#controls paralysis

[mistresskayla-blog1]

Considering Chimera

Lyn's Writing Event Day 4

May 4th : Week 1: Chimera   18+

In Chimera legend, “an illusion of the mind; especially an unrealized dream”

Characters: Dr Scott White x OC Jennifer Turner

Fandom: Richard Armitage – Sleepwalker

Warnings: disabled person, angst, paralysis, mind control, somatization, dream control, stalking.

Word count: 1.5k (part 1)

It started one day, Scott was crashing hard after work in the morning and sleeping so hard he woke up disoriented and sweaty. He didn’t normally lose his control over his own mind, but the women in his dreams was getting stronger. He used to just see flashes in his dreams, a blonde smiling, a touch of her hand on his arm, a fantastical story that his mind followed like a movie you couldn’t look away from. But each night, it was more and more, and he had no idea who this woman was. Her face was etched in his mind, and he could draw her if he had that talent.

Scott sat up in bed midday and wiped his face with his hand, slow, the stubble of his beard growing out and soft. He looked at his watch, “2 pm, ok. Well maybe I’ll go for a run or something”, he said to the room, chuckling, “I wonder if I have seen this woman out and I just never put two and two together,” he got up and started the shower, letting the heat of the water revive his sensations and wake up to the present moment. Scott dried off, and got dressed, putting on his running shoes and setting a playlist for a run. He left his apartment, and started jogging almost immediately, heading for the hills about a mile away. If he sweat enough, Scott thought, ‘Maybe I can sweat this woman out of my mind’.

---

              You had seen him one day out on the trail and were enthralled by his height, build and endurance. You made a wish to yourself that you would find a way to get to him. But how, do you get someone you cannot meet to speak to you?  You were stuck in this wheelchair, watching the beautiful landscape outside. Wanting to be free, wanting to be healed, but knowing there was nothing you could do about your fate. Mark had made his claim to you with his attack, and you were a “saint” everyone said to pull through and heal as much as you had. But you were still paralyzed, and that isn’t something you can wake up from. So you chose to spend a lot of time, voraciously reading, and fantasizing, and writing and finding out how the mind can heal the body, and how the mind can maybe talk to other minds? It sounded crazy right? But maybe you were just clever and focused enough to do it. Maybe we really could create illusions and create worlds in other’s minds, just as easily as we could our own. Isn’t that what movies do for us, give us that stimuli of an accepted human experience?

              Jennifer put her journal down and sipped some water from her seating area. Her apartment overlooked the park, and she got to see all the runners’ jog by her several times a day. Today was a particularly breezy and warm Californian afternoon and her aid, Nancy had opened her windows so the spring breeze and blossom filled scent just filled her space with promise. Jenn missed running, she missed the feel of the wind on her skin, the sweat and high that came from pushing that extra half mile or so. She had made it through several marathons, but it only took one asshole one day to destroy her life.

---

              Jennifer saw him again, huffing and puffing around the bend in the trail, sweat seeping through his t-shirt, his legs long as he took giant strides, his feet hitting the pavement in that rhythmic way. She closed her eyes and focused, smiling as she saw his face in her mind’s eye. Scott felt a tingle in his temple and shook it off, toppling over a hedge and crashing into a flower bed. A woman walking a dog, stopped to check on him, and Jennifer opened her eyes to see him collect himself off the ground embarrassed. He looked up towards Jennifer’s building and Jennifer scooted her seat closer to the window, looking down, “Please see me please see me,” She said out loud. Scott caught his breath and rubbed his sweaty brow with his even sweatier arm.  The sun was still cresting and mirroring the glass fronted building across from the park, but he still felt a sensation to look up. He squinted, and when a cloud came to block the sun a moment, he saw two flashing eyes looking down at him from the, “2, 3, 4, 5” Scott counted out loud, “5th floor,” he looked back down to the door manned building and crossed the street to it.

