#t$$ au

[befuddled-calico-whump]

The Revenge Stream: Part One

contains: Vic Shepard, red room setting, whumper turned whumpee, violence, beating, noncon nudity/forced stripping, adult language, third person POV

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•

Normally it's common sense to avoid random links that pop up in your inbox.

Everything about it screams virus, from the restricted sender, to the jumbled string of letters and symbols that make up the link itself, to the subject line, a simple “gift for you”. Normally, you'd delete it immediately. Maybe report it as spam. But something holds you back. A single line in the message body.

Anyone for vengeance?

You're intrigued. It's not the typical line a scammer might use. After a few minutes spent wrestling with your own common sense, you decide to do the probably stupid thing and click on the hyperlink. The pull of your curiosity is just too strong to be ignored.

The link leads to a simple website with a layout that's almost laughably bad. Any sense of design is nonexistent, and the sole feature of the page appears to be some sort of livestream. Its screen is dark, but the timestamp in the corner is moving. Whatever camera it's attached to, it's rolling.

What is this? You wait a minute, watching the clock tick upwards, but nothing changes. Silence and a dark screen. Definitely not worth the risk of a virus.

Just as you're about to call it quits and close the tab, the screen floods with light.

A gloved hand fills the frame, holding what looks like a lense cap, silhouetted against a background of barren concrete. As the hand moves away, the room comes into focus, revealing a figure at its center.

It appears to be a man, barefoot and tied to a chair. He's slumped forward, graying hair obscuring his face.

You know you should feel dread. Panic, even. But instead, your interest only grows, and you find yourself holding your breath as the camera steadies. There's a small pop, and the audio of the feed crackles to life.

“This thing on?” a voice says, its owner stepping into frame. They're dressed in light grey sweatpants with a matching hoodie, a white mask obscuring their face.  “We've got oh… fifty, fifty-five guests by my count. Seems like a good place to start.” They move to the man in the chair, taking a fistful of his hair and yanking his head back, angling his face towards the camera. He's gagged with a twisted strand of cord, and his face is a bit cut up, but he seems alert. And pissed.

“Ladies and gentlemen, meet Victor Shepard. If you're watching this, it's because he's fucked up your life in some way. Maybe he killed a loved one. Maybe he destroyed your company, or provided blackmail material that ruined your reputation. I dunno. Jack of all trades, this one.” They loosen their grip, and Shepard's head drops. 

“Point is, I'm here to make him pay. For you.” You can almost hear them grin behind the mask.

Your hands clench, eyes glued to the monitor screen. Fuck. This is a red room stream, isn't it? And a personal one at that. While this reveal should have you reaching for your phone and dialing 9-1-1, you almost feel… excited. You want to see more. Even if the link reaching your inbox was a fluke, there's no way you're backing out.

“Well,” the masked figure continues. “Let's get this party started, huh? What's up first?”

In the corner of the screen, a poll appears.

Strip him, reads the first option.

Rough him up, the second one says. A timer is kicking down beneath the buttons. Fifty-nine seconds.

Should you click one? Does it make you complacent if you do? You’d almost feel better if you didn't, like you're just an innocent bystander, watching something you have no real power to stop. And that makes it okay, right?

Before you can finish justifying it to yourself, the poll ends. ‘Strip him’ is the victor, fifty votes to eighteen.

The masked figure moves out of frame again, and you hear them click their tongue. “Hope you're not shy, big guy.”

When they move back into view of the camera, they're holding a knife.

“Gonna have to cut some of the ropes, but I'm not too worried about it.” They grab the camera, rotating it to face the rest of the room, and for the first time you see its other occupants, two figures clad in the same grey as the speaker. They're also masked, and each of them holds an assault rifle at the ready.

“Michael and Uriel over here got me covered if he tries anything. Really hope he doesn't though. I do wanna give you a show.”

As they spin the camera back around, you catch a split second glimpse of the speaker's working area. A slim laptop surrounded by what looks like a bunch of weapons and power tools. If those are all for Shepard, you don't doubt they will indeed be putting on a show.

They re-steady the camera and step back onscreen, closing in on the man in the chair. Their knife slides through the ropes around his chest with ease, and they fall to the ground in a heap. The figure shifts so they're not blocking Shepard from the camera's view, then begins a slice down the middle of his shirt.

They cut away the cloth—chest, shoulders, arms—before moving to his pants, but Shepard doesn't struggle. If anything, his body language seems calm. Placid, even, though when you catch a glimpse of his eyes you can see a sharp anger. You imagine the only thing keeping him in place right now is the gunmen on the other side of the room.

