#injury clean up

[cidnangarlond]

[formelydailynowweeklykillersans]

Day seventeen: the aftermath (...why isn't he just killing me??)

Killer sans belongs to Rahafwabas

Color sans belongs to Superyoumna

[shandsformation]

her again

[revelingrexan]

silly guy continues to be fun to draw (part 1! :D)

bonus Lulu under the cut!

[the-broken-pen]

“You’re going to blow out your arms,” the villain observed. They watched as the hero merely grit their teeth, shoving themself through another pull-up. It looked painful, and if the sweat slicking the hero’s brow was any indication, it was.

They waited for the hero to let themself drop from the bar and accept the villain was stronger. But they didn’t.

Three more pull-ups, and the villain stepped in.

“Hero,” they said slowly. “You’re about to tear the ligaments in your arms. You need to stop.”

The hero blew out a shuddering breath. Struggled for purchase, fighting gravity—and let themself drop.

The hero’s hands were bleeding, calluses torn open by the bar. The hero didn’t seem bothered when their own hands shook so much that their blood began to splatter on the gym floor.

For a moment, the villain could only stare at them.

Shit.

They didn’t know how to handle this. They knew the hero was dedicated. They knew the hero was strong, and perpetually trying to be stronger, but they hadn’t thought…

They hadn’t thought the hero would be so willing to tear apart their own body for success.

It was supposed to be fun, the villain thought. They felt a little sick as the hero pressed their palms together to soothe the bleeding, an action that was practiced and familiar. As if they had done this before.

The hero reached for something in their bag, smearing blood on the side, and pulled out a roll of blue electrical tape. The villain didn’t understand why, until the hero tore a strip off and made to wrap their hands with it.

The hero would be the death of them.

They crouched in front of the hero, plucking the electrical tape out of their hands.

“What are you doing with this?”

The hero blinked at the villain like they were the strange one in this situation.

“Wrapping my hands?”

The villain hissed in a breath.

“With electrical tape?”

The hero flushed slightly, looking down at their bloody hands. They looked close to tears.

“It…sticks to skin, really well. And it doesn’t move, either, when you move your hands or wherever else, even if you’re fighting. Plus, blood doesn’t make it come off, at least, not for a while.”

The villain blinked at them.”

“Blood doesn’t make it come off,” the villain repeated, processing. The hero nodded, reaching for the electrical tape. The villain settled it out of reach.

“Not if you wrap it right.”

Dimly, the villain realized that meant the hero had done this enough times to have it down to a science.

“And you couldn’t use a bandaid?” The villain asked incredulously. The hero shrugged a shoulder, then winced at the motion.

Yeah, the hero had absolutely blown out their arms.

“Bandaids move—“

The villain hushed them.

“Be quiet for a second.”

The hero, wisely, went quiet.

The villain rubbed a hand over their face, then studied the hero for a moment. They took one of the hero’s hands into their own, studying the damage.

“Why did you do this to yourself,” the villain murmured.

“What do you mean, why,” the hero snapped. “It’s my job.”

“Your job is to save people,” the villain corrected. “Not destroy yourself.”

“I’m not destroying myself—“

“You are.”

“Shut up—“

“Hero.”

“I need to be better,” the hero snapped. Their voice rang out across the gym, echoing into the rafters, and they both froze. After a moment, the hero spoke again, voice soft. “I need to be better.”

They said it like they needed the villain to understand. The villain wondered who they were really saying it to—the villain, or themself.

“Better than who?”

“Everyone.” It was hushed, like a secret.

The villain watched them, waiting.

The hero took a shaky breath

“My whole thing is being the best. I have always been the best. That’s the only reason I matter. If I’m not strong enough, then I am nothing, so I need. to be. better.”

The hero had started crying, very quietly, like they were afraid to take up too much space.

The villain was not equipped to handle gifted kid burnout.

“There’s more to you than just being a good athlete,” the villain said hesitantly, and the hero shook their head.

“No. There isn’t.”

“Hero.”

“Can you give me back my electrical tape?” They hiccuped to contain a sob.

“No,” the villain said firmly, and then the hero really was sobbing.

“You don’t understand—“

The villain didn’t. Not really. They had never been the kind of talented that the hero was.

