Y’all know walk cycles, right? Well, I think the whump community deserves smack cycles. A looping eternity of a character being slapped across the face :)
Case in point: I taught myself how to animate in Photoshop last night. It’s rough and janky but I like it.
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A happy Asexual Awareness Week to all from Floyd and Mabel! Floyd’s been asexual and aromantic to me from the beginning of the story, but I recently figured out that Mabel is demisexual and probably biromantic. There’s a possibility that I may have more ace characters up my sleeve but I don’t actually know most of their sexualities, so these two are here to represent for now!
To all you lovely people under the ace umbrella: whether you’re still questioning or have been set in your identity for a while now, you’re so valid and I hope this week is a good one!
For all the rest of you reading: let an ace person know you appreciate them sometime this week, and don’t be afraid to spread the word! It means the world to see support from allosexuals, even if it’s just reblogging a post that’s already been floating around.
I think the title really says all, here. About 2800 words, so this is decently lengthy. Very excited to have it done!!
Content warnings: branding, burns and general presence of fire, creepy whumper, fairly possessive here, noncon touching and kiss (nonsexual and only one kiss to the forehead)
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“I find it very important to mark what belongs to me, you know.”
Floyd swallowed hard and nodded, his eyes locked on the glowing metal in Percival’s hands as it pressed against a barrel lid. Flames flared up and elicited a hissing sound as it burned. He only held it for a few seconds before lifting up again, revealing the dark brand now impressed in the wood’s surface.
The metal was smoking when Percival laid it back down in Floyd’s hands, and he scrambled to bring flames back to his fingertips before it could scorch him. Each repetition took even more effort and energy, but he’d been able to consistently please Percival so far... except for his lethargy and subsequent punishment right after waking up, that was. His split lip wasn’t making it easy to forget.
“Getting tired?” Percival smiled over the branding iron, his eyes not unlike the glowing ones resting in his palms. The end of the iron was a curved figure eight, fluctuating in thickness, with two thin rods vertically splitting each half. The symbol of infinity, he mused, inhabited by the eyes of a serpent. Fitting.
“N-no, I’m sorry,” he said.
“Pay more attention. You’re doing such a good job so far, and I’d hate to see those hands of yours ruined by ignorance,” he chastised, and Floyd felt conflicting instincts of pride and shame rise in him. He felt worse for letting those words make him feel anything at all.
He nodded, watching the iron simmer in the flames for a minute or so before removing it and choosing the next barrel. Since some old ones were rotting through, he’d recently found new ones. Whether they were stolen or actually purchased, Floyd really couldn’t care less.
Percival had enlisted his help in lugging them out to the deck earlier, far too early in the day for his malnourished body to do such hard work. That’s what had earned him the punishment in the first place, and the dented end of the next barrel was further physical proof of his laziness.
The cool morning mist still permeated the air around them and made it even more difficult to call upon his magic. It clung to his skin along with the sweat when the brand swung back into his hands.
There didn’t seem to be a set reason for Floyd to participate in this anyway, other than to hone his skills. Percival told him he was convenient, but he found that hard to believe when even a small, steady fire could have been doing this job more effectively. He’d tried to bring that up before, but it only ever got him a slap to the face on a bad day or a patronizing chuckle on a good one. He didn’t argue very much against Percival anymore.
He didn’t do very much of anything against Percival anymore, come to think of it. Obedience was like second nature to him. It ran through the core of his very being, and whether or not that was beneficial for him became less clear every day. Following orders kept him alive safe. Being subservient allowed him more basic rights privileges. Playing his part let him bide his time until he made it out of this hell. But there were too many days where Floyd felt he wasn’t just putting up a front anymore.
“Benedict.”
He flinched, blinking.
“What did I just tell you?”
The end of the branding iron hovered just over his fingertips, the heat so close it nearly singed them. Floyd scrambled to call his magic back, sending sparks flying in his panic. Percival’s frown deepened when one hit his coat, glowing and sparkling before it went out. He let the full weight of the iron rest on his captive’s hands, watching them shake with adrenaline and exhaustion.
“Do it again and I won’t hesitate-”
“I understand, I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he insisted, not wanting to hear whatever threat Percival had to offer this time.
“...don’t interrupt me,” Percival sighed, shaking his head. “I was just considering rewarding you, too.”
Floyd hated how he perked up at that. He focused hard through the last few brands, even as his magic weakened and failed him. The small burns on his hands stung as the last brand was finished.
“Very nice work,” Percival smiled, setting the brand aside to replace the lid on each barrel. “I think these can stay out here for now.”
Floyd breathed a sigh of relief at that. He was shaking all over already and couldn’t possibly lift one of those barrels, let alone the five he’d been forced to carry out.
