Kweeny's OC Kingdom

Current ❤ Dormant ❤

So after the age of 13 is when everything starts going down hill for Sariah, since that's when they're deemed an 'adult' by Rick's standards (because he's a terrible, horrible bastard and I hate him) and forced into 'entertaining' 'clients' during the night (a.k.a. prostitution). But around 14 is when shit really began to hit the fan since that's around the time they got muzzled and started being routinely starved.

now the reason I say the 13-15 age range was the worse point is because this is time frame between Sariah's two big escape attempts (ages 12 & 16 respectively) and is the lead-up to their eventual sort-of 'mindbreak/completely giving in to Rick' breaking point. During this time is when some of the worst of their abuse initially took place, since the SA was still a relatively new aspect that was difficult for them to adjust to due to how varied the abuse was.

There's also the fact that, since this was before their breaking point moment at 16, Sariah did actually resist and try to fight with their guards, handlers, and clients. Just a little bit. They were often resistant to going along with clients' whims and would lash out if not restrained, and would fight/struggle against their handlers/guards when being moved about the warehouse.

Often this resulted in them getting punished by said handler, or if they were unlucky, Rick, with the punishments increasing in intensity as they wracked them up.

I think I have the like, order of intensity going [corporal punishment by handler -> corporal punishment w/ tools -> strangulation -> drugging -> forced 'servicing' of gang member -> breaking of bones in tail -> waterboarding/drowning -> isolation w/ drugs] ? pretty sure that's the order at least for this time frame.

But yeah! They would get themself stuck in this cycle of punishments, with the isolation being the worst one for them personally due to the specific drug they got drugged with alongside it (sensitivity enhancer; induces an extremely intense sensation of 'skin hunger'/touch starvation that could only be relieved with the specific antidote Rick made)

This is also before they start getting drugged 24/7, so they're more aware of all the abuse happening to them during this time. So like, Sariah is aware of what's happening to them when they're being hurt unless specifically requested by a client to have them drugged up beforehand.

hmmmm, and the clients. I'm thinking that not all of them were assaulting Sariah sexually. Like, at least half of them just wanted to beat the shit out of, or torture a 'demon' for shits and giggles and that's about it. It's also why they have so many scars from clients. Basically anything was on the table as far as Rick was concerned when pimping Sariah out, as long as they're bones weren't broken, they didn't bleed out, and were still 'functional' by morning.

This is also the time period where they start internalizing a lot of the dehumanization rhetoric being thrown at them. This was compounded by the fact that they straight up were not treated like a person at all by Rick and the gang, and at some point around the age of 14 they started getting fed dog food exclusively. They then start questioning internally if they really are a person or a 'thing', and if being a 'thing' would be easier or hurt less in the long term because they don't think they can handle what they're going through if they are actually a person.

The room was painted a bright gold by the light filtering in from the window, casting everything within it into a soft glow that was almost ethereal. Even the carpet beyond the threshold of the space underneath the bed was lit, drawing Sariah's eyes like a moth to a flame. It was hard to believe it was real, that there was real, actual sunlight pouring in through a window of all things not three feet in front of them. Part of their mind is convinced it's a dream, or a hallucination cooked up by whatever drugs Sir had pumped into them that day.

But no, there was no ache in their veins or bruising on their elbows. No strange, sluggish, pitter-patter of their pulse or pounding in their ears from some unknown concoction forced into their bloodstream. There was just Sariah, curled defensively under the bed why hadn't they been forced to use it yet? and the sunlight dappling the carpet three feet from the edge of their muzzle.

It takes a bit of shimmying to get closer to the edge of the shadows marking the threshold of the space beneath the bed, weren't beds meant to hurt them? why put them with one and then not use it? but they manage. They're almost frightened to reach out, some small, quiet part of them terrified this was some trick, either of the drugs or from Sir. But oh, Sariah hadn't felt sunlight in so long…. The tremors wrack their entire frame as they reach a singular hand out, jolting as they make contact with the sun-warmed carpet. Amazement has their ears dropping in awe, before perking up fast enough for the tips to smack the underside of the bed as they sink their palm further into the material.

Sharp, blackened claws rest ugly and ragged against the plush material, the tip of their tail flicking happily where it's curled at their side as they soak in the warmth coating their skin. Gods… when was the last time Sariah had felt warmth like this? years and years and years and years ago It's amazing, it's wonderful, it's-

It's-

It's too much.

They pull their hand back like they've been burned, scuttling back further beneath the bed, gods, why hadn't they been forced to use it yet? why abandon them in a room with a bed of all things-, darkness surrounding them on all sides once again. Warmth and sunlight and soft plush carpets aren't what Things like them deserved. This- it's a trick. It must be. It has to be. Maybe… maybe it was a test? to see how well they could behave without a handler watching over them? Maybe maybe, maybe that was it. Maybe it was a test, and they were meant to stay away from the light and the warmth they so desperately craved because Things like them were meant to stay in the darkness.

