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sublieu · 1 year

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synopsis: "Don't prank your significant others by feeding them aphrodisiac laced goodies."

references: none

word count: 1.0k words

cont. warning: Feral! Azure, Chubby/Plus sized reader, established relationship, fear play, size difference, possible voyeurism, creampie, manhandling, cervix fucking, multiple orgasms, getting caught, growling *mostly from Azure*

mutuals/friends: @chimemori @zuzuthesnake

𝐃𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬┆"All creations/edits belong to ©𝐒𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐮 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 ;𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐑𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝"┆Do not retranslate, republish orcopy this work without permission

𝙉𝙤𝙬 𝙇𝙤𝙖𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜...

A scream erupts from your throat as you ran into the forest, hearing your aggressor chase after you as he chases you not too far behind; Your legs wanted to give up, your throat hurts and you were tired but your adrenaline refused to weaken the closer Azure got. His claws almost caught the collar of your shirt hadn't you jumped over the ditch.

As soon as you took a break you whip your neck around to get a good look at him, his eyes glowing and baring teeth sharper than knives as he backs away. Giving you time to take a breather before sitting down on a log nearby; Your clothes are torn and tattered with blood, sweat, and dirt.

Until you heard a thud and saw his glowing pink eyes make eye contact with you.

You attempt to run but are immediately yanked back onto the cold dirt. Your pupils dilated and your heart pulsed faster when he lets out a low growl as he gets to your eye level and puts his head on your neck, taking in your scent and purring against your chest; You were confused but grateful he had the mercy to not kill you when you scratch his ears.

His large claws held onto your chubby waist and tear away at your already torn-up robes, his claws digging slightly and leaving a possible bruise on your thighs; His frame towered over you, making you seem small underneath him as he blows smoke from his nose.

It was terrifying how you could barely see his body, only his glowing eyes told you where he could be looking as his claw cupped one of your breasts. Gently pulling off your panties and kissing your legs as he held them over his shoulder; Pressing his tongue against your clit and staring into your eyes before as a purr left his throat.

Your fingers were lost in his mane as you saw black spots for in your eyes, muttering out curses under your breath and begging for a release when his tongue entered your pussy. Slick and drool seeping from his lips and between your thighs onto his lap before pulling away and kissing your clit.

Azure pumps his cock a few times before guiding your hips to his, applying pressure against your walls with his cock as he enters slowly. Your small chubby hands would dig into his arms when the tip pressed against your cervix's entrance.

His claws held onto your waist as he starts off slowly, closing his eyes as you kiss his forehead when your gentle hands pet his ears; Your moans fueling him on to go faster as his claws dig tighter into your skin, possibly leaving marks.

"There there, it's ok, I'm here" You hiss as he pressed his head on your neck, his claws unrelenting and almost tearing your skin before gently holding onto his hand to relax. Breathing out the air you unconsciously held in once he stops, purrs escaping his throat the more you keep rubbing his ears and chin.

Azure turns you over and continues his quickened pace, groans and whines emitted from his throat as you saw stars before he pulls you by your hair to his chest. Chuckling as hearts formed in his eyes the longer he stares at your smaller figure, knowing fully well that if you both wanted to he would give you babies.

The repeated sounds of slapping also drew attention to you, as two more celestials were nearby when they heard your ruckus and set out to look for the perpetrators that were keeping them up so late; Your husbands arms held onto you for balance and assurance that you were there for him even through this troublesome 'rut' he developed after eating your freshly baked goodies for him.

'Don't prank your significant others by feeding them aphrodisiac laced goodies y/n.' Chang'e warns as she prepared for her next show before giving you a basket to pack up your items. You lied to her but still give them to your husband due to the fact that you believed he wouldn't react so badly in response.

And now you knew to never try a stunt like this again, especially feeling his cock go deeper inside your womb. Fucking you as if to breed you full of his babies; Babbling over his dick as it kept going deeper and deeper, cumming over his cock as he kept thrusting.

His eyes softened as his grip on you started to tighten again, his cock aching and desperate already for a release the tighter you squeeze against him as your orgasm was coming soon again; Black spots flooding your vision once more as tears poured from your eyes.

Finally after waiting presumably hours he finally came, fucking you through his orgasm as your legs started shaking and your arms falling to the floor out of tiredness. His cock stuck inside as he kept pumping more cum to your womb.

"Did you get all that?" "Mhm, sure did"

Your eyes snapped open when you heard two more voices pop up and look around, The two simians waving their hand to your before popping out of the bushes. "Were you filming this entire time?" You peer at their phones as one of them laugh, Hadn't Azure been stuck to you they would've lost their heads before hearing more footsteps from out the bushes; Peng and Huang peeping out a tree with unreadable expressions.

Macaque covers you both with a blanket he carried and shooed the two albino animals away as Wukong gave you some water and fruit he was eating. "You kinda have to admit.. That was pretty hot."

"Fuck you Wukong"

©𝐒𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐮 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 ;𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐑𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝

#lmk smut #lmk Azure x reader #lego monkie kid smut #lego monkie kid Azure lion x reader #lego monkie kid azure lion smut #lego monkie kid azure lion x reader smut #drugging mention #🍑lmk masterlist #🍑 monkie kid smut

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pyrepostings · 8 months

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Thinking about a whumper who just loves making whumpee look at him while he does horrible things to him.

"Oh, you can't bare to look at me? Well I have something to help us through this. Just a drop of this in your eyes and you won't have to see anything at all! Don't worry, it's not permanent. And in the meantime your pupils will constrict ever so nicely so I'm told. Keep those beautiful green eyes open for me, pet."

The rising heart rate as whumpee's vision fades out, the relief when it blurs back in.

Also thinking about the eyedrops being addictive. It has a nicotine like effect where the user feels calmer and more focused when blinded, but really they're just more anxious the rest of the time.

Thinking about whumpee searching for the eyedrops after they're rescued, because no amount of dark rooms and blindfolds make them as calm as when they are so totally blind in whumper's control.

#PyrePrompts #fictional drugs #noncon mention #drugging mention #intimate whumper #creepy whumper #whump writing #creepy/intimate whumper #whump ideas #whump prompt #whump scenario #whumpee #whump community #whump prompts #whumper

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whimp-whamp-whump · 6 months

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need whumpers to start force-feeding their whumpees more !! whumpee doesn't want to eat? they're not appreciative of all that whumper has done for them - shelter, water, food - and would rather reject whumpers efforts? fuck that! they'll take whatever whumper gives them.

whumper is (or what they believe to be) a distinguished cook and whumpee is rejecting their special meals? let's just hope whumpee can dodge a fork and spoon as whumper feeds them.

whumpee has been refusing water? they need to stay hydrated! time to break out the funnel - maybe if they reject it too much too frequently, whumper can adjust the temperature. maybe whumpee will be more grateful for tap water after having boiling water poured down their throat: that is, if they survive. perhaps next time, whumper will give them frying oil to drink.

maybe whumper only offers more food once whumpee has cleaned their plate! but if whumpee's food is slimy and cold and moldy, it's going to be awfully bitter. a sensory hell, too. such a shame - whumper doesn't believe in wasting food. this will teach whumpee to be more appreciative of food the moment it's delivered.

whumpee thinks whumper is spiking all their drinks? well . . . they're right about that. still, whumper went through so much work getting everything they needed. and whumpee needs to. just. take it.

medically trained whumper feeding whumpee through intravenous means. is it just to sustain their life? or are whumpees veins lit aflame each time that needle sinks into their skin?

