#tw: knife mention

[feminaferitas]

a poem from one of shauna shipman's journals, dated february 14, 199x???

It's bloody work, to love the girl who holds the knife. She has a heart like you and I, but hers is trained to beat, to beat and keep beating until all is raw and tender and weeping.

That's why it's in a cage, you see. Even if she would crack every rib to set it free. Her knife cuts bone, but it prefers the flesh.

She keeps her mind sharp like her weapon, full of cutting cleverness. The word cleave has a double edge for her knife's single one. With it, she would cut you in two and hold fast the bleeding halves, as if time and tenderness would make you whole once more.

The girl is both Damocles and the sword, held in place by the strength of one lock of hair -- brown, sleek, and at her age, meant to be kept in a locket close to the heart of her love.

But it's bloody work, to love the girl who holds the knife. You move in close and the sharpness piercing your skin sounds like the whisper of her sorrow. I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

From where I stand the handle's dull and wrapped in beaten leather, soft and worn in my hand. Safe, familiar, home.

[still-got-no-idea]

Pumpkin spice drink tastes like pumpkin pie

I love pumpkin pie

This is happi

(I also got a knife but that's not something I can show just yet- it's rainbow)

[oruzhiyex]

@smertzimy asked: [ clean ] sender cleans blood off of receiver's body accepting | from here

The silence after a fight was always more deafening than anything experienced during the fight. After the adrenaline had worn off, Nat was always faced with how much she actually hurt, what was actually broken and bruised. Exhaustion sunk deep into her bones afterwards- but at least Bucky was here.

The bathroom was a mess of gear and bandages, a bright red knife gash sliced deep into her side just below her ribcage. Natasha hissed through her teeth as Bucky brought the alcohol soaked gauze to the wound, wiping the blood away from her skin.

"Ouch," she grumbled.

[griim]

TW: Foul Language, Blood Mentions, Knives, Assault.

They haul her lifeless body into a dark room, the smell of smoke and alcohol filling the room, a familiar scent. Handling her the same way a proud hunter might drag in their latest kill, their latest TROPHY. They are pleased with their triumph, but the muscle required to take her down would make their master displeased. It took twelve fully trained men to subdue her, and it was sheer luck they got her here. One would be shocked at what rage can make a person do. Seven men limped away to let the boss know they had her. Three of the strike team members were absent due to… 'Serious injuries.' The one who stayed disregarded his injuries, though he knew he would feel it in the morning. He wanted to bask in the glory he captured Gemma Harding, the infamous Grim.

‘Stubborn bitch’ he laments as he dumps her body onto the steel chair, that is bolted to the floor. An extra precaution for Gemma, he began the process, cuffing her hands behind her back and taping her legs to the chair, making sure to leave her mouth uncovered. Oh, he was going to enjoy watching this woman squeal. Then the voice of his boss came over the comm.

‘ Boss. We have her. Gemma is captured and subdued. ’

The man had wanted to kill Gemma. (for personal reasons and selfish delights, more than anything else) but he also understands how DANGEROUS Gemma was. He has seen her work, especially on those who get on her ever so large, bad side, and he knows the RISK keeping her alive poses. But Christian had been clear with his orders. He wanted the woman taken in ALIVE. Christian was confident ‘sister dearest’ could be convinced to cooperate. The man is doubtful, but questioning Christian is not in this goon's best interest. Whatever the boss has up his sleeve, it is time to start putting it into motion. Convincing her will not be easy.

‘Whatever his hand is, it better be good.’ The man muttered.

“And he better make sure I’m convinced or DEAD,” Gemma mutters teasingly, gliding her tongue over the blood pooling from her split lip. Spitting it out at the goon's feet, finally able to see straight, Gemma smirked. So her brother finally had the balls to capture her, well, pay someone to do the work. She knew damn well her brother could not do anything of the sort. He was either too concerned about his looks or too much of a sissy to act on his emotions. Hearing the footsteps and the familiar voice, she knew he was there. Surprisingly, he usually was not home on the weekends, too many parties and women. Brown eyes rolled as she waited to see what he had in store for her.

‘Long time, no see. Sister.’ His voice came out smoothly, nearly cocky, and as if he had won. Christian began to roll up his sleeves, nodding, at the man in the room, giving him the out to leave if he wanted. But of course, he stayed, wanting to enjoy this.

