#i feel equal parts pity and disgust for. always there is a basement that i do NOT want to go in but end up in anyway…dirt floors stuff

[autoneurotic]

ik i take anti anxiety/sedater at night to sleep better and not get anxious about nightmares etc, but i still catch myself feeling dread throughout the day as if i will be going to a real, physical place instead of To Bed

[damion-the-skeleton]

you'll forever be a cringey immature straight girl no matter if you call yourself a he or a xim or a identify as a table leg, no matter how many bone-eroding cross-sex hormones you take or whether you amputate or boobs or not. biologicallly you will always be a female heterosexual since that's what you were born as. neuroscience proves that heteros aka opposite-sex attracted people have distinct brain phenotypes from gay people, regardless of if they identify as trans or not. heterosexual aka male-attracted 'transmen' have the same brain chemistry as any normie het woman, proving both that sexuality is only determined by sex and that transness isn't innate the way homosexuality is. you can larp as whatever, call neuroscience and basic knowledge on sexuality 'stinky doo doo opinions' like a petulant child who just realized santa isn't real. the only thing you're doing is embarrassing yourselves in front of anyone with the slightest cerebral functionality because you're mad we're calling out your gay-fetishizing homophobic anti-scientific bs for what it is unlike the tras who pretend to see you as 'gay' 'men' because they feel sorry for your mentally ill ass and your internalized misogyny. sure you het women will never be in an equal relationship with a male because straight men see you as throwaway sex toys and free domestic servants but this isn't an excuse for you to fetishize gay men and pretend to be them, certainly not an excuse to expect them to go along with the charade and put up with you het weirdos preying on them. het males aren't dumb when it comes to manipulating women for easy p*ssy which is why they're already on grindr with your het ass, pretending to be QWeEr and non-binary to get that mentally ill gullible cooch. no actual gay male will look at you and have any other emotion aside from anger and pitiful laughter. even if you 'pass' completely, they'll be disgusted after learning you have female genitalia and lose any attraction they may have had because het sex is abnormal and undesirable to gay people, not falling for and not wanting to fuck the opposite sex is the literal essence of our sexuality which you are diametrically opposed to. you'll just rub your nub away to yaoi like any other fujo who is either an ugly woman or understandably disillusioned with men but the only outcome is that you'll be a bitter p0rn sick lonely coomer just like those crusty basement-dwelling straight men who can't get laid. the worst part is that nearly any het woman like yoy can get laid, that's no achievement, het men will even pretend to be bi or gay to use you as a fleshlight but no gay male will ever want your musty homophobic vag, they want none at all and deep down you know it. that you'll never be loved and wanted by a gay man, that you'll never be seen as gay or male by anyone. you'll never know the ultimate compatibility and sublime equality that only exists in same-sex love. and now that you've ruined your straight woman privilege, only the most abusive and weird straight men will go after you, whose only purpose is to take advantage of you. what a sad existence, foaming at the mouth at gay people for standing up for ourselves when you fake progressive breeders try to brainwash your fellow homophobes into your bioessentialist homophobia, insisting gay people could be bisexually attracted as long as you wear 'boy clothes' and cut your hair off. congrats on alienating the very people you pretend to be, most of us were 'trans allies' just a few years ago before you went full crackhead and started pretending sexuality is based on a made-up gender not biological sex. enjoy withering away in your early menopause knowing no gay person will ever love or desire you, knowing you'll never be us and should be grateful since you couldn’t stand a day of real oppression.

Do you think shrimp feel a zest for life? I like to think so. Maybe a shrimp could be a lovely painter... who knows...

