#tw torture ment

[ring-of-galactic]

You're not gonna trick me into liking someone who thinks I'm a freak and nothing more. As if I fucking chose to get kidnapped and tortured, then turned into what I am now. Stop trying to. It won't work. I don't give a fuck about that asshole.

[clovercrawlsys]

they way you guys treat cult survivors in this community is really dumb hnstly. you treat us as both too scary and severe and not as valid as trauma survivors, especially with programmed parts/headmates

for ex. our cousin has an alter whose programmed to make sure she can’t have a safe relationship with others outside the cult, because she was tortured and stuff until that behavior became that alters functionality!! because cult 101 is to isolate the victim, which is what the alter does to keep them under complt control, she also has other programmed headmates for other thijgs that were made to function how the cult needs us to

we do to, tho ours are diff becus we were tasked with other stuff all still for the cult id like to keep nameless

also, stop expecting trauma to go away once a person becomes an adult, that isn’t how it works either, my trauma won’t go away in three years and my voice i was never born with won’t suddenly pop back,

tl:dr - you guys need to treat cult survivors better

because they’ve had enough bad stuff happen, they dont need u being a dick

[yandere--stuck]

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

Less ideas and more of an actual fic, oopsie!

---

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

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

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

“Hush, little baby, don't say a word,

Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird,

And if that mockingbird don't sing,

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

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

“And if that diamond ring is brass,

Mama's gonna buy you a looking glass,

And if that looking glass gets broke-”

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

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

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

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

Both clowns shared a quizzical look.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tim...

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

“Say hello to Dada, JJ,” Joker cooed.

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His finger squeezed around the trigger-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because we love you.” Joker finished.

—

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

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

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

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

And everything went dark.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But, she was wrong.

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

[piplicious]

[oc-aita]

Am I the asshole for asking my estranged twin to help take down a testing facility, on the deal they’ll arrest the scientists who plagiarized my original drug?

For starters, I’m a shapeshifter toon fugitive (25, non-binary). Almost six years ago, I created a serum referred to as a humanity-correctional cure made from my own blood and launched a terrorist attack on a leisure train called the Luxury Express. I turned several humans into toons, killed some, the works.

However, I did it for my twin (25, non-binary, also a shapeshifter toon). She was being harassed, and the staff wouldn’t listen to my complaints on his behalf about an attempted assault by a human. I was working on biology degrees at university while in the largest city state, and being we’re both highly intelligent, I began working on my “cure”. It’s essentially a drugged bullet, laced with my altered blood cells.

My twin, unfortunately, didn’t understand, and we eventually got into a physical fight where I drugged everyone on the train except her with a memory interference. We then became estranged, as he was a struggling detective. I traumatized them badly enough that she refused to be associated with me, who was assumed to either be missing or dead.

Then, almost two years ago, my twin attended a reintroduction ceremony after the Luxury Express’ reopening. It was the typical week-long trip the train takes. Seeing as I was extremely angry with my twin, and not exactly thinking straight, I proceeded to plot on how I could reveal she was a shapeshifter and that we were fraternal twins.

A nasty disaster went down. I cured five humans, one on accident, and framed my twin before attacking him in front of everyone. It resulted in me getting arrested by them and ultimately told that she hated me.

Okay, yes, that’s a lot of information, but it’s important to the story. In the southwestern city state, a secret testing facility opened up that acts as an experimentation center on primarily humans to create artificial shapeshifters. Some sort of racist mentality to “achieve the inhumane strength of toons”, I guess.

I’m not fond of humans, but straight-up torturing them to see if they’ll turn into a toon and back is plain mad, and not to mention, they copied my formula for a blood-laced drug. I can’t report them to the government, especially after I escaped prison.

So, of course, I began seeking out my twin. She exposed me for my identity, so I can’t sneak out in public anymore. For a month or two, I’ve had to be discreet while tracking him down, and to no luck as they beat me up several times.

Eventually, I caught my twin in a vulnerable position during a ballroom masquerade, but that concluded in her knocking me out on the dance floor and locking me up in an interrogation room.

It was my chance, and when he demanded to know why I’d been stalking them for several months after my prison escape, I confessed everything. I needed my serum to be out of the hands of twisted idiots, and besides, both of have a strong moral sense; who would condone a testing facility?

