oliverxslater-blog

[oliverxslater-blog]

sevrinxoconnell:

A hard, darkened stare greeted the medic as the door squeaked open on crooked hinges. Sevrin listened impatiently as he was immediately bombarded by a slew of scolding words from the other man, annoyance clearly emphasized on every feature of his face underneath a layer of dust and a splattering of blood.

A brow lifted in feigned disbelief at his words when the opportunity to respond finally presented itself, “I look like shit? That’s your diagnosis?” The mercenary’s head tilted, as if confirming that he’d heard him correctly. “You spend all that time in medical school.. to tell me I look like shit? Real professional, Doc.” He stepped inside past the blonde with a grumble, steeled eyes rolling.

His hand was pressed tight against his left side as he moved, just below his ribs where blood had drenched a bright red halo against the crisp white shirt he wore. The target he’d been after was a lousy shot, but how did the saying go? God looks after babes and fools? Well, since the deity had clearly given up on the former, by what could have only been through divine intervention did one of the idiot’s haphazard bullets manage to bite into his side.

Even though the prick was dead now, Sev was still salty about the whole damn thing.

Making himself right at home, he removed his jacket and draped it over a chair, his fingers moving to work free the buttons of his shirt to get access to the wound, peeling the fabric from the singed margins of the bullet’s path with a pissed off hiss. “Are you going get your things to fix this, or do you have more obvious shit to point out, first?”

“I’m not wrong, though,” Oliver replied, having helped Sev before but never having liked his attitude entirely. His concern was always to get the job done, to help whomever he could and whether or not he coddled or had perfect bedside manner didn’t always matter to the doctor so long as he saved whomever he encountered. The doctor moved to the other’s side, already grabbing bandages as he inspected the wound for a split second before sighing. “There’s no exit wound-- bullet’s still in there, Sev.” He got up and went to the kitchen table, beginning to clear things off. The bed was occupied with Oliver’s other patient but he needed to get the bullet out before he could sew up the wound or hope to help the other. “You’ll need to lie down otherwise I risk tearing up shit you don’t want torn up.” Not to mention he’d probably bleed even worse if he tried it sitting upright. 

[oliverxslater-blog]

sparksfoster:

The nasty cut from his altercation with a merchant a few days before still hadn’t healed properly. He’d thought he’d stitched it right on his own but the puffy red skin surrounding the cut and his fever wasn’t making him hopeful. Begrudgingly, he limped his was over to the only medic for miles and pounded on his door. Of course, the stitches decided to pop once again as his calf swelled around the cut. Dying from infection wasn’t the way Sparks wanted to go. “Not purposely.” He muttered, scooting by the man the moment he opened the door and plopping against the nearest stool. His breath was coming heavily and cut was oozing a yellow colored pus. 

“Well, let’s see it then,” Oliver nodded, shutting the door behind him as he indicated for Jett to take one of two empty seats whilst he retrieved his supplies, setting them down beside them as he took the seat opposite him. He didn’t bother asking before pressing a hand to the other’s forehead, feeling the temperature that had already begun to rise. “Don’t have a lot but this looks nasty– it’s already infected and you’ve got a fever.” The doctor reached for a small bottle of pills and pouring one into his hand. “Here– this’ll help the infection and your fever while I clean this mess up. Need water?” Because once he started closing the wound again, he’d be too occupied to get anything else. 

[oliverxslater-blog]

rowanbyrne:

Rowan hadn’t even looked in the mirror after his most recent tangle, but from the tightness around his eye, the swell of his lip, and the sharp, brackish taste of blood on his tongue, he knew he wasn’t looking too pretty. Each time he blinked, he could feel the crusted blood break and crackle around his eye and he was leaving a lipstick-smear of crimson on the Camel he smoked. As he’d made his way to Oliver’s, he’d made the mistake of wiping the blood from his cheek with the sleeve of his hoodie, and nearly fainted from the pressure. There would be a hell of a bruise if it hadn’t blossomed already. His hand hurt the worst, though — every time he tried to stretch out his fingers or make a fist, he had to bite his lip and silence a cry.

