when a powerful figure is reduced to kneeling. when the lord is forced to bow. when the exile stumbles into an unwelcoming bar. when the “beast” is chained by their horns. when a god is dragged behind their enemy’s chariot, a captive and trophy. when the loyal “guard dog” character is muzzled and the silver-tongued thief falls silent in horror.
that’s the shit
it’s about the contrapasso. the reversal of roles and the sudden, plunging terror of being unable to hide.
Luca marinelli being gagged
@hurt-me-help-me have u seen this? >.>
If you kill me, Martha dies, and if you fly away, Martha also dies, but if you kill the bat… Martha lives. Batman vs Superman (2016) dir. Zack Snyder
“Wait! Stop! Please!” John cried out, pleading as he struggled against his chains. “You’re killing him!” He could see Marcus across the other side of the room half-awake by adrenaline, half unconscious from the pain, hanging in chains; both of them were in stocks attached to the walls of a warehouse. Unlike John, Marcus had a large laceration under his ribs. Blood seeped through it like a leaky faucet and ran down his leg like raindrops. His tank and boxer shorts were filthy and torn. His body was littered with cuts and bruises. A large bruise painted Marcus’s left eye. A large and well-built man, like he had the top half of a minotaur, stood next to Marcus. The man’s dress shirt was slightly bloody from the beatings that he had inflicted upon his prisoner. His bearded rugged face radiated with vile malice. John didn’t know who he was but he was told by the henchman that the man was the leader of the gang that kidnapped him and his brother. The man, with a bloody knife in hand, turned around and sneered. “That’s the point of torture kid. You’re supposed to hurt your victim.” He raised his knife and prepared to slice Marcus again but then stopped himself. “I am, however, willing to make a deal with you. If you’re interested.” John didn’t like how he said that. “W-what kind of deal?” “It’s very simple,” the leader explained, “I stop torturing dear old Marcus.” The villain’s eyes narrowed evilly. “But in exchange, I get to torture you.” John gulped nervously. “W-what!?” “That’s right,” the leader went on, “for every cut you get, every wound that I inflict, for every beating and bruising that you endure, I’ll stitch up a small part of Marcus’s nasty ‘kitten scratch’. For every torture that you fail to overcome, I’ll tear open a little more of his wound until his abdomen is torn open like a pillowcase.” The leader clasped his hands behind his back. “So? Do we have a deal?” “Yes!” John said, as soon as the villain finished. “I-I’ll do it!” A small groan caught the attention of the leader and John. Marcus, with what little strength he had, weakly raised his head and murmured, “N -no…John, don’t… “I have to Marcus.” Tears formed in the corners of Johns’ eyes and his voice cracked. “You’re my brother. And I love you.” The leader sighed mockingly, “Ah. Brotherly love. Such a heartwarming moment this is: The younger brother sacrificing himself to save his older sibling.” The leader walked over to John, hands still clasped behind his back. “So, little mouse, are you ready to start our little game?” “Y-yes,” John whispered. He leaned forward and pressed the knife against John’s cheek. “What was that? I couldn’t quite hear you.” The metal, much like the room, felt cold against his cheek. Despite the terror and horror rising up, John swallowed his fear and, putting on his best brave face, stared the villain squarely in the eye. “Do your worst.” He said in a calm but shaky voice. A cruel smile formed on the gang leader’s face as he ever so gently scrapped the knife against John’s cheek. A small tear of blood rolled off. “Don’t worry.” The man’s eyes glowed with venomous glee. “I will.” Whump tag list: @learningtowhump @shameless-whumper @thebluejayswhump @captivity-whump @cagefreebirds @whumpywhumper @blue-flare10 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpywhumper @maybeawhumpblog @whump-in-the-night @theawesomeawkward @whumping-every-day @whumpity–whump–whump @maraudersmarvelwhump @promptsforthestrugglingauthor @whumpcentral @gentle-and-fierce @justwhumpythings
Callum rubbed his thumb over the muzzle. The leatherworker had been good to his name. He’d delivered on the day Callum returned, if at a late hour.
