#pain is my drug

[evilwrongdoer]

i can never wean myself off this shit. i will be an addict forever, because it's all i have.

[heph]

Call me crazy for reading so much into a show like House MD but I think the main theme of House is that despite doing everything perfectly and being a good person, shit happens.

Sickness and pain will be inflicted on you and your loved ones and there's nothing you can do about it, but to persevere, to fight for your life, to keep living despite it all - to love is a part of the human condition; our capability of love is what makes life worth living, despite all the pain that you will inevitably experience.

This show exemplifies the pain of living and the needs and desires of human beings to keep going despite it all

And idk... There's something beautiful about how a show with so many stupid whimsical dumb scenes can impart something so profound in my stupid little brain

[anotherfandomtrash]

@alittlesliceofcucumber got the great idea for tgaa x disco elysium and I couldn't resist not to draw it. I didn't get far in the de yet, so I didn't want to put characters in other roles, but Gina is a kid who would call pigs fa**ots, that's basically canon. Anyway, love my two fave detectives interacting

[lovehours]

i don’t even fucking care

[baejax-the-great]

oh this is real ⛈⛈

[kisstheoak]

i’ve never been tied up before, but i imagine it’s so much fun. holding my hands above my head is one thing, hand cuffs are pretty good, but being completely tied up? unable to move whatsoever, not even able to resist or fight. if you woke up in a strange room with only handcuffs, you could get up and have a chance. tied up? completely covered from head to toe, not able to move a single muscle. what are you gonna do when the big scary man walks in and sees your naked tied body laying on the dirty floor like a flighty mutt ready for his taking. the answer is nothing. you lay there like a good girl and you take the pervs dick and thank him.

𝘱𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘰𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵

[smileymxx]

Another angle from earliers shoot😵‍💫

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

𝔄𝔩𝔦𝔠𝔢 𝔦𝔫 ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔰 - 𝔐𝔞𝔫 𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔅𝔬𝔵

[laniidae-passerine]

I made my post about Dean Highbottom and then as I was writing my tags realised that his Hunger Games counterpart is Haymitch. and now my head is in my hands and I don’t think I’ll ever recover

[thebad-lydrawn-sanses]

This is just a reminder that Fresh hates his actual birthday which will be tomorrow-

Banner: HAPPY BIRTHDAY FRESH

Error: what if-

Geno: CAN WE PLEASE GET THIS OVER WITH

[s0fter-sin]

it’s the sound that tips him off.

it’s late, half-past hell by his last count, and mactavish knows there shouldn’t be a single soul in the showers this time of night. though he’s sure if he asked, he’d be told a soul isn’t in there.

just a ghost.

he almost chokes on the thick steam filling the locker room; humid and hazy and the perfect cover. or it would be, if the man collapsed in the far stall cared about hiding.

mactavish hates himself a little for the low sigh that falls from his lips. he wishes he wasn't so disappointed; that the promises he's heard over and over and watched be broken as many times hadn't wedged their way into his heart and convinced him that maybe, maybe this could be the time it sticks.

he doesn't know what's worse; the disappointment or the lack of surprise.

he holds his breath through the steam and leans over the limp body; stinging hot water hitting his back, instantly soaking through his clothes and already starting to burn. he flicks the tap enough to take the bulk of the heat out and straightens; a groan startling out of the man beneath him at the sudden lash of tepid water.

mactavish crouches, knees clicking and hooks a hand under his bicep to pull him up straight against the wall. if there was any vomit on his skin, it's been washed away by the pelting stream and he supposes he can count himself lucky for that. he tilts his limp head back and slips his fingers into his mouth; holding down his tongue and ignores the way it lazily jolts under his fingers to check his airway.

clear.

another small victory.

mactavish pulls his fingers out and cups his chin, keeping him tilted up and moves in the way of the water again so he can pull at his eyelid.

the eye he's met with is cloudy, so dilated there's hardly a ring of blue left.

he sighs again; hand falling away and letting his eye fall shut. "god damnit, riley."

riley moans, all his weight resting on the hand holding his jaw.

"aye, 'm talking ‘bout you," he grunts tiredly.

he lets riley's head fall forward to grab his arm, pulling him away from the wall to sit behind him; propping his body up against his chest. he leans his head back over his shoulder, keeping his face out of the water and his airway open just in case he hasn't actually finished throwing up.

he takes the rag riley'd half-managed to soap up and mechanically runs it over him; cataloguing new bruises and cuts and checking if the old ones are healing. sickly yellow fingerprints ring his hips, red splotches paint his ribs; too new to have settled into the deep purple he knows they’ll become.

riley slowly makes more noise as he rubs life into his body; still lying limp against his front but his head's starting to roll restlessly on his shoulder. he swipes between his legs and carefully doesn't think a single thing about what he finds.