Fighting wasn’t really his forte. In fact, he was rather lousy at it, but his luck kept him from losing every time, that coupled with the fact that he was very familiar with the weapons he crafted. So, his self-taught technique was amateur, but his knowledge of the instrument saved his ass often. This is just what happened when times got desperate. “Yeah, well. You’re no stack of pancakes yourself,” he shot back, wincing as he stepped inside. He tested his knuckles once more, and it still fucking hurt. “People are getting more and more desperate,” he muttered. “When your best option is trying to steal from a weaponsmith —” He let the thought die, and slumped down in the nearest chair. “Break it to me gentle, doc. Can you save me?”

Rowan looked like shit and like he was in more pain than he’d willingly let on. Oliver didn’t blame him as he shook his head at the other, nodding toward an empty chair for him to take. “–least I don’t look like I got jumped, man. What the hell happened?” He asked as he brought over his kit, resting it on the foot of the bed of his still sleeping patient. The doctor took a second, observant eyes scanning Rowan for where the blood stemmed from and any other glaring injuries before noticing how he held his hand in an almost crippled manner. Shaking his head, Oliver sighed, nodding at it. “Let’s take care of this first. Do you remember how it happened?” Because he knew in a fight, sometimes things tended to be a blur and one only realized their specific injuries after the fact. 

[oliverxslater-blog]

dorianhawthorne:

Dorian had been out in the wastes often, mostly to find scrap or supplies to trade for food rations and water bottles [when they were available]. It was dangerous to go out in the wastes and not just from the overexposure of radiation. Dorian was lucky enough not to be exposed to mindcook, but not lucky enough to dodge a bullet graze to the shoulder. A group of raiders ambushed him and Dorian barely managed to ditch the raiders and hunker down in an abandoned neighborhood near Fervention for the night. The shot at his arm was wrapped with a dirty, torn piece of bed sheet, which had already stained crimson through the sheet and his shirt. The adrenaline had kept him up most of the night, and the exhaustion was even more evident on his face. Still, Dorian managed to make it to the medic’s home, a place he was familiar with given how often he was in the wastes. 

When the medic opened the door, Dorian gave a tired smirk at his remark. Oliver was a familiar face, mostly because he was the one patching Dorian up on most occasions. In fact, Dorian had been there a week prior from another wasteland trip. “No, but I might need some new ones,” he replied, pointing toward his injured shoulder as he stepped in the home. 

Sometimes it was the people he expected to see the least (most likely because of their untimely deaths) that Oliver found himself encountering more often than others. Dorian was a prime example of this. It couldn’t be explained really, how many countless times Oliver had patched him up, sewn up a wound, given him medicine for whatever ailments he had-- the amount he seemed to put himself through would’ve done most in at some point or another but it was like the man had nine lives. “Do I even want know?” He asked rhetorically, letting the other in and nodding to the seat at the foot of the bed where his other patient was still sleeping. “–was beginning to think you’d finally bit the dust, Dorian, it’s been, what? A week since I last saw you? That’s gotta be some record,” the medic snickered lightly, grabbing his kit and pulling a chair over beside the other man. “Gonna have to get that off,” he nodded at the cloth around the wound, “do you know if it went straight through?” He’d find out in a moment but figured asking wouldn’t hurt either way. 

[oliverxslater-blog]

charlottehclloway:

Charlotte narrowed her eyes at him, making it abundantly clear that his comment was unnecessary, before stepping inside “Yeah well, the cars I had to work weren’t going to fix themselves, needed to get my worth,” she snapped, fingers pressing against her side, where the wound she had gotten due to an angered man who believed that someone had stolen his bag and that the someone was her. At first she had tried to patch herself up, but the laboured breathing paired with the blood loss didn’t do wonders for steady hands, so she’d stumbled over to where she knew there was a medic to get help. Oliver’d done a damn good job, but her restlessness and the fact that she needed to work on the cars to get something to eat and drink caused her to pull the stitches, sending shooting pain into the right side of her body. Without even saying anything else, she slipped her shirt off and draped it off the back of a chair, plopping down onto it with a small groan. 

