#burn wounds cw

[adrift-in-thyme]

Febuwhump Day 4: Blowtorch (Twilight & Time)

Read on Ao3

CW for burn wounds, torture, and vomiting

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The door opens on squealing hinges. The Shadow enters like a fleeting phantom. He walks to the jangle of chains and the screams of the dying. A visage of shadow, eyes of crimson; the cap of the hero, tunic and trousers to match — when Twilight raises his head, he is certain he is gazing at his own twisted reflection. 

“I must say…” Dark lips part to showcase teeth of palest white, pulling upward in a sneering grin. “I am quite glad you are here.”

Twilight shifts. The manacles encasing his wrists rub painfully. The ground is ruthlessly cold and agonizingly hard. His head still throbs with remnant whispers of darkest magic.

“I’m not sittin’ here by any wish of my own, I promise you,” he snaps. 

His lips are cracked. The sharp flavor of blood ignites his tongue. His stomach churns in protest. 

“No?” 

The Shadow stalks towards him. There had been light in this room before he entered, scanty though it may have been. But now it leaves. Flames of torches are snuffed out, thin threads of sunlight sent back through the cracks they had dared to venture through. All there is now is darkness and shadow. The air is stifling with the scent of pain. 

“You put up so little of a fight that I believed….Oh, never mind.��� He shakes his head. His expression is a mockery of concern. “I was mistaken, I suppose. And here I was feeling excited about having you here.”

He reaches out, quick as lightning. His fingers are clammy and clawing upon Twilight’s skin as he grasps his chin. He leans forward, breath ghosting the hero’s cheek. 

“After all, we are rather well acquainted, aren’t we, little wolf?”

Twilight bares his teeth in snarl, jerks away from the touch. It spurs memories of thrashing in murky darkness, of screaming soundlessly, fighting a battle he could never win. Of warm blood and icy tears and the prickle of fever up his spine. Of the desperate voices of his brothers filling his ears, telling him, begging him to never give up.

To fight.

“What?” He growls. “You still sore about losing that battle? You still mad you had to become a knuckle just to try and get the upper hand?”

It’s his turn to lean forward now, his turn to sneer. 

“I warned you, Shadow. You forget where the strength that honed that sword into its magnificence comes from. You underestimate us. All of us.”

The Shadow’s expression spasms for a split second. A spark of fury come and gone. Then, his face stretches into a sinister grin. A series of shivers run a lap around Twilight’s spine.

“You heroes are always so comical. I love it! Truly!” His voice, his laugh drips with sarcasm. “You with all of your bravado and spouted admonishments. It’s wonderful! No wonder the goddesses love you so.”

He cocks his head, a disturbing imitation of the small birds Twilight often converses with. “How unfortunate for her to have to bid farewell to one so soon.”

It happens so quickly that Twilight does not have time to process it. One moment, the Shadow’s hands are empty. The next, he is waving something long and slender and deepest crimson with the grace of a dancer. 

Twilight’s eyes blow wide at the same time as light returns to the tiny space in an eruption of red-orange agony. 

Panic skewers his heart with all the precision of a soaring arrow. Escape is not an option. He could not have attempted it even if it were. He is frozen, held in place by bonds that do not pinch and scratch at tender skin, do not jingle at movement or yank tugging arms back. 

In a swirling, roaring rush of fierce hues and vicious heat the flames make contact with his body. Agony strikes like lightning burning the horizon. It courses through him, searing flesh, cracking bone, lapping up the blood that races to match the erratic thumping of his heart. 

The terror within grows and expands, turns to something far worse. The desperation beasts feel when iron entraps them. The fear and fury that drives them to gnaw off limbs in an attempt to evade pain’s terrible embrace.

Twilight begins to thrash. The chains sing with the movement. The Shadow laughs. The flames arrive again, make contact, spread hungrily along scorched skin and soft fabric. 

He feels them pounding in his skull, feels them screeching in his heart and veins and soul. 

“Beast!”

Torches in the night, held aloft by hands that guided him as a child, fished fallen toys out of the stream, offered trinkets and food and song, taught him how to care for the animals he has always loved so deeply.  

Gasping, Twilight shoves himself to his feet. He surges forward, seeing nothing but red.

Horrible, cursed red.  

“Monster!”

