#torture scene

[wrestlingarsenal]

Can he ever reclaim his manhood after this level of public humiliation?

[bucketbender]

Something about the torture scene in KCD2 with Godwin and Zizka.

You can choose to talk straight up, to resist until getting tortured, or even stay silent after getting hurt. In this last case, Godwin screams to stop, and he tells Toth everything.

Something about Henry’s constant silence, if that’s what you choose : Toth asks the same question maybe six times before torturing him. I’m not saying he’s merciful or anything, but he’s giving Henry a choice. And that’s how he tells him : this isn’t his war. Henry’s been roped into political plots and schemes, but it’s not like he actively works to overthrow the government. Toth knows that. So he doesn’t understand why Henry would rather get tortured, even die slowly in that jail, rather than just sing.

Because he doesn’t understand in the moment that choosing for Henry to remain silent, in my opinion, isn’t to stay faithful to Jobst and protect this double faced traitor. Henry doesn’t talk because he would never talk to him. He would never give Toth the pleasure to see him bend under torture. He’s never choosing the escape route : he fights and dies right there if that’s how it is.

Of course, you can talk before any of that happens. But I like to think that’s how Henry would think and act - my Henry at least. He’s got this anger, this sorrow, this deep hatred inside him - even though he helps everyone around him and is loyal and obedient. Like when Henry taunts Erik about Toth’s death. He doesn’t have to do that. But after all the times Toth taunted him, it’s rightful retribution. It’s perverse, and evil, and he takes pleasure in seeing Erik’s face break. And you know what ? I understand.

Oh, and another detail : before all this, back at Nebakov, Godwin suggests to run before they get massacred by Von Bergow’s army. Henry refuses, Hans insults them, they fight. They get captured. In the cart, Godwin says again "i told you we should have made a run for it". Henry mentions once more how he’s never running away again. After the torture scene, for the third time, Godwin mentions how running away doesn’t seem like a bad idea now. Henry still climbs the castle to kill Toth before they leave. And yet, Godwin is no coward. He’s one of the wisest characters. He never mentions running away as a bad thing : he mentions it to find safety and protection.

If there’s a KCD3 (all the hints point to one but you never know), I wonder how it’ll tackle the subject of revenge. In KCD1, Henry needs to get revenge, and he will when the time comes. In KCD2, Henry does get revenge on almost every part, but also realizes there are other things - looking out for his brother, for Hans, for himself. If there’s a KCD3… there might be a time where you need to choose definitely what kind of life Henry will live : of letting go, peace, love, or revenge, bloody justice. He’ll be a knight either way, just not the same kind of knight. One who understands that running away isn’t necessary the bad option… or one who’ll inevitably die on the battlefield.

[chaotic-orphan]

Intoxicating Fear (XXIII)

Breaking spirits

Read part one // Masterpost // Continued from here

This part is dedicated to @dutifullykrispyland and that one choking anon who i thought of when writing the end of Ambrose’s scene :)

~*~*~*~*~*~

Jude smiled a toothy grin, his mouth wide like a shark’s, as he observed Ambrose with smiling eyes. “So you want to know about Supervillain, huh? Why?”

“I want to get in contact, shake his hand.”

Jude’s eyes flashed. “A fanboy are you?”

Ambrose smiled coldly, one hand on the barrel like table, pinky finger drumming a beat. “Something like that.”

“Mmmm, interesting. You want to join his squad, or are you just a groupie?”

“Supervillain has a squad?”

A flash of canines. Jude sat back in the booth, one hand on his chin in a mock contemplative expression. “Hmm. You’re not a groupie then, are you, stranger? You seem more like a fisherman to me.”

Ambrose clenched his teeth. This guy was getting on his last nerve and he’d like nothing more than to just shiv him with a broken bottle, or anything else sharp he could find. But then Max would kill him. But it would be worth it to see this bastard bleeding out under him.

“A fisherman?” Ambrose asked, voice deadpan. He shrugged, an irritated thing. “What does that mean?”

“You’re fishing for information,” Jude replied.

“Yeah, no shit. I’m starting to think that maybe you don’t even know Supervillain and just say you do so you have someone to talk to.” Ambrose said, getting to his feet and grabbing his jacket.

Only when he turned his back did he hear Jude say: “wait!”

Ambrose stopped, glancing back over his shoulder to the smiling idiot. Though he may as well have been looking at another man. Jude’s expression shifted in the flash of Ambrose’s disinterest, from a playful, smiling jackass to something completely different. Closer to Ambrose, or Kit, though colder than Kit was.

Serious, Ambrose realised, and he fought back a smile. Finally.

“Fine. We can be boring and talk business.” Jude conceded, gesturing for Ambrose to take a seat again. Ambrose did and the girl emerged from the shadows again with a tray of something Ambrose probably shouldn’t drink. The girl placed the bottle on the barrel, and two glasses onto the coasters already on the table.

Ambrose kept his black eyes trained on the girl as she blows a bubble of chewing gum and pops it before melting into the shadows again.

Was she watching them from now on, then? Two on one? Best to proceed as if they are, and if there’s two, why not twelve, especially if you’re Supervillain. Always good to have friends.

Jude poured Ambrose a glass and then himself, three fingers of bourbon each. A heavy pour. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re trying to get me drunk.”

“Afraid of a little libation?”

Ambrose lifted his glass, meeting Jude’s light eyes over the rim. “You look like a bottom, so I’m down to clown.”

Jude’s eyes drank in Ambrose as he took a hefty sip of the bourbon, Ambrose’s black eyes never leaving Jude’s. He really fucking hoped that his wasn’t poisoned or spiked, because he would never live that down if anyone found out.

