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The Sad Saga of James Morgan and Company: My Writing Style Was Goblin Mode
Imagine being an eleven-year-old girl who is obsessed with Xena: Warrior Princess (and ripping off the dark plots from it) and Pokémon. Imagine being this kid who, after acting out her fanfics (that involve way too much human sacrifice and crucifixion) with her Barbies, decides she should actually write them down in a form other people can read.
Add a dose of repressed anger issues and you get this.
This fic contains: Colorful language; general angst; possible out-of-character moments for Jessie, James, and Meowth; violence; convoluted occult lore; blood; murderous, occult-powered Jessiebelle; attempted murder; Jessiebelle wants to honor-kill James(?!); Jessiebelle slut-shames James a lot; character death and resurrection; ellipses abuse; Jesus Hades Christ eleven!me tortured James a lot in fic (I don’t know why; he was and still is my favorite Pokémon character); James has bottlecap powers
-O-o-O-o-O-
*Imagine that Jessie, James, and Meowth have been trying witchcraft to do better at their job. It doesn't work for Jessie and Meowth, but it works for James. So he's a witch now. Imagine Jessiebelle is trying to kidnap James and is also a witch. Since James is a witch (whose powers are not supposed to be used for evil) and Team Rocket is an evil organization, the mismatch makes his powers go insane, weakening him.
*Jessiebelle sneaks up behind James while he's sitting at camp. He screams, but Jessiebelle puts a rag with knockout potion over his mouth. He passes out. Meowth comes on the scene.
Meowth: What did you do to him?! Jessiebelle: If he won't marry me, I'll have to marry him. I made him unconscious with a potion. I'll do the same with you.
*Meowth screams. Jessiebelle knocks him out with the potion and runs off with James, who is still unconscious.
*When Meowth comes to, Jessie is there.
Jessie: What happened to you? Where's James? Meowth: Jessiebelle used a potion to knock him out. She did that to me, too. I guess she took James away.
*They go out looking for James. Meanwhile, James comes to. He's chained to a wall. Jessiebelle is standing in front of him.
Jessiebelle: Did you have a nice nap?
*James magically screams so loud, Jessie and Meowth can hear him.
Meowth: That sounded like James!
*Back at the dungeon…
James: What are you trying to do to me? Jessiebelle: If you won't marry me, I'll just have to marry you. By force. And I know you're a witch, so those chains are witchcraft-proof.
*James tries to break the chains with his powers but it doesn't work. He screams. Jessiebelle puts her hand over his mouth.
Jessiebelle: Don't make me use the potion again.
*Jessie and Meowth climb through the window.
Jessie: You can't force him to marry you! Meowth: He doesn't love you!
*James looks relieved to see them.
Jessiebelle: I'll kill him if you two try anything.
*James's eyes widen. Jessiebelle turns to him.
Jessiebelle: You have dishonored your family, you know. If you resist marrying me, I'll have no choice but to kill you.
*James's widened eyes focus on the noose Jessiebelle is holding.
Jessiebelle: Either tie the knot or tie the noose. James: Why should I have to die because I don't want to get married? Jessiebelle: Shut up, or I'll blast you to pieces!
*Jessiebelle takes out a bulky wand that looks like a shotgun. James puts his head down.
Jessiebelle: And don't you dare try to scream again because I've got a really sharp dagger I'd like to test out on some flesh. (pulls out a really sharp dagger) Jessie: Stop threatening him! It makes no damn sense, killing him just because he doesn't want to get married. Jessiebelle: So you want to be killed with him? I can arrange that. James: Don't kill her! Jessiebelle: I told you to shut up, you insolent trollop! (takes out a needle with black liquid in it)
*James can't help it. He struggles against his chains. Jessiebelle pimp-slaps him across his face.
Jessiebelle: I told you, that's useless! Now, stop it! (kicks James) Meowth: You stop it! Quit trying to marry or kill him. I think you just want to marry him to kill him. Jessiebelle: That's not true. If he resists, I kill him. If he accepts, he lives. James: Why would I marry a murderer? Are you going to sacrifice me? Jessiebelle: That's it! I'll make you suffer, little witch! James: No, you won't! I'm not that same weak little child I was before. Jessiebelle: I can trigger your powers to go insane, you know. Jessie: I challenge you to a Pokémon battle, Jessiebelle! Jessiebelle: Fine. If you win, you can keep the little whore. If I win, I keep him. And possibly sacrifice him. Jessie: Don't call him a whore.
*They start the match. Jessie's Arbok wins the match and knocks Jessiebelle's Vileplume out. Jessie, James, and Meowth escape the dungeon. They look for a place to camp out.
Meowth: (to James) Are you okay? James: Why wouldn't I be? Meowth: You're not usually so quiet. James: I'm just tired.
*They find a place to camp out.
-O-o-O-
*Imagine Jessiebelle has a new way to kill James if he doesn't marry her. She makes him suffer and beg for death.
*Jessie, James, and Meowth are trying to think of a new plan for stealing Pokémon. Jessiebelle comes out of nowhere and grabs James inconspicuously.
Jessie: Where did James go? Meowth: I don't know. I think I saw him get grabbed by somebody.
*Jessiebelle is running off with James, who is magically screaming as loud as he can so Jessie and Meowth can track him.
Jessiebelle: Will you shut up, you harlot?
*Jessiebelle shuts James up with her knockout potion. When she gets to the dungeon, James wakes up.
Jessiebelle: All right. No more Miss Nice Warlock. James: What do you mean, "no more?" You were never Miss Nice Warlock. Jessiebelle: You're going to suffer until you beg for death. I'll be glad to fuck you up until you die. James: It'll be a cold day in hell before I beg for death. Jessiebelle: Well, I guess you'll be there in hell on that cold day.
