#injuries //

[hellyeahscarleteen]

F*c&!ng First Aid: A Quick Guide to Common Sex Injuries

New from our founder, Heather Corinna, a guide for those sexual times that wind up more “ow” than “oooh.”

It’s remarkably easy to hurt ourselves in the pursuit of feeling good. From genital abrasions to broken skin to pulled muscles to infections to allergic reactions, even fractures or breaks, exploring our bodies and their capacities sexually can sometimes mean finding out⁠ what’s past a bodies’ limits. We can think there was enough lube, but who among us (cough) hasn’t found out at least once that there wasn’t? We can forget that when it feels to us like we couldn’t possibly get enough of something, our body parts may have an entirely different and considerably threshold (um). Heck, you can hurt yourself just getting a date a glass of water (says my once-broken toe, bitterly).

For whatever reason (probably a combination of ableism⁠, totally inhumane sexual⁠ ideals and maybe some leftover stuff from our DNA way back when we lived a wilder existence), if and when people get hurt during sex⁠, they often feel ashamed or embarrassed, like they have ruined something. Getting hurt in our bodies is as acceptable an experience as feeling good in them. It’s not “weak” to get hurt, and it doesn’t mean anyone failed at anything, it just means we’re living in the body of a mere mortal, not a sexual superhero. So, if some kind of sex injury happens to you or a partner⁠, don’t get hung up in negative feelings about it. Instead, turn your attention to yourself or whoever got hurt. Not only might you or they need physical care, caring for ourselves and each other in attentive, tender ways is only likely to enhance our sexual experiences and the ways we connect to ourselves or one another through them. This kind of care, much like general sexual aftercare, can be something that is a highlight of a sexual experience, even when something painful or bummerful happened which that care is centered around.

This simple guide covers the most common sexual injuries for people in the age group we serve, what needs to be done when and after they have happened, and how you can best prevent them. Read F*c&!ng First Aid: A Quick Guide to Common Sex Injuries over at Scarleteen.

[herzspalter]

Blitzbee Week 1 - Forbidden

It's been sealed away, a beast of the past, in a cellar nobody remembers

[pygmi-says-hi]

writing tips - fevers

guys so the injury post absolutely fucking exploded (500 notes in 24 hours is a lot for me) and the fever part really threw yall for a loop.

I didn't go into it but I can! just to clear up questions.

Fevers are funky asf

like, there are so many factors that indicate when a fever is like a big deal and when it's not. part of it has to do with the age of the patient, how long the fever lasts, any causes or prexisting conditions....

Like this:

If person is feverish due to an infection, their symptoms are gonna be slightly different than someone who is fighting the flu. this is because the antibodies are attacking different parts of the nervous system with different kinds of chemicals blah de blah blah blah.

The younger the patient, the more susceptible they are. if the character is a child, a fever of 102 F is way worse than a 30 year old man experiencing that. It'll take a larger toll on the baby's body.

Some people have naturally higher body temps. There is a standard deviation away from the target temp that is still ok. Some people simply exist at 99.2 F, even though for some that's febrile.

idk man it's weird people are weird don't @ me about it.

obviously it's bio science which means not everything has exactly a clear answer. there are so mnay variables at play that it's easier just to blanket statement the whole thing.

because this isn't a blog for medical advice.

please don't use this blog for medical advice.

100% of death.

thanks guys love the effort

xox

[arginnit]

go away! let him rest! you've all done enough already!

[kromato]

tryna figure out how I wanna draw this man (permanently missing some nails, partial reconstruction of septum, grey hair from follicular damage from inappropriately administered first aid and stress? not quite dad bod but heavier set...think thonk...)

[pygmi-cygni]

STOP DOING THIS IN INJURY FICS!!

Bleeding:

Blood is warm. if blood is cold, you're really fucking feverish or the person is dead. it's only sticky after it coagulates.

It smells! like iron, obv, but very metallic. heavy blood loss has a really potent smell, someone will notice.

Unless in a state of shock or fight-flight mode, a character will know they're bleeding. stop with the 'i didn't even feel it' yeah you did. drowsiness, confusion, pale complexion, nausea, clumsiness, and memory loss are symptoms to include.

blood flow ebbs. sometimes it's really gushin', other times it's a trickle. could be the same wound at different points.

it's slow. use this to your advantage! more sad writer times hehehe.

Stab wounds:

I have been mildly impaled with rebar on an occasion, so let me explain from experience. being stabbed is bizarre af. your body is soft. you can squish it, feel it jiggle when you move. whatever just stabbed you? not jiggly. it feels stiff and numb after the pain fades. often, stab wounds lead to nerve damage. hands, arms, feet, neck, all have more motor nerve clusters than the torso. fingers may go numb or useless if a tendon is nicked.

also, bleeding takes FOREVER to stop, as mentioned above.

if the wound has an exit wound, like a bullet clean through or a spear through the whole limb, DONT REMOVE THE OBJECT. character will die. leave it, bandage around it. could be a good opportunity for some touchy touchy :)

whump writers - good opportunity for caretaker angst and fluff w/ trying to manhandle whumpee into a good position to access both sites

Concussion:

despite the amnesia and confusion, people ain't that articulate. even if they're mumbling about how much they love (person) - if that's ur trope - or a secret, it's gonna make no sense. garbled nonsense, no full sentences, just a coupla words here and there.

if the concussion is mild, they're gonna feel fine. until....bam! out like a light. kinda funny to witness, but also a good time for some caretaking fluff.

