Poor Stan. What will you do to get out of this predicament, I wonder?
What will you do when fighting back isn't even an option?
Stan sat stunned. He couldn't speak. He couldn't scream for help, he couldn't complain, he couldn't quip, he couldn't stand, he couldn't struggle, hell, he could barely even move.
He wanted to cry.
His face hurt from where they punched him. His neck hurt from where they grabbed him. His entire body hurt from where they'd manhandled him to the ground and pinned him down and tied him up, choking him, punching him if he dared flinch, or god forbid he struggled against their grasp.
And after all that excessive tying, the rope that scratched against his tender skin and pressed in on his ribcage in a suffocating embrace.
They'd gotten out the duct tape. His heart stuttered, eyes wide. He started to scream, he kicked out at them.
Big mistake. As soon as they finished they mortifying ordeal of wrapping his mouth in layer after layer of duct tape, they slammed him down onto his back and hoisted his legs into the air, bent them into the most odd position, and by the time Stan realized that had still more rope, they were already wrapping it around his ankles and his thighs.
Over and over.
He tried to scream. They kicked him. He screamed some more into the duct tape gag. More blows. Tears. It didn't stop. He couldn't even curl in on himself to protect his soft underbelly.
Then they plopped him on the floor.
Surrounded him.
Appraised him, hungry eyes searching over his body.
Stan couldn't hold back the tears anymore.
The one he thought to be the leader stepped foreward.
Knelt in front of him, cupped Stan's cheek in their hand.
Stan could barely even find the strength to jerk away, and when he did, they just grabbed his collar and yanked him back, made him stare right into their ruthless shark-like eyes. And there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop them.
"You look so much prettier this way," they lulled. "I wonder if your friends will agree when they come to find you."
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Whumptober 2024 | Day 7 | The Bee's Whumptober Masterlist
Stan is an OC that belongs to The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping!
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Yeah this is the right vibe I'll post the drabble here, sure
Man This Edible Ain't Shiiiiiiii~~ (*enters warp space*)
(Aka the thing I wrote while extemely high from the perspective of a character who was drugged and kidnapped. Completely uneddited. Enjoy.)
(Un)Official Guide Masterlist
Content: mentions of kidnapping/violence, noncon drugging, extremely jarring tense changes and POV shifts, y'all this is terrible lmao
(This would take place during chapters 16 and 17... with any luck I'll be posting 17 tomorrow <3)
* * * * * * * *
Deafening roar in the ears. All encompassing. Almost as they they were cotton. Pressure. Pressure everywhere, pressure in the jaw, slow motion, pressure pressing in on all sides, you're not even sure if it's good or bad, but. Can't remember. Spacing out. Coming in. Scared you fainted? You're sitting just as normal. When did you eyes close?
You don't know.
Time lost.
When did that last song end?
Everything is so slow but it's disappearing so fast. Eyes heavy. Someone laughing. Augh. Losing time. Can't focus. He should run. He should escape. He want out. Can't get out. Help.
Home home home home home home home home home. Home home home home.
Woah. Excessive. Body feel numb body full. Dark dark dark. Not bad though. Not good? Who can even know anymore?
Like floating. Except you can feel so heavy and painful the way your body contacts the real world. Hallucinating? Synth music? Doesn't hurt though. At least. Can't really move though. He can make the conscious thought to move, but then it just disappeared. As if he passed out. Is that what immediate memory gaps feel like? He can't remember.
He does want food though. He'd heard of munchies when you're high, and that mixed with the hunger he'd felt after not eating for two days straight created a different sort of terrifying monster.
Can't pay attention. Losing to the sands of time. Eyelids heavy. Ungrounded
Just sleep. Blackout. Eepy. Go sleep. Easier. Easier. Easier. Easier. Easier. Easier.
Want away. Want sleep. Conversation? Woah. Should lie down. But he I can't. Strapped in. Scared. He will hurt me don't do it he will hurt me.
Sludge. Pressure. Pressure. Pressing in. Relax. It'll be okay. Help help help. Help help help help help help help let me go. Let me go. Let me go. Just open the door just do it Holy shit get me out if here Holy shit Holy SHIT augh throat weird drugged drugged drugged.
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(So yeah that's what's happening in Stan's head while Declan is off threatening cops and almost getting hit by cars lmao. And yep that's the end. Except for Stan it's just going on forever and always. Poor buddy.)
Some sketches of my OC Stan, who I originally made while I was still in undergrad and had a work-study job in the art department. Originally his default outfit was a pair of overalls but I decided to give him some variety with these revisions
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