*Jessie and Meowth set their tent up right next to the dungeon. Even though it's next to it, Jessiebelle can't see it because James left them a camouflage potion spray.
*Jessiebelle drags James outside (it's a really hot day) and ties him to some dead leafless tree that's in the sun. The sun is right on him and it's "no shadow time." He almost faints. Next, Jessiebelle throws rocks at him, but doesn't kill him with them. Then she makes him carry heavy bricks, barely clothed, through mud on a rainy day. That's his breaking point. James faints and the bricks are cutting his arms and legs, so now he's covered in mud and blood.
*Jessie and Meowth are unaware of all this happening until they find James's limp body lying there. He's not dead. When they take him into their tent, he wakes up.
James: What happened? (tries to sit up, but is still dizzy from the torture in the sun) Jessie: I don't know what she did to you. We just found you lying in the mud. James: I don't know if I remember all of what happened. (tries to sit up again, winces, clutches head) Meowth: Lie down. What happened to you?
*James tells them what he remembers.
James: I don't care what she does to me, I'm not marrying her. Meowth: If that bitch ever tries that again, I don't know what I'm gonna do, but it won't be good. Jessie: So what you're saying is, a fucking-up is in the question. Meowth: Yeah. Pretty much.
*Jessiebelle glances out the window. She squints through a magic scope and sees the tent.
Jessiebelle: Whoever's in that tent, you're squatting on private property and I have a right to shoot! (cocks wand)
*Jessie and Meowth tell James to stay inside. They get out of the tent.
Jessiebelle: Not you bastards again! What'd you do with James? Jessie: He's not with us right now. Jessiebelle: My ass! (jumps out window onto tent)
*Jessiebelle lands next to James.
Jessiebelle: I'm locking you up and throwing away the key!
*James screams. Jessiebelle puts her hand over his mouth. He bites her hand. It doesn't faze her. She takes James inside the dungeon and locks the door behind them.
*Inside….
Jessiebelle: You know what happens now? First, I'll get your little friends.
*Jessiebelle drags Jessie and Meowth in with a sucking wind and chains them to the wall with witchcraft-proof chains.
Jessiebelle: Next I'll test out my new dagger on their necks. James: Don't kill them, kill me. Jessiebelle: What was that? James: I said, kill me instead. Jessiebelle: Fine. (walks over to James and stabs him)
*James slides down the wall, leaving a trail of blood. Jessiebelle unchains Jessie and Meowth.
Jessiebelle: You can't help him now, so I might as well let you free. (leaves in a cloud of red smoke) Meowth: No….(walks over to James) No….he's not dying….we can save him.
*James isn't quite dead yet.
James: I'm sorry. It's true. I am dying. Meowth: No, you're not. I can help you. I'm sorry we didn't save you in time. James: (coughs up blood) She moves too fast. Nobody can stop her. At least she won't bother you now I'm dying. Meowth: You're not dying. Just don't talk, save your strength, maybe you'll live. James: (painfully) Nobody can live through being (breathes with difficulty) mortally wounded. Meowth : Is this goodbye?
*James's eyes close. They don't open again. Meowth holds James's hand in his paw. James's hand is cold.
Meowth: He's dead. Jessie: I guess it was too much for him. The suffering was, I mean.
*Meowth starts to cry. Jessie holds him.
Jessie: Maybe we could try one of those rituals to bring him back. Meowth: But how? The powers didn't come to us. Jessie: Then we'll steal some of Jessiebelle's.
*They find Jessiebelle's spell books and supplies. They find a cauldron and start trying to mix the potions. They sacrifice three Spearow, prick their fingers, and add their own blood to the cauldron. Then they drip their own blood on the floor, making markings, and place James's body in the center. They pour some of the potion on James. He comes back to life.
James: I'm alive. (gasps) Meowth: Don't get worked up. We don't want you fainting when you've just come back to life. James: I'm not worked up. I'm happy.
*The three of them hug and get out of there.
Meowth: I managed to grab this. (pulls out a bottle of potion) But I don't have anything to cover it.
*James zaps a bottle cap out of the air and puts it on the potion bottle. Team Rocket walks into the sunset.
-O-o-O-o-O-
Moral of the story: Eleven!me knows way too many synonyms for "whore." Also, James's powers are magical screaming, conjuring bottlecaps, and mixing potions.
here's what I call a "practice test" for the Prime Leo AU fic. theoretically, this is supposed to be the first chapter...I believe
anyway, content warning!! there's nothing pretty past the read more, so be warned!!
The beatings didn't help much. Leo couldn't remember a time when he wasn't being hunted down and thrown around like a rag doll. He couldn't remember not feeling everything in his body screaming out in pain every time the Kraang slammed him into walls or the ground. His leg was useless now – his knee was shattered – but it's not like Leo could run away, anyways. All he did now was float. His right arm was practically dead at this point. He knew that he was going to have to get it amputated at one point. Maybe, if he's lucky, Kraang would rip it off. He doubted it. If it caused him pain and made it harder for him to get away, Kraang left it alone.
(**)
The prison dimension was cold, unnaturally so. It was the kind of cold you couldn't shake off, no matter how close you were to the fire, or how many layers you wrapped yourself up in. The cold wasn't merciful, it was brutal. It threatened to tear one's lungs apart either with its freezing air or the rather toxic taste it left in your mouth.
