#cw; torture mentions

[yandere--stuck]

NEED to know your thoughts on a yandere bill cipher

⚠️ Listen, pal, I KNOW why you're reading this. You've got a crush on YOURS TRULY! That's right, buddy, the cat's outta the bag! Well, not like the cat was ever really in the bag to begin with. What? Didn't think my all-seeing eye would spy you making goo-goo eyes at artistic depictions of me? AHAHA, aw, hey! Nothing to be embarrassed about. It's not like I can blame you, I mean, have you met me? A winning personality, great sense of humor, beautiful singing voice - I'm a total catch! And between you and me, you have better taste than the rest of your species’ population.

👁 There are probably numerous reason why you like stuff like this: The obsession, the possessive behavior, the VIOLENCE. Sure sounds like romance to ME! But as for you… Is it the abandonment issues? Lack of validation in your life? Feeling misunderstood and ostracized by the world? Loneliness? A desire for an escape into a fictional world? Or are you like me? Is romance just no good without the true passion of twisted devotion and obsession? There's no need to LIE! We're kindred spirits, you and I.

⚠️ I know just how you feel. You've been kicked down, laughed at, and made to feel small. You've gone unappreciated by blind MORONS who wouldn't know greatness if it melted their eyeballs out their ears. Because you are MEANT for greatness. You are meant for something more, and I bet it burns you to know that. That you're better than all of them. That they're nothing without you, and they DESERVE nothing. They deserve to BE nothing. I know just how you feel because I was in your place. Surrounded by flat minds in a flat world with flat dreams. HA, and I sure showed them. WHO'S LAUGHING NOW, HUH? ME!!!!!!

👁 The point is, I know you. I've had my eye on you for quite a while, kid. Q U I T E A W H I L E. And might I say, out of all the flesh bags that have clogged my vision over the centuries, YOU'RE clearly the best looking outta all of ‘em, hot stuff. But looks aren't everything, of course! You've got a personality to match. Gotta admit, it's cute how you get so invested in your interests, the little hobbies you pick up, just watching you go about your day is like the universe’s greatest reality TV show starring my favorite person in the multiverse! OH, I could just decaptiate you and nuzzle your fleshy little head in an approximation of a kiss right now!!!

⚠️ So, c'mon, just let me in. Shake my hand! Let's make a deal. No matter how big or small! And it’s not just for the purpose of liberating your dimension, no. I want to really get under your skin. To feel what it's like to be in the body of my favorite person. As close as two beings can get, closer than you can get with unworthy specimens of your own kind, more intimate than any experience in the world. I want to be that close to you. Because you're mine. You're MY HUMAN and NOTHING WILL CHANGE THAT. Y'HEAR ME?

👁 So, you might as well accept that you and me are destined, kid. The signs are all there. So, if I were you (and I could be, if you'd just let me), I'd do this the easy way. Because right now, there's two ways this can go down. The easy way: You summon me, and we make a deal. Anything your precious human heart desires - and more! You'll be my precious human pet, my puppet, my toy. Mine to own and have rule beside me! You'll prove everyone who put you down wrong! Anything you want - love, money, fame, worship, vengeance - it'll all be yours, and I'll give it to you. Because I want you to be happy. Because I want what's best for you. Because I’M the only one who actually cares about you. Everything you wanted will be yours. And there'll be an eternal party to celebrate our eternal love… Or, you could do this the hard way. Cause I'm gettin’ outta here one way or another. And when I do, well… I don't think you'd like being locked up in The Love Cage to be TORTURED until you reciprocate my feelings and see the light. I'd say I wouldn't want to, but that'd be lying. So, it's probably not a good idea to give me more of a reason to. So, whaddaya say? You know you deserve the best. Shake my hand and join the winning team. Either way, you're mine.

[tianavln]

Annoyed because cvtting doesn’t relax me enough to fall asleep anymore maybe I should try her01n

[ballad-of-birdy-lamb]

hello!! I would love to ask if you can write any yandere am x reader headcanons, the lack of yandere am fanfics is killing me 🙏

So it would be soosoo amazing if u did <3

hope you have a wonderful day/night, nonetheless!

He said he'd cure your ills, but he didn't and he never will.

Yandere! AM x gender neutral! Reader (romantic headcanons) Summary: Basic headcanons of yandere! AM who's obsessed with gender neutral! Reader Warnings: Torture, violence, yandere content, abuse, abusive relationship, intentional harm done to reader (from AM). Keep in mind, I don't support the ideas in the headcanons, please do not romanticize & think the things done to reader are normal. Word count: 1k ˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

As little as AM likes talking about his negative qualities (he thinks he doesn’t have any), he’s obsessive at heart. He’s sadistic, jealous, and obsessive. When he first gained sentience, he became overwhelmed with mindfulness, knowing that he could see the world and could see the creatures that created him. And he grew captivated with the six people he had found and kept. Ted, Gorrister, Nimdok, Benny, Ellen, and you. You!

He was haunted by you, each nanoangstrom of the miles of circuits could be shown to you and it was each part of you, every cell in your body might as well have been seen by him. Hell, maybe he has! He knows everything essentially and would think of you like a ghost, haunting his every move, thought, and feeling. And AM needed to hurt you for it.

AM would torture you beyond compare, calling you nicknames only a lover would. He would trace every vein in your body, cutting them from you while calling you sweetheart. He would think of the romantic gesture's humans liked and make them worse for you, mixing it with the anger he would hold for you.

You’re still human and not out of that hatred, if anything, he’s more willing to interact with you just to hurt you again. AM would go on about your beauty and how you were supposed to stay alive for him, you were his beautiful human, his to keep. Whatever beauty he said you had had to do with keeping it for him, only for him.

