#emotional torture tw

[ghostywastaken]

Ford headcanons pt2. Just random ones.

#1: he is either pansexual or aroace, he doesn't know which one.

#2: almost was blinded in his left eye from how much blood was coming out of it so frequently. (Which is the result of bill possessing him)

#3: he once got bullied to the point where he was rushed to the hospital for a concussion and a broken arm, stanley tried to protect him.

#4: he has faint scars from his childhood on his body from his abusive parents. (His dad was more abusive, ford was absolutely terrified of emmbarrasing his dad or doing something that displeases him. HIS DAD WAS THAT BAD. So both ford and stan got into the habit of pleasing everybody out of coping from the trauma 🙁)

#5: shermie was born in the backseat of stans car. Why? Because there mom didn't think that she was in labor until her water broke, so ford and stan drove her to the hospital on the way shermie arrived. Ford was in the backseat with his laboring mother while stan was in the front driving nervously. Keep in mind that they were 17 or 16. Ford helped and will never unsee that memory of the day shermie was born! (Based off a comic I found on here.)

#6: he has a kid that he kept a secret from everyone, he placed he or she on a doorstep during his paranoid stage and took off. He felt that he couldn't be a father so he left them on a doorstep, he of course felt horrible about it but he didn't want bill killing them as a five month old. (I'll possibly make a au or fanfic off of this headcanon! Atleast both stan and ford have a secret or unknown child of theirs)

#7: he was kidnapped by fiddleford when fiddleford was apart of the society of the blind eye still, fiddleford thought that ford should unsee what he has seen about bill and all about gravity falls. It didn't work. Fiddleford couldn't do it so ford escaped never trusting fiddleford until they saw eachother again during weirdmageddon.

#8: he made a 'cult' for bill cipher as a way of praising and worshipping him as his own personal lord, this was when ford really became loyal to bill. Bill appreciated this and gave ford more information that no one knew, ford made 'shrines' too like the one in the basement.

#9: he dreams about bill still after weirdmageddon, it terrified him but he knew bill could never harm him again.

#10: ford tried destroying the book of bill in multiple different ways, burning it, throwing it away, burying it, etc. He even fed it to waddles and gompers.

#11: ford is OBSESSED with Greek mythology. He is incredibly fascinated by it, he kind of relates to persephone since he had basically the same relationship with Bill.

#12: mcgucket was clueless about bill at the start but after a while he got suspicious than he found out, bill tortured mcgucket extremely psychologically out of jealously and hatred. (Bill wanted ford all to himself.)

If you want more gravity falls headcanons tell me! I'll create more. I don't take credit to making all of these, some people came up with almost the exact same headcanons or aus.

[chaotic-jjk-fiction]

Toji Yandere Profile

TW: Everything Yandere, emotional manipulation, talk of kidnapping, implied non-con, fear kink, predator/prey dynamics, fuck toy reader, psychological torture, and not proof read. MDNI

A/N: This is a new, slightly modified, addition to my yandere profiles series. I really want to do one for Shiu Kong soon so hopefully I can get to that. 

Toji Fushiguro:

Cruel, Aware, Manipulative, and Lenient

Toji is a yandere of convenience. He wants to be able to access you easily. If that means locking you up in a basement somewhere so be it, although he would prefer to avoid it. He doesn't want to have that level of responsibility. Needing to make sure you have food and water just sounds like a nightmare. That being said, the thought of you tied up in a dark, concrete room, blindfolded, and crying out for help does get some blood flowing to his cock. His ideal situation is just letting you continue to live your life while being able to just drop in and have his way with you whenever he pleased, before then disappearing until his need for you gets too strong once again. Toji’s form of manipulation is also lazy, he just relies on your fear of him hurting the people you love or killing you to keep you in check. While his cruelty is partially physical, most of it is psychological. He loves knowing that you live your life terrified with uncertainty about when he’ll show up next, and while he is fucking you senseless, he takes great pleasure in reminding you that you’re nothing more than a little fuck toy he can use whenever he wants and that no matter how hard you try to escape, he will always find you.

