#alcohol as sanitizer

[eventhorizoninwriting]

Crawl Out Through The Fallout

Word count: 2114

Tags: Cooper Howard/Reader, preghoul!Cooper, Bombs Drop Day.

Warnings: Self-sutures, alcohol as sanitizer, blood. If I missed any, let me know!

@whumperless-whump-event prompt 1: Emergency First Aid

Terror shredded your throat as you sprinted down the sidewalk of that perfect suburban neighborhood. Green grass, perfectly trimmed hedges, shady trees; all of it passed in a blur. Sprinklers ticked back and forth relentlessly, counting down with every spit of water over the sunlit green. Bees and mosquitoes hummed lazily in slow streams of sunlight, a requiem for all the autumns before.

Your ears ached to bleed with the pure cacophony around you. Tires squealed on the pavement as pastel beetle-shell-shined cars tore out of driveways, as other drivers swerved to avoid them. They yelled at each other from their rolled-down windows, but there was no anger in their voices. Somewhere down the street, a small child in a pink dress screamed and cried, not understanding the chaos that had erupted; just upset that her teddy bear had fallen on the sidewalk when she’d been scooped up and bundled into the family car.

Above it all, the sirens howled. Like angels of steel and gears, they trumpeted the announcement that everyone had feared hearing for years; the true end of days, heralded by nuclear fire. 

Attention citizens. Nuclear strike imminent. Please exit the area at your earliest convenience. Thank  you for your cooperation.

The announcement rang in your head, repeated by every radio station in every car that zipped past. Yet still you ran, determined to get home before the strike. Was that blood you tasted? Shoving through the garden gate, you raced to the back of your little blue home of the future. Truly, it was; the heavy,  lead-lined doors to your backyard bunker sat nestled at its foundation, under landscaping plants whose pruning had been optimistically neglected. 

A pained groan came from behind you as you gripped the bunker door handle. 

Turning slowly, you half expected to see someone standing there, perhaps beaten by the crowd, ready to ransom you your own bunker. Instead, a bloodied cowboy in gold and blue lay defeated in the hedge, as if he’d been discarded over the fence. Your eyes met his, and he feebly lifted his hands in a show of surrender.

“Just leave me here,” he croaked. “I won’t fault you for that.” 

Time froze. You couldn’t just leave him there. But if you tried to save him...was there time? Could you get him to the bunker too? Could you get yourself inside in time after? 

The ground shook under your feet, and the backyard vanished in white. Burying your eyes in the crook of your elbow, you prayed you hadn’t gone blind. The impact, the flash…

Dropping the handle, you raced towards where the cowboy had been with your eyes shut. The hedge came up faster than you’d anticipated, and you crashed into it, hands searching for him. A leg, a torso–his hand found yours. Dragging him out of the bush, you pulled him back the way you’d come. Your vision swam with black dots as you blinked, but you just barely made out the shape and color of the bunker door. You guided his hands to the handle. 

“Help me get this open!” 

Both of you pulled, and it swung open with a creak. 

A low rustle began to grow in volume as wind sped towards you. 

“I’m sorry,” you shouted over the rising howl.

“For what?” 

With a hard shove of your shoulder, you pushed him down into the bunker opening. 

The shockwave slammed into you with the force of a speeding truck, sending you flying. Your back cracked against the side of your white picket fence when you landed, and you found yourself unable to move against the tide of air. Debris crashed into your body; most of it dry leaves and dirt, but bits of metal and concrete stung your skin where they hit. It felt like forever, but the shockwave passed in less than a minute. 

Through your bleary eyes, an orange mushroom cloud curled over the neighborhood from its downtown epicenter.

Every warning you’d seen in recent years about nuclear safety came back to you. First comes the impact and light, then the shockwave…

Then the fallout. 

The pain in your body was only challenged by the fear of the radiation that would surely be falling from the sky any minute. Shoving off the ground, you stumbled towards the bunker, every step a marathon. You’d never felt anything better than the cool metal of the door under your hand. 