Fever:

you die at 106F (40.5C). no 'oh no his fever is 107F!! ahhh!" no his fever is 0F because he's fucking dead. you lose consciousness around 103, sometimes less if it's a child. brain damage occurs at over 104.

ACTUAL SYMPTOMS:

sluggishness

inability to speak clearly

feeling chilly/shivering

nausea

pain

delirium

symptoms increase as fever rises. slow build that secret sickness! feverish people can be irritable, maybe a bit of sass followed by some hurt/comfort. never hurt anybody.

fevers are a big deal! bad shit can happen! milk that till its dry (chill out) and get some good hurt/comfort whumpee shit.

keep writing u sadistic nerds xox love you

also - this post was not an invitation to share a bunch of enormously traumatic stories. stop messaging me things like 'related to ur last post' and then it's a really upsetting recount of an assault you experienced. this is a writing blog, not a medical newsletter. I'm muting the notifs because I don't like seeing it pop up in my feed - if you have a genuine writing question, please dm me, i'd love to hear it. thank you.

[incognitopolls]

We ask your questions so you don’t have to! Submit your questions to have them posted anonymously as polls.

[just-a-little-whump]

[valtsv]

so i’m curious about your enjoyment of pain as someone who also enjoys it. do you like all types of pain? what’s the like. intensity cut off? do you have favorite and least favorite pain sensations? for me personally i sort of like getting zapped, and also getting lightly burned, but not enough to actually leave a burn if that makes sense? like the sensation of having something slightly too warm pressed against my skin for too long is nice but i can’t stand actually healing from a burn wound (there was one time i literally couldn’t sleep due to a burn on my thumb). also bruises are nice. like pressing on them. but i absolutely can’t do cramps of any kind. anywayyyyy i curious about your opinions <3

JAMES CEMETERYTHING PAIN ASSESSMENT (or: i am asking you to get weird with it):

DISCLAIMER: this is a subjective account of my personal experiences with pain, and not intended in any way to dismiss other people's perfectly valid personal experiences, or to promote self-harm or violence towards oneself or others. obviously your body is yours to do with as you wish, but i accept no responsibility for those choices you make. please be kind to yourselves and each other.

- bruises: friendly short-term companions that occasionally stiffen, ache and throb in response to movement and touch. they have pretty privilege but fortunately i like that in a wound.

- scratches: zingy, sharp, and refreshing. like biting into a ripe but still sour berry. sometimes they swell up a little while they're healing. these are the best kind of scratches because they have tenderness and texture that's fun to touch.

- cuts (ie: anything deeper than a scratch, but not puncture/impaling wounds): the pain has a more intoxicating, overwhelming effect than scratches, which can be a good or bad thing. temptingly slippery and reactive to touch, but the risk of infection is a looming threat that takes some of the fun out of the act. cleaning them out can be an enjoyable compromise.

- incisions, stitches, and other consensually inflicted forms of wound (eg: tattoos): the choice and intention you have in the matter makes them more satisfying to experience, and your body's reactions (tensing, gritting your teeth, and breathing sharply through the waves of pain running through your body from the focal point of entry) can be exciting to bear witness to if you allow yourself. please engage in this one responsibly and safely.

- broken bones: immediately nauseating, but the dull ache of a healing bone after it's fractured has an almost comfortingly omnipresent quality to it that i find myself nostalgic for when it's gone. the occasional shooting pains you get when you move wrong, however, are too fleeting and sharp to really enjoy.

- muscle/joint injuries and pains: sickening and hateful. they burrow too deep to easily root out, but remain close enough to the surface to make you feel clumsy and unwelcome in your own body; a throbbing tumour ejecting waves of pain into the world. demanding and ungrateful, relieving them is the only thing they're good for. a notable exception is muscle aches from pleasurable/satisfying experiences, which carry that muscle memory and can redeem themselves in the process.

- headaches: really depends on where and how intense they are. i kind of enjoy the headaches that build behind my eyes, and will roll them and blink exaggeratedly to send little starbursts of pressure-release shooting through my skull. headaches that gather around my temples or build at the bridge of my nose, on the other hand, are unwelcome intrusions.

- impaling/puncturing wounds: perhaps a controversial opinion, but the penetrative aspect is probably the least interesting part to me. the aftermath - having a foreign object lodged inside you, surrounded by shrieking nerves declaring their resentment at the intruder, or a vacant hole of emptiness and strange new sensation where once was untouched flesh - is when things really start to get exciting.

- burns/debridement: generally considered the worst kind of pain, and i'm somewhat inclined to agree. it's hard to find much of a silver lining in having your skin flayed from your body layer by agonising layer. i think it's down to a similar issue to the one muscle cramps present - you're too trapped in the mundane misery of having a body, with no adequate distraction or fascination to make up for it. i do find the way that they heal to be interesting, though. the itching and oozing and peeling is by no means pleasant, but it is a disgustingly welcome relief from what came before. and the shiny new or scarred skin left behind feels like a kind of victory medal. a badge of endurance.

