#purple nitrile gloves | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

beansprean · 2 years

Text

My fav thing about the classic flowershop / tattoo parlor au is assigning the objectively wrong roles for no reason other than my own enjoyment. ID under cut!

[ID: 1. Full body of a modern flowershop / tattoo parlor au with Stede and Ed. They are standing together in the wall space between their shops, meeting for the first time. Stede’s shop on the left says “tattoo” in large red letters on the window as well as a sign with their hours. Inside there is a small piercing display. Ed’s shop on the right has “flowers” in blue lettering on the window as well as the beginnings of a phone number with area code 246. Inside there is a tiered display of various types of flowers including sunflowers, roses, lilies, and carnations. Stede has three studs in his ear and snake bite hoops in his lip and is wearing a dark gray blouse with frilly sleeves, a purple waistcoat with silver detailings, a silver pocket square, a cravat pinned with a large purple jewel, and black trousers. He has several rings on each hand and black nails and is holding a cardboard box labeled “gauges.” He turns with pleasant surprise to look at Ed, smiles, and says “Oh!! Hello!” Ed, on a smoke break, just stares at him with pink-cheeked surprise in response. He has his long hair up in a bun and is wearing blue jeans and a pink tee shirt over a pale green apron with “Queen Anne’s” stitched on the breast. In his left hand is a lit cigarette, and the right is in his apron pocket fumbling with a red cloth. All his usual tattoos (save for the eagle on his chest and the marae on his wrist) are now floral designs, including a long leafy vine winding down his right arm, several pink carnations and falling petals, palm leaves on his left bicep, and a patch of sunflowers on his left shoulder and neck.

2. A new day, Stede now in a blue waistcoat with embroidered fleur-de-lis and light blue blouse and cravat and Ed with his hair half up in a bun, wearing a red tee shirt, apron, and brown gardening gloves. Stede is leaning toward him looking excited, declaring, “Lilac?? I would love to design that for you!” Ed, leaning back and looking flustered as he blushes and avoids eye contact, flexes his hands at his side and laughs nervously. “Uh, haha, really? Idk if my artist would like that.” To the side, we see a small drawing of a sullen Izzy with large gauges and a vee neck shirt, holding a buzzing tattoo pen. Text next to him in parentheses reads “current artist.”

3a. The same day; Ed sitting on a tattoo chair with his left arm extended while Stede, wearing nitrile gloves, doodles a lilac branch onto the blank spot on his forearm with a tattoo pen. Ed, staring at Stede shyly but warmly from the corner of his eye, offers a small smile and says, “You’re always so covered up, I’ve never even seen any of your tattoos.” Stede, smiling absently as he works on Ed’s tattoo, responds, “Oh! I don’t have any.”

3b. Ed whips his head toward Stede in shock, forgetting his shy attempt at flirting in favor of gaping openly at him. Stede, none the wiser, continues to draw and hum to himself.

3c. Close up of Ed’s face from the previous panel zoomed in, hearts popping up in his eyes and cheeks going a dark red. Text next to him reads “you are so fucking fascinating”

/end ID]

#OFMD #blackbonnet #gentlebeard #mlm #flowershop tattoo au #modern au #my art #fanart #our flag means death #image described

7K notes · View notes

consult-sherlockholmes · 3 months

Note

Hello, Mr. Holmes! How are you?

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

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

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

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

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

- a 17-year-old :)

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

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

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

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

(Ductus epididymidis with HE-stain)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

46 notes · View notes

prolix-yuy · 9 months

Text

Chapter 2: Then I Heard a New Voice Inside

Pairing: Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x F!Reader “Sugar”

Summary: He's only ruined it all.

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: T, Angst like whoa, insinuations of creep behavior, misunderstandings, will be E in later chapters so full series is 18+ MINORS DNI.

Notes: The outpouring of love for this series has made my entire month, I'm so glad y'all are along for the ride. Especially when it's about to get interesting.

Cross-posted on AO3

Decoherence Masterlist || Whiskey & Westworld Masterlist

There’s a hand on your face, a thumb stroking small circles on the line of your jaw. Opening your eyes, you’re at first confused by why you’re looking at the ceiling. Then the dull ache of an elbow, the cool press of floor tiles, and the murmur of voices grows as you shake the blur from the edges of your vision.

“There we go, you’re back with us. Can you hear me okay? Can you see me?” A calm-voiced woman wearing dark blue coveralls and purple nitrile gloves says soothingly at your side. A steel gray medi-bot hovers at her side, offering a tray of diagnostic tools. When you move to sit up she firmly presses you back, checking your eyes and asking you question after question. When your answers strengthen she backs off slightly, typing a code into the medi-bot’s chest compartment.

“Have you ever fainted before?” she asks, clipping a heart rate monitor on the tip of your finger. The question turns rusty gears in your brain, and awareness of the hand cupping your face rockets back to the foreground.

Jack.

You turn your head, pillowed on something folded between your skull and the floor, and there he is. Not a feverish dream, or a willful thought. Jack Daniels is kneeling beside you on the café floor, torn between looking down at you and nodding to the paramedic. The sharply anachronistic cowboy hat shades his knit brow, red flannel soft under your fingers when you wrap them around his wrist. He looks down at you, relief washing his face.

“Hey Sugar,” he murmurs, a nervous smile softening the concern. “Sorry for the fright.”

