#wrist splints who

[dipplinduo]

Oh god... What fresh hell am I now excited for?

I am actually so stoked and I feel so touched that people would get hype with me after my hiatus. 😂

[howelljenkins]

that damn toyota tore my meniscus

[mira--mira]

Me explaining on going wrist pain to my doctor: *please dont say carpal tunnel, please dont say carpal tunnel*

My doctor: It sounds like carpal tunnel

Me: :')

Time to learn how to write with my left hand.

[narumi-gens]

boundaries gojo satoru x f!reader

post-breakup!gojo who can't quite follow through on the breaking up. he's as present in your life after he ended things as he was when you were still dating.

he still blows up your phone at all hours with nothing important. he insists on holding your hand when you walk side-by-side. he still uses your apartment key, which you never had the heart to ask for him to return. you've ended up in more than one heated makeout session with him, although you have managed to keep them from progressing past him feeling up your tits over your bra.

and when you end up in the hospital after a mission, he shows up before even shoko can get there. you sigh when his towering form appears in the doorway of the room you've been given.

"looks worse than it is," you say and despite the way you slur your words due to the painkillers, it's true.

your concussion, while serious, isn't something that wouldn't heal on its own. your broken ribs managed to avoid puncturing any organs. even the burst blood vessel in your left eye that's colored the white of your eye a ghastly red is only really a surface-level injury.

but for once, the man who never shuts up stays silent as he pulls a chair close and sits at your bedside. he reaches for your hand but pauses when you wince at the pressure on the two fingers that are fractured and wrapped in a splint. instead, he settles for loosely holding onto your wrist.

"shoko's gonna fix it all anyways," you tell him through a yawn, your eyelids feeling heavy. "'sides, you shouldn't even be here. boundaries, satoru. 'member?"

it's a word that you've tossed in his face so many times since the breakup that it's lost all meaning. and it doesn't help that you've never managed to say it with any sort of real weight. instead, it usually comes out on the end of a resigned sigh.

you can feel his gaze on you even through his dumb sunglasses. normally, even post-breakup, you would reach out and pull them down his nose to meet those cursed eyes of his and make some joke. but with your brain working at a diminished capacity and your arm hooked up to an IV full of the best painkillers japan's doctors have to offer, all you can do is slowly blink at him in return.

"it's always boundaries this, boundaries that with you," he finally retorts with a shake of his head, but offers nothing else.

"'f you didn't want boundaries then you shouldn't've ended things, y'big dummy," you mumble, and no longer able to keep your eyes open, you finally let them close.

"I told you. I don't have room in my life for anyone else – i.e., you," he replies bluntly and you can feel the fit of giggles that you want to burst into, but all you can manage is a soft huff of laughter.

"liar," you say with a sleepy smile stretching across your lips. "can't even be honest when I'm strung out on painkillers. psh. lame."

it takes monumental effort, but you manage to crack open an eye so that you can see him sporting his own cheeky grin.

silence settles over you both and you feel yourself slowly beginning to fall into the blackness as your breathing slows. the soothing sensation of gojo's thumb rubbing circles on the skin of your wrist only aids in pushing you closer and closer to sleep.

"you were considered a suitable match." even on the edge of consciousness, the disgust in his tone at those two words reaches you. "I couldn't let them get what they wanted."

you let out a quiet hum in acknowledgment and wish you had enough strength to open your eyes, curious to see if he's surprised you weren't fully asleep yet.

"still letting 'em control you, hm? s'good we broke up. want someone who's only tied down by me," you mumble.

"baby, if you want to tie me down, all you had to do was say so," he jokingly responds, unsurprisingly choosing to sidestep the gravity of your words, no matter how slurred they were.

"boundaries, 'toru..." you trail off as you finally succumb to sleep.

[moonstruckme]

Hiiii!I hope your doing great I saw your requests just opened and I was wondering if you would mind doing a poly emt marauders with a reader that’s in hospital and they don’t know until they’re like bringing in someone in or something and their like why didn’t you tell us and she’s like oh cause I didn’t want you to worry.Something like that if not it’s fine have a good day!!!🌊

Thanks for requesting gorgeous! Not super sure if this is accurate since I don’t think paramedics usually spend much time inside the hospital but oh well haha. Hope you have a good day too! <3

cw: hospital/emergency room, mention of broken bone

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 827 words

You’re just on your way out of A&E, feeling sore and shattered and more than a little sorry for yourself, when someone says your name. With an odd mix of relief and trepidation mingling in your chest, you turn. 

Sirius makes it to your first. He takes your face in his hands, eyes scanning it over thoroughly before starting to make their way down your body. “Baby, what’s happened?” 

“Hey,” you say, “what are you doing here?” 

“Um, no.” James gives you a funny-looking smile, amusement tangled up with worry. “It’s fairly normal for us to be here, what are you doing here?” 

“I, um—” 

“Idiots.” Remus bypasses them both, taking your injured hand gently and holding it up where your other boyfriends can see it. “What happened here, lovely?” 

“I broke my finger,” you admit. 

Sirius looks devastated, though with the splint binding your two fingers together you thought it was fairly obvious. “How?” 

“Shut it in my car door.” 

James winces and Remus tsks compassionately, turning your hand so he can see the injured digit from another angle. 

“How long have you been here?” he asks.

You shrug, not quite looking at any of them. “I had to wait a while. A few hours.” 

Remus’ look lets you know your sheepishness isn’t without good reason. “Did you drive yourself like this?” 

You nod meekly. 

“Angel!” James wraps his arms around you, tucking your head underneath his chin, and you go happily. You’ll take his mollycoddling over Remus’ reproachful stare any day. “Why didn’t you call us? I can’t believe you had to sit here all by yourself.” 

“I knew you were busy at work, and I didn’t want to worry you.” Now Sirius is glaring at you, too. You snuggle further into James’ embrace. “It wasn’t so bad.” 

“Did they have to set it?” Sirius asks. 

Your face heats. “Yeah. It was pretty weird-looking when it first happened.” 

James makes a pitiful whining sound. “Poor love.” 

“How long did they tell you it’d take to heal?” Remus’ voice sounds somewhat gentler now. He finally relinquishes your injured hand to Sirius, who starts turning it about and inspecting it in the same manner, like the doctor who splinted it for you might not have done a good enough job. 

“Six to eight weeks,” you say glumly. It already feels annoyingly constraining not being able to bend either of those fingers; you’re not sure how you’re supposed to deal with it for weeks on end. 

The boys exchange a look, and James drops the protective circle of his arms from around you. “I’m going to go find Amelia,” he says, “see if she’s on break.” 

You clutch at his shirt with your good hand. “Don’t leave me,” you whisper. 

Your boyfriend smiles, dropping a kiss on your head. “Sorry, lovie.” 

“I think we ought to feel insulted,” Sirius comments as James walks away. Remus only shrugs. 

He reaches for your face now that it’s not hidden under James’ chin, wiping frownily at something on your cheek. 

“Are you feeling alright now, dove?” he asks, and you veritably liquefy at the tenderness in his voice. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You shrug one shoulder lightly. “I’m sorry I didn’t call, but it really wasn’t awful.” 

Sirius gives your wrist an admonishing little squeeze. “You have tear marks on your face,” he contradicts you softly. 

“Oh.” You run a finger under your eyes, feeling your face heat. 

Remus tuts and lets his hand rest against the side of your neck, thumb stroking at your jaw. “We’re only on shift for another hour,” he tells you. “James is finding our friend Amelia so you can stay in the break room with her until we can come back and get you, okay?” 

You shake your head, and his stare hardens but you say anyway, “I don’t need to be babysat. I can get home on my own.” 

“You shouldn’t be driving after having anesthetic.” 

You narrow your eyes. “Wouldn’t they have told me if that were the case?” 

“We don’t want you driving with a numb hand,” Sirius clarifies. When you turn your attention to him, he gives you a stern look. “You should have called us in the first place. Just let us do what we can for you now, okay?” 

You sigh in resignation just as James comes up behind you again. Seeing as no one has taken over hug duty, he wraps both arms around your waist, setting his chin on your shoulder. 

“Okay,” you tell Sirius. 

“Oh, excellent. All on the same page, are we?” James turns his head to smooch your cheek. “Knew you’d come around, angel. Amelia’s ready for you, so you can hang in the break room until we get back.” 

