#TW Injury

[heynhay]

i don’t want to leave without you 🌟

[the-painted-siren]

Doodled some miscellaneous scenes and ideas from @lloydskywalkers ‘ fic Moats, Boats, and Waterfalls

It’s such a sweet little fic, y’all should read it haha

[samrut]

[thinkingabout-girls]

i hate that i’m the reason that you’re in your head right now

(sister piece)

[charlibooboo]

The ground is cold, small stones on the bitumen digging into his cheek. Blood drips across his side, clinging to his clothes and his skin. From where he can see, a few people run over towards him, shouting. Nearby, a car has swerved off the street, a buckle in the hood and the windscreen smashed. The driver is sitting on the curb with a few other people, her eyes glazed and unfocused, a cut on her eyebrow. Charlie grunts; his wings are...

Oh.

He screams, his talons digging into the road. Pain ripples up and down the muscles in one of them, the other numb and almost feeling dislodged from its socket. Every part of his body burns with agony..

Someone kneels down beside him, saying that the paramedics are on their way. Frantic voices all muffle and morph together over his head like something horrific, hands touching his back and brushing his wings which only make him sob against the ground and whine. The pain, the adrenaline, the confusion, it's all too much. Charlie feels his consciousness slipping away into darkness, wishing that at least someone he knew was here right now.

@that-punk-from-brooklyn, @james-barnes-wintersoldier

//Angst time ehhe-

[xt0t4llys4n300x]

[ghibli-love-s]

Tis but a Flesh Wound

Overview: after you get shot on a mission Simon visits you in the infirmary. Through your loose, medicated lips, a few things come to light.

Character(s): Simon "Ghost" Riley

Category: Fluff

Tags: kissing, injuries, getting together, first kiss, soft Simon "Ghost" Riley

Warnings: mentions of injuries, bullet wounds and medical stuff

Words: 1,195

You're lying on an infirmary bed, eyes closed as the beeping of your heart monitor echoes quietly through the room. A few hours ago you had gotten back from a mission, a bullet wound in your side and rapidly losing blood. You had barely touched down in the helicopter when you had been wrenched out of Simon’s arms, quickly wheeled to the infirmary to save your life.

The sound of a door opening and closing softly has you opening your eyes, careful not to move your left arm connected to IVs and other wires. As you squint against the bright lights above you, you make out Simon’s hulking figure sitting in the small chair next to your bed.

Making a move to sit up you’re met with a wince of pain and a gentle hand on your shoulder. The soft, gruff call of your name has you meeting Simon’s dark eyes, the worry barely hidden within them.

“Careful. You were shot bad. Shouldn't be moving in your condition.” His eyes scan over your bandages and your blood stained pants.

“I'm fine Simon. Tis but a flesh wound after all.” You grin cheekily at him, though you can't hide the wince at the painful twinge in your side.

Simon rolls his eyes, thinly veiled affection showing through. “Flesh wound my ass. You got shot with a bullet and lost a lot of blood.”

You shrug, eyes watching his hand as it grips yours firmly. “Still alive aren't I?”

His voice is gruff with a scoff. “Barely made it off the damn helio.”

You give his hand a squeeze, smiling teasingly at him. “But I did. Gonna have to work harder than that to get rid of me Lieutenant.”

He stares at you for a moment before a short, soft laugh falls from his lips. “You are unbelievable, you know that? You get shot, almost die in my arms, and now you're joking about it. I should get a shrink in here just to make sure you're sound of mind, ya know that?”

You grin at him, the usual light back in your eyes as you absentmindedly lace your fingers with his, though you don't miss the way his thumb runs over the back of your knuckles, slowly, deliberately.

“A joke a day keeps the trauma away, don't you know that?”

That earns you a chuckle from him, and which in turn makes your grin even wider.

“You have some nerve getting smart with me while you're laid up from a bullet wound, ya know that mate?” He leans on the bed, shaking his head with disbelief, though by the way his eyes crinkle ever so slightly, you can tell he's smiling under his casual mask.

“That's what you like about me. Deep down that's the only reason you stick around.”

“Is that so? I stick around for your death wishes and your smart ass mouth?”

“Don't forget my pretty face.”

“So I also like you because your’re pretty?” At your cheeky nod he shakes his head, a small huff leaving his lips. His eyes drop to your interlocked hands before locking back with your eyes. “Maybe you're right. But don't let that go to your pretty head. Your ego is big enough without it.”

You laugh, giving his hand another firm squeeze. “Too late. But you know what I think?” You tug him closer, so he's leaning further on the bed, his free arm resting beside your shoulder.

Simon quirks an eyebrow up, studying your smug smile and bright, mischievous eyes. “Enlighten me, oh wise one on a ridiculous amount of pain medication.”

You grin tugging on his hand until he's closer, your voice dropping to a playful whisper. “I think…you can't wait to plant one on me.”

His eyes blow wide with surprise as he goes silent. He’s silent for a few minutes, turning your words over in his head before he answers carefully.

