#cw bruise mention

[highwaywhump]

Surgery, part 2

This is a series! Masterlist is here and the first part of the surgery arc is here

so i lied, i rewrote the second part and the whole thing is now closer to 4.5k. enjoy

TW/CW: former pet whumpee/extremely conditioned and dehumanized whumpee having a panic attack, being forcibly 'restrained' (by caretaker!) during said attack, and forcibly drugged with a needle/syringe. brief scar mention, blood mention, very brief description of a cut. discussion of professional misconduct i guess.

--

Aaron stops dead in his tracks in the doorway. At first, he can’t even see Joey - all he sees is Becca, the red-haired nurse who had helped them get Joey’s x-rays, handpicked by Dr. Perez. She’s clutching her arm, blood trickling out between her fingers. Next to her are two more nurses, both tall, broad men, unknown to Aaron. He can’t see Joey at first, all he can see are the three people, two too many, the red blood staining Becca’s scrubs, and a puddle of water and broken glass on the floor. 

And all he can hear is Joey’s desperate sobs and Becca’s voice, trying to communicate something to the two other nurses, who are focused on something behind the bed. 

Aaron doesn’t think, he just acts. In three steps he’s in front of the two nurses, blocking their path, and finally, there’s Joey. He’s all curled up and has tucked himself into the corner formed by the bed and the wall, his skinny arms wrapped around his head, his whole form shaking as he incoherently begs and pleads. Something about being good and behaving and please don’t drug him. 

“We’ve got it,” one of the male nurses says and attempts to move past Aaron, but he holds up a hand, blocking them. “No,” he says with determination, knowing that a pair of huge and institutionally dressed men is the least thing Joey needs right now. 

“No, I’ll take care of him. Help your colleague in the meantime,” he says, if only to stop the two of them closing in like predators. They’ve stances like rugby players, slightly bent at the knees and with their arms out to the side, ready to pounce. Even Aaron, who is perfectly healthy and capable of rational cognition right now, is a little intimidated by them. 

“He should be sedated,” one of them says. “We need to administer pre-op medications,” the other chimes in, pointing to an IV bag laying on the bed, and the pieces fall into place in Aaron’s head. The broken glass of water, Becca who was supposed to be the one administering the medications but who now was bleeding from what looks like a gash in her arm, one of the male nurses who’d dashed past him in the hallway. 

He could see it all playing out. Becca coming in with the IV bag, maybe saying something about medication, reaching for Joey’s arm with the needle in her hand. Joey, still holding his glass of water, already worked up and on edge, losing it at the sight of the needle. Defending himself, in his own hazy, red rimmed eyes. 

And now, having worked himself up, not thinking rationally. Not thinking at all. Panicking because he had defied orders, or hurt someone, or broken a glass. It wasn’t good to say.

“I’ll-” Aaron pauses and breathes out, taking a step backwards from the nurses, towards Joey. “I’ll calm him down, okay? He needs someone he knows. Not…” he doesn’t finish his sentence, only moves his gaze between the two men. 

They seem reluctant. They probably have a responsibility here, handling patients who act out. Only, Joey isn’t acting out. He is just scared, and a pet, and Aaron isn’t sure how much the men know about the situation. Or what they’re even thinking, taking all of Joey’s scars into consideration. It’s as if they’re peaking out everywhere now that he only wears the patient gown. 

“He really needs sedation, for his own safety,” one nurse states. Aaron discerns the unspoken for our safety in his voice. 

For a moment, he considers arguing. He doesn’t want to force anything on Joey that isn’t strictly necessary. Aaron is his advocate and breaching his trust like that while he’s in this state, forcing him to take a needle he clearly doesn’t want, would be traitorous. 

Then again… he weighs the other outcome. Whatever these two nurses think is going on, he can’t let it extend past the patient is unwilling to comply, into the patient isn’t supposed to be here, patient is a pet, patient needs police pick-up. As well as the fact that he could never make Joey come back here after today, even if he managed to reschedule the surgery. It would be like taking a victim back to a crime scene, making them relive the trauma all over again. 