They wondered now if maybe that was a blessing.

“I don’t,” the villain agreed. “But I do understand that you’ve saved half the city, and you give everything you have to give, and you always do your best.”

“But I-“

“No.” The villain stopped them. “You are doing your best.” They tipped the hero’s chin up until they met the villain’s eyes. “And it is enough.”

The hero froze, eyes darting over the villain’s face. They wondered if anyone had ever said that to the hero, if whatever mentor they had was giving them anything other than orders to be stronger. Be better. Be more.

The villain had some new targets to take care of, it would seem.

For now, though, they had to take care of hero.

“We’re going to go wrap your hands,” they said softly. “And then we’re going to take care of your arms, and you’re going to take a nap.”

The hero nodded, watching them like they were some kind of good, selfless person.

“And if I ever catch you using electrical tape again, so help me, I will put you six feet under.”

That startled a laugh out of the hero, and they let the villain guide them to their feet.

“Fine.”

The villain turned to them. “Okay?”

Are you going to be alright?

The hero seemed to understand.

“Okay,” the hero agreed.

Yes.

And so, it was.

[nartothelar]

commission for @scribesynnox: ptkd!david having some fun

[lordansketil]

MANGO CAME HOME!!!!!! 🥳😸🥂🎉

[thebramblewood]

Our girl coming in hot with the understatement of the century.

Previous / Next

Helena: [hisses in pain as hot water hits wounds] What the... There's no fucking way.

[investigating in mirror] Yep, this is not good. Not good at all.

Now, where did you come from? [picks up letter addressed with her name]

-

Dear Helena,

If you are reading this letter, I will admit I am relieved, though I cannot say for certain whether your survival is more blessing or curse. I know you must be confused. God only knows how much of the night you even remember.

My sister misled you about who and what we are, which was no accident on her part, even if the dreadful mistake that followed was. I can hardly cast stones for I did nothing to stop her and, in fact, committed an unforgivable sin myself in attempting to undo what she had done, though I very well knew it would turn you into a monster against your will.

I will put it to you bluntly: Lilith and I have been vampires for some 100 years, and faced with your otherwise certain demise, I chose to make you one too. You may not believe me. It will feel like a bad flu for a day or two; then it will feel like the heat of 1000 fires blazing inside.

You will desire answers. I compel you to seek them elsewhere. Lilith has her mind set on having you and, if she knows you are alive, will not take no for an answer. I can only deceive her so long, as vampires are inextricably tied to their creators. As surely as I will soon know your fate, so will she, for she is my maker and cannot keep out of my head.

I am truly sorry, though it must offer little consolation. You do not deserve this eternally damned existence, but you also did not deserve to die. You see the bind I was caught in. All I can do now is urge you to make the most of this truly terrible hand we have all been dealt.

Regretfully,

Caleb Vatore

-

Helena: Well, shit.

[zukosdualdao]

i'm a worst case kid / in a plague pit town

zutara month, day 1: reluctant allies

summary: ever-slight canon-divergence in which zuko accepts katara's offer to heal iroh after feeling his too-weak, dying pulse, as his injury is bad enough zuko is unsure he will survive otherwise. not much else changes. it was never going to.

warnings: canon-typical depictions of injury, violence, and trauma responses.

other notes: title is a lyric taken from tommy lefroy's "worst case kid". starting pov is zuko's, ending pov is katara's. two pieces of dialogue are directly taken from the show.

*

The wind is whistling in this dry, abandoned, dead town, dead like—

Zuko does not shiver, and he does not cry.

He used to be able to tell himself things like that and mean it. When did that stop being true?

Uncle’s pulse is so faint, for a moment, he thinks it isn’t there at all. Even when he feels it, he knows it might as well not be. He might not have long at all.

Zuko hears the other footsteps approaching, their silence loud and almost mournful, but he bristles on instinct. They can’t see him like this, can’t see Uncle like this—how could he be so stupid as to turn his back on the enemy? 

“Get away from us!” he shouts as he looks back. They’re all staring at his uncle’s prone form, and Zuko turns back to him, too, heaving heavy breaths. He needs to do something, but he is weak, useless, outnumbered—

“Zuko, I can help,” the waterbender insists, and Zuko wants to snarl, yell, reach for his fire, and he raises his hand to do so—and frowns. 

