Tw Torture - Tumblr Posts
Whumptober day 31 - Embrace
My final fill for @whumptober2019! A very whumpy WinterIron ficlet that is also available on Ao3. Thank you all so much for following me this month, and I hope you’ve enjoyed it!!
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He wasn’t going to last much longer.
Every single part of him was hurting. He had long since passed being exhausted. Some of his wounds had become infected, and he was pretty sure some of his bones had been broken and were healing wrong. Not to mention the fact that the cough he’d developed was worrying him. Ever since Afghanistan, his lungs had already been compromised, and he wouldn’t be surprised to find out they’d gotten infected as well.
If the others didn’t find him soon, he was afraid it might end up being too late. And what was worse, they’d started to make him doubt.
Usually, people would kidnap him for ransom or to make him build them something. It was what he’d been used to since far too young, and he knew how to deal with either of those situations.
These people hadn’t, though. As far as he knew, there had been no demands - to Pepper, to Rhodey, to Bucky, or to the other Avengers. And they certainly hadn’t let him anywhere near anything he could use to get himself out. Instead, the only thing they seemed to want was to make him suffer as much as possible.
Oddly enough, the physical torture wasn’t even the worst. It hurt, and it might be what ended up killing him, but mentally, he could deal with it. But they’d kept him awake for days with lights, with noise, and despite being used to some sleep deprivation, this had quickly surpassed his ability to handle it. And then there was the mental torture - the curses, he was familiar with. Even the way they told him, over and over again, that everything was his fault, that he was a terrible person and that his weapons had killed thousands, that he would burn in hell for all eternity, was familiar.
It was the certainty with which they told him that no one was coming for him that threatened to break him, though. The way they yelled that no one cared about him, because how could they, and they would be glad to be rid of him. The way they laughed and told him he was pathetic, thinking people could actually love someone like him.
Somehow, it felt as though they’d dug up his deepest, darkest fears and threw them straight into his face. It was everything he’d ever worried about, all of the things he had thought but never said out loud.
He’d managed, so far, to pretend it didn’t bother him that much. Three days in, he’d gone silent, stoically gritting his teeth and mentally chanting ‘Stark men are made of iron’ over and over and over again. Outwardly, they might be able to see that he was suffering, but he could still pretend that they hadn’t broken him.
Maybe they hadn’t, yet. Maybe this was just bending, farther than he’d ever thought he could. As long as he didn’t let them see him break, maybe… Maybe he hadn’t, yet.
Through it all, he’d tried to remind himself that they’d come. He might be all of the bad things they said and more, but… They knew about that. Rhodey had known him since he’d been a teenager, had been there through so many highs and lows that he probably knew more about Tony than he knew about himself. Bucky had gotten to know things about him that he’d never told anyone else and still stuck with him, still told him he loved him. Pepper, the other Avengers...
They all knew him, good sides and bad, and they still cared. There was no way they’d faked that, no way they would pretend to like him just for his money or his tech.
(Except he’d thought Obie cared as well, hadn’t he?)
((But Rhodey and Pepper both would’ve been set for life if he’d ended up dying in Afghanistan. Yet they’d never stopped looking for him, never stopped setting up search missions to try to find him.))
Lack of sleep wasn’t helping when it came to trying to have faith. His mind oscillated wildly between the hope that the others cared, that they were looking for him, and the despair of knowing he wasn’t worth it and they shouldn’t come for him, wouldn’t come for him.
He coughed again, grimacing at the way it made agony course through him. There were a few trickles of blood as some of his wounds opened again due to the movement.
Gritting his teeth, Tony reminded himself to just hang on.
They were looking for him. They had to be. They were his friends, his family. They weren’t fake, not like Obie had been. He might not be worth it, might deserve to die right here, suffering until his last breath. But that wasn’t the kind of people they were. They were good, and honest. They were heroes. And he knew he was not a good person, but somehow they must have found something in him that was decent enough for him to deserve having them care about him.
So all he had to do was last.
Stark men are made of iron. Hang on. They are coming.
He repeated it to himself over and over and over, ignoring the pain as they hit him, cut him, kicked him.
He repeated it to himself over and over and over, drowning out their voices as they yelled about how terrible he was, how pathetic, how worthless.
He repeated it to himself over and over and over, clutching to it desperately as they pushed him down into a tub of salt water that made him want to scream.
Stark men are made of iron. Hang on. They are coming.
He was still holding onto it when the gunfire started, when there were yells and screams and roars. And he had to crush the little spark of hope, because if it wasn’t them, that might just end up breaking him.
Instead he held on, breathing as evenly as possible and listening carefully for hints of what was going on. And if, in his mind, a litany of please please please had started, well… No one else could hear that, or judge him for his weakness.
And then the door was slammed open, bouncing off the wall and off the hinges.
Bucky was dressed in full gear, one hand holding a gun and the other a knife. The look on his face was absolutely murderous, and even the black of his gear couldn’t hide the blood.
The moment his eyes met Tony’s, his entire face softened in a way that was so intimately familiar that Tony’s breath caught for a moment. “Tony…” Of course, then he looked at the rest of Tony, and his face looked like it could have been carved from stone. Tony knew him well enough to know that, right now, Bucky very badly wanted to go out there and make every single person that had hurt him suffer.
Rather than doing that, though, he stepped further into the room. “Found him,” he informed the others, voice flat and business-like. Tony couldn’t hear what the others were saying, but he could guess when Bucky’s next words were “alive, but injured. Badly.”
After informing the others, though, he once again focused fully on Tony. “Oh, doll…”
He wanted to speak up, wanted to say hello, or that he’d missed him, or that he’d be fine. But he didn’t want to risk it, not with his injuries and his lungs and the way that his throat felt like he’d swallowed knives. So instead he just attempted the best smile he could, feeling the way it sat unevenly on his face.
And then Bucky was there, and for the first time in what felt like ages, someone touched him without hurting him. The whimper he let out was completely involuntary, instantly triggering another coughing fit that made his eyes water with the pain of it.
Through all of it, Bucky held him, somehow managing to find the exact right balance between tight enough to make Tony feel secure without being so tight that it would hurt more or injure him further.
He didn’t have a lot of strength to move with, but with the bit he had left, he buried his face into Bucky’s neck, savoring the warmth, the feeling of utter and complete safety that Bucky always inspired in him. With Bucky holding him, nothing would hurt him anymore. And while he was still very aware of his injuries, they seemed somehow less painful now.
As he pressed a small, desperately grateful kiss into Bucky’s neck, he could feel the way those strong arms tightened just a little, the way Bucky curled around him protectively.
“I’ve got you, doll. We’re here, we’ve got you. You’re safe now.”
