#is not medically accurate

[scribble-pillar]

wanted to have a design challenge so i ponyfied the tf2 mercs

not too proud of some of the designs but i tried

[aprofessionalwithoutstandards]

Looooove when people describe Medic tf2's voice with bird-adjacent words. He is such a man who chirps. He is such a man who trills. He is such a man who coos. You're so so so right

[trashylosersz]

i was bored so i did this with my fav star wars animated characters!!

[buzzthetower]

The first time Maverick is shot down, in between the time it takes him to fight his way out of the tangle of his chute and scramble out of the ditch he’s landed in, he’s more worried about what Ice is going to say than he is about being smack in the middle of a combat zone. Because like it or not, he has an ego and it’s almost as bruised as his knee is going to be tomorrow from landing half on a rock. And secondly, if he doesn’t get his ass handed to him by the next guy with a gun on the ground, Ice will gladly do so when he gets back. He doesn’t let that part waver too much, better to keep thinking of when and not if, because when sounds a lot more like the kind of attitude that gets him back home. Yes, when, not if he gets home, Ice will happily finish the job that no amount of enemy fighters have finished yet.

It’s another eighteen hours before he feels his way back through whatever no man’s land he’s in. It's two more on top of that before they can get an evac chopper in and one more final fuck you toward his best efforts, three more before it can land. By the time he’s been strapped into a seat, with a medic that already looks sick of him and any potential shit he might be giving in the near future, is saying something about cracked ribs, a sprained ankle, dehydration, and a concussion. That grocery list of issues explains most of the overall full body ache that set in as soon as the adrenaline left him a couple of miles into his longwinded exit. The medic is also saying something about not sleeping and tormenting him with a second canteen of water that his body doesn’t want in it right after finishing the first one. Then again, the water sounds a hell of a lot better than the IV bag of fluids that is starting to get waved around.

Maverick has never really liked flying when he wasn’t the one in the cockpit, something about not knowing what was happening next and it turns out the ride back into the nearest base is no different. He’s got a white-knuckled grip on his seat straps as the chopper wobbles its way through some turbulence and descends into a landing a little faster than his still empty stomach is happy with. It’s cold now, and he realizes he’s shivering only after the medic, whose name tag he’s just noticed reads Martinez when he’s leaning over Maverick to wrap a thermal blanket around him. Martinez is joined by a small swarm of nurses and other medics that flood out onto the landing pad once the blades stop turning. He only fights the gurney for a few seconds until some combination of exhaustion and Martinez’s shit eye that he's pretty sure could melt a hole into him right now, make him collapse onto it. The last thing he remembers is the smell of fuel and night air flooding through his nose.

He wakes up in a similar fashion to how he went out. This is to say all too aware of every battered part of his body that's gotten in line to file a complaint about his current position. The first thing he hears when he wakes up is the sound of voices in the hall outside. It's distant and muffled, but then again everything feels a little muffled right now like he’s got tissue paper stuffed up every orifice in his head. It's dim in the room, and an incessant beeping is making him wonder if laying in a ditch right now wouldn't be so bad. At least that way he'd still have clothes on and not whatever paper-thin hospital gown he's been rolled into. That's another layer of embarrassment, at least in the past he's been able to walk himself of his own volition into medical and change on his own.

The voices are getting loud now, and Maverick vaguely wonders if they’re aware that this is an infirmary, and he and what he can assume is the rest of the general populace of the sick and injured would like everyone to tone it down. At least he assumes he’s in the medical wing and not dead in the middle of a war zone because this would really have made for a shitty heaven or a surprisingly subpar hell. He examines the back of his hand, apparently in the end they did stick him with that IV. The tape is beginning to be itchy, along with what parts of his body he can feel joining it. Out, he needs to be out, and the sooner the better. He'll get right on that as soon as he can coordinate his limbs into anything more complicated than stretching.

His attention is drawn back to the voices outside, they sound a little closer now like they've moved from down the hallway to right outside his door. Really, that's just his luck. Eject out of a fighter jet, bruise half his body on the return to Earth, tramp through god knows where for a few miles, and get stuck in the loudest part of the medical wing.

Giving up on fiddling with his IV, he turns his attention to listening to the voices, because there's nothing better to do until some poor nurse shows up to coax him into what he's sure is going to be a handful of pills and maybe a longer nap. The longer he's awake the easier it is to blink away the feelings of floating back to the waking world, along with feeling the full force of the last day on his body.

