#imprisonment tw

[morrigan-sims]

“I should have known that it was only a matter of time before she found me again. I’ll end up dead, or back in her hold. I can’t decide which is worse.”

[chrismerle]

Jumperverse: Anomaly 000

Class Alpha Anomaly 000, contained in 1859, "Adam," "the warlock" Type: Humanoid male Anomalous Properties: Severe reality warping capabilities, teleportation, and self healing capabilities that make Anomaly 000 nigh invulnerable. Containment: Anomaly 000 cannot access other abilities while engaged in self-healing. Anomaly 000 is to be kept in a windowless approximately 2m x 2m room, and Anomaly 000's arms are to be kept submerged in powerful acid at all times, keeping the self-healing abilities engaged perpetually, rendering all other abilities null. Removal from the cell is to be done only in the most drastic of cases, and only if relocation can be done within a span of 72 hours. After 72 hours, regeneration will have been sufficient for Anomaly 000 to begin accessing other abilities.

Gryphon has never actually seen 000. He's never been part of her rotation; she usually deals with plant anomalies, and she's content to keep it that way. But she is on the lowest level sometimes, and she sees people going into 000's cell sometimes.

("He needed a top up," Silas had joked once, spotting Gryphon leaving monitor duty as he stepped out of 000's cell.

Gryphon could see 000's silhouette through the slightly ajar door, but nothing else, before Silas closed the door. He cleared his throat awkwardly when Gryphon didn't respond before he carried on his way.)

She's tracking an instance of 321 with Kevlin today, following it as it toddles down the hall on its roots. She pauses as she sees Hammond leave 000's cell. It's rare for him to be doing it; Silas must still be on vacation.

Hammond nods in greeting before heading down the hall toward the elevators, and Gryphon continues following Kevlin and 321 as it steadily makes its way to the monitor room.

"Sounds a bit barbaric, don't you think?" she asks after a moment, her voice nearly startling even herself in the quiet. When Kevlin glances at her, she jerks her chin toward 000's cell.

"How does that sot of containment method even occur to someone?" She can't help but wrinkle her nose.

Kevlin shrugs, barely paying attention to her as he watches 321 try to scrabble its way under the door.

"Trial and error?" he suggests dryly.

Gryphon rolls her eyes into a scowl at the side of his head.

"It just seems a little cruel, is all," she replies, and Kevlin snorts. She gets it, though. No one in the Bureau has deluded themselves into thinking 000's containment method was kind when it has only ever been necessary.

"If he ever gets out, he's going to hate us all." She laughs before she can help it. "We don't stand a fucking chance."

"If the warlock gets out, him wanting us all dead will be the least of our worries," Kevlin replies, impassive. 321 is still trying steadily to get under the door.

"He could end the world if he wanted to," he continues, and his voice turns also thoughtful as he muses, "I'm not sure it would even take any effort."

"Do you think he actually would, though?" Gryphon asks, curiosity overtaking her concern.

Kevlin thinks that over for a second before he answers.

"Get someone mad enough, and you have to assume eventually they'll use the full extent of their abilities," he settles on.

It's a bit of a non-answer--an elaborate 'who knows?' and Gryphon suspects Kevlin is just as aware of that as she is--but she supposes she's never actually going to get a perfect answer. 000 has been contained long enough that anyone who had actually spoken with him is long dead (or at least anyone within the Bureau, at any rate; they've all heard the rumors about the demon).

Besides, it's not as if the Bureau is in the business of asking 'but what if they're nice?' Even the nicest people have breaking points.

At last, 321's timer runs out, and it gives up on the door, turns, and starts heading back the way it came from. Kevlin grumbles under his breath about it being a waste of a walk, but they both follow 321 dutifully once again.

"You plan on opening the door?" Kevlin asks as they pass 000's cell again. He snorts when Gryphon smacks his arm.

"No?" he guesses. "Then I don't think we have to worry about meeting him any time soon."

Gryphon spares the cell door one last glance before following Kevlin and 321 back onto the elevator.

enjoy my noodling? maybe buy me a Ko-fi. monthly subscriptions are enabled, or you can just throw some pocket change. anything is appreciated. there's a link in my pinned post.

[tildeathiwillwrite]

Merry Whumpmas 2023 Day 26: Shivering

Another direct continuation of Day 10: Hypothermia, this time from the Whumper's POV.

For more shivering whump, check out Day 4: Chills.

TW: imprisonment, hypothermia, vulnerability, implied nudity, noncon undressing (nonsexual)

Whumper shoved Whumpee into the cell, not even bothering to secure their bonds before slamming the door shut and searching for dry clothing. Whumpee, in their hypothermic, shivering state, had barely reacted to the temperature change when they finally returned to Whumper’s lair. They would not attempt to escape. Not that they would get very far if they tried.

Finding what they were looking for, Whumper returned to Whumpee’s cell. Whumpee had not moved an inch in the moments they'd been gone, instead curling up into a pathetic shaking ball. Whumper regarded them for a few long moments, arms full of clothes, towels, and blankets.

