#223499
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🔪 for Chris!
🔪 Awake surgery
CW: Referenced hand whump, blood, sadism, reluctant whumper, facility whump, BBU
"You have got to be joking." The doctor dried his hands off on the single-use towel he held, watching through the one-way window as the trainee inside sat, shaking his head at a nurse who was speaking to him in a low voice. He shook it less like he was saying no and more like he was simply denying that she was speaking at all. "Him again? What the fuck is Petrus doing to this kid? It's only been, what, four days since I got him out of the clinic in the first place!"
"I mean, you know what he does to him, he's one of the little sluts." The handler rolls his eyes. "Petrus fucks him stupid, not that any of them have brains to begin with. But this time 223499 dropped a glass during his Mixology class. Can't pin it this one on Petrus, it's all on 499 being a little bitch again. His Mixology instructor says he's a clumsy little shit."
"Great. Okay." Dr. Ross has a headache already. He hates this place, hates the crude, aggressive handlers and the way they talk about - and to - the trainees. He hates sewing the injured trainees up only to see them again, with new wounds needing dressed and new terror in their eyes. He hates everything about this job except the paycheck.
He can't wait to get another job and get the hell out of here.
The Facility gets to him - it works its way down under his skin, seeing the haunted, nervous way the trainees looked around all the time, trying to guess where pain would come from next. Trying to curry favor, to avoid the torture constantly forced on them anyway. He's been seeing their frightened faces and hearing them beg in his dreams far too often. "So he's here because..."
"It's a deep cut." The handler shrugs. "He needs stitches."
Dr. Ross looks back at the trainee. 223499 is holding perfectly still while the nurse turns his hand over. His palm is a mess of blood, darker than the new-penny shine of his hair. The trainee's stained fingers twitch nervously.
He's just a kid.
The same kid who'd automatically gone to his knees just a week ago, ready to do whatever he was commanded to, thoughtless obedience making the doctor's stomach turn.
He has to get out of here.
Dr. Ross swallows, feeling like there's a lump in his throat he just can't quite get rid of it. "Fine. I'll prep something to numb his hand, we'll give him a little bit of-"
"Nah." The handler shrugs, looking bored. "His primary's got a note on his file, didn't you see it? No painkillers for three weeks. Not even topical."
Dr. Ross watches 223499 flinch away from the nurse, who slaps him, making him cry out. The sound is muffled through the one-way window. As is the apology the boy provides immediately, stammering through it, only to be slapped again. This time, he doesn't cry out. He only cringes back, hunching into himself, and keeps his eyes down.
It makes Dr. Ross feel sick.
"... fine," He says, realizing the silence is drawing out too long. "I'll get him sewn up. He can go back to his room once it's done. Tell Petrus to leave him alone for one night, at least?"
The handler snorts with dry humor. "Yeah, good luck on that. But I'll tell him you said so. You want me to help you strap him down?"
Dr. Ross doesn't let himself look at the trainee again. "Yeah. Come in and strap him down while I prep."
"You got it, Doc." The handler gives him a lazy salute.
The kid doesn't fight being strapped down, but it doesn't matter. Once the work begins, the kid's back arches, he screams and thrashes wordlessly, then... even worse, he makes noises after like he's dying, low moaning sounds that seem barely human. He's shuddering, whispering apologies when all he'd done was drop a glass and try to clean it up too fast.
Dr. Ross goes home that night with the trainee's screaming in his ears. He hears the sounds the kid makes once the needle goes into his skin all weekend in his nightmares.
On Monday, he emails his resignation, effective immediately.
He's smart enough to have a one-way ticket booked for a country WRU isn't operating in before anyone reads it.
#chris the strawberry blond romantic#223499#facility whump#bbu#box boy#box boy whump#box boy universe#referenced hand whump#sadistic whumper#reluctant whumper
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Жители Нарвской заставы
Жители Нарвской заставы собирают подписи против реновации http://vybor-naroda.org/lentanovostey/223499-zhiteli-narvskoj-zastavy-sobirajut-podpisi-protiv-renovacii.html
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tattoo-223499
loss: d-0.002 / g-12.983
Checkout my YouTube: https://youtu.be/jhmfMT8vA_I\
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Specification Brand OCHSTIN Model GQ081A Style Fashion,Casual,Business Gender Male Movement Quartz Water Resistance 3ATM Waterproof(Suitable for hand ...