The alien was like that. He caused Leo pain – excruciating and unimaginable pain, but he never killed him. Leo lost a concerning amount of blood, but Kraang hadn't spilled enough to get Leo to either pass out or die from blood loss. Every punch, every stab, every twist and snap that the mutant suffered through was deliberate. Methodical. Surgical. In the back of his (somehow still working) mind, Leo wondered why Kraang had decided to not kill him despite all the beatings. He did say that his wrath was now reserved for him alone, and Leo had naturally assumed that meant he was going to get beaten to death. Once, he thought that the alien wasn't strong enough to properly kill him. Unfortunately, he said that out loud. That had earned him getting grabbed by the head and slammed into the ground repeatedly enough to leave both a crater and a large pool of blood.
The Kraang was strong enough to kill him, he just wanted Leo alive to keep a punching bag. Something to take his frustrations, anger, and vengeance out on. The slider doesn't blame him. Leo did ruin his plans. He ruined everything. He can't remember what he ruined exactly but he knows he did it.
He wasn't afraid to die, he just wished that it didn't take so long. He's stopped thinking that one of these days – weeks? Months? Fuck, how long has it been now? – the alien would get it over with and just kill him. Leo didn't care how at this point; his neck snapped, stabbed through the heart or the head, ripped in half, stopped on, the list could go on and on. Kraang should just pick one and go through with it. Dying by slow, methodical beatings was getting boring now. His entire body was basically one broken and bloody bruise by now, but Leo just couldn't find it in himself to care. Dying would be better than being stuck here. Death was much more welcoming than his current home – and it was a home. He's been here for a while now. He's not sure of the exact time, but he knows that it has been longer than a few days.
Somewhere, he could hear a voice that sounded suspiciously familiar (was it his?), telling him that he had family waiting for him if he died.
Family.
Family…
Right. Gram-gram. He had a Gram-gram. Karai was her name, he thinks. It's been a while since he saw her. How long has it been? Years? Closing his (somehow already closed) eyes, Leo tries to remember what his gram-gram looked like. He could vaguely recall her having… long black hair, tied back in a ponytail. And… she was wearing… green, or some other color. Her face was the hardest. She was pale, he could remember that, but her eyes and other features he couldn't remember. She was… nice, and she was…
Leo scrunched up his face, trying to remember more.
Long hair, green clothes, pale complexion, brown… eyes…? Yeah. Brown. They were brown. And they were kind. Was Gram-gram a hugger? Leo swore that she must have been. You couldn't be part of the Hamato Clan if you weren't a hugger.
Hamato… was that his name? It couldn't be. His name was Leo. It was short for… something – he didn't know what – but he knew Hamato couldn't be his name. He only had one. And it was Leo.
Leo.
Leo, Leo.
Leo.
Leo.
Sometimes he was called Pest. Or Nuisance. But neither of those counted as names. He was Leo, plain and simple.
Things would be a lot simpler if he just stopped thinking. But ever since he got here, all he's been able to do is think. All he could think about was the blood that was spilling out of his wounds, the pain that shot through his whole body whenever he twitches involuntarily, making him cry and pass out for an unknown amount of time. He thinks about how, some time ago, he started counting how long the time passed between the beatings Kraang gave him (the longest being two hundred and forty-four Mississippis, and the shortest not even ten). Leo thinks about how he began reading the Kraang, taking a mental note of how he acted, the similarity all of his rantings had, and how he ticked. It was easy to do. All he had to do was just… watch him. Watch him through blackened eyes, through the blood that leaked from the open gash on his head.
Kraang, for all his terrifying bravado, was a simple being. He wanted to dominate, to be in control. He thrived off of it. From the images the alien was so kind to bestow upon him, Leo could see that on every planet he visited, the life forms that existed there fell to their knees after a day or two of ravaging. Even after they pleaded and begged for mercy, Kraang just slaughtered them all. He kept a few survivors to torment, to lord his superiority over. Be it physical or whatever else. Kraang was a control freak, a sadist in every sense of the word. A textbook definition of a narcissistic personality disorder. Leo wondered how Kraang's siblings (and he knew the alien had siblings, he told him. Well, more like beat it to him) dealt with him for as long as they did. They probably had the same mentality as Kraang. It must've been like looking into a mirror for him.
Mirror.
Mirror, mirror.
If there were a mirror here Leo knew he would not have been a pretty sight.
Mirrors. He liked mirrors. He liked the coolness they gave off. How one could do small little tricks with them. He liked how they came in different shapes and sizes. Did mirrors come in different colors? Leo hoped they did. The colors are pretty. If he had to pick a colorful mirror, he'd pick one that's blue. Blue was his favorite color. It was the color of the mask that covered his eyes. It did little to protect him – it didn't do anything at all, actually – but Leo still liked it. It was battered and torn now, one mask tail was shorter than the other by a lot, but he still wore it. He liked how it looked, how it felt. Kraang didn't like it, but the slider wasn't one to care what the alien said when it came to appearances. Kraang considered himself a higher and superior being. Leo thought he looked like a pink blob.
If there was a process to his thoughts, he didn't know what it was. His mind had a habit of jumping between topics. Except whenever Kraang was torturing him. Then his mind went blank. Leo supposes it does that as a way to spare him from the pain. A small form of mercy.
There was no mercy in the prison dimension.
There was only him, Kraang, the abuse, and the hundreds and thousands of corpses of dead family members that floated through the empty space.
His hands were getting cold. Everything about him was cold, but his hands especially. Ignoring the sharp sting of pain that came from moving, Leo brought his hands up to his face. A daunting task, really. His right arm had no feeling, and he could hardly move it. And his left arm had a pretty serious gash running across the inside of his forearm. It had stopped bleeding who even knows how long ago, but the wound itself was an admittedly ugly sight. It should say something about how desensitized he was to all of this that a wound open enough that he could see some muscles peaking out wasn't even worthy of mention. Right now, his hands were cold, and that was all he could think about.
