#dip liquid kit

[giuliettagaltieri]

Sad Little Thing

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Lovesick!Reader

Chapter Synopsis: Crybaby, Love Guru, and the Sleep Deprived

Warning: Angst, swearing, one sided pining, shallow/light writing, you and Rafe are equally stupid in your own ways.

Word Count: 2057

3 of 4

Your eyes were bloodshot and dry by the time your engine stalls.  It makes the runabout lurch and shake before coming to a complete halt and just getting rocked by the gentle waves.  You glance down and bite your lip when you see the indicator for the gas tank. 

Great, you just successfully stranded yourself in the middle of the ocean at night.  You clench your teeth when a strong gust of wind makes goosebumps erupt from your arms.  Your mom and dad could be worried sick.  This was a bad idea. 

“No shit, Sherlock.”  You mutter to yourself.

You just had to make a mess out of everything.  First with Rafe, then running away from the party, and the cherry on top, here you are, in the middle of pitch black waters, you can’t see anything, no lights from the island, no boats.

Slumping in your seat, you check your pockets for your phone.

“Really?”  Groaning, you climb over to the built-in mattress over the stern when you realize your phone has zero service.  With your lips wobbling, you hug your knees to your chest.  Your breathing started building up as you look around the dark canvas around you.

You wanted to curse someone, anyone, but deep down you know you have only yourself to blame but you don’t want to admit that either.  Why can’t Rafe just forgive you like the way he did before?  You always mess up but he always makes you feel better too, he talks shit about anybody who wronged you, but why is he taking her side?

A bloodcurdling scream scratches at your throat as you lashed out, your delicate knuckles punching over the mattress, fat tears soaking your cheeks as the air in your lungs gets thinner and thinner.  You gnash your teeth when the mattress only dips to receive your hits.  Shallow lines appear on the leather surface as your nails accidentally scratch them.  You grip your hair, scalp burning as you pull in frustration. 

“I said I was sorry!”  You scream into the ocean.  While you blindly hit around, you miss how your clenched fist slams over the metal sticking out at the edge of the mattress.  The impact made an unmistakable sound of a crunch that had your stomach dropping to a pit. 

Gulping, you look up into the sky, hiding your hand from your line of sight as you cannot believe how you could manage to make everything worse.

A shiver rushes over your body when you feel warm liquid drip on your hand.  The pulsating pain spreading from your fist has your entire hand shaking and bile threatened to rise to your throat. 

With a gulp of air, you bring your left hand up to look at the damage. 

Your pinky was dislocated, it is bent at an odd angle, the skin between it and your ring finger was split and dark hot liquid was pouring out, you can barely see from the lack of light at the moment but you see it staining half your hand.

Rafe would have taken care of you if he was there.  You sobbed as you gently clutch your hand, bringing it to your chest. 

You have to do it.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you held your bent pinky and with a couple of sharp breaths, you pulled it sharply to realign your bones.

Your scream was pure agony, spit dribbling down your chin as you collapsed on the mattress.  With shaky breaths you willed yourself not to pass out as you climbed off to search the compartment for the first aid kit with the minimal help the flashlight from your phone could offer.  

It wasn’t restocked, just your luck.

Grabbing the clumps of gauze pads, you press hard on your wound, your eyes squeezed shut the entire time.  With no antiseptics, you just decided to carefully tape your pinky to your ring finger to immobilize it and try to prevent more damage.

Over your phone, you inspected your hand, the side of your palm is starting to swell and heat up.  There were no painkillers in your first aid kit.  With cold sweat dripping your forehead and soaking your back, you figured that trying to sleep to numb the pain would be the next option.

It’s alright.  Your dad will find you.  He’s probably out searching right now.  You just hope Rafe wouldn’t know.  You made yourself look pathetic in front of him, you can’t handle anything worse.

A loud call of your name was what woke you.  The sun was slowly rising, you can see it in the far distance, just barely above the horizon.  Groaning, you get up, immediately wincing when you accidentally lean on your injured hand.  It’s swollen really badly now.

“Y/N!”

You stand up on your shaky legs and see Topper waving at you.

If he’s here, Rafe could possibly be looking for you too.  You can only imagine the earful he would give you.

Smiling weakly, you wave back.

“Jesus, Y/N!  You scared us.  Disappearing like that.”  Topper tells you when he gets close enough.

“I’m sorry.”  You can’t even look him in the eyes.  “I uhm…I ran out of gas.”

Topper scratched his head.  “Yeah, I figured.”

He helps you to his boat, giving you a bottle of water while he works on the lines so he can tow your boat.  He was not happy when he saw your hand but upon seeing how broken you already look, he chose to shut up.

“How did you find me?”  You ask, your throat still sore from screaming and crying all night.

“Rafe told us where to go.”  Topper turns to you and smiles.  “He’s looking for you.  Kelce too.”  He says just to break the silence and you hum.  The sun is slowly climbing up, making the sky look like it had watercolor poured all over it.  “We started looking for you last night.  Kelce and I had to go home to rest for a while and started searching again before dawn.”

You squeeze the empty water bottle a little too tight.  “I’m really sorry for causing trouble.”

“Nah, I get it.  Kelce told us about what happened at the party.  I have known you for years now, Y/N, and frankly, I’m not that surprised you did this.”  Topper chuckles and your cheeks flush in embarrassment.  “Hey!  We’re close enough to the island.”  He fishes his phone out of his pocket.  “I should tell Rafe I found you.  He’s up all night, looking for you.”

Your eyes widen upon hearing that.  “Maybe,” you interject a little too loudly, “maybe we shouldn’t do that.”  You say, more calmly.

Topper glances at you from his shoulder.  “Okay.”  He hesitates but he slips his phone back to his pocket.  “Why?”

Smiling awkwardly, you stand next to him, wobbling a little with the speed of Topper’s boat cutting the waves.  “I don’t want him to see me right now, at this state, especially when his anger is at its peak.”

“I’d say he’s more of uhm…worried than angry.”  Topper smiles and you return it weakly.

You’re not too sure if you believe that.

“I really messed up, Topper.”  You sigh as you lean on the boat.  “I was so protective of him.  He’s probably sick from how I am all over him all the time.”

He clears his throat, not really knowing how to tread through this conversation with you.

“Maybe it’s because you’re a little too…easy?”  He winces when you whip your head to him.

“What did you say?”

Fuck, you sound pissed.

“Look, you’re giving Rafe everything he wants.  There’s no challenge, so why would he pursue you?”  He tried to explain as kindly as he can but there’s no easy way to put it.  “You need to put yourself first before him, let him see your worth instead of selling yourself to him all day everyday.”

As much as you want to kick Topper’s knees inward, he’s right.

“You think he’ll like me more if I stay away?”

He grimaces at the thought, he could potentially start another conflict.

“Don't stay away, just…prioritize yourself more?  You know, reservations.”

“Right.”  You mumble.  “You’re a great guy, Topper.  I know you’re Rafe’s friend, not mine, but I’m really glad you’re doing all of this.”

Topper flashes you a smile.  “What are you talking about?  I’m your friend too.”

“Really?”  You look at him brightly.

“Yeah!  I’m actually hurt right now.”  He jokes.  “All this time I thought we were really good friends.  Do you just see me as an acquaintance?”

“Neighbor.”  You reply cheekily, making him laugh.  “I should invite you to join girls' night.  You’d blend in really nicely, plus you give great advice.”  This immediately cuts his laughter and he clears his throat, a soft blush coating his nose, making you elbow him playfully.

Your father picks you up from the docks and rushes you to the hospital, after thanking Topper, to have your hand looked at by a doctor. 

Despite the painkillers they gave you, it was excruciating, having your finger realigned properly.  You can’t even laugh at the compliment the doctor gave you for packing quite a punch.  With a change of clothes and properly splinted hand, you sit patiently on one of the benches in the hospital. 

You’re waiting for your father to come back from paying the medical bill when rushed footsteps echo around the hospital corridor. 

A pair of shoes that you know too well, as it was you who helped him pick it out, stops in front of you.

“Y/N.”

You look to the side, not really wanting to see him at the moment.  Topper or your father must have contacted him.  It was silly of you to think you can hide, knowing how persistent he can be.

“Y/N.”  He spoke a little firmer, making you look up briefly before you look away again.

“Not now, please, Rafe.”  You sigh, too exhausted to handle his outbursts.

He sits next to you, you glance discreetly just in time to see him running a hand over his face.

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“You seriously think I don’t know that?”  You roll your eyes as you glare up at him.  “I of all people know that, Rafe!”

He faces you, his eyes wide in anger.  “You don’t!”  He breathes out a cold laugh as he taps his index and middle finger on your temple.  “You…You weren’t thinking and you don’t know anything! At all!”  You flinch slightly at his rising voice and he immediately backs up.  He glares at the wall, his shirt stretching as he sighs. 

You drop your eyes to his twitching hand.  You wanted to hold it but you’re scared you’ll do something he doesn’t like again.

“I was up all night, looking all over for you.”  Rafe whispered harshly between clenched teeth.  “And you just couldn’t settle with being stranded in the middle of the ocean, you had to hurt yourself too!”

“I know, I know.  I’m sorry.”  You whispered.

Rafe runs a hand over his buzzed hair, shaking his head.  “No, no, no, Y/N.  I leave you for a while and you pull these stunts.  You’re becoming a liability.”

You gasp as you look at him with scared eyes.  He couldn’t possibly mean that.

He leans close to you, until his warm breath is fanning over your face.  “I can’t trust you with yourself.”

Despite the fight you are having you couldn’t stop saying the next words that fall from your lips.  “So take care of me!”  You cry as you shut your eyes, tears rushing out uncontrollably.

Rafe licks his lips, his eyes watching you sharply.  God, you’re fucking dependent on him.  He pulls you closer and presses a kiss on your forehead but you pull away.  He presses his lips together.  You’ve never done that before, you never pull away when he initiates physical contact. 

He puts a hand over your nape and pulls you back in.  “Listen, I can’t be around all the time, okay?  Do you understand?”  You nod at him as you struggle to wipe your tears.  “I need to see that you can take care of yourself too, can you do that?”

You nod at him again but he clicks his tongue.

“Use your words.”

“Yes, Rafe.”

Lovesick Little Thing

[chogiwow]

cliches are okay | lee heeseung

pairing: heeseung x gn!reader

genre: fluff, slight angst, suggestive

wc: 1.3k+

warnings: mention of a fight, injury, blood, medication, suggestive, reader calls seung a pervert (he’s not, he’s just a guy getting straddled)

"you actually got into a fight?"

standing in the middle of the room, you regard heesung incredulously, taking in the bruised cheek and split lip. heeseung’s eyes remained downcast, trying to play it off nonchalantly by leaning across the doorframe.

"yeah."

heeseung doesn't elucidate further, leaving you to scoff silently as he enters the room with the first aid kit in his hand, plopping down in the middle of your bed.

"okay cool, i'll leave you to it then." you move to leave the room but heeseung is already scrambling up, blocking your path before you can leave.

"help me clean up?"

crossing your arm against your chest, you are amused at the way heeseung’s eyes betray the vulnerability in them though his stance looks like he couldn't care less. his eyes always give it away, not a very desired trait in someone who claims to be tough and cold.

"you think this is a movie? some sort of stupid cliche where we'll share a moment?"

"we're sharing a moment now," heeseung shrugs 

"and what's the magic word?"

heeseung’s eyes snap up to you. you don’t bother disguising the instant smile that bursts through your lips. heeseung should know that he doesn't make the rules every time.

gulping, perhaps his ego or dignity or whatever, heeseung concedes.

"please."

his voice is stiff, breathy and yet it's not in the least bit demanding. it's genuine.

you move to the bed without answering, fumbling with the ointments and disinfectant, pulling out clean cotton swabs.

"what, you want me to do it standing up?" you question and it has heeseung quickly taking a seat on the mattress.

without another word, you set about dipping the cotton in the brownish liquid, dabbing it lightly on heeseung’s cheek right under his eyes, blowing cool air on it without him asking you to.

he sits still, shoulders pulled back as you work, steadily gazing at you without meaning to.

"why did you really fight?" you ask, pulling out another cotton swab and swiping some ointment off a tube before applying it on the bruise. if heeseung was in pain or it stung, he didn't show it.

"he's an asshole, he deserved it."

now working on his lips, you press upon them slightly and it elicits a hiss and a glare from heeseung.

"that's what you get for lying."

"i'm not lying! he really is, ask niki, he’ll–"

"he’ll be sure to take your side, you're like some sort of messiah for him."

heeseung glares, clenching his jaws and frowning at your disbelieving nature. what had he done to deserve this kind of treatment?

"you never believe me," he sulks as you swipe off more ointment, completely unbothered by his tantrum, "do you really have to treat me like this?"

"like what?" you stare at him, waiting for him to reply before you could apply the ointment on his lips.

"like i'm the last person you would trust even if the world was ending…"

you can't help the laugh that bubbles up your throat, the seriousness of his childish accusation undelivered under his constant assumption that given a chance, you would want nothing to do with heeseung, and yet, here he was, seemingly worried that you didn't care when you could very well say the same for him.

"that's because you wouldn't either," you spluttered, sniffling at his comment.

"that's not true, i trust you with my life."

"oh yeah?" you deadpan, "well, even if i wanted to, i think it would be hard to trust someone who has so little regard for his own safety."

you raise your hand to finish tending to heeseung’s wounds, but the latter is already pulling it down, his fingers circling around your wrist, skin cold against your own warm hand.

