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bluemerakis · 2 months ago

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────── ❝ his for the taking ❞ ── ⋆˙ 𖦹 ˚.⋆

─────────── ᝰ bluemerakis ༝༚༝༚ ──

pairing ୨୧ soldier boy x anxious .ᐟ reader

warnings .ᐟ cussing, portrayals of anxiety, lip biting, consumption of blood (if u squint), finger sucking, masturbation f receiving, grinding, overstimulation, pet names, ben being a tentative cutie bf with his own idea of therapy lmfao

synopsis ─ it’s one of those devitalising days that’s got you biting your lip raw. soldier boy notices, and if there’s one thing he can’t stand, it’s seeing his girl all worked up at the hands of something that isn’t his.

word count ~ 3.4k

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The apartment’s living room brims with the static of the television, the muffled voice of a man narrating a football game forming a pesky backdrop that’s otherwise repressed by your busy mind. You’re tucked into the end of the sofa, legs cluttered together in a tense cross while you cradle your forehead in the palm of your hand.

On the other end of the Sofa, Ben has settled himself into a shameless manspread—a thawed beer clutched in the hand propping the arm rest while the over fans his thigh. All his attention is trained onto the game blaring from the television’s beaming display, and occasionally, he lets slip some exasperated cuss, followed by a short-lived rant that falls entirely on your deaf ears.

Your head’s tilted down to the textbook splayed open in the crook of your lap, where your free hand’s armed with a rigid index finger that slowly cuts down the expanse of the page you’re reading. The words feel so inexplicably cluttered that you find your eyes flicking back and forth across the blocky text—resetting the sentence every so often. And just when the information seems to settle amongst your comprehension, your mind flashes with a mental list of everything you’ve yet to do. It fills your chest with an overwhelming dread that usurps your focus entirely, nipping your academic grind—or an attempt at one—at the fragile bud.

It frustrates you to the point of flipping the book closed in a hot flurry, the lower lip you’d been slowly tenderising between your teeth now captured in a harsh bite. Your head buckles into both palms as an audible groan echoes from within the suffocating grip, and in your lap, you feel the textbook’s back shift against your skin. You figure it’s about to fall, but you’re at your wits end with the unsuccessful study attempt, so you decide to let it—out of petty spite.

Just as the textbook tilts along your calf in fragile balance, the cushion beside you dips with the weight of Ben’s prying presence, and his hand must’ve come to the book’s rescue because when it finally slips the ledge of your lap, there’s no thump to solidify its downfall. And his heroic act is confirmed when you finally hear a dull thud of the book amongst the coffee table before you, followed by a brisk whistle that’s a telling remark in its own.

“Somethin’ on your mind?” He asks pointedly. When you don’t look at him, he pushes his advance further by settling his palm against your closest knee—which, unbeknownst to you, had been besieged by a compulsive series of bounces. It was an absentminded habit that tended to escalate on the nights seemingly determined to fracture your composure—nights like this one.

And Ben, he always notices.

You adore his attentiveness—you really do, but the irritation you’ve been hoarding throughout the study session compels you to fashion silence at his question. But your boyfriend’s not—and never has been—tolerant of being ignored, so the palm he’s cupped over your rattled knee applies just enough pressure to still your busy body, and once you finally comply with a lax leg, you feel his hand sag down and across the bare hump of your thigh. He settles at the inner for a firm squeeze, his fingers burrowing divots into the flesh.

“You gonna talk to me ‘bout it? Or you gonna keep up the ragin’ bounce house campin’ out on your knee, hm?” He probes again—and it’s underlined by a low, husky tone of impatience. He’s tolerant of your avoidance, until he’s not. He’d once claimed that it was his brand to don, not yours.

“Sorry,” you murmur into your palms, making the conscious effort to throttle any further urge to fidget. Behind the privacy of your hands, you snag your lip on another bite, and your tongue retreats with an acrid-tasking visitor—a trail of blood. The split flesh begins protesting its hostage situation, throbbing with a force that makes you want to recapture it in a numbing grip.

“Not what I wanna hear,” Ben responds disinterestedly, releasing the grip on your thigh to furl his fingers around your nearest wrist. There, he gives one, effortless tug that collapses your mask of self-pity and finally exposes some fraction of your thoughts to him. “Look at me,” he demands—but it’s soft, curious, and his grip on you doesn’t falter. Instead, his thumb starts stroking gentle lines across the pulse point of your wrist, as though he’s consulting your biology to gather the information you won’t tell him.

And your heart is racing—so much so that it thuds at the cavity of your chest like a caged bird trying to escape. But you don’t look at him. You torque your chin the other way, choosing to settle your eyes on a dark corner of the room that’s blind to the frustrated tears pricking at your rims. You’re so inexplicably overwhelmed that everything’s starting to weigh on you. Heavily. And you’re not sure he can help with something so abstract—so confined to the battlefields of your mind.

