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my-darling-boy · 27 days

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(TW injury description)

I am SO glad you asked I lose my mind over this man. Sidney Beldam! He’s most known for his miraculous recovery from a major facial injury sustained while he served as a young sergeant in the First World War. If you’ve read the Facemaker by Lindsay Fitzharris you might recognise him! Sources differ slightly about his story, so I’ve pieced it together as best I could. The photos below were from about February 1919!

Born in 1897, Sidney was about 17 living with his mother in Cambridge, England when the Great War commenced. While he didn’t enlist initially, he was soon conscripted when it came about in 1916 though thankfully he was in a non-combatant role driving lorries transporting soldiers to boats headed for France. It’s where he learned he enjoyed driving! However in April 1917, Sidney was transferred to the Machine Gun Corps and eventually rose to the rank of sergeant where only 7 months later, his life would change forever.

During the battle of Passchendaele, one of the muddiest most gruelling segments of the war, Sidney was on the frontlines when a shell burst, sending a shrapnel fragment tearing diagonally through his nose and the right side of his face. The young soldier collapsed face first into the mud which ended up saving his life as falling backwards would have caused him to choke on his own blood. For three days Sidney laid in a mangled heap floating in and out of consciousness while vermin scurried about his body and the other dead and wounded around him. No one would ever know the details of those agonising three days, but the trauma he experienced there left him with a lifelong phobia of rats and cockroaches. After the initial wounded had been cleared out, a wandering band of stretcher bearers discovered Sidney alive after one man touched him with his boot fully expecting him to be dead. Miraculously, he was still clinging to life.

The 19 year old sergeant was rushed down the line and then transferred to two different military hospitals where his wounds were hastily stitched in an effort to save his life before infection could spread. Unfortunately, closing the gap where he was missing flesh in his cheek caused his upper lip to be pulled into a sneer and a sunken depression formed where most of his nose was missing around the bridge. Still, he was lucky to be alive, which he later used to remark. Well he was luckier still as he would be transferred to Sidcup military hospital in Kent where he would become a patient under Sir Harold Gillies, the man often considered the pioneer of modern plastic surgery. When he arrived at hospital in 1918, his wounds were healed but his face still bore the heavy trauma of his experience. If you want to see his photographs upon arrival, I won’t post them here but if you search his name, the photos are everywhere. IMO they’re not graphic but I know it can upset some people.

Gillies went to work trying to restore Sidney’s face. This required him to reopen the wound in his cheek where a skin flap was grafted to allow his upper lip to return to normal. He also folded down a skin flap from his forehead in order to create a new nose. Behind his facade, a series of tubes and canals had to be inserted for proper sinus drainage and other unnamed functions. While his initial handful of surgeries did most of the work to reconstruct his face, Sidney underwent over 40 surgeries between 1918 and the 1930s, some reconstructive and some to evacuate the tubes behind the flesh, meaning the common cold was a routinely painful affliction for him. Gillies understood operations were traumatic for the men at Sidcup, especially since most required more than one, and so made a point about creating a lighthearted ward environment, one Sidney says was quite jolly with the staff doing everything they could to make them feel comfortable and dignified as possible. And while I thought the topmost photos were the most updated case study photos for his recovery, I stumbled upon another set from 1920 in the Faces of War by Andrew Bamji I have not seen posted anywhere!

And lads listen. In such a sweet little twist, while Sidney was still recovering from the bulk of his major surgeries, a local pianist by the name of Winifred volunteered to play for the resting servicemen, all of whom had some form of disfigurment or amputation. Carrying in her sheet music, she and Sidney laid eyes on each other for the first time and she later remarked how his smile instantly lit up the whole room! For them, it was love at first sight. The two were soon married, and although it was in the 1920s, I don’t have an exact year for this. This most likely came after Sidney was finally discharged from service in 1921. There is a photo of their wedding and y’all look how SWEET!!

Between his initial surgeries and army discharge, Gillies asked if Sidney would be his personal chauffeur, an offer he took up quickly as he loved driving from his time with lorries during the war. One somewhat humorous account tells of Gillies—who was a bit scattered at times—asking Sidney to renew his driver’s license as the surgeon left it until the last day to take care of; Sidney in a rush waited in a long line at the county hall before jumping the queue and begging the administrator to expedite his employer’s license as it was needed to drive him to the hospital the next day. The man refused, even for a surgeon to get him to his patients. Sidney went to another staff member who was friends with Gillies and begged him the same. The man cheerily agreed but was still in need of a signature from the stubborn administrator who again refused... at least until he found out Harold Gillies nearly won a golfing championship, at which point he took Sidney to his personal office to expedite the license as he was happy to do business for a skilled golfer (apparently saving people’s lives doesn’t matter as much??). A no doubt perplexed Sidney was finally able to get back to the hospital on time!

After his army discharge and most likely about the time of his marriage, Sidney moved back to Cambridge where he worked for the council as a rent collector. He was so well liked, apparently even from the people he collected from, that he soon worked his way to Housing Manager for Cambridge. About this time, he had a daughter, Pam. Every account I read of him, people gush about how sweet he was. His wife recalls how Sidney was always adored by all his family and friends. His granddaughter Marilyn McInnes in an interview said, “He was the most warm and optimistic and loving man. I adored my grandfather, I was constantly on his lap as a small child. I never noticed anything funny about his face, I guess I thought all grandads looked like mine.”

Sadly, Sidney Beldam passed away from cancer at about 80 years old in 1978. But considering the man was given 6 months to live and ended up living for 60 years more surrounded by a large and loving family, I’d say he certainly had a full life. There is a picture of him and his wife in the 60s and they are absolutely charming!!

But anyway that’s me done rambling I’ve a massive crush on him. His story makes me genuinely happy to tell and I’m so glad you asked!

#I love love love this man sm he’s just described as this ray of sunshine!!#I want to put him in my pocket #And the story of him and his wife like actually kill me that is so cute #I’m so happy he was able to live a full life #Also yeah lads he is so fine ngl when I saw him in that book I was like WOW #he has such gorgeous eyes and I love his nose #and his smile #wwi #world war 1 #sidney beldam #history #wwi medicine #injury tw #medical tw #long post

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my-moony-and-padfoot · 4 months

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Let me take care of you

TW: self-harm. Nothing too graphic, but it's there. (A short description of the wounds, that's about it?) So, if you get easily triggered please read carefully.

Word count: 1 800

He opened the door to their dorm, seeing Sirius laying in his bed, he wasn't supposed to be back yet, so it took Remus by surprise. “I thought you had quidditch?” He asked, setting his bag down on the floor, and taking off the cloak.

“Do.”

“And you're here because -?” He asked, but this time didn't get an answer. Something was wrong, though he wasn't sure what it was yet, but he could tell. Remus walked over to the bed, seeing the tear tracks on Sirius' cheeks, they were quite visible even in the dim lighting. He wasn't crying anymore though, he looked like he was sleeping. He sat down on the floor, leaning his head against the bedside table, smiling slightly as Sirius opened his eyes. “What's wrong?”

“N-nothing.”

“Sirius, love, I can tell something is wrong.” he said, reaching to brush a strand of hair behind his ear. “Wanna tell me?”

“Don't feel good.”

“Do you feel ill or-?” Sirius shook his head, eyes tired as he looked at Remus. “Okay. Did something happen?”

“No.”

“That's good, baby.” He smiled softly, trying to figure out what exactly was wrong, maybe it was just a bad day. There was this pained expression on Sirius face, though Remus couldn't quite place what it was or what could be hurting him. “Not feeling up for quidditch?”

Sirius shook his head. “Jamey thinks I'm sick.”

“Okay.” He chuckled, watching as a faint smile flashed on Sirius' face, though it faded quickly. “Talk to me, love?”

Sirius took in a shaky breath, closing his eyes for a moment as if to prevent tears from falling. Then, with the arm that had been folded under his head, he reached for Remus'. He smiled, intertwining their fingers together, rubbing small circles into his wrist with his thumb, waiting for Sirius to speak.

“I'm sorry.”

“Why are you saying sorry, angel?”

“Did somethin’.”

Remus felt his heart sink at the all too familiar situation, dread and worry, but he stayed calm, knowing it would make Sirius mire anxious if he'd panic, and he didn't want that. So, he just reached to wipe away the tear that fell down, being as gentle as he possibly could. “Show me, baby.” Sirius shook his head, more tears spilling out. “Please? M'not mad, never mad. I just wanna make sure you're alright.” he whispered, wiping away more of the tears, shifting so he was sitting on his knees.

“I'm so sorry.”

“Shh, shh, it's okay.” he brushed a strand of hair behind his ear. “Let's get up? Just wanna make sure they're all clean, don't want them to get infected, do we?” Sirius shook his head. “Then we'll have some cuddles, sound good?”

“Chocolate?”

“All the chocolate you want.” Remus smiled, kissing his forehead, getting the smallest of smiles out of the boy. “I should even have a few chocolate frogs left, remember the ones Pete bought for Christmas?”

“Still?”

“I'm not as greedy as you think, baby.” he chuckled, kissing his nose and cheek before getting up from the floor. “Plus, I got a ton of chocolate for Christmas. I got other sweets too, c'mon up love.” he said, taking both of Sirius' hands into his and leading him into the bathroom. “Hop up, darling.”

Sirius did as he was told, hopping up to sit down on the counter, watching as Remus pulled out the muggle med kit he insisted on using, though Sirius didn't mind. He also got out some cotton pads, and a clean towel, kissing Sirius' forehead when he came to stand in front of the boy.

“You have to show me now, okay?” Sirius nodded, looking down, starting to fiddle with his sleeves. “Take your time, baby.” He whispered, brushing his hair back, as he looked at Sirius, who shook his head after a moment. “I can too, if you want me to.”

“Please.” Sirius whispered, looking up at Remus, eyes filling with tears again, threatening to spill over.

“Okay. Don't worry.” he gently rolled up the sleeves of Sirius' jumper, going slowly so Sirius' could stop him if it felt too overwhelming. He winced slightly at the sight, he couldn't make out everything, but small, somewhat deep looking cuts were on both arms, blood slowly dripping down. “We're gonna have to put some bandages on these love, shh, shh, don't cry it's alright. I'm gonna clean them with these first, then with some water, and we'll put bandages on to keep them clean.”

“You have to tell me if it hurts too much.” Sirius nodded, tears falling as he closed his eyes, feeling how Remus started to dab the cotton pads on the deepest looking ones, wiping away blood. Sirius just kept still, keeping his arms where Remus left them, resting on his thighs. He heard the water running after a moment, and he opened his eyes, glancing at Remus, who just wiped away the tears before squeezing the excess water out of the towel.

“You know this is gonna sting a bit, I'm sorry about that, baby.” He whispered softly, waiting for Sirius to nod before starting to clean his arms better, apologizing every time he heard a hurt whimper come from Sirius, going lighter on the next one. “All done with that, love. You did so good. Proud of you.”

“Kiss?”

“You can definitely have a kiss.” He smiled, leaning down to give him a chaste kiss, getting another small smile from him as he leaned back up. “Just one more thing and you'll get another kiss, okay? Maybe even a hug.” Sirius nodded, looking up at Remus through his wet eyelashes, looking tired and still sad, though not as much as before. He gently wrapped his hands up with the bandages. “Not too tight?” He asked, lacing their fingers together when he was done.

Sirius shook his head, looking up at Remus. “Sorry you have to do this.”

“Shh, no, don't be sorry.” He whispered. “All good. I don't have to do anything, you're not making me, are you?” Sirius shook his head. “I want to, baby. Wanna take care of you, if you just let me.” he smiled, helping Sirius down from the counter, who just wrapped his arms around Remus' neck, face pressing into his chest. He did the same, arms wrapping around his waist as he buried his face into Sirius' hair, swaying them just slightly. “Feeling at all better?” he asked after a moment, hand running up and down his back slowly.

“Only ‘cause of you.” He mumbled. Remus smiled to himself, kissing his head. “Don't go.”

“Wasn't planning on that.” he whispered, smiling softly once Sirius looked up at him. “I’m proud of you. So proud.”

“I love you.”

“And I love you.” He leaned down to give him a kiss. “Wanna go to bed?” He nodded, but leaned against Remus rather than moving. “I'm not gonna carry you, love. It's barely fifteen steps, you can make it.”

“Mm no.” He whispered, shaking his head. “Wanted to take care of me.” He grinned, and Remus was just glad there was at least some of his normal cheekiness back. “Please moons.”

“Only this time, baby.” He whispered, kissing his forehead before lifting him up, Sirius' legs wrapping around his waist, clinging on like a koala. He smiled as he was set down onto the bed. “Wanna change into something more comfy?”

“Want your jumper.”

“Okay.” he nodded, going to dig out two of his jumpers, since he definitely wanted to change out of his school uniform. He also dug out the stash of chocolate he kept in there, handing Sirius the jumper before going to the bathroom to clean up the mess he had left before. He changed his jumper while walking back over to Sirius, climbing in bed next to him. Sirius rested his head on Remus' shoulder, shifting so he could curl up to him, feet over his lap, which was nearly impossible to do comfortably in the small bed, but he didn't mind.

“You promised chocolate.”

“I did.” he reached for his bedside table, grabbing the two boxes of chocolate frogs, giving them both to Sirius. “I'm eating the other one, by the way. Which cards are you still missing?”

“Rowena Ravenclaw at least, then I have all the founders.” he said, opening the package, and giving the frog the Remus. “Then some rarer ones I think, I've had such bad luck, never got Ollivander. No luck.” He said as he looked at the card he just got.

“Maybe next time, baby.” He nodded, opening the other one, this time taking the frog for himself, flipping over the card.

“I have like three of her, what the hell.” Remus laughed quietly. “It's unfair Moony. I will slip it into James' deck, he has like ten.”

“And how many of them are actually his?”

“Maybe two.” Sirius smiled, and he laughed again. “ ‘s only fair, he keeps giving me Dumbledore. But I, unlike Jamey, keep track of my cards.”

“Sure you do love.”

“I do.” He said. “Well, at least I notice if cards suddenly appear.”

Remus smiled, grabbing the trash from his lap to set them down on the bedside table. “Do you want more?”

“A bit?” Remus nodded as he grabbed the chocolate bar, opening it and breaking pieces off, few for himself and few for Sirius, then set it back on his bedside table. “Thank you.” he yawned, leaning even closer to Remus.

“Are you tired?” Sirius hummed. “Should we take a little nap? We have time before dinner.”

“Mhm. Don' wanna go.” he mumbled. “So tired.”

“What if we sleep and see what we'll do after? It's not until a few hours, love.” Sirius nodded. “C'mon, let's lay down, you'll be more comfy.”

Remus shifted so he was laying down, smiling as Sirius laid down too, resting his head on Remus' chest, half laying on top of him just because he could. Remus pulled the blanket over them, holding Sirius close.

“Do you wanna talk?” He asked, starting to play with Sirius' hair, Sirius shrugged, hiding more into Remus' chest, starting to draw shapes to his chest to keep his hands busy. “We don't have to, love. But you know it helps.”

“I'm just tired.” He mumbled. “Really overwhelmed. Just a bad day, I guess.”

“Okay.” He whispered, kissing his head. “Anything I can do to help?”

“Just wanna be with you and sleep.” Remus nodded. “Snuggles.”