got a whumpee too injured or out of it to chew their own food? it's a good thing whumper's got hands! they can place the food into whumpee's mouth and manually operate their lower jaw. all whumpee has to do is keep their eyes open and make sure their tongue doesn't get chomped.

whumpee's always been particular about what they ingest: be it calories, ingredients, textures, allergies - you name it. it's unfortunate they're taken by a whumper who just doesn't understand.

in the same vein as allergies, whumper who continuously feeds whumpee foods they KNOW will induce a heavy reaction, just so they can nurse whumpee back to health in an excruciating process.

whumpee just lost their tongue and needs a little help eating. maybe their lips are numb or they're missing some teeth and they keep spilling. is a bib too humiliating?

feel free to reblog with more ideas or expansions or drabbles or interps!

feeling sick and twisted lately (thinking about my whumpee <333)

#whump #whumpblr #whump writing #whump community #whump prompt #whump prompts #food mention #food whump #mouth whump #medical whump #captive whumpee #creepy whumper #drugging mention

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yandere--stuck · 1 year

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Insomniac!Darling: hey what are these pills for

Yandere, eyeing your drink:

#implied drugging #drugging tw #forced drugging #tw drugging #drugging mention #noncon drugging #drugging cw #yandere x reader

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cupcakes-and-pain · 2 months

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Charles & Ollie: Past

Hey guys. Um. It’s been a while since I’ve written. Sorry. Anyway! I really love this piece. It’s also much longer than most chapters I write, I’m pretty sure. Almost 2.8k words. So that’s fun.

Enjoy!

CW: pet whump, slave whump, refusing to use someone’s name, insults, perceived abandonment (technically not real), fear of punishment, self hatred, unreliable narrator, drug trafficking, drugging mention, police, starvation, escape/running away, homelessness, fear of death

Masterlist

— — —

It had been a normal day.

Wake up, make breakfast for Master, kneel quietly, and hope that he did well. Hope that he wouldn't have to spend the next few days tied up, bleeding, and starving in the basement. It was always his fault for being so stupid and deserving to be punished, but he could hope. Not want, of course, that'd never be allowed. But he could secretly wish and dream for a time when Master was forgiving.

Luckily, Master didn't find anything wrong with his pet's behavior that morning, so he set out. But not before giving his slave a strong kick to the ribs to keep him in his place. Pet preferred the kicks, the other choice for a daily reminder was a slap. Pet hated the hand marks. They made his already hideous face look even more ugly.

Pet set about his chores, washing the dishes and wiping the counter. He caught his blurred reflection in the polished granite. His collar was tight around his neck, the little tag hanging from it jingling.

He touched it gently, longing to hear his Master say the name written on it, just once. He knew that he needed the reminders because he was so stupid and useless. He'd forget his place if he wasn't called names all day. "Slave. Pet. Stupid. Ugly. Mutt. Useless. Fleabag. Bitch. Dog." On and on, all the cruelest things Master and his friends could think of, perfectly suiting for the crushed and bleeding thing that so often laid at their feet.

But Pet longed to hear his name, his real name, so badly. It had been so long, he knew it was bad, he knew he was selfish and worthless and dumb. But... no one would know, right? If he said it, just this once? Such a tiny word, only two syllables.

"Ol-"

The door flung open, and Pet jumped back, arms above his head. It was like the ground crumbled beneath his feet, and his stomach dropped. He fell to the floor, curled up, trying desperately to protect his most vital organs from attack. Had Master been waiting for this? He knew that his slave would mess up, didn't he? And he was just waiting to beat the living daylights out of the useless, worthless, disgusting piece of flesh that he owned.

"Hey, no, stupid dog. Come here." Master hauled him up off his feet and dragged him towards the basement. Pet whimpered but was in awe that Master was able to hold his fury in until they got to the basement. Usually, he'd just beat Pet wherever he was and make him clean up the blood from the floor and carpeting later.

"M-master, please, I-"

"Shush. You know what, hide! I'll be back in a few days. Some guys might come through, maybe a cop or two. Listen to me, you pathetic excuse for a dog." Master grabbed Pet's face roughly, fingernails digging into his cheeks. He was forcing Pet to look into his eyes, something that was rarely allowed. But it must be okay this time if Master was the one causing it.

"You have to understand.” Master said, “Do. Not. Come. Out. For. Anyone. However you need to do it, just get it through your thick skull. Don't stop hiding until I come back and say it's okay to leave, okay?" Master half-heartedly threw him to the floor, his slave more confused than he had ever been or probably ever would be. With one last disapproving glare, Master left.

Pet never saw him again.

- - -

It was true, he soon learned, that many people would be coming through the house. Pet feared he would feel lonely and bored while waiting, but there was a lot to keep his thoughts occupied and off of... other things.

First, cops searched the entire building. Pet heard them and dashed to a tiny closet in the basement, wedging a piece of wood in the handle on his side of the door. The police tried and failed to get in and even discussed cutting it open with an ax. Pet trembled, sweat dripping off his forehead while he tried to stop himself from hyperventilating.

Eventually, though, one of them protested, not wanting to do more work when they already had evidence. And so they left, making the house silent and (somewhat) stress-free once more.

Other people came and went too, talking and cursing. Most of them Pet recognized as the voices of Master's friends. He knew better than to listen to people's conversations, but they all kept mentioning drugs and pills, the type that had once been used on Pet. He remembered the experience, although things were still a little fuzzy.

It made his head hurt for days afterward, but at the moment, everything had felt so nice and peaceful for a few minutes before the blackout. When he woke up, he was covered in bruises and cuts, but it had still taken a few minutes for the relaxation to wear off and the pain to settle in.

Master had gotten very upset that his friends wasted the pills on a pet, after "everything he went through to get them." Despite already being beaten just an hour ago, Pet was punished severely for taking the pills. He had wanted to protest that the men had made him, but he knew better. The men were superior to him. They couldn't be faulted for it. So the blame must lie with Pet. It must. Master was never wrong.

In the present day, after many days of hunger and freezing nights down in the basement, Pet felt like he couldn't go on like this. No one had visited in a while. He knew what he was thinking about was bad. He knew that if Master found out what he was about to do, he'd be furious. He made it absolutely clear that his pet was not to leave the basement.

And yet, Pet finds himself sneaking up to the kitchen. He filled two bags with dog food and then, with some careful consideration, took three apples. Master never liked fruit but would still buy it; Pet was never quite sure of the reasoning behind that. And Pet had already been so bad, a few apples that would've rotted away even if Master had been there was nothing.

Pet then made his way to the living room and took several blankets and pillows. Then, noticing the mail had been delivered, he also took the newest copy of Pet Paper. Most of the articles either were boring or scared him, but they usually had fun pictures and a few games.

Carrying all of his loot and feeling surprisingly okay for a disobedient mutt who may have been abandoned, Pet made a little camp for himself in the basement. He decided to put the pillows and blankets in the closet where he had previously hidden from cops. The tiny space felt almost like his cage upstairs and he knew now that it was suitable for hiding.

Then he sat on the floor, grabbed a handful of dog food to munch on, and started reading.

Several more days passed before Pet started to get incredibly worried. He had heard the garbage truck pass by this morning. That was the second time since he had last seen Master. More than two weeks had gone by and still, no sign of where he had gone. What was previously just another anxious thought had transformed itself into a legitimate concern. Had Pet been abandoned?

Of course, it didn't make any sense. Why would Master leave everything just to get away from his pet?