What does she mean?

He looks back to where Uncle lies prone.

A heartbeat shouldn’t feel like that. The Dragon of The West shouldn’t go down so easily.

Uncle shouldn’t be able to seem so small and worn and fragile.

Slowly, Zuko lowers his hand and looks to her striking blue eyes. There’s no pity or malice there, he doesn’t think, she just looks… still cautious and unyielding, but sad and sincere, too.

He’s fallen for tricks like this before, though—Azula has always loved how easily she could fool him—and it feels a little like he’s standing on the edge of a steep precipice.

It would be naive to just… trust the word of an enemy. She has no reason to want to help him. He knows this.

The rest of them still watch his uncle’s maybe-dying form, but the waterbending girl stares at Zuko unflinchingly, almost as though in challenge.

Uncle groans brokenly, the noise like that of a wounded animal. 

“How?”

*

The world is dead silent.

The prince of the Fire Nation is staring at her with tears threatening to fall from his right eye, though not the left, which is twitching lightly. She’s never before noticed how he can’t seem to open it fully due to the scar tissue set against it. She’s never had much reason to take in his features as anything more than the face of their enemy. 

His gaze is still steely and untrusting. In this light, his scar looks violently red and painful. He asks after her offer with a voice that cracks, though he doesn’t seem to pay that any heed. His hair is short but growing in, and he’s traded out his Fire Nation attire for earthly green and brown robes. He looks so different from when they last saw him. 

He looks so… young.

It’s all a little bizarre.

“Be careful, Katara,” Sokka insists from behind her, though when she glances back, his focus is on Iroh, a complicated expression playing on his features. Aang is staring at him, too, eyes wide and verging on teary. She doesn’t yet know Toph very well, but Katara can tell her body is rigid, her feet tense as her toes curl into the dusty ground beneath them. Toph doesn’t know that Iroh has been their enemy. But Iroh also helped them at the North Pole, and again just now against that princess, Zuko’s sister, she supposes, with her calculating eyes and strange blue fire.

Katara nods but says nothing further. If Zuko was going to make a move against them, he could have done it when his sister vanished.

They had turned away from their futile attack against her, and he’d already been kneeling at his uncle’s side.

She approaches slowly, circling to the side opposite him. When she kneels and reaches for her waterskin, Zuko nearly growls and takes hold of the edge of Iroh’s sleeve tightly, like he might try to drag him away.

“I’m not going to hurt him,” Katara says, flush with indignation. The dirt beneath her chafes her knees even through her clothing. “I need space to heal.”

“I’m not moving, so forget it.”

Katara tilts her head and looks into his eyes as he glares back. He now looks every bit the angry, hateful prince that had tracked them around the world for months, but she can see something else filtering through his expression, too, something like fear.

She almost wants to laugh at the absurdity of it. Why should he be afraid of them?

“Fine,” she allows after a moment. “Just don’t get in the way.”

He nods tightly, and at the agreement, Katara opens her waterskin. She calls the water to her and sets it against Iroh’s the right side of his chest, his robes black and charred. Closing her eyes, she calls out to his chi and focuses her energy on it. She doesn’t know if she can do it, doesn’t know if Iroh is truly too far gone…

After a few long moments, his breathing evens, and Katara sighs. Across from her, Zuko’s features soften just a fraction, but when she meets his eyes, somehow, she knows exactly what they both are thinking, united in nothing but this.

It doesn’t change anything, Katara's thoughts insist as her friends draw closer. Zuko tenses again. It can’t.

[good-beansdraws]

Making a full post for my Fuuta Ballet AU because I actually had more thoughts about it hehe (Ballerina Girl)

+ a version of the au that's more general to the whole cast, with Es as the protag here!

As mentioned in the art, he’s exactly the same as canon except his life now revolves around dance. He’s in a very cliquey company (The Dark Pas de Trois?), surrounded by friends who are very similar-minded. Even though they're not in dance competitions specifically, they're constantly striving for better reviews/reputations than the neighboring companies. Fuuta struggles with stage fright, but doesn't let on to the others -- he just pushes through every time.