Whumpee’s lips had turned purple. On the trek back from the lake, their wet hair had iced over in a matted clump that, starting to melt, was dripping water all over the cell floor. Their body wasn't shivering so much as spasming as their muscles tried desperately to keep them warm.

Whumper could leave them like this. Alone, soaked to the skin in icy water, Whumpee would surely freeze to death before sunrise, even in the slightly warmer confines of the cell. Whumper could walk away and put all the dry things back in their places. They would still serve as a fine example for the others.

Nothing would stop them. 

No one would dare question what had happened. Whumper’s underlings were being paid not to ask questions, and the other prisoners would be too beaten down, too terrified by Whumpee’s tragic death, to speak against Whumper.

Whumper sighed through their nose. Death would be far too merciful for Whumpee. No, they would serve as a living reminder of what Whumper was capable of. The memory of the frozen lake would suffice to keep them in line.

Dropping the mess of clothing, towels, and blankets in a heap in the corner, Whumper crouched down beside Whumpee, careful not to get their pants wet in the puddle forming beneath them. Slowly, methodically, Whumper pulled untied the ropes around Whumpee’s wrists and began to strip off the soaked garments.

Whumpee whimpered, teeth chattering uncontrollably, and tried to recoil, but they were too weak from the ordeal in the icy water. “If you don't get out of these clothes,” Whumper hissed, tugging Whumpee’s shirt over their head, “you will die a very unpleasant death.”

“R—r—r—r—ra—-ra—rath—”

Whumper smirked as Whumpee struggled to form words. “Rather what? Rather die? No… I think not.”

Dropping the shirt to the floor, Whumper continued removing Whumpee’s clothing until it all lay in a pile at their feet, a soaking wet and naked Whumpee curled up next to it. Rummaging through the heap in the corner, Whumper found the towels and carefully began to pat Whumpee dry, reveling in how they cringed and flinched away.

Not another word was spoken, but the dark look on Whumpee’s face as Whumper finished dressing them in the set of clean clothing brought Whumper more amusement than harsh words ever could. New ropes went around Whumpee’s wrists and ankles; and Whumper even generously allowed Whumpee to keep a blanket, as their hair was still damp, their lips still purple.

Gathering Whumpee’s old clothes and the now-wet towels, Whumper left the cell and locked it behind them. Fabric rustled, and Whumper glanced back just in time to see the blanket hit the bars and fall to the ground. Whumper blinked, looking from the fallen blanket to Whumpee, who crouched in the corner of the cell, glaring at Whumpee with such malevolence Whumper could almost taste it.

Whumper inhaled sharply. How dare they—!

They closed their eyes and exhaled. When they reopened their eyes, Whumper worked their face into an expression of simple annoyance and disappointment, a clear contrast from the bubbling rage that made their fingers curl into fists and tightened their jaw. Stooping, Whumper pulled the blanket through the bars and added it to the top of the bundle in their arms.

Whumper did not spare Whumpee another glance as they left, no matter how much they wanted to drop everything and show Whumpee exactly how the consequences of their actions would affect them. As Whumper continued down the hallway, they congratulated themselves on their restraint. Whumpee would see their punishment in due time.

All in due time.

[hmshermitcraft]

Blazeborn Tango + Dwarf Impulse for the autumn theme?

Blazeborns are revered in dwarven culture. It's them that keep the lights bright, despite their depth below the earth. Impulse uses their flames daily in his forge, so he has great respect for the beings.

Which is why it's so surprising when he comes across one during the Fall Fair.

Seasons don't exist underground, but dwarves always find a reason to celebrate. The streets are full of stands selling food and goods, people wear their best clothes and every corner is full of music.

Blazeborns are often the centre of attention, so Impulse nearly does a double take seeing one tucked in the corner, blending into the shadows with a big cloak. Impulse can only tell he's a blazeborn by the tail that's escaped the fabric, flicking loose and leaving shimmers of fire in the air.

Impulse should leave him alone. It's clear the blazeborn is trying to avoid attention. But he also looks sad, and Impulse can't walk past someone in need without at least offering to help.

Impulse says hi, and the blazeborn jumps nearly two feet into the air.

His name is Tango, and he just escaped from someone using his flame.

[balanceisblind]

RE: HENRIK MIKAELSON RECAP INTRO.

you picture a revenant with the eyes of michael cimino. they are cis male, called he/him, and they value their AGENCY above all else. they blame the initiative for their imprisonment because they should have let him stay fucking dead. the song unsweetened lemonade by amélie farren has echoed their path for 18 years. i didn’t say a name, but HENRIK MIKAELSON popped into your head, didn’t they?

you didn't remember being a baby, but you knew the story by heart. that, father's mercy in itself, was a miracle. you'd been barley a newborn when he found you and then once mother had named you, that was it. you were theirs. more then once, you wondered if father had killed the parents that bore you. it didn't quell you too much, not only were you a viking, and you were a mikaelson. blood or not, this was your family. they chose you.

