#tw:torture

[backpackingspace]

....do we think xie lian knows everything jun wu did to him because like. I doubt it. When you're being psychologically tortured and reality is breaking around you, you don't remember a lot of it.

[daily-sloop-john-b]

I know someone's commented on this before, but 7000 people—1000 per spawn—over 169 years (Sabastian's 170 - 1 year buried alive) is 5.9 victims/year.

That's really fucking inefficient.

Either Astarion's VASTLY overstating his skill, or there was a lot more torture in the torture:luring ratio than he likes to recall.

[chickensarentcheap]

DarkTyler (as readers called him)

WARNINGS: blood, torture,  mentions of child abduction and abuse (not graphic)

@tragiclyhip  @muchadoaboutcj @thesirenrealm @asirensrage @residentdormouse @youflickedtooharddamnit @secretaryunpaid @munstysmind @mrsmungus @themaradaniels @ninjasawakenedmystar @starryeyes2000

*****

“Mate, do you really want to test me right now? Do you really want to see if I have balls or not? Because I'm all out of patience here. I'm all out of fucks, like my wife would say. So...” he tightens his grip on McMann's hair, yanking his head to the side and then pressing the tip of the box cutter blade into the skin below his ear. Enough to break the surface; a trickle of blood appearing. “...I'm going to ask you on more time. What were you going to do to my kids?”

McMann refuses to answer.

Tyler presses down harder; feeling the blade dig into the man's neck, his free hand still gripping McMann's hair. Using enough force to draw even more blood, feeling it drip down the box cutter and onto his own fingers; hot, smooth, the smell tangy and pungent. And it only encourages him even more. Kicking his adrenaline up another notch. And he slowly drags the blade along McMann's next, prolonging the pain, until the other man is screaming in agony and attempting to get away. Kicking his bound feet, trying to break the ties around his wrist, struggling to get away.

“Okay! Okay!” McMann finally relents. “I'll tell. I'll fucking tell you.”

“Now that wasn't too bad, was it?” Tyler asks, and cleans both his fingers and the box cutter off on the front of McMann's shirt. “You live to see another day. For now. So, tell me...” he uses his forearm to clear sweat off his brow, then walks over to the cooler and grabs a bottle of water; tearing off the cap and downing half of it before returning to his chair. “...what did you tell them to do?”

“They were going to grab them. After they killed the big one and his girlfriend. They were going to hold them somewhere. Like I did with my kids. Everything was going to be the same. The duct tape, the zip ties, everything. They were going to rough them up a bit...”

“You told your people...grown men...to beat on my kids?” The fury is instant. All consuming. “Is that what you're telling me? That you told adults to put hands on them? The oldest is five. The youngest is ten months. And you told people to beat on them?”

McMann nods, tears sparkling in his eyes.

“Don't cry now, mate. Tears won't work on me. They aren't going to save you. And I know those tears aren't for my kids. You told adults...men...to beat on my kids?”

“I just told you....”

“Now we have a real problem,” Tyler leans forward in his seat, elbows on his knees. “If you'd just said you told them to grab them and hold them somewhere, I wouldn't be as mad as I am right now. I could have probably kept it together when you mentioned the duct tape and zip ties. But you actually told people to put their hands on my kids. That...well that I can't forgive....so....” he jumps to his feet, then heads back to the weapons table. “...I don't think a box cutter is going to quite cut it this time....this calls for something a little...I don't know...worse.”

He selects the crow bar, then decides against it and puts it back. Opting for the pliers instead.

“My daughter,” he says, as he walks back towards McMann. “Well I think you know what I'm going to ask you next. Did you tell them to do anything else to my daughter? Like what happened to that Erin girl? Did you tell any of them to do something like that to my little girl?”

“No. I'd never suggest something like that. I'm a lot of things, but I'd never, ever, allow that.”

“You're lucky I believe you, Michael. You know how Erin was a message? To me? Well I'm going to send a message to your people. To your wife.”

“What kind of message? What the hell are you doing with those? What...?”

“I want them to know that I have you. And that I'm going to keep sending little pieces of you until I get what I want. So...” Tyler once more stands behind the metal chair. “...we can either do this the easy way or the hard way. Which one do you want?”

“What's the easy way?”

“Easy way is you just sit there and open your mouth for me and I take out a few of your teeth. With these,” he waves the pliers in McMann's face, and the man immediately reacts; panic and terror surging through him, screams and profanities flying out of his mouth as he struggles against his bonds. “Hard way, huh?”

Tyler shrugs, then wraps an arm around McMann's throat; squeezing as hard as he can; muscles bulging, veins prominent. Stronger and bigger than the other man, easily able to hold his head still with such a powerful grip, and he shoves the pliers past the other man's teeth, until he's hitting the back molars and clamping down on one, yanking it clear out of the gum. Tightening his hold when McMann fights even harder; choking and gagging on his own blood and saliva and the gradual collapsing on his windpipe. Sweat forming on his own brow and trickling down his temples; dripping into his eyes as he removes two more teeth before gradually releasing the pressure on McMann's throat.

“You're fucking crazy,” McMann pants; his face near purple, a mixture of sweat, saliva, and blood trickling down his chin and onto his shirt. “Insane. You're fucking insane.”

“Maybe,” Tyler says, as he pockets the teeth and cleans the pliers off on the thigh of his jeans “But you fucked with the wrong man's family. And I'm going to make you pay. A little bit at a time. So get comfy. Because you're not going anywhere for a while.”

[the-storm-chaser]

Co-wrote a short story with @facemeandperish when we had to afk for a couple of weeks from Tyranny of Dragons.

Sky and Kigane (the goliath warlock who thinks he is a death domain cleric) went on a scouting mission to find the Red Dragon, and this was the conversation that transpired. The story is in the perspective of Kigane mostly

(I appreciate this doesn't make much sense out of context, but I'm just proud of helping write this after not writing properly for so long)

(....it is long. TW: Torture, body horror, general unpleasantness)

It was raining again. Kigané tilted his head up towards the sky, tracks of rain running down his face like tears, silently thanking Thelaya for this gift of water, and thanking Her brother Manethak for giving His sister the idea, to better aid a hunter alone in the wilds of the world. These things were instinctual, almost granular to the nature of the goliath, that deep well of spirituality that came from living so close to the knife's edge of starvation in the High Ice expressed in the everyday actions of Gods that stood clear within every breath one took.

He carefully removed the eyepatch, airing out the hollow space of his skull where an eye had once sat, before the red hot spike of a Cultist torturer had removed it, and much of the flesh surrounding it. It had only been the blessing of his God that had saved his life, yet now this was all awhirl inside Kiganés skull, for there WAS no God speaking in his ear, only some creature out of nightmare; a monster from a screaming city, with skin as red as blood, that spoke in riddles and half measures as though this were the creatures native tongue.