[cherryvampiro]

"That you'd love me Through a million doubts That I'd catch you Before you slipped into the crowd" 💘💘💘

Lyrics/Song: Long Hot Night (Halfway To Certain) The Growlers 💕

[azz-modeus]

Jason hates being reminded of his time in the warehouse, so he eliminates all connection to it, even if it takes extreme measures.

I need to stop giving extremely traumatized characters more trauma. This is from before the Bats learned about Red Hood

[sacredwhores]

Michael Haneke - Lemmings, Part II: Injuries (1979)

[millenianthemums]

Chapter 2 of Mabel’s Guide to the Power of Friendship is here!!! CW for bugs, injuries and a dog attack. and for Bill being miserable. i might be having too much fun bullying him

Ao3 link here

Previous chapter

Next chapter

When Bill’s senses returned, it was like being knocked over by a tsunami. A thousand physical sensations slammed into his brain all at once. Way too much information for his mind to process. For a moment his awareness was totally blank as his frantic synapses tried to sort through all the new stimuli they were being hit with. When his mind returned, he realized he was kneeling on dry grass, gasping for air like he’d just been drowning.

He squeezed his eye shut, already overwhelmed by the sudden brightness. Everything hurt. Every joint and muscle creaked like a rusty hinge when he tried to move. It was like he’d been holding one stiff pose for ages. There was a sharp spike of a headache growing behind his eye, and a nauseating pain deep inside the core of his body. A churning emptiness. It took him a moment to recognize it, and another to push through the denial and accept that he knew what it was. Hunger. He was deeply, painfully hungry.

He opened his eye, trying to tamp down the sudden rush of horror. It had been a trillion years since the last time he’d been this kind of hungry. Not hungry in an “I could go for a snack” way; hungry in an “if I don’t eat something I will actually die” way. He’d been right to find the Axolotl’s wording suspicious. He’d been too eager to make the deal and leave that dark place; he didn’t read between the lines. And now he had his body back… but that was just it. He had his body, his weak, fleshy physical form he’d started his life with, and everything that came with it.

Very slowly, he raised up a hand. The joints inside it creaked painfully as he bent the fingers one by one, then pressed the thumb and pointer together. He didn’t want to do this, didn’t want to know for sure, but he didn’t have a choice. Fire, he thought, focusing as hard as he could. Make fire.

He snapped.

Nothing.

“GOD DAMN IT,” he said. The voice that struggled out of his throat was downright embarrassing to hear. It was a weak, crackling groan, the sound of vocal cords that had long since gotten used to never moving, and now suddenly had to function again.

Reluctantly, he looked himself over, examining his hands and the small bit of his front that he could see. He didn’t look that different than he’d made himself look during Weirdmaggeddon, but there were differences. His gold bricks had a bit less luster, for one. The leathery skin on his hands and arms was less soft, the small sharp claws less well-maintained. And, of course, he was basically flat. This body had been adjusted to be able to exist in a 3D space, but it hadn’t been upgraded at all. It was every bit as underwhelming as his vague memories of it suggested. His hat and bow tie remained, at least, reduced to plain black cloth again.

A sudden memory shot through his head. He grabbed his hat and turned it over frantically, looking inside, rifling a hand through the inner lining. Panic tugged at his chest, growing stronger and stronger as his fingers met with nothing, until finally he felt it. With a shaking hand, he retrieved the object, holding it carefully over the brim of the hat, unwilling to risk it falling into the grass. The tiny round speck was barely even visible in his hand, and he couldn’t make it levitate to get a better look. He risked holding it just a tiny bit higher above the hat to let the light catch it. A beam of sun danced through its surface and it gleamed just the way he remembered. Still there. It’s still there.

He let out a long, heavy sigh of relief as he returned the speck to its hiding place in the lining of his hat. Then he coughed. His throat was unbearably dry. He needed to drink something soon, or this whole situation would be over before it started. He definitely didn’t remember how long it took a shape to die of thirst, but he didn’t have any desire to learn through experience. And he shuddered to imagine the embarrassment of ending up back in that blank void so soon. The Axolotl waiting with that smug little smile on their face. “So? How’d it go?”

Or worse, no one waiting at all. Just him alone in the void, no more chances left.

He placed his hat back securely on his head and staggered to his feet. What would be around here to drink? Water? Sap? Squirrel blood? Water should be easy. He just had to find some water.

It took a while to get a handle on walking again. After countless eons spent floating around weightlessly, he’d often forget he even had legs, much less how to use them. Once he could keep a steady rhythm without wobbling too much, he allowed himself a closer look at his surroundings. Pine and birch trees towered around the forest clearing, blotting out all but a few narrow rays of golden light. It looked like the sun was low in the sky. That was probably bad news, but at least it wasn’t as bright as it could be; his eye was already aching bad enough. Through a gap in the canopy, he caught a glimpse of heavy clouds hanging overhead, all lit up orange and purple. This hopelessly boring planet’s sad attempt at putting on a show.