your siblings loved you, and you loved them. there was something different about how father treated them, especially nik. but you had been so small, and you couldn't see or understand the full picture. and then you were ripped apart. you weren't blood, but you were a mikaelson. they chose you, and you didn't know if that choice would make it easier or harder. you would miss them, though. even finn.

everything hurt. the walls were white, you were splayed like a deer after a hunt, and you lay on a stone table that felt more like a blade. everything HURT. they treated you with the same respect of a trapped animal, perhaps less then. you didn't have answers for all their questions, and at the end of the day-- you were useless. they kept you anyway.

you learned about the world and it's decay. the war among beasts and monsters didn't shock you, the world had always been that way. you learned what became of your family and weren't surprised, expecting any less from vikings-- from mikaelsons, was folly. they'd always been victors, it'd been brutal teachings from father that you had only watched, never learned. perhaps that was why you'd become a marionette in death while they'd become kings. so you laughed. all those scientists, soldiers and doctors hated it, and you laughed anyway. if you didn't laugh there would be too much room for shame.

each passing year they took you apart and remade you. the process was painful. you were ripped apart and reshaped into something new. they said they wanted you to match your age. you called bullshit. they did it to remind you that you were small, that they would always have power over you, no matter how big you became.

pawn felt too little of a word for all you'd become. you were talented in all they taught you, but you were also reckless and disruptive. they assigned you a handler, and eventually a personal doctor too. they said you were too much of an asset to wait, and you heard the words 'too valuable'. they didn't make you feel better.

you'd accepted the world for what it was, and for what it wasn't. you'd never seen it at it's prosperity, only images of what it used to be. you hadn't understood the depths of what they had gained and lost. it didn't make being what you were any better or worse. you had a new playground now, but at the end of the day you were still the initiative's toy. and now your task was too watch all the other toys in the playground, and tell the 'grownups' when they misbehaved.

for all that changed, nothing ever changed at all.

[kaliofruin]

who: @dearestdarkling where: no man's land.

Just a little over one year ago...

Kali steps lightly through the underbelly of No Man's Land, where the ring above thunders with its usual chorus of violence: fists colliding, jaws cracking, crowds howling for more blood. There's the swish of her pleats, fabric against skin, heels against concrete, and the gentle footsteps of a silent figure following her.

She hands the files tucked against her side to the nameless man, who offers a grunt in acknowledgement, and they stop before the reinforced door. There's no guards. No need. The girl inside isn't going anywhere.

Inside, a dim room, lit by a single, flickering light bulb. There on the ground, shackled in chains anchored to the wall, is the young girl who'd been dragged here days ago, sold out by her own father. What a sick man. Funny thing is, Kali has been there, too. Just a different hemisphere, a different time, a different cog in the system so much greater than her.

Kali crosses the room, crouches down in front of Eleanor. She slides her shades up to get a better look at the girl, whistles low as she assesses her the way a jeweler might inspect a flawed stone. She looks worse than reported. Sallow. Blood-starved. Dried streaks down her face from tears or rain, it doesn't matter. Her chains clink when she moves, and it's as familiar a sound to Kali as her own breath.

"Hello, Eleanor." There's warmth in her tone. But nothing about her expression says this is a rescue. "I'm Kali," and she holds a hand up over her shoulder. The man behind her places a small key in her palm. She closes her fist around it with a soft, pitying sigh, then turns her full attention to Eleanor. "Do you know what you're doing here?"

[drekkavac-moving]

Aside  from  Bucky  ,    his  time  spent  in  jail  had  hit  Anya  the  HARDEST.  There  had  been  an  eye  opening  moment  for  the  young  child  when  her  father  had  been  shot.  The  law  certainly  hadn't  been  there  to  have  their  backs  like  her  grandparents  had  always  taught  her  ,    &  there  was  a  moment  when  she  realized  that  she'd  been  looking  at  the  world  through  a  ROSE  TINTED  LENSE.  It  had  only  been  with  the  help  of  people  rallying  behind  what  her  dad  had  done  that  shown  a  light  on  just  how  fucked  the  city  had  left  their  neighborhood.

It  wasn't  long  that  he'd  be  gone.  Not  even  a  year  from  what  she'd  been  told.  The  plan  was  the  best  behavior  possible  ,    and  Bucky  would  be  home  in  no  time.  The  problem  to  Anya  ,    was  that  he  SHOULDN'T  even  be  there  in  the  first  place.  He  was  a  victim  in  the  whole  situation  ,    but  there  was  also  the  sheer  fact  that  he'd  just  found  a  way  into  her  life.  Now  she  was  going  to  have  to  bond  with  her  father  with  a  bulletproof  window  dividing  them.  As  time  progressed  ,    Anya  began  to  see  that  she  needed  to  GROW  UP.