“Questions for another time.” He muttered to himself, refocusing on what lay ahead. Akmos had asked for aid, and Kigané was loath to refuse, for this aid came at the cost of the Cult, and perhaps with these deaths the screams in his head would lessen, just a little.

He rose from his crouch, beginning the hunt once more, though his usual stalk was interrupted by the approach of the blonde girl. “Akmos says we need to keep moving, the dragon we're looking for is nearby '', she said, a restless staccato on her sword hilt betraying her nerves and excitement both. This girl was undisciplined, yet in a manner that Kigané knew well; the frantic undisciplined behaviour of one who has seen awful things, and lived long enough to regret it, the sight burning away behind their own eyes. Yet while Kigané had embraced the wrongs done to him, had forged them into armour and weapons both, to better avenge those who had died in such awful ways, the girl seemed content to run from her devils, into drink and into the wandering broken life of a sellsword.

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

After teleporting away from the monster that the Dragon had made of himself, Kigané made camp, perhaps 3 miles from the Dragon’s lair. A simple campsite this; a low overhang to trap smoke, food and water aplenty nearby, and far enough from roads or deer pathways that only sustained hunting would be able to find them. He coaxed a small fire into life. To be sure, he could have used the magicks that roiled inside him, but there was a quiet peace, a reminder of his upbringing, in doing things like this by hand. It didn’t do to forget the simpler pleasures of goliath life, even if you were the last of your people.

After setting up what he presumed to be her hunter’s trap, the girl came to the fire  warming her hands before her gaze went blank, sighing before she spoke “What happened in the cave….I….I never thought I would see that monstrosity again...what in the heaven’s are we dealing with?” Her voice was still shaking, her hand reaching into her bag for a stale roll that she had obtained, presumably from Akrahan.

“Nothing from one of your heavens” Kigané replied, “More something from a Hell. It had replaced part of itself with that metal Akmos has for an arm, did you notice?” He asked.

‘I….did….’ The cob had seemingly disappeared before her hand reached back into her back, pulling out the shard of metal that strange kobold had gifted her. ‘Chardylnn...the supposedly cursed metal’.  She grimaced, shifting the shard between her fingers.

“I know very little of metalwork.” Kigané said, straight-faced. “If one were to need an arrow, or a carving, then I can speak to the nature of wood grains, but metalwork was never a part of the High Ice, so you would know far more than I in this.” He continued

‘I know what to look for in common metals, and I have some knowledge on rarer materials ... .but this ... .this doesn’t feel ... .right’.

“Right?” Kigané questioned. “Metal is metal, no? Oh to be sure, this thing is rarer and possibly more dangerous than ordinary stuff, but surely that is but the songs of the old and superstitious?”

‘Not all metals are equal.  Some metals have unique properties…unique resistances.  Whatever Chardylnn is…’ She looks down at the shard, a look of horror on her face. ‘...What did it do to that dragon?’

“That I cannot tell.” Kigané said, a troubled look passing over his face. “That thing talked about the metal as though it were a weapon to be mastered. Whatever it seeks from this metal, nothing good comes of it, that I can tell you.” He continued.

‘That we can agree…’ She returned the metal to her bag, hesitating for a moment before looking up at the goliath, her expression hinting at anger and confusion. ‘Then what the Hells were you thinking trying to swing at the damned thing?!  Do you realize how idiotic that was?!’

“I thought that was what we were there to do.” Kigané said, as mildly as he could manage. “To be sure, we were a small party, but if a dragon attacks, I will attack it in turn.” He said, a savage cant to his head as he spoke.

‘Akmos CLEARLY said reconnaissance! NOT, I don’t know, ‘OH WE CAN DEAL WITH A GIGANTIC BRUTE BETWEEN OURSELVES!  ARE YOU HEARING YOURSELF??’

Kigané leant back slightly, to better watch the girl as she worked herself into a fury. Stress, panic and fear mixing into a heady cocktail of violence, yet there was something more there, something Kigané was missing. “That thing had wasted power on its own cultists, and was close enough to touch. My attack bought us time, if nothing else. We could have killed the thing, if Akmos had aided us.” He said.

The sheer horror on the Blonde’s face only worsened, leading the following to occur.  The blue gem she wore on her neck crackled, arms outreaching toward the goliath before grabbing onto his cloak, shaking him violently. ‘Wasted power?! HE WASTED NOTHING.  THAT THING IS A FONT OF POWER,YOU GROSSLY UNDERESTIMATE WHAT THAT THING IS CAPABLE OF.’ Her grip loosened slightly…and trembled, her tone following suit. ‘That thing has razed villages….towns…..a cultist was nothing…you are a fool to think you can strike it down on your own-’

Kigané followed her motions, allowing her to ‘shake’ him back and forth as she spoke. Panic made men and women stupid, and it was usually better to let that fear out, than swallow it like bitter poison. As she spoke of the cultist, Kigané closed his eye for a brief moment, to better remember the screams of the bastard as he burnt. As he opened his eye again, he leant in closer to the girl, hunching down slightly to get closer to her face so she knew exactly how much he meant his next sentence. “Bastard deserved worse.”

She was taken aback by the motion, but she continued, not phased by the Goliath’s actions. “You think what they got was mercy, then?’ She released his cape, backing up slightly to allow him some space.

“Goliath tactics are brutal, to be sure.” Kigané said, inclining his head in agreement. “I fight in much the same way, no matter whom I fight. The Cult is different to a normal foe, but only in scope.” He said.

It was clear she wasn’t buying his lies, her cold glance spoke as much. “I know how you fight normally …and that is a load of piss if I ever heard it.’  Her eyes narrowed before her hands found another cop, ripping into the roll without taking the time to swallow  ‘You do fight differently…I’ve seen you. You seem to enjoy their pain…it’s almost sadistic.’ There was a twinge of disgust before she devoured the second roll, demolishing it before his very eyes…even if he swore it was stale.