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Dando Para Três Moleques Novinhos
Olá meus amores, tudo bem com vocês ? hoje vou contar uma aventura que eu tive, onde eu transei com três homens, ou melhor três garotos, que eu deixei que abusassem muito de mim. Antes de começar, ... Continua
source https://www.contoerotico.com/conto/157506/223499/dando-para-tres-moleques-novinhos.html
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LENCI DOLL “Jolanda”19- HAND PAINTED from ITALY - MINT in box with paperwork ebay jlp_1688
Lenci Doll 19 JOLANDA 75th Anniversary Doll Mint with Tag #223499 ebay
collecteveryday9
Vintage Lenci Doll 19 W Tag , Felt, Painted Eyes ebay 2016camotrain
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المنتدى: الكمبيوتر والإنترنت نشرت بواسطة: HaMooooDi الوقت: 09-27-2019 الساعة 10:19 PM
https://ift.tt/2PwqXwY
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An Evening On The Town With The Glitch Mob
An Evening On The Town With The Glitch Mob
The Glitch Mob Events
The Glitch Mob is touring and will be performing at many locations (see list below).
With hits like Fortune Days, We Can Make The World Stop and Animus Vox The Glitch Mob has made a mark since their formation in Los Angeles in 2006.
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🧑⚕️ for Chris! Cookie treat:
🍪
CW: BBU, sickfic, ableism from Luke Petrus, general Luke Petrus warning, minor whump (OC is 17), brief implied noncon references
-
"What the heck did you do now, Petrus?" The doctor - barely out of med school, still young and learning the twists and turns of the Facility's labyrinth of hallways - sighs. He's been here barely a year, and already learned that Luke Petrus has a reputation for quick turnarounds because he runs his trainees into the ground. Metaphorically speaking.
His trainees aren't generally allowed to actually run much of anywhere at all. Or get out of bed.
Petrus rolls his eyes, crossing his arms. "Nothing. He was being a little shit this morning, breaking all his rules. I checked and his forehead was hot, so I brought him in here."
"Well... at least you didn't OD him again."
"That was one time, and he should have been fine, it's not my fault his body metabolizes the drugs wrong-"
"Maybe don't use our freaking supplies without speaking to a doctor first to make sure next time?" Dr. Ross glances into the exam through through the window cut into the door.
The trainee lays on his back on the exam table, staring listlessly up towards the flickering florescent lights overhead. His hands are moving, constantly crushing the crinkling paper beneath him or touching himself at the throat, the collarbone, the stomach. He's humming, audible through the door. A toneless, tuneless ah ah ah ah through barely open lips.
"Okay, well. I'll take a look. Any specific complaints other than the fever?"
"Clammy as fuck, coughing, sneezing... all that shit. Complained about his food, earlier, and I know he knows better than that." Petrus narrows his eyes, and Dr. Ross tries not to feel a shiver down his own spine. "He better be burning hot enough to hallucinate or he is going to fucking regret talking shit to me about the food."
Dr. Ross pauses. "The food is pretty legendarily... um, crap, though," He points out. The look Petrus gives him is so derisive he can all but feel it eat into him like acid. "I'll take a look. Probably he'll need an overnight in the clinic."
"I only have a few weeks left to finish him up. So you get him able to take training tomorrow night, got it?"
"I can't promise-"
"This one is going to a personal friend of Karen Renford's," Petrus says in a low voice. "A personal. friend. Got it?"
Dr. Ross swallows, trying not to look unnerved. "Got it."
"Good. Message me once he's good to go back, I'm going to head home for a few hours. If he's faking this..."
"Handler Petrus. How exactly would he fake a fever?" Dr. Ross looks into the exam room again. The trainee is still humming, watching his own fingers as he moves them between himself and the light. His skin is pale, a little grayish. His freckles stand out like paint splatters all over his body.
"Wouldn't put it past him. Trainees figure out all kinds of shit. Get him better and get him to stop doing that... Shit with his hands, making those noises. Punish him if he keeps it up, it's part of his training plan."
"Hm," Dr. Ross says, noncommittal. "I'll send his test results over in a bit. Enjoy your time at home."