The pile of discarded scraps beside the chair grows, and soon the captive is stark naked. Under his clothes, his body is all lean muscle and old scars, the dark silhouette of some kind of bird tattooed on his chest. You don't doubt what the speaker—the host—said before. This guy seems pretty capable of ruining lives.

The host steps back, admiring their work. “There we go. A canvas at the ready. Shall we move on? What tool should I grab?”

In the corner of your screen, another poll appears.

Electric sander.

Switch.

Seeing an electric sander listed as a potential torture tool makes your stomach twist, but you can't tell if it's disgust or excitement that’s behind the feeling. Again, you only watch as the timer ticks down.

Three…

Two…

One…

To your relief, (or is it disappointment?) the switch comes out ahead.

Behind the mask, the host’s excitement seems to grow.

“Ohoho, we have a winner,” they say, and you hear a light clattering offscreen. When they step back in front of the camera, they're holding the chosen tool; a thick, stiff strip of leather, metal studding one end. They give it a test swish through the air. The sound gets no reaction from Shepard.

“How many do you think he's good for? The metal bits are gonna leave a mark.” The host moves behind the camera, and from their comments, you can guess they're reading through viewer feedback.

“Ten? I'd call that light. Oh, twenty five is more like it— a hundred?” They whistle. “Okay, that might be a bit high. The night is young.”

You scan your monitor screen. In the top corner, there's a little message icon, which you assume is how everyone else is communicating with the host. You briefly consider dropping a request of your own, but then they speak up.

“Let's go with fifty. Happy medium, eh?”

Your eyes dart back down, and you watch as they stroll towards Shepard, smacking the switch lightly against their gloved palm as they move.

“Brace for impact,” they say cheerfully, before cracking the implement across Shepard's chest. His head snaps backwards, a pained noise escaping him.

One. A giddiness is growing in your chest, eager to count down until the man's first scream. The host seems just as energized as you, attacking Shepard’s torso like they're beating dirt out of a rug.

Several seconds pass before they come to a stop, winded. Their arm drops, and they sidestep, letting the camera take in Shepard. His torso is covered in welts, bleeding in some places where the studs broke skin. Aside from a few pained hisses and grunts, he's been silent.

“Fuck,” the host says. “I lost count. What was that? Was that fifty? Forty five?”

They shake their arms, as if to loosen their shoulders.

“We'll call it forty.”

Snap!

The switch comes down, this time cracking across Shepard's face. You wince at the impact. That's gotta hurt. The host continues the attack. Their strokes seem slower now, not as sharp, but they're aiming high, striking him across the nose, cheek, collarbone. Forty eight actually drags a yelp out of the man as metal collides with a welt on his cheekbone, and your heart leaps at the sound.

Forty nine swipes the corner of his mouth, drawing blood, and then…

“Cincuenta,” says the host, letting the switch drop. “Not impressed, hm Vicky? We can change that.” They stroll to their workstation, and you hear the clatter of the switch’s metal tip hitting the table.

A moment later, a third poll appears on the screen.

Whip him, says the first button.

Cut off his tattoo, says the second. 

Holy fuck. That seems a bit extreme, but… fun? Maybe? The guy's a piece of shit, right? He probably deserves much worse. Right?

“Cast your votes,” the host’s voice rings out, and you watch as the poll goes live, the clock suddenly ticking backwards.

“What do you think will make him scream?”

•

[hilacopter]

tbh ryoko kui cooked with this one why is this the funniest image I have ever seen

[rika-mortis]

Bonus:

[daftpatience]

haruhi is forever in my heart a sort of boy thingy

[arttsuka]

Perhaps Bill Cipher annoying Stanley or another member of the Pines family. (Or if you feel up to multiple, everyone e within the Pines family. Only if you want to though)

Have you ever seen that one handyman Bill au

[blanc-ci]

Jim will NOT be helping u with ur blueballs, Bones

[pastelpaperplanes]

I am hungry

I have been hungry

I was born hungry

[chipper-smol]

star abducted :3

[pixel-transformers]

This is a little less ‘cleaned up’ than my other drawings but I can NOT stop thinking of @keferon s Mecha Pilot Jazz Au:)

I feel like this would be the point when Prowl finds out about Jazz actually being human, after the mecha is damaged…

[thali-lemmonpie]

"There is a whole galaxy out there. Full of people who will reach for you. You have to let them. Find that person who seems farthest from you, and reach for them. Reach for them. Let them guide you."