7 11 17 for either helium or someone from cannibal au
7. Helium hasn't changed much at all, actually! I've always seen her as an aroace and being calm and closed-off most of the time. Something more specific to my current Helium would probably be her obsession with keeping the *entire* noble gas group free of bonding with the other elements, demonstrated by one of her rare outbursts at Argon in this post. I don't really have a reason as to why she's obsessed with this idea yet so there's room for lore :O She's fine with being around the other elements though, just hates it when one of em brings up bonding. Her old design isn't very different either, I just changed her dress a little and gave her earrings!
11. Lets just say Elder William loves using a knife. Like, your average sized kitchen knife. For everything. Cutting someone's head off? Saw through that neck using your tiny, probably unsharpened for the past week knife no matter how long it takes or how loud your meal screams 👍
17. This one is also answering Sheep's Ask :) William in the cannibal au(now known as the Family Feast AU) has gone through some mild-extreme-ish stuff(compared to what I've done to other folks). Like forced cannibalism and being forced to watch/participate in torturing someone. No specific events yet but the intensity of the torture greatly varies so image what you will :P He may go through more as I develop the story but we'll see.
Don’t Let Me Fall (Too Far From Grace)
+ * ⊹ °. * ✧ + * ⊹ °. * ✧ + * ⊹ ° . * ✧
+ * ⊹ °. * ✧ + * ⊹ °. * ✧ + * ⊹ ° . * ✧
cw: Major religious trauma for Y/n, enjoy. Swears, violence, cults, misogyny, self-mutilation, public abuse, parental abuse, attempted murder, self-defense, poison
A/n: a short glimpse into the makings of dadzawa; with an angsty Y/n religious quirk struggle
summary: There’s a part of Shouta that hates his job. While he can handle the annoying brats, unstable quirks, rude comments, life-threatening danger, and annoying hours, there’s just some things not even Shouta could tolerate. There’s a girl in his class. She’s nice but a little too quiet for it to sit right. He’s a teacher, been one for years and was a hero for much longer-- He knows the signs when he sees them.
+ * ⊹ °. * ✧ + * ⊹ °. * ✧ + * ⊹ ° . * ✧
“Brother Haruka,”
“Father Y/l/n; it’s always a pleasure.” Clasped forearms greeted one another, eye to eye they examined the other. Smiles filled each room and yet the tension was so thick, thick, thick; she looked to her mother but found a void in her place.
It crept into Y/n’s throat like sludge, chocking on the breath that filled her lungs as she swallowed for the fiftieth time that service. The eyes that followed, the eyes that glared, the eyes that widened, all at her, at her, at her. She kept her head down.
The family of five- a strong pastor father, the beautiful but sickly motherly wife, the silent eldest son, and the perfect youngest daughter. And Y/n, lost somewhere in the mess of facades they seemed to exchange so rapidly.
Or maybe lost was the wrong word, seeing as everyone could find her, the daughter of the pastor, the picture-perfect symbol of what they stood for, quirkless, pure, devine; up until four months ago.
Four months ago, when her world changed.
1-A kept a keen eye on Y/n, her silent passing and downcast eyes demanded attention from the rowdy bunch, but it was her appearance that caught them off guard the most.
Denki had asked about them once, resulting in a panic attack and mute classmate which lasted a week before she would speak in a quiet, fragile tone. It got worse before it got better.
She could feel them-- the eyes, eyes, eyes. Following her, ridiculing her, judging her. It broke Shouta’s heart.
“She’s just a girl, our little girl,”
“It’s a heathen!”
“She’s done nothing wrong,”
“It’s got horns god bless me!”
“Dear, she’s still our Y/n, our little angel,”
Her knees were pulled to her chest, listening silently at the top of the stairs to the hushed and not so hidden argument of her parents. Y/n’s father damning her, and her mom, desperately trying to cling to her life.
“That thing’s no angel-- it’s the devil.”
“What are you doing out here, kid?” Aizawa cringed inside watching the girls entire body stiffen.
“I’m sorry sir, I'll go back inside.” Her wide eyes became fixed on the floor, shoulders slouched but still full of twisted anxiety.
“You’re not in trouble, Y/l/n.”
“I’m not?” Her face stayed down, but she was finally looking directly at him, so Shouta counted this as a win.
“No,” he walked to the railing she had previously been leaning against, “There’s no rules against being on the rooftop. I just thought you might get cold.” He gestured to her head when he said that, causing her to flinch softly.
“I see.”
She still scurried away, leaving the concerned teacher by himself on the rooftop.
The horns that began to grew from the front corners of Y/n’s skull had been easily hideable when she noticed the growths. She teased her hair, wore headbands, dawned a head-scarf for modesty, but then her sister accidentally pulled it off her head during dinner, exposing them to the entire family.
That was the first night Emi had crawled into Y/n’s bed and cried since she was six and saw her big sister be punished for the first time. Punished.
The Shinja were many things, devote, united, pure, and forgiving. They believed in one thing above all else, God’s eternal and limitless magnanimity. For a sin their must be penitence, must be a beg for forgiveness.
For Y/n, this meant one thing.
It started small, Y/n found a scarf waiting for her on the railing when she made her way to the roof that night. It was nice, it was warm; something Y/n struggled with being.
Then Aizawa would stop by when it turned past midnight, sending the quiet girl back inside to stop her from catching a cold. And now, they coexist.
“Was--” she paused before shaking her head, looking back out to the grounds behind UA.
“What is it, kid?” He paused for an answer before breaking, “You can ask questions you know.”
“Was Iida right?”
Silence.
“That’s really up to you. At the end of the day, you decide what kind of hero you want to be. Your hero uniform is a big part of that identity, so if you think that’s a necessary part of that then you should keep it.”
Y/n played with the delicate silver cross dangling from the chain across her neck before looking up to the sky, just like Aizawa saw her do earlier during class.
“Kay.”
The conversation from the classroom had been a tense one to say the least. Iida, in his self-correct but oblivious way, asked the quiet girl, “Don’t you think it may be offensive to wear a cross as part of your hero costume? Won’t people feel imposed upon? Besides, very few people are catholic after the development of the quirk gene. Would it not, perhaps, be a better choice to remove that aspect from your uniform?”
Y/n had, at the time, only responded briefly, “Why would people be offended by a necklace?” Everyone looked up to the mounds above her head. No one said a thing.
A few days later he finally broke, “It was surprising I suppose. Not like I care, but people aren’t really religious anymore.”
She tried not to think about it, and she continued to try not to think about it long after she had left the rooftop. People aren't really religious anymore. Y/n tried to think through what makes a religion a religion, where things started to turn after quirks were made. Some religions embraced them as a new moral test of god, others claimed it disproved God entirely. Some drew strange connections claiming the bible predicted it all along.
Y/n is sitting in her room when it happens. She's absent-mindedly rolling her silver cross necklace between her fingers while ignoring her homework when she things- it would be so much easier if I wasn't religious anymore.
