#head injury tw

[mickules]

Parallel Lines

---

I do wonder sometimes, if neither of them had become 'Brothers', how they might have fared better. . .

Taka, obviously, would not have been as vulnerable to Celeste's machinations had he not been mourning his Kyoudai. . .

But Mondo? Perhaps without the boon of his new hard won friendship with Taka, he might not have had the confidence to agree so soon to help with Chihiro's training. Deeply unsettled and antsy, newly preoccupied that his worst secret will be revealed, he may have stalled just long enough to have avoided that tragedy.

Did their bond become their millstone?

[oliver--fox]

Forest Battles- Emilio & Oliver

TIMING: Current

LOCATION: The Woods

PARTIES: @oliver–fox & @mortemoppetere

SUMMARY: Oliver attempts to get rid of a withercap and runs into a mind-controlled Emilio. They fight, and while the withercap is destroyed; both come out of the encounter with injuries

CONTENT WARNINGS: Head Injury TW

Oliver had noticed that something was…off about parts of the forest lately. There were patches of dead grass and other plants that were too far apart from each other to be the work of drought or animal-related (or.. worm-related for that matter). It was almost as if something came, sat down, pulled all the life force of the plants around it; and then moved on. It made Oliver nervous about what this could mean for his trees. Instant death wasn’t something that he could try to course-correct. He had heard about a creature that caused this, a Withercap. Oliver knew it wouldn’t care where it was getting its nutrients from, and the thought of losing any of his trees to it made him feel vaguely nauseous. He had never run into one directly, but he had heard enough stories to know that they were bad news. So here he was, trying to follow the trail of death before him. It reminded him of the old fairy tale, Hansel and Gretel,  that he had been read as a child. He could only hope that it didn’t have the same ending. 

It was lucky, Oliver supposed, that it only took about an hour or two for him to spot the Withercap. It was fortunate that its purple body stood out against this forest’s floor. Oliver was crouched down, mentally walking through his options when he heard a stick crack behind him. He whirled around, one hand on the ground in case he needed to bring up roots, and one on the pocket knife tucked into his pocket. Oliver raised an eyebrow when he realized he recognized the person behind him. “Emilio?” He asked quietly, confusion apparent on his face. “What are you doing here?” They were nowhere near the typical path after all. 

—

It was a hunt that had brought him out into the woods. Not his usual fare — he tended to stick more to spawns and wights these days unless he was tracking a specific vampire — but certainly something worth noting. Withercaps were something he knew about only in the vaguest of senses. His knowledge of fae was more scattered than his knowledge of the undead, or even beasts usually reserved for rangers. He’d been on a few hunts with wardens in the past, provided assists and helping hands, but he didn’t typically go at it on his own. But… the withercaps were a problem, and Emilio didn’t know any wardens anymore. He didn’t trust the ones who hung out in the hunter bar in town, didn’t really like going there. When there was a problem, he preferred to take it on himself. And usually, that was fine.

Usually. 

The issue, of course, arose when he got a little too close to the withercap. If he were a warden, he would have been fine. They were immune to shit like this, designed to be the ones taking them out. But as a slayer? Emilio was vulnerable. And the withercap, who probably wasn’t smart but must have had enough intelligence to recognize a decent puppet when it saw one, took full advantage. 

A lot of things melted away when the withercap’s control took hold. Emilio knew who he was, still, but he felt a little distant from it. It wasn’t important, didn’t matter half as much as the withercap. He had to protect this thing, had to make sure it got all the nutrients it needed from the plants. He’d been patrolling for it when he got the signal to come back, had returned as quickly as his bad leg would let him to find someone crouched over it. Immediately, his defenses rose. He let a knife drop into his hand, gripping the hilt of it tightly. He recognized the guy, he realized — it was the florist, the one who knew Levi (and, by extension, Teddy). Emilio tilted his chin up, eyes a little… blanker than usual. “Oliver,” he said flatly. “Can’t let you do that.”

—

Uh oh. This wasn’t the Emilio that Oliver had seen when the other was picking up flowers. Something was off about his demeanor and his eyes…Oliver had a feeling that the other must have been put under the Withercap’s spell. He had heard about what it could do to others but hadn’t expected to see it in action today. Oliver stood up quickly, taking a few steps to the right. Oliver glanced over his shoulder; the Withercap was only a few feet away. If he had played his cards right, he could have potentially just taken care of it with a few hits. However, now the situation got a whole lot more complicated. Oliver had a feeling that Levi wouldn’t be thrilled if Teddy’s partner got injured, and Oliver wasn’t looking to have Levi become a sort of enemy. His eyes flicked to the knife that Emilio was holding. Was that the only weapon the other had? Oliver knew that he wasn’t a fae because his internal alarm hadn’t gone off, but he didn’t know a whole lot about him; what if the withercap was able to control him to use whatever powers he had, if any?

“Do you plan to use the knife to stop me?” Oliver asked, deciding that it was a way to at least know what other weapons the other may have. “It is doing nothing but hurting the other plants, it needs to be taken care of.” Oliver said, hoping that his words would be heard but also knowing that the chances were minuscule that they would break through the brainwashing. “I don’t want to hurt you.” He bit the inside of his cheek, as he took the pocket knife out of his pocket. Oliver was really hoping to not have to use it, but he thought it was best to have it out just in case.