“You all right?” The cowboy had arrived somewhere in your blinded periphery. His hands guided you by the arm onto the ladder down, a courtesy you hadn’t afforded him. Darkness momentarily clouded your eyes with a heavy thud as he closed the bunker door behind you. Slowly, your eyes adjusted to the bunker, and the small lamp set out on the metal table.

“I’m fine.” Hands out and searching, you felt your way to a sleeping bag you’d left on the thrifted couch that you’d dragged in months ago. You flopped down on it gratefully, still gasping for breath. “I’ve had worse.” “Well, I’m hard pressed to believe that,” the cowboy countered, sinking onto your couch’s spiritual twin opposite you. “Need some help?”

“No.” You began feeling around under the edge of the couch, trying to ignore the considering gaze you felt burning your skin.

“Stubborn one, ain’t ya?”

“I should be asking you if you’re okay,” you retorted. “Seeing as I threw you into a hole.” 

“Short answer? No. But I’m fine.” His tone held a bitterness that warned you not to inquire further, shifting uncomfortably. “Horse bucked me and ran. I’ll miss her.”

Your searching hands finally found the metal case of the first aid kit. The labeled bottles were barely legible through your spotted vision, but you made out that the third one that you held in your hand was Rad-X. Popping one, you held out the bottle, and felt him accept it. 

Lost for words, you kept rummaging through the first aid kit. Was it enough to tell someone that you were sorry for their loss when their loss had been blasted out of existence? Probably not. The mournful silence that hung between you said enough.

“Here, let me.” The cowboy took the kit from you, some kind of gentleness in his voice. “What do you need?”

“Med-X.” Now that the adrenaline was starting to wear off, the soreness of the shockwave’s impact was starting to hurt. 

His hand returned with the syringe, and you wasted no time in injecting it. 

“Thank you.” Your vision was beginning to clear. “Why the Vault-Tec colored cowboy getup?”

“Don’t ask,” he grumbled.

“Kind of ironic, no?”

“No kiddin’.” He tilted his head, regarding you. “Name’s Cooper, by the way. And I may not be an expert, but I think you’re bleedin’.” 

“(Y/n).” Following his gaze, you confirmed his suspicions. Blood oozed from your side, seeping down your hip and across the plastic material of the sleeping bag. Untucking your shirt and pulling it up, you discovered that the culprit was a chunk of glass that had buried itself neatly in your skin. 

“Well, that’s not good.” 

For the first time since you’d met, Cooper laughed. “No, no it’s not. I don’t think you’ll be gettin’ to a hospital any time soon, either.” 

You knew he was right. Even if you could wait out the first two weeks of fallout, the likelihood that any hospitals would be standing, much less staffed, was slim. This had been the big one, there was no denying that. Accepting this, you gripped the glass. 

“You sure you wanna do that?”

“I don’t have much choice.” 

Biting the insides of your cheeks, you pulled. Your grip slipped on the blood, and the glass stayed lodged in your side. Cursing, you gathered a handful of your shirt hem and tried again. This time, it popped free with a noise that could only be described as broken fleshy suction. Just as the noise suggested, uncorked blood gushed forth.

“Here.” Cooper held out a different syringe. 

“No.” You waved the stimpak away. “That was expensive. There’s only one.” 

“So? You need it.” 

“Something worse might happen later.” 

Cooper looked between your wound and your face. “You serious?” 

“Yes. I might lose a hand or a foot now.” 

“I don’t think a stimpak will fix all that.” 

“It’ll be better than not having one.” 

Shaking his head, he put the stimpak back in the case. “Fine. But let me clean you up.” 

“I’m not your responsibility.”

“Do you know how to clean up and fix up wounds, then?” 

You looked at the concrete floor. “...No.” 

“That’s what I thought.”

“At least walk me through doing it myself. I’ll need to know this stuff.” 

Adjusting his hat, Cooper stared at you. “You’re a real stubborn one. Alright.” 

“That was fast.” You’d expected him to argue more. 

