#redacted healers

[stupd000]

reminder that Darlin always saw Sam as a healer, not just a vampire

[6-atlas-6]

Redacted tweets (again x1872882)

Last one was a request/idea by @darlin-collins

🎀Tags: @capitalisticveins @vilf-lover @deviantaj @plutobutartsy @crescentgrim @morgansplace @epsi-l0n @kitheking @randomhoneybee @messenger-of-stupidity @shawslut @samlizdavis @betta-phish @verbal-static

[pycth]

Here they are, Doc sona 🩺

(To clarify, all my sonas go by They/Them)

My Doc is a certified healer, working as an EMT. They don’t get much sleep, but somehow shit just works out. “Fuck around and find out” mentality

They smoke too much, always says they’re gonna quit (eventually). Due to their work and series of unfortunate events they’ve recently found themselves in, a small piece of their hair’s gone grey.

Bonus doodle as a throwback to my first post about Hush’s first video—

[arrowfleur]

Sam saying ‘the way a healer had saved me’

HELLO. We are missing a key chunk of information here sir. WHAT DO YOU MEANNNNNN.

[propertyofsamcollins]

I need Samuel Collins in a sleeveless compression shirt, tied up, and on his knees RIGHT NOW

Yall, I'm actually about to start tweaking please help me

WHERE IS MY SOUTHERN MAN WITH A DAD BOD

Screaming crying throwing up

[impossible-rat-babies]

these unironically have me finally excited for DT

[us3rnam3-r3dact3d]

i assume you'll be coming for blood (that makes two of us)

Chapter 6

Ao3 | 3.1k Words | Sweetheart's POV

The consequences, physical, emotional, mental, ect.

TW: blood and injury, eye injury, disembowlment, throat injury, trance, panic, referenced blood lust, the aftermath of injury, reveal of disability.

You didn’t know how he found you, but the next time you opened your eyes, Milo was crouched over you, his face drawn and silver eyes nearly red in the low light. 

“There you are,” he breathed. One of his cold hands was pressed around your neck as though to choke you. The pain was dull and distant in a way that concerned you. “You keep those eyes open, you hear me, Sweetheart? You stay with me. Fuck me , fuck, fuck, fuck!”

You opened your mouth to respond, to spit back some snappy retort about him calling you sweet nicknames, but you sputtered around another mouthful of blood. Your body jerked and twitched, desperate for air and unable to draw any. 

“Fuck,” Milo breathed like it was the only word he knew. You tried to gasp, your hand twitching to try and reach for him. You needed to tell him. You needed to tell him that you were sorry, that you had been such an idiot, that it was all your fault. You didn’t have the strength. “Fuck. God, Dimitri… no he won’t… he wouldn’t let me.” Milo was flicking his eyes, blown wide with panic, over your body. His free hand fluttered over you helplessly, unsure where to apply pressure. He eyed the slash wound over your stomach with something between horror and hunger. This much blood, especially blood he wanted, blood he said he craved when you went too long between sessions, must have been difficult for him. Your throat closed and opened uselessly around itself.  You jolted as the hand around your throat shifted and another caressed your face, covering your right eye and spanning from your hairline to the middle of your cheek. His fingers were so long. You wanted him to thread them through your hair, to caress them gently across your lips, to force them into your mouth and down your fluttering throat. You wanted him to never stop touching you. 

An impression of healing magic whispered against you; the warmth, the sting. It brushed over you like hot breath, barely there at all. A whimper of exertion left Milo as he forced his magic into you. You felt the wound on your neck try to close, the sinew of your torn skin try to tighten, and then fail and all flat again. 

“ Fuck!” Milo spat. You thought he was crying. As he lost his grip on his magic, he crumpled, bending at his waist to rest his head against your still bleeding stomach. You felt him shake with sobs. “What do I do? Ma, what do I do?” 