It felt dirty, like a dangerous secret. What does it mean to be religious on a personal level? She isn't allowed on the campound, let alone in the church. She doesn't read the scripture any more, nor does she pray genuinely. After a few cafeteria visits with Kaminari keeping her company she's even began to speak the lord's name in vain. Yet Y/n is so sure, in her heart and center of everything, that there is spirit within her.
She thinks about the religion she learned about the first time someone called her hometown a cult. She googled what the word meant and learned about a different group, a group that drank poison and passed away as a whole. Y/n can't think of another species that would do that and thinks they must have spirit.
The eyes from the pews followed her as she walked, head bowed as she pushed forward, past every person she ever knew, towards her father. Her father who forgave her, who actually forgave her. Forgave her monstrous appearance, was willing to look past the disgusting curse she had. She loves her father. So she kneeled willingly before the cross and bowed her head fifty times before turning on her knees towards her father.
A hush fell over the chapel.
She accepted the holy blade from her father.
She lifted it above her head.
The scream echoed through the room, bounding back towards her from the walls it landed on. The blade moved back and forth, until her world became deathly still.
Her father placed his hand upon her head, gently ending the assault. “You’re doing well, my child.” Each following day was ended with her in the privacy of her family's bunker, penance following shortly after.
She was repenting for her sins, but there was a silent acknowledgment among everyone. For Y/n, who never stopped sinning, there must be constant repentance. Nothing short of unyielding devotion. The days blurred together, so did her memory.
Y/n looked up at the board, eyes coated with gloss and filled to the brim with pain, pain, misery. ‘Quirkless Study.’ A lesson on discrimination, of differences, of acceptance. Forty seven minutes of something she’d kill to get out of-- something she’d die to get out of.
The class wasn’t today, thank God, but it was soon. Soon, being tomorrow. Tomorrow, class, quirkless, pure thing, stuck, school, mistake, thing, thing, thing. Words echoed through her head, too fast for Y/n too pick them apart, too fast to be remembered, just fast enough to hurt.
Y/n stayed on the roof from after school to midnight, far too long in the cold, too long without eating, too long for no body to have noticed.
“Fucking hell, kid. Why are you out here?”
Aizawa-Sensai dropped in and wrapped his scarf around Y/n’s shaking body, noting both the absent look in her eyes and the festering fear lying just beneath the surface.
"Y/l/n? Are you with me?"
What a silly question. Of course she was with him, they're on the same rooftop– he's got a hand lying gently on her shoulder.
"Because you seem a little far away."
And didn't that make so much sense. Because they were right next to each other, much like how her dad was right in front of her, yet both of them were miles away from where Y/n was.
"I'm sorry, sensei."
He froze, "it's Allright, Y/n, it's going to be okay."
The need to gasp for air clued her in that she'd started to cry. The warm tears burned her frigid skin.
"Hey, hey," Aizawas voice rumbled deep in his chest, "careful there." He tapped her knuckles which had turned white with the force she had been digging her nails into her arms.
"I don't want to go to school tommorow."
She winced but he didn't answer her. Saying the words out loud felt different than the mantra from her head. It all seems a little silly now. Y/n wanted to be a hero after all, and here she was; scared to go to class.
The man leveled his eyes with her and sighed, raising a hand between her two curled horns and patting the top of her head.
"It's not silly, Y/n."
She wrinkled her nose at him, unsure of his meaning and was floored when he began to laugh. "You mutter, but that's okay. You don't have to be a hero yet; not today and not tomorrow. For now you are still a child, and you deserve to feel the safety that should come with that."
It felt odd, to feel so cold you want to shiver and yet melt from the inside out. Maybe, maybe that was true. Maybe she will be a hero in a few years, maybe less. But tonight she wasn't, tonight she could feel as little as that sentence made her. Small and safe, so fucking fragile but perfectly protected.
It made her want to cry.
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and there we have it. I know it's a little random but I feel like sometimes we carry the weight of lifetimes with us and forget how young we are in the grand scheme of things. It's okay. We'll figure this out together.
The history book I'm reading has footnotes and I'm losing it. It shouldn't be funny but compared to other books which are really uptight and formal they just seem so relaxed [I'm reading The Worlds of Medival Europe 4th edition by Clifford R. Blackman]
Trigger warning: next picture has mentioned of torture
NIИ | Broken Movie | Directed by Peter Christopherson | 1993 | Never officially released in physical format | Nothing/Interscope Records
"snuff film" framing sequences edit
The movie also includes a copyright notice saying "1993 © Interscope Records", implying that the movie, at some point, was meant for an actual release.
Peter Christopherson on the film:
“I think that does humanity a disservice because that suggests that you can be horrible and it’s a joke, whereas with what I’m trying to do, if it’s addressing the issue of man’s cruelty to man, there’s no doubt that my intention is to point out how appalling those things are, and what they look like for real. I don’t know what the statistic is of how many people get killed on American TV every second but it’s something horrendous. But because all of those deaths are shown in a plastic way, they don’t prepare people for what death is really like. Really, people in the West have no clue about the reality of death.”
TW: Flashing, gore, blood, and depictions of torture ⚠️
NIИ | Pinion | Directed by Eric Goode and Serge Becke | Broken Movie | 1993 | Nothing/Interscope Records
Seeing as you've got no choice but to tell the truth, what would you like to do to Red Hood if you ever got the chance?
My muse was given truth serum. Ask them questions on anon and they’ll have to answer honesty. They must answer no matter what the question is.
“At this point, I don’t think killing him is nearly satisfying enough after everything he’s done. I want him worse than dead. More than that, I wanna destroy him.” Roman said softly, his tone thoughtful and contemplative and very much at odds with the burning rage in his eyes. What would he like to do to Red Hood if he ever got the chance? He couldn’t help but snort derisively at that, knowing it was only a matter of when. His indomitable bloodlust couldn’t - wouldn’t rest until his palms were wet with the man’s blood but oh, it was just the start of all the fun they’d have together. Before he’d been asked this question, Roman had a myriad of ideas on what to do with Red Hood after all the stunts he’d pulled, the deals that asshole had disrupted or taken over outright. Torture was Black Mask’s speciality after all, his ‘magnus opus’ as it were and yet in that moment, not a single idea seemed good enough despite his many years of self-education in how to bring about the most pain and suffering. He truly did wonder... what brand of torture was sufficient after all that Red Hood had done? Roman had lost count of the people he’d taken apart and physically stripped down to bare bones and raw muscle. He’d learned so many ways to draw the entertainment out, forcing the human body to endure beyond what most thought it was capable of withstanding. It didn’t matter whether it was physical, mental or emotional pain - there were countless ways to break both a man’s body and spirit and Roman was well-versed in all arts of war but nothing he’d done so far could be enough for Red Hood who, in his eyes, deserved far worse than all of his previous victims.