“Brother, if you wanted a family reunion, you could ha-“ punch. Her head followed the punch the pain shot through the lower left jaw up her head. Remaining looking to the right, she took a slow deep breath, the iron taste and smell of blood filling her mouth and nostrils. Ah, yes, she gets to be the punching bag. He must have had a bad day. Looking back at him, she smiled, "I missed you too.” though my aim is getting better, she thought. Several more punches to the jaw, she seemed to take each one well, but the next blow seemed to make her flinch. This time she made a sound that resembled a whimper.

Christian knew what he was doing when he landed this one, right to the right temple. Her vision darkened for a few seconds before she blinked hard, returning to reality, realizing she had fallen to the ground. “You must be mad..” Coughing, she looked up at him. This seemed to please him, knowing he had caused her some pain. Eyes watched as he held out his hand, seeming to be asking for something. Though no words are spoken between the two, Christian grabs a blade. Then an order followed, ‘Sit her up.’ Though clearly, the man was not quick enough, ‘I SAID SIT HER UP.’ Quickly the man sat her up, and she looked at the blade and sighed. Was she going to get another death threat? What made this one so special? Why not just text her like he had the other fifty times?

As Christian walked over to her, he leaned in front of her. A sadistic grin on his face. 'You have been a pain in my ass for far too fucking long. Enough is enough,’ he paused. 'Now are we going to have any other prob-’ Gemma, with a swift movement, headbutted Christian, causing him to stumble back, nose beginning to bleed, the blade clanging to the ground. The second man in the room stepped forward to deal with her, though had been quickly stopped. 'keep her here. I’ll be back.’ He walked out of the room, going to clean himself off. When alone, she watched the man, a smirk appearing on bloody lips, and all that is heard was a small pop. Thumb popping out of place, she slipped a cuff and began to cry, hoping the man could buy it. “please… I’m sorry. tell him I’m sorry..”

Hearing the woman cry, he smirked. She broke quicker than he thought, damn. Walking over, he stood over her 'Not such a tough woman now, are you? this famous grim, but I see nothing to fear.’ Then in nearly a blink of an eye, Gemma was moving, a free hand coming and quickly punching the man in the face. The man fell over, hitting the ground, quickly trying to stand up, though not fast enough that Gemma did not have time to grab the blade that had hit the ground. Straddling the man, hands held the knife up high and quickly brought it to the man’s neck. Hovering for a moment, she pondered what to do, kill him. Nah, that would be taking out the trash for her brother. With a swift movement, Gemma used the handle to strike the man hard in the face. Knocking him out, her brother could deal with him later. Gemma stood quickly, gaining her footing, Gemma looked around, her head beginning to throb. Adrenaline slowly subsided.

Opening the door, she rushed out, head looking from side to side, gripping the knife handle. Running down the hall, she stopped. This place… It was familiar. Stopping dead center in the hallway, she noticed a door cracked. Walking over, she pressed the blade to the door. The door creaked open, and as brown hues saw was inside, she nearly dropped the blade. Memories flooded back, albeit fuzzy ones. The chair sat in the darkness. That seven-year-old girl was screaming 'run’ deep inside her, so that is what she had done. Gemma found her way to the main door, kicking it open, eyes squinted as the sunlight consumed her pupils. Looking around, she ran to a car. Looking around, Gemma smashed the window. The alarm blaring, she hotwired the car and sped off. Though from inside the confines of the car, she began to scream as tears fell down her face. Memories once more flooded back. For now, Gemma needed to lay low.

[keithbutgay]

hi!

um

yeah

notes goal post

because i really need motivation

(i stole some of these but shhhhh)