Maybe sedation is for the best. 

“Let me hold him, at least,” Aaron tries. “He can’t handle… this, right now. Give us a minute. I’ll help you.”

They hesitate, but back off, one of them turning to help Becca while the other stands by, looking warily at Joey. Still, he keeps his distance. Aaron exhales and turns around, crouching down in front of Joey. In front of his ward, his responsibility. Christ, everything here is his responsibility. Becca’s injury, too. Does this clinic have a pediatric program or some other heartwrenching project? He’ll donate. 

“Joey?” he ventures, not sure if he can even hear him over his own cries. Okay. Deep breath. 

“Joey, it’s me. Hey, little one.” He goes from crouch to kneel when his knees start protesting, moving as close to the boy as he can. Gently, he reaches out and touches Joey’s shoulder. He flinches violently and his sobs intensify. “Please don’t, please, please, I’ll be good, I’ll be still, please,” he whimpers, over and over again. Aaron hopes the nurses can’t make out the words.

He’s all curled up, tucked into himself as best as he can, trying to disappear. All the while, he’s sobbing and begging desperately, completely gone in his own head. Aaron realizes he can’t talk him down from this quickly enough tonight. They’re on a schedule, and the nurses are growing uneasy. 

He’ll just have to take the plunge. 

“It’s okay,” he mutters as he leans forward and envelops Joey’s bony frame and hugs him close, as tightly as he thinks he can handle. He is petrified, his whole body tight and stiff, and he lets out a scared and confused wail as he’s pulled into the tight embrace.  

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” Aaron continues, both to himself and to Joey, as he finds the back of his head and tucks into the crook of his own neck, hoping to provide some semblance of warmth and safety for what he has to do next. 

With his other hand he finds Joey’s, squeezing his fingers to see if he gets a response, if they might be able to communicate nonverbally like that. A squeeze means I’m here, I’m listening, trust me. When Joey is too shaken up to speak to him, he’s usually able to at least squeeze back. 

Not now, though. Joey’s fingers are curled up into a hard little fist. Aaron sighs and hugs him tighter, mumbling apologies into his hair as he clasps his wrist and pulls it away from them, extending it towards the nurses. He watches through the corner of his eye as one of them removes a sterile cannula from its packet and takes hold of Joey’s hand.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” Aaron mumbles as Joey whines when he feels the foreign touch. His face is still hidden in his sweater. He pushes even closer and Aaron can feel him trying to pull his hand back, out of his and the nurse’s grip. It catches him off guard - Joey has never, ever opposed anything Aaron has ever said or done. This is completely novel.

“Please don’t do it,” he sniffles into Aaron’s sweater. “Please don’t, don’t make me, I don’t want to, please,” he repeats, over and over, and it breaks Aaron’s heart, forcibly holding his hand away from his body like this, holding him still. 

A part of him lights up with the thought that he still has some semblance of volition. Everything wasn’t beaten out of him. At the same time, right now, Aaron has to disregard it. He has to hold him still and force him to endure it as the nurse feels around for a vein. “Small pinch, now,” he says, as he pushes the cannula through his skin. 

This is all Aaron’s fault. If he hadn’t left the room, if he had been there when Becca came in, they could’ve worked it out together, undramatically. This whole episode could’ve been avoided. Surely, all traces of trust between them must be gone by now. 

Joey moans, in pain or desperation or maybe both, as the nurse attaches the tubing and picks up the saline bag, hanging it on its stand. He collapses in Aaron’s arms. Still, Aaron doesn’t let go, keeping him close. “You’re okay, it’s okay,” he repeats, over and over again, hoping some of it reaches past the walls built up inside Joey’s mind. The nurse picks up a syringe and pushes its contents into the injection port of the IV tube. Then, he, Becca, and the other nurse leave the room. 