”Unmasking him would only be the start, find out who he really is and in doing so, find out what makes him tick. I’m a very busy man but I’ll happily book weeks if not months of time off work in advance just to spend it getting to know Red Hood inside and out. Friends, family, old connections... I’ll dig every last one of them up, bring them into our little game too.” He sighed, almost lovingly at the thought and all the little mysteries he’d be able to learn once he’d encouraged Red Hood to tell. Pain worked for everybody and it was just a matter of finding out which type made people spill their guts the fastest. “Usually the trick is to send them your victim’s body parts, finger in the mail a day, that sort of thing but I ain’t interested in ransom. Nah, the only atonement worth anything to me now is blood, sweat and tears.”
Is torture like a power thing, or a sex thing for you? (Or I guess there's always both)
“You make it sound so bad, like I’m a dominatrix working at Pandora’s Box instead of being a perfectly respectable businessman. Sometimes it’s important knowing how to send a message, something which you’ll find is a necessity in my line of work.” Roman sighed, breathing out a lungful of smoke before setting his cigar aside and stubbing it out. "I don’t know what sort of kinky shit is running through your head but rest assured I’m usually too busy to waste time getting my rocks off like that, not that I’m opposed to mixing business with pleasure on occasion. Gotham’s a rough place so it’s nice when the work feels more like play, that sort of thing.” Power? he had plenty of that without having to resort to torture, his reputation more than enough to loosen the tongues of his rivals’ more stubborn henchmen and other foes. Sex? It certainly spiced things up in the bedroom but he liked to keep that seperate from work since it was a whole different ballgame... “You see, the reason why I’ve come so far here in this lovely little city is because I’ve got the drive to do what few other men will. In the hands of others, torture’s just a tool. Me on the other hand? Now I’ve made it into an art. Even the most hardened thugs you’ll find out there on the streets’ll start sweating bullets when you ask what Black Mask does to those who cross him or gets in his way. Makes things a whole lot easier on everyone when they understand what to expect, I think that’s pretty fair.” Picking up a fresh cigar, he lit up the end and inhaled deeply, relishing the intoxicating wave of tobacco flooding his veins. It didn’t provide quite the same hit as peeling off some sorry bastard’s face but it did good enough.
What's your favorite method of torture?
“Come now, friend. You can’t expect me to pick just one method when the potential to inflict pain is endless...” Roman said, eyes glinting like chips of black ice floating in a winter sea. If ever there was a topic he thoroughly enjoyed, torture was it but alas, most people found it too uncomfortable or even downright unacceptable as casual conversation, much less going into specific detail about it.
”See... torture, there’s no one right way of going about it. Your average serial killer and sadist, they get these ideas in their heads, start falling back on particular methods. I like tried and tested as much as any other guy out there but they lack dedication. They use torture as a tool. Me? I make it into a work of art, exploring the possibilities to maximize suffering and misery.” He sighed longingly, fingers itching for some quality fun. It had been a couple of weeks since he’d last unwound with a good session, being too caught up in his work as of late to truly dedicate himself to his most macabre of hobbies. An idiot rookie who’d let him down had been his most recent playmate, hardly the type to appreciate his endeavours. He hadn’t lasted long either, losing consciousness not even twenty minutes into the fun while begging all the while for it to end. Roman scoffed. He’d never liked it when they did that. Such people were hardly a challenge when anything could make them beg and plead for mercy. He leaned forwards in his seat, fishing a cigar from his pocket before lighting it up and inhaling the intoxicating fumes which soothed his agitated hands before breathing out a lungful of smoke, eyes cold and hungry like a shark that had just scented blood in the water. "Can’t tell you all my secrets but I’ll tell you about an entertaining session I had. Had this couple in my hands one time, hadn’t done me any wrong but they were involved with somebody who had. Naturally I had to send a message and what better way than to target a loved one? I took my sweet time with the husband first, taking him apart bit by bit. He took it like a champ on the promise I wouldn’t harm a hair on his pretty wife’s head so I didn’t. Didn’t promise I wouldn’t make her swallow his eyeball like a gumball though.” Oh, how she’d screamed. She’d wailed like a banshee when her husband passed out for the last time, his body too wracked by the agonizing marathon of suffering he’d been put through. She screamed a hell of a lot more when he’d clamped her mouth open and dropped the slippery orb down her throat, veins and all. He tutted at the memory, flicking away the ash at the end of his cigar. Eyeballs were so tricky to keep in one piece but he’d gotten it down pretty nicely by now, he liked to think. He’d certainly removed enough of them over the years.
“One person dead, the other mentally broken and locked up in a mental institute for life. Torture ain’t just sticking bamboo needles under some schmuck’s fingernails or waterboarding his face while he’s strapped down on a table, you gotta get imaginative and figure out what makes him tick! One man’s pain is another man’s hell so it doesn’t do just to stick with the basics, no no no. You gotta dig deep to find the nerve that aches the most, be it physically or mentally.”
I was in my zone (til you came along)
She didn't worry about herself all that much. Without her gift, Luisa was the strongest either way. So she was sure nothing could make her crack
This time for whumptober! Team as a fanily
TW: Torture, violence, blood and injury
Luisa narrowed her eyed, pulling herself forward. Metal dug into her skin, biting deeper. Luisa hung, trying to ignore the burning pain, running inside her veins with every passing second. Blood sting into the torn fabric of her blouse. Forming red patches.
She didn't know how many days she was in here. Dios, she wished for nothing more than her gift to return. These stupid chains wouldn't be able to hold her even for a second if only Luisa still had her empowered strength. Binds gripped into her skin, pulling her back. Luisa felt sick. Her head was dizzy, arms felt like they would fall off with the whole damage. Lungs burned with each gasping breathe. The metal around her neck squeezed it, makind hard to breathe properly.
"Still quiet?" Luisa growled at the voice. These people.... She wasn't sure who they were, but they were asking to where Encanto was. Her home. And, taking everything into account, Luisa was sure they had no good intentions when it came to her or her family.
Luisa was protector, someone strong and resillian. Even without her gift. She had huge pain tolerance. Ability to windstand whatever they did. If she couldn't fight back at the time, she still had to make sure others were safe. This something slammed into her brain with years. She was strong, she had to protect her family, protect them at all cost. Her life was carved into the purpose of being the strongest person.
So she gritted her teeth, feeling her body falling apart (don't scream, don't give them this satisfaction) Stared down at strangers. She didn't know who they were, but after being chained for God-knows-how-long. After she went through the various types of torture. Well, she had even less thinking about any of them having good intentions. Her wrists burned. Collar gripped around her, uncomfortably tight. Almost choking her. Her back burned from fresh injuried, making it hard if not impossible to lean on the wall.
