RunsWithScalpels
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Margot took a moment to admire the sight before her as Sue tried to process the conflicting signals her brain was undoubtedly receiving. She found herself doing so more often these days, considering it a gesture of goodwill as Sue’s neurons reawakened to pain, less clouded by opiates - or whatever that hell was technically going on in that head of hers. It certainly didn’t hurt that her suffering was, to put it mildly, easy on the eyes.
(Everyone has a lovely time in this, I swear.)
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Oftentimes, when 2D dares to open his eyes in the mornings, it is only because Murdoc is offering him half a tablet. He kisses it off his palm on days where the pain is such that he cannot speak. He hopes that the gesture conveys gratitude - affection, even. Despite it all, he is still his mother’s son, and he’s never exactly been very good at dropping any sort of habit.
(Obligatory angsty Plastic Beach fic - do mind the tags.)
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Pet play was something everyone knew 2-D enjoyed immensely - he had written a song about it, for crying out loud! The psychology of it was also painfully transparent: it would come out of him when he wanted to express loyalty and gratitude, when he wanted to be of service, when he wanted to be spoiled and punished for all these things according to arbitrary rules… Murdoc was all too happy to oblige.
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Satan help him if he wasn’t going to get some use out of his hard-won title.