Ambrose lowered his glass with a smack of his lips. “That’s good,” he said, feeling the grooves of the cut glass, the same glasses Max used in his bar so at least they were consistent. Ambrose appreciated the attention to detail. “It has some bite to it. Now.” Ambrose said, clasping his hands together on the barrel, black eyes catching Jude’s again. “Supervillain. Talk.”

Jude’s gaze fell to the glass and lazily trailed back up to Ambrose’s face, a slow, lazy smirk crawling it’s way onto his handsome face like the Cheshire Cat who knew something Alice didn’t.

“I could have poisoned that for all you know,” Jude said.

Ambrose shrugged. “What’s for me won’t pass me by, but I do have another stop after this exchange, so if you don’t mind talking. I’m a busy man.”

“You’re getting ahead of yourself. I don’t even know your name.”

“Ambrose,” Ambrose said flatly, eyes going to the bottle of bourbon. It really was a nice bourbon, and Ambrose didn’t usually drink it, so he grabbed the bottle in his hand, letting his eyes scan over the label.

“That’s all I get?”

“That’s all you get. Now. Jude, Supervillain. Do you know him or not?”

Jude scoffed out a laugh. “You’re a stubborn bastard, Ambrose, aren’t you?”

“You’re not the first person to accuse me of that.”

“You’re used to getting what you want.”

Ambrose shrugged. “Something like that. Are you going to talk, or can I go?”

Jude tsked, glancing to his right. Ambrose followed his line of sight to another table that was filled with more reserved patrons. Though, Ambrose suspected, Jude was probably looking into the darkness for the girl rather than at the other guests.

Jude grabbed his glass and threw back the liquid in one gulp, slamming the glass onto the table and exhaling with a sharp hiss. Ambrose grinned at him. Jude nodded at Ambrose. “Finish your drink.”

Ambrose obliged happily, and clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth after. Jude filled the glasses again. “Why’re you looking for Supervillain?”

Ambrose stared at Jude, tilting his head slightly. Somehow, Jude had grown more serious in the time that Ambrose felt himself loosen up. “I want to help him destroy the heroes in the city.”

Jude’s smile seemed lopsided. “You do, do you? A random civilian, albeit dapperly dressed, wants the heroes gone from the city? The protectors of our daily lives?”

“You don’t drink and meet people in the back of Dead Men’s Fingers unless you have some grudge against heroes, as I’m sure we both know.”

Something passed over Jude’s expression, as if Ambrose had just passed some test. Jude dipped his head, his hand over his glass. He tapped his index finger against the rim, never breaking eye contact with Ambrose.

“Drink.”

Ambrose didn’t hesitate. Jude’s eyes darkened. Ambrose blinked back the taste, the liquid burning his throat, running down hot and warming his gut. Jude grabbed the bottle, filling Ambrose’s empty glass again. Ambrose raised his brows, looking at Jude’s still full glass.

“Drink.”

“You first,” Ambrose said, his eyes narrowing.

Jude smiled a knowing smile, the same kind of smile that Ambrose imagined he wore when he first met Kit. The satisfied smirk of having all the control and power over a situation, and knowing it too.

“I have information and you want it, Ambrose. This isn’t a mutual exchange,” Jude said, pushing Ambrose’s glass towards him. Ambrose fought the urge to swallow and throttle Jude at the same time. “Drink.”

Ambrose pressed his lips into a thin line grabbing the glass and taking a sip. Jude shook his head with the same smirk on his face, though his eyes had lost all humour, dead-eyed and staring. “All of it.”

“I usually only let very sexy people get me drunk, Jude, and I hate to say it, but —”

“Drink, or I walk.”

A muscle in Ambrose’s jaw clicked and he swallowed back a scoff. He licked his lips and then threw his head back. The whiskey’s pleasant bite now seemed more of a pain than a plus, slithering through his mouth and down his throat like a viper caught in a net, nipping and biting at every place it could to try and free itself. A trapped, feral thing, something Ambrose could well turn into if Jude wasn’t careful.

Jude filled the glass the moment Ambrose set it down, and Ambrose wanted nothing more than to reach across the table and beat the shit out of the blond. But, to Ambrose’s relief, Jude let go of the bottle and sat back in his seat, smiling friendly at Ambrose again.

“Now, tell me, what’s your power.”

Ambrose blinked at Jude. He knew that Jude probably tried to access Ambrose’s head the same way Jude tried to reach in and grab the relevant information about Supervillain, but to know that Jude had attempted the same on Ambrose left him a little cagey.

“You tell me yours.”

Jude tilted his head to the side, as if to say: really? But to both of their surprise, he answered.

“I can possess people,” Jude said with a wry smile, taking a sip of his bourbon, his eyes crinkling at the taste. “Like a ghost.”

“Possess their body?” Ambrose asked. Jude nodded. “Interesting.”

“Mmm,” Jude hummed, something flickering briefly across his expression that was gone too fast for Ambrose to register. “Your turn.”

Ambrose hesitated. Aside from Kit, who he had compelled to keep silent about his Villain identity, Ambrose had never told someone his powers. Usually he wiped their memory after, ensuring he covered his tracks when he dabbled in and out of people’s minds.

Jude’s gaze sharpened. “Ambrose… I’m waiting. Tell me or dr—”

“It’s charm speak,” Ambrose said, meeting Jude’s bright green eyes. Ambrose tried to appear uncomfortable at the slip, bristling at the reveal. If he navigated this properly, Jude wouldn’t know for sure he was Omen.

“Explain.”

“I can be very persuasive. Make people like me more, get better deals in shops, get away with parking tickets.”

Jude hummed. Then nodded at Ambrose’s glass. “Drink that down and I’ll tell you what you want to know about Supervillain.”