“Is she going to baby me too?” you joke, letting him steer you towards the hallway. 

“Probably not,” Sirius says, “but don’t you worry, sweetness. We’ll make up for that when we get you home.” 

[coco-loco-nut]

Broken Bones

pairing: george russell x reader

summary: George gets in a wreck and you happen to be the surgeon on-call.

a/n: i loved this prompt, i hope you love it ❤️

masterlist

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George was enjoying his home race, he was holding P3 with a comfortable lead due to some great defending earlier in the race. Unfortunately for him, mother nature decided to put her hand into the race and have a pop up rain shower come through.

“It should clear through shortly, let’s keep with the softs,” his engineer says, hoping to outsmart those pitting for inters. George says a quick response and continues focusing on the track, especially the dry line. With the rain pouring, he catches a wet line in turn 4, sending the car spinning and into a barrier.

You rush down a couple floors to where you have been paged. Being the only orthopedic trauma surgeon in the hospital and on-call, you have to make haste.

“Is there really no one else to take this?” you ask, looking at the chart that has initial images and the patient information.

“Big fan?” the nurse beside you asks as you mentally plan the procedure. Most of Britain is basically a fan of the racing driver.

“Yeah. It’s not ethical, but I took an oath,” you tightly smile, beginning the process of scrubbing in.

“You are a great surgeon, you will have no problem keeping the fan part of you out of your mind,” the nurse reassures you. You take a couple deep breaths before heading to surgery.

The procedure goes well, you repair the broken wrist and fix the damage as best you can. Of course, time will finish healing it, but you do your best.

Afterwards you scrub out, finish paperwork, and go home. You won’t need to check in until anesthesia wears off, and that can take a while. You return later in the day, dressed in business casual and your lab coat.

“Mr. Russell, how are you feeling?” you ask, needing to check on your work. You close the door behind you when you enter the room.

“You are so pretty,” George says, still a little out of it.

“Thank you. Mind if I check your arm?” you ignore your blush.

“You look like my wife. She’s a doctor too, soooo pretty,” George babbles.

“I know, love, let me see your arm,” you say gently, sitting beside him.

“What happened?” George asks with a confused look.

“You spun out and crashed into a barrier. It was raining, you were on slicks, and caught a wet line,” you explain, carefully examining the surgical site, removing the splint immobilizing the wrist.

“I know that much. Injuries?” he asks, eyes trained on your wound examination.

“Broken wrist. We are going to brace it rather than cast it,” you check his chart for other injuries noted.

“Thank you for taking such good care of me, I love you,” George says, moving his non-injured hand to grab yours.

“I love you too, Georgie,” you whisper, rubbing your thumb over his hand as he processes everything. You note things in his chart, making sure your observations and updates are written down.

“I’m glad you did my surgery, I wouldn’t trust anyone else,” he smiles, you can’t help but smile back. It’s not illegal, but it certainly is borderline unethical to treat your husband.

“I’m happy to hear that. Why don’t I go and see if your family is out in the waiting room?”you hum, needing to stay inconspicuous. Of course, those close to you know who your husband is, but since you don’t share his last name it isn’t obvious.

“One kiss before you leave,” George pouts and you hesitate. “Please, I was just in a crash and your kisses make me feel better,” he pouts. You playfully roll your eyes and lean in, giving him a quick kiss.

“I love you, I’ll be right back,” you reassure him. You find his family and Toto waiting outside in the waiting room.

“Family of Mr. Russell,” you say, calling them to you.

“Y/n, dear, did you do his surgery?” George’s mom asks, a little hopeful.

“I did, I was the only one here and on call. Thankfully nothing too major, he can probably get back into a car in a month if we rehab him correctly. Want to see him?” you ask, knowing the answer. You lead them to his room, but stop Toto before he walks in.

“Y/n-“ Toto starts but you don’t hesitate to cut him off.

“You got very lucky that the broken wrist was the worst of it. Keeping him out on slicks? Are you stupid, a win is not worth more than a life,” you fume.

“I know, I gave his engineers and strategists a talking to. I just wanted to check in on him, but knowing he is in your care is all I needed. I check in tomorrow then,” Toto stays calm, knowing you had to since George was brought in and you needed to yell at someone.

“I, um, thank you. He should only be here another day for observation. I’ll keep you updated,” you recompose yourself and watch as Toto leaves.

“She’s just the best doctor ever. So pretty too, and smart, and really good at surgery,” you overhear George tell his parents, he likely just got another dose of pain meds.

“Thank you, Georgie. You are a pretty good patient,” you smile from the doorway.

“Can you believe that doctor loves me? And she married me?” George asks his mom who laughs.

“You chose a wonderful wife. Why don’t you let her get back to work?” his mom asks, catching your amused gaze.

“Yes, I have another surgery scheduled. I will check on you in a few hours,” you walk over to your husband, giving him a quick kiss.

“I love you so much, I want to have babies with you,” George blurts, causing your face to flame bright red.

“Okay, let’s talk about that later,” you awkwardly say, stepping out of the room.

You are quick to return after your scheduled surgery. You know the nurses rotations and know that they won’t check in for another hour.

“There’s my beautiful wife,” George grins as you walk in. “You look so sexy post-surgery,” he eyes you up.

“Really? I don’t feel like it,” you slide onto the bed beside him, careful to avoid hurting him. You relax in silence for a minute before you address the feeling eating at the pit of your stomach. “Please try not to crash again. I know it’s unavoidable, but the feeling I got when I saw your name and didn’t know how serious the crash was. It… I don’t think I can describe the panic,” you take a deep breath, closing your eyes and focusing on the sound of his heartbeat under you. The cool hospital air is a stark contrast to his warmth.

“I’m sorry, it’s the one part of racing I hate too,” George is unsure how to respond. He looks at the blank hospital wall, as if it’ll give him the answer. “I’ll always come home to you, and I have a badass surgeon to take care of me,” he laughs a little, trying to lighten the mood.

“I can only do so much, like brain surgery? You are on your own,” you grin, happy to let the vibe change.

“You could do it, you can do anything,” George says, he always gets gushy when he’s tired.

“Okay, baby, you should get some sleep. I’ll go home and get you clothes. I will be back tomorrow morning to check on you,” you yawn, also needing sleep. George knows you can’t stay in the room too long, and he wouldn’t want you to stay up in an uncomfortable chair.

“I love you. Drive safe,” he mumbles, tiredness washing over him in waves. You fix his sheets and make sure he is okay before kissing him goodnight and leaving. It feels weird, to go home and not have him there. You burn the rest of your anxious energy by reaching out to some good physical therapists that you know to help with George’s recovery.

Under your watchful eye, he makes a recovery similar to Lance’s, even with you fussing the first few races post-injury. You framed one of his x-rays. George had to listen to you talk about how beautiful it was, you claimed it to be your best work. It allows for a good story when having friends over, and it reminds George to not let it happen again.

[simonrileykisser3000]

UHHHH IVE NEVER WRITTEN BEFORE, Don’t know how to tag and I didn’t proofread cause I’m real lazy. also kinda stupid, i probably used the same metaphors and similes like a million times. So uh, yeah. Read at your own discretion, I’ll tag what I think is important so read pls

TWS & MENTIONS—— Torture, blood, goreish, betrayal, heavy angst, overall gruesome and violent, mentions of relationship with simon ghost riley (implied but heavily), angst angst angst and more angst with a side of angst. Did I mention angst.

That’s it I think lmk if I missed any? Okay enjoy, hopefully!

Inspo and plot credit to users ghouljams & criminalamnesia !!!

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When your vision blurs and your eyes fog up— you can’t make sense out of the coarse pangs of pain running up your sides, down your legs and through your nose. For the first time in your life, it’s a weary weekend evening and you happen to be tied up to a splinting wooden chair in the middle of a dark warehouse. You think the red running down and dripping onto the floor is your own blood, but again, you can’t see. A fist collides against your stomach once, twice, then thrice, and finally relents.

"P…please— stop," You recognize your voice alongside the ringing in yours ears. Panicked— desperate. Your hands twitch behind your back on instinct, a deep familiar instinct to grab those hands and soothe your thumbs over those scared knuckles.