They sit like that for what feels like an eternity. Joey calms down after a while, now leaning heavily into Aaron. His shoulders flinch from time to time, but he’s stopped crying quite as audibly as he did. 

Aaron guesses this is the result of the sedation. It was normal, right? Giving a weak sedative before a surgery, just to calm any nerves? Had Becca brought in the sedatives as well as the IV bag or had the male nurses brought it when they heard the commotion? He wonders how much the two of them know. None of them were supposed to be here, he thinks. What did they think had happened? Who did they think Joey was? 

He glances to the side, where he still holds Joey’s wrist. Gently, he angles it - and there it is, the ugly barcode tattoo. His blood runs cold. He didn’t think that far when he took Joey’s wrist to hold it out for the nurses. Did they see it? If they did, had they cleaned up Becca’s sliced up arm and then gone to call the police after? 

He’s left no time to ponder or worry any longer as the door opens and Dr. Perez enters. She seems unfazed by the sight that meets her - blood and crushed glass that hadn’t been cleaned up yet, and the two of them sitting in a corner. Somebody must’ve informed her.  

“Are you okay?” She rounds the bed and crouches down in front of them. “Becca told me what happened.

“I think so,” Aaron answers, gently shifting Joey to get a look of his face. He’s drowsy and heavy in his arms, his eyes puffy and red rimmed as he blinks them open and tries to focus. Aaron smiles at him. “Hey, you,” he mutters softly, pushing his hair away from his face. 

“I hope he’s still up for the surgery,” Dr. Perez says, eyeing the IV bag to see how much of the liquid inside has been reduced. “What happened was… I won’t say normal, but it’s not unusual. We never know how they might react to what we do to them.”

Aaron nods. “Is Becca okay?” 

“She is. It looked worse than it was.” She looks over her shoulder, where the glass and blood still hasn’t been cleaned up. “Don’t worry. She knows that what she does for a living isn’t risk-free. And she knows that we don’t know what kind of trauma our patients carry with them. It’s nobody’s fault. Least of all his.” 

“I have to ask… do the other nurses know? The other two who were here.” 

She looks down. “They know about my situation, what I do. They don’t know about him, per say. They’ll probably make the connection, but I don’t think it will be a problem.”

Aaron’s eyebrows knit together, still not convinced. “How can you be sure?” 

She exhales in a puff, a slight chuckle, even. “Everyone in this industry knows somebody who knows somebody who does this sort of thing.” Illegal surgeries. The words are unspoken, but still clear as day. “I am far from the only one, believe me. If they didn’t like it, they would have quit and reported me a long time ago. And then they’d start working at the next hospital and have to do the same thing. There’s always someone.” She gives him a minute, knowing smile. “This country would run out of healthcare workers if they revoked every license from one who has treated a pet or ex-pet.”

Aaron doesn’t quite know what to say. He’s relieved “So… we’re good?” he asks eventually, for lack of better words. 

Dr. Perez nods. “We’re good. Now, let’s get going before the anaesthesiologist gets tired of waiting.” 

She helps him support Joey up to his feet and then to sit down on the bed. He’s swaying, gripping at the bedsheets to keep his balance, so Aaron gently guides him to lay down instead. He’s completely still, only breathing. His eyes are large and round as he finds Aaron hand, holding onto it with startling solidity. 

“Was… was I bad?” he whispers shakily. 

“No,” Aaron says immediately, not leaving it up for discussion. He doesn’t know what Joey knows, what he remembers of what had happened. Still, he won’t let Joey go around with doubts in his mind. 

His other hand finds Joey’s cheek, stroking his cheekbone with his thumb. He leans into it, still keeping that intense eye contact. “No, sweetheart,” Aaron says, softer. “You weren’t bad. You were just scared.” In his head he adds It was my fault, I’m sorry, thinking the statement might be too much for him to make sense of now, in his delirious, drugged state. 

Joey dips his head slightly in what might be a nod. Aaron tries to smile at him. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s go get that leg fixed up.” 