"but i would never put you in danger," heeseung’s voice softened, eyes boring into yours and god, you know he's not kidding. his eyes always give him away.

"okay, i believe you," you say quietly, tugging at your hand but heeseung doesn't let go just yet.

"you sure you aren't just saying that?"

heeseung leans towards you, his nose brushing against yours in a feather-like tickle and you can smell the disinfectant off him. his soft breaths fall warm on your face and his cold fingers leave a tingle down your spine.

"what if i kissed you right now?" you take a chance, mumbling quietly into the space between you two.

"what if you did?"

moments pass in utter silence, your hand still in heeseung’s and your faces so very close, but you contemplate whether you should lean forward or not. if you know anything about heeseung, it's that he won't make the first move. he never did, always waiting for you to initiate things when you were comfortable enough.

sitting here so close to each other, heeseung almost wants to be the one to lean in and kiss you like he's always wanted to. yet, he thinks he can wait for as long as you make him and he'll never complain.

but when you glance up, there's the question glimmering so clearly in heeseung’s eyes, it’s hard to ignore it even if he wanted to.

how long will you make me wait? i can wait, no doubt…but i want you. and you know you want me too.

slowly, you lean forward, tilting your head before slotting your lips against his, eyes fluttering shut of their own accord. heeseung presses back gently, as if assuring you that this was okay, the pressure warm against your skin and you finally kiss him properly.

lips moving against each others' slowly as if you had all the time in the world, heeseung nibbles on your bottom lip, pulling you closer. his cold fingers rest on your neck, making you tremble under his touch, your own fingers moving to grip his hair.

neither of you tries to take it any further, simply moving your lips in tandem and savouring the moment.

you pull apart, licking your lips and breathing heavily. heeseung rests his forehead against yours, placing a small peck at the corner of your mouth and you positively melt at the feather like touch, burning hotter than his hold against your neck.

"you taste like disinfectant," you murmured against his lips, kissing him again nonetheless.

"and yet you're still kissing me," heeseung raises a brow, returning the favour with his own little kiss right under your jaw. it takes you your all to not push him back on the bed.

"never said i didn't like it," you remarked.

heeseung hums, tracing his lips against your neck and kissing you on the shoulder.

you are doing your best to stay calm. you fail miserably when a soft sigh leaves your lips at his touch.

"you also thought we wouldn't share a moment," heeseung smiles into the crook of your neck and you shake your head in denial.

"i asked whether you think we would share a moment," correcting him, you pull his face away from your neck and kiss the tip of his nose.

"are we," heeseung pulls you right onto his lap, your legs straddling him instantly as he holds you by the waist "having a moment now?"

"i would think so," you smile, kissing his cheeks.

"you only think?" the grin on heeseung’s face gives nothing away, but his eyes do. they always do and right now they hold you in their dark pools with so much love, you wonder how you missed it before. maybe because you've always been looking at him the same way and never noticed how they mirror yours.

"i'm supposed to put the ointment now," you mutter reluctantly.

"but then i'll taste like ointment and you'll get it in your mouth," heeseung says, scrunching up his nose in disgust at the thought.

"or maybe," you counter, almost relinquishing to his little act, "i can finish taking care of your wounds and kiss you later."

"that's no fun," heeseung grunts, pulling you closer and you vividly feel him under you when he moves.

"pervert," you simply state and before heeseung can say anything, you cup his face and give him a long kiss. heeseung melts at the feeling of your lips, moaning softly into your mouth. you feel the blood rush down and pull apart, never relinquishing your hold around him though.

"you seem to like this pervert," heeseung smiles.

"and does he like me?" you anticipate his response.

"yeah, he does. a lot."

you know heeseung is not lying, his eyes give it all away. they always do.

[evermoresversion]

CLEANING AND PATCHING NICK'S WOUNDS AFTER A FIGHT.

A/N I apologize in advance if there are any grammatical or spelling errors. English is not my first language.

PAIRING Nick Leister x Fem!Reader.

TW/TAGS Suggestive content, mention of wounds and blood.

SUMMARY Nick loses a fight for the first time and you're the only one he wants to see after this, leaving you to clean his wounds.

NICK'S MASTERLIST | MASTERLIST

It's well known that Nick knows how to fight well enough to come out unscathed from every fight he faces. But they say that there is a first time for everything.

So there was a first time for him walking out of a fight totally beaten up. His lip was split like his eyebrow, the cheekbone was completely purple and he has a black eye, besides that blood was beginning to drip from his lip.

He looked totally defeated.

"Nick!" you called him in a scream when you saw him lying face down on the ground. You tried to get closer but Lion stopped you until he himself got closer completely furious for having been so weak.

"I don't want to see anybody." He demanded turning his back to you when Jenna, Lion and Anna tried to approach him. "Where is she?" he asked realizing you weren't around. Besides that you were the only one allowed to see him so vulnerable. You're his safe place.

He turned around and when he saw you he walked towards you holding your hand, walking with you towards his car, leaving his friends abandoned in the place.

You didn't speak the whole way, watching him out of the corner of your eye.

Once at his house you both entered his room, you walked to the bathroom to find the first aid kit and return to the room, seeing Nick lying on his bed with his hands covering his face.

"Get up, love." You ordered softly and he obeyed you, sitting on the edge of his bed, you took a step to get between his legs, leaving the open medicine cabinet aside.

You took cotton and hydrogen peroxide, dipping the cotton with the liquid, rubbing the soft material over his wounds on his face, making him hiss.

"Sorry..." you commented, stopping for a moment, but he took your wrist to bring your hand closer to his face, inviting you to continue and you did so.

His gaze was lost, so much so that he didn't even notice when you finished cleaning him. You took his chin with your thumb and index finger.

"What do you have? What's going on with that pretty head of yours?" He would never get enough of your flattery, he took your waist pulling you closer to him, he buried his face in your abdomen and you ran your fingers through his hair, gently scratching his scalp.

"I was weak, I should have tried harder, I should have given more of myself." you felt the grip on your waist intensify.

"But love, you didn't know that would happen, it's not your fault." you murmured lowering your face to kiss his cheek and he denied letting go of your waist and uncovering his face from your abdomen.

His hair was messed up by your fingers a few seconds ago when they were in it.

"If it was my fault, if I…" you cut him off abruptly.

"No, I'm not going to allow you to blame yourself for something that clearly wasn't in your power, that's how it is, sometimes you win and sometimes you lose." you took his face in your hands, caressing his cheeks being careful not to touch his wounds. ""It's not your fault." His eyes were half open and he took your neck to kiss you with something similar to need.

He moaned in pain between your lips and you moved away from him, but he immediately brought your face closer to kiss you, his hands went down to your thighs, sitting you on his lap.

"Nick…" you murmured between his lips and he hummed, groaning as you pulled away. "you're hurt."

"and?"

"I don't want to hurt you anymore." you denied getting up from his lap, making him complain once more.

He flopped back on the bed once more, grunting as he accidentally hit a gash on his shoulder.

You smiled denying.

"I'm going to get something to eat and we'll watch a movie." You squeezed his leg affectionately, and he opened one of his eyes that had remained closed.

"Fine, but you owe me this." he demanded, making himself more comfortable on the bed and you nodded, laughing, knowing what he meant.

"Whatever you say, love."

disclaimer ── evermoresversion © 2023.

[dollarstoreartsupplies]

things that remind me of the nerdy prudes

(because like two people reblogged this one i did forever ago for the losers and i forgot how fun these are)

grace:

getting veggie tales songs stuck in your head as an adult, knee socks, eating all your broccoli, sparkly butterfly clips, watching sunlight glint off a lake through the treeline, guinea pigs, friendship bracelets off a water bottle, being secretly glad when someone you don’t like turns out to be a bad person, a bunch of cellophane candy wrappers crinkling at the bottom of your purse, being a little too into archery at summer camp, pastel bible highlighters, banana pancakes, tying way too many ribbons around the advent wreath, leggings under dresses, daydreaming about how you’d escape if you ever got kidnapped, strawberry ice cream, roller skating with almost too much protective gear on, cloud gazing, obvious family secrets that everyone refuses to tell you, feeling weirdly guilty for ordering your steak rare, bringing too many swaps to girl scout camp so you can trade with everyone, asking a new friend for their email address, long denim skirts

steph:

really dry liquid lipstick you bought in your freshman year of high school but refuse to throw out, 24 hour diners, typing in all lowercase but never actually changing the setting in your phone, listening to music you hate but gaslighting yourself until you enjoy it, really dark purple nail polish that looks black, collecting crystals even though you don’t really believe in them, saying your team bella (but secretly being team jacob), getting mad your vape was confiscated at your high school graduation, one million rings, coffee ice cream, tinfoil in a microwave, exclusively wearing sports bras, shoplifting, pink monster, thinking cigarettes are really hot, never wearing a jacket even if your cold, penny boarding, drinking four loko, regretting four loko, refusing to put your hair up even when you really should, kuromi, half fallen down led lights, playing your mom’s old guitar, sour skittles

pete:

planetariums, being overly competitive at board games, ginger ale, using a chapstick until it runs out, really liking marshmallows, really liking hot chocolate, hating marshmallows in your hot chocolate, buying a bunch of cool notebooks and never using them, forever dm, pretending you didn’t find asdf movies as funny as you actually did, m&ms, freezing cold hands, hand-me-down sweaters, only ordering chicken fingers and french fries, being intrinsically trusted by cats, carrying a clarinet to school every day, skipping episodes of next gen if they don’t feature data, praying on the first day of school that your teachers didn’t have your older sibling, transition glasses lenses (that you absolutely regret), dry krave cereal, secretly finding most museums really boring, grow-your-own-geode science kits, wing tip tap shoes, messenger bags, only doing extracurriculars that look good on college applications

ruth:

your comfort gay newsies fanfiction from middle school, being jealous of your younger sibling, those phone cases with glitter and charms floating in water, team edward and team jacob, wishing you hadn’t quit dance, buying fun jewelry and never wearing it, being devastated your hair is too dark to dip dye in kool aid, sticky lip gloss, painting every nail a different color, self sabotage, crushed velvet scrunchies, the grease soundtrack, wanting to be a rockette when you grew up, never learning how to do make up, begging to do figure skating as a kid, begging to do beauty pageants as a kid, begging to do cheerleading as a kid, turquoise braces bands, sinclair gas stations, showing up to an audition that you didn’t realize had a dance call, dunkin’ donuts munchkins, squirrel girl comic books, one half of a best friend necklace you wore longer than you should have

richie:

trying to get the marble out of a ramune bottle, wearing big headphones 24/7 (even if they aren’t playing anything), staining your best friend’s bathtub blue with hair dye, sour patch kids, enamel pins, discord calls across like three different time zones, the charlie bone book series, getting in trouble for drawing in class, being the friend with a car but also being a terrible driver, a pokémon card binder, that one kid who was really, really good at cup stacking, wearing shorts in the middle of winter, thirty-nine minute long voice memos, being exceptional at claw machines, vocaloid songs, your pet parakeet hanging out on top of your head, that one vaguely traumatizing round of the pocky game from seventh grade, regularly broken duolingo streaks, getting in trouble for bringing a real katana to your freshman year halloween dance

[aster-wires]

high tension scenarios w/ the twst boys

starring: Jack Howl and Azul Ashengrotto

authors notes: first time writing in like a year !! im gonna be writing more for twst, so if you see this feel free to request something. ill be setting up more rules later, so for now i hope you enjoy :D (also the formatting took forever please) 

Jack Howl ○ The Virtuous Protector

Patching them up while they seem to get flustered by the minute.

“And how did this happen again?” You sighed, taking out your first aid kit. Jack sat awkwardly at the foot of your bed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Got ‘nto a fight with some of my dorm members. It’s nothing serious.” He murmured. He took off his black vest for easier access to his wounds, but your eyes were more focused looking up and down his muscular arms. Snapping out of your small trance, you sighed as you began to disinfect the cuts and scrapes of the fight.

This was somewhat of a weekly routine by now. He’d come in with few injuries and the occasional bruise, but never anything awful. You never pushed the subject as to why he’s been getting into more fights recently, but that’s partly because you never really minded patching him up.

Besides, he’d rather sit on one of his cacti than admit that he’s been fighting for you. A few of his dorm members decided to talk shit about you in front of him, and he wouldn’t just let that slide on their part.

You two quietly for the most part. Jack looked away when you started to bandage his forearms, letting out a small hiss when you applied some alcohol onto the wound. Deciding to take a quick look back at you, he smiled softly at your furrowed brows and narrowed eyes.

“All done!” You smiled, finishing wrapping up the gauze around his knuckles. Taking a look at the wolf beast-man, you saw him staring back with a light blush. Clenching his fist, he turned his head to the side bashfully.

“What’s wrong? Do you have a fever?” You asked, peering around him to press a hand to his forehead. As soon as you got a good look at his bright red face, you could see his ears flattened atop of his head. His tail was almost moving at mach 10 speeds, as he took his other hand to try and slow it down as best as he could.

“You just…” Taking your hand off of his forehead, he held it loosely in his palm; gently, as if he was afraid to scrape you up himself.

“Nevermind. Thank you for always��”

“Taking care of you?”

“That’s not what I meant.” His hands were wrapped in the gauze you applied; rough, yet softer than people think it is. A bit like Jack in a way, you guess.

“Alright, just no more fights for a while. You’re using up my entire bandaid supply.” He smiled at that, unable to stop the furious wagging of his tail again. But he didn’t mind it so much this time.

Azul Ashengrotto ○ The Benevolent Sea Witch

Doing eyeliner when their face is inches away from yours.

"I don’t know why I agreed to this."

