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party wurmple never sleeps. only dances.
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((Astrid Tate continued from Skeletons and Spaghetti))

Astrid wasn’t happy.

As anyone who knew her could attest to, this was a total shock and absolutely not to be expected at all.

She gently reached up and around to touch her right shoulder blade. It still felt weird, slightly unnatural, the way something like a cast or even a piece of sticking plaster did against your skin even after it had been removed. She could feel it there every time she moved slightly, and it was driving her fucking mad. She made a noise of disgruntlement, leaned back in her chair, and rubbed her forehead. She sighed.

This was the price you paid for impulse decisions, she figured. She’d wanted a second tattoo for a while now, and she’d known exactly what she wanted; there was a tattoo parlour nearby which excelled specifically at animal tattoos, and the second she’d seen the fox drawings the artist could produce, she was instantly in love. No, the tattoo itself wasn’t the problem, although if a single person asked her what she’d think when she was 80, like they had done with the one on her wrist, she didn’t think she could be held accountable for her actions.

The problem was that she had picked a pretty awful time to actually get it done. It had slipped her mind that getting it done with soccer practice the next day might be a bit of an issue, and sure enough, the bandages and wraps had been irritating enough to prevent her from taking part; she’d been advised not to remove them, after all. Coach had been more surprised than angry or annoyed, given how rarely Astrid missed anything related to soccer, but Astrid had been forced to experience the rare feeling of being annoyed at herself.

Maybe that would have been okay in and of itself, but of course, the next few days had to be blazing hot, even by Kingman standards. The guy had told her not to expose the tattoo to direct sunlight for at least a couple of weeks, but at the same time, she really didn’t feel like wearing anything but tank tops for the near future. It was that stubbornness shining through once again, but given there would be no serious repercussions to Astrid doing so, it wasn’t likely she was going to change her tune.

So despite the weather outside being glorious, Astrid was spending her time indoors whenever she could. It wasn’t exactly unpleasant; it was still hot, but the combination of tank top and the slight coolness of the library meant she wasn’t dying. And it meant she could study some of the history books that had caught her eye in the past, too. But every now and again, she would look outside and wish that she was kicking a ball about, or chilling in the pool, or just relaxing outside.

Whatever. What was done was done. The ink was almost completely fixed into her skin, so just a few more days and-

“Ow, motherfuc-“

Astrid winced as she turned a page and sliced open her finger. She placed her finger in her mouth to stem the blood flow and stifle her curse, but the damage had already been done. She clenched her fist and tried to control her breathing.

Once again, Astrid had been transformed into a ticking time bomb.


"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
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The Dynamo of Volition · Beale Library