Percival got to his feet, took the branding iron in one hand, and nudged Floyd with the toe of his shoe, indicating that he should stand as well. He did so slowly, legs trembling and threatening to send him tumbling back to the deck. His captor grabbed his upper arm to guide him, having forgone the leash that morning since most of the crew was still asleep, and those who weren’t were busy keeping the ship afloat. It seemed to be more for show than anything else, lately.
Floyd leaned into his support as they walked, grateful for simply being allowed on his feet. Too often after a hard session he was pushed to his knees and forced to ‘crawl if he’s so tired.’
“You’ve been doing so well lately, darling,”
“I... thank you,” he breathed. Percival didn’t just say things like that without a reason. It set him on edge and he felt his pulse jump.
“I mean it,” Percival insisted, “I really am proud of you. You’ve come so far.”
Floyd swallowed back the disgust that pooled tears in the corners of his eyes, nodding along with the words, fearing the cracks in his voice should he try to speak.
He’d come so far. He’d come so far from who he was working up to be, who he almost felt confident as, and now he was breaking in a different way... but it was the same, wasn’t it? Always keyed in to follow instructions, push himself until he physically couldn’t bear the strain, endure a punishment anyway, and crumble. He’d felt himself slip before and he could feel it again, but this time was so much worse.
“There’s one more thing I want you to do for me now. Then you can rest.” Percival opened the door to his room, and Floyd looked back nervously as he shuffled in.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Take off your shirt.”
He froze, eyes locking on Percival’s face, seeing the sincerity there, and slowly trailing down to the branding iron, still glowing faintly in his hand. No. He… he couldn’t be serious.
“Why-”
“I told you to take off your shirt, darling.” The warning in his tone was clear.
Floyd reluctantly slipped the light linen over his head, folding it and setting it beside him.
“Good. Now, go lay down on the table.”
His heart pounded in his chest. That was it. That was the only answer, wasn’t it? He couldn’t move. He couldn’t think. Despair and panic overcame him and he met Percival’s eyes.
“No- no, you’re… you’re not seriously-”
“I did say I find it important to mark what belongs to me, didn’t I?” Percival smiled, then, and oh fuck this was really going to happen.
Floyd clapped a hand over his mouth to hold in a desperate sob, but he couldn’t breathe. The mere thought of the brand pulled his chest tight with terror. Tiny gasping breaths fought to get past his throat as tears bubbled up and spilled.
“Please, please don’t- oh god- pl-lease!” Floyd choked on his pleas when Percival advanced on him, reaching for his collar. Without a second thought, he dropped to his knees and bowed his head. “A-anything else, please, please I can’t- I can’t- fuck-”
He squeezed his eyes shut so he didn’t have to see his tormentor approach, to try to hold back the tears spilling over something that hadn’t even happened yet--that couldn’t happen, he couldn’t handle this--and to pretend he was, dear god, anywhere else for even a moment. His arms flew up around his neck, around the collar so he couldn’t be grabbed there, and he hunched over his knees.
“Hey, don’t be like that,” Percival bent down and ran a hand through Floyd’s hair, not grabbing or pulling just yet. His tone almost sounded sympathetic over the amused laugh bubbling up from his chest. “You know there’s no way out of this. Honestly, I’ve had my heart set on keeping you since I first figured out what you were, but I thought you might need a little adjustment period before you were ready to accept that. They always do.”
Floyd shuddered, tears welling up and slipping out despite his best efforts. He’d seen the marks left on the barrels. He knew what that amount of heat would do to his skin. His side itched, the slight, nearly invisible scarring there a permanent reminder of that. But scalding water couldn’t hold a candle to red hot metal.
“Don’t be difficult,” Percival chided, reaching a hand to his chin and pushing it up. A guide. A warning. Floyd turned his head, pointing resolutely down to the ground.
“I’m-” he started roughly, swallowing tears and pride, ”I know that. I already know I’m- I’m yours. So, you don’t have to- to mark me to make me understand.”
He didn’t have to look up to know that Percival was beaming. Floyd’s skin tinged red with shame.
“Oh, that’s- I’m flattered, buttercup,” he breathed, practically glowing as pure ecstasy flowed through him. “If I’d known this is what it would take to make you good… but even then, if you accept that you really are mine, then you should have no problem letting this happen. You should be honored that I adore you so, Benedict.”
He bit his lip. This time when Percival reached for his chin, Floyd raised his head.
“Open your eyes.” They peeled open slowly, drying tears sticking to his lashes. The fond smile shining down on him made him want to close his eyes and never open them again.
“Get up.” Thin fingers pushed between arms he hadn’t even realized he’d loosened, hooking into the loop at the front of his collar. Either he got up, or Percival forced him to anyway. There wasn’t a choice. There had been none to begin with. He’d known that from the moment he refused, hadn’t he?