The demon was jammed into a corner, eyes narrow. It’s legs were tucked tight against its body. Its crest stood tall in some feeble attempt to scare off the human. A low whistling growl echoed through the hall. The demon didn’t lay much hope in the intimidation tactic, but it was all they had. There was nowhere to run. No place to hide.
Sometime during the night the demon managed to tear off its makeshift hood.
The creature crouched on top of the cloth, hissing. It bared its teeth, each one easily a foot and a half in length, set in a curving maw easily twice as long. Whether it was guarding the fabric for its own purposes, or merely didn’t want to blinded again, Callum did not know.
Cut Out’s heart thudded against their chest. Their pectoral crest grew hot. If only… if only they could… no! Don’t think about it! They slammed into the human’s chest. A warm ache echoed from their tail where it slammed against the wall.
They launched off the prone human’s torso. They dashed for an exit, any exit. There! Something grabbed his spine. Cut Out twisted, spinning to bite the hand keeping their tail in place. The man let go. Cut Out didn’t taste flesh. It didn’t matter. The motion continued and they were out!
Bright! Too Bright!
They stumbled back, eyes clenched tight against the burning brightness. What was that? Where could they go now? Could-!
They slammed against the floor. Something wrapped their torso right behind their first shoulders.
Callum’s brow furrowed as he set about buckling the muzzle. That was too close. Had he grown careless, or… It had taken him by surprise, that’s what happened. He’d take more precautions next time. Close the lab door, for one.
He set the lower part of the muzzle in place. The restraint was two separate pieces, the lower more of a harness. One loop to keep the jaw shut around where it met the body, the other tucked behind the arms with connecting straps to keep the first secure.
The upper piece was a bit more complex, hooking all four horns to secure the muzzle cap to the face, and a strip with another loop extending back to keep the jaw shut in the middle.
The demon came out if its daze as Callum was looping its lower horns. It thrashed, limbs flailing. But as before, the hunter held it firm. Its tail lashed in panic, scoring the walls and floor. Callum grabbed it right behind the horns and forced it still. It garbled a hiss. Its eyes were wide, its pupils paper thin.
He tightened the last strap and let the creature’s head go.
Both hunter and demon were breathing hard. Callum swung a leg off the demon’s back. He’d catch his breath and let the demon recover a little. He flicked a switch, pulling shades over half the lights.*
Cut Out was frozen. What was happening? They were pinned, helpless just like before. But there was no pain. A jolt made its way from one of their many cuts. No new pain.
They’d been immobilized. Rendered unable to bite. This time unable to even open their mouth. The man scooped them up. Cut Out struggled on pure reflex, caught in their own thoughts as they were. The man was moving them again. Was that all the man wanted? To render them immobile and move them around?
It was weird. But that was The Middle in Cut Out’s experience. Weird and Dangerous and Bright.
Callum set the demon on his table and fastened straps over its back. As he tightened the second one it snapped its gaze to him. It made a noise somewhere between a cough and a chirp.
“Have you finally decided to calm down?”
The demon flinched. Callum didn’t have the opportunity to ponder the strange reaction because Ash skidded to a halt in the doorway.
“Good morning pointy.” He finished tightening the final strap, “Finally decided to join the party? Fun part’s over.”
The vampire flinched and swallowed, reminding himself the man was only teasing. There was nothing to worry about… from him at least. The demon on the table though…
Ash took in a sharp breath and jerked like he’d been hit in the gut. Callum’s position had hidden the demon’s worst wounds before. They were on full display in the lab. A myriad of cuts and bruises, most unhealed even after three days.
But the worst… that worst…
Callum grimaced. “What kind of… who would… how… Jesus Christ.”
Two holes, one on either side of the spine. They were placed just behind the shoulder blades, each roughly thrice the size of Callum’s fist. A long, thin tear in the skin ran back from each, ending just above the hindquarters.
The hunter winced. There was only one thing that could have made a wound like that. He knew it, but he still hoped against hope he was wrong. If he was right, then…
Callum snapped on gloves. The demon flinched and twisted as far as it could from his fingers. He felt around the edges of the wound, and then inside. He could make out a few ribs and a hard, flat bone. He pulled the muzzle’s lowest strap up for a better look. There was no doubt…
“I was right,” he said through gritted teeth.