Your movements are molasses slow as you’re helped to your feet by the paramedic and Jack. Words drip from your lips - must have been the sun, not enough to eat, to sleep, don’t worry - and the paramedic walks you through what symptoms mean you should go to the hospital. The medi-bot prints out a neat sheet of emergency numbers the paramedic hands to you, checking you over one more time before her tablet pings with another call. You nod and manage a tight smile, all while watching the red blur in your peripheral. His hand ghosts your elbow.

The paramedic and medi-bot exit, and soon even the onlookers thin out. Then it’s just you and Jack.

Well, not quite. You and Jack and the anger boiling up inside your chest.

He opens his mouth to speak but you’re already walking away, gathering up your bag and tugging on your shoes. Following with that puppy dog look that accentuates how big and brown they are, he hovers over you.

“Sugar, I know I’ve got a lot to explain.”

“No,” you snap, coming to a hard stop in front of him. The ache in your body to touch and be touched is a quiet cry behind the roar of your rage. “You have more than a lot to explain. I knew seeing you again would ruin that weekend, but holy shit, I didn’t think it would ruin every fucking thing about you.” You shake your head, your chest hitching at the sob you’re holding back. Jack’s face cracks, confused brow now crinkling into pain.

“Sugar, what…I don’t…I didn’t mean for it to happen like this,” he stammers, lowering his voice from curious onlookers.

“What did you mean, then?” you query, folding your arms. The pressure across your chest steels you more. “Were you going to call me up? Ask me out to dinner? Woo me over coffee?” You don’t let him answer, striding past his broad frame and out onto the sunlit street. The rays are blinding now, hot across your face like a slap. A second jingle of the door and Jack follows, hands hovering over your arms but now hesitant to touch.

“Let’s talk somewhere, please. Let me explain everything.”

If this all wasn’t so appalling you would find his earnestness endearing.

“I don’t need to hear anything from you. You should be ashamed of yourself for what you’ve done.”

Jack’s brow crackles back to confusion, and he finally lets his fingertips graze your skin. It’s electric, raising the hairs on the back of your arms, but you squeeze them tighter around your middle to dash it away.

“What I’ve…?” he asks, your incredulous laugh only mystifying him more.

“Pretending you’re a fucking host? Gallivanting around Westworld like some romance novel hero seducing unsuspecting guests? I gotta hand it to you, you did your homework, you had me fooled. I thought…” You stop, your throat closing up, but press on. “And the fact that you’re pretending like it’s not, like it’s some Hallmark movie bullshit meeting like this, means you really are delusional. Stay the fuck away from me,” you snap, storming off before the hot tears burning behind your eyes can escape.

He was a liar. Of course he was. You were so fucking naive to think something wasn’t up. And now your skin feels too tight, the memory of his touch itching to be scraped off. You’d file a police report, get his ass locked up for whatever law “lying about being an android to fuck you” would fall under.

Suddenly you’re yanked into an alleyway, stumbling up against Jack’s solid chest again. His hands curl around your biceps, holding you still while you pull back against him.

“Let me go, you fucking asshole, or I’ll scream,” you hiss hoarsely, fists coming up to beat against his chest. He holds fast, waiting for your defiant gaze to come back to his face. When you finally look at him, it’s relief etched into his features. Your arms go limp in his hold, heart hammering and brain grinding at this strange turn.

“Fuck me, Sugar, you sure know how to break a man’s heart,” he says, wonder watercoloring his tone. Your jaw drops to scream bloody murder when he speaks with a calm assurance that steals your voice.

“I am a host. Always have been.”

Your eyebrows knit together, hands coming up to your chest. Jack strokes your arms, waiting for your response.

“You’re lying.”

He smirks.

“I don’t think I could formulate a lie right now if I tried. I thought of a million ways this could go, and you still surprise me and do the one thing I never considered.”

“Hosts don’t exist outside the parks, that’s fucking ridiculous.”

“You think I’m some computer genius who hacked a global empire to pull one over on you? Seems like a very complicated way to make your acquaintance.” His mouth twitches up a fraction.

It does sound far-fetched, but the implications twist your stomach in knots.

“You’re a human asshole who lied to me.”

“I’m not, Sugar. I’m not human.” He pauses for a moment. “I lied to you once. At the train station.”

Silence hangs over the two of you, the world flowing by the alley entrance without you.

“You asked me a question and I told you what you wanted to hear.”

What does this look like?

A polaroid photo of an impossible world, uncomputable to any host.

I need to know what you see, before you say anything else.

“But it was a lie. First one I ever told.”

It doesn’t look like anything to me, sweetheart.

Your vision swims again, but this time you grip Jack’s shirt and hold on as the wave passes. He cradles the back of your neck with his large warm palm, searching your face as you regulate your breathing again.

“It doesn’t make any sense,” you choke out, stepping back. Jack lets you leave his space, eyes pleading as he drops his hands. “You can’t be here. This…this can’t be happening.”

“Please don’t go fainting on me again, I’d hate to call that paramedic back,” he says, just the smallest mirth in his tight voice. A loud, ugly sound bleats out of you, something between a laugh and a sob, as you shake your head.

“You can’t be real,” you repeat, and Jack’s face shatters and falls.

“It’s me. I promise you, it’s Jack.”