“You’re gonna bleed out otherwise. I’m not above making compromises to prevent a death.” 

You flashed him a glare, but he’d already busied himself with sifting through the saddle bags he’d taken off his shoulders. Out of the leather pocket came a few shot bottles of liquor. You couldn’t help but recoil at the sight.

“Oh, hush. You’ve got Med-X in you, you’ll be fine.” Cracking the lid of one, he leaned forward, and poured the contents of the bottle directly in your wound. Despite the branded morphine coursing through your system, you yelped at the sting. 

“Deep breaths.” Another bottle splashed its way over your exposed flesh.

“Hurts like a bitch,” you ground out through gritted teeth. 

“It’s gonna. But you’ll survive.” Cracking open one of the cans of purified water that you’d kept on the shelving against the wall, he rinsed the liquor from your gash. “Now, do you still wanna do those sutures, or are you gonna buck up and let someone help you?”

With some effort, you leaned forward to take them from his hand, all but snatching them. “Still need to learn for later.”

“It’s a free country,” he ceded, showing you his palms in mock surrender. “Just clean your hands first.” 

Using the rest of the water in the can, you washed off the layer of dirt from your hands. Cooper watched you carefully. The blood had slowed to a sluggish drip, but your head swam slightly with the effects of what you’d already lost. “If you need help, let me know.” He gestured towards the package. “Go ahead and open that up, and get out a needle. Should all be roughly the same. Get one of the smallest eyes.” 

Following his lead, you picked the needle he suggested. 

“Now the suture.” 

Step by step, he walked you through the process with as much sterility as you could manage in your current environment and situation. Threading the needle, looping it in your skin–how to throw the knots. You nearly quailed when you first put the needle through the flesh of your wound, but you soldiered on. Who knew if he’d stick around–and if he did, you were certain it would be a bloodbath between survivors for a while that could take him. Grimacing through the process, you managed to close up your own wound. 

“So,” he said, handing you the supplies to bandage your sutured wound, “you sure you’ve had worse?”

“Oh yeah.” 

“Care to elaborate?” “Not really.” 

You considered telling him about your past a few times during the rest of the evening, but you didn’t, even as you shared a meal of Instamash and Pork n' Beans. The conversation was good, if a bit superficial, neither of you wanting to delve into your past, and you weren’t about to ruin it by going into detail about the accidents or the abuse you’d suffered in the past that made shrapnel small potatoes. Instead, you enjoyed his company until the Med-X and the toll of the day made your eyelids too heavy to keep open, and only then did you allow him to help you crawl into your bloodstained sleeping bag. Through your sleepy haze, you guided him to the blankets in the cupboard, offering assurances that he could borrow them to sleep on the other couch.

When you woke, the nixie lamp clock across the room told you that it was midday, and Cooper was nowhere to be found in your little bunker. Between the pain in your side, and the post-nuclear winds that whipped past outside and rattled the bunker door, you knew there was no chance of finding him, either. Not until the fallout cleared, or until you’d healed. Silently, you promised yourself that if you ever saw him  aliveagain, you’d return the favor of caring for a stubborn patient. 

I MADE A WHUMP EVENT: get ready for July folks

welcome to the Whumperless Whump Event of July! for your sickfic, situational, and completely apersonal whump needs--comfort included, of course. follow @whumperless-whump-event for more information and details!

Image transcripts, tagging rules, and guidelines under the cut!

RULES

Any and all art types allowed (GIFs, drawings, music, writing, etc.)

No AI generated content allowed

OCs and Fandom works alike are welcome :)

Trigger and content tags required, even if the prompt explicitly requires the content (eg. Vomiting still needs the emetophobia tag)

NSFT and NSFW are allowed, if tagged appropriately. This blog will not reblog them, as minors do follow it. However, you're still free to write as you please :)

If enough interest is shown, I will make an Ao3 collection (edit: ao3 collection is made and can be found here)

Side note: please let me know if there's anything I can do to make this post or event more accessible. Should I put the image transcripts on the ID too? Is the formatting causing issues? What can I do?

