#branding

(contains: lady whump, restraints, muzzle, branding, captivity, light dehumanization flavors(?), character with mutated limbs and dysmorphia about them, hurt with a little comfort at the end)

    Eugenia woke to a harsh tug on her arm– the left one, the horrible, unnatural one that was too sensitive and too numb, too thin and too lumpy and too thick where it had no reason to be, in swollen sinew and fleshy bulbs. Someone’s heavily gloved hand dug into the space between two bones that hardly had any feeling and their thumb pressed into the edge of a lump that now felt like it was searing in the heart of a forge.

    There was a funny thing that the cursed arm did. Instead of feeling pain in one part of it, keeping it to just the one bulbous lump of flesh, every sensitive point on the whole arm reacted at once. The bits around where her wrist and elbow used to be erupted in a similar burning pain, and the five tendrils at the end of it writhed as what remained of the joints jerked in the crushing grip.

    “Wh’s–” stumbled out of her mouth, followed immediately by a wordless cry as the grip shifted, pushing in harder against the sensitive spot on the upper arm.

    Getting her leg and the cursed leg underneath her was an ordeal lately, even when she was alone; if she had thought that being held up by someone else would help, she was being proven wrong presently. While it felt like strength and coordination were lagging behind the movement of her right leg, the thing on the left was moving a bit too much and a bit too harshly, throwing her off balance enough that the only thing holding her up was the too-tight grip.

    “–seems to be convulsing again,” a vaguely familiar voice was saying.

    Eugenia’s left eye could see them, but the right wasn’t open yet, which explained why she was only seeing in shapes of temperature. The light pierced into it like a fine, narrow sword aimed right through her skull.

    “Wh’t’re you d–” she started to ask, knowing it would be fruitless. Especially fruitless this time, because whoever this was jerked her harshly by the shoulder before she could finish, sending scalding shivers up the length of the arm and down her spine.

    Another voice reached her faintly through the grogginess, much farther away than she had grown used to. The distance picked up her heart rate as she craned her head to look, squinting her right eye open to see, though watery through tears.

    “…Genie, Eugenia! Genie can you hear– Get your hands off my patient!” Diana was far away, at the other end of a room, behind a door? Eugenia couldn’t make sense of it through how everything was spinning and blurring. Before she could blink anything away and try again, another pair of thickly-gloved hands took hold of her right arm.

    “Knew they shouldn’t’ve let the doc stay in specimen containment,” a low, slightly familiar voice muttered above Eugenia’s head. “The curse’s getting into her.”

    “I can hear you,” Diana’s voice would be comforting, she sounded furious and protective, but she was too far away.

    “Dia,” Eugenia gasped out, “Dia what’s, wh, what’s–”

    “Quiet,” snapped the low voice. There was some new, unfamiliar apparatus, something like the examination table but different.

    “Oh, let her get it out while she can,” said the other. Eugenia was pressed against a cold surface, angled up, one of the hands that gripped her right arm letting go to push against her back and keep her there.

    “Let her go,” Diana snarled, “before we find out how bendable these bars are. We know exactlyhowbreakableyour–”

    An involuntary cry from Eugenia drowned out the rest of that. Straps were tightening around the thing on her left where her arm used to be, keeping it in place even as it writhed out of her control. Its convulsions pressed the soft, sensitive bits into the cold metal surface and chafed at the skin under the restraints, and she hated it with such force that she was able to wrench her right arm back to herself.

    If she could just loosen one of the straps–

    This brief struggle only lasted a second before the hand on her back pushed hard enough to crush the air out of her lungs in a high, sharp gasp, pinning her right arm under her chest.

    “Please–” she wheezed out as she felt three points of contact on her shoulder, elbow, and one worming under to get to her wrist.

    “This will go quicker if you cooperate,” said the more neutral voice just before the pressure eased up from her back slightly.

    Eugenia’s still-free hand darted across for where the restraint on her left shoulder ought to be, but wasn’t quite fast enough.

    “–filthy rat bastards can’t you see she’s not in any state for this–”

    “Admin really knows how to pick ‘em,” the low voice grunted as two sets of hands wrestled Eugenia’s right arm into restraints. (She put up more of a fight than she could have a few days before, but was still at a thorough disadvantage.)

    The final strap was tightened around her right wrist, and the process was repeated with her legs. The thing on the left kept jerking reflexively, throwing off her coordination for any attempts she could have made to kick with her right, not that it could do much good barefoot and with poor leverage.

    “You still haven’t told me what you’re doing,” Diana didn’t sound calmer, but like she was pulling back to assess before another attack. “If Isido thinks–”

    “We’re not here for Admin Isido. There’s more than one of them, you know, and this–” there was a lighter thump on Eugenia’s back, but even the slight jostling from it made the left arm pinch and burn, made her tear up and bite down on her lip, “–project is shared, if you remember.”

