#Non Consensual Drugging

[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?

[lady-wallace]

Between the Styx and the Lethe Part Two: Whumptober Day 31 (JJBA)

And we’re at the final update of the month! Thanks to everyone who has followed my @whumptober stuff this year, I always have such a good time doing and I’m glad you all seem to enjoy it too :)

Time to get Giorno a rescue.

Prompt: “A Light at the End of the Tunnel” (comfort, bedside vigil, ‘you can rest now’)

Fandom: JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure Part 5

Character: Giorno

~~~~~~~

Read Part One HERE

Read the whole chapter on:

Ao3

FF.net

Whumptober Masterpost

~~~~~~~~

Bucciarati and the others stared in awe and horror at the mansion that spread out in front of them.

"Holy shit," Abbacchio muttered under his breath.

The whole building was wrapped in thorns like something out of a fairy tale. Bucciarati shivered as he stared at it, then finally got his senses back and turned to Narancia.

"How many signatures do you detect?" he asked.

Narancia searched the radar with Aerosmith and swallowed hard. "One."

That was all Bucciarati needed to know. He nodded to the others. "Abbacchio, call the backup off. I don't think we'll be needing them."

"You're sure?"

Bucciarati nodded and turned back toward the door. "Let's go."

He zipped a large hole in the doors and everyone stepped through.

The mansion was eerily silent. The briars crawled across the floors and walls in here as well and the group followed them, having a feeling they would lead to their target.

It wasn't long before they started to come across bodies wrapped in the briars. Mista bent to check the pulse of one of the men, but shook his head.

"I've never…I've never seen Giorno do anything like this before," Trish commented, hugging herself with a shiver. "I didn't know he could."

Bucciarati didn't reply. He simply followed the briars down into the basement of the mansion where they seemed to have originated.

There was a concentration of bodies here on the stairs and down this particular hall leading to a door that had been smashed open by the briars.

Bucciarati stepped over the thorny vines and came to a sudden stop at the scene that appeared in front of him.

Giorno lay half naked on a metal table in the center of what looked to be a destroyed laboratory. Several more lumps of briar-wrapped bodies sat around the room, obviously the first ones to be taken down when whatever disaster this was had happened.

The others caught up, stopping behind him and Bucciarati pushed himself forward as they gasped.

[dice-n-slice-bitvh]

Hah! Fuck you single bitch, imagine being single.

I'm dating someone, go fuck yourself.

-✂️

Damn, didn't know that toys counted as a sentient being now- Wait, nevermind, not even a preschool toy would want to date you. Stop with hallucinations before you're sent to the Asylum again.

[xh0llyhat3fulx-blog]

I hope this will suffice for you <3 Mister-exec

[uuuhshiny]

Vladimir Verevochkin in Double

Later that day

I guess you didn’t get me correctly. I will not take no for an answer

Next

[aziraphales-library]

Hi! I’d love to recomend “What doesn't kills me, makes me more insanely in love with You” by GreediLadyFoxie if it hasn’t been recommended already.

I was wondering if you folks had anymore fics with grillt either being poisoned/ using drugs/being drugged for angsty reasons (ideally a happy ending but I’m not fussy) thank you so much for all you do for the fandom :)

Here are some angsty fics featuring poison/drugging. Mind the tags!...

Beacon by EdosianOrchids901 (M)

Taken captive by humans, Crowley manages to get a message out. Aziraphale rushes to the rescue, but Crowley has been poisoned by holiness. Will Aziraphale be able to save his beloved?

Dans les Bras d'un Démon by bleuberry (E)

After the failed Apocalypse, Crowley and Aziraphale are living together peacefully. Until, old enemies return again to exact revenge a second time. Or, Crowley is drugged with a demonic enhancer and feelings are confessed. But, first a chase.

Sacrificial Lamb by ShesAKillerQueen98 (M)

Crowley finds himself in a very dangerous situation when he's captured by a religious cult. Without access to his powers, his only hope is that Aziraphale hears his pleas in time.

Paradigm Shift (Or, What it Means to Heal a Demon) by rattatatosk (T)

Aziraphale stared down at the demon's limp body, wringing his hands as he desperately tried to figure out what to do. No, that wasn't quite right. He knew what to do: he needed to heal Crawly. The question was, how? Everyone knew you couldn't heal demons with divine light. Or-- well. He supposed that wasn't quite right, either. No one knew it, because no one would have ever bothered to try it. He was an angel; they didn't heal demons, they smited them. But he couldn't-- he couldn't just leave Crawly like this, helpless and alone. He had to do something. If he didn't, no one else would. And yet the question remained-- how?

Choices by Most_Loved_Tragedy (E)

Two years after the failed apocalypse, Crowley and Aziraphale think they're free. Free to love, free to get married and move into their cottage in the South Downs. But Heaven and Hastur aren't exactly ready to move on.

And the one you mentioned...

What doesn't kills me, makes me more insanely in love with You by GreediLadyFoxie (M)

A.K.A. five times Crowley took a poison (for fun) and one time he really thought he would end his life forever

- Mod D

[babybunbuun]

Anon is back 🤭

As well as a tip jar is available, every tip earns your special lewdies for your inbox🩷

[henrysglock]

High Existence and ZeroSpace: The First Shadow and NINA May Be Massive, Immersive Drug Trips

The blurb in last Friday's video from TFS sounded familiar, but I couldn't place it. I found a lot of sites quoting The Alchemist about the universe conspiring to give you what you truly want (which is similar and it's probably what I was thinking of when this blurb registered as familiar), but I couldn't find this exact quote:

Well...not at first, anyway. I decided to stick every word I could make out here ^ into my search bar...and I found where the blurb comes from:

This blog post is quite literally the only source I could find for it, and the whole damn thing is directly lifted.

Right off the bat, the site fucking jump-scared me:

And it doesn't end there. Let's dive in, because this rabbit hole is a trip unto itself...no MDMA​ ​required.

1. The Fucking Website...#1 (HighExistence.com)

High Existence is a sort of drug-induced-spiritual-trip centered self-help site.

It's got blog posts and podcasts and all that jazz. Here are some of the highlights:

Wow! That was...a lot. A lot of words from the word show, too:

Wholeness, heroes, ancient aliens, prisons of politeness, and the fucking Shire, too, I guess. Why not?

(An Aside: I've included the VR in here too because of the sheer similarities between Henry's experience with the Shadow in VR, El's experience in NINA, and The First Shadow in general.)

Like fuck it, why not keep going, these posts date back to at least 2017:

And don't let me start in on that Creel boy and Faust...

[Jason voice] "[Eddie] made a deal with the devil and now he has his powers!" (Also we get it, one of them is neurotic and the other is psychotic. I've been saying this since like...forever)

Of course, all that insanity aside, the Russian base arc has just...an insane amount of ST4 and TFS stuff packed into it in general:

(And this isn't even all of it. I know others [cough] Stav Heroesbyler [cough] have covered it even more...but bro it is THERE)

But most importantly for the NINA arc:

Three things: Dialogue doubling (there's the one I showed, plus a) Robin yelling "Wipeout!" at Steve which has the pipeline -> "Wipeout!" at Rink-O-Mania -> 002-005 bullying El in a very similar manner and b) Steve's "that's amazing" line about the water fountain -> "This is amazing!" not only from Alice irt the Creel house but also from Mike irt Will's painting on their way to save El from NINA. Again, these are just a few of MANY instances), makeup doubling with the bloodshot eyes, and my beloved: set/prop doubling.

I love that beautiful framing on the nearly-identical square clocks. I have so much to say about that clock, but specifically:

The clocks being set 9 minutes apart, which happens to be the exact length of time from the end of Vecna's voiceover in 4.07 to the start of the fight sequence in 4.07 (aka the length of One's frozen-clock monologue).

Not only that, but the clock isn't even right. It says it's 3:55, but it's definitely not 3:55 AM (see: movie theater scene) but it's also not 3:55 PM:

(And why do we have a clock in an elevator anyway? That's the real question. That thang only exists to deliver subtext, baby! It exists to connect the two scenes further!)

Anyway, as you all likely noticed, this site mostly deals in psychedelics, stimulants, and empathogens.

link

Hell, you could even pull One's bit on the ecosystem into it, since he's describing connections between beings that are being disturbed/destroyed by humanity.