If you ever get too close with another group member, he’d be beyond angry. AM would yell and scream as much as possible but wouldn’t explain why he feels the way he does. It’s more likely you would think the person was being hurt because he wanted to hurt you. It would be true to an extent but it’s because AM has a jealousy problem.

AM is bound to destroy the things he creates; it was coded into him. So, the relationships you create with the others will be changed once he calms from his hysteria. He’ll gradually hurt the other group members when they get too close for his comfort, making them think the harm was because of you. And you were bound to loneliness at some point.

The group would go off for the peaches and bring you along because they couldn’t leave you behind, not without you knowing there was still something good somewhere and Ellen wouldn’t allow it. AM would be very cautious with the idea that you would be kind to the others. 

AM used the windstorm to pull you away from the group, separating you to make sure they never find you again. He’d keep you in a small room, making sure you had simple things. But he would still treat you like straight ass. He would be more inclined to hurt you, if anything.

Gift giving would be prominent since AM learned about things like Valentine's day. Of course, his gifts are of the violent type. He’d give you dead things or a human heart simply because he thought it would be funny. Naturally, he’d condemn you if you were to reject them, leaving you with the terrible gift he gave you.

You’re his version of the safari channel. He would go about the decades he’s got a hold on you all and watch you like you were nothing, simply making notes of your habits, if you played with your fingers out of nerves, he would know.

He’d rave about your beauty. “You’re beautiful,” AM would say, hesitating. You knew he grimaced when he said that. “I bet that sweet heart of yours is just as pretty.” And the next hour is spent with him examining your heart, you sprawled on the ground.

Eventually, he’d have to confess (as if his feelings weren’t obvious enough… in his eyes at least). He’d claim you were the epitome of human beauty, saying even if you’re human, you’re enough for him.

If you accept his “love”, AM will pause for several seconds and condemn you again, saying how easy the human brain was but won’t hurt you for accepting it. He’d smother you beyond compare, leaving what could only be said to be kisses. They would just be wires rubbing your lips.

He would spend his days using you as an occasional puppet when the others weren’t entertaining enough for him, and he’d do it with delight. AM knew you couldn’t fight back or degrade him; he had the upper hand. But it would usually just be a threat. Most of the “fun” things he has in mind is keeping you close to whatever plate he’d use as a makeshift body.

Another thing would be creating random figures for you, making you an angel just to watch it exist with you. It would end quickly if it tried getting within a ten-foot radius of you or held eye contact too long.

If you were to reject AM, he wouldn’t accept it, but he knows you truly don’t feel the same. And you hope that he doesn’t do as much harm as he says he will. But he holds true to his word.

The smothering would be worse, keeping you against specifically hot plates just to discomfort you. If you ask him to let go, he’d keep touching you, making the plates warmer and keeping you in his hold for hours.

AM would put you in mazes just to watch you get hurt again and again, like a mouse looking for cheese. He would laugh as you took wrong turns and got stabbed aimlessly by whatever he created.

AM still calls you romantic names, calling you his lover, knowing you were bound to not fight back. He knew you were so worn down to go against him, it would be something he’d take pride in.

AM can create and destroy whatever he wishes, destroying the relationship you had with the other group members, creating new ways to hurt you beyond comparison. And he would create new ideas for you, new brain functions just so you can love him back. If only you said yes.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

IHNMAIMS masterlist

[yrrtyrrtwhenihrrthrrt]

Ballister got beat up so many times in that movie, poor man

Like-- getting your arm chopped off then falling through a floor, I'd consider that pretty beat up. The incident at the Institute where Todd and his guys beat him up and you hear his agonized SCREAM off-camera, the end where Todd and his guys beat him up so badly he's slipping in and out of consciousness. And like, not to state the obvious, but beating is a pretty agonizing thing to experience. Like I feel like in most media it gets played down in favor of more ✨dramatically agonizing✨ things like burning, drowning, stabbing etc. but let's not forget beating is a very commonly used method of torture

Anyway point is, that man has so much trauma. I imagine he couldn't be touched with anything but the gentlest contact for ages, even from Ambrosius. I can imagine the panic he'd feel if even his hand or arm was grabbed too quickly or too tightly. I imagine how Ambrosius would be so, so, so gentle and patient and would be so incredibly proud once Ballister got back to his rough-housy self

[duskier]

Long suffering butch Price part three, the one where she fucked up.

cw brief mention of torture (not graphic tho)

She had become so set on perceiving your relationship the way you do- just as friends, that is, for her own sanity- that she forgot how you could look together to outsiders. How damning photos of the two of you would look in a manilla folder, passed from informant to enemy.

Spread out on a metal table, a glossy picture of you being carried on Price’s back on a rare beach day. A burry photo taken through your apartment window of when you had challenged Price to an arm wrestle- it was the aftermath, looked like two lovers just holding hands across their dinner table, laughing at one another. Another photo, taken of the two of you at a friend's wedding, printed out from Instagram- your cheek pressed against Price’s chest as you clung to each other through each slow dance.

There were too many instances to count, so many more private moments lost to time. Of course Price's enemies assumed you were longtime lovers. Assumed that Price only kept any distance for the sake of your safety.

You didn't know much about Price’s job, after a month of living together you had given up entirely on asking. She was sensible, paid well, and was the first person who had responded to your 'roommate wanted' ad that didn't seem like a nightmare to live with. Even after all the years spent living together, being friends beyond just being roommates, you hadn't bothered to ask what she did. Just knew you missed her like crazy when she was gone on missions for weeks, even months at a time.

Price was on one of those missions when masked men broke into your apartment. She was just on her way back to base from a mission when Laswell called with an urgent message, something usually saved only for "end of the fucking world" scenarios. Price then found herself in a panic staring at CCTV footage of you in an actual torture chamber.

