#Guilt and Revenge

[what-if-i-just-did]

Guilt & Revenge: Set Up For Failure

Whumptober, Day 3: Set Up For Failure

Guilt & Revenge Masterlist

Finally, one of these turning out the way I'd planned it. Hope you enjoy, please lmk if you wanna be added to the taglist!

TWs: muzzle & gag, being tied up/immobalized with rope, sort-of failed escape attempt, past torture, threats of torture, captivity

Amber had a muzzle strapped to his face. The muzzle even had a gag, so his mouth was forced open and he couldn’t speak. He had to struggle to even breathe. He was completely immobilized with rope; legs tied to each other and his arms tied to his torso. He wiggled around on the floor like a helpless little worm. It would have been funny, he thought, if it wasn’t for the circumstances. Wiggling on the floor like a helpless worm. 

There were three of them today- everyone except Eileen. That was something, at least. It could have been worse. It had been worse.

Hugo opened the door of his cell, and Amber tried to glare at him, but he didn't even step inside. Instead, he spoke to Amber, before even touching him. “You’re free to go.”, he said.

What??? Was he really? Could he finally leave? Get out? Go home? Why would they do that? Weren’t they afraid he’d go to the police? Amber’s mind was racing a mile a minute. Surely this was a trick. It had to be. But he hoped to high heaven it wasn’t. He just wanted out.

“All you have to do is walk out of your cell, and we’ll let you.” 

For a second it seemed unreal. Just walk out and he’d be free? But as he moved to do just that, his hope sank into fear. He was tied up. Of course.

Of course it wouldn’t be that easy. Amber tried to wiggle himself to the door. Maybe, if he could just get out of the cell, maybe that would count. Maybe that would be enough.

He could feel Mercedes and Paul’s disapproving glares. He wished he could glare back, or bite out an insult at them, but he was too busy trying to wiggle himself to freedom. And the wiggling hurt- it was aggravating all his injuries. And fuck… he was so tired. He kept trying, regardless.

“What, don’t you want to leave?”, Hugo taunted, “You know what we’ll do to you if you stay, right? We’ll keep torturing you. Like you did to us.” 

Amber wanted to roll his eyes. He never did anything like this. Yeah, stealing lunches, pulling pigtails, and pushing kids into mud wasn’t very nice of him, and he regretted it, but this was extreme. They had just been kids. 

He inhaled sharply when he wiggled in a way that tore open a scab. Fuck. Shit. Agh.

He wasn’t getting any CLOSER. He was causing himself extra pain and it wasn’t getting him any closer to leaving! FUCK!

He wanted to cry out of sheer desperation, but he couldn’t bring himself to give up yet. He had to get out. Even as he could feel the weight of disapproval in the room, the taunts from Hugo landing like physical blows to his resolve.

“We’ll whip you again. Electrocute you. Choke you. All you gotta do is leave, and you can avoid it. What’s wrong? Don’t wanna leave? Do you like being hurt?”

The rocking of the boat was disorienting, and the unsteadiness only increased Amber’s desperation. He wanted off, he wanted out, he wanted to LEAVE. He tried to time his wiggles better along with the soft sway of the boat, but he struggled. Most of his wiggles were badly timed, and accomplished absolutely nothing. The drool in his mouth leaked slightly over his lips, and he struggled to swallow. He couldn’t even wipe away the drool on his face… he’d bet he looked pathetic right about now. He could almost summon one fuck to give. Almost.

He wined out. It would be much easier to leave if he wasn’t tied up. Surely they knew that. It was probably the point. Amber wanted to cry.

“Oh, well… Obviously, you want to stay. And, well, if you want pain.. I’m all too glad to oblige.” Hugo stepped into the cell, picking Amber up by the ropes. Amber gave up on trying to not sob. He could hear the smirk in Mercedes’ voice when she spoke up, 

“That’s more like it.”