Anyway, the site tends to center specifically on DMT and MDMA...so let's talk about those:

MDMA & DMT An aside: Interesting to me that psychosis here can be counteracted with sedatives. Makes me wonder if whatever happened in 1979 could have been halted if they'd just tranq'd One. Hm.

First off: Did I read that right? Piggy-backing? Damn, son. 4.09, The Piggyback, is pictured in that paragraph. So is Brenner's candy bit with the children -> "candy flipping" vs LSD use in Brenner's lab.

Second: Ah, how nice. Intravenous/injectable. Just like how El is constantly being shot up with...something...to enter NINA.

Now, nearly all psychedelics can induce psychosis, but especially so if they're combined with other psychoactive substances and/or if the user has a history of psychosis (either themselves or in their family).

However, MDMA specifically has been posited as a treatment for PTSD and retrograde/traumagenic amnesia:

link Like...wow. Okay, I guess!

tl;dr: One seems to have been tripping fucking balls during the monologue. Literally every fucking version of him. El likely is as well. Funny how that works. Was any of that real? [smash cut to the way blood pours down the walls and the dead children dance around in the VR version of NINA] And either way, Henry in TFS isn't far behind with his hallucinogenic moments.

The connection? Whatever the hell is going on in Hawkins Labs...and symptoms of drug use.

I was not expecting to get this much out of a single rabbit hole. But...that's life with this show, isn't it? And this is only Part 1.

2. The Fucking Website...#2 (Futurism.com)

The guy who made that original post that TFS lifted the blurb from (Jordan Lejuwaan) runs a couple different websites. The most interesting one is Futurism, which is basically an online version of the Weekly Watcher:

It won't let me filter by date, but it seems to have been founded in 2017, stemming from an infographic subreddit. (Now, it says it's a trustworthy news source, and maybe it is, but... Do your own assessment of that. I'm not your mother, yknow?)

Jordan Lejuwaan was also involved in something far more interesting irt Stranger Things...

3. Zero Space

Jordan co-founded an immersive, interactive theater experience called ZeroSpace back in 2018. As we all know, TFS was just in the beginning phase of its creation around this time.

So...This was like a brick to the skull:

"Alice in Wonderland" (don't get me started: rabbit fuckery, DRUGS!!!!!, clocks/being later, Alice Creel, Fringe connections (Through The Looking Glass and What Walter Found There being the episode about the pocket universe where 20 years passed in 5 days...and also wherein we find out about him hiding away an Observer child that he will later time travel with to save the world from the Observer takeover...erasing himself from time/the timeline by doing so...there is SO much) not to mention the "one pill makes you larger/smaller" vs teen El and baby El...it's too much to try and fit in this post), "ALIENS AND LASERS", "stretch the perceived reality of the sense", "art, actors and your own mind converge to prompt MORE QUESTIONS THAN ANSWERS" (which was a common complaint about TFS: it leaves people with more questions than answers).

("See you on the other side" being an in-show line from Henry in the lab to Patty in the void, but this image is ripped directly from the same promo video that the High Existence blurb appears in.)

Here's a little taste of what ZeroSpace is like, but I suggest going to the actual page to see it in action:

It's heavily heavily reminiscent of TFS, even just in the content warnings...

Not to mention the actual show content SFX:

However, the goal of TFS isn't to stretch our senses. We're just watching. We are not the volunteer seeing the other side.

For most of the show, that person is Henry (except the first 5 mins, when it's Cptn. Brenner and his crew literally experiencing the other side). Henry is doing the experiencing. He's the one breaking the fourth wall by picking at/breaking the sets, the one running through the audience and leaving out the theater doors (only to end up right back on stage just like El in the Rainbow Room in 4.05).

With each bit of info I find out adjacent to the play, the more convinced I am that this is some secret third boy's experience in a NINA-like simulation.

Overall—

a) TFS most likely isn't wholly real, and it seems very likely that it's the same kind of simulation as NINA.

b) El was probably drugged up with some kind of empathogenic psychedelic going into NINA, likely with the goal of setting her up to form emotional connections quickly and deeply only to rip that deep connection away in order to bolster her abilities.

c) NINA is not, then, wholly based in truth. Parts of NINA (staring at the bullying from 002-005) may have been generated from El's memories of the outside world.

d) With NINA and TFS seeming so similar, I wouldn't be shocked if parts of it are just one massive empathogen trip (staring at how quickly Henry and Patty bond, similarly to how quickly Henry and El bond in NINA).

e) Whoever is in NINA with teen El is also tripping balls, most likely, and may have gone off the rails in that regard. However, that's in a simulation...hard to assign guilt or blame for things done in a fictional/unreal world.

f) Whoever was with baby El in 1979 may have been in a similar situation "moving chess pieces"-style instead. Read: drugged in order to put him in a situation where he would bolster El's latent abilities...and it went wrong (see also: Walter Bishop's orchestrated/fake massacre meant to bolster Olivia's latent abilities.)

g) Richard Brenner having been the head of narcotics makes me question which Brenner we're seeing at any given time: Martin, or Richard?

[wildlife4life]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @exhuastedpigeon @spotsandsocks @spaceprincessem @fortheloveofbuddie @steadfastsaturnsrings and @daffi-990. You are all so wonderful and I cannot wait for all your upcoming works! Mwha!

Super excited for todays snippet share. Not only is it from NFL Buck, but I have finally got to work on one of the best scenes from the show itself. Dosed! So I present to you, LSD Eddie (and Ravi!) Enjoy!

The pollen is just so pretty. Glimmering in the beams of sunlight and making beautiful dance moves. Eddie knows how to dance.  He’s tried teaching Buck a few times, but for a man who’s footwork is so flawless on the field, he has two left feet when it comes to moving them to a beat. Eddie doesn’t care though. He loves to dance with Buck because he smiles so big and bright and oh, he laughs so loud that it vibrates Eddie’s entire being. He wishes he could dance with Buck now, show him how the pollen moves and see his boyfriend glimmer among it. Tears burn in the corner of Eddie’s eyes and for what seems like the 100th time today, he rubs at them. “Man allergies are going crazy today.” Eddie lies because he can’t tell the others he’s crying over his secret boyfriend. “Yea you too huh?” Ravi remarks next to him. Okay, now Eddie thinks it may be allergies and not the thought of his too beautiful Buck. “The index wasn’t elevated this morning.” Probie relays, “Think it’s a new kind?” “New kind of what?” Eddie is really confused now. “Pollen.” Ravi responds. Can Ravi see the pollen too? Oh god, can he read Eddie’s mind?! He looks away from the younger firefighter and at his hands, hoping it would keep the kid out of his inner thoughts. Whoa, now the pollen is weaving its way between his fingers, making them tingle. “A new kind of pollen?” Chimney questions from across them. “You’re not feeling this Chim?” How could he not? It is everywhere, seeping into every pore of his skin. Eddie peeks at Ravi, whose eyes are drifting around the truck cabin.  Ravi can see it, Eddie isn’t alone. Chimney gives him an odd look, “No I do not.” He answers. Eddie looks out the window, sees more glittering puffs twirling in the wind, “I can see the pollen.” “I can hear it.” Ravi comments. And oh! That’s what that sound is! The pollen sounds just like Christopher and Buck’s laughter. It’s wonderful.

Hehehe. I am having so much fun writing this, especially since I have the dosed clip pretty much on repeat. Anywho, hope you all enjoyed! Everything NFL Buck can be found here.

Tagging (no pressure): @wikiangela @lover-of-mine @disasterbuckdiaz @jamespearce9-1-1 @athenagranted @eddiescowboy @rainbow-nerdss @evanbegins @elvensorceress @jesuisici33 @giddyupbuck @malewifediaz @hippolotamus @thewolvesof1998 @911onabc @911-on-abc @bekkachaos @loserdiaz @hoodie-buck @try-set-me-on-fire @theotherbuckley @ladydorian05 @bigfootsmom @watchyourbuck @eddiebabygirldiaz @thekristen999 @shortsighted-owl @spagheddiediaz @monsterrae1 @rogerzsteven @eowon @princessfbi @honestlydarkprincess @vampbuckley @bitchfacediaz @buck-coded @housewifebuck @glorious-spoon @buddierights @prosperdemeter2 @gayedmundodiaz @lemonzestywrites

[thedeafprophet]

"Consider it an honour. Consider it my gift."

