#arthur(oc)

[dot-png]

[whumpsoda]

Oh please write a snippet of Florence being put on the drip, knowing that his mind is being wiped and there's nothing he can do about it

@oliversrarebooks

Masterlist

Man do I hate him <3

cw: pet whump, box boy universe/bbu adjacent, institutionalized slavery, wru facility, drugging, impending doom

——————

This was the end.

He could now say that he had experienced how it felt to contemplate death, not that he could never really tell anyone, now could he? That was basically what it was, the death of his mind. The death of a person, the person he was, brain turned to the mush that was a pet’s.

He swallowed, shaking. He wasn’t supposed to be shaking, never before would he have ever been fucking shaking, yet he couldn’t stop himself.

There was a muzzle covering a majority of his face, padded and black to match the mitts tied around his hands, to keep him from biting. Or maybe from screaming. Maybe both.

He was restrained to a table, similar to one in a doctors office, but - and of course - fucking white. He’d never really thought that much about it as a handler, when his life didn’t revolve around it - the white walls, white lights, white shirts, white uniforms - but goddammit everything was white. It made him sick to his stomach, a burning throb that seeped into his head.

This whole room was the same - white tile, white walls, white furniture, white cabinets - save for the metal machinery that provided no solace.

An itch blossomed in his outgrown, frizzy curls, one he couldn’t move to reach, forcing him to rub his head to the surface of the table. Making him look like the animal they would turn him into.

A snap in his face, catching his attention. Like a dog. “You ready? Or are you gonna struggle like you always do, even to your last moments?” Handler - God no, Everett - chuckled, stood right beside him.

His last moments. How laughable was it that he was spending them tied down to a table about to be plugged into the same substance he’d put so many boxies’ through? How fucking funny would he have found that if it was someone else on the table instead of him?

He wanted to sock Everett right in the face. He would’ve, if not for the restraints. Still, he struggled - banging, kicking weakly, snarling wildly - face beating red as Everett began to laugh.

“Isn’t that just a sight?” Everett leaned over his trainee, grinning with that stupid look on his face. A growl rolled out from under the muzzle, muffled and nearly unheard. “Man, I’m so excited, you have no idea. I’m so done with your antics.”

Anger fired up a flame in his chest, binding over his lungs as his cheeks boiled. With a clunk his fists fell to the table, over and over again in the attempt to make as much of a ruckus as he could. Anything to irritate his captors more than he already had. Anything to bring him any semblance of satisfaction.

“Hrgh-!” His eyes practically burst from their sockets as electricity exploded around his kneck, a squeal crackling from his throat as the shock seemed to stretch on and on.

Before, Everett would have thought the sight was the funniest thing he’d ever seen. Now he sat their straight faced, looking as bored as if he was any other trainee. “Don’t make me use the shock collar, ‘065, you know it’s already gotten old.”

The muzzle did it’s very best to constrict his hoarse, shallow breathing, the edge scratching over the skin of his throat. Everett patted his shoulder, comforting if not for the circumstances, calling his attention back.

“Don’t you worry one bit, ‘065. Everything’ll be a-okay once you’re off the drip. You’ll see.” Everett couldn’t even put in the effort to hide his smirk, one he so very much to wipe right off. “You want me to hold your hand?”

Everett was taunting him. Taunting him. Like they did to trainees together, except this time he was the trainee.

What would he even be after this? As a real trainee, head knocked empty?

A boxie. He’d be a braindead, obedient little boxie.

He’d have an owner, someone whose every word he would hang from, drooling to serve them.

His stomach churned, bile bubbling up with heat from his belly. He was going to puke just thinking about it.

What a joke.

The click of the door, steps parading the edge of the room. The doctor had arrived, the same one he’d worked with several times previously on other boxies. This time though, that doctor would be working on him.

“You guys ready to get this party started?” Everett asked - hands on his lap in an anticipatory stance - giddy almost, to no response.

The doctor was on the other side of his table then - he’d never cared to remember her name - audibly flicking switches, turning knobs.

“And we’re on.” Everett sneered, plopping himself into a white, plastic chair across the room. The perfect view, staring straight at him.

This was-

This was it.

He could feel his lungs growing and depleting, breath sucked in and out faster and faster every nearing second. The muzzle wasn’t doing him any good, only furthering his struggle for air.

He gripped to the walls of the table as best he could with mitts around his hands, wriggling weaker and weaker against the restraints with every passing moment. The drip was already getting to him, quicker and quicker.

He shrieked, quieter than expected but still a decent sound. The doctor was unmoved, Everett giggling from his seat.

How dare they.

How fucking dare they.

He was a person, not a boxie. He wasn’t like them. He was someone who had a family, friends, a real fucking future ahead of him, one they swiped away just like that. One that, this time, he couldn’t see any way to get back.