"sean?" he rasps and mactavish's hand stills; eyes falling shut. he bites his check, hand clenching around the rag tight enough to shake and breathes hard out his nose.

he doesn't say a word, just forces himself to go back to cleaning.

he's not sure what would come out of his mouth if he did.

riley isn't conscious enough to hear him anyway.

he runs his fingers over his inner elbows for tracks and manages to muster some relief when he doesn't find any. seems to be a pill and booze night; far from the worst condition he's found him in.

he rinses him off, running a curtesy hand over his shaved head only for it to fall back to his jaw; his thumb stroking over the thick scar carved into his cheek.

"you gotta stop doin' this," he whispers.

he isn’t sure if he’s talking to riley or himself.

mactavish gathers up riley's too-light body into his arms and turns off the shower. his head lolls into his throat and he throws a towel over his dripping body and another over his shoulder. it doesn't stop him from tracking water all the way to his quarters but he'd like to see someone try to put in a complaint about it.

he lays out the other towel on the bed and sets riley down; moving his body into the recovery position in an all-too familiar routine. he dries him enough that he won't soak the covers as he pulls them up to his chest and kicks the waste bin within grabbing distance of the bed.

he goes to pull off his sodden clothes when a different noise makes him freeze.

a low sniffle.

mactavish slowly turns back to the bed to find riley's eyes squinting open; glazed with tears as he kneads at the covers.

he stares at him for a moment as he looks around the room and those hazy eyes lock on him for the first time. "cap'n?"

he swallows. "aye; s'just me, riley."

his hand pokes out from under the covers and for all the promises he's made himself - all the “never again”s and “this is the last time”s - at the end of the day, he's weak.

he sits on the side of the bed and takes riley's hand in his; already so cold after nearly boiling himself alive.

"y' mad a' me?" he sniffs.

mactavish runs his tongue over his lip and slowly shakes his head. "no, i'm not mad at you."

"prom'se?" he pushes.

he reaches out and caresses his temple with his thumb. his hand almost covers his head and it cuts like a knife to remember just how small riley is. "aye," he says, hushed. "i promise."

riley's eyes fall shut, voicelessly murmuring 'promise’ to himself over and over.

"I’ll ge’ bett'r," he slurs and between one breath and the next, he's out.

mactavish sighs, running his hand in a final pass over his head and stares at a face that looks so much younger in sleep; bruised and sallow skin hidden in the shadows. "i know you will."

he presses a slow kiss to his forehead, shutting his eyes against the grief that wells in his heart and gets up to pull a chair over to the bed; settling in for another long night's vigil of watching his broken lieutenant sleep, ready to tilt him over if he throws up, eyes locked on the slow rise and fall of his chest fearing tonight may finally be the time it stops.

[somedayillbepeterpan]

How do people move on from fictional ships?

[jade-lynxx]

Watching a show while it airs is the worst thing ever when I want to put it in a little line and snort it

[bamsara]

IM HOME and god that was. something.cool festival my leg hurts

[whumblr]

Experiment

Continuation from Scary words - pt 1 here

-

After the A for asphyxiation, Roman had effortlessly weaved into B for broken voice.

Dani had crumbled to the floor when he finally removed the cane, clutching her throat, broken gasps wheezing and whistling past her lips.

Unfortunately, it left her right where he wanted her; slumped over on her knees, back exposed.

And while he already had his broken voice, he couldn’t resist following it up with a few broken screams ripped from a broken throat.

It felt like her windpipe had shattered and the shards had lodged on the inside of her throat, each breath stabbing them in further.

“Do you want to continue your ABC’s?” Roman’s voice snapped her back to the present, to the library, where he was sitting at the reading table, her sitting in her chair on the other side of the room. “We only have D for drowning and E for electrocution to go before we can dive into flagellation. I’d say we can tick off D and E at the same time, even…”

She would gladly undergo those things if she got her C for castration. But unfortunately, they’d crossed the C off with, of course, the caning that followed after he broke her voice. She’d already unleashed her own ABC’s with asshole, bastard, and creep for starters, but he’d just tutted and pointed out that her voice and throat needed healing and that insults weren’t helping. What she needed was silence. Enforced silence, if necessary. He even threatened a gag or a collar. So for the past few days, the only thing she could do was curl up in her reading chair and give him her deadliest glares.