He chuckled, holding Sirius a little closer, smiling as Sirius reached for his hand, so he intertwined their fingers together. “I'll wake you up in a few hours, okay?”

“Mhm.”

“I love you.” He whispered into Sirius' hair. “Sleep well.”

“Love you too.”

A/N:

Hi :)

Hopefully you liked this, and remember to take care of yourself <3

Also, both James and Sirius would have the biggest chocolate frog card collection, and would mess with each other constantly. (Remus gives all his cards to Sirius, cause why wouldn't he?)

You can't convince me otherwise on this, like no way that didn't happen

Have a good day/night/something, see you around somewhere, maybe?

#sirius black #remus lupin #sirius orion black #remus john lupin #remus x sirius #sirius x remus #wolfstar #marauders #marauders era #fluff #young remus lupin #young sirius black #self h@rm #wolfstar angst #fluff and angst #light angst #hurt/comfort #fluffy

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bubblingcolaa · 1 month

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Uhm.. I guess.. like.. TW: graphic descriptions of violence TW: implied death & blood/gore.? TW: spoilers. Yeah idk, just proceed with caution

Soo, I'm currently in the process of making an A.U. where the hunters "slowly" kill off everyone else and soon eachother and just.. death. It's all death.

I was just gonna info dump but unfortunately I'm sick and don't have the patience to draw everyone and their ghost designs. So I'd thought I'd just share what I have currently :) (also, I've only came up with the story as far as this so it works out.!)

First, an explanation of how I think ghosts work. (Sorry for crappy handwriting. Maybe I'll translate it later)

(*also forgot to mention that if the person is screaming when they die, it gets cut off and then finished by their ghost self. So it'd be like AAA- -AHH. kind of. Also, when the person gets into their ghost form, ((if it's not a slow death where they feel their consciousness slip away)), it feels like getting air after being suffocated :3)

Anywho, canon deaths are canon deaths. Basically in this a.u everything happened the same until the whole man hunt with Ralph (this is where Ralph actually got caught and his head got put on a stick.)

So here's mulberry!

And I didn't do piggy and Simon because I've been drawing piggy a lot so eh. And Simon has a lot of injuries/wounds and I don't feel like drawing that so yeah. Also, I didn't change much about their deaths.

Ralph is the same from my "ghost Ralph a.u." post. Although I forgot to mention that ghost Ralph's voice is very raspy and he can't raise his voice mainly because of his VOCAL CHORDS BEING SHREDDED.

Yeah.

Now, here's where it gets uhm.. gruesome.

The next person who I would imagine would die is Maurice.

(pretend like I added a hunter paint design. I've been meaning to do that but ehhhh I don't feel like it.)

I feel like Maurice would realize what the hunters is doing is really wrong, and tried to talk everyone out of it, trying to remind them that they're humans and that they don't kill people, but Jack ignored his rambling. And after a while, Jack got sick of his whining, and threats became actions, and he and Roger started to.. tear him apart, basically.

He's missing two fingers, a ear, a foot, a hand, and an eye. (He lost in that order.)

Don't know if I should make them have a merciful killing, by just like, stabbing Maurice in the heart or something to end his suffering, or for him to slowly die of infection, disease, and exsanguination. (Blood loss)

Uhm. Yeah. So, brutal.

I do have Sam and Eric's deaths made up but I don't really feel like drawing them. (Spoiler alert, they don't die together.)

So that's all I have for now, I'll keep yas updated!

#lotf #lord of the flies #lotf au #blood-covered a.u #i think im gonna call it that?#idk #long post #IM STILL SICK #lotf ralph #lotf maurice #its so joever for maurice #its so joever

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caesurah-tblr · 2 years

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alternatively, it's ryan and dylan in the final chapter + they're going against caleb and while ryan is able to kill him, dylan still gets a Nasty Injury.

TW: Graphic descriptions. Heed the tags.

“I mean- I don’t really feel anything? Doesn’t seem too bad.”

Ryan wants to smack him. Instead, he focuses on tightening the makeshift tourniquet around his thigh so Dylan doesn’t bleed out.

“You’re missing about half your leg. I think it’s pretty bad.”

The fight with Caleb Hackett hadn’t gone as well as they could’ve hoped. Everything would’ve been fine if Dylan- stupid, selfless Dylan- hadn’t throw himself in front of Ryan to protect him when his gun had jammed, frying pan in hand. By the time he had been able to get the thing working again- wasn’t Chris supposed to be taking care of these things?- Caleb had decided that Dylan’s leg was the perfect snack.

The bottom half of his shin and foot were only held on by flesh and sinew, the bone completely shattered. While it was a horrific wound, Ryan knew that if he worked fast that Dylan would be fine short-term. Since Caleb was dead, they wouldn’t have to worry about infection of the werewolf kind, but if Dylan hadn’t gotten sepsis from the nasty chainsaw that had been used to remove his hand earlier in the night, he definitely had it now.

“Serious question.” Dylan looks towards the ceiling. “I know you said the one-handed thing was cool, but would you date a guy with a peg leg? I could be a pirate. If you’re into that kind of thing.”

Ryan shakes his head. Of course Dylan is still cracking jokes.

“I’m into guys who throw themselves in mortal danger to protect me. I don’t know about the pirate thing though.” He gets up from Chris’s bed and snatches one of the many bottles of pain pills in the medicine cabinet. Hopefully they’ll block out the pain till morning.

“Then you can call me your knight in shining armor.” Dylan sits up, taking the pills and water offered to him. “Just try to be careful. I only have two limbs left. Unless you count-“ He wiggles the stump of his hand around. The bandages are soaked in blood.

Ryan frowns. That’s twice now that Dylan has lost a limb because of him. He was supposed to have his back in the radio hut, and he was supposed to have his back in the fight against Caleb. But both times he had failed Dylan, had forced the other to throw himself into danger to keep him safe.

“That look on your face? Stop it.” Dylan wiggles a finger at him. “Get it off. It’s not your fault we’re fighting werewolves, and you didn’t make me do it. I asked you to cut my hand off, and I threw myself in front of you because I knew you were the only one who could kill Caleb. None of it was your fault.”

“That’s twice you’ve saved my life tonight.” Ryan grabs a roll of fresh gauze and begins to wrap it around Dylan’s newest mangled limb. “I should’ve done something. I shouldn’t have let you get yourself hurt.”

“I don’t regret it.” Dylan says, even as his face contorts in pain. Ryan slows his wrapping. “He would’ve killed you, and I can’t have that. You’re the only dude who’s ever liked me back.”

“Oh?” Ryan raises an eyebrow as he finishes wrapping the wound. It’s sloppy, but it should hold. “And what makes you think I like you back?”

Dylan suddenly looks the most scared he’s looked all night. “I-I mean, I just assumed? With all the flirting, and the kiss, and the whole saving-your-life thing I just thought-“

Ryan shuts him up with a kiss. Stupid Dylan, with his stupid smile and his stupid handsome face and stupid selflessness. He’s halfway in love with this boy, and he can tell that Dylan is already there and he can’t wait to be there fully.

The goofy grin on Dylan’s face when Ryan pulls away makes him want to scream. Who gave him the right to be this damned cute?

“So that’s a yes to if I can have your number?”

“Move over.” Ryan responds, helping him move over so he can settle down next to him. He throws an arms around Dylan’s neck and the other snuggles against him, head tucked against his shoulder. Ryan buries his fingers in Dylan’s blood crusted hair, fingers running through the brown locks gently.

Dylan lets out a sigh, body completely relaxing into Ryan’s hold. “Love you.” He mouths against the other’s neck. It’s followed by a soft snore.

Ryan presses a kiss to Dylan’s temple, muttering a soft “I love you too.” against his skin. Dylan in his arms feels like home.

#the quarry #caesurah writes #Ayo another one #sorry I didn’t really focus on the injury aspect #my brain wanted to do hurt/comfort instead #I absolutely love thinking about these boys and how they adore each other

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dienette-666 · 9 months

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[THE BLONDE] - Unit S.L.E.D.G.E Leon S Kennedy x OC

________________________ PART TWO __________________________

Pairing: Leon S Kennedy x OC Tags: cheeky, flirting, sexual tension, building of a relationship, strangers to lovers, injuries, mental health, past trauma, TW: graphic description of wounds, overcoming trauma, emotional bond, ironic main character Summary: Blood dwells from her insides, pulsing in the rhythm of her dwindling heartbeat and running down her shaking ribs like thick syrup of impenetrable red. On the other side of her cabin's door stands an alarmed blonde, overwhelmed with the sudden groans of pain that had awoken him in the first place.

___________________________ PART TWO - the blonde

The bland smell of old wood and stale air tainted with dust, caught her oversensitive nose, as she hesitantly dared to take shuffling step inside. All while the blood glued between her fingers clung to the rusty doorknob, smearing it with yet another piece of evidence.

Planting yet another unsteady foot into her cabin, the brunette’s midriff hardened to rock and forced a tormented gasp to hiss out between her tightly clenched teeth.

Dependent on the support of the brittle door she was still grasping onto, she held her breath for a brief moment and allowed for the yawning emptiness and dark shadows of her abandoned room to quietly erupt over herself.

She still had her arm outstretched and her feet weakly upright, when the soft sound of a droplet dabbled before her.

As if it came from a leaking faucet, the delicate splashes pattered onto the worn wooden planks, hiding themselves from the brunette at first, until she did finally notice them.

There followed another moment riddled with the wet dripping sounds, when she eagerly began to search for the source of the casual, yet annoying noise.

It might have been the rain knocking against the window of her cabin or ever so simply the camp's flooded gutters.

Nonetheless, with nothing left but this nauseating ache intruding her flesh, she grew keen to find out where it originated from.

Thus, her glued palm finally slipped off the doorknob, as she let her pupils roam from the ceiling to her bulky bed and eventually pinning them to the wooden floor.

There it was - finally discovered.

It hit the edge of a floorboard right at the tip of her toes in the same rhythm she had previously picked on with her dazed senses.

Thick drops of an unnamed liquid spread into the fine grooves of the old floor and accumulated with every minute, that the brunette spent watching in fascination, as the single splashes became whole puddles.

Ultimately, it came to a point, where a broad grin infected her face, that eventually grew into a noisy giggle of hysteria.

The crusted split in her lip rose along with the corners of her mouth, as the pointy edges of her teeth came forth and the brunette let out half a minute worth of psychotic laughter.

Meanwhile, yet another bead of viscous liquid dripped onto the floor in a quiet splash, immediately followed by one more - this time a little further to the left, as the brunette had wonkily shifted.

To this time, the fogged woman didn't understand that the drops weren't escaping from any gap in the cabin's roof or had formed on her soaking wet forehead, but instead had pooled at the bottom hem of her once white tank top and were steadily trickling down in the form of her own still-so-warm blood.

So, she giggled a few more times, trying to amuse herself at the wildly distributed droplets in front of her feet, but was quickly caught up by the truth nonetheless.

A dull pressure began to echo in the brunette's blood-speckled ears and the black spots in her vision returned.

Dazed, she eventually stumbled backward and slammed the door shut with the toppling force of her uncontrolled back.

Her spirit longed to pass out peacefully, to submit her wrenching pain into the hands of darkness and surrender her fate to final blackness.

However, since the brunette had already shed her rational thinking, all that remained was her trained instinct.

Therefore, it made her look downward with lazily flickering eyes, to face the massacre that raged in her abdomen, poured itself over her clothes and ensured her of endless nightmares.

And because she couldn't process what her pupils tried to tell her so desperately, she executed the next best thing that came to her mind, which was stupidly enough, to untie her shoes.

Thus, the brunette leaned forward with her limping body - thick strands of wet hair hanging down and curling around her pale cheeks, all whilst her fingers trembled terribly.

Squinting her eyes in discomfort, she stretched out her arm for the wildly knotted lace of her right shoe - making the torn fabric of her top hang from her upper arm.

Followingly, she just about got a hold on her laces and initiated to pinch them between her fingers, when her unsteady balance gave way and she unavoidably toppled head first onto the creaking floor.

Downright drunk, the brunette collapsed onto her side, gasping in agony, yet completely brainlessly still reaching for her shoe, which however had slipped off her foot during the short fall.

The damp strands of her dark hair scattered wildly across the worn-out wooden floor, as she rolled onto her back with her arms weakly following and all strength vanishing from her limbs.

The small cabin gradually filled with the lonely breath, that escaped from the wounded brunette's brittle lips.

The scent of old wood and swirled up dust mixed with the musty stench of her wet hair and the continuously seeping redness of her torn skin.

The ribbed fabric of her top slowly absorbed the oozing blood until it reached her back, as gravity had gradually pushed it downward. It embraced her lovingly, like an arm wrapped around her waist, cradling her in comforting warmth, as the frigid air gnawed on her bones.

Thus, her pointed shoulder blades rested crookedly on the rough floorboards of the splintering wooden ground, while she faintly gasped for air, as the searing pain of her swelling injuries washed through her senses.

The pathetic hysteria from before to urgently take off her Chucks, wilted with each wave of stabbing spasms, that flooded her stiffened muscles.

The twitching of her abdomen was severe enough, to even travel down through her lower back, reaching her spine and making her whimper in silence.

As if concreted to the floor, the brunette was pinned motionless and plagued by the weight of her aches, making her unable to even lift as much as a finger.

The great rush of adrenaline had long evaporated from her veins, leaving her in an exhausted shell of flabby muscles and jagged wounds.

Her flared pants had slouched around her legs crookedly, while the rich green of her plaid shirt faded to a barren black in the dark shadows of her cabin and the buckles of her leather gun holster, that wrapped around her weary thigh, were loosened.

The only thing to still lay orderly around the brunette's twitching neck, was a silver dog tag delicately engraved with a name.

"Blake Marrow" it stood on the shiny plate, that seemed to have been barely touched by the brunette's inflicted agitation.

It hung neatly in her cleavage, glinting in the meager moonlight like the priceless treasure this identification tag was to the brunette.

However, it suddenly began to jingle, as the wounded woman's head jolted up in fright and the dullness abruptly peeled from her watchful ears.

Just as her eyes began closing, her eyelashes wet and her eyelids heavy, the weakened brunette sensed a fair movement in front of the door.

She was no less dazed and still had no spark of strength left in her limbs, but her sharp instincts did not allow to leave such noise unchecked.

Her infallible training of many years could not have been wasted, just because she was numbed by relentless pain.

Therefore, the brunette simply swallowed the unswallowable spasms of her stomach, clawing her way up onto her flushed elbows, and shaking herself until the disoriented dizziness leapt from her eyes.

And just as if the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach had predicted it, a shadow-shrouded figure was indeed lurking outside the battered door of her cabin.

What the brunette bitterly suspected to await her on the other side of the door, was ultimately not to be the truth though. However, in the desperation of her situation and due to her past experiences, as well as stories she had been told of by her cronies before, the brunette would even expect to encounter the ungodly creature, who had punished her with its claws in the first place.

Though, that wasn't what he was and never something he would be.

Instead of a snarling beast, it was an alarmed blonde, that waited at the hinge of her door, which had slammed shut loudly only minutes prior to his arrival.

His hand was hovering over the leather-bound hilt of his combat knife, that still hung on a metal ring around one of his belt's loops.

It had taken just the slightest sound - as little as a faint guess on the hurried footsteps at the edge of the forest - for the young man to sit bolt upright in his bed and close his eyes to listen sharply.