And Luisa had to admit, she wasn't used to be a captive. Until recently, even a thought of this felt like a fever dream. An impossible scenario. But here she was. Chained to the rock wall. Shieving from the cold crawling between her bones. Her gaze stared down at the captors. She would've turned her head, but with a heavy metal restain, every neck movement made her feel as if she suffocated.
It was okay. Luisa could handle this (even if her body begged for a break, what was new in it?) She was able to stand this. She was the strongest person in the world. And it was her direct duty to protect others. She was able to stay unbothered, she must be.
Or, well so she thought. Just until somebody else, Mirabel was thrown into her room. All disheveled, her glasses are missing. People her her tight, and Mirabel didn't have the best physical ability at all. And, taking the fact that they mamaged to get Luisa under control (ableit it took a LOT of them simply trying to hold her wrists until they cuffed.) And Mirabel barely had any physical capability.
"Sis?!" She yelled, panic squeezed her lungs.
Mirabel startled, her head turned at the sound "Luisa?" She asked, squenting. "LUISA THANK GOD YOU..." She cut herself off as seeing her a bit better. "Is it... is it blood?!" Teenager yellped, her eyes widening as the strange copper stains.
Luisa's eye twitched, she held back her cough. "Ah... It's a new shirt?" She tried to sound as innocent as possible.
"Silence!" One of the people snarled, pulling Luisa's hair. Luisa inhaled sharply, her body is getting down. Well, as much as the chains allowed. Collar dig against the sore skin, making it hard to breathe. A slap rang against her face. Luisa did her best not to scream. Even when pain crawled up her exhausted body. This time not only out of pride, but because Mirabel was here. She didn't want to make her worry. Not like it helped, because Mirabel tried to yank herself out, yelling.
"What are you doing?? I-I'm sorry!" She begged, her voice shaking. "I didn't mean it! You're hurting her!"
"I'm o–" Luisa tried to whisper, but her voice was cut off, her head slammed into the bricked wall. The feeling send up a dripping agony. This time she did grunt. This wasn't as bad as beating when theh tried to get some information out of her. But it didn't make it any less unpleasant.
For the moment, hovewer, people seemed to focus their attention on Mirabel, towering over a small figure as she kept panickly apologizing. Mirabel always tended to blame herself for things.
"Are you ready to talk?" Luisa froze, seeing what was unrevealing. This time Mirabel was the one from whom they tried to get information
"FUCK OFF FROM HER!" Luisa yelled. Pulling so hard her wrists were bleeding. When she withnessed Mirabel being pushed into the wall. Whip landing onto her back, cutting the blouse and drawning the red. As Mirabel tried to back away, loking for any reasoning. The stronger Madrigal felt her vision getting red. When the smell on burning flesh got inside her brain. The cold chains bulged, when Luisa tried to break them with more strenght than ever before "I WILL RIP YOU HEADS OFF!" HOW FUCKING DARE THEY?
It continued, Mirabel looked pale. Luisa's heart missed a beat. Her body wrentched, tuggling against the bounds like a wild beast. Her vision became a raged blur, breathing was short and panicked. As Mirabel's struggles become weaker in front of her very eyes. Blood loss showing. And she was weaker than Luisa too. More fragile.
It took her heart away, knowing just how easy it would be to crash her sister. Luisa was strong, she could handle the pain. But she couldn't handle watching. Just onserving how Mirabel was tortured for nothing more than information.
"I'll tell you! Stop hurting her!" Luisa screamed, her body saying something but she wasn't exactly sure what. Maybe it was an actual way to their village, maybe Luisa had said the most nonsense in her life. Her mind didn't care. Only begging to stop the horror she had to witness. Utterly unable to do anything.
Luisa wasn't sure if she wanted it to be truth or not. If it was, the entirely of her family would probably be in danger. (Luisa's heart sank, only now realizing that if she cracked for real it wouldn't be only Mirabel she had to watch like this.) And if she had told them a pointless nonsense, she knew the torture would be worse than anything before.
Hiii!! I really like what you did with the "Sourcegenocide" cuz ive never seen terms that specifically mention it's because of one's source!!
ermm i was wondering if you could also coin some things like "sourcekidnapped", "sourcetourtured", and "sourceforcedpet"? Tysm!!! Dont feel obligated tho!! :3
Sourcekidnapped
A term for individuals who feel as though they should be kidnapped or have been kidnapped because of their source.
Sourcetortured
A term for individuals who feel as though they should be tortured or have been tortured because of their source.
Sourceforcedpet
A term for individuals who feel as though they should be forced to be a pet or have been forced to be a pet because of their source.
————
Anyone can use this (no DNI post), as long as it isn’t misused. Only repost with a link to this post as credit (only exclusions being archives).
Also, please tell us if someone has coined this before. We often don’t notice/know.
if someone has coined this before, take it as either a recoin or redesign.
————
Yippeeeee (idk, I’m bored lol)
♦️DOWN MEMORY LANE. Part. 1.♦️
Ah screw it, I'm compiling them all in one post instead. It's just more convenient. :V
This is part 1. More to come eventually.
Caleb let Evelyn go into his mind to show her he's totally fine!
Such an important thread!
We know how Palestinian people are treated in IOF prisons is beyond criminal -the IOF are war criminals and have and continue to commit heinous and systematic crimes against humanity -this is calculative mass cruel and unusual torture and punishment:
poor little meow meow covered in blood
(oh god I gotta tag these mfers again don't I?)
Uuuuuhhhh pretty self explainatory board but I do got l o r e to share:
USED TO BE HUMAN (AND HOW THEY BECAME WHAT THEY ARE NOW)
-Abducius and Exael share a relatively similar story of origin (almost the same as Pinhead, the character that Exael was based of). Unlike Abducius, Exael never came to terms or a developed a sense of enjoyment over what happened to him and what he does for a living.
-Izanami was the camarographer of a modeling agency. She used to be constantly abused by her peers due to her appearence. Was the victim of an accidental death. One day they went too far with their tasteless pranks and while these people didn't kill her immediately, she did die from he injuries and so she swore she would get them and make them look as ugly as they considered her.
-Yog used to be a normal, regular child with a human mother. That was until her mother was brutalized by a vampire. The vampire, seeing the child, decided to spare him by turning him into one of his kind. Of course, Yog doesn't remember any of this as he was just in that age of barely being able to speak. He has these mysterious glimpses and memories that he finds no explanation for.