—

Oliver stepped away from the withercap, and Emilio relaxed, but only barely. He was still a little too close. It’d be better if he left the area entirely, better if he was nowhere near the little thing so it could feed properly. It had to be allowed to eat its fill. Emilio had no semblance of why this was important, only that it was. He knew that the withercap couldn’t be harmed, knew that he had to fight off anyone who intended to stop it eating. He didn’t need to know why. (If he were thinking a little more clearly, he might have seen some comparison between that and the way he used to think about hunting, back when his mother pulled every string and he was a knife who stood like a man. Maybe he was better like this; maybe something born a weapon was always meant to stay a weapon, even when it had a heartbeat and air in its lungs.) 

“If I have to,” Emilio replied, and he meant it. He’d do what it took to keep Oliver from harming the withercap, even if it meant slitting his throat. (He didn’t want to do that. Did he? Oliver knew Levi, knew Teddy. Emilio didn’t want to hurt him. But he would. He knew he would. What he wanted had never been as important as what he had to do.) “It’s being taken care of. I’m taking care of it.” Not in the way Oliver meant, of course. He knew what Oliver meant when he spoke of ‘taking care’ of the withercap; it was the same thing Emilio meant when he spoke of ‘taking care’ of spawn, or ghouls, or undead killers that needed to be stopped. But the withercap wasn’t any of those things. The withercap was something Emilio needed to protect, because he was supposed to. That was all he really knew. 

He let out an amused half snort at Oliver’s words. I don’t want to hurt you. “I wouldn’t worry about it too much,” he replied, eyes darting down to the pocket knife. How sharp was it, he wondered? Emilio kept his blades religiously sharpened, made sure they could slice through anything. Was Oliver the same? He figured he was about to find out. He took a step towards the other man, aiming to plant himself between him and the withercap. “You can leave, you know. I won’t stop you if you leave. Doesn’t have to go like this.”

— 

Oliver sighed at Emilio’s response. So this wasn’t going to be something that ended easily it seemed. He had figured it would be difficult, but their conversations had confirmed it. Oliver had dealt with people being mind-controlled before, but usually, if he was trying to get them to break through it, he knew the person. He would have a way to try and break through. That wasn’t the case here. He knew very little about Emilio and couldn’t exactly say ‘What would Teddy think?’ Because Oliver didn’t know Teddy, not enough to feel confident in saying anything about them. Oliver hadn’t been around Teddy in nearly a decade, and even then it had only been for a few moments. The worst thing was, that Oliver could almost feel Emilio’s bloodlust in protecting the withercap. Emilio was not a small person, and Oliver would have to be careful otherwise things could go very wrong in this situation. He wasn’t really trying to die today. 

“You’re not taking care of it.” Oliver muttered, more to himself than to Emilio. He was sure that in Emilio’s mind, he was doing nothing wrong. In fact, Oliver was sure he tended to sound almost the same when he was talking about his trees. At the other’s snort, Oliver couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. He was well aware that he didn’t exactly give off a threatening aura, which was typically a good thing with what he did. Oliver enjoyed being someone who could easily hide in a crowd, someone that others felt safe coming to. But was Emilio so cocky that he didn’t see Oliver as a threat even when he held a knife? That was something that Oliver could potentially work with. The real question would be if he could get away from this without having to use his powers. Oliver didn’t think so, but maybe the gods would be on his side and Emilio wouldn’t remember anything about this whole encounter once the brainwashing lifted. 

“I can’t leave” Oliver frowned, shaking his head. That would be the easiest thing, wouldn’t it, but Oliver knew that he would regret it if he left and he also didn’t want to leave Emilio stuck here under its influence for who knew how long. Oliver's eyes darted between Emilio and the Withercap and the ground. What could he do to incapacitate either one? Olive wasn’t sure that he could bind Emilio in a way that he wouldn’t be able to get out of before he was able to take out the Withercap, and the same could be said about the Withercap; where as soon as anything happened to it, once he did anything Emilio would be on the attack. He didn’t know enough about the Withercap’s makeup to be able to one-shot it. His eyes widened a fraction as an idea came to him. It wouldn’t end it with one hit, but it would at least weaken the creature; at least he was pretty sure. Oliver dropped to the ground, hand placed down on the dirt. His eyes glowed gold as a root came up, wrapping around the Withercap before tossing it about 15ft in the air towards the right. It just needed to hit the ground, and then it wouldn’t take much else to finish it off. Oliver kept his knife up towards Emilio in the hand that wasn’t on the ground, eyes fading back to normal as the root retreated, for now. 

—

In any given situation, at any given time, there was always some part of Emilio that hoped things would end in a fight. He yearned for the familiarity that came with trading blows, ached for the comfort of bruises. More than Spanish, and certainly more than English, violence had always been the language in which he felt most at ease. He couldn’t comprehend the conflicted look on Oliver’s face, couldn’t understand the way he suddenly felt such a strong desire to protect a thing he’d come out here with the intention of killing, but he knew the knife in Oliver’s hand intimately. He knew what it would feel like going in, knew it would hurt just as badly coming out. He knew he’d take that pain head on, accept it without thinking if it meant the withercap would be safe and secure. He didn’t think he needed to know anything else.

