#cut off limb

[ratxklng]

I’m gonna feel so high as I help you fly

to those that take their time!

[including @vlnnyz’s Valkyrie]

[hummingbird-of-light]

June of Doom Day 22

22. “I’m trying!”                                     

| Humiliation | Crutches | Rage |

TW: major character deaths, major character injury, blood and gore, cut off limb, humans as prey

A/N: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting (real navy boat)

~

Chief Engineer Montgomery Scott closed his eyes, trying his best to breathe the pain away. He couldn't give up now. He had to get away.

His injured leg gave away beneath him from time to time, yet still it was far better to walk with the self-made crutches than without them.

The Scotsman was just happy to have found two branches of about the same length in the jungle. It was the only way he had managed to get up at all and build up a distance to his pursuers.

He felt hot tears in his eyes, triggered by the severe pain in his leg, but also at the thought of the rest of his crew.

They were all dead. Every single one of them. From the beach, he had seen the beautiful USS Enterprise sink. His silver lady had met her end, hit by a torpedo.

He still wondered why he had managed to survive the disaster. What about the rest of the crew? Why had none of them made it?

His people from the engine room. The young, hopeful navigator Chekov. Or the magnificent helmsman Sulu. The pretty communications officer Uhura. The grumpy but lovable ship's doctor McCoy and his loyal second-in-command Nurse Chapel, and the rest of the medical staff. The exceptionally intelligent first officer Spock. And, of course, their courageous, self-confident Captain James T. Kirk.

Their crew had numbered no more than twenty men and women, but it was still a shame that only Montgomery Scott, called only Scotty by most, had survived.

He let out a strangled yelp as he stumbled. Once again the hellish pain shot through his leg and he wished he could just lie there and wait for his end. But he knew he couldn't. He had to keep going. He couldn't let them catch him.

He didn't know any names. He only knew that they were crazy and cruel.

~

They had saved him. They had let all the other injured crew members drown miserably, but they had pulled him out of the water and brought him to the island.

But if he had known what his captors intended to do with him, he would have preferred to drown with the others.

They had taken him to their camp and tied him to a tree, had provided him with food and drink, had let him sleep. And then - the next morning - they had told him what they intended to do with him.

A drive hunt. And he was the prey.

He had been given a ten-minute head start, but had quite quickly fallen into a trap.

A noose of sharp wire that had wrapped around his ankle and then tightened tighter and tighter. He had only had one chance to get free.

So he had pulled on his foot until all the tendons and muscles and bone had been cut.

A loud scream and many tears later, he had managed to provisionally bandage the stump that was left with part of his shirt.

Then he had struggled on.

~

With agonized groans, Scotty managed to get back to his feet and limped on. They had told him that he would be allowed to live if he managed to reach the radio tower.

And he had to make it there as fast as possible. He wanted to get out of here! He wanted to go home to his little brother.

Scotty remembered clearly the phone call in which Robbie had told him that the engineer was finally an uncle. Little Christopher Scott had seen the light of day. And Scotty wanted nothing more than to meet him.

He sobbed quietly at the thought of perhaps never being allowed to meet his nephew.

Breathing heavily, he had to stop to wipe the tears from his eyes, leaning against a tree. And that was his biggest mistake.

Scotty froze when he felt a sharp blade against his neck from behind.

No! No, no, no! They had him! They had found him!

"Please don't! Please don't kill me!"

The blade loosened a bit, but a hand found its way to his mouth.

"Shhh, be quiet," it hissed at his ear.

Scotty's body shook violently, but he tried his best not to whimper and comply with the stranger's request.

"I'm not going to kill you. I want your help. So shut up and follow me."

It took a moment for Scott to nod, and slowly the hand came away from his mouth. He turned around and caught sight of a man who looked... really terrible.

His black hair was disheveled, his clothes dirty and torn. An unkempt beard adorned the face. Apparently, the man had been here in the jungle for quite some time. His blue eyes reflected dominance.

Before Scotty could say anything, the man was already moving and leading the way.

"Keep moving. We have to hurry to avoid getting caught. Don't dawdle."

Well... that was easier said than done! Didn't the guy see his crutches and his injury?

"I'm trying!"

Their progress was slow, but as strange as it sounded, Scotty somehow felt safer with the stranger at his side.

++++++++

The stranger took him to a wee cave, hidden deep in the jungle. Apparently his home.

As it turned out, the stranger's name was Khan Singh. He was also the only survivor of a disaster. His company's small private plane had been shot down as they flew over the island. He, like Scotty, had been rescued and then hunted down.

It had all been about three weeks ago. So far Khan had managed to hide and move unobtrusively through the jungle. He had collected fruits and when he had found a knife by chance, he had also started to hunt animals.

Khan had also managed to find the radio tower, but he had found that the equipment was broken.

"So... do you have any idea about technology?"

It seemed like a miracle that the ship's engineer, of all people, had been rescued.

"A-aye. I... I'm an engineer," he muttered. He felt miserable, losing far too much blood despite the bandage. Probably the wound was infected long ago.

"Well, this is perfect! You can get us both out of here!"