Then, very suddenly one voice, the one that's been steadily getting louder and more authoritative as the not-so-quiet conversation has gone on, starts to sound familiar. In fact, it's starting to sound a lot like someone who definitely should not be here right now. Not that he should be here either, but he's done counting the technicalities of recent events.

The handle on the door dips down and the door swings open a crack, and the voices suddenly both hush like they're realizing that yes, maybe almost yelling in the middle of the night outside patient's rooms isn't the best idea. There's some quiet hissing back and forth now that he can hear, and yes, that is most definitely one pissed-off Tom Kazansky and what Maverick safety assumes is the poor orderly on duty tonight. He’s only catching the end of the discussion, but Ice is starting to throw around rank and his name like he does when he wants something his way which Maverick has always found equal parts terrifying and endearing. Terrifying to be on the wrong end of it, but endearing to watch from the relative safety of somewhere behind him.

Finally the orderly gives up, and the door comes the rest of the way open and Maverick takes that time to slam his head back down on the pillow and feign unconsciousness. That in itself was a mistake from the get-go, as even the soft pillow makes his teeth grind with the pain that rackets through his skull. Figuring it’s dark enough in the room to get away with peaking he squints one eye in the direction of the door. Ice is standing there, hair and uniform looking uncharacteristically ruffled and out of place. It might just be the light, but he looks pale too, with dark shadows creeping in around his eyes like he hadn’t slept enough. His arms are rigid at his sides like he’s torn between looking for a fight that isn’t coming and standing at attention.

“Pete,” he says finally and despite all the almost yelling in the hallway his voice barely makes it across the room now, “You’re a terrible faker I know you’re awake.”

He debates keeping up the ruse briefly to give himself a little more time to assess whatever is happening before he breaks the silence, “Well hello to you too, sunshine." His throat feels so dry it’s a wonder he doesn’t sound worse than he does. He knows he must still sound like shit because Ice's expression wavers when he hears his voice. He can milk that properly for sympathy later, right now all he would like is to get back to trying to see if he can move his legs.

In the blink of an eye, Ice is walking across the room and Maverick is in the process of fighting with the little remote at his beside in hopes of sitting up better without having to pay for it in his ribs. Expect Ice doesn’t stop to drag a chair over for what Maverick assumes to be his impending lecture on the merits of not losing million-dollar machines and interrupting whatever important Admiral business Ice has had to ignore to be here. He’s expecting all that and maybe a catalog of injuries and threats to keep him out of a cockpit until each and every bruise and scratch has healed up and then maybe a little longer just out of spite. Not that that's a lesson that ever sticks that long, but it's a song and dance he's familiar with. Because he’s punched out of things going a hell of a lot faster and walked away just fine, and sure maybe it being the middle of a war adds another layer to this, but really he’s pretty sure he’s heard this particular record before.

What he is not expecting, mouth already open to deliver what his brain has deemed the most pacifying excuses, is Ice to sink down to his knees beside his bed and grip his hand so hard he’s tempted to wonder if that’s going to go on the list of fractured bones by the time he’s done.

“You stupid, reckless, son of a bitch- flying like that when you knew there was going to be a dogfight? Alone? Are you actively trying to get yourself killed or is that just a side effect of whatever the hell back ass plan you thought you could get away with?” The voice that had woken Maverick up in the hallway is back and then some. Ice is pissed, and if it wasn’t for the death grip on his hand Maverick thinks he might wither away into the shitty bedsheets. This is the kind of talk he gets from COs who have had enough of acrobatic party tricks, usually not the lecture Ice gives him these days. Mostly they’re about putting socks in the hamper and wearing a helmet when he rides.

“Mitchell, you are an idiot and you have no idea the strings I’ve just finished pulling, no not pulling, the strings I’ve had to yank on to get over here because no one could tell me if you were alive or dead or a goddamn prisoner of war for the past twenty-four hours?” Ice is still going full tilt and Maverick suddenly understands how he managed to make Admiral in the time he did. That was not a man he wanted to fuck with.

“Do you know the shit that’s been going through my head all because you can’t follow fucking orders, Pete, direct orders on what to do so this doesn’t happen? Shot down in the middle of god knows where,” Ice has a frantic edge to his voice now and Maverick twists as best he can without feeling like he’s putting holes in his lungs so he can get a better look at him. He lets his free hand fall on top of where Ice is clasping his other, cringing when the IV tugs on his skin.