A picture was in his right hand. A picture. Picture picture picture. He almost forgot about it. How? It was important to him. He didn’t know the exact reason as to why, but at this point in his life, trying to understand his shot memories was something he gave up on a long time ago. All that mattered was that he still had the picture. He recognized himself – the blue mask was a dead giveaway, even though Leo was 87% sure he didn’t look like that anymore – but the others were… hazy. Three of them looked like him, but only as turtles. They varied in height, size, and none of them had markings like he did. They wore bright colors too, so Leo supposed that they were a team at some point. The other two occupants were even hazier than the three other turtles. One of them was a rat, the other was a human. Human. Human? That was the word, right? Human? Yeah. Yeah, it was. Human. She was a human.
But what was a human doing in this picture? She must’ve been part of the team. Everyone looks happy, all smiles with teeth and fangs. Even he had a smile on his face.
Smile.
Smile, smile.
Grin.
A grin.
Leo didn’t smile. Didn’t grin. Kraang didn’t like it when he did that. The first time he smiled in front of Kraang, he got punched through a small asteroid. The second time, Kraang grabbed him by the throat and squeezed until Leo could practically feel the alien’s metal claw almost touching through the muscles of his neck. He let go after that, and Leo remembered vomiting. There was blood mixed in there too. But to Leo, the blood was thrown to the back burner. He was just glad he could breathe again. Even if the air he was inhaling was toxic and so, so cold.
He doesn’t know if he smiled a third time. Or a fourth. He must’ve. Kraang liked to find excuses to beat him bloody. Sometimes he didn’t even need an excuse. Sometimes it was just whenever he felt like it, or if they were playing their little game and Leo got caught. Leo was a lousy player. His broken and twisted limbs didn’t give any help at all when he needed to run. He had to rely on momentum, on dragging himself as far as he could and hiding in whatever corpse looked big enough for him. Not like it mattered. Kraang found him, he always found him. That made him a lousy player. He never won, which was weird. Leo could vaguely (and he cannot emphasize the word vaguely enough) recall that he used to win. He won something, the feeling of victory was there, but he didn’t know what it was. He knew it wasn’t his game with Kraang, Leo always lost those, but he was the winner of… something. It didn’t bother him that he couldn’t remember. It stopped bothering him a while ago. He stopped hyperventilating whenever he couldn’t recall anything beyond the prison dimension.
Why should he? He lived here.
Lived.
Lived, lived.
Lived.
He lived but he wasn’t living
“There you are.”
Ah.
Right.
For all his musings, it somehow managed to fly over Leo’s head that he wasn’t alone here. The sound of Kraang’s claws digging themselves into the rock of the small meteorite they were on was deafening to Leo’s ears. The bright red light of Kraang’s eye nearly blinded him. There wasn’t any light in the prison dimension. There used to be, if Leo thought back on it, but it disappeared just as quickly as it came. A bright flash, then it was gone. Almost like an explosion.
Something grabbed him without any care, and the familiar pain that came from it was almost comforting. At least he didn’t feel too cold anymore. Without ceremony, Kraang dragged him up to meet him eye to eye. Eyes to eye. Eyes, eye. One of Leo’s eyes was swollen shut, and the other was tainted red. Still, it was enough for him to see Kraang’s face. The alien had a smile. That was the deal. He could smile but Leo couldn’t. He wasn’t allowed to smile. It took a few beatings and blood loss for that to become clear to the slider, and it did. Eventually. After some splitting headaches and a broken skull.
“And here I thought you were almost going to win our little game.”
Shit, were they playing? Leo didn’t remember Kraang saying anything about that. He opened his beak to ask when suddenly he was thrown back onto the ground and stomped on once again.
It was honestly a miracle that his shell stayed intact as much as it did. Obviously, there were going to be some serious cracks and breaks on it, but aside from that, it was still on him, which was nice.
“Did I say you could talk?” Kraang spat out. "I gave you no permission to do so. Is that clear?”
After a moment of coughing up some blood, Leo nodded. He couldn’t talk. There were lots of things he couldn’t do here; talk, smile, grin, laugh, taunt, quip, snark. Kraang only allowed him to talk on rare occasions. And the only noises he was allowed to make without permission were grunts and screams of pain. And the occasional cough. And vomit.
“Good pest.”
Kraang picked him up again, his hold on the mutant crushing, adding more pain to his already hurting body. Leo let out a whimper.
“Now normally, whenever you lose, I’d deal out your punishment for your failure,” Kraang said, voice low and venomous. His grip tightened ever so slightly, but Leo felt his whole body flaring up with white-hot pain. He coughed again. He made sure that none of the blood that spilled out of his mouth splattered on Kraang. That previous little mistake led to the alien twisting his right arm in a way that Leo was certain would’ve ended with it getting torn off. “But I’m feeling generous today. How about a little treat?”
Leo watched as Kraang detached some of his tentacles from his suit. He watched as they slithered their way toward his face. He wondered what he was going to be shown today. More images of Kraang’s past exploits? Scenarios in which Kraang killed Leo in the most fucked up way possible, just to mess with him? Or was he just going to probe his brain, touching it in ways that made Leo feel even colder than before and leaving him to vomit until he passed out? That was the worst of the treats. If Leo actually had the choice, he’d pick the past exploits. As horrifically graphic and violent as they were, they were better than watching himself die and the probing.
