#its not drugs i promise

[paingoes]

Destroyer - Marks

(Masterlist)

girl help i can't stop making bonus content

this is set right around Part XIII, in regard to the “I should probably give you more visible marks.” comment.

(Content: living weapon whumpee, obedient whumpee, somewhat reluctant whumper, dehumanization, power imbalances, physical abuse, minor blood, brief drug mention, death mention)

==============

He got approximately ten million fucking emails calling him an arsonist, or telling him that the experiment is an accident waiting to happen, or asking why he was letting the A-bomb walk around off-leash, why he was letting the bomb walk at all. Accusations he wouldn’t dare repeat. It was all so stupid. Delta was good. Paris never worried about him fragging. But the appearance of insubordination was damning all on its own. It was not a good situation.

Unfortunately, the messages kept coming. From staff he actually respected, too. People he needed. He didn’t even know how word reached them that quickly. He sometimes forgot just how scared they were of Delta. It had never been a popular project. That night, he received many requests for him to be killed outright. Not fucking happening.

Fucking Nezu telling him what to do with his fucking psychic. He was more mad about that than he ever could have been at Delta. That was why he’d gone easy on him. It gave him serious pause whenever his wants overlapped with Nezu’s — sometimes enough to evaporate them completely. He really wasn’t in the mood.

Something had to be done though, by the time the next meeting rolled around. They had to know that Delta had been punished for it, that Paris didn’t just let him get away with everything.

Delta didn’t fight him on it — not that he’d expected him too. He kneeled in front of the desk like he’d been asked. Paris leaned back against it, hitting the pen a few more times than he needed to. 

Delta looked bad. That day had been the only time Paris had ever seen him cry — even weeks later, he hadn’t seemed to recover from it. His eyes were still so pleading, in a way they’d never been before. It was unsettling.

Paris readjusted the only ring he wore on his right hand. It was sapphire — and it was clean. There wasn’t any reason to drag it out. He tilted Delta’s face up a little, tucking the slick hair back behind the webbed fin of his ear. 

“Hold still.” He didn’t want to hit his eye by accident. The jewel was sharp.

He backhanded him hard across the face. Harder than he would have normally. It needed to bruise.

Delta’s head was forced sharply to one side. His hair fell back in his face, totally obscuring it when he looked down at the floor. He didn’t outwardly react, but his next breaths came out shallow and shaky. Yeah, that hurt. 

Paris cupped his face again, moving it back up to examine the injury. It’d landed where he wanted it to — a thin cut right along his cheekbone. He could see the spot where the bruise would form over the next couple hours. Delta winced. Paris gently smoothed over the flushed skin with his thumb. 

“I’m sorry.” Delta’s voice was quiet. It was all he would say recently. 

“I know.”

It was hard to be mad at him when he was so clearly repentant. When he was being this good about it. Paris released him. He’d planned on hitting him across the other side of his face as well, in the interest of covering all his angles. It didn’t feel worth it anymore.

“Hand.”

Delta placed his hand gingerly into Paris’s own. Paris tightened his grip around it, supporting the palm beneath so that it’d absorb the full force of it. Knuckles facing up. Paris reached back for the ruler left out on the desk.

It cracked down hard against his knuckles, fast enough that he didn’t really have time to flinch. His injured hand reflexively tightened around Paris’s in the aftermath; it was the only real physical reaction he’d had. His claws dug painfully into Paris’s hand, not yet breaking the skin.

Paris released his grip on the hand. Delta’s hand relaxed and the claws withdrew, but he didn’t pull it back like he’d expected. He just left it resting there in his grasp.

“Other one.” 

He offered it without resistance. Same routine. Paris brought the ruler back down over his other hand, watching as the first signs of bruising appeared upon them. He placed the ruler back down and released his grip on Delta’s hand. 

“Done.”

There wasn’t much else to do, really. Delta was always dressed in long sleeves and ceremonial garb. For the most part, only his face and hands were exposed on vanguard days. It was enough, though. His expression alone was enough. If he just stayed like that, he’d be fine.

Delta folded both of his hands back into his lap, bright purple and blue against the pale white of clothes. His hair fell messily in his face, but parts of his eyes were still visible. He was still looking at Paris in that desperate, shell-shocked way.

“…Easy. You’re fine.” Paris didn’t know what to say to make him normal again. “The sting will be gone in a few minutes.”

For the hands, anyway, though the numbness would remain. The mark on his face would hurt a lot longer. 

Delta nodded slowly. A small amount of blood appeared by the cut. 

Paris gestured for him to lean forward again. Delta did so, cringing a little. Paris pressed a tissue against his cheek to stop the bleeding. He sighed as it bled straight through.