[helliontherapscallion]

Warmth (Adrenaline Junkie Part 6)

Part 1     Part 2     Part 3     Part 4     Part 5     Part 7     Part 8     Part 9     Part 10     Part 11     Part 12     Part 13     Part 14     Part 15     Part 16     Part 17

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: Self harm scars, mentions of panic attacks and hallucinations

Word count: 2,842

(A/N): This takes place about 6 months after the last chapter. Also, I was heavily inspired by Toothless’ prosthetic, I’m really excited to write more about it : )

You hummed to yourself as you walked down the cobblestone street of the village. The village was probably one of your favorite places to visit; it had quaint little shops and stalls decorating the main plaza that you adored, it was always interesting to see what’s being sold today. Though you always wore your cloak to cover your wings (well, wing and a now-feathered nub) whenever you visited to avoid the stares, you still regularly visited the main plaza for the shops. 

The first time you visited after the incident was about a month ago with Wilbur, you two were looking for something to cook for dinner. You were trying to get used to having your wings out again, so you were wearing the jacket with the slits in the back that you always used to wear. 

The feeling of people staring holes into you was a feeling you forgot about. You always got stares whenever you went into the village because of your wings, but now it felt like more and more people were staring at you as you passed them, probably because of your nub. Though some looked at you in pity, most looked at you with disgust.

You could hear children asking their mothers what happened to you. Their mothers would take one look at you and shield their children away from you staring at you with disgust. You even made one kid cry when he saw your wing; you didn’t blame him, you still couldn’t look at your nub without tearing up. An hour hasn’t even passed before you were asked by a police officer to leave because you were causing a disruption and being indecent in public.

Wilbur was pissed. “They’re fully clothed and they didn’t even talk to anybody, so how exactly were they being disruptive or indecent?”

The officer firmly held her ground, looking up to Wilbur’s tall form. “Sir, the people are complaining and it’s my job to make the public feel safe and comfortable. Look,” she sighed, “I really don’t want to have to ask them to leave, they’re not doing anything to directly threaten people. However, they are causing a disturbance with their,” she wrinkled her nose, “their thing, so I’m going to have to ask them to leave.”

“You have absolutely no right to tell them to leave. They-”

“Wilbur, it’s fine. I’ll leave,” turning back to the officer, you calmly stated “I’m sorry for causing a disturbance ma’am. It won’t happen again.”

She curtly nodded and stood watching you, probably making sure that you left the main plaza. Before you could turn to leave, Wilbur stopped you.

“(Y/n)-”

“No, Wilbur. It’s alright, I can wait outside the village for you.”

He sighed, looking through his leather satchel. “No, you won’t have to wait for me. We’ve got enough food for dinner anyways,” shooting one last heated glare at the police officer, he reached down to grab your hand. “Let’s go.”

He drug you quickly through the village with you having a little trouble keeping up with his long strides. Once you were out of the village, he slowed his pace and walked with his hands shoved in his pockets.

“(Y/n), I’m sor-”

“Don’t be Wil. It isn’t your fault. I honestly was expecting to get kicked out earlier.”

“Still, it’s not fair to you. You didn’t ask for this.” 

“I know Wil, I’ll just wear my cloak next time I visit.”

He didn’t say anything to you after that. The rest of the walk home was shrouded in an awkward silence. 

Another part of the village you loved was the library. It had tall shelves filled to the brim with all sorts of books and various cushioned furniture littered randomly amongst the maze of shelves. Whoever would walk into the library would immediately be hit by the strong scent of parchment and wood as soon as they would walk through the twin doors. You would usually browse books about redstone, but you had a different agenda today.

Today, you were looking for a book about leather working. You wanted to make a leather prosthetic wing so you could at least glide through the air. You weren’t sure if it would work though. From what you’ve read, nobody’s attempted to make a prosthetic wing. It made sense, being a hybrid was rare in and of itself, let alone a winged hybrid. 

You missed flying more than anything. You would give anything to be able to be in the air again. You felt jittery and restless without flight. Sure, Philza took you on some flights with him every now and then, but it wasn’t the same. You yearned for the independence and liberation it gave you to fly alone.

After you found a book and checked it out with the librarian, you hastily set out for home. You were walking with a giddy smile on your face and a bounce in your step. Several people gave you strange looks as you passed them, but you were in too good of a mood to care. You finally figured out a way you could possibly fly again. 