[befuddled-calico-whump]

(remaining panels under the cut for gore + implied noncon)

Test Track AU (T$$ AU Masterlist)

previous /// next (cw: injection)

(suggested by anon! not adding the tag list to this one just in case)

[serickswrites]

From a Whisper

Warnings: hostage situation, torture, captivity, emotional manipulation, self sacrifice, bruises, broken bones, blood, wounds, strangulation, choking, unconsciousness

"You look awful," Whumper whispered in Whumpee's ear. Their hot, wet breath tickled Whumpee. "Do you think Caretaker will recognize you?"

Whumpee opened their mouth to reply, but Whumper clamped their hand down on Whumpee's mouth. Whumpee swallowed their retort. There was no point in angering Whumper any further. It was hopeless.

"Look, here they come now," Whumper whispered as they tightened their grip on Whumpee's face. They began with their other hand, to press down on the deep bruise on Whumpee's collar bone. Whumpee wasn't entirely sure something wasn't broken, but with the pressure Whumper put on them, it would surely break. Their screams were muffled as Whumper kept their other hand on Whumpee's mouth.

"Let them go," Caretaker's voice carried across the room.

Whumpee looked up, their vision hazy with pain, their heart falling as they say Caretaker was really there. They had fallen for the bait.

"This is a hostage situation. If you're negotiating for their release, you've got to give me something," Whumper hissed, slowly drawing their hand away from Whumpee's mouth and putting their fingers on Whumpee's throat.

"Don't--" Whumpee started, but Whumper's fingers tightened, cutting off all air Whumpee had.

"Stop hurting them, Whumper. I am here like you asked. Let them go." Caretaker didn't look at Whumpee's face. They only had eyes for Whumper.

"Your presence is not enough, Caretaker. Give me something better. And I'd hurry if I were you, they don't look so good."

Blackness encroached the edge of Whumpee's vision. They sputtered and choked, but couldn't get a breath around Whumper's fingers. They shook their head. Caretaker couldn't give up anything for them.

"I will give you what you want, but you have to let them go first! Whumper!"

Whumper smiled and when they spoke, their voice sounded so far away even though Whumpee knew they were right next to Whumper. "I don't have to do anything. It is you who has to do something."

Whumpee gasped, their lungs burning for air. And still there was nothing. Their knees buckled, but Whumper kept them upright, the grip on their throat tightening.

"Jesus, Whumper! Stop! Stop!"

Whumpee wanted to reassure Caretaker. Wanted to ease the fear they heard in Caretaker's voice. Wanted to comfort Caretaker. But as the sounds began to fade and the darkness began to consume them, Whumpee realized there was nothing they could do to stop either Whumper or Caretaker.

And that was the last thought Whumpee had as they fell into the waiting darkness.

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whump Prompt #1231

Anon asked:

May I have some torture prompts please?*

TW: Non-con body modifications/gore/body horror/organ harvesting etc

I got a bit carried away with these...

Your whumpee is left cut open - perhaps with their organs exposed. Their flesh could be pulled back and held open. This takes the feeling of exposure to a whole new level.

^ This also entices anxiety/panic. As they may be able to see organs grow back, therefore as they get closer to 'completion' they start to panic when they remember the pain of removal.

^ Also the torturer could use this for 'science' in order to better calculate which organ is better value for time/money.

The torturer could also take blood at the same time to limit the mess during surgeries. Your whumpee is constantly nauseous/lightheaded/weak because of this. (Dubious science, but you get the idea)

The first time they're allowed to heal, even for a short amount of time, they're overwhelmed with relief.

Are they rescued while they're still 'open'?

Do they scar regardless of the injury type? For example, if a leg is taken, are they left with a ring of scarring where the initial cut was?