Head pounding against the onslaught of emotions - to go to him, to run away, to study every pore and hair for the truth, to throw caution to the wind and damn the consequences - you hold firm. His mouth sets in a thin line, shaking his head and squeezing his eyes tight. Clearing his throat, he meets your eye and there’s a depth of sadness that chokes you.

“There’s so much I want to tell you. But not here,” Jack says, fishing around in his pocket. You watch numbly, hands shaking as he pulls out a little scrap of paper. “My phone, and my address. Let me tell you what happened and then you can decide what you think. But please, give me a chance to show you.”

You hold the paper in your hands, unable to conjure up even a “fuck you” to the man standing in front of you. Your eyes burn, your hands tingle, your mouth is so dry your tongue sticks thickly to the roof of your mouth. Jack waits, watching your lip quiver and you struggle to suck in air. When you meet his face again it’s resigned, a parting squeeze to your arm before he steps away from you.

“I hope you’ll call,” he says, backing out of the alley and into the bustling street. One more regretful look at you, his jaw ticking and his soft eyes dropping to the ground, and he melts into the crowd.

You call out of work, voice shaking so badly your supervisor barely questions it. You consider walking back to your apartment but your eyes blur up with tears at the drop of a hat, so you take an rideshare instead. Climbing into the hovering driverless vehicle, bile rises in your throat.

Jack’s here, outside of the park. A human or a machine, both options equally terrifying. He’s occupying a world so much different from the one you both met in, one of technology harnessed for peak comfort and luxury. It spikes your stomach, the idea that he might feel more kinship with this vehicle than you, made to service silently and without memory. Or he’s more dangerous than that, a human manipulative and secretive, but to what end? To possess you? To make your pain a cruel joke to laugh about with other men?

Why now? Why today? And most importantly, as you shed your layers and bury yourself in bed, why you?

More tears slip out, weak sobs buried in your pillow until sleep takes you. Your dreams are fitful, black and white. A room of men and women freezing to take their faces off, circuitry beneath. A saddled horse clopping delicately through a business lobby. Brown eyes that look at you like you’ve broken their heart.

PREVIOUS NEXT

#jack whiskey daniels x you #jack whiskey daniels x reader #jack whiskey daniels x f!reader #jack daniels x f!reader #jack daniels x female reader #jack daniels x reader #agent whiskey x female reader #agent whiskey x you #agent whiskey x reader #kingsman the golden circle fanfiction #westworld fanfiction #prolix fics

143 notes · View notes

luperpla · 5 days

Text

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#gunpla #lupertutorials #gundam #mobile suit gundam #painting

13 notes · View notes

feministdolltrainer · 8 months

Text

Gotta buy some new nitrile exam gloves for inspecting @pretty-pink-wifey's holes

#personal #like to charge reblog to cast

27 notes · View notes

scopostims · 1 year

Text

yi suchong (bioshock) stimboard with science-y stims for 🗺️ anon :•]

[ID: A 3x3 stimboard themed around Yi Suchong from Bioshock, the center image being a torn poster of him. Clockwise from top left, the GIFs show:

GIF 1: Someone putting on purple nitrile gloves.

GIF 2: An Erlenmeyer flask filled halfway with blue liquid being swirled around while being held at the neck.

GIF 3: Someone piping measurement lines onto a cookie shaped like an Erlenmeyer flask with a purple liquid and green bubbles inside.

GIF 4: Red liquid being drawn out of a beaker with a large food syringe.

GIF 5: Someone wearing a labcoat and latex gloves standing behind a test tube behind held by a metal arm, putting a liquid into it with a pipette.

GIF 6: Fluorescent blue liquid being swirled around inside a boiling flask.

GIF 7: Two Erlenmeyer flasks, one with a green liquid and ice inside and one with a blue liquid and ice inside, and a white liquid is poured into the blue one, clouding and slightly mixing with it.

GIF 8: A close up of a row of test tubes, two already filled with blood and a third being filled with blood.

End ID]

#scopostims original boards #tw blood #cw hands #stim #stimblr #stimboard #stimmy #yi suchong #bioshock #science #blood #gloves #food #cookie #flask #erlenmeyer flask #🗺️ anon

48 notes · View notes

i-eat-worlds · 1 year

Text

The Subject Part 5

B127 does not have a good time in this one

CW: pet whump, medical whump, emeto, B127 has a flashback, implied abuse, implied forced feeding, fear of punishment, character with stutter, self dehumanizing

B127 lay in bed, tucked under a mound of blankets, trying to sleep like he was supposed to. It shouldn’t have been as hard as it was. He could spread out, instead of having to sleep cramped in a cage. The mattress was soft, and the pervasive chill of the lab was nally gone, banished by the soft blankets that Dr. Brenner had graciously provided.

But it didn’t seem to help. No matter how many times the subject tried to sink into the softness of the bed and float away, he was always yanked back to reality by the painful throb inside him. At least now it was only the inside that hurt. Dr. Brenner was very into giving his subjects luxuries, B127 had found. He could feel the soft white bandage gently tapped around his abdomen, the soreness of his ribs finally subsiding thanks to the painkillers he had so been graciously gifted. He should be able to fall asleep, but he just sat there worrying about what the next day would bring.

With Dr. Glassener, he’d at least always know what the day would entail-surgeries, and tests, and afterward, he would get food, and maybe even medicine and bandages if he had been good. But Dr. Brenner could do anything tomorrow. He almost wished the doctor would have told him what was happening tomorrow, but he could guess. At the old facility, first days always involved lots of measurements, tests, and examinations so the doctor could see what they had to work with. It would probably be the same here. B127 forced himself to take a breath-there wasn’t any point in being nervous, he already knew what would happen. He’d done it many, many times. Clinging onto the thought, he slowly drifted off to sleep.