Roman had remained unperturbed. Brought her fucking tea with honey, placing it next to her pile of books on the side table with a genuine smile as she was reading. She couldn’t thank him; wasn’t allowed to thank him if he wanted to draw out some words to have an excuse to collar her, not that she wanted to thank him. She glared at the tea – tea with honey was fucking disgusting and the smell made her even more angry – and she wondered if it would even help a crushed throat.

Infuriatingly, it did.

“I’m good.” Her voice was still hoarse but at least by now she was allowed to speak again.

“Good, ‘cause I was thinking more of E for experiment.”

She didn’t like the sound of that.

“See,” Roman continued, as if her silence was one that invited him to keep talking, “Pain can be influenced by a lot. The body has its ways to reduce or relieve pain, by hormones, adrenaline, endorphins, name it. Not to mention there are outside influences like the various painkillers and drugs. And it gets me wondering… if it can be reduced, then could it also be increased?”

He got up and gestured for her to follow him to his office. Reluctantly, she did. She uncomfortably looked on as he rummaged about in a drawer of his desk and he pulled out small case. He put it on his desk and opened it to reveal an injection needle and two vials with, judging by the unnatural blue colour, questionable content.

“What does that do?” she heard herself ask.

“Supposedly, it inhibits the release of adrenaline. That alone should up the magic for a bit but it should have the direct opposite effect of painkillers. Instead of blocking neurotransmission of pain, it stimulates the neuron and sends more signals to the brain.”

Oh, the wonders of unethical research.

“And, of course, you need a test subject…” she said, eyes on the blue liquid.

“Naturally.”

“You know, the man who started the pain index tested everything out on himself. I think should try these experiments on yourself as well. Otherwise your peers will just think you’re a pussy.”

“Well, there’s only one peer involved in this research and you already think I’m a pussy, so I don’t have much to lose.”

Pussy was a bit of an understatement in her humble opinion… And true, he didn’t have any of her respect left to lose.

“But my sense of pain is already increased due to stress…” she tried.

“We’ll just have to make a note of that in the footnotes.” Well, at least he acknowledged it… with a malicious grin that is. He closed the case with the syringe and carefully took it in his hands. “Now, come with me.”

She followed down to the basement, already knowing that the footnotes were a non-existent thing. This was purely to sate his own curiosity. And by god was she hoping that he bought – or made? – a dud. A harmless dud. She dawdled in the middle of the empty room, watching him.

“Let’s start… modestly.” His hand roamed over a row of knives and he picked a small – compared to the other things on display – hunting knife. “You wanna lie on there?” He gestured the knife towards the metal table.

She absolutely did not, thank you. No way she was going to make this experiment easier on him.

Roman shrugged. “I agree.” And he snapped forward.

He grabbed her by the front of her shirt, got her off-balance, and pushed hard. Her world tilted. Her shoulder blades crashed against the cold, concrete floor. And before she could even get a dazed “fuck…” past her lips, Roman was already on top of her, having both wrists pinned under his knees.

“Stay with me, Dani dear,” he snapped his fingers in front of her face, “I’m going to need your honest responses here.” He held out the hunting knife in both hands and unsheathed it dramatically.

The sight of the knife helped more than the annoying snapping in her face; she snarled and started to buck against him, trying to get her wrists free.

He merely tutted and leaned over her, resting the blade just above her wrist. “Don’t, you don’t want me to slip. Like I said, we’ll just start modestly.”

His eyes were intently focused on hers, taking in every twitch, every bit of fear written over her face.

She didn’t have that luxury. Nor did she want to see the hunger on his face. Her eyes were fixed on the knife, ready for the—

His first cut drew a sharp intake of breath. But more in surprise than because of the pain. Luckily, it was barely more than a scratch and barely squeezed out a drop of blood.

But his intentions were made clear when he moved the knife a few inches up. And the prick of the tip breaking through skin grew sharper as it started to carve its way through.

Roman let the blade roll along on its curve, the edge sinking in up to where the sharpened lighter grey part thickened into the rest of the blade. He rested a hand just under her elbow and leaned his weight on it when she started to struggle. The knife resurfaced with a red hue and he dragged the tip to the other end of her arm to complete a full line.

Dani grit her teeth, squeezed her eyes shut, keeping any pain bottled up, merely letting part of it escape in a frustrated grunt.

