#TW:Torture | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

the-storm-chaser · 5 months

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.” Came the instant response.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#sky #dnd verse #rune knight #goliath #warlock #tw:torture #tw gore

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bowlerhatwearer · 9 months

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Always there, always watching

TW: Blood, TW: Torture, TW: Abduction

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

Originally written: 9th June 2022

~~~

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

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

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

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

“No! Please, I-I have children!”

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

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

The other let out a cough before speaking.

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

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

“I will NOT be sent to the Laundry!”

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

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

“-for sinners like you!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She knew who this man was.

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

“The Launderer”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, of course Sir.”

“No! No please! No I-“

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

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

With one pull the finger was removed from the wood.

“-submitted to your duties!”

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

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

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

“I will be good, I will be good!”

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

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

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

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

“I beg you, don’t-“

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

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

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

Has he always known that she was there?

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

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

“If it isn’t little Miss Rivers-”

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

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

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

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

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

“-obeying the cities rules and status.”

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

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

„Now remember before you go.“

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

“Do good and be aware-“

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

“- for my eyes are everywhere-

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

“-Margaret.”

<…>

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

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

“Mar- Margaret is everything alright?”

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

“No dear, everything is fine, really.”

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

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

Always watching.

Always there.

The Launderer.

Is everywhere.

#TW:Blood #TW:Torture #TW: Abduction #Albert Clear RKZ #Victor Owens RKZ #Bowlers old fanfictions #Bowlers old stories

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kit-o-nine-tales · 1 year

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

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

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

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

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

#goncharov #goncharov 1973 #unreality #deleted scenes #tw:torture mention #tw knife #tw major character death

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backpackingspace · 7 months

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You know that tiktok sound you would not hold up well under torture I DID well. No one holds up well under torture. No one walks away from being tortured not completely destroyed. That's the point of torture. So...I think I'm going to stop being ashamed for not holding up well under my torture experience. I was trapped In a bad situation and in the aftermath I reacted to that torture that's nothing to be ashamed about. That's nothing to blame myself for.

#Oversharing on the internet times #Tw:torture #That one time I was psychologically tortured #Healing thoughts #Growth #Therapy #It was not my childhood selfs fault for having a bad reaction to actual literal torture #And it's time I started acting like it

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multi-musemenagerie · 2 years

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hey, hey-hey, if he's blindfolded you could have a lotta fun with that! maybe you could play recordings of his friends? ooh, ooh, he'd look soo good in your cage hands-boss you could even offer his quirk to Sensei so they'd really have no reason to go after him?

"Yeah and I could do a sort of hostage situation where I tell the heroes if they kill me he dies or something. Little insurance policy. Won't actually kill him though, that would be a waste. Be fun fucking with them. Maybe I could send them the occasional picture of what I'm doing to him. Just to keep them interested, and like... proof of life or whatever. Yeah, Sensei would probably find his quirk pretty useful..."

#tw:torture mention

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hyomacchi · 11 months

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Karma Akabane with s/o who is exactly like tanjiro

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

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

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

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

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

Pre-relationship:

❥ you and karma probably met in class 3-E

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

❥ everyone except you. Oh how oblivious you are

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

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

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

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

"I love you too karma!"

In relationship:

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

❥ overprotective over you

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

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

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

❥ your dynamic with him is kinda funny ngl

❥ i mean kind person with their sadistic bf

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

"Nurufufu, Karma is actually touch starved~"

"Shut up you stupid octopus!"

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

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

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

❥ he's very grateful that you stayed with him

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

