#tw mild torture

[b-dubs-valdubs]

new chapter of Win the War is up! again, inspired by @briseise 's amazing artwork, go and check her out :)

this chapter is a lot more angsty than the last one, so just be warned

fic below the cut, or you can read it on ao3 ! reblogs appreciated <3

CW: MILD TORTURE, THREATS

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Bdubs glared at them all, hurt and betrayal coursing through his veins as he watched his "friends" agree to Cleo's plan. He was supposed to have a lovely evening with Ren, but now he was stuck laying against this grimy floor, cheek pressed into the cold stone, waiting for his fate to be sealed by the Resistance.

He wasn't afraid. He knew that Ren would find him eventually. He knew that Ren would send out search parties. He knew that it would come at a cost, though.

What price would Ren be willing to pay to have him back? Surely a lot, he was his King's most prized treasure, the best Royal Architect there ever was! Surely there would never be a price too great for him?

He knew that if Ren were in his situation, he would give everything he'd ever owned to have him back.

He just hoped that his King would do the same for him.

"You," Cleo snapped, jabbing a finger towards him, "Are going to cooperate. Or else."

Bdubs could see the Soup Group exchange uneasy glances, but he swallowed down his own fear. "Or else, what?"

"Or else you won't see your precious little King ever again."

Bdubs froze. He still didn't quite know what that entailed, but he certainly didn't want to find out.

He took a moment to study the faces of the people before him. His friends, who had taken him and locked him up and were about to do Void knows what to him. By cooperating, he gives them what they want, to have information, to know the Court's secrets, and to eventually steal the throne from his rightful King. He wasn't like them - he wouldn't betray those who he was supposed to be loyal to.

But taking one look at Cleo - eyes steely, unwavering, a cold green like his King's Royal Emeralds - every once of resistance in him completely dissolved.

He would never admit it, but he was scared. Scared of the unknown.

"I- I'll comply."

Cleo nodded, looking down on him through the bars. Bdubs couldn't help but shrink back a little.

"You will answer every question that the Resistance has for you," Cleo stated, clearly and simply, "You will tell the whole truth to ever question that you are asked. You will not tell anyone about what happens here. Is that clear?"

Bdubs nodded hastily.

After he had agreed, Cleo unlocked the cell and stepped into it, closing the door carefully behind them. They strode towards him, their heeled shoes clicking loudly, every footstep sounding like a gunshot to Bdubs. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block everything out.

When Cleo reached him, Bdubs felt himself getting dragged up into a low kneel. He opened his eyes; the world was the right way up, and the Resistance was standing before him, watching him.

"Go ahead," Cleo said to the resistance, talking above Bdubs as if he wasn't even there, "Ask him whatever you want."

The Soup Group looked at each other uneasily, presumably thinking of things to interrogate Bdubs about. Bdubs stared at them searchingly, trying to find a scrap of anything - a reaction, a whispered question, a silent plan - that might quell his fear of the unknown, the fear that was making him shake like a leaf.

Finally, Pearl stepped forward.

"Hi there, Bdubs!" she smiled, trying to talk to him like he wasn't tied up in some kind of cell. He frowned.

Pearl took no notice and continued. "So, my fellow Resistance members and I think that it would be a good idea for you to tell us everything that the King has told you about the reign. Any secret plans, any weaknesses, whatever. And if we see fit, we'll ask from there."

Bdubs opened his mouth, like a fish trying to gasp for air, but no sound came out. "I-"

"Hurry up, Bdubs," Cleo admonished. She was out of Bdubs's eyeline, and he could tell that she was doing something behind his back. He didn't want to wait to find out what.

"I- King- King Ren told me about... about his plans for the economy. He wants to have complete control... with- with, uh, Royal Emeralds, and owning people's shops and- and- he's just taking it a bit too far I think."

"In what way is he taking it too far? How does he want control?" Pearl interrogated, stepping closer towards the bars.

"He wants to- to be able to cut people's Royal Emerald access completely off, when he decides to. At a moment's notice, he can prevent their shop from running, take all their money, completely shut that p-person off from buying anything. He's planning on trying it with you guys first."

He paused, closing his eyes gently and letting the weight of what he'd just confessed hang over him for a little bit. He'd just revealed that his own King had planned to shut the doors on whoever he saw fit, to abuse the power that he was entrusted with, and ruin someone's life on a whim. Because he wanted to. No wonder the Resistance were rebelling against this, he would too if he had any sense!

But he would never go against his King. He could never. Never, in a million years. He was the King's most trusted advisor, his right-hand man, his boyfriend. The King trusted him with everything he had, and Bdubs sold it all away. Just because he was afraid.

Bdubs was officially the worst boyfriend ever.

"I tried to stop him..." Bdubs whispered, swallowing back the tears, "He- he said he would consider. B-but I just feel... so bad... so bad for him..."

"Why do you feel bad for him, Bdubs?" Impulse asked.

"I- I just-"

But he couldn't speak. If he hadn't betrayed his King already, this would certainly be enough.

"I'm not answering," he stated, finally, resolutely staring down the Resistance through the tears in his eyes.

"Bdubs," Gem said, as if she were talking to a scared animal, "Just tell us. Why do you feel bad for the King?"

"Tell us, Bdubs."

"Come on, Bdubs, don't make this harder than it needs to be..."

"We just need an answer."

He couldn't, he couldn't, he couldn't! No matter how hard he tried, he wouldn't betray his King. Not as much as this. He would never be forgiven for it.

The tears wouldn't stop flowing, no matter how hard Bdubs tried to stop them. The rope was cutting into his wings. He couldn't cope.

"N- No! I- I'm not... no!" he yelled.

"Answer them, Bdubs," Cleo warned.

"NO! I don't need to tell you- you anythi-"

The cold cut him off as it enveloped him in waves, setting his nerves on fire. The cold made him shiver, forced shaky breaths from his lungs, puffing into the air in short, spluttering bursts. Small chunks of ice fell from his head, dripping onto the wet stone around him.

Bdubs bowed his head, trying to curl up into a ball and stop everything from happening all around him. It was too much. He looked as pathetic and wet and cold and sad as he felt. The rope was still cutting into his wings, making them ache from where they were bound to his back. He just wanted it all to stop.

The tears barely made a difference anymore.

The sound of the bucket clanging to the floor made Bdubs curl in on himself tighter.

"Bdubs," Cleo began, and her tone of voice seemed slightly softer, "You should answer their question, then we'll get you a towel and a blanket. But you need to answer them first, okay? You don't want me to get another bucket, do you?"

Bdubs paused, trying desperately to muster up the strength in his exhausted brain to reason with himself. This was a horrible idea! It would give the Resistance everything they need to take the Court down! Giving them this would practically give them the victory, the diamonds, the power, everything that they could ever want.

And Ren would never forgive him.

How would Bdubs ever be able to forgive himself, letting Ren down so drastically; letting himself fail just because he was scared, and cold, and miserable? Could he really not stay strong for a little while longer, until they got bored and left him be?

In the end, really, Bdubs was just selfish.

"Ren-" he croaked, voice shaking and shivering in all the wrong places but Bdubs couldn't care, "He- He's s-sick... I see i-it, it's subtle, b-but the reign - it's really t-taking a toll on him. He's n-not the Ren I know, or love, I d-don't even know who he is, but he's certainly not Ren. He's just the King - d-driven by greed and power and too sc-scared to let anything go in case he falls harder than he's ever f-fallen before. He's weak, one threat will b-break him, and even his eyes seem greener, completely o-overtaken with lust for the Royal Emeralds. Ren's gone. I- I just want him back..."

The silence stretched out over the room, shrouding the atmosphere in a smoky tension. Through the bars, there was movement, but Bdubs couldn't bring himself to look up. He felt broken.

"That's all we need from you, Bdubs, thank you," Impulse said softly, cutting the tension with a knife, but a butter knife.

The door to the cell opened, but Bdubs remained where he was. The clicking footsteps returned, and faded slightly as Cleo walked through the cell door, locking it behind her.

"We'll give him some food, water, and a towel in a little bit," she told the Soup Group, and Bdubs recognised the hint of remorse in her tone. "First, we'll go outside, and discuss what will happen next regarding his ransom."

Bdubs heard footsteps shuffle out of the room, before silence greeted him once again.

#bdubs #bdoubleo100 #rendubs #zombiecleo #impulsesv #geminitay #pearlescentmoon #hermitcraft #hermitcraft fic #tw threats #tw mild torture #mossy writing

[meggalice]

Had to sketch out the closing moments from Chapter 13. Wow that really is an unlucky number, hey Dee? I have been obsessed with @remedyturtles' fic Fire Fight. Seriously if you haven't already go give it a read. They are absolutely killing it and the last chapter has left me in pieces, said pieces are still on the edge of my seat though.

#rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the tmnt #my art #tmnt #rise donnie #tmnt 2018 #rise leo #tw blood #tw torture #or well implied #they're both mild in the imaghe but tagging anyways #stay safe cuties #anyway this fic fucking rules seriously #I will be white knuckling it until the next chapter #remedy if you see this ur doing amazing

[rowiewritesstuff]

TFP Yandere Optimus Prime - The Soft Yandere

Ayo, not too good at writing so I made this blog to try and get a little better. :)

If you have suggestions, I'm down- but not looking for a huge criticism. Thanks! <3

Optimus probably fell in love with you because you were kind and had a motherly aura about you. You took care of the kids- helping them with their homework, making sure they were well fed, and caring for their inevitable injuries they’ll get from the Decepticons. 

You were a gentle soul, guiding the kids to do the right thing and teaching them all they would need to know for the future. Any time anyone (bot or human) had a question, no matter how “dumb” they thought it, you would answer with a kind smile gracing your face.

Optimus always thought that you were beautiful from the moment he laid eyes on you- both inside and out. At first, he was content to just have talks with you about human culture. What did this book mean? What are some good books to read? 

Soon, as you had given him knowledge, you wanted some in return. You craved so badly to know of Cybertron. Optimus became your teacher just as you became his.

You both would often go on long drives to beautiful places (that were of course unpopulated) such as rivers, mountains, waterfalls, or forests. The two of you would talk all night about Earth or Cybertron’s histories and culture. Sometimes you both would stay out so late, and you would fall asleep on Optimus’ chest or in his cab. Every time he would so gently take you back to base, making sure to not jostle you. When there, he would take you to his berthroom where he had a human-sized bed to let you sleep on.

Obsession didn’t come until later when you got captured Megatron. Optimus had been careless- he took his eyes off of you when scouting for energon, and you had wandered off to look at a pretty flower. Optimus was so focused on the energon tracker that he hadn’t noticed you were gone until he heard a loud scream coming from behind him. 

He quickly ran through the trees, snapping branches as he went when he saw it: Megatron had his claws wrapped around your much smaller frame, a wicked grin across his faceplate. Optimus looked to you for any injuries, but he could only see the terror on your face. You were trying so hard to look calm, he could tell- but because he knows you so well it was obvious you were just barely holding back tears. 

“Release her, Megatron!” He roared out.

“Hm, you seem fond of the human, don’t you, Optimus? Then again, you’ve liked fragile things since you were a mere archivist.” Megatron opened his hand slightly, with you sitting in his palm. He looked down at you with a sick grin, “It would be so easy to crush you, wouldn’t you agree little one? Then again, Optimus really seems to value you- perhaps I’ll keep you as a pet.”

You shook like a leaf at his words. The warlord intended to keep you as a pet? You immediately looked to Optimus, eyes pleading with him to save you. 

Optimus could feel the energon in his veins pumping loudly in his audio receptors. In his barely contained rage he managed to get out a few words:  “What do you want, Megatron?”

No matter how hard Optimus tried to hide it, Megatron saw right through him. After all, they used to be friends- and Optimus had hardly changed since then. Megatron could see the rage behind the Prime’s eyes. 

Within moments, Megatron transformed around you. He immediately took off into the skies, leaving Optimus in the dust. 

Optimus yelled in rage as his human was taken away from him. 

For two solid months, the ancient bot refused to recharge as he searched and searched for you. He checked every signal, every transmission he could just to get even a bit of a clue as to where Megatron was. To where you were. 

Optimus was angry. Angry at Megatron, and angry at himself. He blames himself for your capture. If he had just kept you at base, this would have never happened. He should have never even left your side. 

Every single day he imagined what he would do to Megatron when he got his hands on him. He would end the war right then and there- and anyone to dare get in his way would join Megatron in the Allspark. 

Eventually, they found a transmission from an energon mine. Some Vehicon must have forgotten to encrypt their signal- or it was a trap. Either way, they found from the transmission that the Nemesis would be docking there. 

Optimus called all of the Autobots into the main hangar, and then they went through the groundbridge. Optimus was running through the Vehicons like no tomorrow to get to the Nemesis. 

Soon, he found you sleeping in the medbay. Bruises covered your body and your hair was unkempt. He felt anger at your state and immediately took you back to where the groundbridge opened, and demanded one from Ratchet. 

“Arcee, take them to get medical attention right away.” Optimus gently handed you to the blue bot.

“Optimus, aren’t you coming?” 

Optimus began his walk to the Nemesis, “No, Arcee. Return to base, I will be back shortly.”

Hours later, Optimus came back to the base. Dried energon coated his hands- some of it a deep purple. Optimus’ optics were slightly dim as he walked into the base.

Ratchet immediately rushed to him, “Optimus, are you hurt?” 

“No, I am unharmed. How are they?” Optimus’ eyes glanced over to you. You looked much better than when he had seen you. Your hair was wet from being cleaned, and your cuts were bandaged up.  

“They will live. They’re resilient, they will be back on their feet in no time, June believes. Though, they will need regular check-ups for the next few months- medical and psychological.”

Optimus didn’t respond to his own friend, instead walking over to where you laid. He gently combed a hand through your hair. 

Your eyes fluttered open, and you smiled gently at him. “I knew you’d come for me, Op. Thank you.” Tears welled up in your eyes. He gently wiped them away with his digit.

“I will never allow you to be taken from me again. That, I promise.” While you clung to his hand, you failed to notice the darker tone in his voice- or the energon that coated his hand as he lulled you back into sleep.

#yandere #transformers #transformers prime #optimus prime #megatron #optimus prime x reader #tfp x reader #yandere x reader #yandere optimus prime #tw yandere #yandere optimus prime x reader #gender neutral reader #reader #tw kidnapping #tw mild gore #implied murder #implied torture #implied death #maccaddam

[adrift-in-thyme]

Febuwhump Day 4: Obedience (Link/Midna)

Ao3

CW for blood and injury, torture, and mild body horror

——————————-

Midna is no stranger to the sound of screams.

Her people had cried out when Zant had taken the throne and transformed her beautiful kingdom into something dark and twisted. Their cries of agony and anguish had echoed in her ears as she fled, a hideous imp, humiliated and furious. And they have remained with her all this time, spurring her onward toward salvation and victory.

But the noise that fills the air now is terrible in its own right. It pierces her skull and sets her heart racing erratically in her chest. And it feels as though it has been going on for eternity.

In reality, however, it has probably only been a few minutes. It doesn’t matter though. Midna has never derived joy from seeing Link suffer. This time is no different.

“Midna,” Zant’s leering voice reaches her ears once more, cascading smoothly over the waning sound of the hero’s hoarse screams. “Be an obedient dear and lend me your power. Do so and your precious, little human need not suffer further.”

Midna’s gaze travels down to where Link kneels mere feet away from her. His body is rigid, held in place by invisible bindings. His cap has fallen a short distance from him; his tunic and pants are splotched with mud, sweat, and blood. Tears stream down his ashen cheeks and well in his eyes, turning their gray the color of a stormy sky. But there is fire in them.

“Don’t,” he gasps, voice painfully ragged. “Please, Midna.”

Zant flicks a hand and the hero tenses further, an agonized whine breaking free.

“Quiet, dog,” he growls. “Count yourself lucky that I have allowed you the dignity of this form rather than letting the twilight have its way with you.”

“Lucky?” Midna shrieks, unable and unwilling to restrain herself. The nerve of this man! Calling himself her king, banishing her from her kingdom, demanding her aid…and now, hurting the hero. Her hero. “Being a human in a twilight realm is excruciating and you know that full well!”

“Come now, Midna,” Zant purrs, rounding her once more. His attempts at sweetness are as sour as his breath. “Calm yourself. This…human is pathetic in comparison to us. He has enjoyed the fruits of his people’s cruelty for far too long. It is time he felt some small portion of what we have endured.”

Midna is seething now. If only she were in her true form. If only she had that shadow crystal. She would rip this monster’s limbs off and cast him into the light-filled world he so detests.

“What we’ve endured?” She spits. “What about the things my people have suffered by your hand? You call yourself their king while you turn them into disgusting beasts!”

She kicks out, struggling against her bonds. But they hold fast, as suffocating and restrictive as this world.

“I have made the kingdom what it long should have been,” Zant replies, tone darkening. “You would have had it fall into obscurity and disrepair. You would have had our people forget all that they have endured because of the light dwellers.

“But you evade the question, my fallen princess. Will you help me or not?”

Link’s eyes find hers. He is breathing hard, shuddering beneath the weight of his own form. And yet, he smiles. It is only the slightest upturn of the lips, like a thread of twilight stretching bravely into the world of light. But Midna sees it all the same.

“Never.”

