#light blue nitrile gloves

[321spongebolt]

Last night, while I was re-visiting the "Loud House" episode, "Room With a Feud", I noticed during Lisa's explanation to Lincoln (while she's in her scientist outfit of course), her open hand has no line for the palm of her glove. So it took me a while to draw it right. It also took me a while to find a good picture of Lisa to take a screenshot of with my computer. Once again, I used one of my hand outlines based on the show's.

[scealaiscoite]

⋆˚࿔ one hundred paired prompts 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

¹⁾ a pot of fresh coffee and split knuckles

²⁾ orange peels and a car battery

³⁾ sand dunes and leather boots

⁴⁾ a printer and a knife

⁵⁾ incense and handcuffs

⁶⁾ a crushed velvet sofa and a video camera

⁷⁾ stale cigarettes and cotton candy

⁸⁾ loose change and headlights

⁹⁾ grey hairs and a gold belt buckle

¹⁰⁾ burnt coffee and grass stains

¹¹⁾ cherry cola and blue jeans

¹²⁾ chipped green nail polish and an empty dinner table

¹³⁾ a stack of paperwork and metal music

¹⁴⁾ a patchwork quilt and sweet tea

¹⁵⁾ a hockey sweater and a two-seater sofa

¹⁶⁾ perfume oil and rolled up shirtsleeves

¹⁷⁾ fallen leaves and guilt

¹⁸⁾ radio channels and a birthday card

¹⁹⁾ ravens and meadowsweet

²⁰⁾ apologies and bitter red wine

²¹⁾ library books and pouring rain

²²⁾ a breathalyser and popcorn

²³⁾ princess plasters and iodine

²⁴⁾ a tote bag with one broken strap and a winding staircase

²⁵⁾ a parasol and a tumbler of straight whiskey

²⁶⁾ fresh honey and a cult

²⁷⁾ wisdom teeth and blue eyes

²⁸⁾ sour cherries and a stolen hoodie

²⁹⁾ the flu and a heatwave

³⁰⁾ a boonie hat and a sunset

³¹⁾ vanilla perfume and a kitchen counter

³²⁾ a buffalo skull and a leather armchair

³³⁾ a throw pillow and a doorway

³⁴⁾ pink fluffy handcuffs and an unexpected guest

³⁶⁾ a package and a divorce

³⁷⁾ a stripper pole and a hangover

³⁸⁾ familiar cologne and a black eye

³⁹⁾ a lit candle and a snowstorm

⁴⁰⁾ an unsealed letter and a fallen pine tree

⁴¹⁾ headlights and footprints

⁴²⁾ a blocked number and traffic lights

⁴³⁾ a racesuit and a countdown

⁴⁴⁾ a butcher’s apron and a phonecall

⁴⁵⁾ battered comic books and a broken window

⁴⁶⁾ cold floorboards and a roommate

⁴⁷⁾ smooth vermouth and gold rings

⁴⁸⁾ a lip piercing and a rough hand

⁴⁹⁾ someone’s spare room and an eclipse

⁵⁰⁾ a game of mahjong and bad jazz music

⁵¹⁾ a jigsaw puzzle and a mortuary

⁵²⁾ a broke-up sidewalk and a knitted scarf

⁵³⁾ a poundshop wig and broken glass

⁵⁴⁾ a bunk bed and a crush

⁵⁵⁾ a red ink tattoo and a dinner gone cold

⁵⁶⁾ a warm palm and a flannel shirt

⁵⁷⁾ fresh basil and a half-empty bottle of arrack

⁵⁸⁾ a nightclub bathroom and smeared eyeliner

⁵⁹⁾ a busted lip and strawberry icecream

⁶⁰⁾ a floral-patterned dress and a looming balcony

⁶¹⁾ peach pits and a pressed shirt collar

⁶²⁾ a white mercedes and cheap perfume

⁶³⁾ a fwb and a housekey

⁶⁴⁾ a blue sarong and a fingertip tracing over a scar

⁶⁵⁾ a sauna room and a terse exchange

⁶⁶⁾ fried plantains and a briefcase

⁶⁷⁾ dried lavender and a tiled bathtub

⁶⁸⁾ a hotel room and a bouquet of lilies

⁶⁹⁾ sweet mango lassi and a suitcase

⁷⁰⁾ orange streetlights and a nightmare

⁷¹⁾ a crucifix and a thigh tattoo

⁷²⁾ a palm tattoo and the thrum of a heartbeat

⁷³⁾ a champagne room and a police siren

⁷⁴⁾ blue nitrile gloves and a hickey

⁷⁵⁾ a double-wide trailer and shotgun shells

⁷⁶⁾ stitches and pyjama shorts

⁷⁷⁾ karaoke and a snowdrift

⁷⁸⁾ an older man and a twin bed

⁷⁹⁾ chinese takeout and a graveyard

⁸⁰⁾ wet clothes and ambulance sirens

⁸¹⁾ carbolic soap and a creaking staircase

⁸²⁾ an undercover assignment and wrung hands

⁸³⁾ the back seat of a limousine and bustling night streets

⁸⁴⁾ a steamed-up bathroom and cold floorboards

⁸⁵⁾ a grand prix and a breakup

⁸⁶⁾ a third place trophy and a picture frame

⁸⁷⁾ the last slice of birthday cake and crossed legs

⁸⁸⁾ squashed raspberries and heated cheeks

⁸⁹⁾ pink lipgloss and brass knuckles

⁹⁰⁾ a ghost mask and a late visit

⁹¹⁾ loose bullets and slashed tires

⁹²⁾ a tactical belt and patterned bedsheets

⁹³⁾ a goaltender’s stick and a lonely walk home

⁹⁴⁾ a dog bed and a migraine

⁹⁵⁾ lit billboards and a floor-length gown

⁹⁶⁾ a divebar negroni and a game of pool

⁹⁷⁾ olive trees at harvest time and divorce papers

⁹⁸⁾ a caviar bump and vanilla coke

⁹⁹⁾ a whale tail and pantsuit

¹⁰⁰⁾ legs thrown into a lap and calloused hands

[forlorn-crows]

Crowwwww can you tell me about how much Dew likes it when Dr Aether wears those stretchy blue gloves pls :3

i hate you. look what you've made me do. now there's lube and cum and piss all over the place. fucking. save me doctor aether.

dew better not be fucking allergic to latex. nitrile doesnt sound as nice to write so he's getting latex.

cw: 1.8k of med kink, light bondage, and a nice wet handy with a finger up the ass. dewther banter. overstim leading to piss at the end. you might think dew is the menace here, but you'd be wrong. so wrong.

“Snap ‘em,” Dew says, licking his lips. “Snap the—yeah, fuck.”

Aether snaps the latex around his wrists, once, twice. Revels in the shiver that visibly runs up Dew’s spine. His cock drifts upwards towards his stomach, having flagged a bit while the quint ghoul tied each limb to the four posters of his bed frame. But it springs up now, pleasantly plump just from him putting the bright blue medical gloves over his thick hands. 

Dew wriggles against his holds, eyes lidded. “Want ‘em, Aethe,” he begs simply.

“I can see that.” Aether quirks up an eyebrow, idly smoothing his hands together. The gloves make a soft sound as they rub against each other, one that has Dew letting out an undignified whine.

Aether stops moving his hands, chuckling softly. He puts his hands on his hips and looks at Dew, eyes roaming over every inch of ashen skin laid bare for him.

The fire ghoul wriggles again, tossing his head back against the sheets. “Aether,” he groans. 

“You’re cute when you squirm. Why do you like these so much, hm?” He reaches out slowly with one finger, pressing the latex-covered pad to the arch of his foot. He draws a line from Dew’s pointy ankle bone to the inside of his thigh, watching goosebumps rise in its wake. 

“Lucifer, hah–oh,” Dew hisses.

“It’s just my finger.”

“No it’s not.”

Aether rolls his eyes. Trails his finger a little higher. “So what is it, then?” He’s just below the swell of Dew’s skinny thigh, almost to the crease between his leg and his groin. Dangerous territory. 

Dew cranes his neck to see, throat bobbing when he swallows hard. “Feels weird. Good weird.” He keens when Aether puts his entire hand on his thigh, gripping slightly. “Fuck. Like, it’s your hand, but it’s not, and you’re looking at me like—”

“Like what?”

Dew groans, dropping his head back down as Aether’s hand gets closer. “Fu-cking smug and shit,” he says, screwing his eyes shut. His cock kicks in anticipation, and a drop of precum drools down the head of it and falls onto his stomach. “‘S hot.”

Aether lets go of his thigh, moving his hand upward to hover over his cock. Dew tenses and arches up, sensing it there. But the quintessence ghoul moves it too quickly, reaching instead to swipe through the pearl of precum on his skin and catch it on the tip of his glove. 

Dew’s eyes fly open, going exponentially darker when he sees the shine of his own pre on the latex. “Gimme your finger,” he rasps. Kicks his feet against the ropes. “You gotta put it in.”

“Okay, bossy,” Aether smirks, smearing the little bit of fluid onto Dew’s knee. “Just one?” he lilts.

It’s teasing, because he knows Dew wants exactly that. He wants the clinical feel of it all: one finger right where he wants it, just shy of any purposeful stimulation or stretch. A probing more than anything. 

He nods fervently, grasping the ties around his hands. He tries to pull himself up to watch the other ghoul better.  “Yeah, yeah, with the lube.”

Aether grabs the bottle sitting next to Dew’s ribs and squirts a generous amount of the viscous, medical-grade lube onto his middle finger. The stuff sits on the glove, hardly moving as he turns his hand around to show the little ghoul, fingers wiggling. 

Dew groans bodily, bucking his hips up against nothing. 

“Relax,” Aether lilts, half teasing, half soothing—purposefully reminiscent of his usual infirmary bedside manner. He smears the cold gel around Dew’s hole, watching as his face contorts in all sorts of pleasured emotion. Far too excited, really, for one finger. The finger that’s not just a finger. 

He’d tease him for it if he wasn’t so busy making him moan like a whore just by swirling a gloved digit over his rim. 

“Lemme have it, Aethe,” Dew grunts, trying in vain to spear himself on it. His cock wags in the air, more precum slicking down the shaft. “C’mon, you know you wanna stick it in this tight little—ffuuuucking hells yes.”

Aether presses in with ease, sliding home in one motion. He crooks his finger, earning a little gurgling noise and a jerk of the binds from his mate. 

“Running a little hotter than normal,” he comments offhandedly. A nod to the role Dew not-so-secretly wants him to play, clad in a white coat with the sterile smell of rubbing alcohol and disinfectant masking his usual effervescent ozone. It’s a fantasy for another time, another setting. Right now, just the hint of the image—courtesy of the gloves and the timbre of his voice—does a fine job of making him needy and breathless. 

Dew’s cock kicks again, bobbing upwards. “Fuckin’ wiggle it,” he grits out. “Yeah, get in there.” 

“I am. Needy.” Aether huffs.

“Needy for you to touch me,” Dew bites back. “Get that—hah—get that glove on my di-i-ick.” His voice cracks when Aether presses upwards. Petting at that soft spot just inside. 

“Uh huh.” The quintessence ghoul grabs the lube again, flicking it open with his thumb and promptly squeezing out a fat glob right onto his cock. 

“Cold,” Dew hisses. But he bites his lip and looks down with hazy eyes anyway, watching the way the gel glistens in the lamp light. 