Not to mention, my twin’s working business partner (23? He’s an amnesiac, non-binary) escaped from such a facility as one of the only surviving and functioning artificial shapeshifter.

Because of this slight of the hand, my twin begrudgingly accepted to only aid her partner. He entered a legal agreement that they must keep me safe as a criminal working with the law, and we’ll be infiltrating the facility in some time.

I’ve been wondering, however. I’m a terrible person for what I did five and two years ago, both their own monsters to sort out with my stubborn twin, but am I really so terrible for helping her with a lead in the facility case? He is incredibly hateful and rude to me, even attempting to harm me several times and giving me a concussion at the masquerade, if there’s any argument on my part.

[furysburn]

So a hc I hold dear is that Johanna loves fashion.

Even before her Games when she saw up front how important styling and dress is to the "image" of a tribute, she would sneak years out of date fashion magazines back in Seven. She knows the weight fashion carries and how it can be a small form of rebellion in its own way. I think she is legitimately jealous of having Cinna as a stylist beyond his natural talents to make pretty clothes but being brave enough to use the language of fashion as protest. It strikes a cord with her and (imo) the reason why 7 had such a shitty designer despite a rather new winner as it deprived her a venue of self-expression.

And fashion in itself is one of the few ways the Capitol differentiates itself. It is a language all its own and I can see Johanna valuing it as a Victor. I don't think she realistically did a lot of stuff post The Dead Loves Ones Incident but I can see her modeling/propaganda to keep them happy so she doesn't get killed off in the quiet of the night.

And then after all that she gets shipped off to 13 to "recover" where any individuality is actively squashed. Really the worst thing for her and her need to reclaim "Johanna" again after they literally erased everything about her through torture.

[fuckin-sick-bih]

just me screaming about therapy below the cut dont mind me

going to a new therapy place to see a whole new therapist whom i have never met before today... i genuinely feel sick over it. and not the fun kind. unless you're into emeto i guess then yeah sure have a seat i am a perpetually nauseated human being via many factors? i accept belly rubs... sometimes

anyway, not excited. i dont think they're... prepared for what a hot mess i am? mostly because i did not make this appointment for me. my mother made one for her, then decided she didn't want it, so gave them my number. i have told her time and time again to stay out of my damn medical business. so they called me after i was on some waiting list apparently for "anxiety & depression" and i... y'all wish it was just that.

and the therapist is a man. which is fine... i've had guy therapists before. but the weirdest part?? he has my father's EXACT name. first and last. THATS FUCKIN WEIRD. idk i don't like any of it. the vibes are very off and i really can't tell if it's just my brain/body/nervous system going haywire rn or if this is a Trust My Gut scenario.

honestly the worst part is that it's at 9 in the fuckin morning on a saturday and it's supposed to be reoccurring every other week. like fuck y'all no wonder that spot opened up. so i've got an hour 'til that. wish me luck.

[the-rainbow-overflow]

Drabble title: Surgery for a songbird Characters: Viroxa Galrix(picture), Unnamed bronze Summery: A brief peak into the work of a cerulean doctor and one of his many “patients”.

Very dark themes ahead, check the tags, I attempted to tag everything I could think of.If you think of others that should be here, let me know

Disclaimer: Fully aware this guy is fucked up. I don't condone any of his actions (obviously). This is a fictional character, and does horrendous fictional deeds. Read at your own discretion.

----------------------------------

Dark...

Cold... It's... cold.

“Ah, there we are. Welcome back to the waking world moonlight. Have a nice rest?”

Voice... Bad... Voice.

“Ah ah ah, no. You know the rules, no thrashing. We don’t want you hurting yourself do we? Well... not that you could feel it if you did. Still nice and numb from the medicine I hope.”

Force... Moving... Pushed... Down... Laying... No... Bad

"Today's the day, you are going to make the hopes and dreams of a young bronzie come true."

No...

“... You’d think this gets easier with each of these appointments. Sadly that rarely seems to be the case. Most of my donors get cold feet like you do. Every time... "

Escape... Move... Escape... Help.

"..."

"... Moonlight, please. I told you to stop thrashing... You're going to make this much harder for everyone involved. We go over this so frequently..."