The word when she speaks it, shatters the momentary silence. She doesn’t have to see him to know Zant’s expression has turned murderous.

(Though, if she’s being honest, does it ever not look murderous? The man is vile.)

Her eyes, however, are only for Link. He is looking at her with pride in his gaze, pride and…maybe the beginnings of something else? She can’t be certain.

Whatever it is, she doesn’t deserve it.

“No?” Zant laughs and it seems to echo in the cavernous space. “Well then. You truly have fallen far Midna, to conspire with light dwellers in such a way. It nauseates me!”

Power surges through the air, a projectile of pure darkness slicing its way toward the hero. The energy it emanates is so dark, so sinister the air reverberates with it.

Midna gasps as she realizes what is about to happen. With an enraged screech, she struggles even harder than before. But she is helpless to stop it.

Darkness, fierce and sharp, collides with Link’s chest. It keeps going, shoving aside flesh and muscle and bone to burrow deep into his heart. His eyes go wide, blood bubbling from his lips as he chokes on a cry.

“This light dweller pretends to care for you and your world,” Zant sneers. “Perhaps, then, he will enjoy internalizing the shadows you inhabit.”

A skull-shattering scream pierces the air. Link thrashes, fighting desperately to get loose. Streaks of black crawl across his skin now, craters of molten obsidian amongst bloodless white.

“I wonder how much he can take before he breaks,” Zant muses.

He twists sleeve-hidden fingers and abruptly, Link crumples. Shadows dance in the air around him as he transforms. And then a beast lays twitching on the ground before her.

“No, stop!” The shout breaks free before she can restrain it.

But Zant doesn’t seem to even hear her. He is too enraptured by his own sadistic glee at Link’s agony.

The shadows around him grow thicker now, more potent. The obsidian marks spread like jagged lines of ink and blood oozes in their wake. They mar the hero’s lush gray coat, trickle into his once-bright eyes.

Midna inhales a ragged breath. If she doesn’t stop this, if she doesn’t act Link will die. That cannot happen.

She needs him to help her save her kingdom and her people. She needs him to save that little country town of his, and the kids who gaze at him like he is the sun itself, and the family he adores despite how they so violently despised his wolf form. She needs him to save the land Zelda has sacrificed so much for, the land Link looks upon with wonder.

She needs…she needs him.

So, she takes a deep breath and focuses. There is a crack, she realizes with a spark of hope, in the magic Zant is using to restrain her. She isn’t certain how she didn’t see it before. Perhaps, it wasn’t even there before.

It doesn’t matter. All that’s important is the way she can exploit it.

Midna forces her hands inside it, pulls it wider and wider until it is a gaping hole. Then, she shoves herself through, shattering her bonds as she does so. And when she opens her eyes once more, she is free.

She hits the ground with a dull thud and scrambles up. Zant whirls to face her, a screech of indignation ringing out as he unsheathes his swords. But she is too fast for him.

Fiery locks fly free, scooping the still-shuddering hero into their silken folds. Magic surges through her panicked and quick. And with a burst of sharp shadows, they are gone.

She lands them in Hyrule Field, for lack of a better place. It is far from most villages at least, with their mindless terror and ready torches. Gently, she lowers Link into the blades of green grass.

She can only hope that the teleportation wasn’t too much for him. But what other choice had she had?

“Link.”

Midna reaches out, ghostly fingers brushing his cheek. The word hitches in her throat, traitorous emotion struggling to break free. Fiercely, she shoves it back down.

“Come on, you idiot! Wake up!”

As if in response, his breath stutters. Gray-blue eyes flutter open, flitting about in a panic before they land on her. He shifts, brushing his nose against her immaterial form. A low whine echoes in his throat.

Midna lets out a shaky sigh. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. He didn’t touch me. Worry about yourself like you should.”

Link huffs a breath, seeming indignant. But his efforts are weak. His usual snark is gone with his strength, sapped by the madman who had sought to use him.

Shaking her head, Midna turns to gaze at the castle that bravely rises past the horizon.

“You just hold on, Link,” she murmurs. “I’ll get you the help you need.”

And after that? She’ll find the might necessary to hurl Zant into the sun.

#febuwhump2024 #febuwhump day 4 #torture tw #blood tw #injury tw #mild body horror #angst #whump #trin writes #pre-lu #loz #twilight princess #midlink #I love the lakebed temple cutscene SO MUCH #and on my recent replay thought #‘hey what if link got tortured like midna was?’ #had a bunch of dark magic poured into him instead of light #and lo and behold this came out

[zuppizup]

Possession

He tries to scream, to cry out, but it’s like he’s nothing. No-one. Just a passive wanderer in his own body.

Rayla grunts in pain as she is thrown into another tree.

Thrown by him.

It’s a whole new sort of terror, this disembodied helplessness. He doesn’t have eyes to cry or teeth to grit… no hands to ball in anger.

All he is is a ghost. A passenger along for the ride as Aaravos does with his body as he sees fit.

Aaravos laughs at him too. Callum can feel the Startouch’s amusement at his predicament. He can feel his delight as Callum’s body hurt’s Rayla over and over and over and over…

At least Soren got Ezran away. The wide-eyed horror as this body advanced on him is something Callum thinks he will never forget.

But his brother is safe from him.

For now.

Rayla assured that, at the cost of her own safety. Her own life.

So very Rayla.

He already knows Aaravos’ intentions. The connection flows back and forth more this time.

He knows Aaravos plans on toying with her for a while. Drawing it out as long as possible and then killing her slowly, painfully. While Callum can do nothing but watch. Sit passively by as she is rent asunder by his own hands.

Part of him thinks she knows how futile this struggle is. How hopeless.

She’s still pulling her punches though, still trying to incapacitate them.

Holding back is only hurting her more and all he wants to do is beg her to at the very least run.

Give up on him and save herself.

She doesn’t though, she continues to have faith in him. Getting up every time she’s knocked down. Trying to reach him, pull him free. “I know you’re still in there, Callum!” She spits blood onto the forest floor, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, her eyes fixed on his. “I know you’re stronger than him!”

How he wishes he could tell her he hears every word, he’s just to weak to resist the control.

He can see she’s faltering now, weak and injured. She has little left to give.

Aaravos knows it too, and Callum’s heart constricts when he realises Aaravos knows if he doesn’t finish her soon, she’ll loose consciousness.

Or worse.

And he wants very much to play with her.

Rayla rushes them, the remaining half of Runaan’s bow blade in her left arm. Not her good arm, but that hangs useless by her side.

She raises the knife, preparing to strike but even Callum can see her resolve crumble. Before she reaches them, she sobs, stumbling and dropping to her knees.

The blade skids across the forest floor, stopping when Aaravos lazily lifts Callum’s foot to intercept it.

Callum tries to scream, to cry out, push back… anything.

He already knows what Aaravos has planned, the images of Rayla’s ruined body flashing through their joined minds.

They bend down and pick up the knife, casually strolling over to where Rayla kneels panting on the rough ground. Grabbing her by the horn, they roughly pull her head back, chuckling at her tears.

“Any final words?” Aaravos snickers as he teases the blade along her neck. “He can hear you, you know? One last declaration of love? A plea for your life?”

Rayla swallows, looking defiantly into his eyes. “It’s not your fault, Callum.” She whispers, a tear rolling down her cheek as she smiles sadly. “Don’t blame yourself. It’s not your fault…”

Aaravos laughs, pushing the blade lower, pressing it against Rayla’s stomach. “We’ll see if you still think that once this is all over.”

He pulls back, preparing to gut her, the slow beginning of this torturous end…

Rayla closes her eyes, breathing out slowly. She looks resigned.

This cannot be happening. He can’t, he can’t, he can’t do this to Rayla. He can’t bare it. It’s too much.

Aaravos chuckles as he prepares to rip the knife through flesh and then there’s a blinding pain, burning like fire through his ribs.

They both gasp, falling on hands and knees as the breath is knocked from them.

“Idiot boy.” Aaravos sneers as he retreats into darkness, leaving Callum alone in his own mind.

“Callum!” Rayla crawls forward, arms reaching for him. “Oh Sources, Callum, what did you do?!”

“It doesn’t matter.” He coughs, only a little surprised to see the splatter of blood on the ground. He pays it no mind as he turns to look at Rayla, smiling softly. “He’s gone. You’re safe now.”

#rayllum's bad vibes rodeo #rayllum #rayllum fanfic #the dragon prince #tdp #rayla #callum #tdp fanfic #the dragon prince fanfic #zuppi fanfic #zup tumblr ficlets #I'm boarding a plane right now so sorry in advance! #tw blood #tw torture #tw body horror #all pretty mild but to be sure to be sure #rayllum week 2023

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

And if this world won't write me an ending

How can I write love into reality?

(read tags for tws)

【┘】⩇:⩇⩇【┘】

Marinette woke up, and she was a normal girl, with a normal life.

She got ready like every other normal girl. She would tumble out of bed, eat a banana, brush her teeth, do her homework minutes before she had to leave for class, do her hair…

She hummed to herself as she brushed her hair, forcing it into her signature pigtails, tying little ribbons around them and smiling at the way the bows bounced, at the way they stuck up like miniature antennae.

She turned her head to the side, her mouth opening, ready to ask for another opinion…

But there was no one there.

Of course there was no one there. Why would there be someone in her room?

She shook her head to herself, frowning, feeling lonely for a reason she couldn’t quite place.

Her phone buzzed. She pulled it out, expecting a text, and a tiny gasp left her when she realized that it was her alarm going off.

She yelped and started scooping everything from her desk into her backpack, not even bothering to try and keep the papers unwrinkled, and rushed out the door, zipping it closed as she went.

She was late, of course, how could you expect anything different? She was always late, she always seemed to get caught up doing other things. Or, at least, that was what she claimed, terrible excuses spilling out of her mouth with reckless abandon so she wouldn’t have to admit the truth. Not because it was bad, just embarassing. In reality, she often found that time slipped by her for no reason at all. Sometimes, she wondered just how long she could go on, sitting and doing nothing, letting time pass her by.

The doorknob to the classroom clicked, and she was jolted back into her body at the unexpected sound. The door was new, or at least it was supposed to be, it had been destroyed recently, though she couldn’t exactly remember how. It shouldn’t have clicked – never had before – and she took this as a sign to pay more attention to her surroundings.

What was she thinking?

She shook her head to herself. There she went again, always thinking about something else.

She slipped into the class, sending her teacher a halfhearted excuse about her alarm that was only met with an exasperated smile, and then headed to her seat. She sent Nino a wave, and he glanced up from where he was totally not playing on his phone in the back of the class briefly to send her a smile.

She took her usual spot by Alya, and pulled out her things. Her eyes flicked to see what page of the textbook they were on, and it didn’t take long before she was dragged into the monotony of a normal school day.

Her fingers tugged on her earlobe as she listened to her teacher explain Shakespeare book #61255, playing with the place where she had had her ears pierced as a toddler, wondering why she was bothered by the fact that she hadn’t opted to wear any earrings that morning.

A boy with blue hair made his way into the room, and she swore for a moment that her heart might just beat out of her chest.

She had been dating Luka for ages now, but he still gave her butterflies.

How could he not, when he smiled at her so dopily? When he took the time to give her a quick kiss before taking his usual seat in front of her? When he made bunny ears behind his sister’s head just to make Marinette smile?

Of course, he could definitely try putting in the effort to get to school on time, but she didn’t mind. She, of all people, could not judge him.

Not for that, at least.

She watched him, a smile playing across her lips. He was much more interesting than her literature lecture. She rested her head in her hand.

Alya punched her in the shoulder, and Marinette looked over to see her making a gagging gesture.

Marinette snorted. “It’s payback.”

Alya grinned. “Oh, yeah? For what?”

… for what?

Marinette looked at the seat in front of Alya for a second. It was just Juleka.

As always.

Except… Juleka hated sitting up front. Almost as much as Nino did.

Why was she sitting there? Because of Luka? Luka could have been convinced to sit in the back, he shouldn’t have cared…

She was starting to feel a little sick.

“For being evil, of course,” Marinette decided.

Alya laughed a little, rolling her eyes with a fond smile tugging at her lips. “You need to work on your comebacks.”

She searched through her pencil bag, in search of that singular red pen that she had to use for corrections, only to pause. Because it had a strange set of lines written into the inside of the canvas. And that, on its own, didn’t mean much. If you leave pencils in your pencil bag, it is pretty much inevitable that you will get some marks on it… but these lines were too dark, too deliberate.

They spelled something:

WRONG.

A minute shiver ran through her.

It was undeniably her own handwriting, though it looked rushed, frantic. Like that time she had realized ten minutes before class had started that an essay was due and had spent the next several minutes frantically scribbling down anything she could think of. But why would she have done this?

Why was that in her pencil bag? Had she gotten too sleep-deprived one day and, in a fit of rage over getting a bad score on something, scratched it in there? She didn’t think she would do that, but what other explanation was there?

What was wrong?

She could agree that something was off. She had felt strange all morning. But what was it?

A hand wrapped itself around her wrist in a vice grip, and she suddenly became all too aware of Luka’s face, so close to her own. He was her boyfriend – was he? since when? – she should be happy about this, but she couldn’t bring herself to be anything but utterly terrified. Her stomach twisted, bile rising in her throat.

Blue eyes were just a smidge too sharp as he stared at the word. His gaze cut to hers, and for just a second she realized that his face looked wrong. That his eyes were pupilless, yellow things, and if she really concentrated she could see two tiny clocks dancing in the irises, ticking down time she didn’t have.

“I have to give it to you, Marinette,” Luka said, his lips curling into a wry little smile that made her feel like ants were crawling up the back of her shirt. “You really are… smart.”

She tried to pull away from him, but his hand held tight.

She screamed, but no one seemed to hear, and she was left to try and wrestle away from him. But her body didn’t feel like her own, and she felt weaker than normal, and everything was wrong, and she knew, somewhere, somehow, that it was all for naught, anyway.

【┘】⩇:⩇⩇【┘】

Marinette woke up, and she was a normal girl, with a normal life.

She got ready like every other normal girl. She would tumble out of bed, eat a banana, brush her teeth, do her homework minutes before she had to leave for class, do her hair…

She tilted her head this way and that in the mirror, looking for a hair out of place. She couldn’t see the back of her head, so she wasn’t sure how that looked, but the back of her head was the epitome of ‘out of sight out of mind’ in her not-so-humble opinion.

She nodded once to herself, deeming herself ready for the day.

And then glossy lips pulled into a frown.

When had she put on her clothes?

She squinted down at her usual outfit. She swore she hadn’t yet changed, she certainly wouldn’t fall asleep in jeans no matter how tired she was, she should not be in her clothes yet.

She… must have forgotten. Done it without thinking, as one normally does with things you do habitually. Like putting on clothes.

Except, Marinette put a lot of thought into her outfits. She was a future fashion designer, of course she put time and effort into looking good. It only made sense.

This… didn’t.

She ran a hand through her hair, pushing her bangs up and out of her eyes.

And then she headed to school. The traffic she sprinted past wasn’t quite as congested as it usually was. Despite all of the slowed cars, she didn’t spot a single wreck to cause them. The tardy bell didn’t sound quite as needlessly loud and annoying as she rushed to class. The doorknob clicked more than it was supposed to when she finally managed to fumble her way into turning it, her sweaty hands sliding right off. Nino was in the back, and Juleka was in the front.

Everything was wrong. Just ever so slightly off.

She wanted to go home, but even her home wasn’t safe, because her parents hadn’t been behind the counter, serving customers, when she’d left. Instead, they were having a ‘lazy day’, the sign in the bakery window declaring them ‘closed’. Not a single person paid the sign any mind, nor were any of the other bakeries in the surrounding area more full than usual.

Her hands gripped her hair, pulling, almost tearing it out at the roots. Alya was trying to talk to her, asking what was wrong in that concerned tone she always used, but was this actually Alya? Everything else was wrong, why should she believe any of it was real? Maybe this was just more of an accurate ruse than everything else.

The door opened, and Luka strolled in, heading towards his – it wasn’t his – seat.

Their eyes locked.

Her heart thudded in her chest, beating against the bars of her ribcage, as if trying to escape.

Luka tipped his head back in a groan.

【┘】⩇:⩇⩇【┘】

Marinette woke up and she was a normal girl, with a normal life.

One who smiled when she saw that a contact in her phone, labeled ‘bf<3’, had sent her a good morning text.

Only to find that the text didn’t have the usual paw print beside the words.

【┘】⩇:⩇⩇【┘】

Marinette woke up.

And.

She.

Was.

A.

Normal.

Girl.

With.

A.

Normal.

Life.

【┘】⩇:⩇⩇【┘】

Marinette woke up and hissed out a curse when she saw her alarm hadn’t gone off. She glanced out the window to check the time.

There was nothing to see out the window. Just a pure white expanse.

【┘】⩇:⩇⩇【┘】

Marinette woke up and laid there, not wanting to get up, dread unlike any she had ever felt before clinging to her, dragging her back into her too-plush bed. She didn’t know why she felt this way, but she did, and she wanted it gone.

What she wanted didn’t matter.

【┘】⩇:⩇⩇【┘】

And she woke up.

She always woke up.