“Let me warm it up then,” he rumbles. Aether runs one finger through it first, smearing the lube along the vein that runs down the underside. A shudder runs through Dew’s entire body. He tosses his head back and snaps his tail, arching sharply at the too-light touch. 

“Fuck, Aethe—”

“Shh,” he soothes, still tracing lines over his cock to get it shiny and wet. Swirling through the lube over and over, coating even the tops of his balls and in between the sensitive foreskin. “Let me take care of you.” 

Aether wraps his fingers around him fully, encasing his cock in a slippery latex grip. Dew practically howls, clenching tightly around that one finger and bucking into Aether’s fist.

“Oh Lucifer,” he wails. “Like that, just like—uh-huh-nholy shit.” 

“You don’t have to do any work,” the quintessence ghoul reminds him as he starts to pull at Dew’s cock. “Just lie there and be good for me.”

Dew’s eyes get big then, like a switch going off in his brain. His crooked fangs poke out over his swollen bottom lip as he sucks half of it into his mouth, and he gives Aether a frantic nod. 

“That’s right,” he smiles. “Drop that pretty head back down. There you go.” 

Aether’s smooth tone has Dew’s eyes rolling back with a quiet whimper, a crimson blush seeping down his face and into the hollow of his throat. His toes curl against the sheets, thighs attempting to press together when Aether twists his hand just so. He only succeeds in pulling the binds taught with a reedy whine. Half gone and plenty desperate. 

Aether’s hand slides frictionless along his cock, latex smeared with lube and the precum now steadily leaking out. It’s borderline obscene, the noise it all makes. But the way the slick sound mixes with Dew’s soft noises is some sort of sin all its own—an odd one, sure, with the gloves between them. But it’s an intoxicating sin all the same. 

It’s some time before Dew can even think to speak again. His entire body has stiffened under Aether’s careful ministrations, muscles tensing and cock hard and throbbing in his hand. 

“Ssshhiiittt,” he hisses. “‘M close,” he chokes out, “‘m so fuckin’ close.”

The quint ghoul presses against his prostate just to make him whimper. “Yeah? You’ve done so well, love. Want me to go faster?”

“Uh huh,” Dew whines. “Please, wanna cum on them.” He tosses his head back and forth with a low groan, getting louder the faster Aether strokes him.

“That’s it—”

“Fuck, ‘m gonna—”

“—all the way, cum for me, let me see it—”

“Aethe oh ohfuuuuck—” Dew clenches his hands into fists around the rope and pulls tight, his cock spitting out cum all over his stomach and Aether’s knuckles. He shoots so hard some of it reaches his stiff nipples, little droplets of white coating the shiny silver barbells running through them. He swears incoherently, clenching around the finger in his ass so tightly he nearly pushes it right out. 

“D-don’t stop, don’t fucking stop—” Dew begs, fixing wide eyes on the ghoul above him. He fights them from rolling right back, babbling: “Don’ you fucking stop—Aethe—please.”

“Yeah?” he rasps. The hand still flying over Dew’s cock turns creamy white on the inside of his fist as he milks him for all he’s worth. “Wanna squirt for me?”

Dew chokes on a moan, slipping quickly into overstimulation. “Yes,” he gasps, thrashing his legs. “Make me, fucking make me.”

“All over. All over my hand,” Aether agrees, the idea sending a surge of guilty pleasure right to his core. He tightens his hand, doubling down—just shy of torture, really. And the fire ghoul yelps, face twisted in pleasure-pain, his cheeks turning a bright crimson. 

It only takes a few more calculated jerks of his hand before he squirts, each stroke wringing out a filthy hot stream and a pained groan. Over and over until his voice is raw and his heaving chest is covered in his own mess. 

“Lucifer, stop fuck,” Dew pleads after a long minute, twitching away from Aether’s hand.

“Fuck,” Aether echoes dazedly as he finally pulls out and away from him. He’s quiet for a moment, watching as Dew sags back onto the mattress and sucks in lungfuls of air. Utterly fucked out and wrung dry. He looks down at his fingers, the gloved digits covered in lube, cum, and piss. Then he looks back at the ghoul spread out before him, so beautifully wrecked from just his hands. 

“Wouldn’t take much to get you to cum dry like this, would it?” he asks breathlessly and a little bit giddy.

Dew blinks a few tears away and furrows his brow, dazed and far too fuzzy to process the statement at normal speed. His throat bobs as he tries to re-wet his mouth, the gears in his mind visibly turning and clicking into place. “Shit, Aether, what?” he slurs.

Aether’s mouth twitches up in a momentary smirk. He presses that gloved finger back against his rim, making him squirm against the binds. “Here. If I just . . . gave you one more. Could you cum like that?”

The fire ghoul looks at him, eyes nearly black with how much his pupils are blown out. He can only whimper, craning his neck down to watch Aether’s hand move against his hole. Slow, deliberate. Tantalizing. He presses back in, only as far as the first knuckle. When he wiggles it a bit, Dew’s eyebrows quirk up in the middle, and he nods with his gaze fixed firmly on Aether’s hands. 

“Let’s try it, then.”

[theclairvoyage]

Centrifugation: Chapter 1

plasmadonor!Joel x f!reader

You’re the star phlebotomist at the local plasma center, and the job has been increasingly mundane as of late… until a new and handsome Texan donor comes to the center and changes that, and the rest your life.

Series Masterlist

Series warnings:

AU, M/F, Age gap (20 years)-reader’s YOB is 1995 (purely coincidental lolol), eventual SMUT, blood, needles, & plasma talk (nothing too graphic, I promise!), a bit of blasphemy, criticism of religion, mentions of death, divorce, angst, fluffity fluff fluff, alcohol consumption, violence.  Individual chapters will have specific warnings.

FYI – this work contains criticisms of religion and reader is atheist/agnostic.  Feel free to scroll if this offends you.  If you decide to read, remember that even if you are religious, this is not an attack on you, but rather ideology.  And remember the tenets of religious freedom.  Everyone has the right to believe – and NOT to believe – in the things you do.

Plasma Center UrbanDict:

Stick = venipuncture

PR = permanent rejection, aka permanent deferral

Reception = where donors have vitals taken to determine if they are suitable to donate

Donor Floor = where the magic happens, baby! Where donation occurs, aka sticks with big 17G needles

 Processing = where units of plasma are sampled and frozen

This is my first ever fic! Excited to share all of it with you. I'm new to posting this kind of stuff on Tumblr, so please forgive rookie formatting and whatnot. Hope you enjoy! As of 03/10/24, I have 6 chapters written - I'm juggling my writing with finishing my MPH degree, so my schedule might be a little spotty until mid-May.

Chapter 1

Chapter warnings: blood, needles, & plasma talk, light violence.

WC: 3.7k

Friday, October 15th | 0755

You turn into the parking lot at the plasma center, a little later than your usual 10 minutes early.  Your shift is at 8, so you don’t have much time to walk to the center, clock in, grab your coat and face shield and get to work.  Thankfully, the parking lot is just across the street.  As soon as you step out of your car, downtown Omaha greets you with the familiar scents of cigarette smoke and fall air, along with the sounds of the city buses and commuters chugging along.

It’s a nice morning.  Living in Nebraska means you get to experience the peaks and valleys of all four seasons, and during fall, this means the leaves of what few trees are in the downtown area are painted lovely hues of orange, yellow, and even red – if you’re lucky enough to find a scarlet or pin oak tree.

The plasma center parking lot is shared with employees and donors, and it’s packed this morning.  Not a great sign.  You walk up to the back employee entrance and punch in the code.  The keypad beeps and lights up green and you pull open the ages-old, heavy-as-hell door and make your way to the break room.

The donor waiting area is just outside the break room door, and you can tell by how full it is that it’s going to be a long day, confirming your earlier suspicions in the parking lot.  Somebody definitely called in, you think.  Great.  Punching in the same code as before, you enter the break room, throw your stuff in your locker, and clock in.

As soon as you’re on the Donor Floor, donned with your white lab coat, blue nitrile gloves, and face shield, one of your best phlebotomists and good friend Keri approaches, looking flustered as hell.

“Jesus, thank fuck you’re here,” she sighs, taking a deep breath and raising her eyebrows at you.  She smooths back her frizzy hair and sets down her face shield on the counter next to you.

“Are we short today, or did corporate send out some bonus texts to half of Omaha?” you say, checking the Donor Queue on the computer.  15 people waiting, average wait time of 43 minutes.  Fucking clean up time, I guess.

“Two call-outs, but they’re newbies, so it wouldn’t have mattered, really,” she says.  “Definite yes on the bonus texts.  Regulars are all pissed off because they didn’t get any.”  You roll your eyes and sigh.  To get more donors in, the company you work for has been sending bonus texts to donors that haven’t been in in a while, which really ticks off the regular, twice-a-week donors.  It’s all about meeting that liters budget.

“Where do you need me?  Breaks need to be sent?” you ask her.  You’re the lead phlebotomist, but you always check in with whoever opened before you make any decisions.  Keri nods.  “Send Blake to break, he’s got an open section now and we’ve got to get these wait times down.”  You grab your mobile phlebotomy device and head that way.

Each phlebotomist can have a maximum of 6 donors in their section.  You see Blake cleaning up the machine from his last disconnect, leaving you an empty section.  “You can head to break, I’ll take over here,” you say, helping him wipe down the now-empty donor bed.

“Thanks… really happy that you’re here.  It’s been a shit show today,” he says, walking away from the section toward the break room.  You groan and head up to the front near the waiting area, grab a chart, and start climbing the mountain.

Thursday, October 15th | 1230

The morning turned out to be an absolute disaster.  You quickly filled up your section once you sent Blake to break, apologizing to every donor you sat for the wait times.  Most were understanding.  There were a few that gave you an eye roll or a shrug.  A few left the center, not wanting to be late for work.  The fall is generally a busy time at the center, with people seeking extra money for football tailgates and games, college students needing extra money for just about everything, and parents stocking up early on holiday savings.

Thankfully, Keri, you, and the rest of the morning Donor Floor crew knocked the Queue down to 3 donors and wait times down to 10 minutes.  Once the last morning break was done, they came over and sent you to your lunch.  Delighted, you took off your sweaty coat and hung it up, washed your hands at the sink by the coat rack, and headed to the break room.

Before you’re able to punch in the door code, a deep, velvety voice stops you.

“Uh, miss?  Can you point me in the right direction?”

You turn and look in the direction of the voice and see a taller man with dark, silvery-streaked curly hair, tanned skin and pensive brown eyes staring at you.  He’s donning a red flannel that squeezes his broad shoulders and ropy arm muscles, and dark wash Levi’s that have the outline of his wallet imprinted in the front right pocket.  He’s definitely a blue-collar guy, not unlike a lot of the current donors.  Must be a new donor, you think.  Damn, he looks good.  You feel a little zap in your chest, not unlike the fingerstick donors get during screening.

“Hi!  Are you a new donor?”  You ask, turning on your customer service voice in hopes of calming your nerves.  You step back from the door and walk toward him.  He’s got a small white paper slip in hand, which tells you he needs his veins checked, so he must be new.

“Yes ma’am, need someone ‘ta look at my veins.  Been here before, but it’s been a long time,” he says, watching you approach him and giving you the once-over.  Twice-over.  Your pulse quickens.  His voice is like icing, dripping with a sweet Southern accent and mushing your insides.  You smile and take the paper from him, hoping that you aren’t blushing.

