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SV's Occasional Crucifixion Thread

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Servus Venandi

Magistrate
Crucifixion isn't my main thing, but it is one of my oldest fascinations (single-digit childhood, as memory serves), and I do make crux scenes from time to time. In recent months this forum has reinvigorated the sub-genre for me creatively, and I find myself once again piecing together random props in pursuit of makeshift crosses and nails.

This thread will probably be a mishmash of stories and images. I have no concrete plans beyond contributing a varied series of original crucifixion-themed content as time allows.

Here are a few oldies (some of questionable quality) to start....

Crux-ish

SW_Short36_QualityControl02.jpgSW_Short52_SubjectKozlov.jpgSW_Short86_Andromeda.jpg

True Crux

SW_Short60_PetraCrucified01.jpgSW_Short60_PetraCrucified02.jpgSW_Short81_Mmph05.jpgSW_Short87_MistHarbor.jpg
 

phlebas

PRIMUS POENUS
Staff member
"contributing a varied series of original crucifixion-themed content " seems a pretty laudable goal to me :) please continue.
I've posted a couple of your crux pics in the past myself, certainly #1 and #3 in your True Crux section above (I particularly like #3). I look forward to seeing more.
 

Apostate

Administrator
Staff member
Crucifixion isn't my main thing, but it is one of my oldest fascinations (single-digit childhood, as memory serves), and I do make crux scenes from time to time. In recent months this forum has reinvigorated the sub-genre for me creatively, and I find myself once again piecing together random props in pursuit of makeshift crosses and nails.

This thread will probably be a mishmash of stories and images. I have no concrete plans beyond contributing a varied series of original crucifixion-themed content as time allows.

Here are a few oldies (some of questionable quality) to start....

Crux-ish

View attachment 803893View attachment 803894View attachment 803898

True Crux

View attachment 803895View attachment 803896View attachment 803897View attachment 803899

Nice DeviantArt link on one of those renders.

83E4CCE9-988E-4E1C-98CF-431A2F026D09.jpeg

Excessive amounts of fantasy art therein. ;)
 

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Apostate

Administrator
Staff member
Gawd, that is literally the first image I ever posted in the Syndicate Wars "short" series. It's still on my storage device, named SW_Short01 and dated November 2014.

Excessive amounts of fantasy art, and in some cases excessive amounts of expository text. :eyepop:

Actually, said text is pretty decent sci-fi worldbuilding. ;)
 

Servus Venandi

Magistrate
Caeleste Crux
by Servus Venandi

SW_Crux01_Orbital.jpg

Autumn Lau, prisoner two-four-two-one-dash-nine-nine-dash-five-zero, by Corporate Judicial Order issued under authority of the Red Nova Charter, you are sentenced to crucifixion for a period of three hours. This is a capital sentence. If you still live at the end of three hours, your sentence will be commuted to slavery, with details to be sorted at a later date. Do you understand the terms of your sentence? Crucifixion will commence ... now.

She hasn’t struggled much to this point—not during her arrest, not at sentencing, not even moments ago when they beat her and tied her arms to the cross.

When a pneumatic nailgun propels a large spike into her wrist at a precisely calculated velocity, she struggles at last, but it’s too late. A half-dozen hands hold her down, supplementing the ropes on her forearms, elbows, chest and waist, and she can’t escape.

The process repeats on her other side, and then for both feet. By the time the ropes come off and her cross is hoisted upright, she can barely remember the trauma. There’s just the result, raw pain of a sort she’s never imagined.

Three hours.

Before the nails, Autumn thought slavery was the worst thing in the universe. It now seems abundantly clear, in the form of her compressed median nerves setting off torturous fireworks, that there are far worse things than being collared and owned.

Still, Autumn settles in over the ensuing minutes, alternating between hanging by her wrists until she can’t take it anymore, and pushing herself up on the foot spikes for a few seconds of upper body relief.

It’s the most taxing thing she’s ever done, but the surrounding atmosphere is strangely calm—just the hum of the environmental systems, the sound of her sweaty bottom sliding against the metal cross as she strains against the spikes. Distant prisoners cry out occasionally, poor sods getting the whip for some real or imagined instance of noncompliance. No guards are present here, though—they all fucked off right after making sure Autumn was properly secured.

There’s a window behind her, reinforced aerospace glass holding back vacuum. Terra Nova, home, lingers somewhere off to the left, a blue smudge against a backdrop of pinholes. Much closer, the solar-filtered glow of Tau Ceti caresses her skin. Autumn only got a glimpse right before they tied her down. It’s a nice view. Coupled with the quiet execution chamber, if she ignores the explosive agony of hanging by her own punctured limbs, it’s not so bad. Peaceful, even. There’s something poetic about hanging from a cross in space.

