#civil injury

[theywontletmebeprincipal]

obsessed w james somerton saying that he blacked out every time he failed to cite his sources like he’s the dr jekyll/mr hyde of plagiarism

#sanders bullshit #james somerton #civil disk horse #HE’S SO FUNNY. HOW DOES HE THINK HE’LL GET AWAY WITH ALL THAT #to be clear I am not making fun of his head injury it’s just that That Is Not How Head Injuries Work

[whumpypepsigal]

Burn Out (2017): “Stay with me, stay with me.”

#whumpedit #whump #burn out #french movie #françois civil #tony rodrigues #accident #head injury #blood #bleeding #pain #manhandling #rescued #weak #helped to walk #passing out #stay with me #my gifs #movie

[saintshigaraki]

crazy that yan werewolf toji is still on the mind

#just thinking about…waking up in a cabin you don’t recognize….with an injured leg…after you went out hiking the day before #with a very foggy memory of how you got said leg injury and no way of getting back without help #and the man who found you whose cabin you’re currently in seems nice enough #just. gruff. but he doesn’t own a car which is extremely strange considering he’s in such an isolated cabin #and of course there’s no cell connection. so it seems you’ll just have to stay with him #until he decides you’re healed enough to make the journey back to civilization #that day will never come btw #vicspeaks #yandere tw

[stirringwinds]

WIP

a scene from a fic i’m currently working on set in may 1861, exploring british-american relations during the american civil war. cw for injury mention and real-life historical events. “maría” is mexico. 

-------------------

“Still a lying old bastard through and through, aren’t you?” Alfred hisses. “What comes next? Recognition of statehood, of course. Don’t think I’m oblivious to how some of your people are absolutely giddy at the thought of my undoing. Good riddance to the vulgar mob rule that goes by the name of American democracy, etcetera etcetera.”

“Unhand me at once,” Arthur hisses.  “Conduct yourself with some of the dignity I raised you to have, will you?”

“Glad to know you haven’t changed one bit, Lord Father. Good manners rank above morals, honour and any sense of integrity, as always, with you,” Alfred’s smile is dark and bitter, but he releases his grip, flings Arthur’s wrist aside. There’s something like sheer hatred now, in his face, but his voice is low, almost quiet. “And don’t talk about dignity, when you made me this way; you, and all your people’s bullshit. I didn’t have a choice when you claimed me at Jamestown—”

“I made you this way? It’s been almost a hundred years since you've thrown away my name, in case you’ve forgotten,” Arthur cuts in. There’s something simmering and furious boiling up—that Alfred always so easily drew out of him. Yorktown. A shot to the jaw, dead-on. He’d coughed out blood and teeth and bone in front of his men. “Do I make you do anything anymore? Did you not loudly and proudly announce yourself as a naval power? That huge uproar you created in the Far East? Bragging to me how you’d finally matched my feats, dragging another Old World nation out of isolation to rejoin the international community on the threat of war and glories of foreign commerce?”

The fingers of Arthur’s left hand curl inadvertently around his teacup. It’s burning hot. He continues. “And at Jamestown, I saved you. Gave you my name and my protection! When they would have cast you out! Left you to die—”

“Saved? I was a prize! For your ambition!” This now, from Alfred, is a shout, thunderous and furious. “Antonio had María, and you wanted to match that! Because being an insignificant, fuckin’ shitheap island with nothing else to your glorified name was too much for your overblown ego. It never is for you diseased, miserable Old World bastards. And I disappointed you at first, didn’t I? No gold, no riches, just famine and—”

“Ambition? Overblown ego? You certainly aren’t short of it yourself, Alfred,” Arthur sneers. His heart thunders in his breast, and he feels at once hot and icy cold. Oh, he’s just like me. Not at all in appearance—but in the soul. So much like me. All that hungry ambition, and always compulsively cruel in our vulnerability. He levels Alfred with a cool stare. “And speaking of María—” He doesn’t miss the way his eldest son flinches, that exact same way he did as a boy—“you chose to go to war with her, you alone—and now the land you seized from her in your victory has torn you asunder, isn’t that right?”

#hetalia #hws america #hws england #my writing #injury // #been reading up the connections between the mexican-american war and the american civil war #the new territories and the question of whether they would be free or slave states

[aussiepineapple1st]

Civil Agent (Part 2)

Leon x GN!Reader

Words: 1,850 Contains: Slight Angst, Comfort, Leon protecting Reader.

Part 1 | Next

Sitting in the back room where all the kegs and extra bottles and cans were, Leon was knelt in front of you. He listened intently as you explain what you saw on your door and the movement of the shadow inside your house. You were trying your best not to cry, but after telling Leon about everything you couldn't hold it in anymore. The tears that had been blurring your vision the entire time finally spill over your bottom lid, falling to your lap as others slide down your cheek.

"I said out loud I forgot something in the Park, I just hope they didn't follow me here. But I ran.." You explained wiping your white dress shirt over your eyes and cheeks to get rid of the tears as you sniff.

Leon looks around and sees a box of tissues on a table in the corner of the room. Walking over there his left arm holds his right forearm to support it, taking the box of tissues and offering it to you. You take the box and pull out a square of the soft paper to blow your nose, wiping your eyes with the folded side. "You should sling up your arm." You state trying to take your mind off everything.

"I'm fine."

"No.. You're not. Sit." You demand as you stand up and motion to where you had just been sitting. Leon just sighs and sits down as instructed, there was no point in fighting you, besides, he was far too tired. Sitting down he leans against the wall, head making a quiet bonk sound as he completely leant into the old, stone wall for support. You could see just how tired he was and you felt guilty about keeping him up. It was currently almost 5am, and you were feeling the heaviness of your own eyes. Once he was sat and comfortable you walk through another door, leading further away from the bar and open a metal cabinet on the wall. You manage to find a sling amongst all the different first aid items in there, closing the cabinet and door as you make your way back over to Leon.