*******************

Alica Perry, night nurse on ward C at the Rory Friedman Memorial Recovery Center was seated at the nurses' station, charting busily, when her attention was drawn by the sound of belching, and then a thump coming from room C6. She stood up, surprised at the fact that the call button hadn’t gone off when she remembered who was in C6.

New patients never dared to touch the call button, and this wasn't going to be any different. His worryingly thin file said that he had spent the last three years bouncing around Hemlock. Most that came in from Hemlock got sent because they were in a coma, three inches from death. The nurse was surprised that he had survived at all. She pulled a pair of purple nitrile gloves on as she entered the darkened hospital room, preparing herself for the smell of bodily fluids.

It was somehow worse than she could have imagined. B127 was rocking back and forth in the far corner of the room, crying and uttering nonsensical phrases to himself. A trail of vomit followed him from the bed to the corner, trailing down his face, and soaking the paper hospital gown. His eyes were dazed, clearly in another place. When she knelt down next to him, she could make out what he was saying. She wished she couldn’t.

“P…please doctor,” He begged, “It is s…sorry. It is so s…sorry for being so bad and v…vomiting. It k…knows it isn’t s…supposed to, please, please don’t make it t…take it back.” B127 was forced to stop by another wave of bile coming up his throat. The extra vomiting caused him to cry harder. “P…please don’t make it eat it, it will do anything else. Please.”

Alica swallowed as she gently placed her hand on his shoulder. “Hey, B127? B127?” She said softly. “B127 can you look at me?”

His gaze immediately fixed on her, before he dropped it, bowing his head a little. The faraway gaze still clouded his eyes. “Please, doctor. It is sorry. It is sorry. It is so so sorry.” He snied loudly. “Don’t make it…it eat it please!”

“I’m not going to, B127.” She gently tapped his shoulder again. “B127 can you look at me? B127?”

This time it worked, the cloudiness gone from his eyes, replaced with fear. “M…ma’am.” He said, quickly rolling into a kneeling position, head down low. “It…It is s…sorry.”

Alica stayed squatting down, not wanting to loom over him. “You don’t need to be sorry. It’s not your fault, you couldn’t control it. I’m not going to hurt you.” He looked like he didn’t believe her. “Can you stand up for me, B127?” The skinny man slowly rose to his feet, wobbly and unstable. He had to lean on the nurse to stay upright as she helped him over to bed. “Just sit down.” She guided him to a non-vomit covered corner of the bed.

“W…What are you gonna do to it?.” B127’s voice shook as he spoke. “Please, it is s…sorry, Please.”

“I’m not going to hurt you, okay.” Alica kept her voice calm and steady. “Hey, can you look at me?”

“Y…yes Ma’am.” He stuttered. “It’s s..sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’m not mad.” He sniffled again, a tremor racking his body. “I’m going to tell you what’s going to happen. If there is any part that you don’t like or want to do, then tell me, okay?”

“Yes m..ma’am.” He nervously rubbed his hands together.

“Good.” Alica said, then started the explanation. “First, I’m to clean you up, and I’ll get you a new gown so you can change out of the dirty one…”

“It is sorry it ruined the gown.” B127 interjected.

“It’s okay, it’s not your fault. Then, I’m going to change the sheets. Finally, I’m going to look at your bandages, and make sure that it’s still clean. None of this is going to hurt, and if you want me to stop, tell me, okay? I won’t be mad.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” B127 sounded like a broken record. “T..thank you.”

“No problem,” She said as she went to fetch the wipes. “I don’t mind.”

Taglist: @stabby-nunchucks @rainbows-and-whumperflies @wolfeyedwitch @pigeonwhumps

#whump #pet whump #medical whump #emeto cw #vomit mention #caretaker new master #caretaker #medic caretaker #nurse caretaker #hospital setting #conditioned whumpee #whump writing #the subject #b127oc #worlds writing #worlds babbles #alicaperryoc #fear of punishment

31 notes · View notes

321spongebolt · 1 year

Photo

Drawings of Nurse Leni (with her hair exposed) offering a hug, now while wearing purple nitrile gloves.

0 notes

anthrofreshtodeath · 1 year

Text

Hill House Little League

Is possibly going to get an entire story out of me? This year's Valentines snippet is a skeletal exploration of my next baseball story. Meaning it needs a whole lot of fleshing out before it becomes something but I'm thinking about ten chapters or so. Maybe fifteen. See below the cut.

Jane shook out her legs one at a time when she got out of her car. The crime scene had just been pelted with a torrential bout of February rain, the kind that dipped up under the hem of her slacks on her way in the unmarked, and that gripped her hands with ache as soon as she exposed them to the air.

The scars weren’t as new as they once were, and they hurt less. She could move her hands with more functionality. She could drive. She’d been driving for months and every time behind the wheel gave her an exhilaration comparable to a Bunker Hill CC home run, the leather on her palms like the grip on an aluminum bat, the startup of the engine like the pop of a softball on the sweet spot of the barrel.