He sighed. He could do so much better than this. If he was still in charge, those clouds would be writhing tumorous blobs strobing in every color on the visible light spectrum, with a few of those imperceptible ones that cause mania thrown in for flavor. Hell, make ‘em rain wasps while we’re at it. He could go on and on… his creative vision was wasted on this world.

He was getting sidetracked. He tore his eye away from the sky and returned to scanning his surroundings. He wasn’t entirely sure where he was, but unfortunately, he had a pretty good guess. All these trees looked irritatingly familiar.

His hunch only grew stronger as he headed deeper into the woods. Catching sight of a particularly large birch tree in his path, he instinctively tried to look through one of its eye-shaped markings for a glimpse above the canopy. All he got for the effort was a stab of pain in his head and a sinking feeling in his gut. He’d forgotten for a second. He just had the one eye now.

Bill tried to stamp out the twinge of fear that tugged at his brain with that thought. Everything was fine. This “no powers” thing was a roadblock, a deeply annoying, humiliating setback and a very dirty trick from the Axolotl’s side of things, but it wasn’t the end of the world. He could live with it. In a very literal sense, it was why he was alive right now. And it wouldn’t be forever. The source of his powers resided in the Nightmare Realm; once he got back there, this whole mess would be a funny memory. So he wasn’t going to freak out about it.

He kept trudging down the narrow, overgrown path between the trees. He tried not to think about how his legs were already starting to hurt. Between this and the dual aches in his head and stomach, he was quickly realizing that pain was a lot less funny when it was happening to a body he lived in.

It was fine. It would just take some adjusting, that’s all. Sure, he’d spent a trillion years using his innate magic for literally everything, but he’d been mortal once before, and he’d spent plenty of time possessing mortal bodies. He just had to relearn some habits, and soon he’d be used to this. It would be like riding a bike. Nonstop. Forever.

He walked faster, trying to ignore his screaming muscles. Every part of this body seemed to be screaming, in fact, for some kind of fuel or maintenance he couldn’t provide right now. He didn’t think about it, though. He didn’t think about how he didn’t actually know where he was going, or how long he had until this body gave out, or if there was actually any water around that he stood a snowball’s chance in Hell at finding before he died again and ended up stuck in that void forever…

He slapped both hands across his face. “STOP IT,” he snarled. “STOP FREAKING OUT. IT’S A FOREST. THERE’S BIRDS AND SQUIRRELS AND ORANGUTANS OR WHATEVER OREGON HAS. THERE HAS TO BE WATER SOMEWHERE, OR ALL THE ORANGUTANS WOULD BE DEAD. YOU JUST NEED TO FIND IT. YOU’RE NOT GONNA FIND IT IF YOU JUST STAND HERE PANICKING AND TALKING TO YOURSELF, SO JUST SHUT UP AND WALK.” Chastised, he sighed roughly and started walking again.

It took about ten minutes for the pep talk to start wearing off. There was still no sign of anything other than trees, and some of them were starting to look distressingly similar. There was no way he was walking in a circle, right? That wasn’t a real thing people did without being ensnared by a fae creature, was it?

He picked up the pace again, eye darting around frantically, Was it getting dark already? It was definitely darker than before. How long did the sun take to set on Earth, again? It took like three days during Weirdmageddon, but he stopped time, didn’t he? He really ought to know this, with how long he’d spent spying on and possessing things on Earth. But throughout all those countless eons, he was always just popping in and out whenever, letting months or years pass in between tiny little check-ins. When was the last time he’d spent a full day on Earth? It had been at least decades, and even when he was sticking around for long stretches, it wasn’t like he was keeping track of the position of the sun all day, he’d had more important stuff on his mind! Maybe he could remember if he tried hard enough… but how trustworthy was his memory now, really? His consciousness, once a font of pure, infinite, unconstrained psychic energy, had all just been stuffed inside an oozing hunk of meat inside his head. Which was something he should definitely not be thinking about right now, he reminded himself. This was no time to panic. He needed to lock in on the present moment, the present task, he needed to focus on his immediate surroundings…

His foot missed the ground.

For the next several seconds, all he could process was a blur of spinning lights, pain, and crashing noises. Then he regained the ability to parse his surroundings, and realized he’d just rolled down a steep hill that had been hidden in shrubs and bramble right up until he’d stepped off it. He had left a trail of torn-up dirt and ruined foliage from where his sharp angles had slammed into the earth. The hill had gotten its payback, though. The few golden scales that hadn’t been caked with dirt were scraped half to hell, along with a million little cuts and scrapes on his arms and legs all leaking silvery blood, and his body hurt worse than ever. All his bones (he gagged at the reminder that he had bones now, and probably not even cool ones, not that he could check) felt like they’d been put through a hydraulic press. How had pain ever been funny? This was a nightmare. He put a hand to his head, trying to prevent a stress headache on top of everything else, and his heart dropped ten feet when he realized his hat was gone.

