#noise torture

[ashintheairlikesnow]

How about Chris in a cage?

CW: BBU, facility whump, sound torture, whump of a minor (OC is 17), some dehumanization, Luke Petrus is awful, sensory overwhelm

Luke Petrus hums to himself as he works - digging fingernails into the thick pebbled skin until it breaks, the heady smell of the orange finding him like a hand touching his face. He can't hear it, but he knows there's a soft crackling as he pulls it away from the fruit beneath.

Leaning back in his chair, he drops peels on the ground of the training room until he can break the segments apart, droplets of juice running down his knuckles. He crosses his legs over each other, boots clanging down on the top bars of the cage.

He can't hear that either.

He pops a segment into his mouth - burst of bright, sweet and acid, giving way between his teeth.

The heavy noise-canceling headphones he wears shift a little, and he grins, leaning forward as he bites down on another piece of the orange.

Beneath his boots, shadowed by metal and leather, the trainee rocks back and forth, hands over his own ears. But the noise blaring all around them can't be pushed out by simple skin and bone.

"Enjoying yourself, trainee?" He asks cheerfully. A scream drowns him out, but he can't hear it. Piped in through speakers on every side of the room, it continues, punctuated by the sharp snap of the lash. It's not the trainee's own whipping, of course - Luke would never be allowed to cause that kind of damage to this pretty little thing. Already bought and paid for, he'll make a lovely little decoration to that creepy asshole's life soon enough.

The trainee is curled into a ball, his copper hair gleaming under cold white lights where the shadow of Luke's boots doesn't darken it. He stares wide-eyed, mouth open. Luke can see the tension in his neck, veins and muscle standing out as he tries to scream louder than the sound digging into his mind.

He can even hear it, just a little, through his headphones. Must be quite the shriek without it.

The trainee's hands pull away from his ears only to slam down against the floor, again and again. He half-throws himself forward, then back, then forward again. Still popping slice after slice of orange into his mouth, Luke watches him.

The boy's head shakes, hands sliding back up over his ears. Tears run down his cheeks, face ruddy and marked with tear tracks drying already.

God, he's fucking gorgeous.

Luke watches him, intent on not missing a second of his suffering, as he eats the last piece of his orange and sucks the remaining juice off sticky fingers.

When Luke turns the sound off, lets him out, and then eases him up onto the table... He'll be so grateful for the chance for silence.

And Luke knows exactly how to take that pathetic gratitude for small mercies and use it to make him beg for the cruelties, too.

[whumpr]

Short-Lived Silence

There was no point in trying to sleep. It only made the eventual scare worse.

Marcello going through sound torture 🎉 Contains: Sleep deprivation, surveillance, noise torture, overstimulation, captivity, team whump, trans whumpee __

They were watching him. It wasn’t a secret. There was a camera mounted on the wall, flashing its little red indicator light every few seconds.

Marcello laid on his back in bed, staring up at the dirty ceiling with unfocused, half lidded eyes.They had him in a filthy, miserable cell, with one window to the outside that had been sealed with plaster to keep him from seeing out. No real way to tell how much time had passed–even so, he knew he hadn’t had any meaningful rest in days.

They had started out blasting 80’s rock on repeat–that was fine, it was predictable. It had been loud enough to hurt, sure, but he knew the songs as they came up. He could deal with it.

Then they moved on to radio shows, bright and cheery and obnoxious. If he was lucky they’d be in English, maybe Spanish, but they cycled through. Most of the time it was Italian, blasting loud enough to vibrate through the walls.

This time it was different. Every ten or twenty minutes from what he could guess, a single loud bell tone would sound through the cell block. It would ring out in one sudden high-pitched chime, before fading back out into silence.

It was the worst one yet. The silence was incredible, when it lasted. He could rest, actually close his eyes and drift off to sleep for a moment, but each time he’d be startled awake by the sound of the bell tearing through the speakers.

There was no point in trying to sleep. It only made the eventual scare worse. It made him jump every time, sounding off each time he felt himself starting to drift off against his will, and every time it was worse. He couldn’t tell if they were adjusting the volume, or the frequency, or if each one felt somehow even more intense than the last.

Sometimes they didn’t even have to play it. He had started flinching in the silence, every time he dozed off a little too much. He was always waiting for it, always anticipating it.

He looked over to the camera on the wall. It was still trained on him. Normally it would fill him with defiance, make him determined to not give them the reactions they wanted, but he knew that wouldn’t matter here. They were making a lab rat out of him, it didn’t matter how he reacted.

The bell sounded again, and again he flinched from the sound. He found the strength to move, rolling over to fold his pillow around the back of his head to cover his ears. He couldn’t relax again, he couldn’t let them catch him off guard again. He screwed his eyes shut and curled in on himself. He tried to focus on his breathing–if he could just count the breaths between each toll…

The bell sounded again, and Marcello was ripped out of the sleep he’d unwillingly fallen into. He rolled over again, crying out in frustration and hurling his pillow over his head towards the camera on the wall.