“Fuckin’ hell.” Price grumbles. This wasn’t what he wanted to happen— not your betrayal, not the torturing, and most insistently— not the feelings that hit him when it all came crashing down. The pang in his heart planted the thought and truth that you were practically family. He shakes his head before slamming a door behind him.

“Fuckin’ hell is right!” Simon yells back, slamming down his mask onto the table. He catches a look at your blood smeared over it and anger flares up and over his lips again.

You look at his face and you think you’ve never seen him make that expression. You’ve seen the best and worse of him. You’ve seen the face he makes when he’s afraid, the one he’s made when he cries and his shoulder shake with sobs. It scares you how foreign they he looks now. Ten feet can’t feel anymore distant than right now. Tears boil over onto your red and purple cheeks, voice cracking and quiet.

“I didn’t— I wouldn’t! I was with Gaz all the whole time, tell them Gaz!” You manage and don’t notice how through your fading conscience, you omit and slur words together. When Gaz averts his eyes you can’t help but wonder who’s the real traitor in this whole ordeal.

“You abandoned your post, left Sergeant Gaz to fend for himself, didn’t answer none of your fuckin’ callsigns,” Simon steps closer. You flinch.

“Why?” He yells. “Fuckin’ speak!” Fear runs rampant through your veins and you can’t recognize this man. This man is angry and unrecognizable, and you can’t for the life of you believe why.

“Please, Simon— I didn’t. I wouldn’t.” A few words go unsaid in the wake of pain.

“Good at lying, aren’t you?” Simon steps close. He’s quick to pull out his infamous sleek knife out one of his holders and slice it across your shoulder. Warm blood trickles down and you let out a cry so raw it hurts your throat. It hurts, burns— but nothing sears more than the look he gives you.

You shake your head and sob out. This can’t be seriously be happening. You were just returning from hiding after the Mexican cartel stormed you and Gaz’s recon location. You ran until your lungs gave out and when you thought you were safe, Johnny had tied your wrist behind your hands and forced you down onto your knees with a rougher than usual hand.

Confused, you panted out. A joke, perhaps? You look around with a small smile. It drops as quick as it formed and it’s almost comical how fast it all happened. One second your legs were aching from running and the next it was from the cut of a choppy knife. The hand that used it was just as choppy, rigid, tense.

“Please, I didn’t do it! I didn’t fucking do it!” Your voice shakes with hurt and anger. “Why won’t you all believe me!” Your voice tears out of your throat. Simon slams his hand down on a table and the noise beats fear into you and gets your heart pounding.

Silence ensues and you could’ve sworn it was worse than being tortured. Your own fucking force members. Eight years, rough and painful years, for one bark from Shephard to tear everything down and away from you.

It takes a few more beatings from Simon for it to get through your hazy mind—He’ll kill you; Right here, right now. Your history can’t save you in the face of betrayal.

When your body is bruised and raw with cuts and you can’t place anything anymore, only then are you granted a silence. Like a madman, captain Price swings open the door of the room he had cowered into.

“Fucking hell, Simon! Stop!” He pulls Simon’s arm back, voice taut and if you could see, you’d see the guilt in the blue of his eyes. His words are like a bite in the neck to everyone in the dark room.

“Shephard conned us. He�� Fuck!” He grabs the bloody knife out of Simon’s hand and throws it onto the ground.

“He and graves fucked us over. Lied to Laswell and the rest of us ate it up like fucking dogs!” He yells. Frustration pounds guilt into his head.

Simon’s hand goes limp and you don’t get the satisfaction of seeing guilt seep and set into his face. It would’ve been funny had it not been due to the weight of it all.

“Shit. Shit, shit!” Price runs up to you, eyes frantic as he look over your wounds. Raw, teared and sliced open. Bruised beyond recognition.

You can’t even respond to his hands holding together some of your wounds, the panicked yells between Soap and Gaz, the pale silence from Simon. It’s too quick, you think. That or your mind is slowing down. Most likely the latter.

[idiotwithchalk]

Hey guys, recently been turning evil about Stanford pines again because of book of bill, so here are some headcannons I have of him

- as someone (myself) who has a lot of hand issues that come from joints in places they shouldn't, I feel like he has a lot of chronic pain with his joints and wrists specifically. (I'm an avid Stanford pines finger splints believer), because just trying to make the anatomy work when drawing his hands makes mine sore just thinking about it. I feel like as he gets older especially he starts to need extra support for his fingers and wrists with all the tinkering with machinery, and stealing heavier tech parts he does.

- the scalp over the metal plate in his head has trouble growing hair like it used to before surgery, and its partially why his hair has started going gray heavier around that area, its overall a bit of an awkward patchy area, he doesn’t really care much though. It also gives him headaches whenever the weather is off, but he only really notices this when he is back home in the mystery shack.

- he of course is covered in more dumb tattoos that he picked up throughout the multiverse, as well as some actually good meaningful ones too. He's also had a lot badly removed but just enught that you can still see them faded.

-transgender because he just is

-i would say “did his own top surgery” but I feel like he would of never bothered, because of the recovery time. He would probably be one of those trans guys that just work out an insane amount to sort of even out the muscle.

- regularly gets confused/ straight up forgets details about the dimension he's in. (canon, I know but listen) he has been through so many versions of so many realitities and god knows how long he spent in each, trying to relearn customs, languages, names of things, etc, and genuinely gets upset when he forgets which pieces are from what dimensions. It just reminds him how much he has missed out on. This also leads to a lot of derealisation issues and paranoia about finally being in the right place.

-in some dimensions he has been able to study up and get some more degrees on some like really obscure topics. I feel like he did this in the really early years before he became an outlaw in nearly every dimension. He probably wanted to fall back into as familiar of a pattern as he could with all the constant chaos around him, academic approval is the closest thing he can feel like to having control over his current situation. It also kind of reminds him of Fiddleford, but he doesn't like to dwell on it, or really think too hard about it.

- he genuinely loves hearing about new changes to his home dimension from dipper and Mabel, even dumb little memes Mabel keeps showing him. He doesn’t really get it, but he just likes to be included.

-he visits Fiddleford almost every day since they reconnected. Trying to find pretty much any reason to see him. He misses him more than words can say and feels guilty about how things ended with them, and Fiddleford knows this. He just likes having Stanford around too much to say anything about how obvious he is being.

[ronance-romance]

Have some wound cleaning ronance for your Wednesday morning!

“Shit,” Robin gasped, looking over her shoulder. “Is it dead?”

“I only shot it twelve times,” Nancy mumbled. “If it’s still not dead, we have a big problem.”

“Right. Right right right—”

“Robin, your shirt.”

Nancy lifted her torn up shirt without thinking twice about it to see the source of the blood. There was a series of three inch gashes in the shape of claws. Not good. Blood seeped out steadily.

“It’s just a scratch,” Robin said pleasantly as if it were a paper cut. “I’m fine!”

Nancy unzipped her backpack. In the last several months, she had rebroken bones, made splints, given stitches, administered pain medication. Who knew her calling was nurse now rather than journalist or detective? She fished out the needle and black thread. She was almost out, but there should be enough for Robin.

“W-what are you doing?”

Nancy took out disinfectant. She was too focused on trying to remember steps she had read all too recently to answer.

“Is that alcohol?” Robin’s voice pitched higher. “Nancy! I’m fine. Really!”

“It’ll sting, but you can’t get an infection,” Nancy said finally. She started gently soaking a rag with the disinfectant. “That’ll be worse than the initial injury.”

“O-okay.” Robin sucked in a breath. “Do it.”

With that, she swiped the rag over the claw marks. Robin barely let out a whimper.

“Now, you need—”

“Get that needle away from me!!” Her voice had reached that fearful, worrying pitch again.

“Robin,” Nancy said softly, patiently. “I’m trying to help you.”

“That’s what they all say,” Robin babbled. “And next thing you know, you’ve had a hundred needles in you and everyone disappointed in you that you’re broken and no reason as to why.”

Nancy paused, mid-threading the needle. She looked at Robin’s face for the first time since she opened the first aid kit.

“Did someone tell you that?”

“What? No!” Robin let out a high pitched, half formed laugh.

“Robin.” Nancy finished threading the needle, but didn’t let it pierce her skin yet.