    Diana didn’t answer verbally, just with a low growl. (It was possible that she had been emitting a low growl the whole time…)

    “But– but what are, what are you, what’s,” Eugenia caught herself mumbling, pulling against the straps on her right arm to no avail. When one of her tugs caused an echoing movement in the left one, she tried to bite back a whimper and stopped moving.

    There was the sound of something being picked up, with a metallic clink, and Eugenia’s head was being turned so that the right side pressed against the table. A hand lingered on her neck as another one clumsily pushed her hair to the side. (It was still in the long braid Diana had helped her put it into the night before, after another sterilizing potion bath left her skin stinging.)

    A loud crash and the sound of claws scraping against metal came with a loud snarl from Diana.

    “Get that away from her! Don’t muzzle my patient!”

    Muzzle?

    “You had to tell her, now she’s struggling again,” grumbled the low voice. The grip on her neck tightened as Eugenia tried to turn her head and dislodge it. She could hear her breaths, high and fast and shallow, tinged with pathetic whines.

    For a few seconds, the only sounds Eugenia could hear was that of her own hitching breath, of blood rushing and pounding in her head over the pressure on her neck, and of Diana’s claws scratching and scrambling against metal, against bars if she had heard right.

    Something leather closed around her throat, a strap trailed up the back of her head, and there was a pause as they tried to lift her face off of the metal.

    “No no no nono please don’t please you don’t have to I can, I won’t, I swear you don’t have to please–nnh–!” Something pinched what remained of her left ear and she flinched reflexively, gasping, whole body shuddering and trying to curl inwards.

    Before she could process it, more thick straps had been brought around the sides of her face, a leather mouthpiece was between her teeth, her jaw was locked shut, and her head had been immobilized against the table. Keening, gasping sounds were muffled by the gag, loud enough in the deformed ear that she could barely hear Diana now.

    “Quiet, now,” the neutral voice came with one hand resting on top of Eugenia’s head for a moment. “If you could move for this, it would be worse.”

    The thick, curse-resistant gloves these people wore did not leave them much dexterity, so Eugenia had plenty of time to figure out what they were trying to do when she felt tugs on her chemise-thing and light, accidental touches against the skin high up on her back. Where the loose gown tied shut, where they were now trying to untie it. More mumbled pleas were muffled and garbled by the gag as she felt cool air touch her exposed back. They stopped at the top set of ties, not moving to the middle or lower ones, and secured belts over her midsection and lower ribs, leaving her utterly immobilized.   

    Eugenia had hoped that these examinations would stop now that she had Diana, who still needed to do examinations but was so kind about it. Diana hadn’t once tried to tie her down to something, and talked her through what she was doing, and while she had to touch the mutated things for it, she at least listened when Eugenia told her how horrible they felt.

    Something wet and unnaturally cold swiped over an area between her right shoulder blade and the base of her neck, shivers setting off the pinchingsearing spots of pain under the restraints on her left side. (That had probably been to clean it; cleaning came before injections and extractions, but those were always done in the arms or legs or occasionally neck, so why was this one on her back?)

    “You’re better at this part,” she heard before something metal and oddly shaped was pressed against the cleaned spot. As the moisture dried, her skin started to sting. The metal thing felt ring-shaped, maybe, but there was more on the inside. A pattern? Some kind of device?

    “What are you doing,tell me what you’re doing, step asideandlet me see what you have–” Diana’s orders were not followed, Eugenia shouldn’t have hoped.

    The metal was lifted, something was uncorked, something gave a chemical hiss, and when she felt it again, it came with a wet sound and a tacky feeling. Something bright and hot flared to life in the corner of the left eye’s vision, making Eugenia squirm as much as she was able, for about half a second, before the chafingandpinching became too much. There was warmth at her back, comforting if not for the question of what it wasandwhat they were doing with it.

    “Breathe in and bite down,” ordered the neutral one, leaving barely any time to question or follow their directions before

    burning

    burning searing blinding white red hot deafening writhing burning burning burning

    Metal crunched, bent, and snapped.

    The source of the burning left her skin, but its imprint remained, but she couldn’t stop straining, but her limbs were thrashing, but she couldn’t scream loud enough to drown it out, but–

    Eugenia’s muffled cries weren’t the only things she could hear– there was Diana’s roar, an answering shout, blows exchanged and things clattering, thick fabric tearing, something pained (something hot and thick and red sprayed onto her side), the heavy door of the containment area slammed shut.

    Then nothing but the two of them panting heavily, one with rage and exertion, the other with pain and burning and more pain and more burning and more–

    Then, as if everything had caught up all at once, piling on and becoming too much to bear any longer, there was just… nothing.

.

.

.   

    “…Genie?”

    Her head was being tilted, buckles gently undone. Once the muzzle was off, she couldn’t do more than whimper and lean it against the metal again.

    “Eugenia, can you hear me?”

    Her braid was pulled to the other side, and her head turned so that the misshapen side was against the metal. The right half of her face was stuck in a grimace, lips trembling, tears flowing down her cheek one after the other. She could see Diana behind her now.