“Sadistic?” Kigané protested mildly. “To be sure, I acted more aggressively than I usually would, but that is only because it is just the two of us out here, and so I can act more like a goliath, among those who have experience of the tribes. As for the rest of your points…” 

Kigané sat back and watched the fire for a moment. Sometimes now, he swore he could still see that awful city he had been taken to against his will, but only in fire. Shaking his head, he quirked a smile at the girl, attempting a moment of levity, “We goliath are different to other men. We revel in competition and tests of our worth, and combat is the best test you’ll ever get. The satisfaction you saw was twofold; part of me does enjoy their pain” He said, fighting to keep the satisfaction from showing on his face, “and another part of me just enjoys winning against a foe. Surely the tribe you lived with would have had similar ideas about combat?” He asked, trying to keep the conversation from turning to deeper matters

She raised an eyebrow, almost demolishing the roll before his eyes. 'I think you are mistaken as to what I mean.' Brushing the crumbs off her garb, she shifted to face him, a frown on her face. 'Sure, I do know about some goliath traditions….but torture isn't one of them. That isn't common amongst your people, unless that's tribe specific. The griffon riders did no such thing-'

“The Griffon Riders lived in the mountains, from what you’ve told me.” Kigané interrupted. “Each tribe is its own distinct polity, and those of the mountains don’t know the first thing about surviving the High Ice, much as I would have no idea how to survive in their home. Quite rightly, there I would be called brutal and monstrous, but on the High Ice, to kill a man by any means is normal, if awful. As for torture,” He said, “torture is a tool to be used.” He said, grim memories of the High Ice colouring his tone.

Her gaze returned to the fire, sighing as she shifted her posture, hugging her knees. 'Well, you're not there any longer, and I'd wager your abilities to commune with the dead offer a less grim approach, perhaps a mercy in some cases.' She grimaced, fiddling with her bracers. 'What you're suggesting is torture, regardless of intention…it makes you no better than-'

“Better?” Kigané said incredulously, cutting her off again. “When one hunts monsters, one becomes monstrous. They are monsters, willing to do anything to win, and thus we must be the same. I am willing to destroy the Cult, by any means necessary, so long as none have to suffer as my people did.”

'So you are willing to become like a cultist?' Her response was sharp, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“Yes.” Came the instant response.

'Then that makes you no better than them' disappointment laced her voice, her hands clenching into fists. 'I thought you'd be better  than that, Swiftkiller'

“I never said I would be better than them.” Kigané said, bleakness colouring his voice. “I just said I would win. Then, once my war is over and my purpose fulfilled, I can finally sleep.”

Only the sound of crackling flames could be heard for a few moments, the sellsword trying to find the words for a response. Kigané poked the fire with his sword, watching the flames flare up in response, waiting for the girl's response. The flickers seemed to startle her, prompting a response.

'What's the harm of trying to be? Sure, the cultists need to be dealt with, that's not up for debate…but you can be so much more than this…surely?' She paused, concern fleeting on her features. 'I don't know how you are tied to this mess, I don't know why Akmos chose you for this…but we have a chance to end their tyranny as a group…why not work with them, with their methods. They're not perfect, I don't think any of us are ... but you can try…no?' 

“I could,” Kigané said, nodding in agreement. “I could keep my tribe alive through songs and words and art and a thousand other things. I tied myself to you and the rest because I knew you would fight the Cult, and that even should I die, I had helped defeat a great evil. I was chosen for this because I am the monster you all refuse to be, because monsters, loath as you might be to accept this, get murder right. I do not wish to leave this group, but I will not compromise what I am, I will not seek the company of men and women to delude myself about what I truly am; a monster that, when its task is complete, will bend its neck for the axe with joy in its heart.”

The blonde grimaced at his answer, a chill clearly running up her spine. He had made her uncomfortable, not that he cared. It was the truth, his every word rang with it, and the haunted look in his eye told her everything she needed to know about how he truly thought about himself.

'What…made you believe that?' The question came out as a whisper, hesitancy lacing her tone, as if too scared to know. 'What made you think that's all you're worth?'

“The world is a cruel place, child.” Kigané said, a note of affection lacing his voice; her questions, and her knowledge of Goliath norms and customs made him, in the recesses of his own mind, treat her remarkably like a young Goliath child. “Monstrous acts deserve death, no matter the cause. I was sacrificed on the altar of the monster as a child; I knew my purpose from the time I was weaned, and my fate was written into my skin from my birth.” He said, gesturing to the tattoos on his skin, which if one looked close enough, would reveal themselves as actual normal skin. 

'But are you tied to that fate?' She would look up at him, worry in her eyes. 'I don't agree with your methods, but you are your own person, are you not? You have the right to choose your own path, your own future….well…if we live long enough to see it.' She shook her head. ' What I mean is, you don't have to follow that path. You have a choice, we all do. Fate means nothing…' She let out a dry chuckle, a wry smirk on her lips as she looked down.

“Tied to my fate?” Kigané said, amusement lacing his tone. “I chose this fate a long time ago. My people don’t believe in fate in the same way you humans do, Kavaki gave us the right to rail against fate, and try and change it in our own ways. But this fate is worthy.” He continued, “Dying with a song on my lips as I destroy a Cult that would seek to destroy the world?” He said, stretching his arms wide, as if listening to acclimation only he could hear. “Why would I not seek that fate? That I perform monstrous acts is lamentable, to be sure, but the end would be the same anyway. I was damned from the moment I was born.” He said, shrugging his massive shoulders, before quirking a smile at her. “Might as well make a decent song out of it, no?”

'Just because you were born into it, doesn't mean it was meant to be. Hells, if I were to continue my fate, I wouldn't be here, I would be back in Luskan, battering away at yet another sword back in the forge.' She waved her hand at the fire, a red gem glistening in the light. 'I was taught how to fight for the purpose of learning how my weapons worked…I was never supposed to do this for a living, not by a long shot.' There was a fondness in her words before the coldness returned, her eyes closing. ' My fate was shattered the moment the Cult raided Luskan. They destroyed the future I was supposed to lead, and if the gods willed it, I should have died to that-' she cut herself off, her fist clenching as her grip round her knees got tighter, pausing to recompose her thoughts.

'As the gods had it, however ... was for me to survive. I'm not sure if I can call the two years in that damned orphanage living…but I survived I suppose. I lost my family, my home and friends…my future livelihood. The moment I was thrown back onto the streets, I wasn't sure how to proceed, but in the midst of the Everlasting Rime….I had to do something so I wouldn't starve.' She shrugged, resting her chin on her knees. ' I wasn't the best sellsword, but that's all I had to offer, so that's what I relied on. I didn't have a plan, I didn't know where I was bloody sleeping that night…but I made my own way. I found a new path.' She tilted her head to the side, looking over to the Goliath. 'It wasn't ideal, and I have no idea if I made the right choice, but I rewrote my path…and so can you. So can the others if they so chose.'

Kigané listened to the girl ramble, patiently biding his time, until a cut off sentence caught his attention. As she finished her proselytizing, he leant in slightly closer, the flames giving him an almost demonic cast to his face, and said "Should have died to what, exactly?”

Her expression grew pained. 'Who do you think?' Her gaze returned to the flames, eyebrows furrowed. 'While the Cult were few in number, they had enlisted the aid of a damned red dragon horde, or that’s how it seemed..  What else could raze the town to the ground within hours?'