“Is that what you think?” His voice is soft, testing the waters.

“I only know because I've been trying myself. But every time you look at me with those damn eyes I lose my ability to think straight and form a coherent thought.” You study his masked face, only a few inches away from yours.

Simon's eyebrows raise teasingly at you, shaking his head amused. “Really? My eyes are what does it in for you,” he says, his voice amused and unbelieving at the same time.

“Yes! Watching my every damn move, following me, studying me. Your eyes are very intense, you know.” You pout playfully, teasing but honest at the same time.

Your name falls off his lips with disbelief. He studies you, quiet. “Does it really rattle you when I look at you like that?”

“It's like you're trying to figure me out, trying to find out what makes me tick. Makes me feel something I've never felt before.”

His eyes lock on yours. “And what do I make you feel…?”

You go quiet, getting lost in his dark eyes, your mouth dry as you're suddenly at a loss for words. “Safe,” you say lamely, your voice soft and nearly breathless.

Simon goes silent, contemplating as his thumb rubs circles on the back of your hand.

“You're something else, you know that?” He says, breaking through the quiet beeping that fills the room.

You tilt your head, meeting his eyes. “How do you mean Si?”

His thumb stutters to a stop at the nickname. He takes a moment, shaking his head as he studies you.

“Most people can't stand me, and here you are, saying you feel safe with me, saying you wanna kiss me.” His other hand comes to rest on your cheek, gentle, as if you're fragile glass that could break with the wrong move. “Worst part of it is…” He trails off, unsure of his next words.

You call his name softly, eyes never leaving his. You nod at him, prompting him to continue.

Swallowing nervously he responds. “Worst part is I feel the same way.”

You release his hand, eyes locked on him as you reach up to his face, undoing his mask slowly, scanning his expressions to make sure this was okay. It wasn't the first time you had seen him without his mask on, but it was only saved for special moments. Moments spent in the early mornings, your heads propped up on each other as you calm down from nightmares. Moments saved for sleepless nights talking in your beds. Moments like right now.

When you both lean in to meet each other, it's perfect. The warm press of his lips against yours. The way he cups your face as if you’re a precious artifact. The way you grip his bicep as his lips slowly move against yours, deepening the kiss. As he pulls away you tangle your fingers in his hair, keeping him close as he presses his face into your neck.

There would be more to talk about later, paperwork to fill out for the mission and your injury. But right now, Simon pressing up against you, gently running his hand up and down your good side, was perfect for you.

[victoria-vd]

OFFSCREEN POST

The Calm

// tw: panic attack, injury, claustrophobia, physical abuse, discussions of missing children

To say that Victoria was on edge this afternoon would be the understatement of the millennium. 

The once comforting quiet of her dorm had fallen to a tense silence during the past week— as if the room itself held its breath for fear of being lashed out at by the girl that occupied it. The shadows cast by the flickering lanterns trembled in fear, and the curtains sat eerily still.

And yet despite the dim quiet of the room, it was all still too much for her. The air conditioning roared in her ears, the dancing shadows were visually overwhelming, and the soreness in her chest ached horribly. Lying in her bed did little to alleviate the pain from the bruises that littered her torso— putting pressure on her back only seemed to make her feel worse. But she hardly had the energy to sit or stand either, let alone walk and go about her school day as if nothing was wrong.

Just thinking about all the work that will have to be done to make up for her frequent absences…

The past week had been an absolute nightmare for Victoria both physically and mentally. 

She cast a glare at the Hatterene beside her bed. The mere sound of Barcelona’s breathing sent a wave of vexation through her. But she very well couldn’t tell her to simply stop breathing. Many would consider that rude. And her mother’s Hatterene was the last Pokémon she’d want to be rude towards.

The Pokémon in question spared a glance at the girl in the bed, flicking her tendril of hair from side to side like the tail of a cat. A warning. A silent command for Victoria to calm herself by any means necessary. Suppression of the self.

They both remember what happened the last time everything had been “too much”…

Victoria broke her gaze from Barcelona, turning away in the bed to face the wall. She squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt to block it all out. The lights. The sounds. The thoughts— both hers and everyone else’s.

Her powers were both a blessing and a curse. 

The young heiress felt a sudden warmth sneaking under her arm. She glanced down to find her Espurr forcing her way into her grasp, curling up beside her in the covers and nuzzling her head into her chest.

Esperanza. 

Victoria watched the little cat press itself against her. The Espurr had been a parting gift from the Wyrmwoods— dear family friends— shortly before she left for Naranja-Uva Academy that summer. They’d treated her like a second daughter.

A replacement for the daughter they’d lost: her best friend, Estelle Wyrmwood. 

… Has it really been seven years? 

The thought had sent Victoria into a spiral. She curled into herself, a lump tight in her throat. The time had flown by all too quickly and yet agonizingly slow all at once— she was acutely aware of the passage of time in her absence, and yet she was caught unawares by the realization of just how much time had passed. Soon, the years without Estelle will surpass the years with. 

(Across the room on the top shelf, the glass display case suddenly cracked.