And yet here he was, sitting cross-legged in front of you while you were dipping the brush back into the bottle for more of the liquid substance. Letting out a small exhale at the notion, you began to softly press the tool just below his waterline.

Sure, you were focused on making sure that you don’t accidentally poke your friend’s eye out, but you’d be lying if you said that was all you were focused on.

“I mean, I don’t know why you need eyeliner when your eyes are already so mesmerizing.” You teased, leaning in a little closer to add some more liner in the innermost corners of his eye.

He tensed up at the statement, wanting to pull away and look to the side so that his hair could cover up any small smile that threatened his cool, composed behavior. But with a firm grip on his cheeks, you stopped him from moving away. (And stopped him from messing up all his liner.)

Moving onto the other eye, you decided to continue to tease the poor boy. Think of it as payback for all the times he’s left you speechless with his words.

“Oh I’m sorry, should I have said hypnotizing instead? Or maybe alluring? I mean–”

"Stop it."

He breathed out, the skin of his face was getting warmer by the second the more you held it. You chuckled, having way too much fun flustering him.

Azul, on the other hand, was tempted to hide in his octopot forever.

Deciding that’s enough teasing for one day, you two fell into a comfortable silence as the blush on his face slowly dimmed, but his eyes stayed as sharp as ever.

"Can you hurry up? I have a client I’m meeting later today." He grimaced at the thought of having to leave you so soon, but he has a responsibility of helping those dumb- I mean, poor unfortunate souls.

“Sure thing, hun.”

Yeah. He was really regretting agreeing to this.

┊┊ ˚✧ ┊┊┊┊ ˚✧ ┊ ┊┊ ┊ ˚✧ ┊┊┊┊˚✧ ┊┊

[love-bugsy]

the worst thing about love is… | jason todd (chapter 1)

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.

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

[xysidhequeen]

New Ficlet

TW: Death, Murder, Blood, Experimentation, Vivisection, Dissociation, Child Abuse

RedredredredsomuchredsomuchBLOOD.

Danny backed away, hands shaking. His foot slipped on the blood mess on the floor. He went down, a keening whimper escaping him as the fall jolted his wounds. His hands went up to grab at his chest, at the gaping wound and flapping skin. He froze, looking at the dripping red liquid coating his hands and arms like gloves. 

His hands shook and he could feel a wail crawling up his throat. He didn't look up, didn't look at his…at Jack and Maddie at their…bodies. He killed them. They're dead. DEADdeaddeadhekilledthem. He didn't look at them. 

Some cold part of his mind whispered to him. The voice sounded like Jazz. And– oh Ancients what would she think? What would Sam and Tucker think? They'd hate him, surely. He couldn't–

Jazz's voice in his head spoke up over his spiraling thoughts. Calm and clinical and ordering him to get up, to wash his hands. To find bandages and fishing line to sew up his wounds before their were three dead bodies in this lab. 

Danny listened to Jazz's voice. She'd always been the smart one. She'd always known what to do. He stood on unsteady legs and limped to the sink in the lab, washing his hands in robotic motions, ignoring the pink water until it ran clear.

He gathered up the materials he needed, sitting on a clean stretch of ground where there was no blood mess. He stitched himself back together, not even feeling the pain of it. This was nothing compared to what his parents Jack and Maddie had done to him over the past week.

He closed up the Y shaped incision on his chest, closed up the deep, surgical cuts along his torso and arms. Covered them in spare ectoplasm lying around the lab, slathered it on like ointment on the chunks of flesh taken from his arms and legs. Then he wrapped them all in bandages. 

He stood again and mechanically gathered what he'd need, Jazz's voice in his head, a calming narrator telling him what step to take next. What to grab. All the ecto-dejectos after he'd taken one and injected it into himself, giving him the energy he'd need and kickstarting his healing. More bandages, all he could grab. Fishing line, needles. 

He climbed back up to his room, grabbing a worn duffle bag to shove it all in. He grabbed his phone, turned it off, and tossed it in. Clothes, the cash Sam had given him 'in case of an emergency', the thumb drive Tucker made that would grab all the data from the Fenton computers and wipe the rest. He grabbed clothes, roughly yanking off the ruined remains of his jumpsuit and tossing a hoodie and jeans on instead. His ectoplasm would replace it, eventually, but for now, he needed clothes. 

He didn't turn back into his human form. It didn't feel safe. It wouldn't survive with the injuries he currently had. No matter how tired he was.

He drifted through the house, Jazz's voice his only grounding anchor as he dipped in and out of rooms. Grabbed a few things from Jazz's room, some of the emergency supplies she had left. A med-kit, cash, his fake papers, and ID. They kept it in her room, just in case his parents found out and it went badly and they combed his room.

They found out. They found out. It went so much worse than he could ever imagine. Now they're dead, and he's a MONSTER.

He dropped into his parent's room, the static in his head nearly drowning out Jazz's voice. She screamed louder, though. She always had. He took a hesitant step. It felt like moving through molasses. Then another and another, forcing himself into the room of his parents, his victims, the Fentons. He moved as quickly as he could, barely touching anything except to grab his legal papers and the money his dad squirreled away because he didn't trust banks and thought they were controlled by ghosts.

"No one can be that soulless and not be a ghost, Danno!"

He left the room, slamming the door behind him so hard it cracked. He stopped in the kitchen next, grabbing whatever wasn't currently animated and attempting to stage a coup. It wasn't much. He tossed it into the bulging duffle, struggling to zip it closed. 

He paused at the stairs to the lab, the darkness yawning like a monster's maw. He wanted to run he wanted to never see it again. 

But Jazz's voice was louder than his fear, so he stepped back into the lab, his prison, his cage. Each step rang too loudly in the silent house. Finally, he was back, and he kept his eyes carefully averted from the… mess. From the stains on the ground and the lumps beside a metal table covered in green ectoplasm. 

He hurried to the computer, shoving the thumb drive in. Immediately, a screen popped up, denoting how long it would take to download. Danny kept his eyes locked on it, never blinking or moving as the bar slowly went up. 

When it reached a hundred, Danny ripped the thumb drive out and shoved it in the duffle, deep down into it. He took a deep breath and turned his head quickly to miss the…mess. He zeroed in on the portal and forced himself to walk to it, past it. He ripped a panel off, exposing a mess of wiring. 

Danny moved on autopilot, ripping wires and twisting them together. Turning h- Jack and Maddie's greatest invention into a ticking time bomb. 

He couldn't afford for anyone else to get into the Ghost Zone or for anyone to get out. He needed to hide the bodies evidence. He needed for all of the Fenton inventions to be gone. This would do it. It wouldn't be a massive explosion, but it would be enough to take out the house. 

Everyone would think he was dead.

Sam, Tucker and Jazz would think he was dead.

That would be for the best.

Better he die a hero to them than live as a monster.

Danny finished his work and stepped back, taking a deep breath he finally turned his head to look at Jack and Maddie. At their bodies. At his victims. He killed them. Him. He was the monster. 

The monster they made him.

Invisibility and intangibility washed over him in a cooling wave. He stumbled but held his legs, his core crying from the strain. He pushed past it. He forced himself up, up, up, and out of Fenton Works. 

He floated there, watched with a detatched type of curiosity as he mentally counted down the seconds until there was a rumble. Then the building just…crumpled in on itself. Imploding. 

Jazz was silent in his mind.

Danny didn't wait around for the emergency services to arrive. He turned his head and flew off. He wasn't sure where, exactly, until a memory tickled his brain. A memory of a little bird, a robin he remembered Sam saying. A ghost robin that used to warn him when new ghosts were coming or his parents were getting close. A robin who used to try to distract his rogues or tug Danny out of (or occasionally into danger if someone needed help) danger. 

A little robin that Danny used to just unload his woes and troubles onto because it felt like the bird could understand him. He always stayed to listen, at least. 

A little bird who had only ever spoken once, the last time Danny ever saw him.

"If you ever need to run, come to Gotham. It'll keep you safe."

Well. He had nowhere else to go. He might as well go to Gotham. No one would find one singular eighteen year old kid there. 

Danny turned his phone on, ignoring the hundreds of missed calls and texts, just long enough to see where Gotham was. Then he turned it off and started slowly flying in that direction, desperately hoping he got to Gotham before he passed out.

—-----------

Danny kept flying doggedly on, only pausing when he started leaking through his bandages and even then only stopping long enough to redo them in whatever bathroom he came across. He burned the old bandages once he was done, not willing to leave behind traces of his ectoplasm for someone to track him with. 

He ate while flying, shoving whatever he grabbed out of the bag into his mouth. The ecto-dejectos kept him going when his vision started to go dark at the edges. He couldn't pass out here. Not where it wasn't safe. He couldn't risk it. 

Danny had no idea when he'd feel safe again. Had no idea if Gotham would provide that safety, but it was the only hope he had. He had nowhere else to go. He couldn't go to the Zone, the portal was destroyed, and he couldn't risk trying to sneak past Vlad. He was too weak to open his own right now. Besides, if he came into the Zone this injured, then every ghost in a hundred mile radius would be on his ass, trying to finally End him and take the crown. 

No, the living realm wasn't safe, but it was safer than the Zone right now.

He just had to get to Gotham, find a safe place to lay low for a few weeks until he healed. Then he could vanish into the Zone. 

Danny kept flying, forcing his invisibility to stay up even when his core felt like it would shatter. He kept pushing and pushing. He stole a phone at one point. He couldn't risk turning his on again and having Tucker trace the signal.

He didn't spend time wondering why he'd even grabbed the phone. Why he kept it on him. The buried hope it would uncover would be the end of him.

He used it to keep him on track, getting closer and closer to Gotham until he could finally see the smog that coated the city like a dirty cloak. Could see the twinkling skyscrapers and Gothic architecture clawing at the sky. 

Danny was half delirious at that point, running on fumes and ecto-dejecto. He'd run out of food days ago, and his stomach had stopped growling, instead cramping in a ball of pained agony that just joined the rest of the pain his battered body felt. 

He flew over the city, past skyscrapers and ancient buildings. He ignored the thoughts of Sam that accompanied every gothic building and gargoyle. He flew deeper into the city, ignoring the crowds below. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, a sign, maybe?

A feeling tickled at his senses, at his core. It felt familiar but faint. Hidden almost under something…wrong and rancid. But it was familiar. It felt safe in a way Danny hadn't felt in two weeks.

It had been longer than that, but Danny didn't want to think about that.

Danny followed the feeling, half asleep and so delirious he could swear the buildings were warping around him as he flew haphazardly closer. The feeling grew stronger. It almost felt like a ghost. As he crossed some unseen threshold, the feeling strengthened. It was like entering an abandoned haunt, the boundary lined weak and feeble. 

If there had been a ghost here, they were long gone. Probably Ended, it was one of the only ways he'd ever seen a ghost relinquish a haunt.

Danny paid it little mind. The ghost might be gone, but the sense of them remained. It felt so safe to him, even if the energy pulsate Rage/Pain/Hate/Grief/Vengeance like a heartbeat. He followed the feeling deeper into the haunt towards the center. Towards what would've been the ghost's lair. 

He forced his body to go intangible when he found the building, an apartment building that was slightly less derelict than the ones around it. Not that Danny was particularly picky at the moment. This spot was as good as any, and if it had been a ghost's lair, it was unlikely there were any living people in it. They tended to naturally avoid ghost lairs, some deep instinct buried in their psyche screaming at them to stay away. 

Danny dropped through the roof and through apartments until he reached the one that was positively drenched in the faded ghost's energy. There was a couch right there. And Danny didn't even have the energy to look around further.

He was tired. He was in so much pain. He just wanted to sleep.

Danny dropped his invisibility and intangibility, collapsing on the couch, his duffle bag dropped to the floor beside him. The moment his eyes closed, he was out.

---------

What. You thought I only wrote fluff? Nah.

Anyways, this is an idea that's been rattling around in my head I wanted to get out. It's rough, unedited and who knows if I'll continue it. But it exists now.

It has no name but I saved it as 'The Monster They Made' but the name is subject to change.

I'm pretty sure I got all the trigger warnings. Let me know if I missed any

[roughribo]

How to do waxwriting play:

I've always loved waxplay, as a sadist I get a lot of joy out of watching my partner squirm in pain. But as a writer I've always had lots of fun playing around with the idea of bodywriting kink and using my partner's body as my writing canvas. One day several years ago I decided to combine my interests in waxplay and bodywriting and not only were the results stunning, but it was surprisingly easy to do. I've searched for it online, I've been to kink events, but I've never seen anyone mention it. It kind of feels like I just invented a new kink in a way.

The result is what I call "waxwriting," an activity that combines the fun of writing on someone with the sadomasochism of hot wax.

The supplies:

Waxplay candles (soy preferred, paraffin not recommended)

A set of kid's watercolor paint brushes

Electric wax warmer (or way to heat and control temperature of the wax without an open flame)

Thermometer

Towel/paper towels for brush cleanup

Safety rant:

The most important thing about this is having a way to have a sustained small pool of melted wax at a SAFE and controlled temperature. I achieved this by using soy waxplay candles and a wax warmer that I normally used to make my home smell good.

However, this is a big important point I want to make, do NOT assume that a wax warmer will heat your wax to a safe temperature. While most warmers fall in that range, please take temperature measurements by using water and a thermometer in the saucer of the wax warmer and practice the actual technique with caution before ever trying this on a live person.