Nobody look at me okay

[dailydragon08]

A Crime of A Different Kind

Pairing: Luke Skywalker x F!Jedi!Reader   Summary: Your and Luke's undercover mission to investigate imperial dealings in Tatooine's underworld doesn't go quite according to plan--especially with the pair of you undercover at Lord Halfoc's party posing as crime lord and consort. Warnings: grabby criminals, gross misogynistic comments, some non-consensual touching (but nothing too intense, because Luke would never allow that), making out, reader is in a very revealing dress (pictured above), implied/referenced drug use (not Luke or reader). A/N:  "Remnants" is a series of one shots in no particular order about the budding relationship between you and Luke as he trains you in the ways of the Force. I made a fancy cover for the first time, so hopefully it’s not trash. Find me on AO3 under DragonHeartstring360 and see my masterlist linked in my pinned post on my blog! Stay tuned for a part 2!

***

You glanced at Luke from across the dim throne room. Crime lords, drug dealers, and con men of all races loitered with their slaves and consorts at Halfoc’s party—and so did several imperialists, which was why you and Luke were here. You’d been sent by Mon Mothma to find more information about the deal the imperialists—who supposedly had a Force-sensitive among them, which was why your presence was crucial—were striking with the Tatooine crime lord to try and resurrect the fractured empire. You’d entered with fake invitations—with Luke as a fellow criminal named Anberrie and you as his slave girl.

“Consort,” he’d corrected you earlier aboard the Redeemer. “I refuse to call you a slave.”

He seemed to sense your gaze and met your eyes across the room. His costume consisted of a thin grey, long-sleeved v-neck shirt with matching pants and boots, a waist-length asymmetrical cape slung over one shoulder hiding the lightsaber at his belt. With his hair neatly swept away to the side of his forehead and stony look Leia had taught him, he looked every bit the rich criminal. His eyes softened as they turned to you and his shoulders ticked down several notches as he sighed. He shook his head slightly and you tried to send him a reassuring smile.

Just remember to breathe. You don’t want the empire’s Force user to sense your discomfort.

He nodded before taking a deep, slow breath—only to begin hacking into his elbow as the haze of smoke went up his nose.

You struggled to hide your smile. Maybe don’t breathe too deep.

He bit his lip to hide his chuckle as he turned back to the other guests near him. You glanced at the other consorts and dancers in the corner around you. Many of them chatted with each other, but you could sense their animosity, anger, and anxiety. You did your best to join the conversation enough to blend, but still stay to yourself enough to remain unremarkable.

Although the dress might not have been helping in that regard—if you could even call it a dress. It barely covered anything. The back was open with the green fabric in front creating a deep v that barely covered your chest and showed off your hips before connecting to a gold ring by your belly button. From there, the flowy skirt continued in an upside-down v to the floor, with a slit that exposed nearly your whole leg. The large sleeves flared out and extended to your knees, partially hiding the shock cuffs around your wrists and ankles—which Luke had sworn he wouldn’t even think of activating. However, it was the only alternative to chains, and the entire ensemble was a necessary evil for the current mission. Almost more nerve-wracking than the worst of Tatooine’s underworld ogling you was the fact that Luke would, too. Although the memory of him failing to function when you came out of your room on the Redeemer almost made you laugh. He’d been mid-sentence before doing a double take, his words spluttering to a halt. He’d let out a shaky breath as he practically melted and leaned on the table behind him for support. But, ever the gentleman, he had insisted you wear his cloak and gave you an apologetic look as he’d removed it from your shoulders later to stash for the trip back to the ship.

Your eyes wandered to him again as you sighed. He really did look strikingly handsome in his outfit—which would explain why some of Halfoc’s dancers were all over him. You could feel his discomfort as a Twi’lek woman pressed herself against his chest and ran a hand up and around his neck. He reached for you through the Force before gently grabbing her shoulders and moving her several steps back.

You bit your tongue to keep yourself from flying to his side. Stretching your legs, you turned to take in the dark walls, floor, and smoky haze of the central area. Several heavy shutters were partially open to allow airflow while keeping out the heat of the suns. A stage stood near a raised dais holding an empty throne with live music. Dancers flowed from the stage to prance between the circular tables and around the bench seats pressed against the walls, running their hands along different guests’ shoulders, whether they had their own consort on their lap getting handsy or not. Guards armed with blasters and spears with Halfoc’s symbol emblazoned on their chests stood at attention at each doorway and you were sure there were more hidden in the crowd.

Did you find anything yet? Luke’s voice rang soothingly in your head.

I’ve barely had a chance to get away. We need a distraction— Before you could finish your thought, you felt large hands roughly grope your butt before sliding around the bare skin of your waist. You jumped and glanced over your shoulder to see a large Trandoshan close behind you. You grimaced before turning to face the group of slaves before you, knowing any thrown elbows or cold remarks could blow your cover. They gave you sympathetic looks before most of them scurried off, the ones who stayed forming groups for safety.

You tensed and braced yourself as the Trandoshan’s hand descended your thigh, his fingers edging closer to the inside of your leg. You screwed your eyes shut, unable to resist the urge to throw your elbow back. Before it could make contact with his chest, however, you felt his hand suddenly rip away.

You turned to see Luke had practically materialized behind you. He grabbed your waist with his other hand and pushed you behind him, still holding the Trandoshan’s hand in a death grip. His blue eyes had turned icier than you’d ever seen them and you thanked the Maker you’d never been on the receiving end of that glare. “Don’t touch her,” he growled low in his throat. Although you were sure he was putting on some sinister airs for effect, you could feel his very real rage and disgust through the Force.

“Why?” the alien leered. “We can share. There’s plenty of her to go around.”

You felt Luke’s irritation grow beside you. “Why don’t you go find someone else to pass around before I make you regret it? This one’s mine.”

You swallowed hard. As degrading as the situation was, seeing him defend you so fiercely sent shivers through you for entirely different reasons.

The Trandoshan looked like he was about to argue but turned as a few guards hovered nearby with spears at the ready. “Boss doesn’t want too much trouble here,” one said. “The last thing you should be doing is fighting over some worthless slave girl.”

Luke bristled beside you. Unsure what else to do that would keep you looking in character, you pressed yourself flush against Luke’s chest and pushed him into a dark corner of the room. Several other guests had slave girls on their laps, their hands and lips roaming. A glance over your shoulder showed the Trandoshan slinking away to bother some other poor girl as you pushed Luke into a padded chair. He landed a bit more roughly than you intended, releasing a shaky breath as he looked up at you with round doe-eyes, his hands coming up to rest against the bare skin of your waist. He quickly retracted his flesh hand, but you held his gloved hand in place as you seated yourself in his lap.

“Sorry,” you hissed in his ear, thankful the music was loud enough to drown you out from any passersby. “You really need to work on not going bright red every time I touch you. It’s not very crime lord-y of you.”

He cleared his throat. “I would stop if I could, believe me.” His eyes turned soft in the murky light. “Are you all right?”

You nodded, seeing the guards still hovering and watching the pair of you from the corner of your eye. You wrapped an arm around Luke’s shoulder while grabbing his flesh hand and putting it back on your waist. “You can, um, touch to be more convincing if you need to.”

He gave you a stilted nod, his hand immediately falling to your fabric-covered leg. “I’m so sorry. You deserve so much more respect than what you’re getting in here. All these women do.” He stared at you for a moment before brushing some hair away from your face. “You know I have the utmost respect for you, right?”

You nodded before pressing your forehead to his. “I know, but I appreciate you reminding me.” He closed his eyes and sighed, pulling you closer to his chest. You sensed the guards turn and leave and finally let the tension bleed from your body, letting Luke’s sense of tranquility at your closeness wash over you. For a moment, you just sat on his lap, enjoying the feeling of him against you. Your fingers wandered from his shoulder to the hair at the nape of his neck of their own accord. Before you could pull back and apologize, he sighed and gently bumped his nose against yours, his fingers rubbing soothing circles along the fabric of your skirt.

