#this is why im broke today. this is why.

[anxiously-sidequesting]

How much have you spent on w101? Because BROOO I'm embarrassed of how many crowns I've bought 😭😭😭

Listen my brother you are NOT alone 😭😭😭😭 my wizard hyperfixation has cost me well into the hundreds. I haven't been counting so I don't know the numbers specifically but I literally wasted all my allowances and birthday money on Wizard101 when I was younger and everyday I want to kick myself in the ass for it

[chevs-and-spiders]

no siren like the sea

[hammill-goes-fogwalking]

I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI. I HATE AI.

[hold-him-down]

Belleview Chapter Two (Part C): River

Notes: mostly low-level med whump

Belleview: Chapter 1, Chapter 2 (Part A), Chapter 2 (Part B)

TW: Institutionalized slavery, Med Whump, Med Exam, References to Noncon, Noncon touch, Dubcon Medical Care, References to Human Experimentation

✥ ✥ ✥

River London proves, immediately, to be more of a challenge. 

River, in nearly poetic contrast to Felix, has been described as being filled with fiery hatred and anger and, reportedly, does little to hide this. Lincoln has prepared himself for the worst, but has his doubts about what he will find.

Still, it takes Lincoln a fair amount of hyping himself up before he pushes the door open, and when he does, he is met not by the enraged, violent man described over and over and over on paper, but a pale, skinny boy who doesn’t even acknowledge his presence, much less attack.

River sits on the floor, curled into the corner, his head resting against the tiled wall. His room is devoid of any items at all. Lincoln recalls accounts of daily disciplinary measures that have been taken over the past couple years, including the removal of his bed, his clothes, the bedside table, and all objects that can be used to act in defiance of the handlers. 

River’s file was… different, from anything Lincoln had expected to see in a place like this. Considered hostile by all the former handlers and medical staff at Belleview, River had made something of a name for himself in his persistent and unyielding defiance. Over and over, there were notes of aggression, there were incident reports, there were handlers with broken bones, with cuts or scrapes or bites. They were specific in their approach to River, using precautions in all interactions with him. Lincoln had read through the disciplinary notes and a slew of other documents warily, his stomach dropping further with each new file, and ultimately accepted that the likelihood of River being cooperative was slim. 

River’s arms are wrapped tightly around his legs, and Lincoln takes a moment to orient himself to as much of River’s physical condition as he can from this distance. River, like the rest of them, appears to be considerably underweight. He has fewer visible scars on his back, but there is bruising that peeks out from under the collar. His breaths are even enough, maybe a little shallow. He shifts, burying his head into the space between his knees and covers his ears. Alright, then.

Lincoln clears his throat but keeps his distance and crouches down to eye level. He stays aware of his exit because, while River doesn’t necessarily incite fear in his current state, his history of assaulting handlers has given Lincoln a healthy sense of caution. 

“River?” Lincoln tries. There is no response. “I’m Lincoln. Prescott,” he continues. The only obvious sign that he is being heard at all is River, not subtly, pressing the heels of his hands into his ears. So he launches into his speech, watching for any obvious signs of distress, although he finds none.

Clinically, River is in a much better position than Felix was, but Lincoln feels ill-prepared to address River’s condition. He swallows and stands, setting his phone, his keys, the tablet and folder on the floor by the door before making a slow approach. He has prepared himself for, at worst, aggression, but at the very best, a verbal undressing. He has a three-point list for today, and does not intend to push River beyond what he can handle. Step one is… to the extent that he can complete it, completed. Introduce himself. Get the information to River.

Step two: Get the collar off of him.

Lincoln points to his neck and says, as neutrally as he can, “Can I take the collar off?” 

River doesn’t respond, but he pulls his knees in tighter and lifts his head, his gaze burning into the wall. Once within arm’s reach of him, Lincoln sits back on his heels, showing River his hands.

