#sedative whump

[justwhumptypethings]

tw: noncon drugging, disorientation, power loss

drugging.

I know it’s a classic, but I’m really not over sedatives. it makes whumpee all loopy and clingy, sitting on whumper’s lap and not able to take any of their weight as the world spins. they can’t think, can’t move. even their fear response is dulled.

whumpee knows, hypothetically, in a far off way, that something is probably very wrong. but it feels like their consciousness has been shredded to pieces and scattered into the air above where they’re siting slumped, and it’s making it hard to have any type of cohesive thought.

whumper running their hands through their hair, soft and pretty, and saying demeaning things about how broken whumpee is. whumpee won’t remember any of it in the morning.

[whumpetywhumpwhump]

Sedate your whumpees. Do it whether they want to be sedated or not.

Perhaps they're trying to fight against the doctors who are attempting to help them because they don't understand what's going on, and all caretaker can do is stand back and tearily watch the needle slip in and whumpee's consciousness slowly slip away. Their limp arm is placed back down on the sheets beside them and the doctors now have no resistance to their treatment plan.

Or maybe whumpee is in so much pain/discomfort that they're begging to be sedated. All they want is to be unconscious so they don't have to be aware of all that they're suffering through. The feeling of going under is terrifying to them, but it's worth it. Caretaker sits beside the bed holding their hand, watching the glaze enter their eyes as they start to blink slowly, then drift off.

In either situation, the result is that the whumpee looks peaceful at last. Whether they're actually peaceful within is a whole other thing

[starryybrained]

Waking Up In a Nightmare

Whumptober Day 10: Slurred words/Passing out from the pain

Masterlist

Content: Noncon body modification/surgery (aftermath), body horror, drugging, lab whump, nausea, excessive vomit, forced stripping, nonsexual nudity, delirium

Saul comes to, unseeing, the world dark and fuzzy, laying flat on his back. Everything is heavy and muddled, confusing. Something clinks in the background, coupled with a click-clack that he can’t parse the direction or source of.

He groans, and it sounds like it’s coming from someone else’s mouth, distant.

Where?– … Huh?

He clutches something made of fabric beneath him, attempting to lift himself up, forcing his arms back and extending them slightly, shaking. His back barely lifts off of the surface of… whatever he’s on. His chest aches with the movement, fiery and stabbing.

He can hear someone say “Stable.” The voice sounds… vaguely feminine.

The world begins to come into focus, blurry and blindingly white, making his eyes water. Saul takes in a shuddering breath. His lungs scream with the very movement. The feeling of taking in air is like that of glass shards lodging themselves within his innards.

“Implanted… successfully.” The voice continues. It sounds drifty and faraway.

Saul’s thoughts turn in circles, still half-sludge. It’s like he’s asleep and awake all at once, yet able to see.

He blinks slowly. Again, he tries to lift himself up.

“Fffuck,” he slurs, coughing, dropping onto his back once more. He tries again, and manages to sit up, unsteady, his head heavy on his shoulders. Someone pushes him back and weakly, he tries to resist. “No… no, jus’ let me fuckin’ … ssta- and. … Ssit.” His voice is small, but filled with conviction. It shakes ever so slightly.

“No. Lay back.” The voice tells him, no-nonsense.

“I hhave to… ssitup. Lemme.” Saul coughs again. It sounds wet and gross. He heaves, the wetness catching in his throat. He clutches at it sluggishly. Finally, he clears it out, able to breathe, gasping. His eyes open wide as he does. He can see her now. Dr. Greyson. Her figure is still a little blurry, but he can still identify her, the smudge of blue in his vision unmistakable.

His chest still aches.

“Whhhat— what did yyou…” Saul starts to say, blindly touching his chest. He’s clothed in something other than the experiment uniform, he can feel it. The fabric is different. Beneath it, his skin gives, sticking to it. It has the hardness of some kind of slime. “Th’fuck?!” He suddenly sits up, leaning forward as if his head is too heavy for his body. As he sits, he realizes he’s wearing a hospital gown. The barest shred of decency he can be allowed here.

Then his stomach turns.

Coughing again, he hacks up something. It drips down his chin, thick and sticky. Saul covers his mouth with one hand, using the other to keep his unsteady balance in check.

