#warning for torture

[homkamiro]

i for one want the character scout from valve’s team fortress 2 to suffer

Not sure if this is an invitation for yet another twink torture post but I have some to share under the cut!!

TW: blood, branding (burning), forced alcohol consumption, cuts, bruises

Warned you!!!!!!!!!!!

[californiannostalgia]

when a story has a predestined ending and you thought you already knew who the characters would become, but then you're hit with the fact that no, you actually didn't know these characters at all, they were unknowable to you until this very moment when a larger portion of their life has been revealed to you, and you realize, abruptly, that they had lives and losses and the aching desperation of a love they guarded with every piece of stubborn will they could muster, and the unknowable is suddenly rendered sublime for its opacity

[asouwan]

Just checking this week’s schedule.

Version without glitch (less eyestrain) here!!

[autisticandroids]

FAMINE: That's one deep, dark nothing you've got there, Dean.

[youtube with closed captions]

dean and his father. dean and his family. dean and how bad it is.

(via @closetoyou1970)

[gigamuffin]

master and commander but Jack can't play for shit

[myceliumelium]

help it grew a vague narrative

[kermahillway]

I’m not at home right now and really wanted to draw one of Maxime. Either way, I had a very bad headache last night and had to vent. Sorry Bratt :(

CW: HEAVY GORE WARNING!!!

[la-sera]

Can I request some Time ehump, please? I totally understand if you choose to ignore this

WARNING BLOOD, TORTURE, PAIN

Answer:

Another Anon Master?

Here you go, Master!

Sorry to keep you waiting, apparently it took me 2 days to study Time and make the sketches and it took me another 4 days to draw. I apologize if I misrepresented Time's character.

Actually, I'm surprised you want me to draw whump XD Do I look like someone who enjoys torturing? I feel like a criminal now XD

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to recover my sanity.

[birdsong-warriors]

The claws are here! Plus some friends. uwu

Some random trivia: BloodClan uses hot tar to seal the talons onto their paws. Sunflower here is carrying an old rag soaked in vegetable oil, which breaks down the excess tar and keeps the medical damage to a minimum.

Firefall belongs to @zeekitties , and Sunflower belongs to @talkingtalltales !

First | Previous | Next

Part 1: Friend and Family

See up to thirty pages ahead, with timelapses, on Patreon!

Backgrounds, brushes, and other assets for sale on my Ko-Fi!

[sidsinning]

Reading My Beloved Oppressor

Guess the quality of the male lead from the title 💀✌️

[ceruleanmindpalace]

trigger warning: torture

Okay, so this is not what I wanted to post.

I painted this weeks ago, when the prompt 'tattoo' was originally posted by @sherlockchallenge.

My idea was that Sherlock gets a scar cover up tattoo on his back. I started to write a ficlet that goes together with the art in which Sherlock moves cautiously and John wants to know what is wrong and makes Sherlock show him his back, where he discovers a halfway finished tattoo that not just covers the scars up but simulanously integrates them graciously into the ink.

The thing is, I tried four different tattoo ideas on his back and none of them worked.

Also, I am in no state to do art at the moment, so here is the unfinished work.

Do not post my art on other sites/social media or use in any other way without my written permission.

[dfwbwfbbwfbwf]

Maeglin is deathly scared of heights.

Even as an elfling, Maeglin hated heights. Eöl thought it shameful for a Sinda to not know how to climb, so he left little Lómion up in trees. (Areðel had to get him down, otherwise he'd stay up there forever from fear.)

Watching father tumble down the Caragdûr certainly didn't help.

(Maeglin waited until everyone had left before he approached the edge. Rusty brown colored the stone wall. The corpse blended into the shadows. Over his time in Gondolin, Maeglin would visit when his loneliness overcame him, until only the bones were left.)

Maeglin preferred to be under the earth than above it. Prospecting was his passion. He spent what spare time he had working in the mines with a pickaxe until his sweat and dirt stained skin camouflaged him with the rest of his Moles.

His captivity in Angband was spent in a tiny dark cell, so small he couldn't stretch his legs out, and he couldn't sit up straight. It was uncomfortably hot. Every day, he was forced to listen to the yrch "play" with their food. They were kind enough to share.

(It took him thousands of years after his reembodiment to stand the scent of meat again.)

Maeglin was there for a week before Moringoþo first came. He asked for the location of Gondolin. Maeglin called him some colorful Sindarin curses. Moringoþo left.

Moringoþo came and went irregularly. Sometimes he returned hours after, other times day. Once nearly two weeks. (Those were the worst two weeks of his life.)

