#Dry & Liquid Injection

[adinathinternationalindia]

Vial Liquid Line

Vial Liquid line that includes a washing, sterilizing, liquid filling, cap sealing, and labeling machine is used to fill injectable vials. This is known as an injectable liquid filling line. Every machine was oriented to function as a single, cohesive system. We have both Automatic and Semi-Automatic Vial Liquid Lines in our inventory. Automatic lines, also known as fully automatic vial liquid lines, have conveyors on each machine that are connected to one another for uninterrupted automatic operations.

Automatic Vial Liquid Line

Washing, sterilizing, filling stoppering, and labeling machines make up automatic vial lines. Every machine is connected to function as a single, cohesive system. Automation is used in operations to remove human intervention. These lines are also known as Production Scale Vial Filling Lines or High-Speed Vial Production Lines. The equipment in this kind of filling line is listed below:

Vial Washing Machine

The AI-VRW Automatic Rotary Vial Washing Machine is made to wash glass vials without letting non-contact machine parts come into touch with the vials. A gripper system on the Automatic Rotary Vial Washing Machine model grips the vial from the neck and inverts it while the washing process is underway. Once the washing process is complete, the vial is released on the outfeed star wheel arrangement in a vertical position, ensuring a positive wash of the vials. With the use of spare components, our machine model can clean glass vials and containers ranging in capacity from 2 to 100 milliliters. A specifically constructed Gripper holds the glass vial from its neck, inverts it, and moves it further on a rotary moving system for the washing process. The glass vial feeds through a turn table to the infeed Star Wheel.

Sterilization Tunnel

In order to sterilize and dehydrogenate cleaned empty pharmaceutical glassware used in parenteral product packaging, this type of continuous sterilizer is a fully automated system that specifically uses forced convection of filtered air through a high efficiency particulate air filter.

Vial Liquid Filling Machine

Glass vials that are injectable can be filled with an injectable liquid filling machine, such as an automatic vial liquid filling machine. Turntable, stainless steel stat conveyor belt, and special eccentric pre-, filling, and post-gassing comprise the basic unit. 316L stainless steel syringes that are incredibly accurate and efficient, non-toxic synthetic rubber tubing, and a compact, easily accessible panel.

Vial Cap Sealing Machine

The PP/Flip-ff cap sealing onto round glass vials is appropriate for the Automatic Vial Cap Sealing Machine. The machine for capping vials is specifically made of stainless steel and has a mild steel frame with stainless steel cladding and enclosures. The Vial Capping Machine has a vibratory bowl feeder that allows the cap to be continuously fed for online operation on any liquid or powder filling line. Machine adaptable to different Vial sizes and, with the use of spare parts, to Plain/Flip-Off Caps. The Capping Machine is a useful tool for the pharmaceutical industry because it may operate automatically online and has fewer production requirements.

Vial Inspection Machine

Glass vials that can be injected are appropriate for inspection using an automatic vial inspection machine. The four tracks that make up the Vial Inspection Machine are made of nylon-6 roller chain, and they can be purchased with a spinning assembly that includes 24V DC wiring and AC drive rejection units. Additionally, the ability to modify speed was made possible with a variable AC frequency drive. All of the machine’s contact parts are composed of authorized engineered polymers and stainless steel, in compliance with cGMP regulations.

Vial Sticker Labeling Machine

One of the easiest vertical vial sticker labeler devices to use is the Automatic Vial Sticker Labeling Machine. This apparatus has a cutting-edge Micro Processor Control label dispensing mechanism with a product and label detection system. The Vial Labeler can be used to label spherical objects such as vials. Depending on the vial and label size, it may label up to 100 vials in a minute. An optional unique label sensing system allows an electronic and mechanical system specifically developed to put transparent (No Look) labels on vials at a very fast speed.

Semi-Automatic Vial Liquid Line

Machines for washing, sterilizing, filling stoppers, sealing caps, inspecting, and labeling make up a semi-automated vial liquid line. These devices operate on their own and are integrated with one another. These lines are also known as small-scale vial liquid lines or low-cost vial production lines. The equipment in this kind of filling line is listed below:

Semi-Automatic Vial Washing Machine

A reliable, ampoule and vial washing machine that complies with cGMP standards is the semi-automatic vial washer, also known as the vial jet washer. It is small, adaptable, and semi-automatic. With the use of appropriate replacement components, the Multijet Vial Washing Machine’s stainless steel architecture allows it to wash glass vial sizes ranging from 2 to 100 milliliters and ampoule sizes from 1 to 20 milliliters. FDA-approved materials or stainless steel 316L are used to make all contact parts.

Dry Heat Sterilizer

Bottles, vials, and ampoules that have been cleaned can be sterilized using an ampoule sterilizer or dry heat sterilizer. It is constructed from MS heavy angles with an exterior wall composed of stainless steel 304 and an inner wall made of stainless steel 316. Our double door DHS is manufactured in compliance with cGMP requirements that are authorized in injectable pharmaceutical factories that uphold a class 100 environment. For cGMP compliance, all contact parts are constructed from FDA-approved materials or stainless steel 316L.

Vial Liquid Filling Machine

Glass vials that are injectable can be filled with an injectable liquid filling machine, such as an automatic vial liquid filling machine. Turntable, stainless steel stat conveyor belt, and special eccentric pre-, filling, and post-gassing comprise the basic unit. 316L stainless steel syringes that are incredibly accurate and efficient, non-toxic synthetic rubber tubing, and a compact, easily accessible panel.

Vial Cap Sealing Machine

The PP/Flip-ff cap sealing onto round glass vials is appropriate for the Automatic Vial Cap Sealing Machine. The machine for capping vials is specifically made of stainless steel and has a mild steel frame with stainless steel cladding and enclosures. The Vial Capping Machine has a vibratory bowl feeder that allows the cap to be continuously fed for online operation on any liquid or powder filling line. Machine adaptable to different Vial sizes and, with the use of spare parts, to Plain/Flip-Off Caps. The Capping Machine is a useful tool for the pharmaceutical industry because it may operate automatically online and has fewer production requirements.

Vial Inspection Machine

Glass vials that can be injected are appropriate for inspection using an automatic vial inspection machine. The four tracks that make up the Vial Inspection Machine are made of nylon-6 roller chain, and they can be purchased with a spinning assembly that includes 24V DC wiring and AC drive rejection units. Additionally, the ability to modify speed was made possible with a variable AC frequency drive. All of the machine’s contact parts are composed of authorized engineered polymers and stainless steel, in compliance with cGMP regulations.

Vial Sticker Labeling Machine

One of the easiest vertical vial sticker labeler devices to use is the AutomaticVial Sticker Labeling Machine. This apparatus has a cutting-edge Micro Processor Control label dispensing mechanism with a product and label detection system. The Vial Labeler can be used to label spherical objects such as vials. Depending on the vial and label size, it may label up to 100 vials in a minute. An optional unique label sensing system allows an electronic and mechanical system specifically developed to put transparent (No Look) labels on vials at a very fast speed.

[sanjar11]

Prefilled injection manufacturer in India

Syringes are widely utilized worldwide on a daily basis; this is the reason pharmaceutical company came up with the idea of manufacturing prefilled syringes (PFS) to make it safer and more hygienic to patients. Everyday doctors use fresh syringes, unlike the old times doctors used them to boil the syringe and use them again, but recently due to Covid nowadays doctor and patients as well take precautions. Prefilled syringes revolutionized the way medications were administered before, offering with numerous advantages over traditional vial and syringe systems.

Sanjar Pharma is renowned name for its wide range of pharmaceutical products, including Pre-filled Syringes (PFS), we are knowns for our high-quality pharmaceutical products with competitive pricing accessible to every common individual worldwide. Our company manufacture, supply and export prefilled syringe under strict hygienic conditions and suitable temperatures, with following all strict international guidelines.

Here’s a brief detail on prefilled syringes and their uses:

What are pre-filled syringes.

Pre-filled syringe (PFS), is a disposable syringe that is already loaded with premeasured medication or vaccine for direct administration. Prefilled Syringes have four key components; a plunger, stopper, barrel and a needle. This provides convenience, safety and accuracy for injecting into the body manufactured by pharmaceutical company. A pre-filled syringe which comes for a single dose of medication with a fixed needle, this ensures accurate dosing by reducing errors, contamination and needlestick injuries. Some medications, such as biologics and specialty drugs, require precise dosing amounts and careful handling, this is why nursing homes and long-term care facilities often rely on prefilled syringes for administering medications to residents.

Pre-filled syringes are highly useful in pediatric care due to its precise dosing and ease of use. Making them more efficient for administering medication to children. By reducing discomfort, and enhancing the overall patient experience. Pre-filled syringes play a crucial role in pediatric healthcare.

Healthcare institutions utilize prefilled syringes for a variety of purposes, here’s a list:

Convenience: Due to its measured preloaded dosage of medication, healthcare professionals find it way more convenient to use.

Safety: Pre-filled syringes come with built-in safety features such as needle guards or retractable needles. Thus, preventing needlestick injuries and by reducing contamination, ensuring overall safety for healthcare workers and patients.

Accuracy: Due to its preloaded precise dosing, it ensures patients that patients receive the correct amount of medication each time.

Reduce Waste: This pre-filled syringe is particularly beneficial for expensive medications or those with limited doses. They help in minimizing costs, shelf lives and medication waste by eliminating the need of overfill of doses.

Standardization: Prefilled syringes promote standardization by providing a consistent and reliable method for delivering medications. They help maintain quality and safety standards across facilities.

Business Opportunities with Sanjar Pharma:

We at Sanjar Pharma, welcomes pharmaceutical companies interested in third-party manufacturing, pharma dealer, distributorship, or loan license manufacturing to join hands with us. Partnering with Sanjar Pharma offers several advantages because:

Save on heavy investments in capital-intensive by utilizing our infrastructure.

Get uninterrupted manufacturing processes that boost your earnings and cash flow.

Rely on us for consistent supply of validated and approved products.

Focus on your strength, such as marketing, while we manage the manufacturing process for you.

Be assured and confident with our strict quality control measures.

Rest assured for product quality, timely delivery and complete customer satisfaction.

Let’s unite, collaborate and work together for mutual success and growth.

For more information kindly contact us: marketing@sanjarpharma.com Mobile No. 6352986603 or 02772-245249

[agronayurveda01]

A Pharmaceutical WHO-GMP & ISO Certified Company in india since 1986PCD Pharma Franchise , Third Party Manufacturing , Export Marketing , Government Tender SupplyDeal in Allopathic Range , Veterinary Range & Ayurvedic or Herbal RangeTablet, Capsules, Syrup, Drop, Dry & Liquid Injection, Ointment, Powder, balm, gel, bolus, calcium feed, vati, churan, single herbs, and more.Powered by www.agronremedies.com

[queeranarchism]

I'm seeing a worrying post about single/multi-use HRT vials going around. Please read this Queer Doc article instead.

The most important parts of this article are:

Check the ingredients. Vials without preservatives are intended to be thrown out after 1 use. Vials with preservatives are intended to be thrown out after 28 days.

Wash your hands, clean the table and disinfect injection surfaces (vial stopper, your injection site.)

Don’t let the needle or the rubber stopper of the vial touch contaminated surfaces.

Don’t re-use needles.

I would like to add:

In Europe you may also get single-use vials that are completely glass with a top that needs to be broken to access the medication. There is NO safe way to use these for multi-dosing.

Within the DIY community, you will find larger vials that people use for months. This caries extra risk but unfortunately a lot of people don't have much choice. Be extra diligent about hygiene and safety if you re-use vials for longer, understand that you've got more risk and do not do it if you are immunocompromised. Please consider changing your vial every 4 months if at all possible.

If you do get an infection you need to go to a doctor. Seriously. An infection deeper under the skin can not work itself to the surface and has a risk of entering the blood stream and becoming sepsis. This can kill you. Trans people will tell you that they had an infection and they were fine. They were lucky. You may be unlucky. Go to a doctor.

Normal injections often cause pain and a warm bump or hard spot at the injection site, with symptoms increasing during the first 24 hours and gradually getting less after that. Symptoms of infection are: pain, heat or a bump that continue to increase after 48 hour, oozing of liquid from the injection site hours/days after injection, fever, a rash spreading from the injection sight. If you get these symptoms go to a doctor.

Store your injection bottles, packaged syringes and needles in a dry, clean location, keep them away from food items. The packaging isn't fool-proof. If there is dirt on the package, do not trust the inside of the package. If the package is broken, do not trust the inside of the package.

Check the ingredients of your vial for allergies. Injections are oil-based and that oil can be peanut-oil, soy-oil and other things that people might have an allergic reaction to. If you have allergies, know which oil you're putting into your body.

[leth-writes]

Some thoughts about Tim and the Batfam

SUMMARY: just thinking about Tim and the batfam

WARNINGS: 18+ as always on my blog, though the work is safe for work. Typical yandere shenanigans. HEAVY discussion of drugging and taking away of autonomy.

MASTERLIST: https://www.tumblr.com/leth-writes/757800060720496640/requests-open?source=share 

Requests are open!

Tim is a really interesting person, in general. I’m just obsessed with the idea of him drugging a darling, just keeping them all pliant and sleepy and curled up in his bed, even if he’s platonic. 

He spends a lot of time just…watching you, whether that be through cameras or in real life.

You never find the cameras, even though you know they’re there. If you asked him, he wouldn’t deny it. Why would he? There’s nothing you could do about it, and he honestly doesn’t trust your opinions on your own safety. Tim views you as quite innocent and naive, and that’s part of why he spends so much time building a little cocoon in the bed for you to curl up in, your soft snuffles just barely moving the light sheet he’s laid around you.

Just. UGH. I think at first he’d drug your food.

But you start noticing, and you start avoiding food. This sets the rest of the batfam off; is TIm not taking care of you properly?!

(They sometimes talk about you like a pet. It’s weird. You’ve learned not to mention it.)

In response, you’re tied down with soft satin straps and drugged out of your mind through an IV. You’re on an all-liquid diet, practically seeing stars. Tim doesn’t need you conscious or coherent, just safe from harm, after all.

I could even see him putting you in a temporary coma, at least until the heat from your kidnapping dies down. 

I can’t get  over the idea of you just. Trusting him so much, so naively, and he’s just. Fucking drugging your hot chocolate to get you to the manor, he knows if he doesn’t then Jason will and Jason won’t be as gentle about it.