【┘】⩇:⩇⩇【┘】

Marinette woke up and she was a normal girl with a normal life. Her head was buried in her arms, trying to ward off the hot sun and the even more scalding metal of the table she was leaning against. If she wasn’t careful burns would form even through her long sleeves.

Not that this was the biggest of her problems.

Her problem was –.

A finger poking her shoulder relentlessly. She lifted her head just enough to glower at the offender.

It was Alya, grinning widely at her. “Hey, sleeping beauty, we were gone for ten minutes.”

We? Marinette thought, her mind sluggish thanks to a bone-deep exhaustion that was less than normal, looking around to find Nino and… Luka?

No. It shouldn’t have been Luka. Who was it supposed to be?

Who was he replacing?

Either way, he was – he was wrong, and dangerous, and she needed to run.

The world whirled out of color before she had even gotten out of her chair. The last thing she saw was his frustrated expression.

【┘】⩇:⩇⩇【┘】

Marinette woke up to something touching her cheek.

She peeked an eye open and found Luka standing over her, offering a bowl. She rolled her eyes just slightly at the offered food, taking the silverware. She shouldn’t be handling the hot plate with her bare hands, but it wasn’t like it mattered.

Because she was a baker’s daughter, and her hands were already hopelessly covered in callouses. A few more wouldn’t hurt her… or, well, they would, but she didn’t care enough to prevent this.

And the burns would be gone by the next reset, anyway.

She pulled it into her lap and smiled when he took a seat beside her with his own meal. If it could even be called that.

“Oh, wow, thanks for the gourmet meal,” she joked, twirling the ramen around her fork.

She hadn’t eaten in so long. Even this looked like heaven.

She didn’t need to eat at all.

He took a seat beside her, chuckling lightly, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and dragging her into his side.

She sunk her knife into his eye.

Her last thought before his soft expression fell away, disappearing with the rest of the world, was wondering why he had even given her the stupid knife in the first place.

【┘】⩇:⩇⩇【┘】

【┘】⩇:⩇⩇【┘】

Marinette woke up and –.

【┘】⩇:⩇⩇【┘】

Marinette woke up.

【┘】⩇:⩇⩇【┘】

【┘】⩇:⩇⩇【┘】

【┘】⩇:⩇⩇【┘】

【┘】⩇:⩇⩇【┘】

Marinette was –.

What was Marinette again?

【H】⩇:⩇⩇【E】

【L】⩇:⩇⩇【P】

【M】⩇:⩇⩇【E】

Did it really matter if she woke up again?

She would always wake up again.

【┘】⩇:⩇⩇【┘】

“Why?” Luka hissed, his fingers digging into her shirt, his nose so close to her own that she could feel his breath wash over her face. Despite the fact that he was practically panting in his rage, it was cold. “Why do you insist on making things difficult?”

She thought it over for a long moment.

And then she spat on his face.

“Spite.”

He lifted a hand to rub it away, scowling.

“We can keep doing this forever, you know. No one is coming to save you – they couldn’t even if they tried. Everything you do, every breath you take, that all belongs to me, and I can take it away.”

“Do it, then,” she said, and she couldn’t help the way her voice cracked just slightly when she said it. Not because she was scared, but because she was only a step above begging. “Just… kill me, if it’s so difficult.”

He set his jaw.

And then he sighed, his forehead coming to rest against hers.

“I just want us to be together. And happy. Don’t you want to be happy?”

“I… I want to go home. That will make me happy.”

He closed his eyes, and he looked much more human like this. With the clocks in his irises hidden by long lashes.

It didn’t last long. He opened them again, a steely look on his face.

“We will be happy, I promise.”

【┘】⩇:⩇⩇【┘】

【H】⩇:⩇⩇【E】

【L】⩇:⩇⩇【P】

【H】⩇:⩇⩇【E】

【L】⩇:⩇⩇【P】

【H】⩇:⩇⩇【E】

【L】⩇:⩇⩇【P】

【H】⩇:⩇⩇【E】

【L】HELP【P】

【H】HELP【E】

【L】HELP【P】

【H】HELP【E】

【L】HELP【P】

【H】HELP【E】

【L】HELP【P】

【H】HELP【E】

【L】HELP【P】

【HELP】HELP【HELP】

【HELP】HELP【HELP】

【HELP】HELP【HELP】

【HELP】HELP【HELP】

【HELP】HELP【HELP】

【HELP】HELP【HELP】

【HELP】HELP【HELP】

【HELP】HELP【HELP】

【PLEASE】PLEASE【PLEASE】

【┘】⩇:⩇⩇【┘】

Marinette woke up, and she was a normal girl, with a normal life.

Well, she wasn’t, but there was no point in saying otherwise, anyway.

#lukanette #miraculous ladybug #dark fic #tw for stockholm syndrome and psychological torture and also mild gore #its all more implied than anything #but you know #i try and keep people safe #luka couffaine #viperion #akumatized luka couffaine #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug

[echo-echo31]

*looks right, looks left*

Chains of Truths, Chains of Lies - Chapter 2 Snippet

tw: descriptions of violence, mild torture

Nothing. That's his fate, his punishment, his real torture.

A howling of emotions; the aciditity of hatred and revenge and sorrow all left with nothing to do but rot his insides out. Alpha - it's too late to start denying the creature's name now - hasn't appeared since his meeting with Y/N and honestly…honestly it might kill him faster than the beatings.

He deserves to scream. He deserves to spit and curse the wired tyrant for what he's done. For the hell he's unleashed on the world. What he's taken from him. Yet here he remains, tied to a chair in the basement. Still, at least he's got Alpha's pet hound to help him let off some steam.

"You fucking bastard," Markus spits out blood, the nose that's only just healed now throbbing with pain each time his pulse pounds through his veins. M2K just smirks at him with that cold, stoic expression, Except the eyes. Markus has had enough close up encounters - the sunglasses low enough to reveal red irises the shade of insanity - to know the feral stain behind those eyes.

"Bastard implies I was born in the first place, target," Markus' nostrils flare at the nickname, reminded of both the implication and the scars he has from when it becomes a lot more literal, "You more than anymore should remember my creator's face," 

M2K turns to face him again. His long, heavy leather coat cracks the air before he rests against the edge of a forgotten workbench; tools disguarded as if left amidst disaster. 

Markus ignores the ringing in his ears with practised spite.

"And yet here you are, playing dress-rehersal with a human you're not even allowed to kill. You might as well still be in the training pen," He taunts, readying himself for the consequences his words have just earned him.

Before the android can react though, he goes still. Markus' recognises the few seconds of stasis from working with defector IRL series in the Alliance - instructions being sent over the network.

Without speaking, M2K stands up and walks towards the door with intent. Discarded as easily as a worthless task, the killer robot leaves Markus ignored and coughing on his own blood.

The head of the Alliance manages to clear his throat just before M2K leaves through the now unsealed door.

"Go on…run back to Daddy," 

Usually, he wouldn't get a response. The fact that this time the android does not exit the room, and instead turns slightly back towards him, does not fill Markus with satisfaction. 

"I'm not the one that calls him Daddy," 

The sound of curses and restraints rattling against the steel chair follow M2K's looming form out.

#chains series #oh how i love it #tw: descriptions of violence #tw: mild torture

[ikeepwatchinghelicopters]

Random thought: mostly ignoring show canon again, let's imagine that after the mountain, Jaskier was captured and tortured by a morally dubious witcher working for Nilfgaard instead of Rience and let's say he was held captive for several days/weeks. The torture would probably mostly consist of stuff like cracked/broken ribs, dislocated shoulders/knees, a few broken fingers and strangulation. Like, the witcher would grab Jaskier's throat and choke him and with his enhances senses, he could pinpoint exactly the moment where Jaskier is terrified out of his mind and sure that this time he's going to pass out and die, because there's no way he can survive without oxygen any longer, and then the witcher would let him go, give him a little break and start all over again. Maybe he'd use knifes to make Jaskier suffer sometimes.

Yennefer didn't lose her chaos completely after Sodden, it's just very weak and taking a looong time to recover. She probably kind of randomly finds out about Jaskier's capture and managed to break him out. She'd help along with the healing of some more serious wounds (like the broken fingers, so Jaskier could play again, because I hate the idea of Jaskier without his music), but she wouldn't have the energy to heal everything (because I crave bard whump). While running away from Nilfgaard, they'd bump into Geralt and Ciri and all four of them'd decide to go to Kaer Morhen. Jaskier'd be mostly okay with Geralt, just flinching at unexpected movements (and Geralt being hurt and confused, because Jaskier was never afraid of him; of course Jaskier never shares the details of his torture (and forbids Yenn from saying anything), so Geralt has no idea what's going on and is reluctant to push since their relationship is still pretty fragile).

However, once they arrive at Kaer Morhen, it's absolutely horrible, because there are lots of unfamiliar witchers and while Jaskiee rationally knows they are not going to hurt him, his traumatised brain sees witchers as danger. So, imagine all the potential angst of Jaskier being super frustrated that he's now afraid of witchers (probably featuring some panic attacks and nightmarss) after being tortured by one and all the witchers being uncomfortable, because he's afraid of them. Bonus point for this featuring lots of Jask+Yenn friendship and Gerslt being absolutely furious once he sees the bruises from the strangulations.

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #yennefer #i think of this as geraskier #tw torture #mentions of torture #but i think it's pretty mild and generic #i don't know #it's hard to judge #fic idea #feel free to write the fic #other witchers #random thought

[proudfreakmetarusonniku]

some seer au worldbuilding!

TW: Kidnapping, imprisonment, child abuse, infantilisation, referenced torture, manipulation, what’s essentially slavery in a fantasy context (both referenced serfdom and mages being treated as property of the crown), dehumanisation, mild xenophobia, victim blaming, mutilation, referenced murder, suicidal ideation, codependency, trauma dumping, self harm, threats, referenced starvation, Stockholm syndrome, and Lima syndrome.

——

One of the few things Tommy looked forward to in life was the two hours each Thursday he got to spend in lesson.

He'd never been able to learn much other than how to avoid getting caught pickpocketing and how to survive on scraps of bread before he'd been taken to the castle, and unlike most of his life in his gilded prison, he relished that change.

He'd always wanted to be smart, like Mama was, able to figure out numbers in her head like that and read books to him. When she got sick, Tommy wasn’t ever able to read them himself, and he'd had to sell the now-useless things for more drink so Father wouldn’t hit him.

Tubbo was smart, too. He'd come from the other side of the border, and he'd had to run away after his noble family was disgraced. The exact reasons changed every time he told the story, and Tommy was willing to bet it wasn't real, but either way Tubbo knew his stuff. Besides, he never told Tubbo about Father, so it all evened out.

Getting the chance to learn after so long was exhilarating, even if it meant he had to spend two hours with Dream talking at him and pretending they were friends or something. At least he wasn’t a half bad teacher, or at least Tommy thought. He didn’t have any point of comparison, so he supposed he wouldn’t be able to tell.

Tracing one of the squiggles one the parchment, Dream smiled at him like he was a fucking infant, leading to Tommy rolling his eyes and flipping him off, making him snort.

“C'mon, Tommy, take this seriously.”

“I am,” Tommy insisted, crossing his arms. “And that’s a… Y.”

“Close! It’s a T, actually! T for To-“

“I'm not six, I know what a T is,” Tommy said, frustrated. Just because he didn’t know how to read letters didn’t mean he didn’t know what they were. Mama taught him better than that. “Try T for… Tfuck off and die.”

“You know, I could have someone executed for treason for saying that.” Dream's tone remained light and playful, smiling in a way that didn’t quite reach muddy green eyes. “Very few have the privilege to speak to the King so openly.”

“Oh yeah, because I’m so privileged to be born with a power I didn’t want. I’m so privileged to be kidnapped off the fucking streets and forced to work for a fucking maniac.” Tommy rolled his eyes again. “You're on another plane of reality, I swear to fucking Prime.”

“Tommy, stop trying to derail the lesson.” Dream's voice turned harsh suddenly, a warning that if he continued on this path he'd have to go to one of the rooms with all the hurty things again, and Tommy swallowed a lump in his throat, eyes downcast. “Very good. Now, this circle is an O. It’s not to be confused with a zero, which is more like a squished circle…”

——

“Can you define what a mage is for me, Tommy?”

“Course I can.” Tommy scoffed. “I am one, did you think I was a fuckin' idiot?”

“You're also incredibly obnoxious, but you can’t seem to define that.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

Dream sighed, his voice dipping into that terrifying warning tone again. “Tommy. Behave.”

Gripping his shoulders tightly, Tommy tried his best to fight the overwhelming urge to vomit at even the threat of punishment. It would be inaccurate to describe Dream as having made suffering an art- no, he'd made it a game, one he took a childish glee in and one he'd learnt to grow very, very good at.

It’s not like Tommy wasn’t used to being hit around. He'd taken up being Father's punching bag after Mama died, up until he ran away. He'd been caught stealing shit and sleeping in abandoned buildings before, and normally that got you a good beating if you couldn’t cry your way out of it, but Dream was different.

Unlike the unfocused, angry pain of fists and kicks, breaking bones and bruising skin carelessly, Dream was careful in how he applied agony. He could make Tommy wish desperately for a simple beating without even leaving a mark, and any time he went further there was a chilling methodical way to it, like each injury was made to purposely mould Tommy both physically and mentally. Yet, every time afterwards, Tommy couldn’t help but fall for sudden kindness and soft touch and bandages, couldn’t help but desperately cling to the approval and blame himself.

“I'm sorry, sir,” he forced out.

“Don’t call me that, Tommy. I'm your friend, remember?”

“… yes, Dream. I'm sorry, Dream.”

“There you go. Now, again, what do you know about mages, Tommy?”

“Well, I know we have powers and shit, obviously. I've got my Sight, Punz has… I'm not really sure, but he has the golden glowy thing. I haven’t really met any other mages, though.” Tommy stuck out his tongue absently as he tried to recall as much as he could. “Uhh, I know that mages can always recognise other mages when they see them. It’s like… a weird, tingly feeling that’s all fuzzy. And we're, like, one in a million. So I'm special and cool and shit.”

Dream chuckled at that, ruffling Tommy's hair suddenly and plainly ignoring how it made him flinch. “You're definitely special, yes. I've never even heard of a mage with powers like yours, and the documents go back centuries.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow. “Documents?”

“Well, yeah, since mages are technically the property of the royal family, you have to be documented carefully.” Dream's almost perpetual smile dropped at that. “I'm not happy about that too, you know. I've seen the ways that can go horribly wrong.”

“You're the King, aren’t you?” Tommy rolled his eyes. “Fucking change it, then.”

“I can’t just go around changing things like that, Tommy. I might not like it, but the Goddess…” Dream sighed. “Prime states clearly that mages are a gift to her chosen, made to aid them. Divine servants to Her will. I might not like it, but I can’t go against the Goddess. I want to change things. I am going to change things. But I can’t- I can’t just throw it all out. I'm no heretic.”

Tommy frowned. “But Prime also says that all humans are equal before Her light-“

“Good luck convincing people you are human.” There was an inexplicable bitterness in Dream's voice, though thankfully it didn’t seem to be directed at Tommy. “Most don’t see you that way, you know. They take your divinity to mean you’re just a tool, to be used and discarded. I- you should have seen how things were when I was your age. It was…”

As Dream trailed off, Tommy was hit with the realisation that this was the first time he'd ever seen him truly vulnerable. Dream was always a man of various masks, one of childish playfulness, another of cold indifference, one of pure anger, and many more he switched between on a whim, but there was a level of raw emotion in Dream's voice that made it painfully clear that this was a slip in his charade, a look behind the curtain. The feeling was incomprehensibly strange. Dream was easy to hate as this emotionless manipulator, but this rawness, this concern… Tommy couldn’t help but feel for him.

“I'm sorry,” Tommy said, not really being sure what else to do. “I'm sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Tommy. I promise.”

——

“Oh, I know this!”

Tommy flapped his hands in excitement, looking at the map. He'd learnt this before! He wasn’t stupid! Maybe something that he'd learnt during his blessed years on the streets had something worth transferring to this gold-plated hell.

“This-“ he pointed at the smaller, forested area highlighted in green, “is where we live, and past the border, here-“ he pointed at the icy cold wastelands that seemed to stretch on forever, “that’s the other place where you can’t go because they’re evil or something. I think.”

“… You're not wrong?” Dream laughed a little as he said that, so Tommy held onto hope he hadn’t accidentally said something really offensive and he was going to be hurt again. “Honestly, that’s more knowledge than some of the nobles have at this point. Do you know their names?”

“The Antarctic Empire is the other one, but…” Tommy closed his eyes, thinking hard. “I know the names of some of the towns here, but I never really thought about what all of it was. I just always thought of it as home.”

“Where we live is the Kingdom of Essempi.” Dream raised an eyebrow. “Did you really not know? I'm sure people have referred to me by my title around you, when I've taken you to court.”

Tommy shuddered just thinking of those memories. He always had to “look presentable” when in court, which meant long robes and capes he always tripped on and his hair mangled with one of those terrible torture devices called a comb. Everyone always stared at him, and it felt suffocating, like he was some sort of circus animal, and he was made to use his Sight to predict petty things for the amusement of the nobility. Whenever Dream wasn’t looking, he was always bombarded with poking and prodding, questions asked in a sing-song voice with the same sort of wording one would use for a toddler. He clung to Dream's side as much as possible to avoid that humiliation.