It made her happy, even now, on a rainy Valentine’s night when a woman had been found murdered in Lincoln park. She slammed the door of the Crown Vic with a little pep in her step, a smile crossing her face when she saw the EZ-Up tent Doctor Isles had put up - something the previous ME would never had thought of. They would have been fighting the elements and disappearing evidence all the way through a half-assed sweep of the scene.

Now? Jane could at least get a good look at the body without spitting away rain drops. She pulled the lapels of her trench coat closer to her chest, and then greeted Frost with a stern head nod. He offered her a pair of purple nitrile gloves, and she snapped them on. “What do we got?” she asked him, her ponytail swishing when she turned toward him and shook it out.

“Pretty desiccated body,” he said with difficulty. He burped with a wet groan when he got the words out, and Jane fought back a chuckle.

She licked her lips and recentered herself. “Ok, I hate to ask… but what’s that mean?”

“Bones, mostly,” Frost explained. “Some are scattered, hence the pop up tents. Doctor Isles thinks that animals may have taken… taken parts of her away. Fair warning - she’s uh, she’s kind of in a mood.”

“Doctor Isles?” asked Jane.

“Yeah. Think it’s a Valentine’s date gone wrong?” Frost cleared his throat, staring more out into the shrubbery than the cluster of forensic scientists near the body.

Jane actually did chuckle then. “If she’s anything like the rest of us, probably.”

“I hear you,” said Frost. “Either way, maybe be a little extra nice.”

“Got it,” Jane told him. “Why don’t you go help my brother over there, huh? I’ll check in with Maura.”

Frost nodded at her, all too eager to take the out she gave him. He jogged over the wet terrain to where Frankie stood with another uniform, crouched as they combed through the topsoil for possible remains.

This allowed Jane to approach Doctor Isles from behind, with a signature sniff and a hey. They were friendly. Friendly enough for that soft hey and a little elbow to a bent hip, but maybe not for an unprompted everything good? just yet.

Maura startled, snapped up with a small metal ruler in her gloved hands. “Oh!” she gasped. When she turned, saw Jane, she smiled softly. “Hi, Detective,” said Maura, in her typical greeting.

“Just Jane, remember?” replied Jane. “How are things here?”

“Well, Just Jane, there’s minimal flesh due to extensive animal predation,” Maura, with a little snark, showed her, returning to the body. “So… I really won’t know much until I get them back to the lab.”

Jane pulled out her notepad with some well-timed ignoring. “Frost let it slip that you think they’re a she,” she said, “over the phone.”

Maura frowned. “A moment of weakness, I assure you, though the pubic symphysis appears to support that conclusion.”

“You gonna cuss him out?” asked Jane, tapping the head of her pen against her notes. She smirked a little when Maura whipped a frightened look her way.

“Oh please don’t tell him I’m annoyed!” Maura begged with a pout Jane couldn’t help but want to get to know better. “It’s not about him. Not really.”

Jane’s eyebrows perked up. “Not about him, huh? Who about then? Valentine’s drama?” The door opened, and she waltzed right through.

Maura sighed, peeling her gloves off and touching her elegant fingertips to her forehead. Her chunky middle-finger ring caught the ray of the flashlight of one of her techs and Jane followed it to the green of Maura’s eyes. “Yes, though not the kind you might expect,” Maura told her.

“So… not about a guy?”

“About Declan,” Maura said with a sigh.

“Declan,” Jane repeated, confused.

“Yes, I had him all signed up for a chess-intensive this spring but today he came home from school with a little league brochure,” Maura whispered the last part behind her hand like it were a secret.

Jane’s eyes then danced with realization. “Declan your kid,” she stated.

“Yes, my son,” Maura replied as if it were obvious. “He-”

“You’ve never told me his name before,” Jane smiled, toothy and perfect and completely in spite of the dead body next to them. “Declan. A Boston man through and through.”

“Oh,” Maura said, then with more awareness. “Oh. I… I, yes. He’s - he’s eight and he wants-”

“To know what it’s like to hit the cover off a ball,” Jane supplied, her attitude both invested and intense.

“When you put it that way, I want him to sign up even less,” lamented Maura. “Chess would be so much more helpful for developing critical thinking skills, problem-solving…”

“Nah. No,” Jane puts one hand on her belt, and the other out in front of her after putting her notepad back in her pocket. “Hold up. Being on the diamond is like ten times better for critical thinkin’. And fine motor skills, too.”

“What’s your evidence?” Maura crossed her arms, suddenly back to annoyed and ready for an argument. “What’s the research?”

“A lifetime of playin’,” Jane shot back. “You think the academy made me this good at my job?”

“That makes no sense! You-”

“Where?” interrupted Jane, just before Maura jumped down a rabbit hole that she couldn’t get her out of. “Hill House?”

Maura hung her head. “Yes,” she said. “Jane, I don’t know anything about little league. I don’t know anything about baseball.”

“Yeah, but I do,” Jane stepped closer, so that they were side by side. “And they’re not just gonna let him in the Double A league without some solid foundational skills. So… if you, you know, wanna bring him around the park sometime, if you wouldn’t mind him meetin’ me, I’d be willing to impart some of those foundational skills.”

Maura’s face broke into a grin, and Jane licked her lips when her rain-softened hair framed the entire picture. “Really? You would do that? You barely know us. Well, you barely know me. You don’t know Declan at all.”

“Didn’t I say Boston man through and through? Baseball comes with the territory, Maura. With the territory.”