No... No!

"Sigh... I had hoped the removal of your legs would have prompted a little more cooperation from you. I had assumed by the third neural vivisection you'd have dropped these pre-op anxieties, dear... Perhaps I expect too much, but really my dear, this is getting a bit old..."

"Alright, that's enough..."

Still... Be still.... No... Be still. Shh. Still... Escape!

Honestly I hate to raise my abilities to you moonlight, really you know I do, but really you give me no choice. All that movement could cause my scalpel to slip... There were go. Nice and still. Now stay just as you are while I get my tools, please. Removal of the vocal cords is a very tedious task. Soon enough though, you'll be helping a most lovely young lady sing to her heart's content for the first time in sweeps. Tragic life that one has lived, but you, you're going to give her her happy ending. I hear from a credible source your voice is quite heavenly. She'll be happy to carry its torch to an audience."

Still. Stop... Be still... Please... Still... Please stop.. Shh

"... Aw. Now now, don't give me the waterworks. This is a good thing, moonlight. Such a songbird's voice wasting away in the streets. It was only a matter of time before the drones came for you, you know. If the circus didn't scoop you up for their own entertainment. A barbaric lot that bunch can be... A homeless bronze blood, blood of your lussus still staining your clothes. I'd have given you a day if not hours. All that potential that would have gone to such a waste. To leave you out there would be to leave you for death. And we simply couldn't have that, could we?"

Death...Shh.. Die... Die... You're ok... please... Everything is fine... I don't...

"I envy you a little, honestly. A bit of you is going to reach the masses someday. A translator for that troll's hopes and dreams. An honorable position a piece of you will hold. Just as your legs helped that kind young man walk again. What was his name again. Was it-... Hm .. no that's not it..."

Name... What... Name... My... Name... Did I... Have? I... Hive... want...Go hive...

"Here we are. Everything nice and ready here. Now we can begin the operation. This'll be over in just a moment just hold still..."

Stop. Shh. Stop. Stop. Calm.. STOP

----------------------------------

In the quiet of a lab, the sound of a man at work are all a mind can hear. The quick, precise snipping of a surgical scalpel and scissors against wet skin every few moments. He's accompanied by the hum of machinery, it's many wires and tubes that run to and fro. Through these artificial veins pumped the false blood that kept his patient's body operational.

He could be like this for days if given the chance. The rush of adrenaline his line of work gave him was matched only by the knowledge of how much joy it brought his clients. Repurposing these old parts, rescuing them from their wasteful end, that's what this was all about. Efficiency, and the extended life of those who'd soon have had theirs torn from them. But until every part had found its purpose, he'd need to keep them fresh, usable. Alive.

A challenging task, for sure. He was more than willing to accept such a task, however. The fusing of metal and flesh, such a wonderfully interesting concept. To extend the time of the temporary, with the cold, hard exterior of eternity.

It's exciting, is it not? When the removal of his chosen parts was complete, he's quick to set it aside, iced and prepared for transplantation. Now comes the next phase of the procedure, he thinks to himself as he lifts his drill from the table.

----------------------------------

A lone mind sits in darkness.

It has not been able to see for some time now.

It can not count the days, nor nights.

Its mind screams to move, but its body lacks the strength, the will nor range to move from its confinements. So often it has tried to scream, but found no jaw to move. No tongue to form words.

Blind eyes weep tears of bronze down metal cheeks as it is pushed back into its container. It can sense this. The moving air over its numbed face one of the few senses it has been left with, if faded and distant.

It has stopped again.

Consciousness would soon cease again. It always did.

It is scared.

How much did he take this time.

How much will he take next?

Is it... Even a troll, anymore?

Will the next one be the last?

It doesn't know. It wants to leave. It wants to see again. It wants to feel grass upon its skin, rain upon its head.