He makes it two stumbling steps before the chains go taut and he comes crashing down. 

An arrow in his flank. Fire in his fur. 

“He took our children!”

“Kill him! Kill him now! Before he takes more from us!”

A lump rises in his throat, pulls it excruciatingly tight. He chokes on it, gags on the acrid scent of burning flesh and hair. Tears burst beneath tightly shut eyelids and dissipate before they even reach his cheeks. His lungs fill with ash and smoke.

“Do you still feel strong, hero?” 

The hands that prop him up shake violently. He cannot tell where the pain ends and the fear begins. They are intertwined, tangled in a dreadful knot in the depths of his gut, branching out along every vein and nerve. 

A foot catches his side, sends him toppling once more. Twilight cries out as seared flesh makes contact with rough stone. Gritting his teeth, he raises bloodshot eyes. Shadows smear eerily in the demonic glow of flame. Crimson eyes are nearly indecipherable from that which tears him apart.

“Do you still feel courageous?” The Shadow glides forward, a poe about to swing its axe down. “Or do you feel the pain that I felt with every blow you dealt me?” 

An icy grip closes around Twilight’s neck. The clash of cold and heat are nauseating, like a fever raging in his bones. The air, so thick with smoke, now fails to reach him at all.

He chokes. Desperate, bloodied fingers raise up to claw at the hand that holds him.

His mind registers nothing save for endless agony and the terrified desire to breathe. 

“Stop.” 

The word bubbles from his lips in a voice so hoarse it hardly sounds like his own. Pride is all but forgotten in his dizzy need for salvation. 

He feels scared and small, a mere pup cowering before an evil he cannot fight. Everything burns. 

“Please,” he croaks. “Please, stop.”

The Shadow smiles. Twilight’s surroundings grow dim and blurred. 

“No,” he purrs, as silken and unmoving as the darkness he thrives in.

“You would do well to obey his plea,” says a voice without form. It rises from the doorway, though Twilight had not heard it open. 

His gaze flits there, searches for the person he knows stands there.

“Time…” He is too far gone to keep the name from slipping from his lips. 

The Shadow retracts his grip and whirls in the same motion. A dark blade splits the atmosphere. In the seconds before he collapses, Twilight sees that it makes contact with another. Their collision reverberates through his aching skull. 

The room explodes into light and sound and sensation. Twilight plummets within it. He catches snippets. A blue scarf flying with gallant delicacy. A swath of soaring blades. The crackle of distant thunder. The whisper of countless flying arrows. 

“Go!” Warriors’ voice rises above the cacophony of noise. “We’ll handle this!”

In the next moment, Time is kneeling beside him. He places what looks to be a mask into his pouch and pulls out a bottle in its stead. Quickly, he unscrews the cap. A fairy flits forth and heads straight for Twilight.

He closes his eyes as its magic surrounds him. Sweet and fresh and blessedly cool, he sags beneath its caress.

When, with utmost care, Time maneuvers him into his arms, he hardly knows it. He is only aware of this new warmth that is so different from the stifling one of before. He curls into the older hero’s hold.

“Old man,” he gasps, fingers clutching at his tunic sleeve.

“I’ve got you, pup.” 

The voice rumbles like the thunder of an incoming storm. A heart beats steadily in his ears. Twilight begins to lose himself in the sound of it. 

“You’re safe. I’m sorry it took us as long as it did.”

Twilight sighs. He feels weightless now. Darkness comes for him. Within its embrace, he floats.

“Thanks for comin’ for me,” he murmurs, words slurred.

Time holds him closer. He begins to move. Out of the dungeon of fire and fear. Out from beneath the Shadow’s suffocating grasp.

“I will always come for you, Link.” The promise sings in Twilight’s ears, a cool breeze after a breathless day. 

A stone wall bound to falter and determined not to.

He clings to it, to the sound of Time’s voice, the safety of his hold. And the final words, when they hit the air, cements the certainty of this courageous truth. They pierce through to his very soul. 

“And I will never allow him to touch you again.”

[sevilai]

Goretober Day 14 - Burned

Finally back to it! Work's been a lot this week so I haven't had a lot of time to draw this week.

I still have a self imposed hour and a half time limit on these. My original plan was to draw some hunters melted to it's chest but I used the whole time on the main part unfortunately!