Except… he might have liked to know that Oliver was fae. He was assuming fae, at least, because the way he moved the plants looked pretty similar to the way Teagan moved the water. He could’ve been a spellcaster — that might have explained how he knew Levi a little better — but Emilio thought fae fit a little easier with the natural feel of his abilities. It didn’t matter much in the moment, though. What mattered, more than anything else, was the way the withercap flew up into the air. It was going to hit the ground; it was going to be damaged. Emilio couldn’t allow a thing like that to happen.

If he saw the knife in Oliver’s hand, he paid no attention to it. He surged forward quicker than he should have, his bad leg screaming at the movement. His knee trembled, threatened to buckle under his weight, but Emilio moved around the pain anyway. The drive to protect the withercap was more important than his own wellbeing, more important than anything else even if he had no concept as to why it mattered so much. 

He tried to move around Oliver, intent on diving to catch the withercap before it could hit the ground. It wouldn’t save it from damage entirely — he wasn’t sure anything could do that, given how far Oliver had flung it — but he might be able to spare it the kind of damage that might kill it. That was what was most important now. It mattered more than the pain in his bad knee and Oliver’s knife combined. 

—

If there was one positive aspect of being around someone who was brainwashed, it was that they tended to get easily distracted by the thing they were brainwashed about. That was why when Emilio went to charge after the withercap, when he was no longer focused on Oliver, it gave Oliver the opening he needed. Oliver moved, staying crouched and lunging forward to catch Emilio by the legs and bring both of them to the ground. He had dropped his knife, not wanting to accidentally stab the other in the tussle. Oliver hoped he didn’t come to regret that choice. He was hoping he could quickly finish up with Emilio, grab the knife, and then run over to the creature and then everything would be over. 

The hit to the ground wasn’t that bad, not enough to knock the wind out of him which was nice. Better than the fights he had gotten in that had happened over concrete. Oliver kept his arms wrapped around the other’s legs, eyes focused on the withercap as it fell through the sky and hit the ground with a ‘thwack’. The creature let out a screech, which told Oliver that he had been right about it not being enough for a one-hit kill. It did mean that it was injured now though, which was a win. “Sorry about this” Oliver said quietly, glancing over at Emilio as he moved one arm to place his hand on the ground so roots came up from beneath them, wrapping around Emilio to hold him in place. Oliver knew that these wouldn’t hold him for long, but he didn’t need that long. He also felt more comfortable using more defensive moves than offensive in this situation. Sure, he could easily punch Emilio to try and knock him out, but he wasn’t really interested in pissing Levi off. 

Once the binds were in place, Oliver jumped up. He had been expecting some side-effect for using his powers. Using two bigger attacks in a row was always harder for him, but he had been hoping for a headache, or a nosebleed-something that he could shake off. But no, instead he got hit by a wave of dizziness. He stumbled for a moment, shaking his head until his vision stopped being doubled before darting for the knife. Cursing at himself, he was aware that it had just cost him precious seconds; time that he didn’t have. 

—

Had he been more in his right mind, Emilio wouldn’t have let Oliver out of his sight for a moment. After all, he knew better than to take his eyes off his opponent, and that was what Oliver was, in this moment. But the withercap’s influence had its claws deep in the slayer’s mind, and his attention was focused on protecting the mushroom-like creature from whatever threatened it. In this moment, with it falling towards the ground at rapid speed, the most prevalent threat was gravity. It was enough for Emilio’s training to go out the proverbial window, enough for him to turn away from Oliver in the interest of protecting the withercap. 

And that was enough for Oliver to take his legs out from beneath him. The pain that jolted up from his bad knee was a distant thing, the sort that would be remembered with a vengeance only after the withercap’s influence left him. In the moment, of course, the withercap’s influence was stronger, and Emilio thrashed wildly in Oliver’s grip. His legs kicked out, trying desperately to free themselves before the withercap hit the ground. There was little use to the fight, though; even if he could have gotten free, he wouldn’t have made it to the creature before it hit the ground. Emilio wasn’t half as fast as he used to be, and he was nowhere near as quick as gravity. The withercap hit the ground with a screech, and Emilio let out a cry of his own as if it was him who’d made impact with the dirt. The sound quickly morphed into a growl as his struggles increased; he needed to get to the withercap before Oliver did, needed to make sure it was okay. 

Roots rose up from the ground, binding the slayer in place even as he thrashed. For a brief moment, panic cut through the withercap’s influence. He’d never done well with being restrained, was worse at it after the experience of being tied up in Caleb’s basement while the guy was busy being possessed by a demon. But the memory was a brief one, quickly replaced by the withercap’s pleas for help. In some ways, the mind control was beneficial to him here; being sent into one of his ‘states’ in the middle of the woods was hardly Emilio’s idea of fun. 

He shifted in the roots enough to grab the knife he’d dropped when Oliver dropped him. He kept his blades sharp — sharp enough to make quick work of the roots securing him to the forest floor. The aches and pains of the fall were forgotten as he rose to his feet. Oliver was fumbling for a blade, and Emilio knew exactly what he’d do once he got it. He didn’t want to kill the guy, but he knew he couldn’t risk the withercap, either. As quickly as he could manage, he moved towards Oliver, kicking the knife away from him and delivering a punch to his stomach in a single move. All he really needed to do was incapacitate him. Then he could pick up the withercap and go somewhere else, and it would be fine. Oliver wouldn’t follow. He was sure of it.