Temperatures near and above 150 Fahrenheit (65 Celsius) are unsafe and are likely to blister and burn the skin but even before that point, some people find temperature play above 130 Fahrenheit (54 Celsius) to be a hard limit, so have a talk with your sub about preferences or run a "sexperiment", a nonsexual play session dedicated to playing out a high risk scene ahead of time to figure out the logistics of the scene and the limits of the people playing in the scene. Being able to do a dry run of a scene beforehand can give you invaluable information for how to conduct future play. And no it doesn't lessen the magic of the actual scene late on.

Some logistics:

Okay safety tangent over. For now. Since soy wax has a lower melting point of roughly 113-127 degrees Fahrenheit (45-54 degrees Celsius), it sits firmly in the middle of the temperature range that most commercially available home wax warmers tend to heat up to of 100-150 degrees Fahrenheit (38-65 degrees Celsius). For reference, my wax warmer averaged 130 Fahrenheit (54 Celsius)

I had less luck with paraffin wax candles because they had a higher melting point of around 115-142 degrees Fahrenheit (46-61 degrees Celsius) but also tended to cool quicker making them unsuitable for transferring to the skin via the paintbrush because the paraffin wax would just harden on the brush before I could write with it.

Soy wax actually retained heat long enough for me to write strokes across my skin while still being that sadistic pleasurable temperature. Because the thermal conduction of paraffin wax is greater than that of soy wax I recommend using soy wax candles for this activity, as the retention of heat is crucial for actually writing on your submissive.

The actual tutorial:

The actual technique is fairly simple. Put your wax into the wax warmer now that you have established the wax warmer heats to a safe temperature (I had to cut the candle with a butterknife and remove the wick). Heat your wax using your wax warmer and let it become liquid. Grab a smaller brush from your kit, I found that flat brushes with a width of 4mm to 6mm produced the best results, but you could go bigger if you wanted, there are just certain downsides I will discuss later.

Dip your paintbrush in the liquid wax and get it thoroughly soaked in wax. The next part is the simplest part to understand but hardest to master. The moment you remove your brush from the wax, it will start to cool, so it's important that the distance between your wax warmer and the body you're writing on is close and you must get a feel for the timing between soaking the paintbrush and applying it to the submissive that gives your submissive that "almost too warm" sensation and not be too hot or too cold. For me in my experiments, this was roughly a second.

Do not press into the skin, or else you will deposit all of the wax at once. Run the head of the brush over the skin and the wax will come off naturally before it starts to get too cool to apply to the skin, or roughly 3-4 seconds, in my experience. Depending on how fast you write this could be roughly anywhere from 2-5 letters per dip of the brush.

Which brings me to my first con of this activity. Unlike just dripping or pouring wax over someone's body, waxwriting has these frequent pauses while reapplying wax to the brush. I personally am not bothered by this, but know that it may be inconvenient for others.

The next con is this: the wider the brush the more dipping you need to do and your wax gets used up quicker because of the size of the lettering you need to do. Keeping your brushes and letters smaller tended to let me write more efficiently with letters roughly an inch in size. But if you want to write "SLUT" in huge broad strokes to embarrass your sub, by all means, grab a larger brush, just keep an eye on the wax you have available so you don't wind up with just "SLU" before you run out of wax.

The third con is that you may need to take breaks to heat up more wax. As I only had the one wax warmer I occasionally needed to stop to heat more wax. I found when using the smaller flat brushes the wax will actually last for a while. The smaller the brush you go, the longer you can write on someone for before needing to refill.

The final con is cleanup because it's very clear these paintbrushes will not last forever, and wax is even harder to clean out of the bristles than paint. Running it under hot water and taking a paper towel to them helped, however, somebody could always butt in and tell me I'm doing this wrong and there's an easier way to remove wax from bristles I'm just not familiar with.

Public Service Sub Announcement:

Has your sub drank water today? Make them. More news at 11.

In conclusion:

Be safe and happy waxwriting. Feel free to share any results in a reblog or tag. It's a fun way to introduce pain into bodywriting kink that feels very intimate and has the added bonus of being very photogenic.

I've been wanting to share this knowledge for a while ever since I discovered it years and years ago. I recently came across my documentation for the initial experiments and decided to present everything here on tumblr and share my findings. It's definitely a niche activity but I think it has so much potential for a BDSM date night, a kinky photoshoot, or maybe even as an activity at your local dungeon.

[p-artsypants]

Home (2)

When Astrid goes missing after a patrol, all seems hopeless for her return. That is, until an unexpected ally appears with a ‘token of goodwill’. Astrid!Whump

Ao3 | FF.net

It took hours. Maybe it was as painful as the torture had been. But this time, she was afforded breaks to gather her strength when it became too much. Hiccup hoped that she would pass out at some point and he could work without hurting her more, but she was just too tough. 

It spoke volumes to him that she didn’t need to be held down. She occasionally moved a limb, just a twitch, but she mostly stayed still on her own. 

She was simply too weak to fight. 

Once finished with the front, he very carefully worked on turning her over. Her back was ripped open, raw and split. 

Hiccup stood frozen, staring at the massive wound, just trying to figure out where to start. It was too big to stitch and unfair to cauterize. Thankfully, it wasn’t bleeding the worst, and the edges were scabbed over. 

He carefully washed the wound. “Honey,” the tender nickname rolled out without thought, “this might hurt…” 

“Like the rest hasn’t?” She sobbed. 

“I know, I know…but I’m going to clean this and then put a salve on it. Then it’s just going to get bandaged, unfortunately.” 

“I trust you,” she squeaked. 

And that almost made it worse. Because she trusted him, he wanted to make it as painless as possible, but it just wasn’t going to happen. 

From the med kit, he mixed up a new batch of astringent made up of honey, garlic, and some mead that had been fermented longer than usual, the kind that was really strong, but didn’t taste good. This mixture was the kind Hiccup went to whenever he had to dress wounds. It provided good results, so he was at least half confident in it. 

Being the viking with the missing leg and accident prone often made him default healer for wounds. Fishlegs was the one with a knowledge of teas and remedies for illnesses. 

At times like this, Hiccup wished he had apprenticed under Gothi instead of Gobber. 

He crushed the garlic up with a mortar and pestle and added it to the sticky liquid. 

“At least it smells good,” Astrid said weakly. “Can I have a sip of that mead?” 

“It doesn’t taste good,” he reminded. 

“I don’t really care.” 

Hiccup slid an arm under her, by her upper waist. Then he pulled her to lean against him so she could drink. 

She took a long gulp, exhaling harshly with a hiss. “That’ll help.” 

He hummed. “I’m sure it will.” 

Once done, he took the mead from her and eased her back to lay on her stomach. 

“Alright…” he dipped a rag in the tonic. “Here we go…” 

At first, Astrid just whimpered. But once Hiccup saw bubbles, he knew it was going to get worse. 

Astrid buried her face in his pillow and started screaming. 

The sound made Hiccup pause as his heart broke. 

“Keep going!” She sobbed. “Just do it and get it over with!” 

So Hiccup bit his lip and kept going, dabbing a generous amount of the medicine into the wound. He worked as quickly as possible without rushing it. 

She had been doing so well. So strong, so brave, but now, when her strength was failing, she dissolved into violent, heart wrenching wails. 

“I’m sorry,” he sniffed, saturating the rag. “I’m so sorry.”

“Hiccup!” She screamed. “You owe me for this!” 

“I know.” 

Once finished with that wound, Hiccup set the tools aside and attempted to comfort her as best he could, only really able to pet her hair and kiss her temple. 

“I’m sorry, I know that had to hurt but I couldn’t let it—“ 

“I know,” she squeaked, still wincing from the burning, stinging pain. 

“I’m almost done, I think. I’m not confident in my abilities with broken bones, so unfortunately your leg is going to have to wait for Gothi.” 

“My…legs…” 

“Yes, I know it hurts. But Fishlegs can make you some pain relive—“ 

“No,” she sobbed. “My legs, the back of them! Look!” 

Hiccup had left the wool blanket on her lower half while he worked on the wound on her back, to keep her warm and to give her a sense of privacy. He hadn’t looked. Hadn’t thought it was appropriate to look at her butt. But now, he realized he should have.

He swallowed thickly as he pulled the blanket all the way off and studied the gore. 

The same horrible, split, raw, oozing skin was present. Well, lack of skin. Her butt, thighs, and all the way down her calves were just like her back. 

“Astrid…” he felt the tears spring to his eyes. “Wha…how…?” He wasn’t sure we wanted to know. 

“Whipping,” she whispered. “With a cane. It was their favorite. They started at my back…” 

Now that she said it, he did realize that the farther down, the wounds got fresher. 

“They know how long to hit, where, how often…to keep you from dying, and make you suffer the most.” 

He took the wet rag and gently started to clean, but the wound was already sticky from her blood trying to clot. 

“Damnit,” he growled. “I don’t—I can’t—“ 

He had to put more of the astringent on, but the pain it caused her…

“Do it,” she demanded, pounding her fist on the table. “Just…it’ll hurt, but it’ll make me better, right?” 

“Yeah,” he breathed. Then he breathed again, and again. 

Why was he steeling himself? He wasn’t the one being slathered in liquid fire. But…

This was Astrid, and he was hurting her. 

“Shit,” he growled. Then he grabbed the bowl and saturated a new cloth. 

As he started dabbing on her rear, she flexed and winced in pain, but didn’t scream. She obviously handled it better there than on her back. 

Then, he touched her thigh. This sent the worst scream he’d ever heard in his life through his skull. 

“Stop! Stop please!” She wailed. “I don’t know anything, please!” 

Hiccup instantly pulled the rag away. Instead, he took the water skin and dribbled some cold water where he had applied the salve, hoping to dilute it. 

Astrid breathed a rattling breath for a long time, not speaking, not being able to. 

“Hiccup?” Fishlegs asked from the door. “Is she…?”

“She’ll be okay. The salve is…causing her some discomfort.” 

He hummed from the door, not convinced, but not pushing. “I’m working on a pain reliever. And then I’m going to make dinner.” 

“She’ll need it, thank you.” 

“F-Fishy?” Astrid whispered. “Is that you? I can’t see you…” 

“I’m in the doorway, Astrid,” he said calmly. “Kinda down by your feet.” 

“You’re making me something? Some tea? I love your tea…” 

Fishlegs swallowed hard. Astrid had always gratefully taken tea when he made it, as did most of the riders. But she never said she loved it. 

“Oh, yeah…I’m making a special one. Just for you. It might not taste good, but it should make you feel better.” 

“That’s so nice…” 

Fishlegs cleared his throat and attempted to leave but Hiccup stopped him. “Wait…”

“Yeah?” 

“I hate to ask this but…” 

Fishlegs guessed where this was going. “You need me to hold her down?” 

“Her legs. Especially the broken one. We can’t let her make it worse. This is the last bit I have to treat, but because of its location, she’s not taking the alcohol well. I think infection might be setting in.” 

Fishlegs whimpered. 

“If there’s anyone she’d trust to hold her still, it’s you.” 

“Ohhh don’t put that on me!” He cried. Still, he fully entered the hut and came and stood at the foot of the bed. “But I know you’re right.” 

Hiccup gave him a smile, then brushed his fingers over Astrid’s waist. “Astrid, do you need something to bite down on? Would that help?”

She whimpered an affirmative. 

From his scrap drawer, he found a small piece of leather and brought it up to her mouth. She bit down, anticipation already thrumming through her veins. 

“Alright,” he took the salve soaked rag again. “Let’s do this and get it over with. Astrid, you’ve got this. It’s nothing compared to what you’ve been through.” He started slathering the medicine on and felt her trembling underneath him, even with Fishlegs holding her legs. “Remember when you and Snotlout collided in mid-air and you dislocated your arm? The only screaming you did then was at Snotlout. You even tried to hit him with your bad arm, like it was a new weapon for you.” 

Astrid let out a scream, though muffled, as he hit a particularly nasty spot. She beat her fist on the table. 

“You’ve taken plenty of hits. This? This is nothing.” He was trying to reassure her, though he knew it had to be horribly painful. “You’re tougher than dragon hide. You’re going to be just fine.” 

She made a noise that made the tears he was holding back fall. 

“Just fine.” 

By the end of it, Hiccup was drenched in her blood. The table had a small puddle that had dripped down onto the floor. The wood was stained red. 

“And that should be the last of it,” Hiccup declared, pulling taut the last stitch on the bottom of her foot. 

Astrid whimpered, now the pins and needles and lightheadedness of blood loss setting in. 

“Thanks for your help, Fishlegs.” 

“N-no problem,” Fish responded, desperately trying to wipe the tears from his face. He had silently sobbed through the whole thing, his tender heart feeling Astrid’s sobs as his own. “Always happy to help.” 

“I’ll get her bandaged up. If you could finish that pain reliever…” 

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” he chuckled humorlessly. He took Astrid’s hand and squeezed it once. “You’re going to be fine, Astrid. That might have hurt, but it would have been so much worse if we didn’t do that.” 

“Uh huh…” she murmured. 

Fishlegs gave Hiccup a look, concerned, but opted to leave and get back to work on his medicine. 

“Now,” Hiccup said softly, “I have to figure out how to bandage you up. It also won’t be a pleasant experience.” 

Astrid didn’t respond.

“Astrid?” He touched her hair. “Sweetheart?” What was with these affectionate nicknames? It was like seeing her so fragile made him want to address her as gently as possible. 

“I heard you,” she breathed. “I’m awake.” 

He sighed in relief. “Okay, just…just checking.” 

He looked over the collection of bandages Snotlout had left. There was a lot, but Hiccup feared it wouldn’t be enough.