Jennifer’s eyes grew wide, “Oh shit!” she blurted. Nancy came in from the kitchen, “DO you need something, love?” Nancy’s Irish lilt always snapped Jennifer back from her revelry. Jennifer turned to her, “Hey, actually I may have a visitor soon, could you, um.. help me get back to living room?” Nancy smiled, “Of course, let’s get your chair”. Nancy went towards the wheelchair in the corner, and placed the lift assist board under Jennifer’s butt, carefully transferring her to the chair. Jennifer placed her arms around Nancy’s neck for help, Jennifer still had her upper body support, but her legs were now for show. Her team said, she may recover some more, over time, but she had to do her exercises. She had to follow through and want to heal, and until she met, well, until she saw her running man, she didn’t have a reason to.

---

              Scott approached a burly looking man in a red uniformed suit at the building marked with a large metallic 724 above the overhang entranceway. The doorman was posted and smiled at him warmly. “Hello sir, how can I assist you?”  Scott paused, “Hey, I was wondering if I could see the woman on the 5th floor please?” The doorman looked at him, “Do you have a name, Sir?” Scott blew out a breath, “No, not exactly. Sorry” chuckles. “Well I can’t just let you in,” the doorman’s phone buzzed, “excuse me, a second,” Scott was wiping his face off again, with his short sleeve and whipping the sweat out of his hair, “Of course, sure”. The doorman returned, “She will see you now, its 514, Ms. Turner”. Scott blazed a smile again, “Thanks”, the doorman cleared his throat, “You might take care, she is a very sweet girl, and if I were you I would come back after you’ve cleaned yourself up”. Scott paused, looking at him seriously, then looking down at himself. Scott turned on his heel and left the building, “You know what, your right, thank you. What was your name?” “Burt, sir. Glad I could help”.  He nodded. Scott nodded back in respect and crossed the street again heading back for his apartment.

Jennifer was nervous, if she could pace she would, so instead she wore a hole in the floor with her eyes, and wrung her hands on a rag, like those dames used to do during the war. “Where is he, Burt would have let him up by now,” She called back down to Burt, “Burt? Did you send him up?” Burt cleared his throat, “Ms. Turner, I told him to come back more presentable, and he agreed”. Jennifer rolled her eyes, and tried to sound appreciative, “That’s very sweet of you, Burt, you didn’t have to do that. I just wanted to speak with him is all”.  Burt, paused, “Ms. Turner, I just want you to know that it is my job to maintain the safety of all the residents here”.

Jennifer cut in, “I know, but I don’t think he is a threat”.  “We do not know that yet Ms. Turner, I just think it doesn’t hurt to wait it out”. Jennifer sighed, “Well I certainly have time, don’t I, Burt”. Burt grimaced audibly, “I’m sorry Ms. Turner I did not mean anything by it, I’m sorry”. Jennifer’s heart smoothed, “Thank you Burt for looking after me, I appreciate it”. “Of course” Burt said and then hung up. Nancy looked at Jennifer inquisitive, “He’s not coming up then?” She shook her head, “That Burt is a good soul though, really looks after you” Jennifer shook her head, “He’s just a sweet old man, there’s nothing to worry about”. Nancy chuckled, “Well he doesn’t turn his head for me, fray and I talk him up an awful lot when I go out”. Jennifer giggled, “You have a thing for Burt, do you?” Nancy smiled, “Oh my yes, he’s so plump and sweet, I could eat him up, but I won’t” She giggled too. Nancy went back to her duties, and Jennifer rolled herself back to the window. She knew she wouldn’t see him, but now that he knew where she lived, it was only a matter of time before he came back to her.

(more to come… stay tuned)

@legolasbadass @fizzyxcustard @middleearthpixie @linasofia @riepu10 @scariusaquarius @lathalea

#Lyn's writing Event

[scratchandplaster]

What Remains

CW: referenced murder, ghosts, supernatural Whumpee, Whumper-turned-Whumpee

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Whumper lies awake for another night. The cobalt-blue specter at the foot of his bed guards any sleep, a silent whine is their constant escort. Through the moonlight, every lash and stab wound glows visible on their defiled shape: translucent, floating above the carpet floor.

"My body," the living dead whispers with a hollow tone.

When they speak, nothing but these words leave them. For weeks now, even after Whumper thought he got rid of them, the haunting cold they bring with leaves him restless, unable to close his eyes for even a second. As a single tear slips down onto the pillow, the sunken-in stare rests on Whumper's helpless body.