“…You want a bandaid?” He offered. The bruise would still be visible beneath it. 

“Yeah.” His voice was barely audible. He took the tissue from Paris, keeping the pressure there. 

Paris disappeared for a moment, loudly knocking shit over in the overfilled medicine cabinet. He came back with the split bandage. Delta held still as he applied it over the cut, smoothing it out against his cheek. It was pale white, the same color as his clothes, standing out sharply against the dark blue of his skin.

“…Thank you,” Delta said quietly. Sweetly. It fucking killed him sometimes.

Paris felt something strange in the pit of his stomach. He ignored it. He made a small, noncommittal noise as he discarded the paper into the trash. 

Delta touched the side of his face gently with the newly discolored fingers. Bruises on bruises. He put his hand abruptly back into his lap when Paris looked at him, as if he’d gotten caught. 

“We’re done.” Paris waved him off, sliding the ruler back into the drawer. The pen was starting to kick in. He was getting lightheaded. 

Delta rose slowly, giving something like a curtsy before he left. Or maybe his legs were just unsteady. Paris didn’t really care. 

The door closed quietly. Paris slid the lock shut. He pressed his forehead against the wood grain. Definitely lightheaded.

……

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @vivulapom @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety

[nuttynutcycle]

Prompt 420

"No." The man shook his head firmly. "You don't love me. You can't love what you don't know."

"But-"

"I've never even been on your side. Played you and your team for a fool."

She felt faint.

"Give it up. Your feelings are based on a carefully curated image, designed to lower your guard. They're fake." He curled his lip. "A counterfeit love."

[whumpbug]

whumperless whump event day 16: say goodbye to filters @whumperless-whump-event

half-conscious / delirious / “you would never say that in your right mind…”

see this post for character information!

caretaker: Simon

whumpee: Archie

cw: drug mention in the sense of anesthesia post-op and also mention of vomit but it doesn't happen in the fic (let me know if i should tag anything)

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

The woman at the front desk smiled warmly as Simon approached. “Hello dear, how can I help you?”

Simon had his fingers wrapped around the edge of the counter in a white knuckle grip, feeling his breath hitch softly.

“I need to see a patient,” He said quickly.

“Patient’s name?” The woman asked, tapping away at her keyboard.

“Archie-- Archer. Archer Schultz.”

The woman didn’t say anything for a beat, and Simon felt all the breath leave him at once.

“Is he.. he’s fine, right? His work called me. I got here as fast as I could, so he’s okay, right?” He stammered, fingers drumming against the cool tile of the counter.

Simon isn’t even sure why he said it, the words just sort of tumbled out in an anxiety-induced frenzy. He felt like there was a vice around his lungs-- like he couldn’t take in enough air.

He had been in class when Archie’s work called him. Of course, he immediately dropped everything to step out and answer. Simon was Archie’s emergency contact, so the call only really meant one thing. An emergency.

And an emergency it was. 

Apparently, Archie had gone into work that day looking like death, and only lasted about an hour before his co-worker found him on the bathroom floor, covered in vomit, and screaming-- yes, screaming in pain. An ambulance was quickly called, and he was taken to the hospital. That was as far as Simon knew.

And it was killing him.

Usually, whenever Archie was hurt, Simon was right there by his side, doing everything he could to help him. He knew how to take care of Archie like it was breathing. He knew the difference between a “that hurts!” grimace and a “that tickles!” grimace. He knew what flavor of gatorade Archie liked best, and that he was allergic to latex. The fact that such a serious situation happened while Simon wasn’t there to pick up the pieces was sending him into a full-blown panic.

“Ah yes, here he is. He was admitted about an hour ago, yes?”

“Yes.” Simon’s voice came out breathless.

“Well it says here that he was admitted for an emergency appendectomy. But.. hold on a minute.”

Simon quite literally felt like he was going to pass out then and there. He was scrutinizing this poor woman’s face for some kind of information.

“It looks here that the procedure went well! He’s recovering in a post-op room right now, the whole thing only took about half an hour,” She said cheerfully.

The relief that crashed over Simon was dizzying. It almost felt like his knees would buckle then and there, but he steeled himself.

“Can I go see him?” He breathed, drumming his fingers once again.

“Im sorry dear, only immediate family are allowed in post-operative care--”

“I am his family.” Simon’s voice came out harsher than he expected, and he felt a blush creep up on his ears. “I just mean.. I’m his emergency contact. He doesn’t have anyone else nearby.”

The woman adjusted her glasses on her nose and tapped away on her keyboard. “Name?”

“Simon Guevara.”

After a few more clicks, she met Simon with a smile.

“That was my mistake. Your name checks out. He’s in Room 2043 to the left.”