You must have blacked out, because the next thing you knew, you were moving and fast. Milo had used his speed while holding you before, but the head rush of it was made even more intense by the blood kiss. You gasped and choked, twitching in his arms. “I know,” he huffed, coming to a sudden halt. I know, Sweetheart, stay with me.” 

You cracked an eye open and found yourself out of the heart of Dahlia, in a quiet, suburban neighborhood. Milo was stood on the porch of a beautifully maintained, two story brick house. You were bleeding all over the pretty welcome mat. He used his foot to knock so he didn’t have to set you down. 

After a tense few seconds, while Milo muttered those stupid, sweet things into your ear, the door creaked open. 

“Milo?” A deep voice cut through the fog in your brain. It sounded strained, close to heart broken. Milo didn’t wait to be invited in, just pushed past a hulking figure and into the quiet of a darkened living room. “What happened?” 

“Deep lacerations to the face and neck, I think the right leg is broken, bruising, blood loss- I don’t even know how long they were out there before I found them. Davey, it’s bad.” Milo’s voice was high with panic, and this seemed to shut down any questions the other man might have had. 

“Couch,” the deep voice, Davey, ordered. “Angel, please call Asher.” 

“I didn’t know where else to go.” Milo admitted, sounding more like a lost little kid than you’d ever heard him. You felt gutted. He seemed surprisingly vulnerable, surprisingly open. Old friend, he’d said of Davey from that phone call. Pack. You could feel Davey’s aura, so strong it strangled yours out. Shifter. 

“You did good, Milo.” Davey said softly. “You can always come here. Always.” You groaned as you were laid out on an unfairly plush couch. You were going to bleed all over the delicate throw pillows and knitted blankets. You were going to ruin it. “Let me take a look.” 

Hands were on you suddenly, big and hot and prodding at your wounds. You cried out, your voice gurgled by the blood in your throat. You thrashed violently and found the strength to fight back. You didn’t know those hands. You couldn’t stand the feeling of them on your skin. 

You swung out an arm and clawed at the figure over you, cutting into the skin of his forearm with your blunt nails. You didn’t want anybody to touch you, to explore your wounds, to dissect your weakness with your guts open like this. 

“Fuck, hold them-” 

“Shit! Sweetheart-”

Desperate cries cut together as Milo and Davey tried to contain you, tried to pin your down. Your magic, what was left of it, tried to defend you. You phased in and out, your arms passing through them as they tried to keep you still. 

“Milo, they’re bleeding, you need to-” 

“-gotta calm down, Baby, fuck-” 

“Milo, now!” 

Hands framed your face, cold and long and familiar. You gasped at the feeling of them. 

“Sweetness, look at me.” Milo’s voice sliced through your panic and drew your focus. Those hot, unfamiliar hands captured your own and pinned you down, held you in place. You managed to pry your right eye open. The left must have been caked dry with blood. When you met Milo’s eyes, they were glazed over black. You wondered if he was frightened or angry. 

The trance fell over you like a blanket. Immediately, your muscles loosened and your mind slowed. All thoughts of fighting dissipated into nothing, Milo’s face twisted painfully as he spoke. 

“I’m so sorry, Sweetheart. Please, just calm down. Let Davey work. Just keep looking at me and rest, okay?” You found yourself nodding dreamily, disturbing the wounds on your neck and face. One big hand came up to rest on your forehead, the other barely bruised over your throat. With a grunt and a pulse of magic, the cuts closed over. You felt your skin stitching back together, but the pain was far, far away. All you could focus on was Milo’s wide, black eyes, brimming with tears. 

A sharp fist dug into your sternum and rubbed. You coughed once, blood flooding your mouth. Air rushed into you all at once. 

“Okay,” Davey breathed, “that’s the worst of that. Stomach now. I’m gonna lift your shirt, is that okay?” Your mind twitched to respond, but your body refused, laying limply, mouth slack as you stared at Milo. 

“You can answer.” Milo instructed. “Honestly, please.” 

