#tw agony

[intotheelliwoods]

Hello hello, arc 2, I will have fun with you

Parallels how I love you

Masterpost

[dandysworldheadcanons]

Mentions of death, agony, and violence.

the reason why most toons (excluding soulvester, shrimpo, blot, and my ocs.) wont hurt twisteds is because whatever pain in inflicted on the twisted the normal toon counterpart feels that pain. (Besides lethals, as they just turn into the twisteds. Whereas, to my knowledge, most twisteds are just copies of the normal toon counterpart.)

so, if soulvester decapitates a twisted or blot suffocates one, the normal toon counterpart will feel that agony.

…damn.

[ask-the-challenges-at-heart]

Why hello there! How are you?

[15pantheons]

Sun Wukong: *gets set on fire and screams in agony*

Sun Wukong: Nah, I’m just kidding. Fire does nothing to me.

[dreamsclock]

Uve heard of Tommy getting wings while in Pandora, now, bc of thr Syndicate Discord talking about Crying Obsidian being Obsi thats leaking power, Ender Dragon Dream being unable to contain his form OR him finally developing into his dragon form (He wishes he was in the weightless, dark, cool void so the raging fire in his muscles would barely noticeable amongst the inky world, with his mom by his side watching her lil egg boi hatch and able to help. He almost cries thinking about how she might not recognize him after this, but he already cried out his tears from the pain) also Dream being to weak to move let along build up wing strength n shit n when Sam comes to actually check on him (beat his ass)//send a visitor in there's just a dragon (Perhaps Foolish, curious enough to visit on the way to examine the crimson from others warnings ot spotting the build and realizing with dread their actively destroying their salvation, or Ranboo who could sense the dragons distress and was unable to stay away. Explains why theirs suddenly so many Endermen around the prison placing annoying blocks n shit)

ENDERDRAGON DREAM MY BELOVED :((( this one is a little shorter than usual and ends weird but hey, enderdragon dream angst pog :D

warnings: pain (and graphic descriptions of pain), body horror, transformation, torture (sort of). please be safe reading this!!

Dream’s shrieks echo throughout the prison, and nobody is around to help.

He doesn’t know where Sam is - that’s a relief, because he doesn’t think he’d survive a visit from him in his current state - and knows Sam won’t allow any visitors while he’s like this, which leaves him alone to deal with this. And it’s fine, he tells himself, for the first couple of hours, before the pain increases from discomfort to pain to agony and leaves Dream collapsed on the floor unable to think clearly, unable to move, unable to do much other than gasp for pained breath after pained breath and scream.

His voice gives out after the fourth hour. The pain doesn’t abate, and so Dream writhes in agony. His wings have already half grown, weak and limp and heavy, but he’s only halfway through the process. Memories of his mother telling him about the transformation filter through his mind slowly, offering little relief from the pain - it lasts ten human hours, she’d told him as an eager child, and I’ll be here looking after you the whole time while it happens. You’ll be in a lot of pain for a few days, but being around the crystals and being home will ease that. 

And then I’ll look like you? He remembers asking her eagerly with a gap-toothed grin.

She’d laughed, scooping him closer. You will. I’ll teach you how to change between forms, and when your wings grow in, I can teach you how to look like me.

He misses her more than ever now. His cries for her go unheard, whispering little pleas that fall on deaf ears, and Dream loses track of how long it’s been. His wings are agonising, pulling on muscle and bone and sinew, and as much as he wants to throw himself into lava to stop the agony even for a moment, he’s terrified of messing up the process or resetting it.

It wouldn’t be permanent death, anyway. It wouldn’t be permanent, no matter how much he wants it to be.

Another spurt of agony sends his body into a spasm, knocks the breath from his lungs, and Dream sobs in blind pain, burying his head in his hands and clenching his hair in a white-knuckled grip. Let it end, he begs silently, let it end let it end let it endendendendend-

Dream’s shrieks echo around the prison, and nobody cares enough to ask why.

[popeyerus]

'My...' A hiss of pain. 'M-My femur its! ITS !F-Fuck! It's broken!' Pain rattles his very core, he's unable to hold himself together. Sobbing hard as he sinks further into the ground. 'It's broken-' He cannot stand. If only the floor would swallow him up. Would put an end to this agony. He's breathing too hard, if he continues to panic this way, he will surely lose consciousness. 'Broken! I-' I'm gonna- I'm gonna-'

[dreamsclock]

Concept: Winged!Tommy but he grows his wings while he’s trapped in the prison. And he’s not having a very good time.

Tommy doubles over in pain on the second day and almost collapses.

Dream is on his feet in an instant, flattening against the wall in wary confusion, but Tommy doesn’t even see him: every bone in his body screams, his back burns hellfire, and it’s taking all his efforts not to start screaming in pain.

“Tommy?” Dream asks. “What’s wrong?”

“Not going to fucking tell you, prick—” Legs buckling, Tommy fights back a wave of nausea, hands curling around to his back with a whimper. “My— No, fuck you! I’m not going to tell you!”

Dream steps closer, pauses, steps closer again. “Is it your wings?”

“Fuck you!” It’s better to curse at Dream than it is to focus on the blinding pain in his back, the bones shifting, the bones growing. Tommy buries his head on the ground, light headed, hands curling into weak fists. “Don’t get any fucking closer, I’ll just start screaming, I hate you, fuck off.”

Dream scoffs. “Scream all you want,” he mutters, “nobody’s going to come.”

That’s a fair point. It does nothing to stop Tommy from feeling his heart sink or his eyes fill with tears he hides by closing them.

“Is it supposed to hurt this much?” Dream asks after a pause, something indistinguishable in his voice.

“Yeah.” Tommy fights through an ocean of pain, lets out a slow, unsteady hiss of breath through his teeth. “Fuck. Fuck. If— If Philza fuckin’ Minecraft was here, things would be better. He’d know how to deal. Had to deal with— with his own, and with Wilbur’s, and he should be here to help—”

A dry sob almost escapes him violently. He should be here to help me with mine. He refuses to say it. But fuck, when had Phil helped him or Wilbur with anything here? He’s far more concerned with Techno as usual, right?

And then Dream is crouching at his level, eye glinting through his shattered mask, looking wary. “I was there when Phil grew his wings,” he ventured, “I can help.”

Tommy jerks back. The sudden move sends lightning rods of excruciating pain shooting down his back and shoulders, and he can’t help but cry out. “Don’t fucking touch me!”

Dream shifts back instantly, lifting his hands in surrender. “You need to turn diagonally,” he says, “so your wings don’t end up pressed against the sides of the walls. You need as much space as you can. You won’t be able to retract them for a few days.”

He contemplates telling Dream to fuck off again. But it’s effort, more than he currently has, so instead, he shifts a minimal amount, groaning wordlessly even then. Every little movement burns, even in these early stages. How is he supposed to cope when they actually appear?

“Better,” Dream says, “if you want, I remember exercises Phil did for himself and for Wilbur. I could tell you them.”

Tommy spits on the ground at Dream’s feet in agreement. “Go fuck yourself,” he says, which is a please tell me, and Dream scoffs, “doesn’t mean I have to fucking listen.”

But he does, struggling to follow Dream’s clipped instructions, and when the burning in his shoulders eases to a bearable amount after a few minutes, he doesn’t thank Dream. He instead shoots him a look, tired and wary, but earnest, and doesn’t snap at him once that night.

Both of them take it as a win, and don’t say another word on the matter.

[ghoulsey]

pooping