He stayed sitting up long enough to watch the pillow fall to the floor–and to see the camera knocked sideways, aimed slightly more towards the wall now. He couldn’t tell if he was still in frame, but he figured it was safe to assume he was.

He laid back down and rolled over to face the wall, pulling his thin blanket up to his face. It was silent again. Frustration burned in his chest, and hot tears plucked at his eyes. He kept his back to the rest of the room.

He just had to wait. The others would come to rescue him, eventually, surely, hopefully.

Until then, he’d stay in bed, fighting the temptation of sleep and hiding his tears from the camera’s blinking light.

[scratchandplaster]

Dulosis

CW: sleep deprivation, white/noise torture, creepy/intimate Whumper, defiant Whumpee, hallucinations

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The room was as barren as it was functional, two square meters of locked space. They called it a white room, but the walls were padded with dusty-gray foam, which he already tried to pick apart. In no way did the tapered spikes budge.

Not that this changed anything, the noise was still kept inside. It came once every half hour, he counted, a deafening sough in close intervals, at least one minute in length.

Counting was the only thing he was able to busy himself with, though, so he didn't mind when they decided to change the frequency up to put the ungrateful guest on edge.

On the third day, he ripped a button from his cardigan, throwing and blindly fumbling for it. Another game, another way to keep the last sliver of his mind in place. He remembered vaguely seeing this trick in a documentary about Alcatraz, a little how-to experience about keeping sane in solitary confinement.

The issue wasn't the silence or the solitude; he preferred that to being kept downstairs and playing house with a person he barely knew. That fucking psycho snapped, he had thought when they shoved him in here, food or water missing since day one.

No, it was the noise.

The chaos that dug itself deep into his brain's fissures, keeping his mind alert and body awake even after what felt like eternity. 

The ants came after the fourteenth alarm, he counted that too, crawling through the barely visible slit that was separating him from freedom. A few at the start, but where they came from others waited for an equal opportunity, and soon the floor was sprinkled with them, too large to number. On his skin, his lashes, pushing his lips apart to engulf every pore with the prickly tap of their countless feet.

And then they were gone again, nothing but foam and noise for a while. They would return, no doubt, and with that knowledge he started to get thankful for the scheduled terror, just barely. Scratching at the back of his senses, the thirst that dried his body up from the inside had become just a minor problem.

At one point he could hear his own intestines working; pumping, contracting and rhythmically meandering to the sound that just so snapped him back to reality.

Again.

And then again, never a warning beforehand. Did that happen in the documentary too? He couldn't tell anymore; didn't know anything. Mind so fuzzy, he nearly caught himself wishing for that freak to come back and open the door, turn off the sounds, anything to let him rest.

Now, after cowering on the ground with both hands pressed tightly against his ears, so nothing would crawl inside, there came a new fuss. A single light click, then another as the heavy steel door moved outwards and his captor's silhouette blocked the entry. The sudden brightness left him nearly blinded, another misery piling on top.

"Hello there, I nearly forgot about you."

The friendly chuckle they let rain down on him felt like poison. But they lied through their teeth, spending every quiet minute they stole from their captive to plan the inevitable outcome, success now prickling right on their fingertips.

The cowering mess at their feet let out a weak hack, voice sore from misuse: "Let me rest."

Bloodshot eyes met an unmoving stare. There was no room to negotiate.

"Ask nicely, sweetheart," the shape offered instead.

"You fucking-"

Without another word, they turned on the spot, ready to leave him stewing in his own misery. Maybe five days weren't enough, they could wait.

The room was practically filled with his stare that clung to their back, heart thrumming so heavy in his chest it felt like it would burst out any second. Not willing to give up the last sliver of freedom he had kept safe so carefully, but too weak and confused to do anything about it, the words just slipped from his lips.

"Nonono wait, I'm sorry. Stay. Stay!"

He wanted them to keep talking, to hear anything else than that ingrain blare, the thrumming of his heart, the legs crawling along...

Behind the veil of quickly forming tears, he could see his captor halt and turn. More? Did they want more of this? Living the lie with them, just as a short break, maybe. A workaround. Get strength back and try again. If he made it that far... Just to rest for a bit.

"Please," the hurt voice pressed out, "I'm j-just so tired. I won't make you any more trouble."

"Again," the shadow replied, voice warm as the summer noon. They knew he was so much closer to what they imagined. The other sessions they had together were not as successful, but finally he seemed to let his guard slip. Almost there.

A lone sniff could be heard in the room, more closet than anything.

"Please. Can I please go to sleep, just for a bit?"

It was over for today. Other fights would come, ones he would win, or so he assured himself.

Fights he would give up again, his captor knew.

Nearly gone again, he was quickly brought back by the thin smile that crept across their face, victorious after all. They gave a single nod that made the sore loser fold into himself, eyes closed and face flat against the barren floor.

Maybe the light will stay on too. Oh, please stay on, it's safer that way...it's safe.

A warm palm gently placed itself on his matted hair, not touching but resting in a most innocent gesture.