However, once a truly bloodcurdling scream echoed through the whole courtyard and atop of each cabin, he hastily threw the crumpled blanket off his tensed thighs and crept to the entrance of his room.

As a queue of groans and choked breaths aligned themselves in front of his very own door, though, it electrified him to an extent, that he almost rammed the unfailingly sharp blade of his knife right through the rickety door at the tip of his nose.

Especially, once it had started to rattle wildly.

Even though his muscles tingled after it and the tension in his chest was convinced of its rightness, he still kept the tip of his combat knife sensibly lowered and waited patiently, yet ready to strike in the exact moment he needed to, instead.

The blonde tightened his neck, mesmerizingly engrained with strength, causing even the fair fuzz on it to shoot up, before cautiously leaning his ear against the thin door, which separated him from the oh-so-silent murmurs sounding from the adjoining room.

First, he heard a spasmic laugh, that made his brows furrow. Then, a dull thump travelled through the cabin's walls, making the blonde thoughtfully bite the corner of his lips. And lastly, he was met with lonesome silence, that reset his darkened expression and left him unsettled.

The blonde knew to distinguish a mutation from a human, but as of lately, he seemed riddled with a compulsive caution, that eventually drew him to leave his cabin in nothing but his thin pajamas.

Thus, the young man found himself lurking in front of the next door's room, which had questionably been unoccupied, yet locked since his arrival about three days prior.

The width of his shoulders covered most of the opposite door, which he pettily listened in on, as he kept the cool air tight in his chest and fed into his curiosity.

Surely the blonde was alarmed, yet somewhat taken over by his inquisitiveness as well.

However, whipping at him mercilessly, the same relentless rain had already caught up to the young man the same way it did with the brunette and thereby dampened the hair on the back of his head into dark blond strands, after having stepped out of his cabin for only a few moments.

With each howl of the harsh wind, another wall of pinching rain lashed against his broad backside, until after only a few gusts of wind his simple shirt of a dark green color was already soaked and therefore stuck to the chilled skin of his back - molding into its sharp curves.

The wettened fabric nestled around his chiseled shoulder blades, as the cold carved uncomfortably into his body, and yet the tough blonde could have persisted patiently and unmoved for another eternal moment.

It seemed as if he'd already endured much worse fates, than a breeze of wind flicking at him and a few drenched clothes clinging to his skin.

However, when the bland sight of the wooden door gradually bored him and he had not heard any sounds for about five minutes, the calculated blonde finally dared a stormed entry into the unlocked cabin.

Therefore and out of sheer caution, he unlatched his trusty knife from his hip and calmly cocked it in front of his chest, while with his left hand he grasped the smudged doorknob right in front of him and turned it.

#leon s kennedy #resident evil #resident evil 4 #resident evil 4 remake #fanfic #fanfiction #leon kennedy #oc #blood #funny #ironic main character

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shydragonrider · 3 years

Text

Torn - Part 1

Summary: Strife had always been untouchable, arrogant, and ruthless. A vicious Supervillian. It took more than Pandora, or Glory, as she was called in public, knew she had in her to bring him down. But this sets in motion events that Hero could never have imagined.

Warnings: Detailed death threat, swearing, name calling, vomit, extremely violent whump, vivisection, smug whumpee breaking, infection, graphic infection, fever, delirium, panic, scared whumpee, sick whumpee, begging, crying, restraints, violent torture.

Tagging @whumpwillow, because I saw the idea on her blog, and @equestrianwritingsstuff, who encouraged me to write this.

Update, changed their names

“I’ll kill you for this, you little bitch.” Strife snarled, as he was dragged towards the prison transport. “When I get my hands on you, I will break you, body and spirit.”

You already have. Pandora thought, as he was dragged into the truck. She was breathing hard, her heart racing, her body bruised and battered from the fight. She could barely stand up, and she had come so close to dying in that fight. forty-five minutes of being thrown around by that brute. She wanted to cry. She’d been so scared the whole time, so scared that one of his custom made knives would find one of her vital organs, and tear the life out of her.

“And then I’ll fucking strangle you.” Strife shouted, even as the doors slammed shut.

Pandora groaned, closing her eyes. She felt sick, and she knew she had at least three broken ribs.

But I finally beat you, you monster. She thought, clinging to the miracle that was her victory. They’ll lock you away, and I’ll never see you again.

It brought a little comfort when she thought of it that way. He’d never menace her again, never injure her again. The whole city was safe from him.

Pandora made her way home, limping down the rainy streets and back alleys, avoiding people as best she could. No one knew her real identity, and she didn’t want that to change.

When she got inside, it took all of her effort not to faint right there in the front hall. Shivering, she climbed the steps, and made it into the bathroom. She staggered over to the sink, and threw up. Exhausted, she rinsed the sink, and climbed into the shower, watching as blood from various cuts washed down the drain.

*********

Damian growled, tugging against the restraints on his arms. If that little brat Glory hadn’t stuck her nose in where it didn’t belong, then he wouldn’t be in this situation.

Insufferable little twit. She’ll pay for this. He thought, watching as his jailer picked up one of his knives.

“Be careful, they’re sharp.” Damian sneered, feeling only the faintest flicker of alarm as the man walked towards him, and placed the tip of the blade at his solar plexus.

“Oh, I’m aware.” The man replied, pressing ever so slightly.

Damian hissed as blood began to run out of the small cut. “If this is meant to scare me-”

“It’s not meant to scare you. It’s meant to break you.” His captor smiled, and dug the knife in deeper, before tugging it down. Damian gasped, trying to squirm away. The restraints made it impossible. As the knife continued its downward path, Damian screamed, again trying to thrash around. By the time his captor drew back, the cut extended from his solar plexus to below his naval.

The man walked over to a table with various metal tools, and selected something that looked like it came from a medieval torture chamber. Unfortunately, Damian could guess its purpose; to hold the wound open.

“N-no.” He stammered, overwhelmed by the terror and pain. “No, p-plea...please. Y-you c-can’t do this.”

“You don’t seem to be in any position to stop me.” The man noted, and got back to his work.

**********

1 week later

********

The phone rang at three in the morning. Groaning, Pandora answered it.

“Mmmmf?” She mumbled, still half asleep. Had she not been, she would have realized that this was the untraceable phone the police sometimes called her from. That sank in the moment a quiet voice spoke.

“Glory? Is this Glory?

Pandora sighed. “Yes, this is Glory.”

“You have to get Strife out of the prison.”

Oh great, a crank call.

“Why would I do that?” She asked in a low voice, the one she used in public.

“They’re torturing him. They... Glory please, they vivisected him.”

All the edges of sleep vanished, and Pandora bolted up.

“They. Did. What?” She asked.

“Vivisected him. I saw it happen.”

“Who are you?”

“A prison nurse.” Came the hushed voice. “Please, he’s unguarded. You could get in through the window. Cell 10. Isolation. Oh, please come.”

With that, the line went dead.

Hero frowned. It could be a trap, but if it wasn’t she couldn’t leave Strife to be tortured, no matter how much she hated him.

After setting fire to an empty wing of the ward to create a distraction, she did end up climbing in the window, which, thankfully, was on the first floor, and sneaking down the hall of the isolation ward until she came to cell ten.

Carefully, she wired the code box on the door, and it slid open. As she entered the dimly lit room, she carefully covered the camera with her jacket.

Her heart dropped into her stomach as she took in the sight of the supervillain.

He was lying on his back, very thoroughly restrained. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, his trembling body drenched in sweat. His eyes were open, staring at nothing.

“Shit.” Pandora breathed, and crept closer, feeling nausea rise in her throat as she saw the crudely stitched wound on Strife’s abdomen. It was oozing both blood and pus.

“Hey.” Pandora murmured, gently placing her hand on his wrist.

The man whimpered, trying to pull away.

“No.” He whined, drawing the word out until it was more of a whimper.

“Ssssshhhh. Sssssshhhh, it’s alright.” Pandora soothed, and began undoing the restraints.

“Saving your nemesis dear?” A voice asked. Pandora whipped around, drawing her gun.

The man facing her looked ordinary enough, except for his eyes. They were soulless, empty.

“Saving someone who needs my help.”

“He’s a menace.”

“And you cut him open. Tore him apart.” Pandora snarled. At the words, Strife began to sob, begging incoherently.

“And you’re next.” The man said, picking up a scalpel.

“Think so?” Pandora asked sweetly, and squeezed the trigger of the tranquilizer gun. The bolt hit the man square in the neck, and he staggered backwards. Taking advantage of his shock, Pandora used the butt of the gun to hit him over the head. He fell to the floor, unconscious, and Pandora quickly returned to the delirious supervillain’s side.

Senseless with fever, he moaned and begged incoherently as she freed him from the leather straps.

Carefully, she wheeled the stretcher he was lying on over to the door, and down the empty hall. It seemed that most of the guards were still occupied with her distraction, and Pandora was able to sneak out the emergency exit with Strife.

Finally, she carefully got him into her car, and laid him on the back seat, careful not to aggravate the massive wound on his stomach any more than it was already.

With a heavy heart, she drove home.

Parking in the garage, she carefully hauled Strife inside, and tried to carry him up the stairs, in the end, she had to drag him, though his squeaks of pain made her stomach twist.

Finally, she hauled him into the guest bed, and examined his mutilated stomach.

“Plea...se.” Strife moaned. “No... more...”

“Sssshhh. It’s alright now. I’m going to fix... this.”

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dmitrimolotov · 4 years

Text

Filed under ‘Ominous’ - 16

No 20. TOTO, I HAVE A FEELING WE’RE NOT IN KANSAS ANYMORE Lost | Field Medicine | Medieval and No 21. I DON’T FEEL SO WELL Chronic Pain | Hypothermia | Infection

Title: Fester Fandom: The Magnus Archives Characters: Jonathan Sims|The Archivist, Martin Blackwood, Amelia (statement OC) Rating: M Warnings: War, gunshot wounds, blood, stitches, infection, graphic description. Wordcount: 1200 Summary: Statement of Amelia on surgical technique and hygienic recovery in the battlefield. Read on AO3

Amelia screams.

A blood-curdling shriek of pain tears from her throat as the bullets rip through her flesh. She doesn’t even remember how she got here. All she knows is the pound of rain, of boots in mud, of impacts of bullets in dense vegetation all around. She doesn’t even know who’s firing. It doesn’t matter because right now she is face down in the mud, her legs knocked bloody from under her but the unseen enemy's fire. She spends what feels like forever screaming into the earthy sludge and gritting her teeth to muffle the sound, lest she be tracked down by her foe while pain racks her body. She cannot move beyond twitching until the pain in her legs begins to subside to something her body can process as more than panic. The adrenaline takes some of the sting out of it but only enough to keep her from passing out. A shame.

Once she can breathe without screaming, she lays there, feeling the rain drum into her back and watching the steady drip of water from a leaf near her face. She daren’t look back at her legs, but the way she is growing colder, her extremities more obviously numb, she suspects the blood is flowing from her wounds in much the same way.

It feels like an eternity. It is perhaps only a few minutes. The gunshots are more distant now. Nobody remains in the area as far as Amelia can determine by listening. She finally musters the strength to clamber to her elbows, then push herself onto her back and survey the damage. The fabric of her trouser legs is torn and bloody. It obscures most of the damage, but the angle is all wrong and it is immediately apparent that one of her legs is badly broken. Blood flows from the wounds in stuttering pulses. She wonders how she will survive this. If she will survive this.

“Not to fear, the doctor is here!”

A deceptively cheery voice cuts through the violence and tension around them. The doctor - a field medic - approaches her prone form with a spring in their step. They wear a head covering and face mask so that only their eyes are visible, dark, almost black and eager.

Amelia gets the distinct impression that they are smiling with glee.

The doctor produces a small piece of leather from their satchel bag and stuffs the disgusting frayed thing into Amelia’s mouth.

“Bite down on this, because it is going to hurt,” the doctor instructs, laying hot, clammy hands on Amelia’s broken leg.

Amelia ignores the question of how many people had the leather bit between their teeth before her and bites down hard as the doctor twists her leg viciously and it flares with pain anew. There is no relief with the act, yet the doctor seems satisfied.

“Right, time to stitch this up,” they announce cheerfully, pulling a needle trailing dark thread from their bag. The doctors hands burn against her flesh as they waste no time stitching a wound, dragging metal through tissue and tugging the threads taught. Their hands are covered with blood and mud and leave faint streaks where they brush against skin.

“Almost done...”

Amelia only has a moment to wonder what that means before a strong chemical scent hits the back of her throat and knocks her into a dizzying darkness.

When she opens her eyes again, she is no longer in the rain and mud. She is in bright lights and she is hot and sticky. Her leg now burns with pain but it is not fresh. This is old and aches with a dull hot thump. Her head pounds, her blood feels viscous inside her veins and she burns and itches all over. Something is very very wrong.

The smell hits her nose, a mix of chemical and putrefaction. She gags and bites back the bile that rises, acrid, from her belly. She pulls aside the damp, yellow-stained sheet that covers her and a fresh wave of scent fills the air, this time sickly sweet and stale. Her legs are red and raw and swollen. Her feet so pale they are almost blue. The flesh festers beneath the surface of her wounds, thin yellow fluid seeping through the thick black stitches laid down by the doctor, now futile in their attempts to mend, only serving to make the skin slip at the edges where they pull.

She reaches down to touch it - perhaps remove the stitches and attempt to clean the wound, to disinfect it and halt the spread of whatever disease has taken hold. As her fingers brush the skin, it slips over the rancid flesh below, tearing like wet paper from the firmer, healthy skin further up her leg, revealing the oozing purulent mess below. This time, Amelia retches and as she looks back up, she sees the shape of the doctor standing over her.

As Amelia reaches down to wipe the pus from her leg, the doctor’s hand shoots out and grabs her arm.

“It needs you.”

Amelia shakes her head in disbelief. “What does?” she implores.

The doctor just gives her the same look they gave her when she first encountered them and suddenly she understands.

The infection.

The doctor’s eyes smiled.

Jon walked on shaky legs through the thick mud and vegetation back to Martin, who’d taken to studying some of the plants.

“So do I want to know?” He asked.

Jon shook his head. “I’d never thought about how easy it was for The Corruption to piggyback on the effects of The Slaughter, at least before antibiotics came along. Really made a difference in World War two- sorry. It was not particularly pleasant, so you probably don’t want to hear about it.”

Martin shook his head. “The Corruption is bad enough alone. All those bugs and infection…”

Jon hummed agreement.

“Shall we then?”

“Um…” Jon hesitated slightly. “I don’t- I don’t know exactly where to go next.”

Martin blinked a few times. “I’m sorry, what? What do you mean you don’t know where to go?”

Jon chewed his lip. “It’s been getting harder to See. The further we come, the fuzzier it gets and it seems just ahead, there’s a blindspot. I can’t See. And the way we’ve come- I’m less and less certain about what’s back that way too. Not that I can’t remember, but that I can’t Know.”

Martin’s eyebrows knitted together. “And when were you going to say something?”

“I didn’t want to alarm you and I didn’t know if maybe it would… clear up? As we got closer. It’s hard to explain. Spatio-temporal ambiguities. I can’t see the future and some things aren’t fixed in certainty, so they sometimes… shift.”

“Is this going to be a problem?”