And suddenly he was on the edge of a cliff. Not Thangorodrim, but that hardly mattered.

"Do you know the story of Maitimo? Or I suppose you'd know him as Maeðros."

Maeglin didn't answer. He couldn't, petrified. So much open air between him and the ground.

Moringoþo continued with his soft, smooth bass voice. "He hung from his right hand for almost twenty years of the Sun. He only escaped from the love -" he spat the word - " his cousin bore him. Tell me, scion of Fingolfin, who will come get you?"

No one.

"We will find Gondolin, with or without you," Moringoþo purred. His grip on Maeglin's shoulder was kind. "Don't make this difficult on yourself. Tell me, and I will make you a beloved king. No one will oppose you.

"Or you can resist and decorate my fortress. No one cares about you. No one will come for you. You will hang until Arda breaks and the stars fall."

A nearby orch held up a manacle attached to a chain. Cruel spikes faced inwards, ready to dig into flesh.

Maeglin broke.

He returned to Gondolin with his brain in a fog. Turgon worried over him as he had grown nearly emaciated. Maeglin calmed his uncle.

He'd been trapped by yrch in a cave in. His Moles had been killed separated. He'd survived off how could you do such a thing mushrooms and blood underground pools.

Gondolin fell. Maeglin fell. He hit the side of the Caragdûr thrice.

Snap

------ Crack

-------------- Splat

[hurt-the-innocent-ones]

Whump Dialogue Prompts

(Feel free to use but please tag me! I wanna read what you make with these :D) (NSFW under the cut, minors dni)

Whumpee:

“No, stop—shut up, you’re lying! They wouldn’t—they’d never—shut up, shut up, shut up!”

“Please, no…not now. I can’t, please…please just let me rest…”

“Get the fuck away from me! No, don’t—get back—come anywhere near me with that and I swear to God you’ll regret it!”

“You’re fucking delusional if you think for a second I’d ever follow your fucking orders.”

Whumper:

“Hold still or I’ll re-tie those ropes so tight your hands will fall off.”

“If you’d just tell me what I want to hear…”

“This is to make you better, you know that.”

“I knew you were pathetic, but pissing yourself over a little pain is just gross.”

Caretaker:

“Shh, it’s okay. I know, I know it hurts but shh, you need to keep quiet, stay still, it’ll be okay, just calm down…”

“You’re gonna be okay, you hear me? We’ll get you out of here, we’ll fix you up, good as new, I promise. No, don’t try to talk, save your breath.”

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me it was this bad?”

“Fuck, what did they do to you…oh God, you’re awake? No, it’s okay! It’s a good thing, it’s good, you’re doing great. Talk to me, tell me anything, just stay awake. Eyes on me.”

NSFW (TW)

Whumper:

“A pretty thing like you should’ve seen this coming.”

“And here I thought I was fucked up. Are you seriously getting off on this?”

“If I stop, what will you do for me in return?”

Whumpee:

“No, please, not that—please, please no, anything but that, not again!”

“What…wait, what are you doing—no, stop! Stop! I said stop!”

“No…no, you can’t! I’ve never—you sick fucking—wait, wait, please wait, I—you—prep me first, please, I’ll tear, you have to prep me first—”

Caretaker:

“Where are your clothes? Why are you…oh God.”

“Oh God…tell me [Whumper] didn’t…”

“No! No, I’d never—I’m not going to do that. I was just trying to help you change your clothes, remember?”

[greenteaandtattoos]

TO EVERYONE WHO HASN’T SEEN RWBY VOLUME 9 EPISODE 8, IT IS BRUTAL. BY FAR THE DARKEST RWBY HAS EVER GONE. MIND THESE TRIGGER WARNINGS:

SUICIDE

TORTURE

ANIMAL DEATH

PHYSICAL ABUSE

EMOTIONAL ABUSE

PLEASE WATCH AT YOUR OWN RISK. THERE IS A CONTENT WARNING AT THE START OF THE EPISODE, BUT IT DOES NOT SPECIFY WHAT FOR.

[thatssotrue]

i changed into goddesses, villains and fools...

[citrus-writing]

yandere feitan- life could be a dream

((you've come a long way since feitan took you away, and after almost a year as his captive, you think you understand him better))

Immediately, any hopes you had of escape are dashed. As soon as he takes you away to this little home, isolated from the rest of the world, you realize you’re never getting out of here. Your bedroom has no windows, and no matter what you do; he always knows, you hear the screams from the basement every night, and you know that it’ll be you if you ever fight back. It’s almost humiliating how fast your will crumbles- how fast the fight leaves you- how your mind, once sharp and alive, dulls until all you can think of is putting one foot in front of the other. 