But the third time the knife broke skin, she flew up with a surprised yelp. The knife sank in deeper than before, and instead of feeling the sting of easily parted skin, this time she felt him force it through deeper layers. The quick slice was replaced by a slow dragging, drawing out the pain, until inch by inch, the build-up became too much.

She let out a cry. Let her head fall back against the concrete. Judging by the pain, she wouldn’t be surprised if he was close to or already carving directly into muscle. She clenched her teeth, forcing herself to keep a ‘stop!’ – or worse, ‘please’ – well contained.

Roman shushed her and despite his concentration on his carving, a smile started forming on his face.

“Now then,” he said, admiring his three cuts. He pulled the knife away, put it down, and he reached for the case with the needle. “Round two is the real deal.”

Like unsheathing the knife, he made a show of it. Stabbing the needle in the small vial, pulling the plunger back slowly while keeping his eyes locked with hers, flicking the syringe and putting the vial neatly back in the case. Slow, calculated, because he could. Then his thumb rested on the plunger and Dani braced herself.

“No,” she growled and tried sit up. “No you are not—"

Immediately his hand shot around her throat, cutting off her air, pushing her back down. And with just his thumb on her chin, he forced her to face sideways, giving him full access to her exposed neck.

Dani whimpered when she felt the needle pierce skin, when she felt that goddamn blue potion enter her system.

Roman sat back, leaning to the side to put the syringe back, but again his eyes didn’t leave hers. And they both waited for something to happen.

Nothing happened. As far as she was concerned. It was probably just her imagination… that the little bones in her wrists grinded painfully under his knees, rolling and bumping into each other with each movement he made. She just... hadn’t noticed before, what with the knife carving her up, that’s all. And it was just stress, or the aftermath of her struggle just now, that made the bruises from last week’s caning flare up, her shoulder blades tensing against the hard, unyielding concrete. Her throat flaring back up was because of that first surprised cry after days of silence.

And the three cuts over her forearm stinging harder than before was just part of his stupid placebo plan. Maybe after the initial fight and cutting up, adrenaline had just ebbed dow—oh shit.

Supposedly, it inhibits the release of adrenaline.

“Is it working?” Roman asked in the sweetest voice, noticing how her face fell.

“No,” she growled, shifting uncomfortably.

He hummed a note of disbelief. “Now for the before and after…”

He slashed the knife over the small of her wrist, matching the small scratch on the other and didn’t even bother with her response, immediately resting the tip a few inches above it.

It pricked out more than a lone drop of blood; tears started burning in her eyes. Pain, fear of a more intense pain, and the complete lack of control taking its toll on her.

Besides. If this worked, and probably even if it didn’t work, this was going to be waiting for her with everything he did. Beating. Injection. More severe beating drawing out more pain. Knifeplay. Injection. See what it does. Five whiplashes. Inj—

A gasp combined with a cry of pain as he repeated his process, letting his blade roll along. It was like acid slowly crawled over her skin, biting its way across, burning deeper, nibbling at her nerve ends.

“Ohh, I think it’s working,” he crooned as she twisted her head away. He rested a thumb under the cut, lightly pulling it open.

“No! No, it’s— AahH!" And this time not just the tip but almost the whole freaking knife dug into her arm.

She trashed under him, screaming, crying, voice tearing up her throat again. But it didn’t stop him from dragging out that final line, mirroring the gash on her other arm. He pushed her back down, leaned his weight heavier onto her wrist as she pulled and twisted wildly to get free.

Maybe it was her panic, maybe it was the accumulation of everything, maybe it was that goddamn drug, but it hurt worse than before and she just couldn’t take it. She screamed with every bit of skin that was forced apart and when he was finally done, she fell down on her back, shallow panicked breaths mixing with soft sobs.

Roman hummed and wiped the blade on her shirt. “And here I was sure that it worked…” He considered her, wicked grin on his face. He nudged up a little, letting her wrists slip free. But she was too dazed to do anything and she remained down, trying to catch her breath, just watching how the blood tickled down her arms.

“But well,” he continued, picking up one of the vials and holding it up in front of his eyes. Not even a quarter of it had been used. “If you say it’s not working… maybe we need a bigger sample size.”

He rose and neatly packed everything back into its case. A whimper rose up when he picked up the knife but he shushed her gently and held out a hand for her.

“Let’s disinfect all this first, shall we.”

-

Continued here

Tag list: @firewheeesky @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @whumpawink @painsandconfusion @whumpifi @whumpy-daydreams @whumpyourdamnpears @auroragehenna

[smileymxx]

Come take me for a test drive 🥰