"Not in here," they whispered, "Not after you're finally behaving, dear."

The hand slipped down further, and with it the reassuring touch. He was being pet, a part of him recognized. A small price in the end.

Hand placed in shaking hand, he was pulled up to face the victor of this little game.

"Come on. You will love it."

More carried than led down the hall, through blurry and burning vision, he could see doors beside them passing. They pulled him around the corner and through the wooden doorway onto a bed, ready and freshly made.

The heavy comforter atop the sheets seemed too pristine to hold his filthy body, but his captor didn't seem to mind one bit when they dragged him under the white heaven. Both would clean up tomorrow, the next step that was oh-so carefully prepared.

The shaken man shouldn't dare to forget how divine this felt, and if he did, their special room would still be vacant for another time.

As he was tucked in with peaceful humming right behind his ear, his mind sank into the comfort he had denied himself for such a long time. And for this moment, freedom traded in for peace, numbing sound for forced touch, he believed it was worth it.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Thanks for reading 🤍 [Masterpost]

[jjameslily]

taylor swift + peter pan

"you said you were gonna grow up... then you were gonna come find me."

[baby-girl-aaron-dessner]

Swifties are speaking out on Taylor Swift’s silence on the Palestinian Genocide

[wattice]

So I was about to do work but then this appeared on my paper

[doberbutts]

Google: hello I recommend this show to you based on your interest in 1600s Japanese modern period dramas and animations

Me: oh actually this show is pretty neat, I like that the Japanese characters actually speak Japanese and not *winkwink* they're totes talking in Japanese but for the viewer's sake they're using English *winkwink* and from the sound of it traditional Japanese at that because this is sounding very antiquated and out of date compared to my rough knowledge of modern Japanese

Show: :)

Show: have 10 minutes of a character being tortured by being boiled to death in a large cast iron pot :)

Me: ...

Me: WHY

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

i love my curse user!reader sm because they’re soooo fucking pathetic . they have beef with several children . they live with their ex. said ex has two daughters who want them Gone. they can only sleep comfortably if they’re hugging one of their curses. they pick a fight with everyone they interact with (and laugh while getting their ass beat.) they’re sooooo lonely. they reject help they reject healing they still stare at suguru’s smile in the only picture they have of him. etcetc

[lesbianaelwen]

“sam” -former Secretary of Labor

video description: a photo of Robert and Sam Reich happily together at a Red Sox baseball game spins into focus, with “sam” centered in the frame. the song “365” by Charli xcx plays in the background. other minor visual effects begin halfway through mimicking the meme style popular with the song. end video id.

photo id: a screenshot of the TikTok video description, which states “Happy 40th birthday to @Sam Reich—a real game changer. Our Boston spirit unfortunately didn’t change the game for the Red Sox, who lost 7-6 in extra innings.” end photo id.

[lilithnights01]

i’m just pouring a hot candle wax on his balls. Someone has been such a bad boy

🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️

[starrysharks]

the urge to make public character playlists for my little guys...

[radaverse]

Imagine more ToM and PoM interactions (that I'd very probably draw)

Peppino just having a talk with Jack talking about him having a daughter now

"Huh, the middle age is-a hard. Isn't it?"

"Yes... I suppose so."

"...How old are-a you, by the way?"

"twenty five."

"lol yea same 💀"

"no this is not a joke that is my age 😭"

Bro was flabbergasted

"WHAT THE FUCK

YOU'RE A GODDAMN CHILD?!"

"NOISE?! SAMURAI JACK IS 25"

"WTF YOU'RE YOUNGER THAN ME?"

then all the ToM crew coming and losing their mind over jack

Jack:

[m-art77]

Do you guys ever think about how if redeemed!Durge pulls out of Gortash’s alliance after returning with Orin’s Netherstone that Gortash literally cannot rationalize their betrayal (and them now trying to kill him) by blaming their urge? Like how much of a complete mindfuck that would be for him. The Dark Urge just told him they’re 100% cured and now they’re trying to kill him? You know, the person who’s always been by their side, their partner in crime, their equal, and their (potential) lover; and now they’re trying to murder him. And prior to the amnesia, Gortash could always rationalize that if The Dark Urge tried to kill him one day that he could hand wave it as “they just couldn’t help themselves anymore” because of Bhaal’s hold on them. It doesn’t mean they wanted to.

But now, Bhaal is gone and The Dark Urge is moving in to kill him. There’s no way to rationalize it as anything else. The only person who ever cared about him is going to kill him, and he’ll die knowing everything they once had is completely gone. The Dark Urge doesn’t remember him. Their love for him died the moment Orin split their skull. The urge isn’t the reason they’re doing this. He’ll die knowing that they hate him.

[cupcakegal25]

foaming at the mouth over the fact that the only solo written songs on the album are my boy only breaks his favorite toys and who's afraid of little old me

[fulltum]

Another sticky note sketch....looks like this greedy little mouse tiny's fat, gurgling tummy full of stolen stacks got him caught by the person whose food he was pilfering 😳