—

Stupid, stupid, stupid How could Oliver have messed up the timing? Or at least not made sure to kick the other's knife away further before he tied him up. He should have made the roots tighter before he released his hold on them, anything to slow the other down. Lots of shoulds, not enough had’s.  Instead, he had fucked up and let the other have an opening. Oliver let out a quiet “fuck” when his knife was kicked away, followed by a quick intake grunt of pain when he felt the punch hit his stomach. He coughed, trying to regain the air in his lungs. That was going to be an annoying bruise in the morning. Oliver stayed on his feet, refusing to go down for something as stupid as a punch. He had been through enough of those before that it wouldn’t take him down as easily as it may have when he was younger. It certainly didn’t help that Emilio wasn’t exactly weak, but Oliver swallowed down the bile that rose with the impact to his stomach.

There had been a small part of Oliver that thought that maybe, maybe the Withercap’s hold on the other would have weakened when it was injured. Instead, it seemed that it had only made the hold stronger. “Would you just, fuckin, stop?” Oliver said tightly. He needed to come up with another plan. Oliver wasn’t confident that he could have another big attack and stay on his feet long enough to get to the Withercap and he didn’t want to place all his bets on another gravity fall. With his luck, the thing would survive and have Emilio carry it elsewhere. Oliver had clocked that Emilio seemed to have a bad leg, so he would probably beat him in a foot race to the creature; but again, did Oliver want to place all his eggs in one basket? Not really. What he needed to do was incapacitate the other long enough so that he could take care of the withercap, but with his knife now out of reach, his options were limited. 

Oliver turned slightly, before kicking his leg out to hit the other's weak leg. Just to get the other off balance, before he followed it with a punch from below to hit Emilio’s chin. He just needed the other to stop moving for a couple of minutes. That’s all he needed. 

—

The punch was effective, though not to the extent he’d been hoping for. He’d been shooting to take Oliver down to the ground, been hoping to knock him off balance. Emilio wasn’t unaware of his own weaknesses; he knew he was at a disadvantage in the race to arrive to the withercap first. If he didn’t knock Oliver down, force him to spend a few precious seconds getting back to his feet, there wasn’t a chance in hell that Emilio could reach the withercap before Oliver. And if Oliver got there first, he was going to kill it. Emilio couldn’t let that happen, even if he had no semblance as to why it was such an unimaginable thing. There was no emotional attachment to the creature, nothing in his mind telling him that there was some reason its protection was necessary; he only knew that he was to do what it requested of him. And right now, it requested protection.

The laugh he let out at Oliver’s question was harsh, sharpened to a point like a blade. “You walk away now, and I won’t follow. That’s how you make me stop.” There was a hint of desperation to it, a hint of pleading. Emilio didn’t particularly want to fight Oliver. He had no problem with the guy, even liked him a little. But he couldn’t stand back and let him kill the withercap. He couldn’t allow this thing, with its indescribable hold over him, be harmed any more than it already had. This was his job, and he’d do it. 

It wasn’t particularly surprising when Oliver zeroed in on the bad leg. Everyone always did, sooner or later. In a fight, it was smart to go for your enemy’s weak points, and Emilio had a bright and glaring one hanging uselessly off his body. Knowing that the leg would be targeted didn’t stop the pain that shot through the limb when it was, of course; it was as harsh and as violent as it always was, sending shockwaves of pain through his body and momentarily covering the world in static. Without the withercap’s influence, it would have been enough to take him out, at least for a moment.

With the influence, though, his body fought through it.

It wasn’t the kind of thing that anyone would consider advisable, the way he moved. His leg screamed out in protest, trembling beneath the weight he forced it to hold. He pulled a knife from his pocket, shooting forward with it. In the back of his mind, he drew on old injuries of his own. A knife to the lower abdomen, below the belly button, was a more superficial wound than people seemed to assume it was. There was nothing of import in the area; all the parts that mattered were a little higher up. A knife to the shoulder ricked hitting a bundle of nerves or veins that might see the target damaged permanently or find them in danger of bleeding out; the calves carried the same risk. Anything too superficial wouldn’t slow Oliver down the way Emilio needed to. But that spot beneath the belly button, a spot where Emilio himself had taken more than a few blades… that’d do the trick. He knew from experience that it would hurt like hell; he also knew from experience that Oliver would be fine, after.

So he drove the knife in and he stumbled back, moving towards the withercap again. 

—

Sometimes, Oliver thought life would be much easier if he decided not to be a good person. He could easily walk away from this interaction, and was pretty positive that Emilio was honest that he wouldn’t follow him; not when the withercap still had its claws in his mind. Oliver could leave, probably still find somewhere to grab some food and then relax at home. However, Oliver knew that doing all that wasn’t something he would ever be able to stomach. His eyes met the other and gave a gentle shake of his head “I can’t, sorry.” He wasn’t sorry about not leaving, but he did feel apologetic about how the two of them were fighting. It almost didn’t feel fair to be doing it against someone who was under the control of something else. Oliver didn’t want to cause Emilio pain when it was really the withercap’s fault. However, that didn’t make Oliver feel any better when the knife entered his lower abdomen. He cursed, hands fidgeting towards the blade as he heard the words of an old friend repeated in his mind ‘Never remove whatever you’ve been stabbed with’. It had been said over drinks, where Benjamin; who was in his final year of med school had been recounting a recent incident he had encountered at the hospital. What Oliver wouldn’t do for a drink and to maybe return to a bit of a simpler time. 