[tangled-wires-and-a-dead-heart]

Haven't really had the energy to draw any full pieces but I still want to draw stuff so enjoy these assorted sketches of various princesses (+ the shifting mound up in the corner)

[harbingersecho]

grif's surgery but just a little more... obvious?

I actually rly rly ADORE frankengrif but I don't have an in-show reason why he'd have extensive long-term allogeneic skingrafts on his face 😔

[coastalraccoon]

[ID: A digital 6 panel comic featuring characters from Wings of Fire. In the first panel Fatespeaker's arm is shown grabbing Viper's. Fatespeaker says "Got you!". The second panel is a wider shot of Fatespeaker and Starflight working together to pull Viper out of the lava. Viper's wings are burnt and her body is covered in oozing burns. Viper screams "Pull harder!" and Fatespeaker responds "We're trying." Viper screams again "I"m burning!" in absolute agony. The third panel is the largest and shows Fatespeaker crouching over the sobbing Viper. Snot and tears drip down Viper's muzzle as she screams "I'm going to die!!", interrupting Fatespeaker trying to reassure her with "You're going to be alright". In the fourth panel Fatespeaker turns to the left and cries "Morrowseer help!". The fifth panel is Morrowseer inspecting Flame's scar with a furrowed brow. He says "Hmm. She won't last long with those burns". The fifth panel is Morrowseer looking downward, continuing to speak. He instructs Fatespeaker to "Throw her back. Spare her the suffering". End ID.]

Happy new year here's a very happy comic :)

[whenthewallfell]

first of all, I’m so obsessed with everything you draw omgggg ♥️♥️♥️♥️ and second, totally random question: when you’re drawing scars, like in your most recent drawing, do you think about/create the backstory behind the placement and type? I’m so intrigued by the process artists have and your use of detail is always so peak, I thought I’d ask

Omg thank you!! I tend to obsess over the details so it's awesome hearing they're appreciated <3 And yep, the scars are laid out based on how I think they were exposed to the bombs/fire at the end of MJ. To me, the way it's written implies that Peeta tried pull Katniss out of the fire or shield her from the flames - he was meant to be further back but somehow ended up covered in burns too even though there's no mention of anyone else having them, and I don't think that's for nothin'.

So with that in mind:

Katniss has a big one running up her back and along her neck where she was lying on the ground and kind of fused a bit with her clothes, but the majority of her scars are pretty delicate looking where the fire couldn't get a proper hold on her. There's a type of scarring called contracture where the skin puckers and creates these beautiful patterns that almost look like flames. They're lighter than the surrounding skin, which I thought would create a nice contrast, and also tend to reduce mobility (something about it fitting into the whole depression lethargy thing idk it makes sense in my head). She also has a lightning scar running up the inside of her bow arm from Catching Fire, I've just not drawn anything where it's visible yet.

Peeta's scars are focused mainly around his back and arms where he was trying to cover her - you can also see a bit of it in the post-Mockingjay prosthetic concept design where he's got extra scarring around the back of his leg. His are based more on hypertrophic scarring, with raised bumps and darker discolouration from prolonged contact with the fire. They can look gnarly but they're actually quite soft and don't impede movement as much as contractures. He also has a lightning scar from when he bounced off the forcefield on his chest, by his heart.

Thanks for taking an interest and letting me natter on, hopefully this wasn't too gory/off-putting to read through

[dumbandstinkyglasses]

Wash yo mouth!!!!!

[zanazirafanfic]

Summary: "'Mierda…' Javier whispered behind his hand, sounding like he might be sick. Even Charles, who unquestionably possessed the strongest constitution of the four of them, couldn't quite manage to keep the look of horrified disgust off of his face, though he carefully schooled his expression back into a mask of calm by the time Sean removed his other boot and looked up at him.

'I, eh… warned ya it weren't a pretty sight, boys,' Sean said with a shaky laugh, as if that weren't the understatement of the goddamn century.

'Not a pretty sight? Sean, they… what the hell did they do to you?'"

Arthur, Charles, and Javier come to Sean's rescue outside Blackwater after his capture by bounty hunters. Unfortunately, he's a little worse for wear than they expected.

