#cw mention of needles

[ayyy-imma-ninja]

Hello, are you the person who made the dca!sk au? If so, I hope you don't mind if I do a ask and say: Sun kinda reminds me of "The Dismemberment Song" a little bit, ngl. Especially in the "Rib Tickler" comic where he told the person that they were squirmy. Sorta reminded me of the song, lol. Also, speaking of the "Rib Tickler" comic, did Sun count shaking as not holding still? I noticed that while he was counting, the person had noticeable shake marks around them (I would be shaking a lot too if I were them!) And I guessed Sun counted that as moving (on second thought, this might be a dumb question) perhaps they were meant to loose? Because he knew they wouldn't be able to stop shaking due to the fear and pain? But then again, he said, "I swear you're doing this on purpose" did he mean the person was moving to agitate him? Also, do they have rules against Rulebreakers about swearing in the basement during their "sessions," or, can they say what they want? (I know Sun and Moon can swear while there). Do Sun and Moon have any rules for the Rulebreakers to follow in the basement, and if they don't follow said rules will that further add to their punishment? Has Sun or Moon ever talked to a Rulebreaker on the "outside" before their "basement session?" If so, what'd they say? What's Sun's other favorite "games" to play with Rulebreakers? Do kids of some of the parents they kill ever say to Sun (or Moon) that they miss thier parent because what they thought they were doing to them was how they "loved" them? Have they ever had kids whose parent was a Rulebreaker, and the kid looks just like them it's almost creepy? (Espically if the Rulebreaker parent is already dead). Have you ever had two Rulebreaker parents, and did a double sesssion, where Moon had one, Sun had the other? Or would they "share" them? What if a Rulebreaker keeps passing out because of injuries or something else? Do Sun and Moon do adrenalin needles, a bucket of cold water, a slap to the face, etc, to pull them out of unconsciousness, especially if the "session" wasn't over and one of them didn't get to go? Does Sun usually go first and Moon go second? Have they ever had a Rulebreaker that would need to take something at a certain time otherwise it'll be life threatening, before their session was over, so they gave it to them reluctantly to extend their time with them?

Apologies if you're not the person and I'm bombarding you with stuff you don't know the answers to. But either way, thank you for reading my post! And if you're the right person, thank you so much for taking the time to answer all this, I kind of went on a extended tangent there, and I hope to hear from you soon!

Hello, yes I am! :D

"The Dismemberment Song" certainly does fit Sun in a way. He likes to go into detail about how he intends to carry out his work X3

Just as he and Moon like to play games. And in regards to the comic, Sun knew his game would be unfair. Of course someone can't keep still if their bruised and broken ribcage is being touched, it's practically impossible. Sun knows this, but Rulebreakers don't deserve fairness. Sun and Moon have no respect for Rulebreakers and will openly mock them because they both know it's more than what they deserve.

Every game a Rulebreaker plays is a game they are always meant to lose.

Rulebreakers can swear all they want; but if Sun or Moon decide they've said enough, either of them can easily silence them.

That's about as much as I can answer, it's a little difficult reading the rest of the questions QwQ but thank you for asking and showing interest in this AU!

[ask-a-gotham-mortician]

@crowned-relapse-king

The needle vending machines would definitely cut down on the chances of users sharing syringes and spreading bloodborne pathogens, and the harm reduction kits are such a brilliant and thoughtful contribution to the community. I'm sure you don't hear this nearly often enough, but you're appreciated. There's a lot of corruption in this city, plenty of folks in positions of power or working with the public that just don't give a shit about people. It's obvious that you're one of the few good ones in Gotham.

I've only heard bits and pieces about you through the grapevine, but to my understanding, you're also one of very few psychiatrists at Arkham who takes his job seriously and actually puts in effort to help his patients. This city needs more people like you. I know it seems like I'm laying it on a bit thick, but I really do have a lot of respect for you, just from what others have said about you.

All of this brown-nosing and I haven't formally introduced myself. Forgive the bad manners. My name's Emily Hawthorne, and I've been operating Blackwood Funeral Home in downtown Gotham since the former owner and my former mentor, Victor Blackwood, passed. He was another one of the good ones. Took me under his wing, treated me like family, and did his best to serve his community well, and now I'm doing my best to uphold his legacy.

[the-kr8tor]

Autumn of '88

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 3.8k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), Hobie is mentioned taller than R, Reader and Hobie are 13/14 in this, Puppy love, TTN! Reader and Hobie, set in the TTN universe, best friends to lovers (prequel to TTN), CW food mentions, Fluff.

A/N: This is the last of the 1k celebration fics! Thank you all so much ❤️❤️❤️

Thread the Needle Masterlist

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Head on your palm, heavy eyes slowly closing with every dreary words that your biology teacher says, you fight a yawn from escaping since the last time someone yawned in front of Mrs. Weathers they got kicked out of class. But with the boring subject about symbiotic relationships in the wild, that you most definitely already know since you did the advanced reading, you're tempted to yawn loudly and widely just so you could escape from this biology hell.

The air is crisp, October air breezing through you from the open window to your left. Clad in your cardigan and yellow corduroy pants, the cold still seeps into the thick fabrics. It's a comfortable cold but with you sitting still for more than an hour without stretching your limbs has you freezing in your seat.

You risk getting called out by Mrs. Weathers if she notices you looking out of the window for even a second. But you are so bored out of your mind that you'd rather stare at the oak tree outside than continue to listen to her yapping about symbiosis. Having the brilliant idea to hide your wandering eyes from the teacher with your hand slightly covering your profile, now safe from her piercing gaze, you watch as the orange leaves dance with the breeze.

There's a pile of dead leaves at the bottom of its trunk, and you wish you could jump inside and never have to study biology ever again. It must be so warm and cozy inside, with the orange and yellow leaves as your sky and walls, you'll live like a tiny mouse queen ruling over your land. You think of all the stuff you'll bring inside your little leaf kingdom, your sketchbook is definitely a yes, and also your big pack of colorful markers and pencils is an absolute need. You'll need some snacks of course, some eggos and cheese balls would suffice. As for sleeping, you guess you'll never need to sleep when you have so much time to do anything you want in your leaf kingdom.

Yet, you think you'll be lonely inside. Sure you can bring your gameboy or your care bears, but they can't exactly talk and have the most riveting banter with you. With a smile, you plan to bring your best friend with you to your autumn kingdom. Hobie can be your bard or your right hand man. It's perfect, you think, a perfect place where it's just you and Hobie where there's no more school to attend, no more grades to keep up, just you and him having fun in the pile of leaves.

With a sigh, you blink slowly as your eyes get heavier and heavier with every daydream. Fighting the sandman from having his sandy grip on you, you pinch your cheek subtly. Opening your eyes, a familiar silhouette appears right next to the oak tree. Long arms waving in your direction, legs jumping to get your attention. Blinking rapidly, it's none other than Hobie who has the widest grin on his face when he notices that he finally has your attention.

He motions for you to go outside, beckoning you over dramatically. Miming that he'll cry if you don't go outside. You think otherwise, quietly giggling at his antics.

After the realization, you straighten in your seat, wondering why and how he got outside when he's supposed to be in maths.

A loud thwack slams against your desk, jumping awake, Mrs. Weathers shakes her head, tongue clicking in agitation.

“If you're not prepared to listen in class it's best that you should leave, miss L/N.” She says, gritting her fake teeth.

“Okay,” you stand up to collect your things, shoving your notebook and books inside your already full backpack. Your reply has Mrs. Weathers confused, since you are her best student.

“Wait—” you've never seen her flabbergasted, your classmates snicker silently in their seats, some even clap and cheer you on.