You love him, and he loves you—and while he is a soldier, he’s not the kind that can fight your internal wars for you.

“Hey,” he calls again. It’s firm, and decidedly his last warning before he finally releases your wrist to graze his fingers along the underside of your jaw. He manages to frame you in his hold, where he topples your stubborn resolve by tilting your face in his direction. “Enough o’ this silent treatment shit,” he scolds, but his tough display drops along with his gaze as he spots the blood welling on your bottom lip, the hand guarding his beer finally banishing the beverage to the armrest.

Immobilised by Ben’s grip—with nowhere to escape his prying gaze, you blink away the moisture lingering along the rims of your eyes, your hands fumbling together within your lap like it’ll throttle the nerves bristling at your fingertips.

“Well, shit,” Ben breathes somewhat amazedly, neglecting the sight of your bloody lip to catch your eye once more. “If you were into that sorta thing, you shoulda told me.” There’s a mischievous glint to the green depths of his glare, one that you could appreciate on any other night—but not this one.

At his poke, you suckle your lower lip self-consciously, faintly surprised at the impressive bead of blood that rolls onto your tongue. Ben’s throat rumbles with a disapproving noise, his grip on your jaw shifting to elevate his thumb to your lips. There, he drags the pad over the tender tissue before pushing it between the bloodied flesh, where he curls it downward to hook your lower lip free of your teeth.

You’re briefly surprised by the intrusion, but your jaw seems to slack with the motion, and you realise, then, just how much tension you’ve been hoarding in the form of a clench. You catch a hint of salt as his thumb presses into your tongue, but it’s not an unpleasant—or unfamiliar taste. And it doesn’t overstay its welcome as Ben retreats from your warmth, the separation formally announced by a characteristic pop that feels laughable.

“You’ve gotta stop doin’ that,” he says with a light squeeze of your face—like he’s solidifying his will.

You pass your tongue over your lips to collect the saliva trail his thumb has marked in its wake. “I can’t help it,” you say softly, feeling the way the cut bristles at the stinging caress of the room’s air. “I don’t know I’m doing it until it’s too late.”

Ben’s grip on your jaw finally relents, though not without a playful pinch to the divot of your chin. The corner of his lips quirk with a smirk that’s owed to an amusing thought he doesn’t care to share, his hand lowering back down to your thigh. He settles at the curve, delivering a squeeze that’s demanding of something more than a possessive place to rest.

“Get over here,” is all he says, his hold transforming into more of a pull. You’ve never been good at resisting him, so you surrender yourself over, jittery legs uncrossing to allow the shimmy of your knees along the sofa’s length. His hand withdraws from your thigh to allow you the ease of movement, and when you’re close enough, his large palms find you at either hip—like you were made for him to cradle.

“I need to continue studying,” you say tensely, but the words feel like more of an attempt to silence the guilt that lingers at the front of your mind, and you know that you have no intention of seeing it through as you reach Ben’s lap.

“The books can wait,” he decides, the hands clasping your hips helping to manoeuvre you across his lap, and his hold on you doesn’t shy—even once you’re completely straddling his thighs. “You’ve been at it for the whole fuckin’ evenin’. Give your pathetic body a break.”

“Pathetic?” You scoff, shifting within his lap as you try to position yourself amongst the wide, v-like formation of his legs. Ben picks up on this, and in no time he’s shifting his legs closer together, taking pity on the way your lower half spreads with difficulty to accommodate his slack pose.

“Yeah,” he affirms casually, as though blind to the offence that underlies your question. “Fragile thing like you? You’re bound to break under a shit load of pressure—so take it easy is all I’m sayin’.”

“And I’m fragile why?” You shoot back, but the truth has always lingered between you—as clear as the air connects your contrasting beings. Compared to his super-abled, indestructible—unmovable mountain of a body, you’re nothing but a brittle pebble. And he’s seen your body fracture under stress more times than you’d care to admit.

“Don’t go lookin’ for arguments—y’know exactly why,” Ben chuckles faintly, head tilting slightly as he drinks the view of you in—like he’s marvelling at your beauty all over again.

But you don’t allow yourself to get swept up in those cursed eyes of his—a soldier’s glare he’s managed to mould into something akin to a puppy-stare. It’s rougher, more refined, but still honest enough to admit that he wants you. “Maybe if you’d stop riling me up with thinly-veiled insults, I’d have less reason to run my mouth.”

“What I say doesn’t count for shit,” he retorts with a knowing and amused furrow of his brows, one of his hands neglecting your hip to drag teasing patterns along your thigh. “You’re always riled up, and you’re worse than those crappy, goddamn toy dogs with the built-in windup mechanism. Y’know the kind? The ones always runnin’ frantic lines all over ‘em kids’ stores.”

“Just shut it, actually,” you huff, and Ben—to your utmost surprise—listens with a surrendering smirk.