    “Okay, okay,” Diana sucked in a breath, her hand resting at the spot between Eugenia’s jaw and neck for a moment. “We’re going to start with your legs, yeah? Nod if you understand.”

    Nodding was easy enough, even while every movement seemed to set off something else, to keep her breaths unsteady and her tears falling.

    “Right, now your left arm. The right one needs to be still until we can get you down.”

    Another nod. She worked from the wrist in, meaning that the tendrils at the end of it tried to latch onto her continuously, but by now she was an expert at dealing with them. Diana’s careful touch sent uncomfortable buzzing sensations through the arm, but nothing as painful as the manhandling before, and she let go after guiding it to stay curled against Eugenia’s chest.

    “Can you support yourself? The skin is damaged here, I need you to keep yourself upright until we have this one stable, too.”

    She could stand, so she nodded, and the process for this one went about the same as for the left one. Right up until Diana started to guide her into moving it, the skin stretching and burning enough that she might have thought her whole arm had been set on fire.

    “Genie, breathe, remember to–”

    “…if they get any credit it’s for the treatment supplies, not that those clunky gloves would let them do any of this well–”

   She was on the examination table, the top half of her chemise peeled away, her torso propped up by one of Diana’s hands. There was a cool, gooey feeling over the burn, and gauze being wrapped around it.

   “Genie?”

   The wrapping paused just for a moment. Diana’s face came into view, her free hand patting Eugenia’s cheek. Once she had a moment of sustained eye contact (which had Eugenia tearing up again), she got back to it.

   “Hold still, you fainted– I’m just finishing up treating the burn. We can put your gown back after I look at that chafing.”

   There was a form on the ground, completely still, in one of the curse-resistant protective suits. It was torn open, blood leaking from it into a puddle on the floor. Some flecks of it still stained both of their clothes. Diana’s hands were perfectly clean.

Was trying to come up with a logo for my blog (undeezguy.wordpress.com) so I started doodling. After all the mental stimulation, I came:

Thoughts?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26748730/chapters/65923129

Prompt: Is Something Burning, Branding, Heat Exhaustion, Fire

Fandom/OC: Original Work

TW: vomit, branding mention, cult mention, possession, revenge torture, child abuse mention, hallucinations

@whumptober2020​

Traditionally I come from a country where coffee is a staple moment of everybody’s routine at home or outside. In Italy you start the day heating your moka and waiting for that unique sound ready to serve two small cups; if you’re on the go, your espresso and a Nutella croissant with the newspaper under your arm depict the average bar goer in the morning. Plenty of cafes placed here and there that offer this important drink at any time of the day.

In Italy there isn’t that status-quo of tallorgrande paper cups to carry around while going to work or while driving to get the kids from school. However, the market for coffee in North America is a well established business that in the last twenty years managed to go beyond the beans, entering a whole new dimension of corporate branding and personal status.

Today sporting a cup in your hands is not about taste anymore, but about who you are. That cup is a beacon sending a subtle message to others about your life style and preferences. Corporate identities acquired a more powerful aspect when designers begun working with the experience element to be used in the equation. Advertisers could only go so far in convincing people to buy this or that product, that’s why understanding the user was essential to the business.

Famous brands like StarbucksandTim Hortons are the two essential names in coffee consumption in Canada. The former constitute a different brand loyalty from customers than the latter which attracts a different crowd. Starbucksis not just coffee but a way of life. Those who hold that large white paper cup with the green logo on it are not just drinking their beverage, they are telling others around they belong to another plain of society, usually a middle class and above, and they enjoying being seen with something in their hands that is a totem of status-quo: I can afford an expensive coffee and I belong to a circle of people similar to mine (usually the white collars).

On the other hand the Canadian chain Tim Hortons is a business which belongs to a broader percentage of the population; it encompasses the average Jane and Joe which rise early in the morning to go to work, who hold a trade which involves labor and specific manual/technical skills; I’m thinking about your neighbor carpenter, your middle school teacher, the plumber who just repaired your sink, the road worker with the yellow vest. It’s essentially a blue collar coffee for it’s accessible price and quality.

Two distinct cups for two distinct brands. Starbucks focuses more on the logo to visually engage those around the cup in suggesting status; Tims sports a different interaction with the user to engage a larger crowd through cost and quality accessibility.

The behavior of these two brands is visible everyday at any moment, whether at the mall, outside offices, while doing groceries, at the bank. Those who spend twice as much for coffee at Starbucks want to be seen, and that’s why the cup is designed to stand out: white with the bright and visible logo that is unique and easy to identify. It never changes. Whereas Tim’s has its cups shifting throughout the year in style with different seasonal themes and prize winning months (Roll Up The Rim contest).

So, in this quick analysis of coffee, the choice of cups goes beyond the beans; it’s not just the quality but a way of expressing one’s personal status and kinship to a specific mindset or group of people. There are other brands that might have worked too making the comparison; however, in Canada this polarization of brand choice offers an outstanding window of user behavior just by looking at a cup of coffee.