-

tags <3

@simplygrimly @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @briars7 @hackles-up @doveotions @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @kixngiggles @firewheeesky @maracujatangerine @nicolepascaline @whumpthisway @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @whumping-snail @pumpkin-spice-whump @pigeonwhumps

[starlightwoofwoof]

💜💙✨ Some ‘The Horror at Camp Jellyjam’ Headcanons ✨💙💜

hey welcome back to My Jellyjam Madness part, uh, like 25

anyway, here’s more headcanons about one of my favorite books, I’ve already done one for Buddy specifically, but he’ll be included here again just because I love him that much 😀

although, this time, it’ll be about a bunch of the other characters as well (I don’t really have any drawings for this cause I didn’t really feel like it unfortunately, but hey, I bet this will still be fun-) sooooooo enough rambling, HERE WE GO-

(well- two more things, one, I have to thank the Character Headcanon Generator for providing some of these, I’ll specify which ones were from that, and two, cws/tws are in the tags, as always)

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Of course we should start with the main protagonist, miss Wendy herself-

Wendy kind of finds it weird that she doesn’t have a mouth, but she would probably love Hello Kitty anyways

Speaking of cats, Wendy doesn’t exactly dislike them, but she does get a little nervous around cats

Wendy also dislikes any sort of animals that were/are kinda considered ‘gross’

Whenever Wendy has a hair scrunchy, she likes to put it around her wrist until she has to use it, and sometimes just wears them as accessories

Despite Elliot annoying her, Wendy really does care about him and his well being, a lot

Wendy is very observant to things she finds interesting

Wendy tries to not think about the whole incident, but she’s just glad most of the people involved were okay after

I like to think Wendy kept in touch with Diedre, Ivy and Jan after it all ended

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Next up, of course, is Wendy’s goofy a$$ brother, Elliot

Elliot doesn’t exactly have a favorite sport or game, he just takes whatever sport/game you throw at him, and he’ll probably like it (if he wins, of course-)

Elliot kept the King Coin Buddy gave him (and even the other five) as, uh, ‘souvenirs’

Elliot doesn’t own a single pair of matching socks (CHG)

Elliot doesn’t swear, obviously, but the one time he accidentally did, he made a ‘pact’ with Wendy for her not to tell anyone- (he had to give her some of his Halloween candy)

The incident didn’t scare Elliot too much, but he still doesn’t like to talk about when he had to see (and smell-) King Jellyjam

Elliot did, in fact, not complain about his dad’s garden fertilizer again-

~~~~~~~~~~~~

BUDDY TIME ‼️‼️‼️

Buddy kinda has a ‘preppy’, bouncy walk (CHG)

Buddy has a slightly older brother named Robert (the only reason the camp wasn’t given to him instead is because he was busy preparing for college)

yes, Buddy is his real name

I know the whole ‘Buddy is between the ages of 17-18’ thing probably isn’t true but I still like to think it is anyway- so he’s 18

Buddy’s birthday is somewhere in February (haven’t decided exactly when lol)

Buddy is more of a dog person, he especially loves golden retrievers because they remind him of his hair-

Buddy kinda had some weird side effects after being freed from King JJ’s hypnosis, like only saying ‘Only the Best’ for a few days, aggressive shaking, uncontrollable crying sometimes, vomiting some weird purple stuff, etc.

not sure about this one cause it’s kinda disturbing, but I kinda like to think that Buddy’s brain was literally melting while being hypnotized, which is why he was acting all weird after he was freed (luckily, he has since recovered)

Buddy gained a giant bruise on his chest after the whole softball bat incident, but didn’t realize until after he was freed and went home, of course

Due to all the guilt he felt, Buddy had considered … y’know, ending it all before, although, luckily, he had never acted upon these thoughts

Buddy is secretly closeted, cause y’know, mid-90s (nah I’m just kidding …… maybe) (CHG)

𝓑𝓾𝓭𝓭𝔂 𝓲𝓼 𝓲𝓷 𝓶𝔂 𝔀𝓪𝓵𝓵𝓼. (CHG)

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alright, to end this off, here’s a section for some of the other characters (mostly King JJ)

Jeff was one of the ones who cried the most when all the children were freed, although, he’ll never admit that to anyone who didn’t see

The only way King Jellyjam can properly communicate with people is through his hypnosis victims’ minds, his voice is deep, kind of ‘royal’ sounding and it’s also gargled

King JJ’s favorite candle scent is a specific grape soda candle

King JJ wasn’t as huge as he was by y’know, his end when he first met Buddy, he was only about half the size of a house

Holly helped Buddy the most when he was going through all the side effects, and even helped tie the tie he wore at the end of the book