Giving them all a shrug, you exit the classroom before she grabs you back inside. With the door shutting close, you sprint towards the exit. Trainers squeaking on the linoleum, backpack heavy, you push the double doors open with your shoulder. Hobie greets you outside just as the fresh air whips at your cheeks.

He claps slowly but surely, face proud with a smug smile. “I've got to hand it to you, Pingu, I did not expect that. I have successfully made a rebel out of you.”

Hobie stands on the grass like he owns the entire school, hands tucked inside his jeans, thumbs tapping on his metal belts that clinks against each other when he moves. For once, he's dressed for the weather, the old worn leather jacket now fits him better than last year, it was bigger on his shoulders back then. Puberty works in mysterious ways, you think. A denim vest lays on top of the leather, handmade pins of his favourite things are all tacked securely on the denim. Its edges are frayed, but you know it was intentional since you're the one who helped him do it. The thrifted ‘Queen’ shirt you gave him on his birthday is the perfect size, but you know that he'll only be able to wear it for a couple of years at the rate he's growing.

No one would think you two are best friends judging by how different your styles are, or how different you are to him. Personality wise, likes, dislikes, it's all different, sometimes you wonder how you two get along. But you wouldn't have it any other way.

“How'd you get out of maths?”

“Climbed out of the window before Mr. Keery came in.”

You doubt his story. “Yeah, right, your classroom is on the third floor, Hobie.”

He feigns hurt, “my own best mate doubts my abilities?” You roll your eyes, but the heat in your cheeks says otherwise. “‘m great at climbing, I could climb down from that height.” You stay silent, looking at him with a raised brow and unblinking eyes. “...fine, I faked sleepin' by snorin’ loudly, happy?”

You touch his shoulder with a mischievous smile. “Hobie, you don't have to fake snore because you snore like an elephant giving birth.”

“You're very funny,” he takes your wrist to push your hands away. You now notice the new nail polish on his nails. “That doesn't even make bloody sense.”

You ignore him, mouth agape and shocked at his painted nails. “You finally coloured your nails?” You take his hand that has nail polish sloppily painted on. The paint even reaches to the edge of his nails, painting his skin with shadowy black. “You could've asked me for help, y’know.”

“It's part of the style” He shrugs, taking his hand away before you can feel his pulse pick up.

“Sure, even the bubbles are in style.” You tease with a playful smile. “So why'd you call me over here?”

“Got bored, then thought you're also bored so I went to your window so we could skip the rest of the day.” He purposely skips the part that he knows exactly where you always sit.

You gasp. “Wait, I thought we were just skipping class, not skipping the rest of the day!” Hands on your hips, you shake your head. “And here I thought there's like a really cool… stick or something.”

“A stick?” He chortles.

“Yeah, like the one you found a few days ago that actually looked like a sword.”

“Nah, I wanted to—” A high pitched whistle echoes out, startling you both. Finding the source of the sound, the school guard is currently running towards you. The hundreds of keys on his belt jingles, cheeks red from all the whistle blowing.

“Oi!” The yells, pointing accusingly at you two.

With wide eyes, Hobie takes your hand before sprinting away. He practically drags you along with him, bigger strides than you, he looks over his shoulder to check on you. Unsurprisingly enough, he has a huge grin on his lips, as if he planned all of it.

You follow his lead, dead leaves crunching under your shoes, backpack weighing you down. Yet, he doesn't leave you even though you're slowing him down. You appreciate him for not letting your hand go, but you don't like how your heart hammers against your chest when you look at your intertwined hands.

Finally reaching the metal fence, Hobie chucks his backpack over it. It's not that tall for him, he could easily jump over it with no problem, but with you still waiting on your growth spurt, it'll be a challenge for you. He knows it too, without asking he grabs your bag off your shoulders, he then quickly throws it over the other side before crouching down with his hands on top of the other.

“C’mon, Pingu, up you go!” Hobie flicks his eyes over to the guard, he's glad that the guard isn't exactly a track star. The whistling gets louder as the uniformed man gets closer. “Hurry—!”

Before he could finish saying the word, you shakily put your foot on his palm. With one strong push, and a jump from you, Hobie hoists you over the fence. You miraculously make it over, landing on your side with a groan. Hobie follows a second later, climbing like his life depended on it. Immediately grabbing each of your backpacks, then putting both on one arm, he lifts you up from the pavement with one hand just before the guard could even reach the fence; you two race off across the street, huffing and aching from the daring escape.

Going around a corner, Hobie leads you towards an alley. He skids off to a stop, heavy bags falling off his arms.

Hands on your knees, lungs burning, and face sweaty from the run, you check behind the corner if the guard is still after you.

“He won't follow us anymore. We're out!” Hobie exclaims, exhilarated, and grinning widely. He leans on the wall opposite of you, chest heaving, laughter echoing around the empty alleyway.

Copying his stance, cracking a smile, you laugh together with him. “You're a bad influence, Hobie Brown.”

“And you're a great influence, Y/N L/N.” His smile and his shining eyes says it all: we balance each other out. “Too bloody nice, that's what you are.”

You shake your head, chin resting on your clavicle to hide your lopsided smile. Heat on your cheeks, you seem to find yourself having the same expression lately whenever you're around him.

“Where to?” He asks once he caught his breath.

“My choice?” You ask, smile permanently etched on your lips.

“‘course,” Hobie says it like it's the most obvious thing. He was supposed to add to his sentence but he shuts his mouth before he could let the word escape.

You excitedly perk up. “The mall?”

He makes a face. “I'd rather stay in maths.”

“Arcade then?”

“They'd kick us out,” you knit your eyebrows in question. “Because we're skippin’ class, they put up that fuckin' sign a few weeks ago.”

“Oh right, I forgot. How about the record shop? Mike's cool, he might let us stay until classes are over.”

Hobie pushes himself off the wall, strutting over to you, your heart quickens for some reason. He pats shoulder with a smirk. “Your best idea yet,” taking both bags off the grimey floor, he puts them both on each shoulder. It's your turn to smirk at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” you say in a sing-song tone.

He clicks his tongue, avoiding your eyes. “C’mon then, before someone sees us here and thinks we're skippin' class.”

“Hobie, we are skipping class.”

“Not if we act like we're not.”

“...what?” You chuckle, blinking in confusion. “What would you do?”

“Nothin’, let's go.” He walks away from you.

“Oh come on, what will you do? Will you put on your best acting skills like how you faked being sick in front of the nurse? Because she was definitely convinced that you had chicken pox!” You giggle, following him, matching his longer strides.

“It worked, didn't it?” Hobie turns his head away from your playful glance.

“Yeah, because you had an actual fever. But sure, your drawn on chicken pox was very convincing.”

“I'm an artiste, Y/N.” He says, trying to do a french accent.

You snort, “sure, and I'm the queen of England.”

“Alright, your majesty.” He stops, “carry your own luggage,” your bag thuds on the pavement. “I don't want to help some parasite.” Smugly walking away, you feign hurt with your loud gasp.

“You…you doodoo head!” You yank your bag, wearing it properly on your back. Running after Hobie, he has a mischievous smile, one you're all too familiar with.

“Doodoo head? That the best you can come up with?” He says before bolting off, leaving you in the dust.

“Hey!” Running, you follow him with a laugh. “Asshole!”

—

Finally reaching the vinyl shop, the bells jingle as you two enter. The smell of plastic and cheap air freshener lingers in the air, the ancient shaggy carpet is soft under your trainers. Shelves upon shelves of records greet you as you roam your eyes around the different album covers. It's a slow day so the store is empty except for Mike the cashier who has headphones on.

Hobie sniffs dramatically, “home sweet home!”