Whumpcember 2023 Day 13: "Restraints" + "Collapse"

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Rating: Teen & Up Audiences Category: Gen Fandom: Red Dead Redemption Relationships: Sean MacGuire & Arthur Morgan & Javier Escuella & Charles Smith Characters: Arthur Morgan, Sean MacGuire, Charles Smith, Javier Escuella Chapters: 1/1 Word Count: 3,110

@photo1030 @cassietrn @meeks-just-wants-to-scroll

[arkeusruin]

WHUMP MONTH DAY 1 : BURN

I tried a lil shitty sketch thing for whump month but I had a high fever so it's fucking wACK

Cw: kinda graphic burn wound/scar under the cut

I was going for a kinda past life Phantom flashback like thing?

[chimerapartyhouse]

Got to experiance the Pen's Marriage mod quest and HOLY WHAT THEY DID AN AMAZING JOB. It has inspired so much brainrot in me now that I can have my true pairing together again. The two together simultaneously make each other feral and calmer. So I'm dumping the shitposts I wrote here.

Ruber-Roseus says:

"Was told yer were beating up inmates constantly. Why they'd think letting yer near anyone was a good idea I don't know... (quietly) Good lad." 

"Oh look, I get to return the favour finally. We're now a couple who wears matching clothes. Congrats." 

"Gunna need two copies of yer book. One for yer to sign, the other ta bash yer nogging with." 

"Hate to break it to yer Honey, but the big not-bandit has the hots for me. Take from that info what yer want." 

"...Yes, I would love to sit on yer back as you do push ups. Missed you." 

"People in town refuse to talk to me cause of this mess. Thanks by the way."

(Pen trying to bite him in public) "Bad dog!" 

"I should 'ave asked Avery for a paycheck for this." 

"I'D THROW YA TO THE PERIPHERIES BUT THEN I'D FEEL BAD FOR EVERY LIVING THING THERE!" 

"That's it, hold my hand. I'm not letting go till yeh behave." 

"Grace is going to kill me if Logan doesn't first." 

"Get OFF ME. SomEONE here actually has a job that pays BILLS."

"Yes, you're hot. Yes, I love your muscles, looks, hair, jawline, voice. All your stuff. But please behave in public, you've traumatised Burgess more than enough already." 

"I would threaten to tie you up but I know that's not a threat to you." 

"Fine, instead I'll tie you up, have my fun, and leave you there." (Threat works.) 

"Been wanting to introduce you to my Ma but what would I even tell her now?!" 

"Let me sit on your lap and cuddle me, Kitten. Work was exhausting." 

"If you get us banned from the Blue Saloon one day I will never forgive you." 

"Honey, please get yer hand off me ass." 

Pen forgoing his usual tracksuit for more revealing clothing cause he's cover in certain kinds of bruises. 

(Pull out a stool, places it in front of Pen, stands on it.) "Now listen here ya little-" 

"You're lucky I love you so much, and that others hold me back, or else I'd be the one in prison." 

Finding Ruber passing out at stupid times from exhaustion turns from funny to sad real fast. Worse so when Pen learns why it keeps happening. 

"I can't even torture you in normal ways. I could threaten suffocation and you'd just go 'mh, yes please'."

"It is an actual miracle that no one has seriously tried to separate us. Maybe we mellow each other out enough that it's not worth it." 

"I wonder if it's possible to teach Rosy how to cook cause I'm scared of what you'll do to my precious kitchen if you use it." 

(Pen and Rosy getting envious of each other.) "Ladies, I love you both dearly."

Punishes Pen by slipping in really hot chilli pepper into his food. Not Duvos Pepper levels, but it does the job when he's done something seriously bad. 

"Something may have slipped out during a talk with Pablo. So sorry if the town acts weirder than usual soon." 

"For the last time, stop reading that damn book my Ma gave ya! I thought you didn't want kids anyway?!" 

"You can big-talk all you want, you've still never beaten me at whack-a-mole." 

"Sorry, being pretty is exhausting." (Collapses into Pen's arms.) 

"There are days where I wonder, 'what if?'. And then see your ass and immediately dismiss the idea." Pen: Do you mean me or my- (muffled squeak) "I mean your glorious globes." (Slapped his ass.) 

Ruber laying his head on Pen's chest. "You can say your heart is unbeating all you want. I can hear it calling for me." 