“Wanna talk it out or drink it down?” He averts, chin jutting past your shoulder to where his peeping tom of a beer defrosts amongst the armrest—beads of moisture pooling onto the worn leather.

“None of the above,” you murmur, and with a spent sigh, you shift in his lap one last time before melting entirely into the comfort of him. “Just hold me.”

“Yeah, I got you, baby girl,” he mumbles gruffly, hand rubbing a comforting circle across your lower back before he finds your hips in a steadying hold once more.

Your hands glide up his chest and along the broad contour of his shoulders before slipping past his neck, where they connect in a fumble that cages him in—but he doesn’t seem to mind. His own hands settle for a cupping of your waist, where his thumbs rub lines across the point of your hip. The sensation soothes you, like his very touch was made to melt away the chill of your anxiety—the kind overwhelming enough to tremble every inch of your body.

You find your head buckling into the crook of his neck, where you nestle your cheek like it's the welcoming comfort of your pillow. And for a while, neither of you speak, but the tv continues to ramble on in the background with enough chatter to compensate.

Ben’s hold on you is one that tethers you—a physical presence that reminds you of what’s real, and what isn’t. It coddles you enough to persuade your mind into pushing back the anxious thoughts that plague it, but the sentiment is so deep-rooted within your DNA that your body resorts to doing what it does best—all that it knows. Fidgeting.

Your knee starts bouncing into the sofa, your ankle flexing with every intent to help drive the movement. And as though it’s the first collapse that sets off a cascade of trouble, the familiar feeling of dread settles itself back into your bones. You try to fend off the unwelcome intrusion, but your body betrays every viscous attempt with the rapid beating of your heart, and the tension that returns to the muscles of your jaw.

“Jesus Christ—I can help, y’know?” Ben says suddenly, peeling back the cosy silence that has settled over you both like a comforter. His playful grip on you stills as his chest shifts against your own. “I can hear your heart beatin’ off like it’s employed by a fuckin’ marchin’ band.”

You hum in acknowledgement, your hands unclasping to rub your palms down the muscle of his back—like you’re seeking out the stimulation to numb your shaky hands. “Not with this, you can’t,” you say pessimistically, and the words are slightly slurred by the way your cheek melts against his shoulder.

“Oh, yeah?” He challenges in a murmur so unconvinced, it’s almost mocking. And as if to prove his point, one of his hands dip along the inside of your thigh, fingers roughhousing with the fabric of your pyjama shorts before he successfully slips into the flimsy keep. There, his hand fans over the sheer fabric of your underwear, his middle finger employing a rhythmic line between your folds while his thumb pinches at the waistband for grip. “Let me know when you’ve changed your mind.”

The line he traces along your slit causes your eyes to flutter closed in helpless surrender, and suddenly, you’re biting your lip for a whole different reason. Your hands drag up the length of his back to run along the nape of his neck, where occasionally, you tumble with the lengthy strands of his hair. His chest reverberates with a sonorous sound that acts as a seal of approval, so you don’t slack in your ministrations, and he doesn’t falter with his, either.

You let out a soft, muffled moan, and a second later, you feel the chafe of Ben’s beard against the shell of your ear as he nuzzles his jaw against you. “You like that, huh?” He coos softly—but the way he retains the gravelly edge to his voice shamefully strikes your core. As a feeble response, your hands tighten within his hair. You’re too far gone to equip your words.

Ben’s a welcome siege on your senses—to the point where anything and everything he does sets your frail nerves alight. It’s a type of plague that makes you restless in all the ways that your anxiety does. But with him, you welcome it. Embrace it. Crave it—and he knows it.

He loves it.

The hand nestled between your thighs begins to pick up its steady pace—but you’re greedy, so you add to the stimulation with a buck and sway of your hips. “Maybe this is helping,” you breathe out in scattered words, head pulling back from his shoulder to gaze at him through hazy eyes while a cheeky half-grin pokes through.

Ben drinks you in with sultry eyes that rival your own lust, a self-satisfied smirk settling onto his vain features. “Yeah, I’m employee o’ the fuckin’ year,” he huffs amusedly, the other hand he’s got gripping your hip softening an inch to aid the roll of your pelvis. His eyes drop to drink in—and almost admire—the rocking of your hips. “But I gotta say—you’re makin’ runner up with this eager participation o’ yours,” he adds with a low chuckle.

You hum in response, head tilting back with the overwhelming pleasure that trickles through your body. The air you take for granted thins in your chest as the stimulation pushes you to your breaking point, your hands taking root at either shoulder to steady yourself. Your underwear clings to your folds with every compressive movement—drenched by the pent up arousal that Ben’s fondling has managed to enlist thus far.

“I can’t hold on anymore, Ben,” you whimper softly, your hips staggering with your dwindling strength.

“But you’re gonna,” he responds unfeelingly, and the hand gripping your hip presses down into the flesh until you’re a quieted, miserable mess amongst his hand. You groan at the loss of stimulation, your high recoiling like a thief in the night.