His vision went black with terror for an instant, then blinked back in when he saw it lying on a patch of gravel ahead of him. He lunged forward, snatched it up, and rooted frantically through the lining again until his fingers brushed the tiny, precious speck still hidden inside. His heart started up again and he slammed the hat back on his head, securing it as tightly as possible. Whatever happened, he wasn’t letting it fall off again.

While he was at it, he brushed himself off a bit and readjusted his bow tie. Sure, things weren’t going great right now, but he still had his dignity, damn it.

Once that was dealt with, he took a second to actually look around. With a start, he realized the gravel his hat had landed on was actually a shore. In the chaos and panic of falling, he hadn’t even noticed the sound of water, but sure enough, he was standing on the edge of a rushing creek. Finally, something was going his way! He wasn’t wild about the idea of drinking creek water, but he’d take it over dying of dehydration.

He scurried forward and dunked his hands into the water, scooping greedy handfuls into his eye/mouth. Soon the rasping pain in his throat had faded. In fact, it was shocking how much better he felt. Even mentally. He was calmer, less panicky, and his train of thought was no longer hitting a penny on the tracks and exploding every few feet. He realized it had been a crazy long time since he’d had water. He drank other things all the time, but almost never water. He’d always been more of a martini guy, and after the fifth time he’d set the bar on fire out of boredom, the Henchmaniacs had stopped asking him to be the designated driver.

Anyway, water was better than he remembered. It was crisp and cool, and it tasted like…

He paused, remembered some of the things that lived in creeks, and decided not to think about what it tasted like. He also decided he was good on water for now.

So that was one problem solved. He was still hungry, but he could hold out a bit longer, and his brain was refueled and running smoothly. It was time for step two: revenge.

First things first: obviously he had to get as far away from Oregon as possible. Those flat-brained yokels in Gravity Falls would definitely not take kindly to seeing him again, and there was no way they’d see a golden one-eyed triangle walking around and not assume it was the same one who turned them into furniture once. They were stupid, but no one was that stupid.

He began trudging along the shore of the creek as he ruminated. He vaguely remembered something about water usually leading to civilization? Maybe? This would definitely lead somewhere, anyway. All paths lead somewhere. He felt his eye start to crinkle with a smile at how charmingly useless that phrase was. Sounded like something humans would print on a cheap t-shirt to fool themselves into thinking they’re insightful.

Anyway. He needed to find a town. A town other than Gravity Falls, where nobody knew him. Surely the Weirdness Barrier that had trapped him before wouldn’t still hold him if he didn’t have his magic. It was worth trying to leave either way. Once he had a new base of operations, he could start making connections, calling in old favors, looking for a portal he could use. He’d be back in business in no time.

Just as that thought was starting to reassure him, one of the rocks on the shore decided it didn’t feel like staying where it was when he stepped on it. Instead it rocked to one side and rolled into the creek, taking Bill with it. He barely managed to keep his hat from flying off again as he was swept downstream, before managing to sit up in a spray of water, sputtering and shouting ancient curses. Not, like, “summoning plagues of locusts” type curses. Just words a few dead civilizations would’ve censored on TV.

He tried to stand up and climb back onto dry land, only to find that the rocks on the bottom of the creek were perfectly flat and covered in slippery algae. This lesson was drilled in by falling hard on his kneecaps and getting swept several more feet downstream as he struggled to right himself. He had to resort to crawling across the creek bed and grasping at sticks and reeds near the shore to pull himself free of the current. The water was too shallow to properly swim, and he doubted his flat, narrow body would be suited for swimming anyway. Or for any water-related activities other than getting swept away by currents and drowning.

He stumbled onto shore through a mess of weeds and mud. Swaying on his feet, he tried to catch his breath and brush himself off a bit, to at least pretend his last shreds of dignity were still intact. Just as he realized the only thing he was accomplishing was smearing more mud across his bricks with his mud-caked hands, he felt a sharp twinge on his arm and flinched as something buzzed right past his eyeball. Looking up to follow it, he realized his disturbance of the plants had stirred up a cloud of mosquitoes. And it seemed like they’d all just discovered the thing full of blood right below them. Like the world’s lamest zombie hive mind, they all swarmed after him at once.

Bill swatted and clawed at the air with a furious snarl, but it was instantly clear that intimidation wouldn’t work. He backed away from the water, slowly at first, then faster once he realized he was their preferred beverage now. Soon he was full-on running in an effort to lose the little creeps, until they finally seemed to decide he wasn’t worth the trouble and fell back one by one. Slowing to a stop, Bill shouted in victory as he managed to smash the last holdout between his palms. The noise died as he looked up and realized he had no idea where he was.

Now he was considering the locust curses. He only held off because more bugs were the last thing he needed right now.

Leaning against a tree stump, he reassessed his options and tried to ignore how horrible his body felt. Had running always sucked that much? He was gasping for air, and the rhythmic pounding of his heart was almost deafening. He could actually feel the blood rushing through his veins, a constant pressure that only increased the more he thought about it, about all the pulsing, oozing, hideous tubes and growths and fluids inside this meat prison he was trapped inside…

Stop. Stop thinking about it. The creek had been flowing north. He could just keep walking that way, and eventually he’d reach… something. If not the next town, then maybe a road. He could hitch a ride with some random sap and end up in some faraway city, someplace he could lay low for awhile and figure out the next step. There was no point getting further ahead of himself than that just yet. Right now, all he could do was keep walking.