“Roll up your sleeves for me and let’s take a look,” you say, watching him roll up the sleeves of his red flannel.  He’s got thick, veiny forearms that are tanned and covered with freckles.  He wears a watch on his left wrist that you assume hasn’t been removed in years, judging by the pure white skin peeking underneath.  His hands are big and scarred.  Definitely works with his hands, you think.  He has a small, circle-shaped scar on his right arm near the venipuncture site, so he was telling the truth about donating plasma before.  You grab a tourniquet hanging on the cabinet near the chart area, wrap it on his upper arm, and feel.  His veins are huge and muscular, and you realize you didn’t need the tourniquet in the first place.  Rookie mistake.

“Guess I really don’t need this,” you say, removing the tourniquet and feeling his ropy veins with your index finger.  His skin is warm under your clammy finger.  He chuckles.  “Heard that one before,” he says.  You laugh and make eye contact with him, noticing the crinkles at the corners of his eyes and his salt and pepper beard.  His gaze is amiable and filled with something else you can’t quite pinpoint, and your stomach twists.  You look away before you can decipher it.

“I don’t think you’ll have any issues with the stick,” you say, and he laughs.  “Are you hydrated?  Had a good meal in the last hour or two?” You ask, writing your name on the vein check slip and circling “Pass.”  You see the name Joel Miller written at the top.

“Yes ma’am, I do a lot of workin’ outside and with my hands, so I know better,” he says, confirming your earlier assumption.  His voice is sending a wave of tingles from your ears to your neck, and you feel goosebumps start to erupt in their pathway.

“Good man, Joel,” you say, noticing him perk up at you saying his name, “Take this back to the front desk and we’ll get you processed as quickly as we can.”  He nods, gives you a handsome-as-fuck lopsided smile, and walks back to the front.  You head back to the break room and turn to glance at him once more to find that he's already looking at you.  Fuck, you think, looking back at the door.  Don’t need a hot donor making me feel nervous like this.  He’s older than you, but he might be the most handsome guy you’ve ever seen.  You can only imagine how homely you look, clad in your scrubs and sweaty from the morning hustle and bustle.

You see every part of humanity at your job: young and old, foreign and domestic, all races and ethnicities, handsome and near homeless.  There have been a few men that have caught your eye, and a few that you’ve met up with outside of the center, but none like this one.  As tedious and mundane as the job can be, it’s the people that make it exciting, especially attractive ones.  Well, hopefully he passes screening so I can see him on the Donor Floor, you think, contemplating what you’re going to get for lunch in the short time that you have.

Thursday, October 15th | 1430

Your break went by too fast.  You decided on some fast-food place just across the street from the center.  It’s good and cheap, but you know the greasy food is going to put you in a late-afternoon lull.  Oh well.  After you got back, the lobby was still relatively empty, so you started working on doing the monthly machine cleanings in the meantime.

The plasmapheresis machines are complicated and like everything else in the plasma center, they come with lots of rules and regulations.  You’re a seasoned pro, though, so the cleaning and documentation are a breeze.  You’re heading over to clean the last of the machines in the third row of the Donor Floor when you see a familiar, handsome head of dark salt-and-pepper curls walk behind Keri to one of the donor beds in the first row.  He smiles at you as he lies on the donor bed, and you feel your cheeks heat and curl up into a smile of their own.  Get a fucking grip.  You’re relieved that Keri is taking care of him, because you’re nervous just seeing him in your work area.  You can only imagine how shaky your hands would be with a needle if you were the one sticking him.

While cleaning the machines in the third row, you periodically look over at Joel and Keri.  Keri is great with the donors, and it’s evident when you see Joel laughing with her.  Each time you look up, he’s either already looking at you or looks up right after you do.  You try to play it off like you’re scanning over all the donors, making sure everything is going as it should, but the sweat sheen forming on your face and neck betray you.

You see the light on his machine turn green, indicating he’s been stuck and is running smoothly.  You imagine what it would’ve been like to feel his veins again, feeling his warm, tan skin underneath your fingers… and underneath other things, like—

“Oh my god, that man is such a charmer… and asked about you at least three times,” Keri states, snapping you out of your horny daydream.  Your eyes widen and you turn so he can’t see your face from where he’s seated.

“Shhh!  Keep your voice down!”  You hiss, making both of you giggle.  “What was he saying?”

“Oh, nothing much, just asking what the cute girl that checked his veins was doing all the way over here,” she smirks.  “He used to donate here over 25 years ago when the center first opened up.  Can you believe he’s that old?  He does NOT look like it.”  Odd, you think.  He didn’t sound like he was from here when you spoke to him earlier.  Wait, did he say I was cute?  Blushing at his remark about your appearance, you remember the scar on his arm and think he’s probably telling the truth.  “Wow, he looks good.  How old is he?”  Keri pulls him up on her mobile phlebotomy handheld and you see he was born in 1975.  Damn.  20 years older than you.

Before you and Keri can gush further about Joel, the front door slams shut, echoing throughout the center and catching everyone off-guard.  You watch as one of the younger regular donors, Cedric, storms past Reception and the donor waiting area over to the Donor Floor front desk, near where you checked Joel’s veins earlier.  He practically spits your name, his brows pinched in a rage.

“Cedric, is everything alright?”  You ask, approaching the front desk slowly.  The once-noisy Donor Floor is quiet, save for the quiet whirring and clicking of the machines.  Donors not wearing headphones are anxiously watching the front desk.  You give Cedric the once-over and notice that his arm wrap is soaked with blood, and some of it has gotten on his white shirt and shorts and the floor around him.  First rule of donating: Never wear white to a plasma center, dude.

“Does it fucking look alright?  My arm wasn’t wrapped right and now I have blood everywhere!”  he fumes.  The entire Donor Floor is watching, including Joel and poor Blake, who must’ve disconnected Cedric.  Blake approaches tentatively, tail between his legs, but you put your hand up to him, saying I’ll take care of this.  Blake gives you a thankful nod and tiptoes back to his section.

“Cedric, I’m sorry about that.  Come over to the sink and I’ll rewrap it for you,” you say, putting a fresh pair of gloves on.  “Keri, can you clean up the blood spots with bleach, please?”  You ask.  She nods and grabs a Clorox bottle near the front desk, putting her face shield on and quickly walking around Cedric to search for the path of blood droplets.  Cedric raises his voice again.

“Not good enough.  I need that kid fired for his incompetence!” he points aggressively at Blake, flinging some blood droplets on the arm of your coat and on the front desk.

“Everybody makes mistakes, Cedric.  Blake is a great employee.  We can fix this.  Let’s get you cleaned up, and maybe we can compensate you a little extra on your next donation,” you offer.  But Cedric isn’t having it.  He rips off the arm wrap and gauze and throws them at you while screaming expletives.  The bloodied wrap nearly hits your face shield.  Oh, hell no.  He’s a long-term donor, so he’s probably clean, but it’s too close for comfort.

“Blake, call Trina and call the cops.  Get this guy out of here.  Cedric, don’t ever come back to this place,” you calmly instruct, walking backwards to find a biohazard container a safe distance from Cedric, never turning away from him.  Trina, your manager, doesn’t put up with this kind of stuff and will make sure he’s permanently deferred.

“Fuck you, bitch!”  Cedric yells, sprinting out of the center with two fingers on his free hand holding his venipuncture site, some blood dripping underneath.  Once the front door slams shut, you turn around and take off all your PPE and toss it in the biohazard container, saving your nametag and pen.  Frustrated and tired, you walk to the sink to wash your hands.  Keri and Trina approach you.

“You alright, hon?” Trina asks.  She’s a good manager, always looking out for her employees.  She used to work on the Donor Floor, so she’s no stranger to these kinds of mishaps.  Tensions can be hefty in this area – some donors are desperate for money, some fear needles more than death itself, and some are just grumps.  Phlebotomists usually get the brunt of it.

“Yeah, I’m fine, just need to cool off.  I told Blake to call the cops.”  She nods.

“Go ahead.  When the police get here, they’ll want your statement, so I’ll come find you then… I’ll put in the PR now,” she says, giving your arm a supportive squeeze before walking back toward the offices.  You give her a pained smile and look to Keri, equally concerned as Trina.  “Take your afternoon break, love.  I’ll handle everything else,” she says.  “Thanks, Ker.  I’m gonna step in the freezer to cool off and then I’ll go.”  She nods.  You head toward Processing, located at the opposite end of the center.  Processing has two giant walk-in freezers that always maintain temps of -40ºC – great for keeping fresh plasma frozen solid and an instant cool down.

You step in one of the freezers, shutting the heavy door behind you.  You walk over to the fans and stand underneath.  The sweat on your neck and back quickly freezes in its downward track, leaving behind a sting that could soon turn to frostbite.  It doesn’t take long to cool off here, and anybody staying in for longer than a minute is supposed to put on a heavy coat, gloves, and a ski mask.  It’s a popular spot for blistering summer days and after heated interactions like this.  Satisfied with the pink blooming on your fingers and the crunch of your frozen, sweaty hair, you step out of the freezer and make your way outside for your break.

Once at the picnic table at the outdoor employee break area, you do a quick scan for Cedric.  You can see the trails of blood drops leading to and from his car, and an empty space where his car must’ve been parked.  Heaving a sigh of relief, you plop down at the table and massage your temples.  Fuck… glad this day is almost over.

“Sweetheart, you alright?” A soothing, Southern voice rings in your ear and you look up, seeing Joel approach from his truck.  He says your name, surprising you.  Keri must’ve told him it while she was going through the process with him.

You take this moment to return the once-over he gave you earlier.  Twice-over.  His sleeves are still rolled up and you can see his arm wrap.  His jeans crinkle at the hip with each step, his strong, toned quads flexing as each foot contacts the pavement.  You can only imagine what he looks like from behind.  His cowboy boots are worn, the leather cracking around the toes.  He’s probably the type to wear a pair until they crumble to bits.  He walks with a quiet bravado, taking long, smooth strides until he reaches you at the table.

You’ve no doubt you look exhausted.  Though your sweat has frozen, you can feel how frizzy your hair is, especially around your face.  Your eyes sting with fatigue and the skin underneath your eyelids tug downward.  Your throat feels dry and tight, like you might cry soon.  He must notice because the look in his eyes morphs from concern to anger.

“Hi, Joel,” you state, forcing a smile.  “I’m okay.  Not my first rodeo,” you wink, giving him a sarcastic “yee-haw” motion.  He laughs, but his eyes betray him, still showing anger.

“Mind if I sit?” He motions to the spot across from you.

“No, go ahead, but the cops are on their way and who knows if Cedric will be back,” you caution him.  He waves you off.

“That fuckin’ kid don’t scare me, and I saw everythin’ anyway.  I can talk to the cops if you ain’t comfortable,” he says.  He puts his hands on the backs of yours, and you feel another zap in your chest like you did when you first saw him earlier.  You notice now that he doesn’t have a wedding ring.

“Thanks, but you don’t have to.  I’m well versed in this department,” you say, feeling the tears reaching their boiling point.  You do everything you can to keep them in, but one betrays you and falls down your cheek.  Angry that you’re crying in front of Joel, you try to move your hand out from underneath his to wipe the tear, but he beats you to it.

