#tw needle puncture wound

[maxemilianverstappen]

Damn i hate getting my blood drawn. No matter how careful the nurses are, my veins always rupture and I get a huge purple and red blotch that hurts like crazy inside my elbow 😭

[eveenstar]

heii!! ^^, can you make another hoodie x reader one-shot? i've come to love ALL of your scenarios ,, left me wanting more :D

if you don't want to do this... well! thats fine, i'd understand! ^^

maybe... hoodie's hurt? and reader cares for him?

hurt, as in, wounded! like, knife stab or something!

thank you,

take care

One injured Hoodie coming through! This was interesting to write. Hope you enjoy! Sorry it's short. Take care! ♡

your blood in my hands (and I wouldn't have it any other way) | Brian Thomas/Hoodie

tw: reader's gender isn't specified. Obvious blood mentions, nothing too gory.

Beneath your hands, Brian lays as still as a rock. He doesn't flinch from your touch, not after the last three reprimands you muttered under your breath. It was odd enough that he let you tend to his wound, even more that he actually listened to you! Then again, there was a bullet wound on his body. Thankfully, it hadn't punctured any organs. Still, you were surprised someone had managed to survive long enough to shoot him.

Ah, well, Brian wasn't a young man anymore. He was closer to his mid forties than his mid twenties.

And with the number of Americans now possessing guns as if it were candy? Tsk. That was bad for business. Brian's business, that is.

"That's enough." Brian uttered, pulling himself up to his feet - and almost sliding back down onto the blood-stained chair with a frustrated hiss. "Fuck.."

"You lost too much blood." You sat back, rummaging through the old medpack. Living with a stalker-killer "employed" by an eldritch being, far away from any civilization, had forced you to take on skills such as cleaning wounds (of any kind), sewing and cooking with the bare least you had.

You sighed. "I thought... Why did you take on such a mission alone? Why not take a lesser one with you?"

"It is what He asked of me."

The words fell off painted in tones of melancholy and numbness. There was no trace of emotion behind them, like a corpse. If it wasn't for his beating heart or the living blood that stained your hands, you would've thought Brian was as much of a dead man as those that fell to his hands.

Resigned, you closed the medpack. "Then you should tell him that you are not allowed to go on any missions that aren't scavenging for information."

For the first time that morning, a hint of emotion reflected on his eyes. Raising an eyebrow, a wheeze of laughter escaped his lips. "Allowed?"

"Yes," You mimicked his expression. "You care for me, I care for you. That was our deal."

"Our deal," Brian leaned forward, supporting his elbows on his knees. He bared his teeth at you in a low hiss, "did not include you bossing me around."

Still mimicking him, you too leaned closer until the tips of your noses were grazing each other. "Consider our deal emended."

For the briefest of moments, you thought Brian would lash out, pull you away as he always did. When his eyes narrowed, you prepared yourself for the worst. Your gazes met, and you hoped to see the man behind the walls Brian built around himself. You had his blood in your hands, but you didn't have his heart. No, his heart already belonged to something far above you.

Far darker.

The flicker of his gaze to your lips did not go unnoticed. You were close enough to smell the iron-blood in his skin and feel his breath mixing with yours. You believed Brian would kiss you right then and there.

Instead, he stood to his feet with unprompted strength. With a low rumble, he said, "Your skill with the needle has improved."

You assumed that was his way of thanking you and acknowledging your efforts. One, for removing the bullet. Two, for cleaning the wound. Three, for stitching it. You huffed lightly; Brian should be thankful you didn't take advantage of his altered state, stumbling bloody upon the kitchen at early sunrise and take him out of his misery right then and there.

Then again, you doubted you could take a man of his size and strength even when injured. A deep but low voice whispered in the back of your mind that that was not the only reason; you were in this with Brian. There was no turning back. Surely, no one sane enough would happily remain in your position.

Maybe you two weren't so different after all.

[love-bugsy]

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

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

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

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

There’s a dead man on your fire escape.

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

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

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

Don’t feel, just do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

He’s stable. For now at least. 

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

“Jay!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rookie mistake.

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

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

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

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

(He spoils it the next day.)

~

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

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

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

with love, bugsy

[ashisgreedy]

Vampire!Ominis Gaunt x F! You

Short Drabble

Spicy | Biting Kink | Blood Kink |

Pain -> Pleasure | Aged up 18+

NSFW 🔞 MDNI

TW: BLOOD AND LOTS OF IT

The vampire's strength was inhuman. He easily grappled you to the bed and pinned you down with one hand. Your heart raced at the sudden movement. Your eyes were wide, watching him take a deep inhale.

"Yes, I need you to feel that fear. Let it take over." Ominis runs his hands over your body. "Let your heart race, just like that." His voice was like a melody. He licked his lips, fangs catching the light making the gesture look like a warning.

His eyes were like galaxies, focusing on nothing as he leaned in, listening to your throbbing heart.

Then he was over you, holding you down, and running his tongue over the collum of your neck. 

You whimpered, as his fangs scraped your delicate skin. His tongue darted out, laving over your throat as you gulped.

He started to kiss your neck, pressing his lips against your pounding pulse points.

"Ominis..." You whisper, feeling the needle-like teeth move over the sensitive arteries. 

"I'm so thirsty." He spoke as if he'd been lost in the desert for months without a drop to drink.

You push on his chest with force, feeling the unmoving sold statue of a man beneath. There was no way you were escaping, not without him letting you at least.

He groans as he finds the perfect spot. His fangs press and you beg "Please! Wait!"

He doesn't. 

His teeth sink in, piercing the flesh and making you scream in pain. The two puncture wounds throbbed as you yanked on his blazer.

Blood rushes into his mouth and he moans as he gulps it down. He licks and sucks, strong hands on your torso forcing you ever closer to him.

The searing pain began to melt away. His venom reached your heart making the sensation more pleasurable. It was like hot coals on your skin, then your pussy was throbbing with need. A straggled moan caught in your throat.

He groaned, your blood gurgling on his lips. His fingers dug into your skin as he sucked harder.

"Ominis!" You half screamed half moaned.

The vampire let up, a horrified look on his face. 

"Sorry, I'm so so sorry." He looked genuine as he apologized, red blood dripping from the corner of his mouth.

You looked down in shock, watching trickles of blood rush from the bite wound down between the valley of your breasts. 