"If you make one more 'rabbit in heat' joke I'm sending you back to prison." 

"My Crystal, I promise I'm no longer interested in Justice. If it helps, I would have kicked your ass to the curb long ago if it were the case. You can also talk to Pablo too, that man will never stop interfering with my love life." 

"Snow Leopard, Pablo and Vivi agreed to help me make a new custom wardrobe for yer. It's your turn to be the dress up doll."

[habitual-creatures]

*DISC0RD hops into the nest, splooting between Observer/Kevin and Frost*

~CHA0TICALLY, DISC0RD/🕕

like i said, xia 'n me were planning jo's demise for days. also, don't think a mere flesh wound will keep her down for long ;)

More warm...! Yay...

[the-good-luck-anomaly]

WOUND UNDER THE CUT. CW FOR WOUND

[disastrousfeline]

when the stigmata is astral

(additional versions under the cut)

[onlythegoodpretzels]

Burnt but Alive

Spent some time with my markers drawing Rost from HZD with his burns from surviving the Proving explosion in my Sunmarked AU.

You can read it on AO3 here: Sunmarked by OnlytheGoodPretzels. This picture goes approx with Ch 4 where Rost is starting to get some mobility back.

Super happy with how this one came out! I really enjoyed working on the wound textures. Trigger warnings for large area burns, stitches, wounds, and blood. Content warning for nonsexual nudity.

Full image below the cut.

This for is for @whumpcember's day 7: kidnapped, and I'm so excited it's finished I'm posting it now.

[sunshiline-writes]

Drabble: All The Useless Flesh

I think this might be the most horrific thing I have ever written so uh PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE heed warnings. Cw: GORE, BLOOD, Burns, Degloving, hand whump, whumpee sticks their hand in boiling water, VIVID DESCRIPTIONS OF GORE, like this is fr visceral, creepy/sadistic whumper, alluded amputation idk I don't think I missed anything but if I did please let me know

__

It just takes a moment to really register. The way Whumpee’s hand is forced into the boiling hot water. Kept there for a minute but it feels like so much longer. They have to physically watch as their skin reddens, blisters and even as some of the first layer of their skin peels away and floats in the pot. It is constantly moving and twirling as it is forced to move by the bubbles in the water. The water turns white and when they can no longer see past the white of the water, Whumper finally relents and lets them pull their hand from the pot. There is no pain. There was pain it only lasted for a second before all the nerves were burnt away by the heat. That is the worst part, whumpee thinks, its not the way their skin is half hanging off their hand, layers on layers, blistered and a cruel mixture of white, pink and red. It’s not the way Whumper barely seems satisfied by their lack of reaction, most likely due to shock. It’s in the way it doesn’t hurt. But it *looks* like that. Looks like the opposite of what would happen to chicken when boiled. Pink to white, fully cooked. No human skin isn’t like chicken. It’s human skin, and whumpee is certain that they are in shock now because they are thinking about their hand and comparing it to chicken. 

Whumper is saying something but they can’t hear over how cold it feels. Aren’t burns supposed to.. well burn? Their knees buckle underneath them and Whumper catches them under their armpits. “Hey hey, you’re fine shhh,” Whumper coos. 

Whumpee realizes that they are sobbing and Whumper sinks with them onto the kitchen floor. “Look at that,” they say, and Whumper is pressing their thumb into their mangled hand and the thumb squelches into the skin far more than it should. The horror of it all is almost too much and Whumpee’s eyes roll to the back of their head. “No, no you can’t leave just yet, come on get up,” whumpee is brought back to focus through small smacks to their cheeks, “Just a little more and then we can be done,” and their attention is diverted back to the thumb that easily rubs off the second layer of skin off their hand, the blisters popping and oozing. The more Whumper touches their hand the more the pain in their hand comes back. Burning, pulsing, and whumpee screams, fighting against Whumper’s grip. The fight only makes Whumper laugh and they wrap their own hand around the injury and in a weird rendition of jerking off rubs against their hand. Skin peeling off, until in some places the white color is surely bone. Whumper is laughing in their ear as Whumpee finally passes out against their chest. “Well.. I didn’t think you needed that hand anyway.” 

__ Drabbles taglist: @painsandconfusion @whumpbees ask if you'd like to be added or removed