When you got home, you headed straight to your workshop to get to work on your prosthetic. Several blueprints were hung up around your desk, some for your TNT launcher (which you finished a few weeks ago) and others contained ideas for an automatic farm. Your pride and joy was hung up in the center of your bulletin board. It made you extremely happy just by looking at the prosthetic sketch.

Your redstone lamp illuminated the space in front of you as you focused on cutting a large strip of leather in front of you with great concentration. You needed to get the measurements exactly right, equal sized wings are integral for stability midair. The prosthetic was going to be about the same size as your left wing with thin iron rods giving the wing structure. You planned on making it identical to a bat’s wing with a few minor changes in shape to match your other wing. Once it actually was structurally sound and working, you would add proper joints so you could wear it around and decorate it. Until then, you’re making adjustments.

When you were done, you moved on to crafting and melding together the iron rods. Putting on your goggles and thick leather gloves, you used a bit of lava your family kept stored in another room in the basement to fuse the thin iron rods together. You carefully dipped one end of two rods into the bucket before pulling it out at a certain time to hold the molten ends together until they cooled. You repeated this process until you were melding the last piece on.

“HEY BITCH, DINNER’S READY. GET IT WHILE IT’S HOT!”

Yelping, you dropped the mold onto your desk. You picked it up in a panic without paying attention to where your arms went. Unknowingly, your sleeved arm was pressing up against the scorching iron of the bucket of lava.

“FUCK YOU YA FILTHY GREMLIN, A LITTLE WARNING WOULD’VE BEEN NICE!”

He started cackling. “FUCK YOU TOO! NOW GET UP HERE BEFORE I EAT YOUR DINNER.”

“YOU BETTER FUCKING NOT. I SWEAR TO- FUCK!”

You felt the nerves on the side of your forearm screaming as you yanked it away, leaving the crisp remains of a part of your sleeve stuck to the iron bucket. Two pairs of footsteps boomed down the steps and got louder as they rapidly approached you. 

Wilbur’s deep voice worriedly called out to you. “Shit, (y/n) are you alright? Let me see.”

Before you could protest, he gently grabbed your wrist and pulled the sleeve of your jacket down. Adjoining the light burn, small horizontal scars and some fresh cuts lined your forearms. Shit, they were never supposed to find out.

Wilbur’s hand froze, gripping your wrist with an iron grip. You hissed at the feeling of some of your cuts reopening, causing him to quickly retract his hand. He now had his hands hovering over your arm unsure of what to do with them.

“(Y/n), wha-” Tommy cut himself off once he saw the panicked look on his older brother’s face. Following his gaze, his wide eyes met with your cuts.

You sighed, prying the goggles off from your face and pulling the gloves off from your hands. You put on a calm exterior, contrary to what you felt on the inside. They were never supposed to know. “Listen, you guys weren’t supposed to find out about this. None of you were. Please don’t tell Dad or Technoblade, I don’t need more people knowing.”

Tommy spoke up with an incredulous look. “(Y/n), what do you mean? We can’t just not tell them.”

“I know. Please, do it for me? Everything’s finally going back to normal and this will just make everything worse again. I promise I’ll stop, I swear.”

The two brothers looked at each other silently contemplating what they should do. On one hand, you were their sibling and you were hurting yourself. They needed to tell their dad that you were cutting. You only had two lives left and you could kill yourself doing that. Philza and Techno could help. On the other hand, they wanted you to feel normal in your own home. You were right in the fact that everything was starting to feel like it did before the incident. Plus, they would gladly help you through it.

They looked back at you with apprehensive expressions, speaking at the same time. 

“(Y/n), we’re not gonna tell Dad or Techno.”

“We’re telling them.”

Tommy whipped his head up to look at his brother angrily. “Wilbur, we need to tell them.”

“Tommy, no-”

“Are you fucking stupid? Of course we have to-”

“Tommy. We don’t because I’ll be taking every sharp object away from them tonight. We’ll watch them and check their wrists to make sure that there’s no new cuts and they stay clean. We’ll help them.”