Mike cracks an eye open, with a groan after seeing you and Hobie standing by the door, he chucks his headphones on the counter, looking disgruntled. The denim jacket with hundreds of patches and bottle cap pins is large on his lanky frame.

“Oh great, Hobie's here.” He says sarcastically, long straight hair flipped over his shoulder with one move from his head. “And he brought his little girlfriend. Hi, Y/N, you still hang out with this arse?” He points at Hobie who doesn't bother correcting him anymore. “Seriously, I thought you were smarter than that.”

“D’you finally have it, mate?” Hobie acts like he's the same age as Mike, even though the teenage cashier could be his older brother. Ignoring Mike's jab, he waits for his reply.

Wanting to quit his job is clearly seen on his face. Then he considers the fact that he needs to save for college. With a sigh, he points towards the end of the store, where you think ‘it’ is there.

Hobie punches the table with a thump, then he excitedly bounds over to where the cashier pointed. “Thanks, bruv.”

“Cyndi Lauper?” You ask, all wide eyed and shy. “It's not at the front anymore.”

“Over to the right, just across where your boyfriend is.”

“He's not my—nevermind, thanks.” Walking past all the display, Hobie guffaws when he finds what he was looking for. You smile at how happy he is.

He's so happy that he grabs you by your elbow, pointing at the new ‘Ramones’ album. The words “Ramones Mania” are printed in bright red.

“Finally! Look!”

“I see it, Hobs.” You chuckle, “didn't this release months ago though?”

“It did,” he sighs like he's recalling a bad memory. “But this place isn't making a lot of money from records like this, so Mike here!” He yells the last part to annoy the man. “Delayed ordering it. I had to come ‘ere every day just to remind him.”

You see Mike pressing the volume up on his walkman. Making sure that Hobie sees that he's not listening to him.

“You didn't tell me that.” You say, sounding a bit too hurt.

“Thought you wouldn't care.” Hobie shrugs, “‘sides, you don't listen to stuff like this.” He points at the album.

“I could listen to it, Hobs. I make you listen to my records and you seem to like it.”

Hobie's eyes soften. “You wanna listen to it together then? You might not like it.”

“Yeah,” you nod. “If I don't end up liking it then at least I gave it a try, right? If I do like it we have something new to talk about.”

He could only manage a smile and a curt nod. Taking the record to the listening booth that sits at the corner of the store, he leaves his bag outside whilst he opens the door for you. Placing your bag down more gently than he did, you enter the cramped booth.

Mike yells after you two, “you lot better not snog in there!” You and Hobie scrunch your faces at the man.

“We're fourteen, mate!” Hobie yells back, not agitated, just weirded out by Mike's comment.

“You're fourteen? How would I know? You look fuckin' sixteen, bruv! Tall motherfucker.” He whispers the last part, Hobie didn't hear it but you surely did.

“I thought he was cool.” You admit, shutting the booth door behind you.

“He's a wanker, just actin’ like he is. Thought you fancy him?”

“Ew.” He beams at your reaction.

You giggle, the sound bouncing off the padded walls of the booth. It's just a regular rectangular box with a shelf for the record player and a bench to sit on. It's quieter inside, the cars outside are muffled, the only clear thing you can hear is how your heartbeat gets faster and faster the longer you stay squished inside the booth with him. Sitting down, you leave enough space for him. Hands on top of the other, you roam your eyes around the cracking paint on the walls, mind making shapes from how the navy blue paint crumbles.

Hobie carefully takes the record out then places it on the record player. Sitting next to you, you can practically feel his excitement reverberating. He takes the headphones from its rack, turning each around so you and him could listen at the same time.

“Ready to shit your trousers?” He asks, eyes glinting from the single light bulb. He's so close to you that you can see yourself in the reflection in his eyes. And you can see every single strand of eyelashes that's perfectly blending in with his eyeliner.

“I don't want to poop on my trousers, I like this pair.” You joke, and you pat yourself on the back for making him laugh. “This is corduroy, Hobie.”

“Alright quiet time now.” He presses play as you hide your amused smile.

—

You bask in the sunset, eyes closed, you let the autumn air kiss your cheeks, your hands are behind you, propping you up. Despite the dusty pavement, and the looming problem of getting found out that you skipped school, you're perfectly content where you are right now. It would be perfect but you're missing something, or someone for that matter.

Cold air suddenly blows right behind you, the convenience doors close with a hiss and that's your cue to look up. Hobie appears upside down in your vision just like you thought, he tilts his head, you can see the cogs in his head turn. Placing the cup on your forehead, he laughs at your crossed eyes. Condensation rolls off from the plastic cup and into your skin.

Hobie takes it away before you could catch a cold. Sitting next to you, he hands you your bright slurpee. There's a mix of colours, red and blue melting into the orange and purple.

“They didn't have the brown one.” He says as he rips open a pack of Doritos. “There's no puddin’ pops either.”

“Aw,” you say slightly disappointed, but the sight of the box of nerds inside the plastic bag helps remedy your disappointment. “Ooh nerds!”

“Where?” As he says it, you see a grin slowly spreading on his face. “I only see one right here!” Chortling, grin wide, the orange hues of the sky paints him with its watercolour glow. You'd take this sight more than a day alone at the arcade.

“Ha ha.” You say flatly, sipping your drink too quickly, you wince loudly. Hobie guffaws into the barren space, save for the 711 behind you and the woods sitting quietly in front of you. His laugh echoes, even with his amusement, he still has the time to pat your back affectionately.

“Ow.” You rub your temple.

“What’d I tell you before? Drink it slowly, love.” The title slips out of his tongue. The second he realizes it, he hides behind his own cup, sipping wordlessly as he stares off into the woods.

Love, the simple freudian slip has you blinking at him slowly. He has never called you that before, he has, however, called you a bunch of nicknames that are either sweet or to purposely annoy you. But love? You've only heard older teenagers call each other that, and they usually have their hand inside their girlfriend’s or boyfriend’s back pockets when they do. You have no idea if Hobie has mistaken, because you're clearly not love, you're pingu, you're cheese, you're pebbles, hell, you're even lad, or his best mate. Never love, because that's reserved for someone you actually like, someone you truly care for.

Is he mistaken? Mimicking something he has heard around school?

“I should've told you about the album.” His voice wakes you to the present.

Do you care for him? Of course you do.

“What?” You breathlessly ask.

He's your best mate after Danny left, he was the only one who filled that lonely lonely gap he left. You think he's stuck with you forever, and he thinks you're stuck with him forever. Strangely enough, you both think it's perfect.

“Me pestering the shit out of Mike.” You knit your eyebrows at his words. He looks down at his boots, a small puddle at his feet reflects his own confused face. Is he apologizing? Why is he apologizing for? Weirdly enough, you both ask the same question.

You'd annoy Mike for him. You'd call the shop endlessly just so they would order his record. Even if you get in trouble for the telephone bill.

“You would've helped.” Hobie continues, eyes now looking into your own.

Care, it's a simple word, but you think it's not enough to describe how you feel about him, how you really feel about your best friend. It's much more than that.

“Yeah, I would've annoyed him too.” You softly smile at him.

“I know, love.” Because he knows you, and you know him too. Hobie utters the title more confidently, the word rolling off his tongue like butter. He makes it sound like he has been calling you that in his head for a long time. Maybe he has. “I know you would.”

He had the answer the whole time, it's not just you caring for him. It's love, it's love in its earliest state, it's love at its most innocent.

You love him, that revelation scares you, but it's better not knowing how you truly feel whenever he smiles at you and your heart skips a beat. Now you know, you'll tell him one day, one day when that feeling gnaws at your chest. But for now, you'll settle with drinking slurpees with him, you'll settle for skipping class so you could listen to records with him. For now you'll settle with loving him as his best mate, and for now, you're content just by being at his side.