Ambrose hesitated again. “Before you do… why the drinking? What’s in it for you?”

Jude shrugged. “You’re a telepath like me. Some are stronger than others, some are weaker. Sometimes, getting them drunk means that they lower their mental defences and I can play with them a bit. Find out how their abilities work.”

“Why?”

A flash of teeth. “Why not?” He was hiding something, Ambrose realised dumbly, though his eyes weren’t as sharp as they usually were so he couldn’t ascertain what. He let out a long sigh as his black eyes stared into the brown liquid in the dim lighting.

Just one more drink and he can get out of here. Ambrose’s fingers tightened around the glass. Just one more.

Ambrose didn’t think. He brought the glass to his lips and tipped his head back, gulped the liquid, squeezing his eyes shut as it tore down his throat, abusing his oesophagus but swallow it he did and set the glass back on the table, smacking his lips.

Jude’s shark like smile still on his face. “Now. Where can I find Supervillain?”

“You don’t. He finds you.”

Ambrose glared at the smirking man. “What? You said you knew him!”

“I do. I pass on the information that someone wants to get in contact, and then he finds you,” Jude said smugly. “But don’t worry. I already know he’ll be interested in you. He likes telepaths.”

“So how long is the wait?” Ambrose asked, running a hand through his hair. “Actually, nevermind it’s fine. Annoying, but fine. I have a better question: what’s his abilities?”

A smug knowing glint inflected the corner of Jude’s eyes, turning them up into smiles of their own. Ambrose suddenly understood what made him so terrifying to Kit in the first place — excluding the fact that he destroyed Mentor’s mind — telepaths had an otherness to them. Most powered individuals did, but telepaths… right now, in front of Ambrose, Jude looked more monster, or god of chaos and trickery, than man. The quick-witted fox who knew how the story would play out.

“That would be spoilers, Ambrose. Something I’m not at liberty to discuss.”

“So you wanted to get me drunk to lower my defences so you could poke around in my body and see what powers I had, and what? Then you go and report it back to Supervillain? Are you auditioning people for—”

Jude tilted his chin back, the smug smile remained as realisation crashed into Ambrose like a truck. “Oh,” he said and Jude’s smile widened, leaning over the table on his elbows.

“Oh.”

Ambrose sat back, his head spinning, his eyes taking a moment to adjust with the movement, a little woozy from the booze. “Supervillain who attacked Mentor’s statue, that could’ve been you, possessing Mentor’s body. Using his powers.”

Jude didn’t say anything. His eyes twinkling in the darkness. “Then again,” Ambrose continued, thinking exclusively out loud about it. “You could just be a middleman like you say, working with Supervillain and helping them get connections, but connections for what? And then that all flies in the face of the shapeshifter theory because you’re new on the villain scene Jude, or at least, the villain drinking scene.”

Jude didn’t twitch or flinch, or make any movements to agree or disagree with Ambrose’s open pondering, his face remained annoyingly stoic, the smile remaining on his face, green eyes drinking in Ambrose’s expressions.

Ambrose laughed, sitting back in his seat. “You need eye contact for possession, don’t you?”

Jude inclined his head as if he was caught with his hand in the cookie jar, but knew he wouldn’t get in trouble. “Yeah. I do. Though, I have to give credit, Ambrose. You’re tougher than you look, and you look plenty tough.”

Ambrose didn’t know whether they were going to kiss or kill each other, but a civil understanding passed between them, that neither of them could attack the other and so they were on a more level playing field than most people they encountered.

Ambrose’s phone buzzed and he pulled it out. Jude reclined further back, glancing into the darkness. “Something important?”

“You have no idea…”

(20:36) Kit: Supervillain at old town clocktower. Omw.

If Supervillain was in old town, that meant Ambrose could reach him first, but then again he didn’t want to underestimate Kit’s speed. Ambrose lifted his eyes to Jude’s, to find the green pools grinning at him.

“You’re not Supervillain,” Ambrose said.

“You so sure?” Jude asked, whistling lowly as he drummed his fingers over the barrel of a table. Ambrose grinned back.

“Certain.”

When the girl melted out of the shadows, Ambrose grabbed her wrist and slammed it down, causing her to flash into materialisation but that was all Ambrose needed. “Be a dear and kill Jude for me.”

Ambrose didn’t have to wait for her to obey the command. She grabbed the bottle of bourbon and smashed it off the table. As Ambrose slid out of the booth a stray shard caught his cheek and lodged there. He hissed in pain, grabbing his jacket and barrelling through patrons in the bar.

Max emerged from the kitchen, his eyes finding Ambrose and sharpening to a glare as Ambrose waved his apology. George grabbed the gun from under the counter, checking to see if the double-barrel was loaded while Max clicked his fingers. A handful of fire lit up his striking face and cast shadows in all the right places, making him look more like a vengeful angel than a man.

Ambrose walked out onto Fagan’s lot, working his way back through the maze of skinny alleyways to get to the Clocktower. A hand seized his upper arm and pulled him sideways. Ambrose’s eyes widened, head turning, the disembodied arm was pulling him towards a brickwall and Ambrose panicked, his hands flying up to protect his face.

He didn’t hit the wall. Instead, he fell through it, and he felt as if his entire body was being grated, or strung through a mincer, grinding his bones and organs and then he was on the other side of the wall and he could breathe again, his feet back on the ground.

He fell to his hands and knees gasping. “Freaky, innit?” Ambrose groaned at the sound of Jude’s voice, though a bit pleased to see it was slightly laboured.