The form lay strapped to a surgical table. It's body a mix of contorted flesh, carved away in places then wrapped in bandages. What wasn't wrapped was capped or welded shut with shiny grey metal, aside from its chest currently. The cavity pulled open and back to display what few organs remained like a frog on a lab student's table. Its most vitals long since having begun the pilfering and replacement process; ticking gears were a heart once beat, bloated sacks where its lungs once breathed. It's blood, once a vibrant bronze now diluted with artificial replacers, heavy in sedative drugs. Perhaps the only thing keeping the agony from this butchered existence at bay. What was likely a blessing at first now a curse as it longs for the feeling of anything at all, even pain, discomfort, something. It's thoughts have become lesser with each day of dismemberment. Its name lost, its identity, if it had one before, now lost in the wind. It remembers being called she once. But even that feels like an eternity ago, far from reach and lost in obscurity. It was only a matter of time before that too was taken.

It can feel itself slipping away again as it joins the others in storage. Back into unconsciousness. Back into the long dark before the repeat. Just like the times before, it's thoughts are few of words but consistent. A plea. A cry.

Kill... Me...

[gender-mailman]

hey are you gonna like ... coin a gorture role system/titled sos .. like darling for datesime ... or should i start brainstorming 😳

I have thought of 3 actully! :D

Torturer, tortured and stalker :D

[ghostbloomed]

“first, we’re going to dress that wound. then you’re going to tell me what—or who—gave it to you.” (hermione to micheal, ok but imagine hermione at hogwarts while the carrows were there??)

making it back — alive was a feat. by now he’s certain news of his capture was spread, especially amongst dumbledore’s army, only to be confirmed once he’s snuck back into the room of requirement. the markings on his wrists were much fainter than they were originally, having been shackled by the carrows, but the effects of the torture were PERMANENT. The school had surely gone downhill since their headmasters death, another war rising. it felt bleak, the only thing the student body had to lean on was each other ( at least those who were part of the. . . resistance. But he didn’t regret anything, and it wasn’t the first time he’d rebelled against it. it wouldn’t be the last. He was quite adamant in his refusal he couldn’t torture first years or anyone, even if he got tortured himself. “ I’m surprised longbottom didn’t tell you, “ he got out through his teeth, as he was in quite of bit of pain, lowering himself into one of the chairs as she questioned him.

he didn’t want anyone feeling . . . pity for him, especially when he didn’t do it to be heroic, he did it for those who didn’t really have their voice yet. it took a minute or so for him to collect his thoughts before he sighed. “ the carrows. they tortured me for not wanting to practice the cruciatus curse on first years. I only now just managed to get away. I reckon it won’t be long before they come looking for me. “

[mishkakagehishka]

okok wait angsty zombie au mika things. tbh if you wanna treat this as a request feel free but mostly it's just "oh i want to see the producer break while mika begs them to kill him because he knows he's doomed"

like. his line outright has him basically begging the producer to kill him, right? so imagine him actually surviving a while with the producer - and maybe a few others, until he finally gets bit. he knows he doesn't have time. he knows he's going to die. what can he do but beg his loyal producer to kill him? do they hesitate? do they do as he says, despite how it hurts? do they kill him, coldly and ruthlessly? do they at least try to make it not hurt, because he's suffered enough as is? do they refuse? beg him to try to stay with them a little longer, that maybe a cure will be made! it's a fruitless thought, but how can you kill someone you're so close to?

Wohoho! "Feel free to treat as a request" dw i'm saving the link after posting this and i'll rb with a fic one day, but i gotta post it bc YOUR mind and it's appropriate for the season

Listen.. .... if it's been Long Enough there might not be a way to make it painless.... and listen... what if it's - say - his hand or leg that got bit? If the Producer and he were desperate enough... i think Mika would tell them to try and amputate it. But it's not like Producer is a medical professional or that they have painkillers to spare. Nor tools. :) Mika getting a fireaxe to the knee :) or a saw to the elbow :)

And all of what you said, if it doesn't work, or if he was bit on his neck or torso or other place where they can't just amputate... Mika would beg and beg and beg, but could Producer do that??? And as the Producer can't let go, Mika just gets sicker, paler, thinner, his skin starts rotting off, he's fainting, but still he's begging. Could they do it? Could they even find a gun and bullets to give him a "clean" death? Would he have to take poison, likely also a painful death? Or a blade? The poor thing...