You nearly lost yourself as his soft voice whispered, “I’m so sorry I’ve had to be rougher and more rude than usual. Mothma said to be convincing, but I hate this.”

“I know. It’s okay, I promise. I did manage to find out a bit of information and send it to Mothma, just in case something happens.”

He held you tighter. The slit in your skirt fell open to expose most of your leg and you felt him gently pull the fabric back in place, holding it there with his hand. “I won’t let anything happen.”

“Not very crime lord-y of you just now.”

He huffed out a breath that could’ve been a laugh. “I just…hate that they’re all leering at you.”

“That was sort of part of the job description.”

“I know, but I just…” he tilted his head back to meet your eyes. The smoke made his eyes water and brought out the blue even more. He opened his mouth to say something before sighing and giving you a soft shrug. “I—”

“I know. It’s okay. Hopefully, we’ll be out of here soon.” You almost forgot your next sentence as you lost yourself in his gaze. His gloved hand rubbed soothing circles on your back as he held you in his eyes. “Any luck locating our Force user?”

“Not yet. I can sense someone Force-sensitive—other than you, of course—but I’m having trouble pinpointing exactly where it’s coming from.”

“Seen Halfoc yet?”

“A few times across the room, but not up close. The fight will start soon though, and there’s a prep room that connects to the arena, so I think I will soon. The intel said it’s a habit of his to wish each contestant good luck before the fight. There’s a large Rodian following him around though, who I think might be our Force user.”

You squeezed him tighter. “Please be careful…do you know what you’re fighting?”

“The guests fight each other, then the final winner fights one of Halfoc’s pets. It’s not to the death, but it’s close—I think a guard is coming towards us.”

“Probably should look a little dazed, then.”

“What?”

“Like you’ve been…you know…having a good time.”

He was silent and tense underneath you before clearing his throat again.

You laughed. “You’re setting a record for that today.”

He smiled and coughed slightly but held you closer as you sat up in his lap and pressed his face into the exposed skin of your shoulder. Your hand dove into his hair more on instinct than anything else and he let out a shuddery exhale beneath you.

It’s just his body’s instinct, you told yourself to stifle your excitement. He’s probably…touch-starved or something. Although that wasn’t entirely true. He never hesitated to be physically affectionate to anyone, you included. And if his friendly little touches set you on fire, the way he was nearly trying to meld into you and hold you close now had your whole body pulsing.

Commotion and several cries behind you caught your attention. Two of the guests were wrestling on the floor in a fistfight. Luke held you tighter and turned in his chair to shield you with his body. He turned back to you, hovering his mouth close to your ear. “Here’s your distraction—go and be careful.”

You nodded before scrambling off his lap. In the other slaves’ and guests’ haste to get out of the way, you slipped through an unguarded doorway and melted into the shadows of the hall.

***

You felt Luke’s Force signature reach for yours, anticipation and worry clouding his mind as you sensed him coming closer. You almost smacked straight into his chest as you weaved through the drunk, animated crowd in the throne room.

Luke grabbed your upper arm in his hand, the question burning in his eyes and only relaxing when you nodded. “The fight is starting soon. We’re supposed to go to the prep room now. A lot of people are taking their consorts with them, so you should probably come with me to blend.”

You sensed another reason he wanted you with him, but merely nodded and let him lead you down a short hallway. Through a small, oval door sat a large, plain room with closed bay doors on the opposite side. Several plush chairs and tables covered with drinks and food bordered the walls. Medical droids hovered in the corner as Halfoc’s guards eyed the large group of guests and slaves meandering through the two other oval doors scattered along the back wall.

Luke’s hand gripped yours tightly as the two of you made your way into an open corner. He grabbed your waist and gently turned you away from the others, putting your hand on the lightsaber at his belt. With a combination of his cape and your skirt, you transferred his weapon into the holster hidden on your thigh, pinning it next to your own saber. His fingers brushed your bare leg in the exchange and you couldn’t help the resulting goosebumps and shiver.

He grimaced. “I would offer you my cape, but they would probably think that was too gentlemanly for a crime lord and his consort.”

You took a deep breath. “I’m okay.”

His blue eyes stared intently into your own and you felt his concern bleed into the Force. “Are you sure?”

You nodded, glancing behind him at the approaching redhead. He was short, portly, and dressed to the nines with a large Rodian following behind him. You couldn’t help wrinkling your nose at his slimy demeanor. “I think Halfoc’s coming to wish you luck.”

Luke’s eyes lingered on you for a moment before he closed them, taking a deep breath. When he opened them again, the crime lord persona was back in place in all its unfeeling glory. It was strangely terrifying and alluring at the same time. As he turned to meet Halfoc, his hand moving to tightly grasp your waist and pull you flush against him, you couldn’t help but think if he was a true crime lord, he would’ve easily had his pick of any man or woman in this room.

“Anberrie, isn’t it?” the man asked, coming to a halt before you. The Rodian stood silently at attention behind him with two other men in imperial uniforms. You could feel the Force flowing strongly from him and Luke’s gentle squeeze to your hip told you he did, too.

“Yes,” Luke replied. “Halfoc, I take it? Quite the party.”

Halfoc laughed. “The one and only. I throw many of these bashes but have never seen you at one. You must be a newcomer. What exactly is your business?”

“Spice trade.”

Halfoc chuckled. “Ah, yes, I’m very familiar with spice.”

Their conversation became lost to you as the Rodian shifted. The intel hadn’t said whether he was protecting Halfoc or sticking close by because of the deal they’d just made in the back offices—the one they thought had been private and unrecorded. His dark eyes studied you shamelessly, flitting up and down your frame. He glanced at one of the imperial officers before subtly flicking his hand as if swatting a fly. You felt the Force flow as the slit in your skirt was wrenched open. Before it could fly too far, Luke’s hand slid further down your waist to hold the skirt in place. His hand was practically on your butt with the angle he had to take to preserve your dignity, the movement pressing you even closer against him. You could feel the muscles of his chest and arms from the proximity and took a steadying breath.

The Rodian’s eyes fell to Luke’s hand and narrowed, finally taking in your companion. You glanced up to see Luke meeting the alien’s eyes with just as much intensity.

“Now, now, let’s play nicely,” Halfoc said. “This is my newest business associate and his own personal retinue…I trust their presence won’t be a problem?”

Luke turned his attention back to the man in front of him and gave him a cold smile. “Of course not. We’re only interested in securing more business, not trouble.”

Halfoc clapped Luke on the arm. “That’s what I like to hear. The fight will begin in a few minutes. You’ll be asked to remove any capes, jackets, and weapons on your person and give them to my guards for safekeeping. They’ll be returned to you after the fight, of course.” His eyes finally fell to you. “Quite the lovely arm candy you’ve got there. Mind if I—”

Luke turned to shield you with his body as Halfoc’s hand made a grab at your chest, his gloved hand securely holding your hip while his flesh hand pressed against the bare skin of your back to hold you close. “I do mind, actually.”

Halfoc’s eyebrows rose, but he laughed. “Well, to each his own. Be a good girl and give your master a good luck kiss, then.”

Luke turned to you with soft, concerned eyes. You licked your lips and stared for a moment before pressing a light kiss to the sharp line of his jaw, letting your lips linger selfishly. You felt his arousal grow through the Force and heard him take in a quiet hiss of breath as his gloved fingers tightened around your waist.

“Oh, come on,” Halfoc groaned. “A real one. You can’t be that stingy with her and then not take what you want. Don’t bother with consent from these types, boy.”

You felt Luke’s mix of disgust, concern, and anxiety through the Force.

Don’t blow our cover, you sent to him. Plus the Rodian is so close.

Luke closed his eyes for a moment. Are you sure? I won’t do it without your consent, no matter what Halfoc says…And it will have to be a bit rough to be believable.

You hesitated. Do it.

I’m so sorry.

It’s all right.

Luke’s flesh hand left your back to roughly cup both sides of your jaw. His face dove towards yours at a startling speed, but stopped just as his lips brushed against yours. You took a shaky breath in at the same time he did before he pressed a firm, but soft kiss to your lips.

