Cupcakes on the Doorsill-chpt 3
Quick note-I am extremely grateful to Tyto11. They helped me whip up this chapter, endlessly editing it after every little change I made. Thanks you, sweetpea! You`re amazing!
There is a medieval torture device that stretches the limbs of its victims; a sort of drawing and quartering that can be done with just one torturer present. The entire thing is nicely mechanized, so it doesn't rely on the strength of the torturer to tighten it, and there are no longer any breaks for the victim.
Mathew was currently stretched out atop it.
His clothes had been changed into a medical gown. In the few moments of reason Mathew had to hyperventilate and attempt to gather his thoughts as he was strapped into place, he assumed that the clothing was likely due to him having already bled on every other set of clothes the heinous 2P characters had for him, and this was their most cost-effective option at the moment. Mathew spared a quick moment to be grateful he still had some kind of covering.
The 2P named Al, who looked like his brother Alfred, had been giving him weird looks lately; like he couldn't wait to ravish him. Mathew wasn't too sure if it was blood-lust, the bigger man just wanting to inflict his own personal damage onto Mathew's frailer body, or if the look-overs he'd been given were of a sexual nature, but he didn't want to know either way. As far as he was concerned, everything and anything that could possibly happen now probably only meant more pain for him.
The next instant, the last bit of give he had in his limbs leached out with a final winding of the cords. His flexibility and the tension of the cords would only allow so much. Mathew could only hope it wouldn't hurt as much as the thumb screws had-
Matthew screamed as his left arm popped out of its joint. Then again for his right arm. He just shuddered for his right leg. By the time his last limb popped out of place, he was already unconscious and Oliver happily skipped over to turn the machine off, then went upstairs to take another batch of cupcakes out of the oven just as his pink cupcake-shaped timer went off with a sweet little 'ding'. Oliver was so happy he got it. It was so perfect for his perfect little house and his perfect little functional family.
Sometimes, he liked to fantasize on his brain breaks, while cooking or designing his next bit of fun.
This time, Oliver mused about pouring the boiling hot water in his hands that was meant for a tea on Mathew. That would increase the skinny male's pain sensitivity over Mathew's entire body, burning him. He grinning wickedly as Mathew cried out in pain in his head. He then switched to the still liquid but hot cake batter from his newest batch out of the oven to be his main instrument of torture. Because hey, sometimes you have to work with limited tools, and it is always good to visualize ahead of time on things like that so that plans can actually come to fruition.
Oliver stopped and sighed as a scream came from downstairs. Apparently, Mathew had woken up and had forgotten to control himself.
He couldn't have him screaming like that so loudly now, could he?
Oliver clicked his tongue and slammed his cupcake tray down on the counter top, extra-sweet crumbs and only partially solidified batter splattering in a rain around it as he roughly tugged off his hot gloves and tossed them down. One of them landed in the sink, making him even more mad.
"That boy. Ruining everything..."
He started down the stairs, grabbing a pair of scissors from a hook as he went.
"Will that boy still be able to scream without his tongue?"
Later, when Mathew thought back to this time. He could only remember a sequence of disjointed memories.
Oliver ripped out another fingernail. Mathew was too far gone in his hideous pain to really care much beyond making a small choking gasp.
He couldn't get in enough air to scream anymore. He couldn't get enough air in to breath. He was in too much pain to breathe properly. He was in too much pain to focus; to notice anything at all. The pain just kept on coming, more than all the tidal waves in the world added together, and all he could do was feel it, try to live through it, and nothing more. He couldn't deal with it.
Most days now he didn't even feel it for long, he was in so much pain all the time that most of the time he was already unconscious before Oliver even started on his daily, hourly, spontaneous, "fun".
Mathew feels like he's in a daze, he couldn't tell what was real anymore, not now, not with blood still dripping down his arms. Idly, he wondered if he was in shock. That would explain how he felt so...passive about getting cut up into ribbons, his skin flayed from his arms. Logically, he knew he should be scared, very scared. But he wasn't. He merely didn't care anymore. He was past that point now.
Oliver munched on yet another candy as he talked, blabbing away. Jabbering on and on about Mathew knew not what. He wasn't paying attention anymore. He was too focused on the pain coming from his hands, from the thumbs trapped mercilessly in the thumbscrews that Oliver kept on carelessly tightening again and again.
Blood gushed out suddenly, and Mathew let out a fresh scream. Oliver gave another of his sick grins before tightening the screw once more before hopping off his rocking chair and skipping up the stairs.
Calling back down, "Have fun, Mathew." And slammed the door, laughing, maniacally.
Oliver concocted some poison for Mathew to take and when he refused to eat it, poured acid on him and listened with a smile on his face as Mathew screamed in pain. It hurt. It hurt so much.
Oliver grinned, and put down his saw. "Alright. We can stop today's fun...if you can answer me this riddle: what is sweet and fun, but dangerous to try?" Oliver said, giggling.
Was it really this easy?
"Your cupcakes, of course."
