A little about me ~ I'm a queer asexual trans man (HE/HIM.) Please refer to me as canidus on here! I have clinical lycanthropy, and I've been awakened since 2021
I'm a canine cladotherian, as well as a werewolf. I also often feel like a demonic or cryptid canine, such as a hellhound or black shuck.
I'm a punk anarchist, metalhead, satanist, antinatalist, and I practice demon magic.
Aspiring criminal psychologist 🧠
I enjoy reading, PC gaming, collecting various oddities, chatting with lovely people, & web design (when I have motivation,) but I find that most of my "hobbies" are topics of interest.
I'm an avid fan of the weird, morbid, and creepy. Absolute nerd for psychology, psychiatry, philosophy, ontology, criminology, spirituality, ancient history, politics, and more.
I interact from my alt @suckitsatan
I'D ABSOLUTELY ADORE TO BE MUTUALS WITH ANYONE (PLEASEPLEASEPLS)
Expect periods of inactivity!! I get busy with life often, feel free to ask for my insta, I'm active there daily <3
Let's see what Payge and Nicolai have been up to! We met them on Day 12, which this post references and continues from! They also showed their faces on Day 16 and Day 26, should you want to see more of them <3
Content warnings for: the slightest moment of nail whump, creepy whumper, and painful wound cleaning.
Recovery
Payge had been confined to the basement bedroom for… two days now. This was the third. He awoke the same way each morning so far. The same padded cuffs kept him in bed on the mattress by his hands and feet, only mercifully allowing him to change positions.
The first day, Nicolai had sat down and trimmed his nails.
“Of course I have to, dove. I know you’ll come up with a thousand keen solutions, and it’s my job to think of each one before you do.” They gestured for his hand then, and he handed it over reluctantly.
“I wasn’t thinking of that…” They trimmed his thumb down, leaving the thinnest sliver of white at the edge.
“Of course not. But you would have.” The pointer nail was cut even closer, if there was such a possibility.
“For Christ’s sake, leave a bit of nail! They aren’t used to being so short.”
“Don’t ask my permission for your delinquency, Payge. I wouldn’t have to take such precautions if you would accept my care.”
“I am, aren’t I?” He protested, false hope in his voice.
“You should have seen yourself on the table.”
A full-body shudder shook his hand and caused them to clip too far.
“Come on!” He pulled his hand away and observed the nick as it slowly wept a single drop of blood. Nicolai snatched it back and continued their work.
“You’ve had worse. On the table, for example.” They had the foresight to grip his wrist hard before he flinched again.
“Forgive me for never wanting to remember that.”
“Well, I don’t plan on letting you forget.”
He did remember. Every night. Payge was a side sleeper now.
The second day, Nicolai changed his bandages.
“Sure you don’t want to look? You could have supervised access to a mirror.”
“I’m sure.”
“Well, then.”
They turned on the tap, slowly adjusting the temperature before filling a bowl. A rag was dipped in, wrung out, and pressed over the bandages to moisten them before unwrapping.
“Aren’t you grateful I’m not ripping this off with the scabs, dove?”
“...I am. Thank you,” Payge whispered.
The dressings only tugged mildly at a few stubborn parts. Probably where they cut deeper, he thought, and just as quickly shoved the idea away. A separate rag pressed against his bare skin, starting at the edge of the wound.
He caught a glimpse of it at some point: stained various shades of brown, red, and something on the yellow spectrum.
“It’s not infected, is it?” An infected wound of that size… it spelled a death sentence without medical intervention.
“No, no. Just severe.”
Each fiber of the cloth was tangible as it pressed him into the back of the chair, scratching whenever Nicolai adjusted it.
“It’s looking lovely so far. Red suits you.”
“My mom always said it clashed.” She had, really. Always said he looked better in neutrals. Burgundy or merlot, orange blossom or cream. Not red.
“Nonsense. Nothing could clash with you, dove.”
“Sweet-talking me gets you nowhere.”
“I quite enjoy it, actually. Sweet-talking you is a favorite pastime of mine.” The rag drifted over his collarbones, tracing them absentmindedly, before it returned to the bowl to soak. After they were done, Nicolai would disappear upstairs and bleach them, rinse, and fold them up like new for next time. They’d made him help before.
A brown bottle emerged from the cabinet and tipped onto a third cloth.
“Oy, you told me peroxide only makes scars worse.” Payge held up a hand and pointed at the offender, as if it could be anything else.
“Yes. Put that hand down.”
“Did you forget? You try to minimize a lot of those.” A glare told him he was pushing his luck.
“You’d be a fool to think I worked so long and hard on nothing. I wouldn’t do that to you without reason.”
He held his tongue on the truths that itched to spew forth, too aware of his current position.
He’d felt the burn of that the rest of the day, especially when Nicolai refused to rinse it with water. Even the unharmed skin around seemed inflamed.
And this morning Payge was still wearing the shirt they’d dressed him in. Breathable, flexible fabric that zipped up to his neck in the back, still tight enough to compress his torso. He could reach it if he tried, but it would be a chore. The point of the barrier, of course.
He was stuck in bed until they came down and unlocked the cuffs. But it wasn’t all bad.
The windowless room could only be lit by the switch next to the door. At all other times, a projection shone on the popcorn ceiling. A window into a fishtank, towers of kelp swaying as different species swam by. A simple night light in the nearest outlet created the illusion, shooting light out when it didn’t detect another source.