This is not a contest, just an event. The only awards will be announcements for people who completed the whole darn thing. My entries will not receive any announcements or awards, because I'm hosting

TAGGING

Tag with, per example: #whumperless whump event day 1; #whumperless whump event; and (optional) #whumperless whump event day 1: alcohol as a sanitizer

Tag @whumperless-whump-event please! If not, I may not see it or be able to reblog it!

If desired, tag the medium you used

Trigger tag and content warn (including nsfw/nsft)

If posting early, tag with #wwe early entry. If posting late, tag with #wwe late entry. If posting just for fun, no need to tag these!

IMPORTANT:

There are NO OTHER RULES. Do one prompt! Do seven! Do 'em all! Repeat the same prompt six days in a row! Switch them around and do them all out of order! Post them eight months after the event is over! Finish the prompt list early! Write one long-ass story that deals with every prompt or do a one-sentence drabble for each one! Recommend your favorite scenes regarding the prompt! Write, draw, sing, play music, make playlists, do fic recs or show recs or episode recs or book recs, fucking crochet or something! FOLLOW THE VIBE. DO WHAT'S FUN.

Prompts (text):

Emergency First Aid: Self-done stitches / Alcohol as sanitizer / “It's just a scratch, I've had worse.”

Does your insurance cover this?: Car accident / Bystander caretaker / “Eyes open, ambulance is almost here.”

Like a record, baby: Vertigo / Struggling to stand / “Is the room spinning, or is it just me?”

It's every day bro: Chronic pain / Massage / “I'm used to it.”

Stealing my breath (give it back): Wheezing / Light-headed / “I'll count, you just breathe.”

Summer is a curse: Heat Stroke / Panting / “Why don't we… find some shade, quick?”

Accidental Cryotherapy: Falling through a frozen lake / Hypothermia / “Hey, c'mon, you gotta stay awake.”

Put your head on my shoulder: Migraine / Light & Sound Sensitivity / “I can close the curtains…”

White and red handkerchief: Coughing up blood / Can't speak / “You just can't shake that cough, can you?”

Your work is never finished: Forced to work while ill / Workplace emergency / “...sit down, I'm calling HR.”

A minor annoyance: Stuffy nose / Hate to be sick / “I'm fine, I can work.”

It's going down (I'm yelling timber): Building collapse / Trapped under rubble / “I can't move my legs.”

It's just a pebble: Avalanche / Stuck in the mountains / “Well, this wasn't how I thought the hiking trip would go.”

Lay down your sword: Fighting back a cold / Cuddling / “Just let yourself be sick so you can get better.”

I'm going down (you're yelling timber): Passing out / Exhaustion / “I've got you, let's sit down, I've got you.”

Say goodbye to filters: Half-conscious / Delirious / “You would never say that in your right mind…”

In hot water: Dangerously high fever / Cool baths / “We have to get that number down somehow.”

I don't see it: Hallucinations / Fever dreams / “It's just a nightmare. You're safe.”

The whump morning after: Tending to injuries / Domestic hurt comfort / “Let's check the bandages, okay?”

It's not fun if you're panicking: Stuck in an elevator / Claustrophobia / “Get me out.”

Where's the exit: Lost / Stuck in the wilderness / “Surely someone will notice we're gone.”

Better out than in: Nervous Stomach / Vomiting / “I got your hair, it's fine.”

Well, that doesn't taste right: Accidentally poisoned / Allergic reaction / “My tongue feels like bees, is that normal?”

Be one with the fish: Drowning / Rescue Breaths / “Why did you think that was a good idea?!”

We didn't start the fire: Severe burns / Running into flames / “I know it hurts. Breathe.”

That's no barn spider: Venomous bite / Arachnophobia / “You'll be okay, we can help.”

What's your name again?: Concussion / Temporary Amnesia / “I don't remember what happened to me.”