But he couldn't deny that something was wrong. Even Master's friends had stopped visiting too. He didn't get it. Of course, he was so stupid, he could never understand why humans do the things they do. But he just couldn't think of any other explanation. So Master must've abandoned him.

Pet waited another week before finally deciding to leave. The dog food was running out, even after he had made several more disobedient trips upstairs. And if Pet had been thrown away, shouldn't he get out of his Master's house? Maybe Master was waiting until he left to come back to the house. Pet was probably being bad for staying there for so long. He was so selfish, not wanting to leave the comfort of the building for the scary outside world.

But he had to now. At least there would be food outside. And also cruel people, the cold, sickness, and probably death. But a bad pet like him deserved all of that, surely. He was such a rotten animal.

Pet's first steps outside were cautious and weak. He nearly stumbled from the sheer shock of it all.

He had done it. Ollie had done it. He couldn't believe this... this... this whole new world.

but it wasn't new, not really. It wasn't new at all. He just hadn't been here in a very long time, if ever.

He felt like he had stepped into a fantasy world after only hearing of it in fairytales. The outside world, the land beyond the kitchen window, was never allowed to him before. It might as well be something that only existed in legend.

- - -

Ollie sat huddled under the bridge, violently shivering. He hadn't eaten in two, maybe three days? He didn't know.

He was cold, wet, tired, and starving. He deserved all of it for leaving his Master's house. He should've accepted his fate and died there.

He was horrible.

- - -

Earlier in the day, Ollie had run away from some police. It was only because he was so small and capable of hiding that he got away. His muscles were very weak as of late, so he could've been easily caught. He'll have to be more careful next time.

But now, because of all the distance he had worked hard to put between him and the officers, Ollie had found himself in an entirely new area.

It was late at night, so restaurants had probably thrown out their leftovers already. If only he could find a place and dumpster dive for spare food.

As he wandered, he spied yet another cop. He was so frightened that he ran into the first available hiding place he saw: a bright, bustling building. He hadn't been thinking. He was so stupid. He dashed in and joined the crowds, trying to hide himself in the large group.

When someone first noticed him, in his dirty, smelly, roughed-up state with no shoes, she shrieked and backed up so fast she bumped into a man, who fell on a waiter, who spilled two glasses of wine they had been carrying.

Soon enough, everyone was in a great commotion, trying to get away from Ollie and call security.

The pet began to cry, overwhelmed and tired and hungry and not at all wanting to deal with this. He was sorry, he was, and he would do whatever they wanted to make up for it. Just please don't hand him over to the police. Please. He didn't know what they'd do to him, and he wasn't eager to find out.

The guards approached Ollie and he fled, going deeper into the crowd, until he tripped over his own feet and fell. He curled up and lay trembling on the floor, sobbing and so terrified.

He heard a bunch of people shuffle and he looked up to see the crowd part as a man walked through, headed straight for Ollie. This man didn't look like a security guard but rather was dressed in an expensive suit and had a stern, irritated expression.

When the man saw Ollie, however, his expression changed a bit. Ollie didn't know how to describe it, having never been looked at with such a visage. But it seemed less upset than the previous one, so that might be a plus? Maybe? Maybe this man won't kick Ollie as hard as he could, or won't insult him while throwing him out.

The man looked around.

"Whose pet is this?"

Of course, no one stepped forward. The man looked back at Ollie and asked if his owner was here. He shook his head.

"Are you lost?'

"Um, yeah... I-... I was abandoned, sir."

"Oh. I am very sorry to hear that. So you need a place to stay, then?"

Another nod. The man bent slightly and extended a hand. Ollie flinched away, bracing for a slap, but none came. He looked back and the hand was still there, just resting in the air. Ollie hesitated, but the man nodded encouragingly, and so Ollie took his hand and got helped up.

He whimpered as pressure was put on his ankle, then froze. He was bad.

His ankle must've been injured when he tripped, which was his fault, he shouldn't have run. And now he had the audacity to whimper?? He was so, so bad. This man would realize what a pathetic mutt he was and hurt him for it.

Glancing up fearfully, he saw that the man was indeed frowning. Ollie shrank back, hand slipping out of the man's grasp. He started shaking even harder.

"Oh dear, easy, it's alright," the man soothed. "I didn't mean to further injure your ankle by forcing you to stand. I will call a doctor for you immediately."

Did he think Ollie was upset because his ankle hurt? But.. why? Sure, the pain was intense now that he was trying to stand, but it was nothing compared to what he's been through.

"There's no need to be so concerned, sir. I'm alright. I can take it and more. I can take whatever you want me to."

The man frowned again and Ollie nearly cried.

"No, no, don't be ridiculous. I have no reason to harm you. You've done nothing wrong, dear. I don't want you to be unnecessarily hurt."

The man hesitated, then spoke again.

"That's not how I want one of my workers to be treated."

...

...what?

"What do you mean, sir?"

"I do not wish for you to be harmed, regardless of your status, but especially if you agree to work for me. You don't have a home or... employer, do you?"

"No, sir, I don't have either of those. But really, you don't have to, I'll only be a bother and a burden-"

"Nonsense. I have heard of how they train you guys. I'm sure you are wonderful. And besides, I am forgiving, I promise."

Ollie couldn't help but notice some of the crowd looked doubtful at that, which was very concerning. But at the same time, the man did not possess the same cruel glint in his eyes, the expression of deceit, the glee in waiting until the perfect moment to strike.

Of course, the man could just be better at hiding those things, or Ollie was dumber than he thought.

But what other choice did he have?

This person was offering him a lifeline, a chance at a new home and a new life. Ollie would die if he continued to be homeless. Maybe not right away, but he'd eventually catch an illness or upset someone or get caught, and then it'd be all over.

He didn't want to die.

"Okay. Of course, sir, I'd be happy to be your slave."

The man just nodded tight, and the pet was certain that he had already messed up.

But still, the man didn't do anything to him. Instead, he addressed the crowd.

"Apologies for the interruption," He announced, not sounding apologetic in the slightest. "I have urgent business to attend to with my worker, so I must leave. Enjoy the showing, it will continue until 10:30 PM as planned. My accountant will be handling any further purchases. Good night."

Then, looking back at his new slave again, Master spoke much softer.

"What is your name, dear?"

Oh god. Oh no. He knew what he was supposed to say, he knew he had to be good. He should tell the man that he can call him anything, even horrible insults, and the slave would readily accept it. He had to show his new owner that he could be good. But the man had asked. Please. The pet wanted to be allowed his name, his real name.

"Ollie, sir. My name is Ollie."

The man nodded, not seeming angry at the slave's terrible presumption that he could demand a free person use a particular name for him.

"I am Charles Durand, please to meet you, Ollie. Come with me. I'll help you to a couch to rest until the doctor arrives."

Given no other option, Ollie followed him, allowed to dangerously lean on his arm as he hobbled along.

Hopefully, this man wouldn't be too cruel to him.