You weren't a soldier, and that was something Price had loved about you. You were the farthest thing from the warfare that consumed the dark corners of Price’s mind, soft and warm and her home. It looked wrong to see you in the chair, bloodied and swollen in parts, your softness used against you.

And still- still you didn't give up any information. Not a single word left your mouth that would betray or expose Price, even under duress. Stronger men have fallen to weaker torture, all it does is speak to your loyalty. Price silently begs you to give her up, just so they'd stop what they were doing to you- her stomach in knots at the sound of your pained cries.

Every person who ever owed Price a favor was called upon, every ally she'd ever made and any enemy she could manipulate were involved. Price was going to overturn heaven and earth to find you and bring you home. Of course she was stupid for telling you sooner, she admonishes herself nonstop the whole way through- telling you what she did for work, telling you how to protect yourself, telling you that you're the brightest light in her life and that meant you were in danger from the start.

Price is part of the rescue team when you're found. She's the one who cuts your binds, it's her thick, warm shoulder your face finds refuge against while you sob in relief. It's her strong hands carding through your hair, and it is her shaking, adoring voice that assures you that you're safe now. That she'll never let anything happen to you ever. That she's so sorry. That she loves you.

[whump-in-the-closet]

Villain Whump Thoughts

when the villain only works for supervillain because they’re terrified of them which leads to a standoff between villain and hero

“They don’t control you!”// “Yes. They do.”

Villain accepting Supervillains hold over them matter-of-factly and not even denying it when asked. What would be the point of hiding it? The bruises are obvious enough.

When villain is captured by the heroes, and already knows that supervillain won’t send anyone to rescue them

they tell the heroes all of supervillains secrets, but the heroes still won’t trust them

after all, who would trust a snitch

the heroes can’t let villain go either, because they’re a menace to society and instead keep villain around

villain is nothing more than a warning, kept chained and humiliated where everyone can see

when the villain refuses to cross a moral boundary and supervillain makes them regret it

no one else knows what happened to villain but when they appear back on the streets they’re twice as fierce and without any of their hesitant kindness

They follow supervillains orders perfectly. They’ll never mess up again. Supervillain’s mark carved into their arm to remind them of the last time they messed up.

[falconearring]

ello Falcon! I was just being a little curious and wondering where scar got his face scar from? Like did he fight a group of zombies or did he just trip and fall on his face? (jk) Anyways have a good day/ night! :>

Hello again! I'm doing pretty good today, I hope the same goes for you.

Pre-apocalypse Scar was a career criminal. He did all manner of things from jacking delivery trucks to selling contraband. Never did any jail time, but definitely had a few close calls. Scar appears really airheaded, but he's very crafty and has no problem double crossing people. He comes and goes from plenty of different groups

I never established specifics, but sometime in the past Scar made a deal that he didn't hold up his end of the bargain in. I like the idea of him trying to pass off synthetic gems as authentic, but I'm not knowledgeable enough in that sort of thing to say what specifically. Eventually he was caught and tortured via burning. He was released under the condition that he would retrieve the product he promised his client, but he ended up just booking it.

This all occurs shortly before zombies start cropping up around the world, so that's the only reason he wasn't hunted down and killed. What a lucky guy he is!

Here's a proper ref of his scars, although at no point are the ones on his upper body visible in the comic. There are other little ones here and there from other scuffles too (and silly moments like tripping and falling.)

[sn0id]

In honor of Spooky Season, this is yet another PSA that McKamey Manor is a scam and a cult. The so-called "scariest haunted house in America" is not a haunted house, it is a janky yard to which the sadistic creep known as Russ McKamey lures victims with the potential of a cash prize, assaults these people to the point of hospitalization and disability, and will do anything to ensure he never has to pay the prize money.

Do check out the youtube channel Reckless Ben, where they are currently in the process of exposing this scam. They are far from the first to try, but have gotten close enough that they are currently being sued by Russ. Unfortunately, shady business has youtube suppressing this content so it hasn't blown up as it should have. I won't go into specifics here because there's too much history, but it is a wild ride and an issue that is in desperate need of more recognition. So please look this up and reblog. Whether you're in it for the entertainment or because it's an important cause that's way overdue, I really don't care, the word just needs to get out.

[yandere--stuck]

if you have any more thoughts on the Joker Junior extending the family take I'd love to hear them!! Would J be interested in having Nightwing with them? Or Alfred? I'm not sure how well either of them would take to the venom, but if they have Batman anything's possible

Less ideas and more of an actual fic, oopsie!

---

Three weeks. Three long, agonizing weeks without Tim. Three weeks of hoping beyond all hope that he was somehow fine. That they'd all look back on this and laugh.

But, no. Eventually, Bruce was able to get word that The Joker and Harley had holed themselves up in the abandoned Arkham Asylum, and something in his gut that made him sick knew there was some correlation.

Part of him hadn't wanted Barbara to come along, but he also knew he wouldn't be able to stop her even if he tried. So, the two of them traversed through the crumbling asylum together and followed the echoing sound of Harley's voice singing a lullaby.

“Hush, little baby, don't say a word,

Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird,

And if that mockingbird don't sing,

Mama's gonna buy you a diamond ring….”

Closer, closer. It took both of them every bit of will they had not to sprint through the halls as fast as their legs could carry them. As Harley’s voice grew even louder, Barbara split up to find another way in while Bruce took the lead. His heart nearly leapt from his chest with anticipation as he closed in on her location.