His eyes were closed, head still resting back on the wall, you didn't know how long this man had been awake for. He must have been dozing because when you tuck the sling under his right elbow he flinched, head jolting upright. Leon looks up to you before relaxing his body back against the wall again. "It alright, it's just me." You say as you reach around the back of his neck to tie it up.

"Thank you." He says quietly.

You smile at each other for a moment, your nerves had seemed to calm since talking to him, more so once you decided to take care of Leon's injured arm. The moment was short lived when Leon heard the whirring of a minigun outside, turning his head to where he hear the sound.

"What is th-!!" You were suddenly tackled to the ground, Leon's hand at the back of your head so you didn't hit it on the hard stone-like floor. His body laying atop yours as the spray of ammunition takes out the fridges beside you. Your arms tucked at yours and Leon's chest as you huddle into him, letting out a shriek of fear.

When it had finished the both of your were covered in glass and a mix of alcohol and soft drink. Feeling the stickiness of your skin your wipe your face as Leon stands up pulling out a gun from his back awkwardly with his left hand.

"You have a GUN!" You shouted in a hushed whisper.

Leon just looked to you from the side of his eye and stands up putting a finger to his lips to shushing you silently. You do as you were told, but don't move, you were too scared to. He walks silently over to the doorway that leads to the pub bench and bar tender area. The front door was completely blown off it's hinges and stepping through is a large man. He was definitely infected with something to be that big, wearing a black robe he had nothing in his hands. Leon looks to the door you had gone through moments ago to get the sling for him. Mouthing if there was an exit out through there.

You nod your head and Leon motions with his nose for you to get out of here. You stand to your feet stepping on some glass that was all around and on you.  Leon looks to the large man that had entered, his head now turned in the direction he heard you standing up. Leon stepping through the doorway slightly and shoots at the man with his left hand. Missing the first 2 shots but the other 3 hit his chest and head. It only slowed him down a little bit, Leon turned to the door seeing you had left through another one with shining exit sign above it. Removing the sling once again, Leon throws it on the bench and runs out behind the bar, leading the man away from you. Shooting at the him now with his right hand, his left helping hold it up as he fires 4 rounds into the man's head, who falls to the ground on his back. Leon leaps over the tall bench and stands amongst the tables and chairs. The room was dark but Leon could use that to his advantage.

Still training his handgun on the man on the ground, he knew that couldn't be it for him. He had dealt with too many things to know just a few bullets to the head wasn't going to stop this guy. The large man wasn't moving however, so Leon cautiously sneaks over to him, the carpeted flooring of the large pub made it easier for him to be silent. Standing a metre away from the man, Leon kicked his large booted foot to see if he got any reaction. With incredible speed the man shot up, grabbing Leon around the neck causing him to make a "Hrk" sound.

-----

You had run around the side of the building, carefully looking around the corner to see if anyone else was out the front. Only the mini gun lay on the ground in front of the entrance to the pub, this must have been the man in your house? You slowly walk to the front of the building, the gunshots had stopped so you peer into the  smashed window. Leon was hanging in the air by his throat, his gun being swat out of his hand as he tried to raise it to the man's head. You had to do something!

Running to the open doorway you rip a sharp piece of wood from the threshold and run at the man, the force pushed it through his back impaling him. The large man shouts in a deep growl, letting go of Leon who drops to the ground with a hard thud. Even on carpet you could hear how hard he landed. You rush over to him, picking up his gun on the way and grabbing under his left arm, pulling him to his feet.

"We have to go!" Leon says with urgency and grabs your hand, still not steady on his feet he pulls you outside to his bike.

You stand there looking back into the pub as Leon started inspecting his bike quickly. "Leon, I don't think your bike has scratches on it. Can we just go?!"

"Not what I'm checking for." He said laying on his back. He reaches up to pull something off the bottom of the fuel tank, throwing it to the ground you saw a small metal disk with a red flashing light.

"Oh.." You say, your attention suddenly being drawn to the man standing up and pulling the wood out of his back, turning to the doorway. "Leon.."

He gets off the ground and sits on his bike, pulling the key from his pocket. "Get on!" He says and you don't hesitate. Sliding on behind him you wrap your arms around his body, eyes still watching the man now ducking through the threshold of the entrance.

The bike roars into life and you take off down the road, speeding through the streets and onto the main freeway. You pass many cars on their way to work early in the morning, the sun soon wanting to come up. Your face was still buried in the back of Leon's leather jacket, your arms holding onto him as tight as possible, legs squeezing Leon's hips. He turns off the freeway and starts heading into the hills, your eyes opening once you had realised there were no more lights shining on you. Seeing trees and the sides of the hills as you wind around corners. Leon felt your head lift away from his back, but your grip still holding him tight. 

Eventually after 20 minutes of speeding through the hills Leon pulls into a driveway and stops in front of a large house.

"Hop off and head inside." He said over the purring of the engine. He digs through his jacket pocket and pulls out some keys as you slide off the bike. He hands them to you and drives off to take his bike around the back of the large, two story-looking, modern, white house. You didn't want to admire it right now, just wanting to get inside to safety. You walk up the wooden stairs onto the porch to the double white doors you try the different keys, getting the right one on the 3rd try. Turning the key you enter the house and put the keys in a ceramic bowl on a short table with drawers and doors. You hear the footsteps of boots walking up the wooden steps behind you and spin around as fast as lightning.

