#trigger warning torture

[ceruleanmindpalace]

trigger warning: torture

Okay, so this is not what I wanted to post.

I painted this weeks ago, when the prompt 'tattoo' was originally posted by @sherlockchallenge.

My idea was that Sherlock gets a scar cover up tattoo on his back. I started to write a ficlet that goes together with the art in which Sherlock moves cautiously and John wants to know what is wrong and makes Sherlock show him his back, where he discovers a halfway finished tattoo that not just covers the scars up but simulanously integrates them graciously into the ink.

The thing is, I tried four different tattoo ideas on his back and none of them worked.

Also, I am in no state to do art at the moment, so here is the unfinished work.

Do not post my art on other sites/social media or use in any other way without my written permission.

[eyeless-jeff666]

Illusion

TW Torture Tsunagu has a shitty time but his husband is there for comfort (or is he). Angst, hurt/comfort, angst with happy ending

Edit a day later bc I forgot: Happy bday worm boy!

„Your eyes are green?“

Shinya exclaimed, standing on his toes to grab Tsunagus's face and look deeper into his eyes. God, he was beautiful. Pretty eyes. A pretty smile. Silky silver hair. And such a cute voice. The blonde was sure that this was the moment he fell in love with the other.

Intense pain tore him out of this memory, a knife scratching against the bone of his thigh. He didn’t want to scream but his own voice ringing in his ears told him he had failed. The feeling wouldn’t allow for any control over himself and he didn’t know how long this had gone on for. It could have been minutes or days, pain spreading so evenly across his body that it was really impossible to tell.

“There there, Tsu, you’re okay.”

Shinya told him, though he didn’t sound right. His voice sounded far away despite his face being mere inches from the blonde’s. And that did not look quite right either, it was too perfect, too right. He wanted to feel his husband’s touch, but he always seemed just a bit too far to lean against.

“Please…”

A whimper that escaped his lips as the knife came down again, surprisingly finding an untouched spot; he wasn’t begging for the person who tortured him to stop. He was begging for Shinya to help him. Kiss him. Hold him. Anything.

“You know I can’t Tsu.”

The person in front of him said something, and Tsunagu didn’t know if he answered, only focused on the gray-haired hero, who still wore the same soft smile. It almost drove the blonde insane, just as much as it calmed him.

“You know I’m not really here, right?”

Another scream, with tears falling down his cheeks; surely the knife had just barely missed his bone this time because he looked down to see it deeply stuck in his thigh; breath heavy from screaming and enduring. His stomach cramped from writhing and trying to catch his breath, and his throat was sore from over-using his voice and dehydration. Suddenly, it was dark. And silent, and his mind wouldn’t click back into place correctly; when had his torturer left? When had it gotten so dark? He tried to focus, but his brain would spit out nothing but minimal observations. Darkness, so he’d been there at least one day, as it had been dark before despite the large windows. Dehydration so bad he was sure he had already begged for water, so likely longer than just a day. Hallucinations.

“Shinya…”

He mumbled, panic rising in him as his husband’s voice went missing.

“Shinya I need you.”

“I know. How about we focus on another memory? How about… how about our first date?”

That was good enough for Tsunagu. The darkness was already all around him after all and so it was easy to let his mind wander to the night of their first date. It had been unofficial, merely a spontaneous idea after Shinya had figured out an idea for his hero hairstyle. They’d met by the park, under the bright lights, and talked about it. It seemed amazing that this night had been around 18 years ago already, pretty much half his life, and more than half of the other’s.

“My little thread, remind me how late it was?”

“I don’t know anything you don’t know, love.”

The ninja hero replied and Tsunagu groaned. His head pounded, and he wasn’t sure if he liked being aware of that. Being aware meant Shinya being gone. Being with his thoughts and fear and not pretty gentle memories. It also meant that the anxiety came back. Not so much about dying, but rather because he didn’t know if he spilled information.  His mind was too far gone, too clouded when his torturer was there. Thinking had become so hard and his memory wasn’t functioning well. He didn’t want to speak about things he shouldn’t speak about, but he didn’t know if he was able to control it in those moments.

Hell, he wasn’t even sure if he was crying. The feeling on his cheeks suggested it but his eyes didn’t burn and the pounding in his head was ever-present. Maybe he was, he wished he could ask Shinya, but he wasn’t here and he wouldn’t say. All he ever did was smile and fill his ears with sweet words. Guide his thoughts towards sweet memories and remind him over and over that he wasn’t real. That he wouldn’t touch him. Or hug him. Or kiss him. That he wouldn’t caress his hair or cheeks.