“It’s okay, darlin’.  You did the right thing, stickin’ up for your people,” he soothes, his thumb wiping your tear from your face.  He moves his hand to cup your jaw and swipes his thumb gently over your cheek.  His angry eyes softened back to concerned.

For what feels like an eternity, the two of you stare at each other, exchanging more communication nonverbally than words could ever.  He’s looking at each of your eyes back and forth, and you feel yourself start to get embarrassed under his hot stare.  You try to turn your head away from his gaze, but his hand stops you.  “You’re alright, darlin’, got nothin’ to be ashamed of here,” he says, reading your mind.  You bring your hand up from the table to gently grasp his arm as a sign of appreciation.  His gaze follows and he swallows loudly.

“Thank you,” you say, giving him a genuine, close-lipped smile.  His eyes move to your lips and then quickly dart back to your eyes, like you caught him doing something forbidden.  He removes his hands and stands up, walking over to your side.  He offers a hand to help you up and you accept, letting him pull you to your feet.

“Sorry your first visit back here was so crazy,” you say, and he laughs.  “Hopefully next time it’s not so… exciting.”  He moves his hand up to your shoulder and gives it a quick squeeze before dropping it.  A tingle rips up your spine.

“Oh, I’m sure it will be.”  He gives you that same look that he did earlier, the one where you couldn’t quite figure out what it meant.  This time, though, you think you know exactly what it means.  Your stomach somersaults.

“I’ll see you soon, darlin’.  Hopefully your day gets better,” he says, turning to walk toward his truck.  Once he gets to the driver’s side door, he turns to look at you again and pauses.  You stand and stare at him, wanting to say something in return, but too overwhelmed by all your emotions.  He smiles and gets in the truck, starting it and driving off while watching you with a small wave.  You smile as he leaves.

Fuck.

Next Chapter

[angelicaether]

Kinktober Day Seven | Imp!Sam/Imp!Darlin | Med Play

Day seven its here and we're tip toeing into Imperium! Enjoy! A wolf wanders into a dentist's office. This is an 18+ fic! MDNI! Read the full fic here.

The wolf sat back in the chair, limbs splayed over the arm rests, relaxed in the small room. The vampire sat on a rolling stool, looking over an assortment of metal tools that glinted in the low light. Darlin’ wasn’t sure how they’d ended up here. Meeting a stranger in a bar usually led to a shitty apartment and a mattress on the floor, not a dentist office. But he was good looking enough, a thick accent and eyes that flashed in the low light of the bar. 

He slid the stool over to them, pressing a button on the chair that reclined it. The lower half of his face was covered with a mask, leaving only his eyes visible. They looked up at him, mind leaping to what he might do. It was all fair game, they just needed a distraction and a vampire would do the trick. He wasn’t the talkative type and that was even better. 

Still, as he leaned over them, pulling on blue nitrile gloves and moving the big overhead light closer to their face they couldn’t help but feel a pang of anxiety. The kind anyone feels when they go to the dentist. 

“Open.” It was a command not a question and though wary, Darlin’ obeyed, opening their mouth slightly. Sam didn’t waste time, pushing his fingers into their mouth, pressing on their tongue. The strange feeling of the nitrile in their mouth made them want to pull away but he was gripping their chin before they could. “Be a good patient and maybe you’ll get a reward.” 

They obeyed, stilling themself as he prodded at their mouth, pushing his fingers far enough back into their throat that they gagged. He moved away from them, pushing the large light away as he went. He threw one leg over the chair, kneeling on it and straddling them. 

[consult-sherlockholmes]

Hello, Mr. Holmes! How are you?

So, long story short, I ended up with an optical microscope in my room more or less 4 months ago, with 200 previously made slides (secured in a proper box), and lots of new ones too, for me to prepare myself. I love microbiology (it's one of my hyperfixations, curse my neurodivergency) and now I love it even more (my mother has had to drag me away from the microscope - I named it Wesley - in the middle of the night multiple times now).

After much conversation, I finally convinced my mom to buy me the proper equipment to prepare the slides!

So, I'm sending this ask to you, as I know you also have a microscope and that you use it a lot: what kind of equipment do you recommend me buying (gloves, scalpel blades, tints, etc), while still remembering that all of the stuff needs to stay in my room (properly taken cared of by me, of course)?

For example, I'm unsure if different dyes are used for different smears and specimens due to it's affinity (I've noticed that on 'organic matter' slides, images are usually tinted purple or pink, while on plant-based slides, images are usually tinted green and blue, with a few red structures.) Considering that I don't have access to a mortuary, I will mostly make plant slides. There must be a difference in the dyes then, right?

Sorry for the long text! Hope this isn't too much of a bother.

- a 17-year-old :)

Congratulations on your new light microscope. I do hope you get the best out of it. I am overjoyed that someone else appreciates the art of microscopy and microbiology.

However, you need to be careful to not strain your eyes. It is recommended to take breaks every 15 minutes to close your eyes or focus on something in the distance to reaccommodate your eyes. And get up every 40 minutes, stretch and correct your posture. And it is recommended to not use a microscope more than 5 hours per day. John has to chase me away from my microscope sometimes to take a break when I sit there for hours, my posture like a Caridea.

Concerning equipment, you will obviously need a scalpel or other sharp blade to make very thin slices of your specimen, as thin as possible. And forceps to move your samples (best just get a whole dissection kit it has everything). Obviously slides and coverslips, pipettes for the stains or water, maybe some tubes. A pen to label your slides. In many staining procedures ethanol or acetone is also used. A waste jar to safely dispose of any chemicals, but be careful what you mix. A rack for staining and containers. I would recommend nitrile gloves, some people are sensitive to latex.

The dyes you use depend on the specimen. For example in histological slides of tissues hematoxylin and eosin are most commonly used (short HE-stain). That's what you most likely saw on your slides, it's blue, purple and pink. Hematoxylin is a basic compound extracted and oxidised from the logwood tree (Haematoxylum campechianum), and it stains acidic compounds in the cells (or basophilic because they have an affinity for basic substances). For example nucleic acids like DNA or RNA get stained by hematoxylin because they are basophillic. And where are lots of nucleic acids? In the nucleus and ribosomes, that is why they appear blue to purple in the staining because they bind hematoxylin. Eosin is an acidic compound, and stains basic or acidophilic compounds red or pinkish, like proteins, collagen, cytoplasm, extracellular matrix.

(Ductus epididymidis with HE-stain)

(Tongue HE-stain, pointer marking a ganglion; that is my picture)

Of course there are more specific stains for specific tissues like Golgi's silver staining for neurons.

For plants toluidine blue is often used, high affinity for acidic tissues, and can stain blue to green to purple. It is often combined with safranin, a basic azine, which is probably the red stain you saw. It stains polysaccharides and lignin, woody parts of the plant. Safranin and astrablue is also often combined, astrablue stains non-lignified parts of the plant.

(Ulex europaeus stem; not my pictures I don't have any samples currently, source Atlas of plant and animal histology)

Safranin is also used in bacteriology, in the famous Gram staining. In Gram staining you use crystal violet (blue/purple), Lugol's iodine solution, then wash it with ethanol and add safranin (red) as a counter stain. Bacteria is gram-positive if the crystal violet stays in their thick murein cell wall, can't be washed out with the ethanol and the bacteria stays blue. Gram-negative appear red because of the counterstain.

(Staphyloccocus aureus (violet, gram positive) & Escherichia coli (red, gram negative); not my picture, source Wikipedia)

However, I am not sure whether you have access to any of those substances, if they are too expensive for you or if they are too hazardous if used in your own room for a prolongued time. Of course those substances need to be stored properly, and your own room is probably not a good place, especially for ethanol or acetone. The fumes. I would recommend to ask your biology or chemistry teacher whether they can recommend anything further and where to buy said solutions in your area, and if they can't they are idiots. There are also many useful resources and tutorials on Youtube.

Another fascinating experiment for your microscope, that you can perform without buying any chemicals, is a hay infusion. You put hay into a container filled with water, and let it sit undisturbed for a week in a sunny area but not in direct harsh sunlight. During that time the microorganisms in the hay are reproducing in the solution, feeding on the polysaccharides of the hay. Protozoans also flourish in the hay infusion and eat the bacteria. It might get cloudy and a bit foul smelling (best not do it in your own room if you don't want to sleep next to a rotting smell). When you put a drop of the solution onto a slide and look at it in the microscope, you should see a variety of microorganisms like bacteria (like Bacillus subtilis), amoeba, ciliates, heliozoa, algae et cetera. At different depths of the liquid you should find different kinds of organisms, because of differing oxygen content. However, pathogens can also occur in the hay infusion so handle it carefully and work sterile, wash your hands properly.

And even if you don't work at a morgue you can still get tissue samples to experiment on, after all meat is sold in supermarkets, basically the same as a human body. And at the butchers they even sell organs like chicken hearts, pig kidney, liver, blood et cetera. Or observe your own hair under the microscope.

Which kind of samples and slides were included in your starter kit? Be careful to not leave them lying around in the sunlight, or the stain might fade. Always store them in the proper box.

[deancasbigbang]

Title: Illicit Ink

Author: allmystars

Artist: LamiaSage

Rating: Explicit

Pairings: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Charlie Bradbury/Dorothy Baum

Length: 48000

Warnings: Sex Work, Graphic Sex, Attempted Blackmail

Tags: Alternate Universe, Sex Worker Dean, Tattoo Artist Castiel, Smut, Happy Ending, Sexual Tension, Angst

Posting Date: October 26, 2023

Summary: Dean Winchester has a secret. He does this thing maybe two or three times a week, and he loves it, don’t get him wrong, but… He’s a camboy, and that’s not exactly something he wants shared around the breakfast table. When Dean decides he needs a change, it’s nothing too drastic, just a tattoo. But the hot-as-sin tattoo artist he gets to do the job might just change everything.

Excerpt: Broad shoulders, a trim waste, and the kind of jawline that could cut glass. Dean’s eyes wander to the head of dark sex hair and striking blue eyes that make his heart skip a few beats. But the tattoos… Fuck, they climb up strong, thick arms, wrapping around his biceps and disappearing under the shirt sleeves of his t-shirt. A swirl of blue, a burst of crimson. Twin snakes twisting together around his wrists, the scales almost reflecting the light in some kind of optical illusion. “I would assume you’re my one o’clock?” Blue eyes arches a dark eyebrow as he peels off a pair of nitrile gloves. “You Castiel?” Dean asks, somehow more put together than he thought—maybe he won’t make a fool of himself.  “Mm-hmm,” he hums, crossing the room in a pair of ass-hugging jeans and holy fucking fuck.  “Then I guess I’m your one o’clock.” Dean smiles, but it feels a little awkward on his lips, and judging by the way Castiel looks at him—like he’s not convinced Dean is sane—it’s not nearly as charming as he hopes for. “Follow me, then,” he says, plucking up a folder from behind the counter before turning for the hallway. Dean takes a moment to let his eyes fall to the thick curve of Castiel’s ass, those runners thighs testing the seams of those jeans, before he follows him past the couch and into the hallway.

DCBB 2023 Posting Schedule

[b4mpyre-k1zz3s]

Ok ok- gn!reader, who skates with Bam, doing a skate stunt and breaking a bone or just getting really hurt. Johnnys/Bam’s/Steve-O’s reaction to it. Some literal hurt/comfort head-canons (?) <3

Head Trip

After a bad spill on the vert ramp, Y/N gets a visit in the hospital from their favorite idiots.