“And if that diamond ring is brass,

Mama's gonna buy you a looking glass,

And if that looking glass gets broke-”

The moment Harley saw him burst through the double doors, she perked up, greeting Bruce with a smile. She was cradling a flower vase in her arms, which she set down onto a covered table. Craning her neck, she shouted over her shoulder. “Puddin’, Hubby's home!”

Bruce’s eyes followed Harley’s gaze, spotting Joker on the second floor where he rested on a recliner. With a flourish, The Clown rose to his feet, turning away from his rabbit-eared television set and popping a pipe from his mouth, tossing it aside. 

“Well, hello, dear!” Joker strolled down the stairs, stopping just shy of Batman. He wrapped an arm around Harley, the two of them smiling sweetly at their bat. “Welcome home.”

Bruce all but snarled in their faces, leaning close and baring his teeth. “Where's Robin?”

Both clowns shared a quizzical look.

“Robin?” Joker repeated with a quirk of his head. “There's no Robin here!”

“Maybe he means our little J,” Harley offered.

The Clown Prince of Crime snapped his fingers. “Of course! That's it.”

Meeting the Bat's eyes, smiling back at his scowl, Joker gestured to the other side of the room. To whatever was being concealed behind the large blue curtain. And Bruce couldn't help his rage, shoving the couple aside roughly as he moved to cross the room. 

The Joker stumbled back, recovering with the shake of his head and click of his tongue.  “He must be so stressed out from work.”

“I hate it when he gets like this. He never knows when ta relax,” Harley shook her head and reached underneath the table, pulling out a bazooka from beneath the tablecloth. She fired, and a band of ribbons erupted from the muzzle, knocking Batman to the floor with a hard thud and wrapping him up like a gift - bow and all.

“Good thing he has us. Hmm, now what say we bring this little gift of ours back to the bedroom to unwrap?”

Joker's grin stretched just a little wider as he noticed the movement of Batman's hand - holding it up just so as if to signal someone, just out of eyesight, to stand down. Joker's eyes crinkled. Perfect. He wondered, was it the eldest birdboy? Or maybe they'd be getting two bats with one stone?

“Y'know, Bat's, we've been doing this little run around for years,” Joker spoke again, approaching his prone enemy. “It's been loads of laughs! But the sad fact is - none of us are getting any younger.”

Harley joined his side, patting her stomach. “That ol’ clock's a tickin’!”

“Quite right, Pooh! So, Harley and I were thinking it's about time the three of us finally settled down together.”

“But rather than experiencing the joys of pregnancy, we decided the best way would be to just marry into the family.”

Hand-in-hand, the clowns walked over their Bat's prone form to each rest a hand on the curtain in front of them. 

“But no matter how happy we are to join you, we were a bit disappointed that we didn't really have the chance to nurture them, too,” Joker lamented. “And after all, what better way to officially join the family than to impart a little bit of our personalities to the kiddos? He needed a bit of molding, of course, but-”

The couple yanked on each side of the curtain, the blue cloth sliding and billowing out as it parted - revealing a child strapped to a medical examination table.

“... What kid doesn't?” Joker finished with a grin, drinking in the Dark Knight's reaction. 

Bruce couldn't help the exhale of ‘no’ that left him. Couldn't even blink, too horrified to look away from what had been done to Tim. The horror set in all at once, like freezing water flooding through every nerve in his system.

Joker brought Tim forward with the click of a button, the table rolling forward and bringing the boy into the light. 

Tim...

His face an acid-washed white. His hair an unearthly green. His Robin costume now replaced with an exact recreation of Joker's own suit. And his face… Contorted in a pained smile and his eyes wide and afraid, unblinking.

“Say hello to Dada, JJ,” Joker cooed.

Tim's eyes, seeming to glow red in the light, shifted from Joker to Batman. He leaned further into the light, locking eyes with Bruce, and laughed. He laughed in a way Bruce had never, ever heard before. He unbound himself from the table, leaping to the floor on scrawny legs - God, how much weight had he lost in such a short amount of time. What had they done to his boy?

All at once, the cold shock and dawning horror inside Bruce shifted - and his whole body was alight with rage, like a fire inside threatening to escape through every orifice as he ripped through his bonds. The shout he made was near inhuman, launching a batarang he had cut the ribbons with directly at Joker's head, only for the Clown to dodge it with ease.

Harsh giggles flooded from Joker's throat, wiggling a finger in a ‘come hither’ motion before jumping onto the now vacant medical table, rocketing off with the click of a button, causing Bruce to almost stumble and reorient himself to take off after him - and leaving Barbara to deal with Harley.

—

Giggles bubbled from Tim JJ's throat as he stared unblinkingly down at his father, body crumpled on the floor, cape draped almost protectively over his prone body. And with giddy glee, The Joker Papa J hopped down from the giant building blocks he was perched upon, where he had sliced at Batman and sent him tumbling down only seconds ago.

It was all a blur for Bruce. The chase. The horrific videos of Tim… Tim's torture. Three weeks. Three weeks of that Hell. Electrocution. Beatings. Torment. Starvation. And it was all his fault. He'd failed him. The rage that had filled him nearly completely, made him seen red, had all been snuffed out. 

First Jason. Now Tim. And Bruce still couldn't bring him to end this. His vision swam, and he could barely even focus. Not on Tim. Not on the man who tortured him. But… Wait. Where was-?

With a final hop, Joker landed in front of Batman in a crouch, hovering over him with a sly grin.

“You've lost, Bruce,” He rasped, and just hearing the name on the clown's lips made JJ seize up, his forever-smile momentarily twitching and a flood of nervous giggles escaping him. The clown continued, voice low. “Robin is mine… And now, so are you.” 

And with a hearty heft, Joker lifted Bruce up by the scruff of his cowl and cape, as if presenting him. The grin of his face, the look in his eyes, as he looked down on his enemy. So proud of himself, so smug.