“The clip has already been deactivated,” he says softly. “It is not anyone’s intent, nor is it legal, to reactivate it.” He notices a muscle in River’s jaw tighten but, given that River has been fairly passive so far, he continues carefully. “I need to find the physical release mechanism,” he explains as he points to River’s neck. “It’s located, I believe, on the opposite side as the… as the metal plates. I was asked to master this skill, if nothing else, over the last few weeks. It takes a little bit of finessing, but I promise it won’t hurt.” River does not outwardly acknowledge Lincoln has spoken, but his body language is as clear as it can be - he’s not comfortable with this, he does not want Lincoln near him. “I’ll go as quickly as I can,” Lincoln says, “but I will need to touch your neck, okay?”

River, unsurprisingly, does not offer an opinion one way or another, so Lincoln leans forward, keeping his movements as obvious as he can. The moment he’s within reach, though, River jerks away. 

“It’s alright,” Lincoln says. “I’m going to take it off. Then we’ll talk through what’s next.” In an instant, River goes rigid as he curls up tighter, and he holds his breath. In hindsight, Lincoln can see where he went wrong, but his focus is singularly on having any type of success with River that he doesn’t clock what’s about to happen until it’s too late. River does not look as Lincoln’s fingers experimentally brush against his skin, but he also does not immediately pull away. This close, Lincoln can feel the barely-contained tension in River’s muscles. He moves quickly to find the release, but not quickly enough, and within a split second, River throws his elbow back into Lincoln’s stomach with considerable force. The impact is both painful and unexpected, and, with murder in his eyes, River scrambles as far away as the small space will allow. 

It takes Lincoln a moment to catch his breath, and another to assess if he’s broken anything, but he hasn’t, and so he turns his attention back to River.

River’s hands move to his neck, partly cradling it and partly grasping the collar, and he’s about as small as he can get. He’s prepared for retaliation, steeling himself against the inevitable shock that he knows is coming.

“Ow,” Lincoln says as he rights himself. 

He takes a deep, experimental breath, and second guesses whether River did, in fact, break something, before he notices that River is… the anger is still there, but it’s overshadowed by how tightly he grips onto the band of the collar.

“Okay,” Lincoln says. “I may have had that coming.” He takes another breath, which aches less than the first, a good sign. “You can try it yourself?” He takes a step back. “There’s a small plastic piece at the back that you can push up, which will expose the connection point. If you push in on the raised side while sliding it down and to the left, it should free itself, okay?” 

Lincoln isn’t certain where his biggest error was, but from there, his three-point list goes up in flames. In an effort to reduce the likelihood of additional altercations, he doesn't immediately re-engage River, but rather keeps a distance, affording River enough personal space that he, god willing, does not feel threatened. For his part, River remains openly, but with a respectable stability, hostile. There's no chance that Lincoln will have success at getting his vitals, because that involves touching him, and it's been made, rather painfully, clear that that is currently off the table.

While it’s very clear that River is suffering, short of calling in support to restrain him so that Lincoln can get closer, there is no chance of Lincoln identifying the specific sources of that suffering beyond using his imagination (which, by Lincoln's own calculations, has already had more than enough play).

He tries his hand at questioning River from afar, and when that doesn’t work, he regroups again, and tries to just talk through the new circumstances.

He’s met with a soft but venomous, “Go fuck yourself,” when he tells him, eventually, that he only wants to help.

Lincoln spends nearly an hour with River, pushing him as much as he can, which is, unfortunately, not particularly far. Objectively, he admits that he may in fact have lost ground over the last hour. He certainly hasn't gained any. He changes his tactic once more, and, accepting for River’s refusal to cooperate, he settles into the far corner of River's room and leans against the wall, resigned by the fact that this has gone about as poorly as it could have gone, short of any serious bodily injury.

A soft knocking draws his attention away.

“We’re done triaging,” one of the volunteers– Doug Richmond, Lincoln corrects himself– says. “Dr. Francis asked me to find you.” Lincoln nods and stands, careful as he makes his way to the door to give River a wide berth.