The quiet look shared between them did more to calm Robin than words ever could. It was then Nancy took notice of the piercing pair of sparkling blues staring deeper into her than she’d allowed anyone in a long time. She cleared her throat and began stitching, taking that as permission.

“Anyone ever tell you how pretty you are?” Robin blurted, her voice tinged with pain.

“Did you hit your head too?”

Pretty? When was the last time someone had called her that? She spent half her time covered in blood, drenched in sweat, dressed like she was going to war. None of that screamed pretty to her.

“Yeah, yeah that’s definitely it.”

“Just a bit…more…”

Nancy leaned in and cut the thread with her teeth, bringing her lips close to Robin’s skin as she did so. The girl shuddered in response and finally pulled down her shirt, but Nancy grabbed her wrist mid-pull.

“I gotta bandage this too,” she reminded her. “And then we’re done.”

“Yes, Nurse Nancy.”

Nancy made quick work of the gauze and finally drew back from her patient, admiring her work before remembering she needed her shirt back over her body.

“Well…there we are. Simple as that.”

“Yeah.”

Steve yelled out that he found Will, tearing them both out of their spell and into action once again.

[blackbird-brewster]

Shoutout to disabled babes who need to use accessibility aids during sex. Like sure, my wrist splints and knee brace aren't that 'sexy' looking, but I guarantee they'll help in my ability to fuck you senseless.

[kit-williams]

Consequences

Male Lead: Konrad Curze/Solruthis Uadasha/The Night Haunter (Sol being his nickname) Female Lead: Reader/Sorsollia (sun that illuminates)

I'm sorry I love Zalgo text a lot it says HIS

tw: yandere, broken bones, physical assault, torture

@bispecsual @egrets-not-regrets @moodymisty @bleedingichorhearts @liar-anubiass-blog

@thevoidscreams @barn-anon @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @squishyowl @ms--lobotomy

@nekotaetae @sleepyfan-blog

Another successful compliance! As they didn't receive as much fighting as he had forseen but he was certain that would please Sorsollia. The smile on his face disappears seeing another scribe there waiting for him... you were the main scribe they were to collect when he had to do these frivolous talks of what he had done.

The other scribe bows their head and he feels a sense of anger... perhaps disgust that someone else is here... but he swallows the feeling and gets the talk over with. As they are packing up their tablet he stops them. "Where is Sorsollia?"

There is an upturn in their heartbeat, "She hasn't been feeling well. I don't know what she is sick with all I know is that she's off rotation for some time." LIAR his mind hisses but he knows his Sorsollia will be displeased if the only other Scribe that he has 'dained to be in his presence is dismissed.

"Thank you." He dismisses them as he sits and broods. His Sorsollia is alive... he would have been told otherwise. So he simply waits for a few hours... and waits... and waits... and waits. Sorsollia does not come... she does not message... there is silence... and Solruthis Usdasha does not like this.

He moves with the flickering lights... they turn off long enough for him to move to the next hall... to cram himself into the next crevice. Humans are surprisingly unaware creatures though many are Nostroman he passes... he frowns as he heads into the part of the ship that is inhabited by those who do not like it being so dark. Here the prey tends to act skittish... as he watches how one person turns on their heels when they see the hallway lights flicker hiding his movements. The soft nope from their lips would normally make him smile but he is on a mission.

He could easily also push himself into the service halls and move around that way but no... this is his ship and he can slink about how ever he pleases. He comes to her door pushing his thumb over the reader and overriding her locks... after all it is his ship he is the skeleton key.

He moved with unnatural quietness into her abode; spacious given her rank it had two rooms compared to the typical singular room. His ears moved as he heard her pained hiss.

Sorsollia winced as she dabbed the cotton ball against the cut on her forehead her non dominant arm in a sling as her broken wrist was splinted. Most of the swelling on her face had gone down just leaving the ugly bruising. She sniffled hard feeling herself want to tear up and cry again, her eyes went up freezing as there was someone- "Sol?" Her voice cracked as she turned around.

The fearful beating of her heart died as he knew that rushing hopeful beat. His mind was terrifyingly silent as he took a step closer... as he gently grabbed her face and turned her toward him... it was so quiet when he looked over her face... someone had beaten his Sorsollia. Someone had harmed his Sorsollia while he was away. His eyes look at her broken wrist and splinted fingers too he knew a threat he knew what a threat to someone's livelyhood looked like. His thumb absentmindedly wiping away the tears rolling down her cheeks as her legs give way and she lets out a dispared wail. A wail that normally excites him... and oh how it still excited him in a different way. He pulls her out of the small room of the bathroom and holds her close. "Oh my Sorsollia what happened? Did the head scribe order this?" His voice suddenly went cold at the thought of someone abusing her because they were on a power trip.

"No! No... no... no... I don't-"

"Don't lie to me. Sorsollia you know I don't like lying. Don't protect the scum." He snarls holding her tightly, "They must be punished... I am a Primarch no one-"

"I don't know who they were." She sobs into his chest afraid of the repercussions but her Sol was there. "They came to me when you were gone. They didn't tell me who they worked for but to only edit a few documents to make their lord look better. I assume they were thugs for some noble. Because one of them had to have been one... because I talked back to him I was too comfortable in my position working for you because they didn't like a scribe talking back to them." Her voice strained at the end as the tears ran harder. "They knew which hand was my dominant one... so they broke my wrist of the other one to send a message." She was so very ugly when she cried... utterly distressed and distraught.

"And you still told them no?" He probes.

"They told me that they would be back and to use this time to consider it." She hiccups softly.

"When they come back I want you to agree." He says holding her. "I'll make sure I find out who they are and who their employer is." He whispers to her as she sobs into his shirt. Solruthis Uadasha finally truly comes out... there has been a great injustice inflicted upon his charge... upon his Sorsollia. And he will make them pay.

She was withdrawn... hardly holding the name Sorsollia but he played his role just as she did. They stayed apart as he played the distant ruler and not the attentive lover and she hardly needed goading into her role of the cowed submissive. He held her the night he came back... as she was tired and sleep wasn't coming to her... she was afraid and clung to him but for now she was by herself.

Konrad leaned back on his throne as the chirping of the small cogitatior he planted in her room. His impassive face split into an insane grin as he watches how the three... no four, his eyes spy the man at the door, "faceless" mooks walk with such false swagger. His nails dig into his seat as her arm is grabbed and Sorsollia collapses to her knees trying to get her wounded arm free. Konrad had sat and tended to her wounds to soothe her as she had been living in such sweet fear for days.

His dark eyes narrow at the hand touching his Sorsollia far too affectionately. Konrad gritted his teeth in that manic grin feeling the teeth chipping before healing. But once they were gone he quickly collected his Sorsollia taking the document they wanted her to improve and the name of the noble that had the AUDACITY to threaten what was H̷̨̭́̿Ḭ̴̏̕S̷̢͇̐. He hid her away in his room as Solrithis Uadasha got to work.

The lookout lay dead and blind... his tongue shredded to ribbons as they went down without saying anything. His torture felt much like an afterthought much just like their role in all of this. The two guards who had beaten and broken his Sorsollia's wrist he was careful in the application of pressure and pulling away... breaking more and more of their bones and perhaps like a Drukhari he twisted their useless limbs into unnatural shapes as the two bleated for death and each day he brought them closer and closer with more and more bones breaking and each day they did not expire he continued to crush and twist.

The lower noble who felt so big to be perhaps within the fucked up standards of society be able to get away with beating the personal scribe of a Primarch. Perhaps he had the right.... perhaps he did... but unfortunately for him he picked the wrong Primarch to try and get away with this crime. He had cut off the hand that he had dared touch what was his and was slowly peeling it bit by bit and feeding the flesh back to him.

Sorsollia was far too kind for her own good... he'd have to see what the laws from where she was were like... He pushed the flesh into the mans mouth grinning. "You know she said that the sins of the father don't pass on." He laughed, it was a hideous laugh one of disbelief that he held affection for someone so blind to the cruelty of the universe. And yet he hesitated to rip the veil from her eyes because once he did that... he was certain she would see the disgusting creature that he was. He craved her affection... he craved her attention... he craved her seeing him as a man. She couldn't be blind to everything... she was a legion scribe... she knew the methods.