"There's blood everywhere..." You grit your teeth. Your body fought between asking for more and begging him to stop. The venom was working quickly, rushing through your limbs with the help of your racing heart.

He licked his bloody lips and panted. "...Where?" 

He ran a shakey hand over your shoulder to the wet spot, fingers following the drizzle of warm blood down to your breasts. His head rushed to your chest. He licked between the cleavage, smearing red all over your skin.

He pulled down the strap of your dress, tugging and exposing you. His teeth graze your skin as he licks the leaking blood off you.

"Not there! Please!" You beg when he starts to bite down on your breast.

He snaps his head in your direction with a pained expression. His teeth are red and your blood stains his chin.

"Just... Hahhh..." You resigned to your fate. He was going to bite you and you were going to take it. There was no way he'd leave now that he'd gotten a taste.

You pulled up your dress where the bite could be easily hidden "On my thigh, then..."

He moved with quickness and pushed your legs up. You yelp at the position change. He feels along your skin with his lips, leaving streaks of drying blood in his wake. 

"Yes, this will do." He whispers to himself. "This will do just fine." 

He pulls your thigh to his lips, causing you to slide down the bed. His teeth nip and tease playfully as a smile twists on his lips.

"What?" You ask breathlessly, brows pinching waiting for another searing ache.

"I can sense your desire, Darling. Oh, you're enjoying this as much as I am." He moves his lips to find the perfect spot high on your thigh.

You blush and try to pull your dress down but it was fruitless. His smile was smug as he held your leg to his lips.

His teeth sink in, breaking flesh as new blood pools in his mouth. He groans in satisfaction as you hold back a moan. The sensation swirled in your gut and sent heat to your core. You couldn't help but let a whimper escape. 

He moved, biting your thigh in a new spot. The previous bite seeping blood down your leg and all over the bed sheets. 

"Gods!" You yelled as he bites you unapologetically.

He hums as he bites your leg a third time, his grip on your thigh getting tighter. His finger indents pressed so hard you could feel the bruises already forming.

He let up and the desperation in your own voice shocked you "Don't stop!"

Ominis grinned, blood soaking his white button-down shirt. "There it is." He ran his tongue over the bite marks he left, smiling in sick delight. 

"Omi..."

"I love feeling these indents on your skin." He moved to the next bite mark and purred "I bet you look even prettier with these marks all over you."

He continued, biting and sucking as you moaned. Each bite becoming more and more pleasurable. The bed was a mess of red as was his shirt and your skin. You couldn't find it in you to care as you begged for more, succumbing to the vampire's poison.

@myrachondria @finalgirllx

[whitespiderlilies]

A Pricked Finger

Wally Darling x Tailor!Reader.

-They/them reader

-reader is also a puppet

-Can be romantic but more of—platonic?

-slight tw for sewing pins and trypanophobia!

You were the neighborhood's tailor, with your nimble yet well concentrated hands, you could sew up an entire outfit without missing any intricate or any of the smallest details at that. And that would basically just be done in about 5 days or so.

You memorized your friends' specific body sizes, making them outfits or—rather repairing their clothes whenever needed. For instance, during winter when they don't exactly have a sweater, blanket or two— to keep them warm, or when they accidentally ruin or puncture a hole in their clothes. It was fun tailoring them outfits.

Also like Howdy, the tailoring was free. 100% off. You enjoyed tailoring and sewing afterall, seeing their happy faces when they see the final results of your hard work. Especially Wally; he's one of your regulars, always coming in and out of your little tailor shop.

You grew slight feelings for that boy.

The bell of your shop door jingled, welcoming a certain blue haired puppet with half-lidded eyes. ”Good morning, neighbor. Say, have you finished that sweater I requested you to sew?” He spoke softly, leaning against your desk that was unethically covered in a diverse variety of fabrics. (Aren't fabrics just puppet skin?)

You swiveled your chair around to face the puppet, sewing pins still hanging from your mouth. Wally relaxed his head on his felt palm, watching as you plucked the pins out of your mouth. ”Just a little bit longer, I just need to sew this last part in.” you replied.

Threading a button and thread into the cloth, a sharp pain swiftly pricked your index, startling you. ”Ow!” You yelped, cursing to yourself. Wally looked concerned, taking the fabric from your hand and seeing the small wound on your finger.

(The sewing needles in kidshows are comically very huge than normal ones, so let's just imagine that you got pricked by a 1 inch needle with a 0.5 tip, so your finger's now bleeding out some puppet stuffing.)

”Are you alright, neighbor?” He said, his mellow, charismatic voice tingling your ears as he held your hands in his. You lightly nodded, evading his oddly mesmerizing gaze. He sat on one of the small stools infront of your desk, checking the small prick on your index before pulling out a small bandaid.

”You should be careful next time, [Name]. I'd rather not want someone as pretty as you, to get hurt.” He said boldly, caressing your hands in his; moving his fingers from your palm, to feeling your felt knuckles, and now down to your finger tips. His hands were warm, warm and oddly comforting. Now this really set you off.

You looked down upon your feet, avoiding his stare. You could feel his piercing gaze puncture holes into your soul, the tension thickening like black smoke escaping a house.

You felt his fingers intricately bandage your finger, hearing the band-aid wrapper crumple and rip before covering your pricked hand, stained with small drops of puppet stuffing.

You closed your eyes as to not look at Wally's face in embarrassment.

Do I actually have a crush on this boy?

You thought, opening your eyes but still entitled on avoiding his gaze at all costs.

To your surprise, he also thought likewise, still in denial if he likes you as a crush or not. Looking at your flush stricken face, and thought it was cute. Those same soft hands reached to your face, cupping your cheek to look at his deeply reassuring glare, his eyes fixed onto yours.

He spoke up once again.

”Frank told me..”

”That the best medicine you could give to someone..”

”is a kiss.”

He uttered out before landing a soft kiss upon your knuckles, and on your bandaged index finger—not breaking eye contact.