Lincoln pauses near the exit and turns back. “Please try to eat,” he says gently. “We’ll have a bed ready for you in the next hour or so. You have free access to the bathroom if you’d like to take a shower. Volunteers will be in and out today getting you anything you need. Please,” he whispers. “River.”

At the mention of his name, River flinches, but his gaze doesn’t shift from the floor. 

“If you need anything, let me, or any of the volunteers, know, and you will have it.” Lincoln straightens his back, inhaling a slow, deep breath. “I just,” he starts, but falters, searching for the right words. The blame here, he knows, lies squarely on the shoulders of the people who have hurt him. There are no right words. Nothing makes this better. They can only move forward, in baby steps, and hope that it’s enough. “I just want to make sure you’re not in any pain.” His voice is low, but he knows that River hears him. “Anything beyond that, we can deal with when you are ready. If you are in any pain,” he says, the memory of River’s file feeling fresher by the minute. “Just… if you let me know, I can help. You do not need to suffer through this.”

River turns his head toward Lincoln, dark eyes burning with anger. He opens his mouth, and Lincoln thinks he might tell him anything, but instead, he whispers, “Leave me alone,” and buries his head once more.

Lincoln nods and makes a quiet exit, but leaves the door ajar. 

To Richmond, he says softly, “Get him set up with water and a few food options. If he'll let you, please get him a bed. If not, leave it alone for now. If he indicates he needs anything else, come find me.” He pauses, and they both stare at the half-open door. “Give him space, though,” Lincoln continues, his voice as low as he can make it. “He has a history of aggression toward handlers, and I don’t doubt he will apply the same strategies to us if threatened. He doesn’t need to speak or eat or get dressed or shower. The collar can stay on. Just try to…"

It is difficult to convey how deeply protective Lincoln suddenly feels of this boy who he has known for all of an hour and who, by all metrics, loathes him, while also not coming off as a completely sanctimonious prick. "Just be careful with him,” he finishes lamely, before glancing back at the door.

He knows this team, selected specifically for their ability to handle this, will approach River cautiously and will not back him into corners and will, ultimately, put his comfort above anything else. But still, as he forcibly turns away and walks down the corridor, he cannot shake the feeling of increasing sadness that winds its way through him.

✥ ✥ ✥

Belleview Taglist:

@pigeonwhumps @peachy-panic @whump-cravings @pirefyrelight @i-eat-worlds

@taterswhump @squishablesunbeam @inpainandsuffering @distinctlywhumpthing @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

@handsinmotion @whumps-and-bumps @pumpkin-spice-whump @alexmundaythrufriday @itsawhumpsideblog

[ch2n2o2x3]

₊‧° 𝓣𝓸𝓭𝓪𝔂, 𝓘 𝓪𝓶 𝓖♡𝓭 °‧₊

𝒯𝑜𝓂𝑜𝓇𝓇𝑜𝓌… 𝓌𝒽𝑜 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌𝓈?

[everythingisawayoflife]

the writer in me…she’s cooking…i think this is the longest thing ive written yet. i shall leave a sample below so i’m satisfied with sharing at least a little bit before i post the full thing (this to me takes place in the new batman adventures universe but feel free to imagine otherwise):

Dick is worried. Tim isn’t the chattiest kid but he can certainly hold a conversation. Dick’s tried everything: school, movies, TV, even casework. All he’s gotten are some unenthused grunts and hums. Tim may not biologically be Bruce’s kid but he sure does take after the guy. He cleaned up a bit before leaving and there’s a little bit of color back in his face but he still looks tired. Devastatingly so. Dick keeps stealing glances at his little brother in the passenger seat of the car. His arms are folded tightly against his abdomen, as if he’s protecting his stomach from something and a slight shiver courses through his body despite Tim bundling up with at least three layers, a scarf, a hat, and very thick gloves. The kid’s got to be cooking in his makeshift snowsuit, but then again…

They’re stopped at a red light. Five minutes out from the mall, three minutes out from the nearest urgent care.