This would be a waking night, like they all had been; it didn't matter in which room or which house he might have tried to flee to, ever since Whumper squeezed the last breath out of the cursed guest, they decided to pay a visit until sunrise.

"My body."

It had been a mistake to take them in, there were plenty of folk that would have made fitting additions to his collection. Unmoving, Whumper prays to a nameless force to end this, to let him rest.

But they can't be reasoned with, their request will never be fulfilled. Even before the first haunting, it had been too late; the object of desire was thrown in the bog, like Whumper did to all of his guests. 

So he just withers away also, alive but fading into nothingness.

"My body!" the phantom howls desperately, as if they can read the thoughts of their torturer like a book.

What else could they be offered? What satiates a trapped soul? Desperation catches on, and Whumper finally joins their hopeless whining.

"I'll do anything," he mutters, still frozen in endless horror, "just let me be. What can I give to you?"

A long silence settles between them but apart from the electric purr around, only a sudden hint breaks it:

"A body."

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Thanks for reading 🤍 [Masterpost]

[nebucat]

spending a couple weeks away from home and away from my toxic parent in a loving and comfortable environment at my partner's home has been an interesting and eye opening experience.

[skarlette1]

An Intimate Dinner

It promised to be a long night. “I’m so glad you agreed to meet me for a private dinner, Ms. Payes,” said Vanessa Vayne as she watched the billionaire head of Payestech chew a forkful of tender shallots. “How could I refuse a ten million dollar donation to the Payestech Charitable Foundation? And please, call me ‘Penelope.’“ the genius, philanthropist, bon vivant replied, taking another bite of…

[travalistocata]

one of the small things i love about babylon 5 is the high population of pretty women who act like lunatics, which as a gay man simply activates my Diva Worship gene and makes me unable to criticize a single one of them

[fairymint]

the fucking trollish urge that I have to send one of those 'sex starter gif' things, you click to it, and the website says oopsie!~<33 404 this page went missing woopsie byebye!

[eggsistential-basket]

how it feels getting trapped in a sleep paralysis/false awakening loop for 40 minutes while trying to take a nap right before having to make a phone call

[atlantic-grave]

Late night daydreaming created the duality of THK.

Angry floofen shit and anxious nightmare creature

Since my handwriting is funky here's the text

For Hollow!

Emotionally constipated and ANGRY

Feathers

Round face (+ Expressive!)

Short

Robust + Thicc

Skeletal tail

For Silvas!

Tired + Reclusive

Big aah head (NOT expressive)

Scrawny Vulture

(Torn) Wings

Tol

Bug Butt

[sun-marie]

pioneers of olive town has consumed me i fear

[twinsfawn]

𖤐

[mallo-person]

God damn, being practically paralyzed when waking up from a dream for what feels like forever is just not it man...

[daeley]

[therewithinthestars]

shout out to levi to still somehow being my comfort character that i remember in the middle of nasty sleep paralysis attacks despite not being in aot fandom for years (the only comfort character i can remember in those moments btw)

[ultimate-snek]

I’ve got some bad news for the Miguel O’Hara fans.

[bardkin]

not me doing more plural research & coming across the term 'thoughtbleed' before it feels like a chorus of screaming wasps go off in my brain at the realization of "Huh, that sounds a lot like what I experience."

"Oh." 😳

[just-a-silly-little-whumper]

Whumptober Day 16: Mind Control | Paralytic Drugs

Masterpost | Read on Ao3

This one demanded to be told from Lord Denholm’s perspective and yet he fought me every step of the way. Oh well. I think the result was well worth the struggle of writing it.

Sometimes Lord Denholm likes to take some time to indulge himself.