He groans and mutters something unintelligible. It’s clear through the tone of his voice that it’s something vile. “… hhurts.”  Saul doubles over without warning, grasping at his chest. “Ahg- shitshitshit—” He gasps, squeezing his eyes shut, gritting his teeth as he breathes, the air seething through his teeth. It’s like something has him within its jaws, biting him clean in two. It’s viselike, crushing.

Painkillers. He needs more painkillers.

He opens his mouth to speak and gags. Nothing comes out, but nausea crawls up his throat, pressing on the back of it. He forces himself to breathe deeply. He just needs to keep it together.

He opens his mouth to speak, soundless, and the world blurs in front of him again. The need to vomit is overwhelming. Saul’s breath is ragged.

During all of this, Dr. Greyson does nothing. She types on her screens and tends to her work and with unwanted tears in his eyes Saul almost wants to cuss her out — but he forgets the words, forgets how to ask her to give him some morphine or whatever the hell it is, all he can do is sit there with his mouth clamped shut, holding back his vomit.

Eventually, he throws up, black vomit staining the front of the hospital gown and pouring down the side of the surface he lays on, spilling onto the ground with a splatter. He throws up again and again, until there’s nothing left and he’s spewing up his own bile, a bright, noxious green. The smell is pungent.

Saul’s eyes sting and he blinks over and over.

Oh god. He’s crying. He’s crying and he’s covered in his own vomit. It’s dripping down his chin and it’s all over the hospital gown, greasy and jet-black, and his front is coated with it. It’s an absolutely obscene amount of waste.

Saul heaves. His ribcage feels like it’s snapping in two and his throat burns and his heartbeats are thudding in his ears, throbbing to the point his own skull feels like a claustrophobic nightmare.

This is a nightmare.

Saul’s head swims, vision turning dark.

…

Suddenly he’s back, seeing everything in double vision, held up by cold, slick metal. Dr. Greyson touches him, her hands gloved, untying the gown. The feeling is overwhelming.

His breath comes out quick and uneven.

She drags the soiled gown away from his body in one swift movement, and then he’s exposed. Blood rushes to his ears.

He stares at his own body, first mortified, then disbelieving.

He must be delirious.

Saul doesn’t even have the will to scream. The ugly stitches across his chest bleed blue and inky black, and in the center lies a thick, sticky membrane stretched across the skin. It looks like a patchwork of his own flesh and blood, like he’s been torn apart and sewn back up like a ragdoll. And like this, he really is a doll.

The pain makes sense now. It all makes sense, in a detached, confusing kind of way.

He’s been ruined. That’s what’s happened. Nothing will ever be the same anymore.

Dr. Greyson returns with a clean gown. It flutters like a ghost as she carries it.

Saul looks away from her, curling on his side. The room appears to crumble around him, flaking away. He breathes harder. What the fuck. What the fuck.

Dr. Greyson’s face is missing. She comes closer, gloved hands reaching for his arms.

“Get th’fuck away—”

She doesn’t.

Her touch is icy cold, clashing with the roiling heat in his chest. Saul’s entire body is on fire. He tries to push her away but he can’t.

The world continues to crack apart, and he begins to crack too. Right in his chest, where the ache is the worst. She clothes him, and the fabric is so light and thin yet claustrophobic and exposing.

He’s crying again. Or his vision is blurry. He can’t tell. He can’t tell anymore. He doesn’t know. It’s too much, it’s all too much —

Saul curls in on himself, dizzy and breathing shallowly. He’s going to die, isn’t he? He’s going to die, he can feel his chest collapsing on itself—!

… Everything goes black.

[radiomuseum]

The heart monitor beeped with every heartbeat. Whumpee was certainly nervous, as the monitor was beeping fast. The doctor and the nurse were very kind and attempted to cool her nerves by cracking jokes. It did help a bit.

They told her everything would be alright.

Whumpee asked if they could just tell her when they were about to put the sedative in to put her asleep. The anesthesiologist injected the sedative into the IV line and said that she would start feeling sleepy soon. As whumpee lay there completely conscious still, she remarked "it's crazy that I feel completely awake and normal right now, but I will be asleep so soon"

The doctor said it should happen any second now

Then she began to feel it. Her face began to feel tingly and her mind began to feel fuzzy. Her body felt like it was sinking into the bed, and the room felt like it was spinning. Everything became blurry, The beeping of the heart monitor slowed down. The last thing she remembered saying was "oh ....I feel it.."