Here's this slightly shitty scenario, hope you enjoy ig

Can anyone please request stuff for me cuz I also wanna write Wally x reader fanfics:(

[pennylime]

Doodle dump? Doodle dump. (Long post)

(Also tw: needle puncture wound on 6th pic)

Doodles from the past two months :)

Characters in which they appear just in case (im not repeating them, but some appear more than once):

Atsushi Nakajima - bungou stray dogs (bsd)

Sigma - bsd

Mushitarou Oguri - bsd

Kageura Masato - world trigger

Kuga Yuma - world trigger

Chika Amatori - world trigger

Midorikawa Shun - world trigger

Castiel- oc

Hyuse - world trigger

Hanako-kun - jibaku shounen hanako-kun

Ollie - oc

Tokitou Muichirou - demon slayer

Rigg and Loaf - pathfinder series (novel trilogy)

Kunikida Doppo - bsd

Rex - city of blank

Maka Albarn - soul eater

Varian - tangled: the series

Starfire - DC comics or teen titans

[dontfeeltoohot]

Sicktember Day 28 - Chronic Illness - Youtube AU - TW: Needles (briefly, used in diabetic context)

Nobody who sees Eddie would know. He keeps it hidden and out of sight, tucked away in his jeans pocket- it’s usually mistaken for a wallet if anyone does notice. It’s not that he keeps it a secret, but he also doesn’t feel the need to talk about it. He’s had diabetes since he was 6, had a pump since he was 8, attached to his lower abdomen, an essential part of his life. Without it, he’d be dead. 

They’re all in the tattoo parlor the first time Eddie’s blood sugar drops since moving to Hawkin’s a month prior. They’re all sitting there, throwing out suggestions for Robin’s first tattoo, flipping through some flash sheets the artist has compiled over the years he’s worked. As Steve points to a horror one jokingly, Eddie’s head starts hurting.

It’s subtle but there, a small pulse on the side of his head. A moment later, he realizes how tired he is. Rubbing his face with his hand, he jumps back into the conversation, suggesting maybe something small to start out with. 

Fuck. 

Pulling out the top drawer of his mechanics cart; the one that holds all of his inks and gear, Eddie snags a Reese’s peanut butter cup, ripping into it. 

Pulling out the top drawer of his mechanics cart; the one that holds all of his inks and gear, Eddie snags a Reese’s peanut butter cup, ripping into it. 

“You guys want one?” He asks, looking at the two. 

Nausea rolls through his stomach and the long haired man pops the entire piece of candy into his mouth, making Steve chuckle and Robin look surprised. As he chews, Eddie fishes out his phone from his pocket, clicking open his Tandem app, checking to see what his levels are.

56 mg/dL. Well shit. Really, Eddie’s surprised it’s not lower, but the machine attached to him is good at its job, knowing to adjust insulin levels when his blood sugar starts dropping. 

He pops another Reese’s cup into his mouth as Robin snacks on one too. Taking his water bottle off the top of the cart, he takes a few sips, headache still pulsing. Steve‘a watching him curiously bjt after another four minutes, Eddie can feel the chocolate and protein start to kick in, so he suggests going to the burger place next door for dinner. 

XXX

A week after he, Steve and Robin eat their burgers and continue to talk about tattoo ideas, Eddie finds something out. Robin’s clumsy. She’s clumsier than any person he’s met before, if he’s honest, now that he’s spent some time outside of the coffee shop with the duo. She’s tall with long limbs, and that combined with her spacial awareness issues…well, Eddie is surprised she hasn’t fallen into him before. 

They’re in the parlor when she trips on what appears to be nothing, right into Eddie, who manages to react quickly enough they don’t hit the floor. What does hit the floor though, is his insulin pump and, getting pulled with it, the cannula tubing, plus the needle and needle cover. 

“Son of a bitch!” His voice is loud in the currently quiet and unoccupied space. 

“I’m so sorry!” 

Hissing at the sudden sting, Eddie puts a hand against his lower right abdomen. Looking up, Steve and Robin are standing there wide eyed. Robin looks entirely too guilty and worried, and Steve looks confused. 

“Sorry, that wasn’t directed at you Robin, you didn’t do anything,” the musician bends down and picks the small system up, thankful the pump doesn’t seem to be messed up. 

“What’s that?” Steve looks at the supplies in his hands. 

“Oh, I’m diabetic, it’s my insulin pump so I don’t like..go into shock and die,” he shrugs, not thinking much of his words. 

“Wait what?!” 

“Holy shit and I ripped it out!! Do we need to take you to a hospital?” 

Laughing quietly, Eddie shakes his head and sets the items on his clean black bench, then lifts his shirt up to inspect the damage. There’s a small circle of skin that’s a shade paler where the needle cover was sticking to him. A tiny puncture wound is in the middle. 

“No, I’m all good guys, seriously. I have to change it every couple of days anyway. Lucky for you Birdie, tonight was the night, so honestly you just helped me out,” Eddie assures, grabbing his backpack and pulling out identical items, though they’re all sealed for sterilization. 

“I gotta go wash my hands, be right back.” 

A minute later, he comes back to his friends who are both looking at Steve’s phone. 

“Oooh, watcha lookin’ at?” Eddie grins, making them both jump. 

“We we’re just…googling what the pump does and stuff,” Steve admits, looking like a kid who’s been caught stealing a cookie. Eddie thinks it’s adorable. 

“Oh. I mean, I could probably tell you in a simpler way,” the artist shrugs as he swabs his stomach with an alcohol wipe, ignoring how the other two watch. 

“Yeah, it’s all kind of confusing,” Robin admits, wincing as Eddie sticks the large, clear circle to his lower left abdomen this time. 

He makes sure it’s sticking good, then clicks down on the lever on either side of the plastic, and it pops his needle in, the plastic hitting together and making a noise. Steve and Robin jump. Taking the applicator off, all that’s left is his tube connected to his stomach, the needle hidden by the white medical tape that comes attached to it. 

“Ow,” Robin scrunches her face up in sympathy. 

“I barely feel it. I’ve been doing it since I was like 8. It barely feels like pushing a sharp pencil against my finger. Besides, I have tattoos, you dorks,” he laughs. 

“And you’ll be okay?” Steve asks. 

“Yep! I have enough insulin left to get me home, then I’ll just draw more and put it into the little holder inside the thing.” 

It’s easy to forget not everyone knows how diabetes works. An hour later, they’re all leaving, and Robin once again apologizes, so Eddie rolls his eyes. 

“If you say sorry one more time Buckley, my hand might just slip when I’m finally tattooing you,” he teases. It makes the woman stop, and Steve smirks. 

“I’ll start threatening that to her too, worked like a charm.”