He couldn’t struggle. His limbs were numb, falling limp as something dead, and he couldn’t do anything to stop it. What could he have?

The air was hot in his mouth, sweat dribbling over his top lip and onto his bottom. Already he felt himself drifting, like he was floating almost, unable to grab back on.

Maybe-

If he could just-

If he-

he…

His head filled up with a sensation of suffocatingly air, as if going in for surgery. He caught Everett flash him a small, glittering wave. “See ya soon, ——,”

Only white, hearing fading out to a buzz.

Only white, thoughts washing into the abyss.

Only white, vision clearing to a stinging brightness.

Only white, memories flushed to emptiness in the blink of his eye.

Wiped.

——————

Masterlist

Taglist - @softvampirewhump @ivymyers @taterswhump @octopus-reactivated @tippytappytyping

@distracted-obsessions @starfields08000 @bitchaknso @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @scoundrelwithboba

@whumped-by-glitter @whumpering-heights @arlin-always-writing @bilightningwhumper @sharkyydoesnothing

@whump-till-ya-jump

If anyone wants to be removed or added to the taglist, please let me know! :)

[misstycloud]

Yan!husband x reader x Yan!ex

You and your dear husband have gained new interesting neighbours from your past. What will your former love say now that you’re promised to someone else?

————————-

“Phew, that’s the last one.” Arthur exhaled and finally allowed himself to take a breather. He reached his arms up and stretched his back, hearing satisfying cracks.

“Yes, now I can sleep.” You exclaimed bliss.

“Sorry, sweetheart. It’s dinner first, then you can sleep.” Your husband kissed you tenderly on the cheek and you groaned.

“No, it’s fine, I’m not even hungry.”

Arthur gently smiled with amusement, “Nice try, dear. But it won’t work on me.”

You huffed in frustration and crossed your arms in defiance for not being able to sway your husband, and said husband simply laughed at your failure.

You and Arthur had just come back from your honeymoon in the Maldives, which had been wonderful and deeply romantic. He had done everything to make it perfect for the two of you, always peppering you in his attention and affection. Never once did his mind stray to something else besides you. It seemed like he didn’t let you out of his sight, in the least.

It made you feel somewhat overwhelmed but you assumed every woman shared your notion. You had just married after all. It was normal. Completely normal.

Befor you flew on you honeymoon, you decided to buy a new beautiful house together. The apartment you lived in previously wasn’t bad in any way, tough you two wanted something fresh. Something that also came with a garden, of Arthur got to chose. Gardening was a hobby he’d picked up this year, he was capable of growing elegant blooms without struggle and it was something he took pride in. Some people-like you for example- clearly didn’t possess the green thumb like he did, you still tried to recreate some of his creations and failed miserably.

Luckily your then fiancé, didn’t judge people based on their ability to grow plants and didn’t kick you out.

“Honey, what do you feel like eating today?” Yelled Arthur from the kitchen to you, who sat in the living room.

The moving company had already placed your bigger furniture in the house, so you had something to sit on. It didn’t help the ugly view of the mountains of cardboard boxes laying spread out in the floor. The TV was also among the things to first be unpacked, you simply couldn’t live without it. Oh well, it it what it is.

“I dunno, pasta maybe?”

“Pasta it is.” He complied while opening a box that had ‘non-fridge food’ written on it, and grabbing a package of spaghetti. He knew exactly what dish to make and put on an apron.

Then he laid out the other ingredients needed and began boiling the water. As the man cut the vegetables, you approached him from behind and gave him a hug.

“Can I help?”

“I’d….rather not have you do that.” Arthur carefully admitted and turned to look at you with a sorry smile. “It’s better if you just go watch TV, and let me do the work.”

“But…” you began protesting, noticing the cutting board and the vegetables atop it. “I can help you cut the garlic and tomatoes.”

He pulled you back as soon as you prepared to grab the knife laying beside the board, and clasped your hand close to his chest, “Ah, darling! Don’t do that.” He blurted out.

“W-what, why?”

“Because I wouldn’t want my sweet wife to hurt herself.”

“I won’t, come on Arthur. It’s not like accidentally I’ll cut my finger off and then die.”

At your dreadful words, he hissed in response and quickly said, “Don’t say that.” And stared into your eyes with such determination and intensity that you almost forgot who you were and where.

“R-right, sorry.” You apologised for the gruesome picture you had painted in his mind and awkwardly turned your gaze to the ceramic tiles making up your floor.

“No, I’m the one who should be sorry. I’m keeping you from doing the things you want, I don’t deserve you. You shouldn’t have married me.” He explaned dejectedly and looked at the floor, him too.

“It’s fine, I promise.”