He kept walking. This time making sure to keep a close eye on the ground ahead of him. After a little while passed without further disasters, his mood started to improve again. This really wasn’t that big a deal. He was Bill Cipher. He’d seen horrors no creature on Earth could ever imagine. He’d caused horrors even worse than that. Of all the weird, scary, unsettling situations he’d been in, this little forest stroll didn’t even rank. He could get through this. He’d bounce back in no time, and never have to think about any of this ever again. The sun had almost set by now, but he wasn’t worried. He always did his best work at nighttime.

A low rumble from the clouds above caused his eye to drift up. A quick flash of lightning split the sky. Bill stared and watched as the thunder rolled again and another bright splinter cut through the clouds. He squinted a smile. Earth weather was still boring as hell, but he’d always had a fondness for a good thunderstorm. Might not be great to get caught in one, but surely–

His foot missed the ground again. He fell hard, pain biting deep into his ankle.

“AUGH! WHAT THE– ARE YOU SERIOUS?!” he roared, seeing the gopher hole he’d just stepped into. He tried to pull his ankle in close to inspect it, but just moving it caused another burst of pain. Would he even be able to walk on this?

“THIS KINDA THING NEVER HAPPENED WHEN I COULD FLOAT,” he growled to himself, looking around for a stick to balance with. “ALMOST LIKE WALKING IS A COMPLETELY STUPID, INEFFICIENT WAY TO MOVE OR SOMETHING! ALMOST LIKE I WAS RIGHT TO GET RID OF GRAVITY, BUT DID ANYONE THANK ME? OF COURSE NOT!! ‘NOOO, BILL, WE NEED GRAVITY! IT’S THE RULES, WE CAN’T LIVE WITHOUT RULES! HELP, I’M FLOATING INTO THE SUN!’ BUNCHA INGRATES! DON’T KNOW WHY I EVEN TRY…”

By this point he’d found a suitable walking stick and was limping forward again, but he was still too mad to stop ranting. “THEY’VE GOT NO IMAGINATION, THAT’S THE PROBLEM. THEY CAN’T EVEN IMAGINE A WORLD THAT’S NOT THE ONE THEY LIVE IN, WITHOUT ALL THEIR PETTY LITTLE PROBLEMS KEEPING THEM DOWN, SO TRY TO ACTUALLY IMPROVE THINGS AND THEY TREAT YOU LIKE A WHAT WAS THAT”

Something had landed on his arm. At first he thought the bugs were back for him, until he noticed the last bit of sunlight reflecting off a droplet of water.

“COME ON,” he groaned, just as the downpour started.

—

Sheets of rain drove up clouds of dust as they struck the parched earth. Bill had been completely soaked within seconds; by now, he was more rainwater than triangle. He raced around as fast as possible with his injured leg, looking for cover. For a moment he tried to shelter under an oak tree, before another lightning bolt lit up the sky and he remembered trees and lightning storms didn’t mix. Luck was clearly not on his side today, and he was not about to tempt fate.

He needed some actual shelter, he thought as he hobbled through the storm with his stupid stick. Last thing he needed after all this was to die of exposure. Forget hitching a ride far away, he’d take any kind of roof at this point. Anywhere enclosed. He’d had more than enough nature for one day.

As night fell, he noticed what looked like lights gleaming through the rain up ahead. Electric lights. He hadn’t been this excited to see a sign of human civilization since 2600 BC.

He raced toward them, and soon the trees fell away around him to reveal the docks on the shore of Lake Gravity Falls. He might have been furious that he hadn’t even made it past the city limits, if he wasn’t laser-focused on the bait shop at the far end of the beach. The lights were on in the living area upstairs, and he thought he saw movement inside, but it didn’t matter. He’d deal with it. It didn’t matter what he had to do or who he had to kill, he was getting in there. He clutched his walking stick and strode forward.

A massive dark shape lunged out of the rain with an unholy roar. Bill shrieked and fell backwards, yelling more extinct swears and brandishing his stick like a sword. Then his eye focused on the thing and he froze. It was a dog. A big shaggy dog, looming over him with a blank expression.

He laughed, harsh and manic. A dog, of all things. This was Gravity Falls, there could be literally anything wandering around in these woods, and he’d just been scared by a dog. One of the least scary animals on the planet. “YOU’RE LOSING IT, BILLY,” he muttered, trying to walk around the stupid thing. But as soon as he took a step, it jumped in his way and let out a deafening bark. Bill started to realize this might actually be a problem. All the noise might alert what’s-his-name, that guy who lived here. Whoever he was, he’d probably remember Bill just fine and be keen for some payback.

“OKAY, BIG GUY, SIMMER DOWN.” Bill stepped forward and waved his hands broadly, trying to shoo the dog away like a cloud of flies. It didn’t have the effect he wanted; if anything, it simmered up, bristling the hair around its neck and shoulders. Bill didn’t have time to wonder if those were its hackles, if that was what “raised hackles” was supposed to mean, before it was growling and baring its teeth.

