tinkering-survivor - Tumblr blog

[tinkering-survivor]

[ngl y'all i got no idea how to conclude this event]

[tinkering-survivor]

Sometime between 2020 and now my backmost-left molar had 1/4 of its crown chipped off. As of recent it has become so damaged that it's begun to cause near constant pain and discomfort in my everyday life, as well as difficulty eating leading to decreased appetite.

Teeth cleaning was quoted as being anywhere between $1,500 and $1800, while any further operation was quotes as being around $2,818. This totals to $4,618, but $4,700 would be preferable to cover any extra surprise costs.

Additionally, if you donate $16 or more to eSims For Gaza and provide me with proof, I'll deduct that donation from the cost of your commission.

Commission info can be found here and here.

$0/$4,700

Tooth pic under the cut for proof:

[tinkering-survivor]

🩹: draw the character patching their own or another character's wounds or 🦅: draw the character with wings! :]

[Lucky for you I miss my boy, so you get a two-fer]

[This is why you gotta look where you're running when the Hounds come]

[I hit this bastard with the baleful polymorph beam so often that he really shouldn't be fazed by now yet here we are]

[tinkering-survivor]

art ask meme that I made specifically for myself : send an emoji and a character and i'll draw them !

🦅: draw the character with wings

🐾: draw the character as a different species

👕: draw the character in another character's outfit

✂️: draw the character with a different hairstyle

💌: draw the character with a romantic or platonic partner

🤝: draw the character spending time with a friend

🩹: draw the character patching their own or another character's wounds

🌹: draw the character giving someone flowers

💋: draw the character giving someone a kiss

👔: draw the character in formal attire

💍: draw the character dressed for a wedding (could be their own or one they're attending)

🧤: draw the character in winter wear

💤: draw the character in sleepwear

👙: draw the character in swimwear

🥂: draw the character at a fancy dinner party

🛼: draw the character at a rollerskating rink

🍽: draw the character eating a food they like

🌶: draw the character eating something spicy

🏝: draw the character on vacation

🧺: draw the character on a picnic

❄️: draw the character playing in the snow

🛍: draw the character going on a shopping spree

🌺: draw the character picking flowers

📚: draw the character studying or doing paperwork

🌾: draw the character tending to a farm

🎉: draw the character celebrating something

🛠: draw the character doing their job or hobby

[tinkering-survivor]

[Guess whose special day it is!]

[tinkering-survivor]

Like fr all I want is $80

[tinkering-survivor]

Well, shit! Wilson turned into a zombie now, thanks to his experiment gone wrong. Any way to cure him?

He's probably not the person to be asking about this at the moment.

[tinkering-survivor]

*poking the old man with a stick* hey buddy hows it going

[tinkering-survivor]

Whatever was wrong with Wagstaff only seemed to get worse with time. The ever-increasing discoloration of his skin and hair continued to spread. Additionally, it felt like there was some sort of brain fog addling his mind at all times now - as if he was physically struggling to think. Most concerning was that he was blacking out again, with even more frequency and duration than previously experienced.

Speaking of, it seemed as if he had just come back to from one.

As he came to Wagstaff found himself hunched over the corpse of a Bunnyman. He staggered backwards away from the bloody mess before him, horrified; the last thing he knew, he'd been on his way to finding a way up out of the caves. Moments later he realized there was something furry in his mouth. Before he could fully react, consciousness was once again wrested away from him.

[tinkering-survivor]

Quite some time had passed since Wagstaff initially plunged into the the caves. First he'd collected his light bulbs like he'd intended, but promptly busied himself with more errands; why make more trips into the treacherous depths later when he could just get everything done in one go?

And so he stayed, prolonging his venture as more and more errands came to mind. After a while the near-complete darkness of the caves began to bother him less and less, which was good; less time spent fretting about the things scurrying about where he couldn't see meant more time to spend doing something actually productive.

The days began to bleed into each other, then into the next week, with Wagstaff toiling away all the while. All that time in the dark seemed to be taking some kind of toll, though, as he began periodically experiencing some sort of mind-fog. During one such episode he brought his pickaxe down on his foot, eliciting a sharp yelp of pain from the man. Though still very fuzzy in the head sufficiently brought back to reality he removed his shoe to assess the damage. There was already a nasty bruise forming, but after spending a few moments staring he finally noticed something much more severe.

The discoloration from his arms had spread to his feet - and probably everywhere else, too - and his toenails had become harder and sharper.

What the hell was happening to him?!

[tinkering-survivor]

Ever since leaving his camp first thing this morning Wagstaff had had a throbbing headache. The pain hadn't started out so bad, but as the day wore on it steadily grew worse. By late afternoon it practically felt like someone was pounding nails to the inside of his skull.

The assault on his cranium was doing no favors for his disposition. He was feeling rather irritable - moreso than usual. Even little things, like birds chirping or tall grass rustling - grated on his nerves like a grindstone. It seemed as if everything was conspiring to work against him today. Were he able to think properly through the pain and agitation he would be sure that he was about to start seeing shadowy figures flitting about in his peripheral vision.

As he trudged on Wagstaff passed by an open sinkhole. His paced slowed as he walked by, gradually coming to a stop, the sinkhole right at his feet. Now that he thought of it, he was running pretty low on light bulbs. Without another thought he began to descend down into the caverns below. As he traveled further and further down, his headache began to lessen in severity, growing weaker and weaker as it got darker and darker.

[tinkering-survivor]

During a long night spent working, Wagstaff felt a stinging sensation suddenly bite into his forearms. The pain made him flinch away - coincidentally, out of the early morning light(wait, when had the sun risen over the horizon?). He rubbed the sore spots on his arms, then inspected himself, looking for the cause of his earlier pain. Not only had the discoloration continued to spread, it had also begun to manifest across his other arm a well. Experimentally, he reached an arm out into the morning sunlight. The stinging returned, causing him to reflexively pulled his arm back in.