So they curl up tighter and close their eyes and block out the sight of bright bright bright sunlight warming the floor three feet away from them. they could be good, they could. they could pass this test and prove they're good and finally show Sir they could listen. Their air is tainted by leather and musty heat floating in from just beyond their reach and they ignore it, ignore it, ignore it as the gold fades to pale white and the hours stretch on.

It's not until large hands, gentle and furred and inhuman like their own reach out with soft promises that they were safe that they finally uncurl peak out past the threshold of the bed with terrified eyes. The words don't make sense, nor does the care or concern lacing the voice of their fellow... Thing? how strange, for a Thing to wear glasses. weren't such things just for people? But he keeps speaking in a gentle voice that they were safe and he was kind and that they didn't need to be afraid. Which must be a lie because they were never safe. They were dangerous, and a monster, and a Thing that needed to be kept in its place, but-

But-

But Sariah wanted to be safe. Sariah wanted to believe that this fellow inhuman Thing was telling the truth. Wanted to trust that the clawed hand held out to them was as kind as it seemed. a fellow Thing wouldn't hurt them after all, not like a human would right?

okay okay, so, in my notes for him I have his reasoning for being the way he is as so fucky. like, he doesn't view mutants with physical mutations as human, but he also doesn't go the easy route and view them as animals either? In his head they both are and aren't alive in this weird sorta limbo depending on the individual mutant and god is it confusing. but imma try and explain it anyways.

okay so, to start off with, Rick very much is a vessel for my own headcannon that there is a large population of humanity that dehumanizes mutants in a way that's not often explored, and that's as creatures of myth. particularly, things like the Fae or nature spirits, stuff like that.

Rick falls into this, in that in his head, mutants like Sariah are 'alive', but function in a way that is completely incompatible with humanity, hence, they don't need to be treated like humans since they aren't human, at least by his own logic.

In his head, mutants with physical mutations are things, not in the way a tree or an animal is, but in the way faerie might be. It's not human, it's not an animal, it's a creature whose very nature lies at odds with humanity, no matter how much it may try to play-act at being human. This is why no matter how much Sariah tried to prove their humanity, or even just their personhood early into their captivity, Rick completely shuts it down; because in his mind this is just an act being put on by an inhuman creature in order to gain sympathy from its captors.

But here's were the whole thing gets fucky- Rick doesn't view mutants as inherently bad or evil. Hell, he doesn't even view Sariah as inherently bad, he just views them as a creature that's following its instinctive nature, and thus needs those instincts beaten out of it in order to be made useful/safe. They're a thing, yes, but that just means that they can't be held responsible for their 'mistakes' because it would be stupid to expect something like that to go against its nature indefinitely, no matter how many beatings it takes.

And I know it's not clear on this blog so far, but one of the things I've been trying to do with Rick in my writing is differentiate how he refers to Sariah versus his subordinates (and Sariah themself) with the whole 'demon' vs 'daemon' thing. because daemon is not just a misspelling of demon, it's actually a root word for it from greek that means a creature between a god and a mortal. so like, he isn't calling them a demon, he's calling them a spirit akin to a fae, it just sounds like the word demon, and because of their appearance, that's what most of the other members of the gang think Sariah is.

And goddddd, it fucks me up. He fucks me up so badly because for him he always views the good behavior as temporary, and all the 'bad' behavior as Sariah's 'true nature' and it fucks me up. Cause you know one of the biggest reoccurring themes in stories about spirits and fae? they try to pretend to be human to trick people. They act like people, or like lost children, in an effort to lure away people to mess with them, so in Rick's head he's doing everything in his power not to be taken advantage of by this 'mythical' creature he's acquired.

So for him, the goal isn't to 'teach Sariah obedience', it's to make them scared/traumatized enough by the corrections to stay in-line with his orders and not go against the gang. The goal is for them to be too afraid of their own instincts and the 'corrections' they get in response to try and retaliate. It's why he keeps upping the ante as Sariah get's older- they keep 'retaliating/lashing out' a.k.a. having the very human fight/flight response to the fear and pain they're experiencing. So in his mind, the corrections aren't working and he needs to make them more intense.

It's why he never tried to just manipulate Sariah into working for him; do know how stupid of an idea it would be to try and trick a fae/spirit? a being whose entire existence is founded on tricking people? So like, from Rick's perspective this is all his efforts to keep a dangerous supernatural entity controlled. It doesn't matter that it's a 'child' right now, even a young predator is still dangerous. At least by coming into possession of it young he can 'train' it into fearing him more than it trusts it's own instincts.