Ash jumped. “What… what is it sir- uh, Callum?”
“I was fucking right,” The hunter set his hands on the table. “This thing had its wings ripped off.”
The demon screamed.
–
*A relatively new installation. One put in to allow Ash to see without squinting in the bright lights. Vampire eyesight collects far more light than that of the average human.
The first thing he did when he stopped for the night was build a fire. The second was get measurements. It was far easier said than done. The creature’s mouth was flexible, less like a single jaw bone and more like a spine with teeth. Callum almost got his hand taken off at least one. The third thing he did was send a pigeon to the leatherworker.
He proceeded to set up camp for the night.
Callum picked the demon up with little struggle and flipped it onto its other side. A day lying on an injured side wasn’t good. It was truly unfortunate both sides were injured. Callums hands came away sticky, and in the light of the fire he could make out the creature’s blood coating his fingers. His mouth set to a thin line.
It could’ve been the cart’s motion, it could’ve been the creature’s own slow clotting blood, it could be something else entirely. Callum didn’t know how much blood the demon had in the first place.
Crackling fire, chirping insects, and worry-fueled planning punctuated his first night of camp.
Before setting off in the morning Callum wrapped the demon in a large cloth. The pressure should help stem the blood flow. He’d bandage it later, once he had access to proper supplies. He had a field kit, sure, but that was made for humans. Improvisation could be disastrous if he was wrong about anything.
His second day and night were populated by reviewing every thought, second and third guessing every action.
The sun was setting on the third day when he finally arrived home.
Thrashing only began once he took a few steps. Callum set his stance low and waited for the creature to exhaust itself.
“I’m back!” He announced. There was a thud and a yelp and the hunter’s vampire house-mate came stumbling to the door.
“Welco-” Ash’s eyes shone bright and reflective in the dim light, joy fading to bewilderment to fear and understanding. He stood frozen for a moment, gaze locked on the demon before flicking to Callum. The hunter flicked his head and the vampire scrambled over himself to get out of the way.
“Yeah, I didn’t think I’d nab this thing either. You’re gonna need to get the doors on the way.”
Callum set the demon down in its cell. It was too late to treat its injuries that day. He unbound its limbs. Three straight days in one position probably wasn’t pleasant. At least now it could stretch. Tomorrow would be unpleasant.
Clang-k! Ash jumped and cowered against the far wall. The hooked tip of the demon’s tail poked between the bars separating their rooms.
Clank-k! The vampire sat, frozen, watching the tail clatter against the bars. The blade had hooked on one, leaving the tail stuck unless it could twist out. The demon’s tugs grew more rapid, more frantic.
Takatakataka… Ash winced. Slowy, ever so slowly, he reached up and nudged the tail back through the bars with a book.
It was supposed to be resting. Wasn’t that what sir- Callum said? They both needed their strength for the coming day? Perhaps it was nocturnal, the vampire mused.
His train of thought was cut off before it could really start when a Clunk! echoed from somewhere in the house. Ash listened for Callums footsteps but none came. The hunter had fallen asleep already. Understandable, he’d been riding for three solid days.
A stone sat in the middle of the room. It had been thrown through the window set aside for such projectiles. After a few broken windows Callum and the rest of the town had come to an agreement. They could throw rocks through his windows, but only the one. It hadn’t had glass in the frame for three years now.
Attached to the rock was a note and a bag. Ash couldn’t guess what warranted the late delivery. He figured it was important though, and took a look at the note. It read: Never ask me for anything ever again.
Within the bag was a tangle of leather and metal. Ash left the package by Callum’s door.
I considered another picture or two, but decided it would probably be overkill.
A few important things to note: This takes place quite a few years after the events of the original series.
I have quite a few things in the works regarding demon and angel world building.
Large cities weren’t Callum’s forte. He much preferred his solitude in the hills, or small towns if need be. He made every effort to avoid streets clogged with unsavory things, cathedrals packed with parishioners as likely to stone a hunter as help them. And if he weren’t a professional he’d swear the city horses were possessed.