UGH just imagine him doing those exercises every day with you to keep your muscles from atrophying AGHHHH

You wake up afterwards, it’s dark and your mouth is dry. You try to sit up- and you can’t. You’re too weak, too tired from the still-present drugs coursing through your veins. It’s then you see a bright flash, illuminating the corner and it’s FUCKING TIM JUST STANDING THERE

He uses his best camera, just dedicates it to pictures of you, creates an album.

He shows it to everyone else, they’re all cooing and aweing and you’re just sitting there like HELLO PLEASE LET ME LEAVE 🙁

Eventually he might even give you a bit of a choice. You can eat the food, or you can get an injection. When you take the injection you lose an entire day of time, and who knows what the FUCK happened? (nothing, Tim just. Spent most of the day working, occasionally taking the time to brush a hand over your face, just gently tracing your features.)

The others start to get annoyed Tim’s hogging you, and he gets you a wheelchair. You’re too weak, too drugged to be able to move yourself around, and he somehow manages to put some sort of thing on the wheels that lock if you try to go out the door. Like the fucking Grocery Carts.

He starts wheeling you around, letting you see the garden and the birds and Batcow. You spend a lot of time in the library with Alfred the cat curled in your lap, purring as you try to follow the plot of a simple book, your eyes too blurry to see the words properly.

Jason’ll read to you, he likes the bonding time. Plus, your eyes can’t really focus on anyone’s face too long, so he doesn’t have to worry about you being scared by the scars ripped into his skin by his death.

Cass’ll roll you into her studio, prop you against the wall, and just do a stunning routine. Unfortunately you can’t see it very well, and you clap really slowly because your hands feel like they’re filled with lead. She appreciates the effort.

Dick eventually takes over your stretches, though he does sometimes have to fight Bruce for the right. Both love helping you gently stretch out your limbs, admiring the shaking that only comes from intense effort. You’re cute, like a newborn lamb.

It’s infuriating watching Dick do all these complicated moves, while you can barely lift your head, but oh well, they’re so happy you’re here!!

Damian treats you like a younger sibling, even though you’re significantly older than him. He adores having this position of power over you, and abuses it to spend most of his time with you just. Showing you his animals. Titus is practically your emotional support dog at this point, and he trains Ace to be your guard dog.

Bruce loves having you curled up in the office, snoring slightly on the couch, as he slowly wades his way through work. He’ll throw a blanket over you, even as you whimper and shy away from the food he’s hand-feeding you. You aren’t allowed to feed yourself anymore, hell you can barely lift your hand to your mouth.

You eventually get used to spending all your time just. Hanging around, sleeping and letting everyone else do everything for you.

[dreamgrlarchive]

High Maintenance 101

Prissy Girl Beauty Regimens 🎀

my prissy girl guide to beauty services and building a beauty lifestyle that fits you 💗

Skincare:

Essential Skincare Routine ❤︎︎

twice daily, in the morning and at night

daytime: gentle cleanser, toner, serum, eye cream, moisturizer, SPF

prep and protect skin

nighttime: double cleansing with oil and cleanser, exfoliation, treatments, moisturizer

wash away the day and help skin accept treatments and actives during your beauty sleep

products will change depending on skin type and goals, but sequence will more or less stay the same

Face Masks + Treatments ❤︎︎

Face Masks -

typically done at home 1-3x/week

clay, gel, mud, cream, liquid

my fav masks at home:

aha + bha liquid mask by the ordinary: a literal overhaul of my pores. it’s refining and helps reduce texture and hyperpigmentation. 1-2 x/week

korean modeling mask: i use this after doing everything in my routine. it’s super cooling and smooths my skin out. the low temp of the mask reduces flushing of my skin and helps the steps in my routine absorb better. 2-3 x/week

Treatments -

done either 1-3x/week and/or exclusively at night

consumer grade Retinols, AHAs, BHAs at high strength

little extra things i like to use to enhance my routine:

gua sha, ice pack, rose quartz roller, however often i choose

Facials ❤︎︎

done every 1-2 months by licensed estheticians

often includes exfoliation and extraction

Classic Facial: cleanse, extract, massage, moisturize

HydraFacials: extracts pores while infusing serums to boost skin’s vitamin and nutrient content

dry, dehydrated skin

Microdermabrasion: microabrasive tool removes outermost, textured, damaged layer of skin using suction to reveal a smooth and refined new layer of skin

sun damaged, aged, textured skin or skin with hyperpigmentation

Chemical Peel: application of medical grade AHA, BHA, Lactic Acid, Fruit Enzymes, or Retinol to peel away top layers of skin over the course of 1-2 weeks

pore refining, brightening, and anti-aging

after care is crucial. skin will be peeling and sensitivity to sun is increased. SPF MUST be used. it’s heavily advised that clients stay home for the first few days.

HydroJelly Facial: facial made of electrolytes, algae, organic white grain oat flour, rice flour, and white willow bark powder. leaving your skin hydrated, plump, and nourished. forms a vacuum-like seal that compresses facial contours.

there are 25 different hydrojelly pro masks for most skin concerns you may have, check here

More Facials ❤︎︎

Contouring Facial: sculpting, tightening, and lifting of facial muscles

LED Facial: uses LED light to soothe inflammation, aiding in acne healing and prevention

Vampire Facial: plumps skin and improves wrinkles by extracting blood, removing its platelets, then either re-injecting it into the skin or applying it topically

Diamond File Facial: finely ground diamonds resurface skin by filing to improve dark spots

Glass Skin Botox: multiple tiny botox injections just below the surface of the skin. alleviate fine lines, redness, texture, and more achieving glass skin

AquaGold Facial: microinjections that combine vampire facial methods, hyaluronic acid, botox, stem cells, antioxidants, vitamins, peptides, etc. improves fine lines, wrinkles, pores, pigmentation, acne scarring, dryness, tone, texture, skin elasticity, and more

cite

Hair:

Hair Care ❤︎︎

Wash Routines:

curly textured: wash and condition every 2-3 weeks, deep condition every 1-2 weeks

straight: wash and condition every 2-3 days, deep condition every 2-3 weeks

Styling ︎❤︎︎

Hair should have a style everyday! At home hairstyling is limitless and really depends on your taste and lifestyle. The everyday woman does her own her once every 1-4 weeks using natural hair products, heat, or other tools.

Professional Stylists:

hair is styled every 1-3 months: uses heat to straighten or curl, extensions to lengthen and add volume, shears to maintain/attain a shape and length

trim ends: every 6-8 weeks

hair color: touched up roughly every 6-8 weeks (depending on how fast your hair is growing and how fast your color will fade)

Silk Press:

after a clarifying wash and deep conditioning, natural hair is straightened using flat iron and/or pressing comb, then usually curled in feathers or pin curls to preserve the style

lasts 3-4 weeks depending on maintenance

preserved by wrapping hair at night, keep hands out of hair, and using a wide toothed comb only

can be further styled with different kind of rollers, or with pin curls

Braids:

afrocentric hairstyles typically done to protect hair while maintaining beauty

lasts 3-8 weeks

styles include knotless braids, faux locs, stitch braids, french braids, etc

Extensions:

hair added to natural hair to enhance length or volume

can be done at home with patience and proper materials

sew-in extensions: (my personal fav) 1-2 months

your natural hair gets braided down flush to your scalp and the bundles are sewn on by the wefts in a flat pattern typically with a section of hair left out to cover the wefts $100-600

microlinks: up to 4 months

i-tip extension is added to hair using micropliers, clippers and loop tool. takes far longer than most extension methods but looks the absolute most natural $500-1000

tape-in extensions: up to a year, touch ups every 4-6 weeks

medical grade tape is used to attach extensions to small sections of hair $200-400

clip-in extensions: 3-6 months

extensions are clipped on by the wefts. the hair itself can last up to six months, but it’s not recommended to sleep, shower, or swim with the extensions in $50-100

Natural Styles:

all last roughly 1-2 weeks at most. allowing hair to completely DRY is crucial for these styles. your natural hair can be further changed in styles like buns, puffs, etc once dry

natural hair essentials: scalp oil, leave in conditioner, detangling brush, wide tooth comb, curling cream, styling gel, edge control and edge brush

wash n’ go

wash and detangle, then use leave in conditioner to keep hair moist. oil on the scalp and ends is recommended for growth and healthy ends

bantu knots

a traditionally african style where the hair is cleanly sectioned (usually parted in a cute pattern) and twisted into knots. style can be worn just like this or taken down for curls

braid/twist out

a specific pattern of curls is achieved after hair is twisted or braided with curl preserving products. end result depends on how big your twists or braids are

roller set

hair is sprayed with water and curl cream applied before roller of your choice is added. hair is left to dry usually overnight for springy well formed curls

Brows and Lashes:

Brow Shaping ❤︎︎

in salon or at home

Waxing - every 3 weeks

Threading- every 2-3 weeks

Razor Shaping - weekly

Brow Enhancement ❤︎︎

Tinting - monthly

can be done at home or by pro in the salon

Microblading - every 1-3 years + annual touch ups, exclusively professional work

cosmetic tattooing using a manual tool with nearly invisible hair-like needles to inject pigment in brows to create your desired brow look

Lash Enhancements ❤︎︎

*done exclusively by professionals

Lifts - every 6 weeks

basically a perm for your lashes to curl them semi-permanently for lashes to appear longer

Lash Extensions - new set every 6-8 weeks, fill ins every 2-3 weeks depending on quality and style

false individual strands of lashes glued to natural lashes to create semi-permanent length and/or volume

lash baths: wet lashes and apply a small amount of gentle cleanser or a “lash bath” to lashes. cleanse lashes and eyelids for about 10 seconds. hold a towel under your eye and use a nozzle bottle to flush soap and bacteria from lashes then dry with a disposable lint free towel. finish by brushing your lashes with a spoolie. daily.

Lash Styles:

Classic: one lash on each fan, thin lashes

Volume: fluffier lashes with more lashes on each fan

Hybrid: uses classic and volume lashes to make an alternated look

Russian: volume lashes made with very thin individuals, 5-6 extensions per natural lash, fanned out look

DIY Lash Extensions - lasts about a week (sometimes longer)

lash fragments or individual wisps are glued either under the lashes or on the lash line. KISS Falscara is a product that makes this concept simple and easy

Nails:

all these services can be done at home with the proper materials and KNOWLEDGE

Classic Manicure ❤︎︎

every 1-2 weeks

nail service that consists of soaking hands in warm soapy water then drying them. nails are trimmed, filed, and buffed. cuticles are pushed back before applying nail polish (base coat, color, top coat), then finally cuticle oil is applied.

nails can be enhanced with rhinestones, glitter, or charms and attached with uv gel or nail glue

my fav styles are pink, cream, white, black and any french tip using those colors

Pedicure ❤︎︎

every 2-4 weeks

sister to the classic manicure, but can be upgraded depending on materials. steps are similar to manicure, except feet are scrubbed and exfoliated before feet are washed and dried to apply nail color

regular polish, acrylic, or gel can be used on toenails

Gel or Shellac Mani ❤︎︎

every 2-3 weeks

same process as the classic manicure, but traditional nail polish is replaced with uv base coat, gel or CND Shellac polish, then uv top coat that’s cured in a UV or LED lamp

longer lasting and more strong/3d than classic mani and is typically removed by soaking in acetone

Apres Gel-X Nails ❤︎︎

every 2-3 weeks

my personal fav at home nails using the artme yoko matsuda nails. after doing a classic mani sans polish, you apply a dehydrator and primer to prep nail for gel. then you apply builder gel to your natural nail and cure. then you apply that same builder to the nail extension after etching it using an electric drill or acetone. marry the gel to your nail and cure. then just shape to your liking and top with uv top coat. tutorial here

Acrylic Nails ❤︎︎

every 2-3 weeks, nails are fully grown out after 6 weeks

manicure done with liquid monomer and acrylic powder to build and extend natural nail, then polished with color or just a top coat if desired

Russian Mani ❤︎︎

every 4-5 weeks

essentially a gel manicure, but more invasive. the eponychium is snipped away so polish can be applied more closely and flush to the cuticle. this aids in visuals and longevity

service is seen as risky because the skin is more susceptible to fungal or bacterial infection. this is actually how i do my nails at home.

Body:

Bathing ❤︎︎

2x daily

self explanatory, we all know how to bathe. i have other posts that talk about my shower and bath routines.

use a gentle cleanser then a scented body wash to complement perfume and smell fresh all day.

if needed, you can use body soaps with actives like aha, bha or retinol to exfoliate or treat skin at night

exfoliation - 2-3x/week. using scrubs, loofahs, bath brushes, etc.

Hair Removal ❤︎︎

shaving - 2-3x/week

waxing - every 3-5 weeks

sugaring - monthly

ipl device - a device that uses light therapy to slowly destroy hair follicles and unwanted pigment in skin. i use mine after every 5-6 shaves but i could really use it more often.

Vajacial ❤︎︎

1-2x/month

a “facial” for your lady area

the esthetician will first wax, then cleanse and apply an enzyme exfoliant. then they extract any blackheads or ingrown hairs from the area before applying a soothing mask usually in the jelly form.

Moisture and Hydration ❤︎︎

body cream or lotion - daily right after bathing to hydrate skin

body oil - daily to seal in moisture and protect skin from debris and dryness

masks - weekly to address particular skin concerns

ex. when i was having eczema flare ups on my back, i used a dead sea mud mask every 1-2 weeks to help treat it

done at home or at spa

glycolic, clay, mud, salicylic, etc.

Enhancement Procedures:

the goal is to look younger and balance facial features. all these services are exclusively done by professionals usually in a medspa and are widely considered luxury.

Botox ❤︎︎

every 6-8 months; between brows, smile lines, outer corners of eyes, etc

discourages muscle movement to reduce wrinkles

Lifts ❤︎︎

lasts about 10 years; face, neck, brow, eyelids

skin is lifted to desired look, then excess skin is removed

Fillers ︎❤︎︎

every 6-12 months; under-eye, lips, jawline, wrinkle sites, cheekbones

injects acids (usually naturally occurring) like Hyaluronic Acid and Calcium Hydroxylapatite to add volume to your face

Body Contouring ❤︎︎

every 2-4 months until desired results are achieved

non invasive liposuction to achieve desired physique

CoolSculpting - cryolipolysis freezes fat cells for the body to the metabolize and and remove them

SculpSure - essentially the same as CoolSculpting, but uses heat and laser technology to destroy fat cells

Laser Hair Removal ❤︎︎

every 5-6 weeks; bikini, underarms, legs, arms

touch ups done every 1-2 years

hair growth is inhibited by exposing follicles to light at frequencies that kill them

Building the Regimen 🗒️💕:

when making appointments with your “glam squad” you can stagger your services by week depending on what’s being done. for example you can get your mani and pedi done one week. then your facials, brows and lashes another week.