“So you nearly died, and changed your life.” Said Kigané dismissively.

'I should have died. I'm certain of it.' She paused, her gaze growing blank. 'I…saw the horde.  One of them targeted my home, seemingly targeted me…it was too close….and I swore it laughed at me.’  Her expression started to go twisted, almost entranced with the flames.’I- I didn't have a chance to run…I-I…' her speech sped up, her voice growing shaky as she began to remember. The cold sweat from before returned, eyes widening as her memories danced in her vision.

“Breathe girl.” Kigané said, recognizing the signs of battle shock. In his tribe, it was normally the case that a person would succumb to such shock after being forced to perform monstrous acts to survive the winters of the High Ice. He laid a single massive hand on her shoulder, gesturing for her to copy his breathing.

The motion caused her breath to hitch sharply ,bringing her back to her senses with a wince.  Her hand shifted to her torso, ‘Trying to….’ She gritted her teeth, trying to steady herself. 

That was odd, Kigané cocked his head to one side, trying to work out if the girl had been injured in the fighting, and coming up blank.

“Regardless of…that…” She continued, “I have a chance to stop them…to get answers perhaps. That’s why I accepted Akmos’ offer, to try and close that chapter for good.’

The fire crackled as Kigané thought back over their travels, trying to think of if the girl had been injured. The goliath flinched, just barely, as the memory of losing his eye intruded for a brief second. At the thought of his eye, the infernal itching started again, and, unconsciously, so used to being alone, Kigané lifted the eyepatch to scratch at the mess of scar tissue that had once been an eye socket. The entire surface of the socket was covered in burn scar tissue, once a livid red but long since faded to a shocking bone white. There was no eyelid left to hide the ruin of his face either, hence the patch, and no vestige of an eyeball either, the Cult having been remarkably thorough in their attempts to cripple the goliath boy that had slaughtered their friends, if such monsters truly had friends. He could feel the girl’s eyes on him, but he didn’t acknowledge it.

‘What…did that?’  Concern laced her voice as she grimaced.

”Torture”, came the grim response. “I was not always as wise as I am now.” He said with a dark chuckle, acknowledging the raised eyebrow with a slight nod. “I was young and full of youthful daring, and I challenged an entire enclave of the Cult at once to combat. I killed many that day, but was eventually beaten down and tortured. A hot iron to the eye does wonders for one's desire to escape, I’ve found.” He said, raising a sardonic brow of his own.

“You must have your own share of scars from your time on the road though?” He said, clearly trying to move the conversation from his time under a knife.

Her expression was one of shock, then softening with understanding. They were dealing with the cult, she should have understood what they were capable of, or she would have been an ignorant fool fighting against something she didn’t fully understand.  There was a pause, clear hesitancy before she spoke.

‘I suppose you could say that…’ Her head dipped, looking back towards the bonfire.

“You spent a year with The People, did you not?” Kigané asked, his eyes suddenly horribly sharp. “Tell me, did they ascribe to the tradition of sannleikur fyrir sannleika?” He questioned, using one of the old Goliath dialects.

Her eyebrows furrowed in thought, confusion crossing her face before shaking her head, not recognising the phrase. ‘I d-don’t think so.  It doesn’t ring a bell.’

“Truth for Truth.” He said, the capital letters almost slamming into place mid word. “An old tradition of The People, where those who are to be brothers trade truths, and receive them in return. For example, I might ask you ‘what happened to your family’, and I might receive a question on how to kill a dragon in return.” He said.

‘I…understand the notion…’ She paused, thinking before a moment a flash of realization flitted across her face.  Had she cottoned on to his intent, yet she continued regardless. ‘...I do have a question to ask you, so…’ She grimaced before looking over to him. ‘What truth would you want to know?’.

“You hold onto your side, and flinch from fire. What happened to cause these things?” Came the swift rejoinder. 

Her eyes closed, gritting her teeth. It was clear that *something* had happened to the lass, but the goliath wasn’t too sure as to what. The girl started undoing her belt, Kigané instinctively looking away as the girl's shirt was raised, old habits of having the shit kicked out of you by women four times your size dying hard. Once the movements had stopped, he carefully looked back at the girl once the rustle of cloth was silenced, only to behold a horror.

‘A permanent reminder of what killed my family.’  Her hands undid the bandages that bound her torso to reveal her Truth.  The scar tissue was pulsing, rancid looking with flecks of yellow and orange shifting under the broken skin. It didn’t look natural, unhealed under those ointment-soaked bandages.  It was a burn alright, but based on her stories, a burn should have healed within a couple of years…it shouldn’t remain looking so fresh after all this time.

A hiss of breath escaped the Goliath’s mouth, mind running through every paranoid possibility of why such a thing had happened. “What is this?” He asked. “That’s no burn, burns heal, and you say your family died near on a decade ago.” He exclaimed, almost rising from his seat. “You got this scar from a dragon of some sort?” He wondered aloud. “What kind of twisted magery did they infect you with?” He said, purest concern in his words.

‘I don’t know.’ Her reply was flat, clear that this questioning was no novelty. “Countless healers…mages…shamans and scholars have asked the same question.” Her eyes wandered over to her bag, the faint orange glow coming from within intriguing Kigané for a brief moment before her words dragged his attention back to her conversation. ‘During my time at the orphanage, the sisters would enlist any healer they could to work out what they wouldn’t heal. Sometimes it did nothing…sometimes it only inflicted pain worse than this did.’  She let out a dry chuckle, then started to wrap the wound back up. ‘All of them came up blank with a solution, so numbing agents are the best they could give me.  The recipe hasn’t changed in five years…don’t fix what isn’t broken…I suppose.’

“This is a burn,” he said, gesturing to his still bare eye. “Whatever happened to you is not natural.” He said emphatically.

‘It wouldn’t surprise me if it wasn’t.  The dragon hit the forge…my father kept all kinds of exotic metals with unknown properties in there.  Who knows what it could do in an explosion…and if they formed into unstable alloys…they’d have less of a clue.’ She adjusted the shirt back to where it was, attaching her belts. ‘What’s done is done.  I have no answers, and neither do those who know more of healing magiks.  I do what I can to tolerate the pain…that’s all I’m able to do.’

“You have tried healers in the past?” Kigané asked, receiving an affirming nod in response. “I have no power in those arts, all the gifts my God gave me were decidedly violent in their application.” He said with a rueful smile. “But we have healers among our companions, and it is proper that members of a tribe care for one another. Have you not checked with our Paladin friend?” He asked. “I have seen him heal men and women with naught but a laid on hand, after all.” He added, seeing the look of doubt on her face.