[zorkaya-moved]

small spoiler list for what zarina has done in her genshin verse (heavy dark themes present):

tortured, killed, and experimented on humans, beasts, and abyssal order members. she did not discriminate there. humans were used for poison study, medicine study, anatomy, surgery, and more. same with the beasts and abyss order. if there is anyone who knows how to torture others and crack even the most loyal ones, it's her. unlike dottore, she also sells information anonymously.

the only ones she left out of such cruel experiments were children; she refused to use young kids as her experiment material. however, this doesn't mean she doesn't use children as her ears and eyes in different cities since they all like her, similarly to how ningguang does. this also does not mean she will not hesitate to kill a child if they are truly in her way or become a problem for her in the future; with them, she would be swift to avoid any pain or understanding of what happened.

has been poisoning and testing medicine on the three sages for more than 6 years, which caused them to suddenly be fine with creating a false god and push them towards such an illogical, stupid and corrupt plan. her drug alternated their behavior compared to the other two, but this will never be learned until she tells herself because the effect of the drugs has been so detrimental that no one would actually get that she was the one who orchestrated the downfall of three sages behind the curtains for her own entertainment and to see how far she can push everything.

hid herself in plain sight, fooling people into thinking she's a good person for more than ten years, giving her an impregnable reputation in the akademiya. avoided akasha terminal's data collection and figured out the fact that you can 'fool' it by having others see her as a good person and thus leading akasha terminal being unable to predict her dangerous and terrifying actions.

she and her twin brother are the best hunters of their generation from snezhnaya. zarina herself is feared by the monsters of the abyss and abyss order alike (also hated deeply for what she's done to their people). she is an eloquent killer who has poisoned, assassinated and killed people for money and personal reasons. she has been a killer since she was a child. she is called a natural-born hunter for a reason. her true self is a cold-hearted and logical woman who does not let any emotions get in her way.

she operates an anonymous black market that sells information, drugs, medicine, poisons, and rare artifacts.

[oc-aita]

AITA for trying to save the life of the person I fell in love with?

So, background: I was created as part of a collective consciousness. Billions of years ago we were individual beings, but we ascended beyond that, and in those intervening eons we decided that we missed whar individuality brought to our civilisation and understanding of the universe. Unfortunately, since it is difficult to un-ascend from incorporealism, we’ve taken to repossessing the bodies of other people.

One day, on an exploratory mission to find new places to expand, my colleague M (~20,000, “F”) and I (~300,000, “F”) came across a space station on the edge of a small solar system. With a distance telepathic scan, it seemed to be nearly abandoned; I could only sense a couple of people. I learned their language and customs from one mind specifically, who I will call H (20s, F).

When M and I arrived, H greeted us with somebody else, who’s not horribly relevant but I’ll call Z (30s, M). The weird thing was this: I couldn’t sense Z at all. It was as if he had no brain. As H gave me the tour, I realized that I couldn’t read most of them, just H and one or two other passers-by. Already, this was looking bad for M and my mission. If we couldn’t even read most of these people, we wouldn’t be able to possess them.

M and I got stationed as the official “ambassadors” of our homeworld. We never intended to tell Z or H or anyone else about the true nature of our presence there. H was in charge of “extraterrestrial relations,” so I began to spend a lot of time with her. She was one of the few possessable people of her race, and I wanted to know why, but I couldn’t ask her, and it was always considered rude to try and look in someone’s mind for no reason.

Everything changed when another individual, let’s call them Y (??, NB) arrived in an escape pod. Y came from the most recent conquest of ours; they were the same species as the bodies M and I inhabited. They explained everything to Z and H, leaving M and me in a difficult position. We could report back to the rest of the collective consciousness and tell them that these people were unpossessable, inevitably leading to some retaliation, or we could pretend to continue our mission while we figured out some solution. M wanted to do the former, while I opted for the latter, and since I was older out of the two of us, my decision stuck.

All of that is context to the real problem: at some point during our time on the space station, I fell in love with H. Understand, my people don’t really have your human concept of love. Our families are people who share the meaning of our collective-assigned grace names, and that bond is beyond important to us. Other than that, we have no need for love, so what I felt for H was something I had never experienced before. I tried to respect H’s boundaries and not read her mind, but going off of how she acted around me, and my passive telepathic perception, she felt similarly about me.