“Ice, hey, baby come on,” Maverick tries slowly, wincing again when he has to shift and something in his chest protests, “Gotta give a guy a minute to gather his defense team, I know I’m not exactly on my death bed here but-“

Ice chokes on something that Maverick clocks as suspiciously close to a sob, and he drops his head down against where their hands are still tangled. For a moment all he can do is watch Ice’s shoulder rise and fall, shaking slightly as he tries to swallow back the little sounds that are spilling out of him.

“Tommy, hey look at me, look at me, sweetheart. I’m right here, yeah? Can’t get rid of me that easy,” Maverick tries to joke, but it falls pitifully flat. He drags a hand free and reaches to cradle the back of Ice’s head, suddenly feeling too trapped by the confines of the hospital bed and the beeping machines and their offending wires that ensnare him.

“I could have lost you, you fucking piece of shit,” Ice says, but all the venom evaporates out of it with the sniffing that follows. “They told me they didn’t know where you were. Your jet went down and no one could come to get you out. I couldn’t help you, I couldn’t do a goddamn thing about it. They weren’t even going to let me in here to see you.” That explains the hallway then, and Maverick pitties whatever poor receptionist who had pulled the short straw to deal with him.

“I’m so sorry,” Maverick stops to swallow at a loss for what he should say. Guilt always dogs him after any type of mission that goes wrong, but usually, he can lick those wounds alone. He runs his blunt nails across Ice’s scalp, petting down the soft strands that have flown out to place.

He stares at his hand like it’s someone else and he’s just watching it happen from some detached third perspective. It feels just as real as it always does, and maybe that’s the only thing keeping him from floating away. He sits like that trying to think of anything to say that doesn't sound like /my bad, sorry for scaring the shit out of you and making you fly in from god knows where just to come to see me lay in a hospital bed. Oh and sorry about the jet, that would also be my bad./ He decides the groveling for forgiveness can wait until after he works whatever meds they've got him on out of his system. After what feels like an eternity or maybe only a few minutes if he bothers to look at the clock that sits crookedly on the wall beside him, Ice sits back on his haunches, his eyes red as he angrily swipes at a straggling tear that’s staining his cheek.

“Don’t do it again,” he says, throwing his chin out and Maverick is overcome with a wash of warm calm that flushes through his system. He’s okay. He made it back, he didn’t burn out in a ball of fire or get shot and left for dead on the side of some road a million miles from home. Ice is here, Ice is right beside him still holding his hand and he made it back.

“Aye, sir, got that loud and clear,” he shoots him a lopsided grin that he hopes will prevent any more tears. He swipes his thumb underneath Ice’s eye, carefully carrying away the moisture that’s spilled over. He looks even more tired up close, and Maverick starts to wonder if he'd gotten any sleep since he'd gotten the report that he'd been shot down.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he murmurs, “you know I’ll always fly home to you.” Ice sniffs again, blinking furiously and glaring up at him like he’s thinking about a few other choice words he has to share. His shoulders slump and he leans forward against the bed with a shaking sigh.

"You're a bastard, you know that?" Ice says and Maverick can't stop himself from reaching out to touch his hair again. It's a habit that had been born out of trying to calm Ice down, but over the years had morphed into something closer to a way to calm himself down.

"Yeah, so I've heard," he says and Ice pulls back to glare at him one more time just to make sure that he gets to bear the full brunt of any and all accusations he's leveled at him tonight.

“C’mere,” Maverick huffs, scooting as best he can to the other side of the bed so there’s a spot where Ice can at least sit and get off the floor. Not that Maverick is particularly enjoying the idea of whatever Ice has been wiping off the floor with his knees joining him in the bed, but considering he’s still covered in his own blood and an impressive amount of dirt, he can’t really talk either.

Ice relents, and only because he can’t take the accompanying poke to the ribs that it would insight does Maverick refrain from commenting on the sound of his left knee popping. Ice seats himself next to him, tugging at his uniform which does little to fix his overall state of frazzled exhaustion. He gives one final sniff, squaring off his shoulders again like he hasn't just scarped himself off the floor. Grabbing the little plastic cup that's been left by his bedside he thrusts it toward Maverick with a look that doesn't lead him to believe that it's an optional offer.