-Lilith and Nyogtha were victims of murder by horde for different reasons. Nyogtha, was killed under suspicion of witchcraft/voodoo, she didn't only get killed but also got cut in many parts. To add insult to injury, her corpse got robbed by a scientist and was revived through unethical methods (as if exhuming and stealing her body wasn't bad enough), turning her into a flesh golem. Lilith does come from a lineage of witches, her mom is one. After being swindled and left in disgrace by an ex, she set herself on her mind to hex the guy (but didn't quite bring herself to do it). The guy started to experience bad luck and blamed it on Lilith. One day, while visiting her mother, along with Anazareth (they were already living in the apartment) a furious crowd came for her and her mother and the two got killed while Anazareth was out buying something. Anazareth, as a last resource, came to Yog and asked him to turn her into a vampire, which worked and now Lilith is a vampiress witch.
-Drugia used to be human a very, VERY long time ago, she was interested in the oniric world and the human mind, an intellectual that secretly feasted on these topics (secretly, because god forbid she, a lower class woman was ever literate). Eventually, she created a method that could allow her to really get into this metaphysical dream world, and it worked! It worked too well... She doesn't even remember when she started or stopped being a human, but that doesn't matter anymore, she trascended her body/humanity and was out of bounds with the human world, she could do whatever.
IMITATES HUMANS
Ah Puch has a very human looking body, but then you realize that he is more solid and way more heavy than a human, this is why he's such brickwall. It doesn't affect him, more than it, it helps him with his job.
Teutates, aside from his sharp teeth, green-ish skin and generally reptiloid appearence he has a very normal human anatomy, at least externally.
Yan Luo can adopt almost any shape that she wants, but she sticks to the usual. Anatomically speaking, she's very much conventionally human, except for the fact that she is very light and solid (no organs, no bones, nothing).
Anazareth is half human half demon. Got her demon side from her father while her mother was a regular human. She is way stronger than the average human, has more stamina too. Also, needs less sustenance, she doesn't eat a lot or as often but a complete meal can keep her going for a long while and sleep is reduced.
WERE NEVER HUMAN
Quachil is an angel but even then, the form she has now is not her final form.
Xezbet is a vague, evil entity that decided to steal the appearence of a medieval french monk during the 15th century.
Shub and Ishtar are corrupt godly figures more than anything, used to be nicer and ONLY caused famine/brought plagues when they were displeased or disrespected. Now, they just... do it because they can.
Chaugnar is a mysterious figure, an entity forgotten by time. Possibly came as a mockery to certain other figures throughout history, leading people astray with the premises of his cult and yet, humans still come to him.
Barbatos is a species of demon. Like Anazareth, displays superhuman strenght and stamina, but unlike her, he needs A LOT of food to keep going (since he burns it off constantly) and needs regular sleep.
Dagda is a scarecrow, a doll, looks vaguely human. Is only alive because of grieveous energy leftovers.
UNKNOWN
Orcus and Zoth... Both were speculated to be humans in the past but also, they don't truly possess any... indicatives that this might be the case. Maybe there could be a possibility Orcus was a human, but Zoth? They are blank, and Zoth doesn't even seem to remember much. Where could he come from?
#5 - Recorded
[Sidekick] frowned when they looked at the tape they found in the doorway this morning. It was wrapped in blank paper, no notes or mailing adress added. Just an old cassette, already rewinded to be watched.
“What even…”, they murmured to themselfes, slowly turning the VHS video in their hands as they were sitting over a steaming cup of coffee. Was this some kind of commercial? A new and creative way to advertise?
They decided to take closer look at the video later. It was probably just some silly gimmick or a joke from one of their teammembers.
Right now, [Sidekick] had business to do.
They rose and shuffled to their phone. After dialing the number they could recite in their sleep by now, they waited for [Hero] to pick up. It was a call of importance: Just the day before, their boss had managed to collect useful information about [Villains] whereabouts, which may have been the biggest success since they had started hunting them down. They only needed to make up a plan and the thing would be off the table tomorrow.
Seconds passed and [Sidekick] impatiently tapped their foot on the floor. [Hero] hadn’t picked up yet. Normally, they were really fast on the telephone, but today seemed to be different.
[Sidekick] hung up and tried again after a couple of minutes. Still, nothing.
“Come on! We agreed to phone at this time!”, they murmured into the reciever, slightly annoyed already. What was so difficult about being punctual? [Sidekick] strolled around in their apartment, still waiting for their boss to answer.
They hung up again. What a prat.
Well, [Sidekick] thought defiantly, if [Hero] had the nerves to keep them waiting, they could also niggle around for some time and let them wait for their call. Such a game could be played by two.
But what was to do? They looked around, eyes landing on the video tape.
…Better than nothing.
They pushed it into their old recorder, already thinking about the tongue-lashing they were going to give [Hero], if they dared to complain about the delay of their planning session. [Sidekick] scoffed, shaking their head. How could someone be so frowsy?
The tape whired in the VCR, only producing a static contact noise for a few moments. Then, there was a picture:
A sparsely illuminated room, only offering concrete walls and a chair that stood in the middle.
What the-
[Sidekick] had not even time to be confused. After a couple of seconds had passed, someone started speaking, lightly tapping on the camera a few times: “Test. Test. Alright, we seem to be recording! Bring them in!”
Although [Sidekick] knew that tone instantly, they couldn’t classify it in the first moment. Only when two people dragged someone towards the chair and chained them on it, they were able to recognize the smug voice: [Villain]!
The delay of the telephone conference with [Hero] was forgotten instantly.
What had [Villain] in mind?
When [Sidekicks] gaze wandered to the person tied on the chair, their stomach turned violently. The captive was badly injured, head hanging lowly between their slumped shoulders. Barely concious.
The floor was covered in blood and vomit.
“You sadistic asshole…”, [Sidekick] murmured.
With unhurried steps, [Villain] entered the picure. When they stood directly in front of the camera, they flashed [Sidekick] an amiable smile, sending chills down their spine.
“I heard you guys were looking for me?”
[Villains] voice was far too mild for a situation like this. When the person on the chair noticed their captors presence, they struggled violently against the chains. [Villain] didn’t even blink.
How could someone be so cold?
“I have the information from a good source, you know? You guys are going to hunt me down in the next couple days…”
They started pacing around thoughtfully and casted a pityful glance into the camera. The pity did not reach their eyes.
“…I am sorry to tell you that this plan will come to nothing.”
After circling the room, [Villain] placed themself closely behind their captive, putting both hands comradely on their shoulders.
“My special guest here will ensure it.”
They grabbed them by the neck and whispered something inaudible into their ear. [Sidekick] saw the heavy shudder that ran through the abused body.
This sick bastard.
[Villain] hummed and a menacing smile appeared on their features as they kept on caressing their now shaking victim.
“They will keep your silly team quiet for a long time…”, [Villain] murmured and suddenly grabbed a fist full of their convicts hair, yanking their head up harshly.
“…Won’t you?”
[Sidekicks] eyes widened in sheer horror, as the dull light finally revealed the face of [Villains] captive:
“[H…Hero]?”
