[whumpuary 2024] calren & amilía » stay. please.
Story: RPG Storyverse (Canon or at least canon-adjacent I think?)
Genre: Idk, vaguely whump?
Rating: 18+
Characters: Calren & fool_with_dream's Amilía (+ mentions of Aina & Marlyn)
Challenge: Whumpuary 2024
Prompt: Can't move / "Stay. Please" / Kidnapped
CN: Kidnapping, captivity, blood, torture, unconsciousness; some kind of fawn trauma response I guess; rare occasion of an non-verbal character attempting to speak; mentions trans topics (coming out & magical transition)
Author's Note: The Amilía/Calren brainrot has been strong within me lately & this prompt just spoke to me immediately, enjoy <3 (Also I think this is the first time I drop an on-page reference to Cal being 1. trans and 2. connected to a fae realm, so yay for more queer n confusing Iri OC lore I guess)
Stay. Please.
It’s one of very few things Calren has said out loud repeatedly throughout his life.
He remembers uttering those words to his mother when she was about to leave him alone in his room and he wasn’t capable of telling her he’d had a terrible nightmare and was now scared of the monsters that might be lurking in the dark. He remembers that Aina squeezed his hand a little tighter when he whispered those words into the trembling silence between them, asking her to come with him when he first told his parents he wasn’t the daughter they believed him to be, but another son they didn’t know what to do with. He remembers wrapping his arms around Malin - Malin’s new shape, so similar to his old one, eerily familiar and totally strange at the same time -, crying uncontrollably, staining her new chest with tears of joy, choking out those words between sobs for lack of another way to express his feelings for the fae princess who had just saved his life - by making a trade they knew would bring both of them peace, but cost them their special connection sooner or later.
Special words reserved for special moments.
Now Calren is lying on the cold floor of the windowless chamber that has become his prison, desperately trying to gather all the courage and willpower he has left in his broken body and shattered mind, just so he can say those very same words to the woman who kidnapped him weeks ago and has been taking her sadistic desires out on him ever since.
He has grabbed her by the ankle, too weak to move any further, bony fingers holding on to her like she’s his lifeline, even though she is the one who put him through all this misery in the first place. What?, she asked, darting a stern gaze towards him, and now her brow is furrowed, and he knows if he doesn’t manage to say anything within the next few seconds, she’ll be gone again, she’ll free herself from his weak grasp easily and leave him here in a pool of his own blood, and he won’t know when she’ll be back, if she’ll ever come back for him or if she’ll just let him rot in here-
»Stay. Please.«
The words come out so shaky and broken, weaker than ever before, he's not convinced they sound like real words at all, and for a moment, he can't even tell whether he said them in the correct language, or if his mother tongue slipped through the fog clouding his exhausted mind.
But Amilía does notice; her dark eyes widen, and at first, she just looks … puzzled. Like she can’t believe she just heard a sound come out of his mouth that is more than a grunt, a sob, a scream. A sound unlike anything else she has tortured out of him ever since she took him and locked him up in her basement. A long moment passes as she regards him with newfound curiosity. »Did you just … speak?«
Calren nods. He’s well aware his voice is weak and strained, doesn’t sound quite right; he uses it so rarely, it’s a miracle he still has a voice left at all for the rare occasions it wants to come out. But she did hear him. Did stop in her tracks to take notice, even though the fact that he is speaking at all almost seems to be more surprising and interesting than the words themselves. Without letting go of her ankle, he raises his other hand to point at the table across the room, where she set down her notebook and writing utensils earlier.
Wordlessly, she nods, and he reluctantly lets go of her as she turns on her heel to get him what he asked for. He’s so scared she might just leave, but she does come back, bringing all of it with her and setting it down on the floor in front of him: A single page ripped out from the back of the book, a pot of ink and a feather. Apparently, the words confused her so much she now must know what’s on his mind, even if that means granting him a wish she normally wouldn't accept without thinking twice.
Thank you is the first thing he writes. His chain rattles with every move he makes, shaking from the strenuous effort that writing is right now. He makes sure she sees it, gaze flickering towards her face as he holds the paper with the shaky letters up for her to read. She’s squatting in front of him, watching his every move intently. Only when he’s sure she noticed, he continues: Will you please stay with me a while longer?
Tilting her head slightly, she reads the line, then adjusts her gaze to look directly at him, a strange mix of confusion and fascination taking over her features. Hundreds of unspoken questions seem to be dancing behind her eyes, but the one that makes its way out of her mouth first is: »Why?«
For a moment, he just stares at her, eyes pleading louder than his voice ever could.
Then, he writes: You can keep hurting me if you want to. I don’t care. Just don’t go. You were gone for so long last time. Don’t leave me here without you again. Please.
He puts the feather down and pushes the piece of paper towards her, his eyes fixed on the ground now. There’s no more energy left in him to keep up eye contact, let alone write more. The exhaustion is pulling him down, deeper into the sticky puddle of blood he is still sitting in, closer to the abyss of unconsciousness that will surely welcome him back soon. He leans against the cold stone wall, closes his eyes, and all he can feel is the metal around his neck. The collar attached to the chain that keeps him fixed to this damn basement floor.