Breathing was getting hard. Keeping his eyes open was too, and Tsunagu could feel his life slipping away from him, slowly, but it was dripping away like the blood from his broken nose. It didn’t seem all that bad to let it happen. He craved a moment of peace and a break from the unbearable pain.

“Goodbye, Shinya.”

He said, smiling for the first time since he woke up in that chair. Letting go seemed wonderful, just this one time where death would win him over. And Shinya was smiling as well, and that didn’t make it any easier to regain his fight. It felt like encouragement, like praise almost, to make him believe it was the right thing to do.

“Goodbye, my little thread.”

And then he went numb. Blissfully so, as all the pain left him behind with nothing but a dizzy blur in his mind. One that turned into a nice last image; of Shinya being there with him, speaking to him. Tsunagu strangely could move again, reaching out his hand to put it on his husband’s cheek. And paused, his heart skipping a beat.

“You’re real.”

He forced out, and watched as the other broke into a tearful laugh:

“Of course, I’m real Tsu, what do you mean?”

The blonde couldn’t say more. His mind began to focus a bit, enough for him to realize he was at the hospital. And Shinya was there, really there, physically and only one touch away. Kugo was too, but Tsunagu barely had the mental strength to focus on more than his environment and husband. And then reacted in the only way he could manage; by crying his soul out. Crying until his head hurt while holding Shinya’s face in his hands. It wasn’t a happy or relieved cry, but a shameful one, for allowing himself to give up at what apparently was the last moment before being saved. And everything he could remember came crashing down on him like a ton of bricks, harsh and all at once. Eventually, nurses came in to give him calming medications, and to check him over. But having Shinya ushered away only made him freak out more and he begged for the staff to let Shinya stay by his side to hold his hand.

“Tsu. Tsu, my love, calm down you’re okay. I’m here. Please, breathe. Slow.”

He obeyed. Maybe because the medication was taking effect, but also because his husband could tell him to jump off a bridge and he’d do it no questions asked. His breath became more regular, and he struggled to keep his now shaky hand wrapped around the other’s. It took a while until he sank back into the pillows.

“I’m not a professional but it almost seems like you should make use of your privileges he has to a private room and stay with him, Edgeshot.”

Kugo said, his voice filled with relief and worry alike. He turned to leave, and for the first time Tsunagu looked at him as well, opening his mouth but was quickly shushed:

“Don’t you dare apologize. I know. You’re fine. Just rest and appreciate hearing that heart monitor beep. 5 minutes, that’s a miracle even for you.”

With those words he left, knowing it would get his friend thinking enough to rest. He had been dead for 5 minutes so, and had /still/ managed to escape death. Thanks to the medical staff and his fellow heroes, of course, but at this point it seemed ridiculous.

“Shinya… I kept seeing you…”

The blonde whispered tiredly, closing his eyes. Exhaustion won over him, so he couldn’t hear the other’s reply. But feeling his hand was more than enough to finally guide him into a calm, dreamless sleep. Shinya was really there, Tsunagu was safe, and that was all that mattered.

[blue-inferno]

“...I did my best, Bulk. I’ll find ya, I promise. The pain may eat at me....but I’ll wait for you. I’ll wait....jus’ a little longer....Gnn my spark may be weak but....I’ll be fine....Im a wrecker...

...I wont be long buddy....Will ya wait for me?...”

[californiannostalgia]

when a story has a predestined ending and you thought you already knew who the characters would become, but then you're hit with the fact that no, you actually didn't know these characters at all, they were unknowable to you until this very moment when a larger portion of their life has been revealed to you, and you realize, abruptly, that they had lives and losses and the aching desperation of a love they guarded with every piece of stubborn will they could muster, and the unknowable is suddenly rendered sublime for its opacity

[myceliumelium]

help it grew a vague narrative

[birdsong-warriors]

The claws are here! Plus some friends. uwu

Some random trivia: BloodClan uses hot tar to seal the talons onto their paws. Sunflower here is carrying an old rag soaked in vegetable oil, which breaks down the excess tar and keeps the medical damage to a minimum.

Firefall belongs to @zeekitties , and Sunflower belongs to @talkingtalltales !