Things to Keep in Mind 💭💞:

these frequencies won’t be the same for everyone depending on personal wants, budgets, etc. but will most likely land somewhere in the ranges i gave. if you need touch ups or redos any sooner than i mapped out, then the service most likely was of poor quality.

anything done at home may or may not be up to the level of detail and longevity as salon or spa work. if you see yourself doing the majority of your beauty maintenance at home, this can save money but may end up taking more time than professional services. so it’s a give and take.

More Resources:

manage your routines, services and products using a beauty binder

a look at my skincare routine

at home beauty treatments for the summer

my hair care routine at home

pretty on purpose by @shefromhouston

monthly beauty routine by @angeljpg

dream girl routines by me

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids (XIX)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters  for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

PART ONE is here PART TWO is here PART THREE is here PART FOUR is here and PART FIVE is here PART SIX is here and PART SEVEN is here PART EIGHT is here PART NINE is here PART TEN is here PART ELEVEN is here PART TWELVE is here PART THIRTEEN is here PART FOURTEEN is here PART FIFTEEN is here PART SIXTEEN is here PART SEVENTEEN is here PART EIGHTEEN is here...nineteen...oy vey.

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts (now featuring mediocre mouseover translations, only available on a computer)

Where we last left off... THE BART RETURNS! The earth rejoices! 🥳🎉 Physical therapy can be fun, even if it usually isn't!

Trigger warnings for this story:  body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) |  my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

Danny learns a few more words with practice.

Foda is simple. If Danny is hungry, he can ask for foda. It sounds exactly like food, and when he asks, they feed him.

…Or they up his IV. Which. Danny’s tongue might still feel sore and nasty, but the doctors and nurses and millions of minders don’t seem that mad when he sticks his tongue out at them. Sometimes they even laugh.

They don’t even sound all that mean.

It takes Danny a good chunk of waking time for him to realize that he…probably is hooked up to something he doesn’t want to think about, since all the efforts of lifting and moving him haven’t resulted in a single bathroom trip since he woke up here.

Firstly: horrible.

Secondly: his legs are super, absolutely, positively immobilized, and if someone doesn’t give him enough medication quickly enough after it wears off, Danny is very aware that something is deeply wrong with them.

So. Uh. That’s…gross.

He learns bealo just as quickly. He isn’t sure what bealo means, per se, but when he says it, they up his medication until Danny can pretend he doesn’t have any legs again.

God niht is goodnight, unless Danny is feeling snippy, and then it’s just niht.

…The one lady who minds him always says the whole thing, though. Even when Danny’s mean. Like the one time he threw his rocket at someone.

Or the time he started ignoring everyone when they tried to touch him.

…Or the one time he tried to freeze his IV bag, and put everyone on alert because if he’d been human, that would have seriously hurt him.

“Sorry,” Danny’d whispered, even if it wouldn’t mean anything to her.

She’d patted his hand and meant it. Danny’d had to dry his eyes with his wrist. “Eall es wel.”

Anyway.

Danny hates being in the freaking bed every hour of every day. So when his “sitting up” exercises turn into “hey, let’s try the wheelchair” practice, Danny gets so excited-slash-nervous that he kind of feels like he’s going to throw up all the liquids he’s been injected with.

None of the regular people try to lift him. Instead the lady does it herself, scooping Danny up in very strong arms, the golden cuffs on her wrists weirdly warm on Danny’s skin. When Danny’s settled, his legs sticking out real weird and his back kind of sore, he’s…out of bed.

He’s. He’s not in bed anymore.

And. Sure. It’s temporary, but it’s not the bed. Danny can wriggle, and he can sort of palm the wheels underneath him with the heels of his shaky hands, and he can see so much more of himself than he has in ages and ages.

For one. Both of his legs are in casts. That’s. Not good. He can’t feel it right now, but the sight of fully encased legs…

Well. If he can transform that won’t be a problem. If. If he has to escape. But it is…it’s super scary. He mostly remembers being captured, but the…the other people had been focusing more on his thoracic cavity and his face and head.

…So why are his legs so bad? Did something else happen?

(It did, didn’t it?)

(…Didn’t it??)

His hands shake, but there’s something to all that grip training, or else Danny wouldn’t be able to paw at his neckline to look down his own shirt. Or, well, his cloth nightie, anyway.

It’s good that he looks, since, well…his chest is glowing a solid green.

Whatever should probably be scar tissue. Uh. It…isn’t. There’re gouges down his chest and a crater where his heart should be that probably should be healing over, considering, you know, he’s not freaking dead at this exact second (mostly??), but. Instead of, like, healed flesh, or, say, his insides, there’s a transparent green…jelly… holding him together.

He can see how the green bounces with his heart beat.

...Danny drops the neckline of his gown. His breath comes in choking bursts, eyes pressed into his eye sockets—he feels sick.

He is sick. He has been sick.

The humans are keeping him here because he’s a freak of nature and he’s broken from head to toe and the Guys in White carved his flesh out of his body and opened him up like a can of cranberry sauce.

He presses his hands to his chest, to his stomach, just trying to breathe for long enough that he doesn’t throw up his oatmeal and occasional juice and IV nutrition onto the pristine floor of his sickroom. The people around him all make sympathetic noises that don’t help because he doesn’t know what they mean.

And then he feels something weird.

Not all the sensation in his fingers are back. It’s easier for him to feel impediments than it is to feel textures—something that blocks him from moving, rather than anything sensory-specific. He can usually tell when he touches fabric, because when he moves too far, it pulls tight around his hand. He can tell when he’s on something solid when his hand fails to go through it.

There is something solid sticking out of him.

Danny’s heartbeat quickens. It’s not. It’s. There’s something in him.

And it’s not—it’s so solid. When Danny brushes his hands against it, he can feel his skin and his flesh move with it, trying not to dislodge the thing embedded in him. It pulls at his skin. He doesn’t know what it is.

His fingers tremble as he tries to brush over the object through his gown, trying to figure out its shape from faulty touch alone. It’s like waking up to find himself jammed with needles all over again.

People are talking around them. Danny doesn’t try to listen in. He’s scared. He’s so scared. Something’s happened to him, and he didn’t even notice.

Some of it is—hard. There’s a crinkling sound when he moves. Danny manages to pull his gown neckline back again to catch something of a glimpse, and all he sees is plastic.

He doesn’t know what it is.

He doesn’t know who to ask. He can’t understand anyone and he doesn’t know if he trusts them.

They put something in him. There’s something embedded in him.

He thinks he’s going to cry.

Something touches his arm—Danny flinches. His core tightens with stress as he puts a metaphorical hand on the button, ready to run and hide at any notice.

It’s the lady. He knows her.

No, he doesn’t. He doesn’t know her at all. He can’t talk to her in any way that matters. She’s not a doctor. He doesn’t know why she’s here, or why she’s keeping him here.

She’s nice. She fed him. But is that all it takes to trick him? To make him compliant? Pliable?

She stops touching him when he gets scared, her eyes worried. She kneels—closer than Danny would like, probably, but she keeps her hands to herself. Danny’s heart races faster, out of order, starting and stopping and starting again like a bad engine.

“Eow eart wel?” she asks from his left arm rest, a common question, so softly. Danny doesn’t know what it means. “Eall es wel. Ænlic eow, ænlic me. Bruce bræð wið me?”

She takes a big, deep, breath. Her hand rises slightly over her chest, following an exaggerated movement. Don’t panic. Breathe. Breathe like me. One, two, three.

Danny’s breaths are more choked. More panicked.

But when she breathes, he breathes with her—even with every stutter in between.

“Hwæt es woh[O3] ?” the lady asks, so gently it’s almost a whisper. Her pointer finger hovers over his body, but doesn’t touch—and eventually, Danny figures out she probably wants to know where he’s hurting.

But he’s not hurting. He’s scared. There’s something inside him, and he isn’t sure what it is. He presses the heel of his hand to the object. He feels something rigid refuse to bend inside his flesh.

There’s something of recognition in the woman’s face. “Inne cwic tima,” she says, more certain of answers outside the room, and darts away,

Danny wants to bounce his bound leg. He feels awful when anyone is in the room with him, considering how little of them he knows, but, somehow, it’s so much worse when he’s actually alone.

When she comes back, there’s a second person who walks through the double doors with her, in blue scrubs with ducks on them. They wave to Danny.

Danny…blinks. He feels numb. It’s kind of a problem.

They take it in stride, though; in their hands is a blank board and a chunky marker. The cap comes off, the new person scribbles for a minute or so, and then turns the board around so that Danny can see.

It’s a…person. A rudimentary outline person, sure, with some visible bones and organs to fill in the person-shaped outline. Danny can recognize most of them from anatomy class, although those memories are more…personal, now. A little more painful.

The person taps on the board. The person points to Danny.

Danny frowns.

The person turns the board back around and makes some Pew, Pew, Pew! sounds with their mouth, occasionally opening and closing their hand over the board to match the noise. There’s some more scribbling. When the board turns back around, there’s a violent smudge of marker on top of the drawn person’s drawn intestines.

The person takes their covered pinky finger and erases a little neat circle of marker in the intestines, mostly favoring one side. They draw a little arrow from the hole to the general outside-of-the-person blank area. Then another circle, with a thicker circle inside.

Danny recognizes the object jutting out of him. Oh. This is how he got it.

The person—probably a doctor, Danny guesses, or the surgeon who did this to him—do these people even need credentials, actually?—hands the board over to the lady. They hold out ten outstretched fingers, marker under their arm, and make a show of counting every one of the outstretched fingers with the opposite hand. Then they take the board back.

And then, when they write on the board, Danny can actually understand what they say.

Or, well, it’s numbers! The numbers are the same as his—the line and a circle is clearly meant to be a ten, and the little x is a multiplication symbol— they draw a 10, as clearly and a brightly as it could be against a stark white board, and add a little x 7, probably to indicate a week; the result is ten suns times seven, or seventy suns.

Danny feels his heart bounce in his chest. Danny would bet a whole lot of money that the number is meant to be seventy days. There is an end point. It’s not that Danny is free to be subjected to random anatomical whims—there’s a goal here. This was purposeful.

The little circle-within a circle gets erased. The hole is scribbled through as if it was never there, and the person makes a weaving gesture with the marker that Danny is certain is meant to be sewing.

Tears prick at his eyes. The lady gets close by him again, but Danny lets her. His hands aren’t good enough for wiping tears the way he wants to, yet. Help and company are good.

She gives him a tissue from Danny's bedside table. He takes it with a whisper of a grip.

“Seventy?” Danny rasps, tearful. Hopeful. Terrified of hope. He practically jams the tissue into his eye sockets.

The lady’s eyes go wide. “Seventy,” she repeats, marveling.

It’s enough. Nothing is perfect, but it’s enough. And if Danny's allowed to spend so long in front of the space window that he falls asleep in his wheelchair, well. It's not like he was in charge of where they went.

[chaosisalwayscrying]

NIGHTMARE

⇥ synopsis : you have a nightmare and chris is there to help.

⇥ warnings : hospital setting, needles, ivs, throwing up, panic attack, fluff is mixed in there too dw

⇥ extra : this is based off my big ass fear of hospitals and needles 😝 i hope you guys like it cause i do!! also requests are open, please send them in 🫶🏻

⇥ masterlist !

⇥ taglist !

 

   your day had been amazing so far, you had gone shopping with the boys, filmed with them, watched some movies, and now you were getting changed in your boyfriends bathroom to go cuddle with him all night.

   you walked out of the bathroom yawning and rubbing your eyes, earning a chuckle and kiss on the cheek from chris before he went back to picking up clothes from the floor.

   "tired ma?" he asked, now looking over his shoulder at you. you hum in reply as you drape yourself over his back, ready to get in bed and sleep, but not wanting to do so without chris.

   "you don't have to put our clothes in the hamper now, lets just go to bed, m' tired" you mumble, a big yawn following your words.

   chris lets out a small laugh before turning around and picking you up, your legs immediately wrapping around him and your head lays on his shoulder as he talks. "i know you're tired ma, sorry for keeping you up" he said, rubbing the underside of your thighs with his thumb before he moves to set you in bed.

   he immediately climbs in after setting you down, beginning to get tired himself. by the time chris settles into bed and finds a  comfortable way to hold you, you’re barely awake enough to mumble a goodnight.

—————

suddenly, bright lights are in your face. you look around slowly, nurses and doctors bustle about around you. an uneasy feeling settles in your stomach, the medical setting making your anxiety spike.

“chris?” you call, hoping your boyfriend is around somewhere to help you. when he doesn’t show up, you begin to panic a little.

out of the blue, a doctor comes towards you, pulling you into an exam room. her mouth is moving but you can’t tell what she’s saying. suddenly more doctors and nurses are flooding the room, some holding you down as others prep syringes right in front of your face.

you begin to squirm, trying to get as far away from them as possible. panic curls in your stomach as you thrash around, calling for chris in hopes that he can help you.

as the people with syringes get close and grab both your arms, you frantically call for chris, desperately trying to get out of their grasp.

“chris- please help, chrissy please” you sob, still trying to get away as the needles poke your skin, injecting some form of liquid into your body.

“-by? what’s wrong? hey, ma, wake up” a voice calls, you can’t tell if it’s one of the people in front of you or from far away. regardless, you thrash some more, the needles being removed but several ivs being placed instead.

“c’mon ma, wake up. it’s ok” the voice calls again, you still can’t tell who it is, which only made you panic more.

“back up, get away, don’t touch me!” you say, in your dream it sounds like a scream, but in reality you’re barely talking above a whisper.

at this point, chris is in panic mode himself. he can’t wake you up from an obvious nightmare, and even if he could he doesn’t want to scare you more. he opts for trying one more time, this time instead of shaking you gently he’s going to be rougher, but not too rough.

as he’s shaking you and calling your name, you jolt awake. you immediately run your hands over your arms and legs, searching for ivs and needles stuck in your skin. you’re dry heaving at this point as tears stream down your face, unable to control them.

“hey ma, you’re ok. i’m here, you’re safe” chris says, taking your hand and placing it on his clavicle, letting you feel the rise and fall of his chest and his heartbeat.

“chris, it was so scary” you sob, practically curling in on yourself, trying to make the gross feeling left over from your nightmare to go away.