Of course, she’ll leave. He will stay locked up here, and she will go wherever she wants until she feels like visiting him again. Maybe she will stay away even longer than last time on purpose simply to torment him. He knows in his heart that he should not have asked, shouldn’t have made himself even more vulnerable, shouldn’t have admitted to wanting her near despite the unceasing cruelty she treats him with; but in the face of another eternity alone in here, he couldn’t think of any alternatives. He doesn’t dare to hope, but if she would just understand his words for what they are - not an attempt at manipulation, but a burst of pure truth, a desperate confession, a declaration of complete surrender -, she might just choose to grant him this one wish. He had to try.
All the torture she has subjected him to, and what hit him the hardest was being alone in here, not knowing if she’d ever return, with no way to distract himself from the terrible state his body is in, or cope with the equally concerning state of his mind. Maybe she has broken him beyond repair, and this is his way of dealing with it: Attaching himself to the only person who can still see beauty in the pure suffering his life has become. Maybe he has always been like this, and this is what she gets for choosing him, of all people, as her victim: Affection she doesn’t deserve, directed towards her simply because she made herself the last semblance of pleasure left in his world, the last personal connection he has, the only beautiful thing he still gets to see, however superficial that beauty might be.
To his surprise, Amilía reaches out for him. He can feel her fingertips hovering just above his forehead and left temple, carefully brushing a blood-stained, greasy strand of hair aside. Calren opens his eyes and sucks his breath in sharply. It’s a gentle, intimate kind of touch he was not expecting, and for some reason, it startles him much more than the expected kick in the face would have; his eyes frantically search for an explanation in her features, something, anything, a hint at what the hell is going on, but there’s nothing. Just this weird, pensive expression that doesn’t show any real emotion, at least none he’d recognize, but doesn’t seem entirely empty, either.
»I have to leave now«, she explains, her voice calm, her eyes fixed on him. Something is off about the way she looks at him, but he can’t quite pin down what it is. »But not for long. I will be back soon. Get some rest in the meantime.«
I will be back soon.
It should sound like a threat, but somehow, the tone of her voice is so unusually soft Calren is convinced it's a promise instead. He’s counting on it to be true either way; whatever she has in mind, it’s better than being alone in here with his fear, his pain, his hunger, his thirst, his endlessly spiraling thoughts. So he just nods, forcing a weak smile onto his lips as he watches Amilía stand up and gather her belongings.
He passes out mere seconds after she closes the door behind her, and for the first time in weeks, he doesn't dream, or at least his mind is merciful enough to not let him remember when he wakes up to the sound of a key being turned in a lock a few hours later.
Genre: Idk, vaguely whump?
Rating: 18+
Characters: Calren & fool_with_dream's Amilía (+ mentions of Aina & Marlyn)
Challenge: Whumpuary 2024
Prompt: Can't move / "Stay. Please" / Kidnapped
CN: Kidnapping, captivity, blood, torture, unconsciousness; some kind of fawn trauma response I guess; rare occasion of an non-verbal character attempting to speak; mentions trans topics (coming out & magical transition)
Author's Note: The Amilía/Calren brainrot has been strong within me lately & this prompt just spoke to me immediately, enjoy <3 (Also I think this is the first time I drop an on-page reference to Cal being 1. trans and 2. connected to a fae realm, so yay for more queer n confusing Iri OC lore I guess)
Stay. Please.
It’s one of very few things Calren has said out loud repeatedly throughout his life.
He remembers uttering those words to his mother when she was about to leave him alone in his room and he wasn’t capable of telling her he’d had a terrible nightmare and was now scared of the monsters that might be lurking in the dark. He remembers that Aina squeezed his hand a little tighter when he whispered those words into the trembling silence between them, asking her to come with him when he first told his parents he wasn’t the daughter they believed him to be, but another son they didn’t know what to do with. He remembers wrapping his arms around Malin - Malin’s new shape, so similar to his old one, eerily familiar and totally strange at the same time -, crying uncontrollably, staining her new chest with tears of joy, choking out those words between sobs for lack of another way to express his feelings for the fae princess who had just saved his life - by making a trade they knew would bring both of them peace, but cost them their special connection sooner or later.
Special words reserved for special moments.
Now Calren is lying on the cold floor of the windowless chamber that has become his prison, desperately trying to gather all the courage and willpower he has left in his broken body and shattered mind, just so he can say those very same words to the woman who kidnapped him weeks ago and has been taking her sadistic desires out on him ever since.
He has grabbed her by the ankle, too weak to move any further, bony fingers holding on to her like she’s his lifeline, even though she is the one who put him through all this misery in the first place. What?, she asked, darting a stern gaze towards him, and now her brow is furrowed, and he knows if he doesn’t manage to say anything within the next few seconds, she’ll be gone again, she’ll free herself from his weak grasp easily and leave him here in a pool of his own blood, and he won’t know when she’ll be back, if she’ll ever come back for him or if she’ll just let him rot in here-
»Stay. Please.«
The words come out so shaky and broken, weaker than ever before, he's not convinced they sound like real words at all, and for a moment, he can't even tell whether he said them in the correct language, or if his mother tongue slipped through the fog clouding his exhausted mind.