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Part 1: Friend and Family

See up to thirty pages ahead, with timelapses, on Patreon!

Backgrounds, brushes, and other assets for sale on my Ko-Fi!

[sidsinning]

Reading My Beloved Oppressor

Guess the quality of the male lead from the title 💀✌️

[hurt-the-innocent-ones]

Whump Dialogue Prompts

(Feel free to use but please tag me! I wanna read what you make with these :D) (NSFW under the cut, minors dni)

Whumpee:

“No, stop—shut up, you’re lying! They wouldn’t—they’d never—shut up, shut up, shut up!”

“Please, no…not now. I can’t, please…please just let me rest…”

“Get the fuck away from me! No, don’t—get back—come anywhere near me with that and I swear to God you’ll regret it!”

“You’re fucking delusional if you think for a second I’d ever follow your fucking orders.”

Whumper:

“Hold still or I’ll re-tie those ropes so tight your hands will fall off.”

“If you’d just tell me what I want to hear…”

“This is to make you better, you know that.”

“I knew you were pathetic, but pissing yourself over a little pain is just gross.”

Caretaker:

“Shh, it’s okay. I know, I know it hurts but shh, you need to keep quiet, stay still, it’ll be okay, just calm down…”

“You’re gonna be okay, you hear me? We’ll get you out of here, we’ll fix you up, good as new, I promise. No, don’t try to talk, save your breath.”

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me it was this bad?”

“Fuck, what did they do to you…oh God, you’re awake? No, it’s okay! It’s a good thing, it’s good, you’re doing great. Talk to me, tell me anything, just stay awake. Eyes on me.”

NSFW (TW)

Whumper:

“A pretty thing like you should’ve seen this coming.”

“And here I thought I was fucked up. Are you seriously getting off on this?”

“If I stop, what will you do for me in return?”

Whumpee:

“No, please, not that—please, please no, anything but that, not again!”

“What…wait, what are you doing—no, stop! Stop! I said stop!”

“No…no, you can’t! I’ve never—you sick fucking—wait, wait, please wait, I—you—prep me first, please, I’ll tear, you have to prep me first—”

Caretaker:

“Where are your clothes? Why are you…oh God.”

“Oh God…tell me [Whumper] didn’t…”

“No! No, I’d never—I’m not going to do that. I was just trying to help you change your clothes, remember?”

[citrus-writing]

yandere feitan- life could be a dream

((you've come a long way since feitan took you away, and after almost a year as his captive, you think you understand him better))

Immediately, any hopes you had of escape are dashed. As soon as he takes you away to this little home, isolated from the rest of the world, you realize you’re never getting out of here. Your bedroom has no windows, and no matter what you do; he always knows, you hear the screams from the basement every night, and you know that it’ll be you if you ever fight back. It’s almost humiliating how fast your will crumbles- how fast the fight leaves you- how your mind, once sharp and alive, dulls until all you can think of is putting one foot in front of the other. 

Living with him isnt easy, and some days, you wish he’d kill you. It’s been a long time since you’ve seen the sun, or felt the grass beneath your feet, or heard the voices of your loved ones- it’s impossible to tell how long it’s been exactly, but you know it must have been months by now. Maybe just over a year. The first few months were the worst by far, when you’d screamed and cried until your throat was raw, when you’d begged and pleaded to go home. He’d only told you ‘no’ before enacting some horrible punishment, but by now you understand that this is your home now. 

He tells you that you’re never getting out of here, that no matter how hard you try, you’ll never get away from him. He tells you it’d be a mistake to even try, and you believe him. He tells you that no one’s coming to find you, that no one’s even noticed you’re missing, and you believe him. Somehow, you know he’s not lying about these things- you know he has no reason to lie to you, because your compliance in your new living arrangement isn't necessary for him, but it’s all you can do to keep yourself alive, to keep all of your teeth in your head and all your nails attached to your fingers. 

It’s hard to tell what he wants; his face is unreadable, and he never tells you what he wants from you, he just watches you scramble for clues, desperate to please him and always failing regardless. He seems to hate when you cry, he seems to hate when you smile, he seems to hate when you look at him, he seems to hate when you look away. He’d brought you here, and he tells you he’ll never let you go, but you sometimes think that he hates you. He doesn't come near you most days, but when he does, pain almost always follows. 