[steampoweredwerehog]

Employee 427 is getting weirder by the day

[befuddled-calico-whump]

The Revenge Stream: Part Two

contains: torture, knife whump, burning, gore, red room setting, adult language, noncon nudity

previous // next

•

The poll comes to a close, ‘cut off his tattoo’ in the lead. 

“You all have good taste," the host says with a laugh. "I was hoping you'd pick that one.” The knife is back in their hand when they step towards Shepard. He's watching them, eyes narrowed and wary, and you realize he doesn't know what's coming. How could he? You briefly wonder how it must feel, watching someone with a knife and unknown intentions creep closer, but as the anticipation rises, the thought fades.

The host jerks their chin up, as if gesturing. “Ay Uriel, ven aquí.”

One of the gunmen responds to his call, slinging their rifle over their shoulder and moving to stand behind Shepard. They grip his shoulder, one hand winding in his hair to keep him steady as the host traces the bottom of his tattoo with the knife’s tip.

“Mark of a killer,” they murmur. “Taking away a lion's mane doesn't make him any less a lion.” They press into Shepard's flesh, and blood wells up beneath the blade. “But it might tame his pride.”

They outline the tattoo in red. You can tell they're trying to be neat, but Shepard is squirming under their hands, turning the lines jagged as blood trickles down his chest. The host repositions the knife at the bottom of the wound, pinching torn skin between their fingers and working the blade under the targeted area.

Shepard screams as they begin to pull away the inky flesh, but it sounds choked. Bitten off. He's still trying to hold back. It's probably close to five minutes before the host stands, looking triumphant as they hold the flap of skin between a red-stained thumb and pointer. The flesh is almost too bloody to make out the shape of the bird that had once been stamped onto Shepard's chest.

The man in the chair is panting, a tremor in his shoulders. Uriel's hand is still keeping his head up, but if it were gone, you know he'd be hunched over.

The host tosses the cut skin aside, and it hits the ground with a wet slap that makes you cringe.

“Almost looks good,” they say, turning on their heel and making a show of inspecting Shepard’s newest wound. “But my uncle always told me to see a task through, and the edges aren't looking too clean. I think they need smoothing.”

They dip behind the camera, coming back with their fingers curled around a new tool. The electric sander. The one they teased earlier. 

Shit. Are they really gonna..?

They power it on, and Shepard flinches at the high pitched whirring that suddenly fills the room.

Oh fuck. You're not sure you can watch this. Your own chest is tingling with sympathy pains just at the thought of it. Still, you can't bring yourself to look away as the host lowers the sander onto Shepard's chest, pressing it into the open wound.

This time, he isn't able to choke down his scream. He throws his head back, thrashing against his restraints as the host holds the device against him. The vibrations send tiny splatters of blood in every direction, almost like sparks under a welder. It feels like an eternity passes before they finally let up.

The sander is dripping crimson, the color almost cartoonish. Unreal. The host seems to sway a bit as they move to set it down. As they pass behind the camera, you hear a clattering, followed by the sound of a door swinging open, then shut. Did they just leave?

It seems to be the case, as Uriel drops Shepard, moving back to their spot behind the camera.

“We will resume soon,” they say, voice deep and even. “For now, choose what is next.”

A moment later, a new poll appears.

Close the wound with fire.

Electrocution.

You briefly hover over the lower button, but hesitate to click it. Nope. You don't need to make yourself a part of this. Just watching is enough.

The new options stay up longer than the previous polls, the room silent aside from Shepard's hissing breaths and the occasional shuffle of the gunmen. You know the wait is due to the host's absence, but where did they go? Was the last torment too much for them? You guessed they were young based on their voice, but you'd assumed they were experienced with the whole torture thing based on their casual attitude. Maybe it was just a front.

At last, you hear the door open.

“Estás bien?”

“Fine.” 

“Quieres que me lleve el siguiente?”

“Lo tengo.” The host steps back into frame. “And we are back, ladies and gentlemen. I see you want to burn this asshole. Well, we can make that happen.”

There's something in their hand, and your heart picks up as you realize it's a handheld blowtorch. You watch as they lift it, hitting the switch and letting the fire roar to life. When they turn to face Shepard though, they falter, the torch going dead in their hand.

“I…” They turn back to the camera. “I think I'll let Uriel have a little fun with this one. Guy's earned his share.”

Wordlessly, Uriel steps forward to take the torch, his free hand brushing the host’s shoulder in a gesture that looks like it's meant to be comforting.