“Yeah,” you croaked.

Davey thanked you softly and peeled back your coat and shirt, leaving as much of your torso covered as he could. He hissed as he got a look at you. 

“Jesus fuck,” he breathed. Milo’s gaze flicked away from yours to Davey, down to your stomach. He swallowed harshly. “Do what you need to do.” He instructed, one hand floating up to card through your hair. “Sweetness, you just focus on me. Don’t pay any attention to what he’s doing. Don’t feel a bit of it. Just keep those-” he stumbled over his words, but recovered quickly, “-those pretty eyes on me, understand?” 

“Yeah,” you replied. 

Time passed slowly, but you could only focus on Milo, on his severe face, on the crease of stress between his eyebrows. He had positioned himself over the arm of the couch, probably kneeling painfully on the hardwood floors so he could support your head and hold your gaze. He was tense, every muscle in his body taught and not letting up. He looked to be in a considerable amount of pain. You wanted to reach out to him, to run your hand along his neck, to knead your fingers into his shoulders and chase away the stress. But your body didn’t have permission to move, so it didn’t. 

You didn’t become aware of yourself again until Davey shifted the bones in your leg back into place. It seemed that that particular pain was enough to break through even the trance. You cried out, gripping at Milo’s waiting hands, and arched your back against the heat in your thigh. Davey’s big hands circled it easily and poured magic into it. You felt every shift of your bones, and most likely woke the neighbors making it known. 

“ Please!” You cried out, scrambling for purchase against the pain and confusion. 

Milo turned your head forcefully and caught your eye again.

“ Sleep!” He ordered. With a simple word, your body stuttered to a stop. Darkness encroached on your vision as you were plunged into an uneasy, dreamless sleep. 

__

“-it off. You know him. He pushes himself too hard. He should have done triage and then come back to heal more of the damage later.” 

“I was worried he was gonna keel over or something.” 

“His mate has a good read on him. They know when to pull him away.”

“Thank God for that.” 

The conversation filtered into your awareness slowly, words merging together and pulling apart until they formed something resembling sentences. You scrunched up your brow and tried to tune in, to place the voices, to place yourself . Where the fuck were you?

“Milo, what have you gotten into?” 

You knew that voice. You’d heard it before. You tried to dredge up any memory from the past few weeks. Everything melted together into a mess of sleepless nights and stupid ideas made manifest. 

“There’s something about them, Ash,” the other voice, Milo, replied, “I just… I can’t stay away.” A pause, a deep breath. This Ash seemed to be the sort of man who chose his words carefully. 

“I know you’re not a shifter anymore, Milo.” He said. Definitive, a statement of fact. “But every indication you’re giving me-” 

“They don’t want me, Ash.” Milo snapped, all respect that the Alpha garnered absent from his voice. Alpha. Talbot. Asher, he had insisted. Your brain started turning again, started moving. “They’ve made that abundantly clear.” 

Footsteps echoed through the quiet house. With gargantuan effort, you opened your eyes- eye, something was keeping your left eye shut with gentle pressure- and found yourself in a dim living room. Soft yellow curtains were drawn over the windows, blocking out the sunlight that blushed the thin fabric. You managed a twitch out of your fingers but nothing more. 

“You’re awake.” Milo’s voice caught your attention. You craned your neck to peek over the side of the couch. He was wearing someone else’s clothes. His tight fitting, silken button up was replaced with an oversized, soft blue tee-shirt. He wore too-big sweatpants and socks with little cats on them. He looked younger somehow, despite the ageless quality of his face. You couldn’t help but smile. 

“I am.” You said, blurted. You shook your head lightly, trying to find your words. “Interested. In you.” 

Milo was quiet. He crossed his arms over his chest and cast his eyes down. They were silver again. He must have fed. 

“Is that so?” He huffed. “You have a very unique way of showing it.” 