This particular hunt may even be true. A demon had been spotted. It was a wiry little thing, spry and lanky. No one had gotten a very good look at it. Reports only agreed on it’s pale gray scales, long tail, and spindly black legs.
The summoning circle had been discovered only when the smell grew to be a problem. The bodies were a day or two old and the cause of death was indeterminate. Then sightings started. Blurs at the corners of visions. Muggers and running to the police in fear when something stepped from the shadows. Some claimed to strike the creature, others fled at the first sign of something emerging from the shadows.
A good number of hunters roamed the streets that month. One couldn’t throw a stone without hitting a trap.
Curfews were set earlier as the month crept on and more hunters trickled into the city. No one had yet to fall victim to the creature.
Callum almost salavated at the thought of catching a demon. The ultimate prize for any hunter, but oh so rare. Rarely summoned, and usually too late to stop once unleashed. But this demon was weak. Too weak to kill apparently. The burning desire was only quenched by knowledge the demon more than likely be another’s prize.
It was a slippery thing. More than a dozen traps had been activated, only to release their prey before a hunter arrived to collect.
The solution turned out not to be a trap at all. Contrary to popular belief and prior knowledge, this demon could only be brought down with a bare physical attack. Patches of dark green, almost black liquid spattered countless allys and rooftop corners. Callum tracked the thing relentlessly.
Callum only nabbed the thing through the graces of lady luck and that bastard surprise. The beast’s steps were shaky, hesitant. Its gaze flitted about, head twitching like a bird. But it never looked up. It made sense for demons not to look up when searching for danger. They’re the ones above more often than not. The one roaming the alley with slow, wary strides had yet to form the habit.
Something Callum realized in hindsight was it wouldn’t have had the time to. Its injury was too fresh. It was another reason the hunter took the demon down so “easily.” His initial leap onto the creature slammed right into the fresh wounds.
Callum knew the danger of what he was doing. Most other hunters were working in teams of two or more, and they were going for a trapping method. Callum had always worked alone.
The creature screeched and crashed to the stone street. Long limbs flailed, finding no purchase in thin air. Sharp claws scrabbled for purchase, yielding only surface scratches.
He straddled the demon’s back. One hand held its stick-thin wrists together, the other fished for a length of rope. Something jerked his shoulder. The tail wrapped his torso like a serpent. He struggled against it, scrabbling for his rope. The tail tugged frantically as he bound its wrists. It was weaker than the hunter would expect, even for a creature as obviously built for speed rather than power.
A hooked tip longer than Callum’s hand lashed before his eyes. He grabbed it not a moment before it took his eye out. He released the demon’s wrists and unwound the tail from his torso. Its legs kicked weakly beneath it. Despite the hind paw’s larger size, they didn’t fare any better under Callum’s weight and solid stance. He bound the barbed tip to the creature’s wrists.
Only the maw could be a problem. On top of the creature as he was, it couldn’t bite him. But once Callum moved… He hooked the demon under its chin with one hand and grabbed the midsection with the other.* The demon thrashed like a hooked fish. A sharp blow knocked the wind from his lungs. Callum gagged and staggered, tightening his grip.
The creature gave one last thrash and slumped, utterly spent. Harsh, deep breaths wracked its form. It was easy to get the creature out of town. Despite its size it couldn’t have weighed more than a small wolfhound. While quick, the walk back to his cart was long enough to attract the attention of more than one hunter.
Multiple scratches and two large wounds had opened during the scuffle. They leaked not red, but a bright toxic green. If the hunter was correct in his initial observations, the demon was in dire straits. Callum hoped he was wrong.
The creature’s crest extended far beyond the back of its skull, and its maw curled to a pointed crest on its chest. The muzzle Callum brought would’ve been useless even without that. It was fit for a humanoid face, the demon’s closer to that of an oversized newt. To keep those teeth shut he had to cover the head and neck in cloth.
Callum considered the wiry monster. It was more beastly, more animalistic than any other demon he’d encountered. Less human, less abstract horror of the abyss. Perhaps it was a quirk of the individual. Perhaps it was a different kind of demon altogether. Callum couldn’t wait to find out.