Jon shrugged openly. “I genuinely don’t know.” He laughed. “I don’t know. That feels strange to say. Good almost. It’s sort of nice, not knowing. I feel…” he struggled to find the right words, “more human, almost.”

Martin smiled and put a hand on his shoulder. “Shall I lead for a while then?”

Jon smiled back and nodded. “Yes, I think that would be for the best.”

#whumptober2020 #No.20 #field medicine #No.21 #infection #the magnus archives #fic #war tw #gunshot wounds tw #blood tw #stitches tw #infection tw #graphic description #molotov cocktales #tma #s5 divergent

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minimalist-daydream · 2 years

Text

on roe vs. wade // knitting needles

(I wrote this after Amy Coney Barrett was appointed to the Supreme Court. TW that this has some graphic descriptions of abortion.)

I’m knitting a sweater for my boyfriend. I’m slow at knitting, so it’s taking me months, even though I’m using the simplest pattern possible. I chip away at it in the evenings when I’m watching TV or listening to podcasts. Slowly a skein of dark green yarn is transformed, through a series of simple loops, into a warm, wearable object. I think about how in Puritan times, housekeeping and so-called women’s work were progenitors of witchcraft as we know it – how turning milk into butter or a sheep’s fleece into clothing were their own type of alchemy, viewed with suspicion by men.

Knit one row, purl the next. Stockinette stitch, which gives you the classic “sweater” appearance. The “right” side is smooth and flat, composed of neat rows of interlocking “V”s. The “wrong” side is bumpy and knobbly, though somehow cozy and inviting in its own way. The right side is more satisfying to look at, but I’m fonder of the wrong side, the side you wear closest to your skin.

I think about how women used to use knitting needles to perform abortions. Fitting, really, that they took symbols of domesticity and used them to reject motherhood. I can’t stop thinking about it when I’m knitting, when I’m watching the blunt tips of my needles weave in and out of yarn, how it would feel to push them up inside me. The thought is enough to make me nauseous, dizzy. In medical school, I inserted speculums and swabbed cervixes for infections and cancer; I know how soft and vulnerable that tissue is, like a ripe peach. You could plunge a knitting needle in without much resistance. I get cramps on my period, not debilitating, but enough of a dull ache that it makes me cranky and preoccupied. I try to imagine having the will to induce a much deeper and sharper pain than that. My needles click against each other and I wonder how much blood would come out if I were to lie down, spread my legs, and slide one inside me.

I should be used to blood at this point. I’ve seen litres of it by now, hanging in transfusion bags, soaking through bandages, pumping or oozing from various wounds. I’m a surgery resident, which is much less glamorous than it sounds, and I get frustrated by people who try to portray us as heroes. I’ve noticed that writers, with their writerly eye, tend to focus on the most banal features of a hospital, as if these details somehow have meaning in themselves. There’s always mention of an IV dripping, fluorescent lights flickering, a TV playing silently in a waiting room. It’s as though the implied presence of death lends an aura of significance to everything around it. But when you work in a hospital, and illness and death is part of your daily routine, the TV is just a TV.

There is nothing glamorous about death. In books and movies about back-alley abortions, women are portrayed as martyrs, as tragic heroines. Female pain is made into a spectacle; authors and directors focus with lascivious attention on the beading sweat, the grimacing mouth, the back arched in agony. Even in our death throes we cannot escape the male gaze. Male suffering is unnatural and unacceptable, but female suffering is expected, even celebrated. In reality, it’s as brief and inconsequential as flipping a page. There is nothing noble about suffering or dying in pregnancy or childbirth. There is simply a woman, a human being with hopes and thoughts and dreams, who is here one moment, gone the next.

Insert the tip of one needle inside a loop of yarn; wrap another loop on top and slide it from one needle to the other. I dream of violence. I dream of driving by anti-abortion protesters and hurling chicken blood in their faces. I dream of burning down the houses of the wealthy and powerful, who purr with catlike satisfaction as they sentence women, poor women, to suffering and death. I dream of riots, of broken glass and burned-out cars, while I fly a flag with a pair of crossed knitting needles. In the meantime, I pass loops of yarn from one needle to another, and my knitting grows.

#roe vs. wade #abort the supreme court #fuck the supreme court #pro-choice #pro-women

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captain-tch · 3 years

Text

The End of Days Carnival (Daryl Dixon x Reader)

A pharmacy untouched in the apocalypse was almost too good to be true. But what first seemed like a blessing, quickly reveals itself to be a wolf in sheep's clothing.

TW's for the series: gore, violence, loss, graphic descriptions, torture

part 4: price of freedom

previous chapter

The moment Daryl left your sight, worry infected your mind. You were oblivious to the stranger dragging you towards your impending fate, preoccupied with the image of the blood dripping from the wheel, and the pain laced in Daryl's voice. Your care had made you ignorant to the fact that the captor was now leading you towards the haunted house.

When you weren't obsessing over Daryl's current state, you were busy engraving eight words into your mind.

Once you buy a ticket, you never leave.

You prayed that they were wrong, that they weren't as strong as you. You had beaten the odds more times than you could count. The initial outbreak, the CDC, the farm, the prison, Terminus and many other dangers along the way. You had fought wound infections, illnesses and the scum of the earth. All of these times, you thought you had been given a death sentence. Each time a new danger encroached your life flashed before your eyes. No matter what, you managed to live another day.

Maybe your nine lives were about to run out.

You tried to calm your spiralling thoughts. You were a survivor. Yet something about this place felt different, felt sinister. A gut feeling told you that what your captor told you was an ugly truth you weren't quite ready to face yet. They had taken your finger, and maybe, they were going to take your soul.

Horror dawned on you. This was it. This was the place you were going to die. You wouldn't be able to create more memories with Daryl. You wouldn't be able to feel him caress your scars, wiping the pain away. You wouldn't be able to see Judith grow old. You wouldn't be able to see humanity prevail and show how, like a weed, it was extremely hard to erase.

In the darkness, there was one small solace. Daryl had been taken away before he was given a ticket. Your heart ached at the mere thought of him, in agony, alone, surrounded by strange people in a strange place. If there was some higher power, you hoped they recognised and saw the good in Daryl, and hoped that they would spare him from the same fate you felt yourself slowly walk towards.

At least Daryl had a chance escaping.

A shot of adrenaline coursed through you. You needed to get him out.

Weakly, you attempted to hit out at your captor. Your strength was waning quickly, the fogginess in your head growing and the aching of your limbs taking hold. A spark of power was left within, and you used that to try and battle your way out of the stranger's grip.

They held onto you tighter, as if it was possible. They deftly led you away from the tent, where Daryl was hurt and possibly dying. Each step took you further from him, the worry grew in your mind. You no longer cared about the stump on your hand that soaked the rag, your body yearned to hold Daryl, to find out that he was alright. Selfishly you wished he would caress the stump of your finger, and wipe away the pain one last time.

The haunted house started to appear in your view. The high castle walls, painted with a chipping black paint, and windows carved into the spaces, revealing shadows hiding in them. The rickety staircase trembled as your captor dragged you up them. Your hands shot out to try and snatch the rails. Splinters dug into your skin, yet you still scrambled for purchase, fingers leaving the wood as your captor took you closer to the unknown horrors lying ahead.

Your captor didn't even put you down. They kicked a foot out, making the front door slam open. They walked through the entrance, uncaring to the fact your shins slammed into the sides. Every footfall made your heart pound harder. Your mind whirred with the endless possibilities of what would happen when they put you down. You almost wished to stay like this forever, to prolong the inevitable.

You learned early on that wishes were for the naive.

The corridor was a stream of doorways. All of them were firmly closed, shielding you from the terror laying behind them. Your hands reached out to snatch at the door jams, trying, praying that anything will work to halt your captor in their tracks.

The aching in your body was unbearable now. It felt as if your blood was lead, each movement feeling as if you were moving the earth. The world was starting to blur around you.

They kept walking. In a last bid for escape, Daryl sprung to mind. A shot of energy coursed through you. You needed to fight, if not for yourself, for him. Digging your heels in, you pushed back, legs straining with the effort.

Still, they walked.

With each passing second you could feel the ink on your death warrant drying. Sweat broke out on your skin. The thought of what they would do to you... You feared it would be worse than what you could imagine.

One of the doors opened.

From the opening, you could make out sterile walls. A mixture of colours were splattered onto the walls. The floor was cracked and stained. A chair, with leather restraints tied around the arms, caught your attention. Your focus honed in the chair. As you got closer, you could make out claw marks etched into the wood.

"No." You muttered. All you could think about was the people who had sat in that chair before you. About what happened to them to make them scratch at the chair like that.

The instruments lined up on the wall behind it revealed the answers you didn't want to know.

The captor pulled you towards the entrance.

They pulled your trembling body into a chair.

They strapped you down.

By now the world was fading in and out. The brief seconds of darkness was a reprieve. You dreaded when your eyes focused again, finding a woman in a torn lab coat, mask covering her mouth. Even with the cloth hiding her expression, you could see the crinkle next to her eyes.

She was smiling.

As your body finally succumbed to the blood loss, you heard her whisper.

"Don't worry, we'll fix you soon."

The first thing you noticed, was the jagged crack in the ceiling. It flummoxed you - there wasn't any cracks like that at your home in Alexandria. Coming to think of it, the ceiling looking nothing like yours. Blinking, you watched the crack disappear and reappear through your lids.

"Ah, you're awake!"

You were electrocuted: your muscles instantly tensed and your hairs stood on end. Your arms tried to flail out, only to be yanked down by the leather holding your wrists. The smooth, alluring voice you had heard before you went unconscious shocked the memories back into you.

You were a long way from home.

An intense smell of burning hit your nostrils. You resisted the urge the gag, the scent of burnt flesh hitting you like a truck. The woman only laughed, shaking her head.

"That smell, that's you."

Looking downwards, everything moved in slow motion. Where your finger had once been, a stump, the edges having blackened. Your mouth moved, no sound leaving your lips. Like a fish out of water you gasped for air, regretting it instantly as you inhaled another sharp breath of your own cauterised skin. Stomach rolling, you had to spin to the side to avoid vomiting on yourself.

The woman cackled, creasing over. You wished you had the energy to glare at her, only able to spare her a slightly venomous glance as you wiped at the corner of your mouth.

"What did you do to me?" You meekly muttered, half-heartedly rubbing the side of your mouth against your shirt. You paid no mind to the streak of vomit it left.

The laughter quickly died out, almost like a song playing on the car radio, then driving through a tunnel, cutting the music off. Her attitude flipped on it's head. Her face curdled with a brewing anger. The woman pounded towards you, snatching at your wrist. Tight pressure started to bloom in your arm.

"This," she waved your arm as much as she could with the straps tying you down, forcing you to stare at the charred skin surrounding where your finger once was. "This was saving your life. You ungrateful brat!"

A spark started to build in the bottom of your chest. These people tore you away from the person you loved, cut your finger off, made you watch a show where Daryl was impaled and now had the audacity to claim they were being kind? The anger boiled the more you pondered it, the words spewing from your mouth before you had chance to process them. "You fucking psycho's are the ones that cut it off!"

The woman froze. She looked at you for a very long time. With each passing second you could feel the inferno in your chest burning out, leaving a cold dread in the ashes. You wished you could snatch the words out of the air, force them back into your lungs and let them burn with your fury.

"Very well then." The woman let go of your arm. She stepped away from you, rummaging at a table you couldn't see. After gathering a few supplies, she set a table up besides you. A syringe filled with dark liquid captured your attention. At this distance, you could see how it sloshed in the syringe, leaving strings of almost black goo in it's wake.

"You know..." The woman pulled on a pair of latex gloves, snapping them into place. "You're going to regret having been so ungrateful. We provided you a show, somewhere to stay. But all you could think about was yourself."

You gulped. You were frozen in place, watching with fearful eyes as the woman fiddled with the supplies. Her hand reached for the syringe.

Instinctively, yours strained to reach hers through the restraints. Your fingers brushed her skin. Slowly, her gaze lifted upwards to you.

"Please don't." You pleaded.

"We always protect our own." She smiled, and you swore you saw a flash of remorse. "We don't always do it through traditional means."

Her hand found the syringe. She moved closer to you, drawing back the plunger and touching the needle to your neck.

"Hold still. Your suffering will end soon enough."

You pulled away as far as you could, scrambling in the chair. The chair was shuffling backwards with each movement, sending you further away from the impending syringe.

Letting out a guttural sound of frustration, the woman lunged. The pair of you fell to the floor. You groaned, your back lighting up in agony. The woman was quicker to recover, standing over you. Her looming shadow drowned out your figure.

A sharp pinprick lit up your arm. Looking down, you could see the syringe hanging out of it uselessly, the liquid still contained. You tried to break free, tried everything you could to make sure you didn't find out the deadly consequences.

The woman pressed down on the plunger.

You froze. A beat passed, then two. You waited for death to take it's hold and make your body succumb to it's natural process. But... your heart was still beating.

It was your turn to laugh.

"You'll regret not killing me when you had the chance."

You slammed your head into hers. She stumbled backwards, clutching at her bleeding nose. Stars sprung before you; you couldn't let it stop you. Shuffling back enough until you hit the wall, you used it to propel the chair upwards. Now that you were upright, you could unleash holy hell.

She saw the blood lust in your eyes. You imagined all of the ways you could make her bleed. The room was well kitted for it, with saws, syringes, scissors and knives. You could drag out her suffering for as long as you liked, let her indulge in the terror they had subjected you to.

You craved to feel her tremble under your hands.

The woman started moving backwards, steadily moving towards the door. The corner of her lips were upturned.

"I wouldn't speak so soon."

She ran out of the door, her figure disappearing down the corridor. You moved to chase after her, stumbling forwards. The chair you were tied to was dragging you down.

"Shit." You muttered under your breath. You tried not to think about the pit of disappointment blooming. The longer you were here, the more of yourself you were losing. Never in a million years would you even dream of torturing someone for revenge.

You cast a glance around, scanning the area three times before letting your shoulders drop. Finally, you were alone. You took your time cutting off your restraints, cursing as the knife you had lined up sliced into your skin. Blood droplets splattered onto the floor.

But that was the price of freedom.

The restraints off, you hastily tied some cloth around the cuts on your wrists. With a knife in hand, you marched with purpose out of the room with one thought in mind.

Daryl.

next chapter

the walking dead masterlist

#the walking dead x reader #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead fanfic #the waling dead fanfic #the walking dead #twd fanfic #twd x reader #twd #twd fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon #halloween fanfiction

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halfway-through-insanity · 2 years

Text

Febuwhump Dump 3

Finally! Again, a couple days late but i hope its worth it!

This one turned out to be really Dark (pun not intended but welcome). TW for extensive graphic descriptions of violence and body horror and blood.

Guess i had to get it out of my system :/

As always, you can read it on ao3! Please leave a comment and/or kudos if you liked this! The more feedback I get, the more i am motivated to write, so if you wanna see more just let me know!

Excerpt:

If Time wasn’t as experienced and seasoned when it came to adventures and quests, he’d be panicking.

Instead of wrestling needlessly against the shackles that were clamped tight around his wrists, Time folded his hands patiently in his lap. Likewise, he didn’t waste his energy thrashing at the bars of the cage he had woken up in. Instead he leaned back and closed his eye and ran through the events that landed him here in this dimly lit cave guarded by heavily armored Iron Knuckles.