They visit a company rehearsing Nutcracker, and one of the snowflake dancers does something problematic backstage. Fuuta blasts him on social media for it, gaining popularity for his own account/dance company. Auditions and things go a bit smoother for them now that they’re internet famous.

There’s a scandal with the dancer playing the demon sorcerer Rothbart in Swan Lake, and Fuuta catches it on film. The video goes viral, once again boosting Fuuta’s popularity and ego. He’s praised as both a hero and talented performer. His friends are also soaring with this newfound fame.

Then, he catches a young background dancer in Sleeping Beauty doing something he deems worthy of a callout. He exposes her all over his social media. Rather than the usual social backlash, the girl is harassed in person. A crowd takes things too far, and an accident results in an injury that ends her career just as it was beginning. She will never dance again.

Facing his suspicious friends (and overcome with his own guilt), Fuuta flees the company. He plans on quitting dance for the rest of his life as well. Instead, he gets a mysterious invitation to the Milgram Dance Academy. He's never heard of them before, and the internet doesn't turn up much on them. Left with few other choices, he shows up for the first lesson.

The first thing that strikes him is it's a boarding school. He must live there and follow their rules in order to attend. They take his phone and restrict outside contact, much to his horror. The school solely focused on the arts -- no competitions, no big shows. There are three major shows they are planning, but Fuuta couldn't find any venues/tickets/advertisements, despite mention of a "global audience". The program is rigorous, and the instructor decides at the end of each semester if their final performance passes or fails.

The only thing more concerning than the sudden restriction of his phone is the strange group of residents he'll be spending his next few years with. His instructor is a mere child, no more than fifteen and very cryptic about their past training. His other classmates range in age and personality. He starts off dancing just as confident as usual, trying to show up the other students and make a strong first impression.

However, he fails the first semester. The grade list is made public to the whole academy, and Fuuta finds himself the subject of watching eyes and condescending whispers. Becoming sensitive to prying stares and audiences, he falls back into his usual stage fright. He endures (emotional) attacks from the passed students, although in his distraction he screws up some cues and gets injured.

Regarding the actual choreography -- as much as I love the classic shows (I mean, just look how cute he is as the nutcracker ;-;) my brain has been going brrrrr picturing ballet adaptations of the mvs... 🎹 / 🎹 / 🎹 / 🎹

[whumpypepsigal]

In From The Cold s01e06: “Take care of Chauncey.”

[whump-about-it]

Sponge bath/ Infection/ “Lets get you cleaned up”

@whumpril day 22

CW: infections, passing out, mild hallucinations, fever. 

The room seemed to be wavering around Whumpee. The floor kept shifting and tilting at odd angles, and the walls didn’t appear to be shifting with it. Instead they kept elongating and shrinking at random intervals. Whumpee couldn’t look at anything straight on or else the constant movement of the room was going to make them nauseous. When they tried to take a step they stumbled on the moving floor and had to grab onto the chair next to them to keep their knees from buckling. 

Their mouth was dry, and their ears were beginning to ring. Whumpee tried to grip the chair harder to ground themselves. Get a control on their body and the shaking room. They knew they should know what was going on, but their brain was moving so sluggishly they couldn’t think of what had happened. 

“Whumpee?” A voice broke through the ringing in Whumpee’s ears, and they could feel someone putting a hand on their shoulder. Whumpee turned towards the voice, and the hand, and managed to focus on Caretaker’s concerned face for a split second before it began to twist and contort like they were a painting someone was smudging over. 

It was all to much for Whumpee’s brain, and their world quickly faded to grey, and then to black. 

“Catch me” they slurred as their body went boneless. The last thing they remembered before they totally blacked out was Caretaker swearing as they tried to pull Whumpee into their arms before they hit the floor. 

The next thing Whumpee remembered, they were coming to propped up in someone’s bed. Their head was screaming, and their skin itched and ached. They felt like a clay pot cracking and preparing to fall apart in desert heat. Even so, Whumpee could feel something wet and freezing being pressed to their neck, just below their ear. The feeling disappeared but quickly came back an inch or so away. The sudden cold on their hot and aching skin made Whumpee wince even as their brain told them to stay still. 

“It’s just me” Caretaker murmured from somewhere very close to Whumpee. They continued to dab Whumpee’s neck with what they could now distinguish as a sponge for a minute until Whumpee managed enough control over themselves to crack their eyes open. 