if this post gets 50 notes i'll drink water right now

100 i'll go to bed at midnight for the rest of the week

200 i'll actually do my laundry

500 i'll take a shower every day for the rest of the week

1,000 i'll brush my teeth every night for a full week

2,000 i'll stop binding for an unhealthy amount of time for a full week

3,000 i'll start actually wearing my ankle braces consistently

4,000 i'll eat breakfast every day for the rest of the week

5,000 i'll stop binding while sleeping

6,000 i'll stop wearing earrings i'm allergic to for a full week

7,000 i'll start doing makeup again

8,000 i'll stop eating chocolate for the rest of the week

9,000 i'll make my autodale masks

10,000 i'll touch grass every day for the rest of the month

11,000 i'll water my plants twice a week for the rest of the month

12,000 i'll put on my lotion when i need to for a full week

13,000 i'll eat at least two meals every day for the rest of the week

14,000 i'll finish my water bottle every day for a full week

15,000 i'll write more for forest files

18,000 i'll clean out my backpack

19,000 i'll take my vitamins every day for the rest of the week

20,000 i'll finish my stained glass project

21,000 i'll go to bed before midnight for the rest of the week

22,000 i'll do my summer reading

23,000 i'll move the knife out of my room

24,000 i'll eat three meals every day for three days

25,000 i'll stop purposefully triggering myself for a full week

50,000 i'll try my best to stay clean for two full weeks

i'll probably add more goals if this somehow get past 5k, but there it is for now :)

spam allowed

tagging allowed

ummm the deadline is halloween

*thumbs up*

go for it

[in-love-with-writing-whump]

Febuwhump 20: Knife Wound

Whumpee stood there, watching the blood drip from their hands. Traitor's dead eyes turned more and more glazed over as the pool of wine-colored liquid lapped at Whumpee's boots.

B screamed at them, not that they remembered most of their words. They heard their voice reply, but they couldn't remember the words. A struggled to console B, Second and Third running over.

"What the hell happened here? Why is Leader dead?" Third asked. "Whumpee, why are Leader and Traitor dead? You were supposed to be protecting them."

Whumpee couldn't form the words of a response. They felt sick.

*My fault my fault my fault my fault my fault my fault my fault my fault my fault my fault my fault*

Second frowned, crouching in front of Whumpee, ignoring the splash of Traitor's blood on their boots. They touched Whumpee's face, something that they would've normally flinched away from. Their eyes settled on a spot on their torso.

"Third, call Parental Figure. Whumpee's in shock. They've been stabbed."

FEBUWHUMP 2023 IS HERE!

the prompts this year were chosen through a suggestion poll and subsequent vote, where over 350 people voted for their favourites. the top 28 make up the core prompts, and a mixture of the next most popular and this blog’s personal favourites have become the alternatives!

i’m so excited to see what you all create with these prompts, and hope they’re inspiring enough to trigger a whole month’s worth of creativity for you! if you have any questions, make sure to check out the blog’s FAQ, or check out the previously asked questions on the blog before sending one of your own!

please note: this year, notifying the blog of completionist status will happen through a google form that will be released closer to the end of febuwhump.

full write-up of prompts and rules under the cut:

Keep reading

[bearllydruid]

“I know that look.” Astarion’s tenor slipped through the night like ink. Even on the darkest of days, it still carried such an effortless charm to it. As dusk shifted into night, a quarter-crescent moon hung in the skies, casting just enough light to shave his pale profile in half. “It keeps coming back to you, doesn’t it? Whatever that wretched thing has done.” It was a look Astarion was no stranger to, he’d worn that face many times himself. More times than he cared to count. Trauma had a way of imprinting itself to its host after all. “Oh, did I startle you?” For once, Astarion's surprise had been unintentional. “My apologies. Old habits and all that… lurking about in the night.”

The druid regarded the rogue for a moment with a curious glint to his hazel eyes. It seemed that Astarion had appeared from the shadows themselves, manifesting from the void in the most natural way. Every shadow was a danger, every face a potential threat - but they had felled Orin. They'd come for him. They'd rescued him again. They had done it in the Goblin Camp and then again in the Temple of Bhaal, but it did not mean that he had been able to relax since. He felt his proverbial hackles relax, and the swift urge to lash out in defense slowed to only a sluggish afterthought. The Bhaalspawn was dead. She would wear only her own twisted skin for the rest of eternity until she fell away to rot as she deserved.

Gold still lined his eyes, a promise that his wildshape as a mere thought away, a breath, a heartbeat. "It does," He admitted, his voice gruff. It was not his first time in shackles, after all, and Halsin had been kept in the present only by the knives that cut his flesh. It was surprisingly grounding, but Orin was a creative thing and delighted in keeping Halsin aware. She had all but feasted on his pain. "I know that she is dead. We ensured she would never wear another face. but....I am still there, on the slab, when my mind drifts."