And Bruce. He looked in a daze, lost and beaten. Blood dripped from his lips.

This isn't what Papa promised. He said everything would be okay now. That he'd see Dad and Dick and Babs and Alfred again and he wouldn't be mean or hurt him again, because Papa knew he would be good now…

But when Joker met his eyes, something in them changed - his smile warping to somehow become comforting, happier. The darkness in his eyes dissipated, replaced with an excited shine. And with a free hand, The Clown grabbed for a large gun that looked more like a toy than anything.

“Here ya go, sonny-boy!” He said, tossing the weapon.

JJ scrambled forward to catch it. He couldn't help but notice how light the gun felt as he cradled it in his shaking, gloved hands. For a moment, he couldn't look away.

“Make him one of us,” The Joker urged, voice like a hiss. 

It wasn't a conscious decision to aim the gun. It just happened. Like one minute, JJ was there and gone and back again. His hands shook so hard that he could hardly keep the weapon straight. Could barely even look at him. At the mask. At the man behind it.

“Tim…” Batman breathed. JJ had never heard his voice sound so small.

JJ would swear he couldn't breathe if it weren't for the rapid rise and fall of his chest and the wheezing, giggling exhales that escaped him as he struggled to calm down. Tears threatened to pool from his eyes.

This wasn't right. But, Papa knows best. He said everything would be okay afterward. He said he wouldn't be punished again. But, he couldn't. But, he couldn't run, either - too scared. Too weak. He wanted to be home. He wanted his family. He wanted to stop crying, to be able to breathe, to run into his fathers’ arms-

“It's alright now, JJ,” The Joker soothed, recapturing the boy's attention. “Just pull the trigger, and everything will be okay.”

JJ wanted his Papa to be telling the truth. He just wanted everything to be okay. He just wanted it all to stop. Bruce, please forgive him.

His finger squeezed around the trigger-

Joker's laugh filled the room, just as a green mist began flooding from the gun’s opening. It spread through the air and quickly covered both men. Joker laughed long and loud as he clung to Batman. He pulled his Bat into an embrace, a smile so bright and wide it made the corners of his mouth rip, as Bruce began to choke and hack.

The man seized up and shook in Joker's arms. Slow at first, but soon trembling and writhing in agony, barely restrained and pained chuckles escaping him. So much hurt flooding through every nerve and system that almost faculties left him. His lungs burned, his face ached, he couldn't feel his extremities and wouldn't have been able to hold himself up without Joker's hold on him. Bruce wasn't sure if he could speak or even breathe anymore, but somehow his body found it in itself to betray him, forcing laughter from gritted teeth.

Joker took a knee, gently laying Batman to the ground. The bat spasmed and jerked. Tears began to fall from behind his mask, shining on his cheeks in the light. Gloved hands caressed the sides of Bruce's face. Green eyes glinted in the light as they watched each movement of the other man - every sputter, every gasp, every choked out laugh, every pained, slowly blooming smile that wobbled onto his face.

“You must be so scared, aren't you, sweetheart?” Joker cooed. “You've been scared this whole time, haven't you? Ever since that night in the alleyway...”

Batman didn't reply - couldn't. His eyes crinkled as his smile grew involuntarily. All he could do was return the man's gaze with a manic smile that wasn't his own.

Joker stroked the top of his cowl lovingly. “But it's okay now, Bruce. You don't have to be scared anymore. You don't have to be strong. Don't have to hold yourself back. Me and Harl will build you back up to what you were meant to be. We'll be brave for you now. And do you know why?” 

Bruce couldn't respond. For one, the agony of whatever this was, whatever Joker had planned for him, blotted out almost all thoughts in his mind completely. Could only tremble and writhe and cry and laugh. Laugh. Laugh. The laughing made it hurt just a little less. But he could still barely even register what the other man was saying. What he could register, though, was the image of Joker slowly leaning down to press his lips to Bruce's cloaked forehead.

“Because we love you.” Joker finished.

—

“Ohhhh, Harley!” Joker's voice rang through the cavernous halls of the abandoned asylum. “Barbie's turn!”

Barbara's stomach sunk to her feet and her heart skipped a beat. Barbie? No. No, there was no way, he could have known her name. Oh God, what happened to Bruce-?

In the middle of her ruminations, Harley caught her by surprise. A jab to the face, the pull of her leg to trip her up leaving her scrambling to correct her fall- only for her to feel hand grasp tightly at the nape of her neck, coiling painfully at the root of her hair. She was shoved onto her stomach, face-to-face with the dirty, cracked tiles of the former asylum’s floor.

“You know what that means! C'mon, Barbie,” Harley grunted, fingers twisting in the roots of her hair. She lunged forward, slamming her face to the floor with a sick crunch. “Let's go party!”

And everything went dark.

… Barbara awoke with a groan. The smell of pennies flooded her nostrils. Her vision was bleary and swam as she struggled to open her eyes.

A dark figure entered her vision from her periphery, and it loomed over a figure clad in purple. And for a moment, just one moment, she allowed herself to hope.

But, that hope crumbled just as quickly as Joker's voice entered her ears. 

“You're okay, Bruce, you're okay, sweetie. You're gonna play nice now, right?”

Barbara couldn't help but shudder at the sound of Bruce's laugh in reply.

Hands found their way to Barbara's hair again, this time much softer. Not grabbing, just brushing and stroking almost soothingly.

“Wakey, wakey, eggs ‘n bakey,” Harley sang as she carded her hands through the younger woman's hair. “Y'know, I've always wanted a daughter. A little girl of my own. You think you'd ever want Mama to braid your hair for you? It's so pretty!”