Barcelona perked up at the sound, directing her attention to the girl beside her.)

But regardless of the presence or absence of Estelle in her life, her life has been defined by her only friend. 

…Well… that’s not exactly true, was it?

Wasn’t Esper also her friend? 

That question had plagued Victoria every day for the past month. What was Esper to her? The answer was complicated. She granted Esper luxuries that she’d bestowed to very few in her lifetime: her extended presence, a first name basis, the permission to use not just any nickname, but that nickname. There was a level of comfort she had with the girl that she found rare amongst individuals her age. She’d outright called Esper a friend of hers to the girls in the elevator. 

By all accounts, Esper fit the criteria of a friend. 

And yet Victoria hesitated to label her as such in her own mind. 

It felt like a betrayal to Estelle. 

Victoria turned her face into her pillow and choked out a quiet sob. Every heave of her chest sent a wave of pain through her torso. Her bruised ribs screamed at her to stop, but with just one moment of weakness, the entire dam had begun to crack under the weight of seven years of repressed emotions.

(The crack on the glass expanded, threatening to shatter at any moment. The flatscreen TV flickered to life for a moment before it too cracked under a sudden, invisible force.

No, not the screen. The whole TV.

The Hatterene whirled around to Victoria to place a handlike tendril on her shoulder, attempting to shake the girl out of the emotional spiral she’d put herself in.)

The young heiress hugged Esperanza to her chest, letting warm tears crawl down her cheeks. Esperanza; the subtle nod to Esper’s namesake had not gone unnoticed by her. Had she actually picked a name that fit her Pokémon? Or had she named the Wyrmwood Espurr after her in a poor attempt to fill a seven year long void?

Was she using Esper as a replacement for Estelle?

(The glass casing shattered into a million tiny shards that floated into the air. Loose objects scattered about the room levitated themselves from where they lie. A sudden pressure began to build within the dorm, like an invisible force was squeezing the outer edges of your skull, threatening to crush your brain matter between its palms.

Victoria was a ticking time bomb seconds away from exploding. 

Barcelona needed to act now.

She quickly snaked the tendril of hair around the girl’s torso and pulled her out of the bed—)

Victoria was suddenly ripped from the comfort of her bedsheets. Esperanza flew from her grip and was accidentally thrown to the floor. For a brief moment, panic surged throughout the girl’s entire body.

(The Hatterene pulled Victoria into the confines of her hair, encasing her in the cocoon of psychic-imbued strands that enshrouded her body.

When the risk of a psychic outburst was too great, the best solution was to suppress the psionic energy and block it from being expelled by the source.

To choke it out until it passes.)

NONONO. NOT AGAIN. NO SHE COULDN’T DO THIS AGAIN.

Victoria tried to thrash about and kick her legs wildly, but hair slithered up every limb to restrain her, leaving no gap for her psychic energy to escape. The bruises on her torso became increasingly apparent under the constriction of Barcelona’s hair. 

(The floating objects trembled in the air. The cracked TV crumpled into itself under the room’s pressure. The bathroom door flung open with enough force to knock it halfway off its hinges.)

Barcelona frowned at the state of the room. Hm. It seemed this outburst was particularly powerful. This could prove to be an issue…

Glancing to the nightstand where Victoria’s Pokeballs lie, she levitated them into the air and released the Pokémon from within.

Matador and Maria were quick to appear before her.

The Hatterene barked orders at the two Pokémon, directing them to assist in restricting Victoria’s psychic outburst to the confines of the room. They needed to act now before—)

A loud wail suddenly erupted from the other side of the room, briefly distracting the other three Pokémon to find the source of the noise.

Esperanza had started crying.

Which wasn’t a big deal.

The bigger issue was that this was enough of a distraction for Victoria to thrash her way out of her psychic prison.

And all Hell broke loose.

[factual-fantasy]

I was thinking about Conkeldurr recently like "man I know people think this Pokémon is creepy but I actually think he's kind'a neat and it sucks that he's a trade evo..."

And then that transformed into "Actually I LOVE Conkeldurr he looks wicked tough yet also wise and I think more people should give this Pokémon a chance"

And then THAT transformed into "Conkeldurr is a tough as nails gentle giant that has a tiny sad Zorua daughter that he loves very much and he carries her around on his back and he loves his tiny daughter and if you so much as look at his sweet tiny daughter he will actually punch you into last week also did I mention that this Zorua is his tiny special daughter that he loves very much-"

[bamsara]

great, now they need a bath

[emthimofnight]

Shadow is forward for once and Sonic (rightfully so) assumes he's dying

[seldompathic]

He can't say he didn't try

[taviamoth]

The world continues to look on

[xxtc-96xx]

its like a weight off his shoulders

my kofi

my patreon (you can read the next WIP now!)

[fluffyartbl0g]

Pirate Hunter

[jenny-jinya]

TW: animal death / injury / death For grandma, who loved pigeons, and for grandpa, who did not but wanted her to be happy. Please hear me out <3 WEBTOON