Gn!Reader

1.1k Words

(Fluff, Hurt/Comfort)

Warnings: Whump, suggestive content, crude language, drinking, concussions

An: Thank you for the request!! I had so many ideas for this one it kinda evolved into a fic of its own! XD I hope you don’t mind!

Your brain felt like it was full of cobwebs as you groggily blinked your eyes open. Half awake, you winced at the bright white overhead lights. It took a few minutes to realize that you weren’t still in Bam’s backyard skating and instead were sitting in some hospital bed. The thin sheets did nothing to the chill caused by the cold, medical air that made you shiver on the hard surface. Everything around you was so still, save for the beeping of various medical devices in neighboring rooms. Breaking the silence, the door opened and some lady in scrubs came in. Her lips moved, but your brain processed nothing.

A few moments later, you heard a commotion from outside the door. “Y/N!” Your ears perked up as a familiar voice called you, recognizing it as Knoxville, speaking through snickers with an audible grin, “Your, uh, your nurse is here to see you now!”

Tottering in on a pair of cherry red high heels, in came Pontius with a clipboard, wearing one of those minxy little nurse outfits. You couldn’t help yourself from grinning as he spoke in a falsetto, moving to stand at the side of your bed, “Okay, Y/N- is it? I’ve got you written down for…”

Before you could respond to your nurse, another person entered the room- a man in scrubs, wearing a tie back and surgical mask that obscured a majority of his face as you tried to focus on him, squinting. “Nurse?” He rasped, glancing over at Pontius with a serious expression, “Everything ready?” He nodded, and the scrub clad stranger pulled back one of his blue nitrile gloves, dramatically snapping it. “Alright! Then let’s get on with this vasectomy!“

You could hear him start to crack up as he neared the end of his sentence, his eyes squinting up as he leaned against a counter, pulling down his mask.

“Steve!” He grinned that boyish smile at you as you mentally slapped yourself for not getting it sooner. Maybe that head injury really was taking a toll on you. “Oh my god! Where- where did you get those scrubs?” He laughed, eyes glinting, “Don’t ask.”

Peeking around the door, you had no trouble identifying the owner of the Philly-trash accent as he strolled in like he owned the place, still wearing the same clothes he wore when you were skating, “Wow. Y’look like shit.” As if the tiny hospital room wasn't full enough, he crowded in next to you, “Yeah, thanks Bam- I feel like shit.” He gestured to you to scooch over in the stiff bed as he parked himself right next to you, pulling back the covers and laying down. Your head throbbed, but you still had enough strength to jab at him, “What are you doing?”

“M’tired.” There was your ole skate buddy Bam, practically snuggling with you in a hospital bed. Eh, you two had been closer in weirder places. You leaned over to whisper to him, “Did you get that on video? You know, the-“ “That spill off the vert ramp?” He grinned, fiddling with the camcorder in his pocket under the sheets, “Of course, man! Check this out.” He flipped it open, pressing a few buttons before the video started rolling. “Dunn told me to trash it, but it’s sick.”

The whole time you watched, you hardly noticed when Johnny slank in the open door, sitting in one of the uncomfortable metal bedside chairs. He started to pick at your untouched, hospital-provided lunch- you caught him about halfway into your pudding cup.

“Knoxville!” You scolded him like a dog that peed on the carpet. “What?” He shrugged, not seeing anything wrong with it, his mouth full of chocolate, “You weren't ‘eatin it.” Bam leaned over, snatching it from him. You would’ve thanked him- if he didn’t start eating it himself. His eyes flicked up from the pudding as he wiped the corner of his mouth with his thumb, licking it off.

“Hey! The party’s here!” You could make out the rough outline of the blonde as he strolled in, handing something heavy over to Johnny. “Dunn, this isn’t a party- and you can’t bring beer in a hospital!” He whispered, still holding the 6 pack on his lap. “Why not?” Your eyes focused just enough to make out the Miller High Life logo on the side of the box. You moved your head to get a better look around Bam (who was still eating the pudding), but the room spun with you. Your head dropped as you winced, squeezing your eyes shut and almost choking on your words, “You- you got beers…?”

“No, no- who said anything about beer?” Johnny chuckled, sitting up and hiding the 6 pack behind the chair, mouthing something about the parking lot to Steve from across the room before setting back into his seat, his legs sticking out awkwardly due to his height. “We just wanted to come by, check on how you’re ‘doin!” You cracked a pained smile as he looked at you over his glasses with a sympathetic look, “Well, that’s very sweet of you guys.”

“Okay, out! Shoo shoo!” Pontius spoke up, making a little shooing gesture with his hands, “It’s time for Y/N’s sponge bath~!” Before anyone could move, the door slid open and all heads whipped around to your actual nurse, staring in confusion at the scene in front of her. She made eye contact with Chris, “Who are you? Do you work here?” His eyes widened, still smiling, “I think I should go.” She rubbed her temples, sighing exasperatedly, “I think you should all go! Why are you even here- they’re getting released this afternoon!”

And a few hours later, some nervous nursing student wheeled you out to the parking lot. The wheels of the rickety chair bumped over the cracks in the sidewalk as she stopped at the curb, quietly apologizing for something you couldn’t make out. A white blur skidded out maybe two feet from you, the doors of the van flying open. “Hey, dude!” Steve spoke over the blaring music- some cock rock band. He leaned out one side, holding a bottle, “We saved a beer for you!” The poor lady didn’t know what to say as four of the men inside ran outside to you like a NASCAR pit crew. “I-im not so sure you should be-“

Before you could get in anything edgewise, you had two hands under your arms and two under your knees, the blue flowered paper gown you were dressed in crinkling as they hoisted you up and into the van. “We’re gonna get burgers on the way back! You want some?” Bam piped up as you were seated, crawling over you to get in the seat next to you. The nurse went to say something else, but before she could- slam! Knoxville shut the door and you peeled off out of the parking lot.

[321spongebolt]

Leni’s hair exposed while wearing her nurse outfit, now while wearing blue nitrile gloves.

Credit for Leni artwork goes to @cartoonavatars-blog

[the-slasher-files]

[CALL OF DUTY]

A LIFE WITH HER

SIMON "GHOST" RILEY x FEM!OC

Hello friends! It has been a while, but I'm excited to return and do more exciting things! So, this piece is an introduction to a new oc I have been working on, Simon's girl. Her name is Cholena "Raven" Belanger, name is pronounced Ko-LEE-nah. A beautiful, powerful and now civilian Metis woman. This fic is angsty comfort with hints of smut and gore... I hope you enjoy as much as I do 🔪🤍 MASTERLIST

A long sigh departed from rose tainted lips, the breath was deep and bone rattling. Almost 40 hours straight in the hospital, running around to codes of all types, tending to wounds, directing 3 teams beneath her, and doing all the paperwork as coworkers shifts changed over and over again.

"... Fuck..." Green eyes cascaded down to the blue gloves that were now drying in deep brown once bright crimson.

"Stay with me now, solider," the thumping of the helicopter blades above you drowning out your strained voice. The words were more for yourself as you held your teammates shoulder together. You could feel his heart pounded with the blood that drenched the bandages. "... Almost there"

He was fading and you didn't have enough medical supplies here, not in the air, all you could do was give directions through the radio for the medical staff on the grounds to be prepared for 3 soldiers you saved. You saved them. You hoped you did as the man's breath below you wanned. "Come on... fuck..."

Finally, the helicopter landed. It had felt like hours, painful, hopeless hours sitting in that plane, and you were left there. Slumped on your knees as the men were taken away, your men that you prayed to any god listening that they would go home to their families, but you knew that there was no god above you as the red faded to brown.

"Cholena?" There was a faint voice, "... Hey, Cholena?"

Keen emerald eyes flew upwards as the gentle hand squeezed her shoulder, flinching it off in the wake of a flashback.

It was her coworker, the one who was her equal and switching her out on the shift, took a step back with his hands face up in defence and presenting no threat. Jonathan knew of your past, obviously not understanding it completely, but there were times she spilled the truth of her PTSD.

"Sorry," He whispered, "...hey, it's ok. He lived,"

There was a held breath that she released, one she wasn't aware that was held. Relief washed over her tense frame as an innocent man riding his motorcycle home and was struck by a car could go home tonight. But, she couldn't ease the tension as that feeling of relief was quickly numbed. This woman lived through wars, saw death more than anyone in her team would ever know, and faced it multiple times herself, somehow living today. She was numbed to this. It was just another day.

"Co, please go home... get some sleep and long shower, okay?" Jonathan stared at the dried blood on the once sterile gloves, then back to her eyes. "Text me tomor—"

Interrupted by the coder on his lanyard going off, quickly giving a pat on her shoulder and running off down the white-walled hallway, "Go home! Get sleep!" He yelled back, trying to be some type of light to get her to smile... and it worked.

With a shake of her head, the smile slowly faded, peeling the nitrile gloves off and getting herself ready to go home. Home. A strange word to her as she spent the past 2 months more between the cold cement walls of the hospital than in the comfort of a home she shared, half the time alone. One more week. It repeated in her head, that British accent across the gritted phone lines.

Tense muscles guarded by heavy black tactical gear stood in front of the sink, emerald eyes, bloodshot and staring as the water washed you clean. It was too hot but you couldn't feel it. Just scrubbing over and over again the pores of your skin, rubbing them raw and steam coating your face. The water ran clear long ago, but all you could hear was the screams calling your name to help, to save them.

"Raven... Raven, shit" A voice lay unheard.

Quickly shifting around your frozen body, he turned off the tap, grasping your shoulders and turning you to look at him. Look within the deep amber masked in smeared paint. Grounding you as your hands shook desperately clawing at his vest, tears streaming heavy and collapsing within solid arms that held you up.

"I couldn't save them... I could've. I-I could've... Ghost" Your body broke against him, sobs caught into him like he could take care of it all, and he wished he could. On days like these, he wished you never thought about being in the military, you should be home, nestled in the arms of your lover and watching some dumb tv show and falling asleep in peaceful bloom.

"I know angel, I know," He clenched tightly around your frame, protecting you "One more week, just one more week"

Throwing the bloody scrubs away into the neon hazard bins, Cholena changed into some jeans and just threw on a larger, much larger hoodie that kissed halfway down her muscular thighs, the smell faded but it was still his regardless. Saying goodbye with silent waves, the exhaustion began to creep in as each step led her closer and closer out of the god-forsaken building.

Shrugging her military-issued backpack on one shoulder, she walked through the automatic sliding doors and stepped into the pitch-black night as it was softly raining. Rounding to the back of the hospital and towards the train station, beaming street lights above had her attention drawn to a black truck and a man leaning against it, cigarette in hand.

"No trains tonight, sweetheart," The familiar voice, one of comfort and home, hit her like a bullet, a gunshot clapping like thunder, it made her stop for a moment to process that he was actually here.

"Simon..."

He walked forward, tossing the cigarette to the cold, wet pavement and she walked faster, meeting him more than halfway under the warm glow of the lamp above. Reaching only a foot apart, Simon's body covered in hers in an everlasting shadow, his phantom that she welcomes whole. Sweet lotion of shea butter and coconut met fire and metal that mixed together in cascading rain making reflections at their feet.