Can’t Go Home/ Hidden Scars/ “Does that hurt?”/ Self-inflicted Wound/ Forced to Watch/ Delirium/ Caged/ “Help them”

Below the cut!

Can’t Go Home/ Hidden Scars/ “Does that hurt?”/ Self-inflicted Wound/ Forced to Watch/ Delirium/ Caged/ “Help them”

If Time wasn’t as experienced and seasoned when it came to adventures and quests, he’d be panicking.

The portal had dropped the chain in a thick forest, but they didn’t know which Hyrule they’d landed in until they ran into one of Time’s mobilns. The anticipation that started as a faint flutter in his chest grew each day. He was going to see Malon soon. It had been months since he had introduced her to the other heroes, so his heart and mind had been weighing heavily on how much he missed his wife and his home and the peaceful sunrises. Every day that he woke up to another mob of infected monsters just made the ache for peace that much greater.

He loved his companions like they were family and he was immensely grateful to have this time with all of them but to put it simply, Time was homesick.

Once he got his bearings, Time led them in the direction of Lon Lon Ranch. It would be a few days but he didn’t mind. Until, of course, they had come across a dying traveler on the road who told them through rasping breaths about his village being attacked by strong monsters. As heroes, they naturally set out to clear the town of the threat. A detour. That was fine, Time thought. Not a problem.

But what should have only added a day to the trip turned into a few more days, then a couple more weeks as they came across more people in need and more enemy camps. Time’s Hyrule had become overrun with beasts, some of which were not even from his Hyrule. They spent a day hunting down one of Wild’s Lynels that was lurking near Kakariko. Another day they had found Death Mountain and Goron City overrun with various Skulltulas from different eras. Aeralfos form Twilight’s era set up perches along the spindly land-bridges leading to Zora’s Domain.

It was just one thing after another and Time got the crushing feeling that he won’t ever go home. And perhaps, he had thought, this was a sign from the Goddesses that he shouldn’t go home. What if staying at the Ranch led Dark Link (or ‘Dark’ as the chain started calling him) right to them. Malon and her father and the animals would be the perfect target for their shadowy doppelganger. On the other hand, if the kingdom was so infested with monsters, Time needed to check on the Ranch to make sure his family was safe. Malon could certainly do some damage and make a significant dent to whatever may threaten her and the Ranch, but with how strong the monsters were becoming Time knew she wouldn’t hold out for long.

Then one morning as he was washing up by a nearby stream, the chain was caught off-guard. Half of the heroes were still asleep and none of them had donned their armor (except Warriors since he was the last on watch duty).

Time had felt a stinging pain bolt through an old scar on his shoulder. The scar was a very old injury, but it had been a nasty one inflicted by none other than Dark Link himself. It was during Time’s first quest and he was in the Water Temple fighting the haunting shadow that eerily mirrored his likeness and his attacks. Back then, Dark’s power was not as potent and the deep wound gouged into Time’s left shoulder took longer to heal than any others, but it wasn’t entirely unmanageable. Now, after the incident with almost losing Twilight, it appeared that Dark had grown in strength and any damage he made with the cursed twin of the Master Sword seemed to be almost impossible to treat. If it hadn’t been for Hyrule’s unwavering strength, Twilight wouldn’t be here.

The throbbing twinges of pain puzzled Time, but he had a sneaking suspicion the cause for the pain now was the same as what had done the damage all those years ago. Dark was near and his body could feel it.

Distressed shouts from the camp had Time sprinting back just in time to see Wind take a nasty blow to the head by a moblin club. The monster had started dragging the young hero away, so Time snatched up his sword and went after it. The others were completely preoccupied with other monsters so they weren’t able to help.

The next moments were a blur. He had managed to make the moblin drop Wind, only to be bombarded by three other moblins. Time had no armor and blow after blow landed on his unprotected body.

He was overwhelmed until large beastly hands retrained him and he got pulled into a dark portal.

Now here he was, caged like an animal in some unknown cavern with no way out. One entrance at the far side of the space was guarded and patrolled but Time couldn’t see very far down the tunnel it led to. The cage he was in wasn’t too small, just large enough to lie flat if he wanted, but he chose to sit with his legs crossed and back straight and focused on controlling his steady breathing. Panic would not help him, he needed to remain calm and in control. He’d been through worse.

The pain from his shoulder had grown significantly and Time could only guess Dark was very close by. Good, he thought to himself. He would finally get some answers to this whole inter-dimensional adventure he and his friends had been flung into.

The heavy clanking of an Iron Knuckle grew closer as it made its rounds through the cavern. Time opened his eye and watched the armored guard approach. “Excuse me,” Time asked, infuriatingly polite. He hoped it got on the guard’s nerves. The Knuckle stopped in front of his cage. “Do you think I could have something to drink? This cavern is quite warm, don’t you think?”

The Knuckle didn’t respond-it only stared blankly though its helmet.

“Maybe something to eat instead, then?” Time pressed. He suppressed a smug grin when the Knuckle’s hands tightened around its axe and its shoulders tensed in frustration. He was most definitely getting on its nerves, but it remained silent. “Is there perhaps a restroom?”

The knuckle stared, fuming. Time had asked for a restroom a dozen times since he woke up in the cavern simply to irritate the guard.

“Ah, I think I understand your frustration,” Time tapped his chin with his finger. “All of your other friends were assigned the important tasks of pillaging and murder while you were left to guard the prisoners and clean up their droppings. Like a poor farm hand wallowing in pig shit. Am I right?”

The Knuckle growled and slammed his axe against the bars of the cage, but Time didn’t bat an eye. Instead he flashed a charming smile.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.” Another guttural growl was met with a smug grin. “You really must work on that temper of yours. What’s your name, so I can properly complain to upper management?”

Silent as the grave.

“No? Hmm, you look like a Jeremy. May I call you Jeremy?” If he was going to be stuck down here, Time figured he may as well have some fun.

“Enough, prisoner,” Jeremy spat.

Time raised his shackled hands in feigned surprise. “He can speak! Farore above, I thought the day would never come. How exciting our friendship has bloomed so quickly.”

Jeremy violently swung the axe against the bars once more, huffed furiously and resumed his rounds.

Time settled more comfortably in his cell with his bound hands behind his head to cushion from the cold bars. He would definitely have fun with this guy. The easier a guard was annoyed, the easier they were to manipulate. Besides, as Jeremy had swung his axe, Time had caught sight of a set of keys tucked in its armor.

As Time was beginning to plot how he would get a hold of the keys, a Darknut from Twilight’s Hyrule came into view from the shadows of the tunnel. It appeared to be dragging something. Time squinted to get a better look.

His heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t dragging something, but someone. “Wind,” Time breathed. The sailor was completely limp as he came into full view. Blood was streaming from his forehead and another large patch of red stained his tunic as blood pooled from his side into the fabric.

The Darknut ordered Jeremy to open Time’s cell and tossed Wind through the door as soon as it opened. Bars shut and locked tightly with a bang and immediately Time scrambled to his friend’s side. Wind was breathing- Time silently thanked the Goddesses- and began to stir.

“Take it easy, sailor,” Time said softly. He expected a snippy remark from Wind like always, but the boy groaned wordlessly. Gently, he smoothed the mussed hair on Wind’s head.

“Granny…” Wind whimpered. At first, Time frowned thinking Wind was making another of his famous jabs at Time’s age but the boy kept whimpering and calling for ‘Granny’. “I’ll find her,” Wind breathed.

Realization dawned on Time’s face. The kid had lost a significant amount of blood on top of getting a nasty blow to the head and was in the delirious state between the waking world and unconsciousness. From what he could remember of Wind’s tales about his adventures, his dreams were probably dragging him back through some unpleasant memories. Carefully, Time lifted Wind’s head and rested it on his leg.

He had deep attachments to all of his companions and Wind was no different. The boy wasn’t just any reckless kid, but a courageous and deceptively strong young hero that quickly stole Time’s heart. Often times he’d see Wind as a little brother, but as they got to know each other more and he opened up, Time couldn’t help feeling a paternal sort of affection. The boy reminded him so much of himself when he was young- defiant and stubborn in the face of evil. Any time he saw a development in Wind’s skills, he would swell with pride.

It hurt him now to see Wind so battered. He inspected the wounds carefully and none of them seemed dire. The wound on his head wasn’t pretty but the bleeding was slowing down and there was a moderately sized cut on his side that was beginning to clot as well. With no resources at his disposal, the only thing to do was to let Wind rest.

~*~

The next few hours passed slowly, marked by occasional fits of restlessness and mumbling from Wind. Most of it was unintelligible and Time would calm the boy with soothing words and gently running his fingers through Wind’s knotted hair. All the while, Time was thinking of ways to escape but couldn’t come up with much. It didn’t matter though- this cage couldn’t hold two heroes for long. His experience told him that an opportunity would always present itself.

So he waited.

After a while, Wind stirred once more. “Time…?” He croaked.

“I’m here,” Time responded with a soft smile.

Wind’s eyes cracked open and looked up at him in confusion. “You’re going way too fast.”

Time’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“You’re going like-” Wind finished his sentence by pointing a feeble finger and making quick circles with his hand in the air. Time’s frown melted to an amused smile.

“Oh. Sorry, I’ll try to slow down,” he chuckled.

“You better,” Wind grumbled. A beat of silence passed before Wind groaned and covered his face with his hand.

“How bad is the headache?” Time ventured.

“Bad,” Wind grunted. “I’m gonna throw up.”

Time pursed his lips. “Please try to not do that.” The place was smelly enough, but Time understood if Wind had to. He was only half joking anyway in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“All over your pants,” Wind elaborated.

“Don’t you dare.”

“I’m gonna.”

“If you do, then poor Jeremy is going to have to clean it up,” Time complained with an exasperated sigh.

Wind managed to lift his head and the confused frown of his returned. “Who the fuck is Jeremy…?”

Time pointed to the Iron Knuckle standing at the tunnel entrance. “My new friend.”

Wind followed Time’s gaze and squinted across the cavern. “It has a name?”

“Nope,” Time shrugged. “So I gave him one. I don’t think he likes it though.”

Wind’s head fell heavily back onto Time’s leg with an amused grunt. “You think your new friend could get us some water? I’m dying.”

“He’s refused to get me water all day, but maybe if we bother him enough he’ll do it.”

“Cool.” Wind cupped his mouth with lazy hands. “Jeremy!”

“Hey, Jeremy!” Their voices bounced over the stone walls of the cavern and the Iron Knuckle in question stiffened. Time knew it was seething with rage and he couldn’t help but smile at the thought. “Jeremy, we need some water over here!”

“I’ll trade you something for some water,” Wind bargained.

“You’re in your pajamas, Wind. You don’t have anything to trade,” Time noted in a hushed voice.

“I have some candy in my pocket,” Wind whispered back with a sly grin.

Of course he did, Time thought as he rolled his eyes. Wild had been experimenting with different candies recently, which Wind eagerly tested each time a batch was done. It was no surprise he’d squirreled away some pieces for a late night snack.

Time resumed pestering their irritated guard. “Jeremy, he’s got candy!”

“I’ll give you one piece for some water, Jeremy,” Wind offered generously. The clanking of armor filled the cavern and Wind’s head snapped up in surprise. “Holy shit, did that work?”

“No,” Time sighed in defeat. The clanking was getting quieter. It seemed Jeremy was done with their antics.

“Two pieces!” Wind yelled down the tunnel. “I’ll give you two!”

Jeremy disappeared into the depths of the tunnel. “Tough luck, kid,” Time snickered. “Just rest up. We’ll need your strength when we get out of here.”

“If we get out,” Wind whined.

“Hey. Positive attitude, sailor,” Time chided. “We’ve been through much worse.”

Little did they know the worst was yet to come and they remained oblivious as they passed the time telling jokes and chatting about escape plans. Wind’s headache slowly subsided and he eventually sat up and leaned comfortably against Time.

Wind was rolling a candy around in his mouth when the noisy clanks of armor returned down the tunnel. His ears perked in anticipation.

“Hey, you think it’s got water?” Wind hoped innocently.

“Doubt it,” Time grunted. “Hey, grumpy greaves!” He called as soon as Jeremy came into the dim torch light of the cavern. Wind laughed beside him. “Have you reconsidered our offer?”

The silent Knuckle marched toward the cage with purpose and took out a set of keys. It unlocked the door and the iron hinges creaked sharply in the small space which made the two heroes wince at the sound. Wind saw this as an opportunity and before Time could stop him, the boy attempted to bolt past Jeremy. But the Knuckle was quick and slammed Wind back with a harsh fist. Time opened his mouth to protest, but Jeremy grabbed the elder by the arm and dragged him out of the cage. The door shut behind him, leaving Wind spewing curses between the bars.

Jeremy forced Time to kneel in the middle of the cavern facing the tunnel and they waited in suffocating silence when Wind realized his insults landed on deaf ears.

Time heard the laugh before he saw the red eyes glowing in the shadows and he frowned. The persistent throbbing in his shoulder that he had felt all day suddenly spiked to a sharp burn and his body tensed at the pain.

Dark Link emerged from the tunnel, the only thing distinguishing his form from the inky black behind him was the light from the torch illuminating his outline. Time clenched his jaw when he saw the cursed Master Sword slung across Dark’s back. That damn blade…

All prior lightheartedness seemed to dissipate from the cavern when Dark stopped a couple steps from where Time knelt, replaced by heavy foreboding. Here stood the one who had dared cause Twilight’s life to hang by a thread, who sent hordes of infected monsters to terrorize innocent lives. Time wanted answers.

Dark’s smile was far from kind as his blood-red eyes swept over Time. “It’s been a long time since we’ve been face to face,” Dark observed through a crooked grin. After all these years, Time still was shocked by how the shade’s voice echoed his own. It made his skin crawl.

“Not long enough,” Time retorted. But he didn’t want to engage in small talk, he wanted justice.

Dark crossed his arms in amusement. “My, you’ve gotten so serious in your old age. How boring.”

“Un-cuff me and I’ll be happy to kick your ass like the good old days,” Time’s expression remained hostile as he met Dark’s gaze with an unwavering glare.

Dark laughed. “Even if I obliged, you’ll see I have grown significantly in power.”

“And you’d be a fool to assume I haven’t as well.”

“Ah yes, I’m aware of your previous battles.” Dark crouched so he was eye level with Time. “Majora’s demise.” The venomous words hissed through a toothy grin as it widened across his face. “But now I have you without your blessed sword or those toys you find in dusty temples. I’m interested to see how you’d win this one.”

Time hid a smug grin beneath a stone mask. “The words of a fool, indeed.”

It was true, Time had no weapons or items- nothing but the clothes on his back and his lean muscle. He should have been defenseless if it weren’t for the marks on his face that alluded to a greater power. The Fierce Deity mask was not something to use lightly and Time had always known that from the first time he wore it, but he sorely underestimated the cost even back then. Having a literal god imbue his body with divine power was beneficial when it worked with him, but an impossible force to fight against. Any time he had tried to remove the mask, the control he had of his own body and even his mind stood on a slippery slope. The Fierce Deity did not relinquish power willingly and each time he used it, it became harder to pull the mask off.