Living with him isnt easy, and some days, you wish he’d kill you. It’s been a long time since you’ve seen the sun, or felt the grass beneath your feet, or heard the voices of your loved ones- it’s impossible to tell how long it’s been exactly, but you know it must have been months by now. Maybe just over a year. The first few months were the worst by far, when you’d screamed and cried until your throat was raw, when you’d begged and pleaded to go home. He’d only told you ‘no’ before enacting some horrible punishment, but by now you understand that this is your home now. 

He tells you that you’re never getting out of here, that no matter how hard you try, you’ll never get away from him. He tells you it’d be a mistake to even try, and you believe him. He tells you that no one’s coming to find you, that no one’s even noticed you’re missing, and you believe him. Somehow, you know he’s not lying about these things- you know he has no reason to lie to you, because your compliance in your new living arrangement isn't necessary for him, but it’s all you can do to keep yourself alive, to keep all of your teeth in your head and all your nails attached to your fingers. 

It’s hard to tell what he wants; his face is unreadable, and he never tells you what he wants from you, he just watches you scramble for clues, desperate to please him and always failing regardless. He seems to hate when you cry, he seems to hate when you smile, he seems to hate when you look at him, he seems to hate when you look away. He’d brought you here, and he tells you he’ll never let you go, but you sometimes think that he hates you. He doesn't come near you most days, but when he does, pain almost always follows. 

His eyes are on you at all times, he never looks away from you when he’s in the room, and even when he’s not around you can feel his gaze on you- settling over you heavily, weighing you down. You know he’s waiting for you to make a mistake. He’s watching and waiting, and you know that any wrong move could cost you everything. But somehow, against all rational thought, it feels good to know he’s looking at you. It’s nice to not have to wonder if he’s looking your way, if he’ll notice the shake in your hands, if he’ll notice the way tears well up in your eyes at the slight sound of movement- because yes, he’ll notice. His gaze settles over you with the weight and warmth of a weighted blanket. By now you know better than to look at him unless he tells you to. 

You know better than to do anything without asking. You beg for everything you have, and then he makes you beg again to keep what little you’re allowed. There’s a sense of shame that comes with being so compliant in your own captivity, a sense of shame that comes with the fact that you can't even bring yourself to curse at him, or to fight, or to try to escape. It’s all pointless by now, and the sting of broken bones- all healed by now, but the memory never fades- tingles in your limbs like the touch of a ghost. When you’d first been brought here, you would fight. Kick and scream and struggle. Now, all you can do is exactly what he tells you to do. But there’s a sense of comfort in that. Some sense of surrender that maybe you’ve ached for. 

Things had come easier after you’d admitted defeat to yourself. You’d let yourself settle into the routine as best as you could- waking up to a sharp kick in the ribs, rising from bed only when he pulls you up by your hair, carefully maneuvering around the house with his eyes following you. 

When he does tell you to look at him there’s blood on his skin, and some part of you wants to taste it- the blood, but more importantly the skin underneath. You don't even know whose blood it is, but you know it’s not his, it never is. 

They say pain purges the sins from the soul, that it’s through pain that you could purify a soul. You’ve never seen him work, but you’ve heard it- the screams and cries and the splattering of blood. And you’ve seen the aftermath- the way the floor is so slick that you nearly slip and lose your balance, the way that the bodies look when he’s gotten whatever he wanted out of them- cut open and almost hallowed out, missing all their teeth and fingers. You’d always heard that there’s a peace that overcomes someone at the moment of death, but now you don't believe that. Peace and purity- isn't that what you want? And more importantly, isn't that what he wants for you? You want to be perfect for him. you want him to forgive you for whatever it was you did so wrong. You want to be made anew under careful hands and a scalpel. 

Maybe that’s what made you follow him down to the basement- something now compelled forbidden to you, but something you’d never dared to do regardless. He’s always been cold to you, and it wouldn't be too far off to say he was cruel as well, but he’s something else entirely when he’s down here, in this room that no one but him had ever come back from. You’ve been with him for a long time now, months at least, maybe over a year, and still, somehow, you feel like you don't know him. Like he’s a stranger to you. He moves about this little house in silence, watching you, breaking bones and then resetting them, he tells you all the time that no one cares about you, that no one notices when you’re gone, that no one loves you. But he watches you all the time. 

He watches you now with an expression you’ve never seen on him before, maybe surprised but not entirely displeased, as you sit on the edge of the operating table; looking up at him even though he hasn't told you to, whole body trembling; but not really from fear. When you speak, you expect your voice to waver and wobble, but it doesn't. “I want to know real pain.”