"The doctor said you were lucky you didn't do more damage than you did," Ice finally says pointedly when Maverick finally pushes the straw away from his face. He's feeling a little less like something crawled down his throat and died now. However, the feeling of something crawling into his stomach to do that same hasn't quite lessened since he'd gotten a good look at Ice.

Maverick hums, letting his hand rest on Ice's thigh, running patterns over the material of his uniform. He's feeling tired again, which might have something to do with exhaustion or possibly the concussion. Either way, he yawns, and Ice's face softens again looking a little less like he wants to murder him where he lays. Which is progress Maverick will take gladly.

"I love you," Maverick says quietly when the air between them fizzles back into a silence that feels too unnatural. Ice shoots a glance behind him at the door like he's worried the orderly is about to bust back in before he leans in and presses a soft kiss again his lips.

"I love you too, idiot," he moves to kiss the corner of Maverick's mouth, then his forehead where he lingers for a moment. Maverick lets his eyes flutter closed for a moment, sinking further back into the pillow when Ice pulls back.

"Stay until I wake up again?" he asks, trying not to let it sound too desperate. He's not sure how much longer he can fight his body's demands for sleep again, but the prospect of waking up alone somehow feels worse.

"I'll stay as long as I can," Ice sighs, running a finger lightly over the bruise Maverick knows had formed on his jaw from hitting it on something. "I'm bringing you back stateside, and before you try to give me grief over that, there's no way anyone's letting you back up in the air with a fresh concussion."

Maverick frowns, hoping that he can come up with a better argument to that than it not being what he wants, but he's too tired to get his eyes all the way back open so that's not helping his case, "Only if you're going back too."

Ice smiles at him again, small and tired, and Maverick knows that he can't tell him no to everything, so this can be his win for the moment, "Yeah, I'm going back too, Mav. Now get some rest, really can't afford to lose any more brain function than you've already managed to today." Maverick flips him off, and the last thing he remembers before falling back asleep is the sound of Ice's quiet breathing beside him.

When Ice finally loosens the grip Maverick had his hand pinned to the bed with and makes it back out to the front desk, he's pleasantly surprised to find the receptionist already has all of the forms he was about to ask for drawn up and waiting for him. She gives him a look that suggests she might have him all figured out but smiles when he starts filling them out anyways.

[bonkage]

i am not okay right now

[geese-d]

As above, so below.

[jordanshenessy]

9-1-1 LONESTAR S3 APPRECIATION WEEK - EPISODE EDITION

Day 2 - favourite tearjerker moment AKA the moment we all died

[yonemurishiroku]

Horror theme prompt!!! Someone discovers Jason’s grave dug open and his body lost. At the same time, Nico di Angelo disappears from the surface. Then come many arguements and blames and speculations.

And miles and miles away from the Camps, speeding into the night on the back seat of Jules-Albert’ racing car, Nico holds tight the skeletal hand - there was still flesh clinging on it, rotten slowly - in between his pale, shaking fingers. He tears his eyes away from the flashes of stars to look at his companion. The fleshly-summoned skeleton has eyes of two hollow sockets. There’s a black-framed glass hanging awkwardly across the skeleton’s half-decomposed nose. Some of his ribs are cracked, holding up only by Nico’s stubborness. His lips are gone, but the scar is still visible. So is the smile.

Nico smiles back. And then lets his head fall on the mushy flesh and sharp broken bones of Jason’s skeleton. 

He closes his eyes, and there are golden stars behind his eyelids.

[hurtthemgently]

Gore and Kisses.

Warning for extreme gore, body horror, blood, creepy/intimate whumper, medical inaccuracies, vivisection, non con kissing

Cutting open a chest cavity while they scream behind the gag, an incision starting at the base of their sternum, traveling down their chest, over their stomach.

More strangled cries as the incision is torn open. Whumper wipes tears away with a kiss.

“Shhh shh, no need to cry. You’re so beautiful like this. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to keep you alive and awake through all of this.”

Their hand goes into their chest cavity, grasping a writhing intestine. The sounds whumpee is making are no longer anything resembling screams. Short gasps and squeaks. Whumper pulls the intestines out, and begins pressing soft kisses to the quivering organ.

They let the intestines rest on a hook while they cut deeper. Stroking the exterior of the lungs creates the most beautiful choked gasps. They pull ribs out of place and whumpees eyes roll back. That’s not allowed. They pat whumpees face, smearing blood, searching for consciousness. Pursing their lips, they grab a bottle of the chemical they need to keep them awake.