“But- they,” Tommy gave a frustrated sigh. “Fine. But we at least have to tell Techno about this. He can help us.”

Wilbur glanced at you with apologetic eyes. Before he could speak up, you interrupted him. “...Alright, as long as Dad doesn’t find out. He has enough to stress out about and he doesn’t need to worry about me again. Now, can we go upstairs for dinner? We’ve been down here for long enough already and Dad’s probably wondering why. Tell him that I’m gonna go clean up.”

Without giving them any room to argue, you speeded up the stairs and into your room. Closing the door and leaning your back on it, you let your calm facade drop into a panicked one. Shit, what if Tommy tells Dad? What were you supposed to do then? He’ll take away what little freedom you had left and you’ll be sinking into the depths of your depression again. 

Your thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock and Philza’s voice. You held your breath as you prepared yourself for him to tell you that he knows your secret. “Hey hun, Wilbur and Tommy told me that you burned yourself,” you let out a relieved sigh. “Do you need me to look at it?”

Panic once again flared in your bloodstream. “N-no Dad, it’s just a little burn. I’ll be down in just a second I’m changing.”

“You sure? I can get you a potion.”

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“...Alright,” he sounded skeptical. “Just hurry up, dinner’s getting cold.”

The sound of his retreating footsteps sounded like music to your ears. You closed your eyes and took a few deep breaths before you moved to put on a long sleeved shirt. 

Dinner was uncharacteristically quiet without Tommy, you, or Wilbur talking. Philza tried to carry the conversation with you four, but only Technoblade gave full responses. You, Tommy, and Wilbur only supplied a few words to a conversation when prompted. 

Technoblade was suspicious. Sure, you and Wilbur were quiet sometimes, but Tommy? Tommy’s always loud and rambunctious. Something’s wrong, but what? What could’ve happened when Tommy and Wilbur went to go get you for dinner? They weren’t gone for long. He did hear you screaming profanities at Tommy for scaring you and overheard Tommy telling Philza about how you burned yourself, but how is that something that would shut you three up? He was going to confront his siblings after he finished tonight’s dishes. 

Meanwhile, you, Tommy, and Wilbur were in your room. You were giving them your iron dagger.

“Is this all?”

“Yeah, Tommy. That’s all, search my room if you don’t believe me. I wouldn’t mind, I don’t have anything to hide from you anymore.”

They did just that. Looking under your bed, in your drawers, in your closet, and in the chest you kept for your supplies. You watched them propped up on your bed. While you were angry with yourself that you were so careless, you felt warm that they cared about you. They were great brothers.

After they were done turning your room upside down, Wilbur plopped down next to you and Tommy threw himself over your legs. You three laid there for a while just enjoying each other’s presence. It was nice to spend some time with your brothers, you didn’t get much free time to spend with them because you spent most of your time in your workshop.

The silence was broken by Tommy. “...So, how do you wanna go about telling Technoblade?”

“I’m… not exactly sure. Do we even have to tell him?”

Wilbur pursed his lips. “Even if you didn’t want to, I’m pretty sure he knows something’s up. He’s good at picking up on social cues.”

“Well if that’s the case, I might just wait until he comes to me. It’ll be easier.”

Your door swung open to reveal your piglin hybrid brother. He looked at you with a single eyebrow raised as his ear flicked. “What were you planning on telling me?”

Tommy and Wilbur looked at you expectantly. You shifted your body closer to the wall making room on your bed for him. He walked over and stiffly sat on the edge of your mattress. He gestured for you to talk to him. You slowly slid your sleeve down and showed him your arm. Besides his eyebrows slightly crinkling, he was as stoic as ever when he reached out to grab your wrist for a better look.

On the inside, the voices were almost as loud as when you died. They were nearly incoherent as several angry voices mixed together yelling at him for not noticing anything was wrong with you, the kid he vowed to protect when you first stole his crown and replaced it with a homemade paper one. Outside of the voices, he was furious at himself, he was supposed to protect you. He ran his fingers along the raised lines, gently tracing over every scar and scabbed over cut as if memorizing where every single one lays.