Oliver was bent over, hands sprayed around the knife; blood pounding in his ears as it also worked to coat his shirt around the wound. His brain worked to go through the next possible steps. There weren’t very many that he could think of, none that ended with both Oliver and Emilio still conscious at least. His eyes tracked the other as they moved closer to the withercap, and he took a deep breath; feeling his lungs fill up before letting out slowly. He dropped down to the ground, grunting in pain as his stomach flared with pain at the movement. He laid his free hand on the ground and focused as roots rose; working to wrap around Emilio’s ankles and trip him up and pull him to the ground. Oliver kept his concentration up as he walked over, not wanting a repeat of last time. He carefully moved, but was almost relieved to see that the fall had, finally, knocked the other out. He tapped the other’s cheek, just to make sure, before releasing the hold on the roots. 

Oliver’s vision darkened momentarily as he stood up; a mix of a head rush and the overuse of his powers. At this point, he couldn’t tell what was from the fight and what wasn’t. The blood he could taste on his lips was from his nose was new though. He moved towards the withercap, refusing to waste time by trying to bring the knife that he had lost. Even though Benjamin’s warning played in his ears, he pulled the knife out of his abdomen; using it to stab the withercap. Doing so caused a new wave of pain to wash over him, and he nearly toppled over; almost missing the withercap completely. He had to blink several times to have the two withercaps in front of him return to just one. Oliver stabbed it several times until he was sure it was dead, and maybe one or two more times after that. He sat there for a few moments after, just catching his breath. Oliver's eyes fell back on Emilio and he sighed before standing again; groaning as he did. It wouldn’t be fair to just leave the guy there after all. 

He moved, using the same knife to cut Emilio out of the roots before carefully dragging him to a nearby tree to rest against. Oliver would have much rather carried the guy, but he wasn’t confident that he wouldn’t pass out and he didn’t want to cause more injuries for the other if he could help it. He wiped the knife on his jeans before leaving it next to Emilio. It had been his after all. Oliver closed his eyes, hand over his wound. It didn’t feel too deep, but he also knew that his healing powers hadn’t been as effective as they once had been. Oliver was pretty sure he had a sewing kit at home that he could use to fix it, but looking at Emilio’s sleeping form also reminded him about the possible pain that he had coming from Levi about the whole situation. Maybe if he got to them first, then Levi would understand. Oliver also felt like Levi probably had some first aid stuff at their house. Oliver hissed as he stood again, before making his way out of the area; using the trees for support as he did. 

—

Oliver doubled over just as Emilio had intended for him to. The churning of guilt in his gut was faint, farther away than it would have been without the withercap’s control wrapped around him. He wasted a few seconds to pat Oliver on the shoulder and murmur, “Just a flesh wound. Be fine when the bleeding stops,” before turning back towards the withercap. He needed to scoop it up and get out of here now, before Oliver recovered. He could carry it off into the woods someplace, far away from anyone else and where it would have plenty of sustenance. He could stay with it for as long as it needed him to. Teddy would worry, but it’d be fine. The withercap was important. Emilio had to make sure no one else came around looking to kill it. 

So focused on this mantra of protect, protect, protect, he didn’t recognize the way Oliver was moving behind him. He’d figured the other man, with no stake left in the fight and his blood coating his hands, would give in pretty quickly now. The withercap would be moved; Emilio would leave with it. Oliver could go home, slap a bandage on that wound, and go about his day. He wasn’t expecting more roots to tangle him up, wasn’t expecting the ground to rise to meet him. He twisted and flailed, but it was too late. His head smacked against the hard ground, and everything faded into black.

He was utterly unaware of the withercap’s death; the hold broke the moment the creature died, but without consciousness allowing him to feel it, Emilio wouldn’t know until awakening. He was unaware, too, of Oliver cutting away the roots that bound him or of the way the other man moved his unconscious form into a more comfortable position. Had he been awake for it, he might have insisted it an unnecessary action to take. Out cold, though, he was uncharacteristically pliable, his face far more relaxed than it was capable of being when he was the one in control of its muscles. 

By the time he finally woke up, the sun had started to set and Oliver was long gone. His head ached, his bad leg screamed in protest of the careless way he’d used it during the fight. His mouth felt dry, body ached. He remembered the fight, but felt as if he’d been watching it rather than participating. Wincing, he forced himself to his feet, glancing down at the blood on his hands. Shit. He made a mental note to buy Oliver a drink or something in apology, stretching his back. In the meantime… he needed a drink himself. Maybe ten. Collecting his knife, Emilio sighed and headed home.

[gildead]

ref sheet for the recent umbrella event.

[pastelcatnip-x3]

My HC for Spud without his bucket (this is based on my hc of him being a failed hybrid don't ask me where I got that)

He’d probably only take it off when sleeping or showering or whatever, and keep it on as much as he can. I think he’d usually have occasional headaches but they’d get way worse without the bucket. They'd go away eventually but I feel like in-game Spud has only been like this for a year at most.

[realmackross]

Time: April 25th, directly following this thread. Content Warnings: head injury tw, unsanitary tw, surgery tw

"The who's who of who's that? Is poised for the attack. But my bare hands paved their paths. You don't get to tell me about sad." - Taylor Swift

It was as if a movie was playing out in the streets of Wicked’s Rest near a shady dance club in the middle of the night. Two enemies facing off against one another with the goal of death in mind for both parties. And though Mackenzie hadn’t wanted to go there, hadn’t wanted to face the death of another living, breathing human being – even if it had been Jade, she was right where she didn’t want to be. Blow after blow threatening the feral creature to come out until it finally did. Until Mackenzie Ross no longer had any physical control over her body. But she could see it all happening. Could remember every action taken on her part as well as Jade’s.