[plutosring]

okay what the fuck

[shaepschift]

continued from here 【 @redemptioninterlude « 】

IT HAD TO BE THIS WAY. Was he supposed to let her fade away into obscurity? Let her grow old, marry, wither and turn to dust? No-- this was better : this was meant to be. A courtesy Ji-Woon could only hope Alice might repay should the shoe be on the other foot : or the knife in the other hand. They were meant for more, better than most everyone else. This the superstar knew in his heart of hearts and why he'd felt so compelled as she mimicked for him, performed for him. There would never be a more captive audience and he himself, right this very moment at his ornate dining table.

Anticipation radiates through his being, the taste, metallic and tingling running rampant against his tongue. He'd felt it before, so many times : but this was different-- this was Alice, and a part of him couldn't help but shudder at the thought of what kind of screams she might make. Would she beg for her life, the girl who sat wide eyed and endlessly obedient. She who could make a crowd hang their heads with shame for the cheers she could muster all on her own. All for him : all for Ji-Woon.

Metal slices flesh with zero resistance, as if she's welcoming him to cut her : like she wants it too. Maybe she does, wouldn't that be the most generous gift of all : to present him her screams? Their expressions seem to mirror each other : she with her half mad grin and he with his twisted smirk-- for a moment he can't help himself, distracted by the elation and allows a bubble of a snicker to pass through clenched vocal chords. The star breathes deeply, vast mahogany iris shimmering with a derangement all his own.

But she doesn't scream-- indeed, Alice doesn't even whimper. Instead she speaks : seemingly elated by the discovery of cool metal against warm flesh. 'now we really are bound for life.' He can only blink, frozen in place, right hand gripping knife while left braces her delicate shoulder. Eyes catch wide and insanity turns to disbelief. For a moment he's glad-- in his haste he hadn't set up a single scrap of recording material : Alice's screams surely would need to be immortalized through song-- and oh what a song he would make for her. "Alice. . ." It's a breath, barely a whisper as he wonders if he's too late. Would she follow him to his recording studio-- no that felt false : forced. This moment had been organic, unique : he'd do the best he could and pull his phone across the table, recording her with the meagre microphone inside the tiny electronic casing. It would have to be enough. "NOTHING WOULD MAKE ME HAPPIER THAN HEAR YOUR AGONY."

[writeouswriter]

People sorting ao3 solely by stats and only clicking on fics with a certain amount of kudos or comments, you will not survive the winter, nor the summer, nor at all, *brings out knife,* run

[feminaferitas]

@perfectionreached is the maid of honor on Shauna's happy (?) day

Thank god for wedding day superstitions. The groom wasn't allowed to see the bride until that fateful walk down the aisle, so that meant Jeff wasn't nearby to see Shauna threatening to ruin an hour's worth of careful makeup with an ill-timed bout of tears. Taissa, her maid of honor, was on damage control, and boy, was it a lot of damage.

Not only was the sight of herself in a white dress (pure as the driven, deadly snow) hard to comprehend, but Shauna just remembered something--

"Tai, there's... there's the cake knife. Oh, god -- it's beautiful and it has our initials engraved on it. It was a gift from the Taylors, and what if I try to hurt him with it?"

For almost two years of her life, knives had not been beautiful, silvered things for slicing sugared breads in delicately manicured hands. They were hard, leather-wrapped things with edges held to the whetstone, pointed and lethal. Shauna had wrapped her dirtied fingers around the handle and skinned, cleaved, and butchered humans and animals alike. Hungry eyes holding fast, watching. What would she do today, in front of the crowd of loved ones waiting to see how that cake would bleed what flavor they'd finally decided on?

"Taissa, I don't think I can do this..."

Yes, thank god for wedding day superstitions. Too bad they never said nothing about seeing the ghost of your dead best friend sitting in the corner, watching the scene and saying absolutely nothing.

[someonehasgiventheratsapen]

^_^ yosano <3<3<3<3

[indulgentdaydream]

Can you write something where the reader is badly injured in some way and jason rushes her to the manor for help and everybody is confused on who she is bc they didnt even know he was in a relationship (despite them being together for awhile) but they see how soft and cute he is with her. (I’ve never made a request so sorry if it got kinda rambley)

anon you’ve got me TEEMING with ideas I LOVE the trope of nobody knowing jason has a girlfriend and they find out but it is NOT by Jason’s choice nor reader’s.