A hopeful smile flitted across the other man's face. But it also quickly disappeared as his eyes fell on the engineer's injury.

"Provided we can get you to the tower."

Yes... that was likely to be problematic. Scotty sighed heavily, feeling the sweat on his brow.

"I... I don't think I can walk very far. Not without help... or medication."

At that word, Khan's expression brightened again.

"I could try to get to the wreckage of my plane somehow. I'm sure I can get some meds and a first aid kit there. I'll have to be careful, but... you'll be fine."

Khan's hand closed around his and squeezed it gently.

"We're going to get out of here. For sure!"

++++++++

Khan returned. He pepped Scott up as best he could and after a night and half a day, the Scotsman was ready to go. He was so incredibly grateful for the help.

They crept through the thick brush, careful not to get caught. And there it was.

The radio tower!

Scotty had never felt so relieved before! With Khan's help, he limped a little faster. They would make it! They would leave this island!

They reached the radio tower in a short time and together they managed to climb up. Scotty immediately set about repairing the machines, while Khan stood guard.

A broad smile flitted across the Scotsman's face as he got the radio working.

He laughed and cried with joy.

"I did it! We can call for he-"

That was as far as he got. He felt a blade slowly digging into his back and he coughed up blood.

From behind, an arm closed around him and held him tight. A voice whispered in his ear.

"I'm really sorry, Scotty. But you know how it is.... If you can't defeat the enemies, join them."

Scotty's eyes widened.

And suddenly it all made sense. Khan... hadn't just crashed three weeks ago. It would have been reported on the news! They would have been looking for the missing plane! It... had to have been a long time ago. And now Khan was part of the group. He inspired confidence and lured the hunted into a trap.

The knife slowly came out of his back and Scotty was spun around by Khan so he could see the radio tower filling up with the rest of the hunters.

They were all grinning broadly, their weapons in their hands.

"We won, little rabbit."

Some birds startled and flew away as several shots rang out. And far away, a baby who would never know his uncle screamed.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Welcome to the Dungeons of Fear and Hunger.

[mysterycitrus]

tbh found family loses all the juice the moment u decide to squeeze all the characters into boring nuclear boxes. “such and such is the dad” “so and so is the mom” “this and that is the oldest daughter” ok well who’s the grieving child who raises a grieving man in his own image, who becomes a symbol of joy and loss in the same name, who loses everything again and rebuilds himself taller and stronger and wiser, who loves the grieving man more than anyone else despite how being near him cuts his hands to bloody scars, who must fly higher, fall faster, outpace death itself so he might never miss another catch, huh

[tennessoui]

Ooh for the micro story- accost!

Master Windu on the whole looks incredibly unimpressed with Obi-Wan's testimony. "You don't have post traumatic stress disorder, Master Kenobi."

"I could," Obi-Wan says placidly, lacing his fingers together behind his back. "Honestly, after three years fighting on the frontlines of a galactic war, I think it's time we look at the mental health of those who surv--"

Master Windu raises a hand to quiet him. It works, if begrudgingly so. "The Jedi Council fully understands and supports those Jedi who are grappling with the aftermath of the war, Master Kenobi. That does not make you one of them."

"I could be," Obi-Wan lies, as he isn't. And he's certain that the entirety of the Jedi Temple knows that. The end of the war has, after all, been an incredible blessing to him in every which way.

"I overheard you telling Master Vos that you've slept like a babe for the past several months," Master Fisto points out.

Yes, Obi-Wan has been sleeping rather well. After all, his padawan has made sure of it. They sleep curled together in bed in varying states of undress most every night. Anakin has singlehandedly ensured that Obi-Wan feels too exhausted for any sort of post-war trauma lately, and he's sure the Council knows that. The council practically endorsed it, after all.

So it's really no one's fault but theirs that they've found themselves in this situation.

"I think we're getting off topic," Obi-Wan says. "A holo reporter accosted my padawan on the streets of Coruscant. Of course I retaliated in the name of protecting him."

Master Windu rubs at his temples. "A holo reporter touched your padawan's elbow--your padawan, who, let us remember is a fully-fledged Jedi Master capable of looking after himself and no longer your padawan at all--and you cut off the reporter's arm."

Obi-Wan blinks back at him. "I don't know what came over me," he says blandly. "It must have been the stress of it all. The war and such. You know."

"Get out," Windu says, looking torn between exhaustion, disgust, and aggravation. "And you'll be sitting down with The Coruscanti Sun's Editorial Team in two day's time as punishment. They want to do a spread."

Obi-Wan goes. The threat would carry more weight if he didn't know that the Council knows that there's no way in all of the galaxy that Anakin Skywalker would allow Obi-Wan to spread for the holo cameras. If Obi-Wan is willing to maim a man for asking after the specs of Anakin's mech arm--ensuring that, well, if he liked it so much then he can wear one of his own now--then there's no telling what Anakin would do to keep his master safe from the eyes of an entire editorial board.

[send me a word from this list for a micro-fic!]