H told me her deepest secret, which was revealed to her entire world a couple months later so I have no problem stating it here: she was telepathic herself, and since it was illegal for “individuals with psychic abilities” to hold governmental positions, of which her position qualified, she had been careful to keep that secret her whole life. Not only that, but psychic members of her species got an “ID tag” drilled into their wrists, which was supposed to send a sharp pain through their nervous systems whenever they read someone’s thoughts, even passively. Now that she knew that M and I were telepathic as well, as was Y to a lesser extent, she was afraid that our presence would make people suspect her.

Fast forward about a year. H’s psychic abilities were revealed, and Z claimed that he didn’t have to have her arrested because their planet’s laws didn’t necessarily apply to the space station. But now, the president of one of the staes on their planet—the state who constructed the space station—had invited M and I to the planet to meet and talk. I had been weary about accepting, but with pressure from both Z and my own collective, I agreed.

For some forsaken reason, H wanted to come with us. I’m afraid that it was because she loved me. She knew what would happen to her if she went back to her planet, so I don’t know why else she could have wanted to come. I didn’t want to lose H, and I knew that I would if she was arrested by the authorities, so I did the only thing I could think of: I offered her immunity under my collective consciousness (which we had told them was a “stellar empire”). She declined, saying she had to finally face it, so when we arrived, I took matters into my own hands: I told her planet’s authorities that she was under the political protection of my “stellar empire” and that they couldn’t touch her.

They didn’t arrest her, but she was so furious with me she considered (loudly enough to pick it up passively) trying to assassinate her president just so she could get arrested anyways. When we left the planet, she was informed that her citizenship would be revoked and she would need official clearance from our “stellar empire” to ever come back to her planet.

All the while, during all of this, I’ve been trying to hide a handful of facts from the collective: we can only possess telepathic humans, who make up about half a percent of the population and are subjected to borderline torture under a series of treaties following the end of their last war. Maybe I was thinking impulsively in regards to H’s situation, but I was preoccupied in trying to keep her whole planet safe along with herself individually. The collective wasn’t thrilled that they had to give H protection either, and it took a long time to explain it to them too, but what’s done is done.

She hasn’t talked to me in weeks now, and I’m wondering if what I did was really so bad. So, am I really the asshole here?

[fernfernicus]

my head hurts so badly right now and im.gonna cry.jvebeen hearing abojt so much genuine despicable acts of violence towards animals that make me so fucking sick. they are unthinkabk4 and making me so SO sick. i dont know how humans are capable of such acts of fucking senseless violence and "FOR FUN" for their own pleasure. fuck you. fuck you. fuck you. i really hope you kill yourself i dont care if youre sick if you continue to hurt animals i will literally shoot you to death fuck you. i honest to god hope you are wiped off the earth. you are a stain beneath my feet. kill yourself in front of me. the things ive been seeing are so sick and disgusting. please. kill yourself .......................

[peculiar-shardscape]

batshit octave,,,? 🥺 /silly

EEK! silly au that went from crackship to crackship to divorce to crackship to Oh God my best friend’s gone apeshit and it’s all my fault to My boyfriend sent my ex best friend into super hell

NOTICE, PRHD CHARACTERS ARE INVOLVED. MOSTLY JJ THOUGH …. GUIDAL TOO BUT HES JUST THERE FOR SHITS AND GIGGLES.

JJ. So apparently a discovery he was fuckboy asshole dev’s self insert in some way and We Didnt Like That so we destroyed him and turned him into a whore instead

credit of art to my sibling rocket btw why is he so huge on my phone okay anyways yeah hes colors. and also for those nonprhd knowers he owns the Scriptbox which is just silly fucked up colored boxes. There’s a scriptbox in af1 near Dilly Donka’s im pretty sure but yeah scriptboxes exist

Anyways I created the scripterverse which is basically scriptboxes but theres a million of them and entities live in them, and JJ is the God of the scripters yay 🎉

OCTAVE. He is a scripter. He is the first and Only scripter to have left and moved out of the scriptboxes and lived off in paper robloxia. JJ’s technically the first to leave but he Lives in the scriptboxes still so. Whatever

Octave is monochromatic and we all know that and I’m sure yall can guess why I picked Octave for this AU :smile:

Scripter oc, C-Pod/Doc(not medkit sorry medkit hi medkit if u see this), scripter of butterflies. He did experiments (WITH CONSENT) on some butterflies which turned them Grey and also fucked them up a little but he’s not wholly aware of that

JJ pays a visit, sees a grey butterfly and “Oh these green ones look cool.” “… JJ those are grey.” “No, they look green to me! Can I keep one? ^_^” bad idea. Doc mentions that anyone with Achromatopsia (can only see in grey) have been extremely distressed by the butterfly and requests to keep it out of sight from any. Octave has achromatopsia. For now :)

JJ accidentally lets the lil shit out. GG. JJ runs over to Octave, who he hasnt seen in Centuries, and is like AY BESTIE dont touch a green butterfly okay?