You thought you heard Halfoc’s distant “there you go” before sensing him leave with his entourage, but couldn’t be sure. All you were sure of was how soft Luke’s lips were against yours. You’d pictured this moment so many times and only wished that it was real—maybe in the cockpit of the Redeemer, safely nestled in Luke’s lap in the pilot seat. The image only heightened your arousal and you couldn’t help melting into him as his hand glided down your neck and to the exposed skin at the small of your back.

You finally had to break for air and were surprised when he panted into your mouth just as hard as you. His flesh fingers gently traced shapes against your skin, finally flattening his palm out to slide up and down your spine before diving into the curls of your half-updo. You weren’t sure if he bent his head to continue the kiss first or if you did, but you wouldn’t be the one to end it. He tasted of something distinctly Luke that you couldn’t quite describe, but knew you wanted to experience every day for the rest of your life. As you sunk further into his embrace, he only pulled you closer, his gloved hand digging gently into your hip as yours slid up his chest to dive into the hair at the nape of his neck. He gasped against your lips as your fingers entwined with the soft strands. You could sense his excitement peaking through the bond you shared—and with a little embarrassment, realized you felt something else peaking against you that did not help your current predicament. A soft moan left your mouth before you could stop it, and the whole situation felt like a crime of a different kind. He didn’t seem to notice before a quiet groan left him as well.

You forced yourself to separate your lips from his, trying to keep your gasps for air to a minimum. He pressed his forehead to yours and closed his eyes, keeping a gentle, yet firm grip on you as he shuddered out his own breath. The hand on the small of your back slowly slid to your side. “Maker, you’re so soft,” he murmured. You felt his sudden humiliation bloom as his face turned an adorable shade of red. He pulled away from you and you bit back your laugh as he cleared his throat for the umpteenth time. “Sorry, I—I’m sorry.”

Before you could reply, the large bay doors opened behind him. Cheers and screams from the crowd assembled in the amphitheater seats poured in, as did a strong buffet of wind that blew Luke’s hair into his eyes. He blinked, letting out a stuttered whoosh as your fingers gently combed the strands back into place. He pressed his forehead to yours again for a brief moment before leaving a quick, light kiss on your forehead.

“Be careful,” you whispered.

“Only if you are,” he murmured as he hesitantly took a few steps back. You grabbed his hand and he gave you a reassuring squeeze. His eyes fell to your skirt billowing around your legs from the breeze, the slit now fully open and exposed. His eyes closed and another shuddery exhale seemed to leave him of its own accord before he turned away from you, letting your hand trail out of his as he made his way to the arena. As he removed his cape and tactical belt and handed it to a guard, you caught him licking his lips, letting his tongue linger for a moment longer than necessary.

You took your own deep breath, doing your best to stifle your concern as the announcer began to call out opponents. Each winner had to fight a new opponent and although it felt like an eternity as you wondered when Luke would be called and who he would be fighting, it gave you a good opportunity to ogle his back. His shirt was thin to account for the heat and clung to him in all the right places—and so did the pants.

As Luke waited with the other contestants, you noticed the Rodian and his guards were nowhere to be found. Just as you reached out with the Force, Halfoc sidled up next to you. He was shorter than you by several inches and you couldn’t keep the disgust from your face as he smirked and gently patted your butt. “Well, hello there, lovely. Now that your master’s occupied—”

“Anberrie, step forward,” the announcer’s voice rang throughout the arena.

Luke strode confidently forward, a standard-issue spear from the guard in his hand. He paused as the most recent winner stalked towards him, watching in confusion as he walked past Luke and back through the bay doors to sit down. A barred gate slid open with a screech on the other side of the arena and the Rodian—who stood several inches taller than Luke—made his way to the center of the stage. “Anberrie Darklighter versus Aros Tanwa.” The crowd cheered as he ignited a red lightsaber.

Luke turned to you in concern just as Halfoc began, “I couldn’t help but notice those kisses and touches were a bit…romantic for a master and his slave.” His beady eyes gleamed in the light of the suns. “Unless, of course, you’re not actually who you say you are.”

Several of Halfoc’s guards whirled around and pointed their blasters and spears at you as Aros’ imperial guards suddenly lunged out of the nearest door towards you. You yanked your lightsaber from your leg and ignited the blade, throwing Luke’s towards him and using the Force to guide it along its path to his hand.

Luke dropped his spear and activated his saber just as Aros jumped towards him, blocking a flurry of blows to the screams and boos of the audience. Halfoc’s guards yanked their master out of the way as you swung your own weapon, blocking several blaster shots and slicing the guards’ spears in half. The other guests dove for cover, joining the firefight, as their consorts fled into the throne room.

You deflected more fire, using the Force to throw objects in your pursuers’ path and fling them back several feet whenever they got too close. You carefully carved a path to Luke’s side and shielded his back while he dealt with Aros.

The recording of the meeting— Luke began.

Already sent it to Mothma. Now focus.

Aros suddenly backflipped into the stands, several spectators moving out of the way to allow him room, and disappeared into the crowd. A large roar filled the air from beyond the gate. The bay doors began to close and you and Luke glanced at each other before making a run for it. Another deep wail filled the air behind you as you blocked more blaster shots, tripping over your swirling skirts and sprawling to the ground. Luke glanced back and skidded to a halt.

“No, keep going!”

He sprinted back over to you, crouching just in time for another angry bellow to call your attention. A shadow loomed inside the gate, taking up the entire frame, before a Reek Bull emerged into the light of the desert. Its nose ring rattled as it shook its head, pawing at the ground and eyeing the two Jedi now trapped inside.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” you grumbled as the bull charged toward you.

You rolled one way while Luke jumped the other as the animal approached you with surprising speed. It slowed to a halt just as the bay doors closed. From a high point in the stands, Aros flipped onto the bull’s back and used it as a launching point to dive at you. You rolled out of the way again before leaping to your feet and landing a hard kick in the center of the Rodian’s chest, using the Force to give it some extra oomph. He flew back with an oof and smacked into the bull’s side. The bull turned from where it was glaring Luke down to rocket Aros in a new direction with his front foot. You used the Force to grab the Sith’s body and fling him into a merchant’s display in the stands. Bits and bobbles went flying and the wood of the stall splintered and collapsed on top of him, buying you enough time to block more blaster fire.

Several of Halfoc’s guards jumped over the railing into the arena as the host’s voice called over the loudspeaker, “I want them alive for the moff!”

The guards weren’t much of a challenge for the Force and your lightsaber. The last few in the group fled towards the edge of the ring, raining fire at you until they were cut down by their own deflected shots. As the last of them fell, you felt a strange tingling sensation. Before you could ignore it and turn to help Luke, your entire nervous system jolted and shook under your skin. You crumpled into a heap on the ground as your muscles no longer obeyed your commands and your bones rattled inside your frame. Glancing down showed blue energy crackling around your shock cuffs and traveling up and down your arms, legs, and torso. You screwed your eyes shut and thrashed against the burning sensation, unable to contain a scream.

You thought you heard Luke call your name but couldn’t be sure over the popping in your ears. You risked a glance up to see imperial guards speeding towards you with electrostaffs before you curled into a ball again as more shockwaves rocked your body. The ground shook as the bull hurtled towards you. But instead of the feet of the beast or pointed edges of a spear greeting you, there were several screams and silence before you felt the cuffs split from your skin and fall to the sandy ground below.

You took several gulping breaths as you lay there shaking and whimpering. Luke was by your side in an instant, gently pulling you into his arms bridal style. “I’m sorry,” he murmured in your ear as he carried you towards the now docile and waiting bull. “Aros used the Force to activate the cuffs before running off.”

You looked around from the safety of Luke’s chest. The arena was in total chaos as guests ran screaming to the exits while the guards were busy fending off several more beasts that had escaped their cages and fled into the arena. A few had even scaled the railing and were running among the seats snapping up forgotten food and drink.

The bull sighed and lowered itself onto its belly as Luke approached. He gently helped you onto its back before climbing up behind you.

“Did you tame it?” you asked, your voice hoarse.

“Yes,” he replied, giving it a firm smack to the butt to urge it toward the arena's gate. “And I’ll be freeing it after we get out of here—hold on!”

He wrapped an arm around your waist while tightly holding the chain attached to the bull’s nose ring. The creature sped towards the gate, gaining momentum as it went and lowering its head. The guards dove out of the way with a yelp as the bull’s front horn shattered the doors and you careened into the open desert.