~~~~~~~~~~~~

alright, I think that’s all the cringe I could think of for now

bye for noooooooooowwwwwww 😀

[whump-in-the-closet]

Villain Whump Thoughts

when the villain only works for supervillain because they’re terrified of them which leads to a standoff between villain and hero

“They don’t control you!”// “Yes. They do.”

Villain accepting Supervillains hold over them matter-of-factly and not even denying it when asked. What would be the point of hiding it? The bruises are obvious enough.

When villain is captured by the heroes, and already knows that supervillain won’t send anyone to rescue them

they tell the heroes all of supervillains secrets, but the heroes still won’t trust them

after all, who would trust a snitch

the heroes can’t let villain go either, because they’re a menace to society and instead keep villain around

villain is nothing more than a warning, kept chained and humiliated where everyone can see

when the villain refuses to cross a moral boundary and supervillain makes them regret it

no one else knows what happened to villain but when they appear back on the streets they’re twice as fierce and without any of their hesitant kindness

They follow supervillains orders perfectly. They’ll never mess up again. Supervillain’s mark carved into their arm to remind them of the last time they messed up.

[thesewingmachine]

did you know that people can vomit hard/frequently enough that it can burst the blood vessels in their face and result in bruising?

[thr4shit]

Venting under cut because I feel bad at the moment.

(Understatement of the fucking century right there, bitch.)

I'm tired.

I'm lonely.

I feel like shit.

I want to talk to people.

But at the same time don't want to deal with conversations.

Being in a state of contradictory existence fucking sucks.

My mental health has been absolute bullshit for the past like... almost two full weeks.

(I've had like 7 or so breakdowns/episodes in the course of 8 days, with some days having MULTIPLE. I got VIOLENT in some of them. I BRUISED MYSELF because I started slamming my fist into my forearm because I felt like I was bullshit and deserved to feel pain. It barely fucking hurt, and I was hitting full force... I was LAUGHING, CRYING, SMILING, and SCREAMING all at once as I did that. I was ecstatic, and sad, and happy and enraged all at fucking once on rapid fucking shuffle with no breaks or warnings. In another case I had in depth plans to TRACK DOWN AND HURT people who were annoying me. They've been so much worse than they've ever been and it's just EPISODE after EPISODE and I don't get a fucking break and I'm so fucking tired afterwards. I hate it. I fucking hate it. I feel disgusting. I feel like I'm becoming a monster and I don't know how to stop it. I NORMALLY ONLY HAVE AT MOST 5 OR SO MAJOR EPISODES LIKE THIS A YEAR. AND INSTEAD NOW I'M JUST HAVING THEM OVER AND OVER AND OVER, AND OVER TINY BULLSHIT THAT I SHOULDN'T BE??? Like- YEAH, sometimes I'd get into one WITHOUT provocation, but those are RARER. They shouldn't be happening SEVERAL TIMES A WEEK???)

No one in my irl life seems to give a shit about trying to help me feel better.

(No one is an exaggeration, but VERY, VERY FEW)

Instead they do shit that makes me feel worse.

But I can't fucking say that because they're "good people" most of the fucking time.

They're just not helpful right now.

And it's not like I could be 100% open to them either!

I'd fucking scare them off!