He steps inside just to end the conversation, walking idly over to a countertop, where he opens a cupboard above and pulls out a small canister of lollipops. "Hello, 223499."
The boy's voice cuts off like a radio. After a pause, he starts mumbling, too low for Dr. Ross to hear.
"... right. Well. Your handler says you're feeling under the weather. Mind if I take a look?"
The trainee turns his head then. He looks somewhere off to one side of the doctor, blinking a little dazedly. "... take a look?"
His voice is slow, sluggish, but each word is so carefully placed.
"Yes."
The trainee looks away again. Dr. Ross sighs and goes with it, checking his temperature. 101.7, not great, not the worst fever. Hopefully this won't be another flu like the last one. Pneumonia nearly killed three trainees that time. He checked ears, eyes - pupils reactive, ears clear - and then touched at the lymph nodes beneath his jaw. A little swollen.
"Okay. Next up, we need to take a quick look down your throat."
Another slow blink. The trainee seemed to suddenly tense up. "You... want my throat?"
"Uh, well-" Dr. Ross turns away to pick up a tongue depressor and the swab for the test. "Yes, we need to test you."
The paper on the exam table crinkles again. The boy hums, almost wistfully, and then goes silent.
When he turns around, Dr. Ross discovers the boy on his knees in a seamless Position Two, mouth wide open.
His green eyes are empty, somewhere far away.
Dr. Ross's face burns at the sight. His stomach turns sharply, and he has to clear his throat to try and cover the way bile rises. "Uh, n-no thank you-... I just need... you need to be tested for strep throat, Trainee, not that kind of-... back up on the table, please-"
The boy looks confused, in a faded sort of way, but follows orders. He manages to clamber back up, sitting this time, listing a little to one side, then the other. But he opens his mouth again, and Dr. Ross hurries through the test as fast as he can, trying not to think about how most people gag during the strep test, but the Romantics never do.
"Good, made it. Perfect. Now, does your throat hurt a lot today?"
"Yes, sir." The boy's voice is a little raspy, now that he's talking. "A... lot. Earlier, i... cried when my... handler-"
"Don't need to hear the end of that sentence!" Dr. Ross forces false charm and ease into his voice, plucking one of the lollipops at random from the jar. "Here, let me give you this. It tastes a little weird, but it'll numb your throat and keep you from coughing." He unwraps it and holds it out. The trainee blinks at him. He blinks back.
Then he realizes. "... oh. Do you have to be... do I have to..." He leans forward. The trainee opens his mouth obediently for Dr. Ross to place the lollipop inside. Only then does his mouth close.
"'ank 'oo, ir," The trainee says around a mouthful of fake sweetener and the numbing agent already going to work. His eyes are so sweet and so vivid, and he half-smiles around the treat.
"You're welcome, 223499. I'm going to go and do your strep test. I'll be back. You just relax, okay? You can sleep in a clinic bed and get a good night's sleep."
The boy's eyebrows furrow. "Is... is it night?"
"Oh right. We're not supposed to let you know, are we? Well... I don't think it can hurt... yeah, I'm on nights right now, 11 to 9. It's about one in the morning."
"Oh." The trainee lays slowly back down, on his side, closing his eyes as he works at the sucker. "... what, what does night... look, um, look like?"
Dr. Ross swallows.
He's a fucking coward, but he doesn't answer. He just leaves, and he doesn't let himself stop and look back.
He doesn't let himself think about a boy who can't remember the sky.
God, he only has a few weeks left on this residency and he just isn't sure he can make it.
#223499#chris the strawberry blond romantic#whump#bbu#pet whump#box boy universe#box boy#medical whump#caretaker whumper#luke petrus is a piece of garbage#ableism tw#reluctant whumper#sickfic#sick whumpee#sick whump
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Plus Products Inc. (PLPRF: OTCQB) | Jon Paul appointed as PLUS’ Chief Financial Officer, Craig Heimark takes on the role of Chief Strategy Officer
from OTC Markets Group - News, Filings & Corporate Actions http://www.otcmarkets.com/stock/PLPRF/news?id=223499
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sunset-223499
loss: d-0.000 / g-13.537
Checkout my YouTube: https://youtu.be/jhmfMT8vA_I\
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واتسآب سيشارك بيانات جميع مستخدميه مع فيسبوك https://www.etihad24.com/ar/223499
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