"Easy.." Leon put his left arm up, his right arm across his front, right hand holding his left side. "It's just me."

You guard goes down and you step back, further into the house to allow Leon to enter as well. He closed the door and locks it, turning on the light beside it for the room. You see an open area. Not much furniture, a large grey lounge in the middle of the large space and a big flat screen tv over against the wall. It was almost hidden by the stairs to your left, leading up to a loft area above your head and to the right. On the first level to your right were rooms under the loft, one looking to be a guest room. You walk further into the house soaking it all in when you heard a hiss from Leon, turning around you see him sliding down against the doors, still holding his left side.

"Leon?! What's wrong?!" You asked, reaching outr to him with your left arm. You stop in your tracks when you notice your white sleeve was no longer white. It was soaked in red, eyes widening. You look back to him as he pulled his right hand from his side showing it was also now dripping with blood.

"Shit.." He whispered to himself. 

Part 1 | Next

🏷️: @phoenix666stuff @maehemthemisfit @greywardensaywhat @growingupnrealizing @starcrossedreaders

#blood #civil agent #comfort #fanfic #fic #injury #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon x gn!reader #leon x reader #resident evil #resident evil fanfic #slight angst #slight fluff?

[4ft10tvlandfangirl]

This one is really cutting me up. I'm trying to keep the tears back and it's a struggle, his pain is so palpable. And I can see my colleagues, the nurses, the doctors, everyone I work with there. I can't imagine seeing that. I can't..

Please go follow and check @northgazaupdates for all the posts on this recent attack on Gaza Civil Defense personnel as well as anything happening in northern Gaza. It's not empty. People are there.

#i need a minute #gaza #gaza update #gazaunderattack #northern gaza #gaza civil defense #medical teams #war crimes #crimes against humanity #tw injury #tw death #tw distress #free gaza #end the genocide #free palestine #palestine #current events #ceasefire now #first responders #nooh al shaghnobi

[todaysdocument]

2nd Lieutenant Santos Cadena details the injuries he received in the American Civil War, the Mexican Reform War, and the Second Franco-Mexican War. Affidavit (5/4/1898) and diagram (3/28/1904) from his Civil War pension file. 

Record Group 15: Records of the Department of Veterans Affairs

Series: Case Files of Approved Pension Applications of Widows and Other Dependents of the Army and Navy Who Served Mainly in the Civil War and the War With Spain

Image description: Four diagrams of a man, two showing the skeleton and two showing the outside of the body (without arms). Marked in red ink are “Fracture of Clavicle,” “Wound of Chest,” “Sabre Wound of Arm,” “Wounds of leg,” and entrance and exit of the chest wound. 

Transcription: 

GENERAL AFFIDAVIT.

STATE OF Texas, COUNTY OF Duval ss:

In the matter of Santos Cadena - late Co “B” 2nd Tex, Cavly Vols,

ON THIS 4th. day of May, A.D. 1898., personally appeared before me, a Notary Public in and for the aforesaid County and State, duly authorized to administer oaths Santos Cadena, aged 68 years, a resident of Rancho Salado, in the County of Starr and State of Texas, who, being duly sworn, declares in relation to aforesaid claim as follows:

I received a gunshot wound of the left nipple or chest in front of Matamoros in the year 1866 under the command of General Mariano Escobedo, of the Mexican Liberal Army,

I received a Gunshot wound in the left leg in year 1860 in a battle at Gunajuata Mexico, with General Jose Maria. J. Carabajal, of the Mexican Liberal Army,

I received a Saber cut of the left arm in the action of Sialo. West of Guanajuata Mexico, under command of General Carabajal of the Mexican Liberal army,

I had my collar bone broken in the service of the United States near La Trinidad Ranch in Nueces County Texas, in the year 1864 I was a second Lieutenant and was sent out by Colonel J L. Naynes, of the 2nd. Texas Cavalry Volunteers to get some horses for the command and in running the Horses to take them to the pens my horse fell and broke my collar bone, None of the foregoing wounds were caused by Viscious habits,

The Gunshot wound in left nipple, and the Gunshot wound in left leg and the saber cut in left arm were received by my while I was in the Mexican Army, in 1860 I was fighting for Mexico against the Reacitionary or Church party in Mexico, and in 1866 I was fighting against the Imperialists who had invaded my country, I am a Mexican by birth but am an American Citizen,

He further declares that he has [“no” crossed out] interest in said case and is [“not” crossed out] concerned in its prosecution. He being the applicant.

X [signed] Clemente Pompa

X [signed Imalio[?] Perez

His

Santos X Cadena

Mark

NOTE.- In the execution of evidence, whenever a witness signs by X mark, two persons WHO CAN WRITE, MUST attest the signature by signing their names opposite.

[circular stamp]

PENSION

US

OFFICE

MAY 9 1898

[end stamp]

[along left margin]

The foregoing was prepared for typewriting from the statements of the witness in his presence and from my oral statements then made, said oral statements were made to Jas. O. Luby, Notary Public Duval County Texas, at his office in San diego said County and State, May 4th. 1868. And did not use and was not aided or prompted by any printed statement or recital, prepared or dictated by any other per so

#archivesgov #May 4 #1898 #1800s #March 28 #1904 #1900s #military #U.S. Civil War #Guerra de Reforma #Segunda intervención francesa en México #injuries

[greenbookreclaim]

P. Luminescens Healing Bacteria

No fucking way. You get hypothermia and you start glowing while on the verge of death in a battle field.

One more insane thing to bring up in a conversation.