For a second, Bill had the good sense to be nervous, but then he shook it off. This wasn’t a mountain lion or Fresno nightcrawler or some other bloodthirsty predator, this was a dog. Everything he’d ever heard about dogs went on and on about how loyal and subservient they were. You just had to be firm with them, right?

“THAT’S ENOUGH. BACK OFF!” He jabbed his stick at the dog reproachfully. It flinched back for half a second. Then it was advancing again, angrier than ever. It was snarling and snapping its teeth at him, ears pinned back against its head and almost all its fur raised up like spikes. As it stalked toward him, Bill made another, sharper jab with the stick. It just barked again, even louder and angrier. This was like throwing water on an oil fire, he thought, but now his hackles were raised too. He’d be damned if this mangy thing was going to out-intimidate him . He stomped closer and raised his stick above his head. “ALRIGHT, I WARNED YOU–!”

In a blur of wet hair and fury, the dog lunged at him. Jagged teeth clamped down hard on his arm. Pain ripped all the way through his skeleton and into his brain, and he forgot his pride instantly. He screamed. It was a scream of confusion, fury and fear as much as pain, and those all tripled when he tried to get away and found his arm wouldn’t budge. The dog jerked its head side to side and yanked Bill right off his feet, dragging him across the wet grass. There was no chance of finding a foothold; even throwing all his weight against the dog didn’t do a thing. It just kept shaking him around like it didn’t even know he was alive. Its jaw might as well have been an iron shackle for all his efforts to free himself were getting him. He had dropped the stick in the chaos and lost track of where it landed. He tried to flail around for it, or anything else he could use as a weapon, but between the darkness, the driving rain, and the racket of his own screaming, he couldn’t focus on anything. He tried clawing and punching, but the dog didn’t care. It felt like he wasn’t even breaching its thick fur.

In a last ditch effort to get away, Bill decided to just pull on his trapped arm until it either broke free of the dog or came off. He managed to get pretty far– turned out his arms were incredibly flexible, even without his powers– but then the dog shook its head again and discovered its new favorite toy had a rope attached now. With a few more shakes, it launched Bill off his feet again and sent him sailing through the air, end over end, and the next thing he knew he was snagged in a low tree branch like a poorly flown kite.

Dignity be damned, Bill was glad to be up there once he realized the dog had lost its grip. It was standing with its paws on the tree trunk, barking up at him and wagging its tail as Bill slowly retracted his stretched, shredded arm. With a surge of fury, he realized this wasn’t about self-defense anymore; the dog thought they were playing. It was literally toying with him.

On impulse, he grabbed a pine cone off the branch and launched it at the dog’s face. It flinched back and started snarling at him again, fury renewed. Bill laughed wildly and snarled back. It didn’t matter how angry it got, it couldn’t climb a tree!

Then a swell of rain sent all the trees quavering in the wind, and Bill stumbled and slipped, and before he knew it that goddamn animal was latched onto his ankle, and then he was flat on his back in the mud just barely holding a pair of snapping jaws away from his eyeball, and then…

And then the dog’s head whipped around to look behind it, and then it was bounding away, out beyond the tree line. Bill leapt to his feet to try and run the other way, but his vision went gray as he stood, and he tumbled forward onto his knees. He sucked in heaving, ragged breaths, blinking rain and dog spit out of his eye. Ahead of him, he heard cheerful yapping and a high, affectionate voice. A familiar voice. His eye shot upward.

A few dozen feet away, that murderous, bloodthirsty sadist of an animal was being petted and hugged by a kid. It kept trying to jump up and put its paws on her shoulders and she kept trying to gently push it back down, probably rightly worried it would knock her over and crush the life out of her. As she rubbed her hands through the thick fur on the dog’s neck and behind its ears, she kept trying to brush its muddy paw prints off her sweater. Her bright pink sweater. With a glittery, colorful shooting star emblem on the front.

Bill stopped being able to see anything but red. He lurched to his feet, and in a voice so packed with rage that it creaked at the seams, he snarled “YOU.”

Her head whipped toward him, and the sheer disbelieving terror on her face almost made him feel like himself again. The dog went stiff and bared its teeth as it stepped in front of the kid, trying to herd her away. Bill didn’t care. Not about the dog, not about the pain searing all through his body, not about the deal or the void or any kind of plan. All he could feel was anger.

He staggered toward her. “YOU DID THIS… YOU AND YOUR FUCKING FAMILY, YOU ALL DID THIS TO ME–” he was pointing at her, aiming a clawed finger at the star on her chest, willing a bolt of fire to punch right through it with every cell in his broken body– “BUT YOU DON’T GET TO WIN. YOU DON’T GET TO KILL ME. NOT THIS TIME. YOU TOOK AWAY EVERYTHING I WAS, BUT YOU WON’T– I WON’T–” his vision was swimming with hate. His arm was shaking, his whole body was shaking. He blinked hard and his vision cleared just enough to see her face. It was pale with fear, but there was something else now. Something that sent fury surging through his head so hard that his vision grayed out again. Pity.