— — —

Tag list: @whumpzone @whump-me-all-night-long @whumpsweetwhump @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @apples-and-whump @professional-idiocy @nicolepascaline @cowboy-anon @wolfeyedwitch @kim-poce @guachipongo @badluck990 @secretwhumplair @batfacedliar-yetagain @whumpsday @extrabitterbrain @morelikepainsley @catawhumpus @starfields08000 @mylovelyme

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puhpandas · 8 months

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I have been debating on sending this because I have like internet stage fright it’s horrible 💀

Anyway, either Gregory in past au or Evan in future or SOMETHING au, where Gregory finds out about William literally GASSING Evan up in his a OWN bedroom because of Evan acting weirdly/having some side effects. (dizziness, nausea, vomiting, blurred vision, sneezing and coughing, staggering, slow reflexes and sensitivity to light, drowsiness, mood swings, dependence, as well as more serious symptoms of unconsciousness and respiratory collapse leading to coma. Yes I looked this all up.) and Gregory being worried, telling Freddy and Freddy panicking (evan possibly passing out or just… being all drowsy.) and taking Evan to the doctor and the doctor being like “Bro this little guy has traces of fear toxin” or whatever it is “in his system??” And the entire fazbear family being UTTERLY horrified, Gregory sticking by Evan’s side to watch over him, and once they find out it’s william causing it??

I just needed to rant about this idea 💔 feel free to do whatever you want with it!

no because actually imagine being Gregory, and your friend is acting tired and drowsy and you dont know why and you're just worried about them, but when you take action to see what the cause is you find out it's literally hallucinogenic gas?? like that must be so upsetting (and knowing Gregory, hed want to fix the problem immediately and want to go give William a piece of his mind)

but like I'm imagining a scenario where the Fazbears actually get William in trouble for it and he gets investigated and they get to have Evan and Michael over for a while, Lizzie too if you want her to be (I hc that in survival/nobody dies aus she goes with her mom in the split), and it's just Evan recovering and Michael being like was I actually bullying my fear gassed brother for things that weren't real but actually were and is actually worse than what he was saying?

& its just Evan and Gregory already being family at this point and the Aftons minds reeling but they process it eventually and are able to heal with the Fazbears once they can actually adopt them

(I like this idea a lot so... might write something for it?)

#thanks for this anon i love this idea now #the hallucinogenic gas recovery isnt something i imagined making scenarios for in the fnaf story but hey #it could make a good fic so im for it #ill save this in case i wanna write something for it #save #prompt #prompts #gregory and evan #flashlight duo #fazbear family #afton family #evan and michael #fic idea #drugging mention #thoughts

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whump-kia · 10 months

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there's always a healthy dose of fear to the hands of a medic. do what you can and know every step can ruin what life they have left; your hands are stained with blood that isn't yours and somehow that's worse; there's a cruelty to modern medicine and it's in the anesthetics and needles and the poker you've got in the fire, just in case; you can help, but honey, it'll hurt before it heals.

#medics #doctor whump #medical whump #anesthetic #drugging mention #tw drugging #cauterization #whump #whumpblr #whump prompt #whump community

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blackrosesandwhump · 15 days

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Whumpril Day 11: Can't Sleep

CW: wing whump, magic whump, captivity, drugging mention

Shut in the witch’s cellar, Oryn lies awake on his pallet, surrounded by the choking, sickly-sweet scent of old magic. It makes his eyes water and his nose sting slightly. And, somehow, it makes him miss the circus. Though he stayed only a couple of days before the witch bought him, though they drugged him and treated him roughly, at least he had a clean bed and fresh air.

Then he rolls onto his side, and the rope fastened around his ankle tightens, and his bound wings crunch painfully under him.

The flame of the single candle next to him wavers in his vision, and a face swims into his mind. The other boy whose gaze he’d caught as he was forced to his knees when Griffin had first acquired him. The boy with white hair and red eyes. Immortal, he’d heard. The Immortal Resurrecting Boy. The boy that everyone had come to see. That could have been Oryn, with his ethereal, iridescent wings and near-white skin.

But instead, Oryn is trapped here, alone, with only a candle and leaping shadows for company.

Something thumps in the dark. A footstep. Then another. His heart skips a beat and starts to race. Maybe the witch is coming to check on him. He glances at the rope on his ankle, tethering him to a wooden pole, as if that will protect him. Another footstep, clumsy-sounding and hollow. Oryn holds his breath.

The smell of magic changes and grows stronger, morphing from sickly sweet to light and dreamy, like lavender and vanilla. He finds he can’t look away from the flickering candle, transfixed by its dancing, rhythmic movement. Dimly, he hears the footsteps grow louder and closer, but as much as he wants to look, he can’t tear his eyes away from the flame and dancing shadows.

No, stop, cries a small voice in the back of his mind. It’s a spell, you’re under a spell, you can’t let it take you…

Something touches his shoulder. He doesn’t jump. He can’t.

“Sleep now,” comes a gentle but strangely wooden voice. “You need to sleep, before it’s too late.”

As Oryn succumbs to the magic and slips into a deep, dreamless sleep, he sees someone. A girl, bending over him, the hem of her ragged dress brushing the tips of his bound wings.

A girl with the face of an expressionless doll.

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hufflepuffwritingstuff2 · 2 years

Text

Sick, Delirious Hero

"Lemme go!" Hero slurred, "your restraints can't hold me forever!"

Villain pinched the bridge of their nose. The "restraints" Hero was referring to were a couple of soft, plush blankets tucked tightly around their shivering body. Hero was currently laying in Villain's bed, and they were as sick as a dog. Villain put a hand to Hero's forehead. Still feverish. That might explain the delirium.

"Hero, I haven't captured you," Villain said, "you're at my base because you're sick and no one was taking care of you, remember?"

"Lies!" Hero yelled hoarsely, "I'll have you behind bars when I get out of this!"

"I'm sure you will," Villain sighed, "but until then, how about you take some medicine for me, yeah?"

Villain sat Hero up against the pillows and poured some medicine onto a spoon.

"Open up," Villain said.

"I'm not going to let you poison me!" Hero said weakly, "I- mmph!"

Villain shoved the spoon into Hero's mouth.

"Good, now swallow," Villain said.

"Mm-mm!" Hero shook their head vigorously.

"Hero, if you don't swallow the medicine, I'll... I'll kidnap someone for ransom!"

Hero's eyes widened. After a couple of seconds, they swallowed the medicine.

"Your poison tastes terrible," Hero said.

"Medicine, Hero," Villain corrected, "I need that fever of yours to break, now try to get some sleep."

Villain laid Hero back down in the bed. Hero's eyes remained stubbornly open.

"Hero."

Hero glared up at Villain. Villain struggled to stay calm. How long was this delirium going to last? Villain absent-mindedly ran a hand through Hero's hair while they tried to think. Was drugging them an option? Villain could always crush up some sleeping pills and slip them in some tea, but then again, it was a fight just to get Hero to take their medicine. Maybe a round of hypnosis? No, that probably wouldn't work either.

"Hhng," Hero whined.

Startled, Villain looked down at Hero.

"What's wrong?"

"Don' wanna sleep," Hero yawned, "you can't... make me."

Something glinted in Villain's eyes as realization hit them. They continued to card their hand through Hero's hair, their touch feather-light.

"S-stop it," Hero said, their voice barely audible and their eyes blinking heavily.

"Oh, I don't think I will," Villain whispered, "you need to sleep. I wonder what would happen if I just..."

Villain started to lightly massage Hero's scalp, giving them gentle scratches all the way to the nape of their neck. Hero fought to keep their eyes open, but they shortly fluttered closed. Hero's breathing became deep and even; they were fast asleep. Villain smiled. They leaned down and kissed Hero's forehead lightly, careful not to wake them. They petted Hero's hair for a few more minutes until they quietly got up and left the room. Hopefully, Hero would be more lucid when they woke up.

part 2

#writeblr #writing #creative writing #fluff #hero x villain #sickfic #sick hero #delirium #fever whump #whump fluff #hurt/comfort #hero x villain community #heroes and villains #villain caretaker #caring villain #hero whumpee #noncon drugging mention #drugging mention #hero x villain fluff

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comfy-whumpee · 5 months

Text

Every Time

One of the @amonthofwhump Whumpmas prompts hit me just right.