Paul stayed silent. Amber barely noticed.

He sobbed. The inevitability of it all hit him, or rather, his helplessness. Nothing he could have possibly done would have prevented what was about to happen, whatever pain he was about to endure. Even if he’d, impossibly, managed to get out of the cell, they wouldn’t have let him leave. It was just a taunt. A way for them to break his mind, his spirit, as well as his body. He hated the thought for even daring to cross his mind but.. it had worked, too.

He scrunched his eyes closed. It hadn’t. It hadn’t “worked”. That was bullshit. If they wanted to hurt him, he was still gonna make it as hard on them as he could. He would fight and scream and struggle.

Struggling, in all possible meanings of the word, seemed to be the only thing he’d been doing lately.

Taglist: @silentlysurffering98

[arcanegifs]

ARCANE LEAGUE OF LEGENDS: 2x01 - “Heavy is the Crown” ↳ "I know you doubt your merit of your birthright, Caitlyn. There's wisdom in that. But remember: You're a Kiramman."

[huginsmemory]

Was thinking about Ford and like... He's a character that's defined by being strange, being Othered and ostracized, and how what's different is wrong (and often underneath, dangerous). And because of that he's so deeply lonely when Stan leaves, and so much of his life is trying to be accepted or to prove his worth to be loved/accepted then through scientific and academic renown. And what's so interesting is he tries to do it through strangeness. His Grand Unified Theory of Weirdness. He's going to prove his worth, he's going to be accepted through proving the worth of Weirdness and Strange phenomena to light... like the portal was never just about being 'famous'. Ford saw himself in his work, and that's why he reacts so strongly when Fiddleford leaves the project because Fiddlefords not just rejecting the portal, Fiddleford's rejecting Ford. Ford's work in gravity falls, on the portal is more than a ticket to proving his selfworth it's also Ford proving he himself matters in a way, you know? And beneath that is a desire to be accepted, to be loved for who you are, because Ford could never not be something Othered, but he could perhaps prove that the Strange, the Other--who he himself is--is important. And I mean like, Bill also fits in this because he came to Ford, he gave Ford that acceptance and importance, but only between them, and he also was able to lean into Ford's desire for wider acceptance by giving Ford tools to create this 'proof' of the strange, to prove Ford importance, through the portal...

Only for everything to fall apart. Both Fiddleford and Bill were unable to accept Ford for who he is, what Ford had always desired and somewhat had with the two of them. This violation of autonomy done by Fiddleford with the memory gun and Bill becoming violent after Ford refuses to engage with him after Bill's cards are shown... And the work Ford's done to prove himself as important, to become important is all just a shill for Bill's world domination plans. Like. Fuck, man. The emotions you must have there. The horror and rejection and also what does this say about you? That the work you did to prove yourself important is so indelibly intertwined with this demon? With something that intends harm? The monstrosity, the danger within the Other, within the Strange, and how that applies to you? Isn't this the opposite of what you were trying to prove, to show you are something worthwhile, instead of something strange and wrong and worst of all, dangerous?

[llukeskywalker]

[bunabi]

the through line of vengeance and vindication in DA2 really sells it

Sebastian fully recovering from his obsession with avenging his family only to throw it out completely for Elthina (the person who wanted him to give up vengeance the most!)

Merrill going through hell with the eluvian to exonerate herself to her mentor and family, Anders blowing up the site of Karl's murder & symbol of mage oppression, even Leandra justifying the fate of the twins by blaming Hawke for it all, much to chew on, much to think about, I love a through line

[raointean]

Just thinking about how she lost all of them in one way or another over the years

The sole survivor

[midnightdemonhunter]

Ties that bind!

[t-u-i-t-c]

"You're looking for a place to die, aren't you?" "A place to die...?"

[beevean]

chat am i cooking

[whumperofworlds]

Whumpee finally got revenge on Whumper. After everything Whumper did to them, Whumpee managed to make them suffer like how they made Whumpee suffer.