[infinitelystrangemachinex]

Viktor transforming Shimmer addicts because they have enough Shimmer in their systems

That's definitely Viktor and he's in a place with a bare grubby floor with people who look like they're barefoot or wearing ill-fitting shoes and wearing cloaks

It's the Glorious Evolution but make it Eldritch horror where Viktor isn't as into metal yet as he is into being mind-controlled by the Hexcore

[bruciemilf]

Billy: Okay, so, your lame no killing code extends to everyone? As in everyone.

Bruce as Batman who owes Clark a favour and must now babysit the League baby: That's what the every is for.

Billy: No yeah I got that part, I just mean. There has to be someone you want to kill, like, really badly. Joker?

Bruce: Killing him won't make a difference because he's devoid of anything that makes a person worthwhile, and it would bring him satisfaction. So no.

Billy: Okay, point. Would you kill Doomsday for a million dollars?

Bruce: Firstly, the chances of me successfully killing Doomsday are equal to none. Secondly, monetising life shouldn't be acceptable

Billy, has no idea what monetising means: Okay fine. Pfft, would you kill Bruce Wayne for --

Bruce, not missing a beat: I'd do it for a can of beans and a microwaved soda

[shmorp-mcdurgen]

Seth showcasing how to properly handle an infant mimic

[orangesodaliker]

cant get over how ed was about to cut off ANOTHER extremity and izzy stops him to ask “*tucks hair* so like… what are we?? <333” He wouldn’t know a healthy relationship if it held his hand and asked how his day was

[americankimchi]

it's so hard to take star wars seriously nowadays because i'll watch someone get skewered by a lightsaber and then somehow walk it off with a bacta patch and a slap on the ass. like you're telling me a weapon that can carve furrows into foot-thick solid durasteel doors, dripping melted slag in its wake, when applied to the flesh of a sentient being leaves behind nothing more than superficial damage. like be so ffr. "it cauterizes the wound instantly" this is not a little cut. this is not minor burns. you were IMPALED BY A BEAM OF PLASMA. your ORGANS have been COOKED. your BLOOD has BOILED. your BONES were INCINERATED. what are you TALKING ABOUTTTTTT

[wileycap]

I have a vision.

Okay, so, we all love Star Wars time travel fics. They're great, and I've read like, 50 of them in two days.

So. Obi-Wan travels to the future. From the Clone Wars to, oh, 10 years into the Empire era. Directly to Mustafar. Directly to Darth Vader's private chambers. Right in front of Darth Vader, who is currently helplessly floating in a bacta tank.

And the first thing he says is "oh Force, Anakin! What happened to you?"

And the first thing Darth Vader says is "You did this."

From Obi-Wan's perspective... well. Obi-Wan can feel it in the Force that the Jedi are gone. Anakin is grievously injured in every way possible, and he's telling the truth that Obi-Wan was responsible. They are on a remote planet, on which Anakin is obviously hiding.

Obi-Wan puts two and two together and gets twenty-two.

"I Fell. Didn't I, Anakin? I did this. All of this."

Obi-Wan explains away Anakin's obvious Darkness as a result of the trauma of watching his Master, brother and best friend become a Sith Lord. And, because Obi-Wan is duty-driven, selfless and above all a man who loves punishing himself, he immediately agrees to help Anakin hunt down his older self. Actually, he suggests it.

Darth Vader is caught in a conundrum. On one hand, he hates Kenobi almost as much as he hates himself. On the other hand, Kenobi is willingly admitting that this was all his fault and not Vader's (which is what Vader already believes anyways, and it's nice to have validation even if Obi-Wan is, technically speaking, wrong), and if he can just keep Young Obi-Wan on his side, he could overthrow Sidious...

Hilarity ensues. Vader tries to keep Obi-Wan from finding out the real truth while desperately lying to himself and Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan is too caught up with blaming himself to actually look at the situation they're in, and, of course, if Vader just managed to be honest with Obi-Wan and Obi-Wan was able to return to his time, this whole mess could be averted.

[setyourphaserstoslutty]

Listen ao3 hasn’t been down for days we are gonna be okay

[troius]

So, we have a family of priests. All women, the men who marry into the family die tragically, but not before the next generation is born. They all share a single zanpakuto across generations, primarily used in the religious ceremonies that they presumably serve as the officiants for. But the true power of the sword is seemingly irreligious-- it's the power to confront, and disperse the power, of God.

It's a real chicken-and-the-egg problem here. Which came first? The priest sacrificing her individuality and happiness, and that of her descendants for all time to come, in exchange for the power to defeat God? Or the power, drawing a curse upon itself from the very deity it defeated?

(and if the latter...might the time have come where such a curse no longer has its force?)

[pawbeanies]

writing ominous messages on the walls during a horrible supernatural crisis so in the future the horror game protagonist can find my messages scrawled around giving them hints except i was using my fuckass paws so it ends up looking like TURN BACK 🐾 🐾 🐾

[grimeye-j]

[rubberricky]

NEVER

IMMA KEEP CUTTING OF 'EM LIMBS!!

(I like watching them regenerate :3)

Where you're short, none strechy limbs can't reach them