goodnight! xoxo

goodnight xoxo

back to school for now I guess… i’ll try to be as active as I can. leave me something nice in my inbox. tell me a funny story about my blog (you talking about me, how you found me, reacted to a fic, etc.,) to brighten my day :)

I love you guys. Take care of yourself for me. Stay alive.

anonymous asked:

Is it possible for someone to stitch themselves up and avoid infection without access to medical supplies? I have a character who is frequently in fights and has to get stitches, but can't get them from a medical professional, so she does them herself.

Hey! This is definitely doable, although your character would have to have a pretty high capacity for pain, because stitches hurt like the ending of worlds without anesthetic.

However, I’m going to put a big, screamy disclaimer right here:

DO NOT DO THIS SHIT AT HOME.

This is not a blog to teach you first aid, this is a blog about people doing stupid things like this in fiction.

Also, consider that the arms are the most common places to get injured and require stitches, and it’s almost impossible for one hand to help suture their own arm, so in cases like this she may need a friend to get the job done.

If she’s going to do this on the regular, I’d suggest having in her background that she purchased a wound care textbook secondhand at some point. (For the purposes of this blog I bought one for $12 on Amazon; it’s definitely doable).

Your character will need access to actual physical suture material (you can buy “training kits” on eBay or choose that she uses something like fishing line); some gloves; some antiseptic like iodine, peroxide, or (OUCH) rubbing alcohol; and the steel nerves of the gods.

Again, though, this is going to help the most in areas on or close to the trunk or legs, where she can use both hands effectively.

Goodnight, and, good luck.

xoxo, Aunt Scripty

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anonymous asked:

Because we can't have just two Warners, possibly the tumblr thing for Yakko?

YES!! I’m tired so this may be shitty but hey that’s me so

Their blog url: goodnight-everybody-xoxo
The kinds of posts they reblog: like really shitty memes and dad posts. also lots of positivity and food from Dot and Wakko
The first person they followed: Wakko
What kind of theme they’d have: I dunno man I’m on mobile so I don’t see themes
What kind of text posts they’d make at 2am: di.s.cou.rse, accidental porn reblogs that stay up until he wakes up the next day

8

Harry in Brentwood.
Why is he so adorable!?! ❤️❤️😍😍😘😘

Beware Uncle Sam

Summary: Reader is Dean’s 15 y/o daughter, and she sneaks out and drinks. She is then sexually assaulted and Dean breaks it up.

Word Count: 1800 ish

Pairing: none

Warning: Slight language, sexual assault

A/N: This was a lot of fun to write ! I Hope you like it! Love y’all, thank you for reading. Goodnight.

Xoxo

                “Y/N, it’s 11:30 at night; go to bed!” your dad yelled through your door.

                “Not tired,” you sassed back.

                “Y/N, I’m your dad, and I swear if you don’t turn those lights off and at least pretend to go to bed,” your knob was being wiggled. Jokes on him, the door is locked. “I will get your Uncle Sam to deal with you.”

                “Yeah, whatever,” you continue to disobey. Suddenly, your door is wide open and there’s a pissed off dad standing in the frame. His neck twitched a little, and that’s how you knew there was no messing around with him tonight. You probably wouldn’t live to tell the tale if you attempted to. “How did you get-“

                “Seriously, Y/N? We’re hunters. We pick locks,” and with those words, you had suddenly felt like your intelligence had reduced to the size of a peanut.

                “Oh, uh, yeah,” you whisper and the “eh” in yeah trailed off. You hadn’t really been thinking today. You were planning on sneaking out for the first time as soon as your dad falls asleep. It had your nerves wracked all day, and you were hoping you weren’t being too obviously suspicious.

                “Go to bed,” you could tell he was gritting his teeth. “Goodnight.”

                “G’night, Dad,” he flicked your lights off and slammed your door behind him before you even climbed into bed.

                You knew the routine. Dad checks on you, tells you to go to bed, you “go to bed”, ten minutes later he checks on you to make sure you’re sleeping, he goes to sleep, and you wake up and he’s already up. It’s foolproof; it never ever changes unless Dad and Uncle Sam are on a hunt. Then they have Cas take Dad’s place. Same routine, different person.

                Those ten minutes were agonizing. Your heart was pounding, and you couldn’t focus on anything. Staring at the ceiling in the dark wasn’t cutting it for you; you distract yourself with your phone.  be out in 10 mins u know where to wait

                The  next five minutes passed rather quickly, and before you knew it your door was creeping open. You heard your dad whisper “she’s out” to your uncle.  As soon as their footsteps weren’t audible, you climbed out of bed and turned your light on.

                Shuffling around, you managed to find your purse and get dressed without waking anyone. A tight dress and heels is what you decided to wear.

                Getting out of the bunker was challenging, but thankfully, you knew where every creak and crack to be had in it. It only took you a little over a minute to successfully make it out of the bunker.

                On my way to your car. You walked down the road and around a bend, and there was a car parked on the side of the road. “Heyyy! Y/N! Join the party!” some dude from your STEM class called out of the window of the back seat. The driver’s back door flew open for you, and you climbed into the car.

                The smell of alcohol and smoke filled the car. You were smooshed between the door and that kid that yelled out of the window.

                “Bryan, give her a drink,” your friend, Anne, slurred to the kid. Bryan; you made a mental note of his name. Suddenly, a beer was tossed into your lap. You popped the top and took a swig. The taste of beer has never appealed to you, but the feeling it gave you did.