Also omg? Your first ask is to lil ol me?? That means this is a special occassion. And you’re doing great I’ve def sent worse asks.

Out of the Bag

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader || Hurt and Comfort.

Word Count: 1,862

Warnings: Injuries, swearing, near death experience, blood, knife mention, stabbing, canon-typical violence, use of pet names (princess, baby), drug (pain med) use

You were sat in an alleyway, vision going in and out.

“Tell me something, princess. Anything.” Jason’s voice rang out in your ear.

That’s right. In your right hand, you held your phone, to your ear. Your other hand was pressing the fabric of your coat to the side of your stomach. The blood had soaked through, becoming sticking on your palm and fingers.

You should’ve listened to Jason. You shouldn’t have walked home alone, at night. Luckily your phone had been in your pocket and not your purse, which had been stolen from you by the same guy who decided to stab you.

“Princess,” he sounded panicked.

Right. “Wish I had kicked him harder.”

You heard a sigh of relief leave him, “That’s my girl.”

The phone slipped from your grip a little as your head swam. The sight of blood coming from your own abdomen made no help in quelling your nausea.

You fixed the phone. You had called Jason the second the guy ran off, leaving you to bleed out. He was driving, you think. Tracking your phone to try and get to you. “How far?”

He said something you didn’t hear. Your vision was swimming, your side was aching, and you couldn’t help but keep this funny understanding out of your mind that you were dying.

That this is something Jason had come back to your apartment with a few times, claiming it was nothing. It was something.

You heard him call your name, “What’s around you?”

“I’m tired,” you mumbled.

It seemed to happen in a blink of an eye. Jason was trying to tell you to stay awake, to look at the alley around you. To look out towards the street and tell him what you saw. Then he was there, standing in front of you, his helmet hiding his face.

“I’m here. I’m here, baby.” He cupped your face, tapping your cheek to get you to open up your eyes. He crouched down, pulling your hand from your side to assess the damage.

You smiled lazily and leaned forward, resting your forehead against his shoulder.

Jason muttered a slew of swears as he pressed something soft yet hard against your agonizing wound. You let out a yelp before Jason was picking you up, placing you on his bike.

He’s talking fast, “Fuck. Okay, listen to me. We’re going to go somewhere new, okay? There’s nowhere around here except there for me to get you safe.”

You passed out nearly as soon as he started the bike.

Jason’s freaking. He had tried to keep you safe from anything like this. From everything less than this. And here you were, bleeding out in his arms as he carried you through the batcave. He beelined for the cots and the medical supplies off to the side. He knows his motorcycle couldn’t have been the smoothest of rides for someone in your condition, but it’s all he had in such a short time span.

He’ll apologize when you wake up.

When. He repeats. When she wakes up and when we can get the hell out of this place again and when I can remind her I love her.

No one was back from patrol yet. He set you down on the cot before tearing off his helmet. He tossed it aside, pulling out a med bag and ripping it open. He pushed up your shirt, examining your side and where he had placed the military-grade gauze pad. He curses at the amount of blood.

His hands are shaking. Jason’s hands don’t shake, but you’ve proven to him a lot of things you could make him do that he hadn’t known he was capable of in the last year and (almost) a half of your relationship.

Jason nearly drops the suture thread before another hand is reaching out from just behind him. It catches the thread and Jason looks back over his shoulder. Alfred’s there, moving up to you.

“Allow me. You keep checking her vitals.”

Jason hadn’t even heard him come up. He’s nodding, stepping back to let Alfred take over the stitching. He moves to the other side of the bed.

That’s when he catches sight of the dark figure moving closer from behind Alfred. Jason immediately fixes him with a deadly glare, pointing at Bruce, “Do not come closer!”

Bruce stills. He’s in his bat suit, his cowl hanging behind his head, exposing his face. He looks down to your body, “Who is she?”

Jason doesn’t want him here. Rather, he doesn’t want to be here. You should’ve been home by now. Getting ready for bed and sending him a goodnight text. He turns his gaze back to you.

There’s some hair across your face that he hadn’t noticed. He moves it out of your way without a second thought, “My girlfriend.”

“Finally feel some remorse for sending someone to their grave, Todd?” Damian’s voice spoke up, walking up and stopping beside Bruce, “He’s probably trying to just reverse what he did.”