Once administered, whumpee struggles anew.

Whumper smiles, going back to making incisions. They finally reach the organ they were looking for. A frantically beating heart. They lean in and stroke the inside of whumpees ribcage before kissing along the bones.

They press one final kiss to whumpees heart, feeling the erratic pulse on their lips. They sigh, covered in blood, enamored.

Regrettably, they start stitching whumpee back up. Putting bones and organs back into place, they make sure to be gentle, always so, so gentle, with their precious whumpee. Once they’ve healed enough to withstand it, whumper will open them back up and repeat the process all over.

[badasseryandriversong]

i kid you not, 60% of the reason i’m graduating nursing school next winter is because i wanted to have more accurate medical information for writing my fics 

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

Totally random and not my usual topic, but my skin issues have gotten loads better since I started doing at home skin peels. If you have acne or other skin issues, this is an affordable and powerful option to be aware of.

I’m not gonna endorse any brands or anything, but here's some info for anyone interested:

at home skin peels are way more affordable than the same treatments done in spas/clinics. They are available online without a prescription, can cost as little as $15, and last up to a year (depending on how frequently you use it).

however, many of these are professional strength, so you have to do your research and follow the guidelines, and always patch test. at home peels can be remarkably effective, but can cause real damage when not done properly.

you also need to follow proper aftercare procedures (e.g. moisturizer and sunscreen are mandatory).

fortunately, these things are not that difficult to learn! I learned by reading a bunch of online how-to guides. Here is a beginner’s guide to get you started, and here are examples of more detailed instructions: link 1 link 2

I don’t know anything about different brands (I just chose products with decent reviews in my price range), but the main things to keep in mind when choosing a peel are the acid type and solution strength.

choose the acid type based on the skin issues you want to treat. for example, I alternate between salicylic acid (for acne), and glycolic acid (for acne scars and texture issues). There are plenty of other options.

chose the solution strength based on how strong you want the effects to be. For example, a 10-15% solution probably won’t cause peeling or redness, but the results will be less dramatic (but it is a good place to start if you are unsure what your skin will tolerate). I use 30 to 40% solutions, and experience minor peeling for 2-3 days afterwards. there are stronger options, such as 70%, but these require experience and serious research before using, as they require different prep and aftercare, and come with a much higher risk of accidental misuse (read: chemical burns). PH and acid type also factors into true peel strength.

When choosing a peel strength, keep in mind your own knowledge of your skin’s sensitivity. Not everyone's skin responds the same; when in doubt err on the side of caution. It’s better to work your way up to stronger peels as needed. (And you can use the weaker ones more frequently/leave them on longer as needed).

I’m also a fan of using peels to spot treat (as opposed to doing the whole face at once). I do a full peel every 3-6 weeks, and use q-tips to spot treat individual breakouts as needed.

You can also buy kits, which are more expensive but may be easier to use, and include extra products. For example, some include a neutralizing spray (I just use a baking soda-water mixture), and hyaluronic acid serums (very good for moisturizing afterwards, but you can use generic moisturizers too, which you may already have lying around at home).

Skin peels also work for body acne and other body skin issues. Apparently some peels are also a treatment option for eczema.

final note: be sure not to use retinol products in the days before and after a skin peel, since that thins the skin and increases the risk of damage. treat your skin very gently as it heals, avoiding other treatments (such as facial waxing, depilatories, etc).

anyway. I have spent very little money and gotten very good results, much better than with drug store products. so if that appeals to you, do your research!

personally I'm just fantastically smug that for like $45 bucks a year I'm getting the same stuff people pay hundreds a month for at spas. nothing makes my skin glow like the sheer malicious pleasure of cheating the system

ko-fi

[majjiktricks]

choosing to disregard bb's height on the metal gear wiki because this is too fucking funny

if kaz is 5'10 AND snake is wearing heels

hes like. 5'6, 5'7 MAX

[thatsgonnaleaveamark]

so what’s everyone’s favorite “medically inaccurate and/or unrealistic but i don’t care cause it’s so good“ whump trope

[hermitdrabbles56]

Caffeine Shots

No beta no read over no nothing here we fucking go. Hyrule after downing WAY to much fucking caffeine because you can not convince me that stamina elixirs aren't just artificial expresso shots. Or a monster mixed with a five hour energy

@whatcouldpossiblyg0wr0ng

Warriors world officially sucked worse than his own. Apparently since their last visit a rip in time had grown unstable and split into his Hyrule. Again. In fact it was through that rip that they'd gotten there! From Hyrules world! The event leaving half of his castle town displaced into a battlefield where further rips had monsters from his world spilling out like a rapidly drowning boat. 