“Needed to get your worth and hurt yourself?” He scoffed but let her in anyway, never able to turn around someone who needed help and he knew that she was too stubborn to admit it had been an unwise action to take. He frowned when she took off her shirt, eyes scanning the angry, wounded area as he grabbed a cloth, going over to her side. He steadied his hand on her shoulder while pressing the cloth to the wound, knowing it would sting but it was necessary. “Hold this-- if the bleeding doesn’t stop, I may need to cauterize it, Charlotte.” He was straight with all his patients but figured she’d want to know either way. Breaking open a still healing wound usually just made it worse and it was bleeding worse than the first time around so he wasn’t optimistic. “You gonna tell me what happened?” He asked after a beat, taking her hand and placing it on the cloth to hold it steady as he got a needle ready, still hoping that they could stopper it enough so he could stitch it up properly.

[oliverxslater-blog]

hurricanejude:

Judith welcomed the low hum of the Legless Man that met her ears as she left the approaching dusk behind. The place was full; patrons occupied tables, some travelers simply passing through, and others regulars that could be found in the same place night after night. She recognized a few, and with a nod or two to those she had interacted with, made her way to the bar. 

Good alcohol was hard to come by, as was almost anything, and so the woman treated herself to some whiskey every now and then, enjoying the buzz it ignited. She had just ordered a drink when she recognized a face that had been blurry the first time she saw him. Still, his features were undeniable, and upon realizing she had found something to repay him with, pushed away from the bar, and moved to where he sat, drink in hand.

“This spot taken?” She inquired, nodding her head to the seat beside him. 

@oliverxslater

It wasn’t every day he saw the people he’d patched up for any reason other than them requiring medical attention. Oliver didn’t mind but he’d gotten used to helping a person, sending them on their way and hoping they made it. It was an easy pattern he’d grown accustomed to but a pattern broken all the same as he sat at the bar, nursing a beer (about the cheapest drink he was willing to spend limited currency on), and a familiar voice appeared at his side. Taking a swig, Oliver glanced up, surprised to see the Jude. It had been a while and he remembered that she’d been in a bad way the last time they’d met. While Oliver would’ve insisted she stay to heal up properly before all of this, now he focused on stopping bleeding, closing wounds and doing what he could to prevent infection right off the bat. Everything else was on them. But it seemed like Jude knew that seeing that she looked better than she’d before. “Is now,” he replied with a slight, haphazard smile, polite if anything, as he took another swig, “good to see you’re still kicking, Jude-- wound healed up?”

Zero Debt || Oliver & Jude

[oliverxslater-blog]

[oliverxslater-blog]

Charlie Hunnam

[oliverxslater-blog]

Charlie Hunnam

[oliverxslater-blog]

Oliver already had one sick patient he was waiting on but word had spread that he was in Fervention for now and capable medics were few and far between these days-- the best of whom had left earth months ago. He’d been between some locations in the area for the past two weeks, setting up shop so to speak where he’d seen the need most or where he’d bring the least trouble. Any supplies were a commodity but especially medical supplies and while Oliver was confident in his ability to protect himself, there were those he saw to that didn’t always have the same ability and the last thing the doctor wanted was the bring more strife to already conflict-ridden areas. He’d just seen to his patient, trying to get their fever to break when there was a knock on the door of his makeshift home. Wiping his hands on a cloth, Oliver stood, making his way to the door, wooden floors creaking as he did so. Once he opened it, the medic couldn’t help but scoff slightly at the sight of an individual whom he’d patched up not a week earlier. “Told you to take it fucking easy–- you look like shit. Did you pull your stitches already?” He arched a brow, giving them a once over for obvious wounds and or need for immediate care before stepping aside and letting them enter. 

[oliverxslater-blog]

alasdairmilne:

Alasdair sat on a bar stool, silently picking at a scab on his elbow. He contorted his arm and craned his neck to reassess it. From there, he wasn’t quite sure where to go. It was itchy and had been irritating him for the past three days, yet he wasn’t prepared to be walking around with an open wound, even a small one. What had his life become? When the rebellion was in full swing and hope still remained, every day had been incredibly exciting. Now here he was, doing nothing more than scratching a flake of dried blood from his skin.