But Amilía does notice; her dark eyes widen, and at first, she just looks … puzzled. Like she can’t believe she just heard a sound come out of his mouth that is more than a grunt, a sob, a scream. A sound unlike anything else she has tortured out of him ever since she took him and locked him up in her basement. A long moment passes as she regards him with newfound curiosity. »Did you just … speak?«
Calren nods. He’s well aware his voice is weak and strained, doesn’t sound quite right; he uses it so rarely, it’s a miracle he still has a voice left at all for the rare occasions it wants to come out. But she did hear him. Did stop in her tracks to take notice, even though the fact that he is speaking at all almost seems to be more surprising and interesting than the words themselves. Without letting go of her ankle, he raises his other hand to point at the table across the room, where she set down her notebook and writing utensils earlier.
Wordlessly, she nods, and he reluctantly lets go of her as she turns on her heel to get him what he asked for. He’s so scared she might just leave, but she does come back, bringing all of it with her and setting it down on the floor in front of him: A single page ripped out from the back of the book, a pot of ink and a feather. Apparently, the words confused her so much she now must know what’s on his mind, even if that means granting him a wish she normally wouldn't accept without thinking twice.
Thank you is the first thing he writes. His chain rattles with every move he makes, shaking from the strenuous effort that writing is right now. He makes sure she sees it, gaze flickering towards her face as he holds the paper with the shaky letters up for her to read. She’s squatting in front of him, watching his every move intently. Only when he’s sure she noticed, he continues: Will you please stay with me a while longer?
Tilting her head slightly, she reads the line, then adjusts her gaze to look directly at him, a strange mix of confusion and fascination taking over her features. Hundreds of unspoken questions seem to be dancing behind her eyes, but the one that makes its way out of her mouth first is: »Why?«
For a moment, he just stares at her, eyes pleading louder than his voice ever could.
Then, he writes: You can keep hurting me if you want to. I don’t care. Just don’t go. You were gone for so long last time. Don’t leave me here without you again. Please.
He puts the feather down and pushes the piece of paper towards her, his eyes fixed on the ground now. There’s no more energy left in him to keep up eye contact, let alone write more. The exhaustion is pulling him down, deeper into the sticky puddle of blood he is still sitting in, closer to the abyss of unconsciousness that will surely welcome him back soon. He leans against the cold stone wall, closes his eyes, and all he can feel is the metal around his neck. The collar attached to the chain that keeps him fixed to this damn basement floor.
Of course, she’ll leave. He will stay locked up here, and she will go wherever she wants until she feels like visiting him again. Maybe she will stay away even longer than last time on purpose simply to torment him. He knows in his heart that he should not have asked, shouldn’t have made himself even more vulnerable, shouldn’t have admitted to wanting her near despite the unceasing cruelty she treats him with; but in the face of another eternity alone in here, he couldn’t think of any alternatives. He doesn’t dare to hope, but if she would just understand his words for what they are - not an attempt at manipulation, but a burst of pure truth, a desperate confession, a declaration of complete surrender -, she might just choose to grant him this one wish. He had to try.
All the torture she has subjected him to, and what hit him the hardest was being alone in here, not knowing if she’d ever return, with no way to distract himself from the terrible state his body is in, or cope with the equally concerning state of his mind. Maybe she has broken him beyond repair, and this is his way of dealing with it: Attaching himself to the only person who can still see beauty in the pure suffering his life has become. Maybe he has always been like this, and this is what she gets for choosing him, of all people, as her victim: Affection she doesn’t deserve, directed towards her simply because she made herself the last semblance of pleasure left in his world, the last personal connection he has, the only beautiful thing he still gets to see, however superficial that beauty might be.
To his surprise, Amilía reaches out for him. He can feel her fingertips hovering just above his forehead and left temple, carefully brushing a blood-stained, greasy strand of hair aside. Calren opens his eyes and sucks his breath in sharply. It’s a gentle, intimate kind of touch he was not expecting, and for some reason, it startles him much more than the expected kick in the face would have; his eyes frantically search for an explanation in her features, something, anything, a hint at what the hell is going on, but there’s nothing. Just this weird, pensive expression that doesn’t show any real emotion, at least none he’d recognize, but doesn’t seem entirely empty, either.
»I have to leave now«, she explains, her voice calm, her eyes fixed on him. Something is off about the way she looks at him, but he can’t quite pin down what it is. »But not for long. I will be back soon. Get some rest in the meantime.«
I will be back soon.
It should sound like a threat, but somehow, the tone of her voice is so unusually soft Calren is convinced it's a promise instead. He’s counting on it to be true either way; whatever she has in mind, it’s better than being alone in here with his fear, his pain, his hunger, his thirst, his endlessly spiraling thoughts. So he just nods, forcing a weak smile onto his lips as he watches Amilía stand up and gather her belongings.
He passes out mere seconds after she closes the door behind her, and for the first time in weeks, he doesn't dream, or at least his mind is merciful enough to not let him remember when he wakes up to the sound of a key being turned in a lock a few hours later.