It was almost a relief how rare it was. Instead, he spent most of his life curled up in his glorified, or sitting with Dream in his study. (Or in one of those blood-splattered chambers, but he didn’t like to think about those much.) Technically, he could go wherever he liked in the castle, but it was incredibly difficult to do so when he couldn’t even stand without assistance.

That was his fault, he was aware. He'd put together some hair-brained escape plan, like he wouldn’t just be hunted down and caught anyway even if it somehow succeeded. Maybe none of his visions showed that, but that was because there was zero potential scenarios where his stupid plot worked, and he'd been able to see a lot of stupid plots work through use of his Sight, so that was saying something.

“Honestly, when I go to court, I spend the whole time not trying to deck one of the arseholes who won’t stop bugging me in the face.” Immediately, Tommy froze, petrified he'd said the wrong thing, but Dream burst into laughter.

“Oh, that’s true for all of us, I think. The sacrifices one must make for power. I must admit, I'd prefer things the Antarctic way sometimes.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow. “Which is?”

“If you can’t get someone to agree with you there, assassinating and brutalising those political opponents is just another form of diplomacy.”

“Uh, don’t we already assassinate and fuck up your enemies?” Tommy had grown numb to the constant orders to find out when someone Dream hated and Tommy didn’t know was alone and most vulnerable, to see what dirt could be used to blackmail them, their greatest fears, their weaknesses. He had to use his Sight there every day, and it was miserable, but he supposed it was less boring than when it was used to see a million different affects for each policy, and less terrifying than being asked to see his and Dream's death and seeing them both inch further and further away to the point decades became centuries became unSeeable.

“Well, yeah, but in secret. The Empire is honest about their brutality, at least. Maybe they’re better than us, in that way.” Dream said. “They might not know the light of Prime, but honestly I don’t think anyone here does either, except maybe me and you.”

You wouldn’t know the light of Prime if it blinded you, is what Tommy want to say, but he bit his tongue and took a deep breath. Instead, he said “They don't believe in Prime?”

“I mean, I’m sure some of them do, but they don’t operate by Her principles. Instead of life, they revere death. I suppose they’re honest there, too, revering the one thing that unites us all. Well,” he laughed, “almost all of us.”

Tommy swallowed and nodded. He didn’t like to think about that possibility too much. He barely even wanted to be alive a second longer, not living like a caged bird, and the idea of being trapped like this forever was something he deeply feared.

“Have you ever been, Tommy? I think you'd like it.”

Tommy blinked. “Uh, no. How would I? There’s always fighting on the borders, I'm not idiotic enough to go there.”

“I should take you next time, then. It's… I’ve never seen anywhere else where mages are allowed to go around freely. It’s really quite inspiring.”

“Sounds like I should have been, then.” Tommy couldn't fully hide his bitterness there. “I'm- I know you're trying to help me, of course. I’m not fucking ungrateful or anything about that. I just… it’s stupid, I know, but I wanna go outside again.” More than that, he wanted to be free, but he knew saying that would get him a world of hurt.

“I mean, if you like the snow, maybe?” Dream laughed, before his voice turned serious. “Tommy, I know how it might sound, but that place… it’s not any better than things are here, and I'm at least trying to fix things. Mages might be treated like humans, but those without magic… they’re barely seen as anything. I've seen how empathetic and kind you are, y’know. You'd hate it there, too.”

“Why can’t anywhere just be nice? Why do they all have to be weird and fucked up and shit?”

Dream sighed. “You know, I’ve wondered the same thing before. But, hey!” Dream smiled wide, in a way that was innocent and spine chilling all at once. “We can find that out together.”

——

“Tommy, have I ever told you about my father?”

Dream looked dishevelled today, too-long hair sticking out in a million directions, deep bags under his eyes, his usual paleness a pallid sick tone. His tunic was stained deep red- Tommy didn’t want to think from where- and he pulled on the edge of his sleeve obsessively.

“I know he was the king before you, and he got sick, but that’s about it.” Tommy tapped his fingers on the table impatiently, waiting for the lesson to begin, but it seemed like that wasn’t in the cards. No, today would be another day where Dream dumped everything bad that ever happened to him on Tommy's shoulders and expected him to shoulder that burden along with his own.

“He was never sick. I poisoned him, myself.” The words flew out of Dream's mouth like he'd wanted to tell someone for so long. “He- it was the only way. He deserved it.”

“I understand that.” Tommy grasped his hands together hard enough he could feel blood pooling under his fingernails. “My father was a right dickhead, too. I hope he's drank himself to death, and good fucking riddance.”

“It’s only the good that die young, you know. Without interference.” Dream gave a grin, but it was strained. “I have eyes everywhere, Tommy. I can make him wish he was dead, if you want.”

“No, Prime no, fuck.” Tommy buried his head in his hands. “I want him dead, I don’t want him to suffer.” No, Tommy didn’t want anyone to suffer under Dream's hands like he did. Not even Father.

“Your loss.” Dream sighed and leaned forward on the table, any last pretences of professionalism erased. “If you tell anyone any of this, I'll bring in that little friend of yours, by the way.”

“You promised nothing would hurt Tubbo. That was the deal.”

“I promised nothing would kill Tubbo. There’s a lot you can do to a person without killing them, y’know.” Dream laughed bitterly. “Plus, we both know that deal is bullshit anyway. Just a stupid way of making the both of us feel better about the role we were born into.”

“… I won’t tell anyone. Couldn't even if I wanted to, man. It’s not like you let anyone else around me.”

“See, no need to worry, huh?” What might have been the slightest hint of relief hung heavy in his voice. “Tubbo's safe, and has somewhere to stay. I can promise you that.”

“I don’t trust a single word out your fucking mouth. You're a liar.”

“I need to be. The court eats honest people like you alive. Father taught me that. But you… I can be honest around you, Tommy. Thanks for that.” Tommy's not sure he’s ever seen one of Dream's many smiles meet his eyes before, but this one was soft, genuine. “I've never had a friend before.”

Something about that managed to tug at Tommy's heart, no matter how much of a monster he knew the man was. Dream was like that- simultaneously terrifying and tragic, cold and cruel yet desperately possessive. Charismatic and well spoken, yet horribly awkward in any attempts at genuineness. Tommy despised him to the core and adored him more than Prime at once.

“It’s pretty poggers, huh?” He said, not really being sure what else to say.

Dream raised an eyebrow. “What in Primes name does poggers mean?”

“Dunno. I just made it up. I’m an innovator.” Tommy stuck his tongue out, and it made Dream start laughing.

“I wish I could have been as carefree as you are, when I was your age.” There was a wistful sigh there. “My father never laid a hand on me physically, but he knew far worse ways to get me to be his little puppet. I'm the only legitimate child he ever had, so he wanted to make sure I was the perfect heir. He just ruined my whole life in the process.”

Tommy couldn’t help but notice the hypocrisy of Dream complaining about such a thing while being in the middle of actively ruining Tommy's life, but he let it slide. “Y'know, I get it.” He said, instead. “My father- well, he did hit me, but only after Mama died. But the worst thing he did was make me feel stupid and useless. At least I have a use here.”

“I always knew my use. I never got a chance to hide from it, not like you did. Maybe that’s better, though. All I’ve ever known is this cage, yet you’ve seen the world beyond it. What's it like?”

“… You know, I don’t even think I can remember.” The way the breeze felt on his face, the light of the sun, it all seemed like a story now. Something mythical. “Can't you just run? Who would stop you?”

“My responsibilities. My people. I know it might be hard to believe, but I care about doing what’s best for my rightful land. I'm not like my father, wasting his life away with alcohol and pretty women.” Dream snorted. “You know, I can’t even stand the smell of wine anymore, and the idea of getting married and starting a family like I know is my duty one day fills me with terror. If I could, I'd just declare you my heir, since it’s not like I’m dying anyway, but it doesn’t work like that.”

“Huh. Guess things aren’t so different between the rags and the riches.” Tommy hummed. “Father would spend all his money at taverns on the cheapest beers and cheapest… y’know, and leave me and Mama with nothing. I learnt how to steal to survive.”

“I had my first assassination attempt when I was six. If I died, my throne would go to one of my fathers bastards, and I guess one of them figured it out.” Dream laughed, wiping at his eyes for some reason. “You want to know the funny thing? I have sixteen half-siblings, and a little sister, but you’re the only person I’ve ever felt like kin to.”

“Wait. Are you crying?” The idea seemed ludicrous, the idea that the man who could do such horrible things with a serene smile on his face, one who relished in the suffering of his enemies, could ever be so vulnerable, so low, seemed like a sick joke.

“Just rub it in, don’t you?” Dream buried his face in the table. “Prime, Father wouldn’t feed me for a week if I cried in front of him. I haven’t done it in years.”

“You can cry in front of me, mate. I'm not… I mean, I couldn’t hurt you even if I wanted to, but I wouldn’t be looking to stab you in the back even if I could.” Dream might have been a snake, but if all he saw in the bushes was more snakes, fangs ready to strike, Tommy couldn’t help but pity him for that.

“You're the only person I know who won't. I just…” Dream sighed, and slowly lifted himself from being flopped awkwardly on the table. “I never felt like a person until I met you.”

Tommy had only felt like a person until he met Dream. He banished that thought as soon as it appeared, though. He'd learnt better. He just nodded and smiled. Couldn’t go wrong with that.

“I don’t…” Dream sighed. “I've never had anyone I could tell any of this to, before. It’s… I don’t know. It’s weird.” Getting up and crouching beside Tommy's chair, he returned the same smile Tommy gave him, and Tommy could see that he had been crying. “You're my one weakness, you know? I'm never letting you go.”

Dream pulled Tommy suddenly into a hug, pulling him around like a ragdoll. That’s all he really was anymore, wasn’t he, though? A toy to a lonely child, a tool to the most desperate in need, a punching bag for people to take their anger out on. He wasn’t a person. He hadn’t been a person ever since he was dragged into this hell carved out of marble.

He didn’t even care, anymore. At least he was useful.

#my writing #dream smp #primeboys (derogatory) #seer au #tw kidnapping #tw imprisonment #tw child abuse #tw infantilisation #tw referenced torture #tw manipulation #tw dehumanisation #tw mild xenophobia #tw victim blaming #tw mutilation #tw referenced murder #tw suicidal ideation #tw codependency #tw trauma dumping #tw self harm #tw threats #tw Stockholm syndrome #tw Lima syndrome

[umbralsound-xiv]

Unease.

She’d barely slept. Not that i can blame her, considering. And trying to persuade her to lay down for a few bells, or eat something was more than difficult.

Still, i had to try, though.

Bexy Amalaryssia turns yet another page of the book in hand, if only half paying attention to the words for the shared silence that had hung over the room for the last half-bell. Tea and rolanberry biscuits lay scattered on a tray in front of them, as Bexy slowly shifts her glance sidelong. "...Sayuri. Please, eat at least -something-, yes?" Her brows knit in sympathy as she regarded the Seeker beside her. "...It will do you no favors to keep an empty stomach."

Sayuri Aoki keeps her silence, sat with her arms locked around her knees and her legs tugged closely to her body. Her features had drawn into a nigh perpetual sorrowful frown since the initial search of Eir, barely shifting. Her head shook weakly, body rocking back and forth a single time as she did.

Bexy Amalaryssia: "Please..." Bexy pleads, abandoning her book and reaching to break one of the already tiny jam-filled biscuits in half, offering it to her. "Just a little something. Anything. Can i get you something else from the kitchen?" A pause. "...Anything at all?"

Sayuri Aoki's head briefly turned in Bexy's direction, gaze managing to settle on the biscuit half to at least look like she considered to take it, yet her arms only tighten around her knees - an almost nauseous look taking to her as she once again shakes her head. "..I-.. can't.." Her voice is a mere whisper, brimming with grief.

Bexy Amalaryssia sighs quietly, returning it to the tray. Scooting closer, she opts to wrap an arm around Sayuri's shoulders, and slowly draw a breath. Rare was it that she was without words; she had always prided herself on being able to find the best ones for the moment. But here, in this uneasy silence, Bexy simply kept her quiet, at least for a time. "I know you're worried. But Mist will find them, yes? We've searched every avenue, but they cannot keep him away forever."

I informed Mist when we returned from Thanalan. About Eir’s dissapearence. And only when we had finished searching every avenue we could think of, did we rest. But Mist is still searching.

If anyone can find him, it’s her.

Bexy Amalaryssia: "...He is alive. They wouldn't have taken him otherwise."

Sayuri Aoki allowed herself to sink against Bexy as her arms draped around her, a sad whimper of a noise leaving her as she briefly shut her eyes. ".. Why him..? Why -Eir-, of all people..?" While phrased as a question, it was highly unlikely that she expected Bexy to hold the answer - but it was a question that had been plaguing her mind for suns.

Bexy Amalaryssia: "...I don't know. I..." A small squeeze, as she allows Sayuri to settle against her. "...Does he have any enemies? Anyone that might want to hurt him?" A pause. "...Rivals? I can't say i know how competetive the market is for performances. Maybe someone is jealous?"

Sayuri Aoki: "Not.. that I know of.." She allowed her legs to slip down as her arms uncoiled from her knees, instead seeking to wrap them around Bexy to further seek out the offered comfort. ".. He's a -dancer-.. Surely if someone was jealous they'd just.. attempt to sabotage the performance..?" She furrowed her brows, uncertain in her own words. ".. Kidnapping seems.. extreme for it.."

Bexy Amalaryssia: "...Maybe. Scorned people do worse things." A frown settles on her own features, then. "Despite the few we have in the company, i'm to understand Viera are fairly rare, yes? The men moreso. Perhaps that has something to do with it?"

Sayuri Aoki's lips tugged into a thinner line, ears flattening further than they already were. Her gaze shifted to rest on the carpet, something certainly wrecking her mind - even if she seems to avoid to voice it.

Bexy Amalaryssia: "...Talk to me..." Her voice held a gentleness she reserved for only so few people, head dipped to catch her gaze. "I am here, Sayuri. To listen. To comfort. We can go out and look again?" Each offer was said with the utmost sincerity. "...I want him home as much as you do."

...He’s of the company as much as any other. Even were they not together, i’d still have searched, still have cared. But that she loves him makes it so much more... Urgent.

I can’t stand to see her so miserable...

Sayuri Aoki hesitated, arms slowly retracting from Bexy - yet she remained leaned against her. "..Viera.. are rare.." She repeated, as one of her hands sought out a sleeve and began to tug at it, pulling it up far enough for her scarred wrist to come into view. She seems to struggle to fully voice the concern she carries, yet due to her actions; it may be guessable.

Bexy Amalaryssia: "...You think they've taken him for slavery? Or...  Some similiar, horrible thing..." The concern weighs in the air, as Bexy fills her lungs. "...We'll find him, Sayuri. If that's the case. He'd be no use to them dead. He just needs to hold out long enough that we can get to him."

Sayuri Aoki: ".. Eir is not.. like us." Sayuri frowned weakly, head lowering. "..He is soft. Gentle. He is.. so afraid.." Her gaze lifts, settling atop Bexy. ".. The Locket, while awful for all of us.. Eir.. did not deal with it well.."

Bexy Amalaryssia lingers in Sayuri's words, lips drawn into a line. She almost remorsefully looks away. "...You're worried he won't last." She trails, arms around her. "...Surely, he knows you're looking for him, yes? He'd hold on for that?"

Sayuri Aoki: ".. Eir didn't think he'd last.." Head lowered anew, she tugged at her sleeve anxiously. "..I hope he knows, through the fear.."

Bexy Amalaryssia: "...He should." A pang of defiance in her words, as she offers Sayuri's shoulder another squeeze. "He should know we're coming to get him. Any bell now, and Mist will pearl us, yes? And we'll rock right up to where he is, put the bastards in the ground just like we always do, and he'll be home with you in no time." She fights, at least, to flash a genuine smile.

Sayuri Aoki: ".. It's hard to remember, sometimes.. When fear wins.." She pressed her head against Bexy's shoulder in response to the squeeze, exhaling a sharp breath. She nods along Bexy's words, her lips managing to tug into a weak smile before returning to the frown. ".. Whoever they are.."

Bexy Amalaryssia: "...Whoever they are. They'll live to regret it. But they won't live very long." Her head leans to rest against that of Sayuri's with a short chuckle of amusement. "...You found me in some far off cave. We found you in a boat; or, well, learned you were there, eventually. Unless they've learned to open up portals to the Void big enough to throw people through... We'll find him, Sayuri."

Sayuri Aoki: ".. Let me have whoever had the -bright- idea of taking Eir.." She mumbled, seemingly finding some amount of comfort in the conversation. ".. It wasn't easy to find you.. and I doubt.. it was easy to find us.."

Bexy Amalaryssia: "...It wasn't. Gods, i searched until my eyes threatened to dry up from overuse. Those were some long, long suns." She nods, giving a faint smile. "...And we'll find him, too. Perhaps even tonight. Though i'll miss our little sleepovers, even if i wish they were for better circumstances."

Sayuri Aoki tugged at her sleeve slightly. "..Sleepovers would be nicer.. if I wasn't sobbing all night.. But thank you.. for being there for me." She managed a weak but genuine smile Bexy's way, even if it didn't last for very long. ".. Were you ever told.. how we found you..?"