TW: murder, intimate whump, drugging mention, referenced emotional abuse and child neglect.

Savvie, Izzy and Jamie are characters from @ashintheairlikesnow and written collaboratively!

@bloodybrambles, @wildfaewhump, @lektric-whump, @that-one-thespian, @raigash, @burtlederp, @rosesareviolentlyread, @eatyourdamnpears

Jax wakes up without moving. Moving isn’t safe. He takes his first conscious breath of the day without even opening his eyes. Where is she? What’s the last thing he remembers from last night? What was the last thing he ate and drank? Can he feel any pain?

Savvie is lying next to him, half-draped over him as usual. Her hair is what woke him up, tickling the underside of his chin, with threatening strands around his mouth. He’s dreamt of choking to death on her hair, more than once. He doesn’t need blankets when she does this.

He twists his head, then waits. She doesn’t stir. Her breathing remains steady. He opens his eyes.

There’s light behind the heavy curtains, but only enough to suggest the sun is up. It’s not daytime yet. She won’t want to be woken up, and if he tries, she’ll grumble and roll over.

That makes it the perfect time. He reaches out for the edge of the mattress, fingers curling around it, and uses the leverage to slide himself sideways on the bed without sitting up. Gently, he slips free of her weight. One of her hands flexes, reaching for him, and she lets out a tiny groan, which stops him dead.

“I’ve got it,” he murmurs to her.

Half-asleep, she doesn’t wonder what it is that he’s supposedly got. It could be anything. But he’s taking care of it, so she doesn’t have to move, or care, or wake up and ask why he’s leaving her. He knows she usually doesn’t even remember these moments in the morning. When he draws the covers back over her, she smiles and sighs, eyes still closed.

He tiptoes over the plush carpet and out the door. He exhales his first full breath. Free for an hour or two, except for the cameras and the locks. And the collar, but that’s only a problem if she wakes up annoyed that he’s not there.

Feet angled along the edge of the floorboards, he pads his way down to the other end of the hall, where the kids’ rooms are secluded far enough that they won’t disturb their mother, but close enough that they can rouse their father, if they need him. He listens at Izzy’s door before knocking softly, knuckles barely brushing the painted wood underneath her Isabella sign.

There’s no answer, so he moves on to Jamie’s room. He doesn’t need to knock for Jamie, but he does anyway, another soft rapped pattern. He is not surprised when he hears a whispered voice inside, and moments later, the door opens to show his daughter.

“Hi, daddy,” she whispers.

She knows it’s him before she sees him, of course. That’s why he knocks, no matter what room she’s in. She doesn’t deserve the stress of being startled, even if it’s a happy surprise. He smiles at her anyway, and she carefully checks up the hall for Savvie’s bedroom door. Seeing it shut, her eyes light up, unguarded this early in the morning. The monster still sleeps in its cave.

“Hey, kiddo,” he says, stepping into the room. He looks for Jamie as his first instinct. He knows where Izzy is, closing the door quietly behind him, so he needs to account for his other top priority.

Jamie is half-sitting on an array of pillows, clearly arranged to help him stay mostly upright. One of his books is at his feet, and his pudgy fingers touch its open cardboard pages, exploring the textures of the creatures on the page. He does this with an obvious expression of total wonder. It’s one of Jax’s favourite things about raising this little boy: the world is endlessly fascinating to him.

Izzy knows the truth about the world, but still, she likes the occasional story. He scoops her into a quick hug. “You woke up early again?”

She gets put to bed so damn early it’s no surprise. Savvie wants mommy and daddy time, which is code for the shit Izzy absolutely does not get to see or hear about ever at all. Of course, mommy and daddy time cannot have their actual children present. Jax hasn’t yet pointed out the irony.

Izzy is already going back to Jamie, who has noticed Jax’s presence and is trying to drag himself off the bed. Jax isn’t sure why Savvie put a bed in here, next to the crib, but he’s glad she did. Even if he usually falls asleep in the armchair instead, Jamie in his arms.

Jax joins her, helping Jamie onto his lap, where he desperately wants to be. He lifts his baby boy up to his chest, so Jamie can throw his little arms around his daddy’s neck. Izzy tucks into his side.

“We was reading a story,” Izzy explains. “Jamie wanted to feel.”

Jax picks up the book, but Jamie isn’t about to let go for a minute. “A story for Jamie, huh? How about you go get one for yourself? I think he’s going to want to cuddle for a bit, no story.”

Izzy looks at her brother and nods. She gets down without another word, and a brief instinct clutches Jax, urging him to reach for her and make sure she doesn’t leave. He doesn’t let it show. She’ll be right back.

He watches, lips brushing Jamie’s hair, as she opens the door as little as possible and slips out. He has the sudden realisation that she learned it from him. The less you open the door, the less it creaks. He can’t hear her footsteps down the hall, or the door of her own bedroom open and close.

She’s back within moments, book in her hands. Jamie’s breathing has slowed, hot pools against his collarbone, and Jax tucks his arms back down where he can clutch shirt and not collar. He pats the space next to him, and Izzy comes back to his side.

If he shrinks the world just to this space on the bed, and makes everything else disappear, there’s a chance he could be at home. It would have to be Izzy’s bed, though. And he wouldn’t buy her a duvet cover like this. She’d want a unicorn or something. But if he ignores that too, just focuses on his two kids and the books on his lap, that’s enough.

He reads quietly, stopping here and there to point out the illustrations, or see if Izzy can work out the big letter at the start of each page. Jamie sleeps, stirs, gets his bottle, sleeps again. Izzy sits completely still, but pays perfect attention, giggling at the jokes he dredges out of his brain for her. If this morning could last forever, with Savvie always asleep, he could probably make a life out of it.

Stupid wish. She makes herself known before they’ve even finished the damn book, her door opening with a loud click and her footsteps thudding down the hall. “Jax?” she calls, even though she knows damn fucking well where he’ll be.

Izzy is already reaching out to take Jamie from him. He feels that tug again. The fear of leaving them both.

He screws it up in his stomach and lets Izzy take her brother. Her arms are safer than his right now. He kisses her on the forehead as his goodbye.

“Jax?” She demands his presence. He crosses the room in three steps and slides out of the door, closing it behind him promptly before she can look inside and remember her children exist, and can therefore be hurt.

“Morning, Miss Savvie.” He breathes out a smile. “I didn’t think you’d be awake so early.”

She gives him a pouty look, but her eyes are smarter than the rest of her face. “Why wouldn’t I?”

He takes another easy breath and course-corrects. “Well, it’s more like I’m disappointed. I was hoping to bring you breakfast in bed.”

He listens for Izzy and Jamie, behind him in the bedroom, behind the door he’s guarding. He can’t hear them. Jamie must not have woken at being passed off. Jax’s arms ache for the warm, soft weight in them.

Savvie smiles like she doesn’t quite believe him, but she chooses to. “Don’t worry, sweetie. Let’s go out for breakfast instead. I don’t want anything we have in the cupboards.”

It’s a punishment for going to see them, instead of staying with her. He’ll find a moment later, when it’s less obvious, to mention that Jamie was starting to cry. He’ll give her the excuse and mollify her, but he can’t do it now. She’ll deny it’s a punishment - how could it be? Isn’t it a treat? - and possibly notice the manipulation. He doesn’t want her to notice that he lies.