And it was lights out

[bandits-whump-collection]

"Hey there," A voice softly called to the trembling escaped monster, a tag still hanging off it, pierced into a thin membrane. "I don't want to hurt you, just calm down." The voice's owner shined their flashlight over the creature, watching it flinch back.

"How about a treat?" They offered instead, carefully setting the light down to stay illuminating the creature, using their free hands to peel open a little can of highly-scented food. The monster perked up at the scent, scared eyes widening with hunger and curiosity.

"C'mon, it's for you." They smiled, setting the tin down and picking up the light, stepping back and giving it room.

The monster hesitated, then carefully came near, sniffing at the tin, before starting to lick and bite at the food held within it. Something specialized for its diet, designed to be as enticing as possible in its blend of aromas.

It was so entranced, that it didn't hear the soft click and hiss of a blowgun, preparing to fire a dart laced with the perfect dosage of a tranquilizer.

[rachi-roo]

I feel robbed by the new BSD episode. Tranquillisers are one of my favourite kinds of whump and they just brushed it off so fast like?! Where's the fighting to stay awake?! THE SEEPY EYES!? The groggy recovery and confusion?!? UEBWPDKWHAOR

Anyway, continue scrolling XD

[whumporama]

Whumpee who is a very powerful person, (magical or just strong and dangerous), and needs to be held captive. To keep them down, their captors keep them drugged.

Whumpee, who would normally never give in or back down, who keeps fighting even if they're restrained, is now unable to even lift a finger to stop them. It breaks them. They can take anything, if they can fight. But this? They're constantly confused and feel like their mind is in a fog. Their body doesn't feel theirs anymore, they can't move and they can't think and they can't resist.

---

When they're rescued, they're in a pretty bad state, and taking care of their wounds will hurt.

But Whumpee refuses the sedative Caretaker offers. They just got this control back, and even though they know they can trust Caretaker, they don't want to go back to that.

So now they're trapped between two evils. It hurts like hell to get their wounds cleaned, and they've had so, so much pain and are so tired. But the relief comes with going back to that state, and they can't.

Does Caretaker respect their wish? Do they try to convince them? Do they force Whumpee to take it? Do they inject it, and Whumpee only realizes when it starts to kick in?

[avvail-whumps]

The whumpee’s eyes blinked slowly, staring at the fuzziness that was building up in the edges of their vision. Even when they tried to shake it away, it only seemed to grow worse.

It made them all lightheaded and funny, barely even able to lift their hand up to look at it. When they moved it, it was like they were seeing a blurry trail of colours. Their lips curved into a weary smile, and a breathless laugh escaped their lips.

“Caretaker?” They whispered, brows wrinkling when they realised their tongue was heavy.

There was something moving beside them, and a familiar face breached their vision from where they were lay down – the caretaker was smiling, their voice only reaching their ears after they watched their lips move.

“I’m here,” they gently hummed, brushing some of the whumpee’s hair from their face. Their dazed eyes were fixated on them, before wrinkling in confusion.

Their numb fingers gently prodded the caretaker’s cheek. They could just make out dark red scratch marks, and their lips wobbled in an attempt to say something. The caretaker shushed them, gently taking their hand and holding it close.

“It’s okay,” they smiled. “It was an accident. I forgive you.”

Forgive them. The whumpee wearily realised it must have been their fault, but they didn’t remember doing it. They didn’t really remember anything. They let out a slurred mumble, and the caretaker sighed, kissing their temple.

“Sorry. You weren’t calming down,” they murmur, but the whumpee is so fuzzy that they can’t hear anything. It feels like their floating, and it feels good. It feels calm, and they like it.

The caretaker sets the sedative in the drawer, and tucks them into bed.

[whumpacabra]

Have your medical caretaker forget (or your medical whumper ‘forget’) to numb whumpee before a minor but painful operation.

They have to follow up with a sedative to help whumpee ‘calm down,’ blissfully unaware (or cruelty reveling) that they’re still in excruciating pain.

Whumpee is still in pain, but they’re too confused and exhausted by the sedative to communicate that to their caretakers.