“i know baby, wanna talk about it?” he asks, voice soft. you’re obviously still frightened, looking around nervously as your chest heaves from your subsiding panic.

“i- i was in a hospital, and all these doctors and nurses had needles and they poked me and then put ivs all over my arms and- and-” you say, your panic. rising as you recall your nightmare. chris hums, pressing your hand further onto his chest so you can feel his breathing and heartbeat still.

“you’re not at the hospital ma, you’re at home, in our bed, nick and matt are upstairs, there’s no one here but us. you’re not going to the hospital anytime soon, it’s ok baby” he says, reaching his free hand up to wipe the tears continuing to stream down your face.

“chris-” you’re barely able to get the words out before all your heavy breathing and anxiety caused saliva to pool in your mouth. you’re out of the bed in an instant, stumbling blindly towards the bathroom before you drop down in front of the toilet and throw up your dinner.

chris is at your side in an instant, having done this before. he hold your hair gently and places kisses on your temple. once your done, he gives you a towel to wipe your mouth with and helps you brush your teeth.

“lets get you back to bed baby” he mumbles, picking you up and carrying you back to bed.

by the time you and chris were back in bed, your panic attack had faded and you were beyond ready to just crash. you felt bad for waking chris up due to your nightmare, but he had been nothing but helpful every time you had one.

“sorry for wakin’ you up chrissy” you mumble, rubbing your eyes tiredly as he carries you back to bed.

“don’t be sorry ma, it’s not your fault you had a nightmare. i’m here for you always, you know that” he says, setting you down and climbing in bed himself. he pulls you into his arms, pressing kisses in your hair and on your forehead until you let out a small giggle.

“now go back to sleep ma, you’re safe here. i promise.”

[pinksugardollz]

My Pretty Girl Summer Makeup Essentials 🎀🍦🫧

୨୧ bronzer

mac mineralise skinfinish in gold deposit

nars luguna liquid bronzer

too faced chocolate bronzer in golden cocoa

୨୧ blush

p.louise blush in keep it candy

charlotte tilbury beauty light wand in pinkgasm

୨୧ mascaras

too faced better than sex mascara

loreal telescopic mascara

୨୧ eyeshadows, liners and glitters

too faced born this way natural nude palette

with love cosmetics pressed glitter in rose gold, and snow angel

shein liquid silver glitter

nyx eyeliner in milk

୨୧ primers & skin

superdrug vitamin e facial serum and vitamin e facial oil

too faced hangover primer

charlotte tilbury magic cream

glow recipe watermelon glow suncream

୨୧ foundation

nars tinted moisturiser

charlotte tilbury flawless filter

୨୧ concealer

ysl touche éclat concealer

nars radiant creamy concealer

୨୧ powder

hourglass ambient power (this is essential for my girls with dry skin who are terrified of setting powder!!)

୨୧ lips

make up revolution lip oil

too faced lip injection in pretty pony

nyx lip liner in tea & cookies

mac lipstick in angel

୨୧ setting spray

iconic london, prep set and glow in shade glow

[mylovelies-docx]

Sorry, I Love You - Part 11

Ooooof. Sorry for this. But I'm also double sorry for what comes after :)

Plot: You and Bucky have a good thing going - best of friends that also have more than a little chemistry between the sheets. Everything is fine until you develop feelings for the man who doesn't want a relationship. What will happen when Bucky finds out?

C/W: Angst, HYDRA experiments, blood, wounds, disturbing visions, mentions of death.

Word Count: 1,085

Tag List: NOW CLOSED! If you'd like to keep up with this story, please follow my blog and turn on notifications! ❤️ you :)

[Prologue][Part 1][Part 2][Part 3][Part 4][Part 5][Part 6][Part 7][Part 8][Part 9][Part 10]

You stumble inside, gasping for breath.

The wound on your side needs immediate attention but you scramble around the abandoned home instead, blood and gunk oozing down and drip, drip, dripping onto the rotten wooden floors. You riffle through the drawers in the wobbly oak desk and come away with a blunt pencil before moving on to the bookshelves along the walls, dust covering the dry, cracked spines of the novels. You love books so much that you hate to even dog-ear your copies, but you proceed to rip out a few title pages and epigraphs, needing clean space to write.

You know there’s not enough time to both patch yourself up and write down your final words, so you can only hope that you’ll be cognizant enough to get down what you need to.

You clutch the papers and pencil in one hand and begin making your way to the small table and chair set off to the side of the kitchen. Pausing at the entryway, you use the other hand to apply pressure around the arrow jutting from just under your ribcage. 

You hiss at the pain, looking down at your blood-covered fingers and noticing rivulets of bright blue that had been hidden within the hollow shaft of the arrow. You had noticed a hollow pop when you snapped the fletching off back in the woods. You were still clear-headed enough at the time to realize that the inside had a coating of blue liquid. There wasn’t enough of it on the ground to fill the shaft, so the rest of it must have already been injected into your body – the arrow must have been triggered to inoculate upon penetration. 

You only had a limited amount of time to figure out what was going to happen to you, but knowing how HYDRA operates, you’ve decided to err on the side of caution and assume that death is imminent. Despite working at the facility for the past couple of months, you can’t determine what the blue liquid is. It could be any number of hallucinogens, anticoagulants, euthenasia agents, or something you hadn’t encountered yet.

You had run until you found this house, a good twenty miles from the facility and even further from your pre-determined evac point with Bucky in case shit hit the fan. Your pounding heart had only exacerbated your problems, increasing your blood loss and quickening the circulation of the substance through your bloodstream. You’d grown paranoid on your journey here, flinching at every sound and jumping at figures that seemed to leap at you from behind the trees. Darkness descended upon the forest and the shadows grew spindly fingers that seemed to snatch at your ankles. 

You come back to yourself, standing under the archway only a few feet from your destination. You shake your head, clearing away the spiders that had started to spin webs between your eyelashes. Without them in the way, the shadows only grew bolder – whipping out and slashing you to ribbons. The sleeves that had been protecting your arms are torn to shreds, small welts and bloody cuts evident through the holes.

Focusing back on the task at hand, you finish hobbling over to the rusty metal table. You slam the writing materials on the bumpy surface, bending over to pick up the fallen chair. You settle yourself onto the moth-eaten cushion, the wooden posts against your back creaking in protest. 

The shadows crawl over your shoulders and perch there, staring down at your hand as you try to write. The paper rotates under the pencil, turning your letters unintelligible. You hadn’t wanted to mar the letter with your blood, but you reluctantly pull the hand staunching the flow of warmth from your side and press it delicately to the top of the page, holding it in place.

As you write, tears pool along your lower lashes. The spiders titter happily, poking at the salty water and causing it to spill over onto your cheeks. The little creatures don’t appear interested in mopping up the liquid on your face with their little hairy bodies, because you see tear stains appear on the paper underneath you as the droplets collect on your chin and rain down.

You need to get this all out before you lose the one train of thought that still remains unscathed. The one topic inside your head that still makes sense, that you can still understand. 

Well, one that you used to understand. Bucky had been the one constant in your life until he wasn’t. Until you ruined it. Your conversation that was supposed to fix everything today never happened. So everything left unsaid between you and Bucky will remain that way, unless you get these words down. 

You’ll never know what Bucky was going to say, but at least he’ll be able to hear your side.

You can’t help but watch, fascinated, as lights begin to dance over your hand and the letter. Looking up, you can see that the entire table and wall opposite the window next to you also flicker brightly. The shapes dazzle your eyes, reflecting off the tears still gathering, and blind you intermittently as they bounce around.

You close your eyes against the lights wreaking havoc on your pupils, but the images that flash behind your eyelids are even more torturous. 

It’s your life before Great Fuck-Up. 

Bucky’s smiling face as he laughs at one of your sarcastic comments, his intent eyes and cocky smirk when he knew you were thinking about him, all the silly little moments you spent together that meant so much to you.

But then the images switch and you recognize immediately that you’re now in The After: the cold blue eyes, grimacing mouth, and the loneliness that came along with your confession. The anger and pain in Bucky’s voice when he turned you down, when he said he regretted the time spent with you. 

You inhale shakily as a sob tries to make its way up your throat and past your molten lips. Your hands tremble uncontrollably and the pencil slips through your fingers and rolls, rolls, rolls across the neverending table until it disappears over the edge that hadn’t been there seconds ago. There’s nothing to do except look back down at the page.

There’s only a few lines written, but if this is all you can manage then it will just have to be good enough. Knowing that these are your last moments, you’re glad that you could at least get these words off your chest. You hope that these last few words will be a consolation. To Bucky, to Nat, and Steve, and Sam, and Wanda, and, and, and a million other people that you’re going to miss – that will miss you.

Thinking of all the people you’re leaving behind brings into sharp relief just how lonely you are. You’re stuck in a long abandoned home, freezing, bleeding out, and unable to call for help. Even during your time away, you’d never felt this agonizing loneliness. This pain that manifests as a hollow feeling that echoes in your abdomen, as invisible hands grabbing and twisting at your heart. 

God. What is Bucky going to do now that you’re not going to be able to complete the mission? You did all you could, downloaded and scrubbed all the data before setting the self-destruct sequence into motion, but was it enough? You don’t remember a big fireball in the sky and quaking earth under your feet as you ran away, but maybe you were just too out of it to notice. 

You can’t help but feel guilty that Petre and his family got wrapped up in the situation, that their only way to move forward and help Sasha was to join that horrible, awful institution. But honestly, death is probably the best outcome for Sasha after everything HYDRA has done to her, whatever they’ve made her body dependent on.

Sharp pain flares from your chest and ricochets behind your ribs, forcing a cry from your lips. The pain continues to grow and spread, encroaching on your organs and traveling through your limbs - but all the sudden it’s gone and a crawling, slithering, pulsing numbness takes its place. Your bones and muscles and ligaments turn to jelly and you slide sideways out of the chair, landing hard on the rotten floor but not feeling it.

The pain is gone, but your emotions remain. You can’t help but remember all the time you spent training, spent getting to know the team, spent making life-long friendships. You just didn’t realize that life-long would be so short.

The lights on the wall grow more intense, more numerous, and you can hear howling, baying, snarling monsters sprinting to your final resting place. You can only hope that you’ll be gone by the time they sink their vicious fangs and terrible claws into your soft and squishy flesh. 

You thought that you would take any company over the aching loneliness you feel, but you realize that maybe being alone isn’t the worst thing in the end. At least no one has to see you cry, and shiver, and shake, and watch as your chest refuses to rise and your heart refuses to pump and the light leaves your eyes.

Yeah, no one should see that. You want them to remember you how you were: happy sometimes, a pain in the ass a lot of times, and – hopefully – as a good friend, a good teammate, a good person. You know there’s so many things you could have done differently, but does it even matter now? 

You can see the clothes piled on your floor back in New York, the cereal bowl left on your nightstand from a midnight snack, all the makeup scattered across your counter from girls’ night out. The pillow slumped against the door and tear stains soaking your bed sheets at the house you share with Bucky only a handful of miles away.

You see the half-finished books on your shelf, the unsung songs on your playlists, the stories you never told and never heard, and the conversations left unfinished, the words left unsaid. 

You wish that your last thoughts before you die were happy, that you could watch your life back over and not regret so much, that you could see your family and friends and Bucky one last time.

But that isn’t in the cards for you. The monsters from outside have finally reached the house, slamming open the door and shattering what’s left of the windows. Shadows converge on you from every angle, crowding your eyes and compressing your lungs more and more and more until there’s no room left to expand. Until you can’t take in any air. Gasping, gasping, gasping. Until the room fades out and so does your heartbeat.

Part 12

Tag list: @jackiehollanderr @rabbitrabbit12321 @12345sebby @blackwood-bodecker-housewife @lauraashley93 @themorningsunshine @happinessinthebeing @nash-dara @calwitch @stany0url0calwh0res111 @pono-pura-vida @learisa @introverbatim @kentokaze @marvelogic @kaz11283 @terry2227

[green-eyedfirework]

Dick’s head was killing him.

He focused on that, not on the cage he was trapped in or the burning sensation under his skin or his dry throat or the useless panic button on a suit Dick wasn’t wearing, because he thought—foolishly—that he wasn’t in any danger as a civilian in Gotham in broad daylight.

One year in Bludhaven, and he’d apparently lost his self-preservation instincts.

They’d gotten him in the shadows of a dark alley, drugged him before he could put up a fight, and when he’d woken up, he’d been half-naked and shivering with a thick band of leather around his throat, duct tape across his mouth, and his hands bound behind his back.

Given time, Dick would’ve been able to slip through the ties, but then they’d dragged him out of the cage, injected him with something that burned, and ziptied his ankles too before he was thrown back in.

Whatever it was, it was fast-acting, and Dick’s general apprehension at being kidnapped slid to a sharper dread when he felt the needles prickling all over his skin.  It was going from uncomfortable to unbearable faster than he would like, and since he hadn’t told anybody of his visit, this was unlikely to have a swift ending.

Bruce was also out of town, which was the whole reason he was visiting in the first place, except if Bruce was there he would’ve promptly freaked out and checked whatever subcutaneous tracker he’d installed without Dick knowing and then Batman would’ve showed up to rescue him.

Dick tried again to get a grip on the zipties.  No Batman.  No distress signal.  No one who’d suspect he was in trouble until far, far too late.

His fingers slipped, too sweaty and dangerously weak.  Dick felt like an overcooked noodle and trying to shuffle forward, closer to the bars, made the world spin around him.

Not good, something pinged in the back of his brain, as a door screeched open somewhere in the warehouse.

“—to worry, our operation should be wrapped up by the end of the week.  Security should be minor—intel says that the Bat is out of Gotham—”

“There’s always a few birds flitting around,” a low, gruff voice said.  Dick instinctively tensed.  It sounded vaguely familiar.

“Well within your capabilities I would assume, sir.”

A grunt.  The booted footsteps were echoing in the large warehouse, sounding far away.

“There was, um, a minor matter with the issue of your payment—”

“What issue.”

“A slight shortfall in liquidity, sir.  We assure you, you will be paid in full, and to compensate you for the inconvenience, we are pleased to offer you one of our specimens.”

There was a stretching silence.  Dick was beginning to feel…itchy, but rubbing his cheek against his shoulder didn’t help.

“If I wanted a goddamn sex slave, I wouldn’t get one from Gotham.”  The derisive tone sparked another note of recognition, and Dick’s head was pounding but he registered the fear.  The knowledge didn’t come with it, not with the distracting pain, all Dick knew was that he should be very, very afraid.