“… JJ, what is a green?”

JJ trusts Octave a lil too hard on “you’ll know when you see it” and hey Octave Does see it he can see the green and it’s making him kind of distressed but Hey butterfly pretty. He touched it.

He absorbs the butterfly’s color (green), and suddenly he can see anything that is green (grass, leaves, etc etc) and hes like Holy Shit i can see things. Aborbs other living things and Woah i can see More Colors. Boy goes batshit, runs around draining ppl’s colors (and unknowingly their energy too), and then remembers people talked about colors and JJ is Full Of Colors

So! He went straight to JJ! ^_^ and he became this whole fucking monstrosity!

Also credit to my sibling rocket for this! If I forget to tag this as eyestrain later on forgive me and Tell Me so I can tag it as eyestrain

Yeah. He becomes a whole fucking bastard. And he just cant get enough. He eventually goes insane and loses his shit and everything and he gets his ass kicked by… oh hey Blueband is here too yeah portals exist because I said so I forgot this is also a crossover but only for Blueband see JJband was a crackship that turned into a major comfort ship so Blueband is here too yes I am a JJband enthusiast die if you hate it

There are two alt routes to this, 1 being Doc finds a cure to fix his stupid ass and 2 being Blueband sends him to superhell for fucking with his boyfriend and hurting everyone

1 is basically Octave is STILL an asshole but now he has glasses that help him see color so hes not so fucking petty. Aponi exists. We love Aponi. She says slurs. Aponi is a purple butterfly (see: purple is negative to green) and she kind of threw Octave to heck and took the colors back and returned it to everyone yippee yaya i just realised she exists in Both routes but in the peaceful route she and Octave actively hate each other and Aponi calls him slurs

2nd route, blueband just fucks him up and destroys him and sends him to superhell and torments him forever and refuses to let him die dont worry about it! ^_^

Yeah . Colordrained AU is a whole

[oniraki]

Broken into fractures

Pairing : Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

TW : Mental health, Psych ward, mentions of : self harm, suicide wishes/attempts , severe trauma (both Simon and reader), dark themes , angst, hurt/comfort , swearing , nicotine and psychiatric medication/sedation use - maybe too much tagging but it's better safe than sorry I guess?

AN : inspired by all the fantastic artists and writers here I gathered the courage to try and write something up myself. Hope I don't mess shit up .. please have patience with me for I really don't know what I am doing right now (and English is not my first language..)

"you're in time out Mr.Riley.." his psychiatrist says in a hushed tone, making Simon's head throb painfully. He does not like that bawbag of a man with his silly round glasses and his pathetic attempts to comb his hair in a way, that would hide his growing baldness. Simon tries to focus on Doc.Hershal's words but instead his eyes are glued to a coffee stain on the man's button down.

"Mr.Riley do you even pay attention?" A grunt is the only response that so called doctor gets out of him. The man sighs. "You hurt another patient, Mr.Riley.." he tries again and Simon chuckles hoarsely. "I'm well aware of that. He had it coming for some time .." - "You broke his nose." The doctor states more urgently, observing Simon's features as far as possible, since half of his face is hidden behind a black scarf.

"Fucking hell..should've broken his neck instead." Dr.Hershal shakes his head. "We have talked about this plenty of times, didn't we, Mr.Riley? This is no healthy way of coping with your feelings. This is unacceptable behavior above all of it. Every patient has a right to be here, to heal and to be safe while doing so"

Simon could feel his blood boil, hear it rushing through his whole body. Safety? He was talking about safety after all, that happened earlier that day? "Where was her right of safety when that fucker had his hands all over her...?!" The psychiatrist nods "I have heard about the incident. But that does not justify your aggressive behavior. That was something to be dealt with by the hospitals staff, Mr.Riley."