Jason ignores him. He wants to yell, scream, and maybe shoot the little bastard, but he was right. In a way, this was his fault. He didn’t look after you. He should’ve offered you a ride. Called you a taxi. An uber. Anything.

Jason grips your hand into his. It’s a way to count your heartbeat, and another way to ground himself. To reassure that you’ll be okay. His other hand stays on your cheek. His thumb gently moves back and forth, stroking your skin.

He barely registers Bruce telling Damian to go wash up. When the brat is gone, Bruce speaks up again, “What happened?”

Jason doesn’t take his eyes off of you, “She was walking home from her friend’s. A mugger got her purse, she fought back. He stabbed her.” Jason takes a deep breath, “She still had her phone. She called me. I brought her here because it was closest.”

A beat of silence. Still stitching you up, Alfred speaks, “How come we’ve never been introduced?”

Jason shakes his head, “I didn’t want her near any of this. She’s bad off enough sticking with me.”

Once you stabilize, Jason brings you up to his room in the manor. He walks past Dick, Tim, Duke, Cass, and Steph without looking at them. They sit around the batcomputer, watching Jason gently carry you out ot the cave.

He changes you out of your dirty clothes once he makes a run back to your apartment to grab you some of your own spare clothes.

Asides from that, he doesn’t leave your side.

He lets you have the bed to yourself. He pulls up a chair beside it, waiting for you to wake up. He didn’t want you to be alone when you did, in a strange place after a traumatic event. It was a recipe for disaster.

The sun’s been up for a long while and Jason hasn’t budged. He sits there, your hand gripped in both of his, held up and pressed against his mouth. His lips brush over your knuckles whenever he speaks up. Uttering a “I’m sorry.” every now and then.

There’s a light knock at the door before it’s cracking open. Jason turns his head to find Dick poking his head in. Jason glares at him.

Dick steps further in, presenting the tray he was holding. There were two glasses of water, some solid foods, and lighter ones, probably for you. Jason looked back down at you, letting his older brother enter.

“Just… figured since you’ve been cooped up in here all day,” Dick begins, setting the tray down on the beside table beside Jason.

Dick moves back around. He stands at the end of the bed, leaning against the tall bed post that was meant to hold up a canopy. “I heard…” he trails off, before nodding and your body in the bed, still unconscious, “Who is she?”

Jason looks up at his brother, not letting go of your hand, “So you haven’t heard.”

Dick rolls his eyes, “You know what I mean.”

Jason raises his brows a little. He looks back down at you. His hand reaches out to brush along your forehead, moving away imaginary stray hairs, “My girl.”

Dick nods in understanding, “How long you two been together.”

Jason pauses in thought, “Over a year. Our anniversary was in December.”

A small, choked sound comes from outside the door, in the hallway. “A year?”

Jason looks up at Dick, who makes a face that shows he’s knows he’s been caught.

“Are they seriously listening right now?”

Steph poked her head in first, an apologetic smile on her face, “We wanted to know!”

Duke pokes his head in next, just above Steph’s, “And we wanted to meet her.”

Tim’s head in next, above Duke’s, “You can’t carry a random bleeding woman into the cave and expect the family of detectives to not be curious.”

Cass’ head appears below Steph’s. She nods in agreement.

Jason let’s one hand go of yours to wave his hand through the air, “What the fuck? She’s not even awake!”

“Well that’s why we sent Dick as bait.”

“For the record,” Dick held up a finger, “They built off of my original, innocent idea of bringing you snacks.”

“Jesus Christ,” Jason stands up, taking a few steps forward. He points them all back towards the door as they start to filter into the room, “Get—“

“What’s going on…?”

Jason’s whole body whipped back around at the sound of your groggy, rough voice. The others watch as he’s back at your side in a millisecond, his whole demeanour changed. “Hey, you’re okay. Everything’s okay. Remember how I said we were going somewhere new? You thirsty, baby? Here, I got you some water.”

“Oh, you certainly did not get the water,” Dick piped up.

Jason glared back over his shoulder as he held the glass of water for you, keeping the straw Dick had added placed in your mouth.