Luck was not on Leo’s side today (when was it ever?). As Kraang’s tentacles reached his face, one of them immediately went into his swollen eye, forcing it open. He felt it pushing his eyeball further back, making space for the appendage to enter. Leo began to hyperventilate. The other tentacle wrapped itself around his neck, the tip expanding and settling at the base of his nape. Leo suddenly couldn’t move. It wasn’t like those other times, it never was, where the pain was so great that it made him stop himself from moving, only to give out the occasional twitch. No. He was paralyzed. That’s how it always was, how Kraang gave him this treat to make it more enjoyable for the alien. No matter how much the slider willed himself to move just an inch, his body did nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing nothing nothing.
The tentacle going through his eye touched something, and Leo wanted to throw up. He could feel it opening up, spreading itself all over his brain. It felt like a fleshy web, wrapping itself around his brain and touching it. Touching, touching touching touching. He was getting touched. He wanted to scream. He couldn’t scream, couldn’t move. Everything and nothing could be felt. The air was too cold, the air was too hot. Toxic, toxic. He couldn’t breathe, he was breathing too fast. His lungs were burning, his body was burning, and his eyes were burning. His eyes were open. Were they open? He was sure he closed them. Why would he close them?
He wanted this to be over, he wanted the beatings. He wanted the images of his mangled body getting torn to shreds. He wanted the memories of genocide and burned bodies and decapitated heads… anything. Anything other than what was happening now. The web began moving. It was moving. Tears. Tears, tears. Tears. He was crying. Please stop. Just beat him again. He wanted the pain, the blood, the screaming. He wanted to get stabbed, mangled, stomped on. He wanted Kraang to rip his arm off, his useless arm. Destroy his leg. Either one, both of them, he didn’t care. He wanted the pain, the past planets. Anything but this treat.
There was more. More. More more more more more. More webs. More webs. Why were there more? One was enough. Why? Why why why why why why why why why? The webs overlapped, dug inside. Deeper. Deeper. The webs weren’t inside anymore. They were outside. Inside. Outside. Everywhere. Inside his shell. On his plastron, carapace. They were over the cracks. The gash on his arm, head, legs. They were everywhere. They were inside. He couldn’t breathe. Stop, please. His eyes were bleeding. Which one? Both? Yes. No. Yes? He was bleeding, bleeding. Too much. It was everywhere. Kraang was everywhere. He always was. Leo couldn’t run from him. This was proof. The webs were getting bigger. Bigger bigger. Something was inside his shell. The gashes too. His legs were moving. Kicking. It wasn’t him. He couldn’t move. Please. Let him move. No more webs, NO MORE WEBS. PLEASE. PLEASE, LET HIM DIE. HE WANTED TO DIE. HE WANTED TO DIE. DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE.
KILL HIM. KILL HIM, GET IT OVER WITH. HE WAS DEAD. DEAD DEAD DEAD. HE WAS JUST A CORPSE. A BODY. NOTHING ELSE. WHY WAS HE STILL ALIVE? PLEASE, KILL HIM. STOP STOP. HE WANTED TO DIE, HE DIDN’T WANT TO DIE. HE WANTED TO LIVE. BEAT HIM, LEAVE HIM ALONE DON’T LEAVE HIM ALONE HE DIDN’T WANT TO BE ALONE HE DIDN’T WANT TO LIVE WHY WAS HE LIVING PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE HE COULDN’T KILL HIMSELFHECOULDN’THEWASACOWARDUSELESSHENEEDEDTODIEHEHADTODIEPLEASE-
Leo was unceremoniously dropped onto the ground.
“That was fun,” Kraang cooed. His suit made a grating noise as he crouched down to look more closely at the prone form of his plaything.
“Stay there, pest. I’m done with your little treat,” said the alien, his voice low with sadistic glee.
With that, the alien left.
Leo surprised himself by curling up into a ball. The picture was still in his hand. He was cold. Colder than before. He didn’t know if he threw up. He probably did. He couldn’t move. He could, but he didn’t. The gash on his arm was bleeding again. There were tears in his eyes. Eye. The ground hurt. His body was numb. He was crying. When was he not crying? He let out one broken, quiet sob.
Leo could still feel the webs.
Scarabia Mafia
Everyone knows there are seven big families, but, the thing is, no one knows of the sixth and seventh families. Scarabia is one of those families.
Kalim is the heir of one of the richest families in the world. Their money is a mix of old and self-made money. However, where the Al Asims could act like self-absorbed jackasses, they are the biggest philanthropists there is. They won’t miss a single opportunity to give money to charity or host fundraisers or other events of the sort. Anything they can do to make the world a better place, they will do. At least… that’s what everyone thinks. The truth is a whole other thing. Kalim is, in reality, the sickest psychopath there is out there. Everyone is terrified of the Schemer of the Sands. Not only because of the crimes he’s committed, but also because he might as well be an urban legend. Saying he is under the radar would be an understatement. Kalim being in charge, he didn’t stop at ‘pity crime’, as he puts it. Illegal trades such as alcohol or weapons are kids play for him. He decided he would rid the world of evil. If money wasn’t enough, then he would find another way. This is why he first created Scarabia. He started out with other criminals. Killing them one by one so there would be less of them. Then, he extended his services to corrupted police officers and abusive bosses. But even that ended up not being enough for him. He needed the adrenaline of the fight. He craved the blood, but, most importantly, the attention. With the other mafias in place, killing lowly thieves or asshole pigs wasn’t enough to get the medias’ attention. So he changed to bigger fishes. One day, Kalim learned of how the mayor, Leona and Falena’s father, had accepted a handful of brown envelopes during his life. He had closed his eyes on the crime of many criminal for the money. Because of that, Kalim decided to make him his new target. He spent months planning the attack and, when is was time, he made sure that everyone knew it was the Schemer’s doing. He spent weeks torturing him and recording his doings to send them to the medias and, after he was done having his fun, he cut him up into pieces and placed them all around the city hall. Because of that, Falena swore he would take down every mafia there was. Leona, however, was slightly impressed and inspired by the Schemer’s actions even if the victim had been his dad. Because of his ability to remain hidden from everyone all the while being voluntarily in plain sight, the other mafias took to calling him The Sorcerer of the Sands. His crimes were so perfect it was almost magic. The other six families aimed to be like Scarabia because of this.
