My muse had been kidnapped and tortured for the past week send “I’m here- I’m here, now” for your muse to save them.
Mizuki had come in the middle of one of what Ryuji’s captor liked to call “sessions”. The blond was tied in a chair with arms, his own arms firmly affixed to them. His right forearm was turned inside-up, and one could see the beginnings of what might be a tribal-fire tattoo etched in, still dripping with blood.
The man straightened, his foxlike features turning downward into a frown. He held his tebori stick like an 80s schoolteacher holding a yardstick.
“You are indeed,” Ryuuhou said with a sigh, his frown turning upward slightly, almost eerily. “It seems I have another new canvas.”
“Mizu-senpai, RUN!” Ryuji interrupted, struggling against his bonds.