“I’m just…” you considered wrapping yourself up in the comfort of a lie. You considered throwing something cutting at him, something to send him running, sunlight be damned. But you didn’t. You opened your mouth, and the truth came out, no matter how much it made your insides squirm. “I’m scared.” 

Milo’s eyes flicked to yours, held your gaze hostage. You didn’t flinch away. 

“Okay.” He said. 

“Okay? What… what does ‘ okay’ mean?” 

“It means ‘ okay!’” A hollow imitation of a laugh left him as he scrubbed a hand over his face. “It means we’ll see. It means I don’t trust you, not as far as I can throw you. But I can throw pretty far, so…” he shrugged. “I want you. I have wanted you since the second I saw you. But you’ve got some shit to dig through before you’re ready for that.”

“Yeah.” You nodded. “I… I’m really sorry. I’m sorry I said… Milo, if I could- ”

“Stop.” He waved his hand and stepped towards you. He surveyed your body quickly before plucking your hand from where it rested against your stomach. He pressed a chaste kiss against your knuckles “I think you’ve suffered enough, huh?” 

You groaned and tried to shift, tried to assess your body. 

“What all…” you pursed your lips as Milo helped you sit up. The muscles in your stomach creaked and protested, but he took your weight effortlessly. “What’s the damage?” 

“You’ve got some scars.” Milo reported. “From your stomach up to your face. Davey did what he could, but most healers would have struggled with this sort of damage. You were…” his face went sour, like he might be sick, “you were about half a minute from being a memory, Sweetness. We still haven’t figured out how you survived so long. Davey’s guess is sheer force of will.”

“ Fuck.” You breathed. 

“Yeah.” Milo agreed. He pushed your hair back from your forehead gently. “What… just- how much do you want me to tell you? Because it wasn’t a pretty experience.” 

“All of it.” You replied immediately. “I know why you tranced me, I’m grateful for it.” You gripped his arm in your shaking hand before he could pull away. “But I want to know what happened to me while I was out.” 

“I get it, Sweetheart.” Milo nodded. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled your back to rest against his chest. He was cool and plush, and you melted into him. One of his hands trailed down your torso and pressed against your stomach. Somebody had changed you too. You were clad in a light tee-shirt, so big on you it hung from one shoulder. Milo lifted the bottom of it to reveal deep, craterous scars cutting through your skin. They looked painful, even if you didn’t feel it. Milo trailed one finger over the first of four, one for each of the shade’s long fingers. “Your large intestine and stomach were falling out of this one. Davey was… he was wrist deep getting everything back into you. He said that he would usually take the time to sorta… lay everything back where it’s supposed to go, but you were likely to bleed out if he took too long. So… yeah. Everything’s inside of you, but it’ll take a while to get back to where it’s supposed to go. He said you’d feel… weird. Like your insides are shaking.”

You swallowed the nausea that threatened to overtake you. After a few deep breaths, you nodded for Milo to continue. His hand trailed up to the second cut, right above your heart. 

“This one breached your chest wall. Your left lung collapsed twice because of the air that managed to get past your ribs. You’ve got some nasty needle marks where he drained the air." He pulled down the collar of your shirt to reveal two large pricks surrounded by angry bruising just under your third rib. “Davey said chests are complicated. Lots of muscle and bone and important organs and shit. If you’re gonna have a complication in the next forty-eight hours or so, it’ll be here. He wants to keep you here until then just to be sure, or ship you off to another healer.” 

“Okay.” You said. You weren’t exactly comfortable here, but you could at least hide from the consequences you were sure were awaiting you at D.U.M.P.. If Milo’s former pack would have you, you would gladly use them as a shield. “What else?” 

Milo’s hand trailed up to your throat and face. 

“Two of the cuts made it to the throat. One nicked your trachea and started flooding your airway with blood. You swallowed a lot of it, which Davey had to pump from your stomach before… putting it back in you. When I got to you, your throat had only just collapsed. You were without adequate oxygen for around four minutes before Davey got it healed. That’s right on the edge of brain damage territory, so he wants to keep an eye on that too. He might send you out for an MRI.” 