Jamil is a bodyguard that was working for an agency before being contracted by Kalim. He would be hired up for parties, celebrities, meetings. All sorts of things and people. One of these things had been a fundraiser hosted by Kalim. During the event, he had to follow Kalim around and make sure he wouldn’t be the target of any sorts of attempt of assassinations, seeing as it happened frequently. Unfortunately for him, he caught sight of Kalim having some strange call where he talked about killing one of the guests. That said guest had been one of the police sergeant and also the most corrupt pig there was. He would extort money out of innocent people, otherwise he would invent a crime they never committed and plant false evidence. Needless to say, he had to go. When Kalim found out that Jamil was overhearing, he was very much tempted to get rid of him. He didn’t take a liking to killing innocents, but, had he paid him off, Kalim would have been no better then the ones he was clearing the world of and Jamil would have been corrupted, which would have made him one of his targets anyway. But, before that could happen, Jamil assured him that his secret would be well kept. Kalim being intrigued, he started questioning him about his intentions, to which Jamil admitted hating that night’s target. In extorting money out of innocents, he had ended up bleeding the Vipers dry until they could no longer pay. After that, he invented a lie about Jamil’s father that destroyed their entire lives. Jamil wanted the guy dead for what he had done to his family. He surely wasn’t going to talk to anyone about that phone call. Following this, Jamil quit the agency he was working for and started working for Kalim. During the day, he was a philanthropist’s bodyguard, making sure that no one would try to take him out. However, at night, he was the reason bodyguards were hired. He became Kalim’s prime hitman. He never missed a single target. His assassinations were quick and clean. This way, he greatly participated to the fear surrounding the infamous Schemer of the Sands.
RSA Mafia
It’s not a mafia per se. It’s more the guys roles in the whole mafia AU I’ve been building.
Chenya is an informant. He mostly works with Heartslabyul because of his bonds with Trey and Riddle, but he has been known to work with other people. Just like Trey and Riddle, he was raised in the business and he even used to be in Heartslabyul. But the rules that were put in place by Riddle’s mother, The Queen, had been way too much for him. So, when Riddle came in control, he told him he was leaving. He knew Riddle wouldn’t hurt him in any way. They trusted each other too much for that. And, in order to repay the gift he was given by being allowed to leave the organisation alive, he started by giving most of his informations to Heartslabyul for free. In the meantime, he was also working on building his own business and, when he figured he had enough connections going around, he started selling his informations to other people too. And honestly? He might be independent, but he will always have a soft spot for his original family. If push comes to shove, he will always choose Riddle and Heartslabyul.
Neige isn’t involved in any criminal activities. He’s just some famous model who is known for not only his looks, but also his unending generosity. The only problem is that Rook, in his obsessive behaviour, took a liking to Neige and decided to have him. So he tracked him down and managed to kidnap him in his home without having a single one of his seven roommates realising a damned thing. Rook then proceeded to keep Neige locked up somewhere in Pomefiore’s basement, so that he could see him everyday. And, ultimately, he took great care of him. After all, he didn’t want to hurt him, he just wanted to give him the whole world… in his own way anyway. The other problem is that Vil, in his possessive behaviour, did not like that Rook was spending less time with him. He wanted all of his attention. So he found out where Rook had been disappearing to all the time and he wasn’t happy with what he found out. He waited for Rook to leave and went in the room himself. He would usually make someone do the dirty work, but he was so pissed that he just had to take it out on something, or someone. He started by beating Neige up, turning him black and blue. Then, he tortured him, ripping his nails and hair out one by one. He was also planning to go for the teeth, but he didn’t have time. Rook had came back. So, while looking him in the eyes, he slit Neige’s throat and warned him that, if he ever tried to pull a stunt like that again, he would be the one getting killed. Rook had been heartbroken, but he also learned to never cross his Queen ever again.
The history book I'm reading has footnotes and I'm losing it. It shouldn't be funny but compared to other books which are really uptight and formal they just seem so relaxed [I'm reading The Worlds of Medival Europe 4th edition by Clifford R. Blackman]
Trigger warning: next picture has mentioned of torture
The illustrations are beautifully unsettling in a way I can't describe. I also love how Moon tells his victim to stay awake; it just highlights how backwards this situation is.
"W...W-Why are you doing this...?!" Sun blinked and cocked his head, feigning the look of an innocent child. "Huh? Ohhh!" He rested an elbow in one hand, using the other to draw a circle in the air referencing the man's predicament before walking around his chair. "You mean the whole 'tying you up and torturing you' thing! Well, it's quite obvious, isn't it~?"
Sun stopped directly behind him, bending low to speak directly into the man's ear.
"For Calvin, Mr. Grisham. For Eloise. And for every child in this town who has had to suffer, because of monsters like you."