They  hung  up  their  ice  skates  in  the  closet  ,    &  started  doing  whatever  odd  jobs  she  could  do  around  the  neighborhood  ,    &  told  her  mom  after  buying  her  own  pair  of  boxing  gloves  ,    that  she  didn't  want  to  skate  anymore.  She  wanted  to  learn  how  to  PROTECT  herself.  Nat  tried  her  best  to  convince  Anya  that  she  didn't  have  to  give  up  her  hobby  ,    but  she  refused.  Saying  she  didn't  WANT  to  skate  anymore.  Brock  Rumlow  was  gone  ,    but  she  still  couldn't  look  at  the  parking  lot  where  all  that  trouble  first  started  ,    &  not  feel  anything  but  anger.  She  didn't  like  skating  anymore. She  needed  something  to  help  her  manage  her  anger  surrounding  the  whole  situation.

On  top  of  the  sudden  CHANGE  in  hobbies  ,    Anya  started  skipping  school.  Not  a  lot  ,    but  enough  for  her  mom  to  take  notice  ,    &  had  brought  it  up  to  Bucky  the  last  time  she  went  to  visit  him.  When  she  had  found  out  he  was  in  fact  ,    on  schedule  for  coming  home.  Her  hope  being  that  Anya's  attendance  would  improve  when  he  was  back  home.  Besides  ,    Nat  wasn't  obvlivious  to  how  this  was  all  effectinng  her  daughter.  The  days  when  she  skipped  school  ,    were  usually  days  when  something  big  was  happening  ,    something  that  Bucky  should  have  been  there  for  ,    or  the  day  after  she  had  a  particularly  STRESSFUL  day  at  school  ,    &  just  stayed  in  bed  &  watched  her  dad's  favorite  movies.  Nat  considered  therapy  ,    but  she'd  been  stonewalled  trying  to  find  a  therapist  they  could  afford  on  top  of  the  new  baby  that  had  also  come  while  Bucky  had  been  locked  up.

Home  from  school  again  ,    she  was  laying  in  her  bed  with  the  tv  playing  in  the  darkened  basement  that  had  been  converted  into  her  bedroom  when  her  ,    Natasha  ,    &  Jamie  had  moved  into.  The  thought  had  been  to  make  sure  that  t  was  all  READY  for  when  Bucky  got  home.  The  movie  played  on  while  she  stared  back  at  the  screen  ,    watching  the  scene  play  out  with  a  look  of  disinterest.  The  same  look  that  had  set  in  for  the  most  part  in  the  time  that  he  had  been  gone.

The  sound  of  the  front  foor  OPENING  pulled  her  attention.  She'd  left  the  door  to  the  basement  open  so  she  could  hear  if  someone  came  in  ,    something  she  had  gotten  into  the  habit  of  doing  while  Bucky  was  gone.  " Mom? "    She  called  from  her  bed.  Furrowing  her  brow  when  she  didn't  get  an  answer  ,    &  began  climbing  out  of  the  bed  to  carry  herself  up  the  stairs  to  see  who  it  was  ,    grabbing  a  bat  that  used  to  be  in  Bucky's  room  ,    that  they  had  nabbed  to  keep  downstairs  with  her  for  added  security.    " Jamie?! "    She  called  again  when  she  didn't  hear  her  mother's  voice.

║▌     〚 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑺. 〛━  𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒇𝒐𝒓 @vintertsarn.

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

also the other night i had a dream where like. y’know how people do like enchantment tattoos in minecraft roleplay fic right? and y’know my headcanon that enchantment is basically literally rewriting reality?

protegeinnit who's covered in so much enchantment tattoos that his whole body is covered in tiny tunes so small they look like indiscernible markings bc c!dream was playing rules lawyer with the universe and minmaxxing like hell to get as much control over his brainwashed pawn bestie

i remember specifically in the dream he could like, mess with all of c!tommy's senses, both sort of scan his thoughts and communicate telepathically with him, lock up his body (though not downright puppet it he can just basically make him collapse) and also could like block him from saying certain things. so he was in the prison and basically everyone thought he'd just completely broke into a shell of himself bc he’s silent, barely eats, barely takes care of himself, doesn’t even notice when he’s hurt, but that’s bc he's constantly bugging c!tommy bc he’s bored and it’s allowed him to reach a brand new stage of disassociation to the real world when he's just messing around with elaborate magic he really should not be doing that with. bro was in a permanent discord chat with c!tommy except in his brain. like the ps5 in the hit song it’s me boy i'm the ps5.

anyway c!tommy looked cool but also c!dream was just chilling in the background of his thoughts 24/7 constantly nagging him like a mother hen and also using a combination of severe mental and physical trauma (bc like, he can make c!tommy see or feel or whatever anything if he wants) and pavlovian conditioning to force him to act as a spy but he also is being a helicopter parent despite not even being a parent too. (he argues he’s c!tommy's legal guardian so it’s actually his legal duty to do it. please ignore the fact he’s in jail.)

[ethvns]

ethan shephard; he/him. 28. local. clerk at creekside carpentry. ⟟ downtown.