You stopped drinking, your eyes now on the other people in the room. You turned your head, propped up against pillows Jason had put there for you. You weakly raised your left hand to wave, “Hi… oh?” your gaze turned down to your hand. A heart monitor clip sitting on your finger grabbed your attention. You gave a confused pout at it, “I feel funny.”

Jason set the water aside again. His glare was gone. He leaned in, kissing your forehead, “You’re hopped up on pain meds. That’s why, princess.”

“Damn,” Steph spoke up, “I wish I got the literal princess treatment.”

Jason turned back around, pointing out the door, “Get. Out. Leave my girlfriend alone until she’s better.”

You looked at the strangers, pointing at Jason with your left hand, “I’m his girlfriend.” Your head tilted back against the pillows as you stared up at Jason, pursing your lips, "I’m tired.”

“I know,” Jason said softly. The others began to filter out of the room as he leaned down and gave you a soft kiss, this time on the lips.

From the exit, a collective, “Awwww,” sounded out.

“Out!”

Your drugged up voice came after his, once they were all back in the hall, “Nice to meet you!”

[soupdwelling]

never love an anchor - the crane wives

closeups under the cut

[smolcuriouskitten]

BLOOD. -What types of injuries has your muse sustained? What was the worst? PRIDE. -What is your muses biggest flaw? DNA. -What was your muses home life like? - for Rocky and Renelle

BLOOD- Rockelle has sustained too many to list. Burns, stabs, anyway to injure someone, it happened. This was due to the horrible abuse she suffered with Magic and due to him being a witch, he was able to make those scars stay in ways that humans cant. The worst one would be a stab wound that ran all down her back, one long continuous scar from the top of her neck to her tailbone. She currently has a tattoo to cover it so its less obvious.

Renelle on the other hand is pretty clean when it comes to scarring. Besides the normal childhood scars from scraping your knee too hard or cuts from playing too roughly, there's not much to mention. The worst scar would be where she fell and cut open her knee so bad, she permanently altered the skin around that area.

PRIDE- Rockelle doesnt know how to relax. She has to keep her brain moving and staying active. Unless her body has a crashout where she cant do anything BUT relax, she will work till her limbs fall off.

Renelle doesnt know how to speak up for herself. She's regularly walked all over and made to be a naive fool since she cant believe people would often take her for granted or play a joke on her.

DNA- Both of their home lifes were great. Their father made sure they lived a calm and soft life and their mother (when she returned) made sure they were taught how to be proper women. However like most things, parents cant protect their children from the outside world, case in point with Rocky. She was isolated from her family shortly after she got married to Magic since it was a part of his plan. Despite Rockelles heavy abuse, she made sure Renelle/her family was none the wiser.

[xtinyslip]

@lcvenderhcze​ continued from here.

joe pressed his lips together because he hadn't meant that, he hadn't meant it like that at all. "that's not what i'm saying..." what i'm saying is that whatever you want from me? help? a tour guide? i can't give that to you. i shouldn't even be here. "just because i can walk out the front door? doesn't mean i'm not any less trapped than you are." and that was true. he was trapped, oh, he was but in a very different way and he hated every single damn second of it. "for what it's worth? and that's probably not much but... i'm sorry. i don't know you but anyone deserves better than to be treated like that." especially by family but what even was family? right now it just felt like a liability and he knew now that he was far better off without it. it was just a further chain wrapped around his neck trying to pull him under. now, he was free. well, except this slight hiccup at the farm but that was a work in progress. “there are ways...” to get rid of someone. although, he froze. realising he’d fucking said that out loud. shit. someone please light me a smoke and pour the whiskey down my throat so i can forget this ever fucking happened. fuck. my. life. “i mean,” was there really a way out of that one? “it sounds like you know what you’re doing.” minus being locked in here but that didn’t sound like it was her fault. it didn’t sound like she had done anything wrong. until, well, until she mentioned the knife. that was somewhat alarming. “no i’m glad to say that i’m not. i’m just... me.” finally. i get to be me, all of me and i’m not letting some powerful wanker get in the way of that. i’m not letting anyone get in the way of that. “i’m not sure a single knife against all these people is going to help you. not that i have one.” who carried around a knife? well... sometimes but only when necessary. “i should...” he should go but he was still standing there. still, like a deer in the headlights but making no attempt to remove himself from the situation. “if you want to talk? we can talk but not here.” not where edgar might see.