#post-escape

[dreamweave01]

(Utterly adore your experiments au and I just want to hug the boys) out of the four lads who has the hardest time adapting to being out when they’re rescued? And do any of them even hate/heavily dislike being rescued at first?

eee Thank you so much! The boys would much appreciate a hug yes lol. (especially C1, the poor boi be touched starved send hugs)

(Actually they all are um)

Out of the four? hmmmmmmmmm that can depend really. They all have their own things they struggle with when it comes to adapting to the outside world.

However, I would probably have to go with J3.

Because he was so young when he was taken, he has essentially zero previous experience to the outside world, unlike the other three. (I know Z2 doesn't have those memories prior to the Golden Order, but he still has a gut instinct with things. It's kind of like a "he knows but can't remember how he knows" situation.)

J3 is the only one with no life before the Order, and for him, this makes it very hard to feel like he has a place outside of the Order.

TO MAKE MATTERS EVEN WORSE the Golden Order don't actually have a copy of J3's birth certificate, (unlike C1 and K4) so even when they escape, J3 still has no idea where he came from, who his parents are, etc.

He doesn't even have a name due to this, other than the one the Order gave him, which is again unlike the other three.

J3 feels very alienated from the people in the outside world, and it's very hard for him to feel like he has a place in Ninjago.

Now for the second question!

Actually, now that I'm reading the second question, I don't know if I can answer that well without spoiling major story twists. 😬

So the only answer I can really give you is:

No??

[ghostly-idiot]

remember when 404 was unlikeable to the general public?

...yea she has a shark fixation now.

@x-z0ne @designation-401 @agent-marusankisser come get your 404 food.

(tap/click for better quality)

[punishthemplease]

Whumpee blinked awake when they felt a shift at the foot of the bed. They wondered for a moment if they were still dreaming when they saw Whumper. “You look so sweet when you’re asleep,” Whumper’s wicked smile belied any genuine affection. “You’ll look better chained to the radiator, though.”

Whumpee’s breath quickened. They scanned the room, searching for a weapon, an escape route, anything... but their injuries were severe— Whumper had made certain that they’d be recovering for a while. Whumpee felt the familiar panic creeping up their body. They were pinned, defenseless, once again. “P-please, I can’t... go back,” Whumpee pleaded quietly, fully aware of how pathetic they sounded and how little sympathy it would garner anyway.

Whumper inched closer, bemused. “Ah, where were those manners the first time? Maybe you wouldn’t have ended up like this if you’d been so well-behaved.”

“You can’t do this,” Whumpee said, with a bit more conviction this time. After all, their Teammates had rescued them once. Whumper wouldn’t be able to get away with keeping them captive again. Right?

“What’s stopping me from keeping you all to myself, hm? You’re a little worse for wear, Whumpee; I don’t see you putting up much of a fight.”

“My Teammates will find me,” Whumpee swallowed hard, hesitated. “If you do anything to me again, they’ll kill you.”

Whumper almost chuckled at that. “There’s the naughty pet I know, making empty threats. Darling, how can you hope to convince me if you can’t even convince yourself?” Whumper moved in closer, and raised a hand to gently hold Whumpee’s cheek.

Whumpee flinched at the touch. Hands capable of such violence made a mockery of tenderness. Whumper’s thumb slid from Whumpee’s chin down to their bandaged neck. “Come now,” Whumper mused, “isn’t your pretty throat just begging to be collared again?”

Whumper retracted their hand and grabbed something from their pocket. Whumpee recognized the motion of Whumper removing the cap from a syringe; it was a familiar sight from their captivity. “You remember, don’t you?” Whumper remarked, seeing the fear widening Whumpee’s eyes. “This is just a little something to help you relax. When you wake up again, you’ll be back home.”

[orchidscript]

“Sometimes I wish you were dead.” Nicholas because I am an angst fiend

Ash, I see your angst fiend-ness. I respect it. And I hope I have delivered adequately for your fiendishness :)

Enjoy!

cw: underage whumpee, trauma recovery, allusions to underage noncon/dubcon; pure, uncut, unadulterated teenage rage.

~*~*~

Nicholas had all but ground his back teeth to dust. He’d been in the teenage runaway shelter for almost a week, but was already planning his next move. He had managed to get a commuter ticket to another state — he didn’t remember which one, but it was far enough away from the bastard currently talking on his screen.

Sir and Ma’am.

Governor Caldwell and his lovely wife, which is what the journalists called them.

Nicholas had been watching the press conference for an hour, his blood boiling harder with every second longer. His skin crawled as though the man were in the room with him, as if he was touching him all over again. Nicholas gripped his mug full of macaroni and cheese tighter, wrapped himself tighter into the blanket.

“I hate you,” he snarled at the television, feeling all the bitter venom he’d been feeling for years stinging like vinegar at his tonsils. “I wish you were dead.”

As soon as he said it, the anger melded and sunk into guilt. He regretted it as soon as he said it. The deep-seated aching reminder that he was meant to love them still, forever even, creeping through his brain.

He hated them.

But he loved them.

He sagged under the weight of uncertainty, indecision. He had said it, but they couldn’t hear it. So it didn’t count? Right?

He lowered the television volume, picked up his spoon and started shoveling cheesy noodles into his mouth. Food always seemed to lessen the emotions, made him feel better. He glanced back up at the tv. “Sometimes I wish you were dead… only sometimes, I guess…”