His monotone voice was gruff. “How long? Why?”

“About eight months now. I-I didn’t feel anything for a while after I respawned and I realized that pain helped me feel. It helped ground me when I hallucinated or had panic attacks.”

“...Do you feel anything now?”

“Yeah, I’m getting better Tech. I’m hallucinating less and I’m getting better at managing anxiety attacks. At this point, it's just a habit that I can’t drop.” 

“Do you want to drop it?”

You fell silent. You never really considered stopping before. Before, you would do it to give yourself something to focus on when you were overwhelmed, but now you would do it out of habit. It somehow felt wrong when you skipped a session and it usually threw your entire day off. You would feel drained for the entire day if you didn’t do it. It was one of the only consistent things in your life.

“(Y/n), c’mon you don’t want to keep doing this, right?” Tommy asked before Wilbur reached over and slapped him upside his head. 

“I think,” you breathed out, unsure of yourself, “I want to get better.”

Techno looked at his brothers. “Did you two take their blades?”

Tommy held up the iron dagger and wove it around haphazardly in the air. Techno reached over and pocketed the dagger before discarding his golden crown and placing it on your nightstand. He took off his weighted fluffy cloak and neatly draped it over a nearby chest. He maneuvered his body so that he was laying on your other side and wrapped a lazy arm over your chest. 

With Wilbur on your right side with your wing draped over him, Tommy laying on your stomach with Wilbur reaching down to hold him, and Techno pulling you close to his body, you were pleasantly warm. You were slowly drifting off, being lulled to sleep by Techno’s slow heartbeat. You blissfully fell asleep surrounded by your brothers’ love.

Inspo for the cuddle pile (credit goes to og artist, zillychu): https://zillychu.home.blog/tag/heart-squad-cuddle-pile/

Taglist (comment if you want to be added):

@acecarddraws  @goldenstarofthunderclan  @ravennightingaleandavatempus  @dirtydiavolo  @yeiras-world  @immadatmostthings  @hee-hee-haw  @jackalopedoodles  @m1lkmandan  @vanhakirja  @im-a-depressed-gay  @coolleviauchihadreamerlove  @questioning-sanity  @camisascam

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[sideblogformindtrash]

CW: Descriptive torture; mentions of body fluids; finger whump; whipping; branding; deshumanization; conditioning; pet/slave whump; creepy whumper; mentioned human trafficking; stress position; restraints; panic attacks; mentioning death/wishing for death.

It’s probably the goriest one I’ve written yet, so viewer discretion is advised and read content warning(?)

I think I’ll stop hurting poor baby Haru for a while after this, I’m almost feeling bad about it. And honestly mr. generic whumper here is so evil it’s boring;

He was curled up against a white, familiar wall, waiting for hell to break loose.

He had spent the night walking around the city, cold, hungry and lost. People stared at him weird, because he was disgusting and worthless.

And the more he walked the more he got lost, and all he wanted as to go back… Back to before he had done what he did.. He had run away… One of the worst offenses he could have ever committed. Useless, stupid, stupid.

It was already early morning when he saw one of the Black Coats, tall and scary, all dressed in the uniform of people he remembered so well. People who worked with… With taming and selling… those like him, who should never, ever be considered people.

He ran up to the scary person, and instinctively grabbed the side of their coat, wide eyed and desperate, pleading blue eyes. They took one look at him and looked at his collar with the contact for his owners.

The person thought he was lost and led him to the facility. Well he… He was a runaway. But telling that to the handler wouldn’t help him on any way, it would only make that handler treat him worse... And look at him with disappointment.

He knew he deserved every bit of it… But he wasn’t even sure he would survive what was planned as his punishment once he was............... home. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to survive.

He missed being in the facility. It was… familiar. It was also safer than he had ever felt at that mansion. He would never have dared escape the facility, he wouldn’t even want to. Where would he even go?