Flip. Stab. Stab again. Stab. Stab. Stab. Blade grinding through rotting flesh and bone. Sawing back and forth until the smaller blade wouldn’t do the trick anymore. Mackenzie’s hazy eyes had watched every move while her hands frantically grabbed and scratched and pulled trying desperately, not to get free. Not to save herself from the fight. No, trying to get to Jade’s brain. Food was the only thing on the zombies mind, while the real Mackenzie Ross felt trapped in a prison. Only when she felt the skin to tendons and muscle to bone back to muscle and tendons and skin pop lose from the rest of her torso did the zombie and the woman inside let out a loud awkward moan. One screaming in frustration because it couldn’t get the food it needed and the other trapped knowing that something horrible had just happened to her body.

It was when Jade finally removed herself from the equation, that the zombie found herself thrashing around, pinned to the ground with the sword that had severed her leg. But if it wanted to survive; if Mackenzie was to survive, then food would need to be found and fast. And that meant only one option…

Grunting and moaning and arms thrashing, the zombie latched onto a nearby dumpster. With grimy fingers barely gripping onto the green, metal lip, she tugged and rolled, managing to find enough strength to pull herself sideways; the sword cutting more of her body until it had loosened from the ground below and released the rabid creature; the hilt giving it enough weight to fall sideways and out of the dead flesh it had once been secured in.

Now, to find food, but like something from The Walking Dead, the zombie could only crawl forward leaving a trail of thick sludge in her wake. Lucky for her though, there had been living, breathing human beings that were stumbling out of Dance Macabre. Some had even smelled of fresh blood – blood bags made from the unsuspecting tourists visiting Wicked’s Rest for spring break; enough for a vampire to get a hit, but not enough to have them be on the next MISSING poster around town. Mackenzie had seen it at her job way too many times, but tonight it would be in her favor.

“Oh my fuck! What the hell is this ugly ass thing crawling around?!” Mackenzie could hear every word, but had no control to tell anyone to run. Instead, she found herself moving closer and closer to the curious, drunk bystanders. Two to be exact, who had found a sick sort of pleasure in taking out their own personal means of torture on her as they danced around, took photos, and threw things at her. But the joke was soon on them, when she reached out and sank her teeth into the leg of the OG heckler, yanking him down with extreme force, before crawling up his body, while he screamed, and when she had met him face to face, the zombie made his brutish features into something unrecognizable before consuming his brain.

It was the beginning of starting to feel a smidge like a human again, but the heckler’s friend had decided to grab Jade’s sword in his drunken bravery. Just like his friend though, it didn’t fare well. And before he could hack off any other part of the zombie, she was soon feasting on his corpse as well. Another jolt of humanity soon hitting her, allowing Mackenzie the chance to escape from the openness of the back street of Dance Macabre and behind the dumpster that had lended its services earlier. But with each passing moment and the awareness that was starting to come back, the more the twenty-five year old could once again feel and understand. It wasn’t just a movie playing out in front of her that she could only see and have no sort of control of. No, now she was starting to fully process everything that had happened and when she finally looked down to see her right leg was completely missing, Mackenzie let out a blood curdling scream that she was sure would even give the banshees a run for their money.

She was weak and her body was still fighting against her need to be human, longing for more flesh and brain matter, but Mackenzie knew she couldn’t remain out in the open. The sun would be coming up soon, and she had to get somewhere safe. At least until she could figure out how to get help. She was stranded and a quiet panic was beginning to set in.

And then she remembered her phone!

It was in her pocket…

The pocket that was now missing.

Letting her head fall back against the brick wall she had been leaning up against, Mackenzie closed her eyes and started to sob. Once again, she was in a situation she hadn’t wanted to be in, but more importantly, despite the way they had poked and prodded at her, Mackenzie had killed two more innocent people – and that, in itself, was enough to make her heart break.

The noise of the door opening to the back of the club had peaked Mackenzie’s attention as she heard someone getting closer. Sucking in a deep breath and holding it out of fear, she closed her eyes tightly praying whoever it was that they didn’t find her, but the trail of blood and mess she had made in her feral state didn’t exactly scream subtle. And when she thought the coast had been clear from the lack of noise, Mackenzie opened her eyes to find her co-worker staring down at her, “Oh Honey…”

The twenty-five year old looked down at the ground ashamed and on the verge of a breakdown, when Daisy, a fellow undead that Mackenzie had become friends with, kneeled down and examined her, “I’m gonna get you home okay?”

It had taken everything within Mackenzie not to break down, and if the shaking of her body hadn’t been enough, the scared and defeated zombie was quiet the entire way home as she stared pitifully at her missing limb that would take at least two more brains to start the regrowth process. Followed by the decision to hermit inside her house for the next several days, until she would have to get groceries and she would have to answer the twenty plus missed calls from Elora and her friends. 

[mollyrosaria]

Writing depicting blood and major head injury under the cut!