[morimementa]

I’ve been rereading the sample. Can I have more of the Detective Void? Please?

I can post the first part right now! Message me when you want more and I'll post the next part! Word of warning, the story's not done yet. I'm working on it, but it might take a while.

TW: Mpreg, pregnancy, mild body horror (Body squick?).

 You couldn’t pinpoint when exactly you stopped being a person. It was probably around the time you realized the dolls you made could come to life and you could turn anything to yarn just by stabbing it with a knitting needle. Frightened and excited at the impossible things happening, you’d hidden away any proof of it, and tried to work out the secrets of your gift yourself. You didn’t realize they’d put a target on your back and a timer above your head. It was only a matter of time before the Laboratory caught up with you.

You’d been captured by them eight years ago, given an experiment designation instead of your name and kept in captivity. It wasn’t till a fateful security breach that you’d managed to escape. After fighting your way out of their clutches, you’d gotten back to civilization and worked to rebuild your life. As much as you wanted to go back to being just another somebody, it wasn’t in the cards. You couldn’t rest knowing how much was out there, and how little was being done about it. So, you’d decided to use your powers to forge a new path for yourself.

And oh, how you charged down that path. You worked to contain anomalies and to ensure no one else suffered as you had. You willingly walked the razor’s edge, knowing that the next encounter could mean death. Or worse. You’d come to learn that there were far more terrifying fates than oblivion. All you could do was handle every day as it came, keep striving forward, and not look too closely at shadows.

Your job ended up taking you on a curious investigation. The cities of *Data Expunged* had been inundated by giant Stork sightings. That by itself would be unusual, but there was more to it than that. Little did any of the witnesses know that the creature was far more troublesome than an ordinary bird. The eight-foot-tall Stork visited men, seemingly at random and attacked them, leaving a puncture wound on their stomachs. Worse than the physical injury was what came after. The victim would then incubate and birth a baby Stork, all within the span of an hour or two.

So far, the creature’s victims had a 100% survival rate; rare enough in this brutal world, and safe enough to keep it a low priority of whatever shadowy government organization took care of such matters. You on the other hand, had plenty of time to send it back to whatever godforsaken part of the universe it came from.

You’d begun by helping the latest victim. An ordinary salary man, he’d been assaulted on his walk to work. You’d helped him through the uncomfortable pregnancy and agonizing birth and then shoved the chick in a cage to be collected by The Foundation. The man had asked only one thing of you once you’d helped him deliver the monstrous offspring.

“Make me forget.”

You’d been all too glad to administer some of your amnestic. It wasn’t much, but at least you could alleviate any lingering trauma. After that, you’d resolved to stop the creature before it struck again. What you hadn’t realized was that you weren’t the only one who’d made that resolution.

Among your many skills was your ability to produce useful anomalous objects. Your handsewn teddy bear for instance, acted as a bloodhound for sensing anomalous beings. You let it guide you through a row of unsold houses, into a backyard. There it pointed at the abandoned shed sitting in the right hand corner of the yard. Much to your surprise, it had indicated there was a second anomaly inside as well. You patted it on the head to thank it, then let it slip back into the oversized bag you carried.

You pulled the pair of your longest size ten needles out. Two anomalies in one place could mean they were coming to blows or that they were in cahoots. Whatever the case, you were prepared for a fight. You snuck up to the shed, careful not to alert them with a creak of the wooden ramp. You could already hear rustling and thumping emanating from the cracked door. No voices, at least, no human ones. You crouched by the door and took a peek inside. You were shocked by what you saw.  

In the center of the room was the stork. Now that you saw it up close, it was nothing short of unnerving. At eight feet tall, it towered over you. As it turned, you saw its long pointed beak. Its pink and blue gradient wings might have been pretty under different circumstances. Right now, those wings fluttered indignantly, puffing up in a warning. Looking closer, you saw what it was angry about.

The stork was trapped where it stood; it was encircled by a ring of runes painted on the floor. You squinted against the unnatural light they produced. The creature thrashed and struck at the barrier they’d made, hissing like an angry Goose. Indifferent to its anger, its captor stood off to the side. He was a man in a button up shirt and black trousers. The only unusual part of his appearance was the dark gray mask with eye holes that glowed with the same energy as the runes.

As soon as you saw the mask, it clicked.  It was none other than Detective Void. You’d heard through the grapevine that he was an investigator of the supernatural. Neither Foundation personnel nor Chaos Insurgent, he conducted his own work in secret, able to elude any interested parties. As relieved as you were to not find SCP agents, you couldn’t help but wonder if he intended to terminate the entity or use it for his own purposes.

Your thoughts were interrupted by a creaking noise. The Stork had begun pounding at the floor. It was slamming its feet onto the wood with surprising strength. Through the dust it’d kicked up, you realized the light of the runes had started flickering. Your heart sunk into your shoes as you realized what was going on. The shed’s floor was old and unstable. If it managed to put even a crack in one of the painted boards, it could break the circle and escape!

The detective seemed to have noticed too. He pulled a curved dagger out from behind his back and assumed a fighting stance. The bird seemed all too eager for a fight. It ran its long talons down the floor, a glint in its eyes. You had no choice but to throw your own hat in the ring. As the floorboard gave with a loud crack, you flung the door open.

Leaping forward, you sent your size tens flying into the air. The stork blocked with one massive wing, but couldn’t completely save itself. You succeeded in turning a few of the feathers. They unraveled, becoming strands of pastel yarn. It turned to glare at you, undoing your work with a flap of its wing. You’d gotten its attention. Good.

 Pouncing on the creature, you conjured more needles, stabbing with impunity. The hissing grew louder as you unraveled more and more of it. You knew it could heal, but if you worked fast enough, you could turn all of it before it could fix itself. You worked to pin down its left wing, leaving one hand free to strike.

Detective Void had apparently had a similar idea. He slashed at the wing that reached for him, clipping it with a single swipe. He didn’t seem to notice you, so intent was he on finishing the job. The stork managed to buck you off, spinning to deliver a strong kick to your sternum. Taking a chance, Void flung the dagger, hitting the stork in the upper wing. It squawked indignantly. Even with its healing factor, he had still landed a critical hit.  You conjured the largest needle you could and prepared to strike it right in the heart.

You crept a few inches closer and raised the needle above your head.