“Well, I’m about to be fired, so I hope he’s paying for it.” 

“What?” Milo balked. 

“Nothing.” You waved a lazy hand. “Keep going.”

“Oh…kay. Um. Your face. It’s… Sweetness, I’m really sorry.” 

“My eye.” You said softly. 

“Yeah.” He muttered. “It was necrotic by the time we got here. He took it out as safely as he could with what he had in his medical pack. We might be able to see about the optic nerve-”

“It’s fine.” You shook your head. “It’s fine. What else?” 

“Sweetheart-”

“What else, Milo?” 

He paused, took a steadying breath. 

“Your femur was broken. Badly. I don’t know how long you were out there before I found you. Judging by the blood loss… a while. Davey was functioning without an x-ray. He set it and healed it, but it's… he says that it’s crooked. It would take several re-breaks and surgeries to get it aligned again. And even then, you’re… Sweets, you might not walk again. And if you do, it’s gonna hurt. Forever.” 

You closed your eyes- your eye- and rested your head back on his shoulder. His arms wrapped around you, pulled you closer. The muscles in your abdomen shook as the tears came. You fought to keep them in, to shut them down. 

“I know.” Milo whispered into the crown of your head. “I know, Baby. Let it out. You let it out. I’ve got you.” He said it over and over again as the shakes and cries overwhelmed you. He didn’t stop as you sobbed into him, as you wailed like your father in that hospital a million years ago. You doubted anyone in this house, on this block, in Dahlia, in the world, was spared from your sobs. He didn’t stop until your throat cracked and gave out, until your tears slowed, until your body pulled you back towards sleep. He didn’t stop as you drifted away again, pressed into his firm, unyielding chest. 

“I know. I know. I’ve got you. I’ve got you, Sweetheart.” Milo chanted like a promise, like a prayer.

[swaggerpear]

what do yall think healing looks like? cause I’ve seen people who think the area someone’s healing glows, or people who think the area just heals and there aren’t any cool sfx things

I NEED TO KNOW

[crimeronan]

probably the most accurate way for AU hunter to react to finding out he's a grimwalker would be like

[longest sigh in the world] hOkay.

luz.

i get why you didn't tell me. i 100% understand that you were scared and didn't want to worry me or to make me feel differently about myself. i'm not mad at you about that that's Fine. but also.

luz.

my fuckign MEDICAL HISTORY,

[achios]

yall is being a freelancer the only way to focus ur magic on healing?? bc shifters and other races can use healing magic but i haven’t heard of anyone specifically being born as a healer. is that a thing that happens?

[sparklecryptid]

Creating Sage’s student (Tress) was me being like ‘you know what would spice this story up? An absolute gremlin of a teenage apprentice. Just a teenage girl filled with rage and magic with the misfortune of being promised to be taught by the most prestigious Healer on the Continent only to find out that her teacher is literally just an extremely tired hermit who hates almost everyone’

[soup-scope]

hey y’all i’m pretty sure imp!Kody is dead 💀💀

i saw some people say he was alive and i rewatched the imperium (all the bits with kody/freelancer/gavin) to see if he really did die or not

yeah he’s dead. that’s the reason gavin didn’t kill lasko after he suffocated freelancer because he was still haunted by kody’s death

👍👍

[moe-broey]

Idk I also just hate the future actually. My ass is Always living in the past or simply day to day 💪💪💪

[bumblingbabooshka]

Post-Delta Quadrant Mind Healing Appointment

[moon-blanket]

I fucked up my knee and can't walk very well. But it's okay, because I just know David would dote on me. He'd absolutely carry me everywhere. Maybe even kiss it better.

What a man. 🥰

[mossy-mischief]

Excited to see Doc try to teach Hush how to be a person