At what point do they stop feeling it/are so in shock that they just.. don't register what's going on?

How does the harvesting affect their sense of balance/bodily functions? Do they have nausea, but have nothing to make something to bring up? When they're able to stand after their rescue, do they feel heavy/full?

^ Are they so used to feeling empty?

Do the torturers take their eyes so they're unable to see what's happening/where they are?

What if, a long time after their rescue/recovery, they stumble across someone who received a limb/organ they needed - maybe they're so grateful for it, but the whumpee has to silently suffer knowing that it's their body part.

^ How does the whumpee know it's theirs? Do tattoos/pre-existing scars regenerate also?

After the rescue, the first time they have a day without pain is bliss. They sob.

*(The character context Anon gave is under the cut)

My whumpee is from a humanoid subspecies that can regenerate almost ANY lost body part - limbs, fingers, eyes, tongue, most internal organs, you name it - unless they've been fully chopped to bits. The only thing they cannot regenerate is their equivalent of a brain, because obviously that controls the regeneration process (if they've been lobotomized, they can still regenerate but slower). The regeneration process usually lasts from 3 hours to a week, depending on what and how much has been lost, but the process is painful, uncomfortable and it's usually for the best that the individual is asleep through most of it.

That makes whumpee's subspecies very attractive to organ harvesting rings, because their organs are compatible with those of many other species. One day, our whumpee wakes up strapped to a table...

[wild-rose3090]

I don't remember how happy feels

All I know is aching, numbness, and pain

Swimming in a sea of memories

Searching for a shred of love

Only to find souls of parts of me that died

As they drown me in my misery

[furiousgoldfish]

When abusive parents hurt you, they're not 'doing it for your own good' or 'disciplining you', they're singling you out and making you a target. Because they're not doing it to all other kids, they're not doing it to their guests, friends, coworkers, bosses, neighbours, it doesn't even count if all of those people make one of the same mistakes you do. It's allowed for them. It's okay if anyone else does it. It's okay if other people break things, or refuse to be controlled, or speak up, or demand something, or act selfish, or act childish, or don't cater endlessly, or don't guess their moods, or don't act submissive, it's okay for everyone else! Just not for you!

What exactly is that teaching you?

That you're different. That the brutal and torturous rules exist only for you. That you are the only one who deserves no allowances, no forgiveness, no gentleness, no tolerance, no nuance, no love. And you are the only one! Everyone else can get those things and do what they want, but you will get tortured for it, you'll get tortured even for things you didn't do, because these two people have singled you out and deserved that you're so rotten you deserve worse treatment than any other person alive. And those people are your parents, they made you.

It teaches you injustice, it teaches you to put yourself in a different category than anyone else in the world and to assume you must be so intrinsically different that you won't ever find community, you won't ever find somebody to be on your side or similar to you, because you are the only one who could ever deserve this kind of hatred. It separates you from humanity and makes you feel like you don't belong, like you don't have a home here, it makes you abandoned by everyone because nobody is stating anything different about you. With their silence, dismissal and neglect, everyone is passively agreeing that this is what you deserve. That it doesn't matter to them if you live in pain and despair because you're too different, too otherworldly for them to care about.

No child has deserved to feel like that. Nobody is supposed to be pushed into that pit of despair, injustice and pain, alone, with no visible way out. With nothing they can do to redeem themselves, to find a way to see themselves as human after all that's been done to them. This is not a pit that somebody can easily crawl out of, this is something that can follow you all your life.

All children deserve better than this. Never defend abusive parents when they do this to a child. If you don't want a child to believe themselves to be a monster, don't ignore when this is happening and don't act like it's none of anybody's business. It's all of our business to make sure no kid thinks this lowly of themselves, not even if their parents decide they should. Parents who do this to children should be charged with torture, isolation and psychological devastation of a human being. All children are human. And no child deserves that.