A screech like steel nails gouging a chalkboard filled the shed. You were knocked off balance, overcome by the urge to stuff your ears with cotton. Get out of my way, it said, don’t interfere with my mission.

A wing flew out and threw you against the wall. You hit hard enough to crack the wood paneling and landed in a heap. Dazed and bloodied, you tried to stand. You couldn’t quite gain your footing again and in the interim, it had begun to target Detective Void.

The blood dripping from your forehead had blinded one eye and the fear was starting to seep into your bones. The stork was stronger than you’d assumed. If the both of you couldn’t take it on…

 No! You’d never let fear stop you before, and certainly not when someone’s life was in danger. You had to fight, lest it kill you both.  More needles sailed across the shed, some making contact, some bouncing off the walls harmlessly. You realized with horror that neither of your efforts would be enough.

“Are you ok?” You heard a man’s voice. Detective Void had noticed you and was still parrying the monster’s attempts to grab him. He blocked the creature’s limbs, knocking them away with blow after blow. It had started ignoring you, bent on ensnaring its new quarry You saw a second hilt on his back, this one with the dagger still in it. He grabbed it and took another swipe at the wings. “Hang on, I’m going to-.”

Another scream ripped through the air. You cringed, covering your ears in a feeble attempt to block the sound. Your brain felt like it was going to leak out your nose. Oddly enough, it had a different effect on Detective Void. You wiped the blood from your eye and watched as his arms fell to his sides and he dropped his weapon. The stork encircled him with one wing, pulling him closer in a motion that was almost intimate.

Oh, no.  It wasn’t trying to kill him; it had chosen him!

You lunged in one last desperate attempt to stop it-.

The room spun, sending you to the floor. The last thing you saw before you passed out was the oversized bird descending on the detective.

The smell of magic and musty wood brought you around and reminded you where you were. Frustration overcame you as you realized the creature had escaped. You cursed both your incompetence and the being’s skill. It had been a while since you’d had so much trouble. You’d known it was only a matter of time before you went up against something stronger than you, but you hadn’t expected it to be such a dismal failure. You touched the scrape on your forehead and a threaded sewing needle appeared, stitching up the wound before vanishing. After a few seconds the stitches disappeared, taking your injury with them. At least you healed fast. But could you say the same for him?

 As you stood, you realized Detective Void still lay on the floor. He was on his back, head lolled to the side. His formally pristine shirt now had a large gash in it. The blood froze in your veins. You’d seen that same tear in the clothes of the entity’s last victim and you knew what it meant.

You hurried over, dreading what you would find, praying that you were wrong.  Sure enough, as you brushed the shredded fabric aside you could see a large purple bruise and smaller puncture wound on the detective’s abdomen.

You fell back on your haunches and swore a blue streak as the implications of what had happened hit you. You conjured a needle and began scraping at the floor out of sheer frustration. As you left huge grooves in the wood, you berated yourself. You hadn’t even known anyone else was after this anomaly and you should have. Should have been sharper, more aware of your surroundings. If only you’d been able to stop it when you had the chance! You were getting sloppy, screwing up-.

If you weren’t more careful, they’d find you, they’d lock you up again...

You sent a needle flying toward the only other thing in the shed; the can of paint Void had used to make the entrapment circle. It pierced the can on impact, rendering it and its contents a tangle of yarn. You shut your eyes to block out the scene and touched the wood beneath you, working to ground yourself. Now that you’d blown off a little steam, it was easier to regain your focus. You’d been too late to assist him with the capture. You hadn’t been able to kill it. All you could do now was assist him with the birth. You just hoped he’d be willing to accept your help.

[lightandvoid]

Finding Elysium; Part One.

Lights flashed through the hospice as Paithien ran down the hallway, golden hues settling on the patient being carried in, the sound of that distress call still ringing in her ears. Mayday, mayday, mayday; This is the captain of the airship Shattered Elysium. We are experiencing critical failure and are going down. This is Fleet Admiral Alexander Iceblade. All available units, respond to that distress call immediately. I am activating crisis plan six, engaging Order Magi in all major cities. The Order's crisis teams - consisting of three mages and four rangers - erupted into action as the distress call went out. All over the world, portals were torn open to Tanaris. Red flashing lights, alarm bells ringing. Sand and fire. Images of the crash site flashed through her mind as she watched the Order’s newest member haul Vaerin through a portal.  (TW: Injury, medical supplies - IV, Needles, etc.)

"Get him into room two, get Northaren in here.” Paith ordered, tying blonde hair into a tight ponytail and starting to wash her hands.

The hospice was in complete disarray after the crash of the Shattered Elysium. The once sterile and organized halls were now in complete chaos, with debris and rubble scattered everywhere. Patients who were once recovering peacefully were now screaming in agony, their cries for help echoing through the halls. The smell of smoke and burning flesh hung heavily in the air, mixed with the scent of disinfectant and spilled blood.  Needles were prepared, IV’s set on their racks. Machines were turned on.

The medical staff were doing their best to help those who could still be saved, but the sheer number of wounded and dying made it seem like a hopeless task. Some were too injured to even move, lying where they had been put by their rescuers, waiting for the end to come. Others were being tended to by overworked healers, who were forced to make difficult decisions on who to save and who to ease the passing of. 

Vaerin Emberwalker is brought into the operating room on a gurney, his body limp and pale. His chest heaves with labored breaths as he is swiftly transferred onto the operating table. The room is dimly lit, the only sources of light being the small lamps hanging overhead and the monitors that beep in a steady rhythm. The scent of antiseptic fills the air, mixed with the coppery tang of blood.

 The medical team rushes around Vaerin, checking his vitals and assessing the extent of his injuries. They work with precision and urgency, their movements quick and efficient as they move to stabilize him. Vaerin's shirt is cut away, revealing the extent of his injuries. His chest is bruised and battered, three broken ribs jutting out from his skin. His wrist is mangled, with a deep gash where a piece of jagged pipe tore through his flesh. A small pool of blood has formed under him, evidence of his punctured lung.

The team moves to work on his injuries, the sound of clanking metal tools filling the room. Paithien spouting orders and demands as they went. The crisis response team moved with the speed and grace of a well-rehearsed dance, their movements precise as they work to save Vaerin's life.

Despite their best efforts, the sense of hopelessness and despair in the air is palpable, as if the very walls of the room are closing in on them, eager to claim the Captain’s life after he’d avoided death for so long.