If she doesn’t survive the three hours, her remains will be ejected in a coffin capsule and decelerated to burn up in the sun. She’ll be “buried” across dozens or hundreds of kilometers of Tau Ceti’s surface. Not many people in human history can be said to have gotten that kind of send-off.

Not bad for a lower-class girl doing her time on the cross for murder.

Autumn fights in solitude, or at least believes she is, until a loud scream startles her awake. Her chest burns, and she pushes up for a desperate breath.

How long has it been?

The noise is coming from her right, an ebony-skinned woman reclined on the next cross over, tied down while the warden reads another script, identical to the one he read for Autumn, except the name this time is Yolanda.

Yolanda is a screamer, and Autumn almost feels sorry for the guards working so close to the source.

Fortunately, by the time Yolanda is crucified, her screams have shifted to desperate gasps. She dances from side to side on her newly-raised cross, big boobs and ass jiggling, incoherent pleas about innocence and human rights on her lips.

The guards and warden leave again, but Yolanda persists until the physiological realities of crucifixion demand more of her body than she can provide. She can scream or struggle, but not both, and she mostly opts for the latter, sprinkling in a few cries when her diaphragm allows.

“I’m so sorry, Baby,” she says about ten minutes into her dance. “Don’t watch. Mama’s okay. Don’t watch, don’t watch, don’t watch....”

The she gasps and falls again, squeaking as the spikes dig into her wrists.

Unless Baby is a legal adult with a premium subscription to Red Nova ExStream, or somehow has illegal access to such, the likelihood of her or him receiving the message is damn close to zero. It makes Autumn sad, but she’s got her own problems and doesn’t see any point in responding.

Three hours.

Yolanda mutters something about Jesus and letting a cup pass. It becomes background noise, and Autumn fades until the burn in her chest forces her up again. A chill settles across her body, electricity in her fingers and toes, but she steals a few gasps before easing back down.

Three hours.

That’s a long fucking time to fight while a nameless slave trader and the Reaper race to claim you as the prize.

How long since the gun went off? An hour, give or take?

Two hours.

This sounds better in her head, and it gives her hope, but she manages to hang only a few seconds before her diaphragm seizes and forces her to push up again. Autumn finds a halfway point that lets her breathe almost normally. She leans to her left, rests her head against her arm, pretending it’s comfortable, pretending she’s not afraid to die.

Yolanda adopts wordless sounds of misery. Jesus has ignored her, apparently. Just as well. Assuming Jesus of Nazareth existed in some capacity, he wound up quite dead at the end of his own cross excursion. Any advice he might offer is unlikely to help. Of course, legend has it that he got the ultimate do-over, but Autumn is fairly sure neither she nor Yolanda—if the Reaper wins this morbid race—will be lucky enough to experience magical reanimation three days from now.

Down again. There’s a knot in Autumn’s hamstring, and she can’t stay up. Down, down, down against the wrist spikes. It hurts. Fuck, it hurts.... She whimpers without meaning to, thrusts her chest forward in a futile attempt to catch a few easy breaths.

Two hours, give or take.

The warden said they will take her down then. They’ll take her down, give her medical attention, and send her off to get a collar. She’ll probably get whipped a lot during training, tortured in any number of inventive ways, maybe even brain-wiped, but she’ll receive every bit of it gratefully after this. Right about now, in fact, she longs for the relative comfort of a whipping post or a disciplinary hog-tie on the cold floor of a dirty cell. Anything but the cross....

--




Author's note: :doh:
I accidentally wrote over the original version of this, but I think I've managed to accurately recreate most of it ... in spirit, at least.
 

Servus Venandi

Magistrate
On The Shoulders Of Giants
by Servus Venandi

SW_Crux02_Giants.jpgSW_Crux02_GiantsFPC.jpgSW_Crux02_Giants02.jpg

Two crosses stood in the open area at the base of Cellblock F1, well-used metal T’s that would probably still be standing long after the rest of the place fell to a concrete ruin around them. There was something almost sublime about this thought as Takara balanced on a wooden stool, her bare back to one of the vertical posts and arms splayed against the beam, while Officer Wendy Vicano finished buckling the leather ankle cuffs. A handful of the guards who had broken up the fight and hauled Takara down here stood back and watched, arms folded, expressions ranging from disdain to mild amusement.

Assholes, the lot of them. Except Wendy. Wendy was kind and understanding most days, even gentle when she could afford to be. If Takara had to do an hour on the cross, she supposed she was comfortable enough having Wendy see to it. Her only regret was in knocking Rochelle Diggs out cold, so now the thieving bitch got pampered in the infirmary instead of getting to dance on the second cross.