So he crawled up to the corner, hugging his knees, tired and scared. He tried to sleep, but the anxiety was too much. All he could do was cry, bracing against the comforting familiarity of those walls.

…But soon they came to take him back.

The same handler opened the cell, grabbed him by the collar and dragged him into the main hallway. He lifted his pale blue eyes just for a moment, just to see Young Master’s face. He was… calm, and smiling.

He lowered his head immediately, as the handler threw him to his knees and removed the muzzle. Master gave him a deadly glance, while he signed off the papers and paid the retrieval fee.

Part of him had prayed Young Master decided to give up on him and just… Let him be sold again.

But he knew he wouldn’t get off this one so easily.

…It was raining outside. He went for the trunk, but Master held his arm and pointed.

“…Go on the passenger’s sit” That calm, gentle tone was unfamiliar and dangerous. He shivered, but obeyed. He couldn’t be stupid and do things worse for himself. He looked upwards, trying to prevent the tears from falling, almost choking to swallow the sobs. He wished he had been kept muzzled.

Young Master turned the radio on, cheerfully humming the tune. He curled up on the car sit, not even interested in looking outside. He just wanted so bad to disappear. He was expecting Young Master to be screaming, furious, like he always was… But seeing him smiling like that was more terrifying than anything.

“You want to speak, little bird?” He was looking at the pet with the corner of his eyes “Well, you won’t. I’ve been wanting some really some good reason to hurt you for some time now, you know? I have some different things that I would like to try, but normally, it would make dad angry. He likes you more than you deserve…. Well, now I have a reason. Isn’t that wonderful, little bird?”

His eyes widened. Breathe. Breathe. A sob escaped. He quickly hid his face on his palms… Master kept humming the tune, driving idly trough the city.

“Oh, little one. Don’t look so sad now. If only you weren’t so stupid…” he laughed “I was just messing with you yesterday. I wasn’t really going to cut you open. Just make some markings, here and there, the usual. But today… I’ll make sure to cut off your little wings so you never dare to cross that door again.”

Young Master savored the sheer panic on his face, as he struggled so much not to beg, his heart  beating like a drum, the air seeming so scarce he couldn’t breathe. Safe for his sobs and the song, the rest of the car-ride was silent.

 ----------------------------------------------------------------

The servants gave him some pitiful, pale looks as he was guided to the basement. Young Master wasn’t being rough with him. He was just… gently pushing him, a hand on his back, still cheerfully humming… and that terrified him far more than he would if he had just been dragged. Young Master was never kind. Kindness wasn’t free. His kindness was poison.

He closed the heavy door behind them, guiding him to the center of the room, where he fell on his knees.  He had to be good. He couldn’t be dumb and make things worse.

The basement was always a bit dark, walls made of wood and a floor of stone. A lot of scary things hanging from the walls and shelves, and large hooks they could be chained to, a fireplace and old carcasses of cars.

“Hands”

He raised them as fast as he could, despite how much effort that took… they were shaking so much… So pale and so weak, against the heavy metal shackles master locked them with. Young Master lifted him without any difficulty and hang the chain on one of the hooks, leaving him hanging on his tip-toes.

He picked up a whip, first.

“Now… This one is for vomiting over my shoes” Master walked behind him. He ran his fingers over the scarred back, where bruises and marks from other beatings hadn’t healed yet, throwing the long hair over his shoulder so it wouldn’t get on his way “…Twenty. Keep count. Don’t speak, but keep count, or we start over.”

…The whip stroke hard. He whimpered, but otherwise managed to keep composure. Twenty wasn’t so bad. He could take twenty. The second one was worse than the first, and the one after that made him sob. Then again, and again, blood rushing to his back, warm, stinging.

“How many?” Master stopped hitting, he walked closer and led the whip over his back slowly, just, letting it slide over the wounds.

“F-five”

“Good” Master whispered, stepped back and hit again “You are allowed to scream, birdie”

He felt dizzy, he wasn’t strong enough to keep balance. His wrists hurt. The next hits were drawing blood. He wanted to scream but… He didn’t had the strength to do it. He let his head hang low and allowed himself to whimper.