Ambrose looked up, the room zooming in and out like a camera trying to focus. Shadow walking when drunk is not something he wanted to experience again. He saw Jude standing ahead of him, half hunched over a wall, one hand out while his elbow propped a towel into his other hand that was red with blood.

Smiling green eyes met black. “I must say, you almost got me there. I had only managed to possess Selena here after she sank that broken bottle into my hand,” he said with a good natured laugh. “Good for you I only need one.”

“Pity,” Ambrose said. A snake of shadows wrapped around Ambrose’s neck, cold and vicious as they slithered tighter, leaving enough oxygen for him to breathe, but not comfortably.

“I think they call this an impassé, Omen.” Jude said with a heavy breath. Ambrose narrowed his eyes, focusing hard on Jude’s free hand with his fingers splayed, as if he was playing an octave on a piano. It was trembling. “I can’t release Selena until you compel her not to kill me, which means Selena’s shadows won’t release you either.”

“Seems like a you problem.”

A swift kick to the face sent Ambrose sideways with a grunt, the stray shard of glass crunching further into his cheek. He could taste iron in his mouth and grimaced.

The shadowed hands righted Ambrose to his knees again, the coil of snakes winding a little tighter until Ambrose could only suck in a breath after choking on three.

Jude’s next words cause Ambrose to freeze. “Don’t you want to try and save Kit?” Jude’s playful chuckle followed the motion, and then the shadows turned into a rope, pulling Ambrose towards Jude. Ambrose dug his heels into the ground, trying to fight against them, but he felt a hand on his back, pushing him forwards too, ensuring he couldn’t fight back.

Ambrose stumbled forward at the jolt of another tug, but caught himself before he fell. Jude’s smile widened to the size of a shark, and two hands forced Ambrose to his knees in front of Jude.

Green eyes met black, all humour gone from them, replaced with a wildness. Unpredictable and chaotic. “I can kill you right now Ambrose, and your little compulsion will die with you. So how about, to save your little friend, or brother— whatever fucking weird family thing you got going on, I suggest you compel Selena to not kill me.”

“How do you know Kit?!” Ambrose demanded, choking on Kit’s name. The question was answered by a crushing force on his throat that felt strong enough to obliterate his oesophagus. “Okay,” he wheezed, tapping Jude’s leg as blackness circled his vision like vultures stalking their prey, waiting for it to die. “Ock— kay!”

The shadows recoiled from Ambrose’s throat and he fell forward, sucking in air, his eyes so close to Jude’s ugly trainers. Actually he took it back, he’d rather be choked by shadows than endure Jude’s disgraceful taste in shoes.

Ambrose got to his knees after he caught his breath. Green eyes cut into his face as sharp as the glass still embedded in his skin. “No funny business, Omen.”

Ambrose turned and told the girl to stop trying to kill Jude. He turned to Jude who smirked at him. “Get rid of the word trying, and do it again, asshole.”

Ambrose shrugged, lighthearted. Technically, if Ambrose had compelled her to stop trying to kill Jude, the way the brain would pick that up is stop trying to kill Jude and just kill him. Always fun to do business with a telepath.

Ambrose lifted the compulsion, and turned back to Jude, spreading his hands, as if to say: there. Jude dropped his splayed hand with a sharp exhale, and Ambrose could see the sweat running down his forehead from the panic he hid so well from Ambrose.

“You can rest easy now,” Ambrose told him.

Jude sighed and pushed himself to his feet. “Yeah. No can do, unfortunately. The boss has called us in, so we’ll be on our way.”

Ambrose’s gaze hardened. “What?”

Jude grinned, green eyes shining. “Oops. Did I forget to mention that? Well, no worries, Ambrose. I’ll give Kit your best.”

“What do you—” Ambrose didn’t finish his sentence before his head whipped to the side and the world swam in front of him. He reached a hand up to the side of his head, blinking as he pulled it away. Something warm and wet staining his hand. He met green eyes and something flashed in front of him and he crumpled to the ground, his vision darkening like a vignette. The last thing he saw was Jude’s ugly trainers by the door.

Fuck.

~*~*~*~

The door opened to the basement opened again. Footsteps sounded through the basement, echoing slightly, off the walls and around the room.

“Malyn…” Sawyer hissed in warning. Supervillain smiled at Kit’s hero name. They must really not know who he is. He didn’t know if he should be offended or not, but it wasn’t something he had to decide on his way down the stairs and into the basement.

Sawyer looked up defiantly when Supervillain stood in the mouth of the room. Tides was awake too, eyes trying to burn a hole in his head, though the pair looked a little worse for wear. Tides face was flushed, while Sawyer looked a little grey around the edges. Only Kit remained asleep.

Supervillain crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the wall, his eyes flicking to Tides. “Have you changed your mind?”

“Not in the slightest,” she replied immediately.

Supervillain turned to Sawyer. “Fuck you, dickhead.”

Supervillain shrugged. “Alright then, plan B.”

He walked over to Sawyer, pulling a key from his pocket to unlock Sawyer’s cuffs. Sawyer breathed a sigh of relief mixed with pain when his arms were freed and fell like lead onto his thighs. He kicked out weakly at Supervillain, but Supervillain just stepped forwards him, grabbing Sawyer to his feet under his arm.

“Hey! Get off him! Let him go!” Tides cried, yanking at her own cuffs. Sawyer tried to summon his magic but nothing happened and he cursed, glaring at Supervillain’s impassive mask.

“What— what did you do to us?” Sawyer couldn’t feel any power dampeners on him, not on his wrists or ankles, but he couldn’t feel his power in his body, like every time he went to reach for it, it pulled further away from him.

“I inhibited your ability to use your powers,” Supervillain told him simply. Sawyer’s stomach bottomed out. It felt so invasive, like a gut punch, as if Supervillain had reached in and messed with Sawyer’s physiology. He tried again, harder, reaching, but nothing happened.