Contains: Intimate whump, vampire whumper, bloodbag whumpee, noncon kissing, noncon touching, referenced past noncon, fade-to-black noncon, drugging, mind control, mental link between whumper and whumpee, manipulation, gilded cage

~~~

He had Wallace bring them lunch in his study.

That wasn’t unusual; Soren had quite a collection of tomes, and they often worked through the day, trying to make progress in sorting through what was worthwhile and what was useless. Elze’ith, with his knowledge of healing and holy magics, was quite helpful in that regard, able to catch things Soren would have missed due to his lack of experience in those areas. 

But it also gave Soren the opportunity to slip things to his companion and watch the effects play out in a more comfortable setting. Like today; Wallace had been told to mask a potion in Elze’ith’s soup, under notes of clove and pepper. It would interrupt their research, but that was fine. He did so like to indulge from time to time.

Elze’ith, bright as he was, had caught on to Soren’s trick; flickers of suspicion sparked in his mind with everything Wallace brought up, despite the rarity that it would actually do anything to him. Today was no different, and Soren sensed his apprehension even as he picked up his utensils. The slight prickle of fear and uncertainty was delectable, as was the helplessness, as Elze’ith knew he couldn’t refuse the meal without being punished for denying Soren’s generosity, and going hungry besides. 

The bowl was halfway empty when a spike of alarm shot through the mental connection Soren maintained with the object of his captivation. He pretended not to notice as Elze’ith struggled to maintain his grip on his spoon and continue eating. After about another minute of effort, the spoon clattered noisily into the bowl and Elze’ith’s arm fell limply by his side. Soren smiled as Elze’ith tried and failed to flex his fingers, only managing a slight twitch before they went fully still.

“Lor’ D’nholm?” Elze’ith’s words slurred through a mouth that didn’t want to move. His heart was beating rabbit-quick in his chest, audible to Soren’s keen hearing. “Wha��� I feel—”

Soren gently closed the tome he had open. Yes, they were done with reading for the day. “No need to fret, my light. I’ll put the books away, and send for Wallace to collect the remnants of our meal.”

Elze’ith gave a small groan but otherwise didn’t audibly respond as Soren cleared the table. His panic had curdled into dread, and Soren basked in it. The anticipation and vulnerability were intoxicating, especially coming from a man as brilliant and capable as his light.

How he delighted in slowly, painstakingly snuffing that light out so he could spark something new in its place.

When he returned to Elze’ith’s side, the man was lilting slightly, face slack and eyes half-lidded. His breaths were shallow, and his heart hadn’t eased its rapid pace. The potion had taken full effect, and wouldn’t wear off for quite some time. He settled on the couch, ready for an indulgent afternoon.

With a smile Soren took one of Elze’ith’s hands, marveling at the softness of his skin. A thin half-sound squeezed from Elze’ith’s throat as Soren pressed his thumb into Elze’ith’s palm and rubbed outwards, slowly spreading his fingers out one by one. The digits folded back into place immediately, unable to hold a splayed position with the paralytic in Elze’ith’s system, but there was joy in the sheer act of manipulating them, seeing how they stretched and bent. 

Revulsion seeped through their mental connection as Soren closed his hand around Elze’ith’s and lowered it into his lap, but the emotion was distant. Pride swelled within him at the assurance that Elze’ith was growing more and more accustomed to his affections. Eventually he would give and receive touch freely. He might almost regret that day’s arrival; there was something gratifying about the chase, about getting what he desired despite Elze’ith’s reticence. But compliance could be just as rewarding.

Using his free hand, he tilted Elze’ith’s chin towards his own. Hazy, fear-filled green eyes blinked up at him. Elze’ith’s lips were slightly parted, and Soren could not resist the urge to lean in and steal a kiss. Of course, Elze’ith did not reciprocate, but that only meant that Soren had free reign to bite and toy with Elze’ith’s lower lip, to push into his mouth and lay claim to the space there.

Mine, he purred across their mental bond, drowning out Elze’ith’s distress. All mine.

Soren didn’t need to breathe, but Elze’ith did, so he pulled back after a little while, admiring the look of Elze’ith’s pupils blown wide and the reedy sound of his breaths as his body didn’t let him gasp. Beautiful, his light was simply beautiful. He always was when he struggled. It always drove Soren to push farther, if only to see how Elze’ith would look painted with new strife.