There was a nasty thought planted in his mind now... the paranoia and mistrust rearing its ugly head... he left the torture room unable to find satisfaction in conducting the punishments until he figured out why. "Sorsollia." He said entering the room wiping the blood from his hands as she paused what she was listening too looking over at him from the lit corner of his room.

"Yes?"

"I need to know something." He walked over.

"Of course I live to serve." She said with a genuine smile but that only heightened his paranoia.

"Why did you want to work for my legion? We are perhaps the most cruel ones... and you had personally applied."

"I had personally applied for both your legion and the blood angels." Her lips became a thin line as she thought of words, "While I don't agree with the methods you employ... your rate of compliance compared to the body count is a good ratio. Um..."

"Speak."

"I just don't agree with it... but it leans more into the necessary evil. Not that you are evil Sol." Sorsollia quickly adds, "Just all of this... the great crusade... perhaps there is a selfishness in my part for hoping that I'm on the correct side of history... instead of simply being a conscientious objector... that maybe this will all be worth it in the end. But what do I know of war and combat... I'm just a helpless Scribe." She says looking at her wrist, "I chose you for the low ratio of bodies to compliance."

"And Sanguninius?" He says not betraying the way his hearts were twisting at the thought of his Sorsollia being in the Great Angel's company... being his Scribe. Konrad wants to claw his scalp at the anxiety that bubbles over at the thought of her being enamored with the perfect angel.

"I've heard he is kind. He gives many chances to accept the imperium's generous offer... but I've heard that the Blood Angels can be... scary. " She nervously laughs, "Me talking about how scared I am of the Blood Angels when I work for the Night Lords. I probably sound stupid..." He's noticed since she's been attacked how critical of herself she has been.

He pulls her into his arms his long fingers combing through her hair, "Sorsollia." He listens for her hum, "In a couple of days this will all be over. I want you to return to being yourself."

The pitying smile she gave him nearly had him snarling, "You're very bad at comforting but I appreciate the attempt. Just..." Her voice sounded so small, "Please promise me this won't happen again? Just... I thought I was safe and-" Her voice breaks as tears flow.

Giving her his child would let everyone know who she was... it would make sure no one would touch her... He kisses away her tears, "Shhh Sorsollia I swear upon one of my hearts that it won't happen again."

That gets her to smile, "If I'm keeping track that means you've sworn on both of your hearts so far."

"So it is. I've already taken care of the thugs that hurt you. They've been punished."

She just nods and hides her face in his chest, "I should probably go back to my room."

"One more day Sorsollia. You slept so fitfully last sleeping cycle... it would make me worry to find out you've been struggling to sleep. And I need to make sure you are comfortable so your wrist and fingers heal."

"Okay Sol. One more night." She sighs happily just feeling that she'll soon be able to put this all behind her. For Konrad he was thinking of what he was going to do to the noble who was so eager to get the Primarch's gaze... oh the dark grin on his face as he certainly had it now. He gave his Sorsollia a kiss on the forehead and swore that the sparkle to her eyes was slowly returning and that made his hearts sing.

[brokenpieces-72]

Lasting Moments

Navigation | COD Gangster AU

There was a sharp pain and a cry followed by yelling and more shots. You couldn’t see anything still but you heard voices. Your ears were still ringing though. While the entire chaos outside the bag on your head goes underway, you remain still. You feel your consciousness slipping. The shouting fades and relief washes over you as you put together who it is. You wince as you hear a man trying to get your attention to check if you’re conscious. You move and let out a groan from the pain.

“I’m gonna pick you up now.” You hear. You don’t bother with fighting, when you feel to arms dig underneath your back and legs. Now you’re being carried and fighting to stay awake, the broken bones and bruise keeping your body from relaxing. The ringing has died down by the time you’re sat down on a softer surface. The man reaches behind you to cut your wrists free and then your legs. The bag is taken off.

Alex assesses your damage, seeing bruises on your face and lays you down. He grimaces with you when you wince from the pain.

“Keep your eyes open kid. You’re doing great.” Alex says as he continues working. You hear shouting somewhere else in the building, Russian and Scottish. You can guess who it is.

“Are they still in prison?” You ask. Alex nods.

“How long have I been gone?” You ask, gathering as much information, trying to focus. If you could get yourself to focus, you could keep your eyes open.

“A couple days. Went to your apartment, Charly found me there, and then-“ Alex’s explain action is cut off seeing you flinch and hearing your cry after an audible crack in your wrist. He thinks quickly, making a small splint for you from the first aid kit. After wrapping your wrist he wraps it again with your red scarf. “Then we found your scarf. Kept going in that direction, did some map checking and found this shitty hideout.”

“Phone. I need to call Laswell.” You say, trying to stand up, still shaken, the bullet still inside your shoulder.

“Don’t move. Let me get it out first.” Alex says carefully unzipping your hoodie. You shiver, having only your torn shirt underneath. Eyes stay looking up as Alex carefully shifts your sweater off your shoulder where the bullet hit. There are no words as you just hear sounds of items shuffling in the kit. At first he tried pulling it out, but your cursing made it clear it doing ti that way would just be painful. He cut the wound open a little more and tried a second time. This time you bit down on the sleeve of your hoodie, your teeth getting a vice grip on the material. He got to cleaning it and then patching it up.

"Alright that will have to do for now." He says. As you tug your hoodie sleeve back on you hear some hard Scottish cursing from the other room. If that was how Charly interrogated and you had first hand experience with Alejandro's methods, you could only imagine what it Price would be like. Hopefully Charly would be successful.

............

The men of the 141 were getting anxious in their cells. You were missing and they had no updates from Graves. Not that they wanted him to talk. They were getting impatient.

“You think Graves was telling the truth?” Kyle asks aloud. It was a question they had all been considering but couldn’t my be sure of. Graves had tried to get them arrested before, and they understood why. It didn’t mean he hadn’t been on a few witch hunts.

“Possible. Not bloody likely but possible.” Ghost says. Kyle looks at Price who isn’t saying much.

“Boss?” Price doesn’t look up at Kyle, but spoke volumes. Kyle isn’t expecting much from Price to respond. Enough has been said. Graves was 30/70 when it came to the truth. You were a 50/50. You were smart, bold, and hardworking. You didn’t shirk responsibilities. Even for the small things you offered to help. Was it all just to get close or had Graves pulled a fast one to keep you safe? Fuck.

Then there was the sound of a can being tossed. The group looks down trying to inspect it through the bars. Then it combusts.

…..

You have everything you need. You’re ready to turn it all in, exonerating the 141 and Los Vacqueros. You could get them out. With a bit of help from Graves you could get the 141 to look innocent. They were there seeking out drugs, undercover. You can disprove the officers that claimed to be undercover. Nolan had been difficult to crack, but Charly had some brutal tactics. He’d coughed up what they wanted. You need to work fast now.

You had been taken back to the safe house where all the files were. You gathered it all and hurried with Alex to the precinct. Makarov was back in town by now, you needed to get there quickly. Except you're not so fortunate. There are alarms going off, and the building has smoke coming out of it, a gas of some kind. Officers were being evacuated. No. Fuck, no!

You get out of the vehicle, leaving the files in the car. You rush towards the building but Graves is there. He grabs you and holds you back.

"Let go! Let go!" You yell at him.

"Kid stop it! You can't go in there!" Graves tells you, dragging you back. No, you couldn't lose them. You were so close. You had finally fixed everything, righted your wrongs. You had to get to them. Graves pulls you back to Alex who helps you get back into the car. There is an exchange between Graves and Alex that you can't hear as you watch helplessly. Suddenly you're back home again, and you're sitting on the steps. Graves had just told you to head upstairs while he spoke with the babysitter. You knew what was going on, even then. Alex gets back in the car, pissed.

Graves was dealing with damage control right now. He knew where to go next and he really didn't want to drag you back there. Nolan needed another damned talking to and he was about to give it personally. Makarov hadn't shown up to work yet, it was his last day of leave. He was preparing to come back tomorrow, his promise to rid the city of some of the worst gangsters fulfilled.

You have to stop it.

Alejandro and Price wake up in the same room. The two leaders propped themselves against opposing walls, looking around the room. There was a light, four walls, a door and a floor. The gas made their heads sore, taking some time to clear it from their systems. Both men have their wrists zip tied behind them.