Arthur felt you softly caress his cheek and saw you smiling at him.

“I can go watch TV, no problem.”

You left him to his own devices in the cooking area and plopped down on the grey couch and scrolled through films you found uninteresting. Seeing you follow his advice, the man you call husband smiled in satisfaction and went back to cooking.

Throwing yourself on the couch, you groaned in contentment. You got to say that the food absolutely slapped and now your stomach demanded rest. Arthur was way to good at cooking, he seriously belonged in a culinary show or something. You had complimented him for his skills for years now and every time he brushed you off with a humble shrug, saying he isn’t all that and there are better out there.

“Ugh…”

“Don’t fall asleep on the sofa.” Arthur warned, preferring for you to go directly to bed instead of slouching off in the living room. Though if push came to shove, he would carry you.

“I’ll try…” you murmured and closed your eyes despite his words.

Seeing your drowsy form, he chuckled and continued doing the dishes. You on the other hand, struggled to keep yourself conscious and nearly fell to the grasp of sleep multiple times. When you felt yourself drifting off, you forced your eyes open, only to have them close again.

The sudden ring of the doorbell brought back energy, only enough to let you listen in. Arthur had went to the door when hearing it, and he wondered to who it could possibly be. Him and you were new here, so it couldn’t be a neighbour visiting for a friendly chat since no one knew you. He hadn’t ordered anything either and as far as he knew, you hadn’t either.

The man peeked outside through the peephole imbedded in the large piece of wood and saw an unfamiliar man-no older than himself- standing right outside. Compared to his own natural raven hair, the stranger had bleached blonde hair. Sadly it appeared someone hadn’t gotten the bleaching done properly for the strands had a yellow hue to it.

His clothes consisted of a harsh red t-shirt, quiet wrinkly Arthur had so admit. Perhaps did the man outdoors drop the bleach on his jeans as well, when changing hair colour. Because they too were stained with lighter colouration than other parts of them.

Deciding to ask him to what brought him to your home, Arthur graciously opened the door just as he noticed the blonde reaching for the bell a second time since no one had opened, and the lights were on which meant there was indeed someone home. What he didn’t know was that he had been scrutinised by a pair of grey eyes for quite some time.

“Yes, can I help you?” Said Arthur in a polite but firm tone, signaling he wanted no play and get right to it.

The stranger had stepped back a foot when the door abruptly swung open and a very tall-maybe annoyed- man stared down at him. Frankly, he wasn’t that much taller, but it still showed when standing so close to each other.

“Eh, hey.” He greeted, “I’m your new neighbour. Sorry to bother, but you don’t happen to have some eggs you don’t need?”

One of Arthur’s brows shot up at the question, “We do, in fact. Why? You want to borrow some.” The last sentence would have seemed like an inquiry, it clearly wasn’t, based on the tone he used. It was a statement.

The blonde gawkily nodded and laughed stiffly, “Yeah, sorry I get that you got here like today.”

“It’s fine.” Your husband sighed, “but don’t forget to pay us back.”

“Us?” The stranger said, slightly confused.

“Me and my wife.”

“Oh, sorry man. Thought you moved here alone.” He apologised.

Arthur didn’t wish to speak to this man longer than he had to. He would have preferred to slam the door in this rascals face and reject his request for eggs, but even he understood it was something that wouldn’t benefit you in the further. He had to make a good impression on neighbours in order to live without trouble, at least on a social level were you lived. It wasn’t fun to be at odds with your neighbour, you live in the same building after all.

Rolling his eyes, the black haired man left the blonde man at the house entrance to fetch some of the requested food.

While resting, you had listened to their entire conversation. And though you had no idea to who the stranger at the door could be, the voice did sound dreadfully familiar. You had defiantly heard that voice before, long ago. Getting up from your position, you followed your husband from behind and peered over his tall frame to spot a glimpse of the person.

When you saw them. You understood why the voice was so familiar.

Feeling your body stiffen and blood run cold, eyes widening you were only able to mumble, “…W-Weston..?”

Instantly when he heard your voice, the blonde man noticed you. And turned his attention on you with the speed of lightning, intensity burning. You gasped. His expression mirrored yours. The eggs he so wished to borrow splattered on the floor in a yellow goo.

“…(Y-Y/n)…..?” He uttered just as shocked as you currently felt. “What are you…?” Weston wandered off in the middle of his sentence.

As the exchange went on in stunned silence, your husband observed the scene with raised suspicion. Did you know this man?

Weston’s initial shock wore off and his features transformed into a supple smile, he stuttered as he tried to get his thoughts out. “I-it’s been so long….what a-are you doing here?” he heavily exhaled in amazement.

“I…I live here..” your answer was as stiff as a board and you glanced at Arthur, who was also looking perplexed at you.