Dick steals another glance towards Tim and decides to reroute to the clinic, get him checked out. Dick tuts quietly, it’s a shame he’s starting to come down with something right before Christmas, right before his first Christmas with them. Dick’s been in his shoes before; falling in a pond ice skating with Barbara. She managed to be just fine whereas he spent Christmas on Bruce’s couch laid up with pneumonia. He hardly remembers that Christmas from being so damn delirious but he remembers the warmth that wasn’t from fever. It was familial. The whole time he remembers being with someone. It was hard to deduce who was with him when but he was never alone. And if Tim was about to go through what he had been through, or something similar, he’d need them. But first, Dick just wanted to check for a fever in the first place. All signs pointed to one but Dick wasn’t sure yet. Careful not to wake the sleeping boy, Dick reaches out for Tim’s forehead.

HONK!

Dick quickly retracts his hand and places it back on the wheel, pressing the gas. To the mall. Tim doesn’t jolt awake but the car horn is clearly loud enough to stir him. He blinks slowly with a grimace, like he’s in pain.

“Are we there yet?” Tim asks, pitifully quiet. Like talking louder than a whisper would kill him.

“Almost, Tim, you can go back to sleep for a bit,” Dick says, taking a left towards the mall.

Tim makes a disapproving noise. “I wasn’t sleeping.”

Hm. Denial is the path he’s choosing here.

“Are you sure? Your eyes were closed and you weren’t talking. Telltale signs of sleeping to me,” Dick says lightly, trying not to come off like he’s interrogating Tim.

Tim laughs a little. “Nope, just resting my eyes.”

“Okay, old man. You’re too young to rest your eyes. Resting your eyes is for old people. Just look at Bruce.”

“Hn.”

“Oh my gosh, B, is that you?” This gets a more hearty laugh from Tim. It’s the most awake he’s looked since this morning.

alrighty thats all im posting, im gonna show the utmost restraint until i actually finish this thing.

[randomminty]

Hbubhhuhub. Rais ea suillen

[inkameswetrust]

broke ass bitch thats why yo shoes made out of couch leather

[faunsoda]

[good-beanswrites]

hii!! can we get some platonic fuuta amane interactions please? thabks !!!

Ahh yes, thank you so much for the request! I love them so much ;--; They've been making my brain go brrrr lately with T3 possibilities, though I decided to stay away from the drama for now. Here something sweet after T1 verdicts but before the attacks -- they're just hanging out :3

Yuno smiled down at Amane, finding her hunched over a table of craft supplies with Fuuta. The guilty verdict had hit them hard, so it was good to see them in better spirits. She tried to peer over her shoulder to see what they were working on. “Aw, what are you two up to?”

Amane returned her smile. “Fuuta is teaching me to misbehave.”

His face twitched in horror. “Oi, you can’t just go around saying that!” He looked frantically at Yuno. “We’re just folding paper planes.”

Amane lifted her chin. “You said in middle school, you made them to throw in class.”

“I said my friends made them to throw in class. And it’s not like I’m telling you to throw them. I was just making them because there’s nothing better to do in this damned place. You were the one that said it looked fun and sat down to annoy me!”

Fuuta huffed at the accusation as Yuno walked away, laughing. He returned to the design he was folding. He hadn’t been giving an explicit step-by-step for each, but Amane was keeping up just fine. They each had a small pile of various plane designs they were adding to. 

Running a finger along a new crease, he gave Amane a sideways look. “Though, you could stand to misbehave a little bit.”

“I did.” She reached forward to mimic the fold on her own plane. “That is why I’m here.”

“Eh? I don’t mean you should commit crimes!” He scowled. “I’m talking about normal kid stuff, nothing against the law. Like staying out too late, driving your teacher crazy, funny vandalism–”

“--Vandalism is against the law.”