“I wonder,” he mused aloud, letting Elze’ith’s chin go. His head lolled forward, unsupported. “You’ve always taken direction quite well, my light. You’ve pushed beyond your limits under my guidance. But this potion is also quite strong. I brewed it myself, after all.” He trailed his fingers fondly down Elze’ith’s cheek. Elze’ith didn’t tense or flinch away. With a smile Soren focused his power across the magic that connected the two of them. “Raise your head and look at me.”

It was a simple command, and thus it took root easily. Elze’ith had followed similar commands in the past instantaneously, but not so now. A strangled noise of torment escaped Elze’ith’s lips as his neck and shoulders trembled. After several moments his head slowly started to rise, until Elze’ith was looking up at Soren from under his eyelashes.

A heady feeling of power pooled in Soren’s core. “Excellent,” he murmured, bringing his hand up to cup Elze’ith’s cheek. He released the command, and Elze’ith immediately went limp into his grasp. “Now, when I kiss you, you’re going to respond.”

Command in place, he leaned in once again. He was slower, less aggressive, so that Elze’ith could match him even through the paralysis. And Elze’ith did kiss back, even if it was faltering and unsteady. The quality of the kiss didn’t matter; this was about more than that.

This time, when Elze’ith’s detestation swept across their link, it was stronger, more immediate. With all of the care of a gardener trimming a rose bush Soren stripped the hard edges of the emotion away until only a vague sense of shame remained. Shame he could work with, but anything with teeth wouldn’t do.

He smiled against Elze’ith’s mouth before he pulled away. Elze’ith let out a low whine, trembling against Soren’s hand. Soren tilted his head, contemplative. “Interesting, how you can still make noise on your own even when you need my help to move. Speak for me, my light.”

For a moment Elze’ith only let out a soft groan. Then his mouth moved, ever so slightly. “M’lor— Ple-ase—”

“There we go, that’s it. You’re doing wonderfully, my light.” Elze’ith’s mouth remained open after the command left him; Soren idly wondered if he would drool. Oh, the things he wanted to do to that mouth.

He squeezed Elze’ith’s hand before letting it go and moving to touch Elze’ith’s chest. The silk shirt he had gotten tailored for Elze’ith was of the highest quality, and showed off his form nicely. He pressed the fabric into Elze’ith’s skin, tracing a pattern with his finger. Those beautiful green eyes of Elze’ith’s were still wide with fear, and Soren let the emotion sing across their bond as he moved to pull Elze’ith’s collar aside. 

“What do you taste like right now, my light?” he pondered. The hand grasping Elze’ith’s cheek took on a slightly more firm grip as he tilted Elze’ith’s head to the side. Elze’ith’s breathing picked up, but Soren paid him no heed as he leaned in and sunk his fangs into Elze’ith’s neck.

The magic in Elze’ith’s blood was strong, and Soren sighed as the familiar taste of powerful, refreshing life force blossomed onto his tongue. It was obfuscated somewhat by the bitter numbness of the potion working its way through Elze’ith’s system, and Soren knew he couldn’t take too much or risk hurting Elze’ith or drugging himself. But the experience itself was not unpleasant, and he took his time in drinking as much as he thought the both of them could tolerate.

Elze’ith was less pleased, and distress rang across their mental link. Soren took a moment to shift through Elze’ith’s mind before plucking out the memory of feeding on him at a peak of pleasure. He forced the memory to the forefront of Elze’ith’s mind, and reveled in how it scrambled his emotions and drew a keening sound from his throat. The more Elze’ith associated feedings with pleasure, the more he would come to crave them just as much as Soren did.

Eventually, he pulled back, licking his lips. The wound continued to ooze blood. When he looked at Elze’ith’s face, there was indeed a small bead of drool hanging from the corner of his mouth. Soren smiled and thumbed it away, then pressed another kiss to Elze’ith’s parted lips. It was quick, but the sight of Elze’ith’s mouth imprinted with his own blood made him never want to see Elze’ith any other way.

But he had a good sense of how far he could push his companion, and he could tell that Elze’ith was rapidly approaching his limit. A shame; he was having so much fun. Elze’ith could go a little farther, though, and he had the perfect idea.

In a smooth motion he swept Elze’ith up into his arms and rose to his feet. Elze’ith blinked up at him hazily. A drop of blood splattered onto the carpet.

“The potion’s effects won’t fade for another several hours,” he said lightly. “Let me take you back to your chambers, my light. I can ensure you have a perfectly enjoyable time in the meanwhile.”

He had wanted to indulge, after all. And Elze’ith was going to give him just what he wanted.