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#tw dislocated joint – @just-horrible-things on Tumblr
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torture, trauma, horror

@just-horrible-things / just-horrible-things.tumblr.com

Full of unpleasant, violent, and sometimes sexual content. This blog is not a safe space. Proceed at your own discretion. Sideblog to @horrible-on-main.
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[Prequel to this]

Interrogator,” the lead cultist drawls, a lopsided smile showing her blackened, broken teeth. “Darlings, we caught ourselves a big fish.” Her breath is vile as she leans in close. Ariadne jerks her head back as far as the grunt’s grip on her shoulders will allow, lips curling in disgust. “Traitor scum,” she snarls.

“You will make a pretty trophy, hmm? You will make my name for me. The dreadful Inquisition, brought low and caged.” “I will see you all burn,” Ariadne promises, but the woman laughs in her face.

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wildfaewhump

427 Elm Street.

A pair of dice, and then a discarded transport card later, Fern sags against the narrow back of the chair Jeremiah keeps hauling them back into whenever they tip out of it. Blood from their nose crusts their chin and coats the back of their throat, and more itches as it dries on the trails down the sides of their neck from their ears. They can’t feel the tips of their fingers. Light, unceasing tremors run through them, and the faint stir of the air circulated by the air conditioner feels like ice against their skin. But they got the other Path’s address. 427 Elm Street, right here in their city.

Jeremiah’s groan sounds muffled, like he’s rubbing his hands over his face. “Oh my god, that was exhausting. Does it always take you that long?”

“’msorry,” Fern says blearily. They’re not quite sure what for, but he’s mad and that must mean they did something wrong.

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Loiral and Marcus - What Slaves Do - 5.iv

A desperate optimism dares to hope that Aeliira’s arrival might spell salvation. A more cynical part of Loiral suspects that she will only bring more pain. “Sister!” his current tormentor exclaims, “This slave attacked me! I’m punishing him, of course.” “Attacked you?” Her tone conveys great skepticism. “It’s true!” Whose voice is that? “He had her grabbed, with her arm all twisted - like this! And she couldn’t get out!” Oh, Loiral had forgotten that the youngster was still here. A lot of things are quite hard to keep track of right now. “Is that so?” Aeliira leans over him. Her face is recognisable, even blurred by tears. Should he confess? Deny it? Just beg for mercy? He can’t decide, so he pretends insensibility, whimpering and sobbing in pain. It’s not a difficult pretence.

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