“Ben,” you protest feebly, your grip on his shoulder softening with the disappointing fruits of your labour.

“Don’t Ben me,” he mocks, his chin perking with intent as he deals you a challenge within his glare. “You wanna move? Then move,” he instructs, his hand delivering a light squeeze to your sensitive clit before he withdraws it entirely and settles it beside his other at your hip. Beneath you, his legs shift until his thigh is wedged between your own. “If you’re gonna burn through every control you got, might as well put it to a damn good use—so go on, have your fun.”

You gaze at him for a few, clueless moments before understanding settles in, and you begin rocking your hips against the muscular bulge of his thigh. Ben’s eyes lower down your body in an agonisingly slow motion, where he settles on every drag of your mound against him.

“Atta girl,” he praises, the hands at your hips tightening in a resistance that rivals your efforts—because he absolutely loves seeing you go above and beyond to settle your urges. You know it spurs him on, so you don’t argue against it. It’s a favour you decide to reciprocate—ensuring he gets his own fill of entertainment while you get yours.

“Fuck,” you hiss as your swollen, sensitive mound regains its flutter with every drag against him—the fabric shrouding your heated core bundling with the movements and only adding to your heated stimulation.

“Yeah, you’re doin’ good, baby,” Ben hums encouragingly with a light squeeze of your hips. “Just like that—you got it.”

Your hips don’t stutter in their pace as you grind yourself against his thigh, and with each round, you’re pressing yourself further and further into the bulk of his muscle. The stimulation bruises and burns your clit raw, but you’re in the hot pursuit of a release, so you endure. And then your high arrives in a muffled, broken grasp—your lower lip instinctively drawn into a bite as you cope with the wave of pleasure that rises overhead and collapses back onto you. Your head lolls back in the midst of your blissful moment, and your chest heaves with the struggle for air.

Ben pats your thigh in a physical expression of bravo before his hand strays from its place to curl around the arch of your neck. There, he glides his way up to your jaw, forcibly tilting it down to where he has a full view of your exhausted face. Immediately, his glare snags onto the lip you’re throttling between your teeth, and his brows cock on a look of disapproval.

“Stop that,” he says, releasing your jaw to flick a finger across your lips. You wince softly at that, your lip plopping from your toothy grasp before you’re shooting him an indignant glare.

“I’m trying!” You say defensively.

“Not good enough.” His hand moves to curl around your nape, where he selfishly pulls you in for a kiss—but his lips hover just shy of you, his eyes seizing yours in a glare that borders on a silent warning. “You better try harder, ‘cause I’m the only one that’s allowed to roughen you up like this,” he murmurs, and before you have a chance to respond, he’s pressing his lips flush against yours.

There, he consumes you with a vicious kiss, his tongue finding yours in a tumble that feels frustrated. And somewhere in the mix, he sucks at the tender flesh of your lip. It’s an action that feels soothing—like he’s laying down a bandaid, until he seizes it between his teeth, and you realise that he’d always intended to rip the bandaid right off.

With your lower lip captured between his teeth, Ben sinks in a light nibble that delivers well on his claim—that you’re all his for the taking.

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a/n ─ first off, don’t talk to me about how this is too long for a drabble bc in my yapper mind anything less than 5k words is a drabble. secondly, this goes out to all my anxious girlies that stim with lip biting. just one of those days where the anxiety is kicking in full-fledged and i bit my lip raw 💪 need me a comforting sb fr. n e ways, i feel like sb, with all his past trauma and emotions he pretends not to notice, he’s developed all his own anxious body languages that he does absentmindedly—toe tapping, jaw-clenching, fidgety hands, tense shoulders. and so it’d be pretty easy for him to pick up on likewise behaviours radiating off of you, and he’s immediately addressing it. but at the same time if you had to bring it up with him and point out his own anxious behaviours, he’d deny every second of it bc bro doesn’t think he’s subconsciously troubled. he so is tho and reader tends to do something about it anyway with massages (drabble on this is coming), scalp massages, jaw mobilisations (i learnt this on animals and applied it to myself and it’s heaven actually). yeah that’s it for now. and thank you all from the bottom of my heart for 700+ followers, take this piece as my token of appreciation <3

thank you for reading! likes & comments are appreciated, but reblogs go a much longer way—so please support your writers with it! <3

tags ─ @gibson-g1rl @bohemianblasphemy @fallbhind @angelicjackles @deansbbyx @titsout4jackles @starzify @ultravi0lence14 @honeyryewhiskey @daylighted @deansbeer @deansbbyx @figthoughts @dulcescorderitas @whisperingdaze @st4rmarley @bakugotypecrashout @jaydensluv @chi-raz @youdontknowe @misatxox @lixiesbrowniess @ilovedeanwinchester4 @beelzebzb @lunaleah @kr804573

want to become part of the taglist for any future soldier boy works?

other works ─ the boys masterlist

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nailsofvecna · 2 months ago

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A high-level wizard specialised in time manipulation can be a near unstoppable force on the battlefield. Moving with artificially enhanced speed, they can cast three or four spells in the time it takes an ordinary mage to get through a single incantation, easily overwhelming the defences of their enemies.