So here he was. 3am. Desperately trying to help the nurses hold soldiers together that had ran into battle with no plan in an attempt to get ahead of things. 

He'd been using his magic since noon and very barely managing to keep on his feet with the magic potions Legend had been trying to keep in stock. The veteran in question currently unconscious after having drained his own magic supply taking out a mob that had tried to attack the base a couple hours ago. 

Four was down, the fall through time having been like a portal jump from hell leaving him disoriented enough he can't string a sentence together. So he was actually curled up with Legend. And the others were all out still fighting. 

Even if he wanted to, he couldn't sleep. He wants to be here for them when they get back..he needs to know if they're okay. 

Letting out a heavy sigh he reaches a shaky hand into his pouch and pulls out yet another stamina elixir from Wild. Popping the cork and slamming it down all in one go. 

With the barest hints of sunlight comes another round of potions. He can't even taste the nasty alchemical solutions anymore after having so many. And his stomach feels like he drank lizalfo acid, but that doesn't matter. As the dawn also brings the Fierce Deity carrying an unconscious Warrior's and a very out of sorts Wind. Quickly followed by Wild who frantically looks like he blew himself up a couple dozen times. 

So he slams an extra magic potion for good measure before rushing over to them. 

By noon there's a buzzing sensation washing over his skin. It's too hot in the tent with all the injured bodies, it's too hot outside because of the summer sun. So he spends three hours in a fitful sleep that's more akin to him forcefully holding his eyes closed before he gives up. Dragging himself back onto his feet and over to where Wild had been brewing potions since returning to base. 

The champion is gone now. And it looks like Legend is on his feet and gone. So it's just the captain and the sailor curled up with four in the nest of bedrolls and pillows they'd built in the corner of the tent. Warrior's looks like he still needs healing. So, Hyrule grabs up a couple red potions and uncorks another stamina elixir before heading over to do just that. 

 

A couple hours later and Warrior's has gone back out too fight. Wind is looking after Four who is slowly starting to comprehend things again. And Hyrule has no idea how long he's been staring at the two trying to put together one of Legends puzzles before a gentle hand is placed on his back. 

Just one of the nurses, he couldn't tell you who given that everyone is kind of blurring together. And maybe swimming a bit. But who ever it is places a hot cup of something warm and bitter in his hand. Pointing off to the back of one of the tent to let him know there's more if needed. 

Takes him a moment to realize it's coffee. Straight black coffee, so hot that it almost burns. Or maybe it does. Either way it's sharp enough to cut through the groggy fog in his head. So he has a couple more and somewhat manages to choke down some bread. 

One more hour, and that buzz won't stop. It's maybe gotten worse. And he's maybe on his tenth cup of coffee. And he maybe can't remember which way is north. Or were the exit is. 

For once he's thankful for having an iron stomach because otherwise he's fairly certain the burning roil in it would have made someone else throw up. But the time to dwell on that ends when Twilight comes in with an unconscious Time hoisted up onto his back. And Sky passed out on Epona. 

So, for a quick moment he sets down his half empty coffee mug. Uncorks and dumps the next round of potions into it. Then chugs the whole thing before stumbling off to help.

Thankfully it wasn't anything serious. Or was it serious? He can't remember because everyone looks too fucked up at the moment. 

"-Link?" 

Something touches his shoulder. Just a light careful little touch but it startles a yelp out of him. His head snapping up so quickly the world spins on its access and oh, he's falling. 

No wait.

He's not falling? 

Two big arms catch him. Least he thinks they do, he can't tell. That buzzing makes it really hard to feel. 

"Woah woah…easy there traveler." Twilight murmurs as he carefully sets Hyrule back on his feet. "You okay? You're shaking like a leaf."  

A small nervous sounding laugh comes rattling out of Hyrule before he can even attempt to think. "Hehe I think my heart just stopped? Oh hey..when did it get dark?" 

"YOU THINK WHAT?!" 

"Chillio dog boy it's fine." 

"The fuck it ain't." Twilight huffs before insistently places strong fingers against the vein on Hyrules wrist. "Oh- sweet mother of Faron..that's…that's not normal." 