Pleasure In Pain 🩸
A young and somewhat ignorant vampire is captured, tortured, and experimented on by sadistic humans who find joy in hurting and killing vampires. Cordova must find a way to escape Rojan and Lilith and get back home. That is, if home is any better. He might just find himself wanting a better life when an unexpected person comes along and shows him just how comfortable it can be.
[Currently rewriting and adjusting]
Contents: Defiant Whumpee, Vampire Whump, Sadistic/ Creepy Whumpers, Vague Revenge
⛔️Trigger warning: Gore, Torture, Violence, Captivity, Vivisection, Emotional/ Physical Torment⛔️
+-----------------------------------------------------------+
Main arc
#1: Day 1 🔪
#2: Scrapbooking 📖
#3: The Duo
#4: Panic Attack ☀️
#5: Get Some Rest
#6: Hold Still 🩸
#7: Needle 💉
#8: Escape Attempt 🏃
#9: Hope is Fleeting
AU's
Forge Master
Art
Cordova
Rojan Silfur
Taglist:
@turn-the-tables-on-them
Masterlist
An arrogant Pirate Captain with the world at his feet wishes for something different to happen in his life. Hoping for a challenge to arise to entertain him. He ends up crossing paths with a Siren Prince. At first it’s all fun and games being able to manhandle and torment such a rare creature, but things take a turn. Having to learn the hard way that he’s not invincible, and can very much bleed.
Contents: Whumper turned Whumpee, Revenge, Sadistic/ Creepy Whumper, Defiant Whumpee, Pet Whumpee if You Squint.
⛔️TW: Torture, Violence, Captivity, Degredation, Restrained/Gagged, Fear, Suggestive Non-Con, Venom/ Poison, Threats⛔️
+——————————————————————————+
Caspian's Suffering Arc
#1: What The Tide Brought In 🌊
#2: Two Sides of The Same Coin
#3: (soon)
AU’s
N/A
Art & About
Malik De Lir
Caspian Glaucus
We’re going to ATTEMPT to post once a week. Go easy on me.
Fiona & Moriarty- Lesson Two
Part Two. Content includes kidnapping, threats of violence, actual violence, swearing, forced to hurt, dehumanization, mutilation, noncon touch (nonsexual), autocannibalism, branding, and torture. Moriarty is co-owned with @space-is-out-there! Let me know if I missed any tags.
Lesson two. Respect.
"Welcome to my humble lair!" Moriarty announces, as if Fiona is supposed to burst into applause at the sight of dingy dungeon walls. Instead, she nearly breaks a wrist trying to pull the chain she's cuffed to out of the wall. "Where is everyone?! Where did you take me?!"
"A- wouldn't you like to know and B- to my home!"
"A- Yes I would and B- fuck you and your dungeon house," the girl snaps. Moriarty cackles at that, flashing perfectly white teeth as Fiona looks around in a sudden panic. "What did you do with my wand?!"
"I assure you it's unharmed. I'm just saving it for when you earn it."
What-
"I was wrong about Mark," Moriarty says, waving a hand dismissively at the thought of his son. "I thought he might have what it takes, but... I'm still in the market for a protégé."
Fiona's expression is incredulous. "No way I'm doing that! You're even more insane than I thought if you think I'll EVER work for you!" She pulls even harder at the chains, but they don't budge.
Moriarty rolls his eyes. "They use those chains to wrangle dragons, you know."
Fiona stops pulling and glares at him. "So what, then? Are you planning on just keeping me in here forever?!"
He scoffs, like she's an idiot. "No, of course not. If I can't convince you, I'll merely erase your memory and mind control you!" He pauses, tapping his chin as if deep in thought. "...Or I'll kill you and feed you to the rats. Depends on my mood."
Fiona wipes the horrified look off her face before that statement can sink in. "Great. So there's no option where I, say... stab you in the back?"
"Not unless you want to be tracked to the ends of the earth by my men and fed the skin of everyone you care about," Moriarty responds matter-of-factually.
Fiona feels ill. "Thanks for that image."
"You're welcome, love!" Moriarty chirps, and claps his hands together. "Now, if we're going to get along, there are some ground rules you should know about. Follow them, and your apprenticeship will be relatively pain-free. Disobey, and there will be consequences. Number one-"
Abruptly, he is standing less than a foot away from her, and she startles on instinct. He clicks his tongue. "Don't hesitate. Hesitation makes you weak- and you can't run a criminal empire like that, can you?"
She opens her mouth to speak and he holds up a finger to silence her. She's so surprised that she says nothing, her mouth agape- and Moriarty claps. "Rule number two- respect. You may be next in line to run this place, but I am your boss. You follow my orders, when I give them. You may call me Moriarty when we're alone; boss or sir when in public."
She can't help herself. "What are you calling me?"
"Whatever the hell I want," he says.
She wasn't sure what else she expected.
"Rule two-and-a-half- look me in the eyes when I speak to you." Moriarty snaps his fingers, catching her attention from an extremely interesting mold spot on the floor. "Manners are important- we can't have anyone thinking we're uncivilized, can't we? We're not barbarians."
"Yeah, just criminals," Fiona mumbles.
"That's no excuse to be rude," Moriarty retorts, snaps his fingers, and her cuffs vanish. As Fiona rubs her wrists, he taps his watch. "Hmm... that's all I have for now, so... Time for training!"
"I don't want to," Fiona says. Just how far can she push him...?
"Too bad."
That answered that question.
"Now are we going? Or am I dragging you out one chunk at a time?" Moriarty asks, looking at his nails as if her answer didn't really matter. (It didn't.)
"Keep your shirt on, I'm coming," Fiona grumbles, rising from her spot on the concrete floor. "Although I am interested in how exactly you'd train a dismembered protégé."
"With great effort!" comes the cheerful reply.
----
"First, I’m going to teach you a very important part of running this operation," Moriarty tells her as they stroll into a warehouse. She has no idea where they are- planewalking definitely broadens one's options for evil hideouts, she supposes.
Most of the goons that catch sight of them avert their eyes and scurry in the other direction. She wishes she could too, but Moriarty has a grip on her shoulder- she swallows her discomfort and pipes up. "So it's not just fancy suits and maniacal laughter?"
"No, those are just perks," Moriarty responds without skipping a beat. "Respect. Respect is important. There’s someone here who has disrespected me. We’re going to make sure he doesn’t do that anymore."
"What'd he do?" Fiona quips. "Stole your ice cream money? Broke your Action Man?"
"Someone’s been skimming off top of their transactions," Moriarty says, and gestures to a scrawny man being held by two guards. The man flinches when Moriarty makes eye contact with him, and cowers when the mastermind strides forward to speak. "Thought you could fuck me over, did you?!" He leans in to yell in the man's face. "DID YOU?!"
"Seems to me like he already regrets his situation," Fiona says quietly.