[can-of-woerms]

i don't think this is normal behavior.,,, (close ups under the cut)

[pebbles-stims]

CW: Pills / Syringes

[moonstruckpupwrites]

piercing pandemonium | one-shot

swapfell papyrus x reader

content warnings: suggestive situation, piercing biting, needles mentioned, cursing

author's note: THIS IS SO FUKCING STUPID AND SELF INDULGENT and also admittedly not my best work. i banged this out in a few days because i needed to practice getting back into writing and wanted to make something short with rusty <3

“c'monnn,” Rusty poked at your cheek with a phalange, trying to get you to look up from your phone to acknowledge him. You just batted his hand away lightly.

“Noooo,” you replied, giggling, then, more sternly, “no, Rus, I already told you, even I'm not really supposed to touch them.” Rusty dramatically groaned in response and rolled off his messy bed onto his equally messy floor.

When sweet silence filled the room once more, you finally looked up from the screen in your hand with a sort of dry amusement.

“You done?” 

“sighhhh…i guess…” Papyrus relented, drawing circles into the fluffy carpet with his long finger bones mournfully. If a skeleton could stick out their bottom lip and pout, you were certain he'd be doing just that.

After a moment of peace, though, he was back at it again, placing a hand on your knee to try and keep your attention on him and off your screen for just a moment longer.

 “what if i just touch them a little bit?”

You exhaled hard through your nose, trying to cover up your laugh at your friend's antics.

The topic of discussion: your new lip piercings and how badly Rusty wanted to prod at them. Why he wanted to do so so badly, you couldn't begin to pretend to understand.

Probably just because he's been told he shouldn't.

“Why do you even want to touch them anyways?” you finally decided to ask, voice slightly exasperated, “my lips are still bruised up AND they're crusty. It's kind of nasty, man.”

Rusty shrugged in return, an impish grin spreading across his face.

…Who were you kidding, it was definitely because he'd been told he shouldn't.

Now, it wasn't that you were exactly against letting Rusty touch your piercings, you just knew in the logical parts of your brain that it probably wasn't a smart, advisable idea. Your piercer had drilled into your head that you were supposed to keep them clean, and part of that was probably not allowing any curious skeletons to touch them.

But the other part of your brain, the part that realllyyyy liked the thought of the monster in front of you fawning over your new jewelry, had other plans.

“...Okay.”

Rusty sat up straight and looked up at you from his place on the floor with a growing grin on his skull. He looked like he had just been told that he had won the lottery.

“...really?”

“Really.”

“...you sure??”

“I'm sure.”

Rusty let out an excited little whoop before tossing his gangly arms around your waist and burying his head in your stomach. 

“thank youuuuuuuuuuu!”

You patted the top of his skull gently, rolling your eyes good naturedly at his dramatics.

“Yeah, yeah. You're welcome, you weirdo.”

Rusty waggled his bonebrow at you as he maneuvered himself to re-take his place next to you on his bed.

“you love it!”

“I love you,” you corrected, making to flick the side of the skeleton’s head, only for his hand to reach up and catch yours before it could reach its destination.

“i love you too,” Rusty sing songed back, clutching your hand to his chest and pretending to swoon, “now sit still and let me finger you!”

You barked out a laugh, caught off guard by Papyrus' choice of words.

“Okay, okay!” you snorted, trying to recover from your initial surprise, turning more to fully face Rusty and crossing your legs on the bed in front of you. “Poke away! But please, be gentle!”

“i will, i will,” the skeleton assured while chuckling, reaching his hands up to cup your face. “...or will i?” You shot him a look that must have screamed “you fucking better” because the tenderness with which he cradled your jaw left you pleasantly surprised.

You could feel your cheeks heating up as the soft fabric of your buddy’s gloves and hard bone of his phalanges held you with an unexpected gentleness. A silence fell over the room as his eye lights flickered from one piercing to the other, taking in the sight of the silver metal against your skin.

“...Are you going to do it or are you just going to sit there and stare all day?” you asked after what felt like an eternity.

He squeezed your face a little, forcing your lips to pucker and effectively silencing you.

“‘m just admirin’,” he hummed, his tone uncharacteristically soft. Your lips twitched into a shy smile at that, unsure of how to respond.

After another minute or so of “admirin'”, he took his thumb and gently, gently ran it over one of the piercings decorating your bottom lip. When you looked up into his eye lights, you could see that they'd grown fuzzy around the edges. Funny. You'd never seen them do that before.

“cool,” he said absentmindedly, not really directing it at you. Your breath hitched in discomfort when he pressed down on the piercing a little, testing the give of it on your skin.

“Ow, Rus, remember? Fresh piercing?” The skeleton in front of you at least had the good sense to look mildly embarrassed, zygomatic bones coloring a rusty (haha) reddish-orange as his eyelight snapped back into focus.

“nyeh heh…right…m’sorry, dude.” He continued to run his thumb over the jewelry (though more carefully this time) before moving on to the center of your slightly cracked and swollen lips. He clicked his tongue sympathetically.

“does it hurt a lot?”

You would have shaken your head if it hadn't been cupped in his two hands but you settled for a little “eh” instead.

“It hurt a lot when the needles were going through and when they were putting the jewelry in but now it's mostly just sore.”

Rusty nodded at that, a far off look on his face. You knew that look. He was thinking about something.

Hard.

That could be dangerous.

“What.”

He snapped to attention and looked at you quizzically, still holding your face like one might cradle a baby bird that has fallen from its nest.

“what what?”

“What were you thinking about, bonehead? I could practically smell the smoke.”

He snorted at the ribbing (HA. Ribs.) and faced you with a lopsided smirk on his face.

Uh oh.

“can i kiss you?”

You looked up at him, more than a little shocked, not quite believing the words that had come out of his mouth.

“Run that one by me again?”

“to see how they feel,” he continued, as if it would explain the out of the blue question. You darted your eyes around the room in bewilderment, as if searching for someone to jump out from the closet and shout at you that you'd just been crazy epically pranked or some shit.

Papyrus. Wanted to kiss you??

“...Why would you want to do that?” You managed to reply, voice coming out more taken aback than you meant for it to.

Almost immediately, Rusty let go of your face, like the heat rising to your cheeks had literally burned him. 

He let out a nervous laugh and scratched at the back of his neck. The lopsided smirk dropped from his skull, replaced by a shy, barely there smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, like he realized maybe his request was pushing it too far.

“i dunno. sorry. just curious.”

You frowned at his response. It felt odd hearing your normally talkative friend fall back into his old, shortened speech patterns from when you'd first met.

“Nah, man, don't be sorry, I just,” you struggled to find the words in your flustered state, “I guess I just wasn't expecting it is all.” Rusty leaned back on his hands, putting some distance between the two of you, almost as if he was scared of making you uncomfortable with his close proximity.

“we don't, like, have to,” he shrugged, trying to play his question off.

This fuckin guy.

“I know,” you replied, biting the inside of your cheek in thought, “But we could?”

Papyrus raised a bone brow at you, sharply inhaling (could skeletons inhale?) through his nose in surprise.

“...yeah?” he asked, tilting his head at you hopefully.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think I'd be, uh, cool with that.”

“...ya just seem real nice and soft and warm and-” you put a hand up to cut his rambling off before you could start to get second hand embarrassed from him saying too much.

“Relax, dude, I already said you could. You don't have to convince me.”

“and you're really sure. like you're actually -”

“I'm actually sure that I want you to kiss me, Papyrus.”

He rocked back and forth a bit to work out his nerves, that dopey grin you are more accustomed to slowly returning to his skull. The corners of his eye sockets crinkled up in a way that only a skeleton monster's magical bones could.