The ride was jarring to say the least, which didn’t help your screaming muscles and joints. You teetered on the bull’s back as your head spun and body ached only for Luke to pull you against him. You let your head fall against his shoulder, sinking into his solid chest and closing your eyes. His thumb rubbed soothing circles against your waist and you weaved your fingers through his, giving him a gentle squeeze as he gently brushed the tip of his nose against your cheek.

It was impossible to fall asleep on the bull’s back, but you still weren’t sure how much time had passed when Luke said, “Do you think you can jump?”

You nodded before sitting up with his help and swinging your legs over the side. He did the same, staring at you in concern before grabbing your hand. You both slid down the beast’s leathery side in unison as it roared before continuing its path past the neighborhood hiding your supply stash.

A strong wind buffeted the two of you as you approached the modest stone and clay houses. People hurried to and fro to collect their laundry and children alike and ushered them inside.

“What’s happening?” you asked as you followed Luke down an alleyway.

He still gripped your hand tightly, only letting go to dig in a chest buried in a corner between two buildings. The narrow strip between houses created a wind tunnel and you watched his golden-brown hair dance in awe, resisting the urge to reach out and smooth it back into place. As it whipped away from his ear, it allowed a peek at the sharp line of his jaw, bringing back memories of the way that exact spot had tasted against your lips earlier—

“Y/N? Are you all right? Did you hear me?”

You blinked and met his worried blue eyes where he was still crouched over the open chest. “What? Sorry.”

He slung his pack over his shoulder and stood, retaking your hand. “I said a sandstorm is starting, so we need to find shelter. We won’t make it back to the ship in time without a speeder, which I doubt these people have to spare. This is a poorer neighborhood.”

You nodded, reaching for your own pack. “How long do we have?”

“Not long—here, let me carry that.”

“But I’m fine—”

“I insist.” He hauled your bag on top of his own, leading you back out into the main thoroughfare.

Before you could get far, a woman with a baby strapped to her front met your eyes. Luke reached out a hand to stop her as the wind practically knocked you over in your weakened state. You felt you’d float away if you weren’t careful. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders to steady you before shouting to be heard over the building gale. “Do you know a place where we can wait this out?”

“There’s a homestead that’s been abandoned for a while, about a half hour’s walk that way. It’s a bit old and decrepit, but it’s better than nothing. I would offer my place if I had room, but I’m staying with my mother and we’re full to the brim.”

“That’s all right, thank you.”

“Do you want me to see if I have some sort of wrap for your wife at home? That dress can’t be comfortable.”

You felt your cheeks warm, meeting Luke’s eyes as his own colored slightly. He squeezed your hand. “I have something for her, but thank you again.”

She nodded before scurrying off, using her sleeve to cover her child’s face.

“Here, hold on a minute.” Luke set your packs down, digging through his before pulling out his cloak. He paused, taking a shaky breath as a gust of wind parted the slit in your skirt again, sending it billowing behind you. Before you could be too embarrassed, a wave of dizziness overtook you and you grabbed his arm. Luke caught you against his chest before wrapping his cloak around you. “I’m going to fasten this by your waist so you have more coverage for your legs. Do you think you can hold it by your chest?”

You nodded, keeping a hole open to loop your arm through while holding the fabric closed in your fist. Luke took your hand and started in the direction the woman had pointed.

“Do you know where she’s sending us?”

Luke swallowed hard and nodded, squeezing your hand. “I do.”

“Where?”

“…A burned down farm.”

[xh0llyhat3fulx-blog]

You would love how wet I get when you tell me what you want to do to me. Your voice could easily control me, all you need to do is give the command.

[tadalyme]

whumptober, day 2

There are many things Finnick Odair is good at. He's good at swimming, good at fighting, good at making knots. Good at baking decently tasty bread. He's also very good at pretending.

It's a skill he's honed throughout his whole life, ever since he was a little child. Pretending that he likes his mother's vegetable casserole. Pretending that he's completely fine when his father leads him to Mags’s house, his hand held in a forceful, painful grip, and proclaims in his booming voice that it would be the greatest honour for his son to train for the Games, right, boy? Pretending that he isn't scared to die and to kill.

Pretending that all the things that are done to his body on a regular basis aren't happening to him.

It’s somewhere past three at night and Finnick is sore and extremely dizzy and in the backseat of a car, coming back from his client. He’s in a car, because despite being just a District whore, he's an expensive one. President Snow doesn’t want anyone else to harm his investments. At least, not anyone not paying.

He’s just glad that it was the only appointment for today, because the guy, a flamboyant man in his thirties, a grandson or a nephew or a step-son of one of the influential Gamemakers, wanted to spice things up a bit in his sex life and made him swallow some colourful tablets before the act itself.

Well, it certainly spiced things up for Finnick, though probably not in a way the man intended to. He spent the whole time hearing the colours, and tasting the sounds, and seeing the images from his past and present all mixed up together.

The man was pounding into him and moaning and exclaiming something animated and probably over-the-top sexual in his shrill voice, but all Finnick could think about were the glistening in the sun tridents and spears and knives, and faces of the dead children, and his late father and ill mother and disappointed sister, and, for some reason, the Capitol's latest obnoxious vogue of inserting precious gemstones into their skin.

He desperately wanted to cry, so he laughed frantically, and he wanted to push the man away from him, too overstimulated, so he willed his muscles to relax.

The lights of the never-sleeping party area of Capitol fly by dizzyingly behind the window and Finnick has to lean onto it in an attempt not to puke. It's got a bit better in the past half hour, but the thoughts are still floating around his brain like dozens of little brightly-coloured butterflies. It’s hard to properly grasp any of them in a sticky daze of disorientation, though.

The car stops near the entrance to the Tribute Centre and he staggers out, swaying on his feet and almost ending up on the pavement. His limbs finally rearrange themselves in the correct order after a few moments and he musters a lazy salute with only some of his usual flourish to the back of the driving away car.

Still performing, even now. Gods, what a mess.

He doesn't know how exactly he reaches the elevator, but he does and the numbers swirl a bit in his eyes before settling down properly on the buttons.

He remembers well the first time he was here.

The thing is, he wasn’t even supposed to participate in the Hunger Games that year. That questionable honour was supposed to go to Jacob Maren, not yet eighteen, but the oldest among the trainees.

Instead, Dorothea, their escort, gracefully put her powdered hand with baby-blue nails, that matched her enormous wig, and pulled out his, Finnick's, name. There was a bit of a standstill after that - Jacob locking eyes with him across their separate pens. Should he volunteer, should he not. Finnick was too young yet but still a Career. In the end, Jacob stayed silent.

Just as well, thought Finnick, pushing through the crowds to the stage and already putting on a brilliant wide smile, I've trained for this, I can win, it'll be easy.

He knows now what his dumb, arrogant younger self didn’t understand back then - that even if you manage to become a victor, the only one who ever wins the Games is the Capitol.

Jacob did go the following year and died to a back-stabbing One girl. And Finnick has spent three years cursing that day and all that led to it.

Gods above, it has only been three years, hasn’t it? It feels much longer than that, so far away, so long ago. Almost like ancient history.

He did kind of make history with that one, didn’t he? The youngest Victor ever. A fat lot of good that did for him.

Fourth floor. He practically falls out of the elevator, only managing to catch onto the wall at the last moment.

Mags, curled up on the couch, perks up at the sound of sliding doors. In the dim lighting of the lounge her silver hair looks like a halo above her head. Ironic.

It makes him burst out in a fit of hysterical high-pitched laughter. One would have to completely lose their marbles to call the woman an angel. An angel of death, at best. Some forget it, but she also killed in her Games, the same as all of them. And she's led enough kids to their deaths in the following years. He loves Mags with his whole heart, but she's no saint.

Mags always waits for him on appointment nights. He wishes she didn't see him like this, wishes no-one saw him like this and often snaps at her, but she only tuts in disapproval and keeps doing it. Despite his temper tantrums, he's glad she does.

Mags looks him over and frowns and he's sent down the rabbit hole of memories again.

They approach him the next day after he turns sixteen. The two of them look grim and apologetic and he doesn't know what to make of it.