“How many?”

“..A-a…S-six..teen..”  words were hard “P-plea”

“A-ah” Master said, grabbing his cheeks, his nails digging on his skin “We barely begun. You’ll be allowed to beg later. Now you can only scream and cry. I want to hear your pain.”

Master was so close to his face now, entangling his fingers on the white hair.

“Did you understand me?” he nodded “Good. Sixteen, is that your answer?”

He lifted his head slightly. Master had a mocking, dangerous smile… he… He was sure it was sixteen. He had been counting. Had he missed one? Was Master giving him a chance? Was this so he would get it wrong?

He couldn’t begin again. Not when this was just the start. He couldn’t he-

A hard slap, turning his head to the side. Fingers marked on his face.

“I made you a question, mutt” …anger. This was familiar. He nodded quickly. He wasn’t sure but… What else could he do? There was no time to think. Master smiled again “…You are correct. Four left.”

He sighed, relieved. It was a taunt after all… The relief was gone with the next hit, more vicious than the other ones, crossing so many of the other marks. He gasped, closing his eyes shut. Three more and he was sobbing once it ended.

He… Should be able to endure more than that. He had before. Was it the fear that was making it worse? Or… the fact that he really deserved it this time?  He deserved every one of the hits – and more. He hated himself for being bad, and stupid and dumb, just like Young Master said he was. He deserved it, and all that would come later too.

Young Master walked around him, admiring his work. He was still smiling, still calm, hiding… It wasn’t anger. It was excitement. Master hang the whip back on the wall. He dragged… an arm chair to the center of the room, before letting him off the hook and onto it. A chair that belonged to the dinner set upstairs, he recognized it. Young Master must have brought it to the basement before going to pick him up.

He dry swallowed, wondering how much thought had been put into this punishment.

“Now, stay still for me, will you?”

He made his best to, only slightly shivering as the handcuffs were removed and replaced by rope, so tight it dug into his skin. There was no room to move, except for his head. He let the hair fall over his face, trying to hide… But that prompted Master to pull his head back.

“Smile for the camera dear…” Camera? Was there one? He didn’t knew and it didn’t matter, really. Master pulled his hair, dragging his neck backwards so much it hurt. He whimpered, but didn’t resist. He wanted to be good. He deserved this.

He deserved this. It would help him. It would make him better.

He didn’t like pain if it wasn’t to make him better, to correct his mistakes… But this one was. It was pain he deserved. He needed to be grateful.

He swallowed hard, and tried to be grateful.

But it was too scary, and now he couldn’t really see, as tears and panic where clouding his vision. So when Master approached again, he wasn’t very sure what was he was holding. A gentle touch over his hand caught him off guard. He almost relaxed a bit as Young Master rubbed gentle circles on his hand… And then excruciating pain.

…He passed out.

…A second, equally terrifying pain brought him back to reality a few seconds later.

“Don’t you go passing out on me, darling. You know how angry that makes me”

Dizzy… Hurting. Hurting so much it made the lashes on his back seem like nothing. Trembling, he looked down, the world swirling around him, almost incomprehensible… Red.

Young Master lifted something to his field of vision. A pair of bloodied fingernails. His… His fingernails.

He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t breathe couldn’t breathe couldn’t breathe couldn’t breath-

Master took the pliers to the next one. He wanted to beg, he tried to lean forward… He finally screamed.

Blood. Red. Pain. No air. No air no air no air. Red. Pain.

“please”

A slap. He doesn’t care, it feels like nothing compared to what just happened. His eyes are wide, teary and shocked.

“Ah-a. No begging yet. I haven’t allowed it.”

“Mercy. P—lease. Mercy? I-it will-”

Another slap, and his head was pulled backwards. Young Master runs his thumb over his face, cleaning tears and sweat while the other hand is firmly tugging his hair.