Oliver giggled again, delighted, and his eyes bright with something Mathew vaguely dreaded.
"As a reward, you'll get to try some."
Treats. Poisonous sweets. He knew that he shouldn't eat them. But then, he wouldn't get much of a choice in the matter.
It was incredibly sweet. So sweet you could get diabetes from it. Mathew felt sick to his stomach. Instinctively, he knew that the poison Oliver most preferred worked slowly, but excruciatingly when it did begin its work. But, moments after having it forced down his throat, he wondered if he might just be saved from that particular fate, if his nausea had anything to say about it.
"Ohhhh~ Lookie here, Mathew." Oliver said and bounded forward, plugging something into the wall and pressing a button, a whirring sound filling the air. Mathew gulped as he watched the spinning blades. No. Please no.
Oliver giggled as he danced back and dragged his victim forward. "Annnd~ here we go..." He laughed, grabbing Mathew's arm and bringing it closer and closer to the extra sharp whirling blades inside the blender, a sadistic grin twisting his face as Mathew struggled, cried out, pleaded, and failed to break away.
"So," Alex said, already bored by what was going on, "what are we going to do with him now?"
Oliver smirked. Mathew thought it made him look sick, or maybe it was just making Mathew himself feel sick. He didn't know anymore.
"I believe we are going to be having an execution." Oliver said and pointed at Mathew. "Yours."
Tied up and left in the dark. Mathew remembers Vimy and how so many of his men on the battlefield with him were blinded...and how he was too for days on end.
Mathew has no idea how long later it was, but during one of his few moments of lucidity, he awoke to Oliver muttering worriedly.
Mathew couldn't hear himself anymore, but his throat felt raw from screaming and every breath was a gasp through his pained vocal chords. Not that the rest of him wasn't hurt too.
A frantic beeping was coming from a monitor by him, and Oliver was looking at it curiously.
Mathew felt his heart stop, and then the magic feeding his nationhood gave a slow shudder that he had never felt before.
He was later able to piece together what happened from what Mathieu and Alex told him.
That Oliver had had to give Mathew an anesthetic when he couldn't handle the pain of being cut open anymore, nor that of having acid poured into his open wounds.
A comment that was made later triggered most of the memory.
"I think he's going to need a therapist after this," Al grumbled, cleaning up the gory mess Oliver had made earlier. "Like, he's going to need help. Serious help. Mega gargantuan Godzilla serious mental, maybe even physiological help."
"Likely." Mathieu replied.
Alex paused, and looked at his twin curiously. "Don't you care that he's torturing your double?"
Mathieu shrugged flippantly. "Not really."
Al shot him a sharp look and opened his mouth to retort, but Oliver's voice could be heard calling out from the top of the stairs.
"Ohhhhhh, Mathieu? I've moved our charge upstairs and back to his room. Can you please make sure he's fed and watered? I do believe it's been at least a week since his last real meal. The poor dear must be starving."
Blood. Blood all over the walls, and blood all over Mathew's prone body. Blood was everywhere. The smell was sickening. Mathieu gagged on it briefly as he walked into the room, sighing. How was he supposed to feed the little runt if Oliver always took it too far and left him unconscious? Sheesh.
A stirring from the bed causes him to raise his eyebrows.
"And here I thought you were actually going to die and make Oliver eat his words that you couldn't be killed. You'd think your body would have learned to stop waking up by now when this is all it has to look forward to."
Mathew gave a muffled, choking sob in reply from the bed.
Before
Mathew screamed himself hoarse and tasted blood in his throat hours before he could finally bring himself to stop crying out whenever a new and particularly brutal slash opened up his body.
Oliver sighed and skipped over to a machine tucked into a dusty corner of the room, a thing he rarely used.
Wheeling it over, he roughly strapped the gas mask over Mathew's face, smiling creepily as he pressed the on button and humming as the machine slowly whirred to life after being dormant and sleeping through the screams of a hundred other people before this boy...and yet never being used to relieve a person, only to administer poison. Unlike now, where for once in his life, Oliver gave a sedative not to kidnap someone, but to comfort them.
Oliver's face hazily swam before Mathew's eyes as the noxious fumes swiftly filled his lungs.
"Nighty night, and sweet dreams, dearie." Oliver sang. Then lightly pressed a kiss to Mathew's bloody forehead, leaving a red-rimmed hand print on Mathew's delicate, tear-stained face when he pulled his hand away after subconsciously cupping the sweet curves gently.
Oliver balled the hand into a fist after noticing, then swiftly brought it down on an already bruised and stapled together scar on Mathew's stomach, splattering the floor with yet more droplets of blood. The air filled with another pain-strangled groan from Mathew.
Love is not always kind. Nor is it always gentle. Especially when you're dealing with the particularly deranged 2P's. And, in particular, Oliver.
In case you didn't get that, after Oliver dislocates Mathew's arms and legs, he cuts out his tongue saying that his screams were annoying him.
Hello! Bonjour!
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