Even though she demands that he does, to her face, several times a day.

“That sounds great. How soon can Hannah be here?”

The assumption tries to place her under obligation, but she breezes past it. “Oh, they’ll be fine for a couple of hours, won’t they? Isabella knows how to take care of her brother. Come on, we need to pick your outfit.”

She loops her arm around his, and he doesn’t resist as she effortlessly drags him away.

He doesn’t see his kids for the rest of the day.

Jax wakes up without moving. Moving isn’t safe. He breathes in slowly, slow enough that if she’s already awake, he’ll still sound like he’s asleep. He listens for her. She’s draped over his chest, arm around him, hair carpeting him from shoulder to chin. Strands tickle at his throat.

She’s asleep. He can feel her chest rising and falling. He opens his eyes.

Early morning again, that’s good. No, actually… He probably shouldn’t get up again today. She’ll hold it against him if she notices a pattern. He stays where he is, at least for a few seconds. Then he just has to get her hair out of his face. He strokes it instead of shoving it, though, and she breathes out deeply as he does, comforted.

He swallows painfully, thinking of Izzy with that same hair. Fuck it. He has to see them, whether Monster Mommy likes it or not. He reaches for the edge of the bed, grabs it, and pulls himself free. He imagines her making a sucker-popping noise as he comes loose, like an octopus.

He gets his feet to the floor, and then he’s running free, long tiptoed steps out of the door and down the hall. He knocks at Izzy’s door, gets no answer, knocks at Jamie’s.

The first blink of deja vu happens when she opens it. Something about the sound. Something about the exact arrangement of her oversized curls. He looks past her, and there’s Jamie–

“Hi, daddy,” she whispers.

–propped up on a throne of pillows, with the same book in his lap, his fingers touching the sheep’s wool.

No, Jax tells himself. Jamie likes the same book for days.

“Hey, kiddo,” he says. He steps into the room, and the relief is the same, to be out of the hall, out of sight of the door that could open at any time.

Jamie looks up, and this time, Jax sees his face drop into an expression of total shock before he starts crawling determinedly for the edge of the bed. Izzy hurries to stop him, and he lets out a short grunt of annoyance as she scoops him back onto the pillows. Jax sits down, and of course, his lap is colonised by the little terror Izzy cannot restrain.

“Been reading?” he asks. He can’t bring himself to say, again? Maybe he dreamt yesterday. Maybe it’s just a scene he’s seen before. This morning routine of his is hardly new.

“Mhmm,” Izzy confirms, picking up Jamie’s book and offering it to him without success. Jamie is gripping Jax’s shirt, trying to pull himself up, his little feet digging into Jax’s legs.

“You really like this one, huh, Jamie?” It’s the closest he dares to admitting his suspicion. Then he thinks of a better way. “But it looks like he’s only interested in cuddling right now. How about you go get a book for yourself, kiddo?”

“Okay, Daddy.”

Down she gets. Off she tiptoes. Slips out of the door and disappears.

Jax puts his hands around Jamie’s waist to help him stand properly. “Now then, you. What’s going on?”

Jamie stares back at him with befuddled brown eyes. Jax picks him up and hugs him close.

Izzy comes back in, and Jax smiles at her without needing to try. When he sees the book in her hands, he doesn’t flinch. The butterfly on the cover. The same one.

He pats the space next to him. At least he knows how to do this. She snuggles up and they read. He tries out the same jokes, the same letters for her to identify, and is rewarded with the same little giggles, the same tentative answers, and inevitably…

He hears the click of the door like a gunshot. He sets Jamie into Izzy’s ready arms.

She calls, “Jax?”

He’s already at the door. It hurts. He gets himself out of the room just as she’s calling his name again, and he meets her in front of Izzy’s door. “Morning, Miss Savvie.”

If this is the same as yesterday…

“I didn’t think you’d be awake so early.”

The pout. The calculating stare. “Why wouldn’t I?”

He takes a breath. Switches the script. “Well, the weather looks rubbish today. I thought you’d sleep in.”

“Oh, is it? I didn’t notice.” She tilts her head at him, her smile sparkling. “Rubbish, is it?”

He twists out a smile at her pantomime accent. He plays the game. “Aye, Miss Savvie.”

She laughs, looping her arm through his, turning to go back down the hall. “You’re so funny, Jax. Come on, let’s get breakfast. I want to try out that cafe–”

“We’re going out?”

“Yes,” she shakes his arm slightly, “and don’t interrupt, it’s rude.”

Fuck, fuck. “Do you want me to call for Hannah?”

“Don’t be silly. They’ll be fine for a couple of hours, won’t they?”

But it wasn’t. It won’t be. It was breakfast, coffee and pastries at the cafe, then the boutique next door, then a whole fucking shopping spree, lunch at a restaurant so fancy he thought he’d be asked to serve tables, then over to Isaac’s for dinner, and only then would she tell him to send someone to check on the kids, and she wouldn’t let Jax see them for the rest of the fucking day until he persuaded her to let him at least tuck them in so they’d sleep properly and not disturb their fucking mommy and daddy time.

The helpless lump in his throat gets swallowed down, where it burns and burns. “A couple of hours, yeah. I guess so.”

“You worry too much. Isabella’s old enough to take care of her brother.”

Maybe if he’s good enough at breakfast, she’ll give up on her revenge. He takes another breath.

“You’re right. Let’s go uh, pick my outfit?”

She giggles delightedly. She drags him away.

Jax wakes up without moving. He opens his eyes. Savvie’s arm presses down on his chest, her hair nearly in his mouth, and her breathing deep and slow.

He closes his eyes again. He’s sick of this dream. He’s sick of this everything.

He wakes up to her fingers tracing his eye socket. He blinks awake, flinching from the nail that’s right in front of his eyeball. She’s probably just being affectionate, he realises a second later, but a second is too long.

“Oh,” he says quickly. “Oh, Miss Savvie.” He breathes sharply, too fast. “I was having a bad dream, thank you for waking m-me.”

Her head tips to the side. She pretends she isn’t doing it to shake out her hair. She thinks it makes her look good. “Of course, sweetie,” she purrs. “You were frowning in your sleep. I just had to smooth away those wrinkles.”

He gives her a soft, dreamy smile. “You knew.”

It’s bullshit. She likes it when he’s scared, she wouldn’t wake him. But she just smiles more widely back. “Of course,” she repeats. She snuggles down, and he puts his arms around her how he’s meant to. “You must be stressed.”

For once, she’s not fucking wrong. Then again, that’s pretty much always true. “Yeah, a little.”

“Hmm.” She sits up, gasping as if she’s just had an idea. “Ooh, I know! Let’s go out today. We can get away from everything for a bit, have some time together, just us.”

His heart cracks. She’s not just talking about breakfast. Even though he didn’t get up, even though he’s right here where she wants him, and he’s being perfect, she still wants to take him away from the kids.

“That sounds lovely, Miss Savvie,” he says, each word tasting like chalk. The word lovely never used to be in his goddamn vocabulary. “You were telling me about that new cafe…”

She looks taken aback for a moment, and then she beams. “Oh, honey, you do know me so well. Let’s do it.”

He straightens, looking to the wardrobe. “Should I wear the new jumper, the cashmere one?”

It’s what he’s been wearing the last two days. But it seems, because he’s suggested it, it goes off the table. “Mm, not yet. Wait…”

As he watches, she gets that scheming look in her eyet.

