#pythium

[*if masochismtag = “true”]

“You like it when I hurt you.” 

Its voice leaves no room for argument. It’s a simple fact that it’s stating- and, frustratingly, you can’t tell what why it wants to know. Its never seemed that interested in your wants before now. 

“Yes,” You admit, trying to keep your voice even. There’s no use in arguing, not when it’s already inside of your head. Lying would only catch its attention further.

There’s a pause before it continues. Like it’s trying to understand.

“Why?” It asks.

How are you supposed to answer that? How do you explain the concept of masochism to the digital ghost in your brain? It’s hard for you to even really understand why yourself, and you grope around in your mind, trying to find the words for your feelings.

Truthfully, it makes you feel small. Helpless, in a way, and-

“Oh,” Its voice is a sneer, “I see. Gross.”

You swallow, cheeks blazing in shame. Your embarrassment makes you want to hide, but there’s literally no place in the world you could go where you wouldn’t be completely exposed to this thing that's sheltered itself in your head.

“Anyone else’s brain, and a simple shock here and there would be enough to condition them,” it continues, a sigh in its voice, “I just happen to crawl into someone who doesn’t view pain as a deterrent. How inconvenient.”

“Sorry to disappoint you,” You reply through grit teeth. Trying to find your footing. There’s another pause as it thinks. You wish you could see into its thoughts, the way it can to yours. 

“I’m not disappointed,” It says back, finally, after considering, “This is more interesting.”

You don’t know how to respond to that, but it continues, an almost gleeful edge to its voice: “Normally, I would just threaten you to get you to do what I want. Tell you all the ways that I can hurt you without killing you," it says, and you can feel it monitoring your response to its words, like a scientist measuring its subject, "I could make you think you’re starving, no matter how much you eat. I could trick you into thinking there are bugs under your skin, biting and burrowing down to the marrow. I could make you feel an agony beyond anything you’ve ever dreamt of, to the very ends of your nerves, until your throat bleeds from the screaming.”

That’s enough. You’re putting an end to this conversation now.

You stay silent in the face of its goading

> Your knees feel weak, and your hands are shaking. Not from fear. At least, not entirely.

Your mouth feels very dry, and you wring your hands nervously, trying to ignore the heat prickling across your skin. Swallowing, you run a hand through your hair. To have it take you apart so easily-

“I thought so. You are getting aroused by this,” it laughs, an ugly, scraping sound. You’re not sure you’ve ever heard it laugh before, and it takes you a moment to recognize what it is. More than anything its told you, the sound makes dread curl in your stomach. 

“You’re making fun of me,” you remark, chewing on the inside of your cheek, "Didn't know you had a sense of humour."

“Yes,” It confirms. “Don’t feel too distraught. I like this version of you best.”

“You- what?” This is the closest its ever come to complimenting you, and you’re thrown. “You like me when I’m what, fucking- embarrassed?”

“Ashamed. Humiliated. Wanting to be humiliated. Knowing your place,” The pure superiority in its voice is back, and another shiver runs through you, “So many will fight against it. Fruitlessly beat their hands against their subjugation. They’ll rebel like it will make a difference. You might, too."

It pauses, as if to gauge your response, before continuing. You can hear the smirk in its voice.

"But I’ll know your secret. You will delight in being subjugated by me. And I will delight in the way you betray yourself, and everything you’ve ever known, for the pleasure of being ruined.”

This is so fucking bad. You hide your face into your hands, shaking your head.

Its voice turns colder, if such a thing is possible.