[laazulmuerta]

I am sad, so tonight I will be writing a bunch

[shikai-the-storyteller]

I'm not a huge fan of the Tazercraft mental link headcanon (it's just not my cup of tea personally), HOWEVER—

I can't stop thinking about Pac in Alcatraz with his back to the wall as Cell approaches him with a cold smile on his face and a bloody knife in one hand, and Pac completely blocking Mike out because he knows something terrible is about to happen, and if he can't save himself then maybe he can at least spare Mike the graphic gory details.

And even when he’s lying on the cold concrete floor in a pool of his own blood, Pac is still trying to block everything out so he doesn't project his pain to Mike through their mental link. But ultimately, that's what scares Mike the most — the sharp flash of Pac's terror for an instant, and then silence.

[allthecanadianpolitics]

Content warning for graphic descriptions of child abuse, animal abuse, and torture.

Seven children and five dogs have been rescued from a south Edmonton home, where police allege they endured years of physical and emotional abuse and torture at the hands of three adults. “Without question, this is one of the most disturbing cases of child abuse that our child protection investigators have ever seen,” EPS child protection section Staff Sgt. Ryan Tebb said in a statement.

Continue Reading

Tagging @politicsofcanada @abpoli

[celestialpoems]

I fear I have driven everything that loves me away and what scares me the most is that sometimes I like it

[sickfictropes]

Thoughts on ptsd symptoms for a whumpee who was often electrocuted (via VERY strong taser)?

ooh okay!! i had to do a little research but an electric shock can cause a lot of long-term damage: physical, neurological, and psychological. to focus on the PTSD element, here's what i found from some case studies.

-Irritability, frustration, anger, and physically aggressive behaviour have been described after electrical injury in persons without preinjury mood or personality disorders.

-they might experience all the common symptoms of PTSD including mood changes, flashbacks, nightmares and insomnia, behavioral changes, etc.

-i couldn't find anything about what potential flashback triggers might be, but i can imagine it might include things like being cornered, situations in which another party might have a weapon, lingering physical pains like neuropathy, loud sounds, burns, and any other things that might remind the person of the specific circumstances of their injury.

thanks for asking me things and i hope this was helpful in some way!

[crackedhrglass]

i posted a new stan-centric fic that features homeless stan, brotherly bonding, drug abuse, and angst, if you wanna check it out! 😊💕

[wild-rose3090]

Cold

Empty

Waiting alone

Isolated from the world

Left with only my thoughts

A constant reminder of my lack of self worth

...

The silence never felt so loud

[furiousgoldfish]

There's been a 'there's no good or evil, we're all complex human beings' sentiment going around, and I want to talk about it.

In a neutral, compatible-with-human-life, and non dangerous environment, this would be just a bland neutral statement, don't make humans something they're not, don't use extreme words for actions, see nuance in everything, etc. And in that case I wouldn't have a problem with it. But, when it starts being thrown in the face of victims of abuse, it's no longer neutral or bland, it's policing victim's tone and words when they're trying to express their own experience of trauma.

In a world without abuse, there would be no need to label some people evil, or make them irredeemable. Those who think we live in that world are sadly misinformed. Listening to the community of traumatized people, it becomes obvious that there are individuals who are not only evil, but trying to reach the extreme of it. If you tried to hold yourself together while listening to some of the stories, you couldn't. Because they're speaking about the inhumane, about torturing infants and babies, about isolating and brainwashing of preschool children to the point where they develop dissociative disorders, torturing and sabotaging kids and teenagers for decades until these people are psychologically wounded to the point where they can no longer exist without being in constant terror.

Once abuse reaches the point where the victim is trapped in trauma, re-living it over and over again and wishing they weren't alive to feel it, then evil is the only word we can use for this. There is no humanity, no nuance or complexity about it. It is evil. It is unforgivable. There is no redemption, no forgiveness and no words extreme enough for it. It's monstrous and unforgivable.