The most remarkable trick of the veteran chronomancer is truly a sight to behold: by bending space and time, they can cheat death itself, a perfectly healthy 'paradoxical clone' appearing the moment the original mage is struck down. Fortunately the strain of this technique is such that it can't be repeated at will, otherwise the chronomancer would be truly immortal!

#stat block sunday #d&d 5e #homebrew #monster

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okruee · 1 year ago

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rue... where are u rue...

sleepi ng

just kidding im working a lot commuting a lot oh i got a boyfriend and then i broke up the boyfriend lol hashtag leo moment my eye has been twitching for 2 weeks OH I MET IMO CHEESEHAIR @devitalise it was so fun i love her love u babe if ur reading this <3 meet ur online friends <3 <3 <3

#not simming these days really not feeling sims or cc making not sure if i'll come back/go back to making cc regularly tbh #i do miss it here at times :')#anyway hi bye #ask #anon #ruereplies

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love-bugsy · 2 years ago

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the worst thing about love is… | jason todd

the worst thing about love

you’re just trying to get through your surgical residency, but this masked vigilante keeps showing up half-dead on your fire escape and reminding you of your dead best friend. oh well, at least he's cute.

one | two | three | series masterlist

tw: stitches, mentions of blood and injuries, swearing, completely ooc Jason but he’s like my own lil character now and I’m protective, very inaccurate medical terminology and procedure lol

only jerks steal other people's writing (just don't repost, mate)

There’s a dead man on your fire escape.

Well. He’s not actually dead, but his pulse is weak when you drag him into your living room, out of the relentless Gotham rain. Pulling your hand away from under his mask, you crouch down, peeling off the worn leather jacket around his shoulders and unbuckling his pauldrons. You feel around his back, brows furrowed. You can’t feel anything through the padding in his rain soaked shirt.

Hands wandering down to where his front is flat on the floor, you press down on his side, eyes widening when your fingers come back slick with blood. You go into autopilot, flipping him onto his back and yanking up his compression shirt. You might’ve gasped at the knife wound if you weren’t working on instinct. It’s bad.

Shoving away the doubt clawing at the base of your skull, you steady your trembling hands. You’ve been trained for this.

Don’t feel, just do.

The cut is long and serrated, and deep as all hell. It slices through the middle of a jagged, Y-shaped scar that chains over his shoulders like a noose. Jesus.

It’s like he was stabbed and then dragged across the floor, cutting diagonally across his torso. How is he even still alive? Your hands move faster than you can think, completing an internal checklist as you go.

Breathing? Fast and shallow through his modulator, no obstructions. Bleeding? Applied tourniquet to epigastric region - transfusion isn’t even an option… Your brain works overtime, sifting through diagnostics lectures - penetrating abdominal trauma, debrided of devitalised tissue, no visible debris… You trace the edges of the wound looking for inflammation or fluid buildup; signs of peritonitis, but the weapon seems to have missed any internal organs. Lucky. Even luckier that he landed on a surgical resident’s fire escape.

Reaching over to the lamp by your couch, you shift it so that it shines directly over his abdomen. A last check of his wound confirms that there are no external indications that you should conduct a laparotomy. You just have to sew him up and hope to god the knife didn’t puncture anything internal.

You keep a hand planted firmly over his tourniquet, applying constant pressure, reaching for your backpack. Dragging it over, you use your teeth to open your suture kit and your free hand to sterilise his cut with Betadine and alcohol, wiping gentle circles outward from the wound. You dip your needle like Achilles in the Styx, hand and all, into the sterilising liquid, tugging a glove on with your teeth.

You grip the needle driver in your dominant hand, pickups clutched in the other and take a steadying breath. There’s a stillness to the room, quiet save for your heartbeat pounding in your ears. The wound is large - high tension - so… mattress sutures… horizontal so the tension is spread over the edge of the wound.

You take your first bite, adrenaline driving your needle into a clean stitch. You reverse it, passing through his cut again, before tying it off with the practised motions of a thousand surgical knots tied on yarn and thread and fraying jeans. You settle back on your knees after the first suture, readying yourself for the stitching to come, and start the next one.

Hours later, you haul him onto your couch, sitting him up on the arm rest to take pressure off of his dressed stitches. Frowning deeply at how uncomfortable he looks - even unconscious, you tuck a throw pillow under his scuffed metal mask.

Leaning close to check his breathing, you hear crackling slow and deep through the helmet’s voice modulator. Bone-deep relief floods your system, a little sigh leaving your mouth involuntarily. Sitting heavily against your coffee table, you press the heels of your hands into your weary eyes.

He’s stable. For now at least.