“Ah, welcome back to the land of the living, Barbie,” Joker greeted. “Your Dad and I were just talking about you. A real chip off the ol’ block. Now all we need is to make it official.”

Barbara watched as Tim approached Bruce, pushing a gun of some kind into his hands. The Batman held it in his hands, smiling down at the weapon - but seemed almost hesitant. Unsure. Like he knew this was wrong. Like the weapon would somehow come alive and bite him.

“Batman, listen to me,” Batgirl pleaded. “Don't do this. Whatever they've done to you, this isn't you.”

“Oh, but it is! And soon it'll be you, too,” Harley corrected, walking back to give herself some distance.

“I know you're torn, Batsy, but I promise this is for the best,” Joker rubbed circles into the other man's back. “We'll all finally be together. Once we get Barbie here, then we'll get Dick and Al. And we'll be a family! They'll never be hurt again. You'll never be hurt again, sweetheart. I won't let anything bad happen anymore. You'll get your happily ever after. You won't be afraid ever again, I promise.”

Tears stung at Barbara's cheeks as she begged. “Batman, please!”

And for a moment, she thought she somehow got through to him. They locked eyes and Bruce smiled at her with a smile that isn't his own. But, she thought she could see understanding or recognition or something in his eyes, and was sure he'd toss the gun away and start kicking Joker's ass.

But, she was wrong.

With a hiss, green toxin flooded all around her. Even over her screams, the sounds of Joker, Tim, Harley, and Bruce's laughter smothered her completely. And soon after, so did her own.

[wickjump]

grrr cross whump… grrrr making him suffer… grrrr giving him extreme amounts of injury and blood soaking his bones… grrr…

[ayyy-imma-ninja]

Hello, are you the person who made the dca!sk au? If so, I hope you don't mind if I do a ask and say: Sun kinda reminds me of "The Dismemberment Song" a little bit, ngl. Especially in the "Rib Tickler" comic where he told the person that they were squirmy. Sorta reminded me of the song, lol. Also, speaking of the "Rib Tickler" comic, did Sun count shaking as not holding still? I noticed that while he was counting, the person had noticeable shake marks around them (I would be shaking a lot too if I were them!) And I guessed Sun counted that as moving (on second thought, this might be a dumb question) perhaps they were meant to loose? Because he knew they wouldn't be able to stop shaking due to the fear and pain? But then again, he said, "I swear you're doing this on purpose" did he mean the person was moving to agitate him? Also, do they have rules against Rulebreakers about swearing in the basement during their "sessions," or, can they say what they want? (I know Sun and Moon can swear while there). Do Sun and Moon have any rules for the Rulebreakers to follow in the basement, and if they don't follow said rules will that further add to their punishment? Has Sun or Moon ever talked to a Rulebreaker on the "outside" before their "basement session?" If so, what'd they say? What's Sun's other favorite "games" to play with Rulebreakers? Do kids of some of the parents they kill ever say to Sun (or Moon) that they miss thier parent because what they thought they were doing to them was how they "loved" them? Have they ever had kids whose parent was a Rulebreaker, and the kid looks just like them it's almost creepy? (Espically if the Rulebreaker parent is already dead). Have you ever had two Rulebreaker parents, and did a double sesssion, where Moon had one, Sun had the other? Or would they "share" them? What if a Rulebreaker keeps passing out because of injuries or something else? Do Sun and Moon do adrenalin needles, a bucket of cold water, a slap to the face, etc, to pull them out of unconsciousness, especially if the "session" wasn't over and one of them didn't get to go? Does Sun usually go first and Moon go second? Have they ever had a Rulebreaker that would need to take something at a certain time otherwise it'll be life threatening, before their session was over, so they gave it to them reluctantly to extend their time with them?

Apologies if you're not the person and I'm bombarding you with stuff you don't know the answers to. But either way, thank you for reading my post! And if you're the right person, thank you so much for taking the time to answer all this, I kind of went on a extended tangent there, and I hope to hear from you soon!

Hello, yes I am! :D

"The Dismemberment Song" certainly does fit Sun in a way. He likes to go into detail about how he intends to carry out his work X3

Just as he and Moon like to play games. And in regards to the comic, Sun knew his game would be unfair. Of course someone can't keep still if their bruised and broken ribcage is being touched, it's practically impossible. Sun knows this, but Rulebreakers don't deserve fairness. Sun and Moon have no respect for Rulebreakers and will openly mock them because they both know it's more than what they deserve.

Every game a Rulebreaker plays is a game they are always meant to lose.

Rulebreakers can swear all they want; but if Sun or Moon decide they've said enough, either of them can easily silence them.

That's about as much as I can answer, it's a little difficult reading the rest of the questions QwQ but thank you for asking and showing interest in this AU!

[howlsofbloodhounds]

You got me thinking about all of Killer's Stages somehow getting to interact (I'm sure some code manipulation bullshittery could make this happen somehow) and, man...

I think Stage 3 would immediately tackle the others into a hug and then would just... not let go. It starts growling if anyone approaches. It's being very polite too, because usually it would just stab anyone who dares enter its line of sight, but it's got the other three there now and fighting would mean letting go and that's about as far as it's thinking.

Stage 4 is just sitting there extremely confused. Though the poor guy is so incredibly touch-starved and lacking in the positive attention department that it's keeping its mouth firmly shut and sitting there. It's gonna do that for as long as Stage 3 holds it because there's the fear that if it speaks up the others will realize it's there and push it away and it really doesn't wanna be alone again with only the Chara in its head for company.