Finally, after what feels like an centuries, the team manages to stabilize Vaerin's injuries. They carefully move him to a nearby recovery room, monitoring his vitals closely.

                   Days passed...

Despite his stabilization, Vaerin Emberwalker still slept. Not a twitch of his muscles, just the slow, rhythmic breathing of the machines at his bedside. The Order’s doctors were busy saving more lives from the crash, so the Captain slumbered alone. 

[saviolum-sanguineus]

[ 𝐔𝐍𝐔𝐒𝐔𝐀𝐋 ] ― sender feeds receiver something they’ve never tried before ( specify what ) + [ 𝐂𝐎𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐑 ] ― sender bites receiver hard enough to draw blood in vampire!verse please? maybe with Taran?

you're so insane for this one, nonnie. but i have had a bloody mary and am ready to write some toxicity into the world. from this prompt list.

tw blood/gore, unsafe use of teeth, mild violence

He cups her jaw and coaxes her mouth open with the pad of his thumb. His touch is cold like porcelain pressed against her skin. Esme can feel her pulse racing under his fingers as Taran strokes her neck and pushes her hair back to bare the skin as he moves to stand behind her, chest pressing into her warmth. There's a hollow thrum echoing through her as she stares into the mirror, into her own determined, glistening gaze and at the way her reflection bends around an invisible body, lips parted under a thumb she knows is there but cannot see in the glass.

Taran slips the swell of his palm into Esme's mouth and brushes a brief kiss to the corner of her jaw when the blunt edges of her teeth press into his skin. "You're ready," he purrs.

It isn't a question, but she nods anyway. His smile gleams sharper - she knows not by sight, but by the feeling of it against her throat, two pinpricks against tender skin like a promise. "Remember to swallow, sweetheart, or you'll die."

And then Taran's fangs are slicing along her skin, slashing before piercing into raw flesh to hold Esme in place as his tongue works wetly against her. She almost screams - her legs are shaking, cold spreading through limbs she can barely feel as she scrabbles instinctively at Taran - before the candlelight wavering in the mirror glints off her eyes' reflection and Esme bites down on his hand instead, desperation and agony pulsing through her jaw. She was not born for this and not yet made for it either - and yet her teeth sink into Taran's flesh, breaking skin and spilling something that oozes into her mouth like wine-dark honey, thick and coppery.

He drinks from her and she drowns in him. Esme's throat flexes - it's messy and entirely bereft of Taran's elegance, every gulp searing against flesh that riots against its purpose, but she curls her hands into fists and squeezes back the gags she can feel fighting every convulsing swallow. Taran laughs when he feels her feeble attempts at sucking the wound on his hand to guide the flow, fangs lifting out of her neck as he tips his head back, bloody teeth glinting in the candlelight.

"A fast learner, aren't you?" he coos through amusement, lapping at her neck to clean the few rivulets that had escaped his drinking. It's a fond gesture belied by the sated, careless satisfaction glinting in his eyes.

Esme wrenches her jaw open enough to allow Taran's hand to fall out. Her lips and chin are smeared with blood, some dripping down to the itchy sting at her throat where the incisions and punctures of Taran's fangs are beginning to knit together. Taran caresses her face and turns her towards him, pushing her lip up to observe the gleam of candlelight off canines that already look more needle-sharp.

"Well done, sweetheart." There's colour in his face that wasn't there before, a shivering kind of vivacity in his too-bright blue eyes like a star on the verge of becoming supernova. Taran gathers Esme close and kisses her forehead, then her bloodstained mouth, hands sweeping along her trembling back as she makes a low groaning noise caught in some taut net between anguish and hunger. "It won't hurt so much tomorrow," he promises. "You did so well, darling. We'll go have ourselves something to drink, and then sleep, hm?"

She rasps something into his chest and he laughs again, bloodied but not bleeding hand combing through her hair. The empty mirror watches them leave, candlelight flickering over a reflection as undisturbed by their presence as their absence.

[writersmorgue]

Febuwhump Day 7 - forced to watch

read on Ao3

word count: 695

TWs in tags

note: GAH THIS IS SO LAST MINUTE I'M SORRY I'LL BE BETTER

╞╪╪╪╪╪╪╪╪╪╪╪╪╪╪╪╪╡

Shouto groans, neck twinging uncomfortably.

Hanta must’ve stayed at the agency last night. He usually carries Shouto to bed when he falls asleep on the couch. He had stayed up doing research on a new ring of drug traffickers, because-

Because that’s the case Hanta had been working on when he’d been taken.

Shouto’s eyes snap open, welcoming darkness, and he inhales deeply.

“Ah, Shouto, nice of you to join us!” A sweet voice calls, ringing through his pounding head. 

His eyebrows furrow, light filtering peeking through small cracks. He must have a blindfold on. It’s strange he can’t feel it. He can’t feel much of anything, though, they must’ve drugged him.

Someone jostles his chair, and the restraints (some kind of wire, he thinks) rub uncomfortably on his skin. His head lolls to the side without his permission.

He can’t remember what he’d last been doing, but he thinks he’s wearing Hanta’s fleece pajama pants, so he’d probably been in bed. Typical kidnappers, with no respect for privacy.

“Don’t worry about moving, hero, it’s not up to you anyway. You just gotta sit back and relax.” The voice assures him, and a hand drags around the back of his neck, raising goosebumps in its path.

The blindfold is stripped from his eyes, and he squints in the new light.

He’s staring at a ceiling. It’s a dull gray with the occasional water stain in his peripheral. 

The hand returns, gripping the back of his neck to tilt it up.

His eyes slowly come to rest on a form in the chair across from him. 

Matted black hair hangs, obscuring their face.

“Hnnt,” He groans, willing the other man to meet his eyes.

He can’t tell if he’s breathing from this angle, and if he is it must be shallow.

“NNnh!” The hand grips his neck tighter.

“He can’t hear you, lovely, he’s sleeping.” The voice whispers in his ear, “Just like you will be soon. My associate thought you’d like to see him go. As a parting gift from us, you’ve done great things for Japan, after all.”

Shouto slumps, hands useless where they’re tied to his thighs. His quirk screams at him, begging for release, but naturally, that’s been taken away too.

He watches as another man steps up behind his lover, grabbing his beautiful hair in a tight fist and pulling his head up.