“These are unique,” the milder voice said.  “Cultivated to show extreme sensitivity to touch.  All have already been given our cocktail, and can be activated with a second dose.  You can choose whichever one you like.”

“Perks of the job, is it.”  The voice was sardonic.

“Given the lack of need for training, we have a surplus of supply.  As long as your demands aren’t…unreasonable, we can accommodate them.” 

His skin felt like it was buzzing.  Like there was a static field just above its surface, and no matter which way Dick twisted, it wouldn’t go away.  He couldn’t help the wordless snarl of frustration.

He was getting distracted.  He needed to get out.  Dick tried again to grip the zipties.

“How many do you have?”  The footsteps were getting closer, moving between the rows of cages.  Several were empty.  The few that were occupied had occupants slumped over or curled into a corner.  Dick could hear ragged breathing and quiet whimpers, but nothing more.

The drugs.  Extreme sensitivity to touch.  That didn’t sound like anything good.

“Twenty or so, currently.  Are you looking for anything specific?”  There was only a noncommittal hum as the two entered his row.

The cages were low to the ground and all Dick could make out was about three-quarters of their legs.  Both wore boots, both had thigh holsters, one of them was significantly more armed than the other judging by the—

Orange.

They had orange detailing on their boots.

Dick inhaled sharply.  It could just be a coincidence.  Maybe they were common boots.  Maybe they weren’t what Dick was imagining, what Dick was dreading, but it was too late, the pieces were already beginning to click into place.  The voice that Dick now recognized, the infamous color scheme, and the way the man stopped at Dick’s sudden, sharp breath.

The man crouched until he could see through the cage and Dick met a one-eyed, two-toned mask with sinking despair.

Dick held perfectly still.  Maybe he wouldn’t be recognized.  Half-naked and bare-faced was certainly not a common look of his, and his general dishevelment and the binds would contribute to the unfamiliarity.  He could not be recognized.  He didn’t even want to imagine what would happen if he was.

“Mr. Wilson?” the mild voice asked.  “Is this the one you would like?”

“Yes,” Deathstroke replied.  “Yes, he is.”

Dick had just enough presence of mind to scramble back when the cage was opened, but all his muscles seemed to be moving on a delay, and he couldn’t stop the other man from reaching in and grabbing him by the ring on his collar and dragging him out.

“It’s to keep sensation from his skin,” the man explained—Dick noticed that he was wearing gloves as he brought out a syringe.  Dick tried to writhe away but the man held him easily in place as he injected the syringe in.  “He’ll be absolutely desperate for it soon.”

Deathstroke just watched as Dick futilely cursed the man behind his gag.  This drug burned even hotter, like he’d been injected with lava, and soon Dick was trembling all over, writhing even harder with the urge to claw his skin off.

“There,” the man said, voice still mild but eyes flashing cold and cruel.  “Yours, to do with what you like.  Your shift starts at seven, you are free till then.  If you have any questions, please do not hesitate to ask.”

Dick was beginning to feel lightheaded.

“I think I’ll manage to figure it out,” Deathstroke said, and there was a hand on Dick’s shoulder now.  Dick’s muscles locked up, his focus narrowed to the burning point of the warmth of the grip.

Dick wanted to run.  Dick wanted to scream.  Dick wanted to—lean further into that grip, get closer, feel more—

He went ice-cold underneath the increasingly painful heat.

Extreme sensitivity to touch.  Dick thought that meant—pain, jumping at the slightest of flinches, not this burning desire to be close to someone, a yearning, buzzing need to feel human touch.  Not something that twisted up his control until he moved easily with Deathstroke’s manhandling, looking up at the mercenary and not even trying to get free.

“This collar suits you,” Deathstroke said quietly, “little bird.”

There went Dick’s last hope that all of this was just an unpleasant coincidence.

[layla4567]

Until we meet again Pt2

Mihawk x Thief!Fem!reader

Summary: The scar on your face reminds you of that unfortunate Dracule Mihawk and he remembered you even though you didn't cause him any injuries. The next time you two see each other, sparks will fly.

Warnings: enemies to lovers, swearing, mention of blood and wounds, canon divergence, sexual tension, beta read

Wc: 4k

A/N: I say again that this is inspired by the first Puss in Boots movie, although I think you already realized

Part 1

You came home angry and without being able to get the fruit. You slammed your door and stomped into your living room pacing back and forth ranting and spitting as if you were a poisonous snake about to inject its deadly liquid.

"Ugh! Who the fuck does he think he is?! That Mihawk guy is going to pay me!!"

You raised your hands to the ceiling in a state of exasperation while you snorted like a wild animal. Luckily you lived alone otherwise some neighbor would have already complained.

"Oh and the worst of all is that the gentleman has enough nerve to let me know that he was doing that just out of boredom!!! And, Ouch!-"

You had forgotten that that asshole had cut your cheek until you brought your hand to your face and felt the cut. You looked at your hand and noticed that the stain wasn't as visible, the blood was drying. In a bad mood you headed to your room to grab the sewing kit and headed to the bathroom. There you locked yourself in and took out a small towel that you rolled up and put in your mouth. You took out a thread and needle and decided to start stitching the wound. At the first sting you closed your eyes tightly and aggressively bit the towel, growling. You took a deep breath through your nose and went back to your work. The towel drowned out your screams of pain and when you finished you took it out of your mouth and noticed strings of drool. You looked in the mirror and wiped away the tears that threatened to fall. You took a quick look at the now closed cut although the skin was somewhat reddish.

"You better watch out next time, son of a bitch."

You rested your hands on the edges of the sink and let your head fall between your shoulders, sighing tiredly. It will take several days or weeks for the wound to completely heal, and now you will have an ugly scar that will remind you of your failed mission.

Meanwhile on another side of the island Dracule was sitting in his castle with his feet crossed on a tea table and a glass of wine in one hand. The images of his torturous encounter with you still danced in his mind. You were the protagonist of his thoughts and now he couldn't get you out of his head. Images of your face came to him when he was discovered for the first time and the pleasant surprise of knowing that you were a female. To clear his mind he took another sip of his favorite wine while looking out the window.

But the warlord had your face and eyes stuck in his head as if they were attached with nails, and since he was a lonely man and didn't have many things to do, you were his torment and ambition right now. Although he managed to smile slightly remembering that he had left a personal mark on your cheek with his sword, so he would also be in your mind tormenting you like you did with his. Tired of thinking about the matter, he stopped and decided to go out for air and maybe why not? Test his skills with your Yoru sword against someone

Mihawk was currently on a small beach after defeating several sailors. To his bad luck Shanks was close to him and drunk as always. Mihawk had told him about Luffy and now he couldn't stop laughing happily with his cheeks red from the alcohol.

"Oh come on this is cause for celebration! Come drink with us!"-said the redhead smiling

Dracule sighed. "I guess a drink won't hurt me."

Mihawk and Shanks headed to a nearby bar. The redhead ordered a beer and the warlord ordered an old wine. Even though Shanks was already somewhat drunk, he continued drinking the thick beer greedily, Dracule looked at him indifferently as he brought the glass to his lips. The redhead was willing to talk to the silent Mihawk.

"You know, you have always been a bitter man of few words but today I notice you are more silent than usual, what's wrong with you?"

"I don't know what are you talking about…"-He just said

Shanks laughed and punched him lightly on the arm with his fist, to which Mihawk raised his eyebrow in annoyance.

"Oh come on, I know something is wrong with you, oh wait, I know" - he smiled knowingly - "Does it have to do with that meeting between you and that thief?"

Mihawk never told Shanks anything about that meeting since he didn't see him very often, so he was slightly surprised at the mention of this. To hide, he took another sip of wine.

Shanks laughed out loud, knowing that he had hit the nail on the head. "Aha, I knew it, you're more transparent than you think, Hawkeye."

The yellow-eyed man closed his eyes before saying "And what do you know about that, mh?"

"Not much, just that they saw you run after the one they call "The Shadow", you know, the one on the wanted posters. Nobody has been able to catch that guy."

Mihawk almost smiled when he heard the male pronoun from the redhead's mouth. If he knew that behind that cape and scarf a reckless woman was hiding.

"And apparently you didn't have any better luck, the thief was able to escape from you"-Shanks said as he finished drinking the last drops of beer.

Dracule Mihawk's hand tensed a little, his ego and pride were fragile and hearing from Shanks a man who by the way had no arm say that he had not been able to catch the thief, insinuating that perhaps he was not so skilled made him in a bad mood. . But he wasn't heartless, after all he would still keep your identity a secret.

"There is always a first time.."

Shanks looked at his friend without believing what he heard. Was the fearful Mihawk admitting that he lost to someone?

"My, my. You're turning into a softie Mihawk."

"Oh please, shut up"

Dracule rolled his eyes and stood up to leave the bar and the redhead alone. Did that girl really have enough influence on him to bring out his soft side? It will be better that the next time he sees her he is more firm and cold, after all he was the most feared swordsman, not her.

SEVERAL WEEKS LATER

When you weren't stealing under your disguise and your pseudonym you worked in a bar singing. You didn't need the tips they left you but you had to pretend that you made a living so they wouldn't get suspicious. Your mother had taught you to sing after dad left, that helped to somehow alleviate the pain, it helped her dissipate the pain. And she loved to sing for you and teach you, how your eyes lit up when you heard her and how with your little voice you would then accompany her and harmonize her on the nights of the full moon.

You perfected your technique until you reached a wider vocal range, you didn't sing like the gods but your voice wasn't bad at all. You asked for permission and started singing in small bars until you reached the one where you worked now. The men seemed to like your voice and you had realized that they left you more tips if you shortened the length of your almost burgundy red dress, which disgusted you a little but you had to learn trust, security and flirtation.

The chords of a piano began to sound while the hubbub of the voices of the gathered people became quieter, eager to hear your sweet voice. All eyes were on you and you knew it, you closed your eyes taking a deep breath and then opened them again and started singing.

The day I first met you You told me you never fall in love But now that I get you I know fear is what it really was

The words slid off your tongue like crystal clear water while you moved your arms and hands making light waves attracting the audience.

Now here we are so close yet so far How did I pass the test? When will you realize Baby I'm not like the rest

You looked at people as if you were the hunter and they were the prey, you had them eating out of the palm of your hand with your seductive movements of your hips. You wasted sensuality

Don't wanna break your heart Wanna give your heart a break I know your scared it's wrong Like you might make a mistake

You were smiling, enjoying the show you were putting on when suddenly a figure almost made you speechless. Your smile fell slightly and the tone of your voice trembled a little. Dracule Mihawk himself had entered the bar, he was the last man on earth you wanted to see and now that bastard had approached the bar where you were singing, as if there weren't thousands of others around to drink from. You decided to avoid looking at him and forced a smile although now you felt slightly uncomfortable and annoyed.

Meanwhile the tall man had entered with slow steps dressed in his cape and his characteristic hat. Inspecting the place, he found your presence on stage, his gaze swept over the outfit you had chosen that day as he raised an eyebrow. He sat in a chair near a table while ordering a glass of wine. Your voice blessed his ears as he noticed that you were avoiding looking at him.

There's just one life to live And there's no time to wait to waste So let me give your heart a break Give your heart a break Let me give your heart a break Your heart a break

Oh yeah yeah

You closed your eyes, trying to momentarily disconnect your mind from the place where you were standing and evoked memories of when you sang in your room with your mother. The memory caressed your heart and allowed you to sing with more feeling. Mihawk analyzing you with his hands clasped in his lap did not take his eyes off you.

A Sunday you went home alone There were tears in your eyes I called your cell phone, my love But you did not reply

The world is ours if you want it We can take it, if you just take my hand There's no turning back now Baby try to understand

You continued singing with the piano chords accompanying you, you continued to have your eyes closed and you moved your legs and your head to the rhythm of the song. Although you hadn't opened your eyes, you could feel Mihawk's piercing your eyelids. What the hell did he want now? The truth is that what the warlord least expected was to find you in that tavern, he had genuinely gone there to have a drink because it was the one closest to him but he also made no move to leave when he saw you singing.

There's just so much you can take Give your heart a break Let me give your heart a break Your heart a break

The day I first met you You told me you never fall in love

When you finished the song you opened your eyes slowly and it was as if a spell had been broken. You heard the sound of people applauding and whistling with satisfaction. You smiled enormously looking at the audience, you accidentally met Mihawk's gaze. Somewhat disturbed you left the stage down the small stairs. The live band continued playing as the sound of a guitar joined in. You looked back at Dracule who now had his eyes on his half-finished glass of wine. You were fed up and decided to end this once and for all.

You walked with a sure step and your chin raised towards where the yellow-eyed man was, feigning security you stood in front of his table and hit the table with your hands while you leaned and leaned slightly, looking at him menacingly.

"Are you still so bored that you follow me now?"

Mihawk didn't even flinch at your aggressive tone and simply looked at you indifferently as if he were tired.

"Not everything revolves around you, darling"

Your tough mask almost fell because of the nickname, it was the first time he called you that. He didn't seem to notice so he continued talking.

"To keep you calm, I only came to have a glass of wine and rest, I didn't know you worked here"

"Oh yes, I'm much calmer now."-You spit ironically

He sighed. "If my presence bothers you so much, I'll leave."

With that he stood up and now you had to raise your head to look at him. He left a small tip on the table and with long steps headed towards the exit. You didn't want him to leave and not because his person was something pleasant to you, but you wanted to tell him a few things to his face, for example that he would stop the stupid game of cat and mouse every time he saw you and let you steal in peace, then After all, he was not a saint to pretend to do good deeds. Offended, I made you walk next to him.

"Wait where do you think you're going? I'm not done talking to you…"

Suddenly you almost gasped when you saw someone you knew near the bar. He was an unpleasant sailor with whom you had had an altercation a few days ago and he didn't want me to see you. You stood in front of Mihawk who until now had ignored you and stopped him by grabbing his arms, he looked at you, frowning slightly. You watched the band live and an idea occurred to you.

"You know how to dance?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Why the question?"

"Just humor me"

You grabbed his arm and approached the other people who were dancing, trying to be as far away as possible from that pedantic sailor. The strumming of the guitars played a happy and lively melody, you hoped that the warlord would not be as rigid and cold to dance this type of music as he was to speak. You stood in front of him, looking into his eyes and guided his hand to your waist.

"Keep up with me"

He seemed impatient as if he were around a child who talks a lot but turned out to be light on his feet and a good dancer. He moved gracefully as he spun you in place. From time to time you would take quick glances at the man at the bar, keeping an eye on him.