Simon muttered a quick thank you before taking off down the hallway as fast as his legs would take him. His heart was thumping in his chest in time with every step.

Eventually, he stopped in front of the door and took a moment to breathe deeply. He needed to get himself together-- for Archie.

He gently pushed the door open, and his heart clenched at the sigh before him.

Archie was propped up in a hospital bed, tubes sticking out of his arms and he looked adorably out of it, no doubt from all the pain meds they had him on. His hair was an absolute mess-- sticking up in every direction and seemingly defying gravity. 

The most concerning thing, though, were the tear tracks down his face.

“Archie,” Simon breathed, finally closing the distance between them. “I’m here..”

He reached up and cradled Archie’s face, using his other hand to smooth his blond curls.

“S-Simon..” He slurred, before his breath hitched and his face scrunched up and he.. began to bawl. Loudly.

Simon froze. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting from Archie flying high as a kite, but this somehow wasn’t it.

“Hey, hey.. shh.. what’s the matter?” Simon murmured, running his thumb over Archie’s cheek. “It’s alright.. I’m right here..”

A nurse walked in with some folded blankets and greeted Simon politely.

“You must be Simon?” She asked, setting the bundle of fabric on the table beside Archie’s bed.

Simon nodded, absent-mindedly threading a hand through Archie’s locks.

“He’s been asking for you since he woke up. He’s a real mess.” She said, amusement lacing her voice. “Hasn’t stopped crying either. He’s not a big fan of hospitals, is he?”

Simon shook his head and turned back to Archie, who was blinking sleepily and jolting every few seconds with barely-contained sobs. His heart shattered into a million pieces.

Once the nurse left, he stepped closer to the bed and pulled Archie to his chest. He pressed a kiss to the top of his head, feeling protectiveness swirl in his chest.

“S’mon..” He hiccupped. “They took my stomach.. I’m.. n’ver gonna eat again!”

This sent Archie into another round of fitful sobs, and Simon into stifled laughter.

“They didn’t take your stomach, Archie. They took your appendix. You don’t need your appendix. You can still eat whatever you want,” He huffed, a smile playing on his lips.

Archie considered this.

“French fries…?” The words came out as a soft whimper.

“Yes, even french fries. I will treat you to all the french fries you want once you’re feeling better.”

This seemed to placate Archie for the time being. He simply nuzzled closer to Simon, clutching at his shirt and burying his face into his stomach. He let out a stuttering sigh and blinked against the drowsiness coursing through his veins.

“You’re so.. nice..” He whispered.

Simon felt his ears heat up as he continued rubbing wide circles on Archie bare back, courtesy of the scratchy hospital gown.

“M’so lucky..” Archie continued, lifting his groggy eyes up to meet Simon’s. “I was sc’red you weren’t gonna come..”

Simon frowned.

“I’ll always come, Archie. No matter what.”

At this, Archie's face crumpled once again and he pushed it back into the fabric of Simon’s sweater.

“L’ve you, Simon..” He mumbled, words muffled by the position.

Simon went beet-red. “..What?”

Archie lifted his face again and sniffled.

“I love you. You’re.. mmhg.. you’re so nice to me..” He slurred, blinking sleepily.

Simon wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry. All at once, he realized how deeply he cared about Archie. All the feelings he felt for him were compacted into just one, small word. Simon suddenly understood that he loved Archie too.

But he could say nothing.

“Archie, you’d never say that in your right mind… it’s the drugs talking.”

Archie hummed in disagreement, shaking his head, but it was clear that he had had quite enough of being awake. He stifled a yawn and leaned heavily into Simon’s arms.

Simon gently lowered him back onto the pillows, pulling the blanket up to his chin. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead before settling into the chair next to the bed. He took Archie’s hand in his own.

Now, with only Archie’s soft, even breathing to fill the silence, Simon had a lot of feelings to work through. He sighed.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

[cosmic-d1ce]

Forever & Phil writing practice read at your own risk <3

Phil had been here for too long. He wasn't sure how much longer he could stare at the blank ceiling before he lost it. It had probably been days, but he had no way to tell. He couldn't see the sun. There were no windows in this room. His room. For the rest of his life.

That's what Quackity had said.

Here. For the rest of his life.

Nobody would come to help him and he was far too weak now to get out by himself. They made sure he was too weak.

They took his armour, his weapons, his food. Anything that would let him put up a fight was gone.

For the first time in his life, Phil was defenseless. Stuck.

He hardly heard the footsteps approaching the door, or the click it made when it was opened.

Phil looked over, slowly.

Forever smiled at him as the door shut behind him. "Phil! Meu amor, how are you feeling?"