Bexy Amalaryssia: "...Not in so many details, no. But i'd like to hear it." She picks up one of the pastries for herself, subtly nudging one in Sayuri's direction.

...I’d heard some. Though i’ll admit i’m somewhat reluctant to visit it. Though if it helps her take her mind off things for only a few moments, suppose now is as good a time as any to learn.

Sayuri Aoki: ".. Mist.. very reluctantly allowed G'rallin, myself and X'thia to go and put ourselves in a fight with his people.." She glanced Bexy's way, then to the pastry - somewhat reluctantly opting to reach for the one nudged in her direction - even if she only held onto it, for now. ".. We let them.. defeat us. Being the kind they sought out.. they took us captive. Once we knew the location from afar, we broke free.. Came for you the sun after."

Bexy Amalaryssia: "...Gods, Sayuri--- The risk!" Bexy seems genuinely alarmed, the small cup of tea at her side beginning to gather frost, though it's long past cooled. "I... Am only glad it paid off. If he had taken you too, i..." Bexy sighs, brow knit. "...I dread to think what i'd do..."

...I don’t think i’d have been quite as resilient, had he had those i cared for in his grasp, too.

...Bastard. I wonder where he is, now?

...I don’t want to think about it. But he wouldn’t be stupid enough to face me, now. Mist has her eyes and ears open.

Sayuri Aoki: ".. It was worth it. We got you back."

Bexy Amalaryssia smiles warmly. "...And the depths of gratitude i have, i could never have enough suns in my lifetime to show. You'd be sure i'd do the same, were the roles reversed."

Sayuri Aoki: ".. I don't doubt that for a moment."

Bexy Amalaryssia: "Good." Bexy's teeth finally sink into the pastry she held with a small waggle of her ears. "...Go on. Eat something. He'll be cross with you when he's back if you don't."

Sayuri Aoki: “.. He’ll frown at me, if anything..” She managed a weak smile, only for her ears to suddenly shift and her expression drops - an almost shocked look taking to her features as a crackle emits from the linkpearl nestled in her ear. She nigh holds her breath, waiting a moment.. Yet silence seemingly lingers, as a hand darts up to her ear to find the pearl. “-- Eir..?”

A linkpearl call...?

Gods, if it’s him...!

[Linkpearl] She is met with a slightly longer silence, as the person on the other end merely grins to themselves hearing the hopeful tone of Sayuri. “... You should have come home, X’llaya.” The voice that responds is dark, quiet - strident and gravelly, and painfully familiar to the Seeker.

Bexy Amalaryssia blinks at the sound, and even goes as far to abandon her pastry to the plate in order to afford Sayuri the silence needed. She stares to Sayuri, equally hopeful.

Sayuri Aoki‘s reaction is -not- one of joy as the voice responds, but one of absolute horror. The already much chilled air surrounding her worsening with a significant notability as ice spreads along the carpet they sit upon, and her own body. She seems.. Either too shocked, or too frightened, to speak - merely drawing a shaky breath.

[Linkpearl] He waited, then - grinning to himself as he had heard her fear. “Do not worry, Kitten.. Your Viera yet draws breath.. Although that might change, if he intends to provoke me further.”

Bexy Amalaryssia: "...Sayuri?" Her voice calls out with concern, then; she cold feel the cold, even if she wasn't afflicted by it. A hand reaches for her shoulder. "I'm here..." She reminds quietly, though even she has bristled at the prospect of action. All at once, Bexy looks ready to move in some effort of retrieval.

...It’s not Eir. Not with that look. Not with that expression. Someone has him, and someone is talking to her, but i can’t hear a damn thing from where i am.

Who? Who is it? I’ll tear their throats out!

Sayuri Aoki: “--D-Don’t hurt him!” Sayuri blurted out, only for a hand to move up and cup over her own mouth. “..P-please.. Don’t.. hurt him..” Her tone was shaky, eyes swiftly brimming over with tears as she turned her head to stare at Bexy, terror locked in her gaze. “-No-.. You-.. you already-..” She didn’t finish her sentence, yet any hope that had been with her that Eir may yet live seems to fade, as her body slowly sinks down.

[Linkpearl] “Already what? Hurt him?” Grym’s voice was taunting, a low chuckle following. “Or do you mean killed him, hm? Why, I can go talk to him for you..” Movement, as scraping across the floor emit through the pearl before the connection seemingly cut, for the time being.

Bexy Amalaryssia inhales a sharp breath, brow knitting in some muted anger. "Where, Sayuri? Where is he? We'll go. We'll go and kill them!" Her tail thrashes beside her; her weight already shifted as though she were to stand if Sayuri so much as moved.

Sayuri Aoki‘s hand left the pearl as it went silent, her body turning to face Bexy. “..G-..” Her legs tugged back up to her chest, arms swiftly locking around her knees as she began to rock back and forth. A loud sob wrenched itself from her throat. “..G-..Grym-..” She managed, between her sobs and struggled breaths.

Bexy Amalaryssia: "...Oh, fuck." Her hand doesn't leave Sayuri's shoulder, nor does the tension leave her frame. "I have you. You're not alone." Her teeth briefly flash. "I'm not afraid of that bastard! ---Where is he?"

...Gods, no.

It explains her terror. Her response. I’ve... I’ve never heard her beg like that, and i hope never to again.

But i’m not afraid of Grym. I wasn’t afraid when i stood with her the last time, and i’m not afraid when i stand with her now.

I am angry, but i can’t act on that now. She needs me.

She needs me, and she needs to know i have her back, no matter what.

Sayuri Aoki: "--I-.. I don't--.." She sinks together fully, her breathing becoming more and more struggled while her nails sank into her boots, ripping at the leather of them.

Bexy Amalaryssia: "...I have you. I have you." Bexy pulls Sayuri against her, arms wound around tight. She waits, and listens.

Sayuri Aoki‘s arms dart from her knees and to Bexy, locking around her in a tight embrace - the fear she holds for the man who’s voice she had heard mere minutes ago painfully apparent.

[In Grym’s Compound] Grymahtyn merely grinned to himself as he had left his office, wandering through the Compound to make his way towards the cells - a path he did not take all too often, nowadays.. But perhaps that was about to change. Soon. Very soon. He made his way down the steps, bringing silence to whoever laid their eyes upon him that did not belong to his own group as he steered his steps towards the solitary cells.

Vairg rises from his seat to greet Grym, that cocksure smile never quite leaving his features. "Boss."

“Vairg.” Grymahtyn met his greeting, offering a nod towards the door. “The Viera. Is he awake?”

"Conscious." Vairg smirks, glancing to the door behind him, hinges battered. Notably, Vairg had sat in front of the door, rather than beside it. "If he's not awake, he's about to be." Vairg slowly moves the chair from the front of the door, as to not obstruct the entrance.

Grymahtyn eyed the door, exhaling a deeper sigh through his nose. “I see he shares breakout habits with X’llaya.” It left him as a grumble, yet the faintest tug on his lips spelled a slight amusement. With both Vairg and the chair out of the way, he approached the door - grasping the handle and promptly yanking the half-broken door open.

Vairg stands beside the door, only entering if called. He at least seems ready should the occupant choose to run.

Slumped against the cell wall, head hanging and a curtain of hair obscuring his features, Eir did not move. Whether he no longer had the strength nor motivation to, it was unclear. But at Grym's entry, fear seems to shrink him further into the ball he'd curled into, braced for -something-.

What... Do they want with me, now?

...It does not matter. I will not give them it.

I will die anyway, and better to die and deny them of anything, than to give them the satisfaction.

Grymahtyn eyed Eir, head tilting a bit. "I have someone who'd like to hear a sign of life from you. Let’s not disappoint her, hm?" The Sea Wolf raised his hand to the linkpearl in his ear, pressing down on it - expecting Eir to speak.

Eir raises his head; a glare peered between his dirtied locks. The way his nose wrinkled, and his customary and now deliberate silence gave the clear message that he had no intention of speaking.

[In The Whispering Willows] Sayuri Aoki twitches as the linkpearl once again crackles in her ear, her arms tightening around Bexy to a nigh painful amount from the sheer stress.

[In Grym’s Compound] “-Talk-.” Grymahtyn -commanded-, giving Eir a chance to change his mind. “Let little Llaya hear that you yet live.”

Eir keeps his quiet. And the look does not leave his eyes. He turns his head away, soundless.

...Not a damn word for you, you bastard.

...She can not know i am here. She cannot believe i am alive.

I can not make a sound, because if she hears me...

...She will deliver herself to them, for my sake...

Grymahtyn kept a stare upon Eir, before a deeper exhale left him. “Vairg.” He called.

Vairg slowly peels away from the wall, kicking away with an armored boot as he slips around the corner and into the room. That self and same armored boot is delivered swiftly into the side of Eir's ribs with such force that it launches him across the room.

He'd half expected it, but it didn't make it hurt less. The sharp pain against his already aching ribs connected, sending him reeling, as his back met the wall and he slumped face first into the floor. But he doesn't make a sound. He doesn't dare make a sound. Any pain he felt was muffled, stifled in the back of his throat, though a few hitches of his breath were surely heard, beneath the ability for the pearl to detect.

Not... A sound...!

I... I cannot...---If... if she hears me---!

An unamused expression locked on Grymahtyn's features. "Quite the stubborn one, aren't you?" His pale green gaze shifted to Vairg. "Continue."

"Come on. -Scream-. You did earlier! Why is it so difficult for you to do now?" Vairg grabs Eir by the ears and hair, dragging him to the middle of the room. "Make a little -noise- for your missus, eh?" At the emphasis of the word, Vairg's heel hammers into the back of Eir's shoulders, pinning him to the ground. And then, the undeniable sound of unsheathing metal. The tip of Vairg's blade begins to run over the back of Eir's upper arm, splitting the skin. "Screeeeaaam~"

The undeniable sound of a whimper is give, but no scream, no. Eir wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Not if it kept her safe. The muffled cry is lodged deep in the pit of his throat, as he writhed fruitlessly beneath the larger man's weight.

BASTARD! I WILL NOT! I... I HAVE TO STAY STRONG!

I... I have to stay strong for her...

For... Sayuri...

[In The Whispering Willows] Sayuri Aoki's hands raise to cup over her own head, almost as if she's trying to drown out the sound of the linkpearl with her hands - quite feebly, considering. Whatever she's hearing on the other end is clearly impacting her, but her lack of words may suggest that she's not yet convinced.

Bexy Amalaryssia holds her; as though her life depended on it. She could hear nothing from the other end of the pearl, and in this moment, quietly thought it a mercy. But she waits, Sayuri in her arms, until whatever horrors came from the other side had reached their conclusion.

[In Grym’s Compound] Grymahtyn's gaze shifts, listening for any reaction from Sayuri - the lack of it making him frown. He merely nods towards Vairg, a signal for him to once again continue.

Vairg's expression held a rare frown at the silence, but such an expression never lasted long. Seeing no reason not to continue, the blade is slowly dragged the full length of Eir's arm without so much a hint of a sound from his lips, even as it draws over his hand and settles between his ring and little finger in the dirt. "Oh, how -brave-! Not a sound! Maybe there's more to you than i thought!" The admission was decidedly gleeful, as the toe of Vairg's boot toys with Eir's hand, kicking and nudging around his fingers, aiming to split the wound between them deeper than it already ran. That, in and of itself, garners a shuddering whimper, as the smaller Viera decidedly bit back the pain. But the curl of a grin on Vairg's features made a return, as he slowly raises Eir's little finger with the tip of his sword. "But you don't need to make a sound, no. Not a thing!" ---And at those words, the intent became clear. Pressing the full weight of his toes on the outstretched finger, it is bent completely backwards with a sickening pop of bone. "--Not when you have so many bones to do it for you!"

Eir sinks his teeth into his lip hard enough to draw blood at the seething pain, fighting to breathe between stifled gasps of agony. He wouldn't make a noise. He wouldn't make a sound. He could endure it. All he had to do was hold on long enough... But at the snap, at the feeling of his finger moving in directions it decidedly shouldn't, with the agonising bolt that shot through him, he finally gives up that which he had kept at bay. A scream splits from the back of his throat, sharp and desperate and full of terror, hand now white-hot with seething pain. And in the moment of clarity the sound afforded, he dares to fill his lungs again.

No---NO!

NO NO NO!

I SAID I COULD NOT MAKE A SOUND, AND NOW--- NOW...!

SHE IS GOING TO DELIVER HERSELF RIGHT TO THEIR DOORSTEP FOR THE SAKE OF ME!

SAYURI, NO! YOU MUST NOT!

LEAVE ME HERE TO DIE!

"STAY! SAYURI STAY! LEAVE ME!" Eir screams down the linkpearl. The roar of words was agonised, fading off into a sob as the strength had left him.

...Leave me here... And stay safe...

...Please...

[In The Whispering Willows] Sayuri Aoki tenses hearing Vairg’s every word, ears flickering sharply and rapidly. Eir’s scream pins them right back down, there was no denying who the scream belonged to, even less so when he addresses her. “--No– No, no- NO!” Sayuri fumbles with her hands, barely able to find her way to the linkpearl. “--LEAVE HIM ALONE!” She -screams- as she finally presses down upon it, a thick layer of jagged ice sprouting along her body and across the floor in her distress.

Bexy Amalaryssia watches as the ice races across the room, swallowing a small lump in her throat. She'd heard the only sounds loud enough to come from the other end of the pearl, staring to Sayuri. There were no words of comfort she could offer, only an expression that mirrored even a mote of Sayuri's despair.

[In Grym’s Compound] Grymahtyn’s head tilts, satisfaction on his expression. “How important is he to you, I wonder?” He spoke, addressing Sayuri. “Come back to me, and I will let him go, hm?”

Vairg seems content enough for his work, simply leaving Eir on the floor of the room, any wry remark kept to himself, not wanting to interrupt Grym's conversation over the linkpearl.

Eir no longer keeps his grief to himself. A wracked sobbing from a throat that still stung from screaming, he curls in on himself, sobbing in defeat.

“I’ll give you some time to consider, Kitten.. You know how to reach me, when you’ve made your decision.” And with that, the linkpearl disconnected.

[In The Whispering Willows] Sayuri Aoki's icy fingers dug into her own hair as the linkpearl on Grymahtyn's end disconnected, a distressed sob wrenching itself past her lips as her body rocked back and forth.

Bexy Amalaryssia cradles her, staring outwards against the wall. There was no comfort she could bring; not even the kindest and well placed words would bring her any ease. The uncharactaristic silence is all Bexy has to give, remaining with Sayuri in her arms until her grief had subsided enough to talk.

Sayuri Aoki: "-- They-.. they h-hurt him-.." She cried, her body turning to lean into Bexy's despite her ceaseless rocking. "-- He-.. he screamed.."

Bexy Amalaryssia: "...Gods..." The anger balled a little in her throat, regarding Sayuri as she spoke. "...He... He is alive still, yes...?" She asks with something of an anxious waver, somewhat hesitant with her words.

...I heard it. I heard him scream. I’ve heard people make similar sounds at my own hands.

I know what they were doing to him. Perhaps not down to the detail. But i knew enough.

I wager she does too.

Sayuri Aoki choked back a sob as her head sank into a nod, teeth gritting. "..I-.." She paused, her head sinking down. "..H-he screamed.. t-to leave him.."

Bexy Amalaryssia watches as she sinks, an attempt at swallowing the dread that had risen just a few ilms further. "...And you won't."

I... i know where this is going.

No, no... Sayuri, you can’t!

Sayuri Aoki: ".. I -love- him.." She bit down, her voice a mere whisper. She sinks a little further, hesitation clinging to her. "..G-Grym.. said.. he'd let him go.. if I.. returned.." She mumbled reluctantly, her expression spelling out the obvious disbelief she held for the Sea Wolf's words.

Bexy Amalaryssia: "...But you don't believe that. Hells, Sayuri, -i- don't believe that. We have to think of another way. I can go to Mist. You know where he is, yes? We can go." A small wrinkle for her nose, as she gives a sharp, almost vicious frown at the prospect. "We can get him back."

We...We’ve saved people before. How different could this be? Sayuri is terrified of Grym, and with reason, but they are just flesh and bone and nothing more!

We can storm the place, and kill the lot of them!

...Right?

Sayuri Aoki: ".. Bexy.." She kept her voice low, the rocking coming to a halt as she reached an icy hand for one of Bexy's, seeking to grasp onto it gently. Hesitation lingers yet again, even if Sayuri's expression spells out that she's about to say something her fellow Seeker will likely despise hearing. ".. They are.. too many.." She frowned weakly. ".. I-.. I -know- he won't.. release Eir.." Her grip of Bexy tightened ever so slightly. ".. But I-.. I do know.. that.. my presence would.. shift his focus.." Sayuri's ears pinned down, her words having left her with an obvious reluctance. ".. To me.."

Oh Gods, no!

No, no...

For him? For the sake of him? Please!

There has to be another way!

Bexy Amalaryssia takes the hand in her own. Rare it was that she didn't wear gloves, the blueish skin and crimson nails on full view. "...Sayuri..." Her name a whisper at the suggestion, as Bexy squeezes the hand that now set in her own. "How many is too many, Sayuri? I... I have killed -hundreds-! And i would put more in the dirt if it meant keeping you safe. You know this. You -know- this!" Her tone turned pleading, then. "But if he will not be released... Sayuri, you -cannot- go. This is what he wants!"