"May I know now why you refused to let me leave?"-he said quietly

"There's a guy there at the bar, a stupid guy who came up to me lewdly when I was singing one day. The poor guy had a fragile ego and I broke it. Now he's upset about it."-you whispered

Mihawk turned a little while still dancing to see him better. A brown man smoking a cigarette, had a stubble and was laughing out loud with his friends. That man definitely exuded a shady vibe. Dracule leaned closer to your ear.

"I see, and are you sure that's the only reason you wanted me to stay?"-He said with a hint of hidden mockery, I was trying to provoke you and teasing you.

His deep voice tickled your ear and sent shivers down your spine. Shit. No, you won't let him scare you or make fun of you. You clenched your jaw, swallowing your anger, and turned to rest your back on his chest. Now the only thing that united them was their hips, colliding with each other, stuck together like chewing gum while they both moved their legs, crossing them to the rhythm of the music. Your arms raised at the height of your ribs.

"Whatever you're implying, it's not true."

"Believe me, I'm not implying anything, but I find it hard to believe that a thief like you hasn't taken care of him before? Are you afraid of him?"-he said innocently

He would have to be afraid if he kept talking like that.

You lifted your chin, feeling like the volcano of rage inside you was about to erupt. With the calmest tone you could force you said

"Watch your tongue Mihawk or your next words will be your last. It's also funny that you say it, being the person who let the most wanted thief go free. Did you get cold feet?"

A deadly silence was the most delicious response. I could hear him stir for a few seconds. You suddenly let out a weak gasp when you felt his firm grip on your waist forcing you to turn and look at him. He pulled you closer by placing one hand on your back and then leaned you back, grabbing your thigh with his other hand and raising it to the height of his hip.

"I assured you that any problems you may have will not come from me…but don't play with fire either, or have you already forgotten your scar?"

His eyes did not leave yours and you could notice that they were slightly half-closed, suggesting a threat, his warm breath was close to your nose and it caused shivers again where he had his hand on your back. He looked at your scar for just a few seconds and you remembered how the people at the bar asked you about it and you invented that you had cut yourself on glass. Damned

"And I assure you that I won't get burned, I have always liked playing with fire"

He raised an eyebrow, somewhat impressed, and brought you closer to the ground, leaning towards you. You threw your head back letting your hair fall and brush the floor, then he slowly picked you up.

"Let's continue then, and see where all this takes us."

They continued dancing and the music continued. Mihawk grabbed your hand and then spun you around until your back collided with his chest and he raised your thigh again until your leg was around his waist and you placed one arm behind his neck. Despite the hatred you felt for him you couldn't help but form a small smile. They both danced so well that you soon forgot about the annoying sailor. When the music stopped you two separated somewhat exhausted, he bowed making a small bow towards you. A true gentleman, you thought ironically. You were about to speak when a voice silenced you.

"Hey you, slut! You owe me something!"

The brown sailor with the swollen veins in his neck approached you, pushing Mihawk who gritted his teeth.

"I finally found you little slut"-He said standing in front of you.

Out of the corner of your eye you saw how Dracule tightened his fist on the handle of his sword until his veins stood out, ready to cut his neck if necessary.

"I already told you that I don't owe you anything, I'm not going to sing to you in private anywhere, you filthy animal"-You growled through clenched teeth.

"Oh I think so, come here you dirty whore"

The man grabbed your arm tightly and dragged you with him, Mihawk was already unsheathing his sword deadly serious when suddenly you grabbed the sailor's hair and slammed his face against a table, immobilizing him. He groaned in fear as people stood up startled. You approached his face with your entire body tense in fury.

"The next time you touch me or any other woman I'm going to make sure you wake up in a box buried under the sand."-You said with a calm voice but hard as steel.

You violently let go of the sailor's hair and he stood up trembling slightly, you looked at Dracule and he simply put his sword away again. Then, somewhat calmer, you looked around and saw the angry people, especially the friends of the slug rat that you had hit, who were now approaching with unfriendly faces.

"Come on, get her!"

Cursing you backed away until you turned around and saw Mihawk heading towards the exit with a hand extended towards you.

"Quickly, don't make me change my mind."

You nodded and internally thanked him for his help. You took his hand and you both ran away from the bar.

"Where are we going?"-you asked breathlessly

"To my castle"-He said to look at you and stop running

Castle? Ok, you didn't expect that…

The castle was huge and gothic, as dark and gloomy as he was. When you entered you thought that its interior was going to be cold but you saw that there was a fireplace lit, for him being someone solitary he lived quite comfortably. The walls were gray stone and the floor was wooden but there were large velvety rugs. Mihawk took off his cloak, leaving it near a sofa and sat down. You approached the place somewhat intimidated.

"Why did you bring me here?"

"Did you expect me to abandon you in that bar?"

"No but..-"

"Darling I'm not a monster"

Damn, there was that stupid nickname again that tickled your tummy, you wanted to hit yourself for feeling that. You crossed your arms in silence and walked to the fireplace, standing and watching the fire crackle. The warlord dedicated himself to contemplating you, as the orange light of the flames hit your face and highlighted it, it was decided that the more he saw of you, the more he confirmed that you had a pretty appearance.

"I wouldn't want to be nosy but can I ask you why you decided on this very particular.. profession?"

You turned your head to look at him, raising an eyebrow and an amused smile.

"Why? Do you think it's too dangerous for a woman?"-You said sarcastically.

"Not at all, in fact, I think you're more skilled than other male pirates I've met."-he said sincerely

You were surprised by his humble response, you expected some insult or mockery from any kind. You relaxed your body as you noticed that this man, the one they called the warlord, was ironically more peaceful than any savage pirate. You sighed

"Because of my mother, when my father abandoned us with him, all the money left and my mother was unemployed. I was so desperate to see her happy again and try to support the family I started stealing, first small things and then bigger things "I never told her what I did, I felt like I would disappoint her but we needed the money so badly…I know it was stupid, I shouldn't have done it."-you hung your head in shame

"I'm not judging you"

You raised your head looking at him in confusion, people always saw thieves in a bad light even if they stole out of necessity and you knew that what you were doing was wrong but sometimes others were cruel and insensitive when you tried to explain your motives. That's why you were surprised to know that he understood you. He noticed your astonishment and simply said

"I was a fugitive too, you know?"

You nodded remembering Mihawk's old wanted posters. You sat next to him tired. After a while of silence he spoke.

"Sometimes you don't choose the loads you carry, but you can learn to get stronger with them"-he said looking at the fire

You were left speechless admiring his philosophy, who would have thought he was such a profound man. It seems that inside that head there was a fantastic world of wisdom and good advice.

"You are good and I mean it really good, keep training and there will be no one to stop you"-now looking at you

His yellow eyes seemed more golden, shining in the light of the fireplace, like a puddle of sweet, cloying honey. Once again you felt that tickling in your stomach but this time it didn't bother you, you decided not to fight the feeling, you wanted to get closer to him. You gently leaned into his face and he did nothing to avoid it, he tilted his head and focused on your lips. You got even closer with your mouth slightly ajar, feeling that his mouth was already closer to yours, just a few centimeters away. Instinctively you closed your eyes and he stayed there, when you thought he was going to kiss you you felt his beard tickle the side of your face and his mouth on your ear.

"You can stay if you wish or leave, the decision is yours. You will be welcome in this castle when you find yourself in trouble."

He moved his face away slowly, wanting to see your reaction. Your cheeks were a little pink and you were swallowing nervously. That man knew how to talk to make a woman feel weak. Feeling that his eyes were boring into your soul, you looked away and cleared your throat.

"I appreciate your noble offer, but I think I should go."

He closed his eyes and nodded. You stood up quickly and clumsily heading towards the exit. You didn't even look back, you couldn't. Just as you came in, you came out

MONTHS LATER

You decided to take Mihawk's advice and you continued training, day and night with sun or rain, you did not stop until you acquired strength and discipline. You were aware of your body and what your strengths and weaknesses were, you armed yourself with more large and small swords and some pistols. You never thought that your enemy would help you overcome yourself, but you were eternally grateful. You didn't see him again after that day because if you had you would have started turning red and babbling incoherently. He no longer provoked hatred or anger in you but something but, love. Had he bewitched you? Was he a magician apart from being a pirate? You were almost sure of that.

You were still stealing but now you had become a kind of Robin Hood, you stole from greedy selfish people and gave to the poor and needy. Of course people were still looking for you because of that but you had gained some popularity and sympathy from others. You were still wearing your black cape but this time you didn't bother hiding your face and although your wanted posters still called you "The Shadow" now some people called you "The Light of East Blue" since you provided clear rays of hope to the people poor as an angel beenfactor sent from heaven. What an irony of life, you thought, if you were the angel Mihawk was the devil, although you knew that in reality he was far from it.

And talking about stealing and giving it to the poor, that's when some men sent by the government started chasing you, cornering you. Smiling with amusement, you opened your cloak and unsheathed your sword.

"Come and get me, gentlemen"

Your sword collided with the others, echoing in the air, even though you were outnumbered, you were now stronger than before, you enjoyed good resistance thanks to your arduous training that was finally bearing fruit. Your surprise was great when in the distance you saw Mihawk approaching from behind and wounding an attacker. Just in time, you thought.

"Need help?"-He asked even though he already knew you didn't need it.

With effort you tried not to get nervous in front of him. "Aw, you can't live without me, right?"

He rolled his eyes, pursing his lips, turned and addressed the men.

"Why don't they pick on someone their size?"

He stood at your side and the fierce opponents clashed their swords again. With a movement of his arm Mihawk made a kind of wave and cut the men's torsos. When they had fallen, you ran away and climbed a high wall, he followed you.

With a hand over your eyes as a visor you saw in the distance more men coming for you, they seemed angry. Dracule also saw them and turned to talk to you.

"Escape now while you can, or they will show no mercy."

"Aren't you coming with me? They won't be pleased to see you here against them."

He unsheathed his sword "You get used to it."

He turned completely to go after the men when he noticed that something was missing, suddenly the sun was shining on his head. He looked at the floor and his shadow did not project the same silhouette. His hat was missing. When he turned to look at you again he saw you with his hat in your hand and all your weight on one leg while you rested your free hand on your hip. He sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Cunning hare…"-he sighed

You laughed and put on his hat that was too big for you.

"We will meet again, little bird"

"Sooner than you think"

You blew him a flying kiss and jumped down to the other side of the wall, disappearing from his sight. He narrowed his eyes just a little and a corner of his lip lifted slightly. Now feeling unprotected without his hat and with his brown hair wavy in the wind, he tightened his grip on his sword and walked steadily towards the enemies. Yes, he was sure he would see you again, you had to give him back his hat…and his heart.

[wyvernne]

see you through til the day’s end (rewrite) teaser

taking a quick study break to post this for y’all. i have not read over it again nor has it been edited, so forgive me for any errors. i know a lot of you are also dealing with final exams, so good luck, and remember to take care of yourselves!!

————-

It was a stupid way to get caught. You’re not sure if it was the cold that dumbed you down, dulled your senses so gravely.

You slipped. That’s all it took. A single misstep is going to cost you your life.

What was supposed to be a simple reconnaissance on the growing Fatui encampments has quickly become the site of the last moments of your life.

You sigh. What a pathetic way to die. The soldiers did quite a number on you, too. You’re sure you have at least a concussion. Maybe a few broken ribs.

You tug halfheartedly on your restraints. The Fatui are no strangers to taking captives. Of course they know how to keep one tied down.

“Oh? What little mouse fell into the trap?” You freeze. It’s a voice you’ve only heard once before.

Your heart thumps sickeningly in your chest for a beat before you raise your head. It’s… a different one. A little older, but still a young man.

Dottore smiles at you. His face is entirely obscured by his mask, save for his eerie, chilling grin.

“I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of officially meeting before,” you offer. You try not to sound afraid. Your heartbeat gives you away, certainly. You’re fucked. You’re so fucked.

Dottore’s smile never changes. “Is that so? You seem quite familiar.” He tilts his head. “Ah. Perhaps it’s the scent of the Abyss. It does quite remind me of that young man.”

He must be talking about the eleventh. You grit your teeth. “You must be mistaken.”

“Surely not,” Dottore replies pleasantly. He’s taking his sweet time getting to the point, really.

“Ah, that’s it!” He snaps his fingers dramatically, as if he’s suddenly remembered a particularly amusing factoid. “You’ve been in the company of a certain young winery owner before, too.”

A chill slips down your spine. You maintain your smile. “I’m merely a distant associate.”

Dottore’s doesn’t even grace you with a response, and the silence makes your heart beat faster.

You continue speaking, struggling to keep your voice steady. “I’m flattered that a lord harbinger himself is even gratifying me with his time.”

Dottore guffaws, doubling over in laughter. “Ah! So much spunk. It’s refreshing to have a subject who isn’t cowering in fear. How exciting.”

His laughter dies down abruptly. It’s just as chilling as when it began.

“Shall we run a little impromptu experiment?” he asks. Bile rises in your throat. You’d rather just have a swift end, really. Who knows what kind of circumstances Dottore will keep you alive under.

He draws a knife from his belt. It’s… it’s far more mundane than you thought. At the very least, it seems like he won’t be injecting you with some strange substance. “It’s a pity I don’t have my laboratory equipment with me here… but I supposed we’ll just need to make do. After all, the process is the fun of it.”

“Process,” you repeat, stupidly. It’s too cold, and your head was hit too hard. Your brain isn’t working like it should. You— you should be planning some grand escape. Instead you can barely follow the conversation happening between you.

“Do you know how much blood is in the human body?” he asks, spinning the knife carelessly in his palm.

You manage a dry laugh. “I haven’t measured. Don’t tell me you treat all your hostages with such hospitality?”

“How arrogant,” he scoffs. “You’re merely the delicious morsel of cheese. The real prize has yet to show itself.”

What the fuck is he on about?

He pulls something out of his pocket with his free hand. You spoke too soon.

You jerk against the restraints reflexively at the sight. A small vial. He pops the stopper with practiced ease, dribbling the viscous liquid over the length of the blade.

He pulls you up against him, sliding an arm around you. It’s like you’ve been already been drugged, your mind slow to comprehend what’s happening. His words keep ringing in your head. “You’ve a little more blood in you than… say, six and a half bottles of wine.”

And then there’s a sharp blow to your back, sending white hot pain jolting through your body.

You gasp, as if the air has been knocked from your lungs. The wheezing, wet sobs that rip from your lungs shake your body, but it hardly compares to the searing ache in your back. Dottore smiles. “I wouldn’t move so much, dear. Unless you’d like me to sever your spinal cord.”