Phil feels sick, tired, weak, afraid.

He can't say that.

So, he says nothing.

"Has the uh... medicine not worn off yet?"

Phil stares for a moment longer before shaking his head slowly. Moving hurt. Bad. He had put up too much of a fight when they put him in here, now he had to suffer the consequences.

Forever cooed as he came closer. He sat on the bed, watching Phil silently. The look in his eye made Phil sick. He didn't want this. He didn't want Forever to look at him like that. The way Missa does, loving, adoring. Forever wasn't supposed to look at him like that.

"Você está tão linda meu amor..." Forever seems to get lost, staring at Phil like he could never have enough. "I love you."

Phil wanted to die right then and there. The words made him more sick than he already was. One too-quick move and he would throw up. Or not. He hadn't eaten in far too long. He'd dry heave until his abdomen hurt too much to stand. He'd gag and cry until he passed out again.

And Forever would watch.

He was as sick as Phil felt. Demented and twisted. Phil couldn't imagine doing this to someone. What sort of monster did you have to be to want this. To take someone from their family and lock them away, beat them half to death, starve them, drug them-

For love?

This was love?

What sort of evil was this? What had Phil done to deserve this? He was good. He was a good man. He didn't deserve this.

He was still here, though.

And he wasn't going to leave.

He was here for the rest of his life.

Forever stroked his cheek, smiling at him. Phil let out a shaky breath as Forever's rough hands ran over a bruise on his jaw.

"Does it still hurt?"

Phil nodded.

"Those pills were meant to help." He sounded sympathetic but Phil didn't believe it. He didn't care. Forever was happy to see him hurt. He wasn't sympathetic and Phil was sure those drugs were just sleeping pills.

Phil closed his eyes, leaning into Forever's touch despite himself. Forever cooed again.

"Tired?"

Phil nodded.

"Get some sleep, querido."

Phil nodded. He needed it. He needed to be away from this place. Sleep was his only way out for now. Even a nightmare would be better than this. He'd rather see his children die again than be stuck here, so far away from them.

"Amo-te, querido."

[roomwithanopenfire]

for those who are reading No Sweeter Drug, heads up that I won't be updating tomorrow because the chapter is not ready

I'll post it whenever I finish it, but for sure by next week Monday

[not-actually-human]

my mom thinks im going to the beach to do drugs. however. the ocean beckons me

[meatheadmutt]

Being an addict while simultaneously being afraid of anyone seeing you intoxicated is a fuckin trip

[jvzebel-x]

🦋

[mythicalmyles]

Me: takes time out of my day to properly educate ppl about animal stuff

This mfer: but they like it!!:)

[thecreepingvoid]

Happy Valentimes day Yutes luv ya/platonic uwu

Happy belated Valentines, beastie

[wraithsoutlaws]

*gently pokes*

Can I have some dagger and dumdum ideas you want to share but haven’t had the chance to yet…?

yes!!! yes absolutely!!! lemme think here lemme try and dig into what i haven't really talked about hm.....hm hm...here are a couple 🤲

for starters, something i really wanna tackle at some point when i stop being a baby and actually try digging around with modding is a little 'x' tattoo that they both share on their chests. just something small and a little messy because they give it to each other stick-n-poke style one night while they're drinking. dagger's is harder to see but it's beside the anatomical heart tattoo (closer to where his heart actually is). in typical fashion they don't ever really tell anyone about what it means (and they never really talked about it themselves) but they both quietly take it as a reflection of their love and belonging to each other.

even though their ship name is 'perfect drug' (NIN song) their actual ~canon song together is ring of fire (social distortion cover), which i think just suits the inevitability of their love, even when it's painful. someday in the future al's band performs this for them at dagger's horror circus UwU

[cchapsticck]

alright so I’m getting surgery in like 9 days and I’m gonna be laid up for a good while so if you have prompts or things you wanna see me write about. fire away. I’m gonna be bored and stir crazy so I’m crowd sourcing now.

[graymatteradvocate]

.

[part-time-deranged]

I love how happy you are! Thanks babe im borderline hysterical

[soraeia]

@sansloii

He's there just where Wrenn expects him to be at this hour of the day, and the half-witch couldn't be any more pleased.

"Hey! I thought it was you...~" The smile is pleasant, as though seeing Wynn was a delightful surprise. "It's such a coincidence catching you, but here--" Steam rises from the coffee he's presented, curling like a slender, ghostly finger beckoning him to take a warm sip in this cold rain. "...I saw you when I walked into that shop across the street and bought you an extra...~"

[devotedlystrangewizard]

"i dont like depression music" I STILL CANT GET OVER THIS WHAT DOES IT EVEN MEAN