Mr. Grisham trembled in his restraints, the sweet-sounding voice of Sun now laced with sinister and utter darkness. "Please, I-"
"Did you know-!" Sun halted him, continuing his walk around the chair. He waved an arm in Moon's direction, who fluidly twirled his knife, watching the man's blood still caked on it flick about the room. "My brother and I used to take care of children? You remember the pizzeria in the big city, don't you? Well, just because we are no longer daycare attendants, that doesn't mean our roles have changed. No no no~ Our roles have simply-"
Sun stopped back in front of Mr. Grisham's chair, getting into the man's face once more. His hands, once folded behind his back now gripping the arm rests. The wood creaked and nearly gave way from his grip alone. Sun's colored irises had shrunken down to slits, rattling with a craziness just waiting to bust free. His grin nearly stretched off of the edges of his face plate. A thin, black line formed between his teeth, and grew as his seemingly permanent-closed mouth, opened.
"Evolved," he finished, the word rattling in his robotic throat and chest.
Mr. Grisham whimpered, leaning back as much as he could from the looming animatronic. He squeezed his eyes and turned his head away. "S-Stop that-!"
Two hands grabbed at his head, turning it to face forward again. Two thumbs pulled his eyelids up, forcing him to look.
"What's wrong, Mr. Grisham~? Do I frighten you~?" Sun mockingly cooed. He leaned in closer, his nose pressed against Mr. Grisham's. "Good. Take a good, long, look, Mr. Grisham. I want you feel afraid. But this fear, is NOTHING compared to the fear you have inflicted upon your own children."
Sun's grip tightened. How easily he could pop this man's head like a grape. How badly he wanted to, how eagerly he wanted this maggot dead. But no. He had to suffer first. He had to pay. Sun relished in the man's whimpering as he trembled in his hands. Hot steam puffed from Sun's ajar mouth, ghosting the man's face.
"I wonder..." he thought aloud, his mouth a dangerous number of inches from the shivering man's head, "if I can scalp you with my own teeth~"
"Sun."
The animatronic paused, his eyes flicking to his left, towards Moon. The lunar animatronic stopped twirling his knife and simply stood there, giving his twin a known look between them with a raise brow.
Quickly--too quickly--Sun composed himself and stepped away, arms and hands open in surrender. "Ahaha! Apologies, brother! I got a little carried away there, didn't I?"
A small smile etched across Moon's face as he stepped forward. He couldn't fault Sun for his...eagerness. He placed a gloved hand on his twin's shoulder. "Go sanitize your gloves and face. Remove any traces of oil and skin."
Sun playfully saluted. "On it! I'll leave you to do the honors~" He then skipped away to do as instructed.
Mr. Grisham watched him go, bewildered and outright frightened by the swift changes in personality. Suddenly, something cold and sharp under his chin directed him to look forward, and he met Moon's hooded gaze, his face illuminated by narrow blue and red pupils. His own grin had widened and opened. Mr. Grisham whimpered as the tip of the knife pressed into his chin.
"Now that Sun's had his turn...looks like it's mine again~ Try to stay awake, Mr. Grisham. It's more fun that way~"
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:3c
@moonlit-dreamers
Seeing as you've got no choice but to tell the truth, what would you like to do to Red Hood if you ever got the chance?
My muse was given truth serum. Ask them questions on anon and they’ll have to answer honesty. They must answer no matter what the question is.
“At this point, I don’t think killing him is nearly satisfying enough after everything he’s done. I want him worse than dead. More than that, I wanna destroy him.” Roman said softly, his tone thoughtful and contemplative and very much at odds with the burning rage in his eyes. What would he like to do to Red Hood if he ever got the chance? He couldn’t help but snort derisively at that, knowing it was only a matter of when. His indomitable bloodlust couldn’t - wouldn’t rest until his palms were wet with the man’s blood but oh, it was just the start of all the fun they’d have together. Before he’d been asked this question, Roman had a myriad of ideas on what to do with Red Hood after all the stunts he’d pulled, the deals that asshole had disrupted or taken over outright. Torture was Black Mask’s speciality after all, his ‘magnus opus’ as it were and yet in that moment, not a single idea seemed good enough despite his many years of self-education in how to bring about the most pain and suffering. He truly did wonder... what brand of torture was sufficient after all that Red Hood had done? Roman had lost count of the people he’d taken apart and physically stripped down to bare bones and raw muscle. He’d learned so many ways to draw the entertainment out, forcing the human body to endure beyond what most thought it was capable of withstanding. It didn’t matter whether it was physical, mental or emotional pain - there were countless ways to break both a man’s body and spirit and Roman was well-versed in all arts of war but nothing he’d done so far could be enough for Red Hood who, in his eyes, deserved far worse than all of his previous victims.
”Unmasking him would only be the start, find out who he really is and in doing so, find out what makes him tick. I’m a very busy man but I’ll happily book weeks if not months of time off work in advance just to spend it getting to know Red Hood inside and out. Friends, family, old connections... I’ll dig every last one of them up, bring them into our little game too.” He sighed, almost lovingly at the thought and all the little mysteries he’d be able to learn once he’d encouraged Red Hood to tell. Pain worked for everybody and it was just a matter of finding out which type made people spill their guts the fastest. “Usually the trick is to send them your victim’s body parts, finger in the mail a day, that sort of thing but I ain’t interested in ransom. Nah, the only atonement worth anything to me now is blood, sweat and tears.”