They were in Caretaker’s room. The lights were out and the curtains were drawn only allowing dim sunlight to filter through. The room was spinning, but it at least was staying proportional now. And Caretaker’s face, mere inches from their own, was only contorting in the usual ways. 

Caretaker leaned away when they saw Whumpee’s eyes open and dipped the sponge in a bowl of water sitting on the bedside table. They rang it out and began to dab at the other side of Whumpee’s neck making them wince again. Caretaker’s face was a mixture of concern and displeasure and Whumpee tried not to stare at them and they continued to wipe the sweat off of their face and neck. 

“Is this your shirt?” They asked in a raspy voice after a moment. They had just noticed they weren’t in the same clothing they had been in when they passed out. 

“You sweat through your own” Caretaker told Whumpee in way of a response. “The cut on your arm has a nasty infection.” 

Whumpee glanced guiltily down at their left forearm. It was splayed out next to them on a seperate pillow. Caretaker had removed the bandage, but there was a warm compress over the deep cut Whumpee had been trying to hide. 

Right. That’s what had happened. They hadn’t told Caretaker about the injury. They didn’t want them to worry. The infection hadn’t been that bad the last time they had changed the bandage. They had cleaned out the puss and made sure to dry the wound before putting on a new bandage. Had they applied the antiseptic? They couldn’t remember. 

“Are you going to give me a lecture?” They rasped, glancing back at Caretaker, who surprisingly gave them a half smile. 

“Eventually” They said fondly “When your fever breaks. I want to make sure you  remember it.” 

Whumpee nodded and instantly regret the movement. They squeezed their eyes shut against the room that was beginning to spin again. Caretaker continued to brush the sponge down Whumpee’s arm while they stroked Whumpee’s sweaty head with their other hand, gently encouraging them to take deep breathes until Whumpee didn’t think they were going to pass out again. 

“I’m sorry” Whumpee rasped when they opened their eyes again “I should have told you about the cut.” 

“I told you, I’m saving the lecture for later.” Caretaker said. “For now lets get you cleaned up, and then I’m tracking down some antibiotics.”  

“Okay” Whumpee mumbled. They shut their eyes again and held as still as they could as Caretaker finished wiping them down with cool water and began to dress their wound, properly this time. 

[karliahs]

two silly thoughts from me still thinking too much about UA teaching logistics:

1. I think given all might's time limit at the beginning of the series, they really can't have given him a homeroom class to look after - but I do think it would be very funny if nedzu did it anyway. yeah I know you're just here for OFA purposes and that you can only be in hero form for like 3 hours per day, but you do have to spend like 15 minutes of that looking after 20 random wide-eyed business course kids. no slackers allowed

2. each year presumably has the same class structure as what we see for class a's year - 2 hero classes and 1 of each of the others - [ETA: oops no they don't, it's apparently 2 hero classes and THREE of each of the others??? consider this now a non-canon-compliant joke:] but it seems at least vaguely plausible that the additional hero class is a more recent addition brought on either by hero commission pressure to churn out more heroes per year, or - funnier option - as a counterbalance for the fact that aizawa is expelling like 50% of the hero course anyway, so you have to start out with a bigger pool

[23meteorstreet]

it should be illegal to look this good in that stupid ass shirt

[bitchfitch]

shout out to that time I was asking my mother (a former er nurse) how a superficial gunshot would would be handled by emergency responders and she gave me detailed play by play and what to do in that situation bc my speech impediment and her understanding of me as a person made her think I was asking because of a Riding (horse) situation and not a Writing (monster hunter) situation.

[athina-blaine]

i love sincerely love working with dungeon meshi's magic system and the way mana sickness is depicted, like it has the breadth and scope for some truly powerful and wacky fun shit, but you can also easily bring down the hammer when you want to put the characters in difficult situations they can't get out of without a little creativity. i found when writing for baldur's gate 3 that, unless i was in a modified setting, i was hard-pressed thinking up fun ways for characters to solve their problems without just using magic, especially for the small things. i mean, what fun is throwing a character into a river and needing to warm them up when you can just cast prestidigitation?? it's one of the first things a novice can learn and also it's a cantrip, it literally costs nothing!