Maybe they’d make her dance later, and Takara could watch from her cell. That might be even better.

“Yes, they’re locked,” Wendy said. “Keep tampering with them, though, and somebody’s gonna tack another hour onto this session.”

Takara realized she’d been idly fumbling with the clips attaching her wrist cuffs to the crossbeam eyelets.

She stopped and muttered, “Sorry.”

Wendy smirked and cinched down the final strap behind Takara’s ankles. “Going up, honey. Let yourself down easy so this won’t jar you too bad.”

Takara sighed and slid down the length of the post until her arms extend above her at at forty-five-degree angles. It was her first time on the cross, but she’d seen it enough times to know the drill.

She didn’t willfully place her entire weight on her wrists, but she didn’t have a choice when Wendy picked up her feet and pinned them flat against the post. Sharp pain cut from her neck to her fingers, and Takara sucked a hard breath between clinched teeth.

Wendy slapped the ankle clip onto an eyelet somewhere south of Takara’s butt, and there she was, crucified. If only her parents in Zone 3 could see her now.

“Pace yourself,” Wendy said. “The longer you can relax here in the early going, the longer you’ll be able to hold yourself up later.”

Finding the advice nonsensical as her arms caught on fire, Takara nevertheless hung in the cuffs and tried to save her legs. She wiggled from side to side a bit, testing the bondage for some secret position that might hurt less, but she figured there wasn’t one.

“Is that observation or personal experience?” she asked the guard.

“A lot of the former,” Wendy replied, “a little of the latter. Every officer here trained in disciplinary crucifixion. Three years ago I hung for an hour right where you are now. My best advice is to control your breath and hang as long as you can.”

“You could’ve come down anytime,” Takara said more harshly than she intended. “Maybe you wouldn’t have gotten the job, but you could’ve said no and gone home.”

“And if I hadn’t gotten the job, you’d be locked up without me, hanging up there with nobody to talk to.”

“Perish the thought.”

Wendy reached forward and squeezed Takara’s left knee, then she leaned over and snatched her riot rifle off the floor. She was the only guard among those who’d responded to the brawl who carried one. Fortunately, she hadn’t used it. The things were nonlethal, but the pain level was reportedly somewhere between childbirth and burning alive.

“I wasn’t the only person of note to precede you up there,” Wendy continued. “Care to hazard a guess who it was?”

Letting her chin rest against her bulky metal prisoner collar, Takara said, “Nope, not really.”

“Fine, be that way. It was Sage Gallows. Before she got shipped to Zone Nine Asylum, while the lawyers and courts were still trying to sort out that galactic mess of a case, she spent some time right here in block F.”

Takara shoved her ass to the right, desperate for relief but still hoping to not push up with her legs until she absolutely couldn’t stand it. This party was just getting started, after all.

“Were you here then?” she wondered.

“Was brand new that year,” Wendy said, “but yeah. I put her up there once, same as I just did for you.”

“For me? Some favor, Officer.”

“You’re a firecracker, Taka, but I’ve never seen anybody fight that hard. Gallows fought the cuffs. She fought the clamps. She fought the whip. She fought the cross. Hell, she fought meal times and medical checkups. That girl wore a ballgag and heavy steel constantly, and I swear I was still terrified she might find a way to rip my jugular out.”

Takara straightened herself out on the cross and managed a tiny shrug. “Well, you do work for the syndicate that screwed her like a two-bit whore, and then didn’t even pay her the two bits.”

Wendy nodded. “I tried to be easy with her. We probably didn’t trade more than a few dozen words during the weeks she was here, but I like to think we had an understanding. She never broke my nose, at least.”

“You crux her a lot?”

“She got cruxxed almost daily. I only did her that one time—on orders, not my choice. I told her as much. I think she believed me, thank god.”

Takara asked, “How’d it go?”

“She was a machine,” Wendy replied. “I mean ... the cross hurt. You could tell. Nobody gets crucified and mistakes it for Yoga. But she hardly made a sound, and I never saw her shed a tear during torture. She’d cry at night in her cell, strapped down and blindfolded, but never when you’d expect.”

“Was she crazy as they say?”

“She was crazy violent, but only to protect herself or hand down her version of justice. I don’t think she was actually crazy at all.”

Takara gave up and pushed herself into a standing position. The relief that flooded through her arms was almost divine, but her slender legs weren’t going to hold for long.

“Say that opinion too loud,” Takara said, “and I might have a dance partner soon.”