The last time he had torn the mask from his face, he’d found marks on his skin mirroring the ones on the mask. To this day he can’t decide if it was a blessing or a curse because now he could summon a fraction of the Deity’s power without having to dawn the mask, but the fight for control remained without a physical vessel to contain the god. If the Deity took complete control, there was no way to take it back. Malon had made him swear never to use the power and he agreed, but he knew it was always there if the occasion called for it. Luckily, it hadn’t thus far.

Time wasn’t sure if Dark knew this, but he was willing to bet he was ignorant of the power. This was confirmed when Dark continued to sneer proudly. “Typical false pride from one of the Chosen Heroes. The lot of you are so predictable, which makes my goals much easier to achieve.”

“Oh? And what are your goals? To kill us all?” Time raised an eyebrow.

Another laugh echoed through the cavern. “Please, if I wanted you all dead, I would have killed you already. Sure, that’s the end goal I suppose,” he shrugged and rolled his eyes. “But not before I obtain the Triforce from each world.”

Confusion twisted Time’s features before he could hide it. How did he plan on doing that? “No one has that kind of power, not even Ganon,” He noted, thinking he had called Dark’s bluff.

The crooked grin before Time did not falter. “Oh but I do.”

“What do you know of power,” Time scoffed. This mere shadow couldn’t be capable of endeavors as grand as seeking the Triforce. He was delusional.

“Everything.” Dark raised his hand to reveal a faintly glowing Triforce on the back of it, the Triforce of Power illuminated more than the other two.

No…

This changed everything. A bead of sweat rolled down Time’s back and his heart rate spiked. Dark was no miniscule nuisance any longer. The form that crouched before him now had unyielding power at his disposal and could raze entire kingdoms to the ground on a whim.

“Now,” Dark continued, “I’d like to show you how I’ll rip the Triforce from your very soul. See, it’s not so simple- I can’t just take it. The Spirit of the Hero is strong. Not only must I break your body, but I must break your Spirit.”

Time narrowed his eyes at the challenge. If there was one thing he knew he could rely on, it was his unwavering spirit of Courage. He raised his chin in defiance. “Feel free to try, but you will be sorely disappointed."

“Really?” Dark reached for Time’s left shoulder. All he had to do was touch it with one finger before searing pain exploded from the old battle scar and Time barely choked back a cry in his throat. “I’ll take my chances, Hero,” he gloated. But immediately Dark’s arrogant grin fell slowly when Time began to laugh deeply through grit teeth.

Blue eyes met red with a new fire. “After everything the Goddesses put me through, you think pain will break me?” Time spat. “I’ve survived far worse than pain.”

A furious ebony hand shot out and in one swift motion with a surprising amount of strength behind it, Time was pinned to the ground by his neck and Dark loomed above him. Time blinked until his vision refocused. When had Dark drawn his sword?

“You won’t survive this,” Dark spat back before driving the cursed blade into Time’s shoulder and twisted it.

Being stabbed was not a new sensation for Time. Sure, it was dreadful but it was never unbearable. But this? Not only was an old wound being reinjured, but the blinding pain rocketing through his body was beyond excruciating. He writhed under Dark’s iron grip as cries escaped his throat and rang through the cavern. Wrists involuntarily strained at the shackles still binding him. Somewhere, Wind was shouting his name.

A twisted smile crawled on Dark’s face one again as he watched his hero counterpart jolt with every turn of his blade as it gouged his flesh.

Time thought it would never end, but he was proven wrong when Dark pulled the blade out of his shoulder. “Did that hurt, Hero?” He sneered.

Through heavy breaths, Time’s eye returned to Dark’s villainous gaze. “Is that it?”

Dark opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by a certain pirate fighting against the bars of his cage. “Bastard! Get your fucking hands off of him!” Wind barked.

Dark turned his head slightly to the side to look at the feisty young hero and Time swore he could see thoughts whipping through the shade’s mind. If Dark Link was anything like him, he’d come to the same line of thinking. Time held his breath and prayed silently to the Goddesses above he wouldn’t, but when realization dawned on Dark’s features and hungry eyes slowly found his again, he had his answer.

“You might be right, Hero of Time. Pain certainly won’t break you. But it will break him.” Slowly, Dark stood from his place above Time and motioned to the Iron Knuckle still keeping guard to seize him. Cold armored hands dragged Time back to the cage while he kicked and panicked in the relentless grip.

“Your fight is with me,” Time urged. The panic in his voice was thinly veiled, though he tried. He didn’t want Dark to think that he’d won, but the thought of Wind going through what he had just experienced made his heart drop to the floor.

“My fight is with the Goddesses, mortal,” Dark growled. Time was thrown back into the cage and Wind was extracted before he could do anything to fight back. The door slammed in Time’s face and he shook uselessly at the bars. His shoulder screamed in protest but he didn’t care.

“Leave him alone!”

Dark tossed Wind to the ground and just as the young hero mustered the strength to charge at the shade, he froze in place when Dark lifted a hand. Wind trembled like he was fighting an invisible force and Dark laughed once more.

“Do your worst,” Wind managed through grit teeth.

“Wind, no!” Time pleaded.

With curling fingers and a twist of Dark’s hand, it wasn’t long before Wind’s cries erupted in the cavern. Time could only guess what sort of dark magic was plaguing the boy’s every molecule. He pleaded frantically for Dark to stop and he fought against the bars of his cage and the chains around his wrists. He had to do something…

Then the screaming stopped all at once as Dark’s focus turned to the tunnel behind him. It took Time a moment to be able to hear past the blood rushing in his ears, but soon he heard it too- the distant sound of a fight echoing through the cave.

“It seems your companions have found us already,” Dark mused, sounding only mildly inconvenienced. “Perhaps I’ll speed things up.” He grabbed the young hero by the shirt and held him aloft, tiny boots dangling a foot off the ground. “I will extract his power,” Dark flashed a menacing smirk at Time. “And you’re going to watch.”

Before Time could even draw a breath to protest, Dark plunged the cursed blade up to the hilt through Wind’s abdomen just below his rib cage, the obsidian emerging horrifically from his back. Wind’s eyes went wide and his body tried to curl at the shock. He gasped and choked, feebly clutching at the pommel.

As quickly as the blade was thrust, it was drawn back and the boy was dropped to the hard ground in a motionless heap. Time roared, his heart breaking at the sight of blood spilling from Wind’s back and pooling in the dirt. He fought frantically against the shackles and the iron cut into his wrists at the strain. Tears trailed down his face like streams from a hot spring. This couldn’t be happening. This wasn’t real. It can’t be real.

Blood dripped from Time’s wrists as he continued to pull against the chains. If he could just get free- If he could get to Wind in time…

Dark raised his hand once more and this time a golden light began to bloom from Wind’s chest. The Triforce… It was almost blinding but Time couldn’t look away. He wouldn’t let this happen. If he could just…

Chain links creaked and gave little by little and the marks on Time’s face stung against his skin. A familiar power grew in his chest and radiated to his limbs. Please, just save him. Save him…

“Wind!” Time cried as both his good eye and his blind one opened with one final burst of energy.

Wisps of light streamed faintly around the Fierce Deity and chains broke apart with as much ease that would break a twig. Both eyes now glowed white, but it wasn’t the full power of the Deity- Time was still very much in control as he drew strength from the godly power granted to him. He didn’t have his celestial armor or his Helix Blade, but he didn’t need those to dispose of this annoyance.

He kicked the door to his cage clean off the hinges and it flew several feet away. Dark abandoned his prize in favor of brandishing his sword at Time.

The god laughed.

As soon as Time was near, he wrapped a hand around Dark’s neck and lifted him from the ground like Dark had done to Wind moments ago. He effortlessly ripped the cursed blade from trembling hands and didn’t hesitate as he ran it straight through Dark’s chest and twisted it with a taunting smirk.

“Does that hurt?” The god hissed. He pulled the blade and discarded the pest. Dark did not move any longer.

It’s over, Time announced to the Fierce Deity, but the power still coursed through him. Gleaming eyes bore into the unmoving form before him. Let me go, Time demanded. The god wore a wicked grin and began to laugh.

“Time…?”

The Fierce Deity turned its attention to the group of heroes that now stood at the mouth of the cavern. The god felt…connection when he met their worried eyes. My family, Time felt indescribable relief wash over him at the sight.

Twilight stepped forward and dared to wrap his hand around that of a god. He was blind to the others rushing to the aid of the young hero behind him because the Fierce Deity felt something new.

Family. Love. An unbreakable bond.

A weakness in the Deity’s grip which Time exploited immediately and took hold once more.

Time’s eyes dimmed and closed. The world spun as the cosmic power left him and he collapsed into Twilight’s arms, cursed sword clattering to the ground.

“Save him…” Time muttered. He couldn’t let Wind die…

“We got him, don’t worry,” Twilight said in a low and soothing voice.

Knowing Wind was safe now, Time allowed his waning consciousness to slip from his mind. Wind was safe. He was safe. They were all together.

He could finally go home.

#Linked universe #febuwhump #this one was way to damn fun im sorry #i laughed i cried it moved me bob #tw graphic depictions of violence #tw body horror #tw blood #yo i fucking love time to death #you can tell cuz i hurt him a lot #thats how i show love #linkeduniverse #i wrote this instead of sleeping #ashes writes

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small-as-a-mouse · 3 years

Text

Daisy Pt. 7

(tw graphic description of injury, medical supplies, discussion of death as part of the natural order of things)

“Daisy?” The human, Toby, said, and if his voice was working, Aster might have laughed. Him? A Daisy? Did the human really think… he looked at his flower. Noticed the petals. His sister wouldn’t have… Oh bugs. Now he really felt like laughing. In his panic he’d mistaken the color for his namesake but the human was right, it did look more like a daisy then anything else. How embarrassing. Now he hoped the human would kill him just to save him the shame of making such a mistake.

“You don’t really… uh. Look like a Daisy,” Of course he didn’t! “No offense! That’s a wonderful name,” Perhaps Toby meant this as a compliment but Aster was quickly gaining new negative emotions atop his already long list of terrible feelings. This was worse than death. He tried to speak again, but that same feeling of a pressure in his throat and chest caught up with him and he just let out an undignified choking sound. The fear that had kept him frozen earlier was still there, buzzing like a swarm of wasps beneath his skin. The slight movement of his cough caused him to shift where he was lying in the box and he groaned, lowering his arm back down and closing his eyes. Toby, (and what type of name was Toby anyway) didn’t say anything, but Aster could still feel those big eyes looking down on him.

The quiet allowed his mind to slip to other things. Something was wrong with his wing. He hadn’t looked at it yet, because he could feel deep in the pit of his stomach that as soon as he looked he would hit his breaking point. Twice now he’d tried to fly only to have been so unbalanced that he couldn’t stay airborne. He was worse than a hatchling.

Sage would probably laugh at him. He hoped she was alright. He remembered her being far ahead of him when the dog had caught up to him, and he’d definitely distracted the beast long enough for her to get past the treeline at least. He didn’t remember much after that though. He wouldn’t want her to ever see that. If she hadn’t seen what happened, then perhaps she would assume that the dog… finished him off. He knew what the village would do. They would keep her safe. He didn’t begrudge them. It was their code- if you were dead then you were meant to be dead. If you were lost then you were meant to be lost. Sage had never taken things lying down like that. Aster had been more reasonable. He understood. The woods wanted what they wanted, and if someone died then it was simply the way things were meant to go. He had just hoped the two of them would be one of the lucky few. But apparently not.

“Daisy?” Toby whispered over him, being surprisingly quiet for someone his size, “I really need to change the bandage on your leg. I know you understand me, and it’ll be over really fast.” Aster stared blankly up at him. He was having a hard time processing what the human was saying but understood the implication.

A fear gripped him, but he didn’t have much choice really. His leg wasn’t working. His wings weren’t working. His voice was broken. Either the human would hurt him or help him. It wasn’t like he had much of a choice either way. So he gave a slight nod, and watched as the worried expression on the human’s face gave way to a smile.

He shook as the human’s hands came down around him. He was slightly surprised when he wasn’t lifted into the air again (a horrible experience that he’d gone through twice now). He didn’t want to look but he couldn’t tear his eyes away as the massive appendages took hold of his leg. Toby seemed to slow when Aster’s shaking increased, but started to unwrap his leg with a careful precision. It took a moment for Aster to realize that small tremors were shaking Toby’s hands as well. He glanced upward to find that the kind, reassuring expression had been replaced by an intense focus. The human seemed almost… worried, which didn’t make much sense. What could Aster be doing that could possibly be frightening to a human? He looked back down to his now bare leg. His eyes widened and filled with tears at the sight. His legs had five giant holes that he could see, that were still open and weeping. He wasn’t bleeding anymore, but it was horrible to look at

“Not too bad,” the human muttered, but Aster was sure that wasn’t meant for him to respond too. He had seen worse wounds on other fairies, dead and alive, but describing this one as ‘not too bad’ would never have occurred to him. “This is going to sting,” the human said, though Aster didn’t have time to react before a wet, foul smelling cloth was being laid on, and he screeched and pulled his leg. The human just rubbed the injury quickly and removed the cloth. “Sorry, can’t be too careful,” He said before pulling out more gauze and some other things Aster didn’t recognize. He squeezed something onto the gauze before wrapping it tightly around Aster’s leg. Toby breathed what sounded to Aster like a sigh of relief. “There doesn’t seem to be any infection but we’ll keep an eye on it, dog bites are tricky. I’m going to let you rest, but let me know if you want some water. Or if you want me to look at your wing. I might not be able to help much but you never know.” At that reminder Aster twitched his wing muscles reflexively. No. After seeing what had happened to his legs he knew he wouldn’t be able to handle the human looking at his wing. He didn’t want to hear how bad it looked. He turned his head and stared at the brown wall of the box. Maybe if he just closed his eyes, he’d never have to look at it at all.

#apologies if this doesnt make sense im supposed to be writing something for my storytelling class but here we are #daisy #g/t #fairy OCs #giant/tiny #my writing #my ocs #aster #toby #yes the fairies come out of eggs what about it #I’m weaving a rich tapestry get off my back #Aster is dramatic #Toby is also dramatic but like its aimed at more useful things #I don’t really love this chapter but thats mainly because i thought i was going to have different fun lore happen as opposed to the sad lore #i was thinking about that one witcher quote and how it might relate to these fairies you know the one #anyway for my fairy enjoyers im redesigning oberon for my visdev class might post it when its done #also sorry no art for this one all art energy is going towards aformentioned visdev

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mystic-writes · 3 years

Text

An Injured Eivor (f!Eivor x f!Reader)

I’m so sorry it’s taken so long to post something! I got incredibly busy all of a sudden, and haven’t had the time to write, but here’s this! Full disclosure, I have no idea what this is and it’s all over the place, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless! (Btw, the comic sans trick works. If you know, you know.)

TW: graphic description of an injury, slight nudity?

During your time at Ravensthorpe, you’d taken on the role of town healer. People came to you for everything. Cuts, colds, burns, and bruises - no matter the issue, you could fix it. Generally, you were the most busy during the winter and after Eivor and her crew returned from raids. You would do your best to clean and stitch everyone up, and then send them on their merry ways. However, you’d begun to notice something strange.

You did your best to keep track of everyone you treated and what you used to treat them. That way, you knew what ingredients you had in stock and you should check on next time you went into town. Today, you decided to look through your journal and see what you needed to pick up next time you go shopping. After a while of going down the list, you noticed that you had a visitor who came in more frequently than everyone else.