Moriarty steps back to stand next to her and draws a knife out of his jacket pocket. "He skimmed off the top of my money so I say... we skim off the top of his head."
Fiona looks at him blankly. Moriarty rolls his eyes and clarifies. "Cut off his ears... and make him eat them."
The man blubbers and starts to cry. Moriarty flips the handle towards Fiona expectantly, who flinches as if it might jump and bite her. She stammers. "Are you sure this is… necessary?" She grasps for something, any excuse to get out of this. "It just- uh- seems like a lot of effort to deal with all of this personally..."
"This is what we call a teachable moment! You see- if you don’t make people respect you, they'll just take it as permission to walk all over you."
"Can't you get respect by, you know… treating people like people?"
"No," Moriarty shakes his head. "That only works in la-la land... and in Philadelphia. AND I DON'T SEE ANY CHEESESTEAKS, NOW DO WHAT I ASKED!"
She reels backwards at his screaming, and unconciously takes a few steps towards the captive instead, who is whimpering and sobbing. Like a switch was flipped, Moriarty grins widely and gives her a thumbs-up. "Go on!"
Her throat is bone-dry. Her voice comes out hoarse. "My hand is shaking."
"Rule number one," Moriarty reminds her. "It hurts more when you hesitate."
It's like her arm is detatched from her body. It moves on its own, drawing the blade closer. It cuts cleanly, and the distant thought occurs to her that the knife must be very sharp. Blood drips off the blade and onto the floor, stark red against the gray.
Blood pools on the ground and stains her fingers. There's an incessant loud noise droning on in the background, and Fiona resists the urge to cover her ears.
Moriarty is clapping. "Is this how proud parents feel? I never got this feeling from my kids." He gestures for the guards to drag the man closer. He hasn't stopped screaming. He stops, briefly, to swallow, when she places the severed ears into his mouth, and then Fiona doesn't see what happens, because she's vomiting onto the floor.
She retches and gags and sobs and by the time she comes back to herself enough to think, the man is gone, and Moriarty is clapping her on the back, talking at her as if she's in any state to pay attention.
"Honestly, it looks like you were dressed by a pedophile with a doll fetish- oh wait! You were."
The world swims before her eyes, and she takes in a deep, shuddering breath. Shoves the images in her mind away. Stands up straight. Don't think about it.
"I think you would look good in a suit," Moriarty muses.
Fiona can't stop a laugh from escaping. It wasn't particularly funny. Her voice comes out sounding like it belongs to someone else. "Matching outfits? Really?"
"Please. Female crime bosses have to work twice as hard to get half the respect. I’m helping you." Moriarty takes her hand and swings it between them like a loving father. "Now let’s go shatter that glass ceiling!"
----
Several hours later, Moriarty sits at his desk. Fiona, for her part, is standing in the corner doing her best to avoid attracting his attention. Doing her best to keep her mind blank. She shifts uncomfortably in her new suit- not because it doesn't fit, but because it's a mirror of Moriarty's outfit.
The mastermind spins around in the chair like an excited toddler, beaming at her. "You did excellently today- I'll give you a reward. Come here."
It's a simple demand, and an enticing prospect. Moriarty waits for her, entirely unreadable, betraying no hints for what the "reward" will be.
Her legs aren't moving.
Moriarty smiles and repeats himself. "Come here."
She doesn't want to. "Can I- can I stay here?"
"Ah, that's very polite, asking for permission," the man nods, approvingly, before continuing, "You may not."
Haltingly, she shuffles over to him, defiantly stopping a bit away. Oddly, he doesn't seem to notice her hesitation- or, more likely, just chooses to ignore it. He draws her into his arms, running a hand through her hair, forcing her to look into his eyes. His voice is quiet. Hushed. "You're so tiny."
She blinks. Why-
Abruptly, he runs his fingers through her hair, down the back of her neck, and every muscle in her body braces for pain- but instead, he guides her to sit on the floor, resting a hand on her shoulder. Before she can fully process what's happening, he's tied a blindfold around her head, plunging her world into blackness, binding her hands in front of her-
She closes her eyes as she feels the telltale pinpricks of tears forming at the corners of her eyes. "Please," she whimpers, but he only shushes her. All she can hear are his shoes tapping against the floor, and touch is the only sense she still has- but it's okay. It's going to be okay. She did what he asked. He said this was a reward. It's okay-
And then she feels something caress her shoulder.
Fiona flinches, her back arching against the sudden touch. Moriarty hushes her. She can feel his breath against the back of her neck. The tears spill over, soaking into the blindfold and running down her face, dripping off her chin. Moriarty stops tracing her arm and gently wipes her cheek with a finger.
She never gets used to it- every time she thinks she's getting used to the pattern, the awful cold feeling of his fingers all over her, he'd drag his nails across her cheek, she'd feel his tongue in her ear, kisses pressed to the back of her neck, and her whole body would spasm with shock, with terror. Moriarty holds her close, stroking her hair, her face, and for just a split second, she's back with her family- she can't bring herself to move away, she can't. Not even when the cold steel of a blade presses against her bare cheek.
"Hold still now…"
Pain. Sharp and white-hot, like fire magic. She bites her tongue to keep from screaming as the blade draws four shallow lines across her skin. She can feel the blood run down her cheek and her breath hitches, a sob tearing itself free from her chest. Moriarty hums, pressing a wet cloth against the burning sensation, and Fiona clutches at his suit coat, heaving shudering breaths. "What did you..."
The man shushes her. The washcloth is removed, and Fiona winces, but the fiery feeling has mostly faded away. In its wake is a peculiar sensation on her cheek- like exposed skin hitting air.
Ever so gently, Moriarty traces along her cheek, in a peculiar pattern that she can't quite place.
|\/|
"Congratulations, my dear protégé."
His voice follows her into unwilling sleep.
As i lay in this ice cold bath, i wanna take the time to reflect. I deserve this. Not only to burn calories but to remind me of my place. beneath Men. any and all Men are above me. I am nothing but a stupid, pathetic, drunk and horny Bimbo who does anything Men say. And i really love it, honestly. I actually hate how much i love freezing in this cold water, eating less fhan 1000 cals a day and drinking gin daily because its the lowest cal alcohol i can find. I hate myself for how low i will sink for approval from Men online, for making cocks hard and cum. This water is legit freezing and im covered to my shoulders. The timer hasnt gone off yet. I have 6 mins and 20 sec left. Once the timer has gone off Ill edge my bimbo slit with my painfully long stupid nails until its time to prep dinner. Im in loveeee with this degenerate bimbo lifestyle. I adore being a gender traitor cumrag!! It isnt just about losing weight and being hot at tjis point. Its about keeping tjis feelimg snd obeying as much as i physically and mentally can. Erase me and build me from yoir fantasy. im jus a girl, after all 💘