This was something they always did when meeting again and again, no matter the territory, sand, snow, rain, concrete, rubble, blood and gore. They let their senses adapt to each other before utter absorption.

"You're home," Soldiers don't have homes, but he made one in her.

"There's nowhere else I'd rather be" Simon admitted the truth openly for her to bare and she took it all without question.

Wrapping her hands around his thick neck, green eyes meeting warm hooded amber, easily, as if she was nothing, he lifted her with strong hands supporting her thighs. As many times as he would hold her, she never failed to seem so small. At first, it was out of place when Ghost held her, like a rabbit seeking comfort within the paws of a wolf, but something in their souls fit together in a bloody puzzle and now it was home.

"God, I missed you," she exhaled all her stress as if he could ease all her pain and tucked into his neck, shuttering with exhaustion and the overwhelming feeling of having him back.

He didn't respond, and he did not need to. The rumble of a storm at sea grew within Simon's chest, and she heard it, clinging closer as if it was possible. Slowly, the scent of tantalizing pine and musk sprouted as her nose brushed under the mask. It was just the simple balaclava allowing you to see the shape of his face and the yellow that brushed through brown wartorn eyes. She never pushed for him to take it off. It was his security and his alone. When Ghost was ready to fall into the shadows, he would, always there beneath the skin, but that was when she would protect him the most.

Secure gloved hands began to wander, muscles flexing each time he could feel her shake within his hold, and Simon brought his head back, about to speak, but she beat him to it, tensing slightly, "J-just a long shift,"

Another rumble, softer this time, rolled through him, "Well, let's get you home, pigeon,"

Whenever Simon called her that, he knew it would earn a smile, perhaps a huff of sweet laughter, one that he wished he could hear forever. Everyone called her Raven. It was her call sign. Even her family used it as an honour, and no one questioned it. The onyx long hair, her feather-light touch even while stitching brutal wounds, the way she was ever graceful with sniper and was a beacon of life and death altogether. Not to count out her indigenous roots calling to her the title, a feather often within her hair on the battlefield, creative, cunning with an intuition like no one else on the team. She was a raven, glorious to him in every way, so the fact that he called her pigeon would almost be an insult.

Moving effortlessly, Simon placed her in the passenger seat of his truck, the leather slightly squeaking when Cholena took off her backpack. Eyes watching as the love of her life got into the seat beside her, a warm smile gracing her as he looked massive within the closed space.

The armoured truck was parked in the dimly lit garage of the safe house. Everyone had found a spot in the old farmhouse to settle in for the night, but you couldn't sleep, and neither could he.

"Ghost," Your moans filled the truck. Trying to stifle the noises begging you to scream, "Please. Fuc-"

"That feel good, huh?" Accent thick with pleasure as he leaned across the middle console, your head buried within the crook of Ghost's neck. His devastating hands taking what he wanted and giving what you needed. "So fucking needy for me,"

He hummed lowly, sounding more like a growl as calculated eyes watched his fingers slip in and out of your cunt, dripping on the seat and cascading along inked skin. Curling knuckle deep inside sent a shockwave through you, shaking and biting his jacket with gentle mumbles and whines. Ghost could feel you were close, fisting your soft black hair to make you pull back with a hiss.

"Look at me when you cum," He groaned feeling your walls clench tightly around strong fingers and you let go. Your teeth biting hard on your bottom lip to not make a sound, your legs shaking and dark brown eyes observing you, eating you whole as you came undone. "Such a good girl"

Ghost whispered now, the hard skull of his mask bowed against your forehead. You saw him, not the commanding force but the man beneath the bones and viscera of a legend, and he allowed it. He was safe with you between the fogging windows. It was just you and him in your world, cupping his jaw as he mirrored the actions.

"Such a beautiful girl," Simon spoke, barely above a whisper as Cholena nuzzled into his hands. Green eyes speaking to his brown in a dead language they brought back to life.

"Such a handsome man," She replied smoothly "my handsome man"

His eyes crinkled with a smile beneath the mask, placing a kiss on her forehead. Simon was still adjusting, not quite ready for his lips to feel hers, for him to feel 100% human yet. His mind was still half inside the battlefield being the embodiment of his callsign and haunting over the ones he protected with his life.

Cholena's soft fingers grazed down Simon's body, releasing her own tension and grounding him back to her at the same time. "Let's go home," She found herself whispering, eyes becoming heavy and body letting go in his presence, relaxing and easing, slumping into the seat as he gruffly nodded.

As he drove away from the city, the rain and darkening of fewer city lights lulled her into a soft sleep. Their fingers interlocked naturally together the whole drive, brown eyes floating over to watch her peaceful state reminding him that he was safe, he was home and he was hers.

Pulling into the driveway of their forested home just outside of the busy city, Simon turned off the truck and released a sigh. A shutter rolled through him this time, sharing a similar exhaustion and flood of relaxation. It was time to be a man again. Pausing for a quiet moment, his eyes closed, the freehand holding the steering wheel reached up to the soft fabric on his face and pulled the balaclava off. Strong, chiselled features made his face, scars and healed broken bones made him who he was, a man she loved wholeheartedly, but someone he strayed away from most of his life. Keen amber caught his reflection in the rear-view mirror and he stared almost as if he couldn't recognize who he was without the skull mask.

"Simon," She whispered groggily, even half asleep she could feel himself begin to crawl within his own head and her small hand flexed on his.

Cursing lowly he got out of the truck, rounded the vehicle and opened her door. Simon grabbed her bag first before he picked Cholena up bridal style trying not to shift or wake her much.

Flashes of fire, blurred black and white melted together in your vision. You could taste the copper and feel the smoke burning through you. It was hot, pure violent hellish heat consuming your soul. Were you screaming or crying as your breath felt like broken glass slicing through your ribcage? No one was listening except the reaper. It didn't matter.

It was a landmine that went off and no one could see it until bodies were broken and the building beside you had collapsed. Concrete, rebar, wood, and electrical had all come down within seconds and you were gone. The world turned and your team was gone.

Blood seeping through your gear made wide streaks in the dirt around you, barely able to lift your head, but your body tried to crawl away on pure instinct. In and out, the world faded. Tasting your life force being torn away so brutally. And you couldn't hear the voices on the radio anymore, no screams or calls for you, everyone checking on position and counting the injuries.

"SHE'S HERE"

A black shadowy figure stood before you, it was him, death coming to take you and your lids closed.

"S-stay, NO, STAY WITH ME. RAVEN... Cholena, keep those eyes open!" A barking scared tone made your eyes flutter open, only seconds at a time before falling back into darkness.

A white skull now covered in soot, bore down at your helpless frame that was clinging to life. He kept talking, orders yelled and words directed at you that were no longer understood, Ghost had never spoken this much in war but the rumble in his chest kept you sane. With every jostle of your body, you felt something horrid, it would catch on soaked clothes and send violent shocks through you. It was bone being held together by your gear. It was your spine.

"Simon..." Your voice was weak but you whispered his name, his real name over and over. He wasn't your reaper.

"Simon..." Cholena whined, nuzzling into his hoodie as she was set down on the big comfy bed, "don't go"

"I'm not going anywhere, angel... Never"

"I'm not going anywhere, angel... Never"

[luperpla]

i wanna gab about preshading and how ive been doing it lately. trying to type longer guides on patreon and HV but let's try a quick and dirty version here and see if that helps me get those posts together better. as far as tools used for this, i use an iwata hp-cs and hp-ch (which are .3 and .2mm nozzle airbrushes respectively) along with gaianotes paints for painting gunpla. proper ppe (nitrile gloves, a well fitting respirator and a spraybooth that moves enough air) are a must when working with lacquers. dont give yourself lung or liver cancer for plamo plskthx. pics are from a mixture of the mg sazabi's WIP and some test junk i was doing with the hguc sinanju.

step 1: primer yer part i like to use colored primers cause it really ups the saturation on the paint you use on it. pink for reds/oranges/yellows, blue for purple/blues, grey or white for whites/greys

step 2: mix your preshade color ymmv on these but personally i like using a darker shade of the main color to do the shading by adding a complimentary color to it. for example, for these parts i mixed brown in to the custom orange color i made. you can use whatever you want though. some folks like using black as a preshade and that's ok! i preshade my orange-yellow paints with pure orange, and blues with either a darker blue or blue with some purple/black mixed in. to goal is to compliment/blend a bit with the color that's going on top.

step 3: go around the edges and panel lines with your dark color, leaving room to fill in with your main paint. hope your hand is steady and your paints are mixed/thinned well! very carefully, go around the part and darken up the edges/panel lines/underside of your parts. i shade anywhere where the "light" might darken up on a real world object but i can't speak to how accurate of a sentiment that is, if that makes sense? it's just what looks 'right' to my eye to do it this way. but the part that's shaded above should serve as a good indicator. here are a few other parts pre-filling in:

i do this this way for three reasons: first and second, im lazy and cheap. i don't want to waste time and paint coating the entire part when i'm just gonna cover it up anyway. third, if i coat the entire part in the preshade color that's going to have an effect on the main color that's going on top. mainly, it's going to make it darker. i don't want that so i landed on shading stuff this way.

step 4: fill in your main color okay so i always do a shitty job taking pictures of this step (that's why there are no sazabi pictures here) but once you have the edges and stuff painted now it's time to take your main color and fill in the primer-spaces. don't go over your preshade lines, just get as close as you can to that line. it's fine if you hit the edge a little, after all this is the topmost layer of color. even if it doesn't turn out perfect, just work with the wabisabi of the whole thing. embrace the shading not being perfectly uniform. after all, things in real life have degrees of variance.

take your time, work with a psi around ~12-15, thin your paints well, and be very gentle on the trigger. i work really really close to the part for this step and have to be very careful to avoid splattering or overspraying. this is probably???? one of the trickier parts of this??? i don't know. when you've been doing this for so long your definition of that sorta changes. if you need extra help, look in to something to help steady your arm/hand while doing this part.

step 5: blending okay, so you've got your shading down, you filled in the rest of the space with the main color and it's feelin pretty good. but. there's one more step. get a little distance from your part and give the whole thing the lightest coat you can manage. the goal is to blend the primary color and shading layer together with one or two very light coats of paint. i'm not trying to cover up the preshading, i just want a very thin layer of the main color to harmonize everything.

see how the preshading isn't so stark now that we've given it those final two coats? i think this is the key to bringing the shading and main layers together. everything feels nice and "finished" now. from here, gloss coat the parts for panel lining and decals or flat coat (or whatever finish you wanna use) it if it's not getting any of those.

and...that's pretty much it. as an aside, glossy finishes tend to make the colors appear darker and flatcoats tend to look lighter but that could just be my eyes being weird.

and uhh....yeah. thanks for coming to my gunpla talk.

[featureenvyproductions]

my thoughts on how to do Basically Kinda cel animation but cheap as fuck PART 2

If you haven't seen part 1 of this you can find it here:

INTRO

Ok so where were we. We had gotten through penciling last time. This part won't be super ultra mega as involved because we won't be like. You know. Building a shitty light box.