He straightened out his arm and looked at it. The tissue was still an odd mixture of pink and red, and the hair that had been there before hadn’t grown back. His burns weren’t something he had ever been ashamed of. If anything, it had gained him respect. People at the Dillinger Markets often nodded at him in acknowledgement, and it always made him feel a bit better, for reasons he didn’t quite understand. On days he was feeling low, he even resorted to actively trying to display his arm, in the hope that someone would comment on it. Today was one of those days.

Propping his elbow up on the bar, he surreptitiously glanced at those around him, attempting to make this premeditated move appear offhand. Wounds weren’t an uncommon sight, he knew, but usually he got at least some kind of acknowledgement.

“The service is terrible, isn’t it?” Alasdair commented, double checking that the barman was out of earshot, his words being directed at no one in particular.

Oliver didn’t usually frequent the Legless Man when he was in Fervention but he rarely had time to linger longer than necessary. He’d had a contact, someone who swore they could get him some narcotics– not for himself, of course, but there were some patients he’d seen in the past few weeks who were far worse off than any he’d seen before. Things were getting worse. Supplies were running low. So here he was, waiting to see if he spotted the guy or if he’d been led on. Either way, he could use a drink, not usually partial to drowning his concerns with booze but he’d lost a patient that week and it never sat well for the man who know felt the comfort of that familiar cross in his pocket– nothing he wore out of reverence but something he carried out of remembrance. He’d been sitting there for another drink for a solid five minutes before someone spoke and Oliver canted his head to the side slightly, glancing over at the man, “Don’t think service is anyone’s concern nowadays and they seem to be keeping him busy,” he said, jerking his chin to the two woman sat on the other side of the bar, the bartender seemingly captivated by the individuals whom Oliver wasn’t too afraid to guess worked elsewhere. “Looks like we’ll have to wait our turn, unless you think you can resort to batting your eyes for attention,” he scoffed slightly, finishing up his drink in hand, the amber liquid burning familiarly as he set down his glass, turning slightly to the other, the man’s arm having caught his attention. “Looks as though that hurt like a bitch.” Who could blame him for being curious, he was a medical man, after all.

[oliverxslater-blog]

mercermagician:

           The sun had begun to blister Zelda’s skin even with her lab coat on. Out of desperation, she had ducked into the remnants of an old building. It had been indiscernible from the outside, but once she was inside it appeared to have once been an office building. Something clattered to the ground to her left. Zelda squealed. 

                                      “Is someone there?”

Oliver was scouring the office building for basics that others might’ve overlooked. Who really went through for the soap in hand dispensers or hand sanitizer? He’d already grabbed what he could find of paper towels from their own dispensers, all to build up the small stock of supplies he’d been collecting the past two days in this part of town. He’d had one patient he’d been helping earlier that week– bullet wound through the arm– and they’d ended up needing more than Oliver had. So while they were still resting up, the medic knew he had a limited window to gather what he could.

At this point, everyone knew that real medical supplies had been taken up by those wanting to sell them for a profit but not everyone thought to look for basics anymore even if something like hand sanitizer or soap could prevent potential infections just by virtue of helping you stay clean. That’s what a lot of people didn’t realize, he thought as he walked through, passing a broken-into vending machine, when it came to sickness these days, it was the most mundane of infections that could do you in. He’d just passed by another empty office when he knocked into a fallen chair, causing it to jostle into the wall. Oliver wasn’t expected the squeal nor the voice that followed and stiffened slightly, hand going to the gun at his hip before realizing it was just a kid. Clearing his throat, Oliver stepped a bit more into her line of sight so as not to startle her. “Just me– didn’t mean to scare you, sorry about that.”

[oliverxslater-blog]

Charlie Hunnam

[oliverxslater-blog]

CHARLIE HUNNAM

My new cover shoot with Charlie Hunnam for American Way Magazine. Shot in Claridges Hotel, London.