Eivor had visited you more often than anyone else in all of Ravensthorpe! And most of her visits were for pretty insignificant things, like small cuts and scrapes. Though, you had treated her for a rather serious injury after she had gotten into an incident involving a rose bush. You aren’t sure what exactly happened between her and that rose bush, but you’re also not sure that you want to know. Chalking it up to nothing more than paranoia and sheer coincidence, you head into town to pick up some ingredients that you’re running low on.

As you're heading back to your hut, a longship pulls up to the dock. In it, is Eivor and her crew, returning from a rather long trip. Whatever raid they had decided to take on must not have been an easy fight because you immediately notice that a good portion of the crew is injured, including Eivor, who barely manages to stumble out of the boat. You run over to her immediately and try to help her up, but she stops you.

“Everyone else first,” she insists, and knowing you can’t change her mind, you start making your way around to all of the other members of her crew.

You gather up everyone who can walk, and instruct them to help everyone who can not and have them all meet up at your hut towards the edge of the village. Once there, you begin treating all of Eivor’s crew. You clean wounds, stitch cuts and gashes, and bandage ones. After what seems like an eternity, you send your last patient on her way, and then make your way over to Eivor, who is barely conscious in one of the corners of your home.

“Has everyone been looked after?” she asks, and you nod. You help her up, and half-carry her over to one of the beds. You sit her down, and begin peeling away her many layers of armor and clothing. As you get closer and closer to bare flesh, you notice an extremely dirty and extremely bloody piece of cloth wrapped around her abdomen. Immediately, a sweet, foul odor hits you and you know that whatever lies beneath that cloth is severely infected. After mustering up all the courage you can, you peel back the last layer of cloth and what you see horrifies you; a large gash that spans the width of Eivor’s abdomen. The gash didn’t appear to be very deep, but it must have bled a lot because it had been cauterized with something, presumably a torch, in order to stop it bleeding. However, you’re assuming the wound had been received some time ago, and that it had not been cleaned properly, because it had become infected. The flesh around the wound was red with irritation, and you noticed that pus was seeping from some of the charred skin. Before you could do anything else, you would have to clean the wound. You know this will be less than pleasant, so you decided to give Eivor a heads-up.

“Eivor, I’m going to have to clean your wound before I can start patching it up. It may sting a little,” you lie. She groans in response, and you set out to work. As you’re flushing the wound out with water, you notice the pained noises she is making, and it hurts you more than it usually does. You do your best to soothe her, and give her a break before you start doing anything else. After a while of calming her and stroking her hair, you gather up a few poultices to help with the infection, and a needle and thread to close up the wound because even though it had been cauterized, it still needed a couple stitches. While you’re applying a numbing balm to her skin, you start talking to her to try and distract her from the pain you’re causing her.

“You know Eivor, I was looking through the journal that I keep track of everything in, and I noticed that you’ve been visiting me a lot lately,” you say, teasingly.

“Uh, well I suppose I get hurt often,” she says, flinching slightly as you start the first stitch.

“I suppose you do. Though I think the most memorable visit you’ve had so far is when you came to me after you got into an argument with a rose bush,” you say, finishing up the stitch you had started.

“Well, I was trying to gather a couple for someone, but I ended up needing their help afterwards, so I gave up on that endeavor,” she says. You look up at her and notice the smirk on her face. You feel heat rise to your cheeks, but you do your best to continue treating her.

After the final stitch is in place, you begin spreading a thick layer of a poultice all over the wound. Afterwards, you wrap a bandage all the way around her abdomen and then get up to make her some tea. Handing her the cup, you say, “You know Eivor, you can visit me when you’re not hurt too. I always enjoy having you around, but I think I would enjoy having you around when you’re not injured even more,” you manage to stumble out, cheeks aflame.

“Really? I thought you were starting to get annoyed with me...” she trails off.

“Not at all, Eivor! You always brighten my mood, and I’d really like to see you more often. Just, don’t go around getting hurt, thinking that you need a reason to come visit me,” you say, feeling even warmer.

“That makes me very happy to hear! Um, the roses were supposed to be for you, if you hadn’t caught on. I’m sorry I kind of ruined that with my clumsiness,” she says, her wide smile fading from her face.

“It’s okay, Eivor. I think that was the most interesting story I’ve ever heard about how someone injured themselves,” you say, giggling.

After a little more flirtatious conversation, Eivor begins to dose off. You cover her with a blanket, and barely make it to your bed before you pass out yourself.

About a week passes, and Eivor’s wound has fully healed. It takes a few more days, but eventually she comes to see you again. At first, you’re worried that she’s somehow managed to hurt herself again, but then you see the roses in her hand.

“I won this time,” she says, grinning.

You walk over to her and take the flowers from her, smiling. “I’m glad! I’d of hated to have to patch you up again so soon,” you say, barely managing to contain your laughter.

“I’m glad you think that me fighting a rose bush to show you my affections is funny, but I-I wanted to see if you’d like to come to the Midsummer festival with me this weekend,” she barely stumbles out, blushing fiercely.

“I’d love to go with you!” you reply, giddy, and excited that she’s finally taking you up on your previous offer.

The week passes more slowly than you’d like it to, but it’s finally the weekend, and also the day of the Midsummer festival. You wash your hair, put on your nicest-smelling perfume, and then put on the dress you had bought earlier in the week. It’s a lovely light blue dress, made out of a light, flowy material that will be nice in the warm night air. After completing your outfit with some small, silver earring and hair pieces, you hear a knock at your door. You go to answer it, and find Eivor outside, holding some flowers for you. You thank her, and invite her in so you can put the flowers in a vase. Afterwards, the two of you head to the festival, hand in hand.

You spend the night in Eivor’s company. You really do enjoy spending time with her, and she’s constantly making heat rise to your cheeks with all of her flirty remarks. You eat some sweets with her, and do a little dancing around the fire before you both decide to sit down, enjoying the warmth of the night air, and the heat emanating from the large bonfire. You rest your head on her shoulder, and she puts her arm around you, allowing you to snuggle closer.

“I’ve had a really good time with you tonight Eivor,” you say, sweetly.

“I’ve had a really good time with you too, love. Would you maybe want to spend more time with me, after tonight?” she asks, shy all of a sudden after flirting with you all night.

“Of course, Eivor. I’d like to be with you often,” you reply, trying to hide how nervous you are.

After snuggling by the campfire a while longer, you two decide to go somewhere a little more private. She takes your hand in hers, and guides you to a large tree at the edge of the settlement. You notice how nervous she is, and wait a moment before asking her if everything’s okay.

“I was just wondering i-if I could kiss you?” she asks.

You hesitate for a moment, but wrap your arms around her and press your lips to hers gently in response. You pull away, but she has other ideas and grabs your face, deepening the kiss. You continue kissing her until your body screams at the lack of oxygen. You pull away just a little, and can’t help but notice the goofy grin on her face. After a little a lot more kissing, you both decide to call it a night. Eivor takes your hand in hers once again, and walks you back to your home. And after one final, passionate kiss, you say your goodbyes and get ready for bed.

#fem eivor #assassins creed eivor #eivor x reader #f!eivor x reader #f!eivor x f!reader #my fic #fanfiction #fanfic #mystic-writes #gay #lesbian #wlw #Assasinscreed #assassinscreedvalhalla #fem reader

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of-a-chaotic-mind · 3 years

Text

Memories Part 2

Summary: After returning home from the hospital, Reader’s stitched up wound gets infected. Dean takes her to the hospital to get it all sorted out and then treats her to all her favorite foods and her favorite movie.

TW/CW: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader, post-surgery infection, worried Dean, fever, chills, pain, stab wound, nothing is really graphic aside from maybe Reader’s description of the pain.

Requested?: Yes, a lovely Anon said, “Hello, I completely adored your dean writings and I was wondering if I could request an angst + fluff one shot of dean x reader where she had a surgery and it went smoothly but when she gets back home at the bunker an infection developed, igniting a raging fever along with the pain. And dean gets all worried and protective and takes good care of her. And he's being so gentle 🥺🥺 also can u please include his pov if you can. Ps :Maybe they're already dating??”

Word Count: 1,024

A/N: So, I wrote Memories Part 1 on one Anon request and then got this one and thought they’d go well together. I hope you both don’t mind! This didn’t really get as scary as I had planned for it to tbh, sorry about that. Also, I’d like to note that I honestly have no idea if this is realistic in terms of the medical aspects. I did my best with some quick research. Anyway, I hope you like it! Requests are open and as always love to all! P.S. I’m sorry if this shit, I kept getting distracted while writing it and my brain didn’t want to cooperate.

[ffs how is he so pretty???]

Your POV

I curl closer into Dean’s side and try my best to go back to sleep. I’m absolutely freezing and it feels like my stomach is getting ripped open again. I came home from the hospital several days ago after having surgery in which they sewed up a stab wound on my stomach. They said it should stop hurting by now but it feels like it’s hurting more than when I first woke up after surgery.

I wrap the blanket tighter around me and my fidgeting wakes Dean up, “Hey baby, what’s wrong? Do you need something?”

I huff, “I’m cold and my stomach is hurting.”

“Sit up and let me look at it,” he responds as he turns on the lamp on the side table. I do as told and scoot to the edge of the bed. When he crouches down in front of me, I lift my shirt so he can remove the bandages and have a look. He tilts his head and looks up at me, “Babe, how are you cold? You’re burning up.”

He gently removes the bandages and almost immediately seems to realize what’s wrong, “Shit, I think it’s getting infected.” He gets up and grabs supplies from the bathroom before returning to me. Gently he cleans the incision and wraps a fresh bandage over it, “I’m going to go get you some clothes and call the doctor to see what we need to do.”

I look over at the clock that reads 07:00 and swear under my breath. Guilt gnaws at my insides; Dean hasn’t had a decent night of sleep since we got home and now, I’ve just worried him even more just when he was getting some good sleep. He returns from our closet and helps me into a loose black t-shirt and some jeans with his phone sandwiched between his ear and shoulder, “Alright, we’ll be right there. Thank you, Doc.”

“I’m sorry,” I mumble as I button my jeans and he hangs up the phone.

“Hey, woah. Sorry for what?” he asks in concern.

“You haven’t hardly slept since we got back and now, I’m causing more trouble,” I mumble, looking at the floor.

He lifts my chin so that I look at him, “Don’t do that. This isn’t your fault.”

There’s a hint of something in his tone that I can’t place but I feel the need to assure him, “It’s not yours either.”

He sighs, “Things like this happen. It’ll be okay,” but I can tell he doens’t quite believe what I said.

A quick ride to the hospital, a short time in the waiting room, and some blood tests later and we’re sitting in another hospital room waiting for the doctor to come in. The door opens and the doctor steps in with her clipboard, “Alright (Y/N), let’s see what’s up.”

I lift my shirt and she gently peels away the bandage. I force myself not to look at it otherwise I might panic. She presses the bandage back in place and stands up straight, “It looks like just a minor infection. The worst part of it will just be the fever and pain. I recommend you take some Tylenol or Advil to help with the fever and I’ll prescribe you a round of antibiotics. Other than that, just keep making sure to keep it clean and change the bandages regularly.” Dean and I both nod as she hands me a paper and leaves the room. On the way home we get the antibiotics filled and Dean runs in at a grocery store to pick up some soup and other comfort foods, including pie.

I crawl into bed almost as soon as we get home and wrap a blanket tightly around me. Dean drops the groceries off in the kitchen before returning to my side with a glass of water, Tylenol, and my antibiotics. I take the medicine and down the glass of water before handing it back to him. He brushes my hair out of my face, “Lay down and get comfy. I’ll go make us some food and when I get back, I’ll put on a movie, alright?” I nod and shiver which prompts him to grab another blanket off the desk chair and place it over the other one. I watch him leave before laying down to curl up in a ball, thankfully the pain meds they gave me at hospital have kicked in and my stomach doesn’t hurt as much. Now it feels like a dull cramp.

Dean’s POV

I make my way to the kitchen to heat up some of (Y/N)’s favorite comfort foods and some soup. I have to keep reminding myself that the infection isn’t my fault. It’s not like I could control it. Regardless, it still gnaws at me. I rack my brain trying to figure out what caused the infection but only manage to come up with nothing and annoy myself even more. When I’ve gotten everything together, I carry everything back to our bedroom and set it on the desk. (Y/N) watches me as I grab a few movies from the shelf under the tv and hold them out to her, “Pick one.” A single hand darts out from under the mound of blankets she had manage to collect while I was gone and points at (Your Favorite Movie). I turn back around to the tv and pop the dvd into the player.

When I turn back around, she’s already snacking on the bag of cookies I brought in. I tug them away from her gently and hand her a bowl of warm soup instead, “Real food first, sweetheart.” She pouts a little but begins enjoying the soup all the same. Once we’ve eaten our soup, I grab all the other snacks and sweets from the desk and pile them around (Y/N). She grins as she notices all of her favorites and begins munching away. I press play on the movie and pull her into my side and kiss her forehead, “I love you, baby.”

“I love you too, Dean,” she mumbles through a mouth full of cookies, “Thank you.”

Masterlist

Everything Taglist:

Dean Winchester Taglist: @akshi8278

#dean winchester #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester imagines #supernatural #supernatural imagine #supernatural imagines #spn #spn imagine #spn imagines

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fallingappleshurt · 4 years

Text

Secrets to Save You

It’s here!! The main storyline for my Dancing and Fighting with Fire AU!

TW: Light swearing, non graphic injury description

This first chapter might be a bit boring but I promise you I have a plans

Anyways, hope you enjoy

Chapter 1. Withering Attacks

“Listen, all I’m saying is, your body is completely unnatural, I mean, who can bend like that?” Wilbur said, tipping his head to the side. It was a normal Friday so far, Techno and Wilbur were walking towards the second circle, on their way to pick up Tommy from Tubbo’s family stall.

“Maybe you’re the unnatural one,” Techno said, “Cause those tricks seem pretty natural to me, so, maybe it’s just you.”

“You’re the weird one,” Wilbur retorted, “I don’t know anyone else that can do that-”

“Just because you don’t know anyone else doesn’t mean that they aren’t out there. An old friend of mine-”

“Oh here you go again, back at it about ‘your old friends’, I’m starting to think that they are just imaginary!” Wilbur teased, Techno scoffed and shoved him lightly.

“So you’re projecting onto me now? Very classy Wilbur but I guess that’s to be expected of the Dirty Crime Boy now isn’t it-”

A thundering blare shook the ground, cutting Techno off, instinctively he reached for his sword only to remember that he left it at home. He shoved Wilbur into an alley, in a ditch attempt to protect him, whipping around to find the source of the noise. He saw smoke rising in the distance.

“That looks close to Tubbo’s stall,” Wilbur spoke from behind him, trailing off.

“Tommy,” Techno breathed. That kicked both of the boys back into action. Wilbur started running down the street, there were already some people streaking away from the smoke, screaming.

“We gotta go make sure he’s okay!”

“Wait!” Wilbur turned and saw Techno pulling at a creaky old fence gate.

“This way is much faster,” He forced the gate open, “Hope your climbing skills still hold up!” He said, pulling Wilbur into an alleyway, hoping to avoid any crowds or people in general trying to escape or see the commotion.

Racing forwards, dodging past garbage cans and distressed stray animals, Wilbur called for Techno to slow down or at least say what direction they were going but Techno was on full auto pilot.