Wendy waved the warning off. “I wouldn’t speak well of Sage Gallows in front of the warden or anything, but I’m not saying anything my peers don’t already know. Especially the ones who were here back then.” She glanced down and brushed nonexistant dust from her rifle. “So sad how they killed her, you know? All that rigamarole, then....” She mimed a noose with her free hand, crossed her eyes, and stuck out her tongue.

Takara said, “If you were trying to make me feel better about dancing here, you just failed.”

“Look on the bright side—you aren’t an interstellar terrorist, and you’re still slated for release before Christmas.” Wendy tapped the side of her visor. “What do you know? We’ve chatted your cross time down by five minutes. Only fifty-five to go.”

“Yay.”

“You want a gag to bite down on? Sometimes it helps.”

Takara shook her head. “Nah, I’m good.”

“You sure? I’m off to lunch in twenty, so you’ll be on your own for the duration.”

“I’m good.”

Wendy waited a beat, smiled, and gave Takara a friendly swat on the ass.

“All right, honey. Breathe and relax. And for the love of god, stop fighting other inmates, and you ragdoll instantly the next time a guard says stop. You aren’t Sage Gallows, and you don’t wanna be. ‘Kay?”

Takara blinked once, bent her knees, and sunk back into a hanging position. The burn rushed back into her arms, and she stifled a groan in the back of her dry throat. It was going to be a long hour.

“’Kay. Enjoy your lunch, Wen.... Officer Vicano.”

--
 
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Servus Venandi

Magistrate
Okay, time to get needy. I’ve never heard of this artist. Is there more of Ghost's work, and where? :babeando:

I'm the artist. Ghost is the character, and she appears from time to time in my fiction. I believe the image above is the only time I've depicted her in cruciform.

Artwork....

SW_Short54_BoundAndDetermined.jpgSW_Short67_Ghost.jpgSW_Short73_GhostPrayer.jpg

Comics....


Short stories....

The Women of Hill 499

The Metahuman Incident
http://fav.me/d8sy2yw (DeviantArt)

The Brain Drain
http://fav.me/d987kzx (DeviantArt)

So ... there you go. That's Ghost. ;)
 

Apostate

Administrator
Staff member
I'm the artist. Ghost is the character, and she appears from time to time in my fiction. I believe the image above is the only time I've depicted her in cruciform.

Artwork....

View attachment 812326View attachment 812327View attachment 812328

Comics....


Short stories....

The Women of Hill 499

The Metahuman Incident
http://fav.me/d8sy2yw (DeviantArt)

The Brain Drain
http://fav.me/d987kzx (DeviantArt)

So ... there you go. That's Ghost. ;)

Okay, two things.

First, DAMN you’re good. In writing and artwork both.

Second, you’ve definitely got my attention. ;)


My own crux fetish is mainly rooted in the Roman Empire, contemporary settings do nothing for me, but science fiction scenarios intrigue me. That, and I’ve been looking around lately for steel crosses.

244F8CE2-B611-4417-9F1E-7408A3665307.jpeg

Well met, Servus. I look forward to following your stuff. :very_hot:
 

Apostate

Administrator
Staff member
Sidebar: be nice if she’d lose the gag, but I know this is not only the artist’s prerogative, but it is a favorite fetish accessory. You play to the audience. :rolleyes:
 

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Servus Venandi

Magistrate
Okay, two things.

First, DAMN you’re good. In writing and artwork both.

Second, you’ve definitely got my attention. ;)


My own crux fetish is mainly rooted in the Roman Empire, contemporary settings do nothing for me, but science fiction scenarios intrigue me. That, and I’ve been looking around lately for steel crosses.
Well met, Servus. I look forward to following your stuff. :very_hot:

Thank you so much. Ghost hasn't been front-and-center yet, but I like to think she's developed pretty well over the years.

My own crux kink probably had its origin in religious symbolism—romanticized Roman influence, I guess. With the almost simultaneous emergence of a childhood astronomy obsession (which I retain here decades later), the merging of naked women on crosses and sci-fi was probably inevitable.

Sidebar: be nice if she’d lose the gag, but I know this is not only the artist’s prerogative, but it is a favorite fetish accessory. You play to the audience. :rolleyes:

Audience notwithstanding, I am a shameless gag fanatic.

That said, if I find time this week, I'll see about running the Ghost scene again, minus the gag. :thumbsup:
 

Apostate

Administrator
Staff member
No problem. For once, I might even be partial to the gag-free look.

If you don't mind Ghost getting worked over by her lesbian mistress, something of the sort can probably be added to the pipeline. :wink:

Do I mind women doing women? Rather the reverse. ;) :babeando:
 

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