But upon seeing Whumper curled up into a ball, bleeding and crying, guilt hit them in their heart.

They got what they wanted. And yet, why aren't they happy?

[what-if-i-just-did]

Guilt & Revenge: Hallucinations

Whumpcember, Day 4: Hallucinations

Guilt & Revenge Masterlist

Awww look it's Amber's very first time being tortured! I loved writing this but now I don't have a buffer anymore... whoops. I hope you enjoy, lmk if you wanna be added to the taglist! I also wanted to say that, although I won't be adding it to the tw's since it's not really noticable in the story, this is TECHNICALLY minor whump cuz at this point in the story Amber is still seventeen.

Taglist: @silentlysurffering98

TWs: captivity (on a boat), hallucinations, sensory deprivation (tied down + blindfold), muzzle, sea sickness, messed up sense of time, off-screen abduction, mention of ADHD and hunger

Amber tried to fight back while they tied him up, but Paul and Eileen were just stronger than him, especially with him being exhausted as fuck. He could barely even struggle when they muzzled, and blindfolded him. He cursed them out and yelled at them, but it made no difference at all. Then, once he was secured to the bed, if you could even call it that, he heard them leave.

His mind was racing. This was sure to be the first of many tortures he would be forced to endure. From what they’d told him, they seemed to be starting easy. Maybe he would get lucky and everything would remain this basic, and everything they’d mentioned had just been hyperbole and bluff. Sensory deprivation was easy enough… for now.

Amber couldn’t tell how long it took time to pass. Everything seemed to be taking an eternity, but any time he tried to think about how long it might have been, it only felt like a few minutes. His thoughts drifted everywhere- movies, things that had been said, his childhood, how fucked up this situation was, his friends. It was almost like normal nights when he got lost in thought, occasionally chuckling at how ADHD his mind was. The rope binding him and the uncomfortably warm leather of the muzzle strapped to his face reminded him that it was not at all the same. He didn’t even know if it was night at all.

He thought of Noah-Elise. He thought of the painting she gave him that he’d been meaning to hang up. He thought of Trevor’s recent idea of adding alcoholic milkshakes and slushies to the menu at Tipped, and how Dave had actually taken it seriously. He thought about how neither of his parents would have ever done that, taken him seriously like that, if they’d even theoretically had a business like that. He thought about the first months after he moved out, how grateful he was, how he could finally start living his own life, how Dave and Zander had supported him in ways his biological parents never had. He thought about his family, his real family, his FOUND family. He thought of Jake. If Jake was here, he would have been able to overpower them. They would be out by now… and Jake would be pissed.

The bobbing of the boat was making him nauseous, especially without his sight. He had no idea where he was- he just knew it was on a boat, which seemed to be home-renovated specifically for him to have a cell. He knew.. actually, yeah, he should put together everything he knew. He knew the boat was bigger than the cell. He could only see the other half of the room he was in, but he knew there was more. He had no idea what body of water the boat was in. He didn’t even know if he was still in the same state- Hell, he could be in Canada for all he knew. 

Suddenly, a sound brought him out of his thoughts. Footsteps, right next to him- but he hadn’t heard anyone enter the boat, hadn’t heard the boat they'd left in returning. Had they actually left? How long had it been? “Who’s there?” He tried to sound demanding, but ended up sounding like a scared little kitten trying to roar. 

Nobody answered. Nobody came close to him. It was silent.

He was sure there’d been a sound. Right? He was sure?

He was sure.

….

He wasn't sure.

What if there hadn’t been a sound? Was he going insane? How long in complete solitude, unable to see or move, would it take for someone to become insane? How long had it been? Thirty minutes, six days? More, less? How could he know? He didn’t fucking know! He was hungry. So, maybe just a few hours. When was the last time he ate? He was hungry when he was abducted, too. Did they give him food? He had no clue. Couldn’t remember.