Head bumping against the edge of your couch, you breathe in deeply, fighting the anxiety twisting in your ribcage. The couch smells like rubbing alcohol, stinging your nose so badly your eyes water. It’s followed by something familiar - underneath the heady scent of petrol and metal - like… if you mixed Gotham up into a single smell; rain and smoke and wet pavement. He… he smells like-

“Jay!”

The faulty fluorescent lights - courtesy of your parent's small family diner - seem to flicker in tandem with your strident yell.

Your best friend looks up at you through a mop of dark hair, collarbones poking out of his thin t-shirt, second-hand leather jacket chucked haphazardly on the other side of the booth. He’s stolen your copy of Jane Eyre, flattened with one hand next to a plate of old fries you’d scrounged for him.

You tug your book from his grasp, tucking your pen into the pocket on your apron. He looks up at you with a mouth full of fries, infuriating confusion written across his face.

“What? You promised I could read it.” You sigh in exasperation.

“When I’m finished! And-” A dramatic gasp rips from your mouth when you examine the book. “Are these- grease stains?” You take the book in both hands, swatting Jason with it.

“What so it’s okay to hit me with a book but not get grease- fuck, jesus, okay, okay!” You raise the book over your shoulder with both hands.

“Do you yield?” His mock-angry expression almost makes you laugh, a hand held up near his face to shield from your attack. There’s a soft twist to his frown, like he’s trying to stop his mouth from pulling into a grin. He raises his hands in surrender, and you relax your hold on the book.

Rookie mistake.

Jason darts forward, faster than you can blink, grasping your waist with both hands and dragging you towards him. He yanks the book from your hands and lets you go, grinning childishly at you with the book in his hands. The cat with the canary.

You throw your hands up in exasperation before planting them on your hips like a disappointed mother. The admonishment on the tip of your tongue turns into a weary sigh when you hear your parents calling for you from the diner kitchen. “Fine. But you actually have to try to not spoil it this time.”

Jason crosses his fingers over his chest, “Scout’s honour, birdie.”

You try not to flush at the nickname, just like you do every time he says it. Still, you fold like a stack of cards.

(He spoils it the next day.)

When you wake two hours later for rounds (at the ass-crack of dawn), he’s already gone. You pad quietly around your kitchen making coffee from day-old grounds, cautious not to disturb the sanctity of the early morning (or the ghost of his presence).

The only evidence of him is alight in the dim light that spills over your kitchen counter and into your living room - the deep indents in your couch and the bloodstains on your carpet… The rain on your wood floors, from the fire escape window you’re sure you didn’t leave open.

hi, hello, uhh this is the first fic I've ever posted so bear with me. if anyone actually sees this, i do apologise for the inaccuracies and lengthy prose. also, this will be a series so stick around if you like slow updates, slowburn and second chances. thanks for reading my rambles.

with love, bugsy

#series: the worst thing about love #love-bugsy #jason todd x reader #jason todd fic #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd reader insert #jason todd imagine #x reader

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sakuratsuii · 3 months ago

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2025 so far is making me want to end it DEAR GOD when will it cease its torment i am devitalised with the weight of my ignominy

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sewercreature · 1 year ago

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15 questions + 15 friends tagged by @nougatbit <3

1. Are you named after anyone?

I am named after a character from Star Trek: Deep Space Nine :) both of my siblings are named after Star Trek characters as well lol big ass dweeb parents

2. When was the last time you cried?

I cried just a few days ago over THIS tiktok reading of Silvia Plath’s “The Fig Tree” from The Bell Jar which I think is a perfect representation of anxiety, depression, and the feeling of being too overwhelmed and exhausted with possibilities, life paths, and feeling like things are leaving your reach

3. Do you have kids?

No and I never will I’ll be a good Aunt if any of my siblings decide to have children

4. What sports do you play/have you played?

I play tennis i never really played sports as a child

5. Do you use sarcasm?

Yes all the time

6. What is the first thing you notice about people?

Eyes

7. What’s your eye color?

Green

8. Scary Movies or happy endings?

Bit of an odd question lol scary movies can have happy endings? I am a horror girlie though

9. Any talents?

I wouldn’t say i’m talented i mainly put in a lot of work studying what i want to do and with time i get better

10. Where were you born?

Florida

11. What are your hobbies?

Drawing, working out, playing video games, makeup, fashion, eating hot chip

12. Do you have any pets?

A dog

13. How tall are you?

5’2’’ or around 157 cm

14. Favorite subject in school?

History! Now i’m into researching the Victorian era, Edwardian era, Gilded Age, Prehistory, Fashion history, and architectural history

15. Dream job?

Marine biologist or a job working with land animals specifically Mole Rats!

