#referenced drugging

[hufflepuffwritingstuff2]

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE I NEED MORE OF OUT OF CONTROL PLEASEEEE

Hi anon! I'm so happy you're enjoying it! I'd love to continue! Thanks for requesting this, here you go!

Part 1, Part 2

Villain gently set Hero down on the bed in their room. Hero's breaths came out in little white clouds, and their skin was cold to the touch.

"...Villain," Hero mumbled, their eyes fluttering open.

"I'm right here, Hero."

Villain sat down on the bed and took Hero's hand. Hero blinked a few times and tried to sit up. Their attempt was feeble at best and they quickly crashed back down on the bed. Villain ran their thumb up and down Hero's hand.

"I'm gonna fix you right up," Villain said, "I promise."

"How?" Hero asked weakly.

"First by finding out what caused this in the first place. What's the last thing you remember before losing control?" Villain asked.

Hero took a minute to answer. Their teeth chattered as they spoke.

"I-I was sent on a mission to investigate a cryo-chamber that was becoming unstable. When I got there, the chamber exploded. I woke up in the med bay the next day, and I was freezing. That's when the ice started to spread, and I couldn't stop it."

As Hero spoke, a thin layer of ice began to spread out over the bed. Villain stood up before it could reach them.

"The explosion must've triggered a power boost in your cryogenic makeup," Villain said, "if I can find a way to expel the excess cryo-energy, you should regain control of your powers."

"How do we do that?" Hero asked, trying once again to sit up.

"First, we wait for those sedatives to wear off." Villain gently pushed Hero back down on the bed, "and then, I'll set up something to help you expel the excess cryo-energy safely."

Hero smiled up at Villain. They let out a small yawn, blinking heavily. Their eyes fluttered shut.

"Just rest, Hero," Villain said, "I'll get everything ready for when you wake up."

...

"Alright, listen up," Superhero said, "Villain has kidnapped Hero."

Frantic whispers spread throughout the league. Villain? Kidnap Hero?

"Villain thinks what they're doing is right," Superhero continued, "that makes them dangerous. The plan is: go in, extract Hero, arrest Villain. I need a couple volunteers to go with me."

All hands shot up at once. Everyone was ready to save Hero.

"Alright," Superhero said, pointing to two league members, "you and you, come with me. The rest of you, stay vigilant. We don't know what Villain might do now that they have Hero."

Superhero led the two league members to the strategic planning room. They were going to get Hero back, and ensure the safety of the city, whatever it took.

Part 4

#forced sedation #referenced drugging #writeblr #writing #whump #creative writing #as requested #hero x villain #heroes and villains #kidnapping #villain caretaker #hero whumpee #out of control #hero x villain community #hurt/comfort

[ashintheairlikesnow]

The Lights

CW: Pet whump, whump of a minor (OC is 17), some conditioned internal ableism, Oliver Branch is a goddamn creepy intimate whumper, isolation, captivity, referenced drugging

For @amonthofwhump day 4: Holiday light show

Chris’s masterlist

-

The grounds of the governor’s mansion are nearly silent as Baldur moves nervously, following his Sir. The blindfold - really a sleep mask, soft as fur against his eyelids and with elastic holding it on - keeps him dependent on Sir’s hand in his. It feels like being led by a leash. It should be comforting but it only makes Baldur shiver harder as a chill breeze seems to find its way up his sleeves and underneath the hem of the perfectly draped blue sweater his Sir had allowed him to wear with his usual soft pants.

His feet are bare, and the ground is so cold it makes his toes burn and tingle. Eventually, though, he doesn’t feel the grass very much at all.

“S-sir-”

“Ssssshhhh. Be quiet, sweetheart.” Sir’s hand squeezes his, once and then again. There’s laughter in his voice, and Baldur turns towards it like a flower finding the sun. If this is a game, he hasn’t given Baldur the rules. Not that it matters - even when he does know the rules, Sir almost always makes sure he loses anyway. “Remember your most important truth, darlin’?”

“Statue boys… are good boys,” Baldur says. His tongue hates the words, moves thick in his mouth around them, but he doesn’t have a choice. He says it anyway. It’s the first thing he learned from his handler, beaten so deeply into him he could say it in his sleep, he probably does say it in his sleep. “Silence is better than… than stammering. Stillness is better than what-... I do.”

“Good boy.” Another squeeze, and warmth that feels like rotten honey blooms in his chest. He finds a smile, but he doesn’t know if Sir can even see it or if he’s even looking. It feels good to be praised, but it feels like poison, too. Like the news story he saw on how sometimes animals eat antifreeze because they think it tastes sweet.

He can’t remember what antifreeze is.

But he knows what it means to have poison given to you like ice cream. 

The two of them move over the grass, the blades tickling Baldur’s bare feet. Dew hasn’t set in, yet, the grass is still dry. Then he is stopped, and Sir puts hands on his shoulders, turning him around in circles until he cries out with dizziness and tries to grab on to anything he can to keep his balance.

Sir’s hand claps over his mouth to muffle him as he comes to a stop, the man’s warmth and solidity just behind him, something to fall back against as his chest heaves with rough breathing. If only Baldur could trust his Sir to catch him if he fell, and not simply to watch him, and laugh, and bring his belt down again.

“Did I not just tell you to shut that pretty mouth?” Sir whispers against his ear, slowly pulling his hand away and back to his shoulder. Baldur’s eyes close as tightly as they can behind the blindfold to try and keep back the rush of hot tears, the only part of him that feels warm. “I still have security here at night, you know.”

“I, I know-”

“If they found you, I would go to prison, darlin’.”

“... Sir-... I’m sorry, sir-”

“And you know what would happen to you?” The whisper is suddenly vicious where before it was soft, and Baldur’s spine straightens, every muscle locking. But he can’t even begin to remember how to pull away.

“... I, I do, I know-”

“You’d go right back into WRU. They’d wipe you and start over again, only you’d be even worse off this time, sweetheart. Do you want to go back to WRU?”

“No! No, sir, please no, please-”

The hand claps tightly again. “I said be quiet, Baldur!” This time those fingers clamp painfully, jamming his lips against his teeth, until he whimpers. Only then does Sir slowly lift his hand, hovering, ready to press down again. 

Baldur swallows, his voice thick, heart racing just beneath his breastbone. His hands are shaking, his stomach has frozen inside him. “I’m s-sorry, sir, I’m, I’m, I’m-”

“Baldur.” His Sir’s voice drops, suddenly low and threatening. 

“I’m… sorry.” He fights his voice to keep it calm and low, soft and even, only a little trembling and not stammering at all. “Silence is better than stammering, silence is better than… I’m sorry, sir.”

“That’s better. Now… I did the unveiling officially earlier, I couldn’t show you that, but…” He lays a hand over Baldur’s eyes and pulls off the blindfold in the same smooth motion, keeping him in the dark. “One… two… three.”

Sir pulls his hand away.

There’s a pause.

“Well?”

“Um… Sir, may I… open my eyes now?”

Sir laughs, harsh and mocking, and Baldur feels blood pool hot in his cheeks. “Yes, Baldur, darlin’. That’s the idea. Oh, you stupid pretty thing. Look!”

Baldur opens his eyes, embarrassed that he didn’t understand that the game had changed, but then all sense of being worried and frightened fades as he takes in the sight of the governor’s mansion, just over the swell of the small hill they stand on. 