Nothing behind the eyes: Fully unconscious / Force feeding / “It's just me, go back to sleep.”

Wrong place, wrong time: Robbery / One of many hostages / “Stay behind me, I can take a hit.”

I don't mean to get emotional: Fear / Breaking point / “I can't stop crying, I'm sorry--”

Only way out is through: Tunnel collapse / Accidental Journey / “We can't just sit here and wait.”

ALTERNATES:

Seizure

Choking

Withdrawal

Mugged

Wild animal attack

Hangover

Strain/sprain

Broken bone

Bloody nose

Panic attack

[viva-la-whump]

Whumptober/Whumperless Whump Event (WWE) - #1

I know it's the last day of the month...BUT I FINALLY GOT ALL OF MY FICS WRITTEN!!!

And not JUST for Whumptober! I also decided to combine the prompts from the Whumperless Whump Event, too (which I realize was back in July but there's no rules for when they're do, so mwahahahaha!!!)!

I did a lot of combining so there will only be 18 individual fics (I will be combining multi-chapter fics into a single post to make things easier on myself, so be prepared for some LONG posts!), and I will be tagging them with the Whumptober tags first (when applicable), followed by the WWE tags (when applicable).

Fic below the cut!

P.S. There were too many tags so I had to reblog this with the remaining tags HERE

Chapter 1 

The only warning they had was the horses whinnying as they pulled at where they were tethered to a nearby tree.

Hunter and Echo jumped up from where they’d been eating their dinner around the campfire. Fast as lightning, their guns were out in their hands and they gazed into the dark forest, blinking as they tried to adjust their eyes to the dim lighting.

With a cry, Echo was knocked to the ground as something heavy slammed into him. Something heavy with fangs and claws. He was just fast enough to bring his prosthetic arm up before the wolf’s jaw clamped around his neck. The wolf pulled at the fake arm and easily broke the straps as it ripped the contraption from Echo’s shoulder.

Just as it swung its head around to discard it and go back for the kill again, a shot rang out and the wolf whined in pain as a bullet struck its flank. Without a moment’s hesitation, the wolf abandoned Echo and lunged at Hunter with blinding speed. So fast, in fact, that Hunter wasn’t able to get another shot off before the wolf’s claws raked down his thigh.

Hunter screamed in pain as he collapsed to the ground. Luckily for him, the wolf’s injury hampered it enough that it stumbled as it landed and took long enough to recover for Echo to grab the gun he’d dropped, shooting it in the head, killing it instantly.

There was silence in the clearing for a moment as the sound of the gunshot faded and Echo caught his breath. But the silence didn’t last long.

Hunter groaned in pain, his breathing coming fast and hard through clenched teeth as he tried to stop the bleeding with his hands. But it was a losing battle. Blood dribbled freely between his fingers and soaked his pant leg. Thinking fast, Echo grabbed a blanket from his bedroll and rushed over to Hunter, pressing the blanket against the three long gashes on the side of his leg. Hunter bit back a curse but grabbed the blanket to keep it in place as Echo rushed to get the medical kit from his saddle bag.

We need to close those wounds as fast as possible or else you’ll bleed to death,” Echo said as he grabbed the kit and found the needle and thread.

Hunter hissed out a breath as he shifted to a sitting position. Echo helped him sit back against the three he’d landed by.

“They’re not too deep,” he argued. “Just a few scratches. I’ve had worse. Just bandage me up and I’ll be fine.”

Echo gave him an unamused look. “Is that why you’ve turned half my blanket red already?”

Hunter didn’t respond. He simply rested his hand back against the tree and tried to catch his breath.

“There’s just one problem,” Echo said. “I can’t sew you up with just one hand.” Hunter sighed, not liking where this was headed. “I can help,” Echo continued, “but you’re going to have to stitch yourself up.”

“I knew you were going to say that,” Hunter groaned, squeezing his eyes shut and taking a deep breath. “Alright, let’s get this over with. Get me my flask of whiskey.”

“To sanitize the wound?”