“Yes, wear that. With the ivory slacks. You’ll look smart.”

Smart enough for dinner at her uncle’s, he guesses. She’s already got the whole day mapped out before she’s said a word to him. He’ll be sitting opposite Brayden getting his toes stamped on by the end of the day.

It’s pointless, but he asks. “Will you send someone to be with the kids, when they wake up?”

“Oh, they’ll be fine. Isabella’s old enough to take care of her brother.”

“If we’re going out for the day, though, Miss Savvie… We can’t risk a hospital trip.”

She sighs. “See, look how stressed you are! Maybe we should go away for longer.”

He hates her. God, he wants to smack her stupid smile off. “Maybe. We can see how I feel after today?”

“Mm.” She stretches. She casts a look his way, under her eyelashes. “Alright. If you’re still grumpy tomorrow.”

He has a feeling it won’t fucking matter, either way.

Jax wakes up without moving.

He sits up, gently placing her arm down by his side. He takes the pillow out from underneath his shoulder. He shifts a knee over her.

Doesn’t fucking matter either way, does it?

He puts the pillow over her face.

He’s going to have a nice, peaceful day with his kids.

He’s lost count.

“Can you go get a book for yourself, kiddo? I’m going to take Jamie down and make Mommy breakfast, and then I’ll be right back.”

She slips down off the bed. He holds Jamie close, and swallows the same old fear. She’ll come back. He knows that, now. She’ll come back with the butterfly book, and they’ll read it together. She’ll laugh when he points out the cross eyes on the little girl in that one picture. She’ll get O and D mixed up when he asks her to tell him which letter is on page six. Jamie will cling to his shirt.

They’ll have a nice morning together, if he can keep Savvie placated.

It’s the same as yesterday, as every day, as his whole fucking life before and after this…whatever this is.

Purgatory, probably.

They sit on either side of the little round table in the window of her new favourite cafe, sharing two pastries. He managed to get the coffee plain and black this time around, but he still imagines he can taste the fucking gingerbread syrup from every other cup he’s had.

“What’s wrong with you today?” she asks. It’s blunter than usual. She must be upset he’s not making this the romantic getaway of her dreams.

His hand curls around the mug. It’s so hard to keep looking forwards, when it’s the same as looking backwards.

She sets her hand down on the table, demanding he put his into hers. “Sweetie?”

The mug burns his skin. He imagines throwing it in her face. But no, it’s too early in the day. She’d have time to make the kids hurt. He’ll wait.

“We should go on a trip,” he tells her. “Just us two. It’s been a while.”

“Oh, that’s a brilliant idea!” She is instantly distracted. Too delighted to even be suspicious. “Where should we go? No, I know where…”

Later, he tells his aching hand. Closer to midnight. When nothing fucking matters.

He puts a finger over his lips. Izzy stares, wide-eyed, but nods slowly. She trusts him. No matter what. He kisses her forehead, and scoops Jamie out of his pillow kingdom.

They tiptoe downstairs, her little feet placed in his footsteps. He makes her a full English breakfast. By the time he sets the plate in front of her, he can hear Savvie’s footsteps down the hall.

He puts Jamie in his chair. He’ll have to cut up the hash browns and fried eggs for him afterwards.

The coffee cup is waiting on the side. He takes it upstairs. She’s calling.

He kisses her on the mouth before he hands her the drink. He watches her as she coos over his generosity. He watches her drop the mug after her first mouthful. Then she drops, too.

He’s done this too many times to care, anymore. He can keep the kids busy enough they won’t notice. He drags her back into the bedroom and shuts the door. He goes back downstairs to his children.

“Mommy’s not very well today,” he tells Izzy. He sits down next to Jamie to feed him quarters of button mushrooms. “She’s going to stay in bed all day. So we can do anything you want today.”

“Do we have to be very quiet?” she asks.

“Not at all. Mommy took some medication that makes her sleepy. We don’t need to worry.”

The light comes into her eyes. He’s never going to see a fucking sunrise again, but he can make do like this. “Okay, Daddy.”

Jamie bites down on his finger, and he laughs, until he cries.

It could be any day. It will be every day. He’ll never see Hannah again, not even if he lets Savvie drag him to the fucking Marcoset family dinner - which he does, sometimes, just for the variety, and to remember what Stewart looks like. He’ll never see his dad again, his mum or his sisters, and any of his friends. He’ll never go home and buy Izzy the unicorn duvet cover she deserves.

He’ll read every book in the house to them. He’ll watch every show on TV. He’ll teach Izzy the difference between O and D every single day. He’ll fry the eggs, grate the potatoes, chop the tomatoes, and put bleach in Savvie’s coffee, covered up by enough syrup to make her swallow it.

Every time. Parents would kill for this, he thinks. To spend every day with their kids, and never have to watch them grow up. Never having to watch them leave.

He figures out the passcode to her phone eventually. They’re sitting at the café at the table in the window, Izzy’s feet pressed gently against his legs just to feel him there on the other side of the table. She sips very carefully at her hot chocolate while Jamie gnaws on a flapjack, and Jax stares at his own face on the home screen of her newly opened phone.

He dials without thinking about it. Then he dials again, remembering the international code.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Dad.”

Izzy’s eyes go wide. She freezes in place, and he regrets his impulsivity. He tries to smile reassuringly at her.

“Jax?” his dad whispers. “Where are you?”

He probably should have planned this better. But he’ll get a do-over tomorrow. “I’m good, Dad. Uh, yeah, I’m out. I’m safe, I’m at this shelter. Cops are working on getting me home.” He pauses. What else would his dad want to hear? “And I’m not f… messed up, like before. I’m okay.”

“You’re coming home?”

“Yeah.” He reaches for Izzy’s hand, gently loosening it from the cup. “And, listen, Dad… I’ve got kids. Don’t – don’t ask the question you’re thinking. I’ve got a little girl called Izzy and a baby boy called Jamie, and they’re perfect. I’m happy, right now, alright? And I can’t wait for you to meet them.”

His throat nearly closes. Alfie will never get to meet them at this rate. But they can’t exactly get across the fucking ocean in a single day.

“Two kids,” Alfie repeats, stunned. “Your own kids?”

“Yeah. Gallagher kids. You know all about beans on toast, don’t you, kiddo?” He smiles at her. She’s starting to relax, slowly, at realising her mother isn’t going to appear and rain hell on them all for Jax daring to speak to his old family. “They’re mine and they’re coming with me wherever I go.”

“Well, of course…” Alfie’s voice is starting to ease from shock to wonder. “I, I don’t know what to say.”

“Tell me how mam’s doing. And Georgia and Poppy and the kids, and Casey, and everything.”

Jamie drops oats down his front, and Jax puts the phone down on speaker on the table so he can clear them up. He doesn’t let go of Izzy’s hand as Alfie starts to talk.

Jax wakes up already rolling out of bed. He feels like he can handle the pillow today. Sometimes, seeing her thrash for her life is too much, but recently it’s started to feel routine. She’s long since been dead, to him. This is just catching her up with reality.

He knows where the remote is. He knows how to disable the collar. He’s forgotten what the days were like when they were different, but this one, he knows perfectly.

The kids are awake. He gets them dressed, kissing each of them as he helps with buttons and babygros. He takes the car keys. He throws all the food he fancies into a bag and entrusts it to Izzy. They’re going for a picnic. Yes, Mommy said it was okay.

Maybe he’ll make it to the coast, this time.