“Walk.” He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t willfully submit himself to this. To bear the mark of his captor that would surely never fade for as long as he lived. How long…
Floyd planted his feet, even as he was pulled forward by the hand on his collar. The metal rod of the branding iron swung, smacking hard into the small of his back, pushing him forward with a strangled gasp. He walked, then, unsteady and shaking on his feet.
“Get on the table.” He rested a trembling hand on the wood, feeling the ridges underneath his fingers as he tried to convince himself to follow the command. It would be easier if he did what he was told. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much. But he knew the mental burden would never ease.
A hand on his shoulder made him flinch, gather his fading strength, and heave himself up to sit on the edge. The hands guided him to sit fully on the table, a palm on his chest pushing until he laid on his back, shaking against the hard surface. Percival reached under his collar to clip it to a small loop in the wood. When his hands were guided over his head, he only held them resolutely by his sides until he saw the iron raised, poised to strike.
Floyd’s throat tightened with the straps that fastened around his wrists, squirming against their hold and breathing in whistling, whining breaths. Straps held his ankles and he twisted against them when another looped over his abdomen. They were too tight, but anything holding him still at all was too much to stand by then.
Percival stood over him, and Floyd saw excitement blazing in his eyes. A sense of deja vu washed over him, the same feeling of overwhelming fear and vulnerability as when he was first laid out on this table: the first time he felt his magic as Percival’s forcefully tore it out of dormancy.
“Now…” Percival had both hands on the branding iron as he raised it up, hovering the end over Floyd’s hands, just close enough to brush them with the slowly cooling metal. It took him a moment to remember what it meant, but Floyd gasped and sobbed when he realized.
“No, no I won’t, you can’t make-”
“Oh, but I can,” Percival grinned. “Go ahead and do what you need to, or I’ll make you.”
Floyd couldn’t tell if it was the exhaustion of having spent so much of his energy doing it over and over again or if he simply couldn’t force himself to heat his own brand, but no fire sprang to his fingertips. Percival sighed, reaching a hand out to skim over his skin and press in on the underside of his right arm.
Power shot between them, painfully so, and Floyd shouted as his palms sparked, blazing hot with raw magic. He clenched up, instinctively resisting the invasion, but couldn’t stop it no matter how hard he tried. It was wrong, and an unnatural coolness ran deep to his core, but he could do nothing to stop its path to the carefully crafted metal.
Seconds blurred into minutes and it felt as his body was taken from him. More of Percival’s magic ran through him than his own and everything it reached was foreign in a way that it had never been before. His magic wasn’t his own, nor had it ever really been. It was all so violating until it was simply numb and chilling.
Finally, it stopped, but the sensation lingered. Floyd was almost relieved until he remembered what came next.
“No…” he whispered, heart seizing up in his chest when he saw the brand glowing even hotter than he had heated it before. The orange was so bright it was nearly white in some areas, and when he blinked it still lingered in his vision, flashing in the darkness. Permanent. Permanent.
“Hold still unless you want to mess it up and go through this all over again,” Percival warned, tracing a figure eight over his chest with one finger and drawing a shiver from him as he cried. That’s where it would go. That’s where it would always be. His mind raced, trying to find any way to get out of it. Maybe…
Floyd focused and gathered what magic he had left, attempting to push it towards where Percival had traced, to use his power to combat the flames. It wasn’t much but- he froze when he felt the hand slide up to his collar, the unmistakable sensation of the restrictor turning on, leeching his magic, and leaving him empty.
“Oh, Benedict, you shouldn’t have even tried.” Percival clicked his tongue, wretched, condescending, false sympathy dripping from his lips.
Both of his hands gripped the handle of the branding iron, positioning it straight above Floyd. He willed his breathing to slow, for his chest not to heave and bring him even closer to the fate slowly closing in on him, but it didn’t matter in the end.
No unending second or stuttered heartbeat lasted lasted long enough to stop the iron from finding his skin, pressing down, tearing a startled scream from his throat that opened into a wail at the pain that seared into his chest, radiated out through everything around it- he ran out of air but he couldn’t breathe in, every breath choked out in a desperate whine.
His eyes were wide and unseeing, and everything reeked of fire and ash and his own burning skin, and oh, oh fuck, and why wasn’t it gone why was the iron still there, still digging in still burning still burning-
Floyd gasped when it pulled away, screaming and pleading with every breath he heaved in for relief that wouldn’t come, coughing and shuddering and crying outright, writhing against the bonds even as the brand flared with pain.
“Shhh, it’s over now, shhhh,” Percival carded a hand through Floyd’s hair, slick with sweat, and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. Floyd turned his head away, struggling even harder against the straps still tethering him to the table.