And the thing is, most of that abuse doesn't even stop. When you're talking to the community of the traumatized, a big part of them is still being subjected to this abuse. They're forced to listen to orders under a threat of torture, death and abandonment, they're forced to endure humiliation and dehumanization daily, without ability to defend themselves, because they would only be putting themselves in worse danger. Hope of escape is so slim that most are not even hoping to survive the ordeal. A lot of them doesn't believe they can escape, because the hope of that itself has been taken away from them. Most of these people are struggling daily with the suicidal thoughts because the pain is too much to handle, worse than annihilation would be.

If you come to a place where people are struggling for their life against the abusers, and your first concern is to correct the terms they're using and tone-police them, I don't have any trust in your intentions. You're aligning yourself with the abuser at this point, because it's exactly what the abuser wants; for the victims to be shut down, to be policed about their words, to be silenced, to be told to minimize and humanize the abusive actions, to see 'nuance' in their torturers. To not trust their own instinct about what the abusers are.

Anyone hearing about the abuse should have it in their priority to stop the abuse and to aid the victims. What abusers are being called doesn't even matter. Victims are allowed to use any term they want, they can invent new terms. They can say absolutely anything for the rest of their life and it won't even be enough. The aftermath of abuse is destructive to the point where victims will have a big chunk of their life torn apart with it, spent only re-living the torture and feeling the pain of it over and over again. Doing that to someone is nothing short of evil.

[whumblr]

Weapon

So, a lil while ago, @whumpedydump asked about Zayne working with Emery and why Zayne says it's better to be tortured by him than by Emery. Here we go.

Warning: Dead dove. Don't want to spoil, so if you're not sure, check the tags for warnings, if ya don't care, keep going.

Home is where the hurt is: Part 1

-

“What the hell happened to your hands?” Jay gaped at the bruises and scratches over Zayne’s knuckles.

Zayne instantly pulled back and turned away.

“Punched a wall because I have to put up with your stupid questions.” His left hand – unconsciously – slid over his right, covering the worst of the bruises, the raw, reddish split skin, and lightly rubbed over it.

“Yeah, sure, a little one-two combo to a brick wall.”

“Now you’re just begging for a one-two combo to your face.”

“Just saying,” Jay held his hands up, “if you found someone else to torment, be my gu—"

Zayne sharply turned. “Don’t ask,” he snarled and pointed a shaky finger in Jay’s face. “Okay?”

-

“Did I say you could stop?”

“Sir, he’s… he can’t take much more.”

Zayne took another step back, revealing the man kneeling in front of him to show Emery the state he was in. He was quite sure that another hit would knock him clear out. Which, honestly, would probably be a mercy at this point.

The man barely had any strength left to stay upright on his knees, his clenched fists ziptied behind his back were trembling, blood poured from his nose, and even with gasps and heaves he couldn’t get his breathing under control.

Emery remained unimpressed and stayed where he was, just a few steps behind Zayne. He merely glanced down at the man, who struggled to look up but glared at him with all he had left. “Yes, he can. Keep going.”

Zayne hesitated. He felt disgusted having to do this. It wasn’t like he hadn’t beaten on someone before. But this was… different. Too random. Impersonal. He had no idea who the man was, what he’d done to deserve this, what Emery wanted from him. He’d just shown up to this warehouse as Emery had ordered, was presented with nothing more than a man tied up on his knees and the task to ‘make him talk’. That’s it.

But the man didn’t talk. And by now, Zayne wished the guy had actually passed out like half an hour ago. But he was stubborn, like a certain someone he knew. Emery, unfortunately, was also stubborn, and Zayne knew the guy was going to be the first to break.

And he had to do the breaking.

Emery never lifted a finger. He had others to do his dirty work for him.

While the man was obviously nearing a limit, he was not hitting a breaking point. He remained silent, unwilling to give up a scrap of information, and with the bits of strength he did have every now and then, just glared past Zayne right at Emery.

But Zayne felt that he was nearing a limit as well.