He went to his clothing chest and picked through the tunics he had. Most of them had Toothless’ saliva stains in them. While he often had Toothless drool in the twins or Snotlout’s medicine when they were ill, he actually didn’t know if it was wise to have dragon spit on an open wound. 

Then he found his nice white silk tunic. Only used for special occasions, it was clean and folded neatly at the bottom of the chest. 

And perfect for what he needed. 

He took a pair of shears and cut it into several pieces. The torso into two pieces to cover her back and buttock, and the sleeves into long pieces for her thighs. Then, as he remembered from months of wound care on his own leg, he dipped the silk in salt water, rung it out, and laid it on top of the wounds. 

She winced again, but not as harshly. Either because the honey made a barrier, or she was in so much pain, it didn’t really make a difference. 

Then he started wrapping her up. Legs first, because he could lift them on his own. Then he helped her onto her knees so he could wrap around her hips. Then finally, he helped her sit up and he wrapped her torso. Though sitting, she leaned forward and hung her head, swaying as he worked. 

“There, all wrapped.” He tied the last bit of bandage up. “Well, for now. We’ll probably have to redo all of this when Gothi gets here.” 

Astrid nodded, then started to list forward.

Hiccup caught her around the waist. “Don’t move,” he soothed. “Let me take care of you.” 

“I…I feel so weak,” she cried. 

“I’m sure.” He took her mostly stained blanket and draped it over a chair by his wash basin. Then he scooped her up and brought her over to sit. “I’ll make this quick, but I’m sure you’d like to get cleaned up.” 

She nodded mutely, leaning back against the chair. 

He worked quickly but carefully, scrubbing her skin of the dried blood that clung. Once cleaned, he dried her, and then carried her up to his bed. 

“H-Hiccup,” she grabbed at him. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” 

“Don’t leave me.” 

He pulled the clean covers up and over her prone form. “I was just going to go see if they’ve made any food. You really need to eat something.” 

Her lip trembled. 

“Now don’t look at me like that,” he cooed, running his thumb over her cheek. “You’re totally safe.” 

“I…I don’t want to be alone.” 

Hiccup gnawed at his cheek, torn between what was good for her, and what she wanted. He snapped his fingers. “I got it! I’ll be back in just a second. I’m not even leaving the hut.” 

He hurried down the stairs and then whistled for Toothless out the door. He didn’t even need to, since the dragon was right there, waiting patiently. 

“Can you go get one of the others? Preferably Fishlegs?” 

Toothless’ tongue lolled out out his mouth before he bounded off to fetch one of the riders.

“There,” Hiccup declared, climbing the stairs. “Those dunderheads can make themselves useful for once.” 

Astrid just continued to look at him, her lip quivering. “Did…I do that?” She pointed at him. 

He looked down, noticing from chest to knees, he was covered in blood. Her blood. 

“Whoa. Uh…well, I think it looks worse than it is.” 

Fishlegs appeared around the corner, peeking through the open door. He called up to the loft, “Hiccup? Did you need something?” 

Hiccup stood at the edge, revealing the huge red stain on his clothes. “Yeah, have you had the chance to make dinner? I think Astrid is ready for something.” 

Fishlegs swallowed as he noticed all the blood, but he gave a shaky smile. “Oh she’s all stitched up? How is she?” 

Hiccup looked back to Astrid, who had half-lidded eyes, but looked loads better than when he first saw her. “Tired, dizzy, drained. But better.” 

“Good! Good…I’ll um, I’ll just go get that soup then.” He pointed awkwardly towards the clubhouse before disappearing. 

Hiccup took the opportunity to change out of the bloody clothes and into something clean. He may be able to clean or re-stain the leather, but the shirt and pants underneath were a lost cause. He peeled the crusty clothes off, only to find light blood stains all the way down to his skin. Maybe it was just as bad as it looked. 

Astrid watched him, with droopy eyes. “You’re hot.” She blurted, her voice slurred. 

Hiccup didn’t even realize she was watching him. “Uh, thanks?” He hurried to throw on clean pants and a shirt, and then went to kneel at her bedside. He rested a hand on her forehead, easily able to tell she had a fever. It wasn’t surprising, seeing the infections he had tried to clean up. 

“That feels nice…” she breathed, closing her eyes slowly. 

“And the rest of you is cold?” 

“Mmmmhmm.” 

He nodded in understanding. Going back to his chest, he found an old tunic that had softened from time. It would be too big for her, but that would probably be best with the wounds. He brought it over for her, bunching it up so it was easier to put on. 

“Here,” he stated. “Put this on.” 

Weakly, she pushed herself up to sit. Hiccup lifted her up with a hand between her shoulders. The blanket she wore fell off of her and exposed her. His eyes flicked down, an instinct for a man, but he wasn’t particularly excited about what he saw. The deep cuts and bruises around her ribs that he could see between the bandages made him feel guilty. Guilty he couldn't find her sooner. Guilty that she had waited for him. Guilty that his decisions had allowed this to happen to her. 

He eased her arms into the sleeves and then pulled the shirt down over her head. 

“Hmmm,” she whispered. “Smells like Hiccup.” 

“Good smell?”

“Smells like home.” 

His breath hitched in his chest. She had said something like that earlier. When Viggo told her that she was home, she immediately asked for him. 

Well, he had been a constant in her life for many years now. It was rare they went a day without seeing each other. And if anything Viggo said was true, Astrid had a high opinion of him. He was an accessory to the familiar, a part of the thing that she called home. 

He tucked the blanket around her legs. “Let me get you another blanket from downstairs, and maybe some more pillows to prop you up so you aren’t laying on your back.” He placed a hand on the bed to push up, but Astrid grabbed his wrist. 

“Please…don’t leave.” 

“I’m not, I’m just going down the steps.” 

Tears gathered in her eyes, as she shuttered with a sob. 

“Astrid…” he settled to kneel again. “It’s okay.” 

The tears fell freely as her grip tightened. It still wasn’t very strong, but it kept Hiccup solidly in place. “I…I can’t…” She reached both of her hands up and touched his face. Once hand drifted over the stubble on his jaw, the other pet his fluffy bangs from his forehead. “I-I-I can’t…not one more minute.” 

He frowned, confused. “You can’t what? I’m afraid I’m not following.” 

“I can’t be apart from you. Not anymore. Not for another moment.” Her tears rolled faster now. “I just want to be home.” 

“You are home,” he insisted. 

She nodded, frantic. “With you!”

It clicked then. How he had been so stupid to not understand it earlier, he’d never know. Viggo was fairly obvious, and he still hadn’t gotten it. 

But he didn’t want to have this revelation with her now, not while she was feverish and panicking. She wouldn’t want that. 

“I see,” he said softly. He took her hand that rested on his cheek and raised it to his lips to kiss her callus palm. Holding her hand, he could now tell some of her fingers were broken, though not as bad as her leg. He kissed each one. “I’ll stay right here.” 

Fishlegs returned a moment later, a tray with a fresh waterskin, bowls, and a canister of soup. “Here we are!” 

“Fishlegs…” Astrid said, her voice full of warmth. 

“Hi Astrid…you are looking better.” He brought the tray over to the bedside table. 

“You should go hold her hand,” Hiccup said quietly. “She…needs grounding. If she can touch you, she knows you’re real.” 

Fishlegs understood the assignment as he knelt by Astrid’s side. He took her hand in both of his and very gently rubbed the back of her hand. “It’s good to have you home.” 

Astrid let a few tears fall. “I missed you, Fishlegs. It was so quiet there…I missed hearing you fill the silence with all sorts of fun things.” 

“I’m going to take that as a compliment instead of the insinuation that I talk too much.” He chuckled. “It wasn’t until you were gone that I really realized it was only you and Hiccup that listened to me…and Hiccup was pretty withdrawn, so it was lonely.” 

“Withdrawn?” She whispered, small and sad. 

“Yeah,” Fishlegs glanced at Hiccup, who didn’t indicate to shut up. “He was pretty devastated. He spent most of his time caring for Stormfly.” 

Her eyes widened, and she gripped both of the boys as hard as possible. “Stormfly? My Stormfly is okay? She’s here?”

“Yeah!” Fishlegs cheered. “And she looks great!” 

“She’s still grounded,” Hiccup insisted. “As are you, Missy. Until I say so.” 

“I’m not going anywhere.” Astrid shook her head. “I can’t even walk. Even if my leg wasn’t broken.” 

“Aww, you’ll be up soon!” Fishlegs argued. “Right Hiccup?” 

“Definitely. Hobbling around on crutches within the week.” 

She smiled at him. “That’s a sweet thought…but I don’t think so.” 

It made Hiccup sad that she didn’t seem determined to get up and at it like she used to. But he didn’t let it show as he turned to the tray of food. “Are you hungry?” 

“Not really…” 

“Too bad. You’re going to eat some soup. Even if it’s just some broth.”

After her taxing ordeal getting her wounds treated, Astrid was a model patient, in a way she had never been before. Many a time, she would get hurt and Hiccup would ground her, with no success. She would protest and bicker with him until whatever threat had caused her injury was taken care of. Then she would relax for at least a little while. 

The exception was when they had been out doing drills in the forest and Snotlout had Hookfang ram her and Stormfly, knocking them out of the air. The collision caused a sprained ankle and some bruising. Hiccup was going to demand she rest until the sprain healed, but instead, killed two birds with one stone and had Snotlout carry Astrid around. On day one, Snotlout complained about it, and even started throwing Astrid over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. But then the next day, he announced he was treating it like strength training, and carried her piggyback for two weeks. She had gone along with Hiccup’s wishes at the time, because she felt punishing Snotlout was more important. She even developed a healthier bond with Snotlout. 

But Hiccup wondered if she’d even be excited to get out of bed this time. 

He had her drink all the broth in the stew, plus a few carrots and a piece of beef. Then she determined she was full, nauseous even. 

Hiccup would have his own serving in a moment, but asked Fishlegs, “could you stay with her for a little bit?” 

Astrid’s eyes went wide as she dug her nails into Hiccup’s flesh. 

“Hey,” he soothed. “I know, you don’t want to be away from me. But I gotta use the bathroom and feed Toothless.” 

Her mouth trembled. 

“Then I’ll come back, and stay with you all night. Honestly, I’d glue myself to you if I could, but I have to have a few minutes here and there to take care of things so I can better focus on you. Is that fair?” 

Astrid glanced away, clearly mulling it over. She bit her lip as her eyes watered. 

“Fishlegs will be with you until I get back. You won’t be alone. You’ll never be alone.” 

She looked back at him. “Would you…kiss me before you go?” 

His eyes blew wide in shock. “Uuuhhh…” 

“Please?” She whispered, practically begging. “It will make being away from you easier.” 

He certainly didn’t know what to say to that. She was probably right. He did want to kiss her. He’d wanted to for years, even before she kissed him. 

And speaking of that…

“Okay,” he whispered back. Gently, as not to hurt her, he knocked his knuckles against her shoulder. A soft tap, really. “That’s for having me worried sick.” 

A weak smile began to form on her lips. 

He leaned in and pressed a soothing kiss to her chapped lips. It was more than a peck, lasting several seconds. Then he pulled away and said, “that’s for hanging on long enough to come home.” 

“Thank you.” 

Hiccup heard a gleeful squeak and flicked his gaze to Fishlegs, who had been so quiet he forgot he was there. Fishlegs was grinning madly, blushing, and held his cheeks. 

“That was so cute!” 

“Oh hush.” Hiccup rolled his eyes. 

Astrid let go of Hiccup’s arm, though it looked like it was almost painful to do so. 

“Just a few minutes,” he insisted. “I promise.” And he hurriedly left so he could return. 

His face still burned and his lips tingled. He had always pictured his first real kiss with Astrid to be perfect. Maybe at sunset, maybe in the rain…never while she was clinging to life. He couldn’t blame her though. If what she said about being home with him was true…

Then she needed every bit of him she could get. 

He was thankful for the kiss though. He was prepared to spend his time in the outhouse sobbing uncontrollably as everything hit him, but because of the soft touch of her lips, he walked out with a smile.

Hiccup did his business, and then made his way to the clubhouse to check in with the others. Just a quick chat to make sure everyone was on the same page, then it was off to the storehouse to gather fish for Toothless. 

“Hey,” he called, entering the clubhouse. 

Snotlout, Viggo, and the twins were there, all very quiet. They looked at him in surprise. 

“Whoa, didn’t expect to see you away from Astrid for another week,” said Tuff. “How is she? Snotlout said it’s really bad.” 

“It is pretty bad,” Hiccup admitted. “You guys are welcome to come see her if you want. She’s…as stable as she can be, I suppose. Gothi will know more when she gets here. She’s awake, but very weak. She’s acting a lot different than you’ll remember. She’s very soft and afraid.”

“What about you?” Ruff asked. “How are you holding up?”

He actually managed a tiny smile. “I’ll be fine. Now that Astrid’s home, I’m feeling a lot like my old self again.”  

Viggo didn’t say anything, choosing to wait until spoken to. 

“Did you get medical attention?” Hiccup asked him. 

“No,” Viggo replied. “Though, my wounds were not as grievous or numerous as Astrid’s. I was willing to wait for help until she was taken care of.” 

“Well,” Hiccup stretched his back slightly. “She’s having a hard time being away from me. But if you’re willing to come back to my hut, I’ll see what I can do.” 

Viggo stood. “I would appreciate it.” 

“Meet me up there. I’m going to get some dinner for Toothless.” 

—

When Hiccup returned, everyone was there. Fishlegs had given up his seat to Ruffnut, who was oddly doing Astrid’s nails. Tuffnut sat at the end of the bed, massaging Astrid’s feet. Snotlout sat next to him, resigned and trying not to stare at Astrid. 