“...okay, so like, do i just do it?”

Oh my God.

“Oh my God.”

“right, right, well, uh, okay! pucker up, buttercup!” He cringed at his own phrasing as soon as the words left his mouth, causing you to break into giggles at his ‘just drank spoiled milk’ expression.

He apparently decided to silence your mocking laughter by pressing his teeth to your lips in one quick, slightly rough action. His bones clicked slightly against your piercings and a little zap of magic that felt like static electricity rushed along your bruised lips.

You inhaled sharply through your nose, predictable pain from your fresh piercings shooting up into the rest of your face at Rusty's actions. You nearly pulled back, ready to end the kiss early, when you felt something warm and wet glide soothingly over your lips as if in apology.

His fucking tongue.

More sparks of magic ran through your face as the soft muscle ran over the metal of your jewelry, toying with the balls that sat flushed with your skin.

Weirdo.

Whatever. It's not like it felt bad. You just hadn't expected tongue. Like, you knew he had one, he had this habit of sticking it out when he was really concentrating on something, but you hadn't expected the feeling of it. Warm and wet and absolutely buzzing with magical intent. 

…Not that you could super clearly understand intent (though with Papyrus’ help, you were starting to get better at it), but with it in direct contact with you, you could get a pretty good idea of what was meant by the action.

Soothing/comfort/care.

Aw.

The sharp pain in your lips slowly started to become nothing more than a dull ache as Rusty continued to kiss you. Ah what the hell. You were already smoochin’ your best friend, might as well make it a full on make out sesh. 

You parted your lips slightly to allow him entrance which he accepted gratefully, a pleased rumble starting in his chest at the invitation. 

Oh man, that was a good sound. 

You could feel your breathing start to get heavier and a warmth begin to form deep in your stomach the longer the two of you went at it. 

One of his hands dropped from your cheek to rest on your waist, running his thumb along the sliver of exposed skin between the waistband of your jeans and where your t-shirt hem rode up your hip. Your breath caught in your throat at the cool sensation of bones on warm skin and you absent-mindedly let out a surprised little hum.

You heard him huff a little laugh out of his nose and continue his hand’s path up your shirt to run soothingly along your spine. You shuddered at the action, arching your back instinctively to bring your body closer to his. You fleetingly wondered how it would feel to touch his spine. Was he doing it to you because he knew it was what felt good on him? Would he mind if you-

Then the fucker tugged at your piercing with his teeth.

A sharp pain radiated from your lips and you let out a squeal, slapping at him with your hands. The fucking shithead! 

Soothing/comfort/care YOUR ASS.

He pulled off of you and let out peels of laughter at your indignant expression.

“y’should- oh fuck!! y'should’ve heard the sound ya made!” he chortled, only slightly phased by the miffed punch you landed on his arm.

“You're such a fucking dick!” You grinded out from between your teeth, covering your mouth to shield it from further attacks. Your heart pounded in your chest. 

…And surprisingly, somewhere else too.

His little stunt hurt like a bitch…but…you…well…

“aw c’mon, darlin’, i was just havin’ a little fun,” he cooed placatingly, tossing an arm around your shoulder and pulling you close enough into his side that you could feel the slight hum of his soul through his rib cage.

Oh god. You thought it was kind of hot didn’t you.

“Well you're cut off,” you huffed, more than flustered. You crossed your arms and stood up, moving away from the bed,“that's enough fun for one day.” 

You liked it! You liked it when he bit your fucking piercing!

The skeleton looked up at you from his spot on the bed, expression shifting to one of remorse. He whined out your name and reached for you pathetically.

“whhhaaaattttttt? but we were just getting started!”

“And after that move, you're finished, Papyrus!” The skeleton opened his mouth as if to say something, changed his mind, closed it, then opened it again.

“...look, sugar, ‘m real sorry-”

“They’re fresh piercings, Rusty-”

“-i didn’t mean to kill the mood-”

“-and that really hurt-”

“-i was just messing around, didn’t mean to-”

“-you’ve gotta wait until they’re healed before you try that again!”

“-cause ya any pai- what?” The skeleton stopped and stared at you for a moment, processing what you’d just said.

“...I’m smelling smoke again.”

Ignoring your teasing words, he shook his skull as if to dislodge something from his nonexistent ears before giving you a bewildered sort of look.

“...again?”

“What?”

“you said you wanna try that again?” You shifted from one foot to the other at his request for clarification and looked down at the now suddenly interesting carpet.

Aw man, maybe you should have kept that to yourself.

“...I mean, yeah, when they’re fully healed and all. Otherwise they might reject and that would really suck to have to deal with and-”

He was just messing around with you and you had to make it weird, way to go.

You cut yourself off and shrugged at him, face hot and throat dry.

God you were just digging yourself into a deeper hole, weren’t you?

“...cool.” 

You paused in your worrying to glance up at Rusty and noticed immediately that his cheek bones were deeply tinted with a soft, russet glow.

Oh.

Oh.

It suddenly dawned on you that maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t been merely messing around and was instead, quite possibly, I dunno, just as into biting your piercings as you were into having them bitten? Wow, you were learning  something new about yourself and about your good pal, Papyrus. Strengthening your unbreakable bonds of friendship and what not one make out sesh at a time.

“Cool?”

“yeah,” he let out a little laugh and shot a dorky smile your way, “i can, uh, wait until they’re healed or whatever.”

You let out a relieved little breath and returned his grin with one of your own.

“Okay. Cool.”

[the-one-who-senses-all]

[Suddenly, he feels a burning sensation on the skin that the orb is close to. Dark red lines spread over his body, over his chest and up his neck, they feel like a thousand needles being pricked and ragged across his skin.]

"Answer my question."

[Pete sits in the grass of the woods, making a pretty daisy chain]

@forest-teen

[A dark furred beast appears not far way infront of him. Instead of a face, it has the upper jaw part of a deer cranium. one of its antlers are broken, and one of its antlers are broken. A soft cracking noise sounds.]

[ayyy-imma-ninja]

I don't remember if I asked this about the SK bois

Who's the most likely to rip and tear Rulebreakers using their hands? That and inject them with non-lethal but agonizingly painful for the reciever

Also, could I 3d model your SK bois? No telling when I'll finish modelling, but I'll send to you when I do (I said the same about making Kandi's OC and its been like 6 months since then-) Just my personal project, I have no intention to make them marketable, not that I even know how to do so.

Sun. If his sadism is high enough he will get hands on. Especially if the Rulebreaker pisses him off enough or the punishment fits the crime. But Sun has used his hands to rip apart Rulebreakers--even while they were still alive.

As for injections, I'm not sure. It's a possibility. They would have to find a way of getting the tools needed.

And sure! As long as they're not used anywhere without my permission.

[siffrins-therapist]

x / x / x / x / x / x / x / x / x / x / x / x

When Ludwig can't bear to tell Gilbert goodbye, he does the unthinkable and with disastrous results. But rather than lose his brother a second time, Ludwig decides to keep him chained and hidden, hoping Gilbert will get better, knowing he won't, and unable to let go.

@gerpru-week Day 4: Can't Let Go // Constraints

maybe one day I'll write this

[an-albino-pinetree]

Pfft, my parents are actually really excited about the prospect of me getting a tattoo 😅

Guess they weren’t expecting that turn of events from their needle-petrified daughter? Anyways, my mom immediately spammed me with neat, talented artists nearby, so this is lookin more and more like a reality! 🩶🩶

[the-kr8tor]

The One Where They Build a Bed

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 2.1k

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, R has nicknames, TTN! Hobie, TTN! Reader, Thread the Needle oneshot, set during chapter 5, Best friend! Hobie, CW food mentions, FLUFF

Thread the Needle Masterlist

Navigation

Buy me a ☕?