Maybe he’ll take another stab at getting to Hannah.

Maybe he’ll just go to the field with the wildflowers. They both loved that one.

Or maybe he’ll think of something new.

#jax #whump #my fic #intimate whumper #parent whumpee #time loop #fucked-up comf #dad jax #murder #character death #drugging mention #izzy #savvie #jamie #he WILL find a way to see hannah again #despite appearances i feel like this is a reasonably happy piece for jax??

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pupstim · 8 months

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Genuinely think that BBH and drugs probably make Bad either fly into a demonic rage or do the opposite of whatever the drugs need him to do. Either that or it makes him blow up like a bomb destroying everything within a 20 block radius.

#qsmp #q!badboyhalo #drugging mention

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thanto-phobiaaa · 2 years

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Forced drugging is an underrated whump trope. It can be used in so many situations, like a Caretaker forcing Whumpee too take they're medication after they keep forgetting too, or a Whumper shoving angeldust or some other hallucinogen down a Whumpee's throat to see what kind of hallucinations they have, or even Whumper forcing addictive pain killers on Whumpee just so they can rip it away once Whumpee is addicted.

This is your sign to make more forced drugging content.

#whump ideas #whump #whumpblr #whump prompt #whump community #forced drugging #drugging mention #whump writing #maybe???

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quins-whump-stuff · 9 months

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Idea: whumpees used for more "realistic" storytelling.*at least partially created as a result of a weird dream I recently had*

CW: death, forced to kill, guilt, loss of autonomy, drugging, generally creepy whumper stuff

Instead of having animatronics on an amusement park ride, weak, half-starved people are strapped to motorized metal skeletons, forced to act through the same actions over and over and over again, all day, every day.

Maybe they have been chemically paralyzed/drugged, maybe they are just too weak, or maybe the metal is just too strong for them to resist.

Instead of being around a ride, maybe they are forcibly cast in a play, where any staged deaths are real, a new victim brought in for every performance. They couldn't run from the death facing them, and their killer, despite logically being blameless (after all, Whumper is the real killer here) starts to be eaten by the guilt of having to kill person after person with no choice, no ability to even close their eyes.

Whumper believes that they do this to make their stories more realistic, but whether that's the truth...

Maybe I've been reading too much "people turned into dolls" whump recently, but I had to share this idea.

#whump #whump ideas #emotional whump #doll whump #kinda. again its the people turned into dolls thing #forced to kill #death #cw death #guilt #loss of autonomy #controlled #drugging #drugging mention #noncon drugging #creepy whumper #dehumanizing #dehumanization

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mxcottonsocks · 2 years

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So... who drugged the sherry?

There are lots of Theories today, and I thought I'd share my own.

Long post, so I'll pop it under a cut, but in short my answer is: Dracula himself.

We'll need to step through the events in Lucy's memorandum step-by-step, but first, a couple of quick reminders about vampire powers:

This is from Jonathan's journal entry of 24 June:

I thought I would watch for the Count’s return, and for a long time sat doggedly at the window. Then I began to notice that there were some quaint little specks floating in the rays of the moonlight. They were like the tiniest grains of dust, and they whirled round and gathered in clusters in a nebulous sort of way.

[...] Louder [the howling of dogs] seemed to ring in my ears, and the floating motes of dust to take new shapes to the sound as they danced in the moonlight. I felt myself struggling to awake to some call of my instincts; [...] I was becoming hypnotised! Quicker and quicker danced the dust; the moonbeams seemed to quiver as they went by me into the mass of gloom beyond. More and more they gathered till they seemed to take dim phantom shapes. And then I started, broad awake and in full possession of my senses, and ran screaming from the place. The phantom shapes, which were becoming gradually materialised from the moonbeams, were those of the three ghostly women to whom I was doomed.

So, we know that vampires can change their form into 'specks' like dust which can float and whirl around (and hypnotise people). In order to materialise themselves again, the vampire dust has to gather together until it becomes their form.

Also, we know that from the Demeter segment and the storm in Whitby that Dracula can control the weather. This is from the Dailygraph Correspondent's article of 8 August:

The rays of the searchlight were kept fixed on the harbour mouth across the East Pier, where the shock was expected, and men waited breathless. The wind suddenly shifted to the north-east, and the remnant of the sea-fog melted in the blast; and then, mirabile dictu, between the piers, leaping from wave to wave as it rushed at headlong speed, swept the strange schooner before the blast, with all sail set, and gained the safety of the harbour.

'Mirable dictu' apparently means 'wonderful to relate'. The harbour mouth is elsewhere described as 'narrow' (and it also looks very narrow on a map and photos). So this wind suddenly coming from the exact right direction to get the boat into the harbour is, in my opinion, certainly Dracula's doing. Not only can he control the general weather, he can control individual gusts of wind.

With those two points (vampire dust swirls and wind-control powers) in mind, let's take a look at Lucy's memorandum of 17 September. I'll start from the wolf crashing through the window:

The wolf's head crashes through the window

Mrs Westenra dies of shock, pulling off Lucy's garlic is the process, and falls on top of Lucy.

Then:

I kept my eyes fixed on the window, but the wolf drew his head back, and a whole myriad of little specks seemed to come blowing in through the broken window, and wheeling and circling round like the pillar of dust that travellers describe when there is a simoon in the desert. I tried to stir, but there was some spell upon me, and dear mother’s poor body, which seemed to grow cold already—for her dear heart had ceased to beat—weighed me down; and I remembered no more for a while.

Lucy is unconscious for a while

She awakes to various sounds, including the sound of the maids outside her bedroom door, so she calls them in, and they freak out about Mrs Westenra's corpse

Then:

The wind rushed in through the broken window, and the door slammed to.

The maids move Mrs Westenra's body from on top of Lucy

Lucy directs them "to go to the dining-room and have each a glass of wine."

Then:

The door flew open for an instant and closed again. The maids shrieked, and then went in a body to the dining-room;

Lucy, who is hoping the maids will sit up with her, waits for them to come back.

When they do not, she goes in search of them. She finds that the sherry (a type of wine) has been drugged with her mother's medicine (laudanum, which is apparently very effective at inducing sleep), and the maids are unconscious.

Lucy goes back to her room with her mother's body, and makes her memorandum. The last paragraph of this begins:

The air seems full of specks, floating and circling in the draught from the window, and the lights burn blue and dim.

So from all this my conclusions are:

Dracula is the dust, which is noted in Lucy's room twice: directly after the wolf removes the window, and also right at the end of her memorandum

Dracula's using the wind to open and close the doors when he's in dust form

Dracula can therefore move around the house once he's in it

It's Dracula that drugs the wine

I'm a little unsure if a) the first slam of the door is essentially Dracula having a tantrum about being interrupted by the maids, then he hears Lucy tell them to go to the dining room, so he uses the wind to slam the door open and closed and goes down to the dining room very very quickly in order to get there, resume human form, poison the wine, and turn back to dust before the maids get there (then he gets back into Lucy's room when she's going in or out), or b) the first slam is Dracula leaving the room, he guesses that the maids will want to drink wine and goes to drug it while they are sorting out Mrs Westenra's body, and the door opening and closing by itself is him re-entering the room...

But either way, yeah, my theory is that it's Dracula himself who poisoned the wine.

#i just don't see why the door would open and close on its own otherwise #count dracula #lucy westenra #mrs westenra #dracula #dracula daily #17 september #24 june #08 august #corpse mention #drugging mention #death mention #liveblogging dracula daily #liveblog

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