‘I’m sorry, Finnick, I’m so sorry about what's probably going to happen,’ Mags says and lets out a sigh, sorrowful and tired and world-weary, and he, in a rare moment, is reminded of how old Mags really is, ‘Just… Remember that you can always talk to me, no matter what.' She inclines her head a bit, gesturing at her companion, ‘Or to Delia, if you need someone who truly gets it.'

Delia, who is wringing her hands half a step behind Mags, and looks like she’d rather be anywhere else, glances at him and gives him a bleak, perfunctory nod. He doesn’t know why he would need to or want to talk to her, but anyway it’s quite unlikely that he will take her up on this offer.

Finnick knows Delia, of course he does. Delia, a constantly nervous, twitchy Victor in her forties, teaches knife-throwing, and knife-stabbing, and other knife-related skills to the trainees and has never seemed to be a particular fan of long conversations. She's communicated with them mostly with sharp nods and half-aborted, jittery gestures, always looking on edge and shaky.

Her hands have never ever shaken with a blade in them, though.

Then, he gets the summons to the annual post-Victory tour party and President Snow asks to speak with him in his office after. He's told in detail what he's expected to do, now that he's finally sixteen, and what will happen if he doesn't.

Oh.

Oh.

That's what that meant.

His first appointment with a client is the next day and it's the beginning of the end.

His sister screams at him a few months later, when he returns from one of his trips to the Capitol, ‘They don’t care about you, you stupid boy! Why won’t you understand that! Why the Hell do you keep going there?’

But it’s her who doesn’t understand, who could never understand. He can’t tell Carolyn, he can’t, not just because he doesn’t want her to know what he does, but because he’s not allowed to.

President Snow was quite straightforward about what would happen to his ill mother and his sister with her husband and their baby twins, if he were to tell anyone, even them, anything. So he keeps quiet and let them think the worst of him. The same thing that everyone else does.

(Other than his fellow victors, who are all aware of the work he and the ones like him are made to do, the only person who doesn’t look at him with badly concealed disgust, or jealousy, or fake friendliness, or lust in Four is Annie Cresta. Her eyes (also sea-green, though a few tones lighter than his own) only ever look at him with sympathy and pity these days. He would have absolutely hated being looked at like that not long ago, but now it’s just so goddamn refreshing. He used to find her annoying with her righteousness and softness when they trained to be careers together, thought her weak and kind of cowardly, but maybe there is actually nothing wrong with gentleness and timidity, he ponders.

Of course, it’s hopeless, getting used to even such a small thing. Annie Cresta is a Career. She will go into the Games soon. In a couple of years she will likely be dead.)

Mags approaches him slowly, telegraphing all her movements clearly, trying not to spook him. He must look bad, because she checks his temperature with a hand on his forehead. From her pursed lips and scrunched eyebrows he gathers that it’s not very good.

'What, doctor, am i dying yet?' he ironizes.

'Well, you certainly don't look too lively, boy,' she snaps back,'Sit down, I'll be right back.'

She lets him settle on the couch and leaves to fetch her first-aid kit. They’re not allowed to bring any pills to the Tribute centre, so as to not let tributes get anywhere near them, but she has some other basic supplies. Luckily, today they are no flesh wounds to patch up.

She comes back with a thermometer in her hand. And that’s what sends him over the edge and into hysterical tears, the goddamn thermometer. It’s an old-fashioned but trusty mercury thermometer, very common back in Four, but considered obsolete by Capitol standards.

Finnick, having been many times in the local medical over the past year and a half to get patched up after rough encounters with clients, is intimately familiar by now with Capitol’s high-tech, reliably produced in Three.

She waits a bit before his sobs and shaking subside, finally takes his temperature and asks,'You're burning up. What on earth happened to you?'

'He gave me something, I don't know what,' Finnick replies reluctantly and watches her face twist and her arms cross on her chest. She's staring at him pointedly.

'Do we really have to?' he groans,'I'm almost fine by now. You're only wobbling a bit in my eyes.'

'Come on, up you go,' she pulls him up, surprisingly strong for a seventy-year-old, and leads him to his room, to the bathroom. She walks out again and returns with a glass and a closed water bottle.

She fills the glass with tap water and makes him drink it again and again and then throw up, repeating and repeating it until there's nothing left in his stomach at all.

Then she hands him the water bottle, lightly shoves him in the direction of the needlessly overcomplicated shower and exits.

When he finally emerges into his room he's almost feeling like himself again. Mags is still there, leaning on the frame of his bed. He finds some clothes to sleep in and drops next to her. She hums softly and smooths his hair out, running her fingers through his wet curly locks.

She's been much gentler with him since his Games, but she's taken a fancy to him a long time ago.

He was a bit of a troublemaker as a child, like little boys so often are, always sneaking away to the creek to play on the wet rocky shores, or trying to catch fry with his bare hands, or diving from the pier to see how long he could hold his breath, generally making his mother exasperated. He showed up at home in the late afternoon tired but joyful after a day of exploring with a wide toothless grin, seaweed in his hair and damp dirty patches on his knees.

His father didn’t like that much. So at a ripe old age of seven he’s dumped on Mags’s doorstep, who looks at his father weirdly over Finnick’s head and then takes a look at him, slowly lowers down to his eye-level and grasps his tiny hand with her veiny, old-woman one.

‘Well, well, well, what are we going to do with you, little one?’

She's never been cruel to any of the trainees, definitely not, but she wasn't particularly warm-hearted either. She was kind, but also stern and strict, like a proper trainer. He knows that it's because, despite all the preparations, most of them would die in their Games. She didn't really believe that he would win his Games either.

But he survived and she became more willing to show her affection for him after that. And to him, she, the person who practically raised him, instead of his distant mother and constantly angry father, has always felt the most like a real family, even when she acted all grumpy.

He drifts to sleep, relaxing under the silent watch of the only person in the world he fully trusts.

[pizzaprompts]

Kinky Headcanon Prompts

A series of prompted asks to get you thinking about how your muse approaches sex and kink. This may contain mentions of consensual sexual activities that may be triggering to some people. Please be advised!