It’s lit up, not only the warmth of the lights inside and the grand Christmas tree in the big window, but with strand upon strand of lights hung from every conceivable surface all along the outside. His hands creep up to cover his mouth, instinctively muffling his own gasp. There are white lights, blue lights, red and green. Baldur’s eyes follow the shapes they create, draping from awnings and curving over the high doorways. His mouth drops open without him knowing it, and he leans back against the support his Sir provides behind him. There are warm arms over his chest and around his stomach, and he slowly rests a hand on each of them, ignoring how his skin crawls.

That’s less important than the lights, than the gift he is being given of getting to see them from the outside, not trapped within. 

“Sir… the house-”

“Mansion,” Sir corrects him, voice low and affectionate. “Let’s not sacrifice accuracy just because we’re a little bit starstruck, darlin’.”

“I’m sorry, Sir.” He whispers, but he can’t be frightened enough of the words. He can’t feel the fear he should feel. All he can see is the beauty of the lights. His eyes follow the trail of one set. It’s decorating the window to the room Sir eats breakfast in sometimes. Baldur has peeked through that curtain to watch the school buses come and memorize the knock-kneed nervous stride of the teenagers, so like him and so entirely different than he will ever be. “It’s… beautiful.”

“I know.” Sir rests his chin on top of Baldur’s head, and it’s the gentlest and sweetest he’s ever been. The pet closes his eyes briefly in something that would be contentment, if he wasn’t still terrified of the man who holds his entire life in his hands. His collar is buckled safely around his throat, a sign that he can’t be hurt too badly, not with it on. 

He’ll be safe, as long as Sir doesn’t take off the collar.

He never really feels safe, though.

“I’ll get some good press for this,” Sir murmurs. His voice is a low rumble, the vibration traveling through his chest into Baldur’s back right through the thin sweater. Baldur is still shivering in the cold, but Sir doesn’t seem to notice. “I was able to get some local businesses involved, so it didn’t cost the taxpayers extra. It’s good for my reputation. I’ve got an interview with the morning show tomorrow, Baldur darlin’, so you’ll need to sleep in a little bit until I’m done, hm?”

Baldur takes a breath, the beauty of the lights fading.

Sleeping in is a code, he knows, for being given extra pills to keep him unconscious in the bed while Sir sits across the room calling in using a camera on the television. Sir likes to flirt around the edges of being caught with Baldur, likes the adrenaline rush of it. He doesn’t care that it gives Baldur headaches when he wakes up, leaves him helpless and weak and nauseous, unable to eat and throwing up into the toilet sometimes, crying on the bathroom floor until finally he feels able to crawl into the shower and lay there under the hot water until it turns cold.

No, Sir doesn’t care about any of that. 

He likes Baldur that way. Likes to be the one who carries him back to the bed.

“Maybe if you look at them long enough,” Sir says, his smile in his voice - Baldur doesn’t even need to see his face. “You’ll dream about them while you’re sleeping through my interview. What d’you think, sweetheart?”

Baldur bites back and shoves down any honest answer that tries to fight its way out. Instead, he says softly, “I hope… I do dream of it. Thank you, Sir, for… showing me.”

Maybe if Sir is distracted enough, he can palm the pills, let them sit under his tongue and then spit them out and hide them behind the bed. Even if he has to lay still under the covers and pretend, curl up in the shower and plead feeling sick and listen to Sir laugh at him for being so weak, it’s better to pretend to feel those things than to actually have to feel them.

But, for just a second, when the hand first came off his eyes… he had seen only the lights. He had seen only the beauty of the house, and he hadn’t thought, in that second, at all about the ugly days he lives through inside.

Baldur stares at the Christmas lights until his eyes blur with the tears he hopes his Sir cannot see and punish him for. 

-

@burtlederp @finder-of-rings @endless-whump @arlinthesnep @thefancydoughnut @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @eatyourdamnpears @hackles-up @grizzlie70 @mylifeisonthebookshelf @mylifeisonthebookshelf @keeper-of-all-the-random-things

#whump #amow winter whumperland 2022 #amow #amow winter whumperland #creepy whumper #sadistic whumper #referenced drugging #minor whump #bbu #box boy #box boy universe #pet whump #sort of #holiday whump #christmas whump #holiday light show

[scratchandplaster]

Stack The Deck - PART 3

CW: abduction, referenced drugging, manhandling, knifes, threats (of murder and mutilation)

PART 2 ⇽ [Masterlist] ⇾ PART 4

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The den wasn't a mansion, but it did its deed time and time again. A safe house to plan and rest. Or hide for a few days, concealed by an abandoned industrial park, just miles outside the suburban outskirts. Morris had been here once before, kept his head down for nearly a week. But even the most patient man snaps eventually; tired of the crumbled grout and boarded-up windows, he decided to join the world of the living again, even with his warrant keeping the local police on their feet.

It meant to look desolated, of course. The retired crack house was littered with blankets and old mattresses, trash piling up more than a good few feet in some corners, hiding the place's main function. This time, as a weekend cottage for two.

With vague unease still tugging at his nerves, Morris dragged this baggage through the entry door. It barely separated the garage and living room area, if you could even call it that. Holding him close by his shirt collar, the heaving person swept up a concerning amount of dust and grime off the stained carpet, all the while digging his bound limbs into every resistance he could find.

"And I thought that I nearly overdosed you, you take a lot more than anticipated," he spoke, more to himself, eventually looking back at Elliot, "You're used to a little bit of Special K?"

Finally, he let him drop onto a mattress and raised a brow at the crumpled man near his feet, who was staring at him like he'd grown three heads.

Morris assessed his options. He could keep him pumped full of anesthetics, sure, nobody was against a bit of peaceful quiet after a long day. On the other hand, he knew himself to be a bit too lenient with the dosage, so not wanting to risk any freak accidents, he scrapped this idea pretty quickly. He would have to get through this sober.

His guest was locked onto his gaze, the hysteric breathing now calmed significantly, simply murmuring around the improvised gag. His bloodshot eyes glistened with primal fear, a justified reaction Morris had to admit, as the bruises of their little tiff already spread around his right eye and down to the bridge of his nose. Not broken, but still graced by blood caked around his nostrils.

"I'm gonna take that thing off," he started with a calm tone, not wanting to irritate Elliot further, "but if you scream, it goes right back in." The hazel orbs searching for intention behind this gracious offer began to spill over at these words, followed by a tender nod. Kneeling down right next to him on the cushion, he slowly started tugging the knotted mess out by its sides, letting it slip under his prisoner's chin.

--------

As he took his first deep breaths of the night, Elliot's gaze never lost the contact with his captor. He wasn't sure what would follow, if he was even allowed to speak. Whatever pain-relieving effect the drug inside him had for the last couple of hours, it slowly began to fade.

Elliot's whole body was screaming in an amalgamation of his burning limbs and back, nearly numbing the sore pinch at the side of his neck, but still dissolving into each other to combine with the nausea under his heart. He could practically taste the bile already starting to rise at the back of his throat. It was impossible to grasp a single thought hammering through his mind, all rational parts being shut down in this fever-dream of an experience.

"Please," he begged in a near soundless whisper, not even able to speak any louder due to his strained jaw, "it hurts so bad."