[oliverxslater-blog]

OLIVER SLATER · 36 · MEDIC · THE ANTI-HERO · TAKEN

"Everything I’ve ever let go of had claw marks on it.” - DAVID FOSTER WALLACE

ORIGIN:

Chicago, IL

TRAITS:

+ Quick-witted, Efficient, Tenacious

- Unyielding, Doubtful, Jaded

BIOGRAPHY:

THIS IS THE WAY THE WORLD ENDS;

The living have it hardest. The reality of the world– knowing the inevitable end was coming. It didn’t affect Oliver the way it do so many others, bringing on the desperation and panic so many experienced. For Oliver, it was just another reality. Another fact. Growing up on the south side of a worn down and broken city, he could only focus on his present. On the now. There was no listening to chatter of corporations which were lesser known then or governmental strife amidst humanitarian crisis. The only reality Oliver could focus on was the one where he tried to help his mom and his younger brother, Leo, stay afloat. He knew that, eventually, he had to get out. They had to get out– to leave. He needed to find a path that could take them far away from a home that was never much of one to start with.

Violence on the rise, darkness descending– things had never been “easy”. For the three of them, theirs was a reality that was no better or worse than so many others except that Oliver thought he could be the one to claw his way out of the pit life had started them off in. The young boy knew how to get by, how to make things work in his favor as best he could– how to buckle down when the going got tough and how to strive. How to take as much as he could and refuse to give any of it back to a world that offered nothing in return.

He was the oldest son, their father a ghost in a story about a girl who met a guy one night. But it just didn’t matter. It didn’t matter than his mother worked three jobs nor that he worked two between school and making sure he was able to rush to Leo’s school to walk home with him. It didn’t matter the pressure life placed on his shoulders because Oliver broke through– he got out. He managed to get into college, deciding that he’d do something worthwhile.

He’d break the pattern so many people would’ve put him on just looking at where he came from. There was a tenacity in him that only grew as he determined to make everything worth it. The sacrifices, the struggles– he needed to justify to himself. Oliver didn’t want to end up like so many he knew, who’d started off so optimistic only to end up back where they’d begun– a vicious cycle that entrapped so many. That’s why medicine called to him. Perhaps for the wrong reasons at first, think it was a lucrative field more than anything but at the same time it was a challenge. And those are what Oliver thrived off of most.

The next years were a blur as he honed in on his path, determined to make it through. He viewed everything as a challenge and treated it as such. This was for the three of them. For his mom, Leo and himself. Maybe he’d get a job at some hospital or a private practice or even a doctor for Valeris (he’d heard rumors that medical professionals were in demand). It didn’t matter, so long as he was able to move his family into a better position. It became an obsession for him, something he wouldn’t admit to but the need to progress was incessant, it was a drive that had been turned on and he didn’t even know there was a switch anymore.

But, as often happens in life: things change. And when Leo decided to enlist, hearing that there were some real opportunities make a difference and to rise in rank, Oliver’s path changed once again. The last years of medical school had proven to him that the drive he possessed pushed him to save lives– failure was never an option and every person he saw, every person he was able to help was one less he had to admit to failing. It’s why when Leo enlisted, Oliver followed the little brother he’d spent his life trying to protect, also enlisting but as a combat medic.

The decision came in one of those blink-and-you’ll-miss-it-moments– the moments where you could hear a drop of water in a silent room, where you fell and saw the ground rushing toward you somehow fast and slow all at once. The moment Leo told him he was going to enlist, it wasn’t a question to Oliver. He was the big brother and it didn’t matter if people were slowly losing faith in the military– if Leo was going to defend and serve, then Oliver would do the same. Because  if something happened to his brother, nothing else would matter. And it’s with that mindset he started a new journey.