“And to help dull the pain. I’m going to need all the help I can get.”

---

It took them nearly an hour for Hunter to stitch up his wounds. A very long and painful hour that left him so drained he slept until noon the next day. Having decided to postpone the bounty hunting mission they were on until Hunter had healed up enough, both he and Echo agreed that their next course of action was to go to the nearest town and get Hunter’s leg properly treated.

It had been tricky to get Hunter on his horse without agitating his freshly-closed wounds, but eventually they’d managed it, though not without lots of wincing and cursing. The nearest town was fifteen miles away and if they were lucky, they’d be able to reach it before sunset.

Chapter 2

It was a hard and slow slog, but finally the town was in view.

“How are you holding up?” Echo asked.

Hunter sat on his horse beside him, hunched slightly over his saddle and hand gripping his thigh above his bandages.

“I’ll live,” he grunted. “Let’s just- WHOA!”

Without warning, Hunter’s horse lunged forward and raced down the road at breakneck speed.

In the couple of seconds it took for Echo’s mind to catch up with what was happening, he heard the distinct buzz of a rattlesnake. Kicking his spurs into the sides of his horse, he set off after Hunter, who was having a hard time reigning in his horse. It took a couple of minutes, but Echo was finally able to get up alongside Hunter and grab the reins of his horse to slow it down.

“You alright?” Echo asked.

But all Hunter could do was gasp in pain as his balance wavered on his horse and he went crashing to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

“Hunter!” Echo jumped off his horse and knelt next to the injured man. “Hunter? Hunter!” But he was barely conscious. Echo looked down at his leg and blanched. “Oh that’s not good.”

The bandage that had once been clean was now almost entirely red. His stitches must have opened up during his wild ride and he was in no condition to stitch himself back up. With the town so close now, his best chance was to bandage Hunter as well as he could and get him to the doc as fast as possible.

After wrapping two blankets around Hunter’s leg and sitting him in front of himself on his own horse, Echo raced to town, figuring that right now, speed was more important than abundant care

---

Hunter felt like he was floating beneath the surface of a lake, a stone tied to his leg threatening to drag him down to the bottom. There was a distant light above him that he wanted to get to, but he still felt so weak. But that stone was getting heavier and so he fought harder to reach the surface. A voice called down to him faintly and Hunter grabbed onto that like a lifeline to pull him up, up, up…

---

“Hunter, can you hear me?”

Slowly, Hunter cracked open his eyes to a dimly lit room and Echo’s worried face hovering above him. He tried to speak but only ended up coughing. Echo brought a cup of water to his lips and he slowly drank.

“What…what happened?” Hunter asked, voice raspy.

“A rattler spooked your horse and it bolted. You ended up opening your stitches. I patched you up and got you to the doc in town as fast as I could.”

Hunter looked at the dark window. “How long?”

“A little over a day. You were in pretty rough shape.”

“Will I live?

Echo smirked. “Yeah, you’ll live. The doc stitched you up real good. He’s asleep now, and you should be, too. Just rest, Hunter. I’ll keep an eye on you through the night.”

Comforted by that thought, Hunter’s eyes drifted closed.

[whump-side]

Whumperless Whump Event Day 1 - Emergency First Aid: Alcohol as sanitizer

@whumperless-whump-event

[dykeiism]

the current wave of comphet discourse is really getting me down because it seems like a total misunderstanding of why lesbians might consent to having sex with men. if i may be so bold as to post about my own experiences and risk being called a bisexual...

my attraction to women feels good. i have fantasies about touching and being touched by specific individual women. i like to imagine myself with one woman in particular and i feel comforted and pleasured by the idea of her hands on my body and of mine on hers. when we actually do have sex, it comes naturally to me. my arousal is exciting to me, and i feel satisfied and respected and safe after the encounter. i feel proud of what i did and i regard it as a good experience.