“How?” Sawyer demanded, digging his heels in as Supervillain dragged him to the centre of the room and left him there.

“Stay,” he said and Sawyer couldn’t move. Supervillain walked to the corner, grabbing a chair and dragging it over to where Sawyer was before shoving Sawyer into the chair. Sawyer threw his hands out, trying to catch any part of Supervillain’s body but then he froze in his seat as he heard the door behind him open again. But Supervillain was beside Sawyer, dragging one of his wrists behind him and tying it to the chair.

Sawyer’s struggles renewed, pushing at Supervillain and when that didn’t work kicking him. He lunged up and tried to step away but his legs didn’t respond, still obeying the stay command. Supervillain put a hand on Sawyer’s chest, tilting his masked head to the side.

“You want to try again?” Sawyer met Tides wide eyes with his own, his mouth suddenly dry. He didn’t want to just give in, but if Tides saw that he obeyed willingly she’d think he deserved whatever torture that Supervillain had planned for him.

Sawyer pivoted and punched Supervillain’s mask, sending him stumbling back, then grabbed the chair his wrist was loosely tied to and held it up to the masked villain, holding the legs out like a shield and a weapon all in one.

“Sawyer!” Tides cried, but Sawyer was already turning so his body branched out to both threats. The other man was in his thirties, with dirty blond hair and forest green eyes. He had a freshly bandaged hand which was half stuck in his grey sweatpants pocket.

“Come on, fuckers,” Sawyer snapped, his teeth echoing at how sharply his jaw formed around the words. “Just let us go!”

“You sure you wanna do that, kid?” The blond asked, inclining his head. His green eyes smirking at the defiant spark in Sawyer. The blond glanced to Kit’s sleeping form and then to Tides pointedly. “Maybe we can’t get you, but think about your friends. You want to get them hurt too?”

Sawyer clenched his jaw, fingers curling around the arms of the chair. No, he didn’t want to get them hurt, but he didn’t want to get hurt either. “I’m not just gonna lie down and let you torture us. Beat us fairly, in combat. In the field.”

Jude clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, and glanced at Supervillain. Supervillain dipped his head and Jude shrugged. He walked over to Kit and Sawyer’s heart leapt into his throat. Jude reached down and Sawyer yelled out a terse: “wait!”

The blond paused, glancing back at Sawyer, waiting for him to continue. Sawyer slammed the chair down and sat again, locking eyes with Tides who bowed her head too. A wordless understanding blossoming between them. They both would’ve done the same thing.

One of them grabbed Sawyer’s free hand and tied it behind the chair, attaching it to the wood and then his other wrist, enough room left so that if he struggled the coarse ropes would rub against his flesh, burning it. He swallowed his fear and sat silently.

Superhero would find them, wouldn’t he? He would come to the rescue. Sawyer didn’t even believe his own lie, but it was all the comfort he had as the blond guy came around to face Sawyer.

“This one’s Kit?” The blond asked, but Supervillain’s distorted voice replied behind Sawyer: “no. The sleepy one’s Kit.”

“I see,” he said, straightening, his cat-like eyes going back to Kit. Sawyer kicked a leg out at the blond who gasped as if shocked.

“Don’t touch him asshole.”

“Yeah? What’re you gonna do about it, hero?”

Sawyer kicked him again, but this time, he aimed for his hand and the blond drew back with a curse. Sawyer grinned as the blond drew his fist back and punched him square in the face, and then hit his nose again until tears sprung to his eyes, dizzying.

“Leave him alone, Jude. We won’t break them by beating them.”

The blond — Jude — sighed theatrically and turned to face Tides instead. Unfortunately, he had the sense to step out of Sawyer’s kicking range.

“Fine. You’re the boss…” he said, then whistled as he walked over to Tides, crouching down to be eye-level with her. “Hello gorgeous.”

Tides spit in his face. Jude laughed, his hand shot out and grabbed Tides by the throat, tilting her head up to face him. “Oh, darlin’, you’ll regret that real soon. I’d apologise to Sawyer if I were you.”

Sawyer bristled. “Why would she apologise to me dickhead?”

Nobody answered. Sawyer shifted in the chair. “Hey! Asshole!”

Nothing.

The sound of Tides’ restraints unlocking strangely sent a cold chill down Sawyer’s spine instead of being reassuring. Jude stood and so did Tides, silently, the noiseless echo choking him as he stilled in his chair, waiting for… something to happen.

Jude stepped away from Tides, revealing her to Sawyer. She looked bad, her broken wrist hung limply by her side but in her other hand she had a knife, her expression an eerie blankness.

Sawyer shifted in his seat again, pushing back in the chair, trying to escape from the ropes, but they just rubbed raw against his wrists. “Hey. Tides. Tides! Wake up! Tides! Hey, Tides! What’re you doing?!” Sawyer yelled, turning his glare to Jude who stood with his hand out, fingers splayed as if he were conducting a marionette, his fingers moving in tandem with Tides approaching Sawyer where he sat.

“If you refuse to quit being a hero,” Supervillain said behind Sawyer, Tides stopping suddenly in front of him. “Then we’ll have to do something drastic to change your minds, won’t we? Did you know, Sawyer, back in the day, before heroes were called heroes, a lot of them stopped being heroes because of the horrors they witnessed. The PTSD haunted their dreams, and when it got too much, they retired. Some killed themselves, some went mad. But they did stop being heroes after a lot of pain.”

Sawyer flinched when Supervisors put his hands on his shoulders, kneading the tense muscle with his thumbs. “Of course. You can just vow to quit now, and we don’t have to do anything nasty. Tides won’t have to hurt you, and you won’t have to let her. Is your pride really worth all the trauma this will cause?”