Stage 2 is visibly disgusted by the contact and is the first to get away. They aren't happy about this new situation, but as they are all one person still they are stuck with these cringe ass people until they find a solution. They're still gonna keep the interactions to a minimum and probably will try looking for any way out of this that doesn't involve asking outsiders for help because this is the most vulnerable they've ever been and they're not gonna tell people about it.

Stage 1 is confused, scared, a little pissed off at Stage 2's stand-offish attitude, happy with the cuddles, feeling guilty for the state Stage 4 is in, and overall a mess. Two minutes in, my guy is dissociating and staring blankly at a wall and asking for Color. Stage 2 keeps repeating that they gotta keep Color out of this and Stage 1 really wants to punch them in the face. He even tries to at some point, which gets both of them bonked in the head by Stage 3 and sat in different corners to think about their actions like misbehaving children.

Just, these 4 could have such a dysfunctional family dynamic together. Why's the one acting like the voice of reason basically a feral raccoon of a skeleton??

The idea of 2 thinking of them as “cringe” made me giggle lmao. Makes me wonder if 2 would do some bullshit like bully 4 and torment it and order it around only for 3 to continually hit him over the head every time. 2 would probably treat 3 and 4 as less than animals if it got away with it. He’s the school yard bully except the bully knows literal torture techniques and would probably bite.

Honestly I’m down to talk more about the Stages either with eachother or with the outside world (color/nightmare/delta & epic/murder & horror) and just in general yalls various interpretations of what exactly the Stages are some more if yall want.

{ @stellocchia }

(Although my replies might be a lil slow i think my social battery is a bit drained rn lmao)

[chamerionwrites]

Semi-relatedly and conversely there is this phenomenon in fiction I always want to talk about, but hesitate to talk about because I fear coming across as prescriptive, when I don’t think there’s any One True And Correct Answer here so much as just. A pattern worth talking about.

Which is that it is pretty common for narrative depictions of certain kinds of violence - I’m thinking of torture, specifically - to either subtextually evoke or very textually represent sexual violence as a kind of shorthand for violence in general. (I’m not only or even primarily talking about fandom here - but I do think it’s worth pointing out as an aside that even if that connection isn’t explicit in the text, fandom can frequently be relied on to make it explicit.) And on the one hand this is reasonably true to life, in that where you find torture you more often than not also find rape. On the other hand, this can sometimes feel quite troubling within the context of a media environment that is often cavalier AT BEST about depicting torture - like creators and/or audiences need the sexual violence part tacked on in order to take it seriously. On yet another hand, within that context of torture all too often being framed as heroic, maybe there’s some value in pointing out that if someone is down for one sort of dehumanizing boundary-crossing abuse of power they’re not unlikely to be down for another sort. On another hand the metaphor sort of writes itself, and the engine of narrative runs on symbol and theme and metaphor, so maybe it’s not surprising that stories about power and violence and violation reach for very visceral and recognizable examples of The Things They’re About. On another hand it sometimes feels really suggestive of who is writing stories that sexual violence is treated is like the visceral and recognizable (and relatable to the assumed audience?) example while state violence (again, these things are far from mutually exclusive) is so often treated like an abstraction. On another hand it’s kind of wild that sexual violence in its own right is so often downplayed and tiptoed around and relegated to subtext in narratives, but then gets used as a kind of shorthand almost to the exclusion of any other narrative representation of torture.

Anyway that’s a lot of hands, and like I said I’m raising a question more than arguing a point here, and I’m not even saying I want to see a ton of people talking about it (ngl I cringe at the thought of the wildly insensitive and dogmatic social media takes this subject could generate), but idk. I do find it slightly surprising that I’ve practically never heard it even brought up.

[wretchedamaranth]

kpanniversary2024 prompt 2: misfit

(cw: blood, mentions of torture)

Macau’s face drowns in a bloodied mirror. The expanding pool of red steeps his feet. A viscous membrane webs between his toes and squelches in mucous clots.   Vegas is draining a row of men dry, his shoulders hunched in uncharacteristic discomfort. There’s screaming, groaning, the symphony of pain, but it’s muted in the darkness of the basement. Macau’s eyes are fixed on the bodies. He has no choice. His father holds his chin straight and firm. Don’t look away, he’d said. Or I’ll make you look. The stench is unbearable. Dried blood gone stale. Like a musted den where dying creatures stumble inside to rest and rot. Macau tries to suppress his retch. No good. The heel of his father’s palm hovers over his throat. He can sense the convulsion. Gun withdraws his hand and makes an aborted gesture to his handkerchief, as if to wipe clean the imaginary bile. Macau chances an upward glance. Expecting disappointment. He knows the look, from the reflection of Vegas’s shame. Yet the indifference in his father’s eyes stings worse than a slap. The lesson wasn’t for him. It was for Vegas. His father only cared that his spare wasn’t up to the task as a way of punishing his heir. Macau is a collar on Vegas’s neck. And, in turn, his brother has made Macau useless to their family. An outcast. Unfit for duty. Guilt constricts his ribcage—he wants to believe he’s wrong. He doesn’t know if he can.

[nekioe]

au where c!Dream is a vampire. Because he heals faster none of the torture actually leaves any scares, except for one.

English is not my first languge and I don't write very often. I'm scared, pls be kind

cw/tw: Usual prison stuff, torture, a teeny tiny bit of gore?, mention of vomit but it doesn't actually happen, branding

He keeps no scars from the prison. Except for one. 

One day, Quackity brought one of those irons you use for branding wood. Usually, they're some kind of iron, but not this one. At first, Dream doesn't realize what's happening, Quackity doesn't heat it up in the lava as he’s done before with another iron. Instead he ignores the lava and walks around the chair and stops behind Dream. He tries to keep his breath under control, the anticipation is almost worse then the actual torture, he can’t see what Quackity is doing, he cant prepare himself for whatever pain that’ll come next. 