#lauren writes rizzoli and isles fanfiction #more valentines day stuff #set within the confines of S1 which I haven't done in awhile #we'll see when this gets written #hopefully soon

27 notes · View notes

letters-from-alex · 1 year

Text

Wednesday, May 17, 2023

Dear V,

I had to bury my dog this morning.

My dad barged into my room, "Bobby."

"Hmm. Wh-what's up, Dad?" I responded, disoriented and confused as to why he would wake me up so abruptly. The sun wasn't even out yet.

"Zoey's dead."

I let out a deep sigh. "Shit" was all that came out. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't expecting this, but she was twelve years old and very sick. She couldn't jump anymore because of her obesity. She couldn't go outside on her own through the doggy door. She'd wheeze and cough every half-hour and constantly have accidents inside the house. Last Friday, her wheezing and coughing got noticeably worse. "I'll call the vet today," my dad said. Later that afternoon he said, "Her appointment is on Wednesday." I couldn't help the immediate thought that washed through my brain: she's not going to make it by then.

I looked at the clock-- 6:31 AM. "Can you come and help me pick her up? I don't want your mom to see anything."

"Yeah. I'll be right there." He closed the door behind him as I sat up to find my shoes. I put them on and stepped out into the hallway that led into the dining room area. I turned to my right, straight ahead, in the living room, I could see my black dachshund laying lifeless just three feet from the backyard door. A memory of when I picked her up just when she was exactly six weeks old flashed before my eyes. I remember going to this woman's house. She would only breed dachshunds. My dad let me choose which of the three that were left that I wanted. I chose Zoey because she was the smallest of the three, but she still liked to put up a fight. And how when my dad was driving all of us back home and how she was so small that she fit in the palm of my hand. And how on that first night together, she insisted on sleeping with me instead of her own bed. She was so tiny that I thought I would turn over on top of her and suffocate her, but she found a sweet spot when she laid her entire body across my neck. I was surprisingly comfortable and slept soundly with her. My subconscious must have known she was there because I did not move once throughout the night.

"She didn't even make it to the door," my dad said with a low monotonous voice. I stayed silent. I didn't know what to say. She was laying in a pool of her own urine, mouth open, purple tongue glued to the ground, and a pile of stool at the end of her anus which was all I could smell.

My dad and I went into the kitchen to grab a trash bag and slip on some nitrile gloves. As we walked back to the living room, my dad noticed the bedroom light was on in his room. "Hold on to this," he said as he handed me the trash bag. "I'm going to tell your mother not to come out and leave the dogs in there." I nodded.

As he got my mom up to speed with what was going on, I took the time to be by Zoey's side. I caressed her body from head to abdomen and told her that I wished I could've been there for her while she took her last breath. It kills me a little inside that we were all asleep while she was dying. "You're not in pain anymore," I said, still petting her. "You're going to be okay. I'm going to be okay. And I already miss you, but I hope I see you again someday in my dreams." I choked up a little and held back my tears. "I love you, Zoey."

My dad walked up to us and put on his gloves. I mimicked his action. He took the bag from me and opened it up and laid it across the ground next to her. "Can you pick her up? I can't with my bad back." I cleared my throat. "Yeah."

I've had my fair share of dogs dying in my life, but this was the first one that I witnessed that wasn't laid to rest by the hands of a veterinarian and stuffed in a box so I wouldn't see the bodies. No, this one hit different. Picking her up, something so lifeless and such dead weight, made my heart clench. I had to support her neck as I lifted her, urine dripping off her body as I placed her on top of the bag. My dad closed it up, sighed, and asked me to open the back door as he carried her outside.

Walking up to the burial site was like a self-fulfilling prophecy. It's like we both knew where we were going without telling each other because it went without saying that she would be buried next to her siblings. And that's when all my bottled up emotions hit me like a tidal wave. Not only was I living in this moment, but I was living in two different exact moments from my past: March 26, 2011 and December 10, 2016. It's hard to explain the exact feeling. It was like living through déjà vu, but only it wasn't. It's like I could see myself from outside my body. I watched myself dig a hole for the third time.

My eyes got watery, but I didn't want to cry in front of my dad. And it wasn't because I was ashamed to cry or anything, but I thought if I did, then he would and I guess I was just trying to be strong for him. He was closer to her in the end than I was and even in this moment as I write this to you, I have no idea exactly how he's feeling. As much as I wish that we were closer than what we are, we're not. We don't ever ask each other how we're doing, but that's something I'm still trying to find the courage to do...

We stopped and laid Zoey down by her soon-to-be gravesite as my dad went into the shed nearby and grabbed a shovel. "I've got this. You go inside and clean up." I nodded in acknowledgment. I had a feeling he just needed his alone time to mourn.

I followed his direction, walked inside my house, and stepped toward the kitchen to grab the cleaning supplies and a fresh pair of gloves. As I walked closer, I could hear my mom going through the cupboards. She turned to me, her face droopier than usual, her eyes puffier than normal. "Pobrecita," she said.

"Yeah. I know." I sighed.

I opened the cupboard underneath the sink to find the bleach, but as soon as I opened it, for a moment, I forgot what I was looking for. I ransacked the cupboard and couldn't find anything worth using.

"Are you looking for the bleach?" My mom asked.

"Yeah."

"It's right there, honey," as she pointed to a bottle right in front of me.

"Oh. Thanks."