Is torture like a power thing, or a sex thing for you? (Or I guess there's always both)
“You make it sound so bad, like I’m a dominatrix working at Pandora’s Box instead of being a perfectly respectable businessman. Sometimes it’s important knowing how to send a message, something which you’ll find is a necessity in my line of work.” Roman sighed, breathing out a lungful of smoke before setting his cigar aside and stubbing it out. "I don’t know what sort of kinky shit is running through your head but rest assured I’m usually too busy to waste time getting my rocks off like that, not that I’m opposed to mixing business with pleasure on occasion. Gotham’s a rough place so it’s nice when the work feels more like play, that sort of thing.” Power? he had plenty of that without having to resort to torture, his reputation more than enough to loosen the tongues of his rivals’ more stubborn henchmen and other foes. Sex? It certainly spiced things up in the bedroom but he liked to keep that seperate from work since it was a whole different ballgame... “You see, the reason why I’ve come so far here in this lovely little city is because I’ve got the drive to do what few other men will. In the hands of others, torture’s just a tool. Me on the other hand? Now I’ve made it into an art. Even the most hardened thugs you’ll find out there on the streets’ll start sweating bullets when you ask what Black Mask does to those who cross him or gets in his way. Makes things a whole lot easier on everyone when they understand what to expect, I think that’s pretty fair.” Picking up a fresh cigar, he lit up the end and inhaled deeply, relishing the intoxicating wave of tobacco flooding his veins. It didn’t provide quite the same hit as peeling off some sorry bastard’s face but it did good enough.
What's your favorite method of torture?
“Come now, friend. You can’t expect me to pick just one method when the potential to inflict pain is endless...” Roman said, eyes glinting like chips of black ice floating in a winter sea. If ever there was a topic he thoroughly enjoyed, torture was it but alas, most people found it too uncomfortable or even downright unacceptable as casual conversation, much less going into specific detail about it.
”See... torture, there’s no one right way of going about it. Your average serial killer and sadist, they get these ideas in their heads, start falling back on particular methods. I like tried and tested as much as any other guy out there but they lack dedication. They use torture as a tool. Me? I make it into a work of art, exploring the possibilities to maximize suffering and misery.” He sighed longingly, fingers itching for some quality fun. It had been a couple of weeks since he’d last unwound with a good session, being too caught up in his work as of late to truly dedicate himself to his most macabre of hobbies. An idiot rookie who’d let him down had been his most recent playmate, hardly the type to appreciate his endeavours. He hadn’t lasted long either, losing consciousness not even twenty minutes into the fun while begging all the while for it to end. Roman scoffed. He’d never liked it when they did that. Such people were hardly a challenge when anything could make them beg and plead for mercy. He leaned forwards in his seat, fishing a cigar from his pocket before lighting it up and inhaling the intoxicating fumes which soothed his agitated hands before breathing out a lungful of smoke, eyes cold and hungry like a shark that had just scented blood in the water. "Can’t tell you all my secrets but I’ll tell you about an entertaining session I had. Had this couple in my hands one time, hadn’t done me any wrong but they were involved with somebody who had. Naturally I had to send a message and what better way than to target a loved one? I took my sweet time with the husband first, taking him apart bit by bit. He took it like a champ on the promise I wouldn’t harm a hair on his pretty wife’s head so I didn’t. Didn’t promise I wouldn’t make her swallow his eyeball like a gumball though.” Oh, how she’d screamed. She’d wailed like a banshee when her husband passed out for the last time, his body too wracked by the agonizing marathon of suffering he’d been put through. She screamed a hell of a lot more when he’d clamped her mouth open and dropped the slippery orb down her throat, veins and all. He tutted at the memory, flicking away the ash at the end of his cigar. Eyeballs were so tricky to keep in one piece but he’d gotten it down pretty nicely by now, he liked to think. He’d certainly removed enough of them over the years.
“One person dead, the other mentally broken and locked up in a mental institute for life. Torture ain’t just sticking bamboo needles under some schmuck’s fingernails or waterboarding his face while he’s strapped down on a table, you gotta get imaginative and figure out what makes him tick! One man’s pain is another man’s hell so it doesn’t do just to stick with the basics, no no no. You gotta dig deep to find the nerve that aches the most, be it physically or mentally.”
Hiii!! I really like what you did with the "Sourcegenocide" cuz ive never seen terms that specifically mention it's because of one's source!!
ermm i was wondering if you could also coin some things like "sourcekidnapped", "sourcetourtured", and "sourceforcedpet"? Tysm!!! Dont feel obligated tho!! :3
Sourcekidnapped
A term for individuals who feel as though they should be kidnapped or have been kidnapped because of their source.
Sourcetortured
A term for individuals who feel as though they should be tortured or have been tortured because of their source.
Sourceforcedpet
A term for individuals who feel as though they should be forced to be a pet or have been forced to be a pet because of their source.
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Anyone can use this (no DNI post), as long as it isn’t misused. Only repost with a link to this post as credit (only exclusions being archives).
Also, please tell us if someone has coined this before. We often don’t notice/know.
if someone has coined this before, take it as either a recoin or redesign.
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Yippeeeee (idk, I’m bored lol)
Palestinian men and boys in Gaza describe the torture, humiliation, and dehumanization that they suffered during their time as captives of the Israeli occupation forces. “They forced us to make dogs’ sounds,” one man tells the camera. “If you refused to do so, they would beat you.” Another tells the reporter, “When they saw us falling asleep, they would come with a lighter and burn our backs with it.”
“Every hour was like years,” the same man says. “The torture was unbelievable.” Reports have emerged in recent days of mass roundups, torture, and execution of men and boys in Beit Hanoun and other parts of north Gaza. Detainees were identified by loved ones and others in the community who recognized them from the photos the occupation forces have been releasing.
As more footage and testimony are released, the depth of the horrors inflicted upon our people in Gaza are being brought to light. While we may never know the full extent of those horrors, what we already know is enough for any person of conscience to be able to identify as war crimes that are as depraved as they are systematic.
“My message for the world is to look at those detainees,” the final detainee tells viewers. “We are respected people. We are not animals.”
Via palestinianyouthmovement
Video Aljazeera
19 - Weal
Erichthonios struggles with nightmares. And confiding.
(Mild torture mention, post EW)