You don't get much chance to read into it before he's bearing down on Shepard, torch glowing in his hand. The man in the chair has his eyes locked on the approaching figure, face twisted into a scowl. Uriel doesn't say a word as he lowers the torch onto Shepard's open wound.

You only catch a split second of it—the skin bubbling and burning—before you have to turn away, Shepard's scream ringing in your ears. Only when his ragged cry tapers off do you dare to look up. His skin is covered in a sheen of sweat, his face contorted in pain. 

The host's voice calls from offscreen. “I think that's enough excitement for one night, folks. We'll leave you with one final decision. How should we keep our guest comfortable until the morning?”

As they speak, what you assume is the final poll of the night appears.

Blindfold him.

Use a more durable gag.

Gag and blindfold him.

Three options this time. Would it really be so bad if you voted for one? Who knows if you'll ever see anything like this again; will you regret not participating?

Probably not, you think as the poll closes, the third option coming out the winner. This is already a night to remember.

“Excellent choice, everyone!” The host says as they check the results. “I can't say I envy this fucker.”

The gag comes out first. You watch Shepard as the host approaches him, certain he'll fight this, but he allows his jaw to be manhandled open, not protesting as the gag is shoved between his teeth. 

You're almost disappointed. The first session is wrapping up and this so-called murderer has meekly taken everything the host has thrown his way. The blindfold goes on next, and while he sits still for it, you see his fists clench as it's tightened over his eyes. The host pats his cheek, and Shepard flinches back, the movement almost imperceptible.

“There’s a good boy. Keep this up and maybe I'll give you a treat.” They turn back to the camera. “Well, that's all for now folks. Keep your eyes peeled for the next—”

“Gabriel.” A woman's voice, sharp and urgent, cuts them off. “No seas estúpido.”

Even though you can't see their face, the host… Gabriel seems to balk. “Um. Everyone, meet Lu. Another member of our cast and crew.”

A fourth figure strolls onscreen, dressed in the same greys as the rest. Same mask, too. Gabriel is taller than her, but they have a similar build, similar voices. You wonder if they're related.

The woman, Lu, gives the camera a brusque, acknowledging wave before turning her attention to the host.

“Are you leaving him like this?” she asks, gesturing towards Shepard. His head lifts, pointing towards her voice, though you know he can't see.

Gabriel shrugs. “Yeah? We're done for the day. Don't tell me you of all people think it's too harsh—”

“I thought you had a better head on your shoulders,” she snaps. “Qué pasa cuando apagas la cámara y cierras la puerta?”

“I…”

“He,” she points an accusing finger at Shepard, “would gnaw off his own arm to get free of a cuff. Esto no es suficiente.”

Gabriel slouches forward dramatically, in the moment looking more like a sulking teenager than a confident host. Perhaps they've forgotten the cameras are rolling. “Qué se supone que haga? Está atado.”

“You're a smart boy,” Lu says. “I'm sure you'll figure out something.” She strides back out of frame, casting one final remark at Gabriel. “Find a way to keep him down, or you'll wake up to him cutting your throat.”

The door closes, and Gabriel sighs, hands going to his hips. Behind him, Vic is very still, his body tensed like a coiled spring.

“Well folks, guess we have time for one more event,” Gabriel says, moving behind the camera. “Keep him down.” You hear the sound of tools on the table, shifting around.

“I guess…” He steps back into frame, gloved hand wrapped around the handle of a claw hammer. His voice takes on a more confident edge as he extends it towards the camera.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner,” he says, giving it a flourishing swing. “Let's see how his knees hold up against this.”

•

[sm-baby]

What's the box on kinger's neck?

:3c I've only had ONE person point this out, but all the AIs have a sort of neckpiece. This is on purpose. I had to adjust Ragathas and Pomni's a little more to make it more clear uwu

what are the neckpieces for you ask? well, *RUNS AWAY*

[citricacidprince]

I noticed that their dynamics were so similar… what if they swapped for a bit

As a treat (For Swansea and Daisuke) and a punishment (For Stan and Soos, but also me, because that shit hurted)

Also, bonus doodle under the cut but be wary of Mouthwashing Spoilers!

[cymk8]

🏒💃💃⛸ SHE GAVE HER A CHANCE!!!!!

[pigeonstab]

@somegrumpynerd :3c Cross getting his first toy ever

I think it's the kind of thing he brings everywhere cuz it's his comfort item.. and he's never had a comfort item before