As if he suddenly understood a hard math problem, Weston perked up, “Oh, are you visiting your sister and her husband? So you currently live with them? I know this is far from your childhood home.”

Damn, he had already began making assumptions. It would be very awkward to correct him now, but you couldn’t lie to him. It would just make things more confusing and complicated in the future when he wondered to why you hadn’t gone back to ‘your’ home.

Your husband reacted before you could, “No, she is not visiting. She lives here and is in fact my wife.” He spat, hating that he created theories on you relationship.

“W-what..?” He forcibly laughed as if he thought he heard wrong, “she’s your wife..?”

“Yes. Now who are you to be so familiar to my (Y/n)?”

“Me?” Weston scoffed, “I’m her boyfriend.”

Not wanting things to become more sour than it was, you hastily broke in, “Were, Weston. You were my boyfriend.” You reminded.

When you were 15 years old, you met Weston at your school. The two of you had been put in the same class and therefore had to work together on assignments, from time to time. Despite having gone to the same school since elementary, you had never properly spoken to each other. Simply overlooking the others existence unless you had to interact. Like, during a game of tag, for example. Those were circumstances you needed to talk, but didn’t further the relationship. Choosing to stay with your respective friend group.

The time you really started hitting it off were when you had a super important assignment that would determine a great deal of your grade that year. So that was when you really focused and took the task seriously, and spoke carefully about what would be a good idea and what wouldn’t. Compared to previous pair work, where you and Weston didn’t speak five sentences to each other, came to an agreement instead of ditching as soon as you could like you had done other times. So it wasn’t weird that you two started hanging out and chatting more now that you found out that the other party wasn’t all that bad, as you might’ve thought.

Aquintances turned to good friends, that became best friends, which eventually blossomed to romance.

Weston was your first boyfriend. He was your first everything, and you were his first as well. As you were so young back then, you stupidly believed you’d stay a couple forever. Reality proved your belief wrong as it does most of the time. When you got older, you wanted to peruse different things. The deduction to break up was mutual, though its reinforcement was mostly you and met with some resistance from Weston. However, it all ended anyway.

Hearing your defiance, Weston yielded. “Yeah….right.”

“You were..dating..” you heard Arthur mumble under his breath, not sure if he wanted an answer or not you still said.

“Yeah, back in high school and such. Sorry, I didn’t know he lived here, too.” The last part you murmured in his ear, quietly.

“Sooo…you’re married!” The blonde exclaimed an unnaturally cheerful voice. “I’m glad, hehe. You did always wish to get married, so that’s great.” He let out an equally strained laugh.

“Eh..yeah, hehe. I guess so.” You pretended that you didn’t remember that he was the one you had wanted to marry in your younger days. And now it was weird since you were indeed married, just not to him. “So you live next door?” Bending down, you collected to egg shells still covering the floor.

“Yeah, I do.” Weston copied your movement to help you clean up the mess he’d made but was stopped by your spouse, who sent him another one of his furious looks.

The tall, dark haired man couldn’t bear to see some pathetic lowlife from the past ruin things between you and him. Things had gone to perfectly smooth in the latest years, and no one-exactly no one- will he let destroy it.

Witnessing your husband aiding you in your job, he retracted his hands and stood there as still as whatever is the ‘still-est’

“Don’t worry, I’ll get some new ones for you.”

“No need, it’s not that urgent. I promise.” he reassuringly stated.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

Shrugging, you went to the kitchen to throw away the discarded shells and grab a towel to wipe the egg yolks. When you came back with the paper, your surprise visitor was gone like the wind.

“Where’s Weston?” You asked Arthur, sending him a perturbed expression.

The man told you not to worry, “He’s gone home. It wasn’t urgent, like he said. He said to me he would simply make something else to eat.”

Thinking it was a bit rude to just rush off like that, you couldn’t blame him for it. This unexpected meeting was rather startling. The next time you’d run into him(which you’ll undoubtedly do), you’d try to be as nice as possible to him. Being enemies with neighbours was a freaking pain in the ass. No thanks.

“Okay, I’ll let him borrow things in the future if he’d so wish. “

“That sounds great, honey.” Arthur gazed at you as you closed and locked the front door after Weston’s departure. Then as you ventured back and up to the second floor, leaving Arthur alone in the the same position.

His smile had faded significantly and he muttered, “This can be a problem.”

——————————-

[kittyundercover1]

Arthur OC: Emory Concord (1/6)

I forgot to add it in the ref sheet, but she and her family are ferrets.

[skretri]

hmmmmmm thinking of them...

[chocolatecak3]

chu dayo

clean version + close up under cut

[butterfrogmantis]

Jackie

[yumpher]

Sketchbook pages from this week! Of course with falcon and some other side OC kids :)))