“Don’t—” Sawyer choked out, his eyes pleading as they found Tides’s bright blue ones, dull and dead. “Tides please, we’re friends.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” Jude said, “she’s not in control of her actions, but the guilt that will come after?” He whistled. The sound went through Sawyer.

“You can stop this,” Supervillain whispered. “You don’t have to go through with this Sawyer. Tides is out of it and I can make her forget if she remembers, and Kit is sleeping. Neither of them will judge you if you want to tap out now.”

“Please,” Sawyer said, shaking his head at Tides. “Tides, wake up! Please! Please! Fight back!”

Jude laughed. “Oh she’s fighting alright.”

“Let her go, you psychos!” Sawyer screamed, thrashing in the chair. Supervillain sighed above him, tightened his grip briefly, then stepped away.

“I’m sorry it had to come to this,” Supervillain said, and the worst part was that he sounded genuine. Jude however was smiling behind Tides, his green eyes fixed on Sawyer who squirmed as far back as he could away from Tides.

“We’ll start slow,” Jude said, and Tides sliced an arc down Sawyer’s face. Sawyer screamed through clenched teeth, humming as Tides withdrew the blade from his skin. It probably went an inch deep, because the blood was pouring down his face, leaking into his eyes and mouth.

“Crow?” Kit. Finally awake. “Crow! Tides! Stop! What’s going on?”

“Don’t worry, Kit,” Supervillain said and the three heroes stilled, their blood running cold. How did he know Kit’s name? He was right… they know who Supervillain is… Kit’s wide eyes turned to Supervillain’s two toned mask. He could feel Supervillain’s smile, hear it in his distorted voice. “You’ll get your turn after Sawyer.”

“Who are you, you bastard!?” Sawyer screamed, his head whipping to Supervillain. “Who the fuck are you?! Are you one of us? You fucking traitor!”

Kit trembled, cold, his wrists rattling in their restraints despite himself. “You heroes are so spirited,” the blond said, his eyes bright and cruel. “It’s adorable.”

“Do you want to stop being heroes?” Supervillain asked again.

“Go to hell,” Sawyer barked. Kit wanted to… he really wanted to stop, to not fight Supervillain on this and let him wipe his memory. Let the villain make the decision for him, let him quit while he’s ahead, he doesn’t want to end up like Mentor. He doesn’t.

He raised his head, looked Supervillain in his mask and said: “swap me with Sawyer.”

“What?” Sawyer asked, his voice a little hollow. “Kit—”

“Swap me out for Sawyer,” Kit said through clenched teeth. “Please, just please.“

If Kit could take the pain, and someone rescued them soon, then the other two wouldn’t have to suffer as much. Kit already dealt with Ambrose, he could take it.

Supervillain hummed on the way over to Kit. He crouched down in front of the hero, and took his chin in his hands. “Why would I do that? One hero is hurting another, it doesn’t matter which is which.”

“Please,” Kit said, his eyes pleading. “I’m begging you. Just let me go first. If you’re a hero you’ll understand. Please.”

Supervillain glanced back at Jude who kept his laughing green eyes on Kit, amused. “Hell, kid. I’ll even do the honours myself, I owe you one from your friend, Ambrose.”

Kit didn’t take his pleading eyes from Supervillain’s face, though he wanted to ask the blond a million questions. How do you know Ambrose? What do you mean owe him one? “Please.”

“I know you, Kit. I know it would kill you, and devastate you to see your friends in danger, in peril, and not be able to do anything to save them. I don’t want to cause you pain, I want you to stop being heroes. I want this to be quick and painless.”

“Supervillain please don’t do this!” Kit begged, shaking his arms in his cuffs. His voice breaking as he pleaded. “Please! Please, just let them go.”

Supervillain stood again. He nodded at the blond. Tides sliced again and Sawyer screamed. Kit flinched as if he was the one being cut. Only when Sawyer’s screams stopped did Supervillain say that was enough for the day, and leave the three heroes in the basement.

They didn’t even tie Tides up again, but her sobs filled the room instead of the screams, crying into Sawyer’s legs and apologising for it all. Kit stared numbly forward, his mind blank. He didn’t know what to do, so he did nothing.

And he didn’t know which would haunt him more.

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

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[loopy777]

i just read a fic where zuko gets captured alongside mai in the boiling rock and they torture him for info about aang's whereabouts and of course he doesn't tell them. but then they threaten to torture mai and he spills. do you think it's in character. i was a little surprised. i thought he wouldn't.

Ugh. I'm going to be honest with you: I feel like torture is a "do whatever the storyteller wants" plot device. I've come to the point where anything involving torture feels artificial, a construct meant to Make A Point that -- no matter the point -- ends up feeling divorced from reality. I've written exactly one torture that I can recall (although I left it mostly off-screen), and purposefully made it pointless, a waste of time trying to get information which doesn't exist, serving in my plot as an actual time-waster until other characters were ready to get the plot going, a silly little meta-commentary.

With my adult life starting shortly before 9/11, I guess I've just been exposed to so many variations of Torture As A Plot Device that I'm just weary.

Anyway, all that's to say: yeah, I'd shrug and accept this scenario. I'd get mad if Azula is in control and the storyteller didn't use this as an opportunity for her to use her genius to trick Zuko into revealing the information in half the time the torture would have taken, while making a point about how unreliable torture is as a way of gathering intelligence, but that's irrelevant.