#glowing #healing #hypothermia #stuff like this actually happens a lot but the fact it's not a killer bacteria is so special and crazy :0 #P Luminescens #Healing Bacteria #hope it doesn't adapt #war #battle #injuries #american civil war #history #discovery #biology #science #pathology #Youtube

[lcandothisallday]

tonight and tonight only i will have to betray my nico hischier but let it be a warning to my leafs roster that if anyone lays hands on my swiss Prince, we will be having words

#let’s be civil men and win respectfully please. i will not lose nico to any injuries done by any leafs player #that being said i hope it’s a clean leafs sweep for the series lol #i won’t be watching tonight’s game but i will be getting updates on my phone #toronto maple leafs #new jersey devils

[tiredpaladins]

I spend most of my waking hours thinking about Hawks going through severe and permanent injury and the League not knowing what to do afterwards. The kind of injury that leaves him out of the fight for months or even forever. No matter what his current status regarding the League was I think it'd be interesting.

Like, Dabi who hates hero society and understands it more than most, seeing a young adult get hurt so severely and having his identity as a hero taken from him and society not having anything in place to lift him up, and they all just have to watch as Hawks falls apart?

Or even if they were really close to Hawks, what can they do? They're wanted villains and he's a functioning member of society who has more eyes on him than ever.

#hawks #keigo takami #mha hawks #takami keigo #bnha hawks #hawks bnha #dabihawks #hawks injury #hurt hawks #like ok i want to say lose an arm #but its clear with Rumi their tech is above that #so idk something like Rhodey from Civil War #gets knocked out of the sky and breaks his spine #and has to learn how to walk again #or in a fight he gets choke out long enough that he suffers brain damage #from lack of oxygen #and loses his coordination skills and maybe struggles with speaking #hawks severe injury #writing prompt #hawks drabbles

[irondadfics]

I have been looking for month for this fic

It takes place during Civil War, Peter get severely injured (head trauma) while saving Rhodes from the fall that left him paralyzed. After Peter was is in intensive care and Tony tells May that Peter was in a car accident. Peter eventually wakes up and has to go through intensive therapy.

Thank you to those who contributed to our Follower Outreach Program for helping to locate this story!

The Good Fight by Emily_F6

The fight wasn't going well…Tony had to admit, he'd hoped this would work. But then Rhodey was falling…and Spiderman was there to save him. But who would save Spiderman? (A Civil War AU)

#found fic #civil war au #head injury

[forever-eternal]

Civil

From the day of her creation to the present day, Robin knows how to be civil.

*Blood and Injury, Implied Murder, Implied Cannibalism, and references to poor mental states*

———————————————————————

Congress had been sick since the end of March.

It was a similar sort to when the Revolution was dying down, when their government was in a rocky and unstable position. Robin doesn’t know what’s causing it, the Senators have been tight-lipped— and she’s much too busy taking care of her husband to interrogate them.

She manages to get him to stay home, but he doesn’t stop working— the infuriating man he is.

The house had been tense the last while, what with the secession of several states already. 7 if she remembered, one of them being Georgia— something that had broken her Adam’s heart— and there were threats of others doing the same.

Several of her children had seceded, and it…hurt. She hadn’t felt that in a while, not since the 1810’s, when their parents left them behind.

She knew the rapid secession was likely a cause of Adam’s illness, and she hoped it would pass.

But on April 12, 1861, she had gone out to the capital early that morning, remaining civil with the politicians even as they grated on her nerves and patience.

The house was silent.

Her children— their States— were nowhere to be found. She knew their Departments were in DC, working as they did every day.

But the States wouldn’t leave without notice.

And she smelled it, a pungent smell that she had grown used to in the Revolution— a smell she never wanted to smell in her own home.

Blood.

There was only one person home.

“Adam!” She calls, setting her groceries on the counters to be put away at a later time, sprinting up the stairs.

The smell was coming from his office.

The door was unlocked, not that it would hold against her if it wasn’t.

She bursts into the office, eyes wild— he wasn’t in his chair, but—

She could see a hand on the floor behind the desk.

“ADAM!” She shrieks, dropping down beside him.

Pale skin, wide eyes, gasping breaths as his hands claw at his midsection— a large wound slowly cutting across his skin, blood pouring from it as his hands dig further into his flesh.

———————————————————————

She managed to get him to bed, having to knock him out to do so— she hopes when he wakes, he won’t be so afraid.

She wrapped the wound, the shape familiar— a four-pointed star stretching across his chest. Horizontal points stretching to his sides, the vertical points going from just below the hollow of his throat to the bottom of his ribs.

…

It hadn’t stopped bleeding, and she's had to change the bandages every hour.

She runs a hand through Adam’s hair, damp with sweat, body moving roughly with gasping breaths. Her free hand holds one of his close to her chest.

The air crackles.

“Mother!” A voice call from downstairs, and soon thundering footsteps reach the bedroom door, the wood scratching the ground as its shoved open.

Her son, Gideon— the Department of State—stares at her with a heaving chest and wide, frightened eyes.

“Did you hear?” He asks breathlessly, helplessly, body freezing at the sight of his Father.

“Hear what?” She whispers, afraid, for the first time in her life. Her hold on Adam’s hand tightens.

Gideon doesn’t take his eyes off the man lying in the bed.

“The Confederates attacked Fort Sumter this morning.” He whispers, frantic and pained, and Robin feels her chest squeeze. “They’ve declared war.”

Adam’s body jerks, and his mouth opens in a blood-curdling scream.

———————————————————————

DC was the one at President Lincoln’s side when he officially declared the start of the War, on April 15.

Her husband, her Adam, couldn’t be left unattended for long.

He had to be restrained, forced the lay in their bed with his arms, legs, and midsection bound.

Else he’d try to tear his body apart with his own hands.