A/N: Happy anniversary TTN! 🎉

The floor under you sparkles in the yellow lamps Hobie scattered around the sparse bedroom. Having just moved in, the bedroom is spick and span with it's newly painted dark blue that you and the rest of the band helped paint; albeit there are streaks left on the wall and splotches of paint dotted along the floors. It's a pretty good painting job if you look at it from further away. Hobie doesn't seem to mind though as he busies himself with laying out all the pieces of his new bed frame.

Music filters in from the living room, you got to pick out a record this time since Hobie and the others picked the songs while they were helping around in the houseboat. The rushing of water from outside keeps you awake as you mend another hole in his bedsheet. Hobie notices you blinking away sleep, teasing you with a sudden loud clap near your face.

Laughing, Hobie quickly flinches away before you could grab his hand and take a playful bite just like he predicted. “I knew you'd do that, Gromit.” He turns to the giant box again, hiding his tender smile behind the cardboard box.

“And you're always too quick for me.” You're glad he's turned away from you lest he notices how you look at him like he's everything to you. He is, but he doesn't know that. Not yet anyway.

“Nah, there were a few times you got me.” Hobie heaves the biggest part of the bed, it's a simple dark varnished wood with carved lines along the sides.

You puff out your chest proudly when you remembered the times you bit him after he decided to tease you. “Once during our first summer job at the record store and that one time at that pancake place.”

He sighs, taking out a small toolbox from the almost empty closet. “Now I want flapjacks.”

“We can get some after this.”

Hobie side eyes you with a soft look. “You askin’ me out, Gromit?”

Your breath gets stuck in your throat for a moment whilst his piercings shine in the yellow light. After a moment of slight panic, you flick a roll of thread at him, landing on his foot. “We just ate.”

Hobie chuckles as something flashes behind his eyes. “You were the one who suggested it, love.” He picks up the booklet of instructions, skimming through it before tossing it over his shoulder.

You blink, scoffing. “Wha— we needed that!”

“I read it.” He shrugs, pushing and sliding the tool bag over to you, metal clinking against metal. “Come help me like you wanted to.”

Dropping the bedsheet, you close the small distance over to the tool bag and sitting down cross legged a few paces away from him. “You skimmed it, Hobs.” Stretching, you try to grab the fallen booklet, paper brushing along your fingertips. You struggle to get it while Hobie watches with amusement.

“D’you need help?” His tone is laced with sarcasm.

“Nope, I got…” You finally reach it, grabbing it and sitting back in place. “It!”

“Congratulations.” You roll your eyes. He sits down, hand filled with screws that he places next to him. “Now hand me the screwdriver.”

“Say please.”

Hobie's hand reaches out over to you, fingers flexing, and sighing as he huffs. “...please.”

You tamp down a laugh. “Of course, Hobie. Anything for you, Hobie.” He snatches the tool from your hand with a playful glare. “No thank you?”

He pats the floor next to him, and then he waves the tool in front of his face. “I'll say thank you once you give me the right screwdriver.”

“That's the right screwdriver.” You dig into the bag, exhaling once you see the other tool that matches the screws he's practically shoving in your face. “Fine,” with the right tool in hand, and the bag in the other, you stand up to sit next to him and the piles of wood. You place the screwdriver in his waiting hand, his face is smug as he elbows your arm playfully.

“Thank you, Gromit.” He utters genuinely.

You nudge right back, “you're welcome, Wallace.” Meeting with his eyes, you smile kindly before you return your attention towards the instructions.

You have no idea how you made his heart leap in his chest from the simple look.

“Says here that you should do the legs first before the one you're currently bolting in.” You don't hear him reply nor grunt in return. So you look back at him, missing how he's tenderly gazing upon you when he turns away a second before you could see it. “Hobs, it says here to do the legs first.”

“I know what ‘m doin'.”

“I didn't know you're a bed frame expert.”

He stops his hands, slowly craning his neck to look at you with his nose scrunched. “We just started and we're already arguin’.” Dropping the screwdriver, metal clanging on the hardwood floor, he narrows his eyes. “The curse is right.”

Laughing, you hit his shoulder with the booklet. “What curse?”

“That when friends put together a piece of furniture they end up fightin’ and endin’ their relationship.” Hobie cups your shoulder and tilts his head. After years of friendship, you still have no idea if he's serious or not. “I think you should go home.”

After a second, you make a sound from the back of your throat, shoving his hand away. “That's not real. If anything would've ended our friendship, it would be the time you accidentally wore one of my projects thinking it was one of my jackets only to accidentally spill paint on it.”

“In my defense, I made it better.” He cracks his façade as a smile slowly creeps on his lips.

“Right,” you start to stand up. “I'm going home.” You're completely joking, hiding your smile by turning away.

Hobie grabs your hand, looking up at you through his lashes. “‘m jokin’, please stay.” You surrender, sitting back down with a pout. “See, I told you that it ends relationships.”

“I'm going to end you if you don't stop saying that.” You glare at him, genuinely not wanting to end your relationship with your best friend over a cheaply made bed frame. He understands what you truly meant, and shares the same sentiment.

He grabs your cheeks, squeezing it until you no longer pout but your glare stays as he tries to make it up to you. “It’s a test of our friendship then. But I know we're stronger than this bed frame.”

“A well placed kick on it is stronger than the frame.” You move to bite at his hand once again, but he's again too fast for you as he removes his hands on your cheek. You won't tell him that you wanted his warmth to stay just a little bit longer. “Why'd you even buy it when your mattress is older than the queen herself?” You decide to build according to the instructions while he continues what he wants to do.

“Oi, watch it, I paid good money for this.” The sound of wood clicking together by screws fills the room as waves lap against the sides of the houseboat that rocks back and forth softly. “It's strong, the bloke who sold it to me even jumped up and down to show how strong it is. ‘sides, my old one was being held together by duct tape.”

“Sure, Hobs, I believe the salesman who wanted to make his commission.” You sarcastically say.

“Wanna bet?” His face is suddenly close to you, breath fanning across your cheek. You turn slowly, poking his cheek as he smiles.

“No, because it'll be an easy win for me.”

“We'll test it out then.” He doesn't realize the double meaning of his words once it's already out of his mouth. You do though, judging from how you blink slowly as if you're trying to let the words sink in. And how your lips are slightly parted, to which he flicks his eyes at briefly. “I mean—” He clears his throat, leaning away as your cheeks heats up and his heart thumping loudly that he's sure that you can hear.

“I–I know what you meant, Hobie.” You absentmindedly read the instructions while he mentally slaps himself.

For a while, an awkward silence hangs around the room, stifling Hobie as he works on the next piece of the bed frame. He can't handle it, so to stop the awkwardness, he throws a single screw at you. The metal lands in the middle of the instruction booklet while you were reading how to combine the pieces you and Hobie made.

“What?” You move to stare at him while he whistles innocently, hands busy with a piece of the frame. “Are you bored already?”

“Yeah, because my personal chatterbox stopped talkin'.” He smirks at you, waiting for your reaction.

“Your personal chatterbox has a splinter in her finger.” You fake a frown.

His eyes widen for a moment before scooching closer to take and inspect your hand that you showed him. “Shit, where?” He roams his eyes around your palm, fingers brushing gently along the pads of your fingers. “I don't see it, love.”

You teasingly tilt your head, a smile ghosting over your lips. “It’s there somewhere.”

“Where's the torch—?” He pauses as he hears you snicker. Looking up, he drops your hand but not letting go of it as he sees the mischievous expression on your face. “You little shit.” Grinning, Hobie squeezes your hand once before reluctantly letting go. He looks into your eyes, wanting to say something, anything to keep his mind from wanting to kiss you. For a hot second, you think he's about to say something that you two have been longing to hear. “D’you want tea?”