“Now now, you crossed every single limit yesterday, dear little bird. You disrespected me. And I’ll make sure you never dare to do it again”

He lets his head go, taking some time to admire his pet’s face. He moves to the next nail, an almost childlike smile.

He is fully aware this time. No shock and no adrenaline rush to coat a bit of the pain. No feelings of being lost, just the pain of flesh tearing. He feels sick. He can’t choke his screams anymore, not when they are being pulled, exposing the tender, bloodied skin underneath. Master praises him, but it’s mocking. It doesn’t really matter; his voice is distant behind a wall of pain.

Time seems to slow down. All he has now is agony, his body trembling, pulling hard against the ropes.

“Last one now, baby” Master says “Then we move to your little feet.”

…A strangled whimper is all he can manage. At some point, his bladder gives out, much to Master’s amusement. He is mocked for it but can barely understand the words.

He stares into nothing, wide eyed, as the minutes drag themselves. Everything is red. Everything is pain. Everything is blood.

And at some point a hand… full of bloodied nails is placed in front of his eyes. He has no strength to react… No voice to scream anymore. He stares, wide blue eyes, drenched in sweat and tears, shaking so much his teeth clank.

“I should start collecting those” Master says… returning to the table. Sounds of metal. He shivers, trying so hard to just… breathe. It’s not over yet? What is it going to be now? How will he survive?

He can’t breathe, he feels like he will die, he wishes he would die.

Master comes back without anything. He holds the pets chin, gently pulling the hair off his face, using his sleeves to clean the tears, sweat and snot. He smiles.

“This was… very fun. You look so pretty now little bird. I think I can finally understand why father thinks you are beautiful” he laughs “…Now you think you have learned your lesson?”

He needs a moment to realize he has to… to answer.

“y-ye-s I-“ he sobs “P-please I, I … It will neve-r, nev-er, i-it it is… Mas-master, p-pleas-“

Master places a hand over his lips, shushing him. He tried to lean closer to Master, but is held back by the ropes. The burn they cause seems so minor in comparison to the sheer agony right now, he barely notices.

“There there, pet” Master smiles “Just one more thing, and we will be done. “

He whimpers.

“N-no…m-more…no…” His voice is broken. He mouths please, over and over and over even if his voice has given out.

“Shush, don’t discuss with me now, bird. I need to make sure you know your place” He smiles, the pet follows him with his eyes, terrified to even blink “It will be quick.”

Master moves away. He has no strength to hold his head up when Master lets his chin, but looking down is bad, he sees the bloodied fingers. Thankfully there is nothing on his stomach to throw up. Red. Blood. Pain.

“Tell me little bird” Master appears back in his vision field “You’ll never run again, will you?”

…blazing iron, held so close to his face he can feel the heat.

“i-iit w-wil n-ev-er run f-from… mas-master…ple-ase” so, so hard to speak. So hard to breathe. Nothing in the whole world exists anymore. Just Master, burning iron, the bloodied fingers and the pain. “it-is is is yo—rs f-for-e-vv-ver. M-mer-mercy…”

He can’t anymore. Teeth clank as he shivers. His tears have stopped, even. Master smiles, contempt with the answer.

“Good boy. Now let’s make sure you don’t forget”

…He presses the iron against the sole of his feet. His vision goes black, and then covered with spots of red pain. And he feels cold. A terrible shiver runs down his spine, as the heat seems to be drained from his whole body, except that one, awful burn. The smell is nauseating.

It’s just a few seconds, but it feels like hours. It’s only removed to be placed on the other one.

Everything seems to fade again, and he wishes… He wishes he was dead.

It’s all… Red. Burning. Blood. Pain.

…Cold water on his lips brings him to tears again. He barely realizes as the ropes are cut off. Young Master is speaking a lot, but he can’t make sense of it.

He is lifted from the chair, scooped by Master’s arms. He wants to grab Master’s shirt, but the bloody fingers hurt too badly. He lets his body limp, his head resting over Master’s shoulder, and the world goes dark again.

Taglist: @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-me-all-night-long @whumpzone