His hands were trembling and not just from the pain of bone striking unrelenting bone. But also from the sickening crunch that followed every strike, the blood that stuck to his hands, the grunts of pain followed by agonising silence in front of him, judging silence behind him. How much longer was this going to take?!

A coughing sound escaped the man’s lips, along with some blood as he tried to speak and Zayne found himself hoping he’d finally spill. But when the man found his voice he merely said:

“Yeah, man, keep going.” His voice was soft, tired, but the defiance in it was thundering loud. “Knocked out you’d get just as much out of me as you are getting now.”

Zayne peeked a look at his boss to see how he’d take this.

Not well. Emery’s face darkened.

“Your knife,” he merely said, narrowed eyes still on the man.

Reluctantly, Zayne reached into his pocket. He didn’t go for his actual knife, the one he used with Jay. That was his favourite, meant for play. This one was a spare, meant for work, to be put away after everything had ended and snap it closed to keep the memories of the job contained. All kept separate.

He held it out for Emery.

But Emery refused it and took back a step, making room for Zayne to stand over the kneeling man and positioning himself in just the right spot to watch over the whole spectacle.

Zayne wasn’t really sure what he expected. Of course he was going to have to do it.

He made a show of slowly folding the knife open, but his heart wasn’t into it. Usually he’d love the twitches of fear, the widening of eyes, the flinch as the knife clicked. Here he was just furiously hoping it would make the man relent. When he didn’t, he stepped behind him, kept him in place with a hand on his shoulder, and pricked the blade over the side of his ribs.

Last chance, man!

The man tensed under him, flinched hard when skin split and red soaked into the cut fabric of his shirt. But the warning by just cutting skin deep was not enough to make him either scream or talk. And before Zayne had to make himself go a step further, he heard a tutting sound.

Emery sighed, shaking his head, and stepped forward.

Before Zayne could pull away, Emery’s gloved hand was on his and pushed the knife deeper into the cut.

The blade sank in deep. Way too deep. Zayne startled and meant to pull back, but Emery’s hand clamped over his and actually pushed harder, dragging it along. The blade slid in up to the hilt, carving through skin, muscle, blood vessels; indifferent to what it severed. Blood immediately gushed free. A sickening scream rose up and Zayne had to force himself to keep the man down by his shoulders before his trashing made things even worse.

Emery finally withdrew his hand. “Stop petting him and get him to talk.”

With some effort – and with a disgusting squelching sound – Zayne had to actually pull the knife free. Blood kept running down the man’s side, sticking his shirt to his skin. If he had to dig that deep, the man would probably bleed out after about three or more cuts. This was no longer threatening a man to talk by torturing him; this was ‘talk fast or die’.

And the guy seemed to realise as well that he wouldn’t be able to walk away with this.

“No… no, don’t do that again,” he wheezed. “No!” He bucked again when Zayne held the knife under the first cu— he couldn’t even call it a cut; it was a full on open stab wound.

“Talk,” Emery said over the begging.

And something burst. Along with his tears, the man’s words spilled out of him, talking as fast as he could through gasps of pain and in-between heaving breaths.

Thank god. Zayne let him go and stepped away, relieved he didn’t have sink the knife in like that himself, that it was finally over.

Emery nodded, seemingly satisfied with the info he got. “Good.” And before Zayne could even fold his knife, he followed up with his final order:

“Slit his throat.”

Zayne froze up. “I… I don’t think that’s necessary—”

“I do,” came the cold reply, effectively ending any further protest.

The knife nearly slipped from his grasp. His heart skipped a beat and it felt like it just plummeted down into his stomach, dunking into the pool of dread that started to violently swirl around. It didn’t. After that world-stopping split-second it kept going, thundering against his ribs. Wide eyes shot from Emery to the man and back until Emery’s patience ran out.

“If I have to do it myself, I will do it twice. Do you understand me?”