i seek out sex with men despite calling myself a lesbian. i don't believe that the sex i have with men tarnishes my integrity as a lesbian, and here's why: i'm a sex addict and i use sex as a method of self harm. when i have sex with men, they are random anonymous men. they could be anyone at all, and i'm not attracted to them in the slightest. my thought process is usually either "i'm worthless as a person unless i'm having sex. i need someone to use me the way i was born to be used, or else my life has no meaning and i should die" or "i need someone to hold me. i don't care who, and i don't care what i need to do to make it happen. i just need to be held." i panic and i dissociate and i try to stop myself from soliciting sex from men, but i feel like i'm watching myself from the outside. i feel terrified, ashamed, empty, and alone, and i regard it as a traumatic event. i'll never feel satisfied by the experience, so i seek it out again and again, trying to either hurt myself or to gain some kind of control over the situation. this isn't attraction; it's a horrifying combination of impulsivity, hypersexuality, mania, self-harming and suicidal urges, and severe dissociation. these are not things i should ever be acting on, if i can help it.

consenting to sex with men, even if i'm the one actively seeking out that sex, doesn't make me a bisexual. being told that what i feel towards men is 'attraction' is a complete misunderstanding of my experience and of attraction itself -- and it's a dangerous idea to spread. attraction shouldn't make you dissociate and panic. it shouldn't make you feel unsafe. feeling this way about men doesn't mean you're attracted to them; it probably just means that you have some psychological issues that you gotta work through.

[unusualshrimp]

every day im grateful that all the easily available addictive substances taste and smell like shit

[ghostr0tz]

vox is the one character i can draw without a reference so i keep drawing him on EVERYTHING. this is your fault sawyer 😡 /j /lh

(also i took this photo almost 7 hours ago and it still hasn't washed off 😭😭)

HJFJHASFJHFD

You're welcome its good to have somebody else in this boat of drawing him everywhere. Also the Vox you drew is very good, i love his side eye

[wallofshrek]

woah first art post on this blog in like 6 fucking years... and it's a woomy in distress

(they may not look distressed because they're fucking mindjacked, but trust me. this woomy? distressed as fuck.)

rant about the method under the cut

this was mostly just an experimental piece for me and i'm not sure if the experiment was a success??? but i'm vibing with it. minimal after-editing done on this, just kinda fucked with contrast and brightness a little bit to try and make the colors pop more.

done on paper, lined with my fucking. probably 10 year old or something microns. colored with ohuhu alcohol markers as well as some colored pencil and quite a bit of gel (and glitter gel) pen. unfortunately the glitter in the goop doesn't show very well through the camera, but there is a good bit of glitter there, i wanted to make it pop.

all in all this took like. 4-6 hours? over the course of two evenings. probably my longest (and i think proudest!) piece in a while.

[anadorablekiwi]

So many mosquito bites on top and sides of my feet/ankle 😭😭

[itsjustdg]

So I'm giving this my best shot because this @whumperless-whump-event is right up my alley. Day 1 is posted, and I actually really like how it came out!

Alcohol might not be the optimal choice to clean out a wound, but it's all they've got— and if Nolan doesn't act soon, Bradford isn't going to make it long enough to be rescued.

Day 1: "Emergency First Aid" Prompts: Alcohol as a sanitizer / "It's just a scratch; I've had worse." Fandom: The Rookie Characters: Tim Bradford, John Nolan

[jennycalendar]

there is no euphoria more extreme than figuring out a genuinely useful #lifehack at work yourself with basic logic

[valentinesparda]

9:45 am and pouring rain and I have to be at WORK for 8 hours. DEATH AND DYING

[mysterious-corpse]

dropped my fucking airpod in the toilet ew ew ew ew ew

[alisaint]

being drunk is so fcuking miserable. idk how anyone lives like this i'm fighting for my life trying to be normal right now

[random0lover]

Idk who told y’all vodka tastes good but they lied

[cosmicallysick]

Oh my goooooooooooooooood fuck offfffffffff does it think I’m googling this cuz I care about my health??? Jesus Christ

[bolshevik-rpf]

dear lord i am not going to survive this martini