Sayuri Aoki: "..I-.. I don't.. know.." She frowned, tightening her grasp of Bexy's hand. ".. More than we have.." Her head lowers further, fangs scraping her lower lip in a light bite. ".. If I -don't- go, Eir will -die-, Bexy.." She whimpered.

Bexy Amalaryssia: "No, no. He has to hold on. I won't let you go, Sayuri!" Desperation began to set in, as the weight of Sayuri's intentions began to sink in. "---We can get him out, yes?"

Bexy Amalaryssia: "...He need only hold on a little longer. Just a little longer, until we find him... We need not fight all of them. Just enough to bring him home..."

Sayuri Aoki: "-- He's not.. like -us-.." She reminded, the words she had uttered beforehead. "..G-Grym will.. kill him.. if he doesn't get.. what he wants out of him.. I -have- to go.." She raised her gaze to meet Bexy's, tears brimming within her eyes anew, fear and reluctance residing within them.

Bexy Amalaryssia: "No, no you don't." Bexy swallows, her eyes meeting those of Sayuri's, almost just as fearful. "...They will take you too. And they will kill him. You said already that they will not release him!"

Sayuri Aoki: "..I-.. I can handle it.. Eir.. can't.." A frown locked upon her features at her own words. ".. I can't.. lose him.."

Bexy Amalaryssia: "And then you will go, and then what, Sayuri?" Her voice wavered, simmering with anger, with fear. The groan of ice at the carpet hadn't dimmed for her swell of emotion. "They will kill him anyway... And then... Then, they will have you."

Sayuri Aoki: "..I-.." She hesitated, ears flattening. ".. I.. will occupy.. Grym.." Dread clung to her very core at the suggestion. "..V-..Viera are rare.." She repeats, from their previous conversation. "..E-Eir would be.. m-more worth to him alive.. And-.. t-then.. We-.. we'll.. break out.."

...it is... Only the faintest whisper of a chance that he will survive. That he...

That she’ll go back there for him, to...

...

...I want to have hope. Hope that she’ll make it out. Hope that she’ll walk back into the company house, hand in hand with him.

I knew you loved him, Sayuri...

...But i fear i didn’t know just how much, until now.

Bexy Amalaryssia: "He lost you once, Sayuri. He will not be so careless to lose you again. You will break out." A long, deep breath, then. "...How?"

Sayuri Aoki: "--That's-.. That's his own damned fault! He -sold- me!" She frowned -deeply-, her grasp of Bexy tightening significantly. "..I.. broke out of his cells several times as a child.. with so little control of my aether.." Her gaze dipped, settling on the icy carpet - no longer certain whether it was hers, or Bexy's. "..I have control, now.."

Bexy Amalaryssia: "Sayuri..." Bexy's voice trailed again, squeezing her hand. It wasn't enough for simply that, only to set her hand on Sayuri's shoulder with her other, allowing her no other place to look except her face. "...You... You are sure about this? Going... Back there?"

Sayuri Aoki bit down on her lip, gaze settling atop Bexy's face. ".. If.. there is the slightest chance.. Eir might be spared if I am there..

Bexy Amalaryssia: "...Then you're going to take it." As the words leave Bexy's lips, she almost deflates for speaking them. Head hanging, the hand at Sayuri's shoulder moves to clutch the offered hand alongside her own. "I---" A quiet hitch of her voice sees her stall, before continuing. "...I... I can't say that... I would not do the same in your shoes. That... That i would not be so willing to risk myself for the safety of someone dear to me. But... I..."

Bexy Amalaryssia: "...I don't... I don't want you to go."

...I feel so selfish.

She loves him, yes. But i love her too. As a sister. As one of the only people who understands me, body and soul.

...I’d do the same. If they took Laurent. I wouldn’t be able to leave him there...

...

Sayuri Aoki: "..I don't want to go back.." She spoke quietly, letting her head dip down once more. ".. I-.. am scared, Bexy.." Her admission brings forth new tears, a lump opting to lodge itself in her throat and halfly choke her words. ".. Of G-Grym.. Of losing Eir.."

Bexy Amalaryssia: "I... I know. I know. I am scared too." Bexy pushes herself upwards on her knees, to wraps her arms around Sayuri's shoulders, burying her face into the fabric. "...You... You truly love him so much, don't you?"

Bexy Amalaryssia: "...More than you fear Grym?"

Sayuri Aoki is quick to coil her arms around Bexy in return, hugging onto her tightly as she chokes back a sobbed whimper. Her head dips into Bexy's shoulder before shifting into a nod. ".. I do.."

Bexy Amalaryssia: "...Then i will not stop you." The knot in her throat tightens, and it's all she can do to fight the sob it brings. "Y-you go there. You find him, and you bring him home." Her words were spoken like an order, as tears flooded her eyes. "...You will not be alone." Stubbornness, then, as her aether saught to curl around her ankles, smothering the platter of treats beside them. "...You won't." A hesitant pause, then...

...I couldn’t stop her if i tried. I couldn’t have her leaving crying, screaming, even if every fibre of my being wanted to keep her here with me, find a new path, a new solution together.

She would go to him, and... Gods willing...

...She would bring him back.

...I would go with her, if she would just let me.

Bexy Amalaryssia: "...You... You will go soon, yes?" It hurt her to admit it, but she spoke it anyway. "...Let me come with you. It is in Thanalan... Near Highbridge? Let me follow."

Bexy Amalaryssia: "Just... Just long enough to see where they take you. It will be easier to find you, should you... Should you... Not be able to... Leave."

Sayuri Aoki‘s arms tightened in a slight squeeze around Bexy, a deep breath being drawn. “..And risk.. that they see you..?” She frowned. “.. No. Do not.. follow me..”

Bexy Amalaryssia: "I'll kill them." Bexy hisses beneath her breath, head setting against Sayuri's own. "...I'll kill the lot of them. Every single one i see."

Sayuri Aoki: ".. I have every bit of faith in your abilities, Bexy.. but even you can be overwhelmed.." She pressed her head against Bexy's gently, features drawn into a saddened frown. ".. I'd never forgive myself if they got their hands on you, too.."

Bexy Amalaryssia: "I..." Her breath hitches, as she bundles into a sob. "...I will find you, Sayuri. Three suns. Three suns... And... And if you are not home...?"

Bexy Amalaryssia: "...I will find you. I will find you, and bring you home. Both of you."

Sayuri Aoki nodded slightly, easing her grip of the woman ever so slightly, albeit reluctantly. ".. I know you will."

Bexy Amalaryssia: "I will. I will..." Her arms tighten; she was not ready to let go, not yet. "Please... Be safe. As safe as you can in that hellhole. Show them not an onze of mercy."

Sayuri Aoki allowed her arms to tighten again, returning a squeeze of an embrace. ".. I heard.. the name.. of the one who hurt Eir.." Her lips tug downwards. ".. Whoever he is.. I will kill him before I get out.."

Bexy Amalaryssia: "...Make him suffer." She pauses. Almost fearful, she lingers in the embrace as long as she is allowed. "...But above everything, get home. Both of you. And failing that..."

Bexy Amalaryssia: "...Survive. Survive long enough that i will find you."

Sayuri Aoki, reluctant to let go, rests her head against Bexy. ".. No point in recapturing me, if the plan was to kill me.." A pause, and a frown. "..I will do my utmost to get us out, but if I fail.. Knowing you will be looking for us.. is a comfort.."

Bexy Amalaryssia: "...I won't stop until you're home." Reluctantly, Bexy slowly draws her arms back. "...And i meant what i said earlier. About killing them."

Sayuri Aoki: ".. I know." Slowly, Sayuri's arms begin to withdraw.

Bexy Amalaryssia releases her more fully, gazing over Sayuri in silence before her head finally drops, and looks away. The faintest of sobs choked back in the moment, as she simply sat in silence.

Sayuri Aoki leans over to Bexy a final time, nudging her head against the woman's shoulder weakly before she pushes herself up on her feet. ".. I will see you soon.. Yes..?" She sounded a little hesitant, even if she tried to cling to the faith she held for Bexy.

Bexy Amalaryssia slowly nods. What follows is a longer silence, and is only interrupted when she musters the strength to talk. "...I love you, sister. I -will- bring you home." Her gaze finally meets that of Sayuri's, as tears roll down her cheeks. For her own good, Bexy remains seated, fearful that if she were to embrace her again, she'd never let her go.

Sayuri Aoki: ".. And I you, sister.." She managed a weak smile, before any tears she had managed to hold back welled over in her eyes. Reluctantly, she wanders off with heavy steps.

...And it was all i could do, to sit down, to let her leave. Because if i stood, i would follow her into the depths of the hells if it meant i could bring her back.

I cannot say i agreed with her actions. A little more thought. A little more time. Perhaps there could be something, but...

...She would not risk it. Not for him. I can’t blame her for it.

So now i sit.

Now i wait for her to return.

And dwell on what i must do, if she does not.

#Muse: [Bexy] #Chapter: [Without Mercy] #Muse: [Eir] #Chapter: [Midnight Hour] #[What We Want Most] #FFXIV #IC #Screenshot #Writing #Textlog #TW: Mild Torture

[teabag-theif]

Give these people all the attention you have pls this story was so good and shocking like goddamn 10/10 perfection ngl

#mild murder #tw #dead dove do not eat #im actually shaking #i love this sm wtf I might commit light arson later mention of torture and pure indescribable amounts of pain i would recommend this

[adrift-in-thyme]

Whumptober Day 6: Made to Watch

Read on Ao3

- Warriors & Twilight

- Summary: Cia manages to capture Warriors and decides to try to force him to remain with her

CW for nonconsensual touching, nonconsensual transformation, mild body horror, torture, a character being possessive, vomiting, blood and injury

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

Warriors glares down at his legs, trying in vain not to look up. He is all too aware of the faces grinning cockily down at him from every angle of the room. And he would really rather not gaze upon them. They give him the creeps, quite frankly.

Who knew his own visage could look so wrong, slapped on the walls of someone he abhors?

He shifts, flexing his bound hands to try and bring feeling back into them. The ropes are pulled so tightly that he is certain their pattern is indented in his skin. Magic reverberates through them, dark and thick and nauseatingly wrong. Even it feels possessive, as though its wielder has imbued it with her sentiments.

The thought sends chills running down his neck and back. It’s almost as if he can feel her hands on him already, like skulltulas crawling across his skin. Unconsciously, he curls in on himself further.

He doesn’t know how Cia returned to the land of the living. Frankly, he doesn’t think he wants to. But one thing is for certain, he wishes it had never occurred.

Neither had he thought he would set foot in this place again. Foolishly, he had thought it was all over. 

(Save, of course, for the creeping memories of his men lying in pools of their own blood; townspeople screaming in horror and pain; long nights spent agonizing over maps and plans, trying to figure out how to win the next battle, trying to ignore the constant, creeping terror that someone followed his every move, cold fingers reaching out to brush his neck.)  

Yet here he sits in the depths of Cia’s chambers, wounded and bound. His head still aches from where the moblin had slammed its club into it. A trail of drying blood tugs at the skin of his forehead.

Warriors closes his eyes for a moment, exhales long and slow through his nostrils. Fear is seeping past his defenses, turning his mind numb. He can’t let that happen. He has to stay alert, keep a hold of himself.

But that is awfully hard to do. Even more so when footsteps echo in the hall.

There are multiple pairs of them by the sound of it — three perhaps — some heavier than others. And as they grow closer Warriors finds it increasingly difficult to slow the mad rhythm of his heart.

Cia is coming, he can feel it, feel her dark magic seeping through the walls and floorboards.

His breath hitches the slightest bit and he forces himself to hold the next one, then blow it out slowly. It still shakes a bit but at least he is in less danger of hyperventilating now. 

Calm yourself, captain, he orders. He squeezes his eyes shut, allowing himself a moment to feel the serenity of cool darkness. All the while, the footsteps grow continually louder.

Remove yourself from the situation. You’re no good if you’re panicked.

Warriors clenches his hands, determined to stop their shaking. He can’t show her weakness, he refuses to. But he can’t do more than slow the manic bob of his knee, up and down, up and down, mimicking the erratic pound of his heart.

His body demands to retain one, small nervous tick and he has little choice but to cave. 

The footsteps come to an abrupt halt now, just outside of the double doors. Warriors inhales sharply, breath caught in his chest. He can hear his heart pounding like it’s the only sound in the room, filling his ears, reverberating through him like the beat of war drums. 

Then, both doors are flung wide open with a flare and fury that can only belong to one person. And sure enough, there she is, standing in the doorway with her hip jutted outward and her head tipped so the shadows play upon it, violet eyes gleaming like a demon’s, a malicious smirk curving her lips. 

She looks just as she did in the time of the war. A shiver tears up his spine.

“Well, well, look what we have here,” she croons, waltzing into the room. “It has been far too long, my little hero. But I am so delighted to see you again.”

She begins to walk toward him, every step making his heart climb higher into his throat. Then, she is mere inches away, grasping his chin and dragging it upward so he has no choice but to look at her. He fights not to recoil from her touch. 

“I brought you a little gift to celebrate the occasion,” she purrs. “I do hope you enjoy it.”

She raises a hand and motions to whoever still waits in the darkness of the threshold. Then, quick and quiet as a serpent, she slips behind the chair he is bound to. She leans forward, hands snaking around his shoulders, breath and hair tickling his ear. 

“Now, watch,” she murmurs. “I want to see your face when you see what I brought you. Or rather who.”

She has barely uttered the word when the sounds of a scuffle come from the doorway. Seconds later, a figure Warriors would know anywhere is hurled unceremoniously over it. The Hero of Twilight lands in a bloodied heap on the hard floor.

Warriors can’t help the way his breath hitches in his throat. 

“Rancher?” 

A moblin lumbers into the light. Grasping Twilight’s shoulder, it wrenches him upward so he kneels before Warriors. Slowly, the hero raises his head.

A gash runs jaggedly across his face, cresting the bridge of his nose. Its gory crimson stands out against the pallor of his skin. His hair hangs limply, weighed down by blood and sweat. His pelt, outer tunic, and armor are gone, his undertunic and pants bloodied and torn, allowing glimpses of the angry welts and bruises and cuts lying beneath. 

His eyes are abnormally bright when they meet the captain’s, but that all too familiar fire still burns within it. And when he catches sight of Cia, hovering behind Warriors, her hands still on him, his expression turns positively murderous. 

“Get away from him,” he growls, earning himself a swift kick in the ribs. He doubles over, gasping. A fresh streak of worry zips through Warriors. 

But the sorceress has no problem ignoring what is happening before her. She begins to laugh and the sharp sound echoes in Warriors’ ears. 

“Wonderful! Just the reaction I was expecting!” She steps back, clapping together her hands. “Now, we can begin.”

“Begin what?” Warriors spits, anger in his tone. He grasps onto it, if only to keep his fear at bay. “It seems you’ve done more than enough already.”

She chuckles again, as though she is privy to some wonderful joke that neither hero is. 

“Oh, captain, I certainly have missed you. Death was so unkind to keep me from you. Thankfully, there are those who understand the need to rise from the grave.” Cia grins. “And now that I’m back, I would really rather not have to lose you again.”

She runs her hand along the side of his jaw and neck, the movement almost gentle. Warriors is certain he is going to be ill.

“So you are going to stay here with me…” Her face is suddenly inches from his. Warriors cringes back, trying to turn his face away. But long fingers grasp his jaw and wrench it back into place.

“Forever.”

Warriors nearly chokes on the breath he had been holding. He had known it was coming, there was no way he couldn’t, but that doesn’t negate the terrible feeling that one word provokes. He has felt suffocated by this place since he awoke here. Now, he is certain that it’s crushing him. 

“He’s not gonna stay with you,” Twilight says, his tone firm despite the way he trembles. There is something dangerous in it too, like the bite of a wild animal. “He’s not your pet.”

Cia turns to him at that. A high-pitched, maniacal giggle bubbles out of her. 

“It is absolutely hilarious that you of all people would phrase it in such a way. Tell me, does your friend know?”

She closes the distance between herself and the rancher. Then, reaching out she grasps his chin, angling his face upward. With the other hand she traces the dark markings around his eyes and on his forehead. Twilight tries to pull away but she holds him fast.

“This one is dripping with dark magic,” she says, addressing Warriors now with an almost giddy tone. “He’s coated in it! Just look at these markings! And this” – She releases Twilight’s face and lifts the crystal he wears instead, turning it in her fingers — “This is the source of it all. He has used its power so many times now that it might as well be a part of him. I wonder, if all that magic were gone…or perhaps changed, would he break?”

Twilight’s expression doesn’t change from its steadfast mask of anger. But Warriors has known him for too long now to miss the flash of fear.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says, sharply. “It’s me you want, not him. Release him. Now.”

Cia giggles again. For a moment, she regards the crystal. Then, dropping it, she turns back to Warriors. 

“I’ll let him go eventually. But first we’re going to have a bit of fun. You see, the wonderful thing about dark magic is that it has no qualms. It can be warped and twisted however you wish. It won’t put up a fight. It might even decide to help you, if you’re lucky.”

Warriors’ eyes narrow. Panic thrashes within him like a bird caught in a cage. He has to find a way out of here, he has to. 