His eyes are on you at all times, he never looks away from you when he’s in the room, and even when he’s not around you can feel his gaze on you- settling over you heavily, weighing you down. You know he’s waiting for you to make a mistake. He’s watching and waiting, and you know that any wrong move could cost you everything. But somehow, against all rational thought, it feels good to know he’s looking at you. It’s nice to not have to wonder if he’s looking your way, if he’ll notice the shake in your hands, if he’ll notice the way tears well up in your eyes at the slight sound of movement- because yes, he’ll notice. His gaze settles over you with the weight and warmth of a weighted blanket. By now you know better than to look at him unless he tells you to. 

You know better than to do anything without asking. You beg for everything you have, and then he makes you beg again to keep what little you’re allowed. There’s a sense of shame that comes with being so compliant in your own captivity, a sense of shame that comes with the fact that you can't even bring yourself to curse at him, or to fight, or to try to escape. It’s all pointless by now, and the sting of broken bones- all healed by now, but the memory never fades- tingles in your limbs like the touch of a ghost. When you’d first been brought here, you would fight. Kick and scream and struggle. Now, all you can do is exactly what he tells you to do. But there’s a sense of comfort in that. Some sense of surrender that maybe you’ve ached for. 

Things had come easier after you’d admitted defeat to yourself. You’d let yourself settle into the routine as best as you could- waking up to a sharp kick in the ribs, rising from bed only when he pulls you up by your hair, carefully maneuvering around the house with his eyes following you. 

When he does tell you to look at him there’s blood on his skin, and some part of you wants to taste it- the blood, but more importantly the skin underneath. You don't even know whose blood it is, but you know it’s not his, it never is. 

They say pain purges the sins from the soul, that it’s through pain that you could purify a soul. You’ve never seen him work, but you’ve heard it- the screams and cries and the splattering of blood. And you’ve seen the aftermath- the way the floor is so slick that you nearly slip and lose your balance, the way that the bodies look when he’s gotten whatever he wanted out of them- cut open and almost hallowed out, missing all their teeth and fingers. You’d always heard that there’s a peace that overcomes someone at the moment of death, but now you don't believe that. Peace and purity- isn't that what you want? And more importantly, isn't that what he wants for you? You want to be perfect for him. you want him to forgive you for whatever it was you did so wrong. You want to be made anew under careful hands and a scalpel. 

Maybe that’s what made you follow him down to the basement- something now compelled forbidden to you, but something you’d never dared to do regardless. He’s always been cold to you, and it wouldn't be too far off to say he was cruel as well, but he’s something else entirely when he’s down here, in this room that no one but him had ever come back from. You’ve been with him for a long time now, months at least, maybe over a year, and still, somehow, you feel like you don't know him. Like he’s a stranger to you. He moves about this little house in silence, watching you, breaking bones and then resetting them, he tells you all the time that no one cares about you, that no one notices when you’re gone, that no one loves you. But he watches you all the time. 

He watches you now with an expression you’ve never seen on him before, maybe surprised but not entirely displeased, as you sit on the edge of the operating table; looking up at him even though he hasn't told you to, whole body trembling; but not really from fear. When you speak, you expect your voice to waver and wobble, but it doesn't. “I want to know real pain.”

[tokintormin]

vax sketch comic, feat. vax, vox, angel. trigger warning.

tw conflict, tw torture

[raineandsky]

The Villain's Housekeeper

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5) (part 6) (part 7) (part 8) (part 9) (part 10) (part 11)

tw: death mention, implied torture

The villain leaves, as promised. The hero sees them off at the door for the first time with a smile they stop pretending is genuine after a few seconds.

The villain wraps them in a slightly desperate hug, to their surprise. Their body’s warm, their arms shaking slightly. Nerves? Dread? Fear? The hero doesn’t know.

“I hope things get better for you,” they mumble into the hero’s shoulder. “I really mean that.”

They lean back to hold the hero at arm’s length. Their eyes glisten with tears the hero can’t put an emotion to. Doesn’t want to. “Stay safe, [Hero].”

And with that they’re on their way, their coat wrapped tight around them and their step quick. The hero watches them until they disappear around the corner. They shut the door slowly, slowly, and when it clicks into place they vaguely realise that they don’t know what to do with themself anymore.

So they do what they always do—they clean shelves, sweep the floor, clean counters. By the time they’re done the house is spotless and they’re out of work to swallow down that gnawing anxiety in their chest.