The girl sat back down, leaning back with a thoughtful look. ‘That’s a good point. Although…is there any point?’ She sighed, folding her arms. ‘If it's not known to even scholars, how would they be able to get a different result…n-not trying to be rude, of course…’

“Can’t hurt to try, can it?” Kigané said with a broad shouldered shrug. “It clearly causes you pain, and limits your stroke.” he said, his mind suddenly connecting WHY the girl had such an odd sword stroke on her left side. “But that is a question for another time.” He said, waving off further conversation. He leant back, his face taking on the resigned look of an old saint being burnt at the stake. “I owe you Truth.” he said, unconsciously slipping back into Goliath.

There was a nod in response before she looked over to him, a curious look in her eye.

‘I appreciate that my question breaks Goliath traditions somewhat…but why do you go by Swiftkiller when you have other names?’ She leaned forward, looking up at him. ‘Goliaths have several names, and I suspect that yours would follow that tradition….what are yours, and why don’t you use them?’

“You are not blood of my tribe, so I will forgive your ignorance.” Kigané said. “Among my tribe, it is custom to go bare named, that is,” He elaborated, “using only the use-name, among those not of the tribe. True names are long, and the High Ice breeds a need to shout fast, lest something important fall or die.” He continued. “As for what they are,” he breathed in a long, slow breath through his nose, “My True name, the one my mother gave me long before the tribe cast me out, was Kigané.”

There was a curious weight to the name, or perhaps that was only in his own mind. He’d almost forgotten the boy Kigané, lost as he had become in the cloying hell that was his Death Name, Swiftkiller. “I am of Clan Athunataké.” He continued. “So, properly, my ‘full name’ as you humans deem it, would be Kigané Swiftkiller Athunataké.” he said, inclining his head, regal as a king or a cat, in greeting to the girl. 

The gesture prompted a smile from the blonde, pondering on the new information for a few moments ‘So you still follow some traditions.’  She once again hugged her knees, resting her chin on them. ‘I don’t know if you still go by those other names…but it’s nice to know you’re not just *Swiftkiller*... it adds more humanity to it…if that makes sense…’

She paused, almost hesitant to ask. ‘...Would you ever use Kigané again, or is that long gone?’

“Were I among my people, I still would.” Kigané said with equanimity. “But among my tribe, the traditions are clear, and a poor son of the High Ice would I be if I abandoned the traditions of my people.” even if they abandoned me. The implication was there for the girl to pick up. The reality, of course, was a lie. Swiftkiller was his Death Name, the name he was buried with when he went to the Gods Grounds. Kigané was literally dead, impossible to revive, save by abandoning his course, and that, he refused to do, so that the dead might finally sleep restful in their grave in the High Ice.

‘...I see.’ Her gaze returned to the flames, closing her eyes in thought. ‘I won’t push it further, there’s weight in a name and I respect that….I was just curious if my suspicions were correct….that’s all.’

“There are chains to a name, you mean.” Kigané said. “Chains of love, and family and tribe and lives not your own. I have none of those, for my family is gone, my tribe has left me, and all I have left is war, and the Gods.” He said, a savage cast coming over his face as he spoke.

Eventually, the girl rolled into her blankets, Kigané sat, long into the night, staring into the flames, trying to ignore how the pop and crackle of the fire so easily became the screams of his tribe. Eventually, once the girl's breathing had evened out, Kigané looked the girl over from his perch by the fire. Immediately he saw he’d been mistaken; her breathing wasn’t even at all, short jagged bursts of air forcing their way out of her throat as she curled over her burn. Her fingers clawed at the area of the burn, leather armour deforming just slightly at the force of her clawing fingernails. Clearly, she was either lying about the intensity of the burns damage to her, or, the more disquieting thought occurred, it was getting worse. Kigané sat and worried, long into the night before at last, exhaustion claimed him.

[llixulia]

∯

Eive has a long scar on the palm of her left hand. She did it to herself. There were reasons for it.

Bonus: Arroth has two long scars on his back, where he had his wings. His biological mother sawed them off when he was young.

[bowlerhatwearer]

Always there, always watching

TW: Blood, TW: Torture, TW: Abduction

Characters: Margteth Robinson, The Launderer aka Albert Clear, Victor Owens.