The shadow above let his head fall to the side, eyeing the tape around the limbs, which was already slipping down and cutting off circulation, with fingers turned worryingly white and motionless. Elliot could feel the static tingle of the strained nerve endings crawling up his arm like ants on a mission. But yet, his keeper didn't seem to do something about it.

After remaining in this constellation, the man finally seemed to come back from his mental exercise in empathy. He let his head bop in an understanding motion.

"No one’s out there," he slowly started again, his slight monotone drawl pressing down on Elliot's neck like a vice, "and I could break your legs like a dry branch anyway. So you're surely smart enough not to try any bullshit, right?"

Not wanting to upset him in any way, Elliot used the safe option of a sincere nod.

"Alright, just because you've been quite cooperative on the way back. Don't ruin this for yourself."

With that uplifting appeal, his captor rolled him sideways onto his face, now gaining access to the hogtied extremities currently bound in an unbearable degree.

He can't be much older than I am, was the first clear thought coming to the front of his mind, as Elliot's face pressed into a suspicious smudge, which stained the mattress already. Maybe he was reasonable enough to accept this obvious mix-up.

Before coming to plan the best approach to such a person, his hands and feet disconnected with a quick snap. The instant return to a neutral position maimed his joints even more than the stress position they were now used to, making him want to scream through the whole neighborhood. But he didn't, he simply bit down into the awful smelling fabric, burying his face to gag his cries once again. He couldn't know it, but for the man above him, this pain was more familiar than he liked to admit.

He was rolled onto his back again in a swift motion, and although still tied, he felt like he could finally breathe again.

Should I thank him? Maybe it will harder to slice me open, if he likes me even a little-

At the sight of a knife, he instantly froze. With his body under tension again, only being moved by a slight quiver, he saw the man shift into a cross-legged position. The switchblade laid casual in his palm, flicking gravel and debris around the carpet floor.

"I know this is very stressful for you," he began to explain, preparing what sounded like a standardized letter of sympathy, "I meant to meet you inside your apartment - but there you were, standing in front of my car, practically begging to speed this whole thing up. I had a whole plan made up already, you know? One that didn't involve a melee in front of a dumpster..."

Elliot desperately tried to remember what the hell he was talking about. He could get feisty, sure, but throwing hands with that mountain of a man, standing at least one whole foot taller than him, seemed more than unrealistic.

"You fight like a bitch, by the way."

I fought, Elliot realized with a shocking calm, gradually being able to place his pounding forehead and aching face into the picture. But despite his alleged effort, he couldn't see a single scratch on his counterpart. Pathetic.

Ignoring the not so subtle insult, he wanted to know only one thing from him: "Why am I here?"

"Don't think about it too hard," was the bitter answer practically spat at him, "You should learn not to take everything personally, Elliot."

He never thought that his own name could nearly make his heart stop beating. This wasn't a mix-up or a random abduction - he had made himself enemies. Not knowing why or who brought him to the edge of tears once again.

"How do you- I swear, I don't know you, just let me go and I'll never bother you again. Please I just-"

Quickly, the sharp blade placed itself down against his lips, and with a short exhale, his desperate blabbering stopped in an instant. It didn't cut, just passed on its silent threat. The cold steel turned to lay flat now, Elliot wasn't sure he was even allowed to breathe anymore.

"Don't. Worry. About. It." The man said, talking him down like a moody infant, but his anger only thinly veiled. "When I get what I want, a thing you can't help with in the slightest, I'll let you go."

Elliot didn't believe him for a second, that's not how these kinds of situations end. The understanding gaze his captor put on for just a few seconds rushed across his face again, taking away some of his harsh features.

"The name's Morris, just so you know."

I'm dead, Elliot suddenly knew with an endless certainty. No one can afford a witness.

"Why are you saying this?" he pressed out under tears, careful not to provoke him further.

"Why not, how else should you address me."

"I don't even want to... I'm bad with names anyway." Why, why, why, why?

"Oh, and let me guess: face blind too?" The man named Morris said with a crooked smile around his lips, an entirely new look, that didn't help with the anxiety spreading through Elliot's body again.

"So you won't tell anybody about this, yeah?"

He nodded vigorously, the blade nearly nicking the soft skin of his lips.

"That's right, you won't. Doesn't matter if you know who I am!" Morris growled, getting louder himself like it didn't matter who could hear him, "Otherwise, I am going to slit your mother open from her chin down to her fucking cunt."

Elliot didn't doubt a single word from this man anymore.

"Have I made myself clear?"

He knew where I live, when I work, he probably planned this for months. He's going to stop at nothing.

"Yes-", he whispered, cut off by a wet sob. Morris didn't seem to like that, but did nothing about it either. Finally, he got up on his feet and granted them both some space to breathe.

He sat down at a decrepit bar table with a matching stack of chairs, already coated with a thick film of dust. Elliot continued to lie on his back, soaking in his own misery and tears, while his captor dug through the duffle bag he brought with him to pull out a stack of playing cards.

"You can't just do that...", Elliot whispered to himself in a last attempt to make himself wake up from this delusion. He never hoped for anything to be faker than this. A cruel prank on his cost, his friend wanting to tease him. But nothing of the sorts was the reason he was here today.

Too petty to ignore the desperate man's monologue, Morris spread the freshly shuffled cards out on the rough wood, his eyes not even bothering to look at his captive.

"It's really tedious, how all of you people tell me the exact same thing. But I can, trust me. You'll have the world, if you're just insolent enough."

Steeping in silence, they remained.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Thanks for reading 🤍 [Febuwhump 2023 Masterlist]

@febuwhump

#whump #whumpblr #creative writing #whump community #whump drabble #febuwhump #febuwhump2023 #febuwhumpday14 #captivity #abduction #manhandling #restrains #threats of violence #threats #referenced drugging #stack the deck

[whumplovers-collaborate]

#Whump #whump trope #whump prompts #referenced drugging #WLC #WLC star

[blinkpen]

Which of these characters of yours would be these two people I want to fan draw it if you allow me to

omg go right ahead but this is tough to answer concisely bc i have a lot of characters who regularly consume weed and among them are plenty of characters who are overconfident or aren't very smart about how they consume it. also characters who are goobers that are just inexperienced so them overshooting is funny. also characters who could end up on either end of the equation, really.

can you tell i'm autistic yet.

like i could do this for hours but hopefully that's enough to get started ashjfd oh yeah the one context lamarr and jaren could be swapped

#doodles #ask x #oh god i forgot i'd have to write all those characters tags now #why'd i do so many i spaced out #wicky #milkweed #scratch aqua #zoetrope #jaren #cleo #paisley #20Q #sorry #who i have not drawn or referenced since before my nieces where born whoops #mulberry #silky fuzzworth #higgs #pally claret #demersa #lamarr #charlie k #yoyo in same situatio as sorry #estavan #the dj #zebra #drugs cw

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

the thing is that Kintsugi Kid is a very good example of what the band has described as SO Much (For) Stardust's combination of nihilism and hope. and it's also a good example of the frickin... Dune litany against fear type thing of acknowledging a feeling ("I spent 10 years in a bitter chemical haze and I miss the way I felt nothing") and letting it exist instead of trying to A= get rid of it or B= suppress it and like... what does the litany thing say?? let it flow through you and then only you remain?? that thing. the song ends with Pete's youngest kid screeching in joy because she gets to be a rockstar on a song (I'm not kidding. look at the Genius note.) the whole album is basically a case in this, in saying... yeah. this is the honest truth about how I'm feeling. but it isn't the end.