─── personality

positive traits: assertive, resourceful, independent, resilient.

negative traits: selfish, dishonest, pigheaded, reckless.

likes: menthol cigarettes, pineapple on pizza, breaking bad, tony hawk, r/fuckaroundandfindout. VERY passionate about the dark knight trilogy.

dislikes: pretentious people, speed limits, cops, musicals, people who bring their screaming kids out in public.

ethan is the kind of person your parents warned you not to be friends with; the type of guy who tells you his ex is bat-shit crazy when he’s the one who drove her insane. with questionable morals and few redeeming qualities to make up for it, he rarely does anything for anyone unless it benefits him directly.

─── tldr

merrock native. grew up in a broken home; lots of turmoil, a dad who struggled with alcohol and a mom who skipped town when he was five. a real menace in high school. realized he could make a ton of money trafficking drugs. eventually got busted. recently returned to merrock after serving 3 years in state prison. currently on parole.

─── background

born in merrock to william and helen, ethan’s life has always stood in stark contrast to the idyllic nature of his hometown. growing up, he learned that the world didn’t owe him anything regardless of the hardships he faced -- and they were plenty. from the moment he entered the world, helen made it clear that his birth was a not-so-happy accident. she shouldered the role of unwilling mother for the next five years until she finally skipped town, only leaving a hastily scribbled note saying that she couldn’t do “this” anymore. from then on, it was just ethan and his dad, who had his own set of demons to contend with. his long-standing habit of seeking comfort in the bottom of a glass eventually cost him his job, and by then, he was already known around town as a drunk.

ethan's own reputation was far from spotless; his teenage years were filled with run-ins with the law and various stints in juvie for petty theft and assault. written off as a lost cause by most of his teachers, he coasted through high school doing just enough to pass, and nothing else. it was only a matter of time before he realized he could make a quick buck by transporting drugs on behalf of someone higher up in the trade. what started out as an easy way to make money on the side eventually turned into a career he had no thoughts of giving up on -- until he was caught. a routine traffic stop ended with ethan being arrested for gun and drug possession, landing him a 5-year sentence in state prison.

his time behind bars was tougher than he’d care to admit, far different from what he knew from juvie. ethan served 3 years of his sentence before he was granted parole, returning to merrock at the age of 29. he moved out of his childhood home, cut ties with everyone he knew in the drug trade, and managed to land a job at the local carpentry business. despite his efforts to put the past behind him, every so often he still finds himself struggling between doing what’s easy and what’s right.

─── headcanons

once went to juvie for robbing another kid’s lemonade stand with a bb gun

every time he has a cold he turns into a frail victorian child on their deathbed

always carries around lip balm and applies it like this

his tinder bio is just his height

his love language is physical touch

allergic to shellfish

needs background noise to fall asleep (tv, fan, white noise machine etc)

default conversation topic: how charging more than $1 for a cup of coffee should be illegal

distinguishing features: a scar above his left brow from that one time he drank half a bottle of tequila and tried to do a kickflip. this tattoo on the back of his neck. probably has something like this on his chest with wings on either side and a cringy quote about how god is the only one who can judge him.

─── wanted connections

friends, neighbors, people he's beefing with, childhood friends, former friends, people who know him from high school, ex girlfriend, ex fwb, tinder matches !!

─── established connections

@jcksonfields: friend from high school, recently reconnected

@savstone-rp: ride or die, currently on not-so-good terms

@ximenaserrano: sibling-like friends, grew up in the same neighborhood

@cagenewman: employer at creekside

@aishathevar: the sunshine to his grumpy

[writtcn]

slightly  too  long  hair  drooping  in  front  of  your  face,  a  snapped  hairtie  abandoned  on  the  bathroom  counter     /     a  glass  of  red  wine  held  in  elegant  fingers,  eyes  watching  from  across  the  room     /     a  silent  forest,  every  animal  and  plant  holding  their  breath  and  waiting  to  see  what  happens     /     a  ship  in  a  bottle,  resting  delicately  on  the  mantlepiece,  colours  faded  after  centuries  of  sunlight

manny jacinto  .  demi man .  he/xe    ✦    blasting cherry wine by grentperez down main street, we've spotted cristian liloan sporting their black leather coat and pendant earring. the two hundred and ninety-eight ( thirty-seven ) year old vampire who's been in town for one month often can be seen staring out across the ocean as if seeing something imperceptible to anyone else / browsing the shelves at the bookstore for anything that strikes xyr fancy / sitting on his balcony watching the moonrise with a cat in his arms, or working as a dock manager at the shore. people say they display sharp and irascible traits, but we'd rather trust their vibes. also, we've heard they love birdwatching !

a study in trauma, piracy & learning who you can be now.