“Oh come on, it’s harmless! Don’t even try to argue that a little graffiti is comparable to what got you here.” He rolled his eyes. “So? What about that other stuff?”

She shook her head. With neither disappointment nor pride, she said, “I never left my home at night. And my teachers were far too strict.” 

“Aw, it’s the strict ones that are the most fun to prank!” He pointed to Amane, adopting the most persuasive voice he could manage. “You gotta do some of these things, or you’ll turn out with a stick up your ass. Like Kotoko, or Mikoto. Or a weirdo like Kazui and Mahiru. Shidou’s more or less normal, and he’s the type of guy to break some rules now and then.”

“And you?” She raised her eyebrows at him, feigning innocence. “I take it you turned out perfectly because you misbehaved as a child?”

“Hey, I never said I was a shining role model or anything. But I mean it. If you stay like this, you’ll grow up to be a boring loser, another cog in the wheel.”

“It is an honor to be a part of something bigger than yourself, to find belonging, and purpose.”

“Tch, don’t be such a pain!”

“I wasn’t.”

“You know that’s not what I was talking about!”

“What were you talking about, then?” She gave him the same expression as before, and wondered if could hide her genuine confusion. 

“Don’t play dumb. I know working in a group is a good thing, but you don’t want to kill yourself for leaders that don’t give a shit about you. That’s a major issue in this country, you know? In government, and corporations, and all that. That’s not belonging, that’s just exploitation.”

Amane stayed silent.

Oblivious to the emotions flashing across her lowered eyes, he nudged her in annoyance. “And the best way to break from that is to loosen up a bit. So have a little fun now and then, jeez!”

She picked her creation off the table. She turned it over in her hands. It had come out perfectly sharp and clean. “I’m having fun now.”

Fuuta, preparing to argue with whatever she said, blinked. “O-oh.” 

“At school, my favorite activities included choir practice and the arts. It has been difficult to sing here without accompaniment, so I am grateful to have the opportunity for crafts.” She looked at him earnestly. “Despite your past of disobedience,” she smirked, “I always enjoy your company.”

His expression twisted up, but he couldn’t hide the reddening of his ears. “What do I care if a brat like you likes my company?”

She smiled. “I’m not a brat. As established, I am very well-behaved.”

“That’s even worse!”

“Tell me about this plane, Fuuta.”

After sufficiently rolling his eyes and sighing, he agreed. He started explaining what made these planes different from the last: how they compared on speed, accuracy, and length of flight. It didn’t really matter if they were just going to toss them around here or the panopticon later, he thought it would be helpful to teach her anyway. Maybe if she ever was inclined, she’d remember which ones were best for pinpointing a teacher’s back, or a warden’s…

[michameinmicha]

My mum was on the phone with her boss and said 'my son rolled me to the hospital in a wheelchair' (its me im the son) which was fun :3

[imorphemi]

VOTE PEARL FOR TUMBLR SEXYMAN!!!

[naivety]

have to go pick up a washing machine tomorrow a coworker snagged for $75 [!] and lug it all the way upstairs [....] to hook up before somehow draining the old one [...] because it broke mid-cycle washing sheets not once but twice thrown up on by cat [...] and we can't even get it to drain [....] 🙏 and hopefully finish putting together a 2 weeks late little birthday gift box for my sibling because i literally forgot until the night before and wanted to die. and get my axle looked at cause it might be bent. day off ❤️

[killemwithkawaii]

[CW: Kewk overshares (but it's a good thing!)]

I GOT CALLED BACK TO MY DAY JOB NO MORE STRESSIN I CAN FULLY CONCENTRATE ON CRINGE TODAY YESS!!! 😭🙏🎉🎉🎉🍻

[newtness532]

im so annoyed with everything today, i think i need some tasty food and a million hours of sleep and then I'll be back to normal

[florida3exclamationpoints]