#it's also a subtle example of the guts thing being referenced again which effs me up personally because #it is very much a song About addiction. in many ways. you understand?? the chemical haze could be drugs or mental illness #or some combination of both. but it is About that #''on the bright side got the wrong insides'' is. oh my GOSH. when you think about that #sorry #lftos essay #been thinking about this for an hour ough #fob #fall out boy #smfs #going on main bc I have most of my essay notes over here 🤷‍♀️

[ashintheairlikesnow]

"Come on its easy, I'll show you how"

"It's easy. C'mon, I'll show you how."

567445 beckons to 223499, and the younger trainee follows, back of them nervous as they shift around a corner, to a spot hidden from the ever-present cameras and handlers.

The bigger man shows the trainee a pill, opening his hand to flash the small white oval in his palm, then quickly covering it up again. "When they give it to you, stick it under your tongue," 445 whispers. "Drink the water, but keep the pill under your tongue. Then, once they're gone, spit it out."

499 nods, looking down, feeling the press of scratchy nylon around his neck from the shock collar. He can't remember what it feels like to not have one, and besides that, the collar is a comfort.

The collar is safe.

It's only when they take his collar off that they make him feel like there's so much pain he might die.

"What, what, what if th-they find it... in my room?"

"It'll get softer under your tongue," 445 whispers. "Curl up like you want a nap, and crush it under you, where they can't see. Crush it so small it's dust. They'll never know. Maintenance might, but they won't tell. Okay?"

The young trainee nods, eyes wide and solemn. "Okay. Th, thanks."

"Yeah. Better get back before-"

"567445!" A handler's voice calls, sharp as the crack of a whip. Both trainees wince. "Where the hell are you?"

445 and 499 meet eyes, for just one more second, and then the bigger trainee walks away, putting an overconfident swagger to his stride. "Sorry, Handler Samson, the little Romantic wanted some company."

499's face flushes a bright deep red and he hunches his shoulders nearly to his chin as some of the trainees laugh, and even some of the handlers do.

"Oh, when don't they. Fucking whores don't have anything better to do, but you, 445, you are late for cooking class, so move your ass!"

"Yes, handler!"

The laughter dies down, but the young trainee stays hidden, eyes closed tight.

He had to say that.

The handler maybe wouldn't believe him otherwise.

He had to call him a whore.

He is one, anyway.

Right?

#whump #pet whump #box boy universe #bbu #box boy #chris the strawberry blond romantic #223499 #writing #referenced drugging #derogatory language

[holocene-sims]

List 5 facts about a favorite sim of yours, and send this to simblrs whose sims you adore ✨️

thank you so much for sending this to me!! ✨️💜 i really appreciate it!! and i'm so sorry for letting this sit in my inbox a long time 😭

i may talk about him a lot, but it's never enough, so here are five new facts about the king of my blog aka grant 👑

when grant wants to feel something, he'll watch videos of the curiosity rover on mars singing happy birthday to itself 🎂 it's so incredibly sad but cute to him, so it immediately turns on the waterworks lolol 🥲

objectively, grant is NOT a car guy; he's 110% an airplane guy. however, he owns a car that makes him look like a car guy and gets him approached ALL THE TIME by people who want to talk cars. it's a 1960 ford galaxie and it looks like this, except i think it would be a nice shade of light, almost minty green or maybe blue (no, i haven't decided, and probably won't because there's no cc version of this car for the sims 4, so we'll never see it lol) 💚💙

why is that his car? 🚗 well, it was his grandparents' car, which he bought off them when they wanted to replace it; they have never had a garage or a carport in their entire life, so the car was exposed to the elements for fifty years, and it was, thus, fucked up. they were also tired of fixing it. however, it's a sentimental car because aoife and joseph met working on the same production line at a ford auto factory, and this car was the first one they bought as a couple in their marriage (even though aoife ironically does not know how to drive lmao). they wanted it gone but also didn't, you know, so grant bought it because he also didn't want to see it gone; he'd spent his whole life sandwiching into that backseat with 8 billion of his cousins. oh, aaandddd he bought it even though the necessary repairs were extensive, which he did all by himself with help from his grandparents and uncle (aka people who know shit about cars)

a shorter fun fact: he smokes luckies 🫢

grant has been on TV before! it was very brief, for like five seconds, but he was interviewed by his hometown news station after his high school hockey team won the state championship game one year and he was granted the MVP title. he was very nervous, and his friends ended up nicknaming him "mr. team effort" because his entire interview was him just saying things like, "oh, um, well, it was a team effort, and we worked really hard...together...as a team..."

#asks #hlcn: grant #hlcn: oc info #hlcn: story extras #fun fact grant's house doesn't have a garage either LMAO #so that car is still going through it with the weather #but grant has like 100000000000x more disposable cash than his grandparents so it's fine #and btw realistically grant would figure out cars on his own given that he is a pilot and a former aerospace engineer #but also the systems are different so of course he would ask people who know what they're doing #ANYWAY this concludes the mostly nerdy fun facts show #but some more comments: #it is ironic that grant is so sober now but still smokes all the time #i think it's been referenced in the story but he's quit a billion times and then still goes back to it #it's unfortunately ingrained in him because his entire family smokes except for...like...three people #his attitude is “even if i didn't smoke i'm probably still fucked by all the secondhand smoke and the family history of cancer *shrugs*” #which is a bad attitude to have and vaguely contradictory to his attitudes on drugs and alcohol but what are humans but contradictory #anna stop yapping challenge failed

[aftgficrec]

You’re so right, friend, it’s been far too long since we’ve recommended this fantastic fic!  Thanks for submitting it. - S

We Used To Be Friends by gluupor [Rated M, 104576 words, complete, 2020]

Neil's life is thrown into disarray when his best friend is murdered. As he starts his senior year of high school, he finds himself on the outside looking in, a social pariah whose former friends are only too willing to bully and ostracize him. Working for his father, a private investigator, leads him to evidence that his friend's murder may not be as straightforward as it seems. Neil throws himself into the investigation, hoping that solving the case might help him regain some of what he lost.

tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: implied/referenced drug addiction, tw: non-consensual drug use, tw: involuntary outing, tw: classism, tw: racism, tw: bullying, tw: violence, tw: homophobia, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced murder

#rec #reader submission #neil josten/andrew minyard #neil josten & david wymack #au: high school #au: veronica mars #au: detectives #theme: enemies to lovers #theme: demisexuality #theme: mystery #tw: implied/referenced csa #tw: implied/referenced drug addiction #tw: nonconsensual drug use #tw: involuntary outing #tw: classism #tw: racism #tw: bullying #tw: violence #tw: homophobia #tw: implied/referenced child abuse #tw: implied/referenced murder

[nana2009]

why does Dave drug karkat? Is he like…flighty or something??

buoy is he.

karkat is not the most compliant captive, see.... especially since dave doesn't seem to want to actively harm him and acts so passive most of the time, so even with the possibility of things going sour that does not stop him from trying!! unfortunately, dave knows much too well how to handle these situations :/

but since karkat is so persistent and loud, sometimes a buoy has no options u kno? ;T

#all kinds of drugs to calm him down #and by calm him down i mean ranging from high enough to not be able to form a single word to knocked out cold. depending on the situation #homestuck #yes i referenced sensei's poor-shrimp based comic there lol #(hate how you can tell when i did and didnt use references. ack. rawbogged nearly everyfin) #davekat #karkat vantas #dave strider #yandere dave #ruroekaki #ask #karkat is not the most skilled in untying ropes but he can be creative enough to find ways how to(happened more than once) #and also screaming loud as FUCK!!! #its ok tho dave is a musician so no one finds weird the fact that his walls are soundproof :3 #if people even came to this weirdo's apartment in the first place #he's a bit of a lone loser. yea #GRAAAAAAAAH I NEED TO TALK MORE ABOAT THEM!!!!!!!!!!!!! GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR.......