✦ dossier ›

surname liloan given name(s) cristian ariel middle name(s) batuan nickname(s) cris ( close friends & family ) alias(es) none age two hundred and ninety-eight physical age thirty-seven date of birth fifth of july, 1726 place of birth cebu, central visayas gender demi man pronouns he/xe orientation bisexual species vampire face claim manny jacinto height one hundred and eighty centimetres hair colour black eye colour black occupation dock manager place of employment the shore birth parents ariel luis liloan ( father, human ) & maris jacinta batuan ( mother, human ) sibling(s) none

✦ biography ›

born during the spanish occupation of the philippines in the province of cebu, cristian ariel liloan was an ordinary human who, for his first thirty-seven years, lived a fairly ordinary life. that changed when he was kidnapped by a gang of vampire pirates. ( turns out, when your parents say to stay inside or the aswangs will get you, they aren't lying ) two months xe spent as a prisoner aboard the pirates' ship. vampires need food, same as any other being, and a conveniently captive human was a valuable resource on a ship in the middle of the ocean. fortunately, that meant xe was treated pretty well, with reliable meals, plenty of sun and exercise. unfortunately, that didn't last. one of the pirates made the mistake of biting a little too deep, and a little too close to a major artery. the last thing cris remembered was searing pain — and the next time he woke, he was chained in the hold. from there, things are a blur — he remembers hunger, remembers being let loose in the bowels of another ship, remembers blood and screams ... remembers waking, chained again, watched by the pirates as they contemplated what they could do with this new tool. xe spent years imprisoned on that ship, kept close to starvation and used as a weapon, thrown across to other ships to eviscerate their crews before the pirates would plunder and loot all they could. it took nearly a decade before cris was able to escape, conserving energy and plotting before finally, at long last, xe slipped from xyr chains. by morning, the pirates were all either dead or had sworn allegiance to xem, enforced by the magic of the ship's witch. for over a century, cristian was the bane of the spanish navy, and any other colonial powers who tried to sail through his territory. the maris, re-named for his mother, would appear from the darkest nights and decimate entire warships, before vanishing once more. none who encountered his crew lived to tell the tale — instead, a legend grew of ships vanishing within the seas of south east asia. but with the slow death of european colonisation — and the formidable technological advancements of the american military — the maris became less able to strike fear into sailors. submarines too reduced the threat they could pose — and soon enough, xyr crew found themselves out of a job. cris returned home, only to find nothing was as he had left it — his parents long dead, unsurprisingly, and his cousins' children's descendants spread across the country. he spent some time there, returning to his roots, wishing desperately he could go back to being a normal person, but there was only so long he could remain in one place. for the past couple of decades, cris has wandered on a small sailing boat, terrorising unlucky yachts and slowly working through xyr traumas, reconnecting with various members of the maris' crew and occasionally lending a hand to insurgencies in colonised nations. until a month ago, when something inexplicable led xem to dock at portum's shore, where xe has remained ever since.

✦ abilities ›

immortality as an undead being, cris doesn't age and could theoretically live forever. in practice, well, there's a lot of things that can kill a vampire — and forever is a long time. heightened senses perfect vision able to pick out details from up to a mile away ; enhanced sense of smell able to pick out a human in a crowd ; enhanced hearing sensitive enough to catch the footsteps of another vampire. enhanced physicality stronger and more agile than a human, and capable of moving many times faster. hypnosis able to hypnotise weak-willed individuals to do xyr bidding. in practice, cris prefers not to use this — mostly because it's a gamble as to whether it'll be strong enough. omnilingualism his unique power is the ability to understand and speak any language — very handy, as it made it much easier to threaten ships back in the day, and now facilitates easy communication with everyone. to his delight, this extends to sign languages. weaknesses daylight, holy water, silver, vervain, stakes, exsanguination, magic, werewolf bite

✦ miscellany ›

big proponent of ‘ eat the rich ’ — someone let this guy loose in a gathering of tech bros pls. lives on his boat — it's actually pretty comfy, though a little cramped if he invites people over

[morrigan-sims]

before & after

I'm super fucking happy with how this one turned out. The lighting and shadows turned out great and it had exactly the vibes I wanted it to have.

[snowfuls]

setting : enobaria's hotel, a little after the arena's destruction.

there's commotion outside. previously slack-jawed over the fiery scenes that had just played out across the screen of her holo, enobaria's on high alert now. something was deeply wrong and worst of all, she's isolated from the rest of her team. once a lone wolf, always a lone wolf — so it seemed. heavy footfall is what draws the victor away from her hotel room. a pair of knives concealed in each sleeve of her blouse, their hilts cradled in her palms. the sight of a squadron of peacekeepers storming the lobby is cause for blood to run cold. she might have been able to think nothing of it... had they not unsheathed batons and what looked to be electric prods upon spotting her there. they call her name, an emotionless warning. urging her to comply and come quietly. "we'd just like to ask you some questions, enobaria." they claim. scoffing soundlessly, her gaze darkens at the implication. they think she had something to do with all this, don’t they? years of loyalty squandered. it's as she'd feared from the very beginning. only it wasn't thea and ezra’s relationship that’d implicated district two after all… it was ezra’s "heroic" stunt in the arena and now, they were all going to pay the price for his treachery. the group of helmets move closer still, gaining on her as enobaria stands her ground. perfectly poised in the very same way she'd been while facing off against the boy from district ten exactly a decade ago now. before she'd torn his throat out with her teeth. enobaria’s fight from that monumental day remains in tact. it always has and the capitol only has itself to blame for that. former embers stoked to new flames as the peacekeepers come to stand before her. two suits deciding they'll take the lead as enobaria just smiles at them. it's entirely forced but wide enough to flash both rows of sharpened enamel. one last glimpse at the monster they'd made of her.