We will however be doing 🎉ink and paint🎉

I probably made you buy some of the things you need in the previous part of the tutorial but let's go over all the ingredients you need for this part. Once again the whole point of these is not to have you make the most super duper high quality thing to ever exist that will make god herself cry at the marvel wrought by your skilled hand the point is to Traditional Animate TM if you're fucking broke as shit and get your shit out there no matter what because you're stubborn and you can do this and no one is gonna keep you down. Like in part 1, I bought EVERY SINGLE ITEM in this list at the dollar store, ensuring pretty much maximum affordability (you likely will not have to go back for extras later so these will mostly be one time purchases unless you're trying to animate a bazillion fucking frames). You may even have most of this laying around your house.

You will need

-sharpie (don't worry! They have eliminated the horrible smell from when we were young! There's still a bit of smell but it's not as bad or as dangerous especially if you leave the windows open) get at least black or a dark color but you can get additional colors if you like

-clear page protectors (these come in packs of 16 and you will need 4 for every dollar store drawing pad's worth of frames if you're intending to use the whole pad. Otherwise just get as many as you need. If you need more than 8-10 packs however it becomes more cost effective to go to a big box store and buy a pack with several hundred protectors)

-gloves. You'll want to wear these while inking and painting because it'll reduce the chance you'll get a bunch of finger prints on the clear sheets, or paint on your hands. The dollar store sells nitrile gloves so I'll use those here, but typically I actually buy white cotton gloves in bulk for this.

-acrylic paint (I recommend getting at least 2-4 colors - like 2 contrasting colors and white+black. you can do a lot with a light color + darker version of the contrasting color or a dark color + white though. And you can just have ONE color only if thats what you want. It's just important to remember that you will NOT be able to dilute the paint with water if that's what you're used to doing. You also cant go wrong with just primary colors + white but my store was out of blue and yellow so :/)

-craft adhesive, specifically the dollar store kind or something like it. I'll elaborate on why later but it's really important. If you don't have a dollar tree in your area, I think the closest thing would be tacky glue? I honestly straight up do not know though. You need something paintable but ultimately MORE STICKY/TACKY than it is wet. If that makes sense

-something to mix paint on (for the sake of only getting things from the dollar store I got paper plates)....I didn't take a picture of this but I feel like you know what a paper plate is probably. You're on the depression meals enthusiast website after all

-something to put water in to mix your brush (or just use the sink I guess)

-something to dry your brush (like paper towels. I am so so serious you will need a dry ass brush)

-brushes. One of those sets with some pointy ones and some less pointy ones will work. We're not going for perfection here. Just don't get something so chonky you can't do little corners and don't get something so small painting a larger area will press your rage buttons

Ok. Onto the process.

A Note on Backgrounds

I forgot if I explicitly mentioned backgrounds in the last tutorial but if all you did was draw stationary settings on the "animation paper" for back drops then all you will need to do is go over the lines with a sharpie or even just darken them and shade with your pencil. You do not need to transfer stationary backgrounds to a cel using the process in the following section unless you really want to (it does make painting easier, but I didn't paint most of my backgrounds for my animation aside from the occasional detail. If you aren't painting detail inside outlines or animating something like say water or snow, transferring to a cel is really unnecessary). Kind of like the background below (of course, you'll note that this is a piece of paper taped to a page protector. I don't know why I didn't take a picture of literally anything else. Same idea though you just won't have to tape it to a page protector to align the image if you already drew your background on the punched paper)

Ok now onto the stuff that DOES move.

Inking

Ok! So let's in the frames you penciled when following the last tutorial. For this part, you will want your sharpie(s) and page protectors. And gloves wear the gloves.

The way this works.....In traditional animation, you would typically trace over the pencil drawings you made on the animation paper, but trace onto clear sheets that can be composited later to make one who frame of the scene. Like photoshop layers but manual.

Essentially we're going to use the page protectors as our cels and ink onto those. Typically you would use acetate cels, but the fact that no one is using them these days means there aren't a lot being made and it means that you will be shipping them from a billion miles away and they're going to cost you like 75 cents - a dollar PER CEL. Not PER FRAME. If you are animating multiple things, you're likely going to be using multiple cels per frame and it adds up so fucking fast. You also would ink onto those with something like India ink or thinned cel paint. Which are also of course expensive (these days of course people mostly do digital inking and scan their pencil drawings and trace over them onto a new layer in something like photoshop but since the focus of this info dump is the broke people equivalent of traditional animation we won't be doing that here - though you're free to like chuck this tutorial into the sun and do it anyway idc I'm not your dad).

Instead we're going to trace pencil drawings onto page protectors with a sharpie.

It's really simple.

-Take the first pencil sketch in your sequence and stick it on your peg bar (we did all this in part 1 - pencils and making the peg bar).

-Put a page protector on the peg bar as well, right on top of the pencil sketch. Mine had a bumpy side. I put the bumpy side down and inked on the smooth side. If the cel feels like it's sliding you can hold the top in place by putting a bit of tape along the top edge

-Trace the pencil lines you want to keep with the sharpie. If you got a dark one i recommend using that for most of the lines bc it'll show up better but it can look cool to combine colors as long as they're kind of dark ish (important bc this will not be as dark as traditional ink) but it's your call. Also make sure to indicate the frame number somewhere inconspicuous like the very bottom next to the peg holes. Probably a good time to mention that you absolutely need to use the same type of page protector you used to line up the peg bar holes in part 1, though if you want to re-punch holes in your page protectors and use a different brand I guess I'm not going to stop you. I also won't stop you for trying other ink, but I am going to tell you that in my lengthy journey to find something that would stay on these and not smudge, sharpie was the ONLY think that could do it (well and alcohol markers like Copics, but they are way too expensive for this tutorial and don't show up as well).

-Repeat for the next pencil in the sequence etc

When you're done with those let's move onto paint! Dry time for sharpies is pretty short.

Painting!!

Ok this part was a bit of a challenge for me to figure out because NOTHING wants to stick to these little shits. What I didn't pay in money I paid in rage I guess. But I did figure it out.

Here's what I came up with. For this part you'll need all the other supplies in the ingredients list (and no I don't plan to stop calling it that I have a really boring sense of humor and it's still funny to me after 5 times and you count your lucky blessings I haven't amused myself further by switching to Ingredience).

-once the sharpie is dry on one of your inked cels, put the cel face down and make sure it's held in place with the peg bar (you won't be tracing anything in this step obviously but it'll help keep things steady). By face down I mean the inked side should be up against your drawing surface - you'll be painting on the back of the cel (so like if you drew on the smooth side then paint on the bumpy side) (I DONT KNOW WHY I DIDNT TAKE A PICTURE OF THIS STEP. I HOPE IT MAKES SENSE)

-Mix up your first color but HOLD OFF ON PAINTING TILL YOU READ THE NEXT STEP (Also note that what you start with matters - Paint from smallest most detailed area to biggest area, allowing dry time between step along the way. Basically figure out any detail areas and paint those first)

-Add glue to the paint on your pallette. I had a world of a time figuring out how to do the paint for this because NOTHING wants to stick to page protectors. I experimented with several types of glue mix ins to see if I could get it to adhere. After trying to mix the acrylic paint with (individually) Elmer's glue equivalent, modgepodge, and a watery more instant craft adhesive, I realized none of those would work. The paint just continued to bead up on the "cel". The dollar tree liquid craft adhesive did however cause the acrylic paint to stick. I experimented with the ratio and found that typically adding glue in the amount of 25-50% of the paint volume was sufficient to get the paint to stop beading, while still not diluting it so much as to cause it to dry clear or translucent.

In the first picture below, paint + that glue on the left was by far the most successful.

-ok! Go ahead and paint! - like I said before, start with details, let them dry, then do larger areas on top. Let everything dry. You may need two coats for larger areas but yeah wait for jt to dry before deciding. (Oh yeah I fucked up one of my pegs so I wasn't putting the thing on the peg bar here, mostly also bc I had nothing to trace anyway. I did also lose my tape so I'm holding it in place with a piece of kneadable eraser. You don't have to do this you can use tape just dont get it on the part of the image you intend to have in the shot (and chances are you WILL crop some of the final image in post anyway))

Once you've done all this and all your frames are dry it's time to put it all together! And that will be the topic of part 3, which will come soon! (I will show how I did it for Fate For A King, but I also realize people may not have access to all the same things, so I'm doing a bit of experimentation to find other methods of eventually ending up with a thing you can upload to tumblr ultimately)

If you click the following link and it takes you to a complete post then yay! That means I came back and wrote it at some point. If you go there and it's still a placeholder post though don't worry! I will get to it, I just want a working link here in case anyone reblogs this in the future so they won't have to go piece together the whole trail of posts.

Part 3 link!

[jaws-and-canines]

The Butcher and The Fool

A Verschlimmbessern story. Fennec falls afoul of the butcher - a Special division specialist in causing lasting pain and lasting damage. Contains depictions of torture, gore and canon-typical violence.

---

The carrion-birds are still perched atop the barbed wire. Rotting skin barely holding slick feathers in, milky-white eyes and razor-sharp beaks and claws. The scarred heads and bloodstained beaks turn to watch as the peeling-paint door opens and out comes what they have been waiting for.

A man, dressed in a dirty white coat and blue work trousers, slamming the door behind him so hard that the wall shakes. He has a full yellow bin bag over one shoulder, a plastic blue bucket under the other. Bloody saline laps at the rim of the bucket as he steps off the breeze-block lip of the door and shifts the bucket into two hands. The birds caw at him, chirping and whistling as they recognise him.

The butcher throws the dirty saline down the drain beside the door and dumps the empty bucket beside it, filling it back up from a yellow hose. The water that swills in is ice-cold, and quickly runs a browning red as the dried blood from the sides of the bucket dissolve into it like ink. He glances up at the birds, and with a chuckle, rips open the yellow bag and tosses it onto the asphalt. The birds descend in a frenzy, ripping pieces out of the dead meat in the bag and tossing it down their throats. The butcher bows his head, putting a cigarette between his lips, and lights up, watching the birds tear into their meal. 

The door opens again with a squeak, and slams shut with a bang. The birds don’t scatter, fixated on their meal. The Special stands beside the butcher, grimacing at the gory scene in front of him. “I do wish you wouldn’t do that,” he says. “It’s foul.”

The butcher shrugs. “Saves a trip to the incinerator.” The Special watches the birds, disgust written across his face. The butcher ignores the Special for a few moments more, finishing the cigarette, before he drops it and grinds it out beneath a steel toe-capped boot. He just looks at the Special, and grunts for him to continue. “What do you want?”

The Special holds the peeling door open for the butcher and lets it slam behind him. Something skitters across the floor- a mouse, a rat. The Special watches it go, clearly revulsed, and then continues. “Seven-nine-three. Euro war criminal.” Flies crawl over the fluorescent lights, and over the plastic tables of filthy tools that jut out into the corridor.

The butcher leans heavily on the table and snaps on a pair of nitrile gloves. He starts by swilling a handful of them around in the plastic cup of pink antiseptic resting on the edge of the table. “What needs doing?” He takes an empty syringe from the handful in the antiseptic up to the light, and then tosses it aside onto the tray beside him.

“Needs the fear of God putting into him,” says the Special. He leans across the table to pick up a manilla folder that had been discarded across a tray of drill bits. “A taste, just a taste,” he says, holding up a hand to the butcher, indicating a tiny distance between finger and thumb. 

The butcher glances at the tiny distance and starts to pile things into the tray. A handful of scalpels and dental tools go in first. “Hm. Condition?”