“So.” Cia stalks toward him, grinning as though she is exceedingly pleased with herself. “Either you swear to remain by my side for eternity, or your friend comes to know what it feels like when I bend dark magic to my will.” Her smile turns almost sweet. But there is blatant danger behind it, a temper that is too easily kindled. “It’s your choice, my little hero.”

Twilight skewers him with a look so cold it could send most grown men running. Under better circumstances, Warriors would tease him about how well he has managed to capture the old man’s glare of disappointment.

“Don’t do what she wants, captain. I’ll be fine.”

Warriors swallows, feeling vaguely lightheaded. He knows the answer he should give. But Cia’s presence is everywhere, smothering him so he can’t breathe or feel or think. His own face grins down at him from every wall, malicious and oppressive. And some desperate, selfish part of him wants to scream that he can never live this way. 

With an effort, he forces himself to open his mouth. The words he wants stick in his throat, though, and nothing comes out. 

“The clock is ticking,” Cia hisses, fire beginning to burn behind her eyes. “Your hesitation perturbs me, little hero. We are meant to be together, can you not see that? We are far bigger than the powers that try to keep us apart. Come, be with me the way it should be.”

Her words wrap around him like treacherous vines. Warriors can’t breathe past their grip. 

“He was never meant to be with you, witch,” Twilight growls. “And if you think your little plan to manipulate him is gonna work, you’re gonna be sorely disappointed.”

She whirls on him, pent up fury radiating off of her in waves.

“Time’s up!”

Warriors jolts forward with a strangled shout. “No, wait!”

But it’s already too late. 

A flick of the sorceress’ fingers and Twilight goes rigid. His eyes blow wide with terror and agony. A scream breaks free, strangled and hoarse and terrible. Black flecks begin to dance in the air. They surround him, coalescing into something darker and more solid. Then, quick as a spear in flight, they zip into his chest. 

Abruptly, Twilight’s screams cut off. His eyes roll back in his head and he slumps in the moblin’s grip. For a long moment, the room is horribly quiet. 

Warriors doesn’t dare take a breath. His ears still ring from Twilight’s cries, head still pounds from woundedness and fear. Distantly, he realizes that he should look around the room for some method of escape while Cia is distracted. But he can’t tear his eyes from Twilight's limp form. 

Let him be okay. Dear goddesses let him be okay.

A violent screech suddenly fills the space, eerie and petrifying. It ricochets around Warriors’ skull and he yearns to close his eyes in an attempt to block out the noise. But it continues and he remains frozen, helpless to do anything more than watch as Twilight morphs. 

His body enlarges and elongates, pale skin turning the color of fresh tar, lines of silvery-gray tracing strange patterns along it. Lines of crimson weave deadly cracks along his chest. His hair turns long and wiry, spreading like mane from a face that no longer even remotely resembles something human. Oddly, Warriors can’t help thinking it looks more akin to a shield now, lacking in features as it is. It is adorned with lines and circles, shapes carved into it as though by a potter into clay.

The beast (or…Twilight he guesses, though there is nothing there to remind him that this thing was ever his brother) gives a screech again, so loud Warriors is certain his ear drums are going to burst. And then, he whirls around and hurls the moblin at the wall. The monster hits it with a deafening crack that makes the room tremble and creates a sizable, moblin-shaped dent. It disappears seconds later.

Cia begins to cackle as Twilight faces her, limbs trembling (though with anger or pain, Warriors isn’t certain). He regards her for a mere moment, then with an enraged howl, lunges. 

“Now, now,” she croons, stepping effortlessly out of the way, “be a good beast.”

She holds up the crystal (Warriors hadn’t even seen her snag it) and suddenly Twilight is back, darkness folding around him as he crumples. He just manages to catch himself on his hands and knees, dazed eyes flitting to Warriors. There’s something in them, something urgent trying to break through the haze. And for a split second, Warriors tries desperately to decipher it. But then, the chance is gone. The rancher doubles over and vomits.

“Painful, isn’t it?” Cia says. She delivers a swift kick to the rancher’s chin and he falls. “I told you dark magic is not to be trifled with. And you, oh you, have certainly trifled with it an awful lot. But that is hardly my priority in all of this, only an observation that has proven oh so useful. No.” She turns to Warriors, a smirk on her lips. “My priority is you.”

He’s shaking, Warriors realizes dimly, with anger, with fear, with the guilt that tears up his insides. But he grits his teeth and meets her eye.

“Let him go.” He drags out the words, slowly, each one measured so that his voice doesn’t tremble. It’s the same method he used to address his troops before battle. “And I’ll stay with you. I swear.”

Her eyes light up and a little, giddy gasp escapes her. Warriors’ stomach churns, threatening revolt. He swallows down the bile that rises in his throat.

“Say it again,” she murmurs, prowling up to him, hands already outstretched to brush over his cheeks. “Tell me we were meant to be together. Tell me you’ll stay for all eternity.”

Magic revels at her fingertips, hot and oppressive on his face. Terror wedges itself in his throat and he closes his eyes. The taste of blood is sharp and nauseating.

“Keep them open,” she orders, voice taking on a harsh edge now. Fingernails dig into his face.

With an effort, he obeys. 

“Come now.” Lips hover inches from his and there’s no room to flinch away, nowhere to run. It’s just him and her, a nightmare made manifest in reality, an eternity of misery.

He swallows again, hard, to push down the rising urge to fight back.

“No,” Twilight croaks. “Captain…don’t! Don’t let this monster control you!”

Her eyes turn to blazing fire at that.

“Monster?” In an instant she is straightening, whirling to face the rancher, and Warriors can breathe again. “You think I’m a monster for wanting what I deserve?! You little — I’ll show you what a monster is!”

There’s a terrible flash of light and dark again. The room fills with the sound of agonized screams, turning quickly to the deafening, alien cries of before. And then Twilight is gone, and the beast stands in his place.

But that, it seems, is exactly what he had wanted. 

The rancher is shaking, blood dripping from wounds Warriors can’t see. But he doesn’t allow himself even a moment to catch his breath. With an animalistic shriek, he throws himself at Cia. Close as they are now, she doesn’t have time to evade. He comes down on top of her and she hits the ground, crying out in shock and anger. 

Desperately, furiously, she struggles, screaming obscenities and cut-off incantations. Twilight, however, doesn’t give her a chance to get the upper hand. He digs his talons into her with an abandon that Warriors can’t help finding a little terrifying. 

But he isn’t about to complain. Because the moment she falls, he feels the spell strengthening his bonds stutter and die. The ropes are useless without it, loosened as they are by his constant fight against them. They fall limply to the floor.

He’s on his feet without a second thought, mind locked in the numb determination of an adrenaline rush. Twilight’s crystal has fallen a short ways away and he snatches it up by its cord. 

“Rancher!” he calls, holding it up. 

Twilight spares him a quick, eyeless glance, then reels back and swipes at Cia so fiercely that she goes flying. She collides with the opposite wall, then collapses to the ground, blood dribbling from her mouth.

“You,” she growls, between agonized breaths, “you pathetic dog! I’ll get my revenge for this! Link will be mine!”

And then, in a cloud of violet and black, she is gone. 

He can still feel her presence in the room, still feel her on him, readying the spell that would enslave him to his own promise forever. But Warriors pushes all that aside and turns to Twilight.

“Here.” He holds out the crystal. “This will turn you back, right?”

Twilight nods. Carefully, he reaches out a dark, taloned hand and scoops the crystal into it. The shadows fold around him, there’s a faint “swoosh”, and the rancher is once again standing before him. 

He wavers, looking dangerously close to collapsing, but Warriors puts his arms around him before he can. His own legs aren’t feeling too steady, though, so he ends up lowering them both onto the ground. Twilight slumps heavily against his shoulder. His breathing is sharp, short, and shuddering, his face ashen and pale. But he drags his gaze up to meet Warriors’ anyway.

“You ‘k?”

Warriors laughs, bitterly. “I should be asking you that, rancher. What on earth did she do to you?”

Twilight frowns at the crystal still cupped in his palm. “Somethin’ she…she shouldn’t have been able to.”

“I’m sorry.” It comes out far quieter and more broken than he had intended, but at this point he hardly cares. 

“Shush. Ain’t you-your fault.” The rancher shifts, wincing slightly as he does so. “And don’t you try…arguing that-that it is.”

Warriors smiles, dryly. He had been thinking up an argument – more than one – while they spoke.

“You’re too much like the old man, you know that?” he says, with a sigh.

Twilight’s lips upturn in a grin, but he doesn’t answer. His eyes have slipped closed now. Warriors can tell unconsciousness isn’t far off. 

Shoving his tumultuous thoughts aside, he gives the rancher a gentle nudge. 

“Don’t fall asleep yet. We still have to get out of this place.”

And the sooner, the better.

“Can you stand?”

Slowly, Twilight nods. He drags his eyes open again, blinking up at the captain.

“Don worry, I’ll hang on. You’re skinny little self could…couldn’t lug me out of here.”

Warriors chuckles, despite himself. “Don’t sell me short, rancher. Believe me, I’ve carried heavier than you.”

Twilight sends him a look that says he doubts that. But he allows Warriors to help him to his feet. And as they start toward the door, he leans against the captain, not even bothering to protest his support.  

Despite the complaints of his own body, Warriors is glad of it. The very least he can do is get his brother away from this place where violet eyes gleam and long-fingered hands reach out to imprison. These are his demons to face, not Twilight’s. The rancher has endured more than enough on his behalf. And if Cia shows up again – and Warriors is not foolish enough to assume that she won’t – he will do whatever is necessary to ensure she never harms his brothers again.

#whumptober 2023 #no.6 #made to watch #linkeduniverse #fic #injury tw #blood tw #vomit tw #mild body horror #torture tw #nonconsensual touching #nonconsensual transformation #lu warriors #lu twilight #trin writes #whew this one had a lot of warnings #basically most of it is just cia being a creep #like always #also #i know with twilight's hero's spirit #he shouldn't be able to get turned into a shadow beast #but i thought #what if cia could somehow warp the shadow magic just enough to make it possible? #but he keeps his presence of mind because the hero's spirit allows him to not turn into a complete monster

[actress4him]

Whumptober 2023 - Day 18 - The Shadow and The Brute

More of the Brumaria Hero/Villain AU! This one takes place much later than the first. Bruno is only mentioned, but he belongs to Izzy!

Taglist: @painful-pooch , @sssunshinebreeze

The Shadow of Death Masterlist

No. 18: Blindfold | Tortured For Information | “Hit them harder.”

Contains: lady whump, interrogation, restraints, broken bones, beating, referenced internal bleeding, burns, mild gore, flashback, parental abuse, foster care references

.

The steel rod cracks against her ribs.

“What is The Brute’s real name?”

“I don’t know.” A lie.

Again, on the other side. 

“Where does he live?”

“I don’t know.” A lie, and screw him for taking her there and making this even harder for her. 

Another hit, this time to her stomach. 

“Who else does he work with?”

“I…don’t…I don’t know.” Also a lie. This one’s her fault, though, for stalking him and his team to find out who was hurting him. 

“Oh, I think you do know. I think you know all kinds of things about the heroes, and The Brute, especially, that you’re not telling.” 

He hits her ribs again.

“I hate the heroes,” she spits. The truth. Or at least, it was the truth. Now, she honestly doesn’t know how she feels. “You know I do.” 

“It certainly doesn’t seem that way, not the way you’ve been cozying up to them lately.”

Kamaria doesn’t say anything in return, still trying to catch her breath, and there’s a pause from the rest of the room, too. She strains her ears, trying to figure out if he’s choosing a new tool or the next spot to strike. She hates being blindfolded, hates not being able to see what’s coming. Which, of course, is the exact reason why he does it. 

“Harder.” Her father’s voice. He is still in the room, then.

She catches the footstep that comes toward her and tenses in preparation, but there’s really no way she can ever be prepared. Roderick doesn’t stop to ask questions this time. He just hits her, again and again and again, all across her stomach and ribs. With her arms restrained out to each side she can’t curl in to get away from it. She can feel things breaking and bruising inside of her. She can’t take a breath for the entire time the rod is coming down, can’t scream or plead even if she wanted to. 

When it finally ends, she spends just as much time coughing, retching, and trying to gasp in any air she can get. She’d throw up if it hadn’t been days since she’s eaten anything. 

“What is The Brute’s real name?” 

Bruno. His name is Bruno, two whole letters different from Brute because he’s an idiot.

“Where does he live?”

In a bachelor pad apartment, second floor, on Broad Street.

All she has to do is say that out loud, and it ends. For literally half of her life, fourteen years, she’s done whatever it takes to protect herself. Played the perfect, obedient foster child even when the families had already decided she was a troublemaker for having superpowers. Learned to fight and to kill from the villains. Went on all of their missions, whether they fit her own agenda or not. Followed all of their rules as best she could and gave in to their demands.

But she can’t give in this time. She doesn’t care what they do to her, not when the alternative is them doing the same and worse to the only man who’s ever treated her with kindness. He’s far more worth protecting than herself.

This time she doesn’t hear him approaching and is caught off guard by a hand burying itself in her curls, yanking her head backwards. Her quick intake of breath throbs in her ribs. 

“I will make you talk. You and I have been at this game for far too long for me not to win in the end.” 

The cold tip of the rod presses into her bare stomach, and she bites down hard on her lip to keep from crying out. There’s no way that she isn’t bleeding internally somewhere. The only good news is that he’ll know that, too, which means that surely this session won’t last too much longer. They want her alive, after all. For now.

“I have a meeting to attend,” her father announces coldly. “Do whatever you need to do to get results.” A door opens, then closes again. 

Her hair is released, and there’s a loud clank as the rod is tossed aside. It’s simultaneously a relief to know that part is over and terrifying to wonder what’s next. 

“All you have to do is tell me what you know about The Brute, and this will all be over.” 

She feels the heat a split second before it fully hits her. Fire envelops her right side, spreading from her waist all the way up to her shoulder and out across her arm. Kamaria throws her head back and screams. Her skin is blistering, charring. She’s half in the past, half in the present, watching her childhood home go up in flames while losing her footing and dangling from the chains.

“Where does The Brute live?” Roderick is shouting.

She can’t stop screaming. Mom…Mom please…

His hands are on her face, still warm from using his power. She didn’t even realize he’d stopped. It still feels like she’s on fire, the intensity of the heat hasn’t let up at all. She isn’t screaming anymore, but she’s groaning, sobbing, trying desperately to get herself back under control while visions of her mother are pressing at her mind and most of her body is in excruciating pain. 

Chains rattle, and one wrist is freed. She drops to the floor on top of a leg that was broken two days ago, but hardly feels it over the burning in her side and arm. The left wrist is released, but she’s dragged backwards by that arm until her back hits the wall and it’s restrained again, just above her head. 

Her right shoulder feels strange. Dislocated, probably. She can’t distinguish that pain from the pain of her skin. 

She doesn’t know she passed out until he slaps her across the face to wake her up. “Here. Take it.” Something heavy is deposited in her lap. She knows almost immediately what it is, but it takes a moment for her to convince her arm to move. The skin pulls, and she nearly whines aloud. “Hurry up.”

Her hand shakes as it finds the stem of the plant he gave her, clutching on tightly. One of these days,  he’s going to go too far, and she won’t be able to use her power to save herself. Then where will he and her father be?

At least then Bruno will be safe.

The energy she siphons from the plant is warm as it floods her body. It’s usually somewhat soothing. Right now, more heat is the last thing she wants to feel. But she keeps going, pulling all she can, knowing this is the only chance she gets until he nearly kills her again in a day or two. 

Energy does nothing for pain, unfortunately. When the plant goes limp in her hand, completely spent, she feels very little difference from when she started. But she should be stable now. The energy will jumpstart her body’s natural healing process, allowing it to work faster than usual so that she doesn’t actually die.

It’s their failsafe. Their excuse for continuing to torture her for as long as they want. 

Her arm drops back down by her side, and the plant is removed from her lap. Her head lolls against the concrete block wall. Roderick rips the blindfold suddenly off her face, taking strands of hair with it, and pinches her chin between his fingers so that he can look into her eyes.

“This is just going to keep happening until you cooperate and tell us what we want to know. Is that what you want? To keep being in this kind of pain?”

She doesn’t have the strength to answer him.

Releasing her chin, he stands, looking down at her. “Think about it. I’ll be back before you know it.”

#whumptober2023 #no.18 #blindfold #tortured for information #hit them harder #original content #fic #interrogation tw #broken bones tw #beating tw #internal bleeding tw #burns tw #flashback tw #mild gore tw #parental abuse tw #foster care tw #shadow of death #kamaria the assassin #lady whump #lady whumpee #brumaria #hero/villain #supervillain oc #heroes and villains #supervillain au #whump series

[sayurifellfrost]

Prompt #7: Pawn

Character: Y’khive Xetyalha

Age: 18

TW: Mild Torture

“Khive?”

Maerec pushed the door to the Miqo’te’s quarters open - finding her on top of her bed, laying on her back with her head hanging over the edge of it while her legs were kicked up in the air. She held a book above her head, lifting it further up as she peered over to the Hyur - greeting him with a wide smile.

“Hello.” she uttered.

“.. Hello to you too.”