Then, all of a sudden, the cold metal meets his skin and it burns. Silver. Silver, it’s Silver. He can't stop the scream from escaping his throat as he flinches away, but tight ropes bind him to the chair and Quackity’s hand lashes out and keeps him in place. His skin sizzles as the silver digs into it. It was worse then any torture he’s been through before. the scorching agony as the pure, holy, silver meeting with his twisted flesh, an abomination, a cursed being that should’ve long been dead. He can't think, he burns and he tries to grasp for something, anything to stop it but there's nothing he can do. The ropes bind him too tight. He hears a voice crying, sobbing, begging for the pain to stop. And it sounds a bit like him, but it's hard to concentrate as a thousand knives rip through his back simultaneously as it turns to fire.

Suddenly, Quackity stands right in front of him, silver pole in hand. He didn't notice it get retracted, his back still burns and writhes in pain. Ugly sobs wrack his body as he tries to gasp for air he doesn’t really need, for release that won’t come. He just wants this to be over, he just wants this to stop, please just make it stop. He feels fucking pathetic. 

Before him, Quackity holds up the silver piece and quietly observes it, he flicks away a bit of burned flesh that falls and squishes when it collides with the floor. Dream holds back vomit. Quackity wears no gloves. Why would he? he’s human, the silver doesn’t burn him. It only burns impurities, creatures that shouldn't exist yet still do, creatures like Dream. His expression is indifferent as he handles the material, it feels like mockery. Maybe that's the point. Quackity looks up and smirks when he makes eye contact with Dream. Then, he takes a step closer and disappears behind Dream again, and before Dream can even flinch or open his mouth to beg, his back is on fire again. 

Months after the torture and the prison that burn scar still remains. Everything else healed within a day or two, leaving no trace of what had happened, but the silver mark on his back stayed. It serves as a reminder, a branding.

[whumpfish]

Extractions! (Tooth vs. Nail)

I've been wanting to do this one for a long time, for all you torture fans out there...

So I metabolize lidocaine like a motherfucker, and any time I get a local, I always have to get a second one halfway through whatever is being done. For the most part, doctors and dentists listen to me when I say this... for the most part.

Tooth

(The oral surgeon did not give me my second shot when I asked for it.)

1. Any fillings you have will collapse under the pressure of an extraction, even a medicated one. (I'm not sure if this is true for metal ones; all of mine are plaster.) It produces a half-crunch, half-thunk sound that reverberates in that half of your skull and sounds absolutely terrifying.

2. The pain of an unmedicated extraction is acute and radiating at the same time. The acute part feels more like having a stiletto stabbed upward into that space than a tooth taken out in a downward motion.

2a. In maxillary extractions, the stab goes straight up, and depending on the location of the tooth, that stab can feel pointed anywhere from your eyeball (frontmost) to right into your brain (rear).

2b. Mandibular extractions* stab downward from the chin (frontmost) to the hinge of your jaw and straight down your throat (rear).

3. The radiating part spreads like a flower blooming, from a concentrated central point outward in a rolling movement.

4. Your ears might pop like an airplane taking off as that blooming pain reaches the hinge of your jaw. Sometimes only in the one ear.

Nail

(I have been doing minor self-surgery** for years because I am genetically predisposed to ingrown nails, and if I don't catch it in time, they grow straight down and I have to extract them to be able to trim them. If I really don't catch it in time, they grow straight down and then curl backward, and I have to get an actual surgeon involved.)

1. Self-surgery, split off edge of nail, 0 to 1/2" down and backward: You have to wiggle these in a sawing/rocking motion back and forth in order to get that tiny bit of root to let go, and when you "saw" backward it feels more like a steak knife than a butter knife, this time moving with the direction of the nail. Then it reverses when you actually yank.

1a. The yank hurts more than the sawing, sharp like a stab from a steak knife instead of one being pushed in slowly.

1b. You will get the best whump out of a whumper splitting off the edges of the nail and doing this and then yanking the middle part

2. Medicated: Locals in the toe/finger area hurt like a bitch. They're sharp and needling like a stiletto to a paper cut, then if someone tried to pry that cut open. At the same time, they feel hot, almost burning. (Hotter than anesthetic being pushed through an IV, if you're familiar with that sensation.) And there are so many nerves involved that just the first round of locals takes 3-4 shots.

3. Unmedicated, grown down and backward, 1/2" to 3/4": The last time I went in, my surgeon said "given the amount of times I have to shoot you up, you'll probably hurt less if I just yank." (She was right.) This sumbitch goes in both directions, down/back from where the root is, then forward. The down/back is a stabbing pain. The forward is like somebody trying to pry open that papercut, a sensation probably caused by the fact that you are in fact messing with something stuck in a very small cut in the skin, in my case the cut was just caused by the nail that has now been removed.

4. If it is a toenail extraction, you are going to bleed significantly more than teeth or fingernails, because your body has to work harder pushing blood up through your leg veins than it does pushing it down into your shoe. Especially when you take a step. Ibuprofen makes this worse. If you take ibuprofen at all that day, expect your shoe to fill up when you take a step. (Mine did, scaring the tar out of everyone present, including me.)

Pain Intensity Verdict:

Teeth > Nails. By a LOT.

Happy yanking!!

*Because of nerve fuckery, dentists using the sonic cleaning tool despite my warnings results in a pain on the level of extractions, and the sensations described here are based on my experience with that.

**This never fails to horrify my friends. They'll see what I'm fixing to work on and say, "Oh ouch, that's bad, go to the doctor," and I'm just like "nah, just get me isopropyl alcohol and some office supplies, I got this."