Originally written: 9th June 2022

~~~

It was a beautiful afternoon in the town of Mayberry, the sun was shining with not a single cloud shielding its rays, birds were chirping happily in the trees that had been planted on the sidewalk to make it feel more alive and people smiled as they usually did. The young girl with her school bag was walking home as cheerful as her surroundings, sure, school was not always easy, especially the lessons of Mrs.Brunswick but that could not dim her day, she was wondering if father was already at home, but given his job, probably not, so it would be her and mother again, with father returning when she was fast asleep. Maybe on Sunday then, they had breakfast and dinner as the whole family.

Continuing her way on the sidewalk, she noticed a white van having been parked partly on the pavement, occupying at least half of it vertically, but for her size there was no problem, she wouldn’t have to-

Her thoughts were interrupted, as she suddenly heard shouting, but not one that sounded angrily, but rather, desperate coming from the residential building next to her, all the other people who walked on the street, hastened their speed, men who looked down on the ground as they walked near the building, women who pulled their children to make them walk faster.

As if from one moment to another, the girl could no longer hear the sounds surrounding her, not the birds chirping, the cars driving on the street or the people walking and talking, only the voice of the woman.

“No! Please, I-I have children!”

The voice grew clearer and when the girl opened her eyes again, she saw a cat, similar to her, with two men in plain white coats who carried her by having hooked in her arms. One of the two men let out a grunt, before his mouth started to move.

“You should have thought about that, before staining yourself!”

The other let out a cough before speaking.

“Your husband has informed us that your children will be taken care of.”

Frantically the woman tried to free herself, however their grip was tight around her, that was, until she was able to bury her hands into the doorframe, using her claws to get a grip.

“I will NOT be sent to the Laundry!”

“Ma’am be reasonable, Mayberry’s Laundry for tainted Woman is the right place-“

Taking another pull, she did not let go of the wooden frame, annoying the man that was pulling.

“-for sinners like you!”

The girls fur bristled when she heard the name of the institution spoken out, father had told her about the place, woman and girls who misbehaved ended up there, only leaving after many years of “readjustment”, some even never returned from this place according to father. He always told her to behave and to do as other expected her to be, for her own safety he would say, so that she would never end up in this place.

And now she was witnessing how this woman, she never saw in the past, would be brought there, who at this point was screaming distraught as the two men continued to pull on her and her clothing, not caring that the fabric stretched or slightly began to tear because of their violence.

“You can’t do this to me, I am an exemplary ci-“

“No, you were Madame, you were, now will you just-“

The quick and sudden opening of the white vehicles door made all of them look into the direction of the car.

First one black shoe tapped carefully on the black pavement, before the second followed suit, with a slight hop the owner of the two stood on the pavement, giving silently, a quick glance to his surroundings.

When the girl was already disturbed when she saw the two man with their white coats, the appearance of this one, made her body heat vanish.

She knew who this man was.

With his orange fur, brighter than any chimney fire she had ever seen, the black suit with its red tie that never showed a sign of wear but most prominently his eyes, that were just like hers, but darker.

“The Launderer”

The one not only father talked about, but who all girls in the school she attended knew, who they were thought rimes so that they would always remember. That they wouldn’t forget to never ever get on his bad side. The one who would always know, no matter what, if they did something bad and if they overstepped this line, he would come and get them to the Laundry.

And here he stood, only a few steps away from her, walking towards the door, with an unemotional expression on his face as he approached towards the three in the doorframe.

“S-Sir, there really is no need for your involvement.”

The other one was rolling his eyes, probably thinking what a suck-up his colleague was.

“There really is, she won’t move an inch, no matter what. Should we sedate her?”

The young girl just watched, she couldn’t do anything else, it felt like as if her feet were frozen or rooted into the ground, all she could do was watch, as the Launderer shook his head to say no, instead he was pulling something out of the pocket of his jacket.

Pinchers, that given the dots and specs of rust, appeared to have been already in use for some time. Some of them looked more red and darker than the others.

He pressed the tool together, one, two times before handing it to the men who asked if they should sedate the woman, he looked down on the pinchers for a while, before giving a nod.

“Oh, of course Sir.”

“No! No please! No I-“

But the woman was ignored by all of them that were around her, as the man held her tight, and the other of the two began to take one of her fingers into the pincher, starting to pull, ignoring how the metal cut into her flesh as she screamed in pain.

“It never would have come to this if you would have just-“

With one pull the finger was removed from the wood.

“-submitted to your duties!”

Tears ran down her face and so was slowly blood from her hand, but he didn’t bother and continued, neither his colleague who looked away, or the Launderer, who observed what was happening.

Despite the pain and them continuing to loosen finger by finger from the wood they had clawed themselves into the woman refused to move, only, when three fingers where left that were not injured by the pincher, where they able to remove her.

One of them was mumbling something about finally being done, as they dragged her to the car.

“I will be good, I will be good!”

Screaming and kicking in all directions she tried her best in an attempt to free herself from her captors grip, but it was all to no avail.

“Please I, I will never sin again, I promise, please, I don’t want to lose my children!”

They didn’t respond, instead one of them opened with their free door the backdoor of the plain white van.

Tears were rolling down her face, looking into the faces of the two that held her, for a sign of compassion or understanding, but there was none to be found.

“I beg you, don’t-“

With one swing they threw her into the van, screaming could be heard, that soon died down as they closed the door and locked it with the key, that the girl assumed belonged to the vehicle.

Finished and satisfied with their work the two men, without even noticing the young girl they stepped into the white vehicle, waiting for their superior.

The Launderer meanwhile, stared for a while into the emptiness of the doorframe, before slowly his head moved, like the seconds hand of a clock, until the eyes of the girl, met his.

Has he always known that she was there?

Despite her whole body and mind telling her to run away, not to look back and to tell no one about what she saw, she couldn’t as the Launderer approached her.

Even when his hand placed itself on her head, scruffling trough her hair.

“If it isn’t little Miss Rivers-”

His voice was, unassuming, for someone with such an intimidating appearance, it was quiet, too quiet in the young girl’s opinion who stared at the orange cat, who bend his knee to look at her on eye level.

“Now, you shouldn’t have seen such a thing my dear, but I guess some things are just meant to be, but you are a good girl, not like, the one you just saw us take away, aren’t you Miss Rivers?”

She nodded, probably faster than she should have, she was a good girl, always doing what she was ordered to do, not questioning anything as she was thought.

“I know you are, you are such a good girl, always listening to father and mother, knowing what is right-

A slight grin appeared on his face, one, that looked, out of place as the thoughts told her, the ones that were not scared of the situation and were trembling in fear.

“-obeying the cities rules and status.”

He stood up now, she didn’t want to be around this man anymore, all she wanted to do was to run, to leave, to be home and hide in her bed until she could forget the encounter, but she couldn’t, her legs didn’t allow it. His eyes opened, the red iris looking down at her.

The eyes looked like blood as if they have consumed the souls of at least a hundred souls who begged for freedom they never would see.

„Now remember before you go.“

Placing one hand on her shoulder he pressed against it slightly.

“Do good and be aware-“

The stare the Launderer gave her felt like what she believed being struck by a thunderbolt must feel like. As if her whole body was cramping in pain, yet there was none.