[justwhumptypethings]

tw: heavy objectification, conditioning, torture, mention of limb death

art piece whumpee.

strung up and injured and hurt to look pretty and literally exist as an art piece in a gallery.

their arms are folded, intertwined with their legs so that their bony arm is twisted around their left leg, the other under the right, the right leg splayed out and upwards farther. their knuckles go red and their body suffers long term damage for being kept in a stress position like that for so long.

they lost feeling a long time ago. When they eat, they get spoonfed by one of the employees at the gallery. People gather around to watch and it becomes part of the art because the employee has to wear something that evokes whatever morbid image they think it’s displaying.

they get let out twice a day- before and after opening and closing- to use the bathroom, and otherwise they’re constantly strung up. their body is in a constant stress position, and both of their shoulders have been dislocated to achieve it for a long, long time. their vocal cords were also cut. whumper would have just cut their tongue, except they thought that had value to add to the piece, in whumpee licking their scabbed chapped lips, or getting their jaw pulled open. they decided to cut their vocal cords instead.

before they got strung up, they had to be turned into an art piece. Whumper scarred them to all hell, not trying to hurt them, but trying to evoke a certain image. their clothes aren’t normal clothes, obviously, they’re the type of thing you’d imagine on a statue. That type of revealing, robe-ish thing.

there’s a little plaque that sits on a stand next to them, with whumper’s name and credits to them, and the name of their website if any viewers want to buy one of their own to keep, and the title of the piece. not their given name, not the name their mother gave them- the title of the piece.

they’ve stopped being able to feel things a long time ago. They almost dislike when they’re let down, because it gives their body just enough time to recoordinate to normal gravity and walking before getting strung back up. they have to start the process of the initial blood rush, followed by the asleep feeling, followed by pain and then numbness. they haven’t been able to feel their feet or their fingers since training. if they do get rescued, they won’t be able to use either- their toes and fingers both look purple, almost black, from the blood- almost like bad hypothermia. it adds to the look. they think their fingers and toes might be dead.

whumper was looking for the type of look you see sometimes in old rennesiance oil paintings, but more tangible. whumpee’s body wasn’t the only thing they worked on- they looked through different types of bonds- ropes, chains, before finally landing on strings. whumpee is a proper art piece to whumper- they spent hours styling and changing whumpee’s clothes, if you could call it that. Whumper spent days sketching and thinking about ways to string up whumpee- which arm and leg should go where to achieve the most pain and blood flow block up, making their knuckles and every one of their bony joints red and swollen.

alternatively, art piece whumpee who’s heavily conditioned. they’re an art piece. that’s all they are. there’s nothing wrong with the way the viewers look at them or touch them or the mocking way they talk to them. they want to be a good art piece. that’s all they are.

human speech sounds garbled in their mind. somehow, whumper’s training managed to make whumpee unlearn language, all human language coming out strange and gibberish to them. they can’t communicate, can’t understand.

the strings are light and clear, and they give enough for whumpee to be able to move and change their position slightly, but they can’t get out. the strings are wrapped too tight around them, further affecting their circulation and biting into their flesh, leaving permeanant scars. the strings don’t give, despite how thin they are, they’re sturdy.

if whumpee does manage to get out of them, somehow, they’ll be decommissioned. A new living art piece will be up a couple months from now. they’ll hand in a heap on the floor, much too dizzy to get away from the security guards.

they’ve long stopped trying to fight it. They’re a touchable exhibit, and so people are allowed to pinch their cheeks and laugh when their eyes widen or touch them however they want as long as they don’t break their strings. People poke them in the sides and laugh when they flinch, looking over at them with terror.

they’re surrounded by objects- paintings and cloth and clay. Beautiful objects, human expression, but objects nonetheless. they’re left there after lights out, just like all the other art pieces, sitting in the dark for 15 hours surrounded by objects just like them until the next employee comes in to open at seven.

they’re the pride and joy of their exhibit.

[letitbehurt]

Thinking about Whumpee being held down in a hospital bed.

[starryybrained]

Unaware

Whumptober Day 19: One way out

Masterlist

Content: Lab whump, sedated/unconscious whumpee, explicit surgical procedure, vivisection, noncon body modification, stripping whumpee while unconscious, nonsexual nudity, noncon touch, dehumanization, scientifically inaccurate/fantastical medical procedure

As Saul lays unconscious with the beeping of monitors and the hum of the surgical equipment surrounding him, the world grows small and sharp, focused. The environment becomes so much more productive than before. More streamlined. No longer is there a man before Dr. Greyson, but a living thing that looks like one, has the anatomy of one, breathes and has a pulse just like one. A subject.