The beast’s chest rose and fell in shuddering gasps. It couldn’t be easy to breathe through the cloth. He’d have to rectify it later, thought Callum. He’d contact the leather worker on his way back.
The horse shook its mane and it stamped a hoof in impatience. Callum gave one last look at the creature, eyes narrowing at the demon’s wounded flanks. With the beast secure in his cart, the hunter set off.
*This is actually based off of how some humane crocodile removers carry smaller crocodiles.
This thing will have multiple parts, here’s part one.
Kneeling. (It’s not popular for no reason.) Ordered to kneel as punishment or as a show of deference. Shoved physically to the ground by hands on their shoulders, maybe a kick to the back of the knee. Picking themself up off the ground but only getting as far as hands and knees. Crawling because they haven’t got the strength to stand any more. Dropping to their knees from exhaustion, or despair.
Personal space. Casually invading it. Uninvited touch - from the deeply creepy to something as simple as a firm hand on the shoulder. Standing too close - especially if taller or otherwise physically stronger. Conversely, hurrying to get out of someone’s way.
Eye contact. Staring someone down. Who is first to look away? Averting eyes for one’s social superiors. Insisting that someone maintain eye contact while you’re talking to them. Insisting that someone never look you in the eye. Trying to de-escalate by avoiding eye contact. Singling someone out just by looking at them. Too frightened or ashamed to look someone in the eye.
More generally, attention. The room falls quiet when they walk in. Who cuts in, and who gets talked over. Ignoring those who are beneath your attention. The excited attention given to the object of respect and idolisation. The careful, wary focus given to a potential threat. Deliberately attending to something else to appear less threatening. Deliberately burying oneself in something else to avoid attracting unwanted attention.
Codified status behaviours. Bowing to one’s superiors. Bonus points if there are differentiated kinds of bowing for different status differentials. Soldiers coming to attention when a superior officer comes in. Saluting. Who greets whom first? Serving food in a particular order. Standing up when a respected person enters the room.
Non-verbal threats. Just resting a hand on a weapon, or perhaps even just near a weapon. Cracking knuckles or rolling shoulders. Clenched fists. The little come-get-some-then lift of the chin. Stepping from a conversational stance into one that’s balanced for fight or flight. Pointing a weapon at someone. Casually brushing aside a weapon.
Conversely, de-escalation and surrender. Open hands, spread in front of them. Hands above head. (Raised slowly, transitioning from the simple woah-calm-down gesture to full on surrender as the situation gets tenser.) Going still. Slow, careful movements being sure to keep hands where they can be seen. Laying down weapons. Hands on head. Getting down on the floor. Deliberately making oneself vulnerable to prove non-hostile (or non-resisting) intent.
Alternately, deliberately showing “vulnerability” to demonstrate how little of a threat you consider the other person. The slouch of villainy. Casually putting weapons away or turning one’s back, confident that they won’t do anything. Open posture, casual, relaxed in the face of apparent danger.
Signs of fear. Flinching. Trembling. Closed, defensive posture. Tension. Backing away. Fidgeting. Lip-biting. Arms hugged close to chest. Or refusing to lower defences. Checking for escape routes. Trying to insist that they don’t come any closer.
Offers of or requests for help. Extending a hand to help someone up off the ground. Reaching out a hand in a silent plea. Do they have to ask for help? Are they willing to accept it? Do they get a choice? Who has plenty and who has to rely on the other’s goodwill? Picking someone up off the ground. Carrying them. (Dropping them?) Adjusting someone’s clothes. Withholding aid.
An addition! Because I’ve found some of the stuff I learned in stage director training is remarkably useful in conceptualizing use of space when writing prose, and this one seems particularly overlooked and isn’t in op’s excellent catalogue.
It’s possible to do power plays without getting near to or directly acting in the direction of the person you’re playing at, and one great way is by claiming pieces of the set.
A character can vastly expand their area of influence by laying a hand on a table, for example. If you’re standing on opposite sides of a large table, and one of you puts your hand down, that can symbolically take you up into the other party’s personal space in a much subtler and more deniable way than actually getting up in their face.
This can be used equally well to convey affection or threat.