“Should’ve seen this coming.” Price admits. Alejandro shakes his head, eyes closed, but head facing the ceiling.

“Don’t blame yourself. We were sitting ducks from the start.” Alejandro sighs. “Something tells me this isn’t death row.”

“What tipped you off?” Price asks, sarcastically. There was silence between them. This may not be death row… but it is. It’s Makarov’s court house, where he’s judge, jury and executioner. The judge and jury have completed their duties, now the executioner is preparing. It sinks in, it’s not a fate they will take lightly, and will fight tooth and nail against. Alejandro lets out a light chuckle, catching Price’s attention.

“You know… back in the day there was a saying about me.” Alejandro says.

“Yeah?” Price asks. The two men were mainly business, with the occasional heart to heart. If they were going to be executed in a room by themselves, without their brothers, it’s only right they get to know each other better.

“El unico que puede matar a Alejandro es Alejandro...” Alejandro says, grinning.

“Meaning?”

“The only one who can kill Alejandro…is Alejandro.”

Price chuckles at that. The sheer gusto of the man. Their end is near and Alejandro still considers himself invincible. Price starts to think for a bit. He’d come close to death before but it was too quick. Now it was approaching slowly, and he thinks about everything that will happen.

“Who will take over?” He asks Alejandro. Alejandro drops his head looking at John.

“Rodolfo. That was the plan.” Alejandro admits. “There’s one other but she’ll likely go the wrong way. Maybe it will disband.”

“I have someone for the pub, a couple actually. There should be a letter for Kilo, since she’s safe.” Price says. “Simon’s cat will be okay, Kyle’s shop is freelance, Johnny… just has us.”

“What about the tagger?” Alejandro asks. The two men’s expressions say a lot. Alejandro wasn’t sure whether you could still be trusted after Graves came to the cells. Price isn’t sure himself, but after Farah was released he imagines you were trying to do the same for them. But you were missing. Vargas trusts Price, and Price trusts you. It didn’t change the weight of not seeing you before his time came or the fear you were somewhere in a similar room to this one.

Before John can answer, the door opens. Makarov steps in. The two men position themselves to stand. “I wouldn’t bother. The gas is still your system, you mobility is still reduced. But if you want to entertain me with your stumbling then be my guest.”

“Vete a la mierda.” Alejandro spat.

“You’re a coward.” Price adds.

“The rest of the world won’t see that. In their eyes, you’ll be cowards for refusing to stand trial, facing your sentence. Nothing but ghosts that once roamed these streets, hiding in alleys like rats.” Makarov says. “History books are written by the winners, the victorious. I’m sure someone will give you a footnote, but it won’t change the full picture.”

“So you killed L/N and then ran away?” Price questions. “Instead of facing your crimes, you make an innocent man guilty, put a dog on a long leash, and orphan a child. Deep down everyone in this building, wherever they are, know who the real coward is. All this just to throw away your scapegoats.”

“I won’t need them anymore.”

“Those murals will certainly make it difficult.” Alejandro comments. Price smirked until Makarov gives a fond smile, as if those murals were a happy memory.

“Oh yes…” Makarov chuckles, making the other two men tense. “L/N asked you to look after his child. Well… I’ll be sure to provide for them, after all they did such a good job bringing you here.”

“You keep your puppet strings off of them.” Price warns.

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll fucking hang you by them!” Price threatens. Makarov gives him another chuckle. A man about to meet his death and still threatening the man in control of it.

“Your little tagger won’t be in any trouble if they give me what I’m looking for. So far they’ve been a disobedient brat, so they’ll need some discipline. Don’t fret, they’ll be taken care of still.” Makarov says, and then walks out of the room. Price tried to ease himself to his feet quickly, but stumbles, shouting obscenities at Makarov.

Makarov finds joy in hearing the empty, fruitless threats of his scapegoat. Until he checks his phone for an update. Nolan should hopefully have the file by now, but then again, you were your father’s kid. So who knows how long it would take to break you down. His face changes upon seeing his phone screen. He storms down the hall, dialling Nolan’s number. When he hears the voice on the other end he freezes.

“Hey there, love. Was wondering how long it would take for you to call.” A female Scottish voice says. No fucking way. He hung up immediately.

You couldn’t help but snicker when Charly put the phone on speaker and it hung up as soon as she finished her sentence.

“Just fuckin rude.” She says, tossing the phone away. She looks back at Nolan who certainly looked worse than you, bound in the chair. Charly cracks her knuckles. “Well since we can’t trace that call, you’ll have to start talking.”

Nolan groans, as you fold your arms. You need a location first and foremost. This is a hostage exchange now. One with high value on both sides. Except your buyer has everything you want.

"Why did ya give it to 'em?" Johnny asks, after sitting in silence next to Simon. "Last ditch effort?"

"It was their father's. Not mine." Simon says simply. "No sense keeping it for sentimental reasons."

"Ya got that right." Johnny responds. "Ya not the sentimental type though. Are ya?"

"You're annoyingly observant." Simon comments. Johnny chuckles, pleased with the small jab. Simon was tight lipped with everyone, but you had opened him up. Opened him up about as much as a clam used for farming pearls, but you'd peaked the quiet Ghost's interest faster than Soap had when the two had met.

"Not a priest, but ya may swell confess." Johnny says, moving around a little to keep his ass from falling asleep. "I'll go first if ya want."

"... I killed my own father." Simon says, throwing Johnny for a loop. He certainly wasn't expecting that.

"Shit boss." Johnny breathes. He figured Ghost had a shitty past, you don't get scars like his from nothing. Didn't realize it was that bad though.

"I don't regret it either. Not much point in confessing when that remains with me." Simon explains.

"Didna answer my question." Johnny points out.

"Yes. It was a chance, but a small one. L/N didn't tell me what it was for only to give it to his kid. Could just as easily bury us, but like it or not Soap, Graves was covering for Y/N. That's the truth." Simon says a little quieter. Johnny sighs, dropping his gaze from the wall to the floor.

"I didna wan Y/N to stay with us." Johnny confesses. "First because it put us at risk with em being a cop, but then they started coming around more and more..."

"Be careful who you trust. Those you know can hurt you the most." Simon warns him.

"No shit." Johnny sighs. "They just wanted a chance though. All I wanted myself when I was younger. Would have kept all of us out of trouble if I never talked to em."

"You gave em what you were given. No shame in that." Simon assures him. Johnny still has that pinch of guilt. His memories of you will stay with him, and he tells himself makes it all worth it. "Gonna miss em."

"We all will." Simon says. Simon wouldn't tell Johnny, but the image of you curled up with the stray cat continues to occupy his mind. The cat would be taken care of, so he wouldn't worry about that. Who would take care of you though?

Taglist: @yourlovely-moon @kaoyamamegami @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @sans-chara @1mommyrose4ever29 @smitten-haematite-quartz @talia-the-gemini @yuki2129 @whitetiger846 @graystorm444 @chibiduck @reaperxxxxzz @danielle143 @sobbingnshtting @cringeycookies @cryingpages @dcnocap207 @reaper-chan666 @bestbookfriends @thriving-n-jiving

[zjasperwrites]

A Non-Exhaustive List of Tips For Managing Carpal Tunnel Syndrome

If you type, write, draw, craft, or do anything with your hands, you are at risk for carpal tunnel! If you're developing any pain, or have none but want to take preventive measures, feel free to try these. I'm not a doctor, but these help my case of severe CTS!

This advice may not apply to everyone, but these are all things you can do without receiving medical care. Yet know that options like pain prescriptions, steroids, and surgery are possible for relief.

Give your hands a break when necessary and feasible. Even just implementing one rest day a week can be extremely beneficial.

Stretch your hands, fingers, arms, and neck regularly. This video can get you started.

Look into a hand massager. I use this one. If your pain is severe, I find massaging before stretching is most effective.

Vary your positions. You can reduce strain by trying differing neutral angles of arm/wrist position while working. Elevation helps.

Use ergonomics. Ones I use include an ergonomic mouse and mousepad, and this support pen from PenAgain.

Explore temperature therapy. Both heat pads or ice packs can be helpful depending on your needs and preferences.

Work on grip strengthening. If you already have CTS pain, be careful, but some wrist/finger exercise can help. I use this tool.