Viggo sat in a chair next to where Hiccup had been. 

“And you wanna know what I said to him? I told him he was full of Yak dung. That’s what!” Ruffnut bragged. 

“I still beat your stupid boar race,” Snotlout muttered. 

Hiccup ascended the stairs, only to catch Astrid’s attention. She reached for him. “Hiccup…” 

“I’m back!” He smiled before taking his seat. “That wasn’t too long, was it?” He held her hand and kissed her palm. 

Tears formed in her eyes. “Please don’t go again…” 

“I’m not. I’m all yours.” 

Astrid sighed in relief.

“But…Viggo needs medical attention. I’ll be right here, but turned away, alright?” 

Astrid simply nodded and took hold of his shirt instead. She twisted the hem around in her fingers until she had a tight hold on him. 

“Snotlout, can you bring the med kit up here, please?” 

“With pleasure!” Snotlout bounded down the stairs, only to return a moment later, looking even more sick. “You didn’t warn me about the table…” 

“Yeah,” Hiccup winced. “I might need to get a new one.” 

Viggo scooted his chair closer and turned so his empty arm socket was facing him. “This is my worst wound. I don’t know if you can do anything, but it would be appreciated.” 

Hiccup winced as he removed the bandages. The wrap around it wasn’t much, but the actual wound had been stuffed with a rag. He took the forceps out and started pulling. The rag was saturated with dried, hard blood, making it stick to Viggo’s skin. 

Hiccup grit his teeth and went for a pair of shears. “This is going to be unpleasant.” 

Snotlout looked green. “Is there anything I can do that would take me out of this room?” 

“In fact…I need more honey and garlic for my astringent. Can you or Fishlegs gather some?” 

“Yes! Yes I can do that! Come on, Fishface, let’s go get some honey and onions!” 

“Garlic, Snotlout!” Fishlegs shouted back. 

“You two staying?” Hiccup glanced at the twins. 

“Definitely. This is way cool! Hey, if you see his ribs, you should carve your initials into one. Or my initials. Or both! T.T. and H.H.!”

“Why?” Viggo asked, grimacing in pain and disgust. 

“I always thought it would be cool to have my initials on someone’s ribs. Like, no one else would have that, right?” 

“I’m not going to carve anyone’s initials on Viggo’s ribs,” Hiccup said sternly. 

Astrid let out a tiny laugh.

“See? Astrid thinks you should do it. It would be funny.” 

“I fail to see the humor you are trying to present,” Viggo said, then hissed as Hiccup cut away a piece of infected flesh. 

“Sorry Viggo.” Sorry Viggo. What a short, but bizarre sentence.

Eventually, Hiccup worked the rag free and the wound started oozing blood again. He uncapped the mead and doused a cloth in it, then started dabbing the wound. 

Viggo cried out in pain and swore. 

“Whoa, you kiss your mother with that mouth?” Tuff asked. 

“My mother is dead, you twit!”

“Awesome, background lore unlocked! Very nice!”  

Because of the way the wound had been packed, Viggo was lucky to have his skin stretched enough to be stitched. 

As he was halfway done, Fishlegs returned with the garlic, honey, and a bundle of yellow flowers. “Hiccup! I just remembered I had ‘Balm of the Warriors Wound’ growing in my spice garden. I’m going to ground it up for you.” 

“Great, where’s Snotlout?” 

“He’s making some more into tea, I collected a bunch of herbs to help with inflammation.” 

“Great, thanks.” 

“I’ve used Balm of the Warriors Wound before. Works wonders,” said Viggo. “Smells like pine. Tastes like soap.” 

“Well, you might not be drinking it.” 

Maybe an hour later, Hiccup finished with Viggo’s shoulder, and began to apply the astringent over top. 

“Oh I see. You won’t put my initials on his ribs, but you’ll put yours on his armpit?” 

Hiccup looked at Tuff strangely, then at Viggo’s wound. “What are you talking about? That’s clearly an ‘X’.” 

“I don’t know. I think it’s a rather shapely H, if you ask me.” 

“What?” Asked Ruff. “That’s clearly the Greek letter ‘chi’.” 

“Which is also an ‘X’,” added Hiccup, with a sigh. “What’s next, Viggo?” 

“Nothing else that needs your attention, I’m afraid.” He smiled. “But if you could spare some of that tonic and some bandages, I think I can get the rest.” 

“With one arm?” 

“I’ve gotten pretty good at it already. You’d be surprised.” 

“Really. Good for you.” Hiccup packed up the kit and gave it over. “And trust me on this, the mead in there? Doesn’t taste good.” 

“Did you get curious?”

“Snotlout did, and then proceeded to trick all of us into tasting it.” 

Viggo gathered up the kit in his arm and stood, slowly, weakly. “You all seem to have a lot of fun around here. I’m a little jealous.” 

“Oh yeah, we’re a ton of fun. Hiccup’s a total killjoy though. He enjoys ruining people’s fun, actually. Really gets his rocks off.” 

“I do not!” 

“Do to! You always take Boar Pit rights away!” 

“Because you guys get distracted from work!” 

“See?” Tuff turned to Viggo, and thumbed at Hiccup. “Total killjoy.” 

Viggo let out a short laugh. “Is there a place I can go to treat my wounds in private? I assume Snotlout is cowering from the gore in the clubhouse.” 

Hiccup hesitated for a moment, then offered, “you can use Astrid’s hut, right?” 

Astrid was still ever so slightly awake, just hanging onto Hiccup with her eyes closed. “...yes.” She murmured. 

Almost daily, Hiccup would go into Astrid’s hut and just stand there. It was close to feeling her presence, even though there was still so much missing. Over time, her smell faded, only to be replaced by stale air and dust. 

Eventually, Hiccup had cleaned it up. Dusting and putting everything away. He tidied it up so that everything would be in perfect order for when she came back. 

So Viggo wouldn’t disrupt anything sacred or stumble onto Astrid’s secrets, but Hiccup had still wanted Astrid to be the first one back in there. 

No, it didn’t matter anymore. Because Astrid was here, in his bed, holding onto him. Asking him to stay, asking him to hold her, asking him to kiss her. 

After Viggo departed, the Twins weren’t far behind. They left with suggestive hand gestures in Hiccup’s direction, but he knew they only meant well. 

His door shut, and they were alone again. 

“Hiccup…” Astrid whined.

“Yeah?” He leaned over her. 

“You didn’t eat your dinner.” 

He smirked. “No, I suppose I didn’t.” 

“You should.” 

“I will. Do you want more?” 

She shook her head. “My stomach hurts.” 

Hiccup frowned, and then felt her face. She was still burning hot to the touch. 

What else could he do? What medicines could he fetch? What treatment, what ritual chants, what god did he pray to? 

Astrid lay still, her breath rattling in her chest. 

She wasn’t getting any better. 

A sob tore out of Hiccup’s throat as he hung his head, pressing it to her chest. “I’m so sorry.” 

The hand that held his shirt tightened, making him sit up to look at her.

“I’m not gonna die,” she croaked, more of a whisper than a voice. “So you aren’t rid of me yet, got it?” 

Hiccup wiped his face. “Of course. I should know better.” 

“But…what comes after ‘not dying’…well, that I don’t know.” 

“Like I said; wherever you want to be. I’ll be with you, I’ll take care of you.” 

“…even back to Berk?” 

“Absolutely back to Berk.” 

“What about…a secluded island?” 

“You got it. Point to it on the map.” 

She smirked at him. “Got you. You’re going to be chief of Berk one day.” 

“I’ll give the chiefdom to Snotlout. He’s been dying for it for years.” 

She chuckled weakly. “Now I know you’re messing with me.” 

He held her hand, running his thumb over her knuckles. “I’ll build you a little house, perched up on the cliffs by the Great Hall. It’ll have a great big porch for Stormfly to come and go from. You’ll have a loft, just like here, and your bed will look over the sea. You’ll be able to watch every sunset and then fall asleep when it goes dark. And I’ll build a little roll out cot so I can sleep nearby.” 

Astrid frowned. “Why not just make a big bed that we can share?” 

“Th-that is doable…I just…didn’t know if I should be the one to suggest it.” 

She sighed a horrible breath that wheezed as it came out.

Hiccup leaned in again, searching her face for any sign of pain as now was instinct when he heard that noise. 

There was a knock at the door. “Hiccup? I brought tea!” Said Fishlegs. 

“Come on up!” 

Fishlegs had a kettle with him, billowing steam into the dark room. “I hope it tastes good. It’s got a lot of different herbs in it. Some of them don’t pair too well.” 

Hiccup slid his arm under Astrid and helped her sit up against the headboard while Fishlegs filled a cup and brought it over to her. 

Astrid wrapped her hands around the cup, but Fishlegs didn’t let go, so she didn’t spill. She drank the hot mixture down, letting the warmth spread through her feverish body. The taste was intense, and lingered on the tongue. So many flavors like mint, anise, soap, and something burnt. 

“Feel okay?” Hiccup asked, hand still around her back. 

“I…it’s hard to tell. My stomach doesn’t hurt as much.” 

“Another?” Fishlegs gestured to the cup. 

She nodded. 

She gulped down another cup of the strange tea, and then winced. “Ugh, now I feel bloated.” 

“That’s okay, it should go away,” Hiccup comforted. “Now you should just rest.” She opened her mouth and he hushed her. “And yes, I will stay. I’m not going anywhere.” 

Wordlessly, Fishlegs got up and fetched another pillow and blanket and brought them over for them. 

“Thanks.” 

“No problem, uh…do you need anything else?” 

Hiccup glanced at Astrid to answer. 

“No,” she looked back at Hiccup. “I have everything I need.” 

Hiccup blushed as Fishlegs let out a squeal of delight. 

“Don’t latch the door on the way out,” Hiccup told him. “That way Toothless can come and go…and fetch one of you if we need something.” 

“Okay Hiccup, I get it,” Fishlegs stood and gathered the bowls and cups. “I can tell when someone wants alone time.” 

“That’s not—!” 

“Kidding! I’m kidding!” He smiled as he started towards the stairs. “I’m just happy for you guys. Happy Astrid’s home.” 

“I’m happy too, Fishy.” Astrid sighed. 

Once Fishlegs left, Hiccup helped Astrid lay down, and turn on her side so she wasn’t straining her wounds. He laid beside her, exhausted. 

“...hold me?” She squeaked. 

He nodded, and readjusted to slide against her. He wriggled his arm under her neck and gently pulled her close. “How’s that?” 

She breathed a soft sigh across his chest as her hand rested on his tummy. “It’s perfect.”

“How’s your other arm?”

She wiggled her fingers down by their thighs, showing it was trapped between them. “‘Sfine,” she yawned. 

“Okay,” he yawned back. “Then we’ll just rest here, like this. Let me know if you need anything, okay?” 

Astrid’s soft snores were his reward. She was comfortable enough to fall asleep.

She was here, alive, curled up beside him. 

Hiccup leaned in and pressed a kiss to her hair. She smelled bad. Unbathed for months, skin seeped in old blood, sweat, infection, and whatever filth she was forced to wallow in. 

But he didn’t care. She was Astrid, and she was here.

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

Tagged by: @ivymarquis

Tagging: @chadillacboseman @chazz-anova @henbased @neonneurons @skoll-sun-eater @shellibisshe @eclecticwildflowers @kyber-infinitygems @nightbloodbix @roofgeese @voidika @josephseedismyfather @josephslittledeputy @inafieldofdaisies @clicheantagonist @neverthesameneveranother @adelaidedrubman @strafethesesinners @trench-rot @statichvm @poetikat @marivenah @simplegenius042 @theelderhazelnut @v0idbuggy @direwombat @florbelles @shallow-gravy @cassietrn @solstheimart @strangefable @stacispratt @madparadoxum @jillvalentinesday @confidentandgood @ladyofedens-blog @wrathfulrook

writing tag list to be added/removed

art tag list to be added/removed

wip art - capt. price (c*d)

well i said it was going to happen...and it has...(I just love his silly little smirk)

apparently army man is now my type of blorbo (shaking my fist at Jacob Seed for being a gateway drug lol) also I refuse to tell anyone how much time I spent on that chest hair...

And for those of you not in my newest brainrot fandom, a snippet from Kakia (the Herald/Role Swap AU):

Kit circles the bar, fingers drifting over chrome plated metal and glossy hardwood as she reaches the assorted crystal carafes filled with liquor. Snatching one up in her hands, she pulls out the stopper, and her pale blue eyes flick up to meet her guest’s stare. “I hear you used to be a lawyer in Atlanta, John.” She dips a finger past the rim of an empty glass and drags it towards herself, crystal ringing out like a bell, before pouring the amber liquid. Nonchalantly adding, “Before you were disbarred of course.”

He grasps at the material of his trousers with sweaty palms, his tongue dipping against his lip. “Yes.”

“What happened?” She plunges the stopper back into the carafe and spins the liquor around her glass, a wicked grin spreading across her lips. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I made some mistakes, fell prey to my vices.”

Kit nods and takes a sip from her drink, swiping her thumb across her lower lip to wipe away any drops of the scotch that tried to escape her before resting her chin on her hand. “Care for a drink, John?”

His bright eyes stare at the glass in her hand as he swallows heavily. “I don’t drink.”