Hanta’s eyes are cracked open, and pale gray irises stare at something long since passed. His lip is split in multiple spots, dried blood crusting on the wounds. His right eye is a deep purple around the bone, haunting in contrast to his unnaturally pale skin.

“We’ve kept him for a few days, but your pathetic little search team kept walkin’ right passed him. We figured we’d speed things up for ya.” 

Shouto’s eyes swell with tears as he stares at Hanta’s lifeless face.

“His heart is still beating, just wanted you to know before we did this. You could’ve saved him,” The hand tightens around his neck, holding him in place to watch as the other pulls a syringe out of his coat.

The failed activator. A drug that had been sold to hundreds of young civilians, promising a euphoric high from the reaction to their quirk factor. 

The drug that killed those civilians.

The dark liquid sloshes, taunting Shouto in his restraints.

He knows he should be gathering intel, observing as much as he can, but he can’t take his eyes away.

He whimpers as the needle punctures Hanta’s neck, causing a twitch in his facial muscles.

He watches as the liquid slowly compresses until it disappears, and he thinks of the ring in his bedside drawer that he’ll never get to see Hanta wear. 

His tears overflow, trailing down his cheeks. 

Hanta twitches, foamy saliva pouring out of his slack mouth. His dark eyebrows scrunch like he’s suddenly aware. Like he knows he needs to stop what’s happening but can’t.

It breaks Shouto’s heart.

Distantly he registers a sharp pinch in his own neck. He wonders if he’ll get to see Hanta again when he goes.

He stops struggling.

Maybe this is for the best.

[venominyourcoffee]

The Wolf Who Healed My Heart

Tw: SA, sad shit.

The night sky, dotted with a million worlds and stars. That and miles of wood was what I saw outside my window. And to the opposite of that, was the towering skyline of steel, glass and greed. When I first moved here I made sure my bedroom faced the forest. Also when the sun set, the light danced through the leaves and over the mountains, instead of reflecting like a blinding light off the glass city of lies that I moved to. I preferred seeing the forest as I lay down to sleep. That was until one night a year ago, when I saw something in the trees, and fast. At first I thought I was just tired, seeing things maybe. Or perhaps it was just a fox or wolf. If it were the latter I’d need to build a fence. But that didn’t matter. Night after night, at the same stroke of midnight, I felt watched. I felt like from the wood I’d see glaring eyes stare at me. I swear if I looked hard enough I’d see a figure. It was like that for a 3 months, before one night before bed I heard a noise. Someone was in my house. I cautiously went to investigate and there I saw her. I saw the eyes that watched me from the wood. I saw the figure I’d dreamt and had nightmares of. In front me was a tall woman, with sharpe nails and beautiful yet haunting yellow eyes. She was gorgeous but intimidating, especially with her smile of sharpe canines. I panic, my heart races as fight or flight kicks in. I didn’t know what to do as she walked to me. I froze in place and jumped when I felt her hand cup my face. I was afraid of my life until I heard her speak.

With a commanding but kind voice she said “you are broken, used and hurt. Many have taken advantage of you, and your heart has scars you don’t deserve. The Ones Beyond have heard your suffering. They’ve heard the silent tears you shed away from the ones you love. You fear burdening them, and now you no longer must carry that burden alone. I am here, here for you, if you’ll let your walls down.”

The words hurt like daggers, like seething hot needles puncturing my very being. As if she struck a cord I never knew existed, but her words were right. I felt a link form between our hearts, I felt valued, I felt safe, I felt understood for the first time in so long. In that moment, every feeling I pushed deep down and tried to ignore, came boiling up at once as I crumbled in her hands. Falling apart like snow flakes hitting the ground, I fell to pieces in her arms as she held me close. She wasn’t a stalker, she wasn’t a monster. She was my angel, the one the beings above sent to save me.

Over the next few months she stayed with me, caring for me. Her words were kind at times, and others brutally honest and what I needed to hear. Her touch was tender and yet, it hurt every time. It hurt knowing this is what I should have looked for form those that broke my heart and left with small pieces missing. Every time she held me, I could feel the wounds others gave me open up again. This woman of the woods showed me I need to confront my pain in order to heal. I never felt used, I never felt betrayed by her. I even felt things I never understood. And just when I didn’t think she was any more perfect, she pinned me to the bed. Her nails dug in my skin, the pain she showed me was intense at first but then I felt alive. Each scratch, bite and slap made my senses flare awake as I felt something new. I felt part of the facade I made and lived in begin to die. I felt the walls I built to keep others out begin to fall. These walls were made because others bullied me, harassed me, assaulted me and told me this is all I am worth. Those people I believed were my friends but they were venomous snakes that poisoned my vision and my mind. These people turned my heart to glass and my self even more fragile. But with her, her it felt real, it felt like this is truly what I needed.

She showed me the means to heal, to better myself. But most importantly, she helped me kill that part of me that I never really was. From my grey skies and bland world, came bursting a world of color and joy. She, through gentle touch and loving embrace taught me confidence. I tackled the unknown with her. I saw myself for who I was. I cried many nights because I was healing. She was the thing I had dreamed of all my life, something I cried many nights thinking I’d never get. Within such a shirt time, I improved so much. The toxic people of my life faded away, the insecurities I once feared I now was ready to tackle, the pain I kept secret for others convenience I now was free to tackle. She was a blessing, something I begged the world to have. She was everything and something was so bizarre about it. To this day, I still don’t know what I felt. Was this genuine feelings? Was this love? Was this the spark, the magic I’ve heard of in the hundreds of 80s power ballads I’d listen to? Or was this the more depressing truth. Was this just the first time I’ve been treated well and actually cared for I just wasn’t used to it. Was this just the first light in a dark world I was blinded? Whatever it was, it was bliss.

But soon, she was gone. For my own good she told me it was over. She was gone for long periods of time and I think my healing weighed on her. So she wanted it to end so I can find something more permanent, but more importantly so my happiness wasn’t a side project. Even in the end, she was perfect. Her touch was soft and her words were so tender and caring. This only hurt more, as every unknown feeling I felt over that last 3 months came burning me alive. My tears turned to cinders as my heart lit ablaze as every emotion, both known and unknown. I wanted to scream, to fall apart, to curse the world I was born to. I wanted to beg the gods above why this one trie joy in my life was now being taken from me. I wanted to fall apart completely, but I didn’t. Her last words to me were kind and comforting. “You are hurt, so you can still heal. When I am gone, do not settle for my replacement. Do not confuse your value for selfishness. Do not lower yourself. You are beautiful, you are amazing, you deserve someone who can make you happy. Be kind to yourself my dear, and cry. Cry until the pain is gone so you can heal once more. You’ve been amazing, I’m proud of you and I want you to keep growing.”