"Normal? You really think my death would be fucking normal?" 

"Your heart didn't stop, you're not dying….least not yet. But this certainly explains why I thought I was hearing it from ten feet away. It's racing faster than a hummingbird." 

"Mmm f-fairies works really similrat to humming hits hits h..ummin birbs it's berry hard for us to sit sit still." 

For a moment Hyrule stops to try and process what just left his mouth. Shaking his head a bit to try and clear it. Which must have been a bad ideas see as he definitely wakes up on the ground this time. Night sky spiraling above him. 

"Deep breaths buddy..you're okay…" Twilight murmurs again as he leans into view. 

Smacking his lips a bit Hyrule blinks slightly. "My mouth feels fummy…." 

"Yeahh…yeah you just threw up. Like a lot. What the fuck have you been drinking?" 

"Things!" 

Twilight levels him with his best impression of the stare. "What things?" 

"Uhhhhhhhh…last thing was a coffee with two stamina ichsers..and…gren….it's was all very gren…" 

"Dins tits no fucking wonder. How many of those have you had??" Twilight questions. 

Hyrule stares at his hands and he swears has a few more that usual. All the extra fingers making it a little difficult to count. 

"Mmn…a number?" 

"How long have you been awake..?" 

"When the fuck did we get here?" 

"Okay….let's..let's get you some water and make sure you don't have a fucking heart attack." Twilight says with a stressed whine as he carefully scoops the shaking fairy boy up. 

"Nuuu!!! I need to…what the fuck was I doing…?"

"You've been staring into space for the past two hours what you need is to be knocked unconscious." 

"Fuck." 

[stregoni-benefici]

Esme watching Carlisle reading his medical journals

[wolfeyedwitch]

So what’s the story with Weapon’s antenna and earpiece?

Weapons Don't Weep, Part 8

*grins at you like the Cheshire cat* Ask and ye shall receive! Eventually.

CW for implied non-con body modification.

Masterlist

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“Please tell me that’s not what it looks like,” Chloe said, looking at the x-rays they’d just taken of Weapon. 

The images were some of the most disturbing that Chloe had ever seen. It wasn’t the content itself that was chilling; no, it was what the images implied that had the three rebels concerned. 

One image was a chest x-ray. It showed the expected bright spot of wrongness under the ribs, just where Weapon had said their tracker was located. That was bad enough, equipping a person with a tracker like they’re nothing more than a piece of equipment. But that wasn’t the end of it. There was another anomaly, bright white and unmistakable, along the line of their spine.

The other image was an x-ray of their head and neck. It too showed something that didn’t belong. One of Weapon’s teeth was the wrong color on the x-ray, too uniformly white to be enamel and dentin. There were thin bright lines trailing from it to the Weapon’s throat, ending in small circles. 

“Well,” Nigel said, drawing the word out as he stared at the x-rays. “That depends. Does it look like a gross human rights violation to you?”

Chloe swore, quiet and emphatic. 

“So these are, what, some kind of implants?” Zeke asked. 

Nigel nodded. “We’ve got the tracker, obviously. The one in their mandible might be some kind of communication device, given that these—” he pointed to the lines emanating from the not-tooth— “extend to their larynx. I’m not sure about the one by their spine, though.”

Chloe thought back to her engineering courses, about all she’d learned of signals and how they traveled. “What if…” she started.

Nigel and Zeke both looked at her. She worried at her lip as she thought of the words she needed. 

“So that’s a tracker,” she said, pointing to it. “And it would send out a signal. But if a signal is going to get anywhere, it needs an antenna. Maybe…” She trailed off, hating the thought of a living, breathing, feeling person being treated anything like her engineering projects. 

Both men understood what she was implying, looking grim. 

“So we got the images,” Zeke said. “Now what? Can you take the tracker out?”

Nigel shook his head. “Not without better scans. These images don’t have nearly enough detail to plan a surgery.”

“What about the other ones?” Chloe asked. “Do they need to be taken out, too? Can they be taken out?”

“The Weapon won’t consent to that,” Zeke said. 

Chloe nodded, embarrassed. She’d been so caught up in the idea of getting the horrible things out that she’d forgotten about Weapon, and how terrifying this must be to them. She looked through the window to the exam room where they sat. They stared at the floor, back ramrod-straight and body statue-still. Only the slight movement of their breathing let her know they were still alive.