It's also why he keeps depriving them of 'human' things like food, water, proper sleep, etc. If they aren't human then they don't need those things, not the same way a human does. They still need to eat, but what does it matter if it's kitchen scraps or dog food? Neither of those are what Sariah 'naturally' eats as far as he's concerned, so what does it matter if he feeds it kibble? that's easier to keep and store anyways. It doesn't need painkillers or medication, who knows how well those would even work on it? just drug it up so it's not cognizant enough to retaliate in its confusion and let it heal on its own. We'll take it to the doctor for any serious or immediate threats.

This is also why Rick purposely trained Sariah into fearing their own name. Everyone knows that names are important to faerie creatures and spirits, and that knowing the creature's name gives you control of it. So, why not go the extra mile and make sure it fears its name? Make sure it knows that its name is something meant to hurt and control it with? that way it never tries to give its name to someone who might help it.

Sariah wakes just like they do every night since their 'rescue', curled up under the too-big bed provided to them as they choke on a shuddering inhale. Their claws spring up to grasp at their face, confused about the lack of leather scenting their air as their tail coils around themself. Where was-

Right, their muzzle, they didn't have it anymore. They needed their muzzle. They didn't- without the muzzle they didn't know what was and wasn't allowed. Were they meant to speak? To beg? To open wide and mind their teeth? They don't know, they don't know, they wanted the comfort of knowing. The lack of it just made the anxiety buzzing under their skin worse.

But they hate the muzzle. They hate it, but the muzzle was a rule, an in-built order to keep their mouth shut and be good. At least with their muzzle they knew what their handlers wanted from them. They knew what they were meant to do.

After all, what were they meant to do with this much freedom? They didn't know if their sounds were meant to be swallowed or allowed to ring out, if they were supposed to part their lips or beg pretty the way they were taught. they wanted to know. At least with their muzzle they knew what was expected from them.

Maybe… maybe it was lost. Or needed to be replaced. Yes, maybe it just needed to be replaced. They could replace their muzzle. They could be good. they could be good, they could be good, they could be good, they could be good- It isn't hard, to call the mist to their palms and build leather beneath their fingers, years upon years with the material around them burning its structure into their mind.

Brushing their claws against the back of their head and dragging them across their cheeks, thick leather slowly forms under their claws and over the bridge of their nose. The heavy weight of a padlock rests at the base of their skull, and with the leather digging into their skin they can finally breathe.

The ache is familiar, comforting in a way that leaves them sick but at least it's the kind of sick they know how to deal with. Finally, the suffocating weight of anxiety that had been sitting in their chest dulls down to something they actually know how to manage. they hope their new handlers will be happy, they've been good, right? Falling back asleep is easier this time, the feeling of their own cold breaths hitting their lips lulling them to sleep as they tuck their tail around themself. they were finally being good.

Cold, weak breaths hit the leather sitting a few millimeters from their lips, the concrete smooth and cold beneath them as they lay prone on the ground.

Sariah had fucked up again, their correction leaving them nothing but a bloody mess on the floor.

Their muzzle was digging into the old scars along their cheeks and nose, the pain melding with the rest of the agony washing over them. it hurts hurts hurts hurts- The soft whine of pain dies in the back of their throat as Sir look down on them though, the sound of his dress shoes stepping across the concrete making them shake.

"Have you learned your lesson this time Sariah?" They don't try to answer behind the muzzle, not interested in another lesson on how demons didn't speak. their name meant he was still mad

Weakly, they nod from their place on the ground, horns scraping against the concrete floor as they keep their eyes averted. Somewhere above them Sir smiles, crouching down to roughly pat the leather over their cheek. "Good daemon. We'll see how long this one sticks." Tears spring to their eyes at his words. they hate the relief that bubbles up at the lack of their name.

I can be good though! Sariah wanted to yell, hot trails slipping from their eyes along the edge of the muzzle. I can be good I can be good I can be good-

It wasn't true though, and they both know it. Sariah was never good, they just had stretches of good behavior before they inevitably fucked up enough to need correction again. they hated being corrected-

. . .

They're dragged back to their room by their tail, their current handler uncaring of the sharp ache the action leaves in the base of their spine or the bloody trail it leaves in its wake. The heavy metal door shuts with a thud as they're thrown inside, landing with a muffled yelp on their broken broken broken ribs.

Sariah drags themself over to their little cot, wheezing as they pull themself up onto it with a sob and collapse. Every inhale was another spike of agony as they were unable to stop their breath from shaking.

Despite that, they try to keep their breathing shallow, lying flat on their back despite their desire to curl into themself and disappear. They'd tried doing that once when they were younger and nearly punctured their lung.

What they can't stop however, are the hot tears that spring to the corners of their eyes and slip down to their hairline, desperately trying to bite back their sobs so the pain wouldn't get worse.

I'm sorry. It's the only thing they can think as they sit in agony and wait for their ribs to start mending.