They flop down on the sofa—they’re not going to use the villain’s bed whilst it’s still warm, they’re not an animal—and let the exhaustion of the work overtake their worry and force them into a light sleep.

Light enough that they wake to the sound of the front door quietly clicking open. They sit up, ready to vocalise their surprise at the villain’s return, until they hear that the footsteps in the hall are decidedly not the villain’s. Too heavy, too slow. Too familiar.

The hero’s on their feet immediately. They want to hide, to run away, to do something, but their body feels like it’s weighed down by stone as the superhero turns the corner into the living room.

“Ah, [Hero].” Surprise is lacking in the superhero’s voice. A small smile stretches at his mouth. “I heard rumours. It’ll be nice to have you back with us.”

With us. For a moment all the hero can think about is those long days in the jail, treated like nothing more than a stain in the agency’s gleaming record. “How—” The hero’s voice chokes in their throat, and they curse themself inwardly. “How did you know—”

“Good people do not hide things from the agency, [Hero],” the superhero says smoothly. “Common civilians are ranking higher than you in that aspect.”

“I wasn’t hiding anything,” the hero spits desperately. “I– I was never one of them.”

The last word comes out a little harsher than they intended. They were never one of the corrupt demons that kindly lets their nemesis hide in their home. No, no, of course not. No, no one would want to be like the villain.

The hero, though, didn’t become a hero without an innate eagerness to please. To prove themself. To show the superhero how good they can be.

“I was never one of them,” the hero repeats, and the superhero cocks his head. Interest. “I– I can prove it.”

The superhero hums a cold laugh, and for a moment the hero feels like they’re back in that awful little basement, chains on their wrists, swearing their innocence, assaulted by the sound of dragging leather behind them—

The hero quickly turns on their heel to avoid looking at the superhero any longer.

They lead the way to the villain’s office, desperate to keep themself a few paces ahead. A belt sits at the superhero’s waist, and they don’t want to get close enough to see him unsheathe it again.

The door swings inward. The superhero looks inside momentarily. His gaze turns to the hero. Disappointed.

Please, no. “This is– it’s [Villain]’s office,” they add quickly. “This is their house.”

The superhero’s eyes linger on them for a moment. His face gives nothing away. Then he turns away to step into the office, and it feels like the hero can breathe again.

The hero stays in the doorway whilst the superhero peruses like this is nothing more than his weekly trip to the shops. He flits through papers, looks through drawers. He taps his chin in thought. His eyes scan across the room curiously. Eventually, after an eternity of the hero trying to figure out whether this is how they repent, he glances back up to meet the hero’s gaze.

“This is a good find.” The superhero offers something of a kind smile, and the hero has to hold back an entirely too genuine grin of their own. “Good. Very good.”

He collects a stack of papers. “Thank you for this, [Hero],” he says as he lugs them into his arms. “Let’s head back to the agency, hm?”

The hero’s evaded the superhero’s fury. There’s no way this is real. They can’t believe their luck. “Y–Yes, sir.”

The hero follows the superhero to his car. Another one waits behind it, a sleek black thing straight from the agency garage. The hero swallows and averts their gaze—of course he knew they were here. Of course he didn’t come alone.

The superhero doesn’t say much on the journey back to the agency. His gaze speaks volumes without the words, continuously slipping to the piles of paper the entire way, a satisfied smirk pulling at his lips. The hero decides to point their interest to the world passing outside in the hopes that they can ignore what they’ve done to the villain to put themself in the superhero’s favour.

It doesn’t matter, their mind promises in sickening whispers. They’ll be dead soon. Step on their corpse to survive if you have to.

The superhero sighs shortly as he pulls the car into the agency’s underground garage. Waves the hero along as he lets himself into the building. Invites them into his office. Lets the door click shut behind him.

“It is nice to see you back where you belong, [Hero],” the superhero says as he settles at his desk. It looks comically small in comparison to the giant room it's set in. “And with documents! You’ve gone above and beyond.”

The hero allows themself the smallest of smiles. “Thank you, sir.”

“To prove innocence I don’t believe you have.”

The smile falters. Their heart leaps into their throat. “... What?”

The superhero smiles lightly. “We don’t do coincidences in this agency, [Hero]. Everything has a meaning. Even if it is a mistake, it is set in stone, and we will treat it as such. You relayed information to a spy. That is all I need to know.”

The hero turns on their heel. Security is already in the doorway, a pair of metal cuffs in his hand. The superhero laughs humorlessly.