I'd be alone ALL OVER AGAIN for the SAME REASON AS LAST TIME.

THE SIMPLE REASON OF "my mental health got bad again and I SCARE them now"

I CAN'T FUCKING EXPLAIN HOW MANY TIMES I'VE LOST EVERYONE BECAUSE OF THAT!

IT'S BULLSHIT.

But I also don't blame them??? I'd be scared of me too at times.

Jesus christ, I mean I fucking am. I'm always scared that I'm gonna go too far one time.

I can't handle people.

I can't handle friendships.

Maybe at this point I shouldn't have them.

I don't know how to properly reach out to professionals.

I don't want to because I don't want things to be more "wrong" with me than they already fucking are.

I don't want to reach out because then I'll be alone again.

But if I don't reach out I could end up alone again.

No matter what there's no good outcome.

This place is my only escape from it but now it's falling silent too.

I'm being drowned in silence again.

I'm getting to that point again where not even my fixes can give me joy and I don't see the point in TRYING to enjoy anything.

But, y'know. I'm not fucking depressed so I should be fine, right???

That whole "this too shall pass" bullshit???

Fun fact, it NEVER passes for me.

It's just always waiting to COME BACK.

I'm a fucking monster. And they're right.

They're all fucking right.

And I fucking hate it.

Nothing I have been diagnosed with explains this.

People always blame it on my executive dysfunction.

Even I did.

But at this point I'm not fucking sure.

At this point I'm starting to think I'm just a bad person.

At this point I'm willing to believe I'm the monster they think I am.

But oh fucking well. I have a new blog theme. So... yay...!

[gorelesbian]

call me a prude but rbing a fight violence against women campaign onto your kink blog is extremely tasteless

[sxdomizer]

nothing to see here dw abt it

"Jesus, man, is that my mugshot? How'd you even get that?!

Wow.. it's been, uh. A long time since I've seen myself like that. I must've been, what, 16? 17? When that picure was taken? It wasn't my first one, definietly. I remember my first one, I was 14. Juvie was a place, for sure.. pfft, I can't take it seriously, though, I looked so annoyed to be there! I probably thought I looked so tough, even gave the officers an attitude in the picture... I was still being admitted into the girls' side. I don't think I ever got into the guys'... tragic.

I don't remember much from that time in there, to be honest. I do remember overhearing some girl shit-talking me to an older girl, probably trying to impress... 'is that a man or some butch fag?' Pahahah! I gave her a death glare I knew she wouldn't forget! She was damn quiet after that!

Mm.. oh, that was my shortest stay there, for sure. I was in some street fight, and someone called the cops on us. Usually I managed to get away, but it wouldn't be the first time I get caught for minor crimes like that. I was there for no longer than a month, and I remember talking to a foster care agent. She was the one I always spoke to when I got put in there. This time really intimidated me, though... 'there won't be a next time you get put in here. It's a miracle they even put you in juvie.. you could be tried as an adult, you know? What will you do when you turn 18? I won't be here to bail you out then'. I don't know if she was right, I never got to find out seeing as I wasn't caught again... it scared me shitless, though. Cut right through the anger of her using my deadname constantly.

Can we talk about how shit I look, though? Other than the blood and bruises, of course, but, fuckin' Christ, man! Black hair, no facial hair.. I guess this is what they mean when they say T saves lives, huh? If I knew how catastrophic I looked back then, I probably would've shot myself, haha!..

... tough crowd."

[habitual-creatures]

I know just… the bruises itch ‘s all…

*her hands are slightly shaking but she doesn’t pull away from Kevin*

…and it’s okay DIS… I shouldn’t have tried to… well, kill you regardless…

...

Sorry.

[dailyalcalavicci]

406 | Raped, 20 June 1980

[esto-es-un-error]

Revisiting old memories for reflection sake, this time child Error is around 10 or 11.