He was done talking. With a primal roar, he charged forward.

His ankle turned under his weight. He started falling.

Everything went dark.

[happyfoxx-art]

Aftermath: Impact Part 1 Welcome to the second arc! //sprinkles some disaster twins content on you

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[sarathrwizard]

Did someone ask for Donnie angst? (rottmnt)

Oh, and maybe some brains & brawn duo art as well! 😁💔

[villainousauthor]

Would you plss write something where a villain and hero realize they're soulmates? Thank you<333

Hero grunted in pain as they clutched their abdomen and tried to catch their breath. Their head swam, and their vision blurred as they attempted to gain their bearings. One second, they were in a massive fight against several villains. The next, they found themselves being pushed back through a portal. Supervillain was likely to blame for that, with his ability to warp people anywhere in the world.

Hopefully, their communicator wasn't broken in battle, so they'll be able to send their location to their team. If they could even find it.

They try to stand, and immediately, their vision starts to darken around the edges and their head throbs. With a hiss they fall back to the ground.

"Careful, you probably have a concussion."

Hero cranes their neck to see Villain a few feet away, remarkably less injured and approaching. They don't have any weapons drawn, but still, hero feels their heart lurch.

They open their mouth, trying to speak. "I didn't see you go through the portal.. " Even their voice is laced with pain.

Villain is closer now and stops a few feet away, kneeling so they're at eye level. They seem to be assessing Hero's current state. Probably to see if they can easily finish them off, Hero assumes.

"I came in after you." Villain says nonchalantly, like this is the most obvious thing in the world. They eye the blood currently dripping down Hero's head, and the large gash in their arm.

Hero snort, and their chests aches in protest. "Why, to finish the job? Make sure I don't come back?"

Standing up and getting closer, Villain rolls their eyes.

"No, idiot. One day, if you die, it's not going to be at Supervillain's hands. Or because you bled out in-" Villain looks around at the tall trees, the lack of buildings or signs of civilization. "- the middle of the...pacific northwest? I don't even know where we are." They finish, unsure.

Hero tries to sit up as Villain kneels down again, closer this time. "I don't know either. I lost all my tech, I don't even have a way of contacting my team."

"Lucky for you, my stuff faired much better." Villain says smugly, and Hero wishes they could knock the look off their face. "I'll send my location to my henchmen, and they'll come to get us."

Villain reaches out for their arm, and Hero immediately finds themselves flinching away. Villain's lips press into a thin line.

"I'm not going to kill you, like I said. Unless you want to bleed out before someone arrives, you should let me treat your wounds." Villain's voice is firm as they pull a small first aid kid off their utility belt.

"I'm not going to bled out, it's not that bad." Hero tries to keep a defiant edge to their voice. For all they know, Villain will kill them, probably inject them with some poison or something just to make it easy.

"How bad did you hit your head? Are you blind suddenly? Because it looks pretty damn bad." Villain opens the small kit, showing Hero the contents. "Look, normal first aid crap." Their brows are furrowed, frustrated by Hero's reluctance.

Finally, after several tense seconds, Hero relents. They nod and slump their shoulders, as Villain moves closer now.

"The amount of trust issues you have is ridiculous..." They grumble under their breath as they slowly pull the damaged and blood-soaked sleeve of Hero's uniform back. They get a good look at the deep and long cut. Their frown deepens.

Pulling off their dirty gloves, Villain speaks again as they reach for something else.

"I'm going to have to clean this before I dress it. You might need sutures, though." Grabbing alcohol wipes, they use one hand to hold Hero's arm steady, grabbing their forearm.

Hero immediately hisses and jumps back, wrenching their arm from Villain's grasp.

"Jesus christ! Cleaning it shouldn't hurt that much!" Hero exclaims, even more tense. "What did you do, burn me?" They demand, but then they see Villain's expression. Their eyes are focused on Hero's arm, and their face looks cloudy and unreadable. They don't respond to what Hero said, like they didn't register it.

Hero looks down at their arm, and their eyes widen when they see it. Right on their arm, below the wound is a handprint. A completely different shade than Hero's skin tone, it stands out. A soulmark. Right where Villain grabbed them.

"Oh..." Is all Hero can manage to say in this moment. Villain seems to snap out of their trance and reaches for Hero's arm quickly, wrapping their hand back around where the mark is. It fits perfectly.

"This is...this really...this wasn't here before, right?" Villain asks, even though they saw Hero's completely blank and markless skin moments before. They unknowingly tighten their hold, and Hero yelps, their arm still in pain.

Pulling their hand back like they were burned, Villain finally meets Hero's eyes. "You're..." Villain trails off, shaking their head. They look away, palm to their forehead like they're trying to process this.

Hero feels like the forest floor will open up any minute and swallow them whole. If it weren't for their probable concussion, they're sure they would be taking this a lot harder. It feels like there's a charge around them now, an electrical current, live and dangerous between them.

Finally, Villain swallows and talks. "Let me just...let me just treat your wounds, and we can talk about this later." They manage.

Hero just nods as Villain returns to their first aid kit, ignoring the spark and air of tension now between them.