For a month a felt empty, afraid and hurt although I never blamed her or myself. I didn’t see it until she was gone, but she was a wolf, and she needed to return to her pack. Even now, as I remember her, I can’t help but still feel pain. But deep down I am so grateful for her help. The person I was when I meet her, and the person I am now are stark differences. I am grateful for her help, for her care. Months later, I still see her. And every time I see her, I smile. I see her run through the woods with her pack. I hear her voice, her song in the moonlight. As time went on, I’d take walks to the forest to see her, to enjoy her time. I still whisper my problems to her and I see the answers in her eyes. But I know as time goes on, we are only friends. Even if I occasionally see her looming over my bed, watching over me. Even to this day she’s so kind and I cherish our time. Although I worry. I worry I will never find her peace again, I worry I’ll never find her happiness again. I also worry that one day, we drift apart. That she runs into a new world and leaves me behind. I worry about so much, but I know whatever happens it’s for the best, it’s life. Still I hope to be her friend for a long time. I hope to one day tell her about this wonderful person that’s lit up my world like she did. I want to tell her that I found my forever home in my lovers arms. I want to see her proud of me for finding that person despite every obstacle and jagged rock that blocks my path.

I don’t know what gods above or demons below chose to give me such bliss, such safety and care. But I love and cherish every memory of her. I hold her words of comfort to heart and it gives me hope. Even now as I smile and wipe the tears from my eyes, I hit the clicking keys of my typewriter. I write my words, both sorrow and despair, but also kindness and freedom. I sip my tea with a few more lines on my face as my memory of her shines like gold. And as the sun sets like it always will, I look to the stars and the woods with a find smile. I can hear her howl at the moon and I wish her the best. As I stretch, drink water and await our next small talk. I can’t wait till I take a slow walk through the woods and see her. I can’t wait to tell her about this wonderful person I want to give my heart to. And on that day when I say I’ve found someone who brings me happiness like she did, I hope she smiles and is proud of me.

[seraphinitegames]

Tw: Blood // potentially gross

I have an ask for the vampires:

You know how blood gets clotted after a while right? What do they do then? Do they eat the clots? Or are they like leeches and their saliva prevents clotting?

And blood is like 80 percent water, how much do they have to drink to be full? Do they have no appetite? Do they drink it to feed or to keep on living like it's a life-source?

AND do their fangs work like knives or like straws?

I am so sorry.

Eh, I imagine something in their saliva prevents the clotting? Unless some vampires like the texture, kind of like cottage cheese? Lol! :D

How much they need depends on the vampire, some are full quicker, others need more. Like M would take more to be full because their hypersenses run through energy faster.

Their fangs work like needles. They create a puncture so as blood can be sucked through the wounds, as well as also being able to deliver venom through the fangs (like some types of snakes—not the snakes with grooves in their fangs, the ones that actually have a small hollow like tube) if the vampire chooses.

Hope that helps!

Thank you so much for the ask! :)

[exquisiteagony]

little extract from the angel fic i’m working on

(little tw for mentions of self harm of a sort)

Pain is good. Suffering is what makes us holy, closer to His light, Joel told himself.

After all, why would his halo hurt so much the better he was if the constant needling pain wasn’t a mark of devotion? Why would He make them suffer if suffering wasn’t at the heart of faith?

Of course, Joel’s halo had as many different forms as he did, but angels were made in the image of humans, and so keeping his in the less painful horned formation felt like cheating. Who was he to forgo the constant torment of agony like the rest of his ilk? Every time he gave in to the temptation for even an hour’s relief, the guilt would threaten to gobble him up alive, and he’d make the spikes dig just a little deeper into his head as penance when he changed back. The blood would drip down from where the spikes punctured him, gold and smoking, but those wounds would soon heal, and the scars they left behind would callus over, easing his pain just a little bit. It was a cycle that was supposed to last him for eternity, and he’d accepted that long ago.

[booberryfun]

Healing

TW: Wounds and blood mentioned

"Hero really overdid it this time, didn't they?" Civilian let out a sigh as they gently sterilized the open wound on the side of their partner's waist. Dry blood was already clotting a part of the opening, even though the flow leaking out didn't seem to be weakening anytime soon.

"Yeah they're going to pay- hnnghh for it next time," Villain's eyes squeezed shut as the pain of a thousand needles puncturing their insides came burning down on the laceration and quickly spread through the entire area of their injured side. This was bad.

After a few more dabs, Civilian put the stained cloth away and placed their hands firmly on the wound, taking in a deep breath as a soft white glow started radiating from under their palms. "This is going to sting a bit, okay?"

And as soon as the sentence ended, a bloody screech escaped Villain's desert-dry throat, echoing through the empty apartment. Usually, the process wouldn't hurt so much, or maybe it was because the previous injuries were mere scratches and not stab wounds. Whatever the reason was, they hoped to never have to relive the agony again. 17 seconds that felt like an eternity later, Villain was left panting heavily on the couch, drenched in cold sweat. All that was left of the open wound was a thin scar crusted with flakes of dried blood.

"Okay, all patched up," Civilian let out a sharp breath before wiping off the excess sticky half-dried blood on their hands. They too were sweating and as the adrenaline pumped faster, they could feel the pressure- their heartbeat- drumming against their temples. Slowly, objects in their field of sight began jamming together and Civilain could feel something starting to burn on their side. This was bad. Before things escalate any further, they had to get away from Villain first.

Turning to the person on the couch, they sparked a smile in their direction and spoke in the softest voice Villain had ever heard.

"Get some good rest now yeah?"

"Oh-Okay, thanks," Villain slurred out whatever their conscious mind was able to register off Civilian's words. They watched with half-lid eyes as their partner packed the medical supplies and made for the bathroom. But something was wrong.

Before darkness devoured them whole, they swore they had seen blood seeping through Civilian's shirt- at the exact same spot where their wound was.