[steddieas-shegoes]

Hello my love! Another one for you. I’m thinking this one is gonna be funnier, either high (on meds?) or sleep-talking, maybe?

“Eds. The purple elephants are back.”

“Okay, Stevie.”

“Eds. They have tutus.”

Oh my god my star ✨😂 (also thank you so much for your kind words on the reblog I am genuinely not even sure what to say I love you ❤️❤️❤️ also yes turnaround was very much the right word 😊)

Steve always fell asleep when they smoked together, usually before the weed really even hit him.

But Eddie was usually wide awake for hours, slowly working his way through an album or two and eating a bag of chips.

Steve moved in his sleep, his arm coming out to rest on Eddie’s stomach.

He smiled down at the hand, but otherwise ignored the movement. Steve was out like a light, and Eddie probably would be too when he finished snacking.

“Eds. The purple elephants are back.”

Eddie’s head snapped to Steve.

Still asleep.

Oh, he was gonna have fun with this.

“Okay, Stevie.”

“Eds. They have tutus.”

“Of course they do. For their ballet show.”

Eddie was doing his best to keep a straight face.

“They aren’t wearing slippers.”

“Oh?”

“Boots.”

“Are they dancing, sweetheart?”

Steve didn’t respond for a minute, brows furrowing in his sleep.

“They might be hippos.”

Eddie lost it.

He sat up, hysterical laughter making him nearly choke on the chip he’d been chewing on.

Steve still didn’t wake up, though his hand curled into a fist against Eddie’s stomach and he turned his whole body towards him in bed.

“We should dance.”

Eddie slowly calmed down and watched and Steve’s face settled back to completely relaxed, his hand flatting back out.

“We will, love. Every day if you want.”

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #headcanon #referenced drug use #travel queue

[serickswrites]

Higher Love VI

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Epilogue

Warnings: referenced captivity, referenced restraints, referenced drugging, referenced noncon, rescue, hospital, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery, hurt/comfort

Whumpee wasn’t soaring anymore. They weren’t sure where they were, but they knew they weren’t high. The bed was soft, but not as soft. There were sounds that hadn’t been there before. Smells even. And Whumper was not next to them. 

Whumpee blinked open their eyes in confusion. When had they closed their eyes? Where were they? Where was Whumper?

“You’re in a hospital, Whumpee. You’re safe.” Caretaker’s warm voice came from somewhere to Whumpee’s right. 

Whumpee turned their head. It was all they could manage. “Caretaker?” Hospital. Caretaker was here. They were…free?

“Hey, Whumpee. It’s good to see you.” Caretaker gave a smile, but their face was still pinched with worry. 

“I missed you,” Whumpee whispered. Their throat was dry. How long had they been asleep?

“I missed you.” Caretaker held out a cup with a straw to Whumpee. “Drink.”

Whumpee sucked down the water. They were so thirsty. “How….how long was I asleep for?”

Caretaker frowned. “A few days. They decided it was best to put you into a medically induced coma while they detoxed you from the drugs Whumper gave you.” 

Drugs that Whumpee begged for. “I….I….I needed them.”

“What?” 

“I…I…had to have them. When….when they…touched me.” Tears stung in their eyes. 

Caretaker moved to take Whumpee’s hand, but stopped. “Honey, no one’s blaming you.”

“I am. I wanted to be high. I had to be high. Because every time Whumper touched me my body, oh God!” Whumpee sobbed as the memories flooded them. How could their body respond to Whumper’s touch? How could they react that way? How could they?

“Whumpee, honey, Whumpee, look at me,” Caretaker said in their most soothing voice. 

Whumpee wrenched open their eyes enough to look at Caretaker. “Honey, I want to hug you, is that ok?”

Whumpee nodded and Caretaker leaned over and wrapped their arms around Whumpee. Whumpee sobbed into their chest as they rubbed circles on their back. “It’s ok. It’s ok. You did what you had to do to survive. Nobody believes you wanted this. Nobody. You were doing what you had to do. It’s ok. It’s ok. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

And Whumpee let Caretaker hold them as they sobbed. Hold them as they cursed Whumper. Cursed themself. Cursed the world. Whumpee let Caretaker hold them because they felt safe in Caretaker’s arms. They felt loved. And most of all, they felt like they didn’t need to be high.

Tags: @anonintrovert@badluck990@ha-ha-one@kn0ckme0ut@outlawaries@clever-kills@you-are-so-perfect-that-i@ash-skylard@keeper-of-all-the-random-things@watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees@kyoukatsuki@selenenyx0124@watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

#serickswrites #whump #whump writing #whumpblr #whump community #tw referenced captivity #tw referenced restraints #tw referenced drugging #tw referenced noncon #tw rescue #tw hospital #hurt/comfort #hurt/aftermath #hurt/recovery #caretaker and whumpee #queue

[goldenavenger02]

Prompt: the rest of the ninja finding out about Cole and Geo's relationship. Fluff.

It is a LITTLE angsty. Just a little. I hope you enjoy

When Cole arrived in the courtyard with no warning, Kai wasn’t sure he had ever run faster.

Well, he was sure that he had run faster in stressful situations, but he hadn’t hugged Cole in so long; he was just glad that it felt the same, it felt warm and strong and safe. 

He didn’t want to let go, it had been years since he had seen him but he also knew that the same was true of Lloyd and Zane so he found himself letting go just a few moments later to let everyone else get their fill of hugs in.

Even Wyldfyre, who acted like a feral being towards everyone new and old, was even interested in Cole’s arrival to the point of asking multiple questions about the place Nya had said that she found him, The Land of Lost Things.

Kai didn’t miss the solemn, almost sad look on his face as he spoke about where he had ended up after The Merge. A look he hadn’t seen in years, not since Shintaro.

But the look faded when the subject was changed to Lloyd explaining how the Mergequakes were stopped and everything returned to the happy, bubbly energy that had filled the monastery since Kai had returned.

And as Cole came into his room hours later and laid on the mostly clean floor, Kai was baffled by how everything felt so close to normal, to how it had been after they had defeated the Crystal King.

All that was missing was Jay lounging in the bean bag chair in the corner and playing some sort of Sonic game, only responding to every third sentence and being thoroughly confused when they laughed at his lack of context.

“Has Lloyd started acting as stuffy as Master Wu yet?”

“Nah. He tried to keep the whole monastery in order and broke a bunch of plates in the process.”

“Anger issues?”

“Nah, they fell out of the sink,” Cole’s laugh was infectious and filled Kai’s chest to the point where it hurt long after it faded into giggles that punctured his next sentence, “he’s doing his best, but he’s still Lloyd.”

“That’s good, I think,” Cole mused before sitting up and looking directly into Kai’s eyes, “do you still make edibles and hide them under your bed?”