Hi :)

One of the many writings of which I will never post the full version of

[nugget-creates-things]

‼️TW: BLOOD & HEAD INJURY‼️

Hehe OC Angst :)

[lietwice]

wishlist thing. amnesia threads.

specifically, threads where garak has amnesia for whatever reason, and is extremely disturbed when he attempts to lie and obfuscate and it's immediately picked up on by the pretty doctor treating him.

if he loses his memories of the last few years, then he assumes he's still an agent, and therefore has no real connections with anyone. imagine his shock to discover that he has friends and a genuine relationship, and that these people know him well enough to predict what he's going to do, when he slips right into his 'i'm a spy and just woke up in an unfamiliar, potentially enemy location' mode. he'll be so annoyed that none of his tricks work!!!

[oftatteredwings]

⸻  LUKE PASQUALINO. HE/HIM / have you ever heard of SORRY FOR PARTY ROCKING by lmfao, well, it describes MATTEO ‘MATTY’ DE LUCA to a tee! the thirty-one year-old, and PARTY PLANNER was spotted browsing through the stalls at portobello road market last sunday, do you know them? would you say HE is more cocky or more FUN-LOVING instead? anyway, they remind me of hiding a hangover behind a pair of sunnies, a phone that never stops pinging, lazy sundays with a takeaway and the faint scent of cypress & grapevine jo malone cologne, maybe you’ll bump into them soon!

time in notting hill ; 5 years.

tw: accident, head injury, death, drugs

ABOUT.

Name: Matteo De Luca Nicknames: Matty Age: Thirty-one Date of Birth: 27th August 1991 Birthplace: Sicily, Italy Occupation: Party Planner Romantic/sexual orientation: Panromantic/pansexual

Matteo grew up as an only child in Sicily, Italy, doted on by his parents and basically running riot because they let him. It was clear from the word go that he was never going to be a quiet child.

By the time he was eight and he was making quite the same for himself ( not in a good way either ), his father had picked up a new job, which meant a move a little further north, heading to London.

He wasn’t a fan of their new home, but within the space of a year he was making more of an effort to speak fluent English and finally beginning to make friends. Unsure how to go about that at first, his birthday party turned into something that drew the kids in. Even at nine, he had big plans, plans that only got bigger by the year. It was a surprise to no one when it turned into his career after school.

When he reached high school and his later years, he very quickly became known as the one to go to if you wanted a good time. Especially so when he hit sixth form.

He also seemed to be very good at leaving a trail of destruction in his wake. Homes, school, relationships... attempted ones at least. He wasn’t too good at sticking around. The term man-whore could have been coined with Matty in mind.

Destruction became disaster when he was twenty and one party got completely out of hand, his partner at the time tripped and fell on a marble flight of stairs, splitting their head open and passing away four hours later.

He tuned out after that for a while.

Parties may have been his thing, but they were where he lost himself, intoxicated and drug fuelled, out all night long and barely ever sleeping.

It took a couple of years to find himself again. With the help of a few people he’d known during primary school that he happened to bump into again.

Now’s he’s back to full positivity, spending his days organising amazing parties for people, adults and children alike; spending his nights hopping in and out of strangers beds —- so maybe not full positivity. He doesn’t have it in him just yet to move on from what happened, at least not with his heart.

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

- primary school friends that helped him out. - fwb/hook-ups/one night stands. - party clients. - good friends. - partying friends.

[wearealive]

mvnces asked: Stumble - rian to markus Send "Stumble" for your severely injured muse to fall into my muse's arms.

❝ hey- you're alright. ❞ markus tries to keep a steady voice. rian panicking was only going to make things worse. but the way he'd collapsed against markus made him worry that he didn't even have the energy to do so. he brings a hand to the back of his head, cringing a little bit when his hand meets warm, wet hair. it isn't clear if his injuries were a result of some sort of accident, or if someone had done this to him on purpose, but all he really needs to know is he needs help. ❝ hey, i'm right here. let's sit you down. ❞ markus scoops the other under the arms and sets them down gently. there's so many questions he wants to ask. but instead, ❝ i'm gonna get you some help but i need you to stay with me. ❞

[gildead]

fun facts for @thebananwithaplan!

Content warning: this fun fact is also a little less fun. Discussion of medical horror-related topics below the cut.

Gold deals with chronic pain on the regular. Obviously, there's the expected phantom pain that comes with limb loss, but he also often deals with neck pain and migraines depending on how low on energy he is.

It only got worse after being kidnapped by Wesker.

On top of what I've already mentioned, Gold also now has to deal with residual itchiness and burning from his scars, even after they healed. His insides also cramped up regularly as he was regrowing his organs, which... most people can't usually do and I can only imagine is an excruciating process.

His migraines were also worsened by the head trauma received during that event. Parts of his brain AND skull had to be regenerated from nothing, and his scars had to be monitored to ensure they didn't open up so easily. Granted, there were a few scares in the healing process, but thankfully he had compassionate eyes keeping watch on him.

[tamedstray]

@celestialheal | 𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐘

A veil of blood drips down from his crown, shrouding his features behind thick streams, barely able to peel back the curtain to see the cobblestones in front of him. Head injures bled a lot. A thought that brought little comfort. He just hoped that they left him unrecognisable, but if he left a trail behind him, how long till they caught up?

      The pain was blinding, the throbbing that rang throughout his skull left him with nothing but pure instinct. He knew this turn, the shape of this alley. He knew if he turned left on the corner, he would feel the sea breeze. Primal.