He jerks his arm up, lifting you with the sheer force of his movement. He’s playing a dangerous game, cutting into you so blindly, so close to your spine—

You choke on the thought. He doesn’t care.

You don’t scream. Can’t. It’s like the air around you has been sucked away, and you can’t seem to get a single breath down. The only thing that comes from your mouth is a horrible, strangled gurgle.

He laughs, pulling the dagger out with ease. You sag, eyes wide. Move. Do something. Fight back.

You’re still gasping, choking on nothing. What is the point? Of this? Of any of it?

Dottore chuckles, wiping the dagger haphazardly on your shirt. “I guess you do bleed like we do. Shall we continue?”

You’re bleeding too much too fast. You can see it starting to pool around your feet, blossoming out in the snow.

You jerk against your restraints, throwing your knee up with a shout. You catch Dottore in the stomach, but he hardly reacts to your blow. He leans closer, so close you can feel his breath on your face.

“How impudent,” he mutters, smashing the hilt of the knife into your temple. A shock of pain shoots through your head, and you bite down to silence a sob.

Why is he wasting his time on you? Your thoughts feel hazy. Maybe it’s just pain for the sake of it.

Pain for the sake of it.

Why can’t you catch your breath? You’re teary, but still, no sound can form in your throat. You feel like you’re suffocating.

An agent materializes behind him, kneeling obediently.

“Didn’t I say to leave me to my work?” Dottore huffs, exasperated. He’s speaking so flippantly, like someone just interrupted his daily newspaper reading.

You can’t tell how deep the wound is like this. It’s— it’s long.

You have… minutes, maybe, until you’ve lost too much. There’s no fighting your way out of this. There’s no winning here.

You barely catch the last wisps of conversation.

“…Forgive me, lord harbinger. The Tsaritsa has sent a message.”

Dottore clicks his tongue in annoyance, tossing the dagger into the snow as he turns away. “Well, I’ve lost interest, regardless. Lucky little you.”

The agent slices the restraints down with a swift movement. You crumple to the ground, gasping desperately for air. Dottore starts away from you, but then stops and smiles over his shoulder. “Your life is ticking away, you know.”

You barely register his words. Every second matters, now. You clamber unsteadily to your feet. Despite the freezing snow you’ve started to sweat, your muscles trembling with the effort of holding yourself up.

You take a stumbling step backwards. Not a single Fatuus makes a move to stop you. They watch you with their robotic, empty gazes. You take another, and then turn on your heel and run.

It hurts. It hurts like death. But you won’t win a fight here, and Dottore is bitterly right. Five minutes, at most. Five minutes before you’ve lost too much blood.

Your movements are sluggish and stilted, and the world seems to teeter on your vision. Like hell you’ll let yourself die without putting up a fight.

It’s only a few yards to the cliff side. Water rushes past you and you sway for a moment, nearly losing your balance.

You feel ill. This rush of adrenaline won’t last you much longer, not with how badly he’s cut you. Not with how much this hurts.

It’s a long drop. You know better than anyone. Still, you launch yourself forward, feet slipping on the last rock, and plummet into the raging water below. If you’re going to lose your life, you’ll lose it to the torrents of nature. Not to some damned harbinger’s passing fancies.

———————————

You’ve broken… something. It’s hard to tell at this point, even as you drag yourself onto the snowy banks of the river. Everything fucking hurts. It’s a miracle you didn’t split your skull in half on the rocks below, although the intense throb in your right ankle says you didn’t make it out entirely unscathed. Thankfully it’s cold enough, and you’ve lost enough blood. The bitter ache of any broken bones seems dulled entirely.

You can see the fading lights of Dawn Winery in the distance, but you’ve lost your gamble. You have minutes left, at most. You close your eyes.

You’re going to die here, bleeding out in the snow. Pathetic. To survive the Abyss only to die like a drowned rat.

You’re tired. So, so tired.

Even in this unbearable cold you feel sleep calling you, soothing you from your wounds and fatigue.

It would be so easy, just to let go.

You open your mouth, but all that comes out is a drawn, shrill gasp, drowned out by the sound of the waterfall behind you. Fucking hell.

One chance. That’s all you have.

It takes tremendous effort to get your tongue in the right position. You suck in air desperately, flinching at the shock that travels up from your ribs, and blow.

It’s a weak sound, at first, but it’s all you have.

Luckily, her hearing is better than any human’s.

It takes… twenty seconds, maybe. Thirty at most. You hear her shrieks overhead, having spotted her prey. But she’s no ordinary bird. You’re thankful for that, at least.

She vanishes again, and you’re left alone in the snow.

You jolt, startled. You nearly fell asleep. But you can’t. Not now. Just a little longer.

It feels like an eternity. You can’t feel your hands or feet anymore. All that’s left is a dull ache, and each breath you take feels like an enormous amount of effort.

In. Out. In. Out. Stay awake. Stay awake.

Finally, there’s a murmur of voices, the thumping of feet along the ground. Hands coming up to lift you from the snowy bank. You can’t focus well. Spots dance beneath your eyelids, and your breathing feels fluttery and faint.

“Stay awake, now,” One of the voices whispers. You’d know it anywhere. The warmth, the scent. Diluc.

‘Sorry’ you want to say. The words don’t come. Nothing comes, after that. Just darkness.

[jacksprostate]

f Narrator wanting to murder maim mutilate m marla.. or marla/ male marla and narrator/f narrator worsties/besties. or marla/male marla and tyler… or anything with marla/ male marla..

Marlon called me, interrupted me at work, and he said he had a bruise. He said I needed to come and look at it right away, because he needed to know.

This was him, asking me, pounded flank steak, to look and tell him the nature of his bruise.

Marlon hasn't had health insurance in years, so he tries not to think about it, usually. It's easy, since there's no difference when you have health insurance. It's old hat.

But today, he thought about it.

And he noticed a bruise.

So I'm walking up to the Regent hotel after work, and he's in the lobby in his limp little tank top. He'd call it a wifebeater and imagine himself in place of the wife, I'm sure. I wonder if he isn't cold all the time. Mr. Marlon Singer, such a masochist just so he can show off his skeletal body with all the cigarette burns I have to hear him and Tyler laughing over.

I am Jane's abnormal hemorrhoid development.

He doesn't mention what Tyler and I stole from him, even though I think it was all the cash he had. Even though just three days ago he tried to chase me around the house and beat me with a broom. He made me and Tyler go sleep in the junkyard. Buried under our furs, howling at the moon. Maybe I can't fault him for that.

He couldn't keep it here where the guys he brings back could get at it, he said, and sure. But he should've known better than to tell Tyler about it, because now it's bags upon bags of lye being kept in the driest room in the house.

I work on grinding cracks into my remaining teeth as he grabs his neighbors Agatha and Dianne's Meals on Wheels kits. The delivery lady remarks on what a good young man Marlon must be, helping out these old ladies. Oh, yeah. A real, upstanding, mummified rat of a man. Maybe he helped them into the ditch. He yaps at me the entire walk up to his room, and I don't hear a word as I methodically rip up the skin around Tyler's kiss on my hand with a broken nail. It's been infected since Tuesday, and the ring of puffy red flesh makes the ghost of her lips white like the center of a neon tube. Always buzzing.

We get to his room, he says to me, "One of these boxes is for you, you know."

I think about all the women who bother to use what little time they have to operate charities that keep the poor and destitute alive enough to want to kill themselves. All that time spent cooking mac and cheese en masse and putting little packets of powdered milk next to little cartons of the liquid, like they get at schools and prisons, packets that can only be opened by the nimble fingers of caring relatives these elderly recipients do not have.

Sure.

Tyler told me I need to be eating at least two meals a day, or she'd steal a blender and make me drink raw chicken. So I eat the Meals on Wheels box. Sorry Agatha. I rip open the powdered milk packet, dump it into the carton, hold it closed, and shake it. Twice the calories. A recipe for palliative care.

Marlon's sitting there, quiet, eating Dianne's latest last meal. All the urgency is gone. Sucked dry. He's got pallor like a hospice heart failure. When dogs get treated for heartworms, the worms die, and sometimes, not all of them break apart. Sometimes, there will be thin, dead cords of necrotized nematode strung through their heart waiting for the right beat to fall apart and clot a vital artery. This can take years to happen. Your pet recovers perfectly from treatment until seven years down the line, you give it a doggy cupcake and a pulmonary embolism for its tenth birthday.

Marlon looks like he's had his first melarsomine injection and his owner is thinking about taking him to a dog park instead of bothering with the second. If you let a dog get its heart rate up too high when getting treated for all the parasites you let grow in it, its heart will explode. Or all the worms will clog its lungs. Whichever one it is, it's happening to Marlon here in this room. On this bed.

He says he'd found a bruise, a while back. A nasty little thing, like the crush of a plum under your thumb. Near one of his ankles. And Marlon Singer knew he couldn't afford any novel treatments, and he'd seen too many people rot from the inside out from them already. He did not go to the clinic down the street that gets its windows broken in often enough that there's just big black billowing sails of trashbags over their storefront more often than not. Marlon says he once saw a rat nailed to the door, which is something you'd think would be too neat and poetic for real life. He didn't go to the clinic because he didn't have to. And maybe if he was fucking guys he wanted to he would be a bit more cautious, but the men Marlon Singer gets to fuck are the type to have given him those bruises in the first place. They're the reason there's single mothers visiting that clinic, like half melted wax getting scraped out of the picture. He says he shouldn't feel guilty.

I tell Marlon about where I got the idea for poisoning all the food at the Pressman hotel.

He asks me what I mean by that, and I tell him about my first boss at the company I work for now.

When I first started there, I was selling our cars to companies. Bulk orders for work vehicles. My job was to not fuck up any contracts we already had. Marlon is probably aware, but the type of man involved in that sort of thing, he knows he's got you on a collar and chain. You and him both know he'll be renewing the contract, but you have to do the song and dance for him. Pretend you like how close he gets to you. Pretend you don't want to rip his testicles from his ballsack when he leans in sweaty and tells you how he likes your hair, did you go and do all that just for me?

Because he knows. And you know. But enduring this is what you were hired to do. If you were a man, you would've been hired to create a sense of the old boys club with this guy. But you're not.

There is so much pretense in the world.

Anyway, my first boss, call him Joe — whenever I'd return from those trips and dinners, Joe wouldn't pretend that it wasn't a shit job. He'd commiserate and wish me luck with the next one. He didn't overstep, he wasn't creepy, he kept his distance. The best you could hope for. Thirty days on the job, they asked me how I was doing, and I told them I was doing great. The job was amazing, I felt embraced by the company, my boss was great. One of those things was true to me.

And when Joe got his promotion, for being such a great regional manager, he cornered me in my cubicle and informed me he'd been jerking off into my nicely labeled thin salad lunches each time they showed up in the office fridge. He told me this with the same smile he'd always worn.

Marlon, he's next to me, and he leans closer like we're having a nice little confession. My skin itches.

It was before the 90 day clause kicked in my health coverage, so I had to wait at one of those free clinics like Marlon's, and I was surrounded by a lot of young men, wispy mangled pears. What little flesh was left was soft. When I told the nurse what happened, I watched myself die in her eyes. Dappling up with rashes and bruises until I was all painted and sunken like a bog body.

For the longest time, I wondered if I'd become the oral Mary. How many times I vomited in that office toilet, I don't know. I stopped bringing lunch.

The thing is, I couldn't see it in his face. Joe's, I mean. Not even when he told me. I couldn't see it in anyone. So I stopped eating out. Stopped eating altogether, really.

Marlon, his response was to go to the support groups. His tragedy was that it was a slow death, coming for him. Best to wriggle into the pile of dying bodies, see what it's like. Maybe that could muster enough suicidal impulse.

I tell Marlon, of course, I couldn't go to HR. I was a new hire with no evidence and previous record of liking my boss. I didn't want to tell my mom. I didn't want her to know. Those uncomfortable dinners became absolutely, wretchedly unbearable as I thought about the food I was being forced to share.

When the option came up for a dead end job in the least loved department in the building, I put on the best performance of my life to get the part. Best aspiring Compliance and Liability head and sole department employee, that's me. My new job was to keep secrets. It was, already, old hat.

For months I thought about waking up from a narcoleptic fit at my desk, with Joe leaning over the cubicle wall and asking if I was alright. I watched my stomach like it was nuclear. Every extra second it took until I bled like usual slid me closer to buying myself a shotgun and pumping a slug or two into my brain.

It's an unavoidable fear, I tell Marlon. You can't do anything about it. Once you know, you know. At some point, you have to find the peace in it. Imagine yourself, a balloon popping with meaty chunks flying apart, splattering onlookers and raining viscera.

For a month, six months, I had cancer. Worse than cancer. Every time I eat out, I get it again.

Marlon is looking at me, melting stained glass, drowning in that sort of shared pity you build together with someone who's dying.

I don't want Marlon to feel guilty.

I tell Marlon, that's why I poison the food at the Pressman hotel. Someone's got to do it. Blood in the tomato sauce, spit on the steak. Imagine what you could do to a soup. The men who go to the Pressman hotel, they're the kind that leave Marlon bloody and walking around Paper Street calling for Tyler to come out and burn more holes into him. They're the kind that get promoted from regional manager. They're the kind that lean in close, pull your wrist towards them, and say there's one way they know you could secure the contract renewal. The kind that almost ruin it in a temper tantrum when you don't, resulting in an upper management intervention on the 24th day of your new job. They're the kind that hear that shit and say you should've been more appeasing. More polite.

Don't feel guilty, Marlon.

I hope all of them rot so everyone can see the maggots eating their insides.

Marlon isn't smiling. I am unavoidably bad at distracting him. There's something final in it, when he sighs, and takes off his tank top. He says it's on his back, and I should just tell him.

I look. I see it. Black hole, botfly, necrosis. There's so many things these broken blood vessels could be. Withering, snapping apart like mummified heartworms. I imagine driving the two inch melarsomine needle deep into the muscles bunched upon his spine.

I look.

I press my hands into him, and I grip like I'm trying to rend my fingers through his skin, deep into his body cavity to rip out his guts. Like I'm trying to grab the rope of his small intestine and strangle him with it. Marlon's yelling at me and trying to hit me, arms flapping like a chicken, and I am bruising ten deep circles into the soft pearskin of his abdomen. It's the only place left on him that's mealy, that isn't frayed rope under worn out leather.

I tell him, you've got bruises. They look mostly normal, to me.

Don't worry too much about it.