I’ll tag

@devitalise @djservo @crsentfairy @mal-functioning <3

#ask game #thank you for tagging me!! <3

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devitalise · 2 years ago

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made a letterboxd if anyone would like to follow me :) username devitalise

#bye x

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madsotc · 2 years ago

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I became that dentist fucking nightmare too at least. the cavity developed under a layer of filling and the tooth was a whisper away from needing to be devitalised but he managed to save it. And when we got to the root canal portion of the event he fiddled in there for forever, muttering under his breath, eventually gave up and did another x-ray. When he called the assistant over to check, she just went "what in the world". And they wouldn't say anything more to me until he was done with the root canal (which he eventually managed), then he showed me the x-ray. The canal in that specific tooth is crooked like a hook (i was given to understand that is not common). His parting words to me were "if everyone's teeth were like yours I would not be doing this job" and then robbed me of an exorbitant amount of money.

#but you can't help but being grateful with dentists: yes you robbed me blind #and the amount of pain you put me through almost delivered me unto the hands of god #but i can now go back to living my life blissfully unaware of the several ticking time bombs i have inside my mouth.#burbles.txt

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nursingwriter · 11 days ago

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EAR Infections Fundamentals of Nursing (Bataan Peninsula State University) Scan to open on Studocu Studocu is not sponsored or endorsed by any college or university Downloaded by James Mcknight ([email protected]) lOMoARcPSD|28323056 Ear Infections Microbiology and Parasitology – Lecture These include: Otitis externa, otitis media, mastoiditis Otitis externa • Pain and itching that results may be severe because of the limited space for expansion of the inflamed tissues. • Otitis externa can be subdivided into 4; 1. Acute localised otitis externa, 2. Acute diffuse otitis externa 3. Chronic otitis externa and 4. Malignant otitis externa. • Infection of the external auditory canal (otitis externa) is similar to infection of skin and soft tissue elsewhere. • Unique problems occur because the canal is narrow and tortuous, fluid and foreign objects enter, are trapped and cause maceration and irritation of superficial tissues. Structure – Ear canal • The external auditory canal is about 2.5cm long from the conchae of the auricle to the tympanic membrane. • The outer half of the canal is cartilaginous, the medial half tunnels through the temporal bone. • A constriction, the isthmus is present at the juntion of the osseus and cartilaginous parts. • The skin of the canal is thicker in the cartilaginous portion and includes a well developed dermis and subcutaneous layer. • The skin lining the osseus portion is thinner and and lacks a subcutaneous layer. • Hair follicles are numerous in the outer third and fewer in the inner 2/3 of the canal Aetiological agents • The microbial flora of the external Canal is similar to the flora of the skin elsewhere. • There is predominance of staph. Epidermidis S. aureus and corynebacteria and lesser extent anaerobic bacteria like propionibacterium acnes • Others streptococcus pneumoniae, Haemophilus influenza, moraxella catarhalis • Gm neg bacilli – Pseudomonas aeruginosa Pathogenesis • The ear canal epithelium absorbs moisture from the environment. • Desquamation of the superficial layers of the epithelium may follow; In this warm moist environment, the organisms in the canal may flourish and ivade the macerated skin. • Inflammation and suppuration folllow. Clinical Manifestations Acute localised otitis externa • may occur as a pustule or furuncle associated with hair follicles. - Staph aureus. Erysipelas • caused by group A sreptococcus, may cause hemorrhagic bullae on the canal and tympanic membrane. • Adenopathy in the lymphatic drainage areas is often present. • Treatment o Depends on presentation; o Systemic antibiotics/ Incision and drainage. Acute diffuse otitis externa (swimmers ear) • occurs mainly in hot and humid weather. • Ear is itchy, painful and canal is edematous and red. • Gm neg bacilli esp P aeruginosa. • Treatment: topical eg neomycin/polymyxin in steroid/systemic antibiotics Chronic otitis externa • due to irritation of drainage from the middle ear in patients with chronic suppurative otitid media. • Itching may be severe. Management is by treating the otitis media also. • Organisms rare - mycobacteria, treponemes, yaws, leprosy. Invasive malignant otitis externa • is a severe necrotizing infection that spreads from the squamous epithelium of the ear canal to adjacent areas of soft tissue, blood vessels , cartilage and bone. • This invasive otitis externa is associated with pain and tenderness of the tissues around the ear and mastoid accompanied by pus drainage from the canal. Downloaded by James Mcknight ([email protected]) lOMoARcPSD|28323056 • At risk include diabetics, immunocompromised, debilitated and elderly patients. • Complications: life threatening disease may result by spread of infection to the meninges and brain. • Cranial nerves 7, 9,10,12 may be paralysed. • Cause: P aeruginosa. • Treatment: Clean the canal devitalised tissues removed,ear drops with antipseudomonal and steroid activity given and systemic therapy for 4- 6 weeks.ticarcillin/piperacillin/a ceftazidime