Maerec displayed an affectionate smile, slowly approaching the girl while she closed her book and put it aside, letting her legs drop down and rolling onto her front - pushing herself up on her elbows. He lowered himself down to gently cup her chin, tilting her head upwards ever so slightly before pressing his lips against hers softly. Khive’s ears twitched weakly, a faint red hue taking to her cheeks.

“.. I have to ask something of you.” he murmured quietly.

“.. Mmh?”

Khive tilted her head as Maerec moved to the side, seating himself upon the edge of the bed. She pushed herself up to sit and scooted closer to him, his hand moving to grasp at hers gently - yellow gaze resting upon her.

“It.. involves the captive we took during our last contract..” he spoke quietly.

The Miqo’te’s brow furrowed, head tilting once more as she observed him.

“.. O-oh..?”

“He is.. Refusing to talk.” Maerec began, gently brushing a thumb over the girl’s knuckles. “.. And I need your help to make him.”

Khive stared at him in a prolonged silence, a quizzical look upon her features.

“I.. don’t know how I’d be able to help with that, Maerec..” she spoke hesitantly.

“.. With your aether.”

“.. M-my-..”

She paused, the Miqo’te’s ears flattening against her skull completely as a small look of horror took to her features, an anxious crackle of lightning following in its footsteps.

“.. Y-you-.. You w-want me to.. h-hurt him..?” she stammered.

“Just enough to make him talk, sweetheart.” he spoke softly.

“.. M-Maerec..” she whispered. “That-.. that’s torture..”

“It’s okay, Khive..”

“N-no.. it-.. It’s not okay.. That’s.. H-horrible..”

“Khive..”

Khive’s voice had turned into a mere whimper. She pulled herself back a touch, her hand still resting in his. She shook her head sharply, frowning.

“..Y-you can’t.. a-ask that.. of m-me..”

Maerec hushed softly, his free hand rising up to gently cup the Miqo’te’s cheek - something she swiftly sank into. She twitched weakly as the Hyur pulled her closer, releasing her hand and moving his now free arm to drape it around her despite the lightning which crackled across her frame.

“I need you to do this for me, sweetheart.. You are the only one I can trust to not go overboard with it..”

“.. I-.. I-.. c-can’t..”

Khive’s refusal was something Maerec had already predicted.. But he was not planning on letting her slip away from his intentions.

A deep, disappointed sounding exhale left him as he removed his arm from her and lowered his hand, followed by him standing up and turning to her - expression twisted into a small frown and eyes locked somewhere on the opposite end of the room. The sudden lack of affection alongside the obvious dissatisfaction of her rejection left a sudden hollow feeling in her heart, invoking a severe anxiety as she stared up at Maerec.

“... Maerec..?” she whimpered nervously.

“I get it.” he spoke, tone a little harsher than normal - dripping with frustration. “You don’t want to help me.”

“..T-that’s not-..”

“It’s fine.”

Maerec raised his hand in a wave of dismissal, feet setting into motion and beginning to move towards the door without casting her a single look.

“.. M-Maerec!”

A deep set dread locked itself in the pit of Khive’s stomach, forcing her to scramble herself to her feet and hurry after him. She swiftly shoved herself in between him and the door, hands raising to grip at his shirt. Still, he did not look at her.

“.. P-please.. D-don’t be m-mad at me..” she whimpered, eyes brimming with tears.

“... It’s fine.”

Maerec reached for the door despite the fact she was in the way. Lightning crackled wildly around Khive as hysteria began to grip her. She began to sob audibly, her entire body trembling as her chest began to heave rapidly with every breath.

“...I-I’ll-.. d-do it..!” she wailed. “P-please.. D-don’t be m-mad.. please..”

He paused as she cried, letting his yellow gaze settle upon her. His frown was gone and he slowly wrapped his arms around her, dragging her into him in a tight hug and placing his lips against the top of her head - hushing quietly. Khive buried her face against him and sobbed loudly, her arms locking around him in a tight hug.

“..I-I’m sorry.. I’m s-sorry..” she wept, her words muffled against him.

Maerec slowly dragged his hand over her head, hushing and cooing softly in order to calm her - as if he had not been the very reason she panicked in the first place.

“It’s alright, love..” he spoke softly, kissing the top of her head.

Khive’s knees bent, and Maerec opted to simply sit down with her - the Miqo’te clinging desperately to him as she did her utmost to cease her crying. He kept a hand upon her head, holding it against his shoulder as he leaned his head against hers, eyes resting upon the door before him.

He hadn’t quite expected such a violent reaction.. But it worked in his favour.

It took some time, but eventually.. Khive’s sobs grew quiet, the crackles of lightning having faded slowly with time the calmer she became. Maerec lift his head and raised a hand, sneaking it in between Khive’s head and his shoulder to tilt her head upwards, making her look up at him with red-cried eyes. He leaned his head down to press his forehead against hers softly, before stealing a kiss from her, which she neither rejected nor returned - an obvious weariness clinging to her.

“.. Shall we get it over with..?” he whispered.

Khive gave a saddened frown, despite the gentle smile Maerec displayed to her. She nodded weakly, which made him reposition his arms to cradle her instead as he began to stand back up - setting her back on her feet as he had. He grasped her hand softly and pulled the door open - guiding Khive through it before following along himself.

They walked down the corridor in silence, Khive’s steps painfully hesitant as regret for her decision set in.

This was not how Strym and Felna had raised her.. But Strym was gone, and Felna was out on business.. Leaving her alone with Maerec, after that those she considered family had split from the band a few moons back.

Maerec slowly released Khive’s hand as they arrived at the door of the room their prisoner was housed in - promptly shoving the door open to let them enter. In the middle of the room, tied to a chair, sat a Midlander, who frowned the moment he laid eyes upon Maerec.

“I told ye’, ye’ ain’ gettin’ nothin’ from me.” he scowled.

“So you said.” Maerec smiled. “But I’m giving you one more chance to simply.. Answer. What is your name?”

“Ain’. Gettin’. Shite.”

Maerec offered a small shrug, letting his gaze shift over to Khive.

“Sweetheart.. Would you kindly convince the man to give his name?”

“I ain’ fuckin’ interested in ‘er kind.” the Midlander spat out.

“Well, good. That’s not what she’s here for.”

Khive hesitated, but slowly began to approach the Midlander. She reluctantly stretched her hand out towards him, letting her fingertips settle against his forearm. A quick draw of her aether sent lightning crackling across the Midlander’s arm, prompting a yell of surprise to leave him - and for Khive to flee backwards a step at the sudden scream. Maerec folded his arms and tilted his head, eyeing the Midlander before him.

“Name.”

“Piss off!”

Maerec shook his head and tutted, looking over to Khive once more. He didn’t need to say anything, she knew what he wanted. She swallowed the lump growing in her throat as she once again stepped closer, the Midlander recoiling a touch. She reached her hand out to settle her palm upon his forearm, crackles of lightning once again darting forwards and wrenching a scream out of the captive. Khive’s ears pinned flatly against her skull, yet she kept her hand held upon the Midlander for a few seconds before swiftly withdrawing - a horrible feeling of nausea clinging to her.

“You know.” Maerec began, slowly pacing back and forth. “She has an abundance of aether.. And will keep doing that until you give us the answers we want. So.. Are you going to talk, or are you willing to test how much of it you can withstand?”

“.. Go.. fuck.. ye’self.. bastard..” the captive growled.

“... Sweetheart? Don’t let go this time.”

Khive whined weakly, meeting Maerec’s gaze for a short moment - he merely smiled at her. She hung her head dejectedly in defeat, moving over to set her hand upon the captive once more..

“Don’t ye’ fuckin’ touch me, ye’ crazy bitch!”

The Midlander’s rising hostility startles the girl, the lightning she intended to release increasing in potency as it washes over him, a scream of agony nigh echoing in the room. Khive’s eyes welled up with a new set of tears, the nausea rapidly rising as she forced herself to keep her hand upon his arm.

“...CENRED!”

The Midlander’s yell made Maerec lift his head, nodding to Khive to let go - which she swiftly did. She staggered back and out of any view of the captive, one hand raising to cup over her mouth as she choked back a sob.

“What was that?” Maerec uttered.

“.. My name.. Is Cenred…”

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“... Fuck off, ye’ whoreson..”

Maerec smiled, as Cenred simply glared at him. A burn had started to stretch from the area where Khive’s hand had rested, a faint stench of burned flesh lingering in its vicinity.

“Let us continue. You are a part of Eifawyda’s crew, yes?”

“Aye, so?!”

“Where is she?”

“.. Wouldn’ ye’ like t’fuckin’ know..”

“That is why I am asking, yes.”

Cenred snorted and cleared his throat, sending a lob of spit Maerec’s way. He merely returned an unimpressed stare.

“Sweetheart?” Maerec spoke, attention settling onto Khive.

Khive peered at him through blurred vision, ears pinning down completely.

“... Shock his neck this time.”

The Miqo’te’s lower lip quivered slightly, every bone in her body screaming at her to simply leave the room. Nevertheless, she approached and moved in behind Cenred, who began to twist around in an attempt to look at her. She reached her trembling fingers over to press against the Midlander’s neck, giving Maerec a pleading look - which he either did not see, or blatantly ignored. Lightning darted through her fingers and into Cenred’s neck, the man screaming out in anguish while Khive pinched her eyes shut and her tears began to fall.

Everything about this felt horribly wrong, her own actions sickened her and the guilt was teetering on the edge of becoming overwhelming. She wept silently as they merely waited for Cenred to give up and tell Maerec what he needed to know.

“WEST!” he suddenly screamed.

Khive withdrew her hands immediately and fled backwards, arms coiling around herself.

“West?” Maerec questioned.

“W-western.. La Noscea..” Cenred gasped.

“Wonderful. Thank you for your cooperation.”

Maerec looked up to Khive and gave her a proud smile, to which she opted to simply dart out the door - audible sobs finally leaving her as she did.

#Y'khive Xetyalha #IC #FFxivWrite2022 #FFxivWrite #TW: Mild Torture

[l0cal-r4t]

Failure : Request

WORD COUNT : 1296

TWS : light blood, non-explicit/mentioned torturous imagery, very mild cursing

Why hello hello there, stanger! If we haven't met before, name's Rat! I'm a writer who's in the thralls of carving out a commission writing and freelancing gig here online! As of late, I've been taking requests so I can add examples to my commissionary page and to spread my name a bit so folks can get to know what exactly I'm all about and my writing style! And wouldn't ya know, this is one of those requests!

This particular request was for a friend of mine who, like myself, is an enjoyer of the Creepypasta fandom! This particular piece is based on their character, Artemis, failing to unalive a very valuable target for their boss, the Slenderman, and getting doled some punishment for their failure. I'll reiterate from the TWs at the top that this piece includes some light blood & non explicit torturous imagery as well as just a twinge of cursing! If you'd like to continue still, then please enjoy! :D

Screams filled the woods in a dark, dreary dusk.. In the fading sunlight, a human shape with features contorted in terror scrambles through the trees. Their face was accentuated by the starkly warm light of the sunset, a shadow covering it intermittently as they turned back to see if they were being followed. Blood dripped from their many open wounds onto the dry leaves and grass as they ran; it looked like they had been nicked by a slew of small knives. Singing burns coursed through their legs, pain and exhaustion weighing them down. They felt as though they were going to topple, keel over at any moment, but they had to keep running. But what had them so rattled? The Archer, Artemis.

Tailing behind this poor unfortunate soul was the cold huntress, Artemis. She was an accursed child from the beginnings of her life but now? She was one of the hunters, the Proxies, of the creature that called itself “Slenderman”. He gave her targets, she brought them down; depending on the orders, she would either end them then and there, or she would bring them back to him for whatever sick aims he had with them. Judging from the screams she often heard after she delivered her prey, death was a sweet mercy. Her noir and ivory pixie cut locks bounced as she tailed her query, golden eyes as cold and emotionless as always. Gripped in one hand was a short bow, the girl’s pale toned hand wrapped firmly around the central grip, and at her alternate hip was a quiver of serrated tip arrows. Those were what had put so many slices and gashes on the fellow she was after; bleeding prey and running them down, outlasting them was a key strategy. If it worked for the wolves it would work for her.

As she begins to gain ground, the yellow eyed huntress pulls one of her arrows from her quiver and knocks it. Closing one eye and focusing intently, she draws back the bowstring. She’s just about to take the shot when suddenly her query had.. disappeared? She grinds to a stop and her stone cold expression gives way to confusion and just a twinge of panic. Where had he gone? Unfortunately for Arte, her prey had managed to slip away from her and was now well on his way to civilization. My, the boss wasn’t going to be happy about that... Befittingly on cue, a wave of churning nausea and dizziness crashes into poor Artemis. He was calling her back.. He knew she’d failed. The compact huntress struggles against the urge to faint, trying to keep herself conscious. But in the end, she falls victim to the Slenderman’s call and collapses unconscious on the forest floor.

What came next was.. foggy and choppy. She’d woken up only intermittently as she’d been dragged back to the abode of the Slenderman, flashes of his tall frame and the trees around her as her body was dragged along the forest floor only to black out a few moments later. It wasn’t until she reached her final destination that she awoke fully once again. A searing shot of pain was what woke her, waking to find herself being dangled above the ground with her master’s towering shadow looming over her. Her wrists were above her head, one of the Slenderman’s many tendrils binding them, and her body dangled below them. She struggles for a moment before her employer looses a venomous chuckle.

“Hmhm, still putting up such a fight even though you know you can’t win, little Hotaru? That you’ve already sealed your fate with your failure?”

Artemis winces at the use of her true name. She’d abandoned that filthy moniker when she’d joined this.. monster as a Proxy. She hated it and he damn well knew it. The tall, tall man leans down, his stark white, featureless face filling her vision. He tilts his head ever so slightly as he seems to watch her.

“I thought you were better than this. You’ve delivered countless rabble to me before, and yet you let this one escape. He was important to our plans, Hotaru, and you let him slip through your fingers. You aren’t fit for the name of the huntress.”

Normally, Artemis could bite back her tongue in his presence; she wasn’t one to sugar coat words but.. he terrified her on a primal level. Her fear of what he might do to her kept her dry, blunt commentary on a leash; something about him, about this conversation, broke that hold. She furrows her brows before she speaks.

“Ya know what, fuck you. I don’t see you hunting down people. You sit around and have all of us do it because you’ve lost your touch.”

Oh my, oh my. Our poor Hotaru seems to have struck a nerve with that comment as the Slenderman recoils in disgust. The edges of his form seem to grow hazy and a heaviness fills the air. The tendril gripping onto her wrists tightens down painfully and a new tendril binds itself around her throat. The Slenderman’s voice booms and echoes, ringing in Artemis’ ears and skull.

“How dare you insult me, you worthless wretch. I gave you a place to stay when you had nothing. I gave you a chance to live when all others wished you dead. I only ask the simplest of tasks of you, and insulting me is how you repay me? You are in need of adjustment, Hotaru Nakamura, and I will be the one to give it to you.”

An unsettling tightness suddenly twisted into the dangling Proxy’s gut. “Adjustment”..? Arte’s body is turned around, her face pushed against a nearby tree. What was..- Before she could consider any further, a strong lashing sensation makes contact with her back. She bites down the urge to react or make noise. In her ear, she felt the hum of the Slenderman’s voice.

“If you will not heed my consequences then perhaps something from your past will encourage you not to disappoint me again.”

Her back is lashed again and again by the Slenderman’s tendrils, a total of seven times. Each time it had grown harder to resist the urge to cry out, but she had managed to keep her wits and her fortitude. Eventually, she’s turned back around and her vision is once again dominated by the Slenderman. Her yellow, slit pupiled eyes were quickly greeted by one of the Slenderman’s tendrils. The black, tapered appendage pushes her facemask down and pries her mouth open. Another tendril manifests and reaches inside, grabbing and pulling her tongue taught in her mouth.

“And perhaps this will teach you to mind your tongue better.”

The tapered edge of the tendril suddenly sharpens and Hotaru’s tongue is cut clean from her mouth. Since her mouth had been forced open, she’s left with no way to stifle the visceral scream that tears from her body. Blood quickly begins to pour from her mouth as he casts her severed tongue into the dried leaves on the forest floor. Shock quickly sets in and after a moment, Artemis’ consciousness begins to wane. The Slenderman audibly scoffs, the tendril suspending her releasing her and allowing to hit the ground; a loud crunching, more than likely some of Hotaru’s bones, filling the air as she makes impact. By this point, she’d already slipped out of consciousness and was now limply pouring blood on the forest floor. Someone would be detailed to retrieve her and she would eventually recover just as all his proxies did. Even if she was a spit fiery pain in the ass, she was a valuable asset to the Slenderman’s arsenal of hunters and for that she would be given another chance.

#📜 // writing #creepypasta #creepypasta oc #tw: light blood #tw: mild torture

[mouthsewedshut]

Yuh new theme and username (I was abrithesobbingram before you ask questions)

and new Maxwell art :) cause why not

Also bl00d and bruises under the cut! Please click it with risk unless you are triggered to such things

#Mouthsewedshut #OCs; Maxwell Wolf #Art #whump art #whump #lmao furry #nonhuman whumpee #tw muzzle #tw bruises #tw blood #tw mild blood #implied past torture #i love my son sm #*also tortures him*