“- for my eyes are everywhere-

His very same eyes were staring at her, deep down, as if directly into her own soul, looking if she really was without any sin, giving again an unnatural grin as the Launderer spoke one last word to her.

“-Margaret.”

<…>

She woke up, without a yell or scream, just her red eyes snapping open and her upper body suddenly raising.

Margaret could feel how her heart was racing and she breathed in and out sharply, looking around she saw how her second husband was blinking with his eyes, his sleep must have been disturbed by her abrupt awakening deep in the night.

“Mar- Margaret is everything alright?”

She looked at the lynx who gave her a worried glance, a part of her wanted to tell him about what she had dreamed, what she had remembered, but she didn’t want to bother her husband with such, ghosts of the past, at least, not now…

“No dear, everything is fine, really.”

Despite her reassuring smile, her husband, Victor looked at her puzzled and again, concerned for a while, before he placed his head back on the pillow, in a matter of seconds he was fast asleep again.

Margaret however was not, her red eyes wide open, looking at the ceiling as words were echoing through her mind.

Always watching.

Always there.

The Launderer.

Is everywhere.

[multipleoccupancy]

Delighted that his attempt had worked, Mordred was once more smiling behind Fish as he watched Arthur rush forward. He was much less keen on the advance of the others though, it was something they had prepared for and arrows shot out from the arrowslits at the men below. Some of them falling, others falling and getting right back up.

"Do you think he will be fast enough?" Mordred asked Fish, doing something behind her, gathering up another rope now he didn't feel the need to hold the knife. She had lost much blood already, she was not meant to live to see Arthur.

The King's red vanished inside the castle and there was a terrible crash of metal, swords and shouts as he and the men at his heel met an ambush far below.

Mordred tried to drop a loop of rope around Fish's neck, clumsy as he held her hair with one hand and used the hand she had bitten. But he was also keen, he too wanted to fight or perhaps get out of there and to safety.

𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐃 & 𝐅𝐈𝐒𝐇 @multipleoccupancy

Arthur was looking at her, and she was looking right back at him. She could not see his face from so far, and yet she couldn't look away either. She didn't want to look away.

Perhaps that was why, even as Mordred hummed a threat in her ear, she didn't hear the whistling of the knife. But she felt it, plunging into her flank and dragging a pained scream out of her as the blade twisted and turned inside her flesh.

She almost fell forward, ironically kept on her feet thanks to Mordred's hand, still tightly gripping her hair. But, even as guilt and fear twisted her entrails, she saw the battalion move, following the King as he rode toward the castle. It was an overwhelming sight, one that couldn't help but fill her with hope. Hope that she'd return to Camelot, safe, that she would get to see Arthur again.

Even from up there, she recognized the blue shape of her dragon, rushing to save her this time. Seeing so many people rallied to come to her rescue, something stirred inside her, more powerful perhaps than the pain that kept echoing in her body.

[backpackingspace]

So that poll about how long you've gone without sleep I just rebloged and ranted in the tags about my experience with sleep depervation has me thinking about how sleep deprivation is literally torture. How you're body physically starts shutting down how you die after 12 days. And I can't help but wonder how close to that I was. I was losing time hours and days of it. I couldn't add 2 plus 2. I don't remember any hallucinations but I know they happen after 36 hours so they certainly were happening. I think I can forgive myself my foolishness given those circumstances

[skidqrow]

- - continued from here with @aestasrosis - -

Summer was right. He'd guessed these things, saw it in the way she sometimes flinched at quick gestures or distanced herself during conflicts. There were unhealed injuries somewhere inside her, and to know that someone had ever dared to put a hand on her made Qrow see red. More than that, he was frustrated and disappointed.

"Damn right I would've stopped you. Or at least went with you if I couldn't do that," Qrow admitted, his hands balling into fists. "You're my leader, my--" He cut himself short of saying wife. Summer knew all that already. Was there any point to elaborating it?

They'd both been through their traumas through their separation, physical and mental. It'd torn their family into pieces, yet they were gradually healing, or so Qrow thought. "Can't we be done with secrets...? Can't you trust me to be here for you?"

[kit-o-nine-tales]

I haven’t seen enough people talking about the deleted scenes that only ever aired during that one 1997 NBC broadcast alongside Schindler’s list (my dad used to work for them and managed to snag one of the tapes before they were repurposed — it got him fired tho lol. He still says it was worth it.) This broadcast really upset the PTC so it’s never been aired again (and as I said, they rerecorded over the original tapes), which is probably why most ppl aren’t aware of it.

One of the extra scenes featured non-sexual full frontal nudity (of the torture victim) during a kidnapping/torture scene where Goncharov and Andrei were trying to get information out of one of Mario’s underlings. There were some really weird and artistic visual parallels to an inter-cut flashback to what’s implied to be the very last time Goncharov and Katya were truly intimate (the deliberate and careful way he holds the knife vs the tender and intentional way he cradled her hand in his own in order to pass her his pipe), implying that he’s come to substitute violence for romantic and physical love in the wake of their drifting apart (and because the violence is a language he can share with Andrei without having to confront their repressed sexual tension.)

I figure it was cut because they thought it was redundant in examining the Gon/Kat relationship, and you know they didn’t wanna get that deep into the Gon/Drei tension. Plus, y’know; torture scenes kinda make it harder to sympathize with the ones doing the torturing. (Tho, that gets into the discourse about whether or not we’re supposed to sympathize with Goncharov, and I don’t feel like opening that can of worms today, tyvm)

The other scene was actually just a couple of extra shots at the end of Goncharov’s death scene, featuring an intense and moving kiss between him and Andrei that (imo) moves the relationship from subtext to text even if they did try to play it off as “just mafia men being mafia men” (THERE WAS TONGUE!! IDK ABOUT YOU BUT I’M NOT SLIPPING MY BUDDIES THE TONGUE!) in the overall narrative and the cast interviews. (since this scene was restored in the limited edition, limited run, 25th anniversary directors cut vhs release, albeit a cut few seconds shorter, and with less focus on the aforementioned tongue.)

Like, I’m a Katya/Sofia shipper through and through, but these lost scenes really make me care about Gon/Drei

[victorhuntthesadisticop]

scarlettxmcknight​:

The pain in her voice, the trembling of her body against his, it was intoxicating to the man, and he wanted more. He moved them to the closest tree and pinned her against it still sending electricity into her body as he slid a knee between her legs. “Mmmmmm your screams are music to my ears~ Scream again for me my little Rascal~” He whispers against Scar’s lips, eyes beaming with glee as he tightens his grip on her wrist. “Now that we are together again and I still have the power over you we get to do this every day......every single moment of quiet I'll be watching you ready to strike at any moment. The chase is one Rascal, and you are my only prey~" He whispers into her ear as he chants a spell. The girl can feel a sharp pain as if something was cutting into her flesh a lightning bolt symbol on her forearm large enough that everyone can see it. "You belong to me soon enough once I've established myself into this school so be prepared Scarlett.......because your freedom will be mine~"

A Fated Encounter//Scarlett+Victor

The chaos.......the madness.......it was music to his ears and watching the building burning with screams around him was like a dream come true. He could do whatever he wanted on his island AND get a degree? Oh this was heaven for the sadistic man and he was going to enjoy every single day. But something in the back of his mind was telling him this place did sound familiar. Why did the name ring a bell now that he was thinking about it? He wonders the street aimlessly trying to figure it out before a certain face popped in front of him. Could it really be her? Was it the girl he had send away all those years ago?