Train yourself to work more gently. Lighten your grip on writing tools, slow down and don't press so hard while typing.

If you already have pain, GET WRIST BRACES. Sleep in them to start, then wear them during the day if needed. You can also...

Try out k-tape. I personally get more pain if I use a brace 24/7, so this k-tape wrap is nice for day-time support.

Look into finger splints too. Finger hypermobility or exertion can strain wrists much more quickly, especially when typing.

Compression gloves also help. These are my "lowest tier" for support when my pain is mildest.

Get comfortable with voice-typing. Adjusting to this can be hard, but its an excellent way to keep writing without hurting yourself.

Especially if you have severe pain, consider tools marketed at amputees. Obviously be mindful of the resources you take up, but accessibility tools are for anyone who needs them. When my pain is at my worst, I am unable to use my arm/hand and can't even raise it, so tools to facilitate one-handed use are helpful.

And finally, not so much a tip, but a warning. Most likely, you'll get CTS pain in your dominant hand first. When that happens, do not switch to your non-dom hand and continue on. That hand is not in the clear, its next. Implement treatment and management in both hands, and use your non-dom hand when necessary while not overworking it either. Don't let yourself fall into denial because you can "get by" without adjustments. I promise the initial ability to keep working without inconvenience is not worth developing CTS in both hands lol.

If anyone else has advice please add on! I live as a walking warning to my husband who crochets to take care of his hands, so here's to hoping I can help others too!

[phoebepheebsphibs]

Double-Mutated Mikey

Chapter 11: Anthropophobia

Continued from the short story written by @boots-with-the-fur-club

Prev || Next

Splinter is the first to meet April as she walks in. She's carrying several bags that hang from her wrists and arms. Apparently she went grocery shopping before she got here.

Splinter walks over to her and nods his head in greeting.

"Ah, April. Good to see you again..." he sniffs the air, his demeanour immediately changing from composed host to excited foodie. "Ooooh, is that tiramisu I smell?"

April laughs as she reaches into one of the bags.

"All for you, Splints," she says, handing the box of cake over to Splinter, who grabs it with a huge grin.

"Aha! Come to big papa! Thank you, April, this is very kind of you."

"Anything for you and the guys," she says with a smile. "Speaking of which, how's Mikey doing?"

Splinter pauses.

"...How much have they told you?"

"You know Donnie, he likes to be vague and build up suspense for dramatic effect. But he texted me last night to say how the mission went."

"Did he?"

"Sometime at like, midnight or one AM," she grumbles. "Just to say that the mission was a success and they got Mikey back. I asked how he was, and all he said was that he was alive and conscious. But I haven't known Donnie all these years to not know when he's hiding something. So, how is Mikey, really? Is he okay?"

"It's difficult to say," Splinter mumbles, walking back into the lair with April. "He's... he's awake and can communicate, to some extent. He can walk and even run. But... I'll let you decide when you see him."

April is unsure what he means by that, but lets it slide. She's sure she'll find out in a bit.

The three other Hamato sons come into the room to greet them. Leo is first, rushing in with haste. Raph comes in after him, his pace quick but not as swift as Leon's. Donnie meanders in last, his stride slow and somewhat sluggish. He looks exhausted.

"Hey, family!" she says, leaning in for a hug from Leo, who takes half of the bags from her as Raph takes the rest. "How're you holding up?"

"Well enough," Leo mutters. "All things considered. At least, I haven't had a emotional breakdown yet!"

Raph looks embarrassed. Apparently he can't match that boast.

"Where is the man of the hour?" April asks. "I got some new paint pens for him."

Leo looks uncomfortable.

"Uhh... we left him in Donnie's lab. I think he's still asleep... let's get these groceries into the kitchen for now; we'll tell you about everything."

April nods sadly as she follows the guys.

.

.

.

"Hold him still!"

"Stop struggling!"

"Get me 20 Cc's of the mandrill, the boa, and the -- crap, he's gotten loose again!"

Mikey shrieks as he jumps down from the operating chair and dashes to the exit. A guard blocks his path, a cattle prod in his grip. He flicks the switch on it and a loud grinding sound ignites as blue sparks fly from the end. Mikey makes a quick turn and dodges him, running to a corner of the room and cowering. The doctors surround him angrily.

"Where's that frost gun?"

"Over there by the table!"

"Antagonizing little cretin! You'd think he'd have learned his lesson from the last time!!"

One of the men in white comes back, brandishing a long thin airgun with a blue stripe down the middle. A special weapon made specifically for him, for when he acts out. The doctor points it at Mikey and pulls the trigger. A gust of icy air shoots out directly at Mikey. He screeches in pain as the shock of temperature causes his body to go rigid. He falls to the ground convulsing and shivering, painful stabbing sensations prickle across his entire body. He almost feels like he's dying. He can't move.

The guards grab him roughly. He can't move to fight back. Mikey sobs and screams.

He hurts so much, there are so many hurting places on his body.

Needles that have broken the skin to inject what Mikey can only assume is poison because of how much it hurts.

Bruises from where he has been forced into places with other animals to see how they interact. They are never friendly. Mikey is the only one to ever walk out of the room again. Instinct is efficient and ruthless.

There is no love in this room. Only hate. Only pain.

Mikey is taken back to the chair and strapped down. He howls.

"I'd advise you not to do that again," a doctor says with anger burning in his eyes. "Or else there will be consequences."

Consequences worse than what is happening now? He doubts it.

Syringes prick his arms. Oozes and slimes and ghastly liquids are shoved into his veins and bloodstreams. He can feel it doing painful things to him, he feels his bones shift and crack and grow and shrink. His teeth snap into new formations and his fingers start to elongate, the nails splintering and curving into talons.

Mikey sobs. Why is he here? Why do they hate him? Where are the other ones?? Where is Red, and Blue, and Purple? Where did they go, why have they left him behind? Did they escape this place? This place is all he can remember, apart from them. He only recalls needles and linoleums and cages and cold and pain and tears and hatred and fury and longing and loneliness.

Why did they leave him... didn't they love him, once?

Didn't anybody love him once?

No. No one could ever have loved anything from this place.

No one could have loved whatever it is that Mikey is.

.

.

.

Mikey's eyes snap open, tears streaming down his cheeks.

He doesn't recognize this room. It's another cage? It's a small white tunnel, he's stuck inside, he needs to get out!

Mikey clambers around, whining and crying like a puppy stuck in a kennel. He somehow manages to make a backwards shimmy out of the tunnel.

He is in Purple's lab. He wants to leave, now. Right now.

Purple and Blue and Red aren't in here. Where did they go?

The door is open. Mikey rushes out, calling for them.

He howls, long whining hoots that anyone within the lair could hear. Why don't they respond? Where are they?

They left him again...? They left him. They left.

Gone. Gone. Gone.

Mikey starts to whimper.

Should have known they would leave...

No, they wouldn't leave!

Then where are they?

Somewhere... Brothers are somewhere... He'll find them eventually.

No trust. Something bad. Smell something bad.

Mikey smells it, too. Where is the bad smell coming from?

It's not a disgusting scent. In fact, it is, in some ways, very nostalgic. There are traces of coconut oil in it. Sweet scents. But it is a bad smell.

Something dangerous is in the home.

It's coming from the kitchen...

Mikey goes into hunting mode. He digs his talons into the cracks between the bricks in the wall. As he climbs, the pads on his palms shift, tickling sensations that give pins and needles on his hands. Miniscule hairs create Van der Waals forces, causing a suction effect as Mikey starts to scale the wall and crawl to the ceiling.

He sneaks along the top of the hallway, following the bad smell.

Mikey cranes his neck down to peer into the kitchen. Everyone is inside, unloading bags and boxes and containers of food and supplies.

Rat is in the corner of the room, wiping his eyes. He was crying. The human who made breakfast is also in here, quietly rummaging through the pantries and cabinets as he places things away. He looks like he might cry, too. Blue, Red and Purple are holding someone in their arms. She is making a lot of noise, weeping and wailing and sobbing in their embrace. Apparently everyone was crying.

They must love her.

But she smells bad. She has the bad smell. Why trust bad smell?

The bad smell is human.

We don't like humans.

No... we don't... but the male human made the food for us! We trust male human?