Running through a vacant lot, making sure not to step on a pothole he was starting to come up on a stonewall blocking the exit. Techno sped up, jumping onto a dumpster then propelling himself over the wall.

He landed hard but didn’t falter, immediately scanning the area, half of the market was in shambles.

Smoldering pieces of wood clung onto houses and stalls, shattered glass and rubble littered the street, merchandise and shredded cloth lay broken on the ground. Some shops were completely destroyed, pots and pans, and artwork was strewn about.

Guards had already made it there, some were ushring people away, others were taking notes of the damage, one was walking away with a rattling sack, and one was trying to keep a hold on Tommy.

“Let me go! I have to check on him! He-”

“Tommy!” Wilbur said, apparently having made it over the wall, he rushed forwards, trying to get in between the guard and his brother. “Are you okay? What happened?” He asked, checking Tommy over for injuries, besides a nasty cut on his cheek he looked fine.

“One of the shop keepers had tried to open a portal to the nether inside their shop but something malfunctioned and it blew up, a few mobs got out but we have everything under control,” The guard stated, “But just to be safe you should get back to your homes-”

“What does this have to do with Tommy?” Wilbur asked sharply, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“This boy doesn’t have an ID so I was going to take him back to the outpost-”

“We are his guardians,” Techno cut in, chest tight, “He’s our little brother.”

“I need proof, does he have an ID?”

“It’s not with us,” Techno lied, staring at the guard, “He forgot it at home today when going to school but I can assure you he’s ours.”

“That isn’t eno-”

“Let go of my brother.” Techno didn’t back down, neither did the guard. After a few moments Wilbur cut through the silence.

“Sir, please, don’t you have something more important you could be doing? Just let us take our little brother,” He said, hopefully.

The guard pondered it for a moment before begrudgingly letting go of Tommy, “Fine but if I find him again without his ID he’s coming with me.” Then he stalked off.

Techno watched him as he went, making sure he didn’t try and grab Tommy again.

“Tommy what happened? Where is Tubbo and his family?” Wilbur asked, Tommy shifted his feet.

“So me and Tubbo were just hanging out when the wall of the shop blew in and a piece of wood hit me across the face-which doesn’t hurt ‘m fine Wilbur stop it- and Sparkles told us to hide in the back so we hid in the storage closet,” He gestured behind him at the ruined shop.

“Then we heard Sparkles shout, Tubbo started panicking and ran out, yelling about the Captain and he picked up a sword and it was so cool! He started fending off these creepy black skeletons when-” He stopped suddenly, hand starting to shake.

“Tommy?” Wilbur prompted after a minute, Tommy swallowed, blinking rapidly.

“Then the skeleton slashed him across the chest and he screamed, Sparkles showed up and knocked its head off but he grabbed Tubbo and ran off, saying something about infection but, I saw the wound and- and- it looked so bad.” He broke off, shoulders hunching in. Techno felt a lump in his throat.

Wilbur wrapped his arms around him as Tommy started to shake, “It-it was bleeding a lot and-and the edge were turning black then that guard came up and asked for my ID but all I could think about was how Tubbo was wearing his favorite shirt but now it’s ruined and-”

Wilbur hushed him gently, tightening his hold. “Tubbo will be okay, don’t you worry Tommy, he’s a strong lad, he’ll be just fine,”

“But he-”

“You just told me that he took on a monster all by himself, I’m sure that he’ll heal in no time and that you guys will be playing baseball and getting up to stupid shit.”

Tommy laughed wetly, “I wanna do stupid shit with him,” Wilbur didn’t chastize him on swearing, neither did Techno. Techno placed a hand on Tommy’s head, messing with his hair absentmindedly. He hadn’t seen the monster but he already knew it was a Wither Skeleton and that Tubbo most likely had Withering. Tubbo was a strong kid but not many people survived that poison.

But he couldn’t tell Tommy that.

Not right now.

So he didn’t, he just stood there, playing with his hair until Wilbur pulled away, “I know you’re worried about Tubbo but Phil is probably worried about us, so we should head home and get that cut taken care of.”

Tommy nodded. Before leaving Wilbur walked back into the shop, grabbing Tommy’s backpack off the floor, dusting off dirt and wood chippings.

As he came back out, Techno grabbed his shoulder, “I’m going to go check on Tubbo,” He whispered, Wilbur nodded heading down the street with Tommy in tow, trying to get Tommy to tell him about school.

Techno waited till they were rounding the corner before jogging down the street, looking for a medical tent, they were too far from the actual hospital for Tubbo so they had to be close by.

He kept running until a small white tent with red hearts on the flaps came into view, outside was the Captain himself, pacing back and forth. Techno skidded to a halt next to him.

“Tommy told me what happened, how is Tubbo? Did he get withering?” Techno tried not to sound desperate, hoping that it was just a little cut and maybe Tommy had just seen things strangely during the whole fascisco.

The Captain sighed, “Three deep claw marks down his chest, he’s lost some blood and has withering.”

Techno’s heart dropped, “What about the milk remedy? That has to do something, I bet if you administer it quickly it’ll draw the poison ou-”

“It’s not just that, we are doing the milk remedy but the cuts are too deep, he probably won’t survive the shock of it all, the poison, or the infections from the gashes.” The Captain’s hands were clenched at his sides, shaking, his eyes were tired.

“It’s a shame I can’t make potions, I know how to but I don’t have the resources to get the materials, or hell even buy one myself but alchemy is a rich man's game.” His voice was bitter and brittle.

Techno frowned, he wasn’t going to give up that easily. Maybe Tubbo would beat the odds and survive it, maybe he could steal a potion? No that was too risky, potions were kept in high security places. Or he could try and get into the Nether himself- Then it hit him.

He needed to visit a certain blue bastard.

“Captain, you know how to make potions?” He asked, “And all you would need are the materials?”

The Caption nodded, “Yes, I just need some blaze rods and powder and some nether wart. I have everything else.”

“So if I could get you that then you would be able to save Tubbo?”

“Hopefully yes,” The Captain said hesitantly, “Techno what are you planning?”

“Nothing,” Techno said, “Nothing at all, I just have to talk to a friend.” He turned to leave then spun on his heels.

“By the way, we never had this conversation.” Then he started off towards the fourth ring to talk to Skeppy.

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maulusque · 3 years

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guess who just learned a whole lot about burns for a smut fic

it me.

so anyway now i have Ideas about how clone medics would treat blaster burns and they Definitely aren’t all going to make it into the fic because the blaster burn is honestly supposed to be an excuse for one character to undress the other

TW: burns, description of how severe burns affect the body (clinical, not graphic) and burn treatment

So, let’s assume that damage from a blaster bolt is basically a burn that is very small in terms of surface area, and whose depth depends on whether or not it was a direct hit, any armor you were wearing, the power of the blaster, etc. So you get 3rd and 4th degree burns that are like an inch square, which you don’t really see in the real world that often. I think any blaster bolt that comes into contact with a person is going to inflict AT LEAST a third degree burn (which means the epidermis and dermis are destroyed, basically the whole thickness of the skin), but usually would be deeper (4th degree), destroying muscle and bone and whatever else is in there. You’d only get away with a second degree burn if the blaster bolt just skimmed you and didn’t actually hit. Skin around the blaster wound would be white or black.

A skimming shot (2nd degree burn) would actually be the most painful, because once you get to 3rd and 4th degree burns, the nerve endings are destroyed so you don’t feel any pain. Which means that when you get shot with a full-power blaster bolt, you might feel a momentary flash of pain, but then nothing, and if the shot doesn’t immediately down you, you’d probably just keep going, and you might not even notice. Which. Imagine the angst potential of a clone trooper being shot 3 or 4 times and just. not knowing. Clone troopers who keep fighting despite being riddled with blaster bolts, right up until they collapse dead, never even knowing they were shot. Oof.

On the other hand, a weaker shot, say, one that hit a weak point in your armor or came from an underpowered blaster, might dissipate slightly on contact, meaning you’d still get the deep wound that wouldn’t hurt, but there’d be a small area of 3rd and 2nd degree burn around the opening, which would hurt like hell. A painful blaster wound would be a good sign, since it means it isn’t as deep.

Treating blaster burns wouldn’t be quite like real-world burn treatment, because real-world burns, especially severe 3rd and 4th degree burns, tend to cover a lot more surface area of the body than a blaster bolt would, because the things that tend to burn you that badly are not tiny and focused like a blaster bolt. Which means a blaster wound is probably less lethal than severe 4th degree burns, so yay for that i guess. Bacta patches, as well as the ability to cover the entire wound site easily without risking damage to delicate tissue, would greatly reduce the risk of infection.

Treatment involves excision (removal) of dead tissue, and usually for 3rd degree burns, skin grafts. 4th degree burns tend to need amputation- but I’m not sure if that would apply in a situation where the burn is deep but very small- instead of burning your fingers down to the bones (don’t go look at the wikipedia article for burns unless you want to see that), it’s just one small area of your body, with living tissue all around it. And since Star Wars has Magic Healing Juice, clone medics probably don’t need to go around performing amputations on everyone who gets shot in a limb.

I think that burn treatment in the Clone Wars would be somewhat like this:

-in the field, slap a big ol’ bacta patch on it, to protect the wound and help stabilize the patient until further treatment can be performed (bacta would help the body handle the sudden physical trauma, as well as actively fight off any infectious microorganisms). Most blaster burns would probably heal okay with just a bacta patch (see: Rex on Saleucami), but really won’t heal properly without actual treatment. (Although Rex seemed to be just fine the next day, despite the nerve damage that immobilized his arm. My personal theory is that Kix used some sort of mega bacta patch, a step up from the standard. The little blinky lights on it indicate that it has electric components for some reason, so my interpretation is that somehow that bacta patch has Extra Features (tm) that allow it to regenerate nerves)

-once there is more time, the patient can be treated for reals. Removal of dead tissue could be accomplished by a medic with a scalpel, but it would also be interesting if there was a patch or ointment of some kind which was applied to a wound which would just, dissolve the dead tissue without damaging the surrounding tissue. Perhaps it involves some sort of microbe. Sort of like those tanks of tiny fish you stick your feet in and they nibble all the dead skin off your toes? Like that, but microscopic and for wound care.

-the medic would then apply a burn patch, which is essentially a specialized bacta patch. The patch not only applies bacta to the wound, but also contains a pre-generated skin graft, so that as the wound heals, it incorporates the skin tissue from the patch into the healing wound site. The patch is not meant to be removed or replaced. Eventually, once the wound is healed, the top layer of the bacta patch is shed like dead skin flaking off a sunburn. These patches were developed specifically for the GAR, and can only be used on clones, since the skin tissue is generated from clone stem cells. The burn patches greatly speed up and improve burn treatment, since clone medics don’t have to go back in later and perform a skin graft, and subsequently monitor the healing of two wound sites, which would greatly increase the chance of infection.

-Nerve regeneration does not always occur with the standard burn patches, and if it does, is not always complete or perfect. Many clones, therefore, have small numb patches at the sites of old blaster wounds. They may also suffer chronic cutaneous pain at those sites. Unlike in the real world, treatment for this would exist, but would not be available to clone troopers since clone trooper healthcare sucks.

-Nerve-regenerating treatments, like Rex received on Saleucami, are expensive, and are only used when the nerve damage is severe enough to be disabling (e.g. Rex’s arm). The special patches are particularly costly, and normally Kix would have waited until Rex was back in the medbay in order to apply a slightly less costly treatment for his nerve damage, but since they weren’t able to transport Rex and had to treat him in the field, and the nerve-regeneration treatments become less effective the longer treatment is delayed, Kix used the Mega-Healing Patch right away.

-so post-engagement med-bays would have the following procedure: blaster wound patients who are well enough to move on their own (which is more of them than you might expect, since they’re not bleeding out or immobilized by pain), would line up in the med-bay, probably along a wall or in a designated area. Medical techs would go around, removing armor and blacks around wound sites and cleaning the area with water. They would then apply debriding ointment (the dead-tissue-eating stuff), and move on to the next patient while the microscopic pedicure fishes do their jobs. The patient would be checked every ten minutes or so to see if the ointment has finished removing all of the dead tissue. I think it would be cool if the ointment fizzed as it worked, due to the microorganisms releasing gasses as they metabolize dead tissue, and once the ointment stops fizzing, you know it’s done.

Once that is done, the ointment is gently removed, and a burn patch is applied. The patient is assessed for further treatment, paperwork is filled out, painkillers given if the wound is less severe (and therefore painful), and the trooper is free to go. Troopers would probably be talking to each other and cracking jokes, singing songs, or complaining about being bored. Most of them aren’t even in pain. Medics aren’t at all reluctant to physically hogtie a trooper to prevent them from moving since it’s easy to forget that you’re wounded and start roughhousing with your brothers.

-improperly treated blaster wounds, i.e. ones that only received a bacta patch instead of a burn patch, would take much longer to heal, would leave a more noticeable scar, and would cause the skin and muscle of the healing wound to contract, which could be painful and limit mobility, depending on the location of the wound.

-which is why it is common practice to check your squad-mates for blaster wounds they may have missed after engagements, and it’s not uncommon for a medic to menacingly track you down like “I know you got shot, i saw it happen, now get your ass into my med bay before i write you up for clinical stupidity”

so ANYWAY there’s my Clone Wars Medical Headcanon of the day, happy new year. I’m going to go back to writing my smut and if anyone can guess the pairing i will be VERY impressed

MORE under the cut because i fell down a bit of a rabbit hole lol

OKAY so dehydration is a big concern with burns because the skin is what retains fluid and severe burns obviously damage your skin. Fluid leaks from the burn area, since the skin is no longer present to contain it, and this leads to loss of electrolytes and dehydration, and can be lethal. From my brief google foray, it seems that it wouldn’t be a huge concern for blaster wounds, since the surface area that is burned is very small. However, multiple blaster wounds would probably be dangerously dehydrating. Clone troopers in standard blaster wound treatment (i.e. the guys sitting around bored while the debriding ointment fizzes) are probably fine with oral rehydration, meaning that someone shoves a bottle of rehydration formula at them and makes them drink it while they wait.

Patients with more severe blaster wounds are probably kept hydrated intravenously.

There are also potential complications during or after wound healing that are very interesting! Fluids continue to leak from damaged tissue while the wound is healing, and if the surface heals before the deep tissue, can lead to edema (basically, accumulation of fluid in body tissue) can occur. Edemas get worse with rehydration. If the wound doesn’t heal quite right, it can form a compartment, which is a closed space of muscle tissue, nerves, and blood vessels, surrounded by a fascia, which doesn’t stretch. If fluid is leaking into the compartment, the pressure can compress capillaries and nerves, which is called compartment syndrome. Troopers would be told to look out for the symptoms after they are released from medbay. Symptoms include:

-severe pain, out of proportion to the wound, which does not respond to pain medication

-paleness of skin

-weakness or, in severe cases, paralysis of limb

-prolonged capillary refill time (takes a long time for capillaries to refill with blood)

This would have to be surgically treated.

3rd degree burns in real life can take months or years to heal. Due to Star Wars Advanced Healing Juice, and clone trooper genetic enhancements allowing them to heal faster than standard humans, this time is reduced to weeks or even days (again, see Rex on Saleucami).

#tw: burns #clone trooper healthcare #hc #maulusque's stuff

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