within an instant, it starts. she lunges at the first, throwing her body around his with characteristic agility, landing square on his shoulders, legs dangling from his front like a child’s might during a piggyback. only exceptionally deadlier as enobaria’s never been one to pull punches. swift to strike, she plunges one of her knives into his throat, the other soon finds itself lodged in his companion’s shoulder — flying from her grasp, ever the extension of her. aim focused upon the cracks in their armour. thighs tighten around the wounded area. it's remorseless. choking the life from him as blood begins to splutter everywhere. gradually, he'll sink to his knees in pain, trying desperately in a reddened haze to grab at her throat as he does so but his aim is off. missing her neck entirely, hand smacks her in the face instead and the way in which her jaw immediately clamps down around it is nothing short of instinctual. the feeling of fangs meeting flesh through the fabric of peacekeeper gloves, drawing blood into her mouth is one defined by visceral familiarity. eager to put distance between between them, she rolls off his back with ease, taking half his hand and several of his fingers along with her. the vibrant red seeping from parted lips as she spits the human remnants to the ground. eyes wild and uncaring. she's resolved to fighting her way out of this, burying hopelessness as more approach. they thrust at her, batons raised whilst she swipes and kicks and screams. a pool of blood framing the carnage. a truly hellish scene for bystanders but they had just seen their precious games go up in flames! this must pale in comparison. surely.

or perhaps this is the finale they were robbed of. blood, guts and all. a fitting end for the victor, on this — the tenth anniversary of her win. only it's abruptly cut short. a sharp, long-drawn sting of electricity finally taking her down. bringing enobaria to the ground with a resounding thud as the shock and burning set her nerves on fire, nullifying her intrinsic violence in an instant. it doesn't stop however. the electrocution. they persist in subduing her, with not just one prod but several... jabbing her with them relentlessly, all at once until the pain grows so unbearable that darkness clouds her vision. it's inevitable. the storm fading from her eyes and with it, her consciousness.

it's an indeterminable amount of time later when she awakes, body screaming at her. raging against what she can't yet to see. the alarm gradual in her drowsy haze but all it really takes is a single look to understand the dire reality of her new situation. she's caged in. forced into a fetal position by metal bars that scarcely contain her. made all the worse by a heavy contraption bound around her neck, weighing her freshly frail frame down. fragility's so unlike her. a cruelty all on its own. a far cry from the fierce stoicism she's renowned for. it's a pitiful sight, she's sure. this punishment, likely unique to her — leaving no room for doubt that she is every bit the wild cat they've spent years portraying as. they see enobaria as little more than a feral animal and now, they finally have her caged up like one too.

[dreadgrace-a]

Feast days and other observances;

potentially triggering content below. read tags, I am so very serious.

Sacrifices to Bhaal made in his temples were considered to be especially potent if given from the hands of his children. For Lark, this meant the yearly observance of the Feast of the Moon, as well as ceremonies held to commemorate a priest rising in the ranks.

Each year, and when enough notice was available (during her time assigned to Elturel she would be expected to return two tendays prior to the Feast of the Moon; she was never late), Lark would be secured with the use of chains and bars designed to hold her and denied release of her urge to the point of a total loss of control. when possible, the chosen sacrifice would be held nearby enough to witness the transformation.

Upon the start of each ritual, she would then be loosed upon the sacrifice. Her Urge tended toward cannibalizing the body. After coming back to herself she was expected to take part in the remainder of the holiday.

Holy days were not the only times Lark was subjected to this process; it was also utilized as a punishment for severe infractions.

[merrock]

CHARACTER INFORMATION

face claim: jacob elordi

full name: ethan shephard

nickname(s) / goes by: ethan

pronouns & gender: he/him & cis man

sexuality: straight

birth date: november 10, 1995

birth place: merrock, maine

arrival to merrock: local, but he served three years in prison from the age of 24. he was released on parole in 2022.

housing: shares an apartment with his half-sister in historical downtown

occupation: cook

work place: touchback

family: helen (mother - whereabouts unknown), william (father), mia (younger half-sister - the product of a short-lived romance between william and a woman who works down by the marina)

relationship status: single

PERSONALITY

+ assertive, resourceful, confident, independent - selfish, dishonest, reckless, pigheaded

ethan is the kind of person your parents warned you not to be friends with; the type of guy who tells you his ex is bat-shit crazy when he’s the one who drove her insane. with questionable morals and few redeeming qualities to make up for it, he rarely does anything for anyone unless it benefits him directly.

WRITTEN BY: AJ (she/her), gmt+1.