He’d been a combat medic for several years as tensions continued to rise across their country and the world as Earth decayed into a wasteland. The two Slater’s wrote home, they tried to see each other if their leaves overlapped but, most importantly, they served. It wasn’t that there weren’t any issues as descent and strife began to develop within the military and things became more heated but they each found a different purpose. Oliver worked tirelessly, he threw himself into helping others, into saving as many lives as he could. It’s why he couldn’t sleep. Tossing and turning under the weight of needing purpose– if he was here, he had to do something.

The same tenacity that carried him forward as a child, as a young man in the pressure cooker that was his life before only grew in the military. The pressure to save was insurmountable and it’s why after losing someone, he couldn’t let go of them. It wasn’t because he was attached to the individuals themselves, he didn’t always know his fallen comrades, but it was an attachment to motivation. Seeing each life lost as a nail in a coffin he couldn’t let close on him yet. He never wanted to be a hero but he did want to make a difference. And he did his best to do so until things came to a head and he couldn’t make a difference when it mattered most.

NOT WITH A BANG, BUT A WHIMPER.

With pressures rising on each side, there were whispers of getting out, of leaving the military before Valeris came in. But they were just rumors. Oliver had long since ceased putting stock into what people said, especially on matters like this. That is, until Leo was injured in a military exercise gone wrong. Instead of taking care of their own as they should’ve, there was no sense of urgency for the soldier who would’ve otherwise died for their country. And that’s what changed things for Oliver for good. He’d later learn that resources were only spared for individuals and programs useful to Valeris but all he knew then was that it wasn’t right.

Their mother had passed the year before so it was just the two of them as Oliver visited Leo while he was on leave in a run down hospital in Colorado by the base. He wanted to tell Leo that he was getting out, he’d finish up and then he’d be gone– done with the people who refused to take care of their own. But he never got to get out– not before Valeris left them in the dust– humanity’s last hope leaving a world to perish behind. It was chaos afterwards. Complete and utter chaos, and it seemed that within the span of days, humanity descended into something much less recognizable. Oliver’s first and only concern then was Leo, trying to get as much for him by way of medication as he could but it wasn’t enough.

Within three weeks, his little brother’s condition had gotten worse and there wasn’t anything he could do– scouring when he could for medicine but knowing that the sort of help Leo needed didn’t exist on their planet anymore. The only help that could’ve saved him was now thousand of miles in space– a lifetime away. When Leo finally passed, there was a shroud that covered Oliver. A type of agony that couldn’t even be identified, a parasite that latched onto his very core and kept everything else abed. It was dark. It was hollow and desperation and discomfort and regrets and pain. A pain that lasted. One that was so numbing Oliver  wasn’t sure he’d notice if he’d set his hand on a hot stove.

It took about a solid month for the doctor to do anything besides haphazardly keep himself alive, almost as though he were his own after thought. There was no purpose until one day, on his way back from Dillinger Market when he nearly passed a fight. It wasn’t anything knew. He wouldn’t get involved. That is until he heard the victim cry out. He wanted to leave. Wanted to get on his way and pretend he hadn’t but there was something inside of him that wouldn’t let him. Before he knew it, he’d gotten involved, the street riffraff strong but even his own basic training allowed him to help end it and then help the injured individual.

Helping them, in essence, helped him. It was like cold water splashed onto his face as he tended their wounds and it was like something shifted back in place. He couldn’t save his brother. But he could save others. He could help in a way that so many people needed in the forsaken land they called home. It’s what he does now, perhaps as penance for those he couldn’t save over the years– for his brother, or perhaps it’s a way to regain that purpose he so desperately needed to survive. Whatever it was, was enough to make Oliver a go-to for many and it’s through making his services available that he met an individual from Torchlight and while he’s wary of being affiliated with anyone after the military, he’s lent his services a few times already to help injured members.

He knows chances of survival are slim and he knows that with dwindling resources, things will only get worse. But Oliver also knows that if he lets go of this recovered sense of purpose and resolve, however fragile or fleeting it may be, he might be lost to the chaos and emptiness of the world around him.

FACECLAIM:

Charlie Hunnam

[oliverxslater-blog]

[X]

[oliverxslater-blog]

Everything I’ve ever let go of has claw marks on it.

David Foster Wallace (via lazypacific)