You exhale, hand placed on his arm like it's magnetic. “Only if you let me help.”

“Good,” he pats the back of your hand where it rests on his arm. “I don't want to dig around my boxes alone.”

‘You’ll never be alone,’ You wanted to say, but you could only stand up, hand reaching down to him as you help him up to his feet.

—

After what seems to be forever, (technically two hours and thirty minutes) the bedframe is finally built. It's bigger than you thought, enough for you and Hobie to comfortably sleep in. You shake the thought out while you wrangle the bedsheet on top of the mattress.

“Catch.” Hobie tosses a pillow with a new pillow case at you, smacking you on the face. “You didn't catch it.” He laughs, the sound echoing around the room.

“Yeah, no shit.” You throw it at the end of the bed, tired and too sleepy to retort something clever.

“I can drive you back to your dorm.” Of course he notices, sitting on the edge of the bed, he slips the end of the bed sheet neatly; finishing up the nicely made bed.

You drop yourself face first on the bed, cheek squished on a pillow. “Too sleepy.” You also don't want to go back home when your unfinished project is waiting for you there.

“Yeah, it's late. D’you want to stay the night?” Hobie lays down next to you, head facing your tired face. “I still have your PJ's from last time.” He's whispering, careful not to turn your fatigue to frustration, especially when you're stressed about your final project.

It's not the first time you and Hobie slept on the same bed, still, it makes your heart jump at thought. “The red checkered pair?” You softly reply back, completely relaxed into the bed.

“I think so, yeah.”

You fight a yawn. “Can I stay? I don't want to intrude. It is your first night here.”

“If its you? Intrude away, love.” His pinky grazes your own, you instinctively lace your finger around his. “Soon, this'll be your place too.”

You beam at him, squeezing his finger, restraining yourself from embracing him. “Okay, I'll stay the night.” The gentle rocking of the houseboat lulls you to sleep.

Patting your hand, he lets go before standing up. “I'll get your pajamas for you—” something hard hits his foot, looking down, he picks up a lone screw. “Ah shit.”

You sit up, elbows propping yourself. “What is it?” You ask blearily.

Hobie guffaws, showing you the screw. “I think we forgot one.”

You can't help but laugh despite the fatigue. He pockets it in his jeans, keeping it safe, a memorabilia of the time you helped him build his bed.

[redd956]

Whump Prompt List: NMA Edition

Based off of my NMA worldbuilding line

AKA Whump that @demondamage would like. AKA: nonhuman whumpees, experiment whump, medical whump, lab whump

CW: Violence, Hospital Whump, Experiment Whump, Nonhuman whumpees, Death Mention, Needles

Draining whumpee's blood in order to centrifuge a special resource from it

Hooking whumpee up to an IV that contains some form of sedative, paralytic, or similar formula inside of it

A physically powerful whumpee needing to be held down by a group, as a sedative is forcefully entered into their system

Whumpee watching their blood exit their veins through a tube, knowing theirs nothing they can do, slowly realizing that they're taking too much

Whumpee getting their blood drained, not knowing if their captors are going to stop before it's too late, or if they plan to get rid of whumpee this way after all

Filing down whumpee's sharp teeth, their pointed claws, sawing off their horns, tying down their tail. Whatever needs to be done to keep the nonhuman whumpee from having an advantage.

Whumpee being kept sedated or out of it, until they are needed for their magic

Muzzled and/or restrained whumpee lashing out at the doctors analyzing

Whumpee's every nonhuman aspect being analyzed, their privacy completely invaded, as doctors poke and prod, crooning over their find

A group of whumpees are captures, and they all fear the worse. However after one is found to be more rare than the others, they quickly discover that for one of them, it's going to be much much worse.

Multiple whumpees getting separated based off of the research that needs to be conducted on them

A limp whumpee, kept down for research, needing to be moved or treated as a comatose patient since the doctors dealing with them are too scared of their abilities

Testing to see what whumpee reacts painfully too, how they heal from the different things tested on them, watching them slowly grow terrified of the scientist opening their door

Taking a marker to whumpee's skin and going to town, preparing for the next set of plans

Forcing whumpee to use their magic or nonhuman abilities far past their limit

Whumpee growing more and more tired as they loose their magic/blood, watching the world darken and the noise of life muffle

Doctors taunting and teasing a heavily restrained whumpee. Whumpee, who is normally such a dangerous creature, can do nothing as they pull on their tail or forcibly spread out their wings

Hands latching onto whumpee's face, moving their head into the position they need to

Whumpee waking to the feeling of fingers prodding for the perfect injection spot

Strapping whumpee down to a table, the doctor admiring their work, thinking they'd never see a nonhuman of this type to work on

Whumpee being returned to a cell full of other nonhuman whumpees after a finish experiment, being plopped down unceremoniously in front of the others, before the doctor looks up to pick the next one

Tattooing whumpee to know what experiment group they belong to

Holding an oxygen mask to whumpee's face, watching as the mist of a sedative kicks in

[punchtothestars]

Went to an appt and got some much needed vaccines

Im glad i have another layer of protection but today ive been feeling like this

Apparently that means its working tho so...Gabby Jay! Yay!

[crayonverse]

details bout michael n eins dynamic. 2 me (cw physical/emotional abuse, cannibalism, suicide/suicidal idealizations, ableism, self-harm)

michael only refers to himself as eins father when he wants ein to do something, any other time hes just michael .

lets ein not refer to him as sir to make him feel more "special" .

after eins mom broke up w zack she sorta got a bit. out of it. she started neglecting ein and she became depressed. The First Step in ein distrusting others bc his mother stopped paying attention 2 him. michael used a small amount of his magic to control her and make her drown herself in the kitchen sink and then kidnapped ein, making it look like she had killed herself and ein had ran away. .

just as a small thing of me hcing ein as a transguy, michael named him ein bc the meaning of "ian" (which is what his name is just spelled weird) is "God is Gracious" as a constant reminder that michael "saved" ein. .

ein wasnt tested on w forever potions (in the early stages w the other kids) because michael absolutely could not let Zack know he had his other stupid kid. when ein found out about the testing he was extremely upset bc he wasnt "special enough" for it. picture ein 6 years old begging for medical malpractice to be used on him .

he was tested later but as a teen when michael got out, since he didnt have access to the other children. although he wasn't able to use the full potions since he didnt have access to emeralds at the moment, so he used diluted versions of the potions that weren't as powerful via syringes. ein gets a fear needles from it .

when michael n the other two idiots were locked in the pocket dimension ein went through a brief depressive period bc the One Guy he (thought) cared about him disappeared. when michael did get out he didnt tell ein immediately bc he . doesnt like ein but when he found out ein got arrested he told ein that he should stay in jail for a few months to "learn his lesson" .

slightly unrelated but when michael wanted him out of jail he also wanted ein to disappear off the radar so he faked eins death in jail. originally he wanted ein to die in like a riot but ein, sensing an opportunity, asked for it to say he killed himself instead. the opportunity being aphmau half way into her uni course looking up her old high school bullies to see what theyre up to and just finding out ein is Fucking Dead .

the potions michael uses on ein are mainly magic power related (like eins Green Laser) because he likes manipulating ein into doing things rather than using his magic because its "more fun" .

michael subconsciously views ein as his actual son (mcd travis) bc he feels like "this one is a better son" or whatever .

not a specific thing but mother knows best reprise from tangled is a Viewpoint on their dynamic 2 me .

ein is internally scared of michael but he never verbally says that and if anyone asks him if he is he denies it immediately bc he doesnt want pity. you can see it in his eyes though. elizabeth is really the only other person who mentions it but she mostly uses it to make fun of ein because she "doesnt think its that bad" (<- she is unaware) .