“Even if I did,” Kai started, smiling as the famous incident of everyone taking his brownies that were just meant for when the long nights got too long and resulting in him simultaneously getting banned from the kitchen unless there was his mother’s or one of Zane’s cookbooks involved came to mind, “there’s that dragon, Riyu. He’ll eat them and either be high off of his ass or vomit on my bed.”

“He’s eaten your edibles before?”

“He’s eaten so many things that he shouldn’t and for some reason, my bed has to be where he gets rid of it,” Kai corrected before laying back down, “do you still have that bottle of fireball in your room?”

“That shit has to be rancid by now, it was opened before the Merge,” Cole shook his head, also laying back down and staring at the ceiling, “I suppose I could always go and get more tomorrow though.”

“We’re a bit old to hide edibles and alcohol in our rooms, I think. Lloyd’s even old enough to drink now.”

“Remind me to take the kid to a bar and make sure he’s not taking straight shots of vodka.”

“Noted.” Kai agreed, even if the idea of Lloyd drinking forced him to slip into the protective role he was so used to when it came to the green ninja.

“Besides, even if Lloyd’s old enough to drink, Sora, Arin and the feral one, they’re still kids. Not to mention the dragon who pukes in your bed.”

“Her name is Wyldfyre, and that was actually way different for her, since she’s usually trying to light things on fire or prove she’s the best. She was raised by a dragon, manners aren’t exactly her thing.”

“She sounds a lot like you.”

“I wasn’t raised by a dragon.”

“No, you were raised by yourself, which might be worse.”

Kai threw a pillow at Cole’s face; the pillow he threw back knocked him onto the floor tailbone first.

“Ouch.”

“You good?”

“Yep, just a sore ass,” Kai confirmed as he maneuvered onto his back and laid next to Cole, the sounds of their breathing filling the silence, “Nya told us when she got back, about the Finders.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, the Formling and the Hypnobri kids, and the Munce and the Skulkin who are our age,” Kai could have sworn that he saw a blush spread across Cole’s face at the mention of the Munce, “do you wanna tell me about them?”

“Fritz, the Formling, reminds me a lot of Lloyd when he was a kid. Adventurous, kind and pokes his nose where it doesn’t belong. Spitz is much more reserved and shy, but loves playing with Fritz and gets himself into trouble a lot because of it. Bonzal…well, I’ve known her for years, but she isn’t very forthcoming. She’s got a great sense of humor though, crochets a lot of blankets and also collects bones.”

“Why?”

“Whenever you ask, she just says they’re extremely useful; but, she wouldn’t hurt a fly so I’m not worried about it.”

“Okay,” Kai nodded while trying to get back on topic, but when he asked “what about the Munce?” he was able to guess why Cole’s cheeks flushed at the mention even before he started speaking.

“Geo. He’s the elemental master of fusion, he turns lost things into these large art sculptures. He’s good with the boys, he makes sure that they’re always taken care of, no matter what. He’s the only one who can get Bonzal to say more than a few sentences. He’s so caring, and funny and…he might be one of the best things that’s ever happened to me.”

“He sounds great,” Kai agreed with a nod before asking, “so, why didn’t you bring them with you? Because the monastery is big-”

“It wasn’t a space issue. First Master, I wish it was a space issue,” Cole’s voice filling with tears made Kai’s heart pang with regret, “whenever they tried to leave, this fog would engulf them and lead them back. They had been forgotten for so long that they couldn’t leave. I only left because I thought I heard Master Wu…but it just led me here.”

Kai reached over and pulled Cole into a hug; he had needed the hug when he finally returned, but given how he tucked his head against his shoulder, he knew that it was Cole who needed a hug now.

They stayed like that until Cole finally spoke again, the sobs evident in his voice as he kept his face pressed against Kai’s shoulder.

“I…I miss them so much.”

“Hey,” Kai finally spoke and cupped a hand around Cole’s face to brush a few tears off of his cheeks, “we found Nya, we found Zane and we found you. We’ll get the others out of there and we’ll find Jay, PIXAL and Master Wu.”

“I know,” Cole agreed, taking in a shuddering breath while wiping his face on his sleeve, “it’s just really gonna suck until we do.”

#ninjago #lego ninjago #fic #my writing #kai ninjago #ninjago cole #light angst #fluff #reunion #team as family #lostshipping #referenced drug use #referenced alcohol use

[quietly-by-myself]

Across the Silence of the Valley of Dreams - Chapter 2

Masterlist

CW: defiant whumpee, nonhuman whumpee, creepy whumper, carewhumper, shapeshifter whump, lab whump, fantasy whump, medical whump, prison system, trans whumpee, magical hierarchy, nonsexual nudity, referenced noncon drugging, beating, concussion, shock collar, collaring, fictional religion

===

June didn’t remember much of the rest of the day. It was true that he was quite sleepy, but he couldn’t remember being drugged or even when he awoke and when he fell asleep. All he could do was lay there and hope he’d be allowed a bath.

He’d entered as his fox, but he was laying on the bed as a human. When had he shifted? June hated the drugs, the way they messed with his head. He wouldn’t be able to escape and go back to his home at this rate.

Not that Linden could know that it was his plan. June would obey, yes, but he wouldn’t submit. He would never be Linden’s. At the prison, there was no chance of escaping. Here? Here he might, even if he didn’t have access to his magic. The prison was too fortified. He was always restrained. Witchcraft was the type of offense that earned most death. June was lucky to have gotten life without parole. 

All the plea deal he’d taken meant was that he’d have a second chance - another chance to get out and find his solace.

The next day, June had awoken with a pounding headache and blurry eyes. The fuzziness of the world didn’t stop him from seeing Linden, waiting patiently in a chair not far from June’s bed. 

“So, you’re finally awake.”

“No thanks to you.”

Linden’s brow furrowed, a glare forming in his eyes. “You must be respectful, half-blood.”

For some reason, the pounding in his head combined with the anger of what had been done to him the previous day spilled out in a way that June found himself unable to control.

“Do you even know my name? Respect is given and returned, not earned through assaulting and slapping someone-”

Linden stood up, towering above June and where he laid on the bed. There was a growl on Linden’s lips as he ripped June up by his shortened hair and forced him to stand. June stumbled, but Linden did not relent as he grabbed June’s chin and forced the short half-blood to look at him. 

“I do not. It’s inconsequential.” Tightening his grip on June’s chin to a bruising, punishing hold, Linden continued. “I have no respect for witches’ children, much less the half-bloods of witch nobility. You will never have my respect, half-blood. However, you will respect me. I am your new god. Not whatever goddess you worship, you heathen.”

June’s muscles quivered. His eye burned as he felt power rush to his crest with nowhere to go. “How dare you disrespect the name of my goddess in such a way! How dare you!”

June hardly realized the shout in his voice before the darkening of Linden’s face. The nobleborn was furious.

“You were jailed for witchcraft, yet you insist on your worship. Who do you even worship? Which Goddess? Who did you dedicate that crest of ambition in your eye to? Who gives you your nobleborn witchcraft?”

June gritted his teeth. Rage quivered every muscle in his body. He was squarely outmatched without his magic, especially against a nobleborn wolf. 

“That is between my goddess and me.”

“I wouldn’t expect a monk to be so shy.”