Mechanical arms power on at her command, precise and ready to cut him apart, expose his insides, slimy and inky-blue.

Dr. Greyson readies a video feed to archive footage of the surgery, making sure the angle is perfect, the image crystal-clear.

Screens surround her with different images and graphs, vitals and data that will supplement her work, all glowing brilliantly blue, illuminating her and her subject with their icy glow.

There’s only one way out now. Only one way he’ll get out of here alive. An objective not even he is aware of.

Survive the surgery.

Dr. Greyson cuts away his uniform first. Her silvery scissors glint as she does, the motion swift and familiar, knowing. She drags away the unwanted fabric, discarding it. It will be sanitized and recycled later. (After all, nothing here should go to waste.)

She barely blinks at his naked body before her, not even giving it a second thought. It’s all flesh and blood, bones and organs to her, the content of anatomy textbooks.

Machines ready, she starts up the vivisection process, typing in a quick keyword to initiate it. The mechanical arms whirr and click ever so slightly as they move into position, barely audible, and a scan runs over his body, mapping out where to make incisions, a half-second flash of glimmering blue light that disappears as quickly as it made its presence known, passing over his body.

One arm lasers away his body hair until his skin is bare and smooth where they need to make the cuts, another changes its tip to a blade as it does, beginning to slice the skin after the other arm finishes.

The blade goes into his flesh easily, and blue wells up where it touches, creating a dark, shiny line across his chest and stomach. An additional set of arms help pry apart his skin as the knife cuts deeper, plunging through the layers of fat and skin.

Once it’s finished, one pins the skin back into place, leaving the ribs and his organs exposed. The scene is slightly lewd, wet and fleshy and slightly pulsing like insides usually do… and he’s all exposed and left so vulnerably open — however Valeria and her machines handle it with the unflinching accuracy and coldness only a Rigorian surgeon or their tech could have.

He doesn’t even stir, his only movements are the involuntary ones laid out for all to see. His hearts beating. His lungs shrinking and growing with every breath. The swell of his stomach following each inhale. All measured and recorded for posterity.

Dr. Greyson changes the machines’ procedures to a more custom set, the one made specifically for her experiments, and the machines follow her commands fluidly, transitioning into the experimental procedure without so much as a hiccup.

With a click, three of the arms change their tips to nozzles, panels in their sides opening to reveal empty glass tubes. Dr. Greyson fetches the vials with the specimen inside and loads the panels up. They click shut automatically after she does, stationary until each is filled, and then they return to working on him.

As they position themselves where they ought to be (his heart and on either side of his lungs), Dr. Greyson checks her subject’s vitals.

Stable…

Wonderful.

She watches closely as they pump his body full of the specimen, making sure it stays confined to his innards.

It should be fine, considering the modifications the biotechnologists have made to the specimen’s mental faculties and biological processes. Once it bonds with her subject’s tissue, it shouldn’t be able to rid itself of him — and vice versa.

It merges quite well, melting into his chest, squirming between his ribs and seeping into his serosa, making itself right at home. The screens before her show the very percentage of their coalescence, the number slowly creeping towards 100%.

It finally reaches completion, and the only change is the stained appearance of his internal organs, the slimy, desaturated blacks and greys clinging to his insides.

Good. The operation is now two-thirds of the way through.

Dr. Greyson manually moves the pumps away from his chest and torso, now-empty, dripping with remnants of the black goo. The tips recede back into the arms, self-cleaning – Valeria taps in the code for them to start sealing Saul’s body up, idly monitoring the machines, relaying her observations onto a screen. Her notes glow, reflecting against the surface of her glasses while the machines do their work, sealing his body up. 

He shouldn’t have so much as a scar left afterwards.

… Shouldn’t have.

The skin parts after it’s sealed. The specimen’s ooze leaks through the cracks as the skin parts, resisting the seal.

Dr. Greyson’s gaze hardens. Fuck. She’ll have to take this at a different angle.

Instead of beating a dead horse, she decides to go in herself, readying her tools to stitch him up.

The needle and thread go in easily, and come out caked in slime, filthy. The synthetic thread holds together though, and soon Dr. Greyson is able to tie it off, manually cleaning and disinfecting the area.