He heard something, in the corner, like water dripping. He turned his head towards the sound, but it made no difference- the simple fabric of the blindfold robbed him of his sight. 

Was he imagining it? Or might the boat have a leak? Would they leave him here long enough to drown? He tried to struggle against his restraints again, but found his limbs feeling weak and hollow. It was a feeling he knew intimately during his childhood, the feeling you get when you haven’t eaten in a day or so too long. He thought there might be black spots in his vision, which would help him further narrow down how long he’d gone without food, but being blindfolded and all, he couldn’t quite tell. 

Tears formed puddles by his eyes, and he shook his head wildly to try to get them away, since his hands were tied. The movement made his head feel incredibly light.

Amber inhaled sharply as he awoke. What? No. He hadn’t been asleep. 

Shit… 

Shaking his head had made him pass out. Fuck. For how long? 

Seconds? Minutes? Hours?

More?

Time trickled past him, like the water softly finding it’s way from the pile of snow it melted from. Time was thundering past, trying to drown him, like he was stuck in a large waterfall, making it hard to breathe. Time was wind, playing with leaves on the other side of the room. 

Why could he hear wind? There was no wind in the windowless cell in the belly of a boat in an unknown location.

There wasn’t any firewood to be crackling, making him flinch with how close it sounded to his face.

There wasn’t any marble for high heels to click on, and nobody was walking around him.

There wasn’t… he didn’t think there was a clock, driving him mad with the needless precise ticking, but there might have been. 

The last thing he’d been focused on yesterday was if there was a clock or not. He wished he had, even fleetingly, noticed if there was.

There weren’t any animals growling in his ear. There really, simply, just weren’t.

He heard them all anyway.

Amber felt parched. He was so, so thirsty. He was hungry, too, but fuck he needed water. He’d do anything for a glass of water. The tears stopped at some point, he couldn’t tell when. Time was a haze. His mouth felt like a goddamn desert. He wanted to cry.

How long had it been? Two days? Five? Seven? Would they leave him like this to die? How long did he have left if he was left this way? 

What if it had only been hours? Was it possible to get this thirsty, this hungry, in less than a day? Was he delusional? If they came back, would they ever tell him how long it had been? Would he ever know? 

Fuck, he hated them so much. He felt so helpless, tied down to an uncomfortable-as-shit bed. He wanted to beat them up and get the hell out of this place. He felt so seasick, he was honestly surprised he hadn’t thrown up. He wanted the police, or Jake, or Dave, or hell, he’d settle for Lore or even his father,  to bust down the doors, rip off his blindfold, untie him, and get him out. He wanted out.

He heard it, a few times. Voices in the distance that he recognised- Jake, or Noah-Elise, or his friends, or Dave, or some combination. Someone opening the cell door. Sirens. Sounds that indicated he was being saved, alongside the other sounds. The random ones. 

The fire and the clock and the growling.

His whole body felt numb. He was slipping in and out of consciousness, or maybe he was falling asleep. Where was the boundary between excessive thought and dream? It was dark before his eyes either way. He couldn’t move, and it felt like circulation to his legs had been cut off. Maybe they were turning blue and purple and black and falling off. He didn’t know.

Amber didn’t know. He was going fucking insane, and he was stuck. He couldn’t do anything.

He just wanted to go home.