“Don’t or can’t?” He looks at her unsure of how to answer and she quickly takes that as her invitation in, using his moment of weakness as a weapon against him. “You know, I lived my life for a long time entirely imposed upon. Told what I was supposed to do, had my whole life chosen for me because of my father. He raised me to believe that I had to fight and die for my country because that’s all I was really worth to him. He had me convinced that that was how I would win his love and approval. How I'd become his pride and joy. But that wasn’t true. I thought I'd seen the world because I’d traveled it, but I was still blind. I missed out on so many of life’s experiences all to make someone else happy.” She takes another sip of her drink, indulging in the warm burn it left down the back of her throat. “But I don’t live like that anymore. Now I do what I want, when I want. Taking in all of what life has to offer. It’s highs, it’s lows. All of its sensations.” 

John swallows heavily, the sound of him gulping his own saliva is music to her ears knowing her claws are settling in nice and deep into the meat of him. 

“Now John, will you take that drink?” A red brow lifts as she offers the temptation once more. 

“Yes. Scotch. Please.”

Her smile widens to reveal jaws filled with sparkling white teeth. “Good boy.”

Pouring him a drink, she carries it over and takes a seat on the couch beside him.  She passes him the glass and then pulls open a drawer on the table beside her grabbing an ornate box inside it. Lifting the lid, she pulls out a pre-rolled joint. 

Long fingers caress the cool glass in his hand, stroking it as he watches her lick her lips and slip the joint in her mouth before flicking back the metal lid of her lighter. The flame dances as it’s held to the tip, making it glow orange as smoke trails up to the rafters. 

“My brother wouldn’t be very happy about that.”

Pale eyes glance sideways and linger on him, narrowing as she flicks the lid of the lighter closed. “It’s legal here. I have my own crop growing up at the conservatory. Pure and organic.” She passes the joint to John. “Don’t tell me you don’t smoke either?”

“I used to. But then that led to other things –”

The corner of her mouth lifts into a smirk. “You really fell for all that gateway drug bullshit?” Her gaze traces over him judgmentally. “Didn’t know when to stop, huh?”

John takes the joint from her but only holds it instead of partaking in it. “Eventually nothing feels as good anymore, and then you need more on top of that.”

Kit stretched her arms out along the back of the couch, leaning into the cushions as she tipped her head back blowing out smoke rings. “Nothing wrong with that. I've never seen the downside to excess, taking and taking until there’s nothing left to give.”

Ash falls onto the legs of his trousers and without a spare hand he’s forced to bring the joint to his mouth to brush it away.

“It’s second nature to you. Why change that?” She asks, turning to him and pulling the joint from his mouth.

Sputtering out smoke as he coughs, she laughs and it’s warm and friendly, but it doesn’t meet her eyes – there is something cold and empty within them.

“Because I was tail spinning out of control.”

“Out of control,” she scoffs, rolling her eyes. “You just hadn’t found a place where you belong yet. But I think you’re going to enjoy it here, John.”

Squeezing his shoulder tight, he turns to look at her. Big, bright eyes sparkle in her direction. Looking at her like she was an angel bathed in the holy light of God. His vision swimming, body melting into the couch. 

“Really, why’s that?”

She curled up against him, pushing her fingers through his dark hair. “We have what you need,” she purred.

“What do I need?” he asked, staring at her lips as his eyes glazed over.

“Freedom.” Her mouth ghosted against his and she stared at him like he was supper. 

“Yes,” he managed to hiss before slumping forward, his forehead pressing into her shoulder.

[tauforged]

time for a reef tank update !!! not the most glamorous shot but i’ve got a lot on my plate today so it’s what you’re getting lol

everything is going smoothly so far !!

finally set up the dosing pumps yesterday! current daily supplement regime is 1ml each of brightwell aquatics’ NanoCode A+B (staggered to prevent precipitation as they react with eachother), 1ml of brightwell KoralColor, and 5ml daily of a 1:1 mix of brightwell’s ZooPlanktos-M and PhytoChrom plankton suspensions, with the dose spread out equally over the entire 24hr period. ideally i would have done less, but this pump system has a minimum dose amount that i had to work around, and it’s all in such small increments that i doubt it will contribute too much to the bioload. these are the same supplement volumes i’ve been using before, but now dosed at a specific time each day and measured out by the pump rather than by me eyeballing with a grad cylinder ^^; going to see how alkalinity/calcium/magnesium levels shake out after a few days of the new setup and then modify from there. I’m also still manually dosing brightwell Restor (had to choose between this and the koralcolor as the dosing pump system only has four bottles, i’ve only got 2/3rds of my 250ml bottle of restor left as the koralcolor was a more recent purchase) and red sea reef energy AB+ (needs to be refrigerated, so wouldn’t work with the dosing pump), and i’ve got bottles of brightwell borochrom, liquid reef, and coralline accelerator that i bought back when i first started the tank up to cover all my bases but haven’t played with yet as i’ve been trying to take things slow on the dosing front. the borochrom i likely won’t be touching until i can find a boron testing kit that’s at least somewhat reliable before i do anything with it since it’s not something we have the capacity to test for in the lab at work.

corals are all overall looking good! the grinch porites has been looking a tad pale lately and might benefit from relocation, but i just did a water change yesterday so i’ll leave it be for now to see if that helps it perk up any… my other sps (rainbow pocillopora) is doing fantastic so i don’t think it’s water chemistry related, could be light/flow or nutrients. this frag gets covered in brown film algae despite my best efforts on a regular basis, so that probably isn’t helping -_-

the aiptasia on the pink bloomer zoa frag came back once again, so while i had the pump and heater shut off for the water change yesterday i blasted them with some aiptasia-x again. it was all gone by this morning, you can still see a little bit of white residue but i caught the shrimps picking at it last night ? so maybe they cleaned it up because i applied it very liberally. this frag has been thru the wringer and has had aips on it for the entire time, even after a really strong peroxide dip for GHA and physically scraping off all the anemones i could get to with a toothpick and blasting the remnants off with tap water in the sink immediately after, they just keep coming back… the good news is that the zoas are equally hardy. they seem mostly unbothered by the aips, but they were starting to get big enough to sting my purple death palys and that little baby disco mushroom so they had to go.

no pics, but i did finally lose that enchanted finger sinularia… it was never especially robust the entire time i’ve had it, but it never showed any signs of dying either. woke up a couple days ago to it gray and decaying, though, so i siphoned out everything i could get and the rest of the frag got chucked. bit of a shame, but i was honestly never a huge fan of it, mostly because of how sickly it always looked — i miss my toxic green capnella and the blue cespitularia that i lost during the major tank crash much much more :(

i’ve got another order in the works though — still in talks with ASD about the inverts, i’d tried to get some anemone shrimp as well but they had some issues so we’re waiting on them to get more livestock in. got my corals locked in in the meantime, though! aside from a handful of zoas still on my wishlist, this will probably be it for frags unless something major happens. or i finally snap and set up another tank. we’ll see…

[zombie-rott]

Brother: Two.

Pairing: None.

Synopsis:

“Rain has fallen deep into the clutches of addiction. His life has spiralled out of control, crashing towards a crucial breaking point where he finds himself utterly alone, having pushed the clergy and his kin away. With no one left to turn to and nothing but regret weighing heavily on his heart, Rain is faced with a stark realization - he must confront his demons and seek forgiveness before it’s too late.”

Note:

Yup. Another broken, drug addict story. I have a kink, alright?

Twenty-eight days later.  

Rain stumbled to his motel and climbed the stairs up the fourth floor, just beyond the busted ice machine and garbage chute. The place smelt of mould and mildew, and Rain was fairly certain someone had been murdered just two doors down. But it had a decent shower, a mattress to sleep on and somewhere safe to hide. And all for just eighty euros a night. What a steal . 

There was a note taped to the tarnished wood, handwritten in cursive Italian. A reminder to pay for another week of rent, or be out by noon on Friday. Rain groaned, pinching at the bridge of his nose. This was not the news he needed on a come down with nothing but fucking dust in his pockets.

With a growl, he ripped down the note and stormed into the room, the door slamming behind him. The room was just how he’d left it; bed unmade, floor in disarray and the sickly cloying scent of dope. 

With a shake of his head, Rain dropped his bag onto the floor and sat heavily on one of the dinghy wooden chairs. He doubled over, elbows balanced on his knees, and dropped his head into his hands. From his last count, he’d maybe two hundred euros left in his bank account, enough to cover two more nights, but nothing beyond that. Then there was the small, persistent issue of food, cigarettes and drugs. You know, the essentials . Sure he’d managed to exchange a blowjob for a bag of dope behind a dive bar, but that was it. It’s barely enough to get a good high. And how could he expect to try (again) to get clean without one last hurrah? Only then could he rejoin society with no stone unturned. 

Maybe he could dry out and finally find his way back home. 

Stuck somewhere between a twilight high and a comedown, Rain unfurrowed a small bag from his pocket and went about preparing his final (definitely final) hit of heroin. He reached for his kit, kept securely in the inside pocket of his backpack, and tipped the supplies onto the table. The tourniquet was tied around his bicep, the needle sterilised with the flame of his lighter and the dope placed upon a grubby teaspoon, all with expert precision. 

Rain watched hungrily as the black substance began to whittle to nothing but liquid, the sweet smell spilling into the air. His began to shake as he waved the spoon above the flame, eyes focused on the bubbles and mind wandering to the prospect of giving it all up. 

He was miserable when he was sober, and while he was equally as miserable when high, it was masked by a sense of numbness and the fleeting sensation of euphoria. If this really was going to be his last hit (of smack, at least) then he needed to find a way to feel less like topping himself. Or, at the very least, find something less dangerous to snuff those feelings down. 

A burning in his fingers brought him back to reality and he replaced the lighter with his needle. The syringe was dipped carefully into the liquid and drawn up with the plunger before he went about the most awkward part of the whole process; finding a decent vein. He hadn’t many good ones left but his right arm was manageable with some effort. Sadly precision wasn’t something he had in his current condition, and the prick of the needle was jabbed in and out several times before he finally found a vein that was still holding it together. Barely.

~ Read Full on A03~

[mycochaotix]

I do actually have a myco related question. I'd like to know, in your opinion, what type of edible fungus is hardy enough for an amateur to cultivate (if even possible) at home, in a non-lab kitchen setting?

Good question! There are generally two distinctions for fungus that is usually cultivated: gourmet species and “active” species (psychoactive). By your question I think you mean gourmet specifically! That being said… I usually recommend that a new mycopal look into Oyster mushroom grow kits if they dont want to dive into the depths of making grains and substrate and agar and such. Most grow kits (midwest growkits is a vendor ive seen positive reviews of) will include a syringe of the noted genetics (if you get a liquid culture (suspended mycelium in a syringe) its gonna be faster and generally healthier and more prone to fruiting. If the syringe is a spore syringe (lots of colored spores clumped together and no mycelium) its alot more random and open to chance… but both types of syringe genetics can result in mushrooms :)

If you are trying to grow mushrooms of any type more than just once or twice, you should look into the more in depth steps ive gone over in previous posts! I dont ever recommend all in one bags unless its a “dipping your toe in” kinda thing :)

Heres some specific Oyster mushy resources:

Guide to Oysters, Gourmet, Freshcap - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EZAjz6bZjpg

Cooking Oyster mushrooms, TGS - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7qb2KF6kvhA

5 gallon bucket tek - oyster mushrooms - gourmet - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=45b2t7fqhjA&t=60s

AND

Heres some foundational resources if you havent seen em:

Professor Dave Explains, Mycology playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLybg94GvOJ9Hyyv_MD2Y7OPFxhnrKFsD6

Mushroom Cultivation, how it should and shouldnt look: https://www.shroomery.org/forums/showflat.php/Number/17231150

Recognizing and dealing with contamination: https://www.shroomery.org/forums/showflat.php/Number/23130868

Let me know what you think and/or if you have follow up Qs !!!

[queen-tashie]

Tagged by @mrbexwrites to find soft, level, bloody, and solid I'm sharing these words from my WIP, Copper Frames!

Passing the tag over to @sarahlizziewrites, @ftmerriweather, @emelkae and as always, an open tag for anyone else!

Your words are: kit, fly, craft, food

Content warnings on my excerpts below: existential dread, violence, light body horror, monsters

Soft:

Amelia settled into an aisle seat on the train, laughing as a toddler played “peek-a-boo” with her in the seat in front of her. She didn't have her own children, nor did she ever marry, but she couldn’t resist playing a silly game when a child offered it. Amelia lifted her glasses up every time the toddler poked her head around the seat, flashing her soft brown eyes.

Level:

"Okay," said Amelia, trying to sort through the tornado of thoughts. "I don't know how to move on and keep working. I've dealt with grief before and that's hard enough on its own. Now I've got a deadline... I didn't meant to say it like that." Dread gripped her for a moment. "I've got a time limit, and I've never had to deal with this level of trauma along side grief and the most critical work I've done in my life. At least, I've never been so close to the work before."

Bloody:

Amelia was stumbling, trying not to lose her footing completely, but her lack of athleticism and good joints caused her to fall to the hard floor. She was vulnerable, afraid, and probably dead. Amelia covered her head as the creatures rushed past her, even the one she had knocked down flew for the exit. The nurses shrieked, but before they could shut the doors, the creatures were upon them. Amelia looked up out of instinct rather than desire to watch what happened, but she couldn't see anything beyond the bloody mist and closing doors of the morgue as the creatures assaulted the nurses.

Solid:

The large purple splotches all over her skin widened, covering every centimetre of her body. Her finger and toe nails blackened and visibly grew in seconds, curling into thick hawk-like talons. Skin—or perhaps it was entire patches of flesh—seeped out like liquid at first, then becoming solid as it touched the air, from under her back and formed into what looked like long, grotesque hands. Not hands, bat wings. Her face morphed into something alien and intimidating as her skull elongated under the skin. Large fangs grew like bamboo shoots, dipping below her jawline.