As she does, the skin on his chest darkens, turning dark and muck-colored. When she touches it, it gives, softer than skin normally should be.

She’s so glad she’s recording this.

Verbally putting down her notes, she probes his body, examining him.

“Subject continues to be stable after needing stitches. The self-administered mastectomy scarring is unaffected by leakage. Subject’s body and internal organs are considerably discolored. Subject’s skin in the thorax area –” she gives his chest another press, testing how much give it has, pulling her hands away when it dips under her touch like slime – “has a considerable amount of give.” She presses again, making sure she can feel his bones. “Ribcage is intact, however.”

“Specimen seems to have integrated with no offensive side effects. Subject remains unconscious.”

She disposes of her dirty gloves and snaps on new ones the moment her hands are bare.

“The surgery appears to be a success… I am entering the subject into the recovery phase now.”

He made it.

[whumpookies]

AMOW whumperland 2023 day 4 title: the Grinch prompt: Sedative.

[bandits-whump-collection]

I hear you know a lot about sedatives. Is there anything that works really quickly and is really strong, like a movie-style instant knockout drug? I have to admit, I was a little disappointed at how un-cinematic it was when I experienced being sedated myself

Unfortunately not, or at least, not to the degree you'd hope.

The slowest method is intramuscular, which are tranquilizer darts. These aren't precise, and hit muscle to slowly inject through the fibers and eventually reach blood. They take anywhere from 20 to 40 minutes, and need a counter-agent administered immediately after whatever's been done is done to ensure whatever (or whoever) was hit doesn't die to it. Sedatives are lethal, upping the strength doesn't mean they just up how fast they work, it means the risk of death by overdose is increased. So, a dart to the neck or butt wouldn't instantly send a character off to dreamland (in fact, you don't dream under sedation), and if it hits a vein or artery, that can be it for them.

The second, is intravenous sedation. This is usually used in hospitals, typically taking 15-30 minutes. Unless you're a stunning sharpshooter, you typically can't use a dart to administer this, but if your whumpee is restrained, and they're perhaps shot with a dose of paralytics before being administered this...

The third is inhalation, so that chloroform rag a whumper slapped to a whumpee's face as they struggle before falling limp for hours? Really, it would take 5 minutes (compare to the other's double digit numbers) of constant deep breathing, and only keep them under for a minute once it's removed. But, if you really want chloroform, a way you could do it is soak a fabric bag in it, and tie it over your whumpee's head, resulting in constant exposure and your whumper not having to hold a rag the entire time.

And, the quickest and most dangerous, is an injection directly into the heart. There's little research past pet euthanasia vets, which I feel speaks for itself when I say that this method is dangerous.

But, a lot of sedatives have flexible times. Some take hours, some take minutes. If you want to use a real sedative for your story, research what type it is! If you want to use a fictional one, try to base it off a real one for a certain interest to the story. I always love watching whumpees helplessly struggle as they inevitably fall asleep.

Oh, also, because I hate when people go off on a different topic and don't answer the original question itself; this is fiction, M99 is probably your ticket to insta-knocking out your character. A quarter's worth of weight can knock out a couple thousand-pounds stallion. Have fun!

[whump-bunny]

Whumper had Whumpee wearing a shock collar for the longest time... Until Whumpee got used to the pain and began to ignore it.

So Whumper made Whumpee wear a new collar. One that can monitor Whumpee's heart rate. And if that heart rate gets too fast? Say, for instance, if Whumpee is trying to run away? Or trying to hurt themself? The collar will inject a sedative directly into Whumpee's neck. Problem solved.

Maybe Whumper intentionally sets the threshold really low so Whumpee can hardly walk without setting the collar off.

Maybe Whumper takes great pleasure in trying to scare Whumpee just to see them panic.

Maybe the threat of sedation only makes Whumpee's heart rate get faster.

Maybe after Whumpee is rescued, they shove their feelings down and seem eerily calm all the time.

[ftmpuppyslt]

need more medkink mutuals.. specifically sedatives and restraints ...... screaming crying throwing up. specifically ward-esque content but thats far and few. (yes ive BEEN to a ward im not one of those weirdos who fetishize them after never being to one)

if u find me via the tags down below PLEASE interact and share medkink stuff. thx.

this is not an invitation for making sexual advances on me but it IS an invitation to send medkink posts