When he grew lucid, few and far between the last several days, she would undo his wrists and loosen around his midsection, allowing him to sit up.

She changed his bandages every hour, the wound still bleeding as it had that first day.

Not a word from the States came, but she sensed their presence closeby several times.

She knew the Confederates would reach their land at some point. But that was fine.

She’s experienced in getting rid of evidence.

———————————————————————

“Please my love, my heart, my Infinity.” He begged, bloodied hands clutching tight to her arms, head buried in her neck as she tied off the bandage and held him close, blood dripping from his lips, “Please, spare me— kill me, please.”

Her hands are soft and gentle as they run down his back and through his hair, wild and untamed in the last few months.

“My love,” she whispers back to him, leaning away slightly and cupping his face— a touch he burrows in, the touch comforting and easing the excruciating pain he’s in, as her own eyes— deep with pain and sorrow as she gazes down at him, it makes him hold her tighter as he feels the lucidity start to leave him, fingers twitching to tear at his own flesh, “My soul, my Eternity…” the next breath she takes is shuddering, “I would ease your pain if I could, take it on my own to bear— but I can’t.” Her voice cracks, but he hardly hears it, eyes glazed as she hastens to rebind his wrists before he can tear into himself. “I’m sorry, my dear Adam.” She whispers in choked breaths, leaning down to rest her forehead on the bandages around his thrashing chest, “I’m so sorry.”

———————————————————————

Virginia has split once again, she learns.

It’s when she’s left Adam in the care of their oldest four sons— War, State, Treasury, and Attorney.

She’s making her way down South, eyes open across several miles ahead— searching for the Rebels with the same ferocity she hunted the Redcoats.

And she feels it.

The presence of a State.

A young State.

She knows the Western portion of Virginia didn’t agree with the Eastern side politically. She knew such disagreements often ended with a separate State.

But its 1863 and the Civil War is in full swing.

She never thought Virginia would leave a child out to die.

She veers off her path, into the shadowy underbrush with a crackle— and she re-emerges in a thick part of the forest. The terrain is rough, and she feels young eyes on her.

She kneels down, and two chubby hands reach out of the thickets.

Three years old in body, assigned Statehood on June 20th. West Virginia.

She couldn’t leave him here, but she couldn’t take him with her.

…

She can hunt Rebels another time.

———————————————————————

His name is West Virginia, but the kind lady that takes him from the Outside into an Inside calls him Boe— tells him that’s the name he uses with humans. She tells him that he’ll live with her until he’s grown, with all her other children.

She tells him the Man in the Room is the Government, that he is…West’s Pa, in a way.

He asks if that means she’s his Mama.

She just smiles at him, and pats his head.

“If you want me to be, sweetheart.”

He thinks he does.

———————————————————————

Her Adam’s eyes had always been green. The color of lush forests, of soft grass, the color of a unified nation standing strong against the tyranny that oppressed them.

But she’s noticed that they’ve been growing dull, the green fading into grey as the eyebags under his eyes grow.

Despite her efforts, he can’t sleep through the war, he still needs to eat and such, and even with the special blend of tea she made specifically to help him sleep through the pain, it’s hard for him to return to slumber once he’s woken.

She tries to keep the younger kids away when he’s not lucid, the time they get with him mostly when he’s asleep.

But when he’s awake and aware, even for a short while, he’ll smile and talk with them in a pained, hushed voice that makes her want to cry.

She never cried often before this...this Civil War. But, knowing it's her own family fighting this war— her parents and in-laws and her children—, the same war that’s slowly killing her husband, her best friend from the day they were placed upon the cursed earth to bend at the will of humans who knew nothing but their own greed…

She cries almost every day.

———————————————————————

The War ended almost four years later, almost to the day— April 9th, 1865. They would forever blame the Confederates for the fire she started in Richmond, and no one would ever find the bodies of the boy and girl she tore apart without hesitation— they’d never find Confederacy or his Subordinate.

She makes sure Richmond, the city himself, takes no damage from the fire— forcing every ounce of that pain onto the Rebel Government and his assistant and taking what is left. She cared not that their bodies were young, only that they had taken her children, her family, the States that have always been and will forever be hers.

They had taken them-they chose to leave- and that was something she could not forgive.

Her husband stops thrashing in the middle of the night, just after midnight on the 10th.

He’d been doing so for the last few months, non-stop, so when he finally falls silent and still she’s hit with the most violent surge of ill and fear. She tears out of her bed, a temporary one, they’d always slept together— regardless of the societal norms that dictate otherwise.

But instead of finding her dear Eternity dead— oh what would happen to her and the kids if he died?— she finds exhausted grey eyes staring up at her.

She inhales deep and shocked, frazzled.

“..Ro?” His voice is hoarse and quiet. “Ro, are you alright?”

She can only stare down at him.

“Robin?” He asks again, slightly louder, wrists moving in his restraints. “My Infinity?”

She tears his restraints off without a second thought, clambering into the bed beside him, throwing an arm over his side and burying herself in his embrace.

His hands are clumsy, running up and down her back as her shoulders start to shake.

“I’m alright, my dear.” He whispers against her temple, “I’m alright.”

“You’re not.” She whispers back, a shaky hand trailing along the scar— it finally stopped bleeding. “My dear Eternity, you’re—“

“Alright for now.” His voice is firm in a way she missed, a tone he took when the Senators were being difficult, a tone he took when he was certain of something. “You look exhausted, my love.”

She doesn’t respond, and the vibration of a hum rattles beneath her cheek.

“Sleep, my dear Robin.” He says, “We’ll figure it out in the morning.”

“In the morning…” she mumbles, the stress finally leaving for the first time in ages, and she can’t fight the pull of sleep.