He was beginning to grow very concerned.

He un-rolled his sleeves, not caring that the usually carefully-hidden stained and torn fabric was on full display. Once again he reached out for the light, a bit more hesitantly this time, and found that the stinging pain did not return this time. He breathed a shaky sigh as he stepped fully out of the shade. As he had been doing ever since his strange affliction began, he did his best to carry on as usual with his day, though worry continued to gnaw at the back of his mind.

As well as something else, perhaps?

[tinkering-survivor]

A small sealed barrel (think novelty in a gift shop size) of blood sausages is found at the border of the camp.

Hmm? When did that get here?

Wagstaff approached the odd little barrel with caution. He had a shaky relationship with strange packages showing up in his camp; he'd received everything from fresh-baked goods to actual literal bombs. Inching ever closer, he quickly threw the lid off and made a dive for safety.

When nothing popped out or caught fire he crawled up off the ground to take a proper look at the contents of the barrel. He was pleasantly surprised to find a decent coil of sausage. Though it looked a bit odd, he couldn't deny how much effort had to have gone into such a gift. He twisted off a sizable link and set it over his fire pit to begin roasting.

It wasn't long before the scent of cooking meat began to fill the air, though accompanied by another smell, equally as odd as how the thing looked. Again, he set the thought aside; he was sure there had to be some concessions made when making something like sausage within the limited resources of the Constant. When the morsel was ready he eagerly took a bite, though his enthusiasm began to fade with each chew.

Blood sausage. Wagstaff absolutely hated blood sausage. He'd tried it once long ago and found it very much not to his taste(much to the amusement of wealthy onlookers from across the pond). He wanted to gag - to spit the thing away - but to his own disgust he swallowed the horrible thing. He shuddered, feeling as if he might get sick, as he took another bite.

[tinkering-survivor]

Wagstaff returned to his camp much earlier than he usually would.

He'd been in the middle of some swamp fishing when he began to feel light-headed. Thinking he was simply a bit hungry(he had neglected to eat any sort of breakfast this morning) he ignored it at first, only to suddenly find himself face-down in the muck.

Even a stubborn old fellow like Wagstaff knew when to throw in the towel; he had no business being out and about if he was blacking out. He'd packed up his things and made a beeline for his camp, staggering and stumbling all the way. Not wanting to catch a cold, his first order of business was to take off his sodden clothes. He shed his jacket, then his waistcoat and scarf. However, something made him gasp in shock as he began to take his shirt off:

The discoloration had spread all up and down his arm.

He quickly pulled his shirt back on - holding it closed as if his life depended on it - and proceeded to try and push the disturbance out oh his mind through any means possible. He settled for washing the grime from his wet clothes.

Much to his dismay, as he scrubbed the muck out of his clothes, his ailment became clearly visible under the wet fabric of his shirt sleeves.

[tinkering-survivor]

His arm was itching like crazy.

Wagstaff knew better than to give in, though; everyone knew agitating an injury would only serve to prolong the healing process. Besides, he was pretty sure the itching meant it was healing. It hadn't been so bad at all until today, so hopefully that was a good sign.

He tried to go about his day, but the incessant sensation grew harder and harder to ignore. Every so often he would catch himself rubbing at the bandaged would through his clothes and would have to stop himself. All the while the itching grew worse and worse. It was practically maddening - like fleas gnawing at his flesh.

Inevitably he could take it no longer. Before he could stop himself he practically tore his clothes off himself, followed by the bandage. There was a wave of relief immediately as soon as the air hit his bare skin. After spending a decent while just savoring his release from that horrible itching he caught himself holding onto an unwound bandage and remembered his injury. He reached around to examine it, but much to his surprise it was just about healed over - save for some shallow openings and odd discoloration of the skin(and hair, oddly enough) covering the whole area that had healed.

A cold breeze curtly reminded him of his current state of dress, prompting him to redress himself. An embarrassed glow lit up on his face as he redid his buttons, hoping nobody happened to catch his seemingly unprompted bout of madness.

[tinkering-survivor]

Once again, Wagstaff was wide awake when any reasonable person ought to have been asleep. This wasn't anything unusual for the old inventor, but tonight was different; instead of spending the evening toiling away at one stubborn project, his attention aimlessly bounced between machines, making an inconsequential tweak here or there before finding himself suddenly drawn towards something else.

Why was he feeling so distracted and anxious lately?

Injuries aside, he felt fine. He'd swallowed his pride and let multiple people look at it, all of which sent him away with a clean bill of health. Though it wasn't getting better, it didn't seem to be getting worse - even if the purplish bruises were fading to an odd brownish color, last he checked.

Maybe the time of year was getting to him.

[tinkering-survivor]

Wagstaff winced as he unwrapped the bandage wound around his upper arm. He was greeted by a nasty wound, all angry and puffy and reddish purple. Steeling himself, he slathered a thick layer of poultice over the wound. The antiseptic substance agitated and stung as it worked its way in. He wasted no time in re-wrapping the injury, hissing through his teeth at the flaring pain.

He'd been attacked by a bat some time ago. That wasn't an unprecedented occurrence; Batilisks were nasty little things, after all, and were well known to attack unprovoked. What was troubling about this was the fact that the bite hadn't healed in the slightest in weeks, and indeed seemed to be getting worse - though other than the usual pain and soreness associated with an open wound, Wagstaff's overall health hadn't seemed to suffer very much in response to everything.

He finished tending his wound, dressed himself, and proceeded to get on with his day.