“Don’t you worry, [Hero].” The hero whips back to him, their face surely a myriad of pain and horror and betrayal. “Innocence means nothing to us. You’ll make up for what you’ve done.”

The cuffs click around the hero’s wrists. They can’t even find it in themself to struggle against them. They just stare at the superhero, aghast. “You… you tricked me.”

The superhero arranges the villain’s papers on his desk idly. “It is nothing on me if you were foolish enough to trust me.”

The man behind the hero tugs them towards the door. Jail. Right back where they started. The superhero throws them one last smirk. Satisfied, cruel, mocking. Disgusting.

“Thanks for coming back, [Hero]. Really,” he says as his door swings open in a creaking goodbye. “It’s nice to have you back where you belong.”

(next part)

Taglist:

@runarelle @thiefofthecrowns

[hinaypod]

PSA: Here Lies Love Musical

Many of you listeners are probably Filipino, and may have seen this:

And maybe you're excited about it. Wow, an all-Filipino Broadway cast!

But what you have to understand is that this entire show is like salt on an open wound to the Philippines right now. Imagine if Hitler had a musical following his hopes and dreams, treated him like a silly little man more than a genocidal dictator, and also if Hitler had a kid who just came back into power.

That's what this musical is. It's an affront to all Filipinos who not only suffered through Martial Law, but suffered through the extreme economic crash caused by the Marcoses stealing billions from the Philippines.

It treats Imelda as a silly airhead rather than a ruthless, vicious, lying convicted criminal and dictator who clawed her way back into power and dodged getting arrested "because she's a frail old lady".

The only way this musical WOULDN'T glamorise Imelda is if it had a presentation at the beginning and end showing images of the people who died of starvation during the Marcos regime, who were raped and murdered, who disappeared and were kidnapped during their curfew. If it has a call to action saying the current president of the Philippines, Bongbong Marcos, needs to be removed because of his actual criminal convictions that the electoral body ignored and then scrapped.

Otherwise, it's just "what if we pretended Hitler's victims weren't real and we had a good laugh about it".

If you'd like more information, check out the Martial Law Chronicles Project and Martial Law Museum. I won't be posting the triggering imagery from that era, but I will post some quotes below from survivors:

EXTREME TRIGGER WARNING - Descriptions of RAPE, TORTURE DURING THE MARCOS MARTIAL LAW ERA PARTLY OVERSEEN BY IMELDA MARCOS

“They had a gun and they threatened me to answer the question, otherwise they [would] shoot [me].” - Etta Rosales

They ordered me to remove my blouse and they applied electric shock on my breast. Electricity went through my body until I couldn’t take it anymore. - Trinidad Herrera

“They would scare me again by touching me and breathing down my neck and then I felt something like naihi ako (I peed). I figured it was blood because at the time I did not realize I was two months pregnant.” -Fe Mangahas

Maria Christina Rodriguez said her captors burned her skin with cigarette. Her fingers were swollen because of bullet-pressing.

Maria Christina Bawagan said her thighs were hit until they looked like rotten vegetables. She was sexually abused, with her captors inserting objects into her vagina and touching her breasts while blindfolded. She said she may never know who exactly tortured her, but she clearly remembered their voice.

[source: Martial Law Chronicles Project]

[murasaki-cha]

Tcf part 2 chapter 296

Oh god this is disgusting and horrible....

[kelleigh-say]

His life was dastardly, made to wed his nephew a plain faced son born from liaison.

But he would not fault the chance to take what he could.

Every bite, every bruise, every scar was his.

He savored taking the boy in his bed, savored as his nephew fought and wept into the sheets.

Jacaerys was his, who was he to deny fate?

Credit to moodboard: @randomlyexisting

[brightstarblogs]

Yuma Month Day 15: Fear

This is the most angsty piece I've done for this month! This is fanart for Lee-The-Bean on AO3 (If anyone knows if they have a Tumblr let me know) for their fic 'Family Where You Least Expect It' which is a very heavy hurt/comfort fic. Worth a read but please be mindful of the tags.

I love this fic a lot and was so happy to use this prompt to draw something from it. This is the best NDA found family fic in my opinion! It's so good! There's a reason it's the most kudos fic in the fandom!

[redvelvetwishtree]

TW Rape, Sodomy, Torture.

TW Israel but no trigger warning for israel supporters who conveniently ignore evidence