[cre0n]

WASP -Tennessee Yella

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Iqm3eo4nDUE

"12, 12, 12, 12, one, two. This is a representation of the mountain drives, endless gravel driveways, luxury cabins and wasp hideaways. Nobody else but the liquidity streams themselves. That state of minding the minds' well. Yeah gorgeous, Eye even loved you in Hell"

Breathing through the gills of amnionic Writing 3-Peat classics and a Masterpiece It was written on her walls if she got any Forged in platonic engines of unreal peace Who gotcha own beats. Yeah? Who got beef? Nothing but the macking and love for the lovers Jealous ass #### ##### punks can't touch us Keep the cornmeal in her pantry if she raised right We having turkey necks on slave night (12) Back in contention never lost my straddle Side halts up and plummets new rattles Creates babies like Jack in the platform battles As lovely as you and new fabric, paddles (12) Pedals, metal Stainless treble

"Man listen, y’all cats in here should have already beat me to the punch on this "vibe". The greatest , don't matter if we all ONE. Nobility says different while remaining indifferent. The center column and avalanche the whole game off slaloms...... Salamu alaykum"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xb_GXGiN7tU

P-H the runoff not one harvest use Pure Masonry burp the jar leveraged Magic, let her cure Influenza running it's course, Rene got me rocked Big C Big D energy Triple 7's Bloodclot Who the fuck is this? What you want from Me? It's Souf Kak all day every day my destiny ATL my hoe Bitch used to be my manager, my wife though But Cre ain't fucking round Yo'................ (Yo) Get sacrificed blown on Halloween and shit My children is who these folks be dealing with Kids get corrected baby Goats, Baphomet bitch Weeks 5-8 of flower nutrients are rejected Over feeding pigs, where your chain? Not respected

"Make my music sound like Gaawwd talking young nigga. You see your uncle over there? Go tell em' his momma ain't shit. The Elephant has entered it. Cold as a rink puck when my point center it. Rack and pinion featuring the control arms. Kelp in these tomatoes, performing like Juilliard."

A year later screen saver, dragon armor now and later Ego's look like Creon and niggas know Eye'm the Man though Eye can shoulder lean and gives a fuck 'bout a sample "Da Man" though invested in this bearish channel Head and shoulders trample, Taurus 4-21 Emmanuel Volleyball thighs, new bae is a doctor and she so fine Never mind Eye lost her P-T weeks ago from J-C True Story Nobody got the hint or the rent They reading for Egyptian shit Reap quantum hips, kissed with platinum lips Fingertips dipped with lithium strips Patched Xeon as a border Cre been a Hova, carried my next gen twice over This highway Bae stretches to primordial waters The charters Eye've drawn up and granted Enlil's folks can't stand it Got-damnit Making pace at my Isle's Corners, for Tanner and Connor Correspondence always starts "In your grace, we come with honor."

"Well damn forever...... let's just get back to the love making bruh......"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UwgOquaaZG0

Foaming at the mouth in the Moonlight Powered by a H-D sunrise........... "Daisy's, Chariots, Wild Dragon Fruit" Eye employed vagina that paid other coochie Then they all talked shit six digits mad sue me With you babe, it's endless samples Flawed trajectory send it to the playlist, new channels Channeling a Goddess of the gawk The game ball goes to her hermit with his chalk

"Shit buddy if Eye'm gonna be me then why not. All eyes when this does down in our Grand Canyon. Nitrogen for Cobb County. Gwinnett is always a bet. You kept it what? Hardly. Creon came from Hilman, for real. Creon came from the trap, for real. Now it's the center column, Kundalini problems that become serpents burning with the urchins."

Nigga like pulling up carpet with an art-kit

Trichomes opaque hit of Auburn, market

Spiritual reserve with the moxie of a Fed

What you lie with making your bed, oversaid

Overstood from our underworld, mass tribunals

Ego funerals, Underwriters of living trust

Over the rainbow, his Tin man’s rust

What your bitch ass ‘cordial’ sheep movement, kudos

My daddy once told me Eye couldn’t listen to Biggie

Eye got bigger said he was broke, my shadow self is shitty

Upstate made you see a different View

Rebel Co. 4 Life... (finish the rest)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GGLbZZjygqA

Bobby in Tuscaloosa

Headed to Mississippi

Pancake 30 Deep

Tennessee nest drippy

Publishing Creon is Jordan Know thyself so important Hodl the new hoarding Trust me my source is foreign Hair done make-up all that Eye just wanna suck on your neck Lined up 3-Point ball racks #-#-#-# Fall back Fuck your producer and his tracks Better show Love, where your heart at? Dashing out ain't wise jack Bring the Wombman back to her infancy In the glory days we made peace And made babies with big sticks Naw chick Eye got a 90's vibe Fuck you mean? Eye am the Prize Ain't falling for no spoiled acts Self-vacay photos void of macks Them girl's trips wasn't all that Stop faking shit you lonely brats If Eye had a little girl she'd get attention (spoiled) Gotta do your history on this lineage pimpin' Bases covered, nothing missing Except you and you bullshittin' (HA) Bobby on I-20, headed to Caledonia Another contractor folder The office on Peachtree Dot Gov is beneath me Showing up in the flesh where he from cuz? HELL, now bail and grab a ref Ain’t no rules when schooling is abused They want 'passport ready' You buying land over there fool??? Six digits without the label hitting Seven off moods Eye save bread from not buying cable, how rude (Roku)

.....*Vibes, *Universe, *Energy, *Toxic, *Lashes, *Independent, *Passports, *STOP IT.......

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oBDMO5zrU5I

CREON: Play me something from Tennessee my Ego would get on... why not CRE: Gotcha... Humans...

HOOK:

1.

Let me play with your hair While Eye kick off a War Fucked around with Billy Carson Cause' I got tired of being poor My corporation built off partnerships, with AJ Simmons Breonca fearless seeing hives, producing nectar spirits On that '94 suicide route, rectangle pizza Stab you with a lunchroom fork, you dare tell a teacher Eye am the shit, Eye am a Boss Eye am Loved, Now what it Cost? Put my life on the moneyline, didn't get no receipts Rebel Co. Deep, Creon Solo, and still no beef Chairman of the Galactic Federation, be the Lord She say she reads my Classics for fun, sometimes she get's bored (Bitch) You in Atlanta? Take your shoes off, when y’all come through that door

HOOK:

2.

  12 years ON and guess what Eye'm still ON Found endless talent kept the balance, off a mothafuckin phone And that's before phones were ON Retina scan unknown Don't smoke no bullshit in my Home Chandon Rozay a Bel-Air too, while turning Netflix on Let me play with your Melanin While kicking off Armageddon Humble power still checking You checking up on this macking? Young hot babe celebrities This publishing is immaculate Flowing like some ejaculate The black fist be backing it Well over six the first season, yo my business is happening It feels like Memphis back in 2000 Every stream cracking Of course when it drops the kitchen Motion steps grease listens The prize, the main and best believe all the fixings (Who?) ............

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xrar7FoJjKw

"When Eye don't even have to do it. Eye can just write this and let the rest ride. You already know the gravity. Enjoy."

CAROLINA. REAL. ESTATE. OVER. NIGGAS.

-CREON

[crash-bump-bring-the-whump]

@raigash's birthday was this week so here's a birthday gift!! Robbie is so so cute, and I'm loving exploring his relationship with Mariano and Bastian. c:< IT HAS A HAPPY ENDING I SWEAR, I SWEAR IT DOES--

TWs: Blood, death, gore, grief

They'd been ambushed.

It wasn't the worst fight they'd been in. They'd been outnumbered, eleven to three. Robbie had been quick to draw the dagger they'd given him, darting into the fray with Mariano and Bastian right behind him.

He'd been fearless, a streak of earth-red hair and flashing metal as he wove between the bandit. Mariano danced with him, separating wrists from arms, the swipes of his blade sending bodies down to the dirt, never to get up again. Bastian glimmered as he ripped limbs from torsos, teeth like the night flashing as he brought them together around wrists.

It didn't even last very long.

After a quick check-in, where Robbie said he hadn't been hurt and Bastian laughed at the very idea of being injured, Mariano had felt more than comfortable continuing on. Robbie had been traveling long enough that he knew what he could or couldn't handle. If there was something serious, he'd speak up.

Surely, he would let them know if he needed medical attention. Mariano had told him about their emergency potions, and his medical kit. It was important that anyone with them know what their options were if an emergency came up.

Neither himself nor Bastian expected to find Robbie collapsed in the middle of their camp when they returned from their hunting and water gathering.

Sprawled on the ground, copper-bright hair trailing behind him in the setting sun, he looked like he'd just crumpled mid-step. Had they left someone alive to come back for revenge? There was no sign of a fight, though. Mariano sprinted over and traded the bundles of deer meat and bones for Robbie's limp form. This close, the smell of blood was too fresh to have been lingering gore from their fight.

He held Robbie's face with one hand, pinky and ring fingers pressed against his pulse point. Robbie's heart was beating too quickly, thready instead of strong. His chest rose and fell like a little bird's, shallow and too gentle. "Robbie, can you hear me?" Mariano tried, as Bastian dug around in his bag.

"Nn..." Robbie tried, the noise reedy and weak. Long lashes fluttered as unfocused brown eyes tried to lock onto Mariano's face. "No..."

"It's okay, it's not going to hurt you." Mariano soothed, glancing to where Bastian had finally pulled the glimmering vial. "It won't taste good, but it'll stabilize you until--"

One trembling hand cupped Mariano's cheek, feather-light touch redirecting his attention as blood smeared onto Mariano's skin. "Don't...don't waste it on...on me." Mariano opened his mouth to retort, to say that it wouldn't be a waste. If someone was breathing, if their heart still beat, the potion would help. A smile flashing over Robbie's face cut him off.

"I'll...I'll be back." He whispered. "...Promise."

"I..." Mariano didn't know what to say to that. He felt blood soaking into his pants, into his sleeves. "How..."

Bastian dropped to his knees beside Mariano, already getting the vial open. "Don't worry Robbie, we'll fix you right up." He said, voice dipping into a growl as he fought with the clasp. They'd gone to a new alchemist. He'd promised higher potency and better healing with these. He'd promised that the fancier bottles would keep the valuable liquid safe and stand up to harsher impacts.

"Bastian..." Robbie sighed, the hand at Mariano's face drifting to Bastian's hands. His bloody touch stilled the dragon. "Don't...just...just give me a few hours."

"Robbie, we don't have a few hours." Bastian argued, his attention going back to working the potion open. Robbie had already been too pale when they'd found him, now he looked almost translucent. They both knew he'd lost far too much blood already.

"Just...jus...just a..."

Mariano and Bastian felt the moment that Robbie fell still at the same time.

"No--" Bastian snarled, as Mariano held Robbie closer. One hand pressed Robbie's face into his chest, up against his own beating heart. They couldn't just slice the vial open, it risked glass getting into it, or the searing heat rendering the potion possibly ineffective. "This stupid, fucking--I'm gonna--"

Bastian finally got the potion open two minutes later.

They worked together to drip the shimmering liquid between Robbie's ashen lips. They waited, with bated breath, as the vial was emptied. Blood had stopped seeping from the wound in Robbie's side. The sun began to sink below the horizon, and Robbie lay motionless in Mariano's arms as he and Bastian washed the blood from his skin.

They only set up the fire that night to start preserving the venison.

"He said he'd be back." Mariano said in quiet argument when Bastian just watched him get enough blankets set out for the three of them. "He hasn't lied before."

Bastian didn't object to Mariano bringing Robbie's body to lie between them. Just one more night to lay curled around their unexpectedly sweet traveling partner. They'd give him a burial the next day. If he actually came back, that was even better.

Wrapping their arms around their Robbie, neither of them spoke as they drifted off.

Gasping and shuddering woke Mariano. The moon was high and bright, the night sky painted with swirls of stars. Their campfire had died down completely by then, barely any glow coming from the remaining wood. Bastian was drowsy, blinking awake in confusion.

Robbie was clutching at their arms. "M...Mariano? Bastian?"

His eyes were alert and looking around, and although the moonlight washed him out horribly, the strength in his hands was unmistakable. "Robbie," Mariano whispered, all traces of sleep erased from his mind. "We're here." His heart hammered in his chest, unwilling to believe just yet. "You...you came back."

Wide, bright brown eyes flicked to Mariano's face, brimming with tears. Robbie swallowed. "You...you gave me one of your...potions."

Mariano nodded. He couldn't tell what was swimming in Robbie's voice, but he did know that whatever it was, it wasn't anger. "We wanted you here. It was worth a try."

"You...you didn't...you..." Robbie's hands found one of Mariano's and one of Bastian's. He held them close, as though he had expected to be alone. "I..." He blinked, the tears finally starting to roll down the sides of his face, disappearing into his hair.

"Shh." Bastian muttered, shifting on Robbie's other side and pressing his face into the top of Robbie's head. "We're here. You're alive now." His clawed fingers pulled Robbie and Mariano closer to himself. "We have you."

Robbie shuddered, a hitching noise escaping when Mariano kissed his cheek. "You're safe." He whispered against Robbie's ear. Robbie's heart pounded against the arm he had wrapped around him. His own chest felt impossibly full. He couldn't stop smiling. "Rest."

None of them slept the rest of the night.

None of them moved until the sun was high in the sky the next day, and the hunger pangs were too loud to ignore.