“No, don’t move just yet. I’ll let you see how it looks before we bandage it up, I promise. It’s… you’re just... stunning,” Percival smiles. He smiles, staring at the burned emblem on Floyd’s chest, and it’s a smile of pure, unrestricted joy. He could have sworn he’d seen tears glittering in Percival’s eyes before he blinked them away. “You’re mine. And now everybody else will know it too.”
Sometimes you just gotta draw a hug, so here’s Ray and Floyd having a moment together! I used my sketching brush for the entire picture here and I’m really digging the softer look it gave.
However... there’s always room for angst. Modified version under the cut, but content warning for scrapes and bloodstains!
Ah yes, now this is familiar territory. I’m not quite sure what happened to him to make injuries like that, but it was a fun artistic experiment nonetheless!
Thanks to @spookyboywhump for tagging me in the chain for this picrew! Tumblr was being rude, as always, and not allowing me to arrange the images correctly so I simply elected to make a separate post instead.
From left to right these are of Floyd, Llyr, Percival, and Mabel. A bit of a random combination but they were the ones working with me tonight.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Unfortunately I won’t have anything for Whumptober for a good while longer, but here’s a car doodle I did of Floyd last night! I think I’m definitely gonna have to work something like this into canon now; it’s just too tempting... there’s always more room in the Whumpees Who Get Tied To The Mast Club...
Floyd, I want you to go to DEAR WONDERFUL Percy and thank him for teaching you how to be a good pyro.
Aha, finally getting back to those command asks from a few weeks ago! Sorry it took me this long, but I had my fun with this one. The others should be coming in a matter of hours or days, depending how writing them goes. That being said, thanks for sending in this command Pep! Past you was cruel!!
Oh, and almost forgot to mention: this is at some point in the future of the timeline when Floyd’s... a little more compliant, let’s say.
content warnings here for creepy whumper and creepy comfort
“Percy? Who’s… oh.” Floyd looks over his shoulder, spotting Percival preoccupied across the deck, leaving him a moment’s reprieve. “You… might not want to say that around him. He’d probably- yeah.” He pauses for a moment, looking lost in thought. “Ah- I didn’t catch the last thing you said after that. Do you think you could repeat yourself? I’m so sorry-”
You cut him off before he can apologize any further, repeating the command firmly, but not without the sickeningly sweet, condescending tone you spoke with the first time.
Floyd’s face falls. He runs a shaking hand through his hair, pushing it back only for it to flop on his forehead again a moment later.
“I… please, I don’t-” he pleads quickly, very obviously distraught, but cuts himself off as the command takes hold. He looks down at you silently, but you can see the frustration and desperation in his frown. A quick, dismissive wave of the hand turns him around, muttering “Right…” as he goes, pressing his lips into a thin line.
Floyd tips his head down as he walks, wrapping his arms protectively around his battered and bruised body. He seems to favor his left leg, limping every other step and grimacing each time his right foot hits the ground.
When he approaches Percival from behind he stands silent and still, waiting. It takes a few minutes for his presence to even be acknowledged, and Percival only does so with a pointed glance, looking Floyd up and down before saying anything.
“A request?”
“...no, sir. A, uh, a comment. Of sorts,” Floyd says.
“I’ll hear it from your knees then. Make it worth my while, darling.”
He drops quickly to kneel before Percival, hands in his lap and eyes trained on the ground. His mouth opens to speak, not wanting to keep his captor waiting, but nothing comes out except for a whistling, shaking breath. Floyd kneels there for a few seconds longer, just trying to breathe and get this over with before a hand settles below his chin.
When it pushes up, he raises his chin quickly and stares up at Percival, towering above him. He tries to swallow his fear and shame, but the angle his neck is at makes it impossible, and Floyd only succeeds in nearly choking on his own spit.
“Benedict. Love. When I said to make this worth my while, I wasn’t asking you to draw it out,” he smiles sweetly. “Just tell me what you came over here to say.”
“I was t- I mean, I was wanting to tell you…” he trails off, takes a deep breath, and sets his gaze on Percival’s. “Th-thank you for teaching me how to be a... a good pyro,” Floyd whispers, face burning with shame. He tips his head back down on the last word, but he sees his tormentor kneel before him, a genuine smile splitting his face.
Hands settle on his shoulders to give them a quick squeeze, and he looks up through his eyelashes, holding back a shudder.
“Oh…” there’s a smile on his face, but there’s almost pity in his eyes. “Oh you aren’t nearly good yet. But of course. You’re finally getting the right idea.” He falls silent, brushing a tear away from Floyd’s face that he hadn’t even felt himself shed. The movement almost feels reverent. “Since you’re trying so hard today, we can take a break and work on that now, darling.”
Floyd nods, knowing it’s not just a question or suggestion. You watch as they stand up, and Percival loops a finger through the ring of his collar to guide him down below deck.