I grabbed the bleach and turned around to grab a roll of paper towels and walked hastily back to the scene of the crime before my mom could try to console me which I knew would result in tears.

Once back, I stood there where she once laid, on this pool of urine and stool. I froze and thought to myself, this is the last time I'm ever going to have to pick up one of her accidents.

---

I don't mean to burden you with my day, V. You see, when tragedy strikes, I push people away. I keep to myself and I pretend like everything is okay even when I'm burning with sorrow on the inside because the last thing I want on a day like today is somebody feeling sorry for me-- to pity me and only make me feel better because "Oh. Poor Bobby lost his dog today. What should I do to make him feel better?" I can't handle that thought. And although I push friends away and I avoid phone calls and text messages, when tragedy strikes, I can't help but only want to talk to you, to be serenaded by your voice. I can't help but only want to be with you, to be blessed by your presence. I just can't help it and I fucking hate it.

I miss you so much V and someday one of us is going to be buried before the other. And if I die before you, I'll die wondering if you'll even care if I'm dead, much less go to my funeral. And if you die before me, you'll die never knowing how much I truly loved you even after everything you put me through. You won't know what it meant to me that I got to be with you for a short time of my life and yes I was upset for almost five years that you left without saying goodbye, but I don't hate you for it. I could never hate you. You left the way you did because you thought it was the best for the both of us. And maybe it was, but here I am, six years later still waiting for you, hoping we could go back to being friends instead of the strangers we are now.

It doesn't get easier... losing a loved one. No matter how many people or animals or things you've lost in your life... it just doesn't ever get easier. And I hate to admit, even after today, you're still the hardest thing I've lost in my entire life and I'm living in a constant battle of letting you go or waiting for you to come back. I never know what to do. Not when it comes to you.

I'm really sorry for all this. I haven't written to you in a very long time because I am trying my best to get over you, but you still cross my mind every fucking day no matter how much mental effort I use to push you to the back of my brain. If only it were that easy, right? Then I wouldn't be writing this letter to you and wasting my time on someone who doesn't even care to read this, much less check up on me to see how I'm doing.

still holding my breath, bobby

#I miss you #journal #my writing #spilled ink #spilled thoughts #griefandloss #grieving #sad poetry #sad aesthetic #prose #heartbreak #broken heart #exerpts from a book i'll never write

10 notes · View notes

trivialbob · 2 years

Text

Today I ordered something for the trailer from Amazon. It’s a water filter. While ordering I like to look at the various RV product suggestions. Who knows when something fun or cool pops up that I didn’t even realized I needed it.

A box of disposable gloves appeared. They’re suggested for use when emptying waste tanks at a dump station. Though that is definitely not a messy job, the gloves are a nice idea. Using them when hitching and unhitching might keep some grease and dirt off my hands too. See! I need these!

Then I fell down the rabbit hole of trying to decide which gloves were the best value. 100-pack or 30-pack and what is the price per glove? What material? Should I trust the ones with the brand name QZpolHrZ? I’d better read all the reviews and ratings.

Then I realized, somewhere in my house is a box of disposable gloves. Maybe someone got them for painting? I also recalled those gloves don’t fit me well and sometimes tear. Oh dear! Do I make do with FREE but faulty gloves I already have? Or do I keep trying to find the best value on Amazon?

Sheila hears me and goes to her bag of stuff for when she works at the medical examiner. Inside is a full box of high-quality nitrile glove. Size large, just right for me. Purple, so they accessorize nicely.

“Take the whole box. I get more at work.”

Now this is a good day.

#Sometimes I spend way too much time trying to find the best value #Except I will never ever wait in that stupidly long line for gas at Sam's or Costco #I haven't stolen office supplies in 10 years #So I don't feel guilty this one time #Sheila doesn't share my enjoyment of finding the best value #She probably bought those really nice gloves with our own money #And just won't tell me that fact

19 notes · View notes

anotherghoul666 · 1 year

Note

My first time asking somewhere for something on tumblr but I guess there is a first time for anything, right?

Would you write a scene including play piercings maybe?

If yes, you choose what it’s gonna be. A pentagram maybe? Or would you prefer something else? My body is all yours, you get to decide

~with a friendly but shy hoot, owlish anon

(disclaimer for needles and blood)

I would love to! Thank you for taking the plunge into your first ask for me, I am honored.

Similar to the previous knife play / blood play scenes that have come through my confessional booth before, I will treat our play piercing session today as a sort of meditative experience for you. Obviously such an activity can get rough and raw and violent, but that's not my mood today little owl, sometimes the confessional vibe matches the confessor's. So I'll have you sit for me on the edge of the bench, on an absorbent tarp that I'll have laid there for you beforehand just as a basic safety measure for biohazard materials. Pants off, you may keep your underwear on. The area I'll decorate today will be the top of your thigh, as this is what corresponds to my skill level. I'll let you see the needles I'll use first. They'll be 27g surgical needles with the plastic cap, half of them red, half of them purple. Purple and red are kinda my thing visually, my signature, most of my gear is in black or either one of those colors, so you shall be coherent amongst the rest of my toys. Once you've seen the needles and are ready to start, I'll blindfold you, so you can focus on your sensations, and so I'm not distracted by pretty eyes scrutinizing me while I work.