———————————————————————

Things had changed.

They all had changed.

Adam didn’t answer to Congress anymore— which was fine, she never called him that anyway. He was more stern and stoic, less merciful to those who wronged him— even despite the fact he was wheel-chair bound.

The wound that had bled for years had healed, but the rest of his body just wasn’t. He could no longer walk on his own, with the state of the Nation. Paralyzed from the waist down.

Robin was just happy he was there, lucid and awake and with her.

Even if none of the other States checked in, they had Minnesota, Oregon, Kansas, and West Virginia, and their newest addition– Nevada.

She’s not doing much on the Government front at the moment— her dear children had staged an intervention when she tried to go back to work.

“You gotta rest, Ma.” Treasury had said, “The last few years have been stressful.”

“The Meetings—“ she had tried, but West Virginia— with his chubby face and sweet, worried eyes (they put him up to this, they know she can’t argue with a baby), had stopped her.

“You’re gonna get hurt, Mama.” He had said, so soft and sad, his little lip quivering as he tugged on her skirts, “Like Papa did.”

She had folded easily under the gaze of her children, her Departments and her States, but she had refused to let DC go into the Meetings unprepared.

But it helped.

She could focus on herself, her husband, and her family without the stress of being a Government.

It helped when more States came, and she could focus on being their mother, on making sure they wouldn’t want to kill them secede like the others had. What did they do wrong? why did her babies want to leave her and kill their father? Didn’t their parents know what would happen? Did they not care?

And it only got better in the 1920’s.

Adam was no longer wheelchair bound, the economic boom allowing his body the strengthen, and the new advances in medicine allowing surgery and a cane— and he could finally walk again!

They danced across the country— and oh how she had missed dancing with him like they used to!

A lot of their time was spent in New York City, and she fully embraced the name her Poppa had created for himself— Thomas Jones was a frightening man and no one ever told them what Thomas threatened to do if they hurt his Baby Bird.

They may the Government Personifications, but Adam and Robin Jones were some of the top Mafia Couples of the age— never once getting caught.

Even those who had been in direct interaction with Mr. and Mrs. Jones couldn’t say what they looked like, they were never found.

It was one of the best times of Robin's life, and she knows her dear Eternity, her Adam, enjoyed it as well. Even as the depression came and it made his already injured body ill… it was nothing she couldn’t handle.

And then World War 2 began, and they let the other nations fight. They stayed out of it. For a while, at least.

Hawai’i…she had been young. One of the few territory personifications they willed into being, simply due to the fact Hawai’i was so far from everything else that it was harder to keep protected without the personification. She wasn’t even truly theirs, but she’s their daughter in all the ways that matter.

And that...that Imperial had taken their kindness- their negotiations- and stomped all over it. It left her seething, her teeth itching for the taste of blood and flesh- humans had never been delicious as a fellow fragment, she hasn’t had a taste in so long-

But her Adam had taken her hands, and whispered so softly to her before she could burn Japan to the ground and feast.

“Let me do this, my dear.” He says so sweetly, smiles so softly, but his eyes burn with a fury and it's a combination he wore often in the Revolution. “You took care of the Rebel, allow me to take care of the Imperial.”

And she lets him, watching with glee— helping Mikala recover as the bombs drop.

She feels no guilt towards the civilians, nor to the Cities themselves. They aren’t hers, they mean nothing to her.

She feels nothing but a hatred for Imperial Japan, and nothing but joy as her Adam comes back with one less bullet and a bloodied guntō.

They always liked taking trophies, the many items of the Redcoats they have in their basement trophy room— the one room only they are allowed inside— are proof of that fact.

The blood makes it an eye-catching feature of the room, no?

By the year 2000, more trophies were taken. USSR and Nazi Germany’s Personifications shattered like glass beneath their bloodthirst.

The Iron Crosses, scorched and melted together to make a sort of screaming face, are an interesting art piece.

And the brown, bullet-ridden jacket is one her sweet Alaska had nightmares of before they took it.

And that’s not to mention the skulls! She’s sure they rival Frances’ Catacombs by now. It’s a lovely thing they've made over the years.

———————————————————————

It’s 2023, the first Meeting she’ll be part of in over a hundred years.

She feels no nervousness, she’s an expert after all.

She hears her Adam’s voice through the door, a rough barking sound that makes her giggle.

“Sit down! Sit down— Ian, I will ground you from the alligator ponds for a month if you don’t sit down! We have an important someone joining us today, and she’ll be very cross if you don’t behave!”

She hears the shuffling of feet, the scratching of chairs, and— finally— silence.

Her Adam sighs.

“Alright, good, good.” He mutters, and she feels a tug.

She follows it, allowing the air to crackle until she’s standing next to him in the meeting room.

———————————————————————

Her smile is still gentle and kind, they notice, posture perfect and suit without a mark or crease.

Most can’t believe their eyes, though there are several who aren’t surprised to see her, the ones who came after the Civil War visited her often.

Stormy blue-grey eyes they remember so fondly, as they ran amuck across the Pennsylvania property. Who tended to their injuries, no matter how small, and held them when they were frightened. The woman they call Mother.

The sweet face they remember so carefully handling the birds. The smile they had seen grow so wide and bright on her wedding day. The girl they call Daughter.

“Everyone.” Gov says loudly, firmly, rising from his seat to stand beside her. He makes a small gesture, to show her off with a barely concealed pride. “Robin Jones, the Executive Assistant, will be joining us from now on.”

“Hello.” She greets, smile never once dropping, a practiced ease, “It’s a pleasure to see all of you.”

And it is, despite how her chest still aches some nights— just as she knows Adam’s does. How they left so easily and simply never came back.