Zayne clenched his jaw and tucked away all feelings before a hint of the despair whirling through him could slip free. When he turned his back on Emery, a tiny bit did slip out as he couldn’t help but glance at the two guards Emery always had with him, estimating his chances. Slim. And he had no doubt that the man wouldn’t follow up on his threat.

Something hardened inside him. Him or me. Or rather, him and me or just him. Survival instinct took over, wrapping all around him like a cloak protecting him. He did hear the man’s pleas, but the words just bounced off, like arrows against armour, never fully registering in his brain so that even if he wanted to he wouldn’t remember them later.

Besides, begging him was useless. He didn’t call the shots here. He was just the—

He stepped behind the man again, so at least he wouldn’t have to see the shock and betrayal in those eyes turn blank when— He firmly grabbed onto the man’s hair and dragged him back up on his knees, holding him up. All part of his determined, cold act.

But when he bent over, settling the knife just under the man’s jaw, he whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Then he let the blade sink in, immediately going in deep – letting him bleed out as fast as possible was the least bit of mercy he could offer – and he dragged the knife over his throat all the way to the other carotid artery, cutting both.

The trashing stopped as the finality of the act hit them both. The pull of gravity on Zayne’s hand turned heavy and he let the strands of hair slip from his grasp. The man slumped to the ground, wrists digging into plastic as he struggled against the zip ties as if reaching for his throat could somehow stop the bleeding, and Zayne looked away. Would rather look at even fucking Emery than watch the final moments of the man under him.

Emery watched impassively and with a certain disdain, cold eyes fixed on the man, following every twitch until he finally stilled. Then he abruptly turned and walked outside to his guards.

Taking just the slightest moment to compose himself, Zayne took a deep breath – that did fuck all like putting a band aid on one of those cuts he just inflicted – and followed.

Cold air swept over the river towards him. He didn’t notice the cold as much, but the breeze tickled over the cuts on his hands and he found that he was still holding onto the knife, fist clenched around it.

Emery glanced back at him, almost surprised that he was still here. “Someone will be along shortly to dispose of the body,” he said, tone dismissive and colder than the night air around them. “You are done for the day.”

A vague sense of immense relief that he didn’t have to clean this mess up hit him, but not as hard as it should. It was dulled, along with everything else. Zayne went along as if on autocue, making eye contact and nodding, hoping it would uphold a stoic pretence.

But as soon as Emery turned the corner, his mask shattered.

Every emotion that he had kept at bay all night burst free in a whirlwind of chaos, battling each other over which one would get released first. It was overwhelming. He didn’t know whether to cry or to scream his rage.

Because what even just happened?! Was he—did he just—

He refused to look back inside, just wanted to forget about that image as soon as he could. But even if he wanted to, to get confirmation on what he just fucking did, he couldn’t. He was rooted to the spot. Completely paralysed, making him just stand there watch over the dark churning water.

The protective cloak of survival instinct ripped away. Immediately making way for something dark bubbling up, taking hold of him.

Guilt.

It clawed up inside him, whispering to him, calling him names, calling him murderer.

No…

No! This was not on him. It was not! It was Emery. It was all Emery!

If he hadn’t been here, Emery would have killed the guy himself. If Emery had called some other pawn to order around, the guy would still have been killed. Even if Zayne had refused, the guy would still be dead. And so would he. Every possible outcome ended up with the guy bleeding out on the ground.

This was not on me. It was on him, on him, not me! On him!

Because Emery already had his mind made up. And any bit of mercy Zayne’d tried to—

His breath caught.

If you hadn’t tried to spare him… If you’d just knocked him out… maybe…

No!

The blood was on Emery’s hands! Not his!

His knuckles ached as his fist clenched around the handle of his knife. Split skin burst open further, stinging, making him look down.

It wasn’t his blood… coating his knuckles, running over the flesh of his thumb.

And with a scream, he threw the knife as far as he could into the river.

-

Continuation here

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