(Heck, in canon, Azula deduced the location of Aang immediately after TBR without a prisoner to interrogate. XD)

However, to try to answer you in a useful way, I think we're more asking if Zuko would value the world over Mai. Could he make The Hard Choice to sacrifice what he loves most (inconveniently for those who tire of this, a female character in need of more prominence) or will he give in to human weakness?

Well, when it's worded that way, I tend to shade Zuko with human weakness and excessive emotion. He's not a Hard Choice kinda character, you know? He's actually a pretty traditional heroic figure, albeit a bit more pulp than we usually see in kiddie media these days, and they always try to save The Girl.

I mean, he jumped in front of Katara to save her from the lightning, and they're just friends. That was a tactically stupid choice, even if Katara was able to salvage the situation because she's Katara.

So yeah, I guess I don't see a problem with the dynamic.

[jadezdominion]

Tuesday Teaser - Torture

A little taste of my WiP. Peter is making good on his promise. Scott McCall would suffer. I’ve got 1845 words typed out for this torture scene and I’m not done with the final revisions. 🫣

We’ll see how this ends up. 🐺😬

Part 1 which inspired this AU.

@superfluffycam-blog 🖤

“So tell me, Scott. Was it worth screwing over the only two people on this planet that loved you? Maybe you can ask them when the Ferryman takes your soul."

A tormented sob escaped from Scott’s throat.

Peter chuckled as he set down his instruments and walked over to a cabinet. There was one glass bottle on it with a set of tumblers. He didn't bother with them, though. It wasn't that kind of evening.

You know, one for civilized behavior.

The glass bottle seemed to emanate an ethereal violet glow. He took the top off, which caused the blood that was coating Peter’s hands to slide down the sides of it. He then took a swig directly from the bottle, which was very unlike his normal decorum.

These were not normal circumstances, though. His Wolf was howling within him with rage, sorrow, and a need for bloody vengeance.

Peter smirked as he looked over the progress of Scott's punishment.

There was a lot of blood, yet it was not nearly enough. He craved more.

Pieces of flesh and viscera were strewn upon his body and dangling from the table. He took a few more drinks from the bottle and decided what was coming next.

Stalking back over to the table, he reached for an instrument he had used only once before.

He reserved it for only the most scummiest of his subjects.

A rotary cheese grater.

•TBC•

[chibibytes-anime]

Franco-Belgian Berserk [1997 series X Asterix cartoons]. Torturer in this scene seemed so unreasonably confident about wooden door vs Guts chances, it felt like that running gag about Gauls effortlessly escaping any captivity just by smashing every door on their way. - (u/ValentrisRRock)

[randomfandom-3]

you know what i need?

i need the crows to somehow see kaz’s reaction to skin on skin contact…then i need some one to fuck up. Some one slips up (jesper prob) and mentions it, so, someones trying to get information so they kidnap kaz, he laughs and plays his usual, “im not scared of you” act. Until he realizes he doesnt have his gloves. Then i need to see the torture scene. I need to see kaz unable to stop himself from throwing up, i need flahsbacks. I need his to try so hard not to crack, try so hard to keep his composure, keep information confidential. He tries so hard not to react, until he feels that figurative water finally going over his head as he vomits all over his shoes, i want him to sit there vulnerable, i want to see him crack. I want to see him finally give in, tell them everything they wanted to know.

ok, thats all ☺️

[dionysusbisexual]

torture + geraskier

I really hope you like it, I am not the best at writing straight up  whump n torture scenes, though it’s brief and focuses more on Jaskier getting better.

Find it on ao3

____

Jaskier sat in the cold, desolate cell, beaten and bloodied and half gone. He had been captured by Nilfgaard in one of his heart broken, drunk stupers and ever since dragged through hell, they had tried to rip his mind open, tear it apart, but his magic prevented the mage assigned to ruin him to gain access to any of his memories --and barely any of his thoughts in general-- that may endanger Geralt. When that didn’t work they had taken to different tactics, a deep scar across his back, hand bruises on his neck, his fingers cut with bones broken along with too many other wounds to count, covered in his own blood. He was leaning against the wall panting, closer to death than he ever had been when he heard the guards approaching. “Look at the little songbird, trapped and mute, unable to escape.” He said, his voice condescending and mocking. Jaskier rolled his eyes but didn’t speak. He found it wasn’t worth it. By sheer luck -- for them-- they had put Jaskier in partly iron shackles, weakening him significantly. “Nothing to say?” Jaskier didn’t react. The guard didn’t seem like this, hitting hard and knocking him over. “You know… This could aaaall end if you just told us where the Witcher is” the guard said crouching down in front of Jaskier. The bard simply spat blood in his face before saying “Probably fucking your mother.” not his best line but, well, cold you really blame him? The guard growled before pulling Jaskier by his hair and throwing him against a wall. He started  to stalk towards Jaskier as he lost consciousness, his last thoughts quite simple. At least he had granted Geralt his blessing.

The last thing he felt was a punch to the stomach and the last thing he heard was the squelch of a sword through a throat.

___

Geralt was carrying Jaskier, desperately trying to wake him up, while not jostling him too much, he made it to where Yennefer was, disposing the last of the guards before opening a portal, Geralt took a deep breath and ran through it, practically sprinting towards Triss to save hi- the bard… He has lost the privilege of calling him his years ago.

They quickly set Jaskier down on the table and Triss got to healing him slowly. Geralt was a mess, had been a mess ever since the mountain. At first he had thought it was because of Yennefer but after finding her, after missing the noise, after growing to despise the silence. He knew he had missed, needed, Jaskier.  He has tried to track down Jaskier, tried for three years to no avail until a rumor spread tha a the great Bard, Jaskier, had been kidnapped. And Geralt knew in that moment what had happened and blamed himself. It was not a short healing process, with all the physical damage done, it had taken Jaskier three days to wake up. Three days that Geralt spent by his side, refusing to leave the room to eat, which led Eskel to bringing up his lunch and staring at his brother, usually giving him a reassuring pat on the shoulder, it led to Lambert not teasing him and Ciri spending time with her new father figure in Jaskiers room, always worried because he had gone completely non verbal. Geralt eventually did fall asleep, something had avoided doing by sharpening his sword and changing Jaskiers bandages. He fell asleep holding Jaskiers unbroken hand softly.