with aminoglycoside Otitis media • Defined by presence of fluid in the middle ear accompanied by signs and symptoms of the illness. • Peak incidence occurs in the first 3 yrs of life. • The disease is less common in the school aged child, adolescent and adult. Associated factors Otitis media has been associated with; • Immunosuppression, passive smoking, poor breastfeeding, introduction of infants into large day care groups, • Race and ethnicity – canadian eskimos and australian aborigines have extraordinary incidence and severeity of otitis media. • Age at the time of first episode of acute otitis media is a powerful predictor of recurrent middle ear infections. • Males > females • Some children have anatomical changes- cleft palate, cleft uvula, submucous cleft – or alteration of the normal physiologic defenses-patulous eustachian tube. Pathogenesis • The middle ear is lined by respiratory epithelium with ciliated cells mucus secreting goblet cells and cells capable of secreting local immunoglobulins. • Anatomic or physiological dysfuntion of the Eustachian tube appears to play a critical role in the development of otitis media. • The eustachian tube has at least 3 physiologic functions with respect to the middle ear; 1. protection of the ear from nasopharyngeal secretions, 2. drainage into the nasopharynx of secretions produced from the middle ear, 3. Ventilation of the middle ear to equilibrate pressures to be as the atmospheric –external ear canal pressure. • When one or more of these functions is compromised, accumulation of fluid in the middle ear and subsequent infections may occur. • (congestion of the mucosa of the eustachian tube can result in obstruction; secretions that are constantly formed by the mucosa of the middle ear accumulate behind the obstruction, and If a bacterial agent is present, a suppurative otitis media may result.) Bacterial agents • Streptococcus pneumonia, Haemophilus infleunza, Staphylococcus aureus, Group A streptococcus, Moraxella catarhalis. • Others chlamydia trachomatis, mycoplasma pneumonie, diphtheritic otitis, mycobacterial tb and chelonae Clinical course Acute otitis media • the presence of fluid in the middle ear along with signs/symptoms of acute illlness. • Signs and symptoms may be specific eg ear pains, ear discharge,hearing loss; or non specific eg fever, irritability,lethargy. • Vertigo, nystagmus,tinnitus can also occur • Fluid can persist in the middle ear for prolonged periods after onset of acute otitis media even though symptoms may resolve within a few days of intiation of antimicrobial treatment • The common causes of otitis media are recovered frequently in cultures. • However if the patient is toxic or has focal infection elsewhere,culture of the blood and the focus are warranted. • Needle aspirations of the middle ear fluid (tympanocentesis) can be done in critically ill patients,the patient who has not responded to the initial antimicrobial therapy in 48-72 hrs and is toxic, and patient with altered host defences eg immunological defect including the newborns. Downloaded by James Mcknight ([email protected]) lOMoARcPSD|28323056 • Treatment o Amoxicillin – clavulanate, cefuroxime, cefixime, erythromycin. o Role of oral and nasal decogestants given alone or in combination with antihistamine – may relieve obstruction of the eustachian tube. Chronic otitis media • This term includes recurrent episodes of acute infection and prolonged duration of middle ear effusions usually resulting from a precious episode of acute infection. • Recurrent episodes of acute infection can be managed by chemoprophylaxis (eg amoxicillin given in winter and spring) and immunoprophylaxis = pneumococcal vaccination • Middle ear effusions can be managed surgically • This can be by Myringotomy - incision of the tympanic membrane, adenoidectomy, and insertion of tympanostomy tubes Mastoiditis • The proximity of the mastoid to the middle ear cleft suggests that most cases suppurative otitis media are associated with inflammation of the mastoid air cells. • Hyperaemia, edema, serous then purulent exudate collects in the cells • Bone necrosis due to pressure of the exudate. Clinical Manifestations Acute mastoiditis • usually accompanied by acute infection in the middle ear. • Specific features of mastoiditis include swelling, redness and tenderness over the mastoid bone; pinna is displaced outward and downward and a purulent discharge may be seen after perforation of the tympanum. • Chronic otitis media with mastoiditis can erode through the roof of the antrum causing temporal lobe abscess or extend posteriorly causing septic thrombosis of the lateral sinus. • Diagnosis: o Specimen- pus discharge from ear, freshly from the tympanic membrane o If the tympanic membrane is not perforated,tympanocentesis should be performed to obtain specimen from middle ear. o Cultures for bacteria • Treatment: • Antibiotics are similar as those used in otitis media • If the disease in the mastoid has had a prolonged course,cover for staph aureus and Gm neg enteric bacilli for initial therapy until culture results ready. • Mastoidectomy - when mastoid abscess forms and sepsis has been controlled by antibiotics. • Summary of pus examination DAY1; 1. description of specimen macroscopicallycolour,blood stain 2. culture on BA/Mac/Neomycin blood agar if anaerobic infection suspected/LJ media for recurrent or chronic otitis media/SDA 3. Gram smear –pus cells and bacteria ZN smear/KOH preparation/Darkfield mic DAY 2 onwards; - Examine and report cultures Downloaded by James Mcknight ([email protected]) lOMoARcPSD|28323056 Read the full article

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