[panncakes]

something something about us the series managing to use the plot and dynamics to add the very real and very overwhelming feeling of guilt that comes with being a young woman in love with another woman

[eternal-cupido]

Wammy's Boys Headcannons

Mello

Clinical anger issues 100%

listens to bands like She Wants Revenge 

The song "Tear You Apart" by them as a person

plays video games with Matt in his free time 

is scared of something oddly specific like crickets 

trans man 

probably has some of the deepest rooted trauma/insecurities in the whole series 

Has the worst RBF you've ever seen '

After he abandoned Wammy's House he turned into a bit of a stoner (Mello I see you with those chocolate bars.)

inferiority complex

Near 

Autistic

Since they grew up idolizing L, they subconsciously began to copy a lot of his behaviors

Is the youngest of the Wammy's House trio

When it comes to toys they either prefer train/car type toys or girl's toys 

Non-binary or genderfluid 

Has severe texture issues when it comes to fabrics, and that why they prefer to only wear pajamas 

struggle's a lot with survivor's guilt

Matt 

He's a huge gamer and has been since he was young 

plays all kinds of video games, but prefers FPS

you can’t tell me this man doesn’t listen to hyper-pop or f-boy music

thinks he’s the shit 

really into AI, like this man is always making the dumbest deep fakes or playing around with it 

uses his knowledge of tech for chaos (putting traffic light settings a few seconds off type stuff)

[11bd]

my one and only brother

[southernroach]

thinking of roach's coping mechanisms and i kinda think that he would have a log of all of his scars. maybe in his journal, written along the edges as if they were afterthoughts to his actual entries.

the first couple entries are clinical. they list:

the body part

the general weapon type (gun, knife, rope, whatever)

if he got revenge

all the usual stuff that he would find important

just enough to document them, in case they fade or to use as a story for later. every time he dots a period, it's with a warped sense of pride.

and then one day he gets a scar from someone protecting him. they had pushed roach out of the way a second after someone screams about a sniper through their comms and takes a bullet. roach ends up falling onto his own knife and gets sliced for it but that’s nothing compared to his savior.

when he goes to write the entry, it’s noticeably shakier, scribbled over and smudged like he couldn’t decide what to write and then got far too frustrated for what should be gratitude.

he’s seen people die but it’s never been for him. he makes sure that guy’s name is clear, makes sure the ink dries before allowing his hands to touch the page.

then another one happens. an enemy tosses a cooked grenade. they have a split second to react and the guy upfront turns around, looks him in the eye, and slams his palms into roach’s chest.

roach crashes to the ground, barely notices that he got hit with a nasty piece of debris until he’s crouched behind a wall and realizes that what’s dripping down his body is too hot, too thick, to be sweat. and another entry appears.

the scar, the location, his savior’s name. how it felt to look someone in the eye moments before death, knowing again that it was for him. another messy entry, cut only by the pristine printing of those names.

he’s lucky he doesn’t have to write one for every close call but even those have lost that naive arrogance from before.

the more it happens, the more he survives and other don’t, the less it becomes about the scars.

[tokyo-daaaamn-ji-gang]

I just reread the chapter where TW went to recruit Mitsuya (thanks to your TW post, I love it!) and I just realized that Hakkai seemed like he wasn't aware that Mitsuya's in a bad place? I think I saw someone say that there's a panel of Mitsuya (with Hakkai and Chifuyu in the background) at Draken's funeral, so shouldn't Hakkai be aware of how much Draken's death affects Mitsuya, but somehow Hakkai didn't seem to notice anything? What do you think, Jojo?

Yeah I do think that Hakkai wasn't aware of how bad things had gotten for Mitsuya. If he was aware then he probably would've warned the others before hand instead of getting excited. Plus he wasn't aware of what Mitsuya was doing, he was even confused by the fashion contest and questioned it at first.

He also makes a comment about Mitsuya's weight later on which makes it seem like he hasn't seen Mitsuya in awhile.

So I do think he was unaware of Mitsuya's situation, as for why I think Mitsuya potentially asked for space after Draken's death or made it clear he wanted to be alone. Since it's mentioned that Mitsuya shuts himself in, I think it's likely that he wanted to be alone and either asked Hakkai or Hakkai picked up on that. It's not uncommon for people to want to grieve alone so this probably wasn't questioned much. I don't think Hakkai would ever willingly not talk to Mitsuya for ages either unless Mitsuya asked or he could tell Mitsuya wanted space.