June couldn’t help himself as he growled at the nobleborn. 

However, June didn’t have much of a chance to use his words as his whip. Linden, with superhuman strength, smashed June into the wall near his bed. The force was dizzying, but Linden did not relent. He, using June’s hair as a handle, smashed June’s head against the wall a few more times, until blood dripped down from June’s temple.

“You do not growl at me, half-blood,” Linden hissed in June’s ear. “You’ve earned yourself a shock collar. Step any further and you will not have a leg to stand on tomorrow.”

Rage ran through June as he stood there, pinned under the nobleborn. However, he remembered the words of his goddess that had rang in his ear during one of his meditation sessions.

Ambition does not mean impulsiveness nor does knowledge mean arrogance.

Her words gave June the calm he needed to find his head again. Despite his rage, despite the disrespect that Linden showed him and his goddess, June murmured an apology.

“Good. Now, are you going to sit on that bed and wait for me to get your shock collar or will I need to restrain you, half-blood?”

“I’ll sit on the bed.”

The annoyance behind June’s words wasn’t lost on Linden, but to June’s relief, he didn’t act on June’s little bit of defiance.

Goddess, give me strength.

The collar was just about what June had expected except for the markings on it. CAUTION: WITCH’S SON, NOBLEBORN. Nobleborn. Not half-blood. Nobody had ever referred to him as a nobleborn. A half-blooded noble, maybe, but his father had not been a noble in any regard.

Was it a sign of respect? Or something just to mock him?

“It only takes a bit of my crested magic to activate. I can make your world more painful than you could’ve ever imagined. So, I expect you to be obedient.”

June did not respond as he stilled, allowing Linden to put the collar on. For a moment, June thought he was safe, but the backhand that came a moment later told him otherwise.

“You will respond when I speak to you and you will not speak unless spoken to, understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

Linden gave June a puzzled look. Of course, June knew that the break in his composure would confuse his new captor. June knew he needed to keep his composure more. Through his lack of composure, Linden had figured out a number of his sore spots.

To build a temple to my goddess.

A monk to a cleric for a goddess forgotten to time. There was something poetic about it. 

Something about it that would never be. 

“Come with me, half-blood.”

June fought back a glare, but did as he was told. As he stood, a rush of blood went to his head. When were the lights turned on? Why were they so bright? Fuck. His head hurt and he was still bleeding.

Linden opened the door to his lab, then motioned for June, who could hardly see, to sit on the table. 

“Your pupils are uneven.”

Suddenly, there was a light in June’s face. June quickly went to cover his face, but a hand grabbed his hands. 

“They’re not reacting well to light, either.”

A tsk. As if any of this was June’s fault. For the way he’d been born. For the way he’d been changed. For who he served and what he did with his life.

“Let me clean up your wounds. Then, I’ll let you rest a little. I pushed you a little too far, half-blood. Too much, too soon.”

June wanted to ask Linden what the hell he meant, but knew better. He didn’t want to be electrocuted and he didn’t need another hit to the head, more bruises to his jaw.

Alcohol hit the freshly exposed skin and June screamed in pain. Something about that wound, the rough way layers of skin had been peeled away, made the alcohol all the more painful. June almost expected a correction for it, but none came.

Soft bandages wrapped June’s head, covering his crested eye. The world was so fuzzy, so bright, so loud, that June couldn’t process much of anything as Linden took his hand and helped June to his unsteady feet. A gentle lead down the hall brought June back to his room, back to his bed, with the lights off.

At least, being allowed to rest meant he would be able to pray.

===

Taglist (always open!) @i-can-even-burn-salad, @whumpsday, @pigeonwhumps, @oddsconvert

#across the silence of the valley of dreams #valley of dreams #defiant whumpee #nonhuman whumpee #shapeshifter whump #lab whump #fantasy whump #medical whump #prison system #trans whumpee #magical hierarchy #nonsexual nudity #referenced noncon drugging #beating #concussion #shock collar #collaring #whump #whump writing #whumpblr #whump fic #whump community #creepy whumper #carewhumper

[ashintheairlikesnow]

I know you have little time on your hands for writing atm but I might just sneak in here anyways to give input. Who knows maybe you have time some day :D

I remember you posting about this Au where Chris won‘t get saved and Branch throws him on the street when he‘s "too old" and Chris encounters Kauri and he brings him to Jake and it‘s much harder to recover from there on.

Can‘t stop thinking about it it made me so sad!

Maybe you can write a piece about them meeting this way sometime when you feel like it 👉👈🥺

CW: Aftermath of spice, some dubcon implications, brief internalized ableism, drug use

Kauri wakes in a pile of bodies, briefly content simply knowing that if anything is the opposite of being alone, it's this. He still aches in all the right places from last night, and stretches his arms above his head, arching his back. His eyes are closed.

Someone next to him mumbles and rolls over, rolls away. Mourning the loss of even one point of contact, Kauri sighs and sits up. His head hurts, but that's normal on a Sunday morning, especially when his Saturday nights had been so fun. Sober now, he knows it's time to dress and disappear into the daylight, off to find the next drink, the next pill, whatever will soothe the way even now, he feels hollow.

He makes it to the door before he realizes he isn't the only person awake this early.

A flash of blue is slipping out ahead of him, hunched over in clothes too big for his frame. The man's profile is oddly delicate, strikingly beautiful.

Kauri had a hazy knowledge of someone with blue hair the night before, his back against someone's shoulder, another man between his legs. Or had it been the other way around, had he been between some man's legs...? It's hard to remember details. Kauri had been between two men himself, never the same two men twice.

Man, last night was fun.

Still, yeah, he remembers the hair. And a vague recollection of a sweet smile and soft pleading. The way his hips had rolled riding someone, hands splayed out on a sweat-soaked chest, biting his lower lip with his eyes closed. Making noise like it was forced out of him, but it'd been... yeah.

It'd been a performance.

Kauri had figured he was probably a hooker called in for the fun, but... now he wonders.

Hookers don't stay overnight.

"Hey," He calls out, and hurries to catch him. "Hey, wait up." He grabs the man by his arm. "Wait-"

The man goes still. He's short, skinny, swimming in these clothes. His hair's dirty and dull with copper roots showing through. But he turns to look back, and his irises - at least what Kauri can see of them around the dilated pupils - are the brightest green that Kauri has ever seen.

He's also clearly still high. Or maybe high again.

He has pale freckles in a scatter across his cheeks and his nose. Kauri wonders if you could play connect-the-dots with them, make something, maybe just a constellation.

"... what?" The word leaves the man slowly, like he has to consciously think about it first. "They... they said I could... have more before I left. I... didn't steal." He hesitates. "Did I?"

There's a scar over one cheek, somebody cut him with a knife. Not too bad - just for show. Just to make the scar.

Kauri swallows, and puts on his brightest, friendliest smile. "No, no, you didn't. And even if you did, I wouldn't say anything to anybody. But, just. I didn't get to say much to you last night. We were busy, right?" He winks.

"No." The man's gaze never meets Kauri's own - it dances, shifts from looking past his left shoulder to somewhere over his head, down to the right. Eye contact comes in brief flickers, as if he can barely stand it. He smiles, but it isn't real. It's false and faint. "Busy... last night. Having fun."

"Yeah, uh, it was a good time."