Incident. The nurses should've handled this. "And still nobody showed up fast enough to put her out of her misery, for fucks sake!"

His heart was beating way too fast, his bruised hands shaking in his lap. Knuckles cut open from that other man's broken teeth. He felt no shame, no regret. He'd do it all over again. Do anything to keep you safe, to protect you from harm. Even if it ment that he had to be locked up here longer than he had anticipated.

He'd do it for you.

Anything..

_______

The light was nearly blinding you as you crossed the threshold of the door, leading to the cage on the hospitals rooftop. You've never been entitled to garden privileges, going out alone and wandering around the paths between old trees and decorative bushes. You couldn't be trusted, the nurses always explained with that sorry, kinda pittying smile on their faces. You'd be a danger to yourself, they'd argue. Couldn't risk you hurting yourself, fulfilling your death wish..

The cage was just a sorry excuse of a garden. An area with fake grass and plants, some benches, secured by a Chain-link fence.. but it was your only escape from the sterile and sad gray walls of the ward, crushing you between them until you couldn't breathe. Closing you in, never letting you go. The flickering of the neon lights, the squeaking of the linoleum floor. Cold,blood sucking fingers that had a hold of you. Everything designed to torture and torment you furthermore.

The only way for you to leave that place was in a body bag. That much you were sure of.

"Hey scare-bear.." you whispered as you let yourself slump down on the fake grass next to Simon. He didn't even flinch or look at you at your sudden intrusion of his space. Not even when your head was leaning against his biceps. No words or sounds left his lips as he fetched a cigarette out of the box, lighting it up on the one he was smoking and then offering it to you. You stayed in comfortable silence for a smoke or two. Simon could feel the tension leaving his body, how his shoulders relaxed more and more with every passing minute. You were here. With him. Not in the observation room with that big window, directly connected to the nurses office. Not sedated and fixated. Not alone.. never alone, as long as he could impede it.

You sneaked your arm around his, your hand engulfing his with featherlight touches. The nurses patched him up properly after his emergency session with Hershal.

"'m sorry, love." You could feel the vibration of Simon's voice. Calming and soothing as a lullaby. He still didn't look at you, instead he kept his gaze on the sundown, throwing another cigarette butt off of the roof. "nothing to be sorry for, Si. It's my fault they relieved you of all of your privileges.." you murmured kinda dejected, petting his hand ever so lovingly.

Simon huffed, shaking his head eagerly, nearly making his hood fall down. "I'd trade every fucking, meaningless privelege if that's what it takes to keep you safe. Stop acting like it was your fault. You didn't ask him to touch you.. should've killed that bastard the second he tried to get close to you the first time."

Your movements stilled for a long moment until you released a breath you didn't know you were holding.

"they all told you to stay away from me, didn't they...?" Your voice was merely anything above a whisper. Simon only grunted in response. "As if that's ever going to happen. Nothing can stop me from being near you, little gremlin."

"but what, if they're right, scare-bear?" You ask, now avoiding his gaze that lingers on your face. "What if.. I'm no good for you? Making your condition worse..?" You thought intensely about it for the last couple of weeks. Simon used to make progress, used to get better.. at least until you came along. Certainly it hast to be your fault. "Is that what they believe or what you believe?" He snapped at you, hating himself for the harshness in his voice immediately.

You heard the night nurses whisper about you and Simon. About you being a liability to him. Stopping his progress, pulling him down into your dark abyss.

Your mind began spiraling again.

"I need words, love. Talk to me.. don't shut me out. Not again.." he demanded softly, freeing his arm out of your grasp. He'd leave you, right ? Because he realized how much of a burden you were.

But instead of getting up and leaving he placed his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into him gently, as if he might break you.

But by now your thoughts and emotions were cutting too deep, pulling you into a kind of headspace where'd you go nonverbal ..

Burden. Threat. Liability. Rotten heart and soul inside a useless, broken body. Not good enough. Not loveable.

Why can't you finally die?

" 'm here, lovie. I got you." He whispered into the crown of your head. "It's okay not to be okay right now. We'll get through it, together."

Oh how you just wanted to believe him..