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

#hyoma's #karma akabane x reader #assassination classroom x reader #akabane karma #karma akabane #assassination classroom #miyawriting

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toots-senpai · 2 years

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How about some masochistic reader x Masky and Hoodie? Like Y/N got kidnapped for interrogation of some sort (idk you could go with that they know too much or are just an enemy or some sort) but along the way it becomes very clear that instead of the torture making them feel miserable they’re actually enjoying it very much

Authors response: tehee im getting rid of drafts and i didn't want to post it because as per usual i am terrible at writing and i kinda just use the prompt without smut but tehee hope u like it ily <3

Author: @toots-senpai

Fandom: Creepypasta

Pairing: Masky X Hoodie X Reader

Rating: R+

Word Count: 1.1k (small drabble)

Warnings: tw:blood tw:beating tw:torture

♡ MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI! YOU WILL BE BLOCKED ♡

This became intense very quickly, cases became files and files are always dangerous, filled with curiosity and you can only fall further down the rabbit hole. In this case, it was further into the forest, yellow tape creeping into the murderous filled forest. The dark eeriness was something that all the detectives around danced around only to calm their bravery later, small town diner bars filled with cops from wall to wall talking with their egos high to the ceiling. They didn't know how you danced around them even, slipping through their offices and though their undercover bars and crime scenes. Creeping and falling deeper down this rabbit hole that one night you were perfect walking the line to the direct answer. Slipping into the new crime scene with ease but you were to close to comfort to the watching eyes. The crime scene was fresh and they knew you were smarter than anyone of these drunk cops, fresh clues that no one had yet noticed and a couple of seconds later punches were thrown and gunshots played in the distance as your head hit the cold forest dirt.

First you were in a chair of some abandoned barn. They had you tied up near a couple of these other cops, they left you all in there for a couple of days in the summer heat. Complaining men in the heat of the wooden barn with no water during the hot days and starving men in the cold winter nights. Starving men who perked up and screeched at the light of oil lamps being turned on, some shivered at the tall two men who walked in the room when the barn doors opened fully. Masked men who walked by the dirty cops who screamed insults and prayers for their escapes. It was loud inside of the barn for a few moments, men struggling against the barn poles against with their already worn skin, weak muscles and strained voices and all you could do was listen. Head down while you stare down at their boots and listen to them around you in agony. You've been in these situations before, different men, different aura but same situation. This is torture for information, what these cops wont do they seem to want to take on. Their builds and the way their stride didn't change as the walked showed who really had the upper hand in this situation. One of them went to say something, the one with the dollish mask but there's always the person in the room who tends to talk too much.

Even with your head down you heard the crack of his neck silence the room before they spoke up again. Speaking of something along the lines of 'property lines' and how everyone was trespassing but you knew it was all bullshit when they made there way to the head detective and started asking questions about other cases that were close to the forest and how someone close to them got shot earlier that week and from then on there were screams for hours. Bargaining, begging for religious leaders and then fourth until dawn. A last breathy wince behind you and a pair of boots walked over to you, you could hear the other man still asking questions behind you while beating the man but you've gone sound blind to it. A Bloody knife in hand, gun holstered in his bloody jeans and shirt lifted a tad over the handle so a bit of his hip shown, hem of his jeans soaked in blood and material smearing against his skin with every one of his movements. He squatted in front of you quietly and the other one moved behind you, with a bloody smile painted on his black mask and hood up he moved his fingers to your face to pull up your hair from the base of your skull. The other one walked by you also, amused at his partner before throwing something near your head which stuck onto the wooden column right behind your ear. You not even wincing must've pissed him off but the man under the mask in front of you chuckled a bit.

"You are quite a quiet one aren't you. I'm guessing you do know what situation you've gotten yourself into? There's always a reason why people have been saved for last of course. You.. lucky you, peeped into a tiny bit too much of government records, higher up's have a tab on you if you didn't notice yet."

"There's always dirty cops." You mutter. "Predators like to play with their prey. Usually people are more like predators you know, in the way of who have the power to do what they want take advantage of their situations.... control the things happening around them." You say nonchalantly, a wince of pain in your breathing before he let go of your hair, letting your head his the wooden column behind you.

"So you let your name be tossed around through hidden sticky notes and file cases. You're quite the dumbass." The other one said leaning down and nudging you in the shoulder with his hand, pushing your head a little harder into the column. You could care less about what they say in the next few moments. Your head is starting to hurt and you've been deprived of the basic necessities of human consumption but the shriek shrill of the wood as one of them yanked what was previously thrown next to out caught your attention once again. There is a comfort in the quick silence before the handle of the knife hits your skull. The crickets you've enjoyed in the heated barn is gone when you wake up on a cold floor and two masks are looking down at you. Matte masks and metallic knifes will shimmer in the quiet forest you'll make an attempt to run into day and night for a couple of months. You'll find out eventually there's no way out of the eerie forest they've pulled you into and the world is much scarier out there when they treat you better, even if there's no way out.

Their bruises turn into sharp cuts and their witty remarks never seem to dull. Through them you've achieved the answers of the questions you once asked and now you know the truth in it all. The truth into why you asked the questions originally and the sinister pain you put yourself through along the way to figure it out all had a sense of pleasure in the overall act. A harmful pleasure that they bring to the surface within all their questioning just so that they know in the end that you're nothing but like every human wanting to pleased. Unfortunately though you were right with their pleasure to toy, you were also right about you being the prey. Hope they're not too hungry enough to let your final mindset being hungry for more.

#hoodie x reader #masky x reader #creepypasta imagines #creepypasta #masky x reader x hoodie

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