And Marlon, he leans into me, and I let him.

[kabie-whump]

✧･ﾟRipe, About to Fall - Part 9 ✧･ﾟ

This is an 18+ slowish burn pet-whump story with added romance.

Title from ‘Liquid Smooth’ by Mitski

Series Description and Warnings

Masterlist, First, Previous

Chapter Summary: Athos has some guests over. Dramaaaa

Chapter Content: references to past child abuse, master/pet dynamics, betrayal, a lot of talk about whipping and branding but it doesn't happen onscreen, drug withdrawl/addiction

Onthyes does not belong to me. He was created by my wonderful gf @sapphicccici and I have kidnapped him.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

“Have you learned your lesson?”

Ventis could barely understand what Athos was saying. The vial of nightspill - the one thing capable of ending his suffering - in his master’s hand captured all of his attention.

He rolled over to expose his arm, the sweat-damp covers twisting around him. He couldn’t remember when he’d been taken to bed. Probably some time after he started hallucinating and sobbing from pain in front of someone important. It’d been a while since then. A whole night, probably.  Athos smelled like fresh coffee and a crack in the curtains let in a sliver of orange light.

“Yes,” Ventis gasped. “Please, I’m sorry. Please make it stop.”

Athos’s expression softened, his hand going to stroke Ventis’s hair. “Oh, my poor little bird. You look a mess. Did you have a hard night without me next to you?”

Ventis nodded, not really aware of what he was agreeing with. “Please,” he whimpered. “It hurts. I need you.”

“Alright, darling. Only since you asked so nicely.”

Ventis sobbed with relief as Athos gently injected the nightspill into his veins. The pain drained away, replaced with a soothing numbness, and his world came back into focus. 

“Thank you, master,” Ventis gasped.

Athos just smiled as he unlocked and removed the cuff from Ventis’s wrist. A wave of static electricity escaped him with a buzzing sound, making the blankets stick to Ventis’s skin.

“I need you to be on your best behavior today, pet,” Athos said as Ventis found a glass of water on his bedside table and chugged it, soothing his painfully dry mouth. “I will be having some guests over for dinner. They are nobles from a kingdom north of here, and it is important to me that we impress them.”

Ventis nodded his understanding, wiping excess water from his mouth with his sleeve. “I’ll be good,” he assured Athos.

“I know you will do your best, darling. However, due to your lapse in behavior a few days ago I will have to enact some preventive measures. First, I expect complete silence from you. Tomorrow you will receive five lashes for every word I hear from you tonight. Understand?”

“Yes, master.”

“Second, you will be bound tonight. Not tightly enough to interfere with your duties, of course, but enough to serve as a reminder of your place here. I know you are not accustomed to working this way, but nonetheless I expect nothing but grace from you at all times.”

“I understand, master.”

“Good. I have some preparations to attend to, so I will leave you to gather yourself. The next time we see each other I expect silence.”

Ventis allows himself to sit quietly and enjoy the relief provided by the nightspill, a heavy weight squashing down his rebellious emotions. He had spent the last day and night in turmoil; hating Athos, mourning Onthyes, longing for freedom. But everything felt okay again now. He had been silly and irrational for wanting to run away with the first big strong guard to treat him like a person. He didn’t need any of that. He had everything he needed right here with Athos.

Ventis was able to relax into the long process of being prepared for the evening’s events. His hair was styled, his teeth, horns, and scales polished, his clothing carefully selected from a closet that took up an entire room of its own. 

The bindings that were put on him were more for show than anything else. A long, delicate golden chain spilled down from his collar and split to loop around each wrist, which were loosely bound together in front of his body in a similar fashion. His ankles were linked together as well by a chain that left enough room for him to walk slowly but not so much room that he could break into a run. He could probably break the chains if he really wanted to. 

“The master’s guests are here,” a maid poked her head into Ventis’s room to announce. “They’re in the sitting room.”

Ventis took one last look at himself in the mirror, unable to stop himself from smiling at the wave of pride in his beauty. The garment he wore left very little to the imagination as always. This one in particular was open in the back in a way that very clearly showed off the brand Athos had given him. It still looked bad, but not as bad as it had yesterday. 

The symbol had made a clean impression on his skin, clearly announcing exactly who Ventis belonged to.

“Alright. I’m going,” he said, savoring the last words he would speak that night. 

As Ventis made his way down to the main sitting room he could hear voices that made an uncomfortable itch tingle at his spine. He pushed the feeling aside. They sounded familiar, sure, but he was just being paranoid. 

Then he entered the sitting room. His eyes locked on to the two men sitting across from Athos instantly.

No. Gods no.

It had only been three years, but Theodore looked older. His form was bulkier, his horns were longer, and he appeared to be cultivating a beard that Ventis would love to tease him for in any other situation. 

Their shared father looked exactly the same. Tall. Powerful. Stone cold. 

Ventis had rarely seen the man express any emotion other than disappointment and the occasional flash of rage, but the moment that their eyes met something crossed his face that Ventis didn’t recognize.

“What is the meaning of this?” Father’s voice was carefully controlled, but it was echoed by an audible crack of thunder from outside - unusual considering that it was meant to be a completely clear day. The room dropped ten degrees in an instant. Suddenly Ventis was a little kid again, suppressing the urge to run and hide from his father’s wrath.

Athos turned around to look at Ventis and the grin on his face said everything. He’d planned this. This was a punishment. He’d called Ventis’s father and brother here just to humiliate him, and now he was basking in the chaos he’d caused. 

“I-”

“Five.”

Right. Five lashes per word. That conniving bastard.

Ventis shut his mouth but he couldn’t bring himself to move. His feet were rooted to the floor. He’d gotten to the point that he didn’t mind being exposed in front of others, but now that he stood in front of his father and his brother he was hyper-aware of every inch of bare skin. 

At least they seemed equally shocked and horrified. Theodore’s eyes were wide, his face bright red as he seemed unsure of where to look. Father was still struggling to contain himself. Raindrops began to thump against the windows.

“Don’t be shy, pet,” Athos said flippantly, turning back around to face his guests. “You know your place.”

Ventis wondered if he’d be able to break the window and throw himself out before someone stopped him. He might just be able to manage it. But instead he let his feet carry him to Athos, where he settled on the cushion on the floor in front of the man.

More thunder. Theodore failed at suppressing a strangled sound. Father had gone completely stone-faced.

Part of Ventis was glad that his father was seeing what he had become. I’m here because of you, he wanted to scream. I’m like this because you banished me. Now sit there and fucking face it.

Athos rested a hand on Ventis’s head, playing with his hair. “This is Ventis, my treasured companion,” he said proudly, pretending to be unaware of the tension that had fallen over the room. “Please, pay him no mind. You were telling me about your efforts to combat piracy on the northern coast?”

Ventis winced, seeing Father’s eyes widen at the use of his name. He hadn’t been going by Ventis before he was banished. 

Father took a single deep breath, composing himself. “Yes, I have put certain countermeasures in place to discourage piracy-”

“I apologize,” Theodore cut in. “Are we supposed to just ignore this?” He gestured towards Ventis.

“Theodore,” Father warned under his breath.

“Oh? Is there an issue here? Do people not have pets in your kingdom?” Athos was lying. There was no way he didn’t know what he was doing when he invited them here.

“This boy,” Father said disdainfully, “used to be my son and Theodore’s half-brother. But there is no issue, because he is no longer a member of our family. He is nothing to us.”

Ventis traced the intricate patterns on the carpet with his eyes.

“Ah, well, you know what they say. One man’s trash is another’s treasure.”

The topic was turned away from Ventis after that. He could almost tune them out and pretend like the two men in front of him were any other guests of Athos’s. 

Almost, but every time Father hummed in that one way he did when he was trying to pretend his conversation partner wasn’t boring him he had to suppress the urge to flinch. And every time Theodore gave in to his nervous compulsion to pick at his fingernails Ventis had to keep himself from reaching out and stopping him with a teasing, “You’ll ruin your manicure, brother.”

Dinner was ready not much later. Ventis took his usual place standing against the wall, a pitcher of wine in hand.

His stomach growled. He hadn’t been able to eat yesterday, the withdrawals tearing at his stomach with a ferocity that pushed him to turn down any food offered to him. A maid had brought him breakfast this morning, but he hadn’t eaten since then and he knew that he wouldn’t eat again unless Athos thought to offer him something. Dinners like this always made him feel like a dog waiting for its owner to drop table scraps.

Athos held up his empty glass, just slightly higher than would be considered casual, and Ventis rushed forward to fill it in an instant. He didn’t even have to pay attention to the man’s signals anymore. Serving him was second nature.

"I have never seen him so obedient before,” Father said, watching Ventis over his own glass.

Ventis tensed, but he finished filling Athos’s cup and stepped back silently. 

“Oh? Did he behave differently as a child?”

“There was a period of time in which I was convinced he was deaf. He never listened. What is your secret?”

Athos barked out a laugh. “It’s simple, really. Ventis serves me because he loves me. I give him everything he may ever want and he gives me his entire self. He belongs to me - body and mind - and he does so willingly because he knows no one else will ever treat him as well as I do. That combined with a heavy hand in punishment when the need arises does well at keeping him in line.”

An amused smirk pulls at the corner of Father’s lips. He knocked back the last sip of his wine, then gestured Ventis over. 

Ventis felt his heart sink with every step he took around the table to his father’s side. He studiously avoided eye contact as he filled the glass. 

Father’s hand shot out as Ventis began to step away, taking his wrist in a tight grip. 

Ventis gasped. He was eight and thirteen and sixteen and twenty all at once. He couldn’t meet his father’s eyes, but he could feel them boring into his face, picking out every single weakness.

“How does he punish you?” Father asked, his voice filled with a detached curiosity. 

Ventis glanced at Athos. He’d been ordered not to speak.

Athos waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t be rude, pet. Answer him.”

Satisfied with the permission, Ventis returned his attention to his father. “Lashes, mostly,” he admitted. “He has an enchanted whip. It doesn’t leave marks.”

Father released his grip on Ventis’s wrist and Ventis stepped back immediately, his heart pounding. 

“Sixty,” Athos muttered between bites of food.

No.

Ventis whipped his head around to look at him. “But you said-”

“Seventy-five.”

That shut him up. He should’ve known Athos would do this. The man had given him permission to speak, but he had not revoked the looming threat of punishment for it. 

The rest of the night went by without issue. Dinner was consumed and cleared away, drinks were poured in the parlor, and then Father and Theodore were saying their goodbyes. Ventis didn’t miss the long, loaded look Theodore sent him as they left, but he couldn’t ackowledge it. 

The air was tense as Ventis and Athos retired to the bedroom that night. Ventis had never felt so deeply betrayed by anyone before. He couldn’t even bear to look at Athos as he undressed and joined him under the thick blankets. 

“You may speak now,” Athos said, opening his arms for Ventis to lay on his chest.

Ventis settled against him but did not speak. It was probably another trick. Athos had said before that he shouldn’t speak for the entire night.

“It was an astounding coincidence - your father and brother being my guests tonight. Were you surprised?”

Ventis nodded.

“Words please, darling.”

It had to be a trick. He wasn’t falling for it.

“Ventis.” Athos gripped his chin, forcing eye contact. Ventis barely suppressed a whimper. “Why won’t you speak?”

It took a long moment of silence before realization dawned across Athos’s face. “I am being genuine. Your evening of silence is over now.”

Ventis just stared at him, wide eyed and confused.

“Speak, or I’ll double the number of lashes I owe you tomorrow.”

That did the trick. Ventis would much rather take an extra five or ten lashes than another seventy-five. “Yes, master,” he whispered. “I am sorry.”

“One hundred,” Athos said with a satisfied grin. 

--- Theodore’s POV ---

It had been satisfying to Theodore at first, finally seeing where his brother had ended up after all these years. It made sense that a dramatic attention whore like him would find himself on the arm of some rich narcissist. 

And it quelled any inkling of worry he may have had, any small fear that Jasper had ended up dead on the streets. No, he was fine - dressed up in gold and jewels and lounging at the feet of someone who would never see him suffer. It was a degrading position to be in, of course, but there are much worse fates to be had.

Theodore had never been as smart as Jasper (as Ventis? Athos had called him Ventis. Did he change his name?). But he was still smart enough to pick up the ever growing clues as the night went on. The golden chains on his throat, wrists, and ankles weren’t just jewlery. They were shackles. An angry burn in the shape of Athos’s personal crest stood out starkly against Ventis’s skin. And then there was the way Athos and Father had talked so casually about flogging him.

It made Theodore’s skin crawl, the blatant display of abuse coming from Athos. He and Jasper had always been rivals but they were never enemies. The hatred was there but it was impure, laced with jealousy and begrudging respect and the tiniest moments of adoration. How could father look into the face of what Athos was doing to Jasper with so little care?

Theodore tried to banish the evening from his mind as they said their goodbyes and boarded a carriage to their next destination. Father would be leaving in the morning, but Theodore was to spend the next month studying in Nimbria, living under the roof of the city’s captain of guard, Richard Ventura. He had a son, apparently. A man named Onthyes who was a few years older than Theodore and undoubtedly a good influence. 

He couldn’t let the revelation of what was happening to Jasper distract him from his duties here. After returning home he would be expected to finally take on a real political role in his kingdom. He needed to be ready. He couldn’t disappoint his father.

Onthyes was said to be disciplined and focused, a picture perfect eldest son and shoo-in for his father’s position someday. A man like him will surely help keep Theodore’s mind off of Jasper.

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@scp-1296 @sapphicccici @acer-gaysimpstuff @morning-star-whump @yeetmyskeet @rainydaywhump @sleepyiswhumping

[clericofinfamy]

damian priest - raw, april 21 2024.

thank you for monday night priest but 🥹 WHAT HAPPENED TO LA FAMILIA DAMIAN!!!??!!! AAAAA. screaming crying throwing up banging my head against a wall driving my car though a brick wall drinking gasoline walking on legos banging a razor scooter against my ankles hitting myself with a bat shooting myself with a nail gun cracking my skull with a golf club eating glass sucking on a knife shattering my kneecaps swallowing a bomb grabbing a seatbelt in a car thats been sitting untouched in 95° heat for over a week dry freezing my fingers jumping in a vat of acid marrying courtney love sucking on an exhaust pipe birthing a child injecting liquid rubber into my veins smashing each finger and toe with a hammer fist fighting a jaguar diving face first into a whale jumping on bowser’s back slicing my nipples off listening to the voices putting the reverse bear trap from saw on my head stepping into a meat grinder.