                You and the four teenagers rode to a house in the middle of nowhere. You could hear the music thumping from down the road, and the smell of smoke was everywhere.

                “Time to party!” a kid from the front seat was screaming. You were regretting ever planning to come to this party. You had this awful feeling looming in the pit of your stomach. At times like these, you wished your dad would teach you how to fight, just in case. He always said if you knew how to fight, you’d get cocky and hunt without his permission. He always used the “when you turn 16” excuse.

                “Y/N, come on, this party looks, like, super totally awesome!” Anne grabbed your arm and drug you through the door. Inside the house was absolutely crazy. It was so crowded that you had to physically push your way through, the music was so loud that you couldn’t hear anything, and there was so much alcohol, you didn’t know where to start!

                You decided to do shots. You and Anne made your way to the kitchen where the alcohol was most concentrated. There was rows of drinks- beer, whiskey, tequila, vodka, wines, an array of fruity drinks, and even more things you’d never even seen.

                “Bet I can take five shots of whiskey before you can,” Anne challenges you. No way you were going to chicken out. You weren’t a bitch.

                “Ay, five shots of whiskey for me, five for her,” you instruct the person manning the drinks. Before you knew it, shots were lined up and ready for you two.

                “On three, one, two, three,” and with that, the shot glasses flew to your mouth. The first one burned your throat and left a warm feeling in your chest. The second intensified the burn. The third didn’t really do anything. The fourth and fifth ones left your mouth numb for a few seconds. You slammed your fifth and final glass down just seconds before Anne slammed hers down.

                “Beat you! Bam, in your face, loser!” you joked with her.

                “Hey, he’s totally checking me out,” Anne smiles and bites her lip at a tall guy a few feet away. He waved to her, signaling for her to come to him. She slapped your butt and strode over to him.

                “Great,” you muttered to yourself. Your one and only friend just ditched you to go make out with a guy.

                “Hey, I can keep you company,” Bryan comes up behind you and wraps his arms around you. Normally you would’ve never given him a second thought, but the alcohol was really getting to you. You thought you could handle five shots and not do anything stupid, but clearly you were wrong.

                You spun around and smiled. “Not here, though. It’s too crowded,” you grabbed his hand and led him up the stairs and into some bedroom. You weren’t sure whose it was or even if you were allowed to be in there, but you went anyway.

                Suddenly you two were kissing and you were all over eachother. He managed to back you up against a wall. You didn’t mind; you thought he was just being dominant. Then his hands found their way to your breasts. You didn’t mind that; it was acceptable. What wasn’t acceptable is when he tried taking your clothes off. His hands tugged on your dress.

                “Hey, hey. I don’t wanna sleep with you,” you told him. His lips slammed against yours again, and you were virtually powerless. Your arms were pinned, as well as the rest of your body, against the wall.

                He ripped your dress off of you, and you cursed yourself for wearing such a thin, short, tight dress. You almost ripped it just putting it on before sneaking out.

                There you were in your underwear and bra, pinned against a wall, powerless against this huge dude. You freed your arms and attempted to push him away. He continued kissing and groping you, and you couldn’t get him off of you; you just weren’t strong enough.

                Suddenly, you were free, and he was no longer on you. He was on the floor and you couldn’t believe who was on top of him, punching the mess out of him.

                “Dad!” your dad had yanked him off of you.. “Stop! That’s enough!” you knew what your dad was capable of and you sure as hell didn’t want him to go full force on Bryan.

                “Don’t you ever come near my daughter again, or so help me, God,” your dad threatened him.

                “Yes sir. Yes sir. I’m sorry Mr. Winchester,” Bryan was frantically apologizing, trying to free himself from your dad’s wrath. Finally your dad stood up and Bryan practically ran out of the room.

                Your dad yanked his sweatshirt off. He covered his eyes with one hand and tossed you the sweatshirt with the other. “Here, I’m not looking. Put that on.”

                “Dad, I’m so so sorry,” you slipped the huge sweatshirt over your head. It swallowed you whole and went down mid thigh. “I shouldn’t have gone out, and I’m so sorry. Thank you, daddy for saving me; I never wanted to, to,” by this point, tears had formed and you were broken down. You were sobbing so hard you couldn’t finish your sentence. Your dad stepped forward and embraced you.

                “Shh…shh.. It’s okay. You’re okay. Let’s get out to the car, okay?” you shook your head, agreeing with him.

                He slung his arm over your shoulders and guided you through the crowd and out to the car. Every single person moved out of the way when you two came through. You didn’t even want to think how they knew to move out of his way- what he had done before he got to you.

                “Dry it up, we got some talkin to do,” he told you matter-of-factly. Once the initial shock was gone, you were able to pull yourself together. “Are you good?”

                “I’m good.”

                “What the hell were you thinking, Y/N? A party? This party? Seriously?”

                “I’m- I’m sorry, Dad, I really am. I’ll never sneak out again.”

                “If you do, so help me god, I will have your head on a stick. Try me and see,” he gave you that look that you knew so well. It was an ‘I dare you’ kind of look.

                “I won’t. Umm, does, uh, does Un-“

                “Yes. Uncle Sam knows, and yes, Uncle Sam is more pissed off than I am. He was worried about you, you know that? He wanted to come, but I told him he needed to cool off. You know, he loves you; you’re his only neice. So, yes, absolutely, he knows, and yes, he is pissed. Good luck,” your dad was smirking. That’s why he hadn’t yelled at you; he was leaving Uncle Sam to do the dirty work.

                “Uh-oh.”