The man hesitates. Then he turns away again, pulling himself free of Kauri's grip, rubbing at the place where Kauri's hand had been nervously. "Good," He murmurs, as if reminding himself. "A good time. I had... a good time. I w, wanted-... I wanted... this. Always..." He trails off.

Then he starts walking, as if he's forgotten Kauri was even there.

"Want this," He's muttering. He sways from side to side as he walks, then stops, then starts again. His hands rub constantly, compelled, against the seams of his jacket.

Kauri's intuition prickles like a physical touch to the back of his neck, the weight of a shock collar, and he moves fast to catch up. "Hey, uh, are you-... um... let me buy you some breakfast, yeah? I got, like, forty bucks to my name. That'll get us some food. You look like you could stand to eat more."

The man pauses, briefly, looking over in Kauri's general direction. His hands bury themselves into his pockets and he hunches himself so much he seems inches shorter than he really is. "... okay. You, um. Want, want-..." He winces. "Wait. Silence is better than stammering, silence is better than stammering," He whispers, a recitation, and Kauri swallows as his spine chills from the nape of his neck down to the small of his back, all at once.

He's heard that chant before.

"... you're one of us," Kauri says, and it isn't a question. As soon as the other man tenses, he has his wrist up, looking side to side to make sure they're alone before he snaps open the leather bracelet and shows his barcode.

The man goes very still. Green eyes wander over the sight, and then he pulls his sleeve up to show his own. "WRU, Facility 001, Romantic 223499."

It's irresistible. Kauri hears another pet give theirs, he has to give his, too. He can all but feel his handler breathing down his neck waiting for it. "Right. Facility 001, Romantic 645898. But, uh. I'm Kauri." He tries for his bright smile again, but the other man doesn't return it. "What's your name? What do people call you?"

The man swallows. Then, he offers quietly, "My Sir... called me Baldur."

#AU #erase to control #chris the strawberry blond romantic #whump #referenced dubcon #internalized ableism tw #runaway whumpees #drug use tw

[whumpacabra]

18. Again

Disorientation, blood loss, field medicine, medical treatment, needle use [IV], fear for others safety, anticipated violence, nonconsensual drugging, brief suicidal ideation, referenced stitches, referenced gunshot wound, implied head injury, implied past noncon

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The Wolf wasn’t sure how he got on his back, or where his shirt went, but he didn’t like it. The air kissing his skin was cold - not the ice he was familiar with but enough to make his skin prick to gooseflesh. People were speaking, the voices garbled.

The familiar sting of an IV bit the inside of his elbow, heavy exhaustion reminding him of his injuries more than their pain. The right side of his face and head were bound in dry, fresh gauze, skin taught with stitches. His right arm burned, every twitch igniting the spot where the bullet had torn through his flesh.

The Wolf could smell antiseptic and the rubbery scent of examination gloves. The hard cold surface below him was probably a table in the medical wing. He wasn’t sure if he was crying, but he certainly wanted to.

Had they gotten caught? They probably got caught. Then where was Harrison? He hoped Harrison wasn’t here.

The gloved hands were quick, not lingering as they smeared antiseptic over scrapes or applied butterfly stitches to deeper cuts. How long would he be given to heal? Or would they put him in the Box to fester and rot? That wouldn’t make sense - they were tending to his wounds. They needed him alive.

He had a good guess for what.

(“A bitch like you’s only good for two things: fighting and fucking. And you’ve got no fighting days left.”)

The sound that gargled in his throat wasn’t enough to stop the hands from turning him over, the rough texture under his stomach cold. They started working at the burns on his shoulders, and the Wolf felt fire simmer in his gut.

He’d kill whoever touched him again. He’d rip them apart. No more. Not again. Never again.

His hearing implants whined, the distant tap tap tap of military standard boots rang in his skull. No. His handler wasn’t here. The Wolf killed him. Hadn’t he? Maybe he hadn’t - maybe his handler and the overseers were here at medical. Maybe they were waiting for the okay from the staff before they tore him apart again.

Would he be given time to rest and heal? He needed a day - at least a few hours of sleep - he knew in his gut he would simply die of exhaustion if they had him again. The words around him were clearing, still a slurry of unfamiliar voices in his blood starved brain.

Unfamiliar, save for one.

Harrison.

Oh god Harrison was here in medical and his handler was nearby and Harrison was going to die badly and the Wolf would have to watch and he was helpless to stop it -

Except he wasn’t helpless. Save for the IV wrapped around his arm, his hands and feet were free. Unbound. His handler always prided his Wolf on how well behaved he was for the staff. Didn’t even need a muzzle like other, poorly trained dogs.

The Wolf could take advantage of that.

He couldn’t help but flinch as a gloved hand prodded at the cut that wrapped from his spine to his hip, his poorly placed butterfly stitches pried away with intense focus. Now or never.

His elbow struck true, catching the staff member’s jaw as the Wolf reared up on his knees. The IV line in his arm ripped free, blood spattering across the blue tarp.

Tarp? It didn’t matter, the momentum was too strong and the fear in his blood at the sound of those rapidly approaching boots was too great. The Wolf turned, following through after his elbow with a hand around the medic’s throat. He couldn’t use his right hand; that arm was already bleeding and burning from the torn IV and strained stitches. His momentum carried the medic to his back, the Wolf’s knee pressing down on his stomach.

“Wolf, no!”

Harrison. Harrison’s voice.

The Wolf’s blurry vision swam as he looked up from the masked medic below him. Harrison’s worried face drifted in and out of focus, lips moving but sound buffered by the whine of his hearing implants.

He yelped as strong hands pried into his bruised shoulder, wrenching him off of the medic. His back hit the ground, a pair of military standard boots in his face. His handler. Oh god. He was dead. He hoped he was going to die. He hoped those boots would slam down on his windpipe and let him suffocate before those hands touched anything else -

“Wolf, hey, Wolfie, easy - they’re - they’re trying to help.” Harrison’s face drifted back into view, and the Wolf was dimly aware his face was cradled in those bony hands. He whimpered, pressing the uninjured left side of his face deeper into Harrison’s hold. His hands were warm. “Yeah - yeah there you go, it’s just me. You’re alright. We’re alright.”

His breathing was calming, but his vision was still swimming and sparked with stars. This wasn’t the sterile white medical lab. This was a dusty garage that smelled like motor oil and blood. The medic behind the mask was being helped up by a woman in a sweater - definitely against regulation for its vibrant pink and superfluous tassels.

He lifted his eyes beyond Harrison, looking up at the man above the military boots. He was young, half panicked eyes looking between the medic and Harrison. The Wolf wished he could hear what he was saying, lips moving faster than his sluggish brain could hope to read.

He was dimly aware of a keening whine in his throat as Harrison helped the medic move him back into the tarp, on his stomach where he couldn’t see -

The world went dark faster than he could contemplate that fear.

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(An AU of my Freelancers series)

#whump #disorientation #blood loss #field medicine #medical treatment #needle use #fear for others safety #anticipated violence #nonconsensual drugging #suicidal ideation #referenced stitches #referenced gunshot wound #implied head injury #implied noncon #past noncon #freelancers au #*gently holds wolf* I bet on losing dogs #:] I’ve been awake since 2 AM yall it’s been a morning™ #ashen if you’re reading this: as you can see giving wolf a hug is probably not the best idea if you want to comfort him #give that man a room w a door he can lock from the inside. and a really soft blanket. he’d probably appreciate that.