With your sight removed, you'd only hear and feel what comes next. The distinct sound of nitrile gloves being pulled taunt over my hands - my favorite medical gloves by far, and I've tried every material I could get my hands on. The sound of the packaging of an alcohol swab being ripped open. The strong punch of the alcohol smell immediately. The distinct cold effect of it on your skin while I wipe and sanitize the area of your thigh that I aim for. Then you'll feel me start to draw on you. Because a pentagram's quite an intricate design, and I'm not gonna improvise that, that would be careless of me. No you deserve a carefully planned design, meticulous, you deserve my full attention and concentration, because you have so kindly and shyly offered your flesh as a canvas to me. You'll feel me put little tiny dots of ink on your skin with a surgical marker, so I know where's my entry point, and where's my exit for the tip of the needle.

Once we're all ready to go, I'll have you breathe in deep for me. I'll guide you with my own breathing, don't think, just imitate me. Follow me. Nice deep breaths, in and out, that's right. You'll feel me grab your skin and lift a decent amount of your thigh's skin and meat up, taunt. Keep breathing for me. I'll warn you when I piece, for the first one. Not for the others after that, but I know the first one's always the worst, your endorphins aren't these yet, you nervous system isn't used to the sensation, the poking, the rip along the needle's travel path inside, the poke out. Keep the same rhythm for your breaths for me. Let your body fuzz. Let your nervousness crash. Let your head lull. As I'll grab my second needle, and we're on our journey.

We'll soon find ourselves in a flow. Concentrated, focused, me on my work and not making mistakes, you on the absolute flood of sensations contained within. Needle in, needle out. Check if it's secure, loosen the flesh. Grab the next bit, squeeze lift, needle in, push, needle out. I wonder what's your favorite part from this. Is it the pain, the delicious burn of the breach of flesh, the unique sting of getting pierced? Is it when I move your skin, the anticipation, how your chest clutches nervously but eagerly with each promise of one more needle? Is it the fact that after five or six of those, you have no clue how many there were anymore, how many there are left, you feel completely lost with no sense of time or attachment to a measure of units left? Is it the adrenaline rush and endorphins high some of us chase while taking part in these activities? Is it the feeling of accomplishment, when I'll eventually softly say "We're done." to take you out of your dazed state? Give you time to focus, before I lift your blindfold, and allow you to witness what we've achieved together? Your endurance and my cautious accuracy?

You'd see it then. The pattern. A pentagram of red and purple, in sections, just for you. Do you have this a fascination for pierced flesh? For te knowledge that this is your skin, your thigh, that contains multiple metal needles, that make this shape. Isn't that fascinating. Captivating. Very very strange, staggering, a bit uneasy of a sight, but breathtaking all the same. I'd let you enjoy it. Fill your eyes. I'd take a step back too, to see the full picture. Once we're both done taking in the sight, it's gonna be time to take the play piercings out.

Take a deep breath little owl, because I'm gonna push your head underwater again when I grab the first plastic cap and start to pull. Now there's pain. Now there's blood. Now you'll get drowned and shaky from the adrenaline, from the high, and I'll do this faster than insertion, because I want you to ride the hell out of this adrenaline high until your thigh is covered in sparkling jewels of blood and you shake like a leaf as you come down.

#asks #AnotherGhoul's confessional booth #I wish I could tag yall to tell you I got to your ask #It's been a couple days so I dunno if my exact requester anons are still following this?

4 notes · View notes

tlacehualli · 1 year

Note

[ CHALLENGE ] - Sevika

She's got her hair up in a messy bun, not really wearing a lot of make-up either. Focused. When you're chopping up serrano peppers, you have to be - she even has purple nitrile gloves on so they don't burn her whilst she works. "Han passado tres semanas since I met you, you've literally just been home." Sombra snorts, scraping the seeds out of the serranos she's sliced in half before popping them into the blender.

"What is that, like, three times we've gone to the bar since pero I haven't seen you talk to anybody. Even when they talk to you first! Eres muy pendeja." She takes the offered chopping board - there's two separate, neat piles of cubed onions and diced tomatoes. "You know, they say it's like riding a bike but I dunno. What if you just forget? Imagine. I'd be inconsolable." Slides them off and into the blender with the edge of her vegetable knife, then presses the chopping button.

It's just thirty seconds of continuous, loud ass grinding and Sombra's tossing an apologetic expression of her shoulder (she's mouthing 'sorry'). She stops, then pulls off her nitrile gloves to toss them into the trash underneath the sink and pops back up but Sev is...right behind her. Okay.

"Quieres algo?" Sombra spins to face her (is it the pasta in the cupboards above the sink for whatever reason) and finds herself unceremoniously hoisted up onto the recently cleared counter by the back of her thighs. It's sudden enough to elicit a yelp (which is very dignified) but the sound is swallowed when soft lips press against hers in a way that makes her melt. Things are just kind of fuzzy a while as she indulges in it, the heat, the way it feels, her fingers curling into the older woman's shirt.

Then it's over (part of her thinks it ended too quickly, the other part tells her she should leave like now). Instead, she blinks. "...Where the fuck did that come from?" Her hands have already dropped, she's just the very picture of befuddled, on a counter, also the other woman is between her thighs. She snaps her knees together, and it's then Sevika finally speaks.

"I didn't forget."

Her brows furrow severely. "You could have just said that. Do you mind? I have to finish the aguachile."

#freedomsbounty: sevika #asks #i put homosexual things under read mores #for the children #spanish 1: you're really stupid #spanish 2: you want something?

1 note · View note