All prompts are 18+

~~~~~~~🍕~~~~~~~

KH1 - How does your muse identify their sexuality? Does it differ from how others may perceive that sexuality? Is this intentional on your muse's part, or based on the observations of others?

KH2 - How does your muse view kink? Is it positive, negative? Have they been taught much about it, or is their understanding of it incomplete? How do they view those who choose to / not to participate in kink? Does kink necessitate intercourse to your muse?

KH3 - How does your muse feel about roleplay of a sexual nature? Do they find it cheesy, embarrassing, exciting? Do they have particular favorites, or specific roleplay scenarios they absolutely hate? Do they go all-out with costumes, or prefer to keep things simple?

KH4 - How does your muse feel about Domination and Submission? Do they identify as either of these things, or as a switch? Do they expect a Dom to always be a top and a Sub to always be a bottom? Do they follow the guidelines strictly, or are they more of a brat?

KH5 - How does your muse feel about Sadism and Masochism? Do they identify as either of these things, or both? Do they have specific boundaries where pain is concerned, or are they equally as open about hair-pulling as the drawing of blood? Do they draw a distinction between this and impact play?

KH6 - How does your muse feel about bondage? Do they enjoy being bound, or binding others? Is bondage more of an aesthetic thing to enjoy for them, or do they prefer binding to be a more sexual endeavour? Do they prefer handcuffs, ropes, or other methods of binding?

KH7 - How does your muse feel about voyeurism and exhibitionism? Do they like to watch? To be watched? Do they enjoy recording their own sexual encounters to enjoy again later, or sharing recordings with others? How do they feel about this in conjunction with kinks like cuckolding?

KH8 - How does your muse feel about Consensual Non-Consent (CNC)? Are they comfortable acting as the aggressor or as the victim? How do they feel about the inclusion of drugs or other intoxicants in a discussed scene? Are they comfortable with scenes that may involve the safe and planned loss of consciousness of one party?

KH9 - How does your muse feel about the use of particular titles during play? Are they okay with a title being used that doesn't align with their gender identity? Are they okay with derogatory titles? Do they prefer any particular titles?

KH10 - How does your muse feel about collaring in general? Do they have specific rules that require obeying with the use of collars? How do they distinguish between a collar of consideration, a training collar, and a formal collar? How do their personal aesthetics factor into the choice of a collar?

KH11 - How does your muse feel about the use of various toys? Are there some toys they prefer to others? Do they have a type of gag they prefer? Do they prefer vibrators or dildos? Do they like sounding? Do they like violet wands?

KH12 - How does your muse feel about swinging, polyamory, or other partner-sharing situations? Are there specific rules and stipulations that they put in place? Do they approach partner-sharing differently in live-in situations than they would living separately?

KH13 - Does your muse prefer to approach kink unattached from others, or only with a specific partner? Is this how they approach sex generally, or is it specific to how they approach kink? Is kink automatically related to romantic encounters, or simply something fun and playful for them?

KH14 - How does your muse feel about marks being left? Are they fine if they're temporary? Do they enjoy permanent marks (ie: scarrification / branding) or would they prefer no marks are left at all? Do they prefer that marks are left in places that aren't visible, or do they like to show them off?

KH15 - How does your muse react to a trigger? Are there specific signs that indicate that your muse may be responding poorly to a scene, regardless of whether they've actively attempted to indicate a limit? Is your muse particularly good at communicating their boundaries, or are they likely to keep enduring something if they feel like someone else is enjoying, even if they aren't?

KH16 - What kinks has your muse always wanted to explore, but been unable to? Are there reasons they haven't explored them? Are they shy? Do they consider the kink taboo, or dangerous? Under what circumstances might they consider exploring them if given an opportunity?

KH17 - What are some of the more dangerous kinks that your muse is interested in? How do they plan ahead for a scene that may be dangerous, or a scene with a kink that they haven't explored that may be triggering? What kind of preventative measures do they take to avoid potential harm?

KH18 - Does your muse follow the Safe Sane and Consensual (SSC) ideology of kink, or Risk-Aware Consensual Kink (RACK)? What experiences may have led them to making the call on which practice better suits them?

KH19 - What are your muse's safe words? When they're unable to speak, what other safety mechanisms do they have in place to express that they're at a boundary and require either a break or an end to a scene?

KH20 - What are your muse's hard limits? What boundaries that they have differ between individuals, and how do they react when boundaries are hit, or crossed? What about their soft limits?

KH Bonus - What are the Mun's hard limits for roleplaying kink scenarios? Are there things that your muse is interested in that you are not comfortable writing? How do you prefer to approach writing a kink scene from an OOC perspective?

[ghostlynimbus]

Discount Dog

Ship: Harringrove

Rating: T (for now)

CW’s: hybrids, human x hybrid relationships, hybrids have very little rights in this AU, wolfdog!hybrid Billy Hargrove, hybrids are A/B/O Humans are not, o!Billy Hargrove (more to be added)

Summary:

Steve's parents decide to take him to the city to buy a hybrid for Christmas. He winds up coming home with Wolfdog Hybrid Billy. A hybrids AU.

The first two chapters of this can be found on AO3 here. This portion of ch 3 is being posted as a part of my WIP Motivation Poll.

CH 3

Steve’s pissed.

He can’t believe the store fucking drugged Billy.

They didn’t even ask Steve, they just did it, and what… hoped that Steve wouldn’t notice? 

He knows that Billy has behavioral issues, and he figures they were probably hoping that the drugs would keep Billy complacent enough that they could get ownership of him signed over to Steve before Steve realized what exactly he was signing up for. They probably didn’t want to risk him backing out of the deal.

Shitty business practice, but not exactly unheard of. 

But did they really have to give him so much? He could barely stand up straight when they finally brought him up to the check out.

[boxfullaturtles]

Donnie + gagged and/or drugged

If he ever gets out of this chair, Donnie's going to cut out Kendra's tongue so he doesn't have to hear her stupid voice anymore.

She's spent the last ten minutes gloating and rubbing it in his face that she has him tied up and at her mercy. He's given up interrupting her because the banter's gotten boring. And his wrists are starting to hurt from the bindings holding him to the chair.

"--which means we obviously need you and your dumb brothers out of the way for a while," Kendra's saying, pacing in front of him as she preaches, "So in a few minutes we're gonna have a visitor. They're gonna give me a shit ton of money...and we're gonna give you to them. Don't worry, they take care of exotic animals, I'm sure you'll be fine."

That makes his temper flair, "Animal!? ANIMAL!? I am not some pet! This is human trafficking!" He snarls, wrenching against his restraints.

"It might be...if you were human," Kendra laughs, cruel and nasty and cold. Jeremy looks smug. Jase is nowhere to be seen.

Donnie snaps his teeth in frustration and decides he doesn't want to stick around to play her game anymore. His markings flicker as he calls his mystic powers to the surface. Constructs are clicking into an array of guns around him when a needle bites into his elbows. It breaks his concentration and he whips his head around to glare at Jase, who'd snuck up behind the chair while Donnie had been preoccupied by Kendra.

Fuck.

There's an empty syringe in his hand. Donnie's heart pounds in his chest as his gaze snags on it. He looks up sharply at Jase, who won't meet his eyes, and then turns to stare at Kendra.

"What did you do? What was in that?"

"You need to be less...bitey for our client," Kendra says with that mean smile of hers, "Rellaaaxxx, it'll make you feel good, Von Ryan. It'll be the best trip you've ever had."

Panic is making his breath come faster. Drugged. She's drugged him. And he swears he can feel it surging through his veins, his frantic heart pumping it through the rest of his body. He's never done hard drugs; he and Leo had the curious bit of weed every now and then but even that was a rare thing, done only in the confines of secrecy and solitude when they knew without a shadow of a doubt that they would not need their wits about them for several hours.

"Kendra--" Donnie chokes on his voice. This is ludicrous. It doesn't feel real. Sure, the Purple Dragons have tried to kill him and his brothers half a dozen times, but they're too stupid and incompetent to actually do it.

But now Donnie's tied to a chair, at their mercy, and he--

His head feels strange.

The room has started tilting like the deck of a ship. (He’s never been on a ship at sea. He's never been to the ocean.) He sways, rocks, his body is loosely connected by sinew and bone, wet meat and hot blood. Inefficient and easily damaged.

He doesn't like this. It's weird. Everything's wrong.

The world groans and vibrates with movements and sound. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to block it all out. His own breath whistles down his throat and he can feel the creak of his lungs expanding balloons, pushing his plastron, stretching his flesh, muscles flexing and contracting, organs settling, blood racing--

Fingers dig into his face, tilt his head up, and he blinks against the lights. There's someone leaning over him, bigger than Kendra. A stranger. Donnie whines, feels the sound vibrate in his skull (he can count the vertebrae in his spine and so can Leo). His eyes roll. The stranger's touch is poison ivy; it makes his flesh itch and burn. He tries to pull away but they tighten their hold, grinding into his jaw bones. There are voices but he can't remember what sounds words make and he only catches a few things.

"-------old did you------------looks young---------"

"----teen I guess------never asked."

The stranger's thick fingers pry Donnie's mouth open, running a clinical finger over his gums and examining his teeth. He lets out a garbled wretch. He can taste the atoms that make them up, every place they've been sticking to their filthy hands, smearing dirt inside his mouth (stop stop stop stopstopstopstoptstop). But he doesn't have the strength to resist or even spit the horrid flavor out. He's floating a million miles away. There are stars in his bloodstream.

Hands leave heat trails over Donnie's arms and down his plastron. His gear is peeled away, the bindings removed. Some distant part of him screams to run, but his body and mind giggle and remain boneless rubber.

"----like this or------"

"----bites-------dose of some-------"

His body jerks, slumping forward. Someone's trying to pry the battleshell off his back and he lets out a high pitched keen that pops in his own eardrums.

("Don't be afraid, little Hamato...")

No. No no no no nononononono--

("You are not alone.")

Violet neon light erupts around him, blinding and avenging.

The world turns with rapid click click click click click.

A blaze of noise. He's dropped, the stranger's hands are gone. He hits the floor and he can hardly breathe, his head spinning in a million different directions, trickling into electrical outlets and clambering up grounding lines.

He's spread so thin...

...what was his name again? (where are his brothers?)

There's something sticky and warm on his hands. On his chest. It smells like iron. Metal and heat and something grinding to a halt. A dead engine. Ozone.

No one's touching him anymore.

The universe has gone quiet.