NO. No trusting humans! Bad humans! They do terrible things to us. Mikey must not trust humans. Only Instinct. Instinct kept us alive.

Instinct kept Mikey alive...

The male human seems to sense something is watching them, and looks up. He yelps in surprise.

Red, Blue, and Purple turn to look at him, then at what he's pointing at. The girl looks up at Mikey and screams in fright.

He hisses back at her, growling loudly as his tail whips underneath him. The scales and scutes start to lift, the ridges on his shoulders and thighs raising high. His tail becomes a spiky bludgeon.

Let Instinct take over. Instinct will keep us safe.

Mikey can do it. Instinct Might hurt brothers.

Instinct is better. Stronger. Instinct is --

MIKEY CAN DO IT, he snaps back in his mind. His tail cracks like a whip again as he snarls angrily.

The human girl yipes and hides behind Red.

Mikey starts to creep along the ceiling, watching them. Making sure that the evil humans don't do anything to hurt Rat or brothers.

Red follows him around the room, raising his hands and guarding the girl.

"Mikey? Hey Mikey, come on down, bud..."

"How... how is he doing that?" the girl asks.

"Lizards can climb on walls," Blue mutters. "Remember we said he has lizard DNA now?"

"I can't believe... that's really Mikey?" the girl whimpers quietly, grabbing Blue's arm.

"It's him," Blue says. He sounds sad.

"Mikey, come down?" Red begs.

Mikey sneers at the girl.

"What? April? You remember April, right?"

Mikey snaps at her, baring his teeth. The canines are growing longer and longer.

"Mikey, she's your sister," Red enunciates.

Mikey's expression softens. Sister? Like brothers?

"Yeah, mi hermano, she's cool! It's big sis April!" Blue joins in, patting her on the head. "See? She's one of us!"

Mikey croaks at her, cocking his head in confusion.

Don't trust her. Don't trust them. Humans are evil. Humans did this to us. They hurt us, and kept us from brothers, and made us sad and scared. She will hurt you!

Red walks directly underneath Mikey and holds his arms out as far as he can. Mikey lowers himself into his embrace, dangling upside down from the ceiling for a moment before readjusting and wrapping his torso around Red's forearm, his spine twisting with flexibility that surprises his brother.

"Boa constrictor?" he asks, looking at Purple.

"I guess," Purple answers with a tired shrug.

Mikey keeps his eyes on the human girl. She cautiously starts stepping closer, holding a hand out to him.

"Mikey? It's me, April. Please say you remember me...?"

Her voice wavers. She sounds so sad.

Humans can be sad?

Humans only cause sad. How can this human be sad?

Her eyes become glassy and blur over. She sniffles. Her nose is red and her cheeks are rosy. She was crying. She was very sad. Why is she sad now?

Did Mikey make her sad??

Mikey mews at her. He feels bad now. Her fingers touch his beak. He takes in the scent on her hands... lotions, perfume, coco butter from her curls. Mikey doesn't remember her face, or her voice. But he remembers these scents. And they do smell safe. He loves these smells, though he can't remember why. His eyes water, the scents activating some distant and foggy recollection of a warm embrace and a soft hand against his head and the feeling you get when laughing too hard.

She might be human... but he loved her once. He can love her again.

Mikey purrs, closing his eyes and leaning his face into the touch. He hears her stifle a sob, stroking her hand across his forehead and down his cheek. Tears pool in his eyes and seep through. Soon enough, she's wiping the tears away.

The humans were never gentle like this in the other place. They never loved him. But she loves him.

He was loved once. He is loved again.

Prev || Next

[moonstruckme]

babe you’ve got me obsessed with doctor remus!

can i request a drabble where reader gets into like a car accident and has been taken into a&e with like mid/severe injuries and remus has been assigned to treat her?

if not then that’s fine! love your work bae 🎀

Hi gorgeous! Thank you for requesting (I'm obsessed with him too) :)

cw: hospital

doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 716 words

The nurse leaves, and you think you might finally get more than five seconds to yourself but then the curtain pulls back again, a tall doctor taking her place. You’ve been able to feel your heartbeat pulsing through every inch of you since you’d stumbled out of your smoking car, and this new man doesn’t help matters. 

He’s lovely. With a face smattered with warm freckles and silvery scars and a mop of brown hair that looks like it’s never once been brushed, this is the kind of person who would fluster you on a normal day. Now, you don’t even know the word to describe the effect he has on you. 

He has to ask his question a second time before you hear it. 

“Have you had allergic reactions to any medications?” 

You blink. It still feels like reality is moving at twice its usual speed. You don’t know if it’s just you shaking, but it feels like the whole room. “Uh, no. Sorry.” 

“That’s alright.” The doctor’s voice is businesslike but kind, with a Welsh lilt. He flips a page on his clipboard. “Anything we weren’t able to address in the ambulance? Any new aches and pains?” 

“I—I don’t think so.” 

He lowers the clipboard slightly, looking at you. His eyes are a lightish brown color, like honey left too long in the sun. “Has anyone talked you through grounding exercises?” 

You feel your brow wrinkle. “What?” 

He almost smiles. “I’ll take that for a no.” He sets down his clipboard on the edge of your bed, pulling up a rolling chair and sitting down in front of you. “I’m going to have you breathe with me for a minute, alright, sweetheart?” 

It’s not in your nature to contradict professionals, but you feel your head shaking as if from somewhere outside of yourself. “Why?” you ask. “Aren’t there more important things?” 

“There are still things left to do,” he allows, seeming unaffected by your questioning, “but you’re stable. It’s nothing that can’t wait for a few minutes, and it’s important that you’re calm so you can think properly.” He takes your hands in his, ignoring the odd padding of the splint around your broken wrist and holding your fingertips instead. “All I need from you is for you to copy my breathing. Can you do that for me?” 

You nod. As he starts to talk you through it, your eyes begin to sting, an effect of his gentle tone or the respite your body has been craving or both. Your doctor’s expression doesn’t change when he sees the silver lining your eyes, but he gives your fingertips a light squeeze. 

“Okay, in for eight this time,” he says in that lulling voice. “Good job, just keep at it.” 

You manage to breathe in for long enough to satisfy him, and after the exhale he drops your hands. 

“Well done,” he murmurs, mindful of the small cuts on your face as he thumbs away your tears. “Are you feeling a bit better?” 

“Yeah,” you answer honestly. The word comes out like a sigh, and his lip curves softly at the plain relief in the sound. 

“Happy to hear it. You were right earlier, there’s still plenty left to do,” he says, expression sombering somewhat as he looks at you intently, “but if you ever need a break, you tell me or someone else, okay? I don’t want you suffering in silence.” 

“Okay.” You wet your lips, feeling much more solid than you had a few minutes before. The world has slowed to its regular speed. “Sorry, I don’t think I got your name.” 

He smiles, which is altogether too charming for a place like this. It makes the long scar going across his cheek crinkle slightly and you could swear his eyes lighten a shade. “Well, see, that’s how I know you weren’t really with me when you came in, because we’ve already been introduced.” His expression lets you know he hasn’t taken any offense, but your face still heats at your impoliteness. “It’s Doctor Lupin, but you can call me Remus.” 

Something in you rings at this new knowledge, like a tuning fork has been struck. Remus, your consciousness echoes quietly. 

His smile softens. “We’ll probably be seeing a lot of each other today.”

[echo-bleu]

Silver Fist

[ID: digital painting of Celebrimbor, an elf with light brown skin and long dark hair braided up with silver beads, holding up a golden ring. Two more rings are on a table before him, along with smithing/jewellery making tools. He is wearing a brow apron with a red 8-point star on the pocket, a red shirt, compression bandages on his elbows, and multiple earrings and eyebrow piercings, and his hands have a number of finger and wrist silver splints. The table has a mosaic of a star in trans flag colours.]

For @camille-lachenille who sent me a (writing) request for Míriel with hypermobile EDS. I'll post the fic soon, but it got me thinking about who might have inherited it from her. Celebrimbor means "silver fist", and I think he would invent these silver ring splints for himself.

The rings are, of course, the three elven rings. The table was totally a gift from Narvi (and yes, Tyelpë is trans), and his hair is braided with dwarven beads.

Queer characters series | Disabled characters series