      He had made it to Rivington, somehow, and could only pray that his attackers wouldn't finish the job in broad daylight. Not with witnesses. It was difficult enough for his trained feet to slip by, to find the quiet routes, dropping his head and moving faster if he sees feet in the corners of his vision. As he looks back, checking if he'd left any footprints, he raises his arm to steady himself, only to be met with the touch of armour where he had hoped to catch a wall.

      Caught. Shock stills his lungs. He wants to run, but as he fixes his eyes on the stranger, Vigor begins to stumble, giving up. ❝Please—❞ he tries to plead but all his energy is spent on drawing breath, ❝please don't say anything. Please...❞

[bledf1rst]

@deadhooded said : " BLOOD, sender cleans blood off of receiver. (platonic obv, for tim!!) "

" . . . you're putting me to sleep. "

tim is TENTATIVELY ( !! ) upright, eyelids drooping and perhaps leaning too heavily into the fingers firmly righting his jaw, keeping his face in place while jason uses a warm, damp cloth to sweep away some of the redness that's matted into his eyebrow. there's similar clumps of viscera pushed back into his hairline from running his fingers through his hair too many times, ochre crust under his nails that he picks at. there's a flake on the steel toe of his boot. he doesn't think he could stand even if he tried.

" and it was just a graze. " the ' cut ' starts at his temple and wraps around the side of his head. it's stopped bleeding, mostly, and he dutifully ignores the hill of wadded gauze on top of his wool pile carpet, more expensive than some suits he wears as timothy jackson drake-wayne. if it stains, it stains. it was bound to happen one of these days. and as if on cue, the wound on his head throbs.

maybe with a microscope, you'd see the GUNPOWDER TRACES left behind.

because the thing is, he's stared down the barrel of a gun so many times before. and this instance felt JUST as inconsequential. he decided to call out on harvey's bluff, and would have ended up with a forehead of lead if not for jason's intervention. now he's only got rope burn, a dehydration headache, and a minor laceration to show for the trouble he's caused. he's grateful, really.

. . . but he also really, really wants to turn in.

" so can we wrap this up? " he asks, " i gotta get up early tomorrow and i'd like to crawl into bed without the red robin getup on. "

actions speak louder than words, STILL ACCEPTING

[funfairsundaes]

💙💔💙🌼💙❤️‍🩹💙

[mollyrosaria]

You know what would be Fucked Up?

NightSky cutting pieces off Skykey and making him eat them

OH MY GOD YOU’RE SO RIGHT. YES.

That’s some Fuse level shit right there nyaha :3c

If I remember correctly, I’ve heard the cheek and thighs are the best tasting part of the human body? Considering it’s proabably be pretty hard to eat with a missing cheek, he’d probably cut off a good chunk of his thigh off and make him eat that instead. But also considering Nightsky in general, I don’t think he would care if Mikey had a hard time eating it. I think he’d actually enjoy watching him struggle more, so maybe he would just cut his face open, no anaesthesia or anything obviously, and just make him eat it raw. It’d take too long to cook, and it would make it more favourable for Mikey if he did. And the blood would make more of a mess, which I think Nightsky would enjoy seeing.

He has actually accidentally cracked the back of Mikey’s skull open after being too rough with him when he didn’t obey his commands fun fact which I think I actually posted about before??

OH YEAH, Mikey is being kept in a concrete, square cellar. Tethered and chained to the wall, though he is brought out of the cellar for certain occasions, such as the one above. Nightsky has an “operating room” for things like that. Has a few blisseys and chanseys on hand just in case he accidentally roughs him up too badly. He will also— not counting when he decides to make Mikey self-cannibalise— only feed him Pidove and Ratatta meat. Depends on how Nightsky’s feeling if they’re cooked or raw. Maybe an occasional singular protein here and there. And to Mikey, those protein bars are like heaven. If you’d asked him how he feels about protein bars before his capture he absolutely wouldn’t feel the same way.

[dccontramundum]

SOME MACHO HANGUP? He stares at her for a few seconds. "No, I---" Is it? He doesn't think so. He's not terribly sure what would be a 'macho hangup', though, so he's not sure he can say for certain that this isn't one. "I've hardly done anything today," he says finally. "I haven't even been to work. I had all that free time, and I wanted to clean while you were out, but I fell asleep and left all that to you. And you've cooked, too," and now he has to stop talking. Because head injuries tend to make him a little bit emotionally unbalanced, and his voice just wobbled. And if he's not careful, he's going to embarrass himself. It's not an unusual symptom of concussion, but it's definitely his least favourite. Even the physical pain is better than emotional disturbance. He was hoping this particular injury wasn't a concussion, because it takes him longer to recover from those, but he must've hit his head hard enough upon landing to result in one. He tries again, hoping his voice will be steadier if he speaks more quietly. "I should do something."

She's immediately confused. What could he possibly be thinking that would make this so important? Joan takes a shot in the dark and hopes that if she's wrong, his response will give her a clue. "Is this some macho hangup about your injury? Because I'm well aware you're capable despite it, and that you'll recover. There's no need to push yourself now." She hopes that it's some masculine problem with appearing weak, actually, as sad as that is, because the next most obvious alternative is that he's concerned about her capabilities. If he's going to decide she shouldn't exert herself, because of the baby or because of something else, she's going to get terribly annoyed very quickly. And she knows herself well enough to know, unfortunately, that if he doesn't let her do her part now, asking for his help when the baby is weighing her down is going to be much more difficult.