__

Jaskier awoke to a weight on his uninjured hand, panicked at first until he saw Geralt holding it, fast asleep and looking peaceful, pure confusion bubbling inside him until it was joined by anger and hurt. This seemed to have woken up Geralt, whose first instinct was to hold Jaskiers hand tighter until he realized he was the cause of that smell. He stared at Jaskier, unable to form words, pre relief that Jaskier was awake before noticing the expression on Jaskiers face.

Jaskier snatched his hand away and tried to move away from him on the bed only to be met with pain.

“Please, please don’t move.”

Jaskier looked at him with confusion, Geralt never said please. He was still glaring at Geralt, though, distrustful and weary. After weeks of what he had gone through he wasn’t feeling particularly kind.

“Jaskier” Geralt rasped out. “The mount-”

“Leave it. I’ll be out of your hair when I’m healed. Give you your life's one blessing.” Geralt flinched and pursed his lips. “Get out of my room.” Geralt hesitated, wanting to say something before leaving.

Jaskier lied there, trying his best not to cry when a sorceress and Yennefer entered the room, seemingly to check on him. He tried his best not to be too hostile to Yennefer, he had a feeling she and the other woman saved his life. “Jaskier.”

He didn’t respond, she sighed.

The other mage approached him and gave him a warm smile, she seemed much kinder . She was frankly beautiful, maybe if he was younger and less… Exhausted he might have even tried to woo her. “Hello, my name is Triss, I’m glad to see you finally awake, we were worried that I lost you for a second there. He tried to give her his best smile “Jaskier, but you probably knew that. How long till I can move.” Triss’s smile dropped a little. “I’m afraid you’re going to be bed ridden for a few more days. He frowned. “Ahh, I see. Well, give me the sinopses, doc, will I ever play again?” he said, a bit dramatically. He felt his hand nearly healed and along with his own magic he knew he’d be fine, but reassurance was never bad.

She huffed, “You’ll be fine. You won't play for another week though, I suggest staying here until you can.” “It would be a waste if we spent so much time just for you to ruin it, Bard.”

Jaskier glared at Yennefer but conceded. “In fact… You should stay with us.” Triss said softly. At that Jaskier let out a bitter laugh. “I would rather not. I’ll head back to Oxenfurt, put on a good glamour like I should have in the first place.” Triss frowned. “I’m afraid that that isn’t possible… The safest place is here, in Kaer Morhen.” Jaskier grit his teeth and decided not to argue for the time being, too exhausted to protest.

___

The next few days went as the following, one of Geralt's brothers would come up, talk to Jaskier and get him to eat. Later on Ciri would come in and talk to him, having someone from back home to provide her comfort, him being relieved she made it out alive.

Once he got out of bed… Geralt would give him food, make sure he didn’t strain himself and be a general frustration. Jaskiers hurt over the mountain warring with the love he still had, with the affection brought through Geralt's actions.

He knew what the others were doing, trying to get him to see Geralt was trying to change, but Jaskier kept convincing himself it wasn’t so ntil it reached a boiling point.

“Stop.” His voice was firm, expression stormy. Geralt was currently serving him food, both haven woken up at night from their own, cruel nightmares. Geralt paused before turning to Jaskier. “Jaskier,”

“No. You don’t get to… Fucking take care of me and try to act like nothing happened. I don’t need your fucking pity and I don’t need your family participating in whatever fucking game it is you’re playing.”

“Julek, it isn’t-”

“Don’t you dare fucking call me that! How dare you, how dare you push me away for years and deny our friendship, how dare you tell me I’m the worst thing that happened to you and then-and then save me and act like it never- like you haven’t shattered my heart into a million pieces you absolute bastard!” He was crying at this point, shaking before falling into the chair behind him. Geralt had nothing to say, pausing before he slowly walked towards Jaskier and kneeled before him.

“Jaskier… I- hm. The words I said on the mountain” Jaskier flinched “I didn’t mean them I- Yennefer was gone and it was my fault and you were there and I-I wanted to hurt someone, I wanted to be alone and to push you away. I was wrong, I was so wrong.” he took a deep breath “You’re… You’re my life's blessing, you’re the good choice I’ve made. I’m so sorry. Please, let me prove to you that I’ve changed, that I can treat you better. That… I want to be kinder. I… I am a selfish man, I do not deserve your forgiveness but I want to stay by your side.” Jaskier stared at the man in front of him, sincerity in his voice before taking a deep breath. “And if I don’t want you to prove it? If I want to leave?”

Geralt grimaced “Then I will let you leave.” Jaskier reached out and cupped his cheek.

“I’m still mad but I forgive you. I think I forgave you a while ago.” Geralt gave the smallest smile “But I can’t… I-I love you Geralt. I can’t be by your side while you and Yennefer play h-”

“Yennefer and I aren’t together. She and Triss are in love and I. Hm. I love you too.” he said the last part softly, as if afraid that Jaskier would take back his words with his admission.

Jaskier looked at him shocked before  giving him a watery smile “Then I will stay by your side… But I can’t. I need time, I want to take it slow.” Geralt nodded “I will wait. I will make it up to you”

Jaskier pulled Geralt up “Well, you can start with a kiss.”