I remember being proud that my mother beat me, and I would bring it up in conversations a lot as if to make a point. Your mother doesn't hit you? Pathetic, that's why you're so carefree and naive. My mom would also brag to her friends and laugh about it, complaining to them about how child Error just knew how to push her buttons and narrating the events that lead to the beating as if they were a hilariously thrilling story with me as the punchline.

I'm pretty sure I had severe anxiety as a kid, I was always agonizing about my mother being home, feeling as if I had done something wrong.

Usually what would set her off was either my grades or my behaviors and I couldn't change either no matter how much behavioral therapy, tutors or how much ritalin I was given. Child Error just assumed she was stupid nature, so fundamentally flawed no amount of anything can fix her, a waste of money and resources. She just kinda accepted that as a reality, made it easier to exist. Child Error was stupid, and dumb, and gross, and a pervert, and weird. They deserved the abuse and ostracizing because they wore it on their sleeve, and that's just how life is.

Obviously that's not what I think now as a grown adult. I feel really bad for child Error, and I'm also intrigued by their coping mechanism of actively choosing to identify with the things she was being abused for despite it always causing her more harm than good. I guess it was a way of saying "gotcha i'm in control now"?? I dunno I have not dissected that part as much. Even now it's hard to face certain parts of their upbringing.

[rottendust]

Jesus on the Cross

[embalmedcorpse]

:p

[pompompompeii]

google show results for how to smash my head against the wall without making any noise or sound because noises are far too scary

[ianthoni]

Oh yeah i succeeded it and came back from surgery alive but at what cost 😭😭

I still can't breathe properly someone help me find oxygen 😭

[harpsicalbiobug]

man I hope I didn’t break my fucking patella (RICE is helping but I think this thing needs an x-ray) just because the bike lanes are full of sand and grit and slippery from all the weird fucking rain

[russica]

Sometimes you gotta draw angst...

TW/CW for abuse, DV, SA, addiction.

Not so fun facts: Rax being sold into slavery means he has a long history of all sorts of abuse. Sometimes, it was just physical, but oftentimes, it wasn't. Despite passing through various hands, he never sustained any scars, often reminded that his looks were part of his appeal.

The only other scar Rax got during his time enslaved was the one on his tail. He was tagged like cattle, hot metal rings punched through his tail. It was more humiliating than anything else in his bleak life. He felt hopeless. He was finally at the point he'd rather be unalive than continue his half life. In a final fit of desperation, he ripped it out and ran. His anger and blind fear propelled him forward, and he took out anything and anyone in his way.

Several years later, after a failed reunion with his family in Elturel, Rax found himself in Baldur's Gate. He turned to sex work trying to convince himself it was how he could take back his body. But the alcohol and drugs said it was very clearly a misplaced attempt at coping. He was self-destructive and barely lucid. He got involved with a high elf known as V, who sold him out and abused him under the guise of helping. V would find customers and keep Rax in booze and drugs so he could do little more than accept what was happening. Rax rationalized it away; it was a job, V cared, he could always say no, it isn't' THAT bad....

Rax and V were toxic together. V abusive every way but physically, tearing Rax down and abusing his body and trust. Rax; angry, drunk, and numb would lash out in violent fits of tempestuous magic. They could literally be at each other's throats, only to make up again within the day, V using Rax's anger as a weapon against him.

It took a long time, but after a brush with death at V's own hands and a very kind cleric, Rax finally saw V for what he was. He spent years at a small church hiding and recovering. When he finally re-emerged, he was a different person. His body, once emaciated and bruised, was strong and filled in. His magic was under control. He had studied and meditated and fought his demons to gain power over himself. He continued to work on ACTUALLY being alright with sex again. Truth is, despite the abuse, he still craved that intimacy, and he was learning how to find it in safer ways.

He got a job as security for a potion maker, learned from the man to help in the shop as well. He had a small, shitty house that he loved. He fed the local cats and street urchins. When Elturel fell, he headed for Rivington to wait for the inevitable refugees, hoping to see his family among them... of course, then the mindflayers grabbed him.