bc of michael ein absolutely hates unwarranted physical touch. he reacts violently if anyone grasps his shoulder from behind or touches his upper arms. the only touch he usually allows is people lightly touching his hair/head bc he still registers it as headpats (grabbing his hair usually results in him biting) .

michael usually physically threatens or abuses ein to reprimand him but sometimes he throws ein into the Metaphorical Torture Box for entertainment .

basically most of the things michael does to ein is for his own amusement .

he also heavily dehumanizes ein to convince him to do evil acts, rationalizing it to him as "you arent a person so is it really that bad??" ein does not view himself as an actual person at this point more so as a nameless soldier, a weapon, etc .

i used this for an old fic n stuff too but also michael makes ein commit cannibalism to forcibly dehumanize him more. he wants to make ein feel entirely disconnected from humanity (like michael feels for himself) so ein will basically be a "mini michael" .

ein also consciously copies michaels mannerisms/speech. only really elizabeth n zack notice it however and it just fucking freaks zack the hell out (elizabeth is also freaked out by it but mostly ignores it) .

theres just a general theme of a loss of control for ein in general. he gets a small allowance from michael and hes not allowed out overnight, all his communication is usually internally with the researchers or guardian forces. most of the time ein self isolates from them, viewing them as beneath him and michael. when they try to talk to him its a 50/50 whether he'll tell them to fuck off or he'll hiss at them .

another specific detail is pre s4 ein fucked up a potion and instead of his usual reprimand, michael used pliers to defang ein. in his head its the one thing ein can't rationalize about michaels actions (the one "seed of doubt" he has). he usually makes excuses for michael's actions towards him but being defanged is the only one he struggles with since he knows that michael knows how important his wolf side is to him .

pre s5 and just like at the end of s5 (when ein was seen on the bridge) he was going through another depressive episode bc he missed his ears and tail. he was mainly just going through the motions of his daily life but he was barely holding on. michael repeatedly discouraged ein from committing because the plan would be messed up because of it (michael said that directly to him) and he would imply that ein would be a traitor if he went through with it. .

michael actually flipped between discouraging and encouraging ein to commit to see what he would do. .

he's caught ein self-harming before, w ein attempting to either drown or smother himself. michael doesnt like doing this regularly but most of the time he lets ein hug him so he feels "comforted". other times michael just scolds him and tells him to not do it again. .

i also hc ein as a low empathy autistic (bc # me) and he used to stim very openly and loudly but michael disliked that part of him so he "trained" ein to not stim in public which just results in him being constantly overstimulated, a contributor to Ein being fucking mad all the time. hes like a hair trigger away from a meltdown at all times .

the only method of stimming ein can usually get away w is when he scratches his arms/scabs. unfortunately he doesn't trim his claws and it usually results in ein making himself bleed or reopening scars. michael has attempted to get him to stop doing this but its pretty much a compulsion for ein at this point.

[ruthie-fleming]

[She nods,]

"okay-.. uhm.. So- I was walking in the forest. I was going home. I knew I shouldn't have taken that shortcut, it's done me bad lots of times before. But I just thought this time would be different. But then this- Tall.. woman came... And.. she had.. long black hair, her eyes were white, and she was wearing a black gown. And-.. She just-.. She just took me. And I appeared in this.. abyss of nothingness. And she starts talking to me.. And.. as shes talking, I start feeling like... needles are pricking at my back. And the next thing I know she's-..... Hurting me. Alot. She didn't break anything, I think, but she made me bleed, and stuff."

[She blinks as she enters the bakery, her vision still a little slurry.]

"....H-hello-? Uhm... Mr. Hidgens sent me here-."

@ruthie-fleming

ooc: i should be doing german homework rn... i am.. but.. shhhhhhh.. anyway no pressure with answering!!! /gen

[Lawson turns to the girl]

Hi I'm Lawson, you said Henry sent you?

[whumpfish]

Extractions! (Tooth vs. Nail)

I've been wanting to do this one for a long time, for all you torture fans out there...

So I metabolize lidocaine like a motherfucker, and any time I get a local, I always have to get a second one halfway through whatever is being done. For the most part, doctors and dentists listen to me when I say this... for the most part.

Tooth

(The oral surgeon did not give me my second shot when I asked for it.)

1. Any fillings you have will collapse under the pressure of an extraction, even a medicated one. (I'm not sure if this is true for metal ones; all of mine are plaster.) It produces a half-crunch, half-thunk sound that reverberates in that half of your skull and sounds absolutely terrifying.

2. The pain of an unmedicated extraction is acute and radiating at the same time. The acute part feels more like having a stiletto stabbed upward into that space than a tooth taken out in a downward motion.

2a. In maxillary extractions, the stab goes straight up, and depending on the location of the tooth, that stab can feel pointed anywhere from your eyeball (frontmost) to right into your brain (rear).

2b. Mandibular extractions* stab downward from the chin (frontmost) to the hinge of your jaw and straight down your throat (rear).

3. The radiating part spreads like a flower blooming, from a concentrated central point outward in a rolling movement.

4. Your ears might pop like an airplane taking off as that blooming pain reaches the hinge of your jaw. Sometimes only in the one ear.

Nail

(I have been doing minor self-surgery** for years because I am genetically predisposed to ingrown nails, and if I don't catch it in time, they grow straight down and I have to extract them to be able to trim them. If I really don't catch it in time, they grow straight down and then curl backward, and I have to get an actual surgeon involved.)

1. Self-surgery, split off edge of nail, 0 to 1/2" down and backward: You have to wiggle these in a sawing/rocking motion back and forth in order to get that tiny bit of root to let go, and when you "saw" backward it feels more like a steak knife than a butter knife, this time moving with the direction of the nail. Then it reverses when you actually yank.

1a. The yank hurts more than the sawing, sharp like a stab from a steak knife instead of one being pushed in slowly.

1b. You will get the best whump out of a whumper splitting off the edges of the nail and doing this and then yanking the middle part

2. Medicated: Locals in the toe/finger area hurt like a bitch. They're sharp and needling like a stiletto to a paper cut, then if someone tried to pry that cut open. At the same time, they feel hot, almost burning. (Hotter than anesthetic being pushed through an IV, if you're familiar with that sensation.) And there are so many nerves involved that just the first round of locals takes 3-4 shots.

3. Unmedicated, grown down and backward, 1/2" to 3/4": The last time I went in, my surgeon said "given the amount of times I have to shoot you up, you'll probably hurt less if I just yank." (She was right.) This sumbitch goes in both directions, down/back from where the root is, then forward. The down/back is a stabbing pain. The forward is like somebody trying to pry open that papercut, a sensation probably caused by the fact that you are in fact messing with something stuck in a very small cut in the skin, in my case the cut was just caused by the nail that has now been removed.

4. If it is a toenail extraction, you are going to bleed significantly more than teeth or fingernails, because your body has to work harder pushing blood up through your leg veins than it does pushing it down into your shoe. Especially when you take a step. Ibuprofen makes this worse. If you take ibuprofen at all that day, expect your shoe to fill up when you take a step. (Mine did, scaring the tar out of everyone present, including me.)

Pain Intensity Verdict:

Teeth > Nails. By a LOT.

Happy yanking!!

*Because of nerve fuckery, dentists using the sonic cleaning tool despite my warnings results in a pain on the level of extractions, and the sensations described here are based on my experience with that.

**This never fails to horrify my friends. They'll see what I'm fixing to work on and say, "Oh ouch, that's bad, go to the doctor," and I'm just like "nah, just get me isopropyl alcohol and some office supplies, I got this."