BACKGROUND / BIO

sensitive / triggering content: neglect, alcoholism, violence, drugs, imprisonment

born in merrock to william and helen, ethan's life has always stood in stark contrast to the idyllic nature of his hometown. from a young age, he learned that the world didn’t owe him anything regardless of the hardships he faced - and they were plenty. neither william nor helen had wanted kids at the time, but helen was too far along for an abortion when they learned that she was pregnant. from the moment ethan entered the world, helen made it clear that his presence was unwanted. she shouldered the role of unwilling mother for the next five years until she finally skipped town, only leaving a hastily scribbled note saying that she couldn’t do “this” anymore. from then on, it was just ethan and his dad, who had his own set of demons to contend with. his long-standing habit of seeking comfort in the bottom of a glass eventually cost him his job and by then, he was already known around town as a drunk. 

ethan's own reputation was far from spotless; his teenage years were filled with run-ins with the law and various stints in juvie for petty theft and assault. written off as a lost cause by most of his teachers, he coasted through school doing just enough to pass, and nothing else. it was only a matter of time before he realized he could make a quick buck by dealing drugs on behalf of someone higher up in the trade. what started out as an easy way to make money on the side eventually turned into a career he had no thoughts of giving up on - until he was caught. a routine traffic stop ended with ethan being arrested for gun and drug possession, landing him a 5-year sentence in state prison.

his time behind bars was tougher than he’d care to admit, far different from what he knew from juvie. sharing a space with other felons was no joke, but working in the kitchen usually kept him out of trouble. having served 3 years of his sentence, he was granted parole on a set of conditions including community service and random drug tests. upon returning home to merrock, ethan, now aged 27, moved out of his childhood home and into his own apartment downtown. he cut ties with everyone he knew in the drug business and managed to land a job as a cook at the local sports bar. despite his efforts to put the past behind him, every so often he still finds himself struggling between doing what’s easy and what’s right.

[aaronnaphiliou]

Avatar the Last Airbender Whumptober 2023 Day 7

No. 7: “I paced around for hours on empty; I jumped at the slightest of sounds.”

Alleyway | Radio Silence | “Can you hear me?”

Toph was trapped in a wooden cell by the Dai Li with another prisoner

[sins-of-the-sea]

“Where is he?”

The maestro had come indeed. But he did not come as a beast. While Forte possessed great magic power, his true weapon was his guile and his voice.  Forte knew it was easier to hate a monster: kill a monster. It wasn’t fair, but it was a fact.

No, if the Captain wished to strike Forte, then what he would have to strike was a frail older gentleman.  Forte came as he was in his “glory days”, full suit and wig: powder too, though with a long smear at the corner of one eye.

“His real father has come to take him home.  One who would not punish him for who he is.  One who does not use chains and isolation because he sees him as a burden.”

Forte was close now.  Confronting.  His eyes tore into the soul, pained but furious.  He demanded that his agony be seen.

“Do you see this?  Behold before you a man who was chained and isolated for ten long years.  Do you know what that does to someone?  I remember screaming in desolation and prying desperately to escape: wondering why. Do you see these eyes? Stare into them deeply. Do you have any idea.. what it feels like… to hear of my own son subjected to the same torture I had been?  See this face and make your excuses.

“What could you.. possibly say to justify that?”

(never-took-a-lesson)

Josep had to use every ounce of his being to restrain himself from just throttling the Maestro before him, for making such accusations about the nature of Guy's imprisonment. Not because of the unfairness of the imprisonment at all, but the insinuations laced against the Captain's character. His whole form bursts into a fog, becoming a shapeless figure that creeps in the shadows and steals souls in one's sleep. There is a breath, haggard and seething, felt and heard through his teeth. And yet the blades--and hands--are stayed. He is Wrath… but he knows anger comes from different places. And as such, they must all have different approaches.

"I do know what ten long years of isolation looks like. I do know what the enclosing darkness can do on a man--and child. I do know what the desolation and desperation looks, sounds, and even smells like. I have seen those eyes.

"I have heard the voice. I heard the song.

"I still hear them every. Single. Day. And I sail the seas with it ringing in my ears for years to come.

"….That is not Guy's song, Maestro. I assure you--you misunderstand his cries. For one, he is holing himself up in the hold on his own volition. Each of us of the Crew, even those unrelated to his anguish the past several months, have attempted to reach him… to no avail.

"Secondly, he is shackled not for punishment, but for his safety--and those of others. Several times these past months, entire sections of the city would be burned down in a moment of impulse, or he would fall into habits that would reinforce the causes of his anguish to begin with. I am certain you can see he is troubled, Maestro. A young man stunted throughout the centuries of proper growth and healing due to the reasons behind his pain repeated again and again like a cruel time loop. I did not want to shackle Guy, lord Maestro--I wanted to release him so he can rejoin us as fellow thralls of the Devil--and his only family left.

"If you truly see him as his father, then I give you full permission as his Captain to see him. Mayhaps you can be the one to convince him to stop his path of self-destruction. Though I will warn you this--he is as hardheaded as he is softhearted. Sometimes words intended for one part of him will go through the other, either hurting him or those close to him. And it's very easy to do either or.

"He is fiery, Maestro, in every definition in existence. A single wrong word may spark a great uncontrollable flame. Are you willing to step into the Hell Guy Duchamp eternally bound himself to?"