chewed, and it felt like he was rending his flesh between his jaws. Tommy suddenly remembered Sarge in his lap, bent over him, ravaging him with bites. He’d forgotten it, tried to let it slip from his mind, but now it came back so suddenly and so fresh that he froze. He panted and keened softly in pain as Caius bit and kissed and licked him, feeling a bit like a chew toy in a lion’s enclosure. Soft golden strands fell across his face as Caius looked back up at him, leaning in to kiss him.
Something is wrong. This is different.
There was one last line Caius never crossed, and he was getting dangerously close. Tommy’s throat was closing, and he gasped for air as soon as Caius let up on his unresponsive lips. His voice came out in a terrified whisper.
“Please, Caius, don’t open that door…” They said it at the same time again, and Tommy stared at Caius, feeling like the butt of a joke he wasn’t understanding yet. His stomach was an anxious knot inside of him.
“How do you…”
Caius looked in his eyes, and he felt pinned like a butterfly beneath his stormy stare. He had a small smile on his face, an attempt at sympathy, but he was barely holding back laughter.
“...know what you’re about to say before you say it?” Caius finished. Tommy couldn’t answer, barely managing a stiff nod.
“Because…” Caius withdrew a hand to stroke Tommy’s hair out of his face, tugging a lock behind his ear. His voice absolutely oozed pity. “Oh, angel…you say the same things every time.”
What if Kyriel ended up having a kid with someone since he couldn’t get Kai and Ash’s? What if that kid, one meant to follow in Kyriel’s footsteps, is ultimately the one that aids Kai in defeating him?
Bonus points if he’s a teen because that’d actually be hilarious.
Well, any kid would eventually at some point become teens, so the hilarity is assured.
Jokes aside, this is a cool idea but Kyriel can’t have kids of his own. Without getting too deep in the lore, he’s too high up on the ladder of creation, closer to being a god than a mortal, to reproduce biologically like Kai would. He collects Algebal’s reincarnations like stray kittens and will be a dad to them, but no baby Kyriel running around I’m afraid. He also has no interest in having a child of his own - it will sound twisted and insane, but he has Kai. That’s enough for him.
Anyway I know those who wanted Kai to defeat Kyriel and have a happy ending are kind of starved for more (so many asks in this regard). There is help coming for Kai in the future, I promise - he just needs to hold there for a couple of centuries or more, and then he will be his own worst villain because by then he will be fully and properly cooked and will fight against those who would like to help him. Because Kyriel will have Ashe and being taken away would mean her being hurt, something his ‘saviours’ might not know or care about…
I have a very hot personal take about the Australian and soon to be UK social media ban I invite you all to honestly steal and repeat wherever you want:
Social media is the equivalent of going to a public square to speak your mind. You wouldn’t do it naked unless it was a specific place (eg, a nudist beach) where such nakedness would be expected. You wouldn’t bring a gun unless it was a shooting range.
Imagine how insane it would be to expect all children to never leave the house in fear of someone walking out naked in the square. How insane to demand they never be allowed to speak their mind in public until they are of age. Before they can even vote to object to the policy.
Human rights don’t start applying from the moment someone is 16 and over. Freedom of expression cannot be proportionately curtailed to blank banning an entire segment of the population from the public square. No matter how dangerous the public square is, it is still public, and all citizens regardless of age have the right to express themselves in it.
The very real concerns regarding to grooming, mental health, dangerous content online - eg self harm, things you honestly would not want a child to see before being equipped with the cognitive tools to call bullshit on them, to see and say hold on this thing wants to hurt me - are addressed by regulating what can go on the public square, not who can have access to them. This will be an unpopular opinion on Tumblr, but there is a reason why Ao3 exists: it’s the equivalent of the nudist beach. You have the right to write what you want the same way as you have the right to walk naked around in your house, but if you want to put it in the public square you do so in the appropriate place. You wouldn’t post erotica on Facebook or LinkedIn or walk naked outside of a school. Not because it is illegal (ok, some of it is, and usually for good reason), but because it would be inappropriate. These are different squares meant to do different things, the same way as there are lap dance bars and coffee shops for weed where it is legal.
But you don’t do a blank access ban because sometimes dangerous things happen outside. You don’t just outlaw an entire section of the population from going outside because murder happens in the street in some places at night. I am not exaggerating, it’s the same thing as saying that women shouldn’t leave the house because there are rapists among men. Some societies do that. I don’t want my society to do the same - even more when the policy targets those who do not yet have the right to vote.
So yes steal this line: human rights don’t begin when you are 16. Children have the right to freedom of expression like everyone else, and to shut them away from the public square is a form of illiberalism incompatible with our core values and constitutional principles - especially in the west.
Hello!
Saw that you like compliments on your work so decided to share my thoughts on The Crow and the Dove. I LOVE IT. Reading about Kai's pain, dread of his soon to happen torture over and over. Havent finished it yet but god does this give me a thrill like almost no other work can
My ONLY "issue" is how despite all of the things Kai still somehow has strenght to rebel against Kyriel. While i get he is basically a demi god, its weird he has so much fire in him. Maybe im just not getting it (if so please do tell)
Despite it i love the work. Keep your work up. You do know how to create a masterpiece
Hello hello yes I do! Thanks for the nice words and I am so glad you are enjoying the story x It is very motivating to read now that I am trudging through the canon story, especially the thrill part - I am here for it!
On your issue: this is a very valid note, but 1) Kai is my anti-depression chew toy, and as such every time a storyline threatens to branch into Kai falling down in the valley of shadows I very resolutely shut it down. I am the author, I do unfortunately make the rules. And also 2) a lot of Kai's "rebellion" is actually just anger and fury: he has been killed, brainwashed, chased down, incarcerated, assaulted, and his wife and child have been killed in front of him - and Kyriel still has the audacity to want something from him. Kai is furious, full of hate and sense of duty, and that fire you describe is exactly what is burning him from within. You will see once you finish the story, and I hope you are going to like it :)