“The tooth would be easy enough to remove, but I don’t think it’s necessary,” Nigel said. “They’d have to be in range of Government’s communications for it to even work. And the antenna… I honestly don’t think I could remove it. It’s too close to their spinal cord, and it looks like parts of it have osseo-integrated. Fused to the bone,” he explained at the blank looks his medical jargon got. 

“Okay,” Chloe said. “And if it’s just the antenna, it shouldn’t be an issue to leave it in place.”

Zeke nodded thoughtfully. “So really it’s just the tracker we have to focus on. Doc, you said you need more imaging?”

“Ideally I’d get at least a CT scan,” Nigel agreed. “Can the generator take the load of that?”

“What kind of load are we talking?” Chloe asked. 

Nigel gave her the numbers.

“Oh yeah, Gennie can handle that no problem,” Chloe said. 

Zeke gave her a smile and nod at that, and she stood a little straighter at his approval. While some members brought their military experience as an asset to the team, Chloe brought something else: engineering expertise. Not many mechanical engineers only a few years out of college could say that their generator designs were powering an entire rebel base. 

They got the CT scan. Weapon was still as unnervingly polite and compliant as ever as Nigel directed them to lie down and remain still. Afterwards, Chloe sat with them as the images loaded.

An hour or so of uncomfortable silence later, Zeke came to the door. “Chloe, with me.”

“Sure thing, Boss,” she said. If his tone hadn’t already let her know the seriousness of the situation, his lack of response to her nickname would have.

Nigel was staring at the computer screen, brows furrowed. Behind him, Tyler sat eating an apple as noisily as possible. Riley leaned against the wall, gaze trained on Weapon through the window.

Aren’t I Miss Tardy-to-the-Party, Chloe thought. If the whole team was here, this had to be serious. 

“So we have a minor problem,” Nigel said. He adjusted the image on screen to show the tracker: a small disc of metal tucked underneath Weapon’s ribcage. The 3D rendering didn’t look any less disturbing than the x-ray had. 

“I can’t take that out without killing them,” he went on.

“Okay,” Riley said. “So we do what we originally planned: destroy Government’s biggest threat.”

Chloe turned to stare at them, mouth agape in dismay. “What? No! They’re not a machine to be destroyed; they’re a goddamn human being who needs our help!”

Riley just shrugged. “We can’t have them here with the tracker; we can’t take the tracker out without killing them. Do you have a better solution?” 

Chloe turned back to Nigel. “Why can’t you take it out?” she asked.

He gestured to the screen with a pen, sketching out reasons in such dense medical jargon that Chloe got lost about three words in. 

“For those of us who flunked high school anatomy, Doc?” Tyler drawled. 

Nigel sighed and started over. “The device is nestled in the pleural— it’s between their lung and the inside of their ribcage,” he said. “And it’s underneath their diaphragm. Getting it out would be delicate work, and run a high risk of causing respiratory distress. And that’s even before you factor in the fact that they’d need to be under general anesthesia for this, which I can’t do.”

“But- but Government got it in there just fine!” Chloe protested. 

Nigel fixed her with a flat stare. “Government has the resources to have a team of specialists on hand for procedures like that. They’d have cardiologists, pulmonologists, and anesthesiologists on top of general surgeons and a trained staff of nurses. We, on the other hand, have me: a single doctor trained as a generalist, not a specialist.” 

Chloe shrunk under his gaze. “Okay, I’m sorry,” she said. “But we can’t have gotten this far just to quit!”

Tyler took a loud bite of his apple and spoke with his mouth full. “If you can’t take it out, why not just leave it in?”

That comment made the other four stare at him incredulously. 

“Because we don’t want even the possibility of Government finding this base,” Zeke said slowly.

Tyler shook his head. “Not what I meant. I meant, why don’t we just disable the thing instead of taking it out?”

“Can you do that?” Chloe asked eagerly.

He nodded. “Sure; I’ve got an EMP around here somewhere. If you grab a couple of your scanners, we can make sure the thing is nothing more than useless scraps.”

“Would that be safe for the Weapon?” Zeke asked. 

Nigel nodded slowly. “It’s encapsulated; as long as the EMP wouldn’t damage the hardware…”

“Nope, just fry the electronics,” Tyler said.

“Then it would be fine,” Nigel said. 

“And if we’re going to be scanning anyway, I can see about any signals coming off the other implants,” Chloe said, already warming to the idea.

Zeke nodded his approval. “Then do it.”

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