She looked familiar but the woman was much older now. His gut was telling him it was her and he had to find out if it was. So strolling up behind the woman he leans into her ear and whispers. "It seems like fate had decided for us to meet again huh little rascal~?" @scarlettxmcknight

[hyomacchi]

Karma Akabane with s/o who is exactly like tanjiro

────── ✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ──────

a/n:ahh tq anon for requesting this. Hope you saw this cause you req this on my (now)game acc . I was surprised to see that I got an assassination classroom req so early as it was my fav anime. Anyways tq anon again and I still want to confirm whether you're trying to be 🪻 anon or not.

context:karma akabane x tanjiro! s/o (pre-relationship and in relationship, no gender mentioned for s/o)

tw:torture(putting wasabi in people's nostrils)

────── ✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ──────

Pre-relationship:

❥ you and karma probably met in class 3-E

❥ when karma met you, he thought you're an interesting one like you're so pure how did you got into class 3-E?!

❥ he tease you for fun every single day but you don't mind it??(or you're just too dense)

"Hey (name)! You got a wide forehead!"

"Ah thank you! I inherited it from my father!"

❥ Remember that one time he shoves a wasabi to an assassin nostrils?

"Hey mx nice! Wanna see him suffer more or you can't bear it anymore?"

"Karma please stop doing that! That's mean!"

"But it's fun! I have more things in my bag that i want to try on him"

❥ in the end, you just brushed him off cause he just always like that

❥ after months of being friends, everytime karma did something sadistic or tease you, you just smile and let him do as please. There's no stopping him anyway.

❥ he seem surprised that you actually stay with him even though you know how his behavior is

❥ man starts teasing you more it makes others (and koro sensei) suspicious

"Man everyone knows you like them,just confess!"-Maehara

❥ everyone except you. Oh how oblivious you are

❥ after a lot of teasing from your classmates(and koro sensei) he just decided to confess to you somewhere near the woods when everybody's home (they're not, all of them peaking from a tree while koro sensei joined them)

"(name). I know this is sudden but i...love you.."

❥ i just know that you took too long to understand his words

"You don't need to reciprocate it I just wanna let it out-"

"I love you too karma!"

In relationship:

❥ nothing changed much, maybe he just became more romantic (or more annoying don't get me wrong this man will still tease even though you just don't understand what he's trying to do)

❥ overprotective over you

❥ i mean you're too kind. People might take advantage of you, that's where your boyfriend come to rescue

❥ some students try to bully you? Next time you see them, they'll be on their knees, begging for your forgiveness

❥ some punk trying to hit on you? They're missing the next day (no they're not dead)

❥ your dynamic with him is kinda funny ngl

❥ i mean kind person with their sadistic bf

❥ hand holding is a must! you guys were seen hand holding by koro sensei and oh god, karma's face is red now because of how much koro sensei tease him

"Nurufufu, Karma is actually touch starved~"

"Shut up you stupid octopus!"

❥ next thing you know, karma pulls out an anti koro sensei knife out of his pocket, trying to stab that octopus teacher (and failed)

❥ anyways..karma will always spoil you. You stare at an item for a second? Consider it's under your desk next day

❥ he don't mind outdoor or indoor dates, as long as he could spend time with you

❥ he's very grateful that you stayed with him

────── ✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ──────

another a/n:finally i finished it! It was longer than I expected so hope you'll enjoy it anon!

[spookytrashturtle]

tw:torture

I really hate this description of old erik torture, oh my god, but I still noticed "you and charles"

[beautiful-basque-country]

Irun-born Iratxe Sorzabal, has declared today at the National Audience. She was arrested in 1996 for belonging to ETA - which she admitted - and taking part in a victimless attack in Xixón - which she denied.

After being arrested, Sorzabal was brought to Madrid in a Guardia Civil car. «There hell started», she said. «Inside the car I was put a mask, given electroshock, hit, insulted, touched, humiliated and suffocated with a bag», she recalled.

Tortures continued in the Guardia Civil headquarters, where she was held in solitary confinement for 5 days and was interrogated without a lawyer. According to her, during those sessions she was forced to memorize her declaration: «We would rehearse everything and I was told that they were going to show me some papers and photos and that I had to recognise this one or that one. After the rehearsal, I had to do it.» In some footage of her found after these tortures, she stated that «I wasn’t afraid of dying, I was willing to die.»

(Pictured above, Sorzabal’s body damage due to torture)

She also commented that she was given three options before her trial: «If I refuse to declare, if I don’t do what I’m told, I would be given the same treatment. If I declare something they don’t want me to, it would be worse. If I do as they say, they wouldn’t touch me again. (...) I choose the third one. After the hell they were putting me through I couldn’t choose another. (...) I incriminate myself of very serious crimes and other people I know and I don’t. I told them that I would even admit I killed Carrero Blanco. I was told that that wouldn’t be credible, but that they were going to make me responsible of many more cases», she added.

Friendly reminder that the only proof the Guardia Civil has against her is her self-incrimination after being tortured and the attorney is asking for 36 years in prison.

[eyes-blazing]

Emrys took a moment to keep himself from crying, god damn emotions were everywhere and all he wanted was to get high. To forget. But he couldn’t. He made a promise. He rolled over to face Nate.

“I can’t…” His voice broke and he had to take a second. “I can barely feel you with these hands. All they are is a sign that I am hated because I love my father, I-“

Emrys couldn’t do this while looking Nate in the eye. Why couldn’t he do this? Nate trusted him with his scars, his pain, so why couldn’t he do the same.

“I was eight…” Nope, couldn’t do it. Not while looking at the man he loved. Emrys buried his face into Nates shoulder. “I wasn’t…I was just reading. They didn’t…” He could feel the tears falling, hated himself for it. He was supposed to be better than this. “I was eight and a group of older kids found me in the library on Asgard…they called me murders son, s-said my dad deserved death for what he did. I just…I just wanted to read my book and they wouldn’t leave me alone. I don’t even remember what I said to them but they grabbed me.” Emrys couldn’t make himself stop shaking, god he was trying to but he couldn’t stop. “They help me down and used ice magic…I didn’t want dad to know…tried to heal them but I fucked it up…Mom tried to fix them…tried singing them better but you can’t heal scars…and I had only healed them to point of scaring…”

Emrys took a shaking breath, openly crying now. He was only eight years old and they ruined him because he wouldn’t hate his father.

“I’m sure I don’t need to tell you about the cuts…”

@eyes-blazing

When Emrys came back from his performance with his band at his favorite bar, he had 3 missed calls and a voicemail on his phone. All from an unknown number.

"Hello. I'm Doctor Johnson. Am I speaking to Mister Emrys-Aiden Ris Lokison? You are listed as Nathan William Sanders' emergency contact. I am sorry but I have to tell you that Mr. Sanders had an accident and is at the hospital now."

[in-love-with-writing-whump]

Prompt: Stoic

Whumpee is the stoic leader of her team. She is the strongest member, she is protective, and she let Whumper capture her to save her team. Now that she's been rescued, she is deeply scarred by the experience and it shows, but she doesn't want to admit it.

Write about how her hands shake from a tremor, the movement small, but obvious to the team who love her as much as she loves them. Write about h6ow she jerks her hand away when they start staring.

Write about the long sleeves and gloves she wears to cover the scars. Write about the horror her best friend feels seeing what's beneath the clothes. Write about the burns on her hands, the jagged scar on her forearm.

Write about the bruises from Whumper strangling her. Write about how Whumpee's friend who would have died had she not sacrificed herself and how seeing the fingerprint shaped bruises gives the flashbacks of Whumper's hands around his neck.

Write about Caretaker, her S.O., trying to comfort her after a night terror, only to watch her stoic lover try to act like nothing is wrong. Write about Whumpee drinking coffee to avoid falling asleep so Caretaker doesn't have to hear her screams.

Write a stoic whumpee and her attempt to hide her vulnerability from her team. Write about how it doesn't work.