“I am not your doctor.” The Special tuts. He flicks open the folder and holds up an X-ray film to the light, angling it towards the butcher so he can see the bright white pins in the shadow of the bones. “GSW left knee with femur involvement. Surgical closure, internal fixators.” He pauses, turning another page. “Complains of moderate-severe pain most of the time.”

The butcher laughs. It is not a nice laugh. “No fucking shit.” He piles three large screws onto his tray- a little longer than his handspan, a plan already forming in his head. 

The Special continues, putting the negative back into the folder and whetting his lips. “Two prior episodes of catatonia, psychiatrists can’t agree whether to say he has post-traumatic stress or call him manic-depressive.” He turns the last page, and pulls a face, knowing the predictable response from the butcher. “And, to be the bearer of bad news, minimal English. First-language German.”

The butcher’s face sours. “I don’t fucking speak German.” He spits onto the tiled floor and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, then goes back to sorting through the tools in front of him. “Tell them to stop sending me numbers who don’t understand me.”

“Don’t you worry about understanding the numbers. What they say doesn’t matter anymore, they’re past that.” The Special sets the folder down on the table. “You aren’t here to get information out of anyone. They do that.” 

The butcher slams the tray full of tools down on the table and turns to square up to the Special. “They don’t understand me,” says the butcher, poking himself in the chest. “Me. I’m the one who matters. Fuck the numbers, I don’t give a fuck about the numbers. Me. They don’t understand me.”

The Special is entirely unintimidated. He just smiles, as if he were a waiter taking someone’s order, and not arguing with a man renowned for senseless violence. “If you can’t intimidate someone without screaming and shouting then this job is not for you.”

“Oh, I’ll do it without a fucking word, just you see,” says the butcher. He looks at the tray of tools, and snatches the three screws from the top of it, leaving the rest behind.

He peers through the spy-hole of the workroom’s thick metal door- a small, tiled room with a papered-over window well out of reach and a serious case of black mould, damp drippng from the cieling. He’s expecting to have a fight on his hands, to have to call for backup to pin the number down. 

But the butcher practically bursts out laughing seeing the state of the number. Cowering in the corner of the room, legs splayed out in bloodstained trousers, the man has thrown his coat over his head, as if to hide beneath it. The cracked lenses of his glasses catch the light as he shivers, peering out from underneath the greatcoat.

The butcher wasn’t sure to begin with whether three screws would be enough to even make a start with this one. War criminals tend to be of a particularly hardened breed- whether they’re Euro or the unfortunate State traitors that get sent the butcher’s way. They either have a stiff sense of duty and will die before they show they’re afraid, or they’re sadists. This one seems to be neither. Three screws is all it will take, he knows that for certain now.

The butcher opens the door with a set of keys from his belt and sets the three screws down on the floor. He leaves them there for a moment, shutting the door behind him, making sure it won’t lock them both in here- although, he supposes, the cowering little bastard won’t hurt him. He turns back around and squats down to be at the level of the number. 

The number’s curiosity gets the better of him and he takes the coat off his head, stuffing it beneath his back. His white shirt is crusted with sweat and tears and smells like it too. His hair is worse, almost down to his shoulders, his beard matted and greasy. He just stares at the butcher through cracked glasses.

The butcher moves faster than the number does. Of course he’s faster. The number looks like he can barely walk, let alone scramble away faster than the butcher can move and grab him by the collar of his filthy shirt. The number cries out, terror on his face, and struggles against the grip on his shirt collar as the butcher drags him out of the corner of the room and pins him down on his side in the middle of the tiled floor.

“I told you everything!” cries the number, hands up to protect his face.

The butcher says nothing, just grabs the number by the leg, just above the knee, finding where the fabric of the trousers has been torn to shreds by the bullet. The number continues to struggle against his grip, but the butcher puts an end to it- finding the barely-healed scar beneath some stained and fraying bandages, picking up a screw from the floor, and pressing the point against the skin.

The number goes limp, apologising in a language the butcher doesn’t speak. “Es tut mir leid, es tut mir sehr leid!” 

The butcher swaps the hand on the man’s shoulder for a heavy boot, and uses two hands to hammer the screw in with an overhand strike.

The number practically convulses beneath him, clawing at his leg with an animal howl. Then, inexplicably, starts to laugh. “I told you everything,” he mumbles, shaking so hard the butcher can hear him trembling against the tiles. He wipes his face on his sleeve and goes back to laughing between pained gasps for breath.

The butcher picks up the second screw and holds it up to the number without a word. Still, he just laughs, tears streaming down his face. “I-I-I told you everything,” he sobs, still laughing. 

The butcher wedges the second screw under the head of the first. That same full-body spasm of agony, that same reedy, pathetic scream. The number collapses into another fit of tearful laughter, a hand over his face, even as the butcher twists the screw in, drawing fresh, bubbling blood out from the wound. The blood is almost entirely liquid, dripping down onto the tiles and spreading into the grouting. Still the number laughs, cheeks damp, eyes bright.

The butcher decides to put a stop to the laughter. He readies his weight through his shoe against the number’s shirt to pin the man down. Screw three goes in at an angle, twisting against the other two, pushing them both out further, deeper, scraping into undamaged tissue. The laughter falls out of the number’s voice as the third screw gets driven in. The butcher pushes it right the way down until it stops, grating against the bone, until the laughing stops.

The butcher takes his foot off the number’s shoulder. The number just lies there on the floor, sobbing into the blood-sticky tiles.

“I told you everything,” he weeps. 

[firstaidspray]

Introducing my Barbie-sona or concept for a crazy, likely to be discontinued doll...

PHLEBOTOMIST BARBIE!!

This doll is articulated, of the short body type, and has a removable nose piercing. Her hair is black and she has warm toned light skin and brown eyes. She wears a pair of pale blue scrubs with a small, pink heart shaped badge, and athletic shoes with blue soles, teal stripes, and pink laces.

Her accessories include:

- Nitrile gloves made of soft plastic to slip onto her hands

- Three Barbie sized specimen vials (red cap, pink cap, and tiger pattern cap)

- A Barbie sized butterfly needle kit

- A Barbie sized tourniquet made of rubber that can be tied around another doll's upper arm

- A Barbie sized alcohol wipe made of soft fabric and lightly scented

- Barbie sized pink coban wrap made of soft plastic which can clip on/slide on the arm of another doll

- A fabric face mask for precautions

As well as human accessories including:

- 1/3 (not quite human sized) red cap specimen vial with real vacuum suction

- 1/3 butterfly needle kit with a PLASTIC "NEEDLE," NO REAL SHARPS, with real vacuum suction, to put into the Phlebotomy Patient Barbies and Kens

- Human sized "blood bag" filled with reusable sparkly pink "blood" to fill Phlebotomy Patient Barbies and Kens

Phlebotomist Barbie also comes with a Phlebotomy Patient Barbie and others of that type are sold separately in various body types and styles as well as Kens. They have unique mechanics:

- A back panel opens to find a container that you fill with the "blood"

- A squishy heart shaped button on the doll's chest is pushed to simulate blood flow

- Blood flows through the doll's "veins" to the hole where the human can draw its blood

- Human places 1/3 butterfly needle into this hole and then places the vial into the kit, real vacuum suction draws blood like a real phlebotomist!!

- Sparkly pink blood is reusable and can be placed back into the doll or blood bag

This took a ton of convoluted work to design but I'm very happy with the result and Mattel you can hire me to make one of your most insane dolls yet I'm right here!!

[kringelorde]

love that I look like the type of person who's willing to give a little. I've bought antifreeze for people and handed off fries and shit, whatever, I do my best to keep a few bucks cash for the homeless at the overpasses.

this time, getting gas and a dude walks up to me. probably my age, maybe a few years younger but def early 20s. barefoot. frayed light blue jeans, white cut off at the lower ribs. bearded and shaggy but in a not-homeless or true crusty (capital C crusty as in the music genre) way. whole gaggle of people in bandanas, patchwork of whatever-style broken in clothes, dirty full size passenger van, dog with them.

holding a gas container. soft-spoken. introduces himself and asks if I've got any money to spare for gas bc they're going to houston to some woodsy gathering for peace.

real fucking hippie shit in the year of our lord 2023.

keeping in mind that I'm an unwashed faggot in paratrooper boots, a raggedy-ass cut off t-shirt with midnight's satanic goat on it, a BDU jacket, and a backwards snapback. like half this dude's height. freshly dyed wispy mustache, teal mullet. I have $30 in my bank account to take me to houston. crusty looking old muscle car with rusted exhaust tips. I'm putting a nitrile glove over my gas filler neck so the gas stops sloshing out bc the cap doesn't hold. there's a gold chain with fuzzy dice on my mirror.

naturally I gave them $5 in gas but there's something so silly about it all. absolutely, sure, you doe-eyed helpless 6'2 little miss, let me take care of everything. the people I know and am friends with would have probably already put their mouth to the hose and siphoned off a few gallons by now but yes, sure thing, you can have some pocket change.

[steedemedical]

Enlightening Research: Steede Medical's Premier Microscope Selection

Laboratories rely on the microscope for a broad range of investigations. To achieve accurate and reliable results, you need to choose models that meet your specific research requirements. Consult with reputable microscope suppliers to ensure that the equipment is well-suited for their particular applications.

Steede Medical is a leading supplier of medical supplies and equipment in the USA. The company has a carefully curated selection of microscopes from well-known brands, such as Olympus, ensuring high-quality and reliable imaging products every time. Additionally, Steede Medical offers easy and quick payments that comply with US guidelines and guarantee the safe and speedy delivery of equipment to your location.

Why Olympus microscopes?

Steede Medical is focused on carrying the most sought-after Olympus microscope models, such as CX43, CX33, and CX 23. Many scientists, researchers, and medical professionals trust Olympus and its high-quality equipment for research and development in life sciences, healthcare, and industrial sectors. The brand also offers cutting-edge imaging technologies that enable more precise observations.

As a supplier of microscopes, Steede Medical also supplies Olympus imaging products for lab testing work. Many laboratories trust the brand’s technology and LED light source that ensures stable illumination and minimal blue color. These features enhance their ability to observe microscopic objects under the lens.

Which microscope should you get?

Steede Medical is among the top microscope suppliers authorized to carry the Olympus CX 43 and CX 33. These are biological microscopes that enable comfortable observations, even for extended periods, thanks to their ergonomic frame and control knob placements. Moreover, they allow users to set the specimen with a single hand while using their other hand to operate or adjust the focus and stage. Digital imaging is also possible with the optional camera port.

Olympus also has specially designed microscopes for students, such as the CX 23. Built with educational microscopy workflow in mind, the CX 23 is a lightweight device with a small footprint and non-slip carrying grips, enabling easy transport and usage. It also has safety features to protect the observation tube, eyepieces, stage, and objectives from damage during repeated and prolonged use or transport.

Whether you need one or are looking to order in bulk, order from microscope suppliers like Steede Medical. Visit shop.SteedeMedical.com to see their up-to-date catalog of microscopes.

About the Author:

This article is written by Adam Steede, Managing Director of Steede Medical LLC. Steede Medical LLC is a medical distribution supplier that sources and supplies medical products such as nitrile gloves, hand sanitizers, complex instrumentation, and microscopes for specialist doctors and hospitals. Steede Medical LLC is a regular distributor and envisions new ways to move towards securing the nation’s well-being, all while protecting patients’ safety.