But, perhaps— she thinks, as she notices several sets of eyes grow wet with an emotion she can’t help but name ‘relief’— they could start to heal.

She could be civil, at least, until then.

#wttt gov #wttt assistant #wttt oc #welcome to the table au #welcome to the table #wttt #Civil War Mentions #blood and injury #family ties au #Robin has...issues #she’s protective and possessive and the Civil War did NOT help in the slightest #wttt west virginia

[sharp-teeth-and-wide-grins]

( Cassie Roosevelt ; continued )

        𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐚 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐦 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞. One filled with violence, grief, more violence, and anguish where death seems more of a blessing than a curse sometimes. Cassie’s reality was full of luxury, twirls on the dancefloor, and manners that blinded her to this truth until she was forced into it. Cole? She assumed now that he was aware of this reality long before her. He wasn’t immune to it.

        That truth pains her more than her own hardships. She should count her lucky stars that Dutch was willing to take her in, giving her shelter at a time her last name provided no sense of security. 

        Cassie looks at Cole lying over the dirty, muddy train tracks. She’ll find him a clean shirt back at camp, or mend something for him to wear, but she was more concerned with something else. Were the nails on the train track digging into his back? Or would her needle, lodged into the blood-sodden hole, desensitize him to it? For a moment, she raises her stare from the bloody scene before her and looks over the tracks. From Sean’s teachings, she memorized the schedule of the trains in the surrounding areas, but that never meant a train wasn’t making an early or late delivery. 

        She doesn’t want to dig around in his shoulder to search for a bullet that wasn’t there, but she might not have any other choice. 

        ❝ Do you think you will be able to lift yourself up a little? ❞ A hand tentatively brushed over his shoulder, avoiding the wound but lingering nearby. ❝ I need to ensure the bullet went through. ❞ From there, Cassie will figure out the next step. Camp wasn’t close, but the nearby town was farther. If she can’t dig for it, it will be God’s luck that she runs across a doctor along this road.  

        Any thought of the future--or God for that matter--disappears from her mind when she catches onto what he says next. “You okay? Bastard shouldn’t’ve grabbed you.“ Her gaze lowers and guilt fills her stomach. 

        ❝ I’m alright. Please concern yourself over your wound. It’s worse than anything he gave me. ❞ At worst, Cassie might have a red handprint around her wrist from the harsh grab. Her hand lifts and softly, she brushes the hair off his forehead, sweat and the warmth on his forehead clings to her fingertips. 

@colecassiidy

#colecassiidy #religion mention tw #blood mention tw #medical tw #injury tw #( 𝑺𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒑𝒆𝒐𝒑𝒍𝒆 ; threads (( Cassie )) #( 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒆 ; Cassie ) #( Please picture me in the weeds before I learned civility ; Cole (( Cassie )) #( queue )

[reginalawyerslist]

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[aussiepineapple1st]

Civil Agent (Part 3)

Leon x GN!Reader

Words: 1,693 Contains: Blood, Description of Injury, Reader in Rescue Mode.

Part 1 | Previous | Next

You seem to be frozen in place, your left arm reaching towards Leon, sleeve soaked in his blood. Heart racing and beating in your ears you begin to look around for towels. Running under the loft into the small hall you see doors in the wall, opening them up. Bingo! Blankets and towels! Taking out a hand full of towels you hurry to the lounge, laying two of the three you had on the seat. Looking over to Leon as you make your way beside him, sitting on your shins you press the last towel over his left side.

Leon's head was resting back against the door behind him, eyes opening slightly to look in your direction. He moves his right hand out from under the towel and rests it over yours to help with the pressure, eyes shutting tight in a grimace.

"Can you stand? I've put towels on your lounge for you to lay on." You hint, wanting to get him on the lounge so he would be more comfortable than up against the front doors.

"Yeah.. I can stand." With help he makes it to his feet, head spinning from both how tired he was and the amount of blood he had lost. You both keep a hand on the towel at his side, his left arm slung over your shoulders for support as he was led to the lounge. Shaking his left arm out of his jacket sleeve, you keeping him on his feet as he pulls his right arm free. Dropping the bloodied leather jacket on the coffee table, he sits down on the towels you had placed on the lounge. Pulling his legs up he turns to lay down, his left arm hanging off the lounge, fingers tickling the floor.

"Do you have a first aid kit anywhere?"

"In the bathroom.." He points towards where you had found the towels.

You spring into action and follow his directions, finding the bathroom it was the first door to your right. Searching through drawers and the cabinet beside the mirror, nothing. Last place was the doors under the sink. Found it! Under the sink was a green bag with a white cross. Grabbing it you hurry back to his side, eyes being drawn to the blood slightly pooled in front of the doors on your way passed. When did he even get injured? How was he able to drive back safely? You should probably call an ambulance! Sitting on your shins beside him once again his eyes were closed, pen and bloodied stack of bright, pink sticky notes under his right hand on his chest.

"Leon?..." You lift up his shirt to see the wound while waiting for an answer. He had shards of glass embedded into his side, a large gash bleeding profusely. "Leon!.. Answer me!" Tears were starting to blur your vision as you unzip the green bag and see what was in there. You had no clue how to stitch him up, even if that was all you needed to do. You pat your pockets. "Shit! My phone is still in the pub..." Guess calling an ambulance was out. Taking some tweezers you quickly pull out the larger glass shards that could cause more damage. Then take a bandage from the kit and start to pack the gash in his side.

The notes and pen on his chest standing out to you once again, you sit yourself on the edge of the couch and use your leg to keep the towel flush against his side. Sliding the pad from under his right hand you read what he had written, the words were very hard to read but you could make it out. 

"phone in pants 1977 call chris redfield say civil agent"

You follow his instructions, reaching into his pants you find his phone, typing in 1977 and it unlocks. Quickly swiping your bloodied thumb across the screen you find his contacts and Chris Redfield's name. Calling the number you put the phone to your ear, foot tapping on the walnut wood flooring, hoping and praying this Chris answers.

"Leon?" A deep voice is heard in your ear, he sounded like the call woke him up.

"Civil agent!"

This immediately had Chris on his feet. "Where are you?"

"Um.. I think this is his house."

"I'm on my way, keep tight pressure on the wound." You nod silently, sniffing the tears away from your eyes. "Stay on the phone with me, okay?" Chris could hear you were in distress.

"Y-yeah.. okay." You tap the speaker on the screen and put the phone down on the coffee table beside his jacket. How did he know Leon was bleeding? Was it part of what the code word meant? You could hear a car door shut and the sound of the engine starting up. "How far away are you?"

"I'll be only 10 minutes. Is he breathing?"

You place a hand in front of his nose and mouth feeling his breath on your fingers. "Yes, he's breathing."

This earned a sigh from the other side of the phone. "How much blood has he lost?"

"I'm not too sure. He was injured at my work, then drove us back here to his place. I didn't even know he was injured until a moment ago." You explained trying to keep your cool.

Chris would ask you some questions, just to try and keep you calm, asking every so often if Leon was still breathing. Seeing light shining through the window and glass of the front doors the engine outside continues, even after hearing the bang of a car door closing. "Can you unlock the door for me?" Chris asks over the phone.

Standing up you make your way over to the doors, stepping around the blood you unlock the door and pull it open. Standing in front of you was a slightly taller man than Leon, a shirt and jacket over his broad shoulders, dark grey cargo pants on with boots. The laces weren't done up as he hadn't had time.

"Watch out for the blood." You point to the ground. Chris looks down to where you were pointing and steps over it as he walks inside.

You had told him already that Leon was laying on the lounge, so that was where he went. Bending over Leon, you watch from the door as he looks at his wound. Brows frowning with concentration as his eyes searched Leon's face. Chris then scoops him up into his arms with ease. You take the keys you had placed in the ceramic bowl and wait for Chris to walk through the door before following. Closing the door and locking it, running down the stairs after Chris who was opening the back door of his car.

"I'll guide him in." You offer, squeezing past Chris and climbing up into the back of the vehicle. Reaching to grab Leon's shoulders, you pull him in resting his head on your lap. Chris hurried into the driver's side and you are moving before his door was even closed. Looking down to Leon's head in your lap, he looked peaceful. You still kept a pressure on the towel, your other hand instinctively petting his soft hair. You knew he wasn't going to feel it, but it was comforting you, everything that had happened tonight was so confusing. One moment you and Leon were having a nice time, then you were running for your life now in a car. Hopefully heading to a hospital, driven by someone who Leon clearly trusts if they have a code word for such occasions.

"Why even have a code word for this kind of thing?" You had said to yourself.

"What was that?" Chris asked, hearing you say something but not what you had said.

"Oh.. Um... I was just trying to figure out what happened? Why do you have a code word for this kind of situation?"

Chris looks to you through the rear view mirror and back to the road, a small laugh leaving his chest. "I don't know what you've seen, but with our line of work you need to have all bases covered." He explained as he pulled into a driveway. You had been lost in thought not realising another 20 minutes had flown by.

Chris hops out of the car, having pulled into the emergency entrance. Running inside to get someone's attention before jogging back to his car. He opens your door and takes Leon's head, letting you slide out before pulling him out of the car. You close the door behind him, following Chris around to the nurses and doctors coming out to meet you all with a rolling bed.

"Leon Kennedy, ID number 0004." Chris says while laying him on the bed and stepping back as Leon was wheeled away. You stand there beside Chris, not knowing what to do, you were in shock. Now feeling you were safe, you felt like you were going to pass out. Looking down to you when you leaned into his side, Chris' arms wrap around you, keeping you on your feet. "Woah, woah.. Easy there." Making sure you were still strong on your feet he walks you over to sit down on some chairs in the waiting room just around the corner.

Coming back over to you with a white plastic cup of cold water, he kneels in front of you, much like Leon had done an hour or so ago at the pub. He offers the cup to you and you take is from his hand, taking a sip, then another. "You going to be okay?" He asks as a hand rests on your left knee.

You give a nod which very quickly turns into a shake as you silently take another sip. Chris pursed his lips and gives a nod of his own, sitting on his butt in front of you he starts to do up his shoelaces. "You're going to be okay. I didn't ask you this yet, so what's your name?"

"(Y/N)... You must be Chris?"

He nods, still fiddling with his laces. "I am."

Part 1 | Previous | Next

🏷️: @phoenix666stuff @maehemthemisfit @greywardensaywhat @growingupnrealizing @starcrossedreaders

#angst #blood #chris redfield #civil agent #fanfic #fic #gn!reader #injury #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon x gn!reader #leon x reader #post vendetta #resident evil #resident evil fanfic #vendetta chris #vendetta leon

[marta-bee]

I’d like to personally thank Aristotle, particularly as translated by Joe Sachs, for being at least part of the reason I was excused from jury service today.

#aristotle #we americans are promised a jury of our peers #apparently i am odd enough to not be a peer of anyone's except myself #and quite possibly you dweebs #i guess aristotle fangirl and former philosophy abd who now works helping prepare #personal injury lawsuits for trial #was never going to be an obvious choice for a civil trial jury #